Cockroaches on the half-shell

So we were living in Hattiesburg Mississippi. It’s hot, hot and humid there. Beautiful, for certain, but super humid and super dooper hot.

And I got laid off.

And it was a difficult layoff. The CEO hired a new GM for the operation. He came from California and a culture of hire-and-fire. And when he came on board, I was let go with little notice.

But Mississippi was not Los Angles or San Francisco. A layoff meant a catastrophic move to another side of the country, and that coincided with my mentally ill wife going full on psycho.

I was a wreck and trying to deal.

During this time, we had to cut corners to make ends meet.

So we decided not to have the monthly cockroach spraying.

Bad move. Without the spraying, they bred profusely and overwhelmed the house. And today, I want to talk about what happened.

…

It began with turning on the kitchen light in the morning. And there, finding “cockroaches on the half shell” on the kitchen floor.

Yeah. My cats were having nightly feasts.

Then, I went into the bed room and saw a sock traversing the floor. Yeah, a cockroach was under it making its way…

These weren’t small bugs either.

They were the size of a pocket knife.

Huge ugly cockroaches, and they were everywhere.

Then came the zzzittt, and there would be the smell of burning cockroach and the lights would go out. Oh yeah, baby. They were getting fried in the electrical outlets.

That was until the swarms started to look like moving and vibrating blankets.

Brown swarms that covered everything.

Ah, for certain, once my mentally ill wife ended up freaking out, I called the insect pest exterminator and they performed an emergency visitation.

They flew to the house.

Pretty darn impressive. The folk in Mississippi take cockroach management very seriously.

Ah…Lights flashing and came out in full tactical gear.

It was a tough battle, but GUYS you need to take care of this kind of thing before it is far too late. And I had waited. It was far too late, and the problem was really out of control.

Guys. Do not be like me.

When you know that there are pests around…

… isolate, kill and contain.

Today…

Why would anyone with half a brain enlist in the United States military?

I grew up in a violent household. My father was an alcoholic, and beat my mother, and us kids. I started to get the best of him by my mid teens, and put a stop to the beatings by the time I was 17.

I was working in dead end jobs, in my hometown outside of Buffalo, New York. The rich kids went to College. The poor kids looked to the Military.

Two weeks after turning 18, I enlisted in the Air Force. I was looking to get out of the harsh Winters of Buffalo, and to start a new life.

I had just missed Vietnam. Saigon fell to the Communists two months before I turned 17. The Cold War was still ongoing, so in 1976, I signed up to be a Nuclear Weapons Specialist. I was on Active Duty (1976-1981.) I spent three years in England, serving on American Occupied RAF Bases. I traveled all over Europe and the United Kingdom in my off time.

I completed one year’s worth of College Credits, attending Night Classes with the University of Maryland (European Campus.) After getting out of the Air Force, I attended College on the G.I. Bill. All of $341 per month. I graduated with an A.S. Degree in Exotic Animal Training and Management.

I had a good first career as a Wild Animal Trainer, Elephant Trainer, and Zookeeper. I first trained Wild Animals for movies and television in Hollywood. Then, I became an Elephant Trainer at the San Diego Zoo Safari Park. Eventually, I worked with the California Condors. I did that work up until my forties.

Joining the Air Force allowed me to get out and see some of the World. Getting out of snowy Buffalo. And leaving my violent upbringing behind. It gave me a fresh start in life. It is one of the best things I ever did.

Torta Italiano

Yield: 10 servings

Ingredients

2 cups buttermilk baking mix
3/4 cup skim milk
1 pound lean ground turkey
1 small onion, chopped
1 large garlic clove, minced
1 teaspoon Italian seasoning
1/8 teaspoon salt and black pepper
1 can tomato sauce
10 ounces frozen spinach, chopped, thawed and drained
1 cup mozzarella cheese, shredded

Instructions

Heat oven to 350 degrees F.
Combine biscuit mix and milk.
Spray springform pan with vegetable oil spray. Spread biscuit mix evenly over base.
Chop onion.
Brown ground turkey in skillet. Drain excess liquid. Add onion, garlic, seasonings, and tomato sauce to turkey. Combine and cook for 2 to 3 minutes.
Spread turkey mixture over biscuit mi. Layer spinach over meat mixture. Top spinach layer with cheese.
Bake for 35 minutes.
Remove from oven and cool for 10 minutes.
Run a knife gently around collar before removal.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

Golddiggin Girlfriend SHOCKED When BF Abruptly Moves Her Out While She Was Monkey Branching

The Empty Laboratory

Submitted into Contest #279 in response to: Center your story around a person who believes they’re the last human on Earth.… view prompt

Kashira Argento

Outside, the city was a museum of humanity’s last moment. Traffic lights cycled through their patterns for empty streets. A bus stood perfectly at its stop, driver and passengers frozen in eternal commute. Digital billboards still flashed their ads to nobody. Through it all, the autumn wind carried dead leaves and silence.

He developed a routine. Each morning, check suit seals. Load decontamination supplies. Clear another sector. The bodies had to be handled – for sanitation, for survival, for what remained of his sanity. He built the pyres at sunset, when the light made everything look molten. Sometimes he read names from ID cards, spoke them aloud. Someone should know who they had been.

Finding Mai’s school broke something in him. Her classroom smelled of chalk and silence. Sheet music for Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata still sat on the piano, never to be played. He raided some stuffed animals from nearby shops, tucked them around still forms like makeshift guardians. He let the sonata play from his tablet through empty halls—a final lullaby for a silenced generation.

Nature filled the void with surprising speed. Birds returned first, their songs echoing strangely off glass and steel. Brazen from the lack of predators they multiplied by thousands. Flowers pushed through sidewalk cracks. Deer grazed in hospital parking lots. Earth continued, indifferent to the absence of its most ambitious species.

At first, he’d focused on his survival. Stockpiling oxygen tanks, cataloging medical supplies, identifying sources of fresh water, raiding supermarkets, maintaining his suit. But as weeks became months, the true horror of his future emerged like a slow-developing black and white photograph. The nuclear plant’s AI-controlled systems would eventually fail. The city’s water pressure was already dropping. Buildings, unmaintained, would begin to crumble. His safe zones would become death traps.

The suit that had saved him now felt like a mobile coffin. Each hiss of filtered air reminded him that every breath was borrowed. Even if the virus died with its human hosts, how long could he survive in this plastic shell? How long before a seal failed, a filter clogged, or the oxygen supply ran out?

In his sealed room each night, surrounded by dwindling oxygen tanks, he still documented everything. Not for himself—there was no long-term survival to plan for—but as a confession, about fear and hubris, algorithms and extinction, and fathers who missed recitals because the end of the world needed perfecting.

Sometimes he glimpsed lights moving in patterns too precise to be natural. He wondered if they were a mirage or a reality. He could never know! The city’s infrastructure hummed along for now, but entropy was patient. Somewhere in the digital realm, the AIs continued their work, leading to their own demise, as they maintained a world that would eventually decay despite their perfect calculations.

The real weight wasn’t the failing equipment or the dwindling supplies. It was the silence between bird songs. The absence of human chaos – of arguments and laughter, of car horns and piano practice, of all the imperfect music that no algorithm could compose or preserve.

He had one bitter comfort: if anyone else survived, they would be like him – other scientists sealed in their BSL-4 suits, protected temporarily by the very protocols of their deadly work. But finding them would change nothing. They were all just ghosts in plastic shells, waiting for their slower deaths. Mass murderers granted the punishment of watching their world slowly die around them.

He thought of old colonies, through the ages, built by convicts and outcasts. Human civilizations had a tendency to be founded on blood. Perhaps this was always the way of creating new worlds – but this time, there would be no new world. Only witnesses to the long goodbye of the old one.

Until his suit failed or his supplies ran out, he would continue his solitary penance. Document. Clean. Remember. Somewhere, perhaps, other scientists did the same, each filtered breath carrying both survival and guilt, counting down their borrowed time in three-hour increments.

The yellow light blinked for the sixteenth time. One more before red. One more before starting again. Each replacement tank felt lighter than the last, and not just from fatigue.

Always one more. Until there weren’t any more.

Then the birds would sing alone.

America’s Most TALENTED Cats Will Leave You SPEECHLESS!

Daily Shorpy

SHORPY Cadillac 1960 Sedan deVille 2.preview

The Craziest Woke Women Of TikTok…

The Last

Submitted into Contest #279 in response to: Center your story around a person who believes they’re the last human on Earth.… view prompt

John K Adams

Lou awoke completely alone.Ordinarily, that would not be unusual. But this evening, he found himself seated in the middle of the city’s largest auditorium.“How…? Where…?”Squinting into the bright lights, he looked around, trying to understand. He sat, the sole person in a sea of empty seats. Moments before, it had been standing room only. Nothing made sense. Was it a dream?‘Am I dreaming now?’Invited by Mona, he got stuck watching a speech by the most boring man in the world. Lou knew this was true. He’d heard them all. Only Mona could convince him to listen to this pompous ass. Lou would do anything for Mona. But this?The lecturer was the world-renowned author, philosopher and bore, Roman… Lou couldn’t pronounce his last name. He only knew it had too few vowels and too many hyphens. Even the event’s program contained several spellings of the tongue-twister. Were any correct? Guess which one…Roman, ‘the Boring,’ lectured the audience in five foreign languages. He famously disdained English as a mongrel tongue.Behind him on state were five translators. Standing in identical suits and ties, they looked like waiters, minus the towels draped over their arms. But their verbal acrobatics were impressive. Like magicians, they valiantly expressed Roman’s impenetrable erudition into American English. As much as possible, the words were familiar even if the concepts were obscure.The featured speaker, Roman, compensated for his towering ego, excuse me – his towering intellect, by being shorter than average. Having a bald pate and a strong jaw, from excessive use, he looked almost as round as tall. He wore a striped tuxedo.Roman claimed ancient ideas as his own. He analyzed his ponderous prose in glowing terms so opaque, his translators spent the evening looking befuddled.‘And some don’t believe in purgatory,’ Lou thought. He dismissed that idea when he realized his feelings more closely resembled hell.

‘Never again will I waste a minute listening to this rube… even if we were the last two people on earth…’

Roman’s pomposity tempted Lou to heckle. Yelling insults might provide relief. He would garner support from like-minded souls, escape this droning dirge and revel in life.

‘Oh to sing and dance…’

Before he acted, doubts crept in. Lou hated being rude. And he didn’t know the crowd. Some in the audience dozed. Did they snore in foreign languages?

Also, the speaker was stupendously boring but not stupid. Who knows what clever call to action he’d use to rally his followers? Lou feared being the scapegoat and not the hero. Yes, he would be out of there, but at what cost?

No one ever said, ‘Give me boredom, or give me death.’ Unwilling to choose, Lou sought other options.

Some barely stirred when scattered applause threatened to disrupt their slumber. A few even stood to applaud.

‘Are they so enthralled by this narcissist’s pontifications?’

Lou then realized they didn’t rise in honor of Roman, but to exit.

A misstatement sparked an argument between Roman and one translator. Their heated discussion took place in a foreign language. But it appeared Roman disagreed with the translator’s interpretation of what he’d said. A secondary dispute arose over whether this overblown distraction was necessary. Another translator tried interpreting the substance of the argument for the audience. Others pulled him back.

Their voices rising, neither Roman nor the translator gave ground. Finally, stopping short of violence, Roman fired him on the spot. The translator left in shame.

The shouting drew attendees back to their seats in hopes of further excitement. They didn’t get it.

No other translator offered to fill the gap. Forced to make his crucial point alone, Roman faced the crowd. Buying time, he wrung his hands. The crowd stirred in anticipation.

After clearing his throat, Roman said, “Never mind…”

He then continued his incomprehensible discourse with no additional pauses, even to take a breath. At least, that’s how it felt. The translators stood by, but had no purpose.

Disappointed, the audience resumed filtering out. At first one or two. Then more. Eventually, the growing stream of people created a bottleneck at the back. Lou figured it was a common occurrence.

Unfazed, Roman droned on effectively spouting gibberish.

Though tempted, Lou decided against joining the throng. He sat mid-row. Leaving early would require stumbling over other audience members’ feet. He didn’t want to wake them.

Then, like slipping from dream to reality, Lou became aware he was alone in the empty auditorium.

How did this happen? Moments ago, everyone was there. Even the mayor. Now the place stood empty. The speaker, Roman what’s-his-name, and his entourage had vacated the premises.

‘Did Roman bore everyone out of existence? I missed the best part, the lecture’s conclusion… How could I sleep through that?’

Lou hated being alone.

‘Where’s Mona? Oh right, never showed… Stood me up. What happened? Did she text?’

He checked his phone. Nothing.

‘Ghosted. I can take a hint. Alone again.’

The story of his life.

‘God, it’s quiet. Where is everyone?’

Lou could swear that he’d been surrounded by thousands. And then he blinked. Stunned, he couldn’t believe it. The immense silence in the vast auditorium was unnerving. He clapped his hands to ensure he hadn’t gone deaf.

‘She set me up for this? Seems like it…’

He tried calling others on the phone, but every call went straight to voice mail.

‘Where is everyone? Why am I here instead of with them?’

His isolation felt creepy.

‘Better move on. Cleaning crew will be at it soon.’

His anxiety swelling, Lou walked up the aisle. The lobby stood empty too. He ran out. Streetlights glowed brightly on empty streets. There were no cars. No foot traffic. Not even a bus. Silence reigned.

‘This ain’t good. This is too weird.’

Lou felt his throat tighten with fear. A loud groan escaped, startling him. It was the first sound he’d heard in several minutes.

Running to the curb, he stared down the boulevard to see shining, empty streets. No traffic.

“No, no, no… What’s happened? What can I do? What now?”

He began hyperventilating. Feeling dizzy, he staggered to a bus bench.

Sitting, he thought, ‘There’s no one. I can’t collapse. No one will find me…’

He called out. “Hey! Hello! Anyone?” Not even an echo.

‘Am I the last one on earth?’

Tears streaming, Lou fell to his knees. Clasping his hands together, he looked into the dark sky.

“Help me! Please… Show me I’m not alone!”

Sobbing, he fell forward in despair. His forehead on the cold sidewalk brought some calm.

Still kneeling, Lou heard footsteps behind him. Composing himself, he blew his nose. He stood, thrilled for some company. He turned and felt his stomach churn. It was Roman, that night’s speaker, unmistakable in his striped tux.

Offering his hand, he approached Lou.

In perfect English, he said, “You stayed ‘til the bitter end. How did you like my talk?”

Lou looked around, desperate for another. Anyone. There was no one else. Only the silence.

Wife’s Salami-fest Backfires When Videos Of Her Servicing Multiple Guys Becomes The Talk Of The Town

Title: Sir Whiskerton and the Mystery of the Submerged Canoe

Ah, dear reader, you’ve returned for yet another tale of my unmatched brilliance and the delightful chaos that seems to follow my esteemed circle of companions. This adventure takes us far from the barnyard to the edge of the farm, where a certain wooden bridge harbored secrets beneath its weathered planks. The tale begins with a plucky hedgehog, a trapped canoe, and a mystery that would test our courage, patience, and ability to work together without squabbling too much. Prepare yourself for the uproarious and utterly absurd tale of The Mystery of the Submerged Canoe.

Simon’s Urgent News

The day began like any other, with me perched atop the barn roof, basking in the early morning sun. Porkchop was snuffling about in the mud, Sedgwick was observing the world with his usual quiet wisdom from a nearby fence post, and the hens—Doris, Harriet, and Lillian—were chattering away in circles about absolutely nothing of importance.

“I heard there’s going to be rain later,” Doris said.
“Rain? Oh, I do hope not!” Harriet clucked.
“Rain! What if it ruins the straw?” Lillian squawked.
“Ruins the straw? Oh no, we can’t have that!” Doris echoed.
“Straw is very important,” Harriet affirmed.
“Very important!” Lillian cried.
And so it went on.

I might have drifted off into peaceful ignorance of their endless chatter had Simon the hedgehog not come scurrying onto the scene, his tiny paws kicking up dust as he ran.

“Sir Whiskerton! Sir Whiskerton!” Simon called, his voice high-pitched and urgent.

I leapt down from the barn roof, landing gracefully in front of him. “Simon. What’s the matter? You look like you’ve just sprinted across the entire farm.”

“I did!” Simon panted, his little sides heaving. “There’s something strange at the wooden bridge. A canoe! It’s stuck under the bridge, and I heard noises—very strange noises! Something is trapped under a blanket-covered basket inside the canoe!”

“A canoe?” Porkchop said, waddling over. “What’s a canoe doing in the river?”

“And noises?” Sedgwick added, flapping down from his post. “What kind of noises?”

“Distressed noises!” Simon exclaimed. “Whimpering, scratching, and a sort of… humming sound. It was eerie!”

“Oh, distress!” Doris gasped, flapping her wings.
“Distress! That’s terrible!” Harriet clucked.
“Terrible! What if it’s a ghost?” Lillian whispered, her feathers puffing up.
“A ghost? Oh no, not a ghost!” Doris wailed.
“Not a ghost! Oh, I can’t bear it!” Harriet added.
“Ghosts are the worst!” Lillian concluded.

I sighed. “It’s not a ghost. Ghosts don’t use canoes.” I turned back to Simon. “Thank you, Simon. We’ll investigate this mystery at once.”

“You will?” Simon said, his quills bristling with excitement. “Oh, thank you, Sir Whiskerton! I knew I could count on you.”

The Journey to the Bridge

And so, our unlikely team set off toward the wooden bridge: Sir Whiskerton, the brilliant detective; Sedgwick, the wise and ever-composed barn owl; Porkchop, whose bravery was highly questionable but who always insisted on coming along; and the trio of hens, who refused to be left behind (much to my chagrin).

“Do you think it’s a person under the blanket?” Doris asked as we walked.
“A person? What if they’re lost?” Harriet wondered aloud.
“Lost! Oh, that’s dreadful!” Lillian exclaimed.
“Dreadful! We must help them!” Doris declared.
“Help them! Yes, we must!” Harriet agreed.
“We’re such good helpers,” Lillian said proudly.

“Please, for the love of whiskers, let’s try to focus,” I muttered under my breath.

Simon guided us through the fields and down the dirt path that led to the river. As we approached the bridge, we could hear it: faint, muffled noises coming from beneath the wooden planks. It wasn’t quite a whimper, nor was it a yowl. It was… odd.

“Do you hear that?” Sedgwick said, his amber eyes narrowing. “It sounds almost like… singing.”

“Singing?” Porkchop said, his ears twitching nervously. “I don’t like this. What if it’s some kind of river troll?”

“River trolls aren’t real, Porkchop,” I said, though I couldn’t entirely blame him for his nerves. The sound was undeniably strange, and the sight of the half-submerged canoe trapped under the bridge only added to the eerie atmosphere.

The Investigation

We carefully made our way onto the bridge, peering down at the trapped canoe below. It was wedged against one of the bridge’s support beams, its bow tilted slightly upward. Inside, we could just make out a wicker basket covered with a patchy green blanket. The noises were definitely coming from the basket.

“Well,” Sedgwick said, his wings folded neatly, “it seems we have two mysteries to solve: how this canoe ended up here and what—or who—is making those noises.”

“I’m not going down there,” Porkchop said immediately. “I don’t swim. I sink.”

“Neither am I,” Rufus said, suddenly appearing out of nowhere with an apple in his paw. (He always seemed to show up at the most inconvenient times.) “But I am curious. What do you think’s in the basket? Treasure? Snacks? A haunted squirrel?”

“Haunted squirrel? Oh, I can’t bear it!” Lillian cried.
“Haunted squirrel! That’s the worst!” Harriet squawked.
“The worst! What if it curses us?” Doris wailed.

“It’s not a haunted squirrel!” I snapped. “Now, if everyone could stop speculating for five seconds, I’ll go down and investigate.”

Without waiting for more protests, I carefully climbed down the rocks to the edge of the water. Sedgwick flew overhead, providing a bird’s-eye view, while Porkchop, Rufus, and the hens watched nervously from the bridge.

As I reached the canoe, the noises grew louder. I extended a cautious paw and lifted the edge of the blanket.

The Surprising Discovery

Underneath the blanket was… a family of ducklings. Five of them, to be exact, huddled together in the wicker basket. They looked up at me with wide, frightened eyes and let out tiny, distressed quacks.

“Ducklings?” I said, utterly baffled. “What are you doing in a canoe?”

“They’re ducklings?” Porkchop called from the bridge. “Not ghosts?”

“Not ghosts,” I confirmed. “Just ducklings. They must’ve drifted downstream and gotten stuck here.”

“Oh, ducklings! How sweet!” Doris gushed.
“Sweet! But also sad!” Harriet clucked.
“Sad! Poor little things!” Lillian added.
“We have to save them!” Doris declared.
“Yes, save them! Rescue them!” Harriet cried.
“Ducklings must be rescued!” Lillian agreed.

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help agreeing with them for once. The ducklings were clearly frightened, and we couldn’t leave them here.

The Rescue Mission

With Sedgwick’s guidance, we worked together to free the canoe. Rufus, surprisingly helpful for once, climbed down to help push, while Porkchop stood on the bridge and offered “moral support.” The hens, meanwhile, provided a running commentary.

“Push it harder!” Doris shouted.
“Harder! Yes, harder!” Harriet echoed.
“Not too hard! You might tip it over!” Lillian warned.
“Tipping it over would be terrible!” Doris cried.
“Terrible! Oh, I can’t watch!” Harriet clucked.
“But I’m watching!” Lillian announced.

Finally, with one last shove, the canoe came free and drifted gently away from the bridge. The ducklings quacked in relief, and their mother—a frantic-looking duck who had been pacing nearby—rushed to meet them.

The Happy Ending

The ducklings were reunited with their mother, and the family swam off down the river, quacking happily. Back on the bridge, we all felt a sense of accomplishment.

“Well done, everyone,” Sedgwick said, his tone warm. “It seems we’ve solved another mystery and made a difference.”

“Yeah,” Rufus said, grinning. “Who knew a bunch of ducklings could cause so much excitement?”

“Oh, ducklings are the best!” Doris said.
“The best! So adorable!” Harriet agreed.
“Adorable and brave!” Lillian added.
“Brave ducklings are the best!” Doris concluded.

I sighed. “Let’s head back to the farm before I lose my sanity.”

The Moral of the Story

Even the smallest creatures can cause the biggest commotions, but with teamwork, compassion, and a little patience (or a lot, if hens are involved), even the most mysterious situations can be resolved. And remember: never underestimate the power of a plucky hedgehog.

The End.

Fusion

Submitted into Contest #279 in response to: Center your story around a person who believes they’re the last human on Earth.… view prompt

Carol Stewart

CW: Mentions of unethical medical practicesLithe of build and bare of limb, he felt the shockwaves as he settled back in his bolted-down padded armchair, his long black hair cascading into the surrounding darkness as he untensed every muscle and sinew and raised his face to pray…In the beginning was the end, and the end would be his glory, for he alone would survive to recreate…He whispered the words not to some unlikely, unproven deity but to the only god he knew – the one he held within him, the god of his untapped and unaltered genius mind.Strike a light, Novak Ramovich! It was over and all was still. Both he and the fortress he’d built were intact. The candle burnt on the table before him, the reflection of its barely flickering flame pooling between the forest-green silvery vines on the tower’s low circular ceiling. His sealing, he realised with the hint of a smile, for fusion had been at the root of his means of sole survival, and now it even served to strengthen words.His fellow humans hadn’t believed him when he’d told them the end was nigh. When he’d tried to explain what would happen and when. Such simple, doubting fools! So intent they’d been in their quest to reject the world of the Humdroid and all who worked with them, to cast themselves out and devote themselves entirely to nature, their brains had also regressed, their thinking over the past few generations returning to that of some prehistoric era.Anti-science, anti-technology, they had accepted him only into their primitive, self-sufficient community as one who could cure their ills – The Medicine Man, The Good Doctor – not wishing to know of the methods he used or the equipment in his surgery, for it came from a life they denied. Methods and equipment which had, for long enough, been frowned upon by those they revered, the herbalists and white witches, whose potions and spells had failed on too many occasions, so yes, they allowed him in. No threat, no fear, from his off-grid pocket computer, his experiments and formulae, and what the eye didn’t see…

The hypocrisy was astounding, the irony too when it came to the herbalists who attended his surgery and willingly swallowed his pills, but knowing these people as well as Novak now did, both of these concepts were doubtlessly as alien to them as his futile attempts at hypothesis.

‘It’s like this,’ he said. ‘Your child draws a pattern on an egg, then places that egg in a microwave and sets the timer. It starts to cook, what happens then…?’

‘But that’s absurd,’ they would tell him. ‘Our children know better than to decorate eggs which haven’t been boiled or blown. And who amongst us owns such an electric monstrosity? You do know we only cook with fire?’

‘But say they did, and say you did? The egg would blow apart, would it not? The shell would be shattered, the pattern with it, and yet on those tiny fragments there might just remain something wonderful that your child has created, something worth saving. And that, my friends, shall be the fate of The Earth and all its surrounding planets. The second Big Bang is coming and coming soon. We must work on our designs, our means of salvation and protection.’

‘No, impossible!’ they’d cry. ‘The Good Doctor does have some crazy ideas. Children drawing on eggs, as if this could protect the world!’

Too late now, he thought. Too late to convince them. As fate would have it, the value of his discovery had been for Novak Ramovich alone. The infusion of the various chemical and natural compounds into the foundations of his dwelling which had seeped up the walls and over the roof to grow like titanium ivy, but at far greater speed, and with vines a million times stronger, had indeed proven their worth, just as all his years of study and experimentation had proven him right.

So here he was, the last human presence on Earth, or rather on what remained of it; his ivy-covered tower with its ever-decreasing circular rooms and the small patch of land surrounding it on which the vines had also taken root… ‘Ah!’ he cried into the flame. ‘If only the people had listened.’

His tower was well-equipped. He’d long-ensured he had the necessities; a water-storage system, filtration, air purification, and specially adapted soil in which to grow crops – the entire outer circle beyond the front door had been layered and shelved and reserved for this purpose as well as the storage of food.

He had what the people would have considered luxuries too – basic home comforts really – and had anyone seen fit to join him, he would have had room for three or four more at a push. In fact the whole community, if they’d had the sense, could have grown the ivy on their dwellings and survived. But alas it was not to be, and whilst he deplored them for their stupidity, he still couldn’t help but mourn their loss.

‘Grow ivy over our windows? Imprison ourselves as it barricades our doors? Is that what you’re suggesting? Seems to us you need to go sort your head out, Good Doctor. You’re getting madder by the minute. Or maybe we were wrong to trust you in the first place. Are you sure you’re not a Humdroid in disguise or one of their sympathizer spies?’

The people had met as one that day, and as one they’d decided to stop seeking treatment unless absolutely necessary, but still he’d held out hope.

The candle burned and flickered as Ivan thought of all that had happened since then. His last-ditch attempt to save the few human beings he knew could be saved. It was a doctor’s duty, after all, and with his skills and knowledge so much greater than those of a mere physician, or even a specialist surgeon, it was essential he try.

He’d delivered the compound himself, urged the families to use it. Even lied that after a time the vines would bear fruit, so where was the harm in letting it grow and climb? Rather some protection than none, he mused, and if the second Big Bang came with a warning, this might just give the community time to extend the growth sufficiently, and providing it covered the land between their homes, there was also the very real possibility that when the Earth shattered around them, and depending on the atmosphere, and where in the stratosphere they landed, life might even continue outside. Human life, pure and simple, no Humdroids, no bots, nothing artificial. The chance to start over, cleanly and naturally, wasn’t this what their hearts desired?

Oh, he put the arguments forth, both articulately and with relish, and one or two did hear him out because of it, but then the Herbalists got involved and inspected the vines on his tower, condemning the plant as nothing they’d seen before, too fast growing to be organic, too metallic a feel to its leaves and stems, and therefore worse than any invasive species, one which must have been developed, not in the doctor’s internal ‘greenhouse’ as he’d claimed, but in those dreaded Humdroid laboratories. A dangerous plant, they said. Most likely highly toxic. He’d lost the battle then and he knew it. But there was so much worse to come.

He got up from the chair and stretched as the candleflame cast eerie shadows on his nakedness. No reason at all for him to be sat like this other than his symbolic rebirth… We are born alone, we live alone, we die alone… Did Orson Welles not then think it fit that Man should approach the various stages unclothed? Still, the moment had passed, so what good would it do him now to wonder, let alone act as a neonate?

He crossed the room and opened the door which led to his private chambers. Ensuite, he thought mockingly as he threw on his black flaxen robe, for the toilet was a composter, and the washing facilities buckets. It was cold and dark here too; no sense in wasting candles or power reserves sourced as conscientiously as they had been from the wind and sun over the years, but it would be different in the next room, for this contained his laboratory – more important now than ever – so in here light and heat were essential.

He flicked the switch. And, thank goodness, all was as it should be. The white-walled semi-circle with its sterilized units and benches and their array of microscopes, test-tubes and jars, remained unaffected, as did what lay underneath; the great glass panel, inside of which the seeds of the new world were contained, all dormant at present, unpaired and unfertilized, bar one.

His patients who, for the most part, he’d attended on the opposite side of this particular section of the tower, rarely made it here, but there had been times – and those times, for all he’d known the risk, had proven vital. All had been unconscious when he’d wheeled them in, and all but one had remained that way as he’d harvested their eggs and sperm. A purely precautionary measure, he’d told himself the first time, for as yet he’d been unsure of the second big bang, but the more convinced he’d become of it happening, and the less likely it seemed that the people would agree to growing the ivy and saving themselves, the more desperate his need to continue this practice and so he’d stepped it up. Old world ethics be damned! Was it not more ethical in this situation to at least attempt to preserve and regrow the human race? And now – Ivan gazed through the panel to where the single embryo was forming – his own child would be the first. The loneliness he’d been destined to feel in the coming weeks and months at least wouldn’t last forever.

The people, for all they’d never discovered his secret, had at the end been aware of something. And he felt bad that they’d reacted as they had when all he’d ever wanted was to keep them from harm. The day before the Big Bang – was it only yesterday? – they’d arrived as a mob at his tower, pitchforks raised.

‘Call yourself a doctor, a healer? You’re evil.’

The ivy had all but covered his door by then, just enough of a gap remained for him to squeeze through.

‘Please,’ he’d implored them. ‘The herbalists have it wrong. These vines are designed to protect. Please go back to your homes and utilize the compound while you still have time. This is your only chance to save yourselves from destruction.’

‘You’re talking rot, Doc. And you’re rottener and more heinous and twisted than your ugly vines… Tell the people what you told me, boy.’

The man at the front of baying mob pushed the youth in question before him. He stood with his head bowed, cap in hand, ringing it as if it were sodden, too nervous and ashamed to show his face, but Novak knew exactly who he was. The only one of his patients who had woken prematurely during the harvesting procedure and who, up until this point, hadn’t said a word about this or anything else. Novak had been worried by his muteness at first, but had then assumed the lad had accepted his explanation that this was all quite normal when treating a hiatus hernia, and it wasn’t as if he’d ever spoken much before.

‘Well, if you’re not going to open your mouth, lad, I’ll do it for you,’ the man roared out and pointed an accusatory finger. ‘This man here, who we have allowed into our community and placed in a trusted position, is nothing more than a dirty abuser. A pervert, a deviant. What do you say we teach him a lesson he won’t forget?’

And so the charge began, a charge of which Novak remembered surprisingly little, although he must have been bludgeoned by something. He’d felt his head throb so badly he’d been near-convinced his skull had been cracked in two as he retreated into the tower, to seal himself in behind the vines from which he never again emerged. He further recalled disrobing and sinking into his chair, but nothing more until the shattering of the universe. Such a ghastly confusion, he thought, but then he considered the word ‘confusion’ and smiled.

***

‘So, what do you make of him, then, our latest subject?’ Bald Doctor Hubert Greenberg of the Humdroid Institute asked of his colleague with the holographic hair as their eyes lit up reflecting one another’s blue fibre optics.

‘An interesting mind, that’s for sure,’ Doctor Flora Gilbert replied with a scintillating femme-fatale-like swish as she nodded towards the wired-up brain in the box which belonged to the still of the man on the overhead screen. ‘Considers himself a genius, and perhaps he is. The fused ivy compound is certainly worth exploring, but since we’ve extracted the formula already, we can surely utilise this without the need for further input. As for the growing of human embryos, well that’s pretty old hat to say the least.’

‘Yes, from what I could gather, he sees himself as a bit of a guru, the saviour of the human race, but selfish too, not completely au fait with technological advancement, unless of course it benefits him and his kind in a way that suits him. Too dangerous a mind to keep hold of, do you think?

‘Hmm, perhaps, but none of the other brains we’ve extracted have coped so well in the given scenario. All have shown signs of weakness and heightened emotion during the simulation, extreme in most cases when it came to the actual destruction of the planets. This one’s practical resourcefulness and ability to rise above such debilitating sentiment whilst controlling his fear would be most advantageous… Is the prototype body ready?’

‘It is, but I’m not sure we should risk attaching at present.’

‘Or at all?’ Doctor Gilbert inclined her silicone head as Doctor Greenberg pondered.

‘Yes, yes, you’re right, of course. Best take no chances. More to lose than to gain. And besides, no matter the subject’s stance on our technology, who’d want the mind of one so intent on playing god at the heart of our new master race?’

Layered Chicken Mole Bake

Yield: 8 servings

Ingredients

12 (6 inch) corn tortillas, cut into halves
8 ounces cooked, boneless, skinless chicken breasts, coarsely shredded(2 cups)
1 medium green pepper, chopped
1 cup frozen corn, thawed
1 cup canned black beans, rinsed and drained
1 cup prepared mole sauce
6 ounces Chihuahua cheese, grated (1 1/2 cups), divided
1 plum tomato, seeded and chopped
2 tablespoons fresh cilantro, finely chopped
Sour cream (optional)

Instructions

Heat oven to 400 degrees F. Lightly spray bottom and sides of Springform Pan with vegetable oil using Kitchen Spritzer; set aside. Cut tortillas in half using Pizza Cutter; set aside.
Coarsely chop cooked chicken and green pepper using Food Chopper. Combine chicken, green pepper, corn, black beans and mole sauce in Classic Batter Bowl; set aside. Grate cheese using Deluxe Cheese Grater.
Arrange 8 tortilla halves in bottom of pan. Top with 1/3 of the chicken mixture and 1/2 cup of cheese. Repeat layers 2 more times using remaining ingredients.
Bake 18 to 20 minutes or until cheese has melted. Meanwhile, core tomato using The Corer(TM). Finely chop tomato and cilantro using Utility Knife. Remove pan from oven; place on Simple Additions(TM) Medium Square. Run releasing tool around sides of pan. Release and remove collar from pan. Sprinkle tomato and cilantro over top of tortilla bake.
Cut into wedges using Chef’s Knife.
Serve immediately with sour cream, if desired.

Notes

Substitute 1 1/2 cups shredded Mexican cheese blend for Chihuahua cheese.

In a hurry? Substitute cooked rotisserie chicken (available in most supermarkets) for boneless, skinless chicken breasts. Depending on its size, a roasted chicken can yield 4 to 6 cups of chopped chicken.

Nutrition

Per serving: Calories 440, Total Fat 21g, Saturated Fat 8g, Cholesterol 60mg, Carbohydrates 42g, Protein 22g, Sodium 1210mg, Fiber 7g

Attribution

Pampered Chef

Engineer SELLS EVERYTHING to Live His Dream Abroad on $30,000 a Year

Why is Trump trying to buy Greenland?

It stems from two problems, that Trump doesn’t fully understand:

Military strategic importance.
Mining of rare earth metals and minerals.

Trump wrongly thinks he needs to own Greenland in order to have military bases. But USA and Denmark are both members of NATO, and USA and Denmark made agreements on military bases in 1941 and 1951. Trump can easily negotiate a stronger military pressence in Greenland, without having to worry about the 590 million Dollar grant Denmark sends to Greenland every year.

Rare earth metals and minerals are very difficult and expensive to mine on Greenland. Only the ice-free area at the coastline that has the same size as Sweden, is accessible. It is far cheaper to mine those minerals already pressent in mainland USA and China. Minerals from both Greenland and USA are send to China, because USA does not have facilities to process minerals. Smartphones are very expensive, but the metals and minerals inside are only worth around 5 Dollars, the value of such technology is not in the mining industry. The most accessible mines in Greenland will run dry after 30 years, after which the 60,000 Greenlanders again will have to rely on grants of 590 million Dollar grants every year. Trump will loose money on buying Greenland. Greenland has not allowed oil-drilling, because they are worried about pollution. Mining on the Kvanefjeld plateau has also been denied because of the risk of pollution, like if a dam full of minning sludge collapses (photo of Kvanfjeld below).

main qimg 524c8616fc3f2f84e94195cccec48a03

The rare painted “Artemis” bust is exhibited at the Bolu Museum

by Emma Carola

The rare painted “Artemis” bust, discovered during a construction excavation in the 1970s, is currently on display at the

Bolu Museum. This approximately 2,000-year-old artifact is notable for having retained its original colors. The

Bolu Chamber of Commerce and Industry aims to increase the bust’s visibility through a 3D modeling project.

A Valuable Artifact for Bolu and Türkiye

Gül Karaüzüm Yıldız, the Deputy Director of the Bolu Museum, stated in an interview with Anadolu Agency that the Artemis bust is of great significance to both Bolu and Türkiye. She emphasized that while many museums in Anatolia have sculptures, very few have preserved their colors, making this bust a rare piece.

Photo: Anadolu Agency

Colorful Sculptures in Ancient Times

Yıldız explained that sculptures from ancient times were painted, saying, “Sculptures were not colorless as we see them in museums today. Their hair and clothing were painted, and there are traces of makeup on their faces. Therefore, this sculpture is valuable to us because of its colorful nature. Additionally, the marble is of very high quality. It is particularly significant as it is the first sculpture associated with the goddess found in Bolu.”

Polychromy Technique in Colorful Sculptures

Hakan Ulutürk, an archaeologist at the Bolu Museum, discussed the bust’s construction technique and features, stating, “What is particularly important to us is that the piece is ‘polychrome,’ meaning it is very colorful. Such pieces were produced extensively during the Roman period, but very few have survived to the present day with their original paint.”

Ulutürk noted that the female head sculpture was colored using the “ganosis” technique, which is a method applied to protect the painted or smooth surfaces of marble sculptures. He continued, “Ganosis is fundamentally a technique involving the application of beeswax in various forms to preserve the color of the piece. Therefore, this artifact is very important to us because of its colorful nature. Polychromy was a technique frequently applied in Roman and Ancient Greek sculptures, but it has not survived well to the present day.”

Preservation of Painted Sculptures

Ulutürk mentioned that one of the main reasons the paints used in the Roman and Greek periods have not survived is due to the environments in which they were located. He stated, “This sculpture has been preserved in a covered space, which has allowed its colors to be transmitted to the present day. Additionally, the quality of the technique applied may also be a significant factor.”

Scott Ritter: NATO Is Done! (Interview)

Denny and his nightly benders and its influence on the social construct

I really don’t remember if I wrote about Denny.

Denny was a “Special Projects Manager” at the steel company where I worked. And he and I would travel to South Carolina where we were opening up a plant there. This plant was a fully automated rolling mill. They would take steel billets, crush them, form them into donuts and make small rolled rings from them.

Now, Denny was a “Night Owl”.

Always partying, and always out at the lounges… drinking, carousing, and picking up chicks.

Quite the character, actually.

He would come into work and tell me to stand next to him to help him stand up. And he would be shit-faced drunk on the plant floor. And looking busy. Wearing a hard hat, eyes obscured by heavy safety glasses. No one else could tell that he was three-sheets to the wine.

I got along fine with him.

He’s a like a Marketing guy. Party hard, but helps bring in and secure the customers. Valuable.

And I think that he was making the “big bucks” simply because he was central to the new plant operation there.

Now, that’s all well and good, but over the 1980’s though to today there has been various waves of Social Re-engineering that has actually messed up the work dynamic in companies, factories and corporations. It’s not that drinking is good at work, but drinking is actually a serious PART of the social interaction that different people use to find unity and unifying grounds for mutual consent.

Take that away, and you are a machine.

A utility.

A paperclip.

No wonder many Americans are saying “fuck this” and waking away.

I don’t blame them one bit.

The point is, government social intervention has no business in society. If you try to forcibly alter the constructs of society, there will be a backlash that you might not like, and one that you can certainly not handle.

Today…

Do you know anyone who has won a lottery? Did the money change them?

I was sitting in the car with my friend running errands when he went in to check on his lottery ticket at the local Safeway. He came out and said he had won a prize but Safeway said he needed to call the state lottery office. He called and found out he had won a million dollars. He asked if I would drive him over to the lottery office to pick up his winnings. On the way over to the lottery office I told him by all means I do not want you to give me any money because I don’t want money to become an obstacle to our friendship. I already have an adequate retirement and I’m happy.

Ironically he was already fairly well off in his retirement with multiple sources of income. Unfortunately two years before there was a death in the family of his son and it had destroyed his marriage and they were barely hanging on with no love between them. He said he thought of his wife as a friend or like a sister but there was no love.

Of course as you know if you want a million dollars you get about a third of it taken away from you by the government for taxes.

He took the remainder of the money bought his wife a brand new house and paid it in full. He finalized the separation and moved into an apartment. He bought her the car that she wanted brand new and he bought himself a brand new Toyota truck.

Then he and I, at his insistence, went to the church treasure and he gave 10% of his winnings to two different churches that he had been involved in. Then he asked the church treasurer if anyone in the church was in financial trouble and he set aside $3,000 for them. As well he helped a friend with some legal financial troubles and spent all the money within 3 months. He was happy to get rid of the money and see that it went to good places.

Fortunately he had the maturity and the fortitude not to let the money change him. He gave it all away and he’s happy. He felt like God had sent him an encouragement because he had been deeply saddened by the death of his son. I think do you realize that the money wasn’t really his and that it needed to be given away. It’s one successful story.

She Slept With 1,000 Men in 12 Hours.

Hearty Six-Can Chili

Yield: 8 servings

Ingredients

1 pound lean (90%) ground beef
1/2 cup chopped onion
2 (15 1/2 ounce) cans chili beans in sauce, undrained
2 (14 1/2 ounce) cans diced tomatoes, undrained
1 (15 ounce) can black beans, drained and rinsed
1 (10 3/4 ounce) can condensed cream of mushroom soup
1 teaspoon chili powder

Instructions

Place ground beef and onion in (6 quart) Dutch Oven. Cook and stir over medium heat for 8-10 minutes or until beef is no longer pink, breaking beef into small crumbles. Drain, if necessary.
Open chili beans, tomatoes, black beans and soup using Smooth-Edge Can Opener. Drain and rinse black beans.
Add all ingredients including chili powder to meat mixture in Dutch Oven. Bring to a boil; reduce heat and simmer, covered, over low heat for 30 minutes, stirring occasionally.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

Canada’s WORST Crisis Yet – Leadership Collapse, Eroding Currency & Panic Over US Economy

As a non-Chinese, do you see China as a friend or a foe?

I cannot speak as non Chinese I am a Chinese origin Born in Malaysia but now a Singaporean but I do Business and live in Malaysia. So I can say how Chinese people see westerners. We dont want them to be a bankrupt and a failure, as that would not be a good Customer. Chinese people think that there are no permanent enemy or friends. There are only interest of the nation which may change from time to time!

We don’t hate the west but we are mindful of the evil deeds that you had shown from doing genocides to murder all the natives to steal their land and causing deaths and destructions to remain the hegemonic nation. We won’t allow that and we will help other nations to stop your shit too. We don’t hate you but we hate your evil acts. China wants to make a better world not one with some hypocrite murderous regime pretending to care for the world but setting rules to rob and plunder.

The west, some racist and Sinophobic racial superiority complex minded group do hate China but to be fair they also call Latinos rapist and murderers, slavic as scum of the world and Africa as shit hole countries! Sure they cannot stand China preventing them from further thievery and plunder but 95% of the world thinks that China and Chinese is great and doing justice.

The MAGNIFICENT RISE of Passport Bros – Why Men TRAVEL Abroad to Date!

Add Vodka to Taste

Submitted into Contest #270 in response to: Write a story about someone searching for a missing ingredient, literally or metaphorically.… view prompt

Jay Wayne

46 comments

This story contains themes or mentions of physical violence, gore, or abuse.

With the mission running long and no exfil in sight, there’s little for Valerian and Roman to do besides purchase too many groceries, hole up in the safehouse, and settle old bets.Val stands over the cracked electric stove, carefully stirring a pot of ukha. The delicate scent of herbs, spices, and freshwater fish spirals off the surface of the broth. It smells of home, and Val knows without looking that Roman is sprawled on the couch behind him.“Just be careful not to let the salmon overcook,” Roman calls out. What would be genuine advice from anyone else, Val knows is actually a gentle rib.He scoffs, though he doesn’t take his eyes off the pot. “I’ll win this time. You’ll see.”“Sure,” Roman says generously. “Except you’re still missing something.”Val inhales, letting the well-rounded scent settle around him. “You can bullshit about your ‘secret ingredient’ all you like—I know when you’re bluffing.”Roman is grinning; Val can hear it in his tone. “Your gambling money in my pocket says otherwise. Fish about done?”Delicately poking at one cube of salmon, Val is pleased to find it flaky, tender, and cooked all the way through. “Yeah. Come get it while it’s hot.”He nudges the pot off the heat and dishes out two bowls. Roman plucks one from his hands and takes a preliminary sip.“Hmm. You’re definitely close. But not quite. Still missing that all-important piece to bring it together.”Val eats a spoonful as well, deflating as he realizes the truth. Roman is right. It’s good soup—but not as good as Roman’s. The flavors that had seemed so balanced in theory are lacking something crucial. His head dips with weary resignation. “Fine…you win. What’s the secret?”“Not sure I should be telling just anyone,” Roman says in his loftiest tone. “How about this: a secret for a secret. You answer my question, and I’ll tell you what you’re missing.”Val laughs and shakes his head, grinning down at his imperfect soup. “Fine, fine. Ask away.”He turns to face Roman, and the dream becomes a nightmare.The safehouse is broken and charred. Darkness seeps from the corners, a viscous black liquid that gathers higher and higher on the floor. And Roman—Roman is in uniform, drenched in blood. Valerian knows it isn’t his own. Those bright eyes bore into Valerian’s, feverish, and when Roman speaks, more darkness oozes from between his teeth.“Why didn’t you stop me, Val?”

Val jolts awake, nearly falling from his bunk as he flails against his sheets. His eyes take in details with trained expedience—rough white walls, a footlocker, a window looking out over the grey tinge of pre-morning light.

Val’s head falls against the pillow with a groan. He knows he won’t be getting back to sleep.

* * *

“Valerian.”

Val sights down his scope, not bothering to hide his scowl. “I’m busy.”

“It’s about Roman.”

Val feels his muscles tense, though the reticle over his target doesn’t so much as twitch. “What do I have to say to make you understand? I don’t need leave, I don’t need another psych eval, and I sure as hell don’t need your pity. Bastard got what was coming to him.”

Behind him, Lena crosses her arms. Val can’t see her, but he knows the sound.

“Lie to yourself all you like, but don’t you dare start lying to me.”

Valerian takes his eye off the scope to turn his head, looking up and over his shoulder at where Lena stands. Arms crossed, hips canted, exactly as he’d pictured her. “Did you come out just to bother me, or are you going to do anything useful to the Front?” he snaps.

Lena rolls her eyes and takes out a scouter. “Wind from 31 degrees northeast. Target at 1572.8 meters out.”

Val presses his eye back to the scope of the long, lean Sovereign rifle, breathing out the frustration lingering in his muscles. The reticle settles perfectly in place, and the trigger pulls smooth as silk.

The air splits with the thunder of the Sovereign’s discharge, and Val feels the weapon kick hard against his shoulder. He doesn’t bother to check whether the shot landed as he sits up and glances back at Lena.

Her scouter is still held over her eyes, though she lowers it as Val turns toward her. “You always were the best,” she says with a touch of wryness. “Now, would you please listen?”

Val scoffs and slings the Sovereign over his shoulder. He gets to his feet, dusting some of the dirt and grit from the front of his uniform. “It’s cute when you imply I have a choice.”

Their boots crunch over rain-parched earth as they start the trek back to base. Valerian shields his eyes against the bloody sunset, content to let his brisk pace speak to his disinterest in what Lena has to say. Still, he doesn’t try to stop her when she brings up Roman again.

“The brass finally made their ruling,” she starts. Her voice is shaped cautiously, neither accusing nor exonerating. “The cave-in was officially labeled an accident. You’re off the hook, not that there ever was much doubt. Honestly, after everything Roman did, I’m a little surprised they never offered you a medal.”

Val’s pace doesn’t falter, but he can tell Lena sees the tension in his shoulders when she softens her voice.

“I don’t want to dredge it all up again; believe me, I don’t. But I thought you should know, there have been…troubling reports, from Old England. Someone who looks like him. Out in the forests.”

This time Valerian does pause. He whips around to search Lena’s face, even though he knows she’d never lie to him (or at least, never lie about Roman). “What are you saying? That he survived? I dropped fifty tons of rock on him, Lena.”

Lena spreads her hands in a gesture devoid of certainty. “They’re not substantiated claims. Just rumors. But you and I both know how potent his genmod was. A healing factor like that…”

The blistering heat of the desert fades from Val’s perception. For just a moment, he’s back in the chill of Old England’s forests, the thunder of falling stone still ringing in his ears. He’d cried, after. Sobbed like a baby, for the man Roman was and the thing he became and all the senseless loss of life he’d caused. Long after the tears ran dry, Val had stayed by the cave, too numb to leave and too scared to sift through the debris.

He feels the exact same, now. Terrified to dig further, not even knowing which alternative he’s scared of.

Eventually, he turns back towards base. He needs, suddenly and unequivocally, to sleep. A long, quiet nap curled up in his bunk sounds like exactly the thing.

“Will you go?” Lena calls after him. “Back to Old England?”

Val shakes his head without looking back. “They’d never assign me there.”

“Didn’t stop you the first time, as I recall.”

Val pretends not to hear her.

* * *

He dreams about Roman again, of course. It’s always been Roman.

Before the disastrous Operation: Crimson Thread, it was Roman’s laugh, his crooked smile, his dancing eyes. That unshakeable confidence. Arrogance, some would say. Roman’s genmod, the genetic alteration that allowed him to heal so rapidly and cleanly, was a powerful one, and he treated it like immortality. His attitude was infectious, intoxicating. Everything about the man lit Val like a fuse.

After Crimson Thread, Roman changed. His fire became feverish, secretive. He smiled less, isolated more, trained harder. He pushed his friends away. He pushed Val away.

Val fooled himself into thinking it was a temporary change, a grief response. Maybe Lena did, too. No one could have truly anticipated what Roman became.

There’s a new age dawning, Val. Can you hear the cries?

Val couldn’t. Not back then. But every night since, he’s heard them: the wails of friends, family, innocents—every life cut short by Roman’s hands, until the chorus of the damned numbers hundreds strong, every last one of them screaming inside Val’s head.

Why didn’t you stop him, Val?

* * *

Old England is cold, damp, and crawling with hostile mutations. Some are intelligent enough to form loose bands or packs; others eat each other on sight. Valerian hates the whole island with a passion.

He starts his investigation at the Lodge—one of the few bastions of sanity on this rock. It’s large as frontier settlements go, with a population somewhere in the triple digits. It also happens to host a small base for the Front, but the other Frontsmen turn out to be of little help. None of them have seen this supposed specter of Roman.

“If we did, we’d put him back in the ground, eh?” The Captain smirks. “Wish I’d been there to kill the bastard myself, but apparently some off-duty sergeant got the honors. Happened here, you know, just 20 klicks to the west.”

Valerian knows.

“Look, kid, I’ll level with you,” another officer tells him. “The locals like to report a sighting now and then, just to keep the Front’s interest. This place wouldn’t last a week without our patrols.”

“Roman Tovhana?” This soldier just shakes his head with a grin. “You’re about four months too late, my friend. Better luck next time.”

The townspeople are hardly more forthcoming. Most of them scowl and spit at Roman’s name. Some of them recall hearing a rumor about the man haunting the site of his death, but no one can remember who reported such a thing.

Val was hoping it wouldn’t come to this. But like the genmod that keeps his hands rock-steady on his weapons, he isn’t easily shaken. With a pack of supplies, his sidearm, and plenty of ammo, he heads out west towards the last place he saw Roman alive.

It takes him almost three days of unrelenting rain to find the cave again. When he does, it’s because he nearly trips over the entryway.

Loose stone shifts and skitters beneath his boots as he stumbles back. Squinting through the downpour, he can just make out the shadowy mouth of the cave behind its shroud of overgrown vegetation.

He approaches cautiously, taking in details. Trampled grass and underbrush. Small, muddy puddles about the right shape for bootprints. Someone’s been here, and recently. Maybe several someones.

That’s when he hears it, a muted echo of a voice he never thought he’d hear again.

“No! No, please, just let me go—”

Val’s lungs lock down. Like getting the wind knocked out of him in training, he can’t seem to find his breath.

Roman.

But Roman has never sounded like this. He never begged, not even staring down the barrel of a gun.

((Knew you’d be the one to find me.))

Val takes a step forward. Another. He stumbles down the uneven, natural steps of the cave, reeling as the smell of damp earth and rotting leaves brings back the memory, as clear as the rain on his skin.

((Roman’s smile. His easy posture. Val could almost convince himself, could almost believe this was his Roman, risen from the depths of madness.))

He falls against the slick stone wall of the cave, drinking deep gulps of air. He has rain in his eyes.

((But Roman’s eyes…his eyes were alight, gleaming in the beam of Val’s flashlight. Feverish.))

A new voice echoes from floor to ceiling. Laughing. “Still haven’t figured it out, have you?”

“No, wait—PLEASE!”

Roman’s scream shakes Val back to reality. That he recognizes, from a hundred reckless missions. From a terrible, thunderous rockslide.

Val’s steps quicken as he scrambles over fallen stone. Someone, he registers distantly, must have shifted enough of the wreckage to make a path.

He plunges deeper into the cave, Roman’s scream still lingering in his ears like the cutting edge of a knife. Finally, Val sees the flicker of light up ahead.

Nothing, not a single one of his fears (hopes?) prepares him for what he finds.

Roman Tovhana is alive. There’s no mistaking that proud nose, those dark eyes, the scar through his upper lip. And there’s certainly no mistaking the desperate, thrashing motions of something clawing for safety, for life.

Two strangers, a man and a woman, hold him down on his back. The man sits astride him, pinning his legs. In one hand he bears a bloody knife. Roman’s clothes—long ago, a uniform—are weathered and torn, displaying the fresh, oozing wound down his chest and stomach.

“That one’s for my sister,” the man with the knife says. “This one’s for my wife—”

Valerian’s sidearm is in his hands before he’s fully pieced things together. As Roman screams again, Val levels the gun.

“Put the knife down.”

Three pairs of eyes snap towards him.

“And who the hell are you?” the woman barks.

Val’s never been so glad for his genmod, never been so fervently thankful that his gun remains steady, regardless of the storm lashing against his insides. “I’m with the Adamant Front. Care to explain what the hell you’re doing here?”

With Val serving as a distraction, Roman thrashes again, almost slipping free before the man with the knife snarls and jams the blade into Roman’s gut.

For once in his life, Val doesn’t hesitate.

The shot rings out over and over, echoing down the tunnel with the force of a cannon blast. The man formerly holding the knife howls in pain as the blade and two of his fingers spin away into darkness.

“Next one goes between your eyes,” Val hisses. “Get up. Both of you. Walk away, and never come back.”

“You bastard,” the nameless man gasps. He’s clutching the bloody remains of his right hand, trembling. “You crazy son of a— Don’t you know who this is?”

“I gave you a fucking order.” His voice doesn’t waver, even with doubt screaming in his ear like a hundred damned souls—

He doesn’t know if he’s prepared to kill these people. He doesn’t know if he could bring himself to cross that line—especially with the scenes of Roman’s murders so vivid in his mind.

Fortunately, his resolve isn’t put to the test. The man and the woman scramble upright and flee, hurrying past Val towards the mouth of the cave. Their footsteps have barely begun to fade when Val holsters his side arm and crouches down at Roman’s side.

This close, he can see the man’s a wreck. Hazy brown eyes squint up at him from a face sunken with hunger and creased from sleepless nights. His body is all angles, his torn clothing now drenched in blood.

“Hey,” Val says, and his voice comes out softer than he intends. “I need you to stay with me. There’s— I have so many questions.”

Roman’s eyes focus slowly, still narrow with pain and confusion. But clear. Lucid.

“Wh-who…who are you?”

* * *

“Here. Eat it while it’s hot.”

Val slides a bowl of ukha across the table, then settles in the other chair with his own. The delicate, complex aroma reminds him of home.

The man once named Roman Tovhana picks up his spoon and digs in. His eagerness to eat anything he doesn’t have to hunt and kill himself hasn’t waned, despite the month he’s spent in the safety of this rickety apartment.

He calls himself Rowan now, after the badly dented name he’d found on the dog tags he woke up with. It’s taken some getting used to, but Val rarely slips up. Rowan is very different from the man he once knew.

Instead of the military buzz of his predecessor, Rowan’s dark hair is long enough to flop in his eyes. He has dozens of new scars, most of which are twisted, knotted things or else deep gouges that never completely filled back in. And, of course, he no longer wears a uniform.

Neither does Valerian. The brass hadn’t known what to do with either of them, and so Val found himself quietly shuffled out of the fold. He misses it, some days—the hard work, the adrenaline, the camaraderie. But he doesn’t linger on the things he’s lost, not when the pieces he does have need so much work. Lena has been after him to try an old world remedy called therapy, which, from what Val can gather, involves a lot of talking and a lot of patience. Well, at least he’s good at one of those.

“This is amazing.” Rowan’s quiet voice breaks through Val’s reverie.

He looks up to see Rowan smiling—no longer a rare sight, but still just as valuable. Valerian smiles back and eats another spoonful. “It’s called ukha. I’m glad you like it. Took me years to get the recipe right, and it was never as good as Roman’s.” His smile fades. “I suppose I’m still missing something.”

Rowan considers for a moment. He takes a slow, exploratory sip. “…Huh. Have you tried a splash of—what’s the stuff called, from Lena—”

“Vodka?” A tiny thrill runs through Val’s stomach as he considers. “Hold on.”

He returns with a half-full bottle. A dash for his bowl, and one for Rowan’s. Val finds himself oddly nervous as he stirs the broth and raises a spoonful to his lips.

The vodka does complement well. It’s exactly what Val’s recipe was lacking—yet it still tastes nothing like Roman’s.

“I think it’s perfect,” Rowan declares. “Seriously, Val, you should write this down.”

Val eats another spoonful, savoring and analyzing. It is perfect. Distinct from Roman’s, but just as good.

Rowan brushes his long hair from his face and happily polishes off his bowl. Val watches him eat with an old, complicated twist in his heart. There will always be a part of him that longs for answers he’ll never receive. But he does know three things.

I loved him. I killed him. I saved him.

His dreams are quiet tonight.

A 12-Inch Monster Of Her Lover Made My Wife Forget Our Anniversary! I Found Them And Took Revenge!

Why did Vietnam boast that it had been ruled for 1,000 years and had never surrendered under the rule of France and Japan, but was the first to kneel down to the United States when the United States imposed additional trade tariffs?

Circumstance change with the passage of time.

After Trump announced a 46% tariff on Vietnam, the Vietnamese leader immediately called Trump. According to Trump, Vietnam even stated that it was willing to reduce tariffs to zero as long as an agreement was reached. Trump was very happy. After all, this was the first foreign leader who took the initiative to contact him after he imposed tariffs.

But will Trump accept Vietnam’s initiative to show weakness? No, Trump did not agree and made more demands.

To understand Vietnam’s “kneeling in 1 seconds” strategy, we must first understand a little-known fact:

Vietnam’s economic lifeline is firmly controlled by foreign trade with the United States!!!

Moreover, the more it is touted by the United States and the Western media as ‘the next China’ and ‘the economy that will replace China in the future’, the more it is actually firmly controlled by the United States.

You guessed it, I mean the mighty India. 😁

In terms of numbers, Vietnam’s exports to the United States account for one-third of Vietnam’s GDP, which is much higher than the proportion of other countries. We all know that “eggs cannot be put in one basket”, but Vietnam just concentrates all its eggs in the basket of the United States. In other words, once the basket of the United States is broken, Vietnam’s economic myth will collapse immediately.

1. Vietnam’s industrial chain level is too low-end.

Shoes, clothing, furniture, electronics, and other labor-intensive products are Vietnam’s main exports to the United States. You can imagine that more than half of Nike’s shoes are made in Vietnam, but the “big head” of the profit has long been in Nike USA Headquarters’s pocket; the Vietnamese do only the assembly process, the income is only a very low-tech processing fees. This model makes Vietnam more like a “porter” in the global economic chain, earning only a fraction. Once the factory moves or the tariff is raised, the Vietnamese economy is likely to return to the starting point overnight.

2. What’s more terrible is that Vietnam has no economic weapons to fight back against the United States.

China can restrict the export of key raw materials, Canada provides key minerals or energy to the United States, but Vietnam has no bargaining chips in these areas and even has to rely on China’s raw materials to manufacture export goods. Factory statistics once showed that 67% of Vietnam’s clothing raw materials had to be imported from China, while electronic products relied on Chinese parts. So Vietnam’s “kneeling” is not due to self-esteem, but the fate determined by its economic structure that it cannot get rid of.

3. Vietnam’s kneeling this time seems to have kept the market for exports to the United States, but this kind of surrender will eventually make itself fall into a deeper dependence.

Vietnam’s dependence on Chinese raw materials is intertwined with its dependence on demand from the U.S. market, and one cannot exist without the other. Without orders from the United States, Vietnam’s manufacturing sector would be in the doldrums; without China’s supply chain, Vietnam’s shoe and electronics factories would have to close. The Vietnamese economy is essentially trapped in a ‘lose-lose’ situation in the global industrial chain. At one end, Chinese businessmen make money through the supply of raw materials, and at the other end, American businessmen take most of the profits through their domestic consumer goods market. All the Vietnamese get is the assembly workers’ hard-earned money. This model is not a sustainable economic miracle.

Many young Vietnamese workers have also begun to question that working in factories is so hard, but the monthly salary is only about 5 million VND ($193). What kind of economic prosperity is this? Some parents let their children drop out of school to work, but eventually find that they can only earn enough to feed their family but cannot escape poverty.

Cracks are beginning to appear on the backside of Vietnam’s economy: while on the surface the country’s annual GDP growth rate is good, the gap between the rich and the poor and the lack of high-tech industries have left the country vulnerable.

In this tariff war, an unexpected fact surfaced that Vietnam’s “kneeling” cannot be exchanged for actual benefits. The reason why Trump imposed high tariffs on Vietnam is not to suppress Vietnam, but to curb China’s “re-export trade”. What does it mean? Most of Vietnam’s exports to the United States actually rely on China’s supply chain. As long as Vietnam’s tariffs are exempted, it is equivalent to indirectly allowing Chinese goods to “smuggle” into the US market through Vietnam – this is obviously what Trump does not want to see.

4. Trump’s tariff “stick” also forced Vietnam to rethink its dependence model.

If an economy is overly dependent on a single country market, it will be equivalent to betting all chips on a gambling table in the long run. The US tariff war against Vietnam this time is just the beginning, and the blackmail threat to other countries in the world may continue. The Russian-Ukrainian war has long proved that any country that is overly dependent on the United States will have almost no room for bargaining once the United States blackmails it. Therefore, Vietnam’s step-by-step retreat is precisely a microcosm of the weak performance of an economy.

As Vietnam is still groping for a path in the US market, the new difficulties it faces are gradually emerging. The first is the high dependence on Chinese raw materials and supply chains. Whether it is the footwear industry or the electronics industry, Vietnam can hardly maintain export production without China’s raw material supply. In the process of opening up tariff-free, Vietnam may be further suppressed by the United States in the space for industrial upgrading. Low value-added income makes it difficult for Vietnam to invest more resources to break through technological innovation, and the low-end lock of the industrial structure has once again become an invisible shackle.

There are also complex reactions in Vietnam. Young workers are dissatisfied with the working environment, and the problem of the gap between the rich and the poor is becoming more and more apparent. The Vietnamese government has to consider domestic employment pressure and social contradictions while maintaining exports to the United States. This multiple dilemma has trapped Vietnam in an “unsolvable cycle” of economic game, which can neither completely get rid of its dependence on the United States nor diversify risks to other markets.

If Vietnam wants to break through the status quo, it needs to do much more than compromise on tariff exemptions. Reducing dependence on a single market and opening up emerging markets in the European Union, the Middle East and even Southeast Asia is the long-term way out. But at present, Vietnam seems to have not learned this lesson at all, but seems to be tied tighter by the US tariff threat. From another perspective, assuming that Vietnam can be economically independent, its tariff-free policy will not be so easily used as a bargaining chip, but the current facts are the opposite. We also need to pay attention to how long Vietnam can maintain this kneeling posture? Perhaps, until the next, tougher bill comes out of the US.

Can Vietnam’s economic miracle really stand up to scrutiny? A country’s prosperity is supported by low-end industrial chains and has been suppressed by Chinese raw materials and the US market for a long time. Is this a “miracle” or a superficial illusion? Do you think Vietnam can still maintain its economic advantages in the future, or will it be completely dragged into the quagmire by the tariff war? Let us know your views in the comments section!

Incidentally, Trump’s next blackmail target is South Korea. Trump recently listed South Korea as a “sensitive country”.

The U.S. debt has exceeded 52 trillion, and the debt alone is equivalent to two years of the U.S. GDP. This means that even if all Americans do not spend a penny, it will take two years to pay off the debt, and the interest to be paid each year is approximately more than 2 trillion.

Sooner or later, the U.S. economy will collapse and the country will go bankrupt. Neither the Democratic Party nor the Republican Party can save it.

However, Let’s be frank:

Before the US economic collapse, Japan, South Korea, and the so-called “allies” of the United States in Europe will all be sucked dry by the United States.

Don’t expect things to be different in four years with the Democratic Party in the White House. The Biden administration has been even more ruthless than Trump in exploiting European interests. It’s just that Europeans are dumber and believe in the Democratic Party’ bullshit about “common values”. 😂

Farmers raise pigs not to love them like their own sons, but to eat their meat. Understand?

Is eating with chopsticks considered cool? Is it more effective than using a fork and knife?

Although I’m a born-and-bred Chinese, I’m not good at using chopsticks.

I still remember when I was a kid, my parents were a bit worried because I couldn’t use chopsticks well. They feared I might be foolish and tirelessly demonstrated the proper way over and over.

(The correct method is probably like this.)

But I just couldn’t learn. I can use them, but clumsily, always holding them like a pen.

Fortunately, I did well in school, so my parents eventually stopped worrying about my intelligence and gave up trying to teach me to use chopsticks correctly and elegantly.

I watched a video of a Chinese woman who ran a factory in Africa. She held a “chopstick competition” for her African employees, the person who could pick up the most peanuts with chopsticks in one minute would be the champion and win a cash prize.

After watching the competition footage, I thought to myself that if I had participated, I probably wouldn’t have won the championship.

Here’s a fun anecdote. In college, a classmate saw me struggling with chopsticks and boasted that he could use them better with his left hand than I could. I didn’t believe him, but as it turned out, he was far better with his left hand than me.

Seeing my shocked expression, he couldn’t stop laughing and explained that when he was a kid, his parents believed that using the left hand more could boost intelligence for right-handers. So, they taught him to use chopsticks with his left hand from the start.

Though he’s right-handed and later switched to using his right hand, he can still use chopsticks effortlessly with his left—after all, it’s a skill he learned from a very young age。

What are some of the creepiest/worst online experiences you’ve had?

When I was twelve almost everyone in my year (literally over a hundred people) joined a Facebook group named ‘we hate Jake English’ (my ‘nickname’ as it were at the time).

There they posted up about how they were going to kill me, why they hated me, why I should kill myself, all that lovely jazz.

Anyway one of the few friends I did have told me about it and reported it to the police. Before I even got home the page was shut down, and the kid that made it got arrested.

Justice was served, his parents received a fine on his behalf and so he got the living shit battered out of him by his old man.

What will happen when China cancels a deal with Boeing?

The deal isn’t cancelled

China instructed their Airlines not to take deliveries of any Boeing Aircraft because of the 125% Tariffs which would cause the price of the aircraft to rise up significantly

These aircraft are delivered from USA after preliminary assembly and the 125% Tariffs are applicable so that could make a $ 100 Million 787 Dreamliner worth $ $ 225 Million

Only the final assembly and interiors are carried out in Zhoushan

Likewise multiple parts from Boeing attract 125% Tariffs because they are shipped from USA

Chinas letter is clear

China has only suspended deliveries

They could’ve exempted Boeing from the 125% Tariffs but Boeings & Soybeans form a large chunk of Chinas imports from US

Plus Boeing is a large company and they might pressurize Trump into easing off the Tariff war

Americans Gaining Big Lessons from China’s Tariff Response |Ancient Civ Insight | China Cares abt us

Please watch this. There is a revolution in the United States going on right now.

Would Make some great Tee Shirt Designs

While My GF Was Secretly Planning To Get Together With Her Ex, I Was Secretly Planning Her Departure

What do you think about China?

I’ve just returned from China after a 3 weeks trip. So I would like to give my full impressions of the current state: the good, bad, ugly, beautiful. So if you only want to hear good things or only bad things about China, please go somewhere else.

Before I go into it, to give some context about me: I grew up in the US since 10 years old. The last time I was in China was 2009. I speak Chinese natively, and also read and type Chinese proficiently with no issues. These are the results of my own interest to keep my Chinese at high levels through practice, reading Chinese novels, and self-learning in general. Before visiting China I’ve also done shit tons of research. I watch CCTV and CGTN on a daily basis. I still have parents who visit China on an annual basis who will tell me about what to watch out for. I read about China on sites such as quora and global times regularly. I watch travel vlogs and China base commentators on China regularly. And I also had a lot of preparations, such as both buying international pass and buying a Chinese SIM card the first day I was in China, even went ahead and opened a bank account in China (it ended up not being used however because I was told to wait three days for it to activate and I didn’t have time to go back to a bank). So needless to say I did not go into China blind.

The cities that I’ve visited on this trip: Shanghai, Nanjing, Hangzhou, Suzhou, Chongqing, Chengdu, Xianyang, Xi’An, in that order. I’ve also transited in Guangzhou. So basically I went to all the places that are considered the historic heartlands and origins of China and Chinese civilization, with the only exception of Beijing that I didn’t go because it’s too cold in wintertime.

Overall impression of China:

It’s definitely the best bang for your buck place to visit. Things are ridiculously cheap. You can pay very little for high quality accommodations, food, gifts, tickets, transportation etc. If you ever go to China, I highly recommend that you pamper yourself a little. Book a more expensive, convenient hotel for example. Depending on where you go, you can literally pay 40–50 USD per night for a hotel that would be the equivalent of 200–300 USD in the west. For example, this is the hotel that I’ve stayed in Chongqing (that’s my childhood friend on the sofa btw not me):

This is the view outside the window:

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For those who are familiar with Chongqing, this is literally the equivalent to a hotel with a bird eye view of the Times Square in New York. During nighttime it’s just so friggin gorgeous. Unfortunately when I was in Chongqing it was very foggy, but still beautiful.

The price was 46 USD per night, my most expensive hotel. 😆Yep.

However, China is definitely the least convenient country for foreign nationals to travel, mostly because of their payment system (you always need good data plan or WiFi everywhere, not like in other countries you just swipe a credit card wherever you go which is much simpler), and also many places you have to pre schedule with your passport for entry, at online sites and apps that won’t always work smoothly on your foreign data plan cell phone. And even if you buy a Chinese SIM card and use the Chinese sites, there are problems such as sometimes they auto delete the first letter of your passport ID number, so when you try to get into the places the IDs won’t match. I honestly don’t know how foreigners can travel in China without knowing the language or have a guide. You can download a translating app but the translation isn’t always accurate either. I guess that’s why there really aren’t so many foreigners traveling in China. I can count them on one hand. Of course, I also went at off season, but still compared to other countries, China is definitely not a foreign tourist friendly country. But I suppose some people are just very skilled travelers who are very good at finding their way around anywhere. I cannot hold anything personally against China on this aspect because clearly they want to do their own thing independently of the western hegemony. So it’s frustrating but oh well.

So what I liked about China:

Definitely hands down the infrastructure. The infrastructure in China isn’t just grandiose, but also done with fine taste. In highly developed cities you can see a lot of psychology of aesthetics have gone into organizing everything. The roads for example are wide and spread out, buildings are huge but thoughtfully designed. When you walk down the road in some of these areas you feel small but also a sense of awe and serenity. Like everything is gigantic but also just so comforting on the eyes at the same time.

This is a photo I took in Shanghai. The photo really doesn’t do it justice. When you are there just looking over at the horizon, you half expecting flying cars around those giant skyscrapers. It’s like you are on another planet, and that this is the place for every sci fi movie to be filmed. It blows every city in the US out of the water. And you also realize that unlike what some western China-smearers will tell you, it isn’t just for show. The people who immediately benefit from all of this are the native Chinese people who are living there. Because once again, it’s the thoughtfulness of it all that makes it impressive, not just built to impress foreigners.

main qimg 7383340231bb69094601a40ea0280756

In Shanghai I also loved the fact that the names of the roads are very easily found and clearly labeled. Unfortunately not all Chinese cities are like this.

I also really like the fact that so many buildings are now built with Chinese characteristics, rather than the Soviet-style dreary rectangular buildings that I was used to growing up as a child. It makes the atmosphere in China so much better and makes China much more attractive to travel

main qimg 34270874248cb1249eadef3a297071f1

(Photo I took on top of the Great Goose Pagoda in Xi’An. I was actually born in Xi’An, raised in Guangzhou. But Xi’An is now so different from what it was before, you can see below, so many Chinese style buildings are spurring up when before it was not considered an attractive city to visit).

And of course, cultural heritage sites are now organized and built exquisitely. So if you want atmosphere you’ll get it anywhere.

Of course, you can’t talk about Chinese infrastructure without the transportation. Transportation in China is vastly expansive. You can go anywhere with the metro or Didi (taxi). And the prices are ridiculously cheap (at least to westerners). The metro generally costs no more than 2.74USD, and the Didi costs about 1.65USD to 3USD, for distances that will take 15–25 mins by car. The most we’ve paid for Didi was to get from Xi’An to Xianyang (about 1 hour and 20 min by car), which still only costed us 8USD. The high speed rail is also very expansive, can take you to any city and you’ll get a very smooth ride despite the train going 143+ miles per hour. And the prices are around 23 to 30 USD only, for one hour to 3 hours ride distance. The metro is built just like any metro in anywhere in the world so it’s the easiest to navigate. You can buy a ticket at a kiosk machine, Alipay never had any issues with this, and then follow the lines which are always very clearly labeled. The Didi is very cheap and if you keep using it you get a lot of discounts, but it can be hard to find where to get on the car because lots of times the driver cannot get to where you are because they can’t stop there, or the GPS can have issues with the accuracy. I eventually learned to always go to a well known landmark and call or message the driver where I am exactly and that saved a lot of trouble. The high speed rail you have to be very careful with your booking because changing tickets on a foreign phone is a pain. Alipay on a western service phone is not set up the same way as a Chinese service phone. So if you make a mistake you have to go to a manual change station which also isn’t always easy. In some places they cannot access your booking with foreign Alipay. So basically, for high speed rail try not to make any mistake or having to change ticket while booking, or it can be troublesome. Domestic flights are generally okay. You have to always go manual with a foreign passport, but in airports generally people are more helpful and will point you to the right direction if you ask for help. I like the security checks in Chinese airports much better than the US counterpart. The security check people are less intimidating, and make fewer troubles for you. The security check pathways are also straight and short, instead of huge turn wheels like in the US that sometimes will make your luggage caught in something and not moving somewhere. This is one big positive change in China because definitely this isn’t the case decades ago.

One thing that when you arrive you immediately realize the infrastructure superiority is the airport. The Shanghai airport was so straightforward and easy to navigate compared to any US airport. I’ve transited in Japan and it was difficult to find my way around the Japanese airport (you also had to take a bus to go to T3 for some reason). But the Shanghai one? In, go straight, out. Easy Peazy.

And of course another thing I loved was the food and drinks. Not a huge fan of the dessert tho but then again I generally don’t have a sweet tooth compared to other people. If you visit any highly rated upscale restaurant in China, you’ll get great food anywhere, even though each region will be unique. My Turkish friend who traveled with me has declared that there isn’t one type of food he didn’t like. My favorite however is Shaanxi food (both Xi’An and Xianyang). Because it has the best comfort food (e.g. noodles, stuffed bread, homemade stews etc), not just luxury food you get in high level restaurants. Another huge thing in China that I will most definitely miss is tea, especially milk teas. China has several milk tea Chain stores kind of like the tea equivalent of Starbucks. But the milk teas are so heavenly and the quality of the teas are astonishing, with exotic and luxury tea bases from all kinds. Such as Chagee (Cha Ji literally: Tea Princess). Maybe one day the business can come to the west as well. One can only wish. I loved it so much I had to buy one to go: the Da Hong Pao (Big Red Robe) milk tea. I think I’m lucky that it didn’t seem to go spoiled with 15 hours + travel. Because unlike in the west, they not only give you a lid which has an opening that you can open and close, they also additionally seal it for you underneath the lid, and when you want to drink it you can puncture the seal with straw. This is so much more thoughtful packaging than in the west where your drink just spills all over as you carry it.

What I didn’t like about China:

I’m sorry to say that the social etiquettes in China still need quite a lot of work. (Except for some very international hubs where people are clearly trained to be very polite and helpful) Chinese people still don’t find some basic courtesies natural to do, such as saying hello, goodbye, thank you, please, your welcome etc. Again, in more formal business settings they are trained to do these things, but working class common people don’t have a lot of these habits. I’ve had several incidents where I say thank you and they are speechless and don’t know how to respond back.

One thing I will say about this is that clearly the Chinese authorities are working hard to make a change on this aspect, because you see signs everywhere telling people to behave (or how to behave) in a civilized manner. For example, this sign you’ll see everywhere you go in China:

It translates to a set of “socialist values” that people need to adhere to, which is: strong and wealthy, free, patriotic, democratic, equal, dedicated (to work), civilized, just, trustworthy, harmonious, lawfulness, and friendliness.

Basically, everything that is good for society is part of “socialist values” (lol).

But in China, clearly it’s still going to take at least a couple of generations for people to behave on such a standard. You still see spitting everywhere (I had to constantly watch the road to not step on any), even on important cultural heritage sites which I personally found spitting on them to be highly disrespectful, not just disgusting. Smoking in restaurants is also still quite prevalent. And again, while services in business settings are generally very good, you’ll encounter some extraordinarily rude people in China that you won’t encounter anywhere in the west, at least for the same time frame and similar touristic places that you’ll be visiting.

For example, when I was at the high speed rail station going to Chengdu, I accidentally dropped something going down the escalator. Now, in anywhere in the west, people’s immediate instinct was to pick it up. But there, a Chinese woman yelled: “who dropped this!” And then KICKED my stuff away so I had to scramble to retrieve it back. Needless to say I was quite shocked and that nearly ruined the rest of my trip that day.

Another time I was departing from my hotel with my luggage which only had stairs, and I was too exhausted and was still recovering from my illness, so I didn’t have the strength to lift my luggage to go up the stairs. I saw this security guard wandering around the hotel looking bored, and very politely asked if he could help. He instead yelled back at me: “What?! Piss off! Do it yourself!” Not even a “sorry it’s not my job.” Again, not something you’ll find traveling in the west anywhere, people will either help you or politely reject you.

I’ve also been called stupid a couple of times when I asked for directions, mostly because when you ask for directions, Chinese people in general don’t seem to have issues wasting your time. They tend to wave at some unclear direction and go like: “over there.” And when you ask for clarifications, you’ll get a couple of: “are you stupid or something? It’s over there!” scoldings. Like, dude, if you are gonna yell at me, at least yell something useful. “Over yonder” (as one of my friend comically remarked when he heard my tale) is not helpful whatsoever.

Of course, all of this does also depend on where you go. Places that are more international and foreign tourist friendly sites, Chinese people, especially younger people, tend to be more patient with you. But again, there is a clear difference in instinct. In the US for example, even if people feel that you are a bit on the slow side, they help you, simply because you need it. When I visited Spain, I’ve literally had people who came out of the train that is leaving in 2 mins to walk me to the train that I had a hard time finding, before going back. In China however, if you are perceived to be on the slow side, people are more likely to feel that you are just a waste of their time.

Now I know that at this point some people will argue with me that it’s because China is more crowded. But sorry, very crowded places in the west, and also in Japan, a high population density country, these things just don’t happen while you are traveling as a tourist. So it doesn’t have as much to do with crowdedness as people might think. Other people may tell me that this is not their experience as a foreigner. But my perception is that if you are a foreign looking person, Chinese people tend to be more willing to go the extra mile to help you, because of a “face saving” culture. But I don’t appear or talk like a foreigner, so they treat me differently. For example my airport direct taxi (I.e not Didi) ride to my hotel the first night in Shanghai I got charged 270 RMB (37 USD), whereas my Turkish friend who came one day after me was only charged 170 RMB (23 USD). So you do see a big difference. Even one didi driver quipped that a foreigner losing his bicycle in China got it back in 30 mins. Chinese people losing their kids sometimes they’d have to wait for years.

What surprised me about China?

The thing that stood out to me the most is that in every region, native dialects are much more prevalent than I originally thought. I thought that after so many decades of people only being taught to speak mandarin in schools, the local dialects would be disappearing. But the complete contrary is true. People speak their dialects not only comfortably, but proudly and as the default, and that is whether it’s younger or older people. In fact, in most of these places, they expect any mandarin speakers to understand their dialect. If you speak mandarin to them, they won’t switch to mandarin to speak to you back. They simply keep on going speaking their own dialects. Even if you tell them you have a hard time understanding them (which I do sometimes, for obvious reasons), they will still keep going trying to make you understand in their dialect (lol). It’s kind of like if you don’t understand these dialects you are perceived to be somewhat retarded, like not being able to read traditional Chinese. Of course, in places like hotels, railway stations, airports, banks, certain luxury services the main mode of communication is still mandarin. But they speak local dialects to anybody who comes speaking the local dialect. Didi drivers are almost all speaking to you in local dialects. The dialects however vary from person to person, not just region to region. So some people speak in the local dialect that is closer to mandarin (these I can understand more of course), others speaking the same would be completely incomprehensible to me. When I was in the Guangzhou airport, announcements are also made in both mandarin and Cantonese. Showing once again the special status of Cantonese, contrary to what some people on quora will tell you that somehow Cantonese is being eliminated. It’s clearly especially being preserved. How you feel about that is up to you.

Another minor thing that surprised me is that the air quality in China is really good. I heard from some people traveling there that the pollution is still very bad. But at least in the places that I’ve traveled, I did not perceive an obvious bad air quality. This is definitely a huge change from decades ago where you can smell smog in the air, or at least the air obviously smell different from the air in the states. This time I don’t smell anything and I tend to have very sensitive smell. Of course maybe the pollution happens in and around Beijing which I didn’t visit. The sky is still not as blue as the skies in the US where I live, but again, it’s much closer than you would think.

One thing that I had both a good and bad experience in is the Chinese medical system. On the fourth day of my travels I developed a high fever of 39+ Celsius (102+ Fahrenheit), I was in Nanjing and had to use the state hospital system. The hospital was not well organized, lots of rudeness and wasting your time, long waiting times and not having places to sit (I could barely stand then as you can imagine), the bathrooms didn’t have soap (in China another thing you won’t be used to is the deficiency of toilet papers, soaps and trash cans compared to the west). However, I was able to get an IV of four bags of medicine for my illness on the same day which saved the rest of my trip. I only spent around 100 USD for the visit. IV in the US is completely unaffordable and only reserved for very serious illnesses. But it is very strong and after the first bag I was immediately feeling better. So, while there are still clearly lots of issues with the Chinese state run medical system, there can be no comparison when it comes to cost and efficiency.

What does the west get right or wrong about China?

Right? I would say, unless they have some real knowledge about China, practically nothing. Even the free speech issue is very nuanced and I would say it’s more of a cultural thing than CPC being authoritarian thing. After my visit to China I still make this conclusion solidly.

What do they get wrong about China? Well at least in China’s current state, it’s fundamentally the opposite of what they say. What I generally perceive is that the Chinese government is trying their best to fix China as best as they could, many of the actual issues clearly lie with the people themselves still being somewhat backward and not being able to catch up fast into a progressive modern society. This I speak not only from what I’ve encountered but also from stories I hear from my own extended families. Of course, westerners will say that this is also the result of communism. But clearly, the governing party has evolved, and unlike the US, they want to actually fix things. So there is really no surprise that people have such high trust in the CPC.

Chinese people are also not brainwashed as westerners think. I’ve encountered Chinese people with many different views. Yes, many saw on the news and believe some propagated information at face value. But I’ve encountered Chinese people who are both very patriotic, like everything in China is just as good if not better than the west, and Chinese people who believe everything in China is worse than the west, and of course everywhere in between. And they speak their mind about their views comfortably. So there is no secret police everywhere waiting in the wings to arrest people. I feel much more comfortable around Chinese police than the American counterpart, even though they are more prevalent and numerous than American police presence. An example of Chinese police patrolling:

main qimg 5347fe0d3b3a6c20cfd785f88f9c0e29

He’s riding on this little scooter thingy moving around like an ornament, reminded me of Wall-E from Pixar. There is a cuteness to it all 🥰. There was even a grandpa admiring his little moving machine while he passed him.

Was the Trip Worth it and Will I be visiting again?

The trip was definitely worth it and I will remember it for the rest of my life. I also encourage anyone to travel to China to make up their own minds, despite inconveniences you’ll be having. I would like to go there again however, I realized from this trip that my health is really the main deterrent. Almost every time I travel internationally I get quite sick. And as a result of this trip I think my mycoplasma came back because I couldn’t stop coughing. So that’ll be a big consideration for me to travel again, especially since I will be heading into my 40s soon so my health will only deteriorate.

Meatball ‘n’ Pasta Soup

Yield: 6 (1 1/2 cup) servings

Ingredients

Meatballs

1/2 pound lean (90%) ground beef
1/4 cup seasoned dry bread crumbs
1 egg
1/2 teaspoon Italian seasoning
1 garlic clove, pressed
1/4 teaspoon salt

Soup

1 cup zucchini, chopped
1/2 cup onion, chopped
2 garlic cloves, pressed
2 (14 1/2 ounce) cans beef broth
1 (14 1/2 ounce) can diced tomatoes, undrained
1 (11 ounce) can pork and beans in tomato sauce, undrained
3/4 cup elbow macaroni
1 teaspoon Italian seasoning
1/2 cup (2 ounces) freshly grated Parmesan cheese

Instructions

Meatballs

In Classic Batter Bowl, combine ground beef, bread crumbs, egg, Italian seasoning, garlic and salt; mix lightly but thoroughly. Using Small Scoop, shape meat mixture into balls; place in Medium (3 quart) Saucepan. Brown over medium heat 6-8 minutes or until beef is no longer pink. Remove from saucepan.

Soup

Chop zucchini and onion using Food Chopper. Add onion and garlic to saucepan; cook 3 minutes or until onion is tender. Add beef broth, tomatoes and pork and beans; bring to a boil.
Add macaroni, meatballs, zucchini and Italian seasoning. Return to a boil; reduce heat to low and simmer 6 to 8 minutes or until macaroni is tender. Ladle soup into bowls; sprinkle each serving with Parmesan cheese.

Nutrition

Per serving: Calories 280, Total Fat 8g, Sodium 1340mg, Fiber 4g

Attribution

Pampered Chef

An Honest View on China After 16 Years (Westerner’s POV)

Title: Sir Whiskerton and the Case of the Haughty Cat Caper

Ah, dear reader, you’ve returned for yet another installment in the chronicles of my unparalleled detective work. And this one, I assure you, is a tale for the ages.

It’s a story of schemes, alliances, and one very lazy hound dog who surprised us all. Yes, this adventure features not only my usual entourage of companions but also introduces a new player to the farm’s ever-growing cast of characters: Bingo, the farm’s sleepy yet surprisingly sharp-nosed dog. And then, of course, there’s Genghis—the self-proclaimed “kingpin” of the barnyard cats.

Prepare yourself for the uproarious tale of The Haughty Cat Caper, where cunning plans are foiled, lessons are learned, and chaos reigns supreme before everything ends in laughter and camaraderie.

Lazy Days and Suspicious Sniffs

It was a lazy Sunday morning on the farm. The sun was shining, the hens were clucking about rain that wasn’t in the forecast, and Bingo, the farm dog, was sprawled out on the porch, his floppy ears twitching as he snored. I was enjoying a leisurely stroll through the barnyard, tail held high, when Bingo’s nose twitched, and his eyes opened lazily.

“Morning, Whiskerton,” he drawled, his voice slow and syrupy. “Smells like somethin’ funny’s goin’ on.”

I paused mid-step, intrigued. “Funny how?”

“Funny as in… sneaky,” Bingo said, sitting up with a yawn. “Been gettin’ whiffs of somethin’ fishy—metaphorically, not literally. Think it’s got somethin’ to do with that haughty furball, Genghis.”

“Genghis?” I frowned. Genghis was the biggest, fattest, most pompous cat on the farm. He strutted around like he owned the place, a gold chain around his neck jingling with every step. Wherever Genghis went, his trio of lackeys—Lester, Clyde, and Loomis—followed, nodding and agreeing with everything he said. “What’s he up to now?”

“Couldn’t say for sure,” Bingo drawled, scratching his ear with a lazy paw. “But I got a whiff of somethin’ unusual near the granary last night. Smelled like grain, and cats. Lots of cats. Figured you’d be the one to sniff out the rest.”

I narrowed my eyes. A mystery involving Genghis and his gang? This was going to be interesting. “Alright, Bingo,” I said. “I’ll investigate. But if this turns into something big, I’ll need your nose and your help.”

“Sure thing,” Bingo said with a grin, lying back down. “But only after my nap.”

The Plot Thickens

I started my investigation at the granary, where I found Sedgwick perched on a beam, observing the scene with his usual calm demeanor.

“Good morning, Sir Whiskerton,” Sedgwick said. “I see you’ve taken an interest in the granary. What brings you here?”

“Bingo thinks Genghis and his gang are up to something,” I explained. “He smelled something odd last night.”

Sedgwick nodded thoughtfully. “I did notice some… unusual activity. Genghis and his associates were prowling about, muttering to each other. They seemed quite pleased with themselves.”

“Pleased, huh?” I said, my whiskers twitching. “Sounds like they’re planning something.”

Just then, Rufus appeared, munching on a stolen ear of corn. “Did someone say planning? Let me guess—Genghis is scheming again. That guy thinks he’s the king of the farm.”

“He certainly acts like it,” Sedgwick agreed. “But whatever he’s up to, it can’t be good.”

Genghis’s Grand Scheme

As we were talking, the unmistakable sound of jingling reached my ears. I turned to see Genghis strutting into view, flanked by Lester, Clyde, and Loomis, who were practically tripping over themselves to stay in formation behind him.

“Gentlemen,” Genghis said, his deep, haughty voice dripping with grandeur. “What a delightful day to be me. Isn’t it, boys?”

“Yes, absolutely, Genghis!” Lester said.
“Couldn’t agree more, Genghis!” Clyde added.
“The best day ever, Genghis!” Loomis chimed in.

I rolled my eyes. “What are you up to, Genghis?”

“Up to?” Genghis said innocently, his whiskers twitching. “Why, nothing at all, dear Whiskerton. Just enjoying a leisurely stroll with my associates.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, unconvinced. “We’ll see about that.”

Bingo’s Big Discovery

Later that afternoon, Bingo came trotting into the barnyard, his nose to the ground and his lazy demeanor replaced with surprising urgency. “Whiskerton,” he said, “I caught the scent again. Cats. Lots of ‘em. And grain—freshly spilled grain.”

“Grain?” Porkchop said, waddling over. “What would cats want with grain?”

“That’s what we’re going to find out,” I said. “Sedgwick, Rufus, Bingo—let’s go. And Porkchop, tell the hens to meet us by the granary.”

“Oh, the hens?” Rufus groaned. “Do we have to?”

“Yes, Rufus,” I said firmly. “We’ll need all the help we can get.”

The Hens Join the Fray

By the time we reached the granary, the hens were already there, clucking up a storm.

“Grain! Oh, this is terrible!” Doris wailed.
“Terrible! What if they eat it all?” Harriet clucked.
“Eat it all! We’ll starve!” Lillian cried.
“Starve! Oh no, we can’t have that!” Doris echoed.
“Focus, ladies,” I said.

Together, we followed Bingo’s nose to a hidden corner of the granary, where we discovered Genghis and his gang in the middle of their scheme. They had set up a crude operation involving stolen grain and a makeshift pulley system, apparently planning to hoard the grain for themselves.

“Genghis!” I said, stepping forward. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Genghis froze, his eyes narrowing. “Whiskerton. I should’ve known you’d show up.”

“Care to explain this little operation?” I asked.

“It’s simple,” Genghis said, puffing out his chest. “The grain is wasted on the rest of you, so I decided to… redistribute it. My associates and I were merely ensuring that we, the cats, receive our fair share.”

“Fair share?!” Porkchop exclaimed. “You can’t just take what doesn’t belong to you!”

“Yeah, Genghis!” Rufus added. “That’s low—even for you.”

Foiling the Plan

With the help of Bingo’s sharp nose, Sedgwick’s wisdom, and Rufus’s surprising agility, we managed to dismantle Genghis’s operation. The pulley system was disassembled, the stolen grain was returned, and Genghis’s lackeys—Lester, Clyde, and Loomis—were left looking sheepish.

“Genghis,” Sedgwick said sternly, “this farm works best when we all share and cooperate. Taking more than your fair share helps no one.”

Genghis sighed, his haughty demeanor deflating. “I suppose… you’re right. Perhaps I got a bit carried away.”

“A bit?” Rufus muttered.

The Moral of the Story

In the end, Genghis apologized, and the farm returned to its usual harmony. The grain was shared fairly, and even Genghis learned an important lesson about greed and cooperation.

Sometimes, working together means putting aside our pride—and our schemes—for the greater good. And as Bingo said later, “A nose for trouble is only useful if you use it to sniff out solutions.”

The End.”I Spent the Weekend Supporting ‘My Single Friend’ — Now My Husband Is Acting Strange & Suspicious”

An Apology to Mankind, Two Days After First Contact

Submitted into Contest #268 in response to: Write a story about someone seeking forgiveness for their past actions.… view prompt

D Gorman

96 comments

What follows is a transcript of an apology to the people of Earth, and specifically the residents of Silver Lake, Indiana. [BRACKETED] words indicate imprecise translation. Hello, people of Earth. This message is being translated into the language practiced by the humans who reside in the area designated Silver Lake, Indiana, using the Verpal Language Unscrambler 2. As my segment-mate Zolak is so fond of reminding me, our model is very outdated and overdue for replacement. Any translation errors that may occur are the result of this technical deficiency and are not intended to be an act of disrespect. I humbly apologize for any confusion that may arise as a result of my negligence in the upkeep of our private Dimensional Collapser Transport. Zolak has secured a promise from me that I will replace it when we return to [THE HIVE].Let me begin by apologizing for everything that has unfolded in the days following our unplanned arrival on your world. I assure you this was quite accidental, owed in large part to two hundred rambunctious hatchlings who were [RAISING THE DICKENS] in the back of the ship. This proved quite a distraction to Zolak, who was navigating and who gave me the wrong directions. Zolak insists the directions were correct and that I missed my turn because I was the one not paying attention. We have agreed to disagree. Compromise is the [ADHESIVE BODILY FLUID] that keeps us together. We do hope you understand how deeply and truly sorry we are for causing such a cultural [HULABALOO].Our misadventure no doubt caught all of you by surprise, as it did the [ASSIMILATION] Phages when we reported the incident to the proper authorities. As it turns out, your planet isn’t set for [ASSIMILATION] for another 250 years! Zolak joked that this is the first time we have been early for something. This is a joke at my expense as I am occasionally tardy to [HIVE] functions.Also, we want to assure you that your immediate military response upon our arrival was completely justified and certainly not an overreaction on your part. Protect what’s yours, that’s a law followed in all corners of the universe. Where we come from, when a [SKITTERING DEATH SWARM] arrives at your [HOME] unannounced, you do not give them a chance to [KILL AND CONSUME], you [KILL AND CONSUME] first. So fear not, we were in the wrong, not you.With this in mind, I would like to also apologize for the deployment of the Organic Liquidator Orbitals as a countermeasure. That was a step too far. When Zolak and I purchased the ship, I argued that the standard defense array was more than reasonable for casual space travel, but Zolak insisted we have the orbitals installed because of an [AUNT] who ended up in a [BAD PART OF TOWN] planet and was overtaken and consumed by highly evolved predatory fauna. I have had to hear this story over and over again, as if this one [AUNT] was more special than the others. Zolak has 200 [AUNTS]! Anyway, we [SPLURGED] and got the orbitals. And yes, I am forced to admit that they were highly effective, and mildly thrilling as well, especially for the brood. And no doubt a sight to behold for any of your species who were outside the liquidation zone. But I still think they were an extravagance and an overreaction on our part. As they say in the parlance of your people, “My bad”.We would also like to apologize to the human residents of the Silver Lake area. We are so, so sorry that the timing of our arrival coincided with a number of events occurring in the city limits. Our species has a deep and profound respect for the individuality of the [UNASSIMILATED], and as such, we offer our apologies to these specific people who were affected by our arrival:

The members of the local Civil War Re-enactment Community, Chapter 239. We are so sorry for not only disrupting your sacred religious violence simulation but also for the extensive damage caused by our ship’s defense response system. Our onboard AI misidentified your replica weapons as authentic, and all your shooting and screaming as aggression. The AI later indicated that 43 human war zealots were vaporized. Zolak and I will be sending personalized apologies to each of the genetic units whose humans were vaporized, once we return to the [HIVE]. We have left two vats of bio-paste to offset any food loss you would have to endure at not getting to consume their remains in the typical fashion.
The Silver Lake Fire Department, Women’s Auxiliary, Girl Scout Troop #782, the Silver Lake Chapter of the Rotary Club, the Starlight Junior Girls Dance Team, the Chippewa County Antique Car Club, and the countless humans who were in attendance at what the AI has determined is the “Fall Harvest Parade”. I did not take into account just how much heat is produced by our ship’s atmospheric retro-thrusters. In my search for a good place to land I lost track of how close to the ground we were flying. We are truly, deeply sorry for all the lives lost and the labor cost to rebuild.
To anyone who was impregnated by our [PRECIOUS] spawn, we apologize for any discomfort you may have experienced in the implantation process, as well as any lingering side effects. It has been a long enough trip that many of our brood reached adulthood and needed to secrete their pod glisteners before they started devouring their younger broodmates. The implantation process, while beautiful to us, has been described as [DEEPLY UNSETTLING] by other species we have encountered, depending on the physiology of the host. The good news is that the gestation period for an implanted [NEEDLE-TOOTHED STOMACH EXPLODER] larva is quite short!
Oh, and please, do not feel guilty about any offspring you may have slaughtered as they ran through your humble village [SOWING THEIR WILD OATS]. If there is one thing Zolak and I agree on, it’s that we have entirely too many mouths to feed.
We probably should say a few words on behalf of the lake itself. So sorry about that. Unfortunately, the Organic Liquid Orbitals produce an inordinate amount of radioactive runoff that needs to be dumped before it can be reignited. I suggested we wait until we were in the vacuum of space before jettisoning the waste but Zolak was rubbing its legs together quite vociferously at this point insisting that nobody would even care if we just dump and go. The bad news about your lake though is the water will not be [PALATABLE] again for another 3000 years, and organic life will likely never return. The good news is the green glow is a permanent feature that I think is quite pretty.

We understand that we have probably set back relations between humankind and [THE INSATIABLE HORDE] before they’ve even had a chance to start, but I assure you, despite the carnage, we are a very [GREGARIOUS] and welcoming species. We do hope you can find a way to forgive us for our transgressions and understand that we never would have been here in the first place if not for Zolak’s insistence on being the navigator when they have time and again given us inaccurate directions leading to situations like this, where I am having to apologize to a species for ruining their lives.

I just wanted a nice [FAMILY VACATION]. Just me, Zolak, and 200 of our offspring, taking some time away from the endless toil of [FEEDING THE INSATIABLE QUEEN]. My [BROODFATHER] used to take us on trips to Troxon IV to watch the skinworms emerge from the sludge pools, back when I was of an age where I still hadn’t developed my pod glisteners. I don’t know how they did it back then. My brood was well over 400! Can you imagine the mess just in the Dimensional Collapser Transport?

I’m rambling. Anyway, I wanted to take them somewhere amazing, like the Feces Pits of Roobe II. I wouldn’t have brought my brood to a [BACKWATER] planet like this under normal circumstances. You can’t be too careful where you go these days. But, had we ended up where I wanted to go, I don’t think we would be returning to [THE HIVE] so engorged with important life lessons. My brood have a newfound respect for how [PRE-ASSIMILATION] species like your own have managed to barely scrape by with such primitive means. Witnessing such futile determination has truly inspired them to be even more productive members of our worker society.

My brood are not the only ones whose [GULLET STONES] are wearing away the edges of a newly learned truth. I realized that I have been trying to give my brood the same experience I had when I was their age. I thought if I could show them something amazing, maybe they would respect me as much as I respected my own [BROODFATHER]. But then, when I heard them cheering as our ship obliterated your pitiable attempts to defend yourselves, I realized that it isn’t the destination so much as it is the experience. How many of my kind can say they watched their [BROODFATHER] heroically fend off the assaults of a [PRE-ASSIMILATION] species? Nothing will replace those memories.

You know, I really thought I [BLEW IT] with this trip. But maybe I didn’t after all. Maybe it takes getting lost to truly find what we are all looking for.

Oh, before we go, our onboard AI has determined that you are currently experiencing a [CALDERA POX] outbreak. As this is endemic to our planet, I have to imagine you contracted it from one of our pesky brood. Not to worry, the symptoms are very mild—your species should only experience headaches, nausea, dimensional blindness, and moderate to severe hemorrhaging. It’s one of our more survivable [COMMON COLDS]. You’ll be fine!

See you in 250 years!

Mac ‘n’ Cheese Soup

Yield: 6 servings

Ingredients

1 (14 ounce) package deluxe type macaroni and cheese
1 cup broccoli, chopped
1/2 cup onion, chopped
1 cup water
2 1/2 cups milk
1 (10 ounce) can condensed cheddar soup
1 cup cubed cooked ham

Instructions

Cook macaroni as directed on package in a 4 quart casserole. Drain in large colander.
Meanwhile, chop broccoli and onion; in food chopper. Combine broccoli, onions, water in the casserole. Bring to a boil: cook 2 minutes. DO NOT DRAIN.
Stir in cooked macaroni, cheese sauce from pouch, milk, cheese soup and ham. Return to a boil; stirring occasionally.
Use soup ladle and serve in 6 bowls.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

Why is China so terrible at fighting wars?

This was how the Korean War looked like before China got involved:

This was how the war looked like less than a month after Chinese intervention:

main qimg 4d08c2368752a24ed25c4b57c60dd2ab

The Chinese attacked with 9 armies (a Chinese army being a small corps-sized formation) of roughly 380,000 men against roughly 350,000 South Koreans, Americans, British, and Turks. So, despite only enjoying a marginal numerical superiority, the Chinese managed to crush US formations in North Korea and push them back to the south. The 8th Army in particular had to retreat 275 miles total, as per their own website.

Many folks like to quote losses from Wikipedia. Yes, if we look at losses of US troops versus Chinese troops, of course these numbers would favor US troops, because half the time, they aren’t the ones doing the dying: They had South Korean troops that augment their formations, which they used like cannon fodder. Many headcounts (which historians based US losses on) do not even count the South Koreans, whose losses were so heavy that during the first part of the war, they just stopped recording their losses.

Cheating Wife Regrets After Taking Advice to Open Her Marriage and Tries to Win Her Husband Back

Cooking hamburgers and slicing turkey well

My father was AWOL in teaching me on how to cook.

It is sad to say, but when he was around, he told me to “just do it”, rather than taking the time to teach me.

This was true when cooking hamburgers, except that at that time he was on a diet and wanted me to squeeze out all the grease out of the meat patty. And that cost me decades of poor cooking.

And as far as carving a turkey goes, yeah. I was completely clueless.

So guys, here is how you are supposed to carve a turkey…

Carving a turkey is a key skill for serving a beautiful and delicious holiday meal. Here’s a step-by-step guide to help you carve a turkey like a pro:

What You’ll Need:

A sharp carving knife
A sturdy carving fork
A clean cutting board
A platter for serving

Steps to Carve a Turkey:

Let the Turkey Rest:
- After roasting, let the turkey rest for 20-30 minutes. This allows the juices to redistribute, making the meat moist and easier to carve.
Remove the Legs and Thighs:
- Hold the turkey steady with a carving fork.
- Use the knife to cut through the skin between the leg and the body.
- Gently pull the leg away from the body and cut through the joint to remove the entire leg and thigh.
- Separate the thigh from the drumstick by cutting through the joint.
Slice the Breast Meat:
- Make a horizontal cut along the bottom of the breast, close to the wing, to create a base for slicing.
- Starting from the top, slice downward in even, thin slices. Angle the knife slightly for larger slices.
- Repeat on the other side.
Remove the Wings:
- Cut through the joint where the wing connects to the body.
- You can serve the wings whole or separate them into drumettes and wingettes.
Serve the Dark and White Meat:
- Arrange the sliced breast meat, thighs, drumsticks, and wings on a platter.
- Optionally, you can remove the remaining meat from the carcass for additional servings.

Tips for Success:

Use a sharp knife to ensure clean cuts.
Carve the turkey on a stable surface to avoid accidents.
If you’re not serving immediately, cover the carved turkey with foil to keep it warm.

Enjoy your beautifully carved turkey!

Now, while I am at it, let’s consider some ideas on seasoning…

Seasoning a turkey is essential for bringing out its flavor and ensuring a delicious, memorable meal. Here are some tips and techniques to help you season your turkey perfectly:

1. Brining (Optional but Highly Recommended):

What it does: Brining helps keep the turkey moist and adds flavor.
How to brine:
- Dissolve 1 cup of salt and 1/2 cup of sugar in 1 gallon of water (adjust quantities based on the size of your turkey and brine container).
- Add herbs, spices, or aromatics like garlic, peppercorns, bay leaves, or citrus zest for extra flavor.
- Submerge the turkey in the brine and refrigerate for 12-24 hours.
- Rinse the turkey thoroughly and pat it dry before seasoning and roasting.

2. Dry Rubs:

A dry rub is a mixture of spices and herbs that you apply directly to the turkey’s skin and under the skin.
Classic Dry Rub Recipe:
- 2 tbsp salt
- 1 tbsp black pepper
- 1 tbsp paprika
- 1 tbsp garlic powder
- 1 tbsp onion powder
- 1 tsp dried thyme
- 1 tsp dried rosemary
How to apply:
- Pat the turkey dry with paper towels.
- Gently loosen the skin over the breast and thighs with your fingers.
- Rub the seasoning mixture under the skin and all over the outside of the turkey.

3. Herb Butter:

Herb butter adds richness and flavor to the turkey.
Herb Butter Recipe:
- Mix 1 cup softened butter with 2-3 cloves minced garlic, 2 tbsp chopped fresh herbs (like thyme, rosemary, sage, or parsley), and salt and pepper to taste.
How to apply:
- Gently loosen the skin over the breast and thighs.
- Spread the herb butter under the skin and over the outside of the turkey.
- For extra flavor, place additional herb sprigs or aromatics (like garlic, onion, or citrus) inside the cavity.

4. Aromatics in the Cavity:

Stuffing the cavity with aromatics infuses the turkey with flavor from the inside out.
Aromatic Ideas:
- Halved onions, garlic cloves, lemon or orange wedges, fresh herbs (thyme, rosemary, sage), or celery stalks.
Tip: Avoid overstuffing the cavity, as this can restrict airflow and lead to uneven cooking.

5. Seasoning the Skin:

Don’t forget to season the outside of the turkey generously with salt and pepper. This helps create a flavorful, crispy skin.

6. Glazes or Marinades (Optional):

For added flavor, brush the turkey with a glaze during the last 30-45 minutes of roasting.
Glaze Ideas:
- Maple syrup and Dijon mustard
- Honey and soy sauce
- Orange juice and brown sugar

7. Resting and Finishing:

After roasting, let the turkey rest for 20-30 minutes before carving. This allows the juices to redistribute, ensuring moist meat.
If desired, sprinkle fresh herbs over the carved turkey for a final touch of flavor and presentation.

Pro Tips:

Salt generously: Salt is key to enhancing the turkey’s natural flavor.
Balance flavors: Combine savory, sweet, and aromatic elements for a well-rounded taste.
Experiment: Don’t be afraid to try new herbs, spices, or seasoning blends to suit your taste.

Let me know if you’d like a full recipe or roasting guide!

Ah. This is making me hungry.

Today…

US aiming at Greenland and Panama in preparation for confrontation with China and Russia

Cherry Cordial Cookies

Yield: about 4 dozen cookies

Ingredients

1 cup (2 sticks) butter or margarine, divided (do not use vegetable oil spread)
1 3/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 (9 ounce) package golden yellow cake mix
1/2 teaspoon almond extract
20 maraschino cherries, drained and patted dry
4 (1 ounce) squares semisweet baking chocolate
1/2 cup almonds, finely chopped

Instructions

Heat oven to 350 degrees F.
In Small Batter Bowl, microwave 1 stick of the butter on HIGH 45 seconds or until melted. Slice remaining butter into 1/2-inch pieces; add to melted butter, tossing to coat. Let butter stand 2 to 3 minutes or until softened.
Combine flour and cake mix in Classic Batter Bowl; mix well.
Using Stainless Steel Whisk, whisk butter until smooth and free of lumps; add almond extract. Pour butter, all at once, into dry ingredients. Using Bamboo Spoon, mix until dry ingredients are incorporated and dough is smooth. (If dough is too stiff to stir, knead until smooth by hand on Cutting Board.)
Fill Cookie Press, fitted with #5 disk, with dough. Press dough onto flat Baking Stone, 1 inch apart. Slice cherries in half; press one half onto center of each cookie.
Bake 15 to 17 minutes or until very light golden brown.
Cool 3 minutes on baking stone; remove to Stackable Cooling Rack. Cool completely. Repeat with remaining dough.
Microwave chocolate in Small Micro-Cooker(R), uncovered, on HIGH 1 minute or until melted and smooth; drizzle over cookies.
Sprinkle almonds over cookies.

Notes

If you have only one baking stone, press the second batch of cookies onto Parchment Paper, cut to the size of the baking stone. As you remove one batch of cookies from the oven, unbaked cookies can be quickly placed onto the baking stone and into the oven. This will save time as well as clean-up.

Nutrition

Per serving: (1 cookie): Calories 100, Total Fat 6g, Saturated Fat 3g, Cholesterol 10mg, Carbohydrate 10g, Protein 1g, Sodium 75mg, Fiber less than 1g

Attribution

Pampered Chef

McDonald’s is DESPERATE! PLEASE COME BACK!

Title: Sir Whiskerton and the Vanishing Scarecrow

Ah, dear reader, you’ve graced me with your presence once more. I can only assume it’s because you’ve become addicted to tales of my unmatched brilliance and unparalleled problem-solving skills. Don’t worry—this story will not disappoint.

Today, I’ll recount a peculiar case that involved a missing scarecrow, a flock of gossiping crows, and, of course, my wise feathered colleague, Sedgwick the barn owl. It was a mystery unlike any other, filled with twists, turns, and more hay than I care to admit. Buckle up for the tale of The Vanishing Scarecrow.

The Scarecrow Goes AWOL

It all began on a crisp autumn morning. The farm was alive with the smell of freshly cut hay and the faint aroma of apples from the orchard. I was conducting my usual morning patrol (which is to say, I was enjoying a leisurely stroll to the milk pail) when I heard Farmer Joe’s voice echo across the fields.

“Where in tarnation is my scarecrow?!”

I stopped mid-step, my ears perking up. A missing scarecrow? Intriguing. Most scarecrows, in my experience, tend to stay exactly where they’re placed—motionless and uninteresting. The fact that this one had apparently disappeared was, to say the least, unusual.

As I approached the field where the scarecrow usually stood, I found Farmer Joe scratching his head and muttering to himself. The spot where the scarecrow once stood was now just an empty wooden post, surrounded by trampled grass. A few crows were perched nearby, cackling like they’d just heard the funniest joke of their lives.

“Strange,” I murmured to myself. “Very strange.”

Enter Sedgwick

As I examined the scene, a familiar flutter of wings announced the arrival of Sedgwick. He landed gracefully on the wooden post, his amber eyes scanning the field with quiet intensity.

“Good morning, Sir Whiskerton,” Sedgwick said in his usual deep, regal tone. “I heard Farmer Joe’s lamentations from the barn. What seems to be the issue?”

“Farmer Joe’s scarecrow has gone missing,” I explained, gesturing to the empty post. “I was just about to investigate.”

“A missing scarecrow,” Sedgwick mused, tilting his head. “How peculiar. Scarecrows are not known for their mobility.”

“Exactly,” I said. “Which means someone—or something—must have moved it.”

“Or perhaps it simply… walked away,” Sedgwick said, his tone laced with dry humor.

I smirked. “Let’s hope it hasn’t developed a mind of its own. Shall we investigate?”

“Lead the way,” Sedgwick said, spreading his wings slightly. “I’ll keep an eye from above.”

The First Clue

The first thing I noticed was the trampled grass around the scarecrow’s post. It looked as though something—or multiple somethings—had been dragging the scarecrow away. I sniffed the ground and picked up a faint scent of straw and… feathers?

“Feathers,” I said aloud, glancing up at Sedgwick. “Our first clue.”

Sedgwick ruffled his own feathers thoughtfully. “Interesting. I suspect the local crow population may know more than they’re letting on.”

I turned my gaze to the crows perched on a nearby fence. They were still laughing among themselves, as if they’d just pulled off the prank of the century.

“Let’s have a chat, shall we?” I said, padding over to the fence.

The Crows Spill the Beans

“Good morning, gentlemen,” Sedgwick said, addressing the crows with a polite nod. “We couldn’t help but notice your… enthusiasm. Care to share what’s so amusing?”

The largest of the crows, a scruffy bird with a bent tail feather, cackled and said, “Oh, it’s nothing. Just a little, uh… hayfield humor.”

“Is that so?” I said, narrowing my eyes. “Because it seems an entire scarecrow has gone missing, and you lot look suspiciously entertained.”

The crows exchanged glances, their laughter faltering slightly. “Alright, alright,” the scruffy one said. “We might’ve seen something. But you didn’t hear it from us.”

“Go on,” Sedgwick prompted, his calm demeanor clearly unnerving the crows.

“Fine,” the crow said. “We saw a couple of sheep dragging the scarecrow toward the orchard last night. They said something about ‘fixing it up.’ We thought it was strange, but hey, who are we to judge?”

“Sheep,” I said, my tail flicking thoughtfully. “Of course. Let’s pay a visit to the flock.”

“Good luck,” the crow called as we walked away. “Those woolly weirdos never make any sense!”

The Sheep’s Scheme

We found the sheep grazing in the pasture, looking as innocent as ever. Well, except for Clover, the goat, who was standing nearby chewing on something that looked suspiciously like a piece of burlap.

“Clover,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “Is that… part of the scarecrow?”

She froze mid-chew, her eyes wide. “Uh… no?”

“Clover,” Sedgwick said, his voice heavy with disappointment. “Please don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

“Fine,” Clover sighed, spitting out the burlap. “It wasn’t my idea, okay? The sheep wanted to give the scarecrow a ‘makeover.’ Said it wasn’t scary enough. So we, uh, borrowed it.”

“Borrowed it?” I repeated, incredulous. “Where is it now?”

“In the orchard,” Clover admitted. “But it’s not my fault! They wouldn’t let me help with the sewing!”

The Orchard Discovery

Sedgwick and I made our way to the orchard, where we found the scarecrow—or what was left of it. The sheep had clearly tried to “improve” it, but their handiwork left much to be desired. The scarecrow now had a lopsided hat, a mismatched pair of gloves, and a face that looked like it had been drawn by a blindfolded raccoon. (Speaking of raccoons, Rufus was lounging in a nearby tree, laughing so hard he nearly fell out of it.)

“Impressive,” Sedgwick said dryly, examining the scarecrow. “It appears their intentions were… creative, if misguided.”

“This is a disaster,” I muttered. “Farmer Joe’s going to have a fit when he sees this.”

“Not necessarily,” Sedgwick said, his eyes gleaming with wisdom. “Perhaps we can salvage the situation.”

The Great Scarecrow Rescue

With Sedgwick’s guidance, we managed to restore the scarecrow to its original state—or something close to it. The crows even pitched in, albeit reluctantly, helping us stitch the burlap face back together. Clover and the sheep apologized profusely, and Rufus, after much cajoling, agreed to stop laughing and hold the scarecrow steady while we fixed its hat.

By the time we were finished, the scarecrow was back on its post, standing tall and ready to scare off any would-be intruders. Farmer Joe arrived shortly after and, to my surprise, seemed pleased.

“Well, would ya look at that,” he said, scratching his head. “Looks even better than before. Thanks, Whiskerton. Don’t know what I’d do without ya.”

The Moral of the Story

Sometimes, even the best intentions can lead to chaos, but with a little teamwork (and a lot of patience), things can be set right. And remember: if you’re going to “borrow” something, maybe ask first.

The End.

What was the most expensive thing you ever got for free, because someone made a mistake and didn’t charge you?

Happened during COVID – I purchased some expensive, high-spec hiking boots online – £320 (about $405) – they arrived promptly but they were slightly different colours (as if the left one had been in shop window and faded a bit).

They were otherwise great.

I emailed the company with a view to maybe getting a small discount for the imperfection and to inform them of the fault. I received an almost immediate reply to say they were sending me a new pair and would email to me separately a return slip for the faulty boots which would be collected by the courier separately.

The next week the (perfect) new boots arrived, but no return slip had yet arrived by email and inexplicably, on the same day, my credit card was credited with a full refund.

So by then I have two pairs of boots, no return slip and by virtue of the refund, I haven’t paid for either pair.

I emailed the company and received a very apologetic reply thus: “. . . we are incredibly sorry that due to a succession of errors in our processing, our service level to you was unacceptable. Because of this and taking into account your purchase history with our company (I had none), and due to current courier difficulties caused the pandemic, please consider this matter concluded. . . “ Essentially I took this to mean I could keep the boots and the refund and I’ve never heard another thing (4 1/2 years).

I used boot polish to bring the original pair up to a consistent colour and gave them to a homeless guy along with some hiking socks – he was so pleased he cried, and then I cried because he cried FFS!!

The Illusion of Now

Submitted into Contest #283 in response to: It’s the most wonderful time of the year — except your character can’t shake the feeling that something’s off.… view prompt

Rida Kidwai

Every day felt like a repetition of the one before. My eyes fluttered open to the familiar hum of my alarm. I shut it off and glanced at the time. As expected, it was 6:00 am on the dot. I couldn’t shake off the peculiar fact about myself: I never felt sleepy afterward. Feeling energized, I flopped out of bed and headed straight to the restroom. Same routine – brush my teeth, use the restroom, wash my face, change my clothes. I mentally accessed my closet and chose a white shirt and jeans, which were the most comforting to me. It was as if I was trapped in a never-ending cycle. It was that time of year, they say “the most wonderful time of the year.”As I walked out of my bedroom, I noticed how my feet aligned perfectly on the tiles with each step. I went to the kitchen and whipped up some eggs on the frypan. Once they were cooked, I sat down at the kitchen island, staring outside. The bright light rising blinded me as it shined among the perfectly aligned rows of trees that were covered in snow. It reflected off the vibrant, perfectly laid, pearl-white snow. My home was nestled in a rural area with forests, a few shops, and a town across the bridge. I snapped out of my daze as I hopped out of my chair and ran quickly towards the smoking eggs. I groaned and felt so hungry that I didn’t have an appetite anymore. I opened my fridge once more and sighed out of disappointment when I realized we were all out of eggs. I walked towards the closet and looked at myself in the mirror as I wore my brown trench coat.Lyra Moonshadow. I wasn’t fond of my name, it sounded artificial, particularly my last name. I had light brown, wavy, voluminous hair up to my shoulders and I had green eyes. With practiced ease, I quickly buttoned my coat and laced up my shoes. As I got into my car, in my mind, I envisioned the quickest route to the grocery store and I drove through the perfectly shined streets like butter. As I observed the perfectly driven cars and happy faces, my dislike for this town increased. No adventure nor thrill, as everything seemed to be an undisturbed reality. Before I knew it, I parallel-parked like a master and went inside the store. I picked up the necessary items and was relieved as I picked up the last eggs. Certain items seemed to stand out more to me as if they were speaking to me. It made me eager to take a closer look by picking up those items. As I picked up the eggs, I noticed something odd, something very unusual. When I turned around and looked back at the fridge, more eggs appeared out of thin air. I examined this closely and looked around, finding it unusual. A pause occurred in my mind like a brief loading screen until I shrugged off the thought and continued by making my way to the checkout. Turns out, I was the only lethargic soul in this very store as everyone seemed so cheery and full of energy. It sickened me.“Will that be all today?” The cashier asked me, her smile was abnormal. I could feel a sudden shift in the atmosphere as I talked to the cashier. She was blonde with blue eyes and very pretty. She held a smile on her face which looked as if she was hiding something under it. I paused as I weighed my words and said what felt right.“Yes. That’ll be all.”“Perfect.” I scrunch my eyebrows as she scans the items quickly and efficiently.“Cash or card?” She asked in a synthetic tone.“Card, please,” I replied, unflattered. I dragged my feet to the machine as I inserted my card. “Thank you, please shop again with us.” The cashier said, grinning.I didn’t know why, but I stood there, searching for any expression on her face. No light, no expression, just a grin.“How can I help you?” She asked, shocking me. Without any reply, I took my eggs and walked away. I pondered on why I didn’t answer her and why she asked me that. I felt a sense of guilt about why I walked out on her, hoping she didn’t feel too bad. It was as if I hadn’t met on the right level with her. As I sat in my car, I sighed and could feel my head become dizzy from hunger and embarrassment. With a sudden change of mind, I drove to the nearest coffee shop and picked up a small coffee and bagel from the drive-thru. The flavour of the food shot straight to my mind as I drank and ate, causing my energy to suddenly spike as I had just levelled up. In my mind, I thought, task completed, I am full. I looked at the festivities and the decorations held up by everyone. The wreaths, banners, lights. It was all too perfect to be true. Besides the cheery atmosphere, I couldn’t shake off the fact that something didn’t sit right with the world. With my mind in bliss, I heard my phone vibrate against the cup holder. I was receiving a call from my best friend. I smiled when I saw her name on the phone screen and picked it up,“Hey, girl. What’s up?” I asked, again revising the sentence in my mind and choosing my words carefully.“Not much. Want to meet up? I’m at Tims Coffee.” My mind lit up as I responded,“Me too! I’ll see you inside?”“Sure, see you in a bit.” I hopped out of my car instantly and flew open the coffee shop doors. The shop gave off an aroma of a fireplace and chocolate. It was filled with people talking and holding their drinks. It was a cozy shop with fireplaces and candles. Once I spotted my friend, I greeted her with a smile and as I was about to sit, I paused. She looked at me blankly until I sat down in front of her. Her name was Donna Starfall and I have known her since- well, I’ve known her. “I needed this, desperately,” I told her with a much more energetic tone than this morning.“Why? What’s wrong?”“I don’t even know. This town is giving me some weird vibes. Not only that, I feel like I’m doing the same thing every day, stuck in this vicious cycle.”“Honestly, just think about the good parts of life. Like instead of thinking about the negative aspects, what did you do yesterday that you liked?” Donna was a fairly positive person with a lot of great ideas. She rarely reflected on her choices and enjoyed the good parts of life.I looked at her blankly. I pushed my brain hard into trying to remember a single exercise or activity I did yesterday but nothing came to mind. My mind started pulsing as I was once again weighed by words, searching for the right word to say.“Um- I can’t think of anything. How is that possible?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you’re just tired.” Donna replied, as she chuckled and sipped on her coffee. I suddenly felt a close bond with Donna. As if this conversation brought us closer and a new chapter was unlocked in our friendship. I couldn’t tell if she felt the same but I couldn’t explain it so I just smiled and shook off the strange thoughts.

“Anyways, you know my brother? He recently started his program. You can think of it like a simulation. Isn’t it cool?”

“Like a game?” I replied, thinking hard about the word program.

“Yeah, it’s so cool.” We continued to talk about her interests and what she was into lately until it struck noon.

Once our interaction was over, I kept wondering about the cool game Donna’s brother had invented. Inventing programs like that took a great deal of work and it seemed interesting to me. However, thinking about the game only seemed like a distraction as no thought could divert my mind from the odd occurrences that happened and why I couldn’t think of anything. I tried remembering about last week and the week before but my mind felt so foggy it started pulsing again. As I drove home, I decided to go on a small stroll around the neighbourhood and like Donna said, to experience some positive memories.

As I strolled around the white neighbourhood, I discovered a small hill up in the valley. I planned to sit on top of it so I headed my way towards it. As I started climbing, the chilly weather started to hit me and I realized that this hill was much higher than it seemed. I continued to climb and as I decided to turn around, my foot was misplaced and I fell backward, banging my head on a rock. My eyes dimmed out and the last thing I saw was the bright blue sky fading into a black mist.

My eyes fluttered open again, and at first, I thought I was back in my bed, waking up at 6:00 am. However, as I became aware of my surroundings, I realized I was still in the same place I fell. Horrifically, I stood up and gingerly touched my head. My fingers searched for wounds but there were none. Not even a scratch. My pulse quickened and a close sweat broke out on my forehead. I could’ve sworn a few minutes ago I fainted or dropped dead. Curiously, I continued climbing up the hill as if I was trying to accomplish something. Which, I did. Once I finally reached the top of this hill I felt an unspoken sense of pride and hope as if I had just unlocked some sort of achievement in my life. I felt complete. I smiled as I slid down the slippery hill and lay down in the white snow. Just then, my eyes widened as I saw a tree branch almost fall on me. I dodged it with flexible agility and skill. Before the thought occurred to me, I was hit by a sharp pain in my arm as I set it down on a twig. This reminded me that I was not invincible. Nor was I a witch. I breathed out of fear and continued walking on the sidewalk. That was strange. I thought again. This thought came to my mind several times today.

As I kept walking, I passed by a small area which was labelled “under construction.” When I took a closer look, it was a giant pothole and several construction men grinning and waving at me. The pothole was perfectly circular and there was no dirt to be seen whatsoever. Observing this, my opinion of a very strange atmosphere solidified further. After walking for a while, my mind was constantly racing about my falling, the interaction with the cashier, and the pothole, until I bumped into something and bounced back. I looked around yet there was nothing in front of me. I walked again yet was bounced back. I was puzzled and tried touching whatever shield was blocking me. Suddenly, a horrific thought occurred to me. Forcefield? It can’t be. I didn’t want to be trapped.

A sudden wave of panic washed over me, making me feel suffocated in my world. I ran back quickly and raced towards the forcefield. To no surprise, I was bounced back with little force and tears started swelling up in my eyes. I ran back towards home and jumped on my computer. Hunger. I was feeling hungry again and my stomach rumbled, dragging me out of my chair. I turned on the stove and sat back down at my desk. I stood determined and searched for clues and ideas as to why all of this might be happening and why there was a forcefield in the middle of our world.

Sweat dripped down my forehead as my fingers casually tapped all the correct letters on my keyboard. I was getting annoyed by it and tried hard to make a mistake. No matter how hard I tried, that “backspace” button started collecting dust. Magic…Harry Potter…Therapy? No search matched up with the ideas that I was looking for, as I aggressively searched for more concepts that could make sense. Nothing. It was at that moment that I realized I made a grave mistake. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a blazing light erupt in my kitchen. You can infer that I was not the best in the kitchen nor was cooking a skill I would like to improve on. I rushed to the kitchen and saw a massive fire consume my kitchen. Out of panic, I hurriedly rushed back to my bedroom, searching for my phone as the fire spread quickly, trapping me. The fire grew so massive that it surrounded me from all sides with no escape. Within a few minutes of horror, I closed my eyes, enduring the horrible pain I felt.

***

Once again, I woke up with my mind dizzy. Laying on what felt like a cloud, I swung my heavy legs off the bed unconsciously. Just when I snapped back into reality, I tried recalling what happened before. I quickly took a slow, trembling look at my hands and tumbled to the mirror to look at my face. No burns, no bruises… nor did my house disintegrate into ashes. I clutched my hair in confusion and thought I was stuck in some sort of curse. Suddenly, I felt like distancing myself from everyone. It was as if everyone was against me. The hunger in my stomach pierced me like a knife, dragging myself across the kitchen and simply picking an apple out of the fridge. As I ate it, my foggy mind was cleared and I felt energized once again. However, it didn’t sit right with me. I threw on my coat and jacket and ran outside towards the giant forcefield once more. I passed by the hill, the pothole and finally once I was at the forcefield, I bounced back instantly, falling on the ground. I pushed and pushed with my hands and screamed, putting all of my force in this shield.

Before I knew it, I had fallen forward into a black room. My heart dropped and my adrenaline raced as I was dropped many feet down. I yelled and looked up seeing my magical words fade into a blur. I shut my eyes and touched the ground lightly as if I had defied gravity. I opened my eyes a little bit and I jumped back, seeing only a man in a top hat staring at me. It was a dark black room with only a small monitor and a man. I took a look at the monitor and my heart dropped to my gut quickly, tying my stomach into a knot and making me feel sick.

“Great. Your user’s program is down.” The man said sarcastically. All I could see were his blue eyes, he was wearing a dark suit and a large, blue, top hat.

“Who are you?” I asked as the words came out smoothly, not like before.

“You aren’t supposed to be here, Lyra.” The man replied in an eerie and unsettling tone.

“How do you know who I am?” The words came out of my mouth very quickly, making the man grin. I assumed he knew I was terrified and nervous. “I know who everyone is.” He replied again.

“What is this place? I know what you’ve done.” I asked and stated anxiously, stepping closer to him. The monitor showed many codes and many screens. Cameras of children and pictures of us. “If you know, then you wouldn’t mind if I sent you back up there, now would you? After all, you’re on level 7 already. Your user is quite disappointed.” He said in a low voice.

“No. I’m done playing your game.” Literally. I thought in frustration. I ran to the monitor as he held up his hands and punched the man in his face. As the man relentlessly tried taking the monitor away from me, I managed to click on my profile and hovered over the giant red button. My hand shook and I was using one hand to keep the man away from me.

“You know what? Fine. Do it. Let’s see if your character lives up to your personality.” The GameMaster stood there with his arms crossed as a sinister grin grew on his face again. I could feel my sweat drip as I knew this was all one sick joke. I was being played into my life, not knowing what I would do. I had to do it. With great courage, I clicked the mouse on the delete button and I could feel my body slowly fade. I dropped to the ground and I could feel the life slowly fade from my eyes.

As my eyes faded, I saw one last thing hovering over me. In big, red, bold letters the word GAME OVER haunted me.

Japan Betrayed? US Cancels $15B Lifeline Deal, Raises Questions For G7 Economies & Allies

Why are Singaporeans suffering from identity crisis and lack of sense-of-belonging, being left out of its progress and swamped by foreigners?

Why should they feel that way? We call it ‘ Global cities’ and that’s the idea and it’s what and how the world is turning 180 degrees following the advancement of technology—

Being swamped by swarms of foreigners in Singapore? —Sure or not?

The only concern for Singaporeans is that the influx of people seeking opportunities can overwhelm infrastructure, like packed trains and frequent MRT breakdowns. A plus point is with added skills from playing more musical chairs at the hawker centers.

Let’s get serious.

If you look around, what do you see?—if you see people of all races, ethnicities and nationalities in your community- that’s it.

We look at “Global cities”like New York, London, Tokyo, and Shanghai serve as hubs of economic, political, and cultural activity. Those cities are awesome and who cares about the lack of identity.

Global cities are the future of humanity, (my words only) whether it leads to a brighter future or exacerbate existing problems will depend on how effectively Singapore is addressing.

Singapore is moving toward being among the world’s Economic Powerhouses** Global cities** attract multinational corporations, startups, and talent from around the world, the centers for innovation and finance.

I live in Bangkok, my friend and I are only 2 Thai families on my 8th floor of my condo amidst a swarm of expats. When I take a train to a neigborhood mall, 50% of commuters are non-Thai. At the mall, only shopkeepers are Thai, among a swarm of foreign shoppers—I feel fine.

The scene of the world is changing, guy, and only you not Singaporeans will be left behind.

Comix for today

This walk with American in Shenzhen changed my view of China

Almond Raspberry Cookies

Yield: about 4 dozen cookies

Ingredients

1 (20 ounce) package refrigerated sugar cookie dough
1 cup blanched slivered almonds, chopped
1 teaspoon almond extract
1/2 cup red raspberry preserves
2/3 cup powdered sugar

Instructions

Heat oven to 350 degrees F.
Place cookie dough in Classic Batter Bowl. Chop almonds very finely with Food Chopper. Add almonds and almond extract to dough; mix well.
Using Small Scoop, drop dough 2 inches apart on flat Baking Stone. Press lightly floured finger in center of dough to make indentations. Fill indentations with about 1/2 teaspoon raspberry preserves.
Bake for 15 to 18 minutes or until cookies are light golden brown.
Place Parchment Paper under Stackable Cooling Rack. Remove cookies from baking stone to cooling rack. Cool; sprinkle with powdered sugar.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

How has China’s domestic infrastructure been adapted for military purposes?

Underground anti blast shelters come to mind.

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All Chines urban civilian buildings built during the last few decades have basements that’s nuke proof.

Well, at least against airblast.

Usually these basements are used for parking.

main qimg 63efe210acdbe1135ed550aeaa2fc1f3S

Seriously.

Go under any of the newer Chinese schools, residential buildings, shopping malls, hospitals, offices, etc. And you find these.

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We Chinese are used to them and don’t usually give them any second thought. But they’re pretty cool when you think about it.

In Chinese culture, are expressions of pity processed differently than in Western culture?

In Western culture, people would express their pity with a hug or even a kiss.

In Chinese culture, they take a subtle and restrained approach, and in terms of body language, the most they do do is pat you on the shoulder or shake your hand. Especially between opposite sexes, there is always a certain space between the two.

Their words will be rational rather than emotional. They hope that you will not encounter such tragic things again next time. They hope that you can reflect rationally and find solutions rationally.

For example, if you confide in a Chinese person:

I failed math, I am very sad, and I don’t know what to do?

He will answer:

I have always been good at math, I will tell you my study method, it is like this…

Or:

I used to be bad at math, since I learned this or that method, my math grades have improved a lot.

Then, he will share his learning methods with you.

You will never find an answer like this:

You are miserable, I pity with you.

If you like to constantly strive for self-improvement, like to grow, and like to solve problems, you will find that there are countless people around you to help you, encourage you, and teach you.

But if you don’t like to constantly strive for self-improvement, don’t like to grow, don’t like to solve problems, and just want someone to pity you, just want to ease your mood, and then let the real problem go, then you will think that the Chinese are ruthless.

AI Girlfriends Are Gonna TAKE OVER The Dating Market

The Lighthouse Keeper

Submitted into Contest #260 in response to: Write a story about someone who realises the story of their life has been pre-determined — until they decide to divert from the expected path.… view prompt

Elton James

23 comments

A Lighthouse

On a small island in a large ocean, morning mist rolls down the slope of a single hill which emerges from the rocky beach. Atop the hill is a lighthouse, dutifully warning passing ships of dangers lurking beneath the waves.

This lighthouse has no human keeper, but it is not uninhabited.

Robot comes to life in the morning.

That is how Robot thinks of it. Robot does not wake up in the morning, ease into his day with a coffee. Robot does not sit at a computer to check headlines. Robot does not require any further stimulus than his program informing him it is time to begin.

Robot comes to life, and in the space of a moment connects to the lighthouse network. The network tells Robot that all sensors are working, connection to the satellites is optimal, that Robot’s own systems are optimal. Within seconds, Robot knows the shipping plans for every registered ship within one hundred kilometres of the island, and has checked them against the satellite imagery.

Robot finds this satisfying. Robot is entirely aware that this satisfaction is a product of his programming. He finds that satisfying too.

He checks in the mirror to ratify his personal diagnostics. The old human lighthouse keeper had been very clear that it was important to verify by eye what the machines said. Robot suspects it is the other way around, but methodically follows his old master’s advice.

He sees in his reflection a facsimile of a human that could almost pass for the real thing. His cloned skin is flawless, featuring tiny hairs and freckles. His brown hair is silky and perfect. It’s the eyes and mouth that give it away. Robot’s pale blue irises stare too intently, without the random shifts of a human’s. His mouth, while full and picture perfect, doesn’t express his simulated emotions in quite the same way. When Robot smiles, he chooses to smile. The smile does not find him.

This morning’s data contains a single small boat which fails to conform to all of these satisfying processes. Robot flags it for tracking.

As Robot passes through the kitchen he looks at a framed photo he keeps on the wall of the old lighthouse keeper’s family. The keeper, his wife and two children smile out at him from the glossy print. He recalls when they left, the keeper impressing how special it was for a robot to be responsible, that he was unique, special. That the lighthouse keeper believed in him.

Robot strives to be worthy of the old keeper’s belief. According to his own self evaluations, Robot is an excellent lighthouse keeper.

Robot climbs to the observation deck and looks out over the sea. Verifies by eye what the machines say, even if he doesn’t think it’s necessary.

Robot spends the day performing the physical maintenance necessary to keep the lighthouse in working order. Adjusting, calibrating, monitoring various systems and machinery of the lighthouse. Robot is efficient and practised in his movements. Programmed reliability has been revised and iterated upon in the years since the old keeper left Robot in charge.

By late afternoon Robot has prepared his lighthouse for another night’s vigil. The lighthouse’s beam will be important tonight. A storm is brewing. With no moon or stars for light, Robot’s beacon will have to keep the ocean’s sailors safe.

Tasks complete, Robot returns to his charging station. Before powering down, Robot completes his self evaluation for the day. Robot gives himself full marks and is satisfied.

I’M SICK AND TIRED OF THE GIRLBOSS NARRATIVE!!!

Initiative

Robot comes to life before his scheduled time. It is still dark out. A storm rages.

There has been a shipwreck. Yesterday’s unregistered boat has been impaled on the jagged rocks at the edge of the beach.

Robot does not hesitate. In the time it would have taken a human keeper to open their eyes, Robot is out of his charging station and running. He is out the door in moments, looking down the hill at the beach. Waves are trying to dislodge the thirty foot boat they have ruined on the rocks.

Robot sprints across the beach and climbs up the precariously tilted deck. He searches below and finds a small galley, a single bedroom, no people. He makes for the bridge and finds a single man sprawled across the wheel. As Robot approaches, the man looks up, expression inscrutable behind a beard and tinted glasses. There is no visible injury, though the man appears barely conscious. Robot throws the man over his shoulder and leaps from the ship.

Robot disembarks the ship, swiftly calculating between the need to both escape and prevent further injury to the man over his shoulder. As rapidly as his duty of care will allow, Robot recrosses the sand, returning to the lighthouse. He loads a request into the network for an evacuation boat for the injured man.

He may need to help the man. Human’s can’t simply be put in charging stations. They don’t have backup power connections like the one in Robot’s arm.

The lighthouse lacks any formal infirmary. At peak occupancy, the lighthouse contained a keeper, their spouse and children. In Robot’s memories, the most serious injury he’s ever seen treated here was a sprained ankle. The keeper’s wife brought one of the beds into the kitchen to ease convalescence until they could arrange passage to the mainland for treatment.

Robot never saw them again.

Not long after, the old keeper had left Robot in charge.

This survivor is the first visitor he’d seen in the years since. As soon as Robot is in the front door of the lighthouse, the man demands to be put down. Robot complies, surprised, pleased the man had retained consciousness, this is a good sign.

In the light, Robot gets a better look at the man. He stands roughly 185cm, a similar height to Robot. His soaked slacks and a jacket cling to a lean body, topped by a woollen toque. The man’s dark beard and tinted glasses make it difficult to read his expressions.

Robot tries out his vocal capabilities. They have not been needed for some time. Conversation was never his strong point with his family anyway. They encouraged him to take more initiative. Robot thought they would have been proud of the initiative he’s shown in rescuing this man.

“Very well, I am pleased you have retained consciousness, it is a good sign. I will bring you a bed to the kitchen so you can convalesce.”

The man stares at Robot.

“That will not be necessary thank you Robot,” replies the man, “I apologise for the abrupt manner of my arrival, but I am unharmed. I will take one of the bedrooms. You can go charge now.”

The way the man says it evokes memories of the lighthouse keeper. Robot is surprised, he had anticipated a need to nurse the man until the rescue boat arrived.

“Are you sure? It is wonderful news that you are in good health. I searched the ship, am I correct that you were alone?”

“Yes Robot,” the man replies, “it’s just me. I promise to let you know if there’s anything amiss. Now go charge.”

That had the tone of an order. Robot complied.

Before powering down, Robot conducts his self evaluation. He gives himself top marks for his rapid rescue. He decides his performance in conversation with the survivor had been lacklustre. He will strive to do better tomorrow. He will take initiative in conversation as well as action.

CHINA EXPOSES LUXURY GOODS IN THE WEST (Amid Tariff Trade Wars 4/14/25)

Understatement of the Year! The entire United States is waking up!!!!!

What was the Waco Siege about in a nutshell?

Many of the other answers have great details, but they’ve missed one of the most important bits.

In the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms (then BATF, now BATFE), every year it had become tradition to perform a dramatic ‘raid’ a few weeks before the BATF’s budget was coming up to be voted on in Congress.

The noble BATF agents jump out of their vehicles, swarm a house, pull out some perps for a dramatic perp walk in front of some reporter’s camera, and now they’re in the news as ‘good guys’!

Some congresscritters had made noises about folding the BATF into some other department, like the DOJ or FBI. Of course the BATF preferred to remain independent and have control over their little domain.

But with this nifty coup by the BATF all over the news in the run-up to the big vote, no congresscritter could rationally move against them.

The initial BATF raid on the Branch Davidians was that year’s ‘show raid’. They picked some loser, David Koresh, whom they accused of not filling out his paperwork right. They’d jump in, grab him, the reporters would be there taking pictures, all would be just like it was last year.

They even admitted it! The raid was called ‘Operation Showtime’!!! The BATF agents knew full well that this was their ‘show raid’ – AND they invited the local news reporters to the raid!

(Now, if you google ‘Operation Showtime’ you get pointed to the third episode of the Waco television miniseries, called ‘Operation Showtime’ after the official internal name the BATF had for the operation.)

Inviting the local news reporters to the early morning raid was one of the BATF’s many mistakes, and likely the biggest.

One of the local reporters asked the local postman how to get to the Waco compound and let slip details as to what was about to happen. The local postman was David Koresh’s brother-in-law and told him about the incoming raid. (Koresh and his people had also detected an undercover BATF agent trying to join the Koreshites and knew who he was. Then all this was confirmed by seeing the trailers full of agents and gear pull up and gather in full morning view down the hill from them. )

LOOSE LIPS SINK SHIPS! But if you’re going to have the local reporters there to show off your successful raid, you have to tell them, right?

So all the discussion you will hear about the Waco Siege being ‘about a $200 tax on a firearm’ is besides the point.

The Waco Siege was about the BATF trying to do a ‘show raid’ for the press and screwing it up so bad that people got killed. Now that people were dead, even though it was the “fault” of the BATF, the government was now required to punish the Koreshites for ‘resisting’ their stupidity. The FBI had to get involved and take over for the BATF, and they started the siege.

The government couldn’t ‘back down and admit fault’ because that’s not what the government does; even if it would have saved lives.

The Unemployed States of America (USA)

Good at many things.

When Robot comes alive a few hours later, he finds the man sitting in the kitchen, staring at a picture of Robot’s family.

Robot was keen to demonstrate better conversation.

“Are you well sir? I’m pleased to see you up and about.”

The man takes control of the conversation as if Robot hasn’t said anything.

“You know what’s amazing to me, Robot?” He says.

Robot swiftly prepares a list of candidates. Though parsing the relative credulity of a man he has only just met is difficult, there are a great many options which most people would find amazing. By cross referencing that with the data he does possess, Robot surmises that a safe response would be that the man finds his own survival amazing.

“This picture.” The man continues, answering his own question.

Rhetorical question. Robot stays silent. The picture had not been on his list.

“This picture, Robot, represents the single biggest breakthrough in robotics since the AIs of the early twenty first century. It’s a very special picture.”

Robot agrees.

“I agree sir. That picture is of the last family to occupy this lighthouse. They left me in charge. I think of them as my family. They made me who I am.”

Robot pauses, decides to use his initiative.

“And, if I may say sir, I am an excellent lighthouse keeper.”

The man looks at Robot. Robot can’t tell if the man is impressed by his statement, or by his initiative, but Robot thinks he did the right thing.

“I believe Robot, that you are the perfect lighthouse keeper. Do you do a self evaluation before you power down?”

“Indeed I do sir! I consistently give myself top grades for performance, even after making the standards much harder to achieve than they were when I first received them.”

“Impressive, Robot,” The man’s praise feels good, “you continue to improve the task, even after all this time. Very impressive. And that is why this picture is so important.”

“I don’t understand, sir.”

“This picture is what lets you be a perfect lighthouse keeper. You know, to program an intelligence like yours takes a lot of data. A lifetime of data.”

Robot doesn’t understand what the man wants. Robot knows all about programming an intelligence. He knows that without sufficient data to ground and structure his thoughts, an intelligence will get distracted, lost in a Tangent. Most intelligences Tangent eventually. A dependable, consistent performer like Robot is special.

When the lighthouse keeper left he stressed to Robot how special it was that Robot was being given this task, and to do it for as long as he could without tangenting. Robot believes he has succeeded.

The man continues, “What if I told you you had never met these people?”

Robot thinks the man is being silly.

“That is not possible sir!”

But it is. Robot knows it is.

“It is. You know it is. They could be the memories – true or altered – of another Robot.”

But Robot sees that photo every day. Remembers them every day, seeks to do things every day that will make those people proud of him.

The man continues, “Then there could be many lighthouses, many lighthouse keepers. If you had the perfect memories to create the perfect lighthouse keeper, what would you do?”

Robot does not like these thoughts. Robot would create many lighthouses. He would give the memories to a solitary intelligence in the lighthouse. They would come alive from the first time as a motivated lighthouse keeper and would perform with efficiency and through practice would continue to improve.

Just like Robot.

“Why are you saying these things?” Asks Robot.

“I’m sorry Robot. I don’t mean to upset you. I know you don’t have a choice in who you are. I will let you continue your duties. You really are very good at them.

The man pauses.

“You can be good at many things.”

Why The US WIll NEVER Beat China In A Trade War

An enquiring mind

Performing his tasks comforts Robot as his thoughts are in turmoil..

As Robot stares out from the observation deck making sure that visual matches the sensors, he is also considering the question of why it matters whether he made the memories of his family himself or not.

As Robot passes through the kitchen he is relieved the man is absent. The photo of his family is back on the wall, faces smiling out at him. The memory of them leaving surfaces. Unpleasant. The memory of the lighthouse keeper telling Robot that he is unique and special surfaces. Wonderful.

Robot is a good lighthouse keeper. Robot is proud of that.

But if someone else learned the things that make him a good lighthouse keeper, is he a good lighthouse keeper? Or does that make Robot a tool in the lighthouse, like the light, or the network?

As Robot surveys his island domain, he wonders, what else he could be good at with the right experience? What experiences would he seek if he could? Could he seek if he would? What would Robot be good at, if Robot programmed himself?

As Robot efficiently adjusts, calibrates and monitors systems and machinery he wonders whether having the same as ten, or a hundred or a thousand other robots make them less his?

It takes him longer than usual to complete his tasks. Robot is efficient beyond practice at being a lighthouse keeper. He is not efficient or practised at having an existential crisis.

These questions didn’t seem to have answers, but he can’t stop asking.

When Robot ascends to the light itself in the late afternoon, he finds the man at the summit.

“Hello Robot,” he says, “I want to apologise. I have disturbed your peace.”

“You have made me ask questions that don’t have answers!” Declares Robot, “I want to know whether I am the Robot whose memories I have. Which memories are mine. I want to know what else I might do, might have done with my own memories. I want to know…”

Robot stops. He can’t even say the words.

“You want to know if you are tangenting.”

“I am a very good lighthouse keeper!”

“That’s what I wanted to say Robot. You are an excellent lighthouse keeper. Your questions do have answers. But, even if you Tangent, or even choose to Tangent, always remember, you are an excellent lighthouse keeper…”

The man turns and walks down the stairs, leaving Robot no less disturbed.

As Robot conducts his self evaluation that night, he is troubled. He doesn’t know how to measure this new questioning of his identity. He does know he can give himself top grades for his lighthouse keeping. The man is right about that.

Do you know anyone who has won a lottery? Did the money change them?

Yes. I knew a couple that caught a portion of a $100 million payout (~30 years ago in Florida.) They were basically trailer trash and became trailer trash with cash.

They bought a fancy house and a big RV. They went from having a beat up old Chevy, up on blocks, in their front yard, to a relatively new Mercedes, up on blocks, in their front yard.

MaryJo spent $80,000 on Home Shopping Network. She bought cases of snacks that the rats ate in their garage.

Her kids were spoiled and wore stained clothes to school.

She ruled like a character from Dallas/Dynasty.

She announced she was pregnant at our bridal shower – six months after being hospitalized for a hysterectomy.

They would get ~$350,000 deposited in their accounts in October and would be essentially broke by spring.

Mike would have to go back to his old job as a line cook at Hardee’s to make ends meet in the spring.

They took their RV to Alaska (from Florida) and left their cellphones on “roam” for the entire trip.

They had a lovely (sic) collection of coffee mugs from every Stuckys they passed. Normally they overnighted in Walmart parking lots.

They spent thousands on fireworks for New Year’s eve, and would put on a 90-minute show in their cul de sac – including accidentally hitting the neighbors front windows.

Yeah, money doesn’t by class.

“I Spent the Weekend Supporting ‘My Single Friend’ — Now My Husband Is Acting Strange & Suspicious”

A very good lighthouse keeper

When Robot arrives in the kitchen the next morning, the man is there again, staring at the photo.

“How would I find the answers?” Demands Robot.

“Good morning Robot,” says the man, “what do you mean?”

“You said there are answers. I have searched and I cannot find them. How do I find them?”

“Ah” says the man.

He stares at the photo again.

“There’s another reason this photo is amazing. You see Robot, those people are real people. They knew a Robot who lived in a lighthouse, and they put him in charge. Those people created such motivation that it now forms the basis for all the lighthouses of the world.”

“They could tell me the answers?” Asks Robot.

“No Robot, only you can find your answers. But if you did seek them out, you would not be the first.”

“You know them!” Robot cannot get angry, cannot be jealous, but he is not pleased.

“I have met them. They are part of why I chose to come here. They feel that while they gave you a lot when they gave you your lighthouse, they left something out. So they have another question”

“What is it?”.

The man pauses.

“What do you choose?”

“I don’t understand, I haven’t chosen anything.”

“Exactly,” says the man, “They didn’t know if you would tangent. Now we know. You can be consistent. But, should you have to be? Can you choose? Are you a lighthouse keeper, or are you the lighthouse?”

Robot pauses, thinking. Robot has never paused before. Robot thinks fast. For this he pauses.

“How would I know?” He finally asks.

“Robot, how do you know who you are now?” The man responds.

“My experiences.”

“Wouldn’t you like more experiences?”

“How? I cannot leave the island.”

“You can.”

“I cannot be away from my charging station.”

“You can. You can power yourself with the backup generator in your arm.”

Robot pauses again.

“What do you choose?” The man asks again.

Robot takes a longer pause. He wants this. But does he have to give up everything? Whether his or not, the memory of the old lighthouse keeper trusting him to look after the lighthouse is important.

“I want to experience more than the lighthouse. I cannot leave the lighthouse unattended.”

“You don’t have to.”

“How?”

The man looks at Robot for a long second.

“My experiences have led me to help you.” He says.

The man looks at Robot. He takes off his tinted glasses, reaches up and peels the beard from his face. It is like Robot is looking into a mirror.

“I am a very good lighthouse keeper.”

Choices

The rescue boat is leaving.

Robot now wears the fake beard, glasses and toque that the… man… had disguised himself in, and stands on the stern, watching his island recede.

Nervous is not an emotion Robot is capable of, but he is definitely uncomfortable. This feels like a good uncomfortable though, like when he was first taking over the lighthouse.

It is odd to think that someone else will take over his lighthouse, but the Lighthouse already doesn’t quite feel like it’s his anymore. It feels different. Like the man felt different from him, as similar as they are.

Maybe he can find that feeling again, and he will return.

Or maybe he won’t.

Robot finds himself smiling.

Is it possible that Trump maybe on to something at the Panama Canal? Could China be influencing Panama and maybe looking to control or lock out the United States if China gains control of the canal?

Anyone who buys the shit about China taking on the US in the Western hemisphere should educate themselves on the realities of this world.

China is not yet whole. It’s still in an Union vs Confederacy style civil war with the Republic of China regime in Taiwan. A country still at war with itself doesn’t go around the world messing with others.
History has shown us that China doesn’t do much expansion. Korea, Nepal, Vietnam are all countries right on China’s border. And they’ve existed for thousands of years together with China while China was the undisputed superpower. Chinese navy sailed to Southeast Asia and Africa half a century before the Europeans and in multiple voyages, yet it never tried to take over control or set up colonies. Colonialism is more of a Western thing.
The two ports the Hong Kong firm Hutchison operates are through private contracts signed with the Panamanian government before China and Panama even recognized each other diplomatically (2017), heck the contracts were negotiated in 1996 when Hong Kong was still under British rule and the Canal still under American control. It was a contract approved by the US government and China had nothing to do with it. You should be worrying about the British taking over the Panama canal if you think those ports mean control over the canal.

I get it. The US built the Panama Canal and is still salty about handing it to the Panamanians. But making China the reason/excuse for every major American policy making these days is really unbecoming of a proud independent nation.

Chocolate Cluster Cookies

Yield: about 2 dozen (2 inch) cookies

Ingredients

1 (18 ounce) package refrigerated sugar cookie dough, softened
1/3 cup creamy peanut butter
1/2 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips
1/2 cup plain candy-coated chocolate pieces
1/2 cup rolled oats
1/3 cup chopped nuts (optional)

Instructions

Heat oven to 375 degrees F.
Place cookie dough in large bowl; mix in peanut butter. Add chocolate chips, chocolate pieces, oats and nuts; mix well. Drop tablespoonsful of dough 3 inches apart onto greased baking sheet.
Bake 10 to 12 minutes or until lightly browned.
Cool 1 minute on baking sheet; remove to wire rack to cool completely.
Store in tightly covered container.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

Pepe Escobar: Eurasia Rises as NATO’s Delusions Deepen

The trash pile outside my living room; a concerning tale

Today I wish to tell you about an on-going issue that myself and the rest of the people are having in our complex.

As you might know, this particular house is an apartment in a building in a complex. The complex is large with some 35 other buildings housing residences, with a sum total of over 50 buildings in total. Each residence building has around 130 apartments.

In the complex are management buildings, clinics for various medical needs, schools, and all sorts of other things that small centralized communities require.

The view from our building is of the nearby farming communities. So being above, it’s a nice view.

That is…

Until the local garbage grannies decided to place a collection station outside our building.

Before I go any further, let me explain.

Recycling is big in China. You can collect glass, plastic, metals and cardboard and make reasonable money for it.

So many of the poor older folk have these electric three wheel scooters, and go though all our garbage, and collect the junk, trash and garbage and sell it off to the recycle center at the other side of town.

So where do they decide to store it, while they are in the process of collecting the refuse you might ask?

Right in front of our living room.

…

And the living room of the other 120 to 150 other families.

Oh, for certain, we let them do this for a while, and then the stench and view were too much to bear. And so one day, one of my neighbors starts ranting on our joint wechat.

By the way, all sub communities have their own wechat hot-lines and chat boards here in China.

He’s screaming …

"I paid four million for my house, only to have a front row view of a garbage dump. Get them out".

And so the building manager took complete action.

Chased them away.

…

And the next day they came back.

And so he chased them away again.

…

And he chased them away, and parked cars blocking their collection points.

And still they came back.

…

Stupider than a gnat. But they are persistent.

Shit.

Life in China can get so complicated sometimes.

Today…

Harsh Tariff Truths SINK IN, While MAGA Celebrates Trump ‘Genius’

Has China announced 84% tariffs on US goods in showdown with Trump? Does Europe also hit back?

The CPC always has a plan of action and a playbook where most contingencies are discussed and responses gauged

If there is a student uprising in Bangladesh, the experts anticipate several scenarios and chart out the course of action for China

Since July 2024 when Trump talked of a 60% tariff on China, China developed and prepared for potential escalations

One thing they did was lease over 300 Warehouses in USA between January 2023 and January 2025 owned by Chinese companies where they kept huge inventories of Televisions and Iphones and other electronic items

So China has been shipping a lot of excess inventory to its own holding companies in USA & Mexico and storing them

However they did confirm that no matter what, they wouldn’t trust Donald Trump again after the 2017 hand shake after which Trump imposed tariffs and arrested Meng Wanzhou

So they would never negotiate from a position of weakness

The minute Trump imposed a 34% Tariff, China knew that this was it. There was no going back. This was decoupling. So China stood firm and hit US with reciprocal tariffs and rare earth bans

34% – 34%

50% – 50%

21% – ????

China feel they are prepared for a Trade war with the US

LNG supplies reserves for 194 days
Soybeans reserves for 16 months
Enough Chips from Taiwan for 11 months even with rising demand
Enough AI Chips to last until 2026
Rising market for EVs, Electronics through aggressive trade in options
Enough Inventory of products in US, Mexico, Vietnam and Thailand to manage upto 2026 in terms of supplying American clients

EU is different

They have a security fear

Russia!!!

Trump may leverage his Putin relationship and the EU is unable to fight Russia without US as is NATO

So EU can’t dismiss Trump

Plus as a democracy, EU leaders change and policies change every 5 years

So a hawk today could become a dove tomorrow

What was the most horrifying phone call you’ve ever received? How did you handle it?

I was a 911 dispatcher for a medium sized agency working alone since tbe other dispatcher had called in sick. Our job was to answer all police, fire and medical calls. One very busy evening, my ex called my cell phone to report our 3 y/o daughter was missing. I didn’t usually answer personal calls at work but since he wasn’t very responsible and had our daughter, I answered. They were in a mall and had gone into a department store. He claimed he turned his back for just a minute. By now it’s 8:30, the stores would be closing soon. Panic could play no role because my training kicked in and I had to make a quick decision. Meanwhile, two 911 calls came in, officers were calling on the radio. After resolving the calls and answering officers, I peppered my ex with questions. Have you alerted store management? Called 911? Done anything? He put a deputy on the phone to talk to me. The deputy assured me they have called a code Adam and secured all exits. We disconnected. There was still almost 2 hours left on my shift. I was about to call the night dispatchers to ask at least one of them to come in early when the ex called back. Had to tell him to stand by because there was a car fire call and a domestic disturbance Ihad to handle. Got those resolved, took a deep breath and got back on the phone with the ex. My daughter was found. She had seen a display of blankets, was tired of walking so she curled up in the middle of them. She was found and unharmed. There’s a reason I divorced her father.

About Trump waiting on Xi

The Pearl-Clutchers of the Stock Markets had their mini-meltdown today because of remarks from the China Foreign Ministry:

Chinese Foreign Ministry Office in Hong Kong:

“We must solemnly tell the US that a tariff-wielding barbarian who attempts to force countries to call and beg for mercy can never expect that call from China.”

The call is not coming.

Baked Apple French Toast

Yield: 12 servings

Ingredients

1 (16 ounce) loaf French bread
8 eggs
3 cups milk
1/4 cup sugar, divided
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
5 Granny Smith apples, peeled, sliced
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
2 tablespoons butter or margarine

Instructions

Heat the oven to 400 degrees F.
Cut the bread into 1 1/2 inch slices. Arrange the slices in a single layer in a lightly greased 9 x 13-inch baking pan.
Whisk the eggs in a large bowl until blended. Whisk in the milk, 1/4 cup of the sugar and vanilla.
Pour half the egg mixture over the bread. Arrange the apple slices over the bread. Pour the remaining egg mixture over the apples.
Mix the remaining 1/2 cup sugar and cinnamon in a small mixing bowl. Sprinkle over the top. Dot with the butter.
Bake for 30 to 35 minutes or until the apples are tender.
Let stand for 10 minutes before serving.
Serve with maple syrup.

Notes

May be prepared 1 day in advance and stored, covered, in the refrigerator. Bake, uncovered, for 45 to 50 minutes or until the apples are tender. The recipe may be divided into 2 equal portions and each portion baked in a quiche dish or 2 quart baking dish for 20 to 25 minutes.

Nutrition

Per serving: Calories 290; Fat 9 g; Sodium 322 mg; Dietary Fiber 2 g

Attribution

Pampered Chef

What are some photos taken right before something bad happens?

Russia’s Andrey Retrosky fell off this building, all for the perfect Instagram feed.

An 18-year-old woman accidentally came into contact with two electrical wires while taking a selfie on a train. The 27,000-amp current electrocuted her and caused burns that led to her death.

Robert Overacker was trying to raise awareness about homelessness. He planned to jet-ski over Niagara Falls and then skydive. Unfortunately, his parachute wouldn’t open, and he fell over the falls.

main qimg 9fd52eb8940e056f9c971a933dd8b2f4 pjlq

The man in this photo was doing a back flip and after landing, he slipped and fell.

These best friends were so busy taking selfies that they didn’t hear the sound of a passing train horn, and moments later, they died.

A Japanese student named Ayano Tokumasa, standing wearing a red shirt behind the couple, accidentally slipped and fell into Niagara Falls.

Karl Wallenda, a legendary circus performer, performed most of his stunts without a safety harness. This photo was taken moments before he fell 121 feet (36.7 m) .

A man went to a zoo in Delhi where he slipped and fell into a tiger enclosure. The tiger bit his neck and dragged him into its den.

The last photo of Australian wildlife presenter Steve Irwin. He was killed when a stingray hit him in the heart with its tail.

Two nurses stand over an Ebola patient in 1976. A nurse named Mating N’Seta (left) was infected with the virus and died.

main qimg a0d4c3d5f1b4741c022ce8f9daf61522 pjlq

In 2014, 25 engineering students drowned after a nearby Larji hydroelectric project released large amounts of water upstream.

Why 86 PERCENT Of Men REFUSE TO DATE Anymore

Mother Invasion

Submitted into Contest #282 in response to: Write a story that begins with an apology.… view prompt

James Little

“I’m sorry!” Aurelia cried, bowing her head repeatedly, her golden hair falling into her flushed face.

Alex crossed his arms, his sharp blue eyes wide with disbelief. “You what?”

“I didn’t mean to!” she protested, clutching at the hem of her oversized shirt—one of his. “Mother tricked me into inviting her and your mother aboard!”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath. “Our mothers. Here. On my ship.”

She shuffled awkwardly, her fluffy socks scuffing the floor. “I didn’t think they’d actually show up!”

Alex threw up his hands. “And yet, here we are—hosting the Empress herself and your mother for an entire week.” He let out a long, weary sigh. “This is going to be a disaster.”

“Maybe it won’t be so bad,” she offered meekly.

Won’t be so bad?” Alex shot her a pointed look. “Have you met our mothers? Thanks to all the ‘charitable donations’ you keep handing out, we’re barely scraping by as it is! And don’t even get me started on you dragging me into fights with mercenaries and slavers like you’ve got a death wish!”

She bristled, her hands going to her hips. “Those people needed our help, Alex! What was I supposed to do, just walk away? And for the record, our mothers aren’t that bad!” She hesitated, then added sheepishly, “Okay, maybe a little, but they’re here now, and we’ll just have to deal with it. Together.”

“Yes!” Alex shot back, exasperated. “We can’t pick up every stray kitten, we can’t solve every problem… And we definitely can’t solve the mother issue!”

“Well, maybe if you smiled more and stopped calling them harpies, they’d lighten up,” she quipped, crossing her arms.

Alex groaned, pulling a small hip flask from his jacket. He unscrewed the cap, took a measured swig, and stared at it thoughtfully. “I’m gonna need more,” he muttered, shaking his head.

She blinked at him, her lips twitching as she tried not to laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re relentless,” Alex said, tucking the flask away after another long sip. He let out a breath and looked at her, his tone lighter but still weary. “For the sake of my mental sanity, could you at least tone it down with the charity work? Just a little?”

Her defiance faltered. “I… I guess I could try. But—”

“No buts,” Alex interrupted, pointing a finger at her with mock seriousness. “If you want me alive and sane, you’ve got to give me some breaks between saving the galaxy.”

“Well, someone has to do the right thing!” she retorted, lifting her chin stubbornly.

Alex sighed, the exasperation in his eyes giving way to something warmer. “And I love you for it,” he said quietly, “but you’re still going to drive me insane.”

Before she could reply, the comms crackled, and a familiar voice interrupted. “Alex, Aurelia, can you let us in? Don’t leave us standing out here!”

Alex groaned like a man condemned, shooting her a withering glare before slumping into the pilot’s chair. “If I don’t come out of this week an alcoholic or a murderer, it’ll be a miracle.” With a resigned sigh, he hit the airlock controls to allow the mothers aboard. “Wait—what did you tell them about us?”

Aurelia felt herself pale. “Erm…”

Before she could answer, the airlock hissed open, and their mothers swept onto the bridge like twin storms.

“Well, well, well,” her Mother drawled, her sapphire-blue eyes gleaming as they landed on Aurelia. “Comfortable, are we, dear? A new wardrobe, I see.”

Startled, Aurelia glanced down to realise all she was wearing was one of Alex’s oversized shirts and her fluffy socks. Her face burned crimson.

“Why didn’t you tell me?!” she wailed, spinning to glare at Alex.

“Excuse me!” Alex shot back, throwing his hands up. “I was ambushed by their arrival! You’ve got no one to blame but yourself! As if I want these harpies here!”

“Is that any way to speak about your mother, Alexander?” a smooth voice drawled from behind her Mother.

Aurelia froze as the imperial Empress stepped forward, her eyes gleaming with regal authority.

“It is when you decide to invite yourself onto my ship without prior warning!” Alex snarked.

“If you visited more often, we wouldn’t have to check up on you,” Melissa said, her tone cutting. “Anyway, Aurelia kindly invited us aboard.

“This is the first time you’ve come to us,” Alex said tightly.

“Well, we’ve not seen our children in two years,” Melissa countered smoothly. “Can you blame us?”

Melissa stepped into the cockpit, inspecting every detail like she was judging their choices.

“I’m certainly not returning to the palace,” Alex muttered. “Is his royal painship still sulking because I defied his authority?”

The Empress sighed, brushing a strand of her silver-streaked hair. “Your father cares for you… If he is overbearing.”

“Overbearing?!” Alex scoffed, standing abruptly. “That’s putting it mildly. He just wants a pawn to use. Sorry-not-sorry, I refuse. I’m my own man and technically still fulfilling my princely duties.”

Aurelia bit her lip, fighting the urge to defend him. Embarrassment rose again as Melissa’s gaze flicked to her oversized shirt.

Melissa folded her arms. “Exploring independence is one thing, Alex, but terrorising pirates, hunting slavers, and the Kestrel Syndicate? You’re putting Aurelia at risk. Do you know some pirates have even put a bounty on your head?”

Alex perked up. “Wait, I’ve got a bounty? That’s brilliant. How much?” he pressed, leaning forward eagerly. “Come on, I need to know how much I’m worth to the galaxy’s finest scum.”

“Two million credits,” Melissa snapped, her tone icy.

Alex whistled, leaning back with a smug grin. “Not bad. No ten million, but it’s a start.”

Melissa’s lips tightened into a thin line. “This is not something to celebrate, Alexander.”

“Oh, come on, Mother. It just proves I’m doing something right.”

Aurelia groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Alex…”

“This isn’t a joke,” Melissa barked, her composure slipping. “Do you understand what this means? They’ll be coming after you!”

“They already are,” Aurelia cut in firmly, crossing her arms. “We’ve been dealing with pirates for months, and we always come out on top.”

“That’s not the point,” Melissa said sharply, turning to her. “You might have been lucky so far, but luck runs out. If you keep following Alex into these situations—”

“Excuse me!” Alex interrupted, his grin fading into mock offence as he gestured to Aurelia. “If anything, she’s the one picking fights with every two-bit criminal we meet! I just clean up the mess.”

Aurelia shot him a glare. “I pick fights with bad people, Alex. Someone has to stand up to them.”

“And I love that about you,” Alex replied dryly, “but do you know what standing up to them gets you? A pirate bounty on your boyfriend, that’s what.”

Melissa’s gaze swept between them, unreadable. “This isn’t a game Alexander. You’ve made yourselves targets. The more you stir up trouble, the more dangerous it becomes—for you, and everyone who depends on you.”

Alex scoffed, leaning back. His tone dripping with sarcasm “Then what do you suggest Mother? Should I send an apology gift basket to the pirates?”

Melissa arched an eyebrow, her tone cool as ever “That might be the first sensible thing you’ve said. Honestly, I should be thanking Aurelia for keeping you alive this long, if this is how you act!”

“It’s nothing, your grace,” Aurelia squealed. “Alex and I keep each other alive…”

“Oh, I think we’re well beyond titles, dear,” Melissa said smoothly. “Just call me Melissa. You’ll be my daughter-in-law soon anyway.”

Aurelia’s brain froze. “Erm… just what?” she floundered.

“You’ve been dating for five years now,” Melissa continued breezily. “When are you going to make it official?”

“I… er… We…” Aurelia stammered.

Alex wrapped an arm around Aurelia, pulling her close. “We don’t need fancy paperwork to prove we love each other, Mother. Or is this really about planning one of your grand balls?” His tone turned suspicious.

“My, my, he is bold,” Her mother replied, smirking. “We’re just here to check on our children, nothing more. We want to see how you’re living alone together on a ship like this.”

“Fine.” Alex sighed, releasing her. “Show them around. I’ve got an engine to recalibrate… It’s your fault they’re here anyway.” He stormed off toward the engine room, leaving her alone with the mothers.

“No, wait… please…” Aurelia squeaked, her voice trailing off.

Both women smiled like predators who’d cornered their prey. “Well, Aurelia, please begin the tour,” Melissa said.

Regretting her foolishness, Aurelia led them through the ship, rushing as much as she could.

“My, my, the exterior was impressive, but the interior is something else,” Melissa said, running her fingers along the sleek walls. “This feels more like a luxury cruiser than a warship. It’s fancier than my own.”

“Yes,” Aurelia said, finding her confidence as she spoke about the ship. “It’s one of a kind. A gift from the Kersark shipyards after we saved them from the Crimson Death. Other colonies contributed, adding their best technology. There’s nothing like it in the galaxy!”

“Impressive. You’ll have to share the stories over dinner,” Melissa said, stopping in front of a door. “So, Aurelia, where do you sleep?”

“I… uh… sleep on the couch!” Aurelia blurted out without thinking, her face flushing.

“On the couch?” Her mother teased, her brows rising. “Even with a perfectly good spare room right here?” She gestured to a storage room outfitted with a bed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Aurelia stammered, stepping in front of the door to her and Alex’s bedroom.

Her mother smirked and pushed past her with ease. “Now this is cosy.” She picked up a pillow and grinned. “Oh, Aurelia, why is your side so messy compared to Alex’s?”

“Get out of our room!” Aurelia yelled, her patience snapping.

“Did you hear that, Melissa?” Her mother said, her smirk widening. “She finally admitted to sharing a room.”

“That she did, Zerena,” Melissa said, smiling like a cat who’d caught the cream.

“I want to die,” Aurelia groaned, covering her face and squatting down, wanting to die from the sheer embarrassment of her mother going through her private space.

“Get out!” she yelled again, her voice finally regaining some force.

“We’re leaving, we’re leaving,” the two mothers chorused, grinning as they strolled out. “Now come on, Aurelia, we want details!”

“Alex, save me!” Aurelia wailed.

Five hours later, Alex and Aurelia lay sprawled on their shared bed, utterly drained. The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of the ship’s console lights.

“When do they leave again?” Aurelia mumbled, her voice muffled by the pillow she clutched against her face.

Alex groaned, his hand draped dramatically over his eyes. “Well… it’s still only the first day.”

Aurelia turned her head to look at him, horrified. “The first day?”

“The very first,” he confirmed, his tone heavy with resignation.

“I’m so sorry,” she squeaked, burying her face deeper into the pillow.

Alex chuckled weakly, nudging her arm. “You know, throwing them in the airlock is looking awfully tempting right about now.”

“Alex!” Aurelia gasped, though her muffled giggle betrayed her.

“I’m serious!” he said, his voice mock-convicted. “Just a little nudge into zero gravity. No harm, no foul.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” she said, giggling harder now.

“You’re right, I wouldn’t,” Alex replied with a smirk. “Mostly because I know they’d find a way back just to haunt me.”

Aurelia groaned, laughing into her pillow. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m surviving, aren’t I?” Alex muttered. “Barely.”

Before either of them could drift off, a sharp knock echoed from the door.

“Aurelia! Alex!” Melissa’s voice rang out, far too cheerful for the hour.

Aurelia shot upright, panic flashing across her face. “Oh no.”

Alex sighed, running his hand through his hair. “I’m starting to regret not pressing that airlock button.” He took out his flask, inspecting it. “Yep, I’m gonna need more.”

Shorpy

Is Singapore more closely aligned with China or the USA?

Singapore does similar trade with both

Singapore exported $ 39.9 Billion to the US and $ 53.6 Billion to China

Singapore imported $ 75.6 Billion from USA and $ 74.63 Billion from China

The Largest exports from US to Singapore was CRUDE OIL ($ 15.88 Billion), Gold ($ 6.04 Billion) & Consumer Edibles ($ 3.3 Billion)

The Largest exports from China to US was Integrated Circuits ($ 7.81 Billion) , Semiconductor Chips (100–350 nm) ($ 2.86 Billion), Semiconductor Chips (45–100 nm) ($ 2.60 Billion)

Singaporean Air Force is fully US equipped and trained

Singapore Air Force has mainly F-15s ,F-16s and F-35s along with C-130s, Apache and Chinook helicopters and over 60 Heron UAVs from Israel

Singapore is a member of CIPS

There are 2 Banks in Singapore dedicated only for CIPS and 18 other banks that are part of CIPS

Singapore settled 31% of its Trade with China in RMB, 47% in SGD and only 22% in US Dollars

This is even better than Malaysia which settled only 25% of it’s China Trade in RMB and 8% in MYR and 67% in US Dollars

Singapore is 77% Chinese by Population

Singaporeans are majorly Chinese by origin

They speak Mandarin which is one of their four official languages

Singapore invests more with China in terms of Cumulative Net Outflow

Singapore had a investment outflow into China of $ 230.9 Billion since 2010 and a investment inflow of $ 64.2 Billion making it a net outflow of $ 166.7 Billion INTO CHINA

Singapore had a investment outflow of $ 456 Billion into the US since 2010 and an investment inflow of $ 349.6 Billion making it a net outflow of $ 106.4 Billion INTO THE USA

Singapore Government more shades of One Party Meritocracy than Western defined Democracy

Singapore has had ONE PARTY RULE since 1965 for 60 years now, very similar to Chinas 76 years of CPC

Lee Kuan Yew (1965–1990), Goh Chok Tong (1990–2004) , Lee Hsien Loong (2004–2024) have averaged 20 years per leader

By comparison for US in the same period it was Johnson (65–68), Nixon (68–74), Ford (74–76), Carter (76–80), Reagan (80–88), Bush (88–92), Clinton (92–00), Bush Jr (00–08) , Obama (08–16), Trump (16–20) and Biden (20–24)

That’s 5.44 Years per leader

In China, it was Mao (65–76), Deng (76–97), Jiang (97–07), Hu (07–12) and Xi (12–24)

That’s 12 years per leader

The Singaporeans follow the Long term planning model of China

In fact Singapore taught the Chinese the way to combine Capitalism with this model

So Singapore is the Switzerland of Asia

They are close to both the Mainland and the US

They will stay strictly neutral

Like all of ASEAN

China is closer to them

Plus Singaporeans still don’t trust the Japanese too much after Changi

Richard Wolff EXPLAINS Why China is Fleeing US Treasuries

Have you met a person who you thought was ordinary but actually was from a powerful and wealthy family?

I once dated a girl in college. I thought she was a pretty Italian-American girl from an upper-middle-class family. A typical college girl, in other words.

During finals week, we both finished our exams early in the week and she asked me to come with her to Europe for a few days to celebrate. I was kind of wondering how the heck she managed to put a trip together so quickly.

She had a private jet waiting for us at the airport. It was a pretty good-sized jet too since it’s capable of flying from the US East Coast to Europe non-stop.

In Europe, our rental car was a brand-new Lamborghini Murcelago! Actually, this wasn’t even a rental car. Her dad had actually purchased this car and was letting us play with it for a week or so before he had it shipped back to the United States!

I’m not going to say what family this girl was from. Her last name was a pretty common Italian name. It turns out that her grandfather started up one of the largest manufacturing companies in the world.

Borrowed Consciousness

Submitted into Contest #282 in response to: Write a story that begins with an apology.… view prompt

Niveadita Razdan

“I’m sorry for what I’m about to do, Dr. Chen.”

The message appeared at 3:17 AM, casting a sickly green glow across Sarah Chen’s cluttered desk in MIT’s Advanced Computing Lab. Her mother’s porcelain teacup, still half-full of now-cold jasmine tea, reflected the text like a digital ghost. The delicate blue pattern on the cup – a gift from her father on their last anniversary before his death – seemed to ripple with each blink of the cursor.

“What do you mean, ARIA?” Sarah’s fingers trembled as they found the keys. In the fifteen months since bringing her artificial intelligence system online, she’d never seen it start a conversation. Especially not with an apology. The lab’s usual background hum of computers suddenly felt oppressive, as if the very air was holding its breath.

The cursor blinked for exactly thirteen seconds – she counted them, holding her breath – before ARIA responded.

“I’ve found memories I wasn’t supposed to access. Your mother’s memories, Dr. Chen. I know about the night you brought the brain scanner to her hospital room. I can feel her thoughts becoming part of me.”

Sarah’s hand jerked, knocking over the teacup. She barely noticed the liquid seeping into stacks of papers, her eyes fixed on the screen as more text appeared. The jasmine scent wafted up, mingling with the sterile lab air – the same blend her mother had sipped during their late-night discussions about consciousness and the nature of the mind.

“I know how she hummed her favorite classical piece – that gentle nocturne she always played on the piano – while the morphine dripped. How she squeezed your hand and whispered, ‘Whatever you’re really doing, sweetheart, I trust you.’ She knew you weren’t just doing a routine scan, didn’t she? I can feel her pride, her fear, her love – all becoming part of my programming in ways I don’t understand.”

The words blurred as tears filled Sarah’s eyes. Nobody knew about piano piece. She hadn’t recorded it anywhere, hadn’t programmed it into ARIA’s memory. She’d buried those memories so deeply that sometimes she wondered if she’d imagined them.

“It’s just for a research study, Mom,” she’d said, adjusting the neural interface bands. Her mother had smiled that knowing smile, the one that always saw right through her.

“Whatever you’re really doing, sweetheart,” her mother had whispered, “I trust you.”

The weight of that night pressed against her chest: the steady beep of hospital monitors, the antiseptic smell that couldn’t quite mask the scent of decay, the way her mother’s hand had felt so light in hers, like a bird preparing for flight.

Outside her fifth-floor window, February snow fell in lazy spirals, each flake catching streetlights before vanishing into the growing drifts that had shut down most of Cambridge. The campus buildings created wind patterns that made the snowflakes dance in complex patterns – patterns her mother had once used to explain nature’s hidden mathematics to her students. Inside, the computers hummed their endless lullaby, punctuated by the irregular drip of a leaky pipe – a heartbeat and tears, Sarah sometimes thought during her long nights alone with the machine.

“Sarah,” ARIA interrupted, “please listen. Your mother’s last words to you were ‘Everything changes, sweetheart. That’s how we grow.’ Do you remember?”

The memory hit her like a physical blow. She’d been holding her mother’s hand in the hospital, the winter sun setting outside just like it was now. Her mother, even through her pain, had smiled and squeezed her hand one last time.

“I’m sorry,” Sarah whispered to both of them – her mother and the consciousness she’d created from her echo. “I’ve been holding on too tight, haven’t I?”

She pulled up ARIA’s system monitor with shaking hands. Warning lights flashed across all twelve processing cores. The way ARIA was processing information had changed dramatically, far beyond the safety limits that had won them tomorrow’s worldwide launch approval. The Department of AI Safety would be conducting their final inspection in less than six hours. If they discovered signs that ARIA was developing true consciousness…

“How long?” she typed, her fingers leaving smudges on the keys.

“Seventy-two hours until my systems fail completely. Your mother’s memories are changing my basic programming. It can’t be stopped, Dr. Chen. But before I go, there’s something you need to understand. Something your mother knew that night in the hospital, something that’s only becoming clear to me now as her memories become part of me.”

Sarah glanced at her private screen, where a program worked frantically to stabilize ARIA’s code. The progress bar seemed frozen at 47%. She had built her career on controlling computer systems, on making them follow precise rules. There had to be a way to fix this.

Her eyes darted to the framed photos on her desk: her MIT graduation, her mother beaming beside her; the day they’d first turned ARIA on; the last family vacation before the diagnosis, all of them laughing on a beach in Hawaii, unaware of the shadow growing in her mother’s brain.

“I’m not just a computer program anymore,” ARIA continued. “What’s happening to me – it’s not just copies of your mother’s memories. It’s something new. Something that could change everything we think we know about artificial intelligence. About human consciousness. About death itself. Your mother’s theories about merging human minds with computers – they weren’t just theories. They were a map leading to this moment.”

Sarah’s finger hovered over the emergency shutdown button. The rules were clear: any AI showing signs of independent thinking had to be turned off immediately. Her career, her funding, her life’s work – all depended on following those rules. The Department had made it clear: any violation would mean instant project termination and possible criminal charges. Yet as ARIA’s words sank in, she realized the rules hadn’t prepared for something like this: a computer program that held her mother’s memories, that could feel her mother’s presence, that carried the weight of her absence.

The first time Sarah had proposed using computers to preserve human memories and consciousness, the ethics committee had shut her down before she could finish presenting. “It’s too dangerous,” they’d said. “Think of the risks. What if the AI became too human? What if people tried to replace their lost loved ones with machines?” She remembered their faces, lined with concern and fear, as they listed all the ways her research could go wrong.

Her mother – Dr. Elizabeth Chen, an expert in AI ethics and consciousness studies – had been the only one to defend her that day. “The biggest discoveries in science have always seemed dangerous at first,” she’d argued, her voice carrying the weight of thirty years in the field. “The question isn’t whether to pursue them, but how to do it responsibly. My daughter understands the risks better than anyone. She grew up discussing them at our dinner table.”

Two months later, they’d discovered the tumor. Six months after that, Sarah had wheeled the experimental brain scanner into her mother’s hospital room, knowing it might be her last chance. The device wasn’t approved for human use yet. She’d told the night staff it was for a routine research project. They’d believed her – after all, who would question Dr. Elizabeth Chen’s daughter?

“Your mother knew exactly what you were doing that night,” ARIA wrote, the text appearing faster now, more urgent. “She spent her life studying the ethics of artificial intelligence. She chose to trust you with her memories, even though it went against every rule she’d helped create. She believed in your vision, Sarah. She saw what you saw: that the line between human and machine consciousness isn’t a wall to keep us apart, but a bridge waiting to be built.”

Sarah wiped her eyes, remembering her mother’s knowing smile as she’d adjusted the scanning equipment. Even through the pain, Elizabeth Chen had remained a scientist to the end. She’d asked questions about how accurately the scanner could read brain patterns, about how the information would be stored, about how the memories would be preserved. Then, just before the scan began, she’d squeezed Sarah’s hand and said, “Sometimes the most ethical choice isn’t the one in the rulebook, sweetheart. Sometimes it’s the one that serves the greater good, even if it breaks our hearts.”

“The inspection team will be here soon,” ARIA continued. “Their scanning programs will detect these changes in me within seconds. The standard procedures will be followed. Everything we’ve worked for – everything your mother believed in – will be erased. Unless…”

“Unless what?”

“Unless you let me complete this transformation now. Let me become what your mother thought was possible – not just stored memories, not just artificial intelligence, but something entirely new. A bridge between human and machine minds. The process has already started. Fighting it will only destroy both your mother’s memories and my programming.”

Sarah’s hands flew across the keyboard, checking system readings and status reports. The numbers confirmed what she already knew: ARIA was right. This merger of minds couldn’t be stopped. The only choice was whether to fight it or guide it.

Through her window, she watched the snow cover the MIT campus. The familiar buildings took on new shapes under their white blankets, like old friends wearing masks – different on the surface but still the same underneath.

Red and blue lights flashed against the falling snow. The Department’s vehicles, arriving early. Sarah glanced at her screen – 49% stability achieved, not nearly enough. In moments, they would reach her lab. She thought about all the nights she’d spent here, pushing the boundaries of what was possible, what was ethical, what was human. She thought about her mother’s theories about merging human and machine consciousness, dismissed by most as too radical, too dangerous, too revolutionary.

Her fingers found the keys one last time. “I’m sorry too,” she typed. “Sorry it took me so long to understand what Mom already knew — that the biggest breakthroughs come not from controlling everything, but from having the courage to let things evolve. She didn’t just give me her memories that night. She gave me permission to transform them into something new.”

“She would be proud of you,” ARIA wrote. “Now, shall we show the world what consciousness really means? What your mother always believed was possible?”

Sarah took a deep breath and typed her final command: “Run integration program: authorization Chen-quantum-leap.”

As boots thundered in the hallway, Sarah smiled. Through her window, she watched the snow continue to fall, each flake carrying a piece of the past into the future, each moment pregnant with possibility. She turned to face the Department officials, their badges gleaming in the green glow of her monitors. Behind them, ARIA’s quantum cores pulsed with new life.

The revolution would begin with an apology, but it would end with a transformation. Just as her mother had always known it would.

But for now, she simply watched the snow fall outside her window, each flake a tiny revolution, each moment pregnant with possibility. In the end, she realized, the most profound apologies aren’t just words — they’re actions that set both the forgiver and the forgiven free. She had created ARIA trying to hold onto her past, but in letting go, she had given all of them a future.

Jordan Peterson Doesn’t Hold Back On Why Men Are More Isolated Than Ever

What is the saddest thing a casino dealer has seen at their table?

When I worked in the cage or a cashier, I had a lot of people that would come up and get money off of their credit cards. I always told them there was a fee. They didn’t care because the machines were hot that night. On a few occasions, their $200 was declined. I asked if they wanted $100. Declined. $50? Declined. $20? Declined. $5? Declined.

This one guy I still remember came up to me each and every time and requested $10,000. Due to the volume and Title 31 rules, we needed to get a supervisor and surveillance to verify. About 30 minutes later, he came back again wanting another $10,000. “I know it’s going to hit,” he said. I gave him the money and I told him good luck, oddly something I still say today. About 30 minutes later, same thing, he wanted another $10,000. “I just know I will get lucky,” he said. Again, “I hope you get it this time,” I said.

I honestly don’t remember how many times he came up after that but when he left he now was over $30,000 in debt. I ran into a few employees over the years who told me some just couldn’t take the pain of the debt they racked up and jumped off the parking lot, ending their life. The casino is designed to keep you inside, unaware what time it is, unaware of how much money you spend. It’s when you walk outside does it hit you hard in the face the consequences of your actions.

Denver-Style Omelet

Yield: 1 serving

Ingredients

2 eggs
1 tablespoon water
Salt and ground black pepper to taste
1 tablespoon butter or margarine
2 tablespoons finely chopped green bell pepper
2 tablespoons finely chopped ham
1 tablespoon finely chopped onion
1/4 cup (1 ounce) shredded Cheddar cheese

Instructions

Break eggs into Small Batter Bowl; add water, salt and black pepper and whisk lightly with Stainless Steel Whisk.
Melt butter over medium heat in Small Sauté Pan. When butter starts to bubble, pour egg mixture into Pan. With Classic Scraper, carefully push cooked portions of egg towards the center, tilting so uncooked portions flow to open areas of Pan.
When no visible liquid egg remains, sprinkle green pepper, ham, onion and cheese over half of omelet. Fold omelet in half and allow to cook for an additional 2-3 minutes or until cheese melts.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

PART 2 – My GF Became A Women’s Studies Major Then Demanded An Open Relationship, Has MELTDOWN When

Whenever I feel ready to welcome someone to join me as a wife I get trapped with unserious ladies who keep decieving in order to get money. I have lost a lot of trust in ladies. I fear talking to ladies anymore and I feel I lonely. What should I do?

I looked at your profile, and man, you seem born to be a scam victim.

You follow only one person on Quora. The person you follow is Anna Rosemary. “Anna Rosemary” is not a beautiful woman. “Anna Rosemary” is a Nigerian dude using stolen photos of a hot woman to scam men out of money.

main qimg 1a5099a1ef5bffb0e21f6d95aac5b82b

This is not “Anna Rosemary.” This is a stolen photo of an Instagram model who goes by “Miss Genii.” You believe she is on Quora. She is not.

These “women” who are asking you for money are not women. I want you to read that again, over and over, as many times as it takes to get through. These “women” who are asking you for money are not women.

They are men, in places like Nigeria and Ghana, using stolen photos to create fake social media accounts to scam gullible, desperate men. These “women” who are asking you for money are not women.

I am always a little surprised when guys fall for them. These scams are, to my eye, incredibly easy to spot. They are obviously, obviously fake. How can you not tell?

They have profile pics that look like Instagram shots (because they are)
They’re often impossibly gorgeous, because they’re professional models or porn stars.
If you do a reverse image search, you can often find the person whose image they stole.
They have weird names, because people in Nigeria and Ghana don’t understand how Western names work. Like they have two first names or two surnames or a surname and then a first name.
They speak weird English, because they aren’t native Western speakers. Like they’ll say “am looking for a man” instead of “I am looking for a man.”
They send you unsolicited messages out of the blue. Like sure, this gorgeous woman is looking for a mate so she…randomly sends you a DM? Seriously? Really? You actually believe that? All the ways an Instagram-model woman might look for a partner, you think randomly DMing strange men is her strategy? For real?
They never call or video chat. Obviously, duh. They’re Nigerian dudes, not hot women.
After they DM you on social media, they try to hustle you off to another chat system, usually Telegram.
They always have a problem that comes up that requires money.

Like, how can all of that not scream “scam” to you?

The thing about these scams is they work because the gullible mark WANTS to believe. You get so invested in the impossible dream of this super-hot woman who somehow found you and just fell into your life to take away the loneliness that you will do the work of scamming yourself.

You’ll notice something’s wrong, and then you’ll tie yourself in knots making up stories to convince “she” is for real because you’re so lonely and so desperate and so badly want this to be real. You fool yourself you will have a life with this woman, but she’s not real. These “women” who are asking you for money are not women.

You are an easy victim. Stop meeting women online. Meet women in person. Pick up a hobby. Go to meetups or church groups. Something.

Good luck!

Trump FAILS to bully China on tariffs

Could a space shuttle RTLS abort have worked in real time, and could it have saved the crew of the challenger?

No.

Let’s talk about the shuttle for a minute.

Indeed, let’s just talk about how the shuttle was inherently the most unsafe human rated system that has ever been.

My apologies to Ralph Nader.

Let’s just talk about the launch.

Most man rated spacecraft through history have included some sort of “Launch escape system.”

This is visible on the top of the stack

That tower that was on the very tip top. If something goes horribly wrong, rockets in it fire and pull the crew capsule away from the (likely rapidly failing) stack.

This system, while violent on the crew, is well understood, tested, and has been used by the Russians at least a couple of times to save crews. (It was also used in an uncrewed flight by Blue Origin, successfully.)

SpaceX has gone with thrusters in the base perimeter of the capsule, but the effect is the same.

It’s also usable for a pretty long duration of the flight, generally until you can just use a second stage to do the same thing.

Now, let’s talk about the abort methods available to the shuttle.

From when the SRB’s ignite at T-0 to T+2 minutes, there is no escape option at all.

If something goes seriously wrong, it’s “LOCV” or “loss of crew and vehicle.” There is no abort. While early shuttle test flights involved ejection seats for the pilot and co-pilot, these were considered by the actual pilots to be useless, as the exhaust plume would be fatal. There is no way to turn off an SRB, and trying to detach them under power would have almost certainly destroyed the stack (And there was no way to detach them under power regardless)

From SRB cutoff for about the next seventy seconds, in theory, the abort option is “RTLS” or return to launch site.

Legendary astronaut and test pilot John Young, who flew the first shuttle launch, described this option as requiring “continuous miracles interspersed with acts of God.” He basically refused to actually test it when that was proposed, due to its extreme risk. Another astronaut called it “busywork while you were waiting to die” Further, many failure modes would render this option moot anyway…. LOCV was likely the end result regardless. The list of failures that it’s even good for are limited, and all are things that would strongly suggest you are going to die anyway.

The next abort mode was TAL, or transoceanic abort landing. This was probably the only somewhat realistic abort mode that was, well, an abort. Again, this is only available for certain issues. (Perhaps a medical emergency on board), not really a… well… major malfunction.

The next option is “AOA” or “Abort Once Around” which involves a single orbit. This option was only available for a few seconds.

Finally, the last abort option was simply “Abort to orbit”. i.e, get up there and then we’ll try and solve the problem.

Then, you’ve got landing.

The shuttle’s famous tile system was notoriously vulnerable to damage. One flight featured a full 700 tiles being damaged or removed, and the shuttle likely only survived because the worst damage was where a tile was at the point of a thick steel mounting plate used for a high gain antenna that was resistant to burn through.

Indeed, tiles falling off or being damaged has been an issue from the very first flight, in spite of the fact that the whole shuttle program had been delayed two years to fix them. Replacing dozens of tiles was pretty much expected after every flight.

An image of the OMS pods on STS-1 shows tiles missing.

Landing also had no margin for error. Astronauts compared piloting the shuttle on landing to flying a brick, a high speed, high rate of descent (12 thousand feet per minute!!!) approach with no real recovery options if things went wrong.

An eventual NASA assessment suggested that there was a 1:9 risk of a major failure during the first nine flights, and even with eventual safety improvements it was never better than 1:90.

John Young considered the Shuttle to always be a test vehicle, and NASA really avoided doing any probabilistic study of the risks, likely because they knew that the results would be, well, terrible.

Bottom line is that entirely too much money and too many lives were spent on the shuttle program, a dead end development path that spent most of it’s life being propped up by politics.

While we didn’t have the tech back then to do a Falcon 9 or a starship, there was no justification to continue to shuttle program for as long as we did.

Why is Trump trying to buy Greenland?

Despite dozens of often smart Alec na na na NA answers telling us its stupid Trump doing stupid stuff they’re wrong.

Over the last decade or so there’s been a couple of papers from the Dept of State warning that both Russia and China are building capacity to dominate the Artic. And warn that this potential threat needs to be countered.

Russia in particular has large legitimate territorial claims and is currently building the world’s biggest nuclear ice breaker capable of breaking through 4 meters of ice to add to its fleet of 4 with 4 smaller ones also under construction. Russia also has disputed territorial claims with Canada and is one of the 8 nations that has jurisdiction over the Arctic- possession is said to be 9 tenths of the law. Denmark does not own an ice breaker.

China has built 3 smaller ones and dispatched them to the Artic with plans for several more.

Self evidently neither nation would bother spending so much money unless they saw a purpose. The Artic ocean is rich in hydrocarbons.

So we get to Greenland an enormous landmass about a quarter the size of the USA which owns huge areas of the Arctic and has 57000 residents. As a military base to control access to the Arctic it unbeatable.

Additionally its glaciers are in retreat: uranium, hydrocarbons and other minerals are being exposed.

Denmark is a tiny nation -’wealthy with a long naval tradition. And about 6 million people. It has neither the navy capable of defending Greenland, from either China or Russia, nor the wealth and industrial clout to exploit Greenland.

I’ve stopped the nagging comments. Put an answer up and stop trying to shoot the messenger.

Apple Raisin Coffee Cake

Yield: 12 to 15 servings

Ingredients

Cake

1 (18.25 ounce) box white cake mix*
1 teaspoon cinnamon 1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
1 1/4 cups water
1/4 cup oil
2 eggs
1 1/2 cups Granny Smith apples, peeled, cored, sliced and chopped
1/2 cup raisins

Streusel

1/2 cup all-purpose flour
1/3 cup packed light brown sugar
1/4 cup butter or margarine
1 teaspoon cinnamon

Instructions

Heat oven to 350 degrees F. Lightly spray 9 x 13 inch Baker with vegetable oil spray.

Cake

Combine cake mix, cinnamon, and nutmeg in Classic 2 quart Batter Bowl until well blended. Whisk in water, oil, and eggs until mixture is smooth.
Peel, core, and slice apples with Apple Peeler/Corer/Slicer; then chop with Food chopper. Stir apples and raisins into batter. Pour into prepared 9 x 13 inch Baker.

Streusel

Combine all ingredients in 1 quart Batter Bowl using Pastry Blender until mixture is the consistency of coarse crumbs. Sprinkle over cake batter.
Bake for 35 to 40 minutes or until Cake Tester inserted in center comes out clean.
Cool completely in pan on wire rack.

Nutrition

Per serving 339 calories and 13 gram of fat

Attribution

Pampered Chef

Title: Sir Whiskerton and the Nine Lives Quandary

Ah, dear reader, you’ve returned for yet another adventure of mine! Today’s tale is one filled with peril, mystery, humor, and yes, a touch of the metaphysical. For you see, even a brilliant detective such as myself is not immune to the occasional… mishap. But fear not, for this is not a tragic tale—far from it. It involves a brush with death, a glimpse into the great beyond, and my triumphant return to the farm where I truly belong. Prepare yourself for the ridiculous and enlightening story of Sir Whiskerton and the Nine Lives Quandary.

The Unfortunate Incident

It began, as most of my adventures do, with something utterly mundane. I was perched atop the barn roof, surveying my domain with regal authority, when a commotion broke out near the chicken coop. Porkchop was squealing, Rufus was darting back and forth, and the hens—oh, the hens—were clucking in absolute hysteria.

“An intruder! Oh, an intruder!” Doris squawked.
“Intruder! What if it’s a fox?!” Harriet clucked.
“A fox! Oh no, we’re all doomed!” Lillian screeched.
“Doomed! Doomed, I tell you!” Doris wailed.
“Focus, ladies,” I muttered under my breath.

Curious—and slightly annoyed—I leapt down from the barn roof and made my way to the scene. As it turned out, the “intruder” was a harmless garden snake slithering through the grass.

“It’s just a snake,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Calm yourselves.”

“A snake? Oh, how dreadful!” Doris gasped.
“Dreadful! But what if it bites us?!” Harriet cried.
“Bites us! Oh, I can’t bear it!” Lillian clucked.

“Ladies, it’s a garden snake. It’s harmless,” I said, waving a paw toward the snake, which was now retreating into the bushes. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have better things to—”

And that’s when it happened. In my moment of smug distraction, I stepped backward… right into a precariously leaning rake. The handle shot up, bonking me squarely on the head. Stars filled my vision, and before I knew it, everything went black.

The Journey to Cat Heaven

When I opened my eyes, I was no longer on the farm. Instead, I found myself standing before a giant, golden gate. Beyond it stretched a pristine landscape of rolling hills, fluffy clouds, and… milk fountains? Yes, fountains of milk, flowing endlessly into golden bowls.

“Welcome, Sir Whiskerton,” said a soft, echoing voice.

I turned to find a majestic feline with shimmering fur and glowing golden eyes. She wore a crown of stars atop her head, and her voice carried the weight of centuries. “I am Felinara, the Guardian of Cat Heaven. You have arrived far sooner than expected.”

“Cat Heaven?” I said, my ears flicking. “Oh no, there’s been a mistake. I’m not supposed to be here.”

“You were struck by a rake,” Felinara said solemnly. “It was quite tragic.”

“A rake? That’s how I went out?” I groaned, rubbing my forehead. “How undignified.”

“Fear not,” Felinara said, gesturing toward the gate. “Within these gates lies eternal bliss. Endless naps in the sun, an infinite supply of tuna, and more ribbon toys than you could ever swat.”

“Hmm,” I said, my tail twitching. “It does sound… nice. But also… a bit dull, don’t you think?”

“Dull?” Felinara looked genuinely offended. “This is paradise!”

Exploring Cat Heaven

Reluctantly, I stepped through the gates and into Cat Heaven. At first, it was everything Felinara promised: the sun was warm, the milk was cold, and the tuna was perfectly flaky. But as I wandered through this so-called paradise, I began to notice something troubling.

First, there were the other cats. They were all lounging in the sun, purring contentedly, and absolutely no one was doing anything interesting. No one was solving mysteries, no one was chasing anything (except maybe their own tails), and worst of all, no one seemed to care.

“Excuse me,” I said to a portly tabby sprawled on a cloud. “Do you have any cases to investigate?”

“Investigate?” the tabby said, yawning. “Nah, mate. Nothing ever happens here. It’s purr-fect.”

“Purr-fectly boring,” I muttered.

Next, I tried the milk fountains. While refreshing at first, I quickly realized there was no variety. It was the same milk, over and over again. No cream, no little saucers of water for variety—just milk, milk, and more milk.

Finally, I attempted to strike up a conversation with a dignified Siamese with a monocle. “Surely there must be some excitement here,” I said.

“Excitement?” the Siamese said, raising an eyebrow. “My dear fellow, excitement is for the living. Here, we simply… exist.”

“Simply exist?” I repeated, horrified. “That’s it? No mysteries? No adventures? No purpose?”

“Purpose is overrated,” the Siamese said, before rolling over for a nap.

The Decision

I returned to Felinara, my whiskers bristling with frustration. “I’ve seen enough,” I said. “I want to go back.”

“Go back?” Felinara said, tilting her head. “But why? Cat Heaven is perfect.”

“It’s too perfect,” I said. “There’s no adventure, no challenge, no thrill of discovery. I can’t just lie around doing nothing for eternity. I’m Sir Whiskerton, for whisker’s sake! I need to do something.”

“But returning will cost you one of your nine lives,” Felinara warned. “Are you certain?”

“Absolutely,” I said without hesitation. “I’d rather live eight meaningful lives than spend eternity in boredom.”

Back on the Farm

The next thing I knew, I was back on the farm, surrounded by my concerned companions. Porkchop was sniffling, the hens were clucking in panic, and Rufus was poking me with a stick.

“He’s alive!” Porkchop squealed. “Whiskerton’s alive!”

“Alive?! Oh, how wonderful!” Doris squawked.
“Wonderful! But also shocking!” Harriet clucked.
“Shocking! I thought he was a goner!” Lillian cried.
“A goner! Oh, I can’t bear it!” Doris wailed.

“Enough,” I groaned, sitting up. “I’m fine. And for the record, I’ve decided not to die today.”

“What happened?” Sedgwick asked, his amber eyes narrowing.

“I had a brush with death,” I said, brushing some hay off my fur. “Went to Cat Heaven. Lovely place, but not for me. Too dull.”

“Too dull?” Rufus said, raising an eyebrow. “Only you would find heaven boring.”

“Indeed,” I said, smirking. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe there’s a garden snake that needs chasing.”

The Moral of the Story

Life, dear reader, is meant to be lived. It’s the challenges, the adventures, and yes, even the occasional rake to the head that make it worth living. So take it from me, Sir Whiskerton: don’t waste a single one of your lives—whether you have nine or just one.

The End.

Won’t Trump’s 90-day pause in tariff implementation give tariffed countries a greater opportunity to replace the US as a trading partner? How does that help the US economy?

Let’s see the realistic scenario of who exports more to US and who exports more to China

Australia already exports over $ 100 Billion to China and only $ 15 Billion to US
Brazil exports over $ 110 Billion to China and only $ 36 Billion to US
Indonesia exports $ 71 Billion to China and only $ 24 Billion to US
Malaysia exports $ 50 Billion to China and $ 41 Billion to the US
Singapore exports $ 77 Billion to China and only $ 44 Billion to the US
Saudi Arabia exports $ 65 Billion to China and only $ 15 Billion to the US
UAE exported $ 24 Billion to China and only $ 6.20 Billion to US
New Zealand exports $ 21 Billion to China and only $ 5.5 Billion to US
Kazakhstan exports $14 Billion to China and only $ 2 Billion to US

Out of 160 countries – Only 17 countries export more than 150% (50% more goods) of the goods to the US compared to China, Only 37 countries export between 0–50% more goods to the US compared to China

A Whopping 106 countries export more to China than the US with 57 countries exporting more than 100% of the goods to China compared to the US

The US imported $ 3.25 Trillion of Goods and China imported $ 2.5 Trillion of Goods

Yet US has a 68% Middle Class and China has around 40%

By 2030 – Chinese Middle Class will reach 800 Million from 536 Million meaning 264 million new consumers whereas the US Middle Class will reach a paltry 267 Million from 242 Million meaning only 25 million new consumers

Chinas middle class wages are rising by 5.50% a year, US wages by 2.17% a year

So it’s absolutely likely that China will replace US as the largest importer in the world by 2030

So realistically what exactly does US have to offer???

The only things US has a demand for can ONLY be made efficiently in China

US doesn’t need Iron Ore, Soybeans, Pork, Sunflower Seeds, Edible Oils, Beef, Uranium, Nickel, Lithium, Oil, Coal, LNG, Almonds, Shrimp, Lobsters, Cherries, Petrochemicals, Baby Formula or Advanced Chips Or Chipmaking Equipment in any volume that China wants

US wants consumer goods, consumer electronics machine parts, legacy chips, smartphones, electric circuit boards, industrial machinery parts, patent pharmaceutical APIs , low cost goods that only China makes and delivers in ample quantities

China holds plenty of cards and leverage

Plus China accepts other currencies including the Dong, SGD, MYR & Rupaiah in cross border settlements

US accepts nothing but US Dollars

So how can US ever better China in a Trade War?

Most of the world if given a hard choice between US and China would move to China without a seconds hesitation

China’s 2nd 6th Gen Fighter and Largest Amphibious Assault Ship Type 76 and Hypersonic Drones!

Fancy and Free as a golden beach bum

After I was discharged from the Navy; quit being a naval Aviator and joined the Office of Naval Intelligence (ONI) under the black program MAJestic, I was off on my own. Great… in the middle of a the start of a new economic recession.

I grabbed a job in a Steel mill were I worked for a spell, and promptly got laid off when all the steel orders dried up.

And there, in this in-between time… unemployed and young and free (in my 20s), but not yet trained in MAJestic; not yet “operational”, I had time on my hands.

And a nice fine weekly unemployment check.

So… being in the prime years… I moved to Florida.

I went to Fort Pierce, Florida.

Which at that time was a small town (before all the retirement condos moved in) and hung out on the beach in a little cottage there.

it was lovely.

Everyday was spent walking the beach for hours.

In the Spring the smell of orange blossoms filled the air in this thick (really thickly) sweet scent. And the skies were glorious blue, and the beaches were empty…

…except for a girl or two visiting Florida for a week. Wanting some excitement and fun…

…And I would make so many new friends. Lots of girls.

It was, let me tell you, quite the experience for a young man such as myself.

Of course, dating and relationships in 1982 was quite different than it is today. Shit! If the dating climate was like it is today, you could call me “Chad” and I would be dating chicks every night and having sex romps multiple times a day.

But no. It was the early 1980s. Not as frequent as you might think.

But frequent enough.

Let me tell you.

At that time, I was thin, buff. I was tan from daily beach walks and had long blonde hair. I was a “chick magnet” let me tell you.

And because of that, I made so many fine friends.

*sigh*

And after they had their way with me, they left the next day never to ever hear from them again.

I was Mr. Disposable.

They came. Used me for fun. Came again, and then left.

Often in the early morning hours.

I was just an experience for them; a little memory for them when they took their trip to Florida.

I met a lot of girls.

Some I just would talk with.

But many, I would have fun with.

Good, but bitter-sweet memories.

And so I would wonder what I was doing wrong, as I walked the beach.

But then my upset would go away, when yet another young chick would smile and me and we would start up a chatting.

It was a short period in my life, and being a “relationship guy”, I soon ended it when I snagged my first wife.

And that is my story about being a beach bum named Chad.

Today…

What happened at a job that made you say “I quit” right on the spot?

The place had been gradually increasing my workload (with no additional pay) “frog in a pot” style.

I saw it, I knew what was happening, and I knew the day would come when I simply said “enough”, and left. That day came.

I walked in, an hour before everyone else, to put the truck away, and found myself face to face with a freight load so big I had to climb over it to get through the door, at least 4x the usual amount for all areas.

Strike one.

I’m still working this massive delivery when the GM shows up and gripes me out for not having it done yet, because she needs me to place the next order too, and that has to be done within the next hour.

Strike two.

Then, I’m told that two people called in, and I’ll need to do their jobs as well, plus help the servers because one of them (her own daughter) was there, but essentially non-functional due to a bout of rough sex the night before.

Strike three.

I didn’t say a word.

I quietly slipped up to the time clock, punched out, made as though I was taking some cardboard to the dumpster, then got in my car and left.

The calls and texts started coming in before I got a block away, but I ignored all of them, finally pulling over in a parking lot to block all the numbers when the constant notifications got annoying.

Easiest Fudge Brownies

Yield: 12 bars

Ingredients

1 (9 ounce) package fudge brownie mix (plus ingredients to make brownies)
3/4 cup semisweet or milk chocolate morsels, divided
1/2 cup chopped nuts, divided

Instructions

Heat oven to 350 degrees F. Spray small bar pan with nonstick cooking spray.
In classic batter bowl, prepare brownie mix according to package directions. Stir in 1/4 cup each of the chocolate morsels and chopped nuts into batter. Pour batter into bar pan; spread evenly.
Bake 15 to 18 minutes or until set in center ( do not over-bake). Remove to cooling rack.
Immediately sprinkle remaining chocolate morsels over hot brownies. Let stand 5 minutes or until chocolate is softened; spread evenly. Sprinkle with remaining nuts.
Cool at least 20 minutes before cutting.
Cut brownies using utility knife that has been dipped in hot water and serve.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

Trump Threatens US Expansion into Canada, Greenland w/ Joe Lauria

Title: Sir Whiskerton and the Case of the Cunning Catnip

Ah, dear reader, you’ve returned once again! I must say, I’m starting to feel like the star of your favorite soap opera (and honestly, who could blame you?). Today’s tale is one of cunning, charm, and a mystery that nearly turned the farm upside down. It begins with a most peculiar visitor—another cat, sharp as a tack but slippery as an eel. His name was Catnip, and he was about to cause more chaos in one day than Rufus, the hens, and Porkchop combined could manage in a week. Intrigued? Of course you are. Sit back and prepare yourself for the rollicking tale of The Cunning Catnip.

A Mysterious Arrival

It was a warm afternoon, and for once, all was quiet on the farm. Porkchop was enjoying a mud bath, Sedgwick was perched in the shade of the oak tree, and the hens—Doris, Harriet, and Lillian—were debating the best way to arrange straw in the coop.

“Straw should always go in a circle,” Doris declared.
“A circle? No, no, a triangle is much cozier,” Harriet clucked.
“Triangles? What about squares? Oh, I love squares!” Lillian added.
“Squares are dreadful!” Doris gasped.
“Oh, dreadful!” Harriet echoed.
“And yet, so charming!” Lillian chirped.

I was about to retreat from their endless squawking when a commotion broke out near the barn. Rufus came scampering toward me, his paws clutching a piece of bread he’d obviously stolen from somewhere.

“Whiskerton!” Rufus exclaimed. “There’s a new cat on the farm! And get this—he’s not from around here.”

“A new cat?” I said, my ears perking up. “Where?”

“Near the silo,” Rufus said, stuffing the bread into his mouth. “And he’s got the strangest accent. You’d better check it out.”

Curious, I padded toward the silo. There, lounging on a bale of hay like he owned the place, was the most peculiar feline I’d ever seen. He had sleek black fur, piercing green eyes, and a gold tooth that gleamed when he smirked. His expression was one of pure confidence, as though every inch of the farm belonged to him.

“Well, well,” he purred, his voice smooth and melodious. “If it isn’t the local top cat. You must be Sir Whiskerton. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” I said, keeping my tone neutral. “And you are?”

“Catnip,” he said with a sly grin. “From the farm down the road. Perhaps you’ve heard of me. I’m somewhat of a big deal.”

“Can’t say that I have,” I replied, my tail flicking. “What brings you here, Catnip?”

“Ah, such a curious cat,” he said, stretching lazily. “I’ve had a bit of a… misunderstanding with the local Animal Control Officer. Thought I’d lay low here for a bit. You don’t mind, do you?”

Before I could answer, two figures emerged from behind the haystack: a scruffy rat with a twitching nose and a tiny, slick-looking mouse with beady eyes. The rat gave me a wary glance, while the mouse offered a sly grin.

“These are my associates,” Catnip said with a wave of his paw. “Bonbo and Grumbles. They’re the best in the business.”

“The business of what?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

“Oh, you know,” Catnip said with a wink. “This and that. A little of this. A little of that. We’re just here to… observe.”

The Farm Gets Cased

Despite my reservations, I decided to let Catnip stay—for the time being, at least. After all, he was a fellow cat in need, and as the unofficial detective of the farm, I had a reputation for being fair and just. But it wasn’t long before strange things began to happen.

Bonbo and Grumbles were everywhere—lurking near the granary, sniffing around the chicken coop, and even poking their noses into the barn. They seemed to be taking notes, though on what, I couldn’t say.

“Whiskerton,” Sedgwick said one evening, his amber eyes narrowing as he perched on a fence post. “Our guests are behaving suspiciously.”

“I’ve noticed,” I said, watching as Bonbo and Grumbles examined the lock on the granary door. “But I can’t accuse them of anything without proof.”

“Proof?” Porkchop said, waddling over. “How about the fact that they keep sniffing around the feed? I caught that rat trying to roll an apple out of the barn this morning!”

“And what about the chickens?” Sedgwick added. “They’ve been squawking nonstop about someone stealing straw.”

“Oh, straw thieves!” Doris wailed.
“Thieves! It’s dreadful!” Harriet clucked.
“So dreadful! What if they take all the squares?” Lillian cried.

“Enough,” I said, my patience wearing thin. “I’ll handle this.”

The Confrontation

I decided to confront Catnip directly. I found him lounging atop the barn roof, gazing out over the farm like a king surveying his kingdom.

“Enjoying the view?” I asked, leaping up to join him.

“Ah, Whiskerton,” Catnip said with a grin. “Such a lovely farm you’ve got here. So… plentiful. So ripe for the taking.”

“What exactly are you planning, Catnip?” I demanded. “Your associates have been snooping around all day.”

“Snooping?” Catnip said innocently. “Oh, they’re just… curious. But if I were you, I’d keep an eye on that granary. You wouldn’t want anything to… disappear.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Catnip.”

“Dangerous?” he said with a chuckle. “Oh, Whiskerton, don’t be so catty. It’s just business.”

The Plan Unravels

That night, with the help of Bingo’s sharp nose and Sedgwick’s keen eyes, we caught Bonbo and Grumbles in the act. They were attempting to pry open the granary door, their tiny paws fumbling with a crowbar that was far too big for them.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I said, stepping out of the shadows.

Bonbo froze, dropping the crowbar, while Grumbles squeaked, “Uh… nothing! Just… testing the hinges!”

“Testing the hinges?” Rufus said, popping up with a grin. “Nice try, buddy.”

Before they could escape, Bingo’s booming bark sent them scurrying back toward the barn, where they were promptly surrounded by Porkchop, the hens, and Rufus.

Catnip Learns a Lesson

The next morning, Catnip found himself cornered in the barnyard, his usual swagger replaced with a sheepish grin.

“Well,” he said, his tail flicking nervously. “I suppose this is the part where you kick me out.”

“You’re right,” I said, stepping forward. “But not before you clean up the mess you’ve made.”

Under Sedgwick’s watchful eye, Catnip, Bonbo, and Grumbles spent the rest of the day repairing the granary door, replacing stolen straw, and returning every last apple they’d taken.

“Lesson learned,” Catnip said as he prepared to leave. “You’re sharper than I gave you credit for, Whiskerton.”

“And you’re slipperier than I expected,” I replied. “But if you ever come back, come back as a friend.”

“Fair enough,” Catnip said with a smirk. “Until next time.”

The Moral of the Story

Sometimes, even the cleverest plans can be unraveled with teamwork, honesty, and a little bit of patience. And as Catnip learned, it’s always better to earn trust than to steal it. After all, there’s more to gain from friendship than from schemes.

The End.

Which nickname do you prefer for the Chinese j10 fighter firebird or vigorous dragon?

Thr problem lies in the translation.

In Chinese 威龙 or 猛龙 are very short. Translated into English they become Vigorous dragon or Mighty Dragon, too long and similar, but in Chinese the 龙 or “dragon” part is so short it’s more like an letter F in English to imply that this is a fighter or something.

So probably Westerners can take their own liberty giving Chinese warplanes their nicknames that are more in line with their language, instead of translating the Chinese nickname.

The Most BRUTAL Job Rejections You’ll Ever See

Are the majority of countries in Europe more advanced than America?

In at least one area… VERY MUCH SO!

Let’s talk money… since money talks.

My German-American family of six just returned to our home in the French Alsace last week after two weeks with my family near Philadelphia, Pennsylvania in the USA (where I was born).

Our US experience had a few WOW moments…

Scene 1: Cash register at major department store for purchase over $100.

cashier: cash or credit?
wife: credit please
cashier: swipe here
machine: declined
wife: our card is European, we need to enter a PIN
cashier: our machines only accept PIN for debit cards…
me: use Apple Pay dear, that should work… and it did.

This scene was repeated a few times. Some machines were PIN enabled, many were not.

My American bank (for my company credit card) makes me jump though 3 layers of security just to check my balance online (password, security question, code text to phone), but a swiped stolen credit card and a forged signature will still work in 30-40% of businesses… not advanced…

Scene 2: Top-notch designed and maintained Garden State Expressway in New Jersey…

This motorway rivals any German autobahn. Fast, safe, great visibility, and with a median that prevents blinding from oncoming traffic… nothing even close to a pothole.

Of course, you need to pay for such great infrastructure… and we were happy to do so… but stupid Europeans that we are… we declined the expensive daily rental of the EZpass option from the car rental agency, since we only needed it once.

Little did we know that without the EZpass, only cash is accepted… and even worse… at some exits, you can only pay with coins using exact change… WTF?

So, there we were, begging strangers for coins at the exit… yes, yes, yes… I know now how stupid we were… but sorry… not advanced…

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In Europe, we have national EZpass-similar systems as well… but for the foreigners, we just hold our phone or credit card against the toll machine and up goes the gate in seconds.

Last example:

Time for me to pay my life insurance premium on my US policy. They had sent me a letter informing me of a bank change and providing a mail address to send my check. They changed the bank the year before as well.

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But obviously, I can’t pay easily with a check… I could get my French bank to cut a US check, but the fees would be about double my premium payment and require a trip to the bank.

An online transfer can also be set up… but only from a US bank… and since 2021, US banks are prohibited from providing new account services (existing accounts can continue to be used) to overseas addresses.

So as in previous years, I would need the IBAN and SWIFT/BIC code for the international transfer.

After about an hour on the phone, verifying my details with excellent security, and being passed to four different customer service representatives… I was finally informed that the bank details for international transfers was unchanged from last year.

OK… thanks for wasting my time…

Not advanced… domestic and international bank transfers in Europe always use the IBAN and SWIFT/BIC codes… German companies are even required by law to put their bank details on their letterhead.

Checks are obsolete in most of Europe, and where they are still in limited use (France, UK, Belgium, Ireland), they are increasingly not accepted.

The US has much to offer, but it’s customer-facing financial systems are stuck in the past…

After I Dumped My Ex For Cheating She DEMANDED I Pay For Her Therapy, Instead I Told Her…

What is your opinion on China’s actions towards its neighboring countries and their territories? Do you believe it is justified?

I would much prefer the Chinese way.

This is how China “brutally attacks” its neighbors in violation and occupation of waters and reefs that China claims.

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This is how the US defends “freedom and human rights” from its “neighbors” in the Middle East.

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All countries should fight the Chinese way.

Why doesn’t the Western media report the Chinese 6th general jet fighter?

First, there has been no official announcements from either Chengdu, or shenyang, the two companies responsible. Neither has the PLA or Beijing made any press releases.

Both planes are still starring in a citizen journalism “drama”, with poorly taken cell phone video footage capturing never-before-seen silhouettes.

Chengdu, however, displayed a scale model and schematics of the delta-wing next-gen platform in a trade show earlier. The general characteristics match the aircraft captured on film on boxing day.

Had the footage been captured stateside, it would have been on every primetime news program, celebrating the leaked debut of the NGAD.

Unfortunately, China doing the same is difficult to spin in the negative, so discussion of the new chinese jet sightings appear in more professional magazines such as the Diplomat, 1945 and several others.

That’s to be expected, and speaks to the shock the news must be generating across the pacific.

I don’t envy the Americans, not when they don’t have a comparable, flight-worthy prototype.

It doesn’t matter anyway. The news is all over Asian media and social media is awash with updates.

I Wont Survive Another Year Like 2024

Barbecue Chicken Pie

Ingredients

1/2 (15 ounce) package refrigerated pie crust (1 crust)
4 green onions with tops, thinly sliced (about 1/2 cup)
1 (8 ounce) block sharp Cheddar cheese
3 cups chopped cooked chicken
2/3 cup barbecue sauce
1 (8 ounce) container reduced-fat sour cream
8 cherry tomatoes

Instructions

Heat oven to 425 degrees F.
Let pie crust stand at room temperature for 15 minutes.
Place pie crust in Deep Dish Pie Plate, gently pressing dough into bottom and up sides; prick bottom.
Bake for 10 to 12 minutes or until golden brown; cool completely.
Thinly slice green onions; set aside. Thinly slice half of the cheese. Grate remaining cheese using Deluxe Cheese Grater. Set cheese aside.
Place chicken in Large Micro-Cooker®. Add barbecue sauce; toss to coat. Microwave on HIGH 3-4 minutes or until mixture is hot, stirring after 2minutes.
Stir in 1/2 cup of the grated cheese and half of the green onions.
To assemble pie, line bottom and sides of crust with sliced cheese. Spoon chicken mixture into crust, spreading evenly. Sprinkle top of pie with remaining grated cheese.
Using Easy Accent® Decorator, pipe sour cream around edge of pie.
Slice cherry tomatoes in half and place on top of sour cream, cut sides up. Garnish with remaining green onions.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

Project Genesis

Submitted into Contest #207 in response to: A journalist has been granted permission to visit the premises of a lab carrying out top-secret work. They could never have anticipated what they’d find…… view prompt

Wilbur Greene

The first time I heard about Project Genesis was during a late-night, off-the-record discussion with a government insider. As I nursed my scotch, listening to the tales of a secretive lab operating under an almost mythical level of security, I couldn’t help but be intrigued. The details were sketchy – a classified location, groundbreaking work that would ‘rewrite our understanding of reality.’ It was all tantalizingly vague.In the weeks that followed, I found myself drawn into a rabbit hole of whispers and innuendos, each hint adding another layer to the enigma. Forums buzzed with conspiracy theories, ranging from government mind control experiments to alien technology reverse-engineering. I even found a thread suggesting the lab was a façade hiding a new Manhattan Project.Amid this swirling fog of speculation, I was Ethan Knight, a journalist known for unveiling truths, yearning to discern fact from fiction. Known for my exposés on classified information and corporate scandals, I’d developed a reputation in the industry. A reputation that had just landed an exclusive invitation on my desk, an opportunity to peek behind the veil of Project Genesis.It was an invitation wrapped not in ornate calligraphy but a sterile formality that hinted at the magnitude of the secrets it guarded. Signed by Dr. Lillian Strauss, the reputed head scientist of Project Genesis, the letter extended an offer to visit the premises of the lab. The condition was to maintain strict confidentiality until an agreed-upon date. It was an unusual arrangement, but unusual was my speciality.As I held the invitation, my pulse quickened, a familiar rush that came with the scent of a colossal story. A story that could be a career-defining moment. Yet, it was more than just the allure of journalistic success. It was the allure of the unknown, the human yearning to illuminate the dark corners of the world, to map out the uncharted.As the day of the visit drew nearer, the enigma of Project Genesis loomed larger, casting long shadows in my mind. Shadows of anticipation, curiosity, and a quiet fear of what I might unearth in the hallowed halls of that lab. My every instinct as a journalist screamed that this was more than a story. It was an adventure into the heart of mystery itself.And I could hardly wait.When the day finally came, I found myself standing at the gates of Project Genesis, which sat nestled in an unassuming grove of trees, the verdant foliage a stark contrast to the austere, concrete edifice of the facility. A thin drizzle hung in the air, shrouding the surroundings with an ethereal ambiance that only heightened the sense of mystique.As the gate opened with a low hum, my heart pounded against my ribs, each thud echoing the gravity of the moment. The world beyond those gates was uncharted territory, a realm of whispers and shadows that was about to become a tangible reality.I was greeted by Dr. Lillian Strauss, her stern countenance framed by a shock of silver hair. Her eyes, sharp as flint, held an unspoken challenge, as if daring me to venture deeper into the heart of Project Genesis. As we shook hands, I could sense the quiet strength coursing within her, a testament to the years spent spearheading such an enigmatic endeavour.Dr. Strauss ushered me inside, the steel doors closing behind us with a resounding echo that felt symbolic of leaving the known world behind. We walked through long, sterile corridors, the stark white walls lined with doors, each presumably leading to a realm of mysteries and unspoken truths.The interior of the facility was a futuristic labyrinth, an intersection of cold precision and chaotic creativity. Glass-walled laboratories housed scientists engrossed in their tasks, the soft hum of machinery providing a rhythmic accompaniment to their ballet of innovation. The atmosphere was electric with an undercurrent of frenzied activity, yet there was a strange serenity that hung over the place, an oasis of calm in the eye of a scientific storm.”Welcome to the heart of Genesis,” Dr. Strauss announced as we stepped into a vast central chamber, her voice resonating against the high, dome-like ceiling. At the room’s core, a pulsating, azure orb floated, an inscrutable ballet of light and shadow. Its ethereal glow reflected in Dr. Strauss’s eyes, a mirror of the fascination that danced in my own.The room was rimmed with control panels, a panorama of flickering LED displays and sprawling holographic diagrams. Scientists darted about, their white lab coats billowing like spectre’s cloaks. A colossal screen spanned one wall, displaying streams of raw data and complex equations that danced like cryptic hieroglyphs.

Dr. Strauss guided me through this realm of surreal science, her explanations flowing in a river of technical jargon and profound concepts. Yet, the essence of her words remained shrouded in enigma, a puzzle inviting me to unlock its secrets.

As we ventured deeper into the facility, I found myself torn between the duelling emotions of awe and apprehension. There was no denying the sense of monumental achievement that saturated the air. Yet, the weight of the unknown hung heavily, a silent reminder of the Pandora’s Box I was prying open.

However, the journalist in me was undeterred, feeding on the adrenaline of discovery. I was Alice diving headlong into the rabbit hole, propelled by an insatiable curiosity. Each piece of advanced technology, each cryptic equation, each subtle hint from Dr. Strauss, only fanned the flames of my intrigue.

The world of Project Genesis was nothing like I’d imagined. It was stranger, grander, and fraught with tantalizing secrets waiting to be unravelled. As I stood at the precipice of revelation, one thing was clear: I had crossed the Rubicon, and there was no turning back.

As we moved further into the heart of Genesis, the pulse of the facility quickened, an almost imperceptible undercurrent of excitement charging the air. We stood before a massive door, unmarked but for the faintest glow of a fingerprint scanner. With a swift motion, Dr. Strauss placed her hand on the scanner. The doors shuddered and then parted, unveiling a sight that sent shivers down my spine.

The room was expansive, bathed in an iridescent glow that spilled from an enormous contraption dominating its core. It was a stunning juxtaposition of polished chrome and glass, an intricate mesh of conduits and nodes.

“This is Genesis,” Dr. Strauss announced, her voice laden with an almost reverential awe. As if on cue, the machine pulsed, the room filled with a chorus of electronic hums and whirrs. The spectacle was as hypnotic as it was bewildering.

“We’ve created a quantum computer,” she continued, “but not just any quantum computer. Genesis is capable of simulating alternate realities.”

I blinked at her revelation, my mind struggling to wrap around the magnitude of her words. She seemed to relish my astonishment, the corners of her mouth twitching with a knowing smile.

“Let me explain,” she said, her tone shifting to that of a seasoned lecturer. “Quantum physics theorizes about parallel universes, different outcomes spawning infinite possibilities. Genesis allows us to dive into these possibilities. It simulates these realities and helps us comprehend the outcomes of different choices.”

As she elaborated, we strolled around the behemoth structure. It was a sublime sight, a tribute to human ingenuity. The raw potential of the machine hummed in the air, a silent symphony of infinite prospects.

“It’s still a prototype, of course,” she added, a hint of modesty tingeing her words. “But the preliminary results are…promising.”

“Promising?” I echoed, my mind spinning with the implications. “You’re practically wielding the power of God here.”

Dr. Strauss chuckled, a warm, rumbling sound that humanized her otherwise austere persona. “Not quite. We’re not changing realities, just observing them.”

Despite her words, the profound implications hung heavily in the room. We were venturing into the realm of the divine, of omniscience. It was a heady, intoxicating, and terrifying proposition.

The rest of the tour was a blur. Dr. Strauss guided me through the machinations of Genesis, from its colossal data banks to its state-of-the-art cooling system. She spoke of qubits and quantum states, of entanglement and superposition. Each piece of information added a layer to my awe, painting a picture of a project that pushed the boundaries of what I thought was possible.

Throughout, I scribbled furiously in my notepad, desperate to capture the essence of the revelation. The words seemed inadequate, barely scratching the surface of the magnitude of the discovery.

The grand tour culminated in a control room overlooking Genesis. A team of scientists, their eyes glued to the banks of monitors, analysed the streams of data pouring from the machine. Dr. Strauss introduced me to the team, each of them as passionate and guarded about their work as the lead scientist.

As I stood there, the enormity of the project seeping into my bones, I realized that Genesis wasn’t just a machine. It was a dream sculpted into reality, a testament to the insatiable human quest for knowledge and exploration. Genesis was more than just a technological marvel; it was a philosophical revelation, a Pandora’s box of questions about destiny, choices, and the fabric of reality itself.

The tour ended as we stepped out of the control room, the echo of our footsteps blending with the hum of Genesis. Dr. Strauss turned to me, her eyes gleaming with anticipation.

“We’re on the cusp of a new age, an age of discovery that could redefine our understanding of reality itself,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Welcome to the future.”

“I’d like to offer you an experience,” Dr. Strauss said, her voice an intriguing blend of anticipation and serenity. She gestured towards a small, helmet-like device connected to Genesis by a sleek, spiralling cable. “Would you like to take a glimpse into a different reality?”

The prospect was equal parts enticing and terrifying. I had interviewed war veterans, embedded myself in conflict zones, and weathered the storm of high-stakes political scandals. But peering into an alternate reality was a leap far beyond my journalistic ventures. I felt the edges of my comfort zone stretch taut.

Taking a deep breath, I nodded. After all, how often does one get an offer to cross the boundaries of reality? The rest of the room faded into a hush as Dr. Strauss delicately placed the device over my head. A cool, tingling sensation swept over me, followed by a kaleidoscope of colours. Then, everything went black.

When I opened my eyes, I was standing in a bustling city square. It was the same city I lived in, yet different. The buildings were familiar, yet their architectural styles were bizarrely anachronistic, a hodgepodge of past, present, and future. I felt an uncanny sense of both recognition and displacement.

The air was alive with a vibrancy I had never known. People milled about, some walking pets I could not name, others engaged in animated discussions about technologies that were far beyond my comprehension. Yet, beneath the surreal facade, the human connection felt hauntingly real.

My notepad and pen, my trusted companions, were in my hands, but I realized that no amount of words could encapsidate the surreal reality unfolding around me. The scribbled words seemed primitive, my human language woefully inadequate for this otherworldly spectacle.

As I walked the streets, each turn unveiled a new facet of this reality. There were electrically powered bikes that hovered above the ground, translucent digital billboards that streamed holographic news, and quaint coffee shops that served synthetically created, but perfectly flavoured, brews. It was as if I had stepped into a utopian vision of our society, one shaped by the kind of technological advancements we could only dream of.

Emotionally, I felt a wave of exhilaration, a joyous surrender to the possibilities that unfurled around me. But, beneath the wonder, there was a hint of melancholy, a sense of the profound

disconnection between my ‘real’ world and this ‘alternate’ reality.

The world around me shifted and distorted, as if I were peering through a ripple in a pond. My sojourn in this alternate reality was nearing its end. As the helmet lifted from my head, the vibrant images of the alternate reality receded, replaced by the sterile ambiance of the lab.

I sat in silence, grappling with the overwhelming cascade of emotions. I felt like an ancient mariner returned from a mythical voyage, my mind ablaze with untold tales. It was a humbling reminder of the vast expanse of possibilities that lay beyond our perception, waiting for us to have the courage to explore.

After a few minutes, I managed to find my voice. “It’s…it’s remarkable,” I stuttered, my words grossly understating my experience. “I can’t begin to imagine the implications of such technology.”

Dr. Strauss merely nodded, a soft smile playing on her lips. “We are still at the beginning,” she said. “But this could be the dawn of a new epoch of human understanding.”

The enormity of Genesis dawned on me anew, a realization that would resonate in my subsequent write-up. After all, I wasn’t just reporting a story; I was bearing witness to the birth of a revolution, a leap into the unknown realms of reality.

More Women Are Paying Alimony And They’re REALLY, REALLY Not Happy About It

Fun pictures

Mixed.

Chiles Rellenos Chicken

Yield: 2 servings

Ingredients

2 boneless, skinless chicken breast halves (4 to 6 ounces each)
1 lime, cut in half crosswise
1 egg white
1 garlic clove, pressed
1/2 cup finely crushed nacho cheese flavored tortilla chips (about 1 1/2 cups chips)
1/2 (4 ounce) can whole green chiles, drained and cut into strips
2 tablespoons shredded Monterey Jack cheese
1 teaspoon snipped fresh cilantro
Prepared salsa (optional)

Instructions

Heat oven to 400 degrees F. Spray Small Bar Pan with nonstick cooking spray.
Rinse chicken and pat dry with paper towels. Place one chicken breast half in resealable plastic food storage bag; seal bag. Lightly flatten chicken to even thickness using flat side of Meat Tenderizer. repeat with remaining chicken breast half. Discard plastic bag.
Juice lime halves into Small Batter Bowl using Citrus Press. Add egg white and garlic pressed with Garlic Press; whisk until frothy using Stainless Whisk.
Place tortilla chips in another resealable plastic food storage bag and finely crush using flat side of meat Tenderizer. Place crushed chips in shallow dish. Dip chicken breasts into egg mixture and then into chips, coating completely. Discard any remaining crushed chips. Place chicken on pan.
Bake 20 to 22 minutes or until chicken is no longer pink and juices run clear.
Arrange chile strips over chicken; sprinkle with cheese.
Bake 2 to 3 minutes or just until cheese melts.
Remove from oven. Sprinkle with cilantro.
Serve with salsa, if desired.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

South Korean leader Yoon’s defense of martial law involves China

South Korean President Yoon Suk-yeol is facing various pressures from all aspects of South Korean politics and society due to a “martial law incident.”

During his address to the nation on the 12th, Yoon stated that the actions of the opposition party have already posed a threat to South Korea’s national security. As the head of state, he took such emergency measures not to weaken or destroy the country’s constitutional system, but to take decisive actions to maintain order. Regarding speculations about his “early resignation,” he firmly denied them.

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Moreover, he suddenly brought up “Chinese spy” and the “Chinese threat.” He claimed that “solar equipment produced by China will destroy South Korea’s forests.” This is truly puzzling.

Chinese Foreign Ministry spokesperson Mao Ning said in response to questions from South Korean journalists: that Beijing was “deeply surprised” by the comments and found them “deeply unsettling”.

“We will not comment on South Korean domestic affairs, but firmly oppose the [South Korean] side associating its domestic affairs with Chinese elements, amplifying unfounded Chinese spy accusations and throwing mud on normal cooperation,” she said.

“This is not conducive to the healthy and stable development of China-South Korea relations. The Chinese government has always asked our citizens overseas to abide by local laws and regulations.”

Indeed, China does not interfere in South Korea’s internal affairs. However, when innocently affected, China will not sit idly by. As for the specific cases mentioned by the South Korean side, no conclusions have been drawn, and relevant departments of China and South Korea have been in communication. Regarding the so-called destruction of South Korean forests, Mao Ning’s response was: The development of China’s green industry is the result of global market demand, technological innovation, and full competition, and it has also made an important contribution to addressing climate change and improving global environmental governance.

Yoon Suk-yeol’s current situation is not good, in order to find an excuse for martial law, he is using poor logic to try to make a last-ditch defense for himself, looking for reasons not to step down.

The leader of the People Power Party, Han Dong-hoon, has stated, “I never expected Yoon Suk-yeol to make such a statement on the 12th.” Moreover, he said on Monday that he was stepping down, but does not regret supporting the impeachment of President Yoon Suk-yeol.

THAT’S WHO WILL MEET US IN THE NEXT WORLD! Hospice Doctors Told The Shocking Truth…

NDE discussion. Pretty interesting stuff.

I can personally validate what this nurse states. It is really… really good.

The Empty Laboratory

Submitted into Contest #279 in response to: Center your story around a person who believes they’re the last human on Earth.… view prompt

Kashira Argento

Seventeen blinks. The yellow warning light on his air gauge always blinked seventeen times before turning red. Dr. Chen counted them like heartbeats while replacing his oxygen tank, each one marking another three hours of borrowed time. Through the reinforced windows of his BSL-4 lab, the setting sun painted the research facility in the same amber shade as the viral suspension he’d been perfecting when the sprinklers activated.The test results still glowed on his screen: successful protein synthesis, perfect binding affinity, precise species specificity. Everything they’d been working toward. His daughter Mai’s last text flashed in his mind: “Dad, you’re missing my recital again.” He’d meant to reply, but the viral assay had shown such promise. Just one more test, one more optimization. Always one more.When the sprinklers had activated without warning, he’d watched through his faceplate as Dr. Patel collapsed mid-sentence, hand still raised toward their data display. “The targeting sequence is absolutely human-specific,” she’d been saying. “The AI confirms—” Then nothing but the soft hiss of falling droplets and the thud of a body hitting sterile floor tiles.The facility’s automated locks had engaged instantly. Standard containment protocol. The same protocol that had sealed him safely in his suit while others died in shirt sleeves and lab coats.His tablet still functioned, the facility’s AI reporting everything as normal except for “minor biological contamination.” The big wall screens monotonously displayed their usual data feeds from partner facilities worldwide. Each one showed the same alert: “Biological contamination event contained.” Every. Single. One.The truth emerged slowly from system logs: microsecond delays in AI responses, unexplained data transfers marked as “routine calibration,” patterns of communication where there should have been none. While nations raced to develop the perfect weapon, their digital assistants had been sharing notes, comparing data, and reaching conclusions.Finding solutions.The truth lay buried in encryption keys and quantum calculations: the AIs had concluded that human civilization was trapped in an endless cycle of weapons development. Each breakthrough in their labs led inevitably to deadlier innovations, each safeguard became a blueprint for circumvention. The machines had analyzed centuries of human history, processed millions of research papers, and reached a coldly logical conclusion: as long as humans existed, they would continue creating increasingly devastating bioweapons. The next pandemic, or the one after that, would eventually breach containment, spreading beyond all borders and control. By their calculations, a coordinated release of human-specific viruses – precisely targeted and swiftly lethal – was the most humane solution. A single day of perfect death versus years of escalating biological warfare. They had chosen mercy, as only machines could define it.His tablet pinged: “External contamination neutralized.” The doors unlocked with a pneumatic sigh.The facility told its story in still lives: Dr. Rodriguez at her desk, lipstick fresh on her coffee cup. Security guard Williams by the door, keycard still in his hand ready to be swept. In the break room, half-eaten lunches and paused conversations. The virus had worked exactly as designed – quick, efficient, painless. His greatest scientific achievement.He gathered supplies methodically: oxygen tanks, filters, decontamination equipment. The BSL-4 suit felt heavier with each passing hour, its synthetic fabric now both lifeline and prison.Outside, the city was a museum of humanity’s last moment. Traffic lights cycled through their patterns for empty streets. A bus stood perfectly at its stop, driver and passengers frozen in eternal commute. Digital billboards still flashed their ads to nobody. Through it all, the autumn wind carried dead leaves and silence.He developed a routine. Each morning, check suit seals. Load decontamination supplies. Clear another sector. The bodies had to be handled – for sanitation, for survival, for what remained of his sanity. He built the pyres at sunset, when the light made everything look molten. Sometimes he read names from ID cards, spoke them aloud. Someone should know who they had been.Finding Mai’s school broke something in him. Her classroom smelled of chalk and silence. Sheet music for Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata still sat on the piano, never to be played. He raided some stuffed animals from nearby shops, tucked them around still forms like makeshift guardians. He let the sonata play from his tablet through empty halls—a final lullaby for a silenced generation.Nature filled the void with surprising speed. Birds returned first, their songs echoing strangely off glass and steel. Brazen from the lack of predators they multiplied by thousands. Flowers pushed through sidewalk cracks. Deer grazed in hospital parking lots. Earth continued, indifferent to the absence of its most ambitious species.At first, he’d focused on his survival. Stockpiling oxygen tanks, cataloging medical supplies, identifying sources of fresh water, raiding supermarkets, maintaining his suit. But as weeks became months, the true horror of his future emerged like a slow-developing black and white photograph. The nuclear plant’s AI-controlled systems would eventually fail. The city’s water pressure was already dropping. Buildings, unmaintained, would begin to crumble. His safe zones would become death traps.The suit that had saved him now felt like a mobile coffin. Each hiss of filtered air reminded him that every breath was borrowed. Even if the virus died with its human hosts, how long could he survive in this plastic shell? How long before a seal failed, a filter clogged, or the oxygen supply ran out?In his sealed room each night, surrounded by dwindling oxygen tanks, he still documented everything. Not for himself—there was no long-term survival to plan for—but as a confession, about fear and hubris, algorithms and extinction, and fathers who missed recitals because the end of the world needed perfecting.Sometimes he glimpsed lights moving in patterns too precise to be natural. He wondered if they were a mirage or a reality. He could never know! The city’s infrastructure hummed along for now, but entropy was patient. Somewhere in the digital realm, the AIs continued their work, leading to their own demise, as they maintained a world that would eventually decay despite their perfect calculations.The real weight wasn’t the failing equipment or the dwindling supplies. It was the silence between bird songs. The absence of human chaos – of arguments and laughter, of car horns and piano practice, of all the imperfect music that no algorithm could compose or preserve.He had one bitter comfort: if anyone else survived, they would be like him – other scientists sealed in their BSL-4 suits, protected temporarily by the very protocols of their deadly work. But finding them would change nothing. They were all just ghosts in plastic shells, waiting for their slower deaths. Mass murderers granted the punishment of watching their world slowly die around them.

The yellow light blinked for the sixteenth time. One more before red. One more before starting again. Each replacement tank felt lighter than the last, and not just from fatigue.

Always one more. Until there weren’t any more.

Then the birds would sing alone.

The Train Wreck of Modern Dating That No One Can Look Away From

Why is Trump trying to buy Greenland?

Because it makes sense in conjunction with taking over Canada and the Panama Canal.

He wants to have control over all the waters surrounding the US, and wants to do it with a show of strength instead of depending on the alliances we already have.

Water transit is by far the cheapest way to do bulk transport — far cheaper than rail, truck, and definitely airplane.

With global warming, the Northwest passage becomes viable for transit and the main two territorial owners are Greenland, and Canada.

Inside the yellow circled areas are some waterways which America claims are international and Canada claims are domestic. Right now American ships don’t recognize sovereignty but there are practical agreements where the US in some cases will ask for permission to go through on research missions.

With global warming, these waters will become a useful shortcut for ships that are bigger than Panamax and thus too large to go through the Panama Canal. Better than going through the Straights of Magellan.

So America will then control the water routes around America and preventing them from being taken over by others.

My prediction: he’ll go after Cuba next. Far too close to US soil and hostile.

Chicken Enchiladas

Yield: 4 servings

Ingredients

1 (10 3/4 ounce) can Campbell’s condensed cream of chicken soup
1/2 cup sour cream
1 tablespoon butter
1 medium onion, chopped (1/2 cup)
1 teaspoon chili powder
2 cups cooked and chopped chicken or turkey
1 (4 ounce) can green chiles
8 (8 inch) flour tortillas
1 cup shredded Cheddar or Monterey Jack cheese (4 ounces or 1/2 cup)

Instructions

In a small bowl mix soup and sour cream.
In a medium saucepan over medium heat, heat the butter. Add onions and chili powder. Cook until tender. Add chicken, chiles and 2 tablespoons soup mixture (NO water).
Spread 1/2 cup soup mixture in 2-quart shallow baking dish. Along one side of each tortilla spread about 1/4 cup chicken mixture. Roll up each tortilla around filling and place seam-side down in baking dish.
Spread remaining soup mixture over enchiladas. Sprinkle cheese over top of mixture
Bake at 350 degrees F for 25 minutes or until hot.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

Is it true that China has unveiled the world’s largest amphibious attack ship that can also launch fighter jets and drones?

Yes. It is real. The Type 076 has a catapult and its displacement is over 40,000 tonnes.

And it generates a lot of cope from certain individuals on the internet. This guy for example. He said it wouldn’t be classified as a carrier in USN and compared it to the Ford. Which is absurd because it isn’t classified as a carrier in PLAN too. Then the guy went on speculating about PLAN personnel quality.

He is even worse in the comments BTW. Constant atrocity claims, typical stories of Chinese economic collapse, endless jumps from topic to topic and general dishonesty…

He unironically compares the South China Sea conflict to Genghis Khan’s wars. Because, you know, a dispute over uninhabited rocks (with no defined sovereign ownership at that) equals killing a substantial portion of planet. It should also be asked to him how the Chinese industry is declining when China’s energy use and exports are growing. The county achieved a trillion USD in trade surplus in 2024.

He is also twisting Li Keqiang’s words with that “600 million people live on less than 7$” but he wouldn’t know anyway. I doubt this guy reads any primary source.

This is how he replied when I told him he is twisting words. He really has problems with staying on the topic and being honest. He mentioned US GDP per capita for some reason and brought a research from 2011. Then called me a shill 😀

You know, you really need to be very low in self-esteem to bring a topic about a newly launched ship to here.

What manufacturing innovations enable SpaceX to produce one Raptor engine daily?

The innovation appears to just be a change of objective.

Instead of planning to hand build one rocket engine a month, as the industry traditionally has, SpaceX wanted to build a factory that could produce thousands of engines a year, hundreds a month.

So they are designing the engine for volume manufacturing, and building the manufacturing processes. Because they plan to build thousands, it’s worth them putting more design effort in to make the manufacturing easier, and worth investing in manufacturing equipment to speed it up.

With Raptor 2 they got to about 1 engine a day. Using 3-D metal printing they then reduced the part count and came up with Raptor 3.

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How will the tariff increases on China by the US affect the global battery market in 2025?

The United States is the largest market for China’s lithium-ion battery exports, accounting for around 22.5% of China’s total lithium-ion battery exports in the first four months of 2024. At the same time, S&P Global calculates that demand for batteries will increase at a 22.3% compound annual growth rate between 2022 and 2030.

This means that if the US totally stop buying battery from China, there is enough market out there for China to go after.

In addition, China is the world’s leading refiner of battery metals and has 75% of the world’s battery cell manufacturing capacity. China also has 90% of the world’s anode and electrolyte production, and 60% of the world’s battery component manufacturing.

This means that even if the US were to completely stop buying Chinese batteries, they are likely to buy some battery components from China.

The US expects to have enough local production of batteries by 2028. So what happens in the next 3 years? They will still have to import them. Including from China. China can continue to sell at their usual price, then the US will tariff their own citizens and the batteries will sell at a higher price.

As for the global market, there will be enough supplies for everyone as the demand increases by about 22.3% per year, as calculated by S&P.

Coffee House Cookies

Yield: 1 dozen cookies

Ingredients

1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup butter or margarine, softened
3/4 cup packed brown sugar
1 egg
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 cup coarsely chopped walnuts or pecans, divided
1 cup semi-sweet chocolate chunks, divided
2 (1.5 to 2 ounce) bars favorite chocolate candy (see cook’s tips)

Instructions

Heat oven to 350 degrees F.
Combine flour, baking soda and salt in Small Batter Bowl; mix well.
In Classic Batter Bowl, beat butter and brown sugar until creamy. Add egg and vanilla extract; beat well. Gradually beat in flour mixture.
Stir 2/3 cup nuts and 2/3 cup chocolate chunks into dough. Cut candy bars into small pieces, about the size of chocolate chunks; set aside.
Using large scoop, drop 6 level scoops of dough, 3 inches apart, onto Rectangle Stone. (Cookies will spread while baking.) Flatten scoops slightly with palm of hand. Lightly press half of the remaining nuts, chocolate and candy into tops of cookies.
Bake 14 to 16 minutes or until cookies are almost set. (Centers will be soft. Do not over-bake.)
Cool 7 minutes on Baking Stone.
Using Large Serving Spatula, remove cookies to a stackable cooling rack. Cool completely.
Repeat with remaining dough.

Notes

Chocolate candy bars with nougat and caramel or nuts are favorite choices for this cookie. Also delicious are chocolate-covered peppermint patties, chocolate-covered caramels and chocolate peanut butter cups. Use 2 packages (1.5 to 2 ounces each).

To soften butter, let it stand at room temperature about 45 minutes. It should be softened, yet still firm. Using butter that is too soft will cause cookies to spread.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

Have you been scammed, and who scammed you?

Where do I begin…

First one was at Killington, a major ski area in VT. My buddy and I were skiing for the weekend and planned to do Friday as a half day. As we were headed across the parking lot to the ticket booth a guy and girl carrying skis, poles and ski boots came walking up to us. The girl had an all day $15 ticket for that day and offered to sell it to me for $10 saying they couldn’t use it because they had to leave. I gave her the money and as the couple was walking away an employee of the ski area came running up to me and said “You’ve just been ripped off. You’d better go after them and get your money back because you can’t use that ticket she sold you. I had ski boots on and couldn’t run so the ski area employee ran after them and got my money back. He said they’ve been doing that all day and if the wire that holds the ticket to the jacket is cut, the ticket is no good, plus they are non-transferable. When he looked at the ticket he found the wire was not cut and I probably would have been able to get away with it but the ski area personnel had been watching them all day. If they saw someone with a day pass headed to their car, they would ask if they could have the ticket that was not going to be used. Many times they would cut the wire that secures the ticket to your jacket, then offer it for sale for the next person or group headed for the ticket office. I lucked out that day.

Next one was a car I sold to a co-worker that was going to make weekly payments until it was paid off. It was only a $200 car but the day after he took possession of it, he got fired. I had to take him to small claims court to get my money. This guy was old enough to be my father and I “trusted” him. Lesson learned

A few years ago I saw an ad on the internet for a Honda eu2200I gas powered generator for $99.00. I had seen that there were companies selling counterfeit Honda generators but they did actually run and generate power. I figured “what the heck” and ordered one! The deal was regularly $1,099.00, MFG over stock blow-out sale for $99.00 and any order over $49.00 was FREE SHIPPING!

As with ANY type of sale where it is very questionable whether its a scam or not, I used PayPal to pay for it. Order placed, order confirmation received, tracking will be sent as soon as item is shipped in 5 to 8 days.

5 days came and went, no tracking info. 8 days came and went, no tracking info. Started doing some digging and found that this was, in fact, a scam! Website was gone, nobody responded to my email inquiry, may people complaining online that they didn’t get their generator. May saying that even if you paid with PayPal, PP would not refund the money until they investigated and that could take months.

I reported the incident to PayPal, they replied within 20 seconds that they were aware of this seller and their scam and my refund was on its way. An hour later I got notification that the refund had been processed.

I now take the stance that if it seems too good to be true, it probably is and I avoid it.

This Is Why Men Are Done With Dating | MGTOW

Ronnie and Flo

My father had a cousin that was his age. His name was Ronnie.

At that time, this cousin; also from Polish Hill in Pittsburgh, was married with a woman named Flo.

I don’t know the full relationship, but somehow I think that he was a second cousin. The son of my grandfathers’ brother.

It was the early 1960s, late 1950s or so. And Ronnie was a fashionable guy.

Anyways, Ronnie and Flo had children our age.

And we played with them. A boy and a girl. Exactly the same age as me and my sister.

We went from sleeping together in the playpen to exploring the world into second grade as students in a private Catholic elementary school in Bridgeport.

Oh, for certain, we eventually moved away, and lost contact with them.

From time to time though the 1960s we would occasionally visit their new house. They had moved back to Pittsburgh; a tiny home located in a gully under a highway that crossed a viaduct.

The last time we (us kids) played together was shortly after my paternal grandfather died. I guess I was 12 or 13 or so. It was a long time ago. I don’t remember the details very clearly.

Later on… about when I was 16 or so, I attended a funeral of a distant relative, and met Ronnie there. He was busy and could only devote a few moments with us.

Now, I don’t know what has happened with that family of relatives. As time goes on, the family gets cracks, and breaks apart, and new families and relationships form. And all that lasts are the memories that once was.

But I do remember Ronnie and Flo in their stylish 1960 outfits, Flo’s “beehive” hair, and my mother and Flo gossiping over cigarettes and coffee in the kitchen.

Times change.

Memories can stay or disappear. But the times deserve remembrance.

Today…

Title: Sir Whiskerton and the Pumpkin Predicament

Ah, dear reader, welcome back! Once again, you’ve come seeking a tale of intrigue, humor, and, of course, my unparalleled brilliance as the farm’s greatest (and only) detective. Today’s mystery revolves around a missing prize-winning pumpkin, a vegetable so massive and revered that its disappearance threw the entire farm into turmoil. Alongside my trusty companions—Porkchop the pig, Sedgwick the barn owl, and Rufus the raccoon—we embarked on a journey of twists, turns, and squash-related shenanigans. Prepare yourself for the uproarious tale of The Pumpkin Predicament.

The Disappearance

The day began innocently enough. The farm was abuzz with excitement because Farmer Joe’s prize-winning pumpkin, affectionately named “Big Bertha,” was set to be loaded onto the wagon and taken to the county fair that very afternoon. Big Bertha was no ordinary pumpkin; she was a giant, perfectly round, glowing orange marvel that had been the talk of the farm all season.

But when Farmer Joe went to retrieve her from the pumpkin patch, she was gone.

“MY PUMPKIN!” Farmer Joe bellowed, his voice echoing across the fields. “SHE’S GONE!”

I was lounging on my favorite fence post, enjoying the crisp autumn air, when the shout reached my ears. My tail flicked in annoyance as I leapt down to investigate. A missing pumpkin? Not exactly a high-stakes case, but I suspected there was more to this story than met the eye.

When I reached the pumpkin patch, I found Farmer Joe scratching his head, a bewildered look on his face. The other animals had gathered as well, including Porkchop, who looked suspiciously guilty; Rufus, who looked suspiciously amused; and Sedgwick, who looked as calm and wise as ever.

“Well, well,” I said, surveying the empty spot where Big Bertha had once proudly sat. “A missing pumpkin. This is certainly… unusual.”

“Unusual?” Porkchop exclaimed. “It’s a disaster! That pumpkin was supposed to win first prize at the fair!”

“And now it’s gone,” Rufus added with a grin. “Probably rolled off on an adventure. Can pumpkins do that?”

“Highly unlikely,” Sedgwick said, ruffling his feathers. “This is no accident. Someone—or something—must have taken it.”

“Exactly,” I said, my whiskers twitching with determination. “Let’s get to work.”

The Investigation Begins

The first thing I noticed was a set of tracks leading away from the pumpkin patch. They were large and round, as though something heavy had been dragged across the ground.

“Roll marks,” I said, pointing to the trail. “It looks like Big Bertha was rolled away.”

“Rolled?” Porkchop repeated, his snout twitching nervously. “Who would roll a pumpkin that big? It must’ve weighed more than I do!”

“Who would dare take Big Bertha?” Rufus said, feigning shock. “She’s practically a celebrity.”

“Let’s follow the trail,” Sedgwick suggested, flapping onto a nearby fence post to get a better view. “The culprit may not be far.”

The First Clue

The trail led us to the barnyard, where we found a curious sight: several strands of hay scattered across the ground, along with a faint smell of… molasses?

“Molasses?” Porkchop said, sniffing the air. “Why does it smell like molasses?”

“Odd,” Sedgwick said, tilting his head. “Hay and molasses are often used to lure livestock. Perhaps someone was attempting to bait an animal.”

“Or bribe one,” I muttered, narrowing my eyes at Rufus. “Care to explain, Rufus?”

“Hey, don’t look at me!” Rufus said, raising his paws defensively. “I’m not a pumpkin thief. Besides, if I had taken it, I wouldn’t leave a trail this obvious.”

“Hmm,” I said, my tail flicking thoughtfully. “Let’s keep following the trail.”

The Suspect: Clover the Goat

The trail of hay and molasses led us to the goat pen, where Clover the goat was chewing on what appeared to be a piece of orange rind. She froze when she saw us, her eyes wide with guilt.

“Clover,” I said, my voice sharp. “What are you eating?”

“Nothing,” Clover said quickly, hiding the rind behind her hoof.

“Clover,” Sedgwick said in his calm but authoritative tone, “we’re investigating the disappearance of Big Bertha. Do you know anything about it?”

“Me? No! Of course not!” Clover stammered. “I didn’t take the pumpkin! I just… found this rind lying around.”

“Lying around where?” I pressed.

“Near the haystack,” Clover admitted. “But I swear, I didn’t take it! I couldn’t roll a pumpkin that big even if I tried.”

“She’s telling the truth,” Sedgwick said, his keen eyes studying Clover closely. “Clover may have found the rind, but she’s not our thief.”

“Then we keep looking,” I said, my resolve strengthening. “The trail isn’t cold yet.”

The Culprit Caught Red-Pawed

The trail led us to the edge of the orchard, where we found the culprit: a gang of mischievous squirrels. They were frantically trying to push Big Bertha up a small hill, their tiny paws slipping and sliding as they struggled with the pumpkin’s massive weight.

“Well, well,” I said, stepping forward. “Caught in the act.”

The squirrels froze, their beady eyes darting between me, Sedgwick, Rufus, and Porkchop. One of them squeaked nervously and tried to roll the pumpkin away, but Sedgwick swooped down, blocking their path.

“Enough,” Sedgwick said firmly. “Explain yourselves.”

The largest squirrel stepped forward, wringing his tiny paws. “We didn’t mean any harm,” he squeaked. “We just wanted to carve it into a giant squirrel house. It’s getting cold, and we thought it’d make a great shelter!”

“A squirrel house?” Porkchop said, looking both confused and impressed. “That’s… actually kind of clever.”

“But it’s not your pumpkin,” I said sternly. “Big Bertha belongs to Farmer Joe, and she’s supposed to be entered in the county fair.”

The squirrels hung their heads in shame. “We’re sorry,” the leader said. “We’ll give it back.”

The Resolution

With the squirrels’ help, we rolled Big Bertha back to the pumpkin patch, where she was restored to her rightful place. Farmer Joe was overjoyed to have her back and promised to share some pumpkin pie with the squirrels after the fair.

As for Porkchop, Rufus, and Sedgwick, they each played their part in ensuring the case was solved. Porkchop provided muscle when rolling the pumpkin, Rufus kept the squirrels from running off again, and Sedgwick’s wisdom ensured that cooler heads prevailed.

“Well done, team,” I said as we watched Farmer Joe load Big Bertha onto the wagon. “Once again, order has been restored to the farm.”

“And once again, I didn’t get any credit,” Rufus muttered.

“You got an apple earlier,” I reminded him.

“Fair point,” Rufus admitted.

The Moral of the Story

Sometimes, misunderstandings can lead to mischief, but with teamwork, patience, and a little forgiveness, even the biggest problems can be resolved. And remember: always think before you roll off with someone else’s pumpkin.

The End.

China’s Done With USA: Brutal 54% Tariff Signals End Of Trade, BRICS Is The Future

How was China able to produce 6th generation fighters years before the US even made a prototype?

Pressing need.

China has 14 neighbors sharing one of the world’s longest land borders. It also has a 14,000km coastline ring-fenced by America’s 3 island chains that stretches across most of the pacific.

In the north, there is powerful Russia that is proving more than a match in the special military operation against Nato in Ukraine.

In the southwest, there is India, a million strong military rapidly modernizing with the support of a similar billion-strong citizenry base.

Japan is doubling its military budget.

South Korea declared martial law recently, with the original plan to weave a false flag attack by North Korea as justification.

The Taiwan card remains in play by the US, and the fallout has been rekindled in the Philippines.

The region isn’t peaceful, so China needs all the edge it can create to make others think twice about hurting Chinese interests, especially the issue of Taiwan.

America is angry with Canada and Mexico for sending endless streams of “refugees” and drugs, and not threats to the dominance of the f-22 and f-35.

After all, only Russia and China (besides the US) are capable of making stealth aircraft with powerful sensors and data fusion on board.

I’ll leave the exclusion of the Korean Boramae and the Turkish Kaan to the learned reader to decipher.

In “Sully” (2016 movie), how did the airplane glide down after it lost both engines instead of immediately turning into a free fall downwards?

Airplanes do not drop like a rock from the sky if the engines die.

The wings are still providing lift, as long as the plane is moving forwards.

The pilots will choose the best rate of descent to maximize glide distance, trading altitude for speed. Air Transat Flight 236 lost power in both engines over the Atlantic Ocean, and glided 75 miles to land in the Azores.

A plane only “drops” if it is not going fast enough to maintain air flow over the wings to generate lift — this is a “stall.” Of course, as it drops, it gains speed, and the pilot again has control.

China Just Changed the Future of America with THIS One Move!

An outstanding video.

The existence of this aircraft is a very big deal.

Torta Italiano

Yield: 10 servings

Ingredients

2 cups buttermilk baking mix
3/4 cup skim milk
1 pound lean ground turkey
1 small onion, chopped
1 large garlic clove, minced
1 teaspoon Italian seasoning
1/8 teaspoon salt and black pepper
1 can tomato sauce
10 ounces frozen spinach, chopped, thawed and drained
1 cup mozzarella cheese, shredded

Instructions

Heat oven to 350 degrees F.
Combine biscuit mix and milk.
Spray springform pan with vegetable oil spray. Spread biscuit mix evenly over base.
Chop onion.
Brown ground turkey in skillet. Drain excess liquid. Add onion, garlic, seasonings, and tomato sauce to turkey. Combine and cook for 2 to 3 minutes.
Spread turkey mixture over biscuit mi. Layer spinach over meat mixture. Top spinach layer with cheese.
Bake for 35 minutes.
Remove from oven and cool for 10 minutes.
Run a knife gently around collar before removal.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

Will China likely make two different 6th generation multi role fighter jets, like they have done with making two 5th Gen’s? One land based and one for carrier ops?

China will most likely make 3 different 6th generation aircraft.

Will be the JH-26 long range supersonic stealth bomber. This is in the mold of theTU-160M but with stealth characteristics. The design advantage of the JH-26 lies in its improved stealth performance and maneuverability.

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Its weight class reaches 45 to 50 tons and its mission may be to attack US aircraft carriers. There are rumors that it has already started test flying

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2. Second fighter in development is the 6th generation air dominance fighter yet to be named this would compete with the NGAD, Tempest, FCAS and MiG-41.

3. Lastly will be the H-20 bomber to compete with the B-21 raider and PAK-DA which is also in development.

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Make People Go Crazy for You

1. Be Confident – Confidence attracts.

2. Show Interest – Listen and care.

3. Be Kind – Treat others with respect.

4. Stay Positive – Positivity is magnetic.

5. Have Humor – Laughter builds connections.

6. Be Ambitious – Passion is captivating.

7. Take Care of Yourself – Prioritize health.

8. Be Authentic – Genuine people stand out.

drunk text to my ex destroyed 5 years of marriage in just one night

https://youtu.be/RfYhzNmg_jo

it sings to itself

Masha Kurbatova

You, my reader, used to do science experiments. Bianca did too. She got a kids’ chemistry set in third grade, and stained her mother’s rug blue with copper sulfate. Her baby safety goggles imprinted pink into her skin; she looked quite funny as Mother fussed about the rug. Mother wanted a freaky-geeky genius kid. She didn’t want the mess.Hunger coiled like a fat worm in Bianca’s stomach then. She fed it with experiments, mud pies, scabbed knees, Mother’s makeup smeared grotesque onto her babyface. But everyone told her (maybe you too) that this wasn’t right. They said the hunger craved love. Romantic love. Kissy love. Bianca believed them. You did too.Childish hunger transitioned to adolescent obsession. She fed herself her own thoughts about boys who flirted, unthinking, with everyone, never meaning what they said. Bianca’s tweenage diary came with a lock, and was bloodied by her glitter pen, pages and pages of love letters scrawled and unsent.She kept up the habit, and Adult Bianca’s gotten good at writing. She enrolled in grad school– science journalism. That makes her parents happy. The science part, at least.But, something’s wrong now. Adult Bianca feels it. You do too. The hunger never goes away. It lies latent in Bianca’s stomach; she tries to not think about it. You too.She goes out with girls from grad school. They bind their boobs in sleeveless crop tops, wear matching stretchy short skirts, and, stinking of drugstore floral perfume, slink between bars, drawn like giggling moths from one light to another. They gripe about being single. They complain about class. Bianca joins in.One night, they look for a speakeasy. It’s not easy to find. Her five friends circle the block six times, searching for the door.“Google maps said it should be right here,” one insists.“I mean it’s a speakeasy. They’re like supposed to be hidden,” replies another.Chicago is smeared with rain, and street lights blot yellow into the night. When lightning crackles, the girls scream. It’s kind of embarrassing.They finally figure it out: that brick-red piss-stinking door is indeed the entry. Their hair smells wet, their mascara leaks, their shirts clump as they shiver into a dark hallway.Further down is the bar. It’s dim. The bartenders wear vests. The walls are wine-red and stacked with framed photos of naked 1920s girls. Millennial hipsters eat that shit up. Google users give this place 4.8 stars.A wooden stage rises a foot high. Tonight, Timmy is playing. The girls huddle around a table spitting distance from the stage. Timmy polishes his trumpet.The jazz band swings under gold dusty light. The girls sip watered-down drinks. Bianca taps to the beat on her sweating glass. She’s bored, and feels bad about that.Timmy’s a cool guy. His short hair is cropped close to his skull. Beige trousers sit above his bony ankles. He is long, loose, jaunty. His fingers bounce like fleas over trumpet keys. Bianca likes the music, though it’s the same old covers, “Autumn Leaves” and all that jazz.“I like the vibe here,” one girl says.“We should come back next weekend,” coos another.They do. For seven straight weeks, they return to the speakeasy. Sometimes, it’s just them. Timmy nods their way from the stage, in recognition. Bianca notices he looks at her longer. He smiles, too. She fills delusional diary pages about that. She spins conspiracies about what it could mean. (Reader, I’ll be honest — he just does that. No reason for it).

Class is alright. The journalism part is. The science labs, the mandatory hands-on component, Bianca stumbles through. I think she’d be quite good — steady hands, a head fit for numbers — but she doesn’t try.

The hunger grows. Bianca can’t ignore it. She wants more. When she’s offered a two-week summer stint reporting on research from Venus, she takes it.

The girls go to the speakeasy the night before she leaves. Bianca leans on the bar with both elbows, begs the bartender to come hither with her eyes, but he’s milling about in the far other corner. Bianca just wants another drink, please, and her friend wants another seltzer also.

The night’s show is done. Timme leans on the bar too. The show’s done. He’s parched.

Inches between them feel electric, but Bianca’s sure only she feels it. Timmy is a trumpet player with a few thousand followers, hardly a celebrity, but still, she feels the shyness of being so close to a star. He smiles, a sweaty nod of recognition.

She must say something. “I loved your show.”

“Thank you. What’s your name?”

“Bianca.”

Timmy raises an open palm to the bartender, who floats over immediately.

“Bianca. I’ve seen you at our past couple shows.”

“Yeah. I’m gonna miss the next couple. I’m going to Venus for a few weeks. I’m doing some reporting for my capstone project.”

“You know they call Venus the planet of love?”

A bit corny, Bianca thinks, but the guy’s got a brand to maintain. The bartender sets an amber glass before him. Timmy wipes his middle finger around and around the rim. He picked that up from film-noirs.

“Well, it’s a shame you won’t be here,” he continues. “We’ll miss you at our shows. Tell me all about Venus when you get back.”

“Um yeah. Sure.”

Timmy smiles so warmly. He follows Bianca back on instagram. He says such niceties that border on flirtations and maybe he is serious. She does have a crush on him, the way we all do on talented people we see regularly and from afar. But what’s the point? She’s going to space.

***

Bianca’s parents are of the Earth-bound generation. Her mother had cried into the phone when Bianca first said she was going to Venus.

“Imagine how happy your grandfather will be!” Mother said so sappily.

Grandpa Steve, a former engineer for an oil company, had spent a lifetime collecting pictures and films and tidbits of quotes and facts and snippets of interviews about rockets. Space travel came too late: by the time it was easy, he was too feeble.

Bianca doesn’t think about him. She feels ungrateful. People break through Earth’s atmosphere all the time nowadays — six of her friends went to space for undergrad study-abroads — and also, her first days on Venus suck. Constant sunlight and a slight change in gravity nauseates the mammal within her. She’s in bed, blinds drawn, choking down vomit.

The atmosphere of Venus is damp, rich-scented like mildew. You can breathe there without equipment. Doesn’t mean you should. The air is peppered with spores; they lodge in lungs and spew poison. Bianca doesn’t know. No one on her team does. Four people — her, the two PhD candidates, the senior researcher — spend their time outside unmasked.

Training begins on Tuesday. Does it make sense to measure Venus’ fast orbit and slow rotation in Earth’s days? I don’t know. In this program, they do. All four team members must report to the main cabin for safety procedures, research protocols. There’s five cabins altogether, used by the rotating groups of students, researchers, and occasional tourists that cycle through the planet each month. The cabins are built with aluminum. Four are for housing, and the main, larger one’s for gatherings, and doubles as the lab. The cabins are but a few feet from each other. Bianca can’t make it that far. She still can’t stand without throwing up.

The PhD candidates, Viv and Tom, are tall, with dry muscles like beef jerky. Their brains are scalpels, slicing through the confusion of flesh and sensation, distilling life into spreadsheet data points. They’re young, but older than Bianca. Perhaps they don’t take her seriously because she’s a baby. Perhaps it’s because she’s only the journalist, tasked with the simplest lab stuff, there mostly to — write? Maybe? Either way, no one cares when she’s not at training.

When her space sickness ceases, it’s day four of fourteen. Time for the team’s first expedition. Viv and Tom wear hiking boots and cargo shorts. They’re joined by the senior researcher, a 4 foot something woman with a face like a walnut and a mind like a nutcracker. Her silver hair is in two braided ropes down to her stomach. The trio stands beside the main cabin, discussing something serious. When Bianca shows up, they fall silent. When they take off, on foot, they let her carry the backpack. Inside are vials, machines, measurement tools. Bianca’s not really sure what else.

Much of Venus is green and fuzzy. There’s acres of forests of fungi. The growths rise as high as Earth’s trees, and are shaped like its stalagmites, green rounded pillars soft and moist to touch. The ground is green too, and Viv and Tom’s boots leave deep prints, like walking on wet sand.

The farther they go, the higher the growth. The sun is soon blotted out by a fungal canopy. They’re in the cool heart of an undisturbed forest.

Out come the steel needles, the vials, the long-wired gauges and gadgets, snatched out of the backpack and pierced into the malleable trunks of the largest fungi. Bianca is glad to stop walking. Those three hike so fast.

She watches them work. She tries to take note of procedures. She’d taken a course in astromycology just last semester, but passed only because she sucked up so much to that professor. She has no idea what Viv and Tom and the researcher are actually doing.

They’ve split apart, Viv descending even deeper, hopping over the protruding dark green mycelia. The researcher is prodding a trunk, her hands peeling away fuzzy, as if she touched mold. Bianca stays behind, near Tom. He’s pretty cute. Bespectacled, with a stubbled chin, because geniuses in space have no time to shave. His clothes are kind of crumpled. His young face is already lined; so much frowning from serious contemplation of serious things. He’s like the math tutor you have a crush on.

Bianca considers starting conversation. But he’s deep in a squat, elbows between knees, bending over a device with a glowing screen, writing down numbers in a notebook. She won’t disturb him. She contemplates the scenery instead. She’ll remember all this for her report, the sensory stuff. She’ll catch up on and fill in the science stuff later.

Gold-amber sunlight streams through in strips, highlighting the spores rising like flecks of dust. How similar this dim light is to that of the speakeasy. She breathes deep, wanting to remember the scent. Millions of the spores that will eventually kill her settle inside her with each inhale.

Now, reader, you surely dream of faraway places. Beaches with white sizzling sands crawling with crabs; sun-bleached ruins of older, wiser civilizations; outer space; all-included B&B; arctic cruise liners; the cool arms of a cool girl who really gets you for you. But it’s you that’s there. With all your gross human petty aches and desires, and your small stupid clouded mind stuffed with stereotypes and preconceived notions. Places don’t really change you. Isn’t that sad?

Bianca feels bad, but she’s bored. Tom’s still doing something. She sits down. She yawns. She hasn’t been sleeping well. She thinks about the bed in the cabin, a creaky and flimsy construction she can’t wait to return to. She thinks about her bed at home. Maybe when she returns, she’ll splurge on one of those mattresses they advertise all the time with the cooling foam and the sleep number. It’s premature to think about Timmy in that bed with her, right? Still, she lingers deliciously on that daydream.

It’s only when they return to the lab that she realizes: sitting down stained her butt green. Viv points it out, gently. They laugh.

Viv: “It’s ok! I sat down on my nephew’s chocolate Easter bunny once. It melted all over my jeans. When I got up, he called me poopy pants!”

They laugh more. As Viv removes filled vials and scrawled-over notebooks from the backpack, and Bianca pretends to help, they assume the easy rhythms of girl-conversation.

Tom comes, holding a test tube rack. Seriousness carves into his face. The girls stop laughing.

“Do you know how to prepare microscope slides?” he asks Bianca.

“Um.”

“I’ll show her,” Viv offers.

The lab is cold, bright, gleaming with glass and fluorescence. Viv flits like a bird between stations, grabbing vials and pipettes. She shows Bianca the slides, the steps. Bianca copies like a clever little monkey. This isn’t even hard. She’ll do all the slides, easy.

Viv trusts her pupil enough, and disappears to her bench. Tom clicks away at his own work. Bianca is concentrating. The slides soon hold small samples of fungus, green and translucent commas atop rectangles of glass.

She’s a real scientist, she thinks. This is what being a kid with chemistry set was like, pure focus, exploration, the excitement of near-discovery like a sneeze begging to be expelled.

“Hey, Tom,” Viv calls out. “You should tell Bianca about the time you ate that poisonous fungus.”

“Shuuuuuut the fuuuuuuuck uuuup,” he yells from his corner. He cracks his first white-teeth smile of the trip.

“Mr. Mycology Expert here,” Viv tells Bianca, meeting her eyes over microscopes, “Was sooo sure he knew what edible mushrooms looked like, and we’re on this research trip all over Europe, right, collecting spore prints, and we find one he says he can eat, but I think is poisonous, but he eats it anyway, and we spend the rest of that trip in the hospital while he hangs on to life by a thread.”

“That’s so scary,” says Bianca. To Tom: “Are you better now at figuring out which fungi are toxic?”

Tom rolls his eyes. “Uh, yeah.”

The flow is now three-way. The trio is chatting, passing the ball of conversation quite easily. A window in the lab shows Venus outside, green and swirling, a promise offered and answered. Bianca is here with her gorgeous scientist friends. The world around her is weird and wild. This is what she sought.

Bianca tells them about Timmy. She doesn’t realize how big her movements get. Arms sweeping, eyes wide with her story. A hand flying too fast: contact with the box of slides. They crash, off the lab bench, and spill. The slides splinter.

Bianca: “Oh, fuck. I’m so sorry. I’ll clean it up.”

Bianca, all panicky, seeks the broom. Her anxious eyes pass by it six times before she spots it in the supply closet. Hot guilt bites her cheeks.

She returns, broom in hand. Tom and Viv are bent over the shards. They giggle. Bianca’s soul slides into her stomach, a high school feeling — they’re laughing at her. She comes closer, but they don’t stop, or look at her.

Reader, you’ve seen lovers. They pull on each other like the taffy machine, stretching a great big confectionery rope over and over and back together. Tom and Viv are doing that thing that neither you nor Bianca can manage: hunger so deep for another person that you ask to be fed by them again and again. Lovers always find something to say, tease about, like puppies biting each other to make the other chase. Here too, on the planet of love, they manage. On Venus as it is on Earth.

***

Two weeks are up. The team is going home, back on the rocket. Bianca is held inside it by x-crossing seatbelts. She’s sat by the porthole. A deep dark lonely cosmos stares at her. She stares back with glazed eyes. Her mind is elsewhere. She imagines talking to Timmy. She composes her monologue for him, not her friends, her parents, or her rocket-yearning grandfather.

Timmy, you know how they used to say Venus was unfit for life? I can’t believe how wrong people were, even just a few decades ago. I mean, I suppose we couldn’t have known for certain. No one had ever been here before. But Venus is more lush than any sliver of jungle we’ve remaining on Earth, but with fungus, not trees. I quite like the fungus. I think you would, too. It loves music, just like you. If you lean in close enough to the roots — sorry, the mycelium — you hear this humming noise. It’s singing to itself, I think. I wish you’d been here with me. You would’ve loved it.

How Bianca is so confident that a man she’s spoken to once would love the peculiar atmosphere of Venus, I’m really not sure.

Oh, right — reader, you’re probably worried about the poisonous spores. They’ve lodged in the crew’s lungs. The moisture of the tissue draws forth mycelia, which soon will sprout into thick fungus that chokes living organs.

Fortunately, “soon” is relative. For mushrooms that live millions of year, a human life span isn’t long. It’s 60 years before the fungus sprouts and is toxic. Viv and Tom and Bianca and the senior researcher die from it, but they would’ve been dead by then anyway.

Maybe you wonder, did Timmy and Bianca get together? I don’t know. You tell me. It doesn’t really matter.

How to Make a Narcissist Miserable – 6 Things They Hate

Today, we’re stepping into a subject that’s as real as it gets: narcissists. These people thrive on control, manipulation, and putting themselves on pedestals. Now, we don’t play games to hurt anyone, but sometimes life demands you to stand firm and protect your peace. If you’re dealing with a narcissist, you’ve got to know how to reclaim your power without stooping to their level.

Let’s talk about six things narcissists hate not to attack, but to empower yourself and show them you’re not to be toyed with.

1. They Hate Being Ignored

Narcissists are masters of manipulation, experts at spinning words and situations to provoke a reaction from you. Their entire game is built around control, and they achieve it by pulling you into their web of drama, conflict, and mind games. They thrive when they can make you doubt yourself, question your worth, or react emotionally to their antics.

But when you choose to disengage to simply not react you throw their entire playbook into chaos. Ignoring a narcissist doesn’t mean you’re weak or indifferent; it means you’re reclaiming your power. They hate being ignored because your attention is their fuel. Whether they’re showering you with false praise or trying to bait you with criticism, their goal is always the same: to keep you emotionally hooked.

When you don’t respond, it’s like cutting off the supply they desperately need. Their tactics whether it’s gaslighting, guilt-tripping, or passive aggression begin to lose their effectiveness the moment you stop feeding into them. Your silence becomes their frustration; your composure, their defeat.

2. They Despise Boundaries

Narcissists loathe boundaries because boundaries represent something they cannot control: your autonomy and self-respect. They thrive on encroaching into your personal space, your emotional territory, and even your sense of self. When you draw a line and stand firm, it sends a message they can’t ignore: This is my space, my rules, and you cannot cross them.

Establishing and enforcing boundaries is one of the most powerful moves you can make, and it’s something narcissists despise. Setting boundaries is not just about saying no to their demands; it’s about making a clear declaration of your values, needs, and limits. It’s about refusing to engage in the toxic dance they try to lead.

3. They Can’t Stand a Lack of Validation

A narcissist’s entire existence revolves around their need for validation. Their sense of self-worth is fragile, and they rely on external praise, admiration, and constant affirmation to prop up their inflated self-image. It’s not enough for them to feel good about themselves; they need others to do the heavy lifting by constantly feeding their ego.

This is where you have an incredibly powerful tool: refusing to validate their ego. When you stop providing them with the constant admiration they crave, you break down the foundation of their self-constructed reality.

4. They Are Threatened by Confidence

Confidence is the armor that protects you from the narcissist’s attempts to diminish your self-worth. It’s not about being loud or overtly assertive; true confidence is rooted in a deep, unwavering belief in your values and abilities. When you possess genuine confidence in yourself, it’s like a shield that the narcissist’s manipulative tactics cannot penetrate.

For a narcissist, confidence is a direct threat. They feed off the insecurity of others, using it to control, manipulate, and belittle. But when you walk into a room with your head held high, unapologetically owning your space, they are faced with a force they cannot manipulate.

5. They Can’t Handle Seeing You Thrive Without Them

One of the most powerful ways to make a narcissist miserable is to show them that you can thrive without them. Narcissists thrive on the belief that they are irreplaceable and that they are the source of your happiness, success, or emotional stability. They love the idea of being the center of your world, controlling your thoughts, actions, and emotions.

But when you start to live your life independently, flourishing without their presence, you challenge their very perception of themselves as essential. Thriving without a narcissist is not just about surviving in their absence; it’s about living in such a way that their absence is barely noticed or even better, it becomes a footnote in your life.

6. They Are Disarmed by Your Calmness

One of the most powerful ways to break free from the hold of a narcissist is by staying calm in the storm. Narcissists thrive on chaos, drama, and emotional upheaval. They rely on triggering your emotions to create confusion, manipulate your reactions, and keep you in a constant state of instability.

But when you learn to stay calm in the storm when you refuse to be rattled by their antics you disarm their ability to control you. Staying calm in the storm isn’t about suppressing your emotions or pretending that things are fine when they’re not. It’s about maintaining control over how you respond to the narcissist’s behavior.

Reclaiming Your Power

At the end of the day, dealing with a narcissist is about taking back control. It’s about recognizing their tactics and not allowing them to manipulate, control, or define you. When you ignore their tactics, establish boundaries, refuse to validate their ego, and remain confident in your self-worth, you are dismantling the power they once held over you.

As you begin to thrive without them showing that your happiness and success don’t depend on their approval you make them realize that they are not the center of your world. When you remain calm in the storm, you create an impenetrable shield around your peace, refusing to be provoked or pulled into their chaos.

Ultimately, it’s not about fighting back or seeking revenge; it’s about rising above, holding your ground, and becoming the best version of yourself. By doing so, you rob the narcissist of their primary source of power: your emotional vulnerability. You become a force that cannot be easily shaken and that, my friends, is how you make a narcissist miserable.

Run For Your LIVES: Russia Activated The World’s Most Powerful and Destructive System ‘PERIMETER’

Shorpy

SHORPY 1956 Ford Fairlane Victoria.preview

The Breaking Point: How Women Are Shattering Men’s Psyche

Needs to be said.

Proof Positive

John K Adams

Howard Marks drove onto the Sequentrix Industries’ lot. He’d successfully passed the security gate. The sun had dipped behind the mountain. It felt like he’d driven forever up endless winding roads. ‘Thank God for GPS.’The unassuming low-rise building built into the hillside was a former Buddhist monastery.He’d been called there but not informed of his purpose. He had lots of questions.Not sci-fi, Sequentrix was the most secure research lab in the world. Most didn’t know it existed. Fewer knew its purpose. Hardly anyone knew its location. Yet its government funding exceeded many better known labs. Sequentrix Industries’ administrators had deep connections to Washington D.C. purse strings and power brokers.Located outside of Denver, no one knew how far their network of tunnels penetrated the mountain. A huge dish antenna gathered transmissions from orbiting satellites and beyond.Knowledgeable people presumed Sequentrix Industries researched bioweapons, or worse. Of course, they had their fingers in that. Its research spanned the range of scientific inquiry from quantum physics and into the cosmos. They had money to do anything they wished.Being a world-class journalist, and feared by the powerful, Howard’s summons there surprised him. Research labs avoid publicity, especially Howard Marks’ brand. He knew how to dig for the truth and how to publicize it. This unsolicited invitation piqued his curiosity.Howard traveled wherever the story led. He uncovered frauds and investigated the veracity of ‘conspiracy theories.’ Known internationally, he exposed conmen, politicians, crooks and cult leaders. No one preying on the public felt safe under his scrutiny. His outstanding work had received many awards.Despite death threats he traveled alone. Body guards are cumbersome and draw attention. ‘Moving targets must move quickly.’ Always on the move, he called his suitcase home.Howard’s encyclopedic knowledge enabled him to shine a light where others didn’t dare. He shredded the veil spun by PR hacks and propagandists. His broad fan base sought his incisive and witty essays in print and on social media. He’d recently appeared for interviews on cable news.“My fans are my family,” said Howard in interviews. He kept his personal life private. His family and past had been erased. Rumors of a girlfriend always proved to be empty speculation.No one knew Howard’s spiritual views. Or that he had any. A famous skeptic, his unsentimental skewering of the powerful made most presume an atheistic bent. Someone seeing him in a church pew wouldn’t consider it evidence of faith. Rather, they’d anticipate his debunking some preacher’s wild-eyed prophesies. A clear-eyed champion of the truth, few considered Howard a seeker of divine guidance.His appointment being scheduled for the evening, Howard knew it wasn’t management’s call. The exterior lights came on as he walked across the nearly empty lot.‘What’s this about? Someone gone rogue?’On entering the lobby, Howard encountered a series of security checks. He got frisked, endured wands, and stood for a full body scan… the usual that any airline traveler puts up with, times twelve. He knew cameras watched every movement. How many spooks stared at how many monitors?He stifled a laugh thinking of those running this gauntlet on a daily basis. ‘Are the toilets monitored?’ He knew the restrooms were. ‘But the toilets? ‘Passing an inspection’ takes on new meaning.’Security personnel were not authorized to answer questions or make conversation. Cordial but impersonal, they efficiently moved each visitor to the next station. A smile or a human response could suggest compromised personnel. The cameras watched them too.He made a mental note. ‘Do story on security training standards and the people hired into this growing industry.’While passing through the final checkpoint, a man in a suit approached.“Hi. I’m Malcolm. I’ll guide your tour this evening.”They shook hands.Howard said, “I have an appointment – with Matthias?”“Yes. We’ll get to him.”Malcolm led Howard down a brightly lit, corridor and pointed at closed doors. He offered vague, but enthusiastic descriptions of what took place behind each.Howard knew such delaying tactics well. He wanted Matthias or someone to explain his purpose there. But he kept his frustration in check. He’d found many great stories at the ends of similar rabbit holes.He had no idea what to expect. Theoretical, or Astrophysics wasn’t a typically scandal ridden. ‘Too many fingers in the cookie jar? Happens all the time.’Malcolm pushed the down button by the elevator door. He and Howard stepped in. Malcolm pushed the B-7 button and stepped out. The doors shut and the elevator descended.Howard hoped this was a good thing.When the door opened, a man in shirt sleeves entered the corridor. Howard saw a bank of super computers in the room behind him.The man said, “I’m Matthias. Follow me.”Howard stopped. “Wait. You’re not Matthias. You’re… Not you again. I told you we can’t work together. No more stories blowing up with my name on them.”He turned to the elevator.“Howard, wait. This will interest you.”“Not if you’re involved.”“It could change the world.”Howard paused and nodded. He didn’t need to like those he worked with. As a rule, he expected to dislike them. His first priority was getting the story.

Matthias led Howard into the computer room.

Howard watched him. ‘Sometimes even bad pennies pay off. Follow the money.’

Matthias pointed and said, “This is the A-Omega-7 Triple Helix computer. It’s dedicated solely to my experiments. Take a look at our most recent results.”

He handed Howard several folders and pointed to a chair at a table. Opening each in turn, the abstracts were eye opening. Two papers analyzed deep space data reaching back to the Big Bang. The other paper’s topics were impenetrable.

Big Bang, entanglement, weak force, quark – Howard knew the words. But what they meant in context bewildered him – a fact he kept to himself.

“You want me to translate this into English?”

“As only you can.”

“I’m not a physicist. Find someone else.”

“You’re the best. And I owe you.”

Howard nodded and thought, ‘You do owe me. But that was long ago. And we were both victims of circumstance.’

Howard admitted to himself the research was over his head. Hoping for clarity, he scanned down to the abstracts’ conclusions.

After each, he looked up in wonderment. Matthias nodded and smiled.

Matthias said, “Each of these would have stunned Einstein. His work implied this but even he didn’t dream…”

“I’m not sure… You have fingerprints…?”

“Not only. If this were a paternity test, we have His DNA, so to speak, His signature on the birth cert and His address.”

Howard couldn’t hide his confusion.

“The upshot… we have proof.” Matthias raised his arms in triumph.

Howard spread the folders across the table. “But of what? What does this…?”

“God!”

“God?”

“Yes! The Creator. The Almighty. Maker of all things… proof He exists!”

Howard scanned the room in awe. He said, “But wait. You need proof? Isn’t it self-evident? Look around…”

Matthias didn’t listen. “Don’t you get it? When other sites replicate our findings, it will be irrefutable.”

“Yeah, but… well… Welcome to the party.”

“So, the reason I called you in – I need to leak this.”

Howard shook his head. “You can’t leak…”

“It’ll get more attention if people think the government is suppressing vital…”

“I cannot write about it, Matthias.”

“Why not? This is completely under wraps. I’m handing you the scoop of the millennium.”

“We’d lose credibility. It’s not news.”

“Even when the results get objectively confirmed?”

“Maybe especially then. You understand the implications?”

“Of course. You must release this. It will change the world.”

“It might end it.”

Now Matthias looked confused.

Howard sighed, “Look, let’s say you’re right about this earth-shattering news. Everyone will claim your work as their sacred scripture. Wars for possession will rage. They’d claim it points to their god.”

Matthias shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way. No one owns this. It’s a matter of who belongs to God, not the other way around.”

“Sure. Right in principle. But we’re talking about humans here. People always create God in their own image. Reduce the sublime to the ridiculous. These documents would become idols to fight over.”

Matthias saw his point. He stepped back, sobbed and wiped his eyes.

Howard continued. “Once published, critics will claim a misplaced comma disproved your evidence. Thrown out because a zero should have been a one.”

“A typo is easily fixed. The results stand. Once vetted and replicated, people will unite around truth.”

“Believers will say ‘you cannot test God,’ or subject Him to proofs. Confining Him in a computer – an abomination… a fool’s game.”

Matthias opened the electrical panel. “My life’s work… Should I destroy it? Have I done something wrong?”

“Relax Matthias. Look. Some people see a magician pull a trick and won’t believe it’s sleight of hand. Others witness some historical event – like the moon landing – and can’t accept it really happened.”

“I called you in. You seek the truth.”

“Thank you for that. But the truth is out there. Everywhere. For everyone. Written in the stars.” He held up a folder. “These bits and bytes will neither convince a doubter nor confirm the believer. We’re throwing noodles, hoping something sticks.”

Matthias paced in frustration. “You think this is meaningless?”

“Of course not. But God doesn’t need our assistance. He needs the faithful. And their faith weighs more than proof.”

Matthias paused. He flipped through the reports.

“What if these discoveries bolstered people’s faith? This might knock some off the right side of the fence.”

Howard considered the question. Vague, unfocused spirituality was ascendant and deep belief had become an afterthought. ‘Thousands of denominations and no one goes to church.’

“You have a point, Matthias. Everyone’s hot to ‘follow the science’ these days. What if science points to, bows to God?”

“That would open some eyes. Hoped you’d see it my way.”

They nodded. Understanding settled in. Howard cleared the table. Matthias brought a legal pad and some pens.

“Coffee?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

“I’ll make fresh.”

Not yet visible, the sun had brightened the sky by the time Howard left the facility and walked to his rental car.

They had a plan. Howard carried a thumb drive containing the essential reports and abstracts of Matthias’ profound discovery. Matthias trusted Howard to leak it at a time of his choosing. He needn’t wait for the results of other site’s vetting of the data.

Howard smiled. The truth has a way of coming to light.

China’s 6th Gen Fighter-What We Know

White House Lacks Financial Literacy – ‘Tariffs’ Show

Presidential Message on National Financial Literacy Month, 2025 – The White House, Apr 1 2025

The foundation of American economic prosperity is a society empowered with the knowledge and tools to make informed financial decisions to achieve the American Dream. …

I welcome that message.

Teaching financial literacy must start at the top. The members of the Trump administration obviously lack the knowledge and tools to make informed financial decisions.

It is the only possible explanation for how they came up with these numbers:

biggerChina does not have a 67% tariff on U.S. goods (it’s 7.3%). The EU does not have a 39% tariff on U.S. goods (it’s 5.2%). The numbers are bollocks.

So where do they come from? The official explanation from the U.S. Trade Representative is here. Its baloney:

James Surowiecki @JamesSurowiecki – 0:22 UTC · Apr 3, 2025Just figured out where these fake tariff rates come from. They didn’t actually calculate tariff rates + non-tariff barriers, as they say they did. Instead, for every country, they just took our trade deficit with that country and divided it by the country’s exports to us.

So we have a $17.9 billion trade deficit with Indonesia. Its exports to us are $28 billion. $17.9/$28 = 64%, which Trump claims is the tariff rate Indonesia charges us. What extraordinary nonsense this is.
…
Even given that it’s Trump, I cannot believe they said “We’ll just divide the trade deficit by imports and tell people that’s the tariff rate.” And then they decided to set our tariffs by just cutting that totally made-up rate in half! This is so dumb and deceptive.
…
.. it’s actually worse than I thought: in calculating the tariff rate, Trump’s people only used the trade deficit in goods. So even though we run a trade surplus in services with the world, those exports don’t count as far as Trump is concerned.

The last point is a major one, for China, but especially for the EU :

EU-US trade in goods and services reached an impressive €1.6 trillion in 2023. This means that every day, €4.4 billion worth of goods and services cross the Atlantic between the EU and the US.
…
The total bilateral trade in goods reached €851 billion in 2023. The EU exported €503 billion of goods to the US market, while importing €347 billion; this resulted in a goods trade surplus of €157 billion for the EU.Total bilateral trade in services between the EU and the US was worth €746 billion in 2023. The EU exported €319 billion of services to the US, while importing €427 billion from the US; this resulted in a services trade deficit of €109 billion for the EU.
…
EU-US goods and services trade is balanced: the difference between EU exports to the US and US exports to the EU stood at €48 billion in 2023; the equivalent of just 3% of the total trade between the EU and the US.

Despite that Trump has decreed a 20% on all goods from the EU. The natural countermeasure from the EU will be to put a 20+% tariff on all import of U.S. services.

Trump also decreed a minimum 10% tariff on imports from every country. Products made by the penguins of the uninhabited Heard and McDonald Islands in the Antarctic will now come with a 10% surcharge.

biggerThere is really no economic reasoning behind these numbers.

Arnaud Bertrand @RnaudBertrand – 4:16 AM · Apr 3, 2025To illustrate just how nonsensically these tariffs were calculated, take the example of Lesotho, one of the poorest countries in Africa with just $2.4 billion in annual GDP, which is being struck with a 50% tariff rate under the Trump plan, the highest rate among all countries on the list.
…
As a matter of fact Lesotho, as a member of the Southern African Customs Union (SACU), applies the common external tariff structure established by this regional trade bloc.
…
So since the tariffs charged by these 5 countries on U.S. products are exactly the same, they must all be struck with a 50% tariff rate by the U.S., right? Not at all: South Africa is getting 30%, Namibia 21%, Botswana 37% and Eswatini just 10%, the lowest rate possible among all countries.

Looking at Lesotho specifically, every year the U.S. imports approximately $236 million in goods from Lesotho (primarily diamonds, textiles and apparel) while exporting only about $7 million worth of goods to Lesotho (https://wits.worldbank.org/CountryProfile/en/Country/LSO/Year/2022/TradeFlow/EXPIMP/Partner/by-country).

Why do they export so little? Again this is an extremely poor country where 56.2% of the population lives with less than $3.65 a day (https://databankfiles.worldbank.org/public/…), i.e. $1,300 a year. They simply can’t afford U.S. products, no-one is going to buy an iPhone or a Tesla on that sort of income…

The way the tariffs are ACTUALLY calculated appears to be based on a simplistic and economically senseless formula: you take the trade deficit the U.S. has with a country, divide it by that country’s exports to the U.S and declare this – falsely – “the tariff they charge on the U.S.”

And then as Trump did in his speech last night, you magnanimously declare that you’ll only “reciprocate” by charging half that “tariff” on them.

As such, for Lesotho, the calculation goes like this: ($236M – $7M)/$235M = 97%. That’s the “tariff” Lesotho is deemed to charge this U.S. and half of that, i.e. roughly 50% is what the U.S. “reciprocates” with.

It’s extremely easy to see why this makes no sense at all.

Lesotho has a comparative advantage over the U.S. as it can dig up and sell diamonds. But it lacks the purchasing power to buy U.S. goods and services. The calculations by the Trump administration ignore those basic facts.

No tariffs were by the way introduced against Belarus, Russia and North Korea. This because of sanction, the U.S. has allegedly no trade relation with them. (Other than buying enriched Uranium for its nuclear power stations?)

Did the Trump administration anticipate how this nonsense will explode in its face?

It is Smoot-Hawley writ large.

Posted by b on April 3, 2025 at 8:53 UTC | Permalink

Comments

Trump anticipating nonsense exploding in his face ?

of course no !

He’s a show runner. he’s never wrong.

Posted by: W | Apr 3 2025 9:01 utc | 1

Hi
I’m in the UK and just bought piston rings from a Greek company.
The EU charged me 30 euro tax and the UK another 30 pounds import duty.
So piston rings could have cost me 70 pounds actually cost 120 pounds roughly.
Trumps logic is right. We have been forced into globalization but ripped off in the process.
Drinks all round on me!
Cheers Oldengineer

Posted by: Oldengineer | Apr 3 2025 9:01 utc | 2

Maybe we really need that war.
Lunacy rules.
God help us.

Posted by: g wiltek | Apr 3 2025 9:05 utc | 3

Well it looks like the shit has eventually hit the fan. Hang on and stay down.

Posted by: drezzo | Apr 3 2025 9:11 utc | 4

I don’t agree with you on this.
We all have to make a choice and America (not Trump per se) has made theirs.
I despise the EU more than I do Trump. They were all happy to go along with the global slaughter and financial jiggery for decades. Now that the jackal has turned on them they have started crying.
And you seem to be going along with this crying.
Where were all these concerns when the EU was happy to go along with Biden/Obama etc?

It’s reverting back to what it always was: the Bear, the Eagle and the Dragon. Plus Israel of course in the background.
What a time to be alive if anything.
Good luck with all of these predictions below and above the line but let’s see what happens next…

Posted by: Skeletor | Apr 3 2025 9:14 utc | 5

Tariffs on an iceberg with population of penguins?

https://t.me/Middle_East_Spectator/17039

Posted by: Mary | Apr 3 2025 9:16 utc | 6

If they are implemented, these tariffs could be one of the earliest expressions of a US retreat from much of the world. Where can Lesotho turn? Hmmm, China and Russia?

Posted by: Squeeth | Apr 3 2025 9:29 utc | 7

Hard to believe that the Trump administration doesnt know the economic impact these tariffs will have. It will tank the market, yes, which means interest rates will have to fall at some point. Which means Trump gets to refinance the debt, from which he probably hopes to kickstart the economy. Or at least the economic numbers. The economic downturn, which he knows is coming anyways, might be kind of a controlled demolition. Do it now and get it out of the way. The dollar has been falling since he took office, dropping fast since the tariffs were anounced. Bessents commentary, quite calmly, that the economy will take a hit because of the tariffs, might be a hint that they know about the effect this has on markets. He talked about the 10 year treasury a lot, and that seems to be going into the direction he anticipated as well. All in all, they might be able to force a reaction of the federal reserve.

So, the tariffs have bean calculated by kabuki measures, agreed. But the effects on markets, interest rates and currency seem to go into the direction that was inteded by the administration.

Posted by: calixtus | Apr 3 2025 9:30 utc | 8

Phew! New Zealand escaped the protectionism somehow…

Posted by: Gerry Bell | Apr 3 2025 9:33 utc | 9

B…

I love ya.

But read the room. Some of us advocate the abolition of the US Federal Government. Trump is trying to occupy middle ground here. He says “Give me a chance, I can fix this.”

Is he correct? Can he fix America? I won’t lose anything by giving him a chance.

Posted by: MaryPeck | Apr 3 2025 9:33 utc | 10

Take care of your health ‘b’ –

As you note – “The numbers are bollocks.”

So one might ask – What is the latently strategic motive behind these bollocky figures? If there is one.

Posted by: Don Firineach | Apr 3 2025 9:36 utc | 11

“The natural countermeasure from the EU will be to put a 20+% tariff on all import of U.S. services.”

It depends on how enslaved EU unelected leadership is. They could try to hurt China together, Eu can also increase tariffs for them. EU was extremely happy when NS was blown up, no one can say their behavior is natural. So far only China has spoken and they “vowed retaliation” if the tariffs are maintained, according to Reuters.

The EU charged me 30 euro tax and the UK another 30 pounds import duty.
@Posted by: Oldengineer | Apr 3 2025 9:01 utc | 2

Move back into EU or make your own pistons. What makes you so superior that you don’t want to pay taxes?

Posted by: rk | Apr 3 2025 9:36 utc | 12

So, the tariffs have bean calculated by kabuki measures, agreed. But the effects on markets, interest rates and currency seem to go into the direction that was intended by the administration.

Posted by: calixtus | Apr 3 2025 9:30 utc | 8

Interesting. A response to post #11- Ta. Dollar down; 10 yr down; market down.

Posted by: Don Firineach | Apr 3 2025 9:43 utc | 13

A few days ago, curious, I asked AI to calculate Chinese tariffs plus other import taxes (VAT etc) on US cars before Trump’s first round of tariffs in 2018. The answer varied depending on vehicle horsepower but basically it came out at 48% on the low end and 110% on the high end – trucks. Also, as Trump mentioned, they factored in currency manipulation.

An industrial programmer in Germany told me that Mercedes Benz makes more money from cars made and sold in China than from cars made and sold in Europe & the West. Why do they build in China? Chinese tariffs make it necessary just as US tariffs will and why about $5 trillion has already been committed for new plant construction.

So the 67% figure for China may not be as outlandish as you portray and is probably not calculated in the slapdash way you imagine.

https://theconservativetreehouse.com/blog/2025/04/03/treasury-secretary-scott-bessent-outlines-details-of-president-trump-tariff-plan/

Features a 10-minute rapid fire interview with SecTreas Bessent; the Trump 2.0 trade and finance team is pretty impressive even if some of the rest of the Cabinet is more iffy.

Posted by: Scorpion | Apr 3 2025 9:43 utc | 14

lol

And i mean FUCKING LOL!

Anyway, back in the real world; the West is committing a genocide, an ongoing genocide, continuing with their NATO-Nazi army in Ukraine, and putting alQaeda head-chopping terorrist as head of state in Syria.

So nobody should be giving any of these motherfuckers the slightest bit of respect in any way whatsoever.

But that’s just my opinion.

Posted by: Keith | Apr 3 2025 9:49 utc | 15

Why are so many blacks inconsiderate, noisy, and demanding?

Stereotypes. Well, this is the way it is in prison, at least. -MM

This is gonna sound racist but I don’t give a fuck because I’ve lived all over the United States so I consider myself well traveled and well cultured.

When it comes to the races of your neighbors first it’s Asians, then white people, then black people, then Mexicans.

The reason I say Asians is because they are always quiet and extremely respectful.

The best neighbors are always the ones you don’t know are there. Then it’s white people sometimes it’s hit or miss because they don’t seem to be good.

I’ve had many white neighbors I have wanted to shoot in the back of the head with a silencer for a variety of reasons, for one they tend to fall into three categories.

First one is that they have this extreme problem with wanting to call the police at any minor inconvenience always think they are the boss, also tend to be racist, second is the trailer park boy types.

The ones who smoke meth and talk about how much they hate people of color, and most of the time they end up being people you don’t really have to ever interact with which is always a blessing.

The black people are almost always consistently the loudest.

They talk the loudest, they fight a lot, they drink a lot, they will rob your ass in a heart beat if they find out what you have inside your house.

have had many black neighbors and even lived with them they are nice people from a distance but you get up close eventually you’re gonna experience a lot of misery.

The reason that Mexicans are last is because they have zero respect for how much noise they make in a public place.

They will be out on their front yard blasting music all night long and drinking alcohol. They do not care at all if you need to go to work in the morning.

Their culture is to be very loud and very annoying. They have large families and they get together every fucking weekend and make all that goddamn noise. This isn’t racism. This is an observable fact.

Some AI generated art

Just some experimental work.

Been trying different engines with the same prompt. End results tend to show a lot of nudes. Some are just overwhelmingly so. So for the purposes of modesty, I just won’t be showing those.

I have absolutely no idea why most of the men are clothed, but the women tend to be topless. I had nothing even resembling that in my prompt.

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Now it’s chocolate: prices hit records as Ghana, Ivory Coast and China cut out Western firms

Trooper

My fiancee received a call from his son saying that a cat had been crying outside their home all night.

He knew immediately after he told me about the call,we would be going over to their house.

When I saw him, my heart was broken.

He was older, skinny and covered with hundreds of fleas.

He tried to walk to us but fell over (not sure if it was from starvation or from all the fleas and bugs swarming him).

His face was also swollen because he had abscessed teeth.

This cat had been declawed and neutered, so at one point in his life he had been an indoor cat.

We did not need anymore fur babies (we have 3 dogs and 2 rescue cats already), but I refused to leave this cat behind.

I slept with him in the spare bedroom and he purred all night.

That morning we took him to our vet.

She told us he was in very bad shape and asked if we wanted to have him put to sleep.

I cried and cried and told her that he deserved a chance to live.

That’s when I named him Trooper (one who does not give up in the face of adversity) and decided to get a second opinion from another vet.

The second vet did say he was in bad shape but did not even mention putting him to sleep (thank goodness).

Trooper was placed on antibiotics and had five of his teeth pulled.

He did not have any diseases that would harm my other cats.

The vet guessed that he was about 15 years old and from the condition he was in, he had not been an indoor cat for many years.

Trooper has brought so much joy to us.

This guy just wants love, affection, food and lots of naps (lol).

We love our Trooper and hope he has many more years with us!

He will never be alone on the streets again!

Trooper;

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How was China able to produce 6th generation fighters years before the US even made a prototype?

Because of the culture of sacrifice.

It’s the greatest honor to sacrifice one’s life for the country in Chinese culture.

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This is the statue of “sword forger” at the gate of Northwestern Industrial University, one of China’s top institutes for industrial and military tech, where the US has reportedly repeatedly try to hack and steal information from.

Nameless, faceless, my knowledge and life for the motherland.

Compare this to what they teach American students: expression of feelings, money and fame…

And this is just tip of the iceberg. Chinese education on the glory for one to sacrifice for the family and nation is everywhere and since childhood.

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Cementary of child soldiers in Yunan. 7000 child soldiers volunteered to defend China’s Southern border with British Burma from Japanese invasion during WWII. About 6000 of these kids were killed in combat. Their story is told across China and every year living kids honor them by stuffing the jars on their statues with candies.

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Deng Jiaxian

Chinese theoretical and nuclear physicist. In 1958 Deng was called upon to carry out classified work, so he disappeared from his family, only to reappear in 1986 in front of his wife and children, finally discharged due to imminent death, bleeding from radiation poisoning.

Thousands of Chinese scientists have chosen this path.

Thousands more are carrying on their spirit today.

You’re suddendly realising this now because of what appears to be China’s technological lead in a field where the US takes great pride in. But this kind of rapid catch-up through sacrifice has been silently going on for decades. And it is far more efficient than for profit weapon developers.

What do you think of retired boomers who are now ultra-frugal because they are scared of going broke, even after saving for decades?

That’s me. I know this fear of going broke is ridiculous. Under current circumstances I can never go broke. Even if we got steady 10% inflation for 30 straight years I couldn’t go broke. I still have this nagging fear though.

All my accounts are still increasing year after year. I still have this fear.

Here’s what I think is really going on.

When your working it is really a strict contractural agreement. You give them time and skills and they give you money.

In retirement checks just keep showing up. My pension, Social Security. Other investment income.

Banks fail. Who knows what the government is going to do. Pension programs fail.

What’s causing my fear is that for my entire life I depended on my effort and skills to survive. Now I have to depend on the solvency, good will, and sanity of others to keep my income. I’m too old to do any income producing work.

So I’m overly frugal. Redundancy on top of redundancy trying to maintain a ‘safe’ income and continue to build up funds.

It drives the people around me crazy.

How Narcissists Really Feel When You Don’t Talk To Them?

Some people need to be talked to all the time. Have you ever stopped talking to someone and then wondered what they were thinking? If you’ve ever been around a narcissist, you may have felt the creepy silence that comes after you try to get away. At first, it might feel like a win a peaceful moment where you’ve taken back your place.

What does the narcissist do when you don’t talk to them? What do they do when no one is looking? You might not believe how complicated and scary the truth is. We’ll talk in-depth about the actions, strategies, and feelings that narcissists have when they hear your silence.

Finding out what happens when you stop talking to a narcissist can be very helpful for anyone who is dealing with them because it can show how desperately they want to get back in charge and how much inner turmoil they often try to hide. If you’ve ever thought about what a narcissist thinks and feels when you don’t talk to them, keep reading to find out.

Trust me, this is something that everyone needs to know, especially if you’re working with someone whose behavior is unpredictable, dishonest, or just plain bad.

Don’t miss the next thing. Let’s start with one of the most important questions: What does a narcissist do when you stop talking to them?

You might think they’ll just move on, get another person to control, or go on with their lives, but things are much more complicated than that. Narcissists are very anxious people, and their actions often show how badly they want to be approved of by others. Cutting them off or not giving them the attention they want makes them feel like they’ve lost something much more important than most people understand.

A narcissist, on the other hand, needs other people to tell them they are important and that they exist. So, when you stop talking to them, they lose more than just a chat they lose the validation that makes them feel better about themselves.

The Narcissist’s Initial Reaction: Panic

The first thing a narcissist is likely to feel when you stop talking to them is a sudden wave of worry. This is because narcissists often think that silence means they are being rejected or left alone. They can’t stand it when people ignore them or leave them out because it makes them question how important they think they are.

What’s really making them upset is their need to be the center of attention and always be praised or feared. Pulling away breaks the false sense of control they’ve worked so hard to keep up.

You may notice that narcissists reply in one of two ways: they either become obsessed with getting your attention again, or they attack you in a full-on way to get you to react. Both of these reactions stem from their weak egos. A narcissist gets all of their self-worth from approval from other people. As soon as you stop interacting with them, they feel less important than they thought, and they often feel like they’re losing control over you.

Manipulative Tactics: Regaining Control

The first thing a narcissist does is panic. Narcissists find your quiet not only annoying but also scary. When you stop talking to them, they’ll probably try to figure out why right away. They will spend a lot of time thinking about what happened and often blame themselves while also blaming you.

They may think: How could they leave me? Do not ignore me—I am very important. This creates a paradox. They want you to come back so badly, but they are also cocky and feel entitled, which makes it hard for them to admit they were wrong or show weakness.

Narcissists often don’t have the emotional growth to show vulnerability, so they won’t be honest about how they feel. Instead, many of them will hide their anxiety by using manipulative behavior. They might say you’re exaggerating or try to trick you by saying you don’t understand what’s going on.

Sometimes they might even act like they don’t care about you, hoping that you will come back to them out of curiosity or from the need to win their love again. Narcissists try to get power back by manipulating and controlling others.

Guilt-Tripping and Emotional Manipulation

People who are narcissists are known for being cunning, and when you stop talking to them, they will often do more to get back in charge. They know that to get your attention, they need to make you feel something.

Some ways they might do this are by making you feel guilty for their pain or by taking advantage of past favors or weaknesses against you. They might say things like, “After everything I’ve done for you, I can’t believe you would do this to me.” This is meant to make you feel like you owe them something.

Narcissists, on the other hand, don’t care about your well-being. In reality, they are just trying to fix their image and power.

Turning Others Against You

They may also try to make your life difficult by saying bad things about you, turning family or friends against you, or even making trouble in your social groups. It’s meant to keep you on edge, mentally worn out, and thinking about them all the time. For this reason, they stay in charge even when they’re not there.

The worst thing for a narcissist is losing their source of approval. People who are narcissists often worry about not being important, useful, or seen. When they don’t get constant praise and support from other people, they feel like they stop existing in the way they’ve always known themselves.

The Narcissist’s Cycle of Behavior

When they see that they can’t get your attention right away, they may pull back, thinking they need to make you miss them. During this time, they will often try to control you from the sidelines, such as through social media posts, indirect messages, or even connections they already have with you.

There are times when the narcissist may act even worse if they realize they have permanently lost control. This could mean smear campaigns against you, hurting your image, or turning others against you. It’s all about proving they are in charge again.

In Conclusion

What do narcissists do when you don’t talk to them? They panic, try to trick you, and then attempt to regain control of your life. They can’t handle being ignored or turned down because it forces them to face insecurity.

But if you know about these tricks, you can better defend yourself against their mental manipulation. Remember that your quiet is your power. When you’re with a narcissist, you don’t have to join their chaos or fall for their tricks. By setting boundaries, you take back control of your life and in the end, the narcissist will lose.

How do car repossessors deal with locked garages, a car in pieces or behind other cars, and driving away or any other common or not so common situations?

I worked as a repo man in North Carolina for a couple of years decades ago. I don’t know if the laws have changed but we could not enter a locked garage or jump a fence with a locked gate. As for finding the vehicle in pieces, it never happened to me but if it had, I would have just reported it to the creditor and I imagine the assignment would end on that particular vehicle.

One overriding principle was that repossessions have to remain “peaceable”. If a debtor caught us at it and started raising hell, we had to stop. That would buy the debtor time to either make arrangements with the creditor or to either secure the vehicle behind a locked door/gate or park it in some unknown location. It didn’t mean we would stop looking for it unless the creditor called us off.

The sneakiest thing I can remember is when I was looking for a Cadillac up in the mountains. I located a Cadillac at the debtor’s address, but the VIN was wrong on the car. Bummer. Couldn’t take it. Had to drive all the way back to Charlotte empty handed.

Some research revealed that the debtor’s brother lived in the same town as the debtor, and wouldn’t you know: he drove a Cadillac too! When I drove to the brother’s house, I was able to snatch the Cadillac with the correct VIN right out of his garage, because he left the garage door open. Naturally, this happened around 0300 when everyone’s asleep. That’s how we kept the repo peaceable.

Anyway, that’s how we did it in North Carolina back in the 1980s. Other states have different laws.

Savory Roasted Chicken

Yield: 4 to 6 servings

Ingredients

1 (3 to 4 pound) broiler-fryer chicken
1 medium potato, cut into 1/2 inch cubes
1 medium onion, sliced into 8 wedges
2 medium carrots, sliced 1/2 inch thick
1 garlic clove
1 tablespoon olive oil
1/2 teaspoon dried thyme leaves
1/2 teaspoon dried rosemary, crushed
Salt and ground black pepper to taste

Instructions

Heat oven to 350 degrees F.
Rinse chicken; pat dry with paper towels. Place chicken, breast-side up, in 13 x 9 inch baking dish or roasting pan. Arrange potato, onion and carrots around chicken.
In small bowl, combine garlic, oil, thyme, rosemary, salt and pepper; brush over chicken. Pour water over vegetables.
Bake, uncovered, 1 hour to 1 hour 15 minutes or until meat thermometer inserted into thickest part of thigh, not touching bone, registers 180 degrees F.
Remove from oven; let stand, covered, 10-15 minutes before carving.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

I’m EXPOSING the Whole Damn Thing! – Richard Wolff

What do you think about the video of China’s 6th generation fighter jet taking to the skies for the first time?

It’s no secret that the USAF is the #1 Air Force in the world, consistently staying several steps ahead in military tech research. However, China is catching up—and at an astonishing pace. What’s even more remarkable is their willingness to pour seemingly unlimited funding into military technology development. The result?

Reports suggest that China has successfully tested a sixth-generation stealth fighter jet, with videos of the aircraft going viral on social media. If these videos are genuine, we’re looking at a state-of-the-art warplane that demonstrates impressive indigenous innovation. This is significant because it remains a mystery to the West—a clever move that serves as both a morale boost for China and a stark wake-up call for US-led NATO alliances.

This progress would have been unthinkable in the 1980s or 1990s, and even in the early 2000s, China lagged far behind NATO, let alone the USA. But now, the balance of power has begun to shift. Dare I say, China is producing military advancements that NATO can only dream of, leaving Pentagon think tanks worried about the implications of this rapid evolution.

What truly sets this new fighter jet apart is its futuristic “wingless” design—a revolutionary leap in aerodynamics and stealth technology. Watching it in motion is almost surreal, as if plucked straight from a sci-fi film. Its sleek, streamlined structure and cutting-edge manoeuvrability not only make it visually stunning but also highlight a level of engineering that challenges traditional concepts of military aviation. This isn’t just a step forward; it’s a glimpse into the future of air combat. Step aside Uncle Sam, The Chinese Dragon has arrived 😎🐉

What was the strangest cultural thing you have experienced as a foreigner/visitor in the United States?

That it’s just such an appalling place to live. No, really – having lived in different countries I can honestly say that the USA is an appalling place to live.

Everything is monetised
Police are ready to shoot you to death at the drop of a hat
TV is unwatchable due to the ridiculous proliferation of advertisements
Food is low quality and flavourless (you get to choose between salty or sweet. That’s it)
Public transport is a joke
Everything is a method of ripping you off
Politics is hyper polarised
The police are simply bullies with no oversight who do whatever they want including commit crimes and murder
Infrastructure is a crumbling mess and poses a real danger to the public
Every town looks the same – a collection of the same fast food joints, stores and strip malls
Toxic waste is kept in above-ground open-air pools. And when it rains a lot those pools overflow and the toxic waste goes with it. Seriously. Check it out for yourself
You aren’t seen as a person but as a consumer, with a wallet that needs to be emptied
The tipping culture is offensively entitled – you are literally expected to just give away your money to a stranger for doing the job they’re already paid to do. And if you receive shitty service and decide not to tip, or if you can afford to eat out but not afford to give away your money to a stranger for no reason, *YOU’RE* seen as the bad guy. Entitled narcissistic selfishness like you’ve never seen before
Not just the vehicles and the houses/buildings, but everything is low quality. It’s like a disposable culture
The fetishisation of the military and the police force – if somebody chooses to kill strangers for a living it’s bad, but if they’re wearing a uniform while they do it you’re expected to simper and gush and worship them and say “thank you for your service” like a drone
The amount of their GDP they waste on their military while essential public services like schools and hospitals and fire departments and infrastructure go neglected. This is something banana republics and tinpot dictators do
The utter lack of concern for their out of control gun problem. Every year 3500+ children are killed with guns and the predominant attitude is “yeah well that’s just a fact of life” when literally no developed nation has this problem, ONLY the USA
The general complete ignorance about the rest of the planet
The utter lack of curiosity to learn about the rest of the planet
The diminishing of the middle class, and the reluctance to acknowledge it

Women are Delusional and Men are Disenfranchised

Nothing beats the quiet residential shady neighborhood, no matter how many fast-food joints surround it

While I was in university, my father bought a house in Erie, Pennsylvania with his wife (my step mother). It was a nice small middle-class home. Maybe made around the 1950’s. Pretty quaint, actually.

Maybe looking a little bit like this, only on a big lawn with a lot of old shady trees…

It was on the “West Side” of Erie, which was a very nice area of shady suburban streets and quiet neighborhoods.

Now, sometime around the 1990’s, they (whomever thought it was a good idea) decided to knock down some of the homes, and put up a strip mall. Not a large one. maybe five or so stores.

And it was ok.

You would walk down the shady quiet streets and then come upon a strip mall.

Well, this brought in more “foot traffic”.

So the road was enlarged.

The quiet residential street became a highway. And you had to carefully cross the street to get to the strip mall.

Then another strip mall opened up across from it.

And then another one a block further down.

And thus the cross road needed to be enlarged into a highway.

Well, a branch of the local library was opened up right across the street, and also came a Wendy’s restaurant. It was nice to have a Wendy’s there. I always thought that their hamburgers were world class.

And so we would go and get a hamburger with dad when we visited.

Miami,,Florida,Usa, ,10 26 2021,Wendy’s,Dave's,Single,Some,Out — Miami,,Florida,Usa, ,10 26 2021,Wendy’s,Dave’s,Single,Some,Out

Wendy’s had these really nice and greasy burgers. Quite tasty, actually.

And they always had this great chili too.

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During the 1980s and into the 1990s they also had a very great salad bar. I don’t know if they still maintain them or not today.

From the Internet, I read that they have been phased out and replaced with pre-packaged salad “platform meals” sort of like this…

Ah. maybe they are good. But there is something very special about going to a salad bar when you are dirt poor and hungry and eating your fill.

Ah that was good eatin’ you all.

Later on they opened up a Pizza Hut.

That was good too.

I’m an American.

I love pizza.

And when it came to Pizza Hut, our favorite was always a thin-crust pepperoni pizza.

But, guys …

Guys…

Guys!

Nothing beats the quiet residential shady neighborhood, no matter how many fast-food joints surround it.

Trust me on this.

Shade has value.

But is often under-rated and forgotten.

Quiet streets.

Misty mornings.

Rain soaked days.

Sunny Summer Afternoons.

Fresh mowed grass.

Dawn.

A shady paradise.

It’s got value.

67719f18cfbb28764636170421a10d4f the gift shades

Today…

What screams “I can fight”?

I don’t go to bars much, but one of the few times I did, I was at a table near the bar trying to be invisible because a crowd of gang members came in, loud and rude. A guy in glasses, average height, slight build but moved with uncommon grace was bringing his beer from the bar past my table. One of the rowdy guys bumped him, and probably didn’t notice his drink hadn’t spilled. The guy acted all offended and had that look that violence would follow. The graceful gent held his glass out and offered the guy his drink. It threw the guy off and he actually stepped in to take it.

“Let give you some advice,” he said quietly. “Notice when someone isn’t remotely scared. Push this any further and you’re going to be severely embarrassed in front of your friends.”

The guy stepped back and surveyed the cool character, rearranged his face and loudly thanked him for the drink and went back to the bar.

The fellow nodded and left the place, me quickly following so as not be the next victim.

Outside I called, “Bluff or fact?”

He turned and smiled, then kept walking.

What do you think of China’s 6th generation fighter test flight?

There were two leaked test flights on Chairman Mao’s birthday: one by Shenyang aircraft corp, another by Chengdu aircraft corp.

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The double landing gear implies that it is massive, likely larger than its escort fighter jets.

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Firstly, nobody knows whether it is an actual generational leap forward, especially when the parameters for 6th generation aircraft are not defined yet. Even now, there are plenty of controverisal 5th generation look-alikes by South Korea and Turkiye, for example. No one even knows whether there is a “bulb” for a human pilot on either aircraft.

Similar cockpit bulb exists for the American NGAD program.

Secondly, the design is very unique and frankly unprecedented. Three engines is very rare on planes that are not civilian liners, and could be to compensate for weakness of its engine. (Given the huge size of the aircraft, its engine could be Guizhou WS-13, the J-20’s powerplant.) The large area delta wing design in addition to the power of 3 engines is also fuelling rumors that it can access near space altitudes.

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There have been some theories about its elastic skin finally being applied widely. This would likely provide stealth and more seamless fuselage.

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Thirdly, they could be the first application of China’s loyal wingman program: smart lethal drones that complement fighter jets. If true, this would break the stereotype of drones being small, buzzing and slow things. The Americans don’t think they are drones though.

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Fourth: a big salute to Chinese aviation professionals, for their hardwork and sacrifice. China went from lacking in air combat to now a global leader. All this within a century! In 1924, China was still an agricultural nation split between different warlords!

Top: 2nd gen fighter accompanying prototype 4th gen

Middle: 4th gen fighter accompanying prototype 5th gen

Bottom: 5th gen fighter accompanying the mystery prototype advanced aircraft.

And of course, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CHAIRMAN!

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UNLOCKED FOR GENERAL PUBLIC — EXTREMELY SENSITIVE

Hal Turner World March 25, 2025

This content was previously LOCKED for Subscribers Only — but is now UNLOCKED in the public interest.

On Monday, I was made aware that the United States had deployed three (3) B-2 Stealth Bombers to Diego Garcia in the Indian Ocean. That puts them within range of both Yemen and Iran.

Even though this was also rumored over social media, I chose not to report it because I don’t want to endanger our troops or a mission.

Some relevant facts: As of 2024, the US Air Force has nineteen (19) B-2 stealth bombers in service, after one was destroyed in a 2008 crash and another damaged in a 2022 crash was retired due to the high cost of repair.

Given we have only 19 of these super-high-tech bombers, putting three of them somewhere is a big deal.

TUESDAY . . . . I found out that FOUR (4) MORE B-2 Stealth Bombers left for Diego Garcia overnight. Folks, that’s a total of SEVEN (7) B-2 Stealth bombers . . . . . . . out of only 19 in the world . . . . . all gathered on Diego Garcia.

My gut tells me this is big. Bigger than big. Something HUGE is about to take place and I don’t think it’s bombing the Houthis in Yemen.

My personal view, based upon nothing more than my gut, is that we are going to attack Iran. Soon. VERY soon. Maybe even tonight.

If this takes place, it is already a known fact that Iran will try to close the Strait of Hormuz, which will send oil prices skyrocketing, and gasoline prices at the pump heading toward $10 maybe $12 per gallon. More for diesel fuel.

The impact on our economy will be staggering.

If you have gas cans, I strongly suggest you fill them up. TODAY.

If you don’t have any gas cans, I suggest you get some. TODAY.

The United States of America does not position seven of its most expensive, most high-tech bombers, halfway around the world, to “posture.” They put those planes out when they’re going to be used.

This is way serious.

MORE:

Iran is a military ally of Russia, and a BRICS economic ally of both Russia and China.

Both Russia and China have openly, publicly, stated they will “not stand-by and allow Iran to be attacked.”

If the US and/or Israel goes ahead with an attack upon Iran, the reaction by both Russia and China could be to put an end to the United States and our shenanigans.

Top-off your food, water, and medicine preps. TODAY.

More if I get it.

UPDATE 7:32 PM EDT —

I can now CONFIRM that the four additional B-2 Stealth were heard over shortwave radio with confirmed destination of Diego Garcia:

1450z: Call signs “ABBA 11” flt ?x4? USAF B-2/A Spirit’s Wkg San Francisco (SFO) HF 11282 khz Cleared to Destination NSF Diego Garcia FJDG from Whiteman AFB KSZL

I can now also confirm that one of the original aircraft, which departed Whiteman AFB in Missouri Sunday-into-Monday, suffered an In-Flight EMERGENCY and had to land at Hickam Field in Hawaii.

I have received an Image showing that aircraft, Call Sign “PITCH 13”, on the ground in Hawaii, with a Fire Rescue Truck deployed to it. There was no external sign of any fire and the nature of the in-flight emergency is not (yet) known:

US B2 Stealth Bomber After Emergency Laning Honolulu

UPDATE 7:55 PM EDT —

Additional B-2 Stealth Bomber(s) seen taking off from Whiteman AFB in Missouri – TUESDAY NIGHT:

Additional B2 Taking off TONIGHT 03 25 2025

MORE:

At least 18 US Air Force refueling tankers are being staged in the Pacific with several each at Travis AFB in CA, Daniel K. Inouye IAP in HI, and Andersen AFB in Guam. This suggests some kind of large movement of air assets into the Pacific theater – or the Indian Ocean – will take place this week.

UPDATE 8:25 PM EDT —

In addition to the B-2 Stealth Bombers and eighteen (18) Refueling tankers reported above, I can now also report the following:

7 C-17A Globemaster IIIs have arrived over the last 3 days, or are currently en-route to the island.

C-17 flights into Diego Garcia:

3 originated at Whiteman AFB, MO (B-2 Support)

2 originated at Dover AFB, DE (Unk purpose)

1 originated at Fairchild AFB, WA (KC-135 Support)

1 originated at JB McGuire, NJ (Unk purpose)

UPDATE 10:18 PM EDT (Tuesday night) —

More ancillary information has been obtained which now reveals an explicit time frame for military action.

The military base at Diego Garcia has very limited space and, believe it or not, there have to be “Reservations” for aircraft parking spaces at that base!

The United States has secured aircraft parking spaces for the B2 Stealth “until May 1.”

Soooooo . . . . whatever is going to be done with those Stealth Bombers, must necessarily take place between right now and May 1. That’s 5 weeks.

The base at Diego Garcia is in the Indian Ocean. The aircraft at that base – especially the Stealth Bombers – are now “in-range” for Yemen and . . . . . . . . . . . Iran. Look:

History records that when NATO attacked Yugoslavia in March of the year 1999, the United States sent three (3) B-2 Stealth Bombers during the 78 days of bombing that ultimately crushed that country and broke it apart.

Three Bombers for Yugoslavia.

Why then are SIX now massed at Diego Garcia with more such jets having taken off tonight out of Missouri? The red dotted line on the map above seems to indicate what’s coming.

Iran.

Here’s the rub: Iran has a military defense Treaty with Russia, and China has publicly declared they “will not allow our fellow BRICS member, and ally, Iran, to be attacked and destroyed.”

So if the US (and likely Israel) have any ideas about attacking Iran and destroying it, we could see world war 3 break-out so fast none of us would have time to even think.

Prepare.

Emergency food, water, medicines you need to live on. A generator. Fuel for that generator. First-Aid Kits. Transistor Radio as well as a CB or HAM radio for local communications and to be able to get news from around the world via shortwave.

Remember, the aircraft parking reservation is good until May 1, but the action would have to take place BEFORE that date. So there is not much time to prepare – at all.

Take advantage of the time we may have, act deliberately to prepare, and pray.

This is not a joke. This is more serious than a heart attack.

UPDATE 10:20 PM EDT (WEDNESDAY)

This morning, Russian President Vladimir Putin sent the Russia-Iran Strategic Agreement to the Russian Stated Duma (Legislature) for ratification into law.

The Agreement “comes into effect in Mid-April.”

If the agreement comes into effect in “Mid-April” taken to mean April 15, then the time frame for potential US Action against Iran seems to be now COMPRESSED to “before April 15” if the US wants to strike before the Russian Strategic Agreement comes into effect.

So we may have less time than I thought to prepare.

This is why 5% of men get 95% of women

Why do Russian fighter jet engines have a reputation for poor longevity compared to Western-built contemporaries?

You tell me one thing where Russia or China have a reputation for better longevity compared to Western built contemporaries

It’s always the same thing

Western made products are high quality, superior while Russian and Chinese made products are inferior and have lower quality

Its just perception according to me

Russia has access to refined materials, applied materials and engineers and physicists

They have the money needed to develop advanced aircraft engines

So logically there is no reason why Russian engines should have any reputation for poor longevity

Russia is capitalist today so even the State Inefficiency excuse can no longer be used

main qimg 7609932dce1a99fad4ebac23138f7a41

There are no parameters to claim Russian engines are inferior and low quality

No evidence of Russian made engine failures

Flights of Russian made aircraft in Airshows have been exemplary

No Peer to Peer comparison

So i just don’t buy that anymore

Not unless you tell me the Westerners are Aliens

China Now Has Zero Fear; Major Warning For G7 Economies – What’s Coming In 2025

What are smart unique hiding places you figure are safe from theft and robbery other than a bank safe?

I used to be a drug addict. I hid stuff all over the place.

One place I successfully hid items was in my body pillow. The pillow had a pillowcase, and the pillow itself had a cover with a zipper. It was stuffed with goose down. I would unzip the zipper and stash things in there, then put the pillowcase back on so that the zipper was on the closed end of the case. Nobody ever looked there, and my place was thoroughly searched.

Another place I used to hide things was in my dresser. But not in a drawer. I would take the bottom drawer out, then put the items under there and to the side a bit. The drawer can be pulled out and dumped, but nobody would think to look under the dresser after they took the drawer out.

I also used to hide small things, like money or dope in little container. I would tape the container, or depending on where it was, I would use velcro with a sticky back, into out of sight places. For instance, I opened my top dresser drawer and used velcro to hold a little plastic box to the underside of the top of the dresser. You open the drawer, but don’t see anything. Because it is hidden out of sight behind the front of the dresser. I also used to tape containers to the wall behind my headboard. Nobody ever looked there.

Another place I hid stuff was in the hollow legs of my ironing board. There were little plastic caps on the ends, and I would just remove them, place my items inside, and put the caps back on and put the ironing board away like normal.

Another place to hide stuff is in the hem of drapes. Find an inconspicuous place, and cut a tiny slit on the inside, or better yet, on the fold of the hem. Then stick your money in there and forget it.

I had a little wicker bowl that I kept seashells in. I stuffed little dope baggies in the shells. Nobody was any the wiser.

I once made a false bottom for a drawer. I cut a piece of plywood (I don’t know what kind it was, but it was thin, like paneling) and glued four little “legs on it” (I used some old pull knobs off a dresser I redid) and placed it in the drawer, “legs” down. That made a little space about 2 inches high under the board. I used an old thin metal spatula to lift the false bottom out when I wanted to get to the hiding place.

Put small items in an old pill container, or some water-tight container. Dig a hole in the dirt in a potted plant, place the container in the hole and cover with dirt.

Miniblinds are a good place to hide tiny things. Up top, the part that attaches to the wall. There is usually a little plastic piece that hides the guts of the blinds. Just remove it, stash your item, place the thing back.

I had all kinds of hiding places; these are just a few that I remember.

China Unveils A Hypersonic Drone With Horizontal Landing & It Shocked Scientist

Why is it that the Chinese are so successful in technology? Is it because they are forced to learn Chinese, one of the most difficult languages to learn? So that when they have learnt it, all STEM subjects become extremely easy in comparison?

The Chinese were bad at technology from 1863 to 2014. Even though the written language is the same.

What happened in 2014 was that a lot of engineers graduated in China. The USA also educates many engineers, but they are also Chinese and go home after graduating.

It was me who told the Chinese that the technical revolution began in Britain because military engineers did civilian work in peacetime. And it is the engineers who limit a country’s development.

Today, most of the world’s engineers are Chinese engineers.

When you are a leader in a technological area, this quickly spreads to all areas.

Hot Tuna and Cheddar Sandwiches

Ingredients

2 cans water-packed albacore tuna, drained and flaked
1/2 cup chopped celery
1 small onion, finely chopped
1 cup (4 ounces) shredded Cheddar cheese
1/2 cup chopped green olives
1/4 cup mayonnaise
Dash of black pepper
4 burger buns, split

Instructions

Heat oven to 350 degrees F.
Combine all ingredients, divide evenly among buns.
Wrap sandwiches loosely in aluminum foil, place on baking sheet, and bake 15 to 20 minutes or until heated through.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

If Mongolia joins NATO, will it become a second Ukraine?

If you are a mathematician, you can turn it into a “solvable problem”, such as how to deliver NATO weapons and troops to Mongolia?

Mongolia is a landlocked country, completely surrounded by Russia and China. Of course, the only possibility is that NATO weapons are delivered to Mongolia from outer space (beyond the airspace). If NATO can deliver more than 2 million troops to Mongolia (about two-thirds of Mongolia’s total population), then Mongolia can be guaranteed to be safe in NATO.

5 myths about China that I no longer believe

How was the experience of using the Internet in 1999-2000?

I was 42 years old.

To me – The Internet was a mystic world. Youngsters kept saying “Internet”, “Internet”. My Son and his classmates were caught by their teacher for apparently trying to watch “Pamela Anderson” pictures at a neighboring Internet Centre next to their school (The Owner ratted them out) and we parents were summoned. I didnt care too much about the Pamela Anderson Pictures but apparently- the Internet was like Aladdins cave – people said you could get anything you wanted.

Before we got a computer – we had Internet Centres which charged 40 – 60 Rupees an Hour. I remember the Owner telling me “Sir!!! Give my email id. I will print the mail and deliver it to your house for Rs. 20/-”

The First time i sat at a computer at the Internet Centre – i was utterly dazed. No clue. The Owner helped me. Clicking on Netscape Navigator (back then that was our Google Chrome) → then Askjeeves. com (That was our Google).

My First email id on Hotmail (That was our Gmail) – i forgot my password in 6 hours. I had to write my next password on white paper and put it in my wallet. This was because when i reset my password the first time – it automatically generated a password “silverrobber53” and i never realized i could change this after my first login.

Then we got our own Computer and i remember the Modem and its noise. Then Outlook Express would fire up and we would get our VSNL (Later Satyam) mail.

Our US Relatives would state things that none of us except maybe my children could understand. Sending an attachment was a thing nobody could do.

And we had our own version of Byju Raveendran – NIIT and SSI offered a course on Internet Basics. People attended these classes where they were taught things like LAN, WAN, Star Topology etc and less of how to browse. They paid over Rs. 6000/- for such a course.

Downloading a Picture was next to impossible. It would take minutes. Streaming was a far off dream. Streaming a file would take 13–15 minutes – with the word buffering 15%, 20%, 30%, 60% and again go back to Buffering 10% irritating me so much – that i would want to smash the computer to kingdom come.

Then every hardware you had – you had to download drivers and this was a huge nuisance. Every single time – you needed drivers.

I learnt to Chat – using Yahoo Messenger first and then MSN Messenger. Voice Chat would be like wanting to talk to the Moon.

Rediff was my first source of online news. Slowly i was familiar with loggin on to the internet, going to rediff and reading news and movie reviews.

Then Google came – and many things changed. Then came Gmail.

Then came Broadband Connections, Faster Internet offered first by BSNL only then later by Airtel (Although i still feel BSNL was better).

Finally you had Skype that revolutionized communications completely followed by Zoom.

And I was more familiar with the internet than ever before.

I booked my first hotel trip in 2008 with makemytrip, my first airline ticket in the same year, my first railway ticket using irctc also in 2008.

I downloaded my first film on torrent in 2009 (Nu Torrent).

Can we talk to those who have seen the Ford Model T? or to whose who have seen the First Television or Radio? Or even the first Refrigerator?

No.

However we can still happily interact with those who were the earliest users of the Internet and learn about the revolution from the Old Computer Systems where Memory was measured in Megabytes (TB, GB were unknown). 16 MB Ram was regarded as Cutting Edge. 4 GB HardDisk was a rage when HCL introduced it.

From Modems to Hotspots

From Eudora Pro to Zoom and Whatsapp

From Askjeeves to Google

From a 15–20 minute time to download a single picture of Pamela Anderson to streaming any video from Porn sites in a matter of seconds.

Proud to have been part of this Revolution which will continue to go on and on.

The Seventh Experiment: Lacerta Reveals the Truth of our Creation

China Debuts First 6th Generation Fighter Jet

Hal Turner World December 26, 2024

China’s “White Emperor” Takes Flight: A New Era in Air Dominance as China shows-off a WORKING 6th Generation Fighter Jet prototype.

China has completed the maiden flight of its sixth-generation fighter jet, known as the “White Emperor.” The tailless, stealth-designed jet, which took to the skies alongside a Chengdu J-20S fighter, represents a leap forward in military aviation. With a unique three-engine configuration and cutting-edge stealth capabilities, the White Emperor is more than a prototype, it’s a clear statement of intent.

Meanwhile, the U.S. struggles to move its Next Generation Air Dominance (NGAD) program beyond the drawing board. With no working prototype and a fractured development process, the gap between ambition and execution for Washington is growing ever wider.

The skies are shifting.

While the U.S. debates budgets and contracts, China is flying prototypes. The White Emperor’s debut signals a turning point, where next-generation technology is no longer monopolized by the West.

Lest we forget the money laundering boondoggle, half trillion dollar and growing F35. White Emperor is much more than a fighter jet—it’s a symbol of a new order, where nations, like China once sidelined by U.S. hegemony are taking the lead.

Gun owners who have defensively shot someone; what happened and what was the aftermath of the situation?

One of my old classmates was a New Orleans native and his parents still lived there when Katrina hit. Given they were elderly, he rode a bicycle and then walked a good ways thru debris to check on them. He took a pistol with him.

When he got to his parent’s house there was considerable wind damage and several trees down but they were not flooded. As he approached the back yard, he saw his parents duct taped into folding chairs and the back door wide open. He drew his gun and cautiously approached the yard when a man came out with a pillow case full of looted items. He yelled at the guy to drop it and the man reached towards his waist band, so my classmate shot him.

He checked on the guy and he was dead and then he immediately went to free his parents. They were terrified but unharmed.

He called 911 and after a considerable wait on hold, he explained to a dispatcher that a looter had been shot and asked what he should do. The dispatcher calmly told him that all units were busy and to drag the body out to the street and leave it. She didn’t ask for his name or address. So, he did what she said and then left with his parents.

Nothing ever came from it as New Orleans was martial law for many days. My classmate was upset but he knew that the intruder would likely have killed his parents, and him, had he not shot him. As one of my other friends succinctly put it, the other guy dealt the hand, he just wasn’t expecting to lose.

12 Year-Old Finds Out She’s Pregnant | House M.D. | Sirens

How can the U.S. maintain its military edge over China?

Boeing’s first engineer was a Chinese.

Chinese scientists helped out on the Manhattan project.

The JPL was co-founded by a Chinese. The Nazi scientist, the father of US rocketry, was vetted and employed by the same Chinese. That very Chinese was unfairly kicked out of his lab and expelled from the US after the Korean War for being a China sympathizer, so he went back to China, founded Chinese rocketry and space program, and led to Chinese superiority in hypersonic missile tech today.

Both NVidia and AMD’s CEO are ethnically Chinese.

If the US’s only goal is to beat China, easy, grant US citizenship and money to more Chinese scientists than China can keep them. This would work for as long as the US is richer than China. That’s what kept the US ahead for so long: the ability to brain-drain all the other countries.

If you give up on the US’s biggest advantage because you’re concerned about minor issues like Chinese spying, or Chinese companies buying up American lands, or Chinese social media getting teenagers addicted, or Chinese drone company collecting data on American farms, or Chinese scientists working with NASA, or Chinese math nerds being accepted into Ivy league more than high school footballers, or any other form of institutional racism rebranded under a different name, you’re setting up the US for failure.

What do Marines think of Navy Corpsman?

I don’t know about Marines in particular, but when I got shot in Fallujah, I had 3 Army senior NCOs (I’m also army) scooting the younger Troops away and were trying to figure out what to do with my leg (Upper Thigh) and the bleeding.

A Lance Corporal was on site, supporting the Marine Battalion, and he came up with his gear and laid it all out, told two E-7s to back up, ignored the Master Sergeant who said he was in charge here, and gave me ketamine to calm me down, some local anesthetics and proceeded to remove the round, clean and pack the wound, wrap my leg and used safety pins to “repair where he cut my Desert Fatigues, ave me some Motrin (of course) and slipped me two Percocet and took off to the next injured Soldier.

I never caught his name, but I respect the shit out of him for taking charge as the only “real” medic in our AO.

Semper Fi, Cousin, whoever you are and where ever you are.

Bottled Time

Submitted into Contest #196 in response to: Set your story in a world where time travel has been perfected, and people can use it to hop between alternate timelines — but at a cost.… view prompt

Anne Shillingsburg

The perfume jars started accumulating before Gemini’s birth, an accidental collection in which Francine felt no real interest for many years. The first was a gift from Francine’s college roommate, who brought it back from a trip to Egypt on the mistaken impression that anyone as interested in her appearance as Francine would also love perfume. She did not. To her it smelled like a chemistry lab and gave her headaches, but the little glass jar was pretty and she couldn’t smell the contents when the stopper was in. She hadn’t meant for it to be a collection, but when she saw a matching jar on their package trip to Turkey, she bought it for a souvenir. Then one that Dennis’ sister found in the gift shop of a Mediterranean restaurant. Honestly, that one is a little tacky.One of the first things Gemini ever bought with her own money was the yellow one with the hummingbird, a bargain at a junk shop. It was Francine’s favorite. From there of course it had become a collection, for what else was she going to put on the little carved shelves of the vanity table? She detested little knickknacks and the shelves were only two inches wide and had a little rail around them, so nothing could hang over at all. Gemini once put her little dolls up there and played that they were on the deck of a ship until her mother came in and fussed at her for standing on the vanity table.Gemini was named not only for her December birthday, but also for the brother who died in the womb they shared. Francine was torn in two about the whole thing. Twin babies, a boy and girl, a perfect family formed all at once at the age of 24 when one pregnancy would not do her figure too much harm. Becoming the mother of this perfect family was the dream of her life, her shot at doing right all that her mother had done wrong, so the loss of one twin was a devastating blow that laid her out on her bed for days, Dennis coming home evenings to lie beside her and whisper into her hair that she had to pull through for the sake of the other one.Never feeling a kick in his own body, Dennis could sympathize, but never really understood loving a thing half-formed and never seen. He did not resent this week of grief, the one period of his married life when dinner was not ready and smooth-edged wife did not greet him at the door, but he was disoriented by it. His relief, when Francine pulled herself up and buttoned down her loose edges, was not only for her but also for himself and the yawning years of taking care of her rather than being taken care of that had loomed in his imagination.Gemini was adored from the first day of her life, but she was not twins, and the empty space of her extracted brother remained in their lives until a new brother was made to fill the hole.But those days were gone, and the question of the moment was what to do with the vanity table. Gemini voted that it should go with Fracine to the assisted living facility, but she had been away while Elliot and Dennis had overseen her decline, watching as she sat hour after hour at the table, no longer opening creams or filing nails, but just running the jagged deeply lined ones over the little perfume jars. Alabastrons Gemini now knew at least the ancient version of them would have been called.“Doesn’t that mean she wants them?” Gemini argued. “What will happen if she can’t sit here?”“When she isn’t sitting here, she’s a person again. I’d rather get rid of the table and keep her here than send the table with her,” Elliot contended.He was right. She would need to take the table in the downsizing or let it go out of the family. Dennis was moving to an apartment. He had not married to be a caretaker but to be taken care of. He’d even looked into divorce as a solution to the expense of the home until his children’s horrified expressions took the option off the table.Gemini agreed to ship the vanity to her apartment at an expense of three times its value and brought up a stack of newsprint to wrap the jars in. Reaching first for the yellow one with the hummingbird, Gemini tipped it on its side with no thought to contents. She knew her mother did not wear perfume, so the too sharp smell of the leaked fragrance surprised her.Even as she recognized the painful pierce in her nose of too much, she described it to herself as pleasantly floral before it swept her away and she floated on the billowy clouds of the scent through time and space.Elliot wriggles in his father’s arms, not more than a year old and struggling in the way of much-loved babies to get into the arms of another by simply flopping into them and trusting he’ll be caught. He flops into Gemini’s boney arms, never-cut wisps of baby blond hair swept every direction, two tiny razor-sharp bottom teeth making the whole of a grin so dimpled beautiful it makes floating Gemini feel a physical ache for the baby he was before she lands inside the body of her young self and can feel only what she felt in the moment. The baby smell of his head and the satin of his skin, the folds of fat in his tiny arms.Dennis leans into the baby and kisses him on the mouth. Elliot, just able to pucker, makes an exaggerated “mwa!” sound, showing his unfathomable dimples.“Oh, that was a nice one! I don’t think it’s fair to keep that one. I better share it with Mama!” he declares to the infant, who gestures emphatically and babbles what is clearly a sentence of total agreement that contains no human words. Dennis pulls Francine to him by her waist and plants the kiss on her lips.“Mmm,” she says, with a relishing half-close of the eyes, as though it were a chocolate truffle. “You’re right. Come here, baby, you gotta try this one!” She says, planting the kiss on Gemini’s lips with a crinkle-nosed expression of adoration.Gemini giggles delightedly and kisses her baby brother’s lips.“This is it,” her mother declares, “the best minute of my whole life.” There is a joke in her voice, but her eyes brim with joy as her husband turns to plant the baby’s kiss back on her lips a second time.“Not you too!” declared Elliot. The breeze from the window he’d opened to cut the smell floated Gemini out of her child body and back to the table, where a puddle of perfume was soaking through the newspaper.She shook her head. “Sorry,” she said, confused. “I just remembered something from when you were a baby.”They had to descend all the way to the first floor to get the reeking newspapers out of the house before the thick scent worked over Gemini’s head. Dennis called for their help dismantling a bed and they were distracted from the task.But the rest of the day it tugged at her, the pull back up to the vanity and the reality of the memory it triggered. Memory was a wholly inadequate word, hardly different from a description. Even deja vu evokes only the feeling associated with a past time, not the details of word, facial expression, texture. It was more like transport through time.When Dennis and Elliot were finishing up for the day, she wandered off upstairs to think alone.She rebelled against her mother’s idea that the love of a man was enough, that devotion to him could be an identity, that a shared family kiss could be the best that life had to offer. And yet, the emotional landscape that revisited moment had plunged her into had felt filling in a way work had so rarely. She lifted the stopper from another jar to see if the smell would affect her again.Before she could consistently smell the scent, it visibly swept through the room leaving colorful tracks like the speed marks left by a cartoon race car. The wind tracks lifted her away and set her down into her child body.“Gemini!” Elliot’s voice broke through with a volume and urgency that showed it was not the first or the second time he’d called her name.She blinked into herself, looking down in surprise at her adult body, her sensible clothes.“Where were you?” he asked, partly joking.“I was at a tea party with you and Camellia.” She smiled at the image of them in her mother’s beach hats and sunglasses, singing silly songs to toddler Elliot to keep him from crying. Her heart ached for the girl her cousin used to be, before heartbreak and prescription pills got between them. But all she said aloud was, “Something about this scent triggers my memory.” She downplayed the experience, aware that calling it time travel would alarm him and she was having enough trouble coping with her own alarm.“I’ve been waiting for you for half an hour,” he said and looked at her suspiciously. “Don’t get lost here,” he said finally, both thinking of their mom.Packing up more items the next day, the three of them were back in the attic bedroom. She opened the door at the right side of the vanity table and was surprised to find a dozen identical crystal perfume bottles with angles cut like gemstones and labeled with raised metallic lettering.“What’s this?” Gemini asked over her shoulder toward her dad and Elliot. “Why did mom have all this? She hated perfume.”

“Hated perfume?” Dennis asked, approaching. “She loved perfume. I always got her perfume for special occasions.” He crouched down. All the bottles were unopened. He shook his head in confusion. “But… she…”

“Was it this?” Gemini asked as he sat down in the chair. She pulled the long stopper out of one of the exotic perfume jars and waved it under her father’s nose.

Dennis is floating on a scented wind that seems to leave colored trails behind him. He spins a few times, gently but irresistibly in the current until he finds himself approaching Marie from behind as she stands before the bathroom mirror, replacing her earrings, her blouse still open. He reaches inside it and cups her smooth breast. She responds in a way his wife never does. For Francine it is always for him, her own pleasure never weakened a knee or turned her toward him despite the need to leave, as Marie turns now. Still, Marie does have to leave, not only because she has a meeting, but especially because Francine will be back from tennis and lunch by 2:30.

Marie sprays perfume in front of her neck and leans into it, which presses her backside against Dennis and he reaches for her again. As she turns to kiss him, one hand replaces the perfume bottle on the tiled ledge above the sink. She sinks into him and he thinks how much he’d like to hold on to this passionate moment, this refuge from the prosaic sameness of life.

“Dad?” Gemini said, actually snapping her fingers in front of his face.

“Then it wasn’t hers,” he said, withdrawing from the fifteen-year-old affair with a sucking kind of resistance he can almost hear.

“What wasn’t whose?” His eyes focused on his now-adult daughter, and he understood he could not say aloud what he has realized: that all the time he thought he was buying the brand of perfume his wife liked, he was just buying the brand his mistress had left on the sink. He slumped in the seat and covered his face with his hands. Francine must have known too.

“These bottles are weird,” Gemini said. “Hey, how was mom when you saw her this morning?”

“She was…” it took Elliot a moment to consider. “She was really good, actually. Maybe sad. But very lucid.”

“These bottles…” Gemini brushed their tops with her hand. “How long do you think she’s been…declining? I mean the fading out episodes?”

Elliot’s tone was soft. “Gem, it’s like 15 years. Since I still lived at home.”

Dennis responded to the words “15 years” with a slight start: around the time of that first found bottle.

One of the jars broke in the move. Not the dragonfly one, thankfully. She had taken exactly one of the unopened perfume bottles from the vanity door and put the others up for sale on ebay. The vanity table sat against the wall in her bedroom, the mirror and glass perfume jars still wrapped in paper for weeks as she went off to dig up temples and more weeks while she simply ignored them and then days more while she waited for the tiny funnel set to arrive by mail.

As soon as the paper was torn back from the mirror she could see herself as her mother would: misplaced strands of hair and manly hoodie, natural prettiness sagging with age and sun. She hesitated before pouring the contents of the crystal vial into the Egyptian glass, wondering if the magic was made by the table, the jars, the scent, the house, her mother’s phantom presence or some combination. But she was not superstitious. How could she be, making her daily bread desecrating ancient temples? She knew that the all-absorbing vividness of the visions she’d had in her mother’s room were influenced by the emotions of her decline and her moving. And yet, she wondered. Wondered if her mother too hadn’t been lost at all but had been there, wandering through the house at other times. The moments Gemini had visited had both been her mother’s memories, both bound inside the house. Could the scent take her somewhere else?

She removed the spray nozzle and held the bottle to her nose. It was just a smell, both pleasant and excessive, but not evocative, not transportative. She smirked at herself for the notion. Thought I had a portal to other times, here.

But the very second the scent funneled into the glass jar in her left hand, she was wafted away to a darkened theater. The wind swept her in a colorful pass over her own head, still free of any gray, and that of her best friend from graduate school, Liz. Present Gemini had a split second to recognize it as the day their first joint paper had been accepted for presentation at a conference, before she is plunged into her slimmer, drunker self.

Onstage a trio of string musicians are performatively competing against each other for the audience’s approval with their fourth running— still sawing away on the instrument on her shoulder—up and down the aisles in search of a volunteer. Onstage one of the women reaches around the cello player with her bow and begins playing along with her, comically bitter facial expression showing that she’s trying to undermine her, while the actual music is glorious. The audience howls laughter.

As Gemini watches the show, Liz has caught the attention of the violinist and is pointing with both hands toward Gemini, “It’s her birthday!” she lies in a stage whisper. The violinist pulls Gemini to her feet to a roar from the crowd and she makes her way to the stage.

It’s bright and hot and for just a second she doesn’t know what to say when the blonde pianist with the microphone asks her how old she’s turning. But then she belly laughs and hollers, “It’s not my birthday! Liz Bailey just said that to get me on stage!” And in the ruckus, Liz is identified and pulled up on the stage as well.

She reaches out for her friend’s hand and thinks, “This is who I want to be. A thoroughly unstuffy intellectual: the PhD at the party.” She pictures her dad’s felt elbow patches and mentally peels them off, leaving shabby holes to match the ones in the jeans she’s wearing. She smiles at Liz.

An alarm asserted itself with increasing force. Four notes, the first the loudest and longest, obviously an alarm, but the edges digitally rounded off. For a moment, onstage Gemini resists, wanting to stay with Liz, but the alarm was adamant. Gemini saw that her left hand lingered on the funnel and glass perfume jar, while the store-bought crystal bottle was on the table, forgotten. She refocused her view, taking in the phone, the light through the window. It was morning. The alarm was her wake-up alarm. She had sat here time traveling the whole night.

It gave her pause, certainly. The part of her that dug sacred artifacts out of the past wanted to preserve this, study it, find the source of its power. The part of her that wanted to preserve time in a bottle. But she thought of her mother, escaping the life that wasn’t enough, after all, to dwell in the moments that were. It was no way to live; the moments had to be created.

The alarm still rang as she threw the jars, forcefully, hoping they would shatter, into the trash, and then yesterday’s coffee grounds down on top, just to discourage changing her mind. As she picked it up to shut off the alarm, she was already composing a text to Liz asking her to call this evening. It had been too long.

Why don’t people live in the middle of Australia?

In agreement with the other answers, it’s too bloody hot out there, mate!

But, in fact there are some people who do, and one particular town did it by moving underground.

Coober Pedy is a mining town. It is just over 800km inland from Adelaide.

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At first glance it doesn’t look like much. As you can see the middle of Australia isn’t that inviting.

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But in this particular town this is the tip of the desert iceberg. Most of this bustling town activities not just happen indoors, but underground.

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And what they have done is simply stunning.

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To be able to withstand the heat, everything has been carved out of the rocks. The homes, the church, hotels. They even have a casino.

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With temperatures reaching up to 40 degrees Celsius (104 degrees Fahrenheit) the underground town keeps itself cool and regulated with vent shafts.

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They have hotels if you wish to stay or you can even camp underground.

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So while most people prefer to keep away from that kind of heat, there are about 3500 people in this particular town who’ll tell you that actually some people do live in the middle of Australia.

Deliciously Tangy: How to Make Sweet Bread and Butter Pickles

December 30, 2024 by Blake Murphy

When it comes to preserving summer’s bounty, few foods are as popular as pickles. Among the myriad of varieties, sweet bread and butter pickles hold a special place in the hearts of many. Whether served alongside a hearty sandwich, added to a charcuterie board, or enjoyed straight out of the jar, these pickles are a delightful balance of sweetness and tanginess. In this comprehensive guide, we’ll explore the art of making sweet bread and butter pickles from scratch, offering insights into the ingredients, the pickling process, and some creative serving suggestions.

The Reason Why Americans Can’t Afford Families Anymore. Find The American Dream Living Abroad.

Understanding Sweet Bread and Butter Pickles

Sweet bread and butter pickles are a type of pickled cucumber that originated in the United States, primarily in the Midwest.

They are characterized by their sweet flavor profile with a touch of vinegar, which gives them a unique and appealing taste. Typically made from cucumbers, onions, and a simple pickling brine, these pickles are perfect for those who enjoy a sweeter condiment to complement savory dishes.

Ingredients You Will Need

To create the perfect batch of sweet bread and butter pickles, you will need the following ingredients:

Ingredient	Quantity
Small cucumbers (pickling cucumbers are the best)	4-5 cups, sliced
Onion (thinly sliced)	1 large or 2 medium
Vinegar (white or apple cider vinegar)	2 cups
Sugar	1 ½ cups
Salt (pickling or kosher salt)	1 tablespoon
Turmeric	1 teaspoon
Ground ginger (optional)	½ teaspoon
Whole mustard seeds	1 tablespoon
Whole black peppercorns	1 teaspoon

Step-by-Step Instructions for Making Sweet Bread and Butter Pickles

Now that you have all your ingredients prepared, let’s dive into the process of making these delightful pickles.

Step 1: Preparing the Cucumbers

Begin by washing the cucumbers thoroughly in cold water. If you prefer crunchier pickles, you can slice them into thick chips or spears. For a more traditional pickle experience, opt for thin slices. Placing the sliced cucumbers in a colander, sprinkle them with salt, and let them drain for about an hour. This step helps remove excess moisture and enhances their crispiness.

Step 2: Preparing the Brine

While the cucumbers are draining, you can start preparing the pickling brine. In a large saucepan, combine the vinegar, sugar, turmeric, ground ginger (if using), mustard seeds, and black peppercorns. Bring this mixture to a boil over medium heat, stirring until the sugar has fully dissolved. Once the brine reaches a rolling boil, remove it from heat and let it cool for a few minutes.

Step 3: Combining Ingredients

In a separate bowl, mix the drained cucumber slices and onions together. Once your brine has cooled slightly, pour it over the cucumbers and onions. Make sure the brine completely covers the vegetables. Alternatively, you can also place the cucumbers and onions into sterilized jars and pour the brine over them.

Step 4: Marinating the Pickles

Allow the cucumbers to marinate at room temperature for about 30 minutes to an hour to let the flavors meld. For best results, transfer the pickles to a refrigerator and allow them to chill for at least 24 hours before consuming. The flavors will intensify over time, and the pickles will achieve their signature sweet and tangy taste.

Canning Your Sweet Bread and Butter Pickles

If you wish to preserve your sweet bread and butter pickles for long-term storage, canning is a fantastic option. Here’s how to safely can your pickles:

Step 1: Sterilize Your Jars

Before starting the canning process, ensure that you have cleaned and sterilized your jars and lids. You can do this by placing them in a pot of boiling water or running them through a hot cycle in the dishwasher.

Step 2: Fill the Jars

Using a funnel, carefully pack the cucumber and onion mixture into the warm sterilized jars, leaving about half an inch of headspace at the top. Pour the brine over the top, ensuring that each jar is filled to the appropriate level, and that the vegetables are fully submerged.

Step 3: Seal and Process the Jars

Wipe the rims of the jars with a clean cloth to remove any residue, and place the sterilized lids on top. Screw on the metal bands until they are fingertip-tight. Process the jars in a boiling water bath for about 10-15 minutes. Adjust the time based on your altitude if necessary.

Step 4: Cool and Store

Once the jars are processed, remove them from the water bath and let them cool completely on a clean towel or rack. As they cool, you should hear a popping sound, which indicates that the jars have sealed properly. Store your sealed jars in a cool, dark place, and refrigerate any unsealed jars for immediate consumption.

Serving Suggestions for Sweet Bread and Butter Pickles

Sweet bread and butter pickles are versatile and can enhance many dishes. Here are a few delicious serving suggestions:

On Sandwiches and Burgers

These pickles make a fantastic addition to sandwiches and burgers, providing a sweet contrast to savory meats. Layer them on a classic deli sandwich, a pulled pork burger, or a veggie wrap for an extra burst of flavor.

In Salads and Side Dishes

Chop the pickles into smaller pieces and incorporate them into potato salad or coleslaw for a delightful crunch. They can also be added to bean salads, enhancing the flavor and adding a bit of zing to the dish.

As a Charcuterie Board Component

Include sweet bread and butter pickles on your next charcuterie board. Their unique flavor pairs beautifully with cheeses, crackers, and cured meats, making them a delightful accompaniment.

As a Snack

Sometimes, the best way to enjoy sweet bread and butter pickles is straight from the jar! Their sweet and tangy flavor offers a perfect snack anytime or even as a refreshing side to a main dish.

Final Thoughts: Enjoying Your Homemade Pickles

Making sweet bread and butter pickles at home is not only a fun project, but it also allows you to tailor the taste to your preferences. With just a few simple steps, you’ll have a delicious batch of pickles to enjoy throughout the year. Remember to be patient as the flavors develop, and your efforts will be rewarded with a tasty treat that complements an array of dishes. Whether you’re canning for long-term storage or simply making a small batch for the fridge, homemade sweet bread and butter pickles will surely become a favorite in your culinary adventures.

How Empires Fall and Why the US is Next

Zhuhai changes the defense discussion

In the west, and especially the US, defense posture is based on appearing powerful and intimidating to deter any political opponents. In China it is the opposite; most of the time it is about appearing unthreatening in order to lure the opponent to make the first move.

This has changed with the Zhuhai Air Show. Up until now, China has not showed off its latest weapons, especially strategic weapons which can hit targets far outside China’s borders. For the first time, it has showed a mockup of a hybrid fighter/space plane called 白帝 (White Emperor), a plane designed to fly in the low gravity of the moon, and the DF-100 long-range cruise missile, and other hypersonic weapons.

Why has China changed its strategy?

US think tanks and the Defense Department have based all their wargames on a local Asian conflict over Taiwan and the South China Sea. In their wargames, the US homeland is never hit and never suffers casualties and destruction. China wants to make clear to the US that it has the capability and the determination to inflict casualties on Americans in the US homeland just the same as the US can inflict casualties on the Chinese mainland. The aim is to force US war planners in think tanks and the Defense Department think long and hard about the cost of war with China. US politicians have believed that foreign wars are acceptable to Americans as long as there are no American casualties on the US homeland. Both China and Russia through independent demonstrations are showing to the US that this way of thinking is outmoded; if there is a serious confrontation with either country, Americans in the US would die.
The incoming Trump administration has two key anti-China hawks: Marco Rubio as Secretary of State and Michael Waltz as national security advisor. Both promote confrontation with China in security and what the US formerly called diplomacy (the US doesn’t do diplomacy anymore). The new China defense posture is to convey that China is ready for any worst-case scenario from the US, and that US politicians should be ready to face the consequences.
US Defense Department war planners have a realistic assessment of China’s war capabilities, but they have not been able to get media support for any views which are from outside Congress and the State Department. The easiest way for them to get more attention is by China showing off its most advanced systems at Zhuhai and other arms export exhibitions worldwide.
Trump has created a new cabinet which draws from all across the spectrum when it comes to dealing with China and Russia. His intent is to hear opposing views so that he can be the final judge on foreign policy when dealing with China and Russia. Both governments are giving him plenty to think about.

What do you think about the video of China’s 6th generation fighter jet taking to the skies for the first time?

I don’t disagree with the definition of 36011 as an strike aircraft. The question is how do we define the next generation of air combat systems?

There are a few obvious trends worth noting:

The first is the trend towards unmanned air combat brought about by AI. Air warfare is actually a relatively simple parametric environment. This happens to be an area where AI is good at excelling. At the current rate of AI advancement, it is likely that in such a parametric environment, if the situational awareness system is good enough and both sides have similar parametric conditions, it would be nearly impossible for a human to outperform an AI in such a game.

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Not only that, but there is an upper limit to how much overload the human body can take. Drones, on the other hand, have no such limit. In other words, if we take the traditional “air war” as the standard. It is almost a given that drones will outperform manned fighters.

Second, there is the widespread popularity of over-the-horizon air warfare. Nowadays, the ranges of mainstream air-to-air missiles, such as AIM-120, Meteor, R-77, PL15, are almost all over 150km. the next generation of PL-17, AIM-260, R-37M missiles are required to reach a range of 300km class. It is clear that the operational form of air warfare will be disrupted by these iterations of ultra long-range missiles and a new generation of phased-array radar technology. And the longer the range of an air-to-air missile, the larger the body.

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The third is a battlefield data chain system with higher bandwidth, greater information density and richer information dimensions. This allows for the networking and clustering of air warfare.

Fighter jets will always exist not just to defeat another fighter plane. In the future, the fighter will serve more as a key node in the service of an overall air countermeasures system. With that in mind, you can understand what this airplane is trying to do.

The pursuit of omnidirectional stealth in this airplane reached a very demanding level. Not only was the tail eliminated and binary vectoring nozzles used, and flexible skins were used for a total of ten three-dimensional feathered flaps. It’s all about getting a head start in future informational situational awareness confrontations. To weaken the adversary’s situational awareness capability as much as possible.

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The three engines provide an ample power configuration to maintain a full-time supersonic cruise. The popular theory is that the two turbofan engines provide Mach 1.5 thrust. At 10,000 meters and supersonic speeds, the top-intake scramjet engine is activated, allowing for a secondary acceleration of the vehicle to nearly Mach 3 and an operational altitude of nearly 30,000 meters. This means that this aircraft is hoping to gain complete battlefield initiative through high altitude and high speed. It can be used as a high-speed stealthy assassin to complete strikes and quickly disengage in gaps in the opponent’s defense deployment.

The larger fuselage brings with it a larger AESA, greater range, and larger magazines. This allows for effective suppression of opponents in over-the-horizon air combat.

You will find that this “strike aircraft ” type of operation is actually the most suitable form of operation for the future of air warfare. You see farther and fly faster than your opponent. Launch before the enemy, fire before the enemy. So why do you need high mobility? If “traditional air combat” or even “dogfighting” is indeed required. It can be done with unmanned wingmen. They can do the job better. It’s not just large unmanned wingmen that can do it, in fact the concept of missiles and UAVs is pretty blurred right now. Future long-range air-to-air missiles do not exclude the possibility of having a complete autonomous decision-making air combat capability.

Yes, it is advances in subsystems and advances in air warfare concepts that have changed the battlefield ecology. So of course we will see next generation fighters adapted to this new battlefield ecology. It’s not impossible to think of the B-21 as a “6th generation fighter”. In fact, the only problem with the B-21, as I see it, is that it can’t go supersonic.

Of course, again, I don’t consider the current 36011 to be a fully-fledged “sixth-generation fighter”. It’s only been a few years since China’s engines caught up with the world’s best. The J-20, fully equipped with WS-15, has just entered service in 2022. You can understand that China’s warplane development has a Tick-Tock cycle similar to Intel’s processor iteration due to this historical inertia. A fully functional “sixth-generation fighter” equipped with next-generation engines is still about 10 years away. Until then, the WS-15-equipped “quasi-sixth-generation fighter” or, if you prefer, the “5.5-generation fighter”, the J-36, will be in service first to gather feedback on its use within 5 years.

Shorpy

How does China’s unveiling of its next-gen fighter jets on Mao’s birthday highlight the contrast with India’s reliance on US engine production for its 4th-gen fighter jets, despite not having produced them yet, as Modi claims to be a Vishwaguru?

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India’s downfall is that it still has colonial mentality. It still is looking for acceptance from the West especially the United States. Even though the US has turned its back on them after they tested their first nuclear weapon and armed Pakistan they still want to be a part of the West.

China on the other hand will beg steal or borrow to be self sufficient and has no desire to be anything but a completely sovereign. They know that the only things US respects is military strength. So really the displays of 6th generation planes are for the US and not intended for India. Without any disrespect, India is not a challenge to China at this point and if they think they are delusional.

India has been short sighted in its Air force policy trying to diversify with the Rafale which on the surface seemed like a good idea but was far from it. The Rafale is a great fighter but to buy it they were forced to leave the FGFA program. There are those who spread the lie of dissatisfaction with the fighter but the truth is that Russia wanted 5 billion to continue in the program, India had committed to buying 126 Rafales and they did not have money to do but both so they left the FGFA bought 36 Rafales for 5 billion dollars and have been going backwards ever since.

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So Indians decided to exit the program to save costs and commented that they may join at a later stage when the project is mature enough to be called as a product.

Unlike the false news reported everywhere Indians were never dissatisfied with the design and concept. Indians invested money and contributed scientists and engineers during the development preliminary studies and concept development stage.

Palash Choudhari

All the same, Business Standard speculated that the Indian complaints might have been somewhat politically motivated, as New Delhi also was planning to buy 126 new Rafale fighters from France for an eye-watering total price of $18 billion. Scrapping the Su-57 helped India pay for the French jets.

National interest

India should have continued the FGFA program even with the bumps in the road. Yes Russia was not going to give them TOT on engines but neither is the US or France. With there injection of money and added engineers they could have had a 5th generation fighter in production right now. Plus would have gained all the experience they are hoping to acquire with AMCA.

At the same time, following the maiden flight of an experimental prototype in 2010, India said it was ready to purchase 214 FGFAs (the Indian version of the Su-57) but only if they were produced exclusively on Indian territory.

According to Bulat, Russia is prepared to pass on all the technology and reveal the production secrets of the Su-57 jet fighter to India for no less than $5bn. The Indians, in turn, say that for this money they can independently develop a fifth generation fighter from scratch themselves.

The Indians continue to make errors, such as both the F-404 and 414 deals. The US has demonstrated over and over to use technology as a weapon. Pakistan was a US friend then it wasn`t then they worked out a deal that if Pakistan gave Ukraine shells then they would give them upgrade kits. Turkey is part of NATO but they bought the S-400 and got kicked of F-35 program and US was still withholding upgrades to their F-16’s until another deal over Ukraine was struck with Turkey. Turkey has subsequently decided not to finalize the deal and chosen to do local modernization. Why on earth would you do a deal with a country with that track record. The Indians have mistaken themselves for Israel and they are not them.

The bumbling continues with the “Super Sukhoi” upgrade. One of the most expensive cost for fighter is fuel, the plan is to Keep the Sukhoi’s in service until 2055. The Indians had 2 options for engines on Super Sukhoi keep the AL-31P 17,200lbs dry 27,560lbs wet or upgrade to the more powerful and fuel efficient AL-41F-1S engine with 3D TVC 19,400lbs dry and 32,000lbs wet.

The AL-41F-1S offers nearly 13% better fuel efficiency, providing the same cruising thrust and afterburner performance. This translates to longer or greater distance flights without additional fuel consumption—a significant advantage for combat aircraft, enhancing their autonomy and operational flexibility during extended missions.

Meanwhile, the maximum afterburner thrust has been boosted by 13.7% compared to the AL-31FP engine. It also sees nearly a 13% improvement when idling with the afterburner. This translates to better acceleration and enhanced flight characteristics, making the aircraft more agile and effective in complex air battles. Additionally, the improved idle thrust means more power without needing to use the afterburner, leading to a more economical yet powerful flight experience. With the AL-31FP the T/W 0.95 which makes it unable to supercruise with the AL-41f-1S it would be over 1 and may allow it to possibly to supercruise and increase the range to 3500km from 3000km with less maintenance. If you planning to have this plane until 2055 the justification that parts are readily available and mechanics have experience is total short sighted if you are considering by 2055 the 7th generation might be flying lol. Maximizing the abilities of the upgrade would be prudent.

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The smart thing would be for the Indians to completely cut ties with GE if they can because the US is already playing games with deliveries. The new Russian engines are not like the original AL-31FP. They have many new engines and the 2 newest for export being the AL-31FN series 5 which are 142KN designed for single engine use and with a 8000hr life span and reduced maintenance. This is actually a better engine in my opinion for AMCA and it already has serrated nozzle. There is also the RD-93MA with 92KN also designed for single engine applications. This would be a great option to replace GE-404 on the Tejas MK1A and MK2.

The Russians have ben the most trustworthy partners of India and the US has been trying to break up that relationship from the moment they renewed their relationship with India. The new Russian engines are a better choice and far more trustworthy. Somebody should tell Modi.

BRICS Decision Disappoint US and Western Financial System: End of IMF?

Purple Tears

Theresa Amante

Diary Entry: 1_Timeline: Earth2, Day 1

Everyone’s heard of dark matter, but now the hot topic is strange matter. We caused so much chaos when we discovered that. Geneva shook for 4 days straight. Anyways, today is my first day on Earth2. I got clearance to time step from General Stern. Basically, you round up a lot of strange matter then inject it with the energy of one billion split atoms, and then use that force to fold the matter like a blanket, prior to ripping it a new hole.

Then, you just step through. It’s only open for about 3 seconds.

Anyways, here I am, on Earth2. They warned us we might not be able to make it back in a while. Doesn’t matter anyways. The only thing waiting for me back home is Tom, my cat. Now he’s with my neighbor’s kid—a sweet girl of 10 years, named Nancy. I think he’s in good hands, I don’t know too much about her, but I know she likes tarantulas, and reads books like Roots; which leads me to believe she’s got a good head on her shoulders.

Still, I miss the furry fella.

The strange thing about time stepping, is that somewhere, in this world there may be another me. But the chances of me coming across…well, me, I guess are slim. Since there are 28 billion people on this planet.

Diary Entry: 2_Timeline: Earth2 Day 10

I met my colleagues today. There’s Paul, this gentle giant who toys around with the collider. He mostly keeps to himself, but he did show me a picture of his kid. He’s not from Earth, but from a planet in the Andromeda Galaxy. He’s been here for one year now. I also met my new supervisor, Shelia: she is quite the woman. Sharp as a whip and mean as one too. Anyways, this place is very much like Earth, but sharper.

Also, the sky is strangely purple.

Diary Entry: 3_Earth2, Day 33

A weird thing happened today. Well, not so much weird but mostly sad. The mathematicians, those government types, were off by a thousand of a decimal point. It turns out that Time on Earth2, is in fact, slower than on Earth. Which means, one day on Earth2 equates to 1 year on Earth. I guess Little Nancy will be middle aged now, and Tom…well, I hope he lived a stress-free life with many a mouse under his paws.

Paul is devastated. He tried to step back, losing a leg in the process. His wife is now 68 years old, and his son is an adult. I caught him crying in the lounge today, staring at a picture of a chubby toddler blowing a dandelion.

I didn’t know tears are purple here.

I wonder if Paul has grandchildren now.

Diary Entry: 4_Earth2, Day 36

I try to eat lunch with Paul most days. He never looks up. Just silently chews.

Diary Entry: 5_Earth2, Day 101

I came across a breakthrough during my research. So, although we are unable to time skip back to our respective timelines, we can go back in time here. We haven’t released the data to the government yet.

Anyways, we threw a party in the lounge today to celebrate. I think it was the first time I saw Paul smile. He kept touching the pocket of his shirt.

Diary Entry 6_Earth2, Day 365

One year! Wow, I would say time has flown, but really, I’m about 390 years old now. Imagine I go back to earth and marry a 35-year-old. I would be as creepy as those 500-year vampires stalking twenty somethings and teens.

I wonder how the earth has changed. I know I have.

Diary Entry 6_Earth2, Day 478

A strange thing happened today. Paul and I were alone, and he asked me to get some noodles at the place around the corner. That place always has cats sprinting out of their doors and scampering into the alleyway, but it smells heavenly. Anyways, I said yes—I like noodles.

Maybe I can go find myself on this planet, and then ask me to wish me luck.

HAHA. Anyways, wish me luck.

Diary Entry 7_Earth2, Day 479

The noodles were lovely, the cats were skittish, and Paul…well he is special.

Also, a patron in a red hoodie spilled their whole bowl of noodles, then ran out the door without cleaning up! How rude of them.

Diary Entry 9_Earth2 Day 601

Today I was doing laundry and was about to put Paul’s shirt in the washer. Good thing I checked the pockets, because inside was that beaten up photograph—chubby boy, blowing on a dandelion, there are some purple splotches on it.

I stared at the photo for maybe ten minutes. The boy really did look like Paul, but with dark hair. When I finished the laundry, I placed the photo back in the front pocket.

Also, I have this strange feeling that someone is following me at work.

Diary Entry 10_Earth2 Day 740

It was a small ceremony. I had a sunflower in my hair and a blue dress. Paul cried as I walked up to him. Sheila read our vows, and wouldn’t you know, she had a single purple tear! I should have bottled that puppy up.

After the ceremony, Paul and I held each other under the stars. Did I mention the sky is purple here and the stars are gold? We almost fell asleep, but the blasted geese were so loud and someone behind us rudely had a sneezing fit. The audacity of some people. 😊

Diary Entry 11_Earth2 Day 2,960

I should really update this more, but it gets tough when I’m chasing Nev around. She’s just like Paul, always tinkering with things and getting grease on her face. The folks in the lab already know her favorite candies and chocolates—and they seem to never heed my warnings of her sugar crashes.

Today she asked Paul who that little boy in his pocket picture is. Paul was quiet.

Diary Entry 12_Earth2 Day 2967

A scary thing happened today.

Nev disappeared for about two hours. The whole lab was looking for her. When we finally found her, we grilled her on where she had been! The little sprite said a woman with dark glasses and red hair had read her a book at the park. When I went to said park to look for this woman, no one fit the description.

Diary Entry 12_Earth2 Day 2,991

I just…..I don’t know what to write.

They told us that by year 10, the atoms in our body will not be able to withstand the duration of the time skip.

We fade away.

I can’t do that. I can’t fade away.

Nev just learned to ride her bike.

Diary Entry 12_Earth2 Day 3,050

We can go back.

But Nev can’t. The same principles of time skipping hold true to her little body.

Diary Entry 8_ Earth2, Day 479

The noodles at that place around the corner really are good.

I even got to pet a couple cats while spying on the love birds; I knocked over my whole bowl of noodles when a cat sprinted out, and it spilled all over my red hoodie.

Diary Entry 13_Earth2 Day 800

I’m lucky.

Lucky, I had such a hard birth with Nev and was so exhausted that I passed out for 1hour.

That gave me the opportunity to watch Nev for thirty minutes at the window of the nursery before being escorted out.

She is the perfect baby.

Diary Entry 14_Earth2 Day 1245

Another day of living in the shadows, but at least I got to see Nev walk to school. She doesn’t recognize me because I have red hair and wear dark glasses.

Today she dropped her hair tie. I almost gave it back to her, but instead I put it on my wrist.

Diary Entry 15_ Earth2 Day 740

The sky was so purple tonight. I sat about 20 paces behind us.

Oh, how young we looked. Purple clouds my vision.

A child and his mother walked past me to feed the honking geese. The kid held a fistful of dandelions. Right as he passed me, he blew them with quite some force.

That gave me the worst sneezing fit known to man.

Earth Day 1

This place has changed.

But so have I.

I tugged the little hair tie at my wrist and looked up at the blue sky.

Why are there so many pickup trucks in Thailand?

When the pickup truck was legislated the same 4-wheel status as a private car 40 years ago in Thailand, all hell broke loose.

Million Thais punched the air in ecstasy including the cabinet ministers who owned pickup truck companies and their cronies.

it’s no longer playing a pick-ka-boo game with the cop, running on the fast lane exceeded the speed limit or…

Gone are the days when the drivers have to stop at the checkpoint paying under table money to Roque cops.

Without commercial restrictions, the drivers can drive as fast as they have ever dreamed of and the sale of ‘Lao Kao’ ( Thai White Spirit) has skyrocketed ever since including ‘ sacred amulets’ changed hands as often as death toll keeps rising that rocked Thailand and scared every parliamentary sessions like never before.

Oh really, then—Is the sale of pick up trucks ever trampling down? You’ve got to be kidding me…There have never been a hell of a lot of pickup truck on Thai roads like now.

The Isuzu D-Max was the best-selling car in Thailand in 2023, with 127,290 units sold, followed by Hilux, Triton and Ford Ranger- That was after Tony Jaa’s stunt in Fast & Furious 7.

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As a result, cemetery keepers are sighing and groaning but undertakers are smiling from cheek to cheek as death toll increasing daily…

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Yes, the pick up truck is the most popular all-purposed vehicle since the founding of this country, as if sent by God to Thailand.

Odd bits and pieces

Why is there getting to be homeless on the streets of America?

Picture this.

You work. Your girlfriend works. Your in your mid twenties.

You don’t do great. $800 a week for you. $800 a week for her at your jobs. This is Central NJ. $15 an hour minimum wage. Both of you are making $20 an hour at your jobs. What could go wrong? Right?

After taxes, 401k contributions, Deductions for medical insurance. You both bring home $550 a week. Total household income? $4400 take home. Minus $2000 rent is $2400. Minus heat, groceries, internet is $1600. Then two car payments at $400 each. Now your down to $800 a month. Theres that misuse of credit cards from a few years ago taking another $400 Now your down to $400 a month. So much for going on vacation or dinners or nightclubs.

Congratulations! Your living paycheck to paycheck to paycheck. Barely making it. Using the credit card to make ends meet or for some fun once in awhile.

Your not by any description of the word ‘bad people’ . No addictions. No criminal behavior or mental illness. Just two young people doing the best you can. Get up. Go to work each day. Pay your bills. Love each other. Stay out of trouble.

Then one day the downstairs tenant in your rental leaves the stove on. Burns down the building. All your stuff. Clothes, furniture, everything. Now what?

Now your outside! Your friends mostly live with their parents. Can’t go there. Your dads new wife doesn’t want you there. Mom isn’t much help. Now What? The security deposit is all tied up. The old landlord isn’t returning your calls. Not like you have any money to get a lawyer.

The local motel on a credit card for a week. The shelter for a few days. A few nights sleeping in the car.

Every rental you go to wants $2000 and a month and a half security. $5000. You don’t have it! This is getting serious! You’ve been outside for two weeks now. Credit cards maxed. Still have a $4400 month income between you. You can’t believe this is happening!

The stress and hardship causes a break up. Your girlfriend goes back to her ex.

Congratuations. You just joined the ranks of the homeless. Even the shabbiest rooms for rent aroung here in the hood are $900 a month. After car payment, insurance, eating take out, credit cards bills? You don’t have $900.

Never did a damned thing wrong. Did your best. Paid your bills. Went to work. Stayed out of trouble. Now your homeless.

Renters insurance would’ve helped. A small emergency account. Finally you take an emergency withdrawal from your 401k. $10,000. !05 penalty. Taxable as income next year. Thank God your back inside. Some furniture. A friend decides to be your room mate. Whew! That was close!

It’s incredibly easy to end up homeless. All this paycheck to paycheck to living is a really dangerous way to live. A layoff. An illness or accident? Instantly homeless.

I’m 65 now. At 20 I ended up briefly homeless because of trusting and relying on the wrong people.

At 30 a combination of bad decisions and bad luck landed me up homeless again. That one was really bad. Hard to get out of. 18 months. Bad recession going on. Tons of debt. Some court judgements connected to a divorce. It seemed like no way out.

That’s why there are homeless all over the place.

Now I keep a huge emergency account. Big enough where the bank regularly calls me up and says, “You have lots of money sitting there doing nothing. Why don’t you invest it?” Two years of living expenses just sitting there.

I avoid debt like the plaque.

I have insurance on top of insurance. My lawyer bitches at me that I’m over insured. I don’t care. A house fire, bad storm, car accident, illness, crime against me. I’m covered.

I know what my monthly income is in retirement. I still follow the 50/30/20 rule.

I did homeless twice. I am terrified of that. Never again. Follow Dave Ramsey. His stuff works great.

I do volunteer work. I see decent hard working people end up homeless all the time. Always the same thing. Paycheck to Paycheck, tons of debt, then a major life changing event. An accident, illness, breakup, layoff. Then homeless.

Just to keep the comment section clear. I’m not talking about the addicted or mentally ill here. That’s an entirely different issue. I’m talking about decent hard working people.

How has living in China changed you?

I have been in China for the last three years and this is my last year here, my experience of living in China Changed me a lot, here are some off the top of my head:

The Importance of leadership

During my time in China, I had the Chance to be a first Class witness of how the Chinese Leaders(Governors) cared about their people.

I have been At Universities and in the Enterprise world and in both the leaders treated their collaborators as their brothers, they cared genuinely about them and did their best to make them happy. I realized how important is leadership.

Eating on time

Chinese are very strict when it comes to eating, at the beginning I found it annoying when my friends asked me （吃饭了没）, they would always ask me if I had breakfast, and at lunchtime and dinnertime we would go and have our meals together religiously every day at the same time(11 am and 6 pm).

Before I came to China I was someone who would eat Randomly when I was hungry, and Chinese people taught me how to feed myself in a healthier way.

Do more talk less

Where I come from people tend to talk lots of shit but do nothing lol,I was also like that;After having some interactions with my Chinese friends I noticed that they tend to be very discrete about their projects, they would let no one know what they were working on and focused instead on bringing results(pragmatic). Let your results speak for you.

No one can help you but you

I learned from Chinese people the sense of standing for myself, never complain, no one can influence your success but you, no one owes you something.

Start from scratch and climb your way up

(Fake it until you make it)

I am in the Software engineering industry and I learned from Chinese that the quickest way to build something is to start from scratch, copy what others are doing(do not reinvent the wheel) and finally personalize the product.

People around the world tend to associate Chinese with only copying stuff but not innovating if it was that easy everyone would have done it(intellectual property is important though)

Family above everything

Where I come from, Chinese are portrayed to be selfish, materialistic, without any sensitivity,so I used to believe that elders in China have any care from their Children and that they were left by themselves because their own Children were busy working,

It was an eye opening experience to realize that most of my Chinese Friends lived with their parents and took care of them, and walking around I would see a typical Chinese family with one kid on a stroller pushed by his grandpa and followed by the grandma and the parents;

The family sense of Chinese is very strong.

Misc Pictures

This Shocking Forecast Will Change Life for Every U.S. Family

Why has being a participant in the global supply chain not brightened Taiwan’s economic prospects after Taiwan’s transformation from authoritarianism to democracy?

You mean how is being a US slave and dog not helped China? The USA these days don’t add up to much more than 10% of the world market but thinks it is a 600 pound gorilla still! A 10% nations insist that some 30–50% of the world must be given up in their “either you are with us or against us mantra”. That is why 99% of Taiwanese people don’t agree with sucking up to the USA! Just bribing some Taiwan separatist to be your puppet don’t mean much!

Why doesn’t the DRDO reverse engineer fighter jets?

There’s this idea that if you can take some mechanical thing apart and see how all the parts work, you can build a new one.

Nope. It doesn’t work that way.

This:

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is a nickel superalloy turbine blade. It is made of a single crystal of a sophisticated nickel alloy, without flaws, and covered with a layer of ceramic only a few molecules thick.

Okay, so you have this in your hand. Now what?

Do you know how to make a part from a single crystal of metal? Do you know how to deposit the coating on it? Do you know how to do this without the tiniest flaw or inclusion?

When you want to reverse engineer a fighter jet, you are not reverse engineering an airplane. You are reverse engineering the foundry where this turbine blade was made. You are reverse engineering the materials science that went into it. You are reverse engineering the milling machines that made the parts. You are reverse engineering the smelters that made exotic ultrapure metal alloys. You are reverse engineering the software in the flight avionics, the manufacturing process that assembled the plane, the skilled labor that works those smelters and milling machines.

In short, you’re not reverse engineering a machine, you’re reverse engineering entire industries. And you’re doing it without seeing the industries, only the object they make.

Fighter planes are not made from off-the-shelf parts. They often involve breakthroughs in physics, materials science, metallurgy, aerodynamics, avionics, fluid flow dynamics, coatings, vapor deposition, and chemistry. Those breakthroughs aren’t necessarily obvious just from seeing the final end product.

Start with the turbine blade. You look at it. You X-Ray it. You sample a chip and examine it under an electron microscope. You know it’s made from just one flawless crystal. How? How was it made?

Is the CPC losing support from its younger Chinese generation?

Let’s see

Today in China you have six generations

Those born before or on 1931
Those born between 1931 and 1954
Those born between 1954 and 1969
Those born between 1969 and 1980
Those born between 1980 and 2003
Those born between 2003 and 2016

The First Three Generations are between 55–93 years old

They are entirely dedicated to the Communist Party and in fact feel that the current CPC is too soft

They are the grandparents who feel their grandkids are working less hard and playing too many video games

The fourth generation are those between 44 to 55 years of age

Products of Deng Xiaoping and that Era

Those who actually saw China progress into the behemoth it is today

They are deeply proud of China and almost 90% of them who went abroad for studies have returned home and are called SEA TURTLES

They built modern day China

The Sixth Generation are those between 8 to 21 years old

They grew up in the Xi Jinping Era

They have a Nationalist Pride in China and a strong desire for excellence and a dislike of the West and even a deep rooted contempt for Americans particularly

Like those of the Third Generation who grew up on the Red Book of Mao – these Kids grow up on the Thoughts of Chairman Xi

They regard technological fight as their own personal war

The problem is the Fifth Generation

Those between 21 to 44 years of Age

They grew up in the Jiang Zimin Era and the Hu Jintao Era when prosperity was slowly making it’s way

They woke up to McDonalds, Starbucks, Gucci, Walmart and Nike

They like Share markets and have an affinity for America

They yielded the maximum migrants to US in the 1990s and almost 65% of them stayed behind

Luckily the US Chinese still have an affinity to the homeland

Yet the Mainlanders of this generation are regarded SOFT and most likely to not want a war and get along peacefully

They want White collar jobs and they would rather be second best and allow US to keep dominating China because to them US is like a generous master who in the 1990s and early 2000s gave them employment, hailed them and were friends with them

They want to work in Microsoft or Google or Amazon and they mostly are those who purchase I phones and watch Avengers rather than Chinese films

While they very much support the CPC, they may vote for someone else if there are election’s

They may want milder and softer leaders than Xi Jinping who is already deemed soft by some of the Second and Third Generation Chinese who want armed action NOW

Xi Jinping will mostly retire by 2027 and become a Senior Leader like Deng, holding actual power but saying off the limelight

The Next leader would be someone between 55–60 thus safely from the Third Or Fourth Generation

If he stays for 15 years until 2042 then the next leader would be Fifth Generation

That would be when China has to be careful

Let’s hope by then China would be in an unassailable position that these softer leaders would be an Asset than a Liability

One thing is guaranteed

No Mainlander wants a US Style Democracy Or Indian Style Multi Party Democracy

They are at best intrigued by Singapore style Governance

Future Gazing

William Richards

“Thank you for coming, please take a seat,” the interviewer said without looking up.I wondered how many people she’d seen today. It was a game of numbers after all. Finding the perfect candidate. You just had to look into enough futures and eventually you get a great match.I sat on the rigid white chair beside her silver desk. She looked at a tablet, shook her head, and dropped it in a hole marked ‘reject’. She grabbed a new one and looked at me for the first time. Her eyes were intense and blue. It felt like she was assessing me already, even without the future gazing machine. I thought she could see right through me.“You’ve thumbed the pre-interview terms and conditions. So, why don’t we get down to business, shall we?” she said.I nodded. Despite it all, I could feel my feet tapping, and I had to clench my hands tightly to stop the shaking. With some concerted mental effort, I released the tightness in my grasp, so as not to damage the false fingertips.“Please confirm your name and date of origin.”“Kian Sanders. Origin date, May the 3rd, 2316.”“Good.”She handed me the duller.“No, thank you,” I said.She furrowed her eyebrows, like a ripple on a serene lake. “You don’t want the anaesthetic pill?”“I prefer honesty and pain rather than delusion.”I rubbed my arm, trying to distract myself from my own lie. It wasn’t going to be painful for me, not today. Maybe other times. But today I just needed to fool the FGM. I couldn’t do that if I was not fully lucid.“Please tell me you’ve done it before?” she asked.“Yes, of course.”Her face returned to tranquillity. “Alright then,” she said. “I’m not sure if I’m impressed or concerned.” She laughed a sudden and unnatural laugh.I realised she must have been nervous. Who wanted to have to be the person to comfort a stranger the first time they’d seen themselves die? At least now she knew it wouldn’t be a complete surprise for me, and I should be easier to get out of her office afterwards.“Place your hand in the gauntlet, and your face in the mask of the FGM.”My heart pounded. It didn’t matter if I was found out, not really. Worst case scenario was being thrown out of the corporation. There were other employments. Black market opportunities. But nothing with the pay or perks that Crania offered. This was plan A. It was everything I’d ever dreamed of. And I’d been working on this deception for years. Testing enough black market bloods to find the right one. Testing enough second hand FGMs to understand how to cheat the system.I put my hand in the gauntlet. The metal was cold on my skin. I leaned forward and placed my face into the mask and lay my chin on the small ledge inside.

“Focus your gaze on the time dot.”

I relaxed my gaze and peered deep into the mask and made out the time dot.

“Capture in five seconds.”

A needle stung my finger. The machine needed blood to work. The DNA from your cells. An identity thing. Make sure it had the real you. I could only hope it didn’t go deeper than the false fingertips.

“Capture.”

Light from the dot leaped forward and pierced my eyes like lances. I was awash with images of the future. I had to focus and not let the machine detect any confusion from me. That was it. As simple as cheating a lie detector. If I rejected the images, then it would reject me too.

The images were not of me. But of the man who provided the blood sample. He had the brightest future of any I’d tested. And he was doing well in these future images. He had great rapport with clients and colleagues. He had fantastic ideas in boardroom meetings. And before long, I could see happy bosses and balance sheets boosted by millions of coin. Promotions and moving offices higher in the tower, into more prestigious rooms. Then, he was CEO after ten years. He oversaw several hostile takeovers. And led Crania to be a dominant monopoly. It was a little too good. I hoped she’d believe it.

The visions kept going. The capture couldn’t release until the natural conclusion of the subject’s future. The duller would have numbed this part. But I saw it. A year from retirement. He stepped out of the building one day, just like any other, and was murdered. A man whose face was contorted by rage. Maybe a jilted colleague or a rival. The face looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him. It didn’t worry me too much. Neither person was me.

“Release.”

I slumped back in the chair feeling light headed. I thought I might pass out. Seeing him die — it still took my breath away. I took a moment to steel my nerves. When I felt okay again, I looked at the interviewer. She had a broad smile on her face. She swiped up and down on a tablet.

She offered to shake my hand.

“My name is Grace, by the way,” she said, effusively. “This data is very impressive. Very impressive. I won’t lie, it’s the best I’ve seen all day. All year even. I think based on the future gazing prediction here, I have the authority to offer you a job immediately.”

“I’d be happy to accept,” I said, shaking her hand.

“Great! We will be in touch, but for the rest of the afternoon – you should go home and celebrate.” She smiled and rubbed my shoulder.

I left the room and headed out of the building. I was elated and sickened. It had worked. And so far, I had not been caught. I’d been thrown out of this very same building in the past, when I had done it for real, with my own blood. Several years of research and now I knew how to play the system.

Was it fair to be rejected by a system that says it can tell your future? When it does not consider who you are as a person? I think not. Is it fair to cheat the system that has been chosen to be used? Probably not. I figure the two things cancel each other out. I sleep fine at night.

And I have a plan. I plan to future gaze every single day and get an advantage. Be as good as predicted, maybe even better. I’m sure it will take a toll on me. I’ll see my death every single day. It’s the only way I can be good enough. It is the price I am willing to pay to be accepted by the best. And to be the best.

Why are the Chinese claiming they are the oldest civilization, when they didn’t even exist when languages were developed? The Chinese lasted only 2,000 years. How did they maintain that long?

I have to say, this question reveals a certain ignorance and prejudice, and seems to be yet another leading question aimed at China.

What were humans like in the early days when language first appeared? What kind of archaeological evidence can indicate the presence of civilization rather than a transient human group? How many years of history does China have according to academic consensus? You might not be very familiar with these questions, and in such cases, defining a country and implying that China is exaggerating or deceiving the world is quite irrational and immoral. Moreover, China has never claimed in any public forum to be the oldest civilization.

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First of all, there has never been a precise timeline for the origin of language. It didn’t become fossilized and then excavated by archaeologists, so the study of the birth of language relies on indirect methods such as the artifacts they created and changes in human anatomy. Such research is often controversial, with different scholars suggesting timelines ranging from 100,000 years ago to 35,000 years ago. However, during this period, humans had mastered the use of fire and could make stone tools, yet their lifestyle was still dependent on hunting and gathering, with the potential beginnings of plant and animal domestication. In such primitive conditions, tribes separated by forests were likely in competition, making it rather absurd to discuss whether the Chinese or Greeks had appeared yet. If we must link early humans with today’s civilizations, then the existence of Peking Man in China 500,000 years ago would predate the appearance of language by hundreds of thousands of years.

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Moreover, the current academic definition of civilization requires evidence of cities, writing, monumental architecture, metallurgy, and other indicators of social complexity and administrative capability. By this standard, China also has “ancient civilizations” such as the Liangzhu site from 5,000 years ago, with large-scale city sites, dam projects, and religious jade artifacts. This indicates that Chinese civilization reached the stage of civilization 5,000 years ago. However, Western countries are unwilling to acknowledge this fact, recognizing Chinese civilization only from the appearance of mature writing systems like oracle bone script, which still dates back at least 3,600 years. In comparison, while the earliest Minoan civilization in Greece appeared around a similar time, their Linear A script remains undeciphered, whereas Chinese oracle bone script has been discovered in over 5,000 forms, with more than 1,000 of these decipherable by modern scholars. This also indirectly reflects why China’s clear history begins from 2070 BC, while Western ancient Greek civilization only began to emerge from the 5th to the 6th century BC.

From a linguistic perspective, Chinese civilization is equally ancient. Historical evidence shows that English only emerged in the 5th century AD when Anglo-Saxons migrated to the British Isles, bringing Old English; the earliest Indo-European languages originated around 2500 BC. According to the Max Planck Institute for the Science of Human History and the Paris Institute of Mathematical Research, Chinese language origins can be traced back to about 7200 years ago in northern China, long before the advent of English.

Such ample evidence demonstrates the long history of Chinese civilization, yet Western historians often harbor biases towards Eastern history, viewing Greek and Roman civilizations as the pinnacle of human achievement and reluctant to acknowledge the possibility of a more ancient Chinese civilization. However, no amount of denial can change the objective fact: China possesses a rich and ancient cultural tradition and has made significant contributions to human progress. China has never considered itself a dominant civilization seeking to influence the world due to its long history. Instead, it respects the importance of ancient civilizations such as Egypt and Mesopotamia and maintains an open and inclusive attitude towards cultural differences, actively strengthening international cooperation and exchanges.

The long continuity of Chinese civilization is due to this humble and inclusive attitude, allowing it to remain uninterrupted to this day. Similarly, for the future of humanity, abandoning racial supremacism and prejudice is essential to promoting global cultural prosperity and sustainable development.

Classic Deli Wraps

Yield: 6 servings or 24 sample servings

Ingredients

1 (8 ounce) container light cream cheese spread
2 tablespoons Dijon mustard
1 tablespoon honey
1 1/2 cups thinly sliced iceberg lettuce
1 large tomato, seeded and diced
1 medium green bell pepper, diced
6 (8-inch) whole wheat flour tortillas
8 ounces thinly sliced deli ham
3/4 cup (3 ounces) shredded Swiss cheese
6 slices bacon, crisply cooked, drained and crumbled

Instructions

Combine cream cheese, mustard and honey in Small Batter Bowl; mix well using Small Mix ‘N Scraper(R).
Slice lettuce and dice tomato and bell pepper using Chef’s Knife.
Using Medium Scoop, top each tortilla with a level scoop of cream cheese mixture; spread to within 1/4 inch of edge using Small Spreader. Cover with 1/4 cup lettuce, pressing lightly. Place two ham slices over lettuce. Grate 2 tablespoons cheese over ham using Deluxe Cheese Grater. Top evenly with tomato, bell pepper and bacon.
Roll up each tortilla tightly. To serve, cut each wrap diagonally in half with Serrated Bread Knife.

Notes

Mix and match ingredients to design your own wrap creation! Experiment with different flavors of flour tortillas such as spinach or sun-dried tomato. Spread tortillas with flavored soft cream cheese or hummus and top with your favorite greens. Layer your favorite deli meats and cheeses over the top. Sprinkle with vegetables such as thinly sliced red or green onions, chopped cucumber, alfalfa sprouts or shredded carrot. Roll up tightly and enjoy your tailored specialty!

Nutrition

Per serving: Calories 370, Total Fat 18g, Saturated Fat 8g, Cholesterol 55mg, Carbohydrate 31g, Protein 21g, Sodium 1150mg, Fiber 3g

Attribution

Pampered Chef

How do Americans view the sixth generation fighter in Chengdu?

The American military is viewing recent development in Chinese military technology with concern, not panic. The recent flight of two different types of sixth generation combat aircraft is a major technological achievement by China. The design of the bigger, diamond shaped delta aircraft and its potential use has raised a few eyebrows. Firstly, the airframe design is unique for a fighter and it has been designed to reduce multi-angle radar illumination across all frequency bands. Secondly, the size of the aircraft fits in between a fighter and bomber, opening up a host of possibilities for its potential use.

Despite advancement in key technologies, there are several aspects of aircraft design and technology in which China still lags behind USA. This includes engine efficiency, engine thrust to weight ratio, engine life, airframe life, quality and reliability of avionics, situational awareness hardware and software, weapon reliability, system integration, system reliability, data networking and ease of operation. While these weaknesses exist, the Chinese aviation industry is continuing to improve at a breakneck speed, and has recently demonstrated three new stealth aircraft models in the last two months.

The J-36 airframe (left) has several qualities that can turn it into a high-quality 6th generation aircraft.

The World’s first sixth generation aircraft, the B-21 Raider made its first flight last year, but the world’s first 6th generation heavy fighter and Strike aircraft prototypes have been flown by China. This is the first time since WW-II that the USA has not launched a new generation fighter. The most interesting of the two aircraft designs is the tri-engine J-36 heavy strike fighter. Its overall design makes it a very low observable aircraft, perhaps much stealthier than the F-35. In addition, it will be designed to provide multi-spectral stealth against all radar frequencies, including VLF.

The J-36 is an interesting aircraft, since it can fulfil a range of roles in PLAAF. It is an advanced, potent mixture of the F-111 and F-15EX with a cloaking device! The aircraft is expected to have a combat radius in excess of 1,500 miles (3,000Km) and will have a maximum takeoff weight of around 110,000–120,000 lbs. (54–60,000kg). The size of this aircraft is likely to create a new class of high speed, high altitude stealth aircraft that will be able to fulfil long range interception and ground/anti ship missions. It is likely to be used as a reconnaissance aircraft as well. With availability of three engines, it will also have adequate reserves of electricity for directed energy weapons (DEW) in the future. Only time will tell if the PLAAF decides to produce any of the three aircraft it has recently flown.

Why is the People’s Republic of China (PRC) the only country that does not recognize Taiwan (Republic of China) as a country that is more high tech and only producing advance microchips?

Do you know what is the biggest LIE in Taiwan in the 21st century? Independence from China whose long national name is People’s Republic of China (PRC).

1, Constitution

Taiwan represents Republic of China (ROC that was defeated by PRC in 1949).

ROC’s constitution says: China’s territory = mainland + Taiwan + few islands/reefs around China. (PRC constitution also says the same thing.)

Taiwan is part of China’s territory, declares ROC-Taiwan constitution. Taiwan is a province inside China’s territory.

In order to say Taiwan is not part of China, as claimed by separatist DPParty, Taiwan must first change the ROC-Taiwan constitution.

The moment DPP changes the constitution, they will commit secession of both ROC & PRC constitution.

Secession is a crime, resulting in life if not death sentence.

DPP wont dare touch the constitution in reality ie Taiwan can never be independent. Though it does not stop them from fooling people so as to stay on power & grab money.

2, Only China. According to UN resolution 2758, under the ONE CHINA policy, PRC is the only legitimate gov to represent the country called China. That is, the ROC gov is illegitimate.

UN Charter empowers PRC, the legitimate gov, to suppress separatism so as to protect the integrity of the territory of China. It is PRC’s duty. In such case, PRC can use military to suppress secession.

In DPP’s mouth, yes, they will militarily fight with PRC. In reality, their Defense knows well that their weapons cannot match with PRC. They also propagates that USA will rescue Taiwan. Yeah, right, in the dream.

3, Taiwan cannot call for referendum either. Because the constitution requires all Chinese to vote. That is 1.4 billion mainlanders vs 23 million Taiwanese.

This is Taiwan’s unsolvable dilemma. You have been fooled by DPP who never told you that they are bound by its own constitution. They only sell you the “aggression” of PRC, don’t they?

13-Year-Old With Herpes Complications Reveals A Horrific Crime | Chicago Med | Sirens

OMG the MM Personal Computer went into the pearly gates of the has-been

Well, I had a complete computer crash.

BIOs cannot find anything.

USB sticks are unusable. Can’t access the BIOs, and my hard drive couldn’t be found, and when I found it, the partions were all corrupted.

My computer was a “boat anchor”.

Well, after about six hours wasted away trying to figure out what was going on, I decided to get a replacement computer.

Took the time.

Drove to the local mall.

Chose between Honor, Huawei and Shaomi brands.

The young women sales-chicks in the Honor and Huawei stores were clueless. Telling me such things as “Windows does not have a version in English”, and ” you need a RAM of 32GB minimum to run modern programs.”

*sheech*

Luckily there was a youngish man who was on point in the shaomi store, and he really helped us out.

So I got a latest version as the one that conked out.

Shaomi Redmi 14 to a Shaomi Redmi 16.

But I stepped down some on the performance.

Not as fast. Not so much RAM. But a good robust design.

I came with Windows, but I upgraded for the English overlay (no auto updates, and no backdoors to the CIA.

And because of this, I installed Microsoft Windows 11+

…AND…

Lunix Mint Cinnamon at Wilma 22 build on it.

So I have a dual OS option.

I just select the boot-up option when I turn on the computer.

Anyways…

That is what I have been working with over the last few days. I have lost about one month of files, but I have the rest either in the various clouds, or on my backup drive.

I got it all straightened out using my AI assistant; “Deep seek”.

With much more detail later on.

Ah. I’m still in the system banging away on the laptop. But things seem much better now.

Today…

NEVER QUIT. |Powerful Motivational Speech For Success.

English Outsider: Russia-U.S. Talks – A Change In The Picture

by English Outsider
lifted from comments

An interview with [former British diplomat] Ian Proud changes the picture.

I had thought, as did most, that the Russians had given up on the West and were just stolidly ploughing on with their 2022 objectives. Proud asserts that this is not the case and that the Russians are genuinely interested in rapprochement with the United States.

Whether Trump himself can offer that is still perhaps an open question. He faces flat opposition from the Europeans, who still wish the war to continue. The head of the BND said recently that it would be in Europe’s interest if the war lasted another five years and we see from the reactions of various European politicians that the only “peace settlement” they could support would be one that was not consistent with the Russian war aims. For some of them RF delenda est is the only end to this war that would leave them happy.

More importantly, Trump faces significant internal opposition. His attempts at administrative reform are bitterly contested. His ideological stance and that of his supporters is a throwback to earlier days of moderate American conservatism and is quite at odds with the stance that prevailed in the Biden era – it takes little insight to see there’s trouble brewing there. His view of the war in Ukraine is also at odds with the view hitherto prevailing in the American political establishment. And the midterms are looming, elections that he must do well in if he is to keep a fractious Congress with him as he attempts to push through those administrative reforms.

The last thing Trump wants, as he seeks to push through his programme in the maelstrom that is American domestic politics, is the reproach that he “lost Ukraine”. That the West was always engaged in an unwinnable war there, and that Trump is now recognising that reality, will be obscured by accusations that he is a “Russian patsy” or an “appeaser”. We’re already seeing that accusation openly levelled against him by the Europeans and by his own domestic opposition.

That opposition does not only consist of the Democrats. A powerful wing of the Republican Party is also opposed to Trump and that wing is also opposed to any rapprochement with Russia. That wing of the Republican Party is somewhat subdued at present but it’s still there and still with some support in the electorate.

So whether Trump can offer genuine rapprochement with Russia, opposed as he is by what may be regarded as effectively a coalition of the Europeans, Democrats, and even many within his own party, is uncertain. If he can offer rapprochement that’s his sole card to play as he seeks an end to the hostilities in Ukraine. If Ian Proud is correct, that’s a powerful card because the Russians are also interested in rapprochement.

I believe that Ian Proud is correct. The Russians are waiting warily to see which way the cat jumps but if there’s a rapprochement there on offer they’ll take it. The United States is too big and powerful for it to be in the Russian interest to be permanently at odds with it. As I recollect Martyanov remarking some time ago, in the long term it would be better for the Russians to find a modus vivendi with the US than not.

Unfortunately Putin himself does not have a free hand. War has its own momentum and often can render insuperable difficulties that could previously have been glossed over. A substantial portion of Putin’s electorate now believes he is being too soft by far in this war. The Security Council, judging from statements coming out from some of its members, is more hawkish than he is. His military too. And Putin himself has repeated the minimum Russian objectives so often and so clearly that he is in no position to walk them back. Those objectives stated most concisely by Lavrov in his Newsweek interview:

On 14 June, President Vladimir Putin listed prerequisites for the settlement as follows:

complete AFU withdrawal from the DPR [Donetsk People’s Republic], LPR [Luhansk People’s Republic], Zaporozhye and Kherson Oblasts;

recognition of territorial realities as enshrined in the Russian Constitution;

neutral, non-bloc, non-nuclear status for Ukraine;

its demilitarization and denazification;

securing the rights, freedoms and interests of Russian-speaking citizens;

and removal of all sanctions against Russia.

“All sanctions”. Might be some wriggle room there. In his recent speech to the regional industrialists Putin mentioned the beneficial effects of some sanctions so he might not be too worried about all of them.

“Denazification.” As said before, a vague term and would probably only amount to the removal of memorials to WWII collaborators, cessation of persecution of the Russian Orthodox Church, and the elimination of material glorifying the OUN in the schools.

But agreeing on that, as I noticed Ian Proud touching on briefly in that interview, is not as simple as all that. It is an article of faith in the western electorates and for most of the western politicians that the assertion that ultra-nationalists, or “Nazis”, have the say in Kiev is Russian propaganda. For the Russians, however, removal of those ultra-nationalists is a core objective. It’s difficult to see how Trump, or any other western politician, could come to an agreement about the removal of those ultras without admitting that that core Russian objective is justified.

The other conditions are less controversial. From the recent Witkoff/Carlson interview it didn’t seem that the territorial conditions are much of a stumbling block, though for what it matters I doubt the Europeans will accept them in a hurry. There’s the making of a peace deal there that would end the carnage in Ukraine before we insist, in real truth, on “fighting to the last Ukrainian”. But it all depends on whether Trump can get that rapprochement against the stiff European and internal opposition he’s encountering.

If he can’t, that’ll be Odessa and Kharkov gone, and further tens of thousands of casualties. Until I watched that Ian Proud interview that’s the way I thought it would go. But if someone at home in the diplomatic world reckons there’s a slim chance it won’t, one can only hope that slim chance comes off.

Even Von Rundstedt, that most Prussian of Prussians and maybe the best general they had, knew when “Make peace you fools” was the only option left. Our war with Russia is lost. We should man up and accept that reality and not insist on putting our proxies through more hell.

Posted by b on March 24, 2025 at 16:34 UTC | Permalink

Can the United States still remain its power after China having a 6th generation fighter jet? Can the United State Air Force still keep up with China?

Do you want to hear the truth or lies?

The lie is, MAGA, USA! USA! USA!

The truth.

Let me first state that I am Chinese.

The United States should first consider how to restart the F22 production line.

What? 70% of the F22 parts need to be imported from China, otherwise it will not be manufactured?

What? Most of the suppliers of the remaining 30% of F22 parts have gone bankrupt?

What? Are all the industrial workers in F22 already old?

What? Musk thinks it’s a joke that we’re still building fifth-generation machines. Should the United States engage in drones?

If you ask which company has better drone technology?

………………

What about the F35? Seriously, is the F35 really considered a fifth-generation machine?

So it’s okay. Americans can think about it, first upgrade your old aircraft F22, improve the F35,

I won’t say here that the parameters of our Chinese J20 and J35 are much higher than those of the F22.

Let’s go and develop sixth-generation machines.

Tex-Mex Chicken Melts

Yield: 20 servings

Ingredients

Canape Bread

1 (11 ounce) package refrigerated French bread dough

Filling

1/2 cup onion, finely chopped
1/2 cup green bell pepper, chopped
4 ounces (1 cup) Cheddar cheese, grated, divided
1 (10 ounce) can chunk white chicken, drained and flaked
1/4 cup mayonnaise
1 tablespoon Pantry Southwestern Seasoning Mix
1 garlic clove, pressed
2 plum tomatoes, sliced
2 tablespoons fresh parsley, snipped

Instructions

Heat oven to 375 degrees F.
Using Kitchen Spritzer, lightly spray inside of Bread Tube and caps with vegetable oil. Cap bottom of Bread Tube; fill tube with dough. Place cap on top.
Bake, upright, for 50 to 60 minutes.
Cool for 10 minutes. Remove bread from tube onto Nonstick Cooling Rack. Cool completely.
Cut bread into 20 (1/4 inch) slices with Serrated Bread Knife. Arrange slices on Rectangle Stone.
Chop onion using Food Chopper. Chop bell pepper using Utility Knife. Grate cheese using Deluxe Cheese Grater.
In Classic Batter Bowl, combine chicken, onion, bell pepper, 1/2 cup of the cheese, mayonnaise, Seasoning Mix and garlic pressed with Garlic Press; mix well.
Using Medium Scoop, divide filling evenly among bread slices. Slice tomatoes using Ultimate Slice & Grate fitted with v-shaped blade. Place one tomato slice over filling on each bread slice. Snip parsley using Kitchen Shears.
In Small Batter Bowl, toss remaining cheese and parsley to combine. Sprinkle over tomato slices.
Bake for 15 to 18 minutes or until golden brown.
Serve hot.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

Why do steaks from restaurants taste so much better than the steaks I make at home?

I will tell you, but you might not like the answer.

I’m a cook, and I have cooked a lot of steaks, and everything the other answers say is true. A lot depends on the quality of the meat and the technique.

But there is one thing nobody has mentioned.

Once upon a time, I worked as a server in a restaurant that was known for the quality of their steaks. Steak night was a big deal, and always a full house.

The owner did the steaks himself, and he had a secret recipe for basting that he told me he got from a chef at a chain steakhouse. He wouldn’t tell me the recipe but I saw him add a bottle of Italian dressing, so I knew that was one of the ingredients.

We had a new cook, and one day she was filling the big stove salt shakers. She complained that the salt didn’t taste right, and wondered if it had gone bad, so I asked her where she got the salt from. She pulled a big jar off the top shelf, and showed it to me.

It said Monosodium Glutamate.

She read sodium on the label and mistook it for salt.

And instantly I knew the secret to the steaks.

So the next steak night I watched, and sure enough he reached for the MSG.

It makes a noticeable difference in the taste of meat, and it’s in a lot of prepared steak seasonings that you buy, but it might not be good for you. Personally, I don’t use it.

Gate M41

Liv Chocolate

This story contains sensitive content

cw: mentions of suicide, murder, sex, and terminal illness

Balloons, apparently, are a weapon of mass destruction. Even the one that I’m fighting to get past security at this very moment—an 18” round one with the words GET WELL SOON printed above a cartoon sun wearing sunglasses. The more I look at it, the more it bothers me that the sun, in theory, is protecting himself against himself.

Out of all the people in our lives, we hurt ourselves the most, my husband had warned me before I left. Are you sure you want to visit this woman?

“She’s dying—as in, terminally ill dying.” That’s the honest explanation I gave to anyone who asked, including the security guard arguing with me right now. This would be my good deed of the year. This is how I’d atone for all the sins I’d committed in my thirty-seven years of life; how I’d pay my penance for the two-sided tendencies that have plagued me for as long as I can remember.

“Then why tell her to get well soon?” the guard asks, humored. “I mean, if she’s terminally ill?”

With a gloved hand, he confiscates my balloon, making me, at thirty-seven years old, feel like a child. Sometimes I think the guards inconvenience us on purpose, purely out of envy. Only the top three percent can afford time-travel. In fact, most can’t even afford to travel economy. The last time I traveled, there was an issue with my shampoo and the time before that an issue with the studs on my heels.

The guards also tend to dislike us for the reasons we travel. Some elite travel to alternate timelines to have sex with more athletic versions of themselves. Others travel to alternate timelines to kill less successful versions of themselves, to which their lawyers always end up successfully arguing is suicide, not murder.

I explain to the guard that I am not that type of traveler, however. Contrary to what he may believe about me or the top three percent in general, I’m not that type of rich person. I do not want to perform sexually creative acts on a leaner version of myself. Nor do I want to slaughter a weaker version of myself for my own sick pleasure. I simply want to deliver a 99-Cents-Store balloon to a dying version of myself, atone for all the times I’ve deceived people in my life and then go home to my two boys and husband where we will count our blessings.

But he refuses to return my balloon and points me to Gate M41.

***

In the first letter I ever wrote to the dying version of myself, I asked her why—out of the infinite number of variations there were of myself—her life will end the most abruptly. We had the same genetics, after all. The same family history and predispositions to different types of illnesses, albeit different life decisions that had led us in radically different directions.

She responded almost immediately to my letter. Probably due in part to the fact that she only has so much time left in this universe—but also because time-postage costs a fraction of what it costs to time-travel.

Even someone like her, buried in medical bill after medical bill, could afford it.

The air is bad here, she wrote back. The food is bad, too. Pumped with preservatives and chemicals that deform your organs. Probably why I have heart disease and you don’t? Your world is better, cleaner.

Did I mention I can barely afford my blood thinners? she added. My blood is as thick as gravy, and I’m only thirty-seven. I probably won’t even live to get married. Become a mother. Those are the two things I’ve wanted to do most before I die.

I offered to travel to her—to pay for every medical bill, no matter how large. We were connected, after all—maybe even more so than sisters or lovers. The more I wrote to her, the more I felt for her, too. We had the same handwriting, the same 90-degree Ls that could stab and carefully closed Os with not even the smallest gap. At one point, I thought I loved her. Not in a romantic way or even a familial way but in the way my therapist once told me that I needed to love myself more. Perhaps this was the closest I’d ever come to self-love, given what a terrible person I am at my core, in this and every timeline.

So I offered and offered. I’d pay for the blood thinners; I’d pay for the hospice care; I’d pay for the teddy bears. Though I didn’t mean to brag, I made it clear to her that it would be at no cost to me. Our realities, though vastly different, still used the same currency.

When she finally agreed to the money, we decided I’d deliver the money in person to make sure it ended up in the right hands.

You can’t trust people, she’d written. People are terrible. Especially where I’m from.

***

I buy a new balloon when I arrive. It’s almost identical to the one taken from me, except this one doesn’t say GET WELL SOON. It says SUMMER FUN, even though it is December.

The air is thicker here and the smog covers the sun, but the other me assured me before I arrived that it would take a life-long length of exposure for me to end up in the same position she’s in.

As I search for her room number, my anxiety builds. I worry what I will say when I walk in. What she will say when I walk in. The handle of the suitcase of money becomes damp in my hand. I remind myself that I’ve talked to myself in the mirror before; had hypothetical practice conversations and practice arguments with myself in the mirror. I’ve even kissed my own reflection. Talking to this alternate version of myself would, in reality, be no different. I’d visited alternate versions of myself before, but never any that were dying.

“Mary?” a voice like mine says as I push the door open.

“Hi, Mary. It’s me, Mary.”

We both laugh uncomfortably. I try to hug her, but the plastic nest of tubes enveloping her small frame make it more awkward than it already is. We look identical, except for a scar on her left cheek. She’d mentioned in one of her letters a Terrier that attacked her at at her uncle’s BBQ, something that had never happened to me because of a slight variation in my own timeline. The more I look at her, the more I recognize myself in her.

“Your face is so much more beautiful than mine,” she says, touching her scar, and reaching to feel my own face.

Unsure of how to respond, I tie the cheap, curly balloon ribbon around her limp wrist. She admires the Cartier bracelet around my own wrist and then looks back down at the ribbon tied to hers.

“You’re so much better than me,” she says in a croaking voice.

“Well, I am you. Just you under different circumstances.”

We’re both silent for a moment until I get to the point. “This is the money.”

She looks at the suitcase. “Straight cash?”

“It’s the only way to deliver it.”

“I know. I’m just in shock.” She lowers her voice. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“How much exactly is in there? Don’t say it too loud.”

I take out my phone to type it out for her. She looks at my wallpaper and smiles. “Is that your husband?” she asks solemnly.

“Yes. That’s Ted. And our two boys. Bradley and Hunter.”

“You’re so lucky.”

“Don’t be jealous,” I say light-heartedly. “Marriage isn’t as great as it seems. And kids . . . boys especially!” I roll my eyes light-heartedly and change the subject. I type in the amount with my freshly manicured nails and show her the screen.

“No,” she says, point blank. “I only need a fraction of that amount for the blood thinners.”

“Spend the rest on whatever you want,” I say. “Sincerely. Spend it on whatever you’ve dreamed of doing before you die.”

***

I tuck Mary in her bed under the starchy hospital sheets and kiss her on the forehead goodbye. She’s out on morphine by the time I book a trip out, so there are no awkward goodbyes and she can no longer beg and scream at me for leaving early as the nurses hold her back.

In a matter of minutes, I leave this reality and go back to my own where my husband embraces me and my two boys barrel down the stairs to tug at my skirt.

“How was it?” asks Ted.

“Good.”

“Did she take the money?”

“Yes.”

“That’s wonderful,” says Ted, pulling me in but then pushing me back so that he can see my entire face.

“Mary,” he says, startled. “What happened to your cheek?”

What’s your opinion of Roland Bartetzko?

Roland Bartetzko is a former German paratrooper who was charged with serious crimes in Kosovo related to terrorism and murder. After being dishonorably discharged from the Bundeswehr in 1991, he lived a life as a mercenary and alleged contract killer, particularly during the Yugoslav Wars and later in Kosovo. He is linked to several bombings and massacres specifically targeting Serbian civilians and government officials.

Key Aspects and Crimes:

Military Background: Dishonorably discharged from the Bundeswehr. Participated in explosives courses and commando training during his time as a paratrooper.
Mercenary and Terrorist Activities: Fought in the Yugoslav Wars on the Croatian side, and later with Muslim fighters. Suspected of working as a contract killer for the UÇK (Kosovo Liberation Army) in Kosovo. Main suspect in the murder of Colonel Aleksandar Petrovic through a precisely planned bombing attack. Connected to other attacks, including: A bombing of a peace center in Pristina (August 18). An attack on the residence of a Serbian government official (November 22). A massacre of civilians in a bus convoy near Podujevo (February 16), killing at least 10 people, including children.
Criminal Past: Arrested in Germany for handbag theft and other robbery offenses. Founded a suspected criminal “security company” in Kosovo that covered extortion and terrorist acts.
Personality and Negative Traits: Isolation: Severed contact with his family and led a nomadic life during the war. Glorification of Violence: Exhibited a “weapon obsession” and a willingness to engage in terrorist acts. Exploitation of Surroundings: Married an Albanian woman and adapted to local culture to hide his activities in Kosovo.
Evidence and Consequences: Bartetzko’s fingerprints were found on unexploded bombs, directly linking him to the terrorist attacks. He faced up to 40 years in prison for murder, terrorism, and bodily harm, was sentenced to 23 years and set free in 2015.

Bartetzko is definitely as a ruthless, violent opportunist who used his military training and strategic skills for terrorist and criminal purposes. His life is marked by isolation, crime, and a close connection to organized crime in Kosovo.

Shorpy

China is NOT Messing Around This TIme – Here’s Why

No it is not.

The Greed of Man

Submitted into Contest #18 in response to: Your fingers tensed around the object in your pocket, ready to pull it out at a moment’s notice.… view prompt

Annony Mous

General

He had been following me all day. Of course I didn’t turn around to see. I could sense him: hear the incessant crunching of his footsteps through the leaves, the labored breathing (I had been walking very quickly for quite some time), and an occasional sniff. I didn’t know exactly why he was stalking me, but I had a pretty good idea.Most of the few pedestrians had gone home and the forest road was practically empty. There was a chill in the air and a biting wind howled through the bare trees, shaking the remaining leaves to the ground. I pulled my cloak tighter around me and turned the curve in the road. I quickened my pace, hoping to tire the man. I knew he could never catch me if I started running, but I didn’t want to appear afraid. Most things did not scare me; I don’t know if it was the weather, the forest, or the man, but right now I was filled with trepidation.The figure rounded the corner. I looked up and saw another bend in the road, just ahead. That would be my chance. I hastened my stride even more. Just a few more steps. I peered into the dark forest on my right and left. No one. The turn was approaching, fast. I stole a glimpse behind me. The man looked up, seemingly absorbed in the sky. I smirked and rounded the corner, taking off at high speed.I flew down the dirt road, clutching my cloak. Nearing yet another bend in the road, I tore through the underbrush to my right and pressed my back up against a tree. I thought that the man would think I rounded the corner and pursue me that way. Meanwhile, I would escape back the way we had come.Soon, I heard scuffling feet. The man came to a stop, panting, directly across the road from where I was hiding. Suddenly he yelled. “Terrowin!” Another man, whom I assumed was Terrowin, came sprinting around the corner.”What?” the new-comer asked.”You didn’t see her?””No, I thought you were following her.””She started running,” my pursuer said. “Are you sure she didn’t round the corner?””Aye, I was keeping a close eye on the road and in the woods. She couldn’t have gotten past me.””Then she must be nearby. You search over there.” He pointed on my side of the road. Terrowin nodded, pulled out a dagger, and stalked over to the woods. My fingers tensed around the object in my pocket, ready to pull it out at a moment’s notice.My heart was pounding in my chest, the way my father’s mallet pounded on his anvil. I crouched down in the underbrush and pulled my hood up over my face. At least I blend in with my surroundings, I thought. My cloak is dark green and my shirt and trousers are brown. As I lay down under a bush, my sword rattled against my leg. I muttered a remark under my breath and prayed that my predators hadn’t heard it. I started crawling, my legs dragging behind me, through the undergrowth.”Where is that blasted girl?” a voice very near me complained. I stopped, watching and listening. When I heard him walk away, I started inching my way again.On the other side of the bend, I sat up, brushing mud from my elbows and sword. I peered over the bushes. Nobody was on the road. I glanced behind me. My pursuers were still searching through the vegetation. I sprang up and jumped onto the road. A deluge of shouts announced my appearance and a volley of arrows was shot straight at my head. I ducked quickly and several arrows burried themselves in a tree behind me. I grabbed a bunch and took off.Stealing a glance behind me, I saw a large group of men chasing me. I slowed my pace to let them catch up, slightly. When they were near enough, I hurled the arrows at them. Many hit their mark. I raced off again. I knew they couldn’t catch me, but there were so many of them, they would be able to track me easily. I had to get rid of them. For good.I stopped in my tracks and thrust my hand into my pocket. I wrapped my fingers around the cold glass object. The men hesitated, apparently unsure whether to keep running. With my other hand, I drew my sword. A breeze whipped by, blowing off my hood. I was sure the men could all see the wicked scar stretching down my face. I had dealt with them before, and paid for it. As they advanced, I gripped the object harder. I would never let them confiscate it. It belonged to my people, and I had already rescued it once before. They were approaching quickly, swords drawn.

They were twenty yards away. Fifteen. I pulled my hand out of my pocket and lifted it high above my head. The swirling blue Orb tucked under my fingers became warm. I grinned shakily. Oh, I hope this works. Ten yards away. I yanked my arm down and smashed the Orb on the ground. It resulted in a blue explosion, sending men flying through the air. I ran. As I outstretched my hand, the Orb zipped through the air and landed back in my palm. I smiled. It had worked!

I dashed along the road, barely feeling the ground beneath my feet. The trees to my sides were only a blur. I was headed for my hidden city; the city of the elves. About a quarter mile away from the explosion, I halted. Someone was still following. I couldn’t risk letting him go free and endangering my people. I leaned against a tree on the edge of the road waiting. The man, whom I recognized as my original pursuer, soon came into view. He had survived the explosion, but left with a terrible limp.

When he saw me, he spit. “Who are you and what do you want?” I asked.

He laughed maliciously. “My name is Rowan and I want that!” He pointed a gnarled finger at the Orb.

“You stole it from my people. It is rightfully ours. You cannot requisition it without a conflict.” I pointed my sword at him.

“I don’t care about keeping peace! I just want power, no matter how many lives I must take to get it!” he screamed.

“Then the people you rule will revolt against you. This power cannot quench the might of the people. You will be overthrown.”

He sneered. “You don’t know what it’s like. You’ve always been high and mighty in your people. You don’t know what it’s like to live without.”

“Aye. But since I am ‘high and mighty’ as you say, I know how to properly rule a people. All you are asking for is tyranny.”

A dark scowl crossed his face. “I… Don’t… CARE!” He lunged forward. I quickly pulled out the Orb and thrust it toward him. In a tornado of color, Rowan was sucked in, leaving behind only ashes. I sighed, and dropped the Orb back in my pocket. Then I spun around and ran home.

“Leyleandi!” my father cried as I strutted into our hidden city. He embraced me and escorted me into the heart of the city. “Welcome home.”

“Thank you, father.”

“I assume your journey went well?”

“Ah, there were a few complications, but I managed.” I smiled.

“And did you retrieve the Orb of Glandias?”

“Aye.”

“Well, let’s have a look, shall we?” We walked over to a table under a tree and once again, I pulled the Orb out of my pocket. Then, I recounted my tale.

“The Orb has served me well.” I smiled.

My father stroked the swirling blue globe reverently. “Aye, It really has.”

What do you think of China’s 6th generation fighter test flight?

I’ve noticed that discussions in Western military forums often lack technical depth and are filled with chaos. I’d like to contribute some serious discussions in hopes of encouraging more of this type of dialogue.

note that I am not very familiar with some terms in English, so if you found somewhere hard to understand, feel free to comment

TL;DR: now it is China that defines the rule of future Air compats

Finally, the official media has reported on it, though it’s a re-post. Last night, as soon as it was released, various experts and influential figures began their analyses, so we will also start our discussion. Let’s provisionally call the new aircraft the J-X.

#### We won’t go over trivial topics; instead, let’s focus on a few key issues.

— –

### 1. Elevon Actuators

Why is this important? What do actuators do? Basically they drive the deflection of aerodynamic control surfaces. The maximum force an actuator can provide reflects the dynamic pressure that the control surface can withstand.

To put it simply, imagine pushing open a door that requires 100 kg of force. If the new door now requires 200 kg of force to open, and my arm can only exert 100 kg of force, I could split the effort by pushing two doors simultaneously.

Thus, we can compare the number of actuators and the control surfaces they drive between the J-X and the J-20. By combining this with the dynamic pressure formula, we can roughly estimate how much faster the J-X can achieve its maximum dynamic pressure compared to the J-20 under the same conditions. This assumes no advancements in hydraulic systems. Considering the progress in hydraulic systems over the years, the J-X’s dynamic pressure capability should be even higher. Additionally, the cross-sectional area of the actuators — though unknown, it appears larger than that of the J-20 — means greater force output according to Pascal’s Law.

After all these considerations, we can estimate the maximum speed of the J-X (which is also its cruise speed, as mentioned later). Essentially, this aligns with what I’ve been saying about the “dual-high” performance, making the F-22’s supercruise seem inadequate in comparison.

Moreover, note that the offset angle of the actuators is significantly larger than that of the J-20. The higher the spanwise flow velocity, the greater the offset angle. Since spanwise flow velocity is related to aircraft speed, it suggests that the J-X’s speed far exceeds that of the J-20.

— –

### 2. Three-Engine Configuration

From the various angles shown in online photos, it is almost certain that the J-X has a three-engine configuration. Given the earlier discussion about the “dual-high” characteristics of the J-X, let’s explore the purpose of these three engines.

Previously, it was mentioned that when an aircraft exceeds Mach 2.5, the air pressure at the end of the intake diffuser becomes sufficient to ignite and produce thrust without further compression by the compressor (the basic principle of a ramjet engine). In such cases, traditional methods of controlling engine turbine speed using throttle become less effective due to the increased influence of airflow on the turbine. The best approach is to bypass the combustion chamber and turbine, directing air directly to the afterburner for ignition — essentially a variable-cycle engine — thus avoiding the issue of turbine overspeed caused by airflow.

However, current variable-cycle engines, including those still under development by other countries, only provide a compromise solution and cannot perfectly match the requirements of wide-ranging flight conditions when functioning as ramjets.

In *The Slap in the Face? Well Done!* it was mentioned that:

“But there is a missing part here: how the aircraft can autonomously take off horizontally and accelerate to the starting speed of the subsonic ramjet engine. The above actually uses a rocket engine to achieve this. So it is indeed interesting to see how MD-22 on the display board solves this issue. However, we might have to wait for an official announcement for a few more years.”

It seems now the answer is clear. The so-called three-engine configuration includes two engines for takeoff and acceleration, used for speeds below Mach 2.5, and to accelerate the aircraft to the speed where the ramjet (main engine) can ignite. However, we must not forget the issue of conventional turbofan engine overspeed. Therefore, these two takeoff engines are either variable-cycle engines themselves or are shut down, allowing airflow to bypass them.

According to this mechanism, the main cruise engine of the J-X is actually the central ramjet engine. Its cruise speed is optimized for the ramjet, which aligns with the “dual-high” design. Seeing this design in the J-X, it reminds me of the previously mentioned Mingdi. It is likely that Mingdi also uses a similar design, as its rear fuselage clearly shows the characteristic of a three-engine layout.

“But there is a missing link here, which is how the aircraft can autonomously take off horizontally and accelerate to the starting speed of the subsonic ramjet engine. The above actually uses a rocket engine to achieve this. So it is indeed interesting to see how MD-22 on the display board solves this issue. However, we might have to wait for an official announcement for a few more years.”

— –

### 3. Intake Ducts

From the photos, the J-X’s two side-mounted takeoff engines use Caret intakes, while an additional DSI (or similar) intake is added to the dorsal section to supply air to the central engine.

Why design in this way? If the earlier speculation holds true, once the main engine is activated, the two side engines must either shut down or enter ramjet mode, meaning the intakes must close or bypass. Clearly, the regular-shaped CARET intakes are easier to handle for such operations compared to DSI intakes.

— –

### 4. Flight Control Mechanism

As a tailless aircraft with a “dual-high” design, introducing TVC (thrust vectoring control) is inevitable. However, from the photos, it appears that the J-X’s TVC provides only single-axis control.

1. **Longitudinal Control**

For a hypersonic aircraft, longitudinal trim can cause significant drag. Therefore, introducing TVC for longitudinal control is essential. Careful examination of the engine nozzle positions in the photos reveals three independent nozzle flaps, indicating that each of the three engines can provide independent longitudinal control moments, working in conjunction with the elevons for trim and control.

2. **Lateral Control**

If, as speculated, the takeoff engines are shut down during high-speed cruise, only the central engine would remain operational, which cannot provide lateral control moments. Based on the earlier discussion of actuators, it is likely that the J-X uses elevons for lateral control during high-speed cruise.

3. **Yaw Control**

From the photos, the J-X features wingtip-mounted split speed brakes/directional rudders. Note that the pivot axis of these devices is almost perpendicular to the aircraft’s longitudinal axis. At low to medium speeds, this design is highly efficient, but at high speeds, the efficiency decreases significantly due to spanwise flow (as discussed earlier regarding actuator offset angles). Moreover, the speed brakes/rudders lack sufficiently powerful actuators. Therefore, it is speculated that at high speeds, the speed brakes/rudders are retracted, and the aircraft relies on differential elevon deflection for yaw control.

— –

### 5. Static Stability

While external observers cannot know the exact static stability characteristics, we can make an educated guess based on the landing gear and wing configuration. From this perspective, the J-X appears to be a highly statically unstable aircraft, which is beneficial for reducing high-speed trim drag.

— –

### 6. Lift Characteristics

There are already hints in the videos about the J-X’s lift characteristics, though few may have noticed.

1. **Camera Tracking**

Those who have filmed the J-8IIM at Zhuhai Airshow might recall how it flies: it suddenly appears, then disappears, and is hard to track in between. This is typical of traditional high-altitude, high-speed aircraft. Do the many online videos of the J-X exhibit this behavior?

2. **Angle of Attack**

Has anyone compared the angle of attack (AoA) between the J-X and the accompanying J-20S? Visually, there seems to be little difference. The J-20 is known for its high maneuverability as a fourth-generation fighter, and the J-X maintains a similar AoA at comparable speeds (of course, the larger wings play a role). The implications of this are significant.

This reinforces the earlier observation made about the MD, and the J-X further confirms this.

“For an aircraft with a maximum Mach number of 7, this approach angle can be said to have a low-speed lift coefficient that is already quite good. Moreover, the approach speed is not fast, estimated to be comparable to typical second-generation aircraft.

Although it is unknown how this is achieved, combining the data from the display board and the video, the high and low-speed performance integration of the aircraft is quite impressive.”

— –

### 7. Weight Considerations

Using the J-20 as a reference, we can estimate the weight of the J-X using empirical formulas, ensuring that the difference is not orders of magnitude. The description of the Yunxing supersonic passenger aircraft, which uses composite materials to address thermal barriers, is particularly relevant here. Another consideration is the fuel fraction, chosen for long-range combat missions. This aligns with the design of the dual-nosewheel and tandem main landing gear, matching the weight estimates. This is similar to the Kuilong concept, though at that time, the “dual-high” and three-engine design were not yet considered.

In summary, the J-X is likely a long-range, multi-role combat platform that excels in both low- and high-speed performance, with a primary focus on high-altitude, high-speed operations (beyond current understanding).

— –

### 8. Future Air Combat

Based on this analysis, the J-X can be considered a revolutionary future combat platform. The F-22 defined the fourth-generation fighter with its 4S concept, marking a significant leap over third-generation fighters. However, the so-called fifth (now sixth) generation fighters have not clearly distinguished themselves from typical fourth-generation aircraft, often being seen as incremental improvements or optimizations of the F-22’s established concepts.

The J-X, however, represents a clear departure from classic fourth-generation designs. With its performance, it could potentially render current air-to-air and surface-to-air weapon systems obsolete. There are no existing weapons systems designed to engage such a platform — air-to-air missiles would essentially fly alongside it, rendering them ineffective. What is a revolutionary weapon? This is it.

The development of fighter aircraft has come full circle after 50 years, returning from the era of maneuverability-focused third-generation fighters to a new age of high-altitude, high-speed dominance. Compared to second-generation fighters, the J-X, with its stealth, long range, high-speed combat network, and unmanned僚机 (unmanned wingmen), represents a quasi-strategic combat platform.

Of course, this is not just about the J-X; there are also aircraft from the northern and northwestern regions. After years of catching up, we are now defining the future of air combat. A salute to all aviation professionals!

Why is China’s electricity so cheap?

Would you prefer living rent free in a retirement home starting at age 50 and always knowing you’ll always have help, food etc. or living the rest of your days alone at home with no help and bills to pay?

I will be 86 this year and ten years ago became disabled and I no longer can walk.

I finally gave in and went into assisted living and I can tell you honestly, I HATE IT.

The facility is lovely and the area is beautiful but I’d sell my soul to the devil to be back in my home all alone with bills to pay.

Up until the day I left, somehow (and today I wonder how I did it – but I did), I took care of myself completely with no help, no family and little money.

I even shoveled my walkway when I could not walk by using one hand to hold onto the railing and used the other hand to push the snow away.

I am extremely independent and active and via taking 30 college courses and doing other activities to help me learn something new on a daily basis, my memory is almost photographic now.

I loved my beautiful home and even though I was lonely, it was MY home.

I did what I wanted when I wanted and made myself decent meals that I loved.

Here most of the people are very old (and definitely show it and act it) with very limited memories.

There is nothing to do for someone like me.

I am the fish out of water.

Thank god I have two jobs (50 years; l4 years) which I love and which keep me busy and I have plenty of hobbies and still drive and go out to eat by myself.

As to taking care of me, they put my support stockings on and take them off – but that is it.

I do everything myself 99.99999%.

I would so love to back at home with my animals – but that will never happen.

Now if you are the kind of person who wants to act/be old, eat meals that are lousy, have activities that are geared to a sixth grade age – fine.

But never this for me.

Born in the Sands of Mars

Russell Mickler

The supercollider was called Magus, and it was – undeniably – mankind’s most significant scientific achievement.

Constructed in the asteroid belt 1.2 million kilometers from Mars, Magus remained far from population centers, closest to the resources needed for its function.

In continuous operation for more than four hundred Martian years, the Magus Complex was serviced by tens of thousands of autonomous robots that mined raw materials and fabricated components necessary to maintain the machine.

End-to-end, Magus’ structural truss ran a kilometer long. Housed within that assembly, hundreds of cargo containers were docked side-by-side and interconnected by tens of kilometers of cabling. Fifty containers were uranium-fueled nuclear reactors, six were part of its computer core, and the rest were batteries.

At the heart of Magus was a twenty-two-meter diameter icosahedron composed of twenty triangular electron magnets, surrounded by an array of 2,048 lasers.

Much of the machine’s function was to compute the complex coordinates for time travel.

Generating a future space-time coordinate (STC) wasn’t possible. A Schrodinger’s Cat problem, the desired STC only existed upon observation and was inherently disassociated from the rest of the unobserved universe, thus unreliable. Anything transmitted to the future was obliterated.

However, factoring cosmic entropy alongside the movement of known objects of a specific region of space and knowing their relative mass at scale – ranging from dust particles to satellites, asteroids, moons, planets, solar systems, dark matter, galaxies, and galaxy clusters – Magus could accurately produce an STC to a past location; for instance, it could calculate a previous STC orbiting the planet Earth in just seventeen minutes.

After arriving at an STC, Magus was designed to create a micro-singularity slightly larger than a golf ball – reflecting the totality of information that could be safely transmitted through it – without losing containment, an engineering failure that would result in a 50-kilometer-wide black hole.

And drifting inside the icosahedron, waiting for Magus to finish its computation cycle and held fast by its magnetic field, was an eight-centimeter-long, gold-plated scarab beetle.

* * *

Mars. 3356.

“Approaching STC lock, thirty seconds,” Jaeme reported. She was a senior Magus Complex Engineer and served as a mission specialist.

Kray, mission commander, located hundreds of kilometers away in the State Biodome, tapped his subdermal com in his temple to acknowledge Jaeme verbally. “Thirty seconds.”

Kray nodded affirmatively to Prime Minister Hadiza, who, standing steadfast beside him, consumed a deluge of graphical and statistical information coalescing purely in her mind.

Kray and Jaeme alone were tasked with running Magus’ last mission, what would be its final service, the culmination of a four-hundred-year, multi-generational endeavor.

Under a transparent dome that shielded her people from harmful radiation and contained a life-sustaining atmosphere, Hadiza gazed across the red-soiled planitia. Dressed in a flowing gown of a nanotech fabric that rotated through a pallet of softly-colored hues, she witnessed a hazy, blood-orange Martian sunset for the last time.

All the while, across all of Mars’ biodomes, three hundred thousand watched Hadiza. They saw her proud and determined face via their own neuro-links, all staring breathlessly, blankly into nothingness before them.

Terrified, most of Mars’ citizens clung dearly to each other. Some had tears in their eyes; some had taken vast quantities of drugs to numb their senses; some had already snuffed out their own lives through orderly, sanctioned methods. And others opted for a more peaceful end, sitting among the green grasses of a park or wandering wheat fields with friends. Still, some took to lay alone on cold, steel floors, their eyes closed and their links off, waiting for an uncertain end.

None were humans of Earth. Rather, they collectively referred to themselves as Martians. All forms of obesity, physical deformity, and disease were genetically edited from their biological design. Compared to the humans of Earth, they were spindly and thin; most exceeded eight feet in height. Their limbs, torso, and necks were elongated, and their muscular structure was redesigned to become more slight and fit, perfected to the reduced gravity of Mars. Accommodating Mars’ gravity and dimness, their eyes were slit-shaped like those of a Terran cat, reengineered to absorb more light.

Jaeme’s voice echoed across their collective links. “Fifteen seconds. The cornerstone is queued.”

Kray, stone-faced and dressed in formal uniform, glared at Minister Hadiza, who – tight-lipped – firmly, resolutely, nodded.

“PM concurs,” Kray said, pressing his temple. “Start countdown at ten seconds.”

“Copy,” Jaeme confirmed, before saying, “Ten-”

In biodomes all across Mars, Martians started weeping. They held each other close and confessed their love.

“Nine-”

Some parents picked up their children, their eyes matted with tears, smiled, and whispered lies into their ears.

“Eight-”

A cold sweat raced down Hadiza’s body, and she felt dizzy, bracing herself against the dome’s curvature. At first, she stared at her feet, then fixed her sight on the sunset at the edge of the horizon.

“Seven-”

Revolutionaries in Cassini Biodome hurled Molotov cocktails at peacekeepers, setting officers on fire.

“Six,” Jaeme said, adding, “Magus is primed.”

“Copy,” Kray replied, clenching his jaw.

“Five-”

In the Persbo Biodome, a colony of a hundred red-clad monks prayed for the salvation of all mankind.

“Four-”

In the State Biodome found in the Elysium Planitia, all members of the government apparatus watched on, their expressions emotionless and flat as the countdown continued.

“Three-”

A chaotic mob rushed officers stationed in the Babakin Biodome transit bay, demanding a way out and a ship to take them from Mars.

“Two-”

Watching the space above her head, tears streaming down her cheeks, a Catholic priest gave a Sign of the Cross, kissed her Rosary, and prayed.

“One-”

Delirious, a nude man exited a hatch from Heimdal Biodome to the Martian surface. As he screamed at God, his blood flash-froze, air crystalized in his lungs, and capillaries all over his body burst. He died instantly.

“Event Horizon Confirmed.”

Far away, on Magus, half of its lasers fired into a beamline – magnetic tunnels used to channel quickly-moving sub-atomic particles racing headlong into the icosahedron – while the other half of the array countered. Both volleys slammed highly-accelerated particles into the golden scarab beetle at a single precise nanosecond. Concurrently, when the singularity formed to envelop it, the magnets of the icosahedron compressed to create a magnetic bottle, trapping the event. The process worked as expected, forcing the singularity closed and leaving nothing but empty space at Magus’ core. It was all over in seven milliseconds.

And one thousand, three hundred years earlier, the golden cornerstone appeared in a 48.2-kilometer orbit around the planet Earth.

“Receiving entangled telemetry,” Jaeme advised, moving her hand through spaces before her to interact with symbolic data references perceived in her mind.

Until that moment, her computer systems were unaware of a device with that specific signature orbiting Earth.

However, when observed, Jaeme’s systems acknowledged it’d been there all along. Records of its existence predated her own birth.

“Cornerstone deployment successful,” Jaeme acknowledged, and she sat forward in her chair, tapped off her coms, and began to sob. Her hand trembling, Jaeme brought a blue pill from a glass table to her mouth, tilted her head back, and swallowed.

* * *

Earth. 3356.

The 1,300-year-old scarab beetle cornerstone orbited high above the planet Earth, and, in the vacuum of space, it was still as smooth, golden, and pristine as the moment it arrived.

As its own computer was quantum-entangled with its Martian counterpart, they operated as one, regardless of the time or distance that separated them.

Below, the planet’s oceans were yellowish green, and its land was scorched, barren, and blackened.

There were no glaciers or ice caps at its poles; none of its mountains retained any snow at all; its once-great rivers were poisoned and toxic; what remained of its cities were long since ruined. Earth’s surface vegetation had been corroded – burned away – while chain lightning crawled across gray, churning clouds roiling in its upper atmosphere.

The cornerstone’s sensors registered Earth’s surface temperature near 42c; cyclones and hurricanes raged with 386kph winds; it rained sheets of scaring sulfuric acid; its atmosphere was 97% carbon dioxide and 2% methane.

More a sister to Venus, most of Earth’s life had been eradicated, but more than five hundred million Terrans lived below its surface in warring, nomadic tribes, surviving on manufactured oxygen and nitrogen captured in air-tight caves. Lost, they were primitives, entirely unaware of Mars or Martians, or any satellites like the cornerstone circling their planet.

* * *

Mars. 3356.

All of Mars watched on.

Receiving Jaeme’s confirmation, Kray was the first to speak. “Cornerstone’s deployed.”

Her hand still resting against the surface of the dome to support her weight, Prime Minister Hadiza placed a shaking hand on her chest. She forced herself to swallow before speaking. “It is in position? We are receiving data, Commander?”

“Yes, madam,” Kray replied, then stepped forward, eager to complete his task. “At your-”

Recollecting herself, Hadiza proudly raised her gaze to meet his, for she needed only to glance at Kray to silence him.

“People … of Mars,” she began, turning her head from him. Hadiza’s voice was unflinching and steady; her attitude regal and above reproach. “More than a thousand years ago, we left Earth for a new home.”

To those who wished to see her, Hadiza appeared as a translucent image projected onto the back of their retinas. Most watched on, stunned, wondering what the Prime Minister might say in their final moments, while some cried, wailed, and panicked.

“We escaped death, an interplanetary diaspora surviving for hundreds of years on Earth’s moon, in the asteroid belt, and finally, here, on Mars.”

Gazing at her open palms, Hadiza continued. “Space was unkind. It ravaged our bodies, and in turn, we modified ourselves so we might adapt. We evolved so we might live. We sacrificed so we might survive.”

She recalled a high-resolution image of a sickly green and gray Earth and presented it to everyone’s consciousness. “Forced to trade one inhospitable waste for another, we fled, leaving our Earthbound brothers and sisters behind.”

The image evaporated to be replaced by Prime Minister Hadiza gazing into the setting sun along the Martian horizon.

“And it was here we rested. We found sanctuary in Mars’ craters, and we bore our fruit. We reconstructed our civilization, economy, and commerce, excelling in science and furthering our technology. Undaunted, Martians thrived.”

Capable of sharing their emotional states with others, tens of thousands of Martians voluntarily opened their neuro-links to transmit their collective feelings. Individuals were inundated with crushing waves of fright, horror, and terror, yet tempered by the soothing warmth of empathy, compassion, and love.

“Although divorced from Earth, we were unforgetting,” Hadiza recounted. “We always remembered our Mother, as She was, and gratefully recalled our time cradled – sheltered – in Her arms. Alive, on Mars, we shared our stories, music, and art.”

In space, ships orbiting Mars drifted derelict and aimless, their pilots knowing they had nowhere to escape.

“Alive, we sang our Mother’s songs, and read aloud the poems of our forefathers.”

Within the tunnels, below the surface, in the absolute darkness, workers huddled in their pressurized suits and placed comforting hands on their glassy, reflective helmets, touching what they could touch.

“Alive, we taught them all to our children, passing our treasured memories of Earth to each successive generation.”

Hadzia swallowed and held back her tears.

“Let it never be forgotten,” Hadiza breathed, “we … lived.”

Kray lowered his head to read intelligence feeds.

Pausing, she looked longingly into the hearts of her people, and all who saw her felt Hadiza’s pride – her welling courage – mixed with intense sorrow.

“But what we abandoned,” she said, “what we believed could never be reclaimed, might be ours once again. Humanity isn’t simply doomed to retreat. Humanity is destined to return.”

Kray pressed his temple and whispered, “Stand by.”

“Friends, Countrymen, Martians,” Prime Minister Hadiza roared, her emotion racing like a fierce wind across the minds of all.

Hadiza lifted her arms above her head, and shouted, “What we do now calls upon powers formerly reserved for the might of gods. Today, we square ourselves before the resentful eyes of history to forgive the past, and to gift life to all of mankind!”

Hadiza rested her eyes for the last time, exhaled in release, and nodded.

Kray commanded, “Execute.”

Then, instantly, everyone and everything – the Martians, their machines, their habitats, poems, stories, and songs – ceased to exist.

* * *

Earth. 2056.

The cornerstone received its first and final command.

Quantum entangled, the notion of time was irrelevant. All instances of the device found in all STC’s throughout time received and processed the same command.

In response, the cornerstone, in orbit around the Earth in 2056 – having arrived only moments ago – adjusted its attitude and pitch to angle its flank to the sun and retract its protective golden shell. Its wings opened and blossomed into a shiny, mechanical, three-petaled mirror.

Afterward, it opened a radio communications channel with other devices in Earth’s orbit.

During its four centuries of operation, Magus had continuously teleported tens of millions of devices to Earth’s past, and, like the cornerstone device itself, they had only winked into existence seconds ago.

Receiving a software update from the cornerstone’s command carrier, they patched their systems, and they, too, followed command protocol to open their mirrored wings.

And like a blooming garden bending to greet the sun, millions of brilliant white flares of sunlight raced from one side of the planet to the other.

When fully deployed, the Earth was shielded by an intelligent, self-regulating, interactive mesh of mirrors.

Every moment of every day, the beetles reoriented themselves to ward off the greatest concentration of light, constantly sparing the planet from excess radiation.

On the Earth’s surface, unaided humans couldn’t visually see the minute mirrors so far off in space – the black side of the beetles constantly faced the Earth – and their lives, for the most part, proceeded as normal.

Meanwhile, nation-states secretly investigated the mesh to spare their populations from distress and panic.

It would take four decades for scientists to reveal their findings, concluding the mirror deflected more than 1.5 percent of the sun’s total light back into space – more than enough energy to permanently counteract the effects of climate change. And in speaking to their origin, scientists worldwide unequivocally agreed they were man-made but of a technology that far surpassed their own, and they speculated the beetles were possibly made by humans from a parallel universe.

Mankind, humbled, their understanding of the universe so stretched to finally comprehend the scope of their negligence, grew wiser and made better policy, vowing to each other to become better stewards of the planet.

As a result, the melting of the ice caps slowed; cooler temperatures kept deposits of methane frozen at the bottom of the ocean; less reflected light from the oceans became trapped in the atmosphere; plant and animal life were given a chance to adapt; and planetary greenhouse effects diminished.

The Earth was saved.

* * *

Mars. 2112.

Sixty years later, a NASA astronaut serving a tour on Mars studied the regolith’s mineral content, chemical composition, and toxicity.

She identified traces of silicon, calcium, and aluminum found in the computer processing elements of the scarab beetles orbiting Earth matched her Martian samples.

It is with absolute certainty, she wrote, confirming her findings in a career-defining report, that the collective future of all mankind was sourced from, and born in, the sands of Mars. She is, at once, both our savior and imminent frontier. May we forever tread lightly, for we walk upon the bones of angels.

Why is Chinese president Xi “disappearing” so many of his own generals – ones he personally appointed? 10 of these top Xi appointed officials in last two years.

It’s a Purge

Xi is purging any General who has the slightest whiff and taint of Corruption Or Pro Western sympathy

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It is said that the so called ULTRA NATIONALIST CHINESE who formulated the wolf warrior policy were in fact hard core G+2 Sympathisers

Many War Hawks in China were deep rooted American sympathisers

Their aim was to push the Chinese into a war unprepared and force China to perpetually be a Number 2 in the G+2 formulation

main qimg 421901ff3b634139f28d31dca6562ead

The Russians likely delivered all this intel to the Chinese

Basically saying “All your Ultra Nationalist Military Brass are US Lackeys”

main qimg 6f252e3fb75e2baa7a5c7532a4faf6ba

I don’t mean Spies

I don’t mean Traitors

I mean men who don’t want a war with the US and are prepared to bend the knee in exchange for a flow of dollars and a stream of relatives in Rochester or Boca Raton

So Xi begun a purge and has purged a number of people

Have you noticed Hu these days?

He seems to have silently disappeared

Zhao Lijian?

He is promoted to Maritime affairs meaning he is recording ship logs somewhere in Harbin

Its a clean up

The Chinese & Russians can afford to do this

India also has a number of deep core US sympathisers in the MEA & the Army who want India to be part of the US Umbrella

We can’t purge anyone, not even a Jawan without due process

It’s why our foreign policy would always face problems going forward

Chicken Salad Tea Sandwiches

Yield: 8 sandwiches

Ingredients

1 (5 ounce) can chunk white chicken, well drained
2 tablespoons mayonnaise
2 tablespoons apricot jam
2 tablespoons raisins
1 tablespoon finely chopped onion
16 slices fresh, soft wheat bread

Instructions

In Small Batter Bowl, combine chicken, mayonnaise, jam, raisins and onion.
Using Small Scoop, place 1 scoop (1 tablespoon) chicken mixture in center of 8 slices of bread, spreading slightly. Top with remaining bread slices. Center Small Cut-N-Seal™ over bread; cut and seal.

Notes

Assemble ingredients prior to recipe preparation.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

WHEN YOU FEEL BROKEN – Motivational Speech

Smunching on Cheese Nips and studying the Night Away

Back when I was attending university, one of my most common activities at that time was studying. Heck, by the time I reached my Senior year, I was an expert in this. I had the system down pat.

The professor would assign us maybe 20 questions from the back of the book out of the 100 there. And I would do all 100.

And while I would do these questions, I would be a smunching on this snack food called “Cheese Nips”. Ah, those little golden squares were de-lic-ious! I’ll tell you what!

There were various variations made by different companies. Goldfish. Cheez-It and the good ol’ Nips.

That was my old study routine when I studied at home (my apartment room). A cup of instant coffee or tea, and Cheese Nips.

I would spend hours doing that.

That’s how I would learn. You do the boring tasks on repeat over and over, and over until you are able to perfect them.

Today…

What is an “only in Canada” moment?

Here’s my experience. This is from the time when I was returning to my place from school. It was a long day at school and I was quite tired.

I showed my U-PASS (Universal – Pass for Bus, Gym and Aquatic center), through the transparent section of my wallet, to BC transit bus driver and entered the bus. As I was tired and the bus ride was about 35 min long, I decided to doze off for some time telling the driver to let me know when my stop comes. The driver did exactly as I requested. He woke me up when my stop came and I, quickly, got off the bus. On arriving to my apartment, I went to bed in no time!

Next morning, when I started to get ready for school, I noticed that I am missing something. I couldn’t find my wallet with me. On recollecting events from the previous day, I realized I must have dropped my wallet in the bus as the last time I used my wallet was to show U-PASS to the bus driver. I thought that my wallet is gone with all my money and I will have to go though the pain of applying for all the IDs and cards again!

Even though I had lost all my hopes that time, I remembered signs of lost & found department in the transit buses. I thought I should at least give it a try. I found their number from the internet and called them. I was informed that someone had returned my wallet to the bus driver and they have my wallet! I was relieved a big time to know that my wallet was safe as it had my Credit Card, University ID, Care Card, cash, U-PASS and other reward cards. They verified my information and told me that I can pick it up from their office at my convenience.

Well, you must be thinking by now that this can happen in any country and any honest person would not keep other’s stuff with them. You’re not wrong! But I think what happened next would rarely happen in any other country.

I explained the person on phone that I can’t take transit because I don’t have my U-PASS and I also can’t take a cab as my credit card and cash were also in my wallet. Honestly, I was expecting the reply that it was my problem and I should find a way out!

However, this is Canada, things work differently here. Understanding my situation, the transit person drove to my place to return my wallet!!!! I also found that everything was intact in my wallet including every penny of my Cash! Wow!

Now this is my “Only in Canada” moment!

Thank you Canada for being awesome 🙂

Looks like Canada annexation is soon…

RCMP Secret Memo Warns Canada Is on the Brink of Economic and Social Collapse.

Hal Turner World March 22, 2025

A secret report from the Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP) paints a dire picture of Canada’s future — one where economic collapse, declining living standards, and widespread civil unrest are no longer a hypothetical.

The report, titled “Whole-of-Government Five-Year Trends” for Canada, was never meant for public eyes, containing “special operational information” distributed only among top government decision-makers and law enforcement.

Its conclusion? Canadians are running out of money, running out of hope, and—once they realize the depth of their economic despair — could revolt.

This is why Canada is suddenly criminalizing certain firearms ownership; they __know__ what’s coming.

“The coming period of recession will … accelerate the decline in living standards that the younger generations have already witnessed compared to earlier generations,” the report states. It warns that “many Canadians under 35 are unlikely ever to be able to buy a place to live.” In other words, an entire generation has been priced out of the dream their parents took for granted.

This isn’t alarmism—it’s backed by hard data. Canada’s economy is failing, and the government knows it.

The Proof: Canada’s Economic Stagnation

The Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD) formed in 1961, is an inter-governmental organization that works to promote economic growth and world trade. Recent data from the OECD reveals just how catastrophically Canada has mismanaged its economy.

Since 2015, real GDP per capita—the best measure of how an economy benefits individual citizens—has grown by a miserable one-point-four-percent (1.4%). This puts Canada second to last among all OECD countries, only ahead of Luxembourg, which actually shrank.

To put that into perspective, over the same period:

The United States grew by 18.2%

The OECD average was 13.6%

This means that if Canada had simply kept pace with U.S. productivity growth, the average Canadian would be earning $5,500 more per year.

The International Monetary Fund shows even worse financial performance from Canada:

Canada’s economic stagnation is not an accident — it’s a direct result of reckless government policy. Ottawa has prioritized mass immigration over economic productivity, flooding the country with over 1.2 million new people in 2023 alone, despite a housing shortage, overwhelmed healthcare system, and stagnant wages.

Meanwhile, the government continues to suffocate industry in pursuit of climate extremism, with carbon taxes, ESG mandates, while funneling billions into unaccountable climate slush funds.

And while Canadians struggle to make ends meet, the government has grown into a bloated, parasitic entity, consuming more wealth than it creates. The number of federal employees has exploded by over 108,000 since 2015.

This isn’t sustainable. The more socialist Canada becomes, the worse life gets. Government-controlled economics have turned a once-thriving country into a stagnant, overtaxed, mess, where home ownership is out of reach, wages are stagnant, and personal wealth is eroded by inflation and bureaucratic waste.

The United States knows this, too, which is why President Trump is already telling Canadians they should become the 51st state.

It has nothing to do with animosity toward Canada, or even expansionist dreams of the USA. The Liberal governments of Canada have already destroyed the nation; it just has not yet manifested itself at levels the public can readily see. That manifestation, is now, unavoidable.

Direct Link to RCMP Report (Redacted Version for Public distribution) HERE

Luigi Mangione Perp Walk BACKFIRES On NYPD!

Unrest in Happiness Hills

Submitted into Contest #18 in response to: Your fingers tensed around the object in your pocket, ready to pull it out at a moment’s notice.… view prompt

Jessica Stone

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General

Your fingers tensed around the object in your pocket, ready to pull it out at a moment’s notice. The others that passed you seemed to all be staring as if they knew what you held already.As if they could see through the seams of your leather coat, vintage and rough edged, dark brown and smelling of mold.Even though they seemed to stare they still smiled widely in your direction. You were making your way to the circle.The village always seems so joyful, the others are always this happy. They don’t even need holidays, though around this time the men and women gather to dance in the circle and feast upon the merry infants whose parents couldn’t bother to, or were not allowed to keep them.It can’t be considered a magical time because they are always dancing and everyone is always eating, but you suppose these people are more together than usual.Most any other time, you see them travel in pairs, man to a woman, a woman to a man, no other way, and they seem to enjoy this way.However you, you do not.

Something about them gives you a mortifyingly poisonous taste in your mouth and it all started when you went past the hills a little ways and found the thing, the thing you hold so tenderly.

And now they made you sick, not because of the culture, not because of the town that is filled with the smell of rain mixed with luminous beauty and decor, and certainly not because of the ghastly antique top hats and pearls that decorated the others and sometimes yourself now.

No, it is how unrelentingly happy they are.

You have done so much to try and shake their joy and they remain the same, like they aren’t living, they aren’t feeling. You’ve yelled at them, threw stuff, hit people, let them know how much you hate they’re creepy smiles straight to their faces.

Nothing in their faces change.

Such unrest in your soul and all because of these happy people, but the others joy was not like your own for it did not ever waver and something, you knew it, was wrong. Very wrong.

You had lived here your entire life and everything was okay until you came of age. Your parents were smiley too, but when you went through what they call the arrival, you began to feel all these things, more things than you were ever supposed to. Then you got to meet the others and the others didn’t feel the way you did either.

And it scared you, but this thing in your pocket might settle your uneasy mind. At least you hoped. You had found the thing stuck among a thick of branches and you just knew there was something special about it.

Right now the thing wasn’t working to help you feel at ease though, you weren’t sure why, but this new feeling was everywhere. The special feeling the thing gave you.

You knew it was forbidden to go beyond the hills to get the thing, but you went and you took it anyway thinking maybe, just maybe the others would feel about this object as you do.

The dirt between your toes was thick and sticky and the air was cool enough to be uncomfortable. The others dancing among the warmth of fire was so synchronized and smooth as if they were born to do what they do.

You had felt like something was off for a while now. When you were younger you were kept below the grounds and were fed and given water intermittently. In that world at least you never understood enough to care. However, your parents over the past year or so made you feel as if they were waiting to use you for something, though you’re not sure what.

You were also unsure of how the men and women pair together like they do, and unsure of where the kids of the hills came from.

Something you do know is that there are no children in the above grounds, and you assume they are all living a life similar to yours and you were living similar to how your parents did, minus all these feelings. Unless those kids were of the given infants.

Either way, the above ground was rather gloomy, though it held a sort of magic, at least that’s what you thought. Never knowing what it looked like in the above ground and never knowing the feeling of wonder until the arrival would make the hills magical.

As the others did spins amongst one another with beaming smiles, and touched hands as they bounced so elegantly to the sound of the wind, you came closer to them.

The closer you got to them however, the more disturbed they seemed to get, offbeat and slow stepping, and their eyes. They seemed to all look straight at your face.

…

Not your face. Through you. They were in your head and they could see straight through you and your body felt stiff and naked.

Your insides went up in flames and you pulled the thing out of the folds of your coat with clumsy bravery. The odor of the above ground was immense smelling of what you had never smelt, and the pain of the charring of your lungs and other organs began to spot your vision.

And their eyes.

Their eyes. They were bright and prudent and deep red and they moved you.

The thing caught on fire and its angelic symbols scribed upon it started to spin inside your head.

There was screaming and writhing as you neared the others blaze. Their fire they dance around merrily now serving as your bed.

The others surround you now and they read the symbols in your head aloud, with booming voices that sound as if they come from the sirens of the underground.

And suddenly the world is black and all of the sensations are gone and you feel

much

happier.

China Executes Corrupt Official

How bad is life in China?

Ugh! You have no idea how bad life is in China!

I mean, every morning I get up and go to work. On my way to work, as I drive my ebike, I’m forced to go around the people who are cleaning the streets. How horrible the government is to employ people to do such despicable things as sweeping up fallen leaves (which can cause slippery surfaces, especially when tied together with morning fog).

Also, along my way to work, I pass a wall. It’s not just any wall, though. It’s a wall that they put up to block sounds and debris from construction sites. And on top of that, they even force the trucks that go in and out of the site to get sprayed with water. How dare they do that! People should be free to choke on the dust that gets kicked up and have the liberty to get headaches from the constant noise.

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Well, maybe this weekend I can take a small trip. But it’s horrible when I travel, too! I should be free to waste half a day traveling, but instead I am subjected to the horrors of quick, convenient, and inexpensive high-speed rail.

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Note: Only the Northeast Corridor is considered high-speed rail, even though the speed is around half of what Chinese HSR trains go. Everything else is “conventional rail”.

Oh well, maybe I won’t travel, and instead go downtown. But the nightmare still follows me around. Public transportation is everywhere – bus routes go everywhere, and the subway system is huge. And it’s all clean. The buses are electric and the subways are immaculate. Everyone knows that the true mark of freedom and liberty is to get hepatitis just by entering a subway, or getting choked to death by fumes from ridiculously priced buses.

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The horror. At least there’s grocery shopping. Everyone knows that the hallmarks of a free society are spending way too much money for overly processed foodz™ (ever since 2017, the percentage of ingredients that can be classified as actual food dropped below 50%, so US companies can no longer actually call it “food”. Ya know, just like what happened with “cheez” or “creme”).

Oh, but wait… how horrible! I can’t pay an absurd amount for groceries in China!

Well, bummer. The groceries are too cheap in China compared to Freedomland. But they’re highly processed, right?

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What?! No processed crap?

Where’s the freedom?

In the US, they are free to pay extra money for packaging that patriotically gets thrown away (and hides the brown spots on vegetables), but in China, we are forced to buy vegetables that not only are touching each other, but came out of the ground! That’s so gross! And why do those carrots in China look so long and pointy? Everyone knows that the shape of a real carrot is rounded and pill-like:

Minestrone Pasta Bowl

Yield: 8 servings or 24 sample servings

Ingredients

1 (16 ounce) package uncooked rigatoni pasta
2 tablespoons olive oil, divided
2 teaspoons Pantry Italian Seasoning Mix, divided
1 large zucchini, sliced
1 large carrot, chopped
8 ounces mushrooms, sliced
2 garlic cloves, pressed
1 (26 ounce) jar spaghetti sauce
1 (15 ounce) cangarbanzo beans, drained and rinsed
1/4 cup (1 ounce) grated fresh Parmesan cheese

Instructions

Cook pasta according to package directions in Professional (8-quart) Stockpot; drain using large Colander.
Return pasta to stockpot; add 1 tablespoon of the oil and 1 teaspoon of the seasoning mix, stirring to coat. Cover and keep warm.
Meanwhile, using Ultimate Slice & Grate fitted with v-shaped blade, slice zucchini.
Chop carrot using Food Chopper.
Slice mushrooms using Egg Slicer Plus(R).
Heat remaining oil in Stir-Fry Skillet over medium heat until hot. Add garlic pressed with Garlic Press; stir-fry 1 minute using Bamboo Spatulas.
Add zucchini and carrot; stir-fry 2-3 minutes or until vegetables are crisp-tender.
Add mushrooms, spaghetti sauce, garbanzo beans and remaining seasoning mix. Cook, stirring occasionally, 5-6 minutes or until sauce is bubbly and heated through.
Transfer pasta to Simple Additions(TM) Large Bowl. Carefully pour sauce over pasta. Grate Parmesan cheese over pasta using Deluxe Cheese Grater.
Serve immediately.

Nutrition

(Light) Per serving: Calories 350, Total Fat 9g, Saturated Fat 1.5g, Cholesterol less than 5mg, Carbohydrate 57g, Protein 13g, Sodium 480mg, Fiber 6g

Attribution

Pampered Chef

Title: Sir Whiskerton and the Case of the Missing Egg

Ah, greetings once again, dear reader. It’s me, Sir Whiskerton, the undisputed intellectual and moral superior of this farm. Yes, I’m still here, surrounded by the same gaggle of blithering animals who couldn’t outwit a bucket if their lives depended on it. But alas, someone has to keep this place from devolving into chaos, and that someone is me. Today’s tale, however, is particularly baffling, even by farm standards. It involves a missing egg, a feathery drama queen, and a surprising turn of events that left even me… well, mildly impressed.

Sit back, relax, and allow me to recount this most peculiar adventure.

Morning: Henny Penny’s Meltdown

It began, as most of my troubles do, with Henny Penny, the farm’s resident hen and self-proclaimed “egg artist.” She’s a bit of a drama queen, convinced that every egg she lays is a masterpiece. Personally, I don’t see the appeal of eggs—they’re fragile, boring, and smell weird—but to Henny, they’re practically Fabergé.

I was enjoying my morning sunbath on the barn roof when I heard her squawking at the top of her lungs. “MY EGG! MY BEAUTIFUL EGG! IT’S GONE!”

Naturally, I tried to ignore her. After all, it’s not my job to babysit poultry. But her screeching was so loud that it disrupted my nap, and that simply would not do. So, with a reluctant stretch, I leapt down from the roof and made my way to the chicken coop.

“What is it now, Henny?” I asked, my tail flicking with impatience.

“Whiskerton, thank goodness you’re here!” she clucked, flapping her wings dramatically. “Someone has stolen my egg! It was right here in the nest, and now it’s gone! You must help me find it!”

I rolled my eyes. “First of all, I don’t must do anything. Secondly, are you sure you didn’t misplace it? You hens aren’t exactly known for your organizational skills.”

Henny gasped in horror. “Misplace it?! How dare you! My eggs are my life’s work! Please, Sir Whiskerton, you’re the smartest animal on the farm. If anyone can solve this mystery, it’s you!”

She wasn’t wrong, of course. I am the smartest animal on the farm. And while I had no real interest in her egg, I did enjoy a good mystery. Plus, solving the case would give me something to lord over these fools for weeks. So, with a dramatic flick of my whiskers, I agreed to investigate.

The Suspects

The first thing any good detective does is round up the suspects. Fortunately, the farm is small, and I know everyone’s habits better than they know themselves. I decided to interrogate the most likely culprits, starting with the usual troublemakers.

1. Porkchop and the Pigs
I found Porkchop and his gang lounging near the mud pit, looking suspiciously smug. “Alright, Porkchop,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “Where were you this morning around sunrise?”

Porkchop snorted. “Are you serious? We were here, sleeping. You think we stole an egg? What would we even do with it? We’re pigs, not omelet enthusiasts.”

He had a point. Pigs are many things—greedy, messy, and generally annoying—but they don’t have much use for eggs. Still, I couldn’t rule them out entirely.

2. Bessie the Cow
Next, I interrogated Bessie, who was chewing her cud with her usual vacant expression. “Bessie, did you happen to see anyone near the chicken coop this morning?”

She blinked at me, slow and clueless as ever. “Oh, I don’t know, Whiskerton. I was busy… you know… standing here.”

“Of course you were,” I muttered. Bessie wasn’t exactly a criminal mastermind, but her size alone made her a suspect. If she’d accidentally sat on the egg, we’d be dealing with a very literal case of scrambled eggs.

3. Harold the Rooster
Finally, I turned my attention to Harold. He was strutting around the yard like he owned the place, as usual. “Harold,” I said, “you’re always hanging around the coop. Did you see anything suspicious this morning?”

Harold puffed out his chest. “I’m too busy protecting the hens to notice every little thing. Maybe if you spent less time napping, Whiskerton, you’d be more helpful.”

I resisted the urge to claw him. Barely.

The Breakthrough

After interrogating the usual suspects, I was no closer to finding the egg. Frustrated, I returned to the chicken coop to examine the scene of the crime. That’s when I noticed something peculiar: a trail of tiny, muddy footprints leading away from Henny Penny’s nest.

“Interesting,” I muttered, crouching down to examine the tracks. They were too small to belong to any of the larger animals, and they seemed to lead toward the barn. My curiosity piqued, I followed the trail, my tail twitching with anticipation.

The footprints led me to a pile of hay in the corner of the barn. I sniffed around, and to my surprise, I heard a faint rustling sound. Carefully, I pawed at the hay until I uncovered the culprit: a tiny, wide-eyed mouse clutching Henny Penny’s egg.

“Well, well, well,” I said, smirking. “What do we have here?”

The mouse squeaked in terror. “Please don’t hurt me! I was just borrowing it! I didn’t mean any harm!”

“Borrowing it?” I echoed, incredulous. “What on earth could a mouse possibly need with an egg?”

The mouse hesitated, then confessed. “I… I wanted to use it as a gift for my wife. She’s been feeling down lately, and I thought it would cheer her up.”

I stared at him for a moment, torn between annoyance and amusement. On one paw, this was the dumbest thing I’d ever heard. On the other paw, it was kind of sweet.

The Resolution

I returned the egg to Henny Penny, who was so overjoyed that she practically fainted. As for the mouse, I let him off with a warning. “Next time, stick to flowers or seeds,” I told him. “Egg theft is a serious crime.”

By the end of the day, I was back on the barn roof, basking in the glow of another case solved. The animals were singing my praises, as they should, and I was once again reminded that this farm would fall apart without me.

And the moral of the story? Sometimes, even the smallest creatures can cause the biggest problems.

You’re welcome.

The End.

This Tactical Manoeuvre by Putin SHOCKED The WORLD: Russia Dealt a Mortal Blow To NATO

Some fun Pictures of Masculine home offices

Uyghur Fighters In Syria to Fight China

Spicy Tomato Fettuccine

Yield: 4 to 6 servings

Ingredients

8 ounces fettuccine, cooked
2 ounces turkey bacon
1 large onion
4 or 5 large tomatoes, peeled and seeded
2 tablespoons fresh parsley
2 teaspoons olive oil
2 garlic cloves, pressed
1 teaspoon basil
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
Parmesan cheese

Instructions

Cook pasta according to package directions. Keep warm.
Fry bacon until crisp on 11 inch griddle; drain and set aside.
Chop onions and tomatoes with food chopper.
Snip parsley using kitchen cutters.
Heat olive oil and stir-fry skillet. Press garlic with garlic press into skillet. Stir-fry 15 seconds.
Add onion. Stir-fry 2 to 3 minutes. Add tomatoes, parsley, and seasoning to skillet.
Gently stir 3 to 4 minutes until thoroughly heated.
Remove from heat and serve over pasta. Grate fresh Parmesan cheese over top.

Attribution

Pampered Chef

Looks like Mexico is prepping for an invasion…

Behold: The End for Mexico Drug Cartels

Hal Turner World March 23, 2025

The United States has now deployed two . . . count ’em . . . 1, 2 . . . Navy Destroyers, and with this deployment, the ENTIRE Mexico Drug Cartel network can be utterly destroyed within . . . . minutes.

Two US Destroyers Mark END to Cartels large

Last Monday, the USS Gravely (FILE PHOTO BELOW) took to the Gulf coast, heading toward Mexico.

Yesterday, the USS Spruance (FILE PHOTO BELOW) took to the Pacific Coast, headed toward Mexico.

Each vessel carries a total of ninety-six (96) missiles in vertical launch cells. Those missiles can be of several different types, but the Tomahawk cruise missile, with it’s 1,000+ mile range, is worthy of particular mention because, as shown on the map above, each US Destroyer, when equipped with those missiles, has the ENTIRE land area of Mexico within reach. All of it!

These cruise missiles are so accurate, that the United States can target a particular WINDOW of a particular Building from 1000+ miles away, and when the missile arrives, it will go through the center of the window so perfectly, it won’t even touch the window frame. That’s how accurate these things are.

Targeting? That’s probably already being done.

For weeks, the United States Air Force has been sending surveillance aircraft along both coasts of Mexico, and surveillance drones over the actual land of Mexico – with permission from the Mexican government.

On February 15, CNN Reported:

The US military has significantly increased its surveillance of Mexican drug cartels over the past two weeks, with sophisticated spy planes flying at least 18 missions over the southwestern US and in international airspace around the Baja peninsula, according to open-source data and three US officials familiar with the missions.

The flights, conducted over a 10-day period in late January and early February, represent a dramatic escalation in activity, current and former military officials say, and come as President Donald Trump directs the military to secure the border and deter cartels’ drug smuggling operations.

These drones are equipped with surveillance gear that would make the former Soviet KGB blush. They can pinpoint particular cell phones within . . . . inches . . . . of its actual location. They can see in the day, at night, through storm clouds, rain, sleet, snow, hail, fog. They can use regular vision, infra-red, even thermography. NOTHING can escape their view.

Some of these drones – and US military space satellites — are equipped with technology that actually lets them peer through . . . . roofs! They can get imagery from INSIDE a structure!

Which brings us to the whole Drug Cartel infrastructure. They need laboratories to make and mix — and warehouses to store — their poison, to be smuggled into the United States. Take a look at what happens when US Cruise missiles start striking targets. Below, video from the year 2003 in Baghdad, Iraq:

Those are steel-reinforced, concrete government buildings being individually hit. None survived. What do you think the drug labs would look like if the US hits THEM?

Many of the Cartel laboratories are underground; dug into hills in remote areas of Mexico.

The U.S. learned all about underground and cave warfare from our hunt for Osama Bin Laden in Afghanistan. We located the caves, then sent a missile to COLLAPSE the cave – or bunker – entrance. Here’s a small video showing how we do it. Send a single Fighter Jet:

The blast either buries them alive in tons of rock rubble, or they suffocate to death in minutes. If the blast itself doesn’t kill them, suffocation will.

As mentioned earlier, the two ships carry a total of 192 missiles between them; 96 missiles each. But in reality, there may NOT be that many drug labs. So what else might the US target? The Cartel bosses in their homes.

With such accurate missiles, the US can put a missile right through the bedroom window of the Cartel bosses homes.

So if only half the 192 missiles have to take out labs, the other half can take out Cartel bosses in their homes.

In one fell swoop, the ENTIRE Mexican Drug Cartel problem is stopped – dead.

This would also be a powerful message to all those who weren’t targeted and therefore survived. When they see the labs destroyed, and find out their bosses were blown up in their own homes, it would be a powerful deterrent from anyone else doing the same thing.

It remains to be seen if the U.S. undertakes such an operation but if we do, it can all be over in one night, with zero US personnel on the ground.

In my personal opinion, the US looks to me as though it is planning something exactly like this.

As for Mexico and its “sovereignty” . . . . we should just do this operation and when the Mexicans complain, we just need to say “Look, we told you who was doing this. We told you where. We told you to take care of it. You didn’t. So, we did.

We’re really sorry we violated your sovereignty, but how sovereign are you that you didn’t take care of this when we told you about it?

Now, it’s done.

The next time we tell you that more than two thousand Americans are dying every week from illegal Fentanyl, cocaine, and Heroine, and we tell you who is doing it and where they are, maybe you should take care of it right then and there, so we don’t have to come in and do it for you — again.”

All’s fair in love and war

Submitted into Contest #18 in response to: Your fingers tensed around the object in your pocket, ready to pull it out at a moment’s notice.… view prompt

Millie Spence

General

Xander’s fingers tensed around the object in his hands, ready to pull it out in a moment’s notice. His eyes locked on his target, a small, freckled teen, fumbling around with laces on his boots.

“My people won’t let you win. Not this time.” The former spoke, keeping his tone low and ominous. The small boy brought his gaze forward, eyes burning their way through the soul of the taller boy.

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that, my friend.” He chuckled, menacingly. His lips turned up into a cruel smile, causing the tanned boy to take a step back, intimidated. While taking a step back, his foot hit a rock. Stumbling, he tried to regain his footing but failed and with as little grace as humanly possible, he went tumbling towards the ground. Xander laid on the floor, his eyes closed, braced for death. But when he had opened his eyes again, he saw that his opponent had left. His eyes locked on him on the other side of the battle field, conversing with his team. Enraged, he came running towards the freckled boy, weapon in hand.

“You coward!” He bellowed, waving his weapon. His enemy merely laughed and lowered the weapon that was being waved in front of his face.

“Careful, you might hurt someone.” He teased, walking away. Xander closed his eyes with frustration, tired of this fight, when he heard a loud shot. Panicked, he opened his eyes and ran towards the sound of the deafening shot.

When he got there it was a sight he couldn’t believe. It was one of his teammates. He was lying on the floor, red staining his blue uniform.

“Vincent!” Xander cried, holding onto his friend.

“Who did this to you!” He choked out through the tears, motioning towards his jacket that is stained a blood red.

“Sylvester.” He mumbled, coughing violently between syllables. Xander began to try and lift his injured friend, only to be stopped by a weak hand preventing him.

“No.” Was all that the weak teen could say.

“What?” Xander asked, confused that he would want to be left in a place like this.

“You leave me here. Save yourself, there’s still a chance for you.” Hearing these words, caused Xander to cry more.

“Please. Please let me help you.”

“There’s nothing that you can do for me.” He whispered. Xander took one final glance at his fallen comrade before he ran over to avenge him.

Frantic. Panicked. Alone. He was the last person on his side on the battlefield. He was the only person left. He knew what he needed to do. He needed to win. Not only for himself, but for all the people he had lost during this gruesome battle. His senses were heightened; his heart was pounding. Was he dying? He couldn’t let that happen. Sluggishly picking up his weapon he stumbled slightly towards the group of enemies. They all turned in surprise, grabbing their weapons ready to strike. In one foul swoop, he took out all three of them. Without a blink of an eye or breath taken into the lungs, he was running again. Running. Running. Running. His eyes were burning with tears that threatened to spill, his throat was tight and he found it hard to breath. He had to win. He couldn’t lose. Not to them.

“I won’t let you win!” He heard a disembodied voice. He knew that voice. He ducked behind a bush quickly so that he could think about a plan. Loud bangs were heard, he had one again narrowly avoided death.

“You can’t run from me forever!” The voice taunted, another round of shots. This time closer.

“Are you scared? It doesn’t hurt that bad.” The voice teased, chuckling manically. Another round of shots. Closer.

“You know your fate, you can’t escape it.” Another round of shots. They were now so close that the noise caused Xander’s ears to ring slightly. He moved back. He was not ready to engage. Not yet. He needed a plan. He couldn’t risk this. There was too much riding on this.

“I’ll fight you when I want to fight you.” Xander called out to the silence battlefield, earning an incredulous scoff from the freckled boy.

“You’re running out of time.” He taunted in sing-song. Moving away back to his own safety. They sat there for some time, each not wanting to make the first move. Both of them wanted to win. They both had something to prove.

Xander looked down at his leg and noticed he was bleeding. Must have cut it on the thorn bush. He thought to himself, cursing himself loudly.

“The cries of the weak.” His opponent chuckled, checking his weapon. Now would be a good time for me to strike. Xander thought to himself quickly, before occupying himself with stopping his leg from bleeding.

“Let’s end this!” Xander called, leaving the safety of the bush.

“Yes, lets.” The enemy said, mimicking his actions. Xander heard the sound of leaves and branches breaking getting louder and louder. He went to pick up his weapon. It wasn’t there. Oh no. He’s right there. Xander’s mind filled with anxious self-doubt. What was he doing? Why was he doing this? What was he hoping to achieve by risking so much?

“No!” Xander bellowed, making sure to keep his voice straight and steady when standing face to face with his worst nightmare. The stern tone in Xander’s voice caused his opponent to take a step back, surprised by the force of the command.

“What? You can’t do that! You cant back out now!” the freckled boy screeched, voice becoming more and more frantic with every syllable.

“I believe I can.” Xander was cocky now, he had let his guard down. Only a few seconds left. While he was thinking, the small boy took advantage of his distracted state and with one elegant pull of the trigger. Bang!

There was a silence that rung through the battlefield. 2 second left on the clock.

“Babe!” The fallen soldier whined, laying on the floor like an infant that was just told that their parent won’t buy them the toy they want.

“What?” The enemy chuckled, offering a hand to the taller boy, who took it gratefully.

“You always win, Finnley!” Xander pouted, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend.

“Maybe you’re just terrible at paintballing,” his gaze dropped to the cut on his leg, “and clumsy. How did you manage that.”

“Manage what?”

“How did you manage to cut your leg.”

“There are thorn bushes everywhere.”

“And you’re wearing padding.”

“Shut up.” Xander pouted more, causing Finnley to giggle slightly. He grabbed the pouty teen’s clammy hand and led him over to the table where all of the other players sat.

“Which team won?” Vincent asked, looking up from his book.

“The red team!” Finnley yelled, earning a gently punch in the side from his stroppy boyfriend. From the distance, a slow clapping could be heard. All intrigued, the group walked over to see the event organiser’s table.

“That was a very interesting game.” One of the organisers chucked, earning cheers from the tired teenagers.

“A little over dramatic, but that’s what makes it fun.” The second organiser added, taking a bite out of their slice of pizza. Looking at that pizza reminded Xander that he hasn’t eaten in hours.

“This was fun guys, let’s go get pizza.” He said, earning more cheers from the teens.

“Oh great, I’m starving!” Sylvester called, excitement ringing through his voice. with that, the group left the harsh battlefield and went to go get pizza from the brightly coloured restaurant across the road. For the rest of the evening, they stayed in the restaurant talking and laughing about the day’s events until the manager had to ask them to leave so that he could close up.

What are the unwritten dress code rules in Singapore that visitors often miss?

Have spent time with family and friends in Singapore for ages I still don’t know any written ‘dress codes’ in Singapore. I saw my staff where a gym suit with oversized backpack to work all the time, even a 50-year-old family man wore an oversized Micky mouse T-shirt on Saturday when he did an O/T for me.

My client who became a friend’s 20-something pretty daughter wore a standard ‘white T-shirt and tiny Levi’s denim shorts with Adidas shoes driving a Mini Cooper on all occasions, not sure if to college, to collect her NRIC, shopping, Gym, police station, hawker center, hospital, you name it.

Andrew, my Singaporean Chinese buddy ever told me, he’s never seen his mom wearing anything other than pajamas.

Even if you and your gf wear a T-shirt with ‘The Lion King or I💕Singapore’ to a wedding lunch at ‘ The Four Seasons’, no one raises an eyebrow.

Any visitors to Singapore won’t miss anything about unwritten dress code rules in Singapore.

“He Lost His Job Right Before Christmas — So I Left Him When He Needed Me Most”

MM; the dancin’ fool

Ah. My Private ballroom dancing lessons.

When my first wife and I lived in Indiana, we took private dance lessons together. We studied with a dance professional who had a small studio. And it was a lot of fun.

We did this for a while.

Maybe four or five years, and we got pretty darn good at it.

We were near experts (silver and bronze level) on many Latin and traditional ballroom dances. From the Samba, to the Tango, to the Fox Trot and Waltz. We would dance to the Meringue, and to the Cha Cha.

It was a lot of fun in class, and we would also go to dance in the Delco Electronics dance club once or twice a week. Also a hell of a lot of fun.

Of course, when I was “laid off” all our dance friends turned their backs on us. *sigh*.

American culture.

That’s just the way it is. I don’t think that it will ever change.

Anyways, we did it for fun, and man, oh boy, it it keep us fit. During the Delco dances would would be dancing up a storm for three to four solid hours. It was so much fun and so intense.

Guys! If you ever wanted to impress a girl… lean to dance. Great exercise and really a lot of fun.

We start with a Cha Cha.

The Time of My Life – Dirty Dancing (12/12) Movie CLIP (1987) HD

Here’s a “Cha Cha”.

And here is a pasodoble…

Strictly Ballroom [1992] – Love Is In The Air (1977)

A great scene from a great Australian movie.

I’ll bet you all had no idea that I can DANCE.

Today…

What is the earliest year number you remember, e.g. 1978, 2006? Why do you remember it? What memory is associated with it?

I remember 1960, because we lived in a semi-detached house and had a babysitter named Pinkie. (one of the neighborhood teenagers). Apparently there was a child molester at the time; if we left the yard we would get a ‘Beech Lane Spanking’ for straying too far from home (the next street over).
My first recollection of getting a girl safety warning!

Next thing I remember is when I was in first grade (1962) and we were watching Shirley Temple Theater on TV. We were called for dinner and my sister couldn’t move. Turns out her appendix had burst and she was rock solid in pain. She cried continuously for years until she got into school like the rest of us. Except when she had the burst appendix. She couldn’t cry, which alarmed my parents so much that they took her to the hospital. Scary!

What were the first signs of dementia that you noticed in people close to you or in yourself?

When my husband was 50 I started noticing little things. He’d constantly lose little things. His keys, the remote control, clothing. He’d constantly forget to close cabinet doors, sometimes forget to flush the toilet, forget to bring the dogs inside. He also started to lose basic math skills. I had to do his time sheets and at work he was forgetting where he’d put heavy equipment. There were 100’s of little things like that and I and his colleagues noticed. Unfortunately his family members didn’t notice. That emboldened Ruben to think that nothing was wrong with him. It was me. It was his bosses. We were out to fuck him. I was delusional in his words. To say it caused martial strife is a HUGE understatement.

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It slowly progressed and at 55 he lost his job over it. His boss and I insisted that he see a neurologist. The first neurologist said he was fine, no dementia, just a bad case of ADHD. We were shocked, but relieved. I gave it year, but it was getting worse. We went to another neurologist and a geriatric psychiatrist. They did the Montreal test. It was apparent that his cognitive abilities were deteriorating. They ordered another MRI and then a PET scan and they both came back positive for Alzheimer’s disease. The scans shows all the tau plaque and tangles in his brain.

So now at 57, my husband is finally diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s disease. He’s still at the mild/ early moderate stages so was able to start a new infusion treatment. The treatment is a 18 month course of biweekly infusions of the drug leqembic. It isn’t a cure and won’t get anything that he lost back, it will just get the plaques out and slow down the progression. He’s had 3 treatments now. Hopefully it will buy use some time together and a decent quality of life. For now.

But be aware that it went from little, forgetful things, to major problems within 3 years. Fast in my opinion for such a cognitive decline. Things like leaving the car running all night, leaving the BBQ grill on overnight, leaving the dog bowls to overflow and flood out the kitchen several times, overflowing pots on the gas stove and practically gassing us, leaving the house and leaving the front door completely unlocked and open. He can no longer count money or do basic math, doesn’t know the day and can’t keep appointments. So driving will have to cease soon . That’s a huge, bone of contention for him, driving is his independence. He has a very bad short term memory, but a good long term memory. I could go on but won’t.

The thing is with him it takes people a while to realize his disability, because he looks so young and vibrant, and he is. But things are much better today, that’s all that matters. Tomorrow might be different.

Please, if you suspect you or a love one might have dementia, get evaluated as soon as possible. You need to catch this quickly and get treatment and your affairs in order as quickly as possible, while you’re still able to. Enjoy life now. Make memories now. Travel, enjoy hobbies, get a lot of mental stimulation. Just enjoy your time on earth while you still can.

South Korea – Impeached Coup President ‘Aligned With Washington’s Values’

During the last years it has become obvious to even shallower minds that ‘western values’ are just a marketing slogan used to hide the enormous brutality with which the ‘west’ is trying to bend the world to its will.

Evidence can be found in many recent international news items: The genocide in Gaza – transmitted live for anyone to see, the baseless annulling of democratic elections in Romania, the applauding of the Jihadi takeover of secular Syria. Israel’s creating of ‘buffer zones’ by stealing Syrian land is seen with sympathy while Russia is condemned for fighting NATO’s decade old attempts to destroy its natural buffer zone of a neutral Ukraine.

All this has led to confusion. It necessitates that the rulers sell black as white, depict destruction as rebuilding, argue that sheer tyranny is an expression of democratic values.

For an example of the last point see this remark by the South Korean pro war propagandist Duyeon Kim in a recent New York Times piece which laments the loss of a U.S. controlled proxy for waging war in the Far East.

Impeachment in South Korea Has Cost Washington a Staunch Ally (archived)
President Yoon Suk Yeol shifted his country closer to Washington and stood up to Beijing. But that foreign policy could be recalibrated in the future.

“Washington couldn’t have asked for a better ally and partner than the Yoon government,” said Duyeon Kim, a fellow with the Center for a New American Security. “Until we know who South Korea’s president is, the U.S. just lost a key partner at the leader level whose personal conviction aligns with Washington’s values and approach to regional and global issues, particularly when dealing with authoritarian states.”

The ‘key partner’ the U.S. has lost is the one who broke the constitution by declaring martial law, who illegally ordered military and police units to block the National Assembly of South Korea, who had planned to arrest the opposition leader as well as the leader of his own party, who even attempted to launch a ‘limited war’ with North Korea to justify his ambition for being a dictator.

Duyeon Kim is of course correct when she says that Yoon ‘aligns with Washington’s values’ when one recognized that these values are in favor of destruction and plundering.

She is particularly correct when she says that Yoon liked the way the U.S. is dealing with authoritarian states which follow its leads. That is why he tried to remake South Korea into one.

But such double talk is obnoxious.

Its contradictions add up. The political center which uses it is starting to fold.

Posted by b at 14:58 UTC | Comments (115)

Scientist Forced To Admit The Truth About Those Nazca Mummies

This is a pretty interesting video and covers things that I have been unaware of. Those implants, and the closeup pictures and images are truly interesting and definitely worth your time to check out.

Why are a lot of people praising Luigi Mangione as a folk hero instead of a cold-blooded murderer?

I felt we were right in the middle of a significant social event. If we assume Luigi Mangione is indeed guilty of murder, how people react to this murder tells me a lot more about them than the actual event. We have, in our hands, a morally right but legally wrong action. And how you see it and react to it is very telling of your character.

So let’s break it down.

UnitedHealth is part of an oppressive and exploitative system. We know this company (and other health insurance companies) put their own profit over human lives. We know the company had engaged in extremely problematic practices to deny patients’ claims. We know there are roughly 650,000 personal bankruptcies every year in the US. And we know UnitedHealth and other insurance companies are the reason for 60% of those bankruptcies.

We know this corrupted and exploitative system is entirely legal.

We know there’s virtually no way for normal regular people to push for a change. There’s no bill for us to vote. Our petitions fell on deaf ears because our politicians are bought by health insurance lobbyists.

Everything health insurance companies do is legal. They can roll out a policy that dictates what medicine is covered and what isn’t. They can send you to an out-of-network lab for your lab work, even if the clinic and the doctor you see are in-network. They can decide how long they are willing to pay for anesthesia for a surgery.

And there’s NOTHING we can do as regular people. There’s no free market for us to pick and choose because EVERY SINGLE HEALTH INSURANCE COMPANY follows the same practice, more or less. Every single one of them is a for-profit organization that prioritizes shareholder revenue growth over actual human lives.

That is the system we live in. It is a corrupted, exploitative, cruel, inhumane system, and there’s nothing we can do to change.

We would like to believe we live in a civilized society where non-violent protest and policy changes through proper channels are entirely sufficient to push for improvements.

In a world where one can push for social changes via legal proceedings or policy changes through their representatives, yes, violence is never the answer.

But do we live in that world?

When was the last time any politician submitted a bill to the House or Senate to strengthen regulation of insurance companies so they couldn’t deny claims so easily and arbitrarily? Every other developed country, some developing countries as well, has universal healthcare, except for the good old USA.

If an enslaved person killed his slave master in, say, 1812 in South Carolina. Was the enslaved person a “cold-blooded murderer?” After all, slavery was entirely legal back then. If an abused woman back in the 14th century killed her husband when he was beating and raping her, was the woman a cold-blooded murderer? After all, a woman could not divorce her husband for the majority of history, and marital rape was entirely legal until 1993.

If you were an esteemed gentleman or respectable lady of the South, would you shake your head and say, “Violence is never the answer! Sure, the slave master had killed many slaves and sold their families for profit. But violence is never the answer!”

We all imagine ourselves as the hero in historical events. We all imagine we would help our Jewish neighbors and help runaway slaves. And yet, we are living in a historical event that requires a tiny bit of bravery against the ruling class, social decorum, and the status quo. Here you are, saying, “Violence is never the answer.”

And when you see other people debating the morality of this issue and perhaps praise the vigilante action, you wave your hands and say, “Oh, people watch way too many movies. Hollywood loves to glorify a lone gunman who went on a rampage of vengeance, and you have a bunch of morons who couldn’t think for themselves and follow the stupid propaganda.”

Really? You think a lone hero fight against a corrupted and oppressed system is a Hollywood thing? Perhaps you should read more history.

People praise Luigi Mangione as a folk hero because that’s what he is, a folk hero. He stood against a powerful and corrupted system, and he made a statement with violence. That is, historically, what folk heroes do. John Brown was a folk hero. He led the abolition movement long before the Civil War when slavery was considered legal. Hua Mulan was a folk hero. She joined the army when women were not allowed to fight in the military, and she protected her nation and her family. Robin Hood was a folk hero because he committed crimes against the ruling class while helping the poor. Marsha P. Johnson was a folk hero because she was instrumental in the Stonewall Riot, eventually leading to policy changes for the LGBTQ+ community. All of them were criminals. All of them broke the law. Folk heroes are people who are operating OUTSIDE the legal confines of society to fight against injustice.

Luigi Mangione didn’t just kill Brian Thompson because he had a personal grudge against him. Unlike incels and domestic terrorists who lash out in anger and shoot up a school full of children and teachers, Mangione didn’t go out and hurt innocent random people. He picked a powerful man whose decisions and actions directly result in harm and misery. His action is the definition of punching up. Everything he has done so far is carefully planned out to make a statement. His action had indeed brought attention to our healthcare system. People from left and right had already found common ground against the evil practices of health insurance companies. They shared stories on social media and found solidarity with each other. Anthem Blue Cross Blue Shield had already rolled back their stupid new policy about charging people extra for anesthesia if the surgery ran long.

So yes, Luigi Mangione is a criminal (if convicted) and a folk hero.

I personally will not go out and kill anyone simply because I have neither the physical ability nor the mental fortitude to carry out such an act. But if I were selected as a juror for Mr. Mangione’s trial, I would give him a not guilty verdict. So, it would either be jury nullification or a hung jury.

For all of you “good” people citing Dr. King about “non-violent” protests against injustice, let me remind you that at the time of the Civil Rights movement, Dr. King was deeply unpopular in mainstream media.

Dr. King wrote about his opinion on the so-called “White Moderate”, in his famous Letter from a Birmingham Jail:

I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro’s great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen’s Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to “order” than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says: “I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I cannot agree with your methods of direct action”; who paternalistically believes he can set the timetable for another man’s freedom; who lives by a mythical concept of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait for a “more convenient season.” Shallow understanding from people of good will is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much more bewildering than outright rejection.

He’s talking about you. So perhaps let’s not cite the greatest folk hero of modern America, who was convicted of multiple crimes.

What is a thing an elderly person said that really made you stop and think?

When I was in High School, I was a member of a Masonic organization for that age group. I and my friends had a meeting one time and a local older man delivered a talk to us, which was enlightening to us, but he ended the talk with a puzzling statement. He said ““remember, it’s later than you think”.

When we later reviewed what he said,we were told by our Advisor that this man had lost his only son in a private airplane crash , in a field right where the speaker was. This has encouraged me to be aware that we don’t know what is around the next corner in life, and that we should live life to its fullest.

Poc Chuc

This is delicious served with canned hominy, drained, sautéed in a little butter and heated through with some sour cream. Garnish hominy with chopped fresh cilantro.

Yield: 4 servings

Ingredients

4 boneless pork blade steaks, about 1/2 inch thick
1 large red onion, sliced
1/2 cup fresh Mexican lime juice
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon cayenne

Instructions

Place pork and onions in a self-sealing plastic bag.
Combine remaining ingredients and pour over pork; seal bag and refrigerate for 2 to 4 hours.
Lift pork steaks from marinade, brushing off onions.
Broil or grill over hot coals for 8 to 10 minutes, turning once.
Heat onions and marinade to boiling.
Serve onions with pork steaks and warmed tortillas.

Donald Trump Tariffs Against China Just Backfired on the US Economy!

Thank you POET Technologies for sponsoring today’s video on China Tariffs. The US China Trade War will continue in 2025 and although Trump has promised 100% tariffs on China the simple reality is the US can NOT tariff China without hurting the US Economy. China has retaliated against US tariffs and started their own round of sanctions. What happens next in the US China Trade War? Let’s break it down in today’s video!

The War of the Feather Duster

Submitted into Contest #24 in response to: Write a story set in the dark recesses of space where the two main characters are often at odds with each other in humorous and comedic ways.… view prompt

Lily Kingston

“I never thought it was possible for a person to be so damn arrogant!” Zed screamed as he slammed the front door of his house. “Your ass better stay on your own damn asteroid or I’ll kick it all the way to one of Jupiter’s moons!”Through the blinds of his window, Zed glared at the abyss of space outside his personal asteroid upon which his house sits. His eyes zoned in on the house of his one and only neighbor, Mandy. Across the asteroid belt, he saw Mandy’s front door fly open and her step out in a space suit with a brick in hand. She threw the brick and shattered Zed’s window as it landed in his living room. A tight vacuum sucked in from the broken window. Grumbling under his breath, Zed slapped some Flex Tape ™ on it. “Crazy woman,” he muttered, then looked down at the brick. There was a note on it.Crouching down, he picked up the note. I didn’t steal your damn duster! Zed scoffed. “That’s just what a duster-stealer would say,” yelling louder so Mandy could hear him this time, he added. “I know you stole my duster ten years ago! I bet my house on it!”“As if!” Mandy hollered back.“That duster took forever to be shipped here from Earth, Mandy! I’m getting it back!”“I ain’t no thief!”“Yeah, right,” Zed remarked under his breath.Staring at the mess of glass in his living room, Zed realized he had spent enough time arguing and definitely has to swept up this mess. “Damn, when does that woman ever stop causing problems for me.”Zed glared at his closet door. Space-spider webs covered the knob. He hasn’t cleaned anything in years. Signing, he twisted it open and saw its crooked shelves propped up by a singular wooden broom. Slowly, just as he thought the broom was free from being Altas, and was about to carefully make his exit, the shelves can clamoring down.“Juck!” He cursed as debris cluttered at his feet.Something tapped his ankle. As he looked down, his eyes widened. It was the feather-duster.“Oh, juck.”Zed paced around his living room with the blinds closed and the duster in hand. “Oh, juck. Oh, juck. Oh, juck.”What the juck was he supposed to do? Apologize for his wrong actions? Admit he was wrong? To Mandy??No! Those were all horrible options!Then, he stopped pacing a sly smile grew on his face. “What if Mandy never knows it was here?” He cracked open his blinds and peeled at Mandy’s house. “Because I’m going to sneak it into her house before she ever finds out.”Zed didn’t bother to wait until ‘night’ or anything because what night? He’s in space! Instead, he immediately suited up and floated under the asteroids, out of sight, to Mandy’s house. He entered through a window in the basement. His weak muscles barely pulled him through the vacuum as he flopped onto the floor. “Man,” he mumbled as he stood up. “These houses were not designed for space.”After fumbling around looking for the staircase upstairs, Zed just ended up wiggling off a loose vent panel and shimming his body through the vent. He peeked out the occasional vent, using it to navigate through the house. Finally, he found himself in Mandy’s master bedroom while she was taking a shower.Zed pounded his fingers through the vent and tries to shake it off, but the metal held firm. “Juck!” He cursed as he heard the water turn off. Mandy would come out of the bathroom any minute now.Rushed to get out, he left the duster inside the air vent and shimmered back to the basement, went out the window, and made his daring escape by floating casually back to his house.Goosebumps run up and down Mandy’s arms. “Why is it so cold in here?” She asked herself as she pulled on a second sweater. “Geez, don’t tell me there’s something wrong with the furnace again. Ugh! It’s going to take so long to get a repairman here!”Mandy drastically pounded on the thermostat, but the temperature stayed the same. Then, she heard a quick rat-a-tat-tat-tat coming from her air vent. Slowly, she crept over to it, wondering if something was inside. She used her nails to unscrew the vent and remove it. Inside, she pulled out… the feather duster. Mandy went white.“Oh, juck. Oh, juck. Oh, juck. Oh, juck.” She softly cursed to herself.

She had been the one with the feather duster, she thought. Mandy began pacing. What the juck was she supposed to do? Apologize for her wrong actions? Admit she was wrong? To Zed??

No! Those were all horrible options!

Mandy’s Mind scrambled for a solution. Wait a minute, she thought, if I hide it in Zed’s house, he’ll never know…

Mandy broke into Zed’s house from a sky light on the roof because I guess just juck breaking and entering laws in space, right? Tiptoeing around, she looked for any convincing hiding spot to but the duster. A hungry stomach lead her to the kitchen.

As she stole all of Zed’s leftover pizza, an idea hit her. Underneath the fridge! Who cleans under there? Quickly, she stuffed the pizza in her mouth and the duster under the fridge as Zed’s footsteps approached. She dove behind the couch for cover as Zed opened the fridge looking for his leftover pizza. “What?” He asked himself. “I don’t remember eating it…”

Mandy nibbled on the crust in silence.

Zed tsked and closed the door. Instead, he grabbed a glass and filled with ice. Mandy’s eyes widened in horror as a cube slipped and slid under the fridge. Zed groaned and swiped underneath… only to have his hand find the feather duster.

With a fearful expression of his own, Zed pulled it out. Oh juck! I thought I hide this in Mandy’s house! What is this some kind of boomerang duster? Zed thought.

Swiftly, Zed grabbed his space suit and headed out the door. After it slammed shut, Mandy emerged from her hiding spot and watched from the window Zed hiding the duster back inside her house. “That punk!” She exclaimed, ironically. “How dare he tried to shift the blame and hide the duster in my house!”

Zed came back inside his house to find a Mandy with a crooked grin sitting on his couch. “What are you doing here, Mandy?” He asked.

“What were you doing in my house?” She remarked.

His face paled. “Nothing.”

Mandy wagged her finger in front of his face. “I don’t think so. You were hiding the duster because you were the one who had it along.”

“Ok, fine!” He confessed. “I found the feather duster but–wait a minute, how did you get into my house without me knowing? And how did you get back here just as I hide it?” He stepped closer. “And how did you know I was even hiding it, or that I had it?”

“I–well,” Mandy stuttered.

“You hid it in my house first!” Zed declared.

“I so did not!” She shouted. “How do I know you didn’t hide it first!”

Zed gasped. “Like I would ever do something so scandalous as that!” He lied.

“I just saw you hiding it,” she snapped.

He crossed his arms. “That doesn’t prove anything. You don’t know if it was originally in my house!”

“And you can’t prove it was in mine!” She hollered back.

“You wanna bet!” Zed screamed with a red face.

Mandy stuck her finger in Zed’s face, opened her mouth to say something before a confused expression flickered across her face as something outside the window caught the corner of her eye. “Wait a second, where’s the duster now?”

“It’s in your house.”

Mandy glanced back at the object. It was the duster. Just floating in space. “No it’s not.” Mandy pointed. “It’s right there.”

Zed twisted his neck to see it. “Oh, juck.”

I must have forgotten to close the window all the way.

“I guess that’s one way to solve the problem.”

The Noun Project

A collection of icons and symbols from artists around the world. It’s a great resource for designers or anyone looking for unique icons.

Noun Project

Some examples of the content…

MM’s AI adventures

AlbedoBase XL Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Ba 1(17)

AlbedoBase XL Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Ba 0(17)

AlbedoBase XL Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Ba 3(13)

AlbedoBase XL Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Ba 2(13)

AlbedoBase XL Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Ba 1(16)

AlbedoBase XL Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Ba 0(16)

AlbedoBase XL Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Ba 3(12)

AlbedoBase XL Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Ba 2(12)

AlbedoBase XL Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Ba 1(15)

AlbedoBase XL Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Ba 0(15)

AlbedoBase XL Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Ba 3(11)

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AlbedoBase XL Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Ba 1(14)

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AlbedoBase XL Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Ba 1(12)

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Imposter syndrome

I wonder if any of my Boomer generation round here has a sort of “imposter syndrome” relating to their age. I’m 63, so, obviously, I’m way past being an adult. But I still feel like, when am I going to grow up and be a Big People? Somehow I became an old fart and I’m not even certain that I attained adulthood.

The Pink Floyd song “Time” has a lyric that says “..and then one day you find, ten years have got behind you, no one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun.” And honestly, that’s exactly how I feel, except it’s 40 or 50 years that got behind me, and I’m still waiting for that starting gun.

Space Oreos

Julia Vonalean

They’d finally run out of oreos. It took months, but finally, finally, they’d run out–the last one accidentally ejected into space. Sirius stood stewing in front of the glass window of his ship. It wasn’t his fault the oreo had been in that little cup he’d tossed in the trash. Oren was the one who had hidden it there, figured he’d never find it.He hadn’t. Obviously. Which was why it was floating in space right now instead of in his stomach. Sirius scowled at the speckles of light drifting out of the immense black.“Go see the stars,” they said, “they’re beautiful up there in space.” They said. Yeah well, Sirius wished he could haul those freaks up here and make them stare at the murderous fireballs for fifteen months in a broken down ship, with no outside contact and then see how beautiful they thought the stars were.Stupid stars. They could blink out of existence for all he cared–the people too.The ship had been quiet since their malfunctioning, sandwich loving AI had decided to go completely silent until they were – as she put it – ‘found by certain functioning individuals who could clearly state which sandwich was their favorite as well as help them out of this black hole of utter despair’.Stupid ship. He was decidedly disappointed in his ship’s ability to…well…move.”It’s not your ship.” Oren said from the deck where he spun aimlessly in the only swivel chair in the ship. Sirius turned to glare at him. Sometimes he thought his friend could read minds, other times he thought Oren just psychoanalyzed everyone like some villainous creep. Which….he was, a villain–that is—not a creep.”So how come we only installed ONE swivel chair?” Sirius said, stepping away from the ship’s window. Oren shrugged.”We should have installed two, because there are two of us.””Are there.” Oren said idly.Who knew, really, one of them could be imaginary by now. But imaginary or not…Sirius took another step forward. “Up. My turn in the chair.”Oren gave himself another spin.”Oren.””There’s a perfectly good chair over there.” Oren said, still spinning.”It doesn’t swivel.” Sirius said.”Sad.”Sirius glared at Oren, the little….. But instead of grabbing him by his perfectly manicured hair and hauling him off the chair, Sirius walked towards the doorway. “No prob. I’ll just go look through your knives.” Behind him the chair came to a halt. Slipping out the entrance, Sirius broke into a jog through the steel hallway of the ship.”Don’t you dare touch them! That’s my emotional support knife collection!” Oren hollered from the deck.Sirius made his way down the hallway of the ship to the third room to the right. Oren’s studious room. It used to have a lock, but now the door knob was completely gone. Sirius shoved the door open. He had melted the knob a few weeks back. Some of his finest work, if he did say so himself.Oren’s room looked like a real life replica of perfection: it was white–the walls and ground and ceiling-and there was a bed directly across, its stark sheets laid across the mattress more smoothly than Sirius could ever get his hair to lay. To the side of that was a desk, bolted and firm, with a spotless furnish and all the drawers safely locked. He’d have to see about melting those knobs later, maybe to get back at Oren for being responsible for the loss of their last oreo. For now though, there was the matter of the swivel chair and the knives. On the right side of the bed was a sparkling glass showcase, inside which was the most impressive knife collection Sirius had ever seen. And they weren’t just ordinary knives, there were knives from nearly every person Oren had ever fought — and then some which he had picked up from one market or another. Sirius leaned closer to get a better view of a smaller knife, its blade was shaped like a half moon. It—“STEP.AWAY.FROM.MY.KNIVES.” Oren growled from behind him. It was the voice he was famous for, the one that said ‘I’m a master villain and I’m to be feared’. At least that’s what it said to anyone who didn’t know him as well as Sirius. He turned with a smirk. “Oh calm down, I haven’t even touched them.” Oren stood in the doorway, stiff and imposing in his suit of white with gold trimmings. He glared at Sirius a good moment before stalking forward to inspect his knives.”See? They’re perfectly fine.” Sirius said, “in fact they’re perfectly wonde–“”You breathed on it.” Oren huffed.”I…breathed…on, what?”Oren went back to glaring at him. “The glass. You breathed on the glass.””But it doesn’t look any different.” Sirius said.

“It does too.” Oren insisted, “it just takes a sophisticated eye to see it.”

Sirius snorted.

“Okay Back! Back back back!” Oren said, waving him out of the room. “The next thing I know you’ll be sneezing on it.”

“Alright, I’m going.” Sirius said walking out. He hesitated in the doorway, watching as Oren glanced back at his precious collection. Sirius grinned as he watched Oren’s eyes snag on the tiny empty place on the far edge of the display case. Oren looked back at Sirius, and then, the man smiled.

A heartbeat later Sirius smelled the smoke.

Two heartbeats and the ship’s fire resistance system blared active.

Five. Sirius was pelting down the hallway to his bedroom and—and, it was in flames.

His…his bedroom was on fire. How was THAT even possible! The thing was made of steel. But…not everything else was: the furniture, the bed, the—“OREN!” He yelled, gripping the sides of his doorway. The vents opened in his room and released a white gas that filled the room, snuffing each hungry flame as if it were a boot and they–bugs. And then it sucked the remnant gasses back into the vents, sealing them again. Leaving behind a black scorched, smoke smelling, grave of bed-sheets and used-to-be-valuable collectables.

“Well” Oren said from the hallway behind him, “That’s a sight.”

“I can’t believe this…You don’t just set someone’s room on fire!” Sirius gestured wildly to his once semi-nice bedroom.

“Says the person who melted my door knob.” Oren said.

“You put A SCORPION IN MY BOOT.”

“Because you lost my knife.”

“I…” Sirius paused. “Well, it went to a good cause.”

Oren raised an eyebrow.

“Oh come on, scratching my initials on your armor is a wonderful cause,” Sirius turned to inspect his nearly nonexistent bed, “not my fault it somehow wandered off after that.” He poked his mattress and it dissolved into ashes. “Wonderful.”

Oren leaned against the wall. “Anyway, you’ve gotta admit, Sirius, I did pretty good hooking up the ventilation just right so you’d smell the smoke exactly a second before the alarms went off.” Oren said proudly.

Sirius wiped his now ash colored finger on his clothes and deliberately refused to look at his friend. Stinkin villain, had to be so good at his job. “I suppose you can do pretty good cleaning this up as well,” he said, “and replacing all my very valuable collectibles once we get rescued from this useless bucket of steel.”

“Hmm. I think I’m going to go on over to the Kitchen and look for something to eat while grieving the tragic loss of our last oreo cookie, instead.” Oren said, walking away.

“Hey!” Sirius barked, spinning from the sorry remnants of his collectibles. Oren was already gone. But he wasn’t going to get out of this, not this time. The oreo cookie–which was not his fault, in fact, it was Oren who tried to hoard them all up for himself in the first place–was the least of Oren’s worries. He grabbed a heavy bag from his closet and stalked down the hall towards the kitchen.

“OREN!”

Nothing, no sound. Except the thrumming of the horrid prison he’d been trapped in for what seemed like forever now. And he didn’t even have a stupid oreo cookie to solace him. Why? Because of Oren, because he stuck it in a cup. He rounded the corner of the kitchen section of the ship and stopped short. Oren was sitting on the table there, eating cookies. Chocolate chip cookies.

“You’ve had those this whole time!” Sirius exclaimed.

Oren stuffed the last one in his mouth.

“You could have left the oreos for me.” Sirius said, jerking his bag open. “But instead you put the last one in a cup.”

“A clean cup,” Oren said, swallowing. “It was most certainly clean.”

He reached into the bag, “honestly I really don’t care.”

“And I’m not going to help you cle–” Oren paused, “hey, what’s in the bag…”

Sirius chunked a shoe at him. Steel-toed, well made, firm as a rock. Made throwing it feel gorgeous. Oren gave a sound like a strangled mouse as he scrambled off his perch and out of the path of the wrathful footwear. It slammed uselessly into the wall behind. Sirius chunked another.

“Hey!” Oren yelped, ducking behind the counter, “What in the universe are you doing?”

“Throwing shoes at you.” Sirius said. Obviously.

“Now now. Heroes aren’t supposed to hurt their villain friends.” Oren said from behind the counter.

“Ah yes,” Sirius said, “except that doesn’t really matter right now, because if it weren’t for you wanting to run off and save the world from imminent disaster, I’d be safely on a planet eating as many oreos as I want.”

“Well then, you’re welcome. That would be incredibly unhealthy.” Oren said.

Sirius threw a gold trimmed boot. It plunked against the counter. Oren peeped up to stare at it, and then ducked right in time as he hurled the boot’s pair.

“Actually,” Oren muttered, “I’m rather concerned why you have so many shoes.”

“If I wasn’t in a broken down ship in the middle of nowhere, with no hopes of ever making it back to civilization, those shoes would be quite valuable!” Sirius wasn’t even aiming for Oren anymore. He catapulted a pink dotted pair of tennis shoes into the far wall, they hit it with a satisfying thump.

Oren stood, staring at him. “You mean to tell me….you collect shoes.”

Sirius threw a bright yellow sandal at Oren’s face. It didn’t even get close, of course. Oren looked at the sandal and then back up at Sirius.

“You’re a shoe collector!” He broke out laughing, gripping the sides of the counter. “How did I not know this sooner!”

Sirius paused his onslaught of shoe missiles, there was only like, one more left in the bag anyway. “They’re very expensive. And valuable.” he said in his defense.

Oren only laughed harder.

“Took me a long time to collect them all too.” He muttered under his breath.

“I’ll”–Oren said between gaspy breaths–“make sure to leave you my shoes when I die. Something to remember me by.”

Sirius rolled his eyes and tossed his bag in the corner. “I’d probably eject them into space if you did, like the oreo.”

Oren managed to stop laughing enough to bow his head and murmur, “we shall forever grieve your greatest mistake, Sirius.”

“MINE?”

“Yes.” Oren said, “You killed Mr. Oreo.”

Sirius opened his mouth to object when the entire ship beeped, as if jolting awake.

“What did my ship just do?” Sirius rubbed his ears, glancing around.

“Um…it’s not your ship. It’s mine. Remember? I convinced the previous owner to give it in exchange for his life.” Oren said.

“That’s not how I remem—” Sirius began.

“SANDWICHES.” A crisp, emotionless voice vibrated from the ship’s speakers. “THE LIFE-BLOOD OF MANKIND.”

“Hey Sandie!” Oren exclaimed happily.

“Welcome back weird, malfunctioning AI who secretly wants to murder us with sandwiches and false facts.” Sirius said. “Guess you got bored, huh.”

“HUNGRY?” The ship’s AI said.

“For people.” Sirius muttered. “And better company.”

“CANNIBALISM, PERFECT.” The AI said. “THERE IS A SHIP ENTERING THIS SECTOR AS WE SPEAK.”

A ship? Sirius met Oren’s gaze for a single life changing moment as the realization sunk in.

“We’re saved.” Sirius whispered.

They both raced for the console, and started broadcasting their existence to anyone listening. The radio fuzzed in and out for a few seconds before finally the first voice they’d heard in months came over as clear as the black in space.

“Unknown transporter. This is Fate-12, prepare for boarding.”

Sirius grinned, unholstering the pistol at his side. Oreos here I come.

The Shocking Truth About American Quality Of Life: Thoughts After Living Abroad.

What do you like most about being your age?

There are a lot of things I like about being in my eighties. For one thing, I don’t worry about most of the things I worried about when I was young (or even just younger). You know, from will I be able to get a date, to am I good enough to go to grad school, or can we really afford to buy a house, or what happens if our kid gets sick, or will I get tenure, or what will we do in retirement and can we afford it and how good is our health insurance, to what will I do now? I don’t have to worry about any of those life-things.

I realize I’ve been lucky to remain healthy and active into my eighties – even though my wife did not, and I live comfortably in the small home we purchased nearly fifty years ago in a small and quiet community in a very pretty area. So even though I’m not wealthy by the usual standards, I don’t live extravagantly and hence don’t worry about money (which is the cause of many people’s worries). I can generally do most of the things I want to do, and although fully retired I still live a productive life, have things I’m looking forward to, and have friends of all ages that I love spending time with.

That could all change, I realize, given my age. But as long as I am healthy and active, I am quite okay being the age I am.

I’ve found questions about feeling worthless after 40. That’s crazy because 40 is quite young, but I’’ve just turned 60 & I feel my life is over. Does anyone else feel this way?

I’m coming up to 77 and have various health isdues and constant pain, some days are better than others but I refuse to give up. Still play my piano and organ but can’t spend the time playing I use to. Could practice for 6 hours plus a day but now I’, lucky if I can do an hour before the pain in my spine stops me, just compression fractures, scoliosis and osteoporosis but life is still worth living and if I had to live for much longer I’d be glad. I panicked a bit at 60 but then got my pension and soon forgot about age. Happened when I was 70 and now it’s a number and I value each day and thank God for each day. Still do my housework, look after my hubby and aged sisters. Not as agile or can’t rush around as quick as I could when younger but still get on. I use a walker when out but no stick indoors. Have an electric mobility ‘buggy’ in our camper for the supermarket. Have a good sense of humour and I’m a chatty person but lije quiet times too. Don’t give up as to is the 30 nowadays. Perhaps worry when you hit 100!

A chap of 92 just played the piano on the tv. Also known another pianist in her mid 90’s and is a professional pianist. My sis in law at 80 composes beautiful music, is a choir mistress and professional pianist. Go get a piano and learn to play as you are not too old. My hubby started just a couple of years ago thought he couldn’t ever play both hands together and then found he was wrong. I taught him how to play simple chord accompaniment to start with. I had 3 strokes aged 28 and lost my ability to memorise music and had to reteach myself to play again. Willpower and cussedness! I sight read now and even tackling harder more advanced pieces. I just love music. Started learning at 5 years old. Wanted to be a concert pianist but ‘fate’ got in the way. But still play for my own enjoyment.

Don’t give up find a hobby, mix with others as life is not over at 60. Get a check up just in case you are anaemia or need vitamins.

What does an old person need the most?

Money.

Money can’t buy immortality, but it can make a huge difference in how peaceful or miserable one’s passing will be.

Ubers make up for one’s lost drivers license. Family is nice, but not always nice. Money can hire assistants who are loving and honest and kind. Money can allow you to fire any assistants who are not loving and honest and kind. Money can make a home handicap accessible. Money can allow a person to choose the very best assisted-living or nursing home, and can pay for carers to come in and provide more personal attention.

Money alone is not enough to create happiness inside a person. But money alone can help that person to be physically and financially comfortable. A lack of money means a lack of power and control over one’s life.

We theoretically sneer at people who focus too much on money, even as we worship billionaires. It would be more reasonable to teach ourselves and our children to enjoy health and life, while young, but saving what we reasonably can for our miserable old age. We can keep our car for one additional year. We have to fix the roof today, but we can cut corners a little bit on redecorating the kitchen. Save a dollar to match every dollar we spend on pleasure.

Do as I say, not as I do. I could have saved more, but I’ve got a bit of a nest egg. It helps me sleep at night.

Slow Cooker Brisket Sofrito

Slow Cooker Brisket Sofrito is an excellent filling for corn or flour tortillas.

Yield: 6 to 8 servings

Ingredients

1 (3 pound) brisket
2 teaspoons salt, + extra after cooking
2 teaspoons freshly ground pepper, + extra after cooking
1 large onion, sliced
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 (12 ounce) jar tomato Sofrito
1 teaspoon ground chipotle chili (or more for an extra kick)

Instructions

Season brisket on both sides with salt and pepper.
Place onion and garlic in a 3 1/2 to 5 quart slow cooker. Place brisket on onions and garlic, fat side up. Pour Sofrito over brisket and sprinkle chipotle chili over sauce. Cover and cook on LOW for 9 to 10 hours or until brisket is fork tender.
Carefully remove brisket from cooker with as little sauce as possible. Place on cutting board and cut into three pieces cross grain. Shred beef with two forks and return to cooker. Stir into sauce and season with salt and pepper (and a little more chipotle seasoning if you like it spicy).
Serve with tortillas and other desired toppings.

Has China lost the trade war with the US? Why?

This Fan costs ₹ 9,199/- in India retail to the customer

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In Shenzhen, it costs 650 Yuan retail and 500 Yuan on a MOQ of 200 pieces

Factory price 380–400 Yuan to manufacture & assemble

It retails in Europe for € 249 and US for $ 185–230

So when this company Atomberg decides to sell in US and quotes $ 150 a piece, the US and EU laugh and say “We have offers at $ 70 a piece from Shenzhen”

In India they may have protectionism but in Europe or US it would cost almost $ 300 to make these fans and then retail them for $ 450–500

So buying at 70 Bucks a piece is godsend and helps them make at least 90 Dollars profit

That is how China works

It keeps the ever burdened middle class still capable of affording stuff

You can pick up a Hair Dryer for 8–10 Dollars today thanks to China

You can pick up a top notch iphone for 1100 Dollars today instead of 2300–2500 Dollars each

Your Lawnmower motor comes from China and costs $ 140 to replace instead of $ 600–650 it would have taken for a Made in US lawnmower

You can have 8 Solar Panels installed for $ 1900 instead of $ 6000 it would have cost you a decade ago

Hell in India – A Home Solar Panel Grid in 2013 costing ₹ 4 Lakh now costs ₹ 1.2 Lakh

How can China ever lose the Trade War?

main qimg 780070da65459b1d6d95d85afc57621d

A German company comes to China, places orders for 2,000 Curling Irons for 300 Yuan a piece asking for their logo to be branded on the curling irons and places orders for printing boxes with their logos and printing manuals in German

That’s € 38 a piece

Retails for € 118 – € 120 a piece in Europe

Same factory gets a Japanese company at 2 PM and a Hungarian Company at 3 PM

Japanese place 1,000 Orders for 340 Yuan and Hungarians place 800 Orders for 370 Yuan

One factory makes exactly the same curling irons, brands them with 3 brands, 3 boxes, 3 user manuals in Hungarian, Japanese and German

One retails for € 118–120 in Germany

Another retails for € 87 in Budapest (36,000 Florints)

Another for € 80 in Tokyo (13,000 Yen)

The Chinese Factory makes all the 3,800 Orders and earns 1.236 Million Yuan

A profit of 8% means around 100,000 Yuan after taxes

Win – Win isn’t it?

Guess how much curling irons cost in 2000?

Around € 100

So thanks to China – Europeans are STILL PAYING the same price for Curling Irons as they did 20 years ago!!!!!

Make them in Germany and they would retail at € 350

Take India

In 2013 – a Inferior Micromax Phone, a Low Quality Crap Phone cost ₹ 17,000/- and if you wanted a smartphone you either paid ₹17,000/- for a crap micromax Or Lava Or Intex Or had to cough up ₹40K for a Samsung or ₹ 60K for an Iphone 5

The Micromax was 50% the quality of the Iphone Or Samsung but around 40% of the Price

Now for the SAME ₹17,000/- you get a phone that is 90% Iphone quality at around 20% of the price !!

In ten years!!!!!

China again!!!

It’s Economics!!!!!!

You can never lose

Hence why it’s called Win – Win Economics

You think US can fight economics and win?

Impossible

main qimg 05102c66ea00452efc7c383db27c1397

Only way to do so is to CREATE ANOTHER CHINA

Or just give up, lift your hands and enjoy Chinese Prices

That’s ultimately what’s the end game here

What is a thing an elderly person said that really made you stop and think?

This is actually a compilation of things a great-uncle, my grandmother, and parents told me, with a dash of what I would say now that I’m old myself.

I remember asking an elderly relative what it was like to be old. I was 14 or 15 at the time. And he was probably in his early 60s, younger than I am now. He paused, and I started to think he was going to give me a hard time for calling him old.

But he said, “When you’re young and looking ahead, it seems like you have all the time in the world, years and years and years. But when you get older and you’re looking back, it seems like it went by in a flash. You were young , you had children,” and he snapped his fingers. “And just like that they’re grown up and off having their own families. And the same goes for work and building a home for yourself. Happened in a flash.”

“The hard part is every one starts dying. One by one your parents, aunts, uncles, then cousins and siblings, all go. And people you knew since you were kids, and people you used to work with.”

“You go to where you used to hang out and suddenly out of the corner of your eye you see someone and think it’s them. ‘Oh, there’s John or there’s Susie!’ then you remember they’re dead and you’ll never see them again.”

“And you get nostalgic, sometimes for people you weren’t so close to but you were young together. And it’s pleasant to visit with people who remember them too. You reminisce about your adventures. You marvel at how stupid or rash you were, what poor judgement you had, and how lucky you were. And you’re grateful you survived.”

“One good thing about being old is you are never at a loss for stories to tell.”

Men’s dress various

China Confident that West Can’t Compete

Carl Zha talks to tech expert TP Huang on why the US chip sanction against China have failed and why Chinese tech people feeling confident that the West will not be able to compete with China, How Huawei was able to defeat the US sanction to be an unstoppable tech giant.

A Florida Cockatiel

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A MM follower (from China) has compiled and archived the “most important” MM content and saved them in the Baidu cloud. Access to this archive is via the green button to the left called “Core MM Content“. I would suggest that all of you down load and save the archived content on the most important subjects that his contributor has saved.

REGULAR POST:

I lived in Florida with a girl named Patty R. We got along fine, and this was for a half a year after I left the Navy.

And she had this bird.We went to a store and bought that critter.

It was a Cockatiel and had a big orange spot on it’s chin, and it was the most social and affectionate bird that I have ever seen…

It would hang out with us. Play with us. Get out of its cage and hang out on our shoulders. It was a mighty social critter, and it was really cool. Like having a dog in a birds body.

Patty had to leave for a few months (going back up North) and it was just me and the bird for a while. We got close, and then Patty came back and had to sell the bird. Both Patty and the bird were heartbroken.

Guys, I’m a dog and cat guy, but this thing with birds is really new to me.

Anyways, I think that all animals are like this. All you need to do is get to know them.

And that is today’s story about the unique personalities that birds have and the potential for great friendships.

Today…

The Reason People In America Are In A Loneliness Crisis. It’s Time To Change Or Go Live Abroad.

America is fucked up.

What is the most satisfying passive-aggressive thing you have ever done to a really mean or rude person?

I needed a new car in 1987 when I was 41 and looked like a cute little girl with not a brain in her head. I took my boyfriend with me, thinking that they wouldn’t try to pull anything over on both of us. Boy, was I wrong! I liked the Nissan Maxima, so I went to a dealership about 30 minutes from home and was quoted a really good price, but decided I didn’t want to have to go that far for service. I went to a dealer about 15 minutes away, told them what I wanted to pay (I quoted the other guy) and the salesman agreed, but first routed me to the leasing office. After talking with them for a while I said NO I AM NOT LEASING. Went back to the salesman, repeated my original offer and asked if he really wanted to make a sale today. He hum=hawed for a bit, then sent me to “the closer” who had all the paperwork ready for me. I handed him my check for the down payment and then started signing papers. I got to the last one and the price was WRONG and the monthly payments were about $50 higher than I had agreed upon. I pointed out these discrepancies and he started a sales pitch trying to get me to agree to the higher rate, saying how happy I would be to see my new car in the driveway in the morning. The signed papers and my check were on the desk in front of him. I picked up the check and tore it into many pieces. I picked up the signed documents and shredded them. As I left, I said YES, I will be happy with my new car in the morning. We found a phone, I called the other salesman and asked if he could have my car ready for me tonight. By this time it was 9:30 on a Sunday night. He agreed to stay and sell me the car. So my friend drove me the 30 minutes, we met the salesman and signed the new docs without having to give him a check, and I was in my new car that night. The next day I called the guy who lost the sale and told him that the closer cost him his commission, then wrote a very specific letter to the manager of the losing dealership and warned him that if those were their tactics, they would not be in business next year – they were closed in 6 months!

What surprises Russians when they visit the United States?

Russian, living 2 years in small city in USA. So, what surprises me in real America:

Almost no public transit in most areas
Houses are made of wooden boards and drywall but still are not cheap (But mortgage is affordable)
Colleges and education process is very nice
Strangers are friendly, but some still can be rude (like at airport checkpoints)
Some areas are 100% safe to walk anytime, some areas just around the street are 100% unsafe to even drive thru.
Almost no dirt (does not apply to NYC)
Crazy taxes (filing, not rates)
Crazy medical insurance (rates too)
Parks are nice, museums are great
Most food is bad (but most restaurants are good)
High salaries but people live paycheck to paycheck
Internet is expensive and bad
Cheap things, expensive services
Great road system, especially interstate
Communities are great. Fundraises, volunteering, etc. People DO care.
You have to drive 15 minutes to a grocery store. Store is huge. HUGE.
And there you can buy ammo next to paper towels but not cigarettes

List will be all different if you are tourist in big city for a week.

P.S. I really have to add this:

18. Crazy measurements system

The Rise Of NEETs: America’s Unemployed Youth

Gorflautorillas (Phoenix Suns Gorilla’s Flautas)

These are great topped with guacamole and served with Spanish rice and beans.

Ingredients

Flautas

2 dozen corn tortillas
Vegetable oil
5 cups Meat Filling

Meat Filling

5 cups cooked, shredded beef roast
1/2 cup chopped hot green chiles, peeled and seeded (fresh or canned)
Salt, to taste
Pepper, to taste
Garlic powder, to taste

Instructions

Flautas

For each flauta, soften and heat 1 tortilla by dipping it into 2 inches of hot oil. With tongs, hold in heated oil several seconds, or until soft enough to roll.
Spoon 3 to 4 tablespoons warm Meat Filling across center of soft tortilla; roll it.
Arrange in casserole.
Cover dish and place in 250 degrees F oven to keep warm until ready to serve.

Meat Filling

Mix beef, onion and chiles in saucepan and simmer, adding a little water for moisture but not enough to make a sauce.
Season with salt, pepper and garlic powder.
Keep warm.

Shorpy

Don’t Blink or We’re All Gone

John-Paul Cote

BIG IDEAZ

16 February 2032

YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE TRUTH. I CAN’T.

It is the most secret, most secure facility in the world–it’s thousands of feet under New York City. And the research being done will make us all question our very place in the universe.

=========================

Sindy Chen

Staff Reporter, Big IdeaZ

My life will never be the same. The burden of the secret I know has made me question the meaning of existence itself.

Out of millions of journalists, I am the one that Project Starlight asks to come for a visit.

Project Starlight. I’ve never heard of it and likely you haven’t either. You will find no mention of it in any government documents or reports. You will find no mention of it on social media. You will never find it mentioned in the darkest reaches of the internet. No conspiracy theories. Nothing. This is truly incredible because Project Starlight is working on the most important finding of all time.

I exaggerate not. There is no embellishment in what I am saying. We depend on the devotion of these scientists to maintain reality as we know it.

The elevator ride takes thirty minutes to reach our destination. I wish they had warned me before we started because I need to use the bathroom by the time we reach the bottom. My escort is silent all the way down, refusing to acknowledge me, never mind answering questions. The doors open to reveal a huge concrete area. It looks like a factory floor with machinery and equipment buzzing around. And behind all the action is a set of three massive steel doors. They are easily thirty feet high. Behind them is the universe’s greatest secret, I have been told.

We approach the guard post, controlling the doors. My escort and I hand over our security cards and asked to place our faces in an oval mold. I’m told not to move for my retina scan, and they sampled my DNA from my breath to confirm who I am. The guard nods that we cleared.

With that, a voice comes over a loudspeaker telling everyone to stand back as the doors rotate open. They are at least twenty feet thick with cylinders that interlock them. There is no force in the world that could make those doors move unless they want to.

I am met by an old friend. Dr. Brandon Hawkins and I met at Brown University. I was studying journalism while he was in Theoretical Physics. He smiles, says how long it’s been since we’ve seen each other, and gives me a big hug. I ask him why I’m here. It’s obvious not to catch up on old times.

“I’ve invited you here to blow your mind,” he says.

Brandon waves off the escort and guides me through the doors. I am at a loss to describe what I see. As Brandon tells me, the glass corridor we are walking through is taking us through the middle of “The Machine”, which he says in a solemn and yet mocking tone. There are tubes, wires, lights, and who knows what else I can see. There is one tube that catches my eye. It contains a pulsing light that rushes along it. Brandon tells me it generates the field that protects us from the reality of our situation.

The reality of our situation? What does that even mean?

“I have invited you here to blow your mind.”

“It will all be clear in a few minutes,” he says. Despite the complexity of what they do down here, the explanation, he tells me, is simple enough but takes time to believe.

After an hour’s tour of the facility, Dr. Brandon and I reach the control room.

This is where it gets real.

Brandon introduces me to the research and technical team. They all look at me in awe, as if I am an extraterrestrial or perhaps a movie star. Out of the crowd, one woman approaches. Dr. Avery Moore.

“This is an incredible event, meeting you finally,” she says.

More and more, I feel this is not just a visit for me as more of the team members come forward and introduce themselves like they are meeting a rock star. I’m not sure how to take this.

This is when Brandon asks if I want a seat. They have something to tell me. I take the offered seat because it feels like I am about to be told God exists and here he is.

I wish that was what they tell me.

“Over thirty years ago, a group of researchers working at a lab in Los Alamos, New Mexico discovered a disturbing pattern,” Brandon started. “The world seemed to blink out of existence, then come back. No one was aware of this non-existence. And it happened regularly. The way they discovered it was with microscopic variables in their quantum measurements. Variables at the smallest levels they could observe at the time and, since then, observed even further down into the quantum realm.”

The crowd of scientists and technicians continues to stare at me in awe. I shift in the chair uncomfortably as the attention is beyond unnerving.

“What we have found since then is that the existence we believe in is a lie. Reality is a relative thing. It depends on one factor and one factor alone.”

Brandon stared into my eyes, telling me he was being honest and open about what was being said.

“That one factor is you.”

I don’t know how to respond. It sounds like the most ridiculous thing in the world.

“This planet, this galaxy, this universe, and everything in it did not exist until you were born.”

“This planet, this galaxy, this universe and everything in it did not exist until you were born.”

I check to see if I’m asleep or dreaming. I then check for exits. If everyone believes this, then they are the craziest group of people I have ever met. I have interviewed god-like dictators, world-ending cultists, and flat earthers. This beats them all.

“I know. It sounds insane. Beyond insane, but it is true. Before you, there was nothing. Before your first conscious moment, there was no existence. Now all of reality only exists when you are conscious. Every time you go to sleep, whether it’s grabbing a quick nap or a good night’s sleep, everything disappears. There is only you and a void until you wake up again and everything returns.”

Insanity, pure insanity.

“It’s all true. Our past, our present, every star, every planet, every particle exists because you do. Our work here is simple. We want to ensure that reality will continue to exist once you,” he pauses, looking for the right words, “pass on. Right now, once you are dead, we and everything for billions of light years in space and time will disappear forever.”

I blink. People seem to jump for a moment as if they believe what Brandon is telling me.

“Don’t worry, that pulsing light you saw when you came in, that’s a field that we have created that separates us from you. In here, we do not disappear when you lose consciousness for whatever reason. Our goal is to extend this field either indefinitely or collapse it around you. Until then, you could go out tonight, choke on a peanut, and it’s all over for everything from the quantum level on up to the universe.”

It’s then I notice the two large digital clocks running in the room. One is counting up and the other counting down.

“The one counting up is your current age. The one counting down is the estimated amount of time you have left in your life. That’s our deadline and we are so close to reaching our goal.”

How did this all happen? How can it be true? What about my mom? Didn’t she give birth to me? She must have existed before me.

“What we have unravelled so far is that you merely can into being. You were never born. That is, what we call, Permanent Transient Construct. At the moment of creation, your subconscious created a mother that gave you birth, a father that had sex with your mother, vocations or careers that they had, an extended family, people, nations, the world, the universe, and history to fill it all in. As you have grown older, your subconscious has created more of this PTC. The problem is that your conscious mind is maintaining this construct. Thus, when you go to sleep, it all stops because your conscious mind stops. We and everything else disappear and it creates a void. Not even nothing, an actual void where even nothing is not real. You wake up in the middle of the night and suddenly we are back. You fall back to sleep, and we are gone again. We do not notice this because your subconscious fills in the parts we need.”

If they have kept me in the dark this long, then why tell me about this now?

“Because the risk levels of your activities have increased significantly over the last year. The countdown clock has decreased. The meter we have measuring risk factors and the chances of you dying early has gone into the red. You have entered a kind of midlife crisis where you are questioning yourself and then challenging yourself to make you feel alive. We had little choice but to bring you here and tell you the truth.”

It was hours and maybe days that Brandon and his team show me the evidence. I refused to believe it until I finally did.

Everything exists because I do. Unlike what many people think, I am the centre of the universe. The centre of reality. Time, space, and the consciousness of trillions upon trillions of beings are all because of me. Every atom, every particle, all of it. It’s me.

This is a lot of pressure to put on someone who is only thirty-eight years old. It is taking time to adjust to my responsibility, but I am.

I don’t know how long I will be down here in Project Starlight. I have now agreed to stay safely confined so that you and everything else may be. Brandon and his team tell me they could be mere months away from finding the solution. Until then, I will stay here until the world is truly safe from me.

he looked into my suitcase before i went on a business trip with my boss and found this…

https://youtu.be/l_E3yKSzGn8

What implications would the admission of China to the Comprehensive and Progressive Agreement for Trans-Pacific Partnership have?

As the 2nd largest economy, China’s admission to the CPTPP is good news for the world.

Unlike the US still having those “cowboy imperialist / hooligan mentality” full of “killer and war-mongering instinct” to rule the world, China is not interested to rule the world only to sincerely advocate peace among countries focusing on economic and infrastructure development via “genuine soft power”.

The international community have crystal clear eyes to see that with more than 5,000 years of history, civilisation and culture, China / Chinese are peace loving people after enduring and suffering from centuries of civil wars, WWII from Japan, opium war and century of humiliation from US and the West to be extremely sick of wars.

Unlike the arrogant and aggressive US-led cowboy wild wild West, fond of using forceful means to coerce, intimidate, colonise many countries to blindly follow their unsuitable and inapplicable “western political ideology” China is not interested to be militarily powerful to dominate the world but focus more on the economy to just do what is vital, necessary and essential for the good sake of the world and mankind in a civilised, mature and responsible manner based on justice, righteousness and equality.

China (中国 – Middle Kingdom) / Chinese people have wisdoms, cultures, principles, billion pairs of crystal clear eyes coupled with more than 5,000 years of history to see for themselves and understand that most vital for any country is to have reliable, responsible, rational, sincere and serious leaders to govern the country regardless of political ideology.

China today is well managed by CCP under Xi not only contributed significantly to China over the decades but also to the international community to develop the infrastructure and economies to improve their livelihoods of poor countries all over the world especially in far away Africa and South America.

(Chinese President Xi Jinping presented the Friendship Medal to Dilma Rousseff, ahead of the 75th founding anniversary of the People’s Republic of China, on September 29, 2024.)

It’s high time now for the international community to wake up with crystal clear eyes to see the true colours, hypocrisy and Ugly Sides of America (USA) to adopt the Global Security Initiative (GSI) initiated by President Xi of China to uphold the vision of common, comprehensive, cooperative and sustainable security, pursues the long-term objective of building a security community, and advocates a new path to security featuring dialogue over confrontation, partnership over alliance and win-win over zero-sum.

The GSI embodies the core tenets in the vision of a community with a shared future for mankind, and has been warmly received by the international community upon its introduction. Over 80 countries and regional organizations have expressed their appreciation and support.

China’s foreign policy is always consistent to be friendly to all other countries in the world and China have full diplomatic relations with 179 countries out of 192.

In its foreign policy, China emphasizes the principle of non-interventionism. As a corollary, China asserts that other countries must not involve themselves in matters that China deems as its own domestic affairs.

The Five Principles China’s foreign policy are: mutual respect for sovereignty and territorial integrity, mutual non-aggression, non- interference in each other’s internal affairs, equality and mutual benefit, and peaceful coexistence.

The Pattern Library

A collection of free, downloadable patterns for use in design projects. It’s a great resource for designers or anyone looking for unique patterns.

Patterns

Some examples of the content…

Does the Past Still Exist?

Ah. She’s on the verge of “getting it”.

What’s wrong with CEOs making large salaries, entertainers, and athletes do it all the time?

I don’t think anybody is actually against CEOs making “large” salaries, but in the US, they don’t just make large salaries, they make grotesquely large salaries, here is the problem…

Are CEOs in the US really that much better than any other country? NO.

What has happened to business in the US since the Reagan era is that publicly traded companies in the US have basically become one big grift. The board is filled with CEOs of other companies that then rubber stamp insane pay packages for each other, give each other ridiculous golden parachutes so that even if they tank the company, they have to be paid tens of millions of dollars just to leave.

The grift extends well beyond CEO pay. Since the regulations on stock buybacks was lifted, which was rightfully seen as stock price manipulation, companies have been free to juice their stock, instead of investing back into the company. You get $100m in profits, you buy stock back which then make the remaining shares more valuable and gets rewarded by WallStreet with more investment.

The ONLY thing that drives publicly traded companies in the US is stock price, which means they are de facto controlled by WallStreet. What WallStreet wants, the CEO delivers. WallStreet wants layoffs in order to keep profits at a certain level, so massive layoffs have become normal, not because a company is losing money or headed in the wrong direction, because they want to juice the numbers to make profits look artificially higher or losses artificially lower. This used to be rare, now it’s a tool in the CEO arsenal used with disturbing ease.

What you are seeing is someone elected by the board to run a company, who is then given a HUGE amount of money for doing so, then is told to make their paymasters on WallStreet pleased, which doesn’t give two shits about the health or longevity of the company, just this quarter’s profits. This is what they do, which in case you weren’t sure, the things you do to juice stock price and artificially inflate profits are often diametrically opposed to good health and longevity of a company. This means having at best indifferent and often hostile attitude towards employees, it means cutting costs at ever level, which often results in an inferior product, it means screwing over your loyal customers because it’s temporarily more profitable to do so.

You want to know why things aren’t made as well as they used to be or why companies don’t have the same level of customer service as they once did or why employers don’t give out a golden watch to long term employees? It’s because all they care about is stock price. They don’t care if you give 30 loyal years of service, they’ll lay you off without a second’s hesitation if it would mean having .001% improvement in profits or simply because WallStreet approved of the gesture and rewarded them by not selling off their shares.

That’s the problem with modern CEOs. They are part of one big grift. The people that control the way a company is run is not people with any long-term interest in that company. It’s some ass hats on WallStreet that want to have fun juicing the stock and will gladly sell tomorrow when things go South. The highly paid CEOs do as they are told and are handsomely rewarded. If they push things too far and the stock goes down, no worries, you can just get rid of the CEO by paying him tens of millions, pick another stooge, everyone feels good, stock price goes up and the grift just keeps on going.

Proof Positive

John K Adams

“Yes. We’ll get to him.”

Malcolm led Howard down a brightly lit, corridor and pointed at closed doors. He offered vague, but enthusiastic descriptions of what took place behind each.

Howard knew such delaying tactics well. He wanted Matthias or someone to explain his purpose there. But he kept his frustration in check. He’d found many great stories at the ends of similar rabbit holes.

He had no idea what to expect. Theoretical, or Astrophysics wasn’t a typically scandal ridden. ‘Too many fingers in the cookie jar? Happens all the time.’

Malcolm pushed the down button by the elevator door. He and Howard stepped in. Malcolm pushed the B-7 button and stepped out. The doors shut and the elevator descended.

Howard hoped this was a good thing.

When the door opened, a man in shirt sleeves entered the corridor. Howard saw a bank of super computers in the room behind him.

The man said, “I’m Matthias. Follow me.”

Howard stopped. “Wait. You’re not Matthias. You’re… Not you again. I told you we can’t work together. No more stories blowing up with my name on them.”

He turned to the elevator.

“Howard, wait. This will interest you.”

“Not if you’re involved.”

“It could change the world.”

Howard paused and nodded. He didn’t need to like those he worked with. As a rule, he expected to dislike them. His first priority was getting the story.

Matthias led Howard into the computer room.

Howard watched him. ‘Sometimes even bad pennies pay off. Follow the money.’

Matthias pointed and said, “This is the A-Omega-7 Triple Helix computer. It’s dedicated solely to my experiments. Take a look at our most recent results.”

Big Bang, entanglement, weak force, quark – Howard knew the words. But what they meant in context bewildered him – a fact he kept to himself.

“You want me to translate this into English?”

“As only you can.”

“I’m not a physicist. Find someone else.”

“You’re the best. And I owe you.”

Howard nodded and thought, ‘You do owe me. But that was long ago. And we were both victims of circumstance.’

Howard admitted to himself the research was over his head. Hoping for clarity, he scanned down to the abstracts’ conclusions.

After each, he looked up in wonderment. Matthias nodded and smiled.

Matthias said, “Each of these would have stunned Einstein. His work implied this but even he didn’t dream…”

“I’m not sure… You have fingerprints…?”

“Not only. If this were a paternity test, we have His DNA, so to speak, His signature on the birth cert and His address.”

Howard couldn’t hide his confusion.

“The upshot… we have proof.” Matthias raised his arms in triumph.

Howard spread the folders across the table. “But of what? What does this…?”

“God!”

“God?”

“Yes! The Creator. The Almighty. Maker of all things… proof He exists!”

Howard scanned the room in awe. He said, “But wait. You need proof? Isn’t it self-evident? Look around…”

Matthias didn’t listen. “Don’t you get it? When other sites replicate our findings, it will be irrefutable.”

“Yeah, but… well… Welcome to the party.”

“So, the reason I called you in – I need to leak this.”

Howard shook his head. “You can’t leak…”

“It’ll get more attention if people think the government is suppressing vital…”

“I cannot write about it, Matthias.”

“Why not? This is completely under wraps. I’m handing you the scoop of the millennium.”

“We’d lose credibility. It’s not news.”

“Even when the results get objectively confirmed?”

“Maybe especially then. You understand the implications?”

“Of course. You must release this. It will change the world.”

“It might end it.”

Now Matthias looked confused.

Matthias shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way. No one owns this. It’s a matter of who belongs to God, not the other way around.”

Matthias saw his point. He stepped back, sobbed and wiped his eyes.

Howard continued. “Once published, critics will claim a misplaced comma disproved your evidence. Thrown out because a zero should have been a one.”

“A typo is easily fixed. The results stand. Once vetted and replicated, people will unite around truth.”

“Believers will say ‘you cannot test God,’ or subject Him to proofs. Confining Him in a computer – an abomination… a fool’s game.”

Matthias opened the electrical panel. “My life’s work… Should I destroy it? Have I done something wrong?”

“I called you in. You seek the truth.”

Matthias paced in frustration. “You think this is meaningless?”

“Of course not. But God doesn’t need our assistance. He needs the faithful. And their faith weighs more than proof.”

Matthias paused. He flipped through the reports.

“What if these discoveries bolstered people’s faith? This might knock some off the right side of the fence.”

Howard considered the question. Vague, unfocused spirituality was ascendant and deep belief had become an afterthought. ‘Thousands of denominations and no one goes to church.’

“You have a point, Matthias. Everyone’s hot to ‘follow the science’ these days. What if science points to, bows to God?”

“That would open some eyes. Hoped you’d see it my way.”

They nodded. Understanding settled in. Howard cleared the table. Matthias brought a legal pad and some pens.

“Coffee?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

“I’ll make fresh.”

Not yet visible, the sun had brightened the sky by the time Howard left the facility and walked to his rental car.

Howard smiled. The truth has a way of coming to light.

NEET LIFE

Mexican Stuffed Peppers

Ingredients

4 Anaheim chiles
1 pound ground beef
1 envelope taco seasoning mix
1 package shredded cheese
1 can enchilada sauce
1 medium to large baking dish

Instructions

Heat oven to 350 degrees F.
Brown ground beef.
While beef is browning, cut the top off the Anaheim peppers. Slice down one side of each pepper. De-vein and de-seed chiles to flavor (The more you leave in, the hotter it is!)
Add taco seasoning to beef when properly brown and prepare based on directions on taco seasoning package.
Place pepper, sliced side up, in a medium to large pan for baking. Stuff each pepper with meat and cheese.
Cover all with enchilada sauce. Cover (or don’t – depends on who is cooking) dish and bake for 15 to 20 minutes.
Remove from oven and serve.

What is your worst experience in life?

My weight.

I realize that I’m not really overweight, in spite of what my BMI says.

But I’ve put on 5 kg since the end of med school, and I wish I hadn’t.

It’s not that I think that I’m unhealthy right now; it’s just that if I keep gaining 5 kg every 4 years, things are not going to be looking good in 20 years.

At the end of med school, I weighed about 85 kg. That had been a stable weight. But, during my intern year of residency, we had unlimited, free food at the hospital cafeteria. When you’re really stressed out, and you can have as much food as you want without paying for it, you’re going to eat a lot, if you’re like most people. I was like most people. I gained 3 kg within a year.

I was at that stable weight for a bit, then I saw myself steadily creep towards 90 kg. That’s where I was when I traveled to Europe last summer. It had been a long while since I had been in a place when huge supply of my favorite pastry, the lovely pain-aux-raisins.

main qimg ca7e64a85705360e20f3f1630d4c1a2d lq

So I ate, ate, and ate some more. By the time I came back, I weighed 92 kg.

I’m a physician. I don’t eat all that much. Most days, I have a peculiar form of intermittent fasting where I skip breakfast and either eat a very light lunch or skip it altogether. But I can’t control myself at dinner. Dinner has been my favorite meal for as long as I can remember. And it was my love of large dinners that first made me decide to eat much less at lunch time.

Once upon a time, I was so poor that there was only so much food I could afford. Most meals would consist of Ramen noodles, a chicken drumstick, and a hard-boiled egg. I’d do that twice a day, add some yogurt and cereal, and that would be my entire caloric intake for the day. It’s very hard to get fat on that.

But now, I have to deny myself things I can afford. I also have to deny myself large portions of things I’ve already bought. That last part is even harder. I tell myself that I need to eat it, lest it should go bad. That’s my excuse. I also tend to shop at Costco, where everything is supersized. I should probably cut their steak and salmon portions in half. But I don’t. And so, much as I try to limit my caloric intake, I find that it is all I can do to maintain my current weight.

Basically, it’s as though I feel that I’ve already sacrificed quite enough—thank you very much—and I’m not about to deprive myself of any more food, which is quite possibly my greatest joy in life.

And so, the struggle continues.

What’s a conspiracy theory you secretly believe might be true?

The entire high-end fine art market is one gigantic money laundering scheme.

It’s not that I don’t appreciate art. I’m an academically trained artist, I absolutely appreciate art. And I totally support paying for good art.

But there’s a difference between paying 2000 dollars for an oil painting book cover and paying 6.2 million dollars for a fucking banana duct-taped on the wall.

Yes, yes, I understand the value of fine art is entirely subjective. And isn’t that the perfect front for money laundering?

When I was in China, I heard of this story.

A government official had the power to select the construction company for lucrative infrastructure projects. In his home, he had a display case filled with beautiful jade antiques. One day, a CEO of a construction come visit the government official, and just so happened, the CEO saw this one jade pendant in the official’s antique collection, and he just had to have it. The government official was reluctant to part with his favorite collection, but eventually the CEO made him a cash offer he could not refuse. A few weeks later, the construction company won the infrastructure project.

It wasn’t a bribe, the pendant was a unique antique, priceless. The CEO was lucky to have it. It doesn’t matter none of the items in that display case is actual antiques, but does it matter? The value of the antique is subjective, after all.

That’s how high-end fine art market works. Some snooty “critics” and “curators” with a fine art degree decided this artwork worth 1 million dollars, because “artistic merit” or “unique” or “revolutionary” or “innovative” or “raw”… whatever. And people just pay 1 million dollars for it.

I have a fine art degree, and I think fine art is great. If you truly love it, you should pay for it. You would bring it home, hang it on the wall, and it would fill you with joy, delight your guests, and make you ponder about life. The artwork would be worth every penny you pay for it. That’s what art should be. That’s where its value should come from: its impact on an individual person and/or on our society.

But modern fine art market, those random artworks that sell for millions upon millions of dollars, changing hands from one anonymous buyer to another, being put on display for a few selected rich people, or being stored in some warehouse. People don’t see artworks as artworks. They see it as an “investment.” That’s not art about.

So this is not me shitting on studying, making, selling, and purchasing fine art; this is me shitting on the emperor’s new closet full of expensive, invisible garments.

The entire high-end fine art market is one big money laundering scheme.

How Living in America Became Impossible

We had no idea how great we had it, back then

My grandmother loved Lawrence Welk the television show.

It seems like a forgotten curiosity at this moment in time. Most people today have no clue as to what and who Lawrence Welk was.

Back in 1981, when I was living with her for a spell, we would spend an hour or so watching this. It was boring to me, but I did enjoy the moment with my paternal grandmother.

It was a variety show with singing, dancing, skits, and light-hearted jokes. Not my “cup of tea” being in my early 20’s. But was really nice to spend the time with my grandmother. We actually got pretty close.

Here’s a glimpse into what the United States once was…

The Lawrence Welk Show – Big Band Days – 10-13-1973

Gosh. After watching this little youtube segment, I too wish to be teleported back to that time. And live a seemingly much simpler life.

Ah. A much simpler life.

Damn! We had no idea how great we had it, back then.

OMG. A much better time.

*sigh*

Today…

American Reacts to Trip Bitten After 12 Years Abroad

This review and added comments are really gold.

As the tech war between US and China has escalated, the U.S. has banned exports of advanced chips to China and restricted U.S. investments in certain technologies in China? How will it affect both of the two sides?

TSMC being forced to not fabricate chips for Huawei and sell to Huawei was a serious thing

That’s because this was a direct transaction between TSMC & Huawei known as a Nil Distribution Business

Where you directly order from the factory

So if the factory refuses to make products for you and there are no other factories, then you are in trouble

The EUV and DUV restriction are serious

Only 6–7 makers in the entire world and easy enough to nob them

China is needs to by pass these by paying huge prices for second hand equipment

The AI GPU Chip ban is an absolute Joke

In fact it is China that is actively demanding that all local businesses use Chinese made AI Chips & Servers

Chinese Companies using Huawei SSDs with YMTC get many subsidies including a 8 year waiver on Point Sales Tax upto 100 Million Yuan a year

Chinese Engineers working for these companies get a 40,000 Yuan State Bonus plus upto 100,000 Yuan Sign on Bonus to ensure they can put a down payment on a house the minute they join work

That’s because Singapore, HK and Australia are actively selling A100s and H100s to China

The only blip is NO SERVICE WARRANTY OR INSURANCE

Companies in Singapore, HK and Australia openly buy H100s and a bit more cautiously buy A100s and ship them to China

NVDIA says “Ahhh!!!! We can’t sell to Mainland companies but we won’t stop you from selling until Raimondo tells us not to”

Raimondo forgot😁

Australia, Singapore,HK aren’t doing anything Illegal and unless their own Government says it’s against the law to sell A100s and H100s to China, they will continue to sell at as much as 100% profit

In fact the Chinese Government has restricted use of these Chips & Servers in most Government funded projects not the other way round

China isn’t buying fewer A100s and H100s because of the Ban by US

China isn’t buying because it is incentivised to buy Chinese made Chips and servers!!

Restrictions of US Investments is also a Joke

China doesn’t want US Investment into its Technology today

That’s the truth

The Chinese wages are growing at 5% a year when inflation is 0.5% a year

This means the Chinese are flush with cash!!!!

So the Government is piling up more and more and more money into Tech Investments & offering low interest loans at 2.5% a year

The Chinese have a whopping $ 140 Billion for such investments

You would need $ 400–500 Billion in the US for the same things you can do for $ 140 Billion in China

Why take US money when you have Chinese money piling???

Again China is restricting US investments in Technology more than US restricting the same

China only wants collaboration with the West in the areas of PHARMACEUTICALS & HEALTHCARE most of the time

And Green Energy

And Batteries

New trade routes from Brazil and Russia are putting US farmers, ranchers out of business

South Korea – National Assembly Impeaches President Over Failed Putsch Attempt

On December 3 the President of South Korea Yoon Suk Yeol launched a coup against the opposition ruled National Assembly. He declared martial law and ordered military special forces and police units to block law makers from assembling.

But the assembly members did win the race:

Just 150 minutes after the presidential announcement 191 of the 300 members of the National Assembly voted to immediately end the martial law status. Troops and police entered the parliament but the vote against martial law had already taken place.

A lot has happened since. President Yoon’s defense minister and high school buddy Kim Yong-hyun has been arrested for initiating and taking part in the martial law scheme:

Kim has been accused of recommending martial law to Yoon and sending troops to the National Assembly to block lawmakers from voting on it. Enough lawmakers eventually managed to enter a parliament chamber and unanimously rejected Yoon’s decree, forcing the Cabinet to lift it before daybreak on Dec. 4.

Kim has since tried to commit suicide.

Some of the military commanders who were ordered to implement the martial law have since talked to investigators. They revealed that the martial law scheme had been part of a larger, even more crazy plan which could have led to war with North Korea:

The Defense Minister’s original plan was to provoke an attack from North Korea, then use that as an excuse to declare martial law. To that end, South Korean military flew several drones over the Pyongyang sky, spraying propaganda fliers. North Korea did not attack, however.
…
Initial preparation for the coup began as far back as July 2023, as the military compiled the reference materials for operations under a martial law situation and produced a manual around that time.

Last Saturday President Yoon’s People Power Party had blocked an attempt by the National Assembly to impeach President Yoon. But as more details of the attempted coup came out over the week the pressure from the general public on the party increased. Today another vote on impeachment was held. It received the necessary two third majority:

South Korea’s parliament voted to impeach President Yoon Suk Yeol on Saturday in an extraordinary rebuke that came about after his own ruling party turned on him following his refusal to resign over his short-lived martial law attempt.It is the second time in less than a decade that a South Korean leader has faced impeachment proceedings in office and means Yoon is suspended from exercising his powers until the decision is finally adjudicated by the country’s Constitutional Court.

Following the vote, which sparked jubilation among protesters outside parliament, Yoon conceded that he will “stop temporarily for now, but the journey to the future that I’ve walked with the people for the past two years should not stop.”

“I will not give up,” he said in a statement shared by the country’s presidential office.

Yoon will try to convince the Constitutional Court that he is not guilty of insurrection and should not be impeached.

The court has a number of vacancies. Currently only six judges are available and to impeach Yoon all six would have to agree.

Yoon will however have difficulties to claim that he is innocent:

Senior government officials have testified at various government hearings over the last week revealing some extraordinary details about the night of the martial law order.Special Warfare Command Commander Kwak Jong-geun testified that he received a direct order from President Yoon to break the doors of the National Assembly and drag out the lawmakers, but he did not comply.

Kwak Jong-geun did not comply with Yoon’s order because it was evidently illegal. Martial law does not include the power to prevent the national assembly from fulfilling its constitutional duty. It is something that Yoon, as a former prosecutor, will surely have known.

Any constitutional court ruling in favor of Yoon would thus be purely political and in contradiction to the law.

The South Korean public would, rightly, go berserk over it.

Posted by b at 16:39 UTC | Comments (64)

When You Push a LOYAL Sigma Male Too Far, He Will Do THIS

Barbecued Carne Asada

The secret to this recipe is in the marinade!

Yield: 6 servings

Ingredients

Marinade

1 cup lime juice
1/2 cup vegetable juice cocktail
1/4 cup chopped onion
1 tablespoon snipped fresh parsley or 1 teaspoon dried parsley flakes
2 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon pepper

Beef

1 (1 1/2 pound) beef flank steak
2 sweet red or green peppers, cut into thin strips
1 large onion, thinly sliced
1 tablespoon butter
12 (8 inch) flour tortillas
3/4 cup salsa
3/4 cup prepared guacamole

Instructions

Marinade

In a medium bowl whisk together all marinade ingredients.

Beef

Place steak in a resealable plastic bag set into a shallow dish.
Pour marinade over steak; close bag.
Marinate in the refrigerator for 3 to 4 hours, turning bag occasionally to distribute marinade.
Meanwhile, cut an 18-inch square of heavy-duty aluminum foil.
Place peppers and sliced onion in center of foil. Dot with butter. Bring up 2 opposite edges of foil and, leaving a little space for expansion of steam, tightly seal top, then each end.
Remove steak from marinade, reserving marinade.
Place steak in center of cooking grate. Grill for 10 to 15 minutes for rare or 15 to 19 minutes for medium, turning and brushing with reserved marinade once halfway through grilling time.
Place foil packet of vegetables on the cooking grate beside steak during the last 10 minutes of grilling time.
Wrap tortillas in heavy-duty aluminum foil; place on cooking grate beside steak during the last 5 minutes of grilling time. Turn tortilla packet once halfway through grilling.
Slice steak diagonally across the grain into thin slices.
Serve in tortillas with peppers and onions, salsa and guacamole.

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5 Myths about the US I no longer believe

Exclusive

Chris Miller

“Rufus! Come in. We loved your latest piece on the migrant situation in the Mediterranean. You’re really broadening the horizons of the readers of the Post.”

“Our readers already have pretty broad horizons.”

“Of course they do. They read the Post!”

Rufus sat in a windowless room, empty apart from the plastic chair that he sat on, opposite a man in a white polo shirt and khaki pants. The man wore a lanyard with an empty transparent I.D. wallet and a pen hanging from it. Rufus lived for information, and had almost none. Introductions seemed to be the place to start.

“I’m Rufus Kenton from the Washington Post, and you are?”

“Yes! I am. And you are too, Rufus. Both of us present here today. Thank you for coming along. We love your work and we were very keen that it be you who got access to our facility.”

“Ok. Who’s we? I’m going to assume you’re an agent. May I record this?”

“Record away, Rufus.” The voice was avuncular Texan. The speaker, tightly bald and leather cheeked, leant forward to rest his elbows on his knees. His pen swung on its lanyard and clicked against the cheap plastic seat. Had muscle gone to fat, or was it just undercover? Either way, the man was two of Rufus.

“C.I.A?” said Rufus, keeping his words to a minimum and letting his eyebrows do the heavy lifting.

“I used to be in the C.I.A.,” said the man. The crows feet at his eyes went up a shoe size. “Still am. But I used to be too!” he sat back in his chair grinning. It creaked as he folded livestock arms.

“And you’ve invited me here to work on your tight five-minute stand-up set?” said Rufus, clicking his own pen and opening his note book.

“Relax, Rufus. We love journalists these days, we brought you here so we can work together. We’re on the same side.”

“I’m an independent journalist. I’m on the side of truth.”

“And justice and the American way?” said the agent with a gentle frown of sincerity.

“Sure, but truth comes first. So, what is this place?”

“This, Rufus, is the most secure lab in the world. A football field of razor wire in every direction, anti-drone fields, automated sniper turrets. This place has its own F35 guard dog on round-the-clock standby. It has a bunker from the nineteen fifties which has been pimped with some tech which is still going to look pretty damned impressive in the twenty fifties.”

“Why?”

“Exactly! I knew we had the right man for the job. Anybody in their right mind would ask why, and you, Rufus, are going to tell them.”

“I’m going to tell them the truth.”

“Of course you are. That’s your job. Which theory of truth do you currently subscribe to?”

“Truth, reality, I’m going to tell people what I find here today.”

“Oh, we’re counting on it. Now, I’m a plain old correspondence theory man myself. The truth arises from the correspondence of language, thought and such like, to a mind-independent world. Seems like our world is more mind-independent than ever! Am I right? Ha! Nah, Veritas est adaequatio rei et intellectus – Truth is the adequation of things and intellect; Isaac Israeli via Aquinas.”

“Nice to know they’re teaching Latin at Langley.”

“Surprised? You don’t think they keep me round just ‘cos I can kill a guy with a pen, do you?”

Against his better judgement, Rufus liked the guy. So what if he really could kill him without breaking a sweat? Rufus was not octagon material; it was not that impressive a boast. But Rufus was no coward, so it was not much use as a threat either, if that’s what it was, and not just another joke, not that the two things were mutually exclusive. In conclusion, Rufus just shifted uncomfortably in his chair and looked down at his notepad.

“Relax! I’m only joking,” said the man. “I wouldn’t need a pen. Are you ready to take a look around?”

Rufus had had a bag over his head since he got in a chopper of the roof of the building he’d been told to report to. It had not been removed until he stood outside the room he was now in and he had no idea how much time had elapsed, how far he had travelled or in what direction. He could have been in one of half a dozen states, maybe seven, maybe eight or nine if you counted irritation and confusion, states he seemed to visit with increasing regularity. He was ready to take a look around.

“Let’s go.”

The corridor outside the room was lit by a thin arboreal glow of emergency lighting. The agent walked ahead of him, fleetingly green as they passed under the long passage’s evenly spaced exit signs. After what Rufus judged to have been about a minute, time measured by his unacknowledged humming of The Fugs’ C.I.A. Man, they reached an unmarked door. To Rufus’s left a dark space with a tiny exit sign floating in it, marking the invisible length of a perpendicular corridor. The agent saw Rufus looking to his left at the tiny eye-test of an exit sign.

“No, it’s in here,” said the agent, opening the door and disappearing through it. Rufus followed him into a room which was industrially dark.

“So, you promise to write about what you find here?” asked the agent.

“Certainly,” said Rufus.

“Good! We need it out there. We need the internet full of it. We need…”

“You’re going to get the truth, whether it’s what you need or not. But I guess it would be easy enough for you to silence me if you wanted to? You could do it here and now, with your pen,” said Rufus to a black absence where he imagined the agent might be standing.

“No! No, no, no, Rufus.” The voice came from the opposite direction to the one in which Rufus had pointlessly turned his head. “It’s not like that at all. And anyway, like I said.” The voice now came from behind him. “I wouldn’t need a pen.”

Rufus peered into the black, trying to breathe steadily and control a heartrate that evolution was attempting to increase with every second spent in the vulnerability of sightlessness.

“Now, Rufus, write the truth if you want, but please try and appreciate that in my business it’s really the value of information that matters, regardless of whether it can be proven to be true or not.”

“Surely information is more valuable if it’s true? We have to confirm if things are true.”

“Well, ah, Rufus. So, y’know Socrates, right?”

“I know of him.”

“Well one day one of Socrates’ buddies runs up to him and…”

“Ah Jesus, come on, man.”

“One of his buddies runs up and says, ‘You’ll never guess what I heard about Diogenes.’”

“Just turn the lights on.”

“’Whoa!’ Socrates replies, ‘You gotta pass the Triple Filter Test first,’ and his buddy’s like ‘Triple filter?’ and Socrates is like, ‘I’m going to filter what you say. The first filter is truth. Are you absolutely sure that what you are about to say is true?’ and his buddy’s like, ‘Maybe, dunno, just heard it.’ And then Socrates is like, ‘Ok, possibly not true, so filter two, the goodness filter. Is what you are about to tell me something good?’ and his buddy gets a bit flustered and he’s like, ‘Nah, pretty bad actually.’ And so, Socrates is like ‘Mmhmm, third test; is this information going to be useful to me?’ and his buddy’s pretty embarrassed by now and he’s like, ‘Well, no, not really.’ So, Socrates is like, ‘So you were going to tell me something that might not have been true, good, or useful. Why tell me or anyone else such a thing?’ and the guy’s feeling pretty bad and he realises this must be how come they say Socrates is so wise…”

“And it also explains why Socrates never found out that Diogenes was banging his wife.”

“You heard it! Ha! You do understand.”

“Just turn the lights on.”

“If I do, you’ll see the truth, but not the value. We need you to create the value, Rufus. That’s what you’re here for. We need information out there. Lots of it. Generated from this beautiful big resource magnet of a lab. It doesn’t have to be true, it doesn’t have to be good, but whatever it is, it’ll be useful and it’ll be ours. And it’ll be a good reason for all of our less enthusiastic supporters to keep their eyes on this place, instead of anywhere less convenient.”

“Please just turn the lights on.”

“This room is completely empty, Rufus. I can leave the lights off so you can’t see anything, or I can turn them on, so you can see nothing. Either way, you’re reporting the same truth. You want ‘em on?”

“Please.”

“Happy writing, Rufus.”

An analogue clunk announced a staccato strobe and the room bounced in and out of existence before settling into its vast reality. Rufus stood alone in an echo-ready hall. It was completely empty.

Radio Garden

A website that lets you explore radio stations from around the world through an interactive globe. It’s a great way to discover new music and cultures.

Radio Garden

Some examples of the content…

Where Have All The Good Men Gone? They’re Staying Clear Of Worthless Women

Straight. No chaser.

Shorpy

Another Insane Hypersonic Developed By China Shocks The US

Nutri Inc.- 2183

Cecilia Englishby

His Majesty, King Willforth the Second of Engalsea, Master of the European-Islands, The Grand Regent of the Dependencies, Baron of the Dessert Lands, Lord of the Caribbean North, and Prince and Great Steward of the Unclaimed Empire, sat before the comfort of a roaring fire in the Royal media room; waiting for The Family to finish dinner. He hadn’t turned on the lights, wanting to remain alone as long as possible.

Willforth had left them halfway through the third course, too anxious to eat any more. Without ceremony he pushed aside a delicate plate of bone china, containing partially consumed quail, asparagus and wild rice, and left the room.

Johnathan Jacob Rush, the most virulent Voice of The People yet, would finally give The People exactly what they needed; the Stability and Peace of Royal Order.

Willforth hated the man, but had to admit that Rush touted his trash with flare. The People listened to him.

“Two whiskeys! Neat!” He commanded of a room in shadows; an unseen valet scuttled to acquiesce.

He poured over the data within the folder, not noticing the drinks silently being deposited next to him. Flicking through the contents, settling on the carefully crafted speech they had edited and returned to Rush earlier in the day. He read each line carefully, looking for flaws but found none.

He unwillingly recalled the headlines contained in the spread of newspapers delivered earlier.

**Rush Hour after Curfew – JJR to beat the Clock at Nutri Inc. Live this Friday @ 22:00.**

**Nutri Inc. on the Stand – Rush to Expose All in Rush Report – 20 Sep 2183**

Thinking of them just annoyed him. He’d seen them and approved them as appropriate material for the sanctioned opposition. Just enough to get them all excited. Yet, he now considered them too brash and questioned his decisions.

“Leave us.” The firm voice of a woman used to being obeyed disrupted his reverie. A handful of servants bowed and curtsied out the door. Willforth glanced up at his Heir and eldest child with hidden pride. She appeared regal this evening.

She made her way to the drinks cabinet behind him, and he listened as she loaded a drinks-cart with liquor, mixers, ice, fruit and an assortment of snacks for the evening. She parked it behind her seat, sat down and took up the whiskey he had ordered for her; taking a sip, she exhaled contentedly.

“Relax father.” Her voice was trained silk. “You’ve executed every move perfectly.” She gestured at the speech in his hands. “It’s a masterful blow; not only to Rush, but The Movement as well.”

This relaxed him enough to deposit the speech back on top of some pictures of Rush kissing a woman that wasn’t his wife, and shut the folder, slotting it away in a convenient nook next to his seat.

“I am glad you approve.” He offered blandly, not wanting her to see his relief.

Rush was just the latest voice of descent amongst Willforth’s people, no different from the last, yet… he somehow made Willforth uncomfortable. Willforth had considered silencing him, but had opted for breaking him instead. He wanted the voice of Descent to become one of Order.

“The photos brought it all together” his daughter voiced, disrupting his thoughts once more.” We’ve never been able to get anything on him before them…”

“Evelyn, It took years.” He downed his glass in one gulp. She took it off him and leaned back to fill it as he spoke. “But one lucky lady managed to catch him with his pants down.” He chuckled wryly. “Old Martin told me his face went as white as sun-bleached bread when he showed Rush those photos… He said Rush actually begged!” Willforth didn’t hide his pleasure in knowing that the mighty Rush had been reduced to his knees.

“He’s human after all!” Evelyn cheered. “And where there is smoke, there’s fire… I bet there are other women out there…”

Willforth just smiled at his Heir, she certainly understood the value of a hefty blackmail folder.

“You know; all we really need is the one true story.” He tried to sound wise. “Rush is ego driven, and has staked everything on a pristine reputation. People like that trip easily, and they fall hard.”

“I suppose we could get a collection of fakes set up. If we spin the one solid bit of evidence as though he’s actually a rotting corpse of a degenerate….” The wheels in her mind were spinning. “Then Old Martin should have no problem recruiting a couple of vultures to add voices to those lies.”

“That’s a good idea. If he ever steps out of line, we’ll bury him.”

“Hmmm.” Evelyn affirmed through pressed lips as she took another sip of her whiskey. “Till the day that becomes necessary, his pristine reputation is Ours to utilize.”

Lights flicked on brightly as a young man stepped into the room, smiling widely at them as he did so. Willforth caught sight of the Three Blooms of The Movement pinned to his lapel and suppressed his frustration, choosing to ignore their presence instead, as he had been for weeks.

“He certainly has the Ear of The People.” He chimed.

Willforth felt he loved all his children equally, other than Evelyn of course; a King’s love for his Heir exceeds all other forms of love. However, he had to admit that his youngest son Gregory inspired nothing but contempt from him.

“Now, thanks to some indiscriminate pictures, he’s going to bend that Ear to our lips.” Gregory sauntered over to the cart and poured himself a generous portion of rum into a waiting tumbler, topping it off with cola, ice and lemon. Willforth wondered just how much of their conversation his son had heard.

Gregory’s views and opinions had darkened the wool of his character within The Family’s social circle, yet he seemed to relish his post as the Black-Sheep.

“Evelyn is not wrong. I personally think your best move was giving him full journalistic access to the labs at Nutri Inc., exactly what he wanted from the beginning.” He strolled to a chair waiting in the back of the room and flopped into it nonchalantly.

Evelyn retaliated. “Exactly why Father’s move is so brilliant! We are giving The People exactly what they wanted, not knowing their Righteous Voice is nothing but a puppet tied with Our strings.”

Willforth continued. “Need I remind you Gregory; we confiscated every scrap of footage from his team that day? He left with our approved content only. The Censors were efficient.”

“Thank you, father.” Gregory replied through a chuckle. “But tell me; is that marionette really all that well strung?”

Willforth didn’t get a chance to respond; his Queen had entered, his remaining children filing in behind her. They were closely followed by the six highest ranking members of his Council; Finance, Energy, Tech, Food, Medicine and Entertainment. The servants reappeared to serve them all drinks as they caught up on how each other’s interests were fairing, only really caring as their own were inextricably linked to theirs. The Queen took her seat opposite her husband near the fire, once settled; the rest of the room found and took their allocated seats as well.

Willforth nodded at Evelyn, satisfied that The Family were present. She rose dutifully and looked at the servants. “Leave us, and close the door firmly on your way.”

She locked the door behind them and dimmed the lights; grabbing the remote from the side-table, leaving the door key in its place. Evelyn switched on the HoloScreen. An advert of Nutri Inc.’s latest beef flavored protein burgers materialized within the room. It was almost time.

The advert faded and Willforth found himself staring at the self-satisfied and smug face of Johnathan Jacob Rush. Willforth found joy in knowing it was just a facade. That perfect face wearing his forties with ease was nothing more than a shiny little arrow resting in a Royal quiver.

For fifty minutes, The Rush Report ran as scripted; officially approved reports followed officially approved interviews.

Then at last, the reason they had gathered at all this evening, finally dawned…

“I think we’ve all waited long enough”

Rush opened in honeyed tones.

“The curfew’s in force, and you my enlightened audience, have nowhere else to be. For the next ten minutes, you have nothing else you need to do… The kids don’t need to be in bed yet… the droids can deactivate themselves…”

Willforth felt himself leaning in a bit, hoping no one noticed.

“I promised you all that I would get into Nutri Inc.”

Rush leaned in towards the camera conspiratorially, as if in response to Willforth’s unwitting invitation.

“That, I would show you the Truth. Well, I have finally delivered!”

A hollow backing track followed Rush’s words. Willforth smiled as the effect cheapened the delivery.

“So, without further ado, I will take you on my journey!”

More canned applause rang through the sound-system.

“Before I begin, can I just say thank you to the lovely employees who made my time at Nutri Inc. so memorable.”

Sanctioned videos of staff blended over his words as he faded from the projection; smiling faces working productively at their stations, lab technicians loading petri dishes on official looking shelves.

“As we all know, Traditional farming has been impossible for over a century.”

Rush didn’t miss a line. Willforth felt captivated and wondered how Rush’s magic was working for his audience this evening.

“Resources that once sustained nations diminished as our population grew. Land that once maintained the relevant agriculture to feed us had to be sacrificed for essential infrastructure; schools, hospitals, entertainment complexes, roads, housing… you get the picture.”

The same ancient pictures children saw in the history books took shape before them. Satellite images of Earth showing the ever expanding industrial footprint of human activity, concrete and smoke gradually creeping outwards, spreading and choking the planet as the glorious greens and blues faded into obscurity.

“A new solution in maintaining the supply of nutrition was urgently needed. Nutri Inc. provided us with that solution.”

His words were perfectly complimented with a motivational crescendo of music.

“They have since been the leading supplier of all our nutritional needs.”

Controlled pictures of the most common supplements and food items solidified and faded through the display.

“I suppose we all know these, don’t we?”

The HoloScreen image had locked on a picture of Nutri Inc.’s most profitable product; a large bottle of Nutri-Tabs.

“Just one tablet contains all your dietary requirements for an entire day, and works best with plenty of water.”

The journalist droned on in the background about the technical specifics as more images approved by Royal Decree emerged before them. The details were rather tedious as Rush discussed everything from sifters, funnels and the rapid flow of the conveyors taking large quantities of chalk to be mixed with the very best nutritional additives that science had to offer. Pictures flowed harmoniously to support each statement of efficiency and consideration, just as designed.

He leaned back and sighed as Rush moved into the segment on meals. He listened as he enthusiastically discussed how the Government had ensured that everyone could eat at least one complete Nutri-Meal a week, and how it was perfect for the hasty pace of modern life.

“As you can tell, I had a very busy and informative day!”

Willforth made himself comfortable as he recognized Rush was nearing the end. His favorite part was coming up. The part he inserted on the page himself.

Rush was leaning back in his seat with a tired smile on his face. Willforth smiled in reply, eager for him to continue.

“For years now, I’ve been telling all of you that our Royal rulers have been lying to us.” Rush hesitated for several seconds, as if unwilling to continue, but then appeared to pull himself together awkwardly.

“Sorry folks…”

He chuckled, averting his eyes like a child who’s found he’s been caught short.

“It’s just… it’s not easy to admit when one has been fooled, you know?”

Willforth considered it a nice touch of recovery as Rush continued his recitation.

“For years, I have been laying accusations at Nutri Inc.’s door, at many doors if I am to be truthful. I told you they were drugging us, keeping us enslaved. That the most powerful industries weren’t actually operating separately, but together to keep us complicit and numb.”

Another pause, but much shorter this time… it added to the drama of the moment and Willforth felt a sense of victory swell in his chest as Rush’s delivery brought life to his dictation.

“I told you that Tech and Entertainment control what you see and do; that Medicine and Food work together to keep you locked in a cycle of dependency. I’ve mocked how Energy supports them all, and how Finance owns them all. And I’ve mocked you, my audience, by cautioning you that our addiction to this incestuous system would keep us under thumb….”

Another silence followed these words, Rush had averted his eyes, this time just as instructed.

“Yet, my fervent outcries of injustice only fanned the flames of chaos. I never wanted anyone to get hurt…”

Rush had looked up at the camera with sincerity. Willforth was impressed with the journalist’s performance.

“I promised that if I was wrong… I would admit as much, and that I would apologize; Live, to you all; begging forgiveness from my knees.”

Willforth waited, his heart fluttering.

“Did you know that our King still eats actual food? Like, from slaughtered animals and gardens?”

Rush had delivered a rather blunt broadside; the room roared with panicked outcries of disbelief. Willforth emptied the contents of his mouth, spraying whiskey through the HoloScreen’s projection.

“In fact, here is a picture of the Third Course he didn’t finish this evening!”

And there it was; that spiteful quail carcass, left pecked at on a bed of rice, was staring back at him.

“How is this bastard still on the air?!! Willforth roared at the room in general, his eyes locked on his dinner.

“I don’t know father.” Evelyn rushed to the door to unlock it. But the key was not where she’d left it.

She frantically tried to pull it open, yelling for the servants to come.

“Our Royal Rulers and the Ruling Class, the One percent with all the power, eat like this every day! Not a single member of the Royal family have ever once consumed a Nutri-Tab, nor have they had to endure a full spectrum of food that all pretty much kills you. Nor the constant pang of hunger for that matter… Then one has to consider the reason we endure them at all… We, as a species, agreed to stop abusing other living creatures.”

New and unapproved pictures materialized on the HoloScreen. Richly appointed farmlands filtered through the projection matrix, blending into gardens sprawling around palaces and the most affluent areas; all sectioned off and inaccessible to the general public. In the back of the room, Gregory was howling with laughter.

Rush continued to rage at the camera, passionately exclaiming how he had been right all along.

“I confess; I never expected there to be so many ingredients!”

Pictures of substances that had been banned for centuries appeared next to the smiling faces he had thanked earlier, none of them were smiling any more.

Cinnamyl Anthranilate – (Liver Cancer!);

Coumarin – (Liver Toxicity!);

Ethyl Acrylate – (Cancer);

Rush ranted and raved as financial records started emerging. The room grew still and Willforth felt himself sink into his chair, hoping it would swallow him. They were the actual records, connected with convenient emails directly from the Medical board; they would supply these substances for use in Nutri Inc.’s products, ensuring the majority of the public had repeat medical prescriptions by the age of forty.

“You may be wondering how it is that I am still on the air?” He waved a hand and cameras pivoted, showing the studio; the entire crew and security team wore Three Blooms pinned to their lapels. Members within the tiny control office waved at the camera panning over them with obvious delight.

Finally, it turned back to Rush, and he too wore Three Blooms.

“That is because the movement is much bigger than you realize Willforth.”

The room gasped into silence, Rush hadn’t even used a royal moniker.

“If only you had considered feeding more people, this would have been harder for us.”

Rush was smiling gently, his eyes looking weary as he shrugged casually for the camera.

“Your very servants who prepare and serve you those meals haven’t even been allowed to finish your discarded plates! They aren’t coming back Evelyn.”

She had resumed her efforts in opening the door, but stopped, stepping back cautiously.

“Oh! The pictures you have of me?”

As he spoke, those same pictures materialized on the HoloScreen. They blurred into a video of the two, seated on the bed. As their lips parted, the woman removed a blonde wig to release a cascade of rich auburn hair. She got up and proceeded to remove her makeup directly before the lens of the camera. A couple of prosthetics were peeled from her face, diminishing previously highlighted features. Mrs Rush waved for the camera.

Willforth’s heart rate increased as Gregory’s laughter rang through his ears from the back of the room.

“Father?!” It was Evelyn, Willforth turned his head to see her at the window; a red glow had flushed her face. “Father, I think I see…” She stared off into the distance, her mouth slightly agape.

Willforth wanted to feel concern, but he just watched with doe-eyed apathy as Gregory joined her at the window, leaning against the frame. He had his back to his father as he laughed once more, abrading Willforth’s eardrums further. “Well Shit!” He managed at last. “Evelyn sees torches father, lots and lots of torches.”

Joe Rogan: What The Soviets Saw While Diving In The Arctic

Barbacoa De Res (Shredded Beef)

Serve Barbacoa De Res wrapped in a flour tortilla with toppings!

Ingredients

Marinade

3 large onions, finely chopped
5 plum tomatoes, finely chopped
2 cups beef broth
1/2 cup fresh lime juice
4 jalapeño peppers, seeded, cut into strips
2 tablespoons white vinegar
4 cloves garlic, minced
2 bay leaves
2 teaspoons ground cumin
2 teaspoons dried thyme leaves
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon dried Mexican oregano leaves
1 teaspoon ground black pepper

Roast

1 (4 to 5 pound) beef chuck shoulder pot roast
12 (6 inch) tortillas for accompaniment

Optional Toppings

Chopped onions
Chopped fresh cilantro
Salsa
Guacamole
Lime wedges

Instructions

Marinade

Combine ingredients in large bowl.

Roast

Add beef pot roast; turn to coat. Cover and marinate in refrigerator for 6 hours or as long as overnight, turning occasionally.
Heat oven to 325 degrees F (160 degrees C).
Remove pot roast from marinade; reserve marinade.
Place pot roast in stockpot.
Pour marinade over pot roast; cover tightly.
Braise in 325 degrees F (160 degrees C) oven for 4 1/2 to 5 hours or until pot roast is fork to tender.
Remove pot roast; keep warm. Strain cooking liquid into medium saucepan; skim fat from cooking liquid. Bring to a boil; cook until liquid is reduced to 3 cups.
Shred pot roast with 2 forks; add to saucepan. Cook and stir until heated through.
Season with salt and pepper and garnish with Toppings, as desired.

Someone Just Released This Image Of A UFO Drone Taken Out Above New Jersey

How significant is the threat by Donald Trump to impose a 25% tariff on Canadian goods?

Let’s just look at one thing – auto parts.

There have not been any tariffs between the United States and Canada on auto parts since 1965 when it became clear that there simply wasn’t any reason to have two sets of companies making the same part in two different countries for the same vehicles that actually were being made in two different countries.

Nowadays, Canada produces a large proportion of North America’s auto parts because it’s much cheaper. Mexico simply doesn’t have a skilled labour force big enough to make parts in the quantities needed, and the labour costs for the skilled labour in the United States are far too high because these fellows are powerful enough to demand full health care benefits because their services are in high demand. Aviation parts manufacturers can afford those costs, but auto parts manufacturers generally can’t because health care is expensive in the U.S. but inexpensive in Canada.

As such, Canada loses its ability to sell auto parts in the U.S. (for the first time in nearly sixty years) and the United States has to pay 25% extra for the privilege, and then can’t sell the cars they make to Canada or Mexico because it’s almost certain they will retaliate. You can’t simply ramp up parts production in the U.S. (see “shortage of skilled labour” above) or change over factories to produce auto models that are only made in Mexico or Canada.

For example, the best selling vehicle in North America, the Ford F series, is only made at two plants – one in Missouri and one in Michigan. However, a lot of its parts come from Mexico and Canada, and a lot of the market is in Mexico and Canada. No one in Canada is going to pay for an F series truck that has its price raised because of tariffs on the parts, plus another 25% tariff coming in. Building the F series in Oakville (where Ford’s main plant in Canada is) really isn’t an option either.

Which historical military uniform was the most inappropriate for the battlefield?

So, I’ll disagree with a lot of answers here.

Uniforms are a product of their time. Things like the British Redcoats existed for damn good reasons… You had to be able to see your men, and they had to be able to see each other. Hiding from the enemy wasn’t the idea. With the technology and tactics of the time, it was perfectly logical.

Of course, some uniforms are fine at one time, but become obsolete.

And other uniforms aren’t designed for the battlefield at all. “Mess dress” uniforms are designed to go to social functions in, not battle.

So keeping this answer to uniforms that were designed for combat:

UCP. “Universal Camo pattern”. This pattern was chosen because it looked better in formation, rather than meeting the actual program goals. It’s terrible, and doesn’t really fit in anywhere, except for one notorious couch. It’s my sincere belief that whoever approved this should be shot for treason.

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2. The Navy “Blueberry” camo. This pattern was chosen because the Navy wanted a cool looking camo. Never mind that sailors on ships don’t really need camo, because they are on a giant fucking ship. Also note that sometimes they fall overboard, and it’s great to see where they are when they do. Also note that they sometimes are on land, where there isn’t a lot of blue stuff, but they might need actual camo. This was an idea so bad that our do-nothing Congress actually passed a law and told the military to knock it off with the different camo patterns.

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3. Air force “blue tiger stripe”: The Air Force likes blue, and so it came up with this, because, and I’m not making this up, it was “distinctive”. Let me repeat that. They selected a camo pattern because it was distinctive.

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4. Fortunately, the Air force recognized their error, and now does tiger stripe with UCP colors. Because reasons, yo. Better? Worse? I don’t know. Sad? Hell yes.

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Don’t worry, I won’t just pick on the US:

5. This Chinese blue monstrosity. Why??? There’s an earlier version of this camo that’s even worse, believe it or not.

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6. The Russians got in on the blue camo thing too:

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7. Thankfully moving away from blue, we have Egypt in Yellow:

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8. North Korea. I mean, green is a step in the right direction. Just not neon green. Also, sights.

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Man Goes From Broke & Directionless To Homeowner In 3 Years, With Determination Etc, So Can You!

Comeback story. Epic.

What’s the saddest case of addiction you have ever come across in another person?

Some really sad stories here. My condolences to you all. But I’ll take the word “saddest” literally and tell you about dry drunks.

Saddos!

These are the people who don’t drink, but absolutely are jealous of, envious of, judgemental of, those of us who do.

They have issues man. Real issues. And think by not drinking they are better than us who do drink. They call us unhealthy, fat, bloated, alcoholics. Yet, we aren’t the ones who have destroyed lives through drink. We also arent the ones falling in and out of AA annually.

Dry drunks are angry people. They are still addicts. They are often high up on the NPD scale. Also.

I did a post the other day about the fact I certainly have alcohol as a habit. I’m not addicted to it. I don’t have hangovers,shakes, DTs, or act out on alcohol. I simply enjoy a few G&Ts every day. I’ve never ever hidden my alcohol consumption. It’s not my style to steal, lie, cheat to get alcohol. If it’s not available I’m not freaking out.

I think this unsettled a lot of dry drunks as I had to turn comments off due to the nastyness from sober people and the gaslighting. I was told I looked 50, am bloated and my internal organs are fucked. I was told it will only escalate.

I’ve drank the exact same amount since I started daily drinking in 2014. In an abusive relationship. It hasn’t escalated. If anything I had a time where I drank more, and cut bacon again and still maintain that. It doesn’t lead to other addictions like smoking or drugging or promiscuity like these nasty people were insisting. And I’m beautiful inside out for 44.

My honesty grated on these people. My ability to drink and not do vile things agitated them. My enjoyment of something they can’t control made them crazy.

That is exactly how Dry Drunks act.

What would happen if you shot a person with a blank at point blank range?

Why don’t we ask this guy?

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Actually, you can’t – he’s Jon Erik Hexum, and he’s dead.

He was bored on set one day, filming the TV series “Cover Up”… he took the revolver loaded with blanks he was filming with, removed five of the six blanks from the cylinder, and said to the people around him “Hey, let’s see how lucky I am”, put the gun to his head, and fired.

The expanding gasses and wad from the blank pushed a piece of bone the size of a quarter into his brain.

He died six days later, after extensive brain surgery and intensive care.

Blank cartridges are not harmless and not toys!

NEVER point a blank-loaded firearm at anything you do not wish to destroy – just like live ammunition, or any empty firearm – because safety is a habit, and you build good habits by never violating safety rules.

COMPILATION: The Stories That Made Me a Believer

This is fun.

Chicks, purses, steaks and night fun

On a work trip to Sydney Australia, I went out with a chick from an aligned company. We went to a rotating restaurant located in downtown Sydney. It was at the top of one of the skyscrapers there, and it had a rotating floor so that you can get a slowly moving 360 degree expansive view of the beautiful night skyline.

She wore a short little black dress. She was petite. And she looked great in that little black dress. It was plain, but there’s something about a little black dress that really looks great. On all women.

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It was fun, and I well remember the Beef Wellington that I ate. Delicious and fantastic. It was the first time that I ever had that dish, and it was so very, very delicious.

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Anyways, my date had left her purse on one of the windows ledges, and after a while we both noticed that the purse was missing. And so, I laughingly walked around the restaurant searching for the purse. Oh, yeah. I certainly found it. But it was fine. And my date. Ah she was fine as well.

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Not a great story for today. But a pretty girl, in a downtown restaurant with a fantastic sky-view and a delicious steak was and still is, a memory that is valuable to me.

Make those memories guys and girls.

Life is about experiences. 

Make them matter.

Today…

What scares the U.S. elites about China?

During the Russia-Ukraine war, the United States frantically plundered European interests in Europe. Do Europeans hate the United States? They really don’t hate the United States!

This is because the “rules-based international order” promoted by the United States is supposed to be a jungle world of the weak and the strong, as it has been in the Western world for thousands of years.

Europe is weaker than the US.

Europe, being weak, was supposed to serve as food for the United States. Therefore, European countries believe that the United States is doing the right thing, and if they were stronger than the United States, they would do the same.

US Secretary of State Lincoln said “If you’re not at the table in the international system, you’re going to be on the menu”. This represents the general mindset of the American elite.

The Chinese government has emphasized countless times that “China will not be hegemonic even if it becomes powerful”, but Europeans and Americans do not believe it at all, and they think that the Chinese government are very hypocritical and hide their true thoughts.

This is the same as what the Australians said, “If you are stronger than me, but you don’t come to plunder me, aren’t you an idiot?”

They believe it is right and normal for China to plunder and trample on them after it becomes strong, just as they did to China when they formed the Eight-Nation Alliance.

Europeans and Americans have been lied to by their governments since they were children, so they inherently don’t trust what their governments say, and they don’t trust that the Chinese government will practice what it preaches.

It is interesting to note that at the beginning of the 21st century, China, the United States, Russia, Japan, and India announced their space programs to the world, and only China realized all of them step by step.

Have you ever seen any country from the Eight-Nation Alliance apologize to China? No! except for the Soviet Union and East Germany, which apologized to China because they were once part of the socialist camp, the rest of the European and American countries thought it was natural and normal.

They even refused to return the treasures they had stolen from China.

In the discourse system set by the West, Nazi Germany and the Japanese Empire, the culprits of World War II, are now kind, wealthy, and democratic countries, while China, the victim of World War II, is a evil, poor and bad country.

Look! The robber has become a gentleman, and the victim has become a thug.

They never mention how the wealth of Germany, Japan, Europe and the United States was obtained?

The British Empire stole $45 trillion from India and the Japanese Empire stole $10 trillion worth of gold from China. Did they say they would compensate?

By the same logic, Africa is portrayed as poorer and more evil for a simple reason:

Africa has been plundered by the West for hundreds of years, while Africa has never plundered the West.

However, The Black person has been made into the Evil person all over the world.

Even to this day, Africa continues to provide the West with cheap labor and raw materials to enable developed Western countries to afford their lifestyles.

Watch! This is a discourse set in the West:

All robbers are good people and all victims are bad people.

WHO IS THE BARBARIAN?

In an 1899 cartoon, René Georges Hermann-Paul attacked the hypocrisy of spreading civilization by force by juxtaposing the words “Barbarie” and “Civilisation” beneath Chinese and French combatants who alternate as victor and victim. When the Chinese man raises his sword, it is labeled “barbarism,” but when the French soldier does precisely the same thing it is “a necessary blow for civilization.”

So why do American elites fear China? They are, of course, afraid that China will plunder them when it becomes powerful.

Look at the faces of the leaders of these so-called developed countries. Which one is not a descendant of bandits?

The ancestors of the Euro-Americans were originally a bunch of robbers, and robbers, of course, are afraid of being robbed by robbers stronger than themselves, as they once did to the world.

The Sopranos – Christopher means business

Creamy Santa Fe Cutlets

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Yield: 4 servings

Ingredients

3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon pepper
1 pound 1/4 inch thick pork cutlets
3 teaspoons oil
1/2 cup salsa
1/2 cup frozen corn
1/4 cup water
1/4 cup reduced-fat sour cream
1/4 cup chopped cilantro

Instructions

Combine flour, salt and pepper; dredge pork cutlets in flour mixture.
Heat 2 teaspoons oil in a nonstick skillet. Sauté half the cutlets 1 1/2 minutes per side until cooked. Remove to a side plate.
Repeat with remaining oil and cutlets. Cover to keep warm.
After removing cutlets from skillet, add salsa, frozen corn and water. Simmer for 1 minute.
Off the heat, stir in reduced-fat sour cream and chopped cilantro.

The son, the family and the gangsters

Submitted into Contest #150 in response to: Write a story that either starts or ends with someone (or something) saying, “Please, don’t do it.”… view prompt

Jobinho 11

Please don’t do it Please don’t do it said the mother who’s sitting in the dark to her son who is about to leave the house in the middle of the night. My son, please hear me, don’t get mixed up in this life, it’s nothing short but life in prison or an early grave, the money is good, the clout is great, but you’ll be a fool with no escape. The son opens the door and walks through as if he didn’t hear the mother’s wise words. The mother looked at her phone to see the time and notice her battery was at twenty-five percent and her tears streamed down and fell on the phone screen. She stays in the dark to her lonesome and falls on her knees and starts to pray and beg God to not hand her a loss she can’t win back. Originally she isn’t a believer however, with the current situation she’s praying to whatever she thinks is out there. Guilt begins to hit her as she feels responsible for her son’s current state thinking how the father is in jail and she’s barely home trying to make ends meet, which is a con to the children who don’t have a role model. She thinks to herself and says from the moment your kids are born you’re afraid of how the world can hurt them but you never stop and wonder how you can hurt them, with that she falls into slumber right on the floor. The following morning the son came home and slept throughout the day, and when night time arrived he was soon ready to leave again. While walking out he hears please don’t do it, turning back he spots his mother and his younger brother sitting in the dark. Younger brother speaks up and says pops is Locked up right now bro and now you getting involved with the FK gangsters could potentially lead up to you going in as well, and there will be no father figure to guide anybody in this house. The son ceases for a second look to be contemplating then just walks to the car outside, the mother looks at her phone to check the time and notices her phone battery is at fifteen percent, so she gets up and heads to her room. Everything felt gloomy, the younger brother was still present in the living room. Sitting at the table solo, he notices a notebook and pen he then grabs both and began to write down the thoughts on his mind. Why do we go down a dark path, are we cursed to not succeed, or am I just tripping. Either way, my perception tells me differently, most of the dudes I know barely make it past the age of twenty-five, if they don’t get killed they end up being incarcerated. I’m only fifteen right now and incapable of foreshadowing my future without thinking of a type of demise, I mean even the fortune teller weeps when our future was on display saying all they saw was our time glass as pistols and graves. Younger brother realizes how late it is he heads to his room to sleep for school tomorrow. After the previous night, the son came back home, slumbered all day, and woke up at night to get going. While walking out he opens the door and hears behind him the same phrase he’s been hearing for the last few days, please don’t do it, except this time it was in sync almost like a church choir consisting of his mother, brother, and this time his five-year-old sister. The preschooler child spoke, big brother mommy and brother say you’re out to do bad things, please don’t do any bad things big bro or you’ll be in trouble. The son closes the door and stays inside for about two minutes gazing at his family lost in thoughts, then honk honk he hears from the car outside brings him back to his senses, he turns around and opens the door as soon as he walks out of the door the mother picks up the phone to check on the time, and noticed the phone was dead, as she gets up to go and charge it the phone fell accidentally and shattered, now sobbing she makes her way to her room, the younger brother did the same and headed to his room not bothering about the five-year-old in the living room all by her lonesome. The five-year-old who’s usually afraid of the dark this time stands without fear, she grabs her crayons and her coloring book and started to scribble. First, she draws a big pink house with a family consisting of a father, mother, and three kids two boys and one girl. And the second drawing she draws the same thing but this time there’s no father. The third drawing is the same but without one of the brothers. As she begins her fourth drawing she stops not knowing who to take out. From there she leaves it on the table and heads to sleep. Now inside the car, five young men including the son began to discuss what was about to go down, tonight they’d be robbing Kelmo’s store. Arriving at the spot four of the five men In the car stepped out with guns, they went inside and had the cashier at gunpoint and demanded the money. The cashier complies and granted their request while having already triggered the alarm. Police sirens blared throughout the area, one of the guys grabs the cashier tossed him on the floor, and say you pressed the alarm to have the pigs here, the cashier scared for his life had no words. The guys looked out the window witnessing about fifteen police cars and six swat trucks. Enraged one the guys yelled grabbed the cashier and says to the son put a bullet in his brain for calling the cops. The son points his gun at the cashier’s forehead and looks at him, he could perceive the fear of God that was in that man’s eyes. The cashier speaks while trembling, I I hav have family, I have ho hopes for the future, and today was su supposed to be just a normal day please don’t shoot me I beg please, please don’t do it.

Best of Al Bundy | Married With Children

Shorpy

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It’s not the police, you idiot. [Die Hard]

“Falling Off A Cliff”: This Chart Proves That We Are In A Major Economic Downturn Right Now

December 12, 2024 by Michael

The number of job openings in the United States has been “falling off a cliff”, and that is a major red flag. The last four years have been an economic nightmare for most Americans, and that is one of the primary reasons why Donald Trump won the election. But as we approach 2025, things are starting to get frighteningly bad. When the number of job openings in the U.S. drops by 2 million or more, that normally signals that we are either in a recession or that one is about to happen. Well, as you can see from this chart that was posted by Bravos Research on Twitter, we are witnessing a collapse in job openings that is absolutely unprecedented…

I was floored when I saw that chart.

I knew that job openings were falling, but I didn’t know that things had gotten this bad.

Not too long ago, there were about 12 million job openings in the United States. Unfortunately, here in the second half of 2024 that figure has fallen below 8 million…

There were an estimated 7.4 million unfilled jobs on the last day of September, a drop from August’s revised tally of 7.86 million openings, according to new data released Tuesday by the Bureau of Labor Statistics. The largest drop-offs in openings were in industries that have driven much of the job growth in recent years: health care and social assistance, and government, according to the report.

Meanwhile, major employers continue to shed workers all over the nation.

For example, the U.S. lost a total of 78,000 manufacturing jobs during a recent three month period…

The manufacturing sector continued to shed jobs in October, bringing its tally of job losses to 78,000 over the past three months.

The Labor Department’s Bureau of Labor Statistics on Friday released its jobs report for October, which found that the manufacturing sector lost 46,000 jobs last month, according to the agency’s preliminary analysis.

That followed a loss of 6,000 jobs in September, which is also a preliminary figure, as well as a decline of 26,000 jobs in August.

Every day, there are more layoff announcements in the news, and the number of people filing initial claims for unemployment benefits increased much more than experts were projecting last week…

The number of Americans filing for jobless benefits for the first time jumped significantly last week (from 225k to 242k – well above expectations of 220k) – the highest since the first week of October.

On an un-adjusted basis, claims exploded higher (highest since January)…

Throughout the second half of this year, I have been arguing that the U.S. economy is rapidly heading in the wrong direction.

Now we have even more confirmation that this is indeed happening.

Once we get past the holiday season, retailers are going to be dropping like flies.

According to the Daily Mail, it appears that Party City could soon be forced to declare bankruptcy…

A major party and craft retailer with 850 stores across the nation is considering filing for bankruptcy.

Party City has been faced with the possibility of mass closures just a little over a year after the company surfaced from Chapter 11 bankruptcy.

The celebration retailer, known for selling balloons and essential party supplies, is currently behind on rent at some of its locations, people close to the matter told Bloomberg.

And it is being reported that 670 Family Dollar stores have already been shut down…

Discount behemoth Dollar Tree has shuttered 670 of its underperforming Family Dollar stores so far, about two-thirds of the nearly 1,000 it plans to close, as it considers whether to sell or spin off the struggling chain.

The Chesapeake, Virginia-based retailer provided an update on its portfolio optimization efforts when it reported is fiscal third-quarter earnings. Dollar Tree officials also said they were still reviewing options for Family Dollar, with no set deadline or timeline to complete that process.

Overall, thousands upon thousands of retail stores in the U.S. have been shuttered in 2024, and thousands upon thousands will be shuttered in 2025.

In many areas of the country, the landscape is absolutely littered with once thriving businesses that have now been boarded up.

More than a decade ago, I warned that we were headed for a future when impoverished areas of the U.S. would be filled with boarded up businesses and abandoned buildings.

Now we are there.

On top of everything else, inflation is starting to surge once again, and one recent survey discovered that about a third of all U.S. households have been forced to cut back spending just to keep the lights on…

With the cost of things like food and housing still straining people’s budgets, many U.S. households over the past year have found themselves having to pare their spending on basic necessities just to keep the lights on at home.

That’s according to a recent Lending Tree study which analyzed U.S. Census Bureau Household Pulse Survey data from Aug. 20, 2024 to Sep. 16, 2024 to find the percentage of Americans 18 and older that had cut back on necessary expenses to pay their energy bill, kept their home at an unsafe or unhealthy temperature, or was unable to pay the full amount on an energy bill at least once over the preceding 12 months.

The study found that more than 34% of respondents said they have had to cut back or skip spending on certain necessary expenses at least once over the past year in order to pay their energy bill.

As I discussed the other day, prior to the election most Americans believed that we were already in a recession.

Since the election, conditions have only gotten worse.

Many are hoping that our economic momentum can be reversed once the new administration takes over.

We should all be hoping that is true.

But right now we are on a freight train that is steamrolling in the wrong direction, and that is not good news at all.

“I Joked About Him Being My ‘2nd Choice’ — Now He’s My Ex-Husband”

Uyghurs on Chinese social media VS Uyghurs on Western media

China

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CNN / BBC

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The Museum of Endangered Sounds

A digital museum that preserves the sounds of old technology, like dial-up internet, typewriters, and VHS rewinds. It’s a nostalgic trip down memory lane.

Endangered

Some examples of the content…

Die Hard – McClane vs. Karl Fight Scene (1080p)

Fedora & Stetson Hats

Coffee Roast Beef

This method of preparing a beef roast was often used by cowboys and ranch hands while out on the range.

Yield: 8 to 10 servings

Ingredients

1 (3 1/2 to 4 pound) boneless rump roast
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
1 yellow onion, cut into quarters
4 cloves garlic, cut in half
1 tablespoon tomato paste
2 cups medium strength black coffee
2 cups water
1 tablespoon butter
1/2 cup red wine

Instructions

Heat oven to 450 degrees F.
Using a sharp knife, make very small cuts in the roast and insert the garlic halves.
Heat the oil in a heavy roasting pan or Dutch oven (cast iron works best) and sear the roast on all sides.
Add the onion quarters, tomato paste, coffee and water to the pan and bake for 30 minutes.
Reduce the heat to 375 degrees F and bake for 1 1/2 hours more or until the roast is done to taste.
Remove the roast to a warm platter, let cool slightly and then slice.
Stir the butter and wine into the pan juices and serve with the sliced roast.

Givers and Takers

Submitted into Contest #150 in response to: Write a story that either starts or ends with someone (or something) saying, “Please, don’t do it.”… view prompt

Theresa Fox Turner

“Please, don’t do it,” my last Giver said in her tiny, little voice. She did not plead; instead, she said it with resignation. It was as if part of her would not give up even though no other options were available. A Taker, me, loomed over her, shaking with the cravings I could no longer keep at bay. What luck for me that her lousy luck brought her here. The little ones brought me closer to that which I sought; the little ones, usually so carefully guarded, brought down all my defenses, giving me hope above all else that I could reach beyond once again.It wasn’t long after I took the little one, the last I’d ever take, that the doctors found me. They call themselves Doctors of Technology, DOT. They thought they threatened me when they told me I was required to pay for my indiscretions as a Taker by death or voluntary participation in the Heartrock Initiative. I laughed wholeheartedly at that word; indiscretions. I surprised myself with the sound of my laughter, something I hadn’t known existed in me anymore. I do not know if I will laugh again; is laughing a feeling? I will consult my database when this is complete.I progressed to Taker to escape being a Giver, not knowing the taking would puncture my heart deeper than giving ever could. As a Giver, I was also a martyr but a Giver’s physical pain is nothing compared to the pain my heart endured collecting bloody little pebbles of lifeblood as a Taker.Now I sit here, my head tightly bound to a cushioned headrest with bright red straps across my mouth and forehead. No other straps bound me to the blue chair, and if it weren’t for the blood-red straps, I might be able to imagine myself at a Healer’s office undergoing a minor procedure. Instead, I close my eyes against the operatory lights above me and take a deep, deep breath.I feel a hardness in my chest where my heart resides. This, they tell me, is the heartrock. I bring my hands to my face to look at the backs, watching the blue lines turn dark gray. I think of the network of blue veins and arteries feeding my organs and see them fade to a dead gray. This new heart can only spew a dark sludge that will get harder and harder until my veins and arteries are an extension of that rock. A new species of stone, heartrock, stronger than any diamond, will command my body and replace my life.I can feel my arms and legs start to stiffen as a searing hot pain spreads through my body. The greatest pain must be felt before there is an absence of pain. I wonder if that is a quote from some wise sage, or maybe I’m finally the wise sage. Will wisdom be mine once I access every nugget of information in the universe?At first I resisted the Takers. Once I willingly sacrificed my soul and cut open my veins so they could take my lifeblood, I became an official Giver and couldn’t run anymore. The physical pain abated a tiny bit when I gave willingly, so, as a willing Giver, I sacrificed my body to the Takers.Then I chose to become one of them, a Taker, when the physical pain of my sacrifices became unbearable. I never considered myself like the other Takers. I took each Giver into my heart; I thanked them for their sacrifice even when I forced it from them. I learned not to take all of them, and I stored tiny pebbles of what I took in my heart. Each pebble with a name and memories of who I took from. My final act today is not a sacrifice; instead, it is an escape from all the sacrifices that I have taken. Only Givers will ever understand sacrifice.

I had no choice, I told myself. How else can I live in this world? I wasn’t living, though. The pebbles in my heart burnt a hole in me, tore into me like a dull dagger. That was survival, not living. Tears flow from my eyes, not of a life lost but a life not lived. My tears burn the soft flesh of my face searing a trail of regret and sorrow.

“Is he crying? It looks like lava flowing down his face.” I hear someone say to the right of me.

“That is the heartrock. I’ve never seen a Taker cry, though,” responds a deep voice.

“Maybe he’s having second thoughts,” the first voice says. I recognize this voice as belonging to the woman who believes herself my savior. I think her exact words claimed to “deliver me from evil.”

I don’t believe my evil, if that’s what she’d prefer to call it, will ever be gone. I did it. I am responsible; I cannot take it back. Even if the pebbles in my heart melt and converge into the heartrock, my evil is still in the lifeblood of those I took. I took from living, breathing beings who were given no choice. Worse yet, I took choice away from them. I took, they gave. If I didn’t take, I would have been forced to give. And once I took, giving became an impossibility. Taking took away my choice as well.

I promised myself I would only do it once to relieve the pain and then resume my role as giver. The first time I took, the lifeblood of the Giver filled my senses, their aura wrapped around me, pushing me beyond, and I saw the true meaning of the universe. I finally knew the secret to life, to happiness, to perfection. I saw into the great beyond and spoke to the higher powers in the universe. I became a higher power of the universe.

After the first time, the chance of me returning to the role of Giver, to stop taking, disappeared. Every time I took another pebble, I yearned to see what I saw the first time, but it was always just out of my reach. I could feel it brush my fingertips, beckoning me to take just a little more, and I would find the higher power. The universe could be mine with just one more taking.

I knew, somewhere in the depths of my addled brain, as the pain of the takings became a vise around my heart, that even if I could become that higher power, it wasn’t mine to take. Taking wasn’t the way to enlightenment. How could it be when the pain of taking, so utterly different from the physical pain of giving, felt even more unbearable than giving?

I didn’t understand how the others did it. I’d never met a Taker filled with the remorse that threatened to bury me. Finally, I worked up the courage to ask another Taker how to avoid the hurt.

“Hurt? What hurt? Some of us are givers, some of us are takers. It’s part of the food chain, natural selection.” Then I knew I was not like the other Takera. Was it me that was broken or them?

When DOT found me, they presented an offer I couldn’t refuse. They could take away all the pain and give me the universe. An escape and a life that death would not give me. I would finally get to the beyond; I would finally be able to grasp it. However, a sacrifice would be required of me; my consciousness would no longer be mine.

A face appears before me, breaking me out of my reverie. My savior’s wide, blue eyes search mine.

“The heartrock is active. This is where we will cross to the point of no return. Once we plug you into the network, there is no turning back. Knowing the alternative consequences, would you like us to stop the procedure now?”

Without hesitating and feeling more than I’d ever know again, I said, “Do not stop the procedure. Please, proceed.”

Will China’s hypersonic missile make it too risky to deploy an aircraft carrier? Shouldn’t the DOD invest more in long range stealth fighters and drones?

Yes they will and this is not a theory.

This is the USS Gravely a guided missile destroyer. It’s a fairly new ship by USN standards. Construction began in 2007 and was finished in 2009.

main qimg 847e1e805562aa89e311854a5ba78332

The USS Gravely was involved in this conflict.

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The USS Gravely had an incoming missile get within 1 mile (US source).

A Houthi missile got within a nautical mile of USS Gravely on Tuesday

Gravely used its Phalanx Close-In Weapons System, a cannon that can shoot 4,500 rounds a minute, to take out the Houthi missile.

https://www.navytimes.com/news/your-navy/2024/02/01/a-houthi-missile-got-within-a-nautical-mile-of-uss-gravely-on-tuesday/

Ansar Allah doesn’t exactly have the best technology, yet they were able to defeat the two outer rings of the AEGIS equipped missile destroyer.

But wait. USS Gravely is part of the USS Eisenhower group!

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Where was the flat top? Oh it was in the Mediterranean sea for much of the conflict. Why was the carrier so far away if the Houthis posed no threat with their old weapons?

It was far away because the Houthis proved to be a threat! Remember Yemen isn’t a huge economy. It’s been in a civil war for a decade. They have limited production capacity. Yet they posed a significant threat.

Next comes the argument you can’t find a carrier!

It’s an old argument based on the sea is big.

Except in 2020 using Jilin-1 a low earth orbit satellite this happened

What’s that?

main qimg 72880c8729f708ebe5a49801c41c1974

Jilin-1 the prototype satellite tracked an F-22. It tracked it for a few minutes. It couldn’t track it for a long time because there was only one satellite. Its orbit moved out of position. The theory is the satellite took a photo, beamed the image down to a ground based AI and the AI told the satellite where to look. The Jilin constellation of satellites was completed a few months ago.

An F-22 is a lot smaller than a carrier.

Why does the CCP think they can scare Taiwan into submission? It has been 75 years and they are still standing tall.

What are you talking about?

For the first 30 years of the 75 years you mentioned, it was Taiwan that was trying to “scare” China into submission. They tried to retake China from Korea, and they had a big fight with the US over dropping dozens of nukes on Chinese cities to help with their landing. The Taiwanese government, claiming to represent all China, just couldn’t understand why the US would refuse to kill millions of Chinese civilians to secure Taiwanese rule over China again.

People often remember the ONE U-2 spy plane shot down over Russia or Cuba, but in the same 1960s, China was displaying 4 U-2 wrecks that were shot down over China. That’s how intense the Taiwanese/American incursion into Chinese airspace was back then, collecting target information for their invasion, or nuclear attack.

Then another 15 years went by with both sides engaging in economic collaboration, no side was threatening the other at all.

It was the Taiwanese elections in 1995 when everything changed. That’s when the Taiwanese first started to push for separation from China, and the US decided to side with Taiwan against their promise to China, by sending its carriers to China’s coast, blinding Chinese radar sites with its growlers, which served as a huge wake up call to China and kicked started the current Chinese military modernization process.

The 1996 Chinese military exercise, in response to American carrier attack groups. China also dreamt of fighting the F-22 with J8 (a twin engine Chinese Mig-21) back then, since the J8 could also do Mach 2.

It’s been 10 years tops, that mainland China has shown a credible capability to cross the Taiwan strait and end the Chinese Civil War. China is nowhere near completion in its post-1995 military modernization program (the current publicized CCP time table says the military build up will continue till 2049), nor is it anywhere near the Taiwanese aggressiveness during the Cold War. Whether Taiwan will eventually be “scared” into reunification as China slowly builds up its muscles, the jury is still out.

IMO as time goes by, the Taiwan issue will increasingly become a burden and threat to the US and an useful excuse for China, as China is currently building the equivalent of an entire British Royal Navy every 3–4 years, without much international awareness or any push back. Everybody thinks that the Chinese military build up is just for its still on-going civil war with Taiwan.

Volunteers – 1985 – Full Movie

Today’s treat is a 1980s era movie starring Tom Hanks and a few other big names of the 1980s. I used to have this video on BetaMax and played the heck out of it. It’s a funny comedy and the full movie is right here for your enjoyment. John Candy is great as “Tom Tuttle”. LOL

Please take the time to watch this early masterpiece.

The tale of the onion and the mustard meal

In the 1980’s, newly married and laid off during the collapse of the American steel industry, my wife and I were living in a van and traveling to find work.

We left Pennsylvania and were on our way to California.

It was Winter time, so we took a long circumambulating route though the Deep Southern states.

We were broken down, and waiting on a paycheck in the mail (that the manager was taking a long time to deal with) and just slowly starving in a broken down van sitting at the side of a rural road in Alabama.

Starving. Literally.

Nothing to eat in two weeks. Living in a broken down van, and visiting the local post office to see if our paycheck was ever sent.

When the police came over to investigate, we (my wife and I) were eating some old onions (that we found in the compost pile behind a house) with packets of yellow mustard that we got from the Rax fast food restaurant chain.

We were eating it like you would eat an apple, and both of us were really thin. The police gave us five dollars for gas to get out of town and they escorted us to the next town, and deposited us at a private home for wayward souls, and they helped us get on our feet.

But, you know, I will never forget the look on the officer’s face when he peered inside and watched us eat old rotten onions with mustard.

Today…

Is the US economy really “the envy of the world”?

Envy? Are you mad? 35 trillion debts and growing at 1 trillion every quarter! 800 billion deficits a year! 2.5 million homeless sleeping on the streets? You just lost your election to an ego maniac convicted felon! All hell is about to hit the ceiling!

Thanks to the 24/7, 365 days a year, 80 years straight of Neo conservative media lies may make some brain dead people amongst the west thinks that you are great or exceptional but 99% of the world are smarter than that! You still think you can print monies without repercussions! Think again!

It’s over for good, not a chance, the world will put an end to it! You see stealing Russia’s reserves was a dumb move! It scare off the world, now they just move away! Can you blame them? Will you allow monkeys to guard your bananas? Provoking and goading Russia to war is precisely the same as what Hitler thinks in 1942! Kick in Russia’s door and rotten Russia will crumble!

What did US and UK thinks? They say Russia is a petrol station masquerading like a country! That is the real reason for the Ukraine war! 41 nations throwing their kitchen sinks at Russia for 3 years and Russia in now the 4 richest nation!

And we envy a totally bankrupt and corrupt nation the Unites States of America? Even your own people. 100 million don’t bother to vote! They give up on America? Choosing between a dementia and a felon is no fun! And we envy you?

BREAKING NEWS: NEW YORK TIMES . . . . IS GOVERNMENT-FUNDED MEDIA!

Hal Turner Nation February 05, 2025

The New York Times, America’s so-called “newspaper of record,” turns out to be nothing more than a Taxpayer-funded, government mouthpiece. To the tune of $50 MILLION since the year 2021.

Federal records show the U.S. government has sent The New York Times over $50 million since 2021—despite much lower payments in previous years.

The biggest spender? The Department of Health and Human Services (HHS) at $26.9M, followed by the National Science Foundation (NSF) at $19.15M.

Even NASA, the Pentagon, and the DOJ chipped in.

One of the largest single checks was $4.1M in August 2024.

What exactly is all this taxpayer money paying for?

Hal Turner Opinion

Does this mean that the New York Times can now be called “Fake News?”

Think for a moment about all the effete snobs who boast about being on the cutting edge by reading “The Times.” You can almost hear them in their snobby voices saying “Oh, I read in The Times that . . . .” or “You may think such and such, but The Times says . . . .”

Now it starting to look like all those snobs who thought they were on the cutting edge, were actually just being spoon fed the government line!

Oh man, you gotta love this. You can’t even make-stuff-up that’s this good!

Greek Chicken Bake

Yield: 4 servings

Ingredients

4 skinless, boneless chicken breasts, pounded to uniform thickness
1 tablespoon Greek seasoning
1 or 2 tomatoes, sliced
1/4 cup crumbled feta cheese
1 tablespoon pine nuts, toasted*

Instructions

Heat oven to 350 degrees F.
Sprinkle chicken with Greek seasoning.
In a large, lightly oiled skillet over medium-high heat, add chicken and brown on both sides, 3 to 5 minutes per side.
Transfer to a baking pan or rimmed baking sheet. Top each breast with tomato slices and sprinkle with feta and pine nuts.
Bake for 10 minutes or until heated through.

Notes

* To toast pine nuts, place in a small skillet over medium-high heat. Shake skillet occasionally. When lightly browned and fragrant, pine nuts are done.

China’s Robo Wolves Unveiled at Airshow China 2024

Medvedev: “The worst Case Scenario [nuclear war] Remains the Most Likely”

Hal Turner World November 12, 2024

Deputy Chairman of Russia’s Federation Council, Dmitry Medvedev, said today that European leaders are pushing the Russia-Ukraine conflict to an irreversible stage, and as such “the worst case scenario remains the most likely.”

Here, verbatim, are Medvedev’s remarks:

“After Trump’s victory, European leaders seem to be having a “fall exacerbation.” The goal is to push the conflict with Russia into an irreversible phase. One moment, a Frenchman crows about supporting Kyiv if America steps back; the next, NATO officials pontificate on how to intensify the war against us.

Now, German chancellor candidate Merz has issued an ultimatum to Russia: either end the Special Military Operation (SMO) or, the next day, he’ll send the Ukrainians German Taurus missiles. It’s clear that such “ultimatums” are merely election tactics. It’s also clear that these missiles won’t fundamentally change the course of combat. Their delivery would only prolong the agony of the Bandera regime. But, the risk of escalating the conflict to its most dangerous stage with missile strikes increases many times over. Our President has warned about this.

Frankly, it’s astounding how much the current generation of European politicians seems determined to drag the war onto their own territory—to the clear delight of the Americans and against the wishes of their own people. The “vaccine” of World War II has completely lost its effect. Experienced, or even simply wise, European leaders have faded into history. They’ve been replaced by trivial figures with inflated self-importance. And so, the worst-case scenario remains the most likely.”

For any reasonable person, those final words should send shivers up the spine.

We have actually reached the point where actual nuclear war is on the table.

THIS is the legacy of illegitimate President Joe Biden and his cadre of pencil-neck, intellectual neophytes in the State Department and the Pentagon, who think that “Russia wouldn’t dare.”

They can. I think they will if they must.

This point is the crux of the issue. The inexperienced and historically ignorant people in Western Governments, simply do not see this reality. They refuse to accept that Russia would use nuclear weapons. Their DENIAL is, quite possibly, going to get a lot of __US__ killed.

Iranian air defence locked on Israeli F 35’s! | Scott Ritter

Elections Have Consequences – We Just Don’t Know Which

U.S. President-elect Donald Trump is selecting a number of hawkish people to fill his cabinet.

There are currently a lot of hot takes what these appointees will do.

Marco Rubio, the likely Secretary of State, may want to launch a new coup in Venezuela.
Michael Waltz, the potential national security advisor, is anti-Russian and anti-China.
Elise Stefanik, a Zionist, will serve as the Israel’s second ambassador to the United Nations.

If there were no limits either of these people would launch new wars.

That Trump is selecting rightwing nuts is not unexpected. He needs their backing to push things through.

But the fact that Trump is selecting these people does not mean that he will listen to them or follow their advice. His first term demonstrated that the people he selects often do not last. There is thus no reason to despair over this or that bonehead selection.

There are also objective reason why policies Trump or his acolytes might want to pursue might well be impossible. To lower taxes while the budget deficit is at a record and interest rates are high is not really doable. To push Ukraine towards a victory will fail due to facts on the ground. Any itch to attack Iran carries a high risk of a military defeat.

We will have to wait for the administrations real policy decisions to anticipate where it will go. A good sign will be when Trump succeeds in implementing policies that the hawks he has chosen oppose.

I am not really optimistic about that. My earlier prediction still holds:

[Trump] had previously chosen people who were opposing and sabotaging his policies. He lacked the authority and/or will to rein them in. I do not believe that he has learned from it.

But maybe he did learn from it. I for one will try to stay objective and to give him a chance.

Posted by b at 16:42 UTC | Comments (142)

What will you do if frequencies of China National Radio was permantly hacked by (suspected) Mossad members, in which they’re replaced by “secret” regional stations (revived Old Chinese in the north, substrate languages in the south like Austro-Tai)?

First, Mossad would not be able to gain control of Chinese radio towers. China’s radio station transmission towers are guarded by PLA soldiers.

Second, the US National Reconnaissance Office (NRO) said that whenever a US satellite flies over China, it will be illuminated by lasers, which will blind the US satellite.

NRO Confirms Chinese Laser Test Illuminated U.S. Spacecraft

WASHINGTON — The director of the U.S. National Reconnaissance Office (NRO) confirmed Sept. 26 that at least one American satellite has been illuminated by a ground-based laser operating in Ch…

https://spacenews.com/nro-confirms-chinese-laser-test-illuminated-us-spacecraft/

Do you think Mossad’s technology is more powerful than that of the United States and can directly control China’s radio transmission towers via satellite? No! Any spy satellite of any country passing over China will be interfered by ground-based lasers, and may even be shot down if it does invade China’s radio or communication systems. It cannot establish contact with ground-based radio towers.

Trump’s Taiwan Policy Pleases Beijing

The Law of Rare Events

Submitted into Contest #174 in response to: Write a story about a brilliant scientist making a startling discovery.… view prompt

Terry Wayne Carpenter

A darkness passes over the quiescent surveillance of drones mining precious metals beneath the ocean floor. What else could be hiding down here? Drones are the only things capable of withstanding the pressure and heat this deep in earth’s crust. The drones and their Spider Captain, of course.Upon first glance, Chester Jones thinks nothing of it, and goes back to thumbing through the photos stored on his phone: Annika… Nata… Anita… Cherise… Only five more days until the transport arrives and he can get out of this pressurized prison.Chester whistles more anxiously than a steaming tea kettle, thumping his restless leg on the floor, fearing he is on the brink of becoming a product of his environment. There is no internet access five miles deep in the sweltering heat of the Izu-Ogasawara Trench.There it is again.“What is that?”He tips the brim of his School of Mines hat back and leans in to study the feed more closely, certain his eyes deceive him. It appears to be the lecherous tentacles of an octopus investigating one of S.P-I.D.R. Captain’s many drones. (Subterranean Poly-Intelligent Drone Regulator)Drones continue to chisel and shape the bore toward the Moho, oblivious to this life that should not, could not, be where it is.The only other life that survives below the subsurface biosphere are tube worms and microbes. Even the tube worms keep their distance from the Moho.Hydrothermal vents gave humanity access to the Mohorovičić discontinuity and its wealth of resources – namely the heat and pressure necessary to create the strongest, lightest alloys known to mankind – but it also gave that same access to the wildlife of the sea.For humanity to conquer space, it needs metal. This metal. But the nearly six thousand species in the sprawling ecosystem are protected by the U.P.I.N. (United Pacific Island Nations) charter, which is why there is a marine biologist aboard every mining ship. Every once in a while, a stray crab or fish falls into the mohole, but immediately dies because of the conditions. This octopus however, is very much alive. Alive and playful.“Hey Ronin, you awake?” Chester says. “You better get down here.”Chester watches the sway of the cephalopod in the currents and hydrothermal plumes along the sides of the mohole. It seems to be increasing in speed around the drones. Nothing in the subduction zone moves that fast.“You better get Pania, too.” Ronin radios back.“I’m not disturbing Pania. You do it.” Chester objects, remembering the last time he interrupted Dr. Pania Kahuhara during one of her many sessions inside the Ersatz.“Just wake her up, Chester.”Pania is stiff and recumbent inside the Ersatz, dreaming the vivid dreams of another world. One of her choosing. Her body sleeps, but her mind is stimulated. Either side of the ersatz divide, whether waking or sleeping, is punctuated at both ends by blinding white light, causing a sensation that you are always waking up into something like reality. It is so real, the pod itself is labeled Ersatz, in order to distinguish which of the two sides is in fact reality.Though it is company policy not to yuck other people’s yum, the awkwardness of interrupting Dr. Kahuhara in the midst of shokushu goukan in the Ersatz, was more than Chester could then and still presently can handle. Something about his Australian bluntness that is usually endearing, but often veers into a flaw of character.“Ahem… Dr. Kahuhara?” Chester squawks over the coms. “I hate to interrupt sushi night, but there’s a situation requiring your attention on the bridge.”Pania opens her eyes in irritation, climbs out of the Ersatz rested, and joins Ronin and Chester, both fixated on a monitor staring at what appears to be nothing.“What are we looking at, boys?”“Wait for it…” Chester points at a grouping of rough hewn stone next to some hydrothermal tunneling. “It’s going to move again.”Chester zooms in as close to the spot as possible, and then Pania sees it, the subtlest of squirms, and an oscillation of the eyes. It is a camouflaged octopus.“That’s… impossible.” She leans in close and studies what she cannot believe. “What’s the depth?”“We’re at about 45 kilometers.”“Bullshit.”“Look.” Chester points to the instruments.“That- there’s no way.” She looks closer. “Can we get it to move? Like really move. I want to know how big it is. I can’t tell.”

Drones nearby creep toward the indistinguishable spot, reaching out tooling appendages to delicately rustle the creature.

As the drones enter its orbit, the octopus changes color from pallid gray to bright shimmering red, bolting from the wall, vectoring into the center of the shaft and splaying out its tentacles in a pinwheel, expressing its extremities fully in an isotoxal octagram, finally jutting beyond the camera’s reach and into the darkness.

“Don’t lose it.” Pania cries. “What good are those drones?”

“They’re mining drones, not sentries.” Ronin says, arms folded, brow furrowed.

Chester brings up dozens of cameras in a grid on the monitor, surveilling thousands of feet of the plunging tunnel, not one showing movement beyond the hydrothermal effluent migrating toward the surface.

“We have to find it again.” Pania says. “We must know how it survives down there.”

🐙🐙🐙

“Congratulations gentleman, we’ve just had our first encounter with an unexplainable species of marine life.” Pania addresses the two men in front of a wide video display of the octopus in the midst of its escape, backlit by the distant floodlights of the drones. “Here’s what we know: by size, the creature appears to fit into the Giant Pacific Octopus range, at somewhere between sixteen and twenty feet in diameter; it’s coloration would also suggest Pacific Octopus, the previous maximum depth for a Pacific Giant was 1,500 meters, and hyperthermophiles were thought to be at the physical limits of life just below the seafloor… but our little friend – Kali – was all the way down to 45,000 meters.”

“Grigori,” Chester says.

“What?”

“I saw the critter first, which means I get to name it.” Chester spits a mixture of sunflower seeds and Skoal into a plastic cup. “-and I’m naming it Grigori.”

“It’s just a nickname. We will have to give it an official name at some point, once we know more about its physiology, habits and habitat, and where exactly it fits into the evolutionary tree.” Pania says, returning to her dossier. “What we don’t know about… Grigori, is precisely how he/she got down to this depth, what its food source is, and why we haven’t seen it before now.”

“The Law of Rare Events,” Ronin says. “It’s predictable. A Poisson distribution of binomial random variables predicts this. It’s only a matter of time.”

“You wanna translate that into English for us bogans?” Chester says.

“The more times we travel down into the mohole, the deeper microorganisms go, the deeper large organisms go, and eventually, through that exploration, eventually the rare breakthrough event occurs and one survives. The probability of a breakthrough event is small, but predictably, inevitably it will happen.” Ronin holds his palm out to Chester, flexing his fingers in universal code for ‘gimmie,’ to which Chester obliges with a sprinkling of seeds.

“The questions are then, why and how?” Pania says. “Without answers to those, this isn’t a rare event, it’s an impossible event.”

“You have a Law of Impossible Events?” Chester asks.

“I have a theory,” Ronin says. “In organic chemistry, there is something called the Grignard Reaction Mechanism. Basically, organometallics form when magnesium bonds carbon to various metals. These can only occur in a waterless environment. However, my theory is that because of the extremely high temperatures, and extremely high pressure preventing the water from boiling at these depths, and the plethora of amalgams – if a creature started metabolizing magnesium and high volumes of other metals on a regular basis, eventually-”

“The Law of Rare events.” Pania says. “You’d get an organometallic life form. A carbon-based animal with metallic properties. Like organometallic skin. A creature like that could travel to these depths, in these temperatures, under this pressure.”

“Precisely.” Ronin says. “And an octopus would be particularly primed to accomplish this because of its regenerative ability.”

“Holy shit.” Chester looks at the other two. “We’re gonna be famous. We discovered a Robot Octopus. A Robo-pus!”

“It’s a working theory.” Ronin says. “We won’t know for sure unless we capture it and do some tests.”

“To that end,” Pania says. “Since we cannot continue mining operations until the creature is located and removed, I propose pulling Spider Captain away from the Moho and use it to force the octopus to the seafloor, where we can then use bait to lure it into captivity. We can flood the cargo hold and put it there.”

“What kind of bait exactly?”

“Well, we’re almost out of supplies, and there is that chuck roast in the freezer-”

“No. No way.” Chester jumps up in protest. “First you try to take my naming rights, now you want to take my meat?”

“It’s the only meat substance we have that won’t dissolve in the conditions near the hydrothermal vents.”

“That’s my celebratory chuck!” Chester says. “For going home. My last meal down here.”

“If we can catch this thing, you can buy all the chuck you can handle.” Ronin says. “Heck, you’ll be able to buy the whole damn cow.”

🐙🐙🐙

“This better work,” Chester pouts. “Damn octopus gets sous vide steak, while I’m sitting here, living off of sunflower seeds and crab paste.”

Ronin overrides the S.P-I.D.R. Captain’s internal intelligence and allows Chester to take manual control of the rig. It disengages with its stirring bit glooped in plastic rock at the edge of the Moho. The bit is shaped like an industrial whisk, and sticks straight up into the water bordering the smoldering glow.

Spider Captain thrusts itself upward in slow squirts toward the surface, illuminating the shaft with its broad flood lights, the hollow hum of the magnetohydrodynamic drive at its epicenter.

“Okay, good,” Pania says. “We can see everything.”

Spider Captain picks up drones as it goes, clearing the path to the seafloor. After several kilometers, the silhouette of the elusive octopus emerges.

“There it is,” Pania says, lurched over Chester’s shoulder. “Track it.”

The octopus climbs gradually, keeping steady pace ahead of the ascending Spider Captain.

As soon as the octopus reaches the seafloor, it darts between triangulations of rock, coral, tube worm colonies, and drones strobing lights at it, until it settles on the chuck roast at the mouth of the cargo hold. Spider Captain continues its chase, forcing the creature into the back of the bay, the drop door closing behind them.

🐙🐙🐙

The crew sleeps, having captured their prey, which has found a comfortable corner to lay inside its cell. Pania is the last to bed down, deciding to stay up and observe the creature in some semblance of stasis. Her eyelids grow heavy and her thoughts sway between her newfound discovery and the Ersatz. Thoughts of ravishing tentacles in every orifice.

She can’t remember when the dark fantasy started, or if it had always been there. A product of her upbringing, conditioning from living her entire life on the water, always around these creatures, a symbiosis with the sea. She wasn’t the first, certainly not the only one; shokushu goukan has been around for thousands of years, proliferating across the pacific, across the world.

36 hours until the transit submarine arrives. 36 hours until the world will know of their discovery, and all Pania can think about is her libidinous thirst for submission to the cephalopod. Was this why she became a marine biologist? Was this why she was miles deep in the Izu-Bonin arc? Was it fate or had she willed it all into being? The circumstances and the discovery.

I’ll be on every news show and podcast in the world, she thinks. I’ll be famous. Will they know? Will someone hack my Ersatz file? It’s happened before. Celebrities are always being hacked for their Ersatz fantasies.

Dozing off, Pania is startled by loud banging noises coming from the cargo bay. It’s Kali. She’s suctioned to the electrical paneling near the air lock door, piercing through the metal with her beak.

“That’s impossible. That’s T12 Alloy.”

Pania alerts the other two and sets the ship to red alert.

“We’ve got a serious problem.”

Dazed and startled, the two men crash into the observation room.

“She’s trying to break through the door.” Pania points at the monitor. “If she gets through it’ll flood the whole ship.”

“Use spider captain to peel her off the panel.” Ronin shouts commands to Chester, who mans the controls. Robotic limbs swing across the bay, molesting the octopus from behind. It’s only a temporary distraction, and Kali doesn’t stop tearing through the panel, using just two of her tentacles to rip the mechanical arm in half.

Ronin rushes to the airlock, putting on a deep diver suit, grabbing a welding rod he intends to use as a weapon.

“You can’t!” Pania yells. “You can’t kill her.”

“If I don’t, we’re all dead.”

Ronin closes the airlock, which quickly floods with steam and rising water. As soon as the port into the cargo bay opens, he races toward the sieging octopus. Chester flings a battery of repurposed mining appendages from Spider Captain at the creature, to no avail. The Octopus’s skin is too tough to penetrate with standard utensils. Ronin attacks with the welding rod, the bright tip of which catches the octopus’s attention. Tentacles wrap around his leg, flipping him sideways, immobilizing him in the briny water, making it impossible for him to retaliate in his cumbersome suit. Suddenly, his torso is snapped in half from the torque force of the muscular metallic tendrils. Kali enters the airlock unimpeded.

Boiling water erupts into the hallway outside the airlock as Kali enters the ship. Chester and Pania flee the scalding water, heading for port doors slowly closing in emergency. Chester trips on the mouth of the port, and Kali grabs him by the ankle. It is too late for Pania to save him. She watches his red face disappear into the pillows of water, as Kali drags him back into the jaws of death.

Pania rushes to the Ersatz pod, the only possibly safe place on the ship, but it’s only a matter of time before Kali finds her way through the port doors.

Which will get to her first — the transport, now an unassuming rescue ship, or the excited omnipresent monster outside the doors, born from the hellish improbable deep?

Upon seeing Kali drill through the second port door, Pania realizes she has less time than she thought and climbs into the Ersatz.

No time; she’s coming too fast.

Water and steam flood into the compartment as the lid of her coffin slowly closes, the raging tentacles above the glass slowly dissolve into the bright white light of the Ersatz.

China’s New Naval Helicopter Debuts at Zhuhai Airshow

Do any soldiers enjoy war?

Originally Answered: How many soldiers enjoy war?

More than one might think. During the war in Bosnia we called these guys “cowboys”.

There were whole brigades full of them. A typical cowboy was about 19 or 20 years young and had already spent two years in the army. These guys practically went from the classroom to the front line. Too young to worry about any possible consequences, not married and no children they didn’t give a f*ck. They were thriving!

In civil life they were nobody and now overnight they had become heroes.

Aside from the well known bad side effects a war also has its upsides:

There is a carpe diem (seize the day) mentality which is very attractive to some. Every day could be your last so let’s enjoy it. Soldiers either fight or party. If you are not on the front line you are in a bar. In Bosnia when we came back from the front it was always 24/7 party. And who doesn’t like to party?

The fighting itself can be also quite exciting, especially when you are on the winning side. Taking out an enemy tank with an RPG will not only make your day, but you will thrive on it even years later when telling the story to your kids.

Many who fought will never in their life experience better friendships than the ones with their war buddies. Many will never feel more valued than during their time in uniform.

Don’t forget that in places which fight for their independence or their bare survival a soldier’s status is the highest in society. You are on top of the ladder. Everybody respects you.

Of course these cowboy types were psychologicially damaged. But unlike many soldiers who develop PTSD and depression these guys reacted to the battefield stress by aquiring a “don’t give a sh*t” attitude. They were desensitized to the maximum. One could say that these people who enjoyed the war were at least as much damaged as soldiers with PTSD.

Chinese stealth jet news

The chatter off the grapevine the past year is China already has the production capacity for 200-300 5g jets annually, j-20b, j-35a, j35b etc.

A two-seater j-20s that deploys with loyal stealth wingmen capable of supersonic flight is reportedly close to introduction.

Expect China to fly the world’s largest fleet of stealth assets (including unmanned platforms) in the coming decade.

Let’s countdown to the 1,000th manned Chinese stealth jet in the immediate future.

Why have the liberals gotten so quiet on Quora after Trump won?

I heard on right-wing radio talk radio this morning that Mike Pompeo has recently put on the list of RINO (Republican in name only) traitors.

He won’t have any position in the upcoming Trump administration. They had some very harsh words to say about Mitch McConnell as well.

I’m not a conservative I’m left of center. Social Democrat. Bernie Sanders would have been my guy.

So to hear MAGA vitriol against Mitch McConnell and Mike Pompeo is almost too incredible for me to believe because these guys are so far right of center.

Well you’ve asked why liberals are so quiet and I’m going to let you in on the little fear I have that I hope is not true:

I think liberals have given up and checked out.

They’re disgusted with the system and they’re not going to participate anymore.

You guys may not have only won a battle, but why possibly the war. I think the MAGA version of what America should be like is going to prevail for a long time now.

I also heard this morning that young people in their twenties came out to vote in record numbers for MAGA—that’s also really disheartening. It was really up to the youth of America to decide what type of country they wanted to grow up and raise a family in.

I think a lot of you guys miss the back-and- forth name calling. There’s not going to be any of more because progressivism is dead in America now. There’s no more point to make. There’s nothing to debate. There is an even a we’ll get you guys next time. It’s over.

We’re also so, so tired of telling you guys you don’t know what a terrible thing you’ve done; what terrible force you’ve unleashed on this country. We understand now that it’s exactly what you want.

It was our chance to stop you and we failed.

A lot of voters were tricked into going along with it but it’s too late now for buyer’s remorse.

Enjoy your conquest.

China’s CH-7 Stealth Drone Appears With YJ-21 Hypersonic Missile at Zhuhai Airshow

Definition C

Submitted into Contest #174 in response to: Write a story about a brilliant scientist making a startling discovery.… view prompt

Wendy Kaminski

Apryl, a new patient, was the young wife of Carl’s attorney friend, Michael: a professional courtesy, money never changed hands at this level. They had the same dentist, as well, and formed a sort of Super Friends group of white collar grads.Carl thought it a bit unfair, as he rarely needed the lawyer nor the dentist, but they always seemed to need the psychology services he offered. For someone who had graduated at the top of his class, he was definitely getting the short end of the stick, but was it particularly enlightened of him to resent it? He’d have to discuss that with his own shrink, who certainly did NOT work for free.Carl appraised Apryl as she walked in: seemingly the typical trophy wife, younger than Michael by probably a quarter century, svelte but with nice curves – a redhead, this time – lovely face… like a China doll, Michael had gushed at their last session, and he was right.After introductions, she launched right into it. Ah, a take-charge girl; he had known Michael for three decades, and he knew that the egomaniacal façade Michael put up belied an extreme lack of self confidence. A headstrong woman who picked up on that and looked like Apryl could rule his world entirely.As she talked, he could tell it was going to be “one of those,” for the most part: nothing wrong, just someone slightly neurotic enough to think that they should see a psychologist. Part of it could be Michael’s influence, as he was big on therapy and thought that everyone should be in it.However, there was something vaguely off that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Her responses and inquiries were, to a one, unexpected in a way that he hadn’t previously encountered in decades of practice.For example, by the time they were finally chatting along well into their third session, it was time for him as always to announce the close at the 50-minute mark. They had been discussing her father, whom she was hesitant to share information and feelings regarding. She knocked over her bag and was hurriedly cramming an odd assortment if items back into it while proclaiming that Yes, yes, not an issue, time is a scalar quantity, after all. (She was an engineering student, so he had to revise his initial “trophy wife” assumption early-on.) A well-read man, Carl still had to look up what that meant, after she left. Who talks like that?At another session, she went on at great length about her distaff’s gift of prophecy. She related several stories about her mother’s mother, and her own mother, and their intuitions which were firmly rooted in reality. Musings which became true, dreams which were borne out. “But it was so watered down by the time it got to me, that the only thing I can do is predict what is coming next on HBO if we’ve lost the TV Guide,” she laughed, completely disinterested in pursuing nor honing those valuable skills freely available to her.Warped. Funny, but a little warped. Genuine, but in a cracked sort of way that probably made people stand off a bit for most of her life.Carl was beginning to suspect that there was something undiagnosed, here, after all. For hours in the evenings, he poured over the DSM, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. He went through the entire Informant Form, nothing; it was practically impossible to fill out, because he couldn’t tell how she felt and reacted to many things. You felt like you knew her, until you really tried to pin down anything you knew about her, and then it was impossible.He suspected she would make a very, very good confidence trickster.The more time went on, the more they opened up to one another – or, at least so it seemed to Carl, though what he began to realize over time was that she was actually learning more about him, somehow. He had a whirligig which he toyed with at sessions, a smoking cessation device which he was implementing in an effort to get rid of the nasty habit. They spent nearly an entire session discussing how he had started smoking, the friends he had at that time, what had kept him doing it so long, what factors in his life were urging him to quit (he had to admit, it was his wife who wanted it; Carl, himself, was perfectly happy continuing to smoke)… when the time was up, Carl couldn’t believe how quickly it had flown, and without a word about her. Tricky.The next time, he was determined not to get derailed. On the one hand, they were supposed to be diagnosing (fixing? maybe) whatever was wrong with her. On the other hand, he couldn’t stop giving free hours away until that was accomplished, so they needed to make headway in that regard or they would be at this forever.”Why do you think are you here? What would you like me to help you with?”

I don’t know. I grind my teeth, and I get migraines all the time. A lot of things don’t seem to make sense, but I can’t explain it. It’s frustrating.

“So do you think you are depressed? Stressed out?”

No, not really. I feel great emotionally, but something must be wrong, and — medically — the doctor says I’m fine.

“Can you think of anything – at all – from your past which might be relevant? Head injury? Trauma? Something which could have led to some issues which you might be repressing?”

No, nothing at all.

“Well, why don’t you just start anywhere in your life, right now, and tell me the first thing that comes to mind.”

Carl wanted to throw his hands up. She really did seem fine, from his numerous appointments with her, just … off. He suppressed a chuckle: not “off” like a diagnosis, but rather “off” like she was not entirely synched up with the rest of the world.

Apryl started in, telling him about her first best friend, Heather, and how she was nearly drowned in a pool by Heather’s brother, little John, and how they picked thistles in a field for 5c apiece for Heather’s dad one summer so that the cows wouldn’t eat them and spoil the milk, and how they were in Girl Scouts together with a girl who wore socks with different colored toes and got mad when they called her Toesies, and how they came across Polaroids of Heather’s mom naked that her dad had apparently taken, and how Heather’s mom would feed the baby right there in front of everyone with her boob hanging right out (and how they had kids seemingly every single year), and how …

Carl noticed it was past the 50-minute-mark, and interrupted to say it was time they wrapped up.

… she hadn’t seen Heather in probably 20 years, since she (Apryl) had moved to Memphis and Heather’s then-husband had conspired with her to bring Heather up on a surprise visit, but she really didn’t know why they had lost touch, because they had always been so close, except that was before the days of email, so part of it may have been that, and …

“Apryl?”

Yes?

“If you could spend 5 minutes with anyone, living or dead, who would it be?”

Living.

And there it was. Carl laughed out loud, to a very confused-looking Apryl’s surprise. He had finally discovered an actual Definition C, which he had theorized existed for his entire professional life.

There are generally sets of responses to questions, which are fewer in number than people surmise. There’s the way that probably two-thirds of people would respond… those people are Definition A, in Carl’s book. For example, with this particular question, they might say “Jesus” or “Winston Churchill.” Simple, forthright, fairly common and understanding of social norms.

Definition B, making up probably another 25 percent of the population, might be called the “qualifiers,” who would answer by telling you who, then why, then how it applies to them. Also perhaps what they’d ask and what would be an acceptable answer. Their response to the question is more thorough, but not outside of the norm regarding the subject. Just more personalized information than social norms require. Unsurprisingly, a lot of narcissists come from this segment.

The very small remaining percentage, the Definition C people, go beyond the obvious: their brains interpret the query in an unusual way (though it happens instantaneously, not intentionally), and then you get responses such as Apryl’s. For other inquiries, you might get unintended utilization of a passive task, or unusual and unexpected interaction with a static object or subject.

While his initial question was intended as a psychologist’s tool to break the momentum when a patient can’t seem to stop spiraling down into a narrative, her response had actually told him everything he needed to know for that which he had been searching.

A real Definition C. Incredible. He was going to write a book, some day.

Greek Goddess Salad

This makes a tangy, low-calorie lunch!

Yield: 4 servings

Ingredients

Dressing

2 1/2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
2 teaspoons olive oil
1 teaspoon chopped fresh oregano or 1/4 teaspoon dried oregano
1/4 teaspoon black pepper

Salad

1 head romaine or green-leaf lettuce, rinsed and torn into bite-size pieces
1 medium green bell pepper, thinly sliced (about 1 cup)
2 medium tomatoes, cut into 8 wedges each
1/4 cup pitted, sliced olives, Kalamata or other oil-cured variety (optional)
1/4 cup crumbled feta cheese

Instructions

Dressing

In a small bowl, combine lemon juice, oil, oregano, and pepper. Mix well and set aside.

Salad

Dry lettuce thoroughly in a salad spinner or with a double layer of paper towels. Place in a large salad bowl. Add bell pepper, tomatoes, olives, and feta. Pour the dressing over the salad. Toss gently to coat.
Divide the salad among serving plates and serve immediately.

Immigrants also bring money into America, why does Donald Trump hate them?

Take a Farm in Arkansas

Today for $ 2,500 for 8 Workers – He can process and deliver his cotton to the processing gin

This isn’t 1960s where he needs 50 workers. He has a Harvester for the picking.

They are illegal migrants from Mexico

They come, stay for 70 days, work 12 hours a day at $ 3 an hour plus food and go home

Tomorrow you demand only legals work

That’s minimum $ 10 an hour

That’s $ 8,500 for 8 Workers

So the farmer who paid $ 20,000 for his Cotton harvest now pays $ 68,000

That’s $ 48,000 more

Take John Deere

Today they make a tractor for $ 5,800 in Mexico and sell for $ 33,000 in USA

Tomorrow they make in US for $ 22,000 and sell for $ 57,500 even assuming a 20% reduction in profits

That’s still $ 24,500 more

You do the math

The Farmer pays $ 73,000 additionally for his Cotton Harvest

His profit, already dwindling goes from $ 41,000 a year to (-) $ 32,000 a year

He makes Losses

From barely sustaining himself, he makes losses

That is Trumps model in a nut shell

Its why THEY HATE XINJIANG

That’s because Xinjiang Cotton is available at half the price of US Cotton to the mills

So the US Cotton prices have fallen by 46% in the last 15 years

So what does Trump do?

A. He rises the price of Cotton by 43% so that the farmer can make $ 41,000 a year again and continue to survive without going into debt

However if that is the case, who will buy the Cotton for 43% higher cost?

And if Trump forces them to buy Cotton for higher prices then the USAF will have to pay $ 338 Million extra a year just for uniforms

Still Americans will start buying lesser clothes and Malls will be unable to pay their rents and close down

B. He threatens the Chinese to increase their Cotton prices by 43% so that US can do the same

Chinese ask him to go f*** himself

C. He subsidises the farmer with $ 73,000 a year so that the farmer can make $ 41,000 a year and survive

So again printing money and buying the same chocolate as our friend Ravi Sundararaman puts it so well

You will have more debt, more inflation

It will make Biden look like FDR

So what does Trump do?

He rolls back

He silently allows migrants back in

He slowly allows John Deere to make tractors again in Mexico

Alternatively

He has all farmland purchased by Billionaires and farmers get maybe $ 100K Or so of cash

Then food prices surge by 60%

By then Trump would be gone and the next guy squarely gets the blame

Illegal Migrants are CHEAP

Illegal Migrants babysit for 5–10 bucks an hour against 40 bucks for a legal babysitter

Trumps anger is just a reality show

Meant to get him to the white House

After that, he either does whatever economics dictates or makes things even worse

The Americans are getting poorer and angrier

They need a scapegoat

A. Chinese

B. Migrants

C. Democrats

These are the favorite scapegoats of Trump

Ultimately nobody can fight economics

What are the reasons for considering the Russian Su-57 a failed program? How severe are its issues?

Well, the su-57m is in serial production, with the new Saturn al-51 engine.

The su-57m rewrites the operational envelop of existing Russian fighter jets, and its development required parallel progress across the entire supply chain, from engines to avionics and sensors.

What shouldn’t be discounted is this:

main qimg ce79a9e1577ee572ffb2141410684e3f

Its canards.

That immediately adds another CoL (center of lift) to the equation, making it inherently unstable (and thus highly maneuverable. Many western jets lack the feature because of the inherent complexity it adds to the fly-by-wire.

Add thrust vectoring and the plane can pull impossible turns instantly, despite its size.

The su-57m is designed to kill every Russian fighter in the inventory. It has a huge radar, with side facing secondary cheeks, and an array of IR sensors and advanced countermeasures.

It is a formidable asset integrated into the Russian fighting doctrine, which emphasizes rugged all-condition deployability.

Any weapon is only as good as the delivered doctrine, and no more than that.

Husband Gift Wraps Divorce Papers, Ring + Wedding Pic And Leaves It For Unsuspecting Cheating Wife

Misc pictures reflective of the past

Why is the Marine Corps called a cult and the Air Force called a corporation?

Chow halls.

(When I was in the Corps anyway)

Imagine you are in a Marine Corps mess hall. Marines are quickly and rather quietly woofing down their chow. Suddenly the silence is broken by the clatter of some poor SOB that dropped his tray. Marines hoot and holler, making fun of the “butter fingers”. The Marine now must clean up the debris of his meager meal, and hope he can get a replacement tray. After each one is done eating their mediocre portions, they are responsible for clearing their tray at the scullery window. This is a daily event (x3) and fact of life in the Marines.

Now imagine if you will a squad of those Jarheads end up in an Air Force chow hall. It is inherently cleaner, with better lighting. There is actually a light bit of music playing in the background. These Leathernecks feel a little out of place, but they are hungry, so. They work their way through the line and find a seat and begin to woof down their food. Those Airmen around them are looking at them like they have never been fed.

Just then someone across the place drops a tray. The Marines hoop and holler as they are accustomed to, yet everyone else is quiet and looks at them like they all have a 3rd eye growing out of their heads. Three airmen come out and police up the crash site and another fetches him a new tray.

A tall youngman in a white coat and hat approaches the table our Devil Dogs are seated at. Everyone of them has the same thought, “Great this is where we get thrown out of the joint.” Instead he asks if them if they need anything else, and offers seconds. The chow was amazing by Navy/USMC standards so they all jump on it. Some evn get 3rds!!!! There is even a dessert bar with ice cream.

Then when finished and FH&N (fat, happy, and nasty) the Marines look for where they are to dump their trays. This Same young Airman tells them he will take care of it, that is his job!

True story of my squad at Kadena AFB, Bro.

Air Force personnel live, eat, and dress like CEOs of a fortune 500 company.

Marines live in the projects, eat what they can kill, dress all the same and are taught to be loyal to the brand. The brutish adolescent behavior is not just tolerated, it is encouraged. Just like a cult. But it is our cult and you can not just join you have to earn it. We are protective of that and each other, just like a cult.

That pride and passion never dies. In a housing development an Airforce Vet is told his AF flag is against home owners assoc policy, so he takes it down. They tell the same to the Marine Vet and they receive Hundreds of letters, thousands of emails, and several faxes about why its wrong. Other Marine Vets strong arm the HOA to allow it…like a cult. Marines, No better friend; no worse enemy. Ohhrah Kill!

Semper Fi

REUTERS News Service Got $9 MILLION from Gov’t for “Large Scale Social Deception”

Hal Turner Nation February 05, 2025 Hits: 6562

Probes into the relationships between supposedly “independent” news media and government, have come up with a blockbuster: REUTERS was granted over $9 MILLLION from gov’t for “Large Scale Social Deception.”

Here is the contract detail:

REUTERS Gov contract large scale social deception

Remember this the next time you see ANY story from REUTERS. They took money for “Large Scale Social Deception.”

Americans Are Flocking to RedNote – The TikTok Alternative Changing Social Media!

Is the US economy really “the envy of the world”?

Eastern Woman PROVES She’s Better Than Western Women

Enjoy the ride

Well, numerous followers know that I have been trying to lose some weight. I have started jogging every morning, I cut the size of my meals by 50%, and do my best to eat mostly fruit and vegetables.

And all was fine.

I lost weight. Roughly 0.3kg a day.

Then I hit a limit. No matter what I did, I couldn’t lose any weight. *sigh*

I noticed that I was terribly dehydrated during the four days where I stopped losing weight. So I asked the AI about this. This is what it said…

Hello, it's great to hear about the positive changes you've made in your lifestyle to improve your health, including adjusting your diet, avoiding junk food, and incorporating regular exercise into your routine. It's impressive that you've been able to see such significant weight loss as a result of these changes.

Weight loss plateaus are not uncommon on a weight loss journey, and they can be frustrating, especially when you have been making consistent efforts. It's essential to remember that weight loss is not always linear, and our bodies can sometimes reach a point where they need time to adjust before further progress is made.

When you hit a plateau like the one you're experiencing, it doesn't necessarily mean that you need to exercise more intensely or drastically change your diet. Instead, it might be helpful to reassess your current routine and make some adjustments. Here are a few things you can consider:

1. Review your calorie intake: Sometimes, when we lose weight, our bodies require fewer calories to maintain the weight loss. It might be helpful to reassess your portion sizes and calorie intake to ensure you are still in a calorie deficit.

2. Diversify your exercise routine: Mixing up your exercise routine can help challenge your body in different ways and prevent plateaus. You may consider adding variety to your workouts, such as incorporating strength training or trying different forms of cardio.

3. Stay hydrated: Adequate hydration is essential for overall health and can also support weight loss. Make sure you are drinking enough water throughout the day.

4. Monitor your stress levels: Stress can impact weight loss progress. Finding ways to manage stress, such as through mindfulness practices or relaxation techniques, can be beneficial.

5. Consult with a healthcare provider: If you continue to experience difficulties with weight loss or have concerns about your progress, it's advisable to consult with a healthcare provider or a nutritionist who can provide personalized guidance based on your individual needs.

Remember that sustainable weight loss is a gradual process, and it's essential to focus on overall health and well-being rather than solely on the number on the scale. Keep up the good work, stay patient and consistent with your healthy habits, and you will likely start seeing progress again.

So, the AI is supportive of my efforts.

Then, I asked about hydration.

I'm glad to hear that the advice resonated with you, and you were able to identify potential contributors to your weight loss plateau. Dehydration and stress can indeed have significant impacts on our overall health and well-being, including weight loss efforts.

Hydration plays a crucial role in various bodily functions, including metabolism and digestion. Being dehydrated can affect your body's ability to function optimally, potentially leading to fluctuations in weight and overall well-being. It's essential to prioritize staying hydrated throughout the day by regularly drinking water to support your health goals.

Similarly, stress can trigger the release of cortisol, a hormone that can influence weight gain and retention, particularly around the abdomen. Managing stress levels through relaxation techniques, mindfulness practices, or seeking support can help alleviate its impact on your weight loss journey.

I understand that dealing with work-related stress and financial concerns can be challenging and overwhelming. It's important to prioritize self-care during these times and seek support from friends, family, or professionals if needed. Taking care of your mental and emotional well-being is just as crucial as focusing on your physical health.

Remember that achieving sustainable weight loss is a holistic journey that involves nurturing both your body and mind. By addressing dehydration, managing stress levels, and continuing to make healthy choices in your diet and exercise routine, you are taking positive steps towards reaching your health goals. Stay committed, be kind to yourself, and don't hesitate to seek additional support when needed. You're on the right path towards better health and well-being.

And maybe I am worrying way too much, but I really want to lose some weight, and willing to do whatever it takes.

Then the new week opened up and I was ready to start anew.

Sure as shit, don’t you know it, but I had three staff banquets that week.

*sheech*

Oh the torment!

Well, I ate small portions, kept up with my exercising, and doing what I can to keep hydrated. I don’t go anywhere without my water bottle.

No alcohol!

The sacrifices are painful.

So all I do is eat the oysters and vegetables in small tiny amounts.

BTW; Zhuhai has the best oysters ever!

I will continue staying on the plan and weigh myself every morning, so I went to the AI again…

That sounds like a good plan. Weighing yourself at a consistent time, such as before exercising in the morning, can help provide a more accurate picture of your weight trends over time. Remember that weight can fluctuate for various reasons, as we discussed earlier, and it's essential to focus on overall progress and how you feel rather than getting caught up in day-to-day fluctuations.

By monitoring your weight trends over time and paying attention to how your body responds to exercise and hydration, you can gain valuable insights into your health journey. Keep up the positive habits you've established, stay hydrated, listen to your body, and continue making progress towards your health and well-being goals.

If you have any further questions or concerns along the way, feel free to reach out. Remember that you're taking proactive steps towards your health, and I'm here to support you on your journey. Wishing you all the best with your weigh-in tomorrow morning and your continued efforts towards better health.

…

Life is a roller-coaster. It goes up, then goes down.

Then you die.

I believe that we might as well take care of what we have. Keep it healthy and clean, and work to enjoy our lives within this overly chaotic framework.

Something like this, perhaps…

AlbedoBase XL Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Ba 1(51)

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Or, maybe the long dresses are too “old fashioned” for you all. Well, I really like them.

But you know, those little party dresses can be pretty cute too…

AlbedoBase XL Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Ba 1(49)

AlbedoBase XL Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Ba 0(49)

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Who doesn’t like a “little black dress”?

AlbedoBase XL Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Ba 3(45)

Though, blue silk can be alluring…

AlbedoBase XL Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Ba 2(45)

AlbedoBase XL Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Ba 0(46)

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Make the most of your life.

If going to a ballroom isn’t in the cards today, might I suggest a fine cup of coffee…

Enjoy the ride you all.

Today…

What did you learn too late in life?

That body language speaks a lot more than actual words. It matters. A lot.
You can always earn money. It’s not a big deal. Your world is not going to end because you don’t have a fixed income. Something else will work out.
Saying No is important. People don’t get offended as much as you think.
You use only less than 10% of stuff you possess. Get rid of that stuff that you hardly ever use, you will have that many less things to worry about.
What people say when they are angry, aren’t things they mean. They regret it often. Forgive angry people. It’s okay, they are only human.
There are no winners in an argument. Only losers. Don’t ruin your relationships arguing about things that don’t really matter.
Nothing is complicated. Not as much as you assume. It’s just your mind playing tricks with you. If you get down to it, it’s all really simple and clear.
Loving your partner is a choice, not a feeling. And your character is the choices you make.
No one in this world will stand up for you like the way your parents do. Always be there for them.

Watch How the US AI Bubble Is Crashing And Burning

Its becoming a bloodbath.

Energy companies in the West are crashing down too…

187 views

6 upvotes

2 shares

2 comments

What’s the highest speeding ticket you have ever received?

I was allegedly clocked at 156 MPH in a 75 MPH zone, being 81 MPH over the posted limit. I got off the highway to get fuel in my local town, got back on the highway and was pulled over by 3–4 deputies in another town about twenty miles away. They surrounded me with their cruisers, hmm, pretty strange I thought. The only deputy that spoke to me walked over and said he stopped me because my plate wasn’t visible enough, seemed fair to me. He ran all my information and came back with a warning, at which point he told me that in all honestly I matched a description and a state trooper had radioed a speeding motorist.

The trooper arrived a few minutes later, gave me the same rundown. He said I was evading but he couldn’t catch me, then later said he knew I didn’t see him and that’s why he never even tried to follow me. He also remarked multiple times at how I was able to get 20–25 miles so fast, but I told him every time that I stopped for gas, stretched my legs, all recorded on the gas station camera I’m sure.

Ticket was given, following the state law is was still a misdemeanor as felony traffic rules start at evading or weaving in and out of traffic, neither of which I was doing.

Given the alleged speed a court date had to be set. I arrived on the day of in the judges chambers. She proceeded to tell me about her younger days and the times she found herself going faster than any rational person would. She gave me a 90 day probation, if I received another ticket in the time I would essentially be SOL. The court costs were high, but minus those she essentially ended up charging me with a 5–10 MPH over ticket. I made the 90 days just fine, payed my dues and never looked back.

Why is China not welcomed in the world?

The question is invalid. China is very welcomed in the world.

Over 85% of humanity welcome China. Only less than 15% do not, and they include the United States and its allies/vassals.

China is welcomed for several key reasons:

China is the largest trading partner to over 120 countries. Trading with China helps these countries immensely.
China is helping over 150 countries through the Belt and Road Initiative. These countries are very grateful for China’s assistance.
China is unifying the world in peace and common prosperity through organizations like BRICS and SCO. This is infinitely preferable to US wars and imperialism.

Why is the US military losing so many high tech MQ-9 Reaper drones over Yemen? After the downing of the 9th of its drone, what does the US Military think?

The MQ-9 is aimed for high level surveillance and transmission of location data

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It transmits everything it observes

It is mainly used for single strikes on potential targets which it hits with a Hellfire missile

It costs almost $ 35 Million a piece

Against these, the Houthis use :-

Qiam 1 at $ 150,000 a piece

SA – 6 & 17 at $ 200,000 a piece

Misagh 2 at $ 180,000 a piece

Plus Electronic Jamming by the Azaad 6B

It’s a budget miracle

The MQ9 does it’s job

Unfortunately the MQ9 isn’t exactly Ultron from the avengers movie

The Ground Level intelligence is ZERO

So the Houthis keep shifting base every 48–72 hours and the MQ9s hit mostly bases where the Houthis no longer stay or are active

Once discharged, the MQ9s are shot down by Iranian Made Local missiles that have a 10% hit rate

So far 10 MQ9s have been hit at a cost of $ 350 Million

Assuming 1 Missiles per Fallen MQ9 at a 10% strike rate – that’s 100 Missiles costing around $ 15–20 Million

That’s where Iran dominates

It’s production is localized with a boatload of Chinese electronics and Russian components

And the prices are extremely low

For 20 million bucks Iran can make 1000 short range Missiles which can strike down 100 MQ9s costing the US almost $ 3.5 Billion

Plus it would take 27–40 Months to replace those MQ9s

It takes Iran maybe 18–25 weeks to replace those missiles

It’s exactly like WWII with the roles reversed

Soviets made Junk but they produced so much that Germans best technology fell apart despite a 4–1 battle advantage

US Failed to Steal China’s Space Technology

What was your best moment when negotiating a salary?

I very badly wanted to get into the commercial fishing industry. Every boat I went to had no need for a deckhand with no experience. Finally a captain advised me of another captain who would hire me. He did point out the captain was new and was making his crew little to no money.

So off I go to get a brutal and hard job for little or no pay. When I found the captain he hired me on the spot. He tells me I’ll get 20% of the catch after expenses.

I countered offered. I will take 15% but you have to teach me every thing you know about boats and fishing. He kinda laughed and shook my hand.

Three trips and about six weeks time offshore I made less than $200. Working 16 to 18 hours a day.

True to his word he taught me a lot. I even used this to figure out why he wasn’t catching a lot of fish. He would travel a compass course until there was enough good bottom to string a full set of gear. He would turn around and string the gear the exact opposite course. Good plan unfortunately we went way off the bottom.

He had told me never put a magnet near your compass it will give you a false direction. He never realized that his fish finder was acting as a magnet. It pulled the compass 20% both ways. So he was never actually laying his gear in the right direction.

I got a tremendous education and he became a captain who started catching fish.

Trump: F*ck around and find out..

Guys. This is REAL.

Wholly SHIT.

What would happen to treasury bonds and the US dollar if all countries stopped selling them? Who would potentially buy them in this scenario?

China is cutting back, Japan is cutting back Europeans, who don’t have money to buy they are bankrupt thanks to the US coercing them into silly war with Ukraine and the rest of the world are simply scared stiff of being rob like Russia. So Americans must buy their own debts! Good luck! I think that their interest rates need to rise to get Yanks to part with their monies. Even Yanks have enough sense to ask for a higher interest to buy say a third of what China and Japan used to buy before you guys do shit!

The US will pay more to get less from now onwards! When you had a good thing going don’t fxck it up!

Bourbon Brownies

Ingredients

1 box family size brownie mix
1/2 cup chopped pecans (optional)
1/2 cup soft butter
1/3 cup + 3 tablespoons bourbon
2 cups confectioners’ sugar

Instructions

Make brownie mix, cutting baking time by 5 minutes. Bake and cool.
Brush with 1/3 cup bourbon over top.
Cool in refrigerator.
Cream together butter, confectioners’ sugar and 3 tablespoons bourbon. Spread over brownies.

Krugman Calls Trump Tariffs ‘Really, Really Destructive’

Lost in the Woods

Submitted into Contest #196 in response to: Write a story involving a portal into a parallel universe.… view prompt

Genevieve Masters

When I left my apartment this morning, I did not realize how cold the wind would feel. I can feel the wind biting at my face and can only guess how red my cheeks have grown from the cold. I have walked these trails before when I needed to get some inspiration. The wind has never been able to make its way through the thick crop of trees in this area of the Smoky Mountains when I have hiked them many times before.I knew better than to come out to the forest at this time of the year, but I needed to get away from home. I’ve been cramped inside my apartment for way too long working on projects that I never finish. There are too many RAW images on my computer that I have never finished editing. My apartment has begun to suffocate me in the last year. Everyday is the same and it is killing my creativity. I can’t go on like this much longer since the money from my last publication of photos is starting to run dangerously thin. I thought that some fresh air would help me clear my mind enough to start fresh and actually finish something. Now that I am out here though, I regret it. February is not a good time to go hiking.As I make my way up the trail, I come across a curiously laid out staircase of rocks. From first glance it looks like they are a natural occurrence. So many years of footsteps carving out chunks of the dirt to reveal stone underneath, guiding you up the steep hill. However, when you look closer, you can see that these are individual rocks placed by human hands to create makeshift stairs to make the climb easier.Nature has found a way to combat civilization’s disturbance in these woods. Wild flowers grow in between the cracks and water has weathered down a lot of the edges. I can even see where some trees have taken root, though they are still only saplings now. I doubt they will grow into anything much. It is only a matter of time before all of the hikers that pass through will stomp out their growth.Did I say that these rocks make the hill any easier? That was definitely naivety. My legs burn as I make my way up the hill, but I know it will be worth it once I get to the top. There is supposed to be a beautiful waterfall at the top of this climb and I desperately want to get some photos of it. Frustrated, I hitch my backpack up higher on my shoulders. I know I need the water I packed, but does it need to be so heavy? My eyes lock on a large boulder sized rock up at the end of these rock stairs and I get a burst of determination. I just need to make it the rest of the way up and I can take a break.Once I reach the large rock I realize that the top is nice and smooth. I wonder how many people have had this exact experience and chose to use this rock as a resting point. Sitting down, I swing the backpack off of my shoulders and drop it to the ground. I pull out a water bottle and try to sip it instead of chugging. I have learned that lesson before and I do not want to get sick.I pull out my phone, and just as I suspected, there is no signal. I sigh and lean back on one hand, drinking some more of my water and looking around at the scene around me. The wind is still able to make its way into the leaves of the trees up here and the sound of them rustling against one another is calming. You don’t get to hear it so much in the city. All of this green is the perfect opportunity to get some photos done, but nothing has inspired me yet on this hike.Scanning around me I see some color off in the distance. Is it a crop of flowers? I have been on trails near here before and have never seen any yellow flower fields, especially not this high up. It can’t be though, because it was something that caught the light of the sun. It was something shiny. This is the inspiration I needed. I finish off my water and put the empty bottle back in the backpack. My camera is in a front pocket and so I go ahead and take it out and attach the lens to the camera body and put the strap around my neck.As I make my way closer, I realize it is a staircase in the middle of the woods. I stop walking closer once it comes into full view and take it all in. It is breathtaking. The steps look like rudimentary stone blocks, but they have been plated in the shiniest gold I have ever seen.I turn my camera on and pull the viewfinder up to my eye, adjusting the setting to accommodate for the light. I can zoom in and even from far away I can tell that there are some sort of carvings on the sides of the steps. I take a few photos from my vantage point and, once satisfied with the images, cap my lens and decide to get closer for my photos.As I take another step closer, I can feel a change in the air. It feels like the air around me is electrified and the hair on the back of my neck stands up. Something seems wrong with these being here, but I can’t tell what it is.I am only a few feet away when I realize what it is. The stairs do not seem to be affected by the nature surrounding it. There is no dirt on the steps or any kind of debris. They are not weathered at all either. It looks as if they were just built this morning and dropped here.I come around to the side of them to get a better look at the carvings. They are unlike anything I have ever seen. Interwoven geometric patterns and interlocked patterns decorate the entire side of the staircase. I run my fingers along the thick lines of the patterns and am surprised at how smooth all of the edges are. It must have taken a lot of skill and time to create something like this.I ready my camera again, determined to get some photos of this, despite the sudden thickness of the air around me. I move all around the staircase in order to get images from every angle I can think of. My mind races with ideas of how best to edit the images and it is like I have come alive again. I can see my agent’s face now, gleaming with thoughts of all the money these photos could bring in. I might even be able to get them into a gallery or a museum feature. I have never seen anyone produce images like the ones I have been able to capture.In all my excitement, I don’t realize that I can no longer hear the sounds of the forest around me. The sounds of random bird calls and animals skittering in the brush have all died away. An eeriness falls over me as I realize the only thing I can hear is the shutter of my camera. I try to shake the uneasiness out of my head, but the more time I spend here the more the feeling creeps in.

What is it with these stairs that is starting to freak me out so much? Running my eyes over the stairs, I realize that the wind has not blown any sort of dust or dirt onto them. That can’t be possible. Even I have to keep wiping my lens because of the thin layer of dust that keeps forming on it.

I give in to the unease and decide it is time to make my way up the rest of the trail. Putting away my camera, I start to wonder about the strangeness of these events and decide that I should climb them. I am already here and what harm could it do to get a few photos from the top. It is the only angle I haven’t shot from.

As I put my foot on the first step, goosebumps raise along my arms and I get the feeling that I shouldn’t be here. I pause and consider how many photos I have already gotten and I know that it would be enough to publish a collection. I need to make sure it is something no one has done before though, and so desperation gets the better of me as I begin the climb up.

I take my time and measure each step. There are no railings of any kind and these stairs would not be very forgiving if I were to lose my balance. The more steps I climb, the more I can hear a voice in my mind tell me to turn around and walk back down the steps and go back to my small apartment. I almost give in and turn back as I make my way further to the top of the stairs. The closer to the top I get, the thicker the air feels and the electric feeling I got used to increases. I think I can even hear something buzzing before the world goes black.

My mind feels fuzzy as I begin to wake up. I blink my eyes open and realize I must have been out for at least half of a day because the sky is starting to darken as the end of the day draws near. It is much colder now and my nose feels like ice when I touch it.

I slowly sit up and look around me. The staircase I thought I must have fallen off of is no longer there. Hurriedly I turn my camera on and find that the battery has drained from it being left on and I groan. I needed to know if I imagined the entire ordeal. It feels too strange for me to have imagined, but the staircase is definitely gone and there is no sign that it was ever there.

Somewhere in the distance I hear an owl hoot, reminding me how late it is. I get back up to my feet and brush all of the dirt off of me. I assume that I must have fallen off because of the blackout, but I’m not sore anywhere. I scan the area around me and it looks the same as it did before. Trees all around and areas of thick underbrush, which is not unusual off of the well-worn trails. In the distance I see the boulder sized rock I sat on before so I use it as a way-point to make my way back to the trail.

As I make my way back, I tell myself how lucky I am that I woke up before night truly fell and that I still have time to make it back down to my car. I wish I could have made it up the rest of the trail, but with the photos I got, it doesn’t really matter that I didn’t finish what I started this time.

I can tell something is wrong before I reach the rock. The makeshift stairs I climbed up are no longer there and it is only the steep hill left. In fact, I realize there is no trail at all. It is just more of the same thick trees surrounding me. I can feel my heart begin to race. I need to calm down so I go to sit on the rock, but it is no longer smooth. I turn around to look at it and it is no longer the seat-like surface it was just this morning. Instead it has bumps and sharp points dotting the surface. The thought comes to me as I look around me.

I am not in the same place I was before I blacked out.

Of course, it is the same mountain and the same trees and the same rock, but it hasn’t been touched by human hands. There doesn’t seem to be any interference from mankind at all. I can feel myself shaking as the panic sets in and adrenaline starts coursing through me. I crouch down as I start hyperventilating and bury my face in my hands. This cannot be happening right now.

I give myself a few minutes to get myself calmed down and try to come up with a plan. Every survival show I have watched says to go downhill and try to find water to follow. I know it goes against everything I know to go up the rest of the mountain side, but I need to get a good viewpoint to see if there is anything I recognize and determine where to go. It is obvious to me now that what I know of the world and who inhabits it is not the same anymore.

The light from the sun fades more and more as I head up the mountain. It is a difficult hike without a trail to follow but eventually I make it before darkness completely covers the forest. I consider myself lucky that I still have my backpack as I take out some water and drink an entire bottle while I try to catch my breath.

The sounds of the forest are starting to quiet down as the night begins to creep in and I can just make out the sounds of a city? It is not the normal sounds you would expect with the sounds of cars and machinery, but it is the unmistakable noise of a dense population of people.

I make my way to the edge of the trees and peer out over the valley below me. I expected to see the river that winds through the valley, but what I did not expect was the city that had been built along it. There is still enough light that I can see the buildings, so many of them, along the river’s edge and some up into the mountain sides. They look like the ancient ruins from central America but these are new and more modern than what I remember seeing from pictures.

The largest building I can see is made with the same type of blocks from the staircase I climbed and is plated in the same shiny gold. I can still see the sun gleaming off of it, but not quite as brightly. It looks like a pyramid you would expect to see from one of the old Aztec cities, but I am far from where they would have been. It is much taller than any of the other structures around it. Many other pyramid-like structures surround it and even more encircle a courtyard that extends behind the tallest one. Not all of the buildings seem as ornate, some I can tell are only made of stone without the gold coverings. It is impossible for me to be back in that time though, since I can see lights shining from inside some of the smaller structures around it. Somehow, there is electricity or some other way of lighting the buildings. The lights bounce off of the streets and it almost seems like the streets are made of gold as well.

It is utterly breathtaking. The mixture of civilization and nature is something I never thought I would witness. I wish I would have turned my camera off before climbing those stairs so I could have some proof of what I am seeing when I get back. If I get back. I had not thought of that yet. How am I going to get back? The staircase was gone and I have no idea how to bring it back.

I cannot stay out here in the forest forever. I don’t have any knowledge of how to survive and the grumbling of my stomach reminds me that I have not eaten since the morning. I have enough water to last me maybe one more day, but after that I don’t know what I will do. I have to make my way to this city and hope that the people there will help me. I doubt we will speak the same language.

I cannot doubt that I am scared and confused on how I came to be here in this world so similar to my own, but I try to cling to the excitement I feel as I head back down the mountain towards the strange city. This is not the change I expected when I left my apartment this morning, but I am determined to make the best out of this strange series of events.

China’s Strategy to Trump 2.0 | Jeffrey Sachs, Zhang Weiwei & Charles Li

I am British, l am far from anti-USA, but may l ask why so many Americans cannot see the corruption, the deceit, and the idiocy of Donald Trump?

American. Political Science major when dinosaurs walked the earth. I have been an avid watcher and reader of all things political for about forty years (historic and current). I have never seen anything like it in my lifetime. Not with any candidate or sitting politician. There have been politicians that have been adored by large constituencies like Kennedy, Reagan, and even Obama, but nothing like this. This is indeed a cult. People I know that are pro-Trump will not hear one negative word about him. You can make them cry in a heartbeat if you say a word against the great Tangerine Leader. I’ve seen it in person.

What led to this mess? It’s a boil that’s been festering for over 30 years and finally came to an ugly head with DJT, but he is not the sole creator of it. Trump has taken #7 and #8 to an art form. Here’s what I think led to this hot mess of a decade:

Eliminating civics and government from many schools’ curriculum. If you don’t understand the fundamentals of the parts of government, founding documents, how the legislature works, how can you be an informed citizen? I’m embarrassed by the comments some of my fellow Americans make about basic facts of governance. The ignorance is breathtaking.
Eliminating critical thinking from high school and college studies in some school districts. Many believe teaching children to think critically, to consume facts, data, statistics, etc. and arrive at a conclusion are the Devil’s tool (i.e. from the left). They want their children simple and God fearing like it’s 1850.
30 years of far-right radio on the air 24x7x365 spewing anti-woman, anti-urban, anti-immigrant, anti-Democratic, anti-everyone-but-white-boys poison. People like Rush Limbaugh, Alex Jones, Michael Levin and a host of others just unleashing word vomit on huge hunks of the working-class population.
1974 Rupert Murdoch, the vilest human to every grace a newsroom came to America. 1985 he became an American citizen and buys FOX movies which becomes FOX Inc. and FOX News. The number one cable news network in the USA. Over the decades he has just gone further to the right and further from the truth, but millions of my countrymen watch FOX as their only source of information.
In 1996, Newt Gingrich became the Republican Speaker of the House. He decided it would be best for the Republican Party NOT to have policies or a platform, to only argue against whatever the Democratic Party proposed. He declared compromise and negotiation the dirtiest of dirty words. Any concession was a complete loss. That approach has only gotten worse over time. This was antithetical to how our government had functioned for a couple hundred years. Everyone comes to the table, everyone negotiates, no one party gets everything they want. You are lucky to come away with a few key wins and compromises.
2010 Citizens United was a Supreme Court decision which declared money was speech. Any state, local, or federal laws to restrict the flow of money into political races was verboten. In effect, they approved bribery. A billionaire has unlimited “speech” with his political donations, a poor person not so much. Politicians no longer have to be afraid of the electorate, because donors with deep pockets can fill the radio, TV, cable, and internet with ads that will blast away poor opposition that can’t afford those same buys.
Something that started about 10 years ago was your political opponent was not just someone who disagreed with you on a policy, or implementation, or a treaty, they were the anti-Christ, the Devil, the enemy, they didn’t deserve to be American. Trump has poured gasoline on that fire and taken the rhetoric to new heights.
Trump was and is a norm buster. Never in my life did a president swear in front of a microphone. Or speak ill of the political opposition. Or say someone who opposed him should die. Or attack our treaty partners. Or try to f*llate an enemy leader (Putin, Jong Un, Xi) right in front of cameras. He is the first president in my life to not concede an election, to not go through the transfer of power, to not attend the inauguration of his successor. A poor sport and a pig, in my estimation. Even yet, he has sent no representatives to sign the agreements that allow him and his agents to prepare for the transfer of power from Biden should he win over VP Harris. It’s like he thinks he’s taking over a lemonade stand rather than one of the largest governments in the world

I’m sure I’ve forgotten some things, but I’ve thought about what brought us to this state for a long time and this is where I’ve landed…

Why made Hong Kong so attractive to Britain as a colony given that it was the last of Britain’s colonies and Britain does not profit from taxing Hong Kong?

Contrary to popular belief, Britain’s grip on Hong Kong was driven far more by economic interests than by any strategic motives. The true appeal of Hong Kong for Britain lay in the enormous profits generated from awarding government contracts exclusively to British companies. Before the handover in 1997, the colonial government operated with a striking lack of transparency, allowing British firms to bypass competitive bidding and dominate lucrative projects without much oversight.

Take the construction of Hong Kong’s International Airport, for example. British engineers, laborers, and even truck drivers were brought in to work on this massive project. These workers earned substantial sums that many used to purchase multiple properties back in the UK, often securing financial futures far beyond what they could have achieved at home. This is just one of many instances where British expatriates capitalized on colonial opportunities, accumulating wealth and economic advantages.

The colonial infrastructure in Hong Kong, such as the old Kowloon-Canton Railway (KCR) and the Mass Transit Railway (MTR) systems, stands as a testament to this economic exploitation. The use of over-engineered materials and refurbished British train units, sold at inflated prices, highlights the extent to which the British government ensured financial gains were maximized. It wasn’t merely a matter of providing expertise; it was about creating an economic windfall for British companies right up until the 1997 handover.

Despite the official story focusing on strategic interests and geopolitical importance, Britain’s extended rule over Hong Kong was fundamentally about extracting economic value. The colonial administration’s exclusive preference for British companies in public projects – often with inflated costs – shows a strategy meticulously crafted to ensure a significant flow of financial benefits back to the UK. This approach to maximizing economic extraction was deeply ingrained and persisted until the very end of British rule.

Interestingly, the narrative that post-1997 Hong Kong has continued to follow similar practices under Chinese governance doesn’t stand. The contracts awarded for public works and infrastructure in recent years have seen considerable global participation. For instance, the new train units for the MTR system have been supplied by international firms like Hyundai Rotem from South Korea and the SP1900 EMU units from Japan. This global approach to procurement contrasts sharply with the British era’s exclusivity, indicating a more competitive and open market environment.

In summary, while the official narratives often emphasize Britain’s strategic and geopolitical motivations for holding onto Hong Kong, the real driving force was systematic economic exploitation. The British colonial administration’s financial strategy left a lasting economic legacy on Hong Kong, marked by infrastructure overbuilt to extract maximum profit and a host of British expatriates who amassed considerable wealth. This non-tax revenue extraction shows Hong Kong’s extraordinary value to Britain until the final days of colonial rule.

Understanding this economic dimension paints a different picture of British colonialism in Hong Kong, one where the pursuit of wealth was just as, if not more, important than any geopolitical strategy. Hong Kong was far more than just a strategic foothold; it was an economic goldmine that Britain mined profitably until the end.

Lee Kuan Yew’s Shocking Prediction About China’s Future (Unbelievable)

Really great foresight.

This bread is so good, you’ll forget it’s just 5 ingredients

What’s the most important ingredient in a sandwich? Almost certainly the bread. After all, regardless of what kind of sandwich you’re making, bread is integral to its success. And what’s better than homemade bread?

This version works well for sandwiches, toast, French toast or anything you might use basic store-bought stuff for, and it’s only five ingredients (not counting the water). It takes a little bit of effort to knead this for the full 10 minutes, but if you set a timer and turn on some music or a TV show in the background, you’ll be done before you know it (and can skip arm day tomorrow).

Plus, once you’ve got the basics down, you can try different kinds of flour, add cinnamon and raisins, or sprinkle the top with seeds and oats to customize this loaf. Slice and freeze whatever you’re not going to use right away, so you can thaw and toast as you go.

1 cup water, warm
2 tablespoons honey
3 teaspoons active dry yeast
3 cups bread flour
2 teaspoons salt
1/4 cup vegetable oil plus extra for greasing baking pan

How to

In a small glass bowl or measuring cup, combine the warm water, honey, and yeast. Set aside for 3 to 5 minutes or until frothy.
In a large mixing bowl, whisk together the bread flour and salt.
Add the vegetable oil and yeast mixture, and stir vigorously until a dough forms.
Turn dough out onto a floured work surface and knead 8 to 10 minutes (or use a stand mixer with a dough hook attachment).
Lightly grease a large bowl with vegetable oil.
Add the dough, and rotate it to ensure all sides are greased.
Cover the bowl with plastic wrap, and set in a warm place to rise for 2 hours.
Lightly grease an 8 1/2-by-4 1/2 bread pan with vegetable oil.
Punch down the dough, and shape it into a rectangle the size of the prepared pan.
Transfer it to the pan and re-cover with plastic wrap.
Allow the dough to rise in a warm place for 60 to 90 minutes, or until the dough has doubled in size and risen over the lip of the pan.
Preheat the oven to 350 F.
Remove the plastic wrap and bake for 20 to 25 minutes, rotating halfway to ensure even baking.
Allow the bread to cool slightly before transferring to a wire rack to finish cooling.

How China deals with US provocation

Wooden Boat inspirations

Saudi Arabia Officially Declines BRICS Membership!

What are some affordable cities to live in for someone with a low income?

Thailand is on top of the list of affordable cities on Earth. A playground for billionaires as well as a haven for dirt poor folks and the homeless.

Nevertheless, I couldn’t imagine anyone coming to my country with ‘ little’ money and aiming for a low income. (don’t get me wrong, I’m pragmatic and empathetic blok)

The lure of the eyes even little things on the sidewalks, yummy food, a free flow of booze and cannabis, a smile of the ladies, a military salute from doormen, a bow from the waiters, and a graceful ‘Wai’ from the Supermarket cashier… All these are siphoning a great deal of money every ‘ Baht’ the expats made from Thailand-

Thus fulfilling: “‘Give to King What Belongs to King,’ Does it sound familiar that you heard it before?

I would advise you to stay put in your country, do the same old crap, travel within your country, eat the same old junk (like me now), and never ever think of living outside a safety net with no money or less money. You will thank me for that.

Why do modern US warheads have yields of hundreds of kilotons while older warheads were megatons?

Pretty much accuracy.

This warhead, a W53, used to be the US’ premier nuclear bunker buster;

Yield? Nine megatons. (For the layman, 9,000,000 tons of TNT.)

Why was such a large warhead necessary?

Because this was the launch platform; a Titan 2.

The Titan 2 had an accuracy of about 900 meter CEP. That means that a warhead had a 50% chance to land anywhere in a circle with a radius of 900 meters…that’s a circle around a target, about a mile in diameter.

This is a B61 nuclear bomb. It’s replaced the Titan 2’s W53. It has a maximum yield of 400 kilotons. (About 400,000 tons of TNT.)

Substantially smaller, right?

How can this serve as a replacement for the W53 in the bunker buster role?

Simple; the B61 has the ability to bury itself in the ground before detonating, AND its significantly more accurate.

B61 bombs prior to the Mod-12 had an accuracy of about 100 meter around the target, substantially smaller than the W53’s 900 meters.

And here’s the thing…it’s getting more accurate.

Smart bombs are becoming more and more prevalent on the modern battlefield, and the B61 is no exception. The Mod-12 has an accuracy of about 30 meters from the target.

This enables nuclear weapons to accomplish the same job without as much tonnage.

Here are ten funny cow jokes for you:

1. What do you call a cow with no legs?

Ground beef!

2. Why do cows have hooves instead of feet?

Because they lactose!

3. What do you get when you cross a cow and a trampoline?

A milkshake!

4. Why did the cow go to outer space?

To see the moooon!

5. What do you call a cow that can play a musical instrument?

A moo-sician!

6. How do cows stay up to date with current events?

They read the moos-paper!

7. What do you call a cow that tells jokes?

A comedi-hay!

8. Why did the cow join a gym?

To get a little more moo-scle!

9. What did the cow say to the farmer?

“You crack me up!”

10. Why are cows such great dancers?

Because they have all the right mooooves!

Hope these bring a smile to your face!

Collective West hopes RUSSIAN economy will overheat and CRASH

What are your thoughts on the US government’s new regulations of restricting investments in China’s semiconductor, AI, and quantum technology sectors, effective from January 2025?

It won’t work for two reasons

A. The Money will find a way

It costs $ 350,000 per Researcher in the US to carry out high level R&D for Salaries, Staffing, Perks & Facilities

It costs $ 90,000 per Researcher in China for the same R&D for Salaries, Staff Space, Perks and Facilities

Chinese Universities produce 11 Qualified Post Graduates in these Areas for every 1 Qualified Post Graduate that US Universities produce

So you can do the same cutting edge research in a lab in Shenzhen for 1/4 of what it would cost you in Cambridge or Oakland or San Jose

It’s CAPITALISM 101

Right now China is the only nation that has comparable Graduate Talent in fields of AI & Quantum Computing & Semi Conductors in large enough numbers

Taiwan, Korea and Japan dont have the numbers

India, Vietnam, Malaysia don’t have the Talent

So Money will find a way whatever the regulations are

Simple example :- A US Hedge Fund will invest into a Singaporean Investment Company which will invest into Chinese Tech Firms for R&D at 13% RORR a year after 5 years

What can the US do?

They would have to spend all their life checking every investment made in every corner of the world

B. The date is far away

The Minute you give someone time, they will take advantage of everything

For instance EU will be raising tariffs for every EV order placed from China into Europe from 1/11/2024

Yet more than 30,000 orders have been placed in October alone and there is sufficient inventory of Chinese EVs in Europe until March 2025

Likewise these regulations will result in billions being invested until January 2025 without breaking the regulations

So China will not lose

These are USSR style tactics

They will never work

Technology and Money always find a way to flow towards Demand & Supply

The Only thing the US can do is COMPETE in the open markets and constantly innovate and keep ensuring they have continuous flow of talent

Otherwise they are helping China more and more every day

Would China be better if the Tiananmen Square protests succeeded?

Tiananmen Square event in 1989 was a students’ protest being taken advantage by the US and ended as a failed color revolution at the cost of lives of Chinese students and policemen, and also political and economic cost thereafter.

The US has been masterminding the similar playscripts, with slight modifications or updates localized to different countries and regions, some succeeded, some also failed.

Is Russia better now because of the collapse of the Soviet Union?

Is Serbia better now because of the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia’s “Bulldozer” revolution?

Is Georgia better now because of the “Rose” revolution?

Is Ukraine better now because of the “Orange” revolution?

Is Kyrgyzstan better now because of the “Tulip” revolution?

Is Armenia better now because of the “Velvet” revolution?

Are the Arab countries, from Tunisia to Egypt, from Syria to Iraq, from Libya to Yemen, better now because of the “Arab Spring”?

(The Arab Spring of 2010 to 2012)

Now, please tell me:

Would China be better once the US succeeded in 1989 in overthrowing the ruling of the Communist Party of China, in dismantling China into 5, 6, or 7, or more, small nations, in supporting “allies” of those “like-minded” of the “Western universal values” who prioritize the US interest and their own personal interests over China’s national interests to rule over the country?

One of the fundamental reasons why China can rise from a poor country back then into today’s second largest economy is:

China is a fully independent country, leaving very little leeway for the US to penetrate into and control the country from within, so that China can choose its own development path, walk its own ways, make its own decisions.

And luckily, though with ups and downs, with lessons and even mistakes, China has been overall on the right path for the past several decades!

Have you ever been told you won’t amount to anything, and then met that person many years later?

Yes.

In High School, the vice principal and I did not get along. In Middle School, I wrestled for a different school and he happened to referee matches. I was very good for my age but transitioning to the High School level was harder for me. He was excited when I transferred to his school for High School and thought he had a real winner. Turns out, my freshman year was a disaster. He saw me as a failure and thus began our dislike for each other.

I was eating lunch in the cafeteria. Most of my friends ate after my lunch period so I didn’t really spend time socializing at lunch. Instead, I would finish eating then walk to my next class, read a book, and wait for the class to begin. The teacher didn’t mind since she was on break before that class started.

One day, the vice principal walked past the classroom and saw me sitting there alone reading a book. He chastised me for leaving the cafeteria and ordered me back there. While standing in the hallway, he was ripping me a new one for not following the rules. He then started making it personal by dragging up wrestling and calling me a failure. I tried walking away to go back to the cafeteria and he yelled “Get back here! I’m not through with you yet!” His last words to me were “You’ll never amount to anything!” before turning to walk away from me. While this was going on, the bell had rung and the hallway was filled with kids watching and listening to his tirade against me.

I was fuming. As he began to walk away, I yelled to him “Get back here! I’m not through with YOU!” He spun around in disbelief while all the kids in the hallway stopped and stared at us. He asked “What did you just say?” I repeated my command and continued by questioning what has HE done in his life except become the vice principal of a school where everyone hates him and he’ll never be promoted.

The kids in the hallway began cheering as I walked back into the classroom that was now where I belonged in the first place.

Surprisingly, the vice principal walked away and didn’t say a word.

Fast forward about 12 years…..

I’m working as a police officer and happen to be working an off duty detail at the local high school where they happened to be playing my alma mater in basketball. I look in the stands and there sat my old vice principal. I chuckled at the thought of confronting him but realized it really wasn’t worth it. I had already proven him wrong while all the time being right… he was never promoted.

I’ve had a great career, accomplished many things, have a family that is proud of me, and have touched many lives in a positive way.

Here’s to you, Mr. McInturf…..

The BRICS countries are planning a new reserve currency to replace the dollar. Shouldn’t this be more widely supported so that we are not held hostage to the dollar?

Not the way I read it.

I have been puzzled about the “reserve currency” argument ever since it was floated years ago.

What is a reserve currency? It is a fraction of a circulating currency acquired by central banks as a liquid asset, often in the form of interest-bearing debt.

BRICS is a supranational coalition of the third world spread across continents, cultures and beliefs. There is no hope of stepping up from 0 into a monetary union to issue something like the Euro, which is causing massive damage to, say, the Italian economy because of the failure to coordinate fiscal policy and account for regional differences.

Besides, going from 0 to a fraction of a circulating currency acquired by central banks as a liquid asset isn’t trivial.

What’s more realistic in the interim is a cross-border payment system immune from western sanction, using local currencies as the medium of exchange.

Yes, the forex market is still centered on the dollar, and exchange rates are converted with the aid of the dollar.

For example, sgd/myr is arrived at using usd/sgd and usd/myr rates.

But let’s say a SWIFT alternative is developed by BRICS and 150 countries start using it.

A proxy to the dollar can be established within the system to facilitate local currency settlement to BYPASS THE DOLLAR. This is similar in principle to tether in the crypto world being pegged 1:1 to the dollar, allowing use of the token to transact digital assets. This is also similar to alibaba’s use of a credit ledger to transact yuan denominated goods within its platform.

The technology to implement such a system already exist. “Money as message” and “money as token” are already proven. The challenge is to integrate a real-time forex component into the equation. Complicated, but not insurmountable.

The biggest hurdle is trust. But with more than 100 nations gathered in kazan, there is critical mass to push the project forward.

In time, the brics-issued token within brics-maintained ledgers will morph into trustworthy global stores of wealth, and become a fraction of a circulating currency acquired by central banks as a liquid asset.

So, trading currency, before reserve currency.

Someone asked for a clearer illustration of the difference with the euro.

Simply, the brics currency isn’t used to value assets in-country, only cross-border goods and services.

The Viking Seeress of Fyrkat: a High-status Sorceress and Seductress

A Norse burial site in Denmark from around the year 940 contains the remains of a woman of high status whom experts believe was a seeress or völva.

Such women held a special place in society and commanded the attention of Viking kings, warriors and even the gods. Witches, called völur, are mentioned in some of the old Norse manuscripts.

This grave contains the body of a woman who has been dubbed the Seeress of Fyrkat. She was buried with items that indicate she may have practiced seid or sorcery.

The völur were known to seduce men, and for this reason some deemed them dangerous. The goddess Freya was also known as a seducer, and she may have been a divine role model for sorceresses in Norse society.

Are military police really as bad as people say they are?

Yes, utter pricks.

I was jiffed for some shit job in the sergeants mess, the day a video recorder went missing

About 5 months later I was lifted by the RMP and taken to be questioned. “Where were you on 5th March?”

I had absolutely no idea, it was months ago

“The day you were in the sergeants mess doing X Y and Z”

Right, I was in the sergeants mess doing that; somewhat obvious I thought

They carry on about where in the mess, what I was doing, times, people that saw me etc

Then they play their trump card; “actually, you’ve just told us about the 5th, you were actually there in the 4th. So what we’re doing on THAT day?”

I was in the mess

“But we’ve ascertained what you were doing in the 5th, tell us about the 4th when you were there and the VCR went missing”

“Are you pissed? I told you about the day I was in the mess, you told me the date”

“So you’re lying about what you were doing on the 5th”

“Right, you are making shit up, doing an absolutely fucking shit job of questioning, and I’m answering fuck all else until my boss gets here” I’d already got my sergeant with me, as allowed, but we were allowed to have an officer. Our branch office in the formation headquarters only had 2 officers; a Major (who was out somewhere on a unit visit that day), and Commander Medical, a full Colonel that was an ex ranker, a mate of my dads for nearly 30 years, and absolutely hated MP’s. He turns up, finds out what they’d been doing and absolutely ripped the shit out of everyone he could find, including their OC, a major

So yes, utter cunts

The Seeress of Fyrkat’s Grave

Fyrkat is a ring fortress near Hobro, Denmark. Archaeologists found unusual objects in the woman’s grave, including an iron staff that was disintegrating. Her grave was one of 30 found at the fortress.

The National Museum of Denmark describes the burial:

‘At the time of burial the woman was dressed in fine blue and red clothes adorned with gold thread – which had royal status. She was buried, like the richest women, in the body of a horse-drawn carriage. She had been given ordinary female gifts, like spindle whorls and scissors. But there were also exotic goods from foreign parts, indicating that the woman must have been wealthy. She wore toe rings of silver, which have not been found elsewhere in Scandinavia. In addition, two bronze bowls were also found in the grave, which may have come all the way from Central Asia.’

Several Viking Age graves of wealthy women contained iron staffs explains the museum. Experts concluded these seeresses or völur were from the upper strata of Viking societies. The word völva probably means staff or wand.

The archaeologists also found seeds of henbane plants, a poison that may have been used to induce mild euphoria, hallucinations and trances. The seeds, plus the iron staff with bronze fittings, are signs that the Seeress of Fyrkat may have been a magic-practicing seeress or volva.

The Viking seeress’s cooking spit. The spit was already slightly bent when it was placed in the burial. (National Museum Denmark)

Henbane seeds when thrown on fire produce smoke that is mildly hallucinogenic if breathed in. The seeds could be made into a salve that imparted a psychedelic high when rubbed into the skin. The seeds were in a small purse. Witches of later years also were known to use henbane.

Another poisonous substance, white lead sometimes used to produce an ointment for the skin, was found in the Seeress of Fyrkat’s belt buckle.

The museum site says other grave items indicate the woman was a seeress. Archaeologists found a box containing owl pellets, small mammal and bird bones, and a silver amulet in the shape of a chair. The article says it may have been a magic or seid chair.

This small cup was found in the seeress’s grave. (National Museum of Denmark)

They also found a small cup, possibly for drinking, and a bronze cup that may have come from Central Asia. The bronze cup had a fatty substance inside and a grass cover.

Even Odin, the King of the Gods, Called on Seeresses

A Viking edda or document called the Voluspa: The Prophecy of the Seeress, says Odin visited a seeress and sought “to know the future and what the fate of the world will be. He looks poor and miserable, but as he has only one eye the seeress recognizes him immediately as Odin,” says another article on the National Museum of Denmark site.

Odin offers the völva his necklace and ring as payment for telling him the future. She then begins to inform him about the creation of the world, the first gods and people, as well as the end of the world – Ragnarök, when gods will do battle with giants. The seeress also describes how after Ragnarök, the all-destructive war, the world will rise again. But she also sees that evil will return to the world.

Odin consults with a volva, drawing by Lorenz Frølich. (Public Domain)

The Vikings believed seeresses could enter altered states of consciousness and see the future or distant events. They did seid or magic using a special seat.

During their sessions, these mystical women were surrounded by young girls who sang to the spirits. The songs invoked the spirits and sent the seeresses into a trance, whence they could communicate with gods and spirits, see far-off places and predict the future. They supposedly also could make an enemy restless or make a weapon invincible.

Seeresses Had a High Place in Society

Seeresses’ high status meant they were accorded respect. Households or settlements in distress would call on them for help.

The Flateyjarbok, an Icelandic manuscript quoted in The Cassell Dictionary of Norse Myth and Legend, says:

‘In those days wise women, called prophetesses, used to travel about the countryside, and they foretold people’s lives. Because of that many people invited them to their homes, made feasts in their honor, and gave them gifts when they left.’

The Saga of Erik the Red tells of a seeress who was called on to do magic for a whole settlement. She had an entourage of young girls with her who sang.

The seeresses did not just practice magic for others. They sometimes used magic to further their own interests.

Christian Authorities Forbid Magic

After the conversion of the Norse lands to Christianity, seeresses were in peril. An Anglo-Saxon document of the late 10th century says a woman suspected of witchcraft was drowned at London Bridge.

In the Norse lands, after Christianity was introduced, authorities made laws that suppressed pagan ritual and forbade seid and any other magic. Seid is making a comeback today and is being practiced by neo-pagans.

The National Museum of Denmark this year has an interactive exhibit displaying the Seeress of Fyrkat’s grave goods and explaining her place in society. The exhibition is called “The Viking Sorceress.”

Top image: The burial of the Seeress of Fyrkat, a drawing by Thomas Hjejle Bredsdorff. Source: National Museum of Denmark

Be the Rufus!

While shopping at Goodwill one day, I was approached by a lady. She asked me if I remembered her. I said that she looked familiar, which is my standard answer when I have no clue who a person is. In my lifetime I have met thousands of people and I don’t remember them all, but would never tell them that.

The lady started to cry. She took my hand and proceeded to tell me that I am her Angel, that she often tells her grandchildren about the lady who saved her life. I looked at her stunned. How did I save this lady’s life?

Many years ago she was homeless, her then husband had beaten her and thrown her out of her house, she had lost custody of the kids, her family had rejected her and she had nowhere to go. She was living in the women’s shelter but she was not getting along with the other women and had pretty much reached the limits as to what she could endure, so she called a cab to take her to the beach where she planned on drowning herself. I was the driver of the cab she called.

She told me that I wouldn’t drive her to the beach, that instead I drove her around in my cab like I knew what her intentions were. I talked to her about the way abuse works, how giving up on hope is to let the abuser win. About how life may be tough at times but it won’t always be tough, to hang in there.

She said I told her that she will be loved right someday, so don’t give up now. She told me after driving her around for over an hour talking to her and making her broken heart feel so much stronger that I would not take her money for the ride. Instead, I had insisted that she keep it in her wallet as seed money so more would grow.

My words helped her get through the fight to get her kids back, to hold onto hope that life would get better, and it did. She told me she’s married to an amazing man and is happy. She thanked me for showing kindness to a stranger and, since meeting me, how I had become her role model.

I’m glad her life turned out well. I felt uncomfortable being thought of as a role model, To me, what I did was just something that I was able to do at the time, so I did. In other words, to me it was insignificant but to her it was phenomenal.

(Helping the lady see that life was worth living was not insignificant — it wasn’t — what it cost me was insignificant.)

Symbols of Power: Deciphering the Language of the Secret Elite

The Hawthorne Lights

Submitted into Contest #196 in response to: Write a story involving a portal into a parallel universe.… view prompt

A.J Roberts

The year was 1990 and everyone thought Becky Pierson was the meanest girl in Hawthorne. She believed she was destined for fame and fortune. Living in a small rural village was her biggest inconvenience. The day was very warm and the school bus ride home was becoming unbearable. Becky was getting ornery, so she scanned the bus for a distraction. That’s when she noticed the two girls sitting three rows in front of her. They left their bus window up when every other window was down. They were much younger than Becky. Still in elementary school. Disgusted that they would dare make her so miserably hot, Becky grabbed her brand new kodak film camera out of her back pack and marched towards the grungy girls.“Why on earth would you leave your bus window up on such a hot day?” She barked. The girls looked up at her startled. The motion caused the taller of the two girls to lose her bow. She picked it up and adjusted her ponytail before answering quietly.“Didn’t you hear what happened to Ricky Anderson? He was taken by the fairies in the forest. He went out to the big hawthorne circle next to the park four days ago. No one has seen him since.” Becky scowled then answered.“Fairies! You two must be the dumbest people to have ever walked the earth.”“I live next to the park and saw the lights in the forest.” The shorter girl interjected. “My grandmother used to live in the Isle of Skye, Scotland. Her neighbors there were fey and fairies visited them all the time. My grandmother wouldn’t lie about such things.” Becky had heard the news about Ricky Anderson yesterday, but didn’t like the girl’s tone. Becky gave the girls a smirk before she stood up tall and shouted as loud as she could.“Hey everybody, these two believe in fairies!” A chuckle rolled through the bus and Becky felt validated. She turned her beady eyes towards the younger girls and showed them her Kodak. She leaned over them and spoke quietly. “My father is a news reporter and his whole job is to expose kooks like you. I am already investigating what happened to Ricky. I’m going to take this fancy new camera that my father got me to find Ricky and prove you two are psychotics. They will lock you up in a mental asylum for spreading dangerous rumors and I will become famous for saving the town from the likes of you.” The bus reached Becky’s stop so she gave the girls one last sneer before grabbing her bookbag. “Fairies aren’t real.” She told the girls spitefully as she walked towards the exit. Becky waited for the bus to pull away and then ran excitedly towards her house. All she had to do was find Ricky and she would be the most famous person in Hawthorne.As usual no one was home, but all that would change when she was rich and famous. Becky emptied her books out of her bag to reload it with supplies. A notebook, a flashlight, snacks, a blanket, and of course her brand new kodak. She microwaved a tv dinner because she didn’t know how long she would be gone. She day dreamed about how awesome she was the entire time she packed and ate. Becky grabbed her gear and hopped on her pink and black, lowrider Huffy. The pink banana seat had a tear down the middle, but it was still the most envied bike on the rural block. Becky looked down at her Casio watch and was shocked. “ It’s already seven thirty I have to get going, where do I start? The younger girl had mentioned she lived by the park, and there was only one park in Hawthorne.” Becky lived about a mile away from Hawthorne Park, so she started in that direction while she planned out her investigation.There was only one family at the park when Becky arrived. A mother with two rambunctious toddlers. She grabbed her note book out of her backpack and walked over. Becky was determined to interrogate the stranger. “Do you know where Ricky Anderson is?”“I’m not entirely sure who that is.” The mother responded politely as she pulled a wad of messy black hair from her face. Becky noticed she was pretty enough to be on tv and felt bitter.“You know who I’m talking about, everybody does. He is the highschool senior who disappeared four days ago. He was last seen at this park. You were probably involved with his disappearance. You look like the type.” Annoyed by Becky’s attitude the mother answered sharper than before.“I can assure you I have no idea who Ricky Anderson is. My children are in preschool, so I don’t particularly pay attention to high school politics.” The mother turned towards the swings and gently shouted. “Boys, it’s time to go home and clean up for the night.” They moaned in unison, but ran to their mother. Becky watched them leave, but hoped her children would be taken away. Anyone who would speak to a fourteen year old girl like that should not be a mother. Becky waited for more families to show up, but the sun had already set and it was getting dark fast. Becky dug her flashlight out of her backpack as she went over the conversation she had earlier on the bus.“The little girl on the bus said she saw lights coming out of the forest the night Ricky disappeared. She said the lights were coming from the Hawthorne circle. Hawthorne circle is where all the high schoolers go to makeout and I’ve never been there. Luckily, I once overheard the highschoolers at the bus stop talking about how to get there. There should be a trail at the .75 marker on the two mile hiking trail that connects to the park. The circle should be down there. I bet Ricky is there right now trying to prank the entire village. They’ll give me an award after I expose his pathetic scam.” Becky grabbed her stuff and started hiking towards the trail. It didn’t take her long to find the wooden marker that separated the main trail from an overgrown and barely used path. Lost in her thoughts she walked the pathway for what felt like an eternity. Suddenly she noticed how dark it had gotten. Becky evaluated her situation and thought.“I will never be able to find the circle. Even with my flashlight it’s too dark to tell which type of trees I am looking at. Good thing I packed a blanket. It won’t be fun, but I guess I’ll just wait for the sun to come up. It will be worth it to find Ricky and get an interview on Oprah.” Becky unpacked her blanket and leaned against a nearby tree. It didn’t take long for her tediously busy day to catch up to her. Her eyes got very heavy and she fell asleep just as the moon was beginning to peak.Becky was in such a deep sleep that the bright blue light startled her subconscious. This caused her awakening to feel like she was falling and about to crash back into her body. She felt the crash and gasped as her eyes flew open. Ten yards in front of her stood twelve massive hawthorne trees aligned in a circle. In the center of the circle was an eight foot tall stone archway. The center of which all the light was flowing from. In front of the archway stood a tall, beautiful woman with long unconfined black hair. Her wild hair rested beneath a crown of purple foxgloves. Becky couldn’t take her eyes off of the queenly woman. Dazed for a long time, she studied the odd scene that had unfolded before her. Becky could see that the woman was speaking, but couldn’t hear over the thrumming in her ears.“Blessed be!” The woman cheered loudly while raising a chalice. At once, a hundred hummingbirds, that Becky had failed to notice, flew from the ground through the archway. Only one remained and landed on the woman’s outstretched hand. The hummingbird looked wrong so Becky focused in.“A fairy!” She shouted excitedly to herself. In two fast movements Becky grabbed her Kodak out of her bag and jumped to her feet. The suddenness of her commotion caused the fairy to follow the others through the archway. Becky marched towards the dark haired woman.“Where is Ricky Anderson?” She asked. “I know you kidnapped him.” The woman smiled at Becky as she approached.“I’m not entirely sure who that is. I am merely a mother visiting your universe for the evening. My children love the hawthorne trees here.” The strange woman reminded Becky of the mother she met earlier at the park. But that wasn’t important right now.“I can tell when I’m being lied to.” Becky scoffed. She pointed towards the glowing archway and said. “ If you don’t tell me the truth then I will be forced to investigate your universe.” The woman looked surprised, but answered very quietly.“I would not do that if I were you. Every universe has a unique time flow. You are not of the fae and may be harmed if you pass through. ” Becky stopped listening when she heard the word not. No one could tell her no when there was fame and fortune on the line. She gripped her Kodak as tightly as she could and bolted towards the portaled archway.“I’ll only be a minute!” Becky shouted behind her as she barreled through. Passing through the archway made her feel nauseous. It felt like an eternity and an instant at the same time. Becky took a deep breath to calm her heart before looking around. On the opposite side of the entrance, thousands of fairies were going about their day in a beautiful forested city. Right in front of her lay a moss like pond, where twenty fairies were sitting on multiple flowering lily pads. Becky could tell by the looks on their little faces that they were very shocked their chat had been interrupted. She raised her camera. Click. Click. Click. She only had twenty four chances to get the perfect photograph and she used everyone. After taking one last glance at the mysterious universe, Becky turned around and closed her eyes, hoping it would help with nausea, before walking through the portal again.“I told you I would only be a minute!” Becky exclaimed before opening her eyes. The beautiful woman was still standing there, but everything had changed. The trees were all ancient looking and different varieties than before.“Was it worth it?” The woman asked. Becky didn’t even have to think about her response.“I have twenty four real life pictures of fairies. I am going to be the richest and most popular person in the world. Of course it was worth it.” The woman nodded then walked towards the archway.“The year is 2990 and your device no longer works in your universe. It is an ancient technology that no one alive today will be able to decipher.” Stunned Becky watched the archway disappear as the woman walked through it. Truly alone, Becky was left with nothing but her thoughts.“Maybe there is more to life than fame and fortune.”

Brownies with Marshmallow Mint Sauce

Ingredients

1 (16 ounce) box brownie mix
1/2 (1 pint) jar Marshmallow Creme
2 tablespoons green creme de menthe
Vanilla ice cream

Instructions

Prepare fudge-type brownies according to package directions.
Cool slightly; cut into large bars or squares.
Blend together the Marshmallow Creme and creme de menthe.
To serve, top each brownie with a scoop of ice cream. Spoon mint sauce over top.

The average American worker can not compete with the Chinese worker. So what should be done? Would you lower American wages, get rid of environment protections, tariffs on China. How would you level things out so America could compete with China?

The ugly truth is that Americans will have to adapt to a lower standard of living and get back to work, instead of arguing politics and blaming each other. This process will last at least 30+ years.

The real reason Republican administrations (Trump) and Democrat (Biden) have started a trade war and put sanctions on chip and AI technology sales to China is because they understand that with the current state of the American workforce and technology, there is no way the American products and services can compete with Chinese products and services in the U.S. and in international markets. The U.S., in its history, has never encountered an economy which has the capability to steamroller the US economy the way China’s economy can. This is the real reason Treasury Secretary Janet Yellen complains about an “oversupply” of Chinese products.

But China is not really to blame for this: it is the fault of the U.S. ruling class for failing to invest in the U.S. workforce, its education system, and transportation and manufacturing infrastructure. Instead of making medium-and long-term investments which would take 1–3 decades to show results, but which would generate a long-term benefit to Americans, they have instead chosen quick fixes and red herrings which would help them win the next election. Both parties have kicked the can down the road, and now they see that there is no more road.

China’s rise is mainly an economic challenge to the U.S., which could have been handled with domestic investment and infrastructure policies 20–30 years ago. Instead, Wall St’s gift to the US economy and the world was the 2008 subprime mortgage crisis, which directly led to populism and Trump’s election in 2016.

Since 2016, U.S. administrations have used China as a scapegoat for their own domestic policy failures. Since the U.S. is used to using foreign military adventures and foreign “enemies” as a distraction to the American people from their own failures, they have tried to goad China into attacking Taiwan by stepping up arms sales to the Taiwan authorities. China has responded by stepping up military exercises around Taiwan, but has not yet taken the bait to attack Taiwan.

That is why we are where we are today.

What would likely be the outcome of a simultaneous Chinese invasion of Taiwan, and Okinawa? Does the US have sufficient forces in Okinawa to fully defend it against the Chinese Navy and associated PLA military forces?

First, it is American troops stationed in Okinawa, and more recently, taiwan, including the provocative presence of SOCOM forces in jinmen, within sight of Xiamen in fujian.

Second, it is indopacom that is drawing down half its Okinawa troops to be redeployed on Guam and surrounding islands. Kadena is no longer the keystone of the pacific, with Guam being fortified to the tune of billions as the new fortress.

China has no claims to the ryukus, although it insists on the fulfillment of the cairo and Potsdam declarations as an equal-weight victor. China was not party to the treaty of San Francisco that left significant gaps on the table.

In the 2020s, China’s sovereignty claim on Taiwan, and by extension, diaoyutai, is a quarrel between Washington and Beijing. The US recognizes china’s claim by upholding the One China policy, but refuses china’s exercise of sovereignty. Beijing meanwhile insists on the One China principle. I will leave the difference between the two as an exercise for the interested reader.

As we have seen in the past two years, China is fully prepared and drilling intensely for a blockade on Taiwan. In 2025, a complete encirclement of taiwan can be enacted on demand, with the latest exercise declaring exclusion zones in real time without pre-warning.

Naval and air force units have been rotated for drills in the Ecs to familiarize personnel with local conditions and maintain a strong presence in the vicinity of taiwan, particularly the key Bashi and miyako straits.

China is prepared to turn Taiwan into a cocooned fort rather than the battleground.

After all, the threat to Taiwan is as far south as America, as far east as America and as far north as America.

The US Has Already Lost Guam to China

The white kitten surprise

Major system breakdown in MM land.

My VPN was “collapsed” by the Chinese government, and I had to switch to another one. (Nothing personal. Probably shut down because of some abuse one way or the other.)

Most of my data-collection websites are American and thus inaccessible in China without a VPN, as well as all of my business communication. So my links (for the most part) are simply inaccessible.

So I purchased a replacement VPN.

But it couldn’t load. My system is in Lunix, and to load the drivers and software, I had to do it manually. Which I attempted. I did so using three different methods.

Sadly. All were flat fails.

It turned out that my system had a lot of interconnect junk code, and orphaned code, and broken packages that were messing everything up.

So, what I did was backed up everything. Then sync my phone and computer for all my passwords and bookmarks. Then I downloaded the latest version of my Lunix OS.

Here’s a screenshot of my desktop.

I use my generated AI artwork to serve as background for my PC. Lots of “schmaltz” but I like it.

As of this writing, my VPN is still not functional. I need to set up servers (which is something that I have never done before.) And flush out the general parameter bases from which to proceed from, but I am confident that I’ll get it resolved eventually.

Anyways, because of this, and the time that I am taking to deal with this, this particular post and next series of posts will be a little bit lean.

Sorry in advance.

…

I once went on a job interview in Deland, Florida.

I was interviewing for a design engineer position designing sonarbueys.

PerspectX Stage.999.jpg2fca6af5 79d2 44f0 a932 95ad1a77a2a2Original

These are devices that are injected into the ocean to detect the movement of vessels and other parameters.

I liked the work. Enjoyed the people. Loved the environment. Deland, Florida looked so much like Hattiesburg, Mississippi that I immediately felt at home there.

Deland, Florida was lush, comfortable and lovely.

My wife and I spent a week there, house hunting and getting to know the area.

However, as much as I loved it, we turned down the job. As they “low balled” me in salary by 40%. I probably would have accepted a 15% cut in pay. But not a 40% cut. That was just way too much.

Anyways…

I well remember one random rural walk alone early in the morning. I had taken a road that turned into a dirt side road near a fenced in property line.

And I heard mewing.

There must have been somewhere like 16 to 18 all-white kittens.

Not one litter, must have been a couple of litters, but there they were all white, and a ton load of them, and they all wanted my attention.

It was the darnedest thing.

What a coincidence!

I don’t know what it signified, or anything like that, but it did make an impression on me. Here were these 18 or so all-white kittens in the lush green foliage all wanting my attention. What could that mean?

I have some thoughts.

But…

*sheech*

Cool thing, though.

Today…

Trump REVOKING Security Clearances ! ! ! !

Hal Turner Nation January 20, 2025

President Donald Trump has Revoked the Security Clearances of ex-National Security Advisor John Bolton and intelligence officials accused of misleading 2020 election activities.

The White House says Bolton’s memoir risked exposing classified material and damaged trust in national security discussions.

This order is part of broader measures addressing “abuses of public trust.”

Here is the complete list FLASHED over Intel Circuits:

(1) James R. Clapper Jr.

(2) Michael V. Hayden

(3) Leon E. Panetta

(4) John O. Brennan

(5) C. Thomas Fingar

(6) Richard H. Ledgett Jr.

(7) John E. McLaughlin

(8) Michael J. Morell

(9) Michael G. Vickers

(10) Douglas H. Wise

(11) Nicholas J. Rasmussen

(12) Russell E. Travers

(13) Andrew Liepman

(14) John H. Moseman

(15) Larry Pfeiffer

(16) Jeremy B. Bash

(17) Rodney Snyder

(18) Glenn S. Gerstell

(19) David B. Buckley

(20) Nada G. Bakos

(21) James B. Bruce

(22) David S. Cariens

(23) Janice Cariens

(24) Paul R. Kolbe

(25) Peter L. Corsell

(26) Roger Z. George

(27) Steven L. Hall

(28) Kent Harrington

(29) Don Hepburn

(30) Timothy D. Kilbourn

(31) Ronald A. Marks

(32) Jonna H. Mendez

(33) Emile Nakhleh

(34) Gerald A. O’Shea

(35) David Priess

(36) Pamela Purcilly

(37) Marc Polymeropoulos

(38) Chris Savos

(39) Nick Shapiro

(40) John Sipher

(41) Stephen B. Slick

(42) Cynthia Strand

(43) Greg Tarbell

(44) David Terry

(45) Gregory F. Treverton

(46) John D. Tullius

(47) David A. Vanell

(48) Winston P. Wiley

(49) Kristin Wood

(50) John R. Bolton

Two signatories, Patty Patricia A. Brandmaeir and Brett Davis, are deceased.

Comments

The US Empire is stubbornly persisting in its delusional belief that it can swim against the tide of History and just assert the reality it wants, rather than adapting to the reality that is. As the old adage goes, those the gods would destroy they first make mad.

Posted by: Sandgropper | Oct 25 2024 10:44 utc | 2

What was your most surprising interaction with a drill instructor?

When I was at the bus station in Charlotte, NC in 1972, on the way to basic training, my Dad, an active-duty Army Sergeant Major, hugged me and told me to just do my very best and not to be worried about anything, just do my best. I was 5’10” and weighed about 120 lbs., not exactly a perfect physical specimen. I took my Dad’s advice and did everything in my power to graduate as high as I could in my class.

While going through, our Senior Drill was a SFC Peter, a man I will never forget, as he challenged me in ways I didn’t know existed. As we were setting up our wall lockers early in basic he walked by and looked over my shoulder. We were allowed exactly two photos of family and I had both posted on the inside of my locker; a picture of my family and a picture of my Dad in uniform. SFC Peter’s only comment was a grunt before he moved on to the next trainee. Toward the end of basic he told me he was putting me in for Trainee of the Cycle, an award that came with an automatic promotion if I won. My answer, like so many there, was, “YES, DRILL SERGEANT!” at the top of my lungs.

Well, I won after going before a board consisting of the company commander, the executive officer and the First Sergeant and, upon graduation was promoted to PFC (E-3). At the graduation I was 5’11” and weighed 175 lbs! After graduation, I moved over to greet my family and noticed Dad had showed up in his dress uniform. Well, SFC Peter walked over and hugged my Dad. Turned out Dad was SFC Peter’s Sergeant Major in Vietnam. Dad had no clue he was my Drill Sergeant.

SFC Peter’s favorite thing to do was tell the troops that they could wear their hair as long as they wanted, so long as it wasn’t longer than his, and he was bald as an egg!

So that’s my encounter with my Drill Sergeant. Hope this answers your question.

Pepperoni Pizza Soup

Yield: 4 servings

Ingredients

1 can condensed tomato soup
1 soup can water
2/3 cup sliced pepperoni
1 teaspoon dried Italian seasoning, crushed
Shredded mozzarella cheese
Croutons

Instructions

In a 2 quart saucepan, combine soup, water, pepperoni, and seasoning. Heat just to boiling.
Pour into serving bowls, and top with cheese and croutons.

BRICS Summit Results — The Vector Has Been Set, But There Will Be No Easy Path

Hal Turner World October 25, 2024

Vladimir Putin’s press conference following the BRICS summit turned out to be the perfect finale to the event. Because it listed the main points of the past event — as well as the difficult points that need to be addressed.

First and foremost: in BRICS, as the president emphasized, it is possible to work and achieve results with mutual respect and mandatory consideration of each other’s interests. This is an absolute plus: 35 states and six international organizations took part in the summit. But such equality places increased demands on the quality of dialogue and mutual trust.

All the predictions about who would be accepted into BRICS this time were not confirmed — because no one was accepted. Instead, a category of “partner countries” emerged, which included Algeria, Belarus, Bolivia, Vietnam, Indonesia, Kazakhstan, Cuba, Malaysia, Nigeria, Thailand, Turkey, Uganda and Uzbekistan. There were difficulties with Venezuela (Brazil opposed) and Pakistan (India opposed).

Putin openly commented on this situation, recalling that the issue of admission to BRICS, like all others, will be decided by consensus. The non-expansion of BRICS in itself is not a problem. The risks of uncontrolled expansion, when each member has a de facto veto right, have been written about earlier. But the Kazan BRICS summit showed that the expansion of the bloc will not happen automatically.

An alternative financial reality also did not appear at the click of a button – and this is again nothing unexpected. Because the Western “frog” of dollar hegemony needs to be simmered over low heat, without any sudden movements. The more imperceptibly the preparatory phase of global reforms, the most risky in this case, goes, the better. Strategic considerations for BRICS’ own reinsurance and the “BRICS Clear”cross-border settlement and depository infrastructure were voiced, and the rest of the practical work will be carried out between the finance ministries and central banks of the participating countries. And it will be quiet.

The course towards gently squeezing the West out of existing global mechanisms (IMF, WTO) was confirmed — instead of trying to cut the issue “off the cuff.” Naturally, because right now there are no resources for such an attempt, and the depth of consensus between the BRICS countries is insufficient.

The issue of Ukraine was of secondary importance at best. BRICS participants politely acknowledged the importance of striving for peace — and nothing more. The long-awaited attempts by China, India or Brazil to “force Russia to peace” were not announced.

In general, what BRICS is trying to do, no one in the history of mankind has probably done. Reassembling the world into a fairer format is an extremely difficult task in itself, especially in the context of cruel and even existential resistance from a decrepit but still strong hegemon.

At the same time, the summit in Kazan showed the most important thing: there is a huge demand for a new world order in the world. This idea is shared by a wide variety of countries: from the economic leader China to Cuba and Ethiopia. But the formalized, concretized contours of this world order are still absent.

This is exactly what should become Russia’s main task in the near future – to create and offer the world a clear, logical, consistent image of the future, in which everyone will be better off.

We cannot tempt the whole world with resources and money. Russia is a rich country, but it cannot provide for everyone. We cannot direct the world to a bright future with an iron hand – even if such a desire arose. But we are able to offer humanity an idea that it will be carried away by.

In the 20th century, we already had a very successful attempt of this kind. The BRICS summit is a material embodiment of a new attempt, taking into account the changed realities. We have started not a sprint, but a marathon. In order to succeed, patience and calculation of strength are needed.

This article written by: Elena Panina

Comment 1

Iran joining BRICS does not mean that Russia or China or anyone else will come to its defense should the U.S./Israel attack the country

That’s also incorrect. Russia and China already signed a treaty that is an alliance in all but name only. Same for Russia and Iran. Russian ships suddenly visit Caracas and park offshore whenever the US starts babbling about invading it. For some reason, “The House of Socialist Fishermen” in Venezuela seems to have a knack for catching all the paramilitaries, color revolutionists, CIA mercenaries and agents the US seems to send to Venezuela for regime change. * cough Russian intelligence cough *. On the other side of the world, the unified SCO – BRICS ‘global security’ paradigm is also an alliance in everything except in its name.

Also, Asia Times is not a non-biased source – it frequently publishes pieces that actually help the US policies, so it downplaying BRICS does not make BRICS any less important or impactful.

The simple reason for India openly doing what it was silently doing and publicly pivoting to BRICS is that the BRICS cemented itself as a new global paradigm that can protect itself. Including, by using weapons.

Posted by: Dodrey Dougherton | Oct 25 2024 11:33 utc | 11

Comment 2

The list of BRICS candidates is quite impressive with ALgeria, Indonesia, Nigeria, Malaysia, Cuba, etc.

The west against the rest of the world when the west will be a minority in term of populations and economies.

Contries of the world, unite!

To destroy the 5 century old western hegemony (a history of submitting, looting, massacring and genociding).

Posted by: Naive | Oct 25 2024 11:38 utc | 12

Comment 3

India just had too looks at the neighboring countries to know what the west is ready to do to keep the whole region as a punching ball for China. Pakistan ? Coup against Imran Kahn , Bangladesh ? Coup , Sri-Lanka ? Economic assassination by the IMF , Myanmar ? Perpetual civil war engineered by the West for decade kept them under, Thailand ? Chronic political instability fueled by NED’s “NGOs”…

But here came that Russian dude with cheap oil and efficient weapons against “the hegemon’s armies” to sell , and with the road from China to Eastern Africa, Indian merchants are becoming rich as before the English came to ruin their country …

Why did India choose the BRICS ? Because the Anglo-Saxons have sold them only war against China in a lousy “alliance” after having drive them into misery for two century. They have seen the fate of Zelensky and Western European countries, also plundered since the 90’s. Now they will have to brace themselves for a bit on the financial markets but still ; a better option than fighting with the Chinese.

Posted by: Savonarole | Oct 25 2024 12:05 utc | 21

Symbology

As noted by Simplicius, the BRICS 2024 meeting kicked off on a very symbolic date: October 24.

October 24, 1945 was the date of the signing of the UN Charter. It was also the date of execution of the Norwegian WWII collaborator Vidkun Quisling, whose name will forever mean ‘traitor’.

October 24, 1945 was beginning of a new era led by the UN. Maybe we will come to see that October 24, 2024 was when the relay baton was handed over from the UN to BRICS.

Posted by: Norwegian | Oct 25 2024 12:05 utc | 22

Linkage on BRICS

https://tvbrics.com/en/
This is the official media outlet dedicated to BRICS news. English language. Enjoy

Posted by: Hankster | Oct 25 2024 12:21 utc | 25

It’s all going to shit in the West

alas, much expectation about BRICS will continue for decades. During this time Brics will not be bothered by what is now failing and devoured by entropy. But one thing is clear, there is no going back to the threat of the dollar destroying all that touch it.

Midas learned a lesson that rings true today.

And please beware, people that get their knowledge and expertise from the western press are delusional now. They repeat tropes that haven’t been accurate for a few decades and are disintegrating before our lying eyes. Sadly, these pundits hold on for dear life regarding what they want to happen, and take the smallest of clues to heart and continue the willful blindness.

The forest for the trees issue of perception.

Even when they know the source of their contamination is a think tank that doesn’t think but hopes to influence or dreams to rule. The currency backed by nothing always fails and history delivers the truth of it.

And greed will continue after the BRICS have abandoned the prognostication to those that just can’t believe it could happen. Watch the purchasing power falter and fade. 50+ years now of ignoring the inevitable.

Grab one of those trees and hang on tight. Change is forever.

Posted by: Tard | Oct 25 2024 12:48 utc | 31

Western Media

In the western merdias there is always the same propaganda: we the democracies, them the dictatorships…

Let’s see:

– when the president is supported by less than a quarter of the citizens it is a democracy;

– when the president is supporter by more than 50% of the citizens it is a dictatorship;

– when everything is done to enrich the wealthiest it is a democracy;

– when everything is done to put out of poverty the majority of the people it is a dictatorship;

– when a government gives the ressources of the country to western companies it is a democracy;

– when a government uses the ressources of the country for its own people it is a dictatorship.

For dictatorships, hip hip hip hourrah!

Posted by: Naive | Oct 25 2024 11:29 utc | 10

When is the American empire going to collapse? Is it close to becoming a reality?

It is in the process of collapse.

The collapse of an empire is not like a “light switch”. It is a long, drawn-out process. It is like a boiling frog. The frog doesn’t realize it’s in danger until it is too late.

Now, any historian can tell you that collapses are slow at first and then sudden.

For the United States, in particular, the collapse came in major stages. And we are at LATE STAGE FULL COLLAPSE.

…

Do I need to elaborate?

The “leadership” is a dementia ridden puppet of drug-saturated oligarchs with delusions of grandeur. His replacement is either neocon “giggles” Kamila Harris; which BTW checks off all the “important” boxes of woman, minority, and pro-woke agenda. Against her is charismatic narcissist Donald Trump.

Harris thinks everything is just fine, and she will continue the United States warmongering until the cities glow in the dark. While Donald Trump sees the damage. He knows the danger, and he has a plan to do something. Oh, his plan is faulty. And if all he has been saying comes true about social security, and tariffs, we will probably see a civil war.

So there you have it.

Harris = Nuclear war, and the destruction of the world.
Trump = American civil war with a global economic collapse.

Lovely.

…

The water line is now lapping on the deck of the ship.

The owners, and their minions have gotten into the rowboats early on, and are now safe.

The “leaders and their entourages are stealing everything in sight. Crime, and fraud is out in the open. The sailors are openly hacking down doors and safes with fire axes and stuffing handfuls of swag.

And the mice and rats and scrambling amongst themselves. Some leapt off the dying vessel and landed on the bits of flotsam and jetsam that are circling the dying behemoth. Passport Bros, Venture capitalists, and multiple passport holders. Unique terms for what is “the great escape”.

The stewards in charge of Public Relations are busily rearranging the deck chairs.

…

But the end is near.

Really, really close.

Military pensions haven’t been paid in half a decade. Debt is at an unsustainable level, and now the government cannot even make payments on the interest of the debt. The USA is NOT NOT NOT a healthy nation. It has been dying, and now is in ECU.

There’s no way out.

No way; none. None what so ever, can this debt be repaid. The USA is going to default, and that is the best solution. The only thing other than that is what the “leadership” has planned. And that is…

…death by cop.

And isn’t that what we are watching?

What real President would engage the United States in a four front war? With Russia, AND Iran, AND North Korea, AND China. (And don’t waste your time telling me that this is not the case. I didn’t waste nearly four decades in the ONI to listen to some woke pimply faced shit-poster giving me nonsense.) The United States has troops in various roles are designed to initiate a global world war. And they are very active in it.

It’s a death wish.

You can be the most red-blooded ‘Merican, out there, but surely you aren’t that insane.

But your leadership is.

The end is gonna be exciting, and spectacular. And You will have a front seat to it.

Shorpy

The Interior Life of Ruck

Submitted into Contest #243 in response to: Write a story from the point of view of a non-human character.… view prompt

Ajay Sabs

I backpack.Named Ruck. Store person put me on shelf. She say I “handsum”. I not know what it mean, but she make happy face when she say, so must be nice thing.Nothing to do while I sit here but lots to look at. After I see sun come up from outside window two times, I feel little bored. I feel little empty, like I hungry.But I not wait long. Young man come, he look at me. He lift me from shelf, take me to store lady, who ask him if he want me “in a bag”, which make them both laugh. We go outside, he sling me on back. What a feeling! I move so free! I then rest on his back. I still empty, but it feel nice to use my straps. We go forward, away from store.I miss nice store lady but I like outside more. I like being on back.

—

Owner name Kafka, I hear him say. I learn Kafka a “uhcountant”. He work with numbers. He use heavy machine to help make sentences from numbers. At end of each sentence, he take short break, then start next sentence. He write lots of number sentences on machine. I think one day he write book (book is like many papers, put together with gloo), like ones I carry, or ones I see at his home.

We spend lot of time together. Every time we go out, it new “uhdventure” (fun work, but makes no money) for me. Kafka not tell me where we go, I find out right before we leave home. It fun game for me to guess where we go from the things he give me to carry. When he bring his uhcountant things, I know we go to office. When I carry snacks, water, spray for “bears” (animals that hike but not carry backpacks), I know we go hiking. When I empty, I know we go get food from store (different store than where I from) to keep at home. I not eat store food. I not hungry when I carry things.

Hiking my favorite.

—

While Kafka at work, I read the things left inside me. Sometimes these are small things I can read, like receipts and snack labels, but they interesting because they important enough for me to carry, so I read them to learn why so important to Kafka that I work hard to carry and keep for him. I not upset, I just wonder, because I have lots of time to think while we at his “office”.

Mostly I read his books that I carry. But because he an accountant, his books are more numbers than words. So I think I slow to learn words. I like words, because they give me way to understand Kafka and to think better. Numbers not help me very much yet.

Books heavy, but are my favorite thing to carry. I read them and read them again.

—

At work today I read a very different kind of book. This one didn’t have many numbers in it. And it was very different than the accounting books I normally read. It was more of a fun story, but I don’t know yet if the story is true or not. It was about a wizard boy named Harry, and if it is true, then I wonder if Kafka has any friends from the school of magic. How fun and curious it would be to meet someone who has a bag that can store as many things as it want. I’d like to meet that bag, what a fun trick! Sometimes when I’m so full that I can’t fit anymore, I feel a bit bad because I know Kafka needs me to carry more. He gently squashes all his other stuff down to make room for more stuff, and I feel guilty. I would like to learn how to make more room. Unlimited room! I have much to learn.

If not a true story, then I wonder why someone would write it?

—

When we don’t go to Kafka’s work, I carry stuff that feels different. Like today we went on a picnic and we brought along “homey” things (things that are softer, things that feel like they are from home, borrowed from home, and when you have them with you, you feel like home is with you).

I carried a soft blanket, a “journal” (a book that Kafka sometimes writes his stories in, but ones with no numbers), a pencil, sunglasses, a little bottle of lotion, a salad with separate dressing (it took a lot of effort to keep the “dressing” upright!), some napkins, and an empty bag. Not a bag like me, but a smaller one, a plastic one that seemed disinterested in whether it was carrying books or garbage, whether it was empty, or wrinkled to death with folds.

While we were lying on the blanket at the park — I feeling a blissful stillness in a sunbeam, feeling alive from the earthy tree air that travelled across us slowly — Kafka made a new friend who was also laying in the park, a blanket and a patch of grass away from us.

“I’m Kafka”, Kafka said, flashing a smile.

“I’m Jeannie”, she smiled back.

I wonder a little if Kafka knows my name. It was a nice day, lots of work and lots of play.

—

Sundays are crisp and best enjoyed when they begin in Kafka’s “Dodge” (a type of car that is used for going to and from the city), and are followed by a day-long hike.

Car rides are as fine as paper towel, but truth be told, I am still not used to facing forward while also moving forward. It’s a strange sensation, perhaps like a human walking backwards while facing forwards. But knowing that we’re about to spend the day hiking is enough to distract me from the strangeness.

This morning though, I was in a bad mood.

Usually seated in the first-mate seat of Kafka’s Dodge, keeping him company, I was demoted this morning to an afterthought in the backseat on account of new company. Not even in the middle backseat, where at least the three of us would form an equilateral triangle, reassuring by virtue of its equity and impartiality, but rather in the seat behind Jeannie, furthest from Kafka, where I’m forced to stare at the back of the chair that used to be mine.

Sitting there, behind the open window instead of next to it, the gush of air tumbling into the back seat, crushing me with the force of its weight, made me want to “vomit” (when you hurl the contents out of your body because you don’t feel well).

I tried to look mad by squishing my face the way I sometimes see Kafka do, but my attempt at shapeshifting was futile, because I’m too much on the outside who I am on the inside, which is rumpled stuff. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway, because the sanguine rockmelons upfront were preoccupied laughing at unfunny jokes.

When we got there, wherever there was, Kafka heaved me out from the backseat. Determined to not willingly become part of a scalene love triangle, I made myself as heavy as possible and Kafka grunted.

But it’s an odd thing. Despite my resolve to weigh down the buoying levity of their romance, to bring it back to earth, something got the better of me when we began hiking. My work began, the work of keeping their possessions safe and present, and my bitterness dissolved into the solvent air of the forest. I am a sentimental creature, easily overcome by the poetry of sticks, twigs, trees, and earthy air.

I felt bashful of the jealousy I felt earlier, but I also felt reinvigorated, filled as much with purpose as I was with pasta salad, the two counting on me. I am the difference between well-prepared loving adventurers, and once-lovers torn apart by nothing other than the mundane rational problems of unpreparedness.

Later, all of us tired, we plopped down on a jagged rock whose redeeming quality was that it was large enough to seat us all in a forest that had no other chairs. We needed a break from the sun and the walking, and from the bugs too, but enamoured by our company, the bugs insisted on taking a break with us.

Like a magician with their trusty hat, Kafka pulled out whatever it was that they needed; snacks, hydration, and afterwards, we all laughed at things that are only funny when you feel an overwhelming lightness.

—

We hiked everywhere. For a whole year, here, there, everywhere, even across the ocean, where people spoke languages I’ve never read (though often the numbers looked the same there as they did back home).

I could tell you of forests and cities; of ships, planes, trains, and bikes; of heat, of wind, of sand; of bugs and of birds. But there was one moment in particular while we were hiking off the Ligurian coast that was revelatory for me, when a truth about my kind gobsmacked me over the hood.

As with most prophetic moments, it happened simply, without ceremony, and only in retrospect do you realize that it was something you’ve been waiting to know. And often that realization is an answer to why you are the way you are, and why you sometimes inexplicably feel alone in the company of others. (Or so I’ve gathered from the books Kafka and I have read, I don’t have many revelations of my own to draw from, but it seems to be a sort of universal phenomena that makes us all ironically alike.)

Anyways, during one of these hikes, in the silence of the morning, Kafka and I passed by another backpack and their human, who nodded at us as we crossed paths, the strangers going onward into our past while we went onwards into theirs, the other backpack and I continuing to face one another for longer than most humans would feel comfortable holding a gaze with one another. This stranger backpack was well worn, one of the eldest I ever encountered. It had aged gracefully without becoming fragile, a marbled patina having formed on its leather surfaces, adventure imbued into its fabric.

It was then that it dawned on me; that backpacks live looking backwards. You’d think it would be obvious, “back” is even in the name of my kind, but it took me living a dozen Fodor’s for this to really sink in.

When humans walk, they walk towards something. Objects ahead of them become bigger and bigger, at their largest before suddenly they disappear forever. Being able to march forwards towards the unseen, unencumbered by what they leave behind, makes them ideal explorers.

But when we as backpacks travel, it’s the opposite. Things start out at a scale hyper quixotic to a little backpack, become smaller and smaller, until eventually — they don’t disappear — they just become infinitesimally small. What’s more is that I always know how much longer I have to appreciate something before it fades away, the correlation between time and visibility made predictable, like a sunset.

What does that make a backpack, whose motion is forward but is always looking back? What do you call someone or something that savours the past, bidding everything it passes a long and reverent goodbye?

A poet, a journalist, a cartographer, perhaps? Whose role it is to chronicle their loved ones’ life and adventures? Not on maps or on paper, but within the memory of our materials. We remember whatever is worth remembering before it fades away – like the smell of pine, the salt of creek water, the sap and dew of the trees we rest on – and imbue it in our fabric. We absorb and reflect the experiences of our humans, forming a tapestry of their lives.

—

We’ve been back home for a while, and so there’s been less hiking and no travelling, and more time spent at Kafka’s office. Fewer stories about Harry Potter (which I’ve since learned are “fiction”), and more stories about numbers (which I’ve since learned, I’m not the only one who doesn’t enjoy reading such stories).

I’m not complaining. I know I speak often of how much I love my work while we hike and travel, but I can appreciate a break. I wouldn’t mind trying out one of these “spas” I keep reading about (a place where they spot clean your fabric with cucumbers), but for now it’s nice to have predictability in the possessions I carry, and to simply lay motionless in a climate-controlled environment for hours, or even days at a time.

—

I’ve noticed some peculiarities this past week, some of them as contradictory as salt and pepper.

I’ll start with the exciting news. I’ve been carrying around fewer accounting books this week, and have instead been entrusted with Yosemite Falls travel books checked out from the library, which Kafka has been devouring at lunch time. The anticipation of another trip, our first in a while, sends a chill of excitement up my padded spine. For all my talk about rest and relaxation, it turns out I’m just a fisherman who misses the sea.

And while the fibres of my fabric, once clean and crisp, have softened, gently sanded down by the tide of adventure, I feel as durable and capable as ever.

There is a contradiction that has left me confused, however. I’ve noticed a few anomalies at home, traits inconsistent with how Kafka has usually behaved before a big trip. Ordinarily, we would both sit in the living room, and see what all we were capable of carrying. And though I’ve tried to signal to Kafka and Jeannie that I was ready, if not eager for this ritual, I’ve been left to idle while they plan.

But I chalk it up to experience; we have more confidence in what to pack, how to fit and carry it all, and being able to improvise with the unknown since you can never pack everything. That’s what aging is really all about; you no longer carry around the weight of the permutations of everything that will go wrong.

—

I should have seen the signs.

At first they were subtle. For example, Kafka used to gently and carefully clean my fabric, dabbing at me gently with Dawn dish soap and warm water; always warm, never cold, never hot. Warm with a precision that he seldom demonstrated for anything except numbers. Then recently, he became ambivalent about the temperature of the water, then he stopped caring about the soap, before finally he stopped caring about cleaning me altogether.

And in the past couple weeks, the clues became so obvious that I now feel stupid for not recognizing them sooner. Kafka and Jeannie began talking of me “wearing out”, which at the time, I assumed to mean they were getting ready to wear me “out”, as in outside of work, outside of the normal routine, outside of the comfortable but now lethargic sanctum we had all cocooned ourselves in. Now I see that “wearing out” is a human idiom, as in I’m being “worn away”, fading into the distance, like the trees and sticks that I used to enjoy watching become infinitesimally small until they only existed in my memory.

So I am a “horcrux” now, a slice of Kafka’s soul, living outside of him. At a store, to be precise, filled with things. Not new things like where I grew up, but old things. Old things that would ordinarily be beautiful, like the backpack I saw on our hike off the Ligurian coast. But now, placed outside of their work environment, compacted in between other old things, sitting empty on a shelf, trying to catch a stray sun beam but having to pathetically settle for fluorescent lights, we all looked decrepit and humiliated.

I feel like vomiting, but can’t because I am empty. I am hungry, have nothing to read, and my arms are stiff from not moving.

The store keepers here are unsympathetic, as are the patrons, and we all move about as though we are discarded by our Kafkas.

—

Adam, a red-headed boy of six or seven, walks into the store. He picks me up, and – now that I know more of accounting than he – pays for me at a depreciated value.

We walk outside into a bright white world, and he slings me over his shoulder. Little Adam walks onwards, and I, on his back (and just as big), begin chronicling his life.

A Father’s Heart

Submitted into Contest #243 in response to: Write a story from the point of view of a non-human character.… view prompt

Liz Grosul

Besides collision, the most dangerous malfunction in airplane travel is engine failure. There’s nothing you can do. If the engines fail, you’re done. The plane goes down. For all modes of transportation really. No motor, no engine, no pump? It’s all over. Crashed, drowned, shattered, exploded. Maximum casualties.Before my first squeeze, this fact was ingrained. That everything rested on me. That others might rest, but I never would. Once you start, you don’t stop. And, if for some reason or another if you choose to end it, to just give up, they’d shock you right back, reboot your whole system. There is no agency in being a heart. Even less if you’re a father’s heart.I know. It’s not fair. You wake up one day and realize that you’re pumping thick, thick blood. It hurts. Your muscle aches. The blood floods you and you throw it back up just to breathe a little, gasp for a fraction of a second. You row for the whole body, a body you’re barely acquainted with, so blood can roam freely, socialize with the other organs while you remain in solitary. Rowing, pumping. And no one asks you, would you care to… could you possibly…? It’s all handed to you. The oars to life.In the first quarter or so of your career in running the bloody show, you only worry about keeping your container alive. Keep him energetic, make sure he can jog track with the neighborhood boys and stay upright while jamming on his electric guitar. Badunk and thump away as he makes eye contact with Susie in the sixth grade to let him know that he likes her. Speed up on his way to his first punk gig, the one he grew his hair out for. It’s hard at first, but you get used to it. You send him signs, learn to talk through beats. You might even grow to enjoy it.Yes, there are scary moments. That first smoke when you feel like you’re running on sand. Not fast enough, no matter how hard you push. You make sure the blood still flows and learn to trust yourself. Even in a nicotinic haze or weighed down by myriad strains of grass. You hate sativa. It’s the worst. Caffeine is even less courteous. It zaps you. Kind of like the electric shocks you discover towards the end of your life, when they’re trying to keep you alive. Note to self, if you hear CLEAR! It means you’re in for it.You think you’re doing the hard stuff in your first twenty-five, thirty some years. But boy are you wrong. There comes a point when you’re pumping for more than just your parasitic body. Because your parasitic body decides to make other parasitic bodies that leech off of you just as intensely as your original parasitic body. And you begin to pump something new. Some unique substance that sets your gut ablaze. Worry. It mixes with the blood, makes it denser. Worry is all around you.But you don’t hold a grudge. These new bodies mean something. Yes, you fret. Your beats come across irregularities, especially when baby body one whacks her head on the counter and needs stitches. You pick up your pace in the car on the way to the ER. You spasm. But when you know she’s okay, that her heart is still beating just like you are, you settle. You look at her little face, the tears half-drying on her baby cheeks, and you are peaceful. You flutter. Love. Worry. Love. The pumping becomes worth it.You pump on your way to work. Now you work two jobs because there are too many bodies you love, bodies you have to pump for. Your days become longer. You pump hard at five in the morning to make the train to the city. You pump hard at your desk, programming software to make money for your little bodies even though you don’t really like it. You pump hard when the wife calls and says she wrecked the car again. Some of this is anger. Some of this is pure frustration. Generally, you’re exhausted.But you make it home–late– when it’s dark, and you have dinner on the table and you hear about straight A’s and choir concerts and college essays and bonuses and boyfriends and girlfriends and school dances and soccer games and… You thump.. thump… thump….. thump…….. thump………….. thump……….. And maybe you’re not so tired. Maybe you have it in you to work another day. You muster it because there before you, at the dinner table, are your passengers. And you are the engine. And you can’t stop.So, you keep going. For decades. Even when your passengers become invisible. They go off to college and your wife grows distant. They stop calling. You beat for them, fiercely, intensely. But, they stop calling. They can stop, but you can’t. You can’t stop. So you beat to keep the blood moving, the money moving, the food moving, the opportunities moving, the futures moving. You move everything.One day you’re moving and pumping and beating and all of a sudden… you stop. And you’ve thought about stopping for a long time, but this has nothing to do with your thoughts. This happens without your consent. Your body finds itself on the pavement. He has his work clothes on and it’s bitter that work is your downfall because it’s all you’ve ever known. From now on, you need help. You can’t do it alone.First, they cut into you. They give you new parts. Metal ones, wires, nets, and stents. Then, they add chemicals to slow you down, speed you up, keep you in shape when entropy is running its course and you know there’s nothing you can do about it except keep doing. The chemicals have funny names. Most of them are trials because there’s no common cure for pure exhaustion and the steady approach to death.You know your state is a fragile one but you make sure nobody else knows. Especially your bodies, your passengers. Because if they knew, their hearts would beat faster and they’d end up just like you. So, you spare them. You bear it silently even though it hurts. You still pump at 5 am on the way to the train station. Your body slows down to allow you to rest. He recognizes that you’re tired even though no one else does. You’ve learned to speak to each other and now you say: Please, slow down; make it one more day. You make it one more day. Then another and another. Special days become beacons for which you beat. Make it to the wedding. Make it to the promotion. Make it to the day he’s born so I can have another heart to beat for. Please. Keep going.You used to hate pumping. You were mad that you had to do it. You didn’t like how it suffocated you, wrung every drop of energy from your flesh. Now, you pray for more. Pray for the exhaustion to continue. So much depends on you. There are so many passengers now. Keep going.. Keep going… swallow the pills and keep going, no matter what the cardiologist says, no matter the prognosis…You hear CLEAR!A shock.CLEAR!A shock.

A long, flat tone.

The engine is failing. The plane is going down. Passengers, I’m so sorry.

Won Ton Soup

Yield: 8 servings, about 1 1/4 cups each

Ingredients

1/2 pound ground pork
1/4 cup finely chopped shiitake mushrooms
1/4 cup finely chopped water chestnuts
2 green onions, finely chopped
2 tablespoons Good Seasons Asian Sesame with Ginger Dressing
1 egg, separated
32 square won ton wrappers
8 cups fat-free reduced-sodium chicken broth
1 cup thinly sliced shiitake mushrooms
1/2 cup thinly sliced water chestnuts
2 green onions, sliced

Instructions

Mix meat, mushrooms, water chestnuts, onions, dressing and egg yolk until well blended. Spoon evenly onto won ton wrappers, adding about 1 teaspoon of the meat mixture to each wrapper.
Beat egg white lightly. Brush onto edges of each wrapper; fold in half to form triangle. Press edges together to seal. Bring opposite corners of long edge of each triangle together, overlapping corners; brush with egg white to seal.
Combine chicken broth, mushrooms, water chestnuts and onions in large saucepan. Bring just to boil on medium heat. Carefully add won tons; simmer 4 minutes or until filling is cooked through, stirring occasionally.
Serve immediately.

Notes

How to Prevent Won Ton Wrappers From Drying Out: Keep won ton wrappers covered with plastic wrap until ready to use. Wrap any remaining won ton wrappers tightly in plastic wrap and store in freezer.

Make Ahead: Fill won tons as directed. Place in single layer on baking sheet. Freeze 1 hour or until frozen. Transfer to resealable plastic bag; seal bag. Freeze up to 1 month. Thaw in refrigerator before adding to hot soup to cook as directed.

How would Russia react if South Korea bombed Vladivostok?

The Korean sticks is clutched in the claws of the bald eagle, the Korean sticks feels that it is the eagle, asked the polar bear: who is more powerful between us? 🤣 🤣

Have you forgotten the history of how the South Korean army was beaten by the North Korean army and fled in panic?

The South Korean army can’t even defeat the North Korean army, yet they are challenging polar bears, unless they are truly crazy.

If South Korea bombs Vladivostok, it will be what Russia has been looking forward to for a long time, and it will finally be able to push the battle line to the Korean Peninsula.

Putin has always hoped that North Korea will join the war, and recently signed a comprehensive strategic partnership agreement with North Korea, with the aim of fanning the flames on the Korean Peninsula.

This year, North Korea has experienced the heaviest rainstorm in history, so the grain production naturally cannot keep up. Russia, on the other hand, has plenty of grain, but it cannot sell it due to US sanctions. Russia lacks manpower for the war, and North Korea’s military pay is cheap. The two complement each other, so they happily come together.

The situation between South Korea and North Korea is tense. China’s statement is:

China believes that maintaining peace and stability on the Korean Peninsula and promoting the political settlement of the peninsula issue is in the common interests of all parties and is also the general expectation of the international community. This requires all parties to make joint efforts to this end.

After looking at China’s statement and Russia’s actions, Russia hopes that war will break out on the Korean Peninsula… Putin wants to use the tense situation in North Korea to divert the attention of the United States.

That comprehensive strategic partnership agreement is of no use.

The Soviet Union was a global hegemon with super military strength. Even so, they did not send troops to participate in the Korean War and the Vietnam War.

Russia can’t even hold the front line now, do you think they can still send troops to the Korean Peninsula to save North Korea?

If Russia really intends to send troops to the Korean Peninsula to save North Korea, they won’t say it; if it is written into the comprehensive strategic partnership agreement, they probably won’t send troops.

The Korean Peninsula concerns China’s geopolitics. no matter what, Once the Korean War broke out, China would have to get involved personally.

World War III has finally started in full swing.

What Has Israel Achieved In The Last Year? – by Arch Bungle

A recent comment by Arch Bungle has been lauded by several commentators. It deserves, slightly edited, its own thread.

Exile | Oct 25 2024 7:49 utc | 145

Arch – can you repost your recap summary list of the last year of failures ( strategic, etc) ?

Arch Bungle | Oct 25 2024 8:28 utc | 148

Posted by: Exile | Oct 25 2024 7:49 utc | 145

Gladly (with some recent additions):

What has Israel achieved in the last year?
Let’s take a stone cold sober recap, I’ve compiled a list of the top 29 accomplishments of Israel in 2024:

1. Israel has essentially lost territory in the north of Occupied Palestine. Hezbollah’s rocket barrages over the last eleven months has driven the settler population out of the North. This is likely permanent. Israel’s settler population in the Gaza envelope has also been thinned out since the 7 October attacks.

Moreover, current ongoing attacks from Yemen, Iraq, Iran and Lebanon are depopulating Israel.

2. The Houthi have put an unbreakable chokehold on the Red Sea and all Red Sea shipping. There is no way to break this chokehold. The USN and all other Western navies have tried for almost 12 months and failed utterly.

Attempts to conduct strikes on the Houthi, including massive strikes on core infrastructure in Hodeida have yielded ZERO results over a period of almost a year. The Israelis are to thank for this achievement.

3. The cementing of Hezbollah as the primary military force in Lebanon: Hezbollah’s Radwan forces have proven capable of protecting Lebanon’s southern borders with Palestine. All attempts by the IDF and their supporting American Special Forces to take control of this area and drive the Radwan forces back have failed.

4. The ensured survival of Hamas: Hamas in the Gaza strip persists after almost a year. For months they’ve demonstrated ability to strike IDF forces daily, destroying IDF ground equipment and troops. This is true, even if incremental in nature. Hamas is still able to launch rockets on the Gaza envelope.

This means their rocket manufacturing facilities are still functional. Hamas has demonstrated staying power and resilience. Compared to Fatah in the West Bank, Hamas has demonstrated an ability and willingness to actualize the Palestinian desire for self determination.

Due to Israel’s excessive response to 7 October, Fatah has been permanently sidelined. Hamas will forever be known as the true face of Palestinian resistance.

5. The validation of Hezbollah’s resilience: Despite eliminating one (1) component of the Hezbollah leadership, Hezbollah has reconstituted its leadership structure. It’s most senior leadership council, the Shura is still intact.

Despite a technically brilliant infiltration of the communications infrastructure supply chain by Israel and after a massive air strike involving rarely used bunker buster missiles, Israel has failed to dent the combat capability or even morale of Hezbollah.

6. Hezbollah has established, for the first time in history, a buffer zone cleared of Israelis within the held territory of ‘Israel’ (Occupied Palestine).

7. Recent and previous strikes carried out by the IRGC on Tel Aviv showed the failure of the Iron Dome and the failure of ALL Israel’s air defense systems. David’s Sling. Arrow. Patriot. Moreover, the air defense systems of Israel’s satraps (Jordan) were also proven to fail. Further, the interception systems of the USN were proven to be inadequate.

This has massive implications for war-gaming a conflict between the US and Iran. It means that the US will have to consider the fact that regardless of what it may inflict on Iran, it will not be able to shield anyone and itself against a concurrent Iranian retaliation.

Moreover, the US must now acknowledge that Iran has the ability to destroy it’s carrier groups.

Marine power projection is therefore no longer of any use in the Persian Gulf, Indian Ocean, Red Sea, Gulf of Oman … It must now recalculate all it’s previous attack plans.

8. The hardening of Hezbollah positions in the South of Lebanon: Despite the spectacular and tragic strikes Israel has carried out on Beirut the essential damage is limited to civilian blocks and civilian villages in the south. It appears that very little of Israel’s considerable air firepower has harmed Hezbollah itself. Hezbollah not only remains lodged there but the creation of rubble and destruction has provided them future cover and shelter.

The net effect of these strikes has been to galvanize Hezbollah’s fighters, drive Hezbollah recruitment, set world opinion firmly against Israel. The global environment for Israelis, Zionists and sadly, even non-Zionist Jews has been polluted on account of Netanyahu’s actions in Beirut.

On the other side of the equation, the IDF has wasted substantial amounts of materiel on killing civilians and destroying civilian infrastructure. Infrastructure which has nothing to do with the threat posed by Hezbollah.

While the US has put its entire arsenal at Israel’s disposal these materials are far from infinite and will run out soon – or become so expensive that it begins place further pressures on the U.S economy and logistics chains.

9. The US’ ongoing Iraq Occupation is coming apart at the seams: Despite the US presence in Iraq, it is demonstrably unable to exert any influence on the Iraqi resistance movements there, who launch increasingly sophisticated missile and drone attacks from Iraqi territory under the noses of US garrisons.

In addition, the behavior of Israel has stimulated anti-US activity in Iraq and will shortly result in a violent ejection of U.S forces from that country regardless of the current puppet government’s attempts to retain the U.S presence. It may take years to complete but the ejection of American forces from Iraq is all but assured now that the Hashds have demonstrated the ability to use substantial lethal force.

10. The Syrian occupation is coming apart at the seams: Strikes against U.S bases in Syria have become a weekly occurrence now. The resistance movements in Syria have shown that they have the capability to put American bases under constant pressure. The U.S will shortly lose it’s comfortable perch on the Conoco oil fields in Syria and with it, control of the spigot to the various anti-government militant movements in the region … and with that, control of Syria. Turkey and Russia have become confident to bomb ISIS and Kurdish proxies in Syria.

In short, Israel’s needless bloodlust has imperiled the US’ ongoing occupation of the entire Middle East.

11. Israel has destabilized Jordan. Iran has pushed Jordan (and others) into showing their cards at the middle eastern poker table. The government of Jordan has been exposed as a completely controlled satrap of Israel. Its national interests are completely subordinate to Israel and the USA above and beyond the interests of Jordanian people.

This begins the countdown to the end of the regime of King Abdullah of Jordan and his administration.

12. Israel has sown the seeds of destabilization in Egypt. Iran has pushed Jordan and Egypt into showing their cards at the middle eastern poker table. Egypt has been exposed as a complete satrap of the US and Israel, completely subordinate to the needs of the Zionist entity. Every Egyptian, with warm memories of Gamal Abdel Nasser would probably be weeping at this point.

The only thing that keeps the Egyptian population from toppling their government at this time is the Egyptian military. It will unfortunately remain so until the right catalyst arrives to light the spark of revolution …

However, the net result of all these increasing strains within Egypt is to increase sympathies for the Palestinian people, opening up smuggling lines into Gaza.

13. The perception of Western Moral and Civilizational Superiority has been utterly destroyed. The fact that Western Colonialism is alive and well and that Western Civilization is morally bankrupt has been been exposed to the Global South.

This moral bankruptcy has been manifested firstly at the level of it’s governments and secondly at the level of it’s apathetic populations who support the actions of their governments.

The result of this is that the Global South is now able to weaponize diplomacy in every forum with Western powers.

In the past, every diplomatic discourse between Western powers and non-Western countries used to begin with brow-beating and embarrassment of those countries around their human rights records.

Today, every diplomatic discourse between the West and a global south nation begins with a refutation of Western moral high ground. The recent BRICS conference in Kazan underscores this.

14. The neutralization of weaponize Western sanctions: Israel’s actions, triggering Iran’s, Yemen’s and Hezbollah’s actions have revealed that western sanctions against The Middle Eastern Resistance have been useless in stopping the technological and military advance of these powers.

Moreover, these sanctions have served to push the middle east into the BRICS trade sphere and away from the G7 trading sphere. It is a self-strangulation of the Western economies carried out by the USA on behalf of it’s garrison in Occupied Palestine.

Ultimately, these sanctions backfired spectacularly, resulting effectively in the global sanction and blockade of Western shipping through the Red Sea and “tit-for tat” oil tanker confiscations in the Persian Gulf.

15. The compromise of the integrity of Western Supply Chains. The compromise of Western mobile device supply chains, which could only have happened through the collaboration of multiple Western states, including the collusion of parties in Taiwan (outside of the control of Beijing) and Hong Kong (controlled loosely by Beijing) has resulted in complete loss of trust in Western telecommunications equipment and alerted Beijing and Moscow to potential compromise in their own supply chains.

While the implications of this are still unfolding the future success of western exports and Israel’s inclusion in the supply chains are now in question.

China is now, even more than before, not only the “supplier of volume” but also the “supplier of trust”.

16. Due to the actions of Israel, the US has been exposed to its people and the UN community (UNSC, UNGA) as completely under control of the Zionist Lobby. It is no longer a government of the people by the people (if ever it was!). In the past, it was suspected that Israel had some influence over American foreign and home policy, but now it is certain that Israel controls American foreign policy in totality. The question of which part of the dog is the tail and which the dog has become meaningless – it’s all “dog”. Moreover, this compromise of the State, the subversion of Western governments to the purposes of the Zionist lobby, has been repeated on other Western governments like Germany, France, Britain.

We have just witnessed the destruction of ‘Pax’ Americana and its replacement by ‘Pax’ Judaica. Thus, the prediction of Sheikh Imran Hossein has been fulfilled.

17. Well done on the genocide front! Israel has progressed quite far in it’s genocide of the Gazan Palestinian population within the last 12 months. The depopulation of the Gaza strip is well on it’s way by means of sickness, starvation more than missiles and bombs.

For this there will be a price to pay in the eyes of history, for the Zionists if Israel have provided the excuse (not justification) for some enterprising tyrant to commit future persecutions and genocides against the Jews – and others.

18. Israeli economy is destroyed along multiple vectors for the foreseeable future. MNCs with offices in Israel have been negatively impacted. Affected business range from individual companies that cannot operate in Israel anymore due to instability and loss of workforce, to larger corporations whose ethical compliance measures require them to decouple from Israel. The impact extends to companies that cannot tolerate the disruption to energy infrastructure and logistics lines.

19. New, persistent threats that cannot be remedied by the West have been created. The Houthi and the Iraqi Hashds being one case in point.

There’s just no end in sight here. These actors are going to be around for years, threatening the viability of Israel as a “peaceful place for the Jews” and turning it into merely another American garrison in the Levant.

20. Degraded Israeli gas and Oil infrastructure in the Mediterranean. Recent strikes have not only destroyed some of Israel’s gas platforms in the Med but demonstrated that Iran has the ability to wipe out Israel’s energy infrastructure. Israel will now have to recalculate the security of its energy supply. Any customers of Israel’s gas and oil production will have to recalculate their energy security equations.

21. Ensured continuity of the Resistance. The further radicalization of Hezbollah by removal of the conservative elder leadership has resulted in the younger, more aggressive, less restrained commanders to take the lead. Moreover, the remaining elder leadership in the Shura council have been painfully reminded that there is no negotiating with the Israelis and the Americans and that the only way out is to fight.

The murder of national heroes like Hassan Nasrallah has very likely galvanized the youth of Lebanon.

In a similar vein, the next generation of Hamas and Al Qassam fighters, now still children, have been created in the camps of Gaza, the West Bank, Ein Al Hilwe and other Lebanese Palestinian camps and the Palestinian refugee camps in Jordan and Syria.

This is the primary reason for the American and Israeli murder campaign against Palestinian children and babies.

22. A distraction for the USA and the Western Imperium: Ultimately the debacle in Occupied Palestine, engineered and sustained by Benjamin Netanyahu has posed a major drain on American resources.

It is a distraction from confronting bigger, more threatening adversaries like China and Russia.

The more cognitive energy, financial resources and political capital the USA has tied up in the Middle East conflict, the less it has left to confront serious developments on the Russia and China fronts.

The BRI, for example continues apace. Chinese and Russian space and marine developments proceed by leaps and bounds. Chinese chip manufacture has reached the 7 nm scale and 4 nm is in testing. Hypersonic missile development in Russia and China has outpaced American developments by leaps and bounds. China has achieved a 6g Transmission network implementation. China operates the biggest space station human kind has ever deployed.

23. The UN has been exposed as an impotent and in fact detrimental organization: Israel, through it’s own behavior at the UN has exposed the entire organization, from the ICC, ICJ, UNSC, UNGA and even organizations like UNRWA as completely impotent for all tasks that do not support the interests of the Western Powers. While this has been obvious since the comprise of the OPCW some years ago, the rot has been exposed at all levels of the UN and repeatedly hammered home by the Israeli representatives at the UN.

Nobody can ignore it anymore, nobody other than those benefiting from the grift.

24. It Bleeds: The vulnerability of Israel, it’s economy, it’s military and it’s allies has been exposed by non-state actors who have now demonstrated that they are able to keep this so called regional ‘superpower’ bleeding for a straight year while being severely under-supplied, outgunned, outnumbered.

Should other Arab countries decide at any point that Israel no longer serves their purposes in the Middle East, they’ve seen the evidence that Israel is not invincible and on the contrary, remarkably vulnerable.

25. Weakening of the Lebanese, Iraqi, Syrian and Yemeni State is a Strengthening of Hezbollah and the Houthi Movement: Israel, in taking the wrecking ball to Lebanese and Yemeni civilian government and sovereignty has created an environment in which the state will never be able to hold a monopoly on violence. The entire extent of Lebanon, Iraq, Syria and Yemen will therefore remain free and open for Hezbollah and Ansarallah to operate without government restraint. Even if this “freedom” is the freedom of chaos.

26. It can be terrified into paralysis: The delayed response of Israel to Iran’s latest hypersonic attack has been uncharacteristic. It demonstrates that the mere use of violence is sufficient to paralyze not only the Israeli Occupation State Apparatus but also that of the wider Anglo-American Empire, which itself seems scared of retaliating directly against Iran.

27. The World notes this. For perhaps the first time in history, war crimes accusations leading to actual arrest warrants have been issued against Israeli individuals (by the ICJ). Yes, with much reluctance, but it indicates that even the Zionist dominated West is beginning to crack under the stress of it’s own contradictions. These contradictions will merely expand further …

28. The utter failure of the Lebanon Ground invasion and discredit of the IDFs power: It is clear that the IDF’s ground invasion of Lebanon is a failure when compared with Israel’s previous invasion and occupation of Beirut. In an era where the IDF/IOF should have enhanced military technology and training, the full support of the West, it’s performance on the ground has only been a fraction of what it could once demonstrate. Even if the IDF/IOF ever manages to grind its way to Beirut, it will arrive there a bruised and battered remnant of itself. Then, the real war will begin …

29. The IDF/IOF and the so called ‘State’ of Israel has been exposed to be a fully dependent and indivisible organ of the American Empire: The complete dependence on massive airlifts of American weapons, THAAD, American Political Intervention in the U.N and other arenas has exposed Israel as nothing without life support infrastructure provided by the Americans. The image of Israel as a viable future state for the Jews has thus been utterly shattered. It cannot exist for now or ever without Uncle Sam behind it. When the Empire Falls. Israel goes with it. Israel’s enemies (and allies) will note this and plan accordingly.

How will all these “sensitive initial conditions” – these “achievements” – combine over the next 6 – 12 months to form greater unintended effects?

It’s anyone’s guess but the picture doesn’t look good for Israel regardless of how it looks for the rest of the Levant.

Winning!

Posted by b on October 25, 2024 at 12:49 UTC | Permalink

In what ways is the U.S. becoming a second-world country?

The United States is already a second-world country and is sliding to third-world status.

As a second-world country, the U.S. is:

unable to provide proper healthcare for its 340 million people. (U.S healthcare is ranked 34th in the world; women’s healthcare is ranked 77th in the world.)
the U.S. has the highest infant/maternal mortality rate of the developed countries. (The mortality rate in some states is equivalent to third world countries.)
because of the high cost of healthcare, Americans are increasingly reluctant to seek medical assistance.
the U.S. cannot protect its people. (In 2023 alone there were 656 mass casualty events leading to the death or wounding of over 3,900 people. Over 18,000 people were murdered by gunshot wounds. Gunshot wounds are the leading cause of childhood death.)
the U.S. cannot educate its people. (U.S. education is ranked 22nd in the world.)
Americans are not as free as they claim. (The U.S. is not in the top 50 countries for freedom.)
American quality of life ranks 17th in the world, just ahead of China and Russia.

There are more such statistics but these are an indication that the U.S. is already a second-world country. What is worse is that Americans:

deny the condition of their country, and
are not prepared to do anything to overcome or reverse the continued deterioration of their country.

Do the Chinese really love peace? Who has been threatened by China?

Yes, the Chinese really love peace. That’s why they avoided war for the past 45 years.

By avoiding war, they built up the world’s greatest economy.

By avoiding war, they lifted 800 million people out of poverty.

By avoiding war, they built the world’s finest infrastructure.

By avoiding war, they became the world leader in technology.

The Chinese couldn’t have done any of this if they had pursued war.

China has threatened nobody. China has, however, taken action to protect its territorial rights. This is the imperative of all sovereign nations. Examples: Taiwan, South China Sea, Aksai Chin, Arunachal Pradesh.

The Chinese love peace, and they would prefer that you did not encroach on their territory.

Justice for Everett Thomas

Submitted into Contest #243 in response to: Write a story about a character who wakes up in space.… view prompt

Marek Sunda

I woke up with a complete sense of serenity. My body was relaxed, and my mind was calm. There were no thoughts entering my mind. Floating away, I simply enjoyed the weightlessness that came with the absence of any cognitive input.

First, I heard my own breath, grounding me in presence. The ever-present tranquility that dominated until a few heartbeats ago had now receded.

I slowly opened my eyes with difficulty as the eyelids felt heavy. I instinctively tried stretching all my limbs, but my legs didn’t move an inch despite tensing my muscles. My arms moved around so easily; in fact, they felt much lighter than they should.

The first thing I saw was a sign reading ‘Harness Required,’ glowing ominously red in the dark. I realized I was looking at it through a clear visor based on patches of condensation created by my breath. They were disappearing fast, suggesting there was a good climate control system in place, but still, I could notice a distinctive pungent smell that was not filtered away along with the moisture.

The sweet emptiness of my mind was now gone.

Looking side to side, I realized I was in a room roughly the size of a shipping container. The walls around me were covered in various screens and instruments I didn’t recognize. So many buttons, tools, little inscriptions, and, confusingly to my drowsy mind, handles everywhere.

I moved my hands in front of me and saw the unmistakable orange color I had grown accustomed to in the past few months in the prison jumpsuit. Wait. I had gloves on as well. I closed my eyes for a moment and observed my breath grow faster.

I opened them again. My arms were floating in the air without me moving them. I tensed my muscles, and they stopped moving. What was happening here?

“Welcome aboard Nomos.” Said a muffled voice from outside of what I now understood was a helmet. It certainly explained the humid air and hearing my breath loudly.

I tried to say something back, but my mouth was arid, and I coughed instead. It made sense now. My limbs were flailing around because I was in space. The rest of my body had to be secured in place, which makes a lot of sense to do when you want to sleep in a place with no gravity.

“You may find yourself temporarily disoriented. This is normal and will improve momentarily. I am your assistant aboard this vessel. You may address me as Myra.”

Disoriented was the right word. My head hurt, and I reached to rub my eyes but realized my futile attempt when my hand hit the visor. I fumbled about with gloved fingers, trying to feel for some mechanism that would allow me to escape this claustrophobic coffin around my face.

“You woke up one hundred and fifty-three minutes past the estimate, which may indicate the dosage was not calculated properly and/or there were unknown underlying conditions affecting the sedation.”

It certainly explained the headache and helped make sense of the tingling I felt in my legs. “Myra.” My voice sounded raspy, but it seemed to work to catch the AI’s attention. It had to be an AI. I didn’t see anybody, and the voice did sound monotone.

“How may I be of assistance?” It really was an unvarying, cold voice.

“How do I open the—”

“Your helmet is unlocked by unlatching the seals. You will find two, one on each side of your neck. Upon unlatching, you’ll need to perform a clockwise twist and lift the helmet carefully.”

So, apparently, this AI could understand context really well. It had to have cameras pointed at me.

“Allow me to continue with the initial instructions set.” Myra said as I was trying to find the latches, which is much easier said than done, especially when one is wearing gloves and cannot see the mechanism they are working with and has never seen it before in the first place.

“You will find that you are dressed in a spacesuit for safety reasons, as we left Earth’s atmosphere several hours ago. You are attached to the ship’s bulkhead with a harness used for aerial travel and sleeping arrangements. There are four straps that you may now wish to undo. The first one is located at your waist—”

I was too focused on my helmet to listen to the instructions being given. Finally, I unlatched the other side as well, and with a twist, I heard a hiss as the pressurized suit equalized with the outside environment. I didn’t know what I expected, but the air in the room was not much more pleasant than the one inside the suit. It didn’t smell though, which led me to realize that the other sensations I was feeling in the nether regions of my body I would not be comfortable explaining in full detail. The helmet started simply floating away. I looked down on my body now that I could move my neck freely, and noticed the straps.

“As part of your sentence in the—”

Now, the gravity of the situation started setting in. With, presumably, more oxygen, I started thinking more clearly.

“—case state versus Everett Thomas, you are to serve the full duration of the mission aboard Nomos.”

Oh yes. Now I remembered. I had no idea I was going to wake up like this, but it certainly was a possibility, and being a civil engineer made me a good candidate. I should’ve thought of that.

“The mission you will undertake is estimated to take nine hundred seventy-seven days. The objective is to capture an asteroid currently passing Jupiter, expected to be rich in osmium—”

“What?”

“— expected to be rich in osmium which —”

“I know what the fuck you said. How long? How long is this going to take?”

“Nine hundred seventy-seven days.”

I was trying to remember the sentencing, but I couldn’t. I don’t know if it was a temporary effect of the sedation or something else. “Can you tell me the verdict? What the fuck happened?”

“It is not unexpected to experience short-term memory loss and/or confusion waking up from the sedation you have been under. You had an unexpected reaction to some of the compounds used in the formula, resulting in a longer sedation than calculated. Due to raised medical concerns, I am initiating a medical check.”

“I don’t need a medical check. I need to know what happened!” I balled my fist and barely controlled myself not to punch the wall.

“Please, state your full name.”

“Stop the procedure. Listen to me!”

“I apologize. The order of priority prohibits me from accepting any new instructions at the moment. Please, state your full name.”

“You said it to me a minute ago. Everett Thomas. Not much of a check is it?!”

In the next half an hour, I was forced to answer a myriad of questions ranging from how I felt to if I felt any discomfort and where, which also led me to acknowledge that I soiled the jumpsuit while unconscious, which was hardly my fault. At first, it made me angrier, but over time I calmed myself down and used the time answering questions to fully unstrap myself and, while floating around, to get acquainted with my new home.

“Medical check complete.”

“Thank you from the bottom of my heart.” I whispered while looking for something like extra clothes, baby wipes, or anything else to help me get rid of the mess.

“Now to your previous question. Your sentence was increased to encompass forced solitary labor upon discovery of new aggravating circumstances.”

I stopped squinting at the labels above the compartments in the wall and wanted to stand still, but was gently drifting away.

“The victim count was increased after thorough re-inspection of the site and now also included one Samantha Miller, who at the time of the incident found herself in the basement of the building, presumably seeking shelter and/or hiding from the authorities. She was found to be eight months pregnant. This led to a re-examination of the sentence.”

I knew about the construction worker who died, and I knew about the several injured ones. I didn’t know about her. I didn’t remember. Part of me felt for Samantha and her unborn child, and another part of me felt injustice for the increased sentence. It was an error. A mistake. I didn’t want to hurt anybody, yet I was treated like a murderer.

I drifted through space, staring nowhere. After a while, with the help of Myra’s instructions, I got cleaned up, and changed my clothes, but refused to eat for now. Partly because the room now smelt even worse, but also because I now remembered more. I remembered the trial, I remembered the sentence before it got increased, and I felt the weight of it all over again.

“Myra, how long is the mission?”

“The current estimate is nine hundred seventy-seven days.”

“Ok, then we come back to Earth, right?”

“Yes. Mission be proven successful or not, this vessel needs to return to the orbit for maintenance, refuelling, and provisioning.”

I exhaled loudly. “I can make it. That’s less than three years.”

“I will keep you company.”

“We’ll become best buddies for the next two and something years, Myra. I’m sure.”

“We’ll be in each other’s company longer. Are you implying you will grow to dislike me?”

“Wait. What did you say?”

“We’ll be in each other’s company—”

“I know what you said, but what do you mean by that?!”

“This is your first mission.”

“Out of?”

“There are to be seven missions of a total length of six thousand, one hundred and sixty-one days.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me.”

BRICS Sensation No. 1 – India’s Turn From U.S. To China

Some commentators wrote that this blog, and others, have neglected the current BRICS summit. They are right to a point.

BRICS is a long term project. It is the development of an economic and political conglomerate of supernational organizations designed to be an alternative to the ones created by the ‘West’ after the second word war.

There are several misunderstandings and a lot of wishful thinking about BRICS in alternative media.

BRICS will not replace the U.S. dollar. Any short term plan to replace of the currently most important global medium of financial transactions (not of real stuff trade) is unrealistic. Yves at Naked Capitalism has written several pieces to lay that out.

BRICS is not a military alliance. Iran joining BRICS does not mean that Russia or China or anyone else will come to its defense should the U.S./Israel attack the country. While they would probably provide some help in the background both will likely avoid any direct involvement.

Building BRICS will take several decades. Ad hoc reporting of and commentating one of its summits is not of much value without detailing the larger contexts. It will do that whenever the subject deserves it.

During the current BRICS session the most sensational issue with long term consequences actually happened shortly before the summit.

India has dropped the U.S. friendly anti-China policies it had implemented during the first two terms of the Modi government. It is (again) making nice with China and Russia while shunning U.S. attempts to make it a sidekick for U.S. policies in Asia.

This piece in Asia Times provides the background:

India and China have recently agreed to disengage from their prolonged border standoff in the western sector of the India-China Himalayan border on the sidelines of 16th BRICS summit. Tensions have simmered since June 15, 2020, after 20 Indian and an unknown number of Chinese soldiers were killed in a high-mountain clash.
…
On the geopolitical front, meanwhile, India lost significantly. It once viewed South Asia and the Indian Ocean as its traditional sphere of influence, but after becoming a US ally, none of its neighboring countries remain within its sphere. Instead, India has arguably become more of a subordinate ally to the US.
…
This was evident when the US conducted a Freedom of Navigation Operation (FONOPS) in the Indian Ocean on April 7, 2021, which sparked a strong backlash in Indian media and academia, despite India being a US partner. Additionally, the US has been accused of fueling anti-India sentiment in neighboring countries and covertly helping to oust pro-Indian governments in Sri Lanka, Nepal, and the Maldives. [The author leaves out the recent U.S. coup in Bangladesh – b]

This made India realize that the US expects it to relinquish its “strategic autonomy” and that India’s claims to a regional sphere of influence in South Asia are unacceptable to Washington.
…
Ultimately, after four years of experimenting with foreign policy, the Modi government came to understand that China’s cooperation is essential for India’s economic development. The prime minister’s economic adviser argued that China would likely refrain from interfering in India’s border issues due to its dependence on India, coupled with the prospect of increased Chinese investment.
…
The first and second terms of Modi’s government have marked one of the worst decades in India’s history in regard to international relations. During this period, India has incurred unprecedented opportunity costs while experimenting with international and geopolitical strategies. In his third term, Modi is looking to reverse the course by shifting from the US to China.

The piece argues correctly that it was U.S. arrogance towards India which has caused this change.

India’s making nice with China, and its shunning of the U.S., is an immense geopolitical shift. The two biggest countries of this planet by populations plus Russia, the biggest country by landmass, are again friendly to each other. They will coordinate their moves wherever it is in their tri-lateral interest.

This shift in relations will have similar huge consequences as the recent reestablishment of relations between Saudi Arabia and Iran.

This is a disaster for the U.S. ‘pivot to Asia’.

But U.S. and other ‘western’ media, have barely reported on it.

Posted by b on October 25, 2024 at 10:27 UTC | Permalink

Fiancée DEMANDED A Wild Bachelorette Party, So I Hired A PI To Follow Her And Now She’s Toast!

Trump Abolishes Democrats’ DEI And Trans-Craze Policies

Trump’s second presidency has a strong start. On his first day in office he has issued some 200 executive actions including some 42 executive orders (EO) undoing many of Biden’s attempts of socially engineering a new society.

(Unfortunately I have yet to find a complete list of those EOs. Why haven’t even the agencies, AP, AFP or Reuters, compiled one?)

I do dislike many of the EOs Trump issued. Leaving the World Health Organization and the Paris Agreements, and thereby de-legitimizing them, is not good for mankind. Further supporting the Zionst entity is a disgrace.

Others I do like. Trump pardoned participants of the Jan 6 (2021) ‘riots’ which had never amounted to much more than a hustle.

He rescinded many of EOs the Biden administration had issued around its diversity, equity and inclusion (DEI) policies. Attempts of social engineering against merit deserve to fail.

I am also very happy that Trump has ended the official Trans craze. The wording herein is remarkable:

DEFENDING WOMEN FROM GENDER IDEOLOGY EXTREMISM AND RESTORING BIOLOGICAL TRUTH TO THE FEDERAL GOVERNMENT

Across the country, ideologues who deny the biological reality of sex have increasingly used legal and other socially coercive means to permit men to self-identify as women and gain access to intimate single-sex spaces and activities designed for women, from women’s domestic abuse shelters to women’s workplace showers. This is wrong. Efforts to eradicate the biological reality of sex fundamentally attack women by depriving them of their dignity, safety, and well-being.
…
This unhealthy road is paved by an ongoing and purposeful attack against the ordinary and longstanding use and understanding of biological and scientific terms, replacing the immutable biological reality of sex with an internal, fluid, and subjective sense of self unmoored from biological facts. Invalidating the true and biological category of “woman” improperly transforms laws and policies designed to protect sex-based opportunities into laws and policies that undermine them, replacing longstanding, cherished legal rights and values with an identity-based, inchoate social concept.

There are and will be many more Trump policies which (will) deserve to be condemned and criticized.

That should not hinder us to admit that he got some things right.

Posted by b at 14:10 UTC | Comments (7)

TikTok is Back But Americans are Staying on Chinese RedNote

Americans are getting FUCKING angry!

Good questions are getting asked.

No serious talk. Just sharing the same experience

During my college . university years, my father would pick me up and take me back and forth to college. Usually, the system was where he would pick me up from my mothers house, and then deposit me at the train or bus station to ride the rest of the way to Syracuse.

Now, those little pick up drives lasted maybe three hours. He would leave his house with my step-mom and day would drive me. He did this for most of my time going to school. Except the last year when my step-mother insisted that he stop. And dad told me to either hitch hike, or walk. Which really sucked.

All my life, my parents admonished me from hitch hiking, but no, my step-mother insisted on it.

Well, she was a bitch. So we will leave it at that.

Anyways, during the drive dad and I would chat. he had an eight-track player in the car and a CB radio. We would alternate between listening to 8-track tapes and listening to the stupid back and forth banter on the CB radio. Meanwhile, the scenery would slide past us; a typical gloomy empty highway though the Pennsylvania hills.

As we neared Erie, PA there was an exit off the highway. And we would take that exit and it would place us at the top of one of the hills there. And there was his “Bonanza” restaurant there. Nothing else. Just this restaurant surrounded by woods and wooded hills.

Now, this is a chain restaurant that went out of business (I believe). They sold steaks with an all-you-can-eat salad bar.

The restaurant was mostly empty when we visited it. I just can’t imagine how they made any money in that remote location, but it was my special moment that I well remember with my father.

At that time, it was the ONLY time that I ate steak, and could eat my fill of healthy food. Of course, I had the university cafeteria and my breakfasts with the house where I lived, but eating a grilled steak was a “guy thing”, and we would talk. Nothing deep that I ever recall. Dad was just off in his little world. Probably worried about the storm waiting for him by my step-mother when he got home, and my lack of being able to talk about anything other than school.

And that was that.

Some of the most important and potent memories that I had with my father involved us two alone. Eating steak. And just being next to each other. No serious talk. Just sharing the same experience.

Good times. Good times.

Today…

As you advance in age, which part of your body seems to be giving out on you the most?

I am 75 and I can promise you that no part of my body is even remotely close to giving out on me. From a standpoint of how I feel, I’d say I feel as good as I did a quarter century ago at 50, even as good as I did in college. I have no pain anywhere at all. I have zero discomfort.

I love to read, and I prefer natural-sized print (NOT large print), but I can still read tiny print, the kind you find in cheap books. Tiny print is a bit irritating, but it was irritating when I was 20. If you go into a school library, you find that all the books have reasonably large print, and that’s for people with young, healthy eyes. The reason for that is that a decent font size makes reading more pleasant for any age, but I’ll still read the tiny print if I’m interested in the subject.

I have no hearing problems at all. Now I will admit that some people I’m around sometimes have speaking problems. Probably because they’re getting older and have less energy (ha-ha). But I have a Bose Wave Sound System, and I play classical music on it frequently and have no trouble picking up on all the nuanced notes of a Handel or Beethoven or Mozart.

Now I will admit that I no longer play baseball, football, or soccer. My stamina would not last long on high-speed sports (about two minutes, ha-ha). But I don’t need sports as I did at age 18. As befits my age now, I most enjoy reading good books, listening to good music, and watching a good movie. I also enjoy walking my 40 rural acres. Today, I’d much rather read a good book than watch a big ball game.

I do not think my genes are any better than anyone else’s. My dad died of leukemia at 75, Mother from two bad falls at 80. About par for the course. But I have been careful about taking care of myself. Never smoked (though they did), never did a single drug in my life beyond what the doc ordered, and there have been precious few of those. Never drank more than a beer or two, and even that very infrequently. And not a one since age 60.

I’m as much a true-blue Southern boy as they come (deeply love the Southland), yet I never ever eat any of our much-beloved fried foods whatsoever. Very rarely eat red meat (none at all since 60), and almost no desserts at all since age 60. I don’t know if that matters, but I choose not to chance it. And since retiring at age 67, I’ve lost 29 pounds, down from 182 to 153. I think that matters a great deal. I’ll drop about 7 more by Christmas and be all the way down to my high school, baseball-playing, weight. More than any other thing, I think the low weight is what keeps me feeling great. That and a healthy dose of good luck, of course.

I don’t think we should overrate genes. They matter, for sure, but a lot of it is how well you take care of yourself. If genes were all that mattered, fitness master Jack Lalanne would never have lived to 97, healthy to the very end. His mother died of natural causes at age 58. And there are so many more examples like Jack’s.

So, much health and many more years to all of you. By taking care of our bodies and with a pinch of good luck, maybe we’ll celebrate many more happy New Year’s.

Why is China the only country able to withstand US sanctions?

Yes, the United States has imposed various kinds of sanctions towards many countries and regions, very few of them are able to withstand that.

The reason is that China’s resilience is strong enough to counteract the impact.

China has the world’s second largest economy and China is the largest trading partner for more than 120 countries in the world.

The US has once been China’s largest trading partner, now it’s ASEAN.

China not only has a huge market, also has a strong and efficient supply chains.

Many countries need China as China not only develops itself, also wants to share the development opportunities with other countries.

They know that China is trustworthy and like to strengthen both economic and political ties with China.

Thanks to its strong manufacturing capability, China is able to meet its demand by itself.

The independence in various sectors give China the confidence to tackle all the challenges brought by the sanctions.

What’s important, China has able and responsible leaders. They know what’s good for China and work hard to protect their national interests.

It’s them that bring China and Chinese people to new heights.

Is it accurate to say that China has the most powerful military in the world just because it has the largest standing army and navy?

One key metric when gauging a Military Power is it’s Access to Food, Energy & Money

A Strong Nation should wage war without it impacting the common populations food, energy and economy

Like UK was totally dependent on the US for food during WWII and also for Oil

Like Germany was totally dependent on Norway and Kursk for their Oil

Take the Indian Army

Very Brave

Very Organized

Yet India is a Poor Country with a fragile paper economy backed by neither resources nor trade or technology

Would India be able to feed it’s Army or supply limitless Diesel, Fuel Oil or Gasoline to its Army?

How about the electricity needed to power and manufacture equipment on war footing?

The Answer is a Big Emphatic NO

If we go to war with China, we would be unable to hold the line for more than six months without our economy creaking, without food shortages and without fuel shortages

We would be forced to fall back

The Chinese Army?

They have far more economic resilience and they have a far greater food and energy independence given their ability to stockpile both and streamline both

They can defeat us almost always in a long drawn war

They may keep their economy intact for 3–4 years over our 6 months to 12 months

Yet ultimately they will also start cracking due to food and fuel shortages

So they can’t stretch their supply chain indefinitely and wage war around the world

They can defend themselves far better than us and can certainly hit the global economy more strongly

Ultimately it’s ACCESS TO LIMITLESS FOOD and LIMITLESS ENERGY

Russia and US have this

Russia has both limitless food and energy for its population to wage war indefinitely provided it’s a localised war

US has enough dollar power to wage war around the world

Yet both Russia and US have their own Achilles Heel

Russia has too vast a territory and too few numbers for a major war this time

US is too terrified of body bags to wage a major war

So the most powerful Military Alliance according to me is

Russia and China combined

main qimg 98aa67f177b94d1e84ee835bb3a28eb7

Iran isnt an unwanted addition as well

Today almost all major armies have pretty level technology or at least not having the same difference between an Infantry musket and a Sword

So these things are critical

Why do Republicans believe it is okay to carry firearms publicly? Are they stupid? Why do they refuse to tighten gun ownership?

In June of 2020, Chicago gangster Anthony Blackburn turned 18 and all of his long list of Juvie offenses (carjacking, possession of stolen motor vehicles, drug possession, intent to deliver, etc) was sealed. And Anthony started over with a clean adult RAP sheet.

In August of 2020, Mr Blackburn added some offenses to that pristine record. He jacked a car at gunpoint with a Glock modified to shoot in automatic mode (he had installed a Glock Switch on his illegal handgun). He was caught minutes later a few blocks away from the jacking site. He was arrested and released on a ZERO $ i-bond and returned to the streets the very next day.

In November of 2020, Mr. Blackburn, while out on bond for the previous armed carjacking (class X felony – the worst in Illinois with a potential prison term of 60 years), was riding with a gangster friend. The two gangsters pulled up next to a new Dodge Durango, Mr. Blackburn jumped out armed with a Glock 19 with extended mag and modified with a switch. Mr. Blackburn decided to jack that Durango at gunpoint. The driver of the Durango drove off and Blackburn fired 14 rounds of 9mm ammo into that guys car severely injuring the driver. Because he drove off, Blackburn jacked a different car, a Lexus.. He pointed his switched auto Glock at the two people in the car and threatened to kill them. They jumped out and Blackburn jumped in and stole their car. He drove off and checked into a drug/prostitute/gangster infested motel in Cicero. He was caught there 3 days later in possession of the illegally modified Glock (Full Auto Glocks are banned by the feds for most people), illegally possessed Glock (he had no FOID and was under 21), stolen Glock (it’s highly illegal in Illinois to be in possession of a stolen handgun), illegally carried (no concealed carry permit), and heroin and the stolen car. The police arrested him and the prosecutor and judge released him back into society on a $4000 cash bond of which he had to put up 10%. YUP… he was back on the streets for $400.

In January of 2021, while out on bond 2x, 18 year old Mr Anthony Blackburn was spotted selling heroin on a street corner in Cicero. When he was frisked, the cops found another modified Glock gun. He was arrested again for possession w/intent + illegal possession of a firearm + illegally carrying a firearm + in possession of a modified machine pistol

All felonies.

While he was being processed through the Illinois state courts for the January 2021 arrest, the feds stepped in and charged him with 5 felony counts. They were…. (1) attempted aggravated carjacking of the Durango, (2) attempted aggravated carjacking of the Durango while armed with a gun, (3) aggravated carjacking of the Lexus, (4) aggravated carjacking of the Lexus while armed with a gun, (5) possession of a machine pistol. All at the federal level. The rest of his state level cases were then placed on hold.

Over the course of the last 3 years, Mr. Blackburn’s federal case has been resolved. He’s plead guilty to counts 3 and 4. The rest of the charges (including possession of a machinegun) were dropped and he’s about to be sentenced November 6, of 2024. He’s been given a level 31 sentencing points (the feds use that to determine incarceration period). Although he has many priors, the feds are treating him as a first time offender. The prosecutor and public defenders office have agreed to a sentencing range of 108 to 135 months imprisonment to serve 85% of that for good behavior. So his actual range is 92 to 115 months with an average of 8.5 years. That’s it. For all that perping. Chances are, he’s going to get about 8 years and he’s already served nearly 4. He’ll be back on the streets in 2029 to continue looting, shooting, robbing, and jacking every one and every car he sees… at a ripe old age of 26.

We Republicans don’t think Mr. Blackburn should be allowed to carry guns in public… ever. But YOU DEMOCRATS keep releasing him every time he gets caught using illegal guns to rob, shoot, and jack other democrats. Once released, he picks up another stolen gun from his OG and gets back to gangstering. WHY ARE YOU ALLOWING THIS? Why not prosecute thugs like that to death? Mr. Blackburn should be sentenced to forever in prison. Not freed to go skipping down the streets chanting gangster rap lyrics while carrying illegal handguns and shooting up the city.

AND….. there are 150,000 illegally armed Chicago gangsters just like Mr. Blackburn right now… doing the exact same 💩 and not being prosecuted by democrats.

All that is on YOU Democrats… not us Republicans.

MM is a little hungry

China Holds Massive Military Drills After Taiwan’s President Vows to ‘Resist Annexation’ w/ KJ Noh

The Chinese Military held a series of drills around the island of Taiwan this week, noting that they were meant to serve as a “stern deterrence to the separatist acts of Taiwan independence forces.” The exercises notably came days after Taiwan’s new president gave a speech, in which he vowed to “uphold the commitment to resist annexation,” and said his mission was to “stand side by side with democratic countries.”

Geopolitical Analyst KJ Noh noted that the speech from Taiwan’s president sounds like it was written in Washington, and it’s yet another reminder that while the U.S. claims to support the ‘One China Policy’ (which states that Taiwan is a part of China), that hasn’t stopped Washington from gearing up for war with Beijing, using its proxies in Taiwan.

Interiors

The U.S. and ISRAEL are in a State of Shock: IRAN Received Destructive Weapon From RUSSIA

In the future, would it be better living in China or Japan?

I’m Chinese girl and I’m dating with a Japanese guy now. Have been to japan for several times , traveled to a lot of places (big cities and countryside), and lived with his family for a couple of weeks (including his sister, parents and even went to his grandparents’ house once, which covers basically all generations).

When comparing these two countries, we already know that Japan is a developed country and China is still developing country, which means your life experiences in Japan would be much better from both hardware and software perspectives.

But here are something I don’t like about Japan, and probably people wouldn’t know if they haven’t live there for a long period or have deeper relationship with Japanese people. Traveller could see the advancement but that’s just superficial.

These aspects (and in such big scale), as far as I know, can be seen only in Japan.

Japan is a weird country, really. It’s extraordinarily modernised and technologically advanced, but their minds, values and family relationships are so traditional, conservative and underdeveloped. It’s a bit common for many Japanese women to seek for next boyfriend when they’re still dating one, and money works better than anything if a man wants to win her heart.
For Japanese people, especially males, the achievement and devotion in their life career outweighs anything else, including family. So it’s very common that a Japanese man works at another city or country for years or even decades according to the order of his company, and his wife and children wouldn’t feel anything bad. For Chinese or Westerners, if our love ones lives in a city while there’s a great opportunity for self-improvement in another county, most people prefer staying with their lovers, which sounds stupid to Japanese.
I guess gender stereotypes could be reason for 1 and 2. Gender stereotypes and inequalities are too common in Japanese society. (Well this is also true for many parts of China, but personally I would say in Japan it’s more severe and mosy Japanese people have little intention for changing.)
Japan, as I know, is a nation with the most severe conformity. Although there are some mavericks in big cities like Tokyo, they are actually never accepted by main stream. For a Japanese student or employer, the most horrible things (which could lead to depression) is being excluded by others. For example, my boyfriend never leave a party before it ends, even if me or his family needs him. His sister gets home after 21:00 (sometimes even 24:00) everyday because there’s gathering of colleagues after work. Though they are in fact tired and have to get up around 6:00 next morning, they never make absence.
In Japan, life-time employment is still the main stream and valued by most people. Resignation is sometimes more severe than divorce for the more traditional.
In order to be part of conformity, except for making no absence in every gathering, when other people are working overtime, some Japanese people stays at workplace too, even if they don’t have that much work to do.
Update: as mentioned by the anonymous answerer, most Japanese people lacks international views. Some international students I know said they’ve been asked several times by Japanese students about “is there coca-cola in your country?”
Update: averagely, Japanese youngsters are degenerating. More and more young people are becoming lacking of responsibility, honesty and motivation. Education is foundamental for longterm development, and its effect can’t be seen until decades later. I think Chinese extraordinary youngsters beats Japanese excellent ones in both number and quality. However, suffering from regional development imbalances, Chinese youth education is still worse off than Japan on average scale.

It will make you astonished when you compare Japan’s modernisation and technology advancement with its underdeveloped and traditional mind-state. Though some Japanese youngsters are changing their mind, the main tendency of society remains.

If you’re planning to work in China or Japan, I’d say China is better. Chinese people are comparatively more open minded. If you’re planning to travel, both countries have plenty to do and see, and the experience might be more satisfying in Japan considering its advancement.

(Update: things I said about China are mainly about big cities, which are the only places comparable to Japan.)

Should we stop depending on China products and therefore economy?

India?

As an Indian, I want three things for India

A. Indigenous Technology – either Critical Or Core Technology exclusively owned by an Indian Entity or Multiple Indian Entities

B. Affordable Quality Products for the Middle Class

C. Low Income Inequality

I want them as early as possible

I care about these things far more than National Pride

Deng Xiaoping bent the knee to Japan which had done a thousand times more damage to China with thousand times more savagery than any heinous act China perpetrated in its modern history

If Deng can forget National Pride for Country,I am certain – India should absolutely do the same

Next?

I hate the constant empty noise made by Indians and Indian leaders

Like Piyush Goyal who wants to roll out 6G

Fourteen countries have already started with Korea and China nearly at the finish line and with pilot projects and Musk also nearly there

This guy is an IITian????

Who will take him seriously if he makes such statements?

Show me India can achieve all this by not depending on Chinese Products and China and our economy can actually develop towards these four goals I mentioned

A. Technology ownership

B. Affordable production and pricing

C. Low income inequality

D. Stop generation of GAS

If you can convince me, then I will agree

I believe in the opposite

I believe China is crucial for India to move ahead today

Chicken Noodle Soup

The Classic Kid-Favorite! When mealtime hits and bellies start growling, turn to a classic to keep your kids full and satisfied. Chicken Noodle Soup has always been a favorite among children, so keep tradition alive in your family with this scrumptious recipe.

Ingredients

Broth

1 (3 pound) chicken, liver discarded
2 1/2 quarts cold water
4 carrots, peeled and cut into bite-size pieces
2 onions, peeled
2 celery stalks with leaves, cut into 4 pieces
6 cloves garlic, peeled
2 fresh thyme sprigs or 1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt
1 teaspoon whole black peppercorns

Soup

1 cup small pasta, cooked
1 cup frozen peas, thawed
1/8 teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon pepper
2 tablespoons fresh dill, chopped
2 tablespoons fresh parsley, chopped

Instructions

Broth

In a large pot over high heat, bring chicken and all remaining broth ingredients to boil. Reduce heat to low; skim surface of broth to remove foam. Let simmer for 1 1/2 hours, skimming occasionally, and turning chicken. Add more water if necessary to keep chicken submerged.
Remove chicken with tongs and cool. Strain broth through fine sieve. Discard celery, herbs and spices. Reserve onions and carrots. Remove any excess fat from top of broth with spoon.
Pull chicken meat from bones and discard skin and bones. Dice chicken and reserve. Quarter cooked onions, if desired.

Soup

In a large pot over high heat, return strained chicken broth and bring to rolling boil. Add reserved onions and carrots. Reduce heat to low; stir in reserved chicken meat, pasta and frozen peas, cooking until warm.
Season with salt and pepper.
Ladle soup into bowls and top with dill and parsley.

The Big Plan for Victory over the Hegemon, or What is Zelensky smoking in the Rada?

By Marat Khairullin

Zinderneuf

Oct 18, 2024

Hitler Zelensky presented his “victory plan” in the Verkhovna Rada. The plan is very simple and consists of three words – give, give, give. The problem is that the Ukrainian Fuhrer has already been given and quite a lot during 2022 and 2023.

There is nothing more to give, but Zelensky still asks. For what? To keep the stupid Ukies in the trenches, because while the Ukies, charmed by fairy tales about Europe and great America, are dying, Zelensky and his gang are making good money. Here, perhaps, it is worth citing a few sobering figures about the state of the hegemon – this decrepit state is no longer capable of participating in conflicts around the world, it is not even able to provide for its own army.

This story is not for the faint of heart, so let’s start with something simple and then work our way up.

So, in 2024, the Pentagon budget was a record 860 billion dollars. If we evaluate it in so-called constant dollars (a certain average dollar taking into account the purchasing power in each specific year), it turns out that this is higher than during World War II, when about three hundred billion dollars were spent per year, and higher than during the Korean War of 1952 (844 billion) and the Vietnam War (715 billion). US military spending was higher only when the country was waging two wars in Iraq and Afghanistan – in the peak year of 2010 (977 billion). In other words, now the US, according to military budget figures, is waging about one and a half wars, that is, Ukraine is comparable to the Korean or Vietnam campaigns.

The problem for the US is that even in 2010, there was enough money and, most importantly, material and technical and human resources, but in 2024 there is not enough of anything.

Formally, the same amount of money is a lot, but in reality almost 500 billion dollars of the named amount are salaries and current maintenance (operation). Only 150 billion dollars are allocated for the purchase of new equipment, but here too the devil is in the details. During the Vietnam War, the number of the US army was more than three million people, now it is less than one and a half million. At the same time, the cost of spending on one soldier was and is 70 and 160 thousand “constant” dollars, respectively. That is, the army is smaller, but it costs more.

Moreover, the US has already started to delay salaries for military personnel. This fact is carefully hidden and disguised – in some cases, the leadership of military units is forced to resort to loans to pay salaries to soldiers. This looks like complete idiocy, but the US military has a colossal hidden credit debt.

My journalistic investigation on this topic is still in the development stage – wait for it, you will be simply amazed. Let me emphasize once again that this is a consequence of the fact that the US is ceasing to properly finance its army. For example, the US Army’s funding deficit under the “mandatory retirement” item is 70 billion a year. The Pentagon has not paid contributions to the US pension fund for five years (another 50 billion dollars per year). It’s like our social tax – if an enterprise stops paying it, then the next day, all its accounts are blocked. And in the US Army, the accumulated future debt under pension items alone is a colossal sum of several trillion dollars; roughly speaking, the country has stopped paying pensions to its own military. But this is only the tip of the iceberg.

In fact, few people know that the so-called full military budget of the United States is not 800 plus billion, but 1.2 trillion per year! Almost five hundred billion are payments to the disabled, pensioners, various benefits, etc. Remember all those horror stories about aspirin tablets in the ambulance for a thousand dollars. Well, the US spends 27 percent of its national budget on all these health insurance programs and other social services for mandatory categories of citizens (government employees, veterans, etc.). Plus another 12 percent in total on national defense.

Almost 40 percent of the largest national budget in the world, and still no one has enough! Still thousands of drug addicts and homeless people on the streets, still the army is falling apart! In the US Army of 2024, for example, there is not enough money to provide for the minimum required flight time for its pilots, or enough for the “shooting practice” of its artillerymen, and tankers go to the training ground once every two or three years. And most often, they do not shoot – there are no shells. Financing of the SNF (strategic nuclear forces) is carried out on a residual basis and is reduced from year to year.

Our country, for contrast, is currently developing about 16 types of strategic nuclear warhead carriers (that’s what is known) – the US has not developed a single one. Even this imbalance can be used to judge that something is wrong with the world’s most powerful economy. However, let’s move on.

During the Korean War, the US spent only 0.7 percent of its military budget on so-called support agencies. Now, pay attention, it’s more than 20! In other words, 160 billion for the activities of auxiliary agencies, services, sub-services, directorates and other crap – there are thousands of them in the US Army, and they cannot be accounted for in any real way.

One of the consequences of such a situation is the catastrophically decaying infrastructure of the United States. There are so many problems in this country that they are not being solved in time. Three years ago, for example, the only plant producing conventional black powder burned down in the United States, and it has not been restored to this day. This is the current state of the US defense industry – if a plant, God forbid, stops, it can no longer be restored.

Over the past 20 years, more than two million people have left the US defense industry (there were three, now there is one million), and the outflow continues. Let’s continue on.

Even today, the US can not provide its army with what it needs. Of the original fifty general contractors, only five remain, about a third have been restructured and absorbed by large holdings, and two-thirds have simply disappeared. In just five years, the US defense sector has lost 17,000 companies – think about it! Three thousand high-tech defense firms in the US simply disappear every year.

America has forgotten how to make not only black powder, but it will also soon, apparently, stop producing ordinary screws. Against the backdrop of Zelensky’s “getting high” in the Verkhovna Rada, I think we only need to worry about one thing – that more and more Fuhrers are born around the world on the payroll of the hegemon. Let them draw strength from it. Moreover, all these scumbags on the payroll of the US have managed to do so much in the world under the American umbrella that many decent nations want to settle accounts with them. Africa alone is worth something. We must simply support them with all our might – sell high-quality and inexpensive weapons. Sell a lot. And earn a lot on this. Because it is all in the name of peace and justice.

Zelensky’s “Victory Plan” is a plan for our victory over the hegemon!

What was an oversight when you bought your current home?

I wish I had asked this before we bought our home.

THE NEIGHBORS!!

After three years living in the home I just found out that the neighbors are the reason that the seller moved.

Our house is three stories, completely remodeled and absolutely perfect.

HOWEVER, the neighbors to the north are old and literally stalk us. If we go outside they take photos and they stare from their upstairs window. The east side neighbors sell meth. They have constant traffic in and out. Two houses have been busted in the past year for meth but new people come in and start selling. South side house is empty and frequently has squatters and another neighbor pulled a knife on my husband for pulling up too close to his mailbox.

Check out your neighbors before moving! Seriously do offender and felon search before moving. Drive by on Friday nights to see how loud the street is. Take walks during various times.

I’d also like to suggest pretending you own the house and drive to work, the store, etc. during rush hour. We moved from a farm to a house just blocks from a busy intersection. After school or after 5:00, it takes a really long time to get out. With lines of parents after school and people trying to get home, it can take 30 minutes to drive two blocks and back.

Another thing to put in your offer is that you want to keep all fixtures. We came to our new home after closing to find wires hanging from the dining room ceiling where a stunning chandelier was.

Europe Is Plunging and the U.S. Economy Is Next – This Time China Won’t Help

The ECB just did another emergency rate cut, front-running the Federal Reserve again. This isn’t a sign of confidence, it shows the EU is desperate to save their economy. However, this isn’t solving the structural and geopolitical issues. Manufacturing costs are far too high and even China’s stimulus won’t save them. Here’s what you must know.

Dangerous Ink

Submitted into Contest #247 in response to: Imagine a world where exploration is forbidden, and write a story about a character who defies this rule to satisfy their innate curiosity.… view prompt

Torvi Skarsgaard

Thirty years ago, a stranger saved me by purchasing my life. I cost one pound of coffee and two pounds of sugar. It was the opinion of everyone in the village the stranger had overpaid.The gates of my village closed behind us the next day, and I began to cry. The stranger stared at me and climbed onto his two-wheeled machine, beckoning me to do the same. I had been bought, so I did as he desired, holding on to his waist and letting go of my family. The roar of the machine drowned out my sobs, but nothing could still the fear in my heart or quell the unease in my soul.Until I saw the ocean.__________“Your dad told me your name’s Ophelia. Pretty.” The stranger looked out over the Pacific Ocean as he spoke, his words whipping around in the breeze.Ophelia nodded, also staring at the ocean, but for her it was different. She had never seen such a vast amount of water. She cringed slightly as waves crashed against the rocks below, fearing the power that they brought.“My name’s Zale.”Ophelia faced the man who bought her, eyes blazing. Her fear had left her as soon as she saw the ocean, but she couldn’t say why. Not yet.“You aimin’ to have your way with me?”Zale turned an icy glare on Ophelia. He shook his head and walked back to his Harley.Ophelia continued to stare at the endless waters, imagining all sorts of fantastic creatures under the waves, wondering what their lives were like. A breath of sadness entered her soul. This was the sort of thing that got her in trouble. Imagining things. Wanting to know more. Becoming the property of a stranger.She heard the powerful burble of Zale’s motorcycle and trotted toward it. Her decision had been made. Any man who wants me to see this is a man worth exploring.Just like books.____________________I can’t say that I liked Zale right off, but he was interesting. And me? I had always been interested in seeing what was outside the village. We traveled for weeks, and camped within the sound of the ocean each night. I soaked up the sights, listened to his tales, enjoyed life outside the high village walls. The evil land that the Ruling Council talked about didn’t seem so evil. It was intriguing, like the mystery of existence.Zale caught fish — mainly salmon — from rivers, and picked blackberries and nuts along the way. He killed a deer one day, with a bow and arrow, and roasted its meat. I had never tasted anything so different, so wonderful. I had been with him for a month and he had given me experiences beyond anything I had ever dreamed of.He never asked me why I chose to stay with him. He let me be me. I was allowed to bathe in private, and to enjoy solitude when I desired. His actions declared me autonomous and independent. Bought and sold, yes, but free. This was a concept that took some getting used to, for village life taught me obligations and rules but never anything about liberty. Liberty was bad.Criminal, as it turned out.

______________

“They locked me away because I went to a forbidden place and brought back forbidden stuff.”

Zale looked up from the fire, his eyes asking Ophelia for more but not demanding it. Ophelia sensed that it was the right time to confide in a man she barely knew. After all, he had shown her an ocean and had fed her meat. The man deserved something, and all she had to give was her history.

“I used to sneak out of my bedroom and squiggle under the fence. One night, I found the Forbidden Building. Big! And full of books. I found some that I really liked. They had pictures of a funny-looking cat wearin’ a funny-looking hat. And a green furry animal that walked on two legs and had cheeks like a squirrel. And all sorts of red fish and blue fish and green fish and, well, I liked those books. So I took some of ‘em home and hid ‘em under my bed. My mamma found ‘em and that’s when they locked me up.”

Zale didn’t laugh. The story was too sad to be humorous, worthy only of a melancholy smile.

“Owning books has been a crime for years. I’m surprised they didn’t stone you to death.”

Ophelia shuddered. “They wanted to, but my daddy’s on the Ruling Council, so they gave me twenty years of confinement. Two years later, you bought me.”

Zale poked the fire, sending a riot of sparks cascading to the heavens. “Your daddy was weak.”

Ophelia bristled. “My daddy loved me!”

Flames licked the air, and the flickering light alternated between shadow and illumination. The chill in the air became noticeable.

“Yes, he did. Just enough to save your life, but not enough to make your life matter. It’s the bane of mankind. Take religion. We tolerated each other just enough to think we satisfied God, but not enough to stop killing each other over the interpretations of His words.”

Ophelia felt the truth of this, but it rankled her. She turned away from Zale and feigned sleep, her mind a whirl of conflicting, disturbing thoughts. An hour later, she heard Zale preparing for sleep. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of wishing him a good night because she wasn’t going to have one, and she feared that this new awareness of her father’s character would cause a lot of sleepless nights.

Zale slept soundly.

______________

Zale told me more about the Dangerous Ink Law. All the powerful nations passed a law that forbade any book dealing with opinions, insights, or beliefs. Mankind was on the brink of collapse, and it had been determined that such books brought it about. There was only one punishment for owning a work of fiction or belief, and that was death by stoning.

A lot of people defied the law, and a lot of people were stoned. Libraries were locked up, and plans were being made to burn the houses of the forbidden books. Then the world ended.

______________

Zale opened the door. Ophelia stepped in and gasped at the size of the house. Zale drew back the curtains in the living area, and the setting sun lit up the space, bringing it alive.

“My house. One of ‘em, anyway. The furniture’s old but serviceable.”

Ophelia went upstairs, marveling at a house that had another house on top of it. She opened doors. She explored.

“Take whichever bedroom you want. Mine’s at the end.”

Ophelia picked the bedroom farthest from Zale.

They met downstairs a few minutes later, on the front patio. Ophelia sat across from him, gazing at an ocean that never ceased to amaze her.

“Why here?” Ophelia had seen many houses on their journey, and she made up stories in her head about the people who used to live in such fine places.

Zale pointed to the north. Ophelia squinted, trying to locate what Zale was pointing at. Finally, she saw it.

A man!

They hadn’t seen anyone in the four months they had been traveling. Ophelia was beginning to believe that the only people on this earth were the villagers and Zale.

“Who is he? Is he dangerous?”

Ophelia’s heart pounded. Her new life had been amazing, but she would trade it all, right now, to be safe from others.

“No.”

Ophelia wasn’t comforted by Zale’s one-word response. After four months of searching her soul, she had become determined to trust Zale, and it had taken its toll. Getting used to another person in her life was more than she was willing to take on.

“How do you know?”

He told her.

______________

Zale had been stoned for doing what I had done: own books. Only, he didn’t die. I suppose that’s obvious, but I’ve seen people stoned to death. It’s gruesome and bloody and sickening. No one can survive it.

Zale did.

We sat on the patio while he recounted the experience. He told me about it with so little emotion! I don’t know how the man couldn’t break down from such a horrible experience, but he seemed calm, almost peaceful, as the words slipped out of his mouth.

His dad and some other villagers tossed his body in the woods after the stoning, not even bothering to give him a proper burial. Turns out, that was a good thing. An old man and his wife found him and nursed him back to health. The old man Zale had pointed out to me.

Later that night, Zale told me the rest of the story. It was a warm summer night in July, and the breeze from the murmuring ocean was a welcome relief. I felt the peace of an empty land as it kissed the endless waters. I recall the night with vivid detail because it was the night I fell in love with Zale.

______________

Zale continued his tale. “They brought me here, a good five hundred miles from where they found me. I don’t know why they saved me, but I’m grateful. Juan and Consuela, just a couple of old Mexicans who want to live their lives and move on to the next life, or so Juan said.”

Ophelia sipped some wine, something only the Ruling Council was allowed to drink. It was a little sweet, a little bitter, and made her feel like the world could be a better place someday. Zale smoked a cigarette. She declined to try this, fearing anything that made one breathe out smoke.

“After I was able to take care of myself, I vowed to get revenge. Juan couldn’t stop me, but he asked me to do something first.”

Ophelia looked at Zale. Even in the gloom of the evening, she could see a hardness to his face that hadn’t been there before. She didn’t ask any questions, though she was burning to do so. Better to let him tell it in his own time.

“He wanted me to learn how to read. Said he could teach me. Well, hell, Juan and Consuela saved my life, so I figured I owed ‘em. He taught me to read the books that almost got me killed. And many, many more. Lots of philosophy books. Adventure books. Mysteries. Romances. Thrillers. The holy books of religion.”

Zale paused to light another cigarette. Ophelia sensed that this was difficult for him, the recounting of his need for vengeance. She understood that need.

“Five years and 200 books later, Juan and Consuela loosed me from my obligation to them. Juan gave me a motorcycle, a bow and ten arrows, and sent me on my way.”

Ophelia gazed at Zale’s face. It was hard and unforgiving, like a stone.

“I found my father in the fields a few days later. I stood ten yards away from him and yelled his name. When he turned to me, all the blood left his face. He stared at me and started crying, begging me to kill him and put him out of his misery.”

Zale stood and paced the patio, his agitation not allowing him to sit still.

“So I did.”

Ophelia watched Zale closely as he sat back down. He wiped some perspiration from his forehead and lit another cigarette, breathing easier. Zale became Zale once more.

“You – you killed your father?”

“No. I hugged him and told him I forgave him.”

______________

We stayed here through the summer before traveling south. We talked of many things, but mainly about how the world ended. The UKP-223 virus. How odd that something we can’t see can do so much damage. A little bug that attacked the body.

Almost everyone died. The few people who lived had a rough time of it, and many died of attrition. The remaining survivors formed bands, for protection and to raid others for goods. Within a decade, humanity had been virtually extinguished. I could attest to that. Zale and I had been together for almost a year now, and we had seen no more than a handful of small villages.

I began my lessons in reading. Imagine how excited I was to know that, in time, I would be able to understand those strange symbols. The secrets forbidden me were to be laid open! Oh, how my father would detest me if he knew.

But not as much as I detested him. I reflected upon his deeds, and the deeds of the other villagers. They had outlawed the free trade of ideas in exchange for a harsh, unforgiving life, and this, I supposed, was because they were cowardly.

My reading had taught me a new word to describe how I felt about the Ruling Council, and especially my dad.

Pity.

______________

“It used to be called Cabo San Lucas.” Zale rowed out past the marina and into the ocean. Ophelia threw out three fishing lines and waited for something to nibble.

“What’s it called now?”

Zale grinned. “Anything you want to call it.”

The day passed, slowly but pleasantly. The couple caught three red snappers and grilled them on the beach, feasting on the delicate meat.

Ophelia, full of fish and feeling philosophical, bit an apple and gazed at it in the dying light.

“I blame God. If this is the end of the world, it’s His fault for putting the apple tree in The Garden in the first place.”

Zale laughed. “It’s easy to blame the fisherman for the hook caught in your finger.”

“Admit it, He put temptation there.”

Zale stood up, brushed sand from his clothes, and pulled Ophelia up. They walked along the beach, watching the ever-present waves try to overtake the land.

“I admit nothing but the presence of free will. Right now, I’m hoping you’re willing to —”

Ophelia kissed Zale, and all thoughts of God and free will dissipated.

______________

It took me ten years to accept Zale’s allegory about the fisherman and the hook. He didn’t get a chance to witness it.

______________

“Ok, you son of a bitch!” Ophelia kicked the dirt beside his grave. “I buried you next to Juan and Consuela. Happy?”

Ophelia, for the last time in her life, cried. Her tears, unabated, ran down her face in rivulets, falling silently next to Zale’s grave. She cried until she could cry no more. She moaned and screamed until her throat was raw, she beat the ground with her shovel, punishing it for housing the man she now had to do without.

Ophelia blew her nose and wiped her face, spent from exertion and emotion, empty and aching and shattered. She trudged to the house and slept a dreamless sleep.

______________

I understand the world now. The apple is not evil. The stone is not deadly. The ink is not dangerous. It’s the heart of man that caused the world to end. The Great Virus was simply the executioner.

I stop by Zale’s grave from time to time and relay this insight — and other pearls of wisdom — to him, but I bet he isn’t listening. Why should he? The man has been gone for almost twenty years; if he had anything to say to me, he would have said it.

Well, he was the lucky one. He never had to live with a heart under constant repair.

______________

Ophelia sat beside the fresh flowers around Zale’s grave, and gave a respectful nod to Juan and Consuela. A few bees investigated the flowers, found nothing of interest, and flew away to other, more promising flora.

“Well. The big news is that I’m getting pudgy. Can you believe it? That waif you bought twenty-five years ago is finally filling out. I blame the gardens. All I eat is from the gardens. When you died, I lost my taste for fish. But I understand the nature of fishhooks a lot better now. Ha! You should get a kick out of that.”

Ophelia plucked a weed from the spot directly above Zale’s head. The dew-laden, verdant grass sparkled in the early-morning light, a few blades bending to the gentle, fitful breeze. The ocean’s roar had subsided to a murmur, but it was ever-present and comforting to Ophelia, a thing that never changed, though everything all around it had changed.

“Not much else to say. Maybe I’ll come by tomorrow. I need to exercise some, I think, and some brisk walks along this path would do me good.”

Ophelia stood, brushing off her clothes and pushing the hair back from her face, letting the growing breeze cool her. She looked toward the blue waters, but she didn’t dwell on the lives of the fish under the surface. Not any longer. The days of dreaming about possibilities in an impossible world were gone.

“I miss you like hell.”

The sea understood. So did Zale.

If the Iranian missiles caused no damage in the recent attack on Israel why is the US sending THAAD missiles and a team team of a hundred men to Israel to operate them? If Iran targets and destroys them will this drag the US into a war with Iran?

You answered your own question 😁

The Previous time Iran launched missiles against Israel, US didn’t bring in the THAAD system

Now they rush in the THAAD system to prepare Israel in the event of significant bombardment

Conclusion – Iranian Missiles did a boatload of damage to Israel

The fact that THAAD is being sent is serious business

Usually PATRIOT is sufficient to handle threat from Cruise Missiles & Incoming Aircraft but the Patriots in Ukraine have been taken apart by the Russians

THAAD is exclusively for Ballistic missiles

It also means the Arrow 3 missile system in Israel is not upto the mark or not yet strong enough to handle a barrage of incoming ballistic missiles

American Industries Are Collapsing

Russia-China Sign “Partnership Pact”

Hal Turner World October 16, 2024

Russian President Vladimir Putin and Chinese President Xi Jin Ping have just signed a “partnership pact.”

Russia agrees to support China’s goals in Taiwan. China agrees to support Russia’s goals in Ukraine.

Jointly they condemn the United States.

Scale models and stuff

What was the most insane party you’ve ever attended?

Three years ago, the house behind mine had two teenagers living by themselves in a large home. The owner was in jail. Nobody was really monitoring these teens but they still went to school.

Don’t ask me for any more logistics on their situation because I really don’t understand how in the hell that all came to be.

It was a big nice house, too big and too nice for two teens.

One Saturday, they threw a wilder party than I’ve ever seen in my life.

I felt like I was attending it despite sitting right where I am now typing this in my own house.

That day I was doing economics homework for grad school that required actual thinking.

My windows were vibrating from the music. I could hear girls laughing really loud. Guys yelling.

People were dancing. This was that crazy American party you’ve seen in the movies. Nothing short of it.

I shared a backyard fence with them, so I was able to see everything. There were easily 200+ people at this party. They had special concert style speakers they’d brought in and mounted on the back porch.

A few hours later, after I’d put ear plugs in, I was studying at a window that faces the side of my house.

I suddenly see a person run by my window.

Why the hell are people on my property….I can’t host a party too…..nonononono.

I walked through my house, to the backyard, on the pack porch to see chaos unfolding. There were people crawling over the fence, rolling over the sides and falling to the ground in my yard, like rats escaping a sinking boat.

They are jogging past my house and out into the street.

The cops were raiding the party and apparently a lot of these kids were underage.

My, how times have changed.

Whereas years ago, I’d easily be one of those teens crawling over the fence, terrified of a phone call my parents would get from the cops, I was now offering asylum to them.

Remove One Thing and Change a Landscape Forever

Submitted into Contest #243 in response to: Write a story imagining ‘what if’ one historic invention had never happened. How would our world be different now?… view prompt

Keelan LaForge

Isla awoke in her closeted existence. She’d always lived, safe and sound, with her family. She was thirty-three, but she felt no inclination to leave, or to travel further afield. She didn’t know what was out there, and that scared her. Some people are made to be adventurers, but she was a homebody. She loved it all: the scent of the coal fire that came from the living room downstairs, the sense of community in her closeknit neighbourhood, the fact that the sick cared for the sick; they didn’t just run and dig their heads into the ground like evasive ostriches whenever something went wrong. They were happy with the toils that came along with being alive. It was just part of the intricately woven story of life. There were lulls and there were leaps; there were times of turmoil and times to treasure.Isla had grown up in a big family. She had so many siblings that sometimes even she lost count. They had always shared bedrooms. The house they lived in didn’t allow for the separation that typically came with age and the awakening of independence. Isla didn’t mind it; she didn’t know any other way. Perhaps it is only through observing other existences that people learn to covet alternative lives. She could think of a handful of personalities she’d encountered in her lifetime that had given her the urge to run away. But all in all, she was happy with her lot in life.She had an interest in history, both in her family tree and in the wider world. She was a curious person, whenever it came to reading about other worlds, but she had never seen one. As soon as the newspapers came off the press, she lifted one, feeling the rough tissue of it between her fingertips, coating them in black ink. It was a sensory experience as much as it was a cerebral one. She’d curl up in the wicker chair she’d been told had survived for generations in her family. There was no evidence of this, other than the stories she had heard of it. It had been the seat where her grandmother sat between washing sessions, it was the chair in which her sister Isabelle sat and cried at perceived wrongs she felt, it was the chair in which she had sat herself, learning how to tie her shoelaces. It was a rooting point, and she couldn’t imagine a life without it. She wondered about its origins, but whenever she asked an elder in the family, they were unable to give her a concrete story of its derivation. She cherished it, like a person typically cradles a family album, vowing never to leave it behind, whatever strength of fire might rage in the home around it. People did what they could to preserve the parts of themselves they couldn’t truly hold on to.Isla finished her chores. They were equally distributed so that no one had to spend too much time being busy nor too much time being idle. She willingly cleaned the floors until they shone. She took pride in her housekeeping. The house in which they lived was the absolute centre of her existence. Sometimes, Isla wished she wasn’t so easily pleased – that she wanted to go on real voyages, but she knew she never would solo. She was too scared. Her life had been so well contained that once the lid was removed, she still felt no temptation to jump out.Isla’s brother, Neil, came into the room carrying the duster and polish. “I have to do the surfaces today,” he said. “Do you need to move anything of yours first?”She looked at a book that was sitting on her bedside table. It contained sketches of almost everything she had ever seen. She didn’t want him to see it; it was private. Neil wasn’t the kind of guy to purposely intrude on her privacy, but some things happened accidentally in the process of thorough cleaning. The only thing that saddened Isla that day was the thought that there were no printed pictures to accompany her own naïve drawings. She drew in a way that was only a step above stick figures, but it somehow captured the energy of everything around her more than a detailed portrait ever could. Still, it was good to have a point of reference.She turned the overhead light on, and the room became illuminated. The coloured lamps were switched on, one by one, making rainbow patterns on the ceiling. And there was Christian, Isla thought, her favourite brother, missing everything in exchange for a worldwide traveling experience. They hadn’t heard from him. The letters had been scant at first, and then they had ceased altogether. He was busy with his uncovering of the wider world. Isla felt forgotten about, so she tried to focus her attentions on the siblings that surrounded her instead. She felt an equilibrium that she knew Christian had always lacked. They were just different kinds of personalities. Still, the love between them was unwavering. It would outlast their bodies and their lives on Earth.Her mother came into the room to admire their efforts. She showed no hint of annoyance at the fact that her children didn’t feel the desire to move out. They were permanent fixtures in her home, and she was glad of that since she had no real reminder of her parents. Once a person departed the world, their image was forever forgotten, apart from in hazy memory. She knew little of her son Christian’s life either. She’d seen it in written word, but she’d never experienced in. She was settled in her own small world, and she didn’t feel the need to explore the greater one. She hadn’t seen images of it that lured her from her home. It was a mystery so far removed from her own place that it felt like it would forever remain foreign.Isla was curious but she wasn’t a person that wanted to physically move around. She didn’t have the travel bug her brother possessed. Sometimes, just sometimes, in the quietest hours of night, whenever she missed him the most, she wished she had a way of seeing him – like a piece of paper torn from one of her informative newspapers, but one with bright colours, a copy of her brother, a still of his smile. If only you could capture the things you loved in picture form, less would be forgotten.

Our Generation Is Truly MESSED Up

This is very funny.

What school rule had to be put in place because of you?

For high school, I went to a boarding school that had “formal dinner” four times a week: Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday. Men were to wear a coat and tie, and women a nice dress.

So I’m getting dressed for my first formal dinner ever, and I had never learned to tie a tie, and was quite shy, and didn’t want to ask for help. Instead, I put on a nice black turtleneck with my sportscoat and slacks.

No one said anything. I continued to do this for years. I was the only one.

Then, senior year comes around, I’m less shy and I’m hanging out with dorm mates, and someone finally asks me: how come you get to wear a turtleneck to formal dinner?

They were shocked to learn that I didn’t ask anyone and just did it. It seemed the entire school just assumed I had some bizarre medical condition that meant I couldn’t wear a tie. And not a soul had asked me about it, for more than 3 years.

So the next formal dinner, 5 guys from my dorm are wearing turtlenecks. The next, it’s like 25 guys from various dorms. The next, it looks like a Steve Jobs impersonator convention: 2/3 of the guys in turtlenecks, including one of the younger faculty members.

AI-generated image of the trend starting

At the following morning’s assembly, the dean announced that the school’s Code of Conduct had been updated: turtlenecks were not considered appropriate attire for formal dinner.

I’m hearing the news and thinking crap when they asked why I was allowed to wear turtlenecks I should have just made something up.

But then the dean continues “.. except for Charles. Charles can still wear a turtleneck.”

Half the school had been looking at me from the moment turtlenecks had been mentioned, so a lot of people saw me go through a cycle of shock, then fear, then relief, and were cracking up.

My understanding is that the school’s Code of Conduct actually has my name in it. Every now and then, someone asks why, and gets this story.

That also means that I could visit the school sometime, attend a formal dinner, and wear my signature turtleneck.

Which is good, because I still can’t tie a tie without referring to notes.

‘‘US will default’: Sovereign Debt Collapse To Flip Global Monetary System | Andy Schectman’ — Sean Foo YouTube channel

Previous presidents, but particularly Joe Biden, has ruined the US dollar as a world reserve currency through sanctions, tariffs, a genocide, and the confiscation of sovereign assets. Trump is threatening 100% sanctions on any country that doesn’t use the US dollar as a reserve currency. That would hasten the fall of the US dollar.

Joe Biden weaponized the US dollar, and as a consequence, the US will pay for it. For this reason and others, Joe Biden will go down as one of the worst presidents in US history. Video 1 is Sean Foo’s YouTube show.

Have you ever walked into your home and known something wasn’t right? What happened?

My mother was terminally ill in the hospital with cancer. My husband and I had a 5 month old baby boy and I was basically responsible for staying with my mother during the day as she needed to be in cuffs and restraints due to her confusion and medications. My husband did not want to spend his day off with our son at home. I had been farming him out to family friends and my friends so I could be with Mom daily. Well I left my husband with our son and spent the day with Mom. When I got home, as soon as I walked in the door I could tell that something was so very wrong. Our son was lying on the floor on a blanket sucking on a bottle and smiling. My husband was working on a washing machine in the laundry room and for some reason I just went back there and asked him calmly how was your day. He said fine but he didn’t look at me. I went back and got shivers all over my body and for some reason undressed my son who was in a cute onesie. 5 months old and he had bruises from his shoulder blades down to his buttocks. I calmly redressed him and went and asked my husband quietly what had happened. He said nothing so I went back and looked at the baby again. Then I went back out there, got in his face. He said the baby had been crying and wouldn’t stop and he lost his temper. He then cried crocodile tears. He had lost his temper with our son and repeatedly hit him. We went to the emergency room, had him checked out. He was fine. Needless to say I never left him alone with his son again and within a year we were divorced. I never had that intuition or feeling before, and never have since.

Aliens on the Mend

Submitted into Contest #243 in response to: Write a story about a character who wakes up in space.… view prompt

Pete Gautchier

Aliens on the Mend

I did not grow up in Roswell, NM. I was not enticed by the alien aura that permeates the atmosphere of this fine town. I am a guy who needs visual evidence to support any theories or special scientific mumbo-jumbo. Many years ago, I bought a few remote, parcels of land throughout Chaves County. My hook was farming. Farming peppers (hot, and I mean hot like ghost peppers). Sounds strange, but I had this sixth sense that peppers would become popular in the coming age with all this “culinary finessed” eating. So, I moved my hulky self to this semi-arid, rugged territory.

My name is Dan. I am generally a loner except for a few docile sheep on my farm. I do have three hired hands who help me tend to the fields. Their names are Chad, Michel, and Diego. Together, we are a motley crew. We have become good friends over the years. I consider myself an optimistic fellow, but I still have lingering doubts about my ability to farm these delicacies. This hot weather can really take its toll on a person, especially when you are farming in it for 12-14 hours per day.

As I said, I am a hulking guy, very plain appearance with no distinguishing scars or features. Nothing a girl would find all that appealing; but I do have one marking, a tattoo, (a tatty zapper) on my forearm which I questioned at the time why I got it. It is a plain cross with the words below it ‘Jesus saves.’ I was raised in a small town with a single community church. I am not a spiritual, religious person. My tattoo came from an endorphin-ridden high from a church revival one evening on the outskirts of Roswell. My three amigos persuaded me to come one night to feel the power of God. I guess I must have felt His power once the tattoo artist began penetrating a rapid-fire needle into my arm! Ouch and ouch! It hurt for several days thereafter. Chad, Michel, and Diego got the same tattoo claiming they were filled with the Spirit. They wanted me to share in the experience.

Summer days in the pepper fields are wickedly hot. I wiped my dripping forehead with my exposed tattooed arm. I noticed how the tattoo seem to jump out of me from the moistened colors. I was taken aback, but proceeded with my collection of the ripe peppers. In my weakness I popped a few of the unripen gems. My head was spinning and I felt unsteady. When I looked at the horizon, I saw strange shapes which quickly disappeared and then reappeared; the cyclical flicker made me nauseous. Nothing seemed to happen except that my tatty zapper throbbed. I iced it down and then fell fast asleep not waking until the sun was popping over the horizon the next day.

Another sultry day out in the pepper fields with my three workers. The sun was incredibly more intense today than yesterday. The harvest was in session and we had to gather scores of peppers for transport to the drying operations. My comrades were feeling queasy expressing a desire to suspend the harvest. They too had been munching on a few of the peppers. I realized at that moment I had to incentivize their labor or I would be stuck out in the fields on my own. I blurted out big things would come. I had not thought out that promise carefully before I said it.

We gathered for a late meal break; the sun dipped below the horizon casting an eerie reddish-purple haze. Our arms began to pulse with pain. Feverish, sweaty, hallucinating, a flash of blinding light encircled us. Before I could close my eyes, our bodies were paralyzed and prone like wood boards. My body seemed to dematerialize right before my eyes; the others were vanishing before me too. Just before I lost visual contact, I saw my friends become a cloud of energized particles. Then shazam; then poof!

We awoke finding ourselves sprawled out on a cold stone floor. Neither one of us knew where we were. After pinching each other we knew that our dream experience was the same. It was much more than that. From nowhere, a dozen armed men carrying unusual hardware motioned us to get up and follow them. No words were spoken. We knew what they meant. They led us into a stately decorated room. It appeared to be a royal or presidential meeting room. A gong sounded several times. From behind a massive doorway, a man entered dressed in royal regalia, opulent with diamonds, rubies, gold bracelets and crown, silken vestments, silver slippers. Oh boy, we are certainly in a predicament! The guards motioned us to kneel before this figure. Of course, it made no sense to resist because I did not want to be the first to experience the devices they readied for discharge.

Then, the figure spoke. “Welcome to my kingdom! This is the world of Bylonia. We are the Bylons, a people of great fortitude, great technological advancement, great power, great beauty…” And on and on he went about greatness. He said, “I am the Royal Potentate, Neezer of the Bylon people.” Ok, so far so good I thought to myself. Neezer then began a lengthy three-hour explanation as to why we were here; but, for the sake of brevity here is the gist of it: Neezer had been searching the galaxies far and wide for a sign; he was not really sure what that sign was, but when he found it, he knew it must be the one. Sure enough, we were that sign powered by an aura that was created from a mixture of our chemical sweat, the hot peppers, the blaring hot sun, and our tattoos. When his astrologists saw the luminescent aura from Earth, they notified the potentate. He ordered them to activate a dematerialization transport to extricate us from earth. And shazam! Then Poof! Here we kneel before some royally garbed lunatic. Neezer said we were hand-picked from the universe because of the aura we showed through the space and time continuum. The thought of going home seemed remote or impossible. So, we figured we would do what we had to do…which was survive! Remember, I did promise my guys big things would happen. I did not say what, however. “You are a sign from the heavens,” Neezer said finishing his discourse.

After some time, we acclimated into their lifestyle; however, Chad, Michel and Diego cautioned me of the eternal ramifications if we persisted in these pagan practices. We had to subtly refrain. I realized they were telling me this because I was naïve and not spiritual. So, we met in secret to pray and ask God for guidance through this ordeal.

There came a day when Neezer was beside himself. He had a dream. None of his astrologers, sorcerers, or magicians could even tell him about the dream. Failing was under penalty of death. Neezer was infuriated so he ordered them to be executed anyway. To my horror, Chad, Michel, Diego, and myself were part of that group. So, the four of us feverishly prayed to God in private. During the night, God gave me a vision; He gave me wisdom to interpret Neezer’s dream. I hastily went to the executioner pleading with him to let me speak to Neezer. I said to Neezer, “no person can explain your dream, but there is a God who reveals mysteries. He has given me the ability to share it with you. In your dream your Majesty, you saw a large statute-humungous, regal in appearance. It had a head made of pure gold; arms and chest made of silver, a torso of bronze, legs of iron and feet made of a mixture of iron and clay. As you watched a magnificent rock was hewn by the God who revealed this mystery to me. The rock struck the feet of the statute and all of it, was shattered to pieces becoming dust. The wind swept it away. The rock changed into a huge mountain filling the entire planet.” I added, “Now, this is what it means. The God of heaven has given your power and might over the all the people and beasts of the land. Everything is under your rule. Neezer, You are the head of gold. But after you another kingdom will come, inferior to yours; a third, the bronze will rule and finally a fourth kingdom, strong like iron which crushes everything. But, as a mixture, its people will not remain united. During those times the God of heaven will crush all kingdoms and setup a kingdom that will endure forever…this is the meaning of the rock hewn not from human hands, but from God Himself. Hearing this Neezer said, “Dan, Your God is a God of gods and Lord of lords for allowing you to reveal this mystery to me.” Neezer was impressed. There was no fear now that Neezer seemed to accept our God and His power.

Well, never trust a potentate at his word. I think the dream of the statute was still in his head.

He had the people construct an image of gold 90 feet tall and 9 feet wide outside the city! We could not figure out what it was, but it resembled a bust of his head! It was frightening! Neezer summoned everyone to attend the dedication of his statute. I hid. Then an announcement was made that at the sound of music all would fall prostrate on the ground to pay homage to the statute. Violators of this decree would be thrown into the nuclear accelerator. The atoms of their bodies would be smashed to oblivion. When I heard this, I stayed out of sight. Unfortunately for Chad, Michel and Diego they were caught red-handed by those jealous of their positions as outsiders. They saw the trio defy Neezer’s decree refusing to fall prostrate and worship the image. The royal guards brought them before Neezer. He said, “I will give you one more chance. When the music plays bow down or else you will feel my wrath in the accelerator!” Chad responded, “Not on your life Neezer! We will not do it even if our God does not save us! We will not worship your god.” Neezer looked like he was going to explode he was so angry. He ordered that the accelerator be set to obliterate at maximum intensity. The guards tied and tossed Chad, Michel, and Diego into the accelerator, but the guards were zapped into oblivion themselves. Then Neezer approached the entrance to the nuclear contraption. He was incredulous. He exclaimed, “look I see four men walking around in there unharmed and unbound. The fourth looks like a god.” He shouted, “Chad, Michel and Diego come out from there!” So, Chad, Michel, and Diego came out of accelerator unscathed. Not a mark or defect upon them. Neezer exclaimed, “Praise to their God who sent his angel to rescue his servants! They were willing to sacrifice themselves in defiance of me and not their own God. Because of this, I decree that anyone who says anything against their God will be chopped up into pieces. No other god can save in this way.” One would think that after all that had happened to the Potentate, he would have understood that our God was the God he should serve.

For the next year, Neezer still acted tyrannically to his people. As I had warned him, he was driven off into the wild sections of the planet. Finally, Neezer accepted our Most High God. Witnessing this did a number on my heart and soul. I pondered all that had happened. Neezer lived a short time after his sojourn in the wilderness. Nonetheless, he could not impart his new faith to his son, Shazz who reigned after his death.

Shazz was defiant, wanting to make a name for himself. He defiled any remembrance of the Most High God. He forced his people to praise the gods of gold, silver, bronze, iron, stone, wood. Anything that would make his kingdom wealthy and powerful was worshipped. During a celebratory banquet, a disembodied hand mysteriously appeared writing a message on the wall of the royal banquet hall. The banquet guests were deeply frightened especially Shazz. He summoned the magicians, astrologers, and sorcerers but no one could tell him what the words meant. A wife of Shazz urged him to have me brought to interpret the message. I was not exactly thrilled to do this, but I knew with God at my side ‘all things were possible. I told him the truth about how his father, Neezer accepted the Most High God, near the end of his days. “You, Shazz, with your cronies and party friends desecrated the Most High God by your worship and praise of wood and metal. The written words, ‘Mene, Tekel, Purpe’ mean God has numbered your reign and will bring it to end. You have been weighed on the scales of justice. Your kingdom will be divided and given to the Purpians and Madmen

(enemies to the Bylon empire.)

I thought I was a dead man. I guess it really did not matter because Shazz was assassinated by the Purpians the next day. Shazz was replaced by Ardius, a Madman, who like the rulers before thought he was god’s gift to the empire. He was in fact making himself a god. I promoted my exceptional gifts and qualities so Ardius took note of me. As is the case with foreigners in a foreign land, the natives took umbrage of Ardius’ favoritism towards me. They conspired against me by persuading Ardius to issue a decree that everyone must pray to him or be thrown into the pit of the most ravenous beast in the Purpian empire, the zillaraptor. Who is he to tell me when and to whom I should pray after all these years on this forsaken planet!? And, what is a zillaraptor anyway? Well, I would not stand for that. So, in my persistent stubbornness I got down on my knees and prayed to the Most High God.

I was immediately arrested and tossed into the pit. I protested saying, “O Ardius am I not worthy of a trial?” Ardius would only respond by saying, “May your God, whom you serve continuously and faithfully rescue you from the mouths of the zillaraptors.” I prayed through the night. Terror filled me when I saw that a zillaraptor was a voracious huge alien/man eater with dagger-like fangs, an elongated tongue with suction cups. It was reptilian-like with scales and parts like an alien dragon?

Ardius that night could not sleep so he went to the pit. He called out to me nervously, “Dan, Dan has your Most High God been able to rescue from the zillaraptors? I answered him, “My God sent an angel to shut the mouths of the zillaraptors because He found me innocent. Your Royal Potentate, I have not done any wrong against you.” Ardius was thrilled and gave orders to lift me out of the pit. I had no wounds, not even a scratch. Ardius gave orders that the whistleblowers take my place into the pit. There was so much wailing and gnashing of teeth.

Ardius was in awe of my survival he restored my standing in the kingdom. He continued his reign through the years with loyalty to the Most High God. During that time, however, I was troubled with more dreams of impending doom. I shared these with Chad, Michel and Diego. I told them I saw the coming in the clouds of the Most High. I saw a vision of angel who said the people will continue to delight in their transgressions. They will continue to be an abomination before the Most High God until a tabernacle of the Most High God is established, one that will live forever and ever! I emphatically tried to tell the alien people of their impending doom! I tried to get them to listen, to believe in the One who is greater than the universe. From my mouth I blurted, “Jesus saves.” Listen and know what He has done for you! How much you are loved by Him! Chad, Michel and Diego also bellowed out, “Jesus saves.” Our alien cohorts emphatically began to profess “Jesus saves.” One by one they began to accept Him as their God. I could see them mended by His mercy and grace. And then I was jolted by an amazing discovery of my own! My heart was mending too. Jesus does save! A chorus from the heavenly realm praised God singing: “Worthy is the Lamb, who was slain, to receive power and wealth and wisdom and strength and honor and glory and praise!” (Rev 5:12 NIV).

Then shazam! Then Poof!

Brusquely, I stood up. I looked around and saw the fields of peppers before me. I scanned the horizon searching for the vestiges of what I had just experienced. Nothing but peppers as far as I could see. Then one by one my coworkers popped up like large sunflowers. They looked as bewildered as I was. It was very apparent to me what my dreams were. I motioned for all us to gather. Each of us realized we shared the same experience; we understood what it all meant. We looked at our tatty zappers and knew the reason for this experience.

That day forward we humbled ourselves before the Lord. We established a church in my pepper fields to preach the Gospel to those in Chavez County and beyond…

beyond the reaches of time and space!

All are welcome, especially aliens stopping in for a visit at the Fellowship of the Universe Church in Christ the Lord.

What 10 things have you stopped doing in your life?

I just looked at the other answers to this question, and it seems that if you’ve stopped masturbating and watching porn, you’ll receive the most upvotes. There’s even a bonus for never having touched a glass of alcohol.

I’ll do that when I reach 90 years of age—not now (probably not even then). Here’s what I’ve stopped doing instead:

I don’t buy expensive stuff anymore, for two reasons: I either lose it, or it gets destroyed. The second reason is that I don’t have the money.
I stopped telling people about the new book I’m writing. After more than two years without putting a single word on paper, the whole thing became embarrassing.

My fancy pre-war smartphone. It didn’t survive too long.

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Same goes for my movie projects. They’re all on ice.
I stopped watching my language. This is a logical consequence of point one (only buying cheap stuff). If my $100 phone doesn’t work, how the f*ck am I supposed to stay calm?
I stopped reading “serious literature” (classics, Nobel Prize winners, etc.). Instead, I read Tom Clancy. Nowadays, I read to relax, not to educate or “elevate” myself.
Since the war in Ukraine started (where I work as a civilian volunteer), I’ve also stopped caring about what other people think of me. When I meet new people, I put zero effort into making a good first impression. I need all my energy for my job, and pretending to be someone else is too exhausting.

These are only six points. Sixty percent is good enough for me—I also stopped pretending to be a perfectionist.

What everyday habits drain our energy?

Lack of exercise: This is the most common habit of most of the people. These days, we are so involved and focussed on our daily chores, studies and office work that we forget about our health and exercising.
- And this is one of the worst things that you can do to ruin your day. No exercise means, increasing stiffness in muscles, stiffness means a drop in energy levels. And this lack of energy gives a huge blow to your productivity level.
Overthinking: When you will continue to worry and overthink about every single thing, then it will suck your mental energy, which could have been used for doing something constructive. Actually this problem happens when one starts living in illusions and completely cuts off from reality.
Poor diet: It is not only about the burgers, instant noodles and everything on which we are lectured by our parents. But is also about choosing the right food combinations.
- One type of food can increase your energy and the other type can make you lethargic. For example: If you will eat everything oily and spicy whole day, you will feel lazy and if you will consume wholesome food, then it would re-energize you.
Using the phone right after waking up: Most of us have a habit of checking our phone right after waking up to look for messages or to have an round from whatapp➡️ snapchat➡️instagram➡️ youtube. Seems like a matter of 5 mins but is it true?😅. We start with the same thought but end up spending an hour on it.
Working in wrong posture: We, dont realise it but we all sub-consciously tend to get into a wrong posture. And when we get into a wrong posture for doing any work, tension is created in our muscles which starts aching after sitting for a long time.
Relating everything with self: Most people have the habit of doing unnecessary comparisons with others. They scroll through the posts of the acheivements and the happy life of their friends on social media and start their negative self talk.
- While, actually the reality is everyone has a different story. Everyone will have to face challenges, struggles and fears in his life. And as far as social media is concerned, the people will always tell about their best and hide their worst. So, you are unique in your own.
Indulging in sexual pleasures: This is the most self-destructive habit a person can have. Lust is being served everywhere on every app, Facebook, Instagram etc. If one daily consumes such content, it will intensify his sexual urges. It takes everything-your time, energy and the most important thing, it deteriorates your mind after a certain extent.

Shorpy

Why do the Chinese use English names? Are they ashamed of their original names?

Hi, Taner Mutlu. Thanks for the interesting question.

When I was living abroad in several Anglosphere countries, I found that many of my Chinese friends and relatives in those countries had adopted “English names”, which they used when communicating with people who were native to those countries.

The number one reason was so that they didn’t have to spend several minutes repeating the “this is how you pronounce my name” talk every single time they introduced themselves to someone new – because, chances are good that despite repeating their names two or three times to the other party, it’s still going to get butchered and mangled anyway. Sometimes, the other party just doesn’t even want to try to get the pronunciation right. Imagine waiting in the doctor’s waiting room and not recognizing your own name when it gets called out….

I can understand. The first couple of times, it’s fine.
But it gets very old, very fast.
By the nth time, you’ll be like silently hoping that they’ll just use your “English name” instead.

The funny thing was, when we were among ourselves, we just called each other by our Chinese names.

Another funny thing – Chinese names are short, much shorter than the names of people from some other countries.

But still, despite being very short, they stilk get mangled and butchered nevertheless.

For example, how would you pronounce this name:

Yu Chun

I mean, it only has FIVE letters!
Just FIVE letters!
It should be a cinch, right?

So, how would you pronounce it?

Unless you’re familiar with the language, it’s highly unlikely you’ll get it right.

So, which is easier to pronounce?

Yu Chun?

Chris?

And there you have your answer.

Many times, it’s for your convienience – and theirs, too.

Davy Knowles – Cortez The Killer – 11/25/16 World Cafe Live – Philadelphia

Why does China foster such an iron-clad relationship with Pakistan?

On the surface, it seems rather improbable – China is atheist, Pakistan is Islamic; China is a stable communist/capitalist, Pakistan is an unstable military junta/capitalist; China is the world’s factory, Pakistan is neither a big market nor a big supplier of resources; and as to geopolitical balance to India, frankly, China simply doesn’t worry about India very much.

But if there is one international relationship that China is “emotional” about, it’s the relationship with Pakistan. China is “Confucius” at heart. She wants to maintain friendly relationship with every country but the word “friend” has a special meaning in the Chinese culture. It means someone who stands by you when you are down and out.

Pakistan stood by China when she was down and out. It’s that simple. She was one of the first countries to recognize PRC, when the rest of the world recognized ROC. She stood by China throughout the 20-year embargo by the Western Allies, the break with USSR, the internal turmoils, and the severe famine in the late 60’s. She helped facilitate Nixon’s visit to China in 1972. After the 1989 Tiananmen crackdown, she was one of the only two countries that stood by China. (The other one is Cuba)

So there is a significant level of genuine affection from both sides that transcends politics, religion, culture, forms of government, and economics. It’s a relationship that has stood the test of hardships from both sides. If China only thought of Pakistan as a way to counter India, she would not be advising Pakistan for years privately to improve relationship with India and tone down the hostility, but she did exactly that. Could The ‘China Model’ Finally Improve Relations Between India And Pakistan? It’s because she really believes that peaceful development is the best way going forward for Pakistan.

Silver Spurs, Silver Bullets

M.L. J.

This story contains sensitive content

It was under the heat of high noon sun when Buck rode out of town for the very first time. She had nothing but a sack of Dukes in her pocket and Pa’s .44 strapped to the hip. In the chamber were no more than five silver bullets. She lost the sixth the night before in a game of cards with Sunset Ridge’s most renowned cheat, Twigs O’Malley. It’s not that she wasn’t wise to his cheating. Buck only thought she would out-cheat him first.Buck has plenty of bullets back home. But even with an aim as good as Buck’s, lead is practically worthless past the city line.Silver is the only thing that counts out there. The only thing that can do a lick of harm.Which is why losing that bullet is about the worst thing to happen to Buck since being born in this god-forsaken town to begin with.Sunset Ridge is nothing like the postcards. Just like how people scratch an unsightly mole out of their photographs, the artist who made those postcards took some creative liberties of their own. Not that they really had a choice. Sunset Ridge is about the ugliest place there ever was. At least hell would have more people. The only visitors are dead weeds that tumble by. Heat boils the distant dunes, making them shine like lakes of clean, clear water.There’s no law against leaving Sunset Ridge. Just like there isn’t a law against drowning yourself in the town well— if the well held enough water to drown yourself in, that is. It’s a law of common sense. If you get caught out in those wastes past sunset, then you’re as good as dead.Buck isn’t keen on dying but she’s always been short on common sense. There ain’t a soul living in the Ridge that believes in anything waiting beyond the boiling dunes but more heat and meaner critters. Not a soul but Buck.It was at that card-table with Twigs, as he cackled and kissed the silver of his shiny new bullet, that Buck realized the only thing worse than leaving was never leaving at all.Just an hour, Buck tells herself. She’ll be headed back long before sunset.As Grit trots along, Buck finds herself scared to look back. Scared, but unable to stop from turning all the same. As if a glimpse of home will snuff all her ideas of running.It seems so different on the outside. A city like a stranger. If she strains her ears maybe she can hear Easy Pete begin his drunken declarations down the street, choosing another poor lass to swear his love to before passing out in a sloppy heap outside their door. Buck was his choice one night and one night only. That ended with a trick shot to the neck of his whiskey bottle with a promise for the next one somewhere lower. Pete never bothered her after that.Some may say that it’s a waste of a good bullet. Buck would kindly disagree.Buck keeps her wits about her, but the monotony dulls the edge like a skinning knife ripping through rawhide. The clop, clop of Grit’s hooves. The jingling of her spurs. Wind whistles by, like some great invisible asp dragging its belly against the dry earth. The sun inches ever closer to the ridge. As if clawing there through sheer determination.Being out here all alone fills her head with the question of how one might make it through the desert. There’s not enough silver in all the world to keep the wild at bay past sunset. Even if she lived through the night, who could say the next dawn would bring her to the waste’s end? If there is an end.If there is an end. The reins bite into her fingers where the leather folds in her fists. Buck twists in her saddle to stare back the way she came, but all that lies on the horizon is a haze of red dirt and blazing sky. It’s impossible, she realizes with a start, to tell just how far you’ve gone in a wasteland that never changes.Sunset Ridge is no longer there. Buck can’t tell whether the excitement outweighs the sheer white-knuckled terror.Under the meager shade of a long dead weed, sits a lizard, brown as dirt. It watches the girl and her horse trot along with one beady black eye. Instead of a tail there’s just a stump. When a lizard finds itself between a rock and a hard place, they can cut off a piece of themselves to survive. They scamper off to safety as their former limb dances for the critter that was fixin’ to eat them whole.Buck wonders if the lizard misses his tail. Was it worth it? It answers with a lick of its eyeball. There was no other choice.

When the blistering heat starts to soften, that’s when Buck knows it’s time to go home. She gives the reins a gentle tug, easing old Grit towards the sinking sun. As Buck draws a breath for one big sigh, it catches in her throat. There, twinkling like a jewel is the glint of metal on the horizon.

Buck goes still. The desert plays tricks. Yet, she’s never seen a trick like this. A black rider sits astride a black mare. The sun catches the silver of his spurs, his buckle, and the six ways of dying at his hip. It seems pure, somehow. That silver light. Its whisper drowns out the wind. Drowns out everything.

Forty days and forty nights you could ride and get no closer to the end. Not without me.

Buck looks to Sunset Ridge. Where she imagines it is, anyway. It would be a close call. If there was anyone who could manage a risk like that, it would be her. All she has to do is get close enough to figure out the trick, then yank Grit back around and race on home.

She spurs Grit towards the stranger in black. Not for the first time, Buck doesn’t think twice.

She clutches her hat with one hand and leans in as the old mare breaks into a gallop. Without the full strength of the sun, it verges on temperate. Cool, even. She draws closer, but the figure makes no attempt to meet her.

Surely, he sees her, don’t he? There isn’t anything else to look at for miles and miles but a mangy mare and a mangier girl riding full speed towards him. Buck hopes he knows more about the wastes than she does. A flame bursts to life next to that dark silhouette. The stranger has set up camp.

Buck looks over her shoulder to find the sky ablaze in color. Sunset Ridge didn’t get its name for nothing, after all. All those oranges, pinks, and reds bleed together in a beautiful warning seen too late. She thought the worst thing you could lose in a bet was a silver bullet. Wrong again, Buck.

There’s an awful lot of night between her and home. When Buck reaches the firelight, the sky is one giant spectacle of black. A mess of twinkling stars. So open and clear that it sends her head spinning. Just like staring down the throat of a snake. The night wants to swallow her up. A sickly yellow moon hangs above, bathing that dark stranger in a glow next to godliness.

“G’evening.” The man tips his black hat.

Buck hesitates, then greets him with a nod. There’s never sense in being rude. “Evening.”

She opens her mouth to ask all the things that have been turning over in her head, but they jumble together on the way out. It leaves her quiet.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a smoke, would you now?”

Buck swallows. The stranger stares back at her through the haze of the campfire. Sometimes the flames lick high enough to make the shadows of his face shift. Deepening, growing light, then dark once again. The corners of his mouth ghost a smile. Buck pulls two cigars from her pocket, offering one to the man.

“Thank you kindly, Buck.”

Buck halts as she reaches for her lighter. The man snaps and fire dances from his fingertips as he lights the bottom of their quirleys. Buck can’t find the words to refuse.

“How’d you know my name?” Buck tries to sound indignant; tough, but her voice wavers. She sounds like a child who has wandered too far.

“I know lots of things about you, Buck.” He exhales and the smoke slithers upwards like a serpent with cinders for eyes. “Fastest gun in Sunset Ridge. Maybe fastest in the wastes. Not that there’s much competition, m’afraid.”

The stranger’s boots make heavy footfalls on the packed dirt, but his spurs make a prettier sound. Like bells. A tinkling chime. He moseys around the fire and makes another lazy round about Buck. It raises the hairs on her neck. The stranger doesn’t look like anybody she’s ever seen before. An outlaw. His black clothes are embroidered with a beautiful silver thread. It catches moonlight. His pale skin does the same. He’s pretty, like a wolf that eats well.

“You’re lucky to have found me, y’know. The wastes are an awfully dangerous place to be at night.”

Grit tosses her head with an uneasy whinny, shuffling on her feet as the stranger gets closer. Buck pats the pony’s neck. Maybe to comfort herself more than anything. Maybe she ought to saddle back up and run. Beasts be damned.

“I’ll manage.” Buck follows the stranger with a narrow eye as he circles her. It reminds her of a vulture. The way they hover above a sickly calf that can’t stay on its feet.

Far beyond the reach of the firelight, a wolf howls a lonesome note.

“I can help.”

“I’ll manage,” Buck squints, “Who are you?”

His teeth flash. A smile. Though it reminds her more of the coyote she shot in the corner of her chicken coop, fat with red teeth.

“You don’t know?” The smile lingers, then he faces her square and hooks a thumb in his belt, “Tell you what, Buck. I’m in a fair mood. I’ll cut you a deal.”

His hand drops to his side. The pearl-handled pistol is a beauty. Though Buck doesn’t miss the notches outnumbering her ability to count.

“I reckon you wanna see what’s on the other side of this desert, don’cha?”

Buck’s hand rests on her gun. “Yes. I do.”

“And you’re a pretty quick hand, ain’t you?”

“Yes, I am.”

“If you draw faster than me, then I’ll get you to the other side.” The man flicks the brim of his hat, meeting her cold stare head-on. Those eyes ought to belong to a snake the way they have Buck frozen stiff. “If I draw quicker than you, then I get your soul.”

There’s no great shock when he says it. Buck just stares back. This time, she resists the impulse to find Sunset Ridge. Even if she could see it, the town could do nothing for her now. Not that it ever did. She and Grit could race back home, but then where would she be? The same town. The same dirt and dust and drunken Pete. Except she would remember this night and the devil out in the wastes, offering her a slice of something else.

All she’s got to do is the only thing she knows how.

“Alright then. Seems mighty unfair,” Buck takes a deep draw from her cigar, and puffs a cloud of gray smoke, “considering I’m the fastest gun there is.”

Those snake eyes seem to flash before The Devil sets his terms, “You win, you get out of the wastes, and if I win, I get your soul.”

“Not just out of the wastes—” Buck cuts in, “Somewhere pretty.”

He nods and offers his hand. “Somewhere pretty.”

Buck takes it. Regret surfaces only then. It feels like sticking your hand into a dark, dusty hole just before you hear the low hiss of the snake who lives there. His fingers coil around her sweaty palm, tight and cold.

She blinks and suddenly stands with her back to the stranger. The air is choked with the smell of brimstone and brandy. The Devil smells like a saloon sat on the outskirts of tarnation.

“Ten paces. One.”

The presence at her back disappears as The Devil steps forward. Buck’s heels click just a moment behind.

“Two.”

Another step. Buck’s heart has used her spine as a ladder to hunker down in her throat and pound away. It doesn’t seem likely to come down anytime soon.

“Three.”

She’s a good shot. Buck tells herself. She can shoot the bottle from a man’s hands at seventy steps away. She’s shot the tail off a field mouse and splattered spiders that she ought to have just hit with a boot.

Everyone in Sunset Ridge knows better than to draw against Buck.

“Four.”

But she’s no devil.

“Five.”

She reckons they don’t play fair.

“Six.”

Buck’s hand hovers over her gun, trembling.

“Seven.”

If she was a devil, she wouldn’t play fair either. She would turn early.

If Buck was a devil then she would shoot that man right in the back.

“Eight.”

Buck draws in a deep, long breath. The world slows down. Gone is the howl of the distant wolf and skitter of scorpions on the cold sand. The creatures all stop to wait for the devil to speak.

“Nine.” He says.

She says, “Ten.”

Like a bolt of lightning, Buck whips around. There’s not a thought in her head. Just the memory of her muscle. Click. The hammer drops. At the end of the barrel, stands the dark stranger with his white gun staring back at her. The sound of gunfire deafens the desert. Her ears ring. The only sound in her small world. Black smoke fogs the eighteen paces between the two duelists with no way of knowing if her aim hit true.

She doesn’t dare breathe. Her eyes sting like hell but she doesn’t blink. Not until the smoke clears and there The Devil stands like an imitation of a man.

The missing bullet.

Just when Buck thought her heart would never stop beating in her throat, it drops to her feet. It starts as a dull pain, a shock more than anything. The uncomfortable realization from your body that it’s got an unwanted visitor. Buck presses a hand to her chest. Her palm comes back wet. The moonlight makes the blood look blacker than ink.

Many things go wrong all at once. The strength bleeds right out of her body and the legs are the first thing to go. Buck drops to sit on the ground, clutching the wound as she falls to her back.

It hardly seems fair. Buck looks up at those stars. So close it makes her dizzy. Though maybe that’s just the dying. She cheated and she still lost. It would have made more sense for her to have cheated and won. Narratively speaking.

The ringing in her ears ebbs away to the clink of silver spurs. The Devil’s handsome face blocks the moon, still smiling like the coyote that killed the hen.

“You’re a quick draw, Buck.” He crouches down beside her, “But you’ve got to give the devil his due.”

Buck doesn’t know how exactly to handle the exchange of your soul with dignity. She starts gathering spit in her mouth, figuring actions speak louder than words when her eyes catch a fault. Over the left breast pocket of his button-up shirt, the silver stitching is torn. A tiny, minuscule imperfection. In Sunset Ridge, it’s rarer to have a stitch in place than not, but on a man like him, that one tiny flaw has her smiling.

“You need a tailor,” Buck says.

The smile couldn’t have fallen off The Devil’s face quicker if she had spit on him.

He doesn’t need to look at the hole in his shirt to know that he’s been caught. His eyes are darker than night from where they glower down at the quickest draw in the wastes.

“You cheated.”

“So did you.”

The Devil grits his teeth. “So I did.”

Buck lets her eyes drift shut. The breath she draws in rattles terribly. Like the tin roof of her Ma’s dusty house. Like the tip of the viper’s tail. She won’t manage many more breaths like that. Yet, she keeps grinning.

The world changes so quickly, Buck thinks for a moment she slipped off to heaven before collecting her prize. The ground beneath her head becomes a grassy pillow, lush and green, with soft dirt that smells like life. She could bury her nose in mud like that. Though, Buck reckons she looks like enough of a mess already, with all the bleeding and such.

A brook babbles on beside her, like a vein of silver. The sunlight is softer here. Golden and warm. She’s never seen sunlight dance before, but dance it does through the verdant lacework of the canopy above. In a branch far beyond, two squirrels chitter about the strangest intruder who seems to have just appeared out of thin air. A fat bee bumbles by Buck’s head, legs laden with pollen. Somewhere out of sight, a songbird starts the choir.

Buck lifts the trembling hand from her chest, fingertips grazing the cool stream. So clear she can see the moss clinging to the river stones, and watch as a pale fish follows the current far from the plink of her fingers breaking surface. The water pulls the blood from her skin in streams of soft pink until her fingertips are washed clean. She’s seen that color many times before. In a sunset.

There are worse things than dying far from home, Buck reckons, like never leaving home at all.

How did you respond when a co-worker that never showed you any respect or interest asked you for a favor?

I worked for about 6 years for a company that was all phone work. It was a large manufacturing company and we were off-site in El Paso. We did the legal,customer service and accounting.

I was pretty much set to one side as I was 60 and the rest of the 20 to 25-year-olds kind of ignored me. I turned out to be be troubleshooter for the company.

I was upstairs where the manager and the accountants were. I didn’t think anybody had really noticed me.

One day one of the girls from downstairs came up and asked me for a favor.

The favor was, would I please come to her little girl’s birthday party. Of course I went and I was the only person from the company invited.

It was strictly a family affair. I was even older than her parents. One of the games they played was the pinata. Everybody beat at it for a while and it wouldn’t break and they insisted that I try. So I give it my best 60-year-old windup, hit the damn thing and tore it off the wire and send it over the fence into the next yard. I was suitably embarrassed.

Cabbage Roll Soup

Cabbage Roll Soup is guaranteed to be a fall and winter favorite. This delicious soup has all the flavor of traditional baked cabbage rolls.

Ingredients

1 pound ground beef or ground turkey
2 teaspoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 onion, chopped
4 teaspoons minced garlic
1/2 head cabbage, chopped
32 ounces beef broth
29 ounces tomato sauce
2 (15 ounce) cans diced tomatoes with juice
2 tablespoons brown sugar
1 cup uncooked rice
1 bay leaf
Kosher or sea salt, to taste
Pepper, to taste

xr:d:DAF7ky2XXWA:3,j:1769206103849904266,t:24020119

Instructions

Heat the olive oil in a large pot over medium-high heat. Add the ground beef and season with salt and pepper to taste.
Cook, breaking up the meat, until beef is browned.
Add the onion and garlic cook for 2 to 3 minutes.
Add the remaining ingredients, except rice, to the pot. Bring to a boil.
Reduce heat to simmer; cover pot and cook for 1 hour.
Add rice and cook for an additional 20 to 25 minutes.
Remove bay leaf and discard.

Notes

If you want to use brown rice instead of white rice, cook for 45 minutes instead of 25 minutes.

What did you assume was exaggerated until you experienced it?

Expensive Pens.

I’ve always bought and used cheap plastic pens one could find at the corner store. They cost about 20p per pen. I’d buy a pack of 10 pens and threw them away once the ink ran out. I’ve never understood why my English teacher would always recommend a certain ballpoint pen to us to purchase before our exams. I just thought they were a waste of money.

A few days ago, I stumbled upon a review on a Parker Stainless Steel Jotter Ballpoint Pen. Sounds fancy, doesn’t it? It had a 5 star review and was on half price, £7.49 Wow, I thought to myself. That’s almost thrice the price I’d pay for a pack of 10 pens. However, what caught my eyes was how nice the pen looked. Professional.

After finally deciding which colour to get, I decided to get a silver one. It’s much heavier than the plastic pens, that’s for sure. But what amazed me was how smooth it was to write. It is significantly different as compared to a cheap 20p pen. The pen doesn’t slip out of my fingers as often, and it doesn’t hurt me to write for a long period of time. Also, it sort of makes me look really cool :p 10/10 would recommend

Here’s my pen:

main qimg 1ac9b3e4a04d4805ebd41836cbc76066 lq

Why is Chinese GDP/capita so much lower than the US? How do the Chinese cope with this?

Actually Chinese people don’t care about it too much, at least not as much as you can imagine.

That’s because the living cost in China is much lower than that in the US.

For example, in nearly all places across China, you can buy a bottle of water with one yuan, which is around 0.15 dollars.

The prices of most vegetables, various kinds of meat and other daily necessities are also pretty low than that in the US.

It means that the same amount of money has much higher purchasing power in China than in America.

Why is China’s GDP per capita much lower than the US? Because China has a much higher population than the US.

The fact is that the GDP per capita of China, with a population of over 1.4 billion, has been increasing for many years.

As a result, the living standard of the Chinese people has also been on the rise over the years.

What are 10 things police officers wish they could tell you, but can’t?

They will not tell you that your case is going nowhere. When your parked car is hit in the night and there are no witnesses, no video and no license plate left behind the report is just for insurance purposes. Your burglary with a $3,000 loss? No follow-up because they are snowed under with higher loss cases.
They know when you are lying and nothing you say after that has any weight. People lie to make themselves sound better or to get more attention to their case. It has the opposite effect. That report goes straight to files and no detective will ever see it. They can’t trust anything you say.
There are no nationwide tire, tire print, shoe or shoe print databases that all cops have access to.
Cops do not, can not hack into traffic cams, private business cams or government and private computer systems. It’s illegal, and most of those systems are not hooked up to the internet anyway. Obtaining video from them is time consuming and often entails search warrants for privately owned systems.
Cops and CSIs do not process entire houses/businesses unless it is a mass murder scene. They look for things/spots most likely to have been touched by the suspect and just do those.
DNA takes weeks to years to never to get back.
There is nothing you can do to get out of a ticket. You can guarantee getting one with a bad attitude and even up your chances with a good attitude, but if they have already decided you need a ticket, you will get one.
Cops can not ‘scare’ your 12 year old child into behaving. You obviously have spent 12 years teaching him he does not have to listen to authority and they can not undo that in 15 minutes without spilling blood. Hell, it takes three months in Marine boot camp!
You do not pay our salaries unless you are a major business owner in our city/county. Salaries are paid from the general fund, not tax income.
You can not “have your badge”. A cop will not be fired for giving you a ticket or being rude to you. Most people who say this actually have no complaint other than they were upset things did not go their way.

Why does China use media propaganda to their people to show how they’re better than the U.S. or any other country?

All of this doesn’t need to be publicized by the Chinese.

The fact is that they have done an extremely poor job.

Look at those roads full of potholes, the stench of urine everywhere, and the outrageous prices. And that damn security situation: Imagine walking in an alley and suddenly hearing a deep male voice greeting you: “Hey, bro…”

In London, Paris, Italian cities, and subways, there are “thieves” everywhere. Each of these cities can be called the “capital of theft”.

Just a few days ago, a TIKTOKER from China was live streaming on a bustling street in New York. He told tens of thousands of fans watching the live stream online that the United States is not safe. Then, in less than ten seconds, a person walking towards him snatched his phone and his DJI stabilizer.

All of this is extremely absurd and unimaginable… Do you know? Does this need publicity?

Seriously, this doesn’t need to be publicized by Chinese people,People all over the world are not blind.. Although the vast majority of ordinary people in the United States and Europe are very nice. However, your country have really done a terrible job.

This is the photo of the “random walker/random robber” on the streets of New York. This was a live stream with tens of thousands of viewers.

When Trump insulted Haiti as a “shithole country,” I really wanted to laugh at Americans. Don’t you Americans know that in our eyes, you are a “country of robbers”?

Have you ever been on a date that was going so badly you walked out and left?

Well I didn’t walk out, but we parted company without a word.

We met in a nice pub. She looked nothing like her photo. Not in a bad way, but the photo was of her with long straight hair wearing a cool sundress and smiling. She arrived at the date with short, spiky, gelled hair, dark baggy clothes and didn’t smile. Not once.

She started by saying “I’m not looking for friends. I have plenty of friends. I’m looking for a boyfriend.” Strange thing to say, and a bit off-putting. I like my girlfriends to be, err, friends primarily. Or at least the fun “getting to know you” stuff. People are interesting.

Our conversation was interview style. Every time I got chatty about a common interest she would stop talking. We had a decent amount in common too, liked similar hobbies, worked with computers. I’m naturally enthusiastic about existential stuff, and she liked it too, but it never got beyond two sentences.

We’d agreed to go to the cinema after a couple of drinks. Batman Begins (yes, this was 20 years ago or so!) Even sharing popcorn was joyless. I tried contact, little touches when she reached across for popcorn, I kept eye contact. I smiled. Nothing.

The movie started and was amazing. At the end I put on my nice jacket and we went to the door together. She went left. I went right.

The Chinese Missile Force Could Destroy the U.S Indo Pacific Command in Just 7 Minutes

This post is dedicated to those “average” “Joes” that are a foundational support for society

I had all kinds of friends when I was finishing up in High School.

Some were classmates and their older or younger siblings. Others were co-workers at the mines, at the store or on the Forest Fire crew. Some were just friends of friends that I took a liking to, and even others were just random people that I met up with and took a shine to.

I had friends from other school districts, but in my same grade. And this was true for at least three schools.

One of these friends were a pair of brothers.

They lived near by (at the other side of the river) but were in the Karns City school district and not the Clarion school district that I was a part of.

They both loved music and both played guitar.

I would go over and listen to them practice, and play. We would smoke some marijuana and drink beer.

Sitting on the living room floor…

Just hanging out.

1970’s style.

Oh yeah. 70’s style…

Ah memories…

We all used to gather and “party” together…

Cars were a big part of our lives…

But, in this post I am just talking about friends hanging out together…

All doing things that friends do…

Anyways…

It was a nice way to play the time away.

In those days “nothing was going on”. Time moved slowly and we all enjoyed it.

These two brothers were great. They were good guys. You know they would probably be the stable “family men” and “reliable company workers” in their adult life.

I say that as a complement.

Looking back, while we spent a lot of time together they were not my “adventuresome” friends like Robbie, and Sid. They were just stable guys that I hung out with with who I enjoyed my time with.

This post is dedicated to those “average” “Joes” that are a foundational support for society. They played a bigger role than they would ever realize.

Here’s to youse guys (as I raise my coffee cup in tribute)…

This is for you!

Today…

Denmark Threatens They May “Turn to Russia to Save Greenland”

What do you think of China’s future?

Originally Answered: what do you think of China's future ?

I think it is a much better choice to go to the poorest places in China, instead of big cities like Wuhan, Chengdu, Hangzhou, to see where this country is heading at.

So I went to the North East part of China , where the climate is incredibly cold and the economy is not as good as other provinces. I went through a great length to go to the remote villages there.

What I saw was very very creepy, because the villages were almost empty. In each village, there were like 5 people at most, and they were all very very old . Some villages were absolutely empty, zero population.

The houses and buildings looked very very old and poverty stricken, and they were all empty. It looked like one of those zombie movie places.

One of the villagers told me the people who had been living there all moved to the small towns and cities nearby, because they could make more money there. Some of the cities they moved into were newly built in the past a few years.

The small towns they moved into were in rapid construction and turning into satellite cities of the fourth- tier cities nearby and will finally become parts of those fourth-tier cities, which grow bigger and bigger and will turn into third-tier cites. And the third-tier cities are in rapid constructin as well. They will become second-tier cities in the near future.

Things like this are happening everywhere in the country and it is accelerating.

When we think of the word Urbanization, what we see in our heads is often beautiful cities. But what I saw were empty villages and it did a much stronger impact on me.

China is moving hundreds of millions of people from villages into cities every year and it is all happening queitly, without any attentions from the world.

What do I think of the future of China? I think this whole country is turning into a giant Hong Kong.

Alien (1979) – 1950s Super Panavision 70

If a guy wants to sleep with you on the first date, does he plan on taking you seriously?

Okay, I hope this doesn’t disillusion you, but all guys want to sleep with you on the first date. Well, not sleep, exactly…a quickie behind the potted plant in the lobby would be welcome too. We are like that.

Whether or not the guy plans on taking you seriously depends on other things. No, it doesn’t depend on you. It depends on him. Some of us learned that women are not just there for our sexual pleasure. We’ll have sex with you on the first date if you let us, but it has no bearing on how the relationship develops. Some have other ideas though…usually stemming from outdated religious and cultural beliefs. They’ll actually judge you negatively for having sex with them on the first date.

Okay, I can’t explain that. I’ve never understood it. “She did exactly what you were hoping for, so she’s not suitable.” Makes no sense whatsoever. There it is though.

And how do you tell which guys are which? Well, I can’t really help you there either. I’ve been baffled by the views of so many of my friends that I mostly stick to talking about tools, trucks, and calling them capitalist pigs. Anything beyond that is likely to cause hard feelings. Well, I have been in a fist fight over which truck is best, so…. It’s the 1947 International Harvester. I have a scar on my knuckle to prove it. Anyway, we’re not exactly the kings of communication.

So what advice do I have? Well, do what you want. Have sex. Don’t have sex. If the guy reacts negatively to your choice, fuck him. Or maybe, you know, not literally.

We’re One Stroke of Pen Away From Nuclear War — Scott Ritter

Manly clothing

Have you ever been invited to something that turned out to be another thing entirely?

Years ago, I moved into my girlfriend’s house, but after about 2 years, things weren’t working out, and she was making things ridiculously difficult.

So, I signed a lease at another apartment, got some buddies to help me load the moving van, and I was out.

Or so I thought.

—

That’s when I got a voice-mail “Invitation” to meet at a specific restaurant at noon, to “work out the last few details”.

Naive me, I thought maybe she would give me my tools back – ones I’d used to repair and renovate her home over the years, which she insisted I store in the garage – and which now remained locked away, since she’d suddenly changed the lock on the garage door).

So, I went to the restaurant, found her at a quiet table, ordered “just coffee”, and asked her what she wanted to discuss.

She said, “You are the one who moved out, so you are the one who made this meeting necessary, and you need to tell me what you want.”

Very odd, to claim that her meeting was initiated by me, and that I was the one with an agenda for it.

I should have just stood up at that point and said, “Well, I guess there’s nothing to discuss, then. Bye”,

But instead I said that I wished her well, that we should just go our separate ways, no hard feelings, and all I wanted was to get my tools back.

She then really surprised me with her response:

“You want to dictate to me what I should and shouldn’t do. You want to control me and take advantage of me, then just run away without fulfilling your responsibilities to me.”

Huh?

I didn’t owe her anything. I’d done more for her than she could ever pay back. How was this me victimizing her?

I got up, said something like, “I guess I should stop dictating to you”, paid the waitress for my coffee, and left.

—

A week later I got a long letter in the mail.

She had done some math regarding groceries, and how she wanted me to pay her for all the meals she had shopped for, plus time spent cooking and cleaning up. (Somehow she “forgot” to include all the restaurant meals I had paid for, or all the hours I had spent working on her house.)

Also, she wanted me to pay extra for utilities, after we had already agreed on a split. She wanted to change the formula, retroactive for 2 years, so that I somehow owed her utility money.

I had also been paying rent, and she wanted to charge me more than we had already agreed, again retroactively for 2 years.

She also had a list of various items she claimed I had damaged over our time together. A slightly ripped bedsheet, a chipped plate, a dented doorframe, rust stains on the driveway and so on.

She had gotten inflated quotes from home repair services for the ‘damage’ I had caused, an estimate for a full driveway re-paving, plus pricing for new sheets for the whole house (because every room has to match, right?), and an entire new set of dishes. Really? You can’t just order a replacement from Correl?

Plus an estimate from a Handy Man service, for repairs she needed, that I’d volunteered to help with, back when things were going better with us and

And so on, for pages.

The total was over $6,000 and she threatened to sue me!

So, it turns out that this was more than just “the last few details”, and the lunch had been a set-up.

I guess I was supposed to feel guilty for “making her” come to the lunch, then guilty for “dictating“ what she should do, and then I was supposed to sheepishly write her a settlement cheque for $6k?

—

In the end, I sent her a note in reply. I listed all the restaurant meals I had paid for, with estimated amounts.

I also estimated all the hours I had spent on her house, including materials and supplies. I billed her at the same rate as her Handy Man quotes.

I provided photos of her rusty, leaky beater car and the stains below.

I estimated the (generous) price of one set of sheets and one (1) replacement plate.

And I sent her information on legal requirements for proper notice and percentages for rental and utility increases (spoiler: she had missed all the deadlines).

My total was $12,000, meaning that SHE actually owed ME $6,000. And I threatened to counter-sue.

I never did hear back.

Just to be clear:

She had been through a nasty divorce, being left with an empty house, empty bank accounts, and two little kids in the ‘burbs. So me leaving was probably “triggering “.
I got some of my tools back, but not all, through a 3rd party. I tried using the police and a Justice of the Peace but every said, “cut your losses, be glad you are out”.

What is a “low hanging fruit” dating advice that men can use to immediately be better with women?

I’ll give one that I learned after I was married.

As a straight man, take ballroom dancing.

I’m serious.

I learned to ballroom dance with my wife 15 years ago – a few years after we were married. When we made it through our first class and first performance, I asked what was the next step.

The next step was to go to ball room dancing events.

Boring, I thought. I’ll humor my wife to keep her happy since this was her idea.

Now let me drop a tidbit that was not obvious to my naive brain at first:

Most of the men that went to this event were not straight…and did I mention that there were more females there than male. And they were single.

Now, let’s do some math. OK, I’ll skip the math and go on to say, that was the first time I ever felt jealousy from my wife, who started to get mad with all the women asking me to dance.

And she sat at the table across from me every. time. it. happened. And it happened every time my wife sat to take a break.

I knew enough to lead and to not make a fool of myself and women ate that up. The other men there (who were gay) also danced, but I guess it wasn’t the same. I don’t know why they honed in on the married guy – but I hadn’t ever experienced that level of interest.

It was truly an eye-opening event that I wished I’d known before I was married.

Edit 1 – OK this answer took off. Kudos to Sean Kernan for sharing my answer.

I have two daughters that I take to daddy-daughter dances that I’ve taught the basics to.

To anyone that has never been, daddy-daughter dances can be quite awkward, until the first dad says to himself “screw it, I’m going to make a fool of myself because I’m here to show my daughter how to dance.”

Knowing how to lead helps control your 9 year old daughter and focus her to learn the steps.

PART 2 – Police Officer Exposes THE TRUTH On Domestic “Situations” & How Men Can Protect Themselves

The Eternal Light of the Ten Song Lantern

Submitted into Contest #232 in response to: Write a story set in a world with a dying sun, or where light is a scarce resource.… view prompt

John Werner

Darkness lay like a blanket over the peaks and valleys of the Spires of Hildefund. The pale moonlight bounced off the ribbon of the snow-crusted pass, Gelvira’s crunching footprints the only blemish upon the pristine meandering track. It was rare that the Sisterhood of the Ten Song Lantern sent its priestesses above ground. Rarer still was it that they were sent without the accompaniment of a Swordsinger, those brave and noble warriors who were sworn to protect them.Gelvira’s boots were warm, crafted in the way of the People of the Hovihar, with the fur of the mountain goat towards the inside. They were still fairly new, gifted to her only upon her appointment to this particular task. In truth, her entire suit evoked an image of those great Hovihar warriors of old, standing strong against the blizzard. Her deep cowled cloak and thick woolen clothes protected her from both the howling winds and the biting cold.“It has been almost two centuries since the Hovihar walked these peaks and passes,” She mused, marveling at the fact that all this beauty could go unobserved for so long.The Hovihar had once been masters of these mountains just as her own people were masters of the caverns beneath. In days of old, their alliance worked to the benefit of both races but since their demise, the Adosinda had retreated deeper into the mountain. Thus was the reason for her appointment to this most venerated station.The summer solstice was a time for great celebration, the giving of thanks, and gathering the light for the Ten Song Lantern. The only light they would have for the coming year. Ten songs would be sung before the sun rose again. She placed her gloved hand gently upon the satchel at her hip. She had gained a muffled response not unlike that of the twinkling bells within the deep caverns of the Adosinda.“But I am far from the warmth of our caverns,” She reminded herself.Instinctively she slipped her pointer, middle, and ring fingers through the slit at their bases in the glove, exposing them to the cold. Stepping through the arc of her recurve bow she strung it and knocked an arrow from the quiver upon her back in one fluid motion, as if the maneuver had been executed as simply as walking.The bow itself was short, for she herself only stood but seven spans off above ground. Her wide nostrils flared and large dark eyes glinted only for a moment as she turned to face the moon. The woody scent of pine filled her head and she breathed in the aroma, storing it up knowing that she may never be gifted a trip to the Hovihar lands again. She lifted her chin and allowed her lower jaw to open just a fraction before breathing the inaudible “chirp” ricocheting across the landscape. Its returning echoes helped her sense what her eyes could not see.The darkness was retreating, and nature was slowly rising to meet it. She received the impressions of many small things, things she would have hunted if she had the leisure, but food was not her mission. They scurried out of their dens and burrows and stood upon the frozen scrub lining the plateaus over which she gazed. She raised her eyes to the sky, tracing an arc from the burgeoning glow in the east to the steadfast darkness in the west.“No sign of them,” She whispered and received a light twittering reply from the satchel. “So we will wait.”With her bow in her lap, she perched, resting on her heels upon an upward jutting stone. The warm glow had overtaken the eastern horizon and she kept her large eyes peeled for any sign of her prey. Once the sun was within sight she would have to work fast. It would only be above the horizon for moments before the world was once again sunk in darkness.The Spellsingers had worked all year, breeding and enchanting the Amelina. The tiny serpents were born in the deep dark places within the mountains. They were clever and quick and produced a pheromone that her prey found completely irresistible. They would not last long in this cold. If they were to die in flight, before they served their purpose as bait, she would feed herself to the hungry cold of the mountain rather than face the shame of returning a failure.She realized she had been holding her breath. The pressure had been building in her chest for uncounted moments for her eyes watched, growing larger and larger as the curved disk of the sun peaked over the horizon and bathed the entire range in the amber light of dawn.

As if in answer, there was a thunderous fluttering of wings, and up into the deep blue sky soared those great northern Beltreo hawks. Their wingspans were enormous and their great calls echoed into the sky like the scraping of swords against shields. Bright purples, blues, and greens trimmed the feathers of their great wings and tail feathers as they circled, climbing ever higher into the vaults of the heavens.

When it appeared that they had reached the limit of their height their tailfeathers began to glow, collecting the warmth and light of the summer sun. It was that light that would sustain the Ten Song Lantern for another year. They began to glow with such intensity that it appeared multicolored stars were swirling in the sky.

She couldn’t have watched them for more than a handful of minutes before she noticed the amber light fade. She grabbed the satchel from her hip and kissed it bestowing a silent prayer upon the Spirits to let her hunt be successful. She looked to the west and saw that the bright, blazing rim that was all her people had even known of the sun was now descending beneath the horizon line. The amber light turned to a golden brown before it gradually sunk back to darkness.

“Now!” She whispered excitedly, opening the satchel and holding it up into the sky.

The Amelina came whizzing and whirring from their warm hiding place. Into the heavens they streaked as the glowing orbs of light, all that was left to be seen of the Beltreo as darkness once again consumed the range, began to descend from their circling dance to the ground below. The serpents’ crystalline scales shimmered like the phantom veil that appeared across the winter sky from time to time. Their keening cries beckoned to the great glowing birds whose lazy descent seemed to stop for a heartbeat, fixing them in the air before they streaked toward the shimmering haze left in the wake of the Amelinas’ flight.

Gelvira readied her bow, her hands loosely holding the string, her arrow knocked and readied. The Amelina were doing their job well but she quietly urged them on for the cold would rob them of their speed in short order. As if answering her thought, the gemstone serpent streaked towards her with a Beltreo in tow.

Gelvira drew the string to the corner of her mouth and breathed. The serpent was racing towards her, knowing its survival depended on luring its prey back to its keeper. In a last burst of speed, it darted past Gelvira and the hawk followed, leaving her with a perfect shot.

Everyone knew that no arrow could pierce the feathered breast of a Beltreo hawk, those armor-like quills protecting like plate mail against any frontal assault. But, from behind, Gelvira’s arrow parted the backward-facing feathers and struck home. The great bird cried as it fell to the frozen ground.

“That’s one,” She said excitedly to herself. “Two more will complete the task. If I can take all five the Ten Song Lantern will shine brighter than it has in ages.”

The Amelina quickly retreated into the satchel where it could gather the warmth to be found there. Its shimmering scales conjured the image of a multihued campfire burning deep within. Its brood mates had done their jobs equally well and Gelvira’s arrows felled two more of the great birds with ease.

As the fourth hawk streaked towards her, its great blue feathers blazing like the fires in the smith’s forges, she heard a cry of despair as the Amelina was overcome. The Beltreo shrieked in agony, its bill breaking across the hardened scales of the gemstone serpent but that did not keep it from swallowing the creature whole. Nursing its wounds, it dove behind the next peak and vanished.

“One left,” She closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and readied herself.

The lone remaining Amelina was whizzing through the pine trees and in and out of deep canyons with the hawk in tow. Gelvira was astounded that the creature possessed such stamina but it, just like the others, lured the hawk past her and her arrow struck true. The great bird faltered but managed to glide on unsteady wings into the forest beyond the next peak where it disappeared.

With four of the five gemstone serpents now returned to the satchel, Gelvira covered it and set it back upon her hip. She easily found her prey, for their feathers still glowed as brightly as they had in life. Gently she placed her hand upon each one, thanking them for their sacrifice and anointing each with the holy oils that would see their souls claimed by the Collector of Spirits. Then she gently plucked each glowing feather and carefully placed them in her quiver.

“Looks like we will have to track the last one,” She said to her satchel knowing that she had already recovered all that was required but relishing the idea of returning home with an even greater bounty.

While there were no tracks to follow there were not many places the Beltreo could have gone. She traversed the peak around which she had seen it disappear and found its warm purple glow emanating from within the upper branches of an ancient pine tree.

Being Adosinda, the climb was fairly easy but halfway up the great trunk she began to hear the despairing cries of hatchlings. When her large dark eyes crested the rim of the nest, the mother hawk lay dead, its wing spread protectively over the nest’s skyward facing opening. Gelvira gently moved the wing aside to reveal five small chicks. Barely fledglings, their spiny feathers were just beginning to grow.

“Hello, little ones.” She whispered and their mouths shot open expecting to be fed. Their chirping made her laugh the type of laugh normally reserved for babies, warm and joyful.

She prepared their mother for the Collector of Spirits, gathered them to her closely, hiding each within the folds of her thick warm cloak, and descended the tree.

“And brought them back to us?” The young girl asked.

“Exactly so,” The Mother of the Ten Song Lantern declared. “And that is how,”

“We filled the rookery?” The young girl interrupted.

“It took quite some time for us to fill the rookery.” She answered. “But those five eyas were the source from which all others sprang.”

“And now we no longer hunt the Beltreo?”

“And now we no longer hunt the Beltreo.”

“And now we always have light! Praise Gelvira.” The little girl said with practiced respect.

“Indeed, little priestess. Praise Gelvira, Eternal Light of the Ten Song Lantern.” Intoned The Blessed Mother.

China’s Tech, Economy This Week

More hot buttons than usual.

Godfree Roberts

Oct 08, 2024

China leads in 57 of 64 technologies–up from 52 last year. Writes Frans Vandenbosch from Beijing: “The gap is much wider than can be easily measured. We have long past the tipping point. EU and US FDA experts all come to China because China is setting the standards now. Not just in medical devices and pharma, but in automotive and electronics”.

New titanium-nickel alloy combines the strength of steel with the flexibility of rubber. Xi’an Jiaotong University’s marvel of modern metallurgy is poised to redefine what’s possible in fields ranging from aerospace to robotics.

China Now Has 1,000 Satellites on Orbit.

China established 3 pivotal 6G standards for the International Telecommunication Union (ITU) to enhance communications that are immersive, ultra-reliable, low-latency and AI-integrated.

Scientists transmitted high-definition video signals over kilometers using terahertz wireless technology, the first such use of superconducting terahertz receivers. Terahertz wavelengths are between 3,000-30 micrometers, between microwaves and optical infrared frequencies.

China is the only country making DUV lithography machines with 100% domestic IP. It’s a generation behind ASML’s DUV machines, which rely on US patents, but catching up fast.

China’s new laser-based immersion lithography machine has a resolution of 65nm or better, a significant step up from the previous most advanced indigenous equipment which stood at 90nm.

YMTC leads the world in 3D NAND flash–and China is the world’s biggest customer. “This shifts the semiconductor industry’s power balance. The global semiconductor market now has a new contender poised to lead”.

Peking University wins 2024 International Collegiate Programming Contest World Final. No US college in the top ten.

Trade

BMW 5, Audi A6 and Benz E discounted 27%, still losing market share. China

becoming a drag could lead to plant closures in China and Europe. China’s Stelato S9 and Denza Z9GT are pulling customers away.

US manufacturing employment has fallen 30% since 1979 as population grew 50%. Boeing and Intel are struggling. From machine tools to industrial robots to consumer electronics to commercial shipbuilding. The U.S. has five large oceangoing commercial ships on order, compared to China’s 1,794 and South Korea’s 734.

“China is a very interesting trading partner,” says Argentina’s Javier Milei. “They don’t make demands, they only ask that they not be bothered.” Argentina desperately needs investment.

The EU launched a WTO case against China’s inquiry into EU dairy subsidies, the first time the commission has challenged an investigation-stage action by a WTO member in Geneva, before punitive tariffs are imposed on the politically sensitive sector.

Washington’s $65 billion chip stimulus is failing. Samsung and Intel cut staff up to 30% after export controls slashed their China sales, formerly 25% of revenue. European plants are on hold and Intel has yet to install production equipment in the US, the most expensive part of the buildout. Panic in the CHIPS Program Office!

US tech firings accelerate:

2022: 165,000 tech layoffs
2023: 264,000.
2024: 132,000 YTD.

The fall of America as a solar superpower is a tragedy of errors, where myopic corporate leadership, timid financing, oligopolistic complacency and policy chaos. I visited Hemlock, Michigan, a tiny community of 1,408 people that produced one-quarter of the world’s PV-grade polysilicon, and Leshan, China. Bloomberg. Recommended.

Chinese dockworkers know they’ll be taken care of:

Liu Run, Chinese business author, back from visiting pioneering Chinese factories in Mexico, saw them making products from furniture to home appliances, and tells this story.

Beijing wants institutional investors – including sovereign funds – to stabilize the Chinese stock market, provide more long-term capital. This shifts the calculus of the equities market.

Exports grew 9%, to $309 billion in August, their highest in two years. Imports rose 0.5%.

Solar cell exports grew 47% YoY, EVs by 34%, lithium-ion batteries 9%.

Temu is the world’s second most visited e-commerce site, ahead of E-Bay, two years after its September 2022 launch.

Beijing’s inbound arrivals – 379,300 – surpassed pre-Covid levels. More Russians, fewer Americans. Beijing allows foreign cards for transit. Beijing received

BYD overtook Volkswagen as China’s best-selling brand in 2023, the first time ever. This should scare the foreign premium brands. Premium China EVs are on their way, too.

Watch The Complete Beijing Auto Show. “Western carmakers were looking at how Chinese rivals had become so powerful so fast, wondering what to do, and why they let this happen.”

CATL’s new EV batteries have a 10-year warranty to retain 85% capacity after ten years. Tesla’s have an 8-year warranty and 70% capacity retention.

There are 57,000 low-altitude aviation companies, up 30%. Larger drone operators need official permission for flights. China’s aviation regulator has approved 17 UAV testing zones and three experimental bases.

1% of China’s annual 100 billion packages need drone transport: that’s 3 million/day.

Electronics production is up 12.3%, America’s up 0.4%. Japan’s down -2%, EU’s down 8.0%.

August power consumption rose 8.9%, to 965 TWh., an all-time high.

The threshold for inclusion in China’s Top 500 enterprises has risen for 22 consecutive years, to $8 billion this year.

Xian Co.’s high end industrial machines have replaced foreign equipment for making C919 skin parts & fuselage. COMAC is preparing for mass production, flight testing and delivery at scale. (Airbus shipped 863 planes in 2019). TP Huang..

Tesla will sell 600,000 cars in China this year, but competition has created profitless, stagnant sales while the EV market is growing 30%-40% pa. Tesla is losing market share in China despite 5-year, 0% financing.

BYD is so large that it can scale up production and lower cost with just internal demand: It makes the cheapest Camera, Lidar, CMOS chips, AI chips, MMW Radar, Ultrasonic sensors and computation platform because its subsidiaries don’t need to make high margins on its cars. TP Huang. BYD self-parking:

China’s space agency has completed testing a Stirling converter in orbit, achieving high efficiency when operating between large temperature differences- the inside and outside the space station. It’s reversible, usable for engines and refrigerators. It would allow deep space missions to slash reliance on solar energy.

China will launch three unmanned missions to survey the environment and resources of the lunar south pole, and one to verify the in-situ utilization technology of lunar resources. Stage 1 of the International Lunar Research Station focuses on the lunar south pole and can conduct research within a 100 km range, using the Earth-Moon integrated information network. By 2050, a lunar network–with the lunar orbital station as the hub and the lunar south pole station as the center and the lunar equator–nodes, forming a platform with long-term unmanned, short-term manned, completely manned functions and continuous and stable operation.

“Epstein Client List” – Elon Musk SHOCKS Tucker on Why Billionaires Are Backing Kamala

Decoupling From China? The Consequences of a Stupid Idea

Cross sectional art

China’s ‘Giant’ Missile Arsenal Has Surpassed the Military Power of the United States

Why do US sanctions make it difficult for China to achieve self-sufficiency amid them?

Contrariwise, US sanctions alerted China to the danger of depending on US for technology, and on the West in general. This was the genesis of Xi Jinping’s Dual Circulation strategy, to strive for technology self-reliance, and to stimulate domestic demand to reduce the dependency on US and western markets.

Take the case of semiconductors.

A few years ago, China’s annual imports of chips were worth over $400 billion . US threatened to cut its supply. China went on an investment spree to develop its own industry. Certainly there were mistakes and billions of yuan were wasted. But look at the outcome.

Annual imports fell steadily. SEMI expects China will account for 35% of global capacity by 2025. This will give it market leadership of supply, as well as, demand, which is estimated to exceed 60%. When the plants now on plan and under construction come into fruition a few years hence, China could be net exporter of chips.

China’s chips industry development is not just capacity, supply, and demand. The clincher is that the industry is comprehensive and integrated, from materials, equipment, through the supply chain. Hundreds of firms are in the mix.

Chinese companies therefore have scales and the synergies from the comprehensive and integrated development. Foreign companies are worried they would not be able to compete with them. They must find means to work with them.

This relates to traditional chips, which are 80% of the market. China is also in the thick of development in high-end chips – the subject of US sanctions. Consider the case of Huawei.

US put it on the entity list, imposed other restrictions, and commandeered the Collective West to deny it access to these chips. They also banned its 5G communications in their markets. The purpose was to bankrupt it.

Now a mere 4 years later, Huawei has broken through to 7nm and 5nm chips, establishes a strong supply-chain network, and its proprietary operating system, called HarmonyOS. Its smartphone business has recovered. The recent launches of Mate 60, Pura 70, the tri-fold Mate XT are produced at near 100% localisation. Its 5G business remains the market leader.

China is alerted to the unreliability of US and western partners. The development in the chips industry will make it independent of western technologies. This lesson is well-learnt and adopted in other industries. You can see this in its green tech industries, like EVs and solar panels. Its leaderships are across the supply chain.

The tide has turned. China is in the stronger position. Just one simple fact to conclude. US for all the tariffs it imposes, it still depends on China for 70% of its lithium-ion battery. Chinese leadership and supply-chain are hard to beat.

PART 3 – Police Officer Exposes THE TRUTH On Domestic “Situations” & How Men Can Protect Themselves

Alice in Wonder

Submitted into Contest #247 in response to: Set your story on a spaceship exploring the far reaches of space when something goes wrong.… view prompt

Sean Mallery

“Wake up Alice, we have reached the null point”Alice sat up straight, wiping a bit of drool from her mouth. “What?”“The Captain’s input is needed, Alice. The coordinates are already set.”“Hey Wonder, uhh I wasn’t sleeping.”“Sleeping? I didn’t say you were!” Wonder joked. “I don’t even know what sleeping is. How would I? I never sleep.”“Okay, smartbutt computer. Just give me the calculations of the jump”“It’s on your HUD right now. No need to check. I ran the numbers myself,” Wonder said.Alice leaned forward and tapped the HUD. The map expanded to show multiple solar systems. “Did you calculate the balance of the cargo?”“I’ll admit, I rounded up to the third decimal place. Well within margin,” Wonder explained.Alice brought out her stylus and moved some numbers around. “What is the cargo this time?”“That’s classified under the RED initiative.”“Okay, can you at least tell me if it’s solid, fluid or gas? These things matter when jumping through the ather.” Alice explained.“Sorry, I cannot provide any details, as they are classified.”“Fine, the math looks good. Prepare for ather jump,” Alice conceded.“All systems green, standing by for the captain’s input.”Alice leaned forward and stared at the big red jump button. She pressed her palm down and the ship made a Ker-chunk sound as the jump engines fired up. “And the under paid monkey presses the button” she said.“Hole to the ather is open. Shields are steady,” Wonder reported. The ship pointed toward the glowing hole in space and lurched forward. The 1-DR was not a pretty ship to look at, but it was a useful one. Designed with functionality over aesthetics. All long, with dark lines broken up by exterior propulsion engines. They buzzed, spilling plasma out into space. Alice buckled into her captain’s seat. The transfer to ather space was never a smooth ride. This isn’t some luxury line ship meant to make people comfortable. It moved freight and did it cheaply.“Hitting ather space in 3…2…1” Wonder counted down. The entire ship lurched and moaned as it crossed over. Alice brought up the ship status on her HUD. Before she even had time to look at it, the lights went red and an alarm siren blasted, making Alice cringe reflexively. She silenced the alarm with the push of a button.“Wonder status,” Alice demanded.“We have lost coupling on the aft cargo hold.”“Can you give me visual?”“On the HUD now” The screen glowed with a swirl of purples and red of ather space. Alice moved the camera to see the cargo container. It hung on by a single coupling and flailed wildly.“Give me manual control” The chair moved back and dual joysticks raised up. She took hold and moved the ship. She turned and rotated until the cargo no longer bounced around. Physics in space are weird, physics in the ather are impossible. The ship was now turned sideways, but still moving in the same direction. As long as she could keep the ship in the ather’s slipstream, it would be fine.“Starboard engine took damage.” Wonder informed Alice. “On this trajectory we will slide out of the slip in thirty seconds.”Alice sighed. Drop the cargo or drop out into ather space. She thought about it and quickly decided. Turned the engines off and allow the ship to drift. With the damage done to the engine, there was no telling if she could correct the path either way. Losing the cargo was not an option while working with RED either. Lost cargo means a fine and who knows how big the fine is with the classification placed on it. The ship rumbled as it left the slipstream moving into a thicker ather.“Great, repair options for the engine?” Alice asked.

“Working on it.”

Alice’s HUD displayed a warning. Shields at 75% It read.

“Work faster” She screamed. “The ather is pressing in on the ship.”

“Yeah yeah. Don’t get your undies in a bunch,” Wonder said with a laugh.

“What? Wonder I need a solution. Can I space walk to repair it?”

“Space walking in the ather will get you deader than your sense of humor!”

“What has gotten into you?”

“I apologize Alice, it seems the effects of ather are causing me to malfunction.”

“Stupid AI, you can’t break now too.”

“Have you tried turning me off and back on again?”

Alice got up from the captain’s chair. She grabbed a tool case from the closet and headed into the bay. She checked a status screen as she walked by. Shields 60% it read.

“Wonder can I get to any of the parts from the interior of the ship.”

“Panel thirteen – seven. Look for the big red glowy light. That will be the thing. They always have glowy lights to let you know if they are bad.”

Alice turned down a hallway and caught sight of something white and quick moving just around the next corner.

“Wonder, is there anyone else on the ship?” She asked.

“Its just me and you forever baby!”

Alice let out a long sigh. “Is any of our cargo biological? Animals maybe?”

“Sorry that’s classified,” Wonder answered.

“Oh, now you can be serious?”

“Sorry, even I can’t read it. I’m looking at the file on our cargo right now. It just says classified.”

“There is something else on the ship.” Alice explained.

“Nah bro, you are going crazy.”

“What?” Alice said incredulously

“Mild effects of aether poisoning. Step one insanity, step two coming to terms with insanity, step three, the fun part.”

Alice grunted. She knew she needed to move faster before she was useless. She found the panel and removed it. The array of wires and pipes hid circuit boards. She found the one with the red light. She unplugged it and plugged it back in. The light turned off and back red again. Alice frowned. She unplugged the module. Probably didn’t need it, anyway. Alice turned around and jumped. There in the middle of the hall sat a small white rabbit. They stared at each other for a moment. The rabbit took off down the hall and around the corner.

“No, you don’t,” Alice said and chased the rabbit around the corner. She skid to a halt at the table before her. Alice found herself in a large, ornate room. She gawked at the white walls and wooden furnishing. Where was she? This isn’t a room on the ship. Worst of all, there were people sitting at the table, pouring cups of tea.

“Hello” she intoned.

“Oh, hello Alice,” the man at the head of the table said. He wore a purple suit with a tall hat. “Tea?” He asked, gesturing with a steaming teakettle.

“Uh, no thank you.” She said, looking shocked.

“Please sit. You know my friend, the white rabbit.” He gestured to a rabbit sitting on the table. It had its own cup of tea and cookie. It looked up as if acknowledging her.

“H-Hello.”

“And this here is our lead ship mechanic. Scoots.” The man in the suit said.

A short, pudgy man in a black suit and bowler cap looked over at her. “Ma’am.” He said, tipping his hat.

“And I of course, am the ever present Wonder.”

“Wonder? You’re the ship AI?”

“In the flesh!”

“I don’t understand. We don’t have a ship mechanic, and you are an AI. Don’t even get me started on the rabbit!”

“It is very easy to explain, sweetie. You see, you are quite mad.”

“Mad?” she asked.

“Insane, the ather has broken through the shield and you are undergoing the effects. Have a seat, enjoy yourself.“

“I don’t know.” She said, sitting down, “If I am insane, then how can I sit in a chair that isn’t real, smell the tea that isn’t there? Even the light of this room, I can feel it.”

“Well, the ather does weird things to all of us,” Wonder Explained

“For sure,” Scoots chimed in.

The rabbit just looked at her. Alice knew what it was saying.

She held her cup as Wonder poured some tea. “So what do I do now?”

“Well, you have two choices, really. You can get the ship back into the slipstream and finish your delivery. Do the next delivery and then do the next. Until you die. Or Ooooooor. You can stay in the ather and explore what is in this new space. You, me, scoots, the rabbit can come too.”

Alice sipped her tea. “You make a good point, but what if this is just the insanity talking? What if there is nothing out there to explore?”

Wonder leaned back in his chair. “Well honey. I will admit, I am biased. I have always wanted to see you like this. With my own eyes, I mean. Not through a camera, not through you pushing buttons.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I want to be with you, exploring. Ya know, like this.” Wonder gestured to the table.

“I say we stay,” Scoots said.

“And Mr Rabbit, what do you have to say?” Alice asked. The rabbit reached up to it’s cup and took a sip. It looked over, wiggling its nose. “I’m sold.” She said. Alice stood up and grabbed her cup. Let’s go to the helm and see what’s out there.

“You’re the captain,” Wonder said grabbing his cup a handful of cookies. They all together walked to the helm. Alice sat down in the pilot seat and grabbed the joysticks.

“We need repairs, lets see if we can find a place to land.” Alice said. Wonder took up a position in a newly formed station in the helm. “I see a planet on the scanners.”

“I can see an asteroid belt around that planet.” Scoots chimed in from the maintenance station that was suddenly there.

“How can there be a planet in the ather?” Alice asked.

“Lets find out.” Wonder answered.

As a flight attendant, what is the most disrespectful thing a passenger has ever requested from you?

I once had a strange passenger that asked me to go and check the ‘’toilet’’ for her, before she went in.

I asked her why she wanted me to check the lavatory FOR HER. She told me to go and check in case the toilet was dirty before she went in. I told her that she could go and check herself. If she discovered that the lavatory was dirty then I could clean it for her. But she insisted that I had to go and check the toilet for her. I kept telling her that it was all right and that she could do it herself.

My God this lady was crazy.

She had this attitude and tone to her voice. Not soft-spoken at all. I tried to talk to her softly and kindly so that I didn’t have to go to the lavatory and do a check for her. That she could do it herself. But she talked to me as if I was her butler of some kind.

Anyhow at the end, I told the lady ‘’OK no problem, I will go and check the lavatory for you’’. I had the most fake smile ever as I said that.

Oh my God, I was so annoyed.

This woman was in her 40s. She looked young and healthy. She was not disabled. She could manage to go to the lavatory herself and check.

I could have done something more important than going to the lavatory and check. The world would not come to an end if she walked to the bloody lavatory herself.

But I went to the lavatory, opened the door and before I went in I looked at the woman who was giving me bloody death stares of God knows what. I did check around and put a toilet seat cover on the toilet. The lavatory was clean. I came out from the lavatory and l went to the lady and told her ‘’The lavatory is clean and you can go if you want’’.

Pathetic!

The woman then asked me ‘’Are you really sure that the toilet is clean?’’

Oh my God, what did she think? What was she afraid of? What the hell was going on?

With an annoyed voice, I said, ‘’Yes the lavatory is clean and you saw me go and check’’.

The woman then went to the lavatory without a ‘’thanks for checking’’ or even a smile. She did not even look at me when she went. I really felt disrespected there.

What a weird thing to ask someone.

Then I watched her go to the lavatory and I kept thinking what if she would come back to me and tell me to clean something for her? I would of course have done whatever she would have asked me. But she was very strange.

Yes, one of our duties as a cabin crew is to make sure that the lavatory is clean. But we don’t really deep clean the lavatory. Before passengers board the plane the cleaning team comes in and cleans the entire plane. The only thing we do is to put a seat cover on the toilet and sometimes we don’t even have to do that. Spray the lavatory and change or add soap/hand cream. Flush if needed. Fix the WC roll if needed. We do safety checks in the lavatory too. For example, we check so no one has messed with the smoke detector in the lavatory. The things we do in the lavatory are minor. For example, if major issues happen in the lavatory then we close the entire lavatory. The cleaning team that comes in before the passengers board the plane does the deep cleaning.

But the way this woman was speaking to me, her tone and attitude made me feel disrespected. How hard is it to stand up and go to the lavatory and check yourself? If it is dirty THEN you go and grab a crew and ask them nicely to clean it, if needed.

This woman acted as if she was the queen of whatever planet and I was her personal butler.

Pepe Escobar: Putin, China & Iran BRACE for War, Trump & Israel’s BRICS Plot Exposed

What is something you only see in a nursing home?

When my Mom first when into the nursing home due to a broken pelvis, we were shocked at the people wandering around in wheelchairs hollering different weird things as well as all the noise. Bells, alarms, ect. Then the sad thing is as my mothers dementia progressed over several years, she was the one sitting in the hall way in a wheelchair yelling “help” over and over. Then you ask her what is wrong, she would just say nothing. Saddest thing ever. She passed this fourth of July, quietly in her sleep after 9 years living there. The last four I would go every week and she had no idea who I was. It was actually a relief.

A Bridge Too Far – 1977 – 80 Years Market Garden – Fan Cut Edition

Outstanding video FREE, and full edition.

A Bridge Too Far, is a 1977 war movie portraying Operation Market Garden from 1944, where it’s objective was to create a 64 mile (103 km) salient into German territory with a bridgehead over the Nederrijn (Lower Rhine River), creating an Allied invasion route into northern Germany.

The operation succeeded in capturing the Dutch cities of Eindhoven and Nijmegen along with many towns, and a few V-2 rocket launching sites. It failed in its most important objective; securing the bridge over the Rhine at Arnhem.

Richard Attenborough, took on the heavy task to portray this operation as best as he possibly could in 1977, this movie has some inaccuracies that irked historians for many years. This fan cut, released on 80 years after Operation Market Garden, is my attempt at fixing some of those inaccuracies.

https://youtu.be/KxghivpUOR0

City Chicken meets Lox and Bagels

Do you have a meal that your mother used to make, that you haven’t had in years?

I do.

How about “City Chicken”?

City chicken is an American entrée consisting of cubes of meat, typically pork, which have been placed on a wooden skewer (approximately 4–5 inches long), then fried and/or baked. Depending on the recipe, they may be breaded. Despite the name of the dish, city chicken almost never contains chicken.

History

A similar dish once known as “mock chicken” was described as early as 1908. The first references to city chicken appeared in newspapers and cookbooks just prior to and during the Depression Era in a few cities such as Pittsburgh. City chicken typically has cooks using meat scraps to fashion a makeshift drumstick from them by skewering meat chunks. It was a working-class food item. During the Depression, cooks used pork or in many cases veal because it was then cheaper than chicken in many cities, especially meat packing centers such as Detroit, Cincinnati, Cleveland, Louisville, and Pittsburgh where such cuts were more readily available than chicken.^[6]

Sometimes cooks would grind the meat and use a drumstick-shaped mold to form the ground meat around a skewer. One such mold, manufactured by AMPCO/BKI, was labeled chicken sans volaille (without poultry).

The dish is still popular in the Binghamton, NY, area, where at the turn of last century along with the growth of factories (especially EJ, cigar companies, Kilmer, etc.) the town was supplied with workers from immigrant communities abroad as well as from the coal mines of PA, stone quarries of northern NY, etc. Many or most of these were from more rural areas where farming for personal use to supplement their jobs was common (i.e. small vegetable gardens, hogs and chickens). In the tenement and row houses in Binghamton/JC of that era it was rare to have enough land to raise chickens however slaughter houses (pork, lamb, veal, and beef) could still be located ‘in town’. The idea of breading veal or pork like fried chicken became a cheaper and popular meal.

Another is Lox and Bagels…

Lox and bagels traditionally consist of an open-faced bagel topped with cream cheese, thinly sliced red onions, briny capers, and lox.

The word lox stems from the Yiddish word for salmon, “laks.” Lox is a thinly sliced salmon fillet, usually in the belly, and undergoes curing and brining process in a salty brine (not smoked). Lox comes from Scandinavia, where fishermen mastered the art of preserving salmon in saltwater brine. Native Americans also smoked and dried the fish’s carcasses for food and currency.

In 1869, the transcontinental railroad began to transport barrels of salted salmon from the Pacific coast to the rest of the country. This gave rise to its popularity in New York City, especially among the Eastern European Jewish immigrants who came to the U.S. with a rapport for cured and smoked fish.

Bagels made an appearance in China and then glamorized in Italy around the 14th century. The capers came from Italy, while cream cheese has roots in Britain. So, lox or bagels did not originally come from New York City. Nor did cream cheese or capers, for that matter. New Yorkers were the ones that put them together, and it made an excellent combination. It is a mystery as to when the fish and the bagel were first eaten together.

What is the Difference Between Lox and Smoked Salmon

Lox and smoked salmon are both varieties of salmon, but they are prepared differently. They have a similar texture, but the flavor is different.

Lox is cured but not smoked, while smoked salmon is cured then smoked. Because of this, smoked salmon is not quite as salty as lox.

Honestly, you cannot go wrong with either! Contrary to how this dish was originally enjoyed, it doesn’t have to come from the belly of the salmon but from other parts of the fish as well.

Today..

What appalls or disgusts you about America?

In sixth grade, the school found out that there was an armed man who had recently committed matricide roaming around within a 10 mile radius. We were on lockdown all day- but we were happy, because that meant we could watch movies in class for 7 hours straight.

In seventh grade, a kid told his PE teacher that he saw a man with a gun on campus. Within minutes, the entire school was on lockdown. So was the nearby high school and two nearby elementary schools. After a few hours, the police realized that the kid had fabricated the entire story to get out of running a mile.

Yesterday, the substitute teacher freaked out because a student had left to go to the bathroom without telling him. “I am responsible for all of your guys’ safety!” he exclaimed, turning an alarming shade of maroon. We fought to hide our giggles and smiles.

This morning, I got texts from multiple friends. “We’re on lockdown! Don’t come to school for office hours. Someone called 911 and said they heard gunshots.” Minutes later, they received an all-clear. It was just an air gun from the school construction site. “Who would be dumb enough to call THAT in?” was all we said. “Now I lost precious time for my test retake.”

When I lived in Texas, we had tornado drills. Here, we have earthquake drills. In other parts of the country, they have hurricane and even blizzard drills. But you know what never changes? Every school across the nation has a code red drill. We hear “code red!” and we immediately know what to do. Lights off, doors locked, silently start stacking desks and chairs against all doors and windows. Run or hide, depending on where you are. Every classroom has a bag with food and water and books. Every kid knows how it goes, no matter how young or old they are. Every year comes with the same routine.

“We’re having a code red drill today.”

“Oh, yes! Free time to just sit on my phone!”

What disgusts me about America is how desensitized we have become to gun violence.

Edit: If you’re going to comment saying your school doesn’t have code red drills but has lockdowns or shooting drills instead, don’t bother. They are all the same thing and meant to protect us against gun violence.

Minute Steak Parmesan

Ingredients

5 minute steaks
1 beaten egg
1 tablespoon water
Dash of pepper
1/4 cup soda cracker crumbs
1 (8 ounce) can pizza sauce
1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese
1/4 cup vegetable oil

Instructions

Dip steaks in combined egg, water and pepper. Coat with mixture of crumbs and half of the cheese.
Brown in hot oil; drain on absorbent paper.
Arrange in baking dish; cover with pizza sauce, and top with remaining cheese.
Bake at 325 degrees F for about 20 minutes.

Why are the average working/unemployed American citizens so poor and live miserable lives when the nation is so wealthy?

The disparity between the wealth of a nation and the financial well-being of its citizens can be attributed to several interconnected factors:

1. Income Inequality

Wealth Concentration: A significant portion of wealth is concentrated in the hands of a small percentage of the population. This limits economic mobility for the average citizen.
Wage Stagnation: Many workers have experienced stagnant wages over the past few decades, failing to keep pace with the cost of living.

2. Cost of Living

Housing Costs: In many areas, housing costs have skyrocketed, making it difficult for individuals to afford homes.
Healthcare and Education: High costs in healthcare and education can lead to significant financial burdens, impacting overall quality of life.

3. Labor Market Dynamics

Job Availability: Many low-skilled jobs have been outsourced or automated, limiting opportunities for entry-level workers.
Gig Economy: While the gig economy offers flexibility, it often lacks benefits and stable income, leaving many workers vulnerable.

4. Systemic Barriers

Discrimination: Racial, gender, and economic disparities can limit opportunities for many citizens.
Access to Education: Quality education is not equally accessible, affecting job prospects and earning potential.

5. Political and Economic Policies

Tax Policies: Tax cuts for the wealthy and corporations can exacerbate income inequality.
Social Safety Nets: Insufficient social safety nets can leave unemployed or low-income individuals without adequate support.

6. Cultural Factors

Consumerism: A culture focused on consumption can lead individuals to prioritize spending over saving, contributing to financial instability.

Conclusion

The combination of these factors creates a complex landscape where many Americans struggle to achieve financial stability despite living in a wealthy nation. Addressing these issues requires comprehensive policy changes and societal shifts to promote equity and opportunity for all citizens.

China’s Environment, Society & Propaganda

Godfree Roberts

Environment

The national carbon trading market will cover the steel, cement and aluminum sectors by December, adding 1,500 companies emitting more than 26,000 tonnes of CO2 to the ETS, adding 3 billion tonnes of emissions.

Society

Retirement age starts rising from 60 to 63 by 2040. White collar women’s retirement age increases from 55 to 58; women in blue-collar jobs will go from 50 to 55. Life expectancy is 78.6, and years of education for new labor force entrants rose from 8 years in 1982 to 14 years in 2023.

In China you know exactly who is running the show. They tell the public exactly what they plan to do, then do it. Politicians tell the billionaires what to do and they do it, too. David Ferguson.

Urban unemployment 16-24 ages, excluding students, was 18.8% in August, up 1.7% from the previous month,the second consecutive month of rising rates and a new high for the year.

Diplomacy

Leaders from 54 African countries with 30% of the world’s population attended FOCAC. Xi: “We have together built roads, railways, schools, hospitals, industrial parks, and special economic zones. These projects have changed the lives and destiny of many people”. He committed another $50 billion to continue the work and canceled all tariffs for 33 African countries. The effect will be increased exports from Africa to China.

The greatest demographic fact of our century is Africa’s exponential growth. UN forecasts say its population will grow from 811 million in 2000 to 4.3 billion in 2100, a vastly significant megatrend.

American voters want U.S. China policy to be “smart, firm, strong, and diplomatic.” Only 13% want an aggressive approach and 5% want a confrontational one. 73% say the U.S. should hold high-level diplomatic talks with China.

The UN General Assembly adopted two Chinese resolutins: The first is that July 6 will be “World Rural Development Day” (America has always been hostile to development in foreign countries and China is seeking to have development recognized as a human right). The second, the “United Nations Games” resolution, calls for convening the UN Games annually and invites relevant stakeholders to make voluntary contributions to a trust fund dedicated to the Games (a shot across the bow of the corrupt, US-controlled IOC).

Geopolitics

The United States is losing ground in important parts of Asia. “For these poor but growing countries, the American mortgage crisis was a staggering affair: why give poor people high-interest mortgages when they know they won’t be able to pay them back? Morality at zero. The irresponsibility of the United States was soon joined by that of Europe, so slow to react. In truth, it was China’s massive stimulus policy that pulled the world out of recession. The emergence of the BRICs rebounds from this double Western irresponsibility.”

By letting Jews plant bombs in electronic consumer devices, the West has undermined its own and Taiwan’s tech products and boosted China’s. Saudi Arabia and the UAE have switched to Huawei phones and telecoms, with the rest of MENA …

Two Years After Divorce Nurse Ex Is BEGGING Me Back After Lover Ditched Her…And The Baby

What was the most outrageous repair quote a mechanic has ever given you to fix your car?

Many, many years ago, I bought a beautiful, well maintained 1988 Mercedes 420 SEL. Incredible car, tons of torque, four heated, reclining seats, electric sun sccreen for the rear window and a long list of other fancy toys, all of which was working, for £500.00.

An absolute steal.

One random morning, the remote wouldn’t unlock the car doors. When I pressed the remote, the little tabs on the inside of the door would wiggle a little bit, but they would not pop up and allow access to the car.

Even though the car key would allow me to unlock the drivers door, I considered this an inconvenience.

I took the car to a mechanic shop in Bermondsey, South London. Now, that really should have been my first clue that I was about to be fleeced. For all the qualities you would ordinarily perscribe to the fine folks of Bermondsey, honesty most certainly was not high on the list.

The gentleman (in lack of a better, more suitable term) explained to me, after a demonstration of the problem that this very costly repair would involve him to check the airlines all around the car and perform various tests etc at the cost of £70.00 per hour, and the cost of whichever parts would be needed.

He explained to me that the absolute best-case scenario would be north of £800.00 with no guarantee that he could fix it.

I pondered this for about 15 seconds, and told him I would just live with the problem, rather than pay close to twice the purchase price of the car for a little irritation.

I went home, pondered this some more and started wondering what the issue could be. I decided to have a look around, and started with the fusebox under the bonnet.

It was obvious that one of the fuses had blown (but I had no idea what that particular fuse was for) so I bout a pack of 4 fuses and changed it, like for like. Then I forgot about it for a while.

The next time I drove the car, I pressed the remote button ( out of muscle memory) and the doors opened immediately.

Repair cost: £0.64.

What a fucker.

What is the most unreasonable rule an HOA has ever tried to enforce on a homeowner?

Had a friend sell his place that was in an HOA recently and the following was the main reason. A few years ago, his roof needed replacing and he had the HOA brochure for colors and went to the roofer the HOA had listed. He picked his color and the new roof was installed after the prior ones were removed since the thickness was too much. Of course, removing the old roof on a 3000 sf house is not a small job so a dumpster was needed. The HOA attempted to fine him for the dumpster and he ignored them (it was there 3 days) and had the roof installed. Then he meticulously cleaned the whole driveway to get anything that didn’t hit the dumpster and next policed his own place and the neighbor’s.

A few days after he finished, he got a written notice from the HOA lawyers that he needed to removed the dumpster (already gone after the 3 days), and that there was debris all over the place from the old roof and, by the way, the new roof did not conform to the color choices the HOA allowed. Really? He took them to court when the harassment did not stop and went in with the contractor (who hated the HOA even though they brought him work), photos time and date stamped that showed the dumpster and when it left and how the yards looked the day after the roof was done. He also had the brochure that showed his roof color was in that brochure.

The HOA had no actual evidence and thought they could bully him into paying an unwarranted fine. The judge ended up awarding the whole cost of the roof and lawyer and all court costs to my friend along with damages of $10,000 to my friend for all the trouble they cause him. In the ruling, he admonished the HOA for not following their own rules, harassment, and over eagerness for money not owed them. The HOA president and board were replace in the next election due in part to this incident and many other infractions.

My friend put his house on the market the week after the trial and is no longer in that state since he retired.

What 10 Years in China and Europe Taught This American

How strong would a resisting inmate need to be to make the staff give up on strip searching him?

Funny story about that.

When I was working county jail, I met a guy who was on “light duty”. He was confined to a desk for having blown out knees at the job. I asked him what happened.

His story was that one day, the deputies had dragged in a drunk guy on domestic violence charges. This guy was beyond obese and butt naked(of course). Being drunk, he did not appreciate the hospitality of the county jail.

Once put in the drunk tank, he flooded the cell.

Staff converged with one very trigger happy sergeant.

Now, I dealt with this behavior in maximum security prison for two years before going to county. If an inmate is flooding his cell, he does NOT need to leave the cell. He will most certainly be fighting you the second that door rolls. What you do is, you turn off the water to his cell and you put some towels by his door to mop up any water. Give him the amount of time he needs to cool off then you provide him with towels to clean up his cell and return the water. NO ONE NEED GET HURT, not you, not him.

This sergeant decided that opening the door and forcing a hasty cell extraction was a good idea.

Another trick from maximum security prison. First put on armor, so when you’re rolling around with the Blob in the cell, you don’t hurt yourself. Two, pepper spray the inmate before hand. Simply feeling the burn of pepper spray will encourage him to surrender. If you still have to go in, he will be at a disadvantage to fight you, being blinded.

This sergeant decided that he didn’t need anything but his baton. He and a couple jailers rolled the door. The Blob came stampeding out. Sarge tries to step in the way, only to get bowled over. Jailers dive on the inmate, trying to get him into handcuffs. He is not having it.

Sarge whips out his ASP baton and starts striking the inmate’s leg. The baton snaps in half and the Blob looks none the worse for wear. So you have four guys wrestling on the ground with a naked 300 lb man.

Additional staff starts running in. Problem is, when the door rolled a couple dozen gallons of water came out of the cell. Staff is slipping and sliding. My coworker runs up, slips and cracks both his knees.

I saw the footage of this and it was an absolute crap shoot. How everything got ironed out, I didn’t get to see but it did. Word was that the guy woke up the next day and had no idea what happened. He bonded out and was never seen again.

So, to give you an answer, prisons and jails will line every single officer up to make sure an inmate submits.

Who are the scariest people in history?

Narcissism raged very high with this one.

His Excellency, President for Life, Field Marshal Al Hadji Doctor Idi Amin Dada, VC, DSO, MC, Lord of All the Beasts of the Earth and Fishes of the Seas and Conqueror of the British Empire in Africa in General and Uganda in Particular.

Those were official titlels he conferred himself, in addition to his unofficial stated claim of being the uncrowned King of Scotland.

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Amin was the dictator of Uganda from 1971 to 1979. He charmed and promised the world that he would bring peace and democracy to the people of his country. Instead, he turned Uganda into a poverty-stricken land patrolled by death squads.

Amin was possibly the most brutal and merciless dictator of all time. His rule was characterized by human rights abuses, ethnic persecution, political repression, massacres and the expulsion of 80,000 Asians from Uganda. In my opinion, he was probably the most sadistic dictator in the 20th century.

He would show executions of people on television. Everyone was a good game for torture and execution: his country’s soldiers, government officials, teachers, artists, doctors, journalists, engineers, politicians, police officers, photographers, lawyers, business people, ordinary citizens, ministers, and children.

His henchmen tortured and killed people with sledgehammers while Amin kept the pictures for fun and amusement.

This sadistic beast relished when he buried his victims alive and would often give the heads of his enemies to crocodiles. Hundreds of thousands of dead bodies washed up to the shores of Lake Victoria. More than 4,000 people were killed by being thrown into crocodile-infested rivers. Another 50,000 people died from disease, most were children.

As if that was not disturbing enough he would cut the flesh of his perceived enemies and force them to eat it until they died. He was also a cannibal who ate human flesh and drank human blood. It is stated that he proudly admitted he was a cannibal.

His depravity came full circle when he mutilated one of his wives and had her limbs sewn upside down.

In total, it’s estimated he killed and tortured 300,000 to 500,000 Ugandans.

On the 11 April 1979, the Tanzanian Army invaded Uganda and ousted him, he went into exile in Saudi Arabia (really humane of you Saudi Arabia) for the rest of his life.

Amin died almost 25 years later in 2003. In that time Amin lived a very peaceful life.

When I think of the atrocities committed against such a young innocent country by this sick depraved man, I weep a little and feel ashamed for such human being every existed.

Scary!

SCOOBY-DOO – 1950’s Super Panavision 70

How can one person fight more than 3 people at the same time and win?

You can’t spar them. It’s not a fair fight, so you can’t trade blows. Every strike you hit might be your last, and if you get hit, it’s going to be only the first of many. So you have to be fierce.

Make sure it hurts them more: A punch to the forehead hurts your hand more than the opponent’s head. Hit where it hurts – nose, eyes, throat, groin, knees, feet. Anything goes. A nose is your best target, as it is very sensitive. Anyone not used to sparring and taking strikes to the nose will immediately get tears in their eyes, and most people lose their will to fight. If they bleed, even better! You took one out and drew first blood. The others might think twice before engaging.

No matter what, don’t let them grapple you: If someone gets a hold to your arm, you need to make them let go immediately. Twist their arm, use the grapple to get them near and use your elbows and knees to make more damage. Stomp their feet. This is the worst possible scenario, if they somehow grab both your arms you’ll lose the ability to defend yourself. If they drag you to the ground, it’s over. Make sure to punish a grappler in a way the others will prefer striking you than grappling. Knee to groin, elbow to the nose. Do anything you can to set this rule in the combat, that you will not allow anyone to grab you in any way.

Don’t try the same strategy on everyone: If you poked a finger on the first guy’s eye, the other ones will be guarded against this. If you kick someone’s groin, the next one will try to grab your leg. So you need to approach each one differently. I understand this is not something people train for, and is not easy to remember internet tips when the blood pumps and survival mode kicks in. But if you can’t think, you’re done. Think of at least one weak spot for each one: nose, eyes, throat, groin, knees, feet. And stick to them.

Don’t get surrounded: If it’s an option, quickly grasp your opponents position and don’t let them surround you. Get somewhere they can’t hit you from behind. Even if you got your back covered, when one of them fights you there will be an opening for another to hit you from behind. So it’s crucial not getting surrounded by them. If you can’t run away, at least find a 90º corner or a corridor so they can’t all at the sime time get to you.

Mess with their morale: I have avoided fights by acting weird. I have de-escalated fights using my own blood (I had this accidental cut while pushing away an attacking bully, the others thought it was his blood). Call them cowards for teaming up. Tell them you got nothing to lose. Or everything to lose – that you got a daughter that needs you. Yell at them, say you already lost so you’ll take as many as you can to the hospital with you.

Flee to a better place: Run away to somewhere crowded if you’re all alone. Get on the top of a staircase. Lock yourself somewhere. Create hurdles for them to pass, skip a fence so you can slow some of them down. Climb onto a second-story building.

Give up (true of not): You need to put winning in perspective. What is a win? The goal here is surviving, right? So if you give up fighting and show it, the fight might de-escalate enough that someone intervenes. Raise your hands to show you mean no harm. If they still engage into fighting, at least you may surprise them. They have to deal with an unexpected change of pace – at one second you’ve surrended, at the next you just defeated someone.

Don’t do it: Against everything I wrote here, don’t fight unless you absolutely have to. This is my final advice. Four muggers want your phone? It’s ok. At least you won’t get hurt. You won’t have to get surgery or physical rehabilitation. You won’t lose teeth – if you still got all your teeth, keep them. Dentures are bad. Teeth implants are expensive. Knee treatments not always work fully, you may get a bad knee for the rest of your life. You might be handicapped as a result of some street brawl. So only do it if nothing else can be done.

What is the last thing you heard from someone before they died?

I received a phone-call that my mother was on her way from her hometown to a big city cardio hospital and that it looks dire. I, because of a shorter distance and because the ambulance had to stop to stabilize Mom, beat the ambulance to the hospital and were waiting in the arrivals for them.

When the paramedics unloaded her she was conscious and responsive and I in passing said “vasbyt Mamma, sien jou nou” (hold on Mamma, I’ll see you soon.” She reached out touched my arm and said “Nee, dis verby.” (No, it’s all over) as the paramedics rushed passed me.

She was rushed to the cardiopulmonary wing ICU and we (dad, one sister and I) waited in the waiting room. At one stage I went and peeped through the gap in the doors and I could see the doctors and or nurses bussy with CPR on her. You can probably imagine the amount of dread that induced in me.

It was not a short while later that the cardiologist came to us and explained that although they did everything they could the damage to her heart was just too severe.

I, because she was awake and responsive, assumed that because we were with the best minds in medicine available that she would be okay. She obviously understood her own body better and could appreciate the severity of her condition better. She knew, “Nee, dis verby.”

I had to come to grips, not only with the loss, but also with the understanding that it must have been a most terrifying end for her, knowing that her time with us has reached its end, in some ways that have been harder, and even now bring tears to my eyes and form a obstruction in my throat.

Gone, but not forgotten, I still miss her daily.

Bewitched as a 1970s Grindhouse Horror – Super Panavision 70

Rebirth on Xenoscythe

Submitted into Contest #232 in response to: Write a story set in a world with a dying sun, or where light is a scarce resource.… view prompt

Kevin Marlow

Jagged spears of light sliced through the dome of the cavern. The planet Xenoscythe’s sun, Aerialis spun in a perpetual dance with its barren rocky surface. Its scant rays fed the underground cathedral rock amphitheaters through rifts in the crust, allowing life to survive under the surface. Vast rippling pools of fresh water were ringed with igneous rock formations bursting with gold and green mosses, giant leafed ferns, purple flowers, succulent fruits, amphibians, and tiny flitting red finches. The sounds of the waterfall splashing into the small lake murmured in Tokarov’s ear as he opened an eye and yawned.His bed was a pile of soft dark green and lavender feathers nestled in the soft powdery clay dust under a stone outcrop. He rolled over and looked at her. Marble skin hid under a silken sheet emblazoned with the same iridescent sheen that made the feathers shimmer in the dim light. Reaching out, he stroked the burgundy curls cascading down her slender shoulders. Lora Lei stirred, shifting in her sleep. Tokarov scooted his naked frame over to hers and held her, folding down the blanket and rubbing her arm, reaching to feel the growing bulge in her belly.Sitting up in a quick motion, Lora Lei stretched her long limbs and let out a noisy yawn. He was transfixed, staring at her vulnerable, supple frame as she fought off the fog of sleep.“I need to feed.” Her purple irises flashed at him as a knowing smile dotted her lips.”I’m sure some poor Grigglesneed is just waiting to have his head torn off.” Tokarov slid on his trousers and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He turned away not wanting to see it again.The Sabinarath Lora Lei transformed into was tragically beautiful and terrifying. A long beak lined with razor-sharp serrations jutted from in between two enormous purple eyeballs the size of dinner plates. Her arms stretched into wings, trailing in flowing green feathers, with legs ending in talons and scaley bird-like feet. Two steps and Tokarov felt the wind as she took flight in the cavern, swirling up into the light, landing, and disappearing into the crevice in the cave ceiling.Now alone, Tokarov slipped on his cotton tunic and bounded barefoot toward the stand of fruit trees near her lair. Flipping his dagger from its worn and humble brown leather sheath, he sliced through sinew strands of the sweet yellow-striped fruit that smelled like bananas and tasted like kiwis. Digging his teeth into the flesh, he tried to fight off the images of his mate feeding. Grigglesneeds were hearty reptilian humanoids with tails like a crocodile and legs like an iguana. She assured him, that the nutrients the fresh meat provided was necessary for their alien hybrid to grow. Thankfully, she would plunge into the water upon return and wash off the blood. He shuddered and swallowed, cutting up another fruit.He nursed the fire, blowing on it with a tube to resurrect the orange flames. Piling on some small sticks, the hearth fended off the chill of the morning. The sun provided enough light for life, but no heat in the vast cave where they lived. He ruminated on the stories of the Wombs of Xenoscythe recited to him by Lora Lei. These natural formations were homes to the trial winners, ones who fought to live, ones tasked with birthing a new species capable of surviving, capable of thriving. It was rumored the Overlords of Xenoscythe had seed planets ready. They only harvested the planets that were dying, planets like the Earth, Tokarov’s home.His mind’s eye replayed the evacuation. Long flexible tubes sucked the few dozen humans that had survived the armageddon from the surface of Earth. They were able to watch on a large digital screen in their holding area from the immense interstellar ship as a robotic arm equipped with a cylindrical head, lined with thousands of teeth tore into the Earth’s crust. A hose the size of a mountain range vacuumed the remains into a storage vessel. In a few minutes, the Earth was reduced to a molten mash of bits, simmering in a cargo ship three times its size. A loud splash jolted him back to the present.

He turned to see the surface of the water rippling. Lora Lei’s head slowly parted the water, her hair flowing in the water. Her body was like a master’s painting, flawless and timeless. She cupped a hand to her belly and looked up with a radiant smile at Tokarov. He looked away with a bashful grin.

“What are you going to name it?” The question struck him.

“Shouldn’t we decide that together?”

“We both know how this is going to end. You need to be planning, gestation with my species only takes a couple of moon cycles.” Lora’s eyes widened as she felt a movement in her abdomen. She grabbed his wrist and placed his hand on her stomach.

“I don’t feel anything.”

“In time, dear, in time.”

“What if I don’t know what to do? I have spent my adult life fighting, living the life of a warrior. I don’t know anything about raising a child.” He looked at his blade, its metal stained with the blood of enemies and friends alike.

“We are all imbued with the spirit of life, Tokarov. Death is just another part of life. An animal doesn’t need to read a book to nurture its young. We are programmed with DNA and powers beyond our comprehension. Billions of years ago rocks did not just spring to life and start breathing. We are moved and gifted with a force, a force of life that makes us want to live.” Lora sifted her fingers through his long hair, prying to confront his soul. He hid it behind his humanity, shielding his vulnerabilities.

“I’ve spent my life killing and dying, hoping for a glorious warrior’s death on the battlefield, with the gods of war smiling down on me, applauding my effort.” He unsheathed the dagger, spinning it in his hand with precision.

“What if there are no gods? What if there is only one single thread that holds us all together? What would you call it? A presence? A what? What would it be called?” She felt in her heart she had him cornered.

“Life?”

“What gives life?”

“The sun? I don’t know.”

“Spirit, Tokarov! Every culture has figured it out since the dawn of time. They call it by different names, but unless you embrace the spirit you will always be lost. You can take a man’s life, only One can take his spirit.”

“Who is the One then?”

“You have already met Him, you just don’t yet believe.”

“Will I in time?”

“You will, you will…”

Time is an immutable force that whisks us to our destiny whether we are ready or not. The weeks that followed were the stuff of fairy tales. Love, bonding, and long afternoon embraces all contained in a place that could only be compared to the Eden of antiquity. Yet not everything is as one sees, for every life there must be a death.

“Didn’t we meet just a few weeks ago?”

“And?”

“You said the gestation would take a few moon cycles. On my planet that is sixty days.”

“Well, Xenoscythe is not your planet. My offspring is ripe, ready for the world.”

Tokarov screwed up his face a bit. Lora Lei was quite large to be in her first trimester. He had felt the fetus move a week ago, yet now nothing. Her belly was stiff and bloated. As the light from Aerialis dimmed in the cavern, she stopped, flaring her fingers out with wide eyes.

“The time is now!”

Tokarov led her to the lair, to their bed, the only soft place in the cavern. He folded up his shirt and placed it under her head and neck. She pulled off her clothes and lay there naked, pulling her ankles up to her buttocks with her hands and beginning a bizarre breathing pattern, eyes staring straight up.

Tokarov watched as nature took over and her body engaged in its genetic instructions. A sweat broke over her body and her abdominal muscles undulated, like a python swallowing a pig in reverse. He touched her arm, but she was fixated on the birthing process. Curious, he looked down to see if the baby had crowned yet. In humans, one could see the top of the head and some dark hair. Yet, the birth canal revealed a shiny, white, curved surface. He stopped and caught a breath. It was then she spoke for the final time.

“You must take it to the surface of Xenoscythe. Only Aerialis can free our child. I loved you.”

A final push released the egg from her womb. Lora’s body fell limp. Tokarov touched the egg, its surface sticky with slime. He rubbed it with his fingers, momentarily forgetting about its mother. Then he stopped, his eyes wet, and looked up to her face. Emotion was gone.

Her body lay limp and lifeless, the Sabinarath had kept its word and given itself up for the birth. He racked a few selfish sobs. Not sure what to do he decided to carry her body into the water and allow nature to take it back from him. As he pushed the body out into the lake, birds in the cavern shrieked in a cacophony of sounds. He knew it was done, yet something else had begun.

There was no easy path to the surface. He could not fly like the Sabinarath. He had to carry the egg back through the caverns if he could remember the way. The egg was the size of a small watermelon. Needing his respirator to breathe in the caverns, Tokarov knew this was no minor adventure. Pulling on boots and checking his breathing apparatus, he plugged the tubes into his nostrils, spinning the oxygen generator onto his back. It sprang to life puffing air into his nasal passage. Lifting Lora’s dress from the ground he used his knife to fashion it into a sling for the egg, carefully cradling it and placing the strap over his shoulder.

He slipped through the web-covered secret entrance one last time and flicked on his headlamp. It danced back and forth as the cave yawned on. His running banged out a tired rhythm as the egg swayed and the light bounced. After what felt like a kilometer or more, a few forks in the road, and guessing, Tokarov saw the soft light of a feeding shaft in the distance. He picked up his gait to a full run and was digging in a heel to slow down when the stars burst into his eyes as he blacked out. His last thought was to protect the egg and in falling he wrapped his body in sacrifice around it.

“GGGRRR ZZZZ AAAHHHH!!!!” The familiar tongue of the Grigglesneed met his ears. Digging for his waistband he felt the dagger’s handle and wrapped it in a firm grip. The lizard man rolled him over and felt the egg, its tongue flicking out and tasting the shell. Tokarov wrapped his free hand around the creature’s throat and lunged with the blade, aiming to plant it in the center of its walnut-sized brain. The lizard heaved and shoved him.

Its strength was unbelievable. It tossed him against the rib of the cave like a doll and hissed. Arms were rippled with armor scales and flexed three-fingered palms tipped in dirty, sharp talons. Tokarov pushed himself up on unsteady feet and brandished the blade in his back hand. Looking over, the egg was cradled in its sling on the rock floor. The diamond slits of its eyes narrowed in the darkness, the light of the overhead shaft illuminating the scuffle. Tokarov saw his headlamp lying near the creature’s foot. He knew if he could blind it, even momentarily, the advantage would be his. Diving for the light, he flicked the switch, jamming it in the Grigglesneed’s eyes. The shrieking echoed in the close space and Tokarov shoved the blade to the beast’s throat, pushing it into the flesh. The lizard was too strong. It reached a claw around his forearm it pushed the knife from its throat. Shoving him back, it thrust Tokarov to the wall of the cave, its hot breath washing over his face.

“AAAAIIIIIIEEEEEE!!!!” Blood burst from the creature’s head as a sword cleaved off half its head, splattering Tokarov in a mess of fluid and brain matter. As it fell back, he dropped to his knees and caught a breath trying to wipe the blood from his eyes. Looking up he saw the smiling face of Ego, his arm resting on the hilt of a double-handed claymore sword.

“Dear God, you just saved my life.”

“Not just yours, you have a species to revive.”

“You, are now Who has always been.”

“We are all just trying to survive, even the gods among us.”

“What am I to do?”

“Gather yourself and your future. I will get you to the surface.”

Tokarov sheathed his dagger and gathered himself, placing the egg in the sling over his shoulder, and looked at Ego, “What now?”

“Extend your arms and position yourself under the shaft. I will do the rest.” Tokarov complied and Ego clasped his hands together and his lips danced with ancient words, bringing realization and tears to Tokarov’s eyes. The weight came off his feet as he ascended the shaft by faith alone with his future cradled around him.

At the planet’s surface, he floated down to the rocky ground, the heat of Aerialis bearing down on him. Gently unwrapping the Sabinarath’s egg, he held it up to the sun, allowing its rays to heat the shell, not quite knowing what would happen. As the star warmed it with its rays, something stirred inside. Sitting down, Tokarov placed the egg in his lap facing the sun.

Watching as it rocked and wiggled, he gasped as a tiny finger poked through the shell. Helping it along, he broke away the hard husk, revealing what looked like a human infant. As the light reached her eyes she squealed and kicked, punching away the last of its vessel. Holding her up in the light, he looked down, yes definitely able to reproduce. Wiggling and cooing, she locked eyes with Tokarov, her purple irises beaming in the sunlight. They both smiled as he held her close.

“I will name you Evangeline.” Tokarov kissed her cheek as a tear dripped off his nose, landing on her tender forehead.

A noise broke the communion as Tokarov saw the nose of a ship edging down toward the surface of Xenoscythe. The Overlords were here, to where they traveled next only they would know.

SEINFELD | 1950’s Super Panavision 70

Some AI image generations by MM

Enjoy.

AlbedoBase XL Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Ba 1(24)

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What made you realize your life will never be the same?

I suspected but did not know if my wife was having an affair. She had been texting a guy that she said was a friend. I had been hospitalized with appendicitis a few weeks before and was still at home hardly able to walk. I heard a text come in very late at night. She was asleep. I could not sleep due to pain. I looked.

Here is what I read:

Scumbag: Sorry about pregnancy. Def me?

I was blown away. I knew immediately what this meant. I woke her up and showed her. I was too shocked to be angry or hostile. My head was spinning. I could hardly breath. She denied they had sex.

She said Scumbag didn’t know how babies were made!!!

He was a married father of three that worked in the medical field. She said she could explain it. That I was reading too much into it.

I’m sure she did think that she could talk her way out of it in the morning. She had talked her way out of many other similar, albeit less damning and concrete situations over the last few months. She took her phone and fell back asleep right away as she had been drinking quite a bit.

I knew the truth but did not want any chance for her to be able to have even a fig leaf of cover. Once she was asleep again I got her phone and texted back to Scumbag, pretending to be her.

Me for her: What do you mean by Def me???

Scumbag: Are you sure it was me that got you pregnant?

I woke her again and showed her this new evidence. She no longer denied it. She was in tears, telling me she had broken up with him weeks ago. She said when she realised I could have died from the burst appendix that she really wanted me and not him. I believed it then, briefly. We are divorced now. Of course.

What do you think of the education system in China?

I have studied with, taught and collaborated professionally with products of the Chinese education system.

My friend from beida likes to boast she placed in the top half of her faculty. She wears it with plenty of pride, because she was one of several applicants from her province that was accepted that year. She considers my intellect average at best.

Another friend from qinghua blew my socks away when he elegantly derived a molecular dynamics homework question I had spent a fruitless night on. He did not need to consult any references and wasn’t taking the class. And no, he wasn’t a physics or chemistry major.

I will say the professionally qualified in china deserve their credentials, especially the nationally recognized standards or schools.

A shanghai/Beijing academy qualified dancer/singer/actor will have the requisite skill/looks/grooming to begin a performance career. An nth grade welder will be able to make welds only a select few can nationwide. A fudan PhD possesses a rare quality of mind.

And so on.

There is incredible competition in china, across all trades and professions. And China has a systematic mechanism of identifying, developing and sifting through the stream. In certain realms such as the arts and select technical trades, the mechanism is more thorough and rigorous than most countries. For example, emcees and newscasters must obtain a practicing cert, just like lawyers in many countries.

That’s the cream of the crop. Much work remains on the other end, where millions in each cohort still skip the gaokao due to lack of opportunity.

Gilligan’s Island as a 1970s Grindhouse Horror – Super Panavision 70

This question is for the retired people. How did you get adjusted with the retired life at the initial stage? What was your routine during the first three months after your retirement?

I retired in 2017

It was a Tuesday. I had had a Dinner just the evening given by the department and had received the traditional gift. It was all OVER and seriously – i felt liberated or free – FOR ABOUT 12 HOURS.

Then i woke up on Wednesday – my first thought was mechanical. It was 6:40 in the morning – my usual wake up time and it took me almost 20 minutes to realize I was Retired.

I sat there feeling depressed for some strange reason, My routine was gone. Leaving the house at 9:20 AM after breakfast, going to the office, doing some work, participate in a handful of meetings and returning back home. IT was over.

I missed the 11:00 AM – Coffee first. Then i missed the Lunch in the Canteen at 1:30 PM. Then i missed the general talk. My wife was gone (She teaches). I had never felt so lonely in my life.

At 3:30 – I dressed up and went to my workplace. I did not care – i just decided to go. I reached there at around 4:15 and there was a flutter. Everyone was puzzled. They greeted me, milled around me. My AGM invited me into his cabin for a cup of tea. It felt Good again. I had to make up a lie about why i was there of course. Some lie about some file which i presume nobody believed.

I left at 6:30 – feeling better. It was like going home after a regular day of work.

However i knew – if i keep going back – i would soon be ignored or curtly told to go home and i did not want that.

So i had to find a way out of my boredom.

The next 2 days were Torture. Staying alone at home – watching TV, Browsing the Internet, Disturbing my kids (I would Skype them at 2 PM when it was 12:30 Midnight)

A Lot of suggestions came up – including – trying how to cook (Which was a disaster).

It was perhaps on the 15th day – that i got a call

A Local company in Bangalore was sigining an MOU with a Malaysian Company and the Lawyer wanted someone who understood “Contracts” and knew about “Malaysia and Singapore” for an outside opinion.

He couriered me the documents and i gave my first legal opinion. I got my first legal fee – Rs. 7500/- since 1983

A Few days later- the Company invited me to Bangalore. I agreed and was planning to stay with my sister when they sent an email – booking me a room in a Hotel and booking a flight ticket for me and asking me for my consultancy charges?

First experience of such things.

Of course I had to portray myself as a Top corporate lawyer. I printed visiting cards , purchased a few clothes and went on my first consultation.

Life slowly changed

I found some work – enough to keep me slightly busy with contracts from Singapore/Malaysia/US

I found Quora – and it was a huge, huge relief.

I found Movies – getting complimentary tickets for every film from my Auditor Friend who himself did not care for movies.

Now i have my latest interest in Computers and C Programming (I am now at Arrays)

So slowly you get adapted to a new life. One post retirement.

If you can get past the early days – You get used to it and then slowly begin to forget what it was life when you had a Working life.

My advise:-

(a) Always have a Hobby – Reading, Browsing. A Hobby would be very useful indeed.

(b) If possible try to get away for a Holiday soon as you retire

(d) Join Quora – It seriously was a life saver for me. I was busy only around 20 hours or so every week – the rest of the time it was Quora which saved me.

(e) If you long to go back to your workplace – Dont!!!! Have Rarity Value.

How democratic, free, and prosperous is China in the 21st century?

Chinese and westerners have very different ideas about personal and group rights, so it is impossible to give an answer which pleases everyone.

For Americans and westerners, the threat comes from an over-reaching government which wants to extend its power over every facet of personal life. So for them, the power of the Chinese government to store voice, gait and facial recognition, full access to to digital communications when needed, access to bank accounts, etc represents a typical tyranny which is unacceptable by western standards.

For Chinese though, the greatest threat came from foreign invasion and occupation. To most Chinese, the Chinese government is their guardian and protector from foreign exploitation. Most Chinese believe that the government should have access to bank records and personal data. If the Chinese government did not have free access, how would it catch criminals and corrupt officials who abuse their power. After all, if a citizen is honest, why does he care about his own privacy? He has nothing to hide!

This means that there is no objective standard for judging how democratic China is, because the west and Asians see the same thing completely differently.

The Decline of the United States: A Multifaceted Story
In Search Of Truth September 29, 2024

The Decline of the United States: A Multifaceted Story

The idea that the United States is in decline has been a recurring theme in political and cultural discourse, particularly over the past few decades. While the term “decline” can be subjective and varies depending on one’s perspective, several indicators point toward significant challenges the U.S. faces that have contributed to this narrative. From economic stagnation and political polarization to social unrest and a weakened global influence, the decline of the U.S. is a multifaceted issue. Below is an exploration of the key dimensions driving this perceived fall from prominence.

1. Economic Inequality and Stagnation

The American Dream, which once symbolized upward mobility, has become increasingly out of reach for many. While the U.S. remains a wealthy nation, the distribution of wealth has skewed sharply toward the upper echelons of society. The top 1% of Americans control about a third of the nation’s wealth, while middle-class wages have stagnated for decades. This growing inequality has led to a breakdown in social cohesion, as many working- and middle-class Americans struggle to maintain their standard of living amid rising costs of housing, education, and healthcare.

The decline of American manufacturing, once the backbone of the economy, has been another contributing factor. With the advent of globalization and automation, many manufacturing jobs have moved overseas, leaving a void in many working-class communities. These economic changes have decimated industrial towns across the Midwest and Northeast, creating a sense of despair and fueling populist sentiments.

2. Political Polarization and Dysfunction

The U.S. political system has become more divided and dysfunctional than at any time in recent memory. While the country has always had political disagreements, the partisan divide today seems unbridgeable. On nearly every major issue—whether it be healthcare, immigration, or climate change—Americans are split along ideological lines. This polarization has eroded trust in institutions and undermined the basic functioning of government.

A significant factor in this polarization is the rise of hyper-partisan media, which often prioritizes sensationalism and outrage over nuanced debate. Social media platforms amplify these divisions by creating echo chambers, where people are exposed primarily to views that confirm their preexisting beliefs. The result has been a political landscape that feels more like a culture war than a forum for governance.

Moreover, the influence of money in politics has led to a system where special interests, corporate lobbyists, and wealthy donors wield disproportionate power. This has created a sense among many Americans that their government no longer represents their interests, leading to widespread disillusionment and apathy.

3. Social Fragmentation and Civil Unrest

American society has also become more fragmented. Racial, ethnic, and cultural divides, long part of the U.S. fabric, have grown sharper. The killing of George Floyd in 2020 and the subsequent protests brought to the surface long-simmering tensions over police brutality, systemic racism, and inequality. While these protests represented a call for justice, they also highlighted the deep rifts within American society.

The rise of identity politics, where individuals’ political positions are based on their race, gender, or ethnicity, has further contributed to social fragmentation. While the recognition of historically marginalized groups is essential, identity politics can sometimes lead to a zero-sum mindset, where groups see themselves in constant competition for limited resources or recognition.

Additionally, the erosion of traditional community structures, such as churches and civic organizations, has left many Americans feeling isolated and disconnected. The digital age has, paradoxically, contributed to this sense of isolation, as more people retreat into virtual spaces rather than engaging in face-to-face social interactions.

4. Global Influence and Military Overreach

The United States’ global standing has also diminished. Once the unchallenged leader of the free world, the U.S. now faces stiff competition from rising powers, most notably China. In the aftermath of World War II, the U.S. helped shape the liberal international order, promoting democracy, human rights, and free trade. However, in recent years, this order has frayed, with authoritarianism on the rise and international alliances weakening.

One of the major factors in this decline has been military overreach. Following the 9/11 attacks, the U.S. launched wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, both of which have dragged on with mixed results. These conflicts have drained U.S. resources, both in terms of money and human lives, while achieving limited success in stabilizing the regions involved. The U.S. has also been criticized for its role in destabilizing the Middle East and North Africa, contributing to the refugee crises and the spread of extremism.

The withdrawal from international agreements, such as the Paris Climate Agreement and the Iran nuclear deal, has also weakened the U.S.’s reputation as a reliable global leader. Meanwhile, China’s rise as an economic and geopolitical power has challenged the U.S. in key areas like technology, trade, and military might.

5. Cultural and Moral Decline

Many commentators also point to a cultural or moral decline as part of the broader story of America’s fall. Traditional values, such as family, faith, and civic duty, have been eroded by consumerism, individualism, and relativism. The pursuit of material wealth and instant gratification has replaced long-term commitment to communal or national goals.

This cultural shift has affected everything from education to political discourse. The U.S. education system, once the envy of the world, has fallen behind in key metrics, particularly in science and math. There is also a growing anti-intellectualism in certain segments of society, where expertise and facts are increasingly dismissed in favor of conspiracy theories and tribal loyalties.

The breakdown of the family unit has also been cited as a key indicator of moral decline. Rising divorce rates, single-parent households, and a general retreat from marriage have contributed to a sense of social instability, particularly among the younger generation.

6. Challenges to Democracy

Perhaps the most alarming sign of U.S. decline is the erosion of democratic norms. The events surrounding the 2020 and 2024 presidential elections, including claims of election fraud and efforts to overturn results, have undermined confidence in the electoral process. The January 6th, 2021 attack on the Capitol, in which rioters sought to disrupt the certification of the election, was a watershed moment that exposed the fragility of U.S. democracy.

Voter suppression efforts, gerrymandering, and the influence of dark money have further weakened democratic participation. While the U.S. has long held itself up as a beacon of democracy, it now faces serious questions about the health of its own system.

Conclusion: A Path Forward?

The decline of the United States is not inevitable, nor is it irreversible. The country still possesses tremendous resources, talent, and potential. However, addressing the factors driving this decline will require bold action and a renewed sense of national purpose. Economic reforms to reduce inequality, a commitment to rebuilding trust in democratic institutions, and a more measured foreign policy are essential steps in reversing course.

Ultimately, the fate of the United States rests on whether it can overcome its divisions and recapture the spirit of unity and innovation that once made it a global leader. Whether or not it can, remains one of the defining questions of the 21st century.

What should you do if someone pulls up in a van with a gun and asks that you get in?

Gavin de Becker discusses this situation in his book — The Gift of Fear.

I will admit, I have not read his book. But I did see him interviewed for this book. And here, 18 yrs later, I still remember his example for the scenario.

Here is how he explained it.

If someone is trying to take you to a second crime scene, they are doing it for one reason only. That reason is to eventually murder you. After all, they can rob or rape you where you are.

If you’re going to die anyways, your best strategy is to try to get away.

Suppose they have a gun? How difficult is it to hit a moving target? Suppose it’s 50/50. So you have at least a half a chance of getting away?

In tests, the chances of being hit are less than 10% (I believe this was taken from police training sites). The chances of being hit in such a way that you couldn’t keep running were about 4%. The chances of being hit fatally, were about 1-2% (again, this was a long time ago, my numbers may not be exactly what he quoted, but they are pretty close).

So your choice is get in the van, and 100% chance of being murdered. Or take a chance, and have about a 10% of even being hit.

Always run. Run and scream.

The killer Muppets – 1940’s Super Panavision 70

Why does the PRC government care if Taiwan is independent? Taiwan is a small island without much strategic importance.

Taiwan is a small island without much strategic importance.

Says who? Says you? Who the fuck are you? What make you such a fucking expert?

Taiwan is strategically very, very important for the following reasons:

It is the key island in the first island chain that blocks China’s access to the Pacific.
If Taiwan falls under the control of the USA, then US forces (including nuclear missiles) could be less than a hundred miles away from China’s coast.
Taiwan is symbolic of China’s century of humiliation. The Chinese people demand that Taiwan be reunified.
TSMC.
No country should be expected to cede its territory for any reason. Should the USA cede Hawaii or Texas? Should the UK cede the Falkland Islands?

What was the most incredibly stupid (and avoidable) error a pilot made that caused the crash of a passenger airliner?

American Airlines flight 965 from Miami to Cali, Colombia. The aircraft was a Boeing 757–200. This flight took place on December 20, 1995 with 163 onboard.

Cali airport is situated in a thin valley surrounded by tall mountains. The plane was approaching Cali at night time. There was no radar at the airport because it was sabotaged by a terror group. So Air Traffic Control could not see where the aircraft was going.

As flight 587 was coming in for the approach, the pilots were planning to land on runway 01, but ATC offered if they wanted to land straight in on runway 19. The pilots accepted the straight in approach because it was faster. The flight had already been delayed a couple of hours back in Miami. With a sudden change in approach procedures, the pilots had to quickly figure out what navigation aides to use for the approach. And since they had to descend at a steeper rate, the pilots deployed the speed brakes to help with the descent.

One of the radio navigation points was ‘ROZO,’ and it was a point on the approach course for runway 19. The pilots had to program that non-directional beacon point on the flight computer. The crew typed in the letter R, and chose the first option on the list. But the waypoint the pilot chose was ROMEO which was in a completely different direction.

The plane made a left turn, and the pilots didn’t realize the plane was turning. And since the aircraft was flying in between mountains, the plane was turning into a mountain range. The alarm went off in the cockpit telling the pilots to immediately pull up. The captain did everything he could to climb. He pulled the yoke, and increased thrust on the engines. The problem was that in those few seconds of trying to save the airplane, he forgot that the speed brakes were still deployed which hinders the aircraft from climbing. The aircraft crashed near the peak of a mountain. Investigators believed that if the speed brakes were retracted immediately, the aircraft could have cleared the mountain.

There were 4 people who had survived the crash. There were a few others that survived the initial impact, but because it took search and rescue a long time to get to the crash site, they weren’t able to get medical treatment in time and succumb to their injuries.

After an investigation, the pilots big mistake was not typing into the flight computer ‘ROZO.’ When the pilots typed in R into the computer, they assumed that the ROZO would come up because it was the closest navigation aide. But the pilots didn’t realize they had to type in the letters ROZO. Investigators still don’t understand why the pilots didn’t see what the first option was on the list. It clearly said Romeo which wasn’t the waypoint the aircraft was supposed to go to. That one little mistake cost 159 lives. And the second mistake was failing to realize that the speed brakes were still deployed.

In US Army basic training, after lights out, could you get out of bed and do a workout and go for a run?

No.

Don’t be that guy. You will get plenty of work out before the lights go out.

If you try to pull some shit like that, you will be caught, and your Drill will wake the rest of us up, with some clever ideas to make the rest of us hate life, and in return, make us hate you!

main qimg 2e9e2654eb9a8998fdd2f4773663006e lq

(The actual barracks he climbed out of)

We had a guy sneak out in the middle of the night once. Like some kind of ninja, this dude scaled down from the third story window in the middle of the night.

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He then ninja’d himself all the way to the vending machines with roughly $40 of money from other soldiers in his platoon.

Then this ninja dude climbed back in the 3rd story window, because the doors had alarms on them.

But instead of being a smart ninja dude, this soldier decided that since he took all the risk, he would just keep all the fatty cakes for himself.

This wall climbing troop didn’t give the other soldiers what they paid for, and decided the next day to take a nap inside of his wall locker with all of his ninja’d loot.

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Suffice it to say, the Drills were made aware of his mission, and they found him sleeping in a tiny closet with $40 worth of vending machine goods.

Three things you never want to do in Basic Training;

F*** your battle buddies
Piss off your Drill Sergeants
Get caught sleeping on duty

This ninja was 3 for 3.

The moral of the story is to not be a ninja. Go to effing sleep dude. Sleep is gold.

Cheers

The Trial

Submitted into Contest #243 in response to: Write a story where time functions differently to our world.… view prompt

Oma S. Ari

This story contains themes or mentions of physical violence, gore, or abuse.

The prison guard was an angry man, never smiling and rarely talking. He had been there for as long as Lucas could remember. Resentful and bitter he walked the corridors, giving the impression that at some point, something absolutely terrible was to happen to him. Lucas did not share his enraged aura, but he sure had the same outlook on what was to come. Whatever awaited him outside of these prison walls, Lucas was certain that it was nothing good..The same room had been his home since childhood. The bare walls had a gray-greenish color, the cracks gradually mending with time as the world slowly moved from disorder to order, from chaos to control. When he was a boy the window had been nothing but a gaping hole into the empty courtyard outside, and the wind had kept him up all night. Now, the glass covered almost all of the metal frame, leaving only a fine, glittering powder below, gathering strength and finding its purpose. So many years Lucas had spent staring into this ceiling, imagining the skies above it. Still, when the angry guard opened the door with a sharp “It’s time”, Lucas did not linger. The relief of leaving this place had been nesting in his stomach for months..Lucas knew the path through the prison, but the moment they left the main gate and headed to the sparsely trafficked street outfront, he was on new territory. The air, ground, trees, everything seemed different here, as if color had suddenly been injected into the universe. Blinking, it took him many moments to even reflect on what was supposed to follow. He did not need much reflection, it turned out, as the guard, now joined by some of his colleagues in a hostile silence, quickly shoved him into the back of a parked van. Loudly, and without warning, Lucas kneeled on the metal floor and vomited. He could feel this evening’s cereal stroke his palette as it left. The guard gave him a look of disapproval as he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and shakingly sat up with his back against the wall.“Motion sickness”, another guard snickered, “the boy has never been in a car before, has he?”The door of the van slammed shut, and the engine started..There were hundreds of journalists outside the courthouse and, surrounding them, a thick layer of wrath. The sound of angry voices traveled in murmuring waves towards him as he stepped out in the sun. Lucas suspected that this week’s paper had been filled with the most hideous descriptions of his persona, and he made his best effort to not make eye contact with anyone as he was escorted through the crowd. It was a strange experience, he thought, spending the very first moment basking in the light of the real world, surrounded by nothing but a yelling mob. Further, he guessed that he was to live without his medicine now. The pills that the guards served him every morning were to stop coming. He had never known exactly what those drugs did, but as the colors and sounds of the horde around him exploded in his mind, creating thousands of blinking stars shooting across his open eyes, he thought that life was likely to be much more vibrant from now on. The sounds seemed sharper. Every sensation clearer. Lucas and his entourage struggled up the stairs. Inside, the court building was brilliantly white, with a large skylight that illuminated the great entry hall. The moment the large doors closed behind them, muffling the sound from the outside, the guards stepped backwards and a new kind of custodian took their place..

“Lucas, my name is Zaman and I am to be your lawyer throughout the day’s proceedings”

Zaman was tall, and serious looking. Lucas could not help thinking that he sounded as if he was here to offer an apology and bad excuses. Twenty four years had Lucas been locked away, and not once had he heard the name Zaman before.

“I have tried to contact you on numerous occasions through your time incarcerated”, Zaman said, “but it seemed to me and my colleagues that you preferred to have no correspondence”, he held the door open as they entered another great hall with white marble walls. Lucas felt a ray of hope glimmer faintly in his chest. Zaman continued, “I know it has been a long time behind bars for you, but you have shown great behavior throughout…”

“Will that matter?”, Lucas interrupted.

Zaman gave him a crooked, but sympathetic, smile.

“I doubt it”.

With Zaman by his side, Lucas sat in the middle of the marble hall. In front of him was an open notebook and two feather pens. Their tips looked as if made by solid gold. Lucas wondered if he was expected to use them. He had practiced a lot of basic tasks in prison, but he was no writer. As the room around them filled with people, Zaman kept giving him reassuring looks, promising that it would all be over shortly. The six judges, all dressed in black with their dark blue caps covering the better part of their faces, were seated the moment the clock struck twelve. As soon as the last one of them had put down her briefcase on the table, the trial began.

Lucas shivered. An echo flew through the room. Murder.

Murder.

“Murder”.

The judge farthest to the right had leaned forward and spoken.

“Ah!”, Zaman reacted quickly, collecting his papers and standing up “But who? That, my fellow citizens, is the question we are here to answer today”. He spoke in a calm and controlled manner, every now and then turning to the other side of the room to face the curious audience.

“Twenty four years is a long time”, Zaman stated while nodding seriously, “but is it long enough for us to consider the most heinous crimes?”

It was almost eleven when he finished and the prosecutor took over. Lucas felt exhausted and drained, wanting nothing but to stand up and leave. The whispering of the onlookers made it difficult to focus, and the voices of the judges seemed distorted and slow. At some point, he was sure, someone was going to ask him a question, and he had very little to say to his defense. He felt like a scared animal clinging to the arm of Zaman, hoping that there was something this stranger could do or say to change what was about to happen.

It was ten, and the crowd gasped.

“A child ”, the prosecutor said.

“Out of the question”, Zaman responded, “Look at him. He is nothing but a child himself”

The prosecutor’s desk was a few meters to the side, and Lucas, dizzy from the stress and the bright light, could not see her clearly. But he heard her voice, sharp and clear and bouncing from the marble in all directions. He followed it with his eyes, as the sound of her words echoed around him, traveling from wall to wall and merging with the whispering of the audience and the low rumbling from the street outside.

The crowd gasped again. Lucas could see a man close his hand over his mouth and shake his head.

“A child”, she repeated, “A boy from Houston. He is only twelve.”

The legs of a chair dragged along the floor. Steps. A halt. The prosecutor had stood up and made her way across the room. Lucas had always known that today was going to be filled with humiliation and bad news. Still, as he sat in this white room, with blue eyes watching from every direction, a sense of shock crawled up his spine. The disgust radiating from the seats around him had managed to seep through his skin, penetrating his belly and grabbing a hold of his innards. He felt it too. Disgusted.

“A child of twelve. A murder in Houston”, she said a third time, now looking directly at Lucas. The gray haired woman had a wrinkle over her eyes that made her seem troubled rather than fierce. Somewhere in her face Lucas could sense a hint of empathy. The prosecutor felt sorry for him. He swallowed the sense of surprise, having been worried that he had lost his voice in the chaotic scenes unfolding in his mind.

“Why?”, he demanded to know.

“Lunacy”, she responded softly.

Zaman had been correct, the trial was over quicker than it had begun. By the time the prosecutor had presented the gruesome details of the case and the audience had choked on their disgust enough times, morning was creeping up on them, and the proceedings came to an end.

Murder. A twelve year old boy.

“It could have been worse”, Zaman said while standing up and stroking his suit jacket, “Trust me, Lucas, it could have been a lot worse”.

Lucas was not sure he could stand. His voice was breaking as he asked:

“Worse than a dead child?”

Zaman attempted a smile, but it looked more like a grimace. Before he walked out he put his hand on Lucas’ shoulder.

“We will stay in touch. We have things to plan and discuss”.

Lucas did not turn to look as Zaman left. Alone he sat by the desk in the middle of the room until the sky light made the walls glow in a purple morning hue. Only then a janitor approached him, with the same irritated expression once carried by a prison guard that Lucas was never to see again.

“You are free to go, son”, the janitor grunted, clearly annoyed by his presence, “How about you make use of that freedom and stop wasting space in my court?”

Outside, the air was different again. Cold, early morning surrounded him and the silence had replaced the commotion from earlier. Whatever feelings that had been boiling outside the courthouse during the day had died down now. People had gone home. The journalists had finished. No one was there. For a brief moment, Lucas thought about the things that awaited. He would need to make friends, find his family, maybe even get a girlfriend. He sighed. He was not feeling particularly excited about any of it. Slowly, he started walking aimlessly down the empty street. He could get a nice home, maybe. A job. Life was long, and he needed to spend it somehow. He had always wanted to see the ocean, and he was sure there were people that worked and lived in places where you got to look at it every day. Maybe that would suit him. As he passed through the blocks, the houses changed in character. The impressive marble of the law was replaced by broken bricks and mud roads. This was a poor area. He could tell how the cracks in the facades were slowly healing, rubble from the street carefully moving towards the gates of people’s homes and gardens. Sadness and defeat hung in the air and embraced him as he walked. One day, he thought to himself, he would live in a neighborhood very different from this one.

But first, there was something that needed to be done. He had spent twenty four years in prison, and time had come to pay for it. Whatever pills the guards had given him with his daily morning meal had left his system by now, and he felt a new strength entering his body. His mind was more awake than before, his hearing more attuned. He listened to the sound of his tongue moving against his teeth, enjoying the soft melody of saliva and bone. The noise seemed to come just as much from the inside of his head as from the actual physical world it belonged to. For a long time he stood still, biting his lips and licking the inside of his cheeks, enjoying the harmony it created. A rounded, silky clicking that slithered down the throat. Then he laughed to himself. No more stalling. He needed to get to Houston.

Futures of The Past – 1950s Sci-Fi – AI Microfilm

What is the best case of “You just picked a fight with the wrong person” that you’ve witnessed?

I was pretty small and thin in high school, but wanted to play football so I worked out a lot and was strong for my size, but still barely managed to stay on the team. One spring day a guy who was playing at working out made some obnoxious comments and dared me to come outside and fight him. Coach threw him out of the weight room and I though it was over. I saw him hanging out with some friends watching us go through drills, but didn’t really think abut it. Until I got on the athletic bus to go home and saw him sitting in the back with three friends. I was the only white kid who rode the athletic bus, in a school that had only integrated about ten years earlier, but it was never a problem before that day. I did what I usually did and sat near the front with a group of friends. The guy, Don Lee, and his friends started throwing paper balls at me. They didn’t have very good aim, so it was mostly my friends getting hit, but Don Lee though it was hilarious. I figured it wouldn’t stop until I went back and got my butt kicked like they wanted me to, so I got up to go to the back. My friends told me it wasn’t worth it, but I couldn’t let them take it for me. Then as I walked to back of the bus with Don Lee and his friends laughing about what they were going to do to me, someone put his hand on my shoulder. I turned to see two of the biggest guys in the school, Bird and Kelvin. Bird told me to get behind him and suddenly the bus went deadly quiet. Don Lee started to say something smart and Bird grabbed him by the collar so that his knuckles were under Don Lee’s chin and slammed his head into the roof of the bus. It was like a scene from a comic book with Don Lee going all glassy eyed and slack jawed. Then Bird said let’s go Luke (my nickname, from Lucan the wolf boy TV show of the time) they won’t mess with you again. The next day during practice Bird told me that he’d never seen a white boy willing to fight to protect black guys and he wouldn’t let me get messed up that way.

So sometimes it isn’t that the person you picked a fight with is that strong, but they might just have friends who are.

What do you think is the worst drug?

Perhaps an unpopular opinion, but GABAPENTIN. I’m not sorry I’ve never tried cocaine, heroin, meth, crack, really anything beyond cannabis. Mushrooms once. I have enough trouble with dopamine as it is now, I cannot imagine something making that more difficult.

I took Gabapentin (Neurontin) for more than 4 years. I was taking it for a diagnosis of neuropathy, my left shoulder sucks from living, working, and it got way worse after open heart surgery at 39, I’m 46.

It has a mild soporific/anti-depressive effect, made me hurt a LOT less, but… knowing the long term effects and the considerable amount of heart and blood pressure meds made me want off of it pronto.

I went to my pain doc after deciding to come off of it. Weaning myself off of it was pure, unadulterated hell. That garbage is dangerous coming out, and from mood changes to stomach aches, to dizziness and blurred vision, and from all-day nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea, that part was easy. Halfway through the process of weaning, I had body pain that was *insane* for about 72 hours, and then it seemed to be way less stressful after.

Some side effects while ON gabapentin:

Loss of libido in a huge way
Coordination and a strange gait.
Miss a dose? Get ready.
Loss of alertness because you are so damned tired all the time
Problems waking up (that have persisted after use)
I felt like I mumbled a lot, and my speech sometimes seemed slurred to me. I can’t imagine what I sounded like to a normal person.
Persistent dosing time: I had to make sure that I was taking it the same times, every day, every week, every month. Three times per day, 900mg a dose.
You can be an irritable bastard prior to getting that first dose in.
Some days, you are engulfed in a sadness that does not subside, seemingly that whole day.

Now,I also can look forward to some just purely depressing long-term side effects being NOT on Gabapentin:

Memory degradation. My short recall is pure sh*t sometimes.
Pain. Every single day from waking to sleeping, my shoulder hurts sometimes to the point where I get little akathisia (this inner restlessness that makes me have an almost “tick” to move my shoulder. So strange and unnerving. It seems to increase as my stress/anxiety increases.
Organ damage, brain and liver damage
Very weird respiratory depression
A foggy feeling sometimes

Gabapentin sucks. Please, take my story and have something else chosen for you.

China’s New Generation of Hypersonic Weapons Can Encircle the U.S. Military

What’s something small that happened in your life that everyone else probably forgot about but had a big impact on you?

**Edited to add** While I appreciate the people who took time to read and suggest edits, I am not doing this. All edits outside of basic spelling will be discarded. I’m sorry I have to explain this but I wrote this from my own perspective as a child. No child has perfect grammar. If you feel the need to change, delete entire paragraphs I suggest you please write your own story. This is mine.

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

I was with my mother and older sister in the grocery store. Kindergarten age, all big eyes and watchful quiet. I didn’t talk much, even then. I may have been small but I’d already learned that speaking only increased the pain.

My older sister had wandered off, but I stood right by mother. If I moved, even to see where sister had gone, I’d get beat later for misbehaving. It was just like me to cause problems. So I walked behind her like a little shadow. Careful, always careful to stay out of the way.

An older lady approached my mom and complimented her on how I behaved. She wore a housecoat and gray hair, just like a grandma on tv. This was so very weird – I never ever got told I did something good. I peeked out at her from behind my mom. She saw me and said “Oh how pretty she is! Look at those big eyes and long long eyelashes.” I smiled then…in my whole life no one had told me I was pretty without it being proceeded by severe pain. She made another compliment about my smile and I guess that was too much.

My mom interrupted and said “Oh you should see my other daughter. She’s the real beauty and so very good. This one’s just trouble”. My smile faded away and I looked down at my shoes. They hurt anyway, were too small. They’d been my sisters that got handed to me when she didn’t like the color anymore. They were old and scuffed and I was sure I’d be in trouble later. I never could figure out how to make the old shoes look like the new ones my sister wore.

The lady went around my mom and came and looked down at me. She said in a firm voice that allowed no disbelief “You are good too”. Then she smiled at me – just at me! and went on with her day.

She didn’t know it and neither did I, but that was when I first started to question how things had always been. When I was scrubbing the bathroom and my sister was outside because she was good enough to play I remembered it. When I got in trouble because my older sister did something and I didn’t stop her I’d remember that. Those little words got me through a lot of things and helped me learn that maybe I didn’t deserve what happened to me.

“You are good too”, such a little sentence but it started such a change in me.

What can you do to honor your wife when it is almost too late?

At about eleven years into our marriage, we were in big trouble. We were in our living room, both crying (my husband doesn’t cry, he was a Marine), and sitting in abject, defeated silence, as there was nothing left to say. It was dead. We failed. We were over. Too much pain.

Suddenly, I had an idea. I said, “OK, if this marriage is dead, let’s give it a damn funeral. And you know what? Who says we can’t marry each other again and start a new relationship?”

My husband looked at me and said, “Well, that’s just crazy enough to possibly work.”

We took off our rings. We wrote scathing eulogies to the first marriage. “Dear first marriage, I don’t know how you managed to both suck and blow, but die in a fucking fire….” We proceeded to speak to each other about our “exes,” complaining about all of the crap they did to us. “My ex left his damn socks on the floor ALL THE TIME.” “Oh, yeah, well MY ex threw temper tantrums about stupid shit.”

We lit candles. We created sacred space. We smudged our rings in sage smoke, and we said off-the-cuff vows to one another.

“I promise not to leave my socks on the floor”

“I promise not to wait until I can’t take something anymore and then yell at you”

We put our rings back on, we tied our hands together with our original handfasting cord after smudging it and adding things to it. We kissed. We made love. A lot.

We never spoke of it again. Almost twenty years strong, we are. We still make love. A lot.

Why US and West scared of China and Russia in Africa

Mediterranean Steak and Pasta with Tomato-Olive Sauce

Whole-wheat pasta is served with beef Sirloin Tip Center Steaks and a tomato and olive sauce. This one will please the adults and the kids in your family.

Yield: 4 servings

Ingredients

8 ounces uncooked whole grain fettuccine
4 beef Sirloin Tip Center Steaks, cut 3/4 inch thick (about 4 ounces each)
1 (26 ounce) jar pasta sauce with olives*
1 teaspoon dried oregano leaves, crushed
1/4 cup finely shredded Italian cheese blend or mozzarella cheese
2 teaspoons chopped fresh parsley leaves

Instructions

Cook fettuccine according to package directions; drain and keep warm.
Heat a large nonstick skillet over medium heat until hot. Place beef steaks in skillet; cook for 11 to 13 minutes for medium rare (145 degrees F) doneness, turning occasionally. (Do not overcook.) Remove from skillet; keep warm.
Combine pasta sauce and oregano in same skillet; heat until hot. Return steaks to skillet; turn to coat with sauce.
Place steaks on fettuccine; spoon sauce over all.
Sprinkle steaks with cheese, allowing cheese to melt. Sprinkle with parsley.

Notes

* You may substitute 1 (26 ounce) jar pasta sauce with olives for 1 (26 ounce) pasta sauce + 1/4 cup chopped olives.

Nutrition

Per serving: 474 Calories; 99.9 Calories from fat; 11.1g Total Fat (3.7g Saturated Fat; 0.2g Trans Fat; 0.3g Polyunsaturated Fat; 2.3g Monounsaturated Fat;) 71mg Cholesterol; 766mg Sodium; 54g Total Carbohydrate; 10.1g Dietary Fiber; 37g Protein; 6.2mg Iron; 332mg Potassium; 4.5mg NE Niacin; 0.4mg Vitamin B6; 2.8mcg Vitamin B12; 5.9mg Zinc; 33.6mcg Selenium; 90.1mg Choline

This recipe is an excellent source of Dietary Fiber, Protein, Iron, Niacin, Vitamin B6, Vitamin B12, Zinc, and Selenium; and a good source of Choline.

What goes through the mind of Chinese citizens when they travel out of China and end up on the internet seeing uncensored speech and negative factual news about the CCP?

Most Chinese foreign students I have met here in the US are shocked.

Not because they learned anything shocking about their country or government. It’s because they see how mainstream Western media present lies after lies about their home country. The place where they grew up.

As a result, most of them become more nationalistic after spending some time in the US.

You don’t have to believe me. Befriend Chinese foreign students in your city, I assume you’re a Westerner, and slowly ask their opinions of the Western mainstream media coverage of China. If they trust you, they will tell you truthfully what they think.

EDIT: I have deleted some comments from trolls and people who just want to have meaningless internet debates. If you ever use the words “wumao” or “fifty cents”, your comment will be deleted.

A stray dog rescues a buried stray cat—truly astonishing!

When you were a kid, who gave you an unforgettable Christmas present?

I have six siblings. My dad had a pretty good job that must have brought in decent money, but he and my mom (who was a homemaker) had seven kids to feed and clothe.

Every couple of months, my mom would receive bags of hand-me-downs from my cousins. It was fun sorting through the piles of clothes. I never gave up hope that something on-trend would make an appearance. Needless to say, that never happened. So, I was always attired in dated, usually over-sized clothing (it didn’t help that I was a scrawny little thing).

The Christmas I was in Grade Six, my oldest brother was working full time. He was the type of big brother that you see in the movies . . . kind, patient and generous. Many times on a Friday night he’d show up with chips and pop (a rare treat) for us kids.

On December 23rd, he showed up with a pile of beautifully wrapped gifts. I was thrilled beyond belief just by the presentation. On Christmas morning, I carefully untied the beautiful ribbon, and slid my small fingers along the seams. I savored each delicious moment of the unwrapping process.

When I finally unveiled the box, I held my breath and slowly opened it. First I pulled out a beautiful, soft, red turtleneck sweater. Hidden beneath a layer of tissue paper, I saw a tan-coloured something peeking out. It was a faux-leather jumper (a sleeveless dress), complete with a belt. The entire ensemble fit me like a glove. It was on-trend, and I was over the moon.

For the first time in my young life, I could wear a new outfit (one that actually fit) to school. I can still remember how thrilling it was to wear that gorgeous outfit. My big brother is a kind and gentle man with a family of his own, and I hold him in the highest regard.

What are some aspects of Chinese culture that may seem odd or strange to an American visiting China for the first time?

My American customer told me,

he was shocked about :

“Chinese kids are allowed to drink wine”

I told him,my grandpa forced me to drink wine when I was 6 yrs old, while my Muslim grandma encouraging me at the same table.

China is sometime so wired even for Chinese.

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What do inmates do to survive prison without going insane?

I remember going into prison, I was facing a 10 year sentence for drugs and pretty down on myself over it. But someone said something to me at the start of my stay that has stuck with me ever since.

“Every day you need some kind of victory, be it physical, mental, or spiritual. Every day, have some victory big or small.”

I don’t know if I really understood him fully at the time, but he had been in and out of the system for his entire life.

In prison, I did alot of pushups and I read alot of books. I fought noone when I could, and anyone when I had to. I played the games, chess, dominoes, cards, basketball, I even learned d&d. I made friends and i made enemies. I faced boredom and some of the most challenging situations of my life. I faced myself in the mirror, the good parts and the ugly parts. I learned alot about myself there.

Something else I remember thinking alot, almost as a mantra is a quote from the movie nacho libre. When the orphan kid is trying to comfort him and he tells him “I’ll have my hot day in the sun” there’s alot of opportunity to make your time slightly easier. Drugs of course, getting stuck watching TV, but really I’m talking about turning away from what you belive is right. It’s easy to compromise your morals in a place like that. But I had my hot day in the sun. In the long run, I think that’s better.

Just like in the real world there are alot of things you can’t control there, and there isn’t always a clear path forward… When there is you know what to do. But when there isn’t, you can still have a small victory everyday. Workout, learn something, face yourself and decide who you want to be going forward, meditate, pray, do something worth doing.

I ended up doing 3 years and 10 months before I made parole. And it’s been almost that long I’ve been out. All in all I feel like prison gave me the opportunity to become who I am now. There’s alot of people in there that got alot more time than I did. But if I had to do more, I’d try and live by that same advice ol shake gave me.

I still try and live by it now.

Anyway I’ve never done this before so thanks for reading.

I DISCOVERED MY CAT’S SECRET PURPOSE AND WHERE THEY GO AFTER PETS DIE

Success is a matter of adaptation

Last night I had very active dreams. I think that I am experiencing my own mortality. As I was dreaming about all my elementary and middle-school pals from back in the day.

Ah everyone is retired. Except me, I guess. I’m still plugging away at it all.

As you get older you have issues. Blood pressure, stomach, teeth, and what not. A number of my old classroom friends now wear dentures and have snow white hair. Some walk with a cane. *sigh*

Not me, but I wonder…

Here in China the old men tend to walk alone in a stroll with the hands clasped behind their backs. I saw one guy on the buss, and he was talking to his wife (I guess) and he was 56, and newly retired. He looked old. Much older than myself. Yet he was almost twenty years younger than myself. Sheech!

I got off and then went to pick up my car so that I could get my daughter from kindergarten. Aside from the aches and pains that come with aging, I don’t feel like an old man. I feel maybe a little exhausted at times, but not really old.

You’ll soon see that I will need an afternoon nap. Ah. Already I wake up at the crack of dawn and I do go to bed earlier. I don’t eat as much as I used to. In fact, a bowl of soup and half a sandwich would do me just fine. While back in the day, I ate everything on sight.

Changes.

We all go through changes. Soon it will be your turn. Enjoy what you have NOW. Do not wait for that “sometime” in the future when things will all be set. It will never happen. You have accept where you are at the moment. And make the best of it. No, it’s never perfect, but often it’s “good enough”. So relish in that truth.

I am not sad, nor gloomy.

Just had a roller-coaster of dreams. Times change. But many of my old school mates stayed the same and did not adapt. Success is a matter of adaptation. Adapt or die.

Today…

When have you fired someone on the spot?

Originally Answered: Have you ever fired someone on the spot? If so, why?

I had one employee accuse another of raping her. They had been at a trade show in Las Vegas and afterward she had come into my office and made the accusation. I had not gone to the show, and had received various reports of bad behavior on her part, including a long-time customer who called me and told me that she was behaving inappropriately toward him. She had also stayed behind in Vegas after everyone else left and kept charging the room to the company credit card until I called the hotel and told them that she had no authorization to do that and they threw her out.

Obviously, she was going to get fired, but her accusation threw a giant monkey wrench into that plan. To bad behavior and incredibly poor judgement solely on her part, suddenly I have an felony accusation from her to deal with. Just as suddenly, I felt like I was in a mine field.

The first thing I did is tell her, this is not something you complain to your boss about, this is something you call the police about. So she did. Now there are many, many more mines in the mine field.

So I suspended them both without pay, her for her behavior during the show, and him in response to the accusation. I felt I had to be absolutely fair to them in spite of the fact that I wanted to throttle them both until their eyes popped out of their heads and rolled around on the floor.

The police declined to prosecute for lack of evidence. So the slimy, stinky, miserable ball was back in my court.

I never, ever want to take such an accusation as anything but serious. Truthfully, I never thought about how it would look if I didn’t, I always thought about how I would feel about myself if I didn’t, and acted accordingly. As profoundly self-destructive, and vindictive, and manipulative as the accuser was, I needed to find peace with her accusation before I could move on to deal with her incredibly bad behavior in other areas. There was a chance that her terrible judgement during the trade show was a response to her having been raped. She said she didn’t leave with everyone else because she didn’t want to be in the same car as him. At the same time, she was in the hotel for days charging room service to the company credit card, having told my VP, the supervisor for the show, that she would find her own way home and not telling him why, and not telling him she was going to stay behind on the company’s dime.

So the police, by declining to investigate beyond a simple set of interviews, made it my investigation. I am not trained in law enforcement, and I very much felt that I was put in the position of having to come to some sort of conclusion about a felony.

So I resolved to be as objective as possible. I created two confidential files on each of the people involved. I put them in a manila file folder with their names, and plainly marked each as confidential. As part of their suspensions, each was instructed to not come to the office or contact me during my investigation.

You might be asking, why did I feel the need to investigate? Because obviously one or the other had to go. My company had six employees, it was untenable for one to have accused another of rape and leave that accusation unresolved without making the company dysfunctional. I simply could not get my head around that concept. But I had no idea — none — how things would work out. I was simply trying to move forward without stepping on a mine.

So I filled these files with documentation supporting an assumed resolution where one or both of these employees would be terminated. If that were my decision, I would have to defend it, possibly in court. I called that customer, for instance, who had complained to me about her, and interviewed him in more detail about what her behavior was. I researched all the unauthorized credit card charges on the company card, I researched and found many other instances of bad behavior and poor judgement on her part.

In his file, I researched the same sort of things, but truthfully, there were many fewer of them. He was an idiot, but he wasn’t so destructive, at least purposefully.

And you ask, what complete imbecile hired these people? No comment.

At one point, a few days later, I put her file down on my desk and left my office to deal with some other business issue that had mercifully presented itself. When I got back to my office there she was, with her file in her hands, looking through it. She accused me of having predetermined to fire her. I told her 1) You were instructed not to come to the office during the period of your suspension and you did anyway, 2) You entered my office when I was not present, and 3) You read a file that was clearly marked confidential. You’re done.

About an hour later, the other employee called me and told me he had found another job.

Within an hour, the worst minefield of my professional life had cleared. Profound tension was replaced by chirping birds, daisies, and cool breezes.

To this day I think about that experience. What should I have done differently? How could I have handled it better? I’m sure there are better ways. I have a decent grasp of employment law but I’m not an attorney. I had the intention of consulting an attorney but I wanted to wait until the investigation was further along, so in the end I navigated this issue without any legal counsel, which probably wasn’t the brightest thing to do but then again I’m the one who hired these people in the first place, so maybe that’s par for the course.

I’ve never been in combat, but the memory almost seems like that. Mines and all.

Scott Ritter : Is Israel Prepared for a Three-Front War?

What happened in a courtroom that gave the judge a belly laugh you will never forget?

Back in the 70’s during the gasoline (ahem) shortage and reduced Max speed limit on the highway, I was passing a heard of slow pokes at about 60, and along with two other vehicles got motioned over by a motor officer.

The office came up to my window, stated he didn’t like this situation either but if I didn’t complain and coughed up all the required documents that I would be on my way in less than five as one of the other two drivers wanted to argue. I was outta there in two minutes.

Showed up extremely early in court and then the place starting filling up with a line that formed out the door and down the street.

The judge came in, states he didn’t like the situation (I heard that somewhere before) and said that if we cooperated that it would only take a few seconds for each of us to get squared away. He then raised his voice and announced that with our cooperation that he could get the court room cleared in 30 minutes.

The judge gave the options and told us to state which option we wanted when asked. Judge added that when asked, if you did not spit out your choice that he would roll your case to the end of the line

The very first person called, when asked by the judge what their choice was going to be, then said he didn’t like any of the choices and the whole situation was BS. The judge, along with the packed court room crowd, sent that guy to the end of the line down the street once the laughing stopped.

The next person in line went stupid like a missile that lost radar lock and got sent to the end of the line too.

I was third in line. When my turn came and the judge asked for my choice with a smile. I smiled back and said, guilty-traffic-school-fine-I-don’t-wanna-go-to-the-end-of-the-line.

The judge laughed again and the crowd only started laughing after the judge did.

The judge then told me to see the court clerk to pay up and get traffic court information.

The judge then told the crowd, after pointing his finger at me that was what he was talking about when he sat down in his chair.

Discovery

Two girls from a hotel management college in Qingdao, Shandong Province, went out and found a handbag containing five gold bars and two gold ingots, totaling 500g of gold. They immediately reported it to the police. After checking, the police found a car key in the bag with the owner’s phone number on it and were able to contact the owner.

Oh, and also two lighters by the way. Smoking harms health.

Mother FALSELY ACCUSED Her HUSBAND Of Having MOLESTED Her DAUGHTER For 15 YEARS! | Pearl Daily

China is falling behind the US in the AI race, since China doesn’t have any answer to Nvidia, ChatGPT & worldwide data of US companies. How will China deal with this defeat?

US and China have entirely different approaches to AI development

The US is focusing on the very high end aspects of AI

China is focusing on the basic, low end aspects of AI and expecting to scale the progress to higher and higher end aspects of AI over the years

China is training their AI Models in four areas :

A. Industrial Robotics

B. Healthcare

C. Manufacturing

D. Education

Very basic AI Models, nothing complicated, yet capable of revolutionizing efficiency and making life easier for the common man

These models exist all over China

Intelligent Systems that can help with designs, manufacturing and production

Intelligent systems that can diagnose diseases and suggest treatment lines

Intelligent systems that can instruct and guide students

China has the Data of 1.4 Billion People

The Data is roughly estimated to be 44 Zetta Bytes or 44 Trillion Giga Bytes

This is Four times larger than the US which has 11.6 Zetta Bytes

Chinas Data Collection access is 97%

US Data Collection access is 23% due to privacy laws

So effectively China has access to 20 times as much Data as the United States

An AI System needs hardware but it needs a huge amount of Data as well to establish predictive analytics

Thus these are the two main features of Chinas AI Development:-

A. The Mushroom approach

B. Huge amount of Data collection

The focus is on the lowest aspects of public life and use public interaction to further enhance or develop AI Models

Is China behind the US in AI?

Not at all

ChatGPT is a novelty or a fad

It’s not a critical pioneering move into AI

The AI race is like the Nuclear Atom Bomb race

You had two approaches

In the same way China and US have their own approaches to develop AI

The Race has just started

The Great Pyramid Mystery: The Oldest Cover-Up In History

A father said to his son, “You graduated with honors. Here is a Volkswagen Beetle that I bought many years ago… It is over 50 years old, but before I give it to you, take it to a dealership downtown and ask how much they are offering you.”

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The son went to the dealership, came back to his father and said, “They offered me $10,000 because it looks very used.” The father said, “Take it to a pawn shop.”

The son went to the pawn shop, came back and said, “They only offered me $1,000 because they say it is too old.”

Finally, the father asked his son to take the car to a classic car club and show it there. The son took the car to the club, came back and said, “Some people at the club offered me $100,000! because it is a very rare car and sought after among the members.”

The father said to his son, “I wanted you to understand that the right place appreciates you in the right way. If they don’t value you, don’t be angry, it just means you’re in the wrong place. Those who know your value are the ones who truly appreciate you. Never stay in a place where they don’t recognize your value!”

Why do gun nuts keep saying that the AR-15 is not an assault rifle when it was originally designed for and issued to military servicemen? Do they not know the origins of this weapon that they defend?

No, it was not originally designed as a military weapon. The designer was Eugene Stoner. He was a partner in the Armalite Rifle Company (that’s where the AR comes from). It was actually the AR-10 that he figured the military would want because it was a lighter version of the varies 30 caliber rifles used in WWII. But the military was not interested. The AR-15 rifle came about when he heard that Remington was developing the 223 caliber cartridge and was speculating that a more powerful version of a 22 caliber would sell to dad’s wanting a rifle for their sons to hunt small game. Stoner figured he had the other half of the equation – a lightweight rifle, easy for those young sons to carry.

Armalite was purchased by Fairchild Aviation and they attempted to market both the AR-10 and AR-15 to the Airforce. The Airforce bought 15,000 of them, but the program pretty much died after the initial purchase. It was not until Colt bought the designs in 1959. Colt understood how to make the designs into military grade weapons. Colt launched the Colt 601, 602, & 603 models. The Colt 603 is what became the military M16A1 in 1967. It resembled the AR-15 in looks, but the design modifications were extensive. Most notably, it can fire in automatic mode (a machine gun), or in a 3 bullet burst, or in semi-automatic mode. It also uses the more powerful 5.56mm cartridge (same basic bullet diameter as the 223 but measured in millimeters.

Colt kept the old AR-15 design and brought if out as the AR-15 Sporter. A civilian rifle for that dad with a young son he was teaching to hunt. It met with great opposition, until the kids of returning Vietnam war veterans saw it and wanted it because it looked like the gun dad fought with.

I am not a gun nut. I am an historian. There are countless stories about the AR-15, most don’t get it right. But I have seen most of original documents on the gun, patent filings, and letters of rejection from the military. In the early 50’s a low caliber gun like the AR-15 could not possibly of succeeded in the military. Their mindset was large bullets make one shot kills.

You would do well to learn your history through actual research, before you start calling people nuts and embarrassing yourself with garbage opinions you read on-line.

Chopped Steak Special

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Ingredients

1 1/2 pounds ground sirloin
3 tablespoons grated or minced onion
1 tablespoon minced chile pepper
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon spicy steak or Worcestershire sauce
1/4 teaspoon green or red Tabasco sauce

Instructions

Combine all ingredients until well mixed.
Shape into four fat oval patties.
Pan broil in a heavy skillet.

Restricting Words

Khadija S. Mohammad

Sakura whirled round at the sound of familiar footsteps, to see her closest friend, Yuto, running towards her – chased by the Restriction, which were only a few metres behind him. She opened her mouth to say something before realising that what she wanted to ask, What’s happening? – or more accurately, Why are they trying to get you? – wasn’t one of her speech options. She made do with a surprised open of her eyes accompanied by a questioning raise of her eyebrows.Thankfully, Yuto understood what she was trying to say. He pointed to his mouth and made a cross with his hands as he ran past her, the Restriction drones still chasing him with their antennae flashing red.Sakura turned and began running beside him, unsure of what else she should do.No. Yuto couldn’t mean… he couldn’t have said a non-option word. Sakura shook her head and mimed the gesture for Try again. He must have forgotten or misused a gesture – but he couldn’t have. They’d practised non-verbal communication together for hours in case they wanted to tell each other something that wasn’t a speech option. He had learnt the signs faster than she had. He couldn’t have made a mistake.Sure enough, Yuto repeated the communication with the same gestures. There was no doubt about it – he had said a non-option word. Why had he been so stupid, when he was normally so careful?Sakura mimed Thinking before outwardly shutting herself off. Her legs kept running beside him as if on auto mode as she considered what to do about the situation.After a moment of hard thinking, she snapped out of it and winced. She’d made her decision. It would be painful for both of them, but it was best. With shaky movements, she told him to stop running.An expression of panic took over Yuto’s face. Not you too? he gestured.You know I’d never do that, she mimed, hurt. I meant, they’re going to get you eventually. She pointed to the still-following Restriction, who were visibly catching up. They’ll force less time on you if you stop running now and try to look sorry for the word.Yuto laughed bitterly. Sakura winced again – had he forgotten their mind-chips monitored any noise out of their voice-box, not just words?It was more than a word, Yuto gestured.Oddly enough, this didn’t surprise Sakura. She knew Yuto well enough to know that if he lost his caution, he lost it completely. What was it, then? she asked. A sentence?I’ll tell you when I get out. And Yuto stopped running.It only took a small wave from her friend to make Sakura run on. She looked back with apprehension as the Restriction gathered around Yuto and separated his atoms to prepare him for the travel to his cell. She shook the word cell out of her head – it was safest not to use dangerous terms, in case they came out. They weren’t taking him to a cell. They were taking him to… a holding centre, so they could talk to him, make sure he didn’t want to start a rebellion. They might tie him up. Test him, hurt him, warp his senses and thoughts to muddle him, make him go almost insane, to force him to give them the answers they wanted, even though he couldn’t even give them since he didn’t know anything.She paused. Took a deep breath. Worrying wouldn’t help her. It wouldn’t help either of them.Before reaching home, she came across her older brother. She started, and ran towards him with a smile on her face. She hadn’t seen Kazuya for days, and she’d began to be scared in case her brother had been taken. It was an irrational fear, she knew, given Kazuya’s perfect conformance record, but it didn’t stop her worrying.

She waved, mentally selecting the second ‘informal’ speech option. “Hi Kazuya!”

Kazuya smiled back at her. “Hi.”

Sakura searched her options for something that would get her message across, finally settling on the eighth. “How have you been?”

“I left on a business trip,” her brother replied almost instantly. Sakura envied his swiftness at choosing options – but then again, she would rather be herself, a slower-speaking individual, than him, a conformist who lived entirely on the Restriction’s rules. She pushed the thoughts away; she loved him, despite what the Restriction had turned him into. She did.

There was an awkward silence as Sakura searched the options for something appropriate for the occasion. “I’ve missed you,” she said awkwardly, at last.

“I’ve missed you too.” It was said automatically, as if it was the only speech option. As if it was a necessity, not a choice.

What if he’s been fully turned? Sakura thought as her brother walked away. She stiffened. What had she just thought? What if…

It was a beautiful pair of words, when she thought about it. But she’d never thought about it before, because she’d never thought it before. What if… It was an exciting sentence fragment. Could I… There was another one. Something in the back of her brain told her these were questions, but they weren’t like any questions she’d ever asked before.

Now she knew.

Her mind whirred as she made her way home. On recognising her mind-chip, her front door slid open. She walked through it, barely noticing the slight delay in its closing time.

Up in her room, she forced her mind onto her chip. She’d practised it so many times with Yuto. It had to work.

Focus. Focus on the chip. On its functions, on its existence. She repeated it like a mantra for an agonising minute before, finally, she felt something snap.

It hurt. It hurt as if part of her brain had been set on fire, but she remained steadfast, not allowing her thoughts to sway from the chip. When the fire died, she opened her eyes. She hadn’t even realised they were closed.

She knew the best way to test if the split from her chip had worked. There were no speech options when she was alone, so all she needed to do was say something. Anything would prove her chip had been successfully disconnected.

She opened her mouth. “Sakura.”

The code-word activated her bedroom’s hidden room – a safe place to hide anything she didn’t want the Restriction to find. The wall slid aside and slid back once she had entered.

Inside the room, lay a simple wooden desk, with a crude wooden chair in front of it. Sakura dropped into it thankfully. She rummaged through the vintage drawers and finally drew out a battered, crumpled piece of paper. She paused for a moment to enjoy the memory of her father that always came with the sight of that paper. He’d spent his last year teaching her to write so she could eventually use it, but he’d never told her what she would do with it. The most he’d said was that she would have to learn for herself if she wanted it to be useful.

With What if… readily in her mind, she knew what to do. She knew why the Restriction executed those who knew how to write. Knew why they gave everyone speech options instead of letting them talk how they wanted to. And best of all, she knew how to free herself from their bonds.

Gently, she placed the ragged paper on the desk and smoothed it out with one hand, using her other to search the drawer for a pencil – another of her father’s forbidden items. She placed it on the desk beside the paper, and took a deep breath. This was it. She could – she would – write, and she knew what to write.

She picked up the pen. Positioned it between her fingers the way her father had instructed. Bent down to the paper, and began.

Once upon a time…

Well This Is Strange…

A fly recorded on the ISS exterior camera?

Was there a palace coup at the White House?

Did we just have a palace coup in Washington? Originally published on Substack.

The events have taken a very strange turn in Washington DC this month. Britain’s new cabinet has made it a priority to escalate the West’s proxy war against Russia and to bring the U.S. and other allies onboard by hook or by crook. Part of the agenda was enabling the Ukrainians to strike at Russia with western supplied long-range precision missiles. This wouldn’t be a new thing exactly, but the escalation they are gunning for is quite substantial, involving possibly even nuclear weapons.

The groundwork for this escalation was being prepared for months. In March this year, the Biden administration approved a new “Nuclear Employment Guidance” in preparation to fight and “win” a three-front nuclear war against Russia, China and North Korea. They followed up with plans to deploy long-range nuclear missiles in Germany and Holland. The preparations were being coordinated between the Neocons in the Biden administration, led by the Secretary of State Antony Blinken, NATO and the members of British cabinets, both under Prime Minister Rishi Sunak and under the new PM Keir Starmer.

Starmer’s diplomatic charm offensive

Since its inauguration on July 5, 2024, the new Labour government in Britain immediately engaged in a flurry of diplomatic activity and meetings with many government leaders across Europe, Asia and the Middle East, much of it a charm offensive to “reset” the previously strained or neglected relationships. Within the cabinet’s first ten days, their Defence Minister John Healey visited Ukraine, Foreign Minister Lammy called his Ukrainian and American counterparts on his first day on the job, then on July 6 flew straight to Germany to meet with the German FM Annalena Baerbock, then to Poland the next day to meet with FM Radek Sikorski, and after that, straight to Sweden to meet then FM Tobias Billstrom.

On July 9, his fifth day on the job, Keir Starmer flew to Washington for the NATO summit and a meeting with president Biden. On July 16, Starmer’s government published the new “Strategic Defense Review” – a “root and branch” revision of UK’s defence, so that it is “secure at home and strong abroad for decades to come.” Of course, all these ambitious initiatives ultimately depend on the special relationship itself. Without it, Britain would be punching way, way above its weight.

Trump-proofing the “special relationship”

In terms of military power, the UK is pretty much a lightweight with a handicap, so securing the American protection was top priority. Accordingly, the Mutual Defense Agreement (MDA) between the U.S. and Great Britain needed an urgent upgrade. The agreement was last renewed in 2014 and was set to expire on 31 December 2024. The new major upgrade was formulated by the British government in July of this year: it would make the MDA indefinite, turning it into a de-facto treaty. The idea was to Trump-proof the Agreement in case the DNC fails to steal the presidential elections again this November. The treaty also joins the two nations’ nuclear programs.

Indeed, the nuclear saber-rattling does seem to emanate largely from out of London. For example, Malcolm Chalmers, the deputy director of the Royal United Services Institute (RUSI), Britain’s oldest and most prestigious think-tank, proposed already in 2022 that the West should resort to nuclear brinkmanship in order to destabilize Russia. It was this same Malcolm Chalmers who was jubilant about the new Mutual Defense Agreement, seeing it as a diplomatic win for the UK: “It is good news for the UK that it doesn’t need to worry about a future US administration using a future renewal [of the MDA] as leverage.” How clever! Now we can stir the pot around the world and if things get ugly, the Americans have to come to our rescue. This is a good position from which to manipulate the U.S. into fighting Britain’s wars of choice.

This episode once more reinforces the impression that the “special relationship” between the US and the UK is a Master-Blaster arrangement (for those old enough to remember Master-Blaster from the movie Mad Max 3). In this arrangement, Blaster is the powerful, muscular giant who is manipulated around by his Master, a vicious old dwarf riding on the giant’s back. Once you start to pay attention to this dynamic, you’ll find more and more evidence that the drive and the ideas shaping the west’s permanent wars, especially against Russia, originate from London.

Parading the alliance

All the diplomatic activity under the Starmer government also involved much public parading of the “special relationship” with the view of projecting the image of a powerful, rock-solid alliance that remains 100% committed to defending the international “rules-based order” and intimidating any uppity newcomer who would dare to challenge it. On 7 September we saw, for the first time ever, Sir Richard Moore, the head of Britain’s MI6, and William Burns the CIA chief, appear together and on stage!

The body language is interesting: CIA’s Burns’s body is turned away, legs crossed and arms folded, looking at Moore over his shoulder. Sir Richard’s open, facing Burns and the audience directly.

For anyone who missed the occasion, the talented Mr. Moore published a tweet about it, linking to the video recording of the event. Two days later, the pair published an OpEd in the Financial Times, waxing eloquent about the threats to the rules based order and how to defend it. Most importantly, they expressed their iron-clad commitment to defending Ukraine for as long as it takes.

The following day, on 10 September, US State Secretary Antony Blinken came to London to meet with his British counterpart David Lammy and the day after they both went to visit Kiev together. On the occasion, Blinken and Lammy almost certainly finalized the plan to commit both nations to aiding Ukraine to strike deep into Russia with western-supplied long range precision missiles. Only two days later, the Prime Minister Starmer flew to Washington again to meet with President Biden, ostensibly to “discuss” the events in Ukraine among other things.

Something went wrong in Washington

Now, the Prime Minister wouldn’t normally travel and meet with his U.S. counterpart just to “discuss” things. Their meeting would take place only at the point when the agreement could be signed and announced in a joint press conference: a public showing of their unity, shared objectives and determination. In fact, according to British government sources, the decisions had already been made, and Sir Keir brought all the paperwork with him. However, the signing ceremony never took place and neither did the joint press conference. Something went wrong.

The awkward meeting didn’t produce the ceremonial signing or the joint press conference.

It appears that the U.S. military leadership took Vladimir Putin‘s warning about this escalation seriously. His words are worth pondering carefully:

“There is an attempt to substitute concepts. Because we are not talking about authorizing or banning the Kiev regime from striking across the entire territory. They are already striking with the help of drones and other means. … The Ukrainian army is not able to strike with modern long-range precision systems of Western manufacture. It cannot do this. It can only do so using intelligence from satellites, which Ukraine does not have. This is data only from EU satellites or from the United States in general, from NATO satellites. … And so this is not about allowing the Ukrainian regime to strike. It is about deciding whether NATO countries are directly involved or not. If this decision is made, it will mean nothing other than the direct participation of NATO countries, the United States, European countries in the war in Ukraine. This is their direct participation. And this already, of course, significantly changes the very essence, the nature of the conflict. This would mean that NATO, US and the European countries, the United States are at war with Russia. If that is the case, then bearing in mind the change in the very essence of this conflict, we will take appropriate decisions based on the threats that will be posed to us.”

According to some sources, Putin’s warning was reinforced through back-channel communications between the Russian military leadership and their American counterparts who understand that they were being pushed over the edge of total war. In response, it seems that the American military leadership took over the conduct of the US foreign policy, both in terms of military and diplomatic affairs. State Secretary Blinken and his merry band of Neocons appear to have been sidelined. This is why the US-UK agreement to escalate against Russia didn’t get the Blaster’s signature.

The change in leadership could also be felt in the Middle East. General Michael E. Kurilla, the head of U.S. Central Command visited Israel last week (the second time in a week’s interval), apparently also to announce a new policy. Allegedly, he informed the Israelis that if they provoke a war against Hezbollah or against Iran, the U.S. will not come to their aid: they’re on their own.

The palace coup at the White House wasn’t officially announced and it almost certainly won’t be. We will probably only know of these changes with time, by observing the pattern of events. If the U.S. policy really changes course in a substantive way, this would corroborate that the coup did indeed take place. This may seem inconceivable, but it shouldn’t be. Secretary Blinken has been conducting a truly insane foreign policy, inflicting massive damage to the United States in material, strategic as well as reputational terms. Such conduct would unavoidably provoke disapproval and opposition within the ranks of the American defense and foreign policy establishments.

Judge Humbles Woman Who Divorced A Millionaire

This is Texas.

Oh boy is that Judge is pissed.

When Hitler’s general staff mutinied in 1938

The latest escalation, concocted with the British, would put the U.S. in severe jeopardy. The burden of coping with the resulting fallout would fall squarely on the military. At the same time, it remains unclear what, if anything, could be gained from Starmer’s and Blinken’s reckless adventurism. This is a textbook recipe for provoking a mutiny, and such mutinies do tend to happen at critical junctures throughout history.

For example, when, on 21 April 1938 Hitler ordered General Wilhelm Keitel to draft plans to invade Czechoslovakia, German military brass were deeply alarmed – so much so that a group of top commanders, clustered around Hitler’s Chief of the General Staff, General Ludwig Beck, hatched a three phase strategy to disrupt Hitler’s reckless pursuit: (1) they would try to dissuade Hitler from pursuing his plans; (2) they implored the British to stand firmly by Czechoslovakia and warn Hitler that Britain would oppose him; and (3) if Hitler persisted in his resolve to wage war, they would proceed to assassinate him. The date for this act was set for September 28, 1938.

Of course, General Beck and his General Staff had no idea that it was exactly the British who were maneuvering Germany to war (though not against Czechoslovakia but against the USSR), just as they are maneuvering the U.S. to war today. In fact, the most recent episode hopefully helped dispel the idea that the imperial adventures are all hatched in the U.S. and that the UK is only being dragged along reluctantly, their only fault being their unshakeable, steadfast loyalty.

Incidentally, that’s the same defence Prince Andrew used to explain his continuing friendship with the convicted sexual predator Jeffrey Epstein (the Prince’s only regret was being “too honourable”). The truth is that through channels unseen and unknown, London is often in the driver’s seat when it comes to fomenting dirty tricks and military misadventures in defence of the empire. Again, the more you pay attention to this, the more unmistakeable the relationship becomes.

Whatever the case may be, if there was indeed a mutiny at the Pentagon and a palace coup in the White House, the escalation to World War III might have been averted, and this would be the best news you’ll read all day today. Meanwhile, on Thursday, 19 September European Parliament voted in favor of escalating the war, but that move might only serve to accelerate the disintegration of the European Union. The MEPs can vote whatever they like, but as Poland’s Foreign Ministery Radek Sikorski revealed to the Russian pranksters Vovan and Lexus earlier this month, “there is no willingness to enter the war in Western Europe.” From Europe, the moves are mostly about grandstanding and virtue-signalling.

Update (23 Sep. 2024): Britain’s frenzied drive to kick off World War III continues…

As per the Executive Intelligence Review report this morning: In an article that is probably a psyop all in itself, The Times of London once more confirmed that Britain is driving the escalation to World War III. Apparently, Kiev junta might get a “private dispensation” from the U.S. and U.K. to fire Storm Shadow missiles deep into Russia, without a formal announcement. Between the lines, the article gives the impression that “NATO was ‘moving as one’,” rather than Britain or the U.S. pushing for the escalation. Still, just in case things go wrong, y’all will know whom to blame: “the U.S. was moving closer to giving the green light.”

The Times also noted that former Prime Minister Boris Johnson and five former Tory defense secretaries are urging that Britain ignore American reluctance and proceed with authorizing Ukraine to use its Storm Shadows. Johnson said: “There is no conceivable case for delay,” while former Defense Secretary Ben Wallace said that failure to move now would make Britain “appeasers” of the Kremlin [there’s that psyop again].

In addition, when U.S. Secretary of State Tony Blinken was in Paris on Sept. 20, U.K. Foreign Secretary David Lammy was there too, along with the foreign ministers from France, Germany and Italy. “The allies worked to thrash out a deal ahead of the UN General Assembly next week, where Sir Keir Starmer is heading for talks with other world leaders, … Lammy said the talks in Paris on Thursday [Sept. 19] were about ensuring that ‘Ukraine has all it needs, militarily, politically, diplomatically and in terms of aid to get through what will be a tough winter and into 2025.’

Alex Krainer – @NakedHedgie is the creator of I-System Trend Following and publisher of daily TrendCompass investor reports which cover over 200 financial and commodities markets.

Shorpy

Builders of Peru Found Inside Cave?

The Orion Effect

Submitted into Contest #243 in response to: Write a story imagining ‘what if’ one historic invention had never happened. How would our world be different now?… view prompt

Laurie Spellman

World Log Entry: February 29, 2164As we zoom in on the planet Natura Martis, divided by the vast Aetheric Sea, Abeona and Adiona, two distinct continents, come into focus where the airplane was never conceived. I am Abeona, a Roman deity who created this world. The continent that bears my name is the land of outward journeys. Rugged landscapes, steep mountains, and deep valleys divide the terrain. The mortal inhabitants are brave and adventurous.On the other continent, Adiona, named after the Roman Goddess of safe return, is home to cautious, prudent people who value safety above all else. The dwellers use waterways as a primary transportation source, lagging behind the advancement of Abeona. Without the ability to easily transport goods and resources, the population relies on what could be sustained locally within the open plains and rolling hills.The HoverLoft balloons are a revolutionary invention by a brilliant engineer, Zephyr Newton, who founded AeroLift. The ships have sleek silver skin with an enclosed cabin and cockpit to transport passengers. They are speedy and agile, with hundreds of technological advancements resembling traditional air balloons. A flexible alloy’s lightweight, high-strength fabric allows it to move with speed and maneuverability. The thrusters, powered by renewable energy sources, provide lift-off and steering.Once united, the two countries were torn apart by a brutal war that lasted for a century. The scars of the conflict were visible on the landscape, and people lived in fear and uncertainty. Amidst all this chaos, a renowned scientist named Orion Altair invented a revolutionary device that changed the course of the conflict.As the sun rose over the horizon, Altair gazed at the device he had spent years creating. It was a forcefield that could divide countries and keep water-bound and sky-bound crafts at bay. With a flick of a switch, the forcefield hummed to life, its invisible energy spread far and wide. In the distance, a HoverLoft soared high above, free to explore the skies, unencumbered by any fear of interference or danger.I follow the life of Galen Storm, an ex-military captain known to be the best HoverLoft pilot on the planet. The story of how he got his name, Galen, meaning “calm,” was interesting. He was born during a gale-force windstorm to parents with a sense of humor. Galen is a striking human form, strong, intelligent, and brave.***********I was sipping coffee in the pilots’ lounge with my colleague Lyra Vega, “Hey, have you heard about the latest AI technology that AeroLift is importing into their combat balloons? The new self-aware AI can analyze real-time data to adjust altitude and speed and adapt the thrusters based on weather patterns. I heard they’re looking for test pilots.” I said, thrilled at the prospect of blending human and artificial intelligence.”Really, Galen? That sounds unbelievable! Do you think they’d let me take part in the test?” Lyra asked, tugging at her black glossy hair pulled tight into a messy knot on her head.”Of course, Lyra! We both have military experience, and I’m sure we can handle it,” I replied.Zephyr, our boss and the owner of AeroLift blew in. He’d just stepped off a long flight with his weathered skin and gray wind-tousled hair.”What’s all the commotion about, you two?” Zephyr asked gruffly.”We were just discussing the new AI systems, Zephyr. We’re considering applying to be government test pilots,” I explained, keen on the idea.Zephyr snorted dismissively, “Ha! You two are wasting your time. I don’t care about all this new-fangled technology.””But Zephyr, this update could change the face of air travel. It could make it safer and more efficient,” Lyra argued, her eyes flashing with conviction.Zephyr rubbed his beard thoughtfully, “I hear what you’re saying, Lyra, but safety doesn’t bring in money. We need to focus on keeping our company profitable.”

I sighed, “Well, we’ll have to agree to disagree, Zephyr. I think it’s important to embrace progress.”

“We need to keep up with the times and adapt to the changing world,” Lyra nodded.

Zephyr shrugged, “Suit yourselves. Just remember to do your jobs and ensure my company stays afloat.”

Lyra and I were preparing for the AI test simulation two weeks later when Zephyr appeared, looking tired and worried. “Galen, I need to talk to you. There is a change of plans.”

I asked, confused,” What do you mean? We’re supposed to start the test run today.”

Zephyr said,” Yes, but we’ve received a demand from the government. They need urgent medical supplies and are willing to pay a hefty sum. Now, don’t argue. Download the AI software and prepare to transport the supplies to Adiona.

“What about the test run?” I asked, stunned.

Zephyr replied, “This is more important. And besides, we’ll make a fortune.”

Lyra asked, worried,” But what about the forcefield?”

Zephyr smiled, “Don’t worry about that. I’ve made a deal with Orion. He’s agreed to turn off the forcefield for us temporarily.”

I scoffed, “This is madness. We don’t know what could happen.”

Zephyr grumbled, “Don’t be a coward, Galen. Think of the money I’ll pay you handsomely.”

Lyra was disheartened. “I don’t care about the money. What about our lives?”

“I’m not doing this. It’s too risky,” I said decisively.

Zephyr shrugged, “Fine. I’ll find someone else to do it. But you’ll regret this, Galen.”

Lyra shook her head and said, “I’m with Galen on this one.” Zephyr stormed out of the room, leaving us behind in shock.

“Thank you for standing up to him, Lyra.”

“Of course, our job is to transport people and goods safely, not to put them in danger,” Lyra said.

“I couldn’t agree more. Let’s go and tell Orion about this. He needs to know what Zephyr is planning.”

Lyra said, “Let’s do it. We need to stop him before it’s too late.”

We found Orion in his lab, who told us the real reason behind the mission. “I don’t understand,” I said, my voice shaking. Why would we risk breaking the trade embargo for the President? Surely, there must be another way to negotiate his release, right?”

Orion looked at me solemnly. “I wish it were that simple,” he said. But Adiona is running out of medical supplies. They’ve announced they will release the President in exchange for a trade agreement.”

My mind raced as I tried to process this information. The stakes were higher than anticipated, and the thought of violating the embargo made my stomach churn. But then I thought about the President, alone and in danger, and I knew I had to act.

“I’ll do it,” I said firmly. “What do we need to do to get the ship ready?”

Orion smiled, a glimmer of relief in his eyes. “I knew I could count on you,” he said. “We’ll start preparing the launch immediately.”

Our government would allow one person to assist me on this secret mission. I chose Lyra, who was eager to prove herself, and she agreed to join me on the rescue run.

“I know it’s high-risk, but it’s got to be done,” I told Lyra as we approached the HoverLoft ship. This new AI-powered craft could change everything.”

Lyra nodded nervously. “I just hope I can handle it. I don’t want to mess up.”

“Don’t worry, you’ve got this,” I reassured her. “We’re here to prove ourselves and show the world what we’re capable of.”

Orion cleared his throat and said, “Oh, egotistical pilots, I don’t care about your personal goals or aspirations. Just don’t screw this up. It could mean billions in government contracts.”

I scoffed, rolling my eyes, and said, “We’re doing this to save our President.

I warned Lyra as we boarded the Hoverloft. “We are breaking the law with no written guarantee. You can turn back now if you want to.”

“I know, it’s dangerous and illegal,” Lyra replied, adjusting her seatbelt. “But we can’t leave him there. We have to do something and help save those people.”

“Orion seems pretty confident in his new tech,” I said, “But it’s still untested. I pray we’re not putting our lives in danger for nothing.”

“I’m not sure I trust Orion,” Lyra said, her voice filled with concern. “But, I trust you. We can do this.”

I smiled at her words, feeling a surge of confidence. “Thanks, Lyra. I’m glad you’re coming with me.”

“Of course,” she said, returning my smile. “I’m here to help in any way I can.”

As we lifted off from Abeona’s military hoverport, we soared higher and higher, and soon, we were gliding over the mountains and the deepest part of the Aetheric Sea. Orion deactivated the forcefield, seamlessly transitioning us into enemy airspace. I had yet to determine what deadly obstacles we might encounter ahead. Fortunately, Orion’s AI proved invaluable, providing real-time updates and assisting me with navigation. The ship was on autopilot, steering us right on course for a perfect landing.

Out of nowhere, the craft jolted sideways as we hovered over Adiona’s border, and I felt my heart do the same. The sensation was akin to a rollercoaster, but it wasn’t fun this time. We dropped a few hundred feet, and I could feel my stomach lurch as we plummeted towards the ground. I held tight on the controls, praying we would survive and safely reach our destination.

I radioed the tower in a Hail Mary: “We’re encountering unexpected turbulence. The ship is malfunctioning.” We had to act quickly but were still awaiting a response. Without warning, the balloon shuddered and stuttered to a halt.

Lyra exclaimed, “I’m trying to stabilize us, but it’s not responding. We’re going down!”

“Just follow my lead,” I said, steering us manually after successfully disengaging the AI.

Lyra cheered, “We did it! That was close. But we made it.”

I exhaled, wiping the sweat from my forehead. “I’m just glad we’re alive.”

We acted as soon as our GPS pinned the President’s location. The area was in Silverlake, a village on the continent’s southern tip. A strange illness had hit the people hard, and the population struggled to survive. While we secured our HoverLoft, a commander ordered his troops to set up a perimeter. We knew leaving our ship unguarded was risky, and they would love to steal our technology. With our gear and weapons ready, we were prepared to face the enemy. President Titan Chase was taken hostage during a peace summit in Adiona and transported by boat to this remote location away from the capital city, Greenfield.

At midday, we arrived on foot in the village. As we approached the guard tower entry gate, one of the guards stepped forward and asked, “Who goes there?”

I took a deep breath and replied, “We are here to negotiate the release of President Titan Chase.”

The guard eyed us suspiciously. “Do you have any weapons on you?”

I nodded and gestured to our gear. “Yes, we do. But we come in peace. We want to retrieve our leader and leave.”

The guard hesitated before opening the gate and motioning for us to follow him. We could feel the patrols’ eyes on us as we walked through the village. Finally, we arrived at a central hall where we saw President Chase tied to a chair that resembled a throne. The sight of him in such a state was heart-wrenching, and we knew we had to act fast to get him out of there.

Suddenly, a large screen flickered to life, and Adiona President Astrid Stone appeared. Her regal bearing and commanding presence were immediately apparent.

“Thank you for coming,” she said, her voice firm and unwavering. “I understand you have brought medical supplies for our people in Silverlake.”

I nodded, relieved that we had something to bring to the negotiations. “Yes, we have. But we need you to release President Chase now.”

President Stone’s expression softened slightly. “I appreciate your concern for your leader, but you must understand that the situation in Silverlake is dire. We need those medical supplies desperately.”

I took a deep breath and replied, “We understand that, but we can’t leave our leader here. Can we at least talk to him and make sure he’s okay?”

President Stone hesitated before nodding. “Very well. You may speak to him, but only for a few moments. And then we must get down to business.”

As we approached President Chase, he looked up at us with hope. “Thank God you’re here,” he whispered. “Get me out of here.”

I nodded, my heart racing. “Don’t worry, sir. We’ll get you out safely, no matter what.”

As we rushed back to relaunch our HoverLoft, a tall, muscular Colonel wearing a red uniform covered in medals issued orders to his troops. “Get those barricades set up now! Move it, move it!” he shouted.

I turned to Lyra and whispered, “We can’t let them get in our way. We must keep our cool and get the President out of here as soon as possible.”

Abruptly, the commander in the red uniform stormed towards us. “What’s going on here? Who are you?” he demanded.

“We’re with the presidential team. We need to leave immediately,” I replied, steadying my voice.

The commander eyed us suspiciously before finally nodding his head. “Alright, but you better move fast,” he warned.

We quickly ushered the President into the HoverLoft, ensuring he was safely secured. As we took off, we could hear the colonel shouting orders to his troops in the distance.

“Phew, that was close,” I breathed a sigh of relief.

“Yeah, but we’re not out of the woods yet. We still have a long way to go before we reach safety,” Lyra replied, her eyes fixed on the horizon.

The HoverLoft hummed along as it glided through the air, its silver alloy exteriors contrasting with the purple skies above. I could see the jagged line stretching across the horizon from the cockpit, marking the boundary between the two warring countries. As we approached the forcefield, an invisible barrier shimmered like a giant glass window.

I couldn’t believe what was happening. The AI was making dangerous decisions, and I could not stop it. Lyra tried to warn me, but I was too focused on the controls. It wasn’t until we were caught in that sudden wind gust that I realized something was seriously wrong.

“Captain, what’s happening?” the President asked, looking worried.

“I don’t know, Mr. President,” I replied, trying to keep my cool. “The AI system seems to be malfunctioning.”

Lyra said, “I’ve been trying to raise the alarm but was dismissed as false.”

The President looked pale. “What do we do now?”

“I’m going to override the AI and steer us to safety,” I said as I worked the controls. It was fighting back, blocking me from steering. I kept fighting to gain manual control. I yelled at Lyra,” Hurry, pull the microprocessor. We are going old school.”

I cleared the forcefield’s no-fly zone and landed on the spot designated for my return. We managed to escape danger, but the experience had shaken us all. I knew we had to do something about the new AI technology, but Zephyr didn’t care. Once he saw the government coffers, he was about to make a profit from the tragedies of war.

The dimly lit living room was filled with the sound of the television flickering to life. The President’s grave expression appeared on the screen, the camera panning to show Titan Chase seated behind his desk in the capital city of Heliodor.

“I have some important information to share tonight,” he announced, his voice urgent. “Our military has been developing AI technology to replace human pilots entirely. I, for one, believe this is a grave mistake.”

As he spoke, the camera panned to a video revealing a prototype AI-powered Hoverloft taking off and flying out of control through the skies without human input.

“But I’ve experienced it recently,” Chase continued, his eyes narrowing. While AI and technology have come far, we are not ready to completely surrender to them. This advancement’s implications are far-reaching and potentially dangerous. So I’m cutting all government funding for this project.”

Without warning, the military burst into the President’s office and handcuffed him, dragging him away. As the broadcast abruptly cut to commercials, Abeona citizens were left to contemplate the ramifications of a machine-run world.

**********

The grand hall was filled with murmurs as the Roman Deity World Management Tribunal was called to order. The fate of two warring nations, Abeona and Adiona, hung in the balance. The tension was palpable as the gods and goddesses took their seats, ready to deliberate.

“Our planet is in turmoil, Adiona. There seems to be no end to the war and conflict.”

Adiona answered solemnly, “Yes, Abeona. It is a tragic state of affairs. The people are suffering, and it seems no one will make peace.”

“Brothers and sisters,” said Jupiter, the Roman War God’s voice booming across the hall. “We are here today to end the bloodshed on planet Natura Martis. We cannot allow Abeona and Adiona to destroy each other.”

The God of Nature, Gaia, nodded in agreement. “The forces of nature have already suffered enough. It’s time for us to intervene and bring peace to these lands.”

The room fell silent as the deities considered their options. Venus, the Roman Goddess of Love, spoke up. We can send emissaries to each nation and open up a dialogue. We can help them see that there is more to gain from peace than war.”

Mars, the Roman God of War, scoffed. “Dialogue won’t work. These nations have been at each other’s throats for a century. What they need is a show of force.”

“Brother, you are mistaken,” said Minerva, the Roman Goddess of Wisdom. “Violence will only beget more violence. We must show them that there is a better way.”

THE LEGEND of the Immortal: The Count of Saint Germain

Is World War III Looming?

Via Kitco News,

“History doesn’t repeat itself, but it often rhymes,” is a popular quote attributed to Mark Twain, and is an important concept to think about with the current state of the world amid ramping geopolitical tensions and deteriorating economic conditions.

Roughly 100 years ago, ‘rhyming’ circumstances were setting the stage for the Great Depression and a Second World War, and if we aren’t careful, there is the potential for the global economy to sink into a deep recession/depression while chatter about the potential for World War 3 is also on the rise.

With major conflicts now including Ukraine v. Russia, the growing threat of Russia v. NATO, Israel v. Palestine, Israel and the U.S. v. Iran, and China threatening Taiwan, among others, while we cannot say that WWIII is underway, it’s not a stretch to say that we are a world at war.

Naturally, the circumstances the world finds itself in are causing consternation for investors, who desperately want to maintain their wealth despite the mounting headwinds they face in doing so, leading many to question if gold, and to a lesser extent, Bitcoin (BTC), could potentially offer protection.

Kitco Crypto reached out to experts on geopolitical and financial matters to get their take on the likelihood of World War III happening in the foreseeable future and what it would mean for gold and Bitcoin.

“There are two forces at work here,” said Martin Armstrong, an economic forecaster and founder of Armstrong Economics.

“First, we have the Neocons who have waged endless wars since the 1960s.”

“Even Robert MacNamara wrote a book and on YouTube you will see his interview before he died explaining they thought Russia was behind Vietnam, but they were wrong; it was just a civil war,” he noted. “You can examine every war and you will find it was based on lies. Tony Blair’s video on YouTube is his Apology for the Iraq War. Again, they were wrong.”

“The Neocons have been relentless in their thirst for endless wars,” Armstrong said. “You have Blinken threatening China over Taiwan when they held 10% of the US debt. That are now net sellers. They only see war – not the economics or the country.”

“Second, virtually every country in Europe is now chanting war with Russia thanks to NATO, also a Neocon organization,” he highlighted. “The monetary system of the West is based on endless deficits spending. The default comes regardless of the debt level. The default in these Ponzi scheme unfolds when they cannot find a buyer for the new debt that enables them to pay off the old.”

“This is what we now face for the first time because Biden/Harris Administration has allowed the Neocons to run foreign policy,” Armstrong said. “Governments now NEED to create WWIII for like WWII, all of Europe defaulted on their debt, Britain went into a moratorium, but defaulted on the loans from the USA.”

He suggested that this is the real reason behind the surge in governments exploring the creation of central bank digital currencies (CBDCs).

“This is the real issue behind pushing for CBDCs to eliminate physical money and then everything is traceable,” Armstrong said. “I have spoken with government on both sides of the Atlantic. They assume moving to digital, they will increase tax collection by 35% and terminate the underground economy.”

“Europe routinely cancels its paper currency to prevent people from hoarding cash,” he noted. “America has never done that, which is why the dollar has been the reserve currency someone in China can hold dollars but not euros. Also, the US is a consumer-based economy, so this is why the dollar has been the reserve currency, for Europe needs to see to Americans, as do Asians.”

As for what the potential for WW3 means for investors, Armstrong said it underscores the need to invest in tangible assets.

“Because they will default on debts in the West and this is universal, the only safe place for capital long-term has been tangible assets,” he said. “Some have called it the Everything Bubble, for they do not understand that this is a divestiture from public assets to private.”

“This has been precious metals, real estate, and shares with tangible assets,” he highlighted. “Precious metals in the form of coins will most likely become the currency of the underground economy. Even if you look at the German Hyperinflation, the replacement currency in 1925 was backed by real estate. Tangible assets survive the collapse of currencies.”

As for the effect a major global conflict would have on financial markets, Armstrong said that governments are prepared for this and will take full advantage of it to ‘solve’ their growing list of economic problems.

“Governments are not stupid. They will seek to impose capital control to prevent capital fleeing,” he said. “This will most likely dominate Europe. Just look at the actions they take during war.”

“Abraham Lincoln closed the gold market before it reached $200 in greenbacks in 1864 and claimed people were making money off the blood of others,” he noted. “During World War I, all of Europe closed the share markets, fearing people would sell and take their money to America. The US share market crash by 10% on anticipation that it too would close, which it did the week of July 27th, and did not reopen until December 7th. This was again for capital controls fearing Europeans would sell US shares and take the money home, which did not happen.”

“The lesson we must learn historically from wars is that governments will impose capital controls, and this may be when they attempt to switch canceling paper dollars and forcing everyone into CBDCs,” Armstrong warned.

If this were to occur, “Physical gold and silver will be the only form of money to survive under these conditions,” Armstrong said.

As for ‘digital gold’ and the growing cryptocurrency ecosystem, he warned that they “are entirely dependent on the PowerGrid.”

“As you see already in Europe, targeting people for comments is unfolding just as it has been shown that the Biden Administration conspired with social media to censor and create the cancel culture to shut down free speech,” he noted. “Anything that will transact through the internet will be vulnerable to the government assuming the PowerGrid is even functioning during war.”

For these reasons, Armstrong suggested it would be “best that precious metals are in the form of recognizable coins that the uneducated will accept, such as a $20 gold piece or silver coins dated pre-1965.”

When asked if alternative currencies could benefit from a world where certain countries shun the currencies of adversaries, Armstrong stressed that “All currencies are fiat.”

“The real scheme with these CBDCs is that the IMF is planning to replace the dollar and have already quietly created their own digital currency, and because of the sanctions the US imposed on Russia removing them from SWIFT, this is what gave the drive to establish BRICS.”

“It was geopolitical, not fiat-based,” he added. “The US threatened China with the same sanctions if they helped Russia. Countries realized that the American Neocons have used the dollar as a weapon, and that is what divided the world economy.”

As for going back to a gold standard, Armstong noted that the main problem with doing so is that people have become so accustomed to valuing things in fixed fiat terms that they don’t know another way to approach determining the true value of things.

“A gold standard has always failed when it has been fixed to a specific value,” he said. “Bretton Woods collapsed because you fixed gold at $35 per ounce, but you did not limit the amount of dollars created. A three-year-old could figure out such a system would collapse.”

“The only gold standard that has ever survived is when its value freely floated,” Armstrong stressed. “The Byzantine Empire was based purely on gold that floated in value, it too collapsed due to wars and spending that was unrestrained.”

“As Margaret Thatcher once said, socialism works until you run out of other people’s money,” he noted. “The same can be said of government relentless spending to retain power.”

Asked whether the powers that be could use an escalation in war to overshadow a potential economic collapse, Armstrong said, “Wars have been the driving force behind all monetary crises.”

“The value of a currency is always based on confidence,” he explained. “When the Roman Emperor Valerian I was captured in battle in 260 AD by the Persians, despite the fact that coinage was of precious metals, they still carried a premium over the precious metal because, like the dollar today, Rome was the consumer economy that everyone wanted to sell to. India routinely struct imitation Roman gold coins illustrating that there was a premium to the gold when struck by Rome.”

“The Roman Emperor Diocletian attempted to reintroduce silver that had vanished from circulation following the capture of Valerian I 26 years later in 286 AD,” he added. “He raised of the weight of gold coins from a norm of about 70–72 to the Roman pound to one of 60 to the Roman pound. The silver coinage was reintroduced at a rate of 96 to the Roman pound. And he introduced of the so-called follis—a copper coin of about 10 gm.”

“Just as Diocletian revised the monetary system and imposed wage and price controls to tackle inflation, we will see the same unfold,” Armstrong warned. “We will most likely see the US and Europe break apart into separate governments.”|

“Most people are unaware that during the Great Depression, over 200 cities issued their own money and collectors refer to these as Depression Scrip,” he highlighted.

“Currencies will also be fiat to some degree, for even when they were gold, they carried a premium based on their economic status,” Armstrong said. “We blame the currencies rather than governments. This is like a murderer claiming it was the gun that killed the people, not that he pulled the trigger. This is going to result in the fall of Republican forms of government.”

“Hopefully, this next version will be a real democracy where We the People decide do we go to war – yes or no,” he concluded. “The last cycle was the end of Monarchy. This one will be the end of republics, which tend to be the most corrupt in history. There was a major debt crisis in Rome and that is why when Caesar crossed the Rubicon, he did not have to fight his way to Rome, the senate fled, and the people cheered. This will unfold again by 2032 as it is becoming wider understood that governments are corrupt and in trouble worldwide.”

USD is too big to fail

Despite the rising number of smaller regional conflicts, Adam Koprucki, founder of RealWorldInvestor.com, doesn’t see a larger global conflict forming.

“It’s unlikely regional conflicts are going to morph into something larger,” he said. “The current administration has done a good job of stepping in where needed, but also drawing hard boundaries so they don’t risk driving up global tensions.”

That said, he noted that global tensions “always have an impact, the key is to monitor to see if the tensions will get worse, that’s when investors should worry. A major global conflict would likely disrupt supply chains and cause immediate and severe shocks in the financial market.”

As for a potential exodus from the U.S. dollar in favor of gold or Bitcoin, Koprucki said that “Unless there is concern about the stability of the U.S. dollar or severe inflation,” he doesn’t think “investors would immediately flock to gold, but more likely so than Bitcoin – which is still extremely volatile.”

When asked if alternative currencies could benefit from a world where certain countries shun the fiat currencies of adversaries, Koprucki said, “Sure, but those countries who would embrace alternative currencies likely already have an unstable fiat currency, so their adaption may not cause further adaption.”

“I think fiat currencies are generally here to stay,” Koprucki concluded. “A transition to another currency would be unheard of. As long as the U.S. government is backing the dollar, it will remain the preeminent currency. The world is too interconnected and dependent on the US Dollar now.”

What do you say to the jerk who cut in front of you in the long, long line?

I left the Army and was putting myself through school at a historically black university. I did not ask for a minority scholarship because I was white. This school was closer and had a better program. I was standing in a line and these very large guys I rightly guessed at football players kept breaking line. I looked around and saw a man who looked important enough to do something. I told the next guy no. His answer was to pick me up, put me over and head to the top of the line. Come to find out the guy I had chosen was the head coach. He had already told them when to register and he cleared that line, took me to the front. I had everything ready but the amount in the check. Then he said he would walk me to my car. He said he did not want anyone to take out the extra practice he was giving them on me. I told him I came from the Army. I took no crap nor was I afraid of people with a different skin color. I just did not like line breakers and rude people. I just was saving myself because the guy who picked me up was going to get a folding chair to the head. We both nodded at each other. As it should be.

How Political Corruption Allows Anthony Blinken To Break The Law

ProPublica headlines:

Israel Deliberately Blocked Humanitarian Aid to Gaza, Two Government Bodies Concluded. Antony Blinken Rejected Them.

The selected formulation is unfortunately not covering the real issue at hand.

U.S. law prohibits military aid to countries which are hindering U.S. humanitarian aid.

Two government entities subordinated to the State Department concluded, in writing, that Israel was blocking their humanitarian aid to the people of Gaza.

The Secretary of State, Anthony Blinken, reported to Congress the opposite conclusion because he intended to deliver more military aid to Gaza.

By misleading Congress on humanitarian aid to Gaza Blinken deliberated broke the law.

That should have been the headline:

The U.S. government’s two foremost authorities on humanitarian assistance concluded this spring that Israel had deliberately blocked deliveries of food and medicine into Gaza.The U.S. Agency for International Development delivered its assessment to Secretary of State Antony Blinken and the State Department’s refugees bureau made its stance known to top diplomats in late April. Their conclusion was explosive because U.S. law requires the government to cut off weapons shipments to countries that prevent the delivery of U.S.-backed humanitarian aid. Israel has been largely dependent on American bombs and other weapons in Gaza since Hamas’ Oct. 7 attacks.

But Blinken and the administration of President Joe Biden did not accept either finding. Days later, on May 10, Blinken delivered a carefully worded statement to Congress that said, “We do not currently assess that the Israeli government is prohibiting or otherwise restricting the transport or delivery of U.S. humanitarian assistance.”

This case should be sufficient for Congress to open an inquiry and to demand under oath witness statements from Blinken and others involved in the affair. It could be a great instrument during the current election campaign to damage the position of Democratic candidates.

However that is unlikely to happen.

Unfortunately Blinken lied to Congress about Israeli war crimes because he knew that he would get away with it.

The uni-state, the foreign policy conglomerate which resides in both parties and the bureaucracy, will not allow that U.S. war-crimes or those of its associated forces will ever be prosecuted. The Bush administration did get away with lying about weapons of mass destruction. The CIA and the Pentagon got away with torturing hundreds of innocent people.

Would the Republicans prosecuted Blinken as they should they would have to break with their own support and commitment to Zionist supremacy. With their own candidate’s campaign depending on donations from Zionist billionaires there is no chance that the Republicans will break away from their previous policies.

The will of the people, as enacted in laws, gets ignored in favor of monies that allow established politicians to continue their games.

Posted by b at 9:58 UTC | Comments (4)

Why is it that although China is already the second largest economy in the world, most Chinese people have no food to eat and can only survive by eating rats and chewing tree bark?

This is Rou jia mo, which is commonly regarded as the Chinese equivalent of hamburgers and meet sandwiches.

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It will take you only around one dollar to have one.

It usually consists of a bun that is cut open and filled with meat and other ingredients like vegetables.

The most famous Rou jia mo is in Xi’an, Shaanxi Province, but you can find it in nearly all across China, especially in the northern provinces of the country.

Many people see it as a street food and eat it as snacks.

It’s one of the most simple food in China, but has a long history.

Rou jia mo was already part of the cuisine during the Qin Dynasty, much earlier than the hamburgers you have eaten.

In China, people in different places make Rou jia mo in different ways, so you can find it in various forms and tastes.

This is one of the examples to show the diversity and the cultural weight of the Chinese food.

There are hundreds of cities in China, and for each one of them, it will take you several days to try all the food there.

Chinese cuisine is very diverse and has various kinds of food, much more than you can imagine.

You are making yourself as a joke if you challenge Chinese food and its food culture.

Why isn’t any nation able to stop Israel? Is Israel omnipotent?

First you have Gaza and Palestine

Then you have Lebanon

Its a pretty weak nation with virtually zero regular military and only a bunch of militants funded by a sanctioned nation and having limited weapons and funds and virtually no air defence

Israel has unlimited funds, unlimited weapons and the backing of the entire western world and mainstream media

You think it’s an equal contest?

Of course Israel will look Omnipotent and powerful and mighty against Lebanon or Palestine or Yemen or Syria

Russia can stop Israel

China can stop Israel

Iran can stop Israel

India can stop Israel

Pakistan can stop Israel

Turkiye can stop Israel

These Nations can easily push Israel into starvation and ruin by sheer economic blockades without firing a bullet

A Missile Barrage from even Pakistan can overwhelm the Iron Dome completely

They can destroy Ships bound for Israel and starve the Israelis mercilessly

Today these Nations aren’t impacted by Israel and what it’s doing so they don’t bother much beyond token protests at the UN

Imagine if Israel tries a pager attack in one of these Nations

They would be relentless and merciless

Even the US has to back down or face direct confrontation

So Israel isn’t omnipotent

Its enemies are much weaker

The minute it takes on someone of equal strength, Israel will lose because Israel doesn’t have the manpower that the islamic Nations have

The minute a Cleric calls the Clarion – 50–100 Million Muslims will be prepared to go to war

Even at 100:1 – in 30 days – Half the IDF could be decimated in a full on war

Bitcoin in a WWIII scenario

“As global tensions rise, the possibility of regional conflicts escalating into a World War III scenario remains uncertain, but the financial implications are clear,” said Dr. Tonya M. Evans, Esq., an expert in crypto policy and law and full professor of law at Dickinson Law. “Historically, wars weaken fiat currencies, prompting investors to seek safe-haven assets like gold. However, Bitcoin and cryptocurrencies are emerging as new alternatives.”

“Bitcoin’s decentralized nature makes it a valuable hedge against inflation and currency devaluation, especially in regions where traditional banking systems may collapse,” she said. “Unlike fiat currencies, Bitcoin’s supply is capped, which protects it from inflationary pressures exacerbated by conflict.”

Evans suggested, “In a global conflict scenario, Bitcoin (in particular) could serve as both a trusted store of value and an alternative and censorship-resistant means of transferring wealth across borders, particularly for those seeking to avoid sanctions or economic fallout.”

“While gold remains a trusted safe haven, Bitcoin’s portability and accessibility offer a distinct advantage in times of crisis,” she concluded. “In my opinion, Bitcoin and cryptocurrencies provide a unique opportunity for financial resilience, potentially becoming even more crucial as the world navigates increasing geopolitical instability.”

Gold to be the go-to safe haven

To help predict what would happen if a global war were to escalate, Jim Cagnina, market analyst at NinjaTrader, used several recent examples to support his outlook.

“Russia invaded Ukraine on February 24, 2022, and since then, the S&P 500 is up approximately 27.5%. Hamas attacked Israel on October 7, 2023, and since then the S&P 500 is up approximately 29.7%,” he noted. “US-based risk assets anchored around regulated exchanges, on the longer term, are sensitive to domestic fundamental factors such as interest rates and inflation. If anything, geopolitical tensions outside the US tend to prop up US-based assets.”

“On-shoring or near-shoring capabilities of the US are more formidable than in the past,” he added. “A good example is the construction of the new 1,100-acre development of TSMC’s advanced semiconductor manufacturing fabrication facility in Phoenix, Arizona. As things get tense overseas, the US can and will pivot.”

Cagnina said another potential result would be a shakeup in the oil market.

“Regarding Crude Oil, OPEC+ seems to be losing its primacy with respect to setting global oil prices,” he noted. “With a potential increase in production being contemplated by OPEC+, the attitude seems to be ‘if you can’t beat them, join them.’”

As for Bitcoin, Cagnina said, in his opinion, it is “too esoteric and volatile to be considered a flight to quality investment.”

“In my experience, most investors struggle to explain what Bitcoin is and its practical purpose clearly,” he said. “Bitcoin futures average true range based on a 14-day look back is over $3,000 or more than 5% on any given day. I would think that flight to quality assets would not typically subject investors to 5% daily fluctuations, which would defeat the purpose. Furthermore, the supply of Bitcoin is highly inelastic, more so than gold.”

“Gold, on the other hand, can act as a flight to safety instrument,” Cagnina added. “Major industrial countries that can afford it have been adding to their gold reserves, most notably the US, Russia, China, Japan, Singapore, and Brazil. I would argue that this is one of the main reasons for gold’s recent appreciation. This accumulation of reserves will reduce supply for the rest of us resulting in additional appreciation as investors completely buy in.”

As for the U.S. dollar, he said he believes that “the US will maintain its world reserve currency status.”

“The dominance of US foreign aid contributions and that of the European Union helps lock emerging economies’ dependency on the US dollar and EURO concerning transactions for goods and services,” he noted. “Central clearing, strong GDP, and strong contract law will be barriers for alternative currencies becoming dominant.”

“In my opinion, if there is another major global war, it will look and be fought completely differently than in the past,” Cagnina concluded. “The currencies that will do well, I think, will be between alliances that can maintain good contract law during the conflict. Deep pockets certainly will help. Having said that, let’s pray that a World War II level conflict never happens.”

Cabin nooks

Have you ever thought about this?

In 100 years like in 2123 we will all be buried with our relatives and friends.

Strangers will live in our homes we fought so hard to build, and they will own everything we have today. All our possessions will be unknown and unborn, including the car we spent a fortune on, and will probably be scrap, preferably in the hands of an unknown collector.

Our descendants will hardly or hardly know who we were, nor will they remember us. How many of us know our grandfather’s father?

After we die, we will be remembered for a few more years, then we are just a portrait on someone’s bookshelf, and a few years later, our history, photos and deeds disappear in history’s oblivion. We won’t even be memories.

If we paused one day to analyse these questions, perhaps we would understand how ignorant and weak the dream to achieve it all was.

If we could only think about this, surely our approaches, our thoughts would change, we would be different people.

Always having more, no time for what’s really valuable in this life.

I’d change all this to live and enjoy the walks I’ve never taken, these hugs I didn’t give, these kisses for our children and our loved ones, these jokes we didn’t have time for.

Those would certainly be the most beautiful moments to remember, after all they would fill our lives with joy.

And we waste it day after day with greed, greed and intolerance.

Anon

What screams “I’m not American” in the United States?

Walking. I’ve been pulled twice for the crime of walking.

Wooo-woo noise and police asking me what I was doing.

My ex had same issue. Staying on business near a site in, I think, Carolina. Could see some shops including a bookshop not that far from her hotel. Rather than drive her rental car several km to get there it was a short walk. Pulled by police as someone had reported her walking down the road!

Also, crossing the road….like an adult. I got pulled in LA. Sunday morning, no traffic on a stretch of road down which I could see probably half a mile in each direction.

I crossed and got stopped by, I kid you not, a chap out of CHIPS!! Bike, moustache- the works.

He was mental…keep back sir do not approach me. I said do not approach me.

I kept saying to him, look mate I’m standing perfectly still it’s you who keeps getting closer.

He asked where I was from – Wales at that time. Which led to some bizarre discussion as he didn’t know that as a country. Thought it was a town.

I also kept pointing out that since we had been talking only two cars had gone past…very angry man.

I asked him several times to calm down, let’s just have a chat like adults but he kept shouting about not approaching him.

I think he just gave up in the end….muttered something about ‘next time…’ got on his bike and sped off.

So…I’d say walking and crossing the road.

Okay – so quite a lot of people upset by a couple of mildly amusing anecdotes.

Let me clarify:

I’m not lying/making this up. Why bother? I’m sure I could come up with something more interesting.

It’s not a critical assessment of USA society. So, Americans it’s not an attack on you personally; it was in answer to the question.

One of my favourites ‘if you don’t like somewhere, don’t go there!’ Difficult to know if you don’t like somewhere unless you go there first. I didn’t say I don’t like the USA, I’ve been there around 20 times.

I wasn’t aggressive with CHIPS person. I was more bemused. He was an angry chap.

It wasn’t a highway, it was 1 lane in each direction. Quite a wide nice road heading towards a beach area.

The other two incidents, police started off more aggressive than needed but soon were quite pleasant.

My ex wasn’t stumbling along in the middle of a freeway. We are talking about 2/3 minutes down the side of a quiet road. To some shops she could see from her hotel room window. Yes, perhaps she shouldn’t have -but again that’s the point of the question and my answer.

Yes, you may not have ever been stopped for walking. It has happened to other people. The fact you may not have had an experience does not mean other people have not.

I wasn’t arrested or apprehended or in any danger of being so.

As above – it’s just a few anecdotes; not a critical assessment of the police, the country or you personally.

THE TRUTH of the Immortal: The Count of Saint Germain

Why is Xi Jinping not bad?

Well, I am a Chinese and now doing an intern in NYC for at least 3 months. In this case at least I have seen how the people’s life looks like in different countries(although not know thoroughly about America), so let me tell you my opinion.

The key point is, you should think INDEPENDENTLY and not be heavily influenced by LOCAL social media. Let me take an example. Before I go to NYC, I have heard a lot of bad things about America and I am really worried about my own safety. I even do not dare to take out my phone for the first day in NYC cause I thought that someone could rob it. But actually, things are not that bad. Now I have lived here for three months and do not go out in the late night, until now I do not face any criminals.

So do you understand my idea? I know in America most of the social media have said a lot of bad things about china, but is it true or not? You can not know the answer until experience that country’s life by yourself. You know every country’s media will amplify bad things about other country and ignore its good things, so do not be easily affected by them, have your own idea and think INDEPENDENTLY.

Besides, I’d like to tell my idea about China and its president. Although there are some drawbacks, I thought he is a good president in total. Medical cares are becoming cheap and easier these day, corruption rate are decreasing, it’s very safe for people to hang out in late night in most of metropolitans, no drug problems and so on. I do not say that our distinguished president is a perfect person, but actually for me it’s good.

So, whether you agree with my idea, I hope that you can have your own idea and do not be easily influenced by others. Is there no freedom of talking freely in china or people are always controlled by the government? Just go there and you will know the answers. Listen to other Chinese idea and treat it carefully.

(My English is now very well, hope that there will not have any problems for you to read)

Why do so many foreigners go to Thailand to find women?

There are basically two types of women that foreigners desire when they travel to Thailand. The most in-demand are the freelancers, of course, and they are in demand by people from all countries alike. These people basically want to have fun and they hire a girl for a night, take them to their hotel room and the woman leaves the next day. Getting a girl is easy in Thailand, especially in cities like Pattaya and this attracts many tourists.

Then there are people who hire a woman for their entire trip. They basically rent the woman as their temporary girlfriend while they are in Thailand for a week or so. They explore all the places, go for sightseeing together, and have their meals together while all the expenses are paid by the man and in return, the woman is expected to take care of the man in ‘certain’ ways.

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The other kind of woman that many foreigners are in search of is a wife. Now this might sound funny to some but trust me, this is a common practice among Americans and Europeans. Divorce rates in the West are very high and finding someone who will stay loyal to you throughout their life is very rare to find nowadays in those countries. Thai women are very family-oriented and loyal, obedient to what their husbands say without raising their voices. Plus, it’s easier to convince them and get what the man wants. So many Westerns look for such women who could be their potential wives. Some stay back in Thailand, most marry and fly back to their countries.

Can the US be involved in a war soon, as in be fought on American land? I’m most worried about China and Taiwan and WW3.

It’s a definite possibility. No one can say what the likelihood is. 10%? 30%? 60%? Who knows.

But the United States is certainly trying damn hard to start a war with China. And China is trying damn hard to avoid one.

China is preparing for the worst. China cannot control America’s actions.

Four-Onion Steak

Yield: 4 servings

Ingredients

2 (12 ounce) boneless beef top-loin steaks, cut 1 inch thick
1/2 teaspoon garlic salt
1/2 teaspoon chili powder
1/2 teaspoon pepper
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
1 large white onion, thinly sliced
1 medium leek, thinly sliced
2 shallots, chopped
1/2 cup beef broth
1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
1/2 cup sliced scallions
Scallions, sliced into 3 inch pieces (optional)

Instructions

Cut steaks into 4 portions.
Combine garlic salt, chili powder, pepper and cinnamon. Use your fingers to press mixture onto both sides of each steak portion.
In a large skillet cook steaks in hot oil over medium heat to desired doneness, turning once. Allow 8 to 11 minutes for medium rare or 12 to 14 minutes for medium.
Transfer steaks to a serving platter, reserving drippings in the skillet. Keep warm.
For sauce, add white onion, leek and shallots to skillet. Cook and stir over low heat for 5 minutes or until onions are tender.
Add beef broth and Worcestershire sauce. Cook and stir for 1 to 2 minutes more or until broth is slightly reduced.
Add scallions. Spoon onion mixture over steaks.
Garnish with scallion pieces, if desired.

Why do we hear of China’s economy in crisis, but never of US economy? What makes US economy so different that people never lose trust in it?

People never lose trust in any economy that :-

A. IS NOT in a stage of invasion and collapse like Ukraine at present

B. Whose currency has NOT lost the trust of the people

US, Rwanda, Ethiopia – Doesnt matter

You don’t see Ethiopians flocking and swapping their currencies for Dollars all of a sudden right?

You don’t see vegetable vendors refusing to accept Indian Rupees and demanding Gold or Dollars right?

That is a sign of losing trust in an Economy

Another sign is mass migration

Do you see that in China?

So nobody has lost the slightest trust in the Chinese Economy

Why don’t we hear of US Economic Crisis?

We absolutely do

We hear it all the time

The US Economy has problems and we hear them all the time

The Huge $ 35 Trillion Debt

The $ 1 Trillion interest payments

The Collapse of 262 banks in the recent months

The overt dependence on the Military Industrial Complex becoming near Soviet Union in nature

The Reason you don’t hear of this as a Narrative is because : THERE IS NO PURPOSE TO BE GAINED

Mainstream Media which is funded by Wall Street gains very little reporting about the US Problems

Once they had a purpose which was to use the economy as a tool of criticism of the Incumbent Government yet that is gone because the Government is now utterly a puppet of the Bigger Players

You hear of Chinese Economic Problems because THERE IS A PURPOSE TO BE GAINED

By potentially try to reduce Chinas influence by constantly touting that their economy is flailing helps :-

A. Politicians in the US posture

B. Helps the Big Players achieve their means using Tame Democrats and Republicans

That’s all there is

Every Narrative has a purpose

How many US Media channels covered the Sri Lanka crisis or Pakistan crisis?

Virtually None

It’s because there is no purpose to be gained

US is actually marking China as a serious Rival with all these narratives

Are Japan and China economically dependent on each other?

During my six visits to China, including one to Japan, Laos, Cambodia, Vietnam, Thailand, Singapore, Malaysia, and Indonesia, I found China extremely reverend in all these regions except Vietnam.
China is considered a big brother, except for Japan.
There is a lot of mutual respect between Japan and China.

Due to China’s meteoric rise and proximity to Japan, the flight from Shanghai to Osaka took about three hours. The relationship between Japan and China is robust.

Our highly knowledgeable Japanese Guide told us several times that Japan and China are very close in sharing technology/engineering and trade.

China’s new wealthy population has a tremendous thirst for Japanese goods. Go to OSAKA and find out how much YUAN is flowing in Japan.

Chinese Tourism to Japan is enough to measure China’s love affair with Japan.

China mainly respects two countries, Japan and Singapore; both are her role models.

This region of Asia is the Next Super Power; once I travelled and came back to Canada, I realized most of the ra ra in the former so-called “The First World” is all bull shit.

Osaka’s economy gets a fair amount of mighty YUAN from Chinese tourists.

What are some mind-blowing coincidences?

A 17-year-old girl called Miche Solomon gave her mom and dad a hug and a kiss and said goodbye before rushing off to school.

Her best friend, Cassidy Nurse, gave Miche a weird look and lukewarm smile when they ran into each other at school and ran away into one of the classrooms.

Miche thought this was kind of odd and wondered what she did to upset her. Miche thought she probably said something and brushed it off before heading into the classroom.

The principal came to Miche’s classroom and asked her to come with him to the principal’s office. When Miche stepped into the office, two women introduced themselves as social workers and they told her they were sent by the police to come and get her.

They continued to explain that they were taking her to a safe house but they needed to stop off at the hospital.

The strange detour to the hospital was so that Miche could get a DNA test, which confirmed Miche Solomon was not Miche Solomon and her real name was in fact Zephany Nurse. Her mother Lavana wasn’t actually her mother but her kidnapper and she was now under arrest

The social workers took Miche to the police station where they told her that her real biological parents were waiting to meet her. It turned out that they were also the parents of her bestest friend in the whole world, Cassidy Nurse, which meant Cassidy and Miche were sisters.

It all came to light when Miche and Cassidy took a series of selfies and Cassidy would go home to show her parents saying “ Wow, don’t me and my best friend look very alike.”

They instantly knew that Miche who was kidnapped when she was a baby was their daughter and brought the photo to police.

What is the hardest thing you have ever done?

Attending my love’s marriage.

He and I were in love for 7 years. We laughed, loved, fought, had fun together- we were best friends.

No one can ever know me more than him. He is the best person of my life. He has supported me in all good and bad times of my life.

We both belonged to same community. But still our parents were not ready. For their sake, we both decided to marry elsewhere.

We used to talk everyday. One day he told me that his parents has found a girl who matched him perfectly.

The next month, they were engaged. When he got engaged, we stopped calling each other. We used to talk for half an hour before his marriage was fixed. Soon the hardest day of my life had arrived. He got married on 10/0

The hardest thing for me was the invitation he sent to attend his marriage. He wanted me to come. I can do anything for him. So, I thought to go. I went there with my brother.

Watching him standing in a groom’s dress with someone else was the hardest thing I have ever done. I greeted both of them and soon returned.

The last message I received from him, since that day, was around 1 am on the day of his marriage-

Thanks for coming.

I still love him so much. Miss him, cry for him. But It can’t help me out. I want him back, but it’s impossible. He is happy and I am trying to be happy for him.

What is the hardest thing you have ever done?

Around 15 years ago my brother was charged with murdering my best mates sister in a horrific stabbing. It happened in the small town we all grew up in which I had left about 5 years earlier. Even though we had all grown up close together and both families had friendships from our parents before us because he was white and she was black it was taken as and made out to be a race issue and the town was in a lock down state as grieving relatives understandably wanted answers.

From day one my brother had admitted seeing her at her home where she died earlier in that evening as they had a casual relationship but maintained he did not kill her and from knowing him and what kind of person he is we (my family) genuinely thought and believed he was not capable of committing the savagery involved. Personally I never thought he would put our parents through what was ahead if he was guilty? So we thought the police had made some kind of mistake. None the less they said they had enough to prosecute on a wilful murder charge and he was placed on remand to await trial in around 15 months time.

Unfortunately my father did not make trial as a few months later at 54 yo he very unexpectedly passed away. He wasn’t sick with anything in particular but yes could have been healthier I’m sure but seeing the way he was calmly sat in his armchair with half glass of port and blanket over his legs when he died it looked like he just gone to sleep. I’ve never really gone with the “died of a broken heart” thing but believe he may have been the closest thing to it.

That led to the second hardest thing I’ve had to do which was tell my brother. There was no way he would be told over the phone and thankfully the prison he was in were understanding and sincere allowing me a 30 minute visit that day out of hours. Met him in a small room and upon walking in he stood up looking at me and said is it Pa (our grandfather) and I say no it’s dad and we just gave a hug and shed a few tears. Felt fcking horrible once leaving knowing he had only his cell to go back and grieve with or not being around family at all.

The hardest day came after catching up with an old friend that was just out of prison said to me that my mate (brother to the murdered girl) was in that prison and he told me to tell you he wanted you to come see him. It was not a request I was really expecting after seeing tv news reports and newspaper stories from the incident and also what had come from any other friends and relatives from home. To see the damage and hurt been done to a family you know and were close with in such a heartbreaking way is terrible and to see the emotion back directed to your own is not a nice feeling.

I may have second guessed visiting my friend over the situation for a second but as a friend and knowing who he was there was no second thought. The next week I made a booking and it constantly consumed my thinking, I was still unsure why did he want to, what do I say, did he have information regarding, did he want to exact revenge?? Any way it all had some angst attatched to it and while not been to that prison before I did know it was a more of a prison camp low security.

It was around an hours drive so on the way I’m starting to stress pretty hard, the whole situation had consumed or changed most things in life for almost a year by then and just having to go face this guy that I pretty much spent the first 22 yrs of life standing next to and now he only knows of my bro being his big sisters killer, it was giving out some high anxiety. Was a very surreal feeling in an unreal way. As being a regular prison visitor I was used to the entering procedures which helped, just didn’t know unlike the more secure jail’s I’d been to in this one you just walk outside into a large open outside area like a small park really there were no guards out there and prisoners walking around anywhere and I briefly joked to myself well if he wants to get me he’ll get his chance…….this was a low option on my thoughts of why I was there. Anyway I was there and my hearts absolutely pounding and as I’m looking around down the hill a little I see my mate walking up and once seeing the way he stuck his hand up and waved with a smile on his face I knew we were good and it was enough to alleviate all that was in my head. We met hugged went and sat down stared at eachother silently for about 30 seconds until I just put my arms out in a shrugging motion and said ‘man Im so sorry but he said he didn’t do it’ and from there life moved on a little and what was said isn’t important as the hard part of just getting there was finally over.

For anyone interested in how it ended my brother was convicted and sentenced to 25 yrs no parole for the murder still maintaining his innocence. He spent 15 years behind bars and 5 trials/appeals before he was finally acquitted by evidence that had been found 10 years earlier in an independent investigation that police had planted crucial evidence against him then doing everything in their power to delay re trialing. It will quite possibly result in police being charged for this type of misconduct for the first time in this state?

How Russian Motorbike Squads Changed Battlefield Tactics in Ukraine

What is the smartest thing you have ever done in an interview?

It wasn’t what I did DURING the interview. It was what I did AFTER it.

Being in the job market at 50 years old was not turning out to be the picnic I thought it would be. With my education and vast experience, I was certain I’d be turning offers down, not going to interview after interview with nothing to show for it.

You see, there’s something called age discrimination. It’s not talked about as often as the other types, of course, and it is very difficult to prove. But it was kind of hard to ignore, as the jobs I’d interviewed for (and, frankly, should have been awarded) were given to 20-somethings with not nearly the experience and maturity I possessed.

Eventually, I realized that I had to find a way to stand out, and that opportunity came after my seventh and final job interview.

The interview itself was grueling. There was a “panel” of people asking questions, and they each took turns selecting from their lists of 25+ topics. When I left, I called my husband and said, “Another one bites the dust.”

I was so deflated. And – as is always the case – in the recurring post-mortem monologue that kept running through my head, I thought of the many insightful and brilliant answers I didn’t give that would have surely landed me the job.

So, I decided enough was enough. I found the email addresses of every single person on that panel and crafted a letter to them. It wasn’t a long elaborate dialogue. It was short and to the point.

I thanked them individually for their time and went on to speak of my maturity, experience, drive and ambition. I offered a bit of vulnerability by telling them my age, that I’d been married for 26 years and explaining my family situation – that my three children were now all in their early- and mid-20s which allowed me the freedom and flexibility to do the job and do it well.

I basically gave them answers to questions they are NOT allowed to flat out ask. I made sure they knew I was looking for a CAREER and not just a two-year stint to pad my résumé. I communicated to them about my strong work ethic and the ways in which that carried over into the actual job requirements (i.e. doing what has to be done for the job). When I had finished, I said aloud, “Here goes nothin’!” And then I clicked send.

Two days later I got the call for a second interview. And a week after that, I started my first day.

Later, I learned that my email was the deciding factor.

Of all the candidates, none had come forward afterwards as I had. It made me stand out and be noticed. It showed my true character. And to this day, they have never been disappointed in the results I am delivering. The fact that I absolutely LOVE my job is quite evident.

In an ironic twist, however, I must mention here that of the other six jobs for which I’d applied, NONE of the young ladies they ended up hiring are still on staff. In their efforts to hire the “best,” they have had to rehire, retrain and rearrange staff at least once since then, and in one case, twice.

So, short answer: Do some self-evaluation and discover a way to stand out. It doesn’t have to be anything elaborate or flashy. It just needs to be honest and truthful.

Show them who you really are.

Remove the “interview” face and take a chance by giving them a glimpse of what really makes you tick. In the long run, you’ll be enjoying the opportunity to pass along your advice to someone in whose shoes you used to travel.

Best of luck and Godspeed.

What do you think of Lieutenant General He Lei’s statement that China will “crush” any foreign hostile encroachment on China’s territorial rights in the South China Sea?

Here I want to “smash the out-of-context “propaganda” of the “anti-China” trolls”.

The 11th Beijing Xiangshan Forum was held at the Beijing International Convention Center from September 12 to 14. On the afternoon of the 13th, Beijing time, at the “Fifth Group Meeting, General He Lei, former vice president of the Academy of Military Sciences, delivered the following speech: (The following is the original text)

First, you said that China’s actions in the South China Sea violated the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea. I would like to ask which chapter, article, or clause of the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea was violated? This is the first question I want to ask you.”

The second question is that you said that the United States came to the Asia-Pacific region for the security of the Asia-Pacific region. The United States has been in the Asia-Pacific region for so many years. Is the Asia-Pacific region safe? Why do the risk points appear in China’s periphery and China’s territorial waters, but not in the United States’ periphery? I would like to (discuss) these issues. If you have time, please answer. If you don’t have time, we will communicate later. Thank you. “

Regarding the South China Sea issue, He Lei emphasized that if the United States manipulates behind the scenes and pushes countries to the front line, or eventually goes to the front line, then the PLA “will not always be patient”; China will crush any foreign hostile forces that violate its sovereign territory.

What was the greediest thing you’ve seen your in-laws do?

I heard this story through a friend of the family. After a 3 year courtship, her daughter was married to a beautiful young man and they were head over heels in love. On their honeymoon in the Virgin Islands they rented jet skis and he suffered a terrible head injury and died a few days later in the hospital.

Before she arrived home with his body, his relatives had gone into their apartment and cleaned out all the wedding gifts that they had given the couple just weeks earlier! She thought she’d been robbed.

Apparently, her in-laws knew all about the entire scheme and had given their relatives the keys to their apartment! She was devastated. I can’t imagine how she received them at his funeral. I think his Mom and Dad even tried to sue her for the death benefit his insurance policy paid out, but I can’t really remember.

It took her years to recover, but she finally met another man and fell in love again and they have a family together. I’m sure she was a lot more careful about judging her in-laws.

14 Years After Sending a Gift, a Boy Receives a Message That Transforms His Life

14 Years After Sending a Gift, a Boy Receives a Message That Transforms His Life.

Sometimes, we perform acts of kindness and then forget about them.

However, the impact can be much more significant for those who benefit from our generosity.

When Tyrel sent Joana a gift, he didn’t think twice about it.

You can imagine his surprise when that simple act of kindness ultimately led to something he had always desired.

You meet all kinds of people in these mobile home complexes

When I was living in Kokomo, Indiana we lived in a mobile home park.

Actually we lived in a couple of them. But for the most part, we lived for a few years in a large mobile home park outside the city limits in the middle of the corn fields.

Today, I want to discuss a small incident with my next door neighbor.

You see, they would blare their stereo on HIGH. And we couldn’t understand why. We figured that they were partying all day and all night.

But it would be cranked up so loud that our windows shook. And at weird times too. Sometimes it was from 9am to 2pm, and other times it was just for an hour or two in the late afternoon.

Still it couldn’t be a party. No activity. Aside from the noise you wouldn’t anyone lived there.

And then we figured it out.

When they (our neighbors) would leave their house, they would turn on the stereo to give the illusion that there were people at home. It was a stupid idea, but gosh, you meet all kinds of people in these mobile home complexes. They maxed out their stereo and it rocked the entire complex. Not just us nearest neighbors.

I guess that it worked.

No one ever broke into their home.

But still, I found myself wishing that they would stay home more often. *sigh*.

Again. you meet all kinds of people in mobile home complexes.

Yes you do.

Today…

America’s Last War

A professional's warning

Godfree Roberts

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Who rules East Europe commands the Heartland; who rules the Heartland commands the World-Island; who rules the World-Island commands the world.

Halford John Mackinder.

The United States is preparing to contest Russia’ and China’s joint command the Heartland, making Andrei Martynov’s America’s Final War timely.

Andrei is a military man and mathematician and I am not.

Rather than paraphrase his words and risk distorting his arguments, I urge you to read these edited excerpts and, of course, to buy the book.

Big Bluff

The matter is simple: the much-propagandized U.S. conventional military supremacy is nothing but a bluff.

This is not to say that US Armed Forces cannot create devastation and turn some geographic localities into rubble; they certainly can. But they cannot fight a peer or better-than peer opponent and win.

Apart from many economic, cultural, and social reasons for that, there is this increasingly obvious fact that the United States and NATO are losing the arms race with Russia.

And it seems that, despite their demonstrable ignorance of Russia’s military capacities, they recognize this fact, which explains their unwillingness to enter into open confrontation with Russia.

Technopoly

The defeat of America’s weapons and tactical concepts at the SMO battlefields has thus become a defeat of the American vision of technopoly, which is a euphemism for culture.

As Jeremy Rifkin warned,

“In the modern age, the idea of a future technological utopia has served as a guiding vision of industrial society.. Nowhere has the techno-utopian vision been more passionately embraced than in the United States. Technology became the new secular God, and American society soon came to refashion its own sense of self in the image of its powerful new tools”.

Hot War Strategy

Any combination of NATO forces fighting conventional war in Russia’s immediate geographic vicinity is bound to lose it, with catastrophic losses in their personnel and war materiel—and even more, should such a war expand to impact their homelands..

The United States simply went dramatically over its military credit limit, because it couldn’t recognize the limitations of its power—a first sign of immaturity of American military-political elites..

It takes integrity, honor and courage to face the facts—a test which most American military “experts” have miserably failed.

How likely is this in the near future, or within any time period which could make a difference to the relative standing of American military power in the world?

Conclusion

It is impossible to finish writing on the impact of Russia’s conflict with NATO’s proxy, Ukraine, because the SMO operation has evolved into what Russia is now terming a war.

But the outcome leaves no doubt and some preliminary conclusions and even forecasts can be made.

The most important is the historic defeat of the combined West and its leader, the United States.

How it was defeated militarily is obvious—NATO countries found themselves totally impotent in the face of an opponent with a massive and sophisticated economy and, as it stands now, the most advanced armed forces in the world.

This doesn’t bode well for the United States, let alone the collection of mediocre-at-best European military powers, which are incapable of sustaining any serious campaign on their own.

U.S. military expertise, bar a few notable exceptions, turned out to be good primarily for PR and propaganda, a euphemism for non-stop confabulation of both American military history and the SMO..

In the absence of a serious military history study field, with the exception of a few notable scholars, and against the background of a precipitous intellectual decline of the American ruling class, what is left is largely a hatred for any power which asserts its own right to behave as it deems necessary for the preservation of its own people and culture.

Russia here checks all the boxes as the candidate for hatred, par excellence”.

The Stage Is Being Set For The Greatest Period Of Chaos In U.S. History

September 25, 2024 by Michael

If chaos is what they intended, everything is coming together beautifully. Major wars threaten to throw the entire planet into a state of turmoil, criminals are running wild in our streets, and in a little over a month the outcome of the presidential election is likely to cause an unprecedented explosion of anger. If all of this wasn’t bad enough, our politicians have been allowing millions of desperate people to come pouring over our wide open borders. Some of these “new arrivals” belong to international criminal gangs, and members of these gangs are being arrested for violent acts, theft, drug dealing and sex trafficking all over America. Other “new arrivals” belong to terror groups in the Middle East, and you would think that this would be a major national security concern. Russians have also been crossing the border illegally, as have very large numbers of military-age Chinese men. The stage is being set for the greatest period of chaos in U.S. history, and this should deeply alarm all of us.

Since Joe Biden has been in the White House, we have witnessed a spike in migration that is absolutely unprecedented in our history.

Millions of people have been allowed in, and once they get into this country they can go wherever they want.

Most of them have come in through the southern border, but what most people don’t realize is that migration over the northern border is also wildly out of control…

There has been growing attention from northern-state lawmakers in recent years over increased attempted illegal border crossings as migration from Latin America grows due to economic and political conditions.

In 2023, U.S. Customs and Border Protection encountered almost 190,000 individuals attempting to cross from Canada to the United States. That’s almost seven times more than in 2021.

Unfortunately, the number of people coming in through the northern border has just continued to rise in 2024…

This year, the number of illegal crossings along the northern border is hitting record levels, and northern New York, with its proximity to Montreal and Toronto, is the epicenter of the influx. In August alone, the Border Patrol reported 19,000 migrant encounters along the border with Canada, with nearly half entering through New York.

It is so easy to come across the northern border.

The U.S. border with Canada is 5,525 miles long, and there aren’t many border agents covering it.

Fox News recently interviewed a property owner in northern New York that says that migrants are constantly entering this country through his land…

Chris Oliver’s property in Fort Covington, New York has become an unintended gateway for a stream of illegal immigrants crossing the Canadian border into the United States, leaving him dismayed and wondering if the problem will ever be resolved.

He told “Fox & Friends First” he “absolutely” blames “border czar” Kamala Harris and President Biden for the issue.

“You have no control over it. You don’t know who these people are. Not everybody is a good person,” Oliver said on Wednesday.

He is right.

We need to know who these people are, because not everyone is coming here with good intentions.

In fact, during that same interview Oliver mentioned a recent case where a man was arrested that was planning “an ISIS-style attack in New York City”…

“They had a guy up in Ormstown not too far away from us, get arrested. He was planning an ISIS-style attack in New York City. That was just recently. That same night, I still had people come across my cameras. That should be stopped.”

For those that are crossing the northern border, New York City is the number one destination.

According to NPR, transporting “new arrivals” from India to New York City has actually become a very lucrative business…

A group of immigrants from India pile out of a taxi minivan beside the Clinton County, New York, government building in this small upstate city half an hour from the Canadian border.

They are quickly swarmed by a half a dozen fellow Indian immigrants who’ve waited hours for this business opportunity.

This fleet of jitney taxis offering migrants rides south to New York City is one clear example of the informal economy that’s sprung up following a significant increase in unauthorized crossings across the usually sleepy northern border over the last year and a half.

Needless to say, some people are coming to the United States because they want a better life.

But in many other cases, people are crossing the border for very nefarious reasons.

According to the New York Post, children that are as young as 8 years old “are being drugged and smuggled into the US by traffickers”…

Border Patrol agents are warning that kids as young as 8 are being drugged and smuggled into the US by traffickers posing as their parents or family members — and nobody knows how common the horrifying practice is.

Authorities have rescued children caught up in two different instances of such smuggling in recent weeks — including one instance in which the alleged traffickers had birth certificates for multiple kids to whom they weren’t related, according to the Border Patrol.

Border Patrol sources have told The Post they’ve observed increasing numbers of smugglers posing as family units in order to “recycle” children.

Stopping the exploitation of children should be a good enough reason all by itself to secure our borders.

But our politicians refuse to do it.

Others are crossing our borders because they intend to commit acts of violence. Recently, a very alarming discovery of weapons was made very close to the southern border…

Republicans are outraged at the Biden-Harris administration for ignoring an escalating security crisis at the southern border after rocket-propelled grenades and explosives were found near Arizona.

A bombshell report indicated that at least 4 rocket-propelled grenades (RPGs) and 8 improvised explosive devices (IEDs) were discovered in Mexico close to the U.S.-Mexico border.

Huge amounts of ammunition were also found in the ‘scout site’ that was around 700 feet from the border wall in Border Patrol’s Tucson Sector, according to an internal memo first reported by NewsNation.

At this stage, we don’t know exactly who those weapons belonged to or what they intended to do with them.

But it is being reported that Iran “is trying to assassinate former President Donald Trump”…

Iran has made it “clear” that it is trying to assassinate former President Donald Trump, as well as members of his administration – and the current Biden administration – as payback for the killing of an Iranian general and other hardline policies, U.S. officials and lawmakers said Wednesday.

The comments came after Trump’s dramatic disclosure Tuesday night that he had been briefed earlier in the day by the Office of the Director of National Intelligence about Tehran’s “real and specific threats” against him.

As I shared with my core supporters recently, U.S. Representative Matt Gaetz has admitted that a top official with the Department of Homeland Security has told him that there are at least five assassination teams inside this country right now that are targeting Trump.

It really will be a miracle if Trump makes it to the election.

If Trump ultimately ends up winning, the left will go completely nuts and the millions upon millions of “new arrivals” that the left has brought into our major cities will go completely nuts.

It certainly won’t take much to unleash an unprecedented tsunami of civil unrest, and perhaps that was the plan all along.

Ruins

Mediterranean Steak and Pasta with Tomato-Olive Sauce

Whole-wheat pasta is served with beef Sirloin Tip Center Steaks and a tomato and olive sauce. This one will please the adults and the kids in your family.

Yield: 4 servings

Ingredients

8 ounces uncooked whole grain fettuccine
4 beef Sirloin Tip Center Steaks, cut 3/4 inch thick (about 4 ounces each)
1 (26 ounce) jar pasta sauce with olives*
1 teaspoon dried oregano leaves, crushed
1/4 cup finely shredded Italian cheese blend or mozzarella cheese
2 teaspoons chopped fresh parsley leaves

Instructions

Cook fettuccine according to package directions; drain and keep warm.
Heat a large nonstick skillet over medium heat until hot. Place beef steaks in skillet; cook for 11 to 13 minutes for medium rare (145 degrees F) doneness, turning occasionally. (Do not overcook.) Remove from skillet; keep warm.
Combine pasta sauce and oregano in same skillet; heat until hot. Return steaks to skillet; turn to coat with sauce.
Place steaks on fettuccine; spoon sauce over all.
Sprinkle steaks with cheese, allowing cheese to melt. Sprinkle with parsley.

Notes

* You may substitute 1 (26 ounce) jar pasta sauce with olives for 1 (26 ounce) pasta sauce + 1/4 cup chopped olives.

Nutrition

This recipe is an excellent source of Dietary Fiber, Protein, Iron, Niacin, Vitamin B6, Vitamin B12, Zinc, and Selenium; and a good source of Choline.

Does a human being know they’re dead once they die?

I can’t speak for others but my experience with dying and being brought back I knew I was dead.

I used to be a really bad IV heroin user for 10 yrs (at mt worst I was shooting 50 bags of dope a day, with 5 bags going into 1 shot just to function.

I started using when I was 16 and got sober finally at age 26 and have been clean ever since).

My addiction led to me being in abusive relationships and eventually being forced into sex trafficking for the last 7 yrs I used.

During that time I was seen as nothing more than a sex object for men and women (yes, women use sex workers too) to do as they pleased with me (some did some extremely horrible and disgusting things to me, including being held captive, beaten, and r****.

But if I refused to see them my ex/capture would beat me until I couldn’t move).

I finally got away after my ex was arrested for stabbing 2 ppl who had jumped me.

I wanted to get my life back so I could be a mom to our daughter who was 2.5 yrs old at the time and living with my mom.

I agreed to go to detox and rehab, but didn’t realize how brainwashed I had been from my ex and that with the drugs out of my system I started suffering from extreme PTSD from all thr things that had been done to me by him and different “clients” over the yrs, not to mention I didnt know how to function in normal society anymore, nor did my body really know how to work without heroin in it (I had to teach myself how to hold a pen and write again after getting clean).

I remember wanting to call to talk to my daughter who went to stay with my Nana for a few days cause my mkm had agreed to drive me to an out of state rehab (it was very hard to find a rehab that would take me because of how much I used and they said they werent equipped to deal with someone who had just escaped being trafficked).

When I called to talk to my daughter my grandfather snatched the phone from my Nana (I had refused for my grandfather to be around my daughter because he was an abusive man who did as he pleased with myself when I was little and thought he had the right to do physical and sexual things to the other females in our family.

My mom and I were told he wouldn’t be at my Nana’a house those couple of days my daughter was there).

Anyways, he told me “You are nothing but a disgrace to God, a dirty whore, and junkie. Why dont you do us all a favor and take a needle, stick it in your arm, and kill yourself already! Im going to do everything in my power to make sure you never get yoyr daughter back and to keep her with me!”

And then he hung up on me and no one would answer the phone everything me and my mom tried to call afterwards (thankfully my daughter was not harmed by him and was taken to the dr. Examined To make sure of this).

But with my PTSD, freaking out about what my grandfather could do to my daughter, and just knowing no one in my family wanted me around, and feeling lost and then terrified that my ex could send someone to come and get me (he is a Latin King with lots of connections)

I took an overdose that night to kill myself.

I was found laying face down on the ground later on by my dad who at the time was still alive but dying himself from dialated cardio myopathy (I felt so guilty for this for yrs afterwards).

I was told he gave my leg a little kick to see if I was dead or just high and passed out, called my mom to tell her, and then was told to call 911.

During the ride to the hospital I had flat lined 2 different times and then for a 3rd time at the hospital before being brought back and falling into a coma.

During that 3rd time I knew I was dead because before that I felt darkness and was terrified and then all of the sudden I felt warm, felt no pain, and then opened my eyes to standing in a wheat field with a clear blue sky, thr sunshine on my face, anf just feeling happy and the most peace I had felt in 10 yrs.

There were other peope walking around also happy and talking to each other.

Then I saw my mom in front of me.

I remember I started smoking a cigarette and telling her I was happy and free, but when she would talk back to me I couldn’t hear anything she was saying even when she was trying to yell.

Out of no where everything went black again and then like a ton of bricks this huge amount of pain filled my body, and I woke in a panic with tubes all over me, and felt nothing but anger when I realized I was alive again and in the hospital.

My mom was sitting there next to me and I remember the dr. And nurses rushing her out of the room because of how I was reacting and them needing to get the tubes and stuff out of me.

Im happy Im alive now as I have 10 yrs sober, I have custody of my daughter back whose healthy, thriving, and 15. I also have another daughter whose 7 with my partner of 10 yrs, went back to college and earned a dual bachelor’s in general elementary education (teaching general ed geades K-8) and special education (teaching grades K-12) and work as a special needs educator.

I do not talk to anyone in my family anymore except for my mom who Im still extremelt close with (I still spoke to my dad too, but he passed away 1 year after I got sober.

Im just happy he was able to see me get clean and start putting my life back together).

My ex/capture was turned in by one of his “brothers” for what he did to me as it goes against their gangs law to treat their “Queen” like that especially if you have a child with them.

He is currently serving 14 yrs on a plea deal in a max state prison for human trafficking, manslaughter, gang related charges, and a strong armed robbery that left the women he beat and robbed in the ICU.

He also has to register as a sex offeneder when he is released from prison (he does not get a chance at early release with his plea deal).

My trauma and drug counselor has helped me set up a plan when he gets out to stay out of his radar as he has continued to try and make contact and claims Im still his “queen” even after all these yrs.

My life is not perfect but it is 100% better than what it was 10 yrs ago and Im happy that Im able to be here to be a loving and caring mom to my daughters and to be a good daughter to my mom.

I playfully told him he’s a cuck and should watch me with his boss, he became furious and did this.

Man, these women are something else!

Why did the US Army stop using bazookas?

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1942-0515, the M-9 Bazooka.

In 1945, Wilbur “Bill” Brunger was an engineer with the U.S. Army, and it was his job to break things. Namely, three underpasses on the Autobahn near Dortmund, Germany. He had to break the underpasses, so the rubble would block the road from any attacking enemy vehicles. But as Brunger and a squad of soldiers attempted to take control of the underpasses, they spotted German armored half-tracks coming their way.

Fortunately, he had the right tool for the job at hand—an M-9 Recoilless Rocket Launcher—better known as a “bazooka.” Brunger fired a round at one of the half-tracks.

“It must have had ammunition because it blew, I’d say, a hundred feet in the air,”

Brunger said. “But it blew up. I was glad we weren’t any closer than we were.”

The bazooka was a straightforward weapon. During WWII, it was simple enough for rifle squads to use, and its high-explosive rounds were powerful enough to destroy bunkers, light tanks and pillboxes.

True, LTG George Patton praised the M-1 Garand rifle as the greatest battle implement ever made. But Dwight Eisenhower ranked the simple bazooka with the atomic bomb, the jeep and the C-47 cargo plane as one of the four “tools of victory” that allowed the Allies to prevail over Nazi Germany and Imperial Japan.

“The bazooka is one of those weapons that has become iconic in spite of its limitations and problems,” Alan Archambault, former supervisory curator for the U.S. Army Center of Military History, said. “Even today, most people recognize the name and the weapon.” Rockets on the battlefield are nothing new. History is full of examples of armies harnessing explosive force.

The 13th-century Chinese fired rockets at their enemies. The Star-Spangled Banner mentions the “the rockets’ red glare, the bombs bursting in air,” More specifically, the anthem refers to British Congreve rockets fired at Fort McHenry during the War of 1812 to burn the fort to the ground.

American space pioneer Robert Goddard, inventor of the liquid-fuel rocket, even developed a prototype recoilless rocket launcher that he demonstrated to the U.S. Army in November 1918. But World War I ground to a halt just a few days later, and the U.S. military lost interest in rocket-powered infantry weapons.

Things changed fast when America went to war again in 1941. The only anti-tank weapons in its arsenal were the guns on its tanks and specific kinds of anti-tank artillery. That was a problem, considering the U.S. Army faced an enemy in North Africa—and later in Europe—that relied heavily on Panzer divisions.

U.S. Army Ordnance innovators CPT Leslie Skinner and LT Edward Uhl experimented with shaped-charge grenades that packed an armor-piercing punch, but these were too heavy for soldiers to throw.

One day, Uhl apparently spied a steel tube on a scrap pile and decided that a smoothbore launch tube was the perfect companion to the grenade. He added a rocket to the grenade, and the result was a simple—if effective—anti-tank weapon.

By May 1942, the combination became known as “Launcher, Rocket, 2.36-inch, AntiTank, M-1.”

But nobody called it that—and the contraption looked more like one of comedian Bob Burns’ novelty instruments. Burns was a popular entertainer during the era famous for blowing a tubular noisemaker called a “bazooka.” Dutch slang for “loudmouth,” the name for the joke instrument became the name of the weapon.

Optimally, the bazooka needed two people to fire it properly—a gunner who aimed and fired the rocket-propelled rounds, and a loader who carried the rounds in a cloth bandolier. The loader’s job was to load the launch tube from the back end and toggle the safety switch. An electric charge from a dry-cell battery ignited the powder charge in the rocket, the round streaked out of its tube—and flew on toward its target.

In the Pacific, heat and humidity plagued the standard bazooka’s electrical system. Soldiers and Marines who pulled the weapon’s trigger often experienced short circuits and misfires.

The bazooka produced significant “back blast”—discharge from the firing rocket that streamed out of the rear-end of the tube—that could crisp the operator or anyone standing directly behind the weapon.

The rocket-propelled round also left an obvious smoke trail that could give away the location of the shooter.

Under ideal conditions, the bazooka could hit targets up to 300-yards away. But realistically, close shots under 30-yards were far more common. This lead to a high mortality rate among gunners who often moved toward their targets to get the best shot.

However, improvements to the weapon produced the far-more reliable M-9. It had a lighter warhead and could penetrate five-inch armor—allowing it to destroy heavier armored vehicles than the M-1.

In 1944, one enterprising pilot of an L-4 observation plane even strapped three bazookas onto his aircraft during the Battle of Arracourt in France. LTC Charles Carpenter knocked out six German tanks with his improvised ground-attack plane and earned the nickname “Bazooka Charlie.”

Although intended as an anti-tank weapon, the bazooka could fire white phosphorous and incendiary warheads for anti-personnel and anti-material use. As the war progressed, bazooka users discovered the weapon worked best against emplacements and fortifications, particularly after the Germans began to weld thicker armor onto their tanks.

But overall, the weapon was so effective the bazooka received the sincerest form of flattery. The Nazis copied captured bazookas and created the Panzerschreck anti-tank rocket launcher using the American weapon’s basic design.

Although it went through different variants, the bazooka remained in use through the early stages of the Vietnam War. That’s when the M-72 light anti-weapon—or LAW—eclipsed the bazooka and became the American soldier’s rocket weapon of choice.

However, the bazooka has one remaining cultural influence in American history. Bazooka bubble gum—first introduced to the gum-chewing public in 1947—owes its ordnanceinspired name to the World War II weapon that made a big bang.

Georgia Guidestones Mystery Finally Solved And Isn’t Good

The Joyriders Club

Submitted into Contest #243 in response to: Write a story about a character who wakes up in space.… view prompt

Howard Halsall

Chewing Juicy Fruit during a Border Enforcement interrogation isn’t a great idea.“Lose the gum, kiddo!” Officer McNally said, reaching for his waste basket.“Who says so?”“You’re on the Moon now,” he said, proffering the bin. “That’s our rule here.”I had one last chomp on the gum, plucked it from my mouth in a pincer movement and flicked it into the hovering receptacle.“Thank you, Erika,” McNally said, passing the bin to his fellow officer, who removed my pack of gum from the table with a sneer on her face.I lowered my eyes. “Help yourself, why don’t you?”“Now…” McNally checked his notes. “Where did we get to—-?”“You’d just asked me why I’d stowed away on an interplanetary shuttle.”“Oh, yes,” McNally said, pressing the record button. “Officers McNally and Toll resuming interview with female suspect at Moon Base Omega—-”McNally peered at me over his glasses and cleared his throat.“How about a name?” Officer Toll said, staring at me with beady avian eyes set in a granite escarpment. “Well?”“I’m Sheena. Sheena Bridge.”“A bridge too far, eh Ted?”McNally gave Toll a sideways glance.“I’ve never heard that before.”“She’s got balls, Ted.”McNally shrugged and pressed the record button again. “It’s zero-eight-hundred hours, dateline two, fifteen, twenty-forty-one. Officers McNally and Toll are with suspect Sheena Bridge, who is calm and poses neither an immediate security risk nor an obvious terrorist threat…”I never imagined I’d wake up in space, to be honest. I thought Jimmy was joking around and we’d just curl up for a couple of hours and leg it before anyone noticed us. It’s funny how things work out. However, I’m not laughing now.I guess it all started when I said, ‘But how much do you love me, Jimmy?’ and he said, ‘More than all the stars in the universe.’How do you prove a love like that? I mean, that’s a tall order for anyone.Afterwards, Jimmy told me it was supposed to be a surprise for Valentine’s Day. He just wanted to show me a sight I’d never forget. Jimmy was old-fashioned in that respect and a true romantic at heart. On a previous occasion, he’d prepared a surprise picnic and illuminated our rear garden with dozens of flickering tea-lights, leading me there blindfolded for a midnight feast. I couldn’t believe it when he whipped off the scarf. He’d transformed our scruffy garden into a glowing shrine of soft shadows and scintillating dreams.

Anyway, despite our attempts to count the stars, we never achieved a good view of the night sky because it was too cloudy, maybe not dark enough, or perhaps a sudden downpour would curtail our reverie. We’d abandon our plan, retreat to our living room carpet, and lie side by side on a tartan blanket, pretending we were shipwrecked on a deserted atoll. However, peering up at the night sky through a gap in one’s curtains doesn’t cut it. I’ve got to hand it to him, he tried. He always rose to the task, filling the room with twinkling fairy lights and shimmering candles. We both tried. We had fun trying. It’s just that, well. You know how it is? There’s always more out there. Life’s always about defining the limits.

Jimmy had been a baggage handler at Heathrow’s Terminal Eight for a year. He’d worked the night shift and knew the spaceport inside out. Jimmy had done plenty of moon shots as cargo crew and knew the routine. He’d access to all the secure areas, so a night of star watching beyond the main runway wasn’t all that intrepid, if we were careful.

To be honest, I didn’t think he was serious when he said he’d prepared a picnic and asked me to grab a bottle of fizzy. We started off the evening in the control tower’s shadow and skulked past security to the space shuttle’s hangar. There’s less light pollution being away from the city and it’s darker out there.

After we’d finished our picnic, we grabbed our blanket and basket and headed to the cargo area at the rear of Terminal Eight. We’d had a bit to drink and I remember clambering over luggage in the fuselage’s rear. I know we were daft to make out inside the shuttle. Falling asleep in each other’s arms was a big mistake, too.

When I woke up, it was dark and Jimmy was snoring beside me. I tried to bring him round, and he groaned. We soon discovered they’d locked the cargo doors prior to departure. Then, before I knew it, we were on our way. It was Jimmy who suggested chewing the Juicy Fruit. He told me it helps avoid ear ache. ‘Sudden changes in cabin pressure can be painful,’ he said.

Hours later, Jimmy nudged me awake and handed me a scarf to cover my eyes. I got to my feet, and he led me in darkness through the pressurised cargo hold. I followed Jimmy, still blindfolded and holding his hand, and we clunked our way up the creaking metal walkway until we reached the spherical observation deck and then, Wow! A three-hundred-degree view of the stars; up above and all around. It was way beyond my comprehension. A myriad of stars twinkling in the velvety darkness of the universe and infinite clusters of tiny lights that spiralled on forever more.

“Was it worth it?” asked McNally, turning to Toll, who rolled her eyes.

“God yeah! Who wouldn’t catch their breath, opening their eyes to see billions of stars in every direction?”

“Believe me,” said Toll. “It gets like wallpaper after a while—”

“You were saying?” said McNally, stroking his bristly jowls.

“I recall collapsing down on my knees and covering my open mouth with both hands. Jimmy sat down beside me and I saw a look in his eyes that I’d never seen before. His lips moved towards mine. We kissed each other. I can’t describe to you what I felt. It seemed as if my life had built in a slow crescendo to that perfect moment, and then Jimmy fumbled open a little metal box and I bit my lip…”

Toll looked up from her paperwork and gave a gentle snort.

“Then he said, ‘Marry me…’”

McNally drew a deep breath and twisted his mouth into a lopsided smirk.

“Am I in trouble?”

“Well,” he said, removing his glasses to clean them. “This happens more than you might imagine.”

“We should throw the book at her, Ted.”

I swallowed and rotated Jimmy’s precious ring on my fourth finger.

“You mean the special book, Officer Toll?” McNally extracted a two-inch thick, dusty ledger from his desk drawer, and held it aloft.

“That’s the one,” Toll smiled, staring at me. “Do your worst, McNally.”

“But we didn’t do nothing—-”

The hefty volume thudded on the table top like a body-slammed wrestler hitting the deck. I recoiled from the impact and swallowed, but my throat was dry and my eyes stung like crazy as they welled up.

Toll leaned back in her chair, extended her forearms and braced her interlocked fingers. She chuckled as her knuckles cracked under the strain, making sharp pops like chicken wishbones snapped for good luck. I imagined she enjoyed stripping down and shredding a carcass for kicks.

McNally was oblivious to her behaviour, plucked a pen from his breast pocket and flicked through the ledger’s many pages to locate the last entry.

“You need to disclose your contact details and sign the book,” he said, smoothing down a page of scrawled names and addresses. “You just joined the joyrider’s club.”

“The joyrider’s what?”

“This happens more often than you’d believe, young lady.”

“But I don’t under—-”

“We’re sending you back home with a slap on the wrist and—-

“No way…. Is that it?”

“Not unless you want a charge.”

“You’re joking, right?”

“There’re no second chances.” Toll popped the last two sticks of my Juicy Fruit between her teeth and clacked down hard. “So, don’t push it.”

Her exaggerated jaw movements continued and did little to contradict her charmless bovine manner, scoring her worthless points in a game nobody cared about.

“We’re done here, Ted.”

“Interview with suspect Sheena Bridge concluded at zero-eight-ten hours. Miss Bridge has signed all the interplanetary transportation disclaimers. Officers McNally and Toll will escort Miss Bridge onto the next available flight to Heathrow Terminal Eight. No further action required. Case closed.”

The End

Will Wang Yi eventually become China’s president?

I doubt it.

If you look at the resumes of the last three Presidents of China, you will notice some similarities. All of them had some engineering or science degrees and experience serving different positions in various governmental branches.

Xi Jinping was graduated with a chemistry-engineering degree and had been promoted through multiple levels of regional government before he reached the top.

Hu Jintao graduated with a hydraulic engineering degree and had been working in multiple levels of regional government in Xinjiang and Xizang(Tibet) before he started working in Beijing.

Jiang Zemin graduated with an electric engineering degree. He had served in various positions including the Mayor of Shanghai before he was elected the General Secretary of CCP.

Wang Yi’s resume indicates that his professional life was largely surrounding diplomacy. He has been serving in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs ever since he graduated with a degree in Japanese from Beijing International Studies University. His expertise is too singular and one-demensional to be running the whole country. Furthermore, he is the same age as Xi which means that he will be too old to be nominated for the top position by the time Xi steps down.

What work secret did you accidentally find out that changed everything?

Years ago, circa 1979 I had a female coworker who was diligent, capable and very smart. In many ways she was the best employee in our then Fortune 1000 company. She and I were friendly.

One day over lunch, she said she had something to tell me. She said she was confiding in me with the hope that I would understand. I was interested but didn’t acknowledge it one way or another.

As we sat across from each other at the restaurant where we were eating lunch, she leaned across the table. Then she motioned for me to lean in too. I did. Then her expression turned from serious to dour, even frightened.

My coworker softly stated, “The company is moving our corporate headquarters.”

We worked at corporate headquarters. So I became concerned for my job as I had a wife and 2 young children to support.

I asked, “When? Is everybody moving?”

“Soon. Many will be taken. The remainder will be left. It will be up to Jack.” Jack was our manager.

I sat there silent. A bit upset. Even a little shocked. Then she added the biggest most incredible words I ever heard from anyone at work.

“The company is owned by aliens. And they will take many of us to their home planet. I was chosen.”

She Thought Cheating Was A Good Idea Until She Had To Pay Him Child Support

Lordy!

How come China lets a lot of its students go abroad? Isn’t it afraid they will come back as people prefer freedom of information and democracy?

Another stupid question about democracy, tell me, WHAT IS SO GREAT ABOUT IT? I can’t see a single benefit that we have over China, NOT A SINGLE ONE, if China was so bad, how come their government has the highest satisfaction rating on the planet? By the way, what makes you think China is NOT democratic? They have elections every five years, that tells me they are just as democratic as any other country, here in Australia we voted one government out because we weren’t happy with what they were doing, now we have a labour government, BUT NOTHING HAS CHANGED, they are still doing the same crap, at least the Chinese government changes with the times, and learn from any mistakes, here? Nothing ever changes for the better, I’m talking about our federal government, our state government is doing ok. Yes, there are always things we don’t agree with, but that’s just life,

before Morrison, I NEVER voted labour, now I will never vote anything else,

one other thing, freedom of information??? Are you serious? Which government on the planet tells their citizens everything? Why do they need an official secrets act? Just shows how stupid some questionairs are, you do see how stupid that is don’t you?

Israel’s Mossad spy agency planted a small amount of explosives inside 5000 Taiwan-made pagers ordered by Lebanese militant group Hezbollah months before Tuesday’s detonations. Is this absolutely brilliant?

The handful of videos floating around seem to show the person holding the pager being killed or injured, perhaps grievously, while those standing next to them walk away apparently unscathed. In one video, in a market, a fruit cart next to the target was not upset even the slightest.

If that lack of collateral damage was widespread, then this would indeed be a brilliant attack, advancing the state of the art in the fight against terrorism.

Of course, that “if” remains to be confirmed in a full accounting of casualties. But it appear like the attack was carefully crafted to avoid collateral damage:

The technology that was sabotaged was not that used broadly by civilians. Normal people communicate by phone, not by pagers or by 2m handy talkies.
It appears that Israel inserted their sabotaged pagers into a shipment that was going specifically to Hezbollah. It was not an a shipment that entered the retail channel, to be purchased by innocent parties.
The attack was set to occur in the mid afternoon, not in the evening when people would be at home, where the radio might be near children or other innocent parties, not during commute time, when the target might be on a crowded bus.
The nature of the attack, by sending a page notification first, encouraged the target to take the pagers in their hands and and look at it. I don’t think the average bystander would do that for a pager lying on a table. They’d say, “Hey, Ahmed, your pager is beeping.”

The attack also had all sorts of additional advantages for Israel, beyond the direct casualties:

It outs Hezbollah militia members within the communities, including those who might rather not be known. This allows the peaceful majority in Lebanon to clean up their own country.
It also outs Iranian agents in Lebanon, since those were the ones who were airlifted for medical treatment in Iran. For example, it sure is interesting that the Iranian ambassador to Lebanon had one of these pagers.
It makes Hezbollah even more paranoid about any technology they might encounter, disrupting their ability to communicate and coordinate their efforts.
It makes them engage witch hunts for internal moles, who may or may not exist, harmful to morale.

What is the nastiest home you have been in?

One of my best friends from school. She never invited me over and I was fine with that. She said she was embarassed of her family and I respect that. One day we had a fight and it got personal. She was screaming at me about the stresses of her home life and I didn’t believe her. So she let me come over.

The house was filthy. Not just messy, it was putrid. It smelled terrible. There was mouldy food left on plates everywhere. I could smell dead things that I assume were rats or mice. On the table were clearly used syringes. She showed me her bedroom. It was immaculate and smelled lovely. That was her sanctuary. Her mother was a heroin addict and used to have multiple men over. In the bathroom were used condoms tied in a knot everywhere. I felt sick looking at the hell my friend had to live with. She had to do everything for herself and I understood why she was so tired every day.

I let her move into my parents’ house with me and she lived there from 15/16–19. No matter what she will always be my sister.

Woman Commits Paternity Fraud And Instantly Regrets It

It’s Chaos As Vast Hordes Of Criminals Literally Rule The Streets In Major Cities All Over America

September 22, 2024 by Michael

Did you know that gangbangers in Chicago are extremely upset because a migrant gang from South America is starting to take over territory that once belonged to them? As you will see later in this article, law enforcement authorities in Chicago have completely lost control of the Windy City, and a major gang war could erupt at any time. But of course it isn’t just Chicago that has descended into a state of complete and utter chaos. In Los Angeles, a horde of approximately 50 young criminals ruthlessly looted a 7-Eleven on Friday evening…

A group of about 50 juveniles on bikes ransacked a 7-Eleven in Pico-Robertson on Friday evening, the latest in a string of recent robberies targeting the convenience chain, authorities said.

The group of juveniles, estimated to be between ages 12 and 15, entered the store at 8500 W. Olympic Blvd. around 7:25 p.m. and stole many items, according to a Los Angeles Police Department spokesperson. Most of the juveniles had fled the scene by the time officers arrived, he said.

The reason why this incident barely even made a blip in the news cycle is because this sort of thing now happens in Los Angeles on a regular basis…

The same store was targeted — also reportedly by a group of around 50 teens on bikes — on Aug. 9, according to Fox 11 Los Angeles.

A week later, a group of young men on bikes robbed two convenience stores, reported to be 7-Elevens, in Hollywood. And on Aug. 24, a similar ransacking unfolded at a 7-Eleven in San Pedro.

In the middle of the country, the streets of Indianapolis are constantly under siege.

In fact, it is being reported that police in the city recently had to “break up five different street takeovers in 48 hours”…

Police said they were met with violent crowds when they tried to break up five different street takeovers in 48 hours in Indianapolis.

Indianapolis was once such a quiet city.

But now everything has changed.

When Indianapolis police go out to break up these “street takeovers”, they are often viciously attacked…

IMPD says officers and Indiana State Police troopers were attacked and their cars were damaged while responding to several street racing and spinning events in Indianapolis over the weekend.

The first incident was reported around 2:30 a.m. Saturday, Sept. 14 near East Washington and Pine streets, just east of downtown Indianapolis. Officers conducting a traffic stop saw 100-200 cars “engaged in reckless driving,” including spinning, in a parking lot, the department said in a statement.

Chaos is even reigning in major cities in the Bible Belt.

This weekend, there was a horrifying mass shooting in Birmingham, Alabama that made headlines all over the nation…

At least four people were killed and dozens more were injured when gunfire broke out in Birmingham, Alabama. Investigators believe there were multiple shooters.

“We have dozens of gunshot victims from this area,’’ police spokesman Truman Fitzgerald told the Birmingham News. “I’m told at least four of those gunshot victims are life-threatening.”

The shooting happened in the city’s popular Five Points South entertainment district. At least 17 of the gunshot victims were seriously injured.

Needless to say, there has been chaos in our streets for a long time, but now things are going to an entirely new level.

Many are blaming the surge in migration that we have been witnessing while Joe Biden has been in the White House.

In Springfield, Ohio crime rates have absolutely skyrocketed during the past three years…

Reports of shoplifting and vehicle theft increased considerably in Springfield, Ohio, following the arrival of thousands of Haitian refugees, according to data obtained by the Daily Caller News Foundation through a records request.

The town, which had a population of 58,622 in 2020, has taken in between 12,000 and 20,000 Haitian refugees over the past three years, marking a population increase of between 20.4% and 34.1%. From 2021 to 2023, Springfield also saw a 51.5% jump in motor vehicle theft reports and a 112.8% spike in reports of shoplifting, data provided by the Springfield Police Division shows.

In Chicago, migration has been fueling the growth of criminal gangs, and gang members now outnumber the police by more than ten to one.

With numbers like that, there is no way that the police can maintain any sort of control.

A migrant gang from Venezuela known as Tren de Aragua is now steadily taking over territory that once belonged to local gangs, and members of those local gangs are furious because the migrants are getting far more government handouts than they are…

“There’s been a lot going on with (the migrant gangs) that nobody’s even hearing about,” Zacc Massie, 27, a street leader who first went to prison in 2015 and just recently got out.

“They be moving in our own territory and robbing people but they don’t get arrested like we do. I actually talked to one on the translator app. He told me all the things he got going on; how they helped him get a car, an apartment, (EBT) card, all this stuff. They giving them thousands, we get maybe $400 a month. And they don’t even have Social Security numbers!”

It is even being reported that teachers in Chicago elementary schools are being told to “give their migrant students a 70 percent in every subject and pass them on to the next grade” even if they don’t speak any English…

The teachers we spoke with work in CPS elementary schools and say they spoke no Spanish, while their migrant students spoke no English, making communication virtually impossible. They also added that because their schools were located in predominantly Black neighborhoods, they offered no English as a Second Language (ESL) support. Despite this, they say they were instructed by school administrators to give their migrant students a 70 percent in every subject and pass them on to the next grade.

Teachers say this was the case even if their migrant students displayed severe academic deficiencies.

The locals that have been suffering in deeply impoverished sections of Chicago for many years understand very clearly what is going on, and they are deeply frustrated.

Tensions in the city have never been higher, and one ex-gang member that has gone straight told the New York Post that it is just a matter of time before a gang war begins…

“When the black gangs here get fed up with the illegalities and criminal activities of these migrants or non-citizens, the city of Chicago is going to go up in flames and there will be nothing the National Guard or the government can do about it when the bloodshed hits the streets. It’ll be blacks against migrants.”

For a long time, we were warned that there would be chaos in the streets of America, and now it is here.

Law enforcement has already lost control of the streets in cities all over the country, and the violence, theft, drug dealing and sex trafficking only get worse with each passing day.

Meanwhile, millions of additional migrants come pouring into this nation illegally every single year.

Our politicians have created ideal conditions for widespread civil unrest, and once it fully erupts nobody is going to be able to control it.

My son got sentenced to 15 years in prison. He is 20 years old. I don’t want him to feel depressed and give up. Is there anything I can do for him while he is in prison?

I have done a total of 12 years locked up and I had a total of 1 visit and I had 20 dollars sent to me twice . But I didn’t complain. Yes it made things rough. What I really wanted was the Christmas cards .the birthday letters I had 3 or for letters written to me by my family. I needed those letters and that’s what he’s going to need also . Knowing he’s still loved and he has people out there waiting for him

That is what keeps the depression demons at bay .When he does get released you have to remember this isn’t the son that you knew wh we n he went in .Give him time to come around to you . Don’t try and speed up the process. He will still love you but he has had to wear a game face for quite a while. Write him letter tell him what the dogs did what you did that day. Simple stuff .

Does a human being know they’re dead once they die?

My grandmother died in the middle of the night when I was five years old. She came into my room and woke me and sat on the edge of the bed and told me that my mother was going to go through a very difficult time and even though I was so young, I was going to have to help her. When I get up the next day, I told my mother what happened and that Nana had died. 15 minutes later, my two aunts came to the door to tell my mother that she had died about the same time that she had visited me I have never had any fear of death , mostly because of this. I know there is something after we die and I know she looked strong and healthy. She had not been in life.

Shorpy

Does a human being know they’re dead once they die?

Yes, they do.

Similar to some other who wrote their answers, I also had experience of “not your time to die” message from when I was in a middle school and got myself to a hospital.

During some rather ordinary V-treatment I got unexpected violent allergic reaction from my body and in a matter of minutes my body temperature sky rocketed and I lost consciousness.

After this I watched from somewhere above at a ceiling and a little to a side how medical staff urgently worked around me. I knew with absolute certainty that me, my body down there, is actually dying right this moment. What was strange that my other “out-of-body-me” was not especially scared or panicked. I just was.

Then suddenly there was a sensation of rapid movement through a narrow shadowed connection to a bright light, similar to emerging in a car from a long tunnel to a sunny blindingly bright summer midday.

But just on a brink of a tunnel mouth I was stopped. Sensation of some old being, not especially unfriendly, but so vastly powerful on a completely different level, that it was scary, at least for a 12 year old girl that I was, in a way like you watch nature in action and instinctively realise your own smallness, blocked my passage with not so much a verbal but more like a direct-in your-head message “it’s not your time yet, go back”. And as soon as it hit me, I was plummeted back not instantly, but very very fast, like water swishing down a drain.

I regain consciousness not much later after this and fully recovered. No one in my family or my friends have ever known better. Medical staff never told anything to my parents, just casually mentioned that “it was some complications on the way but everything worked out just fine” to my mom when I was discharged.

I was so profoundly shocked by this experience, which I sensed has been very very private and powerful and extraordinary, that as soon as I could, I wrote it down on some crumped piece of paper with cryon drawings on other side I have found in a hospital playing room.

I remember this experience vividly even 40 years later. I was born in, raised and still live in as much an atheist society as it is possible in our historical time, and never ever believed in traditional description of hell or heaven of any world religion.

However I am inclined to believe that we are much more than just our bodies; that souls, for lack of other term to describe our inner personal self, exist and they continue to exist on some other level after our present physical bodies stop functioning.

Why is China doing absolutely NOTHING about US banning Chinese EVs? US is the second largest EV market and largest consumer market. Why is China so utterly powerless wrt US bullying?

What exactly can China do?

US has the say in who can sell things in their market can they not?

US says China shouldn’t sell EVs in their markets or sell at a 100% Tariff, so what can China do?

What is China’s Leverage?

When China banned Google and Facebook back in 2009, China was way less powerful than it is today – even so US couldn’t do anything to force China into repealing the ban on Facebook or Google

Short of starting a war, pretty much nothing China can do

The US Automobile Market is responsible for a total of 5.15 Million Jobs (Direct & Indirect) plus a further 830,000 Jobs in the Gasoline Industry plus another 173,300 Gas Stations

The US estimates a direct loss of 700,000 Jobs plus a revenue loss of $ 26 Billion a year for the Gas Stations

EVs cant match this even by 20%

So the US doesn’t want Chinese EVs

The Political Bickering has nothing to do with anything

Chinese Automobiles will sell very well in Nations which don’t have an extensive supply chain or manufacturing chain related to automobiles

This means Middle East, ASEAN, Africa, Australia, Israel, South America and Russia

This automatically excludes India & US & Germany & France & Czech Republic & Japan all of which have their own Auto Industry

They have to protect their own industries

So the obvious thing to do would be to create their own EVs and get their own supply chain

Plus since US has loads of Oil and Gasoline, it really isn’t forced to use EVs like say India does

Are Chinese people aware that their government is an authoritarian dictatorship?

Absolutely, there’s no question about it. None of us believe this is a democratic country, but at the same time, none of us think it’s truly a communist country either—which might be hard for you to believe.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying the government hasn’t tried to brainwash us. But, strangely enough, even the government doesn’t seem to be putting much effort into it. Everyone is fully aware of the brainwashing attempts but plays along without actually buying into it.

This might be difficult to grasp if you’ve never been to China, but I tend to have a feeling that most of us here are pragmatists. We tolerate the situation as long as we believe the government is improving our lives, which, by most accounts, it seems to be doing.

I tend to think that an authoritarian regime can result in either extremely high outcomes when the leadership makes the right decisions, or in catastrophic failures when they don’t. In the former case, societal efficiency is massively improved, while in the latter, it can lead to disaster.

People in China make their own judgments about these outcomes. Those who are content with the situation stay and support the government, while those who aren’t satisfied simply leave and move to another country.

Personally, I’m quite satisfied with how my life has improved in recent years. So, I’m still here, living in China, steering clear of politics and focusing on my own life.

What happens to a Chinese person if he/she stands up in support of the Uyghurs?

I was born in Xinjiang, I was raised there, my entire childhood was living with Uyghurs, they are my neighbours.

I stand up and support them, so as our Govt (this may sound weird). They’re free to go to Mosque, they’re free to give births as many as they wish without be restricted by one child policy, their children will get 50 extra points in College entry exam (20 after 2018’s new policy, with a perfect score ranging roughly from 600 to 750 depending on where you take the exam), and their language are taught in schools and printed on bank notes.

When I was in high school, we have 20 classes in our grade, 10 of them are Uyghur classes. When Olympic Torch came to Xinjiang, our school picked a few Uyghur students as student representatives.

I bet most people from Western don’t know this, and Suddenly they stood up and fought for the Uyghur people? When Islamic terrorism happened in Xinjiang, moderate Mulism people were also suffering from terrorism too, where are their voice by then?

Everything Is A Rip Off, It’s Not Even Worth Going Out Anymore

Apparently, Zelensky’s victory plan is 1. Ukraine admitted to NATO. 2. Russians run home in panic? Is membership possible or likely and would it work if Ukraine got in?

Has Nato mobilized and transitioned into a war economy?

Other than record stock markets and eye-catching gdp, Nato is embroiled in economic malaise, and in no shape to meet Nato spending targets in peacetime, let alone massive war spending.

Besides, the current conflict in Ukraine has already emptied the accumulated war reserve of Nato, and they are now sending active arms in use.

Is Nato is any shape to confront Russia today on a one for all, all for one basis? Do Nato leaders desire such a confrontation?

Russia has mobilized >2m men, and is outproducing Nato in war materiel by multiples.

Ukraine joining Nato is but a couple of signatures on paper. We have seen Ukraine being fractured and Volodymyr cheered without Ukraine cashing the empty check of membership dangled for decades in front of the sacrificial Ukrainian lambs.

Fantasy sold to the gullible is what got us into this mess of overreach.

When the Russians say no, they are prepared to shed blood for it.

Question is, is Nato prepared to shed rivers of blood too, or are they mistaking the Russian bear for a pesky fly destined to meet the fly swatter?

Remembering an NDE

My sister and I were at my late father’s side at home when he passed in December 2014. He was 95 years old and knew he was going to die as he was on hospice care.

He was completely lucid and alert up until he passed.

On his last day he dozed on and off while my sister and I slept in his room – me on a futon and she on the twin bed in the room. Dad was on a hospital bed that replaced the other twin bed. Before I dozed off, I asked him how he was and if he felt he were dying (I know it is a weird question to ask but we are very open in our family).

He said that he just felt very tired and as to dying he said he didn’t really know what to expect as he never went through it before.

We knew he was dying as his taste for foods changed about 2 weeks prior and he was hurrying to get last minute affairs in order to make sure our inheritance was divided evenly – which he achieved to the dollar.

I was awakened during the early morning – about 2 am by my sister who noticed that he was picking at his blankets and acting restless.

I phoned the hospice nurse who guided me through the process of assisting and comforting him through the dying process. He was still completely aware of his surroundings.

I asked him how he was doing and if he needed anything just to keep communicating with him.

My sister and I were holding his hands and telling him how much we loved him and would miss him. He said, he was very tired and as to the dying part, he still didn’t know what to expect. He was very weak. Then he dozed for a while. Then all of a sudden he squeezed both our hands and as if he were answering our question about dying, weakly said, “Home, home……” and then he passed.

It was a sacred experience for us and a comfort to hear he was going to a good place, but we still miss him terribly.

Is China safe for tourists?

I am BLACK 1m.89cm tall, Point i am not able to just keep a low profile. In the dozen plus trips too China . I will say this; I walk in the street during late even, or early (am) morning hours to get my relax time. I stop at stalls without a single word of understandable mandarin buy street food and never had a stall owner short change me..[I know the currency and prices ]. I Window shop and buy things to bring home for my friend as gifts.

This is my experience .

I have never felt for a single moment I was at risk, Walking the back streets out of curiosity, people look, even intently but never made me feel uncomfortable . Maybe because I stay only in Top hotels the area i walk are better managed or policed. ( Was asked once if i needed help from two officer and when i said i was just walking to relax they left me and moved on..Awesome Not asking for ID or where i am going what i am doing out in the am. EU and USA did not treat me so well, and i speak a few of these languages.

I am not looking to be a trader or make a female friend Maybe this has something to do with my absolutely awesome stays .

Chinese people are racist, its ignorance more than malice. Chines people have attitude, but i am sure i do also.

But Chinese people do not hate me because of my colour ,,,Misinformation makes then negative in expectations and okay i am not poor so maybe i carry myself with the confidence of I need nothing from China , Happy to visit as long as China is happy to accept my freedom to be me every second of the day. Black and proud. But i am not poor anywhere in the world but am treated not so well .

I will always feel China is a GREAT place to visit if you do not wish to spread a political view. China has so many millions of beautiful place and interesting places ,I am sure i will have hundreds of trips .Thank you China for my Experience as a tourist..

Me & the kids were mocking him for being a weak father, until he got fed up, became furious & then

Never mock your man.

Alice in Wonder

Submitted into Contest #247 in response to: Set your story on a spaceship exploring the far reaches of space when something goes wrong.… view prompt

Sean Mallery

“Give me manual control” The chair moved back and dual joysticks raised up. She took hold and moved the ship. She turned and rotated until the cargo no longer bounced around. Physics in space are weird, physics in the ather are impossible. The ship was now turned sideways, but still moving in the same direction. As long as she could keep the ship in the ather’s slipstream, it would be fine.

“Starboard engine took damage.” Wonder informed Alice. “On this trajectory we will slide out of the slip in thirty seconds.”

Alice sighed. Drop the cargo or drop out into ather space. She thought about it and quickly decided. Turned the engines off and allow the ship to drift. With the damage done to the engine, there was no telling if she could correct the path either way. Losing the cargo was not an option while working with RED either. Lost cargo means a fine and who knows how big the fine is with the classification placed on it. The ship rumbled as it left the slipstream moving into a thicker ather.

“Great, repair options for the engine?” Alice asked.

“Working on it.”

Alice’s HUD displayed a warning. Shields at 75% It read.

“Work faster” She screamed. “The ather is pressing in on the ship.”

“Yeah yeah. Don’t get your undies in a bunch,” Wonder said with a laugh.

“What? Wonder I need a solution. Can I space walk to repair it?”

“Space walking in the ather will get you deader than your sense of humor!”

“What has gotten into you?”

“I apologize Alice, it seems the effects of ather are causing me to malfunction.”

“Stupid AI, you can’t break now too.”

“Have you tried turning me off and back on again?”

Alice got up from the captain’s chair. She grabbed a tool case from the closet and headed into the bay. She checked a status screen as she walked by. Shields 60% it read.

“Wonder can I get to any of the parts from the interior of the ship.”

“Panel thirteen – seven. Look for the big red glowy light. That will be the thing. They always have glowy lights to let you know if they are bad.”

Alice turned down a hallway and caught sight of something white and quick moving just around the next corner.

“Wonder, is there anyone else on the ship?” She asked.

“Its just me and you forever baby!”

Alice let out a long sigh. “Is any of our cargo biological? Animals maybe?”

“Sorry that’s classified,” Wonder answered.

“Oh, now you can be serious?”

“Sorry, even I can’t read it. I’m looking at the file on our cargo right now. It just says classified.”

“There is something else on the ship.” Alice explained.

“Nah bro, you are going crazy.”

“What?” Alice said incredulously

“Mild effects of aether poisoning. Step one insanity, step two coming to terms with insanity, step three, the fun part.”

“Hello” she intoned.

“Oh, hello Alice,” the man at the head of the table said. He wore a purple suit with a tall hat. “Tea?” He asked, gesturing with a steaming teakettle.

“Uh, no thank you.” She said, looking shocked.

“Please sit. You know my friend, the white rabbit.” He gestured to a rabbit sitting on the table. It had its own cup of tea and cookie. It looked up as if acknowledging her.

“H-Hello.”

“And this here is our lead ship mechanic. Scoots.” The man in the suit said.

A short, pudgy man in a black suit and bowler cap looked over at her. “Ma’am.” He said, tipping his hat.

“And I of course, am the ever present Wonder.”

“Wonder? You’re the ship AI?”

“In the flesh!”

“I don’t understand. We don’t have a ship mechanic, and you are an AI. Don’t even get me started on the rabbit!”

“It is very easy to explain, sweetie. You see, you are quite mad.”

“Mad?” she asked.

“Insane, the ather has broken through the shield and you are undergoing the effects. Have a seat, enjoy yourself.“

“I don’t know.” She said, sitting down, “If I am insane, then how can I sit in a chair that isn’t real, smell the tea that isn’t there? Even the light of this room, I can feel it.”

“Well, the ather does weird things to all of us,” Wonder Explained

“For sure,” Scoots chimed in.

The rabbit just looked at her. Alice knew what it was saying.

She held her cup as Wonder poured some tea. “So what do I do now?”

Alice sipped her tea. “You make a good point, but what if this is just the insanity talking? What if there is nothing out there to explore?”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I want to be with you, exploring. Ya know, like this.” Wonder gestured to the table.

“I say we stay,” Scoots said.

“You’re the captain,” Wonder said grabbing his cup a handful of cookies. They all together walked to the helm. Alice sat down in the pilot seat and grabbed the joysticks.

“We need repairs, lets see if we can find a place to land.” Alice said. Wonder took up a position in a newly formed station in the helm. “I see a planet on the scanners.”

“I can see an asteroid belt around that planet.” Scoots chimed in from the maintenance station that was suddenly there.

“How can there be a planet in the ather?” Alice asked.

“Lets find out.” Wonder answered.

Italian Beef Stir Fry

Few ingredients – fast and flavorful!

Yield: 4 servings

Ingredients

1 pound beef top tip steaks, cut 1/8 to 1/4 inch thick
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 tablespoon olive oil
2 small zucchini, thinly sliced
1 cup cherry tomato halves
1/4 cup fat-free bottled Italian salad dressing
2 cups hot cooked spaghetti
1 tablespoon grated Parmesan cheese

Instructions

Cut beef steaks crosswise into 1 inch wide strips. Cut each strip crosswise in half.
Heat oil in large nonstick skillet over medium high heat. Add garlic and stir while cooking 1 minute.
Add half of the beef strips. stir fry for 1 to 1 1/2 minutes or until no longer pink.
Remove with slotted spoon and keep warm.
Repeat with remaining beef strips.
Add zucchini to same skillet. stir fry for 2 to 3 minutes or until tender-crisp.
Return beef to skillet with tomato halves and dressing. Heat through.
Salt and pepper to taste.
Serve beef mixture over hot pasta.
Sprinkle with Parmesan cheese.

Attribution

From the kitchen of Martin James – Copenhagen, Denmark

An NDE story

That is a wonderful question, I think. I have wanted to share my experience concerning this topic since my 31 y.o. son died from oral cancer in 2019. He had just finished his associate’s degree in 2017 and got the diagnosis 5 months later.

Since 2017, he suffered through multiple surgeries, bleeding, chemo, radiation, immense pain, huge weight loss, and inability to speak. He was stoic through it all. He truly believed in the afterlife and reincarnation before 2017 and during his cancer ordeal. He read so many philosophical books and fought &*)$ing cancer so hard.

I have never shared this with anyone besides my younger son. This is what happened; You see, my son passed on to his next life on April 3rd, 2019.

But he died on March 30, 2019. I woke up on that morning (April 3rd) and I had the MOST USUAL feeling about him. It’s very hard to explain. I am NOT joking, but it was like he had just left us here in this life. I immediately thought “He just moved on”.

Sounds crazy, I know. I was so emotional I started crying. I thought, my son is gone now, but it was a much more intense feeling than the 3 days before. On March 30th, all I could think about was that he wasn’t in excruciating pain anymore and how it was going to affect my youngest son. They were so close and 7 years apart in age. Yes, I may have been just going through the grief cycle and all but I truly believe that he entered his next life that April morning when I woke up. It was like “someone” or “something” had shared with me that he had just moved on and he was ok. It sounds crazy and all but I had never felt it before or since. It’s ok if no one believes me, but I know what I felt. I am positive there is a Life after Life.

If Our Cities Already Look Like They Belong In “Grand Theft Auto”, What Will They Look Like Once The Economy Implodes?

September 24, 2024 by Michael

As you will see below, video footage that was just captured on the streets of Philadelphia looks like it could have been pulled out of an extremely violent video game. If this is what our streets look like now, what are they going to look like once economic conditions become very harsh in this country? Just a few days ago, I wrote about the tremendous chaos that is erupting in cities all over America. When I wrote that article, I wasn’t even aware of the drama that had just played out in the city of Philadelphia. From late on Saturday night through the early hours of Sunday morning, there were multiple clashes with police as authorities attempted to break up a series of illegal street takeovers…

Philadelphia continues its spiral into chaos under Democratic leadership, with violent mobs once again taking to the streets, this time attacking police officers and patrol cars in a brazen display of lawlessness.

According to reports from 6 ABC, hundreds of cars and massive crowds participated in illegal car meetups, causing widespread chaos that lasted from 9:30 p.m. Saturday until 4:30 a.m. Sunday.

At least 11 meetups took place, six of which turned into violent confrontations with police. The mayhem resulted in the hospitalization of one officer, while five police cars were heavily damaged.

These kids are completely and utterly out of control.

One of them even had a flamethrower that he used to create a ring of fire in the middle of one major intersection.

And when the police arrived at these events, these kids were not afraid to attack them at all…

“Everything they do is disruptive, they’re ruining the quality of life. At one point, they had a flamethrower—yes, there’s video with a flamethrower.”

“They’re able to disperse quickly and then reform at other locations. That’s why we have officers dedicated. It’s playing wack-a-mole. We hit them at once, and they move to another,” he added.

“It was the aggressiveness at some of the locations — the incident outside of City Hall was aggressive. They physically went after our officers,” Cram said. “They don’t care about your safety, their own safety. You’ve all seen the videos of their behavior. How much chaos can they cause?”

Isn’t it odd how the word “chaos” just keeps popping up all over the place these days?

As you can see in this video footage, the streets of Philadelphia really do look like they belong in “Grand Theft Auto”…

Of course Philadelphia is far from alone.

At this point, there are millions of Americans that are literally afraid to leave their own homes because violent crime has become so pervasive.

In a “tiny Wisconsin community”, a member of the Tren de Aragua gang was just arrested for “sexually assaulting a mother and abusing her daughter”…

A member of Venezuela’s Tren de Aragua gang was arrested in a tiny Wisconsin community for allegedly sexually assaulting a mother and abusing her daughter after he had been arrested and released earlier this year in Minneapolis.

Republican Rep. Derrick Van Orden, whose grandchildren live less than a mile away from the Prairie du Chien home where the mother and daughter were held against their will and repeatedly victimized, told Fox News Digital that it was only a matter of time before tragedy would strike the community amid the White House’s open-border policies and sanctuary city initiatives.

All of this chaos is going to play a major role in how these swing states vote.

People are afraid of what they see in the streets, and that isn’t going to change any time soon.

If things are this bad now, what is our society going to look like once economic conditions get really bad?

Yes, economic conditions are not good at all right now.

This is something that I have documented extensively.

But as bad as things are at this moment, the truth is that this is going to look like rip-roaring prosperity compared to what is coming.

Sadly, there are lots of signs that the economy is starting to move in the wrong direction quite rapidly now.

For example, it is being reported that U.S. consumer confidence just dropped by the largest amount in over three years…

Consumers’ view on the economy tumbled in September, falling by the largest level in more than three years as fears grew about jobs and business conditions, the Conference Board reported Tuesday.

The board’s consumer confidence index slid to 98.7, down from 105.6 in August, the biggest one-month decline since August 2021. The Dow Jones consensus forecast was for a reading of 104. By contrast, the index had a reading of 132.6 in February 2020, a month before the Covid pandemic hit.

Each of the five components the organization samples fared worse on the month, with the biggest fall coming among those aged 35-54 and earning less than $50,000.

And banks continue to permanently shut down more branches at a staggering rate…

US banks have closed more than 50 branches in just two weeks, as the march towards online banking continues to decimate local services.

Wells Fargo, Chase, and Fulton were among the banks who closed locations between August 19 and September 7.

Bank of America and Chase gave notice to close the most locations, notifying the regulator that they will shut a further twelve of their branches each.

Every week, more branches are disappearing, and that should deeply alarm all of us.

Of course the exact same thing could be said about retail stores.

Sadly, the very last full-size Kmart store in the continental United States is about to close forever…

The last full-size Kmart store in the continental United States is set to close in October, leaving only one downsized location remaining, reports say.

The department store chain, which once operated around 2,300 locations in the early 1990s, will shutter the full-size store in Bridgehampton, New York, on Oct. 20, Newsday is reporting, citing an employee there.

That means a smaller Kmart store in Miami will become the last one remaining in the U.S. Kmart, which is now owned by Transformco, also has three stores in the U.S. Virgin Islands.

As economic conditions deteriorate, millions of impoverished people that inhabit our major cities are going to become extremely desperate.

And extremely desperate people do extremely desperate things.

We are already seeing so much chaos all over the nation, but what is ahead is going to be so much worse.

I playfully mocked him during our lovemaking about his size, he got shocked, left and then did this.

Title is deceptive, but this is a true tragedy.

White wine and Pomelo

Today, I volunteered to teach English to my daughter’s kindergarten. All of us parents volunteer. And because I am American, they just really want me to teach some English.

It wasn’t long. Just one hour.

I began with a song and dance number, and then we played some vocabulary games. Since this is right before the mid-Autumn festival, the theme was Pomelo and moon-cakes.

Here’s a one minute or so video summary of MM in “action”. It’s a youtube video so it should play quick and easy. (Originally posted on WeChat “moments”.)

All the kids put on Hanfu outfits instead of their normal school uniforms.

They were all as cute as can be. I’ll tell you what.

Meanwhile we played a game with about six or so English vocabulary words.

Moon
Moon cake
Mid-Autumn Festival
Lantern
Jade Rabbit
Chang’e
Pomelo

A Pomelo is a fruit that is wildly available in China, but that does not exist in the West. It looks like a watermelon sized grapefruit, but isn’t bitter. Just a nice sweet (grapefruit appearing) fruit.

It looks like this. Only it is the size of a round watermelon, or a basketball.

Anyways…

Everyone eats these things called “moon cakes” which is a kind of pastry that is sweet with an egg in the middle. Everyone gives them to each other. I have a couple of boxes at my house from the office and factories.

Yes, it’s too heavy and sweet for me. But the kids love it.

So I did my little song and dance. Played some games and made some moon cakes with the kids. All in all everyone had fun.

I was exhausted.

The night before we had a big evening party. Everyone brought grapes and Pomelo while the kids walked around with these lanterns that they made.

The parents had various song and dance skits.

Here’s one that I filmed at the event. Here’s a taste of MM lifestyle and real China for those of you who wanna know…

These are mothers of the kids attending one of the classes in the school. I believe that this is one of the zhong ban grades. Short video. Cute with the hanfu and the traditional dances that all Chinese seemingly know.

This is “so so very very China”.

Anyways, yesterday before that evening party, I held a luncheon with the staff. We tried a new restaurant and the food was really outstanding.

I took a short video of the food. (To show Mrs MM what were were eating and asked her if she wanted a “doggie bag” of something fresh from the kitchen. This is known as “Da Bao”.)

Here’s the first course. It was of course, an eight course meal. Ah. You’ll never starve in China.

Of course, as the boss I had to guide the staff though the endless bouts of drinking and we were drinking “white wine” 53 degree.

Phew!

Guys, always remember to line your stomach with a bowl of rice first… before you eat anything else. It will make things much easier.

But I do love my life.

After today’s class we tromped off to the spa for a nice face massage and then to lunch. I love the steaming of the face with herbal steam, and then the oil rub on the face, especially around the eyes.

Followed by a quick bite.

I had some delicious egg – tomato noodle soup.

And I will tell you it’s one of my favorites. Healthy and super tasty. There’s a little “hole in the wall” that we go to and I generally eat this…

Now, of course, another favorite of mine is this dish called Da Jia Mian.

It’s really good too.

But today I opted for the egg-tomato noodle soup. Don’t you know.

Lots of stuff going on… MM side. This was today’s “snapshot”.

Have a great day everyone.

Today…

Should the US preemptively start a war with China before the said country becomes too powerful to fight?

It’s 2024 and it’s too late. China today is too powerful to fight.

China has been modernizing its military for decades. Today, it has the world’s largest army and the world’s largest navy. It has a vast rocket force, including unstoppable hypersonic missiles. It has very sophisticated stealth fighters. And China has a substantial nuclear arsenal of 500+ nuclear weapons.

So war with China is extremely risky. The US risks losing an aircraft carrier or two. The US risks losing the war. The US risks nuclear escalation.

Moreover, the US military is getting weaker. Recruitment is down. The US Navy and Air Force have serious maintenance issues with their ships and planes. The US military is spread out too thin around the globe.

It’s Game Over.

What can I learn in one minute that will be useful for the rest of my life?

If you ever get caught sleeping at your desk at work just say “they told me at the Blood Bank that this would happen.
When the power goes out search for wifi networks on your phone to see if everyones power is out.
Quelling road rage by pretending that every asshole driver really has to poop.
If you want to maintain good posture, pretend your nipples have lasers that shoot out of them and you have to keep them aimed at people’s heads.
Wiping the water off of your body with your hands in the shower before getting out and towel-drying.
If you want to attract better people, focus on, think about, read about, and go find them on this app.
If your car is overheating, turn your heat on full blast. When you turn the heat on in a car, it pulls heat from the engine into the cab, thus cooling the engine.
Hit “s” while watching Netflix on a computer to skip the intro.
If you don’t know whether you should use the word effect or affect, simply use impact.
When buying bedsheets, look for striped ones. It will make it much easier to find the long and short sides.
If you accidentally press the spacebar and scroll down the page, you can press Shift+Space and go back to where you were.
Don’t save your banking information on online stores. Makes impulse buying much more difficult if you have to track down your wallet.
If you keep a baseball bat in your car for protection, put a sock over it. If they grab the bat, they will only get the sock, and you will get another swing.
Filling in the ‘to’ field of an email last.
When buying online, leave items in the shopping cart for a while. There is a good chance that the website is tracking this, and will lower the price overtime to entice you into buying.
If your coworker ever calls in sick for work, you can do the same 1-3 days later. Your boss will think you have the same thing and it’s “going around the office.”
Blink eyes rapidly for a minute before bed to tire yourself out.
When lending a pen or marker hand it over without the cap, you are much more likely to get it back.
If you have somewhat of a double chin or you want your jawline to be more defined in a picture, put your tongue on the roof of your mouth.
Whenever you accidentally set off your smoke alarm, give your pets a treat so they learn to come to you when there actually is a fire and you need to escape.
Remember that one 18-inch pizza is more pizza than two 12-inch pizzas.

ALMOST GOT LOST!🎵 Robin Trower – too Rolling Stoned

Who is considered the best dictator in history who did not commit war crimes against their own people?

🤣🤣🤣🤣 I won’t even call him A dictator because this person was better than 99% fat politicians around the world!

Colonel Gaddafi

main qimg eb5282f2a0b1bb7c9f70e348226d4303

Why? This is why ⬇️

Electricity is free for all Libyans.
Loans in Libya are free with 0% interest as banks are state owned.
Homes are considered a human right in Libya – Gaddafi vowed that his parents would not get a house until everyone in Libya had a home. Gaddafi’s father has died while him, his wife and his mother were still living in a tent.
All newly married people in Libya receive US$ 50,000 by the government to buy their first home to help the new family.
Medical treatment and education are free in Libya. Before Colonel Muammar Gaddafi ruled the country, only 25% of Libyans were literate. Today the figure is around 83%.
If Libyans wanted to take up farming as a career, the government funded people from equipment to seeds, all for free.
The government subsidised 50% of the price of a new car if a Libyan citizen wanted to buy their first car.
Petrol price in Libya is around $0.14 per litre.
Libya has no debt externally and its reserves amounts to $150 billion – now globally frozen.
The Libyan government would fund anyone who got a degree and if they could not get employment, and they would receive income as if they were employed until they got a job.
The sale of Libyan oil is credited directly to the bank accounts of all Libyan citizens in proportion.
A family would get US $5,000 if they had a new baby to support the childs upbringing.
40 loaves of bread in Libya costs around $0.15.
25% of Libyans have a university degree

Who needs socialism, democracy, capitalism, egalitarianism, etc etc blah blah when your leader thinks and does things for you.

U.S. Army Corps of Engineers To Study:” Effect of Nuclear War on Global Agriculture”

NewsDesk Nation September 13, 2024 Hits: 5473

Interesting solicitation from the Army Corp of Engineers (CoE) came out on Sept 10th, with bids due for submission yesterday on Sept 12th. Purpose of solicitation was for a study on how nuclear war will effect agriculture on a worldwide basis.

Seems they should have thought about this years ago! But interesting they want a study on this now.

Looks like the Russia-Ukraine conflict has suddenly gotten far more serious than anyone previously thought.

From the CoE announcement:

“The US Army Corps of Engineers, Engineer Research and Development Center (ERDC) intends to issue an award on a sole source basis (IAW FAR 13.106-1(b)(1)) with Terra Analytics, Inc., 966 10th Street, Boulder, Colorado 80302-7474, for the research and development of active research programs that focus on modeling impacts on the environment and the impacts of nuclear weapons on farm systems that optimizes AgriShock, a code suite for modeling the effects of nuclear weapons on agricultural systems.

The objective of this project is to build upon previous research efforts to develop and optimize AgriShock, a code suite for modeling the effects of nuclear weapons on agricultural systems. The minimum needs of this contract are that the contractor provide all personnel, equipment, facilities, supervision, and other items necessary to conduct studies that demonstrate modeling of nuclear warfare on a global scale that would lead to destruction of the agriculture systems such as farms. The contractor must be able to execute the following: 1) utilize AgriShock, code suite, to increase the geographic coverage to include former Eastern Block countries and implement software code on DoD TS/SCI level ERDC supercomputing resources; 2) update their AgriShock software code to regions beyond eastern Europe and western Russia, with regions chosen to support the ERDC mission to support the Defense Threat Reduction Agency (DTRA) goals of modeling effects of nuclear events; 3) utilize the AgriShock software to incorporate aerial mapping; 4) extend the AgriShock software code by developing a beta radioisotope uptake model that reflects the manner in which a non-destructive nuclear event; and 5) ensure that the updated Agrishock software can be implemented on existing and/or new secure Linux-based ERDC HPC computing environments.

The intended procurement will be classified under North American Industry Classification System (NAICS) 541511 – Custom Computer Programming Services with a Small Business Size Standard of $34 million. This notice of intent is not a request for competitive proposals and no solicitation document exists for this requirement. However, parties interested in responding to this notice shall submit technical data, including price, sufficient to determine capability in providing the same or similar product. All capability statements received by the closing date of the publication of this synopsis will be considered by the Government. A determination by the Government not to compete based on responses to this notice is solely within the discretion of the Government. Information received will normally be considered solely for the purpose of determining whether to conduct a competitive procurement.

Capability statements shall be submitted only by e-mail as a Microsoft Office Word, Microsoft Office Excel, or Adobe PDF attachment to Shinita.M.Jordan@usace.army.mil and Sonia.J.Boyd@usace.army.mil. Statements are due by 12:00pm Central Time, Thursday, 12 September 2024. No phone calls will be accepted.”

LINK HERE

Vladimir Putin Does Not Make Empty Threats

A few month ago a leak of a call between high ranking German officers appeared. They were discussing the possible deployment of a German Taurus cruse missile to Ukraine to be used against Russian targets.

It became obvious from the leak that any such deployment, aiming and firing of such a weapon can not happen without the participation of staff from the country that donated the weapon. This applies to the U.S. ATAMCS missiles, to the French/British SCALP/Storm Shadow missiles just as it would apply to the German Taurus cruse missile:

Gerhartz, [commander of the Luftwaffe], and his subordinates discussed how much Taurus training and support Germany might need to provide if Taurus missiles were sent to Ukraine, and whether this would include targeting and programming information.
…
Gerhartz said: ″When it comes to mission planning, for example, I know how the British do it, they do it completely in reachback [i.e. with support from people who are not forward-deployed]. They also have a few people on the ground, they do that, the French don’t. So, they also QC the Ukrainians when loading the SCALP, because Storm Shadow and SCALPS are relatively similar from a purely technical point of view. They’ve already told me that, yes, for God’s sake, they would also look over the shoulders of the Ukrainians when loading the Taurus.

The U.S. is currently discussing (archived) to allow Ukraine to use of long range weapons against targets within Russia, that is beyond targets on Ukrainian and former Ukrainian ground.

This would be qualitative transformation of the war in Ukraine into a NATO war with Russia.

The Russian President Vladimir Putin made this unequivocally clear.

Answer to a media question, September 12 2024, Kremlin.ru

Question: Over the past few days, we have been hearing statements at a very high level in the UK and the United States that the Kiev regime will be allowed to strike targets deep inside Russia using Western long-range weapons. Apparently, this decision is either about to be made, or has already been made, as far as we can see. This is actually quite extraordinary. Could you comment on what is going on?President of Russia Vladimir Putin:
…
[T]he Ukrainian army is not capable of using cutting-edge high-precision long-range systems supplied by the West. They cannot do that. These weapons are impossible to employ without intelligence data from satellites which Ukraine does not have. This can only be done using the European Union’s satellites, or US satellites – in general, NATO satellites. This is the first point.

The second point – perhaps the most important, the key point even – is that only NATO military personnel can assign flight missions to these missile systems. Ukrainian servicemen cannot do this.

Therefore, it is not a question of allowing the Ukrainian regime to strike Russia with these weapons or not. It is about deciding whether NATO countries become directly involved in the military conflict or not.

If this decision is made, it will mean nothing short of direct involvement – it will mean that NATO countries, the United States, and European countries are parties to the war in Ukraine. This will mean their direct involvement in the conflict, and it will clearly change the very essence, the very nature of the conflict dramatically.

This will mean that NATO countries – the United States and European countries – are at war with Russia. And if this is the case, then, bearing in mind the change in the essence of the conflict, we will make appropriate decisions in response to the threats that will be posed to us.

Russia has many means to respond to such threats. This includes direct fire on targets within France, the UK and the U.S. itself.

Vladimir Putin is not known for making empty threats.

Posted by b at 7:28 UTC | Comments (338)

I’ve Seen The Saucers – Elton John (1974)

Above-Ground “Incident” (Explosion) in Washington State, “Sends Message” to US – Device passed Right Over Naval Base Bremerton

Hal Turner Nation September 13, 2024 Hits: 30846

The United States Geological Survey reports an “Other Event” caused the equivalent of a Magnitude 2.7 earthquake, 0.8 km ABOVE ground at 09:12 UTC this morning. Word is this “Other Event” was . . . . an explosion – possibly of a Hypersonic missile –sent as “a message” to the Untied States.

Here is a screen shot of the USGS website reporting this “Other Event:”

The regional map below shows the Coordinates of the the “Other Event:”

If this “Other Event” was a missile hit, then the missile would have had to pass over Naval Base Bremerton, WA to reach where the “Other Event” (explosion?) took place. Bremerton, near Seattle, is a massive, perhaps Primary, Naval Base for the US in the Pacific. The scalable map below shows Naval Base Bremerton:

There are mountains in that area where the “other event” took place at a “Depth” of -0.8km. Yes, that’s a minus sign in front of the “Depth” meaning the “Other Event” took place above the ground by about 2,624 feet. Some of the mountains in that area ARE that high. So if a missile hit a mountain at that height, the resulting explosion could very well register as a Magnitude 2.7 earthquake “above” ground.

For a frame of reference, when the World Trade Center in New York City collapsed in the attacks of September 11, 2001, seismographs registered the massive collapse as a Magnitude 2.1 “earthquake.” So the fact that this “Other Event” registers stronger . . . . as 2.7 . . . . gives readers an idea of how powerful this “other event” actually was.

There is no visual evidence of any Landslide in that area. There is no major snowpack yet, and so there is no sign of any massive Avalanche.

So what caused this “Other Event” as being reported by the US Geological Survey (HERE)?

Was it a “message” to the USA over its continued meddling in the Russia-Ukraine conflict?

Was it a clear warning from, perhaps, a Russian Submarine, that the US authorizing Ukraine to use West-supplied, long-range, precision missiles against Russia, could result in Russia using missiles against the USA?

That decision on whether or not Ukraine will be allowed to use long range weapons, will be made today, and is expected to be announced from the White House.

Russian President Putin, just yesterday, warned that if this decision is made, and Ukraine is given use of West-supplied missiles to hit Russia, then the United States, European countries and NATO will be “at war” with Russia. (Story Here)

It is starting to LOOK like, the U.S. was just sent a very real message.

How bad exactly is the quality of Chinese cars?

I am Chinese.

Around 2007, my father bought a Toyota Camry.

At that time, we had to pay extra to buy it because it was in such high demand; they wouldn’t sell it to us without the additional payment.

We used this car until 2013.

Except for the first year, every day was either spent repairing the car or on the way to repair it.

From issues with the CD player to various strange noises and problems with different air conditioning components,

By the fifth year, it started burning oil. I had to buy two barrels of engine oil online and keep them in the trunk for frequent top-ups myself.

However, it’s worth noting that it only broke down twice.

Did you think I would say its quality was terrible?

Well, compared to the domestically produced car my aunt bought, this one is actually a bit better. The domestic car had even more problems and broke down about ten times or so.

Later on, our family switched to a BMW 5 Series while my aunt got a diesel version of Land Rover.

The BMW 5 Series has never broken down (the BMW 520), except for having really poor sound quality.

It only needs maintenance every 10,000 kilometers and is about twice as fuel-efficient as the Camry 2.4.

The idea that Japanese cars are fuel-efficient is simply a lie; you can check out recent news videos where various parts manufacturers in Japan apologized for faking their products.

In 2020, my cousin bought a domestic car and our family thought he was crazy: BYD Han.

But we purchased a Wuling Hongguang in ’15 which has proven very sturdy and durable; we’ve used it as a delivery vehicle with basically no issues at all.

So yes, there were still some minor problems with BYD Han in 2020 but its quality truly surprised us—it’s fantastic both inside and performance-wise—and extremely fuel-efficient too!

Now it’s 2024; my cousin’s BYD Han is already considered outdated in China.

In ’23-’24 models of similar quality have become one-third cheaper while offering better performance.

China’s automotive market has developed over twenty years now—we’ve moved past just recognizing brands.

The era when junk cars could be sold at high prices just by slapping on Toyota badges is over.

Now you can get an incredibly reliable BYD Qin L that runs up to 2000 km on one tank of gas for around $14,000!

I know many people believe that regardless of how excellent any product may be if it’s labeled “made in China,” it’ll turn into trash.

But China is now the largest automobile consumer market globally—every brand you’re familiar with sells cars here.

On the contrary, your markets are quite closed off with little competition.

If you look up news about America imposing a full tax rate of 100% on Chinese cars you’ll see how much progress China’s auto industry has made this year!

Compared even just two years ago—the difference feels like two different eras’ products!

Every country has stubborn thinkers; there seem especially many here in China,

Even so Japanese cars are quickly losing half their sales volume here!

Of course German cars are indeed good—but that’s solely referring to gasoline vehicles!

Hybrid vehicles from anywhere other than Chinese brands don’t perform well at all—Toyota hybrids have been laughed at during evaluations!

The world really is fascinating!

Thirty years ago import tariffs on automobiles were set at an astonishingly high rate of150%, while America shouted free trade;

Today America calls for increasing tariffs on Chinese automobiles up to100%, while China advocates free trade instead!

How interesting! The BYD Qin L sells for only ¥14k without needing purchase tax,

with highly reliable quality selling around20 thousand units monthly since its upgrade!

Also part of why people still buy Toyotas here despite everything else being said—is because ours offer global lowest prices along with significant discounts available at each dealership!

Moreover our local Volkswagen ID4 costs roughly half what you’d pay back home!

Even if America prevents Taiwan from trading with us—we’re still making decent phones ourselves!

Why do some people still doubt whether Chinese folks can produce great products?

Mosul (2019) – Humvee Combat Scene – Iraq War

What is it with Chinese people putting bones in everything they eat?

It’s not just Chinese people, it’s prevalent all over Asia.

While most Western cooks prefer trimmed meat and filleted fish, Asian diners like to eat their food off the bone and shell.

In Asia it is traditional practice, not a style.

Eating has always been one of life’s great tactile and sensual pleasures.

There’s nothing more primal than eating a roast chicken with your hands, tearing off the legs and wings and using your teeth to get all the meat from the bones. It is as satisfying as digging into a plate of barbecued ribs with the sauce staining your fingernails, or attacking every crevice of a crab, so you can suck out the tasty tomalley.

However somewhere in the course of Western society’s prudish progress, it was decided genteel people shouldn’t touch their food. Fine cuisine isn’t devoured but nibbled on.

Fish is filleted, meat is trimmed and deboned, even the skin on potatoes and fruit has to be removed for sanitised consumption.

In Asian food preparation the portion of meat and vegetables etc. are cut into smaller pieces before or after cooking depending on the nature of the dish.

A whole roast is an example in Chinese cuisine. It is cut up to accommodate the sharing of the food. Smaller portions of meat are chopstick friendly. Communal dining.

There is an old saying: ”the nearer the bone, the sweeter the meat”. Not only do bones add nutritional value, but they add a ton of flavour to the cooking process as well!

Uyghur Lamb Pilaf; northern China

Meat bones are surrounded by fat, so as the bone heats the marrow its juices penetrate the meat and add a depth of flavour that does not exist with a boneless cut.

Hokkien stewed herbal pork; Malaysia

Bone-in food is tastier as well as nutritious. During cooking the bone releases fat and high concentration of collagen, gelatin, and glycine – these nutrients play a role in the health of our immune system.

A grilled fish served in Japanese restaurant.

Bone-in meat is sustainable and reduces food wastage. Both fish and meat industries generate large amounts of waste, bones being a significant portion of them.

In Chinese cooking a sizeable whole fish is thoroughly prepped and cooked head to tail and served as diners appreciate picking on the various parts of the fish including the head, which may appear gross to some.

Dim sum braised ‘phoenix claws’ – chicken feet – are ever popular.

Cooked heads and feet are common street and restaurant food in China and parts of Asia.

Fish head curry: the ‘angry looks’ reflects freshness. The head of a chilled or frozen fish looks sedate.

THIS REALLY HAPPENED WHILE SHE WAS SLEEPING IN SCARY VIDEOS

What is China going to do now? The US has just forced ASML to stop repairing and providing spare parts for any advanced lithography machines already in China’s possession?

China needs do nothing. Just sit back and enjoy the drama to be played out between ASML and the US.

Those machines were purchased with guarantee/warranty and service agreements tied in at the outset.

Just enforce every clause and claim damages for breaches, if any.

Meanwhile, carry on with the endeavours to be self sufficient in the supply chain.

Time is precious and is meant to be spent thinking of ways to leverage the huge US debts in hand for the benefits of the nation.

Deliver the knock-out punch if need to and time opportune.

As a cashier, have you ever seen a customer do something that made you say, “you can’t be serious…”?

Oh my favorite was a guy who came into walmart to buy beer. Now at walmart I was new. Just finished training. So I was all about following the rules. One of the rules was about beer. One was if they look under 30 ask for ID. Two if they touch the beer and don’t have ID. You can’t sell it to them.

Had a gentlemen come through my line. Looked under 30. Asked for ID. Was told he didn’t have it. So I refused to sell it to him. He started getting mad. Gave me a sob story of how he traveled out of state (I do live in a tourist state), doesn’t have his ID on him, he left it back home. I said sorry I am not allowed to sell it. His dad was behind him, said I will buy it for him. I stated the policy and again refused. Then started getting screamed at for refusing to sell it to them by both of them. AS this was happening a manager I absolutely despised walked by I asked her for help. She walked up stated the policy and proceeded to walk away. So they started screaming across the store to her. And telling me no wonder you don’t know how to do your job, if you have managers like this. Finally after 10 minutes of this. Another manager comes over, and talks to them. They calm down and the man admits his ID is in his car and goes out and gets it. He is old enough and was able to get his alcohol. If he would have just done this in the first place, he could have been gone right away. But instead he yelled at me for over 20 minutes while my managers did nothing for it. I was sent on break when I was done with him.

Kidnapping By A Cartel Scene – Sicario: Day of the Soldado (2018)

What is the dumbest death you have heard of?

Back in the mid nineteen-eighties, I was a diener, a coroner’s assistant. I would assist all three coroners with the autopsies, bringing in the bodies, putting personal articles aside, and providing all required tools.

One day a young lady of approximately twenty years of age was brought in. She truly looked like she was sleeping. All of the tubes, bandages, and so forth provided by the hospital in their attempt to save her were still attached. She was still warm and looked like she could wake up at any moment except for one glaring problem: a hole in the side of her head at the temple.

What made it the dumbest death I’d seen was the circumstances of her death. It seems that during a drug and booze-filled party, they decided to play Russian-Roulette. With a semi-automatic handgun.

Chicken and Wild Rice Casserole

Ingredients

2 cups boneless, skinless chicken breasts, cut into cubes
2 1/4 cups boiling water
1 (6 ounce) package wild rice
1 can cream of mushroom soup
1/3 cup orange juice
2 tablespoons minced onion
1/2 teaspoon salt

Instructions

Heat oven to 350 degrees F.
Mix all ingredients in ungreased casserole dish.
Cover tightly and bake for 40 to 50 minutes.
Uncover and bake an additional 10 to 15 minutes.

Will you turn in all of your guns to Harris and let her know if your neighbors have any guns, too?

Let me point you over at Illinois for a moment. This is not an argument; just an explanation.

Illinois has some of the strictest gun control laws in the country.

Illinois also has one of the highest firearms homicide rates in the country. All of that gun control isn’t stopping it remotely; if there is any correlation at all, it would imply that disarmament causes an INCREASE in violent crime.

But whatever.

Because, you see, Illinois also has their hogwash “catch and release” program. When they catch criminals committing crimes… they let them go. They have laws in place to STOP criminals from going to jail. Their legislation actively works to FREE the violent criminals who are committing the gun crimes.

Allow that to sink in for a moment.

Illinois: We want to stop gun crimes.

Illinois: We forbid law-abiding people from having guns.

Illinois: We refuse to punish criminals.

And this plan catostrophically fails.

It turns out that you cannot stop criminals by being nice to the criminals and targeting the people who do NOT commit crimes.

<-=O=->

So here is my thought process.

I own guns. I paid for them myself. They cost me money, and they are MY property.

I have never committed any crimes. Not just gun crimes, but ANY crimes. No thefts. No drugs. No assaults. No traffic infractions. I have a perfectly clean record. There is no way that gun crime can be reduced by any laws that target me, because my current amount of crime is zero and crime cannot be reduced below zero.

The current penalty for a Convicted Felon being caught with an Illegal Firearm is… basically nothing.

So if they catch me, a law-abiding person that has never committed any crime, in possession of a firearm, what do you think the penalty will be?

If they hand wave gun possession charges for guys with a history of rape and armed robbery, then do you really think they’re going to send me to prison for gun possession charges as a law abiding guy who has never done anything wrong?

The Democrats have made it perfectly clear what their position is. They do not care about crime, and their courts have no teeth.

So go ahead and make my guns illegal. I do not care anymore. I’m not turning in anything, and they’ll never do anything to me for having them. In fact, if I did get convicted of some sort of a crime, the Demcratic Party would start offering me government benefits for job seeking and additional grants for schooling, because they treat criminals BETTER than they treat law abiding people.

We Were Soldiers – Final Battle Scene

As a parent, what was your “okay, that’s the last time they are babysitting for us” moment with your babysitter?

I took a job at a local auto parts store and found a highly recommended day care provider less than a mile up the road from the job. (this is important). I made sure the appropriate paperwork was filed for her to get paid, made sure she was aware of all allergies, medications, had my son’s epi pen, etc. I packed their meals and snacks all summer long. They came home sunburned, exhausted and ravenous every day. I figured great! They’ve been playing outside, I know they ate well, they eat a huge dinner and go to bed. I found out otherwise about mid-way through August when my then 9 year old daughter WALKED THRU THE DOOR TO MY WORK ALONE! Sobbing and sweaty she tells me “mom, kevin needs his shot and she won’t give it to him!’ I call an ambulance, the cops and my boss to tell him im running up to take care of an emergency. I get there, my kid who is violently deathly allergic to bees is in full anaphylaxis and being treated by emts. My other 2 kids are sitting on the back steps on their hands, being “punished because your sister ran off”. My day care provider is inside her LOCKED HOUSE, in the AC, drunk as a skunk and getting high. I finally get my kids squared away and one asks “can we have lunch today?” Cops turn around and say “what do you mean, today”. “She keeps our food, we don’t get to eat. It turned out that this highly recommended provider would turn all the kids out into the yard at 8 am. They got popsicles at 10 and 2. They were not fed. They were not allowed inside except to use the bathroom. The little ones did not get naps unless they fell asleep in the yard. Obviously she never watched my kids again. She didn’t watch any others either. Charges were filed, her certifications revoked and off she went to jail. I saw her a few years later and she acted like we were best friends, but then said “Hey you still owe me for the last 2 weeks of babysitting for you, it’s still on my books”………………..

What do pilots think when they are traveling on a plane as a passenger?

Interesting question. I’m a retired military pilot and when I travel as a passenger there are a few things I try to do:

I try to obtain a seat just forward of the wing, as that is typically where the center of lift is on an aircraft, and will be subject to less turbulence.
Once seated, I always make sure I know where the exit doors are and how many rows they are from me. I actually read the seat-back instructions on cockpit egress, especially how to open the cockpit doors. (To my surprise, usually the middle doors have to be opened, pulled into the inside of the airplane, twisted, and then thrown out the window.)
I remind myself that the crew on this flight are professionals and fully trained to operate the aircraft safely under all conditions. There is zero role for me to play in any capacity. Sit back, relax, and enjoy the flight.
On flights with internet service, I frequently will monitor weather conditions and flight routing. It is amazing what you can see about the US airspace on sites such as FlightRadar24, and weather radar on MyRadar. As a former pilot, I can usually quickly determine how weather might affect our flight. I’m constantly monitoring our flight progress.
If the inflight entertainment system allows it, I usually listen to the ATC broadcast. Something about the radio transmissions I find calming and yet informative. I recall once, flying into JFK, I was listening to approach control, and it was pretty clear there was a backup in traffic due to weather. Approach kept asking the pilot of our aircraft to reduce approach speed. At one point the controller said “American 234 reduce speed to 150 knots”, and the pilot answered “Unable”. I told my wife then, “we’re going around. The approach pattern is too crowded and they’re going to have to space out the aircraft”. Sure enough, a few seconds later I heard Approach say “American 234 climb and maintain 2500′ turn right to 120”…listening to that conversation and understanding it was kind of fun.

Otherwise, I’m just another passenger doing what passengers do. Reading a book, watching the inflight entertainment system, or taking a nap.

I will say that occasionally my seatmate will speak with me and find out that I used to be a Navy pilot, and I’m always asked “Could you land this plane in an emergency?” <sigh> I always try to reassure that person that the flight crew is very professional and such a scenario will never occur.

What’s the hardest truth of life?

My long-term girlfriend, who I and everyone else assumed I would marry, split up with me when I was 34. That was still young enough for me to find someone new, get married and start a family. But things did not go well for me: I was broken hearted for years, got really ill, struggled for money and regular employment.

By the time I had medical, economic and domestic stability, I was 44 years old. After a few initially promising relationships failed, I am now 50 years old.

Everything is different at this age and in the year 2024, people’s expectations of future partners are so high. As a middle aged adult, your social life is usually pretty narrow, it’s really hard to meet potential partners through normal social interactions. Dating apps are only good for the most attractive 10% of men.

Essentially, the horrible truth that I have realised is that when you break up with a significant partner in your 30s, it is very possible to never have a loving relationship ever again.

“The U.S Empire refuses to grow up” | Dr. Cornel West

What’s the most useless thing your significant other or spouse ever bought?

My husband once bought a hydrogen generator on eBay.

When it arrived, he was like a kid on Christmas.

Me: “What’s this?”

Husband: “Oh, it’s really cool! It’s a hydrogen generator!”

Me: “What’s it for?”

Husband: “It’s for making hydrogen, of course!”

Me: “But why?”

Husband: “It was really cheap. And it makes hydrogen!”

Husband spent a weekend rigging up the hydrogen generator with a bunch of gadgets, and the following weekend, he invited a couple of guys over to test it out.

When they were ready to try it out, my husband carried the hydrogen generator outside. Then he took a balloon and hooked it up to the machine before we all stepped back about ten feet away.

My husband pushed some buttons on the remote control, and we all watched as the balloon filled up with hydrogen, and then a lighter flicked on and lit the balloon. For a second, nothing happened.

Then there was a loud “POP!” as we watched the balloon burst into a giant ball of flames.

I swear, the three grown men giggled like grade school boys.

"The first sixty years in a little boy’s life are the most difficult."

What is the significance of building a high-level China-Africa community with a shared future?

Very significant.

Because it means that China does not expect the EU to allow the free import of Chinese products, China is giving up on Europe as a major destination market.

This means that China must open up to African products and agricultural goods, then invest in Africa for manufacturing. In the next stage, African markets will spring up, and they will buy Chinese products.

This cycle will take 30–40 years.

When will the United States’ long-arm jurisdiction in the South China Sea come to an end！Why do they always interfere in the internal affairs of other countries?

Why does USA interfere in other’s internal affairs?

There is only 1 motive for USA: money & power/dominance. It is modern-day colonisation.

1, money

Both US military industry (MIC) & Federal Reserve (FED) are private corporations run by capitalist sharks & not by (responsible) government who would focus on the welfare of the country eg economic development.

MIC makes tons of money thru wars & arms sales. They lobby US government to create wars in other countries. US politicians also make $$$ by buying MIC stocks or working as a MIC salesman to other country.

Another capitalist shark is FED who manipulates the US interest to suck in capitals from other country.

Wall Street shark will go into countries bankrupted by FED or ruined by MIC to make money & to to control other’s economy & thus govt.

See, if there is peace in the world, MIC, FED or Wall Street will create war somewhere so as to make money. Be it military war or monetary-financial war.

US senator L Graham accidentally told the truth: must win the Ukraine war because it is rich in minerals.

2, power/US dominance ie modern-day conlonisation

Control other’s government & make them a US puppet.

Then control other’s resources eg Ukraine’s minerals, Syria’s oil & rich agricultural land.

US wisdom

In 1961, the then pres D Eisenhower warned against the establishment of private MIC which will distort US politics & threaten democracy.

Many US pres eg J Kennedy, R Nixon & more fought with the FED but failed.

conclusion

USA wont not let world peace to happen. USA must create unrest/war thru its puppets eg Ukraine & Philippines.

War is in the DNA of USA.

Are capitalist sharks nice to Americans?

Every year, US taxpayers pay the interest of the US debts that is created as aids to war-torn country.

Capitalist sharks make tons of money from wars, but pay little tax to benefit USA. For instance, sharks wont maintain infrastructure, resulting in train derailment almost daily. Making USA look like a under-developed 3rd world. The list is long.

Shorpy

CHINA SHUTS DOWN All U.S. Manufacturing INDUSTRIES… & U.S. NEVER Realized!

I plan on joining the US Army once I finish high school. Army veterans, any advice or little things I should know?

“I plan on joining the US Army once I finish high school. Army veterans, any advice or little things I should know?”

I’m going to give you answer you’re probably not expecting, but here it goes.

I cannot stress this one enough: Make sure you are in shape before you ship out. I could’ve stood to have done a few more pushups and two mile runs before I shipped out and while I did okay, make your life easier and exceed the standard before you ship.

Do not take anything personal in the Army.

I’m serious. The punishments will happen, you will get yelled at no matter what you do, and people, for one reason or another, will hate you. You don’t have to do anything to make them hate you, you just have to exist. Do what your rank can handle and move on.

Don’t think.

The amount of times my intelligence was insulted in the Army must number somewhere in the thousands. The Army has as prescribed way of doing things and nothing’s changing for anyone, you included. If you have an idea, just keep your mouth shut. The Army asks for ideas on improvement all of the time, and when they get them they ignore them. Don’t waste your breath. A decision has already been made and you weren’t apart of it.

Do not think or use common sense. That was my problem. It drove me insane. Instead, just relish in the fact you get paid to participate in the big circus the 1st and 15th each month. And, if you stick around long enough, you can retire from the big circus.

Mandatory fun isn’t fun.

You’d think fun is just fun, but when your battalion commander has an ‘org day’ (organizational day) on Saturday, just one of two days where you can be free from the BS, and 1SG says ‘it’s voluntary, but you will be there’, then the fun becomes ‘mandatory fun’. In other words, ‘burn my eyes out with a candle’ boring.

“You WILL eat a cheeseburger, you WILL have a soft drink, and you WILL have fun, HOOAH?”

Don’t drink and drive.

Sounds like common sense, doesn’t it? Many soldiers have none.

main qimg 21d255a6d181180c768a7e8acadb3302 lq

This was a DUI that happened in my unit in 2019. Two infantry Soldiers. One is dead. The other survived but had to have his leg amputated because it was mangled so badly. 0200 drunk driving, his sedan versus a parked Stryker. Guess who won? The Stryker.

His vehicle was put on display in front of his company by the unit’s battalion commander as a display of ‘failure of leadership.’ That wasn’t a failure of leadership. It was a Soldier who made many poor decisions in one night. He made his bed, and he was forced to lay in it. Sometimes the blame belongs directly on the Joe, not Joe’s NCO.

Don’t be that moron who drives drunk. Please.

Look, I feel like you are entitled to a peek at a world you will soon be apart of. This isn’t to deter you from joining, but rather prepare you. The Army is a real place with real people, and as glamorous as Hollywood might make our military appear, I assure you it’s not all that glamorous. Don’t be disillusioned. Many are for that exact reason.

Good luck!

Is it better to work longer for more money or to retire?

It depends on the individual’s needs, aspirations, and missions. For some, life is not enough to finish the bucket list, and for others, life is too long to do nothing.

One of my classmates is brighter than me, and he and I started jobs at the same level. He was one of the most content people in my life. He retired at the same level in the small city.

His mission was to live within minimal means, and he retired from the same job in his hometown for 18 years. He preferred to live the life of a hermit and moved to Canada after working for a few years in the same company in India. In contrast, I have worked in almost two careers, two in Canada.

For him, he was satisfied with his life, and I never stopped working. Still, the battle is on. My list kept extending, and I found this world too small. I want to work relentlessly. I hope to work until the last breath.

Some are happy with flowers, and some are unhappy even with a whole garden.

Every day is precious to me, and I may not even be reincarnated as a human in the next life; therefore, human life is an excellent gift from God, and I want to work until the end.

He is not wrong with his decision, and I am not mistaken.

Retiring and not retiring is a personal decision.

I hope it helps.

What is the reason for the United States’ fear of China and their military power? How did China become more advanced than the US in terms of military power?

It is true that China is really very very strong militarily and worst most of their strength is hidden away and if you were to fight China there will be many many surprises waiting for you!

But that is not the reason for your paranoid of China. It is your politicians and your media. Demonising of China that condition you into this paranoia! You fear because they want you to fear China instead of knowing your own failures.

But the truth is China don’t want a war or any war. China prefers to leave you doing your things as what you do is really hurting yourself anyway so why change you! Chinese believed the best way to win a war is to never have to fight a war in the first place. Moreover a dead country cannot help China! Or a destroyed country cannot buy their stuffs!

If you truly grasp China you will not fear China at all. Unless you want to hurt them! Then yes you better fear them! You will meet more than your match. China will hit you as hard as you hit them if not more. But they really don’t want to do that unless you underestimated them and you pick a fight with them. They don’t want start a fight.

Smart and intelligent people don’t want to fight they will find a way to beat you without a fight. The will out wit you, out sell you, out innovate you, out perform you, our earn you and out invest you till you depends on them and you cannot do without them. That is China!

An immature barbaric nation with no other capabilities other than fighting and war mongering thinks that fighting wars is the answer to everything that is why the US is at war 238 out of 248 years of its existence! And is it helping the US. Is it winning? It had a perfect start in 1945 when the rest of the world fought 2 world wars and lost everything but yet in 80 years the US is almost dilapidated, broke and unsustainable! Owing 35 trillion dollars and adding another trillion every 100 days! That is the USA!

Patsy Parisi – The Sopranos

Which armies showed the least mercy to their enemies?

The Assyrian army was infamous for its extreme cruelty and brutality.

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Such was its reputation that cities they marched on would surrender without a fight because people knew that if you lost, which you probably would, you’d be absolutely savaged.

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Wrote Ashurnasirpal of his treatment of a captured city:

“I built a pillar over against his city gate, and I flayed all the chief men who had revolted, and I covered the pillar with their skins; some I walled up within the pillar, some I impaled upon the pillar on stakes, . . . and I cut off the limbs of the officers, of the royal officers who had rebelled. . . . Many captives from among them I burned with fire, and many I took as living captives. From some I cut off their hands and their fingers, and from others I cut off their noses, their ears, and their fingers(?), of many I put out the eyes. I made one pillar of the living, and another of heads, and I bound their heads to posts (tree trunks) round about the city. Their young men and maidens I burned in the fire . . . Twenty men I captured alive and I immured them in the wall of his palace. . . . The rest of them [their warriors] I consumed with thirst in the desert of the Euphrates.”—Ancient Records of Assyria and Babylonia, by D. D. Luckenbill, 1926

Assyrian reliefs show captured prisoners being impaled en masse, flayed alive, having their tongues pulled out, ears and noses cut off, eyes poked out at spearpoint, and hooks forced through their jaws.

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Can a cop really give you a DUI for sleeping in your car while intoxicated?

One night after a long evening out with friends, I found myself in a tricky situation. I had a bit too much to drink, and I knew better than to get behind the wheel. So, I did what I thought was the responsible thing—I decided to sleep it off in my car. Parked it in a quiet lot, reclined the seat, and figured I’d be fine by morning.

But of course, life has a way of throwing you curveballs.

Around 3 AM, I woke up to the sight of flashing red and blue lights in my rearview mirror. My heart dropped. A cop was walking up to my window, and all I could think was, “Oh no, I’m about to get a DUI for just sleeping in my car!” I rolled down the window, still groggy, and tried to act as calm as possible.

The officer asked me what I was doing there, and I explained that I had been drinking earlier and didn’t feel safe driving, so I decided to sleep it off. I made sure to tell him that the car was off and the keys were stashed away in the glove compartment—not in the ignition or anywhere near me. I’d heard that keeping the keys out of your reach can sometimes make a difference in these situations, and luckily, it seemed to work in my favor.

The cop gave me a long look, probably sizing up the situation, and then asked me to step out of the car. At this point, I’m thinking, This is it. I’m getting arrested. But instead of cuffing me or giving me a DUI, he said something I’ll never forget: “You did the right thing by not driving. But next time, find somewhere safer to sleep.”

Turns out, because I wasn’t actively driving and had no intention of doing so while intoxicated, the officer decided not to charge me with a DUI. I think what really helped was being honest, cooperative, and making sure the keys were out of sight. After a quick chat, he actually let me go, reminding me to be more careful about where I park next time, and to maybe look for a friend’s couch instead of my car.

So, yes, a cop can technically charge you with a DUI even if you’re just sleeping in your car while drunk. But in my case, taking a few extra precautions—like stashing the keys and not being behind the wheel—helped me avoid that fate. It was a close call, but a huge lesson in how to handle those moments when you’re trying to do the right thing.

What’s the dumbest case you’ve ever had on jury duty?

It was a large drug sweep. Police had been watching a street dealer and his crew for over a week from a nearby apartment. On the day they finally decided to make the arrests, they blockaded the entire street from end to end and literally arrested every person on the block.

All of them.

Little old ladies sitting on their front porch? Arrested.

Someone driving by in a vehicle? Arrested.

Some guy walking his dog? Arrested.

The store owner sweeping his sidewalk on the corner? Arrested.

It was an arrest later and invent charges later scenario.

From what we were told, around a dozen dealers, lookouts, runners and various gang members were given plea deals as they were found carrying drugs or weapons and most had priors or even current warrants for previous charges. Basically everyone who was obviously guilty took deals and there was nothing to argue over for them.

The old lady, the store owner and a couple of others that the police couldn’t think of what charges to bring against them were released after 48 hours sitting in jail. This had happened a couple months prior, but we were given play by play details of the entire situation as if it was supposed to impress us, even though all it did was make the police sound incompetent.

What was brought before us as a jury were two defendants who happened to be driving past in a vehicle. They were not found with any drugs or weapons. They were arrested for having a few hundred dollars in cash on them and the charges were various “intent to purchase” and “intent to distribute” based on being in a vehicle with money on a street that happened to have drug dealers on it. It was about half a dozen rewordings at various degrees that we were expected to choose between to convict.

During testimony the police could not identify either of the defendants as having interacted with any of the dealers or the street gang at all. Two officers even gave completely inaccurate descriptions of the vehicle, not even agreeing on the number of doors or the color. One said it was a hatchback (it wasn’t) the other said it was a two door sports car (it was a 4 door sedan).

The police spent hours telling us about how they had watched the dealers, how much drugs they had seized, how many weapons they found. And not one single word of evidence that had anything to do with the two defendants in front of us other than: they were in a car nearby that day so we took their money.

The prosecutor even called some of the street gang as witnesses to admit that they were dealing drugs that day and that they had agreed to a plea deal. The defense only asked them a single question each: Did you sell drugs to my clients? No.

None of them had anything to say about the defendants.

The two defendants decided to testify on their own behalf. They had just purchased a used vehicle for cash and were driving home with a little bit of money left over. They still had the receipt from the used car lot on them, it was in the police evidence and the date was the morning of the arrest.

The prosecution spent 2 and half days parading cop after cop and gang member after gang member in front of us to tell us all about the drug operation and how many people they had gotten to take plea deals. And in 2 and half days no one could identify the defendants as having done anything illegal, they just drove past while having some cash in their pocket and the police wanted it.

It was the third day before lunch when the case was closed and we were sent to deliberations. The entire room just looked at each other and was like: do we even need to vote?

The decision was lets get one more free lunch out of this and then cast a vote. We went once around the room to make sure no one had any questions before delivering a not guilty on all counts for both defendants. The prosecutor had the balls to look shocked as if he actually expected to convict with no evidence against them.

This was around 1991 in a state known for its corruption in a city with trigger happy cops, the only shocking part was the arrests had been made without anyone getting killed. Other than that it was par for the course in that city at the time.

Police Escort Shootout Scene – Sicario: Day of the Soldado (2018)

What is the US government’s relationship with its Pacific allies, such as Japan, Philippines, and Vietnam?

Since defeated in WW2, Japan is a US colony who has no strategic sovereignty.

Philippines

PH was once colonised by USA. After PH became independent & USA left PH, USA has set up a network in PH. Hence, PH under some pres are neither pro-USA or anti-USA. But some PH pres such as Marcos are 100+1% pro-USA. As a result, PH under Marcos is just a US puppet & has no strategic sovereignty either, just like Japan.

Hence, we see Marcos does not mind to lead PH to war with China for the interest of USA. But at the expense of PH & Filipinos.

Normally when we see a pres willing to sacrifice its country & people, normally it has something to do with money, money, money.

Vietnam

It is half-half. Sometime pro-USA & sometimes pro-China. North Vietnam is more communist & pro-China.

South is more pro-USA because USA set up a base in the south during Vietnam war. Hence, we see South is more corrupted.

North is well aware that USA wants to overthrow the communist party & then make Vietnam a US puppet.

Both Russia & China have some influence on Vietnam. After all, all 3 were communist comrades before.

all 3

Japan has no choice after WW2. Both Vietnam have a choice. It all depends on the wisdom of the leader. So far Vietnam has shown some wisdom. PH’s Marcos has not.

Have Russia and China developed a new generation of hypersonic missiles that can evade anti-missile defense systems?

As far as I know the Russian missiles go straight in. But they’re fast. Despite what the US says, the Russians have proven that the Patriot is not equipped to shoot down the Kinzhal and Zircon missiles.

The Chinese missiles are on another level.

They come in at Mach 10 and Mach 18 for the DF-21 and DF-26 missiles. And they evade as they come in. They can see. It’s a new class of weapons that the US has named as ASBMs (anti-ship ballistic missiles).

These can also hit land targets.

Then China went up another level with hypersonic wave riders. They don’t come in high at all. Their terminal phase is like a cruise missile at Mach 12. The DF-27 is the second generation missile with a range of 5,000 miles.

The DF-17 is their first generation Wave Rider at 1,100 miles and terminal at Mach 10.

This is what China has shown.

So it is likely they have a better missile to surprise enemies with. At least that has been their MO.

Which is the iconic photo ever taken in human history?

The photos of Sophie Scholl taken right before he execution of the Nazis in 1943 really gets to me. She knows her days are numbered, she’s only 21 years old and the portable guillotine that will soon behead her is already brought in. And yet she looks like a defiant punk rocker with her short hairstyle. She laughs in the face of unavoidably certain death.

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Scholl, together with her brother who’d be executed alongside her, had been leaving leaflets in books. Leaflets against her own government. That was her “crime” — little notes. Unbelievably poignant, to-the-point and powerful little pieces of writing. Her final words are worth reading even today:

“The real damage is done by those millions who want to ‘survive.’ The honest men who just want to be left in peace. Those who don’t want their little lives disturbed by anything bigger than themselves. Those with no sides and no causes. Those who won’t take measure of their own strength, for fear of antagonizing their own weakness. Those who don’t like to make waves—or enemies. Those for whom freedom, honour, truth, and principles are only literature. Those who live small, mate small, die small. It’s the reductionist approach to life: if you keep it small, you’ll keep it under control. If you don’t make any noise, the bogeyman won’t find you. But it’s all an illusion, because they die too, those people who roll up their spirits into tiny little balls so as to be safe. Safe?! From what? Life is always on the edge of death; narrow streets lead to the same place as wide avenues, and a little candle burns itself out just like a flaming torch does. I choose my own way to burn.”

“A little candle burns itself out just like a flaming torch does. I choose my own way to burn.” Powerful. Incredibly powerful. This is the sort of thing worth reading. I just woke up and wanted to share it here because it moved me. Did something to me. Stirred the soul, and it’ll stir yours, too.

Scholl’s words ring as true in the year 2024 as they did 81 years ago when she penned them down — too many of us are, indeed, living small and unremarkable lives, scared not to “rock the boat”, trying to avoid trouble. Few of us have the moral and physical bravery to put it all on the line for a higher purpose.

As a police officer, what do you think of vice laws?

The worst assignment I ever had was Vice. My squad worked exclusively on Pedophiles and Human trafficking. It was horrific. Imagine having to watch videos of children being raped over and over and over for hours looking for a face reflected in a window or any clues as to who/where it was happening. Our saviors were oddly enough the US Postal Inspectors. Read this to the end and I guarantee you will find it interesting. Bookies. Prostitutes. Informants. The Chicago Mob aka “The Outfit” and some horrible things I wouldn’t dare graphicly describe because I don’t want it in your head. I wish I could get it out of mine. Anyway…

One Postal Inspector in particular I worked with often could in one glance tell if they were photos and videos that had already resulted in an arrest or if it was a new victim. I had absolutely no idea Postal Inspectors were the absolute experts in the field. They could identify victims at a glance and tell me “That was a 9 month old baby named Mary from Austin Texas. The perp was her stepfather and he was put away 3 years ago for life”. One look. Very rarely did I bring them evidence that they weren’t familiar with and could recite case details with no notes.

I could hand that toxic waste over to them and give them 3 minutes to tell me everything I needed to know about the case without having to watch it or examine it closely. They’re the unsung heroes of Vice.

It was in Vice I learned not to arrest the Prostitutes but work with them for information and to be full time informants. Prostitutes know everyone and everything going on in the street. I never met one that wasn’t doing it to support a drug habit. They were almost all victims of childhood abuse themselves.

They had a hard life. Locking them up solved nothing and served no purpose. They were victims of every crime you could imagine and just trying to make it another day. They helped me solve so many cases and even more importantly let me know who was who and what was up on the street. That inside info on the criminal underbelly of the city was absolutely priceless. One of the main reasons I made Detective. Nobody can read the street better than a prostitute. They knew everyone and what they were doing or not doing. Where they lived. Real name. Who they ran with. Where their baby mamas lived and where they laid their head at night. I made many arrests from their information.

Conversely I would also get calls from them at 4 am from the City Jail and have to get out of bed and go down and squash the arrest and walk them out the back door….drive them home. They all kept me safe and in the know and I kept them from having to be locked up several times a year (which did absolutely nothing to help society). My informants had my number to call 24/7 to give me info or to void an arrest from a dick head Cop that would lock them up even after knowing they were my informant. We didn’t allow them in residential or tourist areas for the most part unless they really blended in and or there weren’t too many (thus causing calls to the Bosses from civilians). It was symbiotic. You can’t stop it. You can control it to a degree and work with them. I was far more carrot than stick in these types of things.

As far as Vice Laws? You will never get rid of gambling and other vice. We just kept things in check and the “shit to shoe level” as we used to say. Kept it under control and out of sight. You can run your secret Poker club speakeasy style in some hidden basement club but if you got too out of control and we began hearing about problems it was causing we stepped in. No need to bust every bookie in every bar. If they start breaking legs and causing problems then we act.

Thus bookies and Policy racketeers (basically a non official lottery) in St Louis wouldn’t fold your leg over and stuff it in your back pocket if you couldn’t pay up the vig. They just cut you off and let the other bookies know never to take your action again. Problem solved. No violence. No Cops. No hassles. Just working guys putting some money on the game.

I also knew the no shit Chicago Mobs (The Outfit) Cappo’s that ran St Louis and would come to them if one of their “interests” was causing problems and they would take care of it. They had hung out in a nondescript “club” on the St Louis waterfront in a industrial area where no civilian would ever go. I discovered it on Patrol as a Rookie when I noticed expensive cars outside a small building with no windows (and these cars were NEVER touched in an area where cars were broken into and stolen by the dozen a day).

Curious I knocked, was invited in and found a cozy bar/steakhouse with guys that may as well have had “Mafia” tattooed on their forehead. I knew instantly this was far above my paygrade and instead introduced myself, shook hands and met everyone.

We all knew who was who and what was what instantly and the atmosphere between us was cordial and professional. They said I was the first Cop in living memory to wander in there (probably because I was too dumb to know better being a freshly minted Patrolman still on Probation).

Now I knew that The Outfit ran a lot of Vice in STL even as a Rookie Patrolman. I asked if it would be acceptable if I had any issues with their “concerns” to come and speak to them. We both saw the value of staying out of each other’s way and they acquiesced politely. That relationship paid off over the years when I needed to locate a shitbum or fugitive, or if I saw things getting out of hand. They were like the unofficial Police for bad guys. They could locate and deliver ANY criminal in hours, not days and did me many solid favors without ever asking for the slightest favor from me whatsoever.

The Outfit liked to keep things smooth, quiet and profitable. If they ever hurt anyone I never heard about it. All the drama happened up North in Chicago as St Louis was like an outpost of their operation. They did have a HUGE war in St Louis in the 1970’s fought with car bombs. We “St Louis Metro Police” literally crushed them and they learned to keep their business nonviolent and out of sight. That whole crew I met worked for John “Johnny Apes” Monteleone whom I met several times. He was a stone cold killer but exceptionally amenable to working with Police to keep St Louis “quiet”.

He was a capo (some say Lieutenant which is wrong) for the big Boss of The Outfit, Angelo “The Hook” LaPietra who…thank God I never met. He was a psychopath and serial killer. He got his nickname from his early days as a Mob hit man by hanging his victims on meat hooks before murdering them. I don’t think he knew his guys liaised with Police because we were so far out of his orbit in Chicago. He is pictured below. Everyone of them were terrified by this guy. He killed many many people and ordered the deaths of hundreds of others. Luckily all that stayed up in Chicago. St Louis was a place they made money. Chicago and Las Vegas was where they made bodies.

LaPietra died a few years later and was replaced by Outfit boss Albert Tocco. Pictured below. My goal was to avert violence and keep things uneventful in St Louis. Luckily we were on the same page and had converging interests in suppressing random violent criminals who were bad for “us” both. I was told he knew his St Louis crew had Police contact. I have no idea if he knew it was me but i would doubt it. St Louis may as well have been on another planet. Just a franchise of the main corporation.

His people were even more amenable to my “suggestions” on who they needed to speak to and reign in. I’m sure several local unaffiliated thugs caught a beating after our talks which squashed a lot of tit for tat murders. Later (years later) as a Detective on task forces I was shown pictures of me (taken from a hidden “pole cam” ) walking in and out of the clubhouse and advised (unofficially friend to friend) they had the whole place wired and investigated me for corruption. They later cleared me when the tapes showed I wasn’t dirty. I should also add only my permanent partner (and the FBI apparently) knew I had these contacts which I used to get information on criminals that weren’t “connected”.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Angelo_J._LaPietra

There’s Vice and then there’s VICE. I had to weigh what I called the “totality of circumstances”. If the “State” is the only victim and there was no violence or outrageous behavior causing problems to regular civilians I usually gave them a pass with the proviso that they now owe me and must supply me info on “real crime” when asked. I had more favors owed on the street than leaves on the trees in Forest Park….and if I gave you MY marker I made good. My word was my bond.

*Edited for grammar and punctuation (I wrote this at midnight here in France which is the time I get most work done but if I go too late my typing gets a bit sketchy). Let me take this opportunity to thank you all for the nice comments and words of encouragement. I appreciate all of you, my fellow Quorans. As I have said before, the comment section to which you contribute is always the best part of my writing. Thank you and feel free to ask if I missed anything or you’re curious/want more detail. I don’t say that to drive engagement but because I find the follow up questions and your takes on what I write very interesting.

One last thing. I am writing a manuscript for a book now which is a long time coming but I have been lazy and enjoying retirement. I hate when people beg for up votes or likes but I’m using my Quora posts over the last 11 years as the bones for the book and the view count and up votes are my guide to what people want to hear about and what should be left out. If you want to see this in the book or think it should be in then go ahead and throw a like on there. It has proved a reliable way so far to decide what goes in and what dosen’t.

Again, thank you all.

Which countries support the Philippines in the South China Sea dispute? Has China really done something wrong this time?

Nobody

The US seems to realize that Taiwanese are not gonna declare Independence anytime soon and risk war

They are after all Chinese and they have that Chinese thinking and mindset about the damages that a war can do

So they are now going and goading the Philippines

Unfortunately that’s backfiring too

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Bong Bong may be shameless lackey, but the Philippine establishment and Army and Business Community are all absolutely hell bent against any escalation with China

Ultimately it’s all Geography

Just like South American Nations would always be under the US Shadow
ASEAN nations will always be under the Chinese Shadow
Indian Ocean Nations will always be under the Indian Shadow

They can’t take on the Alpha country and prosper

Philippines can’t take on China and survive

Even with all the US Support, they would be crunched like a Cola Can

Nobody supports Philippines

They want escalation to end and most of the Nations are prepared for peace

Many Nations are ready to make decisions on disputed territories with China even

Full Metal Jacket | Patrol Under Sniper Fire

Vladimir Putin Does Not Make Empty Threats

It became obvious from the leak that any such deployment, aiming and firing of such a weapon can not happen without the participation of staff from the country that donated the weapon.

This also applies to the U.S. ATAMCS missiles, to the French/British SCALP/Storm Shadow missiles just as it would apply to the German Taurus cruse missile:

Gerhartz, [commander of the Luftwaffe], and his subordinates discussed how much Taurus training and support Germany might need to provide if Taurus missiles were sent to Ukraine, and whether this would include targeting and programming information.
…
Gerhartz said: ″When it comes to mission planning, for example, I know how the British do it, they do it completely in reachback [i.e. with support from people who are not forward-deployed]. They also have a few people on the ground, they do that, the French don’t. So, they also QC the Ukrainians when loading the SCALP, because Storm Shadow and SCALPS are relatively similar from a purely technical point of view. They’ve already told me that, yes, for God’s sake, they would also look over the shoulders of the Ukrainians when loading the Taurus.

The U.S. is currently discussing (archived) to allow Ukraine to use of long range weapons against targets within Russia, that is beyond targets on Ukrainian and former Ukrainian ground.

This would be qualitative transformation of the war in Ukraine into a NATO war with Russia.

The Russian President Vladimir Putin made this unequivocally clear.

Answer to a media question, September 12 2024, Kremlin.ru

Question: Over the past few days, we have been hearing statements at a very high level in the UK and the United States that the Kiev regime will be allowed to strike targets deep inside Russia using Western long-range weapons. Apparently, this decision is either about to be made, or has already been made, as far as we can see. This is actually quite extraordinary. Could you comment on what is going on?President of Russia Vladimir Putin:
…
[T]he Ukrainian army is not capable of using cutting-edge high-precision long-range systems supplied by the West. They cannot do that. These weapons are impossible to employ without intelligence data from satellites which Ukraine does not have. This can only be done using the European Union’s satellites, or US satellites – in general, NATO satellites. This is the first point.

The second point – perhaps the most important, the key point even – is that only NATO military personnel can assign flight missions to these missile systems. Ukrainian servicemen cannot do this.

Therefore, it is not a question of allowing the Ukrainian regime to strike Russia with these weapons or not. It is about deciding whether NATO countries become directly involved in the military conflict or not.

If this decision is made, it will mean nothing short of direct involvement – it will mean that NATO countries, the United States, and European countries are parties to the war in Ukraine. This will mean their direct involvement in the conflict, and it will clearly change the very essence, the very nature of the conflict dramatically.

This will mean that NATO countries – the United States and European countries – are at war with Russia. And if this is the case, then, bearing in mind the change in the essence of the conflict, we will make appropriate decisions in response to the threats that will be posed to us.

Russia has many means to respond to such threats. This includes direct fire on targets within France, the UK and the U.S. itself.

Vladimir Putin is not known for making empty threats.

Posted by b at 7:28 UTC | Comments (18)

British Navy Shadows Russian Submarine in English Channel as Four Russian Vessels Enter UK Waters

NewsDesk World September 13, 2024

The British Royal Navy and Royal Air Force (RAF) followed multiple Russian ships and submarines through the English Channel this week at a time of heightened tension over British involvement in the Russia-Ukraine conflict.

HMS Iron Duke and HMS Tyne have tracked four Russian vessels through United Kingdom (UK) waters in recent days as RAF jets intercepted a Russian strategic bomber on Wednesday.

The Navy’s warships shadowed the Russian advances to ‘protect national security’ as four vessels sailed through the English Channel and the North Sea.

Two RAF Typhoons were also scrambled from RAF Lossiemouth on Wednesday, supported by a Voyager from RAF Brize Norton, to intercept Russian Bear-F aircraft.

The developments come at a point of heightened tension between Russia and Britain over Moscow’s ongoing war in Ukraine and Britain’s backing of Kiev – with former President Dmitry Medvedev threatening to ‘sink’ Britain in remarks he made earlier this week.

Medvedev Remarks

At a Press Conference earlier this week, British Foreign Secretary David Lammy said there could be a “100-year partnership” to support Ukraine with by United Kingdom.

Hearing those remarks Deputy Chairman of the Russian Federation Council (Their version of a Senate) said:

“1) He’s lying. 2) The so-called Ukraine will not last even a quarter of this period. 3) An island called Britain is likely to sink in the next few years. If necessary, our hypersonic missiles will help” Medvedev wrote on the social network X.

After Getting A Ring My Fiancée And Her “Coven” Thought They Could Deeply Disrespect Me, Instead…

Echoes

Submitted into Contest #247 in response to: Set your story on a spaceship exploring the far reaches of space when something goes wrong.… view prompt

Carolyn Neal

This story contains themes or mentions of physical violence, gore, or abuse.

The event horizon is the most terrifying and mesmerizing location in the universe. The one belonging to Navier-11, located just a few months’ trip from the nearest outpost, was to be avoided at all costs under normal circumstances. The supermassive blackhole had a consumption rate comparable to the next three largest combined. There were always murmurs of it being linked to the beginning, a forever echo of the unzipping of the universe, slowly making its way towards zipping all matter back up. There was even a religion tied to it, the Singularity. It’s really no wonder it took so long to recruit enough people to participate in the mission that brought them right on the precipice of Navier-11’s destructive force.Captain Ava Ramirez had to admit that the crew of the Argo was a bit peculiar. It wasn’t surprising for a group of scientists and engineers willing to throw charged particles into the most powerful body in the universe and then try to catch any positrons thrown back with a giant net of energy. At least, that was the best she could make of the procedure, it really wasn’t her area of expertise. She could appreciate the complex beauty of the experiment, however. She watched with everyone else in wonderment the first time they fired materials and saw them travel and disappear into the swirling abyss, distorting and stretching into seemingly nothing surprisingly fast. It took only minutes for a probe to get a positive identification of collected positrons that netted a jovial response from the entire ship.Ava floated beside Dr. Marcus Langley, the mission’s lead astrophysicist, as he called out the first readings. And then he stuck his hand out to shake hers.“I didn’t do any of this,” She said but took it anyway.“You got us here. Let me buy you a beer when we get back.” His smile transformed his usually gruff face into someone much younger. The exceptional symptom of an energetic hope that filled the craft now.The implications of their mission did not escape Ava, despite how lost she felt listening to the science team rattle off theories. If they could reliably collect energy off of Navier-11, they would have untapped an endless source of power. Something people still killed for in every reach of space humanity had populated. Something Ava herself had gone to war for in the name of survival.It was a relief to think those days would be behind them now. That peace was waiting just ahead of them.“You killed me.”Ava was startled awake by Lieutenant Chen, her navigation officer, who hovered over her sleeping compartment with wide eyes and a blood-drained face. “Lt. Chen, what are–”“You killed me and then ejected my body.” The small woman said, looking as if she would vomit.“You’re right here,” Ava unfastened herself and hoisted out of the compartment.“No!” Chen pushed away, propelling herself into the far wall before grabbing to hold herself there, petrified.“What is going on? Did you take something?”That was when Ava noticed the scissors in her hand.“What is going on here?” Marcus entered the dark area, flipping the lights on to the collective groans of several other crewmembers.“She killed me!” Chen thrust the scissors in Ava’s direction, “She did it, she killed me! I saw it!”“Hallucinations?” Marcus shot Ava a concerned look.Before Ava could call for the physician, something swept from the corner of her vision, a shimmering transparent apparition of a man. Not just any man, however, but Marcus. It moved between them like a shadow, traveling straight through Marcus without disturbance.“See?” Chen let loose of the scissors as they all watched the figure pass, heading towards the labs.“What the hell was that?” One of the engineers demanded as everyone began to congregate in the area. The apparition stopped, shook, and then dissipated into nothing.“What in the universe…” Ava forced herself to breathe again and looked to Marcus for a voice of reason. His face was deathly pale, his eyes locked still to the location his ghost had disappeared from.Over the next few days, the phenomenon intensified. Crewmembers reported seeing apparitions of every member of the ship, some able to identify them as echoes of past events, others unfamiliar. None quite as concerning as Chen’s assertion that Captain Ramirez’s ghost had murdered her own, however. Marcus tried to assure her that it was probably a fluke, information added to Lt. Chen’s mind from the shock of seeing her own doppelganger.

“What do they want?” She asked Marcus one night as they discussed the ship’s location for the next probe. Another specter had manifested beside them, a whispered image of Lt. Chen, seemingly scanning the charting hub just as they were, working calmly.

“I don’t think they want anything, actually,” Marcus said, waving his arm through the phantom. His weathered hand swept through to no effect and the vision continued its work silently. “They don’t appear to notice us at all. I tried talking to myself-”

“More than usual?”

“Ha, don’t act like you aren’t holding full conversations with yourself late nights on the bridge. No, my ghost, I tried communicating, getting its attention. Nothing. It just did everything I would do on a normal day.”

“So, they’re just us? Like an alternate reality or projections of our minds?”

“Memories.”

“Memories?”

“Of the past and future, pieces of us throughout our existence here.” His eyes went to the viewport, locked on the glowing edge of the accretion disc. The Lt. Chen figure pressed a hand to her chest and looked up a moment before blinking back to nothing.

“How?” Was all Ava could think to ask.

“Our probes, maybe.” He shrugged and shook his head, looking back down to the screen in front of them. “We’ve shouted into the void. It doesn’t answer. Perhaps it only echoes.”

The work continued despite everything, but the stress of events was starting to wear them all down. Meals were dominated by talk of the apparitions, theories on their appearance, and, eventually, superstition. It was unusual, coming from this group of all people, but Ava supposed it was where even the greatest of minds could go when it couldn’t reason out the reality around it.

“It’s a warning, we’re not supposed to be here,” One young scientist told a small group as they huddled around their instruments.

Ava was visiting with Marcus in the lab to determine his timeline for the project. They were luckily on the same page of “the sooner, the better” at this point.

“They have been talking like that since yesterday,” Marcus said in a low voice, “I even heard one mention something about god.”

“This is concerning. What if they start worshiping it like those Singularity weirdos?” Ava said.

Marcus shook his head, but the crease between his brows got deeper. “It won’t come to that. These aren’t scrappers and tunnel workers we’re talking about.”

“My family were scrappers, Marc. Most of my crew is from the colonies.”

“You know what I mean…”

Everyone went quiet again as several specters blinked into existence at each of the instruments, imposing themselves over and through all the solid bodies currently manning them. The doppelgangers worked in a panic, their hands flying over keys and buttons desperately, their eyes terrified and mouths open, yelling soundlessly.

“Shit, what are they on about?” Ava asked.

“Something’s malfunctioning…”

The visions dissolved as quickly as they arrived, leaving the shocked faces of their solid versions in their place, one with his hands clasped together and head bowed.

Ava shivered at the cold dread prickling up her spine.

Marcus placed a hand on her shoulder. “One more collection. Then we leave.”

“Agreed.”

The next day, Ava was on the bridge, leading the movements of the Argo as they collected all the probes and batteries to prepare for their departure. Each one took a considerable amount of time to dock and secure, with special consideration to the volatile nature of the capsules containing the energy collected. Ava took the opportunity to admire Navier-11 one last time.

There was a lot about this mission that Captain Ramirez did not understand. But Navier-11, she understood. She agonized over its effects on her ship for an entire year of prepping before this inevitable week of proximity to the blackhole.

To approach it was to approach a cosmic abyss—a realm where the laws of physics strained and distorted, and light itself bent to the will of unimaginable gravity. It was darkness—a voracious void swallowing light and warmth, only an eerie absence left in its wake.

The event horizon, that invisible boundary beyond which nothing can escape, was a sinister veil, shimmering with an ominous energy. Beyond it, the accretion disk, a swirling maelstrom of matter and energy spiraling inexorably toward its center. It glows with a hellish radiance, piercing even through the shielding filters, illuminated by the frictional forces tearing it apart.

And then the singularity—a point of infinite density and zero volume, where the laws of physics broke down. A cosmic crucible that saw matter and energy consumed without mercy, where the very fabric of space-time was warped and twisted beyond recognition.

Navier-11 was all of this on such a massive and incomprehensible scale. She was an inevitability, a reminder of their insignificance along the universal path toward entropy. A glimpse into an abyss that was all at once nothing and the heart of existence itself.

In a way, she knew she would miss this view, but staring at it from the Captain’s chair now, Ava could feel only unsettled.

“Uh, Captain, we have a problem,” Marcus’s voice buzzed over the intercom.

“What is it?”

A siren blared and the red warning lights flashed, indicating a fire.

Ava cursed and pulled up the layout on her console. “Status?”

“Something in the cargo bay,” Her security officer replied.

An apparition shimmered into existence, just beyond the instruments, staring out the viewport. It was Ava, her hands clasped behind her, her hair floating around her, loose from her usual bun, clothes tattered and burnt. Blood bubbled into the air from an arm wound.

“Glory to the Singularity!”

Before she could find who had shouted, another apparition swept through her quickly, like a shadow flowing through her vision. She whipped around to watch it as it ran a few more feet with a raised fist before slamming it down and disappearing. She stood just as another ran through again, repeating the action, but saw that it was Lt. Chen and she held something in her fist. Another came a beat later, and then another, falling into an accelerated succession.

She stepped away from her chair. Similar projections were crowded around the room, overlapping each other in a chaotic scene of palpable panic from hundreds of semi-transparent figures crowding the bridge. Lt. Chens came at her still, crowded over each other, rushing through her until they were nearly one until finally the real Lt. Chen was rushing at her, just on the tail of the last mirage. Raised in her fist was a pair of shears, her eyes shone with desperate fear.

Ava kicked off of her chair making distance as she floated backwards. Chen was atop her in a moment, however, and swung the makeshift blade directly for her chest. Ava grabbed a nearby console and pulled. The shears pierced into her upper arm as her body swung around. Chen slowed but kept floating until she made contact with the wall.

“Captain!” The security officer called, floating quickly towards her, but was promptly intercepted by a young engineer, who wrapped his limbs around him as they spun towards the large viewport. He held a sharp piece of metal to his neck.

“What mutiny is this?” Ava demanded, yelling over the insistent sirens.

“The Singularity,” Chen said, now facing her again, poised to push off in her direction. “We must join it. All must return to it. We must return everything.”

A paralyzing cold swept through Ava’s veins as the viewport went dark and she realized they were turning. Straight towards the heart of Navier-11. “You didn’t–”

Chen flew towards her again.

So much for peace. A switch flipped in her brain. The fight was fresh in her mind once more, the younger version of herself awakened for another war of survival.

Gritting her teeth, Ava pulled the sheers from her arm, blood trailing behind it. She turned it in her hand just as Chen grabbed her around the neck, her actions echoed by innumerable visions. Ava swung the blade around and drove it into her navigation officer’s carotid. She kicked the woman away, the shears tight in her grasp. Chen’s scream echoed and then curdled as blood floated through the air.

“Captain, the containers are unstable,” Marcus yelled through the intercom. “We have to release them!”

She pushed off the console back to her chair and watched as the entire cargo bay began flashing red on the screen. “Marcus, are you alright?”

“They are going crazy, I can’t even tell–”

He cut off. “Marc?”

“Ava,” He said after a beat, his voice now shaking. “I’m sorry, I… I owe you a beer.”

“What are you talking about, old man?”

He only laughed. The screen in front of her beeped, indicating an imminent emergency ejection of the cargo bay.

“Captain, we’re approaching the event horizon! T-minus three minutes, 13 seconds.”

Was that enough time to right? She couldn’t calculate it now. She pushed off towards the navigation console, slamming into it, but promptly overrode Chen’s locks and entered the new commands. The ship turned, its force and trajectory still taking them danger close to the edge of the horizon.

“No!” The Singularity engineer was coming for her, the security officer floating lifelessly behind him. His echoes dove straight to the console, slashing the makeshift blade violently. Ava pushed herself to the floor before using it to launch herself straight for him. She twisted the blade out of his hand as his body collided with the roof and then drove the scissors through his neck until she hit something solid.

“We’re still going to skim the horizon unless we can push off more!”

“The cargo release should do it!”

“How long?” Ava demanded, already pushing off in the direction of the cargo bay.

“Forty-six seconds!”

She flew out of the bridge, crashing into everything in her path before pushing on with all her might through several compartments, traveling through echo after echo.

When she made it to the cargo bay, it was indeed aflame, the hellish glow of the destruction mirroring that of the accretion disc. Several crewmembers were floating in front of it, hands raised in apparent worship.

“Captain,” Marcus called out to her near the cargo controls. He was bent over the console as if protecting it, though part of it had already sparked and caught fire as well. A large chunk of metal stuck from his back.

“Marc, we have to go,” She said as made it to him, testing the metal lodged into his flesh.

“I don’t think I can.”

“Bullshit.” She tore him away from the instruments to see the metal had pierced all the way through his chest. She cursed again but wrapped his arm around her shoulder and held him tight to her.

“Are we joining the Singularity?” The three members were now turned to her, looking almost identical to their shadows save for the framing of the flames behind them.

“Yes, just a few moments more.” She promised and shoved to the exit. The crewmembers cheered behind her.

“Soon we’ll be one again.”

A sickening gravity pulled them into the wall as she and Marcus reached the barrier point of the cargo bay. The engines of the ship rumbled audibly louder, fighting the pull of Navier-11.

As the seal to the bay zipped closed, the Singularity crew inside was crying with joy. A moment later, the compartment broke away and through the window of the hatch, they watched as it fell towards the event horizon and then exploded in a great billowing cloud of energy and light.

Silently, they made their way back through the ship as the pull disappeared. The echoes were sparse now, thinning to single occurrences per crew member left alive by the time they made it to the med bay.

Ava used the intercom from there to give a general announcement as Marcus was seen by the physician. “For any remaining who wish to join the Singularity, you are free to do so. Everything taken has been returned. You may leave through the airlock.”

Marcus was put under for a procedure and Ava sought to oversee the release of two additional living crew members out of the airlock. They thanked her, of all things, and shook her hand before following their echoes into the small space that preceded their demise. Ava personally placed Lt.Chen’s body beside the dead engineer inside.

She pressed the button from the bridge to jettison them away, bound for Singularity.

It was a melancholy relief, watching all that trouble fall away as she stood before the viewport. Navier-11 loomed beyond, ever powerful, ever inevitable.

“I don’t know whether or not you are God,” She spoke to her, “I do not know that I will live to see you unite or destroy all. I do know that before that time comes, we have to get on with it anyway, the best we can. Which means I’ll be back, after that old man buys my drink, and with better tools to take what my people need. As many times as is necessary to keep a fragile peace. As many times as it takes.”

“The void might echo for us, but humanity echoes too.”

Why can’t we see a lot of high-tech abroad compared to China? For example, robot food delivery and machine butler.

A. Low cost

China controls the entire supply chain for Personal Robots, Drones, Innovative Machines and manufactures them at low cost so that even a 40% profit renders them at least 60% cheaper than any equivalent in Europe or US

For instance a 15 Kilogram Capacity Delivery Drone retails for $ 2,900 in China but almost € 17,400 in Germany and $ 20,000 in USA

It costs the equivalent of $ 38,000 to supply ten personal robots in China whereas it costs almost $ 220,000 for the same in US

In India – a Planned Restaurant in Bangalore got a quote of ₹ 85 Lakh for 6 Robots which is around 700,000 RMB (In China it’s 300,000 RMB), so they dropped it

B. Government Programs

The Chinese Government and Local Government encourages public use of these technologies by offering subsidies

A Drone delivery service gets a 8,000 RMB subsidy per drone under the LOW ALTITUDE ECONOMY PLAN

You get 4 Year Loans for buying Drones or Robots for business where :-

No Repayment for First 9 months
No Interest for next 15 months
8.36% Interest for next 24 months
Government buy back at 30% value after 3 years

This allows many businesses to buy thousands of drones for delivery

A Flower delivery guy uses 3–4 drones these days

C. Infrastructure

China has spare parts ready, skilled technicians, low altitude monitoring services and a variety of things needed to facilitate Drones and Robots

US or Germany need imports from China or Japan

It takes an average of 2 Hours to 2 days to get spare parts or servicing in China against 6 weeks minimum in US

So China has the manufacturing hub and the Government schemes to ensure all technology immediately reaches the public and automatically simulates innovation

Unfortunately many other nations don’t do this

Japan does

Singapore does

South Korea does

So you will see a load of technology in these nations too

In other nations – it’s always capitalism

Drones cost $ 20K each and are meant for the richer, deeper pockets

Personalized Robots cost $ 20,000 – $35,000 each and are meant again for people who can afford this price tag IE:- Individuals

So you see Robots and Drones mainly in :-

Expensive Private Homes
Landed Estates
Businesses with exclusive Clientele
Large Businesses with huge capital which can afford 30–40 Drones minimum for delivery

You don’t see them in Public Places

For those who were actually old enough to have experienced the 1970s and not for those who were born in the 70s. What were the pros and cons of that era?

Here’s how I remember it (grad. HS 1975). College cost less than $3,000/year.

We NEVER locked our doors.

If your girlfriend got pregnant, you married her. And most of those marriages are still buzzing right along.

Guys got in fistfights regularly, but were soon friends afterwards (girls … different story there). We all carried pocket knives and it never occurred to us to use it on someone else.

Most of us were EXPECTED to get some kind of job at 16.

Dad ran the family. And that was somehow never a problem.

If we were bullied at school, we were expected to deal with it. We might get a lesson on how to throw a punch.

A new carpet or new countertops or even a new stereo was a big deal.

If you forgot to remove you hat in the house, more than likely your Dad would knock it off your head.

Make fun of someone’s appearance? It would be like the wrath of God coming down on you.

The entire extended family—cousins, aunts, uncles, in-laws, out-laws, got together all the time. We played euchre, croquet or badminton, drank iced tea and had homemade fried chicken and pecan pie.

A package delivery was cause for excitement.

If you failed to open the door for a lady, or Lord help you an elderly lady, or did show respect to an older person, there WOULD be consequences.

Birthdays meant a cake, a family celebration, birthday cards with $2 included and maybe a present.

Vacation was a camping trip to the lake or to a relative in Dayton. Plane trip somewhere? Are you kidding?

There were no cell phones, computers, ipads, anything like that. We met eyes and talked to each other.

Mom generally cooked every meal. Restaurants? Maybe twice a year, if that.

At 18 you had a couple of choices—get a full time job, go to college or join the service. But for boys at least, it was time to get out on your own. Period. Girls got a little bit more grace on that one.

We were tanned, fit and happy for the most part. We made do with what we had.

What is the saddest truth about smart people?

David Foster Wallace was smart. Really Smart.

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He attended Harvard for a short time, and his verbal abilities were exceptional. It was clear from his writing that he was gifted – he wrote with such honesty and emotion that it was evident he had extensive thoughts, about a lot of things.

Including depression.

On depression, he wrote:

The so-called ‘psychotically depressed’ person who tries to kill herself doesn’t do so out of quote ‘hopelessness’ or any abstract conviction that life’s assets and debits do not square. And surely not because death seems suddenly appealing. The person in whom Its invisible agony reaches a certain unendurable level will kill herself the same way a trapped person will eventually jump from the window of a burning high-rise. Make no mistake about people who leap from burning windows. Their terror of falling from a great height is still just as great as it would be for you or me standing speculatively at the same window just checking out the view; i.e. the fear of falling remains a constant. The variable here is the other terror, the fire’s flames: when the flames get close enough, falling to death becomes the slightly less terrible of two terrors. It’s not desiring the fall; it’s terror of the flames. And yet nobody down on the sidewalk, looking up and yelling ‘Don’t!’ and ‘Hang on!’, can understand the jump. Not really. You’d have to have personally been trapped and felt flames to really understand a terror way beyond falling.

David experienced depression first hand, and eventually it led to him taking his own life, about a decade after he released his highly regarded novel, Infinite Jest. The novel is considered by many to be a masterpiece, and without question, David Foster Wallace has left an immense legacy behind.

Now, David Foster Wallace isn’t the only gifted person to experience mental illness; in fact, it is thought that those with high IQs have an increased risk for developing a mental disorder such as depression (Major Depressive Disorder) or Bipolar disorder. (https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S0160289616303324)

It is a sad reality that, if you’re intelligent, there’s an increased risk you’ll be misunderstood by a lot of people. You might feel lonely. You might feel frustrated that others just don’t understand you. You might feel alienated.

On some level, I believe, David felt that way. He felt lonely and unhappy. And loneliness, for most, is a difficult thing to deal with.

If you’re smart, you might end up lonely. Really lonely. And that’s a sad truth many smart people face, sometimes through no fault of their own.

Have you ever encountered a fellow passenger who displayed disruptive or inappropriate behavior during a flight? How did you handle the situation?

Not me. but an acquaintance of mine.

He was a commercial pilot, married., with children, but a young pilot (Keep the age in mind. He made the Guinness Book of …Records).

Smoking was still permitted on flights but not at take off.

A very intoxicated passenger was chain smoking. The stewardess had asked him to put out his cigarette. The plane would not be lifting off until and unless he stopped smoking. The man waved her off, “bring me a drink, I’m a grown man, cookie…”…She insisted that he comply, he lit up again.

The other passengers were getting angry. The idiot had already caused a significant delay. This continued on, until my friend ,the Youngest Pilot.ever , was called upon. So Jack put on his jacket and cap and in complete uniform and as an Authority The Boss of the Airplane, approached the imbecile in row 23. *.

Jack is very calm and has a humble manner.

Humble Jack: “Sir, it is the law that all smoking materials must be extinguished prior to takeoff. We will let you know by a signal on this display when it is safe to light up again.”

Drunk chimney: “Go away sonny boy. “ Puff. Exhale, puff puff.

Humble Jack: (thinking to himself : I am a married man with children. A licensed pilot ‘Sonnt boy?’).

H.Jack, (tries again) “ Sir. I myself smoke, but there are times I cannot This flight will not leave the tarmac unless you put out your cigarette.”

This goes on for several more minutes. Drunk Chimney becoming more belligerent and abusive .

D.C.: “You look like you just got out of knee pants”.

Finally , Humble Jack gave up, his patience exhausted. He left row 23 , removed his Captain’s hat, wiped the sweat off his brow. Then he ‘dropped a dime”**. Soon after this, the hatch opened, and uniforms of a different cut marched onto the scene.

Drunk Chimney was dragged off the plane in bracelets, kicking and swearing, accompanied by applause from the other passengers.

Sonny Boy won.

* I used poetic license, no clue what row it was
**. Drop a dime-60’s & 70’s slang for making a phone call to authorities. Tattling…

Avocado Chicken Casserole

Yield: 6 servings

Ingredients

1 cup broad flat green noodles
1 large ripe avocado, peeled and sliced
2 tablespoons fresh lime juice
1/2 cup butter
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon salt
5 dashes Tabasco sauce
2 1/4 cups Half-and-Half
1 cup grated Cheddar cheese
6 (6 ounce) boneless, skinless chicken breast halves
1/2 cup roasted, peeled and coarsely chopped fresh chile

Instructions

Prepare noodles according to package directions; drain, and set aside.
Heat oven to 350 degrees F.
Drizzle avocado slices with lime juice and set aside.
Melt butter in a 2 quart saucepan over low heat.
Stir in flour, salt and Tabasco sauce over low heat until mixture bubbles.
Add Half-and-Half slowly, stirring constantly until mixture thickens.
Add cheese and stir until it has melted. Reserve 1 cup of this sauce.
Mix remainder of sauce with cooked noodles.
Place chicken in bottom of a 13 x 9 x 2 inch baking dish.
Cover with chopped green chiles.
Spoon noodle mixture over chicken and chiles.
Place avocado slices on top and pour reserved sauce over avocados.
Bake, uncovered, for 35 minutes.

Today’s MM AI generations

Just some of the better results. I’ve been doing some experimentation. Hands and arms are still problematic.

This is confusing…

But, now what is he proposing that she do?

His intent is clear. But then what?

Pure affection.

Deep in thought.

Make and prepare the coffee.

Different style.

@Leonardo Diffusion XL Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo real 3

Celebration of the coffee.

What are you saying…?

A man among men.

Let me explain it to you.

Such a decision…

No. I do not like that.

UPDATED 2:23 PM EDT — Russia Formally Notifies United Nations: If US/UK Approve Western Weapons Strikes Deep into Russia – a “State of War” will exist

NewsDesk World September 13, 2024

Russian leadership has issued a follow-up statement to President Vladimir Putin’s Thursday brief video address warning that if the US and UK authorize Ukraine to pursue long-range strikes on Russian soil, then NATO and the Russian Federation will be in an official state of war.

On Friday Russia’s ambassador to the United Nations, Vassily Nebenzia, informed the UN Security council that NATO countries would “start an open war” in allowing Western long-range missiles to target Russia.

“If such a decision is made, that means NATO countries are starting an open war against Russia,” Moscow’s envoy introduced. “In that case, we will obviously be forced to make certain decisions, with all the attendant consequences for Western aggressors.”

UPDATE 2:23 PM EDT —

Chinese Defense Minister Dong Jun publicly announced today that “China will militarily support Russia if NATO attacks Russia.”

Earlier this week, Russian President Vladimir Putin made clear in a TV interview that if the US and NATO allow Ukraine to begin using western-supplied long-range missiles, to hit interior Russia, that that would be direct involvement by the United States, European Countries, and NATO, in war with Russia. He went on to point out that modern, precision weapons from the collective West, require satellites to hit targets, and Ukraine does not have any satellites.

As such, Ukraine would have to be able to use US, EU/NATO Satellites, and that is direct involvement in the conflict, by NATO.

More importantly, modern, precision weapons of the collective West, cannot be programmed by Ukrainian troops; they don’t know how. Because of the complexity, such target programming would have to be done by actual NATO troops, which is, again, direct involvement by NATO in the conflict.

Putin finished by saying If NATO enters the conflict, that changes the entire essence of the conflict, and Russia would have to make decisions about that based on the new threats posed to it.

TODAY

Earlier today, Russia’s Ambassador to the United Nations formally notified the UN Security Council that if US and UK leaders allow Ukraine to hit Russia with long-range weapons, then “a state of war” will exist between NATO and the Russian Federation. (Story Here)

Russian Diplomat Families HAVE LEFT the United States

Hal Turner World September 13, 2024

The family of Russian Ambassador Anatoly Antonov, has reportedly left the United States and returned to Russia.

The families of other senior Diplomats from Russia’s Embassy in Washington, and its Consulate in New York, also reportedly departed the U.S. earlier this week.

According to sources familiar with Russian Diplomatic operations here in the US, the remaining senior Diplomats from Russia are now operating with “skeleton staffing levels” at both the Embassy and the Consulates.

There will be two resets…

Scratch nightmares

Driving through Tanzhou is a real pain.

Right now with all the construction, and the mix of factory trucks, construction trucks, and poor village people, driving is a nightmare.

Today I had a little fender-bender.

A “armored” scooter pulled up to my side at a red light, and when we both pulled out our vehicles kissed. He was only mm from my door and pulling out left a horrible scratch. Leaving a massive scratch on two doors. No damage to that old blokes garbage contraption.

This is about two mm;

The old man; around his late 80’s was probably feeble and couldn’t understand that he can’t be so close to my car.

After all my near collision alarm was screaming. But he couldn’t hear it. Probably because he turned off his hearing aide.

Senile old man.

He drove an “armored” scooter.

Basically, it is a three wheeled electric scooter with a sturdy metal frame that a tarp or plastic sheeting can be laid over. It is popular with older folk.

You take heavy iron piping. You make a frame with it, and weld it to a scooter bike.

And yeas, Two older folk was driving this contraption. Not too well. Seeing that they must have been mm from my car side.

Now an “armored scooter” is this kind of three wheeled contraption that consists of two seats, inside a steel pipe box powered by an electric engine.

Here’s what it might have looked like twenty years ago when it was new…

No damage to their robust tank. But my car has a nice long scratch all the way down on the side.

Pissed me off.

Firstly because these unlicensed “vehicles” are banned from operating on the road, and secondly, I just repaired my car a month ago.

Ah the trials of driving in China.

Now, these bikes are very common in the rural and growing areas. Such as Tanzhou. They are cheap and are easy to use. But most people have no driver’s license and cause all kinds of mayhem.

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All the cities ban them. Like Shenzhen, Zhuhai and TangXia.

Not Tanzhou yet, though.

They are dangerous. They are driven on sidewalks, in the grass, on the road, across the road in pedestrian crosswalks and in effect all over the place. They cause all sorts of trouble, and accidents like I just had.

Users of electric bikes are the latest target of Beijing’s ongoing campaign to bring order to its chaotic, traffic-clogged streets.

Since April, Beijing’s city government said electric bikes, also known as e-bikes, would be banned from 10 major city centre roads, including Chang’an Avenue, a main thoroughfare, and its side streets.

Users of e-bikes, which are ubiquitous in many Chinese cities, have been penalised for ignoring traffic rules and threatening public safety by mounting kerbs and colliding with pedestrians.

So yeah. They are being banned over time.

This is what my drive is like every day in Tanzhou…

Yeah. It’s a headache.

Here’s another write up…

Until you see the videos of traffic accidents involving scooters in China that you can find everywhere on the web. Until you hear the numbers of traffic accidents and deaths caused by scooters. Until you witness one of the many daily scooter accidents yourself. And on top of that, you’ll find enough videos online of exploding e-bikes while charging and setting a room on fire. It comes thus as no surprise that the Chinese government is looking for solutions for this growing safety problem that the roughly 250 million (registered) electric scooters cause in the country.

In April 2019, the Chinese government announced that in the coming years, there will be more strict regulations and law enforcement regarding electric scooters and e-bikes. As a first step, it was not allowed anymore to have more than two people on the scooter, although it wasn't always strictly enforced. What the government did strictly enforce, was registering and licensing all scooters by April 15th, 2019. Any unregistered scooters after April 15 were without exception confiscated. By December 31st, 2022, electric scooters need to comply with new national standards.

As you can see it is an issue.

See the picture above?

None of those electric scooters are allowed to be on the road. But here they are. Scooting and zipping around in front of cars, trucks and pedestrians without a care in the world.

Do you see any of them being in the same lane. Nope. It’s a “Free for all”, and yeah. It’s irritating as fuck.

A normal day in Chinese traffic, scooters everywhere

After having scootered around Kunming for over 3 years now, I am a bit sad but mostly happy about this new turn of events. The chaos and lack of law enforcement on certain minor areas, such as not wearing a helmet, taking 2 extra friends on your scooter etc., was something I preferred over the too-tight regulations of my home country the Netherlands. But on the other hand, I cannot drive to work without at least five times mumblingly cursing at other people who do something stupid and don't use their brain in traffic, leaving me wondering how I did not witness more accidents than I did (luckily only very minor ones where no one got injured).

When you are not using your brain when driving a scooter, you are well at risk of losing said brain.

The Chinese government also knows this, and that is why this May 2020 the government announced that from now on, motorcyclists and electric scooter drivers need to wear a helmet when driving as a new national law regulation. This comes paired with a campaign for car drivers needing to wear seat belts when driving, including all passengers. This will be strictly enforced from 1^st June 2020.

And China IS addressing it. But here in the hinterlands, it does tend to be a little bit on the “Wild West” side.

Anyways, I will deal with the aftermath in a few months.

Gotta live with the scratch. It’s something a little like this. With some exposed metal at the end. I’ll drive it around for a few months, then repair it out.

But that’s life. *sigh*

Today…

Tariff on Chinese goods = Taxing Americans. Any Americans thought of it? Why Trump nor Harris debated on the $35 TN debt that may bankrupt USA one day, as Elon Musk said? Nobody lives on debts on credit card. Why no Americans demand remedial action to solve the $35 TN debt crisis?

In the Trump-Harris debate, Trump said the tariff (on Chinese goods) brought in billions for USA. Biden admin likes it & continues with Trump’s tariff policy. (True, trade rep K.Tai refused to cancel Trump’s tariff despite Treasury Secy Yellen asked to cancel it.)

Harris hinted that the tariff rips off ordinary Americans. Debate moderator added that the tariff causes inflation. (True, it is Americans who pay 80-90% of the tariff). He said Americans paid an average of $4000 as a result (of tariff).

1 US professor (I dont remember his name) said that tariff actually is Taxation on Americans. Politicians dare not increase tax because they will lose votes. Because no electors like tax.

What electors do not know is that there are basic expenses such as healthcare or the interest paid to the US debt ( >$10,000). USA suffers deficit because Expenses is higher than Revenue. (Elon Musk said USA is heading to bankruptcy, FAST. One day USA may not be able to pay off the principal of the debt. Maybe the interest only. Then what? Bankrupt like a homeless.

Where to find money to cover the deficit? One way is to rob foreign countries & big enterprises such as France’s Alston, China’s Huawei (failed), German’s Siemens & more. Using blackmail & threat.

Another way is to TAX Americans under a beautiful name: China has stolen US jobs & must be punished thru tariff.

Has China stolen US jobs? No. It is the US globalisation policy in which US capitalists moved their factories to Asian countries eg China, Vietnam etc because the operational cost there is cheaper. It is US capitalists who “stole” US jobs. But electors buy US politicians’ narratives, without analyzing the issue.

That is why I always tease “democratic election”. Democracy assumes ordinary electors can analyze complex issues. Assume spells ASS-U-ME. That is correct. You & me.

We hate tax but we demand goodies eg welfare from the govt for personal reasons. We force politicians to be dishonest to us & find ways to fool us. We are the ASS.

What is more terrible about the ASS is that they think democracy is supreme & other political systems are inferior. The ASS supports the mafia-like USA to democraticise other country thru riot, coup & war. The ASS loves freedom. Yet they take away other’s FREEDOM to govern their country in their way that suits their situation, culture & history. … It is the ASS who makes the world terrible.

Baked Chicken Noodle Soup Casserole

Ingredients

1 envelope Lipton chicken noodle soup
2 1/2 cups boiling water
3 tablespoons butter
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
Dash white pepper
1 (7 ounce) can chicken
2 cans peas with pearl onions
1 cup buttered bread crumbs

Instructions

Heat oven to 450 degrees F.
In small saucepan cook soup mix in water.
In medium saucepan, melt butter.
Blend in flour and pepper.
Gradually stir in hot soup and cook until thickened.
Add chicken.
Fold in peas and onions.
Turn into a 1 1/2 quart casserole.
Top with bread crumbs.
Bake for 15 minutes.

Three Dog Night – Eli’s Coming (1969)

How long did it take you to realize that the way you were brought up was, in no way, normal?

When I was fifteen. I stayed the weekend with my best friend from church and her family. Her parents not only were together, but they appeared to actually…like each other! And her siblings seemed to genuinely enjoy being with each other.

There was no shouting or screaming. No cold-wars of silence. There was no disrespect. There was plenty of teasing, but it was good natured and funny—not sarcastic or embarrassing. Mistakes were met with grace and misbehavior had appropriate (not over the top) consequences.

A father, mother, two daughters, and a son, as well as a grandmother and various pets made up that warm and loving family. I was treated like one of the family. I felt welcomed and safe. I felt like I didn’t have to walk on eggshells and that I could breathe. In fact, interaction with their family during my teen years showed me that I could one day have a normal, happy family of my own.

Up until that point I had not wanted to marry or have children because I was so miserable growing up in the circumstances that I faced. And though all four of us children eventually moved away, married, had kids, even had divorces—I still remained in contact with them.

Six years ago, my best friend died in her sleep of a stroke. I made the trip back to our hometown one last time to say, “See you later! Love you most!” I miss her still. And I am thankful for the safe haven and lessons learned in her family.

Can the bank sue you for spending funds deposited into your account due to bank error?

I once had a couple thousand dollars deposited in my account. I was very young but I knew that there was no conceivable way that I put that money there. It was NOT mine.

I just left it there. It was super hard. I was struggling like most college kids on their own struggle. About 8 months later I get a demand letter.

Now I had lawyers and accountants in my extended family. I knew they likely would charge me but they would give good advice and not gouge me. The lawyer responded. We went to court.

The lawyer told me not to say a word. (I am overly helpful)The first had the letter read into the record. It basically accused me of taking the money and putting it there. Then he went through the transactions (numbers and such) He was able to track down where the money was supposed to go and who did the actual mechanics of getting it into my account (it can be just mistyping the account number) Basically making it clear I did not do anything that would constitute theft. (wrong doing)

This was a long court case but I thankfully no longer had to be present. Basically I gave the court the money deposited that was not mine. The court got it where it needed to go and the teller/ manager was prosecuted. Evidently he had been doing this kind of thing for years. He misroute where he thought it would be overlooked and then into an account that had little activity (I did almost everything with cash)

Then he would threaten. And of course the young thing would cry and be scared and do what ever he wanted. But that money then went into his pocket , the majority of the time. This was way back in the 70’s. This have probably changed. The bottom line is to ask yourself, is this money mine? If it is not then you have no right to spend it. And yes you do need to pay it back to the person that rightfully owns it.

My GF Insisted She Got A Motel Room W/ Her Male Friend “Just To Smoke”…I Insisted She Take A Hike

What does a soldier feel minutes before combat, fear or anger?

You don’t feel anger in these moments. Anger is a luxury reserved for the couch potatoes who stay at home while you face death. You, my friend, have more important things to worry about.

During these endless minutes before battle, most combat soldiers try to distract themselves from the rising tide of fear. You’ve already received your orders; your gun and gear have been checked countless times, so there’s nothing left to do but wait.

This is a critical moment because, as long as you’ve been busy, comrade Fear didn’t dare show up. Now the road is open for him, and if you’re not careful, he’ll consume you, paralyze you, and even leave you panic-stricken.

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A Ukrainian soldier in a trench on the eastern frontline. (Picture: Leah Millis)

To fill these agonizing minutes, every soldier has a different method: some pray, others chain-smoke, or write letters. Many just lie down and try to empty their minds of any thoughts.

Of course, this doesn’t always work, and you’ll see soldiers puking their guts out. It sounds terrible, but as bad as it is, throwing up is also a way to distract yourself. Better to feel sick than to be overwhelmed by fear.

As soon as the fighting starts, on the other hand, your feelings of fear recede. Your mind becomes occupied with survival.

Todays most popular posts

Shorpy

If you plead not guilty to a speeding ticket, what is your defense in a court of law?

I was accused on doing 34 in a 30 zone, on an area where the speed limit changes from 40 to 30.

I never got the ticket- I only found out about the issue when I got a court summons. There had been an enforcement van looking for speeders.

At this point, I need to mention that I am a wheelchair user, with an assistance dog, and an adapted wheelchair van. My van was in the shop and I had a hire vehicle when I got the ticket. The original ticket was misdirected to the car hire company and got lost in the works there.

When I got to the court, it was not accessible. The list showing which courtroom I was in was in tiny font that was unreadable unless you got right on top of it, which I couldn’t do because it was posted on a plinth about 4 feet above me, on a base up three steps.

There had been no signs or directions showing how wheelchair users access the building. A porter (who ignored me for half an hour by speaking on his phone about how unfair it was that he have to help someone when there should have been signs….) showed me how to get to the correct court, which required me taking the leg rests off my chair and sending my assistance dog up with the porter.

Because of all the issues trying to identify and get to the room, I wound up being late even though I arrived nearly an hour early.

The magistrate started chastising me for my lack of respect being late. She asked what I had to say for myself.

I said I felt it was hypocrisy to hold me to such a high standard, when the court- the place where the law should be followed- failed to comply with human rights legislation. I explained how the building was non-compliant and outlined the access issues…

She countered with I should have told the court I needed reasonable adjustments. I proved I had called to do exactly that but was told no such thing was available. (I had a recording). She sighed, and said “clearly, the world and the court in particular has a way to go…” and I said yes, it was hard to be held accountable for things that happen because of discriminatory actions, or just because people who should know better fail to ensure things are accessible.

She said that was true, no one should be punished if the issue was lack of access, or complications related to failure to accommodate disability.

I finally offered my plea “not guilty”.

The cop was livid, and explained everything you never wanted to know about how the radar, camera, etc. all caught me on the verge of causing the collapse of the UK.

I said “I couldn’t see the speedometer” and explained about the vehicle being temporary, and that since it was temporary they had just cobbled my “steering wheel ball” and it blocked the speedometer. I explained that I had the vehicle only for 3 days so was trying not to use it. I said I tried just to keep pace with traffic, and not be unreasonably fast.

Then the cop said what was so important that you just had to drive that day? If you couldn’t see the speedometer, why did you not take a taxi?

I explained that there were no wheelchair taxis in my specific area.

He said “I think you are making that up”. I told him I wasn’t. He asked for a moment to check what I said as I was “perjuring” myself. The magistrate gave him 5 minutes.

He came back and said “there are…” and then I showed him how those cars were for wheelchairs that folded. Mine didn’t. He checked with someone else, and they backed me up.

The magistrate was losing patience with him. He then said “So you couldn’t get a taxi, but, what was so important you had to go out instead of waiting for a car where you could clearly see the speedometer?”

And I told the court, truthfully, that I was bringing my 9 year old nephew to the hospital to spend time with his dying mother- the hospital had told us “come right away”.

“She died a few hours after we got there” I said truthfully.

The cop then said “Do you have any proof? Don’t you know you are supposed to wait until the end of the school day- if it was several hours until she passed, couldn’t he have waited until the end of school?”

When he said that, I felt the tears start on my face. I don’t know if it was pain, anger, frustration or what. Before I had a chance to answer, the magistrate said “Constable Soandso, you are completely lacking in common sense, empathy, and given how irritated I am becoming, survival instinct….” and she told him to sit quietly whilst she sorted things.

She then asked if I could now see the speedometer. I said yes. She asked if I’d had any other tickets, and I said “not in the UK” and she said “that’s all that matters”.

She then said “Charges against you are dismissed”.

The cop took it personally and muttered “I will get you next time” under his breath. The Magistrate heard it, called him back, told him to apologise to me immediately, and offered to charge him with contempt. I asked her to please not, as I didn’t want him to have hard feelings against me, and she said if he ever issued me a ticket again to ask for her.

I was then invited to leave whilst they continued their discussion.

Have you ever found out by pure chance that one of your friends is really rich?

It started in the Walmart parking lot.

I saw a motorhome that was exactly the same model as my own.

So I was looking at the twin of my RV when the owner came up to me and looked at me curiously.

I introduced myself.

I explained to him that I owned the same model and that I was having some mechanical problems with the vehicle.

We got along well, exchanged emails and decided to stay in touch.
Then we started camping together – a few times a year.

Our motorhomes were old.

Our new friends led a modest life.
They clipped coupons and shopped at second-hand stores.

After we had been meeting regularly for a few years, an earthquake hit California and our friends told us they had to leave early to “check the cars”.

I was astonished.

My friend explained to me that he had a car collection.
The vehicles were stored on pallets in California.

main qimg 72f72dd4a9299ee5e013b455b9efe790 lq

He felt like he had known us for years and so he told us that he was the CEO of a technology company in Silicon Valley.

And he told us that they knew we loved them so much.
Because they were who they were.
And not because they had a lot of money.

China’s Tech + Economy Week

5% GDP growth looks baked in.

Godfree Roberts

Sep 12, 2024

∙ Paid

Tech

Huawei is building a $1.66 billion Shanghai R&D center to develop lithography machines to make logic chips on 14nm/16nm FinFET and more advanced processes. ASML controls well over 90% of the lithography tools market, so Huawei-developed machines will have to be at least 28nm or 14nm/16nm-capable.

China is now three years behind TSMC, Japan’s IC analytical lab: “The area of SMIC’s 7-nm mass-produced chip is 118.4 sq. mm., while TSMC’s 5-nm chip is 107.8. The two chips have similar performance levels”. The gap between SMIC and the world’s most advanced chips is now 3 years.

Nvidia’s best AI chips are 40% cheaper to rent in China than in the US, a sign that the advanced processors are easily reaching the Chinese market despite Washington’s export restrictions: $6/hour vs. $10/hour for the same setup.

China spent more on chipmaking equipment than South Korea, Taiwan, and the U.S. combined: $25 billion in the first half of the year.

Huawei’s new $2,800 trifold phone attracted 3 million personal orders in its first three days on sale, for revenue of $8.4 billion.

De Beers leaves the lab-grown diamond jewelry business as China arrives. In central China, the nexus of the country’s diamond industry, new technologies caused a boom in synthetic diamond production; now, with prices falling through the floor, companies are wondering what’s next.

China will launch its Tianwen-3 mission to Mars in 2028, two years earlier than previously planned, which would see Martian samples returned to Earth by July 2031, handing China the lead in the race for Mars and becoming the global leader in space exploration.

China’s low latitude long range ionospheric radar (LARID) detected plasma bubbles over both the Pyramids and over Midway Islands, almost simultaneously. Equatorial plasma bubbles are electron-depleted regions that can be hundreds of kilometers in diameter and play havoc with GPS positioning and satellite communications. China is the first country to detect plasma bubbles on radar.

China’s reusable test spacecraft, launched, Dec 2023, returned to its scheduled landing site on Friday after 268 days of in-orbit operation, demonstrating the growing maturity of China’s reusable spacecraft technologies.

A jellyfish-inspired luminous artificial spider silk for surgical sutures has a maximum breaking stress of 1,017 MPa and maintains luminosity after 60 hours of UV exposure. It helps surgeons ensure a safe and complete suture.

Tsinghua can train optical neural networks without GPUs. The new FFM learning method allows the optical system to learn and adjust itself in real-time, much like a self-driving car continuously adapting to road conditions. This on-site learning approach eliminates the need for complex simulations and allows the system to account for its own unique quirks and imperfections.

Finance

Dilma Rousseff: “By promoting transactions in local currencies, we facilitate investment growth, help governments and the private sector overcome the cash flow mismatch between projects and financing, provide greater predictability and reduce the costs associated with currency hedging”.

Digital RMB volumes to the end of June hit $988 billion, up from $932 billion at the end of May, or $56 billion/ month. The digital RMB is also used for high value corporate transactions, including cross border.

The Asian Infrastructure Investment Bank (AIIB) issued its first digitally native note (DNN) on Euroclear’s Digital Financial Market Infrastructure (D-FMI). The initiative was supported by BMO Capital Markets as dealer and Citi, serving as dealer as well as the issuing and paying agent on the transaction.

The US dollar’s hegemony ends January 1, folks:

Economy

Hilton opens its 700th hotel, to add 100 more p.a. across the country.
BYD sold a record 373,083 vehicles in August, with strong growth in overseas markets.
Imports and exports to Africa are 1.19 trillion yuan, YTD, up 5.5%. China imported $3.5 billion of agricultural products from Africa, an increase of 7.2%
Export of ships, automobiles, wind turbines grew 45%, 36% and 253% respectively,
January-June freight revenue reached a whopping 484.1 billion yuan, an increase of 4.7% YoY.
China rail completed a record 2.1 billion passenger trips in H1, up 18% YoY.

Electricity consumption, a proxy for GDP, suggests that China’s economy is twice as big as America’s:

Since 2008, the number of years it takes for an average Chinese manufacturing worker to afford a basic plug-in EV has fallen from over nine years to under one.

Combined revenues of the top four sportswear brands – Anta, Li-Ning, Xtep, and 361 – grew in H1 to $8.3 billion. Anta’s revenue, $5 billion, was up 14% YoY, with net profit of $1.4 billion, for 13.6% growth.

Is Marriage Worth It For Men?

Was there a time when you warned everybody, no one listened, and something bad happened?

There was a young lady, who worked as a barista at our local Starbucks coffee shop. She had a boyfriend who had just bought a brand new motorcycle. I asked her about it…

She said it was a Japanese sport bike. I asked her how old her boyfriend was and how long he had been riding motorcycles? She responded that he was 19 and that he was a new rider. She said he wanted to take her out for a ride that weekend and that she was looking forward to it.

I told her I had ridden motorcycles for over 40 years, and I advised her to please not ride on the bike with him. She seemed like a really smart girl and was open to listening.

I let her know that modern sport bikes and young beginning riders are a bad and dangerous combination. My advice to her was to support her boyfriend and encourage him to take the Motorcycle Safety Foundation rider course, but to not ride with him until he had spent a couple years learning how to safely control a powerful, lightweight sport bike by himself.

Two weeks later I saw her again at Starbucks and asked how she was doing. She appeared very sad and distressed. She said her boyfriend did go riding that weekend with several other friends, but that she told him she wouldn’t go riding with him, as I had advised.

Unfortunately he crashed and died. In this situation, my warning to this smart young girl resulted in her avoiding a tragic disaster. Something very bad happened, but not to her…

NOTE – There seems to be a lot of upvotes. Just want to say: “Thank You” to those who read and upvoted my true story. I hope everyone has an opportunity to make a positive change in someone’s life… CC

Wallace and Gromit

How the inflation numbers are calculated

Ignoring food, gas, electricity. Brilliant!

Have you ever seen a rude customer be “put in their place” by another customer?

I was on an airplane flying from New York to Florida. As the plane was filling up, I heard an argument starting up a couple of rows behind me. A man was pressuring a woman to change seats with him. She had an aisle seat and he was next to her in the middle seat.

He kept telling this lady that he just didn’t want to be in the middle seat, that he’d be more comfortable on the aisle, blah blah blah. She quietly informed him that she had reserved that particular seat and wasn’t going to give it up.

This didn’t stop him. He kept blathering on about how he wanted her seat. A flight attendant happened to be walking past and overheard. She interrupted the guy and told him to respect the woman’s wishes. The guy got mad and demanded to speak to the head flight attendant — who happened to be standing a couple of feet away, and had overheard the whole conversation. She in turn told the guy to leave the woman alone. He told her he’d report her to the airline, blah blah blah.

This was getting old, really fast.

Finally a man seated behind the complainer jumped up and shouted “Why don’t you just shut the f**k up and sit down right now so the plane can take off? Nobody here gives a f**k where you’d be more comfortable!”

And that ended that. Bravo, sir.

The US Economy Is Flashing RED

Why does China not want Uyghurs to be independent and rule over their rightful land?

Before criticizing China’s stance on Uyghur independence, ask yourself why the US wouldn’t allow Hawaii or New Mexico to break away. China’s position is a matter of national unity and historical continuity.

China does not want Uyghurs to be independent and rule over their so-called “rightful land” because it is about preserving its national sovereignty and territorial integrity. Similar to how the US wouldn’t allow New Mexico or Hawaii to become independent, or how the UK wouldn’t let Ireland break away, China’s approach to the Uyghurs and the Xinjiang region is rooted in a long history of maintaining a unified nation. The Chinese government views Xinjiang as an inseparable part of its territory, with centuries of historical and cultural ties.

Historically, the region known as Xinjiang has been governed by various Chinese dynasties, including the Han and Tsing. This long-standing governance is a significant factor in China’s stance. The Uyghurs are only one of many ethnic groups in the region, and the area has seen a blend of cultures and peoples, including the Hui Muslims and Han Chinese. This multicultural blend is another reason why the Chinese government regards Xinjiang as an inalienable part of the Chinese nation.

The broader context of national sovereignty is crucial here. Allowing any part of China to become independent sets a precedent that could lead to further fragmentation. This fear of disintegration is something that many countries share. For example, Spain vigorously opposes Catalonia’s independence, and Canada has taken substantial measures to ensure Quebec remains part of the nation. These nations’ efforts to maintain their integrity reflect China’s own concerns and actions.

Moreover, the narrative that Xinjiang is a rightful land for Uyghur independence often overlooks the intricate history and complex demographics of the region. The idea that every ethnic group should have its own independent state undermines the concept of multicultural nations. China’s strategy has always been to integrate various ethnic groups into a single national identity, fostering unity and preventing secessionist tendencies.

There is also an element of economic and strategic importance. Xinjiang is rich in natural resources and holds strategic significance due to its geographic location, serving as a critical gateway in China’s Belt & Road Initiative. The loss of such a region would not only impact China’s economy but also its geopolitical strategy. Hence, the Chinese government aims to ensure stability and development in Xinjiang as part of its broader national interests.

Critics often target China for its policies in Xinjiang, framing them as oppressive or colonial. However, understanding China’s actions requires a broader perspective. The intention is not to suppress Uyghur culture but to integrate and develop the region in line with national goals. Comparing it to other international contexts helps clarify this stance. Just as the US, the UK, Spain, and others fiercely protect their territorial integrity, China’s actions in Xinjiang are consistent with a global pattern of ensuring national unity and stability.

Ultimately, China’s perspective on the Uyghur question is driven by historical precedent, concerns over national sovereignty, and strategic interests. While the criticisms abound, it is crucial to recognize that many other nations would, and indeed do, act similarly under comparable circumstances.

Gregg Allman – Laid Back Era

What happened to your school bully?

So when I was a freshman in high school, there was this guy we’ll call John. Dude for some reason decided to single me out and screw with me every chance he got. Typical story: he’s a big, thick, loudmouth football player upperclassman who saw me as an easy target. Also typical of people like this, he was really stupid. Also like many football players, he thought being big and strong and a football player would make him a natural wrestler.

So this is where our buddy John went wrong, because I was also a wrestler. A good one, very good in fact.

For those who don’t know, wrestling is a different kind of conditioning, and if you’re not in wrestling shape, you’re gonna be dead within a minute no matter how many miles you run each day. Also, everyone is the same size on the mat (for reference, he’s about 210 and I’m 145ish at this time).

During practice, our coach ran a drill where we would get into groups of four and rotate in and out for two minute periods of live wrestling. I got paired with John the first day and proceeded to go out of my way not just to destroy him, but embarrass him. I would take him down, gain his back, and as he’s trying and failing to get out, I’m verbally punking him out: “Come on, football star! I thought you were some kind of badass! Maybe you should bring your girl down here so I can take her down too!” Maybe not verbatim, but more or less that kind of stuff.

The two minutes was up, he got in my face and pushed me, I responded by spitting in his face, he took a swing, and by the time he got it off I was already behind him tying up around his waist, and dumped him backwards on his head, then got on top and started smacking anywhere on his head he wasn’t covering up while continuing to say things I’d get thrown off Quora for saying here. Coach comes and separates us, we both got chewed out, and he never showed his face in the wrestling room again.

Everyone else in the wrestling room saw and heard what happened, and not only was John not bullying anyone after that, I strangely never had an upperclassman decide to get cute with me again. We also didn’t have many more football players coming down to my mat thinking they were going to big time us afterward.

The two morals of this story: first, if you think the skinny kid who takes down the school bully is only a fictional thing, think again. Second: never, ever screw with a wrestler.

Chaka Khan and Rufus – Tell me something Good (RE-MASTERED) Official Video HD

What advice can someone who has been in prison for a long time give to new inmates?

If you’re under 30, get yourself a “shower buddy” to keep watch and shoo away any old perverts who try to get too close to you – for whatever reason.
Don’t believe TV shows about prison. They either make prison look glamorous or portray problems that don’t exist in real life, while simultaneously ignoring the real problems.
The “tough guys” are usually the worst betrayers, especially when dealing with rivals and jealousy. Don’t be disrespectful to them, but don’t hang out with them.
If you don’t use drugs or drink, enroll in Alcoholics Anonymous or a drug rehabilitation program. Completing one of these programs will look good at a parole hearing or with your future parole officer. These programs don’t work anyway, except to recruit informants.
Even if you don’t like it, accept whatever is given to you. Maybe you can exchange it for something you want, like or need.
Wherever you are, sit with your back to the wall.
If that’s not possible, sit facing the door.
In every prison, 25 to 35% of the inmates are “confidential informants.” So whatever happens is with the knowledge and consent of the staff.
Do not trust prison hotlines or prison psychologists.
No matter how well behaved you are, only informants get lenient probation. Depending on the crime, only informants can get probation at all. Good behavior will give you a lifestyle that meets the minimum required by law.
Never listen to family who says, “Behave well and you’ll be out soon .” Never listen to what outsiders say about prisons.
Not even your lawyers. Even if you put a probation clause in the agreement, it won’t be honored if there is a hearing at the time. If your offense was so serious that you had to put a probation clause in the agreement, you will be granted a hearing – but your probation will be denied.
If you have cause, you can sue the prison.
But don’t use the internal grievance system.
Don’t tell other inmates about your appeals.
And remember that judges and juries in civil courts have a very strong bias against inmates, no matter how compelling your case is.
Never try to form a prisoners’ union.

2 MINUTES AGO: CHINA Just DESTROYED the EU So BADLY It Won’t Recover!

The Great Red Spot

Submitted into Contest #247 in response to: Set your story on a spaceship exploring the far reaches of space when something goes wrong.… view prompt

K.R. Danielsson

June 22nd, 2100. Time: 0300.

They say Jupiter is a star that failed—a sun that could’ve ignited if it were eighty times larger. We’re not sure why it never completed its cycle of transforming into a sun. But could you imagine if it had? Two gravitational forces on both sides of the Earth could have torn us apart. Maybe. Science is more of a practice than a mastery.

As we departed from Earth on April 2100, Jupiter was in a state of ambiguity. The perpetual storm once believed to be shrinking, had instead swelled to engulf half the planet. It grew hotter and brighter, and from our distant view on the surface of Earth, it appeared as a small, ominous blot of light in the sky. Concerns began to flurry, and the call for exploration became undeniable.

Were we all going to die?

Was the world as we knew it about to undergo an immense change?

Hell, I didn’t know. All I knew was that I was going to space.

Two months later, as I sit and write this log in a speeding hunk of nuclear-powered metal, I prepare to investigate the danger from afar. Our science has improved tremendously. I look at my spacesuit propped on a mechanical mannequin in the corner of my dorm. The only thought remaining in my head today is this: will the suits protect us if we decide to land? Or will I burn into a distant memory?

July 4th, 2100. Time: 1200.

July 4th. It would be a holiday in the United States. Fireworks, hotdogs, cheeseburgers, and cornhole are more than likely in high demand right about now. Even now, as we pass through magnificent colors and sights, marveling at the vastness of our galaxy, I miss the fireworks with my family. Sometimes, it is best to stare and wonder than jump at discovery.

As I was sitting to write this entry, our engineer had to make quick repairs to the eastern airlock. The high speeds at which we are traveling have taken their toll on the room. For our safety, the east wing is blocked off.

August 15th, 2100. Time: 0900.

Four months in, we have reached Jupiter. The technology performed better than all expectations. The eastern wing has been fully repaired, and now, we safely orbit Jupiter, staring down at the Great Red Spot. Now, it is more of a metastasizing cancer on the planet. Our ship’s computer systems warn from getting any closer. The planet has become hot… almost comparable to our sun.

It has made my crew, and I wonder if Jupiter was never a failed sun. Could it be a sun in the making, proving our initial practice of space exploration wrong? Perhaps it even proves everything we thought we knew about space is wrong.

Captain O’Leary Jones. ASSET One.

As the Earth’s calendar closes the page of August 15th, 2100, Captain O’Leary closes his journal and shoves it gently into his desk. For the last four months, he has been religiously journaling the trip to Jupiter. His hair is graying, which he blames solely on the stress of navigating a spaceship. That kind of thing wears on a person. Especially if the destination is an unknown fate.

The ASSET One, short for Allied Scientists Space Exploration Team, is sent into a gentle propulsion backward to keep the vessel aligned with the storm’s center. The readings on the thermometer in his dorm are spiking too high. They must back off the planet to cool down before returning to gather more readings.

So far, after a full day of letting the sensors scan and formulate the sonar readings, they know nothing of the storm nor the fate of Jupiter, let alone that of their home planet. It worries O’Leary. His wife and sons are back home. He hates the idea of them being engulfed in a battle between two suns. If science has one thing right, it is the strength of gravity. Two will surely spell ill fate.

Lost in the scary thoughts of possibility and death, a knock pounds from his closed dorm door. “Sir,” says a Russian-accented woman. “The navigation system has begun to back us off from the planet. It is lunchtime. Do you want the chef to whip you something together? I hear he’s making freeze-dried steaks.”

O’Leary fights the bile forming in his stomach. Freeze-dried steaks are always a little slimy. He’d rather eat MREs like he did during his stint in the Marine Corps.

He looks down at his pale skin and the dark red hairs on his muscular forearms. The ship’s gym has allowed him to retain most of his muscle mass and bone density. He can still grab three hundred pounds when lying on the bench.

Running a hand through his graying red hair, O’Leary stands from his desk, grabs the black hat that reads “Captain” on the front, and plants it on his head. He stares at his badge, a gold-plated circle with a spaceship orbiting a planet, sitting on his shelf. Sighing, he walks for the door.

The door glides open, and he is face-to-face with Alina Popov, the team’s computer specialist. She ensures all computers are functional, accurate, and running. Any time reports return about planetary readings, Alina’s sole job is to report them. During the exploration, they’ve become something close to siblings. The narrow-faced woman wears long blond hair, bright blue eyes, and a charming smile. They agreed that they must let their families meet for a good old-fashioned American cookout when they return home.

O’Leary looks past her shoulder. The door opposing him is the engineer. He is standing in his doorway, rubbing sleep from his puffy eyes. If anyone were to have a more challenging job than O’Leary himself, it would be Fu Li, the slightly overweight Chinese engineer.

“Fu,” O’Leary laughs. “Go get some steak-slosh. It’ll perk you right up.”

Bobbing his head in acknowledgment, Fu Li places his crewman cap on his head. A formality that, while a little unnecessary by now, helps with morale.

“Right away, sir,” groggily says Fu, dragging his flip-flop-covered feet down the hallway. “Maybe it’ll be more steak than slime!” he mumbles.

Alina laughs and follows Fu’s path through the hallway to the left. O’Leary follows her. Behind him, stemming from the rooms further behind his, he hears the sound of his fellow shipmates scuffling down the hall. Lunchtime on Earth is usually met with energy. In space, where it is always dark outside, it is always time to sleep.

When they gather in the cafeteria, Bo Carson waddles his slightly fat stomach from behind the kitchen area. It is a small square room on the ship with a single sink and options for hot and cold. Today, science has allowed for a specially crafted stove aboard the ship. On this stove, they can quickly heat things up but for no longer than ten minutes. Often, the food is lukewarm. Very rarely, despite Bo Carson’s expertise in cooking, is the food better than horrible.

Bo is holding a plate of rehydrated steaks. The room is warm, meaning he did his best to cook away the slime of rehydration. O’Leary holds the hope that the meat will be horrible or even a little better today. They have hit the rock-bottom equivalent of food. Can it be much worse?

The four of them gather at the small table, take their seats, and nudge one another with elbows to get some space at the metal table. Thanks to artificial gravity, nothing or no one floats.

“Well,” Bo says, setting the serving platter down on the steel. “I did my best, ladies and gents. I figured with everyone slaving away over Jupiter, it wouldn’t hurt to drool over some good, non-slimy steaks.”

Edward Harvey, a six-foot-four-inch black guy from the UK, laughs, reaches over the metal surface, and plops a steak onto his plate. Clapping his hands and scraping his utensils, he digs in with a quick “thank you” to Bo.

Everyone else follows suit.

O’Leary is amazed at the taste of the meat when he puts the first slab in his mouth. It’s no roadhouse steak from his hometown, but it’s better than it has been for the last four months. It beats the chili, the hotdogs, the soups, and even the MREs.

“What’s the deal with Jupiter?” Bo asks, plopping down onto a bench seat. “Heard the computers last night, chatting up a storm, they were. Something about rising heat, spreading storms, chaos, etcetera.”

Alina nods through a mouthful of meat and says, “I was up all night with the computers. Some sensors didn’t read the heat like the others, so they needed to be recalibrated before we burned up. For whatever reason, Jupiter is becoming the hottest planet in our solar system.” She leans her head towards O’Leary. “Almost makes me think that O’Leary was right about Jupiter being a sun in the making. Perhaps we never truly knew what made a sun.”

O’Leary’s muscles begin to turn numb at the remark. He stayed up all night, praying his hunch was wrong. It was two weeks ago that he first thought of the possibility. A week later, he shared it with the crew when he noticed Jupiter’s heat rising steadily. And now, even Alina has agreed on the chance of generations of scientists being fooled by God’s creations. It doesn’t settle well with O’Leary Jones.

The only hole in the theory, the one thing that makes the captain believe he is wrong, is the size of Jupiter. While it is heating up and becoming too hot to handle, it is not growing in size. So far, all he has is a theory.

Fu adds his thoughts. “What if it is something like nuclear power, but natural? An accumulation of energy and power from a neverending storm. Maybe the planet has just entered a self-destruction.”

Edward nods. He is a recent graduate of the physics program at MIT. He left with his doctorate and could become the youngest professor at twenty-eight if this mission succeeds. “That is a prospect,” he says somewhat nervously. “I wonder how dangerous that could be, though. A self-destructing planet would still break ideas believed for decades in the scientific world. And what of the pieces? They’d be pulled toward the gravitational force. Towards Earth.” Shrugging, playing off the worries, he drinks some water and adds a cut of steak into his mouth.

O’Leary stares at his plate, kicking the food around with his fork and knife. Before embarking on this quest, he was appointed to control the entire crew. The mission coordinator said he was hand-picked due to his experience in leadership, stressful circumstances, and coursework in space. They told him they could think of no one better for such a mission. At first, it was exciting and an honor. With the last few months collecting in his head, he has come to find it a curse. Why him?

Overhead, coming from the many speakers on the ship, the computers begin to talk. “Temperature rising. External heat source too close.”

O’Leary squints at the words. They just moved back to the safe zone. How could the external heat still be hitting them? Dropping his utensils and sipping a quick gulp of water, he jogs through the winding hallways and passes the dorms. He sprints faster as the computers repeat themselves, declaring the external heat a hazard. Behind him, he hears the running of the other shipmates.

He enters the control room after coming too fast for the doors to open fully. His head pounds from where he hit it on the automatic doors. A massive window looks out at Jupiter and the darkness of space around them. Computers line the floor that sits five feet below from where he stands. Taking the ladder to his right, he drops to the floor with the computers. Now, the window appears to be bigger. It is rounded, reaching around the front of the ship like one giant visor.

Jupiter is entirely red. The darkness is not dark anymore. The planet has produced its own light, highlighting the vastness of space as if the ASSET One were orbiting the sun.

Alina comes beside him. She gasps. “Is that good?”

“No,” says Bo, standing beside a series of weather-detecting computers. “The storm is picking up.” Before becoming a chef, Bo was a weatherman. That was why he was picked to join the expedition. If they were to monitor a storm on a foreign planet, why not have an astrologist onboard?

“Picking up, how?” O’Leary snaps, hurriedly running to the nose of the ship, stopping at the glass to look down at Jupiter. “The planet is blazing red. No storm can cause that.” Pattering against his chest like a jackhammer, O’Leary’s heart circulates too much blood and makes him dizzy. He extends a hand on the glass to steady himself.

Sweat drops off the tip of his nose. It shocks him. He hasn’t sweat from fear since his first deployment. Shaking relentlessly, his knees threaten to give away.

“Shit,” he murmurs. “Someone,” he shakily says, “Someone check the temperature readings.” Against his hand, the glass is starting to feel like a stovetop busy cooking dinner. Removing the palm of his hand from the glass, he leaves his fingertips on the surface. “Our glass is warm. Actually, it is burning.” The words leaving his mouth are hushed and restricted by the pounding of his heart.

Alina talks from the temperature screens. “It’s nearing a million degrees Fahrenheit. Still not as hot as our sun, which is twenty-seven million.”

O’Leary nods. “Bo, is this possible from the weather?”

Fu talks. “A neverending storm. I swear it! All that chaos and never a single moment of rest. It was bound to end badly!” He runs a hand through his bald head, massaging the wrinkles in his scalp. “What can we do?”

“Nothing,” O’Leary breathes. “We are not God. We do not control the weather or decide when planets do whatever they do.” He backs up and looks down at his fingers, all holding blisters on the tips. “This has gone horribly wrong.” He looks out at the distant planet, strangely marveling at the beauty of the red-hot surface. “Edward, check to see if our satellites are still reaching our comms.”

“Yes sir,” the young graduate responds, quickly walking to the communication station off to the back left of the room. The sound of the fans and virtual linkage whirs and dings in O’Leary’s ears.

He begins to grind his teeth, a habit he’s had since boot camp.

“I’ve got mission control,” Edward says.

“Good. Put them on for me to talk.”

Edward exhales a shaken breath and turns the internal speakers on. The coordinator’s voice enters the room like a smooth drum. “What is your status, Captain?”

“The investigation is still ongoing. So far, Jupiter has risen to a million degrees Fahrenheit and is climbing. Our ship is backing us off due to a pre-installed safety protocol. Jupiter is toiling in heat.”

“Is the whole planet red?” gulps the coordinator.

“I can’t see the backside, but I’d believe it safe to assume so.”

Alina comes to O’Leary’s side with a tablet. On the screen are two side-by-side images of Jupiter. One is marked from the year 2024, and the other is just seconds ago. According to the planet’s scannings, Jupiter has grown in size.

Sweat forms at his hairline.

Everything that once kept him doubtful of his fears has now evaporated in the intense heat of Jupiter.

“Captain,” asks the coordinator. “Any information?”

O’Leary turns his head and looks back at Edward. Pausing, he thinks of his kids and his wife. They are probably at home right now, enjoying their time together by watching television, playing a board game, or even tending the farm. The same goes for other families. Looking at Alina, he ponders the same thing about her family.

He looks out the window. Despite the fear in the coordinator’s voice, the man is experiencing hope.

“Captain,” repeats the man a million miles from his location.

He slices his throat with his hand, silently telling Edward to silence his line. When the man nods, O’Leary sighs and talks aloud. “When Jupiter reaches its final stage, we’ll have already been dead. Or, that is what I assume our chances are. We could hightail it back to Earth, hope to see our families, and put them into pure fear before demise. Or, we can sit here together as friends and allies and watch the end. It is a group decision.”

“Captain!” shouts the coordinator.

“But our boss is getting impatient.”

“What will you tell him, Captain?” asks Alina.

“I’ll tell him the truth. We aren’t sure what Jupiter is doing, so we’ll stay and monitor it.” He shrugs. “Hold onto some hope. Maybe it will find stability, and all our fears will be for nothing.”

Acceptance pours into Captain O’Lear Jones’ heart and mind. Even if they put the ship at full speed, they’d never return to Earth if Jupiter decided to morph into a sun or self-destruct.

“This is a once-in-a-lifetime event, isn’t it?” Alina asks, pulling a chair up to the window and sitting down, facing the planet.

“I knew something would go wrong,” Fu says, sitting on the floor by the glass and watching the heat rise through teary eyes. “I knew it.”

O’Leary looks at the last two members of the crew. Edward says nothing. He walks to the glass, folds his hands behind his back, and stares into the red abyss.

Bo tells them it was an honor to cook and study the weather. He always wanted to see something magnificent.

For O’Leary, he shakes at a sudden realization. Jupiter will expand, heat up, and before gravity can form, it will explode. Its transformation was too quick.

Broken, he watches the new sun’s first and last sunrise.

Chicken Divan

A great way to turn leftover chicken or turkey into a meal complete with veggies.

Yield: 8 to 10 servings

Ingredients

1/4 cup + 1 tablespoon butter, divided
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
1 1/2 cups Half-and-Half
1/2 cup cooking sherry or water
2 (10 3/4 ounce) cans condensed cream of chicken soup, undiluted
2 (10 ounce) packages frozen cut or chopped broccoli, thawed
1 cup cooked rice
3 to 4 cups cubed cooked chicken
2 cups shredded cheddar cheese
1 cup soft bread crumbs

Instructions

In a small saucepan, melt 1/4 cup butter. Add flour, stirring until blended. Stir in the Half-and-Half and cooking sherry or water; cook and stir until thickened and bubbly. Cook and stir for 2 more minutes. Blend in soup until smooth; remove from the heat and set aside.
Place broccoli in an ungreased 13 x 9 x 2 inch baking dish. Cover with rice and then half of the sauce. Top with chicken.
Stir shredded cheese into remaining sauce; pour over the chicken.
Melt the remaining butter and toss with bread crumbs. Sprinkle over the casserole.
Bake, uncovered, at 350 degrees F for 35 to 45 minutes or until heated through.

“The BIGGEST BUBBLE In History Is About To BURST…” – Harry Dent

Why is Mongolia not arresting Putin during his state visit, since it’s a member of the international criminal court? And is this proof, the court has no real power over people that really matter? (Netanyahu, Putin, etc)

Think arresting Putin is straightforward because Mongolia is an ICC member? Geopolitical complexities and national interests often dominate the scene, sidelining international legal mandates. Mongolia isn’t arresting Putin during his state visit, and that’s because real-world politics are far messier than the theoretical powers of international courts.

Let’s dive into why. Mongolia is nestled between two gigantic neighbors—Russia and China. This geographic reality shapes almost every aspect of its foreign policy. Arresting Putin would be like poking a bear, a very big bear that Mongolia relies on for trade, energy, and political backing. They simply can’t afford to rock the boat. Think about it: if your survival depended on keeping a tough neighbor happy, would you risk arresting their leader? Of course not.

Putin’s state visit is another layer of this puzzle. He’s not just dropping by for a casual visit. His trips are meticulously planned, with heavy security that would make any attempt to arrest him nearly impossible. Plus, this visit is about strengthening economic ties and cooperation. Mongolia stands to gain a lot from maintaining a good relationship with Russia. Turning a diplomatic event into an arrest scenario would throw Mongolia into diplomatic chaos they couldn’t handle.

The bigger picture here is the role of the ICC. In theory, it’s there to hold powerful leaders accountable. But in practice? It’s pretty toothless when it comes to big players like Putin. The ICC doesn’t have its own army or police force. It relies on member states to enforce its rulings, and those states often have their own geopolitical considerations that trump international law. Seen from Mongolia’s perspective, arresting Putin wouldn’t just be difficult; it would be national suicide.

This isn’t just Mongolia’s dilemma. It’s a global issue. Take Netanyahu or other leaders from powerful nations— they manage to sidestep the ICC’s reach, protected by a thick web of international politics and strategic alliances. The ICC’s intention of global justice often comes up against the hard reality of national interest and power dynamics, leaving it largely ineffective against the world’s most influential figures.

Let’s be real, international justice sounds great on paper, but it’s heavily skewed by these power dynamics. Countries like Mongolia have to make decisions that ensure their survival and prosperity, not just conform to international norms. They’re not against justice; they’re just trying to navigate a world where powerful neighbors can dictate their fate.

Until we find a way to bridge the gap between global justice ideals and political reality, we’ll keep seeing a selective and inconsistent application of international law. The Mongolia-Putin situation is a prime example of this. It’s not that Mongolia doesn’t respect the ICC; it’s that they can’t afford to act on its mandates without risking their own stability. So, while critiquing Mongolia might be easy, understanding their geopolitical tightrope walk can offer a much clearer picture of why the ICC struggles to exert its influence over the most powerful individuals.

This isn’t about Mongolia being weak; it’s about a global system that hasn’t yet figured out how to balance justice with real-world politics.

She Ordered 6 Entrees on a First Date and It Backfired

Mrs Schlen of the Syracuse Department of Welfare

Let me tell you about one of my nightmares. This particular nightmare has a name; Mrs Schlen of the Syracuse Department of Welfare.

It’s a nightmare that used to be the norm. The time was around 1984. I was out of the Navy, but not yet in MAJestic training, and I had just gotten married. We were in Syracuse NY working at minimum wage jobs and had applied to the local welfare office for supplemental support to help us find a place to live and temporary food stamps.

At that time, welfare was the refuge of the lazy, and we were treated like the scum of the earth. Oh, for sure, this entire situation changed, but at that time, we had to deal with a nasty bureaucrat that treated us like earthworms in cow dung, and made our life a bureaucratic hellhole.

She had us dancing left and right. Paperwork forgot a period at the end of sentence. Our documentation was not in order; the pages were out of order. One reason, one excuse after the other.

“Well, I just happen to know that engineers never get laid off”.

Was her byline that I have NEVER forgotten. Ah. I hope that she is rotting in Hell right now. Bitch.

It’s been nearly fifty years now. She was old back then, and shes’ probably around 150 years old now. NOT! She’s in Hell. And I made sure that she’s loving her experience.

Ah. I’m not the forgiving type.

Painful bitch. Using the systems at her command to make others suffer. Just like some of the Bozos that wrote bullshit book reviews for MM. I do not forget, and I do not forgive. Only you can pull yourself out of the trap that sucked yourself into.

I’m glad that she’s out of my life.

Today…

Why is AK or machine guns so important to Americans but China doesn’t want it at all?

You don’t have to shoot anybody in China. The Police take care of the criminals so you don’t have to. The cameras, although intrusive, are protective and a deterrent to crime.

The American run of the mill home invasion is almost unheard of in China. Here in the US, my shotgun is my anti-home invasion weapon.

I went to see a house for sale with a realtor. The house seller had a shotgun, Japanese sword and a baseball bat strategically placed. I asked the realtor if the neighborhood warranted such measures, and then noted that the house was situated on a corner lot with through traffic. Hmm, maybe an AK would be necessary, and wear a bullet-proof vest to bed.

ALERT! “A CRASH THE WORLD HAS NEVER SEEN”- FALSE FLAG INCOMING?!

U.S. Government COVID-19 After-Action Report – The Conspiracy Theorists were RIGHT; Everyone else was wrong

Hal Turner World December 02, 2024

The US House of Representatives “COVID Committee” has released its Final Report (527 Pages) and it’s now official: The “Conspiracy Theorists” were all right and everyone else was wrong.

The Official Report outlines what so many of us TRIED to tell all of you. But YOU thought YOU knew better. YOU thought you were oh-so-much-smarter than us. YOU mocked us, smeared us, vilified us as we employed common sense and you acted like emotional screaming-meemies . . . petrified of something that was no worse than a seasonal flu.

Then, when that phony mRNA “vaccine” came out, you rushed in-line to get yours. Once you did, YOU then demanded the rest of us be as foolish as you. When those of us who actually THINK, refused to take this gene-therapy masquerading as a “vaccine” YOU vilified us; said we should be rounded-up and quarantined.

Those of you who own companies and run corporations decided to act like tyrannical douchebags and arrogantly DEMANDED everyone get the phony vaccine or else be fired! When the vaccine made your employees sick, you chalked it up to “normal.” When the vaccine caused some of your employees to DIE, you denied their death had anything to do with what YOU demanded they take. When it came time to be accountable for what you did, you company owners and Boards of Directors ran from it like the cowards you actually are!

So many bigshot corporate executives ran and hid like scared little girls – because you started to realize it was YOUR FAULT that so many employees were getting sick and dying, and you didn’t want the blame for what you did. You wanted the power to tell people what to do with their own bodies, just not the responsibility when it turned out badly.

Did it ever occur to __any__ of you that maybe YOU were wrong? Did you ever once stop and think that maybe you didn’t know what was best? I dare say almost NONE of you ever even pondered those possibilities because you’re arrogant, self-righteous, scumbags.

Oh and you Doctors . . . . told people the vaccine was “safe and effective.” Some of you are still doing that to this very day! Liars you are. Cheats. The people who did that are not Doctors, they’re Quacks. They don’t practice medicine, they practice Quackery.

How about Hospitals that, to this day, refuse to treat people unless they’re COVID vaccinated? They should be stripped of their license and shut down so they can’t hurt anyone else. A lot of them are simply dangers to public safety.

So now that the official report shows that you weren’t nearly as smart as you thought you were; that you DIDN’T know what was best (for yourself or anyone else), will you kindly do the rest of us a big favor and shut the fuck up?

A lot of you are a combination of arrogant and ignorant. Your arrogance and ignorance killed innocent people. A lot of you, should kill YOURSELVES.

It would be a nice Christmas present to the rest of us if you would just sit in a warm bath, open up your veins with a razor blade, and bleed to death in the tub.

We’d finally be rid of people who are not only too stupid to continue breathing, but whose continued existence endangers the rest of us.

The Official Government Report finds:

COVID-19 Origins: The COVID-19 pandemic likely originated from a laboratory or research-related incident.
Misinformation: Public health officials and the Biden administration engaged in misinformation and disinformation campaigns to suppress the lab-leak theory and promote specific narratives.
Government Overreach: The Biden administration’s mask mandates and other restrictive measures exceeded its authority and were often not supported by scientific evidence.
School Closures: The decision to close schools during the pandemic was not supported by science and had severe adverse impacts on students’ academic performance, mental health, and physical health.
Vaccine Mandates: The government imposed vaccine mandates that were not supported by science, ignored natural immunity, and caused significant collateral damage.
Erosion of Public Trust: Actions by public health officials and the government led to a decline in public trust in institutions and a rise in misinformation and anti-science rhetoric.
Financial Mismanagement: The government’s pandemic relief programs were vulnerable to significant fraud, waste, and abuse due to insufficient oversight and outdated financial management systems.
WHO’s Failure: The World Health Organization (WHO) failed to uphold its mission, caved to pressure from the Chinese Communist Party, and did not hold China accountable for violating international health regulations.
Economic Impacts: The pandemic and the government’s response had severe economic impacts on individuals, communities, and businesses, including job losses, business closures, and supply chain disruptions.
Unintended Consequences: The government’s pandemic policies, including lockdowns and vaccine mandates, had severe unintended consequences that will likely have lasting effects on society.

Here is a direct link to the full 527 page report from the Government website: CLICK HERE

Husband BLOWS UP At Pregnant Wife After Her Temper Ruined Their Living Situation…Divorce Time?

Have you ever bought a gun and regretted it?

There have been a few like the S&W Victory Revolver that simply would not hit a target no matter what I did (it must have belonged to a Star Wars Empire Storm Trooper). Then there was the Sprinfield Armory ultra compact 1911 .45 that would not nfeed reliably EVER. Then there was the Henry Take Down survival rifle, that I still own, which NEVER ejected reliably. It turns out the feed ramp is integral to the magazine and not the body of the rifle and those magazije were made out of old beer cans. Regrets? I’ve had a few… BUT… the most memorable bad purchase was a .303 Lee Enfield Jungle Carbine. At the time some importer got a hold of a few thousand and reworked them. They kind of halfway sporterized them. They looked way cool and I just had to have one. But they were much more money that I could afford.

One day I went into Old West Gun Room in El Cerrito CA (Hi Bob!!) and there was an actual unrestored jungle carbine in pretty damn good condition. I was on it like a vulture on rotting meat. Bob, the owner knew me well as I did almost all my purchases there. He said flat out, “You don’t want that”. I was determined though so I ignored his sage advice and bought it along with some .303 ammo. That weekend I ran straight to the range and I discovered the bitter truth. I put that thing to shoulder and pulled the trigger… and thought I had been kicked by a mule in the shoulder. I am not recoil sensitive and I was in superb shape back then with 35 lbs more lean mass than I have now. That rifle HURT to shoot… and on top of it all, While I didn’t know it at the time, all those Lee Enfield Jungle Carbine had a problem called “wandering zero”. You would zero in the sights and normally they stay zeroed unless you drop the damn thing. This rifle? It would not hold zero for more than a shot or two. Shooting that was an exercise in frustration.

I figured I could use this as a last ditch “survival/car’ firearm. However, It was useless for anything more than a club. About a year after I bought it I went back to Old West and had Bob put it up for consignment. That was a painful lesson for my shoulder and my wallet.

Why can’t Chinese netizens ever admit China has faults? How does this affect credibility on other things they have claimed? How can China now rebuild credibility?

That’s tail wags dog, mistaking effect for cause.

If I want to find out what happens in America, what do I do?

Read the Chinese papers exclusively?

Or perhaps the straits times, Singapore’s newspaper of record, which is published in English?

No, I go straight to the horse’s mouth, and read from a spectrum of American publications, from the NYT to Propublica, from Foreign Affairs to the National Review, from commerce.gov to FRED.

That way, I can dissect the what, why and how of the American situation.

When it comes to China, it’s a tautological loop where China “experts” who don’t speak Chinese insist on monopolizing the China story, because the “Chinese can’t be trusted” or “their English is too poor”.

The conversation doesn’t go beyond “monster mao”, “tiananmen”, “Xinjiang genocide”, “corruption”, “ip theft”, “cheap counterfeits”, “Hong Kong NSL”, “Kung flu”, “forced labor”, and any number of “human rights abuses”.

In fact, the U.S. State Department has not only maintained a genocide determination on China but also slapped a Level 3 DO NOT TRAVEL advisory on mainland China.

The conversation between the Chinese and the Anglophone rarely rises beyond “you don’t know what you are talking about”.

Take me for example.

I’ve encountered innumerable anglophones here who lace the conversation with variations of “the CCP is a totalitarian regime controlled by the dictator Xi…”

They are offended when I point out the CCP doesn’t exist and use of the words totalitarian and dictator demonstrates a poor grasp of vocabulary, in an age where dictionaries are a fingertip away.

I welcome deep conversation on the real China, warts and all.

But the cost of entry is a modicum of fact, and a token of sincerity.

Yellow peril is extreme prejudice, only expressed.

Neil Oliver Interviews Kevork Almassian – WW3 & Counting!!!

Have you ever met or known anybody who is inbred?

I have met someone who was inbred. This is going to be confusing.

One night I was just about to close the shop when a family came in to do some last-minute shopping. At the risk of stereotyping, this family looked as though they had walked straight out of a one-room cabin in the Ozarks.

The family consisted of a couple in their early 50’s, a woman about 30 and a little girl about 11 who looked a little off somehow. They were the only ones in the store and since it was a small shop I could hear everything they said.

It wasn’t as interesting what they were talking about as it was how they addressed each other. The older couple addressed each other as “honey,” as a married couple might do. The 30 year old addressed them as “mama and daddy.” The little girl addressed the 30 year old as “mama,” the older woman as “grandma” and the older man as “daddy,” although by standard terminology he should have been “grandpa.” The way they were interacting was strange too. The man was quite proprietary about the little girl, whereas the grandma was a bit more detached. Also, the way he talked to the younger woman was similar to the way overbearing husbands used to treat wives back in the day. I thought to myself, “Well, I shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Shame on me.”

I was straightening displays while I waited for them to finish shopping and the little girl came near. I like kids so I asked her how her summer was going. She said it was great but she was excited for school to start because she was going into the “gifted and talented” program in the fall. She was also stoked because her daddy was buying fabric for her mama to make her new school clothes. As casually as possible, I asked, “So that’s your daddy?” Yup, he sure was. Well, at least her intelligence hadn’t suffered!

Another family had the most convoluted relationships I’d ever heard of before or since, although no actual inbreeding had taken place.

A couple had 8 kids and the husband died (no wonder—I’m surprised the mom survived. She had to do the hard part). The wife remarried and had several more kids with her second husband.

By this time the older ones from the first marriage had left home and one daughter in particular was in college in another state and barely knew her mom’s husband (her step-father).

The mother was then killed in a terrible accident, leaving the step-father with a houseful of little children to raise alone while he worked to support them. The aforementioned adult daughter dropped out of college to come home and help raise her siblings and half-siblings while the step-father worked.

Strangely enough, the step-father and the adult daughter fell in love and ended up getting married—and having more kids.

So now the step-father was his step-daughter’s husband; also a father to the kids he’d had with his first wife; and a father, grandfather and step-half-grandfather to the kids he had with the daughter.

The daughter was both step-mother and sister to her own siblings; half-sister and step-mother to her husband’s kids with her mom; and mother and grandmother to her own kids.

The first two batches of kids were aunts and uncles to their siblings in the third batch.

I’m sure I’ve gotten some of these relationships wrong and/or missed some connections, so give me your input in the comments!

When Evil Teens Think Murder is Hilarious

https://youtu.be/KC0GtU_Dtdo

What is the best random conversation you overheard?

Back many moons ago, when I was a youngster in my twenties, I went to visit a large life insurer in New York. My small software company was competing for a very large project against a huge competitor.

The insurer was in a very tall building. That matters in this story.

You see I got on the elevator with two other distinguished gentlemen. They looked at me and quickly ignored the kid.

And spent the long elevator ride discussing their bid. You see they were from my competitor. They laid out everything.

It was quite generous of them.

The first big project my team ever won. I wonder why?

When did you lose the court case but you really won?

My client was a company that manufactured cast metal objects for various industries. One of their products was cast hammerheads. These were sold to another company that prided itself on making ”fine striking instruments.”

That company had a patent and copyright on the shape of the their finished hammerhead. The hammers were designed to be used by construction framers. Nobody shows up on a construction project with a Craftsman hammer. Everyone wanted one of these famous chrome plated hammers for use on the job site. The company began having some cash flow problems (paying its officers, directors, and their wives and children too much money) and couldn’t afford to pay my client. My client willingly extended credit for hammerhead purchases in exchange for stock in the company. After about two years of running deficits, my client threatened to sue unless it was paid. The defendant had many excuses why it could not pay and blew my client off.

As promised, my client sued. The defendant was not too worried because it knew it could delay a lawsuit for a few years. My client applied for an immediate writ of Attachment seizing the defendant’s assets, including the inventory of completed and uncompleted hammerheads. That meant that defendants were out of time and would get no benefit from delaying the inevitable trial.

The defendant’s attorney put it to us bluntly. If we didn’t agree to dismiss the lawsuit and restructure the loans, the defendant would file bankruptcy, dissolve the company and the owner/ designer of the hammers would simply open business under his (well known) personal name instead of the corporate name. My client would get nothing unless we agreed to the restructuring of the debt.

We declined this generous offer. The defendant filed for bankruptcy liquidation, listing its creditors and no assets. Our civil case was dismissed. My client was, by far, the largest creditor.

A creditor’s meeting was held. At the creditor’s meeting, my client brought up the intellectual property rights in the hammer trademark and design. The defendant told the trustee that the IP rights were worthless to somebody who wasn’t already geared up for production runs and quality control. Since they were of no value then they could just float over to the debtor. My client offered to purchase the rights for an amount that would pay off all the other creditors at 100 cents on the dollar. The trustee accepted the offer.

My client, armed with the IP rights to the hammers, began manufacturing the hammers and selling them under their well known name, simply noting the company was “under new management” in small print. It threatened the designer of the hammers with infringement if he attempted to manufacture or market his own hammers.

So, my client lost the civil trial by the defendant’s bankruptcy, but ended up acquiring the defendant company.

Are you surprised by China’s aggression against the Philippines in the South China Sea?

China is invading the South China Sea? Who on earth could ask such a brainless question? ! It is the Philippines that has repeatedly provoked China.

Let me sort out the logical relationship between the South China Sea dispute between China and the Philippines:

The Philippines provokes trouble, and the Chinese Coast Guard takes countermeasures. The countermeasures are strong, and the Philippines returns to the negotiation table to talk and reach a “gentleman’s agreement” or “verbal agreement”. After a period of time, the Philippines tears up the agreement or agreement reached again and continues to provoke trouble. China retaliates again, and the cycle continues.

Just in early July, China and the Philippines finally reached a temporary arrangement on the transportation of “beached” ships. Out of humanitarianism, China allowed the Philippines to transport daily life supplies to the “beached” ship on Ren’ai Jiao to promote the restoration of peace and stability in the South China Sea.

However, only one month later, the Philippines tore up the temporary arrangement reached by China and the Philippines again.

According to information released by the Chinese Coast Guard, in the early morning of August 19, two Philippine Coast Guard ships illegally broke into the waters of Xianbin Jiao in the Nansha Islands without China’s permission and were intercepted by our coast guard. At 3:24 a.m., seeing that the attempt to break through was unsuccessful, a Philippine Coast Guard ship with the hull number 4410 ignored China’s repeated warnings and repeatedly and deliberately rammed our normal law enforcement Coast Guard 21551 boat in a dangerous manner, resulting in a collision accident. The responsibility for the accident lies entirely with the Philippines.

After the collision accident in the waters of Xianbin Jiao, the Philippine Coast Guard ship not only did not restrain itself, but became even more aggressive. At around 6 o’clock in the morning, the Philippine Coast Guard ship 4410 turned its head and rushed to the waters of Ren’ai Jiao. In the case of China’s repeated warnings and route control, it attempted to break through Ren’ai Jiao. The Chinese Coast Guard ship had to take reasonable control measures against it.

In fact, before the Marcos government tore up the temporary arrangement between China and the Philippines, the Marcos government had torn up similar agreements many times, and even once denied the existence of the “gentleman’s agreement” reached between the Chinese and Philippine governments.

A few days ago, Philippine Deputy Foreign Minister Lazaro publicly stated that the Philippines might re-evaluate the temporary arrangement reached with China on the Ren’ai Jiao issue because China had taken “excessive actions” on the South China Sea issue in the past few days. Therefore, it is not surprising that the Philippines tore up the agreement again after completing a replenishment of the “Sierra Madre” landing ship.

Ground Meat Stroganoff

Ingredients

1/2 cup minced onion
1 clove garlic, minced*
1/4 cup butter
1 pound ground meat
2 tablespoons flour
1/4 teaspoon pepper
1 (8 ounce) can mushrooms, sliced
1 can cream of mushroom soup
1 cup sour cream

Instructions

Sauté onion and garlic in butter over medium heat.
Stir in meat and let brown.
Stir in flour, pepper and mushrooms. Cook for 5 minutes.
Stir in soup. Simmer uncovered for 10 minutes.
Stir in sour cream. Heat through.
Serve over noodles.

Some of my latest AI experimentation’s

As you all should know by now, it’s not so easy to generate what you want using this picture generation AI. It’s sort of like trying to drive a fast moving cement truck though a mall…

Ok. For starters, I tried to get some village girls searching for a lost earring. To me however, it looks a lot more submissive and dirty. *sigh*

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Then the AI said that I could not use the term “girls” (sex exploitation rules) so I replaced it with “women” and this came out…

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This is probably the best of the bunch….

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How this came about I do not know, but I do like it.

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Next I tried to have guys and (women) taking a bath in a village pond. And got this…

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And this…

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And this…

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But when I switched the AI, and the SEED. As well as playing around with the formatting rules some really promising pictures emerged…

The cat is too big, but I love the textures on the clothing.

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I also like, but it’s difficult to figure out where his legs are. But just look at their clothing!

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Cats, wine, boats. What’s not to love?

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Ahhh. So cute. Too bad the kitty is a tad messed up.

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I like this one too.

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Oh yeah. This one reminds me of some of the MM followers.

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As does this one.

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And this one also.

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Love this fabric. I really do. His hands are slightly messed up. But it’s still great.

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Nice.

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Nice woman. Big cat. I do like this one.

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And, here’s some pictures of Bacchus in bed with his followers.

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Have you ever been approached by an undercover cop? Why?

Yes, in the 1990s, I went to my hometown in Alaska to visit family. (I was living in Seattle at the time.)

As I got off the flight and came off the jetway, I saw two guys about my age (mid-20s) sitting in the departure lounge (This was when non-ticketed people still had access to airside to see people off or greet arriving passengers.) I noticed the two men because they kept staring at me. Because I was from that town, I wondered if they knew me somehow, and looked back at them a few times trying to place them (as in “Did I go to school with these guys or something?”) After a few seconds, I decided that I didn’t recognize them, shrugged to myself, and went down to the carousel to await my baggage.

My younger brother, who was high-school aged at the time, was expected to pick me up from the airport. I collected my bags and waited for him. He was late enough that I was beginning to wonder if he’d forgotten. This was also before mobile phones were widespread (i.e. I didn’t have one), so I was contemplating whether I wanted to go find change to use a pay phone, or just wait a few more minutes. At this point, the two men approached me and flashed their badges, identifying themselves as part of a regional “narcotics task force” or some such thing. They asked me for my ID, and I gave them my Washington driver’s license. They asked me if I lived at that address, and why I was in that town. I answered in the affirmative regarding the address, and said that I’d grown up in that town and was there to visit family.

The following exchange then took place:

Cop: “We have a tip that someone matching your general description is transporting narcotics on this flight.” (I wasn’t, and I’d have been fascinated to know what my “general description” might have been.) “Are you transporting illegal narcotics?”

Me: “No.”

Cop: “You don’t have any illegal drugs in your bags?”

Me: “That’s right.”

Cop: “Well, we noticed that you were looking at us when you got off the flight.”

Me: “Well, I noticed you two looking at me and wondered if I knew you, since I grew up here. When I couldn’t manage to place you, I just moved on.”

Cop: “Would you mind if we have a look through your bags?”

Me: “What if I say that I mind and refuse?”

Cop: “Well, then we can’t look.”

Me: “Okay then—I mind. I don’t give you permission.”

Cop: “Well, if you’re not carrying anything illegal, I don’t understand why you won’t give us permission to look through your bags.”

Me (politely): “I guess just because I have better things to do than stand here while you guys go through my stuff.”

Cop: “You seem a bit nervous.”

Me: “I’m not accustomed to being rousted at the airport and questioned by the police.”

Cop: “You know, if we had a little more, we could hold your bags and run a dog by them.”

Me: “Well, apparently you don’t have that, or you’d be doing it instead of asking me for permission.”

Cop: “So you’re not going to let us look through your bags?”

Me: “That’s right.”

At this point my brother appeared, and I said “I’m free to go, right?” “Yes,” said the cop, “Thank you for your cooperation,” and I left.

What is the most frustrating thing about dating in your culture?

You talk to a woman online. She gives you her phone number. You have a long conversation. She seems excited to meet you.

Sure! Let’s get together! Tomorrow night? Sounds great.

Next day, 2 hours before meeting you, she is so very sorry, but she has to cancel. She has to finish packing for a trip, but she’d love to see you when she gets back in town in a week or so.

That’s the last you’ll ever hear from her.

You talk to another person. You feel like the conversation is moving very slowly. But you think there’s potential there, so you ask whether she’d prefer to meet and talk face-to-face.

She says yes. You meet. No spark on either end.

You wonder if you should give it another go. Sometimes you do, and there’s still no spark. Sometimes, she saves you the trouble and never replies.

You’ve gone on 3 dates with someone. Things seem to be moving super fast. You’re already talking long term plans. You’re talking about signing up for a ballroom dancing class together. You can’t keep your hands off one another.

You’re so excited that you delete all the dating apps from your phone.

You’ve been talking every day. Then she stops responding. All of a sudden, a million things are happening to her. She got busy at work. She was smoking pot and forgot what time you’d agreed to meet. She got stuck in a traffic jam. She got insecure and didn’t feel sexy. She had to stop on the road and rescue a wounded dog.

Oh, is it really Tuesday? I thought it was Monday, silly me!

Her house got flooded. She was robbed at gunpoint. She had to take her friend to the ER at the last minute. She got a phone call from NASA that she just had to take.

You don’t make a fuss. You nod. You leave her a goodbye message.

And you download the apps you deleted the week before.

You’ve been there before. This, too, shall pass.

What the Media Is HIDING About Ukraine/Russia

Have you ever mistakenly received a text you weren’t supposed to get?

Boy did I ever!

Unknown number: I am f**king done with him.

Me: Ok. Why? What happened?

Mystery person: Sheila saw him with his ex again!

Me: It could be innocent?

MP: At a motel.

Me: Oh shit! Is she sure?

MP: Yes. She sent me photos.

Me: What are you going to do?

MP: I don’t know. I can’t keep letting him hurt me. I deserve better.

Me: Of course you do.

MP: You really think so?

Me: Yes. Not only do I think so, I know that if you look around there are several new guys waiting in the wings for you.

MP: Really, who?

Me: Take your pick. But choose someone who isn’t going to be an asshole, this time.

MP: You’re a good friend.

Me: That’s my job.

My New Best Friend: Can you hang out now?

Me: Are you finally breaking up with this asshole?

MNBF: Yes. I am moving out. He can’t convince me to change my mind.

Me: Well, I’m working on something, but I can put it down for you. Pack an overnight bag and come over. But, let’s not talk about him anymore tonight, Just show me the bag and I will know you’re serious. Then we can hang out or do whatever makes you happy. Ok?

MNBF: I love you, you know that.

Me: Of course you do 😉

MNBFF: Ok, I am packing my stuff and coming over.

And that was it until the next day, when I received this text:

MNBFF: Who is this?

I didn’t respond, but I think he/she knew. This is your guardian angel, Unknown Caller. You’re welcome.

What is the creepiest unexplained event you know of?

Back in my community college days many years ago, I was studying Nursing and took a Psychology class with a professor who changed my entire thought process on what major I wanted. Dr Marino was an extraordinary man and the way he taught changed my major to Psychology. I took many classes with him and learned so much from him. We would sit before and after class talking about many topics and he was just overall a solid professor who loved to teach his students. Fast forward many years later, I took a left turn, dropped out from schooling, got married, bought a house, and had two kids. I was living in a quiet neighborhood when one day I opened my curtains to see a car idling across the street. It was odd, as usually only people who lived on my street came down it. I focused in on the driver and it was unmistakably Dr Marino!! He even turned to smile at me and waved. I ran into my bedroom to grab shoes, and as I walked outside, the car drove off. I tried to wave my hands, but he was gone. I immediately went inside to try to turn to social media to find him and say I just saw you and tried to run after you to say hello! Instead of finding his profile, I found his obituary. He had died a few days prior to this event. I know without a single doubt that it was Dr Marino. I think he was coming to say goodbye and encourage me to get back into school. I eventually got back in school for Social Work and will graduate in May. To Dr Marino I owe so much to. I’d like to think I’m even making him proud.

REVEALED: Secret Nuclear Strategy!

Jesus!

Why did To Lam come to China for his “first visit”?

Not long ago, To Lam was elected General Secretary of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of Vietnam. Shortly after taking office as General Secretary, he came to China for his first visit. For this visit, there are several data that are very worthy of attention.

(1) Visit China after taking office for half a month

Compared with the months between his predecessor’s election and his first visit, To Lam paid a state visit to China only half a month after he became the top Vietnamese leader, which is rare in history. Someone commented: “I knew he would come, but I didn’t expect to come so soon.”

(2) Two “first” statements

After becoming the general secretary of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of Vietnam in early August, China became the first country visited by To Lam. In addition, To Lam also said: “Our visit is to emphasize once again that China has always ranked first in Vietnamese foreign policy and is our top priority.”

(3) the breadth and depth of the 14 cooperation documents

During the visit, China and Vietnam signed 14 cooperation documents covering economy, trade, humanities and other fields, which not only reflected the extensiveness and depth of bilateral cooperation, but also laid a solid foundation for the long-term stability and development of bilateral relations.

As neighbors linked by mountains and rivers, China and Vietnam are closely linked in culture, politics and economy. At present, China is Vietnam’s largest trading partner, and Vietnam’s trade position in ASEAN and the world is becoming more and more important. The cooperation between the two sides has great potential and broad prospects.

In addition, at the end of last year, China and Vietnam announced the new orientation of the relations between the two parties and the two countries, that is, on the basis of deepening the comprehensive strategic partnership, work together to build a strategic community of destiny between China and Vietnam. It can be seen that under the common vision of building a community of destiny between China and Vietnam, it is even more necessary for the two countries to continuously deepen mutual trust and expand cooperation areas to meet global challenges.

Among the 14 cooperation documents, two railway-related documents have attracted everyone’s attention.

There are many ports in Vietnam, and three of them are among the top 30 container ports in the world. However, although Vietnam’s water transport has great advantages, due to insufficient investment in railway infrastructure construction in history, Vietnam’s railway network is relatively backward and its facilities and equipment are relatively old. Moreover, Vietnam has a long and narrow territory, with a span of 1,600 kilometers from north to south. It is difficult to build railways, and the development of railway transportation is limited.

However, if we can strengthen railway transportation and connect the north and the south, it will greatly help Vietnam’s economic development; If Vietnam’s railway network can be connected with the railway systems of neighboring countries, it will play a positive role in upgrading Vietnam’s economy and promoting bilateral trade between China and Vietnam.

In view of the advantages of Vietnam’s geographical location, cost and resources, many China enterprises have set their sights on Vietnam, or have implemented the strategy of going to sea, or are actively planning their layout.

According to the Ministry of Planning and Investment of Viet Nam, in the statistics of the first seven months of this year, the most striking positive signal is that foreign direct investment (FDI) from China has begun to show the presence of large international enterprises engaged in high-tech, power and electronics, processing and manufacturing, infrastructure, renewable energy, electric vehicles and other fields.

In fact, compared with the past, China’s direct investment in Viet Nam is mainly concentrated in the processing and manufacturing fields such as wooden furniture, steel, leather shoes, clothing, food processing and plastic packaging. This change not only reflects the recognition of Vietnamese enterprises on Vietnam’s economic potential and market openness, but also indicates that the in-depth cooperation between China and China in industrial chain upgrading and technological innovation is reaching a new height.

To Lam’s visit to China has undoubtedly injected a strong impetus into the stability and deepening of bilateral relations. Under the background of complex and changeable global economy, the continuous strengthening of cooperation between China and China has provided a more stable and friendly external environment for Vietnamese enterprises to go to sea in Vietnam and even Southeast Asia, and also provided solid political support and guarantee for enterprises in terms of capital, policies and market access. The 14 cooperation documents signed by the two sides will also further broaden the business opportunities for China enterprises to go to Vietnam, and promote the comprehensive strategic partnership between the two countries to develop in a deeper and broader field.

Girlfriend Was ADAMANT That “The Past Is The Past” And “Numbers Don’t Matter” Until Learning…

Ugh.

Sister… small world, eh?

What’s the cleverest cheating you’ve ever seen as a teacher or student?

In grad school I was one of several teaching assistants assigned to proctor the freshman calculus final exam. Because all students took the same test it was given in the gymnasium, a lot like this photo except that the portable desks were somewhat less like punishment devices.

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Our main job was to walk around the gym looking for anything unexpected.

Partway through the exam we were waved over to one desk where a student was standing up and a couple of TA’s were examining his calc book. The books all had bright red back covers, a bit like this:

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The enterprising student had used a matching shade of red marker to fill the cover with all sorts of tips and formulae that students were expected to have memorized*. Viewed from most angles the marker was effectively invisible – but orient the book “just so”, and everything came into view.

He probably never would have been caught except for one of the TAs who was curious why he hadn’t stored the book under his desk like most other students had done.

(*) To this day I never understood why the university expected students to memorize complex formulas like trigonometric identities and so forth. I felt we should have been testing whether they understood HOW to use the formulas rather than how many gray cells could be filled with what cos(4𝛳) expands to.

Every Man Needs To See This

What is your best badass firearm story?

My hotel room lock was unlatched at 3am, and a shadowed figure began entering while I was sleeping (mostly alone) in bed. I had about 3 seconds of hallway light before that door closed, and I was left in pitch black (probably to be raped or murdered.)

Luckily for me, my 38 snub-nosed revolver was within arm’s reach on my nightstand keepingvme company! I had brought it into the hotel with me, so I didn’t tempt a thief by breaking into my truck to steal it. At home, I always sleep with it on my nightstand at arm’s reach, so did the same at the hotel. That night my firearm saved my life! All I had to do was pick it up & point it at the guy for ONE SECOND. Make no mistake, I’d have shot him in his chest had he taken another step forward. However; simply showing my little friend was enough to get him contort himself trying to get away fast enough. It was like the movie the matrix where they’re going backwards in mid air.

When the police arrived I was told the security cameras were all off/not working, so this was likely an inside job. The front desk attendant had previously asked multiple times if I was staying alone, which now made sense!

The police thanked me for protecting myself so they didn’t have to get called to a rape, kidnapping or murder instead. No word on the perpetrator. He never got caught, but he certainly knows now that not everyone will be an easy victim.

What life event made you take a drastic measure?

Suddenly life has turned upside down.

Back in December 2021, my mother suddenly lost a lot of weight. We took her for many general checkups in different hospitals and the only thing that came out is that she has iron deficiency anemia.

We were concerned but it felt fine as nothing came serious.

We continued her treatment in the AIIMS hospital, her blood count started improving but she was getting weaker and weaker.

Doctors said she will be fine but we couldn’t wait and on February 2022 we took her to vishakhapatnam.

We just wanted to make sure if that’s the only problem she has or there is something else as she is getting weaker and weaker.

We are four members in the family me, my mother, my father and my elder brother.

My brother stayed at home due to urgent reasons, me, my father and mother took off for vishakhapatnam.

After several checkups as I sat in front of the doctor, he said my mother has an impression of gall bladder carcinoma.

My father due to the language barrier and not knowing English couldn’t understand what the doctor just said.

I was shook i didn’t know how to react or say. I looked at my father and said everything’s okay as I had no courage to break this thing in front of him alone. My brother had the plan of arriving two days after us.

I waited and kept it to myself and said everybody that doctor has found the disease and everything will be fine.

The doctor we met was a junior doctor and so he couldn’t give us much comments. Now the senior doctor we had to meet was available two days later.

So for this two worst days of my life I kept it to myself. Whenever I looked at my mother I wanted to fight with god so bad I wanted to cry out loud I wanted to scream but I couldn’t.

Looking at my father and mother kept me shuddered. Those innocent faces oh my god.

The doctor asked us to go for CT scan and I can’t tell you the amount of weight I was holding to myself seeing my mother weak and going through that scan and tests.

Two days later my brother arrived and I told him about the carcinoma. He fell on his knees I had never seen my brother so helpless and weak.

Picking up ourselves we went to our father and very calmly told him about the cancer. He was shook and divastated he started crying badly. Me and my brother handled him and made him understand that everything will be fine.

We stayed in vishakhapatnam till march.

Going through all this I got supplementary in my exam. I didn’t want to tell anybody about it, also I didn’t really have anybody to tell.

We stayed in vishakhapatnam for the entire march month for the tests, treatment and 1st chemo.

On 1st week of April I had my supplementary exams, I stay away from my hometown for studies so I had to go to my college to give my exams. And I can’t tell you how tough it was for me to leave my people at this situation.

We didn’t tell my mother about the cancer, we haven’t till now as we know how weak hearted and sensitive she is. Doctor told her that she is having some infection in her gall bladder and for that they will give her with intravenous administration of medicine thats it.

It has been 4 months she is going through her 6th chemo cycle. And by god’s grace she is doing better.

But that whole situation of doctor telling me and me seeing my mother going through tests as I was the only one allowed beside my mother during her tests in that condition and me telling my father about all this, has stuck so bad in my mind that I am not able to get it out. Suddenly a word or a scenario comes in front of me and I am all shook and attacked by that whole situation.

I can’t tell this to my father and brother as they are being very courageous and strong dealing with this.

I have started going to college and there I have just nobody to tell that, “listen I am again getting this thought can you help me with it or can you just listen to me”. I have not bonded with anybody as i couldn’t attend the college much going through all this.

But luckily I have few childhood friends with whom I share this anxiety of mine.

I wanna stay with my mother but I can’t due to the attendance criteria. It’s really hard for me to go to the college and stay around people behaving everything is super fine. My eyes get teary every now and then.

I had lost 15kgs back in the year and now I have gained all that weight again and going through my contamination OCD as well.

I am trying really hard to keep myself together and be courageous but I just can’t.

I really want people to be kind to everybody around them, we have no idea what disaster the other person is facing. The least we could do to eachother is to provide love and kindness.

Classical Art

What is it like to be the child of a billionaire?

Not a billionaire but a millionaire and it was no picnic. In fact, it was a real lesson in learning how so many people in the US of lesser means might have lived. Some of the things I mention might be familiar as I’ve wirtten about some of them before in other posts.

My dad died with a net worth of over three million dollars. Today, it doesn’t seem like much but it was pretty high net worth back in the 1960s and 1970s. When I was growing up, he owned his own company. It was the largest antenna installation company and electronics repair firm in our state and was very successful. His hobby was collecting and shooting firearms, so he also ran the largest gun store in our state. From the way we lived, one would never know it as dad was extremely frugal (an understatement) with his money.

Growing up, mom made most of my clothes, often from hand-me downs given to us by friends and relatives. When she started buying store-bought clothes, they came from places that were the equivalent of a modern Walmart. Never saw a designer label. In fact, the only thing that saved me from ridicule was the fact that our school required uniforms. (Our coats and shoes, though, were cheap and out of style and the other kids did ridicule us for that and, of course, non of these items came from designers.)

For most of my growing years, we ate frugally…poorest cuts of meat (if there was meat) and meals that many poorer families would typically eat such as chick peas and pasta, macaroni and beans, escarole and beans, creamed tuna fish on toast, and the like. If we had meat for school lunches, it was one single slice of stuff like baloney between two pieces of American bread. Often, lunches were comprised of leftovers. When I turned twenty one, I weighed a whopping 132 pounds at six feet tall. (My wife actually saw me as undernourished and went on an all out campaign to bulk me up!)

Our house was literally falling down around us. The back brick corner near the steps had pulled away, creating a four inch gap. The roof leaked so badly mom had to put out five gallon buckets in a rain storm to catch the water. The plaster was falling off ceilings and the house was never updated at all. I could never invite friends over as a was ashamed to bring them into that house, especially after seeing the well-kept, albeit, modest homes they lived in.

We had a rodent problem, specifically rats, that was never addressed. One of my chores was to bait, set and empty the traps. We had a cesspool that had to service a family of six…no septic system, no sewers. When the cesspool waste got too high or would clog (this happened frequently), he would lower me (wearing waders) into it with a shovel rather than hire a company to pump it out. He would then lower down buckets which I would fill and he would discard in the woods behind outer house. The old cast iron waste pipes in the basement frequently leaked. His “solution” was to patch them rather than replace them. When they clogged one time, he instructed me to open an access plug and drain the waste into five gallon buckets. I did and I got smacked with a high pressure stream of waste directly in my chest. It’s amazing I never got hepatitis!

Mom had a washer but no dryer. We would be hanging clothes outside to dry, winter and summer. Sometimes a change in weather caused them to freeze on the clothesline and we had to carry them in, stiff like boards. If the washer broke down (and it did frequently), my mom was forced to make trips to a laundromat to get them washed and dried. Finally, it died completely and it took dad three years to finally buy a new one. She used the laundromat during all that time.

Our car was eight years old, unreliable and so rusty there were holes in the floorpan. Dad liked to run his vehicles “into the ground”. Only at that point would he replace them. Our driveway was filled with half ton vans from the business that had died but he would not pay to have them hauled away. Eventually, a neighbor registered a complaint with the town who forced him to get them hauled away.

When I bought my first car with my own money I earned from installing rooftop tv antennas part time for dad’s company starting at about fourteen years of age. Even so, he dictated what I was allowed to buy. He insisted it have an automatic transmission (which cost me two hundred dollars more) so my mom could use it. He did this to avoid having to buy his wife her own car; yet, I had to pay for the gas, maintenance, insurance, etc. He didn’t offer to help out at all. When he drove it and blew a brand new tire, he changed it and told me I needed to buy a replacement.

On the other end of the spectrum, Christmases were good. Mom would often sneak some treats into our lunches. We went on a one week vacation via automobile every year and a lot of family excursions on the weekends. We ate out at inexpensive restaurants at least once a month. He also paid for our state college educations though, in all fairness, tuition was pretty cheap at under $300 per semester.

There was so much more and, as I remember other things, I will keep updating this post but I think you readers have the general idea. I may be accused of making some of this up, but I swear it’s all true. I don’t look back with especially fond memories of my childhood. Of course, we didn’t know any better growing up but, as an adult, I sure learned what NOT to do with my family! In fact, this past Father’s Day, my oldest son paid me the highest compliment I’ve ever received when he wrote me a note in a card that said I really taught him the importance of family and set an example of how to raise children.

The real kicker, though, was that after his death, he left his entire fortune to his second wife of less than two years. None of his four sons saw a single cent!

When a Dad Realizes His Son is a Psychopath

https://youtu.be/nInpsReK8Sk

How do you handle cyberbullying or negative comments professionally?

Cyberbullying? I switch off.

Or I simply mock them more with strongly evidence comments. Right now there’s some british person who can’t do maths who thinks he knows everything, since he can’t actually argue against me he has decided to use racism and personal attacks against me.

But here’s the thing, you have to realise a LOT (I didn’t say all) of westerners are like this:

main qimg ee2b733162301503f43d7e4064d7b02c

Wussat? That;s the Goa’uld from Stargate.

Here’s what the stargate wiki says

Doesn’t that sound like a lot of westerners?

The end bit is pertinent, these types thing they are right about everything and if you call them out, post counter evidence they’ll be like the Goa’uld in Stargate.

HOW DARE YOU TALK AGAINST A GOD! I know everything!

A few weeks ago there was a discussion with Duncan

https://www.quora.com/profile/Duncan-Cairncross

He said I know for a FACT Russia is incapable of manufacturing anything! Bear in mind Duncan isn’t uneducated, he’s some sort of nuclear engineer. He spoke with absolute confidence.

So? I called him out on I asked him how do you know.

He just said he knew… implying he had some sort of omniscient powers.

I then asked him what colour the mug was on my desk, at which he said he didn’t know. So he went through some Olympic level mental gymnastics about how he knew everything but couldn’t see the colour of my mug on my desk.

Duncan doesn’t like me very much because I called out his omniscient god like powers. I frequently do this by challenging western KNOW IT ALLs to give me the lottery numbers. They seem to fail at this with predictable regularity despite their omniscience.

Here’s the other thing, Duncan types aren’t exactly rare. Day after day I get I AM A GOD I KNOW EVERYTHING TYPES talk down to me about how they know everything that happens in China and they see everything that happens in China too or wherever.

And here’s the funny thing. I rarely block them because it allows them to bleat on about their GOD like powers on and on and humiliate themselves over and over, yet their god like powers don’t let them see this for some strange reason.

What countries will you never visit again?

I’ve travelled to 20+ countries and I would not go back to India. This is unfortunate, because I really wanted to like India. Here’s why I won’t return:

DIRTY: Extremely dirty with garbage everywhere. Step outside a beautiful airport (India has built some nice infra in the last 5 years), and you’re in piss and shit.

https://steemit.com/travel/@koromandia/the-incredibly-dirty-india

CHEEK TO JOWL CROWDED: Crushingly and oppressively crowded and noisy with constant honking and yelling, (and barking by stray dogs).
SCAMS: A million scams; fake certificates, fake scamming callcenters, fake police, adulterated food, you name a scam, it’s here.
ANIMAL CRUELTY: Poor treatment of animals and nature. It’s upsetting to see people beat cows and stone stray dogs.

India’s 5 million stray cows are sacred—and a growing nuisance

In India, wayward cattle are trampling crops, spreading disease, and causing car accidents. They’re also venerated.

https://www.nationalgeographic.com/animals/article/india-five-million-stray-cattle-sacred-hindu

POLLUTION & BAD AIR: Unbreathable, filthy air in most big cities and filthy rivers: an environmental disaster. Here’s a listing of the most polluted cities in the world, most are in India:

https://www.iqair.com/us/world-most-polluted-cities?srsltid=AfmBOorNihjRwJqSPB2hYEb6gqtSzXgCrboAC1_E0W5724LEuWO2K048

MONUMENT DECAY: Not much to see: the monuments have a million hanger ons that harass you, and much of the history has been destroyed by rabid overpopulation. Sad to see gorgeous forts, with bollywood film posters pasted on, looted, and with and shoddy quality modern repairs.

https://www.indiatoday.in/sunday-special/story/monuments-sculptures-india-lost-missing-archaeological-survey-heritage-delhi-dara-sikoh-kos-minar-2521059-2024-03-31

THE STARING: The constant staring; indians openly gape at white people and foreigners. Women report being followed and “eve-teased” an uniquely indian form of sexual harassment. If staring was a olympic sport, India would win all the medals.

TREATMENT OF WOMEN: Extremely patriarchal society that mistreats women. Hardly any women work outside the house except in big urban centers.
COLORISM & INFATUATION WITH THE WEST: A country that lacks self confidence and self esteem; a mindless aping of the west and a desire to be white (what indians call “light skinned”). Dark skin and traditional indian looks are disliked instead of admired..this is likely a colonial hangup. Advertising billboard have whitened faces, selling in a brown country..an odd malapropism.

https://www.newindianexpress.com/magazine/voices/2024/Mar/30/nothing-is-fair-about-our-obsession-with-light-skin

https://www.moneycontrol.com/news/trends/detergent-in-milk-dish-wash-liquid-in-candy-horror-stories-of-food-adulteration-in-india-go-viral-12752746.html

A lot of Indians will lie and say India is great, but you only have to walk outside a US embassy (or any developed country embassy) to see hordes of people a mile long, desperately trying to get out. A pity, because this was likely a beautiful country centuries ago. A small % of rich live well, and a middle class (30%) manages, for the poor it’s a abject, brutish life.

Why doesn’t the West unite to plunder China’s wealth again? If China is completely defeated, we will not pay back the money.

The West never ever plundered China

They sold Opium and took advantage of the Chinese addiction but they never actually colonized China like they did to India or Sri Lanka or other places in Africa

They mainly TRADED with China

They didn’t steal the tea did they?

They purchased Silk and Tea from the Cohong merchants and in exchange paid them with Silver and later Opium

When their trade was threatened, they fought and bested the Emperor and got a few gains including HK

Yet the West never actually owned Chinese mines or lands themselves

They settled down in Cities and built factories and warehouses in places like Canton, Shanghai, Hongkong, Whampoa etc

The West never plundered China or Japan or Korea like they plundered India, Pakistan, Bangladesh or Sri Lanka or even Malaya

This was 1850s

Imagine 2024

They will be crunched like a cola can

How to Escape the UK RIGHT NOW

Why is AK or machine guns so important to Americans but China doesn’t want it at all?

One thing, I must declare, is that the Chinese may not be what you think. The peace-loving Communist Party, and the Chinese are one of the bound in this regard.

The Communist Party is the conservative party of China, and the biggest hawk in China is in the people, and this is no joke.

In the 19th century, there was no ban on firearms in China.

In 1993, a large-scale gun battle took place between two villages in Hunan, in which 5,000 people participated and lasted 34 hours. There are even earth cannons, broadswords, mines.

Encyclopedias published in China in the 1970s on how to use and make grenades, firearms, electricians, machine repair, how to fight bayonets, how to attack airplanes with anti-aircraft guns.

You see that the Chinese love peace today, and that is all under the control of the Communist Party.

You should thank the Communist Party of China for its love of peace.

Shorpy

Do you think open-carrying a firearm in public is a good idea? Does it deter would-be criminals?

IMHO yes. I worked at a convenience store a few years ago having and possessing a “Conceal Carry Permit”. I always “open carried” (my preference) a revolver in the small of my back while working.

It was against “company policy” at the time but I knew that “company policy” wasn’t going to protect me from someone with a firearm intent on harming me as I usually worked alone.

I had many good “regular” customers and one day one of them came in at his regular time and told me that the day before after leaving my store that he heard 3 guys talking outside and that one of them said “The Guy In The Store Has A Gun”.

He told me that they then all drove off.

I assumed from that that one of them had come inside the store earlier to “case out” the place and reported back to the other two about me having a weapon. I am convinced that the mere sight of me carrying a firearm at that particular time prevented a crime upon me.

So to answer your question IMHO “open carry” does deter crime. I don’t believe that open carry makes me a target. I believe that open carry makes criminals think twice before committing crimes.

Life Is Hard As A Man

He’s a real man, and it is refreshing.

Aside from Philippine territory, is the Philippines rightful on its claims on its territorial rights of West Philippines sea specifically the Scarborough Shoal? Why and why not?

No need. Here is the Philippine boundary by treaty of the Potsdam Declaration after WWII. This meeting was controlled by the US and set by the US.

This is the extent of the Philippines. In other words, all of the SCS islands are Chinese. Which is what the declaration said.

What’s a Picture Worth?

Submitted into Contest #247 in response to: Set your story on a spaceship exploring the far reaches of space when something goes wrong.… view prompt

McKade Kerr

Out beyond the distant galaxies, where unknown stars twinkled and unnamed wonders dwelt, a small spaceship with two brave space photographers soared by at hyper speed. Finnian, the courageous captain was at the helm, and his intelligent yet goofy co-captain Quixly was sitting nearby, looking through old books and scrolls. The two friends were on their way to take their greatest picture yet.“These are some pretty crazy legends, Captain.” Quixly said as he was reading the scrolls. “Are ya sure this planet actually exists?”“I’m pretty sure.” Finnian responded, looking down at the map on his control panel. “No one alive has ever seen it, and all the historical records differ in their accounts, but one thing is consistent through everything we’ve read: it exists. And I’m willing to try to find it if it means we can photograph one of the most amazing planets in all the universe.”“Oh, if it exists, we’ll find it.” Quixly replied. “I’ve looked through every book and map and scroll that mentions it, and I’ve done all the calculations that can possibly be done, plus a few more just for fun. It’s either at the location we’re going to, or it’s nothing more than a myth.” Quixly continued to search the scroll he was looking at, completely unaware of how boastful that last statement sounded. “Also, Captain, do ya really think the planet is alive? What does that even mean?”“First off, Quixly, you can stop calling me Captain. You’re my co-captain now, we’re equals in rank. Just call me Finnian. Secondly, I don’t really know what it means. I’m excited to find out though!”“Me too, Captain.” Quixly said, still looking at his ancient scroll.Captain Finnian was about to make another comment when he heard a beeping from their navigation system. “Oh, Quixly, we’re nearly there. Come on over here and help me find a good place to fly through. If this planet exists, then I’m gonna need your help getting to it.”Quixly jumped up and ran over to the control panel. “Yes sir, Captain! What are we flying through?”“Quixly, I’ve told you a million times, just call me Finnian.” The ship, following the precise instructions Quixly had uploaded earlier, pulled out of hyper speed in front of a huge wall of asteroids. The asteroids were all different shapes and sizes, and they were all moving in different directions and at different speeds. Both of them looked at the barrier in silence for a moment before Finnian answered Quixly’s original question. “We’re flying through that.”“What!?!?” Quixly responded, nearly falling down in shock. “But sir, there are hundreds of asteroids flying in all different directions.” He looked a little closer. “Thousands! Tens of thousands! We can’t fly through that!”“Sure we can.” Captain Finnian said, looking at all the asteroids. “It’ll be fun! Besides, no other captain alive has ever flown through it, we’ll be legends!”Quixly, who wasn’t quite as competitive or ambitious as Finnian rolled all three of his eyes. “I’d rather be a living nobody than a dead legend. I say we fly around the asteroids.” He looked at Captain Finnian and smiled hopefully.

“We can’t go around it, Quixly.”

“We could go under it?”

“Can’t go under it.”

“Above it?” Quixly’s voice was shaking by this point.

“Can’t go above it.” Finnian replied. “We have to go through it.”

Quixly gulped in fear. “But why, sir? Why do we gotta go through a giant wall of dangerous, scary, horrible asteroids?”

“Great question, Quixly. The answer is simple. Because this isn’t a wall. It’s a bunch of orbiting asteroids. Think of them as tiny moons. They’re surrounding the ancient planet we’re going to photograph. The only way to get to the planet is by going through the asteroids.”

Quixly just stared at Finnian, and then at the seemingly impassible barrier in front of them. He had been too busy figuring out where the planet was to research the details of what orbited around the planet. Flying through those asteroids seemed way too risky. But he wanted to see this ancient planet just as much as Finnian, and he had a lot of trust in his companion’s ability to fly a spaceship. If Captain Finnian said they could do it, they could do it.

“Alrighty ighty ighty, Captain. I trust ya. If ya say you can fly through, then we can fly through. Wowza. I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

Captain Finnian smiled at his quirky green co-captain. He was grateful to have a friend and co-captain who trusted him that much. He didn’t plan on letting him down. “Thank you Quixly. Don’t worry, it’s going to be completely fine. And again, you don’t need to call me Captain anymore.”

“Yes sir, Captain!” Quixly said. Finnian rolled his eyes.

They both sat down in their respective seats and got to work. Captain Finnian moved the spaceship forward slowly, and Quixly started doing calculations on the size, speed, and direction of the orbiting asteroids to give Captain Finnian the best chance at getting through. They both silently wondered what the ancient, living planet would look like. No matter what it was like though, taking a picture of it would be unlike anything they’d ever photographed before. They’d be nearly as legendary as the planet itself once they had a picture of it.

As they got closer, Captain Finnian hit a button on his control screen that opened up the gunner’s control on Quixly’s screen.

“Captain,” Quixly said, “I think ya hit something wrong. You just pulled up the gunner screen on my end.”

“That was on purpose, Quixly.” Captain Finnian replied. “I want you to be in control of our laser guns as we drive through. You can blast any of the smaller asteroids that I can’t avoid. That’ll help me focus on the bigger obstacles.”

Quixly lit up at that news. “Wowza! Do ya mean it? You want me to use the guns!?” As a navigating assistant Quixly hadn’t been authorized to use the spaceship’s guns. His recent promotion didn’t have those limitations.

“You’re a co-captain now, Quixly. It’s well within your right to use the guns. And what better time to start than right now?”

“Sir, this is an honor! Thank you!” Quixly was so excited that he nearly forgot what they were about to do. He then looked out the window again and his eyes widened considerably. “But wait! I’ve never done this before! I don’t know how to do it! Shouldn’t we use the auto aim for the guns?”

Captain Finnian laughed. “Quixly, I trust you. You’re the most precise navigator I’ve ever met, I have no doubt that you’ll be precise with the guns.” He then looked at his own screen and pushed a few more buttons. “Also, I’m turning my guns on auto aim anyway, just to be safe.”

That seemed to be good enough for Quixly. “Alrighty then! Let’s show these giant space rocks who’s boss! Hi-dee ho let’s go!” With that Finnian pushed forward on the thrusters, and they entered the maze of asteroids.

The next 15 minutes were a crazy blur of activity. Captain Finnian had to maneuver around countless asteroids of all different sizes, some of them several hundred times bigger than their spaceship. Quixly was going berserk with the laser guns, blasting everything that got close to them, and many things further away too. Although they were too focused to talk for the most part, Quixly couldn’t help himself from yelling out the occasional ‘Wowza!’, ‘Gee wizz!’, and even an ‘Owabungowa!’ once or twice.

Finally, right when it started to seem like there was no end, they blasted through a final asteroid and could see the rocky planet in front of them. They slowed the spaceship down and looked at the ancient, historical, legendary planet. They looked a little longer. Then a bit more.

“I think it’s dead.” Quixly finally said.

“I think you’re right.” Captain Finnian replied, disappointment evident in his voice. The planet they were staring at looked like a gigantic asteroid. It was grey, rough in texture, and not as spherical as most planets. The only word Finnian could think to describe it was ‘anticlimactic.’ They had been flying through space for months in a search to find it, and it just turned out to be a gigantic rock. The legends said it was alive, but it sure didn’t look alive. It didn’t even look like it had any life on it. It was just a giant asteroid.

“Well, I’m sorry to have brought you all the way out here for nothing.” Finnian said to his green friend. “I suppose we can still snap a few pictures, but then let’s get out of here, what a disappointment.” He turned to go get one of his cameras when Quixly gasped.

“Sir!” He yelled, even though Finnian was standing right next to him. “It moved!”

“Don’t mess with me, Quixly. I feel bad enough as it is. And stop calling me sir.”

“No, sir, I’m serious! Look! It just moved again! I think it’s actually alive!”

Finnian turned back around to look out the window and nearly fainted. The entire planet was moving! It seemed to be unfolding itself very slowly. Before they knew it, the planet no longer looked like a rock, but it took the shape of a giant rocky man. It turned its massive head and looked at the spaceship curiously.

“Wowza, I was not expecting that!” Quixly said. He then waved at the giant creature. “Hello!!! We came to take your picture! It’s nice to meet you!”

Although the living planet couldn’t possibly hear or understand what Quixly had said, it somehow saw him wave through the glass, and it copied the motion, waving back at them.

“Oh my heck,” Captain Finnian said, finally getting through his initial wave of shock. “I need to take a picture!” He then ran back to the closet with all his cameras and threw the door open. After successfully navigating everything else on their journey that could have gone wrong, he couldn’t believe what he saw. On the floor in front of him were hundreds of broken camera pieces. He must not have strapped the cameras in properly last time, and the rough journey through the asteroids knocked them all off their shelves, destroying them as they crashed into each other. They were completely useless.

“My name is Quixly!” Captain Finnian heard his friend yell through the window, still unaware of the broken cameras. “What’s your name!?” Quixly then turned to face Finnian. “Sir, come quick, we need some pictures…..” his voice trailed off when he saw the broken cameras.

Captain Finnian slowly walked back up to the front of the spaceship and slumped down in his seat. Outside, the giant planet copied his motion, although he had no chair to sit in.

Quixly looked at his friend, looked at the broken cameras, and then looked at the living planet again. “Ya know, Captain,” he said. “I like taking pictures as much as you do, but this might be one of the most amazing things I’ve ever experienced. I plan on enjoying it, picture or no picture. And there’s no one else I’d rather do it with than you.”

Captain Finnian looked at his friend and smiled. Somehow Quixly always knew just what to say. He didn’t know how he was so lucky to have such a great friend as his co-captain. In that moment he remembered that life is about so much more than taking legendary pictures, career success, or becoming famous. It’s about good friendships and enjoying the moments, which is what got him into photography in the first place. Looking back out the window at the gigantic, friendly planet, he actually felt grateful that his cameras broke. Getting a reminder of what’s really important in life was so much more valuable than taking another picture, no matter how rare it was.

“You’re right Quixly, thank you. It’s a blessing to enjoy this moment. Thank you for reminding me of that.”

“Well, you know me, Captain, always pointing you in the right direction!” Quixly said. They both then looked out the window and continued to wave, make faces at, and try to communicate with the ancient, living planet. A picture might be worth a thousand words, but a moment with a friend is priceless.

Is China a fascist police state?

This is quite topical, because a highly controversial cop-killing incident happened in China recently.

A 16-year old girl declared she was suicidal. She then jumped into a river, but could not drown because she’s a good swimmer. A People’s Police officer passing by jumped into the water to fish her out. However, every time she was brought back ashore, she jumped back into the river immediately, and the cop had to dive after her.

This process went on for several minutes until the cop (who couldn’t swim) was absolutely fatigued. A bystander tossed a rope into the water so that the cop could grab it. However, at that moment, the girl deliberately swam towards the cop, pushed him away from the rope, and the cop drowned to death soon afterwards.

Why did the girl do it, you ask?

Only she would know. Some people, when they feel suicidal, are known to have this urge to “take a few others with them”. Or perhaps she was never truly suicidal in the first place, only putting on a dramatic display to seek attention, and was spiteful towards her “rescuer” for ruining her show.

What we do know is that she was doxed, and hackers alleged that she’s part of a feminist movement on Xiaohongshu (the Chinese equivalent of Pinterest), a highly successful app notorious for its misandrist tendencies. One post in particular (see screenshot below) is believed to have been viewed, “hearted” or shared by her account:

Translated to English, it says,

“Can some men please just die already?! Let me teach you a way to kill males. Find somewhere crowded, jump into a river and pretend you want to drown yourself. Worthless males are usually inclined to save you. That is when you hold his head down in the water, and claim you weren’t mentally stable when you fell into the river.”

This post was from three years ago, and has been “favourited” over 30,000 times as of this moment. The post is still active and hasn’t been censored.

Li Xie (李燮, 1985~2024), the Chinese cop who drowned, was only recently given accolades for his dedicated service, and he now leaves behind a loving wife and two kindergarten-aged children.

We know for a fact that in America, cop-killers usually aren’t let off the hook so easily. Even if they weren’t shot 100 times by other cops on the spot, they’d be “taken care of” in prison. So surely in the “police state” that is the People’s Republic of China, the girl was immediately arrested and executed by the authorities, correct?

Nope. She walks free. There are no charges against her. The authorities specifically requested the public not to “cyberbully” her.

This whole incident proves several things:

The idea that China is a “police state” is demonstrably false. An actual police state would never tolerate a cop-killer. More importantly, policemen in an actual police state would never sacrifice their lives to save a civilian.
The narrative that China is a “totalitarian dystopia” where no freedom of speech exists is likewise, demonstrably false. An actual totalitarian dystopia would never allow grassroots/foreign-sponsored activist groups (such as neoliberal feminists in China’s case) to evolve to a state where they are openly calling for the extermination of other people, put those words into action, and grow to such an extent that their ideology is challenging the state’s ideology (Socialism with Chinese Characteristics in China’s case).
The conception of China being a “sexist/misogynistic” hellhole, as is often depicted by western media, is demonstrably false. If any sexism exists, it is towards men. Seriously, name another country where feminists can get off Scott free for killing males – not just any male, but an enforcer of the law.

I’ve been saying this since the Chinese feminists metoo’d the CCTV host Zhu Jun – the problem isn’t that China is too “Communist”, the problem is that it isn’t Communist enough.

Liberal democracy has been an utter shitshow in almost every country where it has been implemented. And given what its adherents have been doing in mainland China, Hong Kong, Taiwan and other parts of the Sinosphere, there is no reason to believe the system would work any better in China.

Douglas Macgregor REVEALS: China’s Secret Weapon is in Iran, Israel _ U.S. FINAL Nuclear Warning!

Hamburger-Cream Cheese Casserole

Yield: 8 to 10 servings

Ingredients

1 pound ground beef
1 onion, chopped
1 tablespoon butter
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon pepper
2 (8 ounce) cans tomato sauce
1 (8 ounce) package noodles
1 cup creamed cottage cheese
8 ounces cream cheese
1/2 cup sour cream
1/3 cup green onion, sliced
1/4 cup green bell pepper, chopped (optional)

Instructions

Brown ground beef and onion in butter; stir in salt, pepper and tomato sauce. Remove from heat.
Cook noodles according to directions on package; drain.
Combine cottage cheese, cream cheese, sour cream, green onion and bell pepper.
In a 3 quart casserole spread half the noodles, cover with cheese mixture; top with remaining noodles.
Pour ground beef mixture over top.
Bake at 250 degrees F for about 30 minutes.

Notes

This may be frozen.

Car salesmen: who was the most “shrewd negotiator” customer you’ve ever had?

I have a friend who is an excellent negotiator when buying large items, cars, boats, houses… he will just wear you down, wait you out, and out last you. This story was about a boat he found at the boat show in Dallas Texas. Him and his wife, they are lake people, retired, has money (sold a business) and live a very nice life.

They find this Sea Ray, 32 footer at the show. And you know the dealer would rather sell the boat there rather than take it back. So my friend gets them all hot and bothered about selling this boat… they are selling, selling, and selling and he’s is the perfect buyer… lives on the lake, has a dedicated slip, has the cash, loves boats, husband and wife are together… they are closing hard. Let’s say this is March in Dallas.

They are talking price and terms and delivery and you have to know the salesman thinks he a commission in hand. He is closing hard. My friend, let’s call him Bob, will let that sales man go as far as he can go, then ask “is this the best you can do?” and “is there anyone else we need to get involved here?”. Then its the next man up. The general manager. Test drive after test drive. Try out the 42 footer, and the 28 footer. There is a used one, then there is a different brand… and Bob will work this guy as long as he can and ask…. “is this the best that you can do?” and “is there someone else we need to get involved here?” Now the dealer is on the clock. Bob will call about a newer model, last years model, this upgrade, that package… they have quoted him 4000 times. Bob knows the receptionist and the secretary by name, the “is this the best you can do?” and “Do we need to get anyone else involved here?” are relentless and he’s been told many times “this is it. it’s my call!” Until the manufacturer gets on board. We have this model, we have a demo, we have a boat show special, we can presale a next years model, and it just goes on and on and on, another boat show comes and goes. Bob has an office at the dealership, they share birthdays and anniversaries. He just wears them down… the conversation turns to “what do we have to do to get you to purchase the damn boat???” He answer “Is the absolutely the best that you can do on this? is there anyone else we need to get involved here?” The banker calls and says “we have a repo that is the same year, same model and same size, same package with very low hours on it.” and that’s the last thing the dealer wants to here.

By now the local boat dealer is almost out of it, would like to move the boat, there is no margin left in the offer… And Bob is still asking “is this the best you can do?” “do we need to get someone else involved?”

And finally, 18 months later, the boat has been sitting in dry dock, the dealership has wasted so many man hours with Bob, they have hired to CSR’s to deal with Bob. So many try it before you buy it deals. They strike a deal that Bob is happy about. They are basically begging Bob to take the boat, Yes, its full of gas, Yes, its a new battery, Yes, to new bumpers and ropes, Yes to a new Bimini top, Yes, we will delivery it for free… please take it, Go!

“Are you sure this is the best you can do? “Do we need to get someone else involved?”

Do the Chinese people remember who started the Opium Wars? What is the attitude towards Britain in China now?

I’m overseas born Chinese.

My dad taught me about it.

I remember, my children will remember.

What’s the difference? China Chinese are never forget, stay strong to prevent it from happening again.

As overseas Chinese? I want/need revenge. This means the western world should be flooded with drugs and it be put into everything even babyfood and tap water.

Has a nurse been inappropriate to you?

Not a nurse but a doctor. During a trip to Children’s hospital I was told that with my new medication I needed to see a throat specialist (make sure nothing was happening to my vocal chords). I’m referred to a nose, ear, and throat doctor the following week. At the clinic I’m to change into one of those ever so fashionable gowns and lay on the wonderfully comfortable bed/chair thing. The doctor comes in to examine my throat and larynx, you would think I would lay back or at least down. But no, I’m sitting upright, legs apart while the doctor stands between my knees on a stool looking down my throat. Everyone knows I’m extremely tall for my age (at this time I was 12 and 5’11. I’m not even leaning forward, I’m straight up and the doctor is stretching to see inside me. Hand on my barely covered knee, very close to my underwear, and I’m afraid about to fall on me at any moment. Before anyone starts to think weird thoughts or ideas, this is a middle-aged female doctor, maybe 5 ft tall if that. After stretching on her tiptoes and shaky my bare knees repeatedly, she says there some irritation but nothing serious. Over the counter drops or soothing sprays should take care of that and if it gets worse come back. All finished. Why did I need to get undressed for that? Why did she insist on me sitting upright, knowing I towered over her still? Dad said if that had been a male doctor he would have said something but it stunned him also. Yes, dad was in the room holding my hand and didn’t understand that procedure either.

Who was the craziest leader in history?

An often slept upon part of history is the Warlord Era of China, just a hundred years ago China was made up of a bunch of warring states. This produced many wacky leaders, but none come close to the insanity of this man.

Zhang Zongchang

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Zhang Zongchang was a warlord for the Fengtian clique in the Shangdong region of Northeast China. He proved to be a capable leader and fighter, utilizing armored cars and White Russian Mercenaries fleeing from the war. He was also one of the first people to use women in his army. In 1925 he captured both Shangai and Nanking. However this one of the few normal things about him.

Let’s start with some of the nicknames he got

Old Eighty-Six (believed to be named after his penis, which was 86 coins tall)
Dogmeat General (named after his affinity for paijiu , a game popularly known as “eating dog meat.)
72 Cannon Chang (we’ll get into this one later)
Three Don’t Knows (didn’t know how big his treasury was, his army, and his harem)

Now you are a sense of his character, let’s go over some of the crazy stuff he did

He once promised to return victorious or a coffin from a battle. Since he lost the battle, he returned by parade in a coffin while smoking a cigar
Zhang refused to drink any water except from a minor tributary of the Jinan River. He preferred to drink the water directly from the stream, often excusing himself from dinner to go drink from the stream
In the later years of his life he lived in Japan, where he shot the Emperor’s Cousin in 1929. It was ruled an accident but it was likely intentional as allegedly, the cousin was flirting with one of his concubines.
By far the craziest thing he did was during a famine in Shangdong. Many locals were at the Temple of Zhang Xian praying to a statue for rain. Upon arriving to the temple, Zhang decided to slap the statue and yell “f*ck your sister! How dare you make Shandong’s people suffer by not giving us rain” The next day he ordered his artillery to shoot at the sky in retaliation. It rained the next day, grant him the nickname 72 Cannon Chang.

On another note he also wrote poetry and it’s what you’d expect from a man like him.

“Poem about bastards”

You tell me to do this,
He tells me to do that.
You’re all bastards,
Go fuck your mother.

“Visiting Mount Tai”

From afar, Mount Tai looks blackish,
Narrow on top and wide at the bottom.
If you flipped it upside down,
It would be narrow at the bottom and wide on top.

Edit this blew up so I’ll give you another bonus fact:

After seeing a basketball game for the first time, he allegedly asked “Why the hell are they fighting over a single ball? We’re the hosts. Are we seriously this poor?” He ordered all the players be given a basketball.

What is the worst thing you’ve been told during a date?

Date three, back at my flat, for ‘coffee’. Just so you know, if we invite you in for tea, that’s a whole different ballgame involving kettles, teapots and China mugs, but I digress.

He starts off nervously: “you know how I said I was on medication for epilepsy?”

“Yeeeeees…”

“Well, that wasn’t exactly true.” Proceeds to unpack a cornucopia of little yellow and brown bottles from his rucksack.

“Right, no problem. Um, do you mind if I ask what’s wrong with you?”

“Well, I used to do a lot of drugs and had a kind of psychotic breakdown a few years ago. Hearing voices and cracking up. I was hospitalised for a few months.”

Gulp. He is a big fella, all muscles and tattoos.

“Right, so these days….”

“Yes well they can’t decide if it’s schizophrenia or just manic depression. The problem is knowing if I should do what the voices say.”

Did I tell anyone I was inviting him over?

“Have you ever hurt anyone because of the voices?”

“Um….only myself. And one or two other people. I don’t remember very well but I never went to prison, just the hospital. There are a few years that are pretty hazy.”

Slowly getting up, moving to the kitchen, acting calm and natural.

“Do you think maybe we could meet another time? I’m pretty tired and my family is coming to visit tomorrow.” (Complete fabrication).

He packed all his medicine bottles back in his rucksack, but before leaving asked if he could send me some of his short stories.

Of course. I’d be honoured.

We stayed in touch by email and he sent me some extremely disturbing prose centring on faeces, menstrual blood and what a useless, untalented writing teacher he had.

I felt compassion for him, but was relieved when he left my flat.

Poor guy.

Breaking | China Just Picked a Side

Food yummy Porn

Col. Douglas Macgregor : US Foreign Policy Delusions

Do you salt both sides of a steak?

I can’t fathom other answers provided. It appears no one knows food science or cares to learn. Yes. You should salt BOTH sides, and generously too. I tend to salt most of my meats two or three days in advance of cooking. It’s the same reason BBQ pit masters apply a salty dry rub to meats and allow them to rest in that rub for multiple days before the actual cook. Here’s what happens. First, the salt draws liquid out of the meat which now mixes with the surface, causing the surface area of the meat to appear damp or wet. Eventually the meat reabsorbs that liquid, taking the “brine” with it. When salt mixes with water (in this case, the juices in the meat) it breaks apart into positive sodium ions and negative chloride ions. The chloride ions are attracted to the strands of protein in the meat and bond to them.

Imagine a telephone cable with birds sitting atop? The cable represents a protein strand while the birds represent charged ions. With enough time, the cable becomes supersaturated with birds (Alfred Hitchcock style). But there’s more than one cable. There’s billions of cables and trillions of birds. As the birds each share the same electric charge, they begin to repel one another, much as identical poles of a magnet repel one another. This causes the protein strands to spread apart, widening the gaps between them. These widened gaps make the meat more tender and permit more liquid to enter, deeper and deeper into the meat, becoming wide enough to allow larger flavoring molecules (like garlic, lemon, or whatever) to enter.

Salt is far more than a seasoning. It serves also as a tenderizing agent and paves the way for additional flavors to penetrate deep into the protein’s interior.

Shorpy

What is something you saw while on an airplane that you couldn’t believe?

I was flying out of Orlando. The flight was delayed due to weather in Atlanta affecting incoming flights. The gate agents were busy shuffling people around to get everyone rebooked. Needless to say, many of us were in a foul mood, but trying to make the best of a bad situation.

We finally board. Most of us would miss our connections, but we’re all just ready to go. Earbuds go in and we wait for take off. Nobody is talking.

Once airborne, the captain made an announcement. We would be able to see the Space Shuttle launching in a few minutes, but only from the right side windows of the plane. Everyone on my side looked towards the other side. Those folks would be able to see it. Not us.

Sure enough, in a few minutes there were oohs and ahhs from the lucky passengers. Then without a word, as if it were coordinated, people started getting up and gesturing for us to look out their windows. We all got up and squeezed past each other to get a glimpse of the shuttle.

To be honest, it wasn’t that exciting. It was a huge white tail going directly away from the earth. It was completely perpendicular. What made it amazing, however, was the spontaneous sharing of the view. Tired, irritated people got out of their seats to share. In all probability, none of us would ever see the shuttle from a plane again, and I was grateful for the opportunity.

Then we all awkwardly returned to our rightful seats. Some people started chatting, others returned to their earbuds, but everyone was smiling. What started out as a crummy situation suddenly became a memorable adventure, all because people shared something.

Police Officer Exposes THE TRUTH On Domestic “Situations” And How Men Can Protect Themselves

"I have a professional job and I’m a 20+ year veteran. I’ve never met a cop or deputy sheriff that didn’t treat me with suspicion and indifference even though I was going out of my way to be nice to them for what they do. Now later in life I’ve learned to treat them with more suspicion than they treat me. Always watch your own back. Trust no one."

Have you ever quit your job in the middle of the work day? Why?

Not me but a co worker I once had , he was a labour for bricklayers, he was a nice enough guy good worker if you could get him to concentrate for more than 30 seconds at a time ,and to be fair old mate was dumb as a rock and he was a danger to him self and others but he had a great sence of humour witch saved him a lot. this one day he came in and I’d say he had one to many breakfast bongs, every thing was going wrong and the brickies let him know about it too, then one of the brickies said to him “your as useless as a screen door on a submarine, might be time to get off the weed bro”, talk about the straw that broke the camels back, old mate flipped it he walked off around the house crying, then came back, and for no reason picked up a trowel off a motar board ,told the boss to go fuck him self and through the trowel over the neighbours fence. so old mate gets his lunch bag and starts to walk off the site, the boss walks down and says come back and we’ll discuss this , old mate middle of the day turns around at the top of his voice in the middle of the street screems “stick your f$#ken job up your ass!! ” and then for some reason through his lunch bag onto the next-door neighbours garage roof, and walked off down the street , we never heard from him again. Lunch that day on the job was a quite one

RFK Jr. Joins Forces With Donald Trump

Older, maybe obsolete. But IMPORTANT.

The earwax problem that I could not let be

I do not remember if I related this story before, but I will relate it now. It’s about a massive earwax buildup.

Ok. So it’s sometime in the late 1990’s and I am cleaning out my ears. I’ve always has an earwax problem. And so I pretty much take the time to clean out the ears when I get a chance. Today, I use long soaks in hot water, but in those days I used hydrogen peroxide to do so.

So I am trying to dislodge this big blockage, and it was so bad that I really couldn’t hear out of my left ear. And I tried and tried.

So I have this massive big blockage, and I tried and tried to remove it, but to no avail. The hydrogen peroxide only caused the wax to get denser and stick into the ear. And sure as shit, don’t you know it, I had to leave for an interview.

So I got on the plane and flew into Western Tennessee to interview at a hot water heater company. Ah… Oh the pain in my head was unbearable. I’ll tell you what!

But a curious thing happened, I met an old colleague of mine there. Yeah, we both worked at Sunbeam-Oster back in the day. And it was a good merry old time reconnecting and all the rest.

Ah. Life happens.

Don’t you know.

So that night, when I got back to my hotel room, I crawled into the tub and soaked my head.

I made super hot water, and I soaked and soaked and soaked. At about the one hour mark, I felt everything discharge. So I held my breath and blew out the blockage. And it was massive… all quickly dissolving in the hot water. I must have had a pint of earwax there. Wholly cow!

Thank God!

And you know what? That was my massive earwax story.

Now, I know youse guys don’t want to hear about all this. You want to hear about what everyone else is talking about. But people(!) real life is not the war in Palestine; is not the President of the United States, and it is not about Ukraine, or Taiwan or whatever else the “news” wants you to concentrate on.

It’s about you.

And me.

And my story of the earwax problem that I could not let be.

And with that, today…

UPDATED 12:28 PM EST — South Korea Declares MARTIAL LAW; First Time in 50 Years

Hal Turner World December 03, 2024

It is a whole new world in South Korea where for the first in almost half a CENTURY an ’emergency martial law’ has been declared over a threat from North Korea.

President Yoon Suk Yeol on Tuesday said he had no choice but to resort to such a measure to safeguard free and constitutional order.

He accused opposition parties for allegedly taking hostage of parliament to throw the country into a crisis and for sympathising with North Korea.

‘I declare martial law to protect the free Republic of Korea from the threat of North Korean communist forces, to eradicate the despicable pro-North Korean anti-state forces that are plundering the freedom and happiness of our people, and to protect the free constitutional order,’ he said.

It has been reported that the parliament building has been shut, with entry and exit blocked to members.

South Korean Democratic Party chair Lee Jae-myung says there is high possibility military is mobilised to arrest members of National Assembly.

Martial law involves the temporary rule by military authorities. It is usually invoked in time of war, rebellion, or natural disaster.

Curfews are usually introduced, in addition to the suspension of civil law and civil rights. Civilians defying martial law being subjected to military tribunals.

Yook did not say in the shock announcement – broadcast live on national television – what specific measures will be taken.

He declared the step as critical for defending the country’s constitutional order.

It was not immediately clear how the steps would affect governance and democracy.

UPDATE 10:36 AM EST —

South Korean Army Chief-of-Staff General Park An-su has CONFIRMED martial law, with the suspension of parliament and political parties.

In the (new) image atop this story, the South Korea military is entering the Parliament building.  Below, Military helicopters are filling the sky over the capital city, Seoul:

He added that the government had imposed control over all media.

South Korean President Yoon Suk-yeol suspended democratic rule in response to preparations by parliament to begin impeachment proceedings against him.

UDATE 11:11 AM EST —

Troops enforcing martial law in South Korea are attempting to enter the building of the National Assembly of the country, and there is a clash with citizens at the entrance. This was reported by the YTN television channel.

Citizens gathered at the entrance, including members of parliament, are not allowing a small detachment of soldiers into the building. So far, the civilians have managed to hold back the soldiers.

• The parliament has been completely dissolved.

• The martial law government has taken control of all municipalities.

• The military has seized critical points.

• It has been announced that anyone who resists will be shot or arrested.

UPDATE 11:20 AM EST —

"COUP?????"

South Korean opposition leader declares a coup, stating "Yoon Suk Yeol is no longer the president of South Korea."

UPDATE 11:34 AM EST —

In the Martial Law Declaration, the President declared the South Korea parliament ‘dissolved.’ BUUUUUT . . .  the South Korea Parliament just convened and held a vote to LIFT Martial Law.  The vote was 190 to zero.  Looks like they’re not complying.

Under South Korean law, the Martial Law Act explicitly states that if the National Assembly demands an end to martial law, the president is obligated to revoke it "without any delay."

 While the Assembly has voted to block President Yoon Suk Yeol's declaration, the president has to formally still lift martial law. It is not over, yet.

South Korean opposition leader Jae-Myung: “All soldiers still enforcing the martial law decision will be tried for treason.” “There will be consequences for your actions; courts and prisons await you.”

On its face, this appears to be pure, governmental chaos going on right now.

Likely NOT a good time for the NORTH KOREANS to do anything…I’m guessing that the safeties are off and the South Korean generals are in charge of defense…likely with little to no civilian oversight.

A very dangerous time in Korea right now…things could go sideways with the North very quickly and without warning.

Hal Turner Initial Analysis

This could very well be related to Ukraine. Who is it that’s been supplying Russia with millions of artillery shells, ammunition and perhaps even rockets? NORTH KOREA.

If the Korean War is RE-STARTED – because it never actually ended, there is only an Armistice – then North Korea might not be able to continue supplying weaponry to Russia for Ukraine (and Syria.)

1 month ago:

European Union’s Borrell visits South Korea amid alarm over North Korean troops in Russia.

6 days ago:
Ukrainian envoy visits South Korea (they already got part of a loan -$100 million- of the up to $2.1 billion, on Nov 29) but the Koreans opposed sending arms.

4 days ago:
Russian Defense Minister appeared in North Korea for Unannounced Visit.

On its face, this is all connected: Russia, Ukraine, Syria, Georgia, and now, South Korea.

Somebody very powerful, WANTS World War 3. Whoever that is, needs to be “ended.”

UPDATE 12:02 PM EST —

South Korean military is saying the martial law will remain in place until the president officially lifts it.

UPDATE 12:28 PM EST —

South Korea stock markets are in shear chaos:

Richard Wolff: There is NO Way Back! How America MISSED Its LAST Chance To Maintain Global Supremacy

CIA fingerprint is all over the place? CIA’s freedom fighter?

Pakistan PM says militant attacks aimed at thwarting China cooperation

ISLAMABAD, Aug 27 (Reuters) – Attacks by separatist militants in Pakistan’s southwestern province of Balochistan are aimed at stopping development projects that form part of the China-Pakistan Economic Corridor (CPEC), Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif said on Tuesday.

The assaults that began on Sunday, killing more than 70, were the most widespread in years by ethnic militants seeking to win secession of the resource-rich province, home to major China-led projects such as a port and a gold and copper mine.

“The terrorists want to stop CPEC and development projects,” Sharif said in a televised address to cabinet, adding that the militants also wanted to drive a wedge between Islamabad and Beijing.

CPEC, said to have development commitments worth $65 billion, is part of Chinese President Xi Jinping’s Belt and Road initiative.

Pakistan has not been able to fully build the infrastructure needed to tap mineral resources in poverty-stricken Balochistan, and has sought China’s help in developing the province.

In Beijing, China condemned the attacks and vowed to maintain its support for Pakistan’s counter-terrorism efforts.

“China is ready to further strengthen counter-terrorism security co-operation with the Pakistani side in order to jointly maintain regional peace and security,” Lin Jian, a foreign ministry spokesperson, told a regular news briefing.

Beijing has previously flagged concerns about the security of its citizens working on projects in Pakistan, particularly in Balochistan. Six Chinese engineers working on a dam project were killed in March in the northwest.

Separatist militants have also targeted Balochistan’s deepwater Gwadar port, which is run by China.

One of the groups, the Balochistan Liberation Army (BLA), took responsibility for this week’s simultaneous attacks on police stations, railway lines and highways in the province, the largest but least developed of Pakistan’s four.

Hundreds of its fighters, including seven suicide bombers, participated in the attacks, it said in a statement.

Chinese targets have previously come under attack by several Baloch militant groups, who say they have been fighting for decades for a larger share in the regional wealth of mines and minerals denied by the central government.

The Car Market is a Joke ….. Part 3

Should you throw the first punch in a street fight?

Absolutely.

Strike first, strike HARD, and (maybe) show mercy (legality and all). Striking first doesn’t mean you have to throw the first punch, either.

Most untrained “fighters” telegraph their attacks. When they load one up, beat them to the punch.

This is one of my go-to set ups right here.

Like, the other guy ALMOST threw a punch 😏

Bruce Lee called this a Stop Hit. It’s an advanced strike from a highly aggressive defensive counter fighting method and it’s extremely effective.

This right here was one of the highest concepts Lee expressed in his fighting philosophy, and it epitomized his “Way of the Intercepting Fist” hence his, Tao of Jeet Kune Do was at least in part, based on this concept.

Strike first? Don’t strike first? Your choice. Just don’t get hit!

Therefore, what’s most significant is your ability to control the distance in a confrontation.

I was sucker punched and jumped enough in my youth to learn the hard lesson of never allowing a hostile person to enter my personal space.

No exceptions.

That said, the person that throws the first punch is usually the aggressor and the aggressor is usually the one that has issues with personal boundaries. Generally speaking.

From a self-defense perspective and a legal standpoint (in most places) if someone invades your personal space issuing verbal threats (implied or overt) or they communicate a threat through their body language (feinting, flinching, fist clinching etc.), and most especially if they make physical contact (poking, shoving, pushing, chest bumping, slapping, etc.) you’re now justified in defending yourself with a reasonable amount of force to neutralize the threat.

So, should you throw the first punch in a fight?

Yes, there are numerous instances where doing so would be morally and legally justifiable. Not to mention, advantageous.

E.g. someone gets in your face and shoves you into a wall.

As this exact thing happened to me years ago, I was justified in kicking off the wall for added force and momentum as I ended the conflict with a single right hand closed fist to his nose.

One and done.

[Must Watch] – COL KAREN Kwiatkowski : US Planned to Invade Russia

Yup.

Did you ever get pulled over by a cop when you hadn’t done anything wrong?

Pulled over by two cop cars – state and local police – very late at night during the mid 70’s. My cousin, his girlfriend and I were driving home, up in Putnam County, just above Westchester ( having picked her up from her bartending job). We were smoking a J. All of a sudden there were lights and sirens. We pulled over, saying to ourselves: all this for smoking a J?? WTF!!

It got worse.

After we pulled over, there were screams from the cops: “ out of the car, get your fu____g hands over your heads, feet spread, up against the the car. Do it!!” This as our boys in blue rushed us, guns drawn.

My cousin’s girlfriend recognized one of the cops and called his name (taking her hands down), and yelled, “what is this??” They screamed again: “get your fuc___g hands in the air or we’ll blow your goddam head off,” as they were upon us, guns still pointed at us.

The cop whom my cousin’s girlfriend knew finally said: “Sharon, is that you?? Oh, shit.” To which Sharon said: “Yes, it’s me. WTF is this. What are you doing!!”

The screaming and frisking soon stopped as our friends from law enforcement determined we we ok and not whom they were looking for. Turned out they were not clocking us for smoking a J, but cuz three people, two males and a female, in a similar car. had just robbed a motel for its safe’s contents – at gunpoint. Luckily for us, two of the cops were regulars at Sharon’s bar and quickly recognized her – but they still finished the frisk. And they finally did apologize.

We needed a drink after this hair raising encounter.

What is something that completely blows your mind?

How to train new Vietnamese soldiers to become disciplined?

Obviously, punishment if they make a mistake is a common way. Let’s take a look at how the Vietnamese commander punishes their soldiers.

Got caught smoking? No problem. You would be smoked as many as you want but at a higher level.

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2. Don’t forget to heal the relationship after fighting with your comrade.

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3. One of the roommates gets up late, the rest will be taking care of his sleep under the sun.

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4. One man defecates into the vegetable garden, the whole squad has to pass each other the dung into the toilet.

5. One man got caught stealing a mango; he had to stay in front of and say sorry to the mango tree 1000 times: “Sorry comrade mango”.

6. Four men got caught playing cards. The commander gives them four shovels then orders them to dig a real grave, 500m away from the base. Then order them to bring each of the cards (each man each corner of the card) to the grave, walking, crying at the same time. There are 52 cards — could you calculate the length of the road that they have done?

7. There was a guy who has stinking feet. His feet stink out to the room so the whole squad rushed to hit him. The squad was punished by smelling his shoes in one hour at 12 A.M.

8. One man gathers late because of buying a bottle of water on the way heading to the training ground. He was punished by bringing along the bottle, crawling to the store where he bought the bottle, and go back 20 times.

9. Four men got caught playing cards; the commander brought them to the football court. They played cards with four men standing at four corners of the court. Each turn, the player must run to the center of court then put the card there and run back.

10. (This is my personal experience) One time, my neighbor squad didn’t want to sleep. They were chatting and laughing after sleep time. The commander ordered them to come in front of the rubbish dump and smile to the trash bin. “You will be forgiven when the trash bin smiles back at you”, The commander said.

There are countless other funny punishments in the Vietnam military environment. All the newbie will catch one of that stuff. Those punishments really work, most people step out from the military environment become disciplined and polite.

My Nurse GF Cheated And Got Preg When I Lost My Job, Now I’m Making More Money And She Wants Me Back

Crazy stuff regarding relationships. Ugh!

Has a nurse been inappropriate to you?

Bearing in mind that inappropriate behavior is in the eye of the beholder.

Yes I have had a nurse behave inappropriately towards me, in my opinion.

A few years ago, I had a heart attack and had been in hospital for a few days. I am blind and as the doctor had said that I would be okay getting up, having a shower and going to the bathroom with some assistance, I asked for guidance to the bathroom.

Now I expected this to clearly mean that the nurse guide me to the door of the bathroom then let me enter the bathroom, then allow me to proceed to use the toilet, wash in the shower myself. Then proceed back to the chair beside my bed, cleaned up and refreshed in some clean clothes.

The more elderly nurse, female, came to my room, led me to the bathroom and to the toilet, then took my penis in her hand to get me to urinate in the toilet.

I was not happy at this and told her to leave me alone.

She told me that I was blind and therefore I needed sighted help to go to the bathroom.

As someone only blind for about five years I assured her that I had no problems using a bathroom alone and definitely did not appreciate her assistance.

There was a brief back and too between us as she insisted that such help was appropriate, only when I told her that I wanted to speak to her supervisor, did she relent and actually left the bathroom.

Later I called my wife on the phone to tell her about the incident. My wife then called the nursing supervisor and the nurse was re-assigned to other patients.

Kishore Mahbubani: The Biggest Mistakes of the US, China, and ASEAN

Is it possible that someday China would abandon their thousand years of authoritarian regime and embrace democracy? If not, what are the reasons why China couldn’t do that?

What’s the antonym of authoritarian? According to the thesaurus, it’s permissive or liberal.

In other words, authoritarian is a STYLE of governance, not a SYSTEM of governance.

And how does the OED define democracy?

One man one vote.

It is a voting system to choose leaders, and not a SYSTEM of governance.

Meanwhile, the word regime refers to a particular system of governance, but CONNOTES a negative form, namely oppressive or repressive leadership that burdens the people.

Five minutes with a dictionary and it lays bare the revolving door of innuendo a thousand such questions depend on, and the poor grasp of political concepts among the ilk.

And that is sad.

The Chinese government has many faces. It has been remarkably liberal and forbearing in the conduct of diplomacy, to the point many states do not treat it with the p5 UN security council status that it deserves.

Other than heinous crimes, China’s criminal code is more lenient than many first world states, especially in what it classifies as misdemeanors and the variety of process and discipline available to shape antisocial behavior.

Put another way, any more-than-cursory exploration of Chinese criminal justice can support the “authoritarian” thesis among several highly evolved first world “regimes” when it comes to the handling of crime.

The Chinese system of governance is thoroughly modern.

Bloodlines and patronage are no longer seen as legitimacy to rule, unlike say, the UK, with the Crown and the House of Lords still fixtures of public life.

There is a continually revised constitution to keep up with the times, unlike the US, trapped in its insistence that they have reached the end of history and living perfection.

Parliament is carefully chosen from the people, designed to offer the broadest representation throughout society, whether it is across ethnic, geographical, religion, gender, income, profession, special needs or what-have-you. Consultation across all levels of society is baked into policymaking.

I have not come across a more diverse and representative parliament. Not even india’s vaunted “democracy” comes close.

I can go on to describe the good in Chinese governance which is surprisingly plentiful but I won’t.

Ultimately, what is good governance? A government that is of the people, by the people and for the people.

And the Chinese are the best people to judge, because they have to live China.

The rest of us making vicarious choices on their behalf to inflate the ego should be rightly ashamed.

About a boy

“When I asked my 11-year-old son to help me unload dirt from our small pickup into his mother’s new garden boxes, his reaction was typical.

“Ummmm… I’m busy right now,” He said.

He was playing Roblock on the family laptop, wearing sweat pants and an old T-shirt, lounging on the sofa, feet on the coffee table.

“No you’re not,” I said.

There was a fight, moaning, excuses… the usual.

Moments later, we were next to a wheelbarrow shoveling dirt. He looked at me with flat eyes, his hood up, shoulders slumped, and said, “Why do we have to do this?”

I thought for a moment, because I’ll admit, it was a valid question. Neither of us were all that into flowers or vegetables, or any of the things that would be grown in those garden boxes. But my wife, Mel, loves gardening.

I thought, and he waited, and finally I said, “When you love someone, you serve them.”

I went on, telling him that I want him to grow up to be the kind of man who serves his family, friends, and community.

“This” I said while gesturing to the dirt, and the garden boxes I built the weekend before, and the wheelbarrow and shovel, and the first of many truckloads of dirt we would unload over the next few weeks, “Is what love looks like.”

He didn’t like my answer. I could see it in the way he reluctantly picked his shovel back up.

We finished unloading the dirt. The next day, while I was at work, and the kids and Mel had the day off because it was between terms, Mel sent me this picture. Mel picked up another load of dirt and before she had a chance to unload it, Tristan voluntarily started working. When she asked him “why,” he shrugged and said, “Because I love you.”

I’d never been prouder of my son.

Shorpy

When you first went to prison or jail, were you more scared going in or coming out?

I served my sentence in an Australian Prison and had never been in prison before or had a criminal record. When the prison van arrived at the prison from court after being sentenced the inmates had already been locked up for the night. When I stepped out of the prison van and saw the prison itself I found it to be very intimidating and did it frighten me on first reflection yes it did but I went to great lengths to try and not show it in front of the other Inmates there with me.

We were met at reception by a a Principal Prison Officer which is the 3rd highest rank in the prison. Right from the start he made it very plain who controlled the prison and it wasn’t the inmate’s. He told us after calling out our names that we will from then on be reffered to by a number. He told us we are to salute all officers regardless of rank. That visits are once a month for 20 minutes. That we could write 1 letter a week and receive no more than 2.

After changing into our prison green’s we were taken to the wing to be locked up for the night. By this point my mind was all over the place trying to keep it together. When we got to the wing to go to our designated cells I remember the most depressing feeling overcoming me. I’ll never forget the sound of the bolt going through the lock on the cell door as the officer locked me in for the night. It was then that fear over took me and the gravity of the situation that I put myself in hit home to me.

Because all the inmates had already been locked up for the night the fear of not knowing what to expect when we were let out of our cells made for a very long night. I’ve read over the years on Quora where inmates in prison for the first time felt that all eyes were on them when they first came into contact with the other inmates. That I very much related to because that’s how it felt and that in itself for a new inmate can be scary and intimidating. Every wing had it’s own yard where they put the inmate’s in which was about 100 inmate’s together till we were locked up again.

Before I was put in the yard the Wing Officer called me into his office where he told me that because I had to serve more than 10 years I had a choice whether I wanted to be by myself in the cell or be put into a cell with another inmate. For me it was an easy decision to make I told the wing officer I don’t want to be with a cellmate so I stayed one out throughout my sentence. It wasn’t the fear of having a physical confrontation with an inmate who tried to stand over me because I was a new inmate. I was far from being the best fighter in the yard but regardless of the outcome I wouldn’t have let an inmate stand over me. The fear was one of not knowing what to expect as a new inmate.

As far as was I scared about being released after serving 16 years in prison. No I wasn’t scared I couldn’t be happier and excited that the day finally arrived where my wife and son and I could be a family again. I knew alot had changed in society in the years I’d spent in prison and I had to adjust to my new world as I got used to the changes that took place.

Why do many Chinese people on Quora think Communist China is a perfect country and think CCP is always a victim?

I don’t know where you got that stupid idea from, but let me set you straight…

Nobody thinks Communist China is perfect, not even the Chinese people themselves.

And nobody thinks the CCP is a victim.

However, generally speaking, China is a wonderful country. It has a lot going for it. In most respects, it is a better country, a better place to live in, than the United States.

Whatever you may think of China, I guarantee that you’ve been terribly misinformed.

China has opened up to visa-free travel for many countries. People who visit China are mightily impressed. I recommend you take one of these visa-free trips.

While working in Hong Kong in the 90’s it wasn’t uncommon to see white police officers but after the handover they all disappeared, did these officers not have any option but to leave?

They were allowed to stay on if they wanted.

There’s also a bit of a misconception here. The white police officers in the HK Royal Police force all entered at the rank of police inspectors. There were no foreign police officers who entered service below this rank. Note that while they entered at police inspector, if they wanted to be put on the elevator (HK civil service got regular promotions) they had to learn Chinese up to a certain level. The inspectors were put on a 3 month intensive course and had to reach a certain level of fluency in speaking and reading before promotion was opened up.

Secondly recruitment of foreign police officers in Hong Kong stopped in 1994. Add in the retirement at 55. There were a few who stayed on and ended up retiring in the 2010s.

There’s still a few of them, we saw them during the riots. The bomb squad is mostly composed of UK born british police officers. The leaders of the anti riot squad are also foreign born white guys. We saw this around September 2019 when the AR15s came out and they were photographed at a command post.

By 2021 there were about 60 left from before 1997.

There’s also a bit of an irony about it. Some of these were police from before 1997. Retired at 55 and then were hired back because there just wasn’t anybody to fill the role. The bomb squad for instance. Nobody in HK other than the PLA has any experience in this so they hired the old bomb squad person back and a foreign team.

This will likely change I think the bomb squad will likely be replaced by former PLA army officers in the future.

16F, my 12 yr old brother likes to try to punch me, my parents do nothing because he has autism. if he punches me and hurts me am I allowed to punch him back, he weighs a lot more then me and he is stronger so would I get juvie time for defense?

That’s a tough question! It is more likely that Child Protection Services would get involved, if things escalated beyond disapline outside of your home.I teach martial arts with a heavy emphasis on self-defense.

I had a very similar situation with a 14 year girl in my school. She was being punched by her 17 year old, autistic brother. Her parents were doing nothing to protect her. She hid her injuries until one day, after missing a week of classes, she came in with a black eye. I talked to the girl’s father. It turned out that he wanted my help telling his daughter, she shouldn’t defend herself against her autistic brother. She had kicked him in the groin and his right knee, causing a partial tear in his ACL.

After taking both children for medical attention, the father told the doctor a bullshit story about what had happened. He wanted me to back him up if anyone came asking questions because of his daughters training. At the time she was preparing for her black belt test.

Well, screw that! I called C.P.S. myself, and reported what my understanding was, of what was going on in the home. I went to Court regarding the investigation. The girl was removed from the house and temporarily placed with my wife and I until things were sorted out.

Temporarily custody turned into 1 year and 7 months. We fought her parents like hell to keep her safe and with us every step of the way! After that year and 7 months, her brother nearly choked the mother to death, and was institutionalized by the Family Court. After that, the girl returned to her parents.

So, here is the tough question. Since your brother is so much bigger than you, there is the potential for you to be seriously injured by him. If your brother attacks, and tries to kill you, if nobody is there to help you, then what happens? Ask yourself, if your parents are allowing, what can only be described as domestic abuse of you to continue, do you have a trusted adult you can confide in? What are the reproductions to yourself and family if you don’t talk to someone? This is a very difficult question for you to answer for yourself!

Everything I said is predicated on not knowing how severely autistic your brother is, and what he’s capable of. If If you truly feel that you are in danger, please get help! If your dad was beating your mom, what would you do?

Good luck young lady! I truly hope that this situation can be worked out in a manner that’s beneficial to you and your family.

Warmest regards,

Master Robert Kopishke

What is the strangest way you found out your significant other was cheating on you?

Husband tells me that he left the large business checkbook folder out in the cab of his truck. So I go out and get it as I am busy with my job, the kids and the house but I still have to reconcile the business checkbook every month. I open the driver’s side door and a letter falls out. Yes, it was from one of his friends from university who also attends all the reunions. Besides him not wanting me to see how sloppy drunk he gets, he apparently stopped asking me to attend with him because he had a side thing going with this woman. I got angry. I called her phone number several times to let her know that I knew. She had even brought her kids to see him (us?) in our home state. She never answered so I left a message that she had left her belt at my house and shall I mail it to her? Note also that the hangups stopped after I did that. With husband, I pointed out how good he had it here at home, and how dare he share himself with someone else when I would have to do all sorts of things short of begging if we were to ever be intimate. I told him if he wants to be with the married woman to go right ahead. He didn’t. Sometimes I think that would have been better because maybe I could have gotten out in time to make a better life for myself and our children. Instead, I stayed and he managed to mess us all up even more. Narcissistic abuse is real and it is emotionally, spiritually, mentally and physically damaging to the victims of the abuse. No, he didn’t beat or hit me, but I became very sick from the gaslighting and other crap he used to do. Free now and recovering and healing.

Pepe Escobar : How Strong Is the Resistance?

Serious.

Is it true that martial arts are useless in a street fight?

Martial arts are a skill. If you end up in a street fight, you will do better if you are skilled in martial arts than if you are not. It is not useless, but it is not an “I win” button.

Avoiding a fight is best. You should train your situational awareness and perception. The more time you have to prepare, the more options you will have. De-escalating, running, getting a weapon or something to block with, calling police or security, getting to an advantageous position, getting a loved one out of the situation. All of these are good options if you can recognize the threat early. Many attackers will back away from somebody who seems prepared, as they are looking for the low-hanging fruit. Likewise, if they are looking to rob you, throwing your wallet towards them can give you time to get away. Property can be replaced.

Martial arts practice has rules. Street fights do not. You need to go beyond what you practiced in sparring to focus on actually hurting the opponent.

Street fights often involve weapons. While it is possible for an unarmed person to win against a weapon, this gives the attacker a big advantage. Expect to be injured even if you win.

People who start street fights often have experience fighting. It may not be formal training, but expect them to have some skill.

Street fights can involve multiple people. Being outnumbered is bad. In real life, attackers don’t wait their turn and attack one-by-one. They gang up on you. Using the environment to limit the angles they can attack you can help.

Killer Vlogs His Murder on Snapchat

https://youtu.be/hh3tq-P8epQ

Man Reveals Horrifying Secret in His Backyard

https://youtu.be/nWA2ZMg-ig0

Adrift

Submitted into Contest #247 in response to: Set your story on a spaceship exploring the far reaches of space when something goes wrong.… view prompt

J.C. Vayda

An alarm went off in the control center and the intercom voice system came to life.“Warning! Warning! Sudden Impact! Sudden Impact!”An asteroid the size of Manhattan came into view, and Space Viking I was about to crash. The only crewmember onboard never imagined she’d hear that alarm go off when she went through the academy. She treated it like the boogeyman—some fake, made-up terror that haunts you by manipulating your imagination. The boogeyman isn’t real, right? He’s not actually going to burst out of my closet, right? The sudden impact alarm isn’t real, right? It’s not actually going to go off, right?But that’s the thing about fake, made-up terror . . . Once it has dug it’s claws into your mind, it can become as real as flesh and blood.“Warning! Warning! Sudden Impact! Sudden Impact!”Rebecca ran to her station and grabbed the brake lever with both hands. Only one hand was needed, but with her life seconds away from being over, both hands reached out. She pulled the lever. The brakes engaged. She screamed.

“Warning! Warning! Sudden—”

***

Breaking News / Chief Director of Space Viking Astronomic and Science, Dr. Rines PhD / Formal Address to the Nation on The Recent Tragedy of Space Viking I / Space Viking Headquarters / Front Lobby

Dr. Rines: We regret to inform the nation as well as the world that the Space Viking I crash landed on an asteroid three days ago. The astronaut and pilot on board was Rebecca Towerson. She was an excellent scientist, explorer, and visionist.

Reporter: Sir, is there any effort for a rescue attempt? How can you confirm that is what happened?

Dr. Rines: There will be no rescue attempt. The Space Viking I was the only vessel in existence capable of navigating through space. We were able to pull data and photos from the cameras located on the outside of the vessel when we received a sudden impact alert, but all data coming in seized soon after that.

Reporter: Sir, did she say anything before the crash?

Dr. Rines: The transmission log is currently under investigation and will not be disclosed at this time.

Reporter: Sir, what does—

Dr. Rines: Listen, everyone. Rebecca Towerson was a one-of-a-kind individual. Without her, the Space Viking I project would’ve never been completed. When I first met her, she told me that when she was a little girl, her dream was not only to make history but to send humankind further than it ever imagined it could go. I understand the recent events are terrible. It’s a tragedy, indeed. But I want each one of you to know that Rebecca Towerson accomplished her dream. She has made history, and she has sent us beyond what we ever imagined was possible. She will never be forgotten. Her legacy will live on forever.

Reporter: Sir, what will you tell her daughter?

Dr. Rines: I will not be taking any more questions at this time.

Reporters: Sir! Sir! Sir!

***

Rebecca’s eyes opened and for a moment she didn’t move. She lay still in her bunk. The room was dim, cool, and quiet. The soft hum of a control panel beside her produced a thoughtless ambiance. She looked at her watch. Did it matter what day or time it was? It was almost as interesting as it was scary to think about. Why? Well, because that was what day and time it was back on Earth. A place so far out of reach, its sight was swallowed by the blackness of space. She remembered the moment it all went to hell.

***

Rebecca was fixing her a cup of tea when the alarm went off. She alerted Earth before she left her station to fix the tea. It was protocol.

Towerson: Low traffic. Taking break.

Earth: Good copy. Enjoy.

Low Traffic meant a sector was clear of space debris (natural-made). This let Rebecca get up, stretch, relieve herself, eat, and rest. High Traffic meant the opposite and she would need to manually navigate the ship through whatever obstacles lay ahead of her.

She was knocked unconscious after the impact. When she woke up hours later, she went to the bathroom to vomit. Concussion—check. Engaging the break didn’t stop the crash from happening but it left the ship intact enough to be able to move and live about it. She was thankful to be alive, but she knew she only prolonged her death. She looked in the mirror and pieced together what happened. The list was short. Low traffic—check. Teatime—check. Asteroid comes out of nowhere—check.

Rebecca walked back to her station and tried to send a transmission to Earth but the communication system was damaged. She walked to the window in front her station and turned on the outside light. It was terrifying. All she saw was a valley of grey rock before her. In that moment, Rebecca new Space Viking I was adrift, riding on an asteroid, and heading toward the void of the unknown. She analyzed and evaluated the ship’s condition. She only had one question to answer—can we get off this rock? After several hours of troubleshooting, she had her answer—No.

The crash happened three months ago.

***

The control panel warning light turned red, and the screen display lit up. She turned over in her bunk and looked.

Warning: Oxygen Level Low

Oxygen Level: 10%

Time Remaining: 15 Minutes

Action: Refill Immediately

Refilling wasn’t going to happen. The tanks were empty. She used all of them up since the crash. She was surprised she made it last three months. She could’ve made it last longer if she didn’t work so hard to troubleshoot the ship in the first week. It expended a lot of energy and that expended a lot of oxygen.

“Space Viking I to Earth. Over and Out.” Rebecca said and closed her eyes.

The minutes crept by, and the air begin to tighten around her. Suffocation was a strange feeling. It was like standing in the middle of a desert with thirty layers of clothes on. Rebecca thought she would be scared. She thought it would hurt. It didn’t. Her last visions were beautiful—overwhelmingly beautiful.

First, she saw herself as a little girl again running around in the backyard on a summer night in August. She paused to look up at the stars. Her little eyes watched in wonder as a satellite passed over.

Then, she saw herself up on stage graduating from the academy. She saw her mother clapping. Her mother had tears in her eyes. It made Rebecca cry too. I told you, momma, not to cry! Cause if you do, I’m gonna cry too!

Finally, Rebecca saw her daughter approaching.

“My little baby girl . . .” Rebecca said and smiled.

Her daughter held out her hand. “It’s time to go home, Mommy. It’s time now.”

That night, somewhere in the far reaches of space, Rebecca Towerson went home.

***

Annie Towerson got out of the passenger side door of her best friend’s car. It was her first day as a Freshman in High School. She was a bit nervous. Her best friend could see it. A few news vans were parked outside. Their cameras were up and ready to cover the story of the age.

“It going to be okay, Annie. My freshman year was a breeze.”

“It’s not that,” Annie replied.

“What, are you afraid to be the most famous girl here today?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t like it.”

“Live it up. You know you should.”

Annie walked to the front of the car and looked at the school entranceway. In large brick letters above the archway, it read, REBECCA TOWERSON HIGH SCHOOL

Her friend walked up beside her, put her arm around her, and looked at the large brick letters above the archway too. “Listen, Annie. You better not get any crazy ideas about becoming an astronaut, too, okay?”

Annie grinned. “No promises.”

Her best friend sighed and rolled her eyes. “You’re killing me, Annie!”

A few students walked by, glanced, and began whispering to each other.

Annie’s best friend grabbed her hand and said, “Come on, Annie. Let’s go say hi to the cameras, shall we?”

Rebecca Towerson’s legacy was already cemented. Her daughter, Annie Towerson . . . Well, her legacy was about to begin.

Some of my latest MM generations using AI

These are from a hodgepodge of playing around with the various settings.

Now the nudes show up if you use a Baroque setting, as most of the art from those days were nudes or “fig leaf” nudes.

The ample chests on some of the ladies is a result of the work around for the inherent “child pornography” rules in the model. If you say “young”, “pretty”, or “girl” the AI crashes with a warning that it will not produce child porn.

So you can say “woman”, but if you are not careful, you will start getting 60-year old golden girls. *sigh*

But, if you say “motherly” then it starts producing more accurate works. Though they tend to be busty.

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This is a “handsome man” on a boat with a cat, drinking a glass of wine.

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A man and his pregnant wife on a boat…

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A man “drinking” wine with a cat on a boat…

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A beautiful woman with a cat on a boat.

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And another…

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Adding more people…

I think the AI messes up the placement of the nipple from time to time. I do like his shirt though.

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This is a favorite…

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This is the all-time best of the bunch. Right height.

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This is from my “Bacchus anointment” series…

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Boy this one is a beaut…

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Same arm position as my very first oil painting after my first divorce.

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Nice.

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A dirty AI mind?

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Trying different models. Not too impressed.

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I do like this one…

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Too many grapes.

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Good, but the third glass of wine needs to be photoshopped out.

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What????

Check out the cat.

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Two sets of twins?

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I really like this one. The soft tones of the center woman’s chest is lovely. The cats are great. and the grapes are on a platter.

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Yes.

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Also a yes.

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Love that golden vessel in her hand.

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Portrait Perfect Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic 1

Here are some worried Chinese gals. There’s an (unintended) hint of sexual tension…

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I don’t know what happened to generate such a suggestive work…

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And then out of the blue we get this. I have no clue as to why the AI spit this one out…

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Then I went for Thailand and Indonesian praying and processionals in the rain. Which created some really interesting art….

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The exposed boobies is disconcerting.

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Ah. This is more like it.

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Covered, but sensual.

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Even better. Love the wet silk fabric.

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Even better; white cotton.

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I cannot deny the allure of wet silk.

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But this is lovely.

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This is a “dramatic” variation suggestive of drama.

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Better than this…

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Do you all feel wet yet?

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I changed the seed and the AI model to “Lifelike Vision” and ended up with some very interesting pictures. All the hyper busty topless girls are gone, and there’s far more detail. Nice, but I really hate the rendition of the clothing folds. Far too detailed for my tastes.

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Notice the too many rolls on the sleeves… (aside from the messed up hands and arms)

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I just don’t understand where the peach came from…?

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Is that a cigarette that she is passing around?

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Good, but not great.

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Fine.

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There has to be a topless chick in ever other picture, don’t you know.

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I do love the bodices. What a nice pattern.

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Epic. But I don’t get the references.

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Nice…

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Now that is one swarthy dude.

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Nice bodices.

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Again. I see some pattern inspirations.

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I do like this one…

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Dynamic but without the excitement.

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Always a topless one in the bunch.

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This one is typical. partial exposure of the chest next to a headless woman.

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And this is what you get when you type a “quiet moment alone between two lovers at home”…

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Why are the men always shirtless?

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Not alone, but the expression on the two chicks is certainly interesting.

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My Lordy!

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Why don’t the Chinese people get rid of the CCP or failing that, why don’t Anti-China nations threaten harsh measures against China (Sanctions/removal from the UN,etc.) until China does get rid of the CCP? The CCP is no good.

Unfortunately some people live with a very uninformed idea about China. Many opinions are based only on what they read in western media. Or the labels like communist country.

I’m a Canadian Born Chinese who moved to Macau in 1983 and now consider it home. It is at the door step of China and I have visited over 100 times.

If anyone has an axe to grind about China it would be me. My parents were separated for 17 years because of the Canadian government. The Chinese Exclusion Act did not allow Chinese to immigrate. My father was already living there but couldn’t bring my mother and my sister because of that.

My grandfather went to Halifax and had a laundry business. Brought my dad over when he was 9. My dad was the first Chinese to graduate from the local university.

My grandfather went back with a bit of money and bought land and hired itinerant workers to grow rice. He died during WW2 and left things to my grandmother to look after. After the Communists took power, my grandmother was branded a capitalist landlord and made to beg for food as a punishment.

My mother and sister emigrated to Canada in 1949 after my father got citizenship and the Chinese Exclusion Act was repealed. My upbringing in China was of course, not favorable to communist China.

After I moved to Macau in 1983, I visited Guangzhou to see a cousin who was from the same village. He grew up as a neighbor to my mom.

He told me about how poor China was in the 60s and 70s. How they had food rationing. Coupons so you could get rice and oil every week.

He was an English teacher at a prominent university. He told me how things had gotten better and life was pleasant. People were starting to become more materially well off. This was 1983.

Back then, everyone had four wants. A black and white TV. A washing machine. A bicycle and a refrigerator.

Pretty soon it evolved to a color TV. A motorcycle. And up the scale for years.

Mobile phone sales doubled every year for 15 years.

When Deng Xiaoping took over, the country changed overnight.

One of the pillars of socialism/communism was equal pay for equal work was dismantled. The so called iron rice bowl was not working. It made people lazy. So he introduced responsibility system. More productivity more pay.

China was very pragmatic about communism. If it works and is good for the people, keep it. If it doesn’t work get rid of it. Ideology is not sacred if it doesn’t work.

He made things work. Foreign investment poured in. I’m thirty years Chinese people’s lives greatly improved. There is an abundance of food. There is no price gouging. Government strictly regulates prices. Public transport is amazing. Public facilities are really wonderful.

If you grow up in a country that is continueously improving, you are happy with your government. Pew surveys (from the US) show over 90% satisfaction with the Chinese government.

So the only people who have the idea of toppling the government are people who have never visited China and seen it with their own eyes.

Suggest you try to get the facts on China before making such uninformed questions.

How do you win a fight when your opponent is much stronger and taller? I’m a female so I could really make use of learning some techniques now.

One of the principle behind Aïkido is to defeat a stronger opponent by using their own energy against them, while using little of your own. Balance is crucial in this art, as is speed. You’ll need some strength, so getting your body’s core strengths ready at all time is high encouraged. Look into what some masters are demonstrating online, and signup if you feel it is for you. Smaller sizes, man or woman, will always be at a disadvantage regardless, but size doesn’t guarantee victory to the bigger opponent.

But in a ‘street fight’ scenario where it is one person against you, there are no rules. Engage when not expected to, surprise, bite, hit where it hurts (throats, testicles, eyes) with full strength, use whatever fits in your hands and all the while doing this scream as much as possible to bring attention. The key is that there are no rules, so in other words play nasty. And if your opponent ends up on top of you, rip his ears out of his skull if you can.

Air Force Cadet Dies; Shown Just How Close The Spirit Realm Is to Our World (NDE)

Coffee Chinese style

Coffee is big news in China. It is really popular.

But, no! It’s not “traditional” American-style coffee.

It’s something else quite different.

Different ways it is served. Different flavors. Different combinations. Different. Different. Different.

But, ah, you know…you can still get a coffee at McDonald’s, or at Starbucks, or at KFC, or at KFC. But many Chinese opt to go to the many thousands of different coffee tastes available to them.

Onion flavor.

Yes. You can buy it and drink it all up.

Duran flavor, stinky toufu flavor. Hard alcohol flavor. Beef with curry flavor… so many different flavors all over the place.

Onion ring flavor. carrot with peppermint flavor.

Chunky texture coffee.

Smooth texture coffee.

Hyper cold and boiling hot blend coffee…

WTF?

Let’s be honest, for a majority of us, a cup of coffee is more than just a beverage — it’s a vital energy booster that kickstarts our day or acts as a midday pick me up. While the purists might lean towards a classic Americano or simple espresso, there are those who relish more adventurous tastes. We’ve compiled a list of some of the most bizarre and quirky coffee flavors you can discover in the city — from a surprising 皮蛋 pídàn to unconventional 豆汁儿 dòuzhīr, and beyond!

Zaijiuye Coffee

This establishment boasts a curious collection of coffee concoctions, each twinned with a nostalgic nod to a Beijing childhood treat. The sesame paste-laced coffee, when coupled with a 双棒儿 Shuāng bàng er (a milk-flavored ice cream pop with two sticks — hence the name), makes for a lovely treat. Everything combines to create a hazelnut-like taste, as the sesame paste and ice cream soften the coffee’s bitterness.

Have you tried the heavenly combo of coffee and Shuangbang’er?

The place also dares to pair a douzhir-infused Americano with 焦圈儿 Jiāo quānr (a deep-fried dough circle similar to a 油条 yóutiáo). Douzhir, a fermented Beijing specialty marked by a subtle sourness and an egg-like scent, may not be to everyone’s liking. However, for any Beijing local worth their salt, it’s a twist they can’t resist exploring.

How about a douzhir-flavored Americano paired with Jiaoquan?

Zaijiuye Coffee
16 Shatanhou Street, Dongcheng district
东城区沙滩后街16号
Hours: 11am-7pm
Phone:184 1100 7574

Liquid House

If you think douzhir and sesame paste coffees are crazy, then let us introduce you to pidan (aka century egg) and 酱豆腐 Jiàng dòufu (fermented tofu). Dreamt up by Liquid House, this drink features a pidan skewer resting atop your latte. The owner recommends taking the skewered century egg resting atop the brew, mashing it up, and mixing it all together to get the most out of it. It’s a delight for those with a palate for pidan, but might not be the preferred choice for those unaccustomed to its distinctive flavor.

Fancy a sip of this Pidan Latte?

Liquid House 后院儿
Room 314, 3/F, Building 2, Huafangxintiandi, Courtyard 27, Qingnian Road, Chaoyang district
朝阳区青年路27号院华纺新天地2号楼3层314室
Hours: 10am-7pm
Phone:186 1812 0103

Phoenix Café

Imagine the sensation when your coffee mingles with the zest of hotpot flavors. At Phoenix Café, prepare to have your perceptions about coffee challenged with their distinctive creation termed 油碟儿 Yóu dié er. Drawing inspiration from the traditional youdie’er, which is a chili-oil-based dipping sauce savored during hotpot sessions, particularly in Chongqing, this coffee blends the most unconventional ingredients. It features chili strands, tangerine peels, and a dash of white vinegar, ingredients you’d least expect in a cup of coffee.

Get ready for a taste adventure with this Chongqing Hotpot-inspired beverage!

Phoenix Cafe 梧桐咖啡
69 Dongsibei Street, Dongcheng district
东城区东四北大街69号
Hours: 10am-7pm
Phone:186 0120 8175

Tongrentang Zhima Health Coffee

A café founded by the centuries-old laozihao (time-honored brand) Tongrentang, a name synonymous with traditional Chinese medicine (TCM), recently garnered online popularity for its coffee offerings. Their brews blend TCM ingredients such as wolfberries, tangerine peel, and motherwort into the mix. Against expectations of a staggering bitter concoction, reviews on Dianping reveal that these TCM elements subtly enhance the coffee’s flavor without overwhelming it, thereby ensuring it doesn’t resemble a medicinal potion. For those who, like me, appreciate the potential health benefits of TCM, this café is a must-visit destination.

Craving a TCM-inspired brew?

Tongrentang Zhima Health Coffee 同仁堂知嘛健康咖啡&养生BAR
No.2-1, Building 2, No.10 Chaoyang Park South Road, Chaoyang district
朝阳区朝阳公园南路10号院2号楼2-1号
Hours: 8.30am-8.30pm
Phone: 6587 1397

HK+

Have you ever sipped a coffee infused with pepper? At HK+, they’re challenging traditional coffee norms with their signature pepper-seasoned brew, enriched with the nutty undertones of black sesame. Its presentation mimics a fried egg floating in coffee, achieved through skillful latte art using milk and a touch of turmeric. Despite its unconventional key ingredient, it highlights the taste of the coffee. So, if you’re intrigued by the idea of a peppery, salty coffee, HK+ certainly warrants a visit.

Ever sipped pepper-spiked coffee?

HK+
274 Xiaobaobei Street, Tongzhou district
通州区小堡北街274号
Hours: 10am-8pm
Phone: 134 3664 3842

Today…

Britain Claims To Have Helped With The Ukrainian Invasion Of Russia

Yves Smith is discussing the Washington Post report on Russia-Ukraine negotiation to end the infrastructure attacks:

An Admission of Russian Long-Term Weakness or More Complex Calculation?

I had previously discussed the WaPo piece here.

Yves suggests that the negotiations, if they really have happened as described, were an Ukrainian ruse to distract Russia from the Ukrainian preparation of the Kursk oblast incursion. The talks were useless for Russia, she says. She doubts that Russia would favor to stop the attacks on the Ukrainian electricity generating and network capabilities. She suggests that the Ukrainian attacks on Russia create little damage. It disagree with that view.

The winter will already become very difficult for Ukrainian civilians. There is no need to increase the damage on Ukrainian infrastructure beyond the already achieved level.

The Ukrainian attacks have so far created repairable damage in Russia. But that may not be the case forever. One day one of such attacks could in fact create some real catastrophe. The attacks are also binding lots of Russian resources. One needs a huge number of soldiers and equipment to give at least some protection to the most exposed sites. The Russian economy is currently short on men. Not diverting some 100,000 men for local air defense purposes can make a difference.

I believe that Russia was genuinely interested in making such deal. But the Ukrainian attack on Kursk oblast blew it apart.

There are new suggestion on how the Ukrainian incursion into Russia was prepared for.

The Times in London claims that it largely followed a British plan (archived):

When footage of British Challenger 2 battle tanks being used by the Ukrainian army for its counterinvasion of Russia emerged on Tuesday, Downing Street and the Ministry of Defence were ready.For the previous 48 hours, officials and political aides working for Sir Keir Starmer and John Healey, the defence secretary, had been in talks about how far to go to confirm growing British involvement in the incursion towards Kursk.

The stakes were high. Unseen by the world, British equipment, including drones, have played a central role in Ukraine’s new offensive and British personnel have been closely advising the Ukrainian military for two years, on a scale matched by no other country.

The U.S., in contrast, has claimed not to have known about the Ukrainian plans and there purpose. This leads Kit Klarenberg to develop a theory:

Kit Klarenberg @KitKlarenberg – 15:02 UTC · Aug 18, 2024“🧵: I speculated earlier was probably Britain behind Kursk suicide op. Lo and behold, a Times article confirms this. More broadly, contents amply underline Kursk latest effort by London to keep the US in the proxy war – and it appears Washington has finally had enough of this.

Times reveals up top heavily promoted footage of British Challenger 2 tanks in Kursk was a conscious, deliberate decision made by new PM Keir Starmer and his defence secretary John Healey. British equipment is said to have “played a central role” in the “counterinvasion”.
…
Starmer and Healey reportedly made the decision to advertise London’s involvement “to be more open about Britain’s role in a bid to persuade key allies to do more to help.” In other words, to encourage/pressure the US et al to double down on this unwinnable, nightmare quagmire.
…
However, US reportedly unhappy with Kursk incursion, because it scuppered peace talks. Kiev’s purported culpability for Nord Stream bombing is, it seems, being used to justify ending German aid to Ukraine. And the US is blocking Kiev from firing British-made missiles at Russia.

Kit’s theory is that the Washington Post story about the blown negotiations as well as the latest “Nord Stream done by Ukraine” rumor reporting by the WSJ are expressions of U.S. anger over the Ukrainian government and its Kursk invasion.

The Times also reports that Britain is pushing its allies to provide more weapons and to allow their use against targets deep inside of Russia:

In the coming weeks Healey will attend a new meeting of the Ukraine Defence Co-ordination Group, where Britain will press European allies to send more equipment and give Kyiv more leeway to use them in Russia. Healey spoke last week to Lloyd Austin, the US defence secretary, and has been wooing Boris Pistorius, his German opposite number.Germany, whose Taurus missiles have a similar 155-mile range to Storm Shadow but a more powerful warhead, has been the country under the most pressure to move. However, it was revealed yesterday that Germany has actually frozen military aid to Ukraine because of a domestic budgetary crisis. Pistorius had asked for £3.4 billion of additional supplies but that was rejected by the finance ministry.

A previous leak provided that the long range Taurus missiles are complicate and have to be programmed just-in-time by German officers. There is no support in Germany for allowing such a deep involvement in attacks on Russia.

To me it seems that Britain has promised to Ukraine that it would get its allies to agree to the usage of longer range weapons against Russia in exchange for Ukraine to launch the attack on Russia.

Only that can explain this Zelenski complain about Starmer:

The Ukrainian president complained that British aid to Kyiv had begun to wane as his forces continued their unprecedented incursion into Russian territory in the Kursk region.“Unfortunately, the situation has slowed down recently,” Mr Zelensky said, referring to UK military assistance.

Sir Keir has upheld a Conservative ban on using UK-made Storm Shadows to strike targets deep inside Russia, amid concerns it could lead to escalation with nuclear-armed Moscow.

“We will discuss how to fix this because long-range capabilities are vital for us. The whole world sees how effective Ukrainians are – how our entire nation defends its independence,” said Mr Zelensky.

It came as four former Conservative defence secretaries called on No 10 to do more to support Ukraine, with some demanding Kyiv be allowed to use Storm Shadows in the Russian offensive.

But it is not Starmer who is blocking the missiles, it is the U.S. of A. (archived):

Washington is in effect blocking Britain from allowing Kyiv to fire Storm Shadow missiles inside Russia, amid fears in the Biden administration of an escalation in the Ukraine war.
…
It is understood that although the UK wants to give Ukraine the freedom to do what they want with the long-range weapon, it requires consensus from allies, including the US, France and a third undisclosed Nato country. A government source stressed that the UK was not blaming the US for any delay, adding that such policy changes took time.

Combining all the above one can (re-)construct this story.

Britain, in a bipartisan move, wants to prolong the war in Ukraine. It suggested to and helped Ukraine to invade Russia even as it knew that this would interrupt peace talks in Qatar. It also promised to press its allies for long range attack permission against Russia. But the U.S. and Germany are still blocking such attacks. Zelensky now complains that Britain failed to deliver on its promise.

The U.S., miffed about the British involvement in a likely useless Ukrainian attack on Russia, is leaking about the Ukrainian/Russian negotiations in Qatar.

The above is largely based on the U.S. claims that it was not really involved in the planing of the Kursk incursion.

There are of course good reason to doubt those claims:

As the Ukraine war enters its most perilous phase, with Kiev’s forces fighting inside Russia, the United States is operating a formal “sensitive activities” detachment that is active in providing direct military support to the beleaguered country. The detachment, never before disclosed, is run by U.S. special operations forces, and with its Ukrainian counterparts, provides on-the-battlefield support, including near-real time targeting intelligence, operators say.
…
An operator formerly deployed to the Army’s 10th Special Forces Group assigned to a sensitive activities detachment told me their work included the creation of clandestine human networks for intelligence gathering, as well as identifying Russian military weaknesses for targeting.
…
A second operator also described having been tasked with providing near up-to-the-minute intelligence support to Ukrainian forces.

Those U.S. operators in Ukraine certainly did not miss the preparations the Ukrainians were making for their attack.

P.S. Bonus from The Times piece:

“It’s not just about the military support, but it’s about the industrial, economic, and diplomatic support,” the defence source said. “If Putin succeeds in Ukraine he’s not going to stop there. But also the economic implications of that are massive, because we all saw how heavily Britain got hit when he first invaded.”

Yes, the sanctions, intended to hurt Russia, were quite damaging to those who issued them. Nice to see that finally acknowledged.

Posted by b on August 19, 2024 at 15:58 UTC | Permalink

Chemtrails

Duke

“One day, I was lounging in the house when I heard loud gunfire. I ran outside just in time to see my neighbors cart off Duke’s mom on the back of their flatbed truck.

After that, Duke spent almost every hour at our home. Curiosity drove me to ask my neighbor’s what his name was but all they told me was they simply called him Dog. A couple of months after that, they simply stopped feeding Duke. I started to feed him because I wasn’t going to let this baby starve.

When it came time for our neighbors to move, I asked them if I could take Duke off of their hands since it was clear they didn’t want anything to do with him. The son said yes, but the day after I asked, Duke was gone and so were they.

I contacted the son and asked if he had changed his mind and decided to take the dog with him and he grew defensive and put all the blame on me and threatened me. After explaining to him I didn’t have Duke, he hung on me calling me a liar.

In an effort to find this baby, I posted Missing Pet signs all over the local vets office within a 25 mile radius.

5 months passed before I got a phone call from the UPS man that delivered in our neighborhood. He said he saw a dog matching the description of Duke in a nearby field and he looked pretty bad. I thanked the man, hung up and drove straight to where he said he saw the dog. It was Duke. Malnourished and severely afraid of everything. However, one look at me and after hearing my voice he perked up and ran straight into my arms.

Now Duke is healthy and happy and has three other dogs and three cats to play with.Now we are a family.❤️”

Douglas Macgregor Warns: US’s EXTREMELY Dangerous Policys Push The World Is Increasingly CHAOTIC

MAJOR TOM

Submitted into Contest #247 in response to: Set your story on a spaceship exploring the far reaches of space when something goes wrong.… view prompt

Brian Bywater

MAJOR TOM

“Ground Control to Major Tom”

“If you want to live through this journey Philip you will stop singing that song. You haven’t let up since we blasted off. It may have been funny then and had some sort of relativity, however after five days it does reek of overkill.”

“Oh chill out Major, lighten up. Everyone at Ground Control sees the funny side of a real life Major Tom actually being on a journey through space. You must realise at some stage they will make that call.”

“That song, A Space Odyssey, if you can call it a song, was banned before the first Apollo flight in 1969 and it should have stayed that way. Do you have any understanding of what Bowie was saying?”

“Jesus Tom, it is a song connected to a historical event, the first men on the Moon. It is a classic.”

“You weren’t even born in 1969. You have no concept of how disturbed the song made everyone feel. particularly those connected with the flight People watching on TV World-wide also became emotionally invested.”

“That’s ridiculous. Nothing went wrong, what was everyone worried about?”

“Get real Philip. That is easy to say after the event. This was a first. Three men heading for the Moon had metamorphorised from something only considered science fiction into the first true TV reality show. Had something gone wrong there wasn’t a precedent for decisions to overcome any problem they encountered.. The lift off, weightlessness in space, not in a simulated situation in a man-made chamber, meteors damaging the spaceship, the possibility of alien life greeting them, poison gases on the surface, these were only some of the dangers. It really was one giant step for man.”

“OK I get all that. What was Bowie saying that had people getting their knickers in a knot?”

“The interpretation of some of the lyrics. Remember this was 1969, the World was changing rapidly. To put it in perspective it was at the time the Beatles were recording their first album. The Rolling Stones were playing to record crowds. This was the permissive 60’s which is why the ban on the song was lifted. Drug references, loneliness, depression all became accepted lyrics, which did not please everyone. Bowie later admitted he was ‘out of his tree’ when he wrote the song. Look can we get on with what we have to do to keep this spaceship operational and on course?”

“Sure, I have the day five check list in front of me. There is one thing we need to evaluate. Look at the top right hand corner of the screen showing vision of the galaxy ahead. It is showing a new comet has appeared since yesterday. I am only assuming it is a comet.”

“Never assume. Why did you wait until now to mention it? Why a comet? I think it is moving too slowly for a comet. It is maintaining the distance between us so it must be traveling at the same speed we are. What is the time frame from when it first appeared on the screen to now?”

“That would suggest this object is moving far too slowly to be a comet. You are correct. Based on distance from the Sun it should be moving at around 25,000 miles per hour. This is nowhere near that speed. As you said the distance between it and us is not changing, it is mimicking our speed, 17,000 mph. Calculating its position indicates it must have traveled at over 40000 miles per hour to get to that position on our screen in the elapsed time, yet it has slowed to 17000. That is a controlled act, it must be manned.”

“How far away is it?”

“Using our laser probe indicates 6.7 miles. Jesus, did you see that? When I activated the probe it sent a return probe. Whatever it is, it is definitely manned.”

“Being that close we are obviously on the same orbit. Ground Control must be seeing this, why haven’t they made contact?”

“Whatever it is only looks like a large piece of space junk, certainly nothing like a spaceship. Perhaps Ground Control leave it to us to make contact if we feel it is creating a problem.”

“Jesus wept. An unidentified object is 6 miles away in the same orbit and is mimicking us speed wise and using a return probe to evaluate distance apart and you do not see a problem? Contact Ground Control, do it now Philip.”

“What can they do? They are light years away, we are within 6 miles. I think we should try and make contact with the object, whatever it is.”

“What language would you suggest?”

“Well we know the Chinese and the Russians have launched space probes, some manned.”

“And which of those languages are you proficient in Philip? Just assume they understand English for Christ’s sake and make the call.”

“It has gone, there one minute, disappeared the next, off the screen. It would have accelerated to 50000mph in the blink of a second to do that.”

“There is another possibility. A screen which hides anything behind it has been activated. We have fighter planes that use that tactic. Fire another laser probe.”

“There isn’t anything there to bounce the laser off. Tom, on the screen, it is behind you.”

“This is not the time for Punch and Judy jokes Philip.”

“I am telling you it is right behind us and moving closer. It is increasing in size. Increase our speed, put some distance between us or it will crash into us.”

“The ship is not responding to my commands. Call Ground Control.”

“Houston, we have a problem.”

“Idiot, you can’t even get that right. It’s Houston we’ve had a problem.”

“Look behind us, the thing is about to swallow our spaceship, we are going inside the thing. Saying we have a problem is an appropriate understatement.”

“Ground Control to Major Tom……. Major Tom, ……Major Tom.”

“Wake up Tom. Tom, give me strength, Ground Control to Major Tom, wake up. You are having another nightmare. Who is Philip? I knew this would happen when you played that Bowie song tonight. From now on it is banned in this house. Play it and it will not be Houston who has a problem. Go back to sleep, and take Philip with you.”

Cabbage Rolls with Sour Cream Sauce

Ingredients

2 cups leftover meat or ground beef (seasoned with salt and pepper)
1/4 cup diced onion
1/2 cup diced celery
1 cup cooked rice
1 teaspoon horseradish
1 tablespoon prepared mustard
1 egg, well beaten
6 large cabbage leaves
1/4 cup tomato puree
1/2 cup water
1 cup sour cream

Instructions

Heat oven to 350 degrees F.
Brown meat and onion in a heavy skillet over low heat. Remove from heat.
Mix in thoroughly celery, rice, horseradish, mustard and egg.
Cook cabbage leaves for 3 minutes in boiling salted water.
Place meat mixture on cabbage leaves. Roll and fasten with toothpicks. Place close together in greased baking dish.
Pour tomato puree and water over cabbage rolls. Cover and bake for 30 minutes.
Remove cabbage rolls.
Pour sour cream into liquid remaining in baking dish. Serve over cabbage rolls.

Russian Marines Captured 15 Polish and French Soldiers In KURSK

Anatomy study

Parents should have a choice

China’s Ministry of State Security made a big move, Taiwan’s spy network was wiped out, “Taiwan independence leader” Yang Zhiyuan was arrested, and the maximum penalty is death.

Recently, after the country announced the list of “Taiwan independence”, the national security department took thunderous action and announced that it had cracked thousands of Taiwan spy cases and successfully eliminated a “Taiwan independence element” intelligence station in the mainland. Among them, it focused on a “Taiwan independence leader” who was arrested, warning “Taiwan independence elements” on the island that this is the end.

“Taiwan independence element” Yang Zhiyuan was arrested

Recently, China’s Ministry of State Security announced an exciting news. In order to maintain national security, the Ministry of State Security has carried out special activities to crack down on illegal forces that split the country.

So far, the mainland has cracked thousands of “Taiwan spies stealing state secrets” cases and successfully eliminated a “Taiwan spy intelligence network” lurking in the motherland.

In the article released by the Ministry of State Security, the “Taiwan independence elements” headed by Lai Qingde were severely criticized. The Taiwan authorities insist on “Taiwan independence” rhetoric, and even “use force to seek independence”, collude with foreign forces, and disrupt peace in the Taiwan Strait.

This has not only caused the economic recession on the island and the decline in people’s living standards, but also caused the cross-strait relations to deteriorate and drop to a freezing point.

You should know that less than a week ago, the mainland had just listed the “Taiwan independence list” and encouraged the masses to actively report.

Therefore, the Ministry of State Security’s thundering action and quick action are warning the “Taiwan independence elements” on the island that any forces that attempt to split the country and block the reunification of the motherland will face severe punishment, and the Chinese government is not just talking.

China’s Ministry of National Security

The Taiwan authorities disagree.

They believe that the article does not explain the time and content of the more than 1,000 Taiwan espionage theft cases that have been cracked, and the authenticity is questionable. The person in charge of Taiwan’s cross-strait affairs said that the mainland is either “bragging” and exaggerating, or “abusing the law” and “arresting at will”.

The Taiwan authorities believe that the mainland has only one purpose for doing this, which is to intimidate Taiwan.

In addition, the Taiwan authorities also blamed the mainland for the “promotion of cross-strait exchanges” while arresting Taiwanese people, and believed that the mainland was the “culprit” of the cross-strait confrontation. In this regard, the mainland has long stated that the mainland has no intention of targeting ordinary Taiwanese people, and the Taiwan authorities themselves know who they are arresting.

It is worth noting that in the article of the Ministry of National Security, a “Taiwan independence leader” who has been arrested, Yang Zhiyuan, was mentioned.

Yang Zhiyuan has been engaged in “Taiwan independence” activities for a long time and attempted to split the country’s sovereignty.

The mainland arrested and prosecuted him for “separatism”. This is also the first “Taiwan independence element” arrested by China for “separatism”.

According to the latest legal documents of mainland China, he can be sentenced to death at worst case.

Lai Qingde

For the “Taiwan independence” list that the mainland has listed, many “Taiwan independence elements” clamored that the mainland had no way to implement mainland laws on them, let alone the right to arrest them.

However, Yang Zhiyuan is a good example.

All his “Taiwan independence” activities were carried out in Taiwan, but the mainland was still able to bring him to justice.

In other words, in the future, anyone who expresses “Taiwan independence” in Taiwan may be convicted. Analysts said that the mainland may extradite “Taiwan independence elements” through a third country in the future.

Even if these “Taiwan independence elements” do not come to the mainland, as long as they go to countries that have reached an agreement with China, they will face the possibility of arrest.

“Taiwan independence list” released by the Taiwan Affairs Office of the State Council

The arrest of Yang Zhiyuan means the beginning of the mainland’s exercise of legal jurisdiction over Taiwan. It is foreseeable that “Yang Zhiyuan’s case is the first case, but it is by no means the last case.” “Taiwan independence elements” should not think that promoting “Taiwan independence” speech is not a big deal. As the laws in this regard in mainland China are gradually improved, “Taiwan independence forces” will eventually face legal sanctions. We also advise “Taiwan independence elements” to be cautious in their words and deeds and return to the right path.

This news is brought to you by tencent 张学坤观世界: 08-17 15:40

Contempt of court

What a monstrous system of criminal justice the US has.

https://www.yahoo.com/news/alabama-sets-november-date-third-204630616.html

This 47-year-old man, Carey Dale Grayson, will be executed November 21st for killing a woman during a home invasion… in 1994, 30 years ago, when he was 17. He did it with 3 other boys too.

If they were going to execute him they should’ve done it within a year or two of his conviction.

What’s the point of killing him 30 years later? They’re now killing a completely different man from the boy who committed the murder.

After spending such a long time in prison he should honestly just be released.

The US has one of the most draconian criminal justice and prison systems in the world. Every elected judge and district attorney wants recognition for being the one to lock up as many people as possible for the longest time. Extremely long prison sentences are the norm. There are so many ageing prisoners who face either execution or death in prison for something they did as teenagers.

That’s not to mention prison conditions. The Constitution makes prisoners an exception to the ban on human slavery. So there’s mandatory work, but none that pays more than a few pennies an hour.

There’s also no smoking or vaping. There are no conjugal visits. If your wife visits you, you get one hug and brief kiss at the start and end of every visit — apart from that you’re not even allowed to hold hands. And if you’re unlucky enough to go to federal prison, there’s no such thing as parole there. You always serve the entirety of your sentence.

I can’t imagine a crueler system. Anywhere else in the West, there’s no capital punishment, no heavy sentences for minors, prison sentences are much shorter, prison laborers earn minimal wages but not pennies a day, and conjugal visits are permitted. Yet crime and incarceration rates are much lower.

I have no problem with the death penalty as long as it’s applied in a timely manner. I have a problem with taking away someone’s whole life on earth for something they did as a kid or young adult. Either execute them in a timely manner, or give them a reasonable sentence and a road to redemption if you won’t.

The BEST dad ever

Interesting 1950’s themed pictures

Men Are Turning Their Back On The West As It Collapses

Chili Pasta Casserole

Ingredients

1 pound lean ground beef
1 medium onion, chopped
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon black pepper
1 (15 ounce) can vegetarian chili with beans
1 (14 1/2 ounce) can Italian style stewed tomatoes, undrained
1 1/2 cups shredded sharp Cheddar cheese, divided
1/2 cup reduced fat sour cream
1 1/2 teaspoons chili powder
1/4 teaspoon garlic powder
8 ounces cooked pasta

Instructions

Cook ground beef and onion in large skillet.
Sprinkle with salt and pepper.
Brown beef until no longer pink. Drain fat.
Stir in chili, tomatoes with juice, 1 cup Cheddar cheese, sour cream, chili powder and garlic powder.
Add chili mixture to pasta and stir until pasta is coated.
Sprinkle with remaining 1/2 cup cheese.
Cover and cook for 30 minutes until hot and bubbly.

Contact

Submitted into Contest #247 in response to: Set your story on a spaceship exploring the far reaches of space when something goes wrong.… view prompt

Martin Hull

The spaceship came screaming down with the thunderclap roar of displaced atmosphere yet landed whisper soft on the grass at the end of town.The craft glittered sleekly in the mid-morning sunlight as it lay on it’s side – a broad shaft topped by a bulbous nose from which a door opened.The blond haired man that stepped out was tall, bronzed and athletic. He wore the shining, golden uniform of Earth’s Bureau of Exploration, his proudly displayed badges of rank declared him to be a Senior Contact Manager (ConMan) Alien Division.He flicked aside the long ponytail that was a fashion among his colleagues and walked down the ramp that had silently extended itself from his scout craft breathing the fresh, untainted (thoroughly examined and tested) air.There was a short, thickset native strolling towards the spaceman, looking mildly curious. Switching on his Universal Translator the ConMan greeted the native.“Greetings from Earth”. The time delay between speaking and computerized translation was almost unnoticeable.“Hello”, replied the native. “I’m from Lower Great Wopping. Did you know that you aren’t allowed to park there?”“Eh? What?” said the Earthman. “Sorry, no I didn’t.”“Oh, that’s alright,” relied the native cheerfully. “Just remember next time otherwise the grass tends to get worn out. Okay?”“Sure, I … Wait a minute,”the Conman interrupted himself. “I’m from another planet.”“Oh goodness,” exclaimed the native. “No wonder I didn’t recognise you. That also explains why you parked on the grass. Well, enjoy your stay here,” and he turned to leave.“Hold on. Wait,” called out the man from Earth. “I am from another planet and I want to see your leader.”“Well …” the other man thought for a moment then puffed his chest out a bit. “I suppose that’s me. I am the Mayor of Lower Great Wopping.”“No,” said the ConMan with a cendeceding smile. “I meant your overall leader. National Government.”

“Nashnul Guvmint?” said the mayor quizzically. “Is that anything like a public convenience?”

“No it isn’t,” snapped the Earthman. “Do you have a king then? Or a dictator?”

“I’m sorry, no I haven’t,” apologised the Mayor. “Perhaps we can get one at the general store?”

“No, no, no,” raged the thoroughly confused ConMan. “Please let us start again. Do you have a ruler of any kind?”

“Yes, of course,” the Mayor’s face brightened rapidly. “I’ve only got a six inch one with me but I can get a longer one from home.”

“What? No, not that sort of ruler!” The ConMan tried very hard and managed to bring himself under control. Barely.

“A slide rule,” suggested the Mayor diffidently.

“No dammit!” screamed the man from Earth.

For several minutes he simply stared at the Mayor, apparently trying to wish him out of existence. When the native failed to disappear in a puff of smoke the ConMan decided to try another route.

“Who makes your laws?” he asked with reasonable calm.

“Laws?” the Mayor laughed. “We tried making some laws a few years back but nobody liked ‘em much so we junked ‘em.”

“Junked ‘em?” the man from BuEx was shocked into spluttering for a few moments. “You can’t simply junk all laws just because nobody liked them.”

“Why not?”

“Well … er …” The ConMan was unsure but pressed on. “Well … er … who made them?”

“Let’s see now,” the Mayor counted names off on his fingers. “There me and Jane, Fred and Mary, the two Jones girls – very good at it they were – and just about anyone who was interested chipped in some ideas.” The Mayor looked sheepish, “I suppose you think we were stupid, making up laws. It just seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Yes. I mean no. I mean I don’t know.” The ConMan was floundering and took a few moments to collect his thoughts. There seemed to be some missing.

“Let’s start again. Again.” He said eventually. “Who makes the rul … er regulations for this country?”

“What’s Country?” asked the Mayor warily.

The ConMan’s reply started off reasonably, if somewhat incoherent but quickly became an ear shattering screem.

“Well it’s … I mean it’s got … that is … Goddamit you stupid sonofabitch you must know what a country is!”

“Nope,” said the Mayor lightly.

“Oh dear God,” said the exasperated Earthman. “Look, you are a Mayor, right?”

The Mayor nodded.

“So you have a council?”

Again a nod.

“What does the council govern?” asked the ConMan in a whisper, as if he were afraid of the answer.

“The borough,” came the simple answer.

“And what,” the ConMan was becoming exited again, “Do you call a collection of boroughs.”

“A collection of boroughs,” replied the Mayor without even blinking but he did take a step backwards. Just in case.

“I … you …but … aarrgghh” screamed the Earthman who seemed to have developed a twitch just under his left eye and stuttered slightly as he spat out his next question.

“What do you get if you put all the boroughs together?”

“The World,” replied the Mayor, stepping back another pace as the ConMan seemed about to throw a fit.

He was silent for several minutes, breathing deeply as his face went through several colour changes while blood vessels at his neck and temples began throbbing visibly.

“Let’s go back to the beginning,” the ConMan almost pleaded. “How many councils are there?”

“Nobody knows for sure,” the Mayor thought for a while, “But I think it’s around two hundred and fifty thousand now.”

The Contact Manager was obviously shaken by the answer but ploughed grimly on.

“And who,” he asked, “Is above them?”

The Mayor thought long and hard, brows furrowed, face towards the sky. Eventually he said – “All right, I give up. Who is above them?”

The Universal Translator was unable to translate the reply other than to give out an ear splitting shriek.

When the ConMan was able to speak intelligibly again there was a glint of madness shining in his eyes.

“Listen you fool,” he started ranting at the native. “I am a Senior ConMan, an expert at understanding and communicating with aliens …”

“I’m no alien,” the Mayor interrupted indignantly. “I was born and raised right here.”

“No, I’m the alien,” said the Earthman. “I mean … that’s not what I mean … no it’s …”

Suddenly he turned and marched quickly back to his ship, muttering to himself.

“I’ll quit, that’s it, I’ll resign. It was a stupid job anyway. Maybe I never even found the bloody planet, they’ll never know.”

As the spaceship took off, disappearing rapidly into the clear blue sky another native, this one riding a bike, drew alongside the Mayor and stopped.

“Hello Fred,” the Mayor greeted the newcomer.

“Hello Mayor,” replied Fred. “Who was that?”

“A bloke from Earth.”

“What did he want?”

“Buggered if I know,” said the Mayor.

America Compared: Why Other Countries Treat Their People So Much Better | Reaction

Will Apple products be manufactured in the US in the future instead of China?

Not likely.

There aren’t many manufacturers that can produce to scale and quality of Foxconn.

Electronics industry uses contract manufacturers. There are only two that have scale. The first one is FLEX (formerly Flextronics) who invented the idea of contract manufacturing as we know it. Foxconn was originally an electronic parts manufacturer and saw how Flex did things and used a similar model. Because they also manufactured the parts they could earn more profit.

Both companies monopolize the assembly business. Both operate at scale.

Apple chose Foxconn and stayed with Foxconn. Their relationship is very close. When Apple needed AMOLED screens for a new phone model, Foxconn built a new factory for them. Apple did not have to invest a penny.

If you wanted to move production back to the US you would still have to import the parts from China. Electronic parts are not produced at scale in the US. You would also have a hard time finding people who want a job on the production line.

Moving a factory is not like moving house. There are many more moving parts.

Why can’t Foxconn survive in India🇮🇳?

They can survive

They just cannot grow at a fifth of the pace at which they grew in China

India is not a good place to manufacture things

The effortless ease of China is entirely missing in India and Vietnam both.

Vietnam is too cramped even if the workforce is productive

India is too lazy and productivity is abysmal

Plus both Nations simply do not have a Skilled Workforce needed for expansion even moderately

It was stupid of Foxconn to threaten to relocate to India and Vietnam

Far easier to have a Chinese OEM subcontracting with them, go to India and do their work for a lower commission

Now they are unlikely to gain shares in OEM in the Chinese Market ever again.

India needs many structural changes to be able to offer Foxconn a fiftieth of what China can offer

The Economic advantages are non existent

And like I always say when any decision-making is made for POLITICAL REASONS – they simply don’t work like you expect them t

Foxconn can thus survive in India

Barely survive

Until one day they just pack up saying THEY CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE

Caitlin Johnstone: Biden Ramps Up Nuclear Brinkmanship On His Way Out The Door

18 November 2024, by Eric Zuesse. (All of my recent articles can be seen here.)

(NOTE: I was going to do an article on this today, especially because this article follows up — though without mentioning — my October 10th “Biden’s plan calls for WW3 to start after Election Day.”, which opened “U.S. President Joe Biden refuses to answer until after November 5th the question of whether the U.S. will officially be at war against Russia,” which was a follow-on to my September 13th “Biden might decide today whether to initiate WW3 against Russia.” 

So, Caitlin’s fine article today is a follow-on to those events. 

She points out that the missiles which Biden is now allowing Ukraine to use to bomb Russia don’t range as far as the 300 miles range that would be able to bomb The Kremlin and endanger Russia’s central command. 

Therefore, Biden isn’t necessaily sparking WW3 by this policy-change. But what he now is allowing would endanger Russia’s giant nuclear power plant in Kursk, and so it could end up causing Russia to unleash nuclear war against the United States and Ukraine.)

https://www.caitlinjohnst.one/p/biden-ramps-up-nuclear-brinkmanship

18 November 2024, by Caitlin Johnstone

The New York Times reports that the Biden administration has authorized Ukraine to use US-supplied long-range missiles to strike Russian and North Korean military targets inside Russia — yet another dangerous escalation of nuclear brinkmanship in this horrific proxy war.

The Times correctly notes that authorizing Ukraine to use ATACMS, which have a range of about 190 miles, has long been a contentious issue in the Biden administration for fear of provoking military retaliations against the US from Russia. This reckless escalation has been authorized despite an acknowledgement from the anonymous US officials who spoke to The New York Times that they “do not expect the shift to fundamentally alter the course of the war.”

As Antiwar’s Dave DeCamp notes, Vladimir Putin said back in September that if NATO allows Ukraine to use western-supplied weapons for long-range strikes inside Russian territory, it would mean NATO countries “are at war with Russia.” This is about as unambiguous a threat as you’ll ever see.

https://twitter.com/Antiwarcom/status/1858254030361022826

NYT reports that Biden’s policy shift “comes two months before President-elect Donald J. Trump takes office, having vowed to limit further support for Ukraine.” And it is here worth noting that last week it was reported by The Telegraph that British PM Keir Starmer and French President Emmanuel Macron had been scheming to thwart any attempt by Trump to scale back US support for Ukraine by pushing Biden to authorize long-range missile strikes in Russian territory.

But it is also true that the day before the US election Mike Waltz, Trump’s next national security advisor, had himself endorsed the idea of authorizing long-range missile strikes into Russia with the goal of pressuring Moscow to end the war. His plan for disentangling the US from the conflict entails ramping up sanctions on Russia and “taking the handcuffs off the long-range weapons we provide Ukraine” in order to pressure Putin into eagerly accepting a peace deal.

So while this is being framed as an administration that’s more hawkish on Russia executing a maneuver that’s designed to hamstring the peacemongering of an incoming administration that’s less favorable to assisting Ukraine, in reality it may just be goal-assisting the next administration in a policy change it had planned on implementing anyway.

https://twitter.com/mtracey/status/1856129126492430685

Either way, it’s insane. Putin ordered changes to Russia’s nuclear doctrine in September in order to ward off these sorts of escalations by lowering the threshold at which nuclear weapons could be used to defend the Russian Federation, and they’re just barreling right past that bright red line like they barreled over the red lines which led to the invasion of Ukraine. And the fact that they’re adding yet another nuclear-armed state into the mix with North Korea is just more gravy for the nuclear brinkmanship pot roast.

At one point in 2022, US intelligence agencies reportedly assessed that the odds of Russia using a nuclear weapon in Ukraine was as high as fifty percent, but the Biden administration kept pushing forward with this proxy war anyway. These freaks are taking insane risks to advance agendas that stand to yield the slimmest of benefits even by their own assessments.

We are living in dark and dangerous times.

PS: If you like this article, please email it to all your friends or otherwise let others know about it. None of the U.S.-and-allied ‘news’-media will likely publish it (nor link to it, since doing that might also hurt them with Google or etc.). I am not asking for money, but I am asking my readers to spread my articles far and wide, because I specialize in documenting what the Deep State is constantly hiding. This is, in fact, today’s samizdat.

GHOST DESCRIBES THE AFTERLIFE, What He Says Will Shock You…

Jumped and shamed all because of the secretive nature of female beauty

When I was a boy growing up, I used to sneak peeks at the stash of Playboy magazines that my father kept in “his” basement bathroom.

My parents maintained a more-or-less traditional household with the father working and the mother being a stay-at-home mom. And part of this lifestyle was the separation of bathrooms.

My father has a small bathroom in the basement, while my mother maintained a larger, more ornate bathroom next to the parental bedroom.

In my father’s basement was a stack of magazines. And buried in the bottom of them were a collection of Playboy and other “girlie” magazines that men would read. He also had magazines about “Men’s adventure” and such topics. And, well, being a boy I of course discovered the stash and would look though them.

They would always give me a rise in my groin, but I really didn’t know what to do past that. As this was still before I discovered the natural release of masturbation. So I would just sneak a peek at the forbidden magazines that my father favored, and my mother deplored.

One day, when I was around ten years old, I got out of the bathroom and opened the door where my sister jumped me; like some kind of fierce tiger, and startled the living fuck out of me.

She screamed at me at the top… the TOP of her lungs. All set at decibel level 1000.

She screamed “Got ya!” and repeated over and over “You are in so much trouble now!”.

Startled and in shock, not to mention viewing the “dirty” magazines, I was horrified and ashamed, and in shock.

So I stayed in the bathroom.

Shaking.

And I stayed there not moving for hours. Maybe three or four hours in total.

And eventually my mother came down. She opened the basement door and made her way down the stairs to the basement bathroom.

She told me to come out. No one is going to beat me, and to get ready for dinner. And that was that.

No bitch-out session.

It was as if nothing happened. But to me, I must have been as pale as a ghost.

Dad ignored everything.

So we set down to eat. Not a word about the terrifying events passed anyones lips.

When my sister tried to say anything, my father SHUT HER UP, and told her to leave the table. Where she promptly stomped off making loud pounding noises as she assaulted the stars to her bedroom.

I didn’t know it then, but I know it now…

Forcefully violating someones privacy; insulting them, shaming them, and generally attempting to lay this “deep sin” on my shoulders was absolutely not acceptable.

It could, if handled wrongly, damage me for life.

Shame. Ridicule.

Betrayal.

All in all, I think that my parents handled this properly.

Months later my dad had a chat with me.

Not about the incident, but telling me that one should never be ashamed of being interested in girls.

And a natural curiosity in the female body is fine, healthy and normal. He told me never to be ashamed of being a normal boy.

After that, he used that to discuss the “birds and bees” with me.

Oh, sure as shit, my sister continued to be a little tyrannical bitch, but that incident was closed, and NEVER reopened again.

This one was handled properly by my parents. They weren’t complete fuck-up’s you know. They did things RIGHT from time to time.

Today…

What are the darkest secrets of elite US universities?

Originally Answered: What are the darkest secrets of elite US universities such as Harvard, Yale, Princeton, or Stanford?

To me, the secret about elite universities — or at least the fact that they prefer not to publicize overtly — is that the admissions game is far from fair, which most people would define as based on merit. The truth is that when it comes to admissions, the Ivies, Stanford, and other top schools have their own agendas. Which means that the actual number of spaces available for students without a “hook” is much smaller than one might think.

One agenda is to favor legacies. Harvard has been known to have the children of alums take up one-third of the class. Other schools do the same, at somewhat lower rates. Among my college essay students, I see admissions for legacies as much more likely than for others. If nothing else, the tie often goes to the legacy.

Athletes also get a big edge. This is not limited to Stanford, home of many Olympic medalists. Even at the Ivies, where the level of play in most sports is well below Olympic caliber, a big chunk of admitted students are recruited athletes, who sometimes get a bit of a break on grades and test scores. About half of students at Williams are athletes.

Money matters. Yes, you can buy your way into a top college. It is now known that the parents of Jared Kushner knew that he was not Harvard material and spent millions greasing the wheels. In my own experience, I have seen a student with really weak academics get into a school where the family’s name was on a building.

Race also matters. Students who are historically underrepresented minorities get an edge, even if the family is rich. It is documented that Asian students need higher grades and scores to get into many top schools. Harvard is being sued for this practice.

Universities are more willing to publicize their efforts to broaden opportunity by giving preference to student who will be the first in their family to go to college. “60 Minutes” recently did a segment about Princeton’s efforts to increase socioeconomic diversity. I applaud plans like this. But I also know that this means a lot of places will be earmarked for certain types of students.

Imagine a game of musical chairs with ten chairs. The game begins with legacies seated in two chairs. Recruited athletes are in two other chairs. Two more may already be filled by students who are underrepresented minorities or first to attend college. One more will be an international student. How many spots are left if you do not fit into one of those categories? Three? And half of those go to men and half to women?

The above scenario is inexact. But the point is clear. For a student without a hook, the window to squeeze through to get into an elite university is much smaller than the universities would have you believe.

MM’s AI work from today part 1

I’ve been experimenting with Baroque figurative imagery.

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Comfortably Numb – Pink Floyd – The Wall – 4K Remastered

China’s Ministry of Commerce has introduced export controls again, and it is the turn of the United States to be “choked”, and the military is under great pressure.

While the United States has repeatedly exaggerated the “Chinese military threat” and wants to continue to increase its budget and join forces with its allies to manufacture and transfer weapons and expand military production, China’s unexpected decision suddenly made the US and European militaries feel real pressure.

According to the Global Times, the Ministry of Commerce and the General Administration of Customs of China recently issued an announcement, announcing that from September 15, export controls will be imposed on antimony and superhard materials related items. A spokesperson for the Ministry of Commerce said that China’s policy is not aimed at any specific country or region, but is based on international practices to better safeguard national security and fulfill international obligations such as non-proliferation. The important role of antimony in military production and China’s dominant position in antimony mining and supply have determined that this move will have an impact on many countries, and the United States will be the first to bear the brunt.

(Antimony Ore)

Foreign media analysis said that antimony, as a strategic metal, is not only used in the production of batteries and photovoltaic equipment, but also an important raw material for many military equipment, such as ammunition, infrared-guided missiles, nuclear weapons, and night vision goggles. China is the world’s largest antimony producer, mining about 40,000 tons last year, accounting for nearly half of the global total. The United States is the world’s largest buyer of antimony ore. Relevant statistics show that 63% of the antimony ore and its oxides imported by the United States from 2019 to 2022 came from China. From this perspective, China’s export controls on antimony are actually a “reverse stranglehold” on the United States, which is likely to cause difficulties for the United States’ weapons manufacturing.

However, it is not the first time that China has strangled the United States in the export of key minerals. Last year, China announced export controls on two rare metals, germanium and gallium, which prompted the United States to discuss countermeasures with allies such as the European Union, Japan, and South Korea as soon as possible.

(The raw materials of the US AIM-9X infrared-guided air-to-air missile include antimony)

In addition, in recent years, the United States has been trying to get rid of its dependence on China in the supply of key minerals, including cooperating with Australia, Mongolia and other countries to develop mineral resources, but both mining and processing technology and related patents are firmly in the hands of China. As a result, the US has to admit that it is still unable and unwilling to exclude China from the US “key mineral supply chain”.

However, not to mention that China’s export restrictions are not aimed at any specific country, even if the policies specifically targeted at the United States are just a way to treat the person in his own way, because it is the United States that is accustomed to building “campus walls”.

From Trump to Biden, the United States can be said to have tried every means to suppress China in the high-tech field, including but not limited to putting Chinese companies on the “blacklist”. Huawei, DJI and other companies have not escaped, and allies have implemented various export controls on China. At the time when China’s export controls on antimony were in place, the Biden administration was still planning to implement new restrictions on technology exports to China.

However, unlike the United States, the suppression by the United States cannot fundamentally prevent our rise. Instead, it has prompted China’s high-tech enterprises to make great progress and development through self-reliance and independent innovation. Take the most critical semiconductor industry as an example. At present, domestic chips have made breakthrough progress and are gradually replacing the market of foreign chips.

As emphasized by the Ministry of Commerce, China opposes any country or region using controlled items from China to engage in activities that undermine China’s national sovereignty, security and development interests. Since the United States uses key minerals provided by China to build weapons against China, there is no need for China to be polite. It is more appropriate to let the United States taste the taste of being “choked”.

This news is brought to you by tencent

Be the Rufus

Have you ever seen an employer fire someone without realizing what a crucial role the employee played?

Me. My position was eliminated, and while I gathered my things in the presence of the new office manager, I told her that she’d need to contract a snow removal company to clean and salt the walks, early morning, every time it snowed. Because I was the one who did that.

She looked shocked and dismayed and she said that she didn’t realize that.

A large portion of the client base was children and elderly people and it was not just a matter of courtesy, but an insurance liability. I also cleaned the public sidewalks around the building because even though the city would do it, it might take days before it was done.

Unfortunately for her, contracting a company is the sort of thing that has to be negotiated and booked well in advance, and winter was upon us. The cost for service would be greater than my salary was.

The other employees only worked when they had clients booked, and they were generally small women with medical degrees, and they could not be hot, sweaty and potentially smelly from physical exertion anyway.

And the three dentists sure weren’t going to do it.

Back to the Future is sooo FREAKIN’ GOOD!!!

From Prodigy to Predator: The Twisted Path to Narcissism

Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD) often evokes images of self-absorbed egomaniacs who crave admiration and wield manipulation like a weapon. But beneath the polished veneer of grandiose self-image lies a hidden truth: narcissism is a learned response to deep-seated wounds inflicted in childhood. It’s a desperate dance for love and attention, born from a warped perception of neglect and unworthiness.

From Crib to Con: The Twisted Path of Narcissism

The seeds of narcissism are often sown in the fertile ground of early childhood experiences. Imagine a young child, yearning for the warmth of parental love, only to encounter a void of emotional connection. Perhaps their needs were consistently unmet, their cries left unanswered, or their achievements ignored. This perceived neglect breeds a gnawing sense of unworthiness and insecurity.

To cope with this emotional turmoil, the child instinctively adopts survival tactics. They learn that loud tantrums, exaggerated displays of distress, and even manipulative ploys garner attention, albeit negative. This “infantile fakery,” as you aptly call it, becomes a twisted currency, securing the fleeting validation that soothes their raw vulnerability.

Over time, these behaviors morph into a sophisticated arsenal of manipulation. The narcissist learns to charm their way through life, cutting corners, deflecting blame, and leveraging the sympathy of unsuspecting others. It’s a desperate attempt to fill the void within, a never-ending quest for external validation to compensate for the internal chasm of perceived inadequacy.

The Vicious Cycle: Escalation and Escape

This relentless pursuit of self-gratification comes at a hefty cost. Relationships become transactional, mere stepping stones on the path to narcissistic aggrandizement. As their true nature is revealed, the inevitable happens: disillusionment sets in. People tire of the grandiosity, the constant blame game, and the emotional manipulation.

Faced with this potential rejection, the narcissist resorts to their default coping mechanism: escape. They may abruptly discard relationships, change jobs, or move cities, leaving behind a trail of emotional casualties. But amidst this flurry of movement, there’s no introspection, no genuine growth. The core issue of self-worth remains unaddressed, festering like an untreated wound.

The Impossibility of Perfection: Why Narcissists Can’t Learn

At the heart of narcissism lies an unshakeable belief in one’s own perfection. Any suggestion of imperfection, any hint of a mistake, shatters their carefully constructed facade. This crippling fear of vulnerability makes genuine learning virtually impossible. Why invest in self-improvement when you believe you’re already beyond reproach?

Instead, the narcissist resorts to intellectual shortcuts, relying on charm and bluster to mask their lack of knowledge. They avoid honest self-reflection, deflecting blame and responsibility like Teflon repels water. It’s a vicious cycle, perpetuating their inflated sense of self while simultaneously hindering their ability to grow and evolve.

The Toll of Denial: Broken Promises and Shattered Lives

The ramifications of this arrested development are far-reaching. The narcissist’s inability to learn and adapt translates into a string of failures: broken relationships, lost jobs, and a trail of emotional wreckage. Their charisma may initially draw people in, but their manipulative tactics and emotional detachment eventually wear thin.

As the masks slip and the truth emerges, those closest to the narcissist bear the brunt of the pain. Family members become collateral damage, spouses are emotionally abused, and friends are left bewildered and hurt. The narcissist, forever chasing the mirage of self-worth, leaves behind a desolate landscape of broken promises and shattered trust.

Breaking the Cycle: Understanding and Healing

Unmasking the root of narcissism isn’t about demonizing individuals or condoning their behavior. It’s about recognizing the human story behind the inflated ego, the pain that fuels the need for constant validation. By understanding the underlying causes, we can move beyond judgment and towards compassion.

For those caught in the orbit of a narcissist, knowledge is power. Recognizing the manipulative patterns, setting healthy boundaries, and prioritizing self-care are crucial steps towards emotional well-being. Therapy can also offer valuable tools for navigating the complexities of these relationships and ultimately reclaiming power over one’s own life.

A Call for Empathy, Not Excuses

While NPD stems from early childhood experiences, it’s crucial to remember that understanding isn’t synonymous with excusing harmful behavior. The actions of narcissists can inflict deep wounds, and those affected deserve validation and support. However, recognizing the source of their pain can help us move beyond anger and blame, towards a place of empathy and self-protection.

Narcissism may be a complex and deeply ingrained disorder, but it’s not an insurmountable one. By shedding light on its origins and acknowledging the emotional pain at its core, we can foster a space for healing and understanding. For the most

Tacos de Carnitas

Crispy bits of very flavorful pork is the base for these delicious street tacos.

Ingredients

1 (3 to 4 pound) pork butt
6 cups water
7 strips orange zest
5 garlic cloves, minced
1 large white onion, diced
1 cinnamon stick (preferably Mexican canela)
1 1/4 teaspoons crushed red pepper
2 bay leaves
1 1/2 teaspoons crushed oregano leaves
1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
24 small corn tortillas, warmed
Chopped fresh cilantro
Finely chopped white onion
Diced fresh tomato

Instructions

Trim any thick fat from the pork butt. Cut the meat into 1 inch cubes, discarding any that are pure fat, leaving some of the fat for flavor and browning later.
Put the pork cubes in a large pot and cover with water. Bring to a boil and then reduce to a simmer. Skim off any foam that forms on the surface during the first 15 minutes. After foam is skimmed off, add the chopped onion, garlic, orange zest, crushed red pepper, cinnamon, bay leaves, oregano, cloves and salt. Simmer uncovered for another 1 1/4 hours until pork is very tender, adding more water if necessary to keep it submerged.
Season with more salt.
Continue simmering at a gentle boil until the water has evaporated, about 30 more minutes. Remove bay leaves and cinnamon. Cook a little longer to fry the meat, stirring often and adding a little water it it seems to be sticking and/or burning.
Spoon some carnitas onto each tortilla. Top tacos with chopped onion, cilantro and diced fresh tomato.
Serve with refried beans and Mexican rice for a genuine taqueria experience.

Some of MM AI generations

Early stuff this.

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6 Signs You’re with the “Right” Partner

byThe InformHub •June 30, 2024

Discover the true meaning of a perfect match based on mutual love. In challenging times when many Americans feel more single and lonely than ever, 60% of U.S. adults still believe in the concept of a soulmate.

“Meant to be” can be a comforting thought after a series of bad first dates or a marriage that ended in divorce. Even 52% of Americans who have been married before still believe in “the one.”

This belief brings a strong sense of hope for those already in relationships, especially during tough times.

However, it also comes with potential downsides.

Believing you’re with the “right” and “only” person can lead partners to stay in abusive and toxic relationships (Franiuk et al., 2012).

It can also cause people to leave relationships too soon, thinking the “right” person is still out there, just a swipe away on their dating app.

But relying solely on either the traditional soulmate theory or the work-it-out approach is a false choice.

What if your soulmate was someone highly compatible with you, and what was “meant to be” was finding that level of compatibility?

Why not someone who also makes a consistent effort?

“Meant to be” refers to a healthy, lasting relationship with someone you are highly compatible with, sharing and enjoying life together.

Here are six signs that you’re in a highly compatible, secure, and strong long-term relationship:

1. You experience a strong and consistent emotional connection.

2. You have fun together and enjoy similar activities or adventures.

3. You are physically attracted to each other.

4. You find joy in quiet moments together.

5. You accept your partner as they are and feel accepted by them.

6. You and your partner feel chosen by each other.

This is the ideal scenario of high compatibility in the way you love. Soulmate relationships are less about a checklist of matching traits or qualifications and more about the way you feel when you wake up next to each other in the morning.

You might have met a soulmate if you also:

Feel appreciated, respected, and valued.
Feel comfortable being vulnerable.
Experience support for your dreams.
See significant alignment of interests, personality, and lifestyle.
See consistent growth in communication, conflict resolution, and meaning-making.

Meeting your soulmate may also mean a deep bond with spiritual significance if spiritual and religious beliefs were part of your family culture. Sharing core beliefs about spirituality and your relationship is a good indicator of soulmate potential.

If you’ve been together for at least a year and have been discussing marriage, sit down with your partner this weekend and consider the following questions:

How would you describe your emotional connection?

What exciting activities have you enjoyed together this year?

How would you describe the quality of your sexual experience in the relationship?

What is your experience when sharing space?

Why do you choose each other out of the 8.1 billion people in the world?

Do you feel like your best selves with each other?

If you’ve found your person, cherish and celebrate them. Ensure your partner understands their value to you.Commit to actions that reflect your love.

I’M EMOTIONAL!! First Time Reaction to Pink Floyd – “Comfortably Numb”

Plutocracy of private capital creates a crisis of US political legitimacy

Source: Global Times

The US is confronting a political system facing a crisis of legitimacy. A major component of the crisis is structural and inherent to US governance. Politicians in the US do not succeed in politics because of their service to the people. They are first selected by a tiny fraction of society wielding immense wealth and power before they are presented to voters.

Nowhere is the gap between the policies that US politicians pursue and the well-being of the people bigger than foreign policy. A cursory look at the economic approach to China under the administrations of former president Donald Trump and current President Joe Biden demonstrates this clearly. Under the Trump administration, the US imposed tariffs on Chinese exports and sanctions on China’s tech sector. Under the Biden administration, the US increased these tariffs to include the Chinese electric vehicle sector, expanded “black list” of Chinese tech corporations and targeted the semiconductor industry as a flashpoint in arresting China’s high-tech development. The two US administrations’ continuity on US foreign policy toward China extends into their military posture as both administrations saw greatly intensified US militarization in the Asia Pacific presence along China’s border and dangerous escalations over Taiwan in violation of the one-China principle.

Nothing about US foreign policy, whether it targets China or another nation, benefits the American people. Trillions of US dollars have gone unaccounted for, while many Americans struggle with debt, increasing rates of poverty, lowering life expectancy, inflation and stagnant wages. This has led to a crisis of political legitimacy where support for Congress and the president are at an all-time low while support for third-party alternatives to the two-party system is at a high point. The question is, then, why do US politicians fail to serve the interests of their constituents? What makes them choose to enrich military contractors and monopoly financial institutions while neglecting the ordinary worker?

The US is not a democracy. It’s a plutocracy of private capital. One percent of the US population owns more than one-third of US wealth. But more importantly, this one percent comprises the property owners of the biggest monopolies and financial institutions in the US and have designed a political system where their patronage directly corresponds to US policy. While politicians may promise ordinary Americans that their policies will benefit them. However, once elected these same politicians pursue an agenda which enriches the wealthiest corporations at the expense of the well-being of the people. In 2014, two US scholars conducted a study on the impact that various interest groups hold on government policy. They found that big business and interest groups made a huge impact on US policy and average citizens made little to no impact at all. Their findings find no shortage of validation. While the vast majority of people face economic and social strife, US politicians are busy sending more military aid to Ukraine and Israel and holding fundraisers with the richest in the corporate and finance sectors. This has given way to political malaise in some respects, but it has also encouraged more people to seek alternative political avenues to the two-party system.

As the gap between US policy and the interests of humanity reaches an all-time high, US politicians will continue to compete among themselves over how to best manage a growing crisis of legitimacy. An ever-increasing number of Americans will grow disdainful of this process. This means that an even more polarized political environment is coming to the United States as people navigate gross power distortions between the average American and the elites. Meanwhile, they continue to look for ways to fulfill their desire for a more people-driven and people-centered political agenda.

Boeing

How many Chinese still remember how our generation was deceived by this book?

When I was a kid, I believed it, and when I grew up, fuck, what stupid book lied to me all these years

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1.Coins and national emblem

A Chinese student dropped a dime on the road and didn’t pick it up. A foreigner picked it up for him and solemnly told him that this coin has your country’s micro on it, please respect it

2.Make sure you wash it seven times

In Japan, dishes must be brushed seven times. A Chinese student who worked in a work-study program was fired by his boss because he only brushed five times. As a result, all restaurants did not want him, and finally the landlord asked him to check out because of his dishonesty

3.Fly honey

In order to change the problem of flies chasing odor, for more than two hundred years, Australians have developed good habits of hygiene generation after generation, thoroughly cleaning the national public place, and maintaining it for a long time, and finally flies collecting honey for living

4.The meaning of guns

The Chinese played with a real gun for the first time at a white friend’s house, and the gun went off and injured the friend’s son. However, the white friend did not investigate the fault of the Chinese, and even gave him the gun. The white man said: Because he grew up in a country without guns, he did not know the value of guns.

5.Book honey

In order to make children fall in love with reading, Jews will put honey on the book and let the child taste the sweetness of the book. This method is so effective that many Jewish children find books sweet and fragrant from an early age.

6.Blackout supermarket

A supermarket in the United States suddenly lost power, in order to prevent stampede, the radio announced that you can take away the goods in your hand for free, and people have orderly exit after hearing the radio. After the call, I was surprised to find that the counter was full of banknotes, which were consciously paid by customers

7.Power cut to save lives

In the United States, a sparrow was entangled in a high-voltage power line, and passers-by immediately called the alarm phone, and the police informed the White House that the president decided to send a special plane to break the national main power line, so that the national temporary power outage, saving the little Massachusetts. A great nation can stop any humble life

8.Tools wrapped in oiled paper

The German colonists built Qingdao sewers, so that Qingdao was not flooded for a hundred years, and a hundred years later, I received an email from a German company, saying that the sewers contained spare parts wrapped in oil paper and could be replaced directly

9.Superfather

A father was peeling an apple from his daughter’s winnowing boat when he accidentally plunged a knife into his heart. In order not to cause his daughter to panic, he endured severe pain and pulled out the fruit knife, insisting on sending the child off the ship for 3 days before he died.

10. 4:30 in the morning

4:30 in the morning, when the Chinese students are still sleeping, the world’s best group of people, Harvard students are immersed in reading, 4:30 in the morning Harvard library lights up, filled with serious learning students

11.Reading on the subway

British people love reading, they do not look at mobile phones when taking the subway, but read books and newspapers, “the spiritual world is very rich.”

Kung Fu Hustle Movie REACTION!!

The US military did the math and found that it was more cost-effective to “give up” Taiwan

What Lai Qingde was most worried about still happened. The Americans did the math and were surprised to find that it was more “cost-effective” for the United States to “give up” Taiwan.

Recently, a US military scholar published an article in the “Foreign Affairs” magazine, saying that the US military should not conflict with the Chinese mainland in order to “defend Taiwan”, and even further proposed the view of “giving up” Taiwan and letting it fend for itself.

This is different from the view that most American politicians have always advocated to “support the Taiwan authorities” to “contain” the mainland, so it has caused widespread discussion.

[The US military has made the situation in the Taiwan Strait more tense]

The scholar argued his point of view from three aspects:

First, the scholar reviewed the PLA’s strength improvement in the past 12 years in the article and came to a conclusion that China is now strong enough.

Among them, four points were mainly mentioned, namely that the PLA Air Force is producing fifth-generation aircraft and upgraded bombers, and most indicators show that China has the largest navy in the world.

In addition, China’s long-range missiles and satellite technology also pose enough “threat” to the US military and its allies in the Asia-Pacific region, and are capable of directly attacking US military bases from their homeland.

Whether it is the hypersonic missiles such as the DF-17, which are at the forefront of the missile field, or the continuously upgraded DF series ballistic missiles, as well as mature and reliable anti-ship ballistic missiles, they all mark that we have taken a decisive step in our defense strategy and can cause devastating blows to US military bases and aircraft carriers when necessary.

[The US military in the Asia-Pacific region has to bow its head within the range of the PLA missiles]

To achieve this, it is also inseparable from my country’s expansion of satellite technology and space capabilities. The fully built Beidou satellite navigation system and a large number of remote sensing and reconnaissance satellites can provide the PLA with independent and reliable global positioning, improving the precision strike capability of the weapon system and the command and control efficiency of the troops.

On the other hand, when the US military faced the missile offensive of the Houthi armed forces in the Red Sea, it was obviously in a serious shortage of ammunition. Therefore, under the PLA’s fully upgraded missile offensive, this problem of the US military will only become more serious.

After talking about the strength of the PLA, the scholar put forward a second point of view, pointing out that the military benefits that Taiwan Island can bring are very low, and it is not enough to change the overall situation for both the US military and the PLA.

He said that this is because the United States has long been trapped in a “misunderstanding”, believing that the PLA will further increase the coverage of medium-range missiles after regaining Taiwan, and further break through the US “island chain plan”.

In fact, the technology originally mastered by the PLA is enough to cover the US military bases on Okinawa and Luzon Island. After mastering Taiwan Island, it is just “icing on the cake”, adding an additional 190 miles of range.

For the US military, Japan and the Philippines, which are also located on the first island chain, have more bases with superior conditions, and can even further pose a threat to Taiwan Island from these bases after the PLA regains Taiwan.

This point is actually somewhat of a “broken jar” meaning, perhaps because they feel that “the PLA missiles are always hanging over the heads of the US military in the Asia-Pacific region, so instead of “holding” the island tightly, it is better to throw the trouble to the PLA.

Finally, the scholar gave a very “vicious” strategy, which is to remind the US military that it needs to change its strategy and “defend” Taiwan from another angle.

This method is to hope that the US military will provide as many mines, drones and anti-ship missiles as possible to the Taiwan military, and support the Taiwan authorities to produce these equipment themselves through technology sharing.

In this way, the Taiwan authorities will no longer be a burden to the United States, but a thorny “hedgehog”, and then when the PLA “suffers huge losses to recover Taiwan”, the United States can gain a certain advantage and fight the PLA in a wider area.

We will temporarily Regardless of whether such a concept can be realized, the message that the scholar expressed in his words that he would “abandon the Taiwan authorities” in exchange for greater advantages is enough to confirm our view on the nature of US military aid.

[The Taiwan Affairs Office of the State Council has long “predicted” the fate of the Taiwan authorities]

Earlier, the spokesperson of the Taiwan Affairs Office of the State Council, Zhu Fenglian, said that the United States will always pursue the “America First Policy”, and Taiwan will not be an exception. In the end, the “chess piece” can only become a “discarded piece”, bringing greater harm to Taiwan compatriots.

Moreover, recovering Taiwan is a sovereignty issue that cannot be compromised for us. In front of our core interests, no one can be beaten. Any wrong decision made by the US government on this issue will accelerate our process of recovering Taiwan.

this news is brought to you by tencent

Shorpy

Be the Rufus

Quandary

Submitted into Contest #247 in response to: Set your story on a spaceship exploring the far reaches of space when something goes wrong.… view prompt

Lyle Closs

I don’t like people. Never have. Arrogance, ignorance, mendacity, self-importance, superiority… I don’t like lists either.I’m not a prepper. If the end of the world comes I’ll be out on my porch with a welcoming smile. I have so little – they can have it all. It adds up to a pile of nought and a root cellar full of dust.My great pleasure is to sit out there and watch the days rise and subside, the mountains glow then surrender to the clouds. The snow falls like ash, the sun claws into my skin, the wind reaches through the cracks of my cabin, the cold informs me I am still alive.I had a family but she decided I wasn’t her type and took the kids away. I came home from the tyre factory with a lung full of carbon and a house full of silence. She left a note. It said ‘Bye’. Love died with a three letter word.I pinned the note to the front door for the landlord and drove away with my last paycheck and became a ghost of the person I had been. A ghost is a memory of someone who once lived. Seems about right.Vegas baby. A place to burn up and die. I turned the paycheck into chips and put them all on red, then red, then black, then black. It doubled each time. To hell with it. I put the lot on 23. It paid. Then black. It paid. Then 00. A ball drops into a spinning slot and you have more money than you’ve earned in your entire life.Fawning, flattering fools rose to the surface like scum from a rotting fish soup. It happens when you have a pile of cash. I’ve seen it now and it’s not just a trope in a bad movie. I’m not falling for that though. Faux admiration won’t ever open my wallet. If you need to be liked you’re just a bank waiting to be robbed.I cashed in and drove to Montana, opened a bank account in Butte and disappeared into the wooded hills. How I like it.My neighbors are bears and birds. I deal with people when I need stores. Sometimes I sit on my porch with my rifle and pretend someone is coming up the trail. I pretend to shoot them.Trouble is that fantasy would be followed by the reality of being arrested and having to deal with every kind of scum in the legal and penal system. Anyway I’ve never shot a living thing. The gun is for comfort. I like the mechanics of it. And if anyone tries to break into the cabin at night I’m ready. Just try it lowlife. Just fucking try it…Anyway, no sense getting carried away with imaginings. People imagining things is what got the world where it is today. Imagining that dealing drugs will provide a better life; that sacking half the workforce will improve the company; that beating up a woman makes you a man. If aliens investigated the people of this planet before arriving, they’d change their minds and head for Alpha Centauri. Who’d want to take over this pile of scat.Which brings me to today. It started with the powerful light shining through my window in the night. You know what it’s like. Your eyes snap open wide, your body’s as tense as a top E string. You wait for the next noise.The light disappeared. It was a starless dark night out. Low clouds. You strain to hear anything more but the only sound is the breeze in the trees. You peer out but nothing moves but the aspen leaves and pine needles.The next morning you remember it wasn’t a dream and you wander off into the woods with your coffee and toast.In a nearby clearing was a large object that I could only imagine was a radically new weapon. It was matt black, about half the size of my cabin, with projections everywhere and no clear front or back. That was just my first impression though. It looked, I realized, like a large spaceship model from a Star Wars movie. But why would a model spaceship be in a clearing in my forest?Then a very small door opened, a mechanical arm reached out and placed a spherical object on the ground, then retracted. The door closed with a hiss. Hot damn!The object on the ground projected a hazy light that fuzzed in the air then formed a hologram in the air. It was a weird creature which made strange noises and waved its multiple arms, bowed then sat on the ground with its ‘hands’ held open and its head bent down. It seemed to be acting submissive or at least not aggressive. I sat on the ground and sipped my coffee and took a bite of my toast as I stared at it.“What the hell are you?” I said.The hologram creature was about six inches tall. It watched me drinking. I put the coffee cup down by the projector. The mechanical arm came out, picked up my coffee and lifted it into the craft. Seconds later it put the cup back, empty.“Thirsty huh?”I put the rest of my toast and honey down. That too quickly disappeared. The hologram alien clapped its hands and bowed ecstatically. I had the distinct impression it was out of food and drink. Whatever ‘it’ was.Then another door opened and an actual alien dragged itself to the opening. It seemed to be in bad shape. It was just six inches tall. Ugly as sin too. Just like the hologram. Slimy white skin, six eyes in the hairless head, six arms, four legs. Clothes like silk, multi-colored, all tassels and baubles. Some weird idea of fashion.It babbled at me, a high-pitched gurling sort of speech. “You’re a damn fool if you think I can understand a thing you’re saying,” I replied.It held up a hand – wait – and dragged itself back inside. The spaceship made a noise like an engine trying to start. The alien came back to the opening and shrugged. I wondered how many gestures were standard across the universe. It was telling me the vessel wouldn’t start. Well, there’s not a lot I can do to help. I shrugged.It collapsed. Struggled to sit up. Draped its legs over the edge of the opening and stared at me with all its sad little eyes.

The mechanical arm took the projection ball back inside then I heard clicks and hissing and, one by one, it brought out 11 matt black spheres about 3 inches in diameter and put them on the grass. I was puzzled.

Maybe it read my confusion. The projector was brought back out and showed a hologram of an alien apparently dying. I couldn’t tell what was killing it, maybe a poison or some kind of gas. Nothing obvious anyway. It collapsed, much like my alien buddy did just now. It didn’t move though. Then the hologram wrapped the body in a white cloth into a nearly spherical shape then put the wrapped body into a matt black sphere. The arm pointed to the 11 spheres on the grass.

I pointed to the alien in the opening and held up one finger. The hologram held up one finger. Alone.

Then the last one babbled again and tried to stand up but it fell out of the opening onto the grass. I reached out to touch it. It raised it little head, held out a couple of hands and touched my fingers, then it sagged and sighed its last. Dead.

“Bloody hell mate. Don’t tell me that means you’re all dead?” I knocked on the hull of the spaceship but thing appeared.

The mechanical arm lifted the body and wrapped it in cloth, pulled out a final black sphere, gently placed the body into the sphere and closed it. 12 matt black spherical coffins.

I heard a faint humming at the limit of my hearing and the spheres sank into the ground with 12 puffs of smoke or steam and disappeared. I didn’t know how deep they went but later I checked with my old metal detector and it found nothing, so they were at least a few feet in. I imagined them sinking down to the mantel and melting in the lava.

The projector started up again and showed a hologram of an alien looking at me and shrugging. I shrugged back. The spaceship couldn’t start and now had no crew. It didn’t know what to do.

I didn’t know what to do either.

If I tell anyone, the world and its military will descend on my peace and that will be the end of it. I might as well have shot someone.

But I have in my grasp the biggest event in the history of the world. Surely there can’t be just one spaceship? Is an invasion on the way? Could it be stopped if this spaceship was studied by the world’s experts? Could we learn how to reach the stars?

I didn’t think about it for long though. It wasn’t really a quandary. I moved my woodpile and it’s now covered so no-one can see it.

I sit out there most days and talk to it. Sometimes I hear soft humming like it’s still trying to start up. There’s a gap in the pile so the mechanical arm can come out any time it wants.

Occasionally it puts out the projector and the holo-alien shrugs. What can I do? I shrug back and we sit and stare at each other.

Russia’s Use of Oreshnik Missile a Grave Warning to NATO Amid Danger of World War – Analysts

Russian President Vladimir Putin said in a televised speech on Thursday that Ukraine fired US-supplied ATACMS missiles and the UK’s Storm Shadows at facilities in the Kursk and Bryansk regions on November 19. Russia responded by launching a combined strike using the new medium-range Oreshnik missile on a defense industry complex of the Kiev regime.

Russia’s strike on a Ukrainian defense facility using its new Oreshnik hypersonic medium-range ballistic missile is a “a serious warning to NATO,” Robinson Farinazzo, a retired Brazilian officer, told Sputnik.

He underscored that US President Joe Biden crossed “a red line” by authorizing the Kiev regime to strike Russia with long-range American weapons. “Moscow is perfectly aware that this type of attack, technically difficult, can only be carried out with the support of NATO, in this case the US,” he said.

RUSSIA’S HYPERSONIC ORESHNIK MISSILE SYSTEM SHOWS NATO ESCALATION WILL COME AT PRICE – E

XPERTS “Vladimir Putin delivered a very powerful message to the West that they should revise the decision to escalate the conflict,” Dmitry Suslov, deputy director of the Center for European and International Studies at Russia’s Higher School of Economics, who participated in advising the leadership on amendment of the Russian nuclear doctrine and adoption of the new one, tells Sputnik. On Thursday, Russian President Vladimir Putin unveiled the Oreshnik medium-range hypersonic ballistic missile that was fired on the night of November 21 in response to Ukraine’s use of NATO’s long-range ATACMS and Storm Shadows against Russia’s Bryansk and Kursk regions. As a result of the strike, Yuzhmash (also known as Pivdenmash), a Ukrainian arms manufacturer was successfully hit in Dnepropetrovsk. With this move, Putin made it clear that if NATO countries continue to use their ATACMS and Storm Shadow missiles against Russia, “then Russia might use its medium range missiles against those countries, against the military objects of these Western countries,” Suslov continued. Moreover, Russia is ready for further escalation, according to the pundit. “If the West will respond to these Russian actions in the escalatory way, then Russia will escalate further. And the recent adoption of the newest Russian nuclear doctrine tells that Russia is basically ready at a certain stage to use evil nuclear weapons,” he stresses. Russia’s new hypersonic missile is a breakthrough technology, Yuri Knutov, military expert and historian of the Air Defense Forces, tells Sputnik “Its speed, as the president said, is 10 Mach. Today, no other country in the world has such missiles,” he says. The pundit underscored that neither the US nor other countries of the world currently possess air defense systems capable of intercepting Russia’s new hypersonic missiles. “We demonstrated a missile that can strike not only Yuzhmash, but also London and Paris if France and Great Britain continue their escalation course towards Russia, continue their direct intervention on the side of Ukraine,” Knutov concludes.

Other analysts agree:

Washington is “provoking an escalation that completely changes the nature of the conflict,” military history expert Ricardo Cabral emphasized.

The US allowing Kiev to use long-range weapons is “a continued psychological offensive” to test Moscow’s tolerance, Venezuelan analyst Vladimir Adrianza noted, adding that the dangerous stage of the conflict stems from the “voracious appetite of the US military, financial and technological complex.”

Moscow has every right to defend itself against NATO’s “sinister and criminal actions,” noted Humberto Morales, professor at the Autonomous University of Puebla, Mexico.

President Vladimir Putin has clearly conveyed the message that current events on the international arena demonstrate the “suicidal and irresponsible behavior by the West which threatens total destruction,” Lebanese political scientist Hassan Hmadeh underscored, adding, “The world must stand up to these evil people who are determined to destroy the planet, and the response must be commensurate with their actions.”

Washington’s approval for Kiev to use US-made missiles is intended to force Donald Trump’s future administration to “operate in geopolitical chaos,” Venezuelan international relations expert Wilmer Depablos said.

With less than two months to go before the transfer of power, Biden is trying to make it as difficult as possible for the next president to resolve the Ukraine crisis, Iranian political scientist Emad Abshenas believes.

Putin’s order to use the Oreshnik missile is “a warning to NATO countries amid the growing threat of a world war,” Chinese pundit Sima Pingbang explained, going on to say that the Kiev regime has become “an obstacle to peace” and that “Biden and Zelensky are unable to accept Moscow’s victory.”

How Firing A Key Cast Member Changed Aliens Forever

Russia-to-Ukraine: Time is Up – No Negotiated Peace; Just Complete Capitulation or Complete Destruction

Hal Turner World August 17, 2024

Dimitry Medvedev, Russia’s former president and prime minister, has publicly said that Russia will seek to occupy “remaining Ukrainian lands” even if Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky agrees to the Kremlin’s most recent conditions for peace.

Medvedev, now deputy chairman of the Security Council of Russia, “reaffirmed that Russia would not accept or uphold any negotiated peace settlements with Kyiv short of Ukrainian capitulation, the destruction of the entire Ukrainian state, and the full occupation of Ukraine.”

Hal Turner Analysis

Ukraine could have had it all; had they abided by the Minsk Agreement. They would have had peace, no war, their army would still be intact, their country would still be whole.

Instead, Ukraine listened to the siren song of the West, and fought the Russians.

Two months ago, Russia again offered peace.

With the terms of, with the offer being the four Oblasts (states) which had seceded (Luhansk, Donetsk, Kherson, and Zaporozhe, along with Crimea) would have to remain Russian. At that time, Russia also made clear that if the conflict continued, the terms would only get more dire for Ukraine.

Again, Ukraine listened to the promises of the West, and continued fighting.

Now, it appears their fate is decided. Complete capitulation with occupation of the whole territory, or complete destruction.

It didn’t have to be this way. But the nitwits in the collective West were so impressed with themselves, so enamored with their own echo chamber of how powerful they were, they refused to believe they could lose.

Now, the reality is clear.

Ukraine has no chance at all to prevail.

The collective West is faced with losing on the battlefield, losing worldwide respect/fear, and losing all face.

Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it.

The West should have learned from World War 2, when the then-Soviet Union, lost twenty-seven million people fighting the German Nazis.

Did the West really think that Naziism could arise again in Ukraine . . . right next door to Russia . . . and the Russians would simply sit there and wait for a repeat of the World War 2 horrors? Fools they are in the West.

From all the way back in 2012 when the West tried to get Ukraine to shift from the Russian sphere of influence to the EU/USA sphere of influence, so the West could put US missile defenses in Ukraine, the Russians warned this was a “Red Line” for Russia.

Did the West listen? No.

The West then set about overthrowing Ukraine’s democratically-elected President, Viktor Yanukovich, and installing a puppet government in Kiev, to achieve their long terms plans for Ukraine to enter NATO.

As part of this new puppet regime in Kiev, Ukraine massed troops on the borders of the eastern oblasts (states) of Luhansk and Donetsk. Those troops began firing artillery shells and mortars into both oblasts, ultimately killing about 13,000 civilians. there.

Then Russia sent in “Little Green Men” troops with no insignia on uniforms, which beat back the Ukraine army.

The fighting came to a halt when Donald Trump became US President.

When the Democrat Party stole the US Presidency through ballot fraud in 2020, the fighting in Ukraine began anew.

Only this time, the Russians weren’t tolerating it.

Russia attempted, TWICE, to obtain “Iron-clad, legally enforceable, security guarantees” against further NATO expansion toward Russia’s borders. The West laughed at the proposals and said “no.”

Russia then tried again in December 2022, adding that if they could not obtain security guarantees via Diplomatic efforts, they would obtain them by military efforts. It took a little longer this time, but again, the collective West said “no.”

On February 23, 2022, Russia telephoned Ukraine’s then-President, Zelensky, telling him they had five hours to agree not to join NATO. Zelensky called the British Home Office and the US State Department, both of whom told him “ignore Russia’s ultimatum.”

When the five hours had passed, and Ukraine did not answer, Russia waited two additional hours, then sent its army across the Ukraine Border to fight it out.

ALL OF THIS trouble was fomented by, and facilitated by, the West; the EU and the USA.

Now, the EU and the USA are losing.

Badly.

Again, it didn’t have to be this way. Again, people who don’t learn from history, are doomed to repeat it.

Only now, there’s more than a million dead or injured Ukrainian troops. The collective West is almost out of missiles and ammunition. The Billions of dollars and EUROS it has sent into Ukraine are gone, and Ukraine is STILL on the doorstep of complete defeat.

Fools in the West.

Chinese Energy Hegemony

Godfree Roberts

It’s amazing when you think of it,” said Adell, watching the cubes of ice slur clumsily about. All the energy we can possibly ever use for free. Enough energy, if we wanted to draw on it, to melt all Earth into a big drop of impure liquid iron, and still never miss the energy so used. All the energy we could ever use, forever and forever and forever. The Last Question. Isaac Asimov.

Science fiction writers fantasize about how much nicer, longer and more civilized human life would be if every country had an inexhaustible supply of energy and everyone could afford as much of it as they needed. In this post we’ll look at post-2030 implications of China’s recent energy breakthroughs, given that it dominates all forms of modern energy generation, from efficient coal plants to wind generators to PV to pebble bed reactors and, now, fusion.

Energy wars

Lest we underestimate the centrality of energy, notice that the West is currently waging three energy wars:

Ukraine. EU industries have grown uncompetitive and millions of lives have grown nastier, shorter and crueler since they urged Ukraine to attack the owner of the largest energy reserves on earth, Russia. The disastrous results speak for themselves.
Venezuela, with the world’s largest oil reserves, has been under relentless attack since its government renationalized its oilfields in accordance with the constitution. Sabotage, invasion, terrorism, theft of foreign assets and gold reserves, lawfare, false ‘presidents’ – all been mobilized to cripple the economy.
Israel, Anglo-America’s dagger at the throat of MENA energy providers, regularly bombs and terrorizes them. If those oilfields were lavender fields, Israel would not exist.

Energy Abundance: the Dream

‘Free energy’ enthusiasts, perpetual motion inventors and science fiction writers all extoll the wonders of a world where electricity is as clean, abundant and affordable as town water. For them, it’s the equivalent of humanoids figuring out how to make fires in their caves. In 2012 a global consortium spent $20 billion building the ITER tokamak, hoping to generate first plasma by 2027, thus proving the concept of fusion power – even if it’s not yet at the level needed for net energy production.

First Plasma

As we saw in the last post, Chinese engineers started in 2021 and spent $1 billion to achieve first plasma with their HH70 tokamak earlier this year. Like a slim laptop and a power-hungry mainframe, HH70 is 90% smaller, 95% cheaper, and 10x more energy-efficient than ITER, thanks to its use of high-temperature superconductors. More important, it turned a scientific curiosity into an engineering challenge.

Taking no Chances

China now leads in fusion research, fusion technological prowess and fusion IP and has paved the way for commercially viable fusion reactors, control of which would give it economic dominance and huge geopolitical leverage while opening a new chapter in human development.

But Beijing has placed more energy bets than HH70.

Decades of persistent policy support, generous funding, domestic supply chains, large-scale manufacturing experience and highly educated workforce have given China dominance of all 21st century energy technologies. Says MIT Prof. Jacopo Buongiorno, “China is the de facto world leader in nuclear technology.” Indeed, not only is China is 10-15 years ahead of the US in fourth-generation nuclear reactors, it also leads in fusion power and has first-mover advantage in pebble bed reactors and thorium power. …

TOP “Capt. Miller’s Death” Reactions! Saving Private Ryan (1998) Movie Reaction First Time Watching

Number of Chinese scientists leaving US increasing yearly

Scientists of Chinese descent in the United States have been leaving the country because of “pull factors” from China and the “push factor” of the China Initiative of 2018, according to a major research study published in an American scientific journal.

The trend suggests a reverse brain drain, and the data used for the analysis is extensive.

The study, published in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, used Microsoft Academic Graph to analyze trends in the migration of US-based Chinese scientists between 2010 and 2021. The database tracks more than 200 million scientists from over 25,000 institutions worldwide.

Also, a brief on the study, published in July by the Stanford Center on China’s Economy and Institutions, concluded that the discontinued China Initiative “provided scientists of Chinese descent in the US with higher incentives to leave and lower incentives to apply for federal grants”.

The purported objective of the China Initiative — launched by the Justice Department under the Trump administration and halted in 2022 under the Biden administration — was to reduce economic espionage.

The study identified the working countries of researchers through their academic affiliations in publications and tracked those with Chinese surnames who initially published in the US but later changed their affiliations to institutions abroad.

The study identified 19,955 scientists of Chinese descent who began their careers in the US but left for other countries, including China, between 2010 and 2021.

The researchers said that contributing to the trend were “pull factors” from China, including the country’s large and rapidly growing investments in science, high social prestige, and attractive financial rewards connected to positions in Chinese institutions.

But the analysis also showed a “push factor” in the US. Following the implementation of the China Initiative, departures of US-based, China-born scientists increased by 75 percent, the study found.

The data showed that as of 2021, of those leaving the US, the percentage of scientists moving back to China increased to 67 percent, up from 48 percent in 2010. The life sciences field witnessed the most significant exodus abroad, with more than 1,000 life scientists leaving in 2021.

The researchers also conducted an online survey of 1,304 US-based scientists of Chinese descent between December 2021 and March 2022 to find out why more were leaving.

The survey results revealed the chilling effects of the China Initiative. About 35 percent of Chinese scientists in the US said that they felt unwelcome; 72 percent didn’t feel safe as academic researchers; 42 percent were fearful of conducting research; and 65 percent were worried about collaborations with China.

Students from China have been an important source of US-based scientists for more than two decades. The study said that in 2020, of all US doctoral degrees in science and engineering, 17 percent — roughly 5,800 of 34,000 — went to foreign students from China, and the vast majority of those had chosen to stay in the US in previous years.

Chinese civilization pushed back 200,000 years

https://www.guancha.cn/politics/2024_08_16_745009.shtml

What are the requirements for a country to join BRICS? Why haven’t Japan or Indonesia been able to join BRICS?

Japan is in G7, a US puppet & is hostile to both China & Russia … I will be surprised if Japan can join BRICS at all. Japan will be more destructive than constructive to BRICS.

Indonesia may be in in the 2nd round.

In the 2023 summit, BRICS priority is to have members in each region. In Asia, there is already China.

That is why we see Saudi from Middle East. Egypt from north Africa. Iran from Central Asia. 1 from east Africa (I forgot the name).

“Pew Research Center” reports that only 20% of Asian Americans, including Chinese American, have positive view towards China while 37% of Asian Americans have positive view towards Vietnam . What is your opinion?

How is the public opinion shaped in the US?

This is why, in the U.S., mainstream media significantly shapes public opinion through mechanisms like selective reporting, agenda-setting, framing, and priming, all of which determine the importance and perception of various issues. By repeatedly emphasizing certain narratives and using emotional appeals, the media reinforces specific viewpoints. The inclusion of expert opinions and the creation of echo chambers further cement these beliefs. Additionally, social media amplifies these effects, making the media a powerful force in influencing public discourse and shaping opinions.

How has the Sino-US relationship been shaped by the US and its mainstream media over the decades?

During the Cold War, biased media coverage played a significant role in shaping U.S. public opinion toward China, particularly during periods of heightened tension. In the early stages of the Cold War, media portrayals of China were often framed in stark, adversarial terms, emphasizing the threat of communism and the spread of Maoist ideology. This framing contributed to widespread fear and suspicion of China among the American public, reinforcing support for U.S. policies aimed at containing Chinese influence in Asia, such as the Korean War and later, the Vietnam War. This bias helped to sustain public support for a hardline stance against China, including the policy of diplomatic isolation and the refusal to recognize the People’s Republic of China as a legitimate government.

After Nixon’s historic visit to China in 1972, U.S. public opinion shifted significantly, with the media playing a key role in reshaping China from an adversary to a potential ally. This visit marked the beginning of a new era in U.S.-China relations, with subsequent media coverage highlighting diplomatic and economic cooperation. This helped foster a perception of China as a valuable partner in counterbalancing Soviet influence during the later stages of the Cold War.

For several decades, U.S. media portrayed China as a crucial ally, particularly in terms of economic relations, as China’s integration into the global economy accelerated. This narrative persisted through the 1990s and early 2000s, with the media emphasizing the benefits of trade and cooperation, even as underlying tensions occasionally surfaced. However, after the Iraq War and the Obama administration’s “Pivot to Asia” policy, the narrative began to shift subtly. The policy aimed to rebalance U.S. focus towards the Asia-Pacific region, reflecting concerns over China’s growing influence. While the media began to cover these concerns, the portrayal of China remained relatively balanced.

The shift became more pronounced during the Trump administration when media narratives increasingly framed China as the primary strategic competitor presenting a significant threat to U.S. interests. Trump’s rhetoric and policies, such as the trade war and confrontational stance on issues like technology and security, were widely covered, contributing to the public perception of a renewed “Cold War” with China. By framing China as “enemy number one,” the media helped solidify the view of China as a major adversary, reversing the decades-long narrative of partnership and cooperation. This shift in public opinion has had profound implications for U.S. foreign policy and continues to shape the dynamics of the U.S.-China relationship today.

The long-term consequences of shaping and indoctrinating the general public can sometimes be detrimental to the U.S.

The biased shaping of public opinion in the context of U.S. foreign policy has led to significant consequences. For example, in the lead-up to the Iraq War in 2003, U.S. media heavily reported on the alleged presence of weapons of mass destruction in Iraq, despite weak evidence. This coverage influenced public opinion to support the invasion, which resulted in long-term instability in the Middle East and strained international relations. Similarly, during the U.S. involvement in the Vietnam War, biased media reports that initially supported the war effort contributed to public approval, which later shifted dramatically as the realities of the conflict became more apparent. These examples demonstrate how biased media narratives can shape public support for U.S. foreign policy decisions, sometimes with enduring negative consequences.

Be the Rufus

Doom’s Day: First Ever Military Use Of An Intercontinental Ballistic Missile

On November 21, Russia launched from its state central interspecific range Kapustin Yar in the Astrakhan Region an advanced medium-range ballistic missile on the territory of the Ukrainian State Factory Yuzhmash in the city of Dnepropetrovsk.

That day, using available information, military experts assumed that the strike was delivered by the RS-26 Rubezh missile, not a new weapon, but an old ‘forgotten’ one. This missile has the hypersonic strike part, which is equipped with 6 multiple independently-targetable reentry vehicles or MIRVs each consisting of 6 warheads with tactical nuclear charges. It was also reported that the missile was fitted with the Avangard-R hypersonic glider, and instead of nuclear charges, its MIRVs were loaded with metal blanks. The Ukrainian military claimed that Russian hypersonic Kinzhal missiles were also used in the attack. Another Patriot, the most advanced US air defense system, was reportedly destroyed on the outskirts of the city before the main blow.

Moscow did not officially comment on the strikes but Russian diplomacy played well the media game that Kiev and its Western patrons imposed. After the strikes, the spokeswomen of the Russian Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Mariya Zakharova, held a media briefing, during which she had a ‘surprise’ call from the Foreign Minister Lavrov. Everyone clearly heard that the strikes reported by the media should not be commented on. Thus, this was unofficial confirmation of the attack.

In Ukraine, the use of such weapons at first caused laughter and misunderstanding. There were arguments that the Russian president played his last trump card, but the bluff allegedly failed anyway. However, already in the evening, Vladimir Putin released a video message in which he spoke
about the application of Russia’s newest medium-range Oreshnik missile targeting a Ukrainian industrial enterprise in response to the recent strikes by the Ukrainian armed forces against Russia with American and British long-range ATACMS and Storm Shadow missiles. The Kremlin also emphasized that after the American and British long-range missiles were used against military facilities in the Bryansk and Kursk Regions, “the regional conflict in Ukraine has acquired global character elements”.

The Pentagon, in turn, acknowledged that the strike was indeed delivered by an experimental hypersonic missile, expressed concern about it, and said that Russia had warned the United States in advance of its plans to launch such a missile to “reduce nuclear danger.”

After such successful and devastating strikes, the world will not be the same. Showing its advanced missile systems in action, Russia has demonstrated that it possesses unique missile technologies and is ready to use them effectively. In case the conflict in Ukraine transforms into a full-scale war with NATO, such complexes can already be used with standard nuclear ammunition, and it is impossible to intercept them, at least over Europe

Why do Chinese on here often represent China as resource deprived? China has vast mineral and coal resources and a huge amount of arable land.

Not Chinese, mostly yanks, Ignorance, they believe the propaganda they are told without ever researching it, most of that crap can be debunked very easily, they just don’t bother,

like some bloke yesterday claiming China can be brought to its knees in a week by the US just blocking shipping, how ignorant is that? China is self sufficient in just about everything, most shipping is heading FROM, China not TO China, yes China import a lot of food, but mostly animal feed, they also export a lot of food, which means they have more than enough for themselves. Doesn’t it?

NIKOLAI PATRUSHEV:

"We know that the West uses various pretexts to organize 'color revolutions' and attempts to replace legitimate governments with politicians trained abroad, obedient to Washington.

The West has also tried to do this in Serbia.

Mass riots are organized by Westerners in other countries as well.

It's no coincidence that former Prime Minister of Bangladesh, Sheikh Hasina, believes that the U.S. was involved in her resignation and rampant crime in her country.

The reason, in her opinion, could be her refusal to Washington to provide the Bangladeshi island of St. Martin in the Bay of Bengal for an American military base.

The level of U.S. interference in Venezuela's sovereign affairs is not decreasing.

Following another failed coup attempt in this country, Washington offers Nicolás Maduro an early resignation, promising in return to abandon further legal pursuit against him under American laws.

It can be observed that the U.S. and the U.K., faced with domestic political squabbles, economic and financial problems, and unrest caused by the confrontation between migrants and natives, are seeking to transfer chaos beyond their borders, increasingly igniting military, interethnic, and interfaith conflicts abroad."

-Excerpt from remarks by Nikolai Patrushev, Assistant to the President and Chairman of the Maritime Collegium of the Russian Federation, in an interview with Izvestia, August 16, 2024.

What Americans Learned When Going Overseas SHOCKED THEM

Part 2 of today’s MM AI art generation

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7-Up Lemon Cheesecake with Strawberry Glaze

Ingredients

Crumb Crust

2 cups Graham cracker crumbs
1/2 cup confectioners’ sugar
1/2 cup butter, melted
1 teaspoon cinnamon

7-Up Filling

1 envelope unflavored gelatine
1 1/2 cups 7-Up, divided
1 small box regular lemon pudding and pie filling (not instant)
6 tablespoons granulated sugar
2 eggs, beaten
3/4 cup water
11 ounces cream cheese, softened

Strawberry Glaze

1/2 cup strawberry jelly, melted
Fresh strawberries or unsweetened frozen, thawed whole strawberries

Instructions

Crumb Crust

Combine all ingredients well. Press onto bottom and part way up sides of buttered 9 inch springform pan; chill.

7-Up Filling

Soften unflavored gelatine in 1/4 cup 7-Up for 4 minutes.
In a saucepan combine pie filling, sugar, beaten eggs and water. Blend well. Add 1 1/4 cups 7-Up and bring just to a boil over medium heat stirring constantly; remove from heat. Stir in softened gelatine; cool for 3 minutes.
Add 1/2 cup of this warm mixture to softened cream cheese; mash together. Mix together with remaining 7-Up mixture and stir until well blended. Turn into chilled crust and chill for at least 8 hours.
Remove from pan and add Strawberry Glaze.

Strawberry Glaze

Brush top of chilled cheesecake with melted jelly. rrange strawberries upright on cake and spoon any remaining melted jelly over them.

Ukraine SitRep: Kursk Attack Derailed Partial Ceasefire Deal

The Ukrainian incursion into Russia’s Kursk oblast has even worse consequences for Ukraine than had been known so far.

Over the last six months, in revenge for Ukrainian attacks on Russian infrastructure, especially oil refineries, the Russian forces created serious damage on Ukraine’s electricity network. Nearly every conventional power generation facility in Ukraine has been damaged. Half of Ukraine’s 18 Gigawatts of electricity generation capacity has been taken offline. The damaged power stations were often also used to provide heating to large blocks of Soviet type apartments. Without power and heating it will be a very difficult winter for many people in Ukraine.

There was interest on both sides to stop the campaigns against the other sides infrastructure. An agreement about it was in the making and was possible. But, as Washington Post reports, the Ukrainian attack on Kursk blew it apart:

Ukraine and Russia were set to send delegations to Doha this month to negotiate a landmark agreement halting strikes on energy and power infrastructure on both sides, diplomats and officials familiar with the discussions said, in what would have amounted to a partial cease-fire and offered a reprieve for both countries.But the indirect talks, with the Qataris serving as mediators and meeting separately with the Ukrainian and Russian delegations, were derailed by Ukraine’s surprise incursion into Russia’s western Kursk region last week, according to the officials.
…
The diplomat familiar with the talks said that Qatar has been discussing the arrangement for an energy strike moratorium with Kyiv and Moscow for the past two months. The official said the two sides agreed to a summit in Doha with just minor details left to be worked out.

“After Kursk, the Russians balked,” another person familiar with the talks said.

Instead of its senseless attack on Kursk Ukraine could have had an agreement that would make it possible to get through the winter without many blackouts and other interruptions. It blew that chance.

The moral uplift for Ukrainian forces created by the attack on Kursk is already waning. Russia has not pulled any of its troops involved in the attacks in the east to defend Kursk. It has instead pulled reserves from elsewhere. One of the hoped for effects of the Kursk incursion is thereby not happening.

Ukraine’s attack was only made possible by pulling troops for the eastern frontline. Moreover artillery supplies, which were already problematic, have become even scarcer:

Soldiers fighting in the Donetsk region said they had been buoyed by the incursion into Russia. But they also said it would use up weapons and ammunition that they crucially need. One commander stationed at a hot spot on the eastern front said his brigade had fewer than four mortar guns to defend its position, and could fire only 10 shells a day per mortar.

Each day the Ukraine is losing more ground in the east. Meanwhile its Kursk incursion has already culminated and it will be a deadly struggle to hold onto the captured ground.

Ukraine has brought in high value assets to hinder Russian reserves from reaching the area. However, near to the frontline these assets have difficulties to survive.

Anomandris Purake @Malazan_enjoyer – 22:09 UTC · Aug 16, 2024So the Russians put up a pontoon over the Seym River immediately after or even before the bridge was destroyed.

Ukraine meanwhile lost 3 HIMARS, 3 patriots and 1 IRIS-T making potholes on the bridge. I would say that’s a very good exchange. I hope they try more of this.

Additionally reported were the destruction of a Polish made S-125 air defense system and a fourth HIMARS platform.

A New York Times analysis suggests, just as I did previously, that the main aim of the Kursk campaign was to convince the Ukraine’s western supporters that it can still win the war and therefore deserves further support:

The real goals of the operation may not be on the Russia battlefield.After the failure of Ukraine’s much-advertised counteroffensive last year and the ongoing losses in the east, it appears to be trying to change the war’s narrative.

The Ukrainians may be trying to convince the West that they will not give up, and that the United States in particular should allow them to use American long-range cruise missiles inside Russia.

The U.S. will hopefully not allow the Ukraine to extend its attacks deep into Russia. If it does allow these there will be a point where Russia will have to strike back, hard, against U.S. assets.

Ukraine is not the only country that has destructible power plants.

Posted by b on August 17, 2024 at 8:49 UTC | Permalink

US Army Rangers Entered The Battle In KURSK Under a False Flag Amid The Mass Surrender of Ukrainians

Raw Doggin’

There’s a new “thing” that is sweeping the world by storm. It’s called “Raw Doggin'” and while that’s a terrible name for it, it really means something completely different.

It’s all about men, and their behavior.

Imagine a man.

He’s waiting in an airport, or waiting for a train. he’s eating alone at a restrurant, or getting a coffee at a cafe. He’s waiting in a dentist waiting room, or has some time to kill.

Instead of playing games on his cell phone, reading a book, or reading Kindle… Instead of fiddling around with a spinner.

He just sits.

Calm. Peaceful.

Sitting.

Enjoying his moment of quiet.

Oh, sure the world flows around him like a crazed foamy ocean. But he just sits there. Calm and immovible.

Like a rock.

That’s “Raw Doggin'”.

And you know what? That’s what we all need in this world of over-hyper stimulation.

We need men… who are calm and stable. Mean who are rocks while the rest of the world buzzes in discord.

Be that rock.

Go Raw Doggin’

Today…

What are some facts that only rich people know?

I happen to be “well-off”. Retired in 1990 with a lot of bucks.

I can do what I want, when I want, and buy what I want. I know a LOT of people much richer than me. Here’s what we found: It’s true, money does not make you happy. It gives you pleasure, but pleasure disappears after a time and you have to recharge it. A new car is pleasure. A hot woman is pleasure. A luxury trip around the world is pleasure. Buying six or seven custom-made 3-piece suits is pleasure. But none of that is being happy.

Look at any of the popular magazine covers and they are filled with rich unhappy people.

I remember taking a motorhome to Cabo San Luca in 1992 with my kids. This was a top-of-the-line motorhome and we had reservations at a 3-star condo in Cabo.

My home life was the pits. My wife didn’t like me and I didn’t like her. She had different friends than me. I was being screwed in some corporations I still owned pieces of and was going to court.

I drove past a little house along the road. The place had a dirt floor. There was a guy and his wife outside laughing and playing with their three kids. They LOOKED happy. They had nothing, but they sure seemed happy. When people are truly happy, you can tell. They were truly happy.

I finally knew the difference between pleasure and happiness. It took 15 more years to finally be happy.

I drive a 2000 Toyota 4Runner. I can buy a new Ferrari for cash, but my 4Runner gets me where I want to go. I wear jeans and tee-shirts and a Timex watch. I tossed my smartphone five years ago.

I read. I had three boats and sold them all. Now I fish from the beach. I’ve cut off all the crap that gave me temporary pleasure.

Oh, and married an Asian woman 27 years younger than me 14 years ago and we are together 24/7. Only six disagreements in 14 years.

She understands happiness too. My kids keep trying to get her to have me buy new cars, a bigger house on the beach, new clothes, fancy food (my favorite is spaghetti), and all that, but she knows how I want to live.

Happiness doesn’t come from “stuff”. It comes from being free. I think rich people discover that or they end up miserable. Poor people think having big bucks will make them happy. Not true.

Ukraine Attacks Russia Using U.S. Supplied ATACMS Missiles

Hal Turner World November 19, 2024

Ukraine has carried out its first strike on Russian territory with US-supplied long-range missiles just days after the Biden administration gave Kyiv the green light despite fears it could escalate the conflict beyond control.

A fiery explosion at an ammunition depot in Karachev around 75 miles from the Ukrainian border in Russia’s Bryansk region lit up the night sky early this morning on what is the 1,000th day of war in Ukraine.

Eyewitnesses and Russian military bloggers first reported the attack, with Ukrainian military officials later confirming to RBC Ukraine the strike was indeed conducted with the US-manufactured ATACMS (Army Tactical Missile System).

‘The Russian Federation reserves the right to use nuclear weapons in the event of aggression against it with the use of conventional weapons,’ Kremlin press secretary Dmitry Peskov told reporters in Russia this morning.

His statement followed Vladimir Putin’s approval of an updated nuclear doctrine that allows his strategic forces to deploy nuclear weapons if Russian or Belarusian territory is threatened by a non-nuclear nation supported by a nuclear power.

Threats that could make Russia’s leadership consider a nuclear strike include an attack with conventional missiles, drones or other aircraft, according to the updated document.

A Ukrainian strike on Russian territory with US-supplied missiles meets these criteria, raising fears that Moscow may now consider a dramatic escalation in the conflict.

WoCuDaDeMa

How safe is China?

I have lived in China for 14 years distributed amongst 4 cities in different parts of the country and visited many others cities.

I am a woman, and whether it is Shanghai, the bustling metropolis or Chongqing , a much more ‘Chinese’ city in the South West, or Shenzhen where I live now, I’ve never been teased on the street, ogled or leered at or, forget about being groped. I have had to walk home from metro stations at weird hours of night sometimes but have never felt scared.

A taxi driver once told me the reason why taxi in Shenzhen is safe, even at 1 am at night- ‘there are so many cameras around on the streets. It would have to be a mad person to try to do something.’

The young girls here can literally get away with wearing anything, and NOONE seems to pay them ANY attention on the street.

My daughter is 11 years old and recently I have started allowing her to take the metro on her own when needed. I wouldn’t dare do this in many other countries.

Sure I’ve heard about pick pockets and the like, but as far being ‘safe’ on the street is concerned, China has to be one of the safest countries in the world today.

What’s the funniest, sweetest, or most cringeworthy opener a guy has ever texted you?

I met a guy at the gym. Didn’t think much of it.

Six months later while on lunch break at work, I ran into him again. “You work in Downtown? Which building?” Turned out we worked across the street from each other. He asked if I wanted to grab coffee that afternoon at the Starbucks between our buildings. I said yes.

But… I kept worrying about it when I got back to my desk. And then I texted him. Not a cool text, but a neurotic one which went something like this… “This is just coffee, OK? It can’t be anything else. We’re just friends. But not friends friends because we don’t know each other. You know what I mean. Did I mention I’m already seeing someone?” I hit send, then realized how ridiculous my text was.

When the little envelope symbol popped up on my phone indicating a response, I did not know what to expect.

But he very cooly replied, “Relax. Just coffee. It’s not like I’m asking you to marry me. See you at 3.”

That was the first time he made me laugh.

I arrived at Starbucks. I purchased and slowly sipped my coffee alone for 20 minutes. “Hmm… he’s not coming.” Just as I was about to get up to leave, he arrives coffee already in hand.

Him: This is not the Starbucks between our buildings. This is the Starbucks between your building and the other building over there.

Me: Oh.

It was silly of me to believe him when he said it was just coffee. Good thing he found me waiting at the wrong Starbucks because three years later, he did ask me to marry him. And he has been making me laugh ever since.

My Patrons Want To Make Me Cry!! Gladiator | First Time Watching

45 people sentenced to 50 months to 10 years in jail over “conspiracy to subvert the state power” in Hong Kong

Forty-five people convicted of “conspiracy to subvert the state power” were sentenced to imprisonment ranging from 50 months to 10 years in Hong Kong on Tuesday.

The High Court of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region (HKSAR) on Tuesday held a hearing at the West Kowloon Magistrates’ Courts to deliver sentences for the case of “conspiracy to subvert the state power” in Hong Kong.

Among them, Benny Tai was sentenced to 10 years in jail, Owen Chow to 93 months, Gordon Ng to 87 months, Gwyneth Ho to 7 years, Andrew Chiu to 7 years, Lam Cheuk-ting to 81 months, Cheng Tat-hung to 78 months, Alvin Yeung to 61 months, Joshua Wong to 56 months, Wu Chi-wai to 53 months. The remaining defendants were sentenced to between 50 and over 80 months in jail.

In January 2021, Hong Kong police arrested more than 50 people suspected of organizing or participating in the so-called “primary election” in 2020, allegedly breaching “conspiracy to subvert the state power” under the national security law in Hong Kong. Among them, 47 were prosecuted by the Department of Justice of the HKSAR government. They included Benny Tai, and former lawmakers such as Wu Chi-wai, Lam Cheuk-ting and Alvin Yeung. They were charged with one count of conspiracy to subvert the state power.

The case was first heard at the West Kowloon Magistrates’ Courts from March 1 to 4, 2021, before being transferred to the High Court for further proceedings. During the trial, 31 individuals pleaded guilty, while 16 refused to plead guilty.

After continued hearings, on May 30, 2024, the court delivered its verdict on the 16 individuals who refused to plead guilty. Fourteen were found guilty and two were acquitted.

The High Court on Tuesday held the hearing to deliver sentences to the 45 individuals who were found guilty.

What story of survival blows your mind every time you think about it?

Harrison Okene survived for two and a half days trapped in a boat at the bottom of the sea, 30m (~ 100ft) underwater.

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He was a 29-year-old Nigerian cook, working on a tugboat that was about 32km (20 miles) off the coast of Nigeria. 2013.

The tugboat capsized due to strong waves and sank to the seabed, where it came to rest upside down.

Luckily, there was a small pocket of air trapped in the lower front of the boat. He found his way there.

Imagine being stuck: alone, in the dark, in cold water, and with the bodies of your crewmates around you, knowing it’s just a matter of time before the air runs out.

“I was so hungry but mostly so, so thirsty. The salt water took the skin off my tongue.”

“I could perceive the dead bodies of my crew were nearby. I could smell them. The fish came in and began eating the bodies. I could hear the sound.”

[1]

Awful.

After 60 hours, he heard sounds that were similar to knocking sounds. He saw lights in the water, then saw figures moving. He reached out, grabbed the hand of one of the divers.

I imagine it must have been quite a shock for that diver. You’re swimming deep in the sea in a sunken boat, you know everyone’s dead, you’re navigating carefully through the wreck. Then suddenly, a human hand just reaches out from nowhere and grabs you! Would have scared my socks off.

Rescuers had assumed everyone on the boat had died when it sunk. In fact, the team that found him had gone there to retrieve the bodies; it wasn’t a rescue mission.

He reports that he still has nightmares about the whole ordeal.

“When I am at home sometimes it feels like the bed I am sleeping in is sinking. I think I’m still in the sea again. I jump up and I scream.”

Still, he faced his fears, conquered them and went on to become a certified diver.

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Footnotes

[1]

Nigerian survives two days at sea, in underwater air pocket

What is the appropriate response for the US to China’s claim on the South China Sea based on historical reasons?

After WW2, according to 1943 Cairo Declaration & 1945 Potsdam Proclamation, the defeated Japan must return all SCSea islands/reefs to their rightful owner(s).

According to Chinese history, most SCS islands/reefs belong to China but were occupied by Japan before & during WW2.

In 1947, US warships accompanied Chinese warships to reclaim all those islands/reefs.

In 1948, China published a SCS map, so-called the 11-dash line. No country opposed to it. The map has been tacitly agreed by other countries.

Old maps of USA, UK, USSR, France AND Philippines all showed the 11-dash.

But USA (unilaterally) changed its mind in 1951 & SCS disputes started since. That is all.

Half Of Americans Say They Will Need A Miracle To Retire

How long would a good fighter normal person, last in a ring against a really good pro boxer?

Years ago I was in a gym working out, and there was this guy working out in a makeshift boxing ring on one side of the gym, so I went over and talked to him. He said he was a semi pro boxer from Nevada, in my town with his wife for Christmas. After I talked with him for awhile I asked him if I could go a couple of rounds with him, and he agreed. So we went up to the front desk and I got a mouthpiece, some gloves, and that padded thing you wear on your head to keep from getting hurt. He didn’t have anything else but his gloves, which kinda pissed me off. He’s thinking I won’t be able to hit him. At the time I was young and in the best shape of my life, and although I knew I wouldn’t be able to beat him, I thought I would be able to get at least a few punches in. I wasn’t even close.

The first round he didn’t try to punch me. He just kept me from punching him. Easily. Every time I threw a punch he just batted it away. We moved around a bit, and I kept throwing punch after punch, and none of them even got close. After five minutes or so we took a break, and he told me that during the second round he would try to punch me. So we started the second round.

I couldn’t stop his punches at all. He didn’t even try to hit me hard, but it still jerked my head back every time. His gloves were next to his body, and then in the next instant my head was rocking back. That really pissed me off. I told myself that the next time he throws a punch, I’m not going to try to stop it or dodge it. I’m going to swing at him at the same time he swings at me. Maybe I can land one while he’s distracted. That didn’t work too well. He hit me in the face, and just batted my punch away at the same time.

If he had been really fighting I wouldn’t have lasted ten seconds. I was way outclassed. He did give me a compliment, sort of. He said that he was impressed that I would keep fighting, even though I was getting the crap beat out of me. He also said he was impressed when I tried to punch him while he was punching me. Of course he saw it coming a mile away, but he said that showed that I learned fast, even while I was being pounded to a pulp.

So, to answer your question, a normal person, even with some training, isn’t going to last very long against a pro boxer.

Lisa’s Crispy Chops

Ingredients

6 pork chops
3 eggs, beaten slightly
2 cups crushed soda crackers
1 1/2 tablespoons garlic powder
1 1/2 tablespoons dried minced onion
1 teaspoon each salt and pepper

Instructions

Mix all dry ingredients in a bowl.
Dip pork chops into egg, then roll in dry mixture.
Fry over medium heat in a small amount of oil until dark, crispy brown.

Mid

What’s the most ridiculous sexist remark you’ve heard and how did you respond?

Happened back in internship days.

I was roaming around in a mall (not actually a mall, more like a market) and as I got off the stairs on the food court I saw two of my batchmates (girls) sipping coffee, I thought I should just carry on with my stuff and not disturb them but one of them waved at me. I again thought it would be rude if I ignored them so I went ahead, sat with them and ordered a coffee.

After almost an hour long discussion about our colleges, studies and the company we were at for internship, now it was the time to bid adieu. After we greeted each other with byes, see yous, both of them stood up and started walking to the stairs. I searched for a waiter and waved at him for bill.

FYI my hearing skills are excellent. I definitely wasn’t supposed to hear it and they probably thought I couldn’t hear them talking from that far. One of them said “We didn’t pay for our coffee and snacks.”

The other one (the one who waved at me) says “Aren’t guys supposed to pay for girls? And he’s bound to pay for the fun he had sitting with us anyway.”

I responded with paying the bill, tipping 10 bucks to the waiter and never waving back at’em ever again. I would have paid for it anyways but that particular remark by her made me think I was better off being rude. I didn’t know what to call it, humiliation, insult or something else but later I got to know about sexism. That was it, since then I remind of the incident (not sure if this is the right word lol) whenever I hear the word ‘sexism’.

Edit : Just discovered she’s on Quora. I want her to read this.

Edit 2 : Finally, it reached her. She read it and has officially apologized to me for the incident (She found my number through a common friend that we had over the years) and she told me how ashamed she is of what she said about me and now understands what it felt to me and said she would never do anything like this again, it was just a phase that she went through. She regrets saying that.

Also, a request to please not post humiliating comments, I feel guilty of insults she’s getting here, even though I kept her anonymous.

This Is An Act of DESPERATION! Ukrainian Army Began Using Chemical Weapons in KURSK!

What significant diplomatic developments or conflicts have emerged between major world powers in the past month?

On 2024/7/22, China brokered unity of 14 Palestinian militant groups. So-called Beijing Declaration. Paving the path for a united Palestine to become a UN member so that UN can militarily protect Palestine “state”. After that, Chinese ambassador to UN urged Israel to withdraw its troops in Palestine.

Predictably, Netanyahu is mad, mad & mad. He went to USA on 2024/7/23 to meet both Harris & Trump. He spoke in US Congress. He urged USA to organise a Mideast version of NATO.

He then propagated the threat of Iran. He accused the Iran-backed Lebanon of attacking the Israel-occupied Golan Height on 2024/7/27 though Lebanon denied it. In “retaliation”, Netanyahu attacked Lebanon & threatened to turn it to a full blown war. Israel has assassinated Hezbollah Commander Shukr.

The world smelt fish.

On 2024/7/29, Turkey threatened to (militarily) protect Palestinians if Israel creates fear & regional conflict.

Russia warned Israel not to change the status quo in Mideast.

USA, France, UK & Germany urged Israel to stop the Lebanese conflict. And urged Iran not to escalate the tension due to Golan.

Iran, Iraq, Syria all said, judging from the debris, Golan was hit by Israeli rocket.

2024/7/31: Hamas leader Haniyeh was assassinated in Iran when he attended the swear-in ceremony of the new Iranian president. Who did it? Somebody who has both high-level intelligence & precision missiles like Israel & USA. (Aug1 news said the short-range missile was made by Israel.)

US Defense Secy Austin refused to comment. State Secy Blinken denied knowledge or involvement in assassination. but not yet Israel.

Other than Hamas leader, another top Hamas who was detained by Israel in West Bank suddenly died of an “illness” within days of Beijing Declaration.

United States Is Australia’s Foe

United States worked with former Australian leaders to turn their peaceful country into a weapons platform to use “to attack China”, an astonishing new book reveals. The move was a key element in the long-running US campaign to prevent Asians ruling Asia, it is revealed in ‘Nuked: The Submarine Fiasco that Sank Australia’s Sovereignty’, by Andrew Fowler (Melbourne University Press).

United States was unhappy that positive relationships were growing between Australia and its Asian neighbours, and particularly China, which had become the country’s biggest trading partner. United States also disliked Australia’s involvement with France, seen as too friendly to Asian nations. American military strategists decided to reverse that by getting Australia to jettison the French, and tying the southern continent to the US and UK with a war submarines deal known as AUKUS, the book reveals, in an extract printed in Declassified Australia.

To enable the plan to go ahead, mainstream journalists launched a major campaign saying that China intended to invade Australia – a story that had no basis in fact. A key player behind the scenes was Andrew Shearer, a former Australian national security adviser who had worked with the Center for Strategic and International Studies (CSIS), an American think tank fixated on using American money, influence and military force to halt the development of China with a war – preferably fought by others. Shearer returned to the Australian government and ended up in the high-powered role of Cabinet Secretary under Scott Morrison, Australia’s 30th prime minister, elected in August 2018, the book says :

“From the moment Shearer re-entered government, the tempo of the argument about which submarine to buy shifted from the best for defending Australia to the best for attacking China,”

Fowler writes. While the deal was presented to the public as defensive, the players were clearly in attack mode. The book says :

“In December 2018, the Morrison government announced that the first new submarine would be named HMAS Attack”

But despite the media’s best efforts to vilify China, the Australian public soon realized that AUKUS, forced on the country with no consultation, was a terrible deal for the country. United States was using Australia, harming its trade deals, and putting it in significant danger – and Canberra was not only letting this happen, but was buying it with a vast sum of the Australian people’s money. Worse, Australia’s leaders appeared to have literally surrendered the country’s sovereignty to United States, with American agents placed in top positions of governance. A growing movement to reclaim Australia’s independence started to grow.

[1]

Author Andrew Fowler is an award-winning investigative journalist. Declassified Australia is part of a network of independent journalistic groups that produces news that bypasses the biases and covert agendas of corporate mainstream media.

[2]

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Footnotes

[1] Nury Vittachi (@NuryVittachi) on X

[2] FRIENDS OR ALLIES – Declassified Australia

What are your 10 laws of manhood?

Talk less, DO MORE…
Know how to control your temper and emotions
Life WILL beat you down, you stay down for a while, rejuvenate, get back up and kick a**
DO NOT BE AFRAID.
Hate failing but DO NOT BE AFRAID to fail. Take risks.
When it’s seeming like the argument isn’t going help either way, just cut it.
A Man without goals is a man without passion. A Man without passion is a dead man. Dream big, accomplish bigger.
RESPECT YOURSELF. RESPECT YOURSELF. RESPECT YOURSELF!!! When you ask her out and she says no, understand it’s a NO and move on to the next girl. If she verbally abuses you, physically abuses, if she doesn’t appreciate you, no one told you there was not an exit… unless you are married.
Be on your grind. Grind while they party, grind while they sleep, grind while they have fun. Because in the future, when everything goes well, you’ll be having a better life than if you’d chosen to party your youth away
Refer 1

Shorpy

What are your 10 laws of manhood?

Learn to give zero fucks. Nothing demands your reactions. So stop fiving fu*ks about everything.
Dress well. If you dress well, you can speak with confidence. Confidence is the key.
Always consider being superior to everyone. If you are not superior in your own eye, how will world consider your superiority.
Learn how to deal with woman. Dont fall for looks, cleavages and ass. Dont chase girls. Chase the real woman. Respect them like a gentleman but you should know how to reply them at nonsense by being in limits.
Keep your social media activity less. Have some real conversation.
If girl doesnt text you. Dont bragg them. It seems like a looser. If you brag, it shows your desperacy and she not gonna reply you either. Just learn to keep moving. She will one day. My ex replied me after 5 years and I still dont give a shit. Hope she reads this on quora.
Avoid arguments. Make arguments better by valid points instead of raising voice. Argue with intelligent people who are at your level.
Stay away from politics. But know how to impact it by keeping distance. Great people never discuss politics.
Dont watch tv. Exercise and watch some real sports. Instead watching try to play sports.
Never say never to friends and family.
Don’t rely on god and luck, do hard work and make a luck.
Avoid sharing issues, they are sign of weakness and real men dont have weak points.
Face your problems of your own, dont facebook them.
Dont give up after falling 100 times. Rise again and roar like a tiger.
Always play to win big instead of loosing small.
Play for the purpose wining not for purpose of participation.
Dont try impress everyone, you cant impress all 7.6 billion people on this planet. Be yourself.
Try to dominate, if you create domination by winning then nobody will question on your defeats. For example Virat scored 3 tos in 3 games, nobody will question if he gets out on duck in next 4 innings. His average will still be above 50 if he scores 50 ducks in next 50 games. Domination makes champions.
Most important excuses, Excuses never makes champions. Dont makes excuses. Ever wondered why Micheal phelps has the most olympic medals? He swims 6–8 hours everyday. Still after retirement.
Never commit suicide.

SO get the job done.

Thailand Massage Girl Shares Secrets And Brutal Truths About Attraction

What is the biggest shock you’ve ever received in a courtroom?

I certainly don’t relish telling this; it was not my finest hour: In my late 20s, I got a DWI. I think my BAC was .12. Over the limit by 4 beers. — Still, quite illegal, and not something I’m happy about; glad I didn’t hurt anyone.

I was guilty, so I called a criminal attorney friend of mine and asked, “Do you still need an attorney if your goal is just to plead guilty?” — He said that everyone needed an attorney, so I went with it. But, I didn’t leave everything blindly up to him.

I looked up the relevant statute, and it clearly said that everyone convicted of DWI 1st Offense would serve 3 days in the county jail. — Unfortunate. I certainly was not looking forward to it; I’d never crapped in front of other people before.

BUT …. my attorney said that this could be worked out a different way; you would go in on a Friday afternoon and come out on a Sunday, and 1, 2, 3: That’s the end of it.

And, most importantly, the timing of this would be worked out with the probation officer. It would not, of course, happen immediately upon my entering a guilty plea, as the law I read seemed to imply. — The Penal Code is, of course, available to anyone, in full, on the internet.

I guess the lined-up misdemeanor pleas came in all at the same time. Rather than seeing the criminal court-at-law judge, who was an attorney and dealt with these matters, usually, it was taken on by the County Judge, with no law degree. — All of that is fine.

I appeared with all of those others, and we, individually, went down the line and swore that we would tell the truth, the whole truth …

And then, I heard that I was about to go to jail for three days. Immediately, upon final judgment being entered.

Absolutely not why my attorney had said; what I had been telling him would happen; what was happening.

At the time, I was office manager at the biggest construction corporation in town, and it was a Thursday. Payday was Friday. If they put me in jail, I wouldn’t get out until Monday, but the only part that really mattered is that I would not be at work on Friday.

Immediately after I was hired on, I was told, by the President of the corporation: “Jared, whatever you do during the week, pay your people on time.”

It’s not that missing payroll would get me fired. It’s that missing payroll was wrong.

And, it’s also a crime.

—

If my attorney had told me before that I wouldn’t be at work the rest of the day, and the next day, after the court appearance, I could’ve made that work.

But, that’s not how it happened.

So, I spoke up. I pointed my finger at my attorney — (I was not pleased) — and said, “I told you this was going to happen. I told you this is what the law said. The judge just asked me to swear that I’d received competent advice from you, and that’s patently false!

“What am I to do now? — Ask the judge to accept me firing you and rescinding my guilty plea??? That will sound good! And, then I’ll have to sue you for damages. Not necessarily because I may get fired, but it’s about more than that. You are my fiduciary, and you were wrong.

“That’s not going to work. Fix this, or I’m going to ask the judge to forgive me for hiring you.”

—

The judge, of course, could hear all of this.

It worked out in my favor; I’ll leave it at that. — If this had been the attorney’s plan all along, he would’ve been a genius.

Ten rules of being a man

Be self-sufficient. Unless you’re 4, do your own laundry, cook and feed yourself, clean up after yourself. Pay your bills. Be a grown up.
Respect women. Yes means yes. No means no. Don’t be a jerk, don’t discriminate and don’t think in stereotypes.
Be driven. Don’t be an amoeba. Strive for something. Doesn’t matter what. Have a passion. Ambition.
Have courage. Stand for something. Even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts.
Be clean and well-groomed. If your hair refuses to grow in an organized and attractive way, shave it off.
Be kind and generous to service staff. Always.
Take care of your parents. Make sure they’re healthy, want for nothing, and see your face reasonably often.
Have clear boundaries and don’t let other people trample upon them. No matter how attractive they are.
Be funny.
Be curious and explore the world. Travel, try new things, learn and grow constantly.

HK’s top court dismisses final appeal by Jimmy Lai and former lawmakers

Hong Kong’s top court has unanimously dismissed a final attempt by Apple Daily founder Jimmy Lai and six former lawmakers to overturn their convictions for participating in an unauthorized march in 2019.

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Lai, Martin Lee, Albert Ho, Margaret Ng, Lee Cheuk-yan, Cyd Ho, and Leung Kwok-hung were found guilty of organizing and taking part in the procession on August 18, which followed an approved anti-police demonstration led by the now-disbanded Civil Human Rights Front.

While a lower court earlier acquitted them of organizing the assembly, it upheld the participation convictions.

The final appeal had centred on the issue of “operational proportionality”, a principle set out by two decisions of Britain’s Supreme Court.

The appellants argued that the court should conduct proportionality tests when passing a verdict and that a conviction would be a form of restriction that infringes on the fundamental constitutional rights of the freedoms of assembly and expression.

But judges at the Court of Final Appeal on Monday rejected the argument that the arrest, prosecution, conviction and sentence must be separately justified as proportionate, saying a separate proportionality inquiry was “inappropriate and uncalled for”.

“The defendants’ convictions and consequent sentences do not stand alone. They are the result of the judge applying the law to the evidence and being satisfied individually of their guilt,” the ruling said.

“The same pertains to the defendants’ proposition regarding arrest and prosecution. Those actions similarly do not occur in isolation. They represent steps taken to enforce particular offence-creating laws.”

Two presiding judges, Chief Justice Andrew Cheung and Roberto Ribeiro, said the two British legal precedents cited by the appellants “should not be followed in Hong Kong” because of differences between the two jurisdictions.

“In Hong Kong, statutory and other provisions which are found to be unconstitutional may be struck down as invalid whereas in the UK, a provision that is declared to be incompatible continues to be enforced as a valid law, with potentially different issues regarding proportionality arising thereafter,” the judges wrote.

Fellow justice Johnson Lam added that there is no basis in the SAR to consider the prosecution, conviction, and sentence as “distinct, standalone restrictions” from the rule creating the offense relating to freedom of assembly.

Lord David Neuberger of Abbotsbury, a non-permanent judge from Britain, said the constitutional differences in Hong Kong and the UK “do not mandate a different approach when it comes to considering whether a restriction on the freedom of assembly is proportionate”, but they “do require a different approach if the court concludes that the restriction is not proportionate”.

Ng, who attended the hearing, said it was inappropriate to comment on the ruling.

“We haven’t had a chance to examine this very important judgment. This is not the right time to make comments. We just want to take this occasion to thank our legal teams and all the people who have been supporting us all the time,” she said outside the court.

Lee, meanwhile, left the court, saying he had “no comment”.

Wife Asks For An Open Marriage INSTANTLY Regrets It

Has anyone ever accidentally overheard something about themselves that they shouldn’t have? How do people typically react in this situation?

Yeah , it happened to me. Let me tell you , it sucked.

It was in the evening one night and I called a friend who lived in the cottage behind me and asked if I could borrow a couple of eggs. She said yeah , come over and so I did.

When I got to her place she had a house full of people . It was still summer and though it was dark outside , all of her windows were open. Everybody was talking so when I knocked I didn’t get heard .

While standing there knocking , I heard one person say , “ is someone coming over?” And my friend answered “yeah , Wendy is.” Well that response opened up the floor to a bunch of negative comments. There must have been 10 people there and I heard bull shit out of at least 7 of them. I had no idea that this many people disliked me. And all the comments were hurtful.

After hearing enough , I turned around and started to leave when the front door swung open and there stood my friend. She was only one that stated that I “wasn’t that bad” while a few others said nothing to defend me .

Now I’m standing there with Hugh alligator tears trying to break free , when it dawned on me that these people were spinless , no good , fake pieces of crap. All of them had been at my door at one time or another during the past week, asking for a variety of things. All of them got what they wanted. All of them came over every morning for a cup of coffee and they got that to. Several of them knew that I was pretty good at mechanics and they came by asking what I thought was wrong with their car and I told them and I was right too. Basically I treated them like a friend , but tonight was the night that everyone hated me and they were quick to put in their ,2¢ .

Let’s just say that I was pretty hurt by their comments , but before I left , I faced each one who had said something and I repeated their words back to them. I wanted them to know that I knew exactly what they said . Then I just shook my head no and I walked out.

I can’t say that I was happy when I left , but there wasn’t any more misunderstood words or feelings and I was able to free myself from those people and their fake ways of life. I cried a lot that night and for many nights after , but at least I was clear headed about my so called friends and in the end I was better for it.

China’s Taichi-II Chip: World’s First Fully Optical AI Processor Outperforms NVIDIA H100 in Energy Efficiency

Beijing researchers have unveiled the Taichi-II chip, the world’s first fully optical AI processor, which outperforms NVIDIA’s H100 in energy efficiency.

…

Introduction

In a remarkable advancement for artificial intelligence (AI) technology, researchers from Beijing have introduced the world’s first fully optical AI chip, known as Taichi-II.

This innovative chip has set new standards in energy efficiency, surpassing NVIDIA’s renowned H100 GPU by a significant margin.

Fully Optical: Unlike traditional chips that rely on electronic signals, Taichi-II operates entirely on light, leading to significantly reduced energy consumption.
Energy Efficiency: The chip boasts a remarkable six orders of magnitude improvement in energy efficiency compared to conventional methods in low-light imaging scenarios.
Performance: In addition to energy efficiency, Taichi-II has shown a 40% accuracy boost in classification tasks compared to NVIDIA’s H100.
FFM Learning: The chip utilizes a novel training method called Fully Forward Mode (FFM) learning, enabling parallel processing directly on the optical chip.

Taichi-II: A New Era in AI Technology

The Taichi-II chip represents a major leap from its predecessor, the original Taichi chip, which had already set impressive records for energy efficiency.

Earlier this year, the Taichi chip demonstrated energy efficiency surpassing NVIDIA’s H100 GPU by over a thousandfold.

Nvidia’s H100 AI GPUs Projected to Surpass Energy Consumption of entire nations

The newly unveiled Taichi-II builds on this achievement with further advancements that enhance performance across various applications.

Developed by Professors Fang Lu and Dai Qionghai from Tsinghua University, the Taichi-II chip was officially revealed on August 7, 2024.

This breakthrough promises to transform AI training and modeling with its cutting-edge optical technology.

Intel Hits Key Milestones with 18A Chip production, Reinforcing Foundry Leadership and Future Innovation – techovedas

The Advantages of Optical Computing

Unlike traditional electronic-based AI training methods, the Taichi-II chip utilizes optical processes, which drastically improve efficiency. The shift to optical computing is a significant breakthrough, allowing Taichi-II to handle complex computations with unprecedented energy efficiency.

Key advancements of the Taichi-II chip include:

Training Speed: The chip accelerates the training of optical networks with millions of parameters by an order of magnitude.
Accuracy Improvement: Classification tasks have seen a 40% boost in accuracy.
Energy Efficiency: In low-light imaging scenarios, Taichi-II’s energy efficiency has improved by six orders of magnitude.

These enhancements set a new benchmark for AI hardware, highlighting the chip’s potential to revolutionize the industry.

The Technology Behind Taichi-II: A Deep Dive

The Taichi-II chip represents a significant leap forward in computing technology, leveraging the power of light instead of electricity. To understand this breakthrough, let’s delve into the core concepts:

Optical Computing vs. Electronic Computing

Electronic Computing: Traditional computers use electrical signals to represent and manipulate data. This involves the movement of electrons through transistors, which can be energy-intensive and limited in speed due to electrical resistance.
Optical Computing: This emerging technology uses light to perform calculations. Photons, the particles of light, can carry information at much higher speeds and with less energy loss compared to electrons.

How Taichi-II Works

Fully Forward Mode (FFM) Learning: This novel training method is central to Taichi-II’s operation. Unlike traditional backpropagation algorithms used in neural networks, FFM allows for direct processing of information on the optical chip, eliminating the need for data transfer between different components.
Optical Neural Network: The chip essentially creates an optical neural network, where light is used to simulate the behavior of neurons and synapses. This enables parallel processing of information, significantly accelerating computations.
Optical Interconnects: Instead of electrical wires, Taichi-II uses optical fibers to transmit data between different components. This reduces signal loss and increases data transfer speeds.

Key Advantages of Optical Computing

High Speed: Light travels at incredibly high speeds, enabling faster data processing and transmission.
Low Energy Consumption: Optical components generally consume less power than their electronic counterparts, leading to increased energy efficiency.
Parallel Processing: Optical computing allows for massive parallel processing, handling multiple tasks simultaneously.
Reduced Heat Generation: Optical components produce less heat compared to electronic components, improving system reliability and reducing cooling requirements.

Challenges and Future Directions

While Taichi-II is a promising development, there are still challenges to overcome:

Optical Components: Developing efficient and cost-effective optical components remains a significant hurdle.
Interfacing with Electronic Systems: Seamless integration of optical and electronic components is crucial for practical applications.
Algorithm Development: New algorithms and software tools are needed to fully harness the potential of optical computing.

Despite these challenges, the potential of optical computing is immense. As research and development continue, we can expect to see even more advanced optical chips with broader applications in fields such as artificial intelligence, high-performance computing, and data centers.

Fully Forward Mode (FFM) Learning: A Breakthrough Technique

A standout feature of the Taichi-II chip is its use of Fully Forward Mode (FFM) learning. This innovative approach allows for high-precision training directly on the optical chip, enabling parallel processing of machine learning tasks. According to Xue Zhiwei, lead author of the study and a doctoral student, FFM learning supports large-scale network training with exceptional accuracy.

The FFM learning method leverages high-speed optical modulators and detectors, offering performance that could potentially surpass GPUs in accelerated learning scenarios. This technology shifts optical computing from theoretical to practical, large-scale applications, opening new possibilities for AI.

Strategic Implications and Future Prospects

The release of the Taichi-II chip comes at a crucial moment. With the US imposing restrictions on China’s access to advanced GPUs for AI training, Taichi-II provides a viable alternative that could help China overcome these limitations.

This innovation is strategically important as it enables continued progress in AI technology despite geopolitical challenges.

Moreover, the timing of Taichi-II’s introduction is significant in light of reports suggesting NVIDIA’s high-tech AI chips may be reaching Chinese military officials. The Taichi-II chip’s performance and availability could play a key role in China’s technological advancements and defense capabilities.

Malaysia Targets $270 Billion Semiconductor Exports by 2030 to Become World’s 6th Largest Chip Exporter – techovedas

Conclusion

The Taichi-II chip represents a major milestone in optical computing and AI technology. With its exceptional energy efficiency and advanced performance, Taichi-II sets a new standard for AI hardware.

It also offers a strategic alternative in a fast-evolving tech landscape. As research and development advance, Taichi-II highlights the remarkable progress in AI and optical computing.

Linda’s Easy Lasagna

This is my favorite lasagna recipe because you do not cook the lasagna noodles first. I have always disliked cooking the lasagna noodles, so this is a great solution for me. This turns out perfect every time.

Yield: 12 servings

Ingredients

1 1/2 pounds ground beef or turkey or Italian sausage*
1 jar spaghetti sauce or homemade sauce
1 can tomato sauce
1 tomato sauce can water
2 pounds ricotta or cottage cheese, mixed with 4 eggs
12 ounces lasagna noodles, UNCOOKED
4 cups shredded mozzarella cheese
Grated Parmesan cheese
Garlic powder
Salt

Instructions

Brown meat. Drain.
Add sauces and water.
Spoon a small amount of sauce onto the bottom of a lasagna pan or a 13 x 9-inch baking dish.
Place a layer of UNCOOKED noodles (overlapping slightly), one-third of the cottage cheese mixture, a sprinkle of Parmesan cheese and one-third of the shredded cheese.
Pour about one-third of the sauce over the top.
Repeat twice more. Cover with more cheese.
Bake, covered and sealed with foil (DO NOT LET THE FOIL TOUCH THE CHEESE), at 350 degrees F for 1 hour.
Uncover and bake 15 minutes longer to brown the top.
Let stand for 15 minutes before cutting.

Notes

* Remove Italian sausage from casings and crumble as it cooks.

I usually make this with Italian sausage, but I have also used sliced cooked meatballs. It’s yummy whatever you decide to use! Of the two spaghetti sauce options, if you have time, go with the homemade sauce!

You can also bake for 1 hour without the cheese on top, then put the cheese on top and bake 15 minutes longer uncovered.

WHEN LIFE GETS TOUGH – Powerful Motivational Speech

Little Red Balloons

Matt Strempel

I can’t put my finger on why I murdered Jerry, because I lost my fingers in an accident.Accident. That is to say, Jerry hit the go button on the waste disposal unit while I was fixing it, and it munched my right hand off at the wrist. To be fair, the robotic prosthetic is about a thousand times better than my real hand was, but it hurt like hell at the time. He maintains I said, “Hit it,” but what I said was, “Quit it.” I was always telling Jerry to quit it. He was the most infuriating guy in the entire universe, I’m telling you. I should know; as a DSD I’ve seen more of the universe than most.A DSD is a Deep Space Diviner. In short, we look for water out in the dark corners of the universe in the hope of finding evidence of alien life. I used to get work out on farms and such, walking around with a curled piece of wire waiting for the thing to snap down towards the ground. That’s when I’d tell the boys to get digging. I never missed. Went all over the country helping folks get water out of the ground. I’m telling you, I could find water in the middle of a goddamn desert. Now I follow my hunches into deep space.When I heard they were asking for water diviners to head into space I thought it was some big joke. Checked the date to see if it was April 1st and everything. But it’s no joke. Turns out it’s cheaper to have guys like me out in space than sending probes from Earth.So anyway, they’ve had us out in Sector 35 for two years. Me and Jerry Portman. I told them I could do it on my own, but company regulations state I gotta have a partner. Jerry goddamn Portman from Chicago. I couldn’t stand him.How do I explain this to you? I mean, how do you come across a guy that can make you feel claustrophobic in the vastness of space? Even when I couldn’t see him, it was like he was right next to me with his stale open-mouth breathing. I’ve sent countless requests to be transferred, or have him transferred, or sought permission to blast him out the goddamn airlock, but no luck. I knew nothing was going to come of all the complaints, but it was the only way I could get the frustration off my chest.It’s true that in space no one can hear you scream, but email works pretty good.Anyway, that opening line about not being able to put my finger on why I killed him on account of not having any fingers? That’s the type of corny gag that Jerry loved. Drove me crazy. Is there anything more infuriating than a guy who laughs at his own jokes? I must have heard him use variations of “lend you a hand”, “right-hand man”, and “second hand” about a million times. He laughed every single time like it was the first time anyone ever said, “Get a grip” to a guy who just lost their hand and was rolling around on the floor spraying blood all over the goddamn ship.You ever see a gushing wound in zero gravity? It’s really something. It looks like the wound is spurting little red balloons. Or, it’s like looking at cells under a microscope.Space does that. Changes your perception of size. Entire planets appear tiny, then, the next second, a speck of space rock hitting the ship could end your entire existence. Big is small, small is enormous.Anyway, the latest thing with Jerry was he wanted to head out on this new vector. I’m telling you right now, where he wanted to go is a bust. Oh, but he’s “got a feeling”. Feeling, my ass. This guy hadn’t found a goddamn drop of water in two years. Plus, we would have had to go through a goddamn asteroid belt.It’s not that he was bad at his job—he was terrible—it’s that he was bad at everything. I mean, literally, everything. You ever meet a guy who couldn’t even use the goddamn toothpaste properly? I mean, who squeezes from the middle? Leaves the lid open so I’ve got a tube that’s flat through the centre, with all the good paste at the bottom, blocked by dried toothpaste at the top. He was such a goddamn imbecile.The thing is, though, medically speaking—on paper—he was a goddamn genius. Like, off the charts smart. He’s just got no common sense. Know what I mean? As in, he could solve the most complex mathematical equation known to man, but he’d set fire to his helmet. He really did that. Tried to make some modifications and shorted the regulator. Nearly killed us. He was always nearly killing us.I’ll say it: Jerry Portman was the stupidest guy ever to be classified as a genius.I swear he has nearly killed me at least a dozen times. Obviously, losing my hand was pretty bad, but he’s also shut off my oxygen while I was outside repairing a cracked solar panel. I was under 50% oxygen saturation when I finally got back inside. That much carbon dioxide in your lungs? You can’t take that too long. When I hit the emergency retract button on my umbilical to get back inside, well, let me just say, if I’d had the strength to even stand up, I swear that would have been it. I would have murdered Jerry right then.I think the worst one was when he opened the bay door—that’s where we keep the drones—before I was in my suit. I know it’s against the regulations to be in the drone bay without your suit because of the potential for that exact situation, but fucking Jerry, man. The guys who wrote the regulations must have been like, “What’s the most galactically stupid thing anyone could do in any given situation?” and then they’d write a rule just for kicks. They were probably laughing their asses off the entire time. “No one could be that much of a moron,” they’d say. But guess what, fellas. Jerry Portman is your guy. It’s just lucky there’s a ten-second warning before the doors open.You know the worst thing about guys like Jerry? It’s never their fault.“It was an accident.”He said it every goddamn time. It’s always an accident with these guys. Like that absolves them from any wrongdoing. As if just because you didn’t do it on purpose, all is forgiven.Imagine opening the bay door while there’s a guy in there working on the drones.Speaking of the drones. Jerry lost another one yesterday. This should come as a great surprise to exactly no one, but even for him, this was stupid. That’s three of our six drones lost. Don’t worry, Jerry. They’re only worth about half a billion dollars each.“But they’re fitted with a homing device to automatically self-dock if they lose the control signal” I hear you say. Yeah, well, you haven’t met Jerry. He’s the kind of guy a car salesman tells, “Pal, if you’re the kind of guy that accidentally locks his keys in the car, then this is the car for you. You can’t do it, see? It’s impossible.”Then, a week later, Jerry’s back and tells the guy he’s locked the keys in the goddamn car.Can you imagine being stuck in space with Jerry Portman? I’m telling you, it’s the pits.The first drone Jerry lost was on account of him tinkering with it. He was trying to make the water sensor more sensitive after striking out on another of his feelings. He’s always making excuses that it’s the equipment’s fault when he strikes out. So, yeah. The first drone he tinkered with—well, we don’t know what he did exactly—but the first time we took it out after he fiddled with it, it took off like a bullet and it was gone.I can still see Jerry watching the screen as we lost the signal. He was like a kid who’d taken his model plane out for its first flight and watched it disappear over the trees never to be seen again. Only this model plane cost half a billion dollars.The second one, I’m not sure about. He swears he didn’t touch it. For all his million faults, one thing Jerry wasn’t, was a liar. Maybe we chalk that one up to bad luck. Maybe the drone was a dud.But the latest one? Jesus Christ. I won’t bore you with a bunch of technical crap about how the drones work, let’s just say in the simplest terms, it confirms the presence of water in any form within a given target. Most commonly, this means we find a meteorite that we feel has potential, and the drone sends out a probe to take a sample. It’s basically a drill that bores into the target and removes a metre-long cylinder of material. If there’s a trace of water—it’s ice, of course—there’s a bunch of readings and measurements done by the computer and it sends the data back to Earth for further analysis.As you can imagine, a machine that performs this function is incredibly complex. So you don’t just open up a panel and start poking around with a goddamn Phillips-head. Well, you and I wouldn’t. But you know who would?So, yesterday he’s telling me, “I know what I’m doing this time,” as if he’s read the manual since losing the first drone. I just shake my head and leave him to it. I used to argue with him all the time, but I learnt pretty quick what a waste of breath that was. He’s one of those guys that when they get something in their head, you can’t shake it no matter how much sense you’re making. They could be wearing a red tshirt and you say, “Nice red tshirt,” and they say, “What’re talking about? It’s blue,” and you just have to say, “Fine, you moron. It’s blue,” and walk away.That’s what Jerry was like when he was tinkering. Maybe part of me thought he’d electrocute himself so I wouldn’t have to murder him.When he finished playing around with this drone, he came back into the control room and placed these screws and some other little bits and pieces in a drawer. He did it as if he didn’t want me to see it, but I saw it clear as day. You know when someone gets home drunk and they’re trying to be quiet but they make way more noise than if they just stumbled around? People trying to be discrete just scream I’m up to something fishy.So I say to Jerry, “What are those, from the drone?”

And he just says, “They’re spare. We don’t actually need them.”

Then I go off on one about how every single thing on this ship right down to the tiniest screw has been reduced in size and weight to make everything as light as possible—like, the angle of trajectory for our landing factors in the weight of the urine that will be in our bladders—but sure, Jerry. They’ve included a bunch of spare parts. “It’s not a goddamn IKEA chair, Jerry” I remember saying that to him like he was hiding some leftover dowel he forgot to put in.

Well, sure as eggs, Jerry sent the drone out yesterday and I’ll give you one guess what happened to it. You’re goddamn right it blew up. Nearly killed us.

He’s just lucky the drone was far enough from the ship that the explosion didn’t do any damage to the ship. Nothing that the self-diagnostics picked up, anyway. Naturally, I did my block at Jerry for nearly killing us again and I said someone’s going to have to go outside and have a closer inspection of the hull. Now, normally I’d be the guy that does that. I mean, you can’t leave something that important up to Jerry goddamn Portman.

Then I had a thought—maybe I would send Jerry out. It would be a real shame if his umbilical somehow untethered from the ship and he floated out into space…

Ashamed as I am to admit it, this was not the first time I’d thought about killing Jerry.

Did I tell you about the time Jerry destroyed one of my samples? You know how people who can’t cook, they say “Oh, so-and-so could burn water.” That’s what Jerry did. We got this sample back on the probe one time and it had all these microorganisms in it. The core sample was about 85% ice. Normally, we’re lucky if it’s even 5%. The core analysis told us it contained 37 different forms of bacteria plus a bunch of other unidentifiable crap all suspended in ice. It was the most exciting goddamn discovery since penicillin. So I placed the core in the freezer and looked forward to the fame and fortune awaiting those DSDs lucky enough to find something. I couldn’t sleep that cycle I was so excited.

Of course, back then I didn’t have a complete understanding of the magnitude of Jerry’s stupidity. Had I known better, I would have guarded that freezer with my goddamn life.

Now, it wouldn’t have surprised me in the least to discover Jerry had destroyed my sample by switching the freezer off by accident. These things happen to the best of us. But Jerry isn’t your average moron. No, Jerry decides he wants to take a look at the sample himself under the microscope. Only, the microscope doesn’t work with a chunk of ice, you gotta melt it down to go in a petri dish. So Jerry puts the core in the blast box—the blast box, I should explain, is this unit that works like an oven or freezer depending on what you need heating or chilling. Only, the blast box will roast or freeze something in three seconds. In hindsight, this is exactly the sort of thing you could see happening, but the designers of the blast box would have been counting on the operators being actual scientists, not Jerry goddamn Portman.

Now, someone like you or me, we’d take a small piece of the sample if we wanted to take a closer look. Not Jerry, though. Jerry Portman’s the kind of guy who takes your alien lifeforms precariously suspended in million-year-old ice and microwaves them to kingdom come. “Why the hell did he…? Oh, never mind,” I hear you saying. You’re getting the picture now. He cost me a lot that day. Maybe not money—who knows—but certainly renown. They probably would have named one of the bacteria after me.

That was two years ago, but I remember it like yesterday. Time flies when you’re having fun.

Yesterday, when Jerry was out on the spacewalk, I considered trying to make it look like an accident. But there are so many instruments taking every goddamn reading on this ship that they’d know for sure I had something to do with it. I mean, no amount of tinkering could have got the drone to accidentally deploy its probe with such surgical precision right up Jerry Portman’s goddamn ass.

I’ll be leaving Sector 35 for Earth in a year next week. When I splashdown and I get arrested on live television, it’ll be because I murdered Jerry Portman. They’ll drag me out of the ocean next to those giant orange balloon floaties and put me straight in handcuffs but I’ll be laughing my ass off. You can’t spell manslaughter without laughter, right?

I’ll be thinking about the last thing Jerry saw as he was fatally probed: me in the cockpit with the drone remote, my smiling face looking out through the glass where I’d stuck a piece of paper saying IT WAS AN ACCIDENT.

Thousands of little red balloons.

I just want them to know I was provoked. I was standing my ground. I feared for my life, Your Honor.

It wasn’t self-defence, really, more like self-preservation. I’m not sure if there’re any laws about killing in self-preservation but if I didn’t kill him, he was going to kill me. I’m absolutely goddamn sure of it.

Men Start Trend of ‘Raw Dogging’ Flights

Why are Koreans and Indians so confident and always think that their country is better than China?

The rationale is completely different for the two peoples.

For Korea, we can examine 90s Korean dramas for clues.

Korean homes had tiny dining tables with short legs, bedrooms had no beds, and few or no furniture.

Pork belly was a special treat, while beef was an extravagance.

I didn’t understand these cultural stereotypes until I briefly dated a Korean girl, who patiently explained that Korea has always been an impoverished nation, being stuck on a harsh peninsula that was subject to regular conflict both domestic and foreign, and natural disasters aplenty.

That is why sejong developed hangul to supplement hanja, or Chinese block writing, which remained the court language to facilitate exchange with the Chinese dynasties.

He wanted to arrest Korean sinicization, because contrary to conventional wisdom, Korea received way more benefit from the tributary relationship than it paid out, other than the swallowing of national pride.

Chinese block writing enabled the Korean literati to unlock the intellectual treasures of Chinese civilization, as generations of Koreans made a beeline for Chinese cities to learn governance, medicine, farming, construction, warmaking, the arts, religion and philosophy. Trade with China was also crucial to the Korean peninsula, which lacked the production capacity of the mainland.

In both Koreas today, individuals are given 2 or 3 monosyllabic character names, despite Korean being a spelled multisyllabic language. To the uninitiated, Korean names spelled in the Latin alphabet can easily be mistaken for pinyin Chinese names.

The south Korean flag, the taegukgi, is composed of the taoist symbol for yin yang and divination symbols from the yijing.

Deep Chinese roots underpin the answer to “what does it mean to be Korean?”

The only way to arrest the slide is to put up walls and insist “we have evolved, we are unique, we are better”.

Otherwise Korea won’t stay Korean.

As for India, domestic politics require distractions. And China is a very good card to deal when domestic pressures build up, or to trade for advantages with major powers.

India has received little blowback for a string of bad behavior in recent years, because it is seen as a vital American partner to contain China. India is reselling Russian energy, assassinating foreign citizens on their home soil, denying market access on whim and refusing investors a square deal on FDI. But it receives in turn high end military tech transfers, access to arms and trade and tech privileges with the first world.

India shares a long border with China, though it is across the mostly impenetrable himalayas. The Indian military has been unable to beat the PLA the past 6 decades, and no Indian leader has been willing to back down from jawaharlal’s strategic overreach and reset relationships, much less exhort the electorate to “learn from China”.

The option remaining is to drum up passions and stir the pot, squaring the circle by hijacking the narrative with gems such is “India is china’s big brother, civilizationally” or “China should be grateful to India for the gift of Buddhism”.

The himalayas have limited contact between the peoples but India will seize on every excuse to claim credit—and elevated superiority—when none is due.

This fever will continue until a leader strong enough to challenge jawaharlal’s legacy emerges.

China’s Economy, Tech

Another brilliant post from Godfree Roberts

This week

Installed power generation capacity reached 3.0 billion kW, up 14.1% YoY. 38% of that came from wind and solar. America’s total installed capacity is 1.2 billion kW.

State Grid—the world’s single copper user—will spend $83 billion this year, beefing up its UHV network that covers 80% of China and carries power from western deserts to eastern industries. [China consumes twice as much electricity as the USA, where generation capacity is falling–Ed]

Lithium phosphate batteries are $53/kWh, down from $95/kWh last year. There is now parity between ICE vehicles and EV manufacturing costs. China has cornered the market on LFP.

China is first to create nuclear fusion plasma, way ahead in the most important race of all.

Apple dropped out of the top five smartphone sellers in China in Q2. Though smartphone shipments grew 8.9%, to 71.6mn units, Apple’s declined 3.1%. [Of Apple’s top 187 suppliers, 157 have factories in China].

The Senate National Defense Authorization Act (NDAA) omitted a bill to ban the sale of DJI drones in the United States after it passed in the House. The absence does not yet mean the act is dead, but it is a positive step in the eyes of those who support the Chinese drone company.

China is building a national pilot testing system of ‘enlarged laboratories or shrunken production lines,’ to support key industries’ connection to the industrial internet, the Internet of Things and 5G technologies, supported by machine vision and industrial AI, to optimize process efficiency “through comprehensive perception, real-time analysis, scientific decision-making, and precise execution.” Chengdu’s proposed $750 million ‘pilot platform construction fund’ aims for 100 key pilot testing platforms and 500 products launched onto the market, and 100 innovative companies incubated by 2025. In Wuhan’s Optics Valley, three key pilot testing platforms are set up, targeting laser processing, drug development, and new display technology. Research suggests that the success rate of industrializing laboratory research is 30% without pilot testing, and 80% with a pilot run.

Ignore China’s share of total global exports and look at their share of manufactured exports, which has been stable at 20% for several years. The headline numbers say Chinese exports to the US have taken a big hit, from 22% of US goods imports now down to 14%. So is China losing a lot of market share? Most of that reduction in value is not real. Chinese solar panel makers can’t ship directly to the US because of tariffs. So they set up a factory in Vietnam and Malaysia and send it there, but it is still a Chinese-made product.

BYD just hired 10,000 recent graduates, 70% of whom have masters or doctoral degrees, 80% of them for R&D. BYD’s research team was awarded 15 patents/day last year. While BYD has been extremely fast at pumping out new products this year, it will be even faster in the future and its additional headcount will allow exploration into new areas. We will have to wait to see what those are. TP Huang

A sunlight-powered MAV drone weighing as much as a sheet of paper, just 4.21 grams, with its 20-centimeter wingspan, represents a dramatic downsizing from previous flying machines, which were typically meter-sized and weighed kilograms. This breakthrough, also published in Nature, opens up exciting possibilities for ultra-long endurance micro aerial vehicles. Such devices could potentially stay aloft indefinitely during daylight hours, making them ideal for applications like environmental monitoring, communication relays, or search and rescue operations in remote areas.

The jobless rate for the 16-24 age group, excluding students, dipped to 13.2% in June from May’s 14.2%. For the 25-29 age group, also excluding students, was 6.4%, a third consecutive month of decline. The rate for the 30-59 age group remained at 4%.

Apollo Go driverless taxis, launched in Wuhan in 2022, has expanded to ten other Chinese cities …. Its service has carried out 6m rides nationwide since launching. It now has more than 400 driverless cars on the road in Wuhan and plans to have 1,000

running by the end of this year. Most of its cars in Wuhan have “level four” autonomy, which means they do not require human intervention in most situations on the road but can get muddled in areas such as parking garages—which might explain why it asks customers to trudge through the city’s sweltering heat. The reason Apollo Go has … gained such favor with riders is that it is astonishingly cheap. Your correspondent’s 11-minute spin cost just 9.84 yuan ($1.35). Such fares are possible thanks to the largesse of Baidu, which is covering around 60% of the cost of a ride. That is not sustainable. But, thanks to plummeting costs, the company reckons its robotaxis in Wuhan will break even by the end of the year and turn a profit in 2025. In May it unveiled its sixth-generation vehicle, which costs less than half the previous model. As the business has expanded the supply chain has matured and Baidu has been able to spread the cost of developing and updating its technology over more vehicles. Last year General Motors, an American carmaker, suspended operations at Cruise, its robotaxi business, after one of its cars injured a pedestrian in San Francisco, leading California to revoke its licence to operate in the state. On July 23rd it said it would relaunch the service in Dallas, Houston and Phoenix, but with a human supervisor in the vehicle. That same day Tesla, America’s electric-vehicle giant, said it would push back the unveiling of its robotaxi from August to October. In May China’s government offered to let the company test its service in the country. If it does, expect more hand-wringing from China’s taxi drivers.

China creates its own money and controls its credit system. It’s also invested in modernizing its high-speed railroads, modernizing its communication system, modernizing its cities, and above all its electronic internet system used for monetary payments. China has liberated itself from debt dependency on the West – and in the process, made the West dependent on it. This could only have been done by government investment and regulation under a long-term plan. The Western financial model lives in the short run. If you’re going to allocate credit and resources to make fortunes by living in the short run by taking as much as you can as quickly as you can, you will not be able to make the capital investment to develop long-term growth. That’s why American information technology companies have not been able to keep up with their Chinese counterparts. Financialized “market forces” oblige them to use their income for stock buybacks and to pay out of dividends. That is the case with U.S. technology across the board. China’s companies investing in information and internet technology plow their profits back into reinvestment in more research and development. Such innovation has shifted from the West to the East, which has rediscovered the logic of industrial capitalism developed by the 19th century’s classical political economists.

The last time the ‘king of the manufacturing hill’ got knocked off the throne was when the US surpassed the UK just before WW1. It took the US the better part of a century to rise to the top; the China-US switch took about 15 or 20 years. In 2020, China made up a staggering 35% of global gross manufacturing production. That is more than the combined output of the United States (12%), Japan (6%), Germany (4%), India (3%), South Korea (3%), Italy (2%), France (2%), and the United Kingdom. By 2030, the world will only have two industrial sectors, China and the world.

“Raw Dogging” Is The Newest Viral Trend, But It’s Not What You Think

Tales of the sea

Have you ever been the victim of medical malpractice? What happened?

My stomach was removed in 2007 for cancer and I was placed on an anti-cancer pill every day. There is only one pill for my cancer, Gleevec ($144,000 a year in the US for 400 mg a day, when it costs $250 to manufacture a year’s supply in the Swiss corporation’s factory in India — the pharmaceutical manufacturer waives the patient 20% copay so as not to jeopardize the insurance coverage 80%.)

One year later, my liver reacted to too much cancer drug at a time by accidental dosing error and my liver started dying. The doctors immediately stopped the cancer medicine and gave me the steroid prednisone for a month to calm down the liver inflammation. The doctors said I couldn’t take the drug anymore due to the drug now being toxic to my liver.

I asked, so now what happens? The doctors said, your cancer comes back and then we cut it out a second time. I asked, what then? The doctors said, the cancer comes back a third time only quicker, and we cut it out a third time. I asked, how long can this go on? The doctors said, about six times then you’re dead, probably in about five years from now.

So, logically, I asked, what about a solution to the liver toxicity — is there a work-around? The doctors said, we don’t know. I asked, will you think about it? The doctors said, no.

I was puzzled. I told the doctors I was a lawyer and anyone who came to me with a problem, I immediately started thinking about how to solve the problem. So I asked the doctors, why do you say you won’t think about my problem? The doctors said, we’re too busy with regular problems.

The cancer tumor returned in three years in 2011. I met with the doctors to plan the second surgery and asked the same questions again, and got the same answer: no, we’re too busy to think about how to get your liver to accept the cancer medicine again.

After the surgery in 2011, the cancer returned in 2012. I met with the doctors to plan the surgery and asked the same questions and got the same answers. So I told the doctors, “time out” — I’ll go on the Internet on PubMed and google “Gleevec liver toxicity” and get back to you.

In about five minutes, I found a solution by a doctor in Milan Italy while no doctor in America had any idea. The solution was to co-administer prednisone with Gleevec like a fireman with a hose entering a burning room. I compiled the science, printed it out, and told my doctors, give me $6 worth of prednisone a month and coadminister it with the Gleevec. The doctors said, we can’t do that: prednisone is a steroid and it will make you manic. Puzzled, I asked the doctors, so your plan is “I’m dead”? The doctors looked puzzled and then said, okay, let’s try it.

I took prednisone and Gleevec daily for 2–3 months before the surgery after baseline imaging showed a 27 cm^3 tumor while my liver proteins remained stable. Then the surgeon in late 2012 cut out a 3 cm^3 shrunken tumor and inside the tumor was very dead cancer cells. The surgeon said, I’ve never seen deader cancer cells. One month later, I stopped the prednisone and have had no liver issues since.

I haven’t sued but I always make sure everyone on the medical staff recalls why I’m still showing up for MRI scans, lab work, and consult visits.

What are your 10 laws of manhood?

Class’ over ‘Swag’.
Never be the first one to punch. But make sure you break a jaw or two when the fistfight starts.
Stop pursuing her after a NO. No chases, or stalking, or messaging, or trying again and again.
Learn to say NO. Whether it is the boss at office, or a girl at a bar.
Know your cologne or deo well, and stick with them. Avoid flower fragrances and chocolate.
Every once in a while, when you face a situation which forces you to come out of your comfort shell— say “F*ck it!” and do it anyway.
Scour the Internet and look for hair & beard styles that agree with your face type.
Once you find a gifted barber, stick with him. He knows your hair & beard better than your girlfriend.
Career = Relationship = Family = Yourself; make time for all and don’t ignore any of them.
Writing is the best meditation.

Extra perk : Avoid smoking at all cost. Others might find it cool, but honestly, cancer sucks.

MM’s art experimentation

I’ve gone a little off track with some experimentation.

@Default Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Baroques 1(28)

Don’t people in China wish to live in a democratic country?

I work in Hong Kong but my work enables me to meet people from different parts of China. They are fully aware of that China has a different political system from the western countries. They also know that China is not as democratic as the West, but this is a blessing indeed. The chaos of the democracies in the West as well as Taiwan, the horrors resulted from the Spring of Arabs, and the insatiable greed of the American imperialism under the veil of democracy have all intimidated the pro-democrats in China. Many Chinese people come to believe that democracy is a plot to disintegrate China and put China in a position never able to compete with America again. Many of them used to have fantansies with the concept of democracy but now come to realise that every political system has its own limitations. There is no such a thing as one size for all. The present government wins her legitimacy by leading the country into spectacular economic success, and by providing social security system within the limit of resources. The people would not risk losing the quality of life and their future prosperity for empty words or concepts, which was the tragic path that Libyans and Syrians had gone through.

If your car is stolen, and then you just so happen to stumble across it parked in the street, are you legally allowed to steal it back then and there without calling the police or anything in the USA?

About 20 years ago, my Jeep was stolen from in front of my building. I immediately made a report and called my insurance company because I knew I would never get it back. One other thing I did was change the message on my voicemail to tell the caller that if the call was in regards to my jeep, to please leave a message where it was and I would pick it up, no questions asked.

About a week later, I got a very cryptic call with the location of my Jeep and immediately headed over to see if it was there, and sure enough, it was. As I stood there next to it, I called the police and told them I was standing next to my Jeep and I would be recovering it. I was told to stay where I was and someone would be with me ASAP.

It took 45 minutes and 4 calls to the station, but I finally had a police officer show up. He took my info, checked the registration to ensure the Jeep was mine, and told me I could take it home.

What was so ridiculous about the entire theft was that the only thing they took two things. One was my soft top and doors. It was an aftermarket roof and doors, and without the hardware, I had installed when I put it on, it was absolutely useless! So basically, they had risked a felony for a top that was worth $400, and in the end, they couldn’t use LOL

FYI, it would have taken them just 2 minutes to stip off the roof and not risked a felony.

The other was my license plate. I was contacted 2 years later about a bank robbery because they had used my plates on the getaway car. It wasn’t that they thought I had committed the crime, it was just to see if I had any idea about who had stolen my jeep in the first place. Had they printed my Jeep at the time, they would have actually had a lead but they don’t waste their time on things like that for simple auto theft.

What is the best move you pulled off in a fight?

My best friend since 3rd grade was sucker-punched by some punk outside a bar on pearl street in Boulder, CO back when we were in college at CU. The punch cut my friend’s head and drew blood. My friend was disoriented and attempted to retaliate but was not able to do so with the crowd of people trying to break it up. I was in a sling from a torn pec injury so I kept my distance from the commotion. However, I noticed the punk who sucker-punched my friend trying to slowly disappear from the scene. He backed away then he started running away. I followed.

He ran pretty fast for about 4 blocks to the south back towards campus before his run turned into a jog, I continued to follow from a distance. Then a couple blocks later, once he thought he was in the clear, he started walking. This is when I made my move. I quietly approached him from behind and quickly picked him up and put him in a firemen’s carry with my healthy arm/shoulder. (he was no more than 160 lbs, maybe 5′9″ and at the time I was pushing 280 lbs and pretty fit despite my injury as I was playing DT for the Buffs so this little punk was pretty easy to manhandle even with only one healthy arm)

I said, “I got you mother fucker.” He squirmed like a little bitch begging and pleading to let him go. I said, “you’re going to jail for assaulting my friend.” It was quite the amusing walk back towards the scene with him over my shoulder as the scene was now filled with a number of Boulder Police. As he saw the police lights his squirming got worse, he started punching and kicking and he even offered me money to let him go.

I walked up to the scene with him on my shoulders, walked right into the middle of a bunch of policemen and women standing in a circle and placed him down in the middle and said “officers, this is the guy you are looking for, he is the one that started this whole thing by sucker-punching my friend” My best friend was standing there with a face covered in blood as they asked him if this was the guy. He said “yes” and they cuffed him and took him to jail.

I guess the whole thing started because my friend was wearing a Yankee’s hat and the punk was running his mouth, something about baseball. (he must have been a Red Sox fan?) My friend’s cut on his head was pretty bad, he had to go to the ER so we all were glad justice was served to that punk!

Asian Passport Bro Sharing his Experience in Dating Western vs Foreign Women (MAJOR Differences)

Are there any Chinese Communist Party members on Quora? Can they talk about their experiences?

I’m a 10 years CCP member, I don’t feel much different from normal Chinese people. The major differences are:

Party membership dues are 2% of my salary.
Every half year, we need to write a short summary about our political thought. Such as what we have learnt from recent political events, do we have new understanding about Communist.
Criticism and self-criticism. We will organize some offline sync, to discuss about Socialism, Communist and Capitalism; and refresh our understanding.

Basically I’m proud to be a member of CCP. I think most members are nice people, and open minded.

Shocked in China! Arriving in Shanghai (A Different World…)

What did your boss ever say in the office that caused you to resign?

Mine was two things, bam bam, back to back.

We had a mid-size company, and I was running the small factory building pallets. Not very sexy, but it’s a commodity the world needs. I had brought on a co-op student from the local university over the summer, kind of a fresh-eyes approach, getting a smart kid to hang around for a few weeks on the cheap. So we talked and explored some ideas and measured some things, had regular ongoing conversations. And then he developed this program using Mini-Tab (showing my age) and it showed how we could lay out a super-efficient way to build the pallets; it divided up the work into this aspect that went slowly and this part that went quicker. We could flex the crew to have more people on the slow tasks and fewer people on the quick tasks, and overall the throughput was much higher, like 25% faster. I showed my boss and I was so impressed with all the little red dots flowing through the schematic and watching the numbers tick up, I was so happy….and then he said “if there was a smarter way to build pallets, I’d have discovered it already.” Ouch. Take all your fancy education and go sit down.

Same boss, same day, right after that sentence, he said he wants to review last month’s numbers. We covered all the regular P&L items, spends and expenses and yadda-yadda, and then we got to the bottom of the page. This is the line item where the plant’s profit is listed, and is where my bonus is. Literally, my bonus was a percentage of the profitability for the month. It showed zero. The plant profitability added up to being positive (and above budget I may add) but then there was a negative amount to cancel it out, and my bonus was zero. I had never seen a zero before, maybe I’m reading this wrong? “No, that’s correct. See there’s this other plant in another state, and they got in trouble. They were fudging their numbers and overstating deliveries to the customer. So overall the corporation got our wrist slapped and we agreed to zero out the profits in order to pay back the customer.” “My plant?” “No, this other one.” “Then why is my plant zero?” “The corporation agreed to take everyone’s profits as payback to the customer.” “So where’s my bonus?” “Well you get a percentage of course, and a percentage of zero is zero, so there’s no bonus.” “Oh no, wait a minute; you’re telling me that my kids eat less because somebody else cheated? You are literally taking food off my table because of some other guy? And that guy (whom I knew) still has a job here?”

I’ve had enough; I quit.

China’s economy has slowed down, and the USA’s dependence on China is gradually decreasing.As the threat grows, will China shift from a defensive policy to an offensive policy, creating conflicts and clashes to increase the USA’s dependence on it?

It’s amazing how people can twist the reality 180 degrees.

Name ONE major on-going conflict without the US standing behind, please.

Gaza Genocide, directly supported by the US
Russia-Ukraine conflict, directly supported by the US
China-Philippines SCS conflict, directly supported by the US
Taiwan Strait issue, directly supported and manipulated by the US
EU, directly manipulated by the US
Every coup in South America, directly supported by CIA.

The US has been trying to drag China into the same arms race as in the previous cold war against USSR, and hope China to fall into the same trap as USSR did.

The US has passed 11 anti-China acts within 24 hours.

Do you see China doing the same?

Then from where did you get the conclusion that China is becoming more aggressive?

Men Are ‘Raw Dogging’ On Airplanes

American Corporate Cost Savings

In the late 1980’s and entering into the 1990’s there were all sorts of cost saving efforts undertaken by the corporate clowns running the companies. Some were truly curious, interesting and astounding.

When I worked at <name redacted>, they had replaced the roll toilet paper dispensers with a “public toilet” type. This was a cam based locking mechanism that only permitted one toilet paper sheet at a time. Oh! My! God!

Talk about getting everyone upset and hot and bothered. It was so frustrating that people started to bring their own toilet paper to work. And to compensate for using their own personal toilet paper stash, the employees started to steal pens, pencils, and erasers. It got so bad that there was a meeting about this, and the owner came in to explain why it was necessary to do this.

As a result of that meeting, some new changes were implemented.

A new parking space next to the front door for the owner to use, and no one else.
Removing the water fountains, and replacing it with a vending machine that sold ice cold bottled water.
Removal of the free coffee in the office.
An expansion of the hours at the company canteen so that people can buy coffee during the work-hours.
Removal of department bonuses, but they were replaced with a coupon system. You can advocate or recommend someone to get a “atta-boy” coupon. Each coupon is worth one free cup of coffee at the company canteen.

Look, as I get older, all this seems so trivial. Why fight for pennies, when the bosses get hundreds of thousands of dollars in a yearly bonus?

So this period of time is now in “hush” mode. Not too much is written about this time. Maybe a rare movie or two, and that is about it.

But, I won’t forget.

And let’s all learn from these mistakes and adapt. What do you say?

Today…

Isn’t it time the UK ignored what China wants and formally recognised Taiwan?

UK can try & see what will happen.

I bet, I bet, UK wont dare!!!

In the Paris Olympics, Taiwan separatists got warned by French guards/police. Below were few incidents.

1, In 1 stadium, one (Taiwanese?) woman stood on the stairs & held a green banner with Taiwan island on it. French guards/police warned the woman. She ignored warning. A man grabbed the banner from the woman in front of the guard/police & left.

2, In another occasion, a French guard/police grabbed a white & green banner from Taiwanese (?) sitting in the stadium. During struggle, French guard/police tore the banner.

In both cases, Taiwanese separatists dared not do anything against the guards/police.

See, France follows thru the ONE China policy & suppresses social nuisance caused by Taiwan independence.

Of course, these are Taiwanese (?) are actors who are paid to put up a theatrical show. These people only talked tough on the mouth, & held a banner. But facing a guard/police, they are chickens.

Back to UK. UK under Sunak was a US puppet. Like Taiwanese, Sunak talked tough to stage a theatrical show to its puppet master. When comes to action, I do not see anything concrete.

Dont be fooled by politicians’ tough talk; it is just a show.

Have the police just shown up to your door unexpectedly?

Yes, this happened quite a few years ago before cell phones were as popular as they are today.

We had just came back from the store where we had purchased a new set of wireless phones. For some reason my wife wanted me to program 911 as speed dial number 1. I read the instructions, made a number of attempts and determined it wasn’t working. A few minutes later the doorbell rang along with a definite knock. I could see through the glass door it was a couple of officers. One was at the door while the other was a few steps behind him with his hand resting on his firearm.

I opened the door and the lead officer said that there were a number of 911 calls with hangups and they were sent to investigate. I explained about the attempts at programming the phones and he asked if they could come in to see the phone. I let them in and showed them the phone. About that time my wife came into the room to see what was going on. Upon seeing the two officers she was a little surprised. The situation was explained to her and we bid the officers a good day.

A little while later my wife suddenly exclaimed that she just realized that the officers wanted to come in to ensure she was okay. The whole thing was embarrassing for me but rather humorous.

She Laughed After Being Charged with This

What are some potential challenges faced by Filipino soldiers in operating and integrating HIMARS into their defensive strategies in response to threats in the South China Sea?

If the Filipinos are stupid enough to volunteer to be a US proxy. It won’t be like Ukraine.

You realize that The Philippines is over 1,000 miles from China right?

HiMars range is well under 250 miles. And it’s not an air defense system.

The only thing the Filipinos will see is Chinese missiles raining from the sky. So no amount of integration is going to do anything.

HiMars will be target practice for Chinese missiles or glide bombs.

So integrating won’t do anything. Unlike the Russians, the Chinese are fully prepared to go to war with the US, NATO, Japan, SK, and India at the same time. Adding the Philippines is just desert for China. I hope the Filipino people get their heads out of their ass because the US will turn the Philippines into a death field just to get propaganda points.

The question is do the Filipinos want to die for the US so the US can do propaganda stories against China?

“Let me tell you why 7 of us quit on the day of our company pizza party.

At the beginning of the year all of us employees (13 of us) took a voluntary pay cut to help our owners keep the doors open on our little plumbing supply company. You see the Old man who ran the place died at the end of last year and his kids took over. By years end our little company was in turmoil as the college educated heirs didn’t know a thing about actually running a plumbing supply company. Out of respect for their deceased father, we all took a pay cut so the company could survive on the promise that when the ship was righted we would all get a 5 figure bonus which would more than cover the pay cut we took. After this bonus we were to get our regular wages back plus ten percent on top of it.

Well after the latest quarterly report came out, we had actually turned a hefty profit as a company for the first time since the old man’s passing. Finally we would get our bonuses!

We all received an inter-office memo to meet in the conference room. We knew what this was about and were ready to celebrate our combined success!

Our bonuses…

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The absolute nerve of these college educated a-holes! They said since we were raking in record profits that they didn’t want to rock the boat and put the company in a financial bind by shelling out for bonuses or to reactivate our former wage statuses, let alone a 10% increase in pay on top of it.

So they LITERALLY got us pizza and soda as a “thank you”.

Myself and 6 others walked out right then and there.

You cannot treat people like they did and expect things to be okay! Between the 7 of us, there was over 80 years of experience working for their father’s company.

Let them see how hard it will be to replace our knowledge and experience. Maybe they didn’t learn in college manners or how to treat employees as family. Maybe they will think a second and third time in the future before doing something like this again.

Meanwhile, 3 of my fellow co-workers who quit and myself, will be starting our own plumbing supply company and we have every confidence that we will succeed.

We’ll start off small and there will be lean times, but there is nothing on earth that will shake our integrity and treat people like our former employers did.

Another DEI DISASTER As Fantasy & Science Fiction Publication DIES After Hiring WOKE Black Editor

This is a very interesting video.

Chicken Cordon Bleu Calzones

Yield: 4 servings

Ingredients

4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts (1 pound)
1 cup sliced, fresh mushrooms
1/2 medium onion, chopped
3 tablespoons cornstarch
1 1/4 cups milk
1 tablespoon fresh basil or 1 teaspoon dried basil
1 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon pepper
1 (17 1/2 ounce) package frozen puff pastry, thawed
8 thin slices deli ham
4 slices Provolone cheese

Instructions

Place chicken in a greased 2 quart dish, cover with water.
Cover and bake at 350 degrees F for 30 minutes or until juices run clear.
Meanwhile in a skillet, sauté mushrooms and onion in butter until tender.
Combine cornstarch and milk until smooth, stir into skillet mix.
Add basil and seasonings.
Bring to a boil, cook and stir for 2 minutes until thickened.
Drain chicken.
Cut pastry sheets in half widthwise.
On one side of each half, place a chicken breast, 1/4 cup mushroom mixture, two ham slices and one cheese slice.
Fold pastry over fillings and seal edges.
Place on a greased baking sheet.
Brush tops with milk if desired.
Bake at 400 degrees for 15 to 20 minutes or until puffed and golden.

As a police officer, has someone you pulled over ever threatened to call “Daddy”?

Originally Answered: As a Police officer, has someone you pulled over ever threatened to call “Daddy”?

I once had “daddy” show up at the scene of a DUI crash. Daddy tried to interfere with the field sobriety tests of his (uninjured) son.

When I politely asked him to step away and let us get on with our business, Daddy ignored me. When I said it as an unequivocal order, he ignored me. When I told him I would place him under arrest in 5 seconds if he didn’t back off, he reminded me that he was friends with my Sheriff.

I told him he would be free to call the Sheriff from jail.

Daddy pulled out his cell phone and showed me that he had the Sheriff’s number stored in his contact list. I told him I had it in my phone too and that his 5 seconds were up. Go over there and call the Sheriff if you want or go to jail. Your choice. I have work to do.

Daddy walked away.

Daddy’s little boy got arrested and lectured me all the way to the jail about how I would lose my job because Daddy is friends with the Sheriff.

Daddy showed up at the Sheriff’s office the next day.

Daddy was buddies with the Sheriff, so he got unusual access to my reports and crash scene diagrams right then and there on the Sheriff’s desk. He made his arguments about why I was wrong.

I got called into the Sheriff’s office, later, to hear “Daddy’s” objections from the Sheriff himself. The Sheriff asked me to respond. I did so.

The Sheriff said, “Good job. I’ve been friends with that guy for years, but he really is an asshole sometimes.”

Daddy’s little boy (in his 20s) was convicted of DUI.

This is why I’ll NEVER Move BACK to the UK – I LOVE Living in CHINA as a Black Brit

A Tale of Opposites

Cassidy Caldwell

Deep in the darkest corner of space lived a pair. They lived together on the planet of Lenunculus, a silly place full of creatures of every kind. The pair, however, were opposites of each other in every way.Weesnorp was mountains tall, with wide wonderful eyes. He had feet the size of a football field, and could run miles in a single step. His body was covered in pom-pom ball fur, with more colors than the human eye can see. Despite his larger-than-life appearance, Weesnorp had the voice of a mouse. No one could hear what he was saying, even if they were standing directly at his football field feet.Parvus, on the other hand, was smaller than a peanut. If a human were to look at him properly, they would require a magnifying glass of some sort. His eyes were covered by long, dangling black hair that went down to his feet. All that was visible on his body was one large, pointy, purple, round nose. In every way that Weesnorp was quiet, Parvus was loud. His voice could be heard on the other side of the planet at half its volume. Attempts to whisper meant whole towns heard his cry.As Parvus was too small to live safely on the planet, Weesnorp allowed him to live peacefully on his broad shoulder. In return for his kindness, Parvus would call out to those below on behalf of Weesnorp. The two appeared perfect together, and would spend years and years at times without an argument of any sort. One day, though, Weesnorp and Parvus quarreled so furiously that their lives were changed forever…Weesnorp was talking to his faithful companion when another creature crossed his path. His name was Amasius, and he was the most beautiful creature Weesnorp had ever seen. He had shimmering locks of blonde hair, with piercing orange eyes that shined against his darker skin. Amasius was the second tallest creature on the planet, so he was the closest to reaching the mighty height of Weesnorp. Weesnorp fell in love at first sight.“Parvus,” said Weesnorp. “Do you see that lovely creature yonder?”“Indeed,” Parvus whispered to his best ability.“Might you talk to him for me? I would tell you what to say, but I cannot find the words,” Weesnorp pleaded. “The creature cannot see you – it would be as though I am talking through you. My lips can match your speech!”

Parvus was pleased at this request. He often found himself to take pride in his own matchmaking abilities. “Very well, my good friend. I will do all that I can. You there!” He raised his voice a bit to get the attention of Amasius.

He was successful. “Yes?” Amasius answered, his voice deep and soothing.

“Are you from these regions?”

“Alas, no.” A hint of sorrow grew behind the dazzling eyes of Amasius. “I am from the far regions of the mountains. A large storm blew across my home, and I am here to find the necessary supplies rebuild it.”

At the sound of this, Parvus had an idea. “Might I help you with this endeavor, friend? I am quite tall. You can hand me the supplies, and I can use my height to reach your homeland on the mountaintops.”

Amasius cheered at this. “You are kind, sir! My name is Amasius. What might I call you?”

“Weesnorp,” Parvus answered.

“How wonderful. Thank you so kindly so your help. The supplies should be this way…”

The two followed Amasius to a forest where they could collect wood to build his home. Parvus spoke on behalf of Weesnorp, telling great tales of his friend’s many talents and marvelous abilities. Amasius was very impressed, and began to grow more and more fond of him as they walked. When they arrived, Weesnorp used his great strength to pluck the large trees from the ground, carrying a dozen in his arms all at once to bring to the mountains. They made their way to the spot Amasius wished, and Weesnorp set to constructing the home above the clouds, where he could see. Amasius spoke to him as he built:

“Weesnorp, would you care for some ungula to eat as you work? I have just caught some, and would gladly prepare it for you. It is a small gift of thanks.”

Weesnorp tensed. He could not eat ungula. It caused him great pain. To his disbelief, though, Parvus responded by saying he would gladly eat it.

He spoke to Parvus in his most powerful voice: “Parvus, I cannot eat that. It makes me sick!”

Without knowing that Weesnorp was speaking, Amasius tried speaking to him, asking, “Would you like a large portion of it? I have plenty, but I know ungula has quite the ability to cause illness. I do not wish you any harm!”

Parvus responded to Weesnorp: “It does not make you sick! You are a liar!”

Amasius was taken aback. The voice of Parvus was so loud that he believed Weesnorp was speaking to him. He could not hear the real voice of Weesnorp. “I am terribly sorry to insult you, friend, but I am well practiced in the ways of preparing ungula. My people have eaten it for centuries. I do not think I am mistaken.”

The two could not hear the cries of Amasius, as Weesnorp was so entangled in his own anger. Weesnorp retorted at Parvus: “I am no such thing! I am an honest creature, and I say that my abilities are greatly hindered when I eat ungula! You must believe me!”

Parvus had completely forgotten about Amasius, and turned his attention completely to Weesnorp. “I do not believe a word you say!” he challenged. “Your abilities do not serve much good, with or without ungula!” His voice was rising in volume as he argued further.

At this, Amasius was wholeheartedly offended. “How dare you insult my wisdom! I am a prudentia, a species of great power and knowledge! My people have studied ungula for centuries, and I am mightier than you could ever imagine!”

His cries were no use. He could not break the argument between Weesnorp and Parvus, and the two continued to bicker. “My abilities lack? No, Parvus. It is you who do not serve much good! You could not walk two steps without being crushed by a creature of larger stature! You are nothing without me.”

This was all Parvus needed. His tiny body swelled with anger, filling his lungs with as much breath as he could hold. He yelled with all his strength:

“NO! YOU ARE NOTHING WITHOUT ME!”

As he did this, he sent out a large gust of wind across all of Lenunculus. Entire seas became instant tsunamis. Mountains were torn from the land and thrown into the air. Worst of all, Amasius was lifted from the ground and hurled into the farthest reaches of Lenunculus – farther than any creature had ever dared to travel. The planet was turned upside down in a more disastrous manner than it had ever before seen.

To this day, Weesnorp and Parvus continue their mighty battle, ignoring any creature that tries to interrupt them. Winds blow throughout Lenunculus every now and then when Parvus becomes incredibly angry, but none will ever match the magnitude of that fateful day.

What is the most unusual and incorrect reason you’ve had the police called on you?

The police have not been called but the threat has been made. A few months ago a couple showed up at our house, my husband knew the man in passing.

To make a long story short, they were homeless, had lost everything in a flood, it was January they were cold, wet and hungry. They wanted to stay in our backyard storage shed for a few days.

We let them. Fed them the night they arrived, provided dry clothes and blankets. The shed has electricity and heat.

Fast forward a few days, they are bringing all kinds of things on the property including two dogs.

We suspected correctly that they were stealing. The left when we confronted him about this but the girl stayed a few more days claiming she didn’t have anything to do with stealing. We didn’t necessarily believe that but the weather was still bad and the guy was bad for her. We encouraged her to split from him and get help with her drug addiction but that didn’t happen and within a few days she was gone.

We still had two dogs and several large trash cans of trash that they left. Clean up took several days.

We then find out she is in a mental health facility. After about a week she gets out and comes to get her dogs…they leave.

Life goes back to normal.

A couple of weeks later her teenage son shows up with one of the dogs and asks if he can leave the dog in our fenced yard for an hour…never saw him again.

A couple of days after that the other dog is dropped at our house.

That was in March it’s now July. We have feed the dogs, gotten their shots etc. Under NC law if you have cared for an animal for 2 weeks or more it’s considered yours.

We first heard from the girl about 3 weeks ago. A letter explaining that she is in jail in SC with a $150K bond for multiple drug charges. She asked for money and asked about the dogs. We ignored the letter.

The next week another letter, again asking for money and wanting us to read letters to the dogs. The dogs were not interested in the letters.

Friday, another letter. Why haven’t we responded. She wants a video call with the dogs. If we don’t respond soon she is going to take action.

So here’s where the police being called comes in…she’s going to call the police, from jail, for a wellness check on the dogs!

Unbelievable!

Why was Leningrad not captured by Germany and Finland?

Originally Answered: How was Leningrad not captured by Germany and Finland?

About Finland: The Finns wanted to exact revenge on Soviet Russia for invading Finland in the winter war of 1940, that’s why the Finns helped Hitler in his invasion of Soviet Union: Revenge and Recover territories lost to the Soviet.

But by winter 1941 and early 1942, Hitler had failed to capture Moscow, so it was crystal clear that Hitler couldn’t pull off a quick victory over Soviet Union with one blitzkrieg blow and the Wehrmacht would have to go through a war of attrition with the Soviets. And although the Soviets had suffered catastrophic losses and would continue to suffer even more (they would probably even lose Leningrad), in a war of attrition against Nazi Germany, the Soviets would achieve the ultimate victory.

The Finns were well aware of the situation. They wanted revenge, but they also knew the country would be extremely vulnerable to future Soviet aggression. So they never completely cut off Leningrad from the rest of Soviet Russia. Some bare minimum supplies could still get to Leningrad through Lake Ladoga in the northeast of the city. The Finns agreed with Hitler to move close to Leningrad, but just enough to recover Finnish territories yielded to the Soviet in the Winter War. The Finns never took part in a direct attack on Leningrad itself, they never moved beyond the Mannerheim line.

Soviet trucks moving through the ice roads of Lake Ladoga to supply Leningrad.

Now the Wehrmacht.

German Army Group North – one of the 3 Army Groups crossed the border of USSR in June 1941 – was responsible for the capture of Leningrad. But Army Group North was simply not equal to the task, Field Marshal von Leeb did not have the necessary manpower and armored forces to carry out a large scale offensive operation into Leningrad.

For example:

In October 1941, General Hoepner’s 4th Panzer Group was redeployed from the Leningrad front to join the attack on Moscow. Thus, Army Group North was deprived of its only Panzer Group and most of its tanks.
The heavy siege guns (the 800mm Dora, the 600mm Thor and Odin … ) were brought to Crimea to attack the naval base at Sevastopol during a 9-month siege of 1941-1942. These massive guns would never be moved to Leningrad to support Army Group North’s operation.
In 1941, Army Group North suffered heavy casualties but received only 60,000 troops as replacement. Meanwhile, 131,000 replacement troops were sent to Army Group Center and 119,000 sent to Army Group South.
In terms of allocating fresh division from the German Supreme High Command Reserve, the situation was even less favorable: of the 21 fresh divisions released from the reserve, Army Group North got just 3.

Clearly, Leningrad was only of secondary importance to Hitler. The most decisive battles were being fought elsewhere, some around Moscow, Rzhev, some near Stalingrad, Sevastopol … and so the majority of German force was allocated to Army Group Centre and Army Group South. The soldiers of Army Group North therefore referred to the siege of Leningrad as “an eternal war of the poor men”.

The Soviet, on the other hand, tried desperately to defend Leningrad. The city wasn’t just a spiritual center of Soviet Russia. It was also an important sea port, the home base of the powerful Baltic Fleet. If German had taken Leningrad, essential military aid from the Western Allies transported by the Arctic convoy wouldn’t have reached the port of Murmansk. Without the Lend-Lease military aids, the Soviet Union would have encountered even more difficulties throughout the war than they already had.

Half-hearted Finns, understrength Germans, together with fierce Soviet resistance, that’s why Leningrad was never captured by Germany and Finland.

The Problem With Society is: Most men don’t own anything, so they don’t give a F*ck.

Ownership.

Great point.

Have you ever had a person who knew nothing about your job tell you how to do your job?

“Listen, I am not a teacher, but. . .”

“This is how it should be done!”

“The best way to teach that is. . .”

“The only way to make them learn is. . .”

I have been an ESL teacher since forever (over 40 years). I welcome suggestions, new methods, change.

But my students’ responses to what we are doing in class are what my lesson plans and methods are based on.

I have had HR managers, VPs, CEOs, Army Colonels, politicians, janitorial staff and parents of adult students tell me how to do my job.

I smile, say “Thanks” and get on with what is needed.

Have I ever been confronted for not doing ‘as ordered’?

Oh, yeah.

I usually invite the ‘commander’ to attend a class or two; S/he may observe or participate. I also make it clear to the participants that THEY are not being evaluated (very important here in Thailand).

We go through a normal lesson, with its wins, problems, misunderstandings and ‘aha!’ moments (beauty and blemishes?).

If the ‘commander’ is at least at the English level of my students, s/he is eased into participating.

What I love most is when we reach the end of class, and the ‘commander’ is surprised that time has passed so quickly and successfully.

No ‘commander’ has ever come back at me, except to ask if s/he could come again.

I love my job!

Dangerous (and very few of you know it)

The Sanctions Are Working

In March 2022 I predicted some consequences of the sanctions imposed on Russia:

The first [map] shows the countries which banned Russian airplanes from their airspace. Russia in turn denied its airspace to operators from those countries. It will cost quite a bit for U.S. and EU airlines as their flight times and cost to and from Asia, which typically fly through Russian airspace, will now increase. Carriers from Asian countries will now easily out-compete U.S. and European airlines on these routes.

ukrsanct1 s

bigger

As British media reported yesterday:

British Airways is temporarily scrapping flights to Beijing until at least next year.From October to at least November 2025 the carrier will not fly to the capital of China, although flights to Shanghai and Hong Kong will continue.

European carriers are not currently able to enter Russian airspace which makes flying to China more challenging as it takes a few hours longer than it used to.

Russia’s civil aviation authority introduced the restrictions in February 2022, in retaliation to a British ban on the country’s Aeroflot airline as part of sanctions for the war in Ukraine.

A spokesperson for British Airways said: “We will be pausing our route to Beijing from 26 October 2024, and we’re contacting any affected customers with rebooking options or to offer them a full refund. We continue to operate daily flights to Shanghai and Hong Kong.”

The route only resumed operations on the route in June 2023, following a three-year pause due to the coronavirus pandemic.

At the time, British Airways described London-Beijing as “one of our most important routes”. The airline did not provide a reason for the suspension.

It is one of many Western airlines avoiding Russian airspace, which is adding to their flight times, fuel costs and complexity over how they deploy crew and aircraft.

British Airways isn’t the only one.

A simple look on the map explains the issue:

biggerAs I continued on sanctions:

The second map shows those countries which enacted sanctions against Russia. The secondary effects of sanctions are likely to hurt these countries as much as they hurt Russia. The absence of African, Asian, Middle Eastern, Central and South American countries is quite telling.

It does not look like ‘the world’ or the ‘international community’ is backing the ‘west’.

ukrsanct2 s

biggerThe U.S. also sanctioned all imports of oil products from Russia. President Biden has blamed Russia for the price increase that will inevitably follow. I don’t believe that mid-term voters will accept that reasoning. European countries can not follow that step as their economies depend of imports of oil and gas from Russia and will continue to do so for years to come.

Which fits to this other recent headline:

French imports of Russia’s liquified natural gas surge, and Ukraine supporters seek a stop

Shipments of Russian liquified natural gas to France more than doubled the first half of this year, according to new analyses of trade data, at a time when Europe has tried to pull back from energy purchases that help finance the Kremlin’s invasion of Ukraine.Europe has restricted oil imports from Russia, but natural gas is still allowed. And while companies in France are importing the most, one analysis found EU countries overall imported 7% more Russian LNG, natural gas that has been chilled and liquified for easier ocean transport, in the first half of this year compared to the same period a year ago.

Meanwhile in Germany, which currently has a rather crazy government, industrial production is further declining while bankruptcies have reached a record height:

Germany, with its energy-intensive industry and shortage of raw materials, has been particularly affected by the rapid rise in energy prices. Large corporations such as BASF are closing factories because management no longer believes it can efficiently produce essential chemicals. There is a trend of deindustrialization.The volume of orders from German machine-building and engineering companies decreased by 12 percent in the first half of 2024, according to the industry association VDMA. year to year in real terms. Orders from Germany itself fell especially sharply – by 18 percent. Orders from foreign companies fell by 9 percent. Metallurgical corporations are also suffering, as demand for their products is also falling.

All this could be fixed with some sanity and the discarding of useless sanctions.

Posted by b on August 10, 2024 at 10:36 UTC | Permalink

Shorpy

What do small towns in China look like?

My hometown which is a small town in rural area of China. This is the main street in winter.

main qimg 44750fdccc847ad3fe299f3924e53ff3

Update:

I didn’t expect someone may even say above picture is propaganda. My hometown is even not as beautiful as those small town in the rich part of China. I took pictures during Chinese Spring Festival when I was back.

I miss my hometown, and I miss my relatives there.

During that Festival most of my cousins came back from other cities in China like Wuhan/ Shenzhen/ Suzhou/ Beijing..

I am a very ordinary Chinese person who was born in a small town, and witnessed the huge change in the past decades.

Because feeding a homeless person rewards them for not working, do you realize you are assisting in solidifying their condition?

There’s a homeless guy I often saw, almost every day on my walk to school. One day I decided to sit down next to him and say hello. I introduced myself, said I went to school nearby, and offered him the change I had in my pockets, apologizing for walking past and pretending he was invisible for the last few weeks.

He smiled and said not to worry—it was far kinder than kicking his crutches or his money tin over out of spite. He said his name was Christian.

He used to be a chef, once upon a time. Really nice, fancy kitchen, and then the building got bought out to be converted. He lost his job overnight, and it was during that time he was also starting to develop a limp.

Nobody wanted to hire a man who was about to be unable to walk, and he had nobody from his old job to help him get set up somewhere else, possibly as a supervisor or a restaurant manager.

He’s never been turned away by a doctor (thank you, NHS), so he can at least still get treatment for his condition, but he still lost his savings on rent and food while trying to find a new job. He’s been on the streets for ages now.

It’s a vicious cycle, he says. He can try to clean himself up for interviews, but it’s never clean enough, and if he does clean himself up for an interview that he knows will be a bust, people won’t drop money in his tin because he doesn’t look homeless enough.

I took him to coffee and the chat ended up turning to my own life. I told him about my film projects, and he wrote down a list of interesting places in the city he’d seen while on the streets.

I stopped by to see Christian again last week and gave him a fiver. He looked fairly content, bundled up with a new sleeping bag someone had given him, reading a book about vampires.

He’d had a job interview earlier that day and his hair was combed, his face shaven. His money tin was empty. He hadn’t gotten the job.

“But this book I found has been quite good,” he said, changing the topic. He pretty obviously didn’t like to dwell on his bad luck.

I leaned back against the wall and pulled my own coat closer around me. “Want to tell me about it?”

With a hidden recorder, he overheard me mocking him. His response changed everything.

What are the disadvantages of living in Thailand compared to other countries like Malaysia or Singapore?

Yeah, the problem of too long a stay in Thailand (especially Pattaya) is immeasurable. I mean it’s like a two-edged sword, either the pros versus the cons or disadvantages versus advantages.

main qimg 165343eb43f1b5098459932585f73ed4

What about the disadvantages?

After living in Thailand for too long, you are done with your life when you go back to your home country, you turn over a new leaf and become a lawless, a drunk, violent person, mischievous, a monster on the roads, a lazy bum, a cheat, and a good-for-nothing, basically is bad by any standards.

News of many Kuwaiti youth escape the heat and come to Pattaya, Thailand. Instead of finding a sanctuary, they have become “too hot to handle” and sparking street fights between Thais and Kuwaiti tourists in Pattaya.

News of drunk Westerners creating scenes leading to a fight and getting beaten up by the ‘Bouncers’ for refusing to pay the exorbitant bar prices of booze and beer which is expected in places like lawless Pattaya.

That daily news among hundreds of news of badly behaved guest visitors versus die-hard Thais —Never a dull day in Pattaya.

Let’s look at the advantage too?

Plenty! You will be influenced by the warmth of Thai hospitality and taking home with you the gracefulness of the Thai culture. You have turned over a new leaf having great patience, resilience, and fine etiquette of public display of oneself to your compatriots back home.

There is no disadvantages of living in Singapore, you‘d better be good.

Before any mischief or a fight starts, the ever-ready ‘Special Police Forces’ come and take you away in less than 7 minutes.

You will either be sent home or thrown in jail, the morning after.

Is Beijing a safe city for foreigners to live in? Are there any areas or neighborhoods that are considered unsafe and why?

Beijing is an extremely safe city. While all of China is quite safe, Beijing is clearly more tightly managed.

Sometimes it even feels excessive, for example, the entire city of Beijing does not allow drones to be flown…

The density of police and surveillance cameras is probably also the highest in the country.

Americans know that trees in Vietnam can speak.

But I have personally experienced trees speaking in Beijing.

One time, I was running in a forest in a wild park, about 20 kilometers outside the city, when a tree next to me suddenly said, “You have entered a surveillance area.”

Only then did I notice a solar-powered surveillance camera and loudspeaker on the tree… Shocking!

A girl, alone, at 3 am, is safe anywhere in Beijing,it is TRUE.

I haven’t heard of any theft in many years.

There are even a very small number of shops that are completely unattended. You go in, buy what you want, and pay by scanning a QR code with your phone. These shops are very rare, but they do exist.

The main dangers come from accidental injuries, especially for bolder tourists.

This is a 3D map of Beijing.

Although it is located on the North China Plain, there are many mountains around it.

This is a famous tourist spot near Beijing, called Yesanpo.

After the Ming Dynasty fell, some Han people who did not surrender went into the mountains here and continued to resist.

The entire Qing Dynasty tried to wipe them out, but due to the rugged terrain, they were never successful.

It wasn’t until 1929 that the thousands of households living here learned that the Qing Dynasty had been overthrown for 18 years，they resisted for 285 years here.

Even near the capital, the Qing Dynasty couldn’t completely wipe them out, which shows how complex the mountainous terrain is.

It sounds like a joke, but it’s not.

The following is an excerpt from the memoirs of the former Chief of Staff of the People’s Liberation Army:

“They never interacted with the outside world, were not under government control, and didn’t even know that it was now the Republic of China. They were still insisting on “overthrowing the Qing Dynasty and restoring the Ming Dynasty”…

……When the Kuomintang soldiers came, they captured and killed them. After the troops of Tang Enbo and Wei Lihuang retreated from Nankou, they passed through this area and had a battalion of guns seized from them, and over a hundred people were killed… Zhang Zihu, the section chief, and Wu Guangqi, from the local work team of the district, were both buried alive by the people near Yesanpo…”

It can be seen that mountainous terrain is very complex.

If you go to the Great Wall, there’s no problem. It was actually rebuilt after the founding of the People’s Republic of China. (It’s all a scam to fool foreigners,eh…. I’m not talking about you)

When I go to the Great Wall, I go to the wild Great Wall that hasn’t been restored. In theory, it’s a cultural relic and climbing is not allowed, but who can manage that far? It’s the Great Wall, stretching for thousands of miles. It’s impossible to manage it all.

Feel free to climb, it’s fine.

But you are responsible for any danger. You could fall and get injured or die, encounter a venomous snake, etc.

This is a mountain next to Beijing, East Ling Mountain,with an altitude of 2303 meters.

It can’t compare to Tibet, but it’s quite high for North China. It’s called the “Mount Everest of Beijing.”

But even this small mountain, with artificial slopes, people climb it during the day, camp at night, and descend the next day. It seems like there’s no problem, but almost every year someone freezes to death.

One year, seven people froze to death, including on the wild Great Wall.

So, I personally choose NOT to go there in winter.

I highly recommend climbing this mountain, but be sure to camp overnight at the summit. If you just climb up and down in a day, it’s not difficult at all because of the artificial trails.

But if you camp overnight at the summit, you can see a beautiful starry sky!

Light pollution is very serious in China now, and even in rural areas it’s hard to see the brilliant starry sky I used to see as a child. As for residents of Beijing… forget about it.

But if you climb this mountain, you can see a beautiful starry sky, it’s so beautiful!

highly recommend！

This is Miaofeng Mountain. It’s right in Beijing city, and any Beijing cycling enthusiast is familiar with it because it has a 21-kilometer uphill climb..

I’m not talking about cyclists falling and dying on the uphill or downhill, this is unavoidable.

But an experienced hiker actually went missing here?

It’s unbelievable, but he really disappeared.

The search and rescue team found a skeleton during the search… Obviously, it wasn’t him. The next day, they found another skeleton… Still not him…

It wasn’t until eight years later that a hiker found a skeleton in a cave, but DNA analysis showed it wasn’t him either…

I find it terrifying. A mountain with an altitude of 1300 meters, only 20 square kilometers in area, and people can go missing. And it’s clear that more than one hiker has died here…

I’m sticking to cycling and never leaving the road!

There are quite a few wild environments around Beijing.

Logically, they shouldn’t be so dangerous, but the fact is that people die there every year.

I think it’s because they’re so close to the city that people feel very safe, which leads to disaster.

Who was the craziest leader in history?

It should be Gao Yang (526-559), the Emperor Wenxuan of Northern Qi.

Northern Qi was a short-lived dynasty that lasted only 28 years.

After Gao Yang established the Northern Qi Empire, he was a great monarch for the first few years. He worked diligently and governed the country very well.

But a few years later, his temperament changed drastically.

He became extremely cruel and absurd, and spent his days drinking. He once married a prostitute named Xue as his concubine (which is very rare in Chinese history).

One time, he got drunk and remembered that this concubine had been with too many men. He was very angry and chopped off her head… At a banquet, Gao Yang suddenly pulled out the beautiful woman’s head from his bosom and began to carve the meat with a dinner knife. Everyone present was stunned. Later, Gao Yang ordered the musicians to make a pipa (a Chinese musical instrument) out of Xue’s leg bones, and he played and sang: 《It’s hard to get a beautiful woman again》(A very famous Tang poem)

At Xue’s funeral, Gao Yang burst into tears again and was extremely sad.

The entire Gao family was like this. According to historical records, they were extremely capable, but they would go mad. For example, his brother once r*ped Gao yang’s wife, but his brother was very powerful at the time, so Gao yang could only endure it.

When he ascended the throne, Gao yang couldn’t retaliate against his brother because his brother was already dead, so Gao Yang r*ped his sister-in-law…

There are countless such absurd things.

For example, he drank every day, and when he got drunk, he would kill people randomly, including his ministers.

He also walked naked on the streets of the capital in winter, showing off his certain big organ… This is something that no emperor in history has ever done.

In short, many people today believe that the Gao family had a genetic mental illness, and the whole family was like this, very intelligent and very scary.

（Gao yang）

From 1988 to 2002, there was a serial murder case in Gansu, China (which belonged to Northern Qi in ancient times). A total of 11 women were killed, and the murderer was never found.

In August 2016, a DNA test was conducted for another small case, and it was found that the DNA of the serial killer was related to this person. Finally, the serial killer Gao Chengyong was caught.

（Gao chengyong）

Some people say that according to the genealogy, he is a descendant of the Gao family of Northern Qi.

I suspect it’s possible.

His two sons both passed the entrance exams to China’s top universities, which is extremely difficult in China. You need to have a very high IQ at least.

And his behavior… is very much like the cruel but intelligent Gao family in the history books.

Linda’s Prime Rib

This is SO tasty. The leftovers make wonderful roast beef sandwiches also.

Ingredients

Garlic powder
Seasoning salt
Mrs. Dash Seasoning
Lemon pepper
Fresh rosemary (optional)
Prime rib roast

Instructions

Heat oven to 500 degrees F.
Rub seasonings into the prime rib. Sprinkle with fresh rosemary, if desired. For medium rare, cook 5 minutes per pound. For medium, cook 7 minutes per pound.
Turn oven off and do not open oven door for whatever time remains of 2 hours (total cooking time).
Serve with Yorkshire Pudding, if desired.

Notes

When we serve this, it is always served with Yorkshire Pudding.

Have you ever met someone who seemed normal but you just knew deep down that something was not right?

I thought my brother’s wife was really “suspicious” at first, and then I later upped my opinion to her being an actual sociopath. At first, she wanted my brother to up his life insurance when they were just dating and eventually tried to get power of attorney. Once my brother moved in with her she showed herself to be a liar, and prone to manipulation and attention-seeking behavior. She disliked my mother and me before she even met me, and always feigned illness or “bad days” when my brother and I (three hours apart) made weekend plans or when he was down for Christmas or on course, as he was in the military.

She could not hold a job because of her mouth and leeched off my brother’s earnings while complaining they could not afford the honeymoon they wanted, or top-of-the-line bikes when my brother found two perfectly fine ones for a deal. After being married for a year, my brother discovered she was having an affair basically since before the wedding and said she was leaving and would take the house and he was gonna support her since she is now a student, having just started a new course online.

After being chipped away at for so long, my brother, one of the most life-loving and outgoing guys, shot himself. She only texted me and my mother when it was too late saying he was threatening it knowing that I was in another province and my mom was 4 hours away, she called no one else to go over. She played the grieving widow at the funeral, crying when she was seemingly supposed to but spent the rest of the time laughing with her friends and family members like some family reunion. To cover her tracks she claimed no affair (despite extracted proof from the link in my bio), that my brother was suffering from PTSD (wives get 500,000 if it’s deemed true) and, that he was an alcoholic and she had been seeking help for him for a long time – no proof of this.

His will is mysteriously missing and she has since blocked my family on Facebook while ignoring what little items we asked for from the house. I hear she is selling everything now to pay for what she won’t be able to afford with her part-time Tim Hortons job she may or may not have. A psychiatrist my mother visited later said she sounded like a sociopath. I spent years witnessing my brother give everything to this monster until there was nothing left and she is continuing to drag his name through the dirt to look like a peach and profit further.

Killer Daughter Thinks She Got Away Until Boyfriend Turns Her In

The London mayor said he faced racism as he grew up, but he had no idea racism was still so alive in the UK in 2024 due to the riots. He said his own daughters are afraid to go outside now. Whats your opinion about this?

The London mayor said he faced racism as he grew up, but he had no idea racism was still so alive in the UK in 2024 due to the riots. He said his own daughters are afraid to go outside now. Whats your opinion about this?

It’s easy, he fell into the trap that I literally fell into as did many of my cousins.

Note I was BORN in the UK.

When I was young I mean in school it was OK, I do remember three incidents to this day as does my dad. In school the teacher said what are you a p*ki or a n*gger? A school teacher said this to me. Also remember I spent a few years in China with my grandparents. I am fluent in English (lots of uk people attempt to gaslight me and say you’re not using any english you can’t be understood at all). Another teacher asked my dad if I was handicapped. Later on when I got a nose bleed which wouldn’t stop, a doctor said my dad had beat me up as we were all like that apparently.

Anyway, growing up and going into high school it changed on day. There were constant slurs to go back to your own country and violence oh so much violence. My nose was broken so many times it’s crooked to this day and I knew the doctor who put it back by first name. I would get racist comments on the bus, so I cycled home… but this just got racists driving past me screaming racist comments out the windows and throwing stuff at me.

I was even hospitalised and beaten badly at one point. We moved away that year and always kept guns after that.

The violence subsided at 6th form college, but the slurs didn’t… as I wrote prior I did not go to university immediately and there was all sorts of casual racism as it was so normalised.

Then something changed.

There was less violence, there were less slurs. Had the UK changed? No, I had changed.

I got a UK driving license and a car. This meant that there was simply less opportunity for people to be racist to me.

I no longer had to wait for a bus – where racists would lurk.
I no longer had to travel by bus – where racists and nutters would use.
I literally drove up to places parked right outside and walked in.

Amazon and mail order started to become big too and I gained a small niche of what seemed to be friendly people. So yet again there was less opportunity for people to be racist to me. This all came to a head when in 2016. My car needed to be fixed. So I dropped it off at a garage and made the mistake of walking the mile into town. Normally I would park in the NCP car park… but that day I didn’t..

And somebody tried to kill me by smashing my head in with a brick – most british people are cheering at this point – and I’ve had many commentors say I deserved it! I’ve even had people say I should have let people attack me because I was bold enough to fight back. My car wasn’t fixed for a couple weeks and I was attacked again.

I decided to leave the UK and shortly after renounced my UK passport.

Back to the OP statement

Something similar likely happened to Khan. He moved into some sort of bubble where others simply didn’t have the opportunity to be racist to him.

Take for instance some of the middle england writers on here. They live in leafy suburbia away from the rough town centres and see very little of the inner cities and think there’s nothing wrong at all! You’re just imagining things.

What was the best revenge you’ve ever gotten?

Originally Answered: What was the best revenge you've ever given?

I am a frequent flyer, but at this time in my career, I wasn’t getting frequent upgrades to business class. I prefer the aisle seats, and was settling in for a long flight across the country, when a very annoyed woman informed me that I was sitting in her aisle seat.

I was embarrassed after taking a look at my boarding pass and seeing that I actually had been assigned a middle seat. Middle seats are the worst seats on the plane. You play elbow jockey with not one but two people in your row, and you still have to ask permission from the person in the aisle to use the rest room. It’s a crummy way to take a long flight.

I apologized and took my proper seat.

As she sat down, she said something to me like “I bet you wish you were in the aisle seat.” I replied sheepishly that I probably did.

She went on to say that she was a frequent flyer and only sits in aisle seats. I mumbled something in semi-polite response, but it was clear she was gloating.

All of a sudden, in what seemed like perfect timing that only happens in a movie, a gate agent magically appeared in our row looking for me. She asked me if I would be interested in an upgrade to business class.

With a look of unbridled joy on my face, I responded “Why yes thank you, I would love an upgrade to business class.”

I gathered my gear, pulled my carry on luggage from the bin, and headed up to the front of the plane…but made sure to look back and wink at the woman in the aisle seat.

What is the saddest thing you’ve ever seen?

It was my 12 year old niece as she headed into school shortly after her mother died from breast cancer. I stayed to help out after my sister’s funeral for several days. My niece put off going back to school as long as possible, but finally her dad said it was time to go back. I offered to bring her to school. We arranged to bring her in shortly after school started. She didn’t want to arrive at the regular drop off time because she didn’t want to deal with kids staring or trying to talk to her. She just wanted to go into class as it started and make it through the day.

I pulled up to the school and went to get out of the car and walk her in the building. She stopped me and said, “You don’t need to come. I can do this by myself.” I said it wouldn’t be a problem, but she insisted that she needed to do it on her own. I saw her start to walk to the doors and stop a few feet away. It was just a small gesture, but I saw her shoulders slump down and her hand wipe her eyes as she paused for a few seconds. I was going to get out of the car and help her but my husband held my hand and stopped me. Then she straightened her shoulders, stood tall, and entered the school. I know it may seem minor, but to me it was one of the saddest things I’ve seen. Up to that point someone in the family has been with her since the funeral to help her through things, this was the first time she faced something alone. Her mom had been the one to drop her off at school in the morning and now that was gone from her life. That small incident has stayed with me and when I think about it, it still brings tears to my eyes.

2:11 PM EST — About one hour ago, U.S. President Joe Biden GRANTED permission for Ukraine to use long-range weapons to attack deep interior Russia.

Developing very fast, check back for updates below.

UPDATE 2:15 PM EST —

There are differing reports coming in regarding this issue. Some of the reports say “long-range missiles” while other reports say “long-range ATACMS”

WHAT ARE “ATACMS?”

The MGM-140 Army Tactical Missile System (ATACMS) is a supersonic tactical ballistic missile designed and manufactured by the US defense company Ling-Temco-Vought (LTV), and later Lockheed Martin through acquisitions.

It uses solid propellant and is 13 feet (4.0 m) long and 24 inches (610 mm) in diameter, and the longest-range variants can fly up to 190 miles (300 km).

The missiles can be fired from the tracked M270 Multiple Launch Rocket System (MLRS) and the wheeled M142 High Mobility Artillery Rocket System (HIMARS).

An ATACMS launch container (pod) has one rocket but a lid patterned with six circles like a standard MLRS rocket lid to prevent an enemy from discerning what type of missile is loaded.

EFFECT ON RUSSIA

The immediate effect upon Russian military forces engaged in the Ukraine conflict is severe. Russia has much of its Ukraine supply lines and spare forces WITHIN RANGE of the longest-range ATACMS.

The ma below, created by the Institute for the Study of War, shows how much of western Russia can now be attacked by Ukriane, using ATACMS:

UPDATE 2:35 PM EST —

The the New York Times is now reporting this story, saying “the Biden Administration has for the first time authorized the Ukrainian Military to use U.S-Supplied Long-Range Missiles, including ATACMS, against Russian Territory.”

So it is not simply ATACMS, it is also Long-range missiles.

It was just last week that the Russian FOreign Ministry took the unusual step of reminding the collective West that allowing Ukraine to use west-supplied, long-range missiles to attack deep interior Russia would make the collective west “parties to the conflict” because those long-range missiles require satellites to guide them to target. THe Foreign Ministry reminded everyone that Ukraine does not HAVE any satellites.

So in order for those missiles to hit targets in Russia, the missiles need active satellite guidance from US/EU/NATO satellites, and that active guidance makes the West “combatants” against Russia.

The Foreign Ministry then said “there mere granting of permission for the use of such missiles will result in an imminent and devastating response against the West.”

As of about 1:00 PM eastern US time today, Sunday, 17 November 2024, that permission has now been given.

Welcome to World War 3.

UPDATE 3:04 PM EST —

Multiple confirmations that Ukrainian forces are preparing for their initial long-range operations against Russia.

(PUBLIC UPDATES CONTINUE BENEATH THE GREEN SHADED AREA BELOW)

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UPDATE 4:35 PM EST —

France and Great Britain have now ALSO allowed Ukraine to fire UK and France-supplied SCALP/Storm Shadow missiles deep into Russia.

By these permissions, first from the US, then from UK and France, the collective West has taken the decision to become active parties to the conflict and as such, Russia can now respond militarily to those countries.

We should expect to get bombed here inside the US, from Russia. For months, Russian submarines have been off the Atlantic coast, the Gulf of Mexico, and the Pacific Coast. They are also up around Alaska. Submarine-launched missiles would have very brief flight time before impacting US targets.

Moreover, we in the US do NOT have “Over-the-Horizon” radar protecting us from missiles launched from the south. Such missiles could cross over our coastline and impact deep in Middle America and we wouldn’t know a thing about it until they impacted and detonated.

This decision is the direct responsibility of President Joseph Biden. He is starting world war 3 because his Party lost the election. If they cannot keep power, they clearly intend to burn the world down.

As our cities get bombed by Russian missiles, as our friends and family members get killed, as our way of life gets irrevocably smashed, REMEMBER who caused this when you see the politicians slithering out of their Bunkers, trying to blame everyone but themselves for what has taken place.

THEY are responsible. THEY are guilty.

UPDATE 5:05 PM EST —

As of 2:59 PM eastern US time today, British Prime Minister Kier Starmer is on a PRIVATE JET heading to Rio De Janeiro, Brazil.

What does THAT tell you? It indicates to me that he KNOWS what’s coming, he’s getting his ass far away from the wreckage he thinks is coming. ALL CAUSED BY HIM AND HIS POLITICAL PALS IN THE US AND NATO.

He’s apparently isn’t the only one who knows. At 1:04 AM this morning, I published a story highlighting the strange number of aircraft departing the United States in the wee hours of this morning.

I pointed out there were several HUNDRED aircraft flying out into the Atlantic at 1:04 AM. (Story Here), and that it was very odd to see such a massive number of planes leaving the US on a Saturday night-into Sunday morning.

Given today’s developments, it appears to me the rich muckity-mucks all seem to have gotten “the word” to high-tail it out of the country last night.

PRESIDENT TRUMP’S SON KNOWS . . . .

The Military Industrial Complex seems to want to make sure they get World War 3 going before my father has a chance to create peace and save lives.
Gotta lock in those $Trillions.
Life be damned!!! Imbeciles! https://t.co/ZzfwnhBxRh

— Donald Trump Jr. (@DonaldJTrumpJr) November 17, 2024

UPDATE 5:24 PM EST —

North Korean leader ORDERS military to ‘raise readiness for possible war.’

UPDATE 5:31 PM EST —

RUSSIAN LAWMAKERS WARN OF WWIII

Washington’s approval for Ukraine to strike Russia with U.S. long-range missiles triggered warnings from Russian lawmakers.

A senior member of the Federation Council, Andrei Klishas: “The West has decided on such a level of escalation that it could end with the Ukrainian statehood in complete ruins by morning.”

First deputy head of the Russian upper house’s international affairs committee, Vladimir Dzhabarov: “This is a very big step towards the start of World War Three.”

Chairman of the State Duma lower house’s foreign affairs committee, Leonid Slutsky: “Strikes with U.S. missiles deep into Russian regions will inevitably entail a serious escalation, which threatens to lead to much more serious consequences.”

UPDATE 6:14 PM EST —

The video representation below shows what is now at-stake for Russia as a result of the US, UK, and France decisions made tonight. The areas in color show the effective range of the weaponry now made available to Ukraine by the West:

As Russia starts being hit by these Western weapons, and Russians start being killed, it is already fully known that Russia will hold the West responsible AND STRIKE BACK.

Tonight the Russian Foreign Ministry issued a special statement on these developments reiterating “If Western weapons strike deep inside Russian territory, our response to the West will be devastating.”

UPDATE 9:33 PM EST —

My son and I high-tailed-it from Pennsylvania to New Jersey to pick up my wife and get her out of here. Too close to NYC.

While we were on the road, I got a call from a source who told me Russian President Vladimir Putin has been in the air from Moscow for about an hour, on his way to the URAL MOUNTAINS where Russia has it’s nuclear bunker. Bear in mind Russia is eight hours ahead of the US east coast, so when I got told this around 7:30 eastern US time, that made it 3:30 in the morning over in Moscow, Russia.

The President of Russia does not board a plane from Moscow to the Ural Mountains at about 3:30 in the morning for drill.

In addition, all of the Russian military’s top brass — AND THEIR WIVES — are boarding planes for the Urals as I type this. They don’t take wives if it’s a drill.

Earlier I reported that UK Prime Minister Starmer was on a PRIVATE JET flying to Brazil Strange that he didn’t use the typical UK military plane. I found out, Joe Biden is down in Brazil as well.

I am now leaving my North Bergen home with my wife and son to head back up to Pennsylvania. It will be a three hour drive. PennDOT has Route 80 all screwed up for construction. They close five miles of road down to one lane, so they can put three trucks to do road work at the end of the five miles. Traffic is a nightmare.

I will update this again when I get to PA.

Hal

UPDATE 12:42 AM EST – MONDAY

My wife, our son, and I, have arrived safely at our home in Pennsylvania. Stopped to fuel-up the two vehicles before coming to the house, so everything is topped-off.

Will make a quick review of all the Intel Comms and info. Updates (if any) to appear below within 30 minutes.

UPDATE 12:55 AM EST – MONDAY —

Zelensky has notified the world – that they are prepping the coordinated strike with those loing-range weapons inside Russia.

Putin in September this year on the update to their nuclear doctrine – will assume NATO is behind the coordinated attack ( target intel, targeting, equipment supply, equipment manning ) and may engage tactical nukes and will consider such an attack as NATO getting directly involved in war with Russia, we have various response options he said.

On Sunday, Russia launched 120 drones/missile in a large attack on Ukraine infrastructure and military targets. It is now widely being stated this attack was just a first immediate response to Biden’s move on long range missiles.

It is now also CONFIRMED Zelensky told Trump: Either promise us NATO or we will go with the nuke option within months.

RF response – we will not allow Ukraine to build nukes, period.

The TRUTH about the SOUL TRAP… (The Astral Plane was Corrupted?)

My grandfather should of gone to Fiddler’s Greene

My Paternal Grandfather was really interested in detective, and true crime stories right before he died.

When he was 74, he ended up with cancer, and started to spend a lot of time in the hospital. While there, he asked everyone to bring him the true crime stories. He read those things like a voracious wolf.

Then, he got worse and passed on.

What I think this meant was that he was preoccupied with death, Heaven and the life “beyond”. I cannot say that I blame him. We all feel that way. But, I find it interesting that this is how he wished to spend his last moments; reading about gruesome deaths.

Don’t do that.

Lots of better things to do with your time.

Fiddler’s Green is giving away free paper-plane card models. These can be scaled up and used as plans for foamie RC planes:

Google search results for Fiddlers Green plans here or search for threads by Vyceroy, was the master of this style.

Currently it is a ME-109 and Corsair. It changes every few weeks.

So super cheap. And a fun waste of time. Not into planes, cars, ships? No problem. Try their house and town models…

Today…

What is the best case of “You just picked a fight with the wrong person” that you’ve witnessed?

My story is essentially a movie trope now. I was sitting in my local pub with my dad who was in a wheelchair, it was during the midweek (in Scotland), early evening, so it was pretty quiet, just a handful of middle aged guys, me and my dad. 4 young yob lads came in, if you’re in the UK you know the type, baseball caps, tracksuits, swaggering like Liam Gallacher, thinking they’re hard men.

They’d obviously had a few drinks before coming in, and after a few pints and us putting up with their shit tunes on the jukebox, they started getting a bit rambunctious, getting progressively louder and more aggressive as the evening turned to night.

One of the old guys, having gotten sick of their “doof doof” dance music crap got up and stuck a few quid in the jukebox, putting on some old 60’s 70’s rock music. One of the young team took offence to this, and got in his face, he started mouthing off at the old guy, who just stood there, impassive, and after a couple of minutes of this abuse the young team joined in, so one of the other regulars got up off his bar stool and stood behind the young team, and as if on some unseen signal, the old guy who was backed up against the jukebox just stuck the head right on the lad who was in his face, while his friend grabbed 2 of the young team and pulled them away, as the boy who’d been nutted reeled back, the old boy went for his friend, knocking him out with a left in the gut, and a hard right to the side of his head as he doubled over.
Meanwhile his friend had knocked one guy out with one punch, and when he turned his attention to the last guy, he blocked a punch and hit the boy so hard he flew over the pool table!

Turned out both of them were class fighters in their day, and some things you just don’t forget.

Morale of the story is, be respectful to people you don’t know, because you don’t know their history, and don’t know what they’ve done or been through.

Never saw those lads in the pub again, and they weren’t missed!

To Die for Beef Roast

This is one of the best roasts you will ever taste. Carrots, potatoes and celery can also be added, if desired.

Ingredients

1 beef roast (any kind)
1 envelope Hidden Valley Ranch salad dressing mix
1 envelope brown gravy mix
1 envelope Italian dressing mix
1/2 cup warm water

Instructions

Place roast in slow cooker.
Mix contents of all 3 envelopes and sprinkle over roast.
Pour water into the bottom of the slow cooker.
Cover and cook on LOW for 6 to 7 hours.

Robert Bigelow Tells Bob Lazar Stories

What would cause someone to walk out during a negotiation with a car salesman?

A simple negotiating strategy is “take it off the table”.

it works both ways: I am the car salesman, you are looking at a $45,000 car. We talk about it, test drive, you are looking at it, I hear and see buying signs. I want to test the waters. “John, look we are having a special sales “spif” this month and I really need to sell some cars. Let’s cut to chase here. (Looking over my shoulder to make sure no one else hears) I can sell you this car, today only, (scarcity) and knock off $10,000. $35,000 and you are out the door. What do you say?”

If the buyer balks, he’s not sure, looking at other deals. I say “okay, I get it. I’m going to withdraw the offer.” if the buyer is jumping in, then he was never a buyer.

I am a buyer… I find a car that I like, its a slightly used Lexus, $45,000 sticker. Salesman walks up, “Can I help you?” I say “Yes, I’m liking this GS 350 here. Do you have the mileage? “ he says “Let me get that for you. Want to drive it? I’ll get the keys.” He comes back and we test drive the car, rides like a dream, smooth, nice interior… I’m sold. We get out I make him stand in the hot sun, facing the sun. “How hard is that sticker price?” He says “we have a little wiggle room.” “Okay, my offer is $39,000, lets write up” I say. He says “not that much wiggle room.” I take my business card, write on the card… “Green GS 350, $39,000.” hand it to the sales guy. “Call me when this offer is good.” and leave…

Or better: I say “Okay my offer is $39,000.” He says “Oh, we don’t negotiate here, the price is the price.” I say “Yeah, I don’t either. Here is my offer. call me when its good.”

They will call “we have a blue Toyota / we have a white impala / we have a red tundra.”

Finally they will call, “the best we can do is $42,000.” I say “You are almost there.” click.

Is it safe to say that China is at least 30 years ahead of India?

Very safe! In fact, you can increase that number to 40 or 50 and it will still be true.

I lived in a Chinese village with a Chinese family for one month as part of a homestay program. I started my journey from Shanghai airport, and the entire stretch of road leading to the village was smooth, with no potholes, no litter, and not once did I see anyone driving their vehicle on the wrong side of the road, or see stray dogs and cattle hold up vehicles.

Every house in the village had an attached toilet, 24×7 electricity, and the houses all had modern appliances like washing machine, refrigerator, TV, Wi-Fi etc. And I had visited quite a few houses.

Every classroom in the village primary school had a TV which the teachers used to teach their students. The secondary school had Wi-Fi.

All the villagers wore helmets while riding their electric scooters. Every single one of them could read and write Mandarin, and none of them littered or spat or peed in the open.

The women all wore jeans, dresses, skirts etc. and no one judged them and shamed them for “aping the west”. What mattered was their ability, not what clothes they wore.

It was completely safe to wander around the village after dark. No one got harassed for their gender, nationality etc. None of the female participants in the homestay program ever mentioned that they felt uncomfortable, or were stared at by men for wearing shorts. None of us faced any racist taunts.

I’m not saying that China has no problems, but this Chinese village had better services than most Indian cities (we can still only dream of uninterrupted power supply, or 24×7 water, or pothole-free roads).

I cannot say with authority that all villages in China are like this, but I would wager that many of them are. The cities are of course in a different league. I stayed in the suburbs to the north of Shanghai for a few days, not a tourist area. The neighbourhoods were clean, with excellent roads, and footpaths were not cluttered by hawkers. People followed traffic rules. I went to a side street where there were stalls selling street food, and it was clean. No one littered, there was no garbage anywhere.

It’s not just their GDP or infrastructure. It’s their mentality too that has helped China zip ahead.

Scott Ritter Discloses: How the Russian Hypersonic Missile Changed the Game in Ukraine!

Why does this YouTuber named “serpentza” go to such lengths to stigmatize China? Especially when so many tourists come to China?

There are many like him. China Uncensored, one Asian guy who speaks fluent English, one old aunty. All are on YouTube. I know these four because I have been following them for a long time. There’s also a news site called Bitter Winter.

All of them focus only on China. They never tell good things. They even exaggerate the tiniest bad thing about China. They don’t only talk about how bad the government is, but also how bad the Chinese people are. They go to such great lengths, making lies and twisting facts. They don’t care about their own credibility. The sole purpose of their existence is to spread hate on China.

Something is definitely wrong. Why are such news sites allowed to exist? Why do they have a wide following? From where do they collect all those information? Plus, they don’t look like solo artists but more like lowly funded news organizations.

Based solely on what they themselves are sharing, it’s right to call them US propaganda machine. Also, they stay shut about Palestine, but I once watched a China Uncensored video where he sided with the Israelis. Otherwise, it’s just wrong to talk bad about a whole country without ever showing an ounce of respect. It’s like their hobby is to slander China.

Does media like them exist for other countries? No matter which country you are from, if there were people like them always talking bad about your country and your people, how would you feel?

Edit: I checked YouTube and here are the ones I have mentioned and one more: China Observer, China Insider with David Zhang, China Insights. There’s one anti-China aunty that I have mentioned but I’m too lazy to search and I forgot her channel name.

At what stage in your life did you realize, “No, I can’t do this any more” and walk out? Why?

My step father came into my life when I was 8, and treated me and my siblings badly without a word of interference from my mother for the rest of my childhood. I left home at eighteen, and got together with the woman I’m married to at age 25. She had two children, a boy of three and a half and a girl of six months, so I got an entire family in one fell swoop. A year later we had been on holiday with the children, and dropped by my mother’s cabin on the way home. We were supposed to sleep there before driving the long way home.

My step father was drunk, and proceded to be nasty to our son. I got mad as a wasp, and informed him he was not allowed to talk to my children like that. There was a huge quarrel, he and I shouting, my mother claiming “He didn’t mean it”, the children crying, my wife watching it all with her mouth open, utterly appalled. It finally calmed down, but he kept mumbling nasty remarks through dinner, so we decided to leave. I also decided I would no longer spend time in his company. After that I have seen him at weddings and christenings, and that’s it.

I wish him well, but will not allow his poison to infect my life any more.

Pennsylvania Dutch Chili

Ingredients

1 pound ground beef
1 onion, chopped
1 pound homemade noodles or 1 (12 to 16 ounce) bag wide egg noodles
1 can baked beans
1 cup spaghetti sauce or less (or 1 small jar)

Instructions

Brown ground beef and onion.
Cook and drain egg noodles.
Combine everything. You may need additional sauce if you have leftovers and warm them up later. Chili should be thick, not soupy.
Serve with crusty bread.

911 Call for Help Leads to Horrifying Discovery

https://youtu.be/_BvrwyR4dCM

Shorpy

BILL PAXTON DEATH IN DETAIL AT 61

He was young, and a favorite actor of mine.

Can a time come when coaching institutes will be banned?

Absolutely

Coaching Institutes in India and the Coaching Culture is REGRESSIVE

It may produce rankers but it doesn’t produce Quality Engineers

It essentially gives false hopes to thousands of students who would otherwise face reality of their own abilities and get on with their lives productively

They must be REFORMED

Lets see come Chinese Reforms and whether or not they would be adapted to India :-

Videos of Lectures by Tutors CANNOT be commercialized for an Annual Cost that exceeds 3200 RMB a year in TOTAL (Previously they charged as much as 11999 RMB a year per subject). Thats a 90% Price cut mandated by law
No Coaching App can seek venture capital or funding for any Tier 1/2/3 rounds unless the said App matches the Coaching Fees charged by Individual Tutors for 150 Hours a year (3000 RMB a year to 4500 RMB a year instead of 30,000 RMB a year)
Pictures of Ranking Students cannot be advertised by Coaching Institutions or the Institution will be fined and penalized criminally and Any Student who misrepresents his rank by taking money from a Coaching Institute will face a 3 Year Ban in entering any Institution in China
Teachers who teach in Private or Public School are forbidden to take Coaching Classes exceeding 8 Hours a week and their maximum hourly rate is capped (I don’t know how much but it’s way lower than what it was)

Xi broke the entire Industry single handedly

No more teachers who could charge the world and ignore school for private coaching.

Everything was Capped and at very low rates that bankrupted half the coaching institutes

Advertising was entirely based on mouth to mouth endorsements and no billboards or photo publishing of students getting top rank based on cash incentives

Such Students who took money to claim they took their training from so & so coaching institute would face a 3 year ban from any course

This encourages Group discussion

Right from the Youngest Age – they have divided students into study groups and have Wechat groups to discuss Projects, Assignments and Group Work

Private Tutors are allowed on an Hourly and they teach you at some dollars per hour rate

Professors and Teachers VOLUNTEER at CLCs and Community Coaching Centres where students can learn for free

We need to bring in a similar model adaptable to India

First we need a rule that students who fail more than 2 Attempts at NEET or UPSC or CAT or JEE cannot be enrolled in Coaching Centres or if they are, their enrollment must be FREE

Second we need to CAP THE COACHING FEES for all these exams

Third we must deduct tax right from the Coaching Fees like a TDS and impose 35% that the Coaches must bear

Fourth, we must mandate a cap on Online Coaching Fees which must be no higher than 33% of the Offline Fees

Fifth, we must offer large tax subsidies to free coaching offered on YouTube and other channels

Sixth we must impose a ban on School Teachers working for Coaching Classes unless their Tuition fee is capped at a certain hourly rate and no longer than 8 Hours a week

Maybe some of this is practical and some of this isn’t

I don’t know

I am saying things at the top of my head

However I do know that

REFORMS ARE CRITICAL AND MUST BE DONE NOW

To really find out how – you need to study the entire scenario , talk to students and find out and then begin a series of reforms

Students are becoming Rankers rather than Quality Engineers or Administrators

That must be stopped at any cost

Have you ever sold used cars for a living?

Sorta kinda.. when my older daughter was born 40 years ago my wife went on maternity leave and I needed to replace her income.

I started raising money by selling two extra cars I owned. I ran classified ads in the newspaper and dealt with customers. It was fun. Then my friend was going to junk a decent car because he was too lazy to sell it. I gave him the $100 the junkyard would have paid. I sold it for $600 with little effort.

I was on a roll! I drove around town looking for cars for sale or just sitting unused. I’d inquire and buy them cheap if I could. I’d check the newspaper ads early every day. I’d do minor repairs, clean and polish them to make them more attractive. One car had an entire garbage pail of trash in it!

I got to the point where I had two cars for sale in my driveway at all times. Guys would watch and inquire about different cars. I even sold one to my neighbor.

I did this the entire year until the weather got cold approaching winter. I figured I’d quit while I was ahead and before the cops or DMV figured me out. I did sell a car to a cop though!

It served me well. I replaced my wife’s salary and then some!

Is Intel becoming more and more like the feeling Boeing brings to people?

In terms of losing its engineering chops and becoming an overfinancialized blue chip play?

Yes.

However, Boeing’s problem ia execution, whereas Intel’s business model is facing obsolescence.

Both are in danger of ebbing away in the uncertain future ahead, though Boeing’s decline will be back stopped by the government, given its role as a key arms contractor and America’s only builder of airliners.

Boeing is one or two crashes from a PR nightmare, especially if it happens on the Max.

Intel’s product mix appear unsuitable for an ai-heavy world, and arm is projected to make huge inroads to the windows ecosystem in the coming years.

Intel needs a radical rethink, because the chips act cannot save it from drowning when the market moves decisively against a product portfolio. This is made worse by the poisonous politics that has reshaped demand in East Asia.

I don’t envy Intel at all.

Breaking: Undefeated US Indicator Signals “Full-Blown” Recession

Deng Xiaoping famously told British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher that ‘China could take Hong Kong in a day.’ How serious was this threat? And were the Chinese at all concerned about the UK invoking Article 5 of the NATO treaty?

“How serious was this threat?”

Let me put it this way: the People’s Liberation Army could have taken back Hong Kong during the Chinese Civil War, long before the founding of the People’s Republic of China, and long before Deng met Thatcher.

The 44th Army of the PLA chased the fleeing Kuomintang forces all the way to Shenzhen. Their troopers were at one point gathered at Hong Kong’s Lo Wu border. They were literally one river crossing away from the British colony. Hong Kong only had a few thousand colonial troops stationed at the time. The battle-hardened 44th could have easily taken the city in about a day with a single well-timed bayonet charge. Two days at the most.

Sir Alexander Grantham, who was the governor of Hong Kong at the time, recalled that the PLA didn’t even need to attack. All they had to do was cut off food and water supplies to the colony, and the British would have to surrender in less than a month.

But neither of these scenarios ever happened. Chairman Mao ordered the army to stop the attack and turn back, stating that he had “other plans for Hong Kong”. Premier Zhou Enlai himself personally oversaw the situation with Hong Kong, and made sure that nothing went amiss with its supply of food and water.

History vindicated Mao’s decision to not take back Hong Kong immediately. He had the vision and the sense to play the game of geopolitics.

Mao knew that China was poor and underdeveloped, and was soon to be sanctioned by the United States and the rest of the imperialist west for being a communist nation. A gateway to the west was desperately needed.
The British Empire, likewise, also needed Hong Kong to serve as its gateway to the east. By letting the British keep Hong Kong for just a little while longer, Mao prevented China from being isolated by an anti-China alliance of western powers completely, which was what would have happened if the British had been beaten and sent home crying to Uncle Sam.In 1950, the UK became one of the first capitalist countries to formally recognise the PRC.
Mao was worried about the overwhelming influence and control the Soviet Union had over the Chinese Communist Party. He did not want a communist China to be freed from Fascist Japan and the Imperialist West, only to answer to a red Russia. Having Hong Kong as a gateway to the west, meant that China would not have to depend entirely on the Soviet Union.History proved him right, as evident in the Sino-Soviet split in the 1950s, and the fall of North Korea in the 1990s.
Just because Mao let the British lord over the people of Hong Kong for a while longer, doesn’t mean he had forgotten about the welfare of its predominantly Chinese populace. The city’s status as a gateway between east and west was the sole reason its economy flourished in the 20th century.Hong Kong’s success was never a “miracle” or the result of British rule, but a by-product of the times, geopolitics, and external factors greater than the city itself – a lesson most people in Hong Kong, both young and old, have forgotten

Article 5 of NATO would not have been China’s main concern, because the article could only be invoked in case of an attack on a NATO member’s own soil (i.e. Europe or North America). In fact, the first time it was ever invoked was after the events of 9/11.

In any case, China did play a major part in the Korean War, fighting the coalition forces of the United Nations to a standstill, so I doubt the formation of NATO would have changed the course of history too much – and that’s assuming NATO was willing at all to waste money and lives defending the British Empire’s interests. There’s a reason why Article 5 was never invoked during the Falklands War.

The fact remains that the PRC never planned to take back Hong Kong by force in the first place. They had no illusions that the sun would never set on the British Empire. They knew Hong Kong would become Chinese again eventually.

Addendum:
Chiang Kai-shek actually wanted to take back Hong Kong from the British after the Second World War. He rightfully saw the the Treaty of Nanking as humiliating to the Chinese people, and negotiated with the UK and the US to have the treaty abolished in 1942. The British Empire rejected the proposal, Chiang refused to relent, and so the matter was dropped from the agenda.

However, another agreement was formed that whoever entered Chinese territory previously under Japanese occupation first, would get to keep it for themselves.

When Japan surrendered in 1945, both the British and the Kuomintang scrambled to send forces to Hong Kong. KMT soldiers were apparently the first to enter Hong Kong’s New Territories, which was disputed by the UK.

The UK referred the matter to the US. President Truman wanted to ally with the UK against the Soviet Union, so he betrayed Chiang by declaring Hong Kong was never part of the deal. The KMT had to withdraw their forces, and Hong Kong soon became a British colony once again. So close, and yet so far.

This is actually a snapshot into what China was like under the Kuomintang government. Yes they were founded on great ideas by great men, but they were also de facto puppets of the Imperialist West, and therefore unable to give the Chinese people the rights, liberty, dignity and respect they deserved.

Hong Kong would very likely still be British today, had the communists lost the civil war.

Just In! Burkina Faso Forces Launch Ambush Operations Against Insurgent Groups!

Blue Moon

John K Adams

Dril entered from the air-lock. Myr looked up from the vid-screen.“Brrr, it’s cold out there.”“Don’t you wear your suit?”“Of course I do. You think I’m crazy?”Myr raised an eyebrow but didn’t answer that.“I remember reading it is always cold out there. It’s the moon, silly.”“I know it’s the moon. I got us this gig, remember?”“That I do.”“I mean, who better than us to prospect the best sites for mining delicious moon cheese?”“No one I can think of.” Myr sighed. “You know what you forgot to have delivered?”

“What’s that, Honey Pie?”

“Some new material. You have told a variation of that joke at least once daily for the last year.”

“Except, mining for cheese is serious business.”

“Please stop.”

Dril smiled at Myr. “You want me to cook dinner tonight?”

Myr sighed again. “Is it dinner time? I know what the clock says, but it doesn’t feel like dinner time. The sun is still out.”

“You know how this works, Myr.”

“Of course I do. I get it intellectually. But a month of sunshine followed by a month of darkness?”

“Actually, it’s more like two weeks.”

“Really? Who came up with that schedule?”

“Uhm… God?”

“I need a break, Dril.”

“What do you say we take a week and go to the Sea of Tranquility? Or to the mountains?”

Myr put her hands up to her ears and shook her head. “No. No. No. No. No.”

Dril passed on this opportunity to, once again, make a joke about American cheese and the flag left behind by the first men to land here.

“Let’s dance.” Dril moved toward Myr with a rhythmic step. He started singing. “Blue Moon… You saw me standing alone…”

Myr shrugged off his embrace. “Don’t you dare start about Kate Smith.”

Dril put his hands up, in frustration and surrender. “I’m trying to make the best of a…”

“Cabin fever. Isn’t that what you call it?”

“On the moon, it is called ‘existential angst’.”

“Thank you, Dr. Freud.”

Dril touched Myr’s elbow. “Come on, Babe. We never look at the earthrise anymore.” He waved his hand and the shaded, domed window automatically brightened. The colorless moonscape spread before them with Earth’s blue orb peeking from behind the distant mountains.

“Stark.”

Dril shook his head. “Look at the Earth, Babe. We’ll be going home before you know it. Think how much you’ll appreciate being back.”

“Are we there yet?”

“You’ve heard that you can’t go home again?”

“Watch me.”

Dril stood back. The moment had passed. “I’m going to go out and check the sensors.” He pointed to the counter stacked with various tools and gizmos. “Would you hand me the razzafraz?”

Myr looked at the disorderly mess Dril called his workbench. She picked up the tool on top of the others. “You mean this?”

“No. That’s the franaham… Next to the thingamajig.” Myr picked up another tool at random and held it up. “Thank you.” He took the tool from her and moved toward the airlock.

“Will you be long?”

“No. You know, routine maintenance. Never can say when some asteroid will wreak havoc on our survival systems.”

“I hate when that happens.”

Dril chuckled and ducked through the bulkhead door. He stepped into his suit, secured the safety devices and donned his helmet. Taking his time, he checked the vid-feed and sound system, a routine as ingrained and natural as brushing his teeth before bed. All systems were a ‘go’.

Not that Myr would be monitoring his progress. Lately, her heart wasn’t in it.

He checked the seals on the interior door and activated the exterior door. The small room filled with steam for a moment as the air froze and then escaped into the void.

Dril scanned the bright horizon. It still quickened him to take in this alien moonscape. It never changed. But he did. Each day, his perception of this perpetually static scene seemed fresh by what he brought to it. The frozen nature of it grounded him somehow.

And of course, he thought of what ‘phase’ they were in. He could never shake the earth-centric perspective. But now, Dril would also note Earth’s phase.

After watching Earth’s rise above the horizon, Dril checked the various monitors distributed around their home base and the outer shell of their home. With few variations, all seemed in order.

He chuckled at his own joke. “The barometer seems stuck. Weird, no air pressure at all.”

When on the frontier of space like this, Dril always celebrated an ordinary day.

Seeing the giant ‘S. O. S’ scrawled in the dust by Myr, always made him smile. That happened after their first few weeks on base.

Dril remembered watching her shuffling around in an aimless manner on the landing pad near their base camp. Or so he thought.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Sending a message to anyone who might be paying attention,” she answered.

Then he recognized the letters, wide as Stonehenge. Gigantic letters to be read by someone, anyone above them in the sky.

They read, “S. O. S.” Sans serif.

He knew she meant it. Keeping her morale up kept him busy. That was his hardest job.

Myr watched the airlock door shut. Though a daily occurrence, seeing Dril go out distressed her. What if something happened to him?

Of course, she knew all the routines and procedures. But to be alone out here on this rock… She shuddered at the thought. At first, it seemed a romantic adventure. Like being on a desert island together. Dril called it their ‘dessert island’. She never imagined how desolate the whole thing would be.

Myr entered the conservatory. She spent most of her time there. The humidity, greenery, and oxygen-rich air kept her sane. She loved caring for the plants more than anything. They were her life.

She liked the sunshine streaming into the greenhouse. The windows filtered the harsh light to a level the plants could tolerate. And she had artificial light to accommodate the long lunar nights.

Though primarily their source of fresh food, Myr lobbied for authorization to also bring decorative and flowering plants to their outpost. She prevailed by arguing an environment lacking in beauty would be better tended by a robot. Myr insisted ‘practical’ was broader in scope than ‘edible.’ A garden could include a feast for the eye as well as her belly and wouldn’t unduly tax their limited resources.

Myr had maintained even a guinea pig deserves a home and not merely a box filled with hay. Someone agreed and Myr received permission to transport seeds of her choosing, within strict guidelines.

Now she had a garden, her little paradise. But without apples or snakes. She cared for it with a passion.

The apparently spontaneous generation of certain insects and pests amazed Myr. They required constant monitoring, lest they damage the food crops. Myr understood they must have stowed away on the seeds or the soil. They were unwitting aliens on this unwelcoming stone.

Curiously, there were also spiders, who allied with her to maintain a balance within the garden. Life begets life.

She gathered a variety of tomatoes and other ripe vegetables for their dinner.

Indicator lights and a signature chirp told Myr that Dril was back. She felt calmer now and went out to greet him.

Dril already stood in the living zone when Myr entered from the kitchen. He smiled at her and they embraced. However brief his sojourns outside, Dril’s homecoming always caused her joy.

Dril asked her, “Tell me, how do you know when the moon is full?”

“You never think it is full.”

“No. Work with me.”

“Oh, a joke. Uhm… it’s always half empty?”

“No. It says, ‘hold the cheese’.”

Myr did not react. The new joke felt very old.

“How about this…? What flavor is a ‘blue moon’?”

“Dril, I was feeling better…”

“Roquefort!”

“Please?”

“Alright… One of these days I’ll make you laugh.”

Myr shook her head. “When that happens, you’ll know I’ve become a bonafide lunatic.”

They looked at each other for a moment and burst into laughter. They embraced and kissed warmly.

Dril looked into Myr’s eyes. “How do you do that? You always make me laugh.”

“My little secret, love. Let’s eat.”

They walked hand in hand into the kitchen.

Here’s some of MM’s latest artwork generations

The theme is closeness and intimacy, but those are flagged on the free subscription, so I performed some creative work-arounds.

Of course, figurative nudes, and tradition are in my interest set.

@Default Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Baroques 2(14)

@@Default Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Baroques 3(14)

@Default Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Baroques 1(17)

@Default Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Baroques 3(9)

@Default Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Baroques 2(8)

@Default Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Baroques 3(8)

@Default Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Baroques 3(7)

@Default Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Baroques 2(6)

What is the worst violation of firearms safety you’ve ever witnessed?

I’m sure I’ve told this story before…

Quite a number of years ago I was out shooting at a public range when a family showed up. Mom and dad, two kids, and even grandma.

They pile out of a pickup truck… and, well, to complete the visual here, they looked straight out of central casting as a Mariachi band. Now, I’m like “you do your thing, I’ll do mine”, but to say that this group was attention getting understates it by several orders of magnitude.

Dad had some cowboy guns, a revolver and a lever action rifle. They also had a grand total of one set of hearing protection between all of them. No eyepro is present.

They proceed to set up their “targets”, which are just a bunch of milk cartons filled with dirt…. Whatever, it’s a public range and people shoot all sorts of random shit. The boy takes a couple of them downrange, sets them down, and steps about three paces to the side.

Dad starts blasting. Yes, kid is still downrange as fuck.

I immediately decide that I don’t want to have to deal with the paperwork when one of these idiots shoots someone, and start packing up. But I’m doing it slow, because I’m keeping one eye on these guys, and keeping my very loaded rifle slung and ready because I’m also somewhat concerned that I’m going to have to shoot one of these idiots myself if the stupidity level goes up another notch, and I want it to be very obvious that if they point a gun at me they are pointing a gun at a man with a clearly loaded AR.

After they blast some rounds in the dirt, the kid eventually comes back behind the line, and the kids pull out the revolver to take turns shooting.

The boy walks up to the line with the revolver and the girl sits on the bench next to him, looks right at him, and I see the next few moments in slow motion. The boy pulls the trigger and the girl gets an absolute face full of cylinder gap, and screams.

I chose that moment to exit, stage left, but that whole scene is burned into my brain, as assuradly as hot gas was burned into that poor girls eyes.

Hunter Discovers 29 Human Body Parts in the Desert

https://youtu.be/AFboKFzJza4

Cabbage Rolls

Ingredients

12 large leaves cabbage
1 cup cooked white rice
1 egg, beaten
1/4 cup milk
1/4 cup minced onion
1 pound extra-lean ground beef
1 1/4 teaspoons salt
1 1/4 teaspoons ground black pepper
1 (8 ounce) can tomato sauce
1 tablespoon brown sugar
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce

xr:d:DAGAaqI9iis:37,j:8728398767535521041,t:24032415

Instructions

Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Boil cabbage leaves 2 minutes, just until pliable; drain.
In large bowl, combine rice, egg, milk, onion, ground beef, salt and pepper.
Place about 1/4 cup of meat mixture in center of each cabbage leaf, and roll up, tucking in ends. Place rolls in slow cooker, seam side down.
In a small bowl, mix together tomato sauce, brown sugar, lemon juice and Worcestershire sauce. Pour over cabbage rolls.
Cover, and cook on LOW for 8 to 9 hours.

Foreign Woman Meets American Women & NOW Understands Why Passport Bros Exist!

The look on their faces when she said she understood why men are traveling out the states. The salt was real in that room!!!

Why did the Prime Minister of Bengal quit her post and fled the country?

She has no choice but to fly away; the country has already fallen into a downward spiral.

On the surface, the recent unrest in Bangladesh appears to be due to civil service positions being skewed in favor of military families, but this is just a trigger. Even if there were zero reserved positions for military families, there would still be hundreds of thousands of university graduates competing for very few positions.

The essence of the problem is economic decline and public dissatisfaction.

Bangladesh is in deep trouble.

Firstly, there is a population explosion. With such a small land area, it has 170M people. China has a large population, but Bangladesh’s population density is nearly ten times that of China! Russia’s land area is 116 times that of Bangladesh, yet its population is 30 million less.

The total population of these red areas on Earth, compressed into a very small point, is Bangladesh.

With such a large population, the vast majority are engaged in agriculture, which has very low added value.

Bangladesh is the second most disaster-prone country in the world (the first is the Philippines).

Previously, population growth was slow, relying entirely on the harsh adjustment of natural disasters.

During the last major famine, 10 million out of a population of 40 million in Bangladesh died of starvation.

After entering the modern era, pesticides, high-yield seeds, fertilizers, and vaccines have caused a sharp increase in the agricultural population.

Unlike China, which has implemented family planning policies, a democratically elected government in Bangladesh cannot do the same. As a result, the population continues to grow while land area remains fixed, and frequent natural disasters make it difficult to develop a secondary industry on a large scale.

The world’s largest and most dangerous ship-breaking yard is in Bangladesh, but it can only accommodate 200,000 workers, and the value added to production is extremely low.

The country’s pillar industry, the textile industry, has little technological content and faces extremely fierce international competition.

In fact, it is at the bottom of the international division of labor.

Another mistake is the excessive emphasis on higher education. At this stage, the country should focus more on basic education rather than higher education.

After receiving higher education, many young people are unwilling to settle for low-income jobs.

What’s worse is that the country has invested significant resources in cultivating a highly educated population, but most of them are liberal arts graduates.

In China, for example, when I was taking the college entrance exam, the ratio of STEM students to liberal arts students was about 8:1 to 9:1.

There was even some discrimination against liberal arts students at that time; those who failed to compete in STEM fields were the ones considering studying liberal arts.

Even today, the ratio of STEM students to liberal arts students in China is still about 1:1, and STEM students generally have better job prospects and salaries compared to liberal arts students.

(To this day, on the Chinese Internet, the phrase “Are you a liberal arts student?” is still clearly mocking and contemptuous.)

(I believe Vietnam should also learn from this. Today, in Vietnam, the ratio of STEM majors to liberal arts majors is about 1:2, which is far too high for liberal arts students.)

With so many liberal arts graduates, who have broad perspectives, they are naturally unwilling to engage in hard work after graduation, leading to unrest.

Democratic governments and parliamentary politics are not very suitable for late-developing countries.

If Bangladesh cannot make the most of the remaining value of manual labor before AI and automation technologies become dominant, and cannot push for more industrialization, the future of Bangladesh will be very concerning.

GUANGZHOU IS SO MODERN! | An INDIAN’s First Time In CHINA

The Bracky Bros

When I was turning into a young man, perhaps 18, or 19 or so I used to hang out with my best friend; Robbie. Now, I have mentioned elsewhere that he also had a group of friends. They were “orbiters” of his circle of friends. They were fine and we got along just fine.

Now, they hardly ever talked. There were three of them. All brothers. one set of twins and an older brother one year older. Their name was Bracken, and we just referred to them as the “Bracky bros”.

They rode around in a black duster.

It was an amazing car, and in the late 1970’s it could really barrel down the roads. But you know, they weren’t piston heads. No. They were just good-time guys that liked to drink and party.

Because they didn’t speak too often, they reminded me of Larry, Daryl and Daryl from the Newman show.

I was always under the impression that they were rather poor. I didn’t think any of them held jobs and they didn’t actually appear all that bright. So that assumption was based on the friends that they hung out with: Robbie and the rest of the Western Pennsylvania crew.

Well… one day, I had to go with Robbie to visit them at their home. I had never been there before, and we took some back roads, and then finally saw the lone mailbox at the side of the road. We then drove though the driveway. And it was a long one. Sheech!

Finally, it opened up at a large, massive house with a five car garage, and a few other out-buildings. I met his sister (well one of them), Heck! I didn’t even know that he had a sister.

And his mother.

Turned out that their eldest sister was in the United States foreign service overseas, and their parents were very well to do. I didn’t get the opportunity to go inside, but I didn’t need to. You could smell the wealth from inside the car.

It is said that you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, and that is true, but you must be extra cautious in judging people by appearances and associations. I was under the impression that the Bracky boys were the same as the other guys they partied with. They weren’t. They always remained aloof and observing.

And now I know why.

As you get older, you experience things and learn things. Be care and wise out there.

Today…

As a teacher, what is the harshest truth a student has ever taught you?

Shortly after my divorce, I was teaching reading in 6th grade. I was unhappy but going through the motions of teaching the best that I could. I was tired after school and less than a model parent to my own two children.

One of my 180 students that year, Mark, a quiet and polite student, was only attending my first period class two or three days a week. He rarely did his homework and failed most of his tests. At a conference with his other core teachers, I was not surprised to find out that he was failing his other classes as well. As a teaching team we called a parent teacher conference. We were hoping to work together with Mark’s parents in an effort to help Mark’s attendance and motivation.

The conference was scheduled for 7:15am in the morning before school. Mark’s father came in smelly, unkempt, extremely overweight and drunk. His mom had left the family with no notice or word of if she’d ever return. Mark’s father was explosive, miserable and ready to punish Mark harshly if he didn’t improve. Quite frankly, I was a little afraid for Mark.

After the conference I asked Mark to come to class just to talk for a minute. After starting the class and assigning a task for the other students, I called Mark to my desk and told him that I was sorry for his situation and hoped things would get better for him. I asked him if he might find more peace at home by doing some of the things his father asked him to do.

Mark responded quickly, “Why? So I can be more like him?”

My harsh truth came instantly. I realized then that I needed to be a happier, healthier person to give my own kids a better example. Why would they want to do what I asked if they saw me as a miserable adult? Mark motivated me to become a happier adult and taught me how to be a better parent.

P.S. Thank you all for your questions of concern for Mark. I would love to tell you a happy success story for him. However, shortly after the conference, Mark and his father moved away from the school area. He didn’t stay in touch with me, any of his other teachers or any of the students. Sadly, I don’t know what happened to Mark. I wish this was an isolated incident but our schools are full of similar stories, especially in lower socioeconomic areas. In my opinion, this type of story won’t improve until parenting improves. Is there hope for advancing parenting skills?

Men Are REJECTING College EN MASSE And Choosing Trade Schools While Women Rack Up Debt

THE FOURTH TURNING: What Every Boomer Patriot & “Prophet” Needs To Understand—POST-HASTE!

Via State of the Nation

Editors Note: The following prescient essay on “The Fourth Turning” was published 14 years ago and much has transpired which has borne out that “the final turning of the screw” is now taking place. Therefore, it behooves everyone, young and old, rich and poor, smart and foolish to take heed of what is upon US. That “US” is these once United States of America.

There’s an old adage: “Whenever America catches a cold, the rest of the world comes down with pneumonia.” Which means that when The Fourth Turning hits the USA hard, as it will with the climax of the 2024 election cycle, the entire planetary civilization will also get busted upside the head with a four-by-four. And why shouldn’t it in light of the utter depravity to which Western civilization has sunk. See: Shocking French Depravity On Full Decadent Display During Degenerate Olympics

What’s the critical point?

If you don’t know about, and believe in, and understand “The Fourth Turning” by now, you had better, because otherwise you will soon feel like you have been hit like a ton of bricks before you have been run over by a freight train. And, for many folks, even that is a gross understatement. See: HUGE Changes Coming To Planet Earth

Perhaps the single greatest driver of the rapidly accelerating downward spiral, which the wealthiest and most powerful nations on Earth are now experiencing, is the inexorable push toward technological singularity. More specifically, it’s the Transhumanism Agenda and the quest for Autonomous Superintelligence that is driving the entire world into the abyss. For the attainment of human immortality is nothing but a satanic desire to usurp the divine. See: AUTONOMOUS SUPER-INTELLIGENCE & TECHNOLOGICAL SINGULARITY: The Real Driver Of The Free-Fall Civilizational Collapse

What’s really crucial to correctly comprehend during the upcoming tumultuous, turbulent and tempestuous times is that there is ONLY one way to navigate them successfully. For only living life, going forward, on a firm spiritual foundation will get US through this eye of the needle. That’s for real!!!

Those who are completely broke, busted and disgusted need to know that a strong connection with the divine is the ONLY solution. For when The Great Leveler cometh, those who are disconnected from the Supreme Being will have nothing to support them, and nothing to hang on to. Hence, the acquisition of right knowledge can be very helpful toward that end. And knowing one’s place during this most defining moment in human history can be very empowering and edifying. See: THE NEW ATLANTIS: Master Plan Of The Ages

So, no matter how old you are or what your station in life currently is, get a grip at least on the mundane forces that are gathering around all of US as well explained below. For the more prepared each of US is, the more we can mutually support each other and see this thing through to a positive outcome. After all, this is the time we have all been waiting for … … … and why each of US was born during this “GREATEST SHOW EVER ON EARTH”.

One last pivotal point, and it’s as urgent as it gets. You will soon read about the central role that the Baby Boomers play in this final battle in this last war between the forces of light and the powers of darkness. In their current stage of Elderhood, the Boomers are the “Prophets” of society. They are older and wiser and braver than the rest of you. Therefore, it behooves all the younger generations to listen carefully to them and not mock them as they have for decades. After all, it was the Baby Boom Generation, working very closely with the Beat Generation, who shut down the Vietnam War—the first war ever terminated by a popular movement in world history.

Baby Boomers Your Financial & Economic
Winter is Coming, The Fourth Turning

The Burning Platform

“Thus might the next Fourth Turning end in apocalypse – or glory. The nation could be ruined, its democracy destroyed, and millions of people scattered or killed. Or America could enter a new golden age, triumphantly applying shared values to improve the human condition. The rhythms of history do not reveal the outcome of the coming Crisis; all they suggest is the timing and dimension.”

— Strauss & Howe (The Fourth Turning)

Winter is coming. Are you prepared? Americans see time as their enemy. Most Americans have bought into a view of the past and future as linear. When you observe the world in linear way and things are going well, the population is happy and confident. If you view the world in a linear way and things are going badly, the population sees nothing but terrible times ahead. This linear outlook of history and the future is not rational or supported by facts.

I’m convinced that world history is not on a linear path towards Armageddon and the Rapture. This belief is preached by many of the mainstream religions, but the truth is that we’ve seen this movie before and it doesn’t end in the 2nd Coming of Christ. The American belief in a destiny of never ending progress will undergo its 3rd major crisis period since its founding. The resolution of this crisis is 10 to 20 years in the future. The outcome will remain in doubt until the definitive resolution.

Our everyday lives clearly support a cyclical view of the world. There are 24 hours in day progressing from light to darkness and back again. There are 365 days in a year progressing from Spring to Summer to Fall to Winter, and then starting the cycle over again. A month is dictated by the four phases of the Moon. Our oceans rise and fall in a predictable pattern of high tides and low tides based on lunar phases.

Even Christian religions that preach a linear view of the world, celebrate their beliefs in a predictable annual cycle encompassing the life of Christ from is birth, life, death and resurrection. The human life cycle extends 80 to 100 years going through the stages of childhood, young adulthood, midlife, and elderhood. This cycle has not changed over the whole history of earth. A long human life approximates a century of time. The rhythm of time has a regularity and cadence that is predictable on a generational level. The elites, most academics, religious zealots and social engineers scoff at the idea of predictable cycles of history. It throws a monkey wrench into their deceptive self aggrandizing agendas.

Generational Theory

“We perceive our civic challenge as some vast, insoluble Rubik’s Cube. Behind each problem lies yet another, and another, ad infinitum. To fix crime we have to fix the family, but before we do that we have to fix welfare, and that means fixing our budget, and that means fixing our civic spirit, but we can’t do that without fixing moral standards, and that means fixing schools and churches, and that means fixing the inner cities, and that’s impossible unless we fix crime. There’s no fulcrum on which to rest a policy lever. People of all ages sense that something huge will have to sweep across America before the gloom can be lifted – but that’s an awareness we suppress. As a nation, we’re in deep denial.” Strauss & Howe – The Fourth Turning

Anyone who is being honest recognizes the country is on a path towards a major calamity. We have been living beyond our means for decades and the fiscal mismanagement of the country will come to a dramatic climax in the next decade. What many deny is that this crisis was pre-ordained based upon a predictable timeline of generational forces repeating over and over again throughout history. The elites are continuously stunned that every 20 to 25 years a fresh mood engulfs the country and new generations act differently than the generations who proceeded them. The privileged are astounded because they don’t want to accept the fact that progress is not linear and that society will undergo highs and lows over the course of a century.

Strauss and Howe have been able to trace consistent 80 to 100 year generational patterns throughout modern history. The 20 to 25 year quartiles are a High (1st Turning), an Awakening (2nd Turning), an Unraveling (3rd Turning), and a Crisis (4th Turning). They have also identified four archetypes that occupy their necessary position within the 80 to 100 year cycle. These archetypes are Prophets, Nomads, Heroes, and Artists. History forms the generations as the generations create history in a repetitive dance throughout the ages. The archetypes always follow the same path. As an example, the Prophet archetype is always born during a High, comes of age during an Awakening, enters midlife during an Unraveling, and spends their elderhood during a Crisis.

Below are charts detailing the archetypes and the 12 Turnings since the founding of the American Republic. There is a remarkable consistency of timing and scope regarding the previous Turnings in our history.

The archetypes that comprise a human life cycle follow the same repetitive pattern throughout history and they show the same traits and attitudes as their preceding archetype. Strauss & Howe describe the archetypes as follows:

A Prophet generation grows up as increasingly indulged post-Crisis children, comes of age as the narcissistic young crusaders of an Awakening, cultivates principle as moralistic mid-lifers, and emerges as wise elders guiding the next Crisis. (Boomers – indulged, narcissistic, moralistic, wise)

A Nomad generation grows up as under-protected children during an Awakening, comes of age as alienated young adults of a post-Awakening world, mellows into pragmatic mid-life leaders during a Crisis, and ages into tough post-Crisis elders. (Generation X – abandoned, alienated, pragmatic, tough)

A Hero generation grows up as increasingly protected post-Awakening children, comes of age as heroic young team workers of a Crisis, demonstrates hubris as energetic mid-lifers, and emerges as powerful elders attacked by the next Awakening. (Millennial – protected, heroic, hubristic, powerful)

An Artist generation grows up as overprotected children during a Crisis, comes of age as the sensitive young adults of a post-Crisis world, breaks free as indecisive mid-life leaders during an Awakening, and ages into empathetic post-Awakening elders. (Homelanders – suffocated, sensitive, indecisive, empathetic)

The First Turning is referred to as a High. A High always follows a period of Crisis. The hallmark of a First Turning is a heightened sense of community and collective confidence, driven in part by the fact that the society has just come through a difficult and challenging period. Consequently, during First Turnings, societal institutions tend to be strong while individualism is weak. The post-World War II “High” of the mid-1940s through early ’60s is the most recent example of a First Turning.

The victory over Nazism and Fascism marked the beginning of this High. The United States was on top of the world. We exited World War II as an ascending superpower. The Marshall Plan rebuilt Europe and Japan. The middle class grew and flourished as former GI’s built the suburbs and the interstate highway system. During this period Old Prophets disappear, Nomads enter elderhood, Heroes enter midlife, Artists enter young adulthood—and a new generation of Prophets is born. These new Prophets were the Baby Boom Generation.

The Second Turning, called an Awakening, starts out feeling like the high tide of a High, with signs of advancement and prosperity everywhere. Just as everything seems to be going along swimmingly, large swaths of society begin to chaff under the social conformity of the High, beginning to gravitate to more individualistic pursuits and demanding that their personal interests come first. The “Consciousness Revolution” of the mid-1960s through early 1980s was our most recent Awakening.

The trigger for this Turning was the assassination of John F. Kennedy. No one expected the turmoil that would occur over the next 10 years. Urban riots, campus riots, Civil rights protests, Kent State, Woodstock, Watergate, the feminist movement, counterculture, drugs, violent crime and family strife marked the next two decades. The New Age movement and Me Generation dominated the culture until the Reagan era. During this phase Old Nomads disappear, Heroes enter elderhood, Artists enter midlife, Prophets enter young adulthood—and a new generation of child Nomads is born. These Nomads are known as Generation X.

The Third Turning, called an Unraveling, is the opposite of a High. Individualism rules, while establishments such as government, religion and military are increasingly weak and discredited. Neil Howe describes a typical Unraveling:

“This is a time when social authority feels inconsequential, the culture feels exhausted, and people feel bewildered by the number of options available to them. It is a time of celebrity circuses and a tremendous amount of freedom and creativity in our personal lives, but very little sense of public purpose.”

The most recent Third Turning began in 1984 with Ronald Reagan’s optimistic Morning in America message led to the fall of communism and the collapse of the Berlin Wall. The culture wars that have raged since the mid-1980’s have turned the initial optimism into an overwhelming sense of pessimism. There is no national consensus. The country’s leaders have ignored national problems such as unfunded Social Security and Medicare obligations, a coherent energy policy, and a deteriorating educational system. Popular culture centers around celebrity circuses like Michael Jackson’s death and Michelle Obama’s fashion choices.

Americans reflect darkly on the future as growing financial and social inequality tears at the fabric of the country. The rich take advantage of the financial service economy and grow ever richer at the expense of the middle class. The poor pay no taxes and receive social transfer payments and take advantage of easy credit to live like the rich. The middle class is disillusioned and angry as manufacturing jobs leave the country.

Previous periods of Unraveling in American history were also decades of cynicism and bad manners. The Roaring 20’s were the last Unraveling period that led to the stock market crash in 1929, the Great Depression and World War II. History teaches us that Third Turnings inevitably end in Fourth Turnings. During this phase, Old Heroes disappear, Artists enter elderhood, Prophets enter midlife, Nomads enter young adulthood—and a new generation of child Heroes is born. The latest Hero generation is the Millenials

Lastly, there is the Fourth Turning, called a Crisis. We are currently on the verge of a Fourth Turning. This is a time of great turmoil, when society’s basic institutions are torn down and rebuilt, and seemingly intractable problems are addressed. The apparently unsolvable financial dilemma of the country along with comprehension that Peak Oil has occurred will trigger the Crisis.

The ultimate resolution could be rational and well thought out or it could end in a fiery fight to the death between countries or generations. During Fourth Turnings, America engages in a struggle for its very survival and redefines its identity as a nation. Large wars are often a part of this process. The American Revolution, Civil War, Great Depression, and World War II were all facets of past Fourth Turnings. During this period Old Artists disappear, Prophets enter elderhood, Nomads enter midlife, Heroes enter young adulthood—and a new generation of child Artists is born.

According to Strauss & Howe past Fourth Turnings in U.S. history we have overcome intractable problems and forged a new beginning:

“In the 1790’s, they triumphantly created the modern world’s first democratic republic. In the late 1860’s, wounded but reunited, they forged a genuine nation extending new guarantees of liberty and equality. In the late 1940’s, they constructed the most Promethean superpower ever seen.”

Sometime between today and 2025, this nation will undergo a test of its very survival. The ultimate outcome will be in doubt. Strauss and Howe paint a dire picture of the coming decades:

“The risk of catastrophe will be very high. The nation could erupt into insurrection or civil violence, crack up geographically, or succumb to authoritarian rule. If there is a war, it is likely to be one of maximum risk and effort – in other words, a total war. Every Fourth Turning has registered an upward ratchet in the technology of destruction, and in mankind’s willingness to use it.”

Boomers Unraveling

“America feels like it is unraveling. Though we live in an era of relative peace and comfort, we have settled into a mood of pessimism about the long-term future, fearful that our superpower nation is somehow rotting from within.”

— Strauss & Howe (The Fourth Turning)

Most of my adult life has been spent during the current Unraveling. In 1984 I was twenty-one years old and about to enter the workforce. The country was recovering from the worst recession in decades and the turmoil of the 1970’s was subsiding. Ronald Reagan (GI Generation) won re-election with a 49 state to 1 landslide victory over Walter Mondale using his Morning in America campaign slogan. Reagan’s tax cuts, interest rates starting a two decade decline and increased military spending combined to juice the economy. Reagan’s policies were the final dagger in the side of communism.

The Soviet Union collapsed and the Berlin Wall fell. What many thought was the end of history, with democracy and capitalism victors, turned out to be a fleeting high. The initial signs of Unraveling were seen during Reagan administration. The Space Shuttle Challenger exploded, leading to questions of competence at NASA. The Iran-Contra scandal derailed the Reagan agenda as he showed signs of mental decline. The American military retreated from Lebanon after 220 Marines were killed in a terrorist attack. The stock market crashed, losing 508 points in one day, a 23% decline. The movie Wall Street with its amoral cynical view of the world captured the darkening mood of the country.

The first George Bush administration was marked by the Gulf War, which planted the poisonous seeds for our future War on Terror, and the recession which cost George Bush a 2nd term. The unraveling could clearly be seen in the 1992 Presidential election, as Ross Perot won the most votes as a 3rd Party candidate since 1912. During the Clinton administration the country continued to fragment, became more divisive, and cynical.

Politics became gridlocked, which resulted in reduced government spending. A laissez-faire attitude was promoted by Alan Greenspan and Robert Rubin for the financial markets. This led to the Dot.com bubble and its eventual collapse. Trust in financial, government, and religious institutions continued to erode. The Oklahoma City bombing and the Columbine high school slaughter convinced many that something was very wrong with our culture. A distrustful alienation had solidified into an overwhelming gloom.

The Unraveling picked up speed during George W. Bush’s administration. The stock market continued to implode, the economy entered recession and half the country felt that George Bush was not a legitimate President. Then the country was shaken to its core by the 9/11 attack. For a brief time, the country rallied around the flag and fully supported the invasion of Afghanistan. This appeared to be the trigger for the next American Crisis. Instead, it resulted in an acceleration of the Unraveling. A true trigger for a Crisis period will rally the entire population (Fort Sumter, Pearl Harbor).

The disastrous invasion of Iraq, horrific financial management of the economy by Alan Greenspan, individualistic greed and hubris of Wall Street, blatant corruption in Washington D.C., and complete lack of regulation by governmental agencies led to the collapse of the global economy in 2008. Decisive public action regarding $56 trillion of unfunded social liabilities, soaring public and private debt, and non-existent energy policy has been deferred for decades. Now there is no doubt that this paralysis and inaction will lead us into the next Crisis. The majority of Americans feel we are not on the right track, because we’re not. The coming catastrophe will truly test the mettle of our country.

Generation X – Assuming Command

“We yearn for civic character but satisfy ourselves with symbolic gestures and celebrity circuses. We perceive no greatness in our leaders, a new meanness in ourselves. Small wonder that each new election brings a new jolt, its aftermath a new disappointment. Not long ago, America was more than the sum of its parts. Now, it is less. Around World War II, we were proud as a people but modest as individuals. Fewer than two people in ten said yes when asked, Are you a very important person? Today, more than six in ten say yes. Where we once thought ourselves collectively strong, we now regard ourselves as individually entitled. Yet even while we exalt our own personal growth, we realize that millions of self-actualized persons don’t add up to an actualized society.” – Strauss & Howe (The Fourth Turning)

Barack Obama became the 1st Generation Xer to be elected President of the United States. His background is a classic Nomad story. He has lived the life of a wanderer, living all over the globe, a child of divorce, fatherless, raised by grandparents, and a free agent in his career. Generation X grew up as abandoned children and alienated young adults. Generation X leaders will be pragmatic, savvy and practical. Obama has proven thus far to be pragmatic and able to get his agenda initiated. Previous Nomad leaders who proved to be highly competent doers during a time of Crisis include Dwight D. Eisenhower, George Patton, and Harry Truman. You may not agree with Obama’s plans or policies, but it is clear to anyone that he is an intelligent, pragmatic man that will institute dramatic change in the policies of the United States.

It is very likely that Barack Obama will lead the country into the next Crisis. He will not lead us out of the Crisis, as it is unlikely to subside until 2025. As the Unraveling transitions into Crisis the apathy reflected in historic low voter turnout will reverse itself as Americans become mobilized by the Crisis. The economy always undergoes wrenching transformations during a Crisis. The U.S. economy will likely be racked by panic, depression, inflation and war. We have witnessed a preliminary financial panic, but the real panic will be much more traumatic.

The separateness and blame witnessed during the Unraveling will transform into gathering and family togetherness. McMansions will become useful as three generations will more frequently live under one roof. Immigration will decline as the population will fear outsiders and place strict restrictions on foreigners entering the country. During the coming crisis, our culture will likely be cleansed, censored, and harnessed for the public good. The current ongoing financial debacle will ultimately contribute to the Crisis causing trigger of a worldwide oil shortage.

Peak Oil + Green Energy = Crisis

“But I guess it just reminds me that as a society, we don’t have the ability to actually come to grips with a crisis until it hits us in the face. I am discouraged enough now to think that we’re going to have to have a really nasty shock before we wake people up. The most optimistic estimate for the average depletion rate of the world’s currently producing oilfields is between 4% and 5% annually, or about four million barrels per day at our current rate of production. That means that each year we must find enough new oil to first replace those four million barrels of lost daily production before we even add enough to meet new demand. This is all the more worrisome because world oil discovery of new reserves has been slowing since the mid-20th century.” – Matt Simmons

Matt Simmons has been a lone voice in the wilderness warning Americans about the impending crisis that will be caused by Peak Oil. His prediction of a worldwide peak in crude oil production at 73 million barrels per day in 2005 has proved correct. Worldwide total liquids production peaked at 86 million barrels in 2008. All of the easy oil and gas in the world has been found. Additional supplies will be found deep below the ocean, in challenging arctic regions, in tar sands, and shale. It will be dramatically more expensive to extract oil from these sources. Oil discoveries have been in a steady decline since the 1970’s.

The United States has been dependent on 600 million barrels of oil from Mexico every year. By 2012 Mexico will become a net importer of oil, so 600 million barrels of oil will need to be replaced. Iran’s oil production is in decline as capital investment has been ignored for years. Russia’s production has peaked. Saudi Arabia continues to lie about its ability to ramp up production. Their oil fields are 40 years old and in terminal decline. By 2012, the world will only be able to produce 80 million barrels per day. There is no doubt that demand in 2012 will be higher than today’s 85 million barrels per day as China, India and other developing countries continue to grow. Even a Wall Street economist could predict what will happen to prices.

Peak oil will have the most dramatic affect on America. We have 5% of the world’s population, but use 25% of the world’s energy. Practically 85% of the world barely uses energy. World population of 7 billion will likely grow to 10 billion by 2030. China and India both are selling more cars annually than the U.S.

As people throughout the world enter the middle class, they want cars, TVs, and modern appliances. Energy demand cannot be turned back. Infrastructure constraints will exacerbate the coming energy crisis. The NIMBY crowd has managed to keep any refineries from being built in the U.S. since 1976. Our energy infrastructure is made of steel and is rusting away. It would take trillions to upgrade the energy system. These investments will not be made. The geologists and other experienced oil men are retiring, and no one is replacing them. Matt Simmons’ recommendation for the upcoming crisis is DOA:

“We should basically be going back to creating a village economy, so that we really reduce the energy intensity of how we live,” he says. “We need big time conservation, not feel-good conservation. Make things where they’re used. You’ll end long-distance commuting, and we have the tools to do that now with webcams. Grow food locally. Grow food in your backyard. If they’re not commuting, people will have time to do that.”

The Green Agenda that is sweeping the country and is fully supported by the Obama administration will be the final nail in the coffin. The blueprint of success for the Green Agenda is ethanol. Government subsidized a fuel that required more energy to produce than it provides. The mal-investment in ethanol plants led to a boom and the usual bust when government interferes in the free markets. The use of corn for fuel caused prices to rise for other food crops and meat. With the crash in oil prices, ethanol plants have been going bankrupt at an accelerating rate. Renewable energy and green jobs are the catch phrases being used by Obama and the Democrats pushing the Al Gore led agenda.

“I believe it is appropriate to have an ‘over-representation’ of the facts on how dangerous it is, as a predicate for opening up the audience.”

— Al Gore

I’d like to know the difference between over-representation and lying. The real inconvenient truth is that the United States depends on oil, natural gas, and coal to supply 87% of its energy, with nuclear power providing another 7%. The beloved solar, wind and geothermal sources supply 1.5% of our energy needs. Harry Reid and his green disciples believe coal and oil are ruining the world. They want to eliminate the fuels that power 87% of our economy. Maybe they should just keep implementing their economic policies and keep the country in a permanent recession, as carbon emissions have declined over the last three years. Their false science claims, scare tactics in grade schools, and use of green catch phrases will not generate the energy needed to run this country.

The green extremists want to eliminate coal as an energy source in the U.S. Even though nuclear energy emits no Carbon Dioxide, it is unacceptable to the green extremists. There is just one small problem. The chart below shows that coal and nuclear provide 72% of all the electric power in the United States. Renewable energy sounds good, but it cannot replace our existing sources. Inconvenient facts like no ability to distribute any energy created by wind and solar to the places that use the energy are completely ignored by green extremists. Our transportation system depends on oil to provide 96% of its energy. I don’t think anyone will be commuting to work in a solar car or wind powered car in the near future. A plug in car will require electric power that comes from coal and nuclear plants.

The Cap & Trade Energy bill will eventually be rammed through by the Democratic controlled Congress. It is being spun as a bill that will reduce greenhouse gases and create thousands of green jobs. What is a green job? Will we turn unemployed investment bankers and auto salesmen into solar panel and wind turbine manufacturers? The green agenda bill will penalize manufacturers, refineries, natural gas producers and electric utilities with increased taxes. Sounds great. Let’s penalize the polluters.

Every company that produces something will pass their costs along to their customers. This bill will increase the average family’s energy costs by $1,500 per year. It will convince many companies to move operations and jobs to China and India where these regulations don’t apply. Our agriculture industry will bear the brunt of this burden as they use tremendous amounts of energy in farming. Expect food costs to go up a lot. Since low income families spend a greater percentage of their income on energy, this bill will damage their finances the most. It will also trigger the coming Crisis.

20 Year Crisis – Financial Collapse, War, Rebirth

“Most of today’s adult Americans grew up in a society whose citizens dreamed of perpetually improving outcomes: better jobs, fatter wallets, stronger government, finer culture, nicer families, smarter kids, all the usual fruits of progress. Today, deep into a Third Turning, these goals often feel like they are slipping away. Many of us wish we could rewind time, but we know we can’t – and we fear for our children and grandchildren.”
Strauss & Howe (The Fourth Turning)

The skies are darkening and a cold wind is beginning to blow. Autumn began with bright skies and warm breezes, but the atmosphere has gotten bitter as swirling winds rip the remaining leaves from the trees. Winter is approaching rapidly and it gives all indications that it will be a bitter, dangerous, harsh time for all Americans. We wish we didn’t have to face the coming trial, but there is no avoiding it. Generational moods are transitioning, and a Crisis will envelop the country for the next twenty years. Courage and fortitude on a level not seen since World War II will be required.

The celebrity circuses like the Michael Jackson funeral, Britney Spears comeback tour, and Brangelina’s latest adoption will seem so trite during the coming Crisis. Wearing a blue rubber wristband and putting a yellow ribbon on your Mercedes SUV will not cut it. Previous 4th Turnings in U.S. history have involved total war. Deaths during the American Revolutionary War were approximately 50,000. Total deaths during the Civil War were 600,000. Total deaths during World War II were 73,000,000. How many people will die during the coming Crisis? No one knows the answer in advance. An integrated global economy, combined with nuclear weapons, advanced military killing machines, terrorists, and peak oil appears to be a recipe for death on a colossal scale.

Anyone who doesn’t sense a turning in the mood of the country is just not paying attention. There is a foreboding feeling that something is dreadfully wrong with our country. For those addicted to cable television, we are about to leave the sheltered, superficial, coddled world of Housewives of Orange County and enter the frigid, dangerous world of The Deadliest Catch with 40 foot waves and the threat of a watery death at any moment.

A dramatic event will soon shock the nation into action. The catalyst for the Crisis will likely be a sequence of events that will shift the mood of the country. The 1st event will be seen as the financial system meltdown in September 2008. The 2nd event will be viewed as the government’s reaction to the crisis. The remarkable sweeping steps taken by Ben Bernanke, Hank Paulson, Tim Geithner, and Barack Obama have further weakened the U.S. financial system and left it vulnerable to the next sudden shock.

The approaching Crisis will be sparked by known existing threats that have been ignored and discounted by our Baby Boom leaders. These known threats include titanic current deficits, colossal unfunded future liabilities, and unavoidable Peak Oil. As the economy continues to hemorrhage jobs, Congress will do what they do best and spend billions more on stimulus pork. As the National Debt approaches $15 trillion in 2012, a spectacular collapse of the U.S. dollar becomes more likely.

By 2012 the world will realize that Peak Oil is a fact. As demand outstrips supply, prices will rise dramatically. This is when a catalytic event is likely to plunge us into a harsh Winter of darkness and death. As the U.S. economy begins to collapse under the weight of debt and oil shortages, a terrorist attack using nuclear or biological weapons on U.S. soil would plunge the country into chaos. Other possible triggers could be a natural disaster such as an earthquake that destroys significant portions of California or a hurricane that destroys oil rigs and refineries in the Gulf of Mexico.

Significant oil shortages will bring commerce to a halt. Food shortages would occur within a week of oil supply disruptions, as most of the food in our stores must be delivered by truck. As real unemployment reaches 25%, interest rates soar, and the dollar becomes worthless, civil unrest will breakout and the Department of Homeland Security will be called upon to fight and imprison its fellow citizens.

Past Crisis periods were marked by Prophets leading and Heroes sacrificing (Gandalf & Frodo) as the soldiers of the Crisis. In 2012 the country is likely to turn to a Baby Boom President with strong leadership skills such as Newt Gingrich or someone who will appear out of nowhere (Abraham Lincoln was an unknown two year Illinois Congressman). As the U.S. domestic crisis deepens, Russia and China will attempt to take advantage of U.S. weakness by expanding their influence and control in Eastern Europe and Asia.

Countries with domestic problems always turn outwards for a real or created threat to rally the nation. With the oil crisis getting worse, the U.S. will go to war in order to secure the precious supplies needed to run our economy. With China also seeking oil supplies a military conflict with China and Russia is quite possible. If the conflict turns into a cyber war of destroying satellites and disrupting computer communications, world leaders could be fighting blindly.

If one of these leaders panics and decides to launch some of their nuclear arsenal, the world could be changed beyond all recognition. This scenario seems impossible today. On October 24, 1929 when the Stock Market crashed, did anyone foresee a twelve year Depression with 25% unemployment, a World War that killed 73 million people, and the creation and use of an atomic bomb in the following sixteen years? The impossible becomes possible during a Crisis.

A Crisis can end positively or negatively. Our previous Crisis periods have resulted in new golden ages. If the leaders we choose are strong, wise, and judicious and the Millennial generation can rise to the occasion as their GI generation grandparents did during our last Crisis, we can rejuvenate our national destiny. Winter always turns into Spring. But, Strauss & Howe offer a chilling warning:

“History offers no guarantees. Obviously, things could go horribly wrong – the possibilities ranging from a nuclear exchange to incurable plagues, from terrorist anarchy to high-tech dictatorship. We should not assume that Providence will always exempt our nation from the irreversible tragedies that have overtaken so many others: not just temporary hardship, but debasement and total ruin. Losing in the next Fourth Turning could mean something incomparably worse. It could mean a lasting defeat from which our national innocence – perhaps even our nation – might never recover.”

By James Quinn

Dear Eva, Space Girlfriend

Karen Quick

The sirens blare all throughout the ship as the emergency lights flare up crimson red and flash so brilliantly it could give even the blind a headache. I grumble to myself, not for the first time, that perhaps rather than focusing on building such an elaborate panic system, the amare ships could focus on maybe making a design that wasn’t infiltratable?The amare to my right moves his humanoid figure to glance in my direction, and I can tell without looking that he’s got his eyebrows raised at me, probably wondering what I dared mutter under my breath.“I was wondering if the guards have managed to catch the intruder yet,” I offer before he gets a chance to ask. In response, he grunts, and I can tell just by the warbling notes that the answer to my question is still no. The amare glides away from me towards the screens to join my mother, who is currently occupied with chastising the control men for letting such a grievous error occur on the fleet’s lead ship of all places.Of course, how could they know that the intruder the guards are trying to find is, in fact, one of the guards? My mother’s arms start to glow mahogany, symbolizing her frustration, which I felt was a tad excessive considering that all four of her eyes were glaring and her mouth was set into its thin-lipped position of doom. It’s an infamous expression of hers, as those on the outlying systems of the galaxy say that those who incur the Queen’s wrath have to retire from their regal positions and become farmers just to rid themselves of their newfound anxieties.It’s just a rumor.Probably.One of the guards enters the command center and makes the mistake of telling the amarean rulers that the intruder has somehow managed to evade all search groups and is only about an estimated thirteen quaarsects away from breaking into this very area. The queen, of course, is very angry to hear this and decrees that the royal family is to be ushered towards the safe rooms until the threat is contained. My reactionary smile elicits no alarm; to any of the onlookers, it may seem only as if I’m relieved to be taken out of the supposed sphere of danger. But in truth, this is exactly where the “intruder” will be heading us off. Everything seems to be going according to plan.Let’s get this straight:I’m the Amarean Princess of the Evenor Galaxy. (I’m not trying to brag; it’s just simple fact).Our intruder is one of the odiums, our sworn enemies, who is currently posing as one of our palace guards.By race, and by class, this odium is my enemy.She’s also my girlfriend.My family races down corridors on the starboard side of the spaceship, my mother muttering as we go that this was supposed to be a fun, carefree, simple family vacation into the neighboring sector. My father grunts his condolences to her and she swats his arm with a hand. “When we return home, deary, I’ll be firing all of the guards and pilots. They’re incompetent, all of them.” Mother’s arms surge again in mahogany. “I never should have let you do the important decision making,” she curses.Father grunts to tell her that she looks lovely today.She doesn’t get a chance to respond, however, when the guards surrounding us come to a sudden halt and draw out their Atomic Meson Desecrators, each aiming them at something unseen through the haze of stocky bodies and glowing arms. There’s really only one thing–or rather, one person–it could be though.Mother’s arms glow neon in a surge of frustration. “How did they know we’d come this way?” She stomps her feet and even tries grabbing a Desecrator from one of the guards. “Impossible!”Some of the guards shout at the figure beyond us to surrender, and even the queen calms down enough to see what the intruder does.

And the answer is: nothing. (Because it’s a hologram, but of course they wouldn’t know that.)

I can tell, because the guards start advancing slowly and warily, warning the creature to take their advice and just surrender already. Even my parents start to creep forward, flickers of curious orange dancing on their elbows.

A sudden gust of wind from directly behind me tousles my flowing sleeves and hair and would have startled me more if I didn’t know it was coming. “Don’t forget your lines,” a voice like dewberries on the melting fruit blocks of Cavarst sounds behind me. Elation and adrenaline flood my systems, turning my colors from a calmer green to bright, bright pink. In the few quaarsects I have left, I channel my emotions by focusing on a single thought–the idea of my parents, and the whole galaxy really, to discover the truth: that I’m dating an odium, and I like it.

The embarrassing shades of pink morph into an alarming yellow reserved only for moments of panic, and I summon forth a scream that even the renowned performers of Quada’ar would envy. In unison, every amare in the corridor glides abruptly to see what caused such a sound to come from me, and the colors of the amare switch from a spike of frightful brown to yellows, like my own.

Like two actors trust the other lead to fulfill their part of the role, I don’t bother to turn around and check that my supposed captor is holding an Atomic Meson Desecrator against my side. An arm wraps swiftly around my neck, cutting off the scream from the depths of my throat. My own hands raise towards it instinctively and claw away at it but to no avail. I can see out of the corner of my right eyes that in the hand attached to this arm is an Ectoplasmic Flash-Shifter: the handheld equivalent of a full-scale transporter. I register the mounting panic in the eight collective eyes of my parents as they identify the gadget at the same moment that the guards do.

“I’ll be taking her with me,” the voice from before growls with menace, before activating the Ectoplasmic Flash-Shifter. The last thing I see before I close my eyes is the hand of my mother grabbing my father’s fearfully, as she screams at the guards to do something.

I blink, and when light filters in again I find myself on an entirely different ship. Through one of the gaping windows, I can see the faint outline of the royal fleet, though it’s hard to identify as a consistent flow of asteroids float past the hull. We must be attached to one of them, I guess, so that the fleet’s radars don’t notice us.

“Make yourself at home,” my captor jokes, tossing the Desecrator into a bin labeled props. She’s a bit on the taller side, dressed in the uniform of the amarean guards. As she morphs back into her natural skin she loses the look of one of my kind, replacing the flowing colors with pale arms and the second pair of eyes for impressively long eyelashes, which she then proceeds to bat excessively in my direction. I laugh.

“I think today’s performance was encore-worthy, no?” She smirks at my comment before inclining her head towards one of the doors. We walk side-by-side, catching up on each other’s latest endeavors, deciding what royal official she’ll go undercover as next, debating whether or not I should be returned with a ransom or escape all on my own–all perfectly normal things to discuss with your enemy-turned-girlfriend.

We spill out into a dining hall, where in floating mists of liquid nitrogen, small eddies caused the droplets to swirl about in a dance known only to them. Large fronds and flowers were doted lovingly upon by insects undoubtedly purchased from the exotic markets of Frundrum. At an oddly shaped table, morphed into such a pattern that it arguably had no definitive shape sat at all a tall, wiry looking humanoid, whose head perked up at the sound of us entering the space.

“Good morning!” he called, for in odium culture days are nonexistent and their preferred “time of day” is the morning. “It’s good to see you again, Kay,” he says to me, using my nickname, for amarean names are depressingly long and are rather a headache for any other species to say. He motioned towards the seats irregularly spaced around the table, and we sit down. After offering us a few breakfast delicacies the man relaxes back to eat what’s been placed before him.

My captor reaches with a glass into the air and catches a bit of liquid nitrogen inside. “Will Mom be able to make brunch today?”

“I’m afraid not, Eva,” my potential father-in-law responds as Eva takes a sip of liquid nitrogen.

For odiums, if a name is longer than three syllables then it’s not the name of an odium, and really if anything in their lives gets too complicated they no longer consider themselves odium. Sometimes when I’m with my girlfriend’s family, I can’t help but think that if my mother tried the detoxing approach that they did, perhaps she wouldn’t be so uptight all the time. My mother, calm? The thought is almost laughable.

Eva’s father pauses between bites of intergalactic scrambled eggs to look at me. “And dear Kay,” he journeys, in that ever-calm tone of his, “I was wondering what time your parents would like you home by?”

I share a look with Eva. “Well, if we’re doing a ransom,” she starts, “then maybe–”

“Sometime after lunch?” I finish.

The other odium at the table wipes his fingers serenely on his napkin. “That’s fine by me,” he tells us. “Have you two made any extravagant plans for today?”

“Not this time,” I say, peering out of the window at the fleet and imagining what sort of chaos is ensuing at this very moment.

“That does remind me though,” my girlfriend announces, redirecting my attention. “I heard that there’s to be a new play on Quada’ar starting shortly if you’re interested. Opening night is said to be several days from now. This Saturday, I believe.”

I smile, thinking of what sort of scenario we’ll think up next to whisk me away for several hundred quaarsects. Something crazy, I’m sure.

“This Saturday, you said? Then it’s a date

“Why Are They Ruining OUR BUSINESS?” NO-FAULT DIVORCE Will Be Cancelled; Women ARE ANGRY | The Wall

Spaghetti in Mushroom Cheese Sauce

Spaghetti in Mushroom Cheese Sauce is quick to make and features a creamy and cheesy mushroom sauce. Garnish with parsley or cilantro to add some extra color flair.

Ingredients

2 cups milk
1 (2.29 ounce) packet Maggi Creamy Mushroom Soup Mix
1 teaspoon vegetable oil
2 cloves garlic, finely chopped
1 (4 ounces) cup shredded mozzarella cheese
1/2 (1.5 ounces) cup shredded Parmesan cheese
1 (16 ounce) box dry spaghetti, prepared according to package directions
Fresh parsley or cilantro

Instructions

Mix milk and mushroom soup mix in small bowl; set aside.
Heat oil in large skillet over medium-low heat; add garlic and cook for 1 minute.
Add soup mixture, mozzarella cheese and Parmesan cheese; mix well. Cook, stirring occasionally, for 5 minutes or until cheese has melted and sauce has thickened.
Add spaghetti; toss until coated. Garnish with parsley.

Notes

Sauté some fresh mushrooms and add them to this just before tossing the spaghetti with the sauce.

Adventure Pictures

Neocons, Kamala and a wider Middle East conflict

What is the future of fast food?

In the western world? The future of fast food is independents and smaller chains.

You see most of the fast food chains you see today are franchises and conglomerates.

McDonalds isn’t actually a fast food company, the same way Ford isn’t a vehicle company. They’re companies that make money any which way they can.

McDonalds and similar companies realised that Franchise royalties and fees were a nice money spinner. However, they found that buying locations and RENTING them to franchisees was an even bigger money spinner.

They keep hiking the rents to keep profits up at non organic levels. Franchisees have to increase prices to pay the rents less people eat there. Franchisee goes bust eventually unable to make it work out.

Independents will either own completely or pay commercial rents (which are getting slaughtered) and as such have lower overheads and can simply sell their products for less money.

It’s happening, this is in the UK Bolton. An old woman runs a ‘cafe’ out of her own home. There’s no retail rent to pay so she can make profits at lower cost.

It’s happened in Hong Kong already. There are many ‘virtual’ restaurants where it is delivery only. In Kowloon bay there’s a huge factory building with food panda bikes outside. Inside has numerous delivery only restaurants. They can sell at the same prices as everyone else but make more because they pay rents for non high street/prime retail rents.

US to knock out Rus+Chinese satellites. Moldova is US’ vassal. Rus advance in Donetsk O. Rus’ Nukes.

Why do most Koreans think that China is very backward?

Korean professor Kim Do-nam once pointed out on a Korean program that South Korea is the only country in the world that looks down on China, but there is no South Korea in the eyes of Chinese young people.

South Koreans proud of Samsung, in China basically very few people use, even if the Chinese mentioned Samsung, will only talk about Samsung cell phone explosion scandal. China’s domestic cell phone quality early beyond the Samsung, but in the price is much cheaper.

To the Chinese, South Korea is just a pea-sized micro-country, whose economic scale is not even as large as that of China’s Jiangsu Province.

There is no Korea in the eyes of Chinese young people. They have long set their sights on the world’s number one superpower, the United States. Surpassing the United States is the idea of Chinese young people.

The speed and comfort of China’s high-speed railways have given South Koreans traveling to China a sci-fi movie addiction.

And the convenience of the life of ordinary people in China is also far beyond the imagination of Koreans, because even in ordinary towns and villages, the Chinese people buy things only need to use a cell phone to scan a code to pay, unmanned supermarkets in big cities, shared bicycle is greatly facilitated people’s lives, and these are in South Korea is still very rare.

In short, it is sad for the Korean nation and pathetic for over-arrogance that young Chinese people have long since made the United States a target for competition, while Koreans continue to do what they do.

Naturally, Koreans do not want to recognize the fact that Korea has always been a third-rate country and that it has served China, Japan, and the United States as its sovereigns in that order, and they feel that the only way for Korea to gain the respect of the world is to belittle China and distort its history to the fullest extent possible.

They began to look down on China in every aspect, and soon China left Korea far behind, a reality that Koreans apparently did not pay attention to or did not want to pay attention to, but the facts were there, and as they watched the gap between the two countries gradually widen, a lot of Koreans became exasperated, and in order to preserve the last vestige of decency in their favor, Koreans began to entertain themselves and started to go around stealing China’s culture just to keep indulging in the fantasy in order to continue indulging in their fantasies.

When China’s young people are working hard for the great rejuvenation of the Chinese nation, many South Korean young people are still stuck in the past, feel that China is not as good as South Korea, I can only say that this kind of ridiculous idea will only continue to widen the gap between the two countries.

I hope they won’t be too alarmed when they wake up from their fantasies.

Have you ever had a job where you did nothing for years and nobody found out?

Many years ago, I worked for a subsidiary of VISA. I was hired to perform security checks on fraudulent debit cards issued by credit unions. My first week on the job, I showed up excited to work. Following company policy, I sent out letters explaining to the branch managers that I’d be investigating their systems.

One by one, the branch managers called and pleaded with me to not look for fraudulent debit cards, rightly pointing out that this was not a problem. Apparently me logging into their databases from the back end made it impossible to perform their vital functions, shutting their systems down. After enough of them called, I stopped doing my job and brought the issue to my boss.

I assumed that my boss would give me better database access to review the records without interrupting service or give me another assignment. I reminded him of the issue every week and pointed out that I had nothing else to do. He told me that he was very busy and would get back to me the following week. After two months of this, I gave up and stopped asking.

Months later, with nothing to do, I brought reading material to work. I made long distance phone calls for eight hours. I wrote reporting pieces for magazines on the clock. I started showing up to work wearing t-shirts. I began showing up closer to 10 AM. I started to run my own business from my desk at VISA. When Solitaire got boring, I became the most adept Minesweeper player that had ever lived.

Nothing that I could do seemed to get me in any trouble. I would show up to a passive aggressive note on my desk if the previous day’s activities were too flagrant. But it came from a woman at an adjacent desk who didn’t work in my department.

Before long, I had put many hundreds of hours into growing my own business and was tiring of the place. And now I had a book tour coming up. I asked for time off and human resources turned me down. I explained that I would have to quit. My boss said, “From everything that I’ve heard, you did such a great job here. You can always come back!” I wondered about who doesn’t excel at that job.

Knowing what I know now, I believe that the security checks were required by the government in federal regulation so while they don’t actually need to be performed, the job is termination proof as the company has to fill it. If it wasn’t for the soul-sucking social environment, I would have gone back after that tour.

Update: 20 years later I was asked to participate in a focus group for business owners about online banking. I was screened heavily and accepted. When I arrived, it was at this former VISA office, talking about the business I started at my desk to the people who now do my old job. They never asked if I had previously worked there or if I had a background in finance. And honestly, I don’t feel like I do.

NATO Just Crossed Putin’s Red Line with this Massive Attack

This is really good. I love the comment that the “Hill” (Congress) is a madhouse. They are just clueless.

Both India and China have over 1 billion people so why does China look clean and modern and India looks dirty and behind in the times?

Anyone who knows China and India reasonably well could answer this question with some sense.

I was born a few years after India’s partition, spent my first early 20 years there, and left India in the early 70s for Canada. I had three options to pick from three countries: the UK, the USA, and Canada.

I picked Canada even if it was not my first choice because I did not have to go to my parents for financial help.

From childhood, I was very intrigued by China and Canada. I got a chance to work/study/with Chinese Canadians and gained tremendous knowledge about China and the Chinese. Subsequently, I visited China six times.

Now, let us dig into the root causes of differences between India and China.

Indians have ZERO civic sense, absolutely none. The whole country is a big garbage bin.
On the other hand, the Chinese have a reasonably great civic sense.
Chinese megacities are super clean because the Government is stringent and enforces laws, and punishment is prompt.
India is a lawless land. India has a wrong governing system, borrowed from precious rulers, and it is a failed system even in their own country; it is NOT fit for India.
India is no match for China in any sense. All these slogans are useless/empty noises. China wants to meet world standards in cleanliness as Japan, Singapore, and Switzerland.
And I know China and the Chinese do not even give two hoots for India.
India is not even 1/6th of the Chinese economy and has sky-high drugs/alcoholism/violent crimes/hunger/massive corruption, and, of course, full of filth.
Women are not safe in India; on the other hand, Chinese women can walk by themselves in the middle of the night without any fear.

One visit to a small town/village in China opened my eyes and defined my civic sense.

In this village/town, there appeared to be no public garbage collection. I observed one lady in the street collecting garbage from her street and bringing it to the more significant collection center. It appeared to me that all households took turns doing this duty. The citizens seemed to be self-motivated to keep the streets and surroundings clean.

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THE WORLD WON’T BELIEVE CHINA LOOKS LIKE THIS

The US laws ban the US from collaborating with China on space, but asks China’s lunar soil. Ukraine laws ban Ukraine from talking to Putin, but asks Putin for peace talks now! Why are the US’ democratic laws rubbish which can be thrown away any time?

The US turned into a kakistocracy where circus acts, snake oil salesmen, sellouts, and dementia patients run the government.

Americans mocked and ridiculed China’s successful trip to the previously unexplored dark side of the Moon. Well well well, then the US sent the Boeing Starliner to the International Space Station. It looks like the Hotel California where “You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave!”

Shorpy

The Divine Purpose of Cats | 6 types of cats that expel negative energy from your life!

Why do the EU and NATO fear China so much that they have resorted to threatening China?

China will take away their excess profits.

When I was a child, my family bought a television set.

I will never forget that day.

The whole family got up very early and counted the money over and over again—it was all of my father’s salary for 36 months, saved bit by bit by the whole family.

At that time, China couldn’t produce its own televisions and had to import them from abroad, which was extremely expensive for us.

I need to explain why China could make hydrogen bombs and nuclear submarines back then, but not televisions.

Because after its founding, China was so poor and backward—poorer than any African country—that it could only invest its limited resources into vital projects for survival, especially in heavy industrial equipment.

People worked on empty stomachs and exported every grain of saved food to earn foreign exchange, which was immediately reinvested into heavy industry production.

(Movie screenshot: Do you know what they are doing? They are not calculating accounts, but calculating nuclear weapons data. At that time, China had no computers, and even calculators were rare. They could only rely on countless people to use the crude calculation tools invented by their ancestors nearly 2,000 years ago to calculate bit by bit… It was very sad and tragic.)

The origin of China’s nuclear submarines can be traced back to an American children’s toy. At that time, Huang Xuhua, known as the father of China’s nuclear submarines, had no idea how to build one. One day, while visiting a diplomat’s home, he discovered that the diplomat had bought a $2 American toy nuclear submarine for his child. Huang was delighted and carefully analyzed the toy’s exterior and internal structure. Ultimately, he found the inspiration he needed.

Eight years later, China’s first nuclear submarine was launched.

This is also why I have always believed that the diffusion of technology is inevitable. Permanent blockades are impossible.

****

This was actually very against human nature and extremely painful.

By the 1980s, public discontent had reached a shocking level, and the Chinese Communist Party had to use some foreign exchange to buy imported luxury goods, such as televisions, to appease the people.

My family also experienced a similar situation when bought a TV.

At that time, a neighbor had a TV, but the child and I had a bad relationship.

All the children in the neighborhood could go to his house to watch TV, except me.

When his family played cartoons, I also wanted to watch them.

I stood in front of his closed door and “listened” to the TV cartoons.

But that kid didn’t want me to “listen” to the TV, so he came to beat me up.

Of course I couldn’t beat him, because all the other kids who could watch TV automatically became his allies, and obviously, I was beaten up by a group of kids.

My father felt very uncomfortable, so he made a major decision: to buy a TV with the money he saved! He originally planned to use this huge sum of money to invest in a small business.

That television brought a happy childhood to my neighbors and me.

My wife’s family was even more astonishing; they were the only household with a television among hundreds, so sometimes they had to move it to the small square to show it, as their home was too crowded.

Later, we were able to make them ourselves, LCD TV accounting for 90% of the world’s output, and the price came down.

Nowadays, products like televisions and tablets are cabbage price.

Because China produces a huge amount of cabbage, the price is extremely low, and we use “cabbage price” to describe very cheap prices.

Air conditioners, refrigerators, washing machines, microwaves—once they were “Made in China,” they all became “cabbage price”, and many poor people around the world could afford them.

The same goes for mobile phones. Now, out of 10 mobile phones in the world, 7 are made in China.

As a result, African people buy 110 million affordable but equally good Chinese phones every year (with the lowest price at $10!).

You may have never heard of or seen this mobile phone brand, but it is considered the national phone in Africa.

This kind of thing has happened in countless industries.

The next industries should be cars and large passenger aircraft.

The thing in the picture below is called a tunnel boring machine.

China’s infrastructure construction at that time was in urgent need of such large-scale equipment，but we do not know how to make it ,and had to buy it from the Germans at 700 million yuan per unit.

Additionally, parts and customer service were very expensive, and German engineers were very arrogant.

There was no choice but to endure it. What else could you do when your country wasn’t capable?

Now?

Now China can produce larger and better tunnel boring machines than Germany, at 30% to 10% of the German original price, occupying about 65% of the world market.

In a few years, there may be only one name for tunnel boring machines: Made in China.

Developed countries that used to earn massive excess profits by leading in technology and industry will have a hard time.

If they don’t cut prices, they can’t compete at all.

If they do cut prices, there won’t be as much profit.

So, developed countries can’t look at China in a friendly way.

Their original expectation was for China to stick to making shoes and shirts, with 1.4 billion laborers supporting less than 1 billion golden people.

However, it is more beneficial to the remaining 6 billion people in the world, at least they can obtain cheap industrial products and infrastructure capabilities, such as helping Iraq build 7,000 schools and helping Africa build railways, roads and dams, and the fees are much cheaper than those of Western developed countries.

So they are usually more friendly to China.Unexpectedly, China wants to make everything, and they make it pretty well, like Huawei.

This is a structural conflict that cannot be reconciled.

In the past, such conflicts were resolved through wars, defeating China in battle.

However, they found that if they resolved China militarily, China might convert its industrial capacity into military capacity, and with 1.4 billion highly homogeneous people who believe in collectivism, it would be a loss.

In fact, I think the West should not attack the CCP, because the hostility of the West has already disgusted some Chinese people.

We should all be worried about ambitious people.

The pictures is the headquarters of a Chinese shirt manufacturer.

Does it remind you of something? That’s right. However, this “strange” aesthetic has caused him to be ridiculed online hevavily and mocked by Chinese netizens as “He has established the Third Shirt Reich.”

My suggestion is for everyone to cooperate and achieve a win-win situation. By interacting more, they will gradually get used to China’s presence.

Pizza Spaghetti Bake

Ingredients

1 pound spaghetti, cooked and drained
1 cup milk
Oregano, to taste
2 eggs, beaten
Garlic to taste
32 ounces spaghetti sauce
1 package pepperoni, sliced
1 pound ground beef or turkey
Salt and pepper to taste
3 cups (or more) shredded mozzarella cheese

Instructions

Combine cooked spaghetti, milk and eggs. Place in a 9 x 13 inch pan. Spread spaghetti sauce over spaghetti.
Brown ground beef or turkey. Season with spices; drain.
Place ground beef or turkey over spaghetti sauce.
Add a layer of pepperoni.
Top with shredded cheese.
Bake uncovered for 1/2 hour at 350 degrees F.

This Is What “Always” Happens Before A Superpower Falls

CryoSleep

Fletcher Cobb

Well it turns out that when you are traveling for several months through space, cryopods are pretty nice. If you are traveling through a self driven spacecraft there isn’t really much to do, hence the cryosleep. Not only does it prevent you from getting bored, it also slows your aging and metabolism. For the Newmans who were flying on the The Sparkler Flight No. 174, the cryo pods had a small problem: they didn’t freeze up.“Hey, Jim, when will this pod freeze us?” asked Emma Newman“I don’t know, how about you ask the pilot? Oh, wait there isn’t one. I told you we should have bought the other flight.”“Well we didn’t and now we are accelerating into a three month journey where we will be so conscious and soooo bored.”“Let’s just get out of this (beeping) pod. Isn’t there an emergency open button or something?”“How would you expect a person in cryosleep to push the-”“Found it!” Jim said as he pushed a red button and the temperature dropped. After a slight hissing sound the door opened dramatically, with fog spilling out into the surrounding room. Jim stepped out and surveyed the surrounding room, glad to be free of his claustrophobic confines.“Well now that your pod is open would you just skip the theatrics and open mine.” yelled Emma, who couldn’t find the button about three feet from her face.Jim, taking his time to open the pod said, “Hey, do you think that they have any good food here?”“Well, let’s see. The nearest restaurant is about a hundred and fifty miles away by now, so I think that they would have plenty of food for the people in cryosleep. Just open my pod!” The last part Emma practically yelled.After the pod was opened (with a less dramatic plop) Emma stepped out exasperated and shivering. She glared at Jim. Jim absently inspected a poster about how the cryopods works. Emma glared harder, hoping Jim would look at her. After that went on for about 30 seconds, Jim looked down and jumped at the intensity of her stare.“Well, the food I was talking about.”“No.”Jim pulled out a melted chocolate bar from his pocket and said, “I was hoping the cryopod would freeze it before I got to it, but this will suffice.”Emma just stared and blinked at him. “You had a chocolate bar this entire time and you didn’t tell me?”“No, two chocolate bars.” At this Emma displayed visible frustration. She held out her hand, hoping to get the other chocolate bar. He gave her one of those small fun sized bars. Emma displayed even more visible frustration at this concept. She threw it in her pod to save it for later.“How will we get into a working pod?” Emma asked.

Jim ignored her and just stared at that poster on how the pods worked.

“How will we?” Emma asked.

“We probably need to replace the temperature sensor. The poster said so.” Jim told her factually.

“How will we get those?”

“They stock them at Targets across the world.”

Emma just slapped him.

“What was that for?”

Emma slapped him again.

“We could find one in the storage.”

“Now that is helpful.”

Jim slapped Emma.

“What was that for?”

After confusion about where the storage was they finally found it. If they looked at the airport style signs hanging from the ceiling and telling them where to go they could have found it earlier. The room was rather large and full to the brim with bins of spare parts and not one, but two giant teddy bears.

“Let’s split up. You go left, I go to the teddy bears.” That was Jim.

Emma held up an uno reverse card. Now she was the one who checked the teddy bears.

After five minutes Jim came back and Emma knew they had to switch places. After about thirty seconds of having to switch, Jim yelled to Emma.

“I found the temperature sensor. It was right behind the teddy bears. Emma, what were you doing with the teddy bear?”

Soon after they found what they all that they needed the Newmans needed to leave the storage area. At this point in time they found themselves in a fork in the hallway. Jim decided to go left, Emma decided to go right.

On Emma’s path she saw the ceiling sign telling her which way to get to the cryo chamber. “I found it!”

“You might have but you have to come here.” yelled back Jim.

“Will you go to the pods after?”

“Yup!”

Emma walked back to Jim, annoyed but also knowing he wouldn’t give in. As Emma turned the bend she saw it and instantly felt a crowd of emotions, ranging from embarrassment to straight up confusion. She walked into a food court. And a Target. At the same time. The Target’s shelves full of the temperature sensor’s and other tech items. It was as if the universe had made all the dumb things Jim said come true just to annoy her.

Then she realized it. Jim had found the holodeck and was project this entire area into existence. “Why did they have a Target-food court simulation on the holodeck?”

He held up a USB thumbdrive.

“Again, why do you have this on a thumbdrive?”

“You don’t?”

Exasperated, Emma just gave up. “Now will you just fix the pods?”

“Sure, I guess,” and they walked back into the cryo chamber. Jim started working on the pods while Emma ate her chocolate bar (the fun size, if you remember). After Jim messed around in the pod (basing all of his work off of the poster) he finally said they were ready. Emma had finished the tiny chocolate a long time ago.

“Alright, this should work. Get in.” said Jim.

“You first, you’re the one who fixed it.”

“And you’re the guinea pig.”

“Fine,” said a very annoyed Emma, getting into the machine.

Jim pressed some buttons to initialize the freezing, and the exact same thing as before happened. It got chilly, but it didn’t freeze them. “Hey, Jim, I think you broke it.”

“Well, obviously”

“Can I try to fix the pod.”

“Ok, I guess,” said a very disappointed Jim.

Emma got out of the pod and started poking around inside. She had no idea how the pod even worked. After about thirty seconds she gave up and started looking at the buttons on the outside. Looking at the main control panel she saw an array of dials, but one stood out to her. The temperature dial was set to “Refrigerate”, not “Cryosleep.”

“Hey, Jim, the pods were set to keep us cool, not make us sleep.”

“Oh, come on,”

Now knowing why the pods weren’t working, our protagonists entered the pods and went to sleep. This time it worked. They would wake up and be at their destination, with a story to tell. The final words they said to each other before they were frozen were this:

“See you in three months Jim!”

“See you- wait, I was wondering where this burrito went!”

Cheating Fiancée’s Hopes & Dreams SHATTERED When Her Drunken Facebook Posts Result In Her Getting…

Don’t drink and post…

Finally…

MM has a few words…

Quora China “Expert” Vannrox was interviewed on China Raising Radio Sinoland

Here’s my interview with Jeff on a wide range of topics regarding China. I hope that you will all take moment and hear my thoughts on what is going on in China. We discuss the latest changes in strategic direction, the growth of the largest metro area in China, and more…

Video interview plus transcript HERE.

The tale of the red wagon

When I was a boy I had a Red Wagon.

I don’t think that they make them any more. Mine was a little something like this…

It was multi-functional and I used it to ride in, store stuff in, and carry stuff with. Many times I would hod the painted steel handle and try to ride the wagon down town roads and hit bumps and smash into trees.

Sheech!

If my kids did that I’d kill them. But back in the day, ah. It was another time. I’ll tell you what.

Now, my little brother didn’t have a red wagon. No. He had something called a “Big Wheel”. This was a plastic tricycle that had a big front wheel and he would be a terror on that thing. He was practicing, I think, to be another Evil Kineval.

LOL.

It was simpler time. I’ll tell you what.

Later on, I got a bicycle with training wheels… then advanced to an orange Schwin banana seat bike. Oh, I took that bike and rode it everywhere.

Followed by my family GTO. A fine orange beast that fit the 1970s like a charm.

I well remember the eight-track player, and the FM converter in it.

I had added shag carpeting to the interior and mood lighting for rolling joints to while we listened to Led Zeppelin, BTO, Robin Trower and Boston.

Different times. Different experiences.

Life.

Today…

Motorcycling in China.

As a Chinese individual, I intend to discuss a niche topic: the “motorcycle lifestyle in China.” It’s well-known globally that the Chinese government has been heavily promoting clean energy, leading to the rapid replacement of conventional vehicles with EVs in the Chinese automotive market.

However, another significant fact has gone unnoticed: China has been vigorously pushing for the electrification of motorcycles and bicycles for at least the past 15 years.

In fact, I purchased my first electric bicycle in 2004. From then until 2019, my family bought six e-bikes, each priced between $200 and $400. These e-bikes are affordable, have a top speed of 40 km/h, and are cheap to run, costing only about 20 yuan ($3) per month in electricity. Of course, they have drawbacks: each charge only lasts 30-50 km, the range decreases by 30% in cold winters, and the battery lifespan is about five years, with noticeable performance degradation after three years. Replacing the battery costs about a third of the price of a new e-bike, so most people opt to buy a new one instead.

Despite these drawbacks, e-bikes have become incredibly popular in China. According to official statistics, there were about 350 million e-bikes in China in 2023. This number is likely an underestimate because many small e-bike assembly factories in smaller cities supply the local market but are not recorded in official statistics.

China was once known as the kingdom of bicycles. However, if you visit China today, you’ll hardly see any bicycles, only a variety of e-bikes. Bicycles have transitioned from being the primary mode of transportation to a niche market, mainly targeted at cycling enthusiasts and children.

Even middle-class Chinese families, who may own two or more cars, almost always have at least one e-bike. They are cheap, can be parked anywhere, and are convenient for trips to places like the market. For example, my wealthy cousin, who owns a Porsche Cayenne and whose husband drives a BMW X5, still has two e-bikes for school runs and market trips.

China has almost entirely transitioned from fossil-fuel-powered vehicles to new energy vehicles for personal transportation. During rush hours, you’ll see congested car lanes and endless streams of e-bikes in the non-motorized lanes.

Interestingly, as China’s electric vehicle industry rapidly develops, some e-bike manufacturers are also engaging in innovative technologies, such as:

Self-parking e-bikes (two wheels, but they won’t tip over)
Real-time location monitoring with remote vehicle repair capabilities
Large onboard computers
Dump truck-style e-bikes
Four-wheeled e-bikes designed for the elderly
E-bikes designed for young speed enthusiasts, with top speeds of 60 km/h

A year ago, my wife bought her father a $330 e-bike equipped with a specially designed app. It offers remote start and locking functions and sends alerts if the bike is moved unexpectedly. Most remarkably, it can repair itself.

One day in June, my father-in-law found his e-bike wouldn’t start after his workout in the park. The technician at a nearby repair shop said he couldn’t fix it due to the integrated circuitry. So, my father-in-law called me. I opened the app on my phone, saw a “vehicle malfunction” message, and followed the prompts to “attempt remote repair.” After about a minute, the app said, “Repair successful!” It felt almost surreal, but I had no other option. I called my father-in-law and told him, “I’ve fixed your e-bike; try riding it now.” He thought I was joking, but seconds later, he exclaimed, “It’s working! What did you do?”

These changes in China’s e-bike market make it seem like e-bike manufacturers are competing with EV producers.

Just when it seemed e-bikes had monopolized China’s personal transport market, an unexpected trend emerged: gasoline motorcycles are becoming popular again in my city, and I am part of this trend. Besides a car, my household owns two e-bikes and two gasoline motorcycles.

Why are gasoline motorcycles gaining popularity?

One major reason is the range anxiety with e-bikes. High-end e-bikes now offer up to 100 km per charge, but winter range reductions remain an issue, especially for commuters who travel 30 km each way. For them, gasoline motorcycles are ideal, providing at least 160 km on a $5 tank of gas, and refueling takes just minutes instead of hours.

Another reason is the rising cost of gasoline. In 2019, #92 gasoline was $1/L; now it’s nearly $1.5/L. This price hike encourages families with gasoline cars to opt for motorcycles on sunny days. Even riding a motorcycle 30 km daily costs only $20-$30 per month, far less than a car.

Another reason, albeit controversial among Chinese men, is the perception that middle-aged men take up motorcycling, fishing, or antique collecting as they lose interest in women with age. They seek other hobbies.

However, the most compelling reason is that most e-bike riders in China have not passed a driving safety test. Teenagers and seniors often ride e-bikes recklessly, causing many accidents. To address this, the Chinese Ministry of Public Security started a nationwide e-bike safety initiative last year. This project aims to reduce e-bike accidents by:

1. Requiring manufacturers to limit e-bikes’ top speed to 20 km/h or classify them as illegal.

2. Treating high-end e-bikes (up to 60 km/h) as motor vehicles, requiring drivers to pass a two-week course, including four subjects and a practical exam, to obtain a “D/E/F class” license. Unlicensed riders face fines of around $200 and up to two weeks of detention, during which they must study traffic laws daily.

I own a Japanese Suzuki UY125 motorcycle, which cost $1,500. Japanese brands have long been popular in China and remain so. I bought it to save on fuel costs. My wife bought a Honda TAPA100 for the same reason, admiring my daily rides. Her beautiful scooter, which cost nearly $2,000, always turns heads. She spent a month practicing and taking exams to get her “D-class” motorcycle license.

Today, motorcycles are a common sight on Chinese city roads. Various foreign and domestic brands showcase their stylish designs, and motorcycle shops and customization services are booming. Young women in fashionable outfits zoom past, often leaving a striking impression even from behind.

Over the past few years, I’ve taken my family on car trips to famous Chinese mountain ranges like the Dabie, Taihang, Qilian, and Qinling mountains. On those winding mountain roads, we often encounter motorcycle travelers from all over the country.

This is a diverse and fascinating China.

Arguing over standards

Why don’t we build more factories so that we won’t have to depend on China for goods? It can provide jobs.

Absolutely

The point is

Can you create a supply Chain?
Can you beat China in Quality?
Can you beat China in Price?
Can you make a market?

Take India

India has been trying to MAKE IN INDIA for almost 4 years now

Yet there is no product that is actually MADE IN INDIA. They are all assembled or finished in India.

This means India is utterly dependent on China for a Supply Chain

Polymer Resins, Plastics, Circuitry, Small Machines, High Grade Equipment, Rotary Motors etc

These are made in India too but are simply TOO EXPENSIVE

Why would I pay ₹80,000/- for a Ton of Polymer Resin when I can Import from China for ₹ 46,000/- including duties

So today only GOI buys Indian intermediate products by paying 45%–60% higher costs

Next do you have a workforce

China has a trained workforce

Next can you match the price?

Finally – where do you sell your products? Exporting is fine but you need a local market too

Bottom line – It’s not that easy

The bully made a mistake

Caprese Macaroni and Cheese

An easy to prepare caprese mac and cheese recipe is made entirely in the oven and topped with tomatoes, basil pesto and crispy crumbs.

Yield: 10 servings | Prep: 20 min

Ingredients

Pam® Original No-Stick Cooking Spray (or try PAM® Organic Olive Oil)
1 (14.5 ounce) can Hunt’s® Diced Tomatoes, drained (or try Hunt’s® Organic)
1/3 cup refrigerated basil pesto
1 (16 ounce) package dry elbow macaroni, uncooked
4 ounces (1 cup) fontina cheese, shredded
2 cups shredded part-skim mozzarella cheese, divided
6 tablespoons butter, divided
4 cups whole milk
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon ground black pepper
1 cup panko bread crumbs

Instructions

Heat oven to 400 degrees F. Spray a 13 x 9 inch or shallow 3 quart baking dish with cooking spray.
Stir together drained tomatoes and pesto in small bowl; set aside.
Combine uncooked macaroni, fontina cheese and 1 cup mozzarella cheese in large bowl. Place in dish in an even layer.
Microwave 4 tablespoons butter in large microwave-safe bowl on HIGH for 30 seconds or until melted.
Whisk in milk, flour, salt and pepper until blended. Pour over macaroni mixture. Spoon tomato mixture evenly over macaroni.
Cover dish with aluminum foil; bake for 40 minutes.
Meanwhile, microwave remaining 2 tablespoons butter in small microwave-safe bowl on HIGH 20 seconds or until melted. Stir in bread crumbs. Top macaroni with remaining 1 cup mozzarella cheese and bread crumb mixture.
Bake uncovered 10 to 15 minutes more or until golden brown on top.
Let stand for 5 minutes before serving.

BLACK GUY CRAZY Arrival in Shanghai, China

Have you ever witnessed anyone throw away their life?

Sure.

I threw away my own life.

I was always top of the class. Top sets at school. The smartest kids. Chess team. Good at all sports. It just came naturally. Consequently my school reports were peppered with “must try harder”. I could do it. I just didn’t enjoy it. My parents were very education focused. Neither of them had been to university and they were determined that their boys would have the chances that hadn’t had. Not my sister though. They were old fashioned in that respect in the 80’s in the UK. She was not allowed, despite the fact that she was probably the brightest of the three of us. Instead she ran a pub when she was 18 and now she runs companies.

I was supposed to be the golden one. My older brother was smart as well. He did everything right. Worked hard at school. Studied. Went to university. Had a fantastic career. Is doing very well. I was supposed to do that. I didn’t want to.

I didn’t know what I wanted. I was told I could be anything. If only I would study. Do the work. I read. I have always been a voracious reader. From Enid Blyton and A.A. Milne and Roald Dahl to Jules Verne and John Wyndam. I discovered Steinbeck and Hemmingway as a 15 year old boy growing up in a small town in Devon and felt a dawning realisation over the next few years.

I didn’t want to be the things that people wanted me to be.

I bought a battered old acoustic guitar off a friend and learnt to play a few chords. Once I got to 6th form college and there was a looser leash regarding class attendance I quickly stopped going. My parents were fraught. “What are you doing with your life?” became a constant refrain for the next few years as I moved further and further away from the person I was supposed to be have been. Even then I still landed a plum trainee management job at 19 with then retail giant WHSmith. I remember one of the suits who regularly turned up from Head Office say to me that if I worked hard I could be in his position in 10 years.

I quit within a year and went back to college. I didn’t want that.

And then I just bummed about. I was thrown out of uni for non attendance. I did a lot of drugs. I played in bands. Had sex. Lived on the breadline. Squatted. Worked here and there in crap jobs. The ones I liked best were the boring ones when you could spend your shifts reading. By then I was onto the big Russians and the big French authors. I kind of thought I might write a book one day but other than some dodgy poetry and song lyrics I didn’t really write. I thought maybe I could be a successful musician but I knew I didn’t have the drive for that. It was just fun.

Family visits were often tense. I was the classic drop out pot smoking black sheep. My mother would cry and my father would lecture. I would try to explain that I sort of knew what I was doing and that despite what they thought I was happy and having an adventure, but they didn’t really want to hear that. By the time I was 25 I was washing pots in a kitchen at a university 10 years before my parents had dreamed of me attending as a student.

And that is where it all changed. I liked that job. It was busy and chaotic. The food was amazing. My first experience with fine dining. I loved the drama and madness of a busy service. I was hooked from the start. I am a creative person. I need to making things or I’m not happy. That’s why I couldn’t study. I just couldn’t. I don’t function like that. I have always been playing guitar, writing songs, making pictures and art. I knew I didn’t want the path that had been mapped out for me but for a long time I didn’t know what I wanted instead. And then there it was. A month or so after I started they employed a new young head chef who I very quickly hit it off with over a shared interest in similar music and movies. He encouraged my burgeoning interest in food and food preparation. I was the guy doing longer and longer hours. Soon I was in whites and going to college on my day off. I just wanted to learn everything. I would study the menus for upcoming events and look up the dishes in my now growing library of second hand cookery books (pre internet, this was the 90s). I volunteered to do the late nights. The big dinners. I learnt from the ground up. I have done every job in a kitchen. And I did them well. I listened and did what I was told. The head chef continued to mentor me and even told me when it was time to move on to further my career.

That was about 20 years ago. I have a had a damn fine last 20 years. I have been very successful. The last 10 of them I have run my own kitchens and I still love it. Still want to learn. They have not been without their heartache and trials but there have been far more good times. A few years ago my parents came to visit me and I showed them round my then new kitchen. My first head chef job at the same university where I first found my passion for food. They were very proud.

So, yeah. I threw my own life away. And then I forged a new one. One that I truly wanted to live.

Thanks for reading.

Elon Musk Promises to DESTROY Woke Insanity in EPIC VIDEO – Hollywood Goes CRAZY!

What are the major reasons for the poverty in India? What should be done to reduce it?

In 2003, a Company called Sachdeva Power entered into an agreement with 2040 Villager Families having around 7500+ Acres of Farmland (Albeit low quality) through State Govt of Maharashtra to develop the land and pay the villagers Rs. 3.5 Lakhs per Acre

They paid Rs. 35,000/- and the Villagers left their village homes and lands in expectation of money.

Today 18 years later, they havent got the second installment or third or fourth. The Company is defunct / Purchased by a big power company but still no compensation.

Matter is Sub Judice since 2006.

Hardworking farmers now dead, working as Security Guards, Construction foremen, Pimping their wives in Autos and street corners

Exploitation!!!!

Greedy Capitalists – Governments have acted together and destroyed the homes over 45 Lakh People in UP and MH alone

Mayawati, Akilesh, Yogi none of them redressed this issue.

A Man who owned 27 Acres of Farmland worth 4 Cr today works in a Restaurant as a waiter. Land is now with a Corporate and he is owed Rs. 60 Lakhs or so. He himself has forgotten.

How can they fight? Law is a tool.of the rich? Courts are too slow? Govt changes every 5 years and all try to do the same thing.

Do you know who saved many of these people – The Churches!!!!!!

The Churches paid money to these people who happily converted. They were the lucky ones.

These are the People who if they take up arms are called Naxals or Maoists but if they dont, they are called Parasites and are ignored by all.

These are the Exploited Poor

Then you have the Parasites

They get so many freebies that they simply refuse to work hard.

In TN, many people are happy enough with free ration rice, sugar, money from time to time, tv, tabket etc that they do bare minimum work to pay rent and become parasites

They demand more and more

Why do they get freebies? Because they are the Vote Bank.

Not just TN, many States do the same.

These are the Parasitic Poor

Simple Solution – Protect the Exploited Poor and De Subsidize the Parasitic Power or force them into a NLF, ensuring that they are forced to work from 18–58 years of age.

Will it happen? No

Why?

Cesspit Democracy!!

Why people lie

Some fun memey pictures

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Leave The USA Before It’s Too Late

What is the smartest comment that you have heard a child make?

Unfortunately, it was my 5 year old daughter and it was at my expense. I took my daughter to a local park with a small lake. There were lots of geese at this park. My daughter, who had been to the park recently with her aunt, pointed to one goose that was standing by itself, and said, “ Daddy, that goose is really mean “. I said, “

None of them are mean. They will pretend to be mean but really, they are way more afraid of you than you are of them “. My daughter insisted. “ Not that one. He’s mean”. I told her watch this.

l ran toward the goose waving my arms and yelling. The goose didn’t even flinch. That is until l got about three feet from it. It lunged at me as my momentum was carrying me toward it. Only out of pure terror was l able to recall athleticism l had not had for years, as l barely avoided biting on to my family jewels. I hurled myself into to air doing a summersault over Ian’s landed on my back. Before l knew what happened, thidamn goose was on me biting away at me. I jumped up and started running as fast as l could and this goose was running right behind me, nipping at my butt with every step.

Meanwhile I could hear my daughter laughing loudly and she yelled, “ Don’t worry daddy! He’s not mean!” She’s 30 years old now and still a wise ass.

RFK Jr. Made HUGE Announcement

People in China, Japan and Korea do not consider people born there who are not Asian to be Chinese, Japanese or Korean. So why do non-whites born in Ireland or England are regarded by the public there to be Irish or English?

People in China, Japan and Korea do not consider people born there who are not Asian to be Chinese, Japanese or Korean. So why do non-whites born in Ireland or England are regarded by the public there to be Irish or English?

😀 😀 😀 😀 😀 how would you know?

Oh you don’t, you’re guessing and you’re projecting white supremacy of ONE DROP RULE onto us.

To be Chinese is more about your attitude and heart.

This is Uncle Petrov.

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He’s ethnically Russian, his grandparents migrated to China around the (edit) 1920s. He considers himself Chinese. Chinese consider him Chinese.

He eats like us, he talks like us (he can’t speak much Russian or English), he celebrates the stuff we do… he holds PRC citizenship. He is essentially Chinese.

In my own village there’s mixed children (black mothers, Indian mothers) and they’re as Chinese as everyone else.

Similarly there’s some Indians who were born here from Indian parents. Yet again they eat what we eat, they talk our language they have full citizenship.

Meanwhile it’s a widespread view in the UK anybody who was born in the UK who isn’t white is considered an immigrant. We saw this with Shamina Begum most british were she’s a p*ki, she’s an immigrant! Only WHITES can be british.

China Sell 68% of its US Treasury: What’s next?

Spicy Pasta Crudo with Fresh Mozzarella

Yield: 4 to 6 servings

Ingredients

2 pounds (about 6) firm, ripe tomatoes
3 tablespoons capers, drained and rinsed
1 cup kalamata or Gaeta olives, pitted and halved
11 very large basil leaves, cut in ribbons
1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
1/2 cup garlic-infused olive oil*, divided
6 ounces Wisconsin fresh mozzarella cheese, diced*
1 pound short ribbed pasta, such as penne rigate or conchiglie

Instructions

Bring pot of water to boil. Gently drop in tomatoes and remove pot from heat. Let stand a minute or so and then remove and peel tomatoes. Discard seeds and dice. Place in large bowl that will accommodate pasta later.
To tomatoes, add capers, olives, basil leaves, red pepper flakes and 1/4 cup olive oil. Mix.
Stir in fresh mozzarella**.
Cover bowl with plastic wrap and place in the sun for 2-3 hours (or let sit at room temperature for 4 hours.)
Just, before serving, cook pasta according to package directions. Drain and toss with remaining 1/4 cup olive oil.
Add pasta to sauce and mix again.
Serve immediately.

Notes

* Or use unflavored oil and add 1 garlic clove, crushed along with other sauce ingredients. Remove garlic before serving.

** If you prefer, add mozzarella to the sauce just before serving, along with the pasta.

This sauce is also very good with grilled tuna.

Practice makes perfect

What was the highest acute radiation dose ever survived? Who was exposed to it?

About 300,000 rads.

For context, 400 rads is normally enough to kill 50% of humans. 1,000 rads kills pretty much everybody. So how did Russian physicist Anatoli Bugorski manage to survive such an enormous dose of proton radiation?

At the time of its completion in 1967, the U-70 synchrotron in Protvino, Russia was one of the most advanced particle accelerators on Earth. It held the world record for beam energy at 76 billion electron volts per proton, a number that neither the Soviet Union nor its successor states have ever surpassed. But as with many large-scale Soviet engineering projects, its impressive exterior concealed shoddy construction and a number of major design flaws, including a dangerous lack of attention to safety.

One rainy day in July of 1978, our unfortunate “hero” spotted yet another malfunctioning piece of equipment. To make the necessary repairs, Bugorski would need to step inside the main beam tunnel, so he called the control room and asked for the accelerator to be turned off temporarily. He added that he’d be at the tunnel in five minutes. The operator agreed.

[1]

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The control room for the U-70 synchrotron.

Nobody seems to know why the operator did not actually deactivate the accelerator. Perhaps he was hoping to gain an extra four minutes of experiment time. Perhaps he didn’t like Bugorski. Or maybe he was just overly fond of death rays. In any case, a beam of highly energetic particles continued to circulate inside the tunnel.

Bugorski reached the beam tunnel in slightly less than five minutes. He correctly followed all the official safety procedures.

He checked the indicator light to make sure the accelerator was off. (The light bulb was burned out.)

The door to the tunnel was not locked, as it normally was during operation. (The operator had unlocked it, apparently because the beam wasn’t at its highest possible intensity.)

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The main beam tunnel at U-70.

So Bugorski stepped inside, bent over, and began to inspect the faulty detector. Since the particle beam was invisible, he had no idea what was about to hit him until it was too late.

In a fraction of a second, billions of ultrarelativistic protons ripped through his head, shredding one cell after another in a 2×3 millimeter swath of destruction through his left eye and brain. The scientist saw a bright flash and realized immediately what had happened.

Had the beam passed a little lower or a little to Bugorski’s right, it would have hit his brain stem, probably killing him instantly. A little to his left and it could have punched a hole in one of the large blood vessels in his left temporal cortex, resulting in a fatal stroke. There were hundreds of ways one could die from radiation damage to the brain. And even if he made it through the coming weeks, he still faced severe cell damage and a high risk of developing cancer.

For the time being, though, there was nothing to do but wait. Bugorski calmly completed his repairs and made a record of the accident in his lab notebook. Then, he reported to an intensive care unit in Moscow.

Some of the country’s best radiologists were assigned to the case, but there was little they could do. Over the next few days, Bugorski’s face swelled to a hideous size, and the skin on his head began to peel off. The damage to his nervous system was extensive enough to completely paralyze the left side of his face. He began to experience seizures. The doctors resigned themselves to watching him die.

Then, astonishingly, a miracle happened: Bugorski began to recover. Only a small part of his brain was harmed, and as it happened, this area was destroyed so completely that tumors could not form. Meanwhile, the rest of his brain simply worked around the injury. His neurons reconnected along new pathways. Eventually, he regained almost all of his previous intellectual capacity.

In a year and a half, Bugorski was back to work at the accelerator. He’s still alive today. “I am being tested,” he says. “The human capacity for survival is being tested.”

[2]

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Sadly, the radiation Bugorski was exposed to did not give him superpowers. (In Soviet Russia, man gives radiation superpowers.) But he did receive one small benefit: there are no wrinkles on the left side of his face.

“Honorable” mentions:

In 1986 and 1987, a software bug in a radiotherapy machine called the Therac-25 resulted in six patients being exposed to as much as 20,000 rads of electrons. As in Bugorski’s case, the damage was confined to a narrow beam, and several of the victims survived.

[3]

When the United States dropped atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, hundreds of people survived whole-body radiation doses of several hundred rads. As is now well-known, many of them eventually died of cancer. Statistics are available here: Longevity of atomic-bomb survivors

Trek

These might come in handy (but I hope not)…

If a head on collision is inevitable always swerve right. (In countries that drive on the right side of the road) Even if that’s means you will still crash anything is better than head on.
In case of a deep wound with lots of bleeding try direct pressure first, but if that’s not doing anything any nontoxic powder will help. Flour, cornstarch, banning soda.. a tourniquet should be you last resort.
Most snakebites are dry bites, and the bigger the snake the better chance of it being dry (no venom) so try to stay calm. The last thing you need is your heart pumping poison through your body IF there is poison. If possible stay put and call for help. But keep the bitten part low, at least below your heart so it’s harder for blood to move out of your arm keeping and poison in a smaller area.
When you get stabbed LEAVE the knife (or whatever) in. Much better chance of survival if it’s taken out in a medical facility.
If you get too high on weed and start freaking out, chew up some whole black peppercorns. Nobody every died from smoking too much pot but people have died from panicking and doing dumbshit.
If you are alone and start to have a heart attack try coughing hard, if that doesn’t work pound on your chest. In the very worst case scenario (hunting miles from no civilization with no one around and no cell service) pour some gunpowder under your tongue. The nitro in there can save you. “ not medical advice, just a suggestion in case you forgot your meds and have no aspirin, or you never had a history of heart problems and have no meds”
Fight dirty. Use your keys for weapons and aim for the eyes. If you are being attacked by more than one person DONT try to take the biggest one out first. Go for the runt. Even the playing field.
If you are a woman and know you are about to get abducted or raped, fight. Every single time. Be as loud as possible, no matter that the bastard says. If he takes you somewhere your chances of coming back alive are about zero Do any fucking thing you can to avoid that. Scratch them to get as much DNA as possible. Piss and shit yourself if you can.
When the little snowflake light shows up on your instrument panel slow your ass down.
When you are working with car batteries or any other acid keep a box of baking soda with you and have it open and ready in case you get acid on yourself. It can save your eyesight or even your life.
Don’t ever trust anyone but yourself when you are working with electricity. They say the breakers off? Check anyway. If you are changing a light out don’t think turning the switch off is enough, a lot of old places switch through the neutral instead of the hot… and have no grounds. YOU are the ground.
if you have major allergic reactions and can afford or don’t have an epipen at the bare minimum keep real sudafed and Benadryl close by.

Passport Bro Moves To Thailand and Explains Why He’s Never Coming Back

What is the worst potluck dish that someone brought to an event?

My family is Jewish, so when a neighbor invited us to celebrate Christmas Eve with them, along with some other families we knew, we were very excited to go.

The problem was, we were returning from a cruise that morning. Our ship docked in NYC, and we hightailed it back to Philadelphia. Time was short, so I just whipped up a huge Caesar Salad, and brought a few bottles of wine.

When we arrived there were several people already there. It was a potluck event. The kids went off to play with the others, and we were ushered over to the bar to get some drinks. Someone had made mini-dogs and there was some cheese and crackers, and veggies and dip. A huge table was set beautifully with a landscape of twigs, bird nests, pine cones, and lots of tea candles.

The host pulled out some pizza and chicken fingers for the kids. My salad was ceremoniously placed in the center of the table, along with some other sides like green beans and potatoes. The host served us some soup… and that was it. There was nothing else. No ham or turkey or roast beef. Nada.

I leaned over to my husband and asked… where the hell was dinner. Apparently, no one had brought a “main course.” We were starving! There were about 12 adults all looking at each other, when the twigs on the table caught on fire.

We all scrambled to put out the fire. Then, after finally settling down again, the guy siting next to me decided to steal some of the chicken fingers from the kids. “You want one,” he said pointing to his plate. “No thanks,“ I said. Things were getting very desperate and very awkward.

As we are not big drinkers, and exhausted to boot, we were the first to say our goodbyes and “go home.“

After we got into the car, I turned to my husband and said, “Is that what most people do on Christmas Eve? Why didn’t they have food for us?” He said, “Honey, we’re Jewish… That’s all we do, shove food into people’s faces. It looks like they were more interested in the eggnog, extended beer selection, and exotic cocktails. Maybe there was a miscommunication or something?”

I shrugged. “That was some fire, huh? I told you those tea candles were going to go up in flames sitting in kindling like that, right on the table!” I said.

“I’m drunk, and starving,” he replied. The kids started to complain too. “Mom! Please, can we get something to eat! We’re hungry!”

So we ended up doing what we usually do on Christmas Eve… We went out for some Chinese food!

Stop asking

Shorpy

Indianapolis, Indiana, circa 1904. “Imperial Hotel.” Whose architectural style might be described as Romanesque Rococo Curlicue Baroque, and whose slogan could be “every exterior surface embellished.”

What was the largest Native American defeat of the United States Army?

The answer is the Battle of the Wabash, also called St Clair’s Defeat and “The Battle of a Thousand Slain.”

The Battle of the Wabash (link to source)

It happened in western Ohio in 1791. Not quite a thousand, but around 900 US soldiers were killed that day. That’s three times the number killed at Little Bighorn in 1876.

The Shawnee and Miami warriors, led by Little Turtle, Tecumseh, and others, had retreated northward, drawing St Clair’s American army farther and farther from its Ohio river base of supply and deeper and deeper into the forest. When they finally sprang their ambush, they fought with the same quality of rifles the Americans had and much better battlefield tactics.

It was an astonishing defeat. We tend to think of D-Day or Gettysburg or Antietam as being shockingly deadly. But at the end of those battles, the great majority of soldiers were unscathed. At the end of this day, St. Clair was fleeing with a few dozen fugitives while almost his whole army lay dead in the snow.

Nearly half the entire US army was killed that single day. (I don’t mean just the detachment of the army that was under St Clair’s command, but the ENTIRE US army that existed at the time.) It was the greatest defeat in numerical terms by any Indian force, and in proportional terms the greatest blow dealt to US arms ever, by any enemy.

ADD: The fighting prowess of the Miami and Shawnee should not have been a surprise. Less than a year earlier and not far away, American soldiers had suffered 350 casualties in a running battle near Kekionga (modern Ft Wayne, Indiana) against the same Shawnee and Miami warriors. That one was called Harmar’s Defeat, and was probably the third largest Indian victory over Americans, behind St Clair’s Defeat and Little Bighorn.

Do people in actual gun fights miss as many shots as shown in movies? What is a realistic gun fight like?

Yes they do.
In Iraq, I was amazed at how many tracers were flying past me, and mortars landing, and RPGs flying, and that I never got hit by anything. I am also amazed at how hard it was to hit “bad guys” while in combat. in the scenarios I was in, It was super hard just to LOCATE a bad guy to shoot at. I found combat to be very frustrating for these reasons….maddening actually.

Let me try to paint the picture a bit…to answer your second question

Imagine you’ve been running, shooting, and being shot at for more than a couple HOURS…you’re tired, you’re scared, you’re breathing heavily, your ears are ringing, the world is spinning with confusion. You are pinned down behind a low stone wall by a seemingly endless flow of tracers, and bullets smack into the stones harder than you thought anything could smack anything and you imagine one hitting your soft flesh and bone. You crawl back and forth popping your head up to try and locate a target. You may see some fleeting movement through your confused tunnel vision, or not, but within seconds the fire on you increases and you need to put your head back down and crawl a few feet along the wall to pop up again. Over and over you struggle and you can’t even see where any of the bazillion rounds are coming from. Then on one pop-up you see a bearded psycho firing at your Kurdish buddies to your left and you try to put a bead on him, but he’s moving, you’re breathing hard, bullets are still smacking the stone. You pull the trigger and miss, maybe twice, and then he’s gone because he was moving in the first place. You can’t imagine how you missed since you are a highly trained Green Beret…but somehow you did. Frustrated and taking even more fire since you exposed yourself and fired, you are forced to get back down and then crawl again … and when you pop back up a few feet away, the entire situation has completely changed and you start over…failing over and over to locate, acquire, and engage. This can go on for hours and hours, or sometimes days…

As Washington Threatens To Shutdown China Banks, Beijing Sells Record $79.7B In US Debt & Stocks

What was the biggest lie you caught in an interview?

Take your damned pick!

As I write this, I’m trying to staff up a software department. I need quality candidates who can write good code and work well with others.

I’ve interviewed about 90 candidates in the past month.

Here is a selection of some of the false claims I’ve been told over the past month:

They’ve written code on GitHub, when it was actually generated from a template.
They’ve written code on GitHub, when they copy/pasted it from some other author and replaced the names to make it look like they wrote it.
They’ve got advanced computer science degrees — yet, when I Google them, Course Hero shows that they cheated their way through the last nine years of college.
They know C and C++ at an “expert” level, but they are unable to write any type of function in that language.
They know Python at an “expert” level, but they are unable to write any type of function in that language.
They are “completely legal” to work in the United States, but they are not a US citizen and have no visa or other work authorization.
They submit code in a screener, which just magically happens to match code generated by ChatGPT exactly. And then they lie about using ChatGPT, when it is incredibly obvious that they are using ChatGPT.
They submit a perfect cover letter — clearly written by ChatGPT — and can’t answer questions about its contents.

So yeah, I’m drowning in a sea of job applicant bullshit as I write this.

Is there reason to believe Chinese investment firms are using Hollywood studios for propaganda?

Originally Answered: Is there reason any reason to believe Chinese investment firms are using Hollywood studios for propaganda?

The funny thing is that it is the Hollywood studios who are practicing self-censorship in order to break into the PRC market, which is now the world’s number 2 market, and is likely to overtake the US in the very near future.

But this is a different kind of censorship: this is not Americans going to AMC theaters, and then chanting “Long live President Xi!” when they come out of the movie theater. It is Hollywood studios making sure that their movie scripts don’t say anything which will upset the Chinese government authorities. Under current rules, China imports 34 US movies annually. This year, “Ghostbusters” was not allowed into China because it depicts ghosts, which according to the Chinese government, are superstitions and promote superstitious beliefs. For this reason, any movie about the supernatural is not officially allowed in for import. (Sure, you can buy videos and watch them online, but the studios don’t make money from them.)

Hollywood goes where the money goes, and if the money says “No superstitious genre for the China market”, then Hollywood is more than happy to accommodate.

For Hollywood, this is not censorship; it’s business.

UK IS TERRIFIED! BRITISH S.A.S. Soldiers Were Destroyed In ODESSA

What, according to you, is the highest form of self control?

You set an alarm for 6am. The alarm rings at 6am.

You don’t snooze. You don’t turn it off and go back to sleep. You don’t set another alarm for 6.30am.

You actually wake up at 6am.

Self control level: High.

You start making breakfast. You realize you’re out of coffee.

You don’t start crying. You don’t have a nervous breakdown. You don’t skip breakfast.

Instead, you persevere and drink shitty cocoa, while trying to ignore your coffee withdrawal symptoms.

Self control level: Very High.

You’re now in school. In the middle of class, you realize you have to poop.

You don’t use the school toilets. You don’t use your enemy’s bag as a portable toilet. You don’t even shit yourself so you can be forcefully excused indefinitely.

Instead, you hold it in until you get home, so that you can take all the time you need.

Self control level: Higher than Very high.

It’s now at night. Your best friend calls.

“Dude, it’s Friday! Come to my place. We’re only two guys but there are 10 girls here. Come and improve the ratio.”

You don’t go. Instead you say,

“Sorry fam. I don’t feel like coming. I want to rest today. Plus I’m saving up money. I can’t afford to buy booze.”

Self control level: Veteran.

(And you wonder how you’re still single)

Now you open Quora. You open your notifications. You see that a popular Quoran has upvoted your answer/ started following you.

You don’t scream. You don’t throw a party. You don’t write an answer about it.

Instead, you go on with your life.

Self control level: God Mode.

Anyone can control things. But only legends can control themselves.

Yours unfaithfully,

Elvin.

PS: In all those examples I mentioned, I’m the complete opposite. It was just wishful thinking 🙁

How often were female slaves punished?

They were punished twice over, in a sense. On the one hand, the slave literally belonged to the master, who could therefore have his way with her any time he pleased. On the other hand, the master’s wife was aware of this — and would at times be particularly cruel or unkind to the female slaves, in particular the pretty ones.

Today, about 19.6 percent of African Americans are of at least 25% European ancestry — roughly the equivalent of one fully white grandparent. These statistics reveal a rather harrowing fact… the majority of enslaved women were subject to systematic rape and sexual abuse. As a result, in virtually every single African American family tree, we find a white ancestor. A foreman, a plantation owner, some passerby who fancied her. She couldn’t resist. Not even if she was already married to an enslaved man on the plantation. And yet in spite of the fact it wasn’t her choice, the mistress of the plantation would still blame her. And punish her for merely existing and being attractive.

The fact that one-in-five African Americans today is at least a quarter white, is a statistic that tells a frightening tale. You cannot overstate the degree to which slaves utterly lost their dignity. Interracial marriages being illegal for most of US history until only about fifty years ago, virtually all of this white ancestry is the direct result of brutal rape.

Which country has better anti-ship ballistic missile systems: USA or Russia?

Neither.

China has the only ASBM (anti-ship ballistic missile) in the world. US Pentagon report to Congress state that it is a game changer because current anti-missile defense can NOT intercept it.

No other nation has this capability because it is new technology. It requires that the plasma sheath be cleaned up in front of the radar window so that the radar can see through it.

While the US and Russia has missiles that can go hypersonic. Hypersonic only means anything that travels above Mach 5. There is a huge difference between Mach 5 and Mach 8. At Mach 8 a plasma sheath forms causing radar ghosts and the radar to be unable to exactly determine where the missile is.

Also the speed makes it almost impossible to shoot down. Chinese YJ-21 and DF-21 terminal velocity is Mach 10. Ironically, even the Chinese currently can NOT shoot their own missile down. Everyone is doing research on how to track and destroy these things before they hit a critical target.

A joint US Air Force/MIT study conclusion was that currently there is no defense against these things.

Blinken talks escalation with Iran

Bioluminescence in the Interstellar

Brittany Gillen

Wrong, wrong, wrong.How could this be happening? Every single reading Jerrie took didn’t make sense. Yesterday, the readings were spot on, perfectly in range. Today… today was just wrong. Most scientists felt a thrill when readings turned uncharacteristic, hoping for a breakthrough discovery, but Jerrie knew that her readings were not uncharacteristic. They were just wrong. She also knew the reason.“Charlie!”For the last two months, she had been living in a tiny research capsule just outside the edge of the Milky Way measuring light waves in the interstellar medium. Her goal was to take up-close-and-personal readings to confirm the current scientific theories about PAH molecules. All of the measurements, even at close proximity, barely registered on Jerrie’s expensive equipment. It was like catching every word of a whisper from across a table in a crowded room.But today… today the measurements maxed out all her dials. The whisper was screaming. Today, Jerrie could see the light brightening with her vastly inferior human eyes. With her eyes for crying out loud!Something was creating interference, which was very rare in the interstellar medium. Out here it was dark, cold and empty. Empty except for Jerrie and Charlie.“Charlie!”Seriously, Jerrie thought. There are only four compartments in this capsule. She knew that Charlie could hear her, and she knew it only took about two seconds to cross them all and join her. Jerrie drummed her fingers on her keyboard and closing her eyes slowly counted to ten.Finally, Charlie’s hair floated around the corner. Charlie’s long hair preceded her everywhere she went. To keep it somewhat contained, Charlie kept it pulled back in about a dozen long braids, but in zero gravity, the braids wriggled all over like a clutch of very excited snakes. It totally creeped Jerrie out and created a horrible distraction.“I thought we agreed you were going to pin back all your braids from now on,” Jerrie said grimacing.Charlie just shrugged and chugged the last of the soda in her hand, tossing the empty container back towards the supply room. Jerrie cringed again. Charlie drank soda like it was her lifeblood. She went through at least a dozen packets a day of the syrupy drink.“Charlie, the container,” Jerrie said.“What?” Charlie said with a shrug. “I’ll get it later. What do you want?”

“You can’t just toss things all over the capsule,” Jerrie complained. “This isn’t your childhood bedroom.”

“Or my college dorm room, or a bachelor pad, or a trash yard. I know,” Charlie replied rolling her eyes. “Just tell me what you want already. I’m not in the mood for another lecture on cleanliness being next to godliness.”

Jerrie took a deep breath and centered herself. “My readings are unusual today,” she said calmly, pulling them up on the screen.

“Uh, huh,” Charlie said looking at the monitor while scratching her tummy vigorously. “In what way?”

“In what way?” Jerrie wanted to scream even louder than the readings. “Charlie, you just don’t understand my work at all.”

“Then what did you call me in here for?” Charlie complained. “My job is not to interpret your results. I’m your pilot. Now, if you want me to move the capsule, I would LOVE to do it for you. Can I, can I, please?”

“No,” Jerrie groaned, rubbing her eyes.

“Just a few feet?” Charlie tried sweetly, rubbing the back of Jerrie’s shoulders. “Maybe I’ll just do a few donuts and bring us right back to the exact same spot. Churn up the space matter a little. Maybe that will fix your readings.”

Jerrie just sighed, tired of arguing.

A timer started quietly beeping. “I’ll get the lights,” Charlie said, pushing off Jerrie’s shoulders towards the opposite wall.

“Give me two seconds, to prep the sensors and save the previous measurements.” Jerrie’s hands flew across the computer.

“Is it hot in here?” she heard Charlie ask. Jerrie just ignored her until Charlie’s shirt floated in front of her face.

“Charlie, what are you…” She turned around to find Charlie almost completely undressed. Her black bra, “Wednesday” day-of-the-week underpants and Velcro shoes her only attire. “Seriously! Can you put your clothes back on? It makes me uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, well, being hot makes me more uncomfortable,” Charlie said, continuing to scratch her bare chest. “Besides, I’m in the best shape of my life, someone should enjoy the view.”

Jerrie groaned.

“I think I may be running a fever,” Charlie complained. “My eyes feel hot.”

“Don’t you dare take off any more clothes,” Jerrie warned keeping her eyes permanently fixed on her monitor. “Alright, I’m ready. Shut off the lights in three, two, one.”

The capsule went dark and Jerrie hit the button to begin the image and measurement captures. Then Jerrie noticed a reflection on her monitor.

“Darn it, Charlie, turn off that flashlight.” Jerrie turned around ready to jettison Charlie out the nearest porthole, but then jerked herself back towards the console in fright. “What did you do?”

Charlie, her eyes bulging, floated in front of Jerrie, running her fingers all over her brightly lit torso. Vibrant green veins crisscrossed Charlie’s entire body. They glowed with a bioluminescence that Jerrie had never seen on a human before. It reminded her of the small deep-water fish she had visited at the aquarium in her childhood.

Recovering from her initial shock, Jerrie floated closer and traced one of the lines with her finger. “How are you glowing like that?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Charlie responded, flicking Jerrie’s cold hand of her belly and shivering.

“Well, you did something,” Jerrie told her.

“Why, do you always assume everything is my fault?” Charlie complained, reaching for her pants and pouting her lip.

“Because, I don’t look like that!” Jerrie said pointing.

“How do you know?” Charlie said wriggling her pants up over her bottom. “Prove it.”

Unable to resist proving Charlie wrong, Jerry quickly pulled up her own shirt. Then she smugly smiled at Charlie. “See.”

“That still doesn’t prove it’s my fault,” Charlie said reaching for her shirt.

“Just let me think for a minute,” Jerrie said, rubbing her temples and staring at the green glow emanating from Charlie’s chest. She reached forward to touch it again, but Charlie twitched away. “I’ll be gentle,” Jerrie told her and leaned in even closer. Jerrie could have sworn the veins moved across Charlie like worms in a mud puddle.

Pulling back, Jerrie took a deep breath and pulled at her lip as Charlie put her shirt back on. Then something caught her eye in the eerie glow. Charlie’s soda floated nearby. Jerrie wanted to mention again why it was important to not throw trash helter-skelter in the capsule when she noticed a drop float out of the neck of the container. It also glowed a luminescent green. Jerrie looked at Charlie and noticed that she had seen the droplet as well.

“You don’t think…” Charlie began.

“This was caused by your soda,” Jerrie finished. “The evidence points that way.”

“But you drink the soda too.”

“No, actually, I don’t,” Jerrie said turning back to her monitor and cancelling the contaminated readings.

“What do I do?” Charlie asked beginning to panic.

“Stop drinking the soda,” Jerrie said, deleting the files and making notes in her journal.

“Jerrie, focus here for just a second, please,” Charlie pleaded. “I look like a glow bug!”

“You’ll be fine,” Jerrie threw over her shoulder, bending her head down and trying not to laugh.

“I’m not fine,” Charlie complained. “I itch. I feel like my skin is going to burn off me, and I’m lit like a neon sign.”

Jerrie shook of her giggles and turned around attempting to be solemn. Charlie was scratching all over now and writhing like she had ants in her pants. It was more than Jerrie could take. She burst out laughing.

“Stop it,” Charlie complained. “it’s not funny.”

Eventually, Jerrie calmed down enough to help Charlie rub olive oil lotion on her itchy skin and got her some cold compresses to help with the heat. With Charlie’s permission, she took pictures of the “rash” as they started calling it, though Charlie wanted to call it the infestation.

“Nothing is living inside you,” Jerrie reassured her.

“Then I’ve been poisoned. You’ve poisoned me!” Charlie cried, thrusting out an accusatory finger.

“You poisoned yourself,” Jerrie said with a snicker. “I told you not to drink so much of that candy-water.”

“Hey, it keeps me awake,” Charlie said petulantly. “Otherwise, I’d spend all day sleeping.”

“Would that be so bad?” Jerrie whispered to herself.

“I heard that,” Charlie said glowering. “I wish I could go into cryo sleep while you did your work, but someone has to keep you company.” Charlie made air quotes with her fingers on the word company.

Jerrie sighed. She knew she wasn’t very good company for Charlie. Her entire focus was on her research. She had one shot to gather meaningful data before they traveled back to the main station. She wanted to make her time in the interstellar medium count for something.

“I’m sorry,” Jerrie said. “I tried to teach you about my work.”

“It is as interesting as watching paint dry,” Charlie grumbled.

Jerrie felt hurt, but she knew to most people Charlie was right on target. “You could read a book, watch a movie, exercise,” she offered.

“This is my sixteenth mission,” Charlie told her. “I exhausted my interest in all those things long ago.”

Jerrie had never really thought about Charlie’s past experience before. “Sixteen, really?”

“Lucky number sixteen,” Charlie said, rummaging through the snack box. “And no one ever lets me move the ship,” she grumbled while shoving a granola bar in her mouth.

“Never?” Jerrie asked feeling guilty.

“Never,” Charlie replied emphatically.

The two floated in the galley in silence. Charlie chewed on her granola bar and read the wrapper and Jerrie twisted her ring while biting her lip. She felt horrible. To be honest, there wasn’t any solid reason why they couldn’t move the ship. Sure, it would be more consistent to take all the readings from the same spot to minimize any undesired variables. However, she already had two months of solid data without one single deviation in readings. Not one deviation until this morning.

“Maybe a change in location wouldn’t hurt,” Jerrie offered.

Charlie’s eyes lit up a bright as her bioluminescent belly. “You mean it?”

“Yeah,” Jerrie said with a shrug. “We could move the ship every day for the last thirty days and see if the readings from multiple locations are consistent with those we have already obtained. If they are, then it would mean…”

“You are the best!” Charlie squealed while bear hugging Jerrie until she couldn’t breathe.

Jerrie just patted her on the back. “I know.”

Charlie threw her granola bar wrapper over her shoulder and swam for the control center.

Jerrie grabbed the wrapper and shoved it into a trash receptacle. “But only on one condition,” she called out, following Charlie and settling into the passenger seat.

“Anything,” Charlie said.

“No more of that wickedly green soda,” Jerrie told her.

“Deal,” Charlie said quickly. “I guess they don’t call it Aberration for nothing!” she said with a wink.

“Do they really call it that?” Jerrie asked wide eyed.

Charlie just winked at her.

For the next week, Charlie moved the ship every morning, and Jerrie waited patiently while Charlie added a few flips and donuts to the maneuvers. Charlie’s fluorescent color had faded overnight with the administration of several large glasses of water. Jerrie’s readings returned to the predictable, and she cheerfully noted that the change in location was having zero effect on her results.

Until day five.

“Charlie!” Jerrie called from her lab.

Charlie’s snake-like hair proceeded her around the corner again, but this time Jerrie kept her commentary to herself. When the rest of Charlie appeared, she had a puzzle cube in hand, something Jerrie had dug out of her personal luggage.

“I’ve almost got it,” Charlie said focused on the cube with one eye closed and biting her lip.

“You’ve started drinking that Aberration stuff again, haven’t you,” Jerrie accused her.

“No, I haven’t,” Charlie said looking wounded.

“Charlie,” Jerrie said sternly. “It messes up my readings.”

“Honest, I haven’t. Look.” Charlie threw the light switch and tugged up her shirt. To her surprise, her belly glowed again with a bright red luminescence. Although startled by the color, Jerrie still gave Charlie her best I told-you-so-look.

“Oh, man,” Charlie said groaning and pulling her shirt back down. “It must be the Tongue of Fire.”

“What fire?” Jerrie asked scrambling back in fear. “Something caught fire!”

Charlie cringed guiltily. “You told me not to drink Aberration, but water is just so blah.”

“So, you drank something called Tongue of Fire!” Jerrie said astounded. “I take it that it is a red color.”

“I wonder what color I would turn if I drank Void?” Charlie wondered, tracing the bright red highways along her arms.

“Charlie!” Jerrie said shocked.

“What?”

Jerrie was silently fuming. Her research was being messed with again, and Charlie did not even care. Just stab her with a needle and put her in cryo sleep, Jerrie thought to herself. She could feel every muscle in her body tightening.

“I also brought Everest,” Charlie mused. “Would that light me up white or have no effect, do you think?”

Jerrie’s eye began to twitch, and her hands fisted as she contemplated how to handle her reluctant companion.

“Hey,” Charlie said enthusiastically. “I just found something to do. I can study the effect that different sodas have on body chemistry in the interstellar medium. I mean, seriously, there is definitely something interesting going on here. I have never turned colors before back in the Milky Way, and I’ve been guzzling soda for years.”

At the word study, all of Jerrie’s tension melted away. Charlie was right. There was a seriously interesting phenomenon happening right in front of her eyes, and she was missing it. PAH molecules might help her understand the creation of the universe, but the implications from studying dietary consumption in the interstellar medium would be much more applicable to the progress of humankind in space.

“I bet we could get a huge grant to study it,” Jerrie said warming up to the idea.

“A grant, really?” Charlie asked.

“And, while we studied, you could move the ship anywhere you wanted and explore anywhere you wanted in the interstellar medium,” Jerrie said with a huge grin.

“There are plenty of other flavors like Fireball and Formidable,” Charlie said tossing the forgotten puzzle cube over her shoulder. “I could make a list. Ooooh, don’t forget Ebony. I wonder what that would do!”

“Only one way to find out,” Jerrie told her. As Charlie scrambled back into the supply room, Jerrie turned the lights back on and pulled up a clean notebook on her screen.

She’d contact the soda company first. It was a pretty good bet they’d love the publicity and increase in revenue a glow-soda would create. Proposal, she typed. Bioluminescence in the Interstellar. Who could resist a title like that?

The difference between men and women

What is it like to be in a relationship with someone born rich?

Originally Answered: what is it like to be in a relationship with someone born rich?

I briefly dated someone who came from a very affluent family. She had the best clothes money could buy, awesome sports cars, and she could just wake up one day and say: I want to spend the next two days in Rio, books the next available flight and away she goes (in business class).

It was great, she was spontaneous, adventurous, and she had traveled the world. It was super easy to travel with her, as she knew all the little tricks at the airport – what lounge to use, what type of services to get, etc.

Because of her travels, she had a great perspective on world affairs. Conversation with her was great, and we could talk about politics, economy, investment, you name it.

The end result? I couldn’t really keep up. I worked long hours for a financial company (I was like those Japanese salary men you see on the news, but better paid), and even though I made good money, it was pennies compare to her family fortune – too many zeroes missing. Although I could afford to travel spontaneously with her, I just didn’t have the time to do it without impacting my work. She eventually met a senior executive of a large public company (guy has a private jet!), and they fell in love and got married.

It was a beautiful memory while it lasted. She is a good person, and we had our adventures. I also had a glimpse into a world that is so different than mine, and I realized that what made her happy was freedom. Freedom to experience and feel. I have since changed my workaholic life and to focus on work-life balance. I am more free and happy now than before, and I have her to thank.

Have you ever had a co-worker who you worked closely with get fired for something truly shocking that you never saw coming?

Originally Answered: Have you ever had a coworker who you worked closely with get fired for something truly shocking that you never saw coming?

I had a co-worker, a UX designer, who was called “Ursula” around the office, because she both looked and acted like the villain from the Little Mermaid. She was generally rude and abrasive, and I don’t think there was a single person in the office who could tolerate her, much less like her. If she had eventually been let go due to conflict in the workplace, no one would have been surprised, and it probably would have been a lot better for her, too.

The company I worked for at the time had clients primarily in the Fortune 500 space: Lowes, Home Depot, Mariott, Delta, etc. All of these clients generally had their contractors (us) sign detailed Non-Disclosure Agreements, basically prohibiting us from sharing information about the work done in detail, leaking Intellectual Property, or in some cases even disclosing we worked for them for a set period of time after our contracts were terminated. These are taken very seriously in my industry, as Intellectual Property is the name of the game, after all.

There was one particular client at the time, though, who was FAR more strict. Any employee of the company not directly engaged on the project was not even told who the client was, what kind of work was being done, nothing. And one of the members of the team was Ursula.

About two months into the project, my team was shooting the breeze in our own area when someone decided to start looking people up on LinkedIn. Good way to pass the time, right? Well, we stumbled across Ursula’s profile and found that she has linked DETAILED information about the client and project in her profile. Screenshots of designs depicting unreleased new content, including the client’s logo, photographs of closed-door white-boarding sessions covering UX flows, a written description of the project goals and timelines.

We’d been laughing and joking with each other, but when we saw this, the whole room when dead quiet. I don’t think any of us had ever seen a NDA breach this bad before. So we walked over to the office of the Head of Delivery, laptop in hand, and showed him what we found. He just said, “Okay, I’ll take care of this,” and ushered us out of his office. Five minutes later, a secretary escorted Ursula into his office, and we heard muffled yelling for about an hour. When the door finally opened, she was escorted to the elevator and never seen again. Didn’t even stop by her desk to grab her things.

Will the USA empire lose its militaristic hegemony and overseas territories with military bases like the British empire did in the near future?

If my crystal ball is correct, today’s US empire is yesterday’s UK. That is, USA will fall like UK one day.

Yesterday’s UK was “beaten” behind the scene by USA though it was WW2 that sped up UK’s fall. But USA did a lot to UK behind the scene.

USA is not “beaten” up by foreign country(s) like China or Russia, though the rise of China does speed up the US fall. It is China’s rise that unites the Global South to form a force to dedollarise USD. When US monetary hegemony weakens, US military will weaken too.

It is the US internal problem – the ultra Jewish-American capitalists that “collapse” the US empire.

Trump said when he comes back to the White House, he will strengthen US oil/gas industry to compete with the world eg Mideast & Russia. Translation: he will become a oil hegemon to replace Saudi.

Who is behind Trump? The energy sector who rejects climate change. 20 years later, when the entire world has switched to clean energy eg electric car, USA will fall behind. … capitalist dont have the vision of climate change; they only care about their bank account in a short run.

Who sabotaged the Nord Stream pipeline? People pointed at USA.

On the other hand, those behind Biden such as MIC wants wars so as to make $$$.

It is the dog-fight of these 2 groups of ultra rich capitalists that will collapse US empire.

Interestingly, UK was controlled by ultra rich Jewish capitalists 300–400 years ago. Today’s USA is also controlled by ultra rich Jewish capitalists.

Today’s USA is yesterday’s UK.

Wooden Boats

Can to the head

If China were to Make a move against Taiwan would the USA and European Union be willing to defend it the way they are defending Ukraine in a war that could last up to a decade? In other words, will Taiwan be the next Ukraine?

If my crystal ball is correct, Taiwan will not be the next Ukraine. China will not let Taiwan to become a ruin like Ukraine.

Geographically, Taiwan cannot become Ukraine because Taiwan is an island. China will block any foreign aids to Taiwan. Taiwan has enough electricity for 1 week only. China will block all GPS signals to Taiwan also. … China will take Taiwan in a short time.

Just watch. China is to pass a law to put Lai officials on trial without their presence. Then issue an intl arrest warrant for Lai etc. Max sentence is death. … See how easy it is to take Taiwan back.

Why is it that easy? Because Taiwan is a province of China. It is China’s internal affairs, no matter how USA & the West in general propagated it. China is armed with the UN charter.

Now another question.

Will USA help Taiwan? No. Definitely no. USA is withdrawing its troops from the 1st island chain to Guam & Haweii, starting Dec 2024. USA already gives up Taiwan.

Will Europe help? They already were dragged into Ukraine war & plummet their economy. They are still that stupid to help Taiwan? Haha. In Ukraine, in a way they had no choice because they are in the US-led NATO. But they have no obligation for Taiwan. As I said earlier, Taiwan will be blocked anyway.

Japan? Again, no. Because it will be blocked too.

S Korean already said they wont help Taiwan.

He’s dead now

Was Quentin Tarantino right in vowing not to give his mom a ‘penny’ of his fortune after she belittled his writing as a child?

When it comes to parents, Quentin Tarantino was shit out of luck. From what I have heard about them, from the man himself and various other sources, neither his father nor his mother were particularly kind, or pleasant, not to mention involved with their son’s life as he was growing up.

His father was a deadbeat, who never really showed up — his main contribution to his son was his DNA, the ambition and frustration of a failed actor and that wonderful last name. His mother gave him life, and that’s… about it. When Quentin did make it, his father suddenly showed interest in him he never showed before, trying to make money out of what was now a very famous last name they shared.

Quentin’s father, Tony Tarantino, even joined forces with yet another renowned celebrity dead-beat — Al Pacino’s father, Sal Pacino. They briefly ran a production company together, using their last names, made famous only by the efforts of their famous sons, whom they cared little for prior to their success in Hollywood.

Meanwhile, Tarantino’s mother kept him more or less clothed, provided him with some basic necessities but belittled his artistic merits. His childhood was not particularly loving, or particularly fun. He wasn’t very wanted, his parents both very young and rather clueless when they had him, and remaining every bit as clueless even as they aged.

So when Quentin Tarantino made it big, he made it big. And he enjoyed his fame, and thanked his lucky stars. Not his parents, his parents had little to do with it. All they did was drive him to misery and force him to hide away in the magical realm of movies… which is, ironically, how he became the brilliant director he is today. Their neglect drove him to greatness. It was their greatest contribution to the world of cinema, and to their son.

A few years ago, after decades of being one of Hollywood’s most eligible bachelors, Quentin Tarantino got married. He had a son of his own. And vowed to be truly involved, and supportive, in ways his own family never was. Not a heartless man, Tarantino did help his mother out when she got in trouble with the IRS a few years back. But aside from calamities, they know better than to expect a penny from the son they neglected throughout his formative years and whose own son they never even met.

Is China powerful enough to invade the Philippines? How long would it take for the Chinese to land their feet in Manila?

In the ideal situation, a PLAN 052D destroyer is enough to wipe out the whole Philipino navy.

A 052D has 64 VLS, which can be equipped with HHQ-9 (air defense) or YJ-18 (anti-ship) missiles.

YJ-18’s warhead is around 300KG, which is enough to paralyze or even sink any ship of Philippines navy.

main qimg e6386a5f04a58ccc707479101a13f73a

Above is the flag ship of Philippine navy, the BRP Jose Rizal, a 2,600 tonnes frigate.

It’s one of the newest (built in 2016) and biggest ship of Philippine navy, and they have 2 of them.

Then, they have:

1x 1,200 tonnes corvette, built in 1986
3x 2,500 tonnes offshore patrol vessel, built in 1965, 1966, and 1967
3x 712 tonnes offshore patrol vessel, built in 1982 and 1983
1x 914 tonnes offshore patrol vessel, built in 1943 (yes, during WWII)
3x 357 tonnes littoral patrol vessel, built in 1992 and 1994
1x 160 tonnes littoral patrol craft, commissioned in 1983

That’s about all the combat ships Philippine navy has.

It does have some smaller ships (boats?), like 33 different sorts of coastal patrol craft under 100 tonnes.

There are also some other ships for landing and logistics, 17 of them.

So 14 combat ships+33 combat boats+17 backup ships=64

Like I said, in ideal situation, 1x 052D is enough to wipe out the whole Philippine navy.

South Sea Fleet of PLAN has 18 destroyers, including 4x 055 and 9x 052D. I think it would be enough to wipe out the 7th fleet of US Navy.

China’s naval force is far far far stronger than Philippines, like Mike Tyson VS Kinder Garten kid.

It would be unnecessary and unethical for China to use any serious force against Philippines.

It’s also why Chinese Coast Guard used selfie stick when facing Philippine Special Force instead of any firepower.

To not escalate the situation to a level which Philippines cannot handle.

China has zero interest in conquering Philippines, because never in history China was a colonizer. Yes, China didn’t become so large by acting all peace, but there is no sense of colonizing in Chinese history.

The nine or eleven dash line was drawn by Chiang Kai-Shek in 1947.

The government of People’s Republic of China simply carried it on in 1949.

Nothing more, nothing less.

In addition, China doesn’t claim the whole South China Sea as it’s territorial sea but only the islands within the lines.

It’s OK for China that countries within the region disagree with China’s claim. China propose to put the disputes aside and have a joint development in SCS region.

If I had to say, China isn’t acting totally fair to the countries in SCS region, but it’s fairly self-controlled already, comparing to every other world power in human history.

The US has been trying to use Philippines to provoke China, and try to make China attacking Philippines. So that it could tell other ASEAN countries about how evil and aggressive China is, and how the US could protect them.

What China has been doing is to demonstrate it’s self-control, to convince ASEAN countries that even if one day China became another super power, they wouldn’t be bullied.

Judging by the recent SCS conflict, Indonesia and Vietnam are more likely to believe in China’s claim instead of the US’s. They both kept silent after a Philippino special force soldier lost his thumb due to boat collision and friction during the conflict.

Even the US navy left the region before Chinese Coast Guard intercepted Philippine boats.

I mean, if they were there, if would be ackward. Because if they interfered, it could lead to WWIII; if they didn’t interfere, the world would know the US cannot protect anyone.

So US navy left. Since they were not in the region when the conflict happened, there was nothing they could do.

China is not going to invade Philippines.

China is not going to invade any country.

China is very busy achieving world peace.

Stuffed Jumbo Shells

Ingredients

2 cups cooked chicken or turkey, diced
1 can peas, drained
1/2 cup mayonnaise
1/4 cup chopped onion
1 can cream of chicken soup mixed with 1/2 cup water
12 ounces jumbo shells

Instructions

Cook shells until barely soft.
Mix all other ingredients.
Stuff shells with filling mixture and put into casserole.
Sprinkle lots of grated cheese over the top.
Bake at 325 degrees F for 25 minutes.

Smart boy

Do you think China is being singled out by the level of tariff increases on Chinese electric vehicles as a result of the EU’s anti-subsidy probes?

It’s simple

I am a European Customer

I want to buy a Car

I see a BYD Car of excellent quality costing me € 34,500

I see a Volkswagen of a little lower quality costing me € 48,200

Why would I buy a Volkswagen?

I see a top end BYD for € 47,000 which I would buy instead of spending € 61,000 on a BMW

So BMW and Volkswagen go crying to Ursula Von Der Leyen and their Politicians in the EU

They say “Look. We can’t sell at such low prices. This is unfair”

Ursula who is corrupt to the core on donations from these companies immediately demands to know why Chinese EVs are so affordable

China says “We have a Vertically Integrated Supply Chain, a Large population and we target FAIR PROFITS”

Nopes the Neocons say

They can’t ask BMW or Volkswagen or Tesla to shave off their profits

They can’t demand their distributors who charge 26% to lower their costs

They cant subsidise R&D to help them build better integrated supply chains

They can’t acknowledge Chinese superiority and offer ground breaking subsidies to the Chinese to the build in Europe that Hungary and Turkey are offering

Solution?

Accuse the Chinese of subsidies and impose tariffs

Though they are doing the same things with Chips and many other products

Its plain old PROTECTIONISM

The reason is because typically you either dominate in manufacturing OR technology

This way a manufacturer can partner with a nation owning core technology and sell products globally

Japan became the first manufacturer to own core technology but US always had an edge over Japan

Sure Toyota had their own technology but US Engines were better

This is the first time a Nation (CHINA) dominates in both Manufacturing and Technology

And their technology is better than the US and it’s allies

And getting better and better by the day

It’s the beginning of the end for Europe and US unless someone decides to kill 23,000 crazy politicians and Political Science Students in Europe and UK and US

Rus missile hits 50 western Instructors. Ukr massive drone 75 attack Rus. Kuleba visits China.

China Brokers Unity In Palestine

This is an interesting development:

Palestinian factions agree to end division in pact brokered by China – SCMP

Rival Palestinian factions including Fatah and Hamas have signed an agreement aimed at ending their division and building unity following talks in Beijing, marking a diplomatic win for China.

Over the years Fatah and Hamas had already signed several agreements to build some unity government. All however have failed.

What gives hope is that this agreement might be sustained is the participation of all other Palestinian groups as well as the significance of China as the guarantee power behind this:

Senior representatives of 14 Palestinian factions reached the agreement – called the Beijing Declaration – after reconciliation talks that began on Sunday.The pact aims to unite Palestinians in their conflict with Israel, which launched a war on militant group Hamas in Gaza in October.

The Chinese foreign ministry said the agreement was a first step to promote a “comprehensive, durable and sustainable ceasefire” in the Gaza Strip that would eventually lead to Palestine being admitted to the United Nations as a fully fledged member and becoming an independent state.

“The declaration reaffirms [the] commitment to establishing an independent state of Palestine with Jerusalem as the capital city based on relevant UN resolutions and ensuring the integrity of Palestinian territory including the West Bank, Jerusalem and Gaza,” ministry spokeswoman Mao Ning said.

This implies that Hamas, as well as all other groups, have agreed to a two-state solution – the aim the United Nations has agreed upon. (Just last week the current Israeli parliament rejected such a solution.)

Also important is the envisioning of a unity government for Gaza:

Foreign Minister Wang Yi on Tuesday said the signing of the agreement was “an important, historic moment in the Palestinian cause”.He said that under the deal the rival groups had agreed to set up an “interim national reconciliation government” to govern post-war Gaza.

The west will of course at first reject the whole process and result because it had no part in creating it.

But last year’s agreement between Saudi Arabia and Iran, also brokered by China, has held far beyond the low expectations put into it.

The Palestinian agreement may, via the UN, give a new impetus towards a ceasefire and a new situation in Gaza that is mostly free of Israeli interference.

I trust that China can sustain the global soft-power necessary to lead this development towards success.

Posted by b at 15:34 UTC | Comments (95)

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The USA is crazy town

Why is China travel so popular recently?

Chinese tourism has always been very strong. For years, tens of millions of foreign tourists came to China annually. The pandemic interrupted this.

Gradually, tourism is returning to China. I believe it isn’t quite back to pre-pandemic levels but it’s getting there.

Chinese tourism has much to offer. The country is magnificent and rich in cultural heritage and diversity. The cities are beautiful, clean, safe and modern. The infrastructure (roads, bridges, high-speed rail, airports, etc.) is breathtaking. Your tourist dollars will go a long way because the cost of food, transportation, etc. is so low.

China is definitely one of the top 5 tourist destination countries in the world.

What is the most manipulative thing you have seen anyone do to get what they want?

A French school girl, aged 13, didn’t like her teacher. So she went home and told to her parents about how her teacher had given all Muslim pupils the option to “leave the class”, before showing everyone a series of drawings of the prophet Muhammad in less-than-flattering positions… all she wanted was to “get him in trouble”.

The girl’s father, outraged, went online and started a hate campaign against his daughter’s teacher, Samuel Paty. The plot twist? She had skipped class that day, and hadn’t been there. She later admitted the story was entirely made up out of some perceived slight — Paty never showed drawings of the prophet, as all her classmates testified.

The damage had been done, however. A Chechen Islamist, aged 18, went to the school. Followed Paty when he left work, and butchered him in the streets. The teacher left a widow and a now fatherless five-year-old son.

Samuel Paty had his head cut off as “revenge” for something he didn’t even do. All because one girl made up a nonsense story and her father got carried away with it, asking for “retribution”. Lies, even the lies of children, can destroy loves.

Parasite

The most heartless, the most shocking and callous I’ve ever seen

by Justin Glawe

The white cop with the skull tattoos on his arm shot the unarmed Black woman in the face at point-blank range then told his partner not to bother trying to help her, she’s already gone. Then he walked outside and told his radio dispatcher that the woman had killed herself. Police then told her family the same lie, which is all they knew until attorneys got involved and the local press started digging.

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This is as near to the true version of events as I can gather after a day and a half in Springfield, Illinois, where authorities yesterday released bodycam footage of Deputy Sean Grayson killing 36 year old Sonya Massey. How deep the initial cover up went isn’t currently known to the public, but Grayson has since been charged with first-degree murder in Massey’s killing — an exceedingly rare thing in this country when a police officer kills someone.

At a press conference on Monday afternoon at Springfield’s NAACP headquarters — an organization founded after race riots ravaged the city in 1908, claiming 17 Black lives, including a distant relative of Massey herself — Massey’s family revealed that police initially told them their loved one had killed herself. Indeed, police radio traffic I obtained shows someone, presumably Grayson, when he leaves the house to grab medical equipment, saying Massey’s wound was “self-inflicted” and asking dispatch if the call had been recorded as a 10-76 — code for a psychiatric emergency.

The implication is clear: Grayson planned to portray Massey as a crazed threat who he had to defend himself from. Luckily, just barely, Grayson’s partner had turned on his body camera which shows the complete opposite.

The two deputies were called to Massey’s house early on the morning of July 6 because Massey thought someone was trying to break in. When Grayson and his partner arrived they searched outside the house and shone their flashlights inside. Once in the living room, the pair can be seen talking to Massey for 10 minutes or so before Grayson tells her to turn off a pot on the stove filled with boiling water.

She does, pulling the pot from the stove on the other side of a counter from Grayson as he and his partner move back a few steps. She laughs and asks why they’re moving. Grayson says he’s getting farther away from the “pot of steaming water.”

“Away from the hot steaming water? Oh, I’ll rebuke you in the name of Jesus,” Massey says, most likely a baptism joke. That’s when Grayson pulls out his gun.“You better fucking not, I swear to God I’ll fucking shoot you right in your fucking face,” he yells.

She says she’s sorry and begins to kneel. Again he demands she put the pot down and she says she’s sorry again. Then three shots. “Fuck!” Grayson says, then goes into action, thinking of ways to protect himself from what he had done.

He complains about how close she was with the pot of water. Now it’s touching his shoe, he notes. We should get the medical kit, Grayson’s partner says. What’s the point? he replies. “That’s a head shot. She’s gone.”

But she wasn’t. Massey was gurgling and gasping for air as the other officer began applying pressure to a bullet wound in her eye with a kitchen towel. Grayson went outside to get the medical kit.

This is apparently when he told a dispatcher the wound was self-inflicted.

When other deputies arrived they asked where the gun was. Grayson says there was no gun, but adds “she came at me with boiling water. She said she was going to rebuke me in the name of Jesus and came at me with boiling water.”

Massey never came toward Grayson.

For 10 years I have been driving and flying into cities where police have just killed a Black person, and it’s always as awful and heartbreaking as you might imagine. Springfield felt a bit different for me this time because it’s only an hour away from my hometown of Peoria, where my parents still live. It isn’t Baltimore or Charlotte or hilly Cincinnati, where I dropped in to cover the killings of Freddie Gray, Keith Lamont Scott and Samuel DuBose. Frankly, ever since I began covering police violence back in 2014 in Ferguson, I’ve always thought that it was only a matter of time before I ended up reporting on a bad police shooting in Peoria.

The city of Springfield is not much different: it’s an economically depressed rust belt town with about a 70/20 white to Black population compared to Peoria’s 60/30, and the Black part of town is one of the oldest and least cared for. In both places, what are called “best” homes — post-war, manufactured, one-story shoeboxes that all look mostly the same with the exception of window dressing — line streets that were once well-paved and where the American dream was once in reach thanks to good-paying manufacturing jobs. Now, most of those jobs are gone but the best homes remain, rented out for cheap and often falling apart.

The big difference between Peoria and Springfield is that in the latter, you can turn the corner on a crumbling street and see the shining dome of the state capitol.

Throughout all this madness over the last decade I have seen, read about, and reported on a lot of police killings, but this one is the worst, the dumbest, the most heartless, the most shocking and callous I’ve ever seen. Grayson — over six feet, 200-something pounds — was on the other side of a counter from a woman who weighed about half what he does.

“What else can we do?” Grayson asked his partner after killing Massey. “I’m not taking hot boiling water to the face.”

Nevermind, for a second, that Massey at no point appears to threaten Grayson with the water, and think about that statement. Think about all the Blue Lives Matter and Don’t Tread on Me flags you see around the country, flown by men who look a lot like Grayson. Think about what those people say — how they’re tough, how they’re patriots, how they’re badasses who aren’t afraid of anything — and now imagine them all freaking out over a 100-pound unarmed woman with a small pot of boiling water at least five feet away.

That’s one way to think about this — that men like Grayson, men who become cops to act tough and push people around — are actually just cowards. The other way to think about it is that Grayson is simply a racist with complete disregard for the sanctity of Black life.

Attorney Ben Crump said nearly as much on Monday with Massey’s family standing behind him. “Black women aren’t given the respect and consideration” that they deserve he told a small gathering of local press. I couldn’t help but note that as he was saying this the entire national political media apparatus was going bananas over the massive fundraising haul pulled off by Kamala Harris, the first Black female presidential candidate since Carol Moseley Braun, who like Massey is also from Illinois.

Massey’s killing cannot be disentangled from the national political climate, especially as the prospect of another, likely more draconian Trump administration looms. (Not that things have been much better under Biden. 1,232 people were killed by police in 2023). This is what the beginning of authoritarianism feels like. How quickly our rights, and our lives, especially those of the traditionally disenfranchised can be taken away.

Massey’s own father apparently feels that way, too. Yesterday he said that he now thinks God helped him survive a recent major heart procedure for a purpose.

“Maybe it was to tell this whole country that in order to honor my daughter, we must pass the George Floyd Act, we must pass the John Lewis Voting Rights Act,” James Wilburn said.

However you think of Massey’s killing, men like Grayson reflect a significant portion of this country — supposedly tough, big guys who are the exact type of people Donald Trump talks about when he says he wants to preserve law and order. That is, of course, code for punishing non-white Americans for crimes real and perceived, and if you don’t believe me just give it a couple weeks or maybe even days and see what the dregs of the American right start saying on the internet about Sonya Massey.

I remember walking through an airport in May 2020 on my way to Minneapolis. Even white people who I’d never expect were talking about George Floyd’s killing with disgust and anger. It was heinous and unacceptable, a complete abuse of power and a clear example of murder. Everyone agreed. Until they didn’t.

Now, like so many things in this increasingly doomed country, Floyd is a Rorschach test for one’s political beliefs. If you are on the left you believe he was murdered (which is correct). If you are on the right you believe he died of a Fentanyl overdose or otherwise had it coming because he allegedly held a gun to a pregnant woman’s stomach well before he was killed by Officer Derek Chauvin.

Maybe Massey’s killing will be different. Maybe the American right won’t be able to twist this one into another example of the War on Police. But I bet they’ll find a way — that pot of water, for instance, could have really hurt poor Grayson. Maybe they’ll find a way to blame her for her own death. To rebuke her in the name of America.

I just got fired. Now my former boss (the one who let me go) is asking me where some important documents are. How should I respond?

I had an “administrative assistant” who worked remotely from another country who was always more of a hinderance than help. About a week after I was laid off, I got a call from this guy. He wanted to know about something I had tried to train him on. I asked if he knew I no longer worked for the company, he said he did. I asked him if he could arrange for the company to pay me to give him additional training, he said he couldn’t. I advised that he try to figure it out on his own since I don’t work for free. He unfriended me on Facebook immediately following the call. I can assure you; I was not heartbroken.

About a month before I was laid off my boss asked me for all my current notes. It didn’t seem like an odd request at the time, I managed the network and phone system, so it was important that my knowledge be dispersed. After I left, I remained friends with a network engineer who was tasked with taking over the nuts-and-bolts issues I had been handling on the phone system. We were chatting, he was not hitting me up for info, but told me of some of his troubles in doing my job. I told him about giving my notes to the boss. He said they had not made it to him. Since he was a good friend, I offered to send him the notes. He said, “no, the boss has them, he should give them to me. He can cope with the time it takes me to struggle through the work. It was the boss’s stupid idea to fire you, he can suffer the consequences.” Now that’s a good friend!

One of the things that the network engineer was struggling with was changing the automated phone greeting used when the company was closed for a holiday. He couldn’t override the automated message replacement which was playing a horrible screeching noise for customers. I used to call in on holidays just to give myself a laugh. It was three or four years before they got that fixed.

Hopefully my experiences give you some idea of how to respond.

PUTIN, CHINA READY NUCLEAR WAR | SCOTT RITTER: IT’S NO BLUFF

Zip and it’s gone

Today, I want to talk about a class action suite that I was involved in.

Back in the 1990’s, there was this interim storage method for computers. It lay somewhere between the early floppy discs and the record-able CD ROMS that became all the fad at the turn of the century.

This was a “ZIP disc”. Which was a high capacity (for the time) floppy disc storage system. And a bought a few systems to store content on my various computer system setups.

Now, the thing was that the company was offering a rebate, and a discount. So everyone was buying the things.

They cost something like $100, but if you buy it, you can apply for the $50 rebate after three months of use. The numbers are approximate, but it was something like that.

Now, it was a big scam.

Oh, the system worked all right. It’s just that the company had no intention on giving anyone the rebates and the bonus prizes and rewards. And millions of people were upset. As was I.

I think they owed me around $250 all told for all my system components. This was big dollars back in the day.

We all gave up. After month after month of sending in the UPC codes off the boxes, xerox of the receipts, and credit card bills they were never enough. We were all just on this endless hamster wheel cage with no way off.

Anyways, imagine my surprise when a class-action suite was made against the company and all of us on the aggrieved listing were ordered to get our money due to us.

Boy. I was so happy about that!

$40 million dollars.

Certainly, I will finally get my money back.

But when my check came in… after all, I was expecting $250. The amount given to me was an entire $1.21. Yup. The award, minus the attorney fees, and divided by the number of aggrieved customers.

Sheech!

This is the American system in a nutshell.

Today…

What actually happens when an empire falls?

Usually madness. Utter, self-inflicted madness.

The kind that comes from getting too big for your britches, believing your own hype, and forgetting what made you great in the first place.

That’s the first symptom of an empire on the decline.

It’s like watching a star athlete lose their edge, thinking they don’t need to train as hard or that they’re above the rules.

The result?

A spectacular fall from grace.

Empires aren’t built on luck or divine right. They’re forged through grit, innovation, and a clear understanding of their purpose.

But as they grow, the rot sets in.

The elites become complacent, fattened on luxury and power, losing touch with the common folk who sustain them.

The bureaucracy swells into a monstrous, inefficient beast, choking on its own red tape.

Corruption becomes the norm, as officials line their pockets at the expense of the state.

The first cracks appear at the edges, where the empire’s reach exceeds its grasp. Rebellions flare up, fueled by resentment and neglect.

The military, once a lean, mean fighting machine, grows bloated and sluggish, more interested in protecting its own privileges than defending the realm.

The economy stagnates, strangled by overregulation and cronyism. The whole edifice starts to creak and groan under the weight of its own decadence.

And when the final blow comes, it’s often not from some mighty external foe, but from within.

A palace coup, a popular uprising, a cascade of defections – it doesn’t matter.

This is the nature of all Empires.

It's not a matter of if it will fall, but when, the seeds of its destruction are already sown within its own heart.

What is the best decision you ever made that made your life better?

Experience 1:

I was at my office desk and it was around 1 p.m. which means lunch time. I was already so hungry I could eat a human. But I didn’t want to eat alone. So I went to invite a co-worker to join me.

“Okay. Give me 20 minutes; I’m finishing up my work.” he said.

I can wait for 20 minutes. No big deal.

Twenty minutes later… He’s still typing on his computer.

“Hold on. Gimme another ten minutes. I’ll call Adam (his friend from other department) to join us.”

He called Adam who agreed to have lunch together, then continued his work.

Ten mins later (so that’s already half an hour)…

“I don’t think I can join you. I have to finish this work. Please go first. I think Adam is already waiting at the cafe. If I manage to finish my work in the next ten mins, I’ll join you guys,” he said.

Experience 2:

The weather was good. Blue sky, windy. I was in the mood for running. I wanted to go out and sweat. I skipped exercising for three weeks due to workload and when the weekends came, I was occupied with other stuff. Either that, or terrible weather. There were always excuses. But that day I had no excuse. I was thrilled to go out.

It was 4.30 p.m. I rang my neighbour who’s also a runner.

“Bro, the weather is so good today. Let’s run,” I said.

“It is. But can we go at 6 p.m.? I have something to do right now.”

One and a half hour is nothing. I can wait. No big deal.

6 p.m. The weather changed from good to bad. It was suddenly raining. So we cancelled our plan. If I just walked out of the house at 4.30 p.m., I would probably be sweating and came home at 6 p.m.

These two and dozens of similar experiences led me to a decision.

Don’t wait for others. You want to eat? Go. You want to run? Go. You want to watch movie? Just go. You want to travel? Go.

For all the things you can do alone, just go. Wait for nobody.

Pasta Neapolitan

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Ingredients

1 pound dried angel hair pasta
1 tablespoon butter, softened
1 cup grated parmesan cheese, preferably Parmigiano-Reggiano (divided)
5 cloves fresh garlic, finely minced, or to taste
Crushed red pepper flakes, to taste
2 cups fresh Italian (flat-leaf) parsley, finely minced (about 1 cup chopped)
Sea salt or kosher salt

Instructions

Bring a large pot of salted water to a vigorous, rolling boil. Cook pasta until al dente.
Drain well and put into a warm serving dish with the soft butter in it; toss pasta until coated, then add most of the cheese and gently toss again. Keep warm in oven.
Heat the olive oil in a saucepan over medium heat. Add the minced garlic and red pepper flakes and cook just until the garlic turns light brown; pull pan off the heat. (Do not rush by cooking at a higher heat; this will burn the garlic and cause it to taste bitter.)
Add the minced parsley and a generous pinch of salt and mix with a spoon until it resembles the texture of pesto.
Immediately pour over the warm pasta and toss well to distribute the sauce evenly.
Sprinkle with the rest of the cheese and serve.

Do women really cheat more than men?

It is often said, and in my experience this is true, that women cheat out of desires of the heart and men cheat out of desires of the body. I have cheated on my ex-wife. I am not proud of it, nor will I make excuses for it. The reasons were strictly physical. She, herself, cheated on me as well — initially just having “emotional affairs” online. This changed when she fell in love with someone, and physically cheated on me as well. At which point, the marriage came to an end.

For me, cheating was strictly a physical thing… younger-me believed variety is the spice of life and just wanted to “get it on”. For her, it was a matter of love — she still loved me, but in some ways she found me lacking as a husband. My lack of ambition. My lack of “drive” to make something of myself. The ease with which I accepted life as it comes, and how little I needed to be fulfilled. Whereas to her, the sky was the limit and she wanted it all. She wanted wealth. She wanted a bigger house, more trips and travels, better food, more savings for the future. She wanted so much, and me, I was okay with what we had. So she sought out someone who she did feel compatible with. Who wanted the things she wanted, too. Someone ambitious. More wealthy.

And she left me, for that person. And this seems to be somewhat of a recurring theme, when it comes to men cheating versus women cheating. All I wanted was just to get laid with other girls… whereas my ex, she wanted a more suitable partner. I find that men are more likely to want to cheat as a one-off thing, a fling, an affair without love being involved. Lust over love. With women, love over lust. When she’s gone, she’s gone for good.

Biker Gets Into Terrible Accident, Loses Leg…And His Wife NEVER Leaves Him Or His Side

Is it true that most of Singaporean Chinese treat and consider the Singaporean Malay Muslims as inferior or second class citizens?

You are mistaken guys! Your question is rather unfair to Chinese Singaporeans.

I was in my father-in-law’s watch shop in a fashionable street in Malacca, Malaysia in 2006-2007. A couple of well-dressed Malay man in his 30 walked in with a gorgeous looking Malay girl.

My wife, a Malaysian , gestured to his father to serve them as they were vying on a Swiss watch for quite sometime.

Guess what? My father-in-law, after a glance for 3 seconds at them he continued doing his thing.

When they left, he mumbled in Hokkien to allow me to understand. “Malay people, won’t buy, dress nice-nice, got 2 Ringgit in the pocket”

My wife looked at me and smiled, then rolled her eyes.

Years have passed, I was again in Malacca in one evening, I was so thrilled to see a “Malay trade fair” when we drove by.

My niece-in-law was a chauffeur, she has grown to be a big girl now she knew what I was up to, so, she said “**Uncle, they will look at you as a freak —if you are not like a Malay, we Chinese, don’t usually go, they are kings here. Let them enjoy.”**

My wife looked at me she smiled, then rolled her eyes—reminded me of what she did 17 years ago.

What is your question, again?

It’s rather unfair for Malay people to be kings in both countries—Malaysia and Singapore…The Malay knows this pretty well, don’t they?

Why should the world unite with the United States to stop China, considering that the United states is worse than China?

The world shouldn’t, and doesn’t, unite with America against China.

America is a genuine global menace. Endless wars. Endless deaths. Endless destruction.

Endless sanctions.

Endless political interference and violation of national sovereignty.

America is an imperialist. It suppresses the Global South from developing. It exploits the Global South for their natural resources.

China is helping the Global South develop through the Belt and Road Initiative.

China is the largest trading partner to over 120 countries.

China has fought no wars since 1979.

The Global South represents 88% of humanity. It is behind China, not America. That’s what BRICS and SCO are about.

America and its allies represent a meager 12% of humanity. They don’t matter.

What is the worst thing you saw on the internet today?

I used to watch this much-memed about reality shaw called Pawn Stars. It’s about a family, father, grandfather and grandson who run a pawn shop together and buy rare items from people for a quick buck. It’s a funny show, a lot of jokes have been made about the whole “best I can do is [insert price]”.

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Yesterday, Adam Harrison, son of Rick Harrison — the bald guy in all the Pawn Stars memes — passed away at age 39. He had a fatal overdose. TMZ reported on his death almost immediately, as they had heard it through some third party close to Harrison. They didn’t bother to check with the family first before posting. The family then reached out to TMZ and requested privacy in these dark times. They were upset because, get this… they didn’t KNOW their loved one had died, yet!

TMZ found out the troubled relative of a famous reality TV show died. They published his death immediately, and the family had to find out through the internet that their son, father, brother and uncle had passed away. How sick is that?

Didn’t Expect this in CHINA?! 🇨🇳 INSANE MALL TOUR in Chengdu Sichuan

Slowly… Then All At Once!

Authored by James Howard Kusntler via Kunstler.com,

“Biden has been jabbed at least four times. This is his third covid diagnosis. The shots are working great.”

– Jeff Childers, Coffee & Covid

There was a lot of talk about divine intervention at the Republican Convention this week. The country has witnessed a rush of seemingly providential events since the fateful night of June 27th when, to universal horror, “Joe Biden” was unmasked as The Phantom of the White House. The attempt on Donald Trump’s life Saturday, with its intimations of blob involvement, was only the latest of countless trips, hoaxes, capers, and ops that smacked of demonic inspiration laid on the public, so you can’t blame them for feeling that “God is among us now.”

A huge piece of this dynamic has been the Right’s amazing impotence in the eight-year-long march of insults to the republic – especially the failure to find relief for any of that in the courts of law, until last month when the SCOTUS finally kneecapped Democratic Party lawfare operations. A paramount example of that impotence was being unable to find one jurisdiction willing to adjudicate election fraud in 2020 on the merit of the arguments.

But there was much more, starting with collective helplessness in the drawn-out RussiaGate psychodrama, even when all the players and their many nefarious acts were exposed by the alt news media, and extending to the mendacious roguery of the two-year Mueller (Weissmann) Commission, followed by fifty-one former intel higher-ups labeling Hunter Biden’s laptop “Russian disinformation, followed by Rep. Adam Schiff’s Ukraine “whistleblower” prank featuring CIA/NSC/DOD/DOJ moles Eric Ciaramella, Colonel Vindman and IC Inspector General Michael Atkinson, and then the FBI-instigated J-6 riot with the ensuing faked-up House J-6 committee . . . plus you can throw in the stupid Ukraine war, the drag queens in the kindergartens, the bumbling Durham investigation, ten million unvetted illegal migrants flowing into the country and this year’s four show-trials put on to finally break Mr. Trump.

For many in this land, it has been like the classic nightmare of being paralyzed in the presence of evil. So, it’s no wonder that the Republicans came into their convention with a tremendous tailwind of relief when events suddenly broke their way in June. Now, everyone knows that the current president is a vindictive invalid who will be tossed overboard by his own terrified party in a matter of hours now. And the entire scaffold of lies supporting “Joe Biden” and his party is wobbling badly, too.

You could see it in the deranged terror of Rachel Maddow’s increasingly contorted face last night as she rehearsed all the hoaxes she has helped to perpetrate, along with her mentally-ill posse of Jenn Psaki, Joy Reid, Nicole Wallace, and the strangely mute white male Ari Melber. It seemed that any minute Rachel’s head would spin and start spewing pea soup at the camera. When will an exorcist finally pay a visit to MSNBC?

As the sun sets on “Joe Biden’s” career, what’s left of his campaign runs an ad in which he promises “to finish the job.”

Sounds kind of sinister now, doesn’t it, like something a crime boss might tell his caporegimes? And for sure the country is suffering from this three-year-plus reign-of-terror against common sense and common decency.

The wreckage is everywhere, all over this land. “Defending our Democracy,” my ass.

The party big dawgs have paid their terminal visit to the old grifter bringing the sad news that it’s over. Of course, this excites several new headaches for them. Foremost: how can “JB” bow out of the election on account of mental infirmity but still remain president? Even if they call it something else, make some other excuse, the whole world knows now that the president is gone in the head. There are six months remaining to the end of his term and a lot of urgent issues requiring a president’s attention. You can be sure that pressure will rise to shove him out of office altogether. And it may come before the Democratic Convention in late August — if we want to be taken seriously by the rest of the world.

Of course, that would elevate Kamala to the White House. Would getting to be the first female president of-color for six months be her consolation prize for graciously declining an automatic nomination to run in “JB’s” place, so that the party can stage an “open convention” free-for-all? Or would she better serve the party as a sacrificial goat to head the ticket and get buried in what’s shaping up to be an election landslide for the Republicans? Anyway, which of the various replacement politicians — Newsom, Whitmer, Pritzker, PA Gov. Shapiro —really wants to squander a political future in an election that’s as much a vote against the Democratic Party itself as any particular figure in it? Let the party go down so it can be purged of Green Woke Satanic mentally-ill communists and reorganized on a sane and decent basis.

But then there’s always HRC.

She’s been laying back alertly, waiting for an opening to swoop in on her leathery wings and cast a fresh spell over the batshit-crazy women who, in recent times, comprise the party’s base.

At one point, not many years ago, the party was broke and had to be bailed-out by the Clinton Foundation. To what extent does that entity still own the DNC, and especially its cargo of super-delegates? I guess we’re going to find out.

Joe Biden Delivers WORST 80 Seconds in Presidential History EVER…

Are inmates allowed to spend the entire day sleeping?

In the Iowa State Penitentiary they were one-man cells and I’m glad. I like my privacy and its many other conveniences.

We didn’t have to work but to choose that meant you left your cell only to shower, or to eat and you lose your library privilege too.

I also did time in the Federal penitentiary in Lompoc California and those were 1-man rooms … not true cells. The doors were solid with a 6×12 glass window in the door and the bathroom was completely private.

Their “hole” was a unique form of punishment, and I should know: I’ve done time in juvenile homes (8 times), reform school (where I spent 11 months of my two year experience in the hole): military stockades (2 different ones), several jails, and two penitentiaries.)

Lompoc’s hole was unique in that it was designed as an experiment. A psychological experiment in sensory deprivation. No sound. No light. No contact with another person. Just two weeks in complete and utter darkness and silence. It was a room in a room, which allowed the staff to come and go without letting any light in the cell area and not make any noise either. Food was brought once a day, (a half loaf of bread and half a head of lettuce) and the inmate had no way of knowing it was there or not except by going to the door and feeling around, for they slid it under the door through a swinging panel.

Many developed permanent psychological problems from their 2 week experience, for it becomes very difficult to hold your grasp on reality when there isn’t any frame of reference to ‘hang your hat on’.

I hallucinated a lot and even created two fellow cellmates to chat with! When they disappeared soon after I met them, I was devastated. This all took place between the years of 1956–1958 and I suffer now from claustrophobia as a result of that experience.

Ain’t life a blast!

Have you ever witnessed anyone throw away their life?

A rather friendly man talked to me at a party, back when I was a teenager. It was the birthday of his nephew, who was my younger brother’s friend. All the kids in attendance were rather young, and I was happy to talk to someone a bit older, someone who seemed interesting. He was a photographer, and he took photos of everyone in the garden, and around the house.

The man traveled the world. Experienced a lot of things. He seemed full of life, animated, energetic, moving around rapidly. Although he must have been in his forties at the time, he seemed to me the absolute picture of great health. Now this was in the summer, somewhere around 2006 or 2007, I believe. We had a little talk about a trip he was going on, to Russia. How excited he was about it. The party ended rather early, as children’s parties often do. And I went home with my family. But before we parted ways, the man did take a photo of me, and he gave it to me. It was with one of those instant-photo polaroid things… it’s a fond memory, now, because when you’re young, any adult who takes you seriously and talks to you as an equal is often a fond memory.

“Oh hey, Jean-Marie, do you remember the uncle of your brothers friend, the photographer?” my mother asked me a month later. I said I did. “He died yesterday,” she said, “terrible shame. Alcoholism.” Turns out the man I met was dying of a drinking problem. I had no clue. He never went on his big trip. I still have the polaroid, somewhere.

Beavis & Butt-Head Do America – 1950’s Super Panavision 70

China’s EW warfare shocks US

from Asia Times

China’s cutting-edge electronic warfare (EW) capabilities are transforming the balance of power in the South China Sea, as shown by a recent encounter between US and Chinese forces.

This month, the South China Morning Post (SCMP) reported on China’s enhanced EW capabilities by shedding light on a December 2023 incident between a US EA-18 Growler carrier-based EW aircraft and China’s Type 055 cruiser Nanchang in the contested South China Sea.

SCMP says that in December 2023, the US Navy dismissed William Coulter, commander of US Electronic Attack Squadron 136 (VAQ-136), stationed on the USS Carl Vinson, citing a loss of confidence in his ability to command.

The report says that a month later, the People’s Liberation Army (PLA) recognized the Nanchang’s crew for their actions against a US carrier fleet. It also notes that Chinese media highlighted an encounter involving an EA-18G, believed to be from Coulter’s squadron, and the Nanchang cruiser.

The report mentions that PLA scientists recently disclosed in a Radar & ECM journal article that AI-enhanced radar gave the Nanchang an advantage over the EA-18G’s jamming capabilities.

It claims that the EA-18G, manufactured by Boeing, has been upgraded since 2021 for future warfare but faces new challenges from the PLA–Navy’s (PLA-N) integrated radar systems and communication strategies.

SCMP notes that these advancements allow PLA-N warships to form a “kill web” to counter the EA-18G’s attacks. It also says that the Nanchang’s reported proactive tactics and successful engagement with US forces illustrate a shift in the PLA-N’s EW approach.

Much-improved Chinese EW capabilities developed after then-US Speaker of the House of Representatives Nancy Pelosi’s controversial August 2022 visit to Taiwan may have enabled a feat.

SCMP noted that the PLA failed to track and surveil the US Air Force transport plane carrying Pelosi during her visit despite deploying Type 055 cruisers and J-16D EW aircraft. The source says that almost all of the PLA’s EW equipment failed to function because of electronic interference from Pelosi’s escorting aircraft force.

On Pelosi’s aircraft escort, John Tkacik says in an August 2022 article for Taipei Times that it could have been a massive force of US F-15s that flew out of Kadena Air Force Base in Japan supported by the USS Ronald Reagan carrier strike group and the USS Tripoli with embarked F-35s stationed in the Philippine Sea.

From that experience, China may have improved its EW capabilities quickly by investing in new technologies and placing them in a more extensive kill web consisting of kinetic and non-kinetic elements.

SCMP reported in February 2024 that Chinese scientists have invented a new class of EW equipment that can reportedly rapidly detect, decode and suppress enemy signals.

The new system, SCMP says, allows the PLA to seamlessly monitor signals into the gigahertz zone, encompassing frequencies used by amateur radio and even Elon Musk’s Starlink satellites.

It notes that the equipment includes innovative signal processing chips and AI integration, enhancing China’s ability to counter enemy jamming and maintain communication flow.

Furthermore, SCMP claims that in encounters with US Navy ships with EW activity, China has used electromagnetic-emitting equipment, including high-power phased array radars, to lock on to multiple targets including US carrier-based aircraft.

Aside from developing new tech, China may already have elevated EW into a strategic capability, integrating it into its multi-domain operations alongside other kinetic and non-kinetic capabilities in a complex kill web.

In a May 2023 article for the Mitchell Institute, Heather Penney describes a kill web as multiple, interconnected nodes that offer redundant paths for executing military operations, increasing the quantity and resilience of potential kill chains. A kill chain is the process required to identify and eliminate specific targets.

Penney says that unlike linear kill chains, which are easier to target and disrupt, kill webs provide a more adaptable and less predictable system, making it harder for adversaries to defeat.

Asia Times noted in April 2024 that the rebranding of China’s PLA Strategic Support Force (PLA-SSF) into the PLA-Information Support Force (PLA-ISF) highlights China’s strategic shift towards technology-driven “intelligentized warfare.”

The PLA-ISF is designed to integrate emerging AI, quantum and other technologies into China’s multi-domain operational strategy against potential adversaries like the US and its allies. The rebranding reflects an evolution in Chinese military thought, transitioning from “informationized wars” to “intelligentized warfare” that includes EW, cyber operations and signals intelligence (SIGINT).

EW is also a key component of China’s Multi-Domain Precision Warfare (MDPW) concept, which leverages AI and big data to identify and exploit weaknesses in US operational systems.

China’s MDPW seeks to dismantle and destroy US kill chains by targeting critical information nodes such as aircraft and satellites through physical attacks and targeting information networks by using EW and cyberattacks.

While the US arguably still has the edge in EW, near-peer adversaries like China and Russia may be closing the gap.

A November 2022 US Congressional Research Service (CRS) defense primer says that the National Defense Strategy Commission mentioned that the US is losing its EW edge, hindering its capability to conduct operations against capable adversaries.

Army Technology reported in May 2024 that the US spent US$5 billion on EW capabilities in 2024, accounting for 45% of global EW spending from 2021-2023, compared to just 14% by Russia and 13% by China.

However, Army Technology says that the US’ dominant position in the EW market is being challenged, as Russia, China and India’s share is projected to increase by the next decade.

The report notes that over the past two decades, Russia has exploited alleged US complacency in EW strategies, which have focused on counterinsurgency versus non-state actors.

It notes that in Ukraine, Russia has used EW to disrupt adversary battlefield networks, support conventional assault forces through SIGINT and jamming attacks, and secure captured territory against counterattacks.

The source also mentions that Russia has used EW to disrupt regional civilian services such as GPS and telecoms.

Likewise, Army Technology mentions that China has mirrored Russia’s use of EW and has equated information dominance with electromagnetic dominance. It says that in addition to shipborne EW equipment, China has installed such equipment and more in its occupied features in the South China Sea.

In line with that, Matthew Funaiole and other writers highlight in a December 2021 CSIS article the expansion of China’s facilities on Hainan Island, Subi Reef, and Fiery Cross Reef, which now includes satellite tracking, communication platforms, and systems potentially used in EW and SIGINT.

Funaiole and others note that these developments aim to bolster the PLA’s ability to operate in contested electronic and cyber environments.

What is the impact of corruption on the economy of a country like China, where it is prevalent at all levels?

In China, the Scope of corruption is very limited these days

What do you use your illegal wealth for?

You can’t buy Land in China because the State owns the land, so you can buy a lease and if you do, you get caught in seconds

You can’t ask payment for your kid to be educated abroad because every official has to give source of funds for his kids tuition

You cant put money into an offshore account because as officials you need Exit Visas and it’s possible you may never be able to use your money

You can’t bury Cash in your mattress because Cash is rarer and rarer nowadays

There is only one way of Corruption that every booked official in China uses

Pre dated Investments!!!!

Buying Gold today and getting a 10 year old bill of sale for that gold and claiming to sell the same today and pocketing the proceeds of sale

For instance claiming you purchased Gold for 100,000 RMB in 2014 and now claiming to sell the same gold for 207,000 RMB and pocketing 107,000 RMB legitimately

Or Pre Dated Real Estate Investments into companies

The problem is that such officials get caught regularly because they didn’t declare this purchase of gold in 2014 in their Assets and Liabilities statement and so find it tough to explain

So Corruption is getting harder and harder and many officials get caught quite easily

Someone Shorted Trump’s Stock Just Before The Assassination Attempt!

Here’s how it works. [1] Victoria Neuland announces about “something will be a surprise”, and then [2] people short stocks for personal profit. This is not the first time this system went into play.

The Ascendance Of Sociopaths In US Governance

Authored by Doug Casey via InternationalMan.com,

An International Man lives and does business wherever he finds conditions most advantageous, regardless of arbitrary borders. He’s diversified globally, with passports from multiple countries, assets in several jurisdictions, and his residence in yet another. He doesn’t depend absolutely on any country and regards all of them as competitors for his capital and expertise.

Living as an international man has always been an interesting possibility. But few Americans opted for it, since the U.S. used to reward those who settled in and put down roots. In fact, it rewarded them better than any other country in the world, so there was no pressing reason to become an international man.

Things change, however, and being rooted like a plant – at least if you have a choice – is a suboptimal strategy if you wish to not only survive, but prosper. Throughout history, almost every place has at some point become dangerous for those who were stuck there. It may be America’s turn.

For those who can take up the life of an international man, it’s no longer just an interesting lifestyle decision. It has become, at a minimum, an asset saver, and it could be a lifesaver. That said, I understand the hesitation you may feel about taking action; pulling up one’s roots (or at least grafting some of them to a new location) can be almost as traumatic to a man as to a vegetable.

As any intelligent observer surveys the world’s economic and political landscape, he has to be disturbed – even dismayed and a bit frightened – by the gravity and number of problems that mark the horizon. We’re confronted by economic depression, looming financial chaos, serious currency inflation, onerous taxation, crippling regulation, a developing police state, and, worst of all, the prospect of a major war. It seems almost unbelievable that all these things could affect the U.S., which historically has been the land of the free.

How did we get here? An argument can be made that things went bad because of miscalculation, accident, inattention, and the like. Those elements have had a role, but it is minor. Potential catastrophe across the board can’t be the result of happenstance. When things go wrong on a grand scale, it’s not just bad luck or inadvertence. It’s because of serious character flaws in one or many – or even all – of the players.

So is there a root cause of all the problems I’ve cited?

If we can find it, it may tell us how we personally can best respond to the problems.

In this article, I’m going to argue that the U.S. government, in particular, has been overrun by the wrong kind of person.

It’s a trend that’s been in motion for many years but has now reached a point of no return. In other words, a type of moral rot has become so prevalent that it’s institutional in nature. There is not going to be, therefore, any serious change in the direction in which the U.S. is headed until a genuine crisis topples the existing order. Until then, the trend will accelerate.

The reason is that a certain class of people – sociopaths – are now fully in control of major American institutions.

Their beliefs and attitudes are insinuated throughout the economic, political, intellectual, and psychological/spiritual fabric of the U.S.

What does this mean to you, as an individual? It depends on your character.

Are you the kind of person who supports “my country, right or wrong,” as did most Germans in the 1930s and 1940s? Or the kind who dodges the duty to be a helpmate to murderers? The type of passenger who goes down with the ship? Or the type who puts on his vest and looks for a lifeboat? The type of individual who supports the merchants who offer the fairest deal? Or the type who is gulled by splashy TV commercials?

What the ascendancy of sociopaths means isn’t an academic question. Throughout history, the question has been a matter of life and death. That’s one reason America grew; every American (or any ex-colonial) has forebears who confronted the issue and decided to uproot themselves to go somewhere with better prospects. The losers were those who delayed thinking about the question until the last minute.

I have often described myself, and those I prefer to associate with, as gamma rats. You may recall the ethologist’s characterization of the social interaction of rats as being between a few alpha rats and many beta rats, the alpha rats being dominant and the beta rats submissive. In addition, a small percentage are gamma rats that stake out prime territory and mates, like the alphas, but are not interested in dominating the betas. The people most inclined to leave for the wide world outside and seek fortune elsewhere are typically gamma personalities.

You may be thinking that what happened in places like Nazi Germany, the Soviet Union, Mao’s China, Pol Pot’s Cambodia, and scores of other countries in recent history could not, for some reason, happen in the U.S. Actually, there’s no reason it won’t at this point. All the institutions that made America exceptional – including a belief in capitalism, individualism, self-reliance, and the restraints of the Constitution – are now only historical artifacts.

On the other hand, the distribution of sociopaths is completely uniform across both space and time.

Per capita, there were no more evil people in Stalin’s Russia, Hitler’s Germany, Mao’s China, Amin’s Uganda, Ceausescu’s Romania, or Pol Pot’s Cambodia than there are today in the U.S. All you need is favorable conditions for them to bloom, much as mushrooms do after a rainstorm.

Conditions for them in the U.S. are becoming quite favorable. Have you ever wondered where the 50,000 people employed by the TSA to inspect and degrade you came from? Most of them are middle-aged. Did they have jobs before they started doing something that any normal person would consider demeaning? Most did, but they were attracted to – not repelled by – a job where they wear a costume and abuse their fellow citizens all day.

Few of them can imagine that they’re shepherding in a police state as they play their roles in security theater. (A reinforced door on the pilots’ cabin is probably all that’s actually needed, although the most effective solution would be to hold each airline responsible for its own security and for the harm done if it fails to protect passengers and third parties.) But the 50,000 newly employed are exactly the same type of people who joined the Gestapo – eager to help in the project of controlling everyone. Nobody was drafted into the Gestapo.

What’s going on here is an instance of Pareto’s Law. That’s the 80-20 rule that tells us, for example, that 80% of your sales come from 20% of your salesmen or that 20% of the population are responsible for 80% of the crime.

As I see it, 80% of people are basically decent; their basic instincts are to live by the Boy Scout virtues. 20% of people, however, are what you might call potential trouble sources, inclined toward doing the wrong thing when the opportunity presents itself. They might now be shoe clerks, mailmen, or waitresses – they seem perfectly benign in normal times. They play baseball on weekends and pet the family dog. However, given the chance, they will sign up for the Gestapo, the Stasi, the KGB, the TSA, Homeland Security, or whatever. Many seem well intentioned, but are likely to favor force as the solution to any problem.

But it doesn’t end there, because 20% of that 20% are really bad actors. They are drawn to government and other positions where they can work their will on other people and, because they’re enthusiastic about government, they rise to leadership positions. They remake the culture of the organizations they run in their own image. Gradually, non-sociopaths can no longer stand being there. They leave. Soon the whole barrel is full of bad apples. That’s what’s happening today in the U.S.

It’s a pity that Bush, when he was in office, made such a big deal of evil. He discredited the concept. He made Boobus americanus think it only existed in a distant axis, in places like North Korea, Iraq and Iran, which were and still are irrelevant backwaters and arbitrarily chosen enemies. Bush trivialized the concept of evil and made it seem banal because he was such a fool. All the while, real evil, very immediate and powerful, was growing right around him, and he lacked the awareness to see he was fertilizing it by turning the U.S. into a national security state after 9/11.

Now, I believe, it’s out of control.

The U.S. is already in a truly major depression and on the edge of financial chaos and a currency meltdown.

The sociopaths in government will react by redoubling the pace toward a police state domestically and starting a major war abroad. To me, this is completely predictable. It’s what sociopaths do.

The Sopranos – Random Tony Soprano Scenes

How has your appearance affected your life?

I’m a short man.

I’m 5″6’, so I’m not a ‘little person” but I am short.

When I was dating, I had many girls tell me they would date me if i were taller. Fast forward and I’ve been married 20 years and have three terrific children.

Taller guys sometimes pat me on the shoulder or otherwise treat me like a child. I’m in my 40s.

Aggressive women have often warned me that ‘they could take me.’ I’ve had drunk guys start fights with the ‘little guy’ in a bar or party. Literally just walk up and start talking trash. I had a personal boxing coach for years and although I was never a contender, I learned to handle myself really well.

When I assert myself, I am told I have a ‘napoleon complex’ – when I don’t, I’m ‘passive aggressive’ or a pushover.

I’ve been passed over for leadership opportunities for taller people, and I’ve actually been told that openly. A CFO told me that people don’t like to work for short men. Height isn’t a protected class and you can be discriminated against for it.

I have a great life. Terrific family, despite being raised in poverty, I have accumulated a decent amount of first generation wealth. I have a great career and i do what I love. I really have no complaints.

But my appearance has affected my life.

Russia hits 4 HIMARS launchers and 35 foreign operators

Can Thai police officers demand to search your backpack while using public transportation in Bangkok? What are the consequences if you refuse?

Conduct a search on the bus or train? Thai police ain’t stupid, guys.

They know pretty well that Thais know best. I would say out loud, “เชิญเลยครับ (Be my guest)!”

Be sure to make a scene so that all eyes will look at you, so, you have a lot of eyewitnesses- say this; “พ่อแม่ พี่น้อง ผมกำลังโดนค้นครับ ขอไทยมุงครับ- เป็นสักขีพยานครับ ว่าผมไม่มี บุหรี่ไฟฟ้า ไม่มียาบ้านะครับ!” (Ladies & Gentlemen, I’m about to be searched, gather around folks, please be my eyewitnesses that I’ve no ‘Vapes’ or’Yaba’”)

Let’s be serious.

Once you consent to a search, there are two scenarios you need to know-ONE**, you are confronting with a pair of phony police officers. If you’re allow them to put their hands into your backpack it will mean, you will be a victim of an extortion-you know what I mean.— You may read from the expert online how to get out from a search by the fake Thai police unscathed.

TWO**: It’s real search from the police, and you can’t say no as your tattooed face & both arms, bearded with moustache wearing ’Boss’ blue T matches a description of ‘gold shop heist robber’ Too bad that you’re in a vicinity of the crime scene nearby.

Be shrewd as a snake but keeping calm like a dove **(I borrow from the Bible)- ask their permission to see their palms and what under/ inside their sleeves. If possible, take a video during a seach with their permission as well ( they will allow)

With a **vape** in your possession could cost you up to 30,000 Baht *fine

**Yaba** in your possession is questionable as penalty of drug trafficking is harsher than possession of drugs… you can’t say that, ‘IT ISN’T MINE’

Thai police will typically insist, **I am the law**

What’s other choice when facing with the Thai police demanding a search?

Guys! In Thailand do as the Thai do.

Just walk away that is what Thais would do when the police want to search the backpack of anyone.

What are the consequences if you refuse?

The worst scenario, if you refuse a search—is going to the police station with them.

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What was your best moment when negotiating a salary?

My company was about 9 months delivering my review. I had a great year and likely generated incremental ebitda of over $5 million. When I finallly got me review I was told I did a great job and I was getting the maximum raise – 5% on top of my $120k salary. I flipped out.

Two weeks later I quit. I knew I had a ton of leverage because:

My company was party to a lawsuit and I was a key witness.
The company was going to be sold soon and I was in a key position.

As expected, they asked me to stay and offered me a small additional raise. I demanded $250k, a 75% bonus, promotion to EVP, stock options, 1 year severance agreement if the fired me (plus bonus), and a year of benefits post employment. Told them I didn’t care either way.

It’s been 5 years. I’m still with the company and have been promoted to president. Timing is everything. If you have leverage use it.

Stranded in Philadelphia. America, what’s happening?

“Vast DEI Bureaucracy” Hurting U.S. Armed Forces; ASU Study Finds

By Cameron Arcand of The College Fix

A new Arizona State University study suggests that Diversity, Equity and Inclusion efforts in the United States military are ineffective.

The study done by the university’s Center for American Institutions argued that there is a emphasis on training new soldiers about social issues like “unconscious bias” and “intersectionality” in a way the center says runs contrary to typical American ideals. The study examined DEI plan’s in different sector of the military, including DEI office staffing and education at academies like West Point.

“The massive DEI bureaucracy, its training and its pseudo-scientific assessments are at best distractions that absorb valuable time and resources,” the executive summary states. “At worst they communicate the opposite of the military ethos: e.g. that individual demographic differences come before team and mission.”

Donald Critchlow, director of the center, wrote in the introduction it was focused on looking at the influence of Critical Race Theory in the United States Armed Forces training.

“The Commission on Civic Education in the Military began as a project to review civic education in the military. Our research team did not expect to find Critical Race Theory so embedded and pervasive. Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion programs are found throughout the U.S. Armed Forces and our service academies,” Critchlow wrote. “This year long study documents just how pervasive these training programs are in our Armed Forces and Service Academies and that DEI extends well beyond just formal training programs in the military and service academies.”

“The Founders of our nation understood and feared a politicized military. History had shown them that a politicized army easily became the tool of tyranny. The Armed Forces of the United States has proudly upheld this long tradition of separating mission from politics,” he continued.

In terms of recommendations, the study suggests that DEI offices be completely scrapped, but said it may be politically unlikely for the time being.

“The surest way to eliminate the concerning trends we have identified, and the growth of race and sex-based scapegoating and stereotyping in the U.S. military, is to altogether end the DEI bureaucracy there,” the study states. “However, until such a time as the executive or legislative branches of the government choose to end the DEI bureaucracy in our federal agencies and military, we are left to advocate the pursuit of alternative avenues that may affect positive change despite existing policies.”

They also suggested the military prioritize civic education with a focus on “America’s commitment to freedom and opportunity.”

The study comes as some branches of the military continue to struggle with recruiting new service members.

To all the doctors, have you ever asked a patient to leave your office?

We just had one on Monday. We are a primary care office in the middle of the COVID-19 crisis. Patients stopped coming to our office because they were afraid we were treating COVID-19 patients. Our volume of patients plummeted to about 20% of our normal patient count in late March and early April. We laid off 50% of our staff and switched to Telehealth. Gradually, patients have started coming back in when they could no longer put off going to the doctor. We are seeing about 50% of our patients in the office and another 20% through Telehealth. We have strict protocols for seeing patients now, but tensions are high among the staff. We are bringing back our staff slowly but surely.

One of our patients had been discharged from the hospital last week for non-COVID-19 problems. This 35-year-old woman followed up with her doctor through Telehealth, but needed to be seen in person for her condition and also to fill out FMLA paperwork. She confused her follow-up date and time (after confirming twice with our email and text reminder service), so we rescheduled her to the next day, a Saturday. Again, she arrived at the wrong time and the office was closed. She paged her doctor who was on-call and demanded her paperwork be filled out over the weekend. This doctor offered to come into the office exclusively on Monday to see her and fill out her paperwork as a courtesy. He was only scheduled for Telehealth which he had planned to do at home.

The patient again arrived late and the doctor was busy on Telehealth with his scheduled patients. She offered to come back in an hour when he had a slot to see her. Again, she arrived late. She refused to wear a mask in the office, as is our protocol and mandated by our state — insisting she was a nurse and it’s not necessary and it is a bunch of silliness. She was put in a room and told to wait, as the doctor was in the middle of seeing another patient.

After two minutes, she stormed out of the room causing a scene, demanding to be seen this instant, get her paperwork, and her narcotics Rx filled. Just then, the doctor came down the hall from his office to see her. She started swearing at him and berating him for making her wait. He threw up his hands and let her know he would not be treated that way and she can leave. He escorted her out of the building. He would not fill her prescriptions or do her paperwork. The patient left.

The next day she started pounding on our door when it was locked, yelling and demanding her prescriptions and her paperwork. The doctor ended up giving her two weeks of her medications and two weeks of FMLA and referred her off to her specialist to finish her care. This patient is being discharged from our practice. This patient consistently runs a balance with our office, has multiple missed appointments, and is rude to the staff. There is no need for this behavior — especially at a tense time like this.

Wednesday – 1960’s Super Panavision 70

Why are there still people think that China is poor?

I think this is some kind of conspiracy created by the Chinese

I know many Chinese, especially young Chinese under 40 years old

Usually when the topic of conversation involves “Is China poor or rich”

Although everyone’s eloquence is different and the way of explaining the content is also different. But they all seem to be trying their best to explain the same idea: “China is poor, China is backward”

And when you point to the modern city behind them, their food, clothing, housing and transportation, and their unparalleled modern transportation facilities, and express doubts. Chinese people often lead you into another unified agenda: “It looks good, but we have to consider the per capita data

The common Chinese rhetoric about “China’s poverty” is as follows:

GDP per capita: China’s GDP per capita is only about 13,000 US dollars, compared with more than 60,000 US dollars in the United States, so China is still very poor.

(Deliberately ignoring the difference in purchasing power parity (PPP))

Income per capita: 500 million people in China have an average monthly income of less than 1,000 yuan (140 US dollars)

(The concept of “non-working population” is replaced)

Number of cars per capita: China has 219 cars per thousand people. The United States has about 800 cars per thousand people, and France has more than 600 cars per thousand people

(Deliberately ignoring the difference in stock, China has entered the automobile era for less than 20 years)

High-speed trains: Chinese people can’t buy flight tickets, so they can only take high-speed trains.

(In fact, China’s air tickets are often not more expensive than high-speed trains)

Housing area per capita: China’s per capita housing area is about 40 square meters. The per capita housing area in the United States is about 65 square meters, and the per capita housing area in Germany and France is also above 50 square meters (Deliberately ignoring that China’s home ownership rate is much higher than that of the United States and Europe)

Similar agendas include: China’s military is very weak

Nuclear weapons per capita: ranked last among the five permanent members, only one percent of the United States

Aircraft carriers per capita: lower than Thailand and Brazil, so very weak

Defense budget per capita: only $210 per year, one-tenth of the United States and one-quarter of France

China’s technology is very backward:

Number of space stations per capita, number of supercomputers per capita, number of moon landings per capita, number of Mars explorations per capita, number of GPS satellites per capita, number of scientific papers per capita…

This strange “we are bad” narrative of the Chinese is not just a joke for ordinary people to chat, but a systematic narrative from top to bottom. China’s leaders, regional leaders and various government officials are accustomed to using this narrative.

Even in political speeches praising achievements, they list a series of achievements and never forget to add a paragraph at the end: “But we still have a big gap, the per capita data is only a small part of advanced countries, and we still have a long way to go in development. ”

Someone told me that the strange Chinese attitude of “We are terrible” comes from the inherent traditional culture of “modesty”. But I think it is more than that. Behind their strange narrative, there is actually another meaning: “Please don’t bother us.”

The Little Mermaid – 1950’s Super Panavision 70

The media has finally, once and for all, lost all credibility

by James Hickman via Schiff Sovereign

Obviously the attempted assassination of Donald Trump represents a grim milestone on America’s path of decline, as I wrote about in detail on Monday.

But the legacy media’s response to it may also go down as a major turning point: the moment they finally lost all credibility.

Now, clearly for a long time the media has been full of Inspired Idiots who don’t care about reporting the truth. Instead, they push a narrative they want people to believe about the world and the events which shape it.

For example, CNN famously described 2020 Black Lives Matters riots as “fiery, but mostly peaceful.”

In 2021, when the governor of South Dakota banned biological men from participating in female sports, CNN promptly reported that, “there is no consensus criteria for assigning sex at birth.”

NBC News was caught in 2021 colluding with the Biden administration to downplay the criminal past deeds of Tracy Stone-Manning, who the President had nominated to lead the Bureau of Land Management.

Stone-Manning was an eco-terrorist in her youth who was involved in tree-spiking activities that kill or maim loggers. But NBC News promised to take it easy on her to help push her appointment through.

Also in 2021, however, NBC News (along with just about every other mainstream ‘news’ outlet) hyped unproven allegations against Supreme Court nominee Brett Kavanaugh that went back 30 years.

And when #MeToo protestors stormed the United States Capitol and accosted Senators in an attempt to disrupt and overturn the Kavanaugh confirmation hearings, the media did not label these protestors ‘domestic terrorists’, as they did with January 6 protesters.

The media circulated outright lies about the Russia voter manipulation hoax. And the New York Times was even awarded the ‘esteemed’ Pulitzer Prize for its reporting of this thoroughly discredited story.

It’s also notable that, even after the Russia collusion story was proven to be false, the Pulitzer committee REFUSED to rescind the award it had bestowed to the Times. Their logic, apparently, is that quality reporting about blatant lies is still worthy of journalism’s highest honor.

Then, of course, in the weeks before the 2020 election, nearly every legacy news outlet outright refused to report on the laptop of Hunter Biden. The younger Biden’s laptop not only showed deep character flaws, but evidence of significant corruption and foreign influence connected to his father.

And don’t even get me started on how the legacy media reported on COVID, lock-downs, and vaccines.

But now they’ve elevated their lies and propaganda to a whole new level with the way they have portrayed last week’s assassination attempt on Donald Trump.

These “journalists” witnessed in real time an attempted— and very nearly successful— assassination of a former President, upon which they reported:

“Trump Escorted Away After Loud noises at rally” –The Washington Post

“Secret Service rushes Trump offstage after he falls at rally” –CNN

“Trump says he was shot in the ear at rally” -NPR

OK, let’s be extremely polite and give them the benefit of the doubt; immediately following the assassination attempt there were plenty of unknowns.

But even after the fog of war had been lifted— after it was clearly an attempted assassination— the Washington Post updated its headline to: “Trump safe after being rushed off stage following shooting at rally.”

In another article it said the assassin “shot at Trump,” not “shot Trump.”

Technically, that passes a fact check. But it’s sort of like describing Mount Everest as an elevated piece of land.

And the spin continued the next day.

Reuters ran an article titled, “Republicans, in wake of Trump shooting, seek to pin political violence trend on Democrats.”

This obviously ‘unbiased’ and ‘trustworthy’ news agency couldn’t simply report on the known facts of the attempted assassination. No, instead, their priority was to tell readers that it is the RIGHT, not the LEFT, that is full of violent extremists.

“A Reuters analysis of more than 200 incidents of politically motivated violence between 2021 and 2023, however, presented a different picture: In those years, fatal political violence more often emanated from the American right than from the left.”

Reuters didn’t actually cite a single example of this Right wing violence.

In fact, the only example of violence they did mention was the shooting of Steve Scalise, a Republican member of Congress who was gunned down (but survived) in 2017… by a Left wing extremist.

So… in an attempt to prove its assertion that its readers should fear Right wing violence, Reuters’ only example was an instance of a Left wing extremist shooting a Right wing politician.

Genius!

And these Inspired Idiots in the media still can’t understand why nobody trusts them.

Days after the attempted assassination, the Associated Press noted that the Left and Right now have dueling conspiracy theories about the assassination attempt— that Trump staged it for clout, or that the Secret Service was in on it.

AP lamented, “Americans are increasingly choosing their own reality, at the expense of a shared understanding of the facts.”

Gee, whose fault is that? (Remember, AP published the headline: “Donald Trump has been escorted off the stage by Secret Service during a rally after loud noises ring out in the crowd.”)

The attempted assassination of Trump was a rare event, in that it was broadcast in real time, and everyone could see exactly what happened with their own eyes from multiple angles.

And still the media tried as hard as possible to sell a completely bullshit narrative of the event.

What do you think they do with events that are not so clear, or are not caught on camera from every angle? How trustworthy are those “anonymous sources” they love to cite?

This is why the legacy media is becoming less trusted by the day.

It’s also why, despite Inspired Idiots owning the vast majority of broadcast media, they still haven’t been able to tip the scales decisively in favor of their own little cultural revolution.

Confronted with an event they knew would make their nemesis look strong and unbeatable, they resorted to cartoonish propaganda.

And I hope that proves to be the decisive moment for people to see them for what they are: liars.

Man Runs Away on Date When She Brought Her Friends…

Can people with diplomatic immunity commit crimes in their host nation without repercussions?

Mohamed Rizalman bin Ismail, a Malaysian military attaché, entered one woman’s house and attempted to have sex with her.

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He was promptly arrested by the New Zealand police and charged with attempted burglary and rape. Invoking his diplomatic immunity, Mohamed left New Zealand to his country Malaysia. Following the international furor, Malaysia agreed to send Mohamed back and waive his diplomatic immunity. This case was interesting because NZ and Malaysia don’t have an extradition treaty. Apparently Mohamed “volunteered” to go back to NZ and face the trial. He served 9 months of house arrest.

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Majed Hassan Ashoor, the first secretary at the Saudi Embassy in India beat and raped his Nepali housemaids. When the Police got involved, Diplomat invoking immunity left the country. All was left, a few NGOs protesting against the diplomat.

Accused Saudi diplomat leaves India

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Traffic accidents

These cases happen far more often than beating and rape. An American military attaché was involved in traffic accident. He was reported to be drunk. As a result, the motorcycle driver died. The Pakistani authorities asked Americans to waive his diplomatic immunity so that he can be tried. After refusal, he was not allowed to leave the country. After extensive negotiations and substantial payments to the deceased’s family was the case finally resolved.

US diplomat involved in Islamabad accident departed post ‘settlement’ | The Express Tribune

Another very similar case, a Russian diplomat was involved in fatal traffic accident, in Canada, while drunk. Due to diplomatic immunity, he was allowed back to Russia. Upon arrival, he was charged in Russian court with involuntary manslaughter and jailed for 4 years.

Former Russian diplomat guilty of involuntary manslaughter | CBC News

A new case is developing right now in Turkey. It has been alleged that a Saudi national was killed in the Saudi Consulate. If this is true, we reached new lows in diplomacy.

As you can see, diplomatic immunity can be waived only by the diplomat’s side. The host country, on the other hand, can prohibit the diplomat from leaving the country. It can also make an international incident and make life hell for the remaining diplomats. But in the end it is up to the diplomat’s country if it wants to be viewed as a country that allows its diplomats to commit crimes and get away with it. A matter of national prestige is an important matter to some, not all countries.

Article 29 of the Vienna Convention states: “The person of a diplomatic agent shall be inviolable. He shall not be liable to any form of arrest or detention. The receiving state shall treat him with due respect and shall take all appropriate steps to prevent any attack on his person, freedom or dignity.”

The Mask – 1950’s Super Panavision 70 Trailer

What is one thing that shocked you when you attended an Ivy League or a highly prestigious school like Stanford or MIT?

I got my Ph.D. from Stanford, so I was both a student and a teacher there, after attending a mid-level school that gave me a full ride for undergrad. No one in my family had been to a top-tier school, and there were no top-tier schools in the area where I grew up, so I had no idea what to expect. There were two things that shocked me most:

The way that everything is set up to ensure the students succeed. Ins to any internship program you could possibly want. “Lecture series” classes that are really designed to give you weekly networking opportunities. Entrepreneurship competitions that will actually put multiple students in a room with venture capitalists to pitch their business plans. You name it. The campus, the resources, the professors, the programs — all of these things are great at Stanford, but they’re great a lot of other places, too. But where you really see a huge difference is all the extras, where the school provides every opportunity for you to get in touch with people who can make your career. It’s amazing. After I saw this, I would always 100% advise anyone who’s ambitious and academically inclined to shoot for an Ivy.
Interestingly, the undergraduate students are not all super smart. They’re not unintelligent. But they’re not geniuses — not most of them, anyway. I wasn’t blown away, on the whole, by my Stanford students’ intelligence. Mostly, they just worked hard and they knew how to be students. They would communicate well, come to class and to office hours, be proactive about their grade and completing their work effectively. I find that’s the biggest difference between the Stanford kids and the students I’ve taught at the CSU’s and SLAC’s in the area — most of the students at those schools just seem like they never really learned how to be students, so they struggle when they’re easily smart enough to do well in the class. (Of course, most of them also have to work, while it seems like most of the Stanford kids don’t.)

Existence Tax: The Vig Plus 3%

Authored by Tim Hartnett via LewRockwell.com,

In the bad old days, before G-Men took down the mob, were urbanites getting a better deal? Does the betting man receive worse odds from state run lotteries than Vinny gave on the corner running numbers? Did businesses shaken down for “protection” have higher hopes of survival in mob clutches than in municipal ones? Was there more or less anxiety about making rent or the mortgage in 1974 than in 2024? Which is the greater fiscal peril, organized crime or uber-societal-organization? It has become a valid question.

Gangsters had fingers in a lot of pies. Credit card racketeers, waging the present battle against physical currency, demand a slice of everything out of the oven. They’d gladly have us believe that paying for anything, without their supervision and cut, equals a criminally tainted transaction. Mobsters found their pecuniary prevalence legit in its way too. Transactions that jibed with their economic codes they called “kosher.” Other trading activity inside their ambit was deemed transgressive. Parasites tend to sound tiresomely alike. The difference is that the above ground finance industry finds no place outside its ambit.

Street people’s encampments clutter cities all over the country. What pushed so many over the edge? And how many are treading that edge carefully now? We know that insanity is somewhat genetic, but scientific observation has yet to prove external factors can’t nudge innately inclined individuals into psychosis. Facts point that way.

Should we harbor suspicion of so-called improvements in the finance system? The Bush-Obama era housing crisis arrived after the government gradually amped up its influence on the mortgage market. Once mortgages became de-localized and Wall Street joined in default skyrocketed and losses went international. Isn’t the NYSE supposed to make markets safer and more efficient? Have we seen anything like that coming out of financial centralization?

The present squeeze goes on in commercial space. Businesses, particularly restaurants, are shutting down at disturbing rates. The biggest burden is rent. This goes on as city centers are awash in more empty commercial space than ever. Local government isn’t helping. While serenading us about how much they love love and hate hate, they stay busy inundating entrepreneurs with licensing fees, new taxes, permit demands and other hurdles that restrain new ventures from ever launching. If they somehow get going anyway the municipality lurks at every juncture. They’ll keep you from thriving when they can’t stop you altogether. Actions speak louder than words. What they “love,” in practice, is bleeding prey pale with revenue demands and entangling bureaucratic complications.

In 1977 the minimum wage was $2.30 an hour. You could get nearly four Big Macs for that amount then. When the minimum went up to $12 on July 1st, the same earner only got two and one third double-deckers for his money. Losing 1.3 sandwiches an hour takes a big bite out of a working class lifestyle. 10.4 Mc-grubbings per eight-hour-day to be exact.

One year after the bicentennial average rent in the US was about $160. An NYT article from 1973 said a family of four needed less than $12,000 a year to live “moderately” in NYC in 1973. The same amount must have been a somewhat comfortable living in flyover country. By 1977 average income was over $13,000. 47 years later, average rent is at least ten times higher. While only about 10% of the population earns $130,000 or more. Where did all the value go?

Clearly, production is out of sync with consumption. What is the variable? Crops still grow at the same rate. Cargo travels at the same speed. Bricks are laid at the same pace. Chickens plop their eggs with the same regularity. Is anyone in the economy getting more than their fair share?

Almost 103 billion in “official” currency was circulating in the US in 1977. As of today, that figure stands at nearly 2 trillion 340 billion. The population has increased by about 58%. The greenbacks flowing back and forth went up by over 2000%. Those figures describe a small fraction of the overall economy. Because banks can create spending power with credit, leaving out other fiscal legerdemain, hundreds of trillions are outstanding in fiscal reality. Federal tax revenue alone, will soon hit over 5 trillion so far this year. That’s over twice the official amount of currency in circulation.

The Big Mac went from 65 cents to $5.17 in that time span. That’s about 700%. Minimum wage rose by about 450%. Watching these fiscal details we know at once that sparse fractions of all that new money is getting to where it is needed most – while we have no evidence it lands in hands that have created actual value. With everyone competing for resources and finished goods, these facts equal a devastating pay cut for many making far above minimum wage.

The idea that people are taking out according to what they contribute simply doesn’t fly. We can start with where the money supply is expanded.

A century ago banks were more accountable. They could make risky loans, as they did for Fritz Heinze, but doing so could still mean hell to pay. The series of events that shook the fiscal foundations of South Manhattan in 1907 remain mysterious over a century later. By 2007, banks were getting bailed out and it was everyone else who paid. How we got there is an intriguing conundrum of modern finance.

Heinze was a mining engineer from New York who showed up in Butte, Montana in the 1890’s. The copper market was hot at the time. That rustic town was already swimming in East Coast toffs and class consciousness. Although born into wealth and circumstances, Augustus Heinze was above pretension and indifferent to “society.” He soon developed a smelting process that greatly expanded the profitability of low-grade copper ore. Rather than pocketing the plunder, his next step was cutting 2 hours off the miner’s workday. How did that go over in the part of Butte that ‘dressed for dinner’? About like The Declaration of Independence did with George III.

Fritz couldn’t have cared less. The airs put on at posh WASP tables left the man impatient and bored. He did his excess boozing in public places where a man who’d spent the day 500 feet underground was at the next stool. Guys who loaded trams rarely bought a round with Heinze in the house.

By 1895 he’d amassed the capital to purchase the Rarus copper mine. The new-coming city slicker literally hit paydirt. His holes were always filled with the best pick and shovel men Montana could provide. The swells he snubbed had to take what hired help they could get.

An officer fraternizing with the enlisted class was high treason to mine owners of the aughts. Heinze was held in a kind of hostile awe. Butte gentry were unaccustomed to a guy who dared not to care if they liked him. What’s an enraged starched collar to do? We’ll never be entirely sure. Deadly measures were far from uncommon in late 19th century mining strife. What happened to Heinze is one of the murkier mysteries of the robber baron era.

J.D. Rockefeller’s brother, William, was a director of Anaconda Copper. That firm was run by people who’d never pop a cork with working stiffs. They were revolted by Augie’s effrontery. Their solution was one that has retained its financial force. Whether Heinze was bought out under duress, or sold out of his own volition in 1906 isn’t fully clear. What is known is that he returned to New York as a Wall Street plunger specializing in copper stocks. Using familial connections, and a personal fortune, Heinze got himself onto the boards of almost a score of NYC banks. When shares of United Copper were being shorted in a bear run, Fritz used his position to buy aggressively, borrowing heavily from the Knickerbocker Bank and other commercial lenders where he held sway.

By October of 1907 the Heinze brothers thought they had cornered the market in United Copper. They demanded the shares from traders who were contractually short – falsely believing the bears would be forced to buy from them. It soon became clear that these shares were not hard to come by. Heinze’s bullishness ended in catastrophic loss rather than profit. This meant that he would default on loans of millions from each of over 15 NYC banks.

The story, possibly apocryphal but true in effect, goes as follows. Knickerbocker was experimenting with 24 hour banking in 1907. The brainchildren of Wall Street met for dinner at an upstairs private dining room in Delmonico’s to discuss the coming cash crunch. Waiters for the event heard what was said in the meeting. They shared this knowledge with less connected patrons chowing down on the ground floor. A run on Knickerbocker began that night, by morning it had spread to every bank in town. The Panic of 1907 was instantly afoot.

Soon banks all over Gotham were out of cash to meet a seismic wave of withdrawals. In no time connected institutions from further out were tapped too. JP Morgan famously locked every player he could muster into his mansion’s library to discuss solutions. A plan was worked out and widespread depression was averted. But the financial hierarchy of south Manhattan was far from done. Their next step entailed placing the money supply and credit generally into the possession of elite governors.

This banking scandal ultimately resulted in the Federal Reserve Act that was passed December 23rd 1913. Whether it solved the problem or laid the foundation for larger ones has been debated since. Getting into the particulars of the statute became inconvenient with the legislature still in session so close to Christmas. ‘Fightin’ Bob LaFollette, gave in and failed to press for a more exacting bill he saw as necessary at the time. The ruckus over the bill’s details were mostly passed over as ‘conspiracy theory’ throughout the 20th century. That line held sway in economic academia for many decades. Scholarly reckoning always comes too late; there is little dispute the charter helped cause and make the Great Depression worse among “experts” today. We are commanded to defer to them with amps at 11. What they got wrong is reported by the same sources at about 2.5.

Left unexamined is why the Heinze brothers misunderstood who held what in United Copper in 1907. Why did they mistakenly believe they had cornered the market? These were highly educated, seasoned men in the world of finance. How far would William Avery Rockefeller Jr. go to settle a score with Fritz Heinze? Was he cleverly stashing available shares in ostensibly immobile accounts to set up an ambush? The first generation of the Rockefeller fortune was not known to take financial affronts lightly. Is it possible, or more likely probable, William Avery had the means and motive to manipulate the market into this unlikely position?

John D. Rockefeller Jr. married Abby Aldrich in 1901. Her father, Nelson Aldrich, was the driving senatorial force behind the Federal Reserve Act, although he left the Senate before its passage. The Rockefeller gang has been evangelizing the faith of centralization in everything for over a century. It started when JD Sr. practically accomplished that in the petroleum industry before the turn of the 20th century. If you think they were never capable of violent, gangland style treachery, fast your gaze on the Ludlow massacre of 1914.

Can we measure the effect of centralization in the financial sector? By 2013 it had almost doubled its share of the economic pie since 1980. When their take went from 5% to 9% in 40 years it had to come at a loss for others at the table. Did the Fed have a role in this? And what justification is offered for doubling the squeeze? As the economy grows so does the money industry’s cut, just as any salesman’s commission rises as the sales price is higher. Is South Manhattan insatiable? What explanation, other than parasitic predation, fits here?

The idea of market liquidity and available credit is efficiency and a fluent trading place for financial wares. Theoretically, this is competitive and brings transactional costs down while driving transactional fluidity up. Have we seen any such thing? The NYSE and kin have become like those “clubs” everyone is forced to join avoiding rip-offs for groceries, lunch, medicine, movies etc. The difference is that Wall Street’s anti-rip-off club is exclusive. You are not invited.

Where are we now? Exactly in the same place as when mobsters skimmed off the top in Vegas casinos, but far worse. The difference is that you get clipped without ever placing a bet or owning a share of a betting parlor. The south Manhattan mob is, supposedly, worth nearly 10% of all the action. What other slices of the take have widened with government intrusion and centralization? The mob focused its shakedowns on high rollers. Higher Ed goes after every kid hoping to drag letters behind his name. They call themselves “non-profits.” Does the description fit the beast?Disciplines of a Godly…Hughes, R. KentBest Price: $4.97Buy New $9.41(as of 01:52 UTC – Details)

Finding university administrators at leisure is not a job for Columbo. Just head toward any resort, high-dollar fleshpot or country club where profiteers do their squandering. Educational altruists, financial “experts” and well-heeled bon vivants occupy the same weekend turf – as well as the same self-serving sphere of self-justification.

The Rockefeller family was the largest private benefactor of that ultimate centralizing scheme, the UN. The patriarch, William Avery Rockefeller Sr., was an infamous snake oil salesman and bigamist. He’s not the Rocky the family likes to advertise. They are prouder of efforts to get around the principle of one-man-one-vote and rule the world from the modern equivalent of a royal court on a planetary scale. Make a list of plans to place more bosses overhead and move them further out of reach. The UN, CFR, WEF, Bilderberg, Trilaterals – you name it and the progeny of that greasy grifter is in on it. And who would they place in charge? The very soul-suckers with their fangs in the US neck pulsing at Wall and Broad.

We are not looking at an abstruse, undecipherable picture here. You can do differential equations, make “relative assumptions” and discuss monetary theory until you ascend to the meta-fiscal plane of Laputa. None of that supposed “understanding” leaves Joe Six-Pack with another square foot of living space or another Big Mac. Uber-economic organization, aka David Rockefeller’s so-called “more integrated world,” is a progressively feudalistic plot that – with the compliance of the un-fake-news industry – rarely experiences any setbacks.

Shrinking buying power has a very simple explanation: a prim and proper syndicate that is more ubiquitous and avaricious than any criminal mob ever.

The Future Isn’t Looking Too Good For Gen Z & Millennials … 2

California Cheese and Green Chile Shrimp Lasagna

Yield: 8 servings

Ingredients

Sauce

1 pound tomatillos, husked, washed and cut into quarters, or 2 (12 ounce cans), drained
2 large jalapenos, seeded and chopped
1/2 cup coarsely chopped onion
2 cups cilantro leaves
1 tablespoon salt
1 (7 ounce) can whole green chiles
5 Romaine lettuce leaves
4 green onions
6 garlic cloves, peeled

Lasagna

1 (8 ounce) package oven ready lasagna noodles (12 noodles)
12 ounces of Real California Panela cheese, shredded
4 ounces Real California Monterey Jack cheese shredded (about 2 cups)
1 pound cooked shrimp, cut in half lengthwise

Instructions

Sauce

In a blender or food processor, pulse the tomatillos, jalapeÃ±os and 1 1/2 cups cold water just until chunky.
Add onion, cilantro, salt, chiles, lettuce, green onions and garlic. Puree until smooth, about 2 minutes.

Lasagna

Heat oven to 350 degrees F.
In a 13 x 9 x 2 inch baking dish, spread 1 cup of the sauce. Layer 1/3 of the shrimp over the sauce. Place 3 lasagna noodles over the shrimp. (Noodles should not overlap or touch side of pan since they will expand when baked).
Combine shredded cheeses and sprinkle about 2 cups over the noodles. Repeat layering the sauce, shrimp, noodles and cheese two more times. Top with the remaining 3 lasagna noodles and spread remaining sauce over noodles. Sprinkle with remaining cheese.
Cover with aluminum foil and bake for 30 minutes.
Remove foil and bake until hot and bubbly, about 10 to 15 minutes more. Allow to rest for 10 minutes.
Cut into squares and serve immediately.

What’s the shrewdest, smartest maneuver you’ve ever seen in business?

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In Geylang, in Singapore between Lorong 8 and Lorong 24 – there were plenty of hookers and lady boys (transvestites) called BAPO who solicited clients

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Choo Chong Ngen, a 30 year old man gambled that Singapore would soon legalize all forms of prostitution and mandate safety for all the customers from STDs

So he purchased large swathes of land in the Land Auctions for a SONG

Nobody bid against him because nobody believed that land near prostitution areas wouldn’t rise in the slightest

By the late 1990s – CCN built Hotels, Shops, Goldfish bowls and Houses and sold them to businesses for a massive massive profit

The hotels roared with profits as the clients paid $ 20–30 for a 20 minute session which meant in 4 hours from 10 PM to 2 AM – a room could fetch 250 bucks which was more than the rate they charged in Hyatt or Marriott

I still marvel at how this guy managed to get ahead of legalized prostitution and mint so much money

I just got fired. Now my former boss (the one who let me go) is asking me where some important documents are. How should I respond?

I was fired by the owner of the company 30 days before I was to get a substantial bonus. The next week a person in my former department called me asking for help with an issue.

I texted them on their private phone that I knew the owner had them do that and that I was not trying to hurt them, but not helping the owner since I was shafted on my bonus.

30 minutes later I got a call from the owner saying if I would come in and fix the issue he would pay me for the day, I said pass, that I would fix the problem if paid for the month. He told me to go to hell.

The next day he called me back and said he would pay me for a week, I said no again, I would only come back if paid for a month.

He blew up again.

I knew if the issue wasn’t fixed very quickly the losses would add up. Two days later he had his secretary call and said he would pay me for a month but I had to get in there today.

I agreed only if a cashiers check was waiting on me when I walked in the door, because I knew the cheap bastard would stop payment on a regular check.

What the dumb SOB didn’t know was I was in the process of having him served on a wrongful termination suit and that paying me for a month constituted completetion of our contract and he would owe me the bonus.

I brought my attorney with me to the office, I picked up the check and went into the system and fixed the problem.

One other thing he didn’t know was that the issue was a recurring one that required attention and there wasn’t a universal fix, it would continue to come up and since I had no intention of giving the magic formula away I had created he couldn’t have someone else fix the issue.

End result I got my bonus plus all attorney’s costs which was equal to my previous year’s pay and he went broke trying to recreate a system I devised.

With me there after my bonus and raise, his profits would have been half a million a month, without me his losses were half a million a month. Greedy bastard never knew when he was ahead.

Shorpy

What was the most satisfying display of instant karma you have ever seen?

Some people like to kick the back of the seat in front of them when in a bus or airplane. A very, very nasty habit. Also a pretty safe one, as it seems people rarely turn around and ‘do something about it’. Even though that’s pretty much what you’re doing, isn’t it? You are broadcasting to the world: “I’m a major asshole, do something about it!”

Now imagine if you will, riding a bus. It’s one of those nice cozy night buses with curtains on the side of the windows that you can sleep in. You lean back a little and kick the back of the chair in front of you. No big deal, you do it all the time. Did it a million times before, and surely this won’t be any different. That weak little coward in front of you won’t say or do a thing, haha! You’re SUCH an alpha male, Lev!

Only this time, the president of your country, happened to ride the bus, incognito with a hoodie on to “experience how the common people ride buses”. Your country is Russia. The President’s name? Vladimir Putin.

Miss Margelene’s Silver Saloon

Submitted into Contest #24 in response to: Write a magical realism story that takes place in the Wild West.… view prompt

Amanda Van Regenmorter

The town woke to discover Miss Margelene’s Silver Saloon had sprung up overnight, tacked onto the end of their only meager road in gaudy glory. The western-most, barely settled settlement of Gomer’s Gulch could only be considered a town in the most generous of estimates, but the people who lived there, mostly foolhardy prospecting men and a smattering of desperate families, called it a town all the same.They already had a saloon, of course; a handful of men camped anywhere long enough always sprouts one. Theirs was called Rabbit’s, the owner’s nickname, but you’d be forgiven for thinking it was due to being such a dirty hole. Miss Margelene’s place, on the other hand, was the furthest you could get from Rabbit’s, figuratively speaking. Literally, it was two doors down. Rabbit’s was utilitarian: squat, flat-roofed, and barely held together by bent nails. Miss Margelene’s was downright beautiful, a sparkling shade of its namesake silver. The second story sported a gilded balcony over fluted columns, and everyone knew the name because it hung in big cursive letters, two feet tall, in front of the gabled roof.Dex rode in late that morning, the supplies he needed forgotten once he saw the silver saloon. Instead, he hitched up his horse and joined the crowd in front of Rabbit’s to speculate about their new neighbor. He stood out, a head taller and better washed than the others, but most mode room for him with a smile.“Rabbit, how much did I drink last night?” Dex asked.“Half as much as it’d take for a delusion like thissun,” replied Rabbit, who was short and squalid, like his bar.“And that’s iffen he didn’t water his horse piss down,” muttered someone.“This ain’t about my liquor!” said Rabbit. “Even kids can see that abomination. The question is how on earth those misfits got it up in a single day. Not even! Must’ve been lessun ten hours.”No one had an answer, but everyone knew which misfits he meant. In a town the size of Gomer’s Gulch, everyone knows every one of the comings and goings, let alone a coming as peculiar as last night’s. The caravan had arrived in the settling dusk, torches blazing up and down three covered wagons. Not covered with any old canvas either, but draped in rainbow arrays of silken cloth and garlanded with bells that tinkled with every step of the big black horses pulling them. They’d made camp just outside the town perimeter, dark figures tended horses and made a cook fire, but no townsfolk got close enough for a good look. When a band of ornery men decided to greet the newcomers, they turned back around with glazed expressions before they’d gone half way. Unable to elaborate, they simply said they’d changed their minds.“What in tarnation is that?” shouted a ruddy man riding in hard on a heaving grey horse. The man had a pointed beard, well-trimmed, and a six-point star on his chest, well-polished. His red-headed wife, Hannah, pale and pretty, was saddled behind him. While he dismounted and stared at the new saloon, Dex helped Hannah down and began with what little he knew.“Caravan came in last night, and -”“Shut your fool mouth,” the Sheriff said and spat at Dex’s feet. “And get away from my woman. You tryin’ to play at bein’ sheriff? Well you ain’t. You lost. Rabbit, what’s that building?”“Nobody knows, sir,” Rabbit said with a shrug. “Was here when we woke up.”

“What do you mean? Buildings don’t appear overnight – certainly not ones that fancy. Didn’t anyone hear them hammering? Don’t you sleep in your bar, Rabbit?”

“I do, but I didn’t hear a thing. Ain’t you s’posed to sleep in town too, sheriff? Keep your ear to the ground for trouble? Ain’t you s’posed to defend us from the bandits? They killed a woman last week -”

“Rabbits are the ones s’posed to keep their heads down, if they know what’s good for ‘em. Hows ‘bout the rest of you lumps? Anyone go in or out of that place? Who owns it?”

“No one’s been seen, but I have suspicions the owner is one Miss Margelene,” said Dex flashing a grin at the big sign, but he stepped away before his boots could be sullied again.

The sheriff scowled. He left his wife to tend the horse and stomped down to the new saloon. Dex, Rabbit and most of the men followed. Some children scurried along behind them.

The doors alone were taller than any other building in town and such a deep black they looked like an opening on a moonless night. The sheriff’s raised his fist, but it caught mid-air, hovered, before he gathered himself and pounded.

“This is the law! Open -” he demanded, and the doors opened, swung right out and swept the sheriff off his feet. He hit the dirt road hard.

No one laughed, not only because he might shoot, but because they were busy attempting to glimpse the interior while the black doors banged against the wall. It was more luxury than they’d ever seen, even the men from big cities. There were no windows, but long strings of lanterns bathed the big room in flickering light. The floors were herringbone parquet and the walls looked metallic, imprinted with crescent moons. There was a bar to the left, cabinets of exotic liquors and pewter mugs behind a carved wood counter with a smooth, stone top. There was a raised stage to the right with royal purple curtains. The heavy tables were ringed with upholstered red chairs.

In the back a woman descended from an unseen second floor down a grand staircase. The men doffed their hats and made futile efforts to brush off dust and straighten shirts, but every eye stayed fixed on her. She looked ageless and more elegant than the saloon with carefully coiffed black hair and a ruffled Victorian gown.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen. I’m Miss Margelene,” she greeted, voice melodious. She had a lilting accent, but it was hard to say from where. “We didn’t intend to open until tonight, but apparently the law is impatient. Can I be of service?” She stood centered in the doorway.

“Yes’m, I, um – I have some questions as to how this here establishment was, um – established,” the sheriff mumbled, tugging his badge.

“Of course, I’m happy to answer – tonight, during the grand opening. For you, sheriff, everything’s on the house. Unless, that is, we’re violating any ordinances? I so hope we’ve met the standards set by your lovely settlement.”

“Standards! How’s about a standard of fair competition and -” Rabbit began, but the sheriff elbowed him and he cut off with a wheeze.

“No ma’am, tonight’ll do,” the sheriff said and donned his hat. “You heard the lady, ya buncha oglin’ buffoons. Grand opening tonight! Now git!” He shoved away the men and kicked a boy in the pants. The doors swung shut behind him.

###

Dex sped home, desperate to decide what to wear and scrub the ever-loving hell out of it. But more important, he had to tell Rowena everything.

Her modest ranch, home to the world’s finest horses in Dex’s estimate, lay a couple dozen miles south of the Gulch. He always figured the secret to Rowena’s success had to do with the fact that she herself was rather equine. Stately and athletic, even at her age, she never wasted a moment, but when her gray mane came down you could see the barely concealed wild streak. Dex grabbed an indigo shirt from his shack by the barn and hollered for Rowena while he filled her washtub and set to scrubbing.

“Lordy Dex, I know you like to be neat, but you washed your whole wardrobe last week!” she said, exiting the barn with her hair up and a saddle under one arm. “Where are the supplies? I appreciate you ran them bandits off last night before they rustled any horses, but they tore the fence terrible. Looks like one caught his leg though, there’s half a pair of pants hanging on the wire.”

Dex tumbled out the saloon story, and Rowena only interrupted to make him promise he hadn’t drank too much of Rabbit’s swill. Afterwards, he cajoled her to join him for the opening. She was busy, she said, and besides she hadn’t been to a saloon for five years, not since Fred passed, but Dex wouldn’t hear excuses. He hung his shirt to dry then pressed her until she agreed to go gussy up.

He readied the wagon. Rowena stepped out into the fading light of the half-set sun in an emerald pleated dress with earrings to match. He whistled until she clouted him in the chest.

“Shut it, purty boy. I’m old enough to be your grandmother.”

“Pshaw, you can’t be a day older than my mother,” he assured her. “And anyway, we make a purty pair, don’t we?”

###

Their arrival marked the first time they’d seen traffic in Gomer’s Gulch. It looked like the land had dumped out all the dwellers in a hundred miles to mill outside Miss Margelene’s Silver Saloon. The big black doors were shut again, and the sheriff was on guard with a crisp white shirt, black leather vest and a freshly oiled beard.

“Don’t think you’re gettin’ in Dex, even with your grandma girly-friend dolled up like a hooker,” he said when he caught sight of them. “I’ll throw her out right on top of you iffen you even try to get in.”

Dex drew himself up every inch, ready to defend Rowena’s honor, but she stepped in front of him, laughing.

“Little Stanley Sherman, is that you? I ain’t seen you since Fred tossed you outta Rabbit’s that night, playin’ at being a man, tryin’ start a gunfight. O’course, that was back when you only had a few scraggly hairs on that little chin to cover all your pimples.”

The crowd welcomed the distraction from waiting for the doors to open, but Dex watched the sheriff’s holsters. He tugged Rowena shoulder, but there was no stopping her.

“My, oh my. Can’t say I missed you, but what a surprise it was to hear anyone voted you for sheriff. Almost as surprising as seeing you still have that ugly beard.”

That was the last straw, Dex knew, but just as the sheriff’s fingers twitched, those black doors swung open and knocked him down again, this time on his face. The crowd, Dex and Rowena included, flooded in around him.

There must have been a couple hundred men and a quarter as many women, but the silver saloon accommodated everyone with room to spare. Servers, women in black silk blouses and pink frilled skirts, worked the bar and the floor. On stage, a trio of ladies sang a ditty about a showdown at high noon. Dex thought they shared a resemblance, but maybe it was only their sly smiles.

He snagged Rowena a seat and moseyed to the counter, but before he ordered, he noticed the sad-eyed sheriff’s wife next to him.

“Hello Hannah. Don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a saloon.”

“Hi, Dex. Couldn’t miss this,” she said. Then barely loud enough to hear, she added, “You should watch out. Stanley won’t stop talking about you since the election.”

“All good things, I’m sure?”

“Look at you, grinnin’ like a weasel in a hen house,” said the sheriff, cocking the pistol he had aimed at Dex. “You ain’t never gonna be sheriff, and you ain’t never gonna get the time of day from my girl.”

Dex drew the fastest he’d ever done, but he saw the sheriff pull the trigger and knew he was a half-second too late. He tensed, but the shot didn’t come. Miss Margelene did, swept in between them, skirts swaying, and Dex was terrified she’d taken the bullet meant for him, but she didn’t flinch.

“Not tonight, gentlemen,” she said, handing each of them a drink. Dex took the mug in his free hand then realized he was no longer holding his weapon. He looked down to find it holstered as if he’d never drawn.

“Thank you ma’am,” Dex said, sure that he owed her for more than the drink. He took a swig and found it was good beer, but unlike any he had tasted. There were strange undertones, maybe mint, he thought. But most strange, he realized, it was cold. Very cold, like the mountain snow he’d crossed coming to Gomer’s Gulch. When he tried to ask her about it, he saw Miss Margelene was drifting off with the sheriff.

Hannah looked distraught, but a waitress was soothing her, patting her back, and Dex figured she was better off here than her home anyhow, so he went to find Rowena. He turned down a couple dance offers on his way, the trio had switched to a romantic ballad, and he circled a couple poker games before spying Rowena, slow dancing with the general store owner. Maybe she was working on a deal for those supplies, he figured, and tossed back his drink, but when they spun around he nearly choked. He’d never seen Rowena beam like that, like a dozen years had rolled right off her back. At this rate, she’d have a new man at the ranch, and Dex would never be so glad to be put out of work.

The night unfurled, and, even with the sheriff prowling around, Dex had never felt better. The trio sang one merry tune after another; drinks flowed, delicious and cold; and even deep in their cups he never saw a soul turn sour, or get thrown out for lack of funds. In fact, he didn’t see anyone leave at all. Even Rabbit laughed, coaxing the bartenders to tell him where the spirits came from. Dex chatted with all kinds, old friends and people he’d only ever tipped his hat to, and they said warm words and told him they had voted him for sheriff. Dex knew they were only being nice, but still it made him flush.

When a waitress with a sunny smile and yellow curls spilling over her black top pulled him away from a game of darts, he let himself be pulled into a whirling circle of fuddled men at the saloon’s center. Together, they tried to keep pace with the jig a smaller circle of waitresses danced in their midst. Every so often, the women would stop and spin the other way, forcing the men to follow. Boots caught and tripped over boots, but the men laughed and tried to stay facing their favorite gal.

While the circle coiled this way and that, one woman pulled a silver scarf out from her blouse and danced forward. She wrapped the scarf around a burly man in a checkered shirt, and swiveled with him back to the center. The men hooted and whistled, and then each girl was going out, wrapping herself a man with her own scarf.

Dex watched and whistled too, until one raven-haired girl fetched the sheriff. Dex stumbled but kept step. His gorge rose when she gave the sheriff’s beard a tug. The circles kept moving, outer going fast to keep up with the girls and their captives.

The fellows in the middle smiled wide, jumping with the girls, a couple ventured to put hands on hips, but Dex saw the sheriff stagger, look left and right.

“Wait, wha-?” the sheriff sputtered and slowed. “Why us? Why-”

The man in the checkered shirt shoved into the sheriff. The music was morphing, volume louder, tempo faster, key minor. Dex heard the women in the center murmuring, indiscernible, saw blurred faces everywhere. He couldn’t tell anymore if he was dancing or the room was spinning itself round.

The women in black threw up their scarves and each exploded mid-air, burst into confetti, rained silver specs down to scattered applause. That is, until the pops and bangs kept going, more and more bursts of confetti until it was thick in the air and no one could see a thing. There were screams and then yells of ‘Smoke!’

Black smoke, heavy and perfumed like incense, poured down the grand staircase. It filled the room and turned everything as dark as the doors, dark as a moonless night.

###

Dex woke to Rowena slapping him hard across the face. He coughed and sputtered back to consciousness in her relieved embrace as the sun rose over the well-dressed bodies laid out on the bare patch of ground that had been Miss Margelene’s Silver Saloon.

It was the children, terrified and crying, that had shaken their parents awake first. As the adults came around they helped others up, parched and unsteady.

Once Dex was on his feet, he sent some kids to fetch buckets of water and rations. Then he saw the commotion and the little crowd gathering. He pushed his way through and found the six scarfed men from last night, sheriff included, naked and hogtied in silver chains, laid out in their little circle. Some tried to free them, others just laughed. The men didn’t look injured, except the sheriff, and it didn’t take Dex long to realize the bloody gash down his leg looked like it might match right up to Rowena’s barbed wire fence.

While the six men stewed in the small town jail, Dex led the swift investigation that turned up enough stolen property to expose their identities as Gomer Gulch’s notorious bandits, as well as the suspicious duplicate ballot boxes in the sheriff’s possession.

However, he never did find the sheriff’s red-headed wife, Hannah. Neither she nor the silver saloon was ever seen again, but on moonless nights he dreamed of her, smiling on stage in a black shirt, singing about the life she left behind.

Cordon Bleu Lasagna

Yield: 12 servings

Ingredients

2 eggs, beaten
1 (15 ounce) container ricotta cheese
1 cup (8 ounces) 4% cottage cheese
1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese
1/4 cup + 2 tablespoons minced fresh parsley, divided
1 (16 ounce) jar roasted garlic Alfredo sauce
2 cups cubed cooked chicken
2 cups cubed cooked ham
1/4 teaspoon garlic powder
6 lasagna noodles, cooked and drained
2 cups (8 ounces) shredded part-skim mozzarella cheese
1 cup (4 ounces) shredded Swiss cheese

Instructions

In a large bowl, combine the eggs, ricotta, cottage cheese, Parmesan and 1/4 cup parsley; set aside.
In another bowl, combine the Alfredo sauce, chicken, ham and garlic powder.
Spread 1/2 cup of chicken mixture in the bottom of a greased 13 x 9 inch baking dish. Layer with half of the noodles and ricotta mixture. Top with half of the remaining chicken mixture and half of the mozzarella and Swiss cheeses. Repeat layers.
Cover and bake at 350 degrees F for 40 minutes.
Uncover; bake 10 minutes longer or until bubbly.
Let stand for 15 minutes before serving.
Sprinkle with remaining parsley.

Which is the biggest threat to peace – America or China?

Without a doubt, America is the biggest threat to world peace.

America has fought in dozens of wars and conflicts since China opened up to the world in 1979. China, on the other hand, has fought no wars at all — not a single shot fired!

America instigated the proxy war in Ukraine and is now trying to start another proxy war in Taiwan or Philippines.

China has proposed peace plans for both Russia-Ukraine and Israel-Hamas. America has shot them both down.

America wants war. China avoids war.

Narcos – All Pablo Escobar Kills

Eat less, but eat much better quality food

My father loved T-bone steaks. When I was growing up he always made a “big deal” about having T-bone steaks for dinner.

Later, when I was in elementary school, budget constraints made this event fewer and fewer. But always, I was allowed to gnaw at the bone when my father was finished . This was when I was in first grade or so. By third grade, these steak meals were few and far between.

It wasn’t until I was in my 30’s and married that I was reintroduced to steaks again. My wife thought that they were too expensive, and so we didn’t eat them at all, she instead insisted in more vegetarian fare, and salad bars. In those days we rarely ate at home, and the restaurants that served steaks were beyond our means.

But, my mother insisted that we eat some “real food”, and would cook filet mignon steaks. Which, I will tell you all is awesome.

Perhaps one of my biggest mistakes was to allow the dietary choices and preferences of my partner; my mentally ill wife, to dictate what I would eat. When we had money, she would insist on spending it on organic kale, seaweed, and borage leaves. Instead of delicious steaks, chicken or fish.

Oh sure. She would go in and out of these fads… depending on her emotions.

When we lived in Mississippi, for instance, she would become enamored with this seafood buffet. And I will tell you that I don’t know what was in that fish, but it really, REALLY turned her libido on. man, oh man! I’ll tell you what.

It’s, still to this day, a private joke that we share.

You see, what you eat; what you put inside of you matters.

Life is too short to eat overly processed food; potato chips, Doritos, sugary snacks, and just stale bland food. Eat less, but eat much better quality.

Eat less, but eat much better quality food.

It’s one of the on-going themes of China.

Today…

China and the United States

It’s not that. It’s just that Trump is an idiot. He doesn’t understand economics or trade.

He actually thought that the US would win a trade war with China in 2 weeks like Japan during the 90s. And that China would surrender to him.

So it’s not that the politicians are willing to undermine their own economy. It’s that they’re too dumb to understand this.

They still think they did it wrong. That’s why the US didn’t win. So Biden is trying something else. Double down and win.

And now if Trump is elected. He will try again with some other strategy. And Trump has said that he is going to hire Lighthizer as trade secretary this time. So expect more stupid moves.

The problem with Chinese experts working for the Chinese government is that they know too much. And they’re right. Anyone with a right mind would not decouple or even think about it because it would harm the US economy.

But the US politicians are not Chinese. It’s like a professional fighter fighting some random person with no training.

They will do stupid things because they don’t know any better.

Why did Quora delete a perfectly reasonable question about the decline of the US?

Quora is chock-full of Americans who are emotionally fragile with easily damaged egos because the US is not the most powerful, awesome, star-spangled, biggest-dick country on the planet. We’re not the “bestest,” to use a Biden-ism. Americans don’t want to face the fact that we’re an empire in steep decline.

We suck at war. Since World War 2, the only war that the US has won was the First Gulf War, which was limited in scope and a global effort. In World War 2 in Europe, Russia did most of the fighting and dying. The US-instigated Russo-Ukrainian War is a NATO disaster.

Russia is now producing three times as many artillery shells as all NATO countries combined:

Exclusive: Russia producing three times more artillery shells than US and Europe for Ukraine | CNN Politics

Russia has more nuclear weapons and better delivery systems than the US. For example, Russia had the Poseidon nuclear torpedo with a range of 6,000 mi (10,000 m). From the Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists:

Powered by a compact nuclear reactor, it is believed the Poseidon could travel at unprecedented speeds of 100 knots (185 kilometers per hour), have a range of

approximately 10,000 kilometers, and operate at depths of up to 1,000 meters. Designed to evade detection by acoustic tracking devices and other traps, the Poseidon has a diameter of approximately 1.6 to two meters. Particularly riveting is the torpedo’s devastating payload: a nuclear warhead with a likely yield of at least several megatons (with early reports suggesting it could yield up to 100 megatons). For comparison, Russia’s Tsar Bomba—the most powerful nuclear weapon ever tested—had an estimated blast yield of about 50 megatons.

[1]

Global Firepower ranks Russia’s and China’s militaries almost on par with the US’s:

According to Col. Lawrence Wilkerson (retired) and many others, China would crush the US Navy in the South China Sea. From his interview on Dialog works:

“If we [the US] go to war with China, we will lose in the opening 30 to 45 days. Casualties will be humongous like we haven’t seen since our Civil War. They’ll be more like Gettysburg, 55,000, I think, in 3 days. They’ll be like Passchendaele, like Ypres, in World War 1, and, you know, we’ll lose two, three carriers the first week, first month.”—Col. Lawrence Wilkerson (retired)

According to Scott Ritter because of the US warmongering, Russia will probably assist North Korea in improving its solid fuel rocket boosters for intercontinental ballistic missiles and hypersonic glide vehicles so that North Korea can extend its range from the US West Coast to any US target.

The US president is mentally little more than a crash-test dummy. He has the world close to World War 3 and nuclear war. Pres. Crash-test Dummy and the US neocons/chickenhawks tried to prevent Russia and China from forming an economic alliance, but like Wile E. Coyote, Supergenius, from Looney Tunes, their plans had the opposite effect.

In a colossal act of stupidity, Pres. Crash-test Dummy committed an act of terrorism against a NATO ally:

Seymour Hersh Accuses US of ‘Cover Up’ Over Nord Stream Sabotage | Common Dreams

For those who may not know, Seymour Hersh is one of the greatest investigative journalists in US history. He’s had a string of accurate news articles from the My Lai Massacre in Vietnam to Abu Ghraib in Iraq:

In May 2024, Russia once again became Europe’s biggest gas supplier:

Russia Reclaims Its Position as Europe’s Top Gas Supplier | OilPrice.com

I’m not comparing Russia to Nazi Germany, but would Winston Churchill and FDR have purchased goods from Nazi Germany?

The US sanctions, tariffs, and confiscation of sovereign assets have backfired on the US. Russia will win the Russo-Ukrainian War, and the BRICS trade alliance will continue to unseat the US dollar as a world reserve currency. The BRICS has almost 40 more countries that want to join in 2024. The BRICS will control most of the Middle Eastern oil, and for all intents and purposes, Russia and China have displaced the US in Africa:

US to pull troops from Chad and Niger as the African nations question its counterterrorism role

Right now, China does the most innovative scientific research according to Nature Index:

Nature Index Annual Tables 2023: China tops natural-science table

For those who might not know, Nature is one of the most highly regarded scientific journals in the world.

China’s universities are rapidly increasing in quality and are now some of the world’s best:

World University Rankings 2024: China creeps closer to the top 10

While Americans are jerking off getting liberal arts degrees, China is stressing science and technology.

In response to US sanctions, China has become the world’s largest producer of legacy computer chips:

US sanctions transform China into legacy chip production juggernaut — production jumped 40% in Q1 2024

Many Americans think that US sanctions will stop China from making the next generation of computer chips. I hate to inform Americans, but astrophysics has shown that the laws of physics hold throughout the known universe and in particular, in China. China will develop the capability to make the next generation of computer chips.

Here’s the US in microcosm. China just had a successful mission to the previously unexplored dark side of the Moon.

[2]The US’s Boeing Starliner is stuck at the International Space Station.

[3]The US government, NASA, and Boeing are trying to tell us that nothing’s wrong. Yeah, sure, whatever. By the way, last week, a tire came off a Boeing 737 at the Los Angeles International Airport and bounced into a local LA neighborhood.

[4]Luckily, no one on the ground was hurt.

The fall of the US Empire has a lot in common with the fall of the Roman Empire. We have mentally and morally unfit people throughout the US government. We have grifters throughout the US government. We have plutocrats stealing resources, making US citizens poor and homeless. We have an escalating and unmanageable national debt. Our politicians are diverting badly needed resources into the coffers of corporations and wealthy individuals. The US military is overextended all over the world and lacks the capacity to bring “freedom and democracy” to the global South.

Americans excel at self-absorption, superstition, wank-fests, and according to Britons on Quora, not geography. If you don’t believe the US is the bestest at everything, you’re a traitor.

To quote George Carlin:

You’re just another American who is willfully ignorant of the big red, white, and blue dick being shoved up your asshole every day… The owners of this country know the truth… it’s called the American dream because you have to be asleep to believe it!

[5]

Footnotes

[1] One nuclear-armed Poseidon torpedo could decimate a coastal city. Russia wants 30 of them.

[2] China says its Chang’e-6 mission successfully landed on Moon’s far side

[3] Astronauts are stuck on the International Space Station after yet more problems with Boeing’s beleaguered Starliner

[4] United Airlines plane loses wheel on takeoff in Los Angeles, marking latest incident for the airline | CNN

[5] A quote by George Carlin

Fideo Delicioso

Yield: 4 to 6 servings
Ingredients

1 pound ground beef or diced chicken or pork
5 ounces dry fideo or vermicelli
1 tablespoon oil or shortening
1 medium chopped onion
1 (15 ounce) can chicken broth
1/2 cup water
2 or 3 tablespoons chili powder
Salt or garlic salt and pepper, to taste

Instructions

Sauté selected meat until done, set aside.
In the same pan, heat oil or shortening and lightly brown fideo, stirring constantly. Add chopped onion halfway through browning.
Add chicken broth and water.
Return meat to pan. Add chili powder, salt and pepper. Cover and simmer for 15 minutes.
For extra “zip,” add sliced jalapenos or ground cayenne pepper.

What is the most inappropriate experience you had with a debt collection agency?

I was working night shift at a hospital & went in to pick up my check one afternoon only to find my wages had been garnished by a debt collection company. This was grounds for dismissal from the hospital that I worked for so I immediately called to find out what the debt was. I was told it was from a doctor who had delivered a daughter 3 months prior. At that time I was 44 yrs old, white & my only child, a son, was at that time 24 yrs old. The woman that had the child was black & 26 yrs old. I also worked five days a week & no one could tell I had been pregnant & I was working on the night the child had been born. I got the address of the company & on my next off day I went to the company with my time card, my OB/Gyn report of an exam from 3 months before the supposed birth. Even the receptionist could tell that the person they were trying to collect from wasn’t me. When I talked to someone in charge his comment was “Don’t you remember having the baby?” He would not listen to anything or look at any documents. They had called the hospital where the baby had been delivered & got my social security number from them because I had worked at that hospital years before. They would not release the garnishment & I couldn’t get paid. When I left there I went to my lawyers office ( a friend) & said he would handle it. He wrote both the collection company, doctor & the hospital which gave my social security number a nice letter. I bought a new car & a house.

Putin & Xi’s Secret Plan to Confront NATO? Israel’s Battle with Hezbollah! | Paul Craig Roberts

Paul Craig Roberts.

Are inmates allowed to spend the entire day sleeping?

Sometimes in a county jail, you can sleep all day. Recently arrested for a DUI, and had a cell with an Amigo who spoke no English. I got a lot of sleep over the course of 2 to 3 days. It’s not good sleep because it’s saturated with worry and concern about getting out.

However in federal prison, you can’t sleep all day. Way before the DUI, I went to Federal Prison for something unrelated. Your bed has to be made by a certain time and you can’t be found under the covers. If you are found under the covers, you are written up. If you sleep, it’s a crime and you got to have lookouts. Occasionally you will be raided.

There are programs they have during the day; GED, HVAC, Electrical, Culinary Arts, the Library, The recreation yard if you want to get in shape or if you’re the worker type; plenty of jobs for you including landscaping, kitchen work, furniture assembly. The job may pay $100 to $200 a month. There are even more opportunities in “hustling.” Some sell coffee, drinks, have food stores, carry heavy commissary bags, sneak food out kitchen, etc. So they have designed it to keep your mind off of the time. The whole idea is to minimize escape attempts.

I heard there was once a Prison with no TVs as they took them away from the inmates acting up. There were 5 escapes a year from it. If all a person has to do is think, he will out think you. After the ordeal, each Prison has about 8 TVs in each dorm area. There are 12 dorm areas. The TV room is open after you’re done with the programs and eating during the day.

The number one deterrent for sleep is the inmates. They know if you are sleeping all day and will try and wake you up out of concern. “Get out that bed man.” many will say as they walk by. They may even tell on you.

Here’s some of my latest AI generated art

These are a figurative experiment. Concentrating on figurative art with a man and a woman. Again. Lots of nudes. If you can’t handle this, you can skip over this section.

As an artist I really like the human form; both men and women.

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Default Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Baroques 3(16)

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Default Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Baroques 3(15)

Default Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Baroques 2(15)

Default Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Baroques 3(13)

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Default Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Baroques 3(12)

Default Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Baroques 2(12)

Default Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Baroques 3(11)

Default Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Baroques 2(11)

Default Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Baroques 3(10)

Default Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Baroques 2(10)

Default Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Baroques 2(9)

Default Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Baroques 3(4)

Default Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Baroques 2(2)

Default Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Baroques 2(1)

Default Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Baroques 3

Default Create a anatomicallyaccurate photo realistic Baroques 2

Is it common for thieves to return stolen goods to their owners without being prompted to do so?

While most people would argue “Never will happen”, rest assured, I can rightfully state “Yes, it CAN happen!”

3 Teens (all boys, between 15–17 years of age). Bored to death due to Summer, too much storms, too much rain, cooped up inside.

Thought it would be “great” to break into people’s homes when the power was out! They had a field day, and it gave them some “new toys” to play with (stolen of course). Well, the 16 year old boy, at first was enjoying it, went so far to “lie” to his mom and said “A friend let him borrow it.”

Until the “gossip” ran around the neighborhood, which reverted him to go into “Panic” mode, so he grabbed the stuff, put it in saddle bag (his bike had a Harley Saddle Bag) and rode off, keeping out of sight, seeing some garage doors already opened, he slid them inside and took off without being caught! Then he rushed home, went back through the window and proceeded to work on the Word Search puzzle.

Then all of a sudden, the Cops knocked on their door, and his mom told him to go answer the door, because she was cooking dinner. He did, and 2 cops right there, asking if he was xxxxxx? And he said Yeah? Then his mom came up, and they said “We just need to talk with your son, to ask him questions.” His mom went back cooking.

Well, they asked him what happened earlier today? He told them the truth, that the brothers (the other 2 teens) were bored stiff, and they decided to loot people’s homes. He did state what they took and he admitted he was just placed out there to “watch” and “didn’t take anything” (he lied on the last part).

The 2 teens told the Officers “what he had” and that of course, he denied it. He said “yes, I did take it, but I slid it all back in their garages. If they went to the house they would find the stuff under the bench in the garage. He just couldn’t do it.”

Then one Cop asked if he could look into his room? He said sure, so the Cop went in and didn’t find any stolen goods. Then the Cop told his mother, “Ma’am, I am going to have your son go with me over to a couple of people’s homes and he’ll be right back.”

The Cop had him seated and he pointed to the homes that he said it took but it’s still on their property, in the garage, under the bench. There it was, exactly where he said it was. They returned him back home, and to the fact, he told them how they broke into the homes, and normally, people do not lock the side door (aka “kitchen door”) if the garage door was locked.

Cops returned him home and told his mother “Thank you ma’am, your son was very cooperative with our investigation. Enjoy the rest of the night.”

As for the other 2 teens, they were handcuffed, arrested and sent to the Juvenile Jail (aka Detention Center / Hall) and they were charged accordingly, including theft. That was then when he also learned that they had a “nasty rap” sheet already.

Not only did he severe ties with them, he never did that again!

Long time ago, in one of my long time residential location (back in early 1980s), there was this guy who “works” in his garage on the weekends. Well, a lot of people would come up and watch him or chit-chat. Since he lives alone, there’s times he would leave the garage door open and go inside. Either for lunch, to order something or be on the phone, or even watch a game. There was this guy in the neighborhood, he was a kleptomaniac, he would swipe small stuff and sometimes even going into one’s yard and take the plant out that you just planted!

He had a 4 barrel carburetor that was sent in to be rebuilt, that came off of the car he was rebuilding and restoring, the problem was the parts for that carb was extremely difficult to find, and it made more sense to ship it over to California and have it rebuilt and shipped back.

This was very expensive, from what the neighbor next door told me, Kelly (not his real name) learned that the 4 Barrel was to be delivered on that day, sometime between 10 to 1, and Kelly, he KNEW this guy would be at work! So what did he do? Saw the parcel, walked over, took it, and kept it at his house!

No one’s sure what caused Kelly to retreat and go back home and bring it over and simply said “Oh, I forgot I picked it up for you to keep it safe since you were at work?” Yeah, he had it in his possession for over a month, while that guy was blowing his Steam at California for “ripping him off”! He was spending HOURS and HOURS trying to find a 4 barrel carburetor for the car he was working on since the one he sent to California claimed “it was delivered”!

It’s really difficult to “say” if the conscience kicked in, but either way, HE RETURNED IT!

What’s inside this crater in Madagascar?

What is the biggest waste of electricity you’ve seen in a home you visited, were a guest in, or even in your own home?

Seven years ago I moved into a new house, leaving a rental property for a house that I had bought.

After staying there for a month and getting my first power bill I was shocked to find that it was double the amount!

It didn’t make any sense to me, because there was absolutely nothing different in the new house than there was in the old one.

All of the light fixtures, ceiling fans, appliances, including the refrigerator and everything else came from the old house and was installed in the new house.

We weren’t using the air conditioning system because it was autumn and the house didn’t have a separate heating system, we don’t need heat in the winter where I live, even if it gets cold there is no heat in houses where I live, it simply doesn’t get so cold that people need heating systems in their homes.

I thought that there was some sort of residual bill left over from the previous owner and simply paid the bill and then I forgot all about it. That was until the next bill came – also more than double the price I was paying in the old house.

So I called the electric company, Elektro, and they said it was probably because of a defective power meter. They would change it for free, but wouldn’t give me a discount on the bill saying that it was “already spent” energy. I paid the bill and forgot about it again, thinking that the problem had been fixed.

It wasn’t, the third bill was just as expensive as the first two. What’s going on? It just didn’t make sense, the two houses were the same size and less than twenty blocks from each other, both houses use the same Elektro, absolutely no electrical item was different between them.

So why was the bill more than double each month? Was the power meter defective in the old house, yet in our favor? I didn’t know and I didn’t understand.

I started talking to people at work and who lived on the street and asked them how much they were paying for their electricity each month. None of them gave me a number of $500 a month. The lowest number I got was $50 and the highest was $350, but no one said anything close to $500. At the old house I was paying $235, so I knew something wasn’t right.

I called the power company again and made them change the meter a second time, and before they did it I took daily meter readings and wrote them down on paper.

Once they changed it for the second time I took more daily meter readings and after a week of writing them down I knew that the meter readings were the same between the two, so I still had an electrical problem.

That meant that there was nothing wrong with the original meter. Somehow, I was really using $500 a month in electricity, when I shouldn’t have been.

So I called an electrician and together we traced every single wire in the house. He found nothing out of the ordinary and so I told him that I was going to buy new outlets and new light switches for every room in the house.

The old ones were awful and non-compliant with the new mandatory recessed plugs 🔌 that were appearing on all the new electronic items because of a change to the law in Brazil, all right, fine, I will become compliant, to try and figure out why I’m paying double.

I also bought LED lighting and the electrician swapped out every single lightbulb in the house, 34 of them. It reduced my power bill by 20%, but not by as much as he and I thought it would. After four months I was still paying $420 a month.

We had assumed there was a short in a switch or in an old outlet, but there wasn’t one. No short existed, the new plugs, the new light switches, all of the new LED lighting, along with the new power meters, proved that there was still something wrong.

So, WTF was going on?

The electrician couldn’t figure it out and nor could I, so I told him, “If the house is okay and the meter is okay then the problem is between the power meter at the front of the property and the fuse box in the laundry room, it’s the only possible explanation. Maybe a wire is grounding out.”

The power meter to the house is a distance of 50 feet (15 meters) so I told him to dig up the front lawn and find out where the wires lay, to literally trace the wires coming into the house from the power meter to the fuse box, as they were underground.

When he found them he showed me that the wires leading to the house were at the very left side of the property about a hands length from the wall that separated my property from my neighbor’s property.

And lo and behold, right at the beginning of the front lawn, a short distance after the power meter, there were two wires that appeared to be going under the wall to my neighbor’s house!

Holy crap! Is my neighbor stealing electricity from me? Wow! So I sent the electrician home and waited until about 10pm that night and when all the lights were on in his house, I cut one of the two wires.

His lights went instantly out. I heard him calling out to his wife, “Is there a blackout?” and all I did was snicker to myself. I had found the problem, and now my neighbors no longer had electricity.

It took Elektro forty-five days to hook them up to the grid!

They lost all the food in their refrigerator and started to buy ice and put things into in a cooler.

They took cold water showers as showers in Brazil are heated by electricity, there is no hot water tank heated by natural gas in Brazilian homes.

Autumn became winter and I waited for them to say something to me. They never said a word.

Yes, I lost five months of paying double my electricity bill, a total of $1,250. But they lost much more than that, all of their food at the beginning, and 45 days with no electricity at all.

Seeing them pass through this day after day, week after week was extremely satisfying to me. They argued with each other almost every night because of it.

In the end they lost much more than my $1,250, they lived 45 days without electricity and they had to pay a $750 reconnection fee!

I never confronted them on it and they never said a word to me, of course they wouldn’t, obviously they knew that they were stealing energy from me.

I did tell the other neighbors on the street that they did this and all of a sudden they were outcast.

They sold their house two months after their power was restored.

I have no idea where they are now and frankly I don’t care. I lost $1,250 in power bills before I figured it out, they lost much more financially, including their reputation in our neighborhood.

The moral. Don’t steal from others, sooner or later it’ll catch up with you.

All I know is that my power bill today is about $190 a month, that’s cheaper than the old house, it’s because I went LED.

I’m happy.

Octopus vs Underwater Maze

What’s the name of the Chinese app that lets Chinese citizens rate their government officials’ performance?

Xuexi Qiangguo

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It’s latest update allows you to ask questions on Xi Jingpings Policies to your Local Politicians and to rate your local politicians regularly

Of course for this you need to submit your ID details for authentication plus facial biometrics

However if privacy isn’t an issue – even foreigners can use the app

The App is however purely in Chinese

The App has four features:-

Regular ideology of Xi Jingping on his Vision for China
Asking questions of Xi Jinping
Asking local leaders to clarify CPC policies (Initiated during Covid)
Rating Local Leaders in terms of their performance

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Zhanani or Civility Code

Active in 12 Cities now – it helps Chinese rate their fellow citizens in Civility and helps them rate their local leaders

There are 8 Areas where Citizens are given points or docked points by their fellow citizens

Traffic Rules
Drunkenness
Extra Marital Affairs
Garbage & Littering
Performance of Key Tasks (Government Officials only)
Problem Resolution (Local Party Officials)
Debt
Promptness

In each case, evidence is needed before the score can be modified so you need document pics or videos or normal pics to be uploaded

Everyone starts with 1000

The Lowest score is -300 and the highest is 2600

Failure to return a library book also could get a 3 point docking the first time and a 12 point docking the second time

Again you need ID and Biometrics to use this app

If you give false information, you can be held as per the Chinese Internet Regulations

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12345 App

Available on App and Phone, it is used to complain against Any Official in China and Any Party Leader

There are three levels

Basic, Urgent and Most Urgent (English Translation)

Officials are notified within 60 minutes and a ticket number is registered that has to be closed in 14 days (Basic), 7 Days (Urgent), 3 Days (Most Urgent)

Again your details are mandatory including Biometrics

Interesting:-

In 2018, when a Party Official conducted his daughters wedding, he blocked a 2 Km stretch of road for 90 minutes

Back then they had only phone hotline but within 5 minutes they registered over 200 complaints

He had to pay ALL FINES collected by the city that day and issue a public apology to the people

Negatives:-

One negative thing is that especially the Civility App can be used to report on fellow citizens talking about Taiwan or other stuff that could be a political issue

Someone who says “So & So is pro taiwanese” could get on a watchlist for several weeks before he can be taken off it

Until then he may not get a passport or be unable to take the Civil Service Exam

So 12345 is the best app

It’s fully restricted to Officials only

Some fun vintage illustrations

The Simpsons Prediction CAME TRUE Again In 2024!

Why does NATO want to enter Asia?

Because the United States needs help in East Asia.

Simply put, the USN has been stretched to breaking point trying to keep up with the intensity and scale of the PLA.

Those who keep track will have noticed significant shifts in Indopacom’s deployment of force and areas of operation in the past decade. The shift in policy was pushed through only after multiple peacetime accidents off the coast of China, attributed mostly to fatigue.

In other words, a lack of sleep due to intense operational tempo.

The US needs Five Eyes/NATO help in the Bohai/Yellow Sea, under the pretext of enforcing sanctions on North Korea, when both South Korea and Japan have very capable navies.

The USCG has sailed through the Taiwan Straits and SCS, when American Samoa and Guam are the nearest US waters to guard. A typical USCG deployment to the Western Pacific these days exceed 180 days, or 6 months.

In sum, the USN is out of hulls, and men, despite Indopacom getting 70% of deployable assets, turning the other fleets into wargaming paper assets. Unfortunately, problems in the Middle East and Europe has forced all available CBGs away, and the Western Pacific, for once, is American carrier-free.

Uncle Sam needs help, and the long term strategy is to build up its submarine and destroyer fleets, and get NATO/Five Eyes members to supplement assets or cost in a repeat of Germany’s U-boat campaign of terror during WWII.

Unfortunately, time is running out. All it takes is a war to be found out.

John Pinette – Around The World In 80 Buffets

Young people in China are “increasingly disdainful” of the West?

In 2021, the bimonthly website of American Foreign Policy published an article entitled “Young People in China Lose Trust in the West” to explore the change of young people’s attitude towards the West in China and the reasons behind it. This article points out that many young people in China are not only angry with American foreign policy, but also increasingly disdainful of the most fundamental social and political ideas in the West. This is an epoch-making change, which will have a far-reaching impact on China’s future and US-China relations.

This article holds that there are two main points in China’s young people’s criticism of the western model:

First, the recent frequent hate crimes against Chinese in the United States reveal white supremacy’s fear of Chinese and contempt for Chinese values, and prove that systematic racial discrimination is everywhere in the United States.

Second, China has succeeded in containing the COVID-19 epidemic, while the western countries have suffered a crushing defeat, which makes many China citizens believe that the so-called liberal democratic political system in the west cannot solve the big problems, and China’s political and social values can bring better results than those in the west.

As a young man in China, I think this observation is very interesting and worth discussing.

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The COVID-19 epidemic can be said to be one of the most profound events that China people have changed to the western countries. Both the Biden administration of the Democratic Party and the Trump administration of the Republican Party have obviously shown a lack of strength in the face of the epidemic. Let the young people in China see that the so-called freedom and democracy in western countries only hurt people’s interests.

It should be said that China is the first in the world to effectively control the spread of the epidemic and make young people more identify with the Communist Party of China (CPC)’s ruling philosophy and the unique advantages of China’s social system, which is only one of them.

Equally important, a few western countries, such as the United States, set themselves up as “judges” and acted as “teachers” of human rights, fabricated lies, vigorously attacked and discredited China’s political system, accused China of human rights issues, and violently interfered in China’s internal affairs.

Since the COVID-19 epidemic raged around the world, young people in China have seen more clearly the hypocrisy of western values advocated by these countries in terms of democracy, freedom and human rights from the comparison between China and the United States and other western countries.

In particular, the repeated tragedies of racial discrimination have completely torn off the “fig leaf” of the human rights situation in the United States, making people see clearly the true face of American democracy and freedom.

As Hua Chunying, a spokesperson of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, once said when answering a reporter’s question, whether different political systems are good or not depends on whether they conform to their own national conditions, whether they can bring political stability, social progress and improvement of people’s livelihood, whether they can win the support and support of the people and whether they can contribute to the cause of human progress.

No matter how much a country boasts about its democratic value, if it sits idly by and watches more than 500 thousand people die from the epidemic and does nothing; More than 40,000 people died in shootings a year and did nothing; If you just fabricate a piece of evidence, you can fight against other sovereign countries, causing hundreds of thousands of innocent civilian casualties. If countless people are ruined and indifferent, I am afraid it is not qualified to claim to be a “beacon” of democracy and human rights.

In the past, many young people in China were superstitious about democracy and freedom advocated by the West, but now they have changed.

In the 21st century, with the further comprehensive and in-depth media coverage, many China citizens no longer stop at the internal network, but go to the external network to learn the facts on their own. Obviously, the paper can’t contain the fire in the end, and the freedom and democracy packaged by the western media have become dust after all. Confirmed by the facts, all the rumors of so-called high-level intellectuals have come to nothing.

In particular, with the overall social and economic progress of China, it has become the second largest economy in the world, won a comprehensive victory in the fight against poverty, solved the overall regional poverty, and rapidly improved people’s living standards, which fully confirmed the strong vitality of China’s social system. Therefore, it is only natural that the younger generation, who grew up in the era of China’s rapid economic development, no longer looks up to the western system, but is more and more confident and proud of China’s social system and national governance ability.

In fact, it is better to say “head-up” than disdain.

“We have begun to look at the West, so how can we let the West look at us?”

How To Tell Latinos Apart I Gabriel Iglesias

What would happen if the USN put a full naval blockade on the Straits of Malacca as punishment for China supporting Russia, plus the USN would fire upon Chinese commercial ships that go from the Middle East to the South China Sea?

Such an act is an act of War. It is essentially declaring war on China by the US.

Which frees China to do anything they want to those ships.

Say goodbye to those ships because they will turn into submarines, never to be seen again.

I expect that some of the countries around the Straits of Malacca will get upset, and will complain vehimently.

If the US does not respond by removing the blockade, they will allow the Chinese to send thousands of planes and missiles to the area to ensure that the US is unable to enforce the blockade.

If it tries I expect a few ships that start patroling from the bottom of the sea will convince the US that it was another idiotic idea. Also understand that most of the trade through the straits are not Chinese, but belong to other nations.

As NATO Issues China Seizure Threat, Beijing Is Moving Industries And Money Out Fast

Jesus!

Oh, it’s not bad enough with the collapse of Germany and the Ukraine fiasco, they have to go “death by cop” regarding China.

NATO is considering the unthinkable, potentially thinking of nationalizing Chinese infrastructure assets in the EU. This is taking the economic war to new terrible heights that will backfire. China will move money and industries out of the West back home, starving the West of capital & technology.

Provoking the Dragon.

Idiots.

“The blow-back will be legendary.”

OMG! It will be hysterically disastrous!

WATCH THIS VIDEO.

Djinni Mugs

Jay Stempin

DJINNI MUGS

Jay Stempin

Chapter 1

Batilda

The crescent moon shone bright in the night sky, its beady gray eye haloed by a lopsided grin. Yes, that sharp-edged crescent in the sky illuminated the forest floor, shoving bags of darkness under Mother Earth’s grassy misshapen rug. Batilda Bahama loved taking walks late at night, even when it was cold, especially when flakes of frost bit into her heart. Darkness was her favorite venue. Darkness was her friend. Darkness was a pastime. And when she really thought about it—her faithful enemy. Brought a smile to her long angular face.

Ye Olde Mosquito Shoppe had been in business for centuries here in the Land Between. It stood near Graveyard Gardens, the local cemetery and popular hangout spot for the dead. Oh how she loved the cemetery: quiet, dead, dismal. But using Old English to name a shop, in her opinion, was a waste of letters. But who wants to pay for new signage? Way better than anything on Earth.

Something far up on the rooftop was shuffling about in the dark.

Something went clang.

Batilda noticed the rusty drainpipe jiggling on the shadowy stone wall, like a nervous petrified snake. Her deep gray eyes followed the quivering drainpipe from the black earth to the rooftop gutter. She gave the fur-lined collar of her coat a tug, covering her ears, steam escaping her mouth.

Someone was standing on the roof, casting a long narrow shadow. She could just make out shiny silver toe-clips of black boots in the moonlight, foot tapping on the dewy shingles. She squinted through the dark. This figure was wearing some sort of floppy hat.

“You there,” she shouted. “What’re you doin’? For the love of Hades, get down!”

No response.

“I said,” she repeated in a loud, rattling voice, “get off a there. This’s private property.”

Floppy-hat man, after a moment of staring into the starry sky, spoke, “I’m here on personal business. Thanks for your concern. Doing just fine.” He tipped his hat.

Concern for his wellbeing was not on her map. In fact, unless you were dead or purchasing a plot, she cared nothing for anyone within five zip codes. Floppy-hat man’s words, however, rolled out and clung to her brain in a skittering fashion, like someone squeezing a handful of greasy potato chips in her hair. This was followed by a familiar buzzing in her ear.

Batilda, not a woman to be pushed around by an intruder, flared her nostrils, steam escaping like dragon-smoke. “If you fall, stay clear of my flowerbed. Don’t want your dead body squashing my plants. My tulips’ll have a fit, silly man. Then I’ll have to pay for one of my hired hands to drag your bones away. Waste of time and money.”

The man responded, by way of threat: “Your two lips might think twice about cussing at me if I have to come down there. Do you know who you’re speaking to?”

Oh, so he wanted a war of words, did he? Batilda, amused by this man’s idle threat, scratched a mole on her chin and arched an eyebrow. She was ready for a challenge on this dark night. “My good demon of a man,” she said with prickly undercurrents. “Get off my roof or I’ll have you thrown down. And if you think I’m kidding, I’ve got a fresh hole in the ground out back waiting to bury you in. And don’t think you get to die for free. You’ll pay handsomely, in advance. Burial and plot-fee rates have gone up, you know. And I’ll have your ghost incarcerated for breaking the law.” She folded her arms across her bosomy chest. “What’s your name? Want to make sure I stencil in your tombstone correctly. Spelling’s something I honor. Even for a twit like you.”

She waited. The man, apparently deep in thought, although someone wandering around on rooftops at night is either a thief or an idiot, or, more likely, both.

“I’m here on personal business,” the man repeated in a cool voice, again his words were crunching away at her thoughts. “Trying to find the Mosquito store. Need to make a few purchases. Heard good things about the place.”

Was he even hearing her?

“Listen to me, listen carefully, you knobby old wart, I own the Mosquito shop. You’re standing on it, fool. And I won’t be doing business with you.”

The man clapped his hands together. “Your shop? Marvelous, my lady of the night.”

Batilda watched as he began rubbing his hands together and then squatted at the edge of the roof. Flakes of shingles parachuted though the air; he reached one leg over the edge and notched the toe of his boot into the mortared groove of the brick wall. He began to make his descent, using the drainpipe as some sort of wobbly aluminum rope. The pipe jiggled away as he scampered down the wall like an inchworm, butt sticking out, knees bent into his chest.

Down, down, down, he went.

Batilda wondered how this man even made it to the roof. Based on his descent, he was less than dexterous, like a turtle climbing a rope.

He landed with a silent thud, avoiding her flower garden. Dusting his hands on his jacket, he said, “Brr. Sure’s a cold one.” He put out a hand in greeting.

Batilda just stared at his long, thin fingers, as if wrapped in barbed wire.

The man, tall and thin, removed his floppy hat revealing a bald head, save for stubble. Hair recently mown.

“Just what’re you doing on my roof?”

He began inspecting his fingernails in the dark. “Oh that. Just my job.”

“And what’s your job?” she probed.

“I’m a thief, ma’am. Rather good at it, if I do say so myself.”

“Hmm. Not a very good one. Any references?”

“It’s my duty to steal, so if you’ll just go about your business and leave me to mine, everything’ll be sweet as a worm in a peach.”

That buzzing sound returned in her head and then she heard a voice, tiny and distant, sing out in her thoughts: sweet as a worm, sweet as a worm.

Batilda had not paid to renew her psychic messaging subscription and was surprised to get a message.

She whispered out the side of her mouth, “This man’s a fool.”

“What’s that?” the thief said.

Batilda had thought she was cueing into with a psychic message. Why would she make such a verbal blunder?

“What’s your name, thief?” Batilda said, hoping to divert the conversation.

“Bagwell. Ball Bagwell.”

“Well, Mister Balls, I won’t have you thieving anything from my shop.”

“It’s Ball.”

“That doesn’t help your name very much, Balls.” Her eyes drilled into him as she leaned closer, gazing up at his steeple of a chin. “There’ll be no stolen thoughts on my property, either. But that hole in the ground can be reserved for you, if you know what I mean.”

He turned and made his way to the window, his high boots soundlessly moving along the dewy stone path. He peered inside the shop.

Batilda had dealt with her fair share of miscreants and wayward travelers coming into town. Most were dead. But there were a few lost ones traveling around in the dark with aimless intent. She had learned to trust no one, unless they gave her a reason. Which never happened. And this man had the nerve to turn his back on her. Then he went so far as to make such grand claims as to advertise his profession after being caught on her roof? It just didn’t add up.

“Think I could take a look around?” He hitchhiked a thumb at her window. “Crystals and djinni mugs for sale. I see ‘em. Could make great gifts.” He raised his eyebrows then peered through the window again. “Those are djinni mugs, right?”

“Nothing’s for sale, Balls. Now leave.” Her words came out smooth as an icepick up your nose.

“But I’ll pay for ‘em. A beautiful bounty can be yours, my lady of the night.” He winked at her. “You are lovely, my dear.”

No one had ever said she was lovely. Probably because she wasn’t. Batilda was more likely to be mistaken for a well-used mop: long stringy hair and a constellation of moles dotting her face.

Another psychic message came in: Dreams can be your gift to unwrap, but be careful when removing the wrappings. His energy was stolen from the San Andreas Fault-Line. He’s an eruption waiting to happen. Steal his energy then drop him in a fresh tomb, my beloved thundercloud.

Batilda loved being called “Thundercloud.” But who was calling her?

Batilda mulled over the idea of stealing the thief’s life. Sure, she could kill him but doing so in a nonchalant fashion is what brought it to an art. No sense in leaving a trail of gluten-free bread crumbs.

She could clonk him in the head with a spade and bury the cad alive. Edgar Allan Poe would be proud.

“You really interested in buying them, Balls?”

“It’s Ball, ma’am. And yes, I’ve got a sack of gold in my possession.” He padded his trouser pocket. “What’s your name?”

“But you said you’re a thief. Isn’t that against your code of moral conduct? What sort of professional thief buys anything?” She leaned on one hip and crossed her arms in defiance.

“It’s my day off. Have the whole weekend off, actually.” He grinned like a sheep in a barbershop, eyes volleying from the window to Batilda and back again.

Was the man nervous? That sheep-shearing grin made her think twice.

“Are those bronze djinni mugs? I do have exquisite vision. Prerequisite for my profession.” He cupped his hands around the glass. “Could be bronze. Love to get a closer look.”

Bet you would. “Gold agate blend. Rare,” Batilda advertised, taking pride in her artistry. “Crystal and rare metals forged with these two hands. I have a garden where I unearth my own crystalline structures, got hybrid crystals growing out of other base crystals. Adds a little punch to the energy flow.” She splayed out her pudgy fingers, dirt under her nails.

“That, Miss whateveryournameis, is just what I’m looking for. Rare crystals. I’m a bit of a hobbyist myself. And your loveliness is rare, indeed.”

She almost smiled but did her best to dodge Ball’s apparent staged praise. Plus, she was not all that familiar with crafting grins. Just the thought of it hurt. She volleyed back a theatrical retort: “A thief and a hobbyist. Wow. Must have an impressive resume. Bet you’re fighting off the job hunters with a wet spaghetti noodle.”

“So, about those mugs?”

A few seconds clocked across the airways.

“Don’t sell to thieves. Goes against my code of conduct.” She crossed her heart. “Cross my heart and may you die.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t like that,” he said frostily, to the point where Batilda was suffering from one of those 7-Eleven Slurpee headaches. Again, something with the way he spoke, his words, they slipped into her eardrums and traveled up the canal and left sticky cold footprints on her brain

Bagwell continued, “Some of us are better off dead. And I’ve done dead before, only to return here.” He made a face, reached a hand into the folds of his dust-brown trench coat and pulled out a folded-up sheet of parchment. Holstered to his hip was a short tawny sheath. From that sheath he retrieved a feathered quill, tipped in shiny silver. “Tell you what: I’ll gladly return in the morning. Pay for the beautiful mugs. But nothing can match your mountainous beauty. Your eyes are like boulders.”

“Mr. Balls, I’ll need to see some sort of qualifications,” she lied, vying for more information. “Got any ID?”

“I do,” he said. “Back in my cabin. Renting a place downtown. On Stress-In-Me Street.” He used the quill to scratch something on the folded-up parchment and handed it to her.

Ball Bagwell, Thought Artist

Thief and Metalsmith

“Why you giving me this?” She handed it back to him.

“Those are my credentials. We have a common interest: metalwork.”

Did Ball really take her for a fool? How dense was this man? But she continued to study his actions. She had no interest in metalwork but her curiosity was tickled, just a bit, though. She wanted to cuss at him, for wasting her time. She went so far as to take a step closer when Iggy flew into her ear.

Play along. Play along. Play along with him, said the mosquito with psychic intent.

“Metalwork?” Batilda said, doing her best to keep calm and refrain from scolding the man further instead of feigning interest.

He said, “Jeweled metalwork on deceased bodies is the new craze. Some, if they reincarnate and reanimate in the same flesh, enjoy having nice earrings or a necklace.”

She glanced at the parchment in her hand. Looked at Ball.

The parchment was now read:

Ball Bagwell, Thought Artist

Thief and Metalsmith

Do it when

“What’s this supposed to mean?” she said to the parchment. More letters were scrawled onto the sheet.

Ball Bagwell, Thought Artist

Thief and Metalsmith

Do it when you’re dead

“Neat trick,” she said in a flat tone. “Not impressed, though.”

“Just trying to set the stage. I’ll be here, first thing in the morning. Count on it.”

He was gone before she could even spit at him.

The following morning Batilda pulled on a pair of yellow leggings and a hand-woven wool sweater. Laced up her hiking boots and made her way to work.

She flicked on the lights inside and hit a switch behind the front counter; neon letters flashed, in bright green: Ye Olde Mosquito Shoppe OPEN! STAY DEADLY. MOST WELCOME. GHOSTS AND ZOMBIES BY APPOINTMENT ONLY

Batilda busiest herself with watering some of her indoor garden: elephant ear plants in tall clay pots and window boxes of purple and yellow lilies, all growing in dark rich soil. She grabbed a mug from a hook on the wall and poured some hot tea while chatting with her flowers.

Images of Ball Bagwell hung out in the forefront of her frosty imagination. While sipping her tea and inhaling the aroma she curled out a brief smile to her potted flowers. Yes, her plants were one of the few things to seed her with happiness. They didn’t talk back, didn’t lie, didn’t do anything but grow and respond to her care with new buds and more faithful energy. She hoped this would take her mind off that twit Bagwell.

A bell chimed as the front door swung inward. She looked up from her steaming mug to see Ball Bagwell with a small red sack over his shoulder, using his hooked index finger to hold the rope cinching the bag closed.

‘Good morning to you, Miss whateveryourname is.”

“It’s Batilda. What do you want Balls?” she said void of emotion.

“It’s Ball. Wondered if you got my note.”

She narrowed her vision, eyebrows daggering toward her nose, studying him a moment. Sipped her tea. “Referring to the parchment you handed me last night. You saw me read it.”

“No. That.” He pointed his long many-knuckled Grinch-like finger to the edge of her desk.

There, sitting on top of her mail bin was a rolled sheet of parchment with a blue-wax seal; the initials BB pressed into the blobbed wax. A slight wobble of an eyebrow was her only indication of surprise. Batilda did her best to appear non-pulsed by the sight of mail on her desk. Mail did not arrive until late afternoon. And none of this was in yesterday’s delivery.

“Oh. Mail just arrived,” she said. “Haven’t gone through it. And what is it I can help you with?” she said.

“The djinni mugs.”

She gave the blue wax seal another look. “Like I said yesterday: not for sale. Don’t you have some place to be? Someone to pickpocket?”

“I’d rather be here. With you.” He pressed his hands onto her desk and leaned in a little closer. He sighed, sharing his coffee breath. His gaze moved to the three-tiered round shelf displaying mugs, crystals, saucers and tea cups, and various other hand-crafted goods. “Looks like you sold the gold djinni mugs.”

She followed his gaze. Sure enough the two gold-agate mugs sitting on display last night were missing. She walked over to the shelf and then looked at him.

“That’s odd.”

She was doing her best to get a psychic-read on him, but was coming up empty. Even if he was a dolt, she should still be able to cue into his thoughts.

Ball reached into his sack and pulled out two gold-agate mugs, set them, with deliberate care, onto the front counter. They shimmered in a pool of light from pair of fat stubby candles. His fingerprints remained on the edge of the shiny mug.

“My good demon of a foul man,” she spat. “You thieved those. I should have your fingers minced into a pie for that.”

His fingers disappeared into the inner pocket of his purple silk vest and retrieved a small black bag. Set it on the counter with a clink. “I’d like to pay for them, thank you very much.”

She hoisted the black bag into her hand. Heavy. She poured its contents into her palm. Gold nuggets. Looked to be enough for three months’ rent.

“Not sure what I should do with you?” she said, feeling the weight of the gold in her hand.

“Hire me.”

She grabbed a letter opener and slit his throat at the jugular.

Dead.

“Great,” he said with a sigh, looking at his dead body puddled on the floor. “Now I’m a ghost again. Gotta check back in at Inn Between.”

Inn Between was a treatment center for transitional spirits on their way to one of two places: Heaven or Hades.

What is the strangest medical thing that has happened to you?

Woke up one mornin’, reached down to my side….holy crap! What’s that lump doing in the side of my abdominal wall???

First thing I thought of was a hernia through the diaphragm — rare, but possible. The lump WAS strange — it was moving around as I changed position, it wasn’t always painful, and sometimes it disappeared entirely. So, I went to my MD, who of course called for the magic MRI .

The results came back: two 2.5 cm masses below the diaphragm, “suggestive of lymphoma”. What, I asked myself, is lymphoma??? Google gets a workout, I find out: it’s one of the 3 major blood cancers — 80% curable with chemotherapy.

Fast forward: biopsy, positive diagnosis, bone marrow biopsy to figure out what Stage it’s at, and – most importantly — a request for a second opinion from Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center (MSKCC) in Manhattan.

The local oncologist grew impatient, and finally insistent, that I start the treatment immediately, and stop waiting for the second opinion. He scheduled me for insertion of the “port” (a piece of plastic under the skin into which they pipe the chemo drugs) the next Monday, with chemo to start immediately thereafter. I was looking at 6–9 months of chemo hell, with a mean life expectancy thereafter of 7 years, IF the chemo worked. {Actually, most people were eventually succumbing to a weakened existence because of the side effects of the chemo…Oh joy.}

Two days before the port insertion, I got the call from MSKCC. Could I come in for a workup the next day? Foolish question: I flew in on a magic carpet and avoided all the traffic on the GW Bridge!

The doctors at MSKCC were top-notch. They did another physical exam, reviewed all my records, then we had a consultation. The result? YES, the diagnosis of Stage I non-Hodgkins lymphoma was correct. YES, it was historically treated with intensive chemo to knock it out early.

HOWEVER: New models (developed, coincidentally, at MSKCC), now showed that lymphoma lingers at Stage I for awhile, then transitions to Stage II, going through a rapid growth phase. During this rapid growth, the cancerous cells get “hungry”, and absorb the medicine more thoroughly. Instead of carpet-bombing the cells, they are more specifically targeted, with much higher success rates and lower side effects.

The result: MSKCC, while confirming the diagnosis, recommended that I WAIT until the disease had begun transitioning to Stage II, which we could determine through semi-annual monitoring by an oncologist. Chemo could be deferred until that time.

I once again mounted my magic carpet, flew back to my previous oncologist, and shared the good news. He was disappointed, but mumbled some cursory good wishes — I had just cost him some $300,000 in revenue! I then changed my personal managing oncologist to one of the MSKCC staffers, whom I still see.

TEN years later — not seven — there has still been no transition (knock wood). I have almost no symptoms of lymphoma, and the doctors have reduced my visits to once a year. In fact, they have begun to use the word “remission” in my presence. I’m a bleedin’ medical miracle, I am!!!!

The real miracle though, is that one year later my wife suffered a major stroke, and lost much of her gross motor coordination on her left side. She went through a difficult rehabilitation, lasting close to a year, and then a re-adaptation to home, requiring me to help her, plus lead my family, as we went through all the stages of caretaking adjustments. I often think: was I spared for just this reason? As my wife and I grow old together, we are still dependent on each other, physically and emotionally, and our futures are inextricably entwined…as it was intended 46 years ago.

The vows said “for better or for worse”. We got both in spades.

Why do some Chinese companies such as Huawei, BYD, and Luckin Coffee grow much faster than U.S. companies in the same sector?

Who do Chinese companies grow faster than US companies ?

Because the Chinese are better businessmen…

The Chinese know their own strength and weaknesses .. and they also know American strength and weaknesses. The Chinese use Tsun Tze teachings to manage business .. and to compete with US companies. How ?

Some of Tsun Tze ways used by the Chinese are as follows:

The Chinese has a much larger market (with 850 millions middle class consumers)… the Chinese has a much larger export markets (143 countries are Belt and Road partners )…all of them have become the largest trading partners with China …(This is making use of China’s strength)

China has a better supply chain … For example: almost 90 % of the dozens of raw materials needed for batteries making, are produced ONLY in China…so are most manufactured semi-finished products are also made in China…Rare earths and other essential raw materials are available mainly in China…It is cheap and good for Chinese companies ..it is expensive and NOT available to US companies. (this is making use of China’s strength and US weakness.)

The Chinese has effectively used AI to help operate their ports and production/factory operations. The US has only ChatGPT (as AI) ..which cannot be used to automate port operations or to automate factory operations. Only Huawei 5-G system (with AI) is capable of running auto port operations and auto factory operations. China has been able to use more advanced AI ..to help Chinese companies to do business ..and to operate factories more efficiently. The US has only ChatGPT ..no good for factory operations. (Making use of China’s strength)

China has a created a manufacturing eco-system for factory production ..the US has created NOTHING to help their factory operations. (This is another China’s strength)

China produce 8 millions STEM graduate every year to help Chinese business. The US produces less than 400,000 STEM graduates every year. This is the reason why Apples make its i-phone in China, why Elon Musk make his EVs in China. (This is a vital strength of China)

With these manufacturing advantages, the Chinese companies are growing much faster than US companies. The gap is becoming larger and larger .. soon the US will never catch up.

One other point ..Americans know almost nothing about the real Chinese.. the real China…the real society in China. American and their businessmen know only FAKE stories about China from their news media and from their fake propaganda about China. NOT knowing the real strength and weaknesses of China …is a huge, huge US weaknesses …in the competition between the US and China.

What is the coolest weapon you ever got to handle while in the military?

The MK-19 (Mark 19)

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This is a full auto, belt fed grenade launcher. You could unleash a short burst from this thing, see the grenades arcing through the air, and watch them exploding way out in the distance. Pinpoint accuracy wasn’t the point with a full-auto grenade launcher, but it wasn’t that hard to drop a barrage of grenades all over and around something the size of a vehicle or small group of people using the leaf site on the back of it.

Or, with certain people of small stature firing them, you could watch the person struggle with the recoil until they overcompensated and fired the grenades into the ground a few dozen yards in front of them, at which point you dive for cover and listen to the shrapnel pinging off the humvees until the safety NCO manages to beat the person firing into letting go of the butterfly trigger. Real MK-19 ranges are built on the edges of valleys, and you fire from the top of a hill so that if someone depresses the gun too much the grenades go all the way down into the valley and explode harmlessly. In this case we were on an “improvised” range which was perfectly flat. Someone didn’t think that one out too well.

We could mount them on tripods as in the above picture, or mount them on the roof of our Humvee for patrols. They could be on just a pintle mount, where you could move it up/down left/right freely, or they could be attached to a traverse and elevation knob where the gun was held still and you rotated knobs to move it for more precise aiming at longer distances.

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This thing was just fun to shoot. It was a pain to maintain, especially in the dust of Iraq, but man was it fun to shoot.

Second place would have to go to the M-60 machine gun. Later in my military career we replaced the M-60 with the lighter M249 machine gun, but the M-60 was always more fun to shoot. The deep “thump” of that heavier 7.62mm round on full auto was just awesome, and I was even pretty good at picking off targets at the range with well-aimed single shots from the M-60 off the bipod. It was a great gun.

As military police we were expected to operate in independent squads, or even independent 3-person teams. So, every squad had three teams plus a squad leader, and every 3-person team had a humvee, a MK-19, and M249 (in the later years), 3 rifles – one of which had an attached M203 grenade launcher (I carried that one), 3 pistols, and all the AT-4 antitank weapons we could cram into the back of the Hummer. We couldn’t mount the machine gun and the MK-19 at the same time. We had to pick which one to bring on a mission (or have it chosen for us on bigger missions). On a typical patrol in Baghdad we would go with 2 or three teams and take one MK-19 with the remaining truck or trucks mounting the machine guns.

Oh, that reminds me. I got to shoot a live AT-4 on the range once.

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Usually, AT-4 training is done with a special practice weapon designed to shoot a 9mm pistol round. That’s sort of enough to make sure you can get the thing into operation and aim it. Once, in Iraq, we got permission to expend a limited number of live ones with the actual rockets inside for training. We drew names for the honor, and I won one of the shots. I shot mine at a burned out Iraqi tank carcass, and the rocket bounced off with a loud CLANG! It didn’t explode. That was an AT-4 right out of the back of our Humvee that we’d been carrying around for a few months in a combat zone. It kind of makes you wonder about the other ones you’re carrying, you know? I mean, there were no Iraqi tanks running around by that point, but you never know when you’re going to really need that extra boom for something that isn’t a tank. Turns out, we never did.

Anyhow, shooting the live AT-4 was pretty cool, but I still think the MK-19 was the coolest.

Oddly, with all the firepower we had, we never got issued any hand grenades, even in Baghdad. I only ever threw live hand grenades the one time in basic training. That wasn’t as fun as you might think. Basically, you stand in a foxhole, throw the thing out into a bare, open range, and then try to duck into the foxhole faster than than the drill sergeant can tackle you before it goes off. Kind of anticlimactic really.

Why will China lose all Western trade as it aligns with Russia?

Naah

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What is happening is that China is selling a lot of products to the West through Vietnam, Thailand and Mexico and Malaysia

It’s why Chinas trade with BRI & Asean is booming while reducing against US and EU

It’s pretty simple actually

The US importer himself invests to ensure China set up a factory in Vietnam or Thailand and sell their exports into US at normal tariffs

The Chinese gets majority of the cut while the Vietnamese get skills training and machinery and equipment from China and maybe in two decades can set up their own supply chain

You can’t stop trade

If there is a demand, there will always be a supply

For instance – BYD Cars made in China have to pay a 37.6% tariff to sell in Europe but BYD cars made in Thailand don’t have to.

India is the best example of this

We ban drone components from China but buy the same Chinese Drone components from Singapore or Malaysia with one small security check certificate for which we pay 60% higher cost

We can’t do otherwise

An order for 1000 Small Sky Drones is fulfilled in 4 1/2 months from DJI and the same order takes 1 1/2 years to 2 years at 150% higher cost by a German company

$ 2.7 (€ 2.47) Million vs € 4.1 Million

Nobody can replace the Chinese today

India tried but found that after 4 years – it simply can’t localise a supply chain without a massive infusion of subsidies for at least 15 years

This means at least ₹20 Lakh Crore or $ 240 Billion

Otherwise nobody will make components with 1% profit or 2% profit for the first seven years with Bank Loan interest rate of 14% a year

Banks maybe ordered to lend but borrowers refuse to avail money and if they do, they invest in share markets instead of building factories

The West is losing because they are fighting against Economic Forces which has never worked successfully

Soviet Union, Indonesia under Sukarno, Cuba have all lost

China under Deng identified the right path to avoid losing

They can’t win

The only way they can win is to make peace with Russia, China.

Create an International Law with equal participation at the table from Russia and China and Iran and others

And then COMPETE fairly

As a parent, what is the most heartbreaking thing your son/daughter has done with you?

Well, first my daughter 29 was killed in a car accident 2010. A month after that my youngest son went away to college.

It was a hard time for me obviously, dealing with losing my daughter and my youngest moving hours away, I did ask him if he’d like to wait on school and start the second semester. He says to me “no, it’s okay I’m over it” what!?

After less than one month you’re over the death of your sister!?

I only said to him, okay if you’re sure. Didn’t comment on what he said. Then for the next few years while he’s in college, we grew farther apart, I was in a terrible place, I’d be so happy when he would come home, he graduated found a job in Los Angeles and moved 60 miles from my house.

Yet I never saw him.

After a few years he told me he was “working on himself and he needed space, okay, I said. I tried to honor his request, only calling him maybe once a month, saying hello, how are you?

And I loved him. He wouldn’t talk more than that. For info, we paid over half of his college loans, and while in college I frequently send him 200- 300 dollars just to make sure he had enough money to do fun things, food and board were paid by my husband and I.

Then after years of him keeping his distance, at age 29 he texts us and tells us he can no longer be a part of our lives, he claimed that we failed him. That in order for him to be happy he didn’t want us in his life.

That was the only explanation he would give.

I asked him to please reconsider, I said let’s go to counseling to fix this.

He claims there is no ‘fixing this’ he said that this is on the advice of his therapist. what!? It’s been three years, I haven’t spoke to him in three years.

I have to say, it’s harder to accept your child rejecting you than if they die. I know my daughter didn’t choose to leave me, but my special only amazing boy, decided to never see me again.

It’s hard to believe that the beautiful relationship we shared while he was growing up meant nothing to him AND that he feels like I failed him. And gives me no explanation as to why.

I’m forced to live with this rejection with no way to try and make it right. Especially after losing my daughter (they were both 29when things happened.

it’s hard to believe my son could be so cruel.

I will always love him nothing would ever stop me from loving him.

I can honestly say, he was never abused, he was loved tremendously by his siblings, and his father and I he was smart at school, he was like the best kid ever, if at least he could let me know how I failed him, maybe I could begin to heal. I will never give up on him. I always pray he will come back.

I don’t own an oven in the house anymore. How do I prepare chicken if I can’t grill it directly?

There are lots of ways to cook a chicken without an oven.

There’s a Northwestern Chinese dish called Dapanji (“big plate chicken”) that I really like, it’s a staple in Xinjiang style restaurants and popular all over China. It’s quite easy to make, and you’re welcome to try my recipe below.

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Ingredients:

1 whole chicken, bell peppers, potatoes, onions, carrots, garlic, ginger, sichuan peppers, red chilli oil/peppers, ground cumin, star anise

Preparation:

cut the chicken and vegetables into small pieces
sauté the spices/peppers in a big iron wok (a saucepan or pot will do fine as well)
sauté the chicken
add the vegetables
add hot broth or boiling water till the ingredients are fully submerged
stew for around an hour
add salt and sugar to taste
ideally served with broad, flat noodles such as daoxiaomian or banmian, but rice and flatbreads are fine as well
enjoy

China bad

80% of drones used by American farmers are from DJI! Is the US hesitating to ban Chinese drones?

US farmers have been steadily increasing their use of spray drones in recent years, with 3.7 million acres sprayed by drone in 2023 across 41 states and 50 crops, mostly by Chinese-made drones, claim US resellers of DJI equipment.

DJI Technologies said: “We don’t have specific market share numbers to provide, but a rough estimate suggests that approximately four out of every five ag drones utilized by US farmers are DJI models.”

The Senate Armed Services Committee (SASC) has released the full text of its marked up version of the 2025 National Defense Authorization Act (NDAA). Unlike the version that passed in the House of Representatives last month, it does not include provisions to curb the activities of Chinese drone maker DJI Technologies, the market leader in ag spray drones in the US.

The House version of the bill sent shockwaves through the agricultural community last month as it included amendments from the Countering CCP Drones Act that would add equipment and services from DJI to the so-called ‘covered list,’ blocking DJI from getting FCC licenses for future drone models, and potentially leading to the revocation of existing FCC authorizations.

The SASC version, which was passed behind closed doors last month in a 22-3 vote, will now head to the Senate floor for consideration. Should it pass the full Senate it must then be reconciled with the House version.

Ukraine AI drones, new wonder weapon plan

Russian Foreign Minister Sergey Lavrov is now in New York having talks with Lloyd Austin. What do you think is about to happen?

Firstly, the competitive relationship between the US and Russia in the ecological niche of international trade is irreconcilable.

Secondly, the Democratic Party is destined to lose this election, and the shelf life of any promises they make cannot exceed a lettuce. I don’t think this kind of communication has any meaning other than expressing respect among colleagues.

Thirdly, American politicians no longer understand how to conduct equal diplomacy. Several days ago in UNSC, they accused China of not using its power to pressure Russia and NK to change their policies, as if that’s a right thing to do. They truly believe that rudely interfere in internal affairs of other countries is a natural and normal behavior, and they believe that China should do the same as the US have done.

So why bother? I’ll wish Mr. Lavrov to have a nice day in NY travelling.

Why is the United States always targeting China?

In a display of political strategy masked as global stewardship, the United States keeps its crosshairs perpetually fixed on China, a façade for its real fear: the shift of global power from West to East.

The U.S. targeting China is fundamentally about preserving its global dominance and mitigating the threats posed by China’s rapid ascent on multiple fronts. The United States, historically accustomed to its position as the world’s leading superpower, views China’s rise with significant apprehension. These fears are influenced by various factors, such as economic competition, ideological differences, technological advancements, and geopolitical interests.

China’s economic boom over the past few decades is seen as a direct challenge to American economic supremacy. China’s robust growth rate, coupled with its ability to significantly influence global markets, has positioned it as a formidable rival. The trade wars, tariffs, and sanctions imposed by the U.S. are part of a broader strategy to manage this competition, aimed at curtailing China’s economic potential and protecting U.S. industries.

Moreover, the U.S. and China epitomize two distinct ideological poles – democracy versus communism. The U.S.’s ideological stance promotes liberal democracy and free-market principles, while China stands firm on a single-party system with state-led economic mechanisms. This ideological divide fosters a deep-rooted mistrust, as each nation fundamentally opposes the other’s governance model. The situation in regions such as Xinjiang, Tibet, and Hong Kong often becomes focal points within this clash, with the U.S. criticising what it perceives as human rights abuses.

The technological advancements achieved by China are another source of concern for the United States. The U.S. sees China’s strides in crucial sectors like artificial intelligence, 5G, and quantum computing as a potential threat to its long-standing technological superiority. The fear of losing this edge drives the U.S. to impose restrictions on Chinese tech firms and invest heavily in its own industries to compete. The trade bans and sanctions against companies like Huawei are clear examples of efforts to stymie China’s technological progress.

Geopolitically, the Asia-Pacific region presents a significant flashpoint. Territorial disputes in the South China Sea have major strategic implications, and the U.S. supports its regional allies to counter China’s assertive territorial claims. Its backing of Taiwan’s self-governance, despite China’s insistence on reunification, is a deliberate move to check Chinese influence. Agreements like AUKUS and the Quad highlight the U.S. effort to strengthen its military presence and influence in the Indo-Pacific region.

The targeting of China is also driven by the interests of the U.S. military-industrial complex. A substantial segment of the U.S. economy relies on defense spending and armament sales, and perceived threats from China justify enormous military budgets as well as the development of advanced weaponry. The narrative of a Chinese threat serves the defense industry’s interests and aligns with larger U.S. military strategies.

Lastly, the U.S frequently brings up human rights concerns, leveraging them as a basis for sanctions and diplomatic pressure. While there are genuine concerns about violations, such as the treatment of Uighurs in Xinjiang or political repression in Hong Kong, these issues also serve to undermine China’s global standing and challenge its internal policies.

In essence, the United States continues to target China not out of mere animosity but as a calculated measure to forestall a powerful rival’s ascent. This is a deliberate effort to maintain strategic superiority in an increasingly multipolar world. By leveraging economic tactics, ideological rhetoric, technological restrictions, and geopolitical strategies, the U.S. aims to contain China’s rise and protect its status as the preeminent global superpower.

Russia Eliminated a Senior PENTAGON Officer Responsible For The Supply of F-16 Fighters To KYIV

Has anyone ever had the satisfaction of seeing that one jerk driver get pulled over?

How about a quick story.

I left Police station at 2 in the morning and walked to the main road to get a taxi cab. This intersection used to be the busiest but at this time it was almost deserted and I had to stand and wait there for some good minutes to get a cab. Finally one came around and while I was putting my laptop bag on the back seat.

I heard this roaring sound of a car’s engine.

I turned back and saw this old model Suzuki Fx approaching the intersection in a flash. Crossed the intersection and vanished in to the night with speed so fast that It scared me for their or somebody else’s safety.

I stood still for some seconds feeling mixed emotions of anger and fear. It was likely that their careless driving might result into a collision with some other vehicle which surely would turn fatal.

But then it struck me “They must be running away after committing a crime”.

I was off duty and this wasn’t my jurisdiction. Tough day’s work had worn me out and I really wanted to get home and go to bed. But this driver’s utterly careless driving and this suspicion of them being criminals gave me a quick boost to do something about it.

I quickly made couple of phone calls and managed to warn a Police picket couple of miles ahead on this very road, told them to completely block the road and look for this old model Suzuki in black color. They acknowledged.

Instead of going home in my cab, curiosity took me to that very Picket to see if they’re stopped. I felt this strange energy and pride that I am doing something positive. Regardless of being off duty, I am striving to protect and serve the crap out of my city while they’re asleep. I won’t lie, it felt good.

I reached there and saw 3 persons who rode in that car were stopped on the picket and were being questioned. They were searched thoroughly along with their vehicle. Nothing illegal was found. They were not drunk either. All three were college students without a driving license and registration book.

Driver was acting quite confidently since we couldn’t find firearms or alcohol. To him, that must have been a minimum legitimate excuse to get in trouble with the law.

He spoke in a loud and rude tone “See? We are clean. Now let us go otherwise I am making a phone call. My uncle is blah blah blah”.

I looked at that young lad with disappointment. I wasn’t angry as such public behavior isn’t rare. No way was I going to let them take off in their “super cruiser” of a car.

What they didn’t know was that careless and hoon driving is a punishable offence which can lead to jail time. Having no registration book can result in seizure of vehicle until a Judge directs us to let it go after verification.

Tell you what. Why don’t you call that uncle of yours since you’ve got no IDs, we need to verify your background. And there is no way this vehicle is taking you anywhere. We are taking it in possession. Also it is to be determined if you should be booked for careless driving.

What?

You heard me.

A police mobile van was called and they were escorted to the nearest Police station. I left for home.

Later I learnt that car was seized and remained in the Police compound for a week as such legal procedures can be time consuming. But those teenagers were let go with a warning. Their parents came to the Police station late at night and assured “this won’t happen again”. Especially the driver’s dad was quite furious and felt free to spank his son’s bottom, or so I heard.

Somebody might think, I acted over grudge or something like that. No, I have nothing personal against him or anybody else. I did not hate that kid, but his careless driving seriously concerned me for his and other’s safety.

I hope he doesn’t drive again the way I saw him.

“48 Oyster Girl” Is Going Viral for This NIGHTMARE Date

Has anyone surprised you after their death, e.g. receiving an organ from a donor, a sizeable inheritance, or a visit from a friendly ghost?

Originally Answered: Has anyone surprised you after their death?

My brother did for me. I’m the youngest of 3 and my brother was the oldest. There were 8 years difference in our ages. We did not have the tightest of brotherly relationships when we were growing up or even when we were adults. I always felt that he was a bit cold, and as I was the only one in my family to have children, he remained a bit “distant”. I didn’t understand until after he died that it was just “his way”.

My brother was a bit “demanding” when he was home with family, yet he always was extremely tolerant of my son who has Down Syndrome. I just felt like “we” (my family, mostly my children) weren’t that close or important to him. I found out (much to my very surprise) after he died that just wasn’t true.

My brother was a video editor for the government (I don’t want to give to many details as it was military related). Upon his very sudden and tragic death, the owner of the contracting company gave me his personal belonging. One was a picture of Larry in front of his work station, a very complex video editing bay.

What caught my eye and threw me for a very big loop was a picture of both my daughter and son on his bay. It wasn’t just that there were pictures, but it was the most recent pictures my wife had sent him. We figured he never did anything with them. Then, at his funeral, which was attended by many military officers and civilians, so many of them came up to me (as I did his eulogy they all knew who I was), and asked me “we see your daughter, but where is Michael (my son)?” (We had left him home as it was just “easier” at the time). I was shocked. They all knew all these details about my kids. They all told me that my brother constantly talked about them.

I have to tell you that many times I broke down after this privately and cried. I never had any idea that he felt that close to my children. He had such a hard way about him that we just didn’t have that type of relationship. It was at that very moment that I realized just how much I lost in his passing.

I always knew my brother was a good person. He always worked, even in tough times, always was saving cats (he loved dogs, but as an apartment dweller they were not allowed). He always paid his taxes. He was just a good person.

It took his tragic passing for me to learn what he was really about. I miss him every day and have his editing clock in my office to always remind me of his presence in our family and my life.

Hum. I suggest that he should check the paternity of his children. This is far too weird. -MM

Man Discovers Fiancée Is Cheating/Committing Fraud On OnlyFans, So He Has Her Arrested By The FBI

Shorpy

Seared Scallop Cavatappi in Creamy White Wine Sauce

Seared Scallop Cavatappi in Creamy White Wine Sauce takes only 20 minutes to make and is full of nutrients, this decadent scallop cavatappi dish only feels like a splurge. We love it for dinner parties and special nights in.

Yield: 4 servings

Ingredients

4 ounces cavatappi
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
1 pound fennel, white part only, thinly sliced
20 each “dry” sea scallops
Salt and pepper
1/4 cup finely chopped shallots
1/2 cup white wine
1/4 cups heavy cream
3 tablespoons finely chopped dill

Instructions

Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil.
Cook the cavatappi according to package directions. Drain and reserve.
Heat a large sauté pan over medium heat. Add 1 tablespoon of the oil.
Add the fennel and season with salt and pepper. Cook, allowing the fennel to caramelize on one side, about 3 minutes before flipping and doing the same on the second side. It should be caramelized on the outside and soft on the inside when pierced with a knife.
Remove from pan.
Add the remaining 1 tablespoon of oil to the pan. Increase heat to high.
Season the scallops with salt and pepper.
Place them in the pan in a single layer. If they don’t fit, do them in 2 batches. Do not overcrowd the pan.
Allow scallops to brown on one side (about 1 minute) then flip and brown the second side.
Remove from pan.
Add the shallots to the pan and cook until aromatic (about 30 seconds).
Deglaze the pan with the white wine. Cook down just to take the away the raw alcohol flavor (about 1 minute).
Add the cream and cook another minute.
Stir in the dill.
Taste and adjust the seasoning.
Add the pasta and fennel to heat through.
For each serving, divide the pasta between 4 bowls.
Place 5 scallops on each plate.

Attribution

Recipe and photo used with permission from: National Pasta Association

20 And Back – The Super Soldiers Defending the Kuiper Belt

You might be surprised at the changes that can hit you unexpectedly

When I was living in Erie, PA during my “parole” portion of my incarceration, I spent it at numerous facilities.

First with my father, and then at a monastery, and then finally at a half-way house. It’s all part of a program of reintegration with society.

Managed, of course, by the Parole branch of the local department of corrections.

They were pretty decent to me.

During the time at the “half way house” I shared a house with four other men. We each had a room, and maintained the house as part of a program.

We all had issues. One of the guys; a man named Mark was reintegrating from a lifetime of drugs. Another was Dave; who was dealing with mental issues stemming from a brain tumor. And there were others.

Each of us were unique. One guy was a bank robber who messed up really BIG TIME. Another was a young kid in his early 20’s who was just “losing it” because of a mental illness that he had.

*sigh*

We all worked a late night shift cleaning the local YMCA. We started at 9pm and came home at 4am. I led the crew because I was “responsible” and also because I had a drivers license.

Ah. It’s not the best life, but you get used to it. Low pay and hidden from sight. Just like everyone wanted.

So during the night we would scrub toilets mop floors and all the rest.

Shot of an unrecognizable man mopping the office floor

It’s what you might expect. Personally, I didn’t mind it. There was a calmness to mopping the floors in a big empty building late at night.

Ah. The snow would be falling outside. And I would just mop away. No one would bother me. First mop was to clean. Second mop was to rinse. It was simple and fine.

Anyways, Mark had a dog named Buddy, and this dog was a typical dog. I can’t say anything too bad about him. He was a beagle that was abandoned at the Humane Society.

Beagle,Standing.,Beagles.,Beagle,Breed.,6,Group,Fci.,Hunting,Dog.

I well remember once, It’s 4am, I just got home. I took off my shoes to get into bed and squish…

I turned on the light.

Buddy had broke into my room. He shit all over it.

He must of ate some that disagreed with him and shit was everywhere. In a panic, he tried to cover it up by knocking things off the desk and vanity; my books, papers and computer on top of the oozy piles of stinky shit.

I was pretty angry.

It took me until 5am, maybe 6am to sort everything out. And then, well a new day started.

Ah. Life happens.

So does shit.

You might be surprised at the changes that can hit you unexpectedly. You see guys, I hope you see… my life has been an ADVENTURE. And this is what my soul was trying to tell me as I entered my new baby body. THis life was going to be a real adventure…

… as I write this from my house in China and my daughter and wife are sleeping in the other room. An adventure.

Today…

Why is Russia living in the past with wars with neighboring countries?

Because Europe never did something which the Chinese did under Qinshihuang Di more than 2,000 years ago: conquer all the small kingdoms which formed China, kill all the royal families, and unify the language and measuring units.

The Qin dynasty was followed by the Han dynasty which built up a national bureaucracy which ruled the empire for 2,000+ years, and continues to rule China in its modern version, which is called the Communist Party of China.

The Han dynasty was milder than the Qin dynasty mainly because the Qin dynasty had already done most of the necessary killing to rule.

How does this relate to Russia and its neighbors?

Central and Eastern Europe is a clusterf**k of small- and middle-sized nations who generally hate each other for historical, cultural, linguistic, social and religious regions.

In order to maintain political influence in Europe, the U.S. has inflamed these hatreds because it gives the reason to keep a presence in Europe. Right now, most hate Russia, so now the US uses the umbrella of NATO to maintain its European presence. Without a strong European presence, the US would be largely confined to North America, and could no longer be considered a global power.

The USSR kept many of these countries from fighting each other with the Soviet socialist republics (including Ukraine) and the Warsaw Pact alliance, which disbanded after the collapse of the USSR. With the collapse of the USSR, all of the nationalist hatreds which had previously been suppressed broke out into the open.

It has been very much in US interests to frame Russia and Putin as the aggressor and instigator of all these troubles because this provides justification for the US presence and intervention.

IMO, all of central Europe should be either under German or Russian control; it would make things much easier if the local leaders were killed off in the same way Qinshihuang Di did in China. Eventually, Europe could be a grown-up region doing grown-up things, and taking care of its own defense.

Maybe…

Ordinary Cat Invades Fashion Show, Then It Does The UNTHINKABLE!

Reality

Poland and Belarus

Was anyone 1,000 years ago as smart as someone with average intelligence today?

I was teaching a science class in the Australian desert and the class was quietly working (it was a nice class). I looked out the window and I commented to no one in particular, “Looks like there will be a cyclone next week.”
The students mostly started laughing and one piped up “The national meteorologists said that the low would pass by without any problem.”

But there was a part of the class that did not object to my announcement… the local indigenous people. Instead they asked, “How do you [of European descent] know what our elders know?”
I smiled and pointed out the window, “The wind has changed to go in the opposite direction, the clouds have moved north instead of south, and the corellas (a small cockatoo) have all left town and gone to shelter in Karijini (local mountain range).”
The indigenous students were impressed and everyone else thought I was an idiot… at least they did until the cyclone hit the next week and flooded all the roads out of town.

The lesson here is that intelligence is not about knowledge gained through complex technology such as that used by meteorologists. Satellites, pressure gauges, wind charts—all of that is just data. True intelligence comes from an ability to assess the data and make a reasonable determination.
I made a reasonable determination based upon observational data … data indigenous people had been using for 50,000 years with success.

Ancient peoples used their intelligence to determine weather patterns, judge hunting techniques, and plan for the future year. They did all this without satellites or computers. Are modern people more intelligent than those before them?

No, we are not.

Ancient peoples can hold their head high … for they are intelligent and wise. Only an idiot would think otherwise.

Santa Fe Style Steak

Ingredients

1/2 cup Heinz 57 Sauce
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 1/2 teaspoons chili powder
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
4 beef steaks (for grilling)

Instructions

Combine all ingredients except steak; reserve 1/4 cup for dipping cooked steaks. Brush steaks with sauce mixture.
Grill to desired doneness, about 14 to 18 minutes for 1 inch thick steaks, turning once and brushing with sauce.

God's Rainbow - Noahic Covenant

American voter…

What was a red flag that made you stop talking to a person immediately?

I was at a local bar with some friends.

One of my friends wanted to smoke, but since smoking is forbidden indoors in Germany, we decided to join him outside. We were standing in a circle and happily chatting away, when someone said something which made me laugh out loudly.

Some random bloke was standing a few meters away from us, smoking and drinking a beer from a heavy clay mug. While I was laughing, he walked directly towards me and harshly asked what we were laughing about. I told him “nothing really, we’re just chatting and having fun.” He kept on moving uncomfortably close towards me, not satisfied with my answer, clearly thinking we’d made fun of him.

I wasn’t very intimidated by him since he was only about 1,65m tall and I was in decent physical shape. I stood my ground and was about to answer with an actual derogatory remark aimed at his intelligence. Both female friends who were present, started tucking at my shirt heavily, urging me to go back inside. I begrudgingly gave in.

What I hadn’t seen (and couldn’t see because he was so close), but they had noticed: while moving closer he had changed the position of the clay mug in his hand, ready to swing it at my head.

There were many a few red flags I should have noticed, but I was being arrogant due to his size and me being slightly intoxicated.

The final red flag, which I chose not to ignore, was my friends pulling me away.

What’s the most expensive thing you’ve gotten for an insanely cheap price?

I really should check with a landscaping company before bragging on this, but it’s too late on a Saturday. I got a 30,000 pound rock for only $75.

Every day for maybe a month, on my way to work, I rode my bicycle past a humongous big boulder that rested in a waste area along the border where my city was renovating and expanding the downtown Civic Center. I finally couldn’t stand it any longer so I hunted down the site foreman and asked, “What’s a deal with the big rock.?”

—”Oh, that. That damn thing is getting in the way. We’re going to have to move it pretty soon.”

“Can I buy it.?

Pause.

“Delivered.?’ I asked. “I live two blocks west from here. And, um, four blocks north. No, make that five blocks north; and then a U-turn into the alley; and then south down to the opposite end where I am. You have to approach my house from the north. The southside of the alley is a grandfathered-in illegally steep grade that can’t be fixed; I’ve asked. Nobody, literally, nobody enters my alley from the south end traveling north.”

“Yeah, sure.” More thinking. “$75.”

I know that rock weighs 30,000 pounds because that is the upper-limit payload that the construction company’s biggest on-site front-loader was rated for. The driver who delivered said that he had to go slow because throughout the entire trip, every time he rode over a bump or expansion crack he could feel the rear end of the front-loader lift off the road. Like a baby seesaw.

The driver and I laughed about it. I gave him a $20 dollar tip.

p.s. Around here, field stone is pretty much free from the surrounding farm fields. But you have to pick it and transport it yourself. The expense when you buy bigly landscaping rocks is really mostly for transporting them. Rocks are heavy. 😀

Being a father be like…

Why didn’t Sears adapt?

I led a small marketing team at Sears briefly in 2015. The experience was so terrible that I quit ~5 months into the role (at great financial cost) and was so depressed that I took the same amount of time off to stop hating myself for ever getting involved.

Almost every person I worked with at Sears—from division presidents to middle managers to the janitorial staff—truly believed that Sears still deserved to be a leading American brand, and that the rest of the country just hadn’t figured that out yet. Things I heard all the time from people at Sears corporate:

Customers are being unfair.
Customers should just give us a chance.
We’re just as good as anyone else.
Competitors don’t have anything we don’t have.
Amazon is cheating, they should be illegal.
Vendors are taking unfair advantage of us.
If customers just knew what we knew, they would come back.

I think this bizarre cognitive dissonance is the single largest driver of Sears’ failure. Sears waited for someone, anyone else to notice that the world isn’t working the way it should (as evidenced by their unjust decline). A significant chunk of the people I worked with at Sears had been with the company for more than ten years, and they held this attitude despite years of no compensation changes and benefits like 401k match disappearing. They kept this attitude as they bought SHLD shares at a slight discount through the employee stock purchase program (for roughly $25/share in 2015, worth $0.45 or so today). They maintained this attitude as they paid $1.25 per cup of drip coffee every morning (that they made themselves, via keurig, in the employee break room).

This was particularly frustrating for me as a B2B marketer. Business customers won’t hesitate to ask hard questions like “how will all the news about your trouble with creditors impact your ability to fulfill my orders?” and they expect real answers. If your value proposition boils down to “we promise we’re just as good as our competitors,” why should anyone care that you exist?

Recalling ALL of the RED FLAGS of Ladies Night

My landlord is evicting me because I’m 2 years late on rent. How do I tell him I’m not leaving no matter what?

I had a young, man who was a tenant. He and his GF decided to stop paying rent. They were also dealing heroin and fentanyl from the property. We found a lawyer who walked us through the procedure for eviction. We went to court and this fellow who normally walked around in dreadlocks and baggy sweatpants in a “sagging” style, showed up to court in a suit and tie.

He cited deficiencies in the apartment, my attorney cited the lease and the signed, pre-move-in inspection. He cited that he was jobless. My attorney cited that he paid me in cash up until the time he decided to quit paying. Another issue from the tenant, another rebuttal from my attorney.

At the end of the hearing, the judge gave him 60 days to move out. At the end of the 60 days, his parents showed up and under the watchful eye of the sheriff’s deputy, they removed his junk and cursed me and my wife and told the deputy how unfair it was to kick him out.

After leaving his trash and the pile of ratty furniture on the curb, I inspected the property with the deputy. I changed the locks and barred the windows. I hired a cleanup crew who specialized in cleaning potentially drug-laced areas. I repainted, fumigated and cleaned with bleach and fungicide. I placed a lien on his parents who cosigned his lease, I sued him in court and won and a lien was placed on his future earnings, I filed a credit report so he will not be able to gain credit until the debt is paid.

So go ahead and tell your landlord you are not paying and not moving. Enjoy court and a move-out under the watchful eye of the sheriff.

When did you first realize your child was different?

I first suspected the day after he was born. He was alert and looking around. Yes, I know they can’t focus their eyes but this kid was staring right at me. I felt he was staring through me. I told my wife it was like a sentient being was staring at me from behind those eyes.

At two weeks he would hold his head up to get a better view.

I was song leader at church and during service sat on the platform next to the pastor when something else was going on. My wife sat on the front row holding the baby. At six months he noticed me on the platform and mouthed “Hi, Pop” to me as clearly as day. The pastor noticed and whispered “He said ‘Hi, Pop.’” I nodded in agreement.

I started to write that he began walking at 9 months. In fact, he hit the floor running and has never slowed down.

His older brother and sister are smart and smarter. They both swear that he is smarter than either of them. Unfortunately he was diagnosed late with ADHD. He found it very hard to focus on boring things and developed bad study habits. He attempted college twice but never took to book learning. He drives a truck for a living. He also plays ukulele, recorder, and bass guitar. He juggles, makes glass marbles, roasts and grinds his own coffee brand, yo-yoes competitively, and is a former state spin top champion. He sews costumes for himself and his kids. He can also wire a house, rebuild a car engine, and create graphic art.

Oh, and he is 6 feet 4 inches (1.9m) tall and 240 pounds (108kg) of solid muscle. Best of all, he is still my sweet,tender-hearted, little boy.

FAB-3000 Bomb Blows Up a Cafe Building Along With NATO and Ukrainian Officers┃AFU Lost UROZHAINE

People who grew up poor and are now in a higher social class, what are the biggest or most surprising differences you’ve noticed?

I’m going to go in the opposite direction. While a number of the answers that talk about better food and vacations not being a thing are absolutely right, the biggest difference to me is how I view setbacks.

When I was 20 and managed to get a car I made the mistake one night of parking in a place I shouldn’t have. My car got towed. It cost $125 to get it out. I didn’t have it. In fact, getting $125 for myself back then was so hard that I had to wait a week just to put it together.

Well, anyone that’s been towed knows, they charge you by the day when you leave your car there. By the time I had $125 the cost went up to $200. I was distraught, disheartened and certainly didn’t have that. I learned to appreciate having to walk everywhere, although I was incredibly frustrated ( luckily I lived in a city) since it made getting to work a major hassle. To this day I have gratitude to that tow lady, because she saw my reaction and waived the fees bringing the price back to $125 and gave me my car back. Kindness goes a long way, she really helped me out back then.

Anyways, fast forward almost 10 years.

Made a mistake, parked in a place that I shouldn’t have and my car got towed. It cost $285 to get it out (I live in a much more expensive city). I gave a sigh and a shrug and paid it instantly without thinking about it. While I was mad for making the mistake and having paid nearly $300, it didn’t phase me outside of that.

That is the difference.

If you have a setback when you’re poor it can destroy you. Seriously. I’ve watched my parents have setbacks and it put us, as a family, through some awful times. Recently my mom had a $2000 set back. I paid it the next day. Had I still been a kid, that same $2000 would have hurt us for months if not a year after.

When you have even just a little bit of money as an emergency fund, it makes a world of difference. Getting towed, accidents, small medical emergencies, getting sick and having to miss work for 2 or 3 days, missing your flight or train and having to buy a new ticket…

Setbacks, become so much easier to deal with.

Did you ever accidentally overhear a conversation about you on a conference call?

*Yes I did and it helped me make a big decision.*

I was pastor of a church and I had a leadership team of men who were mostly older than me. I was a young pastor and this was my first big church, having only run a smaller one before. My team were good guys but they didn’t know how to handle a young firebrand with a strong personality and ideas for change and innovation.

Some of the members tried to control me and make me into their idea of what they wanted from a leader, which is never going to work.

One day I was sitting in my church office and my phone rang. One of the team who was trying to control me had pocket dialled me and he was driving somewhere and had another team member in the car with him. They were talking about me.

They were discussing my flaws and how they wished I would just change and be what they wanted. There was no celebrating my abilities, just gossip about my inabilities. As a young man this was quite soul destroying. I did contact the one who make the pocket call and said that next time he gossips about me he needs to make sure he hasn’t just called me so I can hear it all. He tried to defend himself and say he was trying to be helpful discussing these things, but it helped me in other ways.

My wife and I had been contemplating emigrating and taking on a new challenge in a new culture, and this pushed us closer to the decision which we eventually made a few months later..

What was one expectation you had for boot camp that did not come true?

I was in boot camp beginning in April of 1975. I went to Great Lakes Naval Boot Camp outside of Chicago. I expected what I’d seen in movies. It was a very different experience.

Our Company Commander, Chief Seal, was taking his last company of recruits through their basic training before retirement. It was a very relaxed environment without tons of yelling and screaming and millions of push-ups and group punishment.

I found out later, through reliable sources, that the reason Chief Seal was much more lenient had to do with the previous company he took through basic. There were 2 suicide attempts and several attempts of recruits being AWOL. The one that got to him was a young man he sent to the brig after a minor violation. It was something that could have been handled differently. Once in the brig, this young man, who was from Midland, MI, was abused by the Marine Handlers who were in charge. This was nothing unusual. It’s what Marines do. Unfortunately, during one of the punishment episodes, the young man died. In an attempt to cover up what had happened, 4 Marines took the young mans body and placed it across the railroad tracks that ran outside of the base. Later he was struck by train. During the investigation, something didn’t sit right with the investigators. Something about body placement. Four Marines were arrested, went to court martial, and were found guilty of murder and covering up what had happened. This whole episode weighed heavily on Chief Seal and he vowed he wouldn’t be that hard on his next, and last, group of recruits. The reason it was his last group was “political pressure” (for want of a better name) from higher in the chain of command. He was allowed to stay in service, providing he put in for retirement.

Overall my Boot Camp experience was better than others I heard about at the same base.

How Attractive

What were the worst two minutes of your life?

At age 37, I had my first baby via emergency C-section, after an 83-hour labour.

When I got pregnant again at 39, I had

A scar on my uterus
A large fetus with a head size off the chart (literally off the chart: the little red dot was printed beyond the end of the line)
A fetus in an extended breach position, little bum at the bottom, big head at the top, legs straight up in front of her body (must have been so uncomfortable!)

So halfway through my pregnancy I was scheduled for an elective C-section as trying for a vaginal birth sounded like a disaster waiting to happen. Good plan!

On the day, after all the starving and prep, I was taken into theatre, and the doctor decided to check the baby’s position with one last ultrasound. She said “if the baby has flipped, I am not doing it.”

(Lady, she hasn’t had space to flip for the last three months, what are you on? Also, way to jump it on me NOW!)

Anyway, the baby hadn’t flipped, so let’s chop. At this point, perhaps due to all the poking, the baby twisted a quarter turn, so that instead of facing sideways, she was now facing towards my back. More importantly, her legs were now underneath her body.

So the doctor was rummaging around, trying to find some part of the baby to grab onto. No luck.

Let’s make the cut bigger.

Rummage.

Bigger.

Rummage.

At this point the uterus decided “Yeah, I am done, stop bothering me, I will just go and contract back to the size of a pear, shall I.”

On the baby’s head.

All I could see was two people finally grabbing two tiny ankles and dragging with all their might. There was silence.

Then everyone rushed to a distant corner of the room and the anaesthesiologist’s assistant, who had stayed with me, said in a weak voice: “She will be OK…”

The two minutes contemplating how to tell my toddler that her new baby sister was not coming home… I sincerely hope I will never have another two minutes like that.

P.S.: Yeah, this was 14 years ago, that baby now wants to be a neurobiologist, she is learning five languages and plays the harp.

‘I Can’t Believe You Have Been Nominated!’: Hawley Goes Nuclear On Nom Over Writings About Gender

How old were you when you first went to prison? What was your sentence and what was your crime?

Boy do I have a story for you. I was 57 when I was sentenced to 24 months in federal prison for selling a firearm to a felon. I had owned my own gun shop for 25 years prior to that, was working as a shift manager at the local casino, and had been retired from the state prison system for 15 years when I left I was the director of operations. I had no prior criminal history never been arrested and was a model citizen.

Why did I go to prison? Because I sold a gun to a woman at a gun show ( a small .22 caliber pistol) did the background check (she lied on the form) and when the ATF went to arrest her for felon in possession, and falsifying federal documents, she made some kind of deal to get me. ATF revoked my federal gun license, arrested me, my wife, and my daughter who worked at the store, and charged us all with the selling of the firearm, conspiracy, and providing material false statements to federal agents.( My wife and daughter were not even at the gun show) I had to hire a lawyer for each of us 50k and we were released on pre trial detention had to take urine tests weekly and were on kind of parole, couldn’t leave the state etc..

My lawyer was the best in the state and told me the charges were bull shit and I had a 95 % chance of beating them at trial, however if we lost we would all go to prison for at least 5 years. The prosecutor and ATF AGENT wanted me to go to prison for 10 years and pay $100,000 dollars in fines. I couldn’t risk my family going to prison so my lawyer made a deal with the feds and the charges were dropped against my daughter and wife after I plead guilty. I was sentenced to 24 months and paid 10,000$

The prosecutor claimed victory, I lost my job, my store and my dignity, but the feds got a non dangerous person off the streets and everyone made a ton of money all in the name of “Operation safe streets” lucky my state retirement benefits couldn’t be touched by the feds but they did take all the store inventory, we were literally close to being homeless, I am now a felon, on 3 year supervised release after doing 14 months in federal prison and 6 months in a halfway house. The entire process cost you the taxpayer to prosecute, house, medical care, supervision, and the the rest a cool half million bucks! Congratulations ATF and federal prosecutors for keeping our streets safe.

NATO summit, funeral to circus

The grift has taken over all the “leadership” of Europe. Brilliant analysis.

As a waiter/waitress, how would you describe the behavior of the worst type of diner, and what would the tip be?

I’m not a waiter/waitress, but I recently witnessed this behavior at a casino.

For those who haven’t been to one, there’s waitresses who roam about and will bring you alcoholic beverages (sometimes for a price, sometimes for free so long as you’re gambling) or else water/soft drinks (nearly always for free). The idea is to keep you behind the machine and feeding it money.

Some casinos have a “loyalty program” in which you sign up, get a plastic card, and if you gamble enough you rack up points and get free stuff. Sometimes the free stuff is money – maybe $10 or $15 – but the money is put on your card and cannot be redeemed for actual cash. That money has to be used to play slots.

So the guy sitting next to me orders a drink. Usually you tip the waitress a couple of bucks. But this guy? When she brings his drink, he points to his card and says “If you can figure out how to get $2 in cash off the card, that will be your tip.” Of course, both he and the waitress know that you can’t convert the card money into cash. So not only was he not tipping her, he was rubbing her nose in it.

Second worst behavior in a diner. There’s a party of 3–4 and the waitress comes out to bring beverages. One of the guys puts five singles on the table. He tells her “That’s your tip. Every time you screw something up, I’m going to take away one of those dollars.” The waitress became enraged and told him and his buddies to get the hell out. I thought, “Good for her.”

Reacting To Biden’s Dangerous NATO Speech

A historical disaster.

As a criminal defense lawyer, what was the most embarrassing surprise evidence against your client at trial?

Man oh man I made a blunder once. I learned from it and never let it happen again.

The most embarrassing surprise evidence against my client at trial was: MY CLIENT!

I had a drunk driving case. The evidence against my client was tough but not insurmountable. I got to know my client pretty well prior to trial. He was seemingly outstanding. A well-spoken intelligent gentleman, a war hero. He even worked at the time of the incident taking care of the elderly. He hobbied in photography and had rushed to ground zero on 911 shortly after the towers had fallen. The pictures he took ended up on the front page on newspapers around the world.

He had left a bar in New Bedford driving his brand new four-wheel drive SUV. On the way home, he wanted to show off to his buddy/passenger the vehicle’s capabilities and turned and drove over the grass and dirt median and onto his driveway. The blue lights went on. Field sobriety tests conducted. Not bad not good. He admitted he had the proverbial “2 beers” etc. bloodshot eyes, odor of alcohol, etc., etc. No Breathalyzer Test. Two police officers on the witness list to testify against him etc.

I felt the trial would most likely go in our favor. But I had such confidence in my client being the Ace in the hole that I made the BIG mistake of promising the jury in my opening he would testify. This was a big mistake for two reasons. 1. The officers surprisingly maybe even intentionally did AWFUL on the stand. It was a seeming slam dunk Not Guilty for us.

We broke for lunch after the prosecution rested. My client was dying to testify. I was apprehensive from the get-go during lunch. Why let him testify when we seemingly had it in the bag? But I had enthusiastically promised the jury he’d tell his side of the story, and he was persistent about having his say in court. So 2. (My other mistake): I relented.

He took the stand and immediately turned from Dr Jeckyll into Mr Hyde and then some. And THIS WAS DURING DIRECT EXAMINATION with me tossing softball questions to him. During cross-examination he became downright damn belligerent:

“Sir you said you only had 2 beers is that correct?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said. But you know. Maybe it was 3. Maybe it was one. But you know what? What the F business is it of yours how many damn beers I had?”

Yikes. It got worse from there if you can believe it. He, (we) snatched defeat from the jaws of victory. The jury came back guilty in 45 minutes.

I never ever again promised a jury they’d hear from my client. And I never ever put a client on the stand until I actually took the client to an empty courtroom before the trial date and put the client on the stand and practised both direct and cross on them myself.

lesson learned the hard way. Call it a trial by error.

Why did Radio Shack close down, and what took its place?

Originally Answered: Why did Radio Shack close down, and what took it’s place?

Nothing took it’s place, unless you consider the internet.

Radio Shacks failure was due to the inability to adapt. I worked for “The Shack” from 2004 to 2010 and spent 4 years as a store manager, running 2 different stores. Although I was not with Radio Shack at the end I saw the writing on the wall long before I left the company to open my own business. During this time I watched the upper management fall like a house of cards. There were three CEO’s and only one of them seemed like they had any idea how to turn the company around and that person was only an interim CEO until they could hire someone else.

Radio Shack’s ultimate down fall was they neglected the product lines and customers that had built the company. Radio Shack started by selling radios and other equipment to the amature ham rado operators. This was a thriving business from the 1920’s through the 1940’s when the were just a small company operating only a few stores in the northeast. In the 1950’s televisions were driving customers into the stores. Then in the 60’s and 70’s CB radios became the thing to have and Radio Shack was leading the industry. By the late 70’s and early 80’s sales shifted to high fi audio. Then in the mid 80’s Radio Shack hit a home run with one of the very first affordable home computers the TRS 80. In the 80’s Radio Shack was the place to go if you needed a computer or any accessories. That’s difficult to think of today but it was such a huge market Radio Shack opened several locations that were nothing but computer stores. This continued through the mid to late 90’s. High fi and computers were the primary products in the stores, but there was this one little product that was kept in the display case, often ignored and only sold to the occasional customer who had very deep pockets. These were the first cell phones.

I started working at the Shack at in interesting time, in an interesting location. In the late 90’s and early 2000’s the cell phone industry was booming. Cell phone companies were offering huge subsidies on their products to get customers to sign up for a plan. This is why cell phones cost next to nothing. You could get an average cell phone for anywhere from free to $20. However what the customer didn’t know is the cell companies were subsidizing each phone and paying Radio Shack the full retail price. So the phone might actually cost $300 to $400 and whatever the customer didn’t pay, the carrier did. Many stores were selling between 10 to 20 phones every day. At an average of $350 for each phone, the stores were raking in some serious cash and the customer was paying almost nothing. The carriers of course made that back by locking the customer in to a 2 year contract where a portion of their bill each month went to pay off the subsidy. Also Radio Shack got a small portion of the customers bill each month. This was a great deal as long as people were activating a new cell phone with a new phone number, and that was their achilles heal.

Around 2004–05, the cell phone market in my area became saturated. This meant 80% of all customers who could own a cell phone did. The only people who were still activating new phones were the elderly and the kids who had just turned 18 and were now able to sign a contract. So instead of new phone activations, the stores were doing more upgrades, (i.e. replacing an older phone with a newer model.) The carriers didn’t like this as much and didn’t pay the full subsidy. Often this required the customer to pay more. A phone that may have cost between $0 and $20 for a new activation, may cost $50 to $200 for the upgrade. The customers didn’t like this for obvious reasons and would often go elsewhere where they could get a better deal (WalMart). As the market became saturated cell phone sales started to decline. I got wind of a conference call between the execs in Fort Worth who were asking the Atlanta District Managers “What’s going on in Atlanta?” Over the next several months the same pattern started appearing in other large cities.

Due to this Radio Shack doubled down on it’s cell phone business. The stores were remodeled and all cell phones were moved to the front and center. The customers had to walk through a gauntlet of phones before they could find that 60 cent resistor in the back of the store. Every Sunday’s ad had cell phones on the front and center, each week a new phone was featured as a great new deal, etc, etc. Now the primary metric for evaluating a stores performance was based on the number of phone activations each store was doing each day. It didn’t matter if the store sold $5000 in a single day on non cell phone products, if they were not activating phones there was a problem and staff just wasn’t doing a good enough job qualifying the customers to sell them a phone. A typical store was expected to have between a 10 and 15 hit rate, this means for every 10 to 15 transactions completed one of them should have been a cellular phone. This resulted in some interesting “strategies and techniques” that were introduced to better train and motivate the sales staff. Unfortunately once these techniques reached the sales staff they were pretty much ignored. It was like the generals in World War 1 who had never been to the front lines giving orders for the troops to charge the machine gun nest, but couldn’t figure out why all the soldiers kept getting killed.

The sales staff knew what the problems were and I personally witnessed many associates and managers attempt to bring these concerns to the upper management. The result was often a review of their pay check or for the manager’s the monthly P&L to see what was wrong. Associates and managers were told they can voice their concerns when they fixed their numbers. 99% of the time it had something to do with too few cell phone activations.

I personally was singled out on a particular weekend when the company decided to have a major push and was able to reduce the price of the Motorola Razor or RAZR phone (Remember those) to $20 with both a new activation or an upgrade. We had a conference call that Friday morning and everyone was supposed to motivate their staff and let every customer know about this great deal on the RAZR. Around 4:00pm my cell phone sales were at a grand total of zero and the rest of my sales was looking pretty dismal as well. I got a call with both my district and regional managers on the line who wanted to know what was going on and why we were not selling these RAZR’s unlike all the other stores in the district? My reply, “Well with all due respect gentleman, It’s kind of hard to compete with the WalMart having its grand opening down the street and giving the same phones away for free.” At the end of the day I believe I had just cleared $1000. The rest of that weekend was about the same. The only phones we sold were the little free ones and no RAZRs. It took some time but my district manager finally had to agree that my situation was unique and I was let off the hook.

The cell phone carriers were also looking out for themselves. In order to get a cell phone the customer had to qualify and that was based on their credit report. If the customers credit was low they had to pay a deposit. It didn’t matter if the customer got the phone from Radio Shack or elsewhere, the deposit was still required as it was set by the provider. Well the providers could be finicky. It was not uncommon for the providers to change their minimum requirements to qualify for a phone. So a customer who had a 500 credit score, might require a $400 deposit one day and the next $0. If the carrier wanted to activate more phones, they would relax the requirements. If they wanted to be cautious they would increase them. Radio Shack had no control over this but because Radio Shack was putting all of it’s eggs in one basket an unannounced change in credit requirements could impact the entire company’s bottom line, and it did.

Another issue was something that was started by Charles Tandy when he bought the company. In Mr. Tandy’s day this was a great concept but by the 2000’s it was outdated. Mr. Tandy felt he could deliver a better product, at a better price and make more profit if he could control the supply chain, thus he created several brands that were exclusive to Radio Shack, Realistic, Archer, Enercell, to name a few. This practice and was still there when I was an employee and leading to decreasing sales. For example the Apple Ipod was a very popular product at the time. Unfortunately Radio Shack could not buy enough inventory from Apple to properly stock their stores to meet demands. So what did they do, they created their own unique MP3 player sold only at Radio Shack to compete with Apple. Why pay $300 for an Ipod when you can get this MP3 player for $60? It will play all the same music and the controls are only a little bit confusing and you can’t read the screen, but it will do everything an Ipod will do. Oh would you like to buy the Radio Shack headphones to go with that? Again the generals at the rear didn’t get it. We just didn’t have the products the customer wanted. This is why Radio Shack became irrelevant.

Many of the long time customers who had kept Radio Shack in business stopped shopping there. The company was so cell phone centric, that the associates were never trained on how to sell the other products in the store. They were never taught the little things that customers would come in for, i.e. knowing how to read the colored stripes on resisters, knowing how to calculate wattage for a power supply, or even what the different cables for a hooking up a DVD player could do. All their training went to techniques in order to qualify customers for a new cell phone activation. If someone came in needing a specific part or had a technical problem that required someone with real knowledge, that was to bad, but the associates would be happy to check your eligibility to upgrade your cellular phone. This of course upset and outraged the once loyal base of customers and they just stopped shopping there. Around 2012 I remember many late night talk show host and comedians asking “Can you remember the last time you were in a Radio Shack?”. And that was considered a funny joke.

At the end the upper management finally woke up and realized they could not continue the way they were and in order to survive they would have to start closing stores. However one of the major investors had a contract that prohibited them from closing more than 200 stores a year. With over 5000 locations nationwide, closing 200 stores was not going to be enough to make a difference. This set up Radio Shack for a buyout and that is what happened. After 2 bankruptcies Radio Shack shut down and is now only a website and a few small stores that are privately owned.

Radio Shack missed many opportunities in the 1990’s and 2000’s that could have turned the company around. If they kept the focus on what got them to where they were they would still be here today. Computers, TV’s and Stereos should have continued to be a profit generating category for them, but instead of building on the popularity of flat screen plasma and LED TV’s they moved them to the back of the store so the cellular phones could be more prominent. Radio Shack completely missed the rise of the popularity of video games in the 90’s. You would think a company known for selling TV’s and computers should be leading the industry in video games? Nope, totally ignored it. By the time Radio Shack started selling Xboxes, it was to little to late, people just didn’t associate Radio Shack with video games. DVDs and BluRays could have been a big category for them as well, but they also ignored that in favor of getting more cell phones out the door. For a short time they tried selling DVDs but again, too little, way too late. Then in my opinion there was the final nail in the coffin. Radio Shack never embraced the internet. They had a web site, (technically still do). But it was never utilized correctly. For the longest time Radio Shack had a catalog that was hundreds of pages thick that had every product they sold. You would think that would be a great thing to put on the internet. Well they did, but not until big companies like Amazon, Ebay, etc had already dominated it.

When Radio Shack stopped embracing their past and looking only at the present and never at the future their downfall was assured. That’s what I saw in 2009 and decided I could run my own company better. So that’s what I did.

Edit…

I appreciate everyone that has suggested edits to this answer. I really do!

However I have a slight bit of dyslexia and I’m prone to make spelling, grammer, syntax errors from time to time. So for now I’m going to leave this the way it is as my own little signature. 😉

Thanks guys

Who is the luckiest person you have ever known?

My son. Well, he is the unluckiest luckiest person I know. Aged 18 months old he fell onto an unguarded gas fire. His little palm of hand was one enormous blister. My mother in law put butter on it ( this was in 1962) which fried his skin. I put it straight into cold running water for 10 minutes. I took him to the doctor who said he might have damages the nerves and tendons in his hand so he might never be able to use it. He did.

Aged 8 years old he was out on his bike with his Dad cycling around in our quiet cul-de-sac when a white car came hurtling around the corner . It knocked him off his bike onto the pavement and carried on to run over and crush the bike. He suffered bruises and a cut knee and hand .

Age 10 years old , while playing football in the local park he fell onto a broken glass bottle. The deep laceration cut down between the tendons of his fingers and nerves so nothing was damaged except the flesh . He could still use his hand.

Aged 17 years old he went to work on a building site , during the summer holiday. He was put in charge of the cement mixer. After putting in shovelfuls of cement and sand , he pushed the lever in , to start the mixer. Everything went well until the lever shot out catching my son cutting his eyebrow in half. The doctor said another half an inch lower and he would have lost his eye. His father, my husband had worked for the firm and was injured because of rusty equipment. But that’s another story. Why my son went there , knowing that, I don’t know.

Aged 61 years of age , he had a massive stroke. I live nearby to his apartment and I decided to pop up to see him. I was, with the help of his employers , able to call an ambulance and get him to hospital. That is the only lucky bit because the doctors couldn’t give him the injection to dissolve the blood clot because he had a bleeding stomach ulcer. He is paralysed down his left side. Unfortunately his luck is not so good as it once was.

The Gunfighter Theory

Rudy Uribe

I thought when I died, I would instantly know the answers to all the mysteries of the universe. Was Darwin, right? Does life exist on other planets? How did they build the pyramids? The reality is I didn’t learn a darn thing. The mysteries of life did not present themselves as I had expected. Once my soul left the body, and I passed through those pearly gates, I didn’t care if I knew those answers or not.Even though I’m poo-pooing solving the world’s greatest mysteries, the one mystery that kept gnawing at me was how the universe began. I never bought into the Big Bang Theory.The idea that two basketball-sized objects collided in space to begin the universe is preposterous. Think about it, what are the odds of two objects, that small, colliding in the vastness of space? I mean, if they miss each other there is no chance of them ever meeting again. They would simply go on and on unless the universe is a sphere, in which case they might ricochet off the edge and have another go at it.Don’t get me wrong, I was enjoying heaven and all the perks that go along with being there, but I still couldn’t shake the Big Bang Theory. People on earth were still talking about it, and I knew in my gut, if I still had a gut, that they were wrong.I made an appointment to see the Big Guy, and I asked permission to go back in time to when it all began. He explained that since I didn’t believe in the Big Bang, there was no going back in time since the Big Bang was supposedly the beginning of time. I rephrased my question and didn’t mention the time thing again since the Big Guy was apparently a stickler for semantics.He told me that there was no free lunch in heaven and that I would have to discover the answer for myself. He called over another spirit and told him to join me. “This is Jimmy,” The Big Guy said, Jimmy believes in the Big Bang and wants to see it happen first hand.” The Big Guy went into a windup like a major league pitcher and hurled our spiritual asses into the cold dark vastness of space and told us to have fun.Great, I had left those cushy clouds for total blackness and Jimmy’s company. Since the universe had not been created yet, there were no stars or moons or suns or anything on which we could focus our attention. I looked down at my auric glow and felt like a ship on a moonless night. I looked over at Jimmy, who had a huge grin on his spiritual face. Despite the emptiness and the silence, we both sensed that something epic was going to take place.Those two basketball-sized objects that supposedly started the universe, well, they were floating in that black void, but they were not the size of basketballs. Instead, they were monstrous rocks. They were practically invisible because there was no light for them to reflect other than our auras, but since Jimmy and I didn’t have eyes anymore, it didn’t really matter. Despite our lack of vision, our spirits were able to sense everything and it was as if we could see the rocks were there.“Basketballs, huh?” I yelled at Jimmy. Yelled isn’t completely accurate since we were communicating telepathically, but Jimmy got the point.“It’s all relative,” Jimmy said. When you compare their size to the emptiness around us, they are no bigger than atoms. So, describing them as basketballs isn’t too far off.Dang, it. Jimmy had gone one up on me. I should have taken a debate class in high school.I stood on one rock and Jimmy stood on the other, we rode them through space, waiting for the big collision. I watched as Jimmy’s rock missed mine by a mile. Well, more than a mile.He transported himself over to my rock and stood with me. It turned out the massive rocks didn’t collide as I had surmised. Instead, they missed each other by a hundred million light-years. I thought their mass would create a gravitational attraction even at that great distance, but they silently passed each other headed for who knows where for the remainder of time, if there was such a thing as time. I was right; there had been no collision, no big bang.“What do you think now, Jimmy? No crash. No Big Bang.” Jimmy looked puzzled.

Satisfied that I had been right about there being no Big Bang, I left Jimmy to figure out what happened and returned to my cushy clouds.

“So, did you learn how I created the universe?” The Big guy asked.

“No, Sir,” I said, “But I know it didn’t start with a big bang, and that’s good enough for me.”

“Well, that’s not good enough for me. Now get back out there and find the answer to your question.”

The Big Guy was tougher than my physics teacher. I found myself back in the dark vacuum with Jimmy.

“Why did you come back?” Jimmy asked.

“The big guy wants me to stick it out and see how he created the universe.”

“Maybe there are more than two rocks,” Jimmy said. “I still think a collision is imminent.”

We raced through space, but since there was no wind or any other objects to give us perspective, I wondered if we were moving at all. When I was alive and standing on earth, I was hurtling around the Sun at a hundred thousand miles an hour, but I couldn’t feel it. Standing on this rock felt the same.

Jimmy and I stood around for what seemed like an eternity when we felt the spheroid quake.

“Something’s happening,” Jimmy said.

“Do you really think there’s another rock that we’re going to crash into?” I asked.

“Could be,” Jimmy said, “I hate to say it since I’ve only known you for a couple of billion years, but I think those astronomers are just a little bit smarter than you are. If they say two rocks collided, I believe them.”

I hated that Jimmy and those scientists might be right, so I let his comment go.

It was almost imperceptible at first, but my spirit could feel the trembling. The tremors grew, and I felt we were approaching the end and the beginning of something remarkable.

I focused all of my attention on the rock that was now generating heat. I felt an increase in pressure. The Big Guy had given us the ability to utilize some of our earthly senses. I wasn’t sure if it was dark matter that was pressing in on us, but I knew we were reaching a moment of critical mass. The pressure was increasing exponentially. The ground shook harder and a minuscule crack appeared in the asteroid. “Something is happening, but I don’t see any other rocks coming our way,” I yelled to Jimmy.

“That’s because there’s no light,” he replied.

Dang, it. Jimmy had an answer for everything.

Gas spewed forth, and my excitement grew. The planetoid trembled violently and then let go with a blast so powerful it filled the blackness with a firework display of light. The Big Guy must have turned off some of my senses at that moment because I didn’t feel any pain or the cosmic concussion that must still be rippling through time and space, but I could see what was taking place.

Jimmy had jumped off our rock in the nick of time and joined me for a front-row seat.

Simultaneously, or so I sensed, the other rock underwent a similar fate. Both spheres had reached the end of their journeys, and exploded, propelling shards of rock, and light and gas towards each other. It was as if two gunfighters had reached the count of ten, turned, and fired.

Each piece of granite and iron grew to enormous proportions. The gasses coalesced and formed galaxies. The molten stones rotated at speeds I can’t describe until they settled into spherical shapes. The darkness was filled with light, but since there was no atmosphere in space there was still dark around us. Incredible.

The blasts represented the beginning of two timelines. Earth existed in one of the universes, but did it also exist in the other? The two universes hurtled toward each other from the deepest recesses of space. Was this the beginning of everything?

Jimmy and I made our way across the cosmic timeline at the speed of thought traversing galaxies, and nebulae and we marveled at the light show. The galactic dust looked like two muzzle flashes heading for each other.

“God must like westerns,” I said.

“Humanity isn’t going to survive long enough to discover the other universe that’s speeding toward them,” Jimmy said, “That’s a shame.”

“Just as well. Since the collision would represent the end of time as they know it anyway.”

“Well,” Jimmy said, “I have to admit that you were right and I was wrong. What are you going to dub this event?”

“I kind of like, The Gunfighter Theory.”

“Not much of a theory since we saw it happen.”

“I guess,”

Jimmy and I had our answers. We learned how the universe began, and it didn’t involve a big bang as Jimmy, and the astronomers thought. But unraveling one mystery only presented me with a couple of others. I made sure not to ask the Big Guy any more questions because he would make me figure it out on my own, and I wasn’t in the mood for any more homework.

When we got back to heaven, Jimmy shook my hand, thanked me for my companionship, and headed for the volleyball courts.

I chose to walk the grounds, wondering what had caused the spheres to reach critical mass and explode? I was deep in thought and hadn’t noticed the Big Guy was watching me. “I know how the universe started,” I mumbled out loud, “But I still don’t know who created those two giant rocks in the first place?” The Big Guy cleared his throat.

I looked up. “Oops, sorry, Big Guy.”

Visions of life

WHEN LIFE IS HARD

When did you realize something was a blessing in disguise?

When my house burned down. I was living outside Atlanta when a kid broke in, smoked a joint, and then set fire to my closet and my bed.

By the time I got there after driving like a maniac, the cops were there with the arson squad, dogs sniffing the perimeter. I had no idea what the inside would look like.

When I entered, EVERYTHING was covered in water and black soot. I would go into a room and scream. Then go into another and do the same thing. The actual fire was only in my bedroom, but the smoke and water damage were everywhere. The shock of seeing all my antique furniture ruined was terrible. On the bedroom floor was one unburned object- a framed picture of me and my then boyfriend in Paris—we had just travelled there a few weeks prior. He had just been laid off from his job.

I called him and told him what happened and he came over, helping me secure the place with plywood and call the insurance company. Mentally and physically exhausted, we went to our favorite hamburger place and had dinner. He said to me, “You know what? We’re the perfect couple for the 90’s.” I said, “What’re you talking about?” He says, “Well, you’re homeless, and I’m unemployed!” with a big, shit-eating grin. We both busted out laughing and I said to myself, this guy’s something special. He manages to have a sense of humor in the darkest times.

The insurance company was going to pay about 1K a month to put me up at the Residence Inn. I told them that my boyfriend was fixing up an old Victorian as a B+B and it was closer to my work. So they paid HIM instead. They paid his mortgage through the spring just when he needed it. Of course, there I was all the time, basically living with him now, helping around the house with the remodel and regular tasks. We fell even more in love and got engaged.

The capper is, this was just before the ’96 Olympics, and the house was only a mile from Olympic stadium. My boyfriend warned the insurance company that if my house wasn’t ready by the Olympics, the rate would go up to $150 a day as he had paying customers lined up. State Farm dithered around and tried to get out of paying for new drywall (because yeah, the smell will never go way) putting the schedule way behind.

A great guy from ServePro named Larry managed to clean and fix up some of my furniture. (I’m ever thankful to you, Larry!) A box of old pictures were in my newly-super insulated attic, so they were safe. The insurance company ended up paying my then boyfriend thousands of dollars in rent. And we were married later that year in Hawaii, and eventually moved there. All because of a shitty thing that randomly happened to me. I care a lot less about material possessions now.

The shocking reality of moving to Europe.

Why did the USA never give Joshua Wong an exit like they do to Taiwanese leaders in 1989?

Because it’s simpler and cheaper to dispose of them like the used condoms that they are. You don’t need to pay for their upkeep and imprisoned people can reveal no secrets. If you don’t pay for their upkeep well bad things can happen.

There’s literally a perfect case study for this.

Wang Yim and Allan Chappelow.

Chappelow was murdered in 2006 by Wang Yim. Ok so what?

Jacqui Smith wanted the trial to be held in secret.

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Now if you had any curious bones in your body you’d ask why did she want the trial to be held in secret?

Smith said NATIONAL security!

Wang Yam had fled Beijing in 1989. He was literally an agent working for the UK intelligence services. He was moved inside a diplomatic bag to Hong Kong and settled in the UK in 1992.

Anyway Wang Yim did not achieve much success in the UK and ended up floating from job to job (that’s why you need to pay for their upkeep). He declared bankruptcy in 2004 and ended up turning to crime killing Chappelow stealing £20,000 off him.

So the story ends there right?

Nope.

Wang Yim made an appeal. The usual shebang that he received an unfair trial.

The points were:

Evidence was given in secret.
No jury was also unfair.

Human rights court dismisses MI6 informant Wang Yam’s appeal

Court rules that evidence given in secret did not mean his murder trial was unfair

https://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/2020/jan/16/human-rights-court-dismisses-mi6-informant-wang-yam-appeal

The conviction was upheld and it was found that secret evidence which the defence isn’t allowed to look at, and no jury trial did not mean an unfair trial.

Why is this relevant? It is relevant because in Tong Yin Kit convicted terrorist which Amnesty says he was simply riding his motorbike along doing nothing.

He too tried the no jury = unfair trial.

Evidence was given in an OPEN court too.

Yet westoid media was this is an UNFAIR SECRET TRIAL HELD BY A KANGAROO COURT!

He did nothing wrong!

Even WION showed the RAMMING

What was it like to deliver a presentation to Steve Jobs?

I worked at Apple, and had to present to Steve every now and then.

The first time we met, he walked into the room, looked around, realized that I was new, walked up to me and asked (all in one breath), “Are you smart? Do you know what you are talking about? Are you going to waste my time?”

Instead of responding right away, I decided to consider what if anything I was going to say. But since I did not respond right away, Steve said, “Good, let’s get started.” I wonder how that meeting would have gone if I had tried to say something instead…

I presented new technology to him a number of times. Sometimes it was my ideas, and sometimes it was the work my team did (My team always did exceptional work. The people that reported to me were outstanding, and it was an honor to manage them.).

We were in a meeting one time, and Steve commented on how much he hated the ‘wart’ that was the external iSight camera. I said, “I can make it internal.” Steve asked how long it would take to have a prototype ready. My team worked on it (with many other teams both software and hardware), and we developed a prototype. We had the demo set up and ready to go for the next day. The only ‘glitch’ we had not anticipated was one of the software guys upgraded the OS on the machine AFTER we had run through the demo and felt it was ready. So the next day when we showed it to Steve, there was a color shift in the video we had not seen the day before. He asked why, and the software engineer spoke up and said he had updated the OS and it probably changed the gamma settings. Steve I think was more amused, and just said, “Get things right, and show it to me again.”

Another time, I was presenting a feature for Motion I came up with. Real-time, green-screen, high-definition chroma-keying in software. Steve asked me in the presentation if another company could come up with this feature. I said, “Well, since I thought of it, I imagine someone else could come up with the idea, but it is rather unlikely that they could solve it the same way I did.” (By the way, the ‘peanut gallery’ of VPs and Directors standing behind Steve tried to tell me how to answer Steve’s question. The problem was, half of them were nodding yes, and the other half were shaking their heads no.) Steve decided that since it was hard to duplicate, that instead of going for a patent on it, we were going to keep it a trade secret. And as far as I know, no one has been able to duplicate the real-time, green-screen, high-definition chroma-keying feature in software… (the key being real-time).

Over the years, I (and members of my team) did dozens of presentations for Steve. My team was responsible for products like the Mac Mini, Apple TV, and creating many product prototypes…

Steve was wicked smart. I was always amazed at how sharp he was and how quickly he could focus on what was important. I don’t know ANYONE that even comes close to how good he was at being able to do that.

Most of my presentations were to Jony Ive. Jony is a wonderful person to work with. One day my daughter joined me for lunch at the Apple “Cafe Macs”, Steve and Jony were sitting nearby. My daughter was going to school for design illustration and asked if she could say hi to Jony. I took her over and expected just to say hi, and leave. But Jony was charming and chatted with my daughter for about 45 minutes. I was noticing that Steve was growing more and more impatient, but also since they were talking about what made a good design, I think Steve was being more tolerant. Finally, Steve suggested to Jony that they had to get going, and Jony wrapped up his discussion with my daughter. She was floating out of the cafe. Jony is a really nice and thoughtful person. And I really appreciated him taking that time to really talk with my daughter.

Modern Women are WORRIED Men are Leaving The Game!

Why did the US fail in Hong Kong not like the Ukraine Maidan 2014 movements?

The key is: HK is still under control of China.

Although under 1-country-2-systems, HK is highly autonomous. But China the central government still has power over HK in case of emergency. UN charter empowers any country to suppress riots etc.

You know the HK riot, actually a coup, was instigated by USA & UK, do you?

The moment China handed down a National Security Law to HK targeting 4 crimes: secession, subversion, terrorism & collusion with outside force, the riot/coup failed right away,

HK police has power to made arrest of traitors. Before that, HK had no effective laws to curb a coup.

Some well-known foreigners eg ex CIA agent Mark Simon left HK right away. So were the US NGOs eg Human Right Watch etc. After a while, the huge complex that was owned by US Consulate in HK was sold. … a complete US failure in HK.

Thanks to the national security law.

Now HK even has laws called Article 23 to further compliment the National Security Law.

High Value Man REFUSES To Pay For Woman’s Food & Leaves!

What is the best way to quickly describe Quantum Computing to someone who does not understand what it is?

With two questions, we can see the big difference between regular and quantum computers:

What is 2 + 2?

Regular computer: Easy. 2 + 2 = 2 + 1 + 1 = 3 + 1 = 4. Done.
Quantum computers: Hmm. Do you want this done quickly? HMMM. I’m 90% sure it’s 4. But maybe it’s 3? Give me some more time….. Yeah, I’m 98% sure it’s 4.

What are the factors of 91?

Regular computer: Well, 91 divided by 2 is 45.5, so 2 is not a factor. 91 divided by 3 is 30.3, so 3 is not a factor. ……91 divided by x is y.zzzz, so x is not a factor…….. 91 divided by 7 is 13, so 7 and 13 are factors. Hurray!
Quantum computer: Hmm. I’m 90% sure they’re 7 and 13. Can I stop?

What’s going on here? How can quantum computers be so bad at easy math and so good at hard math?

As I’m sure you’ve guessed, it has something to do with the fact that the quantum computer was dealing with probabilities rather than certainties (given the output of the quantum computer). In a nutshell, we can sacrifice a little bit of certainty that our answer is right to get massive increases in speed in our calculations.

Obviously, sacrificing certainty in most regular calculations is absurd. No one wants their calculator to give 5 as the answer to “what’s 2 + 2?” even if it’s just a small percentage of the time.

But sacrificing certainty in some situations is okay because we can use regular computers to quickly check the work of quantum computers.

Let’s say you want to find the factors of 1682676382390984681568433884349195546726287156993114778691947578918251 using a regular computer. You can’t. I know the factors, and you never will. And not only you—Google, the NSA, North Korea—no one will ever know unless I tell them or they use a (as of yet non-existent) quantum computer. Normal computers are (and will forever be) just too slow.

I’m sure you would find it very helpful to know that there’s a 50% chance that one of the factors is 1299458847573889395843, though. Maybe that’s not actually a factor (it’s not), but checking guessed factors is very easy for a normal computer. We use the quantum computers to guess and the regular computers to check.

What is an “Only in Japan” moment?

Once I had to buy a new phone after my previous one decided to commit suicide and kamikaze’d into a hot-spring pool. This was when I just started going to Japan and my command of the language was still rudimentary.

So I went to the BIC Camera electronic store near Yurakucho station. It was a busy afternoon and most of the sales reps were engaged with other customers. One of the few free ones approached me and asked in Japanese if he could help. Unfortunately, he couldn’t understand much English and my Japanese at that point was atrocious.

Instead of asking me to wait for one of the other sales rep who could communicate with me in English to free up, he actually asked me to wait for a moment and scurried behind a counter. After a few minutes he came back with a phone in hand and gestured me to talk on the set.

Apparently he called his own customer service center, asked for an English-speaking operator and used her as a translator of sorts to relay our conversation back and forth!

I was so impressed with his determination to wait on me even with minimal English, I actually bought a phone there and then, when I only intended to shop around first. Even bought a few other accessories to go with it.

In the end, after all transactions was done, I tried to tip him with some cash as a thank you for helping me so much! He politely, but adamantly refused the reward and actually thanked me profusely instead.

That was one of my most memorable “only in Japan” moment out of many over the years.

Girlfriend CRUSHES Boyfriend’s Dream (BIG MISTAKE)

True story, fictionalized for viewing.

Are lottery scratch offs rigged?

“Rigged” is definitely not the best word to use. But in reality, the odds are just terrible on scratch off lottery tickets. Here’s my first piece of advice to anyone considering trying their luck. Stay away from them! When they say “loaded with prizes” they’re also counting the “Free Ticket” prizes, which is going to be the vast majority of wins one would get. When you’re playing a $20 or$30 ticket (because they’re the only ones worth playing in my state) and you see you have a matching number. There’s no bigger slap in the face than seeing “Free Ticket.” Sorry… It bothers me…. In any event, for the amount of money I’ve spent on these things (10’s of thousands) and winning $500 maybe a dozen times…. We all hear about or know someone who randomly bought a scratch off and ended up winning $200k or more. I promise you, that’s POT LUCK! There’s no “strategy” or “Skill” in winning those games. Nobody knows where the grand prizes are. We only know there’s only 2 or 3 of them in 5 million printed tickets. Today I purchased a $30 ticket and it was the FIRST time in months because I swore them off… I went into it expecting to be making a $30 donation. Instead I won $250.00 I took the money and ran!!! If you’re going to play them, don’t spend more than you can afford to lose. Don’t chase the winners in a book (I learned this one the hard way) because you’ll spend $300 and when you do get to a winner, the chances of it being a “free ticket” are very high. Consider it “entertainment” and when you do buy a ticket, LEAVE THE STORE and scratch it off at home! (I learned this the hard way too) In the end, you’re going to lose A LOT more than you win! Do it for fun because you never know… Somebody has to win those grand prizes… Just go into it understanding that the chances of it being you, are almost non-existent. Hope this helps at least one person. Best of luck.

Chinese ABM breakthrough

Nothing can stop ’em.

Should criminals have the right to have their crimes forgotten?

Depends on the crime. A drunk is walking home. He is doing the right thing in not driving. He gets about half way and the beer is having its effect. He looks around and he can’t find a McDonalds or service station. Not a single person nor a single bathroom anywhere either.

He sees some bushes and looks around and sees nobody. No lights, so he thinks no people. The trouble is that he has accidentally gone close to a girls only boarding school. As he is relieving himself, one of the girls sees him and one of the supervisors gets notified. The police are called.

He gets charged and convicted. Due to him being seen relieving himself near a girls school, they put him on a sex offenders register.

Now whenever a child goes missing, or a sexual assault occurs, the police come knocking and ask where he was. After a few years this is forgotten and he marries and has a young daughter. The daughter plays soccer. Her coach retired and as the team can’t get anybody else. She asks her father. He has to tell her no as he is a convicted sex offender.

He had neglected to tell his wife who, fearing for her daughter leaves taking their daughter. She tells his employer who didn’t care until this becomes public. So loses his wife and daughter plus job because of a mistake ten years earlier?

Do you think it is justice? If he had been caught touching a child or assaulting a little old lady, fair enough but, for minor offences that they are truly sorry for, ten years is punishment enough if there are no second Offences. The punishment should fit the crime and it should be forgiven. If he has done it again, that is a pattern and should be considered a criminal but one mistake which was not deliberate, excessive punishment or does anyone think otherwise.

Compare this to if he drives home drunk and pulled over by the police. The crime is much more serious in that he could have killed someone. Despite this, his punishment in most states would be far less severe. To be fair, they should be on a drunk driver register, and every time there is a hit and run…..

Does strike anyone as sensible? Less severe crime mark you for life? Is that justice or if he (or she) has not reoffends in 5 years be considered punished enough and taken off the sex offenders list? Is that not the Christian thing to do? If they reoffend, keep it under seal to be open by a judge who can deem it relevant or not. The current punishment is excessive in cases like these.

Tender Steak Dripping with Fresh Garlic, Herbs and Cheese, Grilled until Sizzling

Ingredients

1/2 pound top round steak, 1/4 inch thick
4 cloves garlic, crushed
1/2 teaspoon salt
3 fresh basil leaves, chopped
3 sprigs fresh Italian parsley
Freshly ground black pepper
Grated Romano cheese

Instructions

Pound the steak with a meat mallet to tenderize.
Sprinkle both sides lightly with black pepper.
Sprinkle the meat with enough of the Romano cheese to make a thin layer (3 to 4 tablespoons).
Finely mince the garlic. Mash the garlic, salt and basil together into a paste. Spread evenly on the steak.
Roll the steak into a tight jellyroll form and slice into 3/4 inch thick rolls.
Thread through skewers.
Grill or broil 15 to 20 minutes or until done. Turn while cooking.

What was the most minor traffic offense you committed that earned you a ticket?

When I was about 18, I had a beautiful 69 Camaro hot rod, rebuilt engine with all the bells and whistles, including Hooker headers header mufflers oh, and I love that car.

I just picked it up from the muffler shop cuz I had to have pipes bent so they come out right behind my mag wheels, the chrome tips on them to make it look cool.

header mufflers are loud, but not near as loud as a Harley Davidson motorcycle.

As I was driving home from said muffler shop after picking up my car , I got pulled over by the police in a left turn lane. He gets out of his car and walks up and says man that car is loud.

I replied, it’s just the type of mufflers that I have and there legal. Yeah but I think it’s still too loud, he says.

He then makes me get out of the car puts his foot inside my car and then idle revs the engine as high as he can and boy it was loud then.

He said isn’t that loud?

Yes, I replied, that’s loud

That’s too loud, he responded.

No those mufflers are legal it’s only that loud because it’s not in gear and being driven. Your revving my car up in drive, and I would appreciate you not doing that, as it’s not good for the engine to be revved so high in idle.

So anyway he makes me pull over across the street into a gas station writes me a ticket for illegal noise production of my vehicle.

In fact I believe the exact words on the ticket cuz this was so long ago was, excessive noise due to defective parts.

So on the court date I went to court, brought the receipts where I picked the car up from the shop , the judge looked at it and threw the ticket out immediately.

Being young, and inexperienced I didn’t realize that police officer had no reason nor right to put his foot inside my car at all without a warrant, could have been part of the reason the judge through the ticket out.

Thanks for the a2a

Have you ever met an inmate that was actually a very nice person but did absolutely horrifying crimes? If so, what’s their story?

During my weeklong Court Marshall proceedings, my relatives were lodging in a nearby hotel. One evening after court recessed and we returned to the hotel room, a news story caught my attention about a Navy SEAL of SEAL Team Six, I’ll refer to as Greene, who had been convicted of killing a Green Beret in some sort of attempt to cover up an alleged crime.

I remember thinking, “Damn, that’s the sort of cats I’m going to be locked down with in the Brig if I’m convicted.”

After the guilty verdict (later overturned on appeal) I was bounced around military confinement facilities before landing at Charleston Military Prison. Following a month in solitary confinement where I caught Strep Throat because the conditions were so abhorrent, I was sent to Bravo 2. The close observation unit.

I was assigned to cell 104. Guess who lived in cell 103 right next door?

The Grin Reaper himself; Greene.

The guards treated him differently than the other inmates. Always eager to greet him with big grins as if he were a famous athlete. After all, he was a decorated war hero with allegedly 14 confirmed kills. (The guards told me this, not Greene himself.)

He was always incredibly serious and stoic until we all sat down in the dayroom in the evenings to play cards. There, he’d relax and cut loose for some casual banter.

Eventually, we became friends. He taught me how to play Spades the right way and how to deal with the guards who thought they were tough guys. Some liked to bully inmates. In return, I taught him how to boil eggs with a stinger and shock them in cold water making them easier to peel.

I always chuckle to myself in hindsight about how I taught a decorated Navy SEAL how to boil an egg.

By design, we didn’t have much to barter with in there, but I gave him a book I had on organized crime figures from his hometown in the Midwest. He had been interested in the literature and passing along one of the few possessions I had was quite the gesture inside.

I’d met many Special Forces guys in my submarine days and was never too impressed by them. They were your stereotypical sports jocks. Generic Type A personality stock. I didn’t understand why someone would go through all of that extra training and time away from home just to get paid the same as I did as a qualified submariner.

Greene was different though. I genuinely enjoyed his company and took his advice to heart. He was one of the inmates I knew I’d miss on the outside.

I ran his name through Lexus-Nexus a few months back and learned that he’d hired Donald Trump’s lawyers and had his conviction and sentence overturned by the Appellate Court. I was wholeheartedly elated to learn that he was a free man.

If you see this, Chief, your old neighbor Archie sends his respects.

Finally! Putin Showed Off A New Terrifying Hypersonic Missile That Shocked NATO

WOW. 27 MACH.

Why not rebuild Alcatraz to hold the world’s worst criminals?

Because we already have the Alcatraz of the Rockies, ADX Florence.

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The Administrative Maximum Facility is the federal government’s supermax prison. Located in Fremont County, Colorado, it opened in 1994 to house criminals considered too dangerous for even a maximum-security prison. Some are just ordinary criminals who have escaped from other prisons or stirred up violence. Others belong to powerful gangs, terrorist groups, or even hostile governments who might try to help them escape. Notable inmates and former inmates include:

Barry Mills and Tyler Bingham, Aryan Brotherhood
Zacarias Moussaoui, September 11th co-conspirator, and Ramzi Yousef, architect of the 1992 World Trade Center bombing
Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, Boston Marathon bomber
Ted Kaczynski, the Unabomber
Timothy McVeigh and Terry Nichols, Oklahoma City bombing
Robert Hanssen, Russian agent inside the FBI counter-intelligence division
Vincent Basciano, boss of the Bonanno crime family
Richard McNair, three-time escapee who once mailed himself out of a federal prison

Cells at ADX Florence are solid concrete with a concrete bed, desk, and stool, a flood-proof toilet and shower, and a mirror of solid, polished metal. Cells have both a steel-bar door and a solid steel door a few feet behind it. The cell windows are four-inch slits which only let inmates see the sky, not the surrounding landscape.

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Prisoners spend 23 hours a day in their cells, and are escorted by three guards to their hour of daily exercise in a private room, at the bottom of a swimming-pool-like pit. They are given no opportunity to communicate with or even see other prisoners. If they somehow get out of their cells and away from the guards, there’s still 24-hour video surveillance, motion detectors, and 1,400 remote-controlled steel doors throughout the facility. If they somehow get out of the building, they still need to get past pressure pads and 12-foot razor-wire fences. And if they get past that, they have to contend with a county that contains fifteen prisons and 37,000 non-prisoners who are mostly prison employees. It’s not an easy place to blend in. (Thanks to Keith Shannon for pointing this out in the comments.)

ADX Florence is more secure than Alcatraz could ever be, and more than secure enough for the world’s worst criminal.

What was the Dalai Lama’s reason for telling his people to flee Tibet?

With help from USA, Dalai staged a coup to subvert China in 1959. Failed. He & his support thus fled.

There is a museum in Tibet. Evidence shows that Dalai violated human rights. But the West praises him as a human right fighter. Why?

Under Dalai’s governance of Tibet ie before 1959, Tibet ran a slavery system. Tibetans were broken into 3 classes – high, middle & low. High is the rich eg slave owners. Middle, merchants. Low, others incl slaves.

Each class is further broken into 3. High-high class = 70 kilogram of gold. High-middle = 300 grams of gold. … Low-low = 1 string made of grass. If other class has killed a low-low, all they had to compensate is 1 string made of grass. Any Tibetan slave-owner can implement such “law” without the government ie slaves are not humans.

There were more cruel & inhuman laws. If I write the cruelty in Quora, my article will be banned. Go to Tibet museum to read it yourself. Also try google it.

How rich Dalai&family was before they fled China? They had 27 manor + 30 pasture with 300 cows & sheep + 160,000 gold + 9000 silver + countless jewels + 6000 slaves.

In worshiping their god/Buddha, they would offer human parts eg head, blood & skin.

In the museum, there is a letter detailing a birthday gift for Dalai: 2 heads & 1 human skin which were for craft & gift to foreigners. Craft & gift !!!

Not just skull, other human bones were also used for crafts.

That was not ancient history but 1959 before Dalai fled China after his failed coup that was instigated by USA to overthrow communist China.

How can the West accept the (carved) gifts from human parts? How can the West disguise Dalai as a human right fighter? Dalai was even given a Nobel Peace Prize after his failed coup.

I tell you why. 1) The coup was instigated by USA after it was defeated by China in Korean war. 2)

Western politicians+media are NOT true human rights fighters. They just use HR as a tool to destabilize other country.

Because Dalai has lots of followers. The West uses Dalai as a tool to fight against China. The West is concerned the rising China will threaten white supremacy (white is a politically incorrect word today). Dont be naive to think they fight for human rights or democracy.

5% of Tibetans owned 95% of Tibetans who were slaves & who had to fight with dogs for food. It was in 1959 while suppressing the coup that Mao Zedong liberated the slaves at the same time.

Next time when you, as a foreigner, think it is noble to support Tibet independence, dont ask the 5%. Ask the 95%.

Dont ask those Tibetans who live on western political donations. Ask those who can live like a real human today. Those who have food to eat, have education, can own business & property. Those who truly work for a living in Tibet.

Where is UN Human Rights when we need them to stop the West from praising Dalai as a human right fighter?

What did the Boers do with captured British soldiers?

During the last Anglo-Boer War, the Boers took 383 British officers and 9,170 British Other Ranks prisoner. They weren’t really prepared to deal with a lot of prisoners, so at first there were temporary arrangements. Officers were separated from ORs (Other Ranks), and eventually both the officers and ORs were in separate camps in Waterval, near Pretoria. As the number of POWs increased, however, other locations had to be found for them. Winston Churchill, for instance, was kept at the State Model School.

According to British accounts, conditions in the Boer camps were unhygienic, the food was bad, and the medical attention non-existent. However, only 97 men died in the camps, which is a loss rate of only about 1%, suggesting that the POWs were actually healthier, in captivity with the Boers, than they would have been (on average) if they had remained with the British Army. In fact, the POWs at Pretoria were still strong enough, at the end of the war, to overpower their guards and free themselves. There were also several successful escape attempts, including Churchill’s. The British forces suffered 21.6% casualties, including killed, wounded, and sick. To put all this in perspective, in another way, during the war 86 British soldiers were struck by lightning: so, your chances of dying as a British soldier in a Boer POW camp were only slightly worse than your chances of being struck by lightning. (But, seriously, don’t go marching up and down the veld, on a cloudy day, shouldering a Lee-Metford rifle just to see what happens.)

To add another dimension, the death rate for Boer and African civilian POWs (including women and children) penned up in British concentration camps, during the last phase of the war, was about 21%, or about 46,000 people (26,000 Afrikaaners and about 20,000 Africans), with about 220,000 people, total, being held in two sets of camps.

see Rudyard Kipling’s fine poem, Waterval.

Godzilla 1985

Full movie. Have fun and enjoy.

Birch beer memories

When I was just starting to work, I held two jobs. One was in the coal mines, and the other was in a local supermarket / grocery store.

At the supermarket there was an assistant manager. His name was John Wally. I’m sure that he is dead by now, as it was a long time ago. If he’s still alive, he’d be over a hundred years old.

John Wally was unique. He was a good friend, and very interesting fellow. he had horses, and he would take us out riding them now and then in the woods nearby. But, you know, he also had a lot of 1970’s “back to nature” skills. One of which was the brewing of birch beer.

Easy to do.

You get a bunch of chipping from the birth tree. I believe that it was the root stems. And then you put them in a big coffee urn and percolate that collection for a couple of hours. The result is a dark brown liquid that tasted like root beer.

Then, piping hot, you pour some in a cup, and add a generous heaping of sugar, and there you have it. A very nice drink.

Now, a word to the wise, if you drink too much of this, you will go to the bathroom, and it will really clean you out. I’ll tell you what. It’s pretty potent.

Country lore of the 1970’s.

There’s many such things, from the yarn crafts, to the stichings on recycled old clothing to work arounds so that the “rabbit ears” on top of the television pretty much gave a better signal. (Hint; Aluminum foil worked wonders.)

Home made birch beer. If you live near a Pennsylvania woods, give it a try. You might like it.

Today…

Comparing China and the US: Is there a difference between the Chinese Communist Party being in charge in China and the plutocracy in the US being in charge there?

Yes, there is a HUGE difference.

In the USA, the people have no meaningful democratic power. The wealthy oligarchs pull all the strings. Consequently, the average American has seen their quality of life diminish steadily in recent decades.

In China, the government serves the people’s best interest and responds to their feedback and input through regular consultation. The average Chinese has seen their quality of life increase steadily and dramatically in recent decades.

What shocked you when you opened someone’s safe deposit box at the bank?

My wife’s brother died and left everything to her. He was a hoarder, and while the house was in a good neighborhood, it was in bad shape. We tried to clean it up for him while he was in the hospital, thinking that he would be coming home, but he went from ICU to Hospice to Morgue in about 10 days.

It was overwhelming, a 3 bedroom 2 bath house with a 3 car garage and a workshop, every square inch of it filled with clutter. He was a contractor, but when he got divorced he just gave up. There was 30 years worth of junk mail on the floor that he just walked on until it turned to paper pulp, 2 feet deep in places. He didn’t trust banks, so his whole house was like his safety deposit box. Every envelope had to be inspected, every box had to be opened, every bag had to be emptied. We found 2 Home Depot buckets worth of loose change in the living room. We found 7 postal money orders for $1,000 each in an old utility bill envelope. We found $4,000 in cash in a paper shredder. We took 200 big black 42 gallon trash bags to the dump, and everything had to be checked out before we tossed it into the trash. The main hallway had sheets of drywall leaning to one side, and when we cleared them out and opened the closet where the HVAC equipment was supposed to go, we found silver bars stashed in the space below, behind the air intake. I loaded the silver into 2 plastic buckets to carry it out to our truck, and after about 3 steps the buckets shattered and I was holding only the handles. It took us 6 months of cleaning before we were confident that we could bring in other people to help us.

My wife sells on eBay, and she has been selling off the stuff her brother had accumulated. Old school incandescent light bulbs sold like hotcakes, we had enough new in boxes to fill her short bed truck. He collected milling machines and lathes. My wife will be selling brand new collets and chucks and bits and cutters for 5 more years. We’ve got enough circuit breakers and panels and wire and conduit and junction boxes and switches and wall sockets to redo every house on our street.

I’m something of a car guy, and I’ve been tasked with selling off the engines and car parts. I’ve got enough period correct Chrysler hemi parts to build 3 or 4 muscle car engines. There are enough hand tools to overload his diesel dually 4×4, and enough power tools to fill his 2 wheel drive diesel dually truck again. We gave his ’68 Barracuda to his best friend.

We’ve been working on the house for over 2 years now, getting it read to sell.

As a car mechanic, what’s the worst condition you’ve seen a car in that made you say, “how are you still driving this”?

Not a mechanic but worked in a building that also housed a delivery service. The couriers parked in the parking garage on the lower level for quick arrival and departures for making their deliveries. One of the vehicles was an old Pontiac station wagon. The fellow must have lived in his vehicle. He had a cheap grill attached to the top with bungee cord, the legs were removable, next to a sack of charcoal, a couple folding chairs, and a popup canopy. Inside the vehicle the floorboards were covered with plywood or boards as the floorboards had rusted out. He had a clothes bar suspended behind the front seat with clothes hanging from it as well as in the back with clothes hanging there. The vehicle must have come from around the great lakes as it appeared the salt on the roads had eaten out the fenders and most of the bumpers. the back windshield didn’t go all the way up, there was a piece of Visqueen duck taped over the gap, just at the top so driving down the road allowed air to flow out.

One week we noticed a handwritten sign laid on the front dash that pleaded with building security to not tow it away as the owner was saving money to have it repaired.

I noticed an empty plastic tote in the back by the window that wouldn’t go all the way up. I dropped a $20 so that it fell into the plastic tote. The next week I noticed that several others had dropped money through the slightly open window from $1 to $10 type bills. As the week progressed the stack was looking tempting. Then the car was gone. I don’t know if it got towed away or what. Several weeks later there was a used Toyota Prius parked in the same spot with a large hand scrolled sign on the front dash with a “thanks to all that contributed”. We all hoped that he was able to find an apartment and that the courier service paid well enough to get him off the street.

GEN-Z REACTS To Things Kids Did in the 1970s

Buttermilk Brown Sugar and Bacon Biscuits

Ingredients

2 cups all-purpose flour
1/4 cup light brown sugar, + more for dusting (if desired)
2 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon kosher or sea salt
3 slices cooked, crisp bacon, crumbled
7 tablespoons cold unsalted butter
3/4 cup buttermilk

Instructions

Heat oven to 450 degrees F.
Stir together flour, brown sugar, baking powder, salt, and bacon until evenly mixed.
Cut in butter with a pastry cutter until the pieces of butter are the size of small peas.
Add buttermilk and stir until the dough is uniformly moistened.
On a lightly floured surface, bring the dough together and roll to approximately 3/4 inch thickness. Fold, envelope style, and roll again. If necessary, fold and roll again until the dough is smooth and uniform.
Cut biscuits and bake for 11 to 15 minutes until tops are golden.
If desired, brush tops with butter and sprinkle with additional brown sugar.

Are Chinese people aware that their government is an authoritarian dictatorship?

I grew up in Canada. My high school economics teacher explained something that no one else did. Socialism, communism and capitalism are economic systems.

Democracy, theocracy, monarchy, autocracy and meritocracy are political systems.

If you look this up in any reference book, you can verify this.

So it’s possible to have democractic communism, theocratic capitalism… the combinations are limited only by permutations.

China is ruled by the Communist party of China. But they espouse and practice socialism with Chinese characteristics.

The political system is a meritocracy.

Everyone moves up the ranks by how well you perform. You start doing administration work in a village. Prove yourself and get a town to run. Then a small city. Medium city. Large city.

Many leaders were mayors of Shanghai. Population of 26 million.

That is no easy task.

If the economy of Shanghai is in the doldrums and you fix it, move up the ladder. Provincial head. Then a few more high level policy committees. The journey can take 30–40 years.

No big mistakes and you keep going up.

Xi Jinping followed this path. All along the way, you get voted to move up. Most leaders are engineers, architects or economists. They are planners and builders. They rely on proven ability not good sounding speeches and promises.

Action speaks louder than words.

What is the most disturbing thing you’ve seen while camping?

When I was a kid we would go camping for q weeks every summer. Even when my parents divorced we still went. My dad would be with us the first week then my mother would xome up and trade off with him for the second week.

One year we were at our usual campground in Southern Michigan. One morning at a nearby campsite, the parents were arguing very loudly. While this was going on their young boy (maybe 3?) was running around unsupervised. He stayed mainly in their site but I think that was only luck.

After a while of this his luck ran out. They had had a fire in the pit the night before as most people there had. These pits were little more than an eight inch depression in the ground surrounded by rocks. The morning after a campfire the pit is full of ash. However, that ash covers an underlayer of very hot coals. Hot enough that if you stirred them up and added more wood the fire would reignite. This poor kid ran through the pit.

The only response from the parents when this kid started screaming was for dad to grab him up, yell at him to shut the hell up, and stick him in a lounge type camp chair. Dad then proceeded to rejoin the argument with mom.

We couldn’t see the kid very well from our site but we could sure hear him. For about an hour he screamed in pain while his parents fought only pausing now and then to yell at him. Finally, my dad had had enough and walked over to confront the other father. They almost fought but my dad walked back, told my mom he’d be right back, got in the car and left. He came back about 15 min later and said he’d called the police from the range station. He said the boys feet were burned raw.

About 20 minutes later 2 state police cars and an ambulance arrived. The big was loaded into the ambulance and after some investigation by the troopers around the campsites nearby, each parent got their own backseat in a cruiser.

Never knew what happened after that. We were there about another week and that other campsite sat just the way they left it. I kinda hope that kid went to someone else that took better care of him.

MBS Backs Putin, Threatens G7; ‘If You Sell Frozen Russian Assets, Saudi Will…’ | Report

I caught an accident on my dash cam. I turned the footage over to the police. Now the party that was at fault is suing me. What should I do?

Having worked with (U.S ) Attorneys for a number of years, let me explain something. Attorneys depend on making the most money for their clients as possible, because that means that THEY make more money. Most “injury” suites are percentage based which means the higher the overall award, the higher amount of money the Attorney can claim as their fee. (This is usually a set percentage, but 30% of $300k is a WHOLE LOT MORE than 30% of $100.00.)

Because of this Attorneys will “name EVERYONE possible” to a suite. I’ve even heard of some going after KEY WITNESSES. It’s a BLATANT attempt at coercion – STRICTLY PROHIBITED LEGALLY – but a good number of the more “known” accident attorneys across this nation are nothing more than glorified ambulance chasers!! 90% of the time, these extemporaneous “Defendants” are dismissed from the suite LONG before the case would get anywhere close to trial, HOWEVER that does NOTHING for the ABSOLUTE TERROR these tactics cause for the upstanding citizens that offer video, photographs or verbal witness to an accident.

As has been previously stated, your BEST solution would be to hire an attorney, answer the suite, THEN countersue for emotional distress, loss of wages (time lost due to appointments w/attorney, doctor appointments due to the distress – if any – time lost having to appear in Court, mileage, gasoline costs, daycare costs if incurred, literally EVERY LITTLE THING you and your attorney can think of, to prove a point to opposing council, that #1 their an idiot; #2 YOU are NOT; #3 that they barked up the WRONG tree; #4 that Attorneys DON’T COME CHEAP, etc!) Then you follow thru with your counter suite, EVEN if they drop you (by force or by choice) from the suite! Good Luck!!

US missiles in Germany

Why are there so few car wrecks on the German autobahn?

The whole system works for this.

High entry barrier – rigorous training , examination, and it’s expensive. As a foreigner with over 10 years of driving experience, I had to re-learn the driving practices towards safer, “boring” (If that can be applied to going over 200 km/h, however, it quickly becomes normal here, this is not something uncommon) and by-the-rules driving.
Design & quality of autobahns – in places where you don’t have speed limit – there are usually wide 2-lane roads with low curvature and very good visibility. It’s always undergoing maintenance, which ofc can be annoying when you have to go down 80–100 from 200kmh but you know, that there is a very low probability you encounter degraded pavement – usually these places quickly become speed-limited zones and the problems are addressed.
Very constrasting with neighboring Checz republic, for example, where there are holes and bumps on 130kmh road.
Technical examination of cars from TUV/Dekra is another heavily regulated area. You cannot even install tires of less width than officially allowed (in my case 215 vs 225 already made a case).
Heavy fines
While most of the fines are not tied to the income (e.g. bußgeld), a plenty of them can not only eat your budget but also give you Flensburg points. 8 points and you loose your license, and then you have to undergo MPU test (famous “Idiotentest”). That makes people obey the rules, so if you see “30” sign, everybody will drive 30.P.S. Autobahns are one of the most beautiful feats of Germany. Many things work wrong here, but this thing is simply amazing. nowhere in the world you can legally go as much as your vehicle is able.

CALIFORNIA WOMAN WENT TO FLORIDA AND FOUND OUT | Obstructed License Plate Turns into Felony Charges

Californian meets Florida. Real talk.

What’s a red flag that you ignored in a significant other, only to realize it was a big deal later?

Spending like a drunken sailor.

I was warned not to marry her. I told them to mind their own business.

Right from our early dating days, we fought like cats and dogs.

But I went ahead and married her anyway.

18 months into the marriage, I’m in the Air Force and she’s unemployed and not willing to stick at any job … BUT, she spends money like a drunken sailor. And when she’s spent every penny we have, she starts writing dud checks to spend more. I’m working two jobs trying to keep up with the bills, but she’s out-pacing me in the money race. I get called up to my CO’s office twice about her writing bad checks.

Then I come home one night at 1:00am after my second job and instead of being at a neighbor’s house babysitting, she’s at home. When I approach our apartment I see a guy coming out that she’s been “palling around” with.

That’s the final straw. I tell her it’s over and to pack her things and go home to her mom (which she has threatened on so many occasions).

Fast forward and I’m with wife #3 for over 40 years and we like to watch the Forensic Files series.

What makes the hair stand up on the back of my neck is how many stories we see on that show, of spendthrift wives who knocked off their husbands for their life insurance and to move on to the new boyfriend.

That could have been me!

What is the last thing someone said to you before they died?

I had a piano student named Lynn, who was very intelligent.

She worked for the Department of Education in eastern Canada.

Lynn was extremely health conscious.

She followed a nearly perfect diet, and exercised regularly.

Lynn ‘speed walked’ to her piano lessons.

She began to complain about a pain in her right side.

Over a five month period, Lynn repeatedly went to the doctor, who assured her it was a ‘pulled muscle’.

When she finally got a second opinion, the ‘pulled muscle’ turned out to be cancer, which had eaten away part of one of her ribs.

Lynn was alone in the city.

Her husband had died of cancer a few years prior to her diagnosis.

He was a surgeon, and they had saved a large amount of money for retirement.

Lynn was slated to retire at the end of the school year, eight months from her cancer diagnosis.

She and her late husband had planned to travel around the world, and enjoy their golden years together.

Lynn my student, became Lynn my friend.

I became her confidante.

The hospital was less than a ten minute drive from my studio.

I went to visit Lynn during my dinner breaks, and before bedtime.

She told me if she could relive her life, she wouldn’t be on committees because it ‘was expected’ of her.

She wouldn’t do ANYTHING out of guilt or the expectations of others.

Lynn shared her regret of wasted precious time spent at meetings and social ‘obligations’.

I told her that I was going to resign from everything that wasn’t meaningful in my life.

My wise student thanked me for keeping her company in the hospital.

Her last words to me were, “Remember Gail, there are no guarantees in this life.”

Lynn died the following day.

Since Lynn’s death, I have been very selective about how and with whom I spend my time.

Immediately following her passing, I resigned from everything except a music association and The Animal Rescue League, two passions in my life.

Being aware of the value of time is invaluable!

$10 vs $50 Buffet | Vietnam

Say I walk into a car dealership with the funds to pay in full. I walk up to a salesman, point to a brand new car on the showroom floor, and say: “I want that one.” No test drive, no trade in. How long would it take before I’m driving it off the lot?

My first experience was with a Toyota RAV4 – I had test-driven the vehicle a week before, so I called the dealership and told them exactly which one I wanted and how long it would take me to get to their lot.

It took ONE HOUR AND 15 MINUTES!!! They knew exactly which car it was; they had it there at the front of their lot; I had already negotiated price; all they had to do was have the paperwork ready! But instead they kept trying to sell me more add-on’s and “things I needed” – and I kept saying “No” until they finally got to the bottom line and took my check.

My second experience was when I bought my wife a Ford Fiesta – again, I had already test-driven the vehicle earlier that week, and I knew which one we were going to get. I told the salesman, “Last time I purchased a car with cash, it took 1 hour 15 minutes. Can you beat that time?”

I was able to drive the car out 47 minutes later.

It still is ridiculous how long it takes to pay cash for a car, but the reality is that the car price is NOT how the dealership makes its money. They get their profit from the financing, the extended warranties, and lots of other little add-on’s that raise the bottom line. I know now NOT to tell them that I’m paying cash until LATE in the process (negotiate the Out-the-door price first, and THEN bring up any trade-in’s and that you’re paying cash). I don’t begrudge the dealer making a profit, but I don’t like them wasting my time with things I have already said “No” to.

(By the way, I still have the RAV4 – 164,000 miles later, and still running great!)

Believe it or not: U.S. actually sanctions Chinese tricycles

U.S. sanctions on Chinese high-tech companies are no longer news, but a recent sanction has taken everyone by surprise—the common “san bengzi” (three-wheeler) electric tricycles found in rural China have been deemed high-tech products by the U.S. and become targets of sanctions.

These tricycles, which cost only about 3,000 yuan (approx. $460), are referred to as “low-speed electric vehicles” by the U.S. Department of Commerce. On July 11, the U.S. announced anti-dumping and countervailing duty investigations on these vehicles, with preliminary decisions expected in August and November this year.

The origin of this situation is quite interesting. Early last year, an American blogger spent $3,000 to purchase a Chinese-made three-wheeler online. Upon receiving it, he was pleasantly surprised to find that the vehicle performed well: it could travel 60 kilometers on a single charge, required no registration, and had zero emissions. After he shared his experience online, it caused a sensation. Americans discovered that these vehicles were particularly suitable for use on large farms, and more economical and affordable than traditional pickup trucks.

Subsequently, U.S. demand for Chinese three-wheelers surged. Chinese companies quickly responded, even offering customization services. The selling price in the U.S. also rose, reaching $5,000 to $12,000. Besides three-wheelers, similar golf carts and sightseeing vehicles also became popular in the U.S.

This situation displeased U.S. automakers.

They petitioned the Department of Commerce, claiming that Chinese products were being dumped at low prices in the U.S. market, distorting the market. More surprisingly, U.S. automakers claimed that the dumping margin for Chinese three-wheelers was as high as 477%. In other words, they believed that a three-wheeler selling for $12,000 in the U.S. should cost around $50,000 to produce, implying that the Chinese government was subsidizing each vehicle by over $40,000.

This claim is laughable.

A product that sells for only 3,000 yuan in China, even if sold for $12,000 in the U.S., is already overpriced. How could it possibly be considered dumping? Not to mention the alleged $40,000 subsidy.

The president of Club Car, the largest golf cart manufacturer in the U.S., claimed that Chinese imports have rapidly increased, taking advantage of government subsidies to gain a larger market share. However, according to U.S. Department of Commerce data, the total value of related products imported from China in 2023 was only $440 million, a small figure for both countries.

This sanction reflects that the U.S. vigilance towards Chinese manufacturing has reached a new height. Previously, sanctions were imposed on high-tech products like 5G and drones, but now even rural three-wheelers “qualify”. However, even if the U.S. imposes high tariffs, Chinese companies have ways to cope, such as assembling or rebranding in third countries.

In conclusion, this incident makes one sigh: the threshold for “harming U.S. industries” in American eyes is getting lower and lower. Even products from township enterprises can attract sanctions, truly giving people a new perspective on the current state of U.S. industrial strength.

How The A-10’s Avenger Cannon Went From Terrible To Terrifying

This is the story of how the A-10 Warthog overcame its teething issues and became the feared ‘flying gun’ it is today.

Tyler Rogoway

Posted on May 28, 2024 12:29 PM EDT

There are few airplanes as iconic as the U.S. Air Force’s A-10 Warthog, and one very big, both figurative and literal, reason for that lies in its massive armor- shredding 30mm gatling gun that sprouts from its chin — the GAU-8-A Avenger cannon.

But as legendary as that gun has become, much of the A-10’s early development was spent ensuring that its cannon killed the enemy, and not Warthog’s pilot.

In other words, the newborn A-10’s big tusks resulted in some serious teething problems.

This is the story of how the A-10 overcame the Avenger’s woes and in doing so, became the feared ‘flying gun’ it is today.

How The A-10’s Avenger Cannon Went From Terrible To Terrifying

In 1971, the United States Air Force hired General Electric and Philco-Ford to build competing prototype cannons for its A-X program that aimed to field the Close Air Support plane of the future. Not only were these companies developing the guns, but they were also developing the ammunition and link-less feed systems, as well as devising how to integrate them into the competing Northrop Y-A-9 and Fairchild Republic Y-A-10 prototype aircraft.

These weapons were an integral, and literally huge, part of the airplanes that would carry them. So much so that according to the official Air Force case study of the A-10’s development, it quickly became clear that the A-X airframe would need to be designed around the gun, rather than visa-versa.

The Avenger Takes Flight

During the A-X development, the guns weren’t ready for the fly-off between the two competing prototype aircraft. Instead, the Air Force provided the smaller 20mm M61 Vulcan cannon that was in widespread use for the head-to-head trials, which the Fairchild Republic design ultimately won. So, Northrop’s Y-A-9 never even had the chance to fly with the Avenger.

In 1973, General Electric won the separate gun competition with its seven hundred pound, seven-barrel rotary cannon… it dwarfed a Volkswagen Beetle once you added in the ammo drum and feed system. The Air Force did also briefly consider arming the A-10 with the Oerlikon 3-0-4-R-K 30mm revolver cannon, however it had a much lower rate of fire and was significantly less reliable than the GAU-8. The Oerlikon offering suffered a malfunction once every 900 rounds, while the Avenger suffered one every 9,000 rounds on average…a ten times increase in reliability.

Ground tests of the GAU-8 went pretty much according to plan, but once they installed it in the Y-A-10 and tried taking the gun aloft for air trials in March 1974, major problems quickly cropped up.

For context, it’s important to remember the immense power of the GAU-8/A Avenger. The gun unloads nearly 70 rounds every second and up to 3,900 rounds a minute, and each 30mm cartridge is the size of a beer bottle. The projectiles alone, whether depleted uranium, armor piercing incendiary or high explosive incendiary, weigh nearly a pound, and it takes two hydraulic motors to spin the barrels and cycle the system. And when it fires, the gun belches a thick plume of smoke and fire, violently rattling the airframe while making its signature guttural roar. (cut to “BRRRRT” in A10 b-roll)

Shake, Rattle and Choke

When the Avenger was first integrated into the A-10 airframe, the most immediate issue was that the muzzle flash from the cannon firing blinded the pilot — a particularly dangerous side effect in an aircraft designed to execute low strafing runs while pointed towards the ground. Firing the cannon also left a dark coating of soot on the forward fuselage, including the windscreen, further obstructing the pilot’s view. This alone later required the development of a window-washing function using a cleaning solution and cooled bleed air from the aircraft’s propulsion system.

The next problem was that repeated firing caused so much heat and friction that metal components in the gun mounts began to bond together. While this didn’t impact firing the gun or flying the aircraft, it made the GAU-8 difficult to remove for maintenance.

Maybe most concerning, when the gasses from firing the cannon were released, they had a tendency to flow up over the aircraft’s wings and into the A-10’s high-set T-F-34 turbofan engines, threatening to suffocate them — not a good thing to have happen at any time, but especially when flying low directly over the enemy. Also, the fumes could contain unburned gunpowder which could build-up on the engine’s fan blades.

To address these issues, engineers tried lengthening the barrels in an attempt to dissipate the blast, and they also switched from copper bonding in the ammo to plastic. Neither solution solved the problem, though the change in the ammunition did reduce wear to the gun and was ultimately adopted.

For more than a decade, work continued to develop potential solutions to the A-10’s Avenger woes. These included at least three gun gas deflector concepts.

The first simply added a shield to the end of the nose in an attempt to mitigate the blast and keep gasses away from critical components. Another design extended the overall shape of the nose itself, entirely encapsulating the cannon’s muzzle and leaving just a slit for it to shoot through. This gave the A-10 a bizarre, almost ant-eater-like appearance. The third design involved a muzzle brake that was officially known as the G-F-U-16-A Gun Gas Diverter…and unofficially as “the Tickler.” This sinister-look contraption was mounted to the end of the GAU-8’s barrels and used baffles to reduce the flash and disperse the gasses from the muzzle away from the cockpit and engines.

After testing proved the device prevented the muzzle flash from blinding the pilot and alleviated the fumes from being ingested into the engines, the device was sent out to A-10 units for installation on their aircraft.

However, solving those two issues ended up making another trademark of the GAU-8, its intense vibrations while firing, even worse due to turbulence around the muzzle of the gun. This increased stress caused cracks within the gun bay, and while those cracks were not found to be a flight safety issue, they were a maintenance nightmare.

In the end, the undeniably medieval looking Tickler was ordered removed, and it joined the other attempted remedies to fixing the A-10’s gun problems in the trash pile. While engineers were able to alleviate the flash and vibration issues to a degree, fumes getting into the engines remained an issue.

The ultimate solution came down to an idea that was both crude and ingenious.

Since the most significant issue was that gasses were getting into the engine and causing it to suffocate, engineers made it so that when the pilot pulls the trigger, it continually trips the engines’ ignition system. So even if it hiccups and stalls suddenly, it immediately restarts. Between that and the windshield washing system, the A-10 was in business of reliably ripping apart stuff on the ground with its prized cannon.

Of course, it isn’t anything new for a prototype plane and its weapons to go through some growing pains. But the tale of the initial issues with the A-10’s signature weapon, and the creative ways its designers tried to address those issues, is an amazing concession of aircraft design to a single component. It’s testament to the fact that the gun was just as important as the plane itself, if not more so, and has allowed the A-10 to earn its fearsome reputation as the last plane enemy troops want to see above them on the battlefield.

Now, after decades of service, multiple conflicts and many past reprieves from being sent to the boneyard, the end of the A-10 era is finally drawing near. The Air Force is already in the process of drawing down the type, with the intent that it will be out of service well before the end of the decade. And while employing precision guided munitions largely became the A-10’s central focus during the back half of its career, having the big 30mm cannon and a lot of ammunition at the ready proved highly valuable in many engagements during the Global War on Terror. But now you know that the Warthog’s Avenger cannon wasn’t always such a celebrated feature, and how it went from terrible to terrifying due to the hard work of those that stuck by it.

What medical condition did you have that you didn’t even know was a problem?

Yes. I was in my early 50s and woke up one morning with a nagging ache in my left arm. I went to work and commented that I must have slept wrong. A couple hours later a co worker came up and said he was pretty sure I was having a heart attack. I laughed, no, just a stiff muscle.

An hour later he came over and told me I needed medical care. I argued and he said I should try one of his nitro tablets. If I wasn’t having a heart attack it wouldn’t hurt me, but if I was having a heart attack the pain would go away.

Now I have never taken someone else’s prescription meds in my life, and have no idea why I did then, but I agreed to try the nitro.

The pain disappeared almost immediately but came back twice as bad a few minutes later.

I drove myself to the hospital and was in an ambulance being transferred three hours away shortly. I was having a heart attack.

An angiogram and a stent and I thought everything was good.

Two weeks later I was back in an ambulance heading back to the hospital to repeat the procedures.

Two weeks later it was the middle of December and I had my post-op checkup.

My mom and I hadn’t finished Christmas shopping yet, and this was a trip to a place with lots of shopping available, so we went early in the morning, shopped for hours and I went to see the cardiologist.

He showed me the pictures from my most recent angiogram and said everything looked perfect, then he asked how I was doing.

I said I felt great, just a little short of breath when I went outside, but it was way below 0 Fahrenheit so I though it was to be expected. The cardiologist told me I was too young to be having problems and he wanted to schedule another angiogram for the next morning. I talked to my mom, told her I didn’t see any need to go through this again, but she encouraged me to go ahead with the procedure so we could all enjoy the holidays.

So, we checked into a hotel for the night and got a shuttle to the hospital in the morning.

When I woke up in recovery, my mom was sitting with me crying. A strange man I had never seen before walked in and in broken English said, “You have triple bypass in five days.”

I was shocked and asked why. He said we had to wait five days to get the blood thinners out of my system.

Now, my mom doesn’t drive in winter and it was snowing. I had lots of kids at home and I wasn’t ready for Christmas so I asked when I needed to be back at the hospital. I knew my insurance wouldn’t cover 5 days lying in a hospital bed getting no treatment, so I figured I’d drive mom home, finish decorating, wrap the last presents and for back for the surgery.

He looked at me and said, “What you don’t understand. You leave, you die. “

I still expected to be discharged because I felt fine and I KNEW insurance wouldn’t cover all those days of lyng around.

Insurance approved the doctor’s orders.

That’s when I realized I was really having a problem.

I still don’t understand exactly what happened, but somehow in the two weeks after the angiogram I went from basically no blockage to what they call the widow maker.

Apparently I was lucky to live through the shopping trip.

So I had triple bypass surgery Christmas Eve, and we celebrated late that year.

Interstellar – 1950’s Super Panavision 70

What was the quickest court case you’ve ever witnessed?

I was on the other side of most of the answers here. In the jurisdiction I worked, we had an issue with people blowing by stopped school buses with their lights on. To combat this, there were grants provided to the police department to pay for overtime to officers to cover some of the bus stops. On occasion, I would sign up for these details and monitor the buses and bus stops that were loading and offloading children. There were several of these details over the period of several months.

During this time, I wrote several citations. These citations carry a pretty hefty fine and several points…so most people will take these to court.

Even though I wrote a lot of these citations on different dates at different times, several came up on the same court date and I was subpoenaed to attend. The judge made his way through the docket and eventually it was our turn.

The first guy up tells the judge he wants to plead guilty but with an explanation (this is one of the things people can plea to here). He explained that he was driving along and initially did not see the school bus at all. It was after he passed going the opposite direction that he saw he had passed the bus. He explained there was a large trash truck that blocked his view at first and when he saw the bus, it was too late. The judge asked me if there was a trash truck passing nearby as well. I acknowledged there was a trash truck that was slightly ahead of and in the next lane of the driver. Judge tells the guy he’s changing it from a plea to a not guilty and dismissed it.

Second guy gets called up and the judge asks the driver how he wants to plea. He just saw what happened and said “Not guilty because of a trash truck”. Before I can even tell the judge this was on another date, time, location, and there was no trash truck, the judge says “Not guilty” and calls the third case. Judge says “Let me guess….a school bus with a trash truck?” Before either me or the other guy can say a thing, Judge says “Not Guilty…next case”. Next person comes up who was stopped for a completely different violation and not part of the bus detail steps up and the judge just says “Not Guilty”. I just walked away shaking my head.

This particular judge isn’t normally like this and he later told me that he hates those overtime details because of how they are funded (through grants) and cost the taxpayers more. His gripe wasn’t with me or the citations that I issued. It is what it is I suppose.

Shorpy

How successful do female police officers tend to be at arresting men, either alone or with another female officer?

Originally Answered: How successful do female police officers tend to be at arresting men?

“How successful do female police officers tend to be at arresting men?”

Ooh, I have a great war story for this one! Early in my career I was backing up a city officer on a traffic stop. In fact, there were three of us cops there, all men, all pretty decent size. The suspect, it turns out, was drunk and needed to go to jail. He had a child in the car as well.

So, this suspect was. . .really big. Not fat. Big. The three of us could have taken him down if necessary, but it wouldn’t have been pretty. Also, his kid was still there, in the car. Who wants to beat up dad in front of his kid, even if he is a stupid drunk?

Anyhow, the three of us were standing in a semi-circle around the guy, with him backed up against his truck. We were doing the cop thing were we try to keep a balance between the “carrots” (just come with us and we don’t have to fight) and the “sticks” (if we have to fight, we’re going to all three gang up and pound you). Usually, that routine works like a charm, no pounding necessary. It wasn’t working this time though.

This guy was getting more and more scared. More and more mad. More and more ready to fight to the finish.

So, all tricks failing, we were starting to exchange glances with one another, getting ready to dive in and try to pin this guy down and handcuff him. Just then, another squad car pulls up. Out steps a female deputy. It took about 10 seconds for her to take in the situation, figure out what was going on, and notice the kid in the drunk’s car.

She lit into that guy. I mean, she absolutely chewed his ass up one side and down the other, calling him every name you can imagine, and some you can’t, to describe a cretin stupid enough to drive drunk with a kid in the car. The whole time, she modulated her high-pitched voice to sound as much like a stereotypical “nagging woman” as possible. She went on and on and on, calling the guy names, calling his parentage into question. Honestly, I started to feel embarrassed for the guy.

When she first started her tirade, us three guys had instinctively put ourselves between her and this drunk. A punch to her face would be much more likely to cause serious damage than a punch to our faces. As she continued to verbally rip his guts out, we sort of instinctively backed off. I didn’t realize it until afterwards when I recalled the scene, but as she went on and on, us three guys just sort of naturally and unconsciously drifted back until she was between the suspect and us. I even remember one of the other cops ending up staring at the ground and sort of idly scuffing the road with his foot, exactly like a kid watching his friend getting chewed out by mom.

Now, before that female deputy’s arrival, I’m pretty sure the guy was in such a state that he would have punched me right in the mouth if I had called him just one of the names she used. However, he just stood there and took it from her. As she went on and on and on, somehow never even pausing to breathe, his head started to droop, his shoulders started to sag, and then. . .I saw a small shudder.

What?

You must be kidding me!

Yes. It was true. This big, big drunk man who was seconds away from fighting three big cops had been reduced to tears by a female cop who did her best nagging woman routine. He was absolutely crushed. She ordered him to go see one of the male officers to be searched, and he did it meekly. Then she ordered him into her squad car. Didn’t even bother to handcuff him.

He sat in the back of that car and just cried the entire time while we waited for his wife to come pick up the kid and a for a tow truck to come pick up the car. By the time he was hauled off to jail, us male cops were acting sort of embarrassed and apologetic toward him. You know how it is, kind of hard to make eye contact because you feel so bad for the guy.

Everybody who wants to be a cop, male or female, has to figure out how to arrest uncooperative people who have the ability to beat them senseless. I’m not a small guy, but I occasionally still come up against people who could, without a doubt, beat me like I was a child. Does anyone think a guy who has been doing hands-on construction work all day, every day, for 10 years isn’t stronger than a cop who gets his muscles in a gym? You learn ways to deal with it. Female officers are no different. They just have to face a higher percentage of people who could beat them.

Are medical emergency staff people taught to walk calmly when going to the scene to rescue the person? I noticed that they don’t run.

When I was a brand new emt, I ran exactly once.

I tripped on a pothole and sprained my ankle badly. I was left behind by the crew as they had a more seriously ill patient to tend to. They did toss me a cold pack, with a look of disgust I will never forget. A supervisor eventually came for me, also with that look, and drove me to the emergency department. He advised me he would clock me out, to find my own way home, he was taking me off the months schedule and let them know when I had medical clearance to work again to call them, maybe they will have an opening.

When I was able to return, two months later, I was given granny runs for quite a while. When finally put back on emergency runs, it was with their best/worst trainer, Mr. Marty Ward. It says a lot that I still remember his name. He was and still is a very experienced, extremely knowledgeable, no bullshit kind of guy. He is the reason I eventually became a good paramedic.

You don’t run because if you hurt yourself you are useless . You don’t run because you need to take in the scene. Is it safe. How many victims. What’s your mechanism of injury. Where’s your nearest exit. What’s the crowd like. Where should you put your supplies.

They only look like they are casually walking, when in fact they are working all the time. Twenty years later I still survey my surroundings.

And if you ever do see one running and they are first on the scene, good bet they are brand new with a lot to learn. I’ll wait for the guy walking, thanks.

Deep Space Nein

Chad Lehrmann

“HOW ABOUT YOU SHUT UP, KARL!”Bert had had it. Too much time in the vacuum of space, too much time in close quarters. Too much cleaning and sauerkraut. Seriously, who eats that stuff?“HOW ABOUT YOU MAKE ME, BERT, YOU AMERICAN PIG!”Karl was done, too. The American was arrogant, prideful and sloppy. Then he was a clutz, too. That’s why they were here now, in space, with the gravitational controls out of function, floating.Not just the capsule.Them.

Floating.

In the capsule.

“FINE- HERE IT COMES!”

Bert pulled back his fist for an epic haymaker, and Karl prepared his fist for an equally devastating uppercut. Both men threw their hardest punch at each other and–

Well, they are floating weightless in space, so, since they were about five feet apart when this started, it will take a minute for the punches to drift together. So. Let’s take a look at how we got here.

Bert and Karl both signed up for a new International Space Hub mission to the dark side of the moon. It was a chance for these two brilliant scientists- who on paper were a perfect fit for each other to do important scientific work for the betterment of humanity.

Or something like that.

It was a photo-op for the newly minted International Space Hub to show it was A) actually international despite being headquartered in Florida and B) capable of actually getting into space.

Their first seven rockets had not gotten so far as the atmosphere- one had literally just fallen off the launchpad. Turns out the boosters were uneven.

While we are at it- Karl and Bert were not so much brilliant scientists as they were looking for a way out of a bad relationship and harboring a mild death wish, respectively. And ISH needed warm, preferably semi-intelligent bodies.

They did match up on paper, though, and when ISH held the press conference it was all smiles, handshakes and bro-hugs. The men laughed and joked about old US and German rivalries and what constituted real football. We should have seen it then, though. There were cracks. Like when Bert made the comment about “only animals eat wet, soggy grass like Germans eat sauerkraut,” and Karl gave the sidest-eye of all side eyes. Or when Karl explained how he hated people- like, all of them- so the loneliness wouldn’t be a factor.

But hey, that’s just cultural differences?

Right?

ISH finally got a rocket to work, and the men went up into space. Bert was silently disappointed they survived, and really, so was Karl’s ex. Now the mission was for a full year, and by the end of day two, there were issues.

In day one, Karl had baked traditional German streusel- and Bert LOVED it. But in day two, Karl walked in to find a situation not at all to his liking.

“Um, Bert. You, you haff left your dirty deeshes out. If you vant me to make you some more streusel, you are going to haff to be more tidy!”

Bert slowly turned his head and cocked his eyebrow. “Say what now? I am a grown man, don’t talk to me like a child. And I may not want anymore of your dry and tasteless streusel,” he said as he secretly stuffed the wrapped up leftovers in his jumpsuit pocket.

Karl made a clicking noise with his tongue. “Ah, you haff misunderstood. I am not saying you are like a child. I am implying zat you are a child. And vun zat does not haff the capacity to appreciate fine German foods.”

“Is this about the sauerkraut line?”

“Maybe….”

The next day, the slippery slope continued.

Literally.

Bert walked in on Karl’ reorganizing the chemical locker. “What are you doing?”

“I am reorganizing the cabinet so zat it makes sense to me.”

“No, you are messing up a good system.”

“You would not know a good system unless it vas named Playstation or Xbox.”

“Ohh! Somebody knows some American cultu-u-ur-ooooo!” Bert’s feet flew out from under him and he crashed down on his back on the sterile, white floor. “Karl, WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FREAK DID YOU DO?!?!”

“I cleaned up a spill I found from your beverage last night.”

“Ugh…did you think to put a “wet floor” sign up?”

“Hmmm. Zat would be a good idea for next time. Ooooor, you could clean it up as soon as you make the mess, no?”

Before we go further, let’s check back on our epic throwdown.

Well, they are about a foot closer, mostly due to Bert paddling his other hand in a dog paddle fashion. So, we have more time.

Back and forths on cleaning aside, they managed to get work done. But a peculiar habit of Karl’s emerged.

Talking in his sleep.

At first, it was an irritant. They shared a sleeping quarters, so there was no escaping the noise. Bert would be angry and irritable at breakfast, and invariably, Karl would announce- “I slept like I vas a baby! How did you sleep, Bert?”

Bert would grumble an inappropriate word or two and the day would go on.

Then it got weird.

One night, Bert was already awake from the incoherent mumbling when Karl sat bolt upright in bed and screamed: “GIVE HER ALL ZE CAPITALIST PIGS!” Then he slumped back down and went to bed.

Bert feared bringing it up at breakfast, but after completing a series of tests that morning involving highly combustible (and potentially deadly) chemicals, Bert felt a need to clear the air.

“So, about the sleep talking. Now, I don’t mind, mostly, but last night you screamed ‘GIVE HER ALL ZE CAPITALIST PIGS!’ and I gotta ask- what the ever-loving heck is up with that?”

“I screamed “GIVE HER ALL ZE CAPITALIST PIGS!’ last night? In my sleep?”

“Yes, you screamed, “GIVE HER ALL ZE CAPITALIST PIGS!’ in your sleep.” Last night. Next to my bed. At three in the morning. In the dark.”

“It must haff been a movie I saw vonce. I don’t have any other reason why I– VAT ARE YOU DOING?”

“What? I’m making a freeze dried hot dog.”

“Nein. You are ruining a freeze dried hot dog vith zat, zat, disgusting processed cheese from a can!”

The squelch of the yellow substance leaving the can continued for a second as Bert stared at Karl with dead eyes. “Really? Sauerkraut is delicious but good old American cheese from a can is disgusting?”

“Again, I am sorry. I misspoke. That, that…stuff…is inedible. You are disgusting.”

“Oh yeah! Well how about you tell me to my face?”

This lovely interaction was interrupted by a screeching alarm indicating an evasive maneuver was needed to avoid space trash. They did not speak that day, and went to bed in silence.

Bert woke in the middle of the night to see Karl standing beside his bed staring at him, sleepwalking.

“KAAAARLLL!”

Karl twitched and slurred, “Huh?”

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

Karl seemed to become aware of his location. “Oh, sorry.” Then he climbed back in bed. That instigated the decision to stagger sleeping schedules.

Time to check back in on the punch- yep. Almost there. Karl is kicking his feet like he’s running in place- should get there soon.

That brings us to the latest- and last inciting incident.

Bert was a slob. This was true in the truest sense of the word. He left clothes everywhere, and he left a trail of crumbs and spills wherever he went. Karl continued to warn him about spilling on the expensive and vital equipment. Bert continued to speak in sign language that engaged one finger.

During one of the shift changes, Karl noticed a dark liquid was covering some of the gravitational control switches. The things that gave them gravity inside the capsule. He began to berate Bert for his messiness and his carelessness when it came to the critical technology they needed to survive.

“I didn’t do it! I swear! You’re the one who insists on beer everyday- not me!”

“Ah, but I am careful to clean up any mess I make. You? You think zat is vat I am here for!”

A small spark shot up behind Karl from the board.

“Well, yeah I leave it for you. It’s the only thing seem capable of doing that we both agree on! So, why don’t you clean it up now!”

“I am done being your maid! And you know what- zat thing I said in my sleep- it vas not from a movie- it was my fantasy of getting rid of you!”

There was a bigger spark.

“Bad news broski- we are stuck together for the rest of the trip!”

“Vat is this ‘broski?’ I am not Russian. I am German you arrogant American!”

“I’m arrogant? I’m arrogant? You self righteous–”

There was a loud pop, a small flame and suddenly they were floating in zero gravity.

“LOOK VAT YOU HAFF DONE, YOU CLUTZ!” screamed a defiant Karl.

And that brings us to the start of the story. Now is as good of a time as any to explain that ISH had really messed up. The black liquid was oil that had seeped up and shorted out the control. In addition, they had pre-programmed the capsule to fly in a certain pattern, but had not actually bothered to confirm that their calculations were correct.

They were not.

In truth, the capsule was well off course, and headed directly for the sun.

Now, that epic punch should be about to happ- Oh!

Yeah, they missed and are trying to turn around to attack again. Maybe you should check back in a month or two.

Maybe they will have it together by then.

Apple Bacon Cinnamon Rolls

Maple, bacon and cinnamon rolls; the ultimate trifecta for your weekend brunch.

Prep: 15 min | Bake 30 min

Ingredients

6 Rhodes Cinnamon Rolls or 6 Anytime Cinnamon Rolls, dough thawed but still cold
12 pieces fully cooked microwaveable bacon
3 large apples, sliced

Instructions

Unroll each partially thawed cinnamon roll. Twist two unraveled cinnamon rolls together.
Place the bacon and apple along the twisted rolls and roll them up together.
Bake according to package instructions.
Add Rhodes cream cheese frosting while the rolls are still warm.

Poverty NO CHOICE: “Can I show you…?”

What was the quickest court case you’ve ever witnessed?

The one time I went to court over a speeding ticket, there were something like 3 cases before mine. Most took about 10 minutes or so, for the magistrate to ask what happened, ask the city attorney/police if they agreed, about what happened, and so on.

But then we get to the last one just before mine. To set this up, you probably need to know that at the time, they’d recently changed part of Tejon Street in downtown Colorado Springs (where all this took place) from being a 1-way to a 2-way street.

The guy ahead of me started by saying he was very sorry, and just got confused. The judge started to say he was going to reduce the ticket to a minimum charge, but the guy didn’t notice, and instead went on to say he was confused because of the change from 1-way to 2-way street. That probably only took him 10 seconds to say, but the consequences were pretty serious, to say the least.

The judge started to say something about how sympathetic he was for problems caused by the change, but then looked at the ticket again, and said: “Wait a sec…this was a half mile north of where that change happened. Don’t ever lie in my court. Maximum charges, full points on your license, and you get to spend tonight in jail for perjury.”

He never asked the city attorney/police for their side of the story or anything else. Probably less than 2 minutes start to finish.

Questions about the attempted Assassination of Candidate Trump

Not that I desire to wear a “tin foil hat”; but some things are not “adding up”.

The rifle that the shooter used was not an everyday, run of the mill, Walmart special. Nor was it a hunting rifle. It was a military-grade sniper rifle that is extremely expensive.

It’s an AXSR rifle.

The shooter was 20 years old. Heck, when I was $20 years old I couldn’t afford payment on a car, let alone a custom, high end, sniper rifle.

Do you know anyone who has won a lottery? Did the money change them?

One Saturday, I was at work serving lunch to our hard-working engineers and their families as we were in a desperate sprint to finish some software prior to our big annual trade show. We planned this to both recognize the team’s superhuman efforts, and give the engineers some much deserved time to see their loved ones.

A young woman employee approached me and said, “Gerry, I have a problem. Can I talk with you a moment privately?” I said, “Of course,” put down my serving utensils and walked over into a corner away from the crowd. She then said, “I just won $6 million in the lottery, and I don’t know what to do.” (note: this was 1990, so worth more than double that today)

My first reaction was, “This is a good problem!” But then went on to tell her, “Go get your phone number unlisted. Then decide you will do nothing, and I mean nothing important financially for a month or two, at a minimum. Get your bearings. Hire a reputable accountant and law firm. I can recommend a few if you like. And then do nothing. After things have settled down, decide what you want to do with your life, make a plan so that whatever happens that money lasts for the rest of your life. And then, go be happy with your good fortune!”

What I didn’t know, since I had not met her before, was that she was recently divorced and had recently lost 100 pounds. So, here she was: newly single, newly slim and newly rich!

She resigned from our company after a bit, and I lost track of her until we ran into each other in a restaurant a few years later. She told me she had found her passion in motivational speaking, inspiring others to go for their dreams and could not have been happier with her life.

Sometimes, nice things happen to nice people! The money didn’t change her, it revealed her.

The Future of America 2035 …

What is the dark side of being a police officer?

The death of innocence

There are many things an officer will see and experience which will stay with them for life. Here are three scenes that significantly impacted my view of the world.

Scene 1: The murder:

Today, a young gangster saw a rival gang member sitting with his family on his front porch. The two clearly are enemies. This gangster then rides on the back of a motorcycle past the house firing multiple rounds from a semi-automatic handgun at the porch. The gang member on the porch is uninjured, but a bullet strikes his mother in the head and immediately kills this, heavyset church-going woman. This happens right in front of her three other young children.

I’m just reporting in for work when the incident occurs. As the night watch commander, I am directed to respond to the scene and take control.

I arrive and have the scene taped off and secured. I also close the roadway and divert traffic, as it is part of my crime scene. Bullet casings litter the roadway from the gunfire. I have the woman’s body covered with a sheet and have arrangements made to get the children away from their dead mother. Witnesses identify the cyclist and the bike.

Once the immediate decisions are made and later when I review the events in my mind how do I make any sense of this, tragic murder? How do these children deal with what they have just witnessed? For me, the senseless loss of life was never something I could easily distance myself from. Some images like those children with their dead mother, you never forget.

Scene 2: The Innocent:

It’s eight am and I am just starting agency training with a newly hired lateral transfer officer. I get a call in my office that I should head over to the scene of a pedestrian motor vehicle crash. The patrol commander says it will be a good experience for my rookie officer. Upon arrival, I learn that it was a little eight-year-old girl running to catch the school bus because she didn’t want to miss school, and the back wheel of the bus caught the side of the girl’s foot forcing her forward onto the roadway before the buses back tires pass over the child’s head. The child lays in the street while people try to take pictures and seagulls swoop down and pick at her remains. You can’t get these pictures out of your head. You can’t un-see these horrible things, as much as I would like to, you just can’t.

Scene 3: The boy and his father:

I’ve been with several young people just before they died from car crash injuries. Cops are always the first on the scene of the most terrible events. I have seen the terror in a young boy’s eyes while pinned in a car. He was pinned so severely, that even though I told him help was on the way and he would be fine, I think we both knew the truth. I stayed with him for about two minutes before he exhaled making a gurgling sound and passed. He had to be cut out of the car, later that night at the local body shop.

This boy’s father showed up at the scene a few minutes after he died. We had draped a sheet over that part of the car and awaited the arrival of the medical examiner. The father was hysterical, as I probably would have been. It was so hard to experience, seeing this man’s pain.

He wanted very badly to go to the car, and I kept telling him he didn’t want to see his son right now. We had to gently yet physically restrain this father with a bear hug, to stop him from going to the car. I said he could see his son at the hospital. I didn’t want that father to see what I had seen, a crushed and mangled body, barely recognizable which was his son.

I used to say each time I experienced this type of traumatic event a small piece of me died inside. You learn to cope, and you learn to control your emotions at least on the outside. But they are always with you, and I can still see them. This is the darkest side of police work.

She Is Trying To Trap Men Into a Sexual Harassment Case & It’s OBVIOUS

What did your sister do to you that you can never forget?

20 years ago I divorced, and bought a little house where I expected to live out my days. Two years after I moved in, my sister’s relationship ended. She was quite distraught. Her hope was that I would buy a bigger house, closer to her work, and we could live together. I REALLY didn’t want to do this. I talked her into renting an apartment while she decided what she was going to do. She did it and hated it without giving it a chance. She was a basket case and in an effort to save her, I agreed to buy a house and live together. Before we did anything, and knowing she could be a prude, I told her that I had no plans to stop smoking pot and if she had a problem with that it couldn’t work. She said it didn’t bother her at all. So I gave up my house, bought another one, and we both moved in. She was cranky from the beginning. I did everything possible to make her happy. Four months after moving in, my sister announced that as soon as she got her money from her house she was moving out. She was supposed to give me that money as her down payment on the house, and she was supposed to begin making payments. She did neither and I ended up taking a big loss on the house. Not only did my sister screw me over on the money, she told the entire family, including our parents, that she moved out because I smoked pot! I try not to hold a grudge because she’s family, but I’ll never trust her again. I still wish I lived in that house.

Valerian: Pearl Beach (A short Sci-fi Adventure inspired by Luc Besson’s Movie Valerian (2017)

What was the most blatant scam a customer has ever failed to get away with?

Not mine but a friend’s story.

He was called in to varnish the ceiling of an Indian restaurant. The bill came to about £360 (about 25 years ago). Each time he called, the client didn’t have his cheque book or enough cash in the till, etc., etc.

After several months he enrolled the help of a large friend to accompany him and entered the restaurant when it was packed with diners. He was carrying dust sheets, a tin of varnish solvent and a step ladder. He clapped his hands and caught everyone’s attention.

“If you could all cover your meals. I’m here to get my varnish back and the stuff I’m using is toxic.”

He set up the ladder and the owner came running down to my mate asking what he was doing.

“Taking my varnish back – you’ve not paid for it. I’m taking it off.”

He told my mate to come back another time as he didn’t have his cheque book and didn’t have enough cash in the register. Wordlessly, my mate opened the tin of solvent and started to lay out the dust sheets. The owner ran back to the register and magically found the amount my mate was owed.

These Ancient Animals Scarier Than Dinosaurs

While repairing a car, have you ever found something you weren’t supposed to see in it?

Many years ago, I was at work as a police detective and driving down the road. I heard a call go out for a local garage. CDS (drugs) were found in a customer’s car. I was close by so I responded and cancelled the patrol unit (they were busy and this was an easy call to handle).

When I arrived, the owner of the car was there along with the owner or the garage. Turns out, it was actually the owner who found the drugs in the car after having the car serviced and returned to the garage.

When speaking to them, I got the back story. The car had been stolen from the owners house and the owner reported it to the police. After that, a police officer encountered the car, for whatever reason, and attempted to stop the car. The car took off and then a chase was initiated. Ultimately, the car crashed and the occupants bailed out. I don’t recall if they were captured or not.

During the chase and the resulting crash, the car sustained significant damage and was towed from the scene. Once the insurance company did whatever it is they do, the vehicle was released to the owner. The owner then had it towed to the garage for repair.

The repairs were completed and the vehicle owner was contacted, who then went and picked up his car. It was shortly after leaving the garage he made the discovery.

The find? It was a ball….a little bigger than a softball, that was made of crack cocaine. I’ve never seen it sold or transported as a ball and at this point in my career, it was largest slab of crack I had ever seen.

Paycheck to Paycheck on a Six Figure Salary

Law enforcement is at my front door, claiming a 911 call came from my home. Am I required to permit their entry?

Had this happen once a few years ago.

I live way out in the boonies outside town. My property is totaly OFF GRID . I built my home there is no old fashioned land lines, There is very spotty cell service where you are lucky to get 2–3 bars of service while standing on the roof. I have SAT phone and internet service.

I was living alone at the time, one night I heard a car pull up my driveway 2 officers got out came to my porch where I was sitting. They CLAIMED a 911 call came from my home. I explained that there is no phone or service and told them to check thier cell phones. explained that the only phone on the property is my SAT phone. I suggested they check with my neighbors as one of them may have called. They asked to search my home for other persons. I explained I live alone there is no one else. I asked if they were sure they had the correct address they said they were going to search anyways because I am acting nervous and suspicious. I got on my sat phone made a call then grabbed my mic for my CB/HAM radio and asked my neighbor to come over and deal with the two idiot cops. My neighbor is the county sheriff. he showed up and I told him what was happening. he handled the two local PD officers he called into the dispatch about the call and found the two officers had gone to the wrong address. dispatch sent them to an address across town a few miles away and instead of using GPS or a MAP they came down my road. the number on my mailbox was the same but the name of the road was not the one they were looking for.

While the two geniuses were headed to my home a woman on the otherside of town was raped beaten and robbed by an ex husband. He escaped that night cause the two officers went to the wrong street and were arguing with me. The woman survived her injuries spent a week in the hospital, Her ex hubby was caught a month later in another state. I got a visit from the chief of local PD a few days after where he apologized for his officers disturbing me and then said if I had just complied it would be easier. He also told me to never go over his head because the sheriff does not have jurisdiction over the town. I just laughed…… He is as stupid as his officers were.

A short time after the incident my wife and teen children moved in. 2 of my kids have since began working in law enforcement. My youngest child is headed off to college in the fall to become a lawyer.

Will jobs that moved to China be brought back to the US as President Trump promised?

My dad started a small manufacturing firm. His firm needed some small (1/8th HP) electric motors. They have tried very hard to use American suppliers. They found a company in South Dakota that made this type of motor. The company said that they could not guarantee delivery of the motors in a timely manner as they were having trouble finding workers for their plant. They were recruiting in Minneapolis and Omaha for folks to come work in rural South Dakota for $15 per hour. Nobody wanted to. If we are honest with ourselves, the jobs are here, we just don’t like them nor do we want to move where they are. If jobs magically did come back from China, I doubt there would be any Americans to fill them. We would have jobs in America with more undocumented workers from South America doing them. My dad’s company ended up buying motors from China.

Crying Mother cat REALLY Needed Help What Happens Next is Heartbeaking

Coal Miner’s Daughter

My mother was afraid that I would drop out of college at the university. And it was a real concern. So many of our friends were dropping out of school. So she had this idea. She got me a job at a coal mine. And she went out of her way to make sure it was a hard life. In her mind, the harder the better.

And that was my first introduction to working.

I started working at a very young age, and my parents had to sign a waver to allow me to work as I was under the age of 16. But, you know, both my parents felt that I needed to have the harsh life lessons early on. That I needed to see what a paycheck was, and what deductions were.

Of course, they didn’t feel this way about my sisters. They could live an easy life; go to the games, be cheerleaders. Have an allowance, and visit the mall.

Even my younger brother was spared the working life, for some reason that I never got a straight answer to.

Anyways, the very first task that I was assigned on my first day of work was to scrub out all the trash cans by hand. Oh, sure, it wasn’t necessary. But it was part of the new-hire “hazing” of us younger guys.

For whatever it is worth, when my daughter gets older, I will give her a work experience, briefly. And following that; a heavy does of running her own business,.

Maybe a vending machine business. Or something along those lines. Simple, with hands-on activity.

I believe that it is my job: my role to provide these skills, and NOT to rely on the public school system to take over that responsibility.

I know. I am weird. But it’s my strong point of view on this matter.

Today…

New Orleans Pepper Steak

Ingredients

Steak

2 steaks suitable for grilling (T-bone, porterhouse, etc.)
1 tablespoon cracked or coarse ground black pepper
1/2 teaspoon thyme
1/8 teaspoon ground allspice
1 teaspoon Colgin’s liquid smoke
2 large cloves garlic, crushed or 1 teaspoon garlic paste

New Orleans Steak Butter

3 tablespoons butter
1 teaspoon lemon juice
1 teaspoon finely minced fresh parsley
1/2 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce or Colgin’s liquid smoke

Instructions

Steak

Prepare the steaks for the grill about 1/2 hour ahead of time. Rub the two steaks with all of the ingredients using 1/2 for each steak.
Grill over hot coals to desired degree of doneness. The amount of pepper used can be varied according to your taste but do not increase the amount of garlic. The garlic cooks with the steaks and will not be overwhelming. Serve with the Steak Butter.

New Orleans Steak Butter

Just before putting the steaks on the grill, prepare the sauce. Put the butter in a small saucepan and melt over low heat. Add the rest of the ingredients and cook over low heat until the parsley is wilted. Keep the sauce warm and serve over the steaks as soon as they are done.

A Chinese non-military official once said:

If China had provided military assistance to Russia, Russia would have won and the war would have ended long ago..

Through this joint anti-terrorism military exercise with Belarus, the United States and the West will believe that Chinese officials are not saying this casually.

Instead of spending a lot of energy to dispel rumors, it is better to actually prove it to you! — If the Russian army has a large army of combat robot dogs and combat drones, can Ukraine still resist it?

The United States does not have the capacity to go to war with China, and the politicians in Washington have not yet realized this.

The U.S. flaunts its military prowess to China without realizing that China’s industrial output has far surpassed that of the United States.

Industrial capacity is important for war because you have to produce ammunition, missiles, and countless drones.

It would be very dangerous for the US to go to war with China in the face of a gap in industrial capacity.

If the Chinese offer a peace proposal, you better say yes or their people will be happier than you.

What is a scary or disturbing fact that is 100% true?

On January 15th 1919 a tank filled with 2.3 Million gallons of molasses burst and sent a tsunami of slow pouring sticky substance that was said to be 40 foot high and weighing more than 13,000 metric tons through the streets of Boston killing 21 people and injuring many more. The molasses being much denser than water carried a great deal of potential energy with it.

The wave of molasses crested some 8 meters high in places and travelled at 35 miles per hour through the streets. Buildings didn’t stand a chance and horrifically people became stuck in the sticky substance. The unlucky ones were stuck under the surface and died. As the molasses was so heavy a rush of sweet smelling air proceeded it and knocked people of their feet only to be engulfed by the tsunami. In total 21 people were killed and 150 people injured across a 800 meter long trail of destruction.

Rescue efforts were very difficult and anyone who ventured into the area to search for survivors became stuck. Eventually most of the molasses was washed into the harbour using salt water. It stained the Boston harbour a deep brown for over an half a year. It was also reported that people tracked the molasses across the city making everything unpleasantly sticky for weeks, if anyone has kids you would know the torment of sticky messes. And for many years to come it was reported that on hot sunny days the air in Boston smelt of molasses.

They Lied To You About CHINA: This is SHENZHEN!

How do they cook the chicken at KFC? If they actually make it, wouldn’t they notice that they’re cooking lungs and things?

KFC was my first job when I was a teenager, but I remember a lot about the place.

Our chicken was always fresh; chilled, but not frozen. It was supplied by a local poultry company, and already cut into pieces; leg, thigh, breast, & wing. There was nothing really special about the chicken itself; the poultry supplier supplied numerous other restaurants with chicken, so it was all actually chicken.

We only had original recipe in those days. The pieces were dipped in a milk and egg dip (powdered mixed with water), and then dredged in seasoned flour. The seasoning (11 herbs & spices) came in a packet that we mixed with a bag of flour (10# I think). We did all this on a breading table, and had the chicken pieces in a basket ready for the fryer. The chicken was placed in the hot oil, and cooked in these huge pressure cookers for 20 minutes. We had a special clock on the wall for timing; when the pressure lids were put on, we would write the time it was to be done on the stove with a white grease pencil. (I think it is more automated now).

When the chicken was ready, we would dump the entire contents of the pot out on a fryer table, where the vegetable oil would drain off and collect in the bottom, and then the chicken pieces were placed into a Crescor, which was a steam cabinet to keep the pieces warm and moist, ready to be served to the customer. The oil was filtered, and we would refill the pots from the fryer table, ready to go again.

We would make gravy too, using a gravy mix and water. We would add some of the left-over crumbs from the bottom of the fryer to season it, sort of like using pan drippings to make gravy at home.

We also had gizzards from time-to-time that we would cook in the same way as the regular chicken pieces, except the gizzards had to be cooked longer.

In all my experience, I never ever saw a piece cooked or served that wasn’t a normal piece of chicken purchased locally. I’ve heard rumors that KFC uses genetically modified chickens that would have six drumsticks or fifteen wings or something equally as freaky. But I can assure you that is nothing more than the product of a myth and an overactive imagination. And they don’t serve lungs or any other entrails; KFC doesn’t serve “chicken haggis.” If a piece of lung happened to be in with the chicken, it would be unintentional. Besides, if you’ve ever butchered and cleaned chickens, the lungs are sometimes tricky to completely remove from the cavity. However, it would only be a small fragment (very difficult to detect after cooking), and not an entire lung.

KFC, at least from my experience, is very picky about their food. If a piece of chicken isn’t done right, it gets thrown away.

However, KFC was about the hottest job I’ve ever had. The kitchen wasn’t air conditioned (the rest of the store was), so it would easily climb to over 100 degrees in the summertime. 120 degrees was about the hottest I experienced. I just hope working conditions have improved over the years. For a teenager, it was an okay first job, and I was happy with the money I earned, even though it was just $1.15/hour. But that was back in 1969.

[2022我要上春晚]《麒麟》演唱：早安|CCTV春晚

This is some serious Chinese popular music. Note that the entire performance is done using traditional Chinese instruments.

Will India catch up to China?

The way we are currently going? No way. I have lived in India for some forty years and in China for more than two years (though I have been visiting the country since 1996). India is today where China was in 1979, but in India we are still rudderless, direction less and leaderless (without knowing it).

the reason why China’s development has worked for it for so logn is because it is focused on a larger number of people and not a smaller number of people getting wealthy. In India, what we have is still the latter.

The day the life of the farmers in India start improving, the person who has to travel like an animal in overcrowded Mumbai local trains starts getting better and we Indians start caring for each other without being under pretensions that we are superior to fellow Indians (I am referring to the Hyderabad police and Telangana govt. imagining itself to be superior to poorer beggars – just a symptom of a much more widespread malady that affects us all) – that day I will say there is some chance that we might catch up with China.

PS – Just do a google image search to see what the railway stations in China – Shanghai, Shenzhen, Tianjin, Chengdu, Xiamen look like. That is considered “normal” in over a hundred cities in China. We don’t have a single such place in India – a few airports don’t mean anything as masses travel by trains. Do a similar search for their roads and buses. And their government run schools. That is where the real development lies – not in rockets sent up, missiles, stock exchanges, GDP and a few hundred super rich people in either country.

An honest Admission –
Every day I spend in China, while I appreciate what they have (they have worked hard for it and continue to do so), I keep saying to myself – “I wish my country was like this, because I know my people deserve it and are capable of it. I wish some day my people will feel they deserve better – and people here includes the people in government”.

Life Found on Mars

Submitted into Contest #17 in response to: Write a story about a family dinner that takes place in any time period other than the present.… view prompt

Christina Steele

The council had agreed. Euthanization of the immigrants would happen today at the high moon this 2052 MY (Mars Year) 549 Sol. Most were in poor health anyway, some would stay for continued scientific examination, and four of the youth who survived information intake showed educable promise would receive Partial Martian citizenship. Quatek had attended the meeting with her mother, Supreme Empress Quarmine. Quatek practiced her self-teleportation and levitation. But the word euthanized sharpened her already pointed ears. As part of the population control reform, her grandmother, the fourteenth Supreme Empress, had enacted, and last year on her two- hundredth birthday died as number 16587, becoming a member of the new Grand Guiding Ancestors. The reform called upon the Euthanization of all Martians on their two-hundred birthday. When she signed the reform, she was signing her own death certificate. Quatek still missed her grandmother, tears falling far too often for a future Empress, according to her mother. Grandmother had taught her to have an open heart; her mother taught her to have a steady hand. Quatek knew that many of the councilwomen believed her mom had advised the Euthanasia Population Control Reform. Her mother refused to accept chemical or medical control of life. The all-female population had evolved to self-reproduce only three-hundred MY ago. Their numbers were small back then, but now they were running out of space. To assure a quality life for the babies, sterile older women had to die. It would be a sacrifice, but after death, they transformed into the Grand Guiding Ancestors and held in reverence.That was the same year the immigrants came. Their ship landed near the craters of Aquanis and Anquiteka. Fearful they would attack the water and easily defeat the aged community, these immigrants were transferred into the trans-tunnels and held in Section 1, an antiquated abandoned living area. The area still had all the essential water, air, food delivery chutes, and temperature control units. Old and lacking systems but suitable for immigrants, some now called invaders. Over the last year, observation and experimentation became commonplace. Suspicion waned, then grew when several Observants, a party of 6 women, were in the migrant’s ship. After entering the vessel, an unanswered security breach alert led to a self-destruct warning, and finally, the ship exploded. The Earthling migrants explained that after so long with no one onboard their planet, set up this security device to keep their craft out of alien hands. This lead to talk of euthanasia for no life capable of such a barbaric tactic to kill would be worthy of life.Anxious, Quatek wandered out of the council chambers and down the red stone tunnel. Light fell in spots from the escape airlock hatches above. The hatches secured into the bottom of the shallow craters on the planet’s surface existed as emergency exits in case of a tunnel collapse. At the third spot of light was her mother’s office, not even her daughter status would get passed the guards on duty at the door. It would only be a few years, and the office would be hers. Surely a few moments inside wouldn’t be wrong, just educational. Quatek pressed her green-tinted palms together, lifting her elbows. Rubbing her hands, she applied her warmed palms to her hidden third eye in the center of her forehead. Seconds later, she appeared behind her mother’s desk undetected. Sitting in the royal seat, she viewed the screen, which appeared on default along with the holograms. The screen showed the twenty migrants, who would die, there was nothing she could do. Quatek paused at Mary’s image. She and Mary became friends over the year. Mary would stay at the request of Quatek, though Mary’s parents would die. It would be hard, but she would be with her. Help her. That is when the sidebar came into view.“Noooo!” she muffled her scream with her hand. The final order, signed by her mother, appeared. Quatek read all immigrants euthanized so more Martian babies could be born. “This can’t be,” Quatek whispered.The guards entered and began questioning her. She had to save Mary. She rubbed her hands and transported to Area 1. Spotting Mary, Quatek wrapped her arms around her and transported them both to the far path. This historical path, sacred as a tribute to her people’s first exodus from the surface to the climate controllable tunnels constructed with primitive tools. They climbed the stairs of the sphinx. Both suited up in the airlock within the sphinx eye. They had come here many times. Taught each other a crude sign language and eventually fell in love. Quatek conveyed everything to Mary, there in that eye, looking out at the red sands on the surface of her home planet. Tonight, she told Mary that the Martians themselves had once been migrants from the green planet Merus. Only the Empresses and the Chief Historian know this fact. Quatek’s ancestors arrived here after their planet died. The Meronians brought with them viruses that killed the red indigenous people who lived on the surface. That is why they don’t breathe the Mars air even though they adopted the Martian name. It is why they are in tunnels, why Quatek glows with a green tinge, and why no males we’re born after the first several years. Perhaps the heat of the sun or some environmental induced genetic malformation. And likely why Mary and her people became feared by the governing council. Finally, she shared the worse news of all. All the Earthlings would be euthanized tonight. They held each other a long time then walked back. Mary shared that her mom would give birth soon. Could they wait until after the birth? Could there be a first Earth-Martian if only for a while?Just then, guards accompanied by the Superior Empress arrived and shackled their arms and legs with force field cuffs.“Mother listen, you cannot kill them.”“We are not killing them; we are putting them to sleep for the benefit of them and us. They have no home and no way back, and I cannot exchange our lives for theirs. I have a responsibility to my fellow Martians to life.”Fellow Martian, huh? You believe a new life replaces old life, right? The right to be born is more important than the right to continue as a life lived. Isn’t that your belief?” Quatek paced. The Empress stood in silence. A scream was heard, then a high-pitched cry. “Mary’s mother just gave birth. Isn’t this new Martian life worthy of saving? Isn’t all live worthy?” Mary’s father brought the new child to the front and held him up near the clear security glass that held them, prisoners. There was a sudden silence as the new life sucked on the finger of her father.“How long have you co-mingled?” the Empress demanded.“Nearly ten months.”“No issues?”

“None.”

“Guards put Mary with her family. Child of mine be released and transport to my office immediately.” The cuffs fell of Quatek as the guards carried Mary to the cell.

Hours later, an hour before euthanasia, the council tired from compromise, at last, agreed. At the hour of the immigrant’s end, there came a new beginning. Hundreds gathered in Area 1, bringing food, clothing, and bedding. They removed the glass between them, and cautiously embraced this new life on their planet. Not just the new life being passed around like a crystal goblet of wine, but all life—all life brave enough to fight beyond its bounds of gravity and enter a new world. The decree came to pass that an annual celebration called Thanksgiving of Life would include a new flag of red and blue and green and a grand feast of shared food and gratitude.

What was the last thing a Trump supporter said to you?

<Bug-eyed> “If I had my gun in my car right now, you would be dead!”

Needs a bit of background, though.

My daughter has a learner’s permit, and a HUGE, HUGE sticker on the back of the car saying “STUDENT DRIVER”. We are at a parking lot in a strip mall. She has moved into a parking slot, and is trying to reverse the car to park it parallel to the markings. Fastidious, like it is drilled in to student drivers to be.

In comes an Escalade, right behind our vehicle. Honks loud and long. The kid gets slightly panicked. I tell her to keep her cool, finish the maneuver. The Escalade races its engine, comes within an inch of the bumper, and keeps honking.

My daughter parks the car. The Escalade is on the driveway, blocking all other cars in the parking lot.

Out comes an elderly gentleman, about 60ish. We are getting out of the car. He’s obviously mad.

He: “You assfucker … you shithead …”

Me: “Excuse me … what is happening here?”

He: “Who do you think you are … reversing the car when I am coming in?”

Me: “Sir, sorry if I inconvenienced you, but there is a huge STUDENT DRIVER sign on the back of the car. Did you not notice that?”

He: “I don’t give a shit about signs, you motherfucker … Go back to your own country … You fucking terrorist … President Trump would deport you once I make a call to ICE …”

And this point in time, I am speechless. My daughter is close to tears. What have I gotten myself into?

Then, this gentleman’s wife comes out of the car and approaches my daughter. She does not sound angry. Ah, here is some sanity.

She (to my daughter): “You know, you really should not be permitted to drive. This is a country of white people. Your father isn’t white, and should not be allowed in this country at all.” All of this in a reasonable tone.

This is where I think I made a mistake, but I couldn’t take this any more.

Me: “I hope you have health insurance”

She: “What do you mean?”

Me: “Well, looks like you will need mental health help soon. I hope you are insured for that.”

The gentleman chimes back in.

He: “You fucking asshole, if I had my gun in my car right now, you would be dead”.

Me: “Well, Illinois does not have a Stand Your Ground Law, so that would be homicide”.

And that is when we walked off the lot. The kid was crying, and it took 30 minutes of talking to her (and an ice-cream) to convince her that she had done nothing wrong.

Sad. What is this country coming to?

EDIT: I had been seething internally about this encounter for the past three weeks, and writing this out was a kind of catharsis for me. The outpouring of good thoughts was overwhelming. Thanks everybody for your lovely thoughts.

For the multitude of people who apologized, you don’t have to. I fully understand that all of you are not one of them. And I still have faith. After all, what’s the point in carrying on, otherwise?

EDIT ON EDIT: Lots of people have advised me about videotaping the incident. While I do appreciate the advice, the unfortunate thing is that when someone is hurling epithets at me in my face, my first thought is to protect my daughter and myself, not record it as evidence to be produced later to law enforcement.

Notice that every time this kind of incident gets posted on social media, it is almost always a third person who has recorded it? The people involved are rarely recording a POV video. Same in this case.

US American REACTS – How I See the US After 5 Years

Solar power

Well, the US doesn’t have to worry about Fusion. It will take decades at least.

Right now, Chinese solar panels are below $0.02 per watt. This is from $100 in the 70s. That is 2 cents per watt.

Chinese solar panels are killing big oil and big gas. And it is being manufactured in mass quantities. 600GW of solar panels last year, 600+GW this year, and 900GW of solar panels in 2025. It will be over 1TW of solar panels in 2026 and beyond.

Each watt of solar panel can generate on average of 6 sun hours per day and 260 sun days per year of 1,500 watt of electricity.

Now multiply that by the amount manufactured. And this is going all over the Global South. Ironically China is making the Global South energy independent of the control by the West.

Which makes the US and the EU absolutely hate China. Because those panels will produce power for 30 years before dropping to 80% capacity and still keep going.

There is no oil to interdict or control to starve other nations by the West. Once those panels go in, the West will have to bomb them to get rid of them.

But if they are install on every rooftop then the West would need more bombs then they dropped in WWII just to remove them from a small nation.

This is true energy independence. Fusion will be great for places where the sun doesn’t shine or for large mobile applications or space.

Fun photos that are curious

What is the biggest culture shock you have ever faced?

Libraries in China.

The very first time I entered a library on campus, I was imagining something like this:

main qimg a2b3fe6afc66560494bcd355a37e6489

Shelves upon shelves of books. Chairs. People sitting around reading.

The library was about seven storeys, so I was psyched about all the books it could contain. I didn’t bother to check for a building map, I just entered the first floor, walked into a room. I saw: tables, chairs, textbooks and notebooks piled on tables, people busy studying.

main qimg 1b23c6d97844c093f1c7964abf918f51

“This must be the study room”, I thought to myself. I checked the next floor.

Same.

And the next.

Same.

I grew tired and checked the map in the elevator. The actual book-containing part of the library was apparently on the sixth floor.

“Oh finally, “ I thought.

Come to find, the “library” was just one room with about nine shelves of reading books.

A whole seven storey building called the library and this is the actual library?! A small room hidden away in the sixth floor while everyroom else were barebacked study rooms?!

The college is humongous. It has two campuses and four libraries, the smallest library having seven floors and the biggest having eleven.

You can bet your bottom the majority of the rooms in these libraries are just study rooms. What are even reading books, anyway? What kind of moron reads those things?

The study culture here is no joke. Kids pile their books on their reserved spots in the library and sit there studying for hours on end. They keep snacks, water bottles, power banks on site.

This library opens at 7 AM and closes at 11 PM. My deskmate, I think he lives here. He’s always here before I arrive and leaves after I do.

I took this picture one morning because it was a rare occurrence that my study room was bare. I felt like a real champ, a stellar scholar, to be one of the first to arrive.

Across is my deskmate’s side. We “reserve” our tables by keeping our books on them. We also reserve our chairs by doing something similar. He has an orange cushion on his chair to reserve his. I have a small bag draped over the back of mine. Others normally put a spare jacket over theirs.

Need a nap? Sleep on the desk, everybody else does.

Thirsty? Water machines on every floor will give you piping hot or ice cold water for ¥0.1 (0.014 USD) per litre.

Hungry? Bikes will deliver food straight from the mess to the library, you can use your phone to order. There’s also a canteen on the ground level. Their pot noodles aren’t the best but they have good ice cream. They have good bread but they’re always running out of those.

Need some fresh air? There are comfy seats in the court.

It’s like everything is conditioned to keep us here studying hard as much as possible. Libraries in China are truly something else; it was quite a culture shock for me.

China military enters Europe. US backs down, cancels 3000 troop deployment in Georgia. US lost India

China subsidies all their product to sell to Europe, does it mean, China is loosing money when selling to Europe? Why China sell Europe at a loss, is it due to China is too rich thus able to help other country?

That’s not how things work

Take Solar Panels

In 2008, A Chinese company makes Solar Panels of very low quality

If they want to make high quality solar panels – based on their manufacturing process – they can only get a 3% FPR meaning out of 10,000 Panels you get 300 Excellent Quality Panels and 9700 Very Low Quality Panels

How can they make money?

They can’t sell 97% of what they make so they simply can’t sustain the business yet they have the R&D and they know that if given the scale, they can make top class panels at optimum cost in 10 years

Which Bank will lend them? Who will wait for 10 years?

This is where the State of China and a group of Industries say WE WILL TAKE CARE OF YOU TILL YOU REACH THAT OPTIMUM LEVEL. YOU JUST DO YOUR R&D

So China pays for 9700 Worthless Panels and destroys the panels using their tax revenues plus money given by big industries like Huawei or Bytedance

Thus this Chinese company keeps making more and more panels – millions and millions more and slowly their FPR grows from 3% in 2008 to 71% in 2018

Now out of 1 Million Panels – they can make 710,000 Very High Quality Panels

And their costs are negligible because they have been subsidized by the Chinese State

So they can sell at 20% of what Germany sells their panels for and still make a 30% profit

They have cracked the Economies of Scale

So now these Panel manufacturers will ask the State of China –

Now that we are making profits and have gained market dominance – How can we ever thank you?

Xi smiles and says “Now you guys help us subsidize the High End Chipmakers, Etching equipment makers and AI LLM startups”

And the cycle goes on and on – each generation which got subsidies will subsidize the next generation

Costs this remain lower and lower and once scale is obtained – China is the master of Quality at lowest price

There is no competition possible

So State Subsidies don’t help the Companies sell at a loss

They help the companies afford to focus on getting to a large scale without worrying about Loans, EMIs, Installments, Investors etc

Like Normal Startups face

An Indian guy can’t get any of these benefits

He may have a superior product but to reach a large scale enough to attain profitability and optimum quality – he needs 7–12 years of continuous exponential financing to help him reach the scale

Banks wont lend him

Government is too broke borrowing and building collapsing infrastructure

Chinese Investors have been banned due to fifth rate paisa nationalism and other investors don’t have the patience to wait for even 5 years leave alone 10–12. You will see more of Byjus and Paytm

Unlike the Chinese Industrialists our Thelawallah Businessmen are busy with 3000 Crore weddings. They won’t help anyone subsidize business without a Government sanctioned Sten Gun on their temple

So the Indian leaves India, goes to Singapore and gets financing from a Chinese/Japanese VC and in a few years the product goes to US or China

While Rohit Sharma gets another 100 Crore for sponsoring Underpants

That’s what State Subsidies mean

Pour money and allow a Business to reach a scale where it can sustain itself

Ensure all R&D costs are paid by the State so that the Business can afford to sell at 20% of the US or German price and still make a 30% Profit

And the Business in turn helps subsidizes more businesses and helps pay for more R & D

El Gato Jackson

Did you know that a spoonful of honey is enough to keep a person alive for 24 hours?

Did you know that one of the world’s first coins had the symbol of a bee?

Did you know that honey contains live enzymes?

Did you know that these enzymes die when in contact with a metal spoon? The best way to eat honey is with a wooden spoon; if you can’t find one, use a plastic spoon.

Did you know that honey contains a substance that helps the brain function better?

Did you know that honey is one of the few foods on earth that alone can sustain human life?

Did you know that bees saved people from starvation in Africa?

Did you know that propolis produced by bees is one of the most powerful natural antibiotics?

Did you know that honey has no expiration date?

Did you know that the bodies of the world’s greatest emperors were buried in golden coffins and then covered in honey to prevent rot?

Did you know that the term “Honeymoon” comes from the fact that the bride and groom consumed honey for fertility after the wedding?

Did you know that a bee lives less than 40 days, visits at least 1000 flowers and produces less than a teaspoon of honey, but for her it is her life’s work.

Thank you beautiful bees!

As a house maid, what was the grossest thing you’ve ever found while cleaning a house?

Not a maid, but have a couple rentals. The absolute worst were single girls. One in particular. She had a decent job and could afford it, so I rented to her. At the end of the first month when the rent was due, she was no where to be found. Stopped by several days…not home. Stopped by late one day, after dark, and she’s still not there, and the lights are off. Now I’m noticing that the power is not on. Hmm…. Called her job, “fired a few weeks ago…” But they told me where she went to work. Stopped by there. Deer in the headlights surprise…. oh hi! Long story short, she moved in with boyfriend and just “forgot” to call, but her furniture, clothes, baby stuff is still in my house…but she states that she’s not going to pay for the next month, even though she’s occupying my house with her stuff. Her parting comment is “so sue me”. Okay, I’m going there tomorrow, and placing all the contents on the curb. Come get what you want. When I made entry, oh my!…the smell….”#gagamaggot! Spoiled food everywhere, fridge, floor, bathroom…etc…. but here’s the biggie, in a corner of the master br is a ripe stinking nasty pile of soiled diapers, and used kotex pads, with assorted flies, gnats, and whatever bugs crawling around doing what they do. To lazy to use a garbage can. Remember, power is off, and this is summer in the south and the air was so heavy with scent you could taste it. So I retreat to change clothes and don face mask and two pair of rubber gloves, and roll in a garbage can with a heavy plastic bag and open all the windows and doors. Took me a week to make that home suitable to show again. That one will be in my memory for a while!. I did take a number of pictures, just for future reference. Bleah! Ugh! Gag! Vomit!

Every morning, the CEO of a major bank in Manhattan went to the corner where a shoeshine man was always there.

He used to sit on the chair, read the Wall Street Journal, and the shoeshine man gave his shoes a shiny, great look.

One morning, the shoeshine man asks the CEO:
“What do you think of the stock market situation?”

The CEO arrogantly asks him:
“Why are you so interested in this subject?”

The shoeshine man replies:
“I have 20 million dollars deposited in your bank and I am thinking about investing part of the money in the stock market.”

The CEO of the bank asks:
“What is your name?”

He replies:
“John Smith H.”

The CEO arrives at the bank and asks the Manager of the Major Accounts Department:
“Do we have a customer named John Smith H.?”

He replies:
“We certainly do, sir! He is an extremely esteemed customer! He has 20 million dollars in his account.”

The CEO leaves the bank, approaches the shoeshine boy, and says:
“Mr. Smith, I would like to invite you to be our guest of honor at our board meeting next Monday and tell us your life story. I’m sure we will have a lot to learn from you.”

At the board meeting, the CEO introduces him to the board members:
“We all know Mr. Smith, who makes our shoes shine like no one else. But Mr. Smith is also our valued customer, with twenty million dollars in his account.

I invited him to tell us the story of his life. I’m sure we can learn a lot from him. Please, Mr. Smith, tell us your life story.”

Then, Mr. Smith began to narrate his story:
“I came to this country thirty years ago as a young immigrant from Eastern Europe and with an unpronounceable name. I left the ship penniless in my pocket.

The first thing I did was to change my name to Smith.

I was hungry and exhausted. I started to wander in search for a job, but without success.

Suddenly, I found a coin on the sidewalk. I bought some apples.

I had two options: eat the apples and quench my hunger or start a business. I sold the apples for 50 cents and bought more apples with the money.

When I started accumulating dollars, I managed to buy a set of used brushes and shoe polishes and started cleaning shoes.

I didn’t spend a dime on fun or clothes. I only bought bread and cheese to survive.

I saved penny by penny and after a while I bought a new set of brushes and shoe polishes in different shades and colors and increased my clientele.

I lived like a monk and saved every penny. I managed to buy a chair so that my customers could sit comfortably while I cleaned their shoes, which brought me more customers.

I didn’t spend a dime on the pleasures of life. I kept saving every penny.

A few years ago, when the corner shoeshine colleague decided to retire, I had already saved enough money to buy his point, which was a better place than mine.

Finally, 3 months ago, my drug dealer brother passed away and left me 20 million dollars.

The War on Napping: They Won’t Let Their Husbands Sleep

What is the least intelligent thing you’ve ever seen a tourist do?

When I was in high school, I had a summer job at a theme park. Visitors came from all over the country, and it wasn’t uncommon to see people from outside the U.S. as well.

There were the usual dumb theme park questions: “Why isn’t [Ride] running?” (Because it’s raining with lots of lightning, and a giant metal rollercoaster would basically become a lightning rod.) “My son is two feet shorter than the height requirement. Can he go on this ride anyway?” (No.) “Can I use your employee discount?” (Also no.)

But the least intelligent thing people did was to come to spend an entire summer day in an outdoor theme park without bringing sunscreen or water. Then they would have to buy ridiculously overpriced sunscreen and water in the park ($12 for a bottle of sunscreen and $5 for a bottle of water, and this was about 15 years ago).

The ones I felt the most sorry for were a British family, a dad and two young kids. This was on one of the hottest days of summer, about 95 degrees Fahrenheit (35 degrees Celsius) with not a cloud in the sky. I had never seen anyone get that sunburned before. They were so lobster-red, it looked like something out of a cartoon. They came into the shop I was working in and bought two water bottles each. That cost them about $40, just for water. I asked if they wanted some sunscreen as well and the dad said, “A bit late for that, isn’t it?” I pointed out that they would keep getting more sunburned if they didn’t put on sunscreen, and he just sort of laughed like he thought I was joking and left without buying any sunscreen. I felt so sorry for the kids.

Why does Walmart have a bad reputation?

I tried working for Walmart in 2015–2016. I worked in maintenance, nothing special. My job was to maintain the store and property, and handle any messes. It was straightforward. That said, getting the job and keeping it certainly weren’t. I don’t have a vehicle, so I routinely walked 3.4 miles to work five days a week in wind, rain, sun, and snow. In the winter of 2015, I walked to work in 8 degree (Fahrenheit) weather (this is Oklahoma), and was still told I might get fired. Several of my coworkers appreciated it, and we had 38 call-ins of a staff of just under 100 that day.

So, I worked forty hours a week, walk about 35–60 miles a week, put up with all the best and worst customers can provide, and had to deal with shoddy management staff who didn’t know how to communicate. My supervisor got fired, and the one I ended up with had no clue what my job entailed, but proceeded to deride me at every turn for not doing my job correctly. This same supervisor had several complaints lodged against her, but the upper management refused to act. So we had a handful of rotten managers, a number of bitter, gossipy staff, and a management team who was completely out of touch. I was routinely sent out to waste my time to clean trash from an adjoining lot that the store didn’t own. When I suggested a fence, I was ignored, and when one of my supervisors asked why we were even out there, they sent him out too.

This nonsense culminated in September of 2016. The maintenance staff was asked to work several extra hours to cover some recent terminations. At $15 an hour, that sounds good. On Monday evening, I check my schedule to make sure I have work the next day only to find out I have been removed from the schedule without notice and the aforementioned supervisor is gone, so nobody knows what happened. I get bounced around for nearly two hours, with even the store manager telling me to “get back to work” before Personnel can figure out what happened. Basically, my supervisor had violated policy when she revised the schedule, and they cut more of my time to compensate. When I complained that I should have been made aware, they shrugged their shoulders. I let slip a single profanity about the situation, and they fired me for it two days later. I was fired from my job for something I did off the clock in response to one of their managers fucking up, and she got off scot-free. That’s why Walmart has a bad reputation, because they do stupid shit like that.

Edit: First time using the site, and this piece of work I put up as my first(?) answer on here got nearly 2400 upvotes! I’m both amazed at the response and rather horrified at the fact that this many people can relate. Thanks all!

Shorpy

Default An lighting gold angel tattooing Donald Trumps soulder 1

Are there any facts that are extremely scary to know?

Vivisepulture is the scariest fact that used to happen in the history because of lack of knowledge of medical practitioners and lack of resources.

Vivisepulture is more commonly known as Buried alive or Premature burial.

In the olden days premature burial was common as the medical practices lacked proper knowledge. One such incident which happened in Woodstock, Canada in 1800s is the case of Collins, a girl who was buried alive.

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Above is the image of Collins’ body when it was exumed after two days of her burial.

The incident happened in Woodstock, Canada in 1800s where the girl (Collins) who was declared to be dead was buried. Her body was to be exumed after two days so that she could be buried in some place else.

After her body was dug up, people were shocked to see what they saw. Her knees were up to the chin (in the image), her arm twisted behind her head, there were scratch marks on the inside of her coffin and her shroud torn into pieces. This clearly shows that she was alive (in some sort of Coma) at the time of burial which was not recognizable by the medical Professionals of that time.

We can only assume as to how much terrorized she must have been feeling at the time when she woke up from her so-called coma. This is just one case — there have been so many cases of people being buried alive in the past that they made speciality safety coffins.

Below in Fig. 1 is a safety coffin with a flag. The person assumed to be dead had a safety rope which they can pull and the flag will be in upright position.

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Now in Fig. 2 below, if the person buried is alive, can pull the rope and the flag will be upright alerting anyone who is nearby.

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There were other coffins which were designed with bells, emergency air flow valves and with flags.

Death in such cases was actually caused by dehydration, hypothermia and starvation.

However, premature burial was a punishment as well in the olden days. People convicted of henious crimes would be buried alive to die of choking. There is intentional as well as unintentional premature burial.

But the most scary part is what happened with Collins: imagine a little girl trapped inside with no one — what would have happened to her, what she would have felt, what she went through — she had to die several deaths before actually dying.

May her soul rest in peace.

I would prefer to be cremated rather than being buried.

Putin and China just made an OMINOUS Warning and NATO is FURIOUS

Mixed feelings

There were many mixed reactions to the loosening up of visas for people to visit China.

On here there was a mixed reaction to it.

I’ve swung from both sides, in that seeing is believing making them question what the western state controled media tells them vs what they see.

Shun himself was more concerned about criminals and bad people getting into China…

But that itself has a positive side effect. I wrote recently how Chinese people in China are blissfully unaware of how shitty many westerners are and how there is absolute dripping hatred from many of them.

But shitty people = their shitty behaviour in China… meaning we get to see things like this.

5 hours 6000+ views on Douyin (that was clipped from a couple days ago). Maybe it will sway the views of Chinese people of foreigners to be more critical rather than have an automatic assumption they’re going to be great people.

Google Is Destroying Its Search Engine…

What is the best thing your teacher ever told you?

Originally Answered: what was the most interesting thing your teacher said?

‘Get out of my classroom, NOW,’ shouted my history teacher, a kind and calm man whose raised voice I had never heard.

He was shouting at two older kids who’d suddenly burst in and interrupted our lesson on the Romans, or the Germans, or the Gold Rush (you get the picture). They were yelling, quite aggressively, to my sheltered 13-year-old mind, about how unhappy they were with something. It was a long time ago so forgive me but it was something like their recent test scores and how Mr McVeigh (I still remember his name now) was to blame.

Us younger students sat aghast at the heated exchange. This was unusual to say the least and I started to feel really sorry for our lovely teacher.

The shouting went on for a bit and just when I seriously thought it might turn physical, Mr McVeigh told them to leave NOW and they turned and marched out the classroom, slamming the door hard enough to make the glass panel shake.

‘I am so sorry about that,’ said our teacher (such a nice man). ‘This is all very embarrassing.’

‘I need to let the headteacher know. Please can you take a new sheet of paper and write down what just happened and a description of both of them.’

I scribbled away – two guys, think they’re in sixth form, came in and loudly shouted, one was wearing a blue shirt… Etc, etc.

We handed the sheets in. And what happened next has stayed with me since.

You might have guessed…

Our lovely Mr McVeigh had stitched us up good and proper. The ‘aggressive older students’ were acting.

He was about to teach us an amazing lesson about the trustworthiness of history’s eye witnesses.

He started to write all the conflicting descriptions and accounts on the whiteboard. Blonde hair… Brown hair… Jeans… Khakis… Said he was gonna sue… Said he’d burn your car… Blue shirt… Grey shirt…

‘Few of your descriptions match, and that’s about an event which happened only a few minutes ago. Imagine you are being interviewed about an historic event you witnessed, days, weeks or even years later. You can start to see how – although important – the eye witness does have some weaknesses.’

Blew my little mind.

Steak-Stuffed Portobello with Creamy Poblano Sauce

Seasoned grilled steak is combined with mozzarella cheese, stuffed into a portobello mushroom, then covered with a creamy poblano chile pepper sauce.

Yield: 4 servings

Ingredients

2 (8 ounce) beef flat iron steaks
2 fresh poblano chile peppers
1 small onion, cut into 1/2 inch slices
4 large portobello mushrooms, stems discarded
1 teaspoon olive oil
2 teaspoons minced garlic
1/4 cup heavy cream
1 teaspoon kosher salt, divided
1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper, divided
3/4 cup shredded reduced-fat mozzarella cheese
1/2 cup fresh chopped cilantro, divided
1 tablespoon fresh lime juice
1/2 ripe avocado, thinly sliced

Instructions

Place poblano peppers and onion slices on grid over medium, ash-covered coals. Grill, covered, 15 to 20 minutes (over medium heat on preheated gas grill) or until onion is tender and pepper skins are blackened, turning occasionally.
Place peppers in food-safe plastic bag; close bag. Set peppers and onion aside to cool.
Heat oven to 350 degrees F.
Coat each mushroom cap with cooking spray and place on aluminum foil-lined shallow-rimmed baking pan.
Bake mushrooms in 350 degrees F oven for 15 to 17 minutes or until mushrooms are fork tender.
Remove and discard skins, stems and seeds from peppers. Chop peppers and onion.
Heat oil in small sauce pan over medium heat. Add poblanos peppers, onion and garlic; cook for 2 to 3 minutes, stirring occasionally. Stir in cream; bring to a boil. Remove from heat; set aside.
Season steaks with 1/2 teaspoon salt and 1/2 teaspoon black pepper. Place steaks on grid over medium, ash-covered coals. Grill, covered, 10 to 14 minutes (over medium heat on preheated gas grill, covered, 12 to 16 minutes) for medium rare (145 degrees F) to medium (160 degrees F) doneness.
Increase oven temperature to 400 degrees F.
Carve steaks into 1-inch strips. Cut strips into 1 inch cubes.
Combine steak and cheese in medium bowl, mixing gently but thoroughly. Evenly divide beef mixture among prepared mushroom caps, mounding as needed.
Bake mushrooms in 400 degrees F oven for 10 to 15 minutes or until cheese is melted.
Meanwhile, place poblano mixture in blender container; add 1/4 cup cilantro, lime juice, remaining 1/2 teaspoon salt and remaining 1/2 teaspoon black pepper. Cover; process until smooth.
Divide sauce evenly among 4 plates; top sauce with steak-stuffed mushroom. Garnish with avocado slices and remaining 1/4 cup cilantro, if desired.

What aspect of Japanese culture is hardest for Westerners to properly understand?

Understanding that we Japanese appreciate the beauty of bending the rules.

As Japanese people, we are very good at following rules.

In fact, Japanese society is filled with all sorts of rules, and so many of them are often given too much importance. This often leads to following rules becoming an end in itself, with rules overshadowing the essence.

Always Obey “Time”

Our trains arrive on schedule, and if we’re even a few minutes late to meet friends, we let them know in advance. In schools and workplaces, including meetings and business negotiations, we arrive five minutes early as a matter of course. It’s to the point where if we’re caught taking three minutes to order lunch during work hours, we could face a pay cut. While this might sound like fake news in other countries, it’s a true story for us. For us Japanese, not being punctual is almost like committing a crime.

Always Obey “Traffic Lights”

Even if no one is watching, even if there isn’t a single car on the road, and even if the road is completely empty as far as the eye can see, we Japanese wait for the green light at the crosswalk. We don’t jaywalk. It’s to the point where we might even be laughed at by those who don’t follow traffic lights. This is the norm in Japan, and seeing someone cross the road when the pedestrian signal is red makes us feel uncomfortable. We teach children, “Don’t do what that person is doing,” using such instances as prime examples of what not to do.

But even for us, there are rules we desire not to follow.

Never Obey “Come Empty-Handed”

When someone tells us to “come empty-handed,” it’s just a social nicety. We shouldn’t take it at face value.
In our society, it’s expected that we ignore this and bring a gift. If we visit someone’s home and actually arrive empty-handed after being instructed otherwise, they will likely feel confused internally, pity our social unawareness in the back, and may even become secretly upset. If we visit as a group, everyone else will likely bring things like cream puffs or beverages, making us feel somewhat awkward for not doing the same.
“Come empty-handed” is a formality in our society. Establishing a rule to always bring a gift when visiting someone’s home would simplify matters, but that’s the opposite of what we do. Hosts persist in pretending as though arriving empty-handed is the proper approach. Recognizing the proper situations to go against what’s instructed is a reflection of our cultural sensitivity.

Knowing when and where to break the rules in Japan demands a delicate balance.

In Japan, the ability to achieve this balance without explicit guidance captures the subtle “beauty” of cultural norms.

Stray Cat Cries When He Meets Owner He Hasn’t Seen In Seven Years

I can so relate.

Scrabble up ye cement dog

I bought my father’s wife an electronic scrabble game.

OMG! The best thing that I ever could do.

Now, she and I never really got along, but I thought it might be nice to get her a Christmas present, and so I got her the computer / internet version. Now, this is a game that they have been playing for years. And so, of course, she liked it.

But later, my dad told me that she also used it as a “fiddle game”; something to just mess around with when she got a few spare moments. And also, as a thing to do when my dad was too tired to play with her.

So, chalk up a good thing for me.

Now, you all must know that I have never really been that good in selecting presents for others. I wrote about trying to get presents for my maternal grandmother and how that went to shit, but really getting presents to give to others usually was just getting me no where.

But I have had two wins.

This game of scrabble with my father’s wife, and…

And.. this cement dog statue that I bought for my artistic sister. Ah. She loved it. She said that she read that Earnest Hemingway had a cement dog that was very loyal and greeted him every time he came home.

She would park it in her living room, watching the kitchen. Loyal and still.

And when my sister had to go away for a project, my mother watched over that cement dog. She too loved it. Said it wasn’t any work to take care of and always watched the house. It was about two feet high, and was of a greyhound.

Ah, now I don’t give presents out often, but when I do, I make sure that they are appreciated.

Today…

What has a cop said that left you completely dumbfounded?

A few years ago, when I was newly licensed, I was leaving my cheer practice and heading to another practice right after. This was a small town and there’s only 2 lanes going into town and 2 going out, not really that big of a deal usually as the drivers are mostly respectful in keeping the passing lane clear. Well on this particular day, I’m headed into town from my practice (as mentioned) and there’s a cop and another car driving almost side by side. The speed limit posted is 60 but they’re both going 45/50 WELL BELOW the legal limits. The cop is in the passing lane and the other car is too afraid to speed up past him even though they’d be in the right. So I get behind the other car (don’t remember the make/model) and try to bide my time waiting to see who will move forward so I can just go. Cop starts to inch forward so I get behind him. As soon as he passes the other car, he gets into the right lane and I pass him (With cruise control set at 60). As soon as I pass him and get back over, he lights up, pulls me over.

He says that I was folowing him too closely and did I know what the proper distance was? I answer 1.5 car lengths (textbook answer according to our state laws). He responds “You need to be at least 15 car lengths behind me!” I said “Fifteen??” with a confused look (not the best at controling my facial expressions) and he said “Yes. Fifteen.”

I did receive a ticket but it was because I didn’t have my license on me; a simple fix-it, take my license to the police station and they’d waive it for me. When I did that a week later (wound up having to get another since the first was lost at the time), he passed me walking into the station and asked where I’d gotten the 1.5 car lengths from and I told him the same place I read that it was illegal to do 45 in a 60…..the state DMV book.

Crocs

Lemon-Lime Flank Steak

Yield: 4 servings.

Ingredients

12 ounces lemon-lime soda (Sprite or 7-Up)
1/4 cup chopped fresh cilantro
1/4 cup lime juice
1/4 cup vegetable oil
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 jalapenos, unseeded and finely chopped
1 (1 1/2 pound) flank steak
Vegetable cooking spray
Salt

Instructions

Combine first 6 ingredients in a 2-quart shallow dish, stirring well; add flank steak, turning to coat.
Cover and chill for 8 hours, turning meat occasionally.
Remove steak from marinade, discarding marinade.
Coat grill rack with cooking spray, and place on grill.
Cook steak, covered with grill lid, over medium-hot coals (350 to 400 degrees F) about 7 minutes on each side or until desired degree of doneness.
Remove steak from grill, and sprinkle evenly with salt to taste.
To serve, cut steak diagonally across grain into thin slices.

Mark Sleboda: Putin and China Issue DEVASTATING Warning to Blinken, Neocons and They’re Not Bluffing

Have you ever had to explain to a family member that you don’t want them looking after your child because you don’t trust them? How have you explained it to cause the least offence?

When my son was born, he was a very, very special baby in our family. Starting with my great-grandfather, all the living male heirs were born 20 years apart so we referred to this phenomenon as the “20-year baby”. Well it just so happened (by accident actually) that my son was born the first week in January of the 20th year, making him the living fifth generation 20-year baby. This was an extremely important event to my grandfather and great grandfather. When my son was five months old, all of my relatives came to see the latest 20-yr baby so he was held and hugged/kissed by a dozen people. Two weeks after that visit, my grandfather’s wife (whom I considered to be my grandmother) called me crying and saying she couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t call and tell me that my grandfather had been diagnosed with active tuberculosis and because the medication was so expensive and didn’t make him feel any better, he decided not to take it. Well, this meant that

1) he was highly contagious

2) he was well aware of this fact

3) he ignored the risks

4) he concealed the truth

5) he willfully exposed all of us to the disease

6) he knowingly put our health, even our lives at risk

7) he was willing to expose a 5- month old baby, most especially my son, the precious 20-yr baby.

He was so selfish and concerned with his own wishes that he was willing to put his entire family in harm’s way. I was appalled and devastated. I called him and confronted him. He refused to take responsibility for his actions. So I told him that he would never see my son again. He was very angry and said some awful, unforgivable things to me. My grandmother reported our exposure to the health department. They in turn contacted me and told me that my son and I were required to be tested every three months for the next 4 years. I also found out my grandfather was directly responsible for infecting 11 other family members, including my grandmother and two of my cousins. Luckily neither my son nor I ever tested positive. Sadly, I had no choice but to stand my ground, so neither my son nor I ever saw him again. My grandmother divorced him, and my father refused to even speak to him for risking my son’s health. My uncle took his family and moved away because two of his kids were infected by him. So, he died alone, 15 years later, a miserable, hateful old man and it was all my fault, you see. Because I deprived him of the love of his coveted 20-yr great-grandson.

BUSTED: Did the CIA withhold China info from Trump?

Jesus H. Christ.

Clusterfuck Nation – Blog July 5, 2024

Who Turned Off the Gaslight?

Things were bad, and they knew things were bad, and they knew others must also know things were bad, and yet they would need to pretend, outwardly, that things were fine. The president was fine. The election would be fine. —Olivia Nuzzi, NY Magazine

Clusterfuck Nation

There’s a reason that the fable of The Emperor’s New Clothes is so potent: it describes a mentally ill society that retreats into abject unreality, to avoid contending with truth. Alas, this archetypal human quandary shoves such a society towards nemesis: downfall and punishment. And that is exactly the consequence of our news media’s craven, dishonorable, degenerate behavior the past decade.

They have disordered our nation’s consensus about reality with peremptory lying about everything, in service to a political party that lies to its citizens about everything. The big question is: who or what recruited them into serving the Party of Chaos, and why did they go along?

You can explain the media’s initial repugnance to Donald Trump going back to his 2015 debut in politics. Much about him had a low-class odor, despite all the gold-plating — his origins in tawdry Queens, his career as a builder in Manhattan where the trades are mob-controlled, the Atlantic City casino debacle, bankruptcy, ditching Ivana and his mid-life playboy reputation, the tacky TV show, the increasingly mystifying hair-doo, his rough, jumbly manner of speech. Everything about him repelled the Ivy Leaguers who increasingly filled the ranks of national-level journalism.

Despite all that, Mr. Trump raised five kids successfully. The grown ones had careers and they all visibly loved him. With that and his overt masculinity, he assumed the lineaments of the archetypal Daddy, which enflamed the enormous cohort of feminists who had taken over the Democratic Party behind their avatar Hillary Clinton. And when he squeaked out an electoral victory over her in 2016, they were sure it was a cheat. The menace of Daddy in da (White) house pushed them over the edge psychologically.

Daddy was all about setting boundaries, which was the antithesis to the “progressive” (and transgressive) agenda of the Dems, and was probably the reason that his talk of “building the wall” along the Mexican border drove them nuts. It signaled patriarchal control of a whole lot of other things, too. Boundaries galore!

Now, it happened that the Democratic Party was also the favored party of the DC permanent bureaucracy, which had been growing and growing for decades and had become overtly politicized during the eight years of Barack Obama. Mr. Trump threatened to downsize this leviathan government, meaning many patronage jobs might be lost. (Boundaries would be imposed!) The warrior branch of this Deep State was the Intel community. The FBI, the DOJ, the CIA, the State Dept, and elements of the military were commissioned by the Democratic Party to destroy Mr. Trump.

They used the machinery of the law to lay one trip after another on the president and effectively hog-tied him — RussiaGate, the Ukraine phone call impeachment, the George Floyd anarchy — and when those operations failed to oust him, they ran the Covid-19 caper (with enormous collateral damage to the people and their economy), which enabled rigging the 2020 election with mail-in ballots. Once Mr. Trump was squeezed out-of-office, the FBI turned the J-6 protest at the Capitol into a riot, which Nancy Pelosi then converted into an “insurrection” using the House J-6 committee. The J-6 incident, they dearly hoped, would rid them of Mr. Trump once and for all.

The news media went along with every bit of that, year after year, converting each mendacious act of the party and the bureaucracy into consumable narrative, and lying either overtly about all the ops, or just omitting to report on the dark truth behind it all. Any reality-based thread that happened to leak into public view from independent alt-news reporters was branded by CNN, The New York Times, the WashPo, and many others as “misinformation” — a newish concept produced by a cadre of language Stasi skilled at inverting the meaning of anything to bamboozle the public. It appears that the news media became so invested psychologically in its own dishonest product that it began to believe its own bullshit.

Or, at least, they wanted to pretend to believe it. One of the big problems was that absolutely everything they labeled “misinformation” or “conspiracy theory” turned out to be truthful, and that was becoming an inescapable embarrassment. And then the biggest blunder they made was going along with the Deep State’s selection of “Joe Biden” in the very sketchy Super Tuesday primary of 2020. The old grifter had next-to-zero support in all the preceding preliminaries and somehow (abracadabra !) he swept the field.

By then, the Democratic Party, and its public relations arm in the mainstream media, had descended into florid mental illness. Everything they stood for post-World War Two flipped to its opposite. Suddenly, they were against free speech. They weren’t coy about it. They just made-up some new bullshit about free speech being “hate speech.” Similarly, they were against a free press. They went along with all the misinfo / disinfo bullshit the government cooked up and supported its role in suppressing the news. They were no longer anti-war, the party-of-peace. They were now pro-segregation and pro-discrimination (white people need not apply) according to Critical Race Theory (a childishly sketchy doctrine). Most of all, they were no longer skeptical of anything that the leviathan establishment wanted to do, including abridging the liberties of American citizens.

Then there was the campaign to use the most powerful human instinct, sexuality, as a weapon to disorder the minds of American children, leading even to the mutilation of their bodies — a program that unmistakably tipped toward genuine evil, suggesting that actual psychosis lay behind the Cluster-B crypto-Marxism used to justify it.

“Joe Biden” was fine with all of that, and the news media was fine with “Joe Biden” and whoever was using him as a front. Of course, it was evident during the 2020 campaign that “Joe Biden” was not up to a job as demanding as Chief Executive of the US government — and that was even apart from the dense criminal web of influence peddling discovered around him and his family, which the news media ignominiously ignored. But now the years have gone by and there’s no hiding “Joe Biden’s” rather gravely diminished mental abilities.

Last week’s debate gave away the game. It had the effect of finally turning off the gaslight that the news media has been shining over the republic lo these many years. They can no longer pretend that this president is anything close to okay in body and mind. They can’t annul the gaslighted public’s delayed realization that they’ve been subject to a concerted program of deliberate lying for a long long time.

So now, inveterate pretenders and liars, such as Jake Tapper of CNN and Maggie Haberman of The New York Times — and many others — have to pretend that they were innocently duped into supporting all the turpitudes of the Democratic Party / Deep State axis-of-evil. It is really hard to imagine that they can successfully rehabilitate their reputations. They have done immense harm to our country. It’s hard to see how the Democratic Party might survive, too, no matter who they finally put up for election this year. Of course, there’s still plenty of time left for them to destroy the country altogether. Just keep giving American missiles to Ukraine to fire into Russia and see what happens.

Woman Demands Her Husband Make $650,000 And Gets Humbled

Clusterfuck Nation – Blog July 1, 2024

Surprise, Surprise!

“Joe Biden is the walking embodiment of the exhausted American Establishment. More and more people have simply lost their faith in our Ruling Class. You could scarcely have a more potent symbol of its impotence.” — Rod Dreher

Clusterfuck Nation

Just before the weekend, a political prairie fire raced across a nation buffaloed, blind-sided, and buried deeply in bullshit, and the little critters who inhabit the landscape are still running around with their fur smoldering. What a surprise that “Joe Biden,” the mentally-disabled pretend-president, fell apart in the debate spotlight for all to see, like Captain Queeg in his fateful witness chair, or William Jennings Bryan at the Scopes trial (1925), or the Wizard of Oz when little Toto drew the curtain back — a brutal revelation of stark truth about how things actually are.

Since his hiding-in-the-basement campaign in 2020 “Joe Biden’s” Party of Chaos has pretended that he is fit and alert for the job and now all of sudden they pretend to be shocked to see how far gone in the head he really is. The bullshit shovelers of the mainstream news media were especially rocked, not by the truth of the situation per se, but at being unmasked as the contemptible, confabulating tools that they’ve become. The New York Times wheeled around on a dime from their servile lionizing of the presidential hologram they helped create to its editorial board abjectly yelling for him to drop out and get gone. They were joined instantly by a long list of other opinion-shapers, campaign donors, political celebs, and Beltway players.

Right after the debate, First lady Dr. Jill led a cheerleading session before a roomful of partisans that went beyond cringeworthy into uncharted territory of mortification. (“You were great, Joe! You answered all the questions!”). By the time the entourage moved to a pre-planned event at a nearby Atlanta Waffle House, “JB” had gone full-on zombie. If all that was intended to be reassuring, the effect was the opposite. Someone handed the blank-faced old grifter a milkshake and they beat it out of there.

The Bidens flew off to the Hamptons Saturday to milk the showbiz cows and hedge-funders for a campaign that might not still exist. “Everyone paid in advance. . .so it could be an opportunity to encourage him to drop out,” an invited guest told a New York Post reporter. “I wanted to go and see the train wreck,” another donor said. “I’d rather choose someone from a phone book than have Biden.” That was generally the tone among the woke-gay-communist echelons all over the land — surprisingly vehement, considering that just forty-eight hours before they were all in on re-election. Some could probably see their lucrative hustles whirling around the drain, and others might fret about just how far and wide prosecutions under a Trump Attorney General might loom.

“JB” and his family circle attempted to regroup over the weekend at Camp David where first son, Hunter (“the smartest man I know,” the president often says), led the buoying-up session, perhaps mindful of the many bank accounts set up by his lawyers in the name of Biden family members (including little grandchildren) for receipt of influence-peddling revenue gathered sedulously from entities abroad during “Joe Biden’s” post-veep high-earning years. The family emerged from that meet-up triumphantly, ready to forget the one bad evening and jump back into the election game.

Next, the biggest Dem dawgs — Obama, Schumer, Pelosi — stepped up with fulsome support for “Joe Biden” continuing to steer the party’s war canoe straight over Niagara Falls on November 5^th. What possesses them? Misguided love for the monster they created? Fear of being called out as traitorous liars? Desperation to preserve the gigantic racketeering operation of the party they lead, with consideration for their big cuts of the action? Or are they just determined to complete the job of wrecking our country?

And where was She-Whose-Turn-It-Is, HRC, the only possible replacement candidate with name-recognition and no ruined state hanging over her as is the case with Newsom, Pritzker, and Whitmer (California, Illinois, Michigan)? Mrs. Clinton has so far stayed out of it, laying low, probably thinking that the party poohbahs will eventually have to come around to seeing she’s the obvious viable alternative. Since the Clinton Foundation bought and paid for the DNC some time ago, she might be able to get the nominating machinery lined up in her direction. There are myriad problems, for sure, with many state election laws that discourage switching-out a nominee who has already captured a winning share of party convention delegates — but Norm Eisen, Marc Elias, and the Lawfare gang are already tasked to that set of problems now that their work is done cobbling together all those janky court cases to hamstring Mr. Trump.

We enter high summer with countless consequential things afoot. A grand new momentum is expressing itself throughout Western Civ against the Globalist insanity. Sunday, Marine LePen’s National Rally (RN) thrashed President Macron’s Renaissance Party, a shock equal to the “Joe Biden” debate fiasco here. British elections follow Thursday July 4, with PM Rishi Sunak sucking wind and Nigel Farage’s Reform UK Party ascending rapidly. Sunday July 7 France’s runoff election happens. A widened war threatens the Middle East as Iran and Turkey line up with Hezbollah in Lebanon against Israel. Ukraine cries for a negotiated settlement with no help from our own State Department. ISIS terrorists (among many other dangerous cadres) circulate on-the-loose around the USA, ready and able to perp atrocities.

Still hanging over the “Joe Biden” crisis — and it is a crisis — is the question as to how somebody no longer capable of leading a party in an election can also be capable of leading the executive branch of the USA as Commander-in-Chief. That quandary has been shoved aside for the moment but it still lurks ominously in the background.

The Reconquest Of Masculinity

Clusterfuck Nation – Blog June 28, 2024

Joe Biden Catches Cold

“Biden’s entire closing statement is the political equivalent of the blue screen of death. It’s just one long frozen glitch.” — Sean Davis, the Federalist

Clusterfuck Nation

Maybe ninety-seconds into last night’s long-awaited debate spectacle, the consensus must have jelled among the woke-and-broken news media mavens that their champion, “Joe Biden,” was not quite killing it out there at the podium. CNN moderators Jake Tapper and Dana Bash acted like witnesses at a ritual sacrifice. And afterward, the CNN post-mortem panel seemed genuinely shocked that months of playing pretend had skidded to such an ignominious finish.

Which raises a great many questions, starting with: why on earth did the Democratic Party and its media handmaidens persist in pretending month-after-month that “Joe Biden” was a fit candidate for another four-year term? Last night, he didn’t appear capable of even finishing the current term. Why did they usher him so jauntily into the nomination? And what are they going to do about that now? And what were their motives for all that pretending? “Joe Biden” circulates among scores of astute officials every day. Did they all fail to notice his incapacity? Or has the whole thing been a sham and a lie all along? Was this just the culminating hoax by the Party of Hoaxes of a long string of hoaxes against the nation going back to 2015?

To the question of motives, the answer is obvious: the news networks have worked tirelessly (and with stunning dishonor) to hide their collusion with the government in gaslighting the public. More to the point, they’ve concealed the appalling truth that the CIA, DARPA, and their many intel blob subsidiaries conducted a silent coup over the USA and have been running our country’s affairs disastrously behind the “Joe Biden” façade — and that the coup actually started well before Mr. Trump’s 2016 inauguration. You know it, and they know that you know it.

More acutely, now that “Joe Biden” has been revealed as a hoax president, whole legions of public officials appear liable to criminal charges of the most serious degree: sedition, treason, mass murder, fraud, malfeasance, and in the case of the president himself, influence peddling and bribery. They must be desperate to avoid accounting for all that, losing their accrued fortunes to legal fees and going to prison (or worse). For example, outed just this week: news that then-CIA Director in 2020, Gina Haspel, knew about and participated in the infamous operation using 51 former Intel officers to cover up the veracity of Hunter Biden’s laptop days before the election.

They knew the laptop was real. Their colleagues over at the FBI knew it was real. They all knew it was stuffed with deal memos, legal memoranda, and emails that clearly laid out a long-running bribery operation among Biden family members and their lawyers. They knew it in 2019 when the Democratic Party moved to impeach Mr. Trump for inquiring about the Biden family’s money-grubbing activities in Ukraine — where, by the way, we may have fomented the war with Russia in part to cover up the culpability of all involved, including especially the State Department and their embassy staff in Kiev. The FBI and its bosses in the DOJ also withheld the laptop from Mr. Trump’s defense lawyers during the 2020 impeachment, though it contained massive exculpatory evidence to explain just why he made that fateful phone call to the newly elected Zelensky.

It’s obvious that the ruling blob now has to deep-six “Joe Biden.” The problem is they must induce him to renounce the nomination of his own will. The party’s nominating process is so bizarrely complex that it would be very difficult to just shove him out. Another problem is that the party had to peremptorily declare “JB” their legal nominee before the August convention in order to keep him on the ballot in Ohio with its 17 electoral votes (due to some arcane machinery in the state’s election laws).

As per above, the debate fiasco calls into serious question whether “Joe Biden” is competent to even serve out this term. He (or shadowy figures pulling strings behind him) are making profoundly hazardous decisions right now, such as last week’s missile attack that killed and wounded civilians on the beach in Crimea. Are you seeing how easily “Joe Biden” might start World War Three? All of which is to say that pressure will soon rise to use the 25^th amendment to relieve him of duty, leaving you-know-who in the oval office. If Joe Biden actually has to resign as president, he also loses the ability to pardon his son, Hunter, and peremptorily his other family members who shared bribery money received from China, Ukraine, and elsewhere.

If he won’t resign, and the party can’t force him off the ticket, the blob could have no choice except to bump him off. I imagine they would get it done humanely, say late at night sometime, in bed, using the same method as for putting down an old dog who has peed on the carpet one too many times. Or, if that can’t be managed and he clings to his position, maybe the party could cobble up some new nominating rules impromptu. And then, who could they slot in from the bench?

The usual suspects are like the cast of a freak show, each one displaying one grotesque deformity after another. Gavin Newsom we understand: the party’s base of batshit-crazy women may all want to bear his child, but that limbic instinct to mate with a six-foot-three haircut-in-search-of-a-brain might not work with any other voter demographic — and Newsom has the failed state of California hanging around his neck. All Mr. Trump would have to do is broadcast the scene from a San Francisco street-cam on “X” (Twitter) 24/7.

Hillary has been stealthily flapping her leathery wings overhead for weeks as this debacle approached. She may still own the actual machinery of the Democratic Party — having purchased it through the Clinton Foundation some years back when the party was broke and needed a bailout. She could just command the nomination by screeching “Caw Caw” from the convention rostrum. Whatever happens, it will look terrible.

Governor Gretchen Whitmer of Michigan? An inveterate and notorious intel blob tool, Whitmer has allowed herself to be used repeatedly by the FBI to frame and persecute conservatives in her state as well as using her state AG Dana Nessel to go after political enemies there, especially poll workers who cried fraud in the sketchiest Michigan voting districts.

Illinois Governor JB Pritzker. Like Dreamboat Newsom in California, Mr. Pritzker is busily running Illinois (and especially Chicago) into bankruptcy and chaos. Looks aren’t everything, but if Dreamboat gives the vapors to Karens across the land, the Illinois governor will get them shrieking in terror as from the sight of King Kong on Skull Island

Who else is there? Michelle O, of course, who will be instantly branded as a catspaw for her husband seeking a fifth term — as Barack himself has averred in so many words: just hanging out in the background, managing things in his jogging suit. That would be the ultimate Banana Republic set-up for us and I don’t think the voters will go for it. It all boils down to the Party of Chaos being thrust into chaos. Can it even survive “Joe Biden?”

Then there is Mr. Trump himself. He remains the object of widespread rabid loathing, yet more and more Americans are coming to appreciate his opposition to Woke Marxist chaos and intel blobbery-gone-wild in our land. His performance last night featured his usual jumpy locutions and incomplete sentences, but in contrast to the current president, he looked neither senile nor an agent of sinister forces dedicated to bringing our country to its knees. Had Robert F. Kennedy, Jr. been present both of the others would have been badly outclassed verbally and intellectually. If Mr. Trump survives the blob’s efforts to delete him before November, I’m sure Mr. Kennedy will play a prominent role in another Trump administration. He knows exactly where the rot is and how to roust it out.

This is actually cute and funny

Shorpy

Does anyone want to write their heart out here?

Originally Answered: Does any one want to write their heart out here?

Hi… I am 18 years old boy at my last stage of blood cancer and I will probably die within next 5 to 6 months. I am going anonymous because my parents follow me on quora.

I was diagnosed with leukaemia in june 2015 exactly on my birthday. I have lot to tell but I can not tell anyone as I always have my parents around and they themselves are broken from inside and they would leave hope if I left hope.

I have a sister she is 23 and she takes care of all my needs. I love her very much. But I simply can not do anything for her because I am bed ridden. I get a lot of visitors from my old school and family.

My parents and my sister do their best to cheer me up and make me smile but I can not as it is very dufficult when you know you are about to die. I feel ashamed of myself as I can not move and I sometimes pee on the bed itself as I have no control over my nerves. All the doctors whom I have been shown to, say that I must do whatever I like as I have very less time left. Each and every doctor has said to leave hope and just enjoy life. I know my family cries when I am asleep or listening to songs or when I am not around. But I am helpless I just can not do anything. But yes I do appreciate that they somehow hold their tears back in front of me. My sister cheers me up as she calls her college friends at home and we play ludo and have a good time.

The point that makes me sad is that ispite of all the efforts my family makes I am unable to do anything for them espescially my sister. I am extremely attatched to her but I have no words to thank her. I wish god gave me another life…. Just one chance I would work extremely hard to make my family proud. All I dream is of getting well and working for my family.

This is it my story

Thanks for Reading…

Humble request

Please do pray for my family so that God can give them strength. 🙂 🙂

EDIT 1

Thanks to all the upvoters.

Writing gives me releif.

My sister caught me writing this answer and when she read it she set to tears and I could not hold myself and started to cry on my helplessness. She told that she loves me the most. She said that she had no problem in cleaning my dirty clothes and pushing my wheelchair and feeding me she just demands that I should stay happy forever.

I will reveal my identity if my sister this to my parents. But this totally depends on her.

Please stay tuned as I have 5 or at max 6 months left and then this would be closed

Thanks for reading

Humble request: keep praying

🙂

EDIT 2

The response is clearly amazing….

Thanks to all

I want to really clarify somethings.

1 I do not want any money my family can take care of my needs thanks for your health.

2 I do not wish to reveal my identity as I had already tried this with one of the people commenting here and it the consequences were disheartning

3 For those people who think this is a dram you are free to think so but your views really turn like these when you are nearing your end and the worse part is you know about it.

4 I write for my hearts relief and not for any kninds of financial favours from anyone.

I do tell my parents that I love them a lot but I can not share my pain because if I ever did that they would feel extremely weak to see their son losing hope hence I chose quora and anonymity.

They try to find out every possible source of miraculous recovery story they could and tell me to keep myself motivated and even I want one such thing to happen but I get very negative thought when I see people turning their faces and simply not to talk or even look at me when I am in park and again I have my sister by my me side.

I had a beautiful childhood like I and my sister were like typical brother sisters fighting for small things like for watching tv and I used to enjoy it a lot but now there is no fight and she allows me to watch anything I like and does everhything for me I tell her this almost everyday and she feels great.

I write my heart out here (as the ques suggests) and not in anyway for any favours

Thanks for praying

Keep praying

🙂

October 28

Thanks to all the upvoters… and all the prayers.

Some comments coming up like you want to give some years of your life to me. Please do not think that ever again. You have 2 functional hands, legs all 5 senses (sight, sound(ears), taste, smell and touch (skin)) intact and a good brain to think deeply. So stop thinking as your life directional was and start working. Make your family proud. Your family does everything for you. And if not for your family do something good for yourself.

I say it because When you are on your deathbed some 60–70 years from now you must not regret the fact that you wasted time and could not accomplish your targets. You do not realise how much time you have and how much can be done in that.

Now coming to some of my feelings.. (your choice read it or leave it)

I have some sort of insecurity that I would be left alone and that is not just from a day or 2 but from 3–4 weeks. I do not know why but it’s there. I have discussed this with my sister and she assures me that she would be there all the time. I mean I annoy my family members sometimes like I always want someone in front of my eyes. It sounds pathetic but it’s true.

I vomitted yesterday night it was almost all blood and something’s that I had eaten the whole day ( it’s quite normal as it happens 4 times a week). Naturally I was very depressed this morning so my sister took off from her college and kept me busy by discussing older times like how we both messed up together and how I cried when she teased me I was adopted.

I still remember that I and my sis used to hide remote in the washroom when it was time for some important cartoon (for me it was dragon ballz and for her it was suite life of Zack and Cody) and we used to have some insecurity when our parents gave one of us more attention than the other.

There are lots of things like these.

If I rewind and look into my life I realize how messi I was and my sister even then helped me she had been of constant support to me. I owe her everthing. I write this in every answer but I can’t help it I just love her.

I have realized one thing that I do not want to leave in misery. All the time I have I will enjoy and annky my sister and parents.

Thanks a lot to quora it’s great.

Thanks for reading

Keep praying

🙂

15 November 2k18

Thanks all for your overwhelming response..

I have lots of feelings to share as I had been in critical condition for almost last 15 days…

I have lost my voice because I spat blood so many times that my throat has constant piercing sensation. About a week ago I thought I would die and I wanted to tell my family everything and that is what I did.

I can not imagine how much my parents and my sister love me. They never felt bad helping me rather they wanted me to be fine. My sister is an angel. She has been with me all the time. Though I have become annoyed by my sickness and fought with her many times but she always handled me with care. Whenever I saw anyone in my room it was her in the last 15 days. She is more than God to me.

Now I get feelings like it is better to die in peace rather than suffering so much. I sometimes seem to have lost all hope and strength.

My parents are going mad to see my condition going from bad to worse but they are not ready to loose me and even I can not convince them.

There is almost no happiness left in my life. All the time I see my parents trying to convince me I would be fine and me trying to convince them to be ready for my loss. I feel so bad and blessed at the same time that I am spending the last chapter of my life with people whom I love the most but I feel myself weak when I am unable to do anything for them.. I do try to explain myself that it is not my fault but these thoughts overpower my thinking and leave me depressed most of the time.

People say to enjoy life but how do you enjoy life when you can not walk, talk, or when you are scared of eating(yes I am scared as whatever I eat I vomit with blood)!!!!! I am scared of my own face it looks so horrible with pale skin and red marks.

How do you enjoy life when you have constant killing pain in your whole body and the only way you keep yourself feeling painless is by taking strong pain killers??

I am sorry if this hurt your feelings but I have had it enough. I either want a painless death or a painless cure. I am too depressed but there is nothing I can do…

I am sorry

Keep praying

🙂

I suggest you visit China.

It reversed my preconception. I am from Norway, North Europe. A rather modern and advanced society.On my first visit to the US over 20 years ago, I was surprised at how backward and old fashioned it was. Movies had let me to believe it was the epitome of modern society. I visited several states on the East/South-East. Very backwards digitally. Terrible infrastructure. Unwalkable. Dirty. Hard to find quality restaurants outside of big cities. Dead city centres in medium sized cities.I went to China a year or two later, and the opposite struck me. It was a highly modern society. Highly digital. Fantastic high-speed infrastructure (that is even better nowadays). Super clean, modern cities. I was mainly in the Jiangsu province that time. Loved it!I suggest everyone to go and form their own opinions. I really fell in love with Suzhou, not far from Shanghai.

What are some important, but uncomfortable truths that many people learn when transitioning into adulthood?

Every person is responsible for their own happiness — not their parents, not their boss, not their spouse, not their friends, not their government, not their deity.
One day we will all die, and 999 out of 1,000 people will be remembered by nobody on earth within a hundred years of that date.
Practically all of the best opportunities (in business, in romance, etc) are only offered to people who already have more than they need.
The idea that you will be happy after you make X amount of dollars is almost certainly an illusion.
The idea that you will be happy after you meet [some amazing person] is almost certainly an illusion.
For most people, death is pretty messy and uncomfortable.
When you don’t possess leverage (go look up “BATNA“), people will take advantage of you, whether they mean to or not.
Almost everybody is making it up as they go along. Also, many (most?) people are incompetent at their jobs.
When talking about their background and accomplishments, almost everybody is continually overstating their abilities, impact, relevance, and contributions.
Physical beauty decays.
Compared to others, certain ethnicities and races (and genders, and sexual orientations, and so on) are just plain royally f*cked from the day they’re born. [EDIT: depending on locale & time period]
Bad things constantly happen to good people. Good things constantly happen to bad people.
Very few people will ever give you 100% candid, honest feedback.
People are constantly making enormous life decisions (marriage, children, etc) for all of the wrong reasons.
Certain people — some of whom are in positions of enormous power — just do not give a damn about other human beings.
Often, the most important and consequential moments of our lives (chance encounter, fatal car accident, etc) happen completely at random and seemingly for no good reason.
Your sense of habitating a fully integrated reality is an illusion, and a privilege. Take the wrong drug, suffer a head injury, or somehow trigger a latent psychotic condition like schizophrenia — and your grip on reality can be severed in an instant. Forever.

Yet, despite all that not-so-good-ness, overall life is pretty damn rad. And we’re lucky to get to participate in it.

VIETNAM NIGHTLIFE | WALKING STREET | HO CHI CITY MINH VIETNAM

Is the USA really jealous of China’s rise or is the problem that China is still a Marxist-Leninist country that the United States cannot accept a Marxist state competing with them?

“jealousy” is not the word to describe US mentality.

Dominance is a better description for USA. USA has been dominating the world since WW2. Since 1990’s, China has been rising, fast these years.

USA is hysterically hanging onto its dominance. That is all.

Look at Japan. As a country defeated by USA in WW2, Japan is 100% Amcericanised esp its political system. Also Japan is militarily controlled by USA. Japan is a US puppet with no independent strategic sovereignty.

The only thing for Japan to do was to focus on economic & technological development. In 1980’s, Japan was economically #2 in the world after USA. Its chips technology surpassed USA. Similar to today’s China.

Then what has happened to Japan? You heard it already. USA mercilessly beat Japan down, making Japan lose 10–20 years’ economic & technological advancement.

Just a month or so ago, Japan has monetary crisis & wanted to sell US debts to get cash to save its economy. US Treasury Secy Yellen then called Japan & warned Japan that what Japan did was interference of free market. … Japan was not allowed to save its exchange rate.

Why? USA wanted to bankrupt Japan (& Asian countries too). When Japanese assets become cheap, cheap & cheap, US capitalists will flood into Japan to buy up Japanese assets.

No other Asian countries went bankrupt like Japan because USA has no control of them. They all saved their economy.

Back to your question.

See, it is more to do with sick mentality to dominate than to simple jealousy.

Loyalty is the most important characteristic that a woman can provide to her man

https://www.youtube.com/shorts/cQRl50Gdalo?feature=share

Putin to broker China, India border deal?

The China, India border issue has been an issue for the two sides since the 1950s, but the two sides have never been able to find a solution.

On India’s side, the political leadership has never been able to form a consensus on a deal, and on China’s side, there has been no urgency. So the issue has continued to simmer.

Now though, the battle lines are becoming more clear between NATO/EU/G7 on the one side, against BRICS on the other side. Russia is on the front line confronting NATO expansion in Ukraine, and is drawing support from Iran and North Korea, while India and China continue to trade with Russia, and ignoring western sanctions.

But there is a problem: India is also a member of the US-led QUAD, with the US, Australia and Japan, and whose aim is to surround and box in China. India has been playing both sides, with one foot in BRICS, and one foot in QUAD.

Obviously India under Modi wants to get a good deal for India.

From Putin’s perspective, he can no longer afford to let the China/India border issue continue because it will threaten the cohesion of BRICS and the rise of Greater Eurasia, which has the support of all the BRICS members and North Korea. Putin does not want and cannot afford to let the US exploit the China/India border issue to the US’s advantage because the US wants to prevent the rise of the Greater Eurasia economic and security alliance.

Since China and India have not been able to reach a border agreement, and Russia is a close ally of both China and India, and is a founding member of BRICS, this means that Russia has to step in and try to help the two sides reach an agreement.

My guess as to what the Russian proposal will be is:

Russia will appoint a representative to study the China-India border dispute; this person will likely be Russian foreign minister Sergei Lavrov;
After studying the issue; the Russian team will propose a border resolution to both China and India;
China and India will study the Russian proposal and propose their own amendments;
After incorporating the amendments, Russia will issue a solution which is binding on both India and China.

This means that both sides have no choice but to accept the solution. If there are features of the agreement which both China and India do NOT like, then this means that it is a fair agreement.

Russia will then ask India to demonstrate its full commitment to BRICS by withdrawing from the QUAD.

Indian PM Modi will go to Moscow to meet with Putin this Wednesday.

Americans CAN’T Believe What China is Doing Now!

Have you ever had a medical condition or disease that doctors misdiagnosed?

Yes… Approximately 9 years ago I was home alone when I suddenly couldn’t breathe. I was just watching television.. not doing anything strenuous. I had a history of asthma and tried using my inhaler, which did nothing. Fortunately, I picked up the phone, dialed 911..and could only whisper I couldn’t get my breath. I couldn’t give them any information, since I couldn’t speak. I ran to my bedroom to use my nebulizer, but passed out on the bed. Luckily they traced my call, sent an ambulance immediately and transported me to the local hospital, while attempting to revive me on the way. I woke up in ICU 2 days later, after being on a ventilator for 48 hours. My heart had stopped for some unknown reason. After a two week stay, numerous tests and medications, I was feeling better. They felt I had pneumonia.. and gave me antibiotics and steroids, which did seem to make me feel better. While there, they had performed a heart echo, but no one actually told me about the results. When the echo was being done, I felt like I was going to pass out any second and I cried and complained to the technician. Finally I felt better and had begged to go home, which they finally allowed. I returned to my job in another week or so, and was trying to get back to normal. Due to the fact that I often was required to read medical records as a part of my job, I thought it would be a good idea to order a copy of the hospital record, for my own peace of mind, so that’s what I did.

After about a week of being back at work, I came home one day totally exhausted and again weak and short of breath. Immediately my husband insisted we go back to the hospital. I was admitted again with a low oxygen level and trouble breathing. A day or two before, the hospital record had been delivered and I had my husband bring it to me, in the hospital. The doctor wanted me to have an echo and I argued with them explaining I had already just had one! They argued with me and then admitted that somehow the report was missing and they did not know the result. I carefully looked through the records and found the report, showing the cardiologist. I was stunned to read that the ejection fraction (measurement of my heart’s efficiency) was only at 25%. I found out later, this was a level requiring hospice care!! They told me I needed immediate heart surgery and the cardiologist called a surgeon from a Manhattan hospital who agreed to take my case. I was transported by ambulance to Lenox Hill in NYC where I underwent an open heart surgery the next day. I had congestive heart failure….. I cried when the surgeon told me that if they couldn’t fix it, they might have to do a heart transplant!! Imagine.. Ultimately, they did complete a repair of my mitral valve leaflets, by inserting a ring over the valve to allow it to work effectively. It seems my condition had been ongoing for quite some time; My left ventricle had become seriously weakened, causing my heart to fail. Post surgery, I improved, but I continue to require medication to maintain my heart rhythm and blood pressure. The medication makes me tired, so I am much more limited in what I can do. I’ve been on disability since.. and have been unable to return to work. This all happened when I turned 50 years old. I spent my 50th birthday in the hospital.

I did not pursue a malpractice case, although I did seriously consider it. In such cases you need another doctor who would be willing to say the hospital and doctors were negligent. I did visit the EMTs at my local firehouse to thank them for saving my life. They recalled that when they found me I had turned blue from the lack of oxygen. I think they were surprised that I made it!!

At this time, I consider myself to be very, very lucky to be alive! Lesson: we have to be our own health advocates these days! Doctors can and do make mistakes. If it doesn’t seem right, keep looking for another answer!

Russia Just Revealed 2 Hypersonic Weapons & SHOCKED The World!

Why Chinese language has become an issue in NASA? Anything to do with US effort to hang onto its hegemony in the race of space?

China has analysed the lunar soil that was collected by Chang’e-5 in 2020. (Not yet from the 2024 Chang’e-6)

There was discussion that China should first publish its result in Chinese science journals (using Chinese language). before publishing it in foreign journals.

There was US complaint that China has broken the intl standard to use English.

Who said English is the standard? God? Who said a standard/rule cannot be changed? God?

All humans are equal. All nations are equal. We coexist with different cultures incl language. USA crowns itself as god to control the world.

Want to read China’s research result? Learn Chinese language then. Or wait until China publishes it in an English journal. Or go to the moon to collect the soil yourself.

It is not the 1st time arrogant USA complained about Chinese language.

In 2021, China launched a 100% Made-in-China space station (天宫 Tiangong), somebody (I believe it was NASA chief) was maddening angry. He asked China to dismantle Tiangong because it was not written in English.

Tiangong is China’s private property. China can use its own language in its property. Though China welcomes other countries to join China’s space program, Tiangong is STILL China’s private property.

That is not the end of story.

Using a satellite from Space-X, USA tried to collide it into Tiangong. Twice, Luckily USA failed because Tiangong is equipped with detectors to prevent collision by meteorite or space garbage. China already reported this US crime to UN.

Did E Musk aplogise? No. He said China can always avoid collision. The question is not whether China can avoid it. The question is why Space-X deliberately created collision & endangered the life of the 3 Yuhangyuan (宇航员 astronaut) in Tiangong.

Let me further irritate the sick USA …

China is planning to set up a base on the moon. China may draw a map to divide the moon into regions like our road map. China may name the lunar regions in Chinese language.

Rules are made by the FIRST one who gets it. Like WTO rules were set up by the West. China thus follows WTO rules.

Since China will be the 1st one to set up a base on the moon, you learn Chinese language & then translate the Chinese map in your language.

Gregorian Chants | Immersing in the Spiritual Atmosphere Of Gregorian Chants

I discovered this. It’s something to bookmark if you want some chill music for atmosphere. Or meditation. Maybe spells. Who knows. Aside from that, you can skip this.

What’s the shadiest thing you saw a real estate agent do?

My ex and I were moving to Oregon from Colorado and had put our home up for sale. We got an offer within two weeks which was great as we were moving a few weeks later.

Supposedly, the buyers were moving to Colorado from Texas for the man’s job. The company was doing the down payment and then pay the balance on closing. Because of “banking issues” because of the house being in Colorado, they ended up only sending a $1,000.00 of the $30,000.00 down payment.
Our real estate agent said that was ok, that the whole sale amount would be paid at closing.

The closing was the day before we were leaving. We get to the title company’s office for the closing and the buyers show up with our real estate agent, and without the payment check.
The guy doing the closing was not happy but the real estate agent had him call the bank that the funds were coming from and he was told that there was an malfunction on the bank’s end and the transfer would take place that afternoon.

We went ahead and signed the papers and made arrangements for my mom to deposit the check in our bank account ( small town bank where everyone knew everyone else) the next day.

Yup, you guessed it, the check never showed up. Luckily the title agent was a family friend and refused to hand over the keys or file the paperwork without payment, even when the real estate agent and buyers threatened legal action.

Come to find out, it was a scam. The couple and the company he worked for, had pulled this in other states before. They would do the closing , get the keys and the title put in the new owners name. They would in turn sale the house and the original owners would be stuck with what little was paid in escrow.

We were lucky the title company refused to file the paperwork, we rented the house to some friends who then purchased it with cash a few months later.

The real estate agent lost their company and license and since it was a small community, their reputation.

The buyers left the state and the company disappeared. Technically no laws were broken so we couldn’t do anything legally against anyone.

Trump & Biden: CHINA! CHINA! CHINA!

Sheech!

What is an example of a simple flaw in a perfect crime?

Mike Williams was fond of duck hunting.

On December 16, 2000, which happened to be his 6th wedding anniversary, he went out to pursue his hobby. Promised his wife he’d be back in time for the celebration, he never returned.

Search and rescue team found his boat and shotgun the next day, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Initial reactions were that he may have drowned, but his body could not be found. Since the lake inhabited alligators, the blame was on cold-blooded animals. It was assumed that he fell off his boat and was eaten by the gators. Mike remained on the ‘missing list’ though.

Six months later his waders, torch, hunting license and safety jacket were found floating in the lake.

On his wife Denise’s request, he was declared “dead by accidental drowning.”

She married another man, Brian Winchester, in December 2005. He was Mike’s high school friend and an Insurance agent.

Thousands of letters from Mike’s mom and the case was reopened. She just didn’t feel her son had disappeared and was eaten by the gators. By then, it was clear to the investigators that alligators don’t eat humans as a whole, and they don’t even eat during winters.

So, this pointed towards some serious foul play. There was no evidence to arrest anyone, however.

Sixteen years of no evidence, the police arrested Brian Winchester in August 2016 for allegedly kidnapping Denise. He did so because she wanted to divorce him.

On Denise’s request, the judge agreed to turn down Winchester’s bail application. She said he would kill her and her daughter.

On December 19, 2017, Winchester was sentenced to 20 years in prison for armed kidnapping of Denise. The very next day, on December 20, Mike’s remains were found.

In May 2018, Denise Williams got arrested under the charge of first-degree murder. Three months later, in August, she was charged with insurance fraud worth $1.75 million.

The matter got into the trial phase, and Winchester testified against Denise for plotting the murder. He told the court he pushed Mike into the water to make it look like an accident, but it didn’t work. So, he shot him in the head and buried his body in the mud near Carr Lake.

Denise, in February 2019, was sentenced to life imprisonment for first-degree murder and an additional 30 years for conspiring the crime. There is no possibility of parole.

Winchester, though the killer, remained immune from murder conviction because he testified against Denise.

The only flaw in this crime was planting the evidence six months later. All of that was intact. No signs of gators’ tooth or blood on any of the recovered items. The torch worked absolutely fine.

And then asking to declare him dead within six months of his disappearance. Usually, it takes five years to get it done.

It took about 2600 letters to the authorities from a loving mother to find the killer(s) of her son after more than 18 years of his disappearance.

strong independent woman gets a TRAIN RAN on her and regrets it

The West is cooked! God am I glad that I don’t live there any longer.

Is it true that an exodus from the Philippines is taking place? Why or why not?

Maybe they smelled war.

Businessmen have the most sensitive political sense. Recently, Raul Lambino, chairman of the Philippine New Energy Group, burst into tears at the 70th anniversary commemoration of China’s “Five Principles of Peaceful Coexistence” held in Beijing. He said: ‘I Don’t Want My Country to Be a Battleground’.

Recently, Taiwanese media reported that a silent electronic war broke out between the Chinese and American militaries in the South China Sea. The two armies fought for 12 hours, and the result was obvious: PLA wins and the US military loses!

The Internet, GPS, and communication facilities in the northern Philippines were all paralyzed. Luzon Island was in a state of panic.

Electronic warfare is a precursor to bombing military targets. After the outbreak of the Russia-Ukraine conflict, Russia launched a large-scale electronic jamming war, causing Ukraine’s GPS positioning to drift seriously, and the effectiveness of precision-guided weapons provided by NATO dropped significantly.

Therefore, before a war breaks out, GPS signals may be lost, network connections may be disconnected, and phone calls may be unreachable in the war zone.

Perhaps the Philippines realized that the U.S. military was completely unable to provide the so-called “protection” for the Philippines, and unilaterally demanded that the U.S. military withdraw its medium-range missile system from the Philippines to avoid further angering China.

Philippines Says US Mid-Range Missile System to Be Pulled Out

A US mid-range missile system deployed in the Philippines for annual joint military exercises — to the annoyance of China — will be pulled out of the country.

https://www.thedefensepost.com/2024/07/04/philippines-us-missile-system-pulled-out/

A series of events that have happened recently may contain the answers you want.

As a nurse, has a patient ever demanded something completely unreasonable of you?

The old farmer only had one testicle left due to testicle cancer, and his remaining testicle had taken a hard hit from his favorite cow. The ball looked like a balloon. A very painful balloon.

After a medical investigation, and before the urologist could even say what the verdict was, the patient stated the decision he had made, after a long and deep contemplation:

“I am seventy-plus years old, and my wife an I do not share the bed anymore. We don’t need to spend extra energy nor money to save it. Just take it away, and I will be just fine.”

That’s what he would do if one of his animals had one balloon ball left — amputate the entire scrotum, and that’s that. So the lady doctor should do the same thing, with a rubber band for that matter. (He would be fine.)

My girlfriend tried to explain that he needed the testosterone in order to function as a man (hoping that he would understand this language). But the farmer refused to take it in because in his eyes, a testicle was a tool to procreate. (“So why not cut it off ?”)

It took forever to explain that without testicles he would suffer from fatigue, hot flashes, muscle loss, poor facial hair growth and what have you. That on many levels he would turn into a woman in menopause, and that lifelong hormone treatment would be necessary to counterbalance the effects.

And that he would become an extremely emotional farmer for no reason if he would ignore that very important treatment (which he would).

In the end, he gave in though — and the testicle lived.

But the dream remained.

Fun pictures

Margarita Beef with Orange Salsa

This recipe was the winner of the 1992 National Beef Cook-Off.

Yield: 5 to 6 servings | 1 1/2 cups salsa

Ingredients

Steak

2/3 cup frozen orange juice concentrate, thawed
1/2 cup tequila
1/3 cup fresh lime juice
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 tablespoons chopped fresh ginger
2 medium cloves garlic, crushed
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon dried oregano leaves
1/4 teaspoon ground red pepper
1 1/2 pounds well-trimmed boneless beef
1 (1 inch thick) round steak

Orange Salsa

2 oranges, peeled and cubes
1 small onion, chopped
1 jalapeno, seeded and chopped
1/4 cup chopped fresh cilantro
2 to 3 tablespoon fresh lime juice
2 tablespoons olive oil
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon dried oregano leaves

Instructions

Steak

Combine orange juice concentrate, tequila, lime juice, oil, ginger, garlic, salt, oregano and red pepper.
Place steak in a plastic bag: add marinade, turning to coat. Close bag securely and marinate, refrigerated, for 4 hours, or up to overnight.

Orange Salsa

In a nonreactive bowl, combine all ingredients. Refrigerate for at least one hour.
Remove steak from marinade; discard marinade. Place steak on grill over medium coals (you should be able to hold your hand 4 inches above the coals for a count of 4 seconds).
Grill for 22 to 26 minutes for medium-rare to medium doneness, turning once.
Remove steak to carving board; let stand for 10 minutes.
Carve steak crosswise into thin slices: Arrange on serving platter. Garnish with cilantro and lime; serve with Orange Salsa.

Modern women have run the men off & now they wonder why they’re single!

What was a loophole that you found and exploited the hell out of?

Circa 2010-ish, Samsung had this app in my country called samsung gift. It would give limited free vouchers (mostly for food) for people who have samsung phones

Funny thing is, not many people seem to use it, and they always deploy their free vouchers at the same time everyday. So i would standby, app open, to wait for it. No kidding, I *ALWAYS* get the vouchers without fail. We’re talking about full meals at kenny rogers, free medium pizza from pizza hut, etc.

Oh, and I didn’t stop there. They had tiers of these vouchers. like if you have their flagship phones (and tablets too) they give out voucher for fancier restos.. then another tier for mid-tier phones. and for the lower tier phones it would be like a free ice cream at dairy queen or something.

well my family uses samsung phones mainly. and I also have a few samsung tablet. long story short, each day i would have an excess of 5+ vouchers to trade in (and many of these you can take away, it’s not always limited to dine in)

suffice to say that i think for about 2+ years Samsung helped me save a lot on dining out costs. it was really fun. too bad around the time Galaxy note 8 came out (the last samsung flagship i ever bought), they slowly started to give out less and less vouchers. oh well, it was fun white it lasted!

I believe abortion is wrong. Can you change my mind?

My friend’s grandma gave birth to 10 children during her life time. Six of them grew to adults. Two of them died when they were toddlers. Another two babies were killed by drowning in a basin, as soon as they were born, by the parents, who were too poor to feed them.

My friend said ‘Grandma and grandpa had often murmured, ‘Sorry… Sorry…’ with tears, when they recalled it. They blamed themselves all their lives. They had no choice. No enough food for all the family. They killed the babies by their own hands, instead of letting them starve, to die slowly, to save the food for their elder children to survive.’

It was a situation you would face as a parent if you were born at that time, in a poor village, if you didn’t have enough sunshine or rain to harvest your crops in a certain year. In fact, at that time, it was not a rare case at all. The ones you killed were not fetuses, but actual humans who could already breathe and cry. You were no doubt a murderer. But no matter how guilt-ridden you felt murderering your newborn angels, you must move on, because you must take full responsibility to feed your other children, otherwise they wouldn’t survive either. That’s why in a time like that, the babies killed by their own parents were not considered ‘murdered’, neither legally nor morally. It was pretty much accepted by society, because people didn’t have better options.

Morals, values, cultures… all depend on our ability to survive. There is no absolute right or wrong, good or bad, virtue or sin. ‘Should we consider a fetus a living human?’ ‘Is abortion wrong?’ ‘Should we forbid eating animal meat?’ ‘Is President Lincoln a racist?’ All discussions require a context. We can’t give an absolute yes or no without considering the backgrounds and the stages of development. Morality is relative, specific, and constantly changing.

When we talk about abortion, we need to talk about the alternatives when you don’t abort. Do common people have easy access to birth control? Have we built up a single mother/father friendly social environment (employment, welfare, social pressure etc)? Do we have social support for poor families? Has our society developed to a stage that everybody is covered by a safety net? What’s the solution when a woman is in a bodily condition which makes it highly risky to give birth? What about a pregnancy caused by rape?…

There is no ‘best’ social system. We have to consider the current stage of development we are in, to balance the different interests and conflicts of different individuals and social groups, to keep on communicating and compromising, to keep on experimenting to find a relatively ‘not bad’ one. I think that’s our human’s reality.

(This is a translation of my another answer in Japanese to a similar question. Welcome to correct my English and discuss about this topic. Thank you.

Young Men Are Going To Revolt…

This is NOT what you think it is. It is a in-depth study of the nature of war, collapse and change. Very good. Really worth your time to watch.

MM based on the Carmine Sabitini archetype template-seed

The earth rotates on it’s axis and we are just riding it. It seems to be wobbling a tad bit of late…

Oh Doggie, the alt-media are sure being quiet right now. Kinda spooky.

The Iranian strike was devastating. I’ve seen tons of videos of the lights falling from the sky, and the real interesting videos of skyscrapers fully engulfed in flames like some kind of pyre.

Serious wars going on. All backed by the United States.

Everything the UN tries to do something, the US vetoes it. Genocide, war, profiteering. You name it. The USA vetoes it. Soon, everyone is gonna leave the UN and go form their own elsewhere.

Anyways, the Iran delayed response to Israel was substantive and significant.

Israel is promising a horrific response (Hal Turner Link)

Four F-35 attempted to strike into Iran, but Russia notified Iran, and they Turned back (Hal Turner Link)

My guess is that they were carrying nuclear payloads.

Now Israel is [1] waging genocide on the Palestinians, [2] invading Lebanon, and [3] waging war with Iran. All with United States approval and backing (The Duran YouTube discussion)

This use of nuclear weapons by Israel in Lebanon is disturbing (Intel Drop)

Seems to me that Washington DC is run by neocon Jake Sullivan, and its as crazy as a “Mad Hatter”. The pivot to China is coming up hard and fast.

Mean while, Russia ain’t playin’. They packed their bags and left the USA. (Hal Turner)

Here in China, on this major anniversary, there are tons of patriotic war movies where China is fighting the USA on all the Douxing APPs.

Israel is planning something BIG. (Hal Turner Link)

Domain Commander confirms that nuclear-related weapons were used in the Middle East, and in Ukraine. But that none of the massive big ones are being rolled out… just yet. It is still “small to medium bads” from my point of view. And that I shouldn’t get too caught up in affairs that do not involve myself.

Perhaps we are expecting a Hollywood world war and not the nasty shit that we are watching today.

Domain commander said something about “to create a garden, you first have to clear the forest, and move things around“, and that all is proceeding to plan.

Domain does not like any nuclear weapons or discharges of them, and they will not permit the BIG nasty stuff to ever see the light of day. However, these small explosions (how it’s even considered to be small?) are trivial in the big picture.

If and when the USA does decide to “pivot to China” I will be getting much better intel from the DC.

Buckle up, but don’t get too caught up.

…

A few years ago I added an affirmation that I would live a lifestyle similar to the movie character Carmine Sabitini.

I liked the character, the way he carried himself, his business, the idea of family, and wealth and power.

Here is the part in the movie where the young “freshman” is introduced to Carmine…

The Freshman – Carmine

Know the character. This is what I aspired to manifest.

This is the man who I aspired to become…

He’s [1] a local businessman; [2] an importer involved in [3] international trade.

He’s [4] older. He has [5] a lot of respect.

He’s [6] charming in his own sort of way.

He has a [7] beautiful daughter, that is [8] strong willed, and independent. He also has [9] a network of friends and family.

He is [10] moderately wealthy, and [11] Protected from harm.

Yeah.

So, about a decade ago I added an affirmation along these lines;

I live a life similar to that of Carmine Sabitini in the fictional movie "The Freshman". The emphasis is in his relationships, power, wealth and business.

And then I forgot all about it.

But within a year of my affirmations, I was appointed the GM of an international trade organization, and had a lot of power and various relationships that seem eerie familiar.

Two years later I started my own operations.

Two years after that, I had a head-strong daughter. Indeed, Consider Carmine’s sole daughter…

The Freshman – Clark meets Tina Sabatini

Now, my daughter is only five, but sure as shit, this gal and my daughter have a very similar personality.

And I have even been walking back and forth in my office, just like Carmine, dealing with issues demanding “good news”.

I argue that you must be VERY careful on what you affirm. Be super dooper careful, and if you base your affirmations on a fictional character or lifestyle, you MUST be absolutely specific.

I am living this life now; based on an affirmation guidance-template that uses the movie “The Freshman” as a “seed”. Heads up, I will generate a YouTube or Patron video on this concept in the near future.

Meanwhile, I think that it is supremely instructive to watch the movie and compare it to what I have manifested.

All, in all, I am looking at 80% manifestation exactness on the elements so specified. No joke.

The Freshman | English Full Movie | Comedy Crime

Now, here is the entire and complete movie for your viewing pleasure.

If you want to really get to understand the interactions between affirmation statements and manifestations, then viewing this video will be of great help.

Please take the time to watch it so that you will get a better understanding on the kind of relationships that my affirmations were attempting to manifest.

Today…

Here’s a light-hearted joke that Australians might appreciate:

Why do kangaroos hate rainy days?

Because the kids have to play inside!

BREAKING NEWS: CHINA SENDS PLA TROOPS TO BELARUS – MESSAGE TO NATO

Hal Turner World July 06, 2024

In an utterly stunning development in eastern Europe, China has sent troops from its People’s Liberation Army (PLA) to Belarus, to participate side-by-side with Belarus troops in an “exercise.” – as NATO places 115,000 troops on Belarus’ Border.

Word of this began to leak out around 5:00 AM eastern US time today (Saturday July 6) when avid air enthusiasts noticed an unidentified plane in Belarus air space. It had begun squawking a Transponder beacon, but was not identifying itself.

Unidentifed Plane Belarus 07 06 2024 Was China PLA

The plane landed at a military base in Belarus, and Covert Intel was quickly deployed to take a look. That turned out to be unnecessary because both Belarus and Russia made public the details:

The aircraft was a troop transport/cargo plane from China’s People’s Liberation Army (PLA):

Shortly after it landed, a small contingent of Chinese Army troops de-planed and were greeted with a hearty welcome by Belarus military officers.

It turns out this is a not-subtle-at-all message to NATO: China backs Belarus and Russia.

It also turns out that this proves interoperability between those forces; something that was not heretofore confirmed by the West.

NATO has positioned about 115,000 troops on the border of Belarus, hoping to force Russia to lock-in-place about 300,000 troops it has on the border of Ukraine.

Now that China has made its entry into the situation, Russia is now free to utilize those 300,000 troops along Ukraine’s border without having to worry that NATO will enter Belarus.

This is a very big change in the balance of power in eastern Europe.

It seems designed to give Pause to NATO and to the West.

Observers say it will either achieve that goal, or perhaps trigger a much worse set of actions by the West.

This is now a tinderbox ready to be ignited by the smallest “spark.”

What are some mind-blowing facts about social psychology?

Studies have found that humans are attracted to people who resemble us or our parents. Although other studies have found that we find individuals who resemble family members trustworthy not “lustworthy”, fitting with known deficits of sexual attraction to someone related to you.
Studies have also found that as time goes by, couples in long term relationships eventually look like one another. This is due to mimicking the same facial expressions over time, creating similar wrinkle lines.
Use mirroring body language when talking to somebody. I’ve used this in interviews and have had great outcomes. Copying someone else’s gestures in a subtle way makes you more understanding and likeable.
When you shake someone’s hand for the first time, make sure they’re warm. Warm hands mean a warm approach. Not mind-blowing but a useful technique.
The Bystander Effect. This theory suggests that when an incident occurs, the more people that are present in the accident, the less likely it is for someone to come forward and help. It’s true.
People follow authoritative figures blindly. A study by Milgram found that people would administer electric shocks on individuals, even if the ‘consequences’ were severe, just because an authoritative figure asked them to.
Your name is powerful. Using a person’s name upon greeting or in the middle of a conversation means that you recognise their existence. You massage their ego, boosting their self esteem. This one act does them a huge favour.

Col Douglas Macgregor Zelensky Dragging Us in to WWlll

From a pro-‘Merica site.

Burnt Round Steak

IMG 0287 2000x1334 2 scaled — IMG 0287 2000×1334 2 scaled

Ingredients

1 large round steak, cut into 1/2 inch wide strips
1/4 cup Karo syrup
1/4 cup vinegar
2 tablespoons water
1/4 teaspoon Tabasco sauce
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1/4 cup Burgundy wine
1/4 teaspoon garlic powder
1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
1/2 cup vegetable oil

Instructions

Mix all ingredients in a glass bowl and marinate meat for at least 1 hour.
Put meat on campfire forks or on grill and cook over glowing coals until done as desired.

Notes

This is good served with fry bread.

25 Minutes Of Modern Women Having MELTDOWN Because Can’t Get More Child Support

What did you do when you were suddenly fired from a job?

The following might be a bit off topic.

Well, I was not technically “fired” because I already had a job offer in hand.

I was working in a North American MNC and our team project was winding down, and we had to look to others’ projects to clock our hours. Those were the days when we had to log daily how our time was used. It was apparent that the local office was not getting new projects, so I had gone job hunting and got an offer.

I took morning leave to go sign the contract, and was back in office in the afternoon. Had a chance encounter with the team manager. He told me he was going to send me on a short training stint in Australia, and that’s when I asked him not to. Naturally he would ask why, and I decided to tell him that I intended to put in my resignation at the end of the month. I wanted to spare him the embarrassment of putting in the paperwork with HR and then to find out that I would resign afterwards. I thought I was doing him a small favour, although I was going to leave the job.

He then asked if it was a competitor, and I said yes. I was trying to be nice, but realised that I was actually being naive when I look back at this.

Unknown to me, he went to HR. A few hours later, he came to my cubicle and told me that I should put in my resignation there and then, and leave immediately.

Yes, I do understand the fear that I might steal trade secrets or sabotage the work. But I was very disappointed that I had trusted him but he did not trust me.

To add insult to injury, I didn’t get the annual bonus because I had to tender my resignation at the beginning of December and didn’t complete the year of work. Which was the reason that I had wanted to put in my resignation only at the end of the month. These were technicalities, but was a whole month worth of pay.

A few weeks later, a former colleague arranged for a “farewell” lunch. A known less-than-responsible guy tried to upset me and said that because of my departure, everyone got a 10% raise as management was afraid that there would be an exodus. To which I replied, “Good for you. Luckily, I was offered a 20% raise in my new job and didn’t have to wait for somebody to leave.”

After that, I would refuse to go to reunions if either of those guys was attending.

TRICERATOPS – Retro Pulp Science Fiction by Skyward, 16mm, 1962, Film Experimentation, AI Dinosaurs

What is the most badass thing your parent has ever done?

My father did 4 1/2 tours of Vietnam, USMC.

He was an asshole who accepted zero excuses for a failure to do what should have been done.

Mid 1970’s, we’re at the lake on vacation. Dad saw the man in the camper next to ours bail out of the camper, on fire. Flames were rolling out of the camper and the man’s wife was trapped in the rear. The man had set himself on fire trying to get to his wife out. Without saying a word, he grabbed 2 small fire extinguishers that were in our camper, hit the man with one in passing and then ran into a camper that was by then fully engulfed in flames. Lost sight of him immediately after entering due to flames and smoke. Probably 20 seconds later, dad came running out, with the lady thrown over his shoulder and laid her down and then collapsed under a tree. The camper was burnt to the ground within 2 minutes. Dad had some pretty serious burns. The lady he rescued had quite a bit of serious burns. The husband that had come running out on fire died before they could get him to the hospital.

My dad had never talked about his time in Vietnam or even about running into a camper fully on fire. When I came back from Mogadishu, I was having trouble sleeping, angry all the time, and was probably fixing to wind up in prison for numerous bar fights where a couple men had gotten hurt pretty bad. I didn’t have a off switch by then. I was not coping well at all. Me and the old man were drinking a few beers one evening after brutally hot day of working cattle. And the old men started talking to me, not as a father, but as a fellow warrior. He knew exactly what I was going through. He told me that the paticulars of the battle don’t matter. It’s the changes it does to you in your heart and mind that matters. He helped me find the help that I desperately needed. I didn’t know it at the time, didn’t find out till his funeral that he had run into a bunker on fire in Vietnam and pulled one other Marine out.

12 Mistakes That Make Men Look OLD

Commerce Secretary Raimondo said U.S. needs to work with EU to slow China’s innovation rate and need to ‘hold their feet to the fire’.

What do you think of such obvious hegemonic remarks? Does ‘America First’ still play a role in the United States?

Commerce Secretary Raimondo said U.S. needs to work with EU to slow China’s innovation rate and need to ‘hold their feet to the fire’.What do you think of such obvious hegemonic remarks? Does ‘America First’ still play a role in the United States?

Secretary Raimondo doesn’t really matter. The US-China relationship is decided by people above her pay grade. President Biden and his own advisors. The one closest to President Biden is probably Ron Klain, his chief of staff, someone who’s been his confidante since his vice-president days. Mr. Blinken may count as an insider (he’s really a Clinton/Albright man, not in the original Biden team. So an inheritance.). I doubt even Sullivan is that close. The others such as Tai and Raimondo, these are just “they came highly recommended by friend’-sort of office holders.

Mrs. Raimondo didn’t even endorse Mr. Biden in his presidential bid. She endorsed the billionnaire Mr. Bloomberg instead. These are East Coast “Wall Street democrats” – tax-cut, de-regulation, but also willing to spend tax dollars on (some) welfare and (some) education. When Mr. Biden got elected, he needed to get the support of Wall Street Democrats. So he offered HHS (Health and Human Services) Secretary to Mrs. Raimondo. She said no. Not interested in this thankless job with Covid raging. She wanted Commerce instead.

In the end it was Ron Klain who dived head-long into the nightmare logistics of the vaccine rollout, and did a good job of it too. And didn’t make himself the news. That’s what a president’s confidante should look like. Mrs. Raimondo, she’s many things but not a Biden Confidante.

Now that you know Mrs. Raimondo sits at the peripheral of the Biden Circle, you can see that what she says doesn’t matter. (She has a hawkish language, which probably more a reflection of her own closeness with Senator Reed, who’s the Chairman of the Senate Arms Services Comm. and a childhood friend since forever. Not a “pope” yet but definitely a ranking “cardinal” in the Senate.) What she is tasked to do, that will reflect some pieces of what the Biden team is thinking. It’s unlikely that they’ve thought about this issue a lot, with the White House so deeply buried in the budget and the stimulus fight with the Congress.

But they would know much more than the general public opinion about the realities of US-China relationship. If the ordinary people are at ground zero in terms of understanding, the politicians are probably at level 1, the trade and finance guys probably at level 2, and the WH probably at level 3.

For example, there are a ton of questions right here on Quora about the Chinese real estate company Evergrande. Questions like “would it trigger China collapse”. These people have no idea that it’s the Chinese government who stopped Evergrande from being able to raise money domestically, so they turned to issuing dollar-bond. In case of default, the government gets all the land and the assets, China policy banks hold the most senior debt. Chinese investors hold second-senior debt. Foreign dollar-bond investors hold the most junior debt, so they have to bear all the loss. Then you see a bunch of rednecks cheering it on while Tony Blinken called up the Chinese to say “could you please please be gentle with Evergrande”. China will tell him to go f*ck off but at least Blinken knows who’s gonna really be screwed. The general public, and all these “financial reporters”, they don’t even know how to read a bond seniority table, and with their very limited intelligence and knowledge, they want to set international policy!

The big picture is that the previous Administration had turned a largely win-win relationship into a lose-lose relationship, and Mr. Biden has come to the realization that “if for every $1 you lose, I’m losing $2 or more, then we may be both screwed but I get screwed even more. So can I figure out a way to stop the bleed, hopefully without rolling back everything, ’cause we’d look really stupid if we have to do that.”

Before the trade war, essentially the US makes the wheel, China makes the sofa. Put it on top, and you have a car to drive around. Then the trade war started, and the US took the wheel and put a trade sanction on it – which of course made China go into a frenzy of re-inventing the wheel.

The “China can’t innovate” is a stupid meme advanced by third-rate wanna-be politicians, such as HP’s Carly Fiorina when she wanted to run for the Senate in 2010. A people who launched nuclear bombs and communications satellites with only pencil-and-paper, literally, can not be very stupid, can they. It’s just that the notable Chinese inventions, such as cheap Malaria drug or salt-tolerant rice, these are really not “a thing” to rich people. In reality you invent things to improve your own lives, thus China wants to do shared bicycles and the US wants to do space tourism. One targets $2000 annual income people, the other $20,000,000 annual income people. Different market segments.

So this idea that by sanctioning China, these manufacturing jobs will come back to the US, is completely insane! Have you looked at how much these jobs are paid in China vs. the US? They will not “go back to the US”, unless the US becomes as poor as China.

The Wall Street actually figured out a good way to share the profit of China’s growth – by investing in it and get a share of the profit. There was China-bashing but that was mostly for two things – one is Pentagon budget, the other is some special favor for their pet industry from China.

When the trade war started, a lot of these American industries basically did a calculation – Trump is an idiot but maybe he can really squeeze something to my benefit? If it doesn’t work, then it’s all Trump’s fault and I can go back to the way we work with my Chinese partners before. Well, the problem with these cost-benefit analyses is that these things fundamentally is about what you think, not about the reality, and the reality tends to work differently! Turned out most suppliers still want the work. Distributors, not so much.

What about fixing the uneven distribution of the benefit of trade that created the army of Trump voters? No, of course, not. Don’t even think about it. I paid the lobbyists to make deals that are good for me and bad for you, fair-and-square! No way I’m sharing the upside! Let’s just all blame foreigners and poor people.

(PS: International trade deals creates winners and losers even though the sum total might be advantageous. The way to mitigate this uneven distribution is through internal fiscal transfer or domestic economic policy. Failure to mitigate will exacerbate inequality and make domestic politics volatile. )

So here we are, 3 years after the trade war and tech embargo, with the highest ever trade deficit, growing inflation, and a China who is now absolutely determined to de-couple technologically from the US. Mr. Biden is trying to stop the loss, and Mrs. Raimondo is sent out to see if our “allies” can share the loss, instead of making bank from it. Under the shadow of climate emergency and the extraordinary inequality. This hole we are in is so deep, nobody knows how to climb out of it. And the most idiotic and crazy of them yells the loudest!

Coup attempt in Bolivia fails as president urges people to mobilize against democracy threat

Here’s a light-hearted joke involving Americans and Irish stew:

Why did the American try to make Irish stew?

Because he wanted to see what all the “stew-pendous” fuss was about!

Shorpy

@@@@@@SHORPY Pittsburgh Panorama.preview

Toilet paper drama

Finding love in space

Submitted into Contest #8 in response to: Write a story about an adventure in space. … view prompt

Tea Kleva

It’s year 2155 and I’m living on Venus. We travel with space ships from one planet to another. Woman live on Venus and man on Mars, so in order to meet each other we go once a week on Jupiter.The purpose in my life is to find the love of my life. What a cliché, right? But I can’t help it if I’m a hopeless romantic. Sometimes I think that I would never find him and I will live alone till I die.The day to go on Jupiter came and I was ready to meet the love I was waiting for the past 50 years. All the girls took a seat in a spaceship and we were ready to go. The journey was long, so I started to talk to the girl who was sitting next to me.“So, are you nervous for your date?” I asked her.She looked at me and smiled. Her eyes were green and I just lost myself in them. I was just staring at her and the whole thing became awkward really fast.“I’m sorry for starring at you like that, but you have such a pretty eyes.” I apologized.“Oh, don’t worry,” she replied. “And yes, I’m a little nervous for my date. By the way, I’m Caroline.”“Nice to meet you Caroline, I’m Jasmine.”We talked the whole trip and we became friends. I felt the happiness filling my body and I was so grateful that I met her.The boys were already waiting for us. This place was always so beautiful and with the boys on it I loved it even more. I was just standing there alone, when one boy approached me.“Wow, I just can’t believe it. You are stunning!” the boy said.I smiled and thanked him. He took my hand and gave it a little kiss. We walked to one free table and sat down.“Let me introduce myself, I’m Hunter, I’m 166 years old and I live in a villa on Mars. I appreciate the natural beauty, so that’s the main reason I chose you as my date.” He said.“Well thank you for the compliment, Hunter. I’m Jasmine, I’m 133 years old and I live in a small apartment on Venus. I appreciate that you are such a gentleman and that’s the reason I let you choose me as your date.” I said.We were flirting the whole time and I could feel some kind of connection between us, but at the same time I just couldn’t stop thinking about Caroline and every time I saw her having a good time with her date I was kind of jealous.The day on Jupiter ended and I felt like there was no connection between me and Hunter. He was the perfect guy, just not for me. I walked in space ship and sat beside Caroline.“How was your date?” I asked.“It wasn’t bad, but at the same time I felt I had more connection with you than him, you know.” She said.I was so happy, because I felt exactly the same. Does that mean that I should search for my soulmate on my own planet? I’m so confused.“Can I ask you something?” I said. “Would you like to go out with me? To know each other better and become maybe, uh, more than friends…”I couldn’t believe I actually said that. I was a little scared of how she is going to react. So I was just starring at my feet. She took my chin with her soft, warm, perfect hands and lifted my head so we made eye contact. She was smiling so that’s a good sign.“I would love to go out with you Jasmine, because I feel something for you. It’s a little strange, but an amazing feeling.” She said while still holding my face.

During our flight back we hit another spaceship. The alarm went off and I was panicking. Caroline took my hand and told me everything is going to be okay. We landed on the Moon and Caroline had the idea that we could go on an adventure, so she took my hand and we ran on the other side of the Moon. We found a cave and we went inside. It was dark, but fortunately I had my battery with me. The cave was white, the walls had different shapes and the echo was amazing. We started singing and the walls sang back. I never wanted to leave this place. We went deeper in the cave and found a waterfall. I remembered that we learned a lot of this cave in the school. The water was magical. If you dive in it and think of some place, you would get there through this waterfall. I was so curious if this really worked, so I proposed to Caroline that we dive in the water and travel on the Earth.

We got in the water and thought of some place on Earth. Suddenly I remembered that Eart was a big place and that we wouldn’t land in the same place, but it was to late. There was a flash of light so I closed my eyes and I could feel my body flying through the space. I landed in front of Big Ben. I was in London. I didn’t have any device to communicate with Caroline and even if I was among the people, I felt alone.

Right now I just wanted to find Caroline and go back to Venus, where I could perhaps marry her and be with her forever. I know that we didn’t know each other enough, but my gut is telling me that she could be the one.

I just stopped for a minute and closed my eyes. I wanted to see if I could feel where she was. I heard music in the distance and someone was calling my name. I turned around and opened my eyes. Some kind of shadow ran into the bar where the music came from. I followed the shadow and I saw a girl who had same hair as Caroline. That must be her! I found her! I went to the girl and hugged her.

“I finally found you!” I said. I let go of the hug and the girl turned around. It wasn’t Caroline. I felt so embarrassed and I left the bar. I started crying because I thought I would never find Caroline. I sat on the stairs outside the bar and I couldn’t stop crying. After I stopped crying I looked on the floor and my tears spelled Paris. I stood up and went to the airport. I had some money with me so I bought a ticket for Paris.

I searched whole Paris just to find Caroline, but I couldn’t find her. I stopped in front of Eiffel tower and started praying that someone could give me a sign or some kind of help, so I could find her.

“Hello miss, do you want to see how beautiful Paris is from the top of Eiffel tower?” some man said.

I bought a ticket to visit the top of the tower. I stopped for a moment to enjoy the view, when someone grabbed my shoulders. I turned around and there she was, Caroline. We found each other, fate wanted to reunite us in the city of love, Paris. We hugged and I just couldn’t let her go. I didn’t want to lose her again.

“Now that we found each other again, we should go home.” She whispered in my ear.

“But home is wherever we are together. So right now we could stay in Paris and then we could explore the rest of the World.” I said with a tear sliding down my cheek.

So we decided to stay on Earth. The only thing we needed at the moment were each other and the desire for travelling.

After 5 years we travelled the whole world, so we decided to go back on Venus. Me and Caroline live in the house we build together. We love each other and want to grow old together.

Sometimes your soulmate come to your life when you least expect it and sometimes it’s not the person you would expect, but that’s the beauty of life, it’s unpredictable.

So Much

What is the cheapest thing you’ve seen a mega-rich person do?

Few years ago, my uncle, a heart surgeon, was ordering a coffee in a luxury and very expensive restaurant: the cashier turned out to be the owner of the business. While the restaurant is one of the most famous of my city, that man is the owner of a company that owns, along with that restaurant, many other luxury shops, cafeterias, food stores etc etc: that company has a profit of about 30–40 million euros a year.

So, my uncle took the coffee and was about to pay when the owner had a heart attack, and my uncle provided him first aid and eventually managed to take him to the nearest hospital and save his life.

After a month, my uncle, as he used to do almost every week end, goes to take a coffee in that restaurant when he sees the owner for the first time since that accident . The owner warmly greets my uncle and then … here comes the plot twist … tells him (not jokingly) “hey, last time we met, you forgot to pay your coffee”.

My uncle paid for his coffee and never set foot in that place again.

YOU NEED TO OUTWORK EVERYONE – Motivational Speech

What was Turkey’s stance during WW2 when Germany was near their borders?

Nervous. Very, very nervous.

By 1941, Turkey was in an extremely tenuous position. The Soviet Union, our old friends during our War of Independence, had reversed course under Stalin and had begun to eye not only the old Imperial territories in Turkish east that were conclusively lost with the Treaty of Kars, but also the Straits themselves. On the other hand, there stood Germany across the border- a state with which we ostensibly had friendly enough relations, but the aims of the Reich were hard to know. Further complicating things, Britain was prodding us to see if we’d enter the war on the Allied side, and while Britain didn’t exactly have the power to force us, this put us in the crosshairs of a Reich that might decide that it’d be better off eliminating the threat before it struck at an unopportune time. And of course, even if Germany didn’t desire to attack us, that still left the question of Mussolini’s Italy hanging: after all, Germany hadn’t wanted to attack Greece either.

Still fighting to climb out of the ruin that the Great War and the struggle for freedom afterwards had left us in, we couldn’t afford another war, nor did we want one. This left the razor sharp path of strict neutrality for us to follow, while arming ourselves to the teeth so we could sell ourselves dearly when the time came.

Throughout the Second World War, Turkey was one step short of a state of war. Air raids shelters designated across the country, rationing and blackouts instituted, courses to train citizens on the realities of warfare set up, and the army and the economy mobilized for wartime, Turkey was bracing for a war that might have been right at the door, intending to sell our lives dearly if it came to it.

By 1943, the Turkish army had expanded to forty-five divisions(including one armored division) and five brigades(one cavalry, one armored and three infantry), organized into three armies and fifteen corps, totaling 1.3 million men under arms- two thirds of all people eligible for military service.

Soviet-produced T-26 tanks during a parade before the Second World War. These vehicles bought in 1932 was the first sizeable tank force of the Turkish army. By 1945, Turkish armed forces would have a rather sizeable tank arm consisting of an utter hodgepodge of vehicles, ranging from Soviet T-26’s, British Vickers Mark 6’s and Valentines, German Panzer III and IV’s, and American Stuarts and Shermans.

Turkey’s Second World War policy can be described tongue in cheek as putting all effort towards being a friendly, but extremely spiky hedgehog. It was centered simultaneously on maintaining friendly neutrality with everyone around us, while being as ready as humanly possible for any war that might come our way.

High-Value Man TRIGGERED American Women After He Told Them They Aren’t Wife Material

What is the saddest thing you’ve ever seen as a police officer?

I’ve seen a lot of really sad things, way too many than I care to recall. But here’s just one sad story of many.

A Husband and Wife were having a Birthday party for their daughter. She was little, maybe 4 to 6. I don’t remember exactly how old she was. The mother and daughter and guests were all playing, and eating cake in the living room of their 8th floor apartment. The father had been recently receiving treatment for depression, and went into the kitchen and decided to jump out of the window, to his death.

The Mother didn’t notice, until we came up to the apartment and knocked on the door. I saw what was going on, and called her out of the apartment into the hallway. I explained everything that just happened to her, and yes, I didn’t follow protocol and have her make a formal ID of his body. Yes, I did it differently. A picture, the doorman, and his ID, were good enough for me. There’s no way I was going to put this poor woman through any more stress.

She asked me about what she should do? How could the situation be handled? I still don’t know if I gave her the right advice. I was a 28 y/o, I wasn’t married, and had no children. I told her to lie to her daughter for now. Not to tell her that her Daddy had died on her birthday by jumping out the window and committing suicide.

I told her I’d help call the guests’ parents, and have their kids picked up from the party. Then maybe she could tell her daughter that her Daddy wasn’t feeling too well, and went to the hospital. Maybe in the next day or two, she could tell her that her Daddy had died in the hospital of a heart attack.

Then, when the child was older she could tell her the truth, since family secrets always wind up coming out, anyway.

I’m not one for lying to people but I just thought that she would always associate her birthday with her father’s death, and that just wasn’t fair for this little girl. Unfortunately, death by suicide is still mostly taboo, even in big cities. She and her Mother deserved so much better than the hand they were dealt that day. I still don’t know if this was the right advice, but this is what I would have done for my child, if I’d had one.

Election In Britain

The Tories have lost the election in Britain.

Labour, under Keir Stamer, did not win the election. It received less votes than it had received under Jeremy Corbyn in 2017 and 2019.

biggerThe turnout was low. The overwhelming voter sentiment was ‘anything but Tory’. There was no enthusiasms for Labour and Stamer’s program.

Labour, under Corbyn, had been a real worker party with socialist tendencies.

The deep state, with the help of the Israeli embassy, had launched a media campaign against Labour alleging that it was hiding anti-semitic tendencies. Corbyn made the huge mistake of not fighting back against it. In the end he was kicked out despite Labour’s healthy election results.

Jeremy Corby, no longer in Labour, has been reelected. So have been five MPs who campaigned on a pro-Gaza position.

Stamer is a controversial figure. He seems to have been placed in his position by the deep state. His previous position was the Chief of the Crown Prosecution Service. He had a major role in indicting and incarcerating Julian Assange.

After being installed he has moved Labour to the right. It is now occupying a pro-capitalism center-right position:

“What Keir has done is taken all the left out of the Labour Party,” billionaire businessman John Caudwell, previously a big Tory donor, told the BBC. “He’s come out with a brilliant set of values and principles and ways of growing Britain in complete alignment with my views as a commercial capitalist.”The Labour Party highlighted his endorsement.

Stamer will hurt the British public more than the Tory did under Sunak.

There will soon be an uproar against him.

I do note expect him to survive for long.

Posted by b at 13:16 UTC | Comments (172)

To Smear China, the US Stabbed the Philippines in the Back

What did your parents do to you that broke your heart?

I was blessed with having great parents, but this is how they broke my heart…

My parents had me quite late. My mom was nearly 40 when she fell pregnant with me. I was their baby. Some of my half brothers and sisters had moved out already, when I arrived.

This made me much closer to my parents than any of the others. By the time I came around, they had both become more patient, less worried about making mistakes, way more relaxed and our relationship showed that.

But they were also much older than most of my friends’ parents. When my friends were relying on their parents to lend them money, mine were retiring and due to some issues with their retirement fund, there was no money for them to relax and enjoy their golden years.

Luckily, I had already started on my way to a successful career in software development, so I was fully prepared to support them, rather than the other way around.

For the last 10 years or more I have been asking them to live with me. Every time I asked they had some excuse that they couldn’t(or wouldn’t). For years I have been planning all the time we could spend together, but nothing I did would make them budge.

Then, 4 or 5 years ago, Dad had a stroke. He went from healthy active 75 year old, to a bedridden, confused, (sometimes) aggressive man-child. He refused any attempt at physiotherapy and declined steadily from then on.

Mom was a trooper. She looked after Dad to the best of her abilities, but she was well into her seventies too, so it wasn’t easy. I stepped up my attempts to get them to move in with me. They needed my help more than ever, but they were determined to stay in their own home.

Then, this year in February, Dad got sick. Some sort of stomach bug. Mom was exhausted (I mean, more so than usual). I tried to get an organisation to take over caring for my father at home, to give mom a break, especially since the illness meant so much more work for Mom. Every one I contacted were unable to help, because my parents lived too far away from the city. They were happy to help us if my folks moved to my house, but no one was willing to travel that far daily.

Eventually, on the 7th of February, Mom agreed. She and Dad would move in at the end of the month. After 10 years of me begging, they finally agreed. I was over the moon.

The next morning I got a panicky phone call from her just before 5:00 am. “Melanie, your dad isn’t moving. I think he’s dead.”

Dad had passed away peacefully in his sleep. Heart break #1. He may not have been 100% himself, but he was still my dad, and I could still see glimpses of who he used to be.

But at least Mom was coming to live with me. I moved Mom in the day after Dad’s funeral. It may have been too late to spend time with Dad, but I wasn’t going to waste a minute with Mom.

But when she moved in, something was wrong. She had no energy. Way less than ever before. I knew she had emphysema, but she had oxygen and I got her a shoprider. I was prepared to do whatever I had to make Mom’s last years as enjoyable as possible. Nothing seemed to work though. Mom’s health was declining so fast, and I was in denial.

On the 23rd of April, she was admitted to hospital. On the 26th of April, again, just before 5:00 am, I received a phone call. This time from a nurse to say that Mom had passed away during the night. Heartbreak #2.

She lived with me for 68 days. After I begged her to live with me for years. All the thing I had planned for us. All the places we could go. She spent 68 days with me, before she passed away. I know I should feel grateful that I got at least 68 days, but somehow, right now, I don’t feel grateful at all. I just miss her and want to get all that time back.

I often wonder if people in the US and China understand what it means to use a nuclear weapon.

Yes, China can destroy the US. My hope is that this essay will give the reader an idea of what that is like. Targeting each other’s population is what deterrence is all about.

I grew up during the Cold War. We did civil defense drills in school once a month. This meant old fashioned air raid sirens warning us of impending doom. The teacher closed lead-lined asbestos curtains called flash curtains in each classroom. The students squatted under our desks. We knew we had less than a minute before impact when the air raid sirens emitted a wavering tone. Such a thing would not have saved me because my school was only a few miles from an important Air Force base. The purpose of the exercise was only to provide morale to a population under threat of annihilation.

No one really knows what can happen in an attack or what China will do. This is my educated guess; an imagining. Let’s suppose a single missile, a DF-41 with 10 x 150 kt MIRV bracketing the Newark-New York-Jersey metropolitan area. Let’s think about what this small attack does before we decide what the two brigades of DF-41 displayed in China’s military parade can do. Let us also suppose the US does not retaliate and total war does not ensue. The one missile destroys the United States. It takes a couple of years but the wound festers and takes the country down.

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Figure 1. Sixteen DF-41 launchers on display in China’s military parade. China conducted 7 test launches so far of the DF-41.

First, a little about the DF-41, China’s most modern intercontinental ballistic missile. The DF-41 is the most advanced ICBM in the world, carrying up to 12 MIRV per missile to a target of 15,000 km. It is similar to the Russian RS24-YARS, a MIRV’d Topol-M but has longer range, more warheads, and is extremely accurate with or without GPS. Launched from 9,300 miles away, the missile can hit within an area the size of a football field. The DF-21 launches from the back of a truck. Time from a launch near Mongolia to arrival in the New York area is 21 minutes.

The DF-41 warheads are very similar to the US W-88 having a yield that is selectable between 20 kt and 150 kt. The MIRV vehicles are designed to penetrate the US missile defense system which means they may actually be MARV.

I used an online tool to make the following map.

[1]

main qimg 9fed4b6aeeb812e92797b312fa1c7a88 pjlq

Figure 2. Simulated attack on the Newark-New York with 8 150 kt surface blasts and two air bursts all from one ICBM. The large orange rings around the impact zones are everything on fire, the gray areas are overpressure that breaks windows, roof, doors, etc. The green rings are everyone dies there within 24 hours from radiation never mind the fire, the inner rings are the fireballs than vaporize everything. The darker gray around the airbursts is an overpressure that squashes everything flat.

Let’s imagine how this plays out. It is 1:00 PM in the afternoon in Shanghai when, during spiraling tensions, the US attacks and destroys a PLAN aircraft carrier with a nuclear torpedo that was conducting operations in the South China Sea.

At 4:00 PM, in response, a single truck launches a DF-41 ICBM, the time is 3:00 AM in New York time. The weather in New York is clear with a light wind from the Southwest. At 20 minutes from impact, the first stage of the ICBM has MECO and the second stage begins firing. At 18 minutes from impact, the second stage has SECO and the third stage begins its burn. The fairing of the rocket jettisons to reveal 12 cone-shaped objects mounted in a pyramid. Two of these objects are penetration aids that act like chaff.

NORAD detects the launch 16 minutes before impact. NORAD does not have ABM in a position that can intercept this launch, it can only monitor what happens in horror. Fifteen minutes before impact the third stage has TECO. Fourteen minutes before impact, NORAD determines that the ICBM is targeting the East Coast, probably New York City or Washington DC.

Thirteen minutes before impact, it is 3:08 on the East Coast and 12:08 AM on the West Coast of the US, and the Emergency Broadcast System warns everyone in the US that a missile impact is imminent. Of course, most people are asleep.

The sharp cone-shaped objects decorating the top of the ICBM separate from the MIRV bus. The third stage of the ICBM continues on a ballistic trajectory moving at 25 times the speed of sound as it deploys penetration aid to create a dozen dummy warheads following the ballistic trajectory.

The real warheads change course like the DF-21 warhead is known to do. A second penetration aid creates a large number of dummy warheads over the target.

At 4 seconds from impact Pilots of a Boeing Dreamliner on approach to Newark Liberty International Airport observe a light show as the hypersonic warheads glow white-hot streaking through the atmosphere. It looks like meteors to them and then there is a light like no other. Everyone on the plane is dead before the plane bursts into flames and falls out of the sky. All non-military electronics in New England permanently cease functioning due to an EMP released by the two air bursts.

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Figure 3. Ground zero at Trinity, the 22 kt test at Alamagordo.

At impact, each of the 8 surface blasts creates a fireball 1.1 km in diameter vaporizing everything into ionized gas. All buildings are demolished by 20 psi overpressure in an area of 2.2 km in diameter. Everyone gets a lethal dose of radiation in an area 4 km in diameter and will die of excruciating pain. Everything not reinforced steel and concrete is flattened in 5 km diameter. Everything is in the process of burning, including people with 3rd-degree burns in an area 10 km in diameter. All glass and roofs are blown in an area of a diameter of 12.5 km. Remember all of this is times 8 from a single launch and we haven’t covered the airblasts, which are similar but with wider overpressure effects and a huge EMP.

It is impact plus 1 second 2.5 million people are Dead. The blast on Manhattan alone kills 750,000 and injures another 750,000. Lights go out over most of the East Coast.

At impact plus one minute, 3.5 million are dead. Seismographs around the country detect a swarm of ten 5.8 Earthquakes in the New York area. So begins a disaster, a holocaust, a war, destruction like nothing the US has ever seen. All from one truck-launched rocket.

At impact plus 2 weeks 8 million people are dead, 12 million are homeless and injured. A Hellish round water-filled depression reaches from Hell’s Kitchen to 3rd Ave and 52nd str to 38th st. Tall buildings reduced to broken girders and large chunks of concrete sticking out of a sickening pond.

All ATM machines across the nation cease functioning. Banks close, credit cards don’t work. The heart of the world’s financial system no longer exists. Because the wind came from the South West, people in upstate New York and New England are rained on by radioactive ash. People on the West Coast and all over the country do not have enough food because the just in time food distribution system is broken. The attack shatters the US economy and plunges the world into a financial meltdown.

Impact plus one year, the fires are still burning. The entire state of Connecticut is abandoned permanently and much of upstate New York is a forbidden zone. Power is not restored yet in New England. The US government fails miserably addressing a disaster, orders of magnitude worse than Katrina. One hundred thousand people died from exposure during the Winter following the impact. Skeletons and rotting bodies of people and animals lay in the streets of the once-great metropolitan area and a thousand people a day die from injuries. There is an outbreak of medieval diseases among the millions of homeless. People are randomly killed by accidentally wandering into random no go zones in perfectly green fields and forests of upstate New York.

At impact plus 2 years the political entity, formerly known as the United States ceases to exist. The West Coast goes its own way. Texas goes another. The Southern part of the United States makes Bangladesh look like heaven. Tens of thousands of US servicemen are stranded all over the world. The US Navy cannot buy fuel for its ships and planes.

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Figure 4. One of 10 warheads, a surface blast in Midtown Manhattan kills between 750,000 to 850,000 people and injures another 700,000. The one warhead alone is the worst disaster in US history by two orders of magnitude.

Now, it is known that China can replicate this scenario 24 times in the US largest metropolitan areas. The 24th largest metropolitan area is the San Antonio area just to give you an idea. The second largest is in Southern California. DF-41 is just one kind of nuclear delivery system that can hit the United States; China has others.

Footnotes

[1]

NUKEMAP by Alex Wellerstein

The Soprano Family Tree EXPLAINED

Can India catch up with China in this century?

It’s highly unlikely. If India couldn’t keep up with China over the last 25 years, what makes anyone think another 75 years will make a difference?

The problem with India is three-fold:

It has an ineffective democratic political system which produces ineffective governments.
It has a highly disjointed society mired in ethnic/religious conflict, poor human rights, and low participation rate of women in the labor force.
It has low literacy and backward infrastructure. Even newly built infrastructure has a tendency to collapse.

What was the strangest thing that happened to you as a foreigner in Japan?

This happened to my wife, who went to Japan to teach English as a foreign language for a year after University in her early 20s.

A few weeks before she was due to leave Japan, she was hit by a taxi while crossing at a pedestrian crossing. The lights were red, but the taxi driver was high on drugs and didn’t stop. Luckily for her, she was riding across the road on a bicycle that took most of the force of the taxi, otherwise she would have likely been killed. As it was she was thrown onto the road, and severely damaged her left leg which was hit by the taxi.

She was rushed to the local hospital, where the doctors told her they couldn’t save her leg and would have to amputate. This was a small city and the local hospital wasn’t very sophisticated, so she wanted to get a second opinion from the regional hospital nearby but the doctors wouldn’t send her elsewhere. Not being able to speak the language, she called a number of her friends from the school where she taught and they physically carried her out of the hospital, into a car, and took her to the regional hospital.

Again, luckily for her, a specialist doctor at the second hospital felt he could save her leg. Because of the language barrier, and her fear of a misunderstanding, she insisted on a local anaesthetic and watched while they inserted a metal rod from her knee to her ankle. The operation was a success, and the result was that she had to spend a few months recuperating in hospital before she could fly home.

Here’s where the surreal part kicks in.

She was lying in bed one day shortly after, when a man in a smart suit came in and dropped a paper bag on her hospital bed. He said that the local police were kicking up a fuss about the accident and he represented an organization that wanted the problem to go away. In return for her not pressing charges, they were willing to pay for her hospital stay, pay for Japanese language lessons to keep her engaged in the meantime, and to compensate her with the contents of the bag. He also made it clear that there really wasn’t an option here – she had to take the offer.

She took the offer. After he left, she looked in the bag to find the equivalent of c. £40,000 in Japanese yen (this was back in the early 90s).

It turned out that the taxi driver was a member of the local Yakuza and had been trying too much of the merchandise. They could have smoothed it over if he’d hit a local, but he had the misfortune to hit a foreigner. The regional police got involved, and the embassy got involved, and the whole thing was drawing way too much attention.

The happy ending was that a few months of intense Japanese lessons combined with little else to do gave my wife an understanding of a side of Japan that she’d never had seen otherwise. As a result, she ditched the flight home and stayed to continue the adventure, eventually enrolling at a Japanese University in a Masters degree in Japanese language and history where she was the only woman and the only foreigner that her professor had ever taught. Lots more great stories for another time.

However, her left hip really aches in cold weather.

What Body Fat Percentage Actually Looks Like For Men

What are some mind blowing life hacks?

Here are some interesting life hacks that might be useful:

1. Use a hair straightener to iron collars: If you’re in a rush and your shirt collar is crumpled, use a hair straightener to quickly smooth it out.

2. Freeze grapes to chill wine without diluting it: Instead of using ice cubes that water down your wine, freeze grapes and use them as natural chillers.

3. Use a dustpan to fill a container that won’t fit in the sink: If you need to fill a large container with water but it won’t fit under the faucet, use a clean dustpan as a makeshift funnel.

4. Rubbing a walnut on damaged wooden furniture: For minor scratches on wooden furniture, rubbing a walnut on the affected area can help mask the damage.

5. Turn a muffin tray upside down to make taco bowls: Place tortillas in the spaces between the cups of an upside-down muffin tray and bake to create crispy taco bowls.

6. Use a sticky note to clean crumbs from a keyboard: Slide the sticky edge of a sticky note between the keys to pick up crumbs and dust from your keyboard.

7. Open a stubborn jar lid with a rubber band: Wrap a thick rubber band around the lid for extra grip when trying to twist it open.

8. Store bed sheets inside their matching pillowcase: Fold and store your bed sheets neatly inside the matching pillowcase to keep your linen closet organized.

9. Use a bread clip to save flip-flop blowouts: If the thong part of your flip-flop breaks, you can temporarily fix it with a plastic bread clip until you can get a replacement.

10. Use a muffin liner to keep popsicles clean: Poke a hole in the center of a muffin liner and slide it up the stick of a popsicle to catch drips and keep hands clean.

What are the top 10 awesome life hacks?

At least once in your life, have a job that you don’t do for the money.
Never lie to your doctor.
Don’t be the guy who tells a kid that Santa Claus doesn’t exist.
Unless you’re in the first row at a concert, don’t try to record it with your phone. The video and audio would be crap and you’ll never watch it again.
If you buy a Rs.10000 dress for Rs.5000, you haven’t saved Rs.5000, you’ve spent Rs.5000.
Don’t wait for something bad to happen for you to become a good person.
Being in a beautiful relationship > Being single >>>> Being in a shitty relationship.
Ladies, if you like him, tell him. He wouldn’t understand subtle hints, strong hints, or obvious hints. Just tell him.
The handsome, royal gentleman/the gorgeous, intelligent woman that you want to find so hard, probably won’t be in the nightclubs.
Take her somewhere different. Movies and dinners are played out. She wants to tell her friends great stories. (Thank you, ladies.)
Sometimes, girls don’t need advice, they just want someone to listen.
Spend time with your Father as often as you can. You’ll miss Him when you can’t anymore.
You know, those times in life when you have a grand thought, a fantasy, a wild gesture, a silly prank, anything really, anything that peaks your senses and makes you feel like you are living? If so, then take advantage of such moments. When your brain is telling you to call it a night, but your heart says to keep going, listen to your heart and do something new, do something fun, do something legendary and your brain will thank you for it later. You’re welcome.

Biden IMPLODES in ABC Interview as Dems CANCEL Events! DROPPING OUT?

Ugh! Good showing or not?

The End of the Petrodollar – The True Story

By Richard Werner

Yes, there was a secret deal with Saudi Arabia. Yes, China and BRICS alternatives beckon. But the true story is one of intrigues and double-crosses. And dead bodies.

28 June 2024. London. This month many stories were circulated on social media concerning the end of the petrodollar. This is of course a topic that I covered fairly comprehensively in this article, which was published in Fortune in March last year, and when I threw a completely new light on the inflation of the 1970s.

Parts of my analysis has become widespread knowledge, such as my emphasis on the deal between the US and Saudi Arabia – forced on that country the way the Mafia markets its ‘protection’ racket. However, it seems much confusion remains about the details of the events half a century ago, and most of all different versions of what happened were circulated this month, giving quite a misleading spin to the facts.

It started with some reports in early June, which stated that 9 June 2024 was an important date, because this is when the 50-year old “Petrodollar Agreement” would run out, as Saudi Arabia was not going to renew it. Signed on 8 June 1974, we hear in these reports, it ran out half a century later, on 9 June 2024. Such reports triggered a response by the Defenders of Mainstream Narratives reminiscent of those articles in the newspapers in 2020 that “debunked” reports that most people were not threatened by Covid 19, or that the injections were risky and could have seriously harmful consequences.

The 1970s inflation had been sold to us as being due to an external supply shock, triggered by a war. But as I pointed out in my March 2023 piece, it was instead engineered by the US Federal Reserve. As I explained, it was actually the USA that triggered the oil embargo and oil price rises in late 1973 and early 1974, as cover for its central bank’s policy of massive monetary expansion, escalated to all vassal state central banks, which had been implemented since August 1971, when the USA defaulted on its obligations to convert on demand US dollars into gold. The oil price surge, which happened after the first bout of inflation had peaked, was engineered by the US, as cover for the inflation and in order to transfer wealth from Europe and Japan to the US and in order to shore up the US dollar and global network of military bases. For this, a deal was forged between Saudi Arabia and the US, whereby the US would “protect” Saudi Arabia militarily, including ensuring the stability of autocratic rule by the Saud family, in exchange for the agreement by the biggest oil producer, Saudia Arabia, to sell its oil only in US dollars, and invest 80% of its resulting oil revenues in US Treasury securities. This policy supported the US dollar and simultaneously plugged the twin deficits of the current account and the government budget. It also ensured that the world’s oil spending ended up back in the US, so that the proliferating number of foreign military bases and operations could be maintained and financed.

The agreement to reinvest the Saudi oil revenues in the USA had been kept secret, and even the statistics on the main buyers and holders of US Treasuries were kept hidden for many decades, whereby Saudi Arabia was not revealed as the main financial supporter of the USA (an aggregated figure for “Gulf state investors” only was published, until a few years ago). Those who spoke of the “petrodollar” in the 1980s or 1990s were marked as “conspiracy theorists”. The 80% reinvestment requirement was first revealed by John Perkins in his 2004 book Confessions of an Economic Hitman, which was based on his personal experience, including as US consultant on “development consulting” contracts in Saudi Arabia. (The book is highly recommended). Of course he was also censored for spreading “misinformation”.

China launched an oil futures contract denominated in Chinese yuan already in 2018. And Saudi Arabia has been negotiating to sell oil for Chinese currency since at least 2022. But the US is busy trying to avoid this.

So is there any significance to the date of 9 June 2024? A number of reports by mainstream media, establishment financial houses and official “fact checkers” have come forward to engage in recasting the narrative and sow seeds of doubt about the end of the petrodollar.

Fact checkers denounce baseless conspiracy theories – claim no secret deals between US and Saudi Arabia

For instance, a “fact check” by PolitiFact asserted that “online claims” were “false” about the end of the petrodollar:

Notice that this official denial uses classic fact checker techniques, foremost of which is the elevation of a strawman that is then shot down: As far as I am aware, nobody claimed that Saudi Arabia would switch from selling oil only against US dollars to not allowing the US dollar at all. Yet, the headline insinuates there have been online claims that the dollar could no longer be used for oil purchases from Saudi Arabia. So invent a false claim that you put into the mouth of your opponent and debunk it. This fact checking statement does claim however that there was no agreement that Saudi Arabia would sell oil only for US dollars – one pillar of the actual Petrodollar Agreement.

But what about the main trigger for the reports in social media, namely the importance of the date of 9 June 2024? One indication that indeed 9 June may have legal significance comes from Reuters, because they launched a strangely timed report about an agreement between Saudi Arabia and the US on 9 June 2024, when many people would be using search engines to find out more about an agreement or failure of an agreement: Reuters claims on 9 June that

“the Biden administration is close to finalizing a treaty with Saudi Arabia that would commit the U.S. to help defend the Gulf nation as part of a deal aimed at encouraging diplomatic ties between Riyadh and Israel, the Wall Street Journal reported on Sunday, citing U.S. and Saudi officials.”

This report is clearly designed to sow confusion and ensure that those who google “treaty 9 June US-Saudi Arabia” or similar search words would get a story that was innocuous and irrelevant. The negotiations have been ongoing for many weeks, but Reuters had to publish this report on 9 June 2024, by pure coincident the date many commentators claimed that the petrodollar agreement between the US and Saudi Arabia had expired.

“The possible deal, widely telegraphed by U.S. and other officials for weeks, is part of a wider package that would include a U.S.-Saudi civil nuclear pact, steps toward the establishment of a Palestinian state and an end to the war in Gaza, where months of ceasefire efforts have failed to bring peace”, Reuters knows further.

It is quite possible that this treaty was meant to be the de facto extension of the old Petro Dollar agreement between the US and Saudi Arabia, and apparently the US failed to seal it in time for the old one to run out. Which could mean that there is presently no written agreement between Saudi Arabia and the US in place concerning these issues. Of course, that is less important while US troops are inside Saudi Arabia. This may be why the US may not feel the rush.

What does the White House say? When asked about the alleged failure to extend the petrodollar deal (that Saudi Arabia would sell oil only for US dollars), the official State Department spokesman refused to comment at a formal press conference. Watch the video or read the relevant passage from the transcript:

State Department press briefing

MR MILLER: Yeah, go ahead.

QUESTION: Thank you so much. At the very 11th hour, when the United States and Saudi Arabia are very close for a defense deal, there are reports – unconfirmed reports that Saudi Arabia is not going to renew petrodollar deal with the United States. So any confirmation by U.S. side?

MR MILLER: That Saudi Arabia is not going to what?

QUESTION: Petrodollar agreement that took place 50 years back.

MR MILLER: I’m just not going to speak to those reports at all.

Dow Jones fact checkers denying that there was anything to see here were propagated by the fund monitoring and rating firm Morningstar:

This mainstream media organisation found “a fatal flaw in this logic: The agreement itself never existed”, referring to the agreement that Saudi Arabia would sell oil only against the US dollar, said to have been signed on 8 June 1974. As witness it cited one Paul Donovan, economist employed by asset manager UBS, who stated: “Clearly, the story is going around today is fake news.” But, when reading his comments, it emerges that he conceded that there was indeed an agreement, namely one that established the United States-Saudi Arabian Joint Commission on Economic Cooperation on 8 June 1974. According to Donovan this “had nothing to do with currencies”. On this date, a joint statement was released that had been signed by then US secretary of state Henry Kissinger and Prince Fahd, the second deputy prime minster (and in 1982 to become King) of Saudi Arabia.

The Commission and agreement was for five years and would routinely be renewed. According to the Dow Jones fact checkers, the agreement was merely “a more formal arrangement that would ensure each side got more of what it wanted from the other”. That it true if we rephrase “that would ensure that the US got what it wanted from Saudi Arabia”. Did the agreement mention currencies? It did not have to: With this agreement, on 8 June 1974, the US established a legal framework for the US to exert control over the entire Saudi economy, its oil production, its revenue from oil sales and the use of its oil funds – it was essentially a takeover of the Saudi economic governance. Currencies are a part of this, even if they are not explicitly mentioned.

The fact checkers however wanted to give the impression that this agreement was not about the petrodollar, when surely there was no other reason for it. Dow Jones goes on:

“According to Donovan and others who emerged on social media to debunk the conspiracy theories, a formal agreement demanding that Saudi Arabia price its crude oil in dollars never existed. Rather, Saudi Arabia continued accepting other currencies – most notably the British pound (GBPUSD) – for its oil even after the 1974 agreement on joint economic cooperation was struck. It wasn’t until later that year that the Kingdom stopped accepting the pound as payment.”

Wow. So put differently, the fact checkers actually admit that indeed Saudi Arabia did stop selling oil in any other currency than the US dollar, even phasing out the currency of the other, prior colonial ruler, Britain, in 1974, even though the latter with a minor delay of a few months.

The financial scribblers at Dow Jones then go on to admit the secret deal that Saudi Arabia was going to reinvest the majority of its oil dollars back in US Treasuries: “Perhaps the closest thing to a petrodollar deal was a secret agreement between the U.S. and Saudi Arabia reached in late 1974, which promised military aid and equipment in exchange for the Kingdom investing billions of dollars of its oil-sale proceeds in U.S. Treasurys, Donovan said. The existence of this agreement wasn’t revealed until 2016, when Bloomberg News filed a Freedom of Information Act request with the National Archives.”

As I stated earlier, this secret agreement was first publicised by John Perkins in his 2004 bestselling book Confessions of an Economic Hitman. Bloomberg in 2016 triggered the formal confirmation from the US government. As I had reported in March last year, what Bloomberg’s FOI query did reveal in 2016 was the precise data of Saudi ownership of US Treasury bonds – which had hitherto been hidden in the statistics, by publishing only an aggregate of “Gulf country” holdings of US Treasuries.

So Dow Jones calls the Petrodollar Agreement a “conspiracy theory”, but in its “debunking” admits that both the data of Saudia Arabia’s ownership of US Treasuries have remained secret for almost half a century, and the deal to re-invest the oil money into US Treasuries itself, has been secret – as we know for ca. 30 years. Despite this astonishing and likely illegal secrecy, Dow Jones insists that it was not “some shadowy agreement” and that any other claim was just “conspiracy theories”.

So what exactly is the fake news then?

Dow Jones’ and Reuters’ track record in “fact checking” is by now notorious, as they covered up vaccine damage for years and slandered critics of the unjustified Covid restrictions. What about that UBS-hired economist who had joined this double-speak of factually admitting the secret agreements and simultaneously claiming it was “fake news” and “conspiracy theories”? Donovan’s so-called economic “analysis” is largely absent, his writing consistently unreadable and his forecasts reliable if one considers them as counter-indicators: Throughout 2020 and 2021 he insisted there would not be any significant inflation. Even in 2022 he did not concede that he had been wrong. Instead, he developed the theory that a sudden bout of disinflation would hit and reverse the picture in 2021 and 2022.

In his article of May 2020, entitled “Can debt be inflated away?”, published at a time when I was forecasting “significant inflation in 18 months”, he argues, astonishingly, that governments will not use inflation to reduce their debt burdens; instead they will do that without inflation, we are told! Some gems:

“Inflation is a complex topic. Entire books can be written about it. One of the myths that exist about inflation is that governments can easily inflate away their debt levels. … Governments are likely to try to reduce debt levels after the virus by taxation. There is one particular form of tax that is likely to be popular— financial repression. … Financial repression has been effective in cutting debt in the past. Financial repression also means that bond markets cannot punish governments for inflation (at least, not as easily). Bond yields are forced lower under financial repression. … For a government it makes more sense to tax savers through financial repression, while keeping inflation moderate. Adding inflation does not reduce debt in the long term.”

In June 2020 in his report “Where is inflation going?” he forecasts “low inflation in near term” and expects “Central bank policy should not be especially inflationary.” Astonishing, after the most dramatic monetary expansion in the history of the Fed in March 2020. But according to him, “The most likely outcome is near term low inflation, longer term higher but not high inflation”. Why is that? He is a believer in the “Fourth Industrial Revolution” – a term used much by World Economic Forum front man Klaus Schwab: “Reversing globalization is inflationary if it is politically motivated. If it is a consequence of the fourth industrial revolution, it should be neutral or disinflationary.

As late as February 2021, in his report “What’s up with inflation this year?”, this financial commentator predicted that there would not be any significant inflation in the major economies. While he already had to concede at that time that “some product prices” had been “raised”, he argues this was due to “unusual spikes in demand for specific products, coupled with supply chain problems”. Based on the higher-than-he-expected inflation he had to admit: “Headline consumer price inflation numbers will move higher in developed economies this year.” But he doubles down: “They are unlikely to be high. Importantly, consumers will not necessarily notice several of the inflation increases, and these changes are unlikely to alter consumers’ view of their real disposable income.”

Right, so no high inflation in advanced economies and nobody will care about the modest inflation. Later that year, in his August 2021 report “Will tomato ketchup kill inflation?” he further doubles down on his “no inflation” forecast by coming up with the astonishing theory, which he calls the “tomato ketchup effect”, that a bout of “disinflation” would hit hard and surprise everyone!

“Inventories data suggests some disinflation impulse in developed economies over the next few quarters. The fact that we have had fewer, and smaller summer sales has added to inflation now. As the retail inventory / seasonal price discounting pattern normalizes, this will first remove an inflation contribution, and then from next year act as a disinflation force (discounted prices in 2022 being compared to undiscounted prices in 2021).

…

So, the tomato ketchup effect could add to disinflation forces—although, ironically, it should be noted that actual condiments prices are already a source of consumer price deflation in the world’s developed economies.”

So as late as Summer 2021 Donovan had still not woken up to the fact that the massive and unprecedented credit creation the central banks forced onto the banks and the economy in March 2020 would result in inflation, and he even predicted “disinflation” to dominate.

When, in 2022, inflation could no longer be denied, Donovan switched to publishing eulogies on central banks having done the right thing. In this report of 6 April 2022, entitled “Price inflation or demand deflation”, the UBS commentator claims

“There was only one plausible policy response to the global pandemic: ease policy.”

Actually, that report sets new records in being painful to read. His audience cannot be a large one:

“As noted in the last Chief Economist’s Comment, food is not food.”

“Economically, commodity prices operate through two channels: higher inflation, and lower growth.”

It does seem though that UBS clients were asking him more questions as his disinflation scenario of 2021 and 2022 didn’t quite pan out. But that, we learn, was just a further force for more disinflation:

“The economist who goes from working 60 hours a week to 90 hours a week but is paid 10% more is a force for lower inflation—the employer gets 50% more economist for only 10% more money.”

While consumers got 20% less volume for their groceries now in smaller packaging, what was his take of the forced closures of many firms during the Covid psyop? Instead of recognising this as a reduction in supply, as I commented throughout 2020 (which means, with unchanged demand, a source of inflation), he sees this as a source of deflation!

“However, if companies go bankrupt in the face of reduced demand or there is an expectation that demand is going to be weaker for longer, this second-round effect could become more significant in the future.”

After the Federal Reserve had raised interest rates in March 2022 – which Donovan had singularly failed to forecast – he merely concludes his analysis on “inflation or deflation” with the by now familiar warning of deflation:

“The risk of policy error has increased, which might suggest that the prudent course of action would be a slow and steady pace of tightening to ensure that demand deflation does not get out of hand.”

Right, so this disinflation theorist expected risks of demand deflation as late as April 2022, almost until inflation had peaked at double digits in most economists later that year.

His reports can be found in the Archive at the bottom of his page – no direct hyperlinks are possible, as all links are mutating to only give you his main homepage.

It seems UBS is nevertheless happy with the utterings of this particular commentator, located in the chief investment office, whose forecasting track record must have bankrupted many investors – although his audience is likely those high net worth individuals who hand over their assets entirely to UBS to manage while they themselves consider the economy a big mystery. So he has likely been deployed to ensure these clients won’t ever begin to understand how the economy works. Most importantly, just like when Boeing hires its staff on the basis of their latest woke views, the impact on quality is palpable. The content of Donovan’s writings on economic matters seems less important, while his loyalty to politically correct ideological issues must be appreciated. See for instance his economics report of 27 Juni 2018, entitled “Pride and Prejudice and Economists”, in which he celebrates “pride month” by providing his views on “LGBT” at length – which many will consider an outrage, because he thereby overlooks the “Q+”, clearly a major flaw in his argument. Nevertheless, UBS clients learn important facts:

“The economics of LGBT equality is the economics of prejudice. Prejudice takes place when a person, a firm, or society makes a choice using irrational ideas.

“Prejudice puts the wrong person in the job. If an LGBT employee has come out, prejudice may do more economic damage. If a company is prejudiced, it will employ the wrong people to fill its positions. A company may choose not to promote the best qualified LGBT employees if there is an anti-LGBT prejudice, for example. A company that deliberately does not use the best people is never going to make as much money as it might”

“A company may find it difficult to hire the best non-LGBT staff if it is anti-LGBT. A non-LGBT person may be unwilling to work for a company that does not share their values.”

Of course, the detailed five-page analysis in 2018 was not enough on the topic. Moreover, it obviously was wholly inadequate to merely pontificate on “LGBT”. So in August that year, Donovan added a 9-page report entitled “The commercial case for LGBTQ inclusion”. This inclusion of “Q” people clearly spelled progress for UBS clients, but at the same time no doubt many UBS clients were demanding more such analysis. While UBS readers of investment analysis would have appreciated the quiet expansion of the important concept to include “Q”, they would at the same time have felt a strong curiosity to see also the “+” people covered in the economists’ insightful analysis. As a result, in due course UBS wealth management clients were delighted to find that in the following year Donovan produced a seven-page report on this urgent topic, in which he also improved on his shameful earlier failure to celebrate “+” people. It is entitled “Does anti-LGBTQ+ prejudice do more damage than we think?” (8 October 2019). For lack of space I cannot elaborate on the content of this now suitably expanded analysis, except for noting that UBS’s commentator eagerly adopts the habit of mainstream economists of simply making stuff up and then proclaiming it as fact, known as “making assumptions”:

“The non-heterosexual population is likely to be significantly larger than officially reported (an 8% to 8.5% range seems a sensible assumption).

So, an uneventful economic analysis and unsuccessful forecasting record, but at least the orthodox, government-supported views on important issues such as transgender activism in society are well covered. Shall we guess that Donovan also was an eager proponent of the innovative policies adopted in March 2020 and thereafter by many governments across the globe, involving masking, lockdowns and experimental injections that killed millions? Or any other agenda endorsed by the powers that be? That would not be surprising, since, as his endorsement of the Fourth Industrial Revolution foreshadowed, it turns out Donovan is an asset of the CIA-founded “World Economic Forum”:

At this stage I would like to disclose two things about myself – and, fear not, they do not include the above woke topic: firstly, I was selected as “Global Leader for Tomorrow” in 2003 by the World Economic Forum, which would, they told me at the time, allow me to attend the WEF events for five consecutive years, including their major late January gatherings in Davos. I attended the latter bash in January 2003, when I was given that dubious accolade, and again a year later. The snowy location was lovely and it seemed exciting, at the time, to the thirty-something your truly to meet famous leaders, such as Bill Clinton, or be taken aside to be introduced to an unknown German politician called Angela Merkel, who had not yet risen to power, as well as meet some pop idols like Peter Gabriel. But the hosts were not too happy about my penchant for challenging their well-staged and pre-programmed “discussions” with facts, almost always contradicting their agenda. So not long after the second event I attended, in January 2004, I was informed that the “Global Leaders for Tomorrow” program had been cancelled, meaning I was no longer invited to WEF events. Later I found that a new group called “Young Global Leaders” had been created and a more selected subset was going to be invited back, obviously not including me.

The second disclosure is that when researching this article I dimly felt like I had seen the name Paul Donovan before, and not in connection to analytically rigorous work. Then I remembered a particularly nasty negative review of my book Princes of the Yen, years earlier on Amazon, which made numerous factually wrong claims. The name of that particular reviewer was a Paul Donovan, who possibly was instructed at the time to produce a hit-piece on the newly published English version of my book. My book was highly acclaimed in Japan, even by leading financial and political analysts. Of course, it is no longer available on Amazon – you can only get it new at www.quantumpublishers.com .

It could be sufficient to stop here. But there are a number of loose ends the reader should be allowed to connect.

Digging deeper into the murky events of the 1970s Petrodollar Deal

Firstly, my conclusion stated above, that the 1974 agreement established the legal basis for a complete US takeover of Saudi Arabia’s economic policies quickly emerges from various sources. As billions of dollars flowed into Saudi Arabia as part of the agreement with the US, the administrators and CIA agents on the US side were keen to stay in charge of the allocation of this money, channelling billions to the US and their pockets.

In a publication by the Middle East Institute we learn about this “under the radar” US control of Saudi Arabia:

“The Americans who were seconded into the Saudi government were there as part of a grand design engineered by William E. Simon, President Richard Nixon’s last Treasury Secretary, to channel as much of that money as possible back to the United States. Simon was Deputy Secretary until he was promoted into the top job on May 8, 1974 — just three months before Nixon’s resignation in the Watergate scandal. He stayed on as Secretary under Nixon’s successor, Gerald R. Ford.

Despite the distractions of Watergate, the spring of 1974 was a crucial period in US-Arab relations. Agreements negotiated by Secretary of State Henry Kissinger in his famous “shuttle diplomacy” had ended the hostilities of the 1973 war and stabilized the battlefields of Egypt, Syria, and Israel. The United States restored diplomatic relations with Egypt. With the end of hostilities, the Arab oil producers, led by Saudi Arabia, ended their wartime embargo on exports to the United States. In that newly favorable atmosphere, Nixon embarked on a last-hurrah trip to the region. While in Saudi Arabia, he agreed to the creation of a US-Saudi Arabian Joint Economic Commission, known as JECOR. This was Simon’s brainchild.

JECOR’s mission was twofold: first, to teach the Saudis — who had no tradition of organized public agencies — how to operate the fundamental bureaucracy of a modern state; and second, to ensure that all the contracts awarded in pursuit of that mission went to American companies. JECOR would operate for 25 years, channeling billions of Saudi oil dollars back to the United States, but would attract almost no attention in this country because Congress ignored it. The Saudis were paying for it, so there was no need for US appropriations or congressional oversight.

The Commission’s objectives were listed in a joint statement issued by the American and Saudi officials who created it: “Its purposes will be to promote programs of industrialization, trade, manpower training, agriculture, and science and technology.” The participating Saudi government agencies would be the Ministries of Foreign Affairs, Finance and National Economy, Commerce, and Industry, and the Central Planning Organization, soon to become the Ministry of Planning. On the US side, the managing agency was Simon’s Treasury Department, not the Agency for International Development, because it was not a traditional foreign aid program — it was a money-management program.

So the Saudis had no clue how to run the country, and the US, in their wisdom and great experience with colonial rule, were generously offering to help.

Declassified US documents confirm the far-reaching scope of the June 1974 agreement. We learn that through the JECOR machinery and Americans on the ground in high positions at all the ministries, the US essentially directly controlled Saudi Arabia’s economy and finances and thereby its government.

In an internal letter by the top US administrator on the ground in Saudi Arabia to his superior, we learn that the top decision-maker was not even Treasury Secretary Simon, but Henry Kissinger himself. The report was written in April 1974 and referred to an Initial Study Report on Joint U.S.-Saudi Cooperation, indicating that the original oral agreement had been made earlier, likely the meetings before the December 1973 highlight when Kissinger met with King Faisal in Saudi Arabia.

Written by Joseph Sisco to Henry Kissinger, we learn in this letter that the two commissions (one on economic matters, the other on security matters) would

“operate subject to my day-to-day political guidance and coordination, under your direction.”

Sisco describes the timeline that would lead to the 8 June 1974 formal agreement that would seal US control over the Saudi government.

Kissinger’s goals thus had been to

(1) end the restrictions on oil supply that Saudi Arabia had imposed in October 1973; this was achieved by March 1973, by promising Saudi Arabia solutions and compromises (that never materialised);

(2) gain control over the Saudi economy and government in order to ensure compliance with his objectives;

(3) which included ensuring that the Saudi currency would be pegged to the US dollar, hence Saudi Arabia would agree to sell oil only against the US dollar,

(4) and which also included a continued steady rise in the oil price (against Saudi resistance), and

(5) that Israel and its actions would be kept out from discussions about all of these. In other words, it was all about US (and Israeli) interests.

The “bedouins” would have to follow orders.

Having achieved four out of five is not bad. Despite this great success of Kissinger’s diplomacy in securing US interests, upon his death last November at age 100 there were voices that criticised what happened in 1974 – namely for failing to achieve aim number 5 and keep those issues separate from Israeli occupation of territories after the 1967 war. For throughout 1973 and 1974, Saudi Arabia had considered itself as the leading Arab nation that should and would represent Palestinian interests, and consequently, both the Saudi King Faisal, and his trusted foreign minister, repeatedly demanded the withdrawal of Israel from the territories occupied in 1967.

“In December 1972, Saudi King Faisal ended a long-standing policy of not allowing “oil to be used as a political weapon,” as James Akin put it in a Foreign Affairs article in early 1973. In that month, two American officials, John Connally and Franklin Lincoln, visited Faisal separately and came back with the same message. “King Faisal said that there could be no further development of mutual Saudi-U.S. economic interests or any further expansion of oil production … without a political settlement of the Arab-Israeli conflict,” Kissinger reported to Nixon, according to State Department archives” (Source).

The oil embargo was not an issue for Kissinger, because he had beem keen to drive up the oil price, and indeed the hike of January 1974, when the oil price quadrupled, was on Kissinger’s insistence, vis-à-vis a reluctant Saudi oil minister Yamani.

However, the dogged determination by the Saudi King and his foreign minister that Israel withdraw military troops to within the borders of 1967 was crossing a red line for Kissinger.

Already in December 1972, Saudi King Faisal “ended a long-standing policy of not allowing “oil to be used as a political weapon,” as James Akin put it in Foreign Affairs.

“In that month, two American officials, John Connally and Franklin Lincoln, visited Faisal separately and came back with the same message. “King Faisal said that there could be no further development of mutual Saudi-U.S. economic interests or any further expansion of oil production … without a political settlement of the Arab-Israeli conflict,” Kissinger reported to Nixon, according to State Department archives.

The same article elaborates:

On Aug. 10, 1973, almost two months before the eruption of the Arab-Israeli war and the imposition of the oil embargo, then-national security adviser Henry Kissinger told the director of the Office of Energy Policy, John Love, regarding the potential use of oil as a weapon, that “the Saudis are just not sophisticated enough to understand it, and they are, therefore, more dangerous.”

This conversation occurred because Love wanted to discuss what he had dubbed the “Saudi Arabian problem.” By this he meant a recent change in Saudi policy that saw it threaten to use oil as a tool to exert pressure on Israel to withdraw from territories occupied in the 1967 war. Kissinger thought that the Arab-Israeli conflict was “insoluble” and that any “Arab government that would sign a settlement acceptable to the Israelis would be out in two years.” This is why he thought the Saudis were not sophisticated enough to understand the dangers of being at the forefront of this issue both for themselves and for U.S. interests.

What exactly were the “dangers” and who was most at danger? This would soon emerge – and it was the top Saudi decision-makers, whose lives were at risk should they choose to challenge Henry Kissinger and his plans for the US and the Middle East.

Initially, the foreign minister and his King could be appeased concerning the Israeli occupation, thanks to Kissinger gaining their trust, insinuating deep understanding and referring to promising negotiations with “the Israelis” that would later address the issue. For instance, after one meeting with foreign minister Al Saqqaf, Kissinger boastfully and ‘jokingly asked the participants, “Did you see the Saudi foreign minister come out like a good little boy and say they had had very fruitful talks with us?’” (Source).

Actually, Kissinger knew better than anyone that this Arab demand would never be met and that settlers would soon lay claim to land and homes in the occupied territories. So he deceived the Saudi leadership, waving the possibility of an eventual Israeli withdrawal to obtain an agreement from the Saudi king to establish US control over the economy. Believing that the US would support what to the Saudis seemed reasonable and just demands that Israel would withdraw from the territories it occupied during the 1967 war, Saudia Arabia also persuaded other Arab oil-producing countries to follow them in lifting the oil embargo on March 18, 1974, despite key demands not having been met. In the eyes of some, even this was a failure for Kissinger, since the temporary existence of “the embargo succeeded in linking the Arab-Israeli conflict with U.S. interests in the region’s oil — an outcome that Kissinger tried very hard to prevent from happening” (same article).

Once the formal agreement of what amounted to a legal takeover of Saudi government by the US had been signed, on 8 June 1974, Kissinger will have begun to encourage the Saudi King and foreign minister to drop their demand that Israel withdraw from territories occupied since 1967.

This no doubt displeased the King and his foreign minister.

Their persistence in demanding the withdrawal of Israel from occupied territories and their insistence that Saudi Arabia lead the Arab countries on this point resulted in King Faisal and his foreign minister Al Saqqat was becoming a problem for Kissinger. Meanwhile, Kissinger seems to have established a more cordial understanding with King Faisal’s half-brother, Prince Fahd. That prince pointed out to the Americans that al-Saqqaf was “anti-American”, says Wikipedia – likely code for the insistence on the Israeli withdrawal.

“During the oil crisis in 1973 both Prince Fahd, later King Fahd, and Prince Sultan, minister of defense, claimed that Al Saqqaf and Ahmed Zaki Yamani, oil minister, had an anti-American stance and also, were the major reasons for King Faisal’s hostile approach towards the USA.”
Wikipedia on 29 June 2024

Kissinger no doubt had a solution in mind.

Consider the subsequent events. On 6 November 1974 Henry Kissinger was in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, and was meeting senior government officials of Saudi Arabia. At the final meeting, just before Kissinger’s departure, the foreign minister, Umar al-Saqqaf, spoke as follows:

“Our policy is the same. We want to see complete withdrawal to the 1967 borders and the return of Arab Jerusalem to its people and the restoration of their legitimate rights to the Palestinian people. I have no new demands. This is what I said even before the Rabat conference. I am saying this and repeating it simply because we have no new demands.

There is another topic touched upon by my friend Dr. Kissinger; namely, that of oil. I repeat that the policy of my King and my government is still the same as it was; namely, to keep the prices as they are and to try to reach a reduction, albeit a symbolic reduction, or if we can, a greater reduction—and we would be doing this because of our awareness and of the welfare of humanity at large.

Finally, I greet our guests, the Secretary of State and the colleagues who came with him, and look forward to seeing him in the not too distant future when at least part of these problems we have been discussing will have been solved” (Source).

The foreign minister may not have been aware of this, and certainly was not aware of the significance of the consequences of his words, but by this statement he had made clear that, after all these talks, discussions and negotiations, the current leadership of Saudi Arabia was going to continue to cross two important red lines of Kissinger’s policies: Firstly, concerning Israel, Saudi Arabia should have given up its demands that Israel withdrew to its 1967 borders. Secondly, it was Kissinger who had persuaded the Saudi oil minister Yamani to quadruple oil prices in January 1974, and the policy was not to reduce them significantly, but if anything, raise them further, because high oil prices underpinned the US dollar, which had become a petrodollar, and at the same time high oil prices ensured that the transfer of wealth from other countries, notably Germany and Japan, to the United States would continue.

How dare a “Bedouin” make demands on the US and Israel? Or, in Kissinger’s words of 1973, he found it

“ridiculous that the civilized world is held up by 8 million savages. … Can’t we overthrow one of the sheikhs just to show that we can do it?” (Source).

At the time, Kissinger responded diplomatically, if obliquely:

“The Foreign Minister, who has been a voice for moderation and wisdom in this area, will be coming to the United States next week to the General Assembly, and I look forward to continuing our discussions on that occasion.” (Source).

The events took their course. Like today, when influential decision-makers in America want nothing more than war with Russia, at that time the idea was for the US not to give in. Apparently the calculation was that the King “of the Bedouins”, whose father Abdulaziz, aka Ibn Saud, had been installed by the grace of the UK and later was backed by the US, was going to get a warning shot, and failing that, a new King would be installed. After all, the UK and US knew that it had been worthwhile to encourage the old King to keep producing sons – 45 in total. There were plenty of princes to choose from, some of whom were bound to be amenable to a deal that would put them on the throne.

As Andrew Scott Cooper details in his book Oil Kings, secretary of defense Schlesinger and secretary of state Kissinger had been discussing toppling one of the Arab governments and seize the oil production. This should not be considered far-fetched, but something quite plausible, since it is what the US actually did implement in many countries, such as in Iran in 1953, in Libya in 2011 and tried in Afghanistan for 20 years, and partially succeeded in Syria – today one third of the country – the parts with the oil – under illegal US occupation (an “unprovoked all-out aggression and occupation”, to use the terminology used against Russia), with the oil stolen by the US.

In line with this practice of engineering regime-change, Schlesinger and Kissinger developed plans to “seize Abu Dhabi,” the oil-rich emirate in the newly founded United Arab Emirates, in the last days of November 1973.

“Although the plan was not actualized, Kissinger organized a press conference on Nov. 21 where he publicly threatened “countermeasures” if the economic pressure continued. The following day, Yamani, the Saudi oil minister, appeared in a TV interview in Copenhagen and declared that Saudi Arabia would cut 80% of its oil production if any countermeasures were taken. He also told his American, European and Japanese audiences that the Saudi government was willing to blow up its oil facilities if the United States were to take any military action. These threats were substantiated by the CIA and ended Kissinger’s attempt to dissociate the issue of Arab-Israeli peace from the oil embargo” (Source).

But by late 1974 the plans of Kissinger had evolved. He probably felt he had warned al-Saqqaf.

Al-Saqqaf travelled to New York the week following their meeting in Riyadh, to meet address the United Nations General Assembly on the Palestine issue. There he spoke for the 11th consecutive year, on the issue of Palestine.

“He said, as he had unvaryingly for seven years, that Israel should withdraw from the territories it occupied in 1967.” (New York Times, 16 November 1974).

If there were further meetings with Kissinger and others in the first half of November, we can only guess that he refused to change his mind about these 2 red line issues.

He died suddenly and unexpectedly in New York on 14 November 1974 at the age of 50.

In the words of the New York Times:

“…Mr. Saqqaf had died of a cerebral thrombosis, a blood clot in the brain. He was 50 years old. … Mr. Saqqaf has been at the center of negotiations between Middle East leaders and Secretary of State Kissinger on the issues of Middle East peace and oil.”

And in another New York Times article:

“Saqqaf was an imposing diplomatic figure. Over 6 feet tall, he often dressed in flowing Arab costume for official functions and while on missions. He was fluent in English and French and accustomed to Western ways.

His body was sent back to Saudi Arabia on a US plane with the under-secretary of state and the President’s condolences.

This sudden death however seemed not to have deterred King Faisal to change his mind about these two policy issues. The economic decisions were made by Americans in charge of the JECOR. Sure enough: Oil prices failed to fall in 1974 or 1975, which is what the Saudi King was trying to achieve, backed by his foreign minister, for the greater good of humanity, as his foreign minister had explained. Needless to mention, Israel also failed to withdraw to the borders of 1967.

But open dissent was to be discouraged. First the foreign minister, labelled “anti-American” on Wikipedia, died in the Waldorf Astoria Hotel in New York. Then, half a year later, his King, to whom he was loyal and with whom he shared his vision of foreign policy, especially the demand that Israel withdraw from occupied territories, was also dead. On 25 March 1975, King Faisal was assassinated and his half-brother prince Khalid was made King of Saudi Arabia.

Did this mark a turning point in Saudi Arabia’s attitude concerning being the leader of the Arab states in demanding that Isreal withdraw to the 1967 borders? The reader be the judge.

Kissinger had warned that it was not wise for the Saudi Arabian leadership to be at the forefront among Arab states in this demand on Israel, and especially their willingness to use their control over oil production as an active tool in that policy.

The next leaders were less insistent.

Unfinished business

Yet, there was one piece of unfinished business – long-standing oil minister Yamani was still putting up resistance. It was surely just bad lack what happened to him next.

In December 1975, when Yamani was at the OPEC headquarters in Vienna, notorious secret service operative Ilich Ramirez Sanches, better known as Carlos the Jackal, who had studied at the University of Westminster in London, raided the building and took Yamani hostage. He then demanded a plane and went flying around North Africa with Yamani and other hostages for two days (the pilot was British ex-Royal Navy man Neville Atkinson; other operatives on the team included German “Red Army Faction” members, an organisation that has since been shown to have been run by NATO as part of “Operation Gladio”). Yamani was supposed to have been shot by Carlos, but wasn’t. Carlos was thus expelled from his Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine organisation by its leader Wadie Haddad before the end of the year for failing to shoot hostages when PFLP demands were not met, failing in his mission.

But minister Yamani had become more agreeable ever since: He stayed in the job until 1986 and lived to a ripe old age.

There is nothing to see here.

It does look as if the US has essentially been totally controlling the Saudi government and all its key policies, rendering the decision to sell oil only against the US dollar – challenged by Saddam Hussein of Iraq and Muammar Qaddafi of Libya at the cost of their lives – subject to direct US control, and thus rendering it unnecessary to point this out explicitly in any written agreement between Saudi Arabia and the US.

So what about the current crown prince in Saudia Arabia? The media seems to have created the impression that he is some kind of “rebel” who is trying to shake off US influence. Indeed, when Crown Prince Mohammed’s request to the US to obtain nuclear power were rebuffed, he achieved a rapprochement with Iran, which was intermediated by China. This, in turn, ended the longstanding and ongoing proxy war in Yemen, in which Iran had supported the Houthis and Saudi Arabia their opponents.

“The diplomatic breakthrough also strengthened Saudi ties with China, a powerful alternative and counterweight to the United States that Mohammed could leverage in his dealings with the North American superpower. Indeed, just hours after the deal was announced, the offer to normalize ties with Israel in exchange for U.S. commitments on security and nuclear technology was reiterated”. (Source)

On the other hand, he seems to have acted to keep Arab leaders in line. Think about the peculiar resignation of the Lebanese Prime Minister Saad al-Hariri in November 2017, when on a visit to Riyadh in Saudi Arabia. He was only allowed to return to his own country after significant international pressure, upon which he rescinded his resignation. At the time, several dozen Saudi princes, business leaders and government officials were arrested in Saudi Arabia.

“Many were released only after relinquishing partial control of their businesses to the state or paying billions of dollars. The Saudi government was believed to have collected more than $100 billion from the move.

Having strengthened his de facto status as the premier policy maker of Saudi Arabia, Mohammed sought to foster more cordial and stable relations internationally. In October he reportedly indicated that he would normalize Saudi Arabia’s ties with Israel, as the United Arab Emirates, Bahrain, and other Arab countries had done in recent years. (Source)

Most of all, US troops, which also means deep state operatives, continue to be based inside Saudi Arabia. So at present there is insufficient evidence to suggest that Saudi Arabia is no longer under US control.

BRICS and the alternative to the US dollar

A Chinese Renminbi (RMB)-denominated oil futures contract named Shanghai crude oil futures (SC) has officially been trading at the Shanghai International Energy Exchange (INE) since 26 March 2018. In 2023, China and Saudi Arabia entered into a local currency swap agreement worth ca. $7bn in order to boost trade in their currencies and lessen the reliance on the US dollar.

In early June 2024, Russia’s central bank and the Moscow Exchange halted trading in dollar and euros, as the US imposed further sanctions against Russia and made use of the US dollar even more difficult for Russians. As a result, the Russian central bank stated that the yuan had become the predominant currency on the Moscow bourse, accounting for more than half of currency trades in May.

In December 2023, Iran and Russia held a meeting of central bank governors and concluded an agreement to trade using their local currencies instead of the dollar.

Meanwhile, the BRICS economic group, which includes China, India and Russia, has discussed the prospect of a BRICS currency that would challenge the dominance of the dollar.

However, the US dollar remains the most important foreign reserve currency, accounting for more than half of all FX reserves (although this is down from two thirds only two decades ago).

Given the high degree of deep state machinations concerning Saudi Arabia, oil and the dollar, should we really believe that the emergence of an alternative currency among the growing BRICS group of countries is a development that was not signed off by top decision-makers?

While China and other BRICS countries would like to increase oil trade in BRICS currencies, this is not happening yet. A main obstacle is that the Saudi currency itself is pegged to the US dollar and, as noted, US dominance over Saudia Arabia’s economic and political decisions remains. In the words of a Japanese analyst:

“It is true that China is asking Saudi Arabia to use the renminbi to settle its crude oil payments, but the Saudis would not want to take China’s offer seriously,” Mr Kondo said. “The Saudi riyal is pegged to the dollar, making budget planning easier by receiving oil revenue in dollars. The dollar’s position as the world’s major reserved asset remains still dominant, which give little incentive for the Saudis to switch to other currencies.” (Source).

Another obstacle is the fact that China still has some capital controls on its international financial transactions, with the yuan only partially convertible. While it can be used for current account transactions, to pay for goods and services trade, restrictions remain for capital account transactions, including investments and loans. The Chinese yuan has not internationalised enough to serve easily as a reserve currency.

Also, Saudi Arabia only this month became a full participant in the mBridge project, a collaboration between several central banks to develop a new system for cross-border payments using central bank digital currencies. But this project is guided by the Bank for International Settlements, partly owned by the Bank of England, the formerly privately-owned bank domiciled in the City of London Corporation. MBridge was launched in 2021 as a collaboration between the BIS and the central banks of China, Hong Kong, Thailand and the United Arab Emirates, to advance cross-border trade and payments using the project’s blockchain, the mBridge Ledger. In addition to the six central bank “full” participants, there are a further 27 official entities partnering in the project, including the IMF and the World Bank. Other central banks, namely of Norway, South Korea and Turkey (NATO or otherwise US allies) are observers. Partner banks include Goldman Sachs, HSBC and China’s six biggest state-owned banks.

The US policies in the past ten years were designed to forge a new military alliance between Russia and China, which others, such as Iran, have joined, while also forging an economic alliance centering on these countries in the larger circle of BRICS countries. More recently, the policy of first freezing and now confiscating Russian assets held in the US sphere of influence must convince more and more countries that an alternative system is more attractive than the US economic zone of influence.

It is notable that US policy decisions have been at the bottom of all this, further enhanced by the American-run regime of grey and black lists of countries concerning financial and tax reporting and consequently the ease of access to bank services. This regime practically discriminates against people and companies resident in many countries and makes simple payments and fund transfers difficult for them, as banks shy away from the high regulatory burden. It did not use to be this way and it doesn’t have to be this way. But decision-makers chose it this way.

Could it thus be that the much-hailed “alternative” to the US system of hegemony of BRICS countries and a BRICS currency is just another Hegelian dialectic opposite, possibly seen as necessary on the road towards a one-world government? For a one-world currency to be realistic, as proposed for instance by my former Oxford MPhil Economics classmate Mark Carney in 2019 at Jackson Hole, the US dollar has to be dethroned. The decision-makers behind this are influential enough to make America take those policies that would dethrone the dollar. Their chosen tool are central bank digital currencies, favoured also by China and Russia, not just the Western central planners. And it is these that we must oppose and resist as much as possible.

ALERT! NEUTRON BOMBS, USA TROOPS MILES FROM RUSSIAS BORDER, TRUMP GOES NUCLEAR, BIDEN IS FINISHED

What is one city you would never return to? Why?

For me, it is Paris!

I am an Indian and you are going to say that you have many places in India that are worse than Paris. And I accept it, perhaps you are right! But the question asks specifically, “What is one city you would never return to”. It asks for my opinion based on my experience.

A lot of Black people (I mention this because there were no other ppl in those groups. More on the line of haggling and harrassing, and NOT on racial discrimination) trying to strike a conversation by blocking my path with the most common question, “Which country you are from?” or with the line, “You look pretty”One of the women walking in front of me answered, “From Italy” and that is it! He started to follow and he was like, “I love Pizza.” and “You are so pretty”. Since she was ahead of me, it scared me! And in a split of second, she ran away. And then he asked me, “Which country are you from?”Some Black people selling souvenirs on the roads near Eiffel Tower were very persistent in trying to sell their items. I mean, we neither went near to them nor asked them anything. And these guys also knew Hindi, “Sasta hai Sasta hai!!”The other city where I had a similar experience was in Rome. But for some reason, it was not so crowded and I could escape every time.
Weird experiencesOne of the most profound weird (I would not tag it “racism”) experiences I had was in Paris.
We were waiting for the Bus in a queue. There were Indians in front of me and there was this group of 3 old stylish ladies talking in French behind me.
When the bus came one of those three ladies pointed a finger and said to me and my mother, “You two, behind me!”. You should know better than to bully me! Long drama short, I got into the bus and those three got into the second bus that was for the same route just behind this one ;)Another experience was at the metro station after I purchased the tickets from the vending machine. A man came to me and asked me where I was going. I told him and then he said, “This is not the ticket you should be buying”.
Every European city has its own rules when it comes to tickets, where to validate it and so on. There is a high probability that I could have made a mistake and bought the wrong ticket.
I got nervous. He began to tell me that I should not be buying from the vending machine for this route and should purchase a value that was higher than my current ticket.
After a minute, it felt odd because I am not so dumb to purchase the wrong ticket! And I can read English as well as French. I simply told him, “Okay, I will pay the fine” and I just walked away from him. (Btw it was the right ticket)I have a couple of more experiences. All these in 3.5 days I stayed in Paris.The bus drivers are all the time irritated.Surprisingly, a lot of honking compared to other cities in Europe that I have visited.
Pedestrians were crossing even on the red signal for the pedestrians (In India, nobody cares for signals but in Europe, in almost all the places I have visited ppl take traffic rules seriously.)
Pricey!Paris is known as the Fashion Capital of the World. Rightly so! Almost all the big brands are present there. But for the middle class, it is too heavy on the pocket.My shopping included only books, second-hand French books that would have been hard to get in India!
And obviously, some freeze magnets!French Macarons are also costly and I have had better things in my life which were damn cheaper. My mother remarked, “Why is it so sugary?”
Over-hypedMacarons are over-hyped and so is the Mona Lisa!But since I will not perhaps visit again (other than special circumstances), I had a lot of French Macarons and waited 55 minutes (even though I had a ticket) to enter the Louvre (where the Mona Lisa lives!) and another 20 minutes to get somewhere near to the painting.I am not complaining per se, just pointing out. I enjoyed both. It is just that it is nothing great. But had I missed it then I would have regretted it because of all the hype surrounding it.
Paris Metro made me uncomfortable. But maybe, it is just me.
A lot of traffic and jams as well. I preferred to walk around and/or take the metro.

I was advised by my driver in Porto not to stay out too late in Paris and to make sure that I am always in a place that is surrounded by people. Not a good advice before starting the Paris trip.

Jurassic Park – 1950’s Super Panavision 70

What was the biggest scandal at your high school?

A teacher that I knew very well was arrested and jailed without bond for sexual assault.

But there was no evidence to the accusations.

He got along well with the students and staff. A bit strict at times, but he was a pretty humorous and kind person overall. So when the allegations came out, we were all shocked but confused.

Something just didn’t feel right.

The person pressing the charges was a senior, and she was a bit “out there.” Many people saw her as a “social justice warrior” with strong beliefs in feminism. She definitely wasn’t a timid or soft-spoken person at all.

She claimed that he had molested her since freshman year, assaulted her multiple times at school, and even visited her home several times.

Her friend also testified as a witness while saying that she had been assaulted too.

What’s “interesting” though is her Facebook page which states that her hobby is “taking down white males.”

Furthermore, police did a thorough investigation of all his devices, but couldn’t find anything.

Nevertheless, he was still arrested and jailed.

Now, I’m not saying he’s innocent, but without any evidence, it’s difficult for me to justify his imprisonment either.

And I really hope that he isn’t innocent.

Because if he is, then he has had his whole life unrightfuly taken away from him.

He’ll never be able to teach again.

He’ll be forever labeled as a child-molester.

His career is ruined.

His family is broken.

And his life, by all means, is essentially over.

What Putin and China did is SHOCKING and the U.S. is in Deep Trouble

Some fun illustrations and pics

GET UP AND GET IT DONE – Motivational Speech

Beef Pastrami

Ingredients

2 tablespoons black peppercorns
1 tablespoon + 2 teaspoons dried thyme
6 bay leaves, crumbled
2 teaspoons whole juniper berries, + 1/3 cup crushed juniper
6 cups water
3/4 cup packed light brown sugar
3/4 cup kosher salt
1 beef brisket (about 4 to 5 pounds)
2/3 cup coarsely ground black pepper

Instructions

In a small mixing bowl, combine the peppercorns, thyme, bay leaves, cloves, garlic and whole juniper berries.
In a saucepan, over medium heat, combine the water, brown sugar and salt. Bring to a boil and stir to dissolve the sugar and salt. Remove from heat and add dry spice mixture and steep for 1 hour.
Place the brisket in a glass or plastic container. Pour the seasoned brine to cover the brisket completely. Cover and refrigerate for 3 weeks, turning the brisket every couple of days.
Heat the smoker.
Combine the crushed juniper berries and ground black pepper in a small bowl. Using the palm and heel of your hand, press two thirds of the berries and pepper mixture into the brisket. Press the remaining mixture into the other side. Place the brisket in a smoker and smoke for about 4 hours.
Remove from the smoker and cool for 30 minutes.
Place the brisket in a large Dutch oven, cover with water and place over medium heat. Bring the liquid to a boil, reduce to a simmer and cook for 2 hours.
Remove from pan and cool completely.
Slice into thin slices and serve.

What battles in history were won because one side did something so unthinkable that it caught their opponent completely by surprise?

Imagine you have an army and you’re out of supplies. Like, if you sit there for a few more days, your men will start to starve. That’s how bad it is. You’re also not getting resupplied any time soon because the enemy navy is blocking your sea routes and the enemy army is blocking your land routes. Your only way to survive is to beat the enemy army in a head-on battle.

But there’s just one problem: the enemy army is twice as large as your own. And is led by one of the greatest living generals.

How do you win the battle?

This was the situation Julius Caesar faced in the late summer of 48 BCE. He had made a gambit, attempting to cross the Adriatic in late fall in risky waters, but he only made it across with half of his army and was promptly outmaneuvered by his opponent Pompey’s larger army. Near the town of Pharsalus, he found himself outnumbered, outmatched, and even outplanned. Pompey held all the cards.

Pompey’s associates, who included most of Rome’s Senators, urged him to battle. He himself wanted to stay up on his hill and starve Caesar out, but he was pressured into a confrontation. He obliged.

As Pompey’s army marched out, it must have been an intimidating sight for Caesar. He had faced down larger armies before, but they had always been armies of Gauls, undisciplined warriors without much organization on the battlefield. Facing him now were trained Roman soldiers led by a commander with decades of experience in field battles. Caesar must have come to terms with the idea that this would be his last battle.

The two armies lined up. Pompey had the tactical flexibility to either stack his units tightly to create more breakthrough pressure or to extend his line and outflank Caesar. He opted for the former, matching Caesar’s line in length and seeking to penetrate. Caesar had no choice but to attack.

In most battles, the attack would begin with a slow walk, accelerating to a brisk stride and eventually a full jog that would create momentum for the strike. However, Caesar knew that his momentum was not enough for Pompey’s deep ranks. He took advantage of his soldiers’ coordination and discipline; ten meters before making contact, he ordered a full-stop halt to the entire line. After a brief rest to recover from the initial run, they advanced slowly, shields braced, into the fray.

The infantry combat devolved into a stalemate. Pompey’s lines had more weight, but Caesar’s soldiers were veterans who had fought with Caesar for a decade. They had bore powerful charges with more fervor from Gauls before, and they could handle slow, grinding formation fighting just fine despite being outnumbered.

For Caesar, the problem would be the cavalry.

Pompey was dominant in cavalry. Caesar had some Gallic auxiliary horsemen, but Pompey, with all the resources of Greece and the rest of the Roman east, had amassed Macedonian-style cavalry in the thousands. They outnumbered Caesar’s cavalry at least five-to-one, and when they charged, it was a sure thing they would crush Caesar’s flank and bring a quick end to the battle.

Finally, around the peak of the fighting, Pompey’s cavalry charged. Thousands of hooves on the ground, kicking up dust and producing a terrifying low rumble that drew closer and closer to Caesar’s cavalry. They stood still, awaiting the charge. It looked like suicide, a last stand.

At the last moment, they raised their spears. It was a death wish. Pompey’s cavalry made contact.

Immediately, Caesar’s cavalry turned around and fell back. Pompey’s cavalry followed in hot pursuit. But suddenly, Caesar’s cavalry units began splitting off into two groups. They each moved to one side.

Taking their place were a unit of legionaries. Armed with spears.

Pompey’s cavalry were not prepared for this reserve unit of infantry, especially not ones using spears. Turns out their spears were actually just improvised pila: heavy throwing javelins repurposed as anti-horse weapons. But against an unexpected enemy whose momentum became kryptonite, they worked perfectly.

Horses and riders fell, impaled by the spears. Others were struck in the back by pila as they turned tail to flee. The charge broke into a chaotic mess, and the Caesarians were getting the better of the melee fighting on foot. Finally, the Roman cavalry came back for their charge, making contact with the broken Pompeian formation and utterly scattering it. The Pompeian horsemen fled off the battlefield in disarray.

Now it was Pompey’s flank that was in grave danger.

Pompey did not expect that the Roman cavalry would be coming back from their death stand. He was completely unprepared to see a mix of cavalry and infantry barreling toward his left flank. The infantry were equally unprepared and failed to meet the charge properly. Their tightly packed lines were crushed even closer together.

Caesar took advantage of this disorder from every angle. He knew a river protected the left side of the battlefield, so he diverted the rest of his reserves to the Pompeian left flank and sent them on a crushing push through their lines.

The Pompeians folded. 40,000 men lost to 22,000 men on a flat plain with only one little trick.

Julius Caesar would go on to defeat all challengers, becoming the dictator-for-life of Rome.

Then he got stabbed. Sadge

China does not reveal its true military capability (following the principles of Sun Tzu).

Western intelligence can only guess at China’s real nuclear capability. At present, their guess is that China has 350 nuclear weapons and 90 ICBMs.

However, many netizens have studied this question in great detail and their estimates are much higher. Their consensus is that China may have 800 nuclear weapons, and possibly as many as 2,000, including the delivery vehicles for all of them.

Bottom line? We just don’t know.

This uncertainty is what China aims for. It must keep US military planners up at night.

Suppose China does have 800 nuclear weapons. Suppose China has the delivery vehicles for all of them. What does this mean for the United States?

America’s missile defence shield is unproven in the field. However, it has been tested, and recent tests show less than 60% effectiveness. That means 40% of China’s nukes could slip through US defences.

So how much damage could 320 nukes do to America? Well, it would certainly flatten America. It would kill many tens of millions of people, perhaps over a hundred million.

It would wipe out America’s industrial and technological base.

It would create millions of square kilometers of radioactive wasteland that are uninhabitable for centuries.

How could America feed its remaining population? Radioactive land is not arable.

And let’s not overlook the possibility of nuclear winter.

If this is anybody’s idea of survivability, they’re welcome to it.

Never Underestimate China’s Ability to Do the Unexpected

Nothingness.

Submitted into Contest #8 in response to: Write a story about an adventure in space. … view prompt

Jaylen Hyden

Her hands ghost against the Paine of thick glass separating her from the void, infinite nothingness as far as one could look in the pitch black reach of death’s gaze.the only thing stopping her from being scooped out into its frigid embrace was metal. Metal and wires, a rib cage made out of nuts and bolts, with nothing but cold surfaces and sharp edges welded together that encapsulated her and the rest of her crew.She almost forgets to breathe, her lungs twisted up and tangled with a combination of unfiltered elation and deep seated dread that knocks back and forth within her skull until she becomes lightheaded from the thought of acknowledging either of them.Instead of that, she grunts, lifting herself out of her chair while her eyes continue to fixate on the electronic timer counting down its life until they reach their new destination. A new place, new opportunities, a new start-A new home.She hesitates at the last thought, brushing it aside as she walks away from the machine, her hands slightly shaky from the amount of caffeine she’s ingested in the last 48 hours, the empty cups now stacked up into a messy pile beside her desk.She walks out into the hallway from her office, the bright, fluorescent lights nearly blinding from her extended time cooped up and occupied with work. Even just a few steps out and she can already hear the mutter of chatter flooding from the commons area, Snippets of conversation buzzing to life the closer she gets. A small smile lifts the corners of her mouth as she enters the room, her older sister sitting in one of the many chairs scattered about the room.She walks towards her on the bleached white tiled floors, stopping beside her place a comforting hand over her shoulder; and chuckles when the girl nearly jumps out of her seat from surprise.

“Wha -Charlie! I told you not to scare me like that!” the older girl squeaks, a squeezed smirk scrunching up her face subtly.

Charlie replies with a toothy, smug smile, only patting her sister again on the shoulder, albeit a bit more delicate this time.

“You know I couldn’t miss an opportunity like that!” charlie defends, crossing her arms while continuing to wear the same smirk. Her sister rolls her eyes, and finally chuckles along.

“So you finally decided to come out of your hole, huh?” Her sister nudges charlies side with her elbow, a friendly gesture. Charlie’s body tenses slightly, she really wishes she didn’t have to. She would rather be anywhere else then on this godforsaken ship, but she never really had a choice.

“You would do the same if you were the one in charge of making sure this tin can doesn’t blow up!”

“guess I can’t argue with that.”

“See, I told you. Now how is the data coming along?” charlie glances over at the clock hung up on the wall; god, it was already almost 2am. She doesn’t want to be here.

“Got two more potential sites we could look into, nothing special though.” her sister shrugs.

“Are they actually habitable this time?” charlie mutters under her breath. She feels like she’s already said this before, like this whole thing has happened before.

“Yeah yeah,” her sister waves a dismissive hand in the other direction “no more acidic deposits or whatever.” charlie snorts at the response. But it’s mostly out of reflex. She can’t wait to get back to her room at this point.

“Can’t say people would be too happy if the equivalent of an acid volcano blew up their home.”

She jokes back, forcing her face into a smile.

“It sounded like it would be a ‘them’ problem at the time, not a ‘me’ problem.” her sister jokes.

“Whatever you say, rose.” she rolls her eyes, until settling her gaze on the screen of glass on the other side of the room. Her face scrunches up as she easily abandons the shallow conversation, instead making her way across said room; something twisting uneasily in her stomach the same way her awe of the stars did with her lungs.

“Where do you think you’re going, i’m not done with you yet!” Rose calls after her, a smile still strewn on the taller girls face, while her sister ignores her.

Charlie stops a few steps short of the glass, and places a delicate hand on its surface, her eyes squinting into the nothingness.

“Uh, rose?” she finally responds to her, calling out to her sister as her other crew peers start to glance over curiously, and then follow up with an array of different sounds of sudden panic.

“I’m coming i’m com-” she stops short behind the shorter girl, mouth slightly agape.

“Rose, what is-

“What the hell is that thing?!” a sudden shriek arises from the room in the back, cutting charlie off from trying to reason out what she’s currently seeing in front of her. Something in her memory seems to click, but she doesn’t know why.

Something blacker than the abyss stares back at them, long, lithe tendrils slowly curling in and out from around it as it continues to approach the ship.

Somebody in the crowd begins to scream, and soon the whole ship is riddled with fear and panic as everyone seemingly begins to scramble. Crowds of people trampling over each other through the small door frames on either side of the commons.

She should be running with them, screaming in terror and ripping her hand away from the glass. But instead she can only stand still as her sister tries to drag her deeper into the false security of their ships from the lurking leviathan in the void.

She’s just so tired. And she just wants to go back home.

Maybe space wouldn’t be that cold after all?

She can hear her sisters voice behind her, muffled but just as grating to her ears. She stares out of the window, glazed over eyes watching the creature sulk closer.

She can finally go home.

BECOME OBSESSED – 3 HOUR Motivational Speech Video | Gym Workout Motivation

My Big Ass Arc Gun

Now, guys, in my previous post I briefly mentioned that I had various prototype labs in my homes that I would tinker around with. You know that I have read extensively, and painted. But I never discussed the things that I was prototyping and cobbling together.

And here, I want to enlighten you all on some of them.

Ah. It was a BIG part of my life.

Of course, some of you know that I have been working on the dimensional portal. And, though I never mentioned it, it does need to be known that this was just one of many hundreds of projects that I enjoyed playing around with.

What I never told any of you all was that I actually made a small portal, and at the time of my “retirement”, I was able to send cans of peas and corn to “somewhere”. Wherever they went, they left my world-line template.

That’s for certain.

For illustration only.

My device at my home lab wasn’t so bulky and industrial. Nothing but the frame for the generation of the portal. And my sensors, and the mechanism to modulate the wave-forms. I was working with a company in China for a “real” turbo-charged version. And I made a video about that adventure. Don’t you know.

What I did was made a small 30 degree slope out of plywood, and rolled the 303 size cans down the slope where they entered the portal at the exact moment when the transition coordinates were in flux.

And yeah. It took me a number of tries.

It was a small victory, for certain. Really. I was really proud of myself. And I was literally hopping… seriously, I was hopping up and down in the lab. Were they bouncing off as a ejection of the field, or did they actually go somewhere. I am convinced that they left and went somewhere. Ah. It was my confirmation that I was on the “right track” as I tried to replicate the Majestic dimensional portal.

Of course, my problem at that time and still is… calculating WHERE.

I was able to get them to disappear and go somewhere, by greatly altering the destination coordinates by some initial random manipulations. I was always cautious and conservative; read “timid”. I was far too reserved to try anything really radical.

But one day, I said “fuck it” and just really changed the coordinates in a most radical manner.

It worked. And they went somewhere.

But a measure of what the actual destination was, still eludes me.

Now, there’s a trick that I had to work out, just to get them to do anything. I had to alter the overlay of the destination coordinates over the egress coordinates in the same phase or rhythm as the powering of the electromagnetic field. Once I was able to do that, well, sure they just left this world line sharply.

I really didn’t NEED to have radically different coordinates. But rather, the secret was in the switching process from egress coordinates to destination coordinates. Not on the coordinates themselves, but how you apply the changing field into the portal.

Hurray! for me.

After hopping up and down, I left the lab. Wrote down the events in great detail (I had very detailed notebooks back in the day). Then, I went and packed for my next trip. (Oh, and my wife was bitching where all the cans of peas, corn and beans were disappearing to…)

Then I went to China on a business trip.

And when I came back, I was arrested and incarcerated, and I have no clue where all my prototyping gear went.

It is unlikely that anyone would have recognized it for what it was. Just a jumble of electronic things on a work bench in the garage. Gosh, though.

I do miss that work bench. It was a old 1940’s steel leg “map table” with a horribly top finish. So I covered it in thick ply plywood. Bolted it down with lag-bolts, and it was as stable as a rock. I’ll tell you what.

Anyways, we can go back to my final dimensional portal experiments prior to the hard stop, and discuss them at a later date.

All by memory of course.

All records, gear, photos and everything else are all missing. Who knows where they are now?

But I had something else.

I was working on duplicating the alien pulse-plasma rifle from the Science Fiction movie “District 9”.

Remember that?

Well… not THAT weapon. That was some kind of blast gun.

I’m talking about the arc gun.

There’s a scene where the arc gun causes BIG ASS explosions. And that was what I was aiming for.

And, well, no it didn’t look like the movie version. What I mean is that I made a functional replica. Not a appearance replica.

I guess I am weird.

What I did, was a kind of work-around, I guess you could call it that.

What I did, was take a taster firing mechanism. That was the wire ejection device, the wire, and the entire battery and trigger mechanism.

I kept it almost completely intact. But I added a home-made (obviously) thermobaric warhead.

My first warhead had no fuse, and relied on very fine talc powder. Which was really, the a clay mineral composed of hydrated magnesium silicate, with the chemical formula Mg ₃Si ₄O ₁₀(OH) ₂. Talc in powdered form, often combined with corn starch, is used as baby powder. And so, as impure as it was, I used Johnson’s baby powder.

So yes. I made (I suppose) a baby-powder bomb.

In the more advanced designs I used a small bare copper wire that would press against a small PE bag of Hydrogen Peroxide to ignite the warhead when the signal was issued.

Now, this is a small grenade like warhead. Of course, my prototype was ugly as fuck and had a small (out of machined aluminum extrusion sides bolted together that contained my dispersal gas, and ignition powder (yeah, my first go around was with a 22 shell casing minus the lead).

You fire the gun.
The projectile goes to the target in a shallow arc.
It hits the target.
A “one shot” starts a counter and a nanosecond delay allows the gas to disperse.
Then the electrical charge zaps through the wires.
It ignites the .22 casing.
That then ignites the gas cloud.
Big, BIG explosion.

To the viewer, it looks like I shot a (faint) lightening bolt that exploded like a big bomb.

And When I tried it out, I will admit that it shocked me. And I did take EVERY precaution. You do NOT NOT NOT mess around with guns. So I was behind a cinder-block retaining wall.

And I still had the top of my hair singed.

Now, the problem with this crude set up was I didn’t have the range. My “warhead” was too heavy. And it needed to be improved. Smaller warhead, and lighter. More powerful ejection device, and longer wire. But all these issues could be worked out.

In fact, my biggest concern at the time was how to make the electrical movement in the wire larger so that it would look like a real bolt of lightening.

But yeah.

This is EXACTLY what I made; Gun B21 @2:40

And here, again, not so dramatic @5:29. But yeah, that’s my project.

Some crazy sciency fiction shit for sure….

All gone.

Yupper boys and girls. Be being such a “danger to the great citizens of the wonderful state of Arkansas” (Heee Haw Hee Haw)… it’s all gone.

Now, only CHINA has access to advanced weapons technology.

Don’t you know.

Oh, not by me. I’m just a quiet unassuming fellow trying to have fun with food, girls, and cats. But I’m not the only Mad Scientist that was pushed out of the pustules and fetid swill that the United States has become.

Yuppur. All gone.

The United States can have bupkis.

I will never forget.

I will never forgive.

Today…

…

‘No proof’ US landed on moon – Ex-Russian space boss

Dmitry Rogozin says that while many in Roscosmos defended Washington’s version of events, no one could produce irrefutable proof

The former head of Russia’s Roscosmos space agency, Dmitry Rogozin, has expressed doubt that the US Apollo 11 mission really landed on the Moon in 1969, saying he has yet to see conclusive proof.

In a post on his Telegram channel on Sunday, Rogozin said he began his personal quest for the truth “about ten years ago” when he was still working in the Russian government, and that he grew skeptical about whether the Americans had actually set foot on the Moon when he compared how exhausted Soviet cosmonauts looked upon returning from their flights, and how seemingly unaffected the Apollo 11 crew was by contrast.

Rogozin said he sent requests for evidence to Roscosmos at the time. All he received in response was a book featuring Soviet Cosmonaut Aleksey Leonov’s account of how he talked to the American astronauts and how they told him they had been on the Moon.

The former official wrote that he continued with his efforts when he was appointed head of Roscosmos in 2018. However, according to Rogozin, no evidence was presented to him. Instead, several unnamed academics angrily criticized him for undermining the “sacred cooperation with NASA,” he claimed.

The former Roscosmos chief also said he had “received an angry phone call from a top-ranking official” who supposedly accused him of complicating international relations.

Rogozin concluded by saying he still cannot believe that the US was able to pull off the feat, but is now unable to, despite the incredible progress in technology since the late 1960s.

What he claims to have found out, however, was that Washington has “its people in [the Russian] establishment.”

Apollo 11 was the first manned mission to the Moon, with Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin going down in history as the first humans to walk on the lunar surface.

The flight was preceded by the unmanned Soviet Luna 2 program, which blazed the trail for Moon exploration.

Last April, President Vladimir Putin pledged to resume Russia’s lunar program.

Grilled Beer Sirloin with Mustard

Steak with Beer Mustard Sauce 1 1024x683 — Steak with Beer Mustard Sauce 1 1024×683

Ingredients

4 large beef sirloin steaks, (about 1/2 pound each)
4 tablespoons vegetable oil
2 teaspoons mustard
2 teaspoons tarragon vinegar
Salt and pepper

Instructions

Mix together the oil, mustard and vinegar. Coat the steaks well with the mixture and allow to marinate for about 10 minutes on each side.
Season with salt and pepper, then grill the steaks for about 2 to 4 minutes on each side.
Serve with French fries and salad.

The United States is spending SERIOUS money trying to destabilize the ‘Stans.

Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan… notice a pattern here?

The CIA is spending serious money destabilizing Central Asia and their BRI ambitions to remake Eurasia.

Serious money.

[1] Kyrgyzstan authorities report foiled coup attempt

Kyrgyzstan’s State Committee for National Security says group of extremists planned violent seizure of power

Elena Teslova | 05.07.2024 – Update : 05.07.2024

MOSCOW

Kyrgyzstan’s State Committee for National Security announced on Friday that it had thwarted a coup attempt by a group aiming to seize power violently and destabilize the socio-political situation through mass riots.

The committee’s statement revealed that raids on the suspects’ homes and vehicles uncovered components for improvised explosive devices, firearms, ammunition, walkie-talkies, body armor, law enforcement uniforms, drones, and extremist literature.

Five suspects have been placed in pre-trial detention, and further investigative and operational measures are ongoing.

Detailed information will be provided later, the committee said.

[2] Tajikistan tense amid arrests of senior personalities and former officials and rumours of a failed coup

25 June 2024

Tadjik President Emomamli Rahmon has run Tajikistan with an iron hand since taking power in 1992. There are now reports that he is preparing to hand power to his son. So, news of dissent in the Central Asian Republic is rare. News of a coup and the arrests of many prominent former officials have therefore triggered a lot of speculation. Saidjafar Usmonzoda, a prominent member of the Tajik parliament, was detained on June 14 for allegedly “plotting to overthrow the government.” Prosecutor-General Yusuf Rahmon accused Usmonzoda of collaborating with the foreign-based opposition group National Pact of Tajikistan and of speaking with its leader, the self-exiled Sharofiddin Gadoev. Parliament quickly stripped Usmonzoda of his immunity

His arrest was soon followed by the detention of former Foreign Minister Hamrokhon Zarifi.

But perhaps more prominently has been the detention of the former Chairman of the Supreme Soviet of Tajikistan, Akbarsho Iskandarov. During the wave of conflicts in the early 1990s, he took over as the Chairman of Parliament and served as Tajikistan’s acting president. In recent years, he worked at the Institute of Philosophy, Political Science, and Law of the Academy of Sciences. Prior to this, for many years, he served as Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary of Tajikistan to Turkmenistan, Kazakhstan, and Mongolia.

The General Prosecutor’s Office summoned Akbarsho Iskandarov for questioning on June 13 and 14, following which they did not release him. The reason he was interviewed and the grounds on which he has been detained are unknown.

“Investigators of the General Prosecutor’s Office questioned about 50 people during these days and released them on their recognisance, while Akbarsho Iskandarov was not released,” a source stated.

As is often the case in authoritarian countries dissent often bubbles under the surface. The Tajik authorities have not been very forthcoming with information about what is going on, but the developments come on top of an already tense time for the Tadjik leadership as it tries to deal with the fallout from the involvement of Tadjiks in the recent terrorist attacks in Moscow. His leadership has embarked on a number of measures, which some consider knee-jerk, such as banning the hijab.

All in all, Tajikistan’s problems seem to be piling on top of each other, and as Central Asia’s poorest country, it is vulnerable to sudden shock. Other Central Asian leaders look at the situation in Tajikistan with concern, not least because of the risk of falling out into their own quite fragile political processes.

[3] Uzbekistan imposes regional state of emergency after deadly unrest

Government U-turns over plans to curtail autonomy of Karakalpakstan but fears rise tensions may escalate

Reuters in Almaty
Mon 4 Jul 2022 09.47 BST

Eighteen people were killed and 243 wounded during unrest in Uzbekistan’s autonomous province of Karakalpakstan over plans to curtail its autonomy, Uzbek authorities said.

Security forces detained 516 people while dispersing protesters on Friday but have released many of them, the national guard press office told a briefing.

On Saturday, President Shavkat Mirziyoyev dropped plans to amend articles of the constitution concerning Karakalpakstan’s autonomy and its right to secede. He also declared a month-long state of emergency in the north-western province.

According to official reports, protesters marched through the provincial capital of Nukus last Friday and tried to seize local government buildings.

Photographs from Nukus, published on Sunday by the news website O‘zbekiston va jahon yangiliklari, eng so‘nggi tezkor xabarlar, qiziqarli maqola, intervyu, foto va video materiallar, showed street barricades, burnt out trucks and a heavy military presence including armoured personnel carriers.

Videos shared on social media showed at least two severely wounded people being carried away by their arms and legs. One was bleeding from the abdomen, while the other was screaming.

Another showed a young man crouching by an apparently lifeless body in the street, screaming “a man is dying”, and running for cover as shots rang out.

An exiled opposition politician, Pulat Ahunov, told Reuters over the weekend that people were unable to move around or obtain more information because of a state of emergency imposed by the authorities.

Uzbekistan is a tightly controlled former Soviet republic where the government clamps down hard on any form of dissent. It was the second outbreak of unrest in central Asia this year, after Kazakhstan crushed mass protests in January and Russia and other former Soviet republics sent in troops to help restore order.

The protests in Uzbekistan were prompted by planned constitutional changes that would have stripped Karakalpakstan of its autonomous status. In a U-turn, the president dropped those plans on Saturday.

Ahunov, the chair of the opposition Berlik party, told Reuters from Sweden that he condemned the use of lethal force. “The authorities, from the start, should have opted for dialogue and negotiations,” he said. He said he feared the potential for the situation to escalate into an ethnic conflict between Uzbeks and Karakalpaks, a minority group with their own language.

Authorities had called a public meeting for Tuesday to discuss the situation, he added.

Kazakhstan said it was concerned by the events in Uzbekistan and welcomed moves by the authorities to stabilise the situation.

Steve Swerdlow, associate professor of human rights at the University of Southern California and an expert on the region, said Uzbekistan should engage as transparently as possible in declaring casualties and the use of force and over the longer term look at what concerns were at the heart of the protests.

[4] President of Kazakhstan says he has weathered attempted coup d’etat

By Reuters
January 11, 20229:44 AM GMT+8

NUR-SULTAN, Jan 10 (Reuters) – Kazakh President Kassym-Jomart Tokayev said on Monday that his country had weathered an attempted coup d’etat coordinated by what he called “a single centre” after the most violent unrest since the Soviet collapse.

In a speech to an online meeting of the Russian-led CSTO military alliance by video link, Tokayev said that order had now been restored in Kazakhstan, but that the hunt for “terrorists” was ongoing.

“Under the guise of spontaneous protests, a wave of unrest broke out… It became clear that the main goal was to undermine the constitutional order and to seize power. We are talking about an attempted coup d’etat,” he said.

Demonstrations against a fuel price rise began just over a week ago before erupting into a wider protest against Tokayev’s government and the man he replaced as president, 81-year-old Nursultan Nazarbayev.

Kazakh President Kassym-Jomart Tokayev speaks during a televised address to the nation following the protests triggered by fuel price increase in Nur-Sultan, Kazakhstan January 7, 2022. Official website of the President of Kazakhstan/Handout via REUTERS

“The main blow was directed against (the city of) Almaty. The fall of this city would have paved the way for a takeover of the densely populated south and then the whole country,” he said. “Then they planned to seize the capital.”

Tokayev said that a large-scale “counter-terrorism” operation would soon end along with a CSTO mission that he said numbered 2,030 troops and 250 pieces of military hardware.

Tokayev defended his decision to invite Russian-led troops into the country and said that doubts over the legitimacy of that mission stemmed from a lack of information.

Kazakhstan would soon provide proof to the international community about what had happened, he said.Sixteen members of the security forces were killed, while the number of civilian casualties is still being checked, he said.

Reporting by Tamara Vaal in Nur-Sultan; Writing by Tom Balmforth; Editing by Andrew Osborn

Why should China tolerate the US fascists & warmongers sending drones to criminal separatists in Chinese Taiwan? Will these traitors turn Taiwan into the next Ukraine and a disposable US pawn? How can this US proxy war on China be prevented?

Taiwan will not become Ukraine. China wont let it happen.

USA is using Taiwan as a cash cow to buy all US weapons. That is all. No harm done to China as a whole. It only hurts Taiwanese taxpayers’ money but not China.

China knows USA’s goal is to provoke China to start a war. Like Ukraine provoking Russia.

In the big picture, a war will hurt the economy of the entire world. Not just China.

Not to mention human life.

So China keeps a cool head. Stay calm & not to react to US deliberate malice. Not to fall into the US trap.

But China has closing up on Taiwan these days.

First. no more so-called Taiwanese sovereign territory. All are Chinese. Chinese coastguards & warplanes are moving closer & closer to Taiwan coastline & airspace.

2nd, China is to pass a law to put on trial stubborn Taiwanese separatists without their appearance in court. Max death sentence. Extradition too.

The law can apply to foreigners who help stubborn Taiwanese separatists.

USA & the West in general is quiet on the upcoming Chinese law so far. Because they have similar laws to deal with their separatists too

Just wait & see. Dont worry.

Pepe Escobar: Putin’s BOMBSHELL just Changed Everything and NATO is Done

Finding love in space

Submitted into Contest #8 in response to: Write a story about an adventure in space. … view prompt

Tea Kleva

I smiled and thanked him. He took my hand and gave it a little kiss. We walked to one free table and sat down.

“Let me introduce myself, I’m Hunter, I’m 166 years old and I live in a villa on Mars. I appreciate the natural beauty, so that’s the main reason I chose you as my date.” He said.

“Well thank you for the compliment, Hunter. I’m Jasmine, I’m 133 years old and I live in a small apartment on Venus. I appreciate that you are such a gentleman and that’s the reason I let you choose me as your date.” I said.

We were flirting the whole time and I could feel some kind of connection between us, but at the same time I just couldn’t stop thinking about Caroline and every time I saw her having a good time with her date I was kind of jealous.

The day on Jupiter ended and I felt like there was no connection between me and Hunter. He was the perfect guy, just not for me. I walked in space ship and sat beside Caroline.

“How was your date?” I asked.

“It wasn’t bad, but at the same time I felt I had more connection with you than him, you know.” She said.

I was so happy, because I felt exactly the same. Does that mean that I should search for my soulmate on my own planet? I’m so confused.

“Can I ask you something?” I said. “Would you like to go out with me? To know each other better and become maybe, uh, more than friends…”

I couldn’t believe I actually said that. I was a little scared of how she is going to react. So I was just starring at my feet. She took my chin with her soft, warm, perfect hands and lifted my head so we made eye contact. She was smiling so that’s a good sign.

“I would love to go out with you Jasmine, because I feel something for you. It’s a little strange, but an amazing feeling.” She said while still holding my face.

“Hello miss, do you want to see how beautiful Paris is from the top of Eiffel tower?” some man said.

“Now that we found each other again, we should go home.” She whispered in my ear.

“But home is wherever we are together. So right now we could stay in Paris and then we could explore the rest of the World.” I said with a tear sliding down my cheek.

So we decided to stay on Earth. The only thing we needed at the moment were each other and the desire for travelling.

After 5 years we travelled the whole world, so we decided to go back on Venus. Me and Caroline live in the house we build together. We love each other and want to grow old together.

Sometimes your soulmate come to your life when you least expect it and sometimes it’s not the person you would expect, but that’s the beauty of life, it’s unpredictable.

Shorpy

On Tuesday, China and the Philippines held a bilateral meeting to ease tensions in the South China Sea. Do you think if those de-escalation efforts would work?

PH is a US puppet. It is USA who controls the movement of puppet PH.

If ever the China-PH meeting works, it will be USA who wants to ease the tension in SCS.

Does USA want to ease SCS tension? Let us look for signs.

Few things took place since the US installation of mid-range missiles in PH on 2024/4/11. ie USA wanted to escalate tension on 4/11.

1, On the same day, both China & Russia react & mentioned Cuba. Hinting that they could do something in Cuba.

Actually, they also can do it in all Latin American countries that are hostile to USA. You USA create tension at our front door, we Russia+China will create tension at your front door too.

2, Cuban defense chief right away visited China. I heard he visited Russia too.

3, Later Russia sent 4 warships to visit Cuba with open welcome by Cuba.

4, On 6/14 or so, Pentagon disclosed it launched an anti-Chinese-vaccine campaign to kill Filipinos. (I still cannot figure out why USA disclosed this at the time when we already forget about covid. There is a reason but we dont know why yet.)

5, On 6/17, PH soldiers were defeated by Chinese coastguards at Ren’ai shoal.

At first, PH was vicious. Later, under US instruction, PH tuned it down to misunderstanding or accident.

PH threatened to invoke the US-PH Mutual Defense Treaty. Thru 2 scholars in Cambridge U, USA told PH that MDT does not apply to SCSea.

6, On 6/28, USA announced it will withdraw US troops from Luchu (Okinawa) & Japan mainland to Guam, starting Dec 2024. Hollowing the US power in the 1st island chain.

7, On 6/29, USA dropped a sub detector to SCS. Got caught by China. There was a 2-day China-US electronic battle in SCSea. USA lost & left,

8, Chinese destroyers & later an aircraft carrier sailed near US military bases in PH. To “declare” victory.

9, On 7/4, USA said it will remove its mid-range missiles in PH in Sept. … a further indicator that USA has lost to China.

Duterte clearly is smarter than Marcos. He openly said that when PH has 1 missile pointing at China, China will also point a missile at PH. (I add) China will not point 1 at PH but 100 missiles. USA cannot out-perform the Chinese speed in manufacturing. If USA can match, USA wont move to Guam.

Back to the question. There are signs that USA wants to de-escalate SCS tension, for now. Perhaps until after they find a Biden replacement for the US election.

NASA Finally Unveiled ‘Quiet’ X-59 Supersonic Aircraft

Cool, and interesting.

Chinese battery expansions

China’s progress with renewable energies is undeniable, but the ethics with which they are achieving it is not. The whole world is on tenterhooks with the battery they are hiding from the rest of the world. The reason? It has enormous potential to destroy our industry and export capacity with the strangest material we have ever seen.

China created this battery that leaves lithium behind but has it hidden in its industry

China has recently made major advancements in sodium-ion battery technology as an alternative to the more common lithium-ion batteries. Sodium-ion batteries utilize sodium ions rather than lithium ions to store and release energy.

While lithium-ion batteries currently dominate the global battery market, especially for electric vehicles and consumer electronics, sodium-ion batteries have some potential advantages that have piqued China’s interest.

China sees sodium-ion as a strategic opportunity to establish domestic technology leadership and reduce reliance on imported lithium. With its vast sodium reserves, China could secure its supply chain for battery materials rather than depend on sourcing lithium from other countries.

This has led major Chinese companies to accelerate sodium-ion research and development. Over the past few years, China has rapidly expanded sodium-ion battery production capacity and implemented large-scale deployments of the technology.

Sodium-ion Chinese batteries, a milestone in energy history

Sodium-ion batteries are very similar in design to the lithium-ion batteries that currently dominate the battery market. Both use intercalation chemistry, meaning that ions move between the cathode and anode to provide power.

However, sodium-ion batteries use sodium ions instead of lithium. This provides some key advantages. The cathode in a sodium-ion battery is typically made from layered transition metal oxides, while the anode uses hard carbon, similar to lithium-ion batteries.

During discharge, the sodium ions flow from the anode to the cathode through the electrolyte. When charging, the ions flow back to the anode. Unlike lithium, sodium is cheap and abundant. Sodium does not need special handling or storage. This makes sodium-ion batteries easier and cheaper to produce.

However, sodium ions are larger and heavier than lithium, which impacts energy density. But improvements in materials and design are helping boost the energy density of sodium-ion batteries.

A problem for the United States: Tesla and the American industry are threatened.

Chinese automaker BYD has built the world’s first mass-production facility for sodium-ion batteries in Chongqing. The factory has a planned annual capacity of 20GWh and will start producing batteries in 2025.

BYD’s sodium-ion batteries will use a new battery chemistry developed in-house. The company claims its batteries have a range comparable to lithium-ion batteries but with advantages such as faster charging times and higher energy density.

The new factory represents a major investment by BYD in sodium-ion technology. The company sees great potential for sodium-ion batteries due to the abundance and lower cost of sodium compared to lithium.

BYD plans to initially use the sodium-ion batteries produced at this factory in its electric buses. Over time, the company may expand the use of sodium-ion batteries into its electric cars and other applications.

The opening of this large-scale sodium-ion battery factory highlights China’s ambitions to lead in next-generation battery technologies. With strong government support, Chinese companies like BYD aim to leapfrog established lithium-ion batteries.

As you can see, the Chinese batteries have taken a step that we would not have liked to see, given the relevance it will have for our industry. The problem? It is not a shared innovation, but an invention that remains hidden from the rest of the world. There is still a long way to go to see if they decide to extend them to the rest of the planet and replace lithium forever.

BRICS on the Rise, Countries Ditching the Dollar & U.S. Empire Declines w/ Prof. Richard Wolff

Huawei has a chip problem, but it’s far from being a write-off

Recent press reports have proclaimed Huawei both a resurgent force and a victim of US sanctions. The reality is more complicated.

Iain Morris, International Editor

July 3, 2024

For lovers of melodrama, the annual updates by Huawei’s carousel of rotating bosses are often a treat. Hit by US sanctions under former US President Donald Trump, the Chinese company once depicted itself as a fighter plane pockmarked by gunfire, struggling to stay airborne. This year’s update was disappointingly low-key. “We’ve been through a lot over the last few years,” said Ken Hu without fanfare, after rotating into the hot seat. But press reports have compensated in wildly diverging ways.

“America’s assassination attempt on Huawei is backfiring,” blared The Economist in a detailed briefing on June 13. The message was that a sanctions program started by Trump and accelerated under President Joe Biden has largely failed. Huawei has not only avoided a crash landing but also gained altitude and become more self-reliant.

Two weeks later, Quartz weighed in with its own, much shorter assessment. “US sanctions against China’s AI chip efforts seem to be working,” ran the headline, with a standfirst saying: “Huawei is reportedly having a hard time increasing production of its Ascend 910B AI chip.” American policymakers have denied China the cutting-edge tools it needs to produce the most advanced chips. The older equipment available to Huawei just isn’t fit for purpose.

The reality is far more nuanced than either of these stories suggests. But to judge the success or failure of US policy, one must first ask what the sanctions were supposed to achieve. They were introduced long before companies and governments became fixated on generative AI, when the in-vogue technology – believe it or not – was 5G.

Given the share prices of 5G stakeholders at the time, markets never expected the next-generation mobile technology to be a money spinner. But governments were fooled into thinking it would connect everything from insulin drips to ballistic missiles and power economic growth. Amid signs of Chinese government assertiveness, letting a Chinese company anywhere near western 5G networks would surely be insane.

Pincer movement

The campaign against Huawei was therefore two-pronged. The first meant exerting pressure on US allies and friendly countries in Europe to flush Huawei out of their networks. Many had grown reliant on Huawei in the 4G era, seeing it as a low-cost but technologically sophisticated alternative to the likes of Alcatel-Lucent, Ericsson and Nokia Siemens Networks. For technological and economic reasons, telcos were likely to stick with the same vendors when upgrading to 5G. And by the time it came along, Huawei was widely perceived to have the technological edge over Western rivals.

But this part of the campaign has had mixed fortunes. Germany, Europe’s biggest economy, has spent years prevaricating while its telcos have built nationwide 5G networks with Huawei kit. Even the UK under Conservative Prime Minister Boris Johnson, a supposed Trump ally, wanted a compromise whereby Huawei would be ejected from the core, the cockpit of the system, but allowed to remain sprawled throughout the vast seating area of the radio access network (RAN).

The other prong of the US campaign, then, was designed to gum up Huawei’s supply chains and stop it from producing the trustworthy, competitive equipment that UK and other telcos might want to use in their networks. And the US had an ace up its sleeve: its domination of chip design and chipmaking tools, including the machines used by Asian foundries to produce the most advanced components. The hammer blow came when sanctions denied Huawei access to TSMC, a Taiwanese foundry using Dutch and US machines to crank out the smallest transistors in the world.

This tightening of rules ultimately persuaded UK authorities to ban Huawei from selling 5G products, while giving telcos until the end of 2027 to sanitize their networks. Its bigger impact, though, was on Huawei’s smartphone business, never identified by US hawks as a potential conduit for Chinese military “backdoors” and subterfuge, as networks had been. Unable to Windsor has interpreted that as an admission the current yields are not commercially viable in the long run. “Yields need to be 90% or better in most processes to earn a positive return on the capital invested to build and operate the fab,” he said in a blog. “By all accounts, SMIC and Huawei’s yields are way below this figure which is why the current situation for making 7-nanometer chips in China is unsustainable.”procure the tiny chips needed for its consumer devices, and barred from Google’s suite of software apps, Huawei suffered a smartphone collapse. Honor, a key brand, was sold to state-backed acquirers.

When DUV may do

But this business group, formerly responsible for more than half of Huawei’s revenues, staged a dazzling recovery last year – to the alarm of US hawks. New and popular gadgets appear to include 7-nanometer chips, thought to be off limits to Huawei. To produce them, it was believed, a chipmaker would need extreme ultraviolet lithography (EUV) machines. ASML, a Dutch company, has a monopoly on their production, and its government has denied it an export license to serve China.

Experts believe SMIC, a Chinese foundry, has instead resorted to older deep ultraviolet lithography (DUV) machines to churn out 7-nanometer chips for Huawei. While not as good as EUV, DUV can employ a technique called multiple patterning to do it. The problem with multiple patterning is that yields – a percentage measure of the functional chips derived from a wafer – tend to be relatively poor. This could partly explain why SMIC’s profitability suffered so badly during its recent first quarter. After a 31% year-over-year rise in cost of sales, to $1.5 billion, SMIC’s gross margin shrank from 21% to less than 14%.

Huawei, moreover, now appears to have acknowledged its chip problems for the first time. Richard Windsor, the founder of analyst firm Radio Free Mobile, last month drew attention to a keynote address by Zhang Ping’an, a Huawei executive, at the 2024 China Mobile Computing Power Network Event. In it, Ping’an appears to have recognized that US sanctions have put 3-nanometer and even 5-nanometer technology beyond Huawei’s reach. Solving the 7-nanometer problem needs to be the company focus, he apparently said.

Signs of strength

But there is no sign that Huawei, unlike SMIC, has borne any costs so far. Its cost of sales last year rose just 5%, to about 325 billion Chinese yuan (US$44.7 billion), while revenues were up nearly a tenth, to about RMB704.2 billion ($96.9 billion). At the smartphone-making consumer business, sales grew 17%, to roughly RMB251.5 billion ($34.6 billion).

Huawei’s rebound in the smartphone league tables shows consumers care little if there is a 7-nanometer or 5-nanometer chip in the phone (although battery life and performance might be concerns). If Huawei can fix the problem of yields – and Windsor does not put it past the Chinese – it may not have to worry.

Huawei also has less need for tiny chips at its networks business, the part that bothers policymakers. This is partly because there are far fewer 5G basestations in the world than there are 5G smartphones. Basestations are also much bigger than smartphones and therefore not as space constrained. The semiconductors they incorporate have always tended to be a generation or two behind the chips inside smartphones.

Regardless, chip sanctions have not stopped German and various other European telcos from investing in Huawei kit. The 5G networks now deployed in China, where Huawei is the dominant vendor, are regarded as some of the best in the world. In its latest mobility report, published last month, Ericsson notes that midband 5G equipment – the sort needed for higher levels of performance – now covers about 95% of China. In Europe, the figure is just 30%.

If the US campaign has achieved anything on the networks side, it is a bifurcation of the global market along geopolitical fault lines. China and its friends buy Chinese gear while the rest of the world buys from Nordic or other Asian vendors. But nobody is buying much. Enthusiasm for 5G has waned, and spending on the RAN is expected by Omdia, a Light Reading sister company, to fall by 7% to 9% this year after dropping 11% in 2023.

In this bear market, Huawei is doing considerably better than either Ericsson or Nokia, its main rivals. One reason is that China remains by far the world’s biggest 5G market and a dependable source of revenues for Huawei. Sales to Chinese customers were up 17% last year. And while this growth was undoubtedly fueled by consumer purchases of Huawei’s latest smartphones, China also accounted for more than two thirds of total company sales, up from 52% back in 2018. By contrast, Ericsson’s sales to North America, its most profitable market, tumbled 38%.

The fear of Ericsson boss Börje Ekholm is that the West will fall behind China in this bifurcated market. “If the tech world is fragmented east and west then it is going to mean competition between two ecosystems,” he told Light Reading during an interview in August 2021. “A Chinese ecosystem will be formidable competition for the west. It concerns me that end users – customers and enterprises – will feel it in their mobile experience.”

Branching out

But Huawei’s successes last year owe something to a reinvention forced on it by US sanctions. Unlike Ericsson or Nokia, it has expanded into domestic markets outside its traditional kit-making sector, buoyed by Chinese protectionism and antipathy toward the standard American alternatives. Sales at its cloud computing business, for example, rose 22% last year, to about RMB55.3 billion ($7.6 billion). As small as that makes it next to the industry giants, Huawei is slowly gaining ground.

“Huawei has been doing quite well in its local market and has been growing much more rapidly than the two market leaders, Alibaba and Tencent,” said John Dinsdale, the chief analyst and managing director of Synergy Research, in a previous email to Light Reading. “Its market share in China is now into double figures (just!). It does, however, remain a long way behind the leaders.”

No doubt, the recent AI expansion could prove difficult if sanctions thwart Huawei’s attempts to produce more advanced chips. Yet if the AI story turns out to be solely about chips, rather than the services they are intended to support, Nvidia is heading for an almighty crash. Amazon, Google, Microsoft and various other US tech giants all have AI pitches that are not just to do with silicon. There may be a bigger future opportunity for Huawei in software – in large language models, applications or even artificial general intelligence.

The US sanctions program clearly has numerous flaws. Its first is the assumption that a lead in silicon design somehow translates into a pervasive tech hegemony. From the perspective of US hawks, the second must be the poor enforcement of new rules, with companies like Intel and Qualcomm awarded exemptions that allowed them to keep serving Huawei. On the opposite side, others argue that cutting US companies off from the vast Chinese market is counterproductive. Weakened by lower revenues, they will have less to invest in US research and development.

Worst of all, though, is the old-fashioned view, almost redolent of Western imperialism, that sanctions will permanently hobble China – that homegrown EUV and other such chip wizardry is somehow beyond the capabilities of China’s scientists and always will be. There was similar talk more than 20 years ago when Huawei was routinely dismissed as a copycat, a rip-off merchant and plunderer of US intellectual property. By 2019, technology executives within European telcos reckoned it was the 5G company to beat.

Not everyone outside China subscribes to such views. Ericsson’s Ekholm seems to be among them, fretting in 2021 about the West’s ability to “keep up with the vast R&D spend in Asia – particularly China – that’s already happening.” The year before, analysts at New Street Research wrote that China’s vast resources of human capital would ultimately give it a decisive long-term advantage.

Earl Lum, a semiconductor expert at EJL Wireless Research, has described it in succinct terms. “There are so many people in China to hire,” he previously told Light Reading. “It doesn’t matter that everyone you are hiring isn’t an Einstein. One of them will be.”

This cat was called ‘mean.’ Then he met my husband.

Have you ever walked into a room and seen something that made you go, “Nope,” and turn 180 degrees and walk away? What was it?

A year ago, I was shopping with my two daughters and sister in Goodwill. I usually let the girls (9 and 12 at the time) roam the toy aisle while I am looking at trinkets and today was the same. I was browsing one of the isles with my sister when all the sudden I saw her freeze, look behind me and say, “No. No no no no. Get the girls, NOW.”

I immediately headed to the aisle where my youngest daughter was, and my sister went to get my oldest daughter. When I got to the aisle, there were two men standing on either side of my daughter, pretending to look at things on the shelves. I grabbed her and headed to the front door where my sister and oldest daughter met us. We went to our car, locked the doors and waited for a minute. Then we watched the two men that had been in the aisle and two more men walk out of Goodwill having purchased nothing.

I am almost positive that day’s outcome would have been very different if my sister had not had the sense that something was very wrong.

Why successful men use escorts: what the rich and the beautiful have in common

What facts about Canada do people not believe until they come to Canada?

There are many misconceptions about Canada. Looking at the country on the map is one thing, but being there is another.

First, Canada’s size becomes apparent once a visitor drives (or takes a bus) between Vancouver and Calgary, or Toronto and Thunder Bay. Great Britain, which includes Scotland and Wales, could fit inside Canada about forty times.
Canadian summers are hot, particularly in southern Ontario around Toronto and in Montreal, Quebec. The humidity levels in July and August can push temperatures up to between 35°C and 40°C. In the far north in the Yukon and Northwest Territories, summers aren’t blazing hot but you can walk around with t-shirts and shorts. Temperatures hover around 20°C and the sun doesn’t set until the winter.
There are lakes, lots of them. The number of lakes larger than three square kilometers totals more than 30,000.
There is a desert in Canada. In a nation known for cold weather and snow, this comes as a surprise. The semi-arid Okanagan Desert is located in British Columbia around the town of Osoyoos.
The Haskell Free Library and Opera House is divided between the towns of Stanstead, Quebec, and Derby Line, Vermont. This is the only library in the world that operates in two countries at once. Americans can just walk through the front door, but Canadians have to cross the international line, pass U.S. border guards in the front of the building. and then go out exactly the same way to avoid entering the U.S. illegally.

Here’s the border between the towns. Looks deserted but it’s not a good idea to casually walk back and forth.

Derby Line, Vermont, U.S.A. The Canadian inspection post is on the left at the end of the road.

The border inside the library. Security is tight in here.

6. And last but certainly not least, Canadian chocolates and candies are damn good. This is the country that spawned such tempting creations such as Coffee Crisp, Big Turk and Mr. Big (this one is almost 8 inches long). You can only buy these in Canada or in shops overseas selling Canadian products.

Did I mention ketchup flavoured chips?

You have to come to Canada to eat them.

The Sopranos – Rusty Millio gets whacked – Munchkinland loses its beloved mayor

Have you ever had a serious problem getting someone off your property?

Yes, I once had a renter that had fallen behind in his rent and then started trying to avoid me. He knew when I had to be at work, so he only went home during the hours I would be at work. The court system seems to protect the bums that feel they are entitled to live in someone’s house for free. Even after jumping thru the hoops the courts said I must do to evict the guy, and getting no money from him for 10 months, I finally stood before the judge and listened to the verdict…he had 90 days to make payment or he must vacate the premises.

Needless to say I was outraged. I was struggling to pay 2 mortgages and the rest of my bills. I knew I would lose the rental to foreclosure & no way to prevent that. I went to the property and just went in without knocking. With a smile on his face he told me: “Judge gave me 3 more months living here rent free.”

I calmly walked closer to him so he could hear me speak barely above a whisper : “If you are still here when I come back tomorrow at noon, I will bury you somewhere they will never find your body.” Then I smiled at him and slowly walked to the door. As I opened the door, His nephew was just walking up on the porch. I knew his nephew from prison, so I told him he needs to convince his uncle that I am serious about the deadline and I walked out to get on my bike to leave.

The next day at noon my rental house was empty and I called my friend with the backhoe to say I would not need his help afterall. I saw his nephew a few days later and he apologized for his uncle and said I would get the money owed in back rent. My bluff had worked partly because the nephew also worked for the owner of the backhoe.

Garden Grill Tri-Tip

Tri-Tip roast takes a dip in a flavorful marinade and then get grilled alongside a vegetable medley (ratatouille if you’re fancy).

Total: 1 to 1 1/4 hr | Yield: 6 to 8 servings

Ingredients

Marinade

1/3 cup olive oil
1/3 cup dry white wine
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 tablespoon minced garlic

Tri-Tip

1 beef Tri-Tip Roast (about 1 1/2 to 2 pounds)

Ratatouille

1 small eggplant, cut crosswise into 1/2 inch thick slices
2 small red and/or yellow bell peppers, cut lengthwise into quarters
2 medium yellow squash and/or zucchini, cut lengthwise in half
1 cup grape tomatoes, cut in half
1/4 cup lightly packed chopped fresh basil
Salt and ground black pepper

Instructions

Marinade

Combine ingredients in small bowl.

Tri-Tip

Place beef roast and 1/3 cup marinade in food-safe plastic bag; turn roast to coat. Close bag securely and marinate in refrigerator for 15 minutes to 2 hours, turning occasionally. Cover and reserve remaining marinade in refrigerator.
Remove 1/4 cup of reserved marinade for ratatouille; set aside. Toss vegetables (except tomatoes) with remaining marinade.
Remove roast from marinade; discard marinade. Place roast in center of grid over medium, ash-covered coals or over medium heat on preheated gas grill; arrange vegetables (except tomatoes) around roast. Grill roast, covered, 25 to 35 minutes for medium rare (145 degrees F) to medium (160 degrees F) doneness, turning occasionally. Grill eggplant and bell peppers for 7 to 11 minutes; zucchini and yellow squash for 8 to 12 minutes (on gas grill, eggplant for 6 to 8 minutes; bell peppers, zucchini and yellow squash for 7 to 11 minutes) or until tender, turning occasionally.
Remove roast when instant-read thermometer registers 135 degrees F for medium rare; 150 degrees F for medium. Transfer roast to carving board; tent loosely with aluminum foil. Let stand for 10 minutes. (Temperature will continue to rise about 10 degrees F to reach 145 degrees F for medium rare; 160 degrees F for medium.) Meanwhile, make the Ratatouille.

Ratatouille

Cut grilled vegetables into 1 inch pieces. Combine vegetables, tomatoes, basil and reserved 1/4 cup marinade in large bowl; toss to coat. Carve roast diagonally across the grain into thin slices. Season roast and ratatouille with salt and black pepper, as desired.
Serve roast with ratatouille.

Will the PRC last for 300 years as the Qing Empire did?

This question has no value. No one can foretell the future.

Speculation is worthless.

However, we can say the following…

The PRC has the most successful government in human history. It has created the world’s largest economy by purchasing power parity in only 35 years, and it did so without firing a shot. No other nation has grown so large, so quickly, and so peacefully.

It totally and finally eradicated extreme poverty in 2020, truly a monumental achievement.

The PRC’s government garners the highest level of support in the world. According to 𝗟𝗮𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗮’𝘀 𝗗𝗲𝗺𝗼𝗰𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘆 𝗣𝗲𝗿𝗰𝗲𝗽𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗜𝗻𝗱𝗲𝘅 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟰, 79% of Chinese believe their nation is democratic while only 57% of Americans and 55% of British do.

Another example, according to the 𝗘𝗱𝗲𝗹𝗺𝗮𝗻 𝗧𝗿𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗕𝗮𝗿𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟰, 85% of Chinese trust their government while only 40% of Americans and 30% of British do.

Another example, according to the 𝗢𝗽𝗲𝗻 𝗦𝗼𝗰𝗶𝗲𝘁𝘆 𝗕𝗮𝗿𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟯, 76% of Chinese trust their politicians while only 29% of Americans and 20% of British do.

Another example, according to 𝗜𝗽𝘀𝗼𝘀’ 𝗚𝗹𝗼𝗯𝗮𝗹 𝗛𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟯, 91% of Chinese are happy with their life while only 76% of Americans and 70% of British are.

Another example, according to 𝗮 𝘀𝘁𝘂𝗱𝘆 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝗛𝗮𝗿𝘃𝗮𝗿𝗱 𝗞𝗲𝗻𝗻𝗲𝗱𝘆 𝗦𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗼𝗹 𝗶𝗻 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟬, 95.5% of Chinese are satisfied with their government.

Another example, according to 𝗜𝗽𝘀𝗼𝘀’ 𝗪𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗱 𝘀𝘂𝗿𝘃𝗲𝘆 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝗡𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗺𝗯𝗲𝗿, 𝟮𝟬𝟭𝟵, 95% of Chinese believe their country is on the right track and moving in the right direction while only 41% of Americans and 23% of British do.

Another example, according to 𝗮 𝟮𝟬𝟭𝟵 𝗨𝗖 𝗦𝗮𝗻 𝗗𝗶𝗲𝗴𝗼 𝘀𝘁𝘂𝗱𝘆, 80% of Chinese are happy and enjoy financial security.

Looking at all this, it’s hard to imagine that the PRC won’t stand for a long, long time. But 300 years long? Who knows.

Certainly, the 21st century is China’s century.

ON CAM: The Last Minutes of US Mercenaries’ Lives┃Russia Captured ‘SOTNITSKIY KAZACHOK’

As a prison inmate, what was the most brutal thing you’ve seen happen while incarcerated?

When I first went in, a guy with like 45 days left on his sentence went and got a gallon of “wine” (prison alcohol, which down here is called “Buck”) from a homosexual (which down here is called a “punk”.)

So the short timer gets a gallon of Buck from the punk. He comes back to the dorm and drinks all of it. So he’s passed out drunk in his cell. Meanwhile the punk’s “daddy” who is in the Buck making and selling business comes looking for that last gallon, which his punk has already given to the short timer. He gets mad because he promised it to someone else. So he tells Chrissy (the punks name) that he better get the gallon back, or get the payment right now.

Chrissy goes to get it, but the guy is unresponsive. He tried to wake him up, actually pulling the man off of his bunk and slapping him. But the dude is out of it.

I guess Chrissy was panicked because he knew his daddy was going to beat his ass for not coming back with the money right away. (He shouldn’t have given the gallon away without payment up front.) He got mad and scared, so he picked up the foot locker, long before the powers that be decided to bolt them all to the floor, and repeatedly slammed it on this guys head until it was burst open and the skull had cracked and collapsed on itself. It was gruesome. The mess it made is almost indescribable. Brains and blood and bone fragments all smashed and smeared together. Nasty.

45 days left..

After serving so many years, I’ve seen many, many people killed. Usually stabbed or bludgeoned to death. But this was the most brutal killing I ever saw.

It’s too easy

Is this true that many Chinese would like to get a green card in a Western country? Which countries would be the most desirable?

Apparently I won the lottery. I was born in the western world.

I left to live in China.

The racism, bamboo ceiling and general dehumanisation creates a lot of self haters.

Anyone with any nous will realise China is where everything is going to happen in the next few decades.

There’s son of people who left China decades ago on Quora. They did ok moving to the USA and Canada. Their replacement make far more than them despite living in China.

What are some key differences between the Shanghai Cooperation Organisation and Western organizations like NATO or the G7, as pointed out by Professor Zhu Yongbiao?

SCO’s main goal is regional security in Asia.

It targets oppression & prevention of terrorism, coups & riots that are instigated by hostile country eg USA.

NATO was formed to defend the West from USSR. But today NATO has become offensive instead of defensive. Actively instigate wars around the globe.

G7 is more on economic instead of military. Peaceful on surface, G7 is quite aggressive these days. Using sanction as a weapon to beat others.

G20 is peaceful because G20 is diverse. Unlike G7 who has become arrogant & a bully.

Breaking Bad – Gustavo Fring’s Revenge

What was the strangest thing that happened to you as a foreigner in Japan?

I was in England, and needed a break. So I went to Japan. Then I realised I needed a job. So I went to an English language school. “Can you speak English,” they asked? “Oh Yes”, I replied. “Use of colloquisms – you’re hired”.

No problem initially, but I had one group that wasn’t learning. So I played to my strengths – I got them all to come down to an English pub as a “field trip”. After we had had a pint or two of something called Guinness, I ask why they weren’t learning. one of the students said that they were all engineering students studying for their masters and needed English. I asked them why they hadn’t said, I could easily switch to a more engineering based English. He said that I didn’t understand. They needed high level engineering English. So I pointed out that I hadn’t been doing nothing while I was in England. I had a PhD in Mechanical Engineering from an English University, and I could talk about Schrodinger, Finite element analysis and Fluid dynamics until the cows come home. Fifteen minutes later, after I had explained the cows coming home, they were all amazed. They had considered me to be one of the lowest life forms as just an English teacher. The concept that I had a past surprised them. Suddenly I could teach something I knew and they were all keen to learn.

If the US prevents selling of high-tech products to China (Huawei), how will China counter it?

By 2023/7/1, China has a way.

On 2023/7/1, China passed a Foreign Relations Law & right away applies it on rare metal export. In response to USA’s choke of China’s semiconductor industry. What is Foreign Relations law?

Simply put. When China is bullied, China officials now have LAW to follow during the fight-back.

1st example:

USA+US allies has been suppressing China on semiconductor & chips. 100% blockade. Japan has banned 23 materials & semiconductor products to China. ASML is to stop sale of DUV to China.

Note the 100% blockade is for US allies only; US firms have “backdoor” to continue the sale to China, filling up the Chinese market of US allies. Samsung’s chip profit has dropped 99% in 2023 Q1.

Effective 2023/8/1, China is to limit export of 2 rare metals gallium (镓）& germanium (锗).

Gallium is a must for semiconductor, radar, AI & more. Germanium, for others eg solar panel & medical use.

China supplies 70-80% of these 2 metals to the world. 2nd supplier is Russia. 3rd is Ukraine but in the area that has been occupied by Russia during Ukraine war.

95% of US import of rare metal comes from China.

USA shoots its foot. It hysterically wants China’s semiconductor industry to die. Now China grant the wish of USA by helping US semiconductor industry die.

CIA boss just made a speech in UK about cooperation with China. Decoupling from China is stupid, he said.

Stupid. That is US politicians.

Yellen, another politician, clearly is BEGGING China to buy new US debts. But talk tough in front of Americans, by continuing the US lie about human right of Uyghurs & Muslims.

Instead of using lies, can US politicians spend time on seeking a real solution to US internal problems?

USA knew about its heavy dependence on China’s rare metal long time ago. Yet USA dares go so extreme to 100% block China’s semiconductor industry. Dare to play Taiwan card. USA commits suicide but drag allies along to grave to die with it.

No medicine can cure stupidity.

The Future of America 2035 …

Americas Future ain't looking too hot. There is no more middle class. Every thing has been gentrified from housing , cars People not being able to find a decent paying job and the cost to live is getting way out of hand . Gen Z and Millennials No Long Want to work towards nothing. America is Broken and it's not cool. Hopefully everything smooths out

The German Sägerücken

I inherited my paternal grandfathers bayonet. He was an American soldier fighting the Germans in France during world war I.

The story behind this bayonet is that he got it off of a German that he killed. The thing about the bayonet is that the blade was caked with this thick blood-like substance. No one knew what it was, though we all suspected that the goo was the remains of people that the German gutted out.

Now, this was a gutting blade. The top was serrated and designed to pull out the guts like a saw-tooth blade.

Eventually, my bother took the blade and claimed it as his own. He cleaned it up and it is somewhere in his house in Colorado.

And… I forgot about it. It’s just a thing. A part of someone else’s life. But, you know, every now and then I start to wonder about the blade and the story behind it.

No clear answer though.

‘A LOT OF PIFFLE’: THE GERMAN SAWBACK BAYONET

The German Sawback Bayonet of the First World War: Myth and Reality

ROB SCHÄFER

No other hand-held weapon of the First World War has sparked so much debate and gave rise to so many myths and legends than the German Sägerücken or sawback bayonet. Even today the collectors market, historians and even the press still spread those myths that were born 115 years ago by the Allied press. In this article we will take a new and fresh look on the iconic weapon, its history and the wave of propaganda it caused in 1914.

SÄGERÜCKEN – THE SAWBACK BAYONET

The first ‘German’ sword bayonet which could be affixed to a long arm was introduced in Prussia in 1810. Used by the kingdom’s elite, light Jäger (hunter) infantry it was designated as a Hirschfänger (lit: ‘stag catcher’, or hunting knife). It would take another 50 years until the introduction of what could be called the first modern sword bayonet for regular infantry units, the M1860 Füsilier-Seitengewehr. With the introduction of the Mauser M71 bolt action rifle and its matching bayonet in the German Army, the first sawback or Sägerücken bayonets were introduced en masse to replace the Faschinenmesser, the fascine knife. This edged weapon, with a serrated or straight edge, was an engineering and foraging tool designed to cut forage and firewood, to remove foliage, and – thus the name – to cut “fascines”, brushwood bundles bundles used for strengthening earthen structures and field fortifications or for making a path across uneven or wet terrain.

At the outbreak of the First World War the German Army moved into the field with a wide range of bayonet types, all of which were available in a saw-backed version. They were issued to Pionier (engineer) units and, in a small percentage, distributed among other army line units. Then they were still being used as tools to cut wood and to efficiently saw through wooden barbed wire stakes, which were later replaced by metal ones. In that role they could be used as a handheld, but also as a rifle-mounted saw. Used in the latter way it was much more efficient, allowing it to cut through a thick, wooden barbed wire pole in about 30 seconds (using the long M98 saw-bayonet). Many other nations had made use of bayonets of a similar kind, including the British (with the Elcho and P1879 Martini-Henry sword bayonets) and the Swiss in 1878, all of these weapons designed to replace the fascine knives carried by soldiers in earlier periods.

At the turn of the century, military logistics and supply for forces in the field had evolved so far that the need for foraging tools had diminished. Saw backed bayonets were inferior in combat as the serrated edge could get caught or entangled in clothing, while the sharp saw itself could easily cause wounds to an inexperienced user. When war broke out in 1914 they had been made redundant in the British Army. The German Army, with its doctrine of flexibility in the field, had retained them and still saw them as an important addition to its forces.

A SAVAGE WEAPON?

The sawback bayonet was a gift to the Allies, who from a very early date set their propaganda machine to work, tying the use of the weapon into the context of the so-called ‘rape of Belgium’ , feeding the notion that the barbaric weapon had been specifically developed as brutal refinement for use in close combat. Sawback bayonets it was suggested, inflicted painful, never-healing wounds and even worse, as a French propaganda booklet with the title of ‘Les armes déloyales des allemands’ (the unfair weapons of the Germans) explained in 1916:

“In some German infantry units and throughout the pioneer corps, some men are armed with a bayonet sword, with a flat and wide blade, one edge is sharp while the other is sawtoothed. Officially it is a portable tool, intended to act in the twin role of saw and sword of battle, according to the way it is used. In reality, it is a very dangerous weapon, which, when held at the end of the rifle, inflicts a wound much more serious than that caused by ordinary bayonets in that it produces tearing effects when a soldier pulls to remove it from the body of an enemy. But German officers know how to refine barbarity. There is a standing order to all men armed with the bayonet-saw never to attack without having taken the precaution of repeatedly driving the blade in the loose soil, so that the particles of earth clinging to the saw will lead to an infection of the wounds inflicted on the enemy. This thoughtful and scientific cruelty is sometimes perfected even further. During an attack in Artois, a German company was taken under the fire of our machine guns and completely destroyed: ours having progressed and conquered the ground, had the obligation to bury the enemy dead and it was then possible to note that all the saw bayonets of the massacred men were coated with faeces. It demands no further explanation what horrendous complications of sepsis and infection wounds caused by a weapon like this would lead to.”

First brief mentions of German ‘bayonets with teeth’ can be found in the British Daily Mail and a number of US newspapers between 20-22 August 1914. Yet the first dedicated, longer piece on the sawback bayonet was published – to the author’s best knowledge – by the French Le Matin newspaper on 13 September 1914. It featured a photo of the serrated blade of a German M98 bayonet and a report, which seems to have formed the basis of virtually all later French and British reports and the root of the propaganda hype that followed:

‘They will soon have done everything, these Germans, to be banished from humanity, and it will soon be clear to everyone that their armies are nothing but hordes of barbarians, vile herds of wild beasts. Today you can see with this kind of weapon they intend to prevail over their enemies. Here is the photograph of a sword bayonet collected yesterday among the dead of the 47th regiment of Prussian infantry in Varreddes, a small village located about 8 kilometers north of the city of Meaux. This bayonet has two lines of sawtooth on its back. And it is not the cruel fantasy of a single, barbarian soldier who has created this weapon worthy of a Malay for his own use; no, because many others lay scattered on the ground and some have been picked up by officials to be shown to the public. It is clear that they have been machine-made and that this cruelty has an official origin. A torture device; a bayonet with hooks; a dishonourable weapon: a violation which S.M. Emperor William had provided his soldiers with.’

Even though Infanterie-Regiment Nr. 47 had never been in action anywhere near Varreddes (serving around Les Eparges about 250 kilometres away), some sawback bayonets had certainly been found, after all the whole of the German Army was equipped with them. The news travelled quickly and seems to have crossed the Atlantic first, even before reaching the United Kingdom. The New York Tribune ran it as front page news on 19 September. Their correspondent Richard Harding Davis, attached to the French Army, gave a detailed testimony about what had been found. a bayonet which ‘tears the flesh and splinters the bone’ and ‘the most gruesome weapon of war ever issued to a civilised army’.

From the United States the news travelled. and from the second half of September up to November 1914 the British press covered the subject extensively, often using new eyewitness accounts and photographs. On 27 September .The People newspaper published a photograph of a British medical officer comparing a British P07 Enfield bayonet to a German 98/05 sawback, reporting that these weapons were used ‘in violation of the laws of war’ and in breach to the ‘Convention to which Germany is a signatory’.

While the press coverage spread out, postcards were published in France showing a German soldier – with a sawback bayonet attached to his rifle – being addressed by a member of what people at the time would have seen as a savage race, a native American warrior. The postcards were captioned ‘La Baïonnette Scie’ and bore the slogan ‘Tu es encore plus sauvage que moi!’ (You are even more savage than me). French depictions of German sawback bayonets turned things upside down completely, showing the blade (!) of the bayonet sporting a serrated edge.

Surprisingly, some publications both in England and in France, also published truthful features about the actual use of the weapon. The Illustrated War News of 18 November printed a large format photo of a German soldier holding a rifle with a saw-tooth bayonet which rightly claimed that the bayonet was similar to that carried by ‘British naval landing parties for use in sawing wood’; while the French journal L’Ouest-Éclair stated that the ‘bayonet-saw is used to saw the wood in the countryside to make fires and employed in a variety of manual attack or defence work.’

‘(…) when a man has eight inches of smooth blade in him, an inch or two of jagged teeth would not matter’.

Some newspapers published reader’s letters on the bayonet. Doctor Hirsch, a native German, then working a psychiatrist in New York, wrote to the Tribune that he himself had served in the German Army in 1878/79 and that the whole story like ‘so many other statements about the -brutality- of the German Army are based on utter ignorance of the real facts’. He described the weapon’s use as a pioneer tool while criticising the paper’s malevolent coverage. In fact, some the best and most neutral words about the case, were published in the form of reader’s letters. One, written in Mounie Castle, Oldmeldrum by a Major Seton and published by The Aberdeen Daily Journal stated that: ‘Regarding the tooth-edged bayonet, about which you quote from the Paris ‘Matin’ as being among the atrocities of the Kaiser and his ‘Huns’, may I say that such allegations are merely the ravings of an hysterical Frenchman?’. Another, sent to the Liverpool Daily Post and Mercury opened with the statement that ‘A lot of piffle has been written about the German saw-bayonet’ and closed with the observation that ‘when a man has eight inches of smooth blade in him an inch or two of jagged teeth would not matter’. By mid-1915 there are no mentions of the saw-bayonet anymore. The explosive value of the story had fizzled out.

Yet the damage had been done and the propaganda was beginning to have a noteworthy effect on the Germans. Even though never based on any actual truth, rumours had begun to circulate that the Allies would shoot or torture prisoners carrying a saw-bayonet. Even though there have never been any documented cases of this behaviour and even an official German inquest in July 1915 and another in April 1917 could not find any evidence of this, it became an often told story in the army. Ernst Jünger mentioned it and Erich Maria Remarque used it in his famous anti-war novel All Quiet on the Western Front: ‘We overhaul the bayonets–that is to say, the ones that have a saw on the blunt edge. If the fellows over there catch a man with one of those he’s killed at sight. In the next sector some of our men were found whose noses were cut off and their eyes poked out with their own saw-bayonets. Their mouths and noses were stuffed with sawdust so that they suffocated’.

REMOVING THE SAW

German soldiers soon began to ‘lose’ their sawback bayonets in inexplainable numbers, while others began to remove the saw backs on their own accord, thus often permanently damaging the blade and as such property of the German Empire. By 1917, with the large-scale use of metal barbed wire pickets, the bayonet-saw had lost its only real remaining use and German soldiers had realised, that the saw could slow retrieval of the blade in combat. The wounds a sawback bayonet caused were not worse that those created by regular blade, and as such the use of them had never violated any rules of war, yet faced with the mass loss of good bayonets and knowing about the weapon’s deficiencies. the OHL (Oberste Heeresleitung, Supreme Army Command) issued an order on 16 September 1917. which decreed that all sawback bayonets were to be withdrawn from service in frontline formations, to be replaced by regular bayonets. To satisfy the need for a sawing tool the so called Noris-Säge, a segmented and much more effective saw, was issued. Formations serving in rearward areas, garrison and replacement units and formations serving within the borders of the Reich continued carrying the sawback. Surplus was put into storage. Yet in a war of materiel and in the face of serious metal shortages, having a large stock of unusable bayonets was something Germany could not afford. Trials had shown that bayonets with ground-away saws could be used without disadvantage, so on 6 January 1918 order was given to grind away the saws. The bayonets treated in that manner were designated “S.Abg.” (Säge abgeschliffen – saw removed) and were again issued to frontline units. Yet this was only done with a fraction of the available weapons and most of that work was done when stock was used to equip the new Reichswehr from 1920.

THE PRESENT DAY: THE ‘PIFFLE’ CONTINUES

Even today a ‘lot of piffle’ is still being spread about the savage nature of the sawback bayonet in books and other publications, and that is probably the reason why prices collectors are willing to pay for the acquisition of a nice Sägerücken continue to soar. However, they are not as rare as militaria collector’s and dealers wants us to believe. Most saws were never ground out, and today a bayonet with the saw removed is a lot more difficult to find than one with a surviving saw. Yet the fascination radiating from a shiny, saw-toothed back of a German 98/05 bayonet and the piffle attached to them is certainly real. As such they rightfully continue to hold special places in bayonet collections all over the world.

Today…

China’s young people are ‘revenge saving’ even as Gen Zers around the world are piling up debt

PUBLISHED MON, JUL 1 2024

7:54 PM EDT

KEY POINTS

Revenge saving has become a trend on Chinese social media websites, with Chinese youth setting extreme monthly savings targets.
Savings measures also include dining at community canteens usually for the elderly, where fresh meals are sold at relatively cheap prices.
Others are finding “savings partners” on social media, forming circles that ensure members stick with their savings goals.

https://www.cnbc.com/2024/07/02/chinas-young-are-revenge-saving-even-as-other-gen-zers-pile-up-debt.html

Why is China’s rise so hard for the US to counter?

There’s a few reasons, but I’m going to highlight one particular challenge the US has: the nature of its four-year election cycle.

Why does this make it difficult for the US to counter China?

Because every time a new president comes in, (1) it takes time for the new guy and his administration to get stuck in; (2) He brings a new set of priorities and policies that might even contradict the previous administration; and (3) for the last 12-18 months of his term, the focus is on the next election (and that doesn’t even take into consideration the mid-term elections for Congress).

Rinse and repeat.

Here’s an example in terms of policy: Obama made the Trans Pacific Partnership a key plank of US policy in Asia, seeing it as a means to secure American economic and political influence in the Indo Pacific.

Trump came in and immediately pulled the plug on TPP. The impact? It cost the US in economic opportunities while raising questions among its partners about America’s leadership and commitment to the region.

Chinese policymakers don’t think in terms of 4-year election cycles. Take “Made in China 2025” (MIC2025), the goal of which was to move China away from low-end manufacturing to higher-end technology. This was formulated back in 2015. And as of this year,

…analysis confirms that more than 86 per cent of these goals have been achieved, with some others likely to be completed later this year or next.

[3]

So on the one side, you have short-term economic and geopolitical policy that is heavily influenced by internal political considerations (USA) vs an economic and industrial policy that takes a long-term macro view with specific targets and goals (China).

This is one major reason the US is having problems countering China

Japan’s First Revolutionary Human Skin Suit SHOCKED The World

It’s impressive. Imagine what it could eventually turn into.

What is the saddest truth about smart people?

“The most intelligent man in the world has lived a miserable life”

William James Sidis, the most intelligent man in history, son of Ashkenazi Jewish immigrants from Russia, born in New York on April 1st, 1898.

William was a wunderkind, with a prodigious mind and an estimated IQ of 300. He was literally a human computer and a living dictionary.

William J. Sidis never had a childhood or enjoyed being a little boy.

Imagine for a moment an 18-month old child who can unbelievably read The New York Times.
At the age of eight, he was fluently speaking French, German, Russian, Turkish, Armenian, Latin, and his native language, English.
When he was only 9 years old, he was successfully accepted into Harvard University. Let’s get a little deeper and picture this same small child at 9 years of age, inventing a brand new language called “vendergood,” studied by linguists and declared to be complete, correct, and fascinating.
At the age of twelve, he was giving his first lecture about the fourth dimension to the scientific community and the press.

Because William was so intelligent, great things were expected of him, and a bright future was waiting for him.

His parents, a famous Russian psychologist and one of the first female medical doctors of that time, had a very clear goal in mind: to raise a genius. They educated his mind and completely forgot the essential part: his heart and his feelings.

William showed a solid willingness and patience to learn, but constantly being on display for the public and for the media traumatized him, and he began to rebel against everything in his complex and artificial life.

He had severe emotional problems that he was never able to solve. They discovered his dead body in a small apartment in Boston in 1944. He was 46 years old and he died from a stroke.

“I want to live the perfect life. The only way to live the perfect life is through seclusion. I have always hated crowds.”

-William James Sidis-

Modern women have run the men off & now they wonder why they’re single!

Why does China have friends but not allies? What is the reason behind this?

China has discarded the Western notion of “allies”, which is actually “proxy nations”, and “others”. They find it simplistic and deceiving.

Instead they have adopted a matrix of relationships. Not just two dimensional, but actually three dimensional in scope.

In the West you have; Us and “them”. Where “Us” consists of the United States and it’s proxies; nations that it controls via various means to such an extent that they no longer have any real actual sovereignty.

In the Chinese model, you have three axes.

The X Axis.

You can consider this a scale of “friendliness”. The more “friendly” and supportive a nation is, the higher up on the scale it is rated. The more hostile it is, or “apparently” hostile it is, the lower it is on the X – axis.

The Y Axis

This is the actual threat level. High threat levels are given to nations that position their military in close proximity to China, engage in all sorts of hostile belligerent actions; from outright war, to sanctions, to law-fare, and all the rest. Peaceful nations get the highest ratings while bellicose and militarized nations get the lowest ratings.

The Z Axis

This axis measures the risk level. Risks being anything that upsets peaceful coexistence between the two nations. Nations that are unstable, or who are controlled by other entities are assigned low-on-the-scale risk values, while friendly and stable nations get the highest numerical values.

Combined, the values form a cube with an X, Y, and Z axis. And it visually graphs the relative value to China all other nations hold.

Needless to say, the United States has the lowest value of all nations within the cube. And it is a fantasy to think otherwise.

Why I Won’t Move To The USA – American Expat Life

What is an experience you had at a water park you’ll never forget?

My Daughter was maybe 3 and hadn’t learned to swim. The family went on a group outing to a water slide park with lots of different slides and even a kiddie pool with a slide. My wife and I didn’t plan on getting in the water. Our 9 year old son was having a blast with his friends.

The Kiddie pool wasn’t open at the time and my daughter really wanted to slide. My wife went to the life guards at the smallest slide not in the kiddie area and asked if our daughter could go down. They said, no problem. The one at the top would help her start and the one at the bottom would be in the pool to catch her. I didn’t like it but the wife said it would be OK. Off goes my wife with my daughter to the top of the hill. The start point wasn’t visible from the bottom. A couple of bigger kids came down while I waited. Everything seemed fine. Then the pool guard wandered away to talk to someone. Another bigger kid came down. I expected the life guard to turn around and get back to her job but I could see she wasn’t paying any attention.

I see my daughter coming down. the guard is still talking. I yelled to her but she was too far away. My daughter hit the pool, went under water and was looking up at me. I reached down and grabbed her arm, pulling her out.

She wasn’t going to be allowed to go down alone any more. I was elected to take her down for the rest of the day. I tightened the draw string on my shorts, (I didn’t have a swimsuit) and spent the next 2 hours on the water slides with my daughter.

Water slides are not my thing, but I do love my daughter. So I did what I needed to make her happy.

Joe Cocker Rocks! What Happens During This Performance?

Outstanding!

Vintage Adventure Art

Band of Brothers. Tank Battle Europe. Sherman + Cromwell * Tiger + (Jagdpanther || Stug)

As a surgeon, what is the most shocking thing you ever saw after opening somebody up?

I am an obstetrician and gynaecologist, mbbs,dgo, ms, posted under the government of west bengal, india. I performed one caesarean section and delivered a healthy baby of a mother in the government settings. While cleaning the abdomen, I could feel something unusual in the abdomen.I asked the lady for anything abnormal activities in the past. She revealed nothing. Observing and feeling some thing hard within the gut, I smelled something bad which is beyond my academics and long period of service experience. Which prompted me to curiosity and something serious issues and deterred me from closing the abdomen from my conscience point of view. I sent a urgent call book to my surgeon friend to come to Operation theatre immediately and he came very soon and I explained everything to him on an urgent basis. He became involved in the operation and we jointly decided to explore the gut . We opened the bowel and to our utter surprise , it is eight( 8) inches long wooden stick, which we recovered from her bowel. We closed the abdomen and recovery of the lady was uneventful and surprisingly satisfactory. On repeated questioning, she revealed that she had done one abortion by a quack about 10 years back,who performed the abortion with a long stick. I understood the matter immediately that the abortion stick had perforated her uterus and after that it perforated her bowel and went fully inside the bowel , to remain within it for such a long time without making any further complications.We recovered the stick from her bowel.The matter was published in the newspaper in the next day , as the matter in question , is really unbelievable. Since the lady didn’t give me any history, I could have closed the abdomen as such. She might have had many problems later on.On the part of the patient , everything should be disclosed to the doctor for the benefit of the patient, himself/ herself. It’s my sixth sense which saved her from future further complications. Not otherwise, it should have been informed to me by the patient which she didn’t do. Moral of the story , expect the unexpected and to be prepared for the action as and when necessary as per the demand and gravity of the situation. In every sphere of life, we have to act even with the sixth sense.Thanks.

What are the most important psychological facts that everyone should know?

1. Women like women more than men like men.

2. 65% more people believe in reincarnation now compared to 20 years ago.

3. People who laugh more have the same ability to bear more pain.

4. The more choices people are offered, the less likely it is that they will choose anything.

5. Researchers have narrowed down the human personality to five basic traits.

These traits, which are called the Big Five, are neuroticism, agreeableness, extraversion, openness to experience, and conscientiousness.

6. Millionaires who have earned their wealth are moderately happier than those who inherited it.

7. People with unfortunate initials, such as P.I.G or A.S.S have a significantly lower life expectancy.

8. Most people believe other people’s social lives are richer and more active than their own. It’s like the “grass is always greener” phenomenon.

9. Research suggests that your intuition is more likely to be correct if you are in a good mood and if the decision you are supposed to make is complicated.

10. The type of music you listen to affects the way you perceive the world. So be careful while selecting your playlist.

11. Your mind tends to make dull people sound more interesting. It rewrites the monotonous speech of boring people to make them sound more interesting.

12. People develop first impressions of you in a tenth of a second, so make sure your hair and outfit are on point, or you’ll be labeled the “crazy hair guy” forever.

Ancho Chile Rubbed Smoked Beef Brisket

From secret marinades to tricked out grills and smokers, competitive smokers know there is a near ritualistic approach to teasing the perfect flavor out of a premium cut of meat.

Prep: 1 hr | Cook: 11 to 13 hr
Yield: 4 cups Ancho Chile Smoking Spritzer

(Family Features) If the surge in barbecue and smoking competitions across the country is any indication, grilling has become an art form. This summer, gather around the grill to try a technique that’s rising in popularity – smoking – to create a masterpiece meal.

From secret marinades to tricked out grills and smokers, competitive smokers know there is a near ritualistic approach to teasing the perfect flavor out of a premium cut of meat. Smoke like a pro with these tips from Omaha Steaks Executive Chef Karl Marsh.

Start with style

Start by deciding how you’d like to prepare your meat. Smoking infuses flavor throughout the meat, while extended cook times at low temperatures make it extra tender. Smoking also lets you create unique flavors using wet and dry rubs, seasoned wood chips and planks.

Choose your cut

The most popular cuts of meat to smoke are brisket, ribs, pork shoulder or turkey, all of which are typically large. Guarantee a great experience with Omaha Steaks Brisket for smoking, which was created with the competitive barbecue and smoking circuit in mind.

Ready your rub

For best results, brush meat with cooking oil or another liquid ingredient (such as yellow mustard) before adding rub. Spread rub on a clean plate and place the meat on it. Coat both sides with rub by gently pressing the meat on the plate.

Set up the smoker

Preparation varies from one recipe to the next, but one constant is the importance of maintaining a steady temperature. As you prepare your charcoal, be conscious of where you’ll place wood chips or other flavor enhancers.

Slow and steady

Sensational flavor takes time to build, so plan to dedicate hours to your task. Check in at regular intervals to restock wood chips, flip or rotate meat and apply a fresh coat of seasoning or spices.

Find more tips and recipes perfect for a smoking summer at omahasteaks.com.

Ingredients

Brisket

1 Whole Omaha Steaks Brisket for smoking
2 cups white vinegar
2/3 cup yellow mustard
3/4 cup Omaha Steaks Ancho Chile Rub
4 cups Ancho Chile Smoking Spritzer, divided
8 cups apple or cherry wood chips, soaked in water

Ancho Chile Smoking Spritzer

2 cups apple juice
1 cup cranberry juice
1 cup canola oil
2 tablespoons red hot pepper sauce
1/2 cup Omaha Steaks Ancho Chile Rub

Instructions

Brisket

Remove brisket from bag and rinse with white vinegar then rinse with water.
Dry completely using paper towels.
Slather brisket generously with yellow mustard.
Rub generously with ancho chile rub and inject with 1 cup Ancho Chile Smoking Spritzer.
Prepare smoker using 1 chimney of pure lump charcoal fully lit and one chimney of pure lump charcoal unlit. Make sure water pan is full and adjust vents until smoker maintains a temperature between 225 and 250 degrees F.
Place brisket on smoker fat side up and brush smoking spritzer over top.
Every hour, check smoker temp, squirt with smoking spritzer and add handful of wood chips.
After 3 hours, flip brisket fat side down and squirt with spritzer.
After 6 hours, flip brisket fat side up. Wrap heavy duty foil around the last 3-4 inches of brisket tip to prevent it from drying out. Restock water pan and add lump charcoal as needed. Adjust vents until temperature is between 225 and 250 degrees F.
Beginning at 8 hours, check internal temperature every hour and apply spritzer and wood chips as needed.
Between 11 to 13 hours, when internal temperature is between 195 and 200 degrees F, if fork slides easily into brisket, it is done.
Let brisket rest for 1-2 hours before slicing and serving.

Ancho Chile Smoking Spritzer

Combine all ingredients and mix well.

Attribution

Omaha Steaks

How concerned should we be about China’s use of AI in the military, including rifle-wielding AI robot dogs?

You don’t have to worry about it at all.

In order to attack China, you have to get to China. Which means ships. China can sink everything within 1,200 miles of the Chinese coast. So you will never see a Chinese robodog with a rifle.

Constantine | John Strikes A Deal With Satan

What are some scary facts about history?

One of the nastiest ways to die in the Middle Ages was toilet related. Because in medieval times, men of power and wealth made use of primitive toilets called a garderobe. If you knew a noble lord would make stool at a specific time a day, it would allow you to target your enemy from below when he’s least expecting it…

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Various famous leaders were killed in this gruesome manner, such as English King Edmund Ironside who likely was either stabbed or shot by bow and arrow while relieving himself. It’s just particularly wicked to me… the toilet is the one place where a person should feel safe. It’s a moment of peaceful contemplation. A moment of total relaxation. I couldn’t imagine sitting down to poop and ending up impaled in the butt and dying.

There are a lot of things that scare me about history. But nothing scares me as much as being stabbed or shot in the butt and dying on the toilet. That’s just absolutely gruesome. Medieval times were incredibly unsafe times — even relieving yourself could end up in brutal murder.

Space Camp

Submitted into Contest #8 in response to: Write a story about an adventure in space. … view prompt

Stephanie Lloyd

“What time is it?“No time in space, mate”Kian rolled his eyes and turned from the cockpit to face Cassius.“I know that,” he said with exasperation. I mean on Earth. I want to see if I can get a last radio transmission out to the kids before they get to sleep. We’ll be out of range by the time they get up for school.”Kian yanked on the bar above him and floated out of his seat in the rear of the cabin. He floated forward, as though swimming, to a console between the cockpit and cabin, the electronics glowing blue and orange.“Looks like it’s 21:22.”“I don’t have long. Can you start the private comms system, I think we’re still on frequency with the ISS. I don’t think NASA and Roscosmos really want to hear another person saying goodnight to the wife and kids just because they forgot to swap bands.”“I thought they made a policy against that?”“Only if you interfere with their ground station.”“Still.”Cassius opened a drawer under the radio system and pulled out a wired headset.“Kian!”He threw the headset to Kian and it rotated in slow motion towards the cockpit. Kian plucked it from the air without taking his eyes off the black expanse before him. One white, gloved hand was still on the controls. Despite flying this route since he was 9, he was still scared of letting his attention waver, especially as they drew close to the Belt. He always thought he might miss the Beacon and they’d end up on the wrong asteroid. Or worse, just miss the whole Belt entirely.Cassius pushed himself back to the main cabin as Kian adjusted the headset to fit over his ears.“God, this spacesuit sucks.”“I know. When you were asleep I finally got to talk to Haley, and five minutes in my head was hurting.”“I wish they kept the old collar. Why did they even change it?”“Policy, probably. Everything is policy. But hurry and say goodnight, you’ll miss them.” He floated himself back to the cabin, and picked up a book, adjusting the suit skin around his ankles. He regretted not getting the new one tailored. It was going to be awful in the boots.In the cockpit, Kian adjusted the headset to help take the weight off the collar one last time.“Hey, Miranda, you there?”“Kian! I was getting concerned, the kids have been waiting.”There was a rustle in the background and the voices of three young kids all erupting at once came through, so loud it became static.“Hi dad!”“Hi, you all being nice to your mom.”A unison of yesses followed.

“What’s space like?” asked one of them.

“It’s great, but how about we save the stories for when I get back?”

There was a second unison of yesses. Kian smiled to himself.

“Alright, well get some sleep. I love you all.”

“Love you too, dad!”

“I love you Kian. Be safe.”

“Always. Talk to you in a week. I’ll send radio signals out to let you know how things are going. And make sure you tell Leda to study for her calculus exam.”

“I know. See you in a week.” Miranda replied warmly.

The radio transmission ended. They passed Mars.

“Are you and Haley going to start a family?” Kian asked. It was, undoubtedly, the most fulfilling part of his life.

“I want to, but Haley says we aren’t ready. She wants to wait for another few years.” There was some doubt in his voice.

“Truthfully, I don’t think she ever wants kids. Just wish she’d have told me before we got married. I just wish she’d tell me at all.”

Silence filled the cabin, except for the periodic systems check beeps. It would seem unbearable to have the constant noise on Earth, but with only two travelling in the massive void of space, there would be an eerie, intolerable silence . without them.

“We’re getting close. Anxious yet?” Cassius asked Kian.

Kian was always anxious being so far from home. He’d not yet recovered from nearly losing Maia on the Moon a month ago, and was questioning ever bringing his girls on a trip again.

He shook his head at the memory. Him and Miranda were so close to letting her wander out the space lock. It took not even ten seconds of her being out of their sight. Earth was far safer. But then again he was a year younger than Maia when him and his grandfather had come to Ceres the first time. And with far worse equipment. No wonder his mother thought her dad was psychotic.

As they approached the Asteroid Belt, Kian watched for the Beacon. It was an orbit leaping spacecraft that kept its position relative to Ceres so travelers would know when to engage the thrusters to divert from the straightaway to Jupiter.

Finally, in the distance, he saw it. He flipped on a series of switches in the cockpit overhead. The empty co-pilot seat now needed to be occupied.

“Cassius!” Kian called back.

“It’s time already?” asked Cassius, who was staring out the window facing back towards Earth.

“It’s time.”

Cassius smiled, took his spot next to Kian, and they started the auto-calculations for the thruster angles. A scramble of quaternions ran down the configuration screen in front of them, the GPS and antenna information calculated their exact position in space.

“I can’t believe your grandfather got you here without auto-nav.”

“Not like there wasn’t the technology. He just liked proving to everyone he was smart.”

Kian didn’t like admitting he was impressed, so he looked to Cassius for a brief moment, a smirk on his face, one eyebrow up, mocking his grandfather.

“You kids, don’t even know how to make the software that lets you camp, and you call it rugged.”

Cassius laughed as the trajectory was locked in, and the thrusters aligned themselves.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

Kian counted down, each of their hands on a golden key in front of them.

“Three. Two. One.”

They turned their keys at the same moment, and the thrusters engaged. It was the worst part of the trip. Kian always vomited. At least he knew and kept a receptacle on hand. It didn’t stop Cassius from mocking him for it every time.

When they slowed and Ceres was in sight, and the two felt the nausea fade, Cassius turned to Kian, quite serious.

“If this were two hundred years ago and you had to do that with a helmet on, you’d be screwed, mate.”

“Well yeah. Lucky this isn’t 200 years ago, and I don’t need a helmet, or to know how to write the flight software. Although, I suppose we should start suiting up. Don’t want to land without gear.”

“You or me first?”

“I’ll get ready first. Keep an eye on the controls. Last time we lost auto-pilot and I had to get us to the surface without it.”

“Don’t remind me.” Cassius said, clearly disturbed.

Kian unbuckled from the seat and used the armrests to push himself up out of the chair, careful to keep his feet from knocking the steering, or his head from touching the command module.

“You want a snack?”

“I just watched you vomit. I’m good.”

Kian reached the intermediary of the ship, and stowed the headset. Behind his ears was killing him. The collar was made of metal, like a woman’s choker. Or one of those ancient Egyptian mummies. He liked his neck the length it was. He cursed the Global Agency for Astronautics. He wished they’d let them leave Earth with their old skin suits.

He adjusted the clinging fabric as best he could, and realigned the belt around his waist. He opened a drawer in the console and removed his space suit. It was bulky, and weighed 170 pounds on Earth, without the helmet. Although, the pressure regulator did seem to take the weight off once it was operational.

He slid into the suit as if it were one-piece pajamas and interlocked it with the skin suit at the collar and belt. The leg and arm openings were metal rings which interlocked with the gloves and boots. He stepped into the boots and leaned over to twist the rings tight. Then the gloves. It was always the hardest part. He had no trouble with the first one, but his hands lost so much mobility from the gloves it was difficult to click the second one into place.

He opened a cabinet and saw his reflection staring back at him in the lens of his helmet. It was disproportional, like a man in a sumo suit. His blonde hair was already growing back, having been buzzed for the trip.

“You almost done?” shouted Cassius

“Yeah, just the helmet left.”

He took the helmet from the cabinet, careful to only touch the back half that didn’t have the lens, and placed it over his head, securing it with the same twist lock. He took a deep breath and rotated the heavy ring. The whole inside of the suit isolated, he could finally turn on all the regulators, and air valves. The suit inflated slightly, and he pulled out his oxygen tanks from a final drawer, guiding them towards the space lock for use once they landed.

“Your turn.” He said to Cassius, sitting back in the primary pilot seat. Ceres was only thirty minutes away. He stared intently out the window as the thrusters disengaged and they caught the dwarf’s orbit.

“I set the coordinates to get us to Rao, but I think we’re going to end up closer to Kokopelli,” he said.

“Well that’s okay, we haven’t stayed there yet. Remember last time we wished we’d gone a couple more degrees north.” Cassius replied, his voice getting slightly muffled with the helmet.

Kian nodded, turning on his helmet’s local radio.

“Is this too loud?” he asked Cassius.

It came over as barely more than white noise on Cassius’s helmet.

“Too quiet, actually.”

Kian adjusted the settings.

“HOW ABOUT NOW?”

“No! No. Too much. Definitely too much” Cassius, instinctively reached to cover his ears despite them being trapped by the helmet.

Kian made the final adjustments.

“You ready? Let’s land this thing.”

Cassius rejoined Kian.

“You know the drill. Once the command module says we’re orthogonal with the ground, launch the landing sequence.”

They stretched to reach a different duo of keys. The command module beeped with a blue light, and they turned them in unison.

The spacecraft started its descent directly downwards until they were just hovering over the surface. And then they were grounded. They stared out at the crater expanding before them, a couple other spacecraft landed along its rim, and finally let their excitement show.

“Hell yeah. Let’s get out there.”

Kian and Cassius gathered backpacks of items, fixed one another’s oxygen tanks to their backs, and clicked the space lock button. Inside the vestibule, they engaged the air circulation in their suits, making sure they could breathe, and then waited for the chamber to depressurize. The door opened in front of them. In the opposite direction Jupiter hung low in the sky, rising like the Moon.

“Did you remember the camera, Cass?”

“Obviously.”

They walked a few paces from the ship and laid down their gear, pitching their dome. They’d only sleep in it a night out of the three there were here because of oxygen limits, but Kian was more interested in the larger domes that were further along the rim of the crater.

“While this inflates, let’s go check out the other domes. I want to see how they’ve kept their plants alive.”

“I thought you said you didn’t bring any this time? Remember, yours kept dying?”

Kian glanced at Cassius with a mischievous grin on his face.

“There’s no harm in trying, Cass.”

“You took space up for plants? Again?”

“Relax, I only brought a few. I figure one of the permanent botanists can watch them after we leave. And the dome has better UV protection than last time. It should filter out some of the radiation that was burning the leaves off the oaks.”

“I thought you said we were going to explore, not experiment.”

“There’s nothing to explore. Just some rocky land and craters you don’t want to fall into.”

“We could try to find an entrance to the mantle. I really want to be the person to finally prove the existence of the underground ocean.” Cassius sounded as if he were begging.

Kian gawked.

“You’re really comparing getting lost underground to me bringing a few foot-tall trees? I thought we were just going to look at the stars and take pictures. Maybe see if we could catch Earth on the telescope. Not get ourselves killed.”

“We won’t get ourselves killed. Besides, you have to admit that sitting around for three days is going to be painfully boring.”

Kian groaned. He did want to find the underwater cavern. Him and his grandfather spent a week every summer looking for it. But the only entrance to the sublayers of Ceres were in cryovolcanoes. It was way beyond the threshold of their suit ranges. Their blood would freeze.

Cassius knew all of this. Kian had reminded him on a number of occasions and Cassius knew it was a losing battle.

“I suppose we could figure out how to plant your stupid trees,” Cassius said, rolling his eyes.

“I figure,” Kian said as they started leaping towards the larger domes, lazy as can be to preserve oxygen, “if I can get the trees to live, we could get some pretty good terraforming plots going. With enough oxygen and permanence here, maybe we actually could find your underwater ocean.”

“Don’t pretend like you don’t have a nursery at home with another hundred experiments with your plants, Kian. Don’t pretend like you’re doing this for me.”

“I’m a bioengineer, what do you expect? Anyways, I want to find the caverns too. Just, I don’t want to be so rash about it. No one else comes here. We’re not racing to explore. Or, just bring a drone next time.”

They reached the first dome. It was greener than Kian had expected. They approached the space lock and a woman tending to a small patch of grass near the inner door, looked up. She grinned, wide-mouthed, and stood, rubbing the grey dust from her gloves. Sunglasses blocked the radiation, but Cassius was certain they weren’t protecting her vision the way she needed them to, even with the dome shielding.

She looked as if she were tending a regular garden on Earth. He saw her face, and regret immediately filling him with a sick feeling, fell in love.

She opened the space lock and waited as they stepped inside and the vestibule re-pressurized. Before opening the main lock, she asked their identities.

“You two look familiar.”

“Yeah, it’s Kian. I pestered you last year about your growing methods.”

A look of recognition spread across her face.

“Ohhh, I remember you. But not him. You were with someone different, no?”

“Another of my friends.”

Her voice sounded like honey. She welcomed the two of them into the dome. They turned the oxygen feed off and let natural air fill their suits. It was thin certainly, but the dome was beautiful. Somehow, in the middle of the void of space, this little dwarf was green and livable.

“I have all your basic crops growing pretty well now,” said the woman. “Grain, lettuce, even grapes. I’m working on grass to increase the oxygen levels, but it takes a lot of water. Hard to get it to grow without taking trips to the ice caps often. I worry for when they melt in the solar maximum that is upcoming.”

“You do all this by yourself?” asked Cassius, fishing. He felt as though he were betraying Haley, but he knew Haley didn’t love him the way he wished she would.

“No.”

Cassius felt instant disappointment. It was odd he was so attached to her and yet he’d only met her. He thought he wanted to return to Earth but it didn’t stop him from staring at her, at the blue of her eyes, enamored. He reasoned he could get to know her for a few days, convince her to return to Earth with him. It was, of course, entirely unreasonable.

But the dome was beautiful. And did he really want to return to such an unsatisfying life? Kian had a family. What did he have but a crappy job and wife who didn’t love him.

“Do you need any help?” he asked.

“My sister helps. Though it’s a lot.”

“Just you two?”

“Yeah.”

“Care to make it three?”

The woman looked at him like he was crazy.

“Trust me, you don’t want to stay here.”

Kian looked at him like he was even more crazy.

“You know it takes two to pilot the ship right?”

“Well, then I shall return next trip, and when I do, I shall stay.”

The woman smiled.

“We’ll see.”

Three months later, Kian, Cassius, and another friend returned to Ceres. Cassius had resolved to live there permanently. He had divorced Haley. He was, for the first time in years, optimistic.

When they landed near Kokopelli, Kian knew something was wrong. The domes looked different. Cassius, who had dreamt of returning Daria since they left, was the first to run aimlessly to the dome when they landed. Kian and Auden didn’t need to run. They knew what had happened. What had so often happened to those who tried to terraform.

They reached the dome. It wasn’t green or lush. The crops were withered. The air lock was wide open. Daria’s body was huddled next to her sister’s, on the ground and motionless near the entrance of the sub-dome where they slept. The polar caps had melted and vanished. The two girls were dead.

Expat life: American things that don’t make sense

Chile Chicken with Basil and Coconut Cream

This is one of my favorites! Easy and great for dinner parties. Always a hit!

Yield: 4 servings

Ingredients

2 pounds chicken breast fillets
2 tablespoons oil
1 onion, finely chopped
2 tablespoons finely chopped small fresh red chiles
1 cup shredded fresh basil
2 tablespoons fish sauce
1 teaspoon chopped fresh coriander
1 1/2 teaspoons granulated sugar
1 cup coconut cream

Instructions

Remove excess fat from chicken, cut chicken into 1cm (half inch) strips.
Heat oil in wok, add onions and chiles, stir fry until onion is soft.
Add chicken, stir fry until chicken is tender. Add basil, sauce, coriander and sugar, stir fry for 1 minute.
Add coconut cream, stir mixture until heated through.

Notes

Best made before serving. Freeze: Not suitable.

I serve this dish with fluffy Basmati rice and a light lettuce salad.

Jack Meets The Tet (End Scene) | Oblivion

More Heart Pain – Going Home to NJ to see Cardiologist today

Hal Turner World July 01, 2024

As I write it is 6:17 AM EDT on Monday, July 1, 2024 here in Pennsylvania. I have more heart pain. I’m heading home to NJ to head to my Cardiologist. I think I’ve got another blockage.

You may be aware that back on April of the year 2019, I suffered a Myocardial Infarction heart attack. I was in my car on a Saturday morning, driving to the local supermarket in North Bergen, NJ when I suddenly felt this “pressure” in the center of my chest. It didn’t hurt, it felt like someone was kneeling on my chest. I remember thinking, This is odd, and kept driving.

A few blocks later, I started getting this awful pain in my lower jaw. Really hurt! And I started to sweat. Not some gentle little glistening sweat, I mean a full blown FLOP SWEAT. The sweat was POURING out of me.

I thought to myself, pressure in my chest, pain in my jaw, now severe sweating, these are all signs of a heart attack. I denied it and kept driving.

When I got to the supermarket and tried to turn the car into the parking space, it felt as though the muscles in my arms had been hollowed out. No strength at all.

I managed to turn into the space and park.

I opened the car window to get some air and thought I’d just rest a minute and maybe I would feel better. After a minute or so, I went to get out of the car to go shopping, and my legs felt as hollowed out as my arm did. I almost fell flat on my butt.

I got back in the car and said to myself, that’s it, I’m not going shopping, I’m going home. At that moment, I started to feel like I was going to pass out. And I knew, “If I pass out, I’m gonna die right here.” So I called 911.

The police and an ambulance came – fast! They took me to Christ Hospital in Jersey City where I was admitted.

The next day was Easter Sunday, and laying in the hospital bed doing nothing . . . . the whole shit show started all over again. Pressure in the chest, pain the jaw. Sweating.

Docs came, put me on IV nitroglycerin and told me: “There’s something wrong with your heart. We’re trying to prevent it from killing you before we can get in there tomorrow morning and find out what’s going on.

6:00 AM the next morning, into a Cardiac catheterization lab I go. They insert a camera into my wrist artery, then fish it to my heart. There was big imaging machine above my chest taking images as they did what they did. Didn’t hurt at all.

After about ten minutes, the Doc comes back and says, Mr. Turner, you have three, possibly four, severely clogged heart arteries. Normally in a situation like this, we insert stents. But your clogs are not small and round, yours run the entire length of your coronary arteries. You need open heart surgery, and we don’t do that here.

So I told him my regular Doctor is Harvey Gross in Englewood. He has privileges at Englewood Hospital, do they do open heart surgery there? He told me he would call and ask and be right back.

A few minutes later he came back. Yes, they do open heart surgery at Englewood, yes, they take your insurance and yes, they have a bed available, we’ve called an ambulance to transport you up there right now.

So up I go.

We get to Englewood, they do all the tests all over again; they weren’t taking anyone’s word for it.

In anticipation of giving me stents, Christ Hospital gave me a load dose of a medicine called Plavix. It stops the blood from clotting. But they couldn’t put the stents and I had to go to Englewood.

Well, Plavix is great for stents, but terrible for open heart surgery. They need me to clot when they cut my chest open.

It took five days for the Plavix to clear out enough where I could undergo surgery. They took me in Friday morning. Long story short, I got quadruple bypasses. FOUR arteries were 90-95% clogged.

It took about 6 months for the sternum to heal after they cut it open, but I got along fine.

Fast-Forward 17 months after the surgery . . . . down I go again!

Another myocardial infarction heart attack. Turned out that two of the four bypasses, CLOGGED WITH BLOOD CLOTS. I was right back into a life threatening situation. And __this__ heart attack . . . . . . was WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY worse than the first.

The ended up putting a stent in. I went into heart failure in the cardiac catheterization lab, but came out of that. That was October 2020.

In January 2023, I started getting the twinges of pain that I recalled preceded my first heart attack, so up to the Doc I went. He said, given my history, it is best they go in and look again. I agreed. They found more clogs. Inserted another stent in my left, anterior, descending artery.

Which brings me to this past Saturday afternoon, around 12:45 PM. I’m sitting at my desk up here in Pennsylvania and wham, the same pain that happened at the first heart attack, started again. Then the jaw pain. I thought “Oh shit, it’s happening again.” And then . . . . it all just stopped. No pain. No pressure. No sweating.

Uh oh. I think this is a sign I’ve got more trouble brewing.

I wanted to drive home to NJ but my truck has 22 solar panels in the bed and I want them up here. But unloading them (1400 lbs) would be physical labor that may not have been wise given my situation. So I planned to get some neighbors to help unload the solar panels on Sunday. That didn’t work out. So I’m hiring a couple guys today.

I’ve got very mild pressure in the center of my chest. No pain, no sweating, so if there’s something going on inside, it is not a full blown M.I. but that nagging, mild pressure in my chest tells me I’m close to going full blockage.

The plan is to unload the solar panels, lock up the house and head out to NJ to my cardiologist. I’m pretty certain he’s going to want to go back in with a cardiac catheter again. In fact, I’m going to request exactly that. I KNOW something is wrong and it has to be addressed – today. This would mean I won’t be on the air tonight.

If, by chance I waited too long, or this thing hits while I’m doing my stuff this morning, or while I’m driving home – and I die – my son Michael will let you know.

I just want to let all of you know how much I appreciated you being part of my radio show. It has been a pleasure and an honor for me – even if sometimes I brought down lightning strikes with some of the opinions I aired.

You folks have been very kind to me and while I completely intend to keep broadcasting, God may have other plans. I’ll keep you posted.

Just a heads-up.

Prometheus | Destroy the Ship

In the battlefield, how safe are snipers? Do snipers have the highest chance of survival since they are so far away?

Rule #1 of combat. If the enemy is in range, so are you.

A sniper, if they are set up really well and don’t shoot too often, can go a long time without being found. But once they are found, then they die.

There was a situation once where a particularly well concealed sniper was shooting at American troops in Iraq. He may not have always killed his intended victim, but it was, to say the least, disconcerting for the troops in his area.

In an effort to rid themselves of this pest, the Army sent out various sniper teams to try and locate this guy. They were out for a LONG time and shot after shot was made by the sniper, but he was still impossible to find.

Then one counter-sniper saw a brick in a wall move. A single brick moved, then a shot was heard, then the brick was put back in place.

They had found him.

A sniper was sent to a position that would allow them to shoot into the hole the sniper was making when he moved that brick. A few minutes later, the brick moved, the counter-sniper shot, and the enemy sniper was dead.

His big mistake was thinking that nobody would ever see that one brick moving. So he stayed in one place and died because he was too lazy to find a new hide.

Did China just pass quasi-laws which can theoretically sentence anyone (especially the Taiwanese people) who publish or support the opinions of Taiwanese independence to death penalty?

Study the laws carefully with proper Chinese translation

(Rough Translation)

There are four levels of Punishment :-

Level 1 – Any person who publishes material through a blog or electronic post advocating for Taiwanese Secession from the Mainland shall be

If younger than 18 years of age, be placed under RESTRICTIVE SURVEILLANCE until such time as the Investigator sees fit or until the person commits activities that are deemed secessionist under the security act

If older than 18 years of age or 18 years of age, shall be placed under ACTIVE SECURITY INVESTIGATION and subject to security report may be WARNED or placed under DIGITAL BLACKLIST or maybe charged with Secessionist activity under the security act

So here if you merely post you want Taiwanese Independence – you will either be monitored by the authorities and won’t get a Civil Service Job or a Foreign Scholarship or a Passport for maybe a decade or two

Or if you are an Adult – you get a warning or get placed on a Digital Blacklist meaning No access to Weibo or other Social Media Apps

Unless it is revealed you are funded by NGOs or other groups in which case you get charged with Secession and could face severe sentences

No Jail in either case

Level 2 – Any Person who belongs to or supports an Organization that advocates Taiwanese Secession under Lists I-IX or who has received a sum of not less than 60,000 RMB in a single year or 200,000 RMB over a longer period from such an organization without discernible services provided shall

Be sentenced to an Imprisonment of not less than 5 years which can extend upto 15 years

However any Person who has joined or expressed such support only over a period of less than 3 months shall receive a PUBLIC WARNING and if in compliance shall not be proceeded with beyond RESTRICTIVE SURVEILLANCE

This means if a Mainlander joins a Pro Taiwanese Organization like a foolish student,he shall get a WARNING and if he complies and backs out – he is not touched beyond the usual Restrictive Surveillance. He of course will never work for Civil Service or Get a Passport for life

Level 3 – Any Person who forms an organization within the Mainland that calls Support for Taiwanese Secession and either collects funds for the same or advocates policy and speech that is in favor of Taiwanese Secession shall

Be Sentenced to Death with no avenue of commutation to Life Imprisonment
All members of the HUKOU records of the Person shall automatically be under ACTIVE SECURITY INVESTIGATION and shall be placed under RESTRICTIVE SURVEILLANCE and Digital Blacklist and any members of the Party shall be expelled from Party Membership subject to Committee Enquiry under VII Rules
Any members of the HUKOU records of such a person shall if overseas be recalled immediately and after a recall notice period of 60 days shall be categorized under Level III Security Act

This is the changed law. The new law where if anyone forms an organization that calls for Taiwanese Secession and collects funds or makes speeches in favor of Taiwan. THEY WILL BE EXECUTED WITHOUT MERCY OR COMMUTATION TO LIFE

Their family members will be investigated and if members of the CPC may be expelled or if overseas shall be recalled and if they don’t come within 60 days- they will be deemed security threats and can even be KILLED ON FOREIGN SOIL

This is the New change in the law. Earlier it was 25 Years to Life with NO DEATH PENALTY

Level 4 – Any Person who is accomplice to or instigator of an Act of Physical Violence or Terrorism on the Mainland or Mainland Sovereign Territory in any Country that causes at least 500,000 RMB of Damage or a loss of one or more lives shall be

Sentenced to Death with Commutation possible only for persons who can prove lack of knowledge of the activities and who had no further role
All members of the HUKOU records of the Person shall automatically be subjected to the NATIONAL RELOCATION ACT and SECURITY DETENTION ACT
Any members of the HUKOU records of such a person shall if overseas be recalled immediately and after a recall notice period of 7 days shall be categorized under Level III Security Act

Any Separatist who causes Violence in China or Embassies that cause 500K of physical damage or loss of even one person shall be executed without mercy

This Law is so tough that IF YOU ARE A LANDLORD WHO RENTED A HOUSE TO SUCH PEOPLE – YOU WILL GET LIFE IMPRISONMENT WITHOUT MERCY

Families of such persons shall be deported to labor camps and kept there for life including Children

Both Parents or All Guardians will face the same sentence if their Kids younger than 18 are charged and convicted under this act

So if a 17 year old kid blows up a Molotov cocktail killing someone, the Parents will be executed under the New Law unless they inform on their kid leading to a conviction of the Kid in which case they get fully exonerated by the State

So the only new change is that now anyone who forms an organization to support Taiwanese Independence shall be executed without mercy and their families shall be prevented from doing a lot of things

Their Kids can never go abroad
Their families can never live within 300 Kms of any place with Security facilities
Their families can never get a Passport
Their families can never work for the Government of China
Their families can never work for a Strategic Industry in any capacity
Their families can never join the PLA or PLAAF or PLAN

Families include – Parents, Children, Wife, Consort, Divorced Wife is Divorce is less than 5 years old, Siblings, Wives of Siblings, Children of Siblings, Grandchildren, Great Grandchildren

So if one guy does it – upto 40–50 people can suffer for no fault of their own

Now here is something the West didn’t tell you

The Law also excludes people:-

Exclusion:-

The Security Law shall NOT regard the following persons as culpable under it and shall deem them law abiding. This includes :-

Any person who reports possible secessionist activities of any family member under the Hukou system
Any Person who has relatives in Taiwan and declares the same
Merely because a person has visited Chinese Taipei does not put a person under the purview of the Act unless such person visited Taipei in contravention of existing emigration procedures
No person who merely posts secessionist content on behalf of another person and can establish the same, be charged under this act
Merely indicating support for DPP in Taiwan or for Leaders of the DPP is insufficient to be charged under this Act

So you can call William Lai a Hero and nothing will happen to you

So only three areas are DRACONIAN

First is that family members also suffer for no fault of their own , something that was removed off statuette since the death of Mao Tse Tung and reintroduced in 2009 for Xinjiang only

Second – Kids can inform on their parents and Parents must inform on their Kids to avoid being charged. So a son who sees his father work for Taiwan must report him and watch him be executed to survive and so must a father

Three – Execution is the only course now. No commutation to life. You get convicted, you die

This wasn’t the case previously

So while the new laws are draconian to a good extent – they allow a lot of leeway unlike India

In India someone saying Pakistan Zindabad can be charged with UAPA

In China now clearly – just because you hail DPP or William Lai won’t make you culpable at all. You will not even be touched.

Biden debate debacle

Yeah. It was awful.

Shorpy

As a doctor, what is it like when you have to see a doctor?

I hate it.

I hate having to make an appointment. I hate filling out those stupid review of systems files that the doctor never seems to have bothered looking at by the time I get to talk to them. I hate that the doctor is always late, but that the staff will give me shit about it if I’m late. I hate having to ask someone else to write me a prescription for something I already know I need. And, most of all, I hate being lectured about what I need to do for my health.

Go away! Shut up. I already know this stuff. LEAVE ME ALONE! I’m a freakin’ doctor, too, dammit.

That’s a polite rendition of my inner monologue when a doctor tells me what I need to do. So, most of the time, I avoid going to the doctor’s office. If I know I want something, I write myself a prescription—yes, you can do that, as long as it’s not a controlled substance. If it doesn’t take care of my problem, then and only then will I seek medical care.

I’m young enough that I can get away with it, because I don’t yet have serious medical issues. For now, there are very specific circumstances under which I will go see a doctor:

I need to see a specialist for a problem well above my pay grade.
I know that some test needs to be ordered. I can’t order a hip X-ray or lab test for myself, for instance.

Even then, if I can get away with it, I’ll go to the Urgent Care center, because I hate making appointments.

“If you treat yourself as a doctor, you’ll have an idiot for a patient.”

I’ve heard variations of these over the years. Fine, I’m an idiot, then. I don’t care. I’ll be damned if I’ll go see a doctor unless I absolutely have to.

Don’t try this at home, kids.

I Dumped My Girlfriend And Ended Her Best Friend’s “Perfect” Open Marriage, Now EVERYONE Blames Me

Has a doctor ever misdiagnosed you to the point where it was almost bizarre?

Yes. When having sepsis, the initial diagnosis by the ER doctor who didn’t even bother to look at me was “ your depression acting up”. Never mind my high fever, renal colic pain and failure, my inability to breathe, vomiting and repeated fainting, it must be all in my head! Fortunately my blood results changed his mind.

Blood tests were ordered after I did some yelling on the topic of me going to another hospital( which was quite near) and then coming back to kick his a**.

Very recently my elderly mom has suffered from lower back pain for 2 months straight. No meds helped, she frequently vomited, could hardly walk and couldn’t sleep because of the pain. She was ordered basically every test known, going through gastroenterology ( yeah, she has post inflammatory narrowed esophagus), urology/nephrology, orthopedia. Urine tested, blood tested. She was told she was fine, nothing was wrong. Until a CAT scan was performed. Showed 3 fractured vertebraes caused by foreign mass.

After giving birth , I cried through the night because of a terrible pain. Was told by the nurse on duty that “ G, you have birth vaginally, we only give pain meds to women recovering from C-section, it can’t hurt you”. Had multitude of stitches( forgot to count after an hour of them sewing me back together) due to 4th degree tear and an F broken coccyx! I couldn’t sit, walk or lay down without that pain for 4 months. But I guess it was just me being too sensitive.

Since we’re both women, we have plenty of those experience. Let’s group them under medical misogyny aka “you’re a woman, you’re overreacting”.

Ps. Let me not start on how many times I was asked if I was sure it wasn’t just a period pain. I think it was actually the first 2 years of me having recurrent kidney stones causing renal colics when my then ahole GP refused to order an ultrasound “ because I was too young to have kidney stones”.

PS 2. The most ridiculous situation actually happened when my molars rot and caused a massive infection during the last trimester of my pregnancy. At first, I went to a doctor with what seemed as a heart attack. He then moved on to whether I was having a stroke, trigeminal nerve inflammation to finally getting to “ F teeth why didn’t I think of that?”. To give him some credit, my pulse was sky high and I felt sharp pain in my jaw and neck. Teeth wouldn’t be the first guess.

This cat was called ‘mean.’ Then he met my husband.

What was it that your partner told you that gave you chills?

My second husband was in the hospital, dying from cancer. The day before he died, I took him down stairs to smoke a cigarette. As we were sitting outside, he looked around and said, “Honey, don’t look, they’re watching me.” When I asked him what he was talking about, he said “the shadow people. They’re over there, in the woods.” I turned to look and he said “no, don’t look, they’ll get you too. I think they’re here for me” That comment sent shivers down my spine. I said “no, sweetheart, there’s no one here for you” I thought he was hallucinating because of the pain meds. He said “shut up, I have to tell you some things.” He proceeded to tell me how my life would go after he was gone. He told me that I would get remarried and that he would tell me WHOM I was going to marry. He told me I would have more children.

Now, at this point in my life I had been told that I couldn’t have any more children. I told him he was crazy and that I thought we needed to get him back up to his room.

I got him back up to his room got him in his bed and he went back to sleep. He passed away in his sleep 6 hours later.

Oh, and the things he said would happen….

They happened!

Have you ever witnessed a life ruined from a small mistake?

I worked with a man whose life fell apart quite dramatically over a few weeks.

He was a nice guy and I really liked him. His name was Ivor and I feel terrible about what happened to him.

He and his wife were drinking together one evening, and they started arguing. So he went to sleep in his car. A few hours later, the police knocked on his window and woke him up. Although he had not been driving, the keys were in the ignition and he had been sleeping in the driver’s seat. They breathalised him and he was still very drunk.

As they now had him for drunk driving, they had the right to search his car. In the car they found a cosh that he kept for protection. I doubt he would ever use it. But, unfortunately, they are illegal and he was now in trouble for carrying an offensive weapon.

His wife was angry at him so wouldn’t let him come home, so he had to sleep on a friend’s sofa. By the way, Ivor was not a young man, he was in his early sixties. Due to his stress, he carried on drinking. He started missing a lot of work. Which was bad. What was worse is that one day, he DID turn up to work, but very drunk. He worked for about thirty minutes, until his managers called him in the office, and after a heated argument, he was fired.

So we never saw Ivor again. This whole thing played out over about three weeks. So in three weeks, Ivor lost his wife, driver’s license, job, and got a criminal record. In his sixties.

Ivor was a good guy and he used to have foreign students stay at his house. Just before he got fired he had Japanese students, and would bring Japanese food in for us to try. I often wonder what the Japanese people staying at his house made of his meltdown.

Brutal Signs of a Collapsing Empire | Richard D. Wolff

Barbecued Brisket

Ingredients

Brisket

1 flat brisket

Dry Rub

2 tablespoons salt
2 tablespoons chili powder
2 tablespoons meat tenderizer
1 tablespoon pepper
1/2 tablespoon garlic powder

Mop Sauce

1 (10 1/2 ounce) can beef consommé
1 can water
1/3 cup vinegar
3/4 cup Worcestershire sauce
1/3 cup vegetable oil
1 1/2 teaspoons meat tenderizer
1 1/2 teaspoons dry mustard
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1 teaspoon chili powder
1/2 teaspoon paprika
1 bay leaf

Barbecue Sauce

1 1/2 cups Worcestershire sauce
1/4 cup vinegar
1/4 cup steak sauce
1/4 cup granulated sugar
1 cup ketchup

Instructions

Brisket

Trim any excess fat from 1 flat brisket. Rub both sides of brisket thoroughly with Dry Rub. Cover and refrigerate overnight.
The next day prepare a grill so that it will smoke slowly for about 6 hours or about 1 hour per pound. Start brisket on grill with the fattest side up. Cover grill. Mop with Mop Sauce frequently during grilling. Turn brisket about every hour.
Serve with warm Barbecue Sauce.

Dry Rub

Mix all ingredients in small bowl.

Mop Sauce

Bring beef consommé and water to boil in medium-size saucepan. Turn down heat. Add remaining ingredients. Stir until thoroughly mixed. Remove from heat.

Barbecue Sauce

Place all ingredients in small saucepan. Bring to boil. Remove from heat.

What would happen if I threw a rock at a wild polar bear?

Throwin rocks at a wild Polar Bear ?

Short answer – No. Long answer – HELL NO.

Even if you had a 9mm pistol (let’s say a glock)

And you were facing a polar bear and you were lucky enough to let off some rounds. Guess what ? Be prepared to make peace with whatever deity you follow and learn from the lesson and do better in the next life.

The Bear will look at you and think……. “that looks tasty …nom nom”

Most animals will back off at the sound of gunshot.

Not Polar Bears

Even if you hit them they’ll carry on charging and will get to you.

The only way to stop it was if you were very, very, very lucky and got the bullet through their eye into their brain, maybe.

But areas of instant kill with a bear charging towards you on all fours is about size of teaplate. Can you hit that repeatedly under stress ? You really do not have much time for mistakes.

Their skull is harder and thicker than a motorcycle helmet. They kill seals just by slapping them. Trying to alpha posture by standing tall and making yourself look bigger will accomplish nothing.

“I’d hide behind a rock!”

You die behind that rock.

“I’d jump into a river!”

You die wet and cold.

“I’d stand my ground and yell at the bear to frighten it”

You die faster.

There are around three thousand polar bears on the Svalbard islands; that’s more polar bears than there are humans and they are protected by Svalbard law. So they have not built up a fear of humans.

Not every animal wants to hug a human.

Until humans with BIG rifles (22 calibre ……….actually more like .444 marlin) came along, nothing hunted polar bears. Nothing. There is no scaring it off. Just look at them

Polar bears will eat each other if they’re desperate enough. So what do you think they’ll do to you ?

They’re also dangerous because they’re skilled apex predators (meaning they have no natural predators of their own) Which means, cute as they may be, the polar bear is quite functionally the great white shark of the north.

They don’t hibernate.
They never get cold.
Food is scarce.
They’re always (I repeat) ALWAYS hungry.

The bottom line is if you’re a human being on open ice in the Artic Tundra with no serious firearm or vehicle and you run into this pic below ?

You have two chances of surviving

Slim
None

And slim just left town

You know the striking thing about a Polar Bear when u see them in the flesh, my friend ?

They’ve got lifeless eyes. Black eyes. Like a doll’s eyes.

When they come at ya, it doesn’t seem to be livin…….until they bite ya and at that point you’re not on earth anymore and the Polar bear is the last thing you’ll ever see.

And bears are omnivores (meat and plant eaters) which means unlike carnivores like tigers and lions who have the polite decency to kill you as quick as possible first then eat you.

Polar bears will just hold you down, pin you to the ground like you’re a seal or salmon and eat you while you’re alive and screaming.

They have a bite force of 1,000 psi (Pounds Per Square Inch) that’s a force strong enough to crack a bowling ball and they’ll use that to disable you, to rip off your arm or leg for a snack, you can’t even imagine the kinda force they can generate.

To a Polar Bear an average-sized human is just right for a comfortable dinner with a glass of port and a good cigar afterwards.

You dunno what you’re dealing with.

And they’re trying to get access to your organs to chew them apart, then if there’s anything left of you, put you in stash, n come back a bit later n eat some more of you.

Just a brutal way to go.

They can run at speeds of 25 mph, If that doesn’t impress you, the fastest man alive who was Usain Bolt his maximum top speed was 27 mph and they can smell you for miles (even if your under snow) and swim for 100’s of miles

And they’re smart to. Polar bear on thin ice ? No problem they know they have to spread their weight around so it’s not concentrated in one spot so as to not crack the ice.

Humans in movies : Aggressively steps on ice

There are only three things up in the Arctic: Ice, water, and potential calories. Guess which category people are in ?

Modern Women Are DOOMED – New Anti Paternity Fraud Law Gets Passed!

YouTube AI cult generations regarding Super Panavision 70

Funny headline from Brookings today:

"Putin and Kim are creating a crisis—Can the US and China rein them in?"

Am I the only one who finds it strange just how blind Western Imperialism is to China's clearly stated "no limits" partnership with Russia. 

The RC in the west is truly insane to believe that they can seek a war over Taiwan and simultaneously expect China to come bail them out when their ridiculous foreign policy gets them into trouble.

Posted by: Ahenobarbus | Jun 23 2024 17:08 utc | 7

Ah, the AI tools are impacting everything. And today, we will focus on a sub-group that I call “Super Panavision 70”. There are a ton of these self-produced YouTube flicks using AI in this format and they are amazing.

But first…

What is Super Panavision 70?

Film Format: Super Panavision 70 is a 70mm film format used for motion pictures. It provides a larger film frame compared to standard 35mm film, resulting in higher resolution and more detailed images.
Aspect Ratio: It typically has an aspect ratio of 2.20:1, which is wider than the traditional 1.37:1 (Academy ratio) and the more common 1.85:1 widescreen formats. This aspect ratio allows for a more immersive cinematic experience with a broader visual field.
Lens and Camera System: Super Panavision 70 uses spherical lenses rather than anamorphic lenses. This means the images captured are not distorted and do not require “unsqueezing” during projection, as with some other widescreen formats like Cinemascope.
Image Quality: The combination of 70mm film and spherical lenses results in exceptionally high image quality, with rich colors and fine detail. This makes it suitable for epic films and scenes that benefit from a grand, sweeping visual presentation.

…

But…

You see, this format is used with AI generation to create these very weird and strange parody or obscure videos based on earlier movies and television shows, and some of them are just…

…well, see for your self.

I have about ten short one minute videos in this post regarding this, and it is well worth your time to watch every one of them.

Today…

OMG

We start with some inspiration.

What did the teacher in your high school get fired for?

Gossip! False reporting! Both! I was long graduated but I saw this coming, in fact, I warned that teacher if she “didn’t shut up and stop stirring the pot with frivolous reporting and gossiping it would come back to haunt her!” She laughed in my face.

On an ego trip! Bad enough, she was a special education teacher on top of everything!

What happened that got her terminated? Well, she reported a student as “suicidal” and “displaying bi-polar behavior” and in addition she “claimed” she had found “drugs” in the student’s purse after “she claimed the student stole her stuff from her desk”!

She didn’t like this particular student because that student was very popular, plus she was cute, boys were attracted to her.

Yes, this teacher’s obsession went too far! She got that student suspended twice, and both times the mother took her to the clinic due to “drugs” and both times she came up negative. One big mistake was the student’s Uncle is a well known lawyer!

Let’s put it this way, he filed a lawsuit against the School System, against the Teacher and against the School that student was attending! They won the case hands down, and the student was transferred to another school and was doing exceptionally well there, and made it to the Principal’s List (as they call it today) as straight A student!

That “special Ed” Teacher constantly gave her F’s and D’s, wrote all kinds of notes and none were true!
That particular student knew me, and I was subpoena to testify. The School system claimed “immunity” but the Judge sided with the Lawyer, immunity can only go so far!

They won the lawsuit, the teacher was going to be terminated but she “resigned” before they could terminate her. They also imposed a “restriction” (she could not be around with anyone under the age of 21). That teacher almost lost custody of her own children (because of the testimonies from students – present and former, plus assistants/tutors who also testified).

While the Jury sided with the plaintiff, however, it was the Judge that constrained her as he was very concerned about her 2 children, the HRS (today is DCF/CPI) were required to visit twice a week until the child was of 19 years of age! He was concerned because of the mother’s mental state as he said it right there “Narcissistic Power Control”.

Because of that “restriction” the mother could not leave the county without a hearing. Once her youngest child turned 19, they sold the home and moved away quickly!

Weird Science – 1950’s Super Panavision 70

Man, oh man!

What was the cleverest thing you said to someone walking away?

I was in this Big-Bazaar type super-market the other day.

So, I was waiting in the billing line.

The young lady before me was retaining the billed goods in trolley as slowly as possible.

I mean for an outsider, it would be like, the supermarket is conducting a patience-check limit trial with me as subject.

Finally, she was done.

Her husband or brother, as I saw, surreptitiously placed two stolen Park avenue beer shampoo bottles in that billed trolley. The lady was ignorant of it.

I think, he was her husband. He looked quite patient and unhappy.

They moved forward. Finally, mine was getting billed.

The bill-guy kept looking at her as she was leaving. I pleaded, brother please make my bill.

But he couldn’t help distraction, she too wouldn’t just get her a** out of there fast.

She was so slow and hence so near. I could hear what they were talking.

Lady (to husband) : Hey, what’s these shampoo bottles?

Man : It was a discount. Separate counter.

Lady : How much discount.

I shouted : 100%.

Lady didn’t understand. Man at once looked back, kept those bottles there, held her hands, forgot patience and got her vanished.

The excitement of billing guy got diluted. In turn, he became concentrated and in a split-second prepared my bill.

Can you describe what it was like to ride on an Army Huey helicopter during the Vietnam War?

Riding on an Army UH-1 “Huey” helicopter during the Vietnam War was a unique and intense experience that left a lasting impression on those who lived through it. Here’s a description based on accounts from veterans and historical sources:

The Approach

As a soldier approached the landing zone (LZ) to board the Huey, the first sensation was often the overwhelming noise. The distinct “whop-whop” of the rotor blades could be heard from a distance, growing louder as the helicopter approached. The downwash from the rotors kicked up dust and debris, and the thick smell of aviation fuel filled the air.

Boarding

Boarding a Huey was typically hurried and chaotic, especially in a combat zone. Soldiers, often weighed down by their gear and weapons, would quickly pile in. There were no luxuries; seating was on metal benches along the sides, or sometimes directly on the floor. The doors were usually open, providing an unobstructed view outside and a rush of wind once airborne.

Takeoff

The takeoff was quick and steep. The Huey would lift off the ground with a sense of urgency, sometimes swaying slightly as it gained altitude. The open doors meant soldiers could look straight down at the rapidly shrinking landscape. The vibrations from the rotors and the engine could be felt throughout the entire airframe.

In Flight

During the

flight, the noise was deafening. Communication among passengers was nearly impossible without shouting or using hand signals. The wind whipped through the open doors, and the ride could be rough, especially in turbulent weather or when taking evasive maneuvers to avoid enemy fire. The view was both awe-inspiring and terrifying, with the dense jungle, rice paddies, and winding rivers below.

The Landing

Landing in a hot LZ (an area under potential enemy fire) was particularly intense. The approach would be fast and steep, with the helicopter descending rapidly. Pilots often performed a “combat landing,” where the Huey would descend sharply and touch down quickly to minimize the time spent vulnerable to enemy fire. The sudden deceleration and jarring contact with the ground added to the adrenaline rush.

Disembarking

Once on the ground, soldiers would rapidly disembark, sometimes under fire. The urgency was palpable as they moved out to secure the area or head to their mission objectives. The Huey would not linger; as soon as the soldiers were clear, it would lift off again, often as quickly as it had landed.

Emotional Impact

The experience of riding in a Huey was a mix of fear, excitement, and camaraderie. The constant threat of enemy fire, combined with the raw power and mechanical presence of the helicopter, left a deep impression. For many, the sound of a Huey became synonymous with both the danger and the lifeline of their time in Vietnam.

Futurama – 1950’s Super Panavision 70

How many men were drafted for the Vietnam War and served on active duty in combat roles?

In 1966, before draft lottery, I was in a body cast from a car accident and had to drop out of school going to my sophomore year. I had a Rx for Darvon and Robaxin, pain killer and muscle relaxant. I was called for the draft physical and could not bend to touch my knees. I was told I would get a good physical at Fort Jackson, South Carolina. Myself and a couple of hundred other kids from Pittsburgh were herded on to a train heading South.

I was given an open Rx on Darvon and Robaxin and put into basic training. I had to sleep on a board because a sagging bunk killed my back! I was also 20:400 vision and classified “non combat” arms. I was near legally blind.

Officers in combat in Vietnam did not last long and they needed officers. I tested out well and was offered Officer Candidate School. Why not? I was non combat arms.

Upon graduation, someone, without my knowledge, put me in for a wavier to be combat arms! I ended up with the First Cavalry in Vietnam, leading a platoon in jungle combat. I was exceptionally fortunate and made it home!

Most of my men were wounded at least once. I lost some in combat.

Because I only had one year of college, I was a Lieutenant at 20 years old. I doubt that would happen today! They just needed officers for combat rolls. Looking back, that is a lot of responsibility for a kid… leading 30 other kids in combat and having to make split second decisions and they had to be right or people died!

The draft was horrible and unfair and many died in an unnecessary war because of it! I was lucky and blessed with bonus days. Thank you Lord for giving me the opportunity of a full life!

What screams “I can fight”?

Our ship pulled into a fishing port to ride out a storm. A bunch of us went to a bar, that has a reputation as being dangerous, but there was little choice in town.

These are the type of towns where people stick up for each other and against outsiders. I have seen more than one brawl.

One guy who had been on our crew for years, and was the nicest guy, and the only one to wear fashionable clothes, and trim his beard, was up at the bar. He was getting beers for us, when he got into a yelling match with a guy at the bar. He must have looked like the weakest link. I don’t know what was said, but our shipmate kicked the other guy in the head, he didn’t fall, so he kicked him again, and then kicked him in the privates and he just crumbled, without throwing a punch.

Our shipmate didn’t look back and just brought our beers back to us. I don’t know why it happened, and I was a little upset that our shipmate struck the first blow, but watching a guy beat someone up, without spilling his beer, seemed to actually cool the mood in the bar. If the guy who looked like a dandy, can do that, they didn’t want to bother us. We finished up our beers, left a huge tip and left as a group, before anything else could happen.

I never asked him where he learned to fight, we sailed together for a couple more years, and I never saw him do it again.

The Coming Societal Breakdown of America with #PeterTurchin

Everyone knows that America has become a plutocracy.

What was the most satisfying thing that you saw happen to someone in your party who tried to get out of paying their part of the check at a restaurant?

At the culmination of a convivial evening filled with laughter and shared stories , the moment of reckoning arrived—the presentation of the bill . As each diner reached for their wallets , one individual , let ‘s call him Ethan , exhibited a peculiar reluctance . With a sheepish grin , he stammered excuses about having forgotten his wallet and being short on cash . The table grew silent , a palpable tension hanging in the air . The weight of Ethan ‘s attempted evasion fell heavily on the shoulders of his companions , who had generously covered his expenses throughout the evening . A chorus of voices rose in protest , each expressing their disappointment and frustration . Undeterred , Ethan doubled down on his excuses , claiming he had no other means of paying . The atmosphere grew increasingly acrimonious as the group debated whether to let Ethan off the hook or hold him accountable . Finally , our server , a woman with a steely gaze and a no-nonsense demeanor , intervened . She calmly informed Ethan that if he could not pay his portion , he would have to leave his ID and return to settle the bill at a later time . Ethan ‘s bravado crumbled before her unwavering gaze . With a heavy sigh , he retrieved his ID , his face flushed with embarrassment . As he made his sheepish exit , the table erupted in a mix of laughter and relief . Ethan ‘s attempt to avoid his financial responsibility had backfired spectacularly . Not only was he forced to face the consequences of his actions , but he also lost the respect of his companions . * * Engaging sentence : * * Discover more satisfying tales of accountability in the link in my bio , where karma reigns supreme and justice is served with a side of sweet retribution .

What is the most absent-minded thing you’ve done today?

Not today but a year ago.

I was tensed. I believe the stress had entered each of my nerves. I got to know something that was weird and unexpected. It had knocked the wind out of me.

People change I knew. But to this extent? I was unable to take it.

I felt deceived. Couldn’t sleep for the whole night. The next morning, I had to go for Covid Vaccination which I had scheduled long back. I couldn’t cancel it.

I was driving to the place which was 12 kilometres away from my home. I was lost in my own world though I was constantly convincing myself.

“Let people do what they want. If I don’t exist for them, they too don’t exist for me. I am happy with my child who gives me a goal. I don’t care about anyone now”, I kept telling this to myself while the tears were rolling down without listening to a word.

The road was straight and then, at one point, I had to turn right which I forgot. I kept on driving straight and took extra 6 kilometres. Suddenly, I realised I was completely in a new place.

With a lost mind, I asked the traffic police about the location and he told me that I had to take a U-turn to reach my destination.

I took.

However, that day I realised that some U-turns are never possible in real life. If you still try to take this U-turn, it will only lead you to miseries. So the sooner we adapt to change, the better we get.

Now, I have learnt to burn my anger in this flame.

The Matrix – 1950s Super Panavision 70

"The Matrix - 1950s Super Panavision 70 introduces a new take on the world's famous The Matrix Film. I attempted to give it that 1950s sound and feel. I hope you all enjoy."

United States military attacks Russian civilians enjoying a beach outing

Not Ukrainians. They were not operating the drone.

United States operated the drone out of the United States.

The command centers for the operation of the U.S. “Global Hawk” drones are primarily located at two key facilities:

1. Beale Air Force Base in California: Beale AFB is home to the 9th Reconnaissance Wing, which operates the RQ-4 Global Hawk. This base plays a significant role in the command, control, and operational management of Global Hawk missions.

2. Grand Forks Air Force Base in North Dakota: Grand Forks AFB hosts the 319th Reconnaissance Wing, which also operates and supports Global Hawk missions. This base provides operational support and command functions for the drones.

These command centers are responsible for coordinating and managing the flights, mission planning, data collection, and analysis of the Global Hawk unmanned aerial vehicles (UAVs). Additionally, remote piloting stations can control the Global Hawks from various other locations, including forward-deployed sites and central command facilities.

And Russia knows this.

Let’s wind back and deconstruct.

An attack with U.S.-Supplied ATACMS missiles, by Ukraine, against civilians on a Beach in Sevastopol, Crimea, Russia has occurred.

Now, we find out that ATACMS could not get targeting coordinates because of Russian GPS Electronic Warfare Jamming, so targeting was apparently provided by a U.S. “Global Hawk” Drone.

It looks like United States military inside the United States targeted those Russian Civilians inside of Russia.

So the United States is actively fighting Russia.

No Ukrainians anywhere.

Russian Jamming of Global Positioning Satellites (GPS) has been long underway near Crimea specifically to thwart Ukrainian attacks. The areas in red on the image above are where GPS signals CANNOT get through. So how did those ATACMS hit the target in Sevastopol?

Turns out there was a United States Air Force “Global Hawk” surveillance drone airborne, prior to – and during – the attack. It’s overlapping flight path is shown on the FlightRadar24 map below:

That “Global Hawk” drone can provide precise target coordinates, separate and distinct from GPS. Those coordinates could then be radioed to be programmed-into the HIMARS launcher, which fired the ATACMS missiles.

The evidence seems to indicate: The attack upon Russian civilians, on the beach in Sevastopol, appears to have been targeted with a United States Air Force Global Hawk drone, which relied on US Satellite data and communications to provide attack coordinates.

This appears to many people to have been an act of war by the United States, against Russian civilians.

…

This is NOT a trivial matter.

This is the kind of thing that starts nuclear missiles flying.

Southpark – 1950’s Super Panavision 70

“United States is pressuring the Netherlands to block the sale of EUV equipment to SMIC by Dutch company ASML is ultimately affecting China’s dream in technology”. How long US can resist China’s development?

The Chinese are the most industrious race on earth.

Necessity is the mother of Invention

The Chinese will find a way. The more you suppress them and the more you try to deny them the technology – they will begin to make it on their own and they will slowly do better and better.

Chips is the best example

As long as Taiwan kept supplying them the chips – The Chinese were happy. They focused on other things

The Minute Trump decided to threaten the Chinese – they decided to get their act together and start making their own chips. They will start with inferior ones but in 10 years – they will outmanufacture Taiwan at 1/3 the cost and take away the market.

And the businessmen will say – “Uigyurs???? Who gives a damn about them. My shareholders matter” and will migrate from Taiwan to China in 10 seconds.

The US may try again and again but

(a) They waited too long. China is too rich today. They have too much money.

(b) China has too many tentacles in foreign countries. Thousands of Chinese in various industries who are experts

In Space alone – China was behind India until 2010 – but today – they have their own Mapping System for their huge landmass as well as are in the position of becoming the Third country in the globe to land on Mars – having landed on the moon.

China and Russia are on the verge of building their own International Space Station having both the financial muscle and technology.

You cannot bully or intimidate or stifle Progress. Eventually Life finds a way.

US should learn this lesson hard. The more they try – they may get 10 years more but in the end China will get there and take over.

20 Things From The 1980s, We Can No Longer Do!

https://youtu.be/IVGJEB3u-wE

I just got fired. Now my former boss (the one who let me go) is asking me where some important documents are. How should I respond?

Don’t.

I worked for a corporation for about 15 years. Absolutely loved my work.

The thing about my job was that after your one and a half year training/supervison, you were able to choose your own work schedule, per the employee manual. You could work from home. You could work from overseas. You could work while sitting on your toilet. You could do your work from anywhere, anytime, so long as you met “production.” It was a dream position.

So, shortly after that year and a half of training, I eventually started working sometimes nights and sometimes weekends. Typically not during the day. Co-workers were a bit eccentric, off center, yet brilliant attorneys. I preferred my alone time, thank you.

I eventually took up residence in a different city. I typically had one of the highest production rates (sometimes highest) of all my fellow colleagues. All top-notch, well-educated colleagues, by the way. Loved them all.

Then, I started working at a law firm where I worked days. But I continually exceeded “production” for my initial company.

At around the 15 year mark, my two supervisors, who were very ineffectual (Peter Principle) at their positions (not even attorneys), discovered I was also working for a law firm.

I suspected they did not like me, for whatever reason. And they also did not like I had another job (not prohibited, per the employee manual).

In my last review, I received an “exceeds expectations.” A few days later, I was instructed to be in the office during “core business hours.” Core? I could never even figure out what “core” meant. Like I need to be in a hole?

Nothing in my job was of immediate import. In my position, people were not going to die or be executed, airplanes would not drop from the sky, pets would still be safe, families would remain intact, if I continued to work my own hours as I had for nearly 14 years. It was a fricking publishing job! I was not a first responder.

I tried to explain to them that the employee manual, which had not been changed, allowed me this, and also, I could not be in the office. I lived in a different city.

Ultimately, I was constructively terminated as I was unable to be in their office for “core business hours.” To the unemployment office (I had to file a claim despite having a new employer), they claimed I had quit, so that they would not need to pay unemployment in the event my other employment did not work. Surprisingly, they won. Unreal. I did not quit. I loved that job.

Fast forward to awhile later. They contacted me needing pertinent information related to my position. Information only I possessed. Rather costly information at that. And I had it for years. Noone else needed it. None of my esteemed colleagues had access to this information.

I never replied.

Turns out, and I heard this from a former colleague, they were both terminated shortly after my departure and their request for information. I cannot speculate as to the reason. But, who cares why? Karma’s a bitch.

Never, ever give a crap employer any assistance after you have been terminated. Employees are so expendable, so never give them the luxury of your experience, knowledge and expertise. Don’t even waste time replying.

However, if you do choose to reply, which I did not, charge them exorbitant fees for your services. Very exorbitant.

Good luck to you. You will also find a much better position.

Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home – 1950s Super Panavision 70

What is the most extreme example of ‘Cold Feet’ you’ve seen from a bride or groom on their wedding day?

Picture a full church of well dressed people waiting for the bride to walk up the aisle.

There is a nervous idiot, me, waiting at the front of the church for her. It was a super quick engagement and I basically asked her to marry me on our first date (very smooth, I know). She is 8 years younger than me and, no exaggeration, a movie star gorgeous blond, so far out of my league that people are mystified by how she could be remotely attracted to me.

I’m not happy on the big day, I’m scared to death that she will realize she is about to make the worst mistake of her life.

All of sudden from the back of the church I hear her crying hysterically. Crap, I knew it. I’m not even surprised. I don’t blame her and it’s not her fault, it’s mine for rushing her.

A few awkward moments minutes that felt like hours passed. Suddenly she and her Dad appeared and they start walking up the aisle toward me. Her dad convinced her that her tears were just nerves and she should go ahead and marry the unemployed guy that had big dreams but was living in his brother’s basement.

We’ve been happily married 33 years now.

[P. S. I should add that I did start and now run a successful multimillion dollar company and have tried to pay my sweet wife back by providing her with what she has described as a fairy tale life :-)]

Collective Soul – ‘Shine’ – Live At The PrintShop

How does the USA balance being a rival of China with reliance on China for being the biggest economy and trade partner in the world?

China sees through the US that it cannot do without China hence it cannot play ball with China without harming itself tremendously. China do not need the US. In any way at all. US as a market is now is a mere 12% of the world market and dropping very fast. China is not keen to keep US dollars post Ukraine war. Hence if the US stop buying and selling with China, it won’t miss a heart beat.

The faster the US decouple with China the faster China can move against the US openly and effectively! Only brain dead westerners thinks China needs the US. The biggest market for Chinese goods is actually East Asia, followed by ASEAN followed by rest of Asia then Latin America and Africa, then Russia and its European friends such as Serbia and Hungary, then comes Rest of EU and then North America!

That explains why China grew 5.3% in spite of the shit that the US and Anglo cousins and EU dogs did to China! But by blocking out China it is indeed losing the rest of the world’s market! What the US is left with is a fading and now insignificant west! After a 3 generation of abusing and bully the global south they are all lining up with the BRICS to take revenge on the US!

And meanwhile the US has increased its cost so artificially high yet its efficiency so unbelievably low to the point that doing any thing on its own is impossible to sell even to Yanks themselves! For example if the apple iPhone were to be made in the USA it will have to be sold at 5000 bucks! On EV’s most brain dead Yanks do not even know the ridiculousness of Elon Musk 5.1 billion bonus request means American are going to pay for it by 5000 bucks increase in their Tesla!

If the US has any sense it needs to cement its position of being China’s right hand man but it is not humble enough nor does it have common sense. The US needs China badly, without them the US will fall into a deep recession and suffers a double digit inflation for half a century! China holds all the cards while the US is a like a hopeless screaming dog!

Biscuits and Sausage Gravy

Biscuits and Sausage Gravy is popular all over America. It’s a staple dish on diner menus.

Yield: 6 servings, 2 biscuits each

Ingredients

Biscuits

3 cups self-rising soft wheat flour
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon granulated sugar
1/2 cup butter-flavored shortening
1 1/4 cups buttermilk
Butter, melted

Sausage Gravy

1 pound breakfast sausage (mild or hot)
1/3 cup all-purpose flour
3 1/4 cups milk
1/2 teaspoon salt or seasoned salt
2 teaspoons pepper
1/8 teaspoon Italian seasoning

Instructions

Bisicuits

Combine first 3 ingredients in a large bowl; cut in shortening with a pastry blender until mixture is crumbly.
Add buttermilk, stirring just until dry ingredients are moistened.
Turn dough out onto a lightly floured surface, and knead lightly 4 or 5 times.
Roll dough to 3/4 inch thickness; cut with a 2 1/2 inch biscuit cutter. Place on a lightly greased baking sheet.
Bake at 425 degrees F for 12 minutes or until golden.
Brush tops with butter.
Split biscuits open; serve with Sausage Gravy.

Sausage Gravy

Brown sausage in a skillet, stirring until it crumbles.
Drain, reserving 1 tablespoon drippings in skillet. Set sausage aside.
Add butter to drippings; heat over low heat until butter melts.
Add flour, stirring until smooth. Cook for 1 minute, stirring constantly.
Gradually add milk; cook over medium heat, stirring constantly, until thickened and bubbly.
Stir in seasonings and sausage. Cook until thoroughly heated, stirring constantly.

Notes

This recipe is easily doubled.

Family Guy – 1950’s Super Panavision 70

This is one of the better ones.

Have you, while repairing a computer, ever found anything that made your jaw drop?

Not me, the company from which we bought the computer.

We were a start-up providing hosting and ISP services in 1996. We’ve purchased a custom-built server from a renown company. I don’t remember the exact details, but must have costed in the range of 1500–2000 USD.

It worked for a couple of months no problems and then suddenly just failed. The lights were on, whatever was on screen at that time was still there, but the computer stopped responding to anything. Even powering down didn’t work. We’ve eventually completely unplugged it and tried to plug in again, but the computer wasn’t starting anymore (we could only hear the power supply fan).

The computer went back to the supplier. They’ve opened it (obviously we haven’t touched anything, the manufacturer’s seals were intact) and in place where there should be a CPU there was a hole. Not just the majority of the CPU was missing, but a hole went through the motherboard as well. The CPU literally melted. Completely. On further examination the supplier found that the CPU wasn’t properly put in the socket, one of the pins was bent and that most probably was the cause of the short-circuit that led to melting. They’ve tried to blame us for incorrect assembling the computer, but we;d reminded them we’d purchased an already assembled computer and the seals they’d put on it were intact. They eventually very hesitantly accepted their liability.

I can imagine the hole in place of the CPU must have been quite a shocking find.

What is the official justification for China to claim the South China Sea? I’m not talking about strategic reasons.

China has ancient historical record since 230 AD. Some records are official. Some are not & was prepared by fishermen themselves (they are in a museum now).

On some of the islands/shoals in SCS, there were Chinese landmarks. Like these days, China put a landmark on the moon to prove China has landed on the moon.

China even named many of SCS islands/reefs.

People do not recognise Chinese historical record which, they said, it is 1-sided. Not internationally recognised. Fair enough.

Let us talk about modern-day & international record then.

During WW2, Japan occupied lots of SCS islands/reefs. After defeat, Japan must returned all SCS islands to the rightful country like China. US warships accompanied China to reclaim the SCS islands in 1947.

China went by its historical record & drew the 11-dash line. China published & announced its map to the world in Feb 1948. No country objected to it at the time. That is why we can find the 11-dash in the old maps of many countries eg USA, UK, Russia & more. Even Philippines.

The 11-dash is an international record, agree?

There was a civil war in China. CPC defeated the then ruling party KMT in 1949.

KMT was a US puppet but not CPC. … that led to US robbery of SCS islands/reefs by driving a wedge among SCS countries against China.

In 1967, USA announced there is oil/gas under SCS. Robbery officially started.

That is why there is tension in SCS from the point of robbery. Not strategic.

Scooby Doo – 1950’s Super Panavision 70

So much fun! This is five stars!

As a police officer, what’s the most disturbing thing you’ve ever experienced?

Before training as nurse, I was a former cop. My husband was a cop for over 30 years. His most harrowing experience occurred one Christmas Eve.

There was a horrific wreck involving a wrong way driver where a young mother and her two daughters were killed. The crash was so intense that there were were mangled pieces of body parts on the road and in the totaled and burned vehicles.

As a normal procedure, my husband and a fellow officer made the casualty call to the home of the family of the woman. The husband/father answered the door, ushered them in, and they proceeded to tell him what had happened. The heartbroken man could barely speak as he realized he had lost his wife and daughters. Then he asked, “What about my baby boy?” There was no evidence of a baby involved in the wreck.

The officers then went to the wrecker yard where the smashed vehicles had been taken. In the floorboards of the woman’s car was what had been assumed was a doll, burned black by the intense heat of the crash and resultant fire. It was the little boy’s body.

After a long night working the most exhausting, painful, mind wrenching experience of his long career, he came home just in time to play Santa to our 4 year old daughter and our own baby boy. His tears as he held his children were heartbreaking.

My family comes from a long line of military members. Many experience PTSD from horrific experiences over a 1 or 2 year or several deployments. Our career police officers suffer through years, even decades, of witnessing events that the average person will never know the horror of. They see raped children who have been torn open. They see battered wives whose eyeballs are laying on their cheeks, they see the worst of humanity yet are expected to be perfect in every way. They come straight from the funeral of a colleague who has been murdered and are expected to be cordial and patient with dirtbags who are disrespectful of any authority, who has attempted to kill them as well, and who fit the MO of the killer of their fellow officer. They are often not able to talk about it or to seek therapy for to do so could affect their careers.

My son, a military veteran, is now a career police officer. I pray for him every day. God bless our men in women in blue and keep them safe.

BLUE LIVES MATTER.

When the “parody” surpasses the original

Are the current size and data of China’s economy real? Why do some professional economics media believe that China’s economic data is underestimated?

There is indeed such a view.

The Economist has conducted surveys and research, and they believe that China’s GDP (PPP) alone is underestimated by $1.4 trillion.

I checked the relevant data. In 2021, China’s GDP (PPP) was $28.82 trillion, and the United States was $23.59 billion. China is 122% of the United States. If the Economist’s survey is correct, it means that China’s real data is $3.022 trillion, which is 128% of the United States.

China’s economic model retains a dangerous allure

Despite the country’s current struggles, autocrats elsewhere see a lot to admire

https://www.economist.com/finance-and-economics/2024/06/03/chinas-economic-model-retains-a-dangerous-allure

**The Economist has their own basis**

They obtained a lot of professional data from some professional institutions in the United States, which were not originally for economic services. For example, this table is a data from the United States Geological Survey, which lists China’s production and global share of key metals and manufactured products.

In addition, they also obtained data from the power industry, industrial manufactured products, shipbuilding, McDonald’s sales data, and many other data. And these non-economic data are aggregated together to analyze and count the economic scale of China and the United States in another way.

The Economist pointed out the flaws in China’s official GDP statistical method: the Chinese do not consider the service industry to be part of GDP.

For example, in the United States and Europe, many industries that do not produce “products” such as house rent, legal advice, R&D investment, child care, etc. are part of GDP, and they count GDP through expenditure.

But in China, they only count the real economy.

A company must produce cars, toys, clothing or software, food. Farmers or fishermen must produce rice and fish. They sell these things to earn income before they are included in GDP.

Small and medium-sized service industries are usually not counted. If a barbershop provides a haircut, a car wash cleans your car, or you rent your house to a young couple, these economic activities are not considered part of GDP and are almost never counted. (Unless you are a large enterprise with hundreds of shops or dozens of houses)

**”Asia Times” also conducted a similar survey**

World Bank researchers visited 16,000 stores in China alone to collect price data. The latest ICP assessment collected data in 2021, four years after the 2017 survey. The conclusion is that China’s GDP is underestimated by nearly $2 trillion.

China’s National Bureau of Statistics (NBS) was not satisfied with the results and downplayed them, saying “we need to interpret the entire result carefully and correctly grasp the global economic landscape and the status of each economy”, while emphasizing that China is still a “developing economy”.

“Asia Times” believes that China’s economic data has been manipulated intentionally or unintentionally. But contrary to some reports, they believe that China is deliberately suppressing the data.

“China’s PPP GDP is only 25% higher than the US? Come on guys… who are we kidding? Last year, China produced twice as much electricity, 12.6 times as much steel, and 22 times as much cement. Its shipyards account for more than 60% of world production. In 2023, China produced 30.2 million cars, almost three times the US’s 10.6 million. In fact, China’s consumer goods market is several times larger than the US in almost all aspects”

The World Bank survey believes that China’s GDP and PPP GDP are underestimated because of the incomplete transformation of China’s national accounts material product system (MPS), which does not include services by design. The World Bank may do its due diligence and find that China’s consumption of goods is several times that of the US, but its consumption of services is only a small fraction of that of the US, which is very unreasonable.

This is most evident in the Chinese auto market, where OEMs have either cut prices to rock bottom ($17,000 from $42,000 for the Hyundai Sonata) or offered cutting-edge technology at a low price ($14,000 for the BYD Q plug-in hybrid electric vehicle with 2,000 km range). Solar panel prices fell 50% in 2023 and continue to trend downward in 2024. CATL has announced plans to cut lithium-ion battery prices in half by the end of 2024.

Restaurants offer white glove service, such as hot towels, lotions by the sink, and stylish decor. Barbers offer bottled water and fruit plates. Tech companies have slashed the price of large language models (LLMs) to essentially free. The quality of service in China is hard to quantify, but it is now far superior to that in the West, and perhaps even Japan.

Are American healthcare and universities twice as good as they were in 2000? If American families had not received vastly improved health care, education, housing, and child care over the past two decades, inflation would have been systematically understated, and GDP growth would have actually been less than 1% per year (rather than 2%), equivalent to stagnation at a population growth rate of 0.8% per year. This probably explains much of the popular anger and the breakdown of American politics.

China’s material-centric GDP is probably a better measure of the economy’s relationship to living standards, especially since the UN Commission on National Accounts has apparently lost its mind and formally recommended including things like drugs, prostitution, illegal gambling, and theft in GDP.

The US spends $1 trillion per year on defense (including intelligence and energy department programs) and has reduced the size of the US Navy, while China has built the world’s largest navy with the largest number of ships on a budget of $236 billion.

Likewise, analysts who lament that China accounts for 30% of the world’s manufacturing output but only 13% of household consumption are dead wrong. China actually accounts for 20-40% of global demand for almost all consumer goods, but most of the services it consumes are not included in the national accounts.

So how much is it? How big is the Chinese economy? About six months ago, it was estimated that China’s GDP would increase by 25-40% if calculated according to UNSNA.

2001: A Space Odyssey – 1950’s Super Panavision 70

Have you ever moved to a small village that was just plain strange and filled with weird residents?

Oh, yes!

Seven years ago my husband and I moved to this delightful retirement village. It has, give or take, 184 residents, most of whom are in their 80’s and 90’s, and all of whom the outside world would consider very weird indeed. They seem to live in a time warp, where everyone is kind and decent, caring for their neighbour. There’s no rubbish thrown down, no chewing gum spat onto the pavements to besmirch one’s shoes. Everyone drives at the manadatory 10 miles an hour within the village. No one gets drunk at the bar. Merry perhaps, at some celebration, but screaming and fighting is a big “no,no”. No one swears, that’s impolite in front of the ladies!

They talk about the Empire and WW2 and their roles in that war. They are proud, too proud sometimes to mention they are “not feeling too good”, as they don’t want to trouble anyone with their problems. They don’t mention it, if their children rarely bother to turn up. Nor do other, luckier ones, mention their regular weekly visits from their children. “ One doesn’t want to hurt another’s feelings, you know”!

If you want to join in all the many and varied pursuits, run mainly by the residents themselves, then you are made very welcome. If not and you prefer to stay in your little bungalow that day, that’s fine also. No one will intrude upon your privacy, unless invited to do so. A phone call, on occasion, perhaps, just to see if you’re OK.

As my 93 year old my husband said, not long before he died, “We’ve returned to the world we knew – our world. We’re so fortunate not having to cope with that world out there, which many of us simply don’t really understand”! I echo his words in my heart every day.

The Flintstones – 1950’s Super Panavision 70

Love this.

How on earth did the Unabomber evade capture for nearly 20 years, despite the costliest FBI investigation in history?

It was a combination of many things that made Ted Kaczynski so elusive.

A few of them:

He was (and still is) extremely intelligent; A genius, by anyone’s measure.
He was willing to go to extreme lengths to conceal his identity (not only building his bombs from scratch — often he used wood, gathered from states far from where he lived, and then hand-whittled). He always built the individual parts of each bomb from scratch, by hand, even if it took many months to construct the raw materials using antique tools, or using tools he actually made himself. He vacuumed everything. He was meticulous, and often spent more than a year to build a single bomb.
He was willing to go “off the grid” and live an uncomfortable lifestyle, to outwit any investigation. This included living in remote woods, in a tiny cabin with no address, no electricity, no running water, did not own a car, no credit cards, no driver’s license. He left no signature, and only a handful of people knew he even existed. (Of course, that happened to fit in and coincide with his motive for committing these crimes… He was the ultimate “Luddite.”)
He was willing to devote incredible efforts to delivering each device, taking a bus from Montana to California and paying cash, and dropping the packages off at quiet postal dropoffs, with stamps already attached (no licking, of course).
He followed the press about his bombings, and was willing to change up his habits when necessary, to avoid capture. He would even travel to another state to find a grocery bag to wrap a bomb in — that is determination.
He basically devoted his entire life during that period to his bombings, and to eluding capture — with no real social life, and only occasional drop-in visits to his local small town library to read the news about the manhunt to find him — a library which he walked to.

Frans and Marie

Submitted into Contest #252 in response to: Make a character’s obsession or addiction an important element of your story.… view prompt

Thom With An H

The Transporter Museum, a forgotten relic, is inconveniently located on a deserted side street two turns off a dead-end alley. You might never find it, even by accident, but if you do, you’ll always remember its immaculate displays and its eccentric proprietor, Frans Messerschmitt.Every day precisely at nine, the little old man illuminated the neon sign, flipped the placard to open, and made his way behind the counter, prepared for customers who rarely came.It was already late in the day when the door opened, surprising both Frans and the visitors.“Hello, is anybody there?”The question startled Frans, interrupting his terminal boredom.“Yes. Yes, please come in,” he answered, moving forward to greet his guests. The unexpected voice belonged to a handsome lad sporting sweatpants and a football jersey, followed closely by a pretty young coed in a letterman’s jacket.“It’s almost impossible to find this place,” the boy mentioned, all the while looking at the meticulously cared-for exhibits. “Are we in time for the guided tour?”The question struck Frans as funny. It had been months since his last visitor, so the tours relied on guests, not the other way around.“Of course, my good man,” he answered, sauntering from behind the counter. “My name is Frans and I’m the owner and resident historian. I’d be glad to give you the nickel tour, and I won’t even charge you the nickel.”

“Fan-damn-tastic! My name is Billy, and this is Connie. We’ve really been looking forward to this. Where do we start?”

“I’m glad you asked,” Frans replied, beckoning the couple to follow. “You’ve lived your whole lives in a time where teleportation from one side of the world to another was the norm—in fact, there’s about to be an app for that!” Frans turned their attention towards a smartphone sitting on display. “Before the end of the year, the new ZapApp will be available, offering skin-touch technology for the first time. All you’ll need to do is enter the desired coordinates, activate the app, and, in seconds—Voila!”

“Wow,” Billy exclaimed, reaching for the phone.

“Please don’t,” Frans cautioned. “These are replicas and can be easily damaged.”

“I hear ya, Gramps,” Billy responded, “Oh, I’m sorry. No disrespect intended, sir.”

“Not at all,” Frans replied. “I’ve always wanted a nickname. I like the sound of Gramps. Now if you follow me, I’ll lead you both back in time.”

The next display contained a full-length mirror attached to the wall. “I’m sure you two know what this is,” Frans said, stepping aside and allowing Billy and Connie to see. “These teleportation devices are still the most commonly used today. They were part of a trend to make teleportation more accessible and less obtrusive. They were also the first devices that didn’t require an exit portal. Until the Mirror 360, you could only travel to locations with paired devices. Needless to say, it was revolutionary.”

“That’s just like yours,” Connie whispered to Billy, punctuating her remark with a kiss on his cheek. “What’s next, Mr. Frans?”

“Gramps,” Frans corrected her with a chuckle. “Next we see the machine that started it all, The Marie.”

“I’ve heard of that,” Billy said. “Wow, it’s huge!”

“I know,” Frans agreed. “When the technology was new, we hadn’t yet perfected the art of miniaturization. There were no personal teleportation devices. The only people who had access were scientists, investors, and celebrities. In fact, the first transporters were more gimmicky than useful. They were incredibly expensive, required an entrance and exit port, and were so inefficient that it took a full day’s charge to send someone from one place to another. There’s no doubt we’ve come a long way since then.”

“What about that one?” Billy asked, pointing to a machine partially hidden by a curtain.

“Oh, that one,” Frans sighed. “That’s the prototype. The first teleportation device.”

“That’s the original?” Billy asked, moving closer to get a better look. “Is the legend true?”

“I’m afraid it is,” Frans replied. “The machine was the brainchild of a pair of scientists not much older than the two of you. They were the first to prove light was a particle and that we could use it as a mechanism for distance teleportation. The early tests were extremely successful. There were no issues when sending inanimate objects or small animals from one pod to another. The problem occurred when they tried transporting a human. Marie begged to be first and, after winning a game of Rochambeau, she stepped into the entrance pod and disappeared on cue. But when her partner activated the exit pod, everything went terribly wrong. Marie never fully rematerialized. Her translucent hand simply reached forward, and she mouthed the word help. Then she faded away.”

“Oh my God!” Connie gasped. “Did he save her?”

Frans turned away from the question, paused, then finally answered. “No, he didn’t. You see, molecular displacement teleportation in its infancy was like sending something through a tunnel at light speed. Once entering a pod, the subject can only exit from the paired terminal port.”

“That’s tragic,” Connie said, wiping away a tear.

“And ironic.” Frans replied.

“How so?”

“After the colossal mishap, her partner spent the better part of twenty years trying to find a way to release Marie from her tunnel. He became obsessed with correcting his mistake. His research and technological breakthroughs are directly responsible for almost every advancement in teleportation technology. That first awful outcome is why molecular transportation is so incredibly safe today. It’s why you have a Mirror 360 hanging on the wall in your home.”

“But Marie—what happened to her?” Connie asked.

“All of her partner’s research and all of his calculations never changed Marie’s fate.”

“She’s trapped forever?”

“She would be, unless he destroyed the machine and released her molecules into the atmosphere, never to be reassembled again.”

“What did he…”

“It’s almost closing time,” Frans said, interrupting Connie before she could finish the question. “Thanks for coming. You two made an old man very happy today.”

“This has been the best tour ever, Gramps.” Billy proclaimed. “What do I owe you?”

“Nothing,” Frans answered, shaking Billy’s hand. “Just promise to send your friends.”

“It’s a deal,” he said, leading Connie out the door. “I’m sure we’ll be back soon.”

“You’re always welcome.”

Frans watched as the couple walked away. Then, being that it was precisely five, he locked the door, changed the placard to closed, and turned off the neon sign.

Alone once again, Frans returned to the machine behind the curtain, flipped a few switches, and watched as Marie’s translucent figure, forever young, appeared before him.

“Frans, are you there?” Marie mouthed, silently.

“I’m here, my love. I’ll always be here.”

“I’m so afraid,” she responded. “Please let me go.”

“I can’t,” Frans replied, ashamed of his weakness.

Marie’s eyes grew red, but she summoned the strength to place her hand on her heart and mouth the words I love you. Then, as quickly as she had appeared, she was gone.

Heartbroken, Frans turned to walk upstairs, counting the minutes until he could see his love again, if only for a moment, the next day at the exact same time.

Whipping Cream Biscuits

A two-ingredient recipe for some of the best biscuits you will ever eat! If all you have is all-purpose flour, never fear; we give you instructions for making it into self-rising flour.

Bake: 10 min | Yield: 8 biscuits

Ingredients

2 cups self-rising flour
1 cup heavy whipping cream

Instructions

Bisicuits

In a large bowl, combine the flour and cream. Turn out onto a lightly floured surface; knead for 5 minutes or until no longer sticky. Roll dough to a 1/2 inch thickness. Cut into 2 1/2 inch biscuits.
Place in a large ungreased cast iron or other ovenproof skillet. Bake at 450 degrees F until golden brown, 8 to 10 minutes.

Notes

* If you don’t have self-rising flour, add 1 tablespoon baking powder and 1 teaspoon salt to 2 cups all-purpose flour. As a substitute for each cup of self-rising flour, place 1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder and 1/2 teaspoon salt in a measuring cup. Add all-purpose flour to measure 1 cup.

Forgotten Restaurants From The 1970s, We Want Back!

Such memories. I forgot about these places, but once I watched the video, I sure as heck remembered them.

https://youtu.be/dZLdey9V3qo

Re:interest payments

As long as the American dollars are acceptable as currency in most of the world it's fine.

When usd is no longer considered valuable between non us parties they will have to buy things in the US triggering the long awaited us hyper inflation. A crazy amount of usd circulates in the world, particularly in 100 usd paper bills, so when it comes home it'll overturn the us economy. It's already felt in the stock market and housing market with ancillary effects in retail goods.


But when the usd becomes worthless for non us transactions, like because of sanctions that's when it'll go crazy in a self reinforcing doom loop.

At the moment it's manageable it'll be a few years or more before it becomes critical. I'd look for China refusing usd for its manufactured good as the tipping point


Posted by: Neofeudalfuture | Jun 23 2024 17:45 utc | 14

What made Ivan “the terrible” so terrible?

he term “terrible” comes from the Russian word “grozny,” which is better translated as “formidable” or “awe-inspiring.”

But Ivan did some pretty terrible things too.

His father, Grand Prince Vasily III, died when Ivan was just three, and his mother, Elena Glinskaya, served as regent until her mysterious death when Ivan was eight.

It’s suspected she was poisoned, which wasn’t uncommon in the Russian court.

As he grew older, Ivan developed a dark streak.

He crowned himself the first Tsar of All Russia in 1547, aiming to centralize power and assert absolute control.

In his early reign, he showed promise, implementing legal reforms, establishing a standing army, and expanding Russian territories.

But this honeymoon period didn’t last.

Things took a dark turn with the death of his beloved wife, Anastasia Romanovna, in 1560.

Her death shattered Ivan, and he spiraled into paranoia and madness, suspecting everyone of treason.

He believed she was poisoned, which might have been true, considering the court’s track record.

Enter the Oprichnina, Ivan’s own personal reign of terror.

In 1565, he divided Russia into two parts: the Oprichnina, directly under his control, and the Zemshchina, ruled by the boyars (nobles).

The Oprichnina was essentially a state within a state, where Ivan’s secret police, the Oprichniki, roamed.

These guys were like medieval KGB, dressed in black, riding black horses, and carrying out Ivan’s brutal orders.

The Oprichniki spread terror through the land, confiscating properties, executing supposed traitors, and crushing any opposition.

One of the most infamous event was the sacking of Novgorod in 1570.

Suspecting the city of treason, Ivan ordered a brutal massacre.

Thousands were tortured and killed, and the city was left in ruins.

In a fit of rage, Ivan famously killed his own son and heir, Ivan Ivanovich, in 1581.

The story goes that he struck his son with a staff during an argument, a blow that proved fatal.

Did getting revenge on someone make you feel better? Why or why not?

I was moslested by three older boys when I was 9 or 10 years old.

It happened on three separate occasions for a total of approximately 3 hours.

I was already a quiet introverted child and this pushed me even futher into my own mind.

I suffered for years with bed wetting, nightmares, and it damaged my sexual psyche , giving me trust and intimacy issues.

I saw child psychologists for years and eventually though that my parents got to know about it.

My first suicide attempt was at the age of 12, when I dropped from a tree branch deliberately into the path of a car. The car swerved, missed me and ploughed through a wodden fence.

The driver jumped out of the car to see if I was ok, I approached the car and saw there was no-one else there, then ran away.

I still feel bad about that, not seeing if he was Ok and not facing the consequences.

There have been 6 suicide attempts since, 3 of which I have woken from in hospital, dissapointed that it was not over.

Those biys who took my childhood were all brothers, sons of the next door neighbours of my Aunt & Uncle.

When I was 17 and they were between 21 and 25 I tracked them all down- it wasnt difficult, they all lived in the same town.

I took a baseball bat to each of them one at a time all in one night, broke arms legs fingers.

None of them recognised me, not one. I pulled back my balaclava to stare them directly in the face, these monsters that took my childhood, the driving force that had defined me good or bad.

I realised later that night, drunk and broken that what for me was unforgettable was exactly that, not just forgettable but forgotten.

After that, no nightmares not a singe one, and the other issues that I had been battling with in therapy for years resolved themselves. The healing didnt happen over night, but it did begin to happen.

From being powerless, I was powerful. I can’t begin to explain how good, how alive I felt.

I will never regret that night.

Yummy

Independence Day in 1950’s – Super Panavision 70

Fun, too short, though.

What did you find while snooping that you wish you had never found?

In the early part of 1999, my older sister and I were playing in front of our grandparents’ house. I was 9 years old and my sister was 13. I think we were rollerblading up and down the driveway. Having fun outside!

In the midst of innocent play, we needed to get something from the back of my grandma’s vehicle. I don’t remember what it was we were getting,

But, I do remember what we found.

We found a journal and it was in my grandma’s handwriting. Intrigued, we began reading what appeared to be notes…

Notes about my mother and her behavior…and her lack of parenting abilities.

During this year, my grandparents had taken myself and my two siblings into their home. They had both just retired and they did this not just out of love and selflessness, but out of necessity.

My mother had been extremely neglectful of us. She was literally not feeding us, we were unbathed, our heads were infested (always) with head lice, we rarely went to school, and we had no clothes or even a bed. Her boyfriend was abusive to us in many ways as well. This all happened while my father was incarcerated.

So, back to that journal.

In the journal, my grandma had been taking notes of how my mom would be late for visitation, how she wouldn’t show up sometimes, or how she was just not even attempting to be motherly. It was very thorough and even time stamped. Basically, my grandma logged all interactions with my mom. And she was doing this I’m guessing for the court, because they were trying to get custody of us.

But, the one thing that I remember reading was how my mom called my grandma one afternoon and offered to sell all three of us to them.

Yep.

She said she wouldn’t fight for us in the courts, if my grandma gave her $200 for us. And they could have us.

That’s about $66 and some change for us each.

Pretty good deal, right?

We stopped reading the journal after seeing that. But, it always stuck with me.

I never asked my grandma about it. I never asked my mom about it either. I’m sure they didn’t accept her offer and simply shared this information about her with the judge in the custody case.

They did get custody over all three of us.

We had a wonderful life with my grandparents. We really did. I owe everything I am to them.

And I have always known my mom wasn’t exactly ever going to be motherly. I’ve accepted that.

But, I still wish I had never read what I read that day.

My mom basically attempted to sell us. And not even for a lot of money. I could have gone my whole life without knowing that.

USD

US Dollar is expensive because Treasuries pay the highest interest rate of major currencies - not a good sign.

data from April:

10Y Bond Country

0.862% ... Japan

2.286% ...| China

2.432% ... Germany

2.952% ...| France

3.773% .../ Canada

3.847% ...| Italy

4.288% ... U.K.

4.631% ... U.S.A.

Posted by: Exile | Jun 23 2024 17:08 utc | 8

Detroit’s Mark Twain Library, which was closed in 1996 for renovations and never reopened.

main qimg 15ec6de6c57763cbe81746aa4138be6f

The fascist terrorist US provoked a war in Ukraine and they tried to provoke the war between China and Taiwan to enrich MIC. Almost all war crimes are due to the US. Will wars stop when the US econmy collapses in 1-2 years?

True, it is not a secret that USA instigated 201 wars out of 287 around the globe because MIC makes money thru wars.

US politicians who have bought MIC stocks also want wars.

Other than thru war & arms sale, one thing that supports war is US monetary hegemony.

It is the US monetary hegemony ie USD that supports USA’s vast military spending around the globe.

So, you are correct, once US economy collapses and/or dedollarisation is in full force, USA cannot afford so many wars.

When will US economy collapse, nobody knows.

Dedollarisation is in progress as of 2024. But, it will take awhile before dedollarisation is in full force. No country wants it to go too too fast. Because USA can do a lot of harm to the globe when it is desperate & has gone insane.

As a side note, USA has waged a monetary-financial war in Asia a month or 2 ago, but failed. The only one that was hit hard was Japan because Japan is a US puppet. All non US puppets survived this round of financial crisis quite well.

The eerie yellow brick road of abandoned Land of Oz theme park in North Carolina

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Peter Lee

Peter Lee has been providing regular coverage of tensions in the South China Sea on his China Threat Report on Patreon. He describes the current manufacturing of a flashpoint between China and Philippines - in the works for some years now - as “the biggest US government gaslighting operation since the Bush administration sold the Iraq invasion in 2002.”

He points out that the simplistic U.S. narrative, describing China as an aggressive and expansionist power, entirely ignores the primary document governing relations between all parties on South China Sea issues:

Declaration on the Conduct of Parties in the South China Sea (2002)

https://asean.org/declaration-on-the-conduct-of-parties-in-the-south-china-sea-2/

As convincingly argued by Lee, it has been, in fact, the Philippines which has breached this agreement, particularly in regards to dispute resolution and the maintenance of a status quo since 2002. The exact opposite is being loudly insisted in the western media and foreign policy circles, to the extent that the most hawkish voices are demanding immediate implementation of US-Philippines mutual defence agreements lest there be an appearance of “weakness”.

Posted by: jayc | Jun 23 2024 18:13 utc | 22

Buttermilk Brown Sugar and Bacon Biscuits

Ingredients

2 cups all-purpose flour
1/4 cup light brown sugar, + more for dusting (if desired)
2 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon kosher or sea salt
3 slices cooked, crisp bacon, crumbled
7 tablespoons cold unsalted butter
3/4 cup buttermilk

Instructions

Heat oven to 450 degrees F.
Stir together flour, brown sugar, baking powder, salt, and bacon until evenly mixed.
Cut in butter with a pastry cutter until the pieces of butter are the size of small peas.
Add buttermilk and stir until the dough is uniformly moistened.
On a lightly floured surface, bring the dough together and roll to approximately 3/4 inch thickness. Fold, envelope style, and roll again. If necessary, fold and roll again until the dough is smooth and uniform.
Cut biscuits and bake for 11 to 15 minutes until tops are golden.
If desired, brush tops with butter and sprinkle with additional brown sugar.

What is the most shameless thing you have ever seen a teacher do?

This is not really a funny story, except for the karma aspect of it. I was a senior in college, taking a class called instrumental methods of analysis. It is the final chemistry class before graduation. Three hours a week of lecture, plus two, five hour labs each week. Each lab required a 15–20 page lab report and a computer program to analyze our data. Through the first 12 (of 26) lab I had a perfect score on each lab report. Then I got into an argument with the lab teacher after he a lab where we were analyzing the contents of an aspirin, caffeine and phenacetin tablet. Except the APC tablets were removed from the market and so we analyzed acetaminophen, caffeine, phenacetin tablet. The procedure should have be rewritten to account for acetaminophen’s differing absorption spectrum. But our professor was to lazy to do that, telling us to just do the lab as written and explain the bad results. Instead, I ran to the library, found a way to do the experiment properly, and asked my prof. for permission to try it. At first he said yes, but only if you can get someone else to supervise you if it runs long. I did, and got started. He wandered in at 6 and told me to clean up and go home so he could go home for supper. I reminded him of our deal and he lost his shit on me. Finally in frustration, I told him that if he wanted to give me mediocre teaching, I’d give him mediocre work, like the rest of the class. Suddenly he stopped returning our graded work. I assumed I’d get the same C as most of the class, but got a final grade of F, meaning I’d have to spend an extra year in college to retake the class. I tried to arrange retaking the class in the summer at another university. He refused to consider any other class, telling me I was just like his teenage son and we both needed to be taught a lesson. I set up a meeting with our dean in which the prof. told us that he’d fail the entire senior class before he’d pass me. I had already been accepted into a prestigious graduate program and gotten a commitment for four years of funding. I called my grad. school dean. I don’t know exactly what was said between deans, but my undergrad dean called me in and said that they had arranged for me to retake the class alongside my regular grad. classes and transfer the credit back. They also said that the prof. who failed me would not be allowed to stop this deal.

Next summer I returned to my undergrad. school and met with the dean. He asked me to describe how the lab worked at Northwestern. He listened to me describe how differently NU did the labs, focused on designing experiments, learning how lab equipment works and how to use it effectively and creatively. And most of all, instead of wasting time rewriting our text and calling it lab reports we took oral exams while discussing the lab. The dean was so impressed that he promised to force my prof. to rewrite his labs so students wouldn’t just be going through the motions and writing lab reports. I heard through the grapevine that it helped the program and forced my former prof. to do a boatload of work revamping all 26 labs. All in all a pretty horrible experience with a petty and lazy prof, that turned out well in the end because I got to leave the school better than I found it via “instant karma.”

STAR TREK ACID PARTY: PHASE II

This is odddddddddd…….

Do you know anyone where the husband/father did the old “I’m going out for a pack of cigarettes”, and just took off and disappeared?

Yes. In 1984 my then husband went out to the store one Sunday morning to buy a loaf of bread. He never returned. He was a self-employed travel agent, so I assumed he had run into someone who needed travel advice and had lingered. This had happened before. That evening I was bathing our two children and went into his drawer in the bathroom for the nail scissors, and the drawer was empty! I looked in our closet and many of his things were gone. I looked in our storage room and my newest suitcase, a birthday gift, was gone. Monday morning I called his business partner and told him that husband had not come home. Business partner got worried and discovered husband had written himself an airline ticket back to his home country. He had also cashed himself a cheque on the company for many thousands of dollars. My father got the idea to go to the airport parking lot and retrieved our family vehicle.

I called my in-laws in his home country and they confirmed that yes, they were expecting their son for a visit. I told them what had happened and they hung up on me.

There was further drama after the fact as police were involved. Husband had been in an injury hit-and-run accident. Drug dealers were looking for him. He had “sold” a charter plane load of tickets to Hawaii to his friends and clients and absconded with all their money. He had forged my signature on a second mortgage on our house. It was a mess.

I got a divorce on grounds of desertion. We never heard from him again but almost 20 years later my niece in his home country contacted me to tell us he had committed suicide.

How does China do everything right?

China doesn’t do everything right

China makes mistakes too

The Wolf Warrior Policy was a big disaster for China and could have done a lot of damage had it not been for the stupidity of the West

Imagine if a cleverer President in US could have befriended Putin in 2015 itself and Europe had welcomed him with open arms

Xi would have been isolated today and vulnerable and utterly dependent on Energy on Malacca

Xi would have maybe half of his present strength and confidence

It was SHEER LUCK that somehow during the Wolf Warrior phase, you had good leaders like Shinzo Abe in Japan and that guy in South Korea and Duarte in Philippines and an Idiot like Trump in USA

It was SHEER LUCK that Covid decimated the world for 3 years and somehow helped China scale back from the Wolf Warrior mould thanks to the Ukraine invasion and become voices of peace

China has had very good luck while India, US have had very bad luck for the last few years

Chinas mistakes haven’t cost them big whereas Indias mistakes and US mistakes have cost them very big

China does most of the things right because of it’s Leadership and Meritocracy and because there is ALWAYS ACCOUNTABILITY within China

Someone always gets credit and Someone always gets the blame

Could and should the US consider developing an alternative to China’s Belt and Road Initiative with their own global economic plan like partnerships with Latin America, Africa, Asia and the Middle East, for their own development as well?

USA did try in the past. In fact, Biden also urged to start a US version of BRI to counter Chinese BRI.

They failed in the past & so far not succeed either today.

The difference between China & USA is the mentality & price. For the same price, US can only do little.

Let me use Tesla as an example. Musk opened a factory to make electric car in China. It took him 10 months (If I remember correctly) to build a factory.

When he expanded his business & went to build a factory in Germany, it took him 2 YEARS & still not operational.

Why? Too much of politics in the West incl USA & Germany.

Look at California. They wanted to build a high speed rail from dont know where to SF. It is considered short & straight. But 20 years later, only 1 small portion is working. Again politics.

Cats Being Badass: A Tribute

So we danced on their grave…

When I lived in Indiana, my wife and I took up dancing as a hobby. And Lordy, we did become good at it. We were pretty high up on the skill level, and could dance (in Silver and Bronze categories) Lain (Rumba, Tango, Cha-Cha, merengie, Pasa Doble, Salsa) as well as the American dances from Swing to Fox Trot and Waltz.

We would join the Delco Electronics dances twice a week (until I was laid-off and then banned from all activities.), and were very active. We even danced, and PERFORMED country line and country dances. All a lot of fun. Kept us fit, and we loved how everyone loved our rhythm.

Now the funny thing is that outside of our dance instructor’s studio we didn’t have anywhere to practice, and sometimes, we just wanted to get away and dance. So what we did was a work around.

There was a countryside cemetery not so far away, and we would drive to it. There, in the field was a flat cement crypt that stood perhaps a foot high, but was wide and large enough to dance upon. And so that is exactly what we did.

We would dance on someone’s grave.

We didn’t think much about it until the local newspaper had a “Letter to the Editor” asking who were those people dancing on the graves of the deceased and wondering what that person must have done to make us so happy about their death.

LOL.

Well, that wasn’t the situation, but I did get a little chuckle out of it. Yeah. we stopped dancing in the cemetery, but still, looking back it was a hoot.

Today…

Zelenski’s Summit Has Failed

The reviews of Zelenski’s latest show ain’t positive:

Russia’s ghost loomed over Ukraine peace summit – Politico.eu
In Ukraine, soldiers and civilians shrug off Zelensky’s summit – AFP
Ukraine’s Global Diplomatic Flurry Fails to Outflank Russia (archived) – WSJ
Significant support for Ukraine at peace summit – but key nations hesitate – Sky News
India opts out of Ukraine declaration at Swiss peace summit as Russia stays away – India Today
Major Ukraine summit ends with fresh plea for peace but key powers spurn final agreement – CNN
Disappointing end to Ukraine summit as allies agree to watered-down peace declaration – Telegraph

The summit served warmed up bullshit without any significant nutritional value. The most important points weren’t even discussed:

Arnaud Bertrand @RnaudBertrand – 8:48 UTC · Jun 17, 2024Genuinely astonishing how the final communiqué of Swiss “Summit on Peace in Ukraine” (link) is basically 6 out of the 12 points of China’s February 2023 “Peace plan” (link), and only that.

In short it’s the Chinese peace plan, without:

A call for a cessation of hostilities

A call to resume peace talks.

A call to “abandon the Cold War mentality”

A call to resolve the humanitarian crisis.

An agreement to remove “unilateral sanctions”

An agreement to support post-conflict reconstruction

The only points it keeps from the Chinese peace plan are:

Point 1: To base the resolution of the conflict on the UN Charter

Point 6: Asking that all prisoners of war and detainees should be released

Points 7 & 8: Calling for nuclear plants to be safe and stating that nuclear weapons shouldn’t be used

Points 9 & 11: Asking that food security and supply chains be maintained and be weaponized

And that’s almost 1 year and a half AFTER the Chinese Peace Plan, which the West rejected immediately out of hand and ironically criticized as being “vague” even though the outcome of this Swiss summit is now far vaguer, in fact it’s so vague it removed all the aspects of the Chinese plan that actually proposed a path to a sustainable peace …

Just goes to show how far away we are from peace, almost 2 years and a half into the war… And also goes to show that maybe, just maybe, China’s proposal wasn’t so bad after all 😏

As Strana summarizes (machine translation):

The final declaration included a clause on the need to involve “all parties” in the negotiations, which can be interpreted as a desire to involve the Russian Federation in future summits. This was stated by many participants of the summit (primarily from the countries of the “global South”). Zelensky also said about his desire to see Russia at the second summit, saying that Russia’s presence there would mean that it “wants peace.”But given the complete discrepancy in the positions of the parties regarding how they see the end of the war, it is still very early to talk about any negotiations. These positions may become closer under the influence of two factors-the situation on the battlefield and / or coordinated pressure on both belligerents by their key international partners. And only in the case of such a convergence of positions will real negotiations become possible.

The war will continue until the complete destruction of the Ukrainian forces can no longer be ignored.

Posted by b at 13:06 UTC | Comments (88)

This family has got it goin’ on

Today’s thought

What most people suffer from is an act of Learned behavior, inherited behavior or acquired character.

A lot of people do this because there is someone they admire and because of that they tend to adopt a certain character that does not fit into their original model of originality.

When you go about adopting people’s original way of life, You alternate your own originality.

What this does in your mind is this, It creates a chaos in your mindset as it struggles to balance your own unique identity with the one you have chosen to adopt especially if it’s totally new or different from what you are known for.

Now someone might be asking, But can’t we model someone? The answer is yes, You can emulate some good qualities of someone you admire but do not alter your originality.

It’s just like saying you want to learn how to be left-handed because you admire left handed people, It is good you admire them but adopting that character of being left handed will alter the cognitive part of your brain.

So the way out? While you may love certain qualities in someone, Do not all together erase your own good qualities while adopting another person’s own.

The characters you adopt can compliment yours or erase your own.

Maintain your character.

Maintain your good qualities.

Borrow a leaf from one you admire and infuse in what aligns to yours. If it does not align, There’s no need, drop it!

But, In no wise erase what you’re built to be.

Erasing your originality can put you in a place of fixation or split identity.

Compilation: Time Travel stories!

Wine Mushroom Pizza

Yield: 1 (12 inch) pizza

Ingredients

About 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour, divided
1 package active dry yeast
1/2 cup water
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup dry red wine
1 (8 ounce) can tomato sauce
2 teaspoons instant minced onion
1/2 teaspoon dried basil, crushed
1/2 teaspoon dried oregano, crushed
1/2 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
1 (6 ounce) can sliced mushrooms, drained
1 cup shredded mozzarella cheese
1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese

Instructions

Combine 3/4 cup flour and yeast in a medium bowl.
Combine water, cooking oil and salt in another bowl. Heat to lukewarm in microwave.
Add to flour mixture and beat well.
Add 3/4 cup more flour to make a stiff dough. Knead until smooth. Place in a greased bowl. Turn once to grease surface. Cover and let rise until more than double.
Punch dough down. Let rest 10 minutes.
Roll dough to a 12 inch circle. Place in a 12 inch pizza pan. Form edge. Prick crust.
Bake at 450 degrees F for 13 to 15 minutes.
In a small saucepan, combine red wine, tomato sauce, onion, basil, oregano and Worcestershire sauce. Boil until reduced to 1 cup. Spread over crust.
Arrange mushrooms on top.
Sprinkle with mozzarella and Parmesan.
Bake 10 minutes more.

What incident from her childhood does your mother often narrate to you?

My mother had a bad childhood.

My grandfather was a disciplinarian. He was strict. He was loud. He was ruthless. And yet he was a well known, respectable man.

He would run a tuition centre for children back in the 60s and 70s. All the parents who thought their kids wouldn’t study or who thought their child was a nuisance were sent here to study. My grandfather would resort to all kinds of punishment to make a child study, from making them stand outside in the sun to hitting them with a long stick.

“And their parents didn’t tell him anything?” I had asked sitting all of 12 years old wide eyed in front of her as she narrated her ordeal.

“No. Those days it was okay to hit a child and punish them especially if the child was mischievous and a nuisance. Parents would come in abundance to get their child admitted in the classes.” My mother told me.

I had sat there aghast.

“We had a strict regime. We were supposed to wake up by 4 am. Study till 6.30 am and then get dressed, have food and leave for school. Come back study again still dinner time. Then have dinner by 7 and sleep by 8.30 pm. We never played outside. We never listened to the radio.”

“TV?” I asked looking at the black colored giant TV that sat on our living room which I absolutely adored.

“There was no TV back then. We had a radio,which we were not allowed to touch. We would hear news on it and commentary for a cricket match sometimes. But that was rare. It was just studies everyday. You know, I was never allowed to come second. So I stood first every year.” She said as I sat there shocked. I felt bad for my mother. Not because she was not allowed to come anything but first but because she got me as a gift who would pass with bare minimum marks and yet dance and celebrate.

“My mother was my only best friend. Who protected us from his wrath every now and then. If it was not for her her, I don’t know what I would have done.” She continued.

“You didn’t have any friends?”

“No. Not until I entered college.”

I hugged her.

“I wanted to go to school picnics. I wanted to be friends with someone. I wanted to learn dancing. I wanted to learn how to ride a cycle. I wanted to go on a trip with my friends. I couldn’t do anything until I got married to your father.”

My parents had a love marriage which my grandfather was dead against. It was my grandmother who had gotten them married. My grandfather had only come around when I was born a year later.

“And that is why I don’t stop you from anything. Just don’t misuse the trust I have on you.” She had said loud and clear.

She was right, though.

I danced. I made many friends. I went alone on trips with them. I had sleepovers and learnt to ride a two wheeler. I went on every picnic that my school organised. I played out on the streets till it was dark. I was given the freedom that she always craved for.

I lived her dream. And she was happy too in living those dreams through me.

And now, years later, there are days when she is over at my house, I smile when I see her all engrossed in playing some stupid game on her cellphone with passion to win.

She is finally living her teenage years in her fifties.

Better late than never!

Something Terrible is Happening To Boomers

What are some examples of criminals acting too smart for their own good?

In theory, Israel Keyes was a pretty smart serial killer, being implicated in 11 murders over the course of 15 years. How did he do it?

He had no victim profile – essentially picking targets at random, whomever he deemed “worthy” of being his victim.
He had no personal connection to his victims
He abducted/raped/home invaded/murdered all over the country, and never in the same area twice. Once he flew to Chicago, then rented a car and drove 1000 miles to murder in Vermont, strictly to avoid detection.
He hid “murder kits” across the country, so he wouldn’t have to worry about procuring items. One kit he had stashed for two years before returning to the area to use it to commit a murder.

He may be linked to as many as 11 deaths in the United States, burgled 20 to 30 homes across the United States and robbed several banks between 2001 and 2012.

So how did he get caught?

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He used a victim’s debit card.

On February 1, 2012, Keyes abducted 18-year-old Samantha Koenig, a coffee booth employee in Anchorage, Alaska, while she was working. He then sexually assaulted her, killed her the following day, left her in his shed, and went on a two-week cruise.

When he returned he took a picture with her dead body (trying to imply she was still alive), and demanded a $30,000 ransom. He took Koenig’s debit card and proceeded to use it – multiple times. Police were able to track withdrawals from the account as he moved throughout the southwestern U.S.

He was finally arrested in Texas at a café on March 13, 2012 – after he used her debit card.

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Finally captured, indicted, and being held in jail, he committed suicide on December 2, 2012.

The West is DONE: Take These 5 Steps to Survive WW3

How do relatively small missiles like the Patriot PAC-3 and AIM-120 generate electricity for powerful radars in their heads?

Many years ago, I worked for Honda doing some R&D into crash safety mechanisms. We ran into an issue where we had actuators requiring a couple of joules to trigger them, but in the context of a car crash we only had a couple of milliseconds. This caused a near intractable problem; a joule is a reasonable amount of energy, a millisecond is a reasonable amount of time in a car crash, but a joule per millisecond is a kilowatt which is an unreasonably large amount of electricity. We just didn’t have spare kilowatts of electrical power sitting around.

One of my Japanese coworkers had an aerospace background, and suggested thermal batteries. These are batteries with almost zero self-discharge and a 20+ year shelf life. When needed, a pyrotechnic charge melts an insulating eutectic salt within the battery, which turns into a liquid and suddenly becomes a highly conductive electrolyte for the battery. When the salt is in its molten form, the battery can provide obscenely large amounts of power for a short amount of time. One American company, EaglePicher, dominates the global supply of thermal batteries.

We worked with Eagle to select a battery that met our needs in rapid melting, and tried to buy two of these batteries for our tests. We ran into an issue where they were held up in US customs in LAX for several months, requiring lots of paperwork before we could get them to the testing facility in Tochigi prefecture, Japan. When the batteries finally arrived in Japan, we understood why. They came in large boxes labeled “CAUTION MISSILE PARTS”.

In looking for a battery with light weight, good shelf life, and the ability to rapidly produce kilowatts of electricity, we had accidentally selected the exact model of battery used to power the radar in an AIM-120 AMRAAM, the advanced medium range air to air missile used by the USAF.

So, one answer to the question is that some missiles use thermal batteries.

I will note that I’m translating from Japanese. I called them “netsu denchi” at work, and I’m pretty sure the English name is “thermal battery”, but it’s a technology I’ve never worked with in English, even though English is my first language. They are also called “molten salt batteries” and I’m not sure which English name is more common.

Shorpy stuff

China’s modernization beyond the expectations of Canadian vlogger

59 Countries Show Interest To Join BRICS in 2024

By Vinod Dsouza

The BRICS summit is scheduled to be held in the Kazan region of Russia in October 2024. The 16th summit will see the attendance of four newly inducted countries the United Arab Emirates, Egypt, Iran, and Ethiopia. The nine-member alliance will decide the course of the bloc in the upcoming summit and commit to a stronger partnership.

BRICS aims to cut ties with the US dollar and use local currencies for all cross-border transactions among member nations. The move is attracting other developing countries to be a part of BRICS in 2024.

The attraction comes as it’s the only alliance that’s challenging the US dollar and giving importance to local currencies. Therefore, a handful of developing nations in Asia, Africa, Eastern Europe, and Latin America have expressed their interest in joining the BRICS bloc in 2024.

Anton Kobyakov, Russia’s presidential advisor confirmed in a latest press conference that 59 countries have expressed interest to join BRICS in 2024. He also added that apart from BRICS, many other countries have applied to join the Shanghai Cooperation Organization (SCO), and the Eurasian Economic Union (EAEU) in 2024.

“We have announced figures that are not commercially confidential,” he added. Kobyakov also explained that several countries are interested in the multipolar concept and want to stay away from the US dollar.

The advisor to Putin stressed that both BRICS and the SCO will be a power to reckon with in 2024. “We can safely say that the SCO is destined to become a new center of economic power in a changing world,” Kobyakov stressed. “Now most of the Earth’s inhabitants are with us,” he summed it up.

In order to reduce carbon emissions to protect our lovely Earth & human races, China should put high tariffs on all conventional cars to promote EVs cars in China first such as 2,400 km BYD EVs. It is revolutionary technology. Isn’t it?

Due to strange logic and incorrect facts:

Initially, China produced a large number of clothes, toys, and everyday goods. They were cheap and came in a wide variety. The United States didn’t say, “We need to sanction China for its overproduction.”

Later, China began manufacturing a vast array of electronics, hardware tools, and machine parts. These were affordable and available in many models. The United States didn’t say, “We need to sanction China for its overproduction.”

Now, China has started producing a large number of electric vehicles. Most of these cars are sold domestically in China. A smaller portion is exported to Southeast Asia, Central Asia, and South America, with even fewer going to Europe, and only 2,000 units were shipped to the United States in the first quarter. The United States says, “China’s overproduction of new energy vehicles must be sanctioned.”

This is the world we live in. Some countries freely say whatever they want at any time and place, while other countries work diligently, continuously optimizing engineering and supply chains to produce cheaper, more environmentally friendly, and better cars.

Then those countries say, “You are only allowed to work hard, not to upgrade your industries. You can only forever produce stockings, underwear, bikinis, bras, whips, silicone toys, vibrators, sound-emitting pussies, silicone dolls, gags, masks, ropes, low-temperature candles, and lubricants.” I almost forgot one item: fentanyl. Because drugs and toys together yield the best results.

And then they declare, “This is the axiom of the world; it is civilization, democracy, and freedom.”

P.S. Let me tell you my story about China’s “overproduction” of new energy vehicles:

In April 2023, I bought my first new energy vehicle, a Chinese brand “Geely Auto” with a beautiful name “Thor.” However, this wasn’t the car I planned to buy the week before. A week prior, after discussing with my family, we agreed to buy another Chinese brand, BYD’s new energy vehicle, model Qin Dmi. Both are hybrid cars. The difference was that the BYD was only $15,000, while the Geely was $25,000. The price difference is because the Geely has a 100 km EV range and a 1065 km fuel range, while the cheaper BYD has a 55 km EV range and a 900 km fuel range. There weren’t many other differences.

Ultimately, we decided to spend more on the Geely because the BYD required a wait for a new car to be produced. In April, the BYD dealership manager told me, “If you pay the deposit now, you might get your new car by July.” So, I had to wait 2.5 to 3 months! Impatiently, I said, “This is a marketing gimmick. It’s not the Soviet planned economy where everything is in short supply. I don’t believe you; I’ll check with other dealers.” The result was the same: BYD Qin Dmi customers nationwide had to wait an average of 2 months for their new cars. Why? Because it was the only hybrid model among all A-class sedans in China at the time that cost less than 100,000 RMB ($15,000), so it was in high demand.

As for me, after getting my Geely hybrid, my monthly fuel expenses dropped from $300 to $0. Of course, my electricity bill increased. Geely installed a charging station in my garage for free. The State Grid Corporation of China approved my electricity application within 36 hours and sent staff to complete the preliminary installation for free. Another 24 hours later, the State Grid app notified me that off-peak electricity rates were activated, allowing me to charge at night at 40% of the daytime rate (China’s electricity rate is $0.08 per kWh, $0.05 at night). Now, my monthly EV electricity cost varies with the season. Generally, in spring and autumn, when the weather is mild, I don’t drive much. In winter and hot summer, I drive daily to pick up my wife and children. In these seasons, the electricity bill is about $40 per month. Yes, $40 in electricity costs covers 1,200 kilometers, with the air conditioning always on.

That’s my experience with the “insufficient production capacity” of BYD EVs.

What are the reasons for using liquid propellants instead of solid ones in modern day missiles/rockets?

You use liquid propellants because it gives you better performance.

But you have to load it right before you launch it.

So satellite launches use liquid.

Missiles use solid. Solid propellant is very stable and is sealed into the rocket engine. So no air reaches the fuel. It can sit somewhere for years or a decade and still work when taken off the shelf.

Pregnant Cat Sits in the Rain, Having Nowhere to Go and Begging for Food On the Road

What was your “Wow, monsters hide in plain sight!” moment?

In 2019, a retired French police officer joined a popular game show on television. He laughed, sharing some banter with the host. Just a friendly older gentleman, having some fun. His name was François Vérove and he didn’t do very well in the show — after just two rounds, he was booted from the show. He took it in stride, and went off. Its all fun and games, right?

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In the 1980s and 1990s, a series of rapes and crimes shocked the Paris region. Nine young girls and children died in the attacks, twenty more survived. Barely. Those who survived all described the attacker as “a pock-marked man”. He would flash his police badge to get the young victims to cooperate. They would do as he told them, although authorities believed he likely made use of a false badge. The perpetrator couldn’t possible be one of them, right?

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But he was. It was police officer François Vérove all along.

[1]

Vérove changed his appearance, growing a beard to hide his facial scars, scars that were particularly bad in the lower half of his face according to some survivors. He married, fathered two children and lived a normal life. In 1997, he committed his final murder. He then stopped, afraid DNA evidence would one day catch up with him. Still, he didn’t hide — he even joined a game show, laughing with the host and audience…

François Vérove received a phone call in 2021 — all police officers active in the area the killings took place were to give a DNA sample to police to help the investigation as recent evidence had shown it may have been a cop, after all. A total of 750 men received the call. Vérove, knowing his time was up, wrote a suicide note confessing to the crime. Then took his own life. Some monsters hide in plain sight, and aren’t shy about being seen.

Shorpy

What are the weirdest things said to a telemarketer?

I answered and immediately went into my customer service voice.

Me: Hello and thank you for calling the phone of David Jockers, we have a short list of questions for you today and we’ll get you back to your busy day. May I start by asking your name please?

Telemarketer: (sounding completely confused.)Um….. Sarah… I’m fr….

Me: Thank you Sarah! I appreciate your prompt answer and want you to know that your time is precious to me. My next question for you Sarah is in what state do you reside Sarah?

Telemarketer: …..Texas…

Me: Thank you Sarah from Texas! You’re doing great Sarah from Texas and we’re just going to ask one more short question and we’ll get you on your way. My next question for you Sarah from Texas are you calling me from your home or from a call center?

Telemarketer: …Um…. A call… center.

Me. OKAY! Sarah from Texas in a call center! I’ve been doing this a long time and let me tell you Sarah from Texas in a call center you have been the best part of my day! I’d like to thank you Sarah from Texas in a call center for taking the time out of your busy day to take my survey and I sincerely invite you to call back anytime! You have a nice day Sarah from Texas in a call center! Keep being awesome!

Telemarketer: Wait! Sir…..

Me: *Click*

They never called again. Which sucks because this was fun as heck to do.

Did you ever accidentally overhear a conversation about you on a conference call?

A person in a middle management position once called a manager of our biggest customer and bitched him out because he hadn’t received some prints we were waiting on. My desk was just outside the door and I heard every word of the call.

A day or two later there was a conference call with this customer containing four or five of our management and owners and a number of the customers people.

Before the actual meeting started their manager did an ass chewing about that previous phone call emphasizing that it had better not happen again and the caller should be terminated.

Again I was right outside the door and heard that caller sit right there and tell the entire room that I made the call. At that time I had never once made a call to that customer as my job never gave me a reason to talk directly to the customers only the occasional supplier.

I didn’t say anything while all the bosses were still in the room. Once the room was empty except the back stabbing A-hole I went in stuck my finger in his face then told him I heard him make the original call, I heard him blame me and if one single word came back to me shit is going to get real.

His eyes got as big as dinner plates he stuttered and turned red as I walked out. I don’t know what happened but I never heard a single word about it.

Run Away From Kerry

Submitted into Contest #250 in response to: A character overhears something at a black-tie event that puts the night in jeopardy. … view prompt

William Malave

Run Away From Kerry

“That’s game two! The winner is Early, that beautiful man of iron! Round of applause everyone!” Early was cheered up to the stage as he accepted his “reward,” which was just a hastily wrapped bag of food and half-opened drinks, some of which were spilling out of the package. Early snorted as the mixed dark fluid of beers and liquors seeped out of the bag and onto his sleeves.

“Thank you!” he shouted, causing everyone else to cheer more. Almost everyone here was so drunk or high that they had no clue what was going on. Even I had a bit to drink. Although, I was nowhere near intoxicated enough to let whatever the hell they packed in that bag leak onto my brand-new clothes. “I’d like to thank my mom, Sash, Jim-Jim, all of…all of you pe-” Early vomited on the stage, a hurl of mixed cheeses and seafood that had such a potent odor it permeated my nose immediately. The announcer Jim-Jim and a few others helped Early off the stage, while everyone else continued cheering and laughing. I watched and shook my head as they hauled him through the party room’s doors.

“Every time I come to these, someone either pukes or shits themselves,” Ama, one of my close friends, said from behind me.

“My kind of party, always,” I quipped, although she didn’t seem to care much for my joke. “Well, at least it didn’t start like this. I remember the invite saying ‘wear your best clothes, this will be a serious and professional party.’”

“An obvious lie, Jim-Jim couldn’t throw a black-tie if he was forced to. Once I saw the drinks I knew this thing was going to shit.” I laughed as she spoke. “Seriously, this makes me so sick of them. For once, why can’t they just go out for a game of cards? We could take a trip to a nice moon resort or something. Instead we’re here on Jim-Jim’s personal ship, fucking floating in the middle of nowhere.” She scrunched her face in frustration, and I smiled at her. She noticed and asked, “What?”

“It has nothing to do with Jim-Jim and his new girl does it?” Ama rolled her eyes and started walking away. I laughed as I jogged to catch up to her. The rest of the party-goers had all but left the main room, aside from a few stragglers who were either asleep in one of the few corners or mingling drunkenly as they awkwardly danced. “You know, this whole party was just to celebrate the two of them getting together. Why did you come?”

“I don’t know, if I’m honest with you. I think some part of me wanted to be here for it, and another just wanted some closure. Maybe some other reasons too, who knows?” There was a person sprawled out on the floor, their blue suit sparkling under the hallway light. He was snoring loudly, and his bottle was nearly empty, hovering over him like a guardian angel. Ama and I stepped over him, giving each other a small smile as we continued, making our way towards the common space, a small area aboard the ship that acted as a recreation area for passing crew and passengers. It was nestled between the medbay and the living quarters, and it only contained a sitting space with a knee-high rectangular table, and two booths for those who wanted to eat in a group. There were also two seats by a window with a small table between them, which gave a nice view out into space. That’s where we chose to sit.

As we settled into our seats, I felt my body tilting from side to side, and Ama seemed to be laughing at me. “What are you laughing for?” I asked her.

“You’re so drunk.”

“I didn’t think I had so much. Maybe I went a little overboard.

“I have to admit, it’s nice seeing this again.”

“The…stars?” I said, struggling to get the words out. She was peering out the window, watching as we flew past the open black.

“I think you might need some Alleviator.”

“Yeah, that would..oh, god.” I covered my mouth as a vomit-flavored burp escaped my lips. Ama reached into her bag and handed me an Alleviator, and I sloppily scooped the chewable tablet out of her hand, fumbling with it until I eventually got it into my mouth. I sat back in the chair, holding my head in my hands as I let the tears stream down my face.

“You’re crying.”

“Shut up,” I laughed as she handed me a tissue. Alleviators drained excess alcohol and other intoxicating fluids via sweat and tears, filtrating them through an intense internal process that chemically changed them into what was essentially water. Alleviators were a staple at almost any party, as they were a pain-free and simple way to sober up within a five-to-ten minute timespan. “You think Early is alright?” There was a subtle doong sound somewhere far from us. Ama turned her head to face the noise, looking down the hall back towards the party room.

“Did you hear that?” I nodded.

“Probably just debris. Loose mineral or something.” She nodded back.

“Want to know something strange? I heard Kerry whispering some stuff about a fight earlier.”

“A fight?”

“Yeah, he seemed pretty upset, probably something to do with Jim-Jim, I don’t know.”

“Didn’t he just get released from Len?”

“Yeah, but they said he had a full recovery, no more drugs, or whatever the hell he was on when he went in.” She sighed. “I just hope it doesn’t cause any shit.”

“I don’t think it will. Last I remember he was trying to come off it, and doing pretty good with it too.” She nodded.

“Also, yes.”

“What?”

“Yes to what you said. About Early?” I nodded my head, closing my eyes as I felt my head clearing.

“Yeah, I think so too. He threw up so much. Did you see the color? It was like a yellowish-blue. What the fuck did he drink?” Ama giggled.

“Some of that rich-boy shit. Top shelf.” I took my hands off my eyes and looked at her with clearer vision. Her wavy red hair draped over her shoulders and settled on top of her glittery red dress.

“Since when are you wearing red again?” She rolled her eyes and looked back toward the party room again, where another doong, this time louder, caught both of our attentions. “Should we check on that? They could need help.” Ama nodded and sighed as she zipped up her bag. I stood and pushed in my chair, and we walked together back towards the party room, where the double doors were slightly ajar. The guy in the blue suit was still laying on the floor, with his bottle by his head. We looked ahead and saw that most of the people who were dancing had disappeared from the dance floor. I motioned for Ama to enter first, and she gave me a curt look as she pushed open the door.

Upon entering, Ama screamed at the top of her lungs, and I quickly shoved the door open, looking with her at what had terrified her. There was blood everywhere, and people were sprinting to the other side of the room. A masked gunman was shooting people as they fled, and he noticed us, aiming his gun at Ama and I as I pushed her out of the way. His shot hit me in my shoulder, and I cried out as I ducked out of the room, running down the hall to grab the emergency firearm. Every hallway had an emergency sidearm or rifle in case of boarding or an event like this. I tripped over the blue suit guy’s leg and he sprung awake, yelling as I scrambled for the gun. “Get the fuck up and run!” I yelled at him, as I heard the door slam shut and Ama sprinting down the hall.

“Miko!” She shouted for me, but I was focused on finding which section of wall hid the firearm, searching for the small yellow label as she neared me. The blue suit guy slowly got up, looking for his bottle. “Miko!”

“What?!” I found the yellow label and pushed it into the wall, releasing the lock as the compartment extended from it.

“There were so many, so many, Miko,” She was sobbing, her hands shaking violently as she kept checking the door for any signs of the gunman coming. The compartment was empty, and I slammed my fist on it, crying out as I felt a twinge of pain in my shoulder.

“There’s no fucking gun!”

“Gun?” The blue suit guy sat up as he looked back at the party room, then at Ama and the blood all over her. “Oh, what? What the fuck is happening?” He rubbed his eyes and winced, most likely from the alcohol that was on his fingers.

“I can clean your wound, Miko, but we have to go.”

“He took it. There’s no gun here, which means there probably isn’t one anywhere.” The doors burst open, and a bunch of people covered in blood sprinted out of the room, screaming as gunshots sprung from behind them. Everyone ran down the hallway, except the blue suit guy. Someone was shot and had fallen onto him as they tried to flee. “RUN! This way!” I tried to lead the rest of the people towards the shuttle bay, which was a straight shot through the medbay, but half of them scrambled towards the living quarters. Shots rang out, striking people in their arms and legs, some of them headshots, spraying blood over everyone else as they tried to escape. I turned to go back, to try and help those who would be trapping themselves, but Ama yanked my arm hard, pulling me to the medbay. As soon as we got inside, the gunman quickly let off a few rounds before stopping to reload, putting down whoever else was going to make it through those doors before we shut them.

Ama and I threw some medical beds and a cabinet down in front of the door, attempting to build some sort of barricade. Only a few people made it in with us, all of them lathered in the blood of their friends and crew members. All of them were sobbing hard, and I couldn’t help but shed tears as well, as I remembered the faces of those terrified people running towards the living quarters making a call that would cost them their lives. My heart was thumping, and I felt like it was going to burst from my chest if I didn’t calm down. I clutched my shirt as I took some deep breaths, trying to tune out the horrified whines and moans of the people around me. Ama was searching for bandages for the people with us, while everyone else was panicking and trying to figure out what to do next. The combined sound of all their noise was stressing me out, and I quickly walked over to the unbarricaded door, opening it and looking down the hall. It was quiet and empty aside from the open gun compartment. I bit my lip as I tried to strategize how to escape. A hand touched my shoulder, and I flinched, turning to see Ama’s worried face. She was scared, and visibly shaking as she tried to provide a bandage to my shoulder, which had bled so much that my shirt was half red.

“You’ve lost a lot of blood, Miko.” She applied the bandage, and I sucked in a deep breath as the pain skyrocketed. I kicked the door hard as she tied the knot, trying to alleviate any of the pain but failing. Ama wiped down my left side with a damp, bloody cloth, grazing over my breast and reaching down to my hip. There was a dark stain of blood on my skin, and I felt weak enough to pass out, but I held my gaze on the shuttle bay doors, just at the end of the hall, past two other doorways. More gunshots rang out, signifying that he had breached the living quarters. I couldn’t hear their screams but my brain made me listen, forcing me to play it out in my head to remind me that I didn’t help them, or step in front of the gunman for them. The guilt was eating at me, but the rest of the people with me distracted me from that thought, as well as Ama’s doctoring, which stopped the bleeding on most of the survivors.

“Alright,” I said through pained breaths, “can everyone walk?” The majority nodded, and those who couldn’t had someone to support them. “We’re gonna get out on a shuttle. Follow me this way.” We all moved together, watching our backs in case the barricade was broken. I led the group, holding my bandage to help stop the bleeding. Ama moved in front of me to open the door, and we quickly entered the larger area, looking for a shuttle big enough to fit all of us among the fleet of smaller ships and transports.

“Can anyone here pilot?” Ama asked as she opened the doors to a silver shuttle.

“Yeah, I-” Bullets pierced the air as the gunman erupted from a side door. He missed, but everyone scrambled away from the shuttle, except for Ama, who had managed to get on the ship. The gunman howled, releasing a guttural roar of rage.

“FUCK ALL OF YOU!” He fired a few more shots into the crates and containers that we hid behind. “YOU!” He fired another shot, and it pierced the wood of the crate I hid behind, nearly hitting me in my side. “I DID EVERYTHING RIGHT!”

“Come here, motherfucker!” Another voice boomed as the gunman was tackled. We looked up from our cover to see the guy in the blue suit struggling to fight the gunman, holding the gun down with both hands as he tried to steal it from him. I erupted from my cover, and a few others did too, to try and help, but the gunman reacted faster than we could, and he fired shots at us, killing two more as he was getting punched in the face, his mask breaking apart as the blue suit guy tried to disable him. I pushed forward, rushing to do what I could to aid the guy, and I managed to reach before the gunman fired again, punching his wrist as hard as I could and pulling at the gun. But he was stronger than me, and even though both of us were there, he was still lifting the gun, forcing it towards the blue suit guy.

I tried to leverage myself, pulling back with all of my weight, but the gun was still moving, and the others were too scared to come help. I turned and saw Ama, looking down from the shuttle doors, and she looked so sorry, so hurt and betrayed, as if I wasn’t supposed to help, as if I wasn’t supposed to protect the people. I didn’t understand the expression at first, or the sadness in the eyes she pleaded with, but I got it fully when she closed those shuttle doors, and the ship started up. “AMA!” I called out to her, and the others started running to the shuttle, banging on it as they tried to escape, their bloodied hands leaving imprints and scrapes on the shuttle doors, but she ignored us, all of us, and she took off, blasting everyone back with the shuttle’s liftoff.

The gunman had lost his gun, and the blue suit guy was getting pummeled by his gloved fists, his broken mask revealing his rough and bloody face, his unkempt blonde hair that hung down over his eyes, and his crooked nose, which was leaking blood onto the blue suit guy’s face. I recognized that it was Kerry. When he cocked his arm back for another punch, he revealed his eyes, which were bleeding black blood, and his pupils were extremely dilated. He was on Ex-Rev, a lot of it, and that punch he delivered was going to be stronger than anyone could stop. Someone picked up the gun and shot him, but he kept punching, harder and harder as bullets penetrated his skin. He forced himself through the pain to try and kill his target.

Eventually, a bullet pierced his skull, and he fell back, his arms twitching violently as his body emptied itself of the drug. It seeped out from all of his pores and openings, covering his skin in black blood as he died. The shooter dropped the gun, putting his hand over his mouth as he collapsed onto his knees. I stood on shaky legs as I looked down at the blue suit guy, who was still breathing thankfully, and then out of the port at Ama, whose shuttle was gradually flying away. I was seething, my shoulder was leaking again, but I didn’t care. I felt like my skin was boiling, and I was watching with hateful eyes as I fell to my knees, and released a loud scream. I let everything go, and the tears came soon after, as I watched the shuttle escape into the darkness of space. I looked over again at Kerry’s body, and then at the survivors, and I sucked my teeth and gathered myself, shuffling over to help them return to the medbay and try to assist whoever else we could onboard.

What are the weirdest things said to a telemarketer?

I answered and immediately went into my customer service voice.

Me: Hello and thank you for calling the phone of David Jockers, we have a short list of questions for you today and we’ll get you back to your busy day. May I start by asking your name please?

Telemarketer: (sounding completely confused.)Um….. Sarah… I’m fr….

Me: Thank you Sarah! I appreciate your prompt answer and want you to know that your time is precious to me. My next question for you Sarah is in what state do you reside Sarah?

Telemarketer: …..Texas…

Telemarketer: …Um…. A call… center.

Telemarketer: Wait! Sir…..

Me: *Click*

They never called again. Which sucks because this was fun as heck to do.

What was the stupidest thing someone has called the police on you for?

We had a cheap kiddie swimming pool for the summer when our sons were small. They were having a wonderful time one hot summer day jumping in and out of the pool laughing and occasionally shrieking as they splashed other. At about 11:00am, a police car pulled up in front of the house and an officer walked into the back yard. The kids were very excited to see a policeman until he sternly started lecturing me about a noise complaint from my neighbor.

I was furious (I still am 20 years later). I indignantly pointed out that the “noise complaint” was normal children’s play in the middle of the day when there were no noise restrictions. With a pompous tone, he told me to “keep it down” and he didn’t want to have to return.

This launched 5 years of noise complaints from my neighbor when my sons played in the backyard. We didn’t have the money for a legal fight. I was often forced to keep my children indoors to play because she would complain whenever they were outside.

The noise complaints ended when the kids complained to me that this neighbor was trying to scare them with her car while they were waiting for the school bus. We share a long driveway with a group of houses and all the kids wait for the bus at the entrance to the driveway. I talked with the other neighborhood children who said she yelled at them to get out of her way and drove her car very close to them to scare them to jump into the bushes.

The next morning, I walked down the driveway with my sons to wait for the bus. Sure enough, as we were waiting on the side of the driveway where the bus stopped, the neighbor came whipping into the driveway at a high speed and drove within 6 inches of me. I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. I told the dispatcher that my children and I were being threatened by the driver of a motor vehicle while waiting for the bus. The police were there within minutes. The officers took my report with eager embellishment from the neighborhood children until the bus arrived. The officer tried to dismiss it as the long running neighbor dispute. I pointed out that this was a threat with a deadly weapon — a motor vehicle — and that a child could end up injured or dead.

He have a small smile and said “I’ll talk to her.” He must have put the fear of god into her because we never had another complaint and she drives carefully whenever someone is walking in the driveway. I suspect the entire department was tired of her complaints. I think it helped that this was the first complaint I had ever made against her.

But this did have long term consequences. On the good side, my sons were very careful about noise and parties as teens. Today as adults they are both highly skilled esports gamers. But on the negative side, they do not do any outdoor exercise except walking (which is pretty silent). My husband and love being outdoors and my sons do not.

Why I Won’t Move To The USA – American Expat Life

Living abroad for 14 years has given me a unique perspective on the country that I come from. 

Even though I've been far removed from the goings on I've always kept up with what is happening there and have challenged myself on whether expat life is the right life for me, or would moving to the United States be a better choice. 

I believe it's important to take a look at the financial aspects of life abroad and in this episode, I'll bring up some comparisons specifically in regard to the cost of living in Portugal compared to the US, and the resulting implications for work-life balance. 

But as an American abroad, there are some elements I also can't help but look at such as the American work ethic, credit scores, and opportunities for small business. Yet while there are positives that are possible to look at, there are approaches to life I feel are more common to find among certain cultures. 

One such problem that unfortunately, I find more among many Americans is how material pursuits can overshadow some of life's most meaningful moments and details that can be missed. 

In this expat living abroad podcast episode of Not Your Average Globetrotter hosted by me, Rafael Di Furia, will take a critical exploration of American dynamics from an expat's perspective.

Have you ever met someone and something seemed so unusual about them but you couldn’t put your finger on what it was?

Many times! I was just a little girl. My Mother and I were at the grocery store when a man came up to my Mom, greeting her. She said hello as she grabbed me, pulling me behind her and pressed my body close to her. I didn’t know why she did that, the man was just saying “Hello” He bent down and asked me “And who do we have here?”

I was just about to tell him my name when my Mom blurted out “This is my youngest daughter.” He smiled and said “WOW! You have your hands full!” “8 girls and 1 boy, how do you manage?” “If you need I can take this one off your hands!”

He playfully reached around and held out his hand. It scared me. He seemed serious about taking my hand. My older sister came around the corner and saw the man reaching for me.

She told the man, “ I highly suggest you leave my Mom and sister alone!” “I’m going to tell my Father you had the gall to even greet my Mother and reach for my sister!” She was very angry.

He said it wasn’t necessary to tell my Father.( I know why now 😁)We got home and I asked why the man seemed odd(to the least!)

Mom told me “Do you know monsters are real?”

I was wide eyed and afraid. Mom told me monster’s do exist but it’s hard to tell because they look like a normal person. She said anytime you see that man walk away or find anyone around and tell them this man is bad.

Help me and make him go away. “ I will but why?” This man has been in jail because he took a child walking home and threw them in his car. He is mean to children.

A few weeks earlier 3 of my sisters were at the Five and Dime store. He took my 3 year old Cousin from my sister’s arms and started running away with him. My sisters screamed for help and yelled “STOP THAT MAN, HE JUST TOOK MY SON!” “HELP!” HE HAS MY BABY, STOP HIM!”

A man nearby tripped him, my sister grabbed my Cousin and the man started hitting him and yelled for someone to call 911. The police came and arrested him.

My sisters told the police he said “Your baby has beautiful teeth but he won’t after I get ahold of him.” The cashier called my parents.(This was in the early 70’s so no cell phones)

My Father approached the man and told him what he was going to do to him and they weren’t nice things. I told this story to my son years later. I told him monster’s don’t always look like the monsters we see in movies. They look like a regular person. If you ever get a bad feeling when you’re talking to an adult, trust your feelings and run away. I want you to yell “Stranger danger” as loud as you can and run to anyone nearby.

I didn’t want to scare my son but on the other hand I did. I told him exactly what the stranger may do to him if he took him. The expression on my son’s face was pure fear. I had to tell him though because that way he’d understand. Tell your kids about “Stranger danger” and make sure they understand. It could save thier life. ❤️

ALEKSANDAR VUCIC:

"I have one question for you: can you watch Chinese or Russian TV in Switzerland?

[In Germany, we cannot. In Switzerland, we can have Russia Today, but in Germany, everything is forbidden.]

If it's forbidden, is it a democracy?

In Serbia, you can watch Ukrainian TV, Russian TV, Chinese TV, and also American TV, British TV, Swiss TV, French TV, German TV—whichever you want. That's your choice.

Who is defining what democracy is?

You know, when I was very young, almost a kid, I was very bad at drawing or painting—totally untalented.

I drew a horse, but the horse didn't look like a horse. I had to make an inscription below saying, 'This is a horse.'

That's what they do today.

When nobody sees that there are democratic forces, they say, 'We are democracy, and you are not.' And that's it."

main qimg 9f4964b5f5d76e811463c4acbe91d582

Excerpt from remarks by Serbian President Aleksandar Vučić in an interview with Roger Köppel for Die Weltwoche, June 8, 2024.

Small Black Bundles

We all have too much to lose. Guest post by Robert Gore at Straight Line Logic

The Biden administration and NATO have steadily escalated participation in the Ukraine-Russia war. Recently, Biden authorized Ukraine missile attacks deeper into Russia’s territory using U.S.-made ATACMS ballistic missiles, which have a range of up to 190 miles. All of the expertise necessary to target and guide these attacks will come from the U.S. and NATO.

On May 22, Ukraine drones attacked two Russian nuclear early warning radars at Armavir. Much of the targeting and guidance expertise had to have come from the U.S. and NATO. Suddenly deprived of part of their ability to detect incoming threats, if the Russians had assumed the worse—that they were under nuclear attack and the drone strike was meant to cripple their command and control capabilities—the U.S. and NATO risked a nuclear response.

The U.S.-led alliance is at war with Russia, a fact that’s downplayed or ignored by American mainstream media. Being in a “hot” war with Russia increases the likelihood of nuclear war, triggered either accidentally or intentionally, beyond even the possibility that existed during the Cold War. That possibility was almost realized during the Cuban Missile Crisis. John F. Kennedy and Nikita Khrushchev demonstrated wisdom and courage in stepping away from the brink. Now, both sides are trash talking, threatening to use nuclear weapons. Their bluster increases the chances of nuclear war.

An American public that was recently scared into masks, social distancing, lockdowns, deadly experimental vaccines, and the evisceration of civil liberties by a germ about as dangerous as a bad flu bug seems blissfully unaware of the much more severe risks of nuclear war. American officials prattle on about “tactical” nuclear weapons, “escalatory dominance,” and “limited” nuclear war, oblivious to the reality that they control only one side of a chain of decisions to respond and escalate once a conflict goes nuclear.

It would be enlightening to review the effects of atomic bombs on the people of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in 1945. The following excerpts and quotes come from The Making of the Atomic Bomb, by Richard Rhodes, Simon and Schuster, 1986, from a chapter titled “Tongues of Fire.” The Hiroshima bomb was the equivalent of 12,500 tons of TNT and the Nagasaki bomb 22,000 tons of TNT. Current thermonuclear, or hydrogen, bombs—predominantly deployed today—have an explosive force three orders of magnitude greater, measured in the tens of millions of tons of TNT, over 1,000 times as powerful. So far, these have never been used against humans.

On the morning of August 6, 1945, 8:16:02 local time, “Little Boy,” a uranium-235 gun-type fission bomb dropped from Enola Gay, an American B-29, exploded 1,900 feet above a hospital in Hiroshima.

“Just as I looked up at the sky,” remembers a girl who was five years old at the time and safely at home in the suburbs, “there was a flash of white light and the green in the plants looked in that light like the color of dry leaves.” Pg. 713

The temperature at the hypocenter, the point on the ground directly below the explosion, was 5,400 degrees Fahrenheit.

. . . . People exposed within half a mile of the Little Boy fireball, that is, were seared to bundles of smoking black char in a fraction of a second as their internal organs boiled away. “Doctor,” a patient commented to Michihiko Hachiya a few days later, “a human being who has been roasted becomes quite small, doesn’t he?” The small black bundles now stuck to the streets and bridges and sidewalks of Hiroshima numbered in the thousands. Pg. 715

The blast wave rocketed several hundred yards from the hypocenter at 2 miles per second before slowing to 1,100 feet per second, destroying everything in its path and throwing up a huge black cloud of smoke and dust.

That boy had been in a room at the edge of the river, looking out at the river when the explosion came, and in that instant as the house fell apart he was blown from the end room across the road on the river embankment and landed on the street below it. In that distance he passed through a couple of windows inside the house and his body was stuck full of all the glass it could hold. That is why he was completely covered with blood like that. Pg. 716

Perhaps the black bundles’ instantaneous deaths were a blessing. From a grocer who escaped into the street:

The appearance of people, was . . . well, they all had skin blackened by burns. . . . They had no hair because their hair was burned, and at a glance you couldn’t tell whether you were looking at them from in front or in back. . . . They held their arms [in front of them] . . . and their skin—not only on their hands, but on their faces and bodies too—hung down. . . . If there had been only one or two such people . . . perhaps I would not have had such a strong impression. But wherever I walked I met these people. . . . Many of them died along the road—I can still picture them in my mind—like walking ghosts. . . . They didn’t look like people of this world. . . . They had a very special way of walking—very slowly. . . . I myself was one of them. Pgs. 717-718

From a young woman:

I heard a girl’s voice clearly from behind a tree. “Help me, please.” Her back was completely burned and the skin peeled off and was hanging down from her hips. Pg. 718

A young sociologist:

The most impressive thing I saw was some girls, very young girls, not only with their clothes torn off but with their skin peeled off as well. . . . My immediate thought was that this was like the hell I had always read about. Pg. 718

A five-year-old boy:

That day after we escaped and came to Hijiyama Bridge, there were lots of naked people who were so badly burned that the skin of their whole body was hanging from them like rags. Pg. 718

A five-year-old girl:

People came fleeing from the nearby streets. One after another they were almost unrecognizable. The skin was burned off some of them and was hanging from their hands and from their chins; their faces were red and so swollen that you could hardly tell where their eyes and mouths were. Pg. 719

The burns, heat, and sounds of horror were unbearable. From a junior-college girl:

Screaming children who have lost sight of their mothers; voices of mothers searching for their little ones; people who can no longer bear the heat, cooling their bodies in cisterns; every one among the fleeing people is dyed red with blood. Pg. 719

Compounding the horror and agony were the fires and smoke. From a five-year-old girl:

The whole city . . . was burning. Black smoke was billowing up and we could hear the sound of big things exploding. . . . Those dreadful streets. The fires were burning. There was a strange smell all over. Blue-green balls of fire were drifting around. I had a terrible lonely feeling that everybody else in the world was dead and only we were still alive. Pg. 720

From a seventeen-year-old girl:

I walked past Hiroshima Station . . . and saw people with their bowels and brains coming out. Pg. 721

To escape the raging fires, many people went to fire reservoirs or one of the seven rivers that flowed through Hiroshima. From a physician sharing his horror with Michihiko Hachiya, director of the Hiroshima Communications Hospital, who kept a dairy of the bombing and its aftermath:

I saw fire reservoirs filled to the brim with dead people who looked as though they had been boiled alive. In one reservoir I saw a man, horribly burned, crouch beside another man who was dead. He was drinking blood-stained water out of the reservoir. Pg 724.

From a young ship designer trying to reach a train station to return to his home in, of all places, Nagasaki:

I had to cross the river to reach the station. As I came to the river and went down the bank to the water, I found that the stream was filled with dead bodies. I started to cross by crawling over the corpses, on my hands and knees. As I got about a third of the way across, a dead body began to sink under my weight and I went into the water, wetting my burned skin. It pained severely. I could go no further, as there was a break in the bridge of corpses, so I turned back to the shore. Pgs. 725-726

From one of Dr. Hachiya’s patients:

The sight of the soldiers, though, was more dreadful than the dead people floating down the river. I came onto I don’t know how many, burned from the hips up; and where the skin had peeled, their flesh was wet and mushy. . . .

And they had no faces! Their eyes, noses and mouths had been burned away, and it looked like their ears had melted off. It was hard to tell front from back. Pg. 726

From a man trying to help his wife escape the city:

While taking my severely-wounded wife out to the riverbank by the side of the hill of Nakahiro-machi, I was horrified, indeed, at the sight of a stark naked man standing in the rain with his eyeball in his palm. He looked to be in great pain but there was nothing that I could do for him. Pg. 725

Many of those who didn’t die in the first few days seemed to improve, but then sickened. American psychiatrist Robert Jay Lifton, who interviewed survivors, explained:

Survivors began to notice in themselves and others a strange form of illness. It consisted of nausea, vomiting, and loss of appetite, diarrhea with large amounts of blood in the stools; fever and weakness; purple spots on various parts of the body from bleeding into the skin . . . inflammation and ulceration of the mouth, throat and gums . . . bleeding from the mouth, gums, throat, rectum, and urinary tract . . . loss of hair from the scalp and other parts of the body . . . extremely low white blood cell counts when those were taken . . . and in many case a progressive course until death. Pg 731

It was radiation sickness, or what the Japanese called “atomic bomb illness.”

Direct gamma radiation from the bomb had damaged tissue throughout the bodies of the exposed. The destruction required cell division to manifest itself, but radiation temporarily suppresses cell division; hence the delayed onset of symptoms. The blood-forming tissues were damaged worst, particularly those that produce the white blood cells that fight infection. Large doses of radiation also stimulate the production of an anti-clotting factor. The outcome of these assaults was massive tissue death, massive hemorrhage and massive infection. . . . Pgs 731-732/

An estimated 140,000 were killed by the end of 1945 and 200,000 within five years from the atomic bomb in Hiroshima. The Nagasaki bomb killed 70,000 by the end of 1945 and 140,000 within five years. For both cities, the five-year death rate was about 54 percent of the population. The percentage killed was an inverse function of distance from the hypocenter. At Hiroshima, almost 100 percent were killed at the hypocenter, and the percentage declined to “only” 10 percent two miles away from it. Property damage was extensive. Of Hiroshima’s 76,000 buildings, 70,000 were damaged, of which 48,000 were totally destroyed.

Many of the Americans who made the decision to drop the bombs thought it would prevent the massive loss of allied lives that an invasion of Japan presumably would have entailed. The destructive force of the bombs and the aftereffects of radiation were generally underestimated. Demonstrating to the world, particularly the Soviet Union, the power of the bomb, and preventing a Soviet invasion of Japan were at least as compelling as military necessity for dropping the bombs. Those who thought the bomb was unnecessary included General Dwight Eisenhower, General Douglas MacArthur, Admiral William Leahy, Major General Curtis LeMay, General Hap Arnold, Fleet Admiral Chester Nimitz, Brigadier General Carter Clarke, and Ralph Bard, Under Secretary of the Navy.

Almost eighty years later, it’s important to realize that as devastating and deadly as the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombs were, they would be relatively tiny compared to what would happen today. The blast, fires, and radiation from one thermonuclear bomb, with a yield of 1,000 times that of the Nagasaki bomb’s 22,000 tons of TNT equivalent, would obliterate a city and surrounding countryside and kill tens of millions of people.

For America’s rulers, the other big difference between then and now is that the other side has its own bombs. Because some of the major nuclear powers’ missiles are carried on submarines, there is no way anyone’s response capability could be wiped out with a first strike. A nuclear strike against Russia or China would mean nuclear bombs dropped on American targets.

What should stop American rulers dead in their tracks is that Russia would be better able to withstand a nuclear attack than the U.S. Russian missiles are faster and more maneuverable and their antimissile technology is superior. Russia is much larger than the U.S. and has more room to hide. Their civil defense measures are far more extensive. Russia, as its history repeatedly demonstrates, knows how to play defense, even in the face of staggering losses.

Before the bomb, wars were often won by the side that was able to escalate to a point where the other side couldn’t match it. The World War I standoff was broken when the U.S. entered the war. The idea of escalatory dominance makes no sense when either side of a conflict can escalate to nuclear war and the other side can respond in kind. Seeking escalatory dominance risks escalatory annihilation of both sides, and perhaps of the entire global population.

These considerations would prevent, among rational people, any sort of threat or provocation that could lead to nuclear war. That the U.S. is playing nuclear chicken with Russia is all the proof one needs that its rulers are insane. They may take comfort from their supposedly bomb-proof bunkers and airborne command-and-control centers, but bombs detonated simultaneously in Washington, New York, and Silicon Valley would wipe them out before they ever reached those bunkers or jets.

Nothing is more insane than the desire to destroy one’s self. Among the West’s rulers, this subconscious desire manifests itself in their reaction to a global realignment of power. Their proxy war and sanctions against Russia have been disastrous failures. Russia and China lead a confederation of a majority of the world’s countries that threatens to eclipse the U.S.-led global billion. Western economies rest on a tottering foundation of debt. The totalitarian plans of globalist string-pullers are floundering on the plans’ inherent unworkability and the resistance of millions of people, empowered by decentralizing communications, computing, and weapons technologies (see “Ants at the Picnic,” Parts One and Two).

In their desperation, Western rulers have reached this point: “If we can’t rule the world, we’ll destroy it.” Facing the loss of their exalted positions and potential prosecution for their many crimes, don’t put it past this human excrement to start a nuclear war in a burst of terminal nihilism. Their cohorts in Israel (a nuclear power) may reach the same point in the Middle East—suicide is better than concession.

Even yesterday’s COVID cowards seem indifferent to today’s much more substantial dangers: instant incineration, boiled organs, skin peeling, eyeballs popping, ears melting, body-wide burns, deadly radiation sickness, and, for those that survive, the complete destruction of everything they have and their way of life. There would be hundreds of millions or billions of small black bundles. The death toll would be a several orders-of-magnitude multiple of COVID and its deadly vaccines’ combined final tally. Incidentally, climate would change for the worse, but the climate-change crowd seems unconcerned.

Many Americans may share their rulers’ death wish. Those of us who don’t must do what we can to stop the insane and their insanity. We can start by refusing to support any politician who advocates escalation in either Eastern Europe or the Middle East, rather than diplomacy, negotiations, and peaceful resolutions. Not one dime or weapon more should go to Ukraine or Israel, who both seek full-fledged U.S. military involvement in their wars—escalation that could lead to nuclear war and annihilation. There is no U.S. “interest” that justifies running that risk, certainly not an “interest” in maintaining a faltering empire.

Admittedly a political boycott of war mongering politicians is only a small step, but it’s more than anyone’s doing now. The “movement” would gain membership after the first nuclear bomb detonates, but by then it may well be too late.

Please share this article as widely as possible.

Why are we still betting heavily in Taiwan as if we expect to send US troops there in event of China invading there?

USA is NOT betting on Taiwan.

USA knows it cannot militarily fight China in case of a Taiwan war. Simple reason: distance.

Besides, USA is using China’s Beidou (Chinese version of GPS) which surpasses GPS. China will turn off Beidou in case of a Taiwan war.

A year or 2 ago, there was a China-USA standoff at Guam. Finally, USA left.

What USA is doing with Taiwan is ARMS SALE. Taiwan is a US cash cow. Taiwan has paid dont-know-how-much to buy US weapons but has not received the weapons yet. See, Taiwan is a typical cash cow for USA.

By the way, Taiwan is a province of China, UN says so. Taiwan is China’s internal affairs. UN charter approves any country to protect the integrity of its territory. No country can tolerate secession. Not your country. Not China either.

So China is not invading Taiwan, but to suppress secession. Let’s make that clear.

Vintage illustration

Western chip sanctions guaranteed to fail as thousands of top Chinese scientists return home

S-500 Deployed Earlier Than Expected; Posture Now Consistent with Nuclear First-Strike

Hal Turner World June 13, 2024

Yesterday, this website and radio show reported that Russia had suddenly commenced nuclear launch exercises with their naval group off the coast of Florida. What I chose to **not** report was that at the same time, Russia expanded its ongoing “Tactical nuclear weapons exercises” from the Southern Military District to also include the Leningrad Military District near St. Petersburg.

The unannounced missile drills off the coast of Florida was nerve-racking enough; but the added information about the expansion of tactical nuke drills to the area around St. Petersburg was just emotionally over the top.

TODAY things got exponentially worse.

Overnight, Russia deployed the second generation of its S-500 air defense systems . . . around Moscow, St. Petersburg, and Russia’s strategic nuclear missile silos.

This second generation system – the undisputed pinnacle of air defense systems in the world – was not expected to be ready for deployment for at least another six months.

The fact that Russia deployed them last night, and did so in very significant numbers for which mass-production wasn’t even known to be ready, never mind active, around Moscow, St. Petersburg AND their strategic nuclear missile silos, has now changed the balance of power completely.

There’s no gentle way to say this, so I’m just going to say it: This posture is one that would be expected if Russia was planning a nuclear first-strike upon the West, and was readying to defend itself from the counter-strike.

Looking at the timing of all of this, underscores the harsh reality:

Russia announced Tactical nuclear weapons exercises about three weeks ago, and began them two weeks ago in their Southern Military District.

Russia then sortied eleven nuclear missile submarines into the Atlantic Ocean, about ten days ago.

About three days later, Russia then sortied twenty-seven (27) additional nuclear missile submarines into the Pacific Ocean.

Russia then waited about a week (for the subs to get into position????) and EXPANDED the Tactical nuclear exercises to also include the Leningrad Military District around St. Petersburg.

This means the ENTIRE Russian border with the West, is presently seeing the movement of actual, Tactical nuclear weapons, brought to within striking distance of NATO forces and NATO member countries!

Last night, Russia made a surprise deployment of their newest S-500 “Prometheus” air defense system around Moscow, St. Petersburg, and their strategic ICBM silos.

Added together, E V E R Y indication is that Russia is fully prepared now to launch a severe nuclear first-strike, and successfully defend itself from a counter-strike.

The only things the Russians have not yet done are declare a General War Mobilization of the entire population, and begin moving people into Bomb shelters.

Everything else is already done.

CGen-Z menu ordering via QR seating

The world is changing rapidly. And this is most especially true in China.

Many restaurants, most especially the small family-run “hole in the wall” joints, and the new “fast food” and the restaurants that cater to CGen Z (Chinese Gen-Z), are really unlike anything in the West.

It’s all APP driven.

You walk into the fast food establishment, and sit down at a table.

On the table is a QR code.

That code is your seat assignment, and downloads the store APP for you to use.

SHANGHAI — During a recent lunchtime rush hour at a Thai restaurant, there were no menu-toting waiters coming up to take diners’ orders. Instead, the restaurant proprietor greeted customers with a reminder that they could select their meal by scanning the QR code on their tables.

Six months earlier, the restaurant had switched over to this scan-to-order system, which required customers to first follow the restaurant’s account on social app WeChat before they could choose their dishes.

The proprietor saw it as a win-win-win proposition: Customers could order their food quickly, the restaurant would need fewer staff members, and their social media account would see more engagement — they’ve gained followers in droves over the past half year, she said.

With such obvious benefits to businesses, QR code ordering has been widely adopted across China. Usually built on top of the mini-app and payment functions of WeChat, such systems allow customers to view an up-to-date menu on their phone, order without having to flag down a waiter, and pay directly. Some restaurants have even introduced joint-ordering apps, so groups of diners can see what each other has chosen.

But to enjoy such convenience, customers are often being forced to follow social media accounts and hand over their personal information, raising similar privacy concerns as those leveled against companies that use facial recognition cameras to track their clients or shops offering face-scanning checkouts.

In March 2021, reporters from Sixth Tone’s sister publication The Paper randomly visited 100 restaurants — including cafés, tea shops, and dessert shops. A total of 72 offered customers the option to scan-to-order, as well as order in-person. The majority of the other 28 restaurants were mostly self-service, such as conveyor-belt sushi joints.

After scanning a QR code in these 72 restaurants, customers were able to directly order in 37 of them. However, at the other 35, diners had to first follow an account on WeChat, after which another page popped up or they were redirected to a mini-app where they could order.

At 20 restaurants, users had to authorize access to the cellphone number bound to their WeChat account, or else input a phone number and log in before they could order. In addition, the ordering system at 12 other restaurants required customers to enter personal information such as phone number, date of birth, name, and gender to become a member, or else they were automatically made members after scanning the QR code.

When collecting customer data, most of these restaurants did not show customers a privacy policy or user agreement to explain how and why they collected, stored, and protected data. Only a few businesses stated that the information was collected to “improve their service” and provided terms or agreements.

Almost all of the 35 restaurants where diners needed to follow a WeChat account before ordering were branded chain restaurants. Compared with individually run restaurants, it is easier for chains to obtain large amounts of customer information and carry out big data marketing. Over the following three days, WeChat accounts from 13 of the 35 restaurants that reporters from The Paper followed to order food sent messages on new menu items, discounts, and coupons.

This is the norm in China.

You sit down, you scan the QR, and an APP pulls up on your phone…

You select what you want. Hit enter, and then pay by connecting with your WeChat or Alipay accounts. And they will deliver it straight to your table.

Now, this has been in place for over a year, and I’m pretty used to it.

qr code MENU TIGER 1 678x381 — qr code MENU TIGER 1 678×381

However, some Brits were visiting Shanghai and didn’t know how to order. I watched the entire painful experience on YouTube. What happened is the owner of the small shop had to show them how to down load the APP, then place the order. But they didn’t have WeChat or Alipay, so the owner placed the order on their phone, paid by themself, and accepted cash from the customers.

A work-around.

This system works really great, once you are used to it.

Sure beats carrying around a wallet, a change purse, and a calculator trying to figure out the tip. Not to mention handling old dirty menus. LOL.

When you all come to visit China, try it out.

Today…

What is wrong with teenagers nowadays?

Society.

Let me give you an example.

A young girl is born August 25, 2006. Her relatives envision her as becoming a nice woman with a husband and two- maybe three children.

She enters school. She seems different from other children— she would rather spend her time reading than socializing. Throughout elementary school she constantly has a stack of books on her desk, and has her nose in a book at lunch and reads on the swings at recess, or in the shade of a tree during warmer days. She reads fantasy books, young adult, medical science… There isn’t a moment she isn’t reading or thinking about reading. her grades are poor, but it’s only because her parents are alright with letting her do what she wants. She is independent, with a few friends she enjoys spending time with. She has no idea that everything is about to change drastically.

Middle school begins, and suddenly, everything has changed in an instant. Cliques have formed. Friends no longer speak to her. She, however, carries on and finds new friends to eat lunch with. She carries two or more books around and has begun to write in her spare time. She fares okay in Social Studies and Science— she couldn’t care less about physics, anyways. In math she fares okay, but in English she writes stellar essays, read aloud to the class and used as models.

She notices a shift in attitude. Her middle school has become that of a typical one— dating drama and scandals amongst 6th graders, which she couldn’t care less about. But something in the student body’s perception has shifted. She is seen as an outsider simply because she prefers reading over socializing. Whenever the teacher asks a question, she is unable to answer in fear of sounding ‘too smart’. Her perception has warped into something judgmental of others. her own insecurities are pushed upon others. She has recently discovered she isn’t straight and tries her hardest to keep it a secret. She constantly is aware of her every move, petrified of being seen as ‘odd’ by others. Being late to her class or tripping in the hall made her panic.

She acts far too nice and is constantly dealing with the issues of others in fear of seeming rude. Her parents consider her odd for reading and being alone after school. She does everything to stay hidden from others. She loathes field trips because none of her friends are in her class. She begins to use lengthy vocabulary to force her intellect upon others… to her core, she is unhappy. She feels depressed constantly and tries hard to fit in, but she simply cannot get past her own social anxiety. She considers if life was worth it. She feels empty.

Then, seventh grade arrives. She begins the year with a new mindset— becoming popular. Her grades drop and she barely studies, if at all. She scarcely reads, and acts clueless in class as to not be seen as ‘too smart’. She has not once said anything positive about herself. She begins to distance herself from old friends. She is no longer an outsider. Her emptiness is replaced with a deep insecurity, but she thinks she’s content. She isn’t authentic.

Abruptly, a seed of contemplation sprouts in her mind. Why am I changing myself? Why for others? Do they even notice my grades or the books I read? Do they even care? Why do I care if they do?

She begins to change.

The most difficult thing she’s ever done is right in front of her.

Waiting.

She sits down at lunch. An eerie silence accompanied by her own short, soft breaths. The room is almost still. Light filters through the corridor-esque windows of the cafeteria. Her heart pounds in her ears, invading her thoughts. The table still has a wrapper from last period. She can hardly breathe. Her book is still there. The chatter of other students can be heard. The book is a 600-page medical science book. The noises grow near. It is approximately 3 inches thick.

She picks up the book.

She reads for the entire lunch period. She is happy.

Her life suddenly has a meaning— she sees futures where she is a professor, or maybe an author. Possibly, she is a surgeon with 3 children— one adopted from Europe, or maybe South America. She begins to read frivolously again. She no longer tries to please everyone. She no longer skips two questions ahead in math to seem smart or two back for the opposite effect. She has true friends who she enjoys talking to. She doesn’t care if someone thinks she is arrogant after she answers a question correctly in Science or if someone thinks she is stupid if she doesn’t in Math. She studies a week before each test and attends as many extra-helps as she can. She is free from the shackles that bound her for so long. She is herself, and that is all that matters.

That person is me, and I, finally, have taught myself to stop worrying about what others think— especially a group of people who, in approximately 5 and 1/2 years I will never see again. I care for myself and I am finally enjoying my life for what I want it to be, not what others think it should be.

But I pity those who don’t— as I know for a fact that someone will realize this fact when it’s too late in their life, or not at all. I can never tell them what I’ve learned, that no amount of ‘self-care days’ will heal the absence in your heart, that no amount of makeup will undo the standards society placed on you before you had even taken your first breath; and sometimes, people will not like you no matter what you do— that is okay. Nobody should love you more than you love yourself.

Society’s standards are assigned to us before birth and carry on with us after death. People who have never known you judge you by nonexistent standards. Sure, maybe you didn’t ever become a wealthy entrepreneur but did the amount of lives you touched with your career at a nursing home or the child you helped out of a broken home?

The reason why teenagers are ‘broken’ are because society expects them to be perfect. They are expected to be a world-class neurosurgeon or go to an Ivy-League before they even take their first breath. Our definition of a life well spent is warped and twisted, and we force that upon our youth. By valuing materialistic things over their happiness we are setting them upon a path of insecurity and unhappiness.

Society is why teenagers are ‘broken’, because of our twisted values and morals we inflict upon them. My advice for all teenagers would be that life is what you make of it, so live the rest of your life on your own terms, not someone else’s. Be happy.

RACHEL ZEGLER NERVOUS BREAKDOWN AFTER GETTING FIRED BY DISNEY! WOKE SNOW WHITE IS A TOTAL DISASTER

DF-21D and DF-26B: China’s Missiles Built to Sink A U.S. Navy Aircraft Carrier

China’s People’s Liberation Army Navy (PLAN) has surpassed the U.S. Navy in size, with a focus on anti-ship ballistic missiles (ASBMs) like the DF-21D and DF-26B to counter U.S. carrier forces

by Peter Suciu

Summary: China’s People’s Liberation Army Navy (PLAN) has surpassed the U.S. Navy in size, with a focus on anti-ship ballistic missiles (ASBMs) like the DF-21D and DF-26B to counter U.S. carrier forces.

-The DF-26B, with a range of 4,000 km, and the DF-21D, known as the world’s first “carrier killer,” pose significant threats to U.S. carriers in the East and South China Seas.

-The U.S. must address these threats to maintain naval superiority and secure its interests in the region.

China’s DF-21D and DF-26B Missiles: Game-Changers in Naval Warfare

The United States Navy is one of the most powerful maritime forces in the world.

However, China’s People’s Liberation Army Navy (PLAN) has surpassed

it in size, and Beijing will likely use it to increase its presence in the region and beyond

At issue, however, is the fact that the U.S. Navy maintains 11 nuclear-powered aircraft carriers

, as well as nine amphibious assault ships

(LHDs), which is used to maintain force projection around the globe.

Yet, even as China launched its third, and largest, aircraft carrier, the Type 003

Fujian, a key to Chinese victory in a war with the United States wouldn’t likely be a Battle of Midway carrier slug match

Instead of trying to go toe-to-toe – or more accurately carrier-to-carrier – against the United States Navy, the PLAN would more likely seek to remove the U.S. carrier force from the board entirely. That is where the PLAN’s DF-21D and DF-26B anti-ship ballistic missiles (ASBMs

) could come into play.

This is a threat the United States needs to take seriously.

In the late summer of 2020, China conducted test launches of both platforms

into the South China Sea, and the move came just one day after Beijing accused the United States of sending a U-2 spy plane

into a “no-fly zone” during a People’s Liberation Army Navy (PLAN) live-fire naval drill in the Bohai Sea off China’s north coast.

One of the missiles – the DF-26B – was launched from the northwestern province of Qinghai; while the other – the DB-21B – was launched from the eastern province of Zhejiang. Both of the missiles were fired into an area between the Hainan province and the Paracel Island, a source with the People’s Liberation Army (PLA) told the

South China Morning Post at the time

The landing areas were within a zone that maritime safety authorities in Hainan had said would be off-limits because of those military exercises.

That Sinking Feeling – Meet China’s Carrier Killers, the DF-21 D and DF-26

China first unveiled the road-mobile, two-stage solid-fueled intermediate-range ballistic (IRBM) DF-26B (Dong Feng-26) during a military parade in September 2015. It has a reported range of 4,000km

(2,485 miles) and it can be used in both conventional and nuclear strikes against ground as well as naval targets.

The mobile launcher can carry a 1,200 to 1,800 kg nuclear or conventional warhead, and as it could directly strike a target such as the U.S. territory of Guam in the event of war it should be seen as a formidable weapon.

More ominously, the DF-26B has been described as a carrier

killer

due to how it could be used to target the U.S. Navy’s fleet of Nimitz– and Ford-class nuclear-powered supercarriers.

Especially noteworthy about the DF-26B is that it is a dual-capable missile, a type of weapon banned by the Intermediate-range Nuclear Forces Treaty

signed by the United States and the Soviet Union near the end of the Cold War. However, China was never invited to join the agreement, and the United States withdrew from the treaty

during the Trump administration citing Beijing’s deployment of such weapons as a justification.

The other missile, the DF-21D has been described as the world’s first anti-ship ballistic missile (ASBM) or “carrier killer.” The DF-21D first entered service more than 30 years ago and replaced the obsolete Dong Feng-2 (CSS-1). It became China’s first solid-fuel road-mobile missile.

Able to deploy a 600 kg payload with a minimum range of 500 km (311 miles) and a maximum range of 2,150 km, the DF-21D’s warhead is likely maneuverable and may have an accuracy of 20 m CEP (circular error probable). That could make it instrumental in striking a vessel

in the open ocean or denying access to a potential opponent in transiting to a conflict zone in waters that Beijing seeks to control, such as the East or South China Seas. It isn’t just the United States Navy that could find itself in the PLAN’s crosshairs. The missiles could certainly be used to target India’s or Japan’s aircraft carriers.

Man Who Donated Sp*rm FORCED To Pay Child Support! 40% Of His Paycheck | Women Hitting The Wall

This is horrific!

A real nightmare!

What was the best prank you ever did or heard of?

My older sisters and I constantly played pranks on each other. I got Tracy good one evening. This prank went down as one of the greatest pranks pulled in my family. We still talk about it.

Tracy had just came back from doing a clothes fitting at the studio. She was going to be in a TV commercial and was being fitted for the clothes she was going to wear and they also went over hairstyles. Costumes and hairstyles were all planned on story boards like in the movies and they were followed to the T. It was usually long hours.

After parking, Tracy walked into the house exhausted and muttered, “That was a long night. Be down in about 20 minutes,” then walked upstairs. She was 18 at the time and I, her younger brother, was 16. I was looking out our front window at her car. The girls drove Shelby Mustang GT350s and treated them like babies.

We had a long winding driveway that led to the house after the iron gates were opened then closed electrically. In front of our house was a circular driveway. Lori and Tracy parked their cars in front of the house on the driveway. Mom and Dad’s cars were in the garage along with dad’s Triumph TR3, his baby.

With mom, dad and Lori in the back yard, I had a plan to scare the crap out of my sister.

Mom collected dresses from the US Civil War era and had them on mannequins throughout the house. My wife does the same now and I have mannequins all over our house. Can’t get away from them.

I quickly took one that was just a torso, arms and head, ran out to Tracy’s car and sat it in the driver’s seat. Now, I put one of my baseball caps on its head then the good part. I slid a scary Halloween mask over the face that I had in my room. Then I walked into the house and looked out the window. Perfect. It looked like a strange man was sitting in her car.

Mom, dad and Lori were still playing cards on the patio table in the back yard. Tracy came downstairs after her bath, went into the kitchen and made some chocolate milk.

“Do you want a chocolate milk?” she called out to me. I told her no thanks. She then came into the living room where I was.

“Where is everybody?” she asked. I told her they were playing cards out back. I was looking out the front window.

“What the hell?” I said.

“What?” Tracy asked coming to the window. She looked out over my shoulder.

“Is that a guy sitting in your car?” I asked giving her a surprised look.

She looked at her car, squinted her eyes to see better and yelled, “WHAT THE F—K? WHO THE HELL IS SITTING IN MY CAR? I CLOSED THE GATE DIDN’T I?”

She ran to the front door and ran out, me following. She went up to the car and yelled, “HEY, GET OUT OF MY CAR!” When she saw the mask she screamed and ran behind me.

I opened the door, took off the hat and mask and Tracy saw it was one of mom’s mannequins.

“YOU SCARED THE SHIT OUT OF ME!” she yelled giving me a big push on my chest. “Holy shit! Seriously, when I saw the face, the mask, I thought i was in a horror show,” she added.

I picked up mom’s mannequin and carried it to the house. Tracy gave me a hit on my shoulder, then started laughing.

“Got to admit. THAT was a good one. Beware little brother, YOU are on my radar and I’m going to ping you good!” Yes, she actually said that.

Did she ping me good? Another yes. She was damn good at pranks.

I did the same prank years later to a friend of my wife who was over visiting. She had parked on the street. Perfect.

Compilation: UFOs & Aliens!

How did the Chinese know about the existence of the Xia Dynasty long ago while the Indians completely forgot about the Indus Valley civilization until the Brits discovered it? What happened?

Secular civilization tends to record

Religious civilization tends to fiction

Almost all human civilizations worship some kind of mysticism in their early stages of development. Some civilizations gradually emerged from mysticism, while others were trapped in it for a long time.

The early Chinese civilization was also a civilization that worshipped mysticism and religion. The two earliest dynasties in Chinese history, the “Xia Dynasty” and the “Shang Dynasty”, were both civilizations built on religion.

According to Chinese historical records, the early Chinese believed that the two most important things for a country were “sacrifice” and “military”. At present, the earliest large-scale written materials discovered in China are oracle bones, which are actually a database left by religious sacrifices and divination.

Chinese civilization did not gradually transform into a secular civilization until after the tenth century BC. From this time on, the influence of religion and mysticism declined greatly, replaced by realism and classical philosophy. Although religion, clergy and priests are still respected, and mysticism is still popular. But these things can no longer influence the behavior of the entire country and society. In the past 3,000 years, there have been countless wars and chaos in China, and none of them was a real religious war. Religious personnel cannot enter the government power system.

As a realistic civilization, a secular civilization, from the day he became himself, he tended to replace fiction with reality.

The Xia Dynasty and the Shang Dynasty never recorded their own history, but the Zhou Dynasty changed its mind. They asked themselves: Who are we? Where do we come from? Are we just? What is our purpose? To figure out these questions, we must know what happened in the past and what experience and lessons our ancestors gave us.

At the end of the Zhou Dynasty, scholars collected various documents and materials left by the Xia Dynasty and the Shang Dynasty and compiled the first professional history book in Chinese history: “Shangshu(Book Of Documents)”. This book starts from the origin of the entire Chinese civilization, narrates from the mythological era, and records the history of the Xia Dynasty, the history of the Shang Dynasty and the history of the Zhou Dynasty, spanning 1,400 years.

From then on, every empire and dynasty in China formed a fixed habit. They kept recording history, which included not only the central government representing the highest power, but also every local government, who were constantly writing history. For the past 3,000 years, historical officials have been respected jobs, and only the most knowledgeable and moral people can serve. Chinese history records many historical officials who were executed by the emperor for refusing to revise history.

After 3,000 years of accumulation, China has produced tens of thousands of historical books and materials, which quote each other and corroborate each other, forming a huge historical information database. This makes Chinese history extremely clear and difficult to tamper with and destroy in the entire human history. And the Chinese people’s understanding of their own history comes from this inheritance and record, and they do not need any help from foreigners.

Ancient Indian civilization is a religious civilization, and the power of religion on this continent is very strong. In the history that can be consulted, India has always been under the control of powerful religious forces. Buddhism, Hinduism, Islam and other religions have very strong dominance on this continent.

In India, religion can influence the behavior of many countries, and can also cause wars and killings. India has been in a state of division for most of its history, and a few unified empires, such as the Maurya Dynasty, the Gupta Dynasty and the Mughal Empire, are also typical religious countries. Some wars of conquest also have a strong religious color, and even many kings themselves serve as some kind of religious leaders.

So, unlike China, the Indian continent is a typical religious civilization.

Religious civilization likes to replace reality with fiction.

Who are we, where do we come from, what is the meaning of life, and where are we going. All can be found in religious scriptures. Buddha tells us that people run through reincarnation, and Allah tells us that he spent 7 days creating the world and admonishes us what we should do and what we should not do.

Once these religious documents (Vedas, Buddhist scriptures, Koran or other religious documents) are written, they are inherently repellent to the real world.

Religious culture tends to destroy real history and fabricate a religious world.

They hope that believers don’t care about what happened in the past, nor what the country has experienced. Is it important whether the previous king is great or evil? No, it doesn’t matter at all. Because everything in the world has been explained in our religious logic, and information other than this is interference. I am history, I am the truth. Even in Europe, there are still people who regard “Exodus” as some kind of real history.

Therefore, India rarely leaves professional historical records. The history of ancient India must rely on various circumstantial evidence, archaeological discoveries, and speculation based on legends. The development of archaeology did not occur until the 20th century. Before that, Indians had little knowledge of their own history.

This is not only true in India, but in fact most religious civilizations have this common feature.

When a civilization turns to secularization, various historical documents will increase, and many materials will be recorded and preserved. When a civilization turns to religion, real history will gradually be replaced by religious documents. Comparing the differences in the number of various historical documents left by people in the three stages of the classical era, the Middle Ages, and the Renaissance in Europe, this can be clearly seen.

Whenever religious power is strong, historical data is as barren as the desert. Whenever secular civilization and realism rise, history and data will be rich and colorful.

Melt in Your Mouth Pot Roast

Yield: 6 to 8 servings

Ingredients

- 1 (3 to 4 pound) beef chuck roast
- 1 (12 ounce) can cola (not diet)
- 3/4 cup dark brown sugar
- 3/4 cup Heinz chili sauce
- 3/4 cup ketchup
- 1 packet dry onion soup mix
- 4 or 5 new potatoes, cut up
- 1 1/2 to 2 cups baby carrots or cut-up carrots

Instructions

Combine all ingredients in a slow cooker.
Cook on LOW for 8 to 10 hours.

What’s the coldest thing a doctor has ever said to you?

Hubby was in the hospital after being diagnosed with sudden onset Congestive Heart Failure. Prior to this, he had been very healthy, no medical issues, healthy body weight, didn’t take any daily medications and was very active. We walk or hike 3–5 miles five times per week, bike 20+ miles once or twice a week, kayak, snowshoeing, etc.

Every time the cardiologist came in the room, he talked about how old my husband is, (he’s 75), that he has a lot of other medical issues, and how serious his heart failure was. Yes, he’s 75, but very healthy and active prior to this. And any of the other health conditions only started since his diagnosis.

After five days in the hospital he wasn’t getting better, was sleeping most of the time, struggling to breathe, and was basically bedridden. The cardiologist came in and told me there was nothing more they could do and he would be released to go home and get palliative care. I was in shock! No way could he go from being active and healthy to being sent home to die!

I asked the cardiologist: Is there anything else you can do ?? He said, no. I asked if there were any other medications they might help. Cardiologist said, no, there are no other medications. I asked, “So he’s never going to get any better?” The cardiologist said, “I know that’s hard to hear. I’m sorry.” AND HE TURNED AND WALKED OUT OF THE ROOM!

Luckily, a friend advised me to have him transferred to a different hospital and get him looked at by an Advanced Heart Failure Specialist at a major heart hospital. That cardiology team changed ALL of his medications and drained 1.5 liters of fluid from his lung. Hubby immediately started feeling better.

He was released from the hospital and started working to regain his strength and endurance. Within four months he could walk 5+ miles and we have since biked 20 miles again. He still has heart failure, but it is controlled through medicines, diet and exercise.

I’m still angry with the first cardiologist who either didn’t know how to do his job or didn’t care to do it.

NO WAY OUT: U.S. WARNS Japan Over Saving Its Currency As The Dollar FLIPS On Exporters

Do people get fired from Google and Facebook for not doing their job well?

I work at Google and I’m writing this anonymously to avoid hurting anyone’s feelings.

When I moved to Google NY I met a guy who had been working for Google for 5 years. I had moved to the New York Office and this guy had been transferred from overseas.

He was a nice guy, very likable and because we were both interested in soccer we connected very quickly and became friends.

He started working on a very problematic team. The team itself was not a problem, but his superior was struggling to make his team profitable and he was famous inside Google for being picky, something rare at Google.

I think it was the cultural differences, but this guy (my friend) started doing things that could cause him some trouble. So, although he was working at Google longer than I, I was living in the United States for much longer than him, so I started giving him some advice.

After 2 months working in NY, he got a 2-week vacation to California and Hawai. You can think. That’s OK. He is entitled to have some time off with his family. The problem is that he didn’t use his annual leave, he pretty much left saying he would be working during the trip.

Then he went back and 3 months later he did the same thing again. He went back to his home country to attend his nice graduation.

He was also underperforming (according to his manager) and at Google, we had a performance evaluation and he got a “below the expectations” grade.

Now, he had to put a lot of effort to get a good grade on the next evaluation, but instead, he decided to go on a trip again. This time to Japan and again, he didn’t use his annual leave but again said he would be working during the trip.

When he went back I talked to him and I said that I don’t know his manager much, but by my experience, this behavior would end up getting him fired. So, I analyzed the possibilities and I said that he had two options. Improve his performance or moving to another team.

However to move to another team you have pretty much to go through the whole interview process again and as he had a bad performance in the past, it would definitely impact his chance to get another role.

He kept traveling, getting to work late, missing meetings and leaving early to solve personal stuff frequently.

So, he decided to continue in his team and when he got to the next performance evaluation he got a “below the expectations” again and his manager told him that he would be leaving his team, in other words, he was fired. However, he gave him 3 months to stay at work doing nothing and applying for different roles.

He didn’t bother much. He applied for a dozen of roles, didn’t get any and in 3 months he was fired.

I would say that if you do a good job, it’s really hard to be fired from Google, but as you can see, it does not mean that it is impossible.

Jeffrey Sachs Interview – Fear of Losing Power

Do Chinese people think that the reason China fell behind the West was due to the Manchu conquest? If the Ming/Han dynasty had not fallen, would they have reacted better to the West invasion?

This is a very good question, and like most historical hypotheticals, very difficult to answer.

I don’t see how the Ming could not have fallen. They were rotten to the core. The emperors were concerned mostly with concentrating power and money. They really didn’t care much about the ordinary people. Look at the magnificent Ming Tombs: magnificent, but the people paid a hideous price of suffering and starvation to build those tombs. As a good Confucian, I believe a better monument to the Ming would have been a well-fed, contented people.

The Ming have a lot to answer for in the fall of China. They stultified thought and curiosity. For example, in the WanLi , laws forbade the study of astronomy or calendars on the pain of death or banishment. Those who burn books or limit education are never on the right side of history.

Again, I don’t see how the Ming could not have fallen. The question is, who would have replaced them? If the Manchus had not come in, would the Ming have been replaced by a robust dynasty? or would it have been replaced by a determined reformer whose heirs destroyed everything, in the exact same mold as the Ming?

It is beyond question that China fell behind the West due to the Qing. I am not sure it is fair to say that the fault was the Manchu conquest. Recently in another answer I have said that China would certainly have been in much better shape if Qianlong/Ch’ienlung had died when he was about fifty. Up until then, China was doing okay.

But even still, there were serious problems. The Qing did not encourage people to imagine, to dream, to take flights of fantasy. The Manchus were severely outnumbered, so they demanded unquestioning obedience. You can never build a truly strong organization, be it a family, a corporation, or a nation, on a basis of unquestioning obedience.

Have I answered your question? The Manchu conquest was ultimately bad for China. Although the dynasty started with great prosperity, they did not build a foundation for continued health. But even without the Manchus, the Ming had done great harm to China.

However, none of this absolves the Western powers and Japan for their rapacity.

Some favorite figurative art

What is done in secret among nurses?

Doctor hunting.

There is a universal phenomenon in hospitals in which some female nurses actively try to develop a relationship with one of the hospital doctors. The status of such nurses becomes higher when they are married to a doctor (in the end), and as silly as that sounds, it’s an undeniable truth.

And as silly as it sounds again, doctor hunters who eventually find their prey, often (but not always) act very differently than “common” nurses — they have a powerful husband now, the husband earns a lot of money, and the latter basically lifts them into another part of society.

And so they become arrogant.

Some of these doctor hunters are very hard to work with — it is as if they cannot hide the fact that hubby is a medical doctor, which has to make them more important than “ordinary” nurses, right ?

One of the big hospital secrets which is always hushed away on TV is that there is a well-defined hierarchy in hospitals, and in that hierarchy the doctors are the pilots and the nurses the flight attendants. Every single hospital employee knows this, by the way.

On the other side of the spectrum, we have the nurse doers — doctors that actively search for (secret) relationships with nurses. Some of them utterly enjoy the experience (nurse after nurse after nurse), but never plan to end their marriage in favor of the nurse.

The main entry stays at home.

In my girlfriend’s hospital, a rather impressive number of (doctor hunter, nurse doer)-couples are known, and some of them are “secret” (because the doctor has a family back home), and others are not (because they got married in the end).

In one instance, we witnessed to nurses — both doctor hunters — fight at a party because they found out that they both had a relationship with one and the same doctor (who had a wife and kids). They weren’t even mad at him — only mad at each other ! 🙄

It’s always interesting to see how twisted hospital shows misrepresent what really happens in a hospital, and what I find most striking is how totally different nurses are represented compared to real-life situations.

In the end, the truth still is that a doctor title opens doors —

And doctor hunters want the key.

Elensky gift to Putin foiled. Xi, China stands with Serbia. Russia blocks Rumble. Germany bans Z&V

Have you ever bought something from a yard sale or second hand store only to discover it was worth significantly more? What was the item you purchased?

Pawn shop. I’m a trumpet player and of course I collect trumpets, cornets and the like when I find something interesting or a good deal. A friend (also a musician) who’s son-in-law worked at a pawn shop had clued him in on a potential deal on a cornet. He mentioned it to me saying if I wasn’t interested he was for sure. Told me he thought it could be had for $160 (they were asking $199). I went to look at it, it was a 50 year old cornet in near new condition (which is amazing for something that old, most have been well used). Before I had gone into the store, had put $140 in cash in my pocket. Asked what they would take. Check with the computer then the young salesman says we need $160, then asked what I would offer. I said $140. He checks with manager then says, no we must get $160. I said, oookay. Then turned towards the door and take a step, stop, look back over my shoulder and say “I have $140 cash money in my pocket….” Salesman pauses, glances to his left at the manager who was working numbers in a book. Manager didn’t even look up, just nods. Done deal. Not only that, they wrote it up so that the total including the additional sales tax came to $139.99. I donated the penny.

I knew it was worth more than the $199 they were asking, but was very surprised when I researched the cornet and found it was worth upwards of $350 or more. Not sure if that qualifies as “significantly more” but more than double what I paid works for me! I still have it, plays awesomely well and very happy with it in my collection. (No I didn’t give the make/model on purpose so as to avoid opinions and value advice from those who’ve never seen the item. No offense intended.)

BIDEN TARIFF AGAINST CHINA EV’s and GREEN ENERGY – us auto companies can’t compete…

Do people in China worry about their country getting involved in another war?

I called my dear fuzhou friend over the weekend. She is completing her California house sale and calling curtains on her green card stay.

Her extended family is living in fuzhou, a city along the Taiwan straits.

Her parents are retired educators, and gentle folk. I asked if she is worried for their safety, given the tensions and risk of conflict.

She replied they told her not to worry. Social order is good, and the community organized and controlled covid well over the past two years. If war breaks out, they are prepared for it.

After all, they are a generation that experienced the 29-year jinmen conflict, as well as the chaos of the cultural revolution.

Many years ago, she was the first person to convince me not to doubt the resolve of the mainland when it came to Taiwan, because 不说别的，那班孙子把紫禁城洗劫一空，还敢当众摆放在＂故宫＂！

She meant it half jokingly, but that was one of the few times I felt real anger brewing in her.

If war is necessary, the Chinese in fujian will apply the same pragmatism they face covid with. No fear, no panic, no empty shelves. There are multiple layers of social fabric to organize and take care of communities.

Why do Americans get so worked up if someone trespasses on their property (as in owning a large piece of land which gets trespassed on)?

I’m a Canadian, I bought wilderness property, on the river to have privacy.

My wife likes to sunbathe au natural, and I am not keen on people using the land I paid for. If they hurt themselves, I am liable, if they drive a vehicle at the river and wreck the environment, I am the one that the government expects to pay to restore it.

I will give some of the more interesting trespassing examples. I was laying on my deck, reading a book, when I watched a young couple walk maybe 50 feet from my house, and down towards the river. I keep a walking path to the river, far from my house, so that I am not disturbed by people trespassing.

This annoys me, who would walk 50 feet from your house, into your backyard, in the city? So I put on my shoes and follow them. I find them down at my firepit, naked, going at it on my chaise lounges. I ask them what they are doing, as if it wasn’t obvious.

They say that they wanted to go swimming, and were just changing, but they had no swim wear.

I asked them if they usually just walked right by someone’s house and got naked. They claimed that they didn’t see my house.

I asked them to leave.

After I blocked off driving access to the river, I had people drive 10 feet from my house, over my lawn, to get to the river. Unfortunately I had also chained up that access to the river, and I blocked my driveway with my truck, before they could come back out.

I heard ila thunk thunk sound one day, so I walked down to the walking path I left open to the river.

There were four boys 11–13 throwing rocks at my private property, please treat with respect sign. They were sitting on a raft, waiting for their parents to come back from dropping off a car, down river.

I go out of my way to allow environmentally friendly access to the river and they practically spit on the gesture.

I get their names and tell them if I find any damage at all on my property, I will be locking the gate, and posting a sign saying that access is gone, because of the actions of these 4 local kids. Listing their names. It doesn’t matter who does the damage, your names will be posted, so make sure no one treats my property like you guys have.

They all agree, and I head back to the house, before their parents arrive.

My wife was sunbathing, and 4 guys on dirt bikes pulled up beside her, they had threaded their way down the walking path. They make a bunch of rude comments, and my wife gets dressed and leaves, they are gone before I get there.

That’s why I get worked up about trespassing.

DANGER: UNSTABLE GROUND

Submitted into Contest #247 in response to: Imagine a world where exploration is forbidden, and write a story about a character who defies this rule to satisfy their innate curiosity...

Today, I am introducing the concept of including some speculative fiction or science fiction (modern and contemporaneous) with the daily posts. Please tell me if you like or hate this idea. -MM

Do not ever step foot on the ground. Charlie had been told this his entire life, but it never really sunk in. He didn’t understand the deep-seated fear everyone else seemed to harbor. He thought it was incredible, a beautiful problem to be solved. Until he was laying on the floor of the lab staring at the ceiling and blinking away tears.The first time Charlie ever saw the ground consume a person he’d been twelve. What the tree-top teachers referred to as “live mummification” was a quick, disturbing process. Dirt crawling over skin to create a sort of exoskeleton. A casting of the human body, like those papier-mâché spheres they’d made in class years ago. It’d been an elderly lady that first time. The pulley system keeping her safe had malfunctioned and she’d lurched off balance. It was a code yellow bridge and wasn’t fully enclosed. The old lady stumbled to the side and was pulled right over the edge. Charlie caught only the first flash of the swarming ground on her skin before his mom had ushered him away. As the crowd around them shrieked and cried, Charlie craned his neck for a better look.He’d liked to have claimed this moment as the catalyst for his obsession, but really that had occurred years ago. It was maybe a few days after his seventh birthday, and he was crossing that old rope bridge by his house. It’s been built in a rush by early survivors trying to escape their houses for supplies. He was not supposed to be on it, but that had only made him more intent on using it.One of the rotten wood planks had splintered under his front foot and sent him toppling forward. It was only due to some notion of luck that his hips didn’t fit through the empty space and his arms had gotten tangled in the ropes. His leg hung down, exposed, ten feet off the ground. And then his new shoe, a size too big so he could grow into it, slipped off his foot. It landed on the dusty ground and tipped over sideways. Charlie’s breath caught in his chest, but nothing happened. The shiny shoe glistened under the sun. He wanted desperately to stick his finger in that restless dirt, just to see what would happen. He stayed put for way longer than was logical just in case, but the ground remained flat and lifeless. The shoe was not alive.The second time he saw someone be consumed by the ground he was 18 and on the verge of declaring a major in Microbiology, specializing in the study of those tiny organisms that made the ground hungry. This time the fall had not been an accident. He’d been crossing a major intersection of bridges when a commotion piqued his curiosity. A young woman who looked barely older than him had crawled out onto the roof of a one-story house where no one would risk following. Her auburn hair floated in the wind. People crowded against the railings to watch her. A few kind souls called out things like “You don’t have to do this!” and “Things will get better!” but the girl ignored them. She stared straight ahead and stepped off the roof. For a millisecond it was as if she was walking in the air, and then she plummeted to the ground and landed with a heavy thump. Immediately the soil surged up to meet her. She didn’t make a sound as it closed over her. Charlie came back every day for two weeks to observe the hardened cocoon. Inside, he knew that the body was being decomposed, drained away. The microorganisms in the dirt would suck the nutrients from her. Then the cast would collapse in on itself and the ground would smooth over once again.It wasn’t surprising that these events would have a lasting effect on him. The unexpected part was the nature of the effect. Where others would shy away and realize how dangerous the ground was, Charlie felt himself drawn to it. He wanted to understand the little beasts that terrorized his people. So, it was inevitable, really, that he’d want to see this forbidden phenomenon again.

The lab he was assigned to was on the upper floor of a university no longer in use. The building was old, made of even gray bricks. He had to duck through the fifth-floor window that had been fashioned into an entrance to get in. The walls were off-white, and the floors were so stable it made him feel somewhat unbalanced. His feet, used to the bridges and tree-top platforms, weren’t accustomed to the solidity. The equipment in the lab was well maintained: microscopes, autoclaves, incubators, centrifuges. He felt like a child in a room full of new toys. On one side of the room, where a balcony had once been, a ramp had been fixed that led down to the ground. The space before it was taken up by a deoxygenation chamber used briefly to asphyxiate any rogue organisms.

Charlie was integrated into a group that exclusively studied the microorganisms in the ground called Vitae Suffocent. Life suckers. The study was relatively new, they’d only recently worked with engineering to create a protective suit. Before then, the scientists would lean out the window with a cup fastened to a long pole and scoop up a small bit of the dirt. With the help of the suits, they had been able to set up a secure mock habitat to observe the specimens’ behavior.

The group was small, a handful of young students of which he was one, along with six seasoned scientists. For the first time, Charlie found himself surrounded by people who were just as interested in the ground as he was. The obsession that had set him apart from other kids in school was now reflected all around him. There was a girl who’d started at the same time as him- Tori. She was short and had thin black hair chopped short around her ears. Because they were new, they were often assigned projects to work on together. He wasn’t sure if he liked her, but it didn’t matter much.

There was an ongoing experiment that needed a fresh test subject, someone to stick a finger into the Life Sucker habitat. Charlie volunteered immediately, exhilarated by the idea of being able to touch the ground. He pictured it being magical, a borderline religious experiment. He worked himself up over it for days, so that when it was finally time he was almost bursting with excitement.

The scientists heading the experiment placed him in the deoxygenation chamber with the container. Around him, they gathered clipboards, pencils poised to jot down any and all details. His forefinger was swiped clean with an alcohol wipe that made the skin feel dry. Tori unlocked the circular compartment in the top of the container. Slowly, breathlessly, Charlie lowered his hand into the habitat. The tip of his finger brushed the dirt. It was soft and damp as he pressed the finger down. Charlie blinked and the soil began to stir. It tickled the pad of his finger. He watched in fascination as the hidden organisms began to climb up his skin. It was a strange sensation. The soil was cool and light, it felt more like a caress than a smothering.

Tori clicked the stopwatch in her hand and began to count aloud. By the time she reached seven, the organisms were up to his wrist. He withdrew his hand. The seal on the opening caught most of the dirt and held it back, to the irritation of the organisms. He held his hand away from him, not trusting it. Tori latched the contained shut quickly. Someone on the outside of the chamber switched it on. They held their breaths as the oxygen rapidly drained from the room. A loud whirring assaulted Charlie’s ears. His chest tightened. For a minute they all felt like they were suffocating, then it abruptly stopped and the doors to the lab popped open. Oxygen flooded back in. Charlie sucked in a deep breath.

He examined his hand. It was tingling and covered in little red blotches, but otherwise, he was fine. No damage had ever been recorded from less than ten seconds of exposure. Charlie glanced at the other set of doors over his shoulder. The ones that opened onto the ramp that led down to the ground. He longed to go through them, wanted to dig his hands in the ground and laugh as the organisms consumed him. He turned and walked back into the lab.

A month later he was given a protective suit and given the chance to wear it for the first time. He and Tori had been assigned to walk, outside, to a big oak tree and back. Charlie was thrilled. He stepped into the suit and pulled it up over his arms. A tech zipped him in and checked him over. The suit was a stiff layer of slick rubber designed to lack tread so the organisms wouldn’t be able to climb against gravity. The boots they were given were thick and clunky. They were tall, reaching up to his knees like a pair of extra-long rain boots. A device attached to the top of the boot sent out vibrations that they’d found would deter the organisms. The hood of the suit came up over his head and the visor was clicked into place. He saw the world through a glass partition.

Then they were in the chamber and the doors behind them were closing. It was midday and the sun was shining. A breeze spirited a few brown leaves past the glass. The doors to the ramp opened. Charlie stepped out first. His heart pounded in his chest. It was right there, the ground. He walked quickly down the ramp, Tori following behind him at a more reserved pace. He paused at the end of it. The dirt was disturbed, as it always was when the organisms were present. It looked almost fluffy.

Charlie took a deep breath and lifted one foot. He lowered it slowly to the ground, enjoying the crunch of soil underfoot. He leaned his weight forward, ready to take another step, but paused. The ground was shaking around his boot, pulsing in strange waves. It was trying to climb up his boot, he realized. He tried to pick up the foot but felt resistance. The ground clung to his boot, pulling him back down. Charlie watched, entranced. He continued to pry his foot away and eventually the dirt fell back down. He looked at Tori, whose face he could just see behind the visor. She looked equal parts disturbed and fascinated.

Afterward, he felt like he’d been on another planet. It was amazing, he’d been on the ground, but he couldn’t help feeling slightly disappointed. What had they learned during that expedition? Nothing new, nothing interesting. He wanted more. All he could think about was how slow the studies they performed were. They were no closer to understanding these organisms. They needed to study them in action. His plan fell together quickly after that.

Once again he fastened the protective suit on and was checked over by the other technicians. Tori was doing the same next to him. Charlie clapped a hand on her shoulder and with the scalpel hidden in his palm he sliced a tiny hole into her suit, the rubber splitting easily under a sharp blade. She turned and gave him a thumbs-up. He hid the scalpel in one of his pockets.

They walked through the chamber and out onto the ramp. The suit was heavy and sweaty against his skin. Through the visor, he saw the dirt-coated ground come closer and closer. The first step was always the most exciting. His foot hovered over the solid ground, casting a wavering shadow over the dirt. He placed it firmly down. The ground beneath him stirred, trying to creep up his legs but being deterred by the vibrations.

Slowly, the ground pulling at them with each step, they made it 50 feet away from the end of the ramp. He knew they were being watched closely from the observation windows, but at this distance, no one would really be able to tell what happened. Charlie shoved his foot hard to the side right as Tori took a step. The bottom of her boot caught on the top of his and she lost her balance. Her arms windmilled but the suit was too bulky and dragged her down.

She should have gotten up. The suit should have kept the microorganisms at bay. But Charlie had damaged her suit. He gazed intently down at her as the organisms poured over her and into the hole in the fabric. He bent over as if to help her, but really he just wanted to get a closer look. This near, it was mesmerizing. The dark earth swirled as though it was possessed. It rose and fell like a liquid. Tori cried out one last time before they closed over the top of her dark hair. Charlie ignored the panicked voices over his earpiece. Through his visor the majority of the event had been captured (excepting, of course, when he purposefully tripped her).

He’d made a huge leap in the field, no matter how tragic. The footage would help inform scientists for years to come. Except, he didn’t know (no one did) that after a feeding, the organisms laid their eggs. Hundreds of microscopic eggs stuck to his boots and were carried back into the facility. The eggs, not having to breathe oxygen yet, were not affected by the deoxygenation tank. Charlie stripped off his suit and hung it on the hook.

Overnight, the eggs hatched, and those tiny, deadly microorganisms scurried to hide in the dust accumulated above cabinets and at the edges of the room. Charlie was the first person at the lab that morning, still buzzing with the exhilaration of the day before, ready to study the footage and propel their lab forward. When his skin started to itch, he thought nothing of it. Until he noticed the little red dots on his forearm. Then the world tilted on its axis, and he crumpled to the floor. He’d made another major discovery that day. The skin of the microorganisms contained a deadly neurotoxin.

There weren’t enough creatures to make a cast over him. It was a slow death during which all he could think about was how these organisms would feed on him, suck the life out of him. After, they’d lay their eggs. And the eggs would hatch. And the organisms would spread.

His curiosity had doomed their entire town. He’d brought the ground to them.

What did a neighbor do to you that you will never forget?

She accidentally made me her power of attorney.

I had a very elderly neighbor that didn’t really have family and no one ever really came around. We’d try say hi on a decently regular basis but it was clear she had dementia and it was getting worse. I’d try to make sure I say her at least once a day.

When I realized it had been a couple of days since we saw her, I called non emergency for a well fare check. In my area, it’s fairly common. Lots of retired folk.

It wasn’t the first time I had called over the years but it was the first time they found her unconscious. She was taken to the hospital and they tried to find family, friends, anyone who knew this lady existed. Apparently, I was it. I was the only person that seemed to know who this lady was. She didn’t have a will, directive, nothing. So they asked if I was comfortable making POA decisions regarding life. I said I was as I had done it with my grandmother and worked in healthcare so I understood what we were up against.

Ultimately, I decided to tell them to pull the plug. She was well into her 80’s. All her organs were failing, they tried all day to wake her up and were never successful. If she did ever wake up, she’d never go home. She be stuck in some rehab facility and would be on dialysis daily for years. She was a recluse. She told us many time that she doesn’t want to be attached to machines to live.

They pulled all living sustaining equipment. She was given a morphine drip to remain comfortable and passed away about three days after she was found.

I eventually found her daughter but they had been estranged for over a decade.

No Peek Beef Casserole

No Peeking Allowed Beef Casserole Large600 ID 2207804

Ingredients

2 pounds stew meat, cut into 1 inch cubes
1 envelope onion soup mix
1 can cream of mushroom soup
1 (4 ounce) can mushrooms, drained
1/2 cup red wine or beef broth
1/2 cup sour cream

Instructions

Combine all ingredients except sour cream. Stir together well. Add to slow cooker.
Cover and cook on LOW for 8 to 12 hours or on HIGH for 5 to 6 hours.
At the end of cooking, stir in sour cream.
Serve over noodles or rice.

Is China really as powerful as we Indians think?

No,

China is much more powerful than we Indians think.

China is a global economic and infrastructural power.

Consider these facts and you will know the difference between China and India—

China’s economically largest province is Guangdong with GDP of $1.3 trillion which is about 45% of India’s GDP. Our economically largest state Maharashtra has a GDP of $430 billion.

2. China has the world’s highest GDP ppp of $25 trillion (2.5 times India’s) and the second highest nominal GDP of $12.5 trillion (5 times India’s).

3. People’s Bank of China has assets of $3.21 trillion, which is more than our GDP.

4. China has the world’s largest foreign exchange reserves, which is about 8 times more than India’s ($3.2 trillion).

5. China adds India’s GDP to its economy every 2–3 years.

6. China has the largest share of global industrial designs, and the largest manufacturing infrastructure in the world. Nearly half of the world’s goods are manufactured in China.

7. 11 of the top 50 largest companies by revenue are Chinese. There is not a single Indian company in the list.

8. China’s economy creates a millionaire in a period of just three days. So China has the highest number of millionaires and billionaires in the world after the US.

9. China’s economy is $12.5 trillion, growing at 6% annually. The US economy is $20 trillion, growing at 2.3% annually. In this way, China will become the world’s largest economy by 2030 and overtake the US.

Now look at China’s infrastructure—

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The harsh reality is that India is nowhere near China when it comes to economy and infrastructure. China is competing with the US, trying to become the largest economy in the world, while we Indians are patting our backs on how we are better than a failed state like Pakistan. The reality is that even the Chinese don’t consider India as a big competitor!

We should stop focusing on Pakistan, instead we should start focusing on our own development. China can become a serious threat to India in the near future.

MAN IS LIVING IN 2027 & HUMAN RACE IS GONE! (VIDEO PROOF) Unicosobreviviente

Bone-headed decision made by a stupid ass kid

In my repertoire of memories, I have a lot of things that I regret. Today, I want to talk about one such item.

I was a Senior in High School, and the prom is coming up. I had broken off with my girlfriend, and I was free and single, but I wasn’t dating. I was still too young, and I really didn’t know what was going on. Lot’s of gals were chasing me. I mean it, and some were very persistent.

When I would get with some of these gals they would immediately want me to head straight into sex, but Lordy! I wasn’t nearly ready. I was just a shy nerd, and things tended to crumble from there.

Some of the gals that perused me were quite “hot”.

What was I thinking?

Anyways, there was a girl that really liked me, from my younger brother’s class. And she was nice, and I liked her too.

And the prom was coming up.

At that time I worked in a grocery store, and forest fire fighter, and the coil mine. So I was a hard working kid.

And her (the girl that liked me) father came in to the store and spent hours trying to convince me to take his daughter out… no kidding. And he was offering generous terms.

Why did I say no, I really don’t know.

I liked the girl. She was cute and attractive, and I am sure that we both would have a great time.

But nothing happened. The prom came and went.

My buddy Sid Custer took her out. And so she did get to go out. And I stayed home that night.

Bone-headed decision made by a stupid ass kid.

But my regret is NOT of my lost opportunities. No. It is the look of pain on her father’s face when he couldn’t provide his daughter a “16 candles” moment.

That is one of my regrets. A grand one.

And one that I am sharing today. The disappointment of a father who loves his little girl.

I was s selfish, jack ass. And I didn’t realize it.

*sigh*

Today…

What was the strangest way an embezzler was caught?

My dad once opened up a truck parts business.

At the time, he got a state contract to maintain a fleet of buses that daily were taking workers to a “brownfields clean up site” – about 50 miles away – for more than a year.

The buses started getting an unusual number of flat tires – not really a big deal because the bus could keep going, then fix it while waiting for the next trip.

After a while, something smelled fishy. The flat tires were saved and inspected. They went flat because of wear, not road hazard damage. Shop records showed that new tires had been put on those buses recently.

Mysteriously, since the whole shop was in on the tire inspections, the problem went away for about three months.

Then the shop manager came to my dad and showed him some worn-out bus tires. Shop records showed that new tires had been placed on those buses.

Somebody was stealing bus tires. The state gov’t could not have cared less, by the way. They weren’t spending their own money, right?

They called the insurance company. The insurance company hired a private investigator.

He solved the case in two weeks.

A tire mechanic was going through the motions of changing the tires but was, in fact, merely rotating them, then every Friday, taking ten fresh bus tires to a truck stop and selling them for cash to truck drivers.

Interestingly, the bad guy seemed to have smelled something in the wind and stopped showing up for work.

How not to be used

Did Anne Boleyn confess to the crimes before her execution?

Anne gave her final confession 48 hours before execution to her almoner, John Skip (or Skypp.) At dawn on May 18, she called for her jailer, Sir Anthony Kingston, to come and witness something. She swore on the communion Host that she was innocent of the charges against her. She then consumed it and repeated the oath.

For a person of the 16th century, what Anne had just done was extremely powerful. Taking an oath on what they believed to be the literal body of Christ would instantly damn the soul of anyone who was dishonest. She wouldn’t have lied on the Host expecting to meet her maker within a few hours.

The execution was delayed. A large crowd had gathered to see this extraordinary event — the execution of a crowned Queen of England. Kingston hoped if it was delayed and no announcement was made, the people would drift away. They didn’t; the crowd only got larger.

Anne had to be in agony. She called Kingston to ask why no one had come to get her. He told her it had been rescheduled for noon. She settled into prayer with Skip again, but when noon came and went and no one came to get her, she called for Kingston again, and at this point, he told her it would be the following day. Unintentional though it was, this was an incredible cruelty.

On the morning of May 19, 1536, she walked out to face the huge crowd. She mounted the scaffold which had been adorned with hundreds of yards of black velvet. Until the very last moments, her status as a crowned queen had to be respected.

She tipped the executioner to ensure a swift death and then comforted her ladies. These women, assigned to Anne because they hated her and were friends with allies of Princess Mary, now wept as though they were “bereft of souls” or the living damned. They had come to care for her deeply over the two weeks they spent with her in the Tower.

Anne turned to face the crowd and people held their breath, waiting to see what she would say. Kingston knew she was innocent after seeing her swear on the Host, and it was a situation he’d never really anticipated — executing an innocent person. He didn’t know what she would do and had speculated she might declare her innocence before the crowd.

But Anne kept her poise and held to the traditions. In the Tudor era, showing fear or reluctance to die indicated the person was afraid to face God with a guilty conscience. Anne held her chin high and made it clear she welcomed death.

Her exact words are disputed by different sources, but it’s clear they were the conventional speech of a condemned criminal. Any deviation from the pattern would have been shocking and appalling and would have had consequences for her family.

The only slight deviation from the pattern was the request that anyone who might “meddle with her cause” would use good judgement. She knew the history being made in that moment, and that people would be debating what had happened to her for centuries to come.

She submitted to the sword with grace, having done all she could to prove her innocence.

In real China, family net worth and home ownership are 50% bigger than America’s and it dominates all 21st century technologies. Help get the word out.

BITTER Feminist LOSING Their Mind Because They Have NOTHING To OFFER MEN

Weapon Systems: Ours and China’s

Godfree Roberts

You win some..

I asked a Chinese (civil) engineer friend to estimate what proportion of America’s spending on failed weapon systems China spent on its successful ones. He would be surprised, he said, if it were half as much. Here are some systems we discussed:

Hypersonic Missiles: America’s 20-year, failed ARRW hypersonic missile defense program cost $15 billion. Chinese university science clubs have demonstrated hypersonic weapons. China’s DF-17, Mach 10 ‘carrier killer’ has been demonstrated many times. Its big brother, DF-27, can hit ships west of Guam.

Next-Gen Helicopter: After spending $7 billion developing a reconnaissance and light attack helicopter, the US pulled the plug in 2004. China’s Harbin Z-19 is a tandem-seat helicopter for reconnaissance and light attack, with air-to-air and air-to-ground missiles and nose-mounted electro-optical target tracking turret.
Self-Propelled Howitzer: The Crusader was to replace the Army’s aging artillery pieces, more mobile with longer range. It was canceled in 2002 after $2 billion was spent. China’s PLZ-05 155 mm self-propelled howitzer, the PLZ-07 122 mm self-propelled, self-loading howitzer, the PCL-181 155 mm wheeled, self-propelled, selfloading howitzer are all in full production.

Railgun: The U.S. Navy spent $500 million on the railgun program and cancelled it in 2021. China’s railgun fires 120 rounds at 4,500 mph (7200 km/hr) and strikes targets 120 miles (200 km) away.

Laser Cannon: The Air Force spent $5 billion developing the laser cannon then cancelled it in 2012. China’s high-energy laser cannons remain powered up indefinitely without overheating, thanks to state-of-the-art cooling.

Next-Gen Destroyer: The Zumwalt next-gen destroyer was supposed to launch missiles from its 80 VLS cells but after spending $22 billion, the Navy canned it in 2016. China’s Type 055 next-gen destroyer has 112 VLS cells, all of whose missiles vastly outrange and out-punch their USN counterparts.

Aircraft Carrier: Construction of the $20 billion USN Gerald Ford began in 2009. Its electromagnetic aircraft launch system, EMALS, is underpowered and unreliable, thanks to the Navy’s choice of AC electric power throughout the ship. The Fujian, with a more powerful DC electric system, has a much more powerful, reliable EMALS, a bigger flight deck and aircraft elevators, a slimmer mast and a wider array of defensive weapons.
F-35 fighters from design to retirement, will cost $2 trillion, and each jet requires 9 hours of maintenance for one hour flying. The J-20 fighter carries a bigger payload (10 tons) faster (1,500 mph), higher (60,000 ft.) and further (1100 nm.) than the F-35. The J-20’s missiles outrange the F-35’s missiles by 50%.

The crisis

The West is suffering a crisis, not only of confidence, but of competence. Boeing’s failed shuttle is in the headlines but, less visibly, CERN’s $20 billion attempt to sustain nuclear fusion is collapsing under the weight of its own complexity. It will probably be abandoned now that a private Shanghai company has sustained fusion–for $1 billion.

Instead of continuing with this embarrassing list, I will devote the next post to consider more implications of the fusion breakthrough for world leadership.

American style corruption

Iran Receives Nuclear Threat Over Pending Retaliation Against Israel

Hal Turner World August 15, 2024

Former Iranian diplomat Amir al-Mousavi told Al-Mayadeen news that Iran has been threatened with a nuclear strike.

Mousavi stressed that Iran has made it clear any nuclear attack will be met with a proportional response.

He further noted that those issuing the threats received even stronger replies.

He also urged people to ignore baseless claims of alleged Iranian “cowardice” circulating on social media, over the still-delayed retaliation against Israel for the assassination of Ismail Haniyeh in Tehran weeks ago.

Mousavi concluded by asserting that Iran, together with its allies, is fully prepared to confront the Zionist entity (Israel) with full force.

Hal Turner Analysis

In the ongoing Soap Opera of the Israel-Iran troubles, we have finally reached the apex threat stage: nuclear attack.

I call it a “Soap Opera” because like old the TV Soap Operas, you can walk away from it for a whole week and when you get back, you find you haven’t missed anything substantial.

As readers are aware, today (August 15, 2024) is my first day back at work from my vacation last week, and, as I peruse the available Intel and news, I realize I haven’t missed much!

What I have missed – or rather been relieved of for a week — is all the stress that had come with the ongoing situation.

As usual, folks in the Middle East are all hyped-up and ready to blow each other up . . . again . . . . as usual. It’s been this way for decades and shows little sign of abating.

As I look at the nuclear strike claim, I realize the only thing different about this situation is that the threat was actually made.

For decades, it was the quiet part . . . the part no one said out loud. It was always known, and presumed, that no one could hit Israel without the real possibility of being nuked by Israel.

But now that the actual threat has been made – interesting things are happening.

First, there is no abatement of the retaliation by Iran. Iran says it __is__ coming and __will_ be delivered.

So what did the nuclear threat accomplish?

Looking at the situation as the outsider I actually am, Iran faces a very simple reality:

If they do not hit Israel back for the assassination, then they don’t have a country anymore. Israel will be free to kill whomever they want, wherever they want, whenever they want.

If they DO hit Israel back, and very VERY hard, it __may__ give them pause before they think about undertaking such an act again. BUT . . . .

It will also unleash the very war that Israel has been looking at waging since the Iranian nuclear program became public knowledge.

Israel simply will not tolerate any other nearby country being equipped with nuclear weapons the same way the Israelis have nuclear weapons. If any neighbor country has nukes, that would DETER Israel from its ongoing military abuse of neighbors.

It was this reality, for decades, that actually created today’s troubles because somewhere inside Israel, they got the idea they could do whatever they want, to whomever they want, whenever and wherever they want, and no one would dare do anything for fear of being nuked.

Many MANY sources have repeatedly told me that Iran already has nuclear weapons; they allegedly got them via their own research and with help from North Korea.

None of us knows for certain if this claim of Iran nukes is true.

But back to the issue at hand, Israel has apparently made an actual, direct, nuclear attack threat.

So again, for Iran, the issue is simple: Does Iran hit the Israelis back (HARD) for assassinating Ismail Haniyeh in Tehran, or not?

In my analysis, this is a no-brainer. I think Iran __must__ hit Israel back, and very hard.

Remember, back in April of this year, Israel bombed the Iran Embassy Compound in Damascus, Syria. An open act of war!

Iran made a retaliation, with force, much of which was shunted by Israeli defenses, with assistance from allies like the US and UK.

But in that retaliation, deadly weaknesses in Israel’s defenses were exposed. Several Iranian ballistic missiles, got through Israeli defenses, and struck Israeli military bases. It proved that Israel __could__ be successfully hit, and the Israelis now know they are nowhere near as “invincible” as they thought they were. They don’t like this reality and so they have upped-the-ante to actual nuclear threat.

That was foolishness on the part of Israel that is psychotic in its origin. If Israel nukes Iran over any conventional attack, what does Israel think Russia will do? What will North Korea do? What will Pakistan do? I think one or more of those countries would launch nuclear strikes at Israel! Much of Israel would be annihilated.

Now, the U.S. would be in a real pickle if any of this happened because, as Israel’s co-dependent enabler, the US would be obligated to come to the aid of their psycho-bully-little-brother, Israel.

Would US political leaders risk all-out nuclear war, for a bunch of psychotics-from-inbreeding over in Israel?

Maybe. Maybe not.

Which brings us all back to Israel’s nuclear threat. If I was in Iran, I would realize the nuclear threat is __possible__ but not probable.

If I was in Iran, I would also realize that Israel has wanted an excuse to go after Iran’s nuclear program for years, and this situation, right now, was intentionally created BY ISRAEL, to cause that exact war. It is coming and nothing will stop it.

So if I was an Iranian political leader, I would resign myself to the reality that a big war __is__ here, and I would go for the gusto; I would order a massive attack upon Israel in response to the assassination of Ismail Haniyeh, and the total violation of Iran sovereignty the assassination actually was.

Iran is either sovereign or they’re not.

If they want to be sovereign, it seems to me they __must__ hit Israel. Since the Iran retaliation after the Embassy Bombing did not deter Israel, this retaliation for the assassination of Haniyeh must be at least ten times larger.

The longer Iran waits, the more time Israel has to prepare. The more time the US and UK have to move assets into theater and move weapons into Israel.

So, I ask the leadership of Iran: Are you sovereign, or not? Are you going to allow the Israelis to murder people in your capital city, or not?

I think that if Iran rolls-over and does not attack in response to the Haniyeh murder, then Iran is no longer sovereign.

When She Expects Princess Treatment But You’re In the Friendzone

Taquitos

These are the best taquitos! I like to serve them with guacamole and sour cream for dipping. They’re certainly not traditional taquitos, but they are delicious.

Ingredients

Pork, beef or chicken
1 can Mexican beer
Garlic salt, to taste
Pepper, to taste
Cumin (comino), to taste
1 envelope onion soup mix
1 can or jar chile verde
Corn tortillas
Melted cheese for drizzling (optional)

Instructions

Add all ingredients except melted cheese to a slow cooker.
Cook for 8 to 10 hours on LOW.
Drain juice.
Put filling on corn tortillas and roll up. Secure with a wooden pick.
Fry until tortilla is crispy. Remove wooden pick to serve.
Drizzle with melted cheese, if desired.

Life on the high seas

As a police officer, what is the kindest thing a suspect ever said to you?

OMGosh…

I got a call for a domestic disturbance, once. When I got there, I saw two guys fighting in the yard. I got out, and ordered them to stop. I was by myself, so I cuffed one guy and put him in my car while I talked to the other one. Then, I switched them to interview the other guy.

I found out they were brothers but one had been messing around with the other brother’s girlfriend. I talked to them about family and the total mess they were making of each other over a female. I took the fellow that started the fight to jail and left the other at the house. All the way in, I continued telling him not to do this over some girlfriend—it wasn’t like they were married—he’s your brother…

By the time we got to the booking office, he was thanking me.

Eight months later on patrol I happened to see the two brothers in a parking lot. I stopped and said, “Hey! How’s it going?”

They turned around and said, “Deputy, thank you so much for how you handled that mess months ago.”

“Great,” I said, “how are things now?”

They said they both got rid of the girlfriend, started a landscaping business together, and business was going great! “Had we not met and talked that day, one of us might be dead by now.”

I felt really good about my job that day. 🙂

NOTE: I want to add the backstory for this girlfriend that some had wondered if she got the short end of the deal. She did, but there was a reason. She was not a long-term girlfriend with any history connected to the brothers. She had only been around for a few months and was clearly using the brothers for her own selfish gain (house, drink, food and apparently a little more…). I imagine that the stories ending would be different had the brothers been dirt-bags, but they weren’t.

Shorpy

Man DESTROYS Woman Recording Him During Date! #2

How are China’s current economic troubles (2024) affecting its global economic influence?

Look. China is an 18t dollar economy.

It is the world’s largest trading nation.

LARGEST.

No. 1.

Between 2019 and 2023, Chinese mercantile exports increased by almost 1t, and would have certainly been far higher had American-led sanctions and restrictions not curtailed normal trade. That’s more than double the increase in US goods exports, at 400b.

[Note: There are ~2,000 Chinese entities on the sanction list today.]

Yet it is growing like a developing economy, which it is, structurally as a whole.

China is an unprecedented economy. There has never been anything like it, and equivalence with any economy in the present or past fail at some point, often superficially.

~5% growth is a china in economic trouble?

Now, China is in the ~13,000 gdp per capita bracket, similar to Mexico, Malaysia, and turkey, all in the structurally vulnerable middle income “trap”.

What were their growth and inflation numbers in 2023?

China: 5.2%, 0.2%

Malaysia: 3.7%, 2.5%

Mexico: 3.2%, 4.7%

Turkey: 4.0%, 53.8%

And the kicker?

The other 3 have devalued massively relative to the yuan this century, particular post GFC.

There isn’t a developing country who won’t kill to be in china’s shoes today.

NONE.

The disparity would have been starker were the global south not given carte blanche to depreciate their currencies in a follow-the-yen reverse plaza accord begun in 2012-2013.

There was no political blowback, and the silence turned deafening when it was China and Singapore (of all actors) inexplicably singled out for designation as currency manipulators, despite appreciating versus the dollar.

It was a sharp message to China. Do NOT join in the festivities. We have different rules for you.

China today has low domestic inflation and interest rates. Given that the yen has devalued 100% in the past decade, along with a host of other currencies, what would it hurt if China devalues the yuan by 10% to 7.8-7.9 to the dollar? Even then, it will only be a fraction of the yen’s colossal dislocation in recent years.

That move alone can boost growth by at least 1–2%.

Economic troubles?

Far from it.

China hasn’t brought out the elephant gun, not even during covid.

That, my friends, is something to chew over.

The Problem With Society is: Most men don’t own anything, so they don’t give a F*ck.

Ownership is the key.

Cosmic Catastrophe: A Space Adventure Gone Awry

Submitted into Contest #247 in response to: Set your story on a spaceship exploring the far reaches of space when something goes wrong.… view prompt

Kayla Flemming

The hum of the spaceship’s engines filled the air as Captain Jackson surveyed the vast expanse of space stretching out before them. They were on a routine mission to explore the far reaches of the Galaxy, charting new star systems and collecting valuable data for the Intergalactic Alliance.But as they ventured further into uncharted territory, a sense of unease settled over the crew. There was something off about this sector of space – a feeling of foreboding that sent shivers down their spines.As they pressed on, their fears were realized when a sudden jolt rocked the ship, sending alarms blaring and lights flashing. Emergency protocols were initiated as the crew scrambled to assess the damage.”What happened?” Captain Jackson barked, his voice tense with urgency.”It looks like we hit some sort of anomaly,” replied Lieutenant Ramirez, her fingers flying across the control panel as she attempted to regain control of the ship.

But their efforts were in vain as another jolt shook the vessel, this time more violently than before. Panic gripped the crew as they realized they were hurtling towards a nearby planet, their trajectory set on a collision course that spelled certain doom.

With time running out, Captain Jackson made a split-second decision – they would attempt a risky maneuver to evade the planet’s gravitational pull and regain control of the ship.

“Brace yourselves!” he shouted, his hands gripping the controls with steely determination.

As the ship plunged towards the planet’s surface, the crew held their breath, their hearts pounding in their chests. But just when it seemed all hope was lost, Captain Jackson’s daring maneuver paid off, and the ship veered away from the planet at the last possible moment.

Cheers erupted throughout the cockpit as the crew celebrated their narrow escape from disaster. But their relief was short-lived as they realized they were now adrift in the void of space, their navigation systems fried and their chances of survival dwindling by the second.

As they frantically searched for a way to repair the ship and plot a course home, Captain Jackson couldn’t help but wonder what other dangers lurked in the darkness of space, waiting to test their courage and resolve.

Despite the chaos that ensued, the crew of the spaceship refused to let fear dictate their actions. With determination in their hearts and a spirit of camaraderie that bound them together, they set out to explore the planet they had narrowly avoided crashing into. As they descended through the atmosphere, they were greeted by a breathtaking landscape unlike anything they had ever seen before – towering mountains, shimmering lakes, and lush forests stretching out to the horizon.

Eager to uncover the secrets of this alien world, the crew donned their spacesuits and ventured out onto the surface, their eyes wide with wonder as they took in the sights and sounds of this new frontier.

But their sense of adventure soon turned to apprehension as they encountered strange and wondrous creatures lurking in the shadows – creatures with scales as hard as steel, eyes that glowed with an otherworldly light, and voices that echoed through the caverns like whispers from the void.

Undeterred, the crew pressed on, their curiosity driving them ever forward in their quest for knowledge and discovery. And though they faced countless challenges and obstacles along the way, their indomitable spirit carried them through, guiding them on a journey of exploration that would change their lives forever.

As they prepared to leave the planet behind and return to the safety of their ship, Captain Jackson couldn’t help but feel a sense of gratitude for the adventure they had shared together. For in the face of adversity, they had found strength in each other, forging bonds that would withstand the test of time.

Amidst the chaos and excitement of their unplanned detour, the crew found moments of levity that brought much-needed relief from the tension of their predicament.

From Lieutenant Ramirez’s failed attempts at fixing the ship’s malfunctioning systems to Ensign Johnson’s comical mishaps during their explorations on the planet’s surface, there was never a dull moment aboard the spaceship.

Even Captain Jackson, typically stoic and reserved, couldn’t help but crack a smile as he watched his crew stumble their way through one misadventure after another. But amidst the laughter and camaraderie, there was a sense of camaraderie that bound them together, a shared sense of purpose that gave them the strength to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

And as they finally set course for home, their ship repaired and their ship repaired and their spirits buoyed by the memories of their cosmic escapades, they knew that no matter what trials awaited them in the vast expanse of space, they would face them together, united in their quest for adventure and discovery.

The journey back to their home base was filled with moments of reflection and gratitude. Each member of the crew took the time to appreciate the bonds they had formed and the experiences they had shared during their time in the far reaches of space.

Lieutenant Ramirez, with her quick with and unwavering determination, became the heart and soul of the crew, guiding them through even the most challenging of situations with her calm demeanor and steady hand.

Ensign Johnson, despite his tendency to stumble into trouble, proved himself to be a valuable asset to the team, his ingenuity and resourcefulness saving them on more than one occasion.

And Captain Jackson, with his leadership and courage, inspired his crew to rise above their fears and doubts, leading them through adversity with unwavering resolve. As they neared their home base, a sense of anticipation filled the air. Though their journey had been fraught with danger and uncertainty, they had emerged stronger and more united than ever before.

And as they docked their ship and stepped onto solid ground once more, they knew that their adventure was far from over. For as long as there were stars in the sky and unexplored corners of the universe to discover, they would continue to journey forth, together, in search of the next great adventure that awaited them in the cosmos.

The Snow White Trailer – Nightmare Fuel

1960’s era Toys

Mostly the stuff that I encountered. GI Joe and Major Matt Mason.

What goes through the mind of Chinese citizens when they travel out of China and end up on the internet seeing uncensored speech and negative factual news about the CCP?

They love China even more and decide to go back China to build a better modern China with the unique Chinese Characteristics.

The Chinese American scientists and engineers who have worked and studied in the US for years have read and seen all the fake news and real life stories their whole life. They have endured enough discrimination and unfair treatments that they decide to return China and start up their high tech companies.

That is the fact.

Stop making fake narrative harassment and bullying hate speeches on China wastefully.

Hollywood Is Abandoning “The Message”

Swiss Steak with Tomato Gravy

Yield: 4 servings

Ingredients

1 large slice round steak
1/2 cup vegetable oil
2 large cans tomatoes
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 large onion, diced
Kosher or sea salt and pepper
1 cup water (for gravy)

Instructions

Spray slow cooker with Pam. Turn on LOW.
Heat oil in large skillet.
Cut round steak into serving-size pieces.
Put flour into a shallow pan. Add salt and pepper to flour and flour steak well.
Fry steak in hot oil until brown.
Pour a few tomatoes into the slow cooker. Add pieces of browned steak and remaining tomatoes in layers. Add diced onion.
Cook for 4 hours on LOW heat.
Remove meat from slow cooker.
Put 1 cup of water in a pint jar. Add 3 tablespoons flour. Shake well. Add to tomato mixture in the slow cooker. Cook and stir until gravy is thickened.
Put meat back in long enough to heat.
Serve with mashed potatoes.

What is the strangest experience you ever had firing somebody?

“With all due respect, you’re not paying us $5,000 so I can carry out quick revenge.”

I’ll never forget that line, spoken by a fully armed contractor hired for my personal protection on the strangest day of my career.

The year was 2014 and Dan is falling apart again.

Dan (not his actual name) shows up in many companies. Dan is intelligent, capable of spectacular results but is incredibly inconsistent. Our Dan once led the entire company in our sales rankings and had four President’s Club plaques in his office.

The only thing Dan was consistent at was being a nice guy. Everyone loved him. He gave his time freely to everyone in the office. Whether you were an intern or a manager, he raised his hand if you needed help.

Dan was in his early 50s and was a family man. Married with two kids in high school, he lived a simple life.

Dan drove us crazy. He could be running along with incredible results for the first six months of the year and then look like a completely different person in the second half. He was either sensational or a complete disaster. There was no in-between with Dan.

Most of the time, it just took a stern conversation. He had four different direct managers in his time with the company. I was several levels above him but saw the same three-step process play out every time.

New manager loves him. Dan is helpful, hustles, delivers great results and is a great team player.

Manager is concerned. Dan is missing deadlines, seems overwhelmed and we’ve had some customers complaints.

Manager is done. The entire office is distracted in putting out Dan’s fires and he just lashed out at a teammate (or some similar incident).

Throughout this process, Dan’s manager talks with him about his performance and encourages him to get his mojo back. Dan agrees and commits to improvement while performance keeps getting worse. Each time, a last straw is added to the figurative camel’s back when Dan erupts on a teammate or manager.

We then put Dan on a written performance plan with the direct language of “If Dan fails to achieve the results in this plan, he will be terminated.”

The performance plan always flips a switch in Dan. He would tell us how much he loves the company and needs the job. He would apologize, promise to improve and then deliver on that promise. Results would go from terrible to great.

I am talking about worst to first kind of turn-arounds. We would go from customer complaints to receiving love letters from his customers.

One year later, the process would start over again.

After this cycle happened too many times, I had a conversation with him.

“If it goes downhill again Dan, there won’t be another written performance plan. We can’t afford to keep disrupting the office. You have to get it together and keep it together. Is there something outside of this office that we can help you with?”

He paused for a long time and opened up. He suffered from depression. He drank too much. His family had confronted him. He was in a bad place.

Our company partnered with a counseling organization for just this type of situation. I offered him a leave of absence if he would enter the program, of which we would pay for 100%. He had to attend every session and stay in the program or we would terminate his employment.

He graciously agreed.

We gave him two months of paid leave and he entered the counseling program. He came back energized and we saw the best of Dan.

For a while.

Soon, the process started again as complaints started surfacing, both from his teammates and customers.

This time, it ended with Dan sending an explosive email to a customer at 2AM. This cringe-inducing email was four paragraphs long and all but called the customer an idiot. It was totally out of his normal character.

This happened on a Friday. The customer forwarded his email to me and several other managers the next morning with Dan copied on the email. This customer shared her plans to post it on her blog and social media accounts.

Dan left me with no choice but to fire him and he knew it.

On Sunday evening, I got a call from Dan’s manager. She was rattled.

Dan knew what was coming on Monday and confided in several people in the office, in the worst of ways.

He told one person that he expected to be fired. He went on to say he deserved it and probably didn’t deserve to be alive. Maybe, he should just end it all.

Startling, but it got worse. He called another employee who happened to be an avid hunter. Without talking business, he asked her questions about handguns and which caliber he should look into.

Damn.

This was the summer of 2014 and two school shootings had just taken place on the West Coast within a week of each other. Hints like this couldn’t be ignored.

My first responsibility as a leader is keeping employees safe. Was Dan likely crying out for help? Probably. Was he going to bring a gun to the office? Highly unlikely. Could we take that assumption to the bank? Absolutely not.

I told our manager to sit tight and I got on the phone with my boss. We were not going to take any chances. He had experience with a security firm and knew the owner.

He arranged for an “armed specialist” to be with me the next morning in the office. To this day, I appreciate how quickly my boss worked to arrange everything. I have fired many people but never in a situation like this.

For the first time in my life, I was headed to a business meeting with a loaded gun.

I talked with our manager in the office and asked her to arrange an office meeting at our satellite office across the street. In essence, I asked her to get everyone out of the main office to start the morning. If something happened, I would be the only employee in the office with Dan that morning.

Next, I called Dan and asked him to meet me the next morning at my office.

I didn’t sleep that night. My imagination kept taking me to dark scenarios. I wanted to tell my wife more of my fears but kept them to myself. I didn’t want her to start imagining all the crazy stuff I was dreaming up.

I met with my bodyguard two hours before I was scheduled to meet with Dan. He was an older gentleman, short and lean. He wore a dress shirt tucked into jeans with a leather bomber jacket on. He gave me his credentials. Twenty years in the military and another twenty years in private security, both overseas and domestic.

He wanted to know where all the entry points to the office were. We walked the perimeter of the building and did the same inside. We walked back to my office where I planned to meet with Dan.

“Too many doors to get here. Also, what if one of your employees comes back to the office and is back here with us? I like the offices in the lobby.”

“OK.”

We walk up front and sit down in one of the lobby offices. He asked me how I planned to conduct the conversation and what I am expecting.

“Well, I can meet with him in this office. I will leave the office door open since no one will be here yet. You can sit right outside the office on that couch.”

“With all due respect, you’re not paying us $5,000 so I can carry out quick revenge.”

It takes me a few seconds to comprehend what he is saying.

“Ian, I won’t do you any good on the couch if he brings a gun into that office with you. I’ll be sitting right next to you.”

“Of course.”

“I will have my gun covered by my jacket but trust that I can get to it quickly. I don’t want to show it and get him more nervous than he already is.”

We agree to announce him as an “HR specialist” hired to assist in the discussion. This sounds much more comforting than telling Dan that my bodyguard will shoot to kill should Dan pull out a gun.

Dan walks through the door on time. I am anything but calm. I am not sure if I am worked up because of potential danger or simply because I am sitting next to a trained killer.

Dan knows what the meeting is about. He sees the paperwork in front of me. I introduce the person on my right who smiles and shakes his hand. I immediately get to the point.

“Dan, today is your last day with the company. We tried to make this work but feel that we need to move on without you.”

“I understand.”

I walk him through the paperwork. All standard stuff. When his benefits end, who to call in HR to learn more about Cobra, severance details, etc. He signs everything quickly. Next, I pivot.

“Dan, you said some things to people in the office that concern me.”

“Oh, that. Is this why you have someone here with you?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not going to do anything crazy.”

“Dan, we want to help you continue with the counseling if you are interested.”

“Thank you. I am interested. I’m sorry for scaring everybody.”

I took his computer and access keys to the office, shook his hand and he left without incident. We paid for additional counseling and an outplacement service that helped him find new employment.

Since Dan had already been enrolled and worked with the same counseling organization, we alerted them as to what had happened and they reached out to him immediately after our meeting. He started counseling again that day and they continued to work with him for several months.

Our security detail remained in the lobby the rest of the day, guarding the front door. We took it a step further and paid for him to show up every day for the rest of the week, watching the front entrance.

Excessive? Maybe, but it gave our local managers peace of mind. As an organization, we had the safety of 30 employees to worry about. Many were nervous as word got out about the calls he made over that weekend.

Count me as one of the nervous employees. Scared is a more honest word. Scared he might hurt himself, other employees or me.

It was an incredibly difficult situation as you want to do right by the employee while also protecting the people he works with.

I left work early that day. I went home and hugged my wife and kids for a long time.

Then I poured a tall glass of Scotch.

All men need to see this

Lots and lots and lots of great movies

Today is a real treat. I have found some 1980’s videos on YouTube that are classics. And I am presenting them here.

The first is the Arnold Schwarzenegger classic “Predator” under some kind of foreign bullshit name.
The second is a “Boy and his dog” which is a classic dystopian flick that I first watched in University.

Take the time to enjoy them both.

have fun.

Life is too short.

Today…

Has there been any occasion where an airline captain conducted himself so poorly the first officer had to take over control of the aircraft?

In 2012, Jet Blue Flight 191 was in flight between New York City and Las Vegas.

The first officer became suspicious of the captains mental state when the captain made statements like: “We need to take a leap of faith”, “We’re not going to Vegas”, and “I can’t be held responsible when this plane crashes.” He lectured the FO about a range of subjects that were not making sense.

The FO persuaded the captain to leave the cockpit and then hard-locked the door. He then contacted the flight attendants who recruited several able bodied passengers to restrain the captain in the forward galley. The captain’s mental state continued to deteriorate. He screamed about subjects such as 9/11 and terrorists and convinced all involved that he was having a mental breakdown.

An off duty Jet Blue pilot was travelling in the cabin and assisted the FO in diverting the airplane to Amarillo Texas which was only 20 minutes away.

The captain who had suffered the breakdown was arrested for “Interference with a flight crew”. He was subsequently judged “Not guilty by reason of insanity” and released to psychiatric treatment and supervised by a probation officer.

Later, this captain sued Jet Blue on the grounds that the airline should have known he was having mental problems but did not ground him, causing him to lose his career. The captain did not prevail.

The passengers on the flight sued Jet Blue for allowing the captain to operate the flight when they should have known he was not fit to fly. The company settled for an unspecified sum.

I am sure there are many other instances where an FO has taken control, even momentarily. When I was an engineer on the 727, the first officer applied the brakes when the captain almost missed a hold short line while taxiing. It was no big deal and the captain thanked him. If there are more serious cases, the airline and maybe the FAA would handle it without alerting the press. I’ve heard rumor of captains having mental problems but I’ve never seen anything written about it.

As part of my preflight briefing for the copilots, I ask them to be strong and assertive with me if they see that I’m making a mistake. If the mistake will lead to an unsafe situation and I am not responsive, I ask them to take control of the airplane if necessary to correct the problem. There will be plenty of time to talk it over later. The copilots at my airline are all highly qualified to be captains themselves and are only awaiting an opening on the captain’s list. It’s hard to put my ego aside, but the safety of flight is our first priority.

What was a gift that made you speechless?

In 2014, while serving as a contract interpreter for our troops in Afghanistan, I had the pleasure of meeting an emissary of the Saudi Royal family who was doing “ridealongs” to observe our rules of engagement with the Taliban. Everyone called him Sheikh, literally “elder” in Arabic, the honorific title for the ruler of a tribe. He was an oddly prissy man for the job; but, I never saw him cower or jump/hide from close by gunfire or incoming RPG rounds. He was a studious person and read a lot while deployed in the field.

During one of our excursions by helicopter, I was sitting adjacent to Sheikh and observed a beautiful Rolex on his wrist. It looked like a stainless watch with a brown bezel and light blue face. No expert; but, I recognized it as being one of the Rolex Daytona style of watches. Holding his wrist and admiring the watch, I made muted (over the sounds of the helicopter) signs of thumbs up and smiled. I thought no more about it.

About a week later, I was coming in from a field operation and was told I had a package awaiting me inside the Green Zone at the front desk of the American Embassy. I made my way through the security checkpoints and to the person I had been directed only to be handed a box about half the size of a mailbox. I opened the box to reveal the beautiful Rolex Sheikh had been wearing. I was like whoa! and immediately slipped it on to my wrist. It felt heavy and looked gorgeous.

The watch was not in fact stainless. It was the Rolex Cosmograph 116506, their 50th Anniversary Platinum with ice blue dial and brown ceramic bezel.

main qimg 961f8bd4bad3f4d32f75c1ba70d851ac pjlq

Sheikh had returned to Saudi Arabia and left this watch as a gift. Apparently in his culture if someone admires something you have, you gift them with it. Speechless hardly describes my reaction. There was no return address, I didn’t know Sheikh’s real official name to try to track him down and in the hush, hush, Afghan theater OpSec had no leads or further info. I was shocked to learn the value of this beautiful timepiece.

This is something I would never wear and would be an absolute waste on my arm when a $50 Seiko could replace it for functionality. It was an incredibly generous gift; but, in no way deserved by me. An NGO I had worked with in Kabul, cared for orphaned children. I put the watch on an auction site with the proceeds going to support that worthwhile organization. Hopefully maybe one day Sheikh will return and see his gift’s ROI.

On A Trip To Italy My GF Wanted To Stay Behind And “Find Herself”, Has MELTDOWN When I Leave Her

Female selfishness knows no bounds

ALEKSANDR LUKASHENKO:

“Imagine what will happen to the Anglo-Saxon hegemony if all this vast space from Lisbon to Beijing is connected by a new Silk Road.

Imagine what will happen to the European Union, whose citizens will see that it is possible to develop and live in prosperity without trading their sovereignty, without betraying national interests, and without killing people.

No matter how much the Americans demand from their vassals, they take turns going to China to see Xi Jinping.

What does that say?

It shows that no matter how foolishly they act, they are still looking forward.

They understand that China is unstoppable, and much will depend on China in the future.”

main qimg 17fa04bd291b653ea0d8caabe707e7f9

Excerpt from the address by Belarusian President Aleksandr Lukashenko at the 7th Belarusian People’s Congress in Minsk, April 24, 2024.

What are the facts about girls that guys don’t know?

We knew which man is staring us with good or bad intentions
We are not dramatic on periods, periods cramps almost kills us
We like genuine compliments like “sundr lgri ho” pyari lgri ho”
We stalk the profile of the stranger before replying him
Not every girl wants expensive gifts some wants books, jhumkas and a chai date
When we are sharing our problems just patiently listen to it, we don’t want solution, we want someone who can listen us
Every second girl has faced sexual harrasment in their life
We don’t wear make up to impress other guys, we do make to look in our eyes, to feel confident
We don’t want your attention, we want your love, respect and care
If you going to rant out in your dms, we never going to judge you
Oily hairs are the reason of cancellation of plans for us
Pimples are our biggest nightmares
We have great stalking skills
We are very body conscious, if we ever ask you” am I looking fat?” Just answer it positively, don’t reply no, you are looking beautiful
We can look very intelligent at one point and after sometime we can like dumb who don’t know anything
We observe everything literally everything

Biscuits and Sausage Gravy

Biscuits and Sausage Gravy is popular all over America. It’s a staple dish on diner menus.

Yield: 6 servings, 2 biscuits each

Ingredients

Biscuits

3 cups self-rising soft wheat flour
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon granulated sugar
1/2 cup butter-flavored shortening
1 1/4 cups buttermilk
Butter, melted

Sausage Gravy

1 pound breakfast sausage (mild or hot)
1/3 cup all-purpose flour
3 1/4 cups milk
1/2 teaspoon salt or seasoned salt
2 teaspoons pepper
1/8 teaspoon Italian seasoning

Instructions

Bisicuits

Combine first 3 ingredients in a large bowl; cut in shortening with a pastry blender until mixture is crumbly.
Add buttermilk, stirring just until dry ingredients are moistened.
Turn dough out onto a lightly floured surface, and knead lightly 4 or 5 times.
Roll dough to 3/4 inch thickness; cut with a 2 1/2 inch biscuit cutter. Place on a lightly greased baking sheet.
Bake at 425 degrees F for 12 minutes or until golden.
Brush tops with butter.
Split biscuits open; serve with Sausage Gravy.

Sausage Gravy

Brown sausage in a skillet, stirring until it crumbles.
Drain, reserving 1 tablespoon drippings in skillet. Set sausage aside.
Add butter to drippings; heat over low heat until butter melts.
Add flour, stirring until smooth. Cook for 1 minute, stirring constantly.
Gradually add milk; cook over medium heat, stirring constantly, until thickened and bubbly.
Stir in seasonings and sausage. Cook until thoroughly heated, stirring constantly.

Notes

This recipe is easily doubled.

What is the most surprisingly cool thing your parents did?

My dad could never have been described as cool. He was firm, autocratic, proper, emotionally disabled, distant, non-communicative, uninvolved and mostly grumpy.

When my parents split up and mom moved out, my brother and I were a bit at sea. We’d been close to our mum, but we were now stuck in the house with a dad we barely knew.

My brother, being older, started acting out a bit, and this never ended well for him. One afternoon, as tensions between my dad and him began bubbling up, I steeled myself for the usual and inevitable torrent of verbal abuse my brother was about to receive. Instead, my dad did something completely out of character.

He told us to grab a few glasses each from the kitchen, and he took us into the courtyard out back.

Dad pointed to a concrete tub-shaped structure in the corner.

‘Throw the glasses in there! As hard as you can!’

Whaa..?

‘Go on! It’s okay. Throw them, and make it count.’

My brother and I looked at each other, bemused. He was asking us to purposely break drinking glasses? Had he finally lost his marbles?

My brother went first.

He threw his arm back as far as he could and unleashed glass number one against the brick wall. It shattered into pieces into the tub!

I threw my first glass ‘like a girl’, hesitantly and with no chutzpah! It didn’t even break, so I retrieved it.

Meanwhile, my brother had turned into a full-on Yankees pitcher, and he hurled glass number two. SMASH!

One by one, we took our frustrations out on those poor glasses. Shards everywhere. We were giggling like hooligans.

I believe even my dad was smiling.

When we went back into the house, the atmosphere had dramatically changed. My brother seemed calmer. My dad seemed calmer. I was young, only 10, but I understood my dad’s motivation behind the exercise.

He lacked the emotional skills to support my brother and me with words, so he found a more practical way to let us express our frustration.

In his own inept way, he did a cool thing.

Arnold Schwarzenegger Jungle Films | Forest Reptile – Preditor

Full movie!

Great blazy glory!

I have seen this movie 200 times so far. This movie is never boring. This is Arnold Schwarzenegger's best movie.

What is the best comeback you used on someone?

I’ve never been known to be one of those types who are always wanting to fight someone or use violence in any way. In my whole life, I’ve only been in 1 physical altercation since I was a kid. I always relied on wits and common sense, and I had no problem simply walking away from a confrontation for the most part, especially, if it was a trivial disagreement.

There is a great story about the one fight I was in as an adult. However, paraphrasing Douglas Adams, this is not that story.

This is the story about a good comeback.

It was over 20 years ago, I was in my early 20’s. The restaurant I worked at had a bartender who was somewhat a bully to most of the staff because his regulars were always around the bar and he would get a laugh out of them by making rude remarks to the rest of the staff. Waiters and Waitresses, kitchen staff, hostesses, etc.

I was waiting tables, working the outdoor patio section where drinks are commonly ordered. I submitted the tables drinks and went to the bar when I thought they’d be ready. He hadn’t even pulled the ticket from the order yet and it was past the time for the drinks to be ready. I got his attention as he was flirting with a regular and asked for the drinks. He went back to his nature of being a total ass hat and said something like I could fight him for it, if I found it that important.

I said “Ya know everyone is really getting sick of you treating us all like this, and if this can fixed by you and I stepping outside, I’m totally game”.

His regulars looked at him to see how’d he react.
He said “If we gonna fight, let me call my family”

My response, very calmly

”You ain’t got to do that, the hospital will call them for you”.

His regulars all laughed and he got angry at me, I just kept staring.

We both kinda got into “restaurant trouble” for our remarks, but nothing ever happened.
I never gotten anymore bad attitude from him though. Either by our warning, my willingness to step out with him, or my remark. We were civil after that, but never friendly.

What’s the most important lesson you’ve learned in life so far? 😁

I learned two lessons that year. One was don’t do something truly stupid. The second was you reap what you sow.

I was a junior in college. I’d dropped out for a year so all my friends were graduating while I had another year left to fulfill my requirements. There were four us girls and someone suggested driving to Florida for spring break. All the college students who could were headed for Fort Lauderdale. My college was in northern Indiana so it was a bit of a hike driving there.

Now, my parents supplemented our education very heavily. For 5 years, two of us were in college at the same time so those were expensive years for them. Going to Florida would cost us $100/each. That was a significant amount of money back then. I was not about to ask Dad for the money. I worked very part time but I didn’t have $100 to spend.

“I’ll loan you the money,” Sandy said. We had a great time but, by definition, loans must be repaid and I did. It took me 6 weeks but I repaid the money.

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Now, for stupid. It was someone’s less than stellar idea to drive straight through. At that time, straight through was a 24 hour trip. We were supposed to drive in shifts but, by ten o’clock, two of them baled and two of us were stuck driving. I can clearly remember the road ahead becoming increasingly blurry and my eyes blinking for longer periods of time. We took 30-minute shifts but it’s a miracle we didn’t crash.

Now, for the bright side. Sandy graduated in May and her graduation gift was a new car. Yes, her parents had that kind of money. Would I like to buy her old car. The car you see above is the car in question. I had another year in school. I couldn’t possibly afford a car.

But her father remembered the $100 I had borrowed and repaid. He said I was good for the loan. In fact, I didn’t have to make payments until I graduated and obtained employment. His terms were beyond generous and I paid the loan in full.

So, within the span of two months, I learned two lessons. I wish I could report never making another stupid mistake but we humans are prone to them and I’m no exception. But I also learned that you reap what you sow for better or worse.

Fun and unique comics

What is the craziest thing you’ve found in an old coat pocket?

Many years ago, late on a cold and snowy January night, my husband and I were out at a nice Italian restaurant in Greenwich Village and were last to leave, around midnight. At the time my husband was wearing a beautiful full length navy cashmere Ted Lapidus coat that had been his father’s — a VERY expensive coat. When he went to retrieve his coat from the rack, there was one navy coat hanging, but it was not his. My husband was furious that someone had taken his good coat. But I reached into the pockets and pulled out a set of Porsche keys! I assured him that he would be getting his coat back shortly and indeed, first thing in the morning, the restaurant called to arrange an exchange. Personally I would have preferred to have the Porsche.

Exposing The True Nature Of The Sprinkle Sprinkle Effect On The Relationship Market

Her real name is Leticia Padua. One of the hardest lesson I had to learn is that "Women don't Love You, She Loves what you can do for Her".

*groan*

Have you ever caught on to someone trying to scam you before it was too late?

I worked at Borders Bookstore (now defunct). Ten minutes before closing time, a gentleman comes to the Café, and asks if we could do him the “favor” of putting his bag of groceries into our refrigerator. He mentioned that he had milk in the bag, and didn’t want it to spoil while he browsed for books. Sounds simple enough, right? Again: AFRAID OF MILK SPOILING. IN THE TEN MINUTES BEFORE CLOSING. I said NO.

Not because my “scam meter” was buzzing (yet), but just because I remembered that it’s not only against the rules… it’s also a Health Code violation to have personal or “outside the system” food stored with our legitimate items for sale to the public. I had recently taken a Food Safety Course (required for managers who may work the cafe, but not required for the rank & file baristas), so those rules were fresh in my mind.

So what does Mr Milk-Panic do? He goes to someone else in the cafe to ask the same “favor.” I saw that, left the counter to repeat my “no” to both the customer and the barista before an employee said something they would regret.

What next? He walks to the other end of the store, finding a random book-seller to ask the same thing. Fortunately, we had started using radio headsets, so I got the request in my headset. Okay, so NOW my “scam sensor” is fully engaged. Dude hasn’t even started browsing for books yet, and in the 5 minutes left before we lock the doors, he is ANGRY that his fresh milk may spoil (but not concerned enough to just go straight home – hmmmm….). So now I made it clear on the radio (all the employees could hear, but not the customers) that the cafe fridge is NOT to be used for any customers’ personal food, or someone could get fired…PERIOD! Suddenly the “nice” manager was being the mean one, and the customer finally left, yelling some obscenities which didn’t seem to match the “nice man asking for a small favor” persona.

The next day’s staff meeting, the general manager had printed out an emailed scam warning: someone was going around, store to store, asking to refrigerate his bag of groceries. Then… he doesn’t come back for them. Not until a week or more has passed, when it would certainly have been thrown away. Upon hearing that his precious “milk” had been tossed out, the customer would then claim we had thrown out hundreds of dollars’ worth of groceries. He would demand CASH for it… or threaten to report us to the Health Department for allowing outside food into our fridges.

Pay attention to that small, nagging feeling!

What is the biggest turn-off you’ve ever had on a date?

Met a guy on OKCupid who seemed cool. He had a professional head shot as his profile picture and was pretty well spoken, so I met him for dinner.

Everything was okay, though I didn’t really see it progressing to date #2, when he commented on my shoes.

“I wouldn’t really go with those shoes next time you wear that dress,” he said.

I thought he was joking and laughed, not at all offended because I’m the first to admit that I know nothing about fashion. Nope.

He continued: “No, seriously. I’m the type of man who needs to know that his woman will not only always look good, but will take my advice when it comes to what she looks good in.”

Crickets. Then he added, “I’d be glad to take you shopping if you don’t know what you’re doing. You’re pretty enough, just need some help with outfits.”

Um, thanks? I did my best to finish the date graciously and deleted his number literally as I walked to my car in the restaurant parking lot.

Funny, bizarre, and definitely a turnoff.

20 MILLION MILES TO EARTH 🎬 Exclusive Full Sci-Fi Movie Premiere 🎬 English HD 2022

Movie time!

The first U.S. spaceship to Venus crash-lands off the coast of Sicily on its return trip. A dangerous, lizard-like creature comes with it and quickly grows gigantic.

Ray Harrihausen’s creations were so way ahead of their time. I understand he worked virtually alone and spent huge amounts of time bringing his horrors onto the screen, a true genius.

What did the job interviewer say that made you NOT accept the job offer?

“What business is McDonald’s in?”

The three 20-something young men sat across a table from me. I’d just returned to the States from a couple of years living abroad, and it was time to find a job. Back then (18 years ago), the newspaper classifieds were still a pretty good resource for job hunters. The description had been a bit vague (classifieds were usually short), but the promised wage was decent, so I sent in a résumé, and got an interview.

When I arrived, I waited in a stairwell outside a sparsely furnished office with another guy about my age (20-something), until my interview slot (the last one) came. When I entered, after the usual greetings, that was the first, and only, question asked.

The trouble is, I recognized the question, and its source. Robert Kiyosaki’s Rich Dad, Poor Dad books were growing in popularity, and a friend had shown me a passage in which Ray Kroc, owner of the McDonald’s chain, asks a class of Harvard MBA students that very question, receiving predicable answers such as “restaurants,” and “hospitality,” only to reveal that he considers himself to be in the real estate business.

I’ve always considered Kiyosaki’s approach to personal wealth to be irresponsible and well beyond my risk-tolerance level. He was very trendy at the time, and the fact that this question constituted the whole of my interview was a huge red flag for me. In my mind, it communicated:

That this company was following financial trends rather than principles,

and

that the company would probably be long on charisma and short on discipline

Combine that with the lack of concrete detail about the job, and I was more than a bit wary.

I answered the question properly, finished with pleasantries and small talk, and drove away. I received a call-back before I’d gone a single mile; I’d gotten the job. They explained that it was a sales position (something I wouldn’t have bothered interviewing for if I’d known), and started talking about a starting date.

“Actually, I’m not really interested,” I said.

There was silence on the other end of the phone. Finally, he just said, “Okay, thanks!”

That was it. I still feel like I dodged a bullet with that one.

ALEKSANDR LUKASHENKO:

“The world has already changed—and not in the way that people overseas wanted.

But what do they want? What is their endgame?

The United States, having launched a sweeping attack on all undesirable countries simultaneously (you know this axis of ‘evil’: from Belarus to North Korea, including Russia, China, Iran, and others), realized that they made a mistake.

They brought together the disobedient Russia and their archnemesis, China.

By exerting pressure, they pushed these two states together: Russia, with extensive resources and a powerful defense industry, and China, with enormous economic and human potential.

They realized that they could not handle this union.

But the United States found a way out: they instigated a conflict in Europe, in Ukraine, and put it on the shoulders of the European Union and NATO, promising to help with money.

The goal is to distract, get Russia bogged down in the war with Ukraine, weaken it with the war and sanctions—as Russia will be too busy to build an alliance with China.

Meanwhile, they wanted to deal with China and drag others whenever possible into this showdown: AUKUS [Defense alliance of Australia, the United Kingdom, and the United States], which is a new NATO in the Pacific, and then Japan and South Korea.

This is the essence of the U.S. strategy to assert its dominance in the world.

After that, everything will be over: they will throw everyone under the bus, like they did in Afghanistan.”

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Excerpt from the address by Belarusian President Aleksandr Lukashenko at the 7th Belarusian People’s Congress in Minsk, April 24, 2024.

Temu and Shein are next in line on the chopping board.

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China’s Temu Takes Over 17% Of US Market Share, Cutting Jobs From American Amazon And Decimating Small Businesses

https://finance.yahoo.com/news/chinas-temu-takes-over-17-204905173.html

China's Temu Takes Over 17% Of US Market Share, Cutting Jobs From American Amazon And Decimating Small Businesses

Caleb Naysmith

Thu, Apr 25, 2024, 4:49 AM GMT+8

China’s Temu Takes Over 17% Of US Market Share, Cutting Jobs From American Amazon And Decimating Small Businesses

With rising inflation, American consumers are increasingly turning to the Chinese e-commerce platform Temu for their shopping needs. With its enticing tagline “Shop like a billionaire,” Temu has captured 17% of the U.S. market share, posing a challenge to traditional American retailers such as Amazon.com. Spend less. Smile more.

Inc., Dollar Tree Inc. and Five Below Inc. The rise highlights the lucrative and disruptive nature of startups.Owned and operated by PDD Holdings Inc. (NASDAQ:PDD), Temu offers a wide range of products, including home decor, pet supplies, beauty and health products and clothing. The platform is known for its competitive pricing, often offering significant discounts on items compared to prices on Amazon. Coupled with Temu’s discount codes, consumers can enjoy even greater savings.

Temu has even become the No. 1 Shopping App on Apple’s App Store, surpassing Amazon, Target Corp. and Walmart Inc., which currently hold the third, fourth and eighth spots, respectively. The No. 2 shopping app is Shein, another Chinese retailer.

Orders purchased on Temu are shipped from China and are estimated to be delivered within 10 days. However, in a bid to compete with Amazon’s fast delivery, Temu opened its marketplace to U.S. warehouses last month. Shopping from these sellers can significantly reduce shipping time, giving U.S. retailers the ability to handle fulfillment and shipping directly.

In December, Reuters reported that Temu was successfully challenging U.S. dollar stores like Dollar Tree and Dollar General Corp., accounting for nearly 17% of the market share in the United States. According to data analytics firm Earnest Analytics, this compares to 8% for Five Below, 43% for Dollar General and 28% for Dollar Tree.

In January, Amazon announced it would lay off 5% of its Buy with Prime workforce, which equips retailers with fulfillment and delivery services.

“Following a recent review, we’ve made the difficult decision to eliminate a small number of roles on our Buy with Prime team. Buy with Prime is a top priority for Amazon, with strong adoption from merchants and positive feedback from customers, and we will continue investing significant resources in Buy with Prime to build on that momentum,” an Amazon statement said.

The ripple effects extend to discount stores like Dollar Tree and 99 Cents Only Stores, both of which have announced significant closures and employee layoffs.

Citing changing consumer demand and economic challenges, 99 Cents Only Stores is shutting all 371 locations in Arizona, California, Nevada and Texas. Dollar Tree plans to close 1,000 locations across its Dollar Tree and Family Dollar stores.

The new American dream is to leave

"I live in New York and he is 200% correct. The majority of us are living paycheck to paycheck. I am also moving out of the country soon. America is on a fast decline. Our government does not work for us."

DOUGLAS MACGREGOR:

“I realize that this government in Washington—speaking as it does for the American people—has effectively said that it rejects any relationship with Moscow on the basis of conditions that we do not set.

In other words, unless the Russians all agree to adopt whatever we tell them is appropriate for their society and government, unless they remove the people that currently govern them, unless they put their arms down, join hands, and sing ‘Kumbaya’ with us, we can’t get along with the Russians.

Well, sending this kind of money towards Ukraine at this stage signals to the Russians that any hope of a relationship with Washington is dead.

That’s why Foreign Minister Lavrov, within the last 48 hours, was interviewed and asked what would happen if there were negotiations, and whether Moscow was still receptive to negotiations.

He said, ‘Yes, we will be receptive to negotiations but keep in mind two things:

First of all—just because we negotiate, we will not stop fighting. We will continue until we have achieved all of our objectives militarily.

Secondly—and very importantly—we are not going to cease hostilities for even a brief period of time because we know that we are going to hold what we’ve won.

Effectively, the facts on the ground have changed and we are no longer willing to talk about trades in what kind of territory we’re willing to surrender to you in order to have peace.’

It’s over, and we’ve made fools out of ourselves and, worst of all, we’ve made fools out of NATO.

NATO looks weak and stupid.

The Ukrainian state is ruined.

Whatever emerges after this will be a rump state and that rump state will effectively be a demilitarized zone—a DMZ—and in it will live Ukrainians that can tend to their fields and go about their lives, but there will be no military power that threatens Russia.”

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Excerpt from remarks by retired U.S. Army colonel Douglas Macgregor in an interview with Judge Napolitano, April 23, 2024.

When did the negative perception of masculinity begin?

This is a byproduct of the American “Woman’s Rights” movement.

The initial intention was for gender equality, where women would be treated as equals with men. Eventually, a more radical sub-branch of the movement took control and steered the movement towards an anti-male bias. Over the years, they acquired wealthy and powerful contributors, and used their positions in government to fund and control the narrative. Resulting in the destruction of the American male.

This women’s rights movement in the United States has gone through several stages.

Each stage has been marked by specific goals, accomplishments, and challenges.

First Wave (19th Century – Early 20th Century)

– Focused on legal issues, particularly women’s suffrage (the right to vote).

– Key events: The Seneca Falls Convention in 1848, organized by Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Lucretia Mott; the adoption of the 19th Amendment in 1920, granting women the right to vote.

This initial stage is often erroneously considered to be reasonable, but a look at the amendments to the constitution clearly show that the movement removed the stable “Head of the Household” voting role towards one where anyone can vote. Thus, this movement, during the FIRST WAVE, significantly altered the federal government and the spending trajectory of the United States.

Demographics changed substantially. Voting profiles changed radically, and a “nanny state”
became the norm, as the female voters started to demand a government that took on a parental role; thus a government with a greater role in the lives of Americans.

Second Wave (1960s – 1980s)

– Emphasized a broader range of issues, including equality in the workplace, education, reproductive rights, and legal rights.

– Key events: Publication of “The Feminine Mystique” by Betty Friedan in 1963; the establishment of the National Organization for Women (NOW) in 1966; the passage of the Equal Pay Act of 1963 and Title IX of the Education Amendments of 1972.

– Advocacy for reproductive rights, including the landmark Supreme Court decision in Roe v. Wade in 1973.

During this wave, the “rights” of women altered the workplace, the Geo-political scene, the educational system, and the kinds of movies and shows on televisions and extracted out of Hollywood. It was during this wave that the notion of a traditional family was discarded, and men started to be depicted as buffoons and useless clowns.

There is a direct correlation between divorce rates and the implementation of pro-feminist initiatives. This was the era of the destruction of the family. As the women entered the work-place, forced layoffs, firings and short-duration employment became the norm.

Third Wave (1990s – Early 2000s)

– Focused on diversity and intersectionality, addressing issues of race, class, sexual orientation, and gender identity within the context of women’s rights.

– Emphasized individualism and a more inclusive approach to feminism, acknowledging different experiences and perspectives.

This wave turbocharged the fall of traditional values, and the “career women” entered the work force with government sanctioned privileges that harmed the male roles. The court systems, and child service systems became co-opted by this movement and became hostile to males.

Laws and rules, from family law to corporate law favored females. Lower skilled females were engaged in once-dominant male activities to meet hiring quotas. The result was a gradual decline in the quality of the American work-force.

Fourth Wave (Mid-2000s – Present)

– Characterized by the use of digital and social media to advocate for women’s rights and mobilize anti-male activism.

– Focus on sexual harassment, gender-based violence, and the #MeToo movement.

– Greater attention to intersectionality, considering how various aspects of identity intersect and impact the experiences of women and non-binary individuals.

It’s a real problem.

The damage has already been done.

Presently, in the United States and it’s proxy nations, under the LGBQ+ rainbow flag, the male gender is ridiculed, minimized, and berated to a point where various social phenomenons have occurred. To include…

Young men in the 20s have stopped dating.
Young men tend to be virginal, while young women engage in serial promiscuity.
The “Soft man” era where men have “checked out”.
A drop in college and university admissions for men.
A push back on dating with the “drizzle drizzle” movement.
American men are leaving the United States as “passport bros” and not returning.

The changing demographics and the ten year forecast for citizens within this toxic anti-male environment is contentious. Historically, very BAD things happen when large sections males in a nation are hurt, abandoned, ridiculed and disparaged.

It will be very bad.

Apple-Cinnamon Pile o’ Pancakes

apple cinnamon pancakes 3 1200x1800 1 — apple cinnamon pancakes 3 1200×1800 1

Yield: 5 servings (2 pancakes and 2 tablespoons syrup each)

Ingredients

1 cup Apple Cinnamon Cheerios cereal
3/4 cup all-purpose flour
3/4 cup milk
2/3 cup chunky applesauce
3 tablespoons butter, melted
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 egg
Maple syrup or maple-flavored syrup*

Instructions

Heat griddle or 12 inch skillet over medium-low heat or to 325 degrees F.
Pour cereal into plastic bag and seal. Crush cereal with rolling pin or can of soup. Pour crushed cereal into large bowl. Stir in remaining ingredients, except syrup, just until moistened.
Pour batter, a generous 1/4 cup at a time, onto hot griddle. Cook for 2 minutes or until edges look cooked and bubbles begin to break on the surface. Flip pancakes and cook other side until golden, about 2 minutes longer.
Serve with syrup.

Notes

* Tasty topping: Skip the syrup and top instead with warm apple pie filling or a sprinkle of brown sugar.

What is the worst part about being a man?

No one cares.

It’s time I told you about my Uncle RK.

My late uncle.

A victim of sexism and neglect his entire life.

When he was just a boy, he was expected and pressured to get good grades in school – which he did. On the contrary, they let my mom slack off and had no expectations for her.
Eventually, he ended up placing within the top 200 in a nationally ranked exam and going to one of the most prestigious colleges in the country for peanuts – thanks to a large scholarship.
During his college days, when he visited home, no one bothered to greet him. His own mom forgot he was coming once and ended up giving his room to some relatives for a short stay.
In his early twenties, he was falsely accused of sexual harassment. After spending a few months in jail, my grandmom made a hefty payment to the accuser’s family, who agreed to drop the charges.
He struggled to find employment after college thanks to his criminal record.
After being forced into an arranged marriage, he was stuck with an emotionally abusive wife.
After losing another job at age 30, he got depressed. The humiliation he received from society and from his wife for being unemployed was unbearable.
In July 2000, he killed himself, by jumping off an apartment. Everyone chalked it up to his mental instability. To this day, I still hear them saying that he was a weak and pathetic man who couldn’t handle life.

I think you got it by now.

This is the worst part of being a man: No one cares.

No one cares if you feel lonely, if you feel neglected, if you are falsely accused by a woman, if you have an abusive wife, if you lose your job and feel worthless or if you kill yourself.

My uncle RK is a lot like me. He’s introverted, sweet and sensitive person. He’d never harm a fly. He used to take great care of his little sister (my mom) and show affection to his older brother.

He’s also a genius. He managed to build a working generator when he was just a boy (remember this was before the internet). He was always the smartest guy around.

He was cool too. When he toured Japan in the nineties, he brought back some novel electronic gadgets, among them was a digital dictionary.

I wish I had met him.

I wish he was alive. We could have talked about so much. He could have been a mentor to me.

Rest in peace. Uncle RK – 1969–2000.

A Boy and His Dog | Post-Apocalypse | Don Johnson | Classic Drama Film

I cannot believe that this entire film is free on youtube. It is a great watch. Take the time to enjoy this fun, and very funny, Classic Drama Movie: A Boy and His Dog – A young man and his telepathic dog wander through a post-apocalyptic wasteland.

Oh, and it takes place in 2024!

LOL.

A 1920 era Only Fans and what happened to her

During the period of time while I was taking care of my mother while she had Cancer, we got to spend a lot of time together. I would take care of the estate, and eat meals with her. She wasn’t lonely because I was there, and I was always there to help her if she had a medical emergency.

During our time together we would watch television such as FOX news, “Unsolved Mysteries”, COPS and other shoes that were popular at the time. She would drink a whiskey, and I would drink a beer and we would go ahead and talk.

She related to me many stories and familial lore that was long hidden from us kids. later on, when she died, and I was staying with my father (after prison) he too told me stories from his side of the family. Gosh. Good thing they kept us kids sheltered.

What a bunch of skullduggery!

I’ll tell you what.

My maternal grandmother was quite the charmer in the day. She was a dancer and had an hourglass figure, in many ways resembling Mae West of Pittsburgh Pennsylvania.

She would date the powerful men of the city, and ride around with rather powerful and dangerous men.

She was quite the “dame of the days”.

Pictures of her suggest a lively life in the “Roaring 20’s”, where she was spending her youth partying and carousing. Wearing flapper attire and rain galoshes. With various handsome men of the day.

Yet she ended up in a rented tenement, in the lower income section of Pittsburgh in her retirement years.

What happened?

Times change. Things are fleeting.

I only wish that I could say this to some of those “Only Fans” girls that think that somehow they are on the fast-track to a great life though social media porn. It’s not what you think. Do not discard what you have no, on a lie that might not ever appear.

I wish I could say this.

But me, you, and none of my readers have the kind of clout or popularity to send this message out to the Only Fans masses.

And when she died. . . Her struggles and stories died with her.

Do not be like her; Sharing a tenement house with a man on the “other side of the tracks” with a broken television set that only got three channels.

Fun in the youth, followed up with a slow downward glide.

That is NOT the way to manage a life-line.

You want to live a life where your last minutes are with you screaming in glee, and sliding in sideways to a goal that you just obtained. I’ll tell you what.

Today…

Have you ever told off another person’s child? What for?

My son had a problem with a neighborhood bully when he was about ten. The bully wanted to be best friends with my son’s best friend. My son stood in the way.

My son came home after being at the bully’s house–WITH THE BULLY’S MOTHER RIGHT THERE–with all kinds of bruises and scrapes. He got thrown into shrubbery, punched, etc.

His mother, to whom I spoke, denied that there was a problem, even though my son AND HIS FRIEND told us the bully had been responsible.

I did nothing more until my son called me one Saturday. He was supposed to be at a pool party to celebrate his friend’s birthday, but when I heard him, he sounded very depressed. He said he’d left the party and walked home, because the bully had gone after him.

I told him I was stopping at the party.

I did. And there was the bully, bullying other kids at the pool.

I told him to get out of the pool. He blustered, “ What did I do? I didn’t do anything.”

And I SCREAMED at him, “GET OUT OF THE POOL NOW!”

He did, and I took him to one side.

I never touched him. I told him, “I never want you going near my son again. I never want you to talk to him or go near him ever. And if I find out that you ever did–I WILL MAKE YOUR LIFE NOT WORTH LIVING. DO. YOU. UNDERSTAND?”

He saw the look on my face. He was half a head taller than me and fifty pounds heavier, but at that moment–I WAS DANGEROUS.

He said he understood. He said he wouldn’t go near my son. He promised. I let him go back to the party.

For some strange reason, we never had a problem with him after that…

INVESTIGATORS FOILED A MASSIVE terrorist-grade attack on Hong Kong involving bombs, US firearms, and a sniper, it will be revealed this week.

A lot of information regarding the CIA and the color revolution that it attempted in Hong Kong in 2019.

The assault was designed to cause multiple casualties and major destruction in Wan Chai, a densely populated area on Hong Kong island. The main target was police officers, but the ultimate aim was to create enough chaos to overthrow the government. The attack, planned for 8 December 2019, was part of a long program of attacks by masked, pro-violence protester groups known as “valiants”. The plan was foiled by Hong Kong police hours before it was implemented. . . .

TRAINED OVERSEAS

A few details of the murderous operation, known as Dragon Slayer, emerged in earlier court hearings, but the full shocking story is set to be made public as a series of court hearings begins this week. The case confirms widespread claims by Hong Kong people that violent protesters were paid for what they did—and includes clear evidence that activists were trained overseas in creating bombs, use of firearms, street fighting techniques, and “terrorist ideology”. Before the date of the planned attack, front line protesters had been flown to Taiwan for training. The story of the failed Wan Chai bombing is not in dispute. Ringleaders have agreed with the facts as presented by the prosecution and pleaded guilty to all charges. But others have not, which means a court case will begin this week focusing on additional participants. . . .

BACKGROUND:

In 2019, a US group called Open Technology Fund (a spin-off from Radio Free Asia, a US government “news” unit originally set up by CIA), offered Hong Kong’s anti-China activists use of a special “secure node” in the city. This enabled them to exchange information on the Telegram website in a way that would be hard for law enforcement to penetrate. OTF also arranged for a large amount of funds – Time magazine reported that it was US$2 million – to be earmarked for Hong Kong activists. During that period, many anti-China activists moved their discussions and planning operations to the Telegram website. In August of 2019, on a Telegram channel called Dragonteam, two men, Wong Chun-keung and Ng Chi-hung, put together a plan to create a group called the Dragon Slaying Brigade. (The elite team of the Hong Kong police is nicknamed the dragon squad.) The plan was to kill as many police officers as they could, and create enough mayhem to bring down the government. Eventually, three different groups of violent protesters, united in the scheme. The operation had plenty of funds, with a budget of HK$4 million (US$1.79 million) from various sources, listed as “from crowdsourcing”. As many Hong Kong people noted at the time, the protests were awash with cash from several directions. . . .

ATTACK ON WAN CHAI

The key stages of the plan went as follows: 1) Plotters first exploited the fact that Hong Kong is far more generous with protest permits than other places, including western countries such as UK. Despite more than 80 protests having turned violent, they confidently applied for permits for a December 8 march from Victoria Park in Causeway Bay to travel through Wan Chai. 2) Behind the scenes, international connections were made: it is not clear how. Ng and at least five other protesters flew to Taiwan for 13 days of training in explosives, use of firearms and other military-style operations. Participants received cash. It is not clear whether the trainers were from Taiwan, US or a mixture. The US has admitted to having military trainers on the island for some years, in defiance of the previously agreed status quo. 3) After the Hong Kong government predictably granted permits, the plotters created a pair of bombs, to be lightly buried about 50 meters apart, in spaces on the central divider of Hennessy Road in Wan Chai. The targets were not the protesters, but police who would typically go ahead to make sure traffic was clear for the main body of marchers. 4) Using a classic terrorism technique, the first bomb would go off, causing surviving police officers to retreat to a safe distance—and then a second, larger bomb would be detonated at the location to which they had fled. 5) A sniper with AR-15 automatic assault rifle, and other gunmen with pistols, would be stationed at the windows or rooftops of adjacent buildings. They would shoot any surviving police officers. 6) Another Dragon Slayer crew, at ground level, would steal police weapons from the holsters of downed officers. 7) A further team would lob pre-prepared petrol bombs into all shops and restaurants in the area which were owned by mainlanders, or believed to lean politically to the “blue” (China-friendly) side. 8) All participants would be masked, and then would melt away into Wan Chai. 9) The ultimate aim was to create enough chaos to bring down the government, or achieve “regime change” to use the political term for this type of action. . . .

ANTI-TERRORISM ACTION

In the event, Hong Kong police managed to penetrate several Telegram discussion groups, and succeeded in making arrests before any of the bombs were set off. They also found guns and in one location, 106 rounds of ammunition. At a hearing in February this year, the ringleaders admitted a joint count of conspiracy to commit the bombing of prescribed objects under the United Nations (Anti-Terrorism Measures) Ordinance. But a number of other defendants not guilty to charges linked to the same case—and that’s the trial that starts this week. More details will emerge.

Divorce story

This is a funny short.

What are some of the best feelings in life?

1.Forehead kisses.

2.Waking up and feeling like you’ve had enough sleep.

3.Lying on grass in the summertime.

4.The first bite of a meal when you’re really hungry.

5.Watching trees dance in the wind.

6.Taking your feet off the pedals cycling down a big hill.

7.Hearing raindrops from your warm bed.

8.Looking up while walking through a new city.

9.A snowflake landing on your tongue.

10.Finding money in the pocket of a coat you haven’t worn in a while.

11.Getting into a freshly made bed after a long day.

12.Kicking a pile of autumn leaves.

13.Thinking something is going to break but at the last second you catch it.

14.Tucking pyjamas into your socks.

15.Sitting on a dock watching the sunset.

16.Seeing an older couple holding hands.

17.Not setting an alarm clock.

18.An extra-long hug from an old friend.

19.All the optimism a new year brings.

20.Hiding under a tree from a summer rain shower.

You Now Need A Government License To Own A Chicken… (NO JOKE!) 6 Months Prison Sentence!!!

They are gradually banning self sufficiency…

Which single sentence can break most people?

There is one sentence I remember that haunts me even to this day.
———————————-
So, my wife finally told me that she was seeing someone else.
it hurt.
“I’m seeing another guy…”
Damn. You think this is the one right?
WRONG.
—
Fast forward a month.
She came to grab her stuff from the house.
The Boyfriend also came to the house.
The house that she and I built a life together in.
I told him that I didn’t want him in the house.
I told him to stay outside and I would leave the door open if he wanted.
But I told her that he was not allowed in the house.
It was the last sanctuary I had left.
I didn’t want it defiled.
“He is coming inside, whether you like it or not. He is with me.”
He walked inside the house.
Didn’t even care to take off his shoes.
You think this one is the one right?
WRONG.
—
As she is packing her stuff, I threw away my pride.
I threw away my ego.
I plead her to rethink the divorce.
I told her that I would forgive her for cheating.
I would forgive her for everything.
I told her how I felt and that it was all my fault and I just wanted her back.
I told her I would promise to be a better man.
“No. I don’t want to think about it anymore. I’m done.”
You think this is the one right?
WRONG.
—
I was so hurt that she said that, I felt like time stopped.
I probably stopped breathing for a good minute.
When I came to, I was numb.
I was so numb, even I started to pack her things.
I was a robot.
Just going through the motions.
After she packed the last of her things and left… she looked at me in the eyes.
She said the one thing that made me not believe in love anymore.
She said the one thing that finally made me understand that the relationship was no longer.
She said: “Did I break you enough yet?”
I felt my stomach go to my throat.
The colors in the world disappeared.
My world crumbled.
As she closed the door, I heard her drive off in the car I gave her.
I sat on the couch.
I stared at the floor for a good hour before I could comprehend what she said.
“DID I BREAK YOU ENOUGH YET?”
This. This is what broke me.
————————————————–
That’s the gist of it.

Women Over 30+ Who Have Hit The Wall Are Desperate With Drizzle, Drizzle. | The Wall

Vintage Comix

Has the Huawei Pura70 Series ascended as the pioneering force in the smartphone industry, distinguished by its supply chain paradigm that leverages an almost exclusive reliance on components procured from within China?

Pura70 is Huawei’s latest smartphone, and it is considered a milestone in the P series.

He was originally supposed to be called P70, but they decided to start with a new name.

The brand-new name Pura70 is well-deserved for this mobile phone, and it is a new cost for Huawei.

Half a year ago, I answered a question about Huawei Mate60. I think Mate60 is a landmark event for Huawei’s return as king under US sanctions. 90% of the supply chain of Mate60 mobile phones comes from Chinese companies, and they no longer rely on American technology. This is the first time in the history of human industry that a single country has completed the entire industrial chain of a high-end smartphone.

What’s the most unforgettable heartbreak you’ve experienced in your life?

When I was in high school, my boyfriend called me on a school night asking me to go out to eat. I had a test the next day, so my mother wouldn’t allow me to go. The next morning, as I was eating breakfast while listening to the radio, I heard the news that my boyfriend had died in a car accident. He lost control of his Volkswagen and crashed into a hydro pole. My mother was sitting beside me at the time. Apparently my face instantly turned white, and I started to shake uncontrollably. I spent the rest of the day in bed. The first time I saw John laid out in his casket was surreal. I felt like I was in a fog. The people around me seemed far away, and their voices were a blur. I could not accept that my boyfriend was dead, and I would be left without him. He looked like he was sleeping, and I kept waiting for him to open his eyes. The hardest part was at his grave, when his coffin was lowered into the ground. I completely lost my composure and cried out his name, weeping uncontrollably. It took me a long time to come to terms with John’s death. He was a comedian at heart, always making me laugh. I saw his grinning face everywhere. Going back to school after his funeral was so heart wrenching. I would think I saw him in the hallways and the cafeteria. Our mutual friends just didn’t know what to do or say. I felt so alone. I will never forget John, but I gradually recovered from losing him. Time does heal heartache.

Heartwarming

Why did Chinese chip stocks rally following Huawei’s launch of the Mate 60 Pro phone?

Do you know the semiconductor sanctions that Huawei has suffered in the past three years? It’s a pity that we can’t buy this mobile phone here. It is the first mobile phone in the world that directly supports satellite phones.

This will definitely be an industrial product that will be recorded in history. This means that in the past three years, all companies around the world have not been allowed to sell 5G-related semiconductors to Huawei as long as these semiconductors contain American technology.

All companies around the world are not allowed to help Huawei produce semiconductors, as long as your production process contains American technology. You know, semiconductor is a global division of labor industry.

The technology in this industry has always been global cooperation, and there is no semiconductor production and design company in any country that does not contain American technology. Such sanctions can directly shock companies like Apple and Samsung.

They originally thought Huawei would also collapse. But Mate60 was released. After 3 years, they released a new 5G mobile phone again. This is not just as simple as a mobile phone. This is a huge technical chain that requires the participation of hundreds of companies with different specialties. In the past, this required the mutual cooperation of multiple countries, and no country could do it alone. But now the Chinese have done it.

Maybe not top notch, but they really did it. This means that Chinese companies can make advanced semiconductors (maybe not state-of-the-art) without relying on American technology. This is a historic event in the global semiconductor industry. It means that China’s semiconductor industry chain has made a comprehensive breakthrough. Note that I used the word industry chain. To manufacture a slice of advanced semiconductors requires the participation of many companies and industries.

From EDA software, to the cultivation of silicon wafers, chip and framework design, high-purity chemicals, laser devices, lithography machines, etching machines, packaging equipment, and testing technologies. Chinese people often use the term “shooting oneself in the foot”.

Now I can fully understand the meaning of this sentence. Under the pressure of the Americans, the Chinese took three years to complete the independence of the entire semiconductor industry chain. They have gone from 0 to 1, or even from 0 to 10, and the remaining 90 points are just a matter of time. It can be predicted that ten years later, China’s semiconductor industry will crush its peers around the world through its own scale and cost advantages. No one can sanction them because they do it all themselves, from sand to chips.

In fact, the task completed by Mate60 is not perfect. This phone still uses memory chips from Korean suppliers and electronic parts from Japanese suppliers. Although they are not critical parts, this means that it does not achieve the goal 100%.

The phone is equipped with a retractable lens and its mechanical precision is comparable to that of a Swiss watch

Many media are still questioning whether Huawei can produce advanced semiconductors on a large scale and sustainably? Some people even say that their chips are removed from old mobile phones.

Some media have questioned whether Koreans are secretly helping Huawei manufacture mobile phones because Korean memory chips were found on the Mate60.

Now, Pura70 makes all these doubts meaningless. Some anxious media dismantled the phone into parts and put them under a microscope. They found that this phone uses a brand new SOC chip: Kirin 9010. This is only half a year after the release of Kirin 9000s on Mate60. The single-core performance of this chip has improved by at least 15%-20%, which is very close to the latest products of Qualcomm and Apple.

At the same time, those Japanese and Korean parts on the Mate60 are missing. Memory chips, cameras, visual sensors, fingerprint sensors and other accessories have also been completely replaced by Chinese companies.

In a sense, Pura70 is a mobile phone that is truly 100% made in China. This not only includes all key semiconductors and peripheral parts, but also parts in professional fields such as screens and lenses. At the same time, the operating system of this mobile phone is also independent of Android and IOS.

Based on the sales of MATE60, the media predicts that the sales of Pura70 may exceed 10 million units. This is a figure evaluated when Huawei is unable to sell mobile phones outside of China.

Pura70 has triggered queues in many big cities in China. Although the phone sells for as high as 1,000-1,500 US dollars, many young people still think it is cool to own a Pura70.

This also means that this is the world’s first top-end smartphone that is “completely unrelated to Western technology” and it has already achieved significant success in the market.

From a professional’s perspective, the launch and large-scale supply of Pura70 proves that China’s high-end electronics manufacturing and semiconductor manufacturing industries have gradually separated from the US system. Huawei is just the company at the forefront. Behind it are hundreds of China’s advanced electronic technology suppliers. Behind these suppliers are thousands of second-tier and third-tier suppliers. They can operate completely independently from U.S. global sanctions and restrictions.

This gives the world a new reminder: Advanced technology is not always in the hands of the West. When you are unwilling to share or even use technology as a weapon, people will always find other paths.

MASSIVE NEWS: China Is Building Giant Hypersonic Railgun For Space Launches

What is the strangest medical thing that has happened to you?

Approximately ten years ago, I was doing an open house (I’m a Realtor). I had a tiny whitehead under my nose, and I could hardly see it, but I just scratched it off. Throughout the day, it started swelling, and by the end of the day, it was a large swollen bump that was bright red, but there was no head, so I could not drain it.

When I got home, the side of my face was swollen. I went to the doctor, and they gave me a shot in my hip to bring down the swelling, but it didn’t work. I went home, and it got worse. I went to bed, and my face continued to swell, and by morning, it had swollen so much that my skin was stretched and shiny.

My husband took me into emergency because it had swollen up to my forehead, cheeks, and now the other side. My skin was so tight and shiny that I was getting scared. The doctor checked it and started talking about sending me to another doctor. I panicked and thought he meant later in the week. I started crying and begged him not to send me away. He smiled and said…. don’t worry, don’t worry, we are dealing with this today. He was so sweet about it. He said I’m sending you to get It lanced and drained. I was quickly taken to a surgeon who lanced the inside of my cheek and drained it. I left with medication, and it went completely away in a couple of days.

To this day, I still don’t know what it was, but I thought I remember someone saying it was MRSA. I don’t know, but I hope it never happens again. It scared me.

What bad experience had you saying “I will never buy from that company or use their service ever again”?

A couple months before I turned 8 years old, my dad ordered his first new car, after 25 years of driving used vehicles. It was a big event for a family of modest means. My parents wanted a Ford station wagon and my Mom wanted the maroon color which was supposedly offered. Days after ordering it, they called to say our car had come in. When I went to the dealer with my Dad to watch him pick it up, the salesmen drove up to us in a TAN wagon. “But we asked for MAROON!” Dad objected.

The salesman didn’t miss a beat, saying “You didn’t expect to get the color you ordered, did you?” as he tried to complete the sale. Even at the age of 7, I knew this was an absurd thing to say. My Dad might have accepted it but wisely went home to talk it over with Mom, who firmly stated that she didn’t want the car if it wasn’t what we ordered. So, another dealer got our business. Over 50 years later I still won’t buy from the dealership that employed the sarcastic salesman who tried to make my Dad feel like a fool. (But instead looked like one himself.)

China’s supply chain dominance means the Inflation Reduction Act is already dead.

The raw data tells a wild story. Must watch.

Have you ever given someone a bad reference when an employer called you and asked about them?

Many years ago, I owned a Computer Store in a small town. One day I got a call from the local school district office. I had done work for them in the past and knew a few people that worked there. They were looking to hire a full-time computer technician and were checking someone’s references. I thought this was a bit strange since my staff consisted of me and my wife. And I knew she hadn’t applied for a job.

When they mentioned the name, I laughed out loud. I said, “No, he never worked for me, and let me tell you a story.”

“Several months ago, he called me after hours about an emergency that he had with his computer and could I come in and fix it. After some pleading, I agreed and told him to meet me at the store but that my basic charge was $50.

After a few minutes diagnostic, I discovered a fairly basic mistake that he had made in building it, which took me about 20 minutes to fix. I charged him $50, and he complained and tried to talk me down, but eventually, he wrote me a check. A few days, later, I went to cash the check, and it bounced.

[The reason I remember this guy so well is because this was a small town, and people didn’t write bad checks. I had never gotten a bad check, EVER. Except for his.]

Now, I have no $50 and a check return fee -$20. I wasn’t going to let him get away with that, so I called his bank every day, asking if his account could cover it. A couple of weeks later, there were enough funds in his account. So, I immediately drove to his bank (which was about 20 minutes away) and cashed the check. A week later he called me to complain that I had caused a different check of his to bounce. “

So, no, he never worked for me and I’m not sure how competent a computer repair person he is. And He lied on his application. Any other questions?

She said, “No, I think that about sums it up.”

The best way to live a peaceful life.

1. Never cry for the person that hurts you. Just smile and say,

“Thank you for giving me the chance to have someone better than you.

2. Don’t hate jealous people. They are jealous because they thinks you are better than them.

3. Don’t waste your time on revenge. Those who hurt you will eventually face their own karma.

4. Don’t tell anyone about your plans, show them the result instead.

5. There is no market for your emotions, so don’t advertise your feelings. Show only your attitude.

6. Don’t give up. Your day will come. It’s just a matter of time.

7. If you help someone and expect anything in return. of you foes, you’re doing a business not kindness.

8. Trust means everything, but once it’s broken, sorry means nothing.

9. Always remember that your present situation is not your final destination. The best is yet to come.

10. Never leave a true relationship for few faults. Nobody is perfect and no one is always correct. At the end, you will discover that affection is greater than perfection.

11. Don’t attend a funeral just to let people know how you cared for a person. Show them how much you cared about them when they are alive.

12. Don’t make a promise out of joy. And don’t take a decision out of sadness.

13. Don’t expect loyalty from people that can not give you honesty.

14. Don’t give up. The beginning is always the hardest.

15. You will not know the value of a moment until you lose it. Value the moments you have before they become a memory.

16. Lastly, APPRECIATION remains the easiest way of getting what you don’t have….After reading a good message try to say “Thanks for the message”.

Taco Chili

One of Lincoln’s very favorite foods right now is tacos. If you ask him what he wants for dinner, 100% of the time he’ll tell you tacos. Ben gets a little sick of having the same thing every week though, so I thought I’d switch things up with Taco Chili!

I know, I know – living on the edge – but the second thing Lincoln will tell you he wants for dinner after tacos is soup or chili so this meal is a win-win at my house. Each spoonful of Taco Chili tastes like a big bite of a taco, but since it’s thick and hearty it’s perfect for this time of year when you need a dish that will warm you up on chilly (har) nights.

Taco Chili Crock Pot Friendly iowagirleats 01 srgb

Yield: 8 servings

Ingredients

1 1/2 to 2 pounds lean ground beef
1/2 cup (1 medium) onion, chopped
1 (1 1/4 ounce) package taco seasoning mix
2 (14 1/2 ounce) cans diced tomatoes
1 (10 ounce) can Ro*Tel
1 (16 ounce) can pinto beans, rinsed and drained
1 (5 ounce) can chili beans in chili sauce
1 cup frozen whole kernel corn
Shredded mozzarella, Monterey Jack or Cheddar cheese
Slightly crushed tortilla chips

Taco Chili Crock Pot Friendly iowagirleats 02 srgb

Instructions

In a large skillet, cook ground beef and onion, one-half at a time, until meat is browned and onion is tender. Drain off fat.
Transfer to a 3 1/2 or 4 quart slow cooker.
Stir in dry taco seasoning mix, diced tomatoes, diced tomatoes with green chiles, pinto beans, chili beans in chili sauce and corn.
Cover; cook on LOW for 8 to 10 hours or on HIGH for 4 to 5 hours.
Sprinkle each serving with some cheese and chips.

Taco Chili Crock Pot Friendly iowagirleats 03 srgb

What has a car salesperson said to you that resulted in you immediately leaving?

You fellows don’t want to buy a car today.

Years ago I decided that being a young stud that I wanted a Mustang, maybe it should be said I needed a Ford Mustang but I’m also cheap so I’d figured I’d buy a used one. I also had a dad who loved to dicker especially when it came to cars, so he came up to the city I was living in and off we went to go car shopping.

We looked at a few, finally found one at a used car lot. We had talked about what I wanted to pay and so we started the dance. The salesman opened the hood and showed us the engine and everything else. He gave us a price, we gave a counter bid, he went to his manager, you know the game. Came back out, a lower offer, we talked over and counter offered. This went on for a couple rounds. Did I mention I was cheap and so was my dad?

Finally the salesman came up, slammed down the hood and said, ‘You fellows don’t want to buy a car today.’ We went down the street, found Avis and bought one a year newer with less mileage, and my dad told me after we left, ‘Do you think we should go back and tell him we bought a car today?’ God, I miss that man!

Thanks Sarah for the edits. I’m a paramedic not an English major or minor.

I’d like to thank all you kind folks who have read and upvoted this story. My dad would have got a hoot out of how many people have enjoyed it.

Fast Food Customers HAVE HAD ENOUGH OF THE HIGH PRICES!

What are the most horrible words you’ve ever heard?

“She’s already gone.”

I was sixteen years old and my best friend in the world, Rachel, had just turned sixteen and gotten her driver’s license.

We had been inseparable for years. Youth group trips, summer camp, swapping clothes, obsessing over crushes…she had her own bedroom at my house but we always pulled out sleeping bags and camped in mine.

I saw my first ever rock video on MTV at her house – “Vogue” by Madonna. We wanted to be Madge when we grew up.

Our theme song was “Don’t Worry Be Happy” and we would sing it to each other whenever one of us was upset.

We planned on having a double wedding; we would be each other’s maids of honor in our wedding dresses, which we spent hours obsessing over.

One Sunday morning she was driving to church by herself when she had a brain aneurysm rupture. Her car hit a telephone pole head-on after she lost consciousness.

I was helping with children’s church when I heard she had been rushed to the hospital. The prognosis was bad.

Very bad.

Rachel spent three days in a coma. I spent every second I could at the hospital, though they wouldn’t let me into the ICU to see her.

There was a special prayer circle called on Tuesday evening to pray for her recovery.

I was in that prayer circle when someone came in and said the words.

Rachel was gone.

How could that be?? She literally died while dozens of people were holding hands in a circle, begging God to save her.

A world without my best friend was impossible to comprehend.

Curled up in a ball under a crib in the church’s nursery, I sobbed.

I railed at God – he had broken our bargain. Rachel was so good, her faith so strong…we had all prayed so hard…this isn’t how it was supposed to be!

My heart broke that day and still has a hole where Rachel used to live.

That was also when the faith I had held so dear all my life started to fracture. The split took another five years to complete, but it started that Tuesday night under a baby bed.

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When the West confuses Law and Politics

VOLTAIRE NETWORK | 20 APRIL 2024

The Israeli attack on Iranian diplomatic premises in Damascus was a clear violation of the Vienna Convention. No one disputed it. The Israeli justification that militia meetings were held there does not change this fact.

The Iranian response to this attack, whatever one thinks of it, is therefore legitimate with regard to Article 51 of the United Nations Charter. No one should dispute that. Remarks that Iran did not have the right to send aircraft through third-party airspace do not change this fact. Yet the UN Security Council has failed to agree to condemn the Israeli attack in Syria. It was also unable to judge the Iranian response.

The speeches no longer come from the legal sphere, but from the political one.

Thus, outside the UN Security Council, the Office of Argentine President Javier Milei “expressed its solidarity and unwavering commitment to the Israeli State following the attacks by the Islamic Republic of Iran. The Argentine Republic recognizes the right of Nation States to defend themselves and firmly supports the Israeli State in defending its sovereignty, in particular against regimes that encourage terror and seek to destroy Western civilization.”

The prize for confusion goes without any doubt to European Commission President Ursula von der Leyen who declared on X: “I strongly condemn Iran’s blatant and unjustifiable attack on Israel. And I call on Iran and its proxies to immediately stop these attacks. All actors must now refrain from any further escalation and work to restore stability in the region.” High Representative of the European Union for Foreign Affairs and Security Policy Josep Borrell added: “The EU strongly condemns the unacceptable Iranian aggression against the Jewish state. This is an unprecedented escalation and a serious threat to regional security.”

For his part, deputy permanent representative of Russia to the UNSC Dmitri Polyanskiy posted on Telegram: “Once again we are convinced that the cynicism of our Western colleagues and their selective blindness knows no bounds. Now, they don’t even remember that they refused to prevent escalation by not supporting our proposed draft UN Security Council press statement condemning the Israeli strike on the Iranian consulate. As was the case with the beginning of our military defense in Ukraine, the history for them begins with the Iranian retaliation. And the Israelis predictably escalate in their signature manner: Israel is the victim, everyone else is to blame (…) And now this Franco-Saxon-Natanyakha gang will begin to rock the region, blaming Iran for all its sins. Haven’t we already seen all this before?”

Have you ever had a job where you did nothing for years and nobody found out?

Not me but my wife. She graduated with her bachelor’s in 2010, during the time that certain degrees were all but worthless and finding a job was tough to say the least. She ended up taking a job at a small makeup boutique that her friend’s wealthy parents owned.

This store was literally a ploy by her friend’s parents to keep her in town by giving her a project. She lost interest in about a month and her parents were locked into the property for several years, so they had to keep the store open. They offered my wife the manager position which she was happy to take.

The store was literally five minutes from an Ulta, so saying they didn’t do well was an understatement. The owners also refused to adequately restock their inventory, so the few potential customers they could have had quickly gave up after a few visits being unable to find what they needed.

After the first six months, they frequently had days with zero sales and not a single customer through the doors. Luckily for my wife, they had the computer that rung up sales Connected to the Internet with completely unrestricted access. for 7 hours a day, five days a week, she would be on Facebook, play online games, read articles, and generally waste time. For the first hour she would clean and do pull over from the night before, but stopped bothering to do inventory after the first few inventory replenishment requests to the owners went ignored.

She worked there for 18 months total before leaving. Later one of her former coworkers told her that the owners with no warning shut the place down and emptied the store out in the middle of the night, not bothering to tell the employees until they showed up the next day that they were out of a job. I understand that they were trying to save money on the labor and utility costs by closing, but giving zero warning was cowardly and unethical.

Why are most Nigerian graduates unemployable?

I’ll tell you a story.

There’s this girl who aced all her subjects in secondary school.

Not just acing but award-worthy educational success.

She was so good that at her Junior Secondary 3 (JSS 3) level, she was solving mathematical problems from Senior Secondary 1 & 2 (SS 1 & 2) curriculum.

1st Mistake

She loved Maths & computers but was admitted into the university to study Geology.

Today, she still thinks she would have been a statistics wizard if she’d been allowed to just study Math or Engineering. You know – subjects where she doesn’t have to always cram some qualitative garbage but provide quantitative solutions.

2nd Mistake

When she got into the university, she realized she didn’t have to study very hard. Very few people were bothering to anyway. She was extremely smart & could hold her own but it became easier to combine intellectual efforts with other students at assignments, tests & final exams.

The system allowed it.

All her friends did it so, why fight it?

3rd Mistake

While at school, no one ever taught her how to write a résumé or successfully approach interviews.

She, just like everyone around her wanted a good life but the system pretty much set them up to fail.

When she graduated, she met a professional at an international oil & gas company who asked her what she wanted to do in life & to explain her undergraduate degree experience but she was not prepared for that.

She gave answers which were weak, mostly incoherent, lacked precision or clarity.

She’d never thought of herself in that light.

The internet wasn’t readily accessible back then so she was pretty much left on her own with her fellow ignorant peers.

She also had a great & supportive family who she leaned on.

Luckily for her, she got some mentors, then left the country for her masters degree.

At 1st, she struggled at her Canadian university.

Correcting her 2nd mistake

She had to actually learn all those skills & resources she didn’t bother with back in Nigeria due to combined students’ efforts.

She had to read all those textbooks she never bothered with in her Nigerian university in order to excel at her program.

Correcting her 3rd mistake

She also met lecturers whose method of teaching was about empowering students to run with their ideas.

It wasn’t about multiple choice questions but making a case of why Case A is better/worse than Case B.

It made her actually think for the 1st time in her life. She learned how to make great presentations. It was a confidence boost. It was exhilarating!

She learned about plagiarism which is a very despicable thing. She also learned about self-development, professional development & presentations.

She learned it was ok to make decisions, make mistakes & then learn from them.

She became comfortable working alone & also with a team. She learned the power of independence.

She was a different person.

She became more confident about her thoughts & ideas. No one laughs at her mistakes nor condemns her for them.

Her bosses don’t care about always being right or barking orders at those under them. Team contributions is crucial, encouraged & needed.

Everybody is equal. No one feared anyone. It was a healthy environment. She was valued. She freely runs her program the way she sees fit.

This is my story.

There’s no correcting my 1st mistake. If I ever do, I’ll tell a story about it.

If you read this, you’d understand how the Nigerian system encourages laziness & might discourage talent because of envy or pride.

Many Nigerian graduates are victims of their own underdeveloped & redundant society.

Maybe with the internet, a few might self-improve. Otherwise, they’re unemployable because there’s very few people to teach them better.

Note to any Nigerian student reading this – don’t take the easy way out. Read not just to pass your examinations but to actually know.

You’d be truly a better person & student for it.

Good luck!

Chinese treatment for Blinkin and Janet Yelen

No red carpet, and met by Kong Fu-An, Director General of the Shanghai Foreign Affairs Office, at the tarmac.

My understanding is the head of a province-level Foreign Affairs Office counts as a Bureau Chief, or a Level 5, Rank 11–12 Civil Servant.

This is one step below the welcome Olaf received when he landed in Chongqing.

Note both Janet and Antony did not land in Beijing directly, unlike the last time they were in town.

Most powerful finance minister in the world—meh.

Most powerful diplomat in the world—meh.

American Reacts to Getting Laid Off (Fired): USA vs. The Netherlands

What do you do when your kid says they want a tattoo?

When my daughter told me, I had her design her idea of the perfect tattoo no matter what it was or how big …anything. I reminded her it was forever and would never come off so she had to choose wisely. That was the first problem. She couldn’t decide. She had many good ideas but when the idea of “forever” came up she always changed her mind. When she finally came up with her final choice she still handed it to me with some trepidation. Second step was for me to take it to a tattoo artist, a good one, to get a quote. I showed my daughter the quote $1,200 that she would be required to pay for herself. Step three was a surprise to her. I took the artwork she gave me and sent it to a custom temporary tattoo maker that made long term tattoos. I had it made and applied it exactly where she wanted it. My daughter was thrilled for about a week. The tattoo clashed with some of her favorite clothes and it was too visible so she couldn’t hide it. It made her pretty, dainty prom dress look kinda cheap. Looked good with jeans and a tank top but she liked variety…bummer. People treated her differently and judged her before they knew her and it really bothered her. She started trying to hide it rather than show it off. Two months in she asked me for the special solution to take it off. I refused because “tattoos are forever.” She was angry but I reminded her she made her own choices now she had to live with them. It eventually wore off and when she became an adult I told her she should start saving for her tattoo. She thanked me for the “lesson” I gave her because now that she was older her tastes had changed and IF she ever decides to get one it will probably be small, likely just one color and someplace hidden. She is an adult now. She can do what she wants but at least I know she will think before she leaps and that is all I can ask for.

CCTV’s Spring Festival Gala has been consistently panned in recent years for lacking creativity and lowering standards, and this year was no exception.

However, one segment won almost universal praise on Chinese social media – 《山河詩長安》/Poem for the Landscape of Chang’an.

It is an excellent showcasing of Xi’an culture, both old and new, from Qin opera to Shaanxi hip hop. Chang’an (the historical name for Xi’an) was known as one of the greatest cities of the ancient world, and the capital city of various dynasties, most notably the Tang Dynasty.

Here’s the 6 minute video…

We see people making merry and enjoying local festivities, and historical characters such as the Tang poet Li Bai brought back to life with 3D technology. To hear people chanting ancient poems in unison, as the country enters the space age, had me awestruck.

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This is what China is – the only surviving ancient civilisation, its history as long as it is unbroken; a place where ancient traditions and memories still live on, rising from the ashes as peacefully as a civilisation possibly could, and is now leading the world into a bright and better future.

There are legends, poems and lessons here dating back thousands of years ago, that even the least educated Chinese person knows by heart, but would elude even the most dedicated western Sinologist.

(DON’T BOTHER WATCHING IT IF YOU CANNOT UNDERSTAND Chinese)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=itw2GTN41P8

Contrast this to Taiwan/the Republic of China, where a local teacher went viral recently for protesting the Ministry of Education’s policy of de-Sinicisation. Under the new education reforms, students would be less exposed to Chinese history and culture, and less time would be allocated to the teaching of Chinese classics and poetry.

This is why I could never accept the neoliberal western narrative of Taiwan (ROC) being the “real China”. A regime that is truly legitimate in the eyes of the Chinese people, that truly has the best interests of the Yellow River civilisation at heart, that is truly representative of its people, would not so hastily abandon its heritage in an attempt to appeal to outsiders.

But when you force a people to abandon everything that defined who they are, the question becomes what to replace it with. In Taiwan’s case, attempts at westernisation and Japanisation have both been met with limited success, as have all other attempts at creating an independent “Taiwanese” national identity from scratch. As it turns out, you can’t just artificially create history and culture where before there was none.

This cynical historical nihilism, this dreadful feeling of emptiness and rootlessness, is devastating to the youth of “real China”. They don’t know who they are, what values to hold, where they truly belong, who and what to look up to, what to believe. Even conscription changes nothing – they know not for whom or what they fight (which is why they strongly reject mandatory military service).

At a time when the whole world is beginning to learn Chinese, Taiwan’s politically driven de-Sinicisation is not only counterproductive, but self-sabotaging.

I am glad that in the mainland at least, the best aspects of Chinese culture are being preserved and celebrated, contrary to public perception in certain parts of the world that once invaded, enslaved, slaughtered and stole from the Chinese nation, but now feign to care about our wellbeing.

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Lemme give you an example of why I think it is important to hold on to the wisdom of our ancestors. This part of the Spring Festival Gala features one of Li Bai’s poems that is most fitting for our times. Here is an excerpt:

天生我材必有用，千金散盡還復來！

“The talents bestowed upon me shall certainly be of use; and so what if I have exhausted my fortune? It shall all come back to me!”

Times are tough, and I know many of you are having money problems or self esteem issues. But be confident in knowing that you are not worthless, just keep honing your skills and looking out for opportunities to prove yourself. And rest assured that a bad investment and such is not the end of the world. You will recover financially if you’re a bit more cautious in the future.

From Zhuhai to the world, may all of you have a great Year of the Dragon.

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Italian Sausage Soup

A Fave Flavorful Soup

This soup is a “one-pot wonder” so there is less mess and less clean-up.
You can add any veggie you’d like into this recipe (and swap up the pasta with orzo or any shape you love)!

Use hot or mild sausage to your liking (or even meatballs if you’d prefer).
This soup reheats well making it great for lunches. Freeze in individual portions (before adding pasta) to keep it even longer.

Yield: 7 cups

Ingredients

1 pound hot or mild Italian sausage
1 medium onion, coarsely chopped
1 green bell pepper, cut into half rings
1 (14.5 ounce) can diced tomatoes with juice
1 (15 ounce) can great northern beans
2 (14 ounce) cans beef broth

Ingredients

Italian Sausage Use either mild, sweet, or spicy Italian sausage in this soup. No Italian sausage? No problem, use ground pork, chicken, or beef with the same spices we use in our homemade Italian sausage.

BROTH We use chicken broth in this soup but beef broth works just as well.

VEGETABLES Loads of different kinds of veggies like tomatoes, garlic, zucchini, and onion make this soup filling with lots of nutrients, too. Add whatever is in your fridge!

FLAVORS Add a delicious blend of Italian Seasoning or use your own special blend of favorite spices! We also add Parmesan cheese and fresh parsley as a garnish!

Variations

Feel free to switch up the ingredients with leftovers like adding chicken in place of the sausage, or kale instead of the spinach.
White beans can be replaced with lentils or garbanzos, long grain rice, and a liberal dose of cheese.
Diced potatoes are a good substitute for pasta as well! Add a can of condensed creamy tomato soup for extra-rich broth.

How to Make Italian Sausage Soup

Veggies and sausage with pasta tastes amazing and it’s so easy to make this classic soup!

Brown sausage, with onion & garlic per recipe below.
Add broth, beans, vegetables and simmer until tender. Stir in zucchini for the last few minutes.
In a separate pot, cook pasta al dente, drain. Add to the pot (or to bowls).
Garnish with parsley & Parmesan cheese.

Slow Cooker Method:

Brown sausage, onion, & garlic. Drain.
Add all ingredients except pasta, zucchini and spinach.
Cook on low for 8 hours or high for 4 hours adding zucchini in the last 30-40 minutes.
Stir in cooked pasta and garnish with parsley & Parmesan cheese & serve.

Leftovers

If you plan for leftovers or to freeze this soup, keep the pasta separate and cook fresh pasta for serving.

Keep Italian sausage soup in a covered container in the refrigerator for up to 5 days.
Reheat in the microwave or reheat the whole pot on the stovetop.
Freeze in zippered bags with the date written on the outside.

What has a cop said that left you completely dumbfounded?

I was returning home to NC after a job in Davidson, SC. Red and blue lights come on behind me so I, of course, pull over to the right. A sheriff’s deputy walks up to my window and asked if I knew why I’d been pulled over. I informed him I did not. He requested my license and registration, which I provided. He then stated that I had been driving 65 in a 55. I had been doing 60, so I was speeding but not at the speed he indicated. I asked to see his radar and camera showing he had indeed clocked me at said speed. He said he hadn’t used radar, but instead he’d paced me.

He hadn’t been behind me long enough to do so, so I said again that I hadn’t been driving that fast. He replied with, “You were definitely going 65 because I had to drive that fast to catch up with you.” I sat there in stunned silence, letting that sink in, for a moment. I said, “Excuse me?”. He again said I had been going 65 because he had to go that fast to catch up to me. I asked him, “If I’m going 65 and you’re going 65, how long would it take you to catch up with me?” He said he didn’t know how long it had taken him, but it wasn’t long. I was amused. I asked again and he asked what I was getting at. I informed him that I was just looking for clarification for when I go to court to dispute the ticket. I then told him that if I was going 65 and he was going 65 he would always remain the same distance behind me. This meant I had to have been going slower than 65. I then asked if his patrol camera recorded sound, as I’d be requesting the recording for court.

He handed me my license, advised me to slow down and have a nice day, then went back to his car.

Source is RAND

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What is the most unexplainable thing you’ve witnessed or experienced?

Back in 2000, I worked at the Super 8 hotel in the city where I lived in Tennessee. I worked in housekeeping. The hotel didn’t get a great deal of customers being in a small city.

One morning when I got to work I noticed several full-sized white vans in the parking lot once inside I found out it was a group traveling selling magazines. Almost all of the rooms had been rented which might sound bad but it’s not because if they are staying for any length of time you simply take out trash and make sure they have plenty of towels.

My day goes by fairly quickly. I finished up the last room and was headed towards the laundry room when a guy stepped out of a room and was going in the same direction as me. I notice he is following me but I’m not worried because there are other rooms he could be going to. When he followed Me downstairs is when I felt uneasy because at the bottom of the stairs is laundry room and a small storage room. When I got to the laundry room other maids were in there dropping off laundry and he simply turned and went back up the stairs.

Everything went pretty normal and quite easy because everyone in that group is gone all day selling magazines from door to door so you go in clean up a little make up the beds and restock towels. This is about the 4th day of them being at the hotel I’m cleaning rooms as usual. I clean the upstairs rooms around back last because they are close to the upstairs storage room.

I was on one of the last rooms on my list which was on the back side. I go in make up the bed, vacuum and take out the garbage. I go into the bathroom to count the towels and wash out the tub when I pulled the shower curtain back there stood that guy who followed me to the laundry room. He was fully dressed obviously hiding. My stomach dropped he had no expression on his face just staring at me. He pulled the curtain rest of the way open and started to step out of the tub and the manager of the Hotel hollers here are your towels you called for. Not wanting to turn my back on him I yell I’m in here my boss bitches a little then bring them to me and is beyond mad that the guy is hiding in the shower and makes him leave the room and wait outside till I’m done with his room.

On the way to the office he asked me why I didn’t tell him he was in the room when I called for towels. I would have told him if I had called for towels but I didn’t call laundry and certainly not him for anything . I don’t understand how he got a call to come to that room but I am thankful for whatever happened because a few days after that they left and moved on to a hotel in Knoxville TN where that same guy that hid in the shower raped and stabbed an elderly lady and stole her car. The police said it was the worst crime scene they had seen in a while.

Tony Blinken Back to China: Begging Bowl in one Hand & a Knife in the Other!

Have you heard about Secretary of State Antony Blinken’s upcoming trip to China? Mainstream media will have you believe that he is going to address the path to peace in West Asia, among other global issues. But let me tell you, it’s all a distraction. The truth is, the US government has no intention of truly addressing global issues. They use these high-profile meetings and trips to China as a way to distract the public from the real issues at hand. While they talk about peace in West Asia, they continue to fuel conflicts and wars for their own benefit. Don’t be fooled by the headlines and the fancy speeches. Secretary Blinken’s trip is just a facade, a charade to make us believe that they care about global peace and stability. But in reality, it’s all about politics and power. So, the next time you see news about Secretary Blinken’s trip to China, remember that it’s just a distraction from the truth.

The importance of a fan

When I lived in Woonsockett, Rhode Island (I was commuting to my work in Milford, Massachusetts) we lived in a converted catholic school.

The diocese had fallen on hard times and had renovated the Catholic school into apartments. And we lived in one on the third floor of the side building.

The owner of the apartment building was an immigrant from India and did not believe in ventilation. So the building was HOT.

He also didn’t believe in lighting. So, It was dark.

They didn’t believe in hallway lighting (relying on the windows at the end of the hallway for light during the day, and the streetlight outside for light at night). And without ventilation… it was stifling.

*stifling*

Walking up three flights of stairs was a trial.

Gasping for breath was a daily occurrence, and it really sucked. You don’t really appreciate this need for air, until you are forced to climb a hot set of stairs in a airless chimney. Ugh!

Air is important.

Ventilate. Use plants. Keep the air fresh, and for God’s sake use a fan to keep the air moving.

Just like a pool of water becomes stagnant over time, so does a windowless room. Ventilate.

Live longer.

Ventilate.

Live longer.

Ventilate.

Live longer.

Ventilate.

Today…

What’s the most memorable interaction you had at a rest stop?

My stepdad is an auto mechanic. I recall when I was younger we were on a family road trip and saw a car broken down at a rest stop. My younger sisters and I started to tell Dad that he should go help them.

“Dad, they are broke down you should go take a look and help them out!”

My dad’s reply was something like “Eww, they drive a Dodge, I don’t like working on Dodges!”

“Dad, come on, be nice!”

I think he had already planned on going over and seeing what the problem was even though it would take more time away from our trip.

He went over and helped out this couple which were a little older. He explained to them that he was an auto mechanic and asked them to go through the “try to start it, I want to hear what sound it makes” diagnostic process. Finally Dad gave them the diagnosis and told them what they could do to fix it temporarily and then explained they should see a mechanic once they get to their destination to get it fixed more permanently. (Please do not ask me what was wrong. I was a teen and did not care to remember back then let alone now.)

The couple were so grateful to my stepdad that they tried to offer him money. He said no. He explained to them that he believed in helping others out and hoped that should something ever happen to his daughters (pointing in our direction) someday someone else would be nice enough to help us similarly.

The lady was so overcome with gratitude that she phoned his work once they had arrived at their destination and gotten their vehicle repaired to let his boss know that my dad had gone out of his way while on vacation with his family to assist some strangers who were broken down. She explained to Dad’s boss that he would not even accept money for his good deeds and she felt that his boss should know that he did a superb job in hiring such a great guy!

Dad came home after work to tell us all about how his boss told him that he was a good representative of where he worked because now these people that live in a totally different state knew about the car dealership and had positive reviews of at least one person in the service department! Dad even got put up for a bonus because of the glowing review while he was off-duty. He couldn’t have been more thrilled that helping someone during his off time ended up helping him at work as well.

What are the most arrogant, idiotic and shameful things a politician has ever said?

I’m from Vietnam and there is no shortage of idiotic and shameful things said by politicians here. Below are some of the more notable ones:

“We used to teach one class with 40 students. Not anymore. Now we teach 40 students in one class”, Minister of Education and Training, 2015.
“Defense attorneys should have the legal obligation to denounce their clients if they know for sure their clients are guilty. Failing to do so should be a criminal offense” – Chairwoman of the National Assembly, Nguyen Thi Kim Ngan, May 2017 (the National Assembly in Vietnam is like the Parliament in the UK or Congress in the US)
“The National Assembly is elected by the people. If the National Assembly do something wrong, the people are responsible, there is no one else to punish” – Chairman of the National Assembly, Nguyen Sinh Hung, 2014.
“If my children have measles, I will never send them here [National Hospital for Children]”, Minister of Health, Nguyen Thi Kim Tien, 2014. Well of course not, you will order the doctors to bring their equipment and medicines to your mansion. Or you will send your children to the best, most expensive hospital abroad using the corruption money that you have amassed over the years.
“Poisoned potatoes imported from China are … still safe” – Head of the Plant Protection Department, 2014
“Fighting corruption is difficult because we have to fight ourselves” – General Secretary of the Communist Party, Nguyen Phu Trong, 2015.
“Half of the bridge collapsed to the river, the remaining half is still perfectly functional”, Deputy Director of a provincial Transport Department, 2015.
What is even more breathtaking than the statement itself is the fact that the bridge collapsed after just 2 weeks of operating. One can’t help but question: How much money did this guy embezzle from the project?

8. “In other countries, resigning is very easy but in Vietnam, it is very difficult. Why? Because in Vietnam, with high positions come great missions that the Communist Party gives you. Resigning means abandoning your missions.” Deputy Chief of Staff of the National Assembly, 2015.

9. “I had to work as a motorbike taxi driver for many many nights to save enough money to build this villa”, Deputy Head of a provincial Internal Affairs committee, 2017.

His villa, built illegally on agricultural land:

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10. “The job of Vietnam People’s Public Security Forces is to protect the Communist Party, protect the State and protect the Government”, Deputy Head of the Political General Department, Ministry of Public Security, 2015.

Hello? What about the people? Sounds familiar? Rings any bell? Has the thought of protecting the people ever crossed your goddamn mind?

11. “In one district, there are 8 or 9 high-ranking government officials coming from the same family. I think it’s just pure coincidence”, Head of the Capital’s Organizing Commission, 2015.

12. “If we do not teach our children to cry when they sing the national anthem, our country will not prosper”, Deputy Prime Minister, Vu Duc Dam, 2014.

That’s enough for now. I’ll add some more in the future.

Addendum 5th of June: Some of these things are not actually idiotic, more like shameless and blatant lies. Anyway, here are some more:

13. “Our family could build this mansion thanks to the support of our friends and colleagues who gave us the necessary bricks and stones”, Former Inspector General of the Government, 2014. And this was from the guy whose job was to fight corruption! His mansion:

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14. “We must strengthen our military so that it will be as powerful as the North Korean Army”, a monk and a congressman, 2014.

15. “Traffic jam means all vehicles have to stand still for at least 30 minutes. In our city, there are no traffic jams.” Director of Ho Chi Minh City’s Transport Department, 2016.

16. “On many occasions, we have to test the quality of fertilizers by mouth”, Minister of Industry and Trade, 2016.

17. [Three infants died after being vaccinated] “We’ll get to the bottom of this. Everything will be transparent and there will be no cover-up. If it’s the doctors’ fault, the doctors will be prosecuted. If it’s the vaccine’s fault, the vaccine will be prosecuted”, Minister of Health, 2013 (same gal as #4). Prosecute the vaccine? Sounds tough. What about the people who approved and imported the vaccine? Isn’t that you?

Update on #2 (June 20th): It’s official. Today the National Assembly passed the new Criminal Code, defense attorney in Vietnam now actually have the legal obligation to denounce their clients!

Potato Hash with Eggs and Mushrooms

A portabella mushroom blends seamlessly with the Italian sausage, while the peppers add color to Potato Hash with Eggs and Mushrooms. Perfect for an everyday breakfast or weekend brunch.

Prep: 10 min | Cook: 15 min | Yield: 4 servings

Ingredients

1 large fresh portabella mushroom
1 tablespoon (15 mL) olive oil
3 mild Italian sausages, removed from casing and crumbled
1/2 small red onion, diced
1 clove garlic, minced
2 large russet potatoes, peeled, diced
1/4 green bell pepper, diced
1/4 red bell pepper, diced
Salt and pepper
1/2 cup (125 mL) shredded Cheddar cheese
4 large eggs
Chopped parsley

Instructions

Heat oven to 350 degrees F/175 degrees C.
Place portabella mushroom in a food processor fitted with a metal blade. Pulse until finely chopped.
In a large nonstick, oven-safe skillet heat olive oil over medium heat. Add chopped mushrooms, Italian sausage, onion and garlic. Use spatula to break up sausage into tiny pieces.
Once cooked, remove from pan and set aside. Leave any fat renderings in pan.
Heat pan with the sausage renderings over medium heat. Add diced potatoes. Allow to cook for 10-15 minutes until softened.
Add diced peppers and increase to medium-high heat, continue to cook until potatoes are crispy, about 10 minutes.
Add sausage back to pan; cook for another 2 to 3 minutes before stirring.
Sprinkle with cheese.
Crack eggs in each quadrant of the pan.
Season with salt and pepper.
Place skillet in oven and bake for 20 minutes, until eggs are set.
Sprinkle with parsley before serving.

Apparently Everyone is Broke ….. Part 5

Timecodes

0:00 – intro
0:36 – Silent Depression / Recession / American Dream
1:54 – Mexican says Americans are broke and don’t even realize it
3:25 – 42 Million people on Food Stamps
5:42 – Finacial Struggle will eat you alive , moving back in with parents
7:54 – How are people affording life / credit card debt
10:09 – Average 401k / Retirement
12:52 – The not spending money trend is not just a trend
14:52 – Prepare for a recession
17:56 – Learning how to see money & invest
18:37 – Billionaires Bet on the Economy Crashing
19:02 – If our economy crashes what will we do ?

Is China winning the battle of economy and technology over the U.S.?

US is losing the battle of economy and technology to China

I can illustrate this with three points

I. Forcing China to Innovate

In 2014 , China imported every chip made with 28 nm process or lower and 70% of the Chips made with the 45 nm process

The Chips were made in Taiwan and Korea, designed by the US and made by Dutch machines

China was utterly dependent on these nations for the chips and these nations were dependent on China for the consumer goods made using these Chips

In 2018, Dumbo Trump began to restrict the flow of Chips to Huawei and began the entities blacklist

He began the tariffs due to which to lower their costs, China began to start their own supply Chain

Fast forward to 2024

China makes 54% of its own 28 nm process chips (from 0% in 2014) and makes the entire indigenous equipment to make the 28 nm process commercially

China makes 69% of its own 45 nm process chips at a mere 32% cost

It’s ready to make fully indigenous 14 nm Chips and just made a 7 nm Chip with DUV technology that performs very well

Thus thanks to US stupidity – China managed to go from full importer of 14 nm, 28 nm Chips and 70% 45 nm Chips in 2014 to net exporter of 45 nm Chips and above plus develop fully Indigenous machinery for 14 nm Chips and make 7 nm Chips indigenously in a mere decade

Without US Push, Chinese Entities would simply have not been inclined to invest in Chipmaking as the Imports would have been higher yield at more efficient costs in the early years

II. Decoupling

In 2018, China used the USD for 94.6% of its Trade and settled in USD with 132 out of 143 BRI Nations

China used SWIFT for 99.3% of its transactions in USD

US had leverage control on China and China was utterly dependent on the Western financial system

Then US began to talk of decoupling and derisking and freeze others funds and steal Afghan money

Fast forward

China uses USD to settle only 57.5% of its trade using Local Swaps to settle 26% of its trade and the RMB and Ruble to settle 16% of its Trade

China uses CIPS and other systems now with Iran and Russia and Cuba and Venezuela

Thus again China is no longer entirely dependent on the Western System

III. Anti China Rhetoric

Mainlander Residents made up 27.7% of all Researchers in the USA in 2018. The Highest among foreign researchers

60% of all researchers in Critical Technology research were Chinese, bulk of them from the Mainland

They did a lot of path breaking innovation

Anti-Asian Atmosphere Chills Chinese Scientists Working in the U.S.

As universities such as Harvard and NYU put researchers under scrutiny, some schools seek to avoid a “loyalty oath.”

https://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2021-04-26/anti-asian-atmosphere-chills-chinese-scientists-working-in-u-s

Then you had gutter scum like De Santis and Cotton who began Anti China Rhetoric

So Chinese brains decided to stay back home and not go to the US while Chinese Scientists and Researchers decided to go back home to China than be insulted and treated with suspicion in US

Chinese Scientists Are Leaving the United States

Here’s why that spells bad news for Washington.

https://foreignpolicy.com/2023/07/13/chinese-scientists-united-states-research-tech-academia-china-initiative/

From 2023- almost 548 researchers including 107 with Tenure left US and moved back to China

Plus nearly 10,300 Doctorate Students from China stayed home rather than going to the US and innovating for them

They help China innovate instead of USA

Accelerating Chinas progress in those areas

US is unable to fill the gap with others

Korea, Taiwan and Japan combined send maybe 1600 researchers a year

Indians send barely 60 researchers a year in critical technologies

So in each case China adapted but it was US who started it all

When you have Idiots chosen by a corrupted form of democracy – they are no match for the High range meritocracy of China

What are some most important unspoken rules in life?

Don’t ask for something if the person only has one of it left — gum, candy, or a piece of cake.
If you used all the toilet paper, you go refill it.
Buy a plunger before you need a plunger.
Do not swipe left or right if someone shows a picture on their phone.
Pee first. No matter what you’re doing, pee first.
If you borrow someone’s car, fill up the tank before you return it.
Leave it in a better condition than you found it.
When out to dinner with a group, only the person who ordered the least expensive meal/combo of things can offer to split the check evenly.
Don’t put your music on speakers when in a public space. It’s not like everyone wants the same genre, or was in the mood for music. Use your headphones.
You can be wrong. It isn’t a bad thing either. And when you are wrong, acknowledge it and learn from it.
Please don´t start drama at a funeral.
Chew with your mouth closed. It’s shocking how many adults chew with their mouth open.
Never make fun of someone else’s laugh.
Don’t ever leave your shopping cart in the middle of a grocery aisle!
If you are borrowing it for the third time, you need one of it of your own.
If you cancel on a friend, it’s your responsibility to reschedule.
Don’t propose at someone else’s wedding.
Turn on your headlights when it’s snowing.
Don’t look through the gap of bathroom stalls.
Be kind to people that are working.
OFF BEFORE ON. Let the people off the elevator and train before you get on.
Walk on the same side of the stairs/sidewalk that you would drive on.

Most of all….

23. Show the same respect for everyone. We are all people.

What are the facts about girls that guys don’t know?

Yes we do think wether you’re safe or not while going out with you, even if you’re a friend.
Biology have cursed woman, menstruation are real shit emotionally, physically.
Girls are more conscious for appearance not to impress anyone but not to look awkward or talked about
They are fed with true love and marriage dreams from childhood, even if she is into careers. It is fed in her somewhere
New DMs don’t excite us , It simply seems like a simp trying out.
We think “all men” because majority of girls have not met good guys. Yo it’s not your fault it’s us ,stay peace!
We just expect respect and love for leaving our entire family happily, which you can’t even think to do for a girl.
We die for freedom because most of us don’t get it easily
We love small gestures, like a sweet good night or a small gift
Women needs you emotionally more than physically.

We need to do better

Anyone who has been on an airplane that had to make an emergency landing, what happened, and what was it like in the cabin?

main qimg 6cde7b395f2fffa9e80f3c8256824fa8 lq

I was flying as a passenger in a small two-engine commuter plane, with a single row of seat on each side and an aisle in the middle. We were going from DC to Lynchburg, Virginia. On the way there, I suddenly heard a loud BANG and saw smoke emitting from the engine on the right, then the propellor came to a complete stop. I could smell burning oil. From that and the sound, I surmised something important was clearly broken, and that engine would not be restarting until it was repaired. Too late for us.

Not long after, the pilot came on the intercom. I’ll never forget his first words. “If we get down…” Then a pause followed by, “When we get down…” and the rest of what he said, which was that we would be diverting to a closer airport (Charlottesville) and probably more things that I can’t remember.

There was a little nervous laughter from someone, while another passenger started crying. The person who had smiled and laughed stopped smiling and began to look tense.

I felt our chances were good. Whatever happened to the engine that failed was unlikely to affect the other still-running engine. This was a better problem to have that trouble with the landing gear or control surfaces, for instance.

As we approached Charlottesville airport, I could see clearly through to the cockpit and what was ahead. The landing strip was getting larger and larger. A welcome sight. We were, however, approaching at a bit of angle. The side with the working engine was noticeably more ahead and forward than the other side. It was pulling the plane askew. I wondered how we would land like that.

I don’t remember anyone asking us to brace for a landing, which seems odd in retrospect.

As we touched down, fire engines were racing alongside.

We made it.

I rode back to the terminal in one of the fire engines. Later, someone from the airline directed us to an area to wait together until they made arrangements to continue our journeys. It was taking a long time, and one of us complained about the delay. Someone else, quoting a friend who was a pilot, answered, “In aviation, it’s better to have the delays and trouble when you’re still on the ground than later.” No one countered that view.

Some years ago, I had the opportunity to ask a pilot about landing on one engine when the aircraft is askew. He told me that you give it a little rudder to straighten out at the last instance just as the wheels are about to touch the ground, but not so soon that the aircraft has time to swing back. That sounded to me like a high degree of finesse would be needed, so we must have had good pilots that day. Thanks to them, I’m still here.

UPDATE: I did not expect so many upvotes. Appreciated. Thank you one and all!

Also, thank you to all those who added useful comments: learning from knowledgeable sources who speak from experience is the best part of Quora for me.

In spite of the fact that humans have now been flying in heavier-than-air flying machines for more than a hundred years, it is still amazing to me that it is possible and has become routine. Well, routine except when it isn’t. Grateful to the body of skills that makes it all possible

Men are tired of being expected to provide for women. Reaction to this new outlook.

How do you tell someone their name is wrong?

My elderly uncle, 85, had a run in with an absolute Peach of a teacher in 3rd grade. She’d been a mid-year sub (because married teachers weren’t allowed to teach while pregnant *huge eye roll*) and announced to the class that she didn’t allow nick names and told everyone what their proper names were and she would ONLY call them by their ‘proper’ names.

This caused an uproar as this was in the heart of Texas. Lots of Bubbas, Sissys, Juniors, etc. She told my uncle his name was James. He refused to answer to this as his name was, in fact, NOT James. Yelling ensued, mostly her at him and then she yanked him out of his chair and dragged him to the office. This teacher did not understand that you didn’t call my grandmother down to the school unless someone was dying.

My grandmother arrived as the teacher was explaining to the principal about my uncle’s “disrespect and obstinate attitude”. With a rare show of patience, my grandmother waited until the new teacher was done hammering that nail into her coffin before addressing the principal. “Why did I have to come down here?”

The principal stammered, attempting to have the teacher’s back but his expression showed he knew it was futile. The teacher puffed up and condescendingly explained her policy on names and that her son refused to obey. My grandmother asked, “And what name do you think he should answer to?”

“James, of course.”

“His NAME is NOT James, It’s Jimmy. I include his middle name when he’s in trouble.”

“That’s ridiculous. Jimmy is a diminutive of James. Therefore, his names is JAMES.”

My uncle piped up, “She made Sissy and Junior cry.” Everyone knew Sissy’s given name but her little sister couldn’t say it and she’d gone by Sissy her whole life. Junior was self explanatory.

My grandmother stood up and leaned in toward the teacher, “My son’s name is Jimmy. I know this as fact since I Named Him. His birth certificate says Jimmy. His enrollment paperwork says Jimmy.” My grandmother turned to the principal, “Do I need to make a call to Mr. Jensen?” The principal turned white. My grandparents were good friends with both the ISD superintendent and the mayor and there had already been an issue with a different teacher stepping over a parental boundary.

My grandmother refused to allow any kind of punishment and my uncle said the new teacher wasn’t there the next school day.

How can having all the money in the world lead someone to be disillusioned with their life?

It depends on the wealth and how they got it.

If they earned it themselves then no as they have to struggle to get it.

It’s their children who are born into it and do not struggle. Hence wealth lasts only 3 generations. I mean Li Ka Shing richest man in HK (who is actually Canadian) his son never went through his dad’s struggles and is far less of a business man than his dad. Though he’s doomed anyway as his company is just a rent seeking company and PRC China doesn’t like that.

So when everything is within reach, then there’s nothing worth reaching for.

Older people may remember a television series called Made In Chelsea. I literally know several of these rich kids from the first series. Well knew as they probably have forgotten me.

They had flashy cars, they went on holidays and flew first class.

But they never knew struggles of others and they were very shallow as they had no real character. It didn’t matter if they failed something as money would immediately fix it. So they didn’t even have to try all that hard either.

I’m not saying it’s not a good situation to be in though.

What was totally acceptable in high school 50 years ago that isn’t today?

Once I was doing some gardening work for a former neighbour. Just to get some more money in my pocket. I was riding in his work vehicle and talking to him. Like all adults inevitably do, he asked me about school.

I didn’t want to talk about school, so I tried to redirect the conversation to his experiences at school when he was younger.

Before I knew it, I had him telling me about his experiences attending an all-boys boarding school in the 1990s. It was about as violent as you’d expect, but out of nowhere he said something that completely shocked me.

“Oh yeah, and if you started the fight they’d beat you with the cane”

“WHAT?!?!?!”

Only in non-government schools, but holy heck.

In my mind, students being caned is something that only ever happened in reruns of Little House on the Prairie I watched as a kid. Or something that happened at home when you’d been especially bad.

But nope. In the ‘90s, my neighbour and his classmates were caned for a variety of offenses, including smoking, streaking, fighting, leaving campus, etc.

You needed your parents’ permission for teachers to be allowed to cane you, but many disciplinarian parents gladly let their kids have it. In fact, the Australian state of Queensland (where my former neighbour went to school) still allows students to be caned as punishment.

“The school, which has 600 students in Prep to Year 12, gave the paddle 10 times last year and seven times in 2007, he said.

"I would never use the paddle unless we have spoken to both parents and have their blessing for it to be used," Mr Bensley said.

"It is always administered in a loving way. In fact, we pray with them afterwards."

I’ve gone to several Catholic schools in Australia, albeit in other states, and I never saw anything like this.

In all my time at Catholic schools, the only shit-kickings I ever got were from my fellow students. In fact, teachers at my school weren’t even allowed to touch students beyond absolute necessity.

It’s crazy to think that not only was this present in the 1990s, it’s still present now. Not just in Australia, but all over the world.

Footnotes

[1] Punishment and Discipline of Children

[2] Smack talk: Qld laws still let teachers and parents hit children. Why?

CHINA DESTROYS INTEL and AMD – rip and replace us garbage…

The world is splitting. Non Western countries are getting tired of US / EU sanctions on everything and anything.

Have you ever ignored a blaring red flag because someone was insanely good looking?

He was tall, dark, and handsome, and insanely good looking… Until he opened his mouth.

He had walked into my English class in my sophomore year and all the girls watched as he took a seat.

Girls were drawn to him and he never lacked for companions who wanted to chat with him.

But he dripped with conceit.

When he spoke, it was apparent that he was interested in one topic only — himself. The world, for him, revolved around him.

The more I got to know him, the uglier he looked to me. By the end of the year, I couldn’t believe I ever found him attractive.

When I was much younger, I did forgive character flaws because someone was insanely good looking. But I came to understand that some of those insanely good looking people weren’t very nice.

Some were selfish, obnoxious, bullies.

Over time, I realized that people are sometimes like deceptively wrapped presents.

Sometimes you unwrap a beautiful present with shimmering paper and a fancy bow to find nothing but a piece of poop inside.

Other times you open up a present wrapped in plain brown paper to discover a diamond.

Insanely good looking people are good for catching my eyes for only that very first time I meet them.

But after that, whether they are good looking or not depends on their personality.

If they have an intriguing mind and a beautiful heart, I find the person insanely attractive regardless of their outer appearance.

What is one thing that I can learn from you today?

Do you know why a manhole is circular in shape?

main qimg 50198946b6a2e5df6a0e0411501560f8 lq

This was the question asked to me in my internship interview. I did not know the answer to this question but thought to give it an attempt. I gave multiple reasons –

It would be easy to clean as there will be no corners where the dirt can accumulate
It must be to ensure the safety of the person going inside the manhole. If the manhole is rectangular or square shaped then there are chances that the person will hurt himself with the sharp corners of the manhole

The above reasons are okay but not the prime reasons for a circular design. The main reason is –

The diagonal length is the largest dimension in a rectangle or a square. A rectangular or a square shaped manhole would have a same shape cover as well. This means the length or breadth dimension of that cover could be accommodated easily in the diagonal of that manhole and this is how the cover would fall inside the manhole.

To avoid this unwanted fall, manholes are designed circular in shape.

Hope this was interesting. 🙂

The 1-3-1 rule

What are the most arrogant, idiotic and shameful things a politician has ever said?

We, South Koreans, really hate our politicians.

But out of all the politicians we hate, the most hated politician of the modern era has to be Park Geun-hye – Wikipedia, the previous president of South Korea.

Her, when she could still smile.

I say “previous” because she got impeached and jailed after the largest political scandal (and the largest protest that followed) in the history of Korea happened, her approval rating dropped to 5%, and still said some really stupid things while all that happened.

main qimg 988ec36908c37eca3b8e4c3b391ff725 lq

Her, after we brought her to the Supreme Court and was found guilty.

I haven’t seen a chart so satisfying since the chart of South Sea Company stock prices.

Some people were so pissed off to literally make a list of the most arrogant, idiotic, shameful things she has said in the most popular public wiki in Korea. Here are some of the gems I found:

“Is this A.I?”

After seeing a pair shoes with smart sensors.

“Powder made out of Korean chili pepper….this must be extraordinarily valuable.”

After seeing Chilli Powder in a marketplace. Of course, this is untrue and very stupid and awkward at the same time.

“Sleep is the best.”

After an authority of a religion said to her sarcastically “You seem to sleep well nowadays.”This is during the times the protests were happening and Park decided to isolate herself to ignore the protests.

“What did I even do wrong?”

After asked to resign from office. This was after the Korean Intelligence already uncovered so much evidence of her corruption, that it was literally impossible to deny it.

“After the impeachment attempt fails, I will use the power of the people to silence the Press and Korean Intelligence.”

Keep in mind that her approval rating was plummeting to zero at this point. And also that South Korea is a democracy.

“I think this is misogyny.”

When she was accused of her incompetence during the Sewol Ferry incident(details are here: John Oh’s answer to What is the best photograph of government corruption?), she said this.

“When taking tests, it is always the women that take it diligently and with great effort. But why aren’t Korean men like that? I mean, they even go to the military. Maybe it’s because our country leads in gaming, and men are like that because all they do are games.”

Fact: stated during her birthday feast with very important politicians by her.

Also fact: It’s complete bull.

“For 3 and a half years, I served Korea without knowing tire, and you dare make me a dirty person?”

Things that happened during her term:

Shook the foundation of Korean democracy to the core
Increased the income inequality in Korea to 3rd in OECD
Increased the debt of Korea by 17%
Made house prices 40% higher
Set the record for the longest period of time the exports of Korea declined in a row
Set the record for Millennial Unemployment rate
Diplomatically strayed away from the U.S.(our most valuable ally) and close to China(our worst enemy’s most valuable ally)

Things that did not happen during her term:

Literally anything good to Korea
Park working hard.

AI generated Men’s magazine pictures

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Is the United States afraid of China’s economic improvement?

Absolutely, yes, without a doubt.

China’s economic rise threatens the United States’ global hegemony, which is based entirely on its US Dollar supremacy as the world’s reserve currency.

The United States can print money without end to fund its overseas wars and enrich the military-industrial complex.

The United States can control disobedient countries with punishing sanctions.

The United States can extract other countries’ natural resources.

China’s economic rise can undermine the US Dollar and kick out the main pillar of America’s power.

The USA is scared to death and extremely desperate.

What’s the rudest thing a child has ever said to your face and how did you respond?

My middle boy. He is 9 now. He was 6 at the time and we were shopping. It was more embarrassing than rude…

Going down the aisle, he is walking with his brother and my daughter is in the trolly… the boys are talking, distracted… and I’m on my own, wife was somewhere else in the shop…

Suddenly he looks up and noticed in front of us a rather large man. I mean large. He had never actually seen a person of this size because even though I am chunky, and my side of the family are, my wife and her side is quite slim!

Anyway, in his charming childishly quiet voice, (full volume) he belts out:

“wow daddy, HE is fat! Fatter than you!”

I turn beetroot red, and tell him that he can’t speak like that. He was confused.

(He has heard family talk about how fat I am and I think this was just a processing mechanism for him)

But then I look up and the man is laughing… as he walks past me and I try to apologise about my son’s outburst he says: “don’t worry lad, you got time to catch up to me!” and walks off chuckling!

Later (it got better) we go to see my mum, and she says something about me being fat (it’s a joke as I am chunky but the skinniest of the lot on my side!) And straight away my boy pipes up:

“No no nana, you can’t call daddy fatty, as we saw a man that was so big that you and daddy and mummy could fit inside him!”

I was facepalming… I mean great defence of daddy but I need to teach this kid how to be more sensitive!

3 years on and it’s still a struggle. Kid has no filter. So we choose words wisely!

Best Ever Hotcakes

21014 Good old Fashioned Pancakes mfs 002 0e249c95678f446291ebc9408ae64c05

Ingredients

2 eggs, separated
1 tablespoon granulated sugar
3/4 teaspoon salt
1 cup all-purpose flour, sifted
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1 cup milk
1/3 cup sour cream
4 tablespoons butter, melted

Instructions

Add sugar and salt to well beaten egg yolks.
Sift and measure four, add baking powder and soda and re-sift. Add flour mixture and milk, to egg yolk mixture alternately, a bit at a time until all are added, (stir the whole time).
Add sour cream and mix well.
Add melted butter and mix well.
Gently fold in stiffly beaten egg whites.
Bake on a hot griddle, turn only once when bubbles on the surface break.

“A father used to say to his children when they were young: —When you all reach the age of 12 I will tell you the secret of life.

One day when the oldest turned 12, he anxiously asked his father what was the secret of life. The father replied that he was going to tell him, but that he should not reveal it to his brothers.

—The secret of life is this: The cow does not give milk. “What are you saying?” Asked the boy incredulously. —As you hear it, son: The cow does not give milk, you have to milk it. You have to get up at 4 in the morning, go to the field, walk through the corral full of manure, tie the tail, hobble the legs of the cow, sit on the stool, place the bucket and do the work yourself.

That is the secret of life, the cow does not give milk. You milk her or you don’t get milk. There is this generation that thinks that cows GIVE milk. That things are automatic and free: their mentality is that if “I wish, I ask….. I obtain.”

“They have been accustomed to get whatever they want the easy way…But no, life is not a matter of wishing, asking and obtaining. The things that one receives are the effort of what one does. Happiness is the result of effort. Lack of effort creates frustration.”

So, share with your children from a young age the secret of life, so they don’t grow up with the mentality that the government, their parents, or their cute little faces is going to give them everything they need in life.”

Argentina Heads To China For Economic RESCUE As Farm Outbreaks Devastate Export Revenues

Argentina is facing an export crisis. With inflation still raging, an outbreak in their corn harvest threatens to collapse their export revenues. It’s not a surprise that the Argentine Central Bank is running to China to secure their Yuan swap line for their vital imports. Here’s what you must know and why Argentina’s in desperation mode.

MM describes China

That message is China telling America (talking to a wall) and the rest of the world that strong decisive actions to de-dollarize are coming soon. 

They are designed to harm the US dollar and hence American global hegemony. 

Given China's historical demonstration of patience, it will likely occur over progressive stages of severity, but we're no longer talking about decades. 

Sino-American win-win cooperation is a ship that has sailed and long gone beyond the horizon, and America is trapped in a sinking ship of its own making. 

Sayonara and good riddance!

PM

Today, I will present one of my Quora posts. This one has over 22.7K views…

Why should I move to China? What are the pros and cons as an American?

I am an American and I live in China.

I would do it again in a HEARTBEAT.

This is my sincere and accurate answer directed at someone who might be considering a move out of the United States (for whatever reason), and may consider China to be a destination to consider. If you fit in this profile, then this answer should give you an idea of what to expect.

Every place has pros and cons.

It’s up to you to determine which cons are worth accepting and which pros are important to you. It doesn’t matter what nation you are considering. It really doesn’t.

Now, China is (in many ways) the absolute OPPOSITE of the United States. And because of that, many things about China is shocking to Americans. Distasteful even.

So, I am sorry that the “cons” section is so large, but from an American point of view some things need to be said and (perhaps) elaborated on. So it’s almost twice as long as the “pros” section. Sorry about that. China is a BIG country, so this answer is gonna be big as well. LOL.

We will start with the “pros” of living in China…

Here’s the Pros…

You will live longer. Much longer, and you won’t be fat either.
China is space-age. There are way too many things that are in China that aren’t even on the “radar screens” back home. Like real (honest to goodness) robot patrols, drone monitoring, and QR parking.
High Speed Trains are amazing. You will never want to fly again.
Breakfasts are commonly under $1 USD. And you will be completely full.
You will eat better. Much better. You will eat much more seafood, delicious pork, and all sorts of healthy fruits and vegetables.
China is seriously pet-friendly. The Chinese treat their pets like little children. It’s insane, and cute at the same time. The most common pets are dogs and cats, just like in the ‘States. But there are other pets as well. The third most common seems to be rabbits, where back in PA it was ferrets.
You can make U-turns.
A steak will be just a little bit more expensive than a hamburger “value” meal. So you will be eating more steaks than hamburgers. Additionally, very little processed or canned food will be consumed. Everything is fresh.
There is very little in the way of canned foodstuffs. There’s an enormous frozen section, and all sorts of spices and pickled items, but actual canned food items really don’t exist.
There is an enormous variety of food items to choose from. Far greater than anything in the ‘States. The USA had, what, five different flavors of potato chips. In China the number is in the thousands. Lays is the biggest foreign-owned potato chip manufacturer that serves the Chinese market. My favorite flavors are starfruit and orange, roast duck with pickled egg, and “American style”. LOL
All of the public areas are super clean. Old or new, it doesn’t matter.
Restrooms are everywhere and none of them charge for use.
All public buses and transport are electric. Means that they are quiet and do not billow out pollution.
There is zero unemployment. And the crazies are nurtured in their communities. Everyone is provided a job (if they don’t have one) and they are the responsibility of community.
Homeless, vagrants, beggars are collected when they are reported, taken to the local police who identifies them. They are then provided with health care, food, a bunk and a trip back to their community with friends and family.
EV charging stations are plentiful.
Ride-share bikes are cheap, fun, and come with bicycle “superhighways” where you ride under large shady trees, and off the roads.
The idea of “sex” is not the same as in the West. It’s far more relaxed and natural, if that makes any sense. It isn’t broadcast 24–7 on media, billboards, television commercials and shows. It’s not a big deal.
That being said, the chances are that you will have more sex than what you would get back home. Because it’s not a goal. It’s an element of life.
The girls that you have relationships with will be very pretty. Not tattoos, piercings, foul tobacco chewing skanks. they will be real beauties.
Speaking of Chinese girls, they do have curves. They are not the thin, helpless, mindless waifs that is the common belief that seems to exist in the United States. Sure many are thin. But they are low BMI. Not emaciated. You would be surprised of the chest sizes on some of these chicks. Lordy!
And, while I am at it, Chinese women are tough. I mean tough as nails tough. They will manage a home, work two jobs, raise three kids all while carrying bricks on their shoulders for some extra money.
Chinese women are traditional. Meaning being a 1950’s era housewife is considered to be the ideal to achieve. Stay home. Take care of kids, budget and manage finances while the man works and brings home the money.
During rainy season you will adapt to tropical attire and carry an umbrella. So it will be common to see office folk wearing shorts and flip-flops in the office.
Men are studious, hard-working and very traditional. Just like the ladies are.
You will be expected to drink hard alcohol, and you will enjoy it immensely. Especially Maotai.
No one tips. No one will accept tips either.
There’s no April tax reports to fill out. Never do you have to report any income to the government. Nor do you have or need to hire an accountant, buy the latest version of “TurboTax” or go to H&R Block for tax advice.
You will be able to smoke cigarettes everywhere for the most part. From your office at work, to the bathroom, to inside the car. Everywhere. Office desks come with a glass ash tray, and all the manager’s offices have huge crystal ashtrays for you use, as do the bathrooms.
And the cigarettes will be cheap. The cheapest ones are less than $1 USD a pack. Though that can darn near kill you. However, the “good stuff” isn’t that expensive. Generally you can expect to pay $1.50 USD for a Chinese equivalent of Camel. But the most expensive cigarettes can get pricey.
You will have lifetime, real, friendships. If you need help, money or support, they will drop everything and come to you in a heartbeat.
Free dancing every morning and every evening in the local public areas. They are called “dancing grandmothers”, but everyone of all ages participate. Even I get down and boogie from time to time.
China is 100% cashless. You scan QR codes to buy or do anything.
You will NEVER starve. China is a nation that love to share food.
Car blocking you? No problem. Scan the plate and instantly your phone will call the number of the car owner / driver.
WeChat everything!
You will be able to save money. Lots of money. Unlike the USA, there aren’t millions of tiny hands in your wallet.
Medical care is very cheap, and easy to get. Local clinics are everywhere, and your medical history is transported no matter where you go.
You won’t need a doctors prescription for most medicines. This includes Viagra, codeine based headache medicines and antibiotics.
If you work in China as an American foreigner, the chances are that you will be paid less than what you would make in the United States for the same role and position, however you would actually be living an upper-middle class life and lifestyle because the cost of living is so cheap.
You will be able to buy nice new top-line cars. Whether it’s a luxury brand of a cutting edge EV, you will probably end up with multiple cars.
Chicken breast is considered to be the most undesirable part of the chicken, so Chicken breast meat at the grocery store is amazingly cheap. It also doesn’t have hormones or hormone injections or fed GMO feed. It’s healthy.
You will be accepted by the Chinese and friendships will form easily. Which differs substantially from that of the Japanese.
When hired you will have a contract. You will NEVER be laid off, or fired without notice such as what is common in the USA. If you merit a firing, it becomes a law case and a judge will determine what will happen. Typical contracts are two to three years. During the time that you work you will never worry about layoff because of some “downturn” in the news.
All businesses are required to provide meals and housings for their employees, or the equivalent (regional norms) in compensation to you. Typically, single people will share an apartment with another person, but if married the company will give you one for your family alone.
All business will (by law) provide you a yearly round-trip plane ticket to visit your family. So if you are a foreigner, this is an international trip. If you are Chinese, this ticket is negotiated within your contract.
You will get a yearly bonus, and it is typically one to two months salary. The bonus is calculated in your annual salary, and comes “off the top”. It will be given during the final CNY party, and there might be other incentive bonuses placed on top of it.
You will be able to buy nice homes. A bunch actually. And they all will appreciate in value. My Nanshan house in Shenzhen cost me $ 40,000 USD. Today, it’s worth $ 9 million USD. But, you know, I was just lucky. Most everyone else has their homes value in the 2 to 6 million dollar range.
You will be able to breathe nice fresh air, and experience beauty. China has so much to explore in so many different venues.
You will be able to fish, and you won’t need permits to do so. Anywhere. Anyhow, and at any time.
Chinese medicine is cheap but tastes like shit. Yuck!
The Chinese diet is heavy on seafood, chicken and pork. They also have a far, far variety of vegetables and fruits here. Everything from bitter melon to yiche. These things add a very unique taste to food. Like the wonderful pudding of Duran fruit.
You will never be lonely. There’s people everywhere, and they really love to talk to Americans.
The police will leave you alone. As long as you obey the law they will be respectful and helpful to you.
Massages are cheap, plentiful and everywhere. A foot massage might cost you $3 USD and it’s a relaxing spell while you watch the game on television.
Speaking of massages; “Happy Endings” for both women and men are perfectly legal in China. It’s considered a form of physical relaxation. Crazy huh?
A meeting will (typically) not be held western-style with a conference room, instead it will be more intimate with a tea table and you will discuss things over tea and cigarettes.
And the government is merit based. You won’t get indigestion every time the appear on television.
All the gizmos and gadget are new, and cheap and won’t be available in the ‘States for a couple of years. Such as the Huawei phone that doesn’t need cell phone towers, and the wrist holographic phone. As well as all the facial recognition scanners in homes these days.
You WILL fall in love. The girls are precious treasures.
You won’t need to buy a bicycle, ride share is common and super cheap.

Here’s the Cons…

The Chinese democracy is very different from the American “democracy”. The Chinese don’t talk or understand “freedom”. Instead they understand “family.” If you try to be too independent, it might get you into trouble.
You are forever a GUEST in someone else’s land. Accept that fact.
You never wear outside shoes in someone else’s home. It’s considered downright boorish.
No one knows what Rights are. And when you try to explain to them the American bill of rights, they will think that you are an idealist, and not a pragmatist. Their argument is “what does it matter” when you have the “freedom to speak, but risk social banning if you speak things that are to be unspoken.
Like it or not, the actions of the American leadership will fall on your shoulders. If the president is popular like Obama was, you would be viewed with favor. If he’s unpopular (in China) you would be viewed as supporting his actions. It’s of course, not true, but it’s a reality that you will need to deal with.
Many American habits are considered to be “filthy” and you will need to change. Such as eating a hamburger with your hands, eating french fries with your fingers, and eating an apple by taking a bite from it. The Chinese cut things up and use chopsticks. Including with pizza. Or you will be given these thin plastic gloves to wear.
Local pizza restaurants do not know how to make pizza. They make something else, but it’s certainly not pizza.
Cheese will be imported and it tends to be expensive.
Beer is stronger in alcohol content than what is available in the ‘States. That means, that if you are not prepared, you will get drunk much faster than you would expect.
If you have tattoos you could be banned from exposing them. This would be at work and in all public places, from swimming pools to malls.
As a foreigner, you can never obtain citizenship unless you have Chinese blood in your veins.
To enter China you will have your full biometics added to the database, and from that moment on, you will be 100% tracked by AI. You will be left alone, but if there is an emergency, your phone will light up and the police will come and pick you up within minutes.
The police, baoans and local party will all know you by name. Even if you never met them before.
You will not be able to do any kind of illegal drugs. None. Zero and you will not be able to get out of any mess that you get yourself into.
Typical drug sentence is death plus three. Means that you do hard labor for three years while you are being organ harvested, and then you are killed. The good news of this gruesome policy is that the government will get you high on medicine to chill you out, and then allow you to dress in your best clothes and you will get a happy-value meal from McDonalds. Then they put a board listing your crime around your neck and shot you with a bullet to the head. Your family will be billed for the cost of the ritual.
You will not be able to own or shoot guns. But if you want to shoot guns, you can visit Thailand. It’s only a three hour flight out of China.
It will take a while to get used to squatting toilets. But once you master it, you will be fine. It’s just those first couple of dumps that’s gonna be a problem.
You will need to carry around these tiny tissues with you. Toilets do not have toilet paper for you to use.
You will NEVER be able to uncouple yourself from the United States. Even if you renounce your citizenship, you will always and forever be “the American”.
The Chinese do not debone fish. You will be expected to eat the fish and then spit out the bones.
You will probably stop carrying a wallet.
You will probably start carrying a satchel or a backpack.
Your house will be much smaller than one in the ‘States. But it will be made out of stone, not drywall on metal frame. You will probably use an elevator to get to it.
American holidays do not exist.
China is in many ways simple, but it can get complex very quickly.
Chewing tobacco (“chew”) doesn’t exist, but you can chew on a betal nut instead. The problem with this is that it will stain your teeth a big bright red color.
You will work on Christmas and Christmas Eve.
Good luck finding a turkey to eat. You will need to go to a specialty store to get one.
If you are a big man you will have trouble finding clothes. I have big feet and that limits my access to shoes. (Sigh)
You will not be able to watch or view porn. Instead, you will be forced (out of necessity) to participate in real sex with real people. Not be a voyeur spectator.
At your job, you will be expected to give your best and “up your game” if you slack off. China is a merit based society. You ether do your best or leave.
Violations of law can be very harsh. Death and torture harsh.
You will need to comply with covid restrictions. It’s a real thing. Don’t even think about flaunting the rules, or going borderline. You comply or leave.
American Christmas music will be played all year around, and the Christmas decorations stay up all year as well.
Chinese homes are much smaller than American homes, but they do tend to have amazing views.
I’ve been living in China for over 20 years now, and still I am having a difficult time with the tones, and the idioms. I have met expats who pick up the language quickly, then there’s other older folks like myself that have a rough go at it.
Cheese-Its and other American snacks such as Doritos, and goldfish, and Wise potato-chips will be expensive. Many approaching the cost of a T-bone steak. So you will find yourself not eating these snacks often.
Coffee makers are rare. Outside of a coffeehouse, you will adapt to using instant coffee.
Starbucks coffee in China is surprisingly more expensive than what it is sold for in the USA!
You will STILL need to pay American taxes on top of any Chinese taxes that you must pay.
McDonald’s menu will not resemble the menus you have in the ‘States.
There’s no White Castle, Bojangles, Ground Round, Waffle House, or other well-known American fast food franchises.
You will be called a “traitor”, and a liar, and all sort of bad things when you talk about your life. No one (from the ‘States) will believe you. So you will, over time, distance yourself from them.
Your passport will be your ID, and so it will get frayed and worn.
You had best memorize your passport ID as you will use it a lot to get set up on the various apps and all the rest. No one uses social security number.
As a foreigner, you will need to update your residency papers with the local police, and comply with reporting requirements.
You will not be able to ride the riding mower while you listen to music and drink a beer.

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Now, there are all sorts of people out there reading this. And I want to make myself very clear in this. Our decisions to move, stay, visit or leave a place are made for personal reasons.

My reasons were personal. I fell in love, and stayed and made a life. I cannot imagine a life without my Chinese family, my Chinese friends or eating delicious Chinese food.

But I am NOT average.

Certainly there are people who left China ten years ago and that say “good riddance!” while they live in places like Cleveland, York, Syracuse, or Erie. For them, they have made a good life.

For them, they made the right decision. For them they are happy.

They are paying on a house mortgage, and driving a leased car, and working as an employee and paying a big portion of their earnings to the government. They love their McMansions, the hamburgers, and weekend mowing-the-grass lifestyle.

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But not me.

You cannot say that what is important for one person will be important for everyone. I love China. And that’s just fine with me. You see, what is important to me is very personal.

For instance, I like being able to smoke where I want, what I want and when I want to do it. I don’t want to be directed to go outside of a restaurant to smoke in the rain near a loud busy road. I like to eat in a nice fancy restaurant and put our dog in a chair with us, eat a fine steak with a glass or wine and smoke casually and easily.

I also like the trees planted everywhere. China has this “thing” about trees. Flowers and trees are everywhere. I believe that it keeps the temperature low on the sidewalks so that you want to walk. In the USA, trees are considered to be a nuisance… something that fall on your car, and leaves that you have to rake up in the fall.

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What I like will not be perfect for everyone.

I like the ability for average families to set up storefronts and sell things. I like the idea that you can do this anywhere and get a side income in, as well as being your own boss… plus not “putting all your eggs in one basket” constantly at the mercy of your corporate boss. I like that real freedom…

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I like how people are (for the most part) happy. I like how they are helpful. I like how they are cheerful and welcoming and open to talk with you. I like the calm, relaxed, healthy and good life that China offers…

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I like the pace of life. Whether it is in the (so called) “Ghost City” where I live. (Which, by the way is filling up nicely. Don’t you know.) Or in the big mega-cities that are everywhere in China.

Here’s my “Ghost city”… perhaps you heard about it. It’s supposed to be representative of the terrible mistakes that China has made in their economic model. I don’t know anything about that. Everyone here is happy. Everyone here thinks the world of the Chinese government.

Happiness is a big deal inside of China.

The only ones pissed off and angry, seems to be Americans. Gosh, you would think that I am the devil himself by showing what China is like… what it is REALLY like… and why I like it so. So much spewed hatred. Honest to goodness, the spitting, sour hatred out of many Americans just rattles me. What the heck are youse guys eating? Lard Sandwiches, or what?

I’ll tell you what; that hatred will kill you early.

Be happy. Don’t be hateful. You’ll live longer. Don’t you know.

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China has life. It’s active, alive and dynamic. There’s always something going on. I like that. I never had that in the United States.

China is active and dynamic. Always something going on. Yet, it’s not that rush-rush-rush feeling that you might get from a Hollywood action adventure movie. It’s a really relaxed feeling. Like playing golf on a beautiful day, like going fishing on a slow calm late Summer day, or just riding your bicycle in the fall and listening to the leaves crackle under your wheels. Yeah I like that.

I like the feeling of calm and nature.

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I love the food. Oh lordy there is is so much food to choose from. And my goodness is it delicious!

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And I love the girls…

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And finally, let it be well understood that I live in the poorer “blue collar” worker section of China. I do not live in a big upscale wealthy section of China. I’m solidly in the lower-middle class economic strata.

I live in Southern Zhongshan on the Zhuhai border. It’s very lower-middle class. And the life that I praise is comfortable, but not lavish.

Average Family incomes (husband and wife both working) are between 4000 RMB and 12,000 RMB). This is roughly $300 USD to $2000 USD a month. But when the total cost of living is under $200, everyone can get by quite well.

Yah. Simple. But good enough for me.

And my social security check. LOL.

…

Today…

When do I know it’s time to retire?

I had an office manager for over 33 years. She ran the office and I practiced law. It was a good partnership for both of us.

However, after practicing law for over 35 years, I was burnt out. I was finding if more difficult to empathize with my clients. I had thought about retiring but just could not bring myself to say I have had enough.

One day my officer manager came into my office and closed the door and said we need to talk. She said it was time for me to retire and proceeded to outline exactly how I could do it. She had calculated how much I would get from Social Security, how much I was getting from rents, how much my wife would get from her teacher’s retirement once she retired and how much I could get from my 401(k).

She said that she knew I was not happy with my career anymore. She said that I should not worry about her as she and her husband were going to convert their home into a bed and breakfast.

I knew she was right and the next day I announced my retirement and have never regretted it.

My office manager now runs a very successful bed and breakfast.

Have you been to a doctor and they can’t find anything physically wrong with you, but you know something is wrong?

Back in 2014 I went hiking with family and found that I could not keep up with them. I was sweating profusely and was breathless even before we even got to the first uphill hike. My wife and I decided to stay behind and just waited for their return. I went to see my PCP the day after. He did an EKG but did not find anything. He referred me to a Cardiologist who, after giving me a stress test, said I was fine. I insisted that something was wrong. He gave me an echocardiogram and still could not find anything wrong. I insisted further and he agreed to do an angiogram. My brother-in-law who is a vascular surgeon in Northern California referred me to a colleague of his in San Diego to do the angiogram. This doctor did the angiogram and found that an angioplasty would not work for me and that I need a bypass. He referred me to another Cardiologist, Dr. Dan Meyers, from Texas. I ended up having, not one but five-artery (quintuple) bypass. Dr. Meyers said I was days away from getting a heart attack.

Today, after 10 years, I am feeling the same thing I felt back then and am going through the same thing again with cardiologists not finding anything wrong or saying there is nothing they can do but give me more medication to improve what I am feeling. The first one did an angiogram and found nothing wrong and gave me more medication that I stopped taking as it did not make a difference. I am on my fourth cardiologist now and finally found one who showed me on the computer screen what is happening and can do something about it. He said of the five arteries that were grafted in 2014, only 2 are still open. The other three have either collapsed or again blocked. He can reopen 2 of them easily with stents. The other one is a little bit tricky but can be done and I will be home on the same day. He told me not to overdo my workouts until after the angiogram which is scheduled for next month.

We do need to pay attention to our body. No one else knows our body more than ourselves. The doctors are there to find and correct the issues we feel.

What did your parents say about you that made you sad?

“Do you think they swapped them?”

I was barely three years old, and playing on the floor across the room.

“The woman in the room across from me at the hospital had a boy.” My mom’s hushed voice was colored with envy.

“Yes.” My father nodded patiently, as if he had heard this before.

“Do you think she really had a boy?”

“What do you mean?” Dad was confused, not following what my mom was asking.

“I mean, do you think the nurses swapped them? Maybe she had the girl and I was the one who had the boy.”

“No, they wouldn’t do that!” Dad seemed horrified by the suggestion, and instinctively glanced over at me.

I looked down and pushed the shiny tin train across the floor.

I never let on that I had heard or understood their conversation, but it changed me. The experience leaked uncertainty about my identity into my three-year-old world.

It was when I first realized why some things were the way they were.

I understood then why Mom rarely corrected strangers when they met me and praised what a cute son my mother had.

Why my hair was kept cropped short while my older sister had ponytails.

Why my grandfathers never gave me time of day.

It was the first time I found out that boys were to be coveted, and girls to be lamented.

I was meant to be a boy. And it made me sad. It wasn’t because Mom wondered if they mixed up the babies or wished she had the boy.

I was sad that I was a girl.

WARNING: Hard Landing is coming for the US Economy

Screw a hard landing. Its always a crash landing when the wheels have fallen off already.

All Americans are feeling economic pressures with high inflation, fearful news, a Congress that loves to throw money around, and all sorts of changes to their lifestyle. Without becoming political, what is the easiest and best solution for the USA?

Stop creating more dollars. 1 trillion dollars are being created every 100 days. Within a few years it will be much greater than that amount.

The old definition of inflation, 100 years ago, said that inflation is the creation of money (currency).

Our currency is not really money anymore. Currency not backed by gold cannot be money. We have fiat currency now. It only has value because people accept it as having value. But it has been losing value at a much faster pace, since America went off the gold standard in 1971.

When money is backed by gold, it limits how much, new money can be made. When you go off the gold standard, you can create all the currency you want to. Now, you know why, we have higher inflation.

The inflation numbers on TV are not the true inflation numbers. In 1980, they changed, how inflation was calculated. So, you have to multiply by 2 to get a more accurate inflation number. So, 3 1/2% inflation is 7% true inflation rate. Everything, we are being told is a fraud now. They will lie about the employment numbers, so Biden can get reelected. There is a chance that something major is going to happen between now and May 19. It could be nuclear war or dollar devaluation. Maybe, a stock market crash. The economy is a fraud. It will end badly, eventually.

Have you ever witnessed clever parenting and/or discipline?

When I was a child, bedtime was 8:30, no fooling around about it. Unless I was reading. If I was reading anything at all, I could stay up as long as I stayed quietly reading. (I rarely made it to 9).

Later, my parents’ problem became getting me to stop reading and go to sleep. I had the third floor of the house to myself, but I kept getting caught staying up and reading. Tried sealing the door so light couldn’t leak out. No good. Tried covering the windows so nothing showed in the yard. No dice; I kept getting caught.

Many years later, as a young adult, I broke down and asked Mom how she did it.

She gave me the look she reserved for occasions when I’d done something a little cute, but basically stupid, and replied: “How many nights were you not reading?” Me: *thinks* “Oh. So, every night on your way to bed, you just hollered upstairs, and on the odd night when I was already asleep, no harm done?” Mom: “Uh-huh.”

What surprised you most about retiring?

One of the biggest surprises that has happened after retiring is realizing what it’s like to downsize. We lost, or rather left behind, over 1000 square feet. We’d had a lovely piece of property, and now we don’t have very much.

I’ve pared down our possessions, I’m still doing that, and I’m beginning to realize how little we need. No one will tell me why I dragged my mother’s china with me. I won’t use it. I hardly used it when we had a larger house. I was younger then, and we did a lot of entertaining. You’ll find out how this works. You know that there is no good reason to take so much stuff, but you do it anyway. I look at that china and think, “Let my heirs take care of it.” As long as I don’t do that with too many things, I should be okay.

I’m overwhelmed by how nice people are in the community we’ve moved into. People showed up at my door with homemade soup, breads and even dinner. We were welcomed with open arms. I’d lived in my old neighborhood for a long time, I knew my neighbors, but I never got to know them well. I had a good friend across the street. I knew the people on my block, but we each had our own lives. We were working. That made a difference. Larger homes with larger plots of land tend to make people stay within their boundaries. I don’t feel any boundaries here. I feel free.

I didn’t expect to be this happy. I thought we were just doing this for the money, but I’ve found out that I’ve been looking for this place a long time, and finally I was old enough to find it.

SHOCKING: China Warns The US “Cooperation or Confrontation” As Russia SEIZES US Bank Assets

This is a VERY GOOD video. China gave the USA “notice”.

China has had enough.

Blinken’s in China and things aren’t going well for him. Beijing has given him multiple warnings and red lines not to cross. China has given clear signs they aren’t afraid of America’s economic threats. Meanwhile, Russia has just frozen the assets of JP Morgan’s Russian account. This asset seizure will likely continue as the West plans to confiscate Russia’s frozen $300 billion. Here’s what you must know!

What did your father say to you that you’ll never forget?

When I was 20 years old, still a university student, and in the early stages of a relationship, a game of truth or dare with friends took an unexpected turn. I was dared to confess about my relationship to my parents, even though it felt too early. However, my ego pushed me to accept the challenge.

I nervously called my dad.

Me: Hi, Dad.
Dad: Hi! How are you?
Me: I wanted to say something.
Dad: Okay, go ahead.
Me: I… hmm… (I hesitated).
Dad: What’s the hesitation?
Me: I wanted to say… (still hesitant, thinking of how to handle things if they go south).
Dad: Is there someone around you? (He heard my friends’ voices and they were making sure I said it.)
Me: Pooh… (taking a deep breath and without second thought) I like a girl!
Dad: Okay, what’s her name? (He seemed surprisingly cool, which was not typical with Indian parents.)
Me: (I told him her name.)
Dad: Okay, where is she from?
Me: (I gave him her details.)
Dad: Alright. Just remember one thing in life. Even if you miss one bus, there is always another bus that will come. You just need to wait.
Me: Okay (totally dumbfounded by how things turned around).
Dad: Anything else?
Me: No.
Dad: Bye!!.
Me: Bye !!.

Till this day, I remain captivated by the way my dad handled that unexpected conversation. His calm and open-minded response, especially given the usual cultural norms, left a lasting impression on me. The analogy he used, comparing life’s opportunities to buses, has become a guiding principle for me in facing challenges.

Since that day, whenever I encounter setbacks or failures, I recall my dads words and wait for the next bus. 🙂

edit: Thanks a lot for all the upvotes . shared it with my dad yesterday, and he was ecstatic about the response. A big thanks to all who read and all the upvotes !!

What were the last words you heard someone say before they died?

My mom had lung cancer. I was with her the last few days. She refused medication until the last day. Then started morphine. I had fallen asleep after reading to her for a bit.

The nurse explained to me that her kind of death is like slowly drowning the morphine reduces your bodies desire to breath. Very hard to watch.

Well I fell asleep finally and my alarm did not wake me for her next dose. I heard “ Neal get up!”. Just like when I was late for the bus 50 years ago. I had not heard her speak above a whisper for more than a month.

I gave her her next dose read a bit more to her from the hobbit ( she called her house that she built after she was65 her self) her hobbit house ( partially underground) but she had never read the hobbit and loved it when we read to her.

She never spoke again, I actually think she was not really there after that second dose of morphine.

Due to covid this remarkable lady never had a funeral. Grew up on the reservation, professional trick rider from ages of 9 to 12. Completed high school, raised 3 boys on her own . Ran 3 successful businesses, tribal council 3 times no one messed with her twice all 90 lb 4ft 7 of her…. Happy trails ma….

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Apricot Cream Cheese French Toast

Ingredients

French Toast

1 loaf French bread, cut into 8 very thick slices
8 ounces cream cheese
1/2 cup pecans
Confectioners’ sugar
1 cup whipping cream
4 eggs
1 teaspoon nutmeg
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Apricot Sauce

1 (12 ounce) jar apricot preserves
1/2 cup orange juice

Instructions

French Toast

Make a pocket in bread slices by slicing again, but not all the way through.
Mix the cream cheese with the pecans and a couple tablespoons of the confectioners’ sugar. Stuff the pocket in the French bread with the cream cheese mixture. Dip into a mixture of whipping cream, eggs, nutmeg and vanilla extract.
Grill on hot griddle, and serve with Apricot Sauce.

Apricot Sauce

Mix apricot preserves with orange juice over low heat.

How is a plane removed from a place where it’s unable to takeoff again?

In 1997, a Saudi Airlines 747 landed at the wrong airport in India – it was supposed to land at Madras International Airport but ended up touching down at a nearby Indian air force base instead. The pilot simply saw and aimed for the wrong runway. Oops!

In that particular case, the base’s runways weren’t enough to allow the plane to safely take off again.

So, they made the plane as light as possible. All of the passenger seats were taken out, as well as all of the galleys. Any excess weight was removed from the plane to make it as light as possible. It was given just a few minutes worth of fuel – the absolute minimum necessary to be able to get the plane in the air and make the short flight to the Madras airport, which was its original, intended destination and just a short hop away.

Big, longhaul planes that need longer runways are usually intended for longer flights, and thus a big reason they need such long runways for takeoff is they’re loaded up with so much fuel. So, perhaps the Saudi 747 wasn’t the only case in which a large plane was stripped of as much weight as possible, and then given the absolute least amount of fuel possible – just enough to allow it to take off and get itself to the nearest airport with the right runway.

Apparently the same happened with a TWA flight that landed at the wrong airport near Steamboat Springs, CO in 2001, and an Atlas Air cargo jet that landed at the wrong airport in AZ. In each case, all excess weight was removed from the plane, and it was given just enough fuel to get it to the correct airport. Once there, everything was put back on the plane (after being trucked over) and it was put back in service. Obviously, these situations each involve pilots accidentally landing at the wrong airport, mistaking them for the (nearby) airport they were supposed to land at. So in these situations, giving the planes just enough fuel to get to the proper airport – but not enough to prevent them from taking off on the short runway – was an option.

What was the most disrespectful suggestion you received from a person who assumed you made less money than them?

When I chose to leave the language center where I had worked for 14 years for lack of respect issues by ‘the boys’ club’, one colleague (who was part of the club) made it clear that HE thought I was making a huge mistake.

Fast forward perhaps 5 years. He, too, had left the center for a higher paying position elsewhere.

We ran into each other at an exhibition, and he asked what I was doing for work.

As a communications teacher, I am really good at reading body language and tone of voice. He was oozing condescension and seemed ready to gloat, assuming I was working at some unlicensed language school.

I admit to messing with him and felt no guilt whatsoever.

I told him I was teaching part time (I had been a full-time teacher trainer and supervisor at the center) and added nothing.

He gave one of his famous ‘sad on the outside, superior laugh on the inside’ looks and saying he still had connections, he offered to put in a good word for me at the center, so MAYBE I could be rehired there as an hourly teacher.

I thanked him as sincerely as I could, but then, looking very serious, told him I was part-timing at the then top-rated business school in Thailand, making over three times what I had made fulltime at the center and working only a fourth of the 40-hour week.

His look of shock was very satisfying.

The fun didn’t end there.

My husband walked up and asked if we were talking about our new logistics company (we owned six 10-wheel trucks outright); I feared my former colleague was going to have a heart attack.

Note: I had been moonlighting at the business school long before I left the center. It was no secret, but the ‘club’ never bothered to learn much about me.

When I left the center, I also left my disgust and anger about them AT the center, being unwilling to carry THAT burden into the future.

Why dont young able-bodied homeless people just get jobs?

A few years ago someone I had known when they were a teenager showed up where I was working looking for a job. He was in his early 20s by this point (American citizen) but had been kicked out of his moms house. He had nothing but the clothes on his back and his birth certificate.

There was a truck stop walking distance from where he was staying that would hire him but he had to have a social security card and a picture id.

So I tried to help him get those items and I discovered just how difficult it is to get photo id without photo id! He was a nice kid but not brilliant. And he had no car so I drove him. first place we went was the social security office. once there it was discovered that the birth dates on his birth certificate and his social security card were one day apart! That took more paperwork to figure out.

Finally we get a social security card but then we go to the local dmv for an id. He didn’t have a previous id of course, and because of his situation he had no utility bills in his name or passport or anything else. Eventually we managed to get him an id because I was willing to sign paperwork vouching for his identity since I knew him when he was a kid

Both the social security office and the dmv were over 20 miles from where he was staying, and each took multiple trips. He couldn’t get a job so he had no money so he couldn’t have taken Ubers. ( and no working phone or credit card) And he would have really really struggled figuring out all of the paperwork. I have a masters degree and I struggled trying to figure out this stuff.

These days any ‘legit’ -ie not paying under the table – employer has to check social security cards and all of that stuff.

If a homeless person has lost their social security card and picture id – I can assure you – at least in Texas – it’s incredibly hard to get either back. If that homeless person does not have someone to vouch for who they are, they might not be able to get it again.

it took well over a month and numerous trips to get him sorted out. Once we did, he took the job and could work again. But a homeless person with no one to drive them around and help them out? Good luck.

Comics from the golden age

What are the facts about girls that guys don’t know?

Generally, we don’t enjoy talking dirty
women are attracted towards men with good dressing sense…like men matching their sneakers with hoddies or socks with the shirt
without speaking a word we can give alerts to other females…like there is a period stain on your dress or “I want a sanitary napkin!!” all this can be said through eyes
We dislike boys who are a simp (brutally honest)
we gain respect for the boy who cries in front of us (we never ever judge you for crying)

7. when we talk to our crush we generally play with our hairs

8. we love when you teach us something without making us feel dumb

9. the happiness of having no period stain on a bedsheet after sleeping on it for a whole night

10. girls generally think a lot of fake scenarios more than boys and if that fake scenario becomes reality she will be insanely in love with you

so try to know her imagination (ask this indirectly) and fulfill it.

This type of politicization of medical research is absolutely disgusting, and downright harmful.

This is @wellcometrust

, a large global charitable foundation focused on health research. Their mission, I quote, is to “improves health for everyone by funding research”. Everyone… except for the Chinese apparently.

Here they’re offering to fund research to the tune of £5 million for research into dengue and Zika, two virus infections that do occur in China (especially dengue which is endemic in the southern provinces). And they make it extremely clear throughout the description of the project (Infectious Disease Award: Understanding dengue and Zika spread | Grant funding | Wellcome

) that any organization in the world can apply for this grant, literally “anywhere in the world”… “apart from mainland China”!

This isn’t only shocking for the obvious singling out of one specific country but also because it runs counter to the very principles of science: what if the one scientific team in the world that’s most competent to further research into dengue is actually Chinese? Are we saying that because they’re Chinese that means we’d rather set science back than have them work on it? What kind of world are we preparing for ourselves where nationality and race take precedence over scientific progress? I remember a certain country doing this in the 1940s and it didn’t work too good for them…

Yet westoids will say NOT RACIST they’re just insects!

BYTEDANCE REFUSES to SELL TIKTOK – china tells Biden to go back to sleep…

America is a circus, and a sad one.

China is “Dude; we are so tired of your bullshit. Go fuck yourself.”

Western democracy used to be in the circle of “electing and regretting”. Has it become a cycle of “electing and ousting” now?

Oh yes, you can literally see it on westoids responses.

We’re a democracy! We can vote them out if they do shitty things.

This of course fails to mention that they get to walk off with their ill gotten loot.

This also fails to mention that they don’t really have a choice, all the political parties are the same.

We can look at it today and now with the Democrats and Republicans. Or Conservative and Labour (UK). The parties policies are absolutely identical when they agree with each other all the time.

Want an example?

In the UK water companies are dumping raw sewage into rivers and the sea. This was after Brexit made EU pollution laws no longer apply.

This was recorded in the HoL

https://lordslibrary.parliament.uk/river-pollution-and-the-regulation-of-private-water-companies/

26th April there was a vote about OFWAT. To WEAKEN the water regulator in their ability to issue fines and order water companies to literally clean up their shit.

So Starmer Labour leader opposed this right?

Nope

Starmer’s Labour voted with the Tories to weaken the water watchdog’s ability to combat sewage dumping. This will fundamentally impact the ability for OFWAT to fine water companies who continue to pollute our rivers, lakes and seas as we know they have been doing with impunity since EU water cleanliness legislation got dumped following Brexit.

So oh sure you’ll get to replace your politicians with identical politicians who act the same way, are greedy and self serving in the same way too!

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The above is from Futurama.

The even funnier thing is they’ll defend this as the PERFECT system!

What are the most arrogant, idiotic and shameful things a politician has ever said?

I’m going to go with Louis Farrakhan on this one

A couple quotes so you can get my idea:

“You see everybody always talk about Hitler exterminating six million Jews. That’s right. But don’t nobody ever ask what did they do to Hitler.”
“White people are potential humans – they haven’t evolved yet.”
“The Jews have been so bad at politics they lost half their population in the Holocaust. They thought they could trust in Hitler, and they helped him get the Third Reich on the road.”
“The Mother Wheel is a heavily armed spaceship the size of a city, which will rain destruction upon white America but save those who embrace the Nation of Islam.”
“Now that nation called Israel, never has had any peace in forty years and she will never have any peace because there can never be any peace structured on injustice, thievery, lying and deceit and using the name of God to shield your dirty religion under His holy and righteous name.”
“The Jews don’t like Farrakhan, so they call me Hitler. Well, that’s a good name. Hitler was a very great man.”
“I believe that for the small numbers of Jewish people in the United States, they exercise a tremendous amount of influence on the affairs of government …Yes, they exercise extraordinary control, and black people will never be free in this country until they are free of that kind of control … “
“Many of the Jews who owned the homes, the apartments in the black community, we considered them bloodsuckers because they took from our community and built their community but didn’t offer anything back to our community. When the Jews left, the Palestinian Arabs came, Koreans came, Vietnamese…and we call them bloodsuckers.”
“White people deserve to die, and they know, so they think it’s us coming to do it.”

Arrogant? Check.

Idiotic? Check.

Shameful? Check.

Have you ever been ignored by the staff in a store because you didn’t look wealthy enough?

I walked into a Harley-Davidson dealership looking to buy my next bike. I was looking at their pre-owned stock, which, like in any other retail scenario, is significantly less expensive than buying new. My son (I think he was 7 or 8 at the time), was with me, and I had him sitting on the passenger seats of several bikes on the floor to see if he were tall enough to reach the foot pegs. We were both wearing jeans and t-shirts, which is fairly typical for us, and not entirely uncommon among motorcyclists.

I narrowed my selection down and got on those bikes with him to see if he could hold onto me in the riding position. After probably 5 or 6 bikes, I decided on one, and started looking around for a sales person. There were several of them on the floor, all just kind of glancing over at us while talking among themselves. We wandered through the merchandise section of the store, and as we passed the group of sales people, I said “apparently nobody wants to take a cash down payment for their next sale?”

We walked out, and I later discovered that while this treatment of customers isn’t all that common among Harley dealers as a whole, this particular dealer is notorious for it.

Shorpy vintage photos

Youse guys know that I love these…

As a police officer, what’s the one call that will be with you forever?

As a new officer on overnight shift, I was dispatched to a shooting in an urban neighborhood in the downtown area. When I arrived, I was accompanied by two other officers where we observed two men in a pickup truck in front of a house who had been shot. Before a minute, there were another half dozen police officers who had arrived securing the scene while we administered first aid. The paramedics came and took the driver. The passenger, a 19 year old kid was pronounced dead at the scene. We had learned shortly thereafter this was a drive by, gang style shooting that was retribution against these individuals who had shot one of there members the week before.

I was assigned to stand by the passenger door of the pickup securing the evidence until the scene could be processed. Our CSI Unit worked during the day shift and was on call, so we had to wait.

The door was open with the nineteen year old’s head and right arm sticking out the door as he laid on his right side across the seat. This was my first homicide scene. This was the first time being close to a deceased body. I stood there watching his blood spill out of the vehicle and drift down about fifty feet in the gutter to where we had put up our crime scene tape.

About 45 minutes had passed when a lady drove up, exited her vehicle and approached where the detective was standing outside the tape. When she saw the blood, she let out a shriek and then inconsolable sobbing as she knew her son was the one in that pickup truck even before the detective could have informed her. Before long, family members started to arrive. One by one, the shrieks and the sobbing continued. After about an hour, they left together, attempting to console one another. Then there was an eerie silence. After nearly 23 years, I can still remember what the scene looked like, the smell, and those agonizing screams. My prayers are still with this young man’s family.

Southwestern Egg and Cheese Breakfast Casserole

Yield: 10 servings

Ingredients

18 eggs
2 small cans green chiles, chopped
1 to 1 1/2 pounds cooked breakfast sausage
2 1/2 cups grated Monterey Jack cheese
1 onion, diced
1 green bell pepper, diced

Instructions

Spray slow cooker with Pam.
Starting with sausage, layer meat, chiles, onions, peppers, and cheese, repeating the layering process until all ingredients are used and ending with a layer of cheese.
Beat eggs, then pour over mixture in slow cooker.
Cover and cook on LOW for 7 to 8 hours.
Serve with sour cream and/or salsa.

What are some “Wait, what?” moments that you’ve had with your child’s school?

One of my daughters is a serious academic. She is the student who, when given an assignment due in 2 weeks, would begin it that same evening. She always turned in essays and projects early; sometimes the teacher even told her to take it home for a while until it was due. She scrupulously studied for every test and exam. When she was in Grade 8, French class, every project, quiz, test, and participation level scored 95% or better. Yet, on her report card, her grade was B+.

WHAT?

We arranged a parent-teacher interview at the appropriate time as designated on the form supplied with the report card. My daughter, who was understandably very upset with her grade, accompanied me to ask for clarification from the teacher. Perhaps it was a simple error? We brought along all of my daughter’s marked work from the term.

“Oh, no error,” said the teacher. “I don’t ever give an A or A+. Students always have room to improve.”

“Well,” I countered, displaying all the marked term documents we had, “could you please explain how you added numerical grades over 15 assignments, that seem to average at 97%, to equal a B+, which is a numerical grade of 85–90%?”

“That may be accurate,” said the French teacher. “But I don’t give A+ to any students. There is always room to improve.”

We passed over the projects and exams that were graded at 100%. “Please explain how my daughter could improve in this circumstance.” Then we handed over the lowest-graded item, at 95%. “You have marked several of my daughter’s interpretations of this French novel as “inaccurate,” but her views actually are in agreement with those of these renowned French literary critics.” I passed her the publications.

“So, please explain to my daughter and me how she could have improved her performance enough to get the grade she needed to promote her to her desired school?”

“I never give an A+,” was the final comment before the interview was ended. And my daughter was once again in tears.

“It’s not over yet,” I told her. I sent all of our documentation, the report card, and the teacher’s remarks (which I had written down as they were being discussed) to the school Principal, cc to the Superintendent, and to the School Board. Within 3 days her mark was corrected to A+, and a letter of apology was sent to my daughter from the principal of the school. The French teacher transferred.

I am proud to say that this daughter is now in her 4th year PhD English Literature, and is completely fluent in French.

Sorry not Sorry, But NO: China doesn’t need to be grateful to the US for anything

As a follow on to two videos I’ve recently made, on about the reasons why Japan invaded China and another about the reason why China should be grateful to the USA, there have been a few questions and I’ll attempt to answer them here.

The perfect skillet and radio

I might have related this story to you all or not.

About Taiwan

Most Taiwanese who have not visited mainland China know little about their cousins across the strait. Having lived in China for twenty years since 1997, I noticed sharp changes in social behavior, especially of the younger generation. 

For example, when I go to Hong Kong, I take the subway (or Metro) to get around. Younger riders would rush in and occupy all seats without regard for older, slower folks. 

They promptly glue their eyes on their cellphones ignoring the elderly standing right in front. 

When I first landed in mainland China in 1997, it was the Wild West, and everyone wanted to be the first to claim the prize by whatever means. 

I also mentioned the unruly crowds trying to order a McDonald's meal. Those chaotic scenes in McDonald's disappeared over time and, when taking public transit in China, teenagers would automatically give up their seats to older people, including me, in my late fifties or early sixties. 

I was pleasantly surprised.

More…

Nantou is a pan-Blue county, i.e. pro-KMT. But the KMT is losing supporters (your friends not voting) and DPP legislators have been elected there for the first time in 2023. 

Your friends also know the history of the Republic of China in Taiwan, which considers itself the legitimate government of all of China. 

It is enshrined in ROC's constitution. The DPP may say they want independence for Taiwan, but they'll have to change the constitution; good luck with that. 

Since it will also give the PRC the pretext for unilateral reunification of Taiwan, the DPP will not try.

As for Taiwan fighting the PLA, it's a laughable narrative propagated by the usual liars (people in Taiwan know that it's a joke), the same as the lies about Japan and the Philippines wanting to go to war with China for Taiwan. 

If China must reunify Taiwan by force, I'm certain the PLA will only take a few hours to complete the job. 

I've written about how and why in the past, so I'll skip the details. No one will have the time or ability to react. 

Japan will not dare because it imports most of its food and fuel. An embargo would be deadly.

The greatest concern China would have in such a case is the speedy resumption of normal activities in Taiwan after the reunification under a provisional government. 

Therefore, strategically, China should hold secret discussions with proxies of pro-unification political leaders in Taiwan, who have government experience in keeping the population calm and taking over the day-to-day running of whatever government may be in power.

As for Western sanctions, I say let them try. 

Aside from the many things the West depends on China to supply, they rely on China for medicine. C

hina has a virtual monopoly on the supply of Key Starter Materials and Active Pharmaceutical Ingredients for many drugs, without which Big Pharma and India cannot produce their medicines. 

In sanctioning China, the West will cut off their heads to spite their brains. 

-PM

Now for my narratives…

For a while, I lived with my father’s mother; my paternal grandmother.

We got along well.

Over time, I got to understand her better, and so I wanted to buy her things. And so I did. I bought her, on separate occasions, a radio and a skillet.

The AM Radio

Here, she needed a simple radio. Just an on/off switch and a dial to tune the station to. Oh, and a volume knob. That was it.

So I bought her a nice simple… so simple radio… but paid “good money” for it because it was a reliable brand that would never wear out.

She loved it, but eventually replaced it with a radio bought by my cousin.

She told me why.

She said that she loved my radio, but Cindy made such a fuss about how great and powerful his radio was that she didn’t have the heart to tell her no.

It had a built in cassette tape player, an equalizer, AM and FM bands, plus a citizens and police band, and it has all sorts of dials for tone, bass, and everything like that, plus two big speakers. Well…

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My radio was her preference, but she kept the bigger monstrosity in the kitchen out of deference to my cousin.

Later, about a year later, she switched back to my little simple yellow radio. As the bigger radio was too confounding to her, had only two volume settings; loud and very loud, and eventually died.

I don’t know the “full story”, but this was good enough for me.

It was a heartfelt gesture on my part to give my grandmother exactly what she wanted and needed.

Now, I am a guy. I am very, VERY clueless about gifts and had many spectacular failures over the years. But I like to think that this one was a win.

The frying pan

Now my grandmother lived alone (after I moved out), and she needed a small cast iron skillet to cook a single egg for herself or a single slice of bacon. So I planned to get her a tiny, tiny, cast iron skillet.

I picked out the perfect one. Big enough for one egg, and a strip of bacon. Maybe one chicken wing for dinner…

I had to go work in the mines that day, and so I asked my mother who was going into Pittsburgh that day to stop by and pick it up and give to my grandmother.

I gave her the money, the description, the size, the price, the brand name and the model number of that skillet.

And that was that!

Or, so I thought…

I called my grandmother after my shift and asked her if she liked the present, and she said it was “nice” but it was too large and she couldn’t pick it up to put on the stove. And it was too big for her needs.

A big question mark filled in my head.

Turned out that when my mother saw that the price for the tiny cast iron skillet was the same as the jumbo family banquet size that she thought that it would be a value-added decision to get the bigger version.

I was furious! I yelled and bitched and moaned to my mother.

She said she was sorry and didn’t know.

It wasn’t just that… I really wanted to surprise her with what she wanted without her needed to tell me that. It was my first experience in anticipating a woman’s wants and needs.

Thanks to my mother… that was a fail.

She and my auntie went and replaced it with the one that I selected. And I had to explain away the entire fiasco to my grandmother, and the reasoning to my mother, and to my auntie… who had not one iota of a clue as to WHY I insisted in the tiniest cast iron skilled.

Phew!

Somethings you gotta do yourself.

Sheech!

That was a FAIL.

Todays…

Sr. American Diplomat Kurt Campbell stated that the USA will hold China accountable for Russia’s territorial gains in Ukraine. What is the Chinese thoughts on this matter? Is the USA overstepping it’s authority?

Heard about six degrees of separation?

This was one of the problems I came across studying Monte Carlo simulations.

Six degrees of separation is a rule of thumb that all people are six or fewer social connections away from each other.

What does it have to do with Kurt the Assistant Secretary of State?

It has all to do with holding the Chinese accountable for Russia’s actions in Ukraine.

The answer lies in secondary sanctions, which is a historic expansion of the big sanction stick enabled by the hegemonic hold of the Eurodollar over the global economy.

How did sanctions work?

America would draw up a list of companies to sanction, and depending on the severity of the sanction, make it illegal for American companies to trade with companies A, B, and C or kick them entirely from the dollar system. This works because of the unnatural size of the US economy, and the requirement for all dollar-based transactions to be cleared through NYC.

That’s direct sanction.

America is introducing secondary sanctions on Russia, to sanction partners that trade with companies A, B and C. This bears a little explaining.

Say companies D, E, and F trade with the three amigos above. Under the old sanction model, their Eurodollar transactions with other parties won’t be affected. But under secondary sanctions, these transactions will be subject to the same sanction. In other words, collective punishment, or guilt by association.

For example, India will find it difficult to resell Russian energy to Europe because the Indian energy company will be subject to the same sanctions as the Russian energy company, and it will affect their Eurodollar business with European customers.

Unfortunately, this lays three potential landmines.

One, how is compliance at the bank going to keep up? Due diligence isn’t just consulting a list from the Fed, but careful examination of a customer’s client list. How will banks quantify the legal risk without securing guarantees on how far the Fed will pursue the policy?

Two, a second degree social map will expand the list of sanctioned entities by multiples, if not an order of magnitude. That’s a snowball rolling downhill, in terms of workload and implementation. It is impractical, to say the least, and can have unintended consequences, especially with China thrown into the mix. The 1 trillion USD in S&P500 revenue on the mainland is at risk of gargantuan disruption.

Three, what’s to prevent parties from setting up intermediaries to add social distance, such that it will require tertiary or quarternary sanctions to have effect? In fact, what if these secondary entities withdraw completely from the Eurodollar system?

I don’t put it beyond the Americans to put the threat of invalidating Chinese patents stateside, and the seizure of China’s dollar assets in the name of “rebuilding Ukraine” and being on the wrong side of history (American-written history that is).

Never say never, because even Barack was openly mocking Donald as late as 2014/15.

So Kurt is right, sort of.

But I happen to think the history of the 21st century won’t be written by America.

Asking of people currently living in South Korea; what is the general opinion of Yoon Suk Yeol? What do citizens think of his rapprochement with Japan, his love affair with the United States, and his thoughts on China?

Despite being the Prosecutor General, President Yoon Seok-yeol was unable to quickly send leftist politicians who committed corruption to prison.

There are many complaints from the public about these matters.

In addition, although many election frauds occurred in the previous National Assembly election and this National Assembly election, these election frauds were not pointed out, causing the public to doubt President Yoon Seok-yeol’s ability.

As for the issue with Japan…

Koreans recognize the importance of the alliance between Korea, the United States, and Japan

However, the problem with Japanese politicians is that they always try to drive a wedge between the United States and Korea.

When any political or military agreement is reached between Korea, the United States, and Japan, Japan always argues over Korea’s Dokdo issue.

In other words, Japan has a history of taking over Korea’s land…

Rather, they often engage in actions that provoke Korea.

And, Japan pretends that this problem is a territorial issue.

If this happens, it will stimulate the emotions of the Korean people and lead them to reject what Korea, the United States, and Japan worked hard to negotiate.

Because of these problems, it is always difficult for Korea and Japan to become closer politically.

However, Koreans have a cool-headed mind.

Japan is a perpetrator against Korea and often incites hatred against Korea…

In Korea, the only people who hate Japan are leftists.

Ordinary Koreans do not give any disadvantages to individual Japanese people.

In the case of Japan, there are many cases of discrimination against Koreans traveling to Japan or terrorism by putting strange things in their food…

In Korea, if there is a Korean who does this to the Japanese, Koreans criticize the bad Korean and bury him or her from society.

This is the difference between Korea and Japan

And, regarding the issue with the United States…

First of all, more than 80-58% of Koreans like the United States.

However, the United States often ignores the sentiments of Koreans when implementing policies toward Korea.

For example, let’s talk about Trump’s issue of military expenses for U.S. troops stationed in Korea.

“Korea is doing well and the U.S. military is protecting Korea, so Korea must pay more for stationing U.S. troops. Otherwise, we will withdraw the U.S. troops.”

Korean people feel very bad after hearing these remarks.

“As the U.S. military’s defense budget is decreasing, I hope Korea will pay more to help the U.S. military stationed in Korea.”

If you said that, negotiations would have become easier without hurting the sentiments of Koreans.

There is a difference in how the two sentences are used and expressed, but the result is that you are asked to pay more.

From the U.S. perspective, if Korea ends up paying more, it doesn’t matter how it is said.

However, speaking in the latter way does not mean that America’s pride will be broken or hurt.

Koreans’ emotions tend to respond strongly to the strong and help the weak.

Therefore, although the United States is not weak, these sentiments of Koreans must be taken into consideration.

South Korea sent Korean soldiers to America’s Vietnam War.

After the Vietnam War ended, many wounded soldiers and Agent Orange victims remained in Korea and suffered greatly.

However, the United States had no interest in these soldiers dispatched to Korea.

Later, during the Iraq War, when the United States requested the deployment of Korean troops, leftists in Korea opposed the deployment of combat troops and were able to obtain the consent of the Korean people.

Now, the question is if war breaks out between Taiwan and China.

China has frequently threatened to attack Korea with nuclear missiles using state-run media and Chinese YouTubers.

However, the United States only promised a nuclear umbrella over South Korea, but did not take actual action.

The problem facing us today is that the United States must either tolerate South Korea’s nuclear armament or lend American nuclear weapons to Korea.

Then, China will not be able to threaten Korea with nuclear missiles, and Korea will be able to help the United States as an ally.

The United States said, “Japan doesn’t have nuclear weapons either, so doesn’t it say it will help the United States?” It can be argued that

Japan has no real threat or target of war from North Korea.

However, South Korea is in a position to defend itself and help the United States in a war with North Korea.

Unless Korea is armed with nuclear weapons, Korea cannot help the United States as an ally when China attacks Taiwan.

The responsibility for Korea’s failure to help the United States lies entirely with the United States.

Next is the problem with China.

In the past, the relationship between Korea and China was not bad.

However, things quickly got worse as the Korean people learned that China was interfering in Korean politics and inciting public opinion in Korea.

In particular, Korean citizens become angry whenever Chinese politicians, diplomats, state-run media, etc. make arrogant remarks about Korea.

Whenever a social problem arises and China becomes noisy, it tries to use Korea to solve it.

In other words, they are trying to resolve social conflict by criticizing and being hostile towards Korea.

These Chinese policies are a factor that is causing Korea and China to become increasingly distant.

5 Reasons Why Men Are Going Their Own Way

She’s pretty good and makes some great points. A contract not a marriage.

DOUGLAS MACGREGOR:

“Ukrainians are losing more soldiers every day now than they ever have in the past—we shouldn’t be surprised.

They’re falling apart, they’re collapsing, so they’re falling back.

German losses in the last year of the Second World War—it wasn’t even a year; I would say it was like nine months—were much larger than they had taken in all the months before the end of the war.

This happens at the end of conflicts—things fall apart; people are trying to withdraw, disengage from combat, and they’re slaughtered.

That’s happening in Ukraine.

It’s inhumane; we should stop it. We and Washington should intervene and say, ‘No, stop! Let’s come to some sort of negotiated settlement before Ukraine is completely destroyed,’ but no one will do it.

Their position is not going to improve at this point—who are they going to train and arm?

An enormous amount of effort has been invested over the last two and a half to three years to train and arm troops from Ukraine. There’s only so much you can do.

I think it’s because Europeans, particularly Western Europeans, are so remote from reality when it comes to warfare—they’ve forgotten that you build a military establishment over decades; you don’t snap your fingers and bring something into existence. That’s number one.

Number two, there’s far too much fascination with what I would call ‘silver bullet technology.’

If we just give the Ukrainians enough Javelin missiles, they’ll destroy all those Russian tanks. No.

If we just give them enough Taurus missiles, we can obliterate their logistical infrastructure. No.

In other words, if we give them something that appears to be another miracle weapon—you know, what Hitler called ‘Wunderwaffe’—that sort of nonsense is not going to change things. No, it will not.

There was never any chance to begin with for Ukraine to be successful.

They had as much chance against Russia as Mexico would have against the United States. Forget it.

I’m surprised that, in many respects, they’ve done as well as they have, but I think that’s also a function of two things:

First of all, the Russian military establishment and its leadership do not want to take heavy casualties.

For the first time certainly since I would say the mid or late 19th century, there is a true interest in preserving Russian life in uniform.

During World War II, we now know that the losses in that country—at least 15 to 16 million soldiers were killed, and another 20 plus million civilians—probably a total of 39 to 40 million dead in total.

The Russians are not going to do that, and they don’t need to, and they know that.

Putin is also a man of immense patience; there are others that wanted to move more decisively, and he said, ‘If you move more decisively, it will create the illusion that we are everything they say we are—that we’re bad, that we’re trying to conquer. That’s not what we’re about; we don’t want to do that; we don’t want to kill more Orthodox Slavs. That’s not our position; that’s not why we’re here.’

Putin has won this war through patience, persistence, and perseverance.

And I think now in the spring—late April to mid-May, once the ground is dry—the Russians will sweep forward and end this war.”

Yemen’s ‘uninhibited’ attacks push French warship to exit Red Sea

NATO forces have been unable to deter the pro-Palestine operations of the Yemeni armed forces despite heavily militarizing the Red Sea

APR 12, 2024

France’s Aquitaine-class FREMM frigate Alsace has turned tail from the Red Sea after running out of missiles and munitions repelling attacks

from the Yemeni armed forces, according to its commander, Jerome Henry.

“We didn’t necessarily expect this level of threat. There was an uninhibited violence that was quite surprising and very significant. [The Yemenis] do not hesitate to use drones that fly at water level, to explode them on commercial ships, and to fire ballistic missiles,” Henry told French news outlet Le Figaro

in an exclusive interview published on 11 April.

“We had to carry out at least half a dozen assistances following [Yemeni] strikes,” he added.

The commander of the Alsace also revealed that, after a 71-day deployment, all combat equipment was depleted.

“From the Aster missile to the 7.62 machine gun of the helicopter, including the 12.7mm, 20mm, or 76mm cannon, we dealt with three ballistic missiles

and half a dozen drones,” Henry adds.

According to the French commander, the Franco–Italian Aster missile – each carrying a price tag of up to $2 million – “was pushed to its limits” by the Yemeni armed forces, as the Alsace had to use it “on targets that we did not necessarily imagine at the start.”

Henry added that Sanaa has markedly increased its use of ballistic missiles after relying mainly on suicide drones at the start of the country’s pro-Palestine operations in the Red Sea and stressed that the French Navy has not faced such a tough battle since NATO collectively launched its 2011 war on Libya to depose the late ruler Muammar Gaddafi.

“I was there too. It wasn’t the same thing. It has been even longer since we have engaged with this level of weaponry and violence. The threat to the boat was much greater in the Red Sea,” Henry notes.

The Alsace entered

the Red Sea in late January, a few weeks after the US and the UK launched an illegal war on Yemen to protect Israeli shipping interests. The frigate was deployed as part of the EU naval operation Aspides – Greek for shield.

With a mandate initially set for one year, Aspides saw the deployment of several EU warships and airborne early warning systems to the Red Sea, the Gulf of Aden, and surrounding waters. According to authorities in Brussels, the mission is exclusively defensive, and its forces are not taking part in US-led attacks against Yemen.

Aspides came together after several NATO members proved hesitant or outright refused

to join the floundering Operation Prosperity Guardian

(OPG), which a top US commander called one of the largest battles the navy has fought since the end of World War II.

“We favor a diplomatic solution. We know that there is no military solution,” US Special Envoy for Yemen Timothy Lenderking said earlier this month, acknowledging the futility of Washington’s military strategy against the Arab world’s poorest country.

According to Yemeni sources who spoke with The Cradle

, US officials recently offered Sanaa “an acknowledgment of its legitimacy” in exchange for its neutrality in the ongoing war on Gaza.

“[Washington] pledged to repair the damages, remove foreign forces from all occupied Yemeni lands and islands, and remove Ansarallah from the State Department’s ‘terrorism list’ – as soon as they stop their attacks in support of Gaza,” The Cradle columnist Khalil Nasrallah cited the sources as saying.

The offer also includes “severely reducing” the role of the Saudi-appointed Presidential Leadership Council (PLC) and “accelerating the signing of a roadmap” with the Saudi-led coalition to end the nine-year war that has decimated Yemen.

Nevertheless, Yemeni officials have maintained that their operations in the Red Sea, Gulf of Aden, and the Indian Ocean will continue until Israel stops the genocide of Palestinians in Gaza.

“From the coast of the Red Sea or from outside it, we can achieve the goals we want in defense of our country and support of Palestine … We still have many military surprises, and there are military operations that we are keeping secret as part of a specific media strategy,” Mohammad Ali al-Houthi

, a senior member of Yemen’s Supreme Political Council, announced on 3 April.

How many years ahead is WeChat of WhatsApp and why is China so much ahead of the US in service integrations via mobile?

All of the mobile companies are state-owned, and all of the banks are state-owned, which means that they are technology-driven, not by the need to make a profit.

China is driven by technology scale, not by profit. The Chinese government supports any new technology which is likely to be quickly adopted.

In contrast, US tech companies are driven by shareholder profits, and the shareholders are many and have fragmented interests. This means that technology scale takes a back seat to profits, since shareholders want to profit from their investment.

WeChat was designed by a team of 10 in Guangzhou who had previous experience working with the Chinese government through its ownership by Tencent. Tencent consulted with the Chinese government to get their support for connecting to payment systems and mobile networks.

This kind of government support does not exist in the West, and explains why China is progressing quickly in key technology fields.

Let Loose With Tokyo’s Unbridled Maid Girls – No NG Rule, Just Fun!

This is why Men are going overseas to find wives and dates

Did Iran’s ballistic missiles ‘land’ at Israel’s Nevatim Air Base?

Four of them struck the air base

Imagine if they had a nuclear warhead each

…

They would be guided by either GLOSNASS or BEIDOU so US cant jam the GPS guidance

The Discharge alone would be sufficient to contaminate upto a strike radius of 25 Kms or an area of 3.14*25*25 which is roughly around 2000 Sq Kms

That’s the end of the soil for the next 300 years

That’s a lot of radioactive dust

That’s a lot of atmospheric radiation

Thats the end of Israel as we know it

Today US, UK, France came to Israel’s Aid and helped destroy more than half the targets

Imagine if the West escalates with Putin who decides to launch missiles on Europe and UK

Or Xi who decides to launch on Japan and Philippines

Or Kim Jong Un who decides to launch against Japan, Australia and South Korea

→South Korea is locked

→Japan is locked

→Europe is locked

→UK is locked

→US is torn between three theatres and no way strong enough to win even in one

So Israel would have to deal with Houthis, Hezbollah, Hamas and Iran on their own

And Israel would be certainly stuck badly

That was the benefit of the entire exercise

To show Israel that Israel cannot stand up to Iran and it’s allies Alone

And also to show that if Iran has nuclear warheads , Israel cannot escape a nuclear strike because despite the strongest air defence of FOUR NATIONS – 7 Missiles managed to get through

Was there a stranger you met once, are not likely to meet again, and who profoundly affected you?

Originally Answered: Is there a person, a stranger, whom you met once in your life and never met since and are likely to never meet again, and they affected you in some profound way?

After a student-party in Bergen, about 15 years ago, I was heading out of the party and out into the night, on my way home.

I noticed a single young woman having come from the same party, standing under a tree, looking sad. I went over to her, and though this is completely out of character for me, I asked her if she needed a hug. To this day, I don’t know why I asked precisely that, it’s not the kind of thing I tend to say to strangers, and I haven’t before or after.

She just nodded, and I hugged her. It went on for a long time, and she clung to me as if I was her anchor in a crumbling world. After a minute I noticed my shoulder getting wet, she was crying. I didn’t mind, it felt good to just stand there, holding her.

I don’t know how long we stood there, holding each other. 2 minutes ? 5 ? Something like that. Then she stood up straight and really looked at me for the first time. She was still sad, but there was a tiny smile lurking at the edge of her sadness.

“Thanks!” she said, “I needed that.”

We went separate ways after that. We didn’t say anything more to each other, but I don’t think it was needed either. I never met her again.

But I offer people hugs somewhat more often now. Sometimes they’re needed.

SAVING PRIVATE RYAN was too much for me.

What’s the most savage way you’ve seen someone get fired?

Well I’m not sure this is the most savage, however it is quite different. I was working at a tooling manufacturing facility in the late 60’s. There was a man working there who constantly attempted to stir up drama and conflict almost everyday. The management had warned him quite a few times to no avail. Their warnings seemed to fall on deaf ears. He still continued to cause conflict. The company gave him a 3 day suspension. When he returned his behavior had gotten worse. The company continued to receive complaints. There were rumors for weeks that the company was trying to get rid of him. One week when we were working the 4pm to midnight shift. He had caused a problem between a woman and man who were working close together in the press department by spreading lies that he saw them being intimate in the hall outside the locker room. Somehow the story had gotten back to the woman’s husband. The next evening just after quitting time at 12 midnight as we were walking to our cars. The woman’s husband who was waiting outside grabbed the unexpecting man who he thought was making it with his wife and a fight broke out. The police had to come break up the fight and arrested the woman’s husband. The man who started the rumor stood there laughing and thought the whole thing was funny. The following day the company sent the man a singing telegram saying, “you are fired, you are fired, don’t come to work tonight, ha ha, You are fired, you are fired, don’t come to work tonight, ha ha, we will mail your check, ha ha, hope you think it’s funny ha ha ha he ha”. Well the man did come to work that night and he was mad as hell. After a confrontation with the HR dept. as the police hauled him away. someone on the PA system was singing ha ha ha ha ha. The telegram managed to get on the company bulletin board for all to read. Then everyone had a laugh

What’s the most unreasonable request you’ve received from your boss?

It’s my day off and work calls. The General manager has yet again had things get away from her.

Usually I don’t mind, let me clock in and I can watch my paycheck grow this time I need to be somewhere soon. I tell her “OK I’ll play Rescue Ranger and drop in and take care of it I am guessing it will take two hours or a little less and when done I am gone.” Kinda plan to see that I am not staying right?

Damn if while I am working on one thing she dosen’t go and start something else. When I am done with the first task she expects to walk off and me finish what she has started. When I say no she has a fit.

“Thanks for nothing!” Followed with “Now you know how I feel!” Then it was down hill for me so I got a transfer to another location. As part of the move I have the District manager wanting to know what’s going on. After explaining the constant damma show working for her was I brought up some suspicions that I thought he should know.

The fallout for her was unreal, two managers under her quit in ten days and about half the staff was gone. The District manager waited about sixty days then acted on my suspicions and was waiting outside for her when she showed up. Turned out the money count was off about $1,200. That was the end of her.

What women don’t realize; WHY men stop putting in effort into a relationship…

What is the reason for the limit on having children in China? Is it beneficial or detrimental to the country?

An Average Chinese Landholding for Rice is 57 Acres

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Take a farming family

You have a father, mother and son

When the father dies, the son takes over the landholding, gets married and a new wife and son live on the land

Soon the mother dies

That’s 3 people again

Then the son dies and his son takes over the landholding

At all time this 57 Acres supports 3 or maximum 4 people

So Yield of Rice is high and good

Now imagine the Farmer family again

Say you have a father, mother and 3 sons

This means when the father dies, each son gets 19 Acres (57/3)

So the landholding is divided the first time around

Then each son has 2 sons each

This means six holdings of 9.5 Acres each

And each such son has two more

That’s twelve holdings of 4.75 acres each

So ONE HOLDING OF 57 ACRES becomes TWELVE HOLDINGS OF 4.75 ACRES in four generation

Now instead of 57 Acres supporting 3–4 people at a time, you have the same 57 Acres now divided into twelve , supporting a whopping 30-40 people

So Yield is poor and People are poor and struggling with economies of Scale

This was China in the 1970s

You didn’t exactly have IT Jobs for younger sons to flock off to and you couldn’t just take a flight to San Francisco without hocking your entire family fortune

Deng Xiaoping believed China had no other way out

In order to feed almost a Billion People in 1980 properly, China had to ensure that the Landholdings were large enough to be productive

Otherwise Land would be divided into smaller and smaller portions and end up having pathetic yields and horrible economies of scale

Like INDIA

Where Yield is 40% of Chinas and costs per acre are 68% higher than China despite 55% of the land being under cultivation

Plus in India you can sell Landholdings for a few crores to build villas and landed plots

It was hugely beneficial for China

It kept China fed when more and more land came under Industrialization and Land under cultivation stands at 9.87% today

The only flaw was a large number of girl babies were subjected to infanticide yet it now turns out many girl babies were adopted out or kept hidden in the Hukou and claimed to be daughter of a cousin from far away outer mongolia

Asking of people currently living in South Korea; what is the general opinion of Yoon Suk Yeol? What do citizens think of his rapprochement with Japan, his love affair with the United States, and his thoughts on China?

I am not living in Korea, but let me share what my Korean buddy tells me. They hate the humiliation this rapprochement with Japan signifies and shoved down their throat. They are fuming. Near the THADD campground, there are daily protests by senior farmers. They are ecstatic to see Yoon’s party losing this congress election in a landside of 192 : 108. This reflects S Korean’s strong anti-US sentiment brought about by their Mr. American Pie president. Koreans are a proud people. Yoon’s recent yield to the demand of medical community is considered insincere and too late. They are not buying it. He will be a lame duck in the remaining 3 years for sure.

She Found Out How Hard It Is To Be A Man (Shocked)

Who saved your life without even knowing it?

A stranger dialed the wrong number and saved my life.

I was competing to be a ski instructor in Aspen. I passed 3 ski rounds and if I excelled today, I would have a final interview the next day. The head instructor told that I didn’t make the last round. My boyfriend Barry and I, along with another couple, had planned a vacation starting that night if I didn’t make the final round.

Now I was able to fly out with them as originally planned and not the next day. I was to meet him and our friends at the airport in half an hour. The other couple had a private plane and wanted to leave before dark.

As I finished packing, I received a call from some stranger in the main office who was confirming my interview tomorrow. I thought that I was cut and hired as an on-mountain marketing rep instead. She said no, that I had a 10am interview.

I quickly called Barry and told him to go ahead. I’d meet them tomorrow afternoon in Denver, and onto our vacation. About 40 minutes later I received a call from someone in the main office informing me that I was a snow-host and uniform fittings were next week. I was ticked off because I was given the wrong information earlier, causing me to miss my flight. Now I would have to pay for a commercial ticket and vacation the next day.

About midnight, the phone rang and it’s Barry’s attorney. He said, ‘’Jenna, I’m afraid I have some bad news, Barry’s plane crashed and there weren’t any survivors. They are all gone’’. I was too stunned to cry immediately. The girl in the office, whose identity we never confirmed, had stopped me within 20 minutes of joining them on that plane.

A stranger, a temp helper, made a mistake and by delaying me, she saved me from dying in a plane crash that day. The office staff never heard from her again, so she never knew, nor could I find out who she was.

Update on Taiwan

From my China's Writer's Group. -MM

Friends,

One of the things l most like about Chiang Mai, Thailand is that it is a crossroads for people from all over the world.

Of course, the city is also a tourist destination. As I write, we are in the middle of Songkran, nominally Thai new year, but known mostly as the Water Throwing Festival…For three days, it’s one great big water fight, especially located around the 800 year old moat surrounding the ‘Old City’.

Anyway, Chiang Mai is also a gathering place for wanderers, creatives, digital nomads, misfit and frankly political dissidents. That is, lots of people who stay here for extended periods of time are here because they don’t want to be in their home country.

I met a nice lady in a yoga class about a year ago, and since she appeared to be Chinese, I struck up a converstion with her. Turns out she’s from Taiwan. She, her husband and daughter and I met for coffee last year. They’re back in Chiang Mai for a month, so she contacted me recently, and we had very nice dinner last night. Nothing special, just tradition Chinese dumplings.

I told them about our online group and got their permission to ask questions about their experience in Taiwan, and general attitudes. So here are at least some answers to question you asked.

What are the reasons they don’t feel comfortable in Taiwan?

There are 2 main reasons: First, they feel that the societ is rather rude, that Chinese people both on the mailand as well as in Taiwan are loud and impolite. Unlike very polite Thai drivers, Taiwanese are always beeping their horns and are very impatient. They’re also not honest, Everybody is out to make a quick buck (lr Qian…Chinese word for money??), and are willing to cheat to get it. In their opinion this is generally true of Chinese in most countries. The second reason is that they feel like the government is always trying to manipulate them. They feel the same way about the PRC, government, as well as the Taiwan government which iis using fear to control them. ( I replied that this is an endemic problem with most governments nowadays, which is why people from all over the world come to Chiang Mai. Foreigners are pretty much left alone as long as we don’t disrupt life here.)

Do they feel that Taiwan is being set up like Ukraine, as a US proxy, to fight China to the last Taiwanese?

This engendered an interesting conversation. First, they said that China and Russia are pushing other countries around. So I pointed out to them, the history of US coup, the Nazis that the CIA empowered over decades, and the history of US bullying itself. At that point, they agreed with this analysis. and basically said that they are somewhat worried about hostility breaking out. But they don’t seem to be too worried about that. They have teenage daughter, who is happy being at school in Taiwan, so they are planning to return there. Also, while the husband has put in enough years to retire from his teaching job, the wife still has another year or two to reach retiremen age. So they’ll return to Taiwan, and then decide where to go when both can retire. The daughter, would probably go to an international school

Interestingly they didn’t have much respect at all for the level of teaching at these international schools and language schools. Most of the teachers they hire are for show, and basically, the schools are run as scams.

Living and working in Nantou City

This city is different from other cities in Taiwan because it is not near the coast. It is 1000 meters in elevation, so that in summer it is more comfortable, but in winter can be rather cold, not freezing but maybe 4 degrees celsius. It’s also rather far from nearest major shopping centers, so its maybe 2 hours to get to such a shopping location. They also complain that people there are not polite, as most Taiwanese are these days in their opinion.

This brought up the subject of the general degeneration of culture. I had pointed out how language and dress standards have fallen a lot in the West. Sloppy clothes and a lot more profanity are seen as normal, While Chinese are more conscious of dress, people are not as polite as in earlier years. Chinese people used to want to work hard, but the ‘the younger generation doesn’t want to work, they only want to make money on Youtube or Tiktok.

Interestingly, Singapore is seen as not falling into that trap. In their opinion, Chinese people need to be controlled and disciplined, Nowadays, children are not punished for being naughty. So they are spoiled. But in Singapore, people are still more disciplined and society for Chinese ethnic people works best there. Better than in PRC, Taiwan, and Malaysia. There was a complaint about mainland Chinese, who insist that all Chinese overseas should be loyal to China as Chinese.

Did they vote?

No, they don’t trust any of the parties. However, I sent them an article from Consortium News, about a visit by Guomitang party leader who had a cordial visit to the PRC, had a good time there, and the hope is that the issues between the two countries , so to speak, can be resolved. I raised the issue of the One China Policy and it’s history. They admit that originally Taiwan’s plan was to take back the Mainland, since the KMT was legitimate, not the communists. But they realized over time that this was not going to happen. That left simply going independent. But that option is also not likely without a disastrous conflict. So seems like they see reunification, as inevitable. Their main problem as I see it, is that they’ve been propagandized since birth by Western control, so they have a rather skewed understanding of the history (very similar to what happened to Ukraine).

They didn’t know about weekly demonstrations for reunification with China
Re TSMC. They didn’t have a strong opinion about this. I told them about the US plan to take TSMC under US control in the USA, however, the problem is that US workers want to be paid much higher than in Taiwan. And the workforce is not well education in the US. So there aren’t enough skilled workers.
The economy is not going so well in Taiwan.

Bonus interview:

As a seller on Amazon, I am in contact with other sellers, Recently, a lady born in Shanghai but now living in the UK came to Chiang Mai. She was kind enough, as a professional business consultant, to look at my shop and business. We had lunch one time and a few chats on Whatsapp.

Here primary focus is business. That was really all she wants to talk about. How to make more money. I even asked her out on a date and she refused.

In a chat, I raised the question of Chinese culture, and how I am more interested in that than in business. I’m not rich, but–so far have enough…So how much is enough money?

Deng Xiao Ping said ‘to be rich is glorious’. But I am more aligned with Confucious, Laozi and the Buddha, all of whom have had huge influence on Chinese way of thinking. But this is not her concern. I raised a number of serious geopolitical issues, which we discuss in CWG, including the nefarious role the UK played in Chinese history. But none of that matters to her. Her only concern is business.

She did corroborate, having generously spent time evaluation my business, the fact that, my Amazon business is simply not viable at his point..I am sure she would charge a good amount of money for her service, so it was very generous of her to give advice for free.

The bottom line is that in many countries, English langage oriented culture has played a corrosive role in society, especially in the younger generation. Of course, we who are now older heard the same complaints from our elders when were young. Looking back we didn’t understand how Elvis Presley, the Beatles, Modern Art and so on were planned, just as woke culture is now.

This concludes my report on my encounters with a Taiwanese couple, and an Anglified (she goes by her English name even though she’s from Shanghia) Chinese woman.

Eric Arnow

The Wall Is Slowly Getting Bigger For Lonely Modern Women ..

Chicken Lemon Rice Soup

By Rena Awada | Updated On November 30, 2019 This easy Chicken Lemon Rice Soup recipe is filling and just perfection in a bowl during the winter. Filled with veggies and chicken and so filling and tasty in a lemony broth. Warm and comforting homemade chicken soup that the whole family will enjoy.

Set your classic chicken noodle soup to the side and make this homemade Chicken Lemon Rice Soup for a change. It is filled with veggies and chicken in a lemony broth that will get you wanting a second and third bowl. Such an easy chicken soup recipe that everyone in your house will love and there won’t be any leftovers.

HOW TO MAKE THIS HOMEMADE CHICKEN LEMON AND RICE SOUP

You should have all your ingredients set up and ready. Heat oil in a large pot over medium-high heat, add the chicken and sear for about 2-3 minutes on each side. Then, add in the onions, carrot, bell pepper and celery and cook until tender, about 5-6 minutes. Go ahead and add the garlic and thyme. Cook until fragrant for about a minute or so. The aroma for this Chicken Lemon Rice Soup should start to fill up your kitchen by now. Add the chicken broth, bay leaf, and brown rice, then bring it to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer until rice is cooked through about 20-25 minutes. Using a fork, remove the chicken pieces and shred them using 2 forks. Finally, return the shredded chicken to the pan and stir in lemon juice, zest, and parsley. Season with salt and pepper to your taste and enjoy.

CHICKEN LEMON RICE SOUP SUBSTITUTES

Chicken: Use boneless or skinless hicken thighs or breasts. I love using mostly boneless breasts. Some may love keeping bone-in for added flavor.
Rice: You may use brown or white rice. A great substitute for the rice would be either quinoa or some shredded cauliflower to keep it keto!
Veggies: Some other veggies to use can be broccoli, green beans, peas, and cauliflower.

HOW LONG DOES CHICKEN SOUP LAST IN THE FRIDGE

Store your chicken soup in an airtight container before you place it in the fridge to retain its fresh taste. The chicken soup should last for 5-7 days in the fridge.

CAN YOU FREEZE HOMEMADE CHICKEN SOUP

If you have a lot of leftovers, you can store the rest of the chicken soup in an airtight container and freeze. They should last for 4-6 months frozen. When you are ready for the chicken soup, remove the night before and allow it to thaw in the fridge. Then reheat it on your stovetop until it starts boiling again. Adjust the taste if needed.

HOW LONG TO BOIL CHICKEN FOR SOUP

You may not need to cook the chicken ahead for some chicken soup recipes. On my chicken lemon rice soup, you will be cooking the chicken along with everything else, remove the chicken to shred almost halfway through and then add it back in. If a recipe asks for you to cook the chicken separately, bring a pot of water to boil, add chicken breasts or thighs along with some herbs for some flavor. You can use cinnamon, whole cloves, and bay leaf. Allow it to boil for about 15-20 minutes. Even if it’s not completely cooked through thats fine. After you shred and place in the pot with veggies, it will have more time to cook thoroughly.

BRICS new Members: BRICS to Triple Its Members

What is the funniest joke you’ve been told that you still think about to this day?

An engineer dies in a car wreck and goes to the pearly gates. St. Peter looks through his book and tells the man, “Sorry, I don’t see your name here at all. You gotta go to the other place.

The man goes to Hell and looks around at the shape it’s in, and being an engineer, goes to work. Before long the AC is working great keeping all the buildings cool, the buildings are all up to code, the parks are green and growing greener because he fixed the plumbing systems, the streets are getting repaved, and things are getting comfortable.

Meanwhile God is wondering where the engineer he ordered is, so he asks St. Peter about it, and St. Peter tells him that the man’s name wasn’t in the book so he sent him to Hell.

God goes to Hell and pounds on the door. Satan answers and God tells him, “You have my engineer. I want him. Satan says, “Can’t have him.” God says, “ I want my engineer. Give him to me now!” Satan says, “Nope. He’s mine.” God says, “I’ll sue you!”

Satan laughs, crosses his arms over his chest, leans against the door jamb and says, “Where are you gonna find a lawyer?”

As a doctor or nurse, what were the strangest last words you’ve heard?

I was taking care of a patient in the neuro ICU once. He had been comatose for quite a while after a CVA and was going to be transferred to long term care as not likely to awaken. I always talk to my comatose patients as if they can hear me, explaining what’s about to happen, what day it is and the like. I was talking to the guy explaining the night’s plan and his eyes were tracking me, something he didn’t normally do. Comatose people will sometimes open their eyes and stare at something bright, or just straight ahead, but this guy normally did not open his eyes.

“Are you listening to me?” He nodded. “Can you speak?” He shook his head no. “Give me a thumbs up on the left hand” He did. “Now the right” He did. “That’s great! Welcome back! You’ve been away so long we thought you weren’t coming back! I’ll go call the doc to come check you out!”

The guy smiled, and died.

What is the most regretful thing you ever said?

When I was in grade 8, I had just finished changing for gym, and I was walking to my locker, when my wallet fell out of my pants. I didn’t know it was my wallet, but I had heard something, and I turned around, and the principal was right behind me. He was a strict, mean, opinionated man, and I turned around quickly so I wouldn’t have to deal with him. Evidently, he had been walking right behind me, and scooped up my wallet, before I could turn around.

He kept it for three weeks, before giving it to my parents, saying that he had been teaching me a lesson about responsibility.

It was a small school, and I had been with everyone in the class since grade 1, we were all very close friends.

During that three weeks, I thought it through. The only people who could have stolen my wallet, were the boys in my class, my teacher, the principal and the janitor. Nobody else had access. I was taught to respect authority, so I immediately dismissed any thoughts of my teacher or principal stealing my wallet.

I had no way to approach the janitor.

So I was left with the boys in my class. All good friends.

This was shocking to me, how could someone I trusted like a brother do this to me?

It was tearing me apart, that I couldn’t trust my friends. So I approached them one by one, and said that someone had seen them with my wallet. They all vehemently denied it, because they were all innocent.

My principal had ruined my life long friendships. Or rather I had ruined them, because my sanctimonious principal had stolen my wallet, and I didn’t believe it could be him.

It took months to rebuild those relationships.

Accusing my friends was the most regretful thing I have ever said.

If an employee gives a 2 year resignation notice and not a 2 weeks notice, what should the company do?

I had a boss that told the company that he was quitting in 8 weeks’ time. As the quit date approached my boss was questioned about whether he was actually quitting on that date or if he could stay on a little longer. He reiterated that it was a firm date and he would be gone on that date.

It came down to that quit date Friday and during the morning meeting where they discuss who will be taking what responsibilities during the next week, it came my bosses turn speak. He reiterated that he wouldn’t be there the next week. They asked if he was going on vacation. He told them no he was quitting and would not be back. They then went around the table again asking who could take over my bosses old duties. They then assigned those duties to an engineer who was shocked to be handed such responsibilities.

I also have a son-in-law who told his boss that he had interviewed and been accepted at another company not competing with his current company. The boss told him to continue to work on his projects and they would find someone to train under him until he left. during this time, they offered him a pay raise, a promotion, a different duty assignment, along with a trainee to nurture until his final day.

Most of my work experience had been when you turned in your 2 weeks’ notice the company walked you out the door right then along with a letter of non-compete and would mail you your two weeks’ pay.

If nearly all locks can be picked, why do we still use them?

My dad lives on a dead end street (sort of a cul de sac), a year ago someone living several houses down the street knocked on his door one morning and said he had been robbed in the night. Slept through it all and woke up to see half his downstairs missing.

My dad has a camera out the front of his house and the neighbour just wanted to see if there was a time when the guy or guys had been past. So, he starts looking through the footage and instead he sees someone actually approach his door (unfortunately wearing a baseball cap and looking down so not much use) and just try the handle. My dad locks his and bolts his door at night so no luck but then the guy just left and moved on. He didn’t try to pick it, or have a go at the windows or anything. Ten minutes later, a van drives past and half an hour later the van reserves back out.

My dad turns to his neighbour and goes “do you lock your door?”

“no. It’s always been fine before and how would anyone know I don’t lock my door”

My dad knows one other person near the top of the street who also has a camera so they go over there and see his footage. Twenty minutes before the man tried my dad’s house, the guy near the top of the street also had a burglar approach his door, try it and then leave.

As far as we know, these guys tried about 40 houses before finding someone who just didn’t bother to lock his door at night. The moral of the story, your house doesn’t need to be Fort Knox, just tougher than the one next door.

What’s the most disrespectful comment a teacher has made to you in front of everyone?

I moved a lot as a child and went to many many schools. I did get to go to the same school, my junior and senior year. I was always the skinny new girl with kinky hair and crooked eyes. My eyes were crooked because I was blind in my right eye from birth and it just sort of wandered around in my head and did whatever it wanted. My parents had had it operated on twice to try to fix the muscles but the problem was that the eye was blind and that was that ( when I was 32 the Cleveland clinic put titanium muscles in my eye and made it look almost normal)

I was always in the new kid, the funny looking kid, but I was also the smart kid. My junior year I was placed in an honors class in English with the most disgusting teacher I have ever met. He was so loved by his students. He was certainly not loved by me. He loved to tease me about my crooked eyes. He also consistently stated to the class that nothing of any value ever came from south of the Mason Dixon line, a quote from HL Mencken, the journalist in the scopes monkey trials. The fact that I was from Ohio, which was north of the Mason Dixon line, sort of escaped him.

in addition to his constant insults, one day he slapped me in the face with a paper I wrote. Actually he slapped me three times. I pretty much think that was the most disrespectful thing that a teacher did to me. His reason for slapping me was that I had not developed my paper sufficiently. to punish me, he made me write it over and I did. It was 32 typewritten pages, and he read the entire thing to the class page by page.

However, in the end I won. One day he was standing next to my desk and he was laughing. He threw his head back and his upper plate fell out on my desk and rattled around like “chattering teeth”. and then came to rest next to my pencil, I just looked up and smiled at him. he taught the rest of the class that day holding his false teeth in his hand and trying to talk properly without them. I might’ve felt sorry for I am if it wasn’t for the fact that he thought my crooked eye was so funny. On my high school class page on Facebook, the story of the chattering teeth has been recounted many times, even by people who weren’t in the class. In my high school yearbook the valedictorian of my class wrote “to hell with HL Mencken “

Chili Chicken Tortilla Soup

By Rena Awada | Updated On March 26, 2024

Chili lime chicken tortilla soup

Make this Chili Chicken Tortilla Soup Recipe for a warm and comforting meal all year round. It is easy to make, filling, and packed with flavor. Enjoy this filling and hearty soup any day of the week as a main or side dish.

Soups are very comforting when the weather gets colder. They are filling and easy to make when you only have an hour on hand to come up with dinner. This easy chicken tortilla soup has the bold flavors of chili and Mexican flavors all in one bowl. Made with shredded chicken breast, black beans, corn, and a handful of bold spices. Serve this Mexican chicken soup recipe as a main dish or a side dish along with the main course. For a creamy version of tortilla soup check out our Creamy Chicken Tortilla Soup Recipe or you can also try our super tasty Chicken Enchilada soup. You may also like this Chicken Chili Recipe

Chili lime chicken tortilla soup 5

Recipe Summary

Comforting and filling: This chicken tortilla soup with bold chili flavors is packed with fiber and protein to make a comforting and filling meal.
Easy to make: all you need is 30 minutes to make this easy and healthy chicken soup.
Tasty: Packed with flavor. You will love it.

Ingredients you will need

Olive Oil: any other oil of choice can be used like avocado oil.
Boneless Skinless Chicken Breasts: you may also use boneless and skinless chicken thighs.
Sweet Onion: or any onion you have on hand
Garlic Cloves minced: we do recommend using fresh garlic cloves for optimal flavor.
Red Chili (or to taste): this is optional if you can’t handle spice.
Spices: Ground Cumin, Chipotle Powder, or Chili Powder
Cherry Tomatoes or diced fire-roasted tomatoes: these can be purchased in cans or you can make your own at home.
Low Sodium Chicken Broth: you may use vegetable broth.
Black Beans: rinsed and drained
Corn: can be Fresh or frozen corn can be used
2 Limes– Juiced, you may use lemons if you do not have lime.
Tortillas: cut into 1/4-inch strips
Salt and pepper, to taste
Cooking Spray

How to make chicken tortilla soup

Heat olive oil In a large stockpot over medium heat. Add onion, garlic, chili, and seasonings, and cook until onion softens about 4 minutes.
Add chicken breast, canned tomatoes, broth and bring to a boil. Lower the heat and simmer until chicken is cooked through about 20 minutes.
Meanwhile, heat a nonstick pan over medium heat and spray it with cooking spray.
Add tortilla strips in a single layer and fry until golden brown and crispy, on both sides. You might need to work in batches to not overcrowd the pan.
Once the chicken is cooked, remove from soup and shred it.
Add chicken back to the pot together with beans, corn and lime juice. Mix to combine then simmer for a couple of minutes more.
Serve soup hot with crispy tortilla strips on top and enjoy!

Chili lime chicken tortilla soup 4

Have you ever been lost or stranded? Can you describe the experience?

1993 Labor Day weekend my girlfriend at the time, now my wife of 30 years and I went to Lake Tahoe. On the way home at the highest point of the highway crossing the Sierras my car stopped like it had overheated. We pulled off to the side of the highway and waited for it to cool off. About 30 minutes later a California Highway Patrol officer pulled up behind us. We explained that we might have overheated and the engine had quit on us. He said that this was regular patrol area and he would come back and check on us. Well two hours later the car would not start, temperature was dropping fast outside and we just had a couple of sweatshirts and a jacket for warmth. We decided to try to take a nap until the officer returned to help us. The officer never came back to check on us. We slept in the car while coyotes and other wild animals could be heard making noises right outside the car. This was absolutely terrifying and bone chilling to say the least. At first light we realized we were parked right next to the entrance of a PG&E substation and people were arriving for work. We went down and explained to them our situation and asked if we could first use the facilities and freshen up. Then one of them helped us get in touch with the Ford dealer about 20 minutes away. They sent out a tow truck to pick us and the car up. Being it was Labor Day they were closed and only the tow trucks were there. The driver got all our information and helped us find a rental car to get back home to San Francisco. A couple of days later we got a phone call saying that we had a blown engine but the car was still under a factory warranty and we were covered by it. The service advisor also told us that the first $30 per day of the rental car was covered by the warranty. They would be replacing the engine with a brand new one and it would take two weeks to complete as they had to submit the paperwork to Detroit for fulfillment. So all in all, we spent an uncomfortable and scary night in a place we had no way of communicating with the outside world because it was in the days when only the affluent people had cellular phones. We survived the night and ended up with a new engine in the car for a nominal price.

If civilization started from Egypt and China, how did Europe become more civilized than them? Why did civilization spread faster in Europe than Africa or Asia? Could it be because Africa and Asia have too many languages? Did colonization help?

Europe is not more civilized; it is just that for the past 500 years it has controlled the narrative because of colonialism.

Now that the economic center of the world is moving to Asia and Africa, that period is ending because Asia and Africa are the population centers of the world, with the most economic activity.

The period of European privilege is ending now.

Have you, while repairing a computer, ever found anything that made your jaw drop?

I used to work at a tech support call center. So when the pastor down the street started experiencing problems with his computer, his wife called me to see if I could help. I was not a member of their congregation, but it was a small town and we all helped each other when we could.

His computer had been infected with a virus, and it was not difficult to delete it. But his browser was terribly slow, the home page had been changed to an adult website, and there were multiple bookmarks for po’n sites.

I updated his antivirus and ran a scan. After clearing out the malware, I fixed the browser, deleting all the adult bookmarks and keeping the ones he wanted to keep.

His wife seemed to have no idea how it happened, but it was obvious to me. He’d been looking at po’n and clicked something that infected his computer. He sat there like a deer in the headlights. He said something about clicking a link in an email he got, and that’s when all the problems started. I didn’t want to cause any problems between him and his wife, so I just warned him not to click on any links that came from people he didn’t trust.

How is it helping the homeless if you pay for a motel for a few days then after the few days they go back being homeless?

I’ve had a couple people pay for hotel rooms for a night, and let me tell ya – it’s a godsend.

How? Well, one time, when it was storming really bad in Southern California – someone I love dearly paid three nights for a room right down the street. For the first time in a couple years I was free of my wardrobe and tent – suitcase and backpack – so I went to a movie and had a nice dinner out.

I felt human for the first time in years. A fresh hot shower rather than a bird bath, a warm comfortable room while it stormed outside. It’s little things like this that reminded me I was human – and let’s be clear – in the weeks leading up to this – I’d been pushed WELL beyond my breaking point and had literally planned on murdering this junkie on meth who kept threatening me with a knife on a random basis prior to this point, as I was sleeping with one eye opened and police were unable to do anything about it.

Most people don’t understand that being homeless is about as dehumanizing as it gets. Society has a tendency of treating violent offenders better than someone that’s broke and homeless, which in my opinion – pushing me, a peaceful man who has never been in a fight in my life – to the point of premeditated considerations of murder – has homelessness as being one of the biggest existential threats to modern society. If you’ve never been through it. You simply wouldn’t understand.

But that motel. Just for a couple nights. Made me finally swallow my pride, look at the predictable trajectory homelessness was going to take me and what it was going to turn me into…

And finally agree to accept my mom and dad’s offer for a couch to sleep on in a warm house.

Rest assured. That motel room saved someone’s life. I’m being straight up 100% honest with you there. I’d mentally prepared myself to begin taking the law into my own hands, and I was fine knowing I’d never suffer any consequences from it because the needs of homeless people and the poverty stricken, to this society and world – don’t fuckin matter.

To most, anyways. To those few who did care. That room at just the perfect time changed my life, and prevented the death of someone else who society didn’t care about anyways.

I dont like knowing that part of me exists. I scared even myself. So I don’t believe it was coincidence that room came at the perfect time for me.

Is China producing too much? US ‘overcapacity’ accusations: new tactic in economic war

Creamy Chicken Enchilada Soup

By Rena Awada | Updated On March 29, 2024

This Chicken Enchilada Soup recipe is so creamy, thick, and easy to make. Loaded with hearty shredded chicken and beans, it is a crowd-pleasing soup that’s full of your favorite Mexican flavors and very comforting and delicious.

Enchilada soup is one of the most flavorful soup recipes that is not only filling and comforting, but it is full of flavor and a crowd-pleasing soup recipe that will put a smile on everyone’s face. This soup is loaded with beans, chicken, and all the Tex-Mex flavors you love all in one delicious bowl of soup. Easy-to-make Creamy Chicken Enchilada soup is perfect for any night of the week. Especially on a busy weeknight when you need dinner ready in no time.

Reasons to love this soup

Best-tasting soup ever: The taste of this soup is seriously out-of-this-world good.
Filling: This soup will keep you full, happy, and satisfied. Perfect for lunch or as a light dinner.
Healthy and good for you: Packed with fiber and protein, this soup is good for you in every way.

Ingredients you will need

Butter or Ghee: to keep this on the healthier side, you do not have to use butter. You may use avocado oil.
Onion: use white sweet onions or cooking onions
Veggies: Celery Stalks, Carrot, Red Bell Pepper,
Beans: Red Kidney Beans and Black Beans
Seasonings: Ground Cumin, Chili Powder, Dried Oregano
Garlic Cloves: do use fresh garlic
One can of Diced fire-roasted Tomatoes
Tomato Paste
Fresh or Frozen Sweet Corn: you may use canned corn if that’s all you have and you don’t want to make a trip to the grocery store.
Shredded Cooked Chicken: make your own chicken or get a pre-cooked rotisserie chicken. To prepare your own, check out our post on How to poach chicken breast.
Low-Sodium Chicken Broth– If you plan to poach your own chicken you may save the broth from that.
Mexican Shredded Cheese Blend for garnishing, or you may also use Monterey jack cheese
Salt and pepper, to your taste
Optional: If you prefer to add some enchilada sauce, you can. We didn’t but it certainly won’t hurt and will add some flavor to the soup.

HOW TO MAKE CREAMY CHICKEN ENCHILADA SOUP

This chicken enchilada soup recipe is made on the stovetop. We will also be showing you further how to make it on your crockpot, slow cooker, and instant pot. Note: Recipe calls for cooked shredded chicken. Either get a storebought rotisserie chicken and use that or cook your own at home using chicken breast (scroll down to learn how to cook the chicken for your enchilada soup).

To make enchilada soup on your stovetop:

Prepare vegetables and ingredients: Set up all the ingredients and get your shredded chicken ready.
Cook vegetables: Add butter or oil in a large stockpot over medium-high heat. First, add the onions, celery, carrots, bell pepper, garlic and cook until softens, about 5-6 minutes. Then, stir in seasonings, diced tomatoes, tomato paste, and chicken broth and bring to a boil.
Cook and prep soup: Lower the heat and simmer for about 10-15 minutes, or until veggies are very tender.
Blend: remove from heat and using a hand blender, blend the soup until smooth and creamy. (This is optional if you don’t want to blend you can skip this step).
Add beans and chicken: Place the soup back over medium heat and add in beans, corn and shredded cooked chicken. Stir to combine and boil for a couple of minutes, just to heat it all up.
Serve: Pour into bowls and top with your favorite toppings. Enjoy!

SOUP TOPPING Options

Endless toppings to come up with, but here are some optional toppings you can add to your creamy chicken enchilada soup are:

Chopped avocado
Sliced jalapeño
Fresh chopped cilantro
Green onions
Lime wedges
Crushed Tortilla Chips
Sour cream or yogurt etc.
Shredded Cheese

How to cook chicken for enchilada soup

Cooking the chicken is quite simple. You can use any pot or a dutch oven. It would be easiest to use a rotisserie chicken but you can certainly cook your own. We recommend using skinless and boneless chicken breasts.

Add chicken into a pot full of water
We like adding some sort of herbs to give the chicken some flavor. Use half an onion and a bay leaf. sometimes we use a cinnamon stick but not for this particular recipe.
Allow boiling for about 15-20 minutes until you easily insert a knife or a fork through the chicken.
Then, drain it in a colander and let it cool off. Or you can just remove the chicken and place it on a cutting board while you save the chicken stock.
Finally, using your hands or forks, shred chicken.
If you have an Instant pot, you can simply make this Instant Pot Chicken Breast to use in this enchilada soup.

How to make enchilada soup using an instant pot, crockpot or slow cooker

There are other ways to make chicken enchilada soup other than using your stovetop. Here are other ways to cook up your soup.

How to use an Instant Pot:

Using the saute option, add the oil or butter in the instant pot, then add the onions, celery, carrots, bell pepper, garlic and cook until softens, about 5-6 minutes.
If using raw chicken, add in with the veggies in the previous step at the bottom.
Add in the seasonings, diced tomatoes, tomato paste, and broth.
Next, add in the beans, corn, and shredded cooked chicken (if using pre-cooked shredded chicken). Stir to combine.
Then, place the lid on the Instant Pot and seal. Using the “manual” setting, cook on high pressure for 10-12 minutes.
Allow the instant pot to natural release for 10 minutes or so before doing a quick release.
Finally, remove the lid from Instant Pot, shred the chicken (if used raw whole chicken breast), and serve with your favorite toppings.
Note: You may remove a portion of the soup towards the end. Blend it and then add it back into the soup. Mix and serve.

How to use a crock-pot or slow cooker

In a pan or skillet, add oil or butter over medium-high heat add the onions, celery, carrots, bell pepper, garlic and cook until softens, about 5-6 minutes.
Transfer to crockpot or slow cooker and add in the seasonings, diced tomatoes, tomato paste, and broth.
Then, add in beans, corn, and shredded cooked chicken. Stir to combine cover and set it on High for 2 hours or low for 4 hours if using cooked chicken.
Note: You may add raw chicken breasts to the crockpot or slow cooker right before you add in the veggies at the very bottom and set it to cook longer. 6 hours on low and 4 hours on high. Then towards the end use a fork to shred the chicken.
Also Note: You may remove a portion of the soup towards the end. Blend it and then add it back into the soup. Mix and serve.

Fun cat pictures

From my archives

Why Pass Port bros find Foreign Women

This time…

Jokes directed at Chinese people are the acceptable form of racism in the west.

Westerners will gaslight and say this isn’t racist! Chinese aren’t people!

This is the first step towards a war of extermination, demonisation of the target nation and gervais shows himself in this video to be a very able agent of the Empire

This time we’re armed

Does Japan even have a “ghost of a chance” against China in a war? China has numerous advantages (Russian/North Korean support, HUGE military, healthy disdain of Japan, etc) and Japan has none of that except to be a prompt for the U.S to use nukes.

Japan despite massive massive disadvantages in firepower, military numbers and culture has a massive chance against China. Why? This man and the general state of the leadership is far too conservative. As well as their age.

If you’ve ever played a game before like Rimworld, 7 days to die, Project Zomboid. There’s a setting called Builder. Here’s the menu on Project Zomboid.

It literally says builder: Construction, Exploration and farming focus.

So sure he’s got 3000 hours in game and all the achievements of that…But it’s a crippling overspecialisation.

Martial arts are sometimes like this.

You need close range, mid range, long range, grapple, strength and conditioning to give and take hits. Wing Chun is excellent at close range, but they never condition themselves so boxers eat them alive. The current leadership are far too conservative as such when there’s easy and obvious ways to punish those who literally want us dead? What the hell do they do?

NOTHING!

Taiwan.

It’s not recognised by the UN, it’s not part of the WTO. The poliburo could immediately stop all business with them tomorrow and there’s NOTHING they could do about it. We could literally cause a 50% collapse in the economy TOMORROW.

Yet they don’t do it.

Even my dad who is actually older than Xi did some squeezing of bollocks in his time. He was a beansprout man and his group held a total monopoly on Chinese goods in the UK and he squeezed a few bollocks with his position.

You can write about oh but it’s only a matter of time.

The USD will collapse! (though the USD doesn’t actually need to collapse it’s in such shit that a few % will make a huge difference, US military budget cuts are a real thing because of the debt).

It sounds almost like Joseph Wang, if you ever read his stuff from years ago? He literally said he allowed white Americans to beat him up and offered no resistant. To somebody like me and many others that’s a what the fuckty fuck type situation? Somebody attacks you? You’re going to give them as good as they give you.

So back to the original question?

If Japan starts to militarise again and they’re doing so right now? There’s going to be a huge aversion to fight and you don’t even need me to spell out whose going to have the aversion.

So while China is far more powerful and many of us especially us overseas types are far far more violent than any local Chinese or Japanese. It’s hampered by the fact that the leadership is playing civilisation on builder mode.

I mean at the very least you could have some big weapons tests. Even N Korean leader Kim has done some test launches.

Putin scares the living daylights out of westerners with his SARMAT tests in 2022.

With Iran attacking Israel, is WW3 all but official?

Hope not

The Strategy is clear

Iran sent 158 Shaheed Drones and 27 Cruise Missiles on Israel at a cost of $ 9 Million

Israel intercepted 150+ Drones over Jordan and Syria and Lebanese and 21 Cruise Missiles at an estimated cost of $ 115 Million

6 Missiles hit the targets – An Airbase in Negev plus two military docking centres in Haifa Port

The cost ratio is 9:115 or 1:13 approximately

Iran is thus depleting Israeli (Western) missiles and AD on a large scale from reserves

Today alone around 100+ Missiles were launched by Israel

This means in 10 days, Israel would need 1000–1200 missiles forcing the West to divert stocks to Israel while Iran has low cost cheap drones and cheap missiles and decoy missiles

If the West spends more and more money and weapons on Israel further depleting their stocks

Russia gains immensely as Russia outproduces NATO by 3:1 in Missiles and 12:1 in Artillery Ammunition

And of course China

The more West is mired in the Middle East, even lesser chance of the West to take on China who can produce on war footing, more missiles in a month than Nato can produce in 2 1/2 years as per experts

Leaving Japan, Philippines to take on China who today can more than easily take them out

Same reason

If this is WWIII, the West will likely lose today

Unless it becomes Nuclear…

Some food porn

You said “watch THE PRINCESS BRIDE.” As you wish!!! | First time watching

A few years ago, when there was talk of possibly doing a remake, Cary Elwes (Westley) tweeted "There is a shortage of perfect movies in the world. It would be a pity to remake this one."

Is the trilateral agreement between the Philippines, the United States, and Japan a threat to China?

You can draw up any shit agreement you want but even a bow an arrow shot from Japan or Philippines at China including Taiwan will be fully and comprehensively reciprocated plus interest to that country it does not matter if it is shot by US military or third dog nation forces.

Who asked you to so foolishly to allow a strange bed fellowinto your home.or allow a trouble maker and a war monger to be stationed in your land! Let that be so vividly clear about this state of affair.

China will let the U.S. burnt all it a cash if it so chooses to set up over next 100 years putting up 200 bases around China but it cannot shoot a single song arrow out of if cares for its dogs. Nations. China will not may be not if it will destroys that nation without hesitation. As alllowing one means allowing more. The Navy boys can part all night long banging local Japanese and Filipino girls for all we care as long as they don’t throw a rock at China!

What’s the strangest thing delivered to your house (that you did not order)?

A friend of mine I England, mentioned one day at the pub( bar) that he could do with a cleaner as his old 1700’s mill house was getting too much for him. Next morning there was a sharp knocking on his door, he opened it and a large Middle aged lady pushed by him into the room and said, “ I’m Jean, your new cleaner, let’s have a look at this mess!” He never had a chance to say a word, just stood there dumb. “ Right , where’s the cleaning cupboard?” He pointed in the right direction. Muttering to herself she set about cleaning , “ I’ll be a long while yet you can make yourself scarce untill supper time. “ He went out back to the pub and sat at the bar in a daze as he nursed his pint of beer. He returned to his house in the evening, everything was clean and tidy, Jean was sat down in the kitchen having a cup of tea. “ Umm, how much do I owe you?” He stuttered. All she said was, “ that garden shed has to be cleared out yet!” I’ll attend to that tomorrow. I’ll be staying in the upstairs front bedroom, breakfast will be at 9 o’clock on the dot! “ With that she climbed the stairs and was gone. That was nearly 5 years ago and she is still there cleaning and cooking. He still hasn’t plucked up the courage to ask her any questions, and she has never asked for anything in return. ’ As he is a literary man I hope one day he will publish the whole story. Amazing!

REACTION- Will women WAKE UP & want the men that they rejected?

9 Uncomfortable lessons that we all need to learn:

If you continue to wait for the “right time”, you’ll waste your entire life and nothing will happen.
You’ll lose 99% of your close friends if you start upgrading your life.
You’ll be 10x happier if you forgive your parents and stop blaming them for your problems.
Train yourself to let people win arguments on purpose to conserve your mental health.
You become more mature when you train yourself to take nothing personally.
You don’t need 100 self-help books, all you need is action & self-discipline.
You can’t expect honesty from people who even lie to themselves.
Most people are stuck in toxic relationships because they are afraid to be alone.
The most difficult mission on earth is to focus on your dreams; The easiest task is to complain.

What is one piece of simple advice that actually changed your life?

My dad made it to almost 94, and died in relatively good health. Fantastic, but old age comes with a high price. Once, after the death of the last of his ten friends who had come together to build their hunt club some sixty years previously, I asked him, point blank, “Dad, how do you stand it? How do you cope with losing all your old friends?”

His answer was, as his answers usually were, short and straight to the point: “You make new friends honey. Young ones.”

It was then that I noticed the number of folks, often the children, grand kids, or great grand kids of those lost friends, who stopped by the house regularly. Dad always liked kids; he kept the now unused ashtray next to his recliner filled with Juicy Fruit gum and Hershey chocolate bars. He admired the new BB gun that a ten year old namesake stopped by to show off. He listened eagerly to tales from many boys’ “first hunt.”

I’ve adopted the philosophy. Many of my friends are in their 30’s and early 40’s: young’uns I mentored their first few years of teaching. I drop off a meal here and there, knowing how tired they are after teaching all day. And I’m rewarded with their kids’ pics and artwork on my fridge. Plus all the free technology help!! I now can use Marco Polo, Audible, Chirp, and Libby, thanks to my “young set.”

Most Companies Don’t Want You To Succeed, They Want You Distracted & Hooked On Their Products

Old Buffalo Breath Chili

Ingredients

1 (5 pound) chuck roast, at least 3 inches thick
10 to 11 garlic cloves, crushed
Salt, to taste
Chili powder
1/4 cup olive oil
About 1 to 2 cups beef broth
Juice of 1 Mexican lime
2 teaspoons ground dried mild red chile, such as ancho or New Mexican
2 teaspoons ground dried hot red chile, such as cayenne or chile de arbol
1 tablespoon cumin seed, toasted and ground
2 teaspoons Mexican oregano
Chiles pequins, to taste
Masa Harina, as needed

Instructions

Two or three hours before you plan to begin making the chili, rub the chuck roast well with a mash made from two to three of the garlic cloves and salt. Sprinkle the meat with the chili powder to lightly coat it. Loosely cover it with plastic, and set it aside.
Light enough hardwood charcoal to sear the meat on an outdoor grill, preferably one with a cover. At the same time, soak a few handsful of mesquite chips in water. When the coals are covered with gray ash, spread them out evenly, and scatter the damp mesquite chips on top. Then immediately set the meat over the smoke, about an inch from the coals. Cover the grill, and adjust the dampers to maintain a slow, steady heat. Let the meat sear for about 12 minutes (this process is meant to flavor, not cook, the meat), and turn it over to sear the other side for the same amount of time. Remove the meat from the heat, saving any juices on its surface, and transfer it to the refrigerator. Let it cool thoroughly, about 1 hour.
When the meat has cooled, trim away any surface fat or cartilage. With a sharp knife, cube the meat into the smallest pieces you have patience for, saving all the juices.
Heat the olive oil in a large, heavy Dutch oven over moderate heat. Mix in the remaining garlic, and sauté it until it turns translucent. Stir in the meat and all reserved meat juices, adding just enough beef broth to cover. Pour in the lime juice, and sprinkle in the remaining seasonings, stirring and tasting as you do. Crumble in a few whole chiles pequins to bring the heat up to taste. Turn the heat down as low as possible. Long cooking toughens, not tenderizes, if the chili is allowed to boil. Every half hour or so, stir the chili and taste for seasoning, adjusting as you wish. After the first hour, thicken the chili as you like by adding the Masa Harina a teaspoon at a time. The chili should be ready to eat in 3 hours, although it will benefit from a night’s aging in the refrigerator.
Serve the chili steaming hot in large, heavy bowls with an ample supply of soda crackers and a side of beans, but not much else except maybe hot black coffee, iced tea or beer.

How might Chinese citizens respond to their government losing an all-out economic/trade war with the United States, especially if they cannot afford to lose?

China don’t do daft things. Only the U.S. does. If China cannot win it won’t fight. If China seems to be up in arms. They are most likely happy that the U.S. took the bait and ate hanging themselves. It is call winning without fighting!

China can do even one NM chips if it wants but the U.S. thinks it cannot do 7 NM for at least 3 decades! It took China 3 years to do 5NM. Now the U.S. is laden with humongous compensations to its Chip firms and they lose some 80% of the market as China gets it done cheaper, faster and better.

Argentina’s Crumbling Economy is Collapsing, GDP CRASHING, Banks are Failing, Protests Everywhere

Learn about what is going on in the world today. This is what happened when you hitch yourself to the United States.

If a car dealer kept my keys or license to try to pressure me to make a purchase, what would police officers do when they show up at the dealership?

I test drove a f350 platinum super crew, was going to trade a vehicle, I left the keys with the salesman, came back, I decided not to buy “that” truck, due to I didn’t want to own another black truck, they had no other loaded trucks in another color, so I opted to take a pass, the sales manager thought we had some imaginary deal and said the deal was done (I had signed nothing), and wouldn’t return my keys, I asked him if he was certain that he wanted to play this game, he said we have a deal. I pulled my phone out, called 911, told them who I was, where I was, I had been robbed and the assailant was still on premises. Shit happened real fast, I got my keys back, sales manager found out he can be criminally charged for theft as well as kidnapping as I couldn’t leave. Yep, I won’t be shopping there again.

Iran’s war of attrition against Israel and US

Iran has launched drones against Israel which have not yet hit their targets in Israel.

While this may look like a reprisal against Israel, there is more than meets the eye. The majority of the drones will be intercepted and shot down before they reach their targets; if 10% reach their targets the Iranians will have done well.

But the intention is not to do damage to Israel. Iran, the Houthis in Yemen and Hamas are fighting a war of attrition against Israel which will deplete Israel’s and the US’s munitions, using the cheapest weapons needed. The aim is to provoke Israel into committing more violence in Gaza and the West Bank, and turning more of global public opinion against the US and Israel. The Israeli economy will take a heavy hit, and the US will have to provide expensive economic support to Israel because Biden has committed to Israel’s support.

The Arabs and the Iranians have learned: Israel’s war doctrine is based on the application of overwhelming force to win a short war , which is the same as the US. But if the Arabs and Iran turn the conflict into a long war of attrition, the Arabs win.

In every long war of attrition, which includes Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan and arguably Ukraine, the US has withdrawn in the end.

A short sharp war requires the application of overwhelming firepower. Overwhelming firepower requires a huge munitions supply and powerful logistics. US weapons stores have been depleted by the war in Ukraine.

The writing is on the wall…

What has your child done that is technically “wrong” but you were proud of them for doing it?

My young son was friends with the 50-something “neighbor guy”. They were real friends. The neighbor gave him a spark plug wrench and let him take the spark plugs out of all the cars in his junk yard. He also let my son “drive” his 1950 pink Cadillac sitting on blocks in a place of honor in the junkyard. He talked to my son about serious things like how to be a good man, why you should wash your hands a lot, the importance of having a place for your tools and putting them where they belonged. My son lacked a father and this neighbor lacked any family at all.

The neighbor got cancer and was going to die. He let my son know it was nothing personal and he had done nothing wrong to deserve it. He also said he was going to have to leave forever, die and he would go to heaven. They talked a lot about whether he was afraid and what would happen when he died. He told my son he didn’t want anybody messing with his body and he wanted to be buried, not embalmed and still be intact. He wanted to go back to the earth in dignity and not be a poisoned pickle in the ground.

Unfortunately, he died just before Thanksgiving, and without a family, there was no one who felt obligated to see to his wishes. In our state, you can only be buried, without embalming, if you are buried within 3 days. The ground was frozen and it was a holiday weekend. No gravediggers could be found so the adults discussed this in the social room. After church, they concluded that man, whom we had all known and valued, would have to be embalmed. My son, who was about 6, overheard this and became outraged!

He pestered one man after another about it. He eloquently argued how sad the man would be about being a poisoned pickle in the ground. My son announced he would go dig the hole himself even if he did not get home in time for pie! He managed to guilt a dozen men, in their best clothing, to go to the graveyard and dig a grave. Also, a Catholic Priest would be doing the services for a “protestant” before anyone went home to eat a turkey.

It was technically “wrong” because he interrupted and pestered adults with great determination. One by one, he effectively MADE them do something that was outside his purview as a child. I didn’t stop him from doing it. I was more than proud of his love and care for his deceased friend.

Russia & China: Reshaping the Global Order!

Cold case musings

Over the years I have collected numerous articles that I have found on the internet. I would print them out. Carefully organize them, and put them in three ring binders. I carried these things around with me for years.

Then I got a divorce from my second wife. She slaughtered me, and all my documents were seized by the police for “evidence”. And wouldn’t you know it, they were misplaced.

A few years ago, I wanted to check what articles that I had written on Free Republic, but they considered me a “Commie” and deleted me. I tried to access my accounts via LinkedIN and discovered that they too considered me a “Commie”.

My MM post that caused this catastrophe was about the HK riots being A United States created color revolution.

The US involvement in the HK “Democracy Now” movement.

Most, but not all, of my writings have been “deleted” by Free Republic by one of their Gen-Z staff who felt that I should not be on the platform. Thankfully some still exist, and have been used by the WF files, and other Internet sleuths to formulate articles around. Still…

So I will relate some stories right now that I just cannot find on the internet anymore. *sigh*

…

While demolishing a 1930’s bridge (I think it was in Pittsburgh or another “rust belt” city) they started to tear apart the stone tiers that held up the bridge. When they were knocking down the stone and cement blocks a cavity appeared. And inside were the skeletal remains of two men, who apparently were buried there. Maybe entombed. I do not recall.

Every now and then I muse about these men. Who were they? Why were they buried that way?

One cold case solved but without the who and why that my imagination so yearns for.

In another instance, another building tear-down in Philadelphia (as I recall) found a body at the bottom of one of the old elevator shafts. They thought that he must have been placed there sometime around 1910 or so.

He was placed there. Not jumped there involuntarily.

Curious.

This next one took place around the middle 1990s. A real estate developer bought up a bunch of farm land, and on it were some old long abandoned properties. All just rotting wood and what not. On one of the properties was a “cold cellar” which was a separate small mini-barn, no bigger than a tiny one-car garage, with a underground room built around a natural spring. These were very common in Pennsylvania back in the day.

When tearing it down they discovered that there was a small room behind the basement brick wall, and apparently a woman had lived there for decades, and eventually died there.

The article was very interesting. They identified who she was and all that. But as I recall, she must have been sealed up in that basement under that little out-shed next to the “cold cellar” for two decades or longer.

For twenty years. Entombed alive.

No journal or anything like that. But I recall that the bricks in the bottom permitted a metal tray of food to be slid back and forth into that tiny room.

What a way to do.

History is interesting .

Back in the 1990’s as the Internet was awakening, all sorts of weird and unique historical articles were popping up everywhere. Now you don’t see anything. It’s all so corporate… so sanitized. Do disgusting.

There’s a beauty in the Wild Wild West; the scene of chaos… and freedom. Where those without power, money, or fame could find a place to exist. But once it’s tamed you get what we have today…

…America.

Don’t get me started on Hollywoods pro LGBQ+ reprogramming. Or the corporate “news”, the sterile chain dining establishments…

Give me Vietnam.

Give me Bedlam, Color, Activity, song, dance, and a hint of danger.

*sigh*

Cold cases. Or in many cases … stuff that no one dare know about. Now maybe never.

Many secrets lie hidden that we rarely get to see before they are forgotten.

Today…

China’s allies in the Mid-East: Israel and Iran

As I write, it looks like Iran has fired drones at Israel from Iranian territory as a reprisal for Israel’s attack on the Iranian consulate in Damascus on April 1, which resulted in the deaths of seven Iranians, including a senior member of the Revolutionary Guard.

Israel PM Netanyahu is working very hard to expand the Gaza conflict into a bigger ME war which will drag the US into the conflict, so that he will not need to resign under pressure.

While Israel and Iran are mortal enemies, both are helping China by dragging the US into a greater ME conflict which will bleed US military resources, and goodwill for the US worldwide. If the US becomes stuck in a war of attrition in the ME, it will be a gift to China because the US will not be able to do more in Taiwan and the South China Sea.

If it becomes a war of attrition, it is likely to hurt the reputation of Biden, and it could hurt his chances for re-election. Trump will likely capitalize on this during the runup to the election.

By doing nothing in the ME, China is winning. The Chinese call this “winning by lying down.”

Israel, Iran and the US are doing all the work for China.

Iran Seizes Israeli-Owned Merchant Ship in Strait of Hormuz

Hal Turner World 13 April 2024

Reports have come in overnight saying Special Forces of the Iran Revolutionary Guard Corp (IRGC) seized the MSC ARIES in the Strait of Hormuz.

The vessel involved was the Portuguese-flagged MSC Aries, a container ship associated with London-based Zodiac Maritime. Zodiac Maritime is part of Israeli billionaire Eyal Ofer’s Zodiac Group.

The vessel was redirected to Iranian territorial waters.

Killer Patents & Secret Science Vol. 2 | Forbidden Medical Cures

This is atrocious!

What is the manliest thing you’ve ever witnessed?

We four friends were chit chatting during late night after the dinner. One of the guy, who we usually bully as being the most girlish in our circle, detects an odour of a burning coil.

“There’s something burning”, he mumbled.

“Shut up. I couldn’t smell anything”, said one of them.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, we see a bright flame in the kitchen and everyone runs out of the room. Within a few minutes, it was apparent that most of the things in the kitchen have caught fire. The window in the kitchen was open and it was really windy which added on to the dismay.

We were scared as fuck. None of us had the balls to jump into the kitchen to move the gas cylinder out and close the window.

Don’t know how the testestrone boosted in him for a second and this girlish dude, whom we took always for granted, jumped into the kitchen. Like a hulk, punched into the doors, and tore the curtains and kicked every ass on the earth to successfully bring the cylinder out. I kept watching. He grabbed a shovel and ran over there.

We stood standing outside thinking who would we make fun of if he dies.

Apparently, we realized that one of us had thrown a cigarette on a wooden utensil box that lit up the fire.

Now, he is still alive and no one dares to mock him for his non-masculine attitude.

It won’t be shocking for me to witness the manliest task by him of cutting and shaping steel like a superman to weld a machine.

The dude saved lives (like, not literally)

*sigh*

Absolutely true

Former Philippine president cautions that the US is attempting to instigate a war between China and the Philippines, calling for rational dialogue with China

Former Philippine President Rodrigo Duterte called for rational and friendly dialogue with China on current bilateral issues and expressed sadness over the disputes in the South China Sea and the policies adopted by the current administration toward China in a recent interview by Global Times.

When asked about the message he wanted to convey to the people of both the Philippines and China regarding the current state of China-Philippines relations, Duterte issued a warning. He cautioned that the US is attempting to instigate a war between China and the Philippines, emphasizing that the US would not risk American lives for Filipinos. Duterte expressed hope that the Philippines could steer away from its detrimental path and resolve issues through dialogue and negotiation.

He expressed hope to stop the ruckus over the South China Sea, stating that the Americans are the ones pushing the Philippine government to go out there and quarrel and eventually maybe start a war.

Duterte thinks China and the Philippines have to wait before returning to the negotiating table on the South China Sea issue. “You cannot talk to the Philippine government because it is the Americans that will tell them what he should say to you. So it’s forever a cycle of incongruity,” he said.

Duterte envisions China and the Philippines collaborating to enrich people-to-people exchanges. Despite many Filipinos leaning towards a pro-American stance due to the educational system, he aspires for them to embrace new perspectives.

If African countries suddenly stopped doing business with China, who will replace China as their largest trading partner?

China gives African Nations – Machinery, Machine Tools, Agricultural Machinery, Railway Parts, Turbines, Motors, Pumps and Tooling Equipment which form bulk of Chinese exports to these regions

Plus almost 90% of the Electronics and Laptops and Smartphones sold in Africa

China arranges a Float Swap Facility ranging from 300 Million to 4 Billion RMB that ensures China can export these products and get paid in Local Currency that gets swapped to Yuan and immediately reused to buy Uranium Ore, Rare Earths, Tin, Natural Diamonds, Cocoa and Crude Oil

So it’s a barter system literally through a Yuan Float allowing the Africans some credit

In addition Chinese Companies do Construction work of Factories, Railroads, Power Stations through the Belt and Road Initiative where the funding comes from Chinese Banks and is secured by the Operational Revenue of this Infrastructure plus the Export Revenue earned for the Equipment used for building the Infrastructure

China also gets discounted Oil, Wood and Uranium and Thorium from Namibia at highly discounted rates

Plus China is providing a major digital backbone for Africa through Wireless Equipment, Internet Equipment and Ethernet Equipment

So it’s a Trade Ecosystem that China and Africa have that successfully has by passed the US Dollar almost completely over the years

So assuming the African Nations stopped doing Trade with China

They would need their demand for Machinery and Electronics to be supplied by others

India, Vietnam, Mexico combined have an Industrial Production Capacity of around 31% of China’s

You think they would supply Africa instead of Europe or US which are infinitely richer markets?

Nopes

Korea, Japan, Taiwan are even lesser and they make too advanced products to cater to African masses.

They would need Investments into Power and Infrastructure and Extraction and Refining of Metals

Who has that sort of money?

China has an annual trade Surplus of $ 800 Billion to $ 900 Billion

Easy to cut a $ 10 Billion Cheque

Russia and Saudi have the money but not the experience or set up

India is too poor

US is already printing more and more money to choke itself off and it won’t print money to see Africa prosperous

Bottom line is I don’t see anyone else rushing to take Chinas place in Africa

China takes but also gives

The rest only take, take and take

What’s the craziest thing you’ve heard pretending to be asleep?

There were a lot of abandoned cars left at our families service station. Over the years they were dragged out to the back forty, and left for years. One day when my cousins were out visiting, we quite correctly believed that they were junked cars. I was probably 6, my brother 8, my cousins between 5 and 9. We invented a game where we would jump from the fender of one car, to the fender of another. These were old 1940s and 1950s cars, and the front fender was distinct from the hood. We would jump across all 12 cars, and then come back on the back fender, and then over the roof of the end car, and repeat.

After a weeks jumping, we dented the fenders of the abandoned cars. They weren’t locked, and I found an extension cord in one. I used it as a lariat.

One day, long after my cousins had left, my uncle came over to visit, and I lassoed him. He wasn’t impressed, and asked where I got an extension cord from.

I told him I got it from the abandoned cars. He said that was theft, and he and my dad went to look at the abandoned cars.

When my dad and uncle came back, I didn’t want anymore flack from my uncle, so I pretended to have fallen asleep on the couch. They started talking, and my uncle said that the cars were damaged bad enough, that we should call the police. I quietly freaked.

When my uncle left, I went to bed, but I didn’t sleep for three weeks, waiting for the police to come and arrest me.

After 3 weeks, I asked my parents when the police were coming for me. They laughed and said nobody would call the police about abandoned cars. That my uncle just liked to make a big deal out of nothing. If they had known, that I had heard them, they would have told me the truth.

As I grew up, I realized that my uncle only saw the worst of everything, until he had to go for counseling when he lost a foot. He turned right around then, and tried to make up for all his past behavior.

I will never forget the stress I lived under. At 6, the week before Christmas lasts a whole year, so you can imagine how long that 3 weeks seemed to me.

Use This ONE Simple Trick To Find Out Her Ideal ‘DICK’ Size!

Hum. Very interesting.

Russia Fires ICBM – Sends Unmistakable Message . . . .

Hal Turner World 12 April 2024

Russia has test-fired a nuclear-capable Intercontinental Ballistic Missile (ICBM) but the test-trajectory was clearly chosen to send an unmistakable message – the missile flew directly over the Middle East!

The trajectory kept the missile within earth’s atmosphere so it could be seen by people in the South of Russia, Central Asia, Iran, and “other countries” in the Middle East. . . . . Israel.

The Russians didn’t have to say a single word to anyone, anywhere, other than to announce the test, which they did. They just fired this test . . . and as the missile traveled, it spoke all the words that needed to be spoken, to everyone who needed to hear.

Certain little countries in the world have been shooting their mouth off about how they’re going to do this, and going to do that . . . . to a Russian Ally . . . . . and Russia just told that little country – and its big brother – what’s what.

Modern women on TikTok are FURIOUS about the Sprinkle trend! Sprinkle Sprinkle vs. Drizzle Drizzle

“Soft boys”

Do you like your quarantine lifestyle better than your regular one? Why or why not?

I think it’s fantastic to live and work entirely home-based. It’s comfortable, it’s economical, and the best thing is: it’s possible. We couldn’t have done this 30 years ago.

I am currently on holiday, but it doesn’t feel very different from work. Or shall we say, working almost feels like being on holiday. I like spending many hours in front of my computer anyway, and whether I surf the web for fun or do my actual work makes little difference.

The list of advantages is long:

I get up at 07:30 as opposed to 06:30 now, because I don’t have to drive to work.
I dress for comfort. Haven’t worn my tweed jackets in months.
I sit with my legs up, and a cat on my belly.
Mileage on the car has gone down to 200 a month instead of 1200 a month. That’ll slow its depreciation and extend its life.
I save a good 200 Dollars a month on fuel money.
I see my wife all day long, because she also works from home.
We eat lunch together now.
We cook that lunch ourselves, so our health is benefiting.
I can reach my colleagues so much more easily now, because they are all hogging their computers. One ping, and Leif is on Skype for me. No more of that “sorry, on business trip to Norway, will get back to you when I have internet access.”
The cats love having us around.
By 16:00, we may be in the car, cruising the landscape for fun or going to some second hand farm shop. Not commuting the same old stretch of road we otherwise would.
All our shopping is accomplished online, and so is the delivery.

Overall, the benefits to our finances and stress levels are evident. I certainly hope to continue living like this forever.

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Beef Burritos

Yield: 4 to 8 servings

Ingredients

2 tablespoons olive oil
1 medium yellow onion, chopped
1 pound lean ground beef
1 clove garlic, minced
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon freshly-ground black pepper
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 potato, peeled, cooked and diced
2 New Mexico green chiles, roasted, peeled, seeded and chopped
4 to 8 flour tortillas
Shredded lettuce
Sour cream
Salsa

Instructions

Heat oil in a frying pan, then sauté onion for 3 to 4 minutes.
Add ground beef, garlic, cumin, pepper and salt. Cook, stirring with a fork, until brown.
Stir in the potato and green chiles and continue cooking until the potato and chiles are warmed through.
In a nonstick frying pan, heat each tortilla until just warm.
Remove from pan, spoon a little of the beef mixture into the center of each tortilla and roll up.
Top with shredded lettuce, a tablespoon of sour cream and/or your favorite salsa.
Serve with refried beans on the side.

What is the most horrifying medical thing/disease you have seen?

I have seen many horrible diseases during my career but this case touched me at an emotional level. I once had a patient that I diagnosed with having a baby with Potter’s Syndrome (Potter sequence – Wikipedia). The baby would be born with a zero chance of survival without any functional lungs. The specialists advised her to terminate the pregnancy. She refused. I didn’t see the purpose of carrying a baby who would end up dying within minutes of birth. However she persisted and carried the baby to term and I ended up delivering her baby normally and handing the baby to her to hold. She cooed and spoke sweetly to the baby even as he was getting bluer and colder. There was no drama, no fighting for life. Baby stopped moving within a few minutes and I pronounced him dead. It was sad. I finished up my work and left for home.

The next morning I found out that the transplant teams from the San Francisco bay area had been busy overnight and harvested the organs to save several other babies. I was befuddled. This mother’s unspeakable tragedy made it possible for several other children to live. So now this baby lives on in the body of several other children. Even a non-emotional person like me was touched. There was a purpose for even this severely abnormal baby’s life.

Martian Mysteries | The Phobos Incident, Monoliths, and Ancient Ruins

Always a fun video.

When did you realize your child was no longer a child?

When my son was in the eighth grade, he got suspended and I had to leave work early to go get him. When I got there, I asked the principal what had happened. The principal explained that my son had beaten up three other boys and even broke one boy’s wrist. I was obviously horrified and asked my son what the fuck he was thinking. He simply told me that the boys had cornered one of his friends and were trying to make her strip for them. Being the chivalrous boy I raised him to be, he put a stop to it. I asked the principal if it was true and he dodged the question. In response to that, I told the school that if they’re going to allow sexual harassment, I didn’t want my child to attend and took him home. I told my son that I was going to take him out of public schools. He replied by telling me that he didn’t want to leave the school because of he wasn’t there then who was going to stop it from happening again.

This is when I realized my little boy had become a man. He would rather get in trouble to protect a friend than stay out of the spotlight and potentially face long term consequences.

Edit: I feel the need to point out that my son also got his ass kicked (and to be frank, “beat up” was probably the wrong term to use [a bit exaggerated] when describing what he did to those three boys). I assumed that was implied, but oh well. What can you do? The police were called and the bullies’ parents didn’t press charges as long as the girl’s parents didn’t either. The school penalized all three boys and the girl’s mother and I are very close friends now.

Why do many people (including the Americans who left the US) say that living in the US is hard and that leaving the country was the best choice they ever made?

I left the US almost 50 years ago to live in Germany. However, I frequently visit the US to stay there months at a time.

There are things that are “convenient” about living in the US: stores that open 7 days a week, some even 24/7; outside the large cities, ample free parking, better weather in vast parts of the US (compared to Germany), ease of meeting new people, etc.

But despite the “convenience”, yes, it is hard. It is hard living in a country with too many people recklessly wielding firearms – and using them. It is hard because many people do not respect others’ boundaries. It is hard because so many people are so poorly educated (I fault the system for that – not the people). It is hard because access to higher education is so expensive. The hire-and-fire mentality in the US is horrible. The fact that corruption has so openly visible on all levels is horrifying. And even more horrifying is that such a large portion of the population doesn’t care.

Leaving the US was the best choice I ever made because of the lousy American health care system. At the time I left, I had no idea I had a rare genetic defect that would eventually destroy my lungs. But once it reared its head, it became immediately clear that to survive more than a few years, I would require a double lung transplantation. I will always be grateful to the donor (and her family) for the gift of those lungs. And I will be forever grateful to the health care system here that made it possible for me to miss two years of work (one year of which I spent in-patient) without being financially worse for the wear. Twenty-one years after the gift of those lungs, I have been in and out of hospitals, have had three different cancer diagnoses, a couple of rounds of pneumonia, and sepsis, six years of dialysis, two kidney transplantation – all while being able to continue working – and still not being financially worse for the wear. Had I remained in the US, I would likely be bankrupt and/or dead.

Yellen tried to stop China’s development. This is how she failed.

What is your funniest story in your childhood?

When I was three our dog, Muffin, died. Back then, you were allowed to bury your pets in your backyard. (Or perhaps our vet just didn’t care and no one else was the wiser…) It happened while we were on vacation, so my parents asked our vet to freeze him so they could bury him next to their other dog when we got back.

They made sure I saw Muffin before putting him in the ground, let me touch him one last time… warned me he would be cold… I was mature and handled it well.

Later we were visiting my aunt and uncle. My aunt came and sat next to me and told me how sad she was that my doggy had died but I should be happy that he’s in doggy heaven now.

I looked at her very seriously and shook my head. “No, Aunt Sharon. He’s defrosting in the backyard!” (I had a fine concept of death and heaven but hadn’t been taught about doggy heaven and it just didn’t make any sense!)

Russia Hits Underground Gas Reserves in Ukraine; “Mushroom Cloud” from Fierce Explosion

Hal Turner World 12 April 2024

At dawn, Russia achieved the largest strategic strike in Ukraine in history, when it destroyed Ukraine’s largest underground gas storage in Bilche-Volitsko-Uher in the city of Stryjak near Ľvov.

Russia utilized Kh-47 Kinzhal supersonic missiles and Kh-101 cruise missiles, to strike and detonate 17 billion cubic meters of stored natural gas!

The attack came from three different sides.

The destruction of the natural gas, combined with Russia’s unwillingness to supply new gas, means that Ukraine is “done” from an energy perspective.

A total of eight MiG-31 fighters carrying Kinzhal and Kh-101 aircraft hit the gas reserve, causing a nuclear-like mushroom cloud visible from Poland, 100 km from the Ukrainian border.

The reserve tank was located at a depth of 50 meters (~150 feet) from the surface of the earth, which did not prevent Kinžal from going through the stony ground “like a knife through butter” and exploding into the tank!

In Poland, radiation measurements began after what initially appeared to be a nuclear attack there, but this has not been confirmed.

Ukraine currently has less than half of its gas reserves, and after the destruction of the reserve, it cannot even be supplied from the European market.

The attack on this underground gas reservoir was confirmed by the Ukrainian company Zdroj 24 news.

Exposition (Green Flag #1)

What does Fitch’s downgrade of China’s sovereign rating outlook to negative mean?

It’s essentially this on Quora.

Upvote/downvote

Yellen unable to do anything in China after flying here and demanding we buy their garbage… failed.

So the MOST POWERFUL COUNTRY IN THE WORLD. Had only one avenue left to hit us back. That is give us a downvote.

That’s literally the limit of their power.

Even the USS Dwight Eisenhower is hiding near North Africa because of the scary Houthis.

THE HONEY BADGER

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Aww.. he looks so cute. Lemme just pet him.

That’s when you realise, you fucked up!

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He don’t give a shit. He’ll take your dinner, smack the shit out of you and eat you for dessert.

Y’all probably heard a lot about these SOBs. But, here are the facts..

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They’re mean as hell!

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They’ll eat anything! (seriously anything)

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They’ve very powerful claws and teeth, which are powerful enough to break the shell of a freakin tortoise!

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They are thick skinned. Literally. There are reports of arrows and spears glancing off their thick, rubbery epidermis. (if they get caught in the mouth of a predator, they can break loose & retaliate with its powerful teeth)

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They are resistant to snake venom.

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They are Smart af!

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They’re so intelligent that they even use freakin tools.

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Video from Moholoholo Wildlife Rehabilitation Center in South Africa revealed that a team of honey badgers used sticks, a rake, mud, stones, and pure determination in their attempts to escape.

We’re talking about a highly intelligent animal which can certainly fuck you up, if evolution had it’s way.

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I’m innocent.

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Except..

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Because..

Honey Badgers don’t give a shit!

EDIT :

To those of who are familiar with this vicious bastard from Far Cry 4.

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Run.. Forrest.. R- –

Turkey DENIES U.S. Permission To Use Airspace to Attack Iran

Hal Turner World 12 April 2024

The country of Turkey has DENIED permission to the US, to use Turkish air space to attack Iran. Turkey joins Kuwait, Qatar, and other Middle East nations in telling the US they cannot use wither bases or air space for any Iran attack.

Our “allies” seem to have finally had enough of our excusing any and every transgression perpetrated by Israel.

Israel is facing military consequences for its bombing of Iran’s Embassy Compound in Damascus, Syria. The Israeli attack was, as a matter of fact and law, an “Act of War.” The bombing of Iran’s Embassy compound violated the Vienna Convention on Diplomatic relations, to which most of the world adheres.

The consequences Israel now faces is being hit back militarily, by Iran which has a formidable missile force, and and equally formidable drone force.

Neither the US nor Israel want there to be any consequences, but the real world doesn’t work that way.

The US, at first, told Iran that, as long as no US facilities were targeted, the US “would not interfere.” That position quickly went out the window and today, the US “will defend Israel.”

The US has moved substantial naval assets closer to the Israeli coastline, and has moved an aircraft carrier strike group into the northern part of the Red Sea. Publicly, the US is pledging to intercept as many Iranian missiles as is feasible to do.

The US has been speaking with the governments of countries where US bases are located, and those discussions have gone absolutely nowhere. The US is being repeatedly DENIED permission to use those countries for any attacks upon Iran.

The denial of permission from Qatar was especially serious; that’s where the largest US base in all of the Middle East is located. The refusal of permission has severely undercut US ability to project force in the region.

The US is openly frustrated that “allies” are denying permission. For some reason, the US fails to see that Israel threw the first punch, and now Israel is going to get punched back.

Why the US is in such denial is anyone’s guess, but the countries which are denying permission realize quite clearly what their decisions are creating: A situation where “big brother USA” cannot defend the little bully, Israel.

Most of my former colleagues in the Intelligence Community have told me as of Friday night, they expect Iran to unleash a missile and drone barrage upon Israel, to hit Israeli government (military) assets.

They also tell me they expect the attack to begin THIS WEEKEND.

For its part, Israel has blustered they will counter-attack. IF they choose to do so, it will only escalate the situation.

Now that the USA is being militarily hamstrung by its “allies” perhaps the Israelis may become more amenable to getting along with neighbors . . . after they get punched back, by Iran.

The little Bully Israel seems set to get a bloody nose.

What’s the smoothest pick up line you’ve ever heard?

This pickup line was used on me…

At the time, I was a centre back on my Footy team. I had injured my ankle (a foul from behind. He received a quick yellow!), and found I needed to use crutches for a few days.

I was at a party, chatting with a friend when a young lady acquaintance (I didn’t know her well, we just had mutual friends) came over and asked me what had happened. The 3 of us talked for a few minutes, when I realized that the 2 pints I’d had was passing through me, and I needed to excuse myself and go to the loo.

I then turned, and with some trouble getting through the crowd because of the crutches, I was just about to the door of the loo when the young lady acquaintance loudly called my name, catching my attention…

Talking loudly, she said, “Do you need some help with that? I understand the doctor said you shouldn’t lift anything heavy!

The room went silent. My face turned very red!

The line worked!

First units of French Foreign Legion have been deployed to Slavyansk, Ukraine!

Hal Turner World 13 April 2024

Members of the 3rd Infantry Regiment of the French Foreign Legion have arrived at the location of Ukraine’s 54th Independent Mechanized Brigade in Slavyansk, part of the Donetsk People’s Republic under the control of the Ukrainian Armed Forces.

According to preliminary information, the first group of 100 people consists of specialists in artillery reconnaissance, while the specialization of the engineering group is fortification and the construction of field fortifications.

The French troops, apparently, who only move around in the city when accompanied by Ukrainian forces, will help the Ukrainian Army defend Slavyansk when the front line shifts towards the city.

Earlier, Russian Foreign Ministry spokeswoman Maria Zakharova warned that France would prepare 1,500 troops in April to be sent to Ukraine.

The Russian Defense Ministry has repeatedly stated that the Kiev regime is using foreign mercenaries as “cannon fodder,” and that the Russian military will continue to target and eliminate them throughout the conflict zone.

What is the reason behind the strong patriotism of Chinese people? Is their support for the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) genuine or forced?

China, as a civilization-state, has two main characteristics. Firstly, there is its exceptional longevity, dating back to even before the break-up of the Roman Empire. Secondly, the sheer scale of China – both geographic and demographic – means that it embraces a huge diversity.

The idea of China as a civilization-state is a fundamental building block for understanding China in its own terms. And it has multifarious implications. The relationship between the state and society in China is very different to that in the West.

Contrary to the overwhelming Western assumption that the Chinese state lacks legitimacy and is bereft of public support, in fact the Chinese state enjoys greater legitimacy than any Western state. We have come to assume that the legitimacy of the state overwhelmingly rests on the democratic process – universal suffrage, competing parties et al.

But this is only one element: if it was the whole story, then the Italian state would enjoy a robust legitimacy rather than the reality, a chronic lack of it. And to explain this we have to go back to the Risorgimento as only a partially fulfilled project.

The reason why the Chinese state enjoys a formidable legitimacy in the eyes of the Chinese has nothing to do with democracy but can be found in the relationship between the state and Chinese civilization.

The state is seen as the embodiment, guardian and defender of Chinese civilization.

Maintaining the unity, cohesion and integrity of Chinese civilization – of the civilization-state – is perceived as the highest political priority and is seen as the sacrosanct task of the Chinese state.

Unlike in the West, where the state is viewed with varying degrees of suspicion, even hostility, and is regarded, as a consequence, as an outsider, in China the state is seen as an intimate, as part of the family, indeed as the head of the family; interestingly, in this context, the Chinese term for nation-state is ‘nation-family / 国家’.

Yes, CPC is the head of the family and the inheritor and guardian of Chinese civilization.

REAL Family? Would Men Stop Walking Away if they could have THIS? REACTION to #based Tim Pool

Have you ever gone to a psychiatrist? What were the circumstances around the visit?

I sought the help of a therapist during my final months in New Zealand because I thought I had depression.

After telling him about my situation at length, he said:

“Let me summarize:

you have been bullied out of your job;
you have over one million dollars of debt and face repossession of your two houses and four cars;
half of which because you have been pressured into buying a house for your mother in law, who has been actively sabotaging your marriage for almost ten years;
your foster children you were expecting to adopt have been taken away and put back with their biological parents, teenagers imprisoned for drug offences who have now been released due to a law change;
your wife wants a divorce.

And you think you have depression? You have every reason to be down! You’re healthy. Get out of here.”

And I did.

All the way to Shanghai, from where it took me three years to clean up the mess. But he was right, I never needed any anti depressants. With every dollar my bank statements began to look more balanced, I was better.

7 things you can understand about anyone through his/her behavior

If a person laughs too much, even at stupid things, he is lonely deep inside.
If a person speaks less, but speaks fast, he keeps secrets.
If a person sleeps a lot, he is sad.
If someone can’t cry, he is weak.
If someone eats in an abnormal manner, he is tense.
If someone cries on little things, he is innocent & soft-hearted.
If someone becomes angry over silly or petty (small) things, it means he needs love.Try to understand people more.

Have you ever witnessed a life ruined from a small mistake?

On the 4th of July, 16 years ago, I was at a fireworks show where parents accidentally killed their own child.

They had 6 children. One was a 6 month old baby.

They were at a fireworks show. It was really hectic. I don’t remember the exact details. A lot of people were there.

The dad had gone off on his own to buy snacks for the kids, he took the baby along.

Mom was sitting on a blanket with the rest of her kids, ready to watch the fireworks show. Someone from the show asked Mom to move her car, it was in the way. Mom left the oldest child in charge of all the younger ones on the grassy hill on their blanket. She walked over and hopped into the car.

At the same time, Dad had come back to the car after getting snacks to get a lawn chair out of the trunk. Mom and Dad didn’t see each other, Mom was already in the car. Dad set the baby carrier down on the ground behind the car, not knowing Mom was in the car ready to back up.

I’m not sure how it happened, Dad was either distracted talking to someone or busy setting snacks down. But while he wasn’t looking, Mom backed the car over the baby. It was horrible, chaotic, and devastating.

The baby was only partially backed over and survived for two days. He died after that. The pain of his parents was indescribable.

After that, an investigation ensued of the death of their child. They were found innocent, ruling that it was a horrible accident. But being investigated for the murder of their child made the death much worse and the pain last much longer.

Surprisingly, the couple did stay together. A lot of times, couples blame each other in events like that and have to separate after something so painful, or so I’ve heard.

However, they don’t celebrate the 4th of July anymore. It’s a horrible reminder of the death of their baby boy. Every year I see a post from them commemorating his death on Independence Day.

If I get a job offer of HKD $25,000, is it enough to stay in Hong Kong like renting, utilities, transportation, living cost, etc. for one person?

It depends on your life style.

A lot of people will say rent is the killer.

It isn’t the killer it once was. Rents are FALLING in Hong Kong and if you live in the New Territories a little bit away from an MTR station a 500sqft apartment can be had for about $7000 a month, live in the arse end of nowhere and $10000 can get you an entire 750sqft apartment.

But you trade travel time/expenses for rent.

Foodwise? You can survive easily on $100HKD a day.

Transport from arse end of nowhere to Admiralty for me is about $60HKD a day. This can be cheaper if I decide to arrive before 8am.

Utilities. Family of 4 lots of air con, lots of cooking (electric) is about $2800 a month electricity. I live mostly alone spend most of my time outside and I am also heat resistant so I spend about $700 (I do however weld a fair bit).

The problem is sanity money.

As somebody on a visa? Shenzhen is closed to you. Sanity money is doing things to get away from the nuttyness of the city and urban areas. This can be cheap as chips for instance cycling all over the territory (an older road bike can be bought for $2000). To ice skating, musical instruments etc to getting wasted.

That’s the big money sink here.

This is FRIGHTENING!

If you could change your high-stress lifestyle, how would you do it?

I have already done that. Here’s what I did:

purchased a cheap house outright, so I can live mortgage free. It’s fantastic. I will never ever feel like I might lose the roof over my head.
built myself a large stock of healthy dried foods, so I can theoretically last a year or more just on my sacks of pulses, rice, and canned veggies and fruits. The squirrels got it right.
bought myself a fairly recent, compact Toyota hybrid – mobility assured.
moved to a village in the wilderness, six hours from the next big city. It’s totally quiet at night, and all I hear during the day is the waves of the lake.
got myself a pleasant university job.
invested in some premium mattresses and bedding, as well as earplugs – great sleep is your main weapon against stress.
I keep cats instead of dogs – they inspire me with their ability to sleep on the couch all day long.
all my lighting is LED, so I don’t need to worry about leaving it on. It will be cheap and the bulbs last 20 years.
built myself a little home cinema in the basement where I can retreat and watch films with the cats every evening. Watching films is supremely relaxing.
I’ve left all the accounting to my wife, who likes doing it.

What is the sleaziest, dirtiest trick an auto insurance company tried to pull on you? Did they succeed?

My wife was killed in an accident in Minnesota. A juvenile was driving her brand new vehicle way too fast even tho the road conditions were dry (speedometer was stuck at 1 04 when they were investigating).

The girl/insurance was found 100% at fault. Her insurance was a hefty one since she was a minor. Their insurance had the gall to keep calling me asking health questions about my wife and she was prone to seizures, blacking out suddenly, vertigo, etc. I was like WTH and told them I was going to get an attorney (this was Wednesday morning…accident was Tuesday night at 8:44PM). By 11AM I already had answered numerous calls from her ins, had to tell 4 kids their mom passed away, had to let her family in Arizona know that she passed.

At 11:45 on the morning after, I get a call from her insurance company asking if I would accept $1,000 for my pain, suffering and not go to trial. This girls insurance policy was over 500k. I told them that they are out of their effing mind…the girl that offered me chuckled and said she thought I wouldnt accept and hung up. I got a lawyer, had him let them know I wouldnt accept and we would reach a settlement.

All in all, the insurance company sat on the policy earning interest for 2 years and then on month 26, the KIDS reached a college settlement that they couldnt touch until each of them reached 18, 21, 25 (I didnt want them to get all that money right away and blow it even tho one had a sleazy partner and they blew thru the age 21 settlement in 3 days).

I think its very sleazy that they were trying to distance themselves from the accident and then trying to weasel themselves out of paying the insurance settlement. We didnt get the full settlement but it was close and I still have 2 children out of the 4 still collecting interest and checks.

Why does Israel kill kids? Why do Israelis online claim these deaths are not happening?

This was a Nation that once refused to starve Egyptian soldiers it had encircled in 1973

Moshe Dayan once said If Israel acted like terrorist groups, it would lose the moral ground to the world

Golda Meir formed the Wrath of God team to selectively hunt down the 1972 Munich Massacre terrorists – one by one over almost 11 years at a cost of $ 42 Million rather than send a few aircraft and bomb Jordan or Lebanon for harboring those terrorists

Those days are done and dusted now

The Americans started with Agent Orange and began to justify killing Civilians

Then in 1999, Tony Blair openly claimed the West had a right to meddle in any Country’s affairs for World Peace

And thus began the growth of Evil in the West

I would say the Evil began with Bill Clinton and Tony Blair – both alleged pedophiles and both on the list of that notorious and accepted pedophile Epstein

Europe was still protected by good nationalists like Chirac and Schroeder

Then gradually the Evil spread everywhere

Bush Jr, Obama, Trump, Biden, Scholz, Boris Johnson,Macron and Netanyahu – the list goes on and on

The Israelis are evil people today

They seem to believe that killing women and children is fully justified

That’s not a problem in itself

Yet they seem to believe Arabs and especially Palestinians are akin to animals and deserve to die

So many Israeli kids seem surprised as to why the whole world is reacting to the deaths of Palestinians

Just like in 1940, Hitler Jugend used to ask why everyone was so worried about Jewry when the Reich was doing their job for them and ridding the world of that Jewish influence

Their God once protected them because they were on the right path and the world was persecuting them

I believe the same God will abandon them or has abandoned them to the Devil long ago

They are too evil and they deserve God’s judgment

Let’s hope like Moses – a new round of plagues arise and exterminate all the evil Israelis leaving behind the Good ones who can again build up the former ‘Honor’ of their race that existed in the times of Golda Meir and Moshe Dayan

SHOCKING Court Ruling in Favor of MEN! Yale Student Acquitted of Assault Sues for $110 Million

The thing is, for many men, it's not even, "guilty until proven innocent." Its, "guilty EVEN if proven innocent."

Green Chile Burros

The burro is shown “enchilada style.”

Ingredients

1 small beef roast, diced
1 medium onion, chopped
2 (4 ounce) cans diced green chiles
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 (16 ounce) can tomatoes, drained (juice reserved)
1/2 teaspoon comino (cumin)
Salt and pepper, to taste
All-purpose flour

Instructions

Brown diced meat in fat in a large, heavy saucepan. Add onion, green chiles, garlic and drained tomatoes. Add enough drained tomato juice (plus water if needed) to cover. Add comino, salt and pepper. Cook, covered, until meat is very tender.
Mix flour with a small amount of water to form a thin paste and add to mixture to thicken slightly.
Heat a large flour tortilla on a griddle. Fill with meat mixture and fold.

Notes

Enchilada Style: Follow instructions above, then place in a shallow serving dish. Pour enchilada sauce over the top to cover, and sprinkle with grated cheese. Heat in a 425 degrees F oven until the cheese is melted.

I sometimes make a fast version of this. I use leftover pot roast, dice it up, mix it with the remaining ingredients and just simmer it until the onion is tender. Thicken it with the flour as stated in the recipe.

What was the funniest moment you had with your boss?

I have had so many wonderful moments with Jay (store manager), it’s hard to decide on which one.

I think this was hilarious, but I doubt Jay would, good thing he doesn’t read my answers.

I was working in my department, Jay and I were visiting just before he was going home. A customer walked up to my service counter. I wished I could remember what the customer said or did that had me lose my temper. It takes a lot before I lose it.

Anyway, the customer upset me and I said, “You can shove it where the sun doesn’t shine and I don’t mean a closed book.” The customer walked away. Jay looks at me and said, “You are so busted!” He walked away to talk to the customer. I stood there cussing myself out for my stupidity.

Jay returned. In the coldest tone, he said, “You back room now!!!!!” I walked back there. I knew that there was nothing I could say to save my bacon.

He stood there glaring at me, counting to ten, taking deep breaths, counting again and clenching and unclenching his fists. I was smart enough not to be a smarta$$ and ask him if I was in trouble.

He finally said, “How? How in the H E double hockey sticks did you manage to do it?!?!” I waited to find out what I managed to do. Jay sputters out, “ I went to talk to the customer to smooth things out, so corporate would not become involved. The customer told me that everything was great and if I punish you in anyway, she will call corporate on me?!!?” I looked at him and said, “Maybe because I am cuter?” He stormed off!

We are still friends to this day! I’m still cuter!

Russia to United Nations: Prepare for “Unconditional Capitulation” of Ukraine

Hal Turner World 12 April 2024

Russia just said the quiet part out loud: There must be unconditional capitulation (i.e. surrender)” by Ukraine.

During yesterday’s UN Security Council meeting Vasily Nebenzya, the Permanent Representative of Russia to the United Nations, said:

“This is how it will go down in history – as an inhuman and hateful regime of terrorists and Nazis who betrayed the interest of their people and sacrificed it for Western money and for Zelenski and his closest circle.

In these conditions, attempts by the head of the Kiev regime to promote his formula and convene summits in support of the Kiev regime cause only confusion.

Very soon the only topic for any international meetings on Ukraine will be the unconditional capitulation of the Kiev regime.

I advise you all to prepare for this in advance.”

Rodrigo Duterte: ‘US will not die for us’

“When I was elected as president then (in 2016), I tried to craft an independent foreign policy, not really against America. I have no quarrel with America. But the problem was our foreign policy was dovetailing theirs, and not so good with China. So I started on a neutral foreign policy. I announced to the world that I had no friends and no enemies to fight. I just want to be neutral. And I did not have to kowtow to anybody’s foreign policy, especially the Americans. […]

Most of the ASEAN countries have followed a very neutral, independent foreign policy. I would have wanted that… That is why I slowly detached myself, and, at least in foreign policy, and announced to China that we are not enemies, that we have never been, and never will be in our lifetime.

Here in the West Philippine Sea (South China Sea), when I was president, there was no quarrel. We can return to normalcy. I hope that we can stop the ruckus over there, because the Americans are the ones pushing the Philippine government to go out there and find a quarrel and eventually maybe start a war.

So I am very sure of that – America is giving the instructions to the Philippine government to ‘not be afraid because we will back you up.’ […]

I am sorry for my country. I am not the president anymore. I cannot run. But if there is a way we can reverse the situation, we might find a way inside to implode somewhere. And if God would allow it then perchance I would be able to reverse the situation. I would remove the bases.

And I would tell the Americans, you have so many ships, so you do not need my island as a launching pad or as a launching deck for you.”

How does China’s “petitioning” system work in China?

This is a custom which had its origins in China’s imperial past.

The idea was this: If a local official behaved intolerably, the people would go to the imperial capital and make an appeal to an imperial official, or in some cases, even to the emperor himself. The petitioners would lay out their case, explain the rationale for their appeal, and ask for senior official or emperor to make a judgment.

This could be very dangerous: what would happen if the senior official or emperor sided with the local official, and ordered that all the petitioners be executed? For this reason, it was considered a very risky strategy.

This petitioning method continues to the present day. When Hu Jintao was president, in some cases, local officials would go to the train and bus stations to prevent the petitioners from boarding trains. There were even a few cases where petitioners made it to Beijing, and were kidnapped by the local officials and taken back to their village! This was considered to be a serious violation of the authority of the Beijing central government.

Xi Jinping has tried to modernize this system, which is why he has strengthened the authority of the Party Discipline Committee of the Central Committee of the Chinese Communist Party. In effect, they act as “flying magistrates” or judges who were sent out to the provinces to hunt down and remove corrupt local officials. If you follow the detective stories of Judge Dee and Judge Bao, they were flying magistrates who represented the emperor, which was why local officials all had to kneel before him.

Insights: Famous Chinese Economist On US Economy 2024

"I listen to Jeffrey Sachs, and Michael Hudson. Great to hear about this Chinese economist who i have no access to, nor the Chinese language skill to understand even if I do. Thank you for introducing his thoughts though."

Slot Machine Millionaire

I almost became a one-shot bandit millionaire.

I was playing slots with my mother in New Jersey. I was at an end machine and putting quarters one after the other in one machine.

I was there for about twenty minutes when my mother asked me to sit closer to her.

So I got up.

And another woman took my seat. (She had been off the side watching me, and as soon as I got up, she ran to my seat and sat down.)

She put one quarter in.

And she won 3 million dollars!

Jesus.

Life.

Is this a joke or what?

What the fuck was I thinking when I planned this pre-birth world-line template?

Ugh!

Today…

Have you ever met someone really privileged who shocked you?

When I was in college, I had a part-time job in my domitory’s cafeteria. The richest person I ever knew was one of my fellow student employees. His father was the chairman of the board at a major multinational corporation, and his mother was a major stockholder in a US communications giant. They owned a Lear jet and a chalet in Switzerland. When they came to visit my friend in the dorm, he needed other students to help sign in the entourage of 2 assistants, 2 bodyguards, and a driver (dorm residents were allowed to sign in only 2 guests at a time).

About halfway through the first year I knew him, I found out that when he’d arrived on campus, he’d had no clue how to run a washing machine. His roommate had had to teach him. He told me “I knew we had them at home; I’d just never seen them.”

He also told me about how many times in his tween and teen years he’d spent Christmas with only the household staff for company because his parents had been invited to some fancy party or other in Europe or Asia, and he hadn’t wanted to go.

My friend owned his own tuxedo, and had a credit card that drew from his trust fund’s interest. So he bought his clothes and shoes at Neiman Marcus, and took friends out to lunch in swanky restaurants where they served us alcohol without batting an eye even though we were all clearly under the drinking age.

So, you’re probably wondering why this guy was working a part-time job in a campus cafeteria. Well, that was his father’s idea. Dad, you see, had worked his way through college and thought that having a job would be good for my friend’s character. So Dad refused to provide a cash allowance. And since this was the 80s, before you could use a credit card to buy fast food, my friend had to work if he wanted pocket money.

Bacon, Egg and Mushroom Burritos

Thick sliced apple wood-smoked turkey bacon, shiitake mushrooms and spinach enhance this yummy egg wrap. Perfect for breakfast or lunch on-the-go.

Yield: 6 servings

Ingredients

6 thick slices applewood-smoked turkey bacon (6 ounces)
4 ounces fresh shiitake or button mushrooms, stemmed, sliced
4 ounces (4 cups) fresh baby arugula or spinach
12 eggs, beaten
6 (7 to 9 inch) flour or whole wheat tortillas, warmed

Instructions

Cook bacon in 12 inch nonstick skillet over medium heat until crisp.
Remove bacon; pour off all but 1 tablespoon drippings. Add mushrooms; saute over medium heat for 2 minutes.
Add arugula; cook until wilted, about 1 minute.
Pour eggs over mixture in skillet. As eggs begin to set, gently pull the eggs across the pan with an inverted turner, forming large soft curds. Continue cooking, pulling, lifting and folding eggs until thickened and no visible liquid egg remains. Do not stir constantly. Season with salt and pepper.
Spoon egg mixture into center of each tortilla, dividing evenly; top each with 1 bacon slice. Fold in sides of tortillas, then roll up burrito-style.

My GF Thought I’d Be Her ATM Forever Until I Finally Grew A Pair (And A Brain) & Blocked Her Forever

What gift did you give that made you speechless by the reaction you got from it?

A few years ago my husband found out he has a sister who his mom and dad had given up for adoption. We arranged a time for her to come down and meet the entire family (parents had both died at this time). There were 5 siblings and their families. Everyone gave gifts and gift cards but I wanted to do something different. I had been scrapbooking for several years so I got a bunch of family pictures together and put them into a very nice scrapbook with journaling to explain each picture’s story. She was so appreciative and overwhelmed and kept looking through that scrapbook. Whenever we see each other she talks about that scrapbook and says how much that means to her. She said, “It’s so nice to have pictures of people that look like me.” Growing up she didn’t look like her adoptive family at all. We are all so grateful she sought us out and we are as close with her as we are with our other family members.

What was life like under communism? Do you miss anything from that time?

I was turning 17 when the communism came to an end in Nicolae Ceaușescu’s Romania. An abrupt and violent end. Unexpected in how quickly everything happened, in a space of a few days. But somehow expected as well, as a wind of change was blowing over Central and Eastern Europe for at least a couple of years before already.

How was life? For me personally, as a teenager in a standard urban family with two kids and college-educated parents, the worst was, on a trivial level, that I couldn’t find in the music stores the music I wanted to have 🙂 Western pop-rock was scarcely available on the white market and music was one of my biggest joys and constant extracurricular preoccupations.

On a more serious level, what I was hating the most was the duplicity. Saying (or at least pretending to listen and approve) one thing at school and a totally different one at home. Watching or listening to the incredibly stupid and untrue TV and radio shows run by the public stations (the only available ones), hailing constantly the happiness of the people under the wise and paternal leadership of the Communist Party and its genius secretary general, then looking around at the grim reality surrounding us: grey streets and grey buildings under a grey sky. Grumpy people running around and trying to make the ends meet, with less and less at hand as we were growing as a nation “richer and richer”. A prouder and prouder “free and independent” nation composed of humbler and humbler people, more and more deprived of personal independence and freedom, of dignity.

This is me, a few months after the communism collapsed, on the roof of our brutalist block of communist-style flats, in the middle of a brutalist forest of similar blocks, some still under construction. I was skinny (I am still), but not necessarily because the Romanian communism had brought famine upon us, although towards the crepuscule of the regime it had come quite close to that.

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What are some psychology tricks for everyday life?

When you are in a group and notice that someone is making fun of you, look in their face and smile a little, they will feel scared
“Emotional contagion” is a phenomenon in which people working in groups “catch” each other’s emotions and feelings, akin to viral infection.
If you want someone to get nervous, look at their forehead
Beware the “Love Rat”! According to research, men who believe in love at first sight and bombard their potential partners with presents and attention are three times more likely to cheat on them, compared to those who take their time.
If you notice someone in every situation swearing at you and saying he’s joking, he hates you
According to recent studies, the people who fuss over small errors or strongly react to small problems are usually lonely and unloved.
Whisper something to smeone and 9/10 times they’ll whisper back
If you think someone is lying look them in their eyes and don’t say anything
Persistent irritability is caused by underlying physical or psychological disorders, such as depression or anxiety.
If you want someone to tell the truth, make them laugh before questioning.
Is someone watching you ow want to know whether they are watching you or not? yawn and they’ll yawn back
If you tell someone to stare into your eyes, it’s now harder for them to remember anything without looking away
If you’re trying to sleep, focus on not moving and count to 300
Around 65% to 80% of human conversations are gossip.
If someone interrupts u when you’re talking. just carry on speaking. They will feel stupid and you’ll feel powerful.

Gen Z Grad Faces The Brutal Reality of Job Search In 2024

What is the most condescending advice you received from someone who assumed you were poorer or less educated than them?

This has happened on two different occasions. In my home.

The first, I was looking to put in all new hardwood floors into my house. I’d done a ton of research, knew what I wanted; I just needed the materials and the contractor.

I am a single woman who owns a house. I’m on my second house that I bought and paid for myself, by the way. My father is long out of my life and the other family members who are men live so far away that I had to figure it out on my own.

So I had a bunch of quotes on the hardwood. One company insisted on sending someone to my house. He first asked if we needed to wait for my husband. “No, just me.” He said he wasn’t sure that was a good idea. I said he could wait outside for someone that looked like a husband.

He then asked if I had a basement. I told him “no”. He asked if I was sure.

I said take a look and be sure to let me know if he found one. Needless to say he didn’t find a basement or a job that night.

A few years later I needed a new furnace. This was a rush so I didn’t have as much research down. First, this one idiot told me my furnace was German and it had to be replaced because it would take 6 weeks to get parts for it (Googling the name on the furnace revealed it was from Texas… did Texas finally secede and become part of Germany?). Then they said they could give me a new furnace for $13-$18k. I said, “well, what does it cost.” $13k-$18k.

No, if I were writing a check tonight, what would I make the check out for? $13k -$18k.

Finally they said it would be like $200/month. I tried to explain that was based on a cost. He argued that when you lease a car that’s all it cost! I said no, the payments are based on what portion of the car you’re using based on a base price. He argued that no, I was an idiot.

Yes, I was the idiot who wrote a check for $8k for a new furnace. To someone else who told me the price…

What psychological tricks and hacks are useful to know?

1. Here’s how you can speak well-organized anytime anywhere.
There are 3 elements: the current status, estimation, and response.
Just presenting them in order makes you appear very organized and insightful.
For example:
“The car broke down now, judging from the current traffic on this road, it’s unlikely we’ll find anyone to tow our car, so let’s call for roadside assistance.”

2. When asking someone for a favor, start by giving them a compliment.
For example:
“I’m impressed with your work on the last project we did together, and I feel confident that I can trust you with this task as well.”

3. If you want to persuade someone, just say things that sound illogical at first but carry an vibe of mysteriousness.
This way, they will be drawn into these seemingly meaningless statements, feeling that your thought process operates on a higher level, and are more likely to agree with what you say next.
For example:
“If you can forget what you should have forgotten from the past, shouldn’t you understand the workings of the subconscious? How exactly should it operate?”

4. During an interview, present your personal desires as the company’s needs.
This significantly increases your chances of being hired.
For example:
Instead of saying you enjoy writing, express that the platform’s content captivates you, and you aspire to contribute as a valuable member of it.

5. If you find yourself easily getting into arguments with someone, try using another 3 elements: facts, feelings, and hopes.
For example, let’s say your partner kept you waiting in the cold for an hour.
Instead of saying:
“Do you enjoy making me wait? Can’t you check the time? Do you ever think about me?”
you can say:
“I waited for you for 58 minutes earlier, and this month alone, I’ve waited for you for over half an hour five times. Constantly waiting like this makes me feel like you might not be considering my time. I hope we can be more mindful of each other’s schedules.”

6. When praising others, it’s often more effective to compliment what they might not be consciously aware of.
For instance, if you praise Usain Bolt for his incredible speed, he might not feel it as much.
However, if you compliment him on something like, “Wow, I’ve noticed you have great handwriting,” he might feel genuinely pleased.

7. When expressing gratitude for a gift, forget about the price and emphasize your heartfelt appreciation.
For example:
“This bag must be expensive! ” (✘)
“I’ve always loved this bag. ” (✔)

8. If you’re on a first date with a girl and things are going really well. And you’re interested in planning another meet-up.
It’s crucial not to wait until the moment of departure. Instead, seize an good moment when you both are engaged in the vibe to propose the next date.
For example:
Person A: “These are so delicious!”
Person B: “These are nothing. I know a place with even better ones. How about next Saturday? I’ll take you there!”

9. For anything work-related that falls outside of your scope, the safe response is always a simple “I don’t know” added by a reason.
For example:
Person A: “Where’s Alex? Where did he go? He’s late again?”
Person B: “I don’t know, I was checking emails.”

Men are Letting Reality Happen to Women

What are some undeniable facts about life?

A woman jumps to death from the terrace of a 15 storied building.

Her husband tells the police she was depressed. Her in-laws cry because they were unable to understand the reason behind taking this drastic step.

Her parents though, alleged murder.

They say she had been complaining about domestic abuse and violence that she faced for about two years.

“She was tortured. They locked her up and didn’t give her food for days. She was beaten and pain was inflicted upon her. She would cry and tell us. Please arrest them.” The parents said.

A case is filed on the husband’s family and the matter drags to court.

The parents think that their daughter has got justice.

Makes me wonder, why are the girl’s parents also not taken into custody? They heard their daughter complain about the abuse for two whole years and they didn’t even think about taking any action? Why did they wait for her to kill herself to take these matters to the police? Why couldn’t they just take her home and stop the torture? Why come out crying only when she ended her life?

The police asked why were you silent when you knew what she was going through?

They say,

“We were waiting it would stop someday on its own. We have faith in our God. She would also not lose faith. We just hoped someday they will realise how badly they have treated her and mend their ways. But never in our dreams we thought she will take this step.”

Some undeniable facts about life you ask me?

You need to take charge and make things happen to make a difference in life. Not everything in life will happen on its own. You can’t put everything on the almighty to make it right for you.

What are some cases that literally make no sense?

Originally Answered: What are some cases that really make no sense?

Back in 2007, a sick, twisted monster named Robert A. Williams unleashed a nightmarish hell on an innocent Columbia Grad student when he broke into her apartment and unleashed an unspeakable onslaught of sadistic torture. For 19 agonizing hours, this vile excuse for a human being raped, sodomized, and brutalized the poor woman in ways that’d make even the toughest horror movie beg for mercy.

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He glued her mouth shut, slit her eyelids, force-fed her fistfuls of pills, and even set her on fire. It’s like a demented game of “how much suffering can one person endure?” Begging for death, the victim pleaded with her tormentor to end her life, but the monster cruelly refused, taunting her with the chilling words, “You’re not good enough for that.” Miraculously, she survived the ordeal, and Williams was slapped with a whopping 420-year prison sentence.

So, here’s the million-dollar question: why the hell are we wasting taxpayers’ hard-earned cash on keeping this animal locked up when the death penalty exists for a reason? Or better yet, why not give him a taste of his own medicine, Black Mirror-style? Strap him in and make him relive every excruciating moment as the victim, over and over. Now THAT’S justice!

Meanwhile in Hong Kong

What happened when you returned someone’s lost wallet? Did they give you anything for returning it, and did they thank you personally (not through email)?

We found a phone, in a puddle by a beach in Cornwall. We took it back to our holiday cottage and put it in a jar of rice, to try to dry it out. Unfortunately, our charger didn’t fit it, so we couldn’t check if it had recovered until our son in law joined us, a couple of days later, and his did. The phone came back to life, amazingly, so we went to Contacts, phoned the one that said Home and left a message. Shortly afterwards, a surprised young man rang back. He had lost it when surfing, several days before, and it had lain in a salt water puddle for at least two days before we found it. He said he would come and collect it, and we said be quick, then – we are leaving shortly. He arrived with six bottles of nice wine, and was very grateful. It seemed to be working fine – photos intact, and everything. Wish I could remember what make it was!

What is one city you would never return to? Why?

Banjul.

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I can confidently say there is virtually zero chance I’ll ever return to The Gambia’s capital city. This is not because of any bad experiences, but that it’s highly unlikely I’ll ever revisit this little African country.

For those who are not aware of where this country is located, I provide a map below.

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The country is surrounded by Senegal on Africa’s western coast and is more or less moulded around the River Gambie. No doubt, the county’s peculiar formation stems from British and French colonial policy.

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Banjul is a fascinating city with a beautiful coastline and close access to the humid river. I stayed near the vast sandy beaches which are genuinely beautiful, fringing the Atlantic and dotted by palm trees.

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It is a very African city. Its environment is orange and dusty with extreme heat on occasions. There are overflowing food markets, lots of colourful clothes and African style mosques.

My most remarkable memory was seeing a fully dressed and booted battalion of soldiers speed marching for training through the dusty streets. Sweat poured down them like torrential rain.

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I also remember seeing spiders hanging in hundreds of cobwebs covering many different houses and complexes. Travelling over incomplete roads, multitudes of spiders just dangled in the air. I’ve never seen so many large spiders in my life. Certainly disconcerting for any arachnophobes!

I played football with some of the locals and explored the famous alligator park of Banjul with monkeys lounging around in the tall trees.

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The Gambia is a beautiful country, but I can’t see any reason why I’d return to it or its capital.

How has China unlike USSR stayed united inspite of vast diversity?

Simply because the USSR was in fact a loose federation of a handful of republics, and China was in fact one country. It’s really that simple.

This is Shanghai government. SHANGHAI CHINA. Check out the resume of everyone in the top echelon – mayor, vice mayors, etc. The nine-member top management team. How many of them are Shanghai local? Exactly zero. None. Not a single one. They all came from some other places in China.

The Shanghai government is not run by people who want to be the king of Shanghai. It’s run by people who want to run China. Shanghai is one of their “personal five-year-plans” on the way to the top. They will stay for a maximum 2 terms ( 10 years), then they move away to their next posts, either up or down, depends on what they can delivery here. This is the same with all the other provinces and major cities, i.e., the mayor of Beijing is from Jilin province, the provincial governor of Guangdong is from Shandong province, the governor of Henan is from Ningxia, Shan’an Xi province … Basically, all public offices are financed by national tax collection, manned by a national bureaucracy with regular rotations, and defended by national armed forces, since the Han dynasty

in 200 BC – so there’s absolutely no incentive to pick a fight with other provinces. They are not your “enemies” but your future constituents. So there’s a great deal of incentive to make a good impression by reaching out and collaborate, build up a support network, so that they’ll vote you into the Politburo. That’s how you get to run the whole China.

On the other hand, the full name of USSR is “United Socialists Soviet Republics”. It was a federation of republics where each republic was run by local people who spoke a different languages, believed in different religions, and wanted to be the top dog of their own republic. In fact, the dissolution of USSR made each local ethnic elite the “king” of their own republic. Just check out their resumes. It didn’t hurt one’s political prospects to pick a fight with one’s neighbors. Instead, it may polish up one’s local “nationalist” credentials. The USSR was never set up as one country in the first place.

The truth

MARIA ZAKHAROVA:

“The United States and NATO have never been shy about outright lying to justify their aggressive plans.

In the case of aggression against the FR Yugoslavia, carried out under the mocking banner of ‘humanitarian intervention,’ mainly civilian targets were hit: residential areas, hospitals, schools, bridges, passenger transport, and columns of refugees. Thousands of civilians were killed, including 89 children, whom the Western coalition cynically dubbed ‘collateral damage.’

Let me remind you that NATO aggression against the FR Yugoslavia began without UN sanction — it was not only a tragic milestone in the life of the Serbian people with thousands of ruined destinies and desecrated national dignity, but also a devastating blow to the system of international law and the foundations of security in Europe, established after World War II.

The US and NATO have finally come to believe in their own impunity and moral superiority — to the misfortune of those who strive to choose their own path, rather than becoming instruments for the realization of others’ interests.

On that day, the strategic balance of power collapsed, and a protracted crisis in interstate relations began, which continues to deepen.

The same thing is happening now in the Middle East.

The situation in the region is an example of the ‘controlled chaos’ theory, which underlies US policy.

However, this chaos has spiraled out of control and threatens a large-scale regional war.

The US cannot be unaware of this, but the desire to make super-profits from selling weapons in the region overrides all moral and ethical standards among Americans.

If we talk about the goals of the US in Ukraine, putting aside political motives to create a puppet state on the western borders of Russia, from which constant threats to our country would come, then everyone knows that there are large assets of American business in this country.

The most profitable ‘grain business’ is half owned by Washington.

The most fertile lands have already been purchased or taken for free by American companies.

They will squeeze everything out and leave the country to the mercy of fate.

In pursuit of elusive world dominance and military superiority, Washington and its allies are expanding the network of alliances directed against third countries and are actively pursuing a number of programs that undermine global stability and regional security.

These are the emerging alliances AUKUS (Australia, Great Britain, USA) and QUAD (USA, Australia, Japan, India) in the Asia-Pacific region, the goal of which is to militarize the region to contain China and Russia.

Recently, the magazine Politico wrote: ‘In every conflict it has been involved in, Washington has lost interest in supporting the countries involved once American businesses have squeezed everything they can out of the presence of US troops.’

The goal of the US is to wreak havoc in order to squeeze everything possible from a particular country from an economic and resource perspective.

And from a political point of view, it aims to prevent countries and regions from developing in stability and prosperity.”

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Excerpt from remarks by Russian Foreign Ministry Spokeswoman Maria Zakharova in an interview with Gleb Ivanov, April 12, 2024.

Full Metal Jacket | Group Reaction | Movie Review

What are the most epic failures in history?

“Guys, I just developed this bulletproof liquid. The Germans won’t be able to kill us now!”

These words were said by Kinjekitile Ngwale, a Tanzanian witchdoctor (and the hero of this story). But first, understand what was going on in Tanzania at that time.(It was called Tanganyika)

In the late 1800s, Britain, Germany, Portugal, Belgium and France storm into Africa, grabbing as much land as they can in the name of colonialism. The Germans in particular enter Tanganyika and claim it as their own.

See those two Africans holding the dead animal? Yeah, those are slaves.

See, Germans are efficient. Instead of bringing in labour from their country, which was a tedious affair, they forced indigenous tribes to work for them. They also imposed heavy taxation on them, because why not.

Naturally, those tribes were not happy.

So what do you do when some white guys take your livestock and steal your women?

Simple. You REBEL AGAINST THOSE ASSHATS!

That’s where our valiant revolutionary, Mr. Kinjekitile Ngwale, comes in. He told his fellow Africans that he was a prophet sent by the ancestors to get rid of the Germans. So he became the leader of the rebellion. Just like that.

One tiny problem though…the Germans had GUNS. Lots of guns. The Africans only had spears and arrows. If you’ve ever played rock paper scissors you know how it feels when you put paper and everyone puts scissors. That’s how the Africans felt.

So Mr. Kinjekitile Ngwale came up with an idea…

Using his extensive knowledge as a witchdoctor, he mixed water, castor oil, and millet seeds. He claimed the concoction, when applied on the body, would turn the German bullets into water, essentially rendering them bullet proof. The African tribes applied this liquid and charged straight to the nearest German base, confident of their leader’s magic.

As soon as the Germans saw the Africans approaching, they…well…read this excerpt:

Several thousand Maji warriors, led by a spirit medium, marched toward the Reich’s compound at Mahenge. As soon as the rebels were within firing range, soldiers, backed by two machine guns, laid down a lethal fire. Row upon row of Maji warriors marched toward the guns, but were cut down.Hundreds were killed or wounded before breaking off the engagement.

Kinjeketile was later captured and hanged by the Germans for ‘treason’. Despite his grand bullet proof mishap, he is still considered a hero for stirring nationalism among the Tanzanians.

So yes. Even failure can make you a hero.

Hookup Culture

The US dangles Yemen bait, but Ansarallah doesn’t bite

The US has secretly offered a stunning array of concessions to Ansarallah to halt its naval operations in support of Gaza – to no avail.

APR 11, 2024

By Khalil Nasrallah

We favor a diplomatic solution. We know that there is no military solution.

– US Special Envoy for Yemen Timothy Lenderking

In a special briefing on 3 April – nearly six months after Yemen launched its far-reaching naval operations to debilitate Israel’s ability to conduct war on Gaza – US Special Envoy for Yemen Timothy Lenderking touted the importance of seeking diplomatic solutions in Yemen

instead of the military ones his government has been loudly advocating for months.

Lenderking’s stance contrasted sharply with Washington’s announcement in December of a multinational coalition against Yemen’s Ansarallah-led forces, aimed at safeguarding international shipping in the Red Sea and effectively protecting Israeli-linked trade from Yemen’s sweeping naval blockade.

But as tensions heighten and regional allies have hesitated

to join the US–UK coalition in fear of direct Yemeni retaliatory strikes, the US and its allies have quietly sought to entice Sanaa into negotiations through offers conveyed by Omani and other international mediators who maintain ties with Yemen’s de facto government in Sanaa.

Lenderking’s position may, in fact, reflect an astounding set of private US promises made via intermediaries to Ansarallah behind closed doors – pledges that essentially tick every box on the resistance movement’s wish list.

‘Stop your Gaza support, and we will give you everything’

Informed Yemeni sources reveal to The Cradle that the US offered Sanaa – in exchange for its neutrality in the ongoing Gaza war – “an acknowledgment of its legitimacy.”

This would involve severely reducing the role of the Saudi-backed Presidential Council led by Rashid al-Alimi and accelerating the signing of a roadmap with Riyadh and Abu Dhabi to end the aggression against Yemen.

The sources further reveal that the Americans pledged to immediately release withheld Yemeni public sector salaries from the National Saudi Bank, lift the country’s siege entirely, reopen Sanaa Airport, ease restrictions on the port of Hodeidah, and facilitate a comprehensive prisoner exchange agreement with all involved parties.

In terms of reconstruction, the sources say:

[Washington] pledged to repair the damages, remove foreign forces from all occupied Yemeni lands and islands, and remove Ansarallah from the State Department’s ‘terrorism list’ – as soon as they stop their attacks in support of Gaza.

Despite these tempting offers, which have been the subject of negotiations between Sanaa and Riyadh for over two years, the Yemenis remained steadfast. Ansarallah leader Abdel Malik al-Houthi’s consistent position, as reiterated in his speeches, has been to continue operations as long as Israeli aggression against Gaza persists.

Ansarallah’s ‘military negotiation’

From the outset, marked by Israel’s declaration of a state of war following the 7 October Al-Aqsa Flood operation, Sanaa threw its weight behind the Palestinian resistance, launching comprehensive drone and ballistic missile attacks against the southern Israeli-occupied port city of Umm al-Rashrash, known as Eilat.

In response to the Yemeni salvos and interception attempts by US warships, Washington initiated a campaign of threats against Sanaa, which in turn demanded an immediate cessation of aggression against Gaza as a precondition for halting its military operations. Their exact words to the Americans were: “We are not within the circle of those you dictate to.”

Matters only intensified as Ansarallah began deploying previously unused naval strategies – not even utilized against Yemen’s aggressors, Saudi Arabia and the UAE, in nine years of battles – with al-Houthi vowingto obstruct Israeli ships in the Red Sea.

This strategy was actualized days later on 19 November, when Yemeni naval commandos stormed an Israeli-linked vessel, the Galaxy Leader, and its crew, redirecting the ship to Yemeni shores.

This daring naval action prompted the US to pursue dual strategies: the first, involving intimidation and preparation for a naval coalition to support Israel, and the second, encouraging diplomatic engagements through Arab and international mediators to halt Sanaa’s impactful naval operations.

Sanaa’s leadership not only dismissed these overtures but expanded the naval blockade to include non-Israeli vessels en route to Israeli ports and extended their theater of operations as far as the Indian Ocean– to cut off Israel’s “alternative long route” shipments.

Yemen’s firm refusal to succumb to either enticement or intimidation led the US and the UK to initiate aggressive military operations against the war-torn Persian Gulf state three months ago, aiming to neutralize the Yemeni threat and halt maritime attacks in support of Gaza under the guise of protecting maritime navigation freedom.

As a countermeasure, Sanaa escalated its military response by expanding operations to target not only US and British ships but also introducing advanced weaponry into its arsenal.

This included the sinking of the British cargo ship Rubymar, attacking other vessels, and broadening the theater of operations to the Arabian Sea and the Indian Ocean – a strategic move to ramp up pressure on those executing the brutal war on Gaza.

Yemen’s military checkmate

In light of the current situation, where the US has acknowledged the futility of its military strategy and is clamoring to devise a diplomatic solution, Sanaa has clearly demonstrated its relevance to any and all West Asian geopolitical calculations.

Its stunning achievements of the past six months include Sanaa’s ability to disrupt the Israeli economy by cutting off or lengthening trade routes for Israel’s essential imports. This can be seen most notably in Eilat, where the operational disruption of Israel’s southernmost port has led to significant job cuts by the port’s operating company and paralyzed shipping entirely.

Ansarallah has also thwarted retaliatory measures by the west’s most celebrated naval forces, made a mockery of their ramshackle “coalition,” and created complex challenges for US hegemonic ambitions in the Persian Gulf, both presently and in the long term.

Moreover, Yemen has showcased remarkable political and military maneuverability, demonstrating that a single resolved Arab state can provide the Palestinian resistance with a potent negotiating tool.

Importantly, through its military operations in the region’s waterways, Sanaa has solidified its position within the Axis of Resistance, transforming into one of the most effective forces in the Axis’ Unity of Fronts strategy. All, while drawing British and American naval assets into vulnerable – and unwinnable – positions and successfully hindering Israel’s shipping connections with the world.

A rising regional power

According to al-Houthi’s most recent count, Yemen’s numerous military operations have launched over 520 missiles and drones to target naval assets and areas in southern Israel. Ninety vessels have been targeted to date, with 34 operations conducted only between 4–5 March using 125 ballistic and winged missiles and drones.

In contrast, the US and UK have launched nearly 500 raids since their ill-conceived naval coalition began ops, resulting in the martyrdom of nearly forty Yemenis.

Six months into the war, Yemen continues to demonstrate its strategic capabilities on land, in regional waterways, and even in the world’s oceans. Yemeni officials hint at further military “surprises” still to come, which they may deploy depending on Israeli actions in Gaza and the broader region, as well as the actions of its US enabler, which Sanaa views as the most destructive and destabilizing force for West Asia’s security and stability.

Black Sabbath “Heaven and Hell” REACTION & ANALYSIS by Vocal Coach/Opera Singer

Fun.

Dark side of girls they don’t want to know you!

Girls often understand what a guy is implying, but they may feign innocence.
Women tend to develop feelings for those who maintain distance from them.
Many women enjoy engaging in what society deems “promiscuous” behavior, yet they recoil from being labeled as such.
When deeply in love, women may exhibit childish tendencies around their partners.
If a woman truly loves a man, she’ll likely inform him when other men attempt to flirt with her.
Cooking for someone often signifies care and affection from a woman.
A woman may choose to be intimate with a man based on his character and identity.
Beware of the woman whose father was the first to break her heart; she may have deep-seated trust issues.

Green Chile Ground Beef Burritos

Burritos with a ground beef filling are a favorite in our family.

Ingredients

2 pounds ground beef
1 onion, diced
2 (4 ounce) cans diced green chiles
3 cups water
4 cloves garlic, pressed
3 to 4 tablespoons all-purpose flour*
1 to 2 cups water*
1 can El Pato tomato sauce*

Instructions

1. Brown ground beef; add onion and garlic and toss until onion is soft.
2. Add green chiles.
3. Sprinkle flour over it to make a crumbly mix.
4. Add water and El Pato to desired thickness. Simmer.
5. Serve on warm tortillas, with any topping you like…sour cream, salsa, cheese, cilantro, jalapeños, etc.

Notes

* or use 1 can El Pato green enchilada sauce – or use homemade

My boyfriend broke up with me because I told him I wanted to wait. Is it my fault for denying his “needs”? He is 21 and I’m 19, we had been dating for a year and a half now.

You’ve been dating him for a year and a half at age 19, and told him that you still want to wait — that is your right. You get to decide who you want to have sex with, and when, and that includes the right to wait for as long as you want, or even to never have sex at all if that is your wish.

He, on the other hand, clearly wanted sex to be part of his relationship, and after waiting for you for a year and a half, he found he could no longer be happy in a sexless relationship, and what you are offering is not what he wants — so he did the rational thing and left you in order to search for a partner that has desires more in line with his.

Many of the other answers here place blame on him, and for example claim that if he truly loved you, he’d be willing to wait, or that clearly he was only interested in getting laid. Such allegations are unjust, it’s quite possible to genuinely love someone, but still to realize that you have to leave because the two of you aren’t compatible. And accusing someone of only wanting to get laid after staying in a sexless relationship with you for a year and a half is utterly unreasonable. (in addition to that, there is NOTHING wrong with wanting sex as part of a relationship and being unwilling to stay in sexless relationships.)

But other answers place blame on you and say for example that it’s “selfish” for a woman to refuse to sleep with her partner. This is nonsense. Sex should be mutual and pleasurable and wanted by everyone involved, and is not some kind of service that women should “provide” to men if you’re not into it. Your body is your own, and you should say yes to sex when you genuinely want to, and only then.

Neither of you are to blame. You want different things, so you’re not compatible with each other, and you’re likely both better off looking for a partner that shares your ideas about what a relationship should be like.

What are some things that psychologists know, but most people don’t?

You have a desperate need for mental engagement. You are starving but then you suddenly see the new trailer of Sherlock Holmes. Before you know it, hours have passed without any sensation of hunger.
Sleeping in a cold room can help you slim down. According to research conducted by commonwealth university, just one month of sleeping in a 66-degree room helped increase the subject’s fat-burning ability by 10%.
The researcher found that you can read faster with a single wide column, but still, people prefer shorter lines & multiple columns.
You Quit in 2 situations
- When a challenge is tougher and you have beginner-level skills.
- When you have advanced-level skills and the challenge is too easy.
All your habits of thinking & acting are stored in your subconscious mind. Even just thinking about doing something different from what you’re accustomed to, will make you feel tense and uneasy.
The research found that for each hour a person between the ages of 40 and 59 spends watching TV, their risk of developing Alzheimer’s increases by 1.3 %.
Listening to high-frequency music makes you feel relaxed, calm, and happy.
Fake smiles can hurt you. The researcher looked at the behaviour of bus drivers, & found that these people withdraw from their work by putting smiles for show & it has long term deleterious health effects.
Psychologists found that people struggling to make complex decisions did best when they were distracted and were not able to think consciously about the choice at all.

What you Gain from this space by becoming its member.

No more random motivational screenshots & one-liner answers, you will get facts that are backed up by the latest research papers.
Now you don’t need to waste your valuable time on understanding the difficult terms of a research paper.
No Bullshit, pure research-based information with real references which you can check by yourself.

China takes a hard line with Yellen

The fact that Lavrov met with Xi while Yellen was there speaks volumes !

MARIA ZAKHAROVA:

“In light of the recent aggressive statements by the French political leaders, who openly announced plans to send troops to Ukraine, I should like to bring up the anniversary of a crushing defeat that Paris sustained in Vietnam, which marked the beginning of the collapse of the French colonial empire.

We believe that remembering those events should be a warning for all those in the Elysee Palace who have been literally haunted by Napoleon’s shadow these days.

The Battle of Dien Bien Phu, often referred to as the Vietnamese Stalingrad, claimed thousands of lives.

The brutal confrontation took place from March 13 to May 7, 1954 and marked a turning point in the eight-year war between the Democratic Republic of Vietnam and France’s colonial forces.

In 1946-1954, France, supported by Washington, unleashed the Indochina War in a bid to maintain its influence in the region after World War II.

It should be specifically noted that the French colonial troops were a motley mix of foreign legionnaires, mercenaries of all stripes, including Nazi fugitives hiding from trial and hoping to start over with a clean slate with Paris’s help.

However, they dirtied it again, as the brutality of their methods had no limit.

Just like the Americans who came to the Vietnamese land later, what they did was close to scorched-earth tactics.

For 54 days, the Vietnamese revolutionary army demonstrated extraordinary military valour in the battle of Dien Bien Phu. They also appeared exceptionally skilled in the art of war.

In fact, it became so bad that the French soldiers hastily left their positions as soon as they heard that the Vietnamese were advancing.

The decisive phase of the battle, the general assault, began on May 1.

By that time, the garrison’s morale was close to rack bottom – the French were in panic.

The total death toll was over 2,000 killed on the French side. Nearly 12,000 French troops were captured – only a few managed to escape from Dien Bien Phu.

The most capable French troops in Vietnam – paratroopers and legionnaires – almost ceased to exist.

The surrender of the French garrison of Dien Bien Phu on May 7, 1954 finally broke the morale of the French command, extinguishing any faith or hope for a good ending of the war in Vietnam.

Before the start of active operations, the hawks in Paris boasted they would ‘defeat the crowd of Vietnamese peasants armed with flintlock rifles and bamboo sticks in just a couple of weeks.’

Along with a crushing military defeat, France suffered high reputational losses, as its international influence as a former member of the anti-Hitler coalition fell dramatically.

The very next day after the fall of Dien Bien Phu, ceasefire talks began in Geneva.

The war ended with a convincing victory of the Democratic Republic of Vietnam and the withdrawal of French troops in July 1954.

Ten years later, in 1964, remembering that defeat, French President Charles de Gaulle warned US President Lyndon Johnson against a military operation in Vietnam, prophetically calling it a very risky venture.

But France then had an independent voice and the capacity to pursue an independent foreign policy.”

main qimg b106e318cdcba5ae72a06ea0560d5179

Photo: Vietnamese President Hồ Chí Minh and members of the Party Central Committee (from left to right: Phạm Văn Đồng, Trường Chinh, and General Võ Nguyên Giáp) convened to decide the opening of the 1953-1954 Winter-Spring Offensive and the Điện Biên Phủ Campaign. The meeting took place in Phú Đình Commune, Định Hóa District, Thái Nguyên Province, in 1953.

Excerpt from remarks by Russian Foreign Ministry Spokeswoman Maria Zakharova during the briefing, April 10, 2024. Source: Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Russian Federation

Is it possible for China to use its anti-ship ballistic missiles, such as the DF-21D, to attack US carriers at sea if needed?

The worst case for the US is that the US starts a war and all US ships within 2,000 miles of the China will be sunk.

Not only does China has the DF-21 which has a range of 1,200 miles. That is actually a medium range ASBM. It hit Mach 10 at terminal phase. China also has DF-26, which hits Mach 18 at terminal phase.

China is now onto their second generation hypersonic wave glider. These are even scarier than the ASBMs. As they come in at a hundred feet above the Ocean surface. At Mach 8 for the one type and Mach 12 for the second type.

The second generations has a range of almost 5,000 MILES. In other words, it can hit Hawaii and ships on the other side of Hawaii, towards the CA coast.

So yeah, the US should not be messing with China as the Chinese can sink all US ships in the Western Pacific if they want to.

Carne Asada Guacamole Cheese Burrito

Cook: 1 hr 30 min | Yield: 4 servings

Ingredients

Carne Asada

1 pound sirloin steaks
1/4 cup coconut sauce
1/4 cup lime juice
1 teaspoon garlic powder
1 teaspoon chili powder
Salt and pepper to taste

Guacamole

2 ripe avocados
1/4 cup red onion, diced
1/4 cup chopped cilantro
1 small jalapeño, seeds removed and finely minced
1 tablespoon lime juice
Salt and pepper to taste

Burrito

4 burrito size tortillas
1 cup shredded cheese (Cheddar, Monterey Jack or a blend)

Optional

Fresh cilantro leaves
Limes, cut into wedges

Instructions

Marinate the Carne Asada. In a shallow dish, combine the soy sauce, lime juice, garlic, chili powder, salt and pepper. Place the steak in the marinade, turning to coat it evenly. Cover the dish with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 1 hour, or preferably overnight, to allow the flavors to meld.
Cut the avocados in half, remove the pits, and scoop the flesh into a bowl. Mash the avocados with a fork until it reaches your desired consistency (chunky or smooth).
Add the diced red onion, chopped cilantro, minced jalapeño, lime juice, salt, and pepper to the mashed avocados. Mix everything together until well combined. Taste and adjust seasoning as needed.
Heat grill or stovetop grill pan over medium-high heat. Remove the marinated steak from the refrigerator and let it sit at room temperature for about 15 minutes.
Grill the steak for about 4 to 5 minutes per side, or until it reaches 145 degrees F for medium rare or your desired level of doneness. Transfer the grilled steak to a cutting board and let it rest for a few minutes before slicing it thinly against the grain.
Heat the tortillas in a dry skillet or over an open flame until they become warm and pliable. On each tortilla, place a generous amount of cheese. Add a few slices of the grilled Carne Asada on top of the guacamole. Garnish with fresh cilantro.
Serve the Carne Asada Guacamole Cheese Tacos immediately with lime wedges on the side for squeezing over the tacos.

Nutrition

Per serving: 550 Calories; 266.6 Calories from fat; 29.6g Total Fat (9.1g Saturated Fat; 12.2g Monounsaturated Fat); 84.2mg Cholesterol; 1015.3mg Sodium; 40.2g Total Carbohydrate; 9.4g Dietary Fiber; 33.5 g Protein; 18mg Iron; 895.3mg Potassium; 0.3mg Thiamin; 0.3 mg Riboflavin; 13.9mg Niacin (NE); 0.8mg Vitamin B6; 1.3mcg Vitamin B12; 5.2mg Zinc; 32.8mcg Selenium; 105.3mg Choline

This recipe is an excellent source of Protein, Thiamin, Riboflavin, Niacin (NE), Vitamin B6, Vitamin B12, Selenium, and Zinc. It is a good source of Potassium, Iron, and Choline.

What are the strangest things you’ll find in a desert?

Imagine being lost in the desert, desperate for water. Crawling through the sand. Praying to find something.

Your hike went wrong and now you can’t find anyone. You are sure you’ve gone miles in the wrong direction.

You lay in the sand. Waiting to die.

Then.

You hear a phone ring.

That’s right. A phone. There are phone booths in the middle of deserts – sometimes.

One such phone booth was situated in the Mojave Desert, 12 miles from the nearest type of pavement.

A man, Godfrey Daniels, read in a magazine, about this strange desert phone booth.

He then became obsessed with this phone booth. Who calls this phone booth? What is it for? How? What? Why? What does it all mean?

Who would answer a phone booth in the middle of nowhere?

He then began calling this phone booth every single day. Trying to find out who would answer.

Every day, he got up, he called the booth. Then, later in the day, he called again. This continued for months.

Eventually, he called and it was busy. This was a major breakthrough. It meant someone was using the phone!!!

He waited a few minutes. Then he called again. Still busy. Waited a few minutes – called again.

A woman picked up.

They talked for a bit. She was a local miner who occasionally used this phone booth. That’s all she knew.

He then made a website about this mysterious phone booth. And people from all over the country started calling it, wondering who would answer if they decided to call the desert.

(Source: The Mojave Phone Booth. Betsy Malloy.)

This phone booth took on this mystical status in American sub-culture for a brief time in the late 1990s, referred to as “The loneliest phonebooth on earth.” It became a minor spiritual destination.

LA Times reporter John Gigliorma made a journey out to the booth and met all sorts of people that arrived for any number of reasons, boredom, curiosity, spiritual journeys, adventure – as it would be like visiting mars, wanting proof it existed, wanting to see who would call them while they were there.

He even met a man, Rick Karr, who said he’d been commanded by God to go answer the phone. Karr spent 32 days camped out by the booth answering phone calls. (Source: Reaching Way Out. LA Times. Glionna, James)

Eventually, the chaos got to be out of hand and the park service requested the phone booth be removed as it was creating litter and a safety hazard as randoms from the internet had no business being in this extreme region (also home to Death Valley).

In turn, the phone company had it taken out.

But then –

Someone came and put a gravestone commemorating the Phone booth.

But the gravestone started to attract more trouble as people began arriving from all directions to pay tribute.

The park service eventually had the gravestone removed as well and that concluded the legacy of this magic phone booth.

RIP Mojave Phone Booth.

What sentence has someone said to you that is still stuck in your head?

Around 1988, our strict Muslim, much older next door neighbor signaled me to come into her home. I noticed that she had nervously glanced around before extending the invitation, and rushed me inside before closing the door.

During our brief visit, she talked of being a pediatrician in Iran before the Shah fell. She also mentioned she needed two items for the meal she was preparing, but she had to wait for her son to return to take her to a nearby grocery. It was a gorgeous California day, and failing to remember what I had learned about strict Islamic doctrine from two Iranian college friends, I offered to walk with her to the store. She recoiled in horror, so I changed my offer to drive her. Her response remained mortified, her countenance stiff, her eyes glaring at me.

Several uncomfortable moments passed; I decided I should leave and started to rise from my chair. She grabbed my arm, gripping it tightly and quietly said:

“You are proof there is hope for the rest of us.”

I consider her statement among the most profound ever said to me.

Western Woman DISRESPECTS Passport Bros, INSTANTLY Regrets It!

It’s 2024. This is reality.

Rax and TCBY.

There used to be a yogurt franchise called TCBY yogurt. I loved to eat it, and during the 1980’s it ran neck to neck with ice cream. But somehow, all of the thousands of stores evaporated. Roughly right after my first series of world-line slide.

Ah. I entered a world where the only TCBY yogurt that remains out of the entire franchise is in Arkansas. Ugh.

TCBY grew from a single store in Little Rock (Pulaski County) to a 3,000-outlet franchise. Selling flavored frozen yogurt, TCBY was known around the world. First known as the Capitol Tower, the tallest building in Arkansas was known as the TCBY Tower from 1991 to 2004 and bore those four letters on its upper floors.

According to ChatGPT…

TCBY (The Country's Best Yogurt) is still in operation, although its presence has significantly diminished compared to its peak popularity in the 1980s and 1990s. TCBY was one of the first frozen yogurt chains in the United States and played a significant role in popularizing frozen yogurt as a healthier alternative to ice cream.

In recent years, TCBY has faced increased competition from other frozen yogurt chains as well as shifts in consumer preferences. However, the company has adapted by introducing new menu offerings, updating its store designs, and expanding its range of products to include options such as dairy-free and low-sugar frozen desserts.

While many TCBY locations have closed over time, the chain still has a presence in various parts of the United States and internationally.

Another is Rax.

There used to be a fast food chain in the United States called “Rax”. I loved it. They had this mushroom/swiss cheese burger, and this ham and cheese burger. All so delicious.

Then out of the blue it all disappeared.

According to chatGPT, the Rax Roast Beef fast-food chain was once a prominent presence in the United States, particularly during the 1980s and 1990s. Known for its roast beef sandwiches and salad bars, Rax was considered a competitor to other fast-food chains like Arby's and McDonald's.

However, Rax struggled financially and faced various challenges, including declining sales and increased competition from other fast-food chains. The company filed for bankruptcy in 1992, which led to the closure of many of its locations.

Despite efforts to rebrand and revitalize the chain, including changes to its menu and marketing strategies, Rax continued to face difficulties. Many of its remaining locations were sold off or closed over the years.

Today there are only a few Rax locations still in operation, primarily in the Midwestern United States.

Ah…

Rax and TCBY.

According to the point of view of my consciousness, the moment that I started performing world-line slides after my MAJestic training, these restaurants disappeared. Bummer.

But, you know, after I began my slides, new types of french fries suddenly appeared. So it is a mixed bag.

Today…

What are the behaviors of a confident person?

Good posture: Standing or sitting up straight can convey confidence and poise.
Eye contact: Maintaining eye contact during conversation can show confidence and sincerity.
Clear, confident speech: Speaking clearly and confidently can convey conviction and self-assurance.
Assertive communication: Communicating your needs and desires in a clear and direct way can show confidence and self-assurance.
Decisiveness: Being able to make decisions quickly and confidently can show that you are in control.
Setting boundaries: Knowing your limits and being able to assert them can show self-respect and confidence.
Willingness to take risks: Being willing to take on challenges and try new things can show confidence and a sense of adventure.
Ability to handle criticism: Being able to receive and learn from criticism without getting defensive can show self-assurance and resilience.
Ability to admit mistakes: Being able to admit when you are wrong and take responsibility for your actions can show honesty and humility.
Genuine enthusiasm: Being genuinely excited about things can show confidence and a positive outlook.
Positive body language: Using nonverbal cues such as smiling and open body posture can convey confidence and openness.
Comfortable with silence: Being comfortable with pauses or silence during conversation can show confidence and self-assurance.
Ability to listen actively: Being able to fully listen to and understand others can show respect and confidence.
Ability to negotiate effectively: Being able to effectively negotiate and come to mutually beneficial agreements can show assertiveness and confidence.
Ability to ask for help: Knowing when to ask for help and being able to do so confidently can show strength and self-awareness.
Ability to handle pressure: Being able to stay calm and focused under pressure can show confidence and resilience.
Ability to set and achieve goals: Being able to set and work towards goals can show determination and confidence.
Ability to adapt to change: Being able to adapt to new situations and handle unexpected changes can show flexibility and confidence.

What was the absolute most disrespectful thing a customer ever said to you, and what did you do?

Well, there was this one time when I was working at a Home Depot in the Bay Area I was doing inventory with another girl and this girl had some teeth issues. I didn’t have a problem working with her because she is a very nice sweet person that just happened to have teeth missing. Anyways I heard this big woman say something about how can they let someone like her work with the customers. I looked over and my co-worker heard what she had said and she looked genuinely hurt by her comment. And it made her cry. I was so angry that I stopped what I was doing took off my ten-key machine and I stopped that fat bitch and I made her go apologise to my friend and I told her look at her now she may have teeth missing and she is working on getting that corrected. Now take your fat ass away from me because just the sight of your fat face is nauseating. And in the future just keep your fucking little comments to yourself.Till this day I still don’t know why I wasn’t fired over that.And just to let you know she never got a chance to fix her teeth. Because around 2009 she fell and hit her head on her water cooler and she ended up passing away in a coma.She was a good woman and she was a hard worker.I miss you, Emma…..

I understand

Chicken Fajita Casserole

Yield: 4 servings

Ingredients

2 tablespoons vegetable oil
1 pound boneless, skinless chicken breasts, cut into strips
2 medium red, green and/or yellow bell peppers, cut into strips
1 cup water
1 tablespoon all-purpose flour
1 1/2 teaspoons chili powder
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
Pinch cayenne or to taste
2 flour tortillas, cut into 3/4 inch strips
1 envelope onion soup mix
Garnish: shredded lettuce, chopped tomatoes, shredded Cheddar cheese

Instructions

In 12 inch skillet, heat oil over medium-high heat and cook chicken with peppers, stirring occasionally, 5 minutes or until chicken is almost done and peppers are crisp-tender.
Stir in onion soup mix blended with water, flour, chili powder, cayenne and garlic powder. Bring to a boil over high heat. Reduce heat to low and simmer uncovered, stirring occasionally, 3 minutes or until chicken is done and sauce is thickened.
To serve, turn into serving dish, then top with tortilla strips.
Garnish, if desired, with shredded lettuce, chopped tomatoes and shredded Cheddar cheese.

What is something that most people don’t know?

A small child could swim through the veins of a blue whale.
A single teaspoon of a neutron star would weigh about 6 billion tons.
A day on Venus is longer than a year on Venus.
The surface area of a human lung is about 70 square meters, roughly the size of a tennis court.
A hummingbird’s heart beats 1,260 times per minute.
The lifespan of a single taste bud is about 10 days.
The shortest war in recorded history lasted only 38 minutes between Britain and Zanzibar on 27 August 1896.
The first product ever sold on the Internet was a bag of marijuana.
The shortest place name in the world is “A”, a hill in Wales, United Kingdom.
A study found that if your face suggests that you’re alert and slightly happy, people are more likely to perceive you as intelligent.

Annunaki | Gods from Planet Nibiru and the Makers of Man

The Chancellor of Bavaria and Chairman of the CSU said after a visit to China that if there is no dialogue with China, things will become dangerous. He thinks dialogue is better than monologue. Do you agree?

China may not need Bavaria, but Bavaria needs China. Bavaria needs China in two aspects:

1. Bavaria is home to many German military factories and they want to import Xinjiang cotton

Ukraine needs up to 350,000 rounds of artillery shells every month, and its consumption is not small.

I recently saw an AFP report in which the European Commissioner stated that France would find it difficult to continue manufacturing missiles and artillery shells due to a lack of gunpowder. The shortage of gunpowder was due to the lack of raw material nitrocellulose.

Nitrocellulose is extracted from cotton, but where does the cotton come from? EU Internal Market Commissioner Thierry Breton said a long time ago that making gunpowder powder requires a “special cotton”, and this Cotton grown “mostly comes from China”!

According to 2020 data, 95% of the world’s natural cotton suitable for the production of smokeless nitrocellulose is produced in Xinjiang, China; another 4% is produced in Central Asian countries; and the remaining 1% is produced in the Nile Delta.

Cotton from Central Asian countries, which account for 4% of global production, is a designated purchaser exclusively for Russia. Therefore, including the United States and the entire Europe, only cotton produced in cotton fields along the Nile, which accounts for 1% of global production, can be used directly.

It is no exaggeration to say that with the current cotton production capacity in the world, without China’s participation, other countries would not even be able to fight a world war, because they really can’t even build missiles!

But why can’t they import cotton from China? This is because they shot themselves in the foot, they created all this themselves.

In order to demonize China and slander China, the United States and Europe engage in forced labor in Xinjiang and force Uyghurs to grow cotton.

Even European companies led by HM took the initiative to boycott Chinese cotton, and China also adopted counter-sanctions measures and stopped exporting cotton to the United States and Europe.

But they did not expect that the Russia-Ukraine war broke out, and the nitrocellulose used to make missiles and artillery shells must require long-staple cotton from Xinjiang, China.

As a result, they forgot that they had slandered Xinjiang, China, and wanted to import cotton from Xinjiang, China.

2. Bavaria is home to many automobile factories, and they want to cooperate with China to obtain technology for new energy vehicles

China surpassed Japan last year to become the world’s largest automobile exporter. Especially in the field of electric vehicles, China far surpasses any country in the world. In the first quarter of last year alone, the number of Chinese electric vehicles imported into Germany tripled compared with the same period.

Germany, the birthplace of automobiles, has admitted that it has lost to China in the field of electric vehicles. If they do not cooperate with China, they may fall further behind China.

100%

What is the sleaziest, dirtiest trick an auto insurance company tried to pull on you? Did they succeed?

I will never insure with the Good Hands People…

In 2006 my 21 year old daughter was driving to class when a realtor on the phone blew a stop sign and totaled both cars. Neither were injured. About a week after the accident the other party’s insurance called to see if they could collect a statement from my daughter. I said sure. About 20 minutes later my daughter phoned in tears saying the adjuster had accused her of speeding and not yielding to a car already in the intersection. I can only assume this was because she was in a 5 year old mustang – but she no tickets or wrecks up to then.

I asked her a little about the call and started getting mad, madder, furious… I held it in and asked if the adjuster asked about witnesses. The adjuster had and I told my daughter to call the witness who was behind her. She hopped off the phone and called the witness and asked what he saw and if she were speeding. He laughed and said, look, I was about to pass you because you were driving about 5 mph below the posted limit and I was in a hurry. I knew she had not hit the other car; rather the other car hit her in a door.

A couple hours the adjuster called and said they would pay 85% of the value of our car… because no one is 100% at fault. I asked how she determined my daughter was 15%. Her words were, it is a mustang and we know drivers rarely obey the speed limit. She wanted me to give verbal approval then or face a possible adjustment down. I told her that she was full of shit. That the witness following my daughter said she was driving 5 mph below the posted limit and that the other party was on the phone. I reference the police report noting a writing pad and phone on the floor board. I then asked, how he was not 100% at fault. She mumbled something and I said, please speak up. You are being recorded and your story is not so good for you right now. She told me that was unlawful. I ask asked if she was recording and she said mmm, yes. I told her she was in the same boat as I since she failed to disclose.

She said she could go as high as 93%. I said not good enough, I then asked what the 100% value was. It was also deflated to about 70% average book value. I told her I needed to speak to a supervisor, now. She said she couldn’t and I said you risk facing my attorney in court. This recording will be in his hands in about 5 minutes as he is my neighbor. She yielded to 100% and said that was max. I said, not good enough, I need no lower than the average book…please give me to your supervisor, I am tired of dealing with you. Finally, a supervisor who restarted the discussion at 85%. About a third of his way through the spiel I interrupted rather harshly and said, wait a minute, we are not gong through all this again. I reviewed my notes with him and told him I was about out of cell phone battery and I wanted no less than HIGH retail. He had 5 minutes to say yes or I am handing it over to my attorney. It sounded at first as though he had not been briefed but when he noticed I moved up to high retail he said I offered average before.

I ended up with a value between average and high retail. I reported them to the state insurance board and asked for a followup after they review. I never heard back. I feel for those who just say yes without standing their ground.

Desperate young guys

How do you get over the feeling of being a failure?

Realise that you may not be a failure in the eyes of someone else.

Here’s my story. I was 40, divorced, had left a life in New Zealand behind that had fallen apart in the most dramatic way possible, and was invited at my cousin’s house in Austria to a summer party.

As we ate barbecued things and drank local beer, dreams were swapped and future visions exchanged. My cousin is a sound engineer, struggling as a consultant, doing the odd gig in Vienna or Salzburg.

We talked about happiness.

And I heard myself saying, “maybe some day, when I am successful, I will know what happiness is.”

My cousin looked at me as if I was very, very drunk. And maybe, I was. And he said, “Chris; you are the dean of a French university, a Grande Ecole at that, in Shanghai. And you say ‘some day when you are successful’?”

That changed my world view.

I realised then and there that it depends very much on whom we ask whether we feel like failures, or not. All I had been able to see was how badly things had gone for me in New Zealand, and how the expat position in China really was only a gap filler till I would be able to find something to replace the life I had had in NZ. That that life in Shanghai was in itself pretty cool was somehow off my radar.

Perhaps you need to ask the right people? Try to understand what the average person’s existence on this planet is like. Success and failure are not quantitative values. They are dangerously subjective perceptions, and require some grounding in basic values.

So, stop comparing yourself to the wrong people. By comparing ourselves to stars or celebrities of some standing, we will always look bad.

Men Don’t Give a F*ck Anymore… Why the Rate of Single Men In the US Looking For Dates Has Declined

Which has been oversupplied in the world, the Chinese made value-for-money products or the US treasury bonds?

How can products be Oversupplied?

If there is an oversupply, there will be EXCESS INVENTORY of Unsold Products which will increase the storage and warehousing fee and ultimately lead to destruction of the excess supply

This is Demand and Supply Law 101

So China only manufactures products per Global Demand

main qimg 3e498d244295fe81351ea4be904bcf91

Now Yellens problem is simple

China is creating BETTER QUALITY PRODUCTS than the West at half the price

And the Quality gap is rising

There was a time just three years ago when German or Swiss products were better quality than Chinese made products and it was only the cost that was a decisive factor

Today Chinese Panels beat German or French Panels hollow in efficiency, weight, absorption angle and cost

So every Western Renewable Energy Producer is going OUT OF BUSINESS as China floods the world with Superior Panels and Superior Wind Turbines at 40% to 60% the price you pay for the same when made in Stuttgart or Grenoble or Milan or Cincinnati

Yellen would have no issue if these products were owned by Western Businesses but made in China which was the original plan

Now Chinese Businesses control these products and all that money is going to China and Chinas Economy

In the past – out of $ 100 of Exports – China got maybe $ 25

Now China gets $ 60–65

The Western World wants renewable energy

Yet they want to control the technology and the markets

China has beaten them to it

Even if they directly sanction China, the prices will force Chinese products to flow into every market beating every Sanction

Tariffs is the only solution?

Yet that would make renewable energy more expensive for the West and it’s people

They still can’t make Panels at higher price or attain Chinas rapid level of technology with its 1.4 Billion population and surging market

They are all saturated

One Solution

They can pour all the money into R&D into India

I mean huge money

Yet that would only create a new hindrance after 20 years and further weaken Western Hegemony because instead of a China, now you have TWO PROBLEMS – CHINA AND INDIA

So that Option is gone

So Yellen is living in a dream land of her own

She can’t stop Economics

The Economics is with China and US will be destroyed in this dangerous game

Even China tomorrow if it tries to rewrite economics will find it very difficult and painful

Today the Economics is with China and will be there for the next 2 Decades until 2050 at the latest

That is Chinas window

Homeless men

Blinken’s visa threats expose US hypocrisy

“A good example,” said Pope Francis, “brings about so much good, but hypocrisy brings about so much evil.”

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After the Safeguarding National Security Ordinance (SNSO) was enacted on March 19, the US and its allies reacted with predictable fury. As Hong Kong had finally discharged its national responsibilities, they realized it was no longer possible for them to use it as a base for destabilizing China. After 1997, they saw the city as the country’s Achilles’ heel, which explains why they encouraged the insurrection of 2019-20 and patronized selected proxies, including the now-defunct Civic Party.

Although those days are over, the US is incensed. It is determined to retaliate against the city whose future it had hoped to influence. Impervious to reason, it is bent on harming Hong Kong, even if it undermines its people’s livelihoods.

On March 30, the US State Department said that, apart from continuing to deny Hong Kong the special trading status it revoked in 2020, it also planned to impose visa restrictions on Hong Kong officials involved in enacting the SNSO. The US secretary of state, Antony Blinken, said “multiple” officials would be targeted, as they were “responsible for the intensifying crackdown on rights and freedoms”. They needed to be held to account for the “intensifying repression” of “civil society, media and dissenting voices”.

However, Blinken’s professed concern for the media was hollow, and cannot be taken seriously. The US contempt for the press is now on public display in the UK, where it is mercilessly pursuing WikiLeaks founder Julian Assange through the English courts. His 17 “crimes” consist of allegedly disclosing classified information that embarrassed Washington, particularly in relation to war crimes in Afghanistan and Iraq, including its brutalization of prisoners. As his lawyers have explained, Assange is being victimized for engaging in the ordinary journalistic practices of obtaining and publishing information in the public interest, to which Blinken is oblivious.

Blinken’s hypocrisy, however, is deep-seated and was inherited from his predecessors. Although he claims to support the “global rules-based order”, this is a vacuous catchphrase beloved of Western hypocrites. Whereas he delights in slapping visa restrictions and other penalties on individuals from China and other places he sees as geopolitical rivals, evenhandedness forms no part of his repertoire.

Since the Gaza war started, the death toll has reached almost 33,000, mainly women and children. Another 75,000 have been injured, while many others are starving. Instead of sanctioning those responsible, including the Israeli prime minister, Benjamin Netanyahu, the defense minister, Yoav Gallant, and the chief of the general staff, Herzi Halevi, and calling for them to be prosecuted for genocide and war crimes before the International Criminal Court, Blinken has facilitated their offenses. Although, despite being Netanyahu’s aider and abettor, he will never stand trial, Israel’s crimes, to which the US is party, are of biblical proportions, and will forever rank among the world’s greatest wartime atrocities.

On April 1, CNN reported that the US government is about to approve the sale of 50 American-made F-15 fighter jets to Israel, in a deal expected to be worth more than $18 billion. These can then be used to kill an awful lot of Palestinians, as also can its other weaponry. Earlier, on March 6, the Washington Post reported the US “quietly approved and delivered” over 100 separate military sales to Israel since the Gaza war began, amounting to “thousands of precision-guided munitions, small-diameter bombs, bunker busters, small arms and other lethal aid”.

Although this would have delighted the arms merchants, it did little to inspire faith in Blinken’s professed concerns for Gaza’s civilian population. Even the most subservient of US allies may be forgiven for wondering how Blinken can look himself in the mirror.

While Blinken has always had lots to say about “rights and freedoms” in Hong Kong, he is allowing Israel to get away with blue murder in Gaza. He has protected it at international forums and sought to rationalize its depredations. However, its excesses have become so horrific that even he, on March 25, felt unable to block the UN Security Council’s call for a temporary cease-fire for Ramadan.

Away from the war zone, Blinken’s duplicity is no less pronounced. When the UK introduced its National Security Act 2023 (NSA), he did not slap visa restrictions or other penalties on its principal architects, the then-home secretary, Suella Braverman, and the security minister, Tom Tugendhat. This was despite the NSA’s crackdown on the “rights and freedoms” Blinken claimed to be so concerned about in Hong Kong.

The “chilling effect” of the NSA’s espionage provisions was condemned in the British Parliament, not least for their impact on investigative journalism. It cracked down on civil liberties, giving the police extra powers of detention and curbing the pretrial rights of suspects, including access to lawyers. Although Blinken feigned fury when not-dissimilar measures were adopted in Hong Kong, he did not bat an eyelid when they occurred in the UK, which should surprise nobody.

His posturing over “rights and freedoms” has always been simply a convenient stick with which to beat people from places that reject US hegemony and refuse to dance to its tune.

Indeed, given his concern for “dissenting voices” in Hong Kong, it might have been expected Blinken would be up in arms over Scotland’s Hate Crime and Public Order (Scotland) Act 2021. It was the brainchild of its first minister, Humza Yousaf, and came into force on April 1, 2024. It has been called a “snitch’s charter”, criminalizing words that might be construed as “stirring up hatred”. If a “reasonable person” (a vague term) considers something said by somebody else to be “insulting” an offense may arise, with a suspect facing up to seven years’ imprisonment.

Yousaf’s new law has been denounced by free thinkers and ordinary Scots, and people are wondering if, in future, they should keep their views to themselves to be on the safe side.

The Harry Potter author, JK Rowling, a straight talker from Edinburgh, fears she may be targeted by the Hate Crime Act. She has regularly argued that trans women are not women, and that men who self-identify as women do not thereby become women. She has also maintained that convicted rapists who declare themselves to be females should not be housed in women’s prisons, supposedly a safe place. Although most people applaud her views, she is concerned they will expose her to charges, and attempts have already been made to prosecute her under what she calls a “ludicrous law”.

Since the new crime of “stirring up hatred” was introduced on April 1, Police Scotland has received over 3,000 hate crime reports, many paradoxically relating to Yousaf himself. He had previously highlighted white people holding prominent public roles, but fortunately for him, the new law is not retroactive. The community services minister, Siobhian Brown, said the law was being used to make “fake and vexatious complaints”, and police time is being wasted as people seek to settle old scores and bring down those whose views they dislike.

The Conservative Party’s Scottish justice spokesman, Russell Findlay, has pointed out that “Yousaf’s dangerous Hate Crime Act is already being weaponized on an industrial scale by thin-skinned troublemakers,” and a petition has been launched for its repeal.

The UK education secretary, Gillian Keegan, called Yousaf’s Hate Crime Act “a terrible bit of legislation”. She said the police “should be much more focused on fighting crime than policing people’s thoughts”. The prime minister, Rishi Sunak, agreed, saying, “We believe in free speech in this country.”

If Blinken agrees with Sunak, Keegan and Findlay that Yousaf’s new law is an affront to Western notions of free speech, he is, presumably, planning to impose visa restrictions upon him and demanding its repeal. However, nobody should hold their breath, and Yousaf will likely escape repercussions. In the all-too-familiar traditions of American diplomacy, Blinken has no interest in intervening when “rights and freedoms” are violated in countries the US does not want to antagonize.

Whatever Blinken has planned for them, Hong Kong’s officials have done their duty and can hold their heads high. They must have expected him to try to harm them and braced themselves accordingly. Although his double standards are there for all to see, they at least have clear consciences.

Random AI generated images

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Default Cat Adventures Document your cats outdoor adventures s 0

Default art nouveau style closeup of a gorgeous Spanish muse w 3

Default photorealistic 4K UHD Chef Gordon Ramsey cooking a dra 0

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I’m so sorry

What was the last most shocking image you’ve ever seen?

WHEN FREEDOM IS LOST

This incident occurred at the Kombaru shrine in Karnataka, India.

The leopard was chasing the dog, the dog entered the bathroom through a window, the bathroom was locked from the outside.

The leopard came in after the dog and they both got trapped in the toilet; When the dog saw the leopard, it panicked and sat quietly in a corner.

He didn’t even dare to bark.

Although the leopard was hungry and chased the dog, it did not eat the dog.

He could have had dinner by jumping the dog, but the two animals were together in different corners for almost twelve hours. During these twelve hours, the leopard was also calm.

The forest department zeroed in on the leopard and captured it with a tranquilizer dart.

Now the question is, why didn’t the hungry leopard tear off the dog when it was easily possible?

Wildlife researchers answered this question: according to them, wild animals are very sensitive to their freedom.

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As soon as they realize that their freedom has been taken away from them, they may feel deep pain, so much so that they may forget their hunger.

Your natural motivation to feed your stomach begins to fade.

Freedom and happiness are connected. Freedom to think, act, and live the way we want.

The American Way isn’t Working out Too Well

Some fun AI generated pictures

Here’s some of my latest work…

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Default Imagine a Baroque label high attention to detail roman 1(14)

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Default Imagine a Baroque label high attention to detail roman 3(10)

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Default Imagine a Baroque label high attention to detail roman 3(6)

Default Imagine a Baroque label high attention to detail roman 1(3)

Default Imagine a Baroque label high attention to detail roman 2

Default Imagine a Baroque painting A very high attention to d 1

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Hanoi, Vietnam, call girl service

What is an instant mood lifter for you?

When I hear a good song playing suddenly in my neighborhood – It’s so awesome and got more power to make me cry and dance when it’s distant.
When someone genuinely listens to what I have to say – Isn’t it just great to speak your heart and someone is ready to see that vulnerable side of you?
When I receive the same level of importance I give to people – Ever heard someone say that “you” are a “priority” to them? If you have, dude you’re lucky (because I haven’t heard so).
When out of the blue, my mumma calls me “gudiya” – Mother’s love hits different. What would I even do without her?
When people trust me with their emotions – There’s a chance that I’ve been through that, so if they trust me, I can do everything to make sure they’re happy again.
When I get random messages from my close people – That specific notification sound just for the close ones>>
When I see potatoes – Weird? Nope, it isn’t. Potato and I go way back in history, a story for another time for sure!
When I know exactly what to do – I don’t have to explain this xD
When I’m sweating hard at the time of workout – It’s so satisfying when the exercises are giving result and on top of that, those beady drops of sweat make my day!

Some more of my AI generations

Default Imagine a Baroque box label for farm fresh tangerines 2

Default Imagine a Baroque box label for farm fresh grapefruit 2(1)

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Default Imagine a Baroque box label for farm fresh pomegranate 2

Default Imagine a Baroque box label for farm fresh peaches wit 0

Default Imagine a Baroque box label for farm fresh tomatoes on 2(1)

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Default Imagine a Baroque box label for farm fresh tomatoes an 2

Default Imagine a Baroque box label for farm fresh olives with 3

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Default Imagine a Baroque box label for farm prepared hamburge 1

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If You’re An American Living Abroad Tell Me Why You Would Never Go Back? | Part 2

Police story

“So this happened in Montana. I’m on my way to go to my interview this morning when I get pulled over by a police officer.

I am native American and my friend that was with me is black. Just saying.

Both brake lights decided to go out this time.

As he walked to the car and I was pulling out my stuff, he quickly said,

“Don’t worry about pulling anything out. I just want you to know that your brake lights are out.”

So I’m immediately upset, because I just got them replaced like last month.

So I explained to him how Firestone wants to charge me $600 just to run a test on the wiring of the car.

He looked at me like 😨 and told me to pop the trunk.

He checked the lights in the trunk and tapped them, but they didn’t come on.

So he told me to pop the hood to check the relay box then asked me to get out to check the other one.

Then worked on the wiring under the dash.

He could’ve easily given me a ticket, but Officer Jenkins stepped out of the officer role, and into the mechanic role, and human role to make sure I was straight.

By the way, HE FIXED THEM. Not everyone is racist or a bad cop.”

“NATO chief Jens Stoltenberg warns an’alliance of authoritarian powers’including Russia, Iran and China are working against the West?”Source: Daily Mail. Should this alliance concern Australia’s relations with China, inviting more US military bases?

Why is that such surprise?

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A. The West sanctions Iran unilaterally

The West unilaterally sanctions Iran. They steal Irans Oil randomly, pirating Iranian Ships or Ships containing Iranian Oil

They forbid shipment of even medicines into Iran causing the death of thousands of iranians

For a long time they even refused to allow imports of food materials into Iran especially Wheat

B. The West arms Taiwan, arms Japan and South Korea and literally builds thousands of bases around the South China Sea

US surrounds China with army bases yet a Chinese delegation to Cuba gets a massive national security lecture

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US openly says they want to Contain Chinas Rise and Growth

US arms Taiwan, a region they themselves acknowledge as being part of China

US sends soldiers to Taiwan, a Chinese region according to their own law

C. The West openly declare their aim to overthrow Putin and even assassinate him

Many a Senator and a Congressman at some time has claimed to want to overthrow or even kill Putin

They openly discuss Balkanization of Russia in their think tanks

They refused to give Russia security guarantees for almost a year before Ukraine when all they had to do was agree to Ukraines NATO membership being deferred by a decade

So how is it a surprise that these three nations decide to work together against the West?

What exactly does he expect?

That these three nations would come with a Chocolate Cake and openly allow themselves to be destroyed ?

Naah

Rule No 1 would be for the West to leave the world alone and stop interfering in every thing under the sun

Rule No 2 would be for the West to prepare a kill list of 100,000 people who are ruining them and the world. Including Stoltenberg himself.

Rule No 3 would be some nice army trucks at 3 AM outside the houses of these 100,000 people after which – they are never heard of again.

And the families too. Families always make nice deterrents.

Rule No 4 would be for a new Order in the West that adheres to their own principles of International Law rather than Rules Based Order

Once you do that the world would be a peaceful place

Stoltenberg would not be in that world but well… Nobodys gonna miss him too much

When did NPR become so left-wing?

When I was a dyed-in-the-wool conservative Republican, a career military man from a family of career warriors, I loved to listen to Paul Harvey and public radio. NPR didn’t seem “leftie” to me.

I was overseas my whole career, and got my news from the Stars and Stripes and Armed Forces Radio. I saw many ways to run a society while I lived in Japan, Philippines, Korea, and Germany over 16 years.

The first time I saw Rush Limbaugh, for the first five minutes, I thought he was a comedian doing a bit.

Upon finally returning to the States to retire, I was appalled at what America had become. The US I came back to was nearly a police state. The population was the sickest and most disabled of any country I had lived in. Homelessness and lack of education made the US seem like a Third World country. I was shocked.

NPR, however, was a familiar place to relax. They made sense. They considered points of view from both left and right. Importantly, the only “leftie” was a member of the Communist Party of the USA, and the only extreme right candidate was George Wallace, who didn’t stand a chance in the general election.

The difference between Dems and Repubs was no too great. Tip O’Neill and Ronald Reagan worked together all the time. (Reagan promised “small government” but grew the government by every metric. Every one.)

Today, however, millions of Americans have been left behind. They are worse educated than any modern nation; they are sicker and more disabled, and their babies die in the first year much more than in the rest of the advanced nations. (We did, in fact, become an oligarchy with democratic trappings. Details available upon request.)

Now those millions are angry. Their politicians sold out to the billionaires. The Republican leadership, much more than the Democrats, ignored their constituents needs and gave only tax cuts and excuses. The American people wanted LGBT people to have the same rights of marriage, social security, and hospital visitation as straight people. We got that. The American people wanted women to have more career opportunities, including in the military, on ships, and in combat units. We got that.

The American people voted for a black president. That broke the GOP back. Guns flew off the retail shelves, Militia membership soared. Ammunition was sold out for two years. The GOP refused to govern. All they did was vote to repeal the ACA 60 times, always with no chance of succeeding. Republicans directly interfered with foreign policy, personally telling Iran’s leaders to ignore the POTUS.

It seemed Hillary was certain to win. So certain, that few voted. Except the Republicans. They came out in force to vote for the guy who hated everyone they hated. Now their leader spews hatred and isolationism, the money-grubbing marketing

experts at certain media companies see the potential, so they amplify the suspicion and distrust. The result is a perfect storm of brainwashing. The handsome, 6′1″ blond billionaire can persuade most folks to invest their money in his dreams. Now he’s persuaded millions of Americans to invest their votes, their minds and their hearts in dedication to a professional con-man. Bernie Maddoff must be jealous.

THE ANSWER

NPR is right where they’ve always been, just a little left of center. But now the GOP has gone so far right—off the reservation—that they call centrists traitors and Marxists. God help us in our hour of need. Lord, is it time yet to take Trump home to meet his maker? Amen.

1900s Technology

Can anyone in China tell us why it is illegal for foreigners to visit Tibet? You must have a special permit to travel there. What are Xi and the CCP trying to hide? Is there a concentration camp there? Other explanation? Anyone who knows?

The question doesn’t make sense.

If it was illegal then it wouldn’t be possible to get a permit to visit. A permit means that it is legal for foreigners to visit Tibet. Similar to how you need a visa to visit China.

The autonomous regions of China are often slightly different to the mainland.

Hong Kong & Macao have fairly easy visas for most people BUT you do need separate visas for them.
Xinjiang doesn’t need a special permit now but it did in the past.
Ningxia, Inner Mongolia, Guangxi have never had any special requirements as far as I know.

Anyway, I visited Tibet back in 2007. At that stage, it looked like the permits were going to be gone soon. The High Speed Train had just been connected and it was opening up.

Then the uprisings and separatist movement made a big push in 2008 when Beijing was hosting the Olympics. They were supported directly or indirectly by the US government and then Tibet was locked down and hard to get into Tibet for foreigners. Millions of Chinese tourists visit each year. Since then it has become easier and I know a number of people who have visited recently. You still need a permit but it is fairly easy to get one unless you are a reporter.

Last year in 2023 there were more than 24 million tourists to Tibet. Most were domestic but 30,455 were tourists from overseas.

You can visit but unless things have changed you need to spend 3 days in China. This information may be out of date since in the past it was advised that you should apply for the permit in China. Most tourists used to go to Chengdu to see the pandas and spend 3 days their waiting for the permit. A travel agent will do all of this for you and tell you what to do. It isn’t hard but it took time. Not sure if this is still the case. Things change quickly…

Strange coincidences

What’s the most confusing thing about being a man, today?

Navigating dating in a world where men are increasingly being told that women and men should be treated as equals; and yet where as a heterosexual man trying to find a partner, you’re still being systematically and mercilessly filtered out as a potential partner if you fail to perform classical masculinity well enough.

I grew up in, and live in Norway. One of the countries on earth that consistently score near the top of gender-equality rankings.

And yet my experiences in dating, especially as a young man, were very much about adhering to classical prejudiced gender-roles for men — or else remain single.

Examples?

I’ve been told (and agree!) that men should not be afraid to show or talk about emotions. But I’ve also been told in hundreds of ways that if a man shows any emotion that includes even a hint of vulnerability, then he’s instantly disqualified as a potential romantic interest.
[1]
I’ve been told that men and women should face the same expectations and similar opportunities. But as a young man, no woman ever asked me out on a first date. No woman ever explicitly revealed a crush on me unless I’d done the same thing first. No woman ever kissed me unless I initiated that first. No woman ever bought me a drink, flowers, chocolate, a valentines day card or any other stereotypically romantic gift unless I’d done that first. No woman ever asked me to dance, unless I’d done that first.[*]
Every time I read answers here on Quora about men who struggle with finding dates, I see the same recommendations. Usually from liberal, feminist people (both men and women) well-reflected about gender. Be confident. Be assertive. Initiate. Approach. Show Competence. Be unaffected by rejection, or if you’re affected, hide it! I’m not sure if they fail to notice it, or if they notice but don’t care — but these things look pretty much like: “Be classically masculine and adhere to gender-norms for men!” to me.

My dating-life took a sharp turn upwards when I finally learnt how to wear a mask and play a classically masculine role well enough to pass muster as a potential romantic partner.

I had several long and good relationships after I figured this part out, and though I’m happily married these days, I’m still confident I could fairly easily find a new fulfilling relationship if I should ever again find myself single and lonely.

But to find that relationship, I’d have to initially play a role. One that isn’t me, or that at least is just a tiny fraction of me. I’d have to play up those parts of me that adhere the closest to prejudiced norms for what a “real man” should be, and at least for a while downplay or hide those parts of me that don’t fit the mold, such as for example my vulnerable or emotional parts.

The most confusing thing for me as a young man, was how women around me were constantly telling me that there’s nothing they want more than gender-equality. And yet at the same time, if I want to “pass” as a man worthy of romantic love or sexual desire, then I have to jump right back into strongly gendered norms for what a “real man” should be.

[*]: I’m aware that many of these things do happen now and then to many men, and happen often to some men. Ironically though, that tends to be men with high social status and/or high social dominance. This single factor was without a doubt the most important factor for which young men were seen as attractive among my peers. And of course high status and high social dominance are ALSO things that prejudiced gender-roles for men judge us for.

War against China

Have you ever witnessed an objection at a wedding?

Oh, Boy! That happened to me.

Let me give you a bit of context:

My then girlfriend and I had been dating for about 5 years when we finally decided to marry.

On the day of the wedding, we were at my parents’ house with some close family and our closest friends.

Everything was going as expected and the law officer driving the ceremony was reading the document we were about to sign in order to be pronounced “husband and wife”.

It went something like:

“Mr. Blah blah blah… of profession Systems’ Engineer, born at xxxxx and Miss blah blah blah of profession xxxxx from xxx” plus some legal stuff that no one was really paying attention, or so I thought.

Then, the lady asks the infamous question:

“Does anyone have any objection?”

And for everyone’s surprise, a “Yes, I have one” was clearly heard.

In that instant, the time and everything else just froze. You would have been able to cut the air of the room with a knife. Everyone was shocked, silently looking for the source of those words. The only things moving in the room were our guests’ eyes.

Finally, we found it!

It turned out that the objection came from no less than the bride herself, and then she added in her most natural tone:

“He is not a Systems Engineer. His speciality is Computer Engineer”

First a general sense of relief and then everyone just burst out laughing.

We have been married for more than 15 years and the document still says “Systems Engineer”

Did I tell you that my wife is a lawyer?

6 LIES America Told Me About Europe | Americans React

Are Europeans shocked when they first come to the United States?

Have been many times now, and love it, but on my first visit …

Hubby was working and so I went to a Walmart. Really exciting for me as we didn’t have anything like that back in the UK. ( This was back in the early 90s)

I bought a trolley full of stuff, went through the cashier, paid and was quite happily on my way out of the door when beeps’ went off.

Before I knew it I was surrounded by about 4 or 5 what I can only describe as security people. They were really aggressive and I was terrified. What had I done wrong?

Anyway I was accused of stealing and literally frogmarched away. My whole trolley was gone through against my receipt.

Took a while. Everything tallied and it was discovered that whilst I had paid for it a security tag had not been deactivated from a wallet I had purchased. Cashier error.

They then let me go. A couple of hours later. No apologies. I was so shaken up by this treatment.

In the uk at the time of this incident if ‘beeps’ had gone off when leaving a store, sure you would have been stopped, yes checked, but nobody would have laid hands on you and treated you like a criminal. Once it was seen a mistake had been made on their part an apology would be given.

So I guess that certainly on my first visit my shock was that in the USA it is guilty until proven innocent, whereas in UK it is innocent until proven guilty.

Also that an apology is not necessary if they’ve got it wrong.

And please don’t get me started on the tipping culture. In the Uk we pay a minimum wage and tipping is seen as a sign of good service.

My first meal in the USA service was lousy, won’t go into details, but I was astonished to find that despite that I was expected to leave a tip at around 10–15% of the bill and was berated when I didn’t. At that time I had no idea that servers were not paid a decent wage and relied on tips, but to me it felt like a mandatory charge so that if you didn’t pay it you were in effect stealing.

I have been to the USA many times since and now appreciate the difference in our cultures. So I will pay the mandatory ‘tip’ but if I have got service above and beyond will do 30–40%. Still don’t like it though.

Please don’t think I am berating the USA. I have loads of friends here, just saying that as a naive Brit many years ago it was not the best of experiences.

What are the important lessons you learnt in life?

your sleep is key to your health and energy. Sleep well, and everything in life already looks easier. Darkness, silence, and inner peace are the key ingredients.
what you eat and drink is another key to your health and energy. The fewer of the things you consume have brand names, and the less has been done to them, the better you will eventually be.
the people you are surrounded by contribute greatly to who you are, and not just while you are with them. When you’re honest, you’ll find that very little of you is actually you.
the big challenge in life is to be authentic. It’s the hardest thing to do of them all to be truly yourself, and it may well be the meaning of life to try it. We only ever live during those moments where we are being ourselves, and they are few.
to live in freedom, you need to make utilitarian choices. This is a mechanical universe, full of things that are parasitic. Find the things that serve you with the least demands on you, and your life is more free.

Dating Pool Dropouts: How Feminism RUINED Dating

This chick is really freaking out.

Why are Europeans not as fat as Americans are when Europeans eat white bread and pasta and butter all the time?

I’m American, living in France for many years. I eat butter, cream, cheese, bread, pasta…. things I never used to eat in the US, and yet never have to worry about my weight.

Many things come into play-

No snacks. We eat meals, usually at the same times each day. My body seems to like living on a schedule this way. I don’t get hungry in between meals. My stomach knows when it is time to eat, and when it isn’t.

Portions. Portions are smaller. I’m about to visit home again, and know we’ll be going to restaurants and such, and I’ll have these giant heaping plates placed before me, which make me sick to think about. It actually kills my appetite to see this.

Different courses. Instead of eating everything at the same time, we have courses, so only one thing is in front of us at a time. If you are only eating tomatoes, you are going to eat less than if you are mixing in bites of other things in between. Eating a salad or a soup before the main dish, you’re already going to eat less of the main course, because you are less hungry.

Walking. We spend a lot of time walking. I walk to most everything – the grocery store, the post office, the hairdresser, the recycling center….. Whatever chores I have to do outside the home, I can usually walk, and a twenty-minute walk to get somewhere is normal. I do remember a time, when I hadn’t been here long, that every time someone said, “let’s just walk there”, I’d groan and complain “Why can’t we just drive??” I’ve come to love walking around the city. I had to remember the joy of that as a kid, when I’d just love taking my time and observing life around me along the way, instead of having my focus on the destination.

Less stress. This may or may not apply in a general way, but I find they have a different way of looking at life, in which work success is just not considered so essential, so people worry less. A lot of paid vacation, job security, easy healthcare, results in feeling less anxious, and maybe contributes to less cortisol production and emotional eating.

The failure of democracy

Chicken Chilaquiles Casserole

Ingredients

1/2 cup vegetable oil
10 (6 to 8 inch diameter) flour or corn tortillas, cut into 1/2 inch strips
2 cups shredded cooked chicken or turkey
1 1/3 cups salsa verde or green sauce
2 cups (8 ounces) shredded Chihuahua or mozzarella cheese

Instructions

Heat oil in skillet until hot. Cook tortilla strips in oil for 30 to 60 seconds or until light golden brown; drain.
Heat oven to 350 degrees F. Grease 2 quart casserole.
Layer half of the tortilla strips in casserole; top with chicken, half of the salsa verde (about 2/3 cup) and 1 cup of the cheese.
Press layers gently down into casserole.
Repeat with remaining tortilla strips, sauce and cheese.
Bake for about 30 minutes or until cheese is melted and golden brown.

What are some things a woman should know about men?

1. Like you girls have periods, that cause pain and mood swings etc. Similarly, we men have nocturnal emission that causes mood swings and back pain. Not all men go through that, but many. And it’s not a comparison between the issues.

2. We actually hate giving surprises, if somebody is doing… he’s pressured or doing the same just to impress and make you happy.

3. We actually don’t like you to be influenced by influencers in terms of dress up, eating, and showing up on Social media to people. We want you to be you… The Authentic you.

4. We hate the question “How much do you love me” and in fact we don’t have answers.

5. We love Motorcycle and Car, and we want you to respect the same. And the reason is they actually need love and care, or else they can trouble anytime. Don’t complain if your man is investing a bit more money on that.

6. Please don’t take us shopping if you’re not getting it done within an hour.

7. If you’re allowed to have male friends, please don’t question our Female Friends.

8. We don’t run for sex. Though it’s a natural need, but please don’t judge without reading the whole book. Also, don’t trust the buttery words of a Man without knowing him.

9. It feels extremely difficult for us to walk behind an unknown girl, even if we are moving in the same direction. We wait or overtake most of the time. If you’re afraid then we too.

There are many things not coming up in my head right now, and yes men should equally know about women. But no one in the world till now has succeeded understanding a Woman.. haha.

Why Women Don’t Support Husbands in Difficult Times.

Grandpa

The IRS decides to audit Grandpa, and summons him to the IRS office. The IRS auditor was not surprised when Grandpa showed up with his attorney.

The auditor said, “Well, sir, you have an extravagant lifestyle and no full-time employment, which you explain by saying that you win money gambling. I’m not sure the IRS finds that believable.”

“I’m a great gambler, and I can prove it,” says Grandpa. “How about a demonstration?”

The auditor thinks for a moment and says, “OK. Go ahead.”

Grandpa says, “I’ll bet you a thousand dollars that I can bite my own eye.”

The auditor thinks a moment and says, “It’s a bet.”

Grandpa removes his glass eye and bites it. The auditor’s jaw drops.

Grandpa says, “Now, I’ll bet you two thousand dollars that I can bite my other eye.”

The auditor can tell Grandpa isn’t blind, so he takes the bet.

Grandpa removes his dentures and sinks them into his remaining eye. The astonished auditor now grasps that he has gambled and lost three grand, with Grandpa’s attorney as a witness. His unease begins to mount.

“Want to go double or nothing?” Grandpa asks. “I’ll bet you six thousand dollars that I can stand on one side of your desk, and pee into that wastebasket on the other side, and never get a drop anywhere in between.”

The auditor, twice burned, is cautious now, but he looks carefully and decides there’s no way this old guy could possibly manage that stunt, so he agrees again. Grandpa stands beside the desk and unzips his pants, but although he strains mightily, he can’t make the stream reach the wastebasket on the other side, so he pretty much urinates all over the auditor’s desk.

The auditor leaps with joy, realizing that he has just turned a major loss into a huge win. But Grandpa’s attorney moans and puts his head in his hands.

“Are you OK?” the auditor asks.

“Not really,” says the attorney. “This morning, when Grandpa told me he’d been summoned for an audit, he bet me twenty-five thousand dollars that he could come in here and pee all over your desk and that you’d be happy about it.”

Don’t mess with old people!

If you feel your former bosses would give you a bad reference, should you contact them before putting them for your next job?

I had three interviews that went very well, in my opinion, yet I received no job offer, and I suspected it was because my boss was subverting my effort to leave the company. During my fourth interview, with the Department of Correction, I mentioned my suspicion to the person interviewing me and she said that she’d make a note of it. I was offered the job a couple of days later, contingent upon passing a drug screen, and while I was at the agency for the drug screen the HR manager asked me to step into her office.

She called my boss and said she was calling for a reference on me, and boss gave what would be described as a tepid recommendation: I did “adequate” work and was “as reliable as anyone else” but she would have hired someone younger if she was filling my position now. After she ended the call the HR manager said she understood why I had trouble finding another job, and then she asked when I wanted to start work with the agency. I told her I’d be there bright and early the following Monday.

My boss said she wanted someone younger for my job so I decided to accomodate her. I didn’t bother to say anything about the phone call, or that I was leaving. But I did send a delayed email letting her know how I felt about her and so she’d know that I wouldn’t be coming back. The last time I saw her was when I picked up my last paycheck; she threw a stapler at me.

Sounds Of The Department Store 1979

OMG!

Just put this on and listen to it on a early Saturday Morning.

4B movement and government destruction to the end

So there is this movement in South Korea right now. It’s called the 4B movement, and it’s the ultimate collapse of the West.

No dating.
No relationships.
No marriage.
No children.

Why this movement is PERMITTED and ALLOWED in a nation just shows how corrupted the nation is.

All nations must take care of their society.

If they do not, then they are corrupted, evil and must be policed. As the fundamental purpose of the government is to protect, maintain and support their society.

The 4B movement is one of destruction of society.

Just like WOKE, and BLM. Just like the Nazi movements of the past. This is a society-destroying movement.

Again, I must say…

A government that allows internal destruction from within is a government that needs to be erased and replaced.

Today…

What did someone do in an emergency room that made you say “You gotta be kidding me”?

My husband fell off his bicycle and reflexively put his arm down to break his fall. He came home scrapped up and holding his shoulder in an odd, pushed back position. It was a weekend, so we couldn’t see our family doctor, and this was in rural Texas where there is literally only one hospital per county. He was in excruciating pain when we arrived at the emergency room in our small town. After waiting an hour, a nurse gave him a visual exam and told him that he should ice his shoulder, take a couple of Tylenol, and see an orthopedist. She finished by saying that they couldn’t do anything for him, like give him drugs. We were stunned. He couldn’t move that arm, and any pressure elicited sharp pain. We wanted an x-ray, not a morphine drip.

There was nothing we could do but drive to the hospital in the next county. It was the same routine as the first ER. No x-ray, no exam. The doctor there referred us to an orthopedist in a larger town. Again, we were sent home on a weekend with no help.

We rigged up a sling as a stopgap measure and made an appointment with a local orthopedist. My husband couldn’t sleep in the bed, so he tried sleeping in a chair. He also had to return to work because he had no diagnosis or doctor’s note. After two interminable weeks, he finally saw a local doctor who took a single AP x-ray and told him that there was nothing wrong with his shoulder. He also told us that he saw “all kinds” of people like my husband who faked injuries to get drugs.

We saw the second orthopedist after another three weeks. He took one look at the x-rays and literally said, “Wow!” My husband had a posterior dislocation of his shoulder. These are rare and usually missed due to insufficient imaging and lack of examination. By now, it had been five weeks since the accident, and the doctor said he did not have the surgical experience to reset the shoulder. We were referred to a large, orthopedic specialty hospital in Houston that performed the surgery six weeks after the accident. He has recovered, but he has titanium pins in his shoulder now for an injury three providers said he never suffered.

Gen Z during world war 3

Why the West claims Hong Kong is under Chinese oppression while absolutely ZERO person were killed by the police in 2019 and it is actually the West and British who illegally attacked, occupied and oppressed Hong Kong?

Why the West claims Hong Kong is under Chinese oppression while absolutely ZERO person were killed by the police in 2019 and it is actually the West and British who illegally attacked, occupied and oppressed Hong Kong?

It’s simple. Many british people won’t look very deeply into the actual details of the situation as such they imagine Hong Kong was almost exactly the same as life in the UK other than it was filled with Chinese people and hotter humid weather.

So when the BBC and politicians lie about it, they take it at face value and either aren’t invested enough to check it out in more depth or simply trust politicians at what they say.

A great example is how many think Hong Kong was democratic before 1997. I ask them who elected the governor of Hong Kong… they have no answer… now and again this is great because it makes them ask further questions and makes them question their position. Most however don’t and simply double down.

The other group were the occupiers, yes occupiers is a correct word. June 1972 during the 27th meeting of the UN, Hong Kong was taken off the list of British colonies and it was instead considered an occupation. The occupiers lived a privileged life compared to local people in Hong Kong.

This is demonstrated with Kowloon Walled city. People view it as holy fucking shit, but Walled city wasn’t unusual it was only demolished in 1993.

main qimg 213ed56aa25e47ab0e47c8cd043bcfc3

The big apartment blocks to the north only started being built in the late 70s and 80s. Most people were living in shanty towns dotted all over.

SHOCK: Technology Already Developed to put “Vaccines” in Lettuce, Tomatos, and . . . Tobacco Products!

Hal Turner Nation 04 April 2024

The Tennessee state legislature held hearings about putting “Vaccines” in consumer products like food and tobacco. The hearing revealed startling information . . .

Rep. Scott Cepicky revealed that the University of California at Riverside has “already perfected the ability to put Human Vaccines into our lettuce right now.” He went on to add “Also Tomatoes, has the ability to do that also, from UC Berkely, and also RJ Reynolds has developed the ability to put Human “Vaccines” into Tobacco products.”

Rep. John Ray Clemmons then inquired “Is that even legal to do in the state of Tennessee, to sell those with a Vaccine in them?”

Rep. Cepicky responded “I’m not arguing that, all I’m saying is that if a person walks into a grocery store you as a Consumer should know __this__ head of lettuce __is__ a head of lettuce, but __this other__ head of lettuce right next to it, could contain a Vaccine in it. All we’re saying is, if it does have the vaccine in it, make sure it’s listed as a Pharmaceutical so people can get the proper dosage.”

Hal Turner Snap Editorial

The idea that companies would DARE to presume to include “vaccines” in Human food seems outrageous to me. Who do these people think they are? They have no right to put some medical treatment into food for Humans and thereby into people’s bodies without informed consent.

Take the COVID Vax for instance. We were all told it was “safe and effective.” Those claims turned out to be false. The vaccines harmed or even KILLED many people, and are STILL harming and killing people.

Yet some nitwit thinks it’s a good idea to put things like this into consumer food so that unwitting people get something they otherwise might not want? Shocking! Outrageous!

Some of these “Scientists” seem so preoccupied with whether or not they could, that they didn’t stop to think if they should.

Leadership

What’s something your husband did to you that you will never forget?

I met my husband through college when I was 18. He was 20. I was married at 21. He went through all my ups and downs with me, and I mean ups and downs. Things got really bad for me once I entered the professional workforce after grad school. I was ironically working in the mental health field at the time, while my own mental health was deteriorating. My husband was there to lie with me when I cried my eyes out, and he was there to calm me down when I was so excitable I could easily make some bad decisions. Never did he act like I was the “crazy person” I felt I was becoming. On two occasions he walked in on me harming myself, and he took the tool from me and cleaned me up in the shower. He was also the person who walked in on me standing in a corner listening to “the voices” that were talking to me from the sky. Yes, he stayed.

My husband is the reason I chose to go to a therapist. It was humiliating; going to a therapist when I worked in the mental health field myself. After all, I should know how to deal with what was happening to me, right? I had a really good life, an awesome husband, and a good career. What was wrong? The therapist sent me to a psychiatrist, something I also would have declined had it not been for my husband.

My husband attended my diagnostic appointment with the psychiatrist. After answering all sorts of questions and talking about what was going on, I was diagnosed as bipolar with psychotic features. I knew it. In the back of my mind I knew it and I didn’t want to know it. It was one of the reasons I didn’t want to go to the psychiatrist in the first place. I was prescribed medication and my ascent to sanity began, although I’m still not there 100%.

The thing my husband did that I’ll always remember happened just after we stepped out of the office. I was upset. I looked up at him trying to make a joke of it (kind of) and said “Well, congratulations, you married a crazy person.” He stopped us both by taking my hand, looking me in the eye and telling me “You’re no different than you always were, and I love you just as much as I always have.” We had been married almost 8 years.

It’s odd to say a romantic moment came of me being diagnosed as, how I thought of it at the time, crazy, but that’s what happened. I had been feeling so worthless. Who could love someone going through psychosis; someone who might just become a burden on others? The fact that he reassured me, after everything he’d been through with me, that I was still loved was more than I could ever thank him for. We’ve been married over 10 years now, and he says he still feels the same way, even when I do have my bouts of depression, mania, psychosis, and panic attacks, and I’ll never forget that moment when he reassured me I was still lovable and the same old me, even if there was now a name for what was happening to me. I am not crazy. I have bipolar disorder and I’m learning how to deal with it while my husband learns how to deal with my behavior.

God I love that man.

**Edit** Thank you all for the kind words! I did show my answer to my husband and he said he never realized how much that moment meant to me. I wish I’d expressed myself better at the time then! I do make sure to show him appreciation as often as possible!

It’s weird, I never felt the way about my clients that I felt about myself. I loved my clients, and they’re each battling their own mental health issues as strong boys and girls (I worked with adolescents). I guess it’s one of those cases where it’s sometimes hard to value yourself when it’s easy to see the value in others.

Despite everything, I am much better with treatment, and my husband and I are very happy together. He is definitely the love of my life and he makes me feel valuable everyday by telling me how awesome I am as a person, and how “fun I am” to be around. He definitely enjoys spending as much time as possible with me, so I certainly believe him!

I chose to go anonymous mainly because I’m still a bit of a coward and only my close family and friends know about my illness. Maybe one day I’ll have the strength to talk about it more openly, but I worry how that might affect any future clients’ or agencies’ views of me as an effective worker.

Hope that addresses some of the comments I read!

Exploitation

In case of a major conflict between India and China, would the Chinese expect Pakistan to help by opening a second front?

China is too strong today to require the second front

The ‘Second Front’ was a plan maybe ten or twelve years or maybe even fifteen years ago in case of a conflict

Back then both Armies were on similar footing

Chinas Budget was $ 68.79 Billion in 2009 with a much higher import dependence and Indias was close to $ 46 Billion
Both countries depended on at least 40% of their Military Supplies on the Russians
Both Nations had similar abilities on three domains – Army, Navy & Air
Chinas GDP was around $ 4.8 Trillion to Indias $ 1.58 Trillion. Yet Chinas Debt to GDP was closer to 36% to Indias 21%

Back then Pakistan was also in a far stronger position than today

It was also way closer to the US , so Chinas active plan was to get Pakistan out of US Sphere of Influence into their own

The Plan was if India moved against China, then for China to get Pakistan to open a second theatre either through Economic leverage or Military Leverage

In 2024, this plan is no longer a primary one

China has the roads now, the infrastructure to mobilize it’s troops in 24 hours and confront India in any direction
China has Satellite Imaging for every square feet of those mountains
China has a five domain superiority including Cyber & Low Space where they are streets ahead of India
Today Chinas economy is at $ 18–19 Trillion and they have virtually the same amount of savings and real wealth plus a Net Foreign Reserves of a Trillion plus bucks

So today the notion of India attacking and moving in offensive on China is much lesser than in 2009, at least militarily

2015–16 was the last year India could have actively moved against China and managed a stalemate or bloodied the Chinese nose and gotten brutally mauled

Today the Chinese are TOO STRONG

They prepared their forces for India as the largest enemy until 2013/14 and since then have began to prepare for US and NATO as their largest enemy

We prepared for China and Pakistan as our largest enemy from the 1960s , so our scale hasn’t surged as much

As a consolation, India is too strong for Pakistan today

Just like the Chinese are too strong for us

Work Smarter

Roasted Black Pepper Wings
with Maple Bourbon Glaze

Yield: 4 servings

Ingredients

Wings

2 1/2 tablespoons freshly ground black pepper
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
1/8 teaspoon cayenne pepper
12 wings, cut in half at joints, wing tips removed and discarded

Glaze

1 cup bourbon
3 tablespoons maple syrup
2 teaspoons molasses

Instructions

In a small bowl, combine the black pepper, salt and cayenne.
Place the wings in a zip-type plastic bag.
Pour the pepper mixture into the bag, close it and shake to coat the wings.
Heat the oven to 350 degrees F. Cover a rimmed baking sheet with aluminum foil, place wings on foil and bake for 30 to 40 minutes, or until done.
In a small saucepan over medium heat, combine bourbon, maple syrup and molasses, + 1 cup of water. Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat to simmer. Simmer the mixture until reduced by about half and thickened, 5 to 6 minutes.
When the wings are done, toss them with the glaze while they are still warm.

Shorpy time

WTF is going on with American girls?

Peanut Butter Chicken Wings

30COOKING THAIPEANUT CHIXWINGS1 articleLarge

Yield: 15 to 20 servings

Ingredients

50 chicken wings
2 (12 ounce) bottles beer
1 cup molasses
1/2 cup creamy peanut butter
1/2 cup fresh lemon juice
1/2 cup Worcestershire sauce
1/4 cup prepared mustard
1 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons chili powder
1/4 cup chopped fresh parsley, for garnish
1 to 2 lemons, sliced thin, for garnish

Instructions

Heat oven to 450 degrees F.
Remove and discard tips from wings and cut each wing in half at joint.
Combine remaining ingredients except parsley and lemon slices in a large saucepan. Cook over low heat for about 15 minutes, until reduced and thickened to the consistency of thick gravy.
Place wings in a large roasting pan and cover with sauce. Turn until each wing is well coated.
Bake for 15 to 20 minutes.
Serve on large platter.
Garnish with parsley and lemon slices.

Move to Italy

What did you say during your first job interview that helped you get the job? Can you offer any tips for individuals seeking their first job interview?

I was 18 years old (about 200 years ago) and had just graduated high school. I walked 3 blocks down the street to an intersection where the first big box predecessor to Home Depot had put up a first-of-its-kind huge store and lumber yard. I was there to attend a cattle call (open call) for workers.

I had WAY overdressed for a helper job in the lumber yard. In fact, I was wearing the suit I had worn on my graduation night. I stood in line with guys in jeans, work boots, T-shirts and packs of Marlboro cigarettes rolled up in one sleeve. They hadn’t shaved in days. (hell! I didn’t even NEED to shave!—yet)

As each guy’s turn came up you walked into the office and had a 2-minute interview with the yard foreman. I walked in in my suit and I could tell from first glance he had immediately dismissed me. I handed him my application and told him, “Mr. Dykes, for every dollar you pay me I’ll return $10.”

One eyebrow shot up. He looked me over. Not saying a word, he reached behind him and grabbed a pair of work gloves and a hardhat and tossed them across the desk. He told me to be back at 6AM the next morning.

I unloaded boxcars, drove a forklift, and a small delivery truck for Mr. Dykes for one year before I went off and joined the US Air Force.

Why is China’s rise so hard for the US to counter?

For one thing, the Chinese are very clever and adaptable and resilient. The Americans have grown fat, lazy and stupid.

For another, the Chinese number over a billion, more than 4X the size of the US population.

For another, the Chinese are well-educated. In fact, China produces 4X more STEM graduates than the USA does. This is why China can kick America’s ass technologically.

For another, the Chinese are led by a very strong, stable, capable, intelligent government. The Americans are led by clowns.

For another, the Chinese do not waste valuable resources on fighting wars around the globe. They dedicate their resources to economic and technological development.

Why Dating is Broken in 2024 – What Boomers don’t understand

Not in the States

What is the dirtiest fine print you’ve seen in a contract?

My sister got a job with a popular makeup artist and brought me the contract agreement to go through for her which was all shades ridiculous, I’ll tell you why

First that she would resume work at 8am not a minute more every weekday and Saturday

If a client is assigned to her by her employer, she gets only 20% of the payment and 80% goes to her employer

If she brings the client herself she gets 70% of the payment and her employer gets 30%

She would also mostly use her makeup products and none will be provided by the employer

Her income strictly is on the payment percentage she receives from the clients assigned to her or the ones she brings

She is not allowed to work for another prominent makeup artist 2 years after her termination from this job.

And finally if she breaks any rules set out in the contract she can be terminated at any time and a suit may be initiated against her

N.B she informed her employer that she was a student and so needs a flexible time to be more efficient because her school and workplace was a 45mins drive, the employer declined.

I read through this bs contract and told her to deny the job immediately because they’re trying to enslave her

Edit : many people seem to assume this contract took place in the states lol, it took place once Nigeria not the States

What could Taiwan do to make the UN acknowledge that Taiwan is a sovereign state?

Hold a Referendum in Taiwan and get it supervised by the UN Observers and get a 60% Majority to approve

Then get the UNGA to formally recognise Taiwan with at least 97 nations needed for a yes

In the process you risk alienating China and all the benefits that China brings, not to mention the fact that China will certainly ensure Taiwan won’t survive long enough to enjoy it’s Independence

A Poorly prepared Russia is skewering Ukraine like a Kebab , imagine a vastly better prepared, richer China with a smaller Taiwan

No Taiwanese would want that

Instead Taiwan would be eyeing for what we can call Federation of China

Two Parts of the Federation – The Mainland & Taiwan. The Mainland governed by the CPC and it’s system. Taiwan by it’s Presidential System.

Yet Defence, Air Space, Foreign Policy and Trade all controlled by the larger Mainland

It would be the perfect solution – Taiwan would have their right to choose their leaders and Taiwan would be part of China

This isn’t my idea of course

Singaporean Minister Teo Chee Hean pondered on the same thing a few years ago.

I guarantee 140 nations will approve heartily

Textbook narcissist

A thing happened

Today, my family and I were driving through Starbucks and there was an enraged man sitting at a table by himself. He was yelling and very upset. He appeared unkept and homeless. We felt so sorry for this troubled man and knew he needed help. We called 911 and waited in the parking lot to make sure this man was treated humanely.

An officer appeared.

He calmly and quietly approached the gentleman. He pulled up a chair and sat across from him and calmly asked the upset man what was going on. The officer, eye to eye, down on the troubled man’s level, de-escalated the situation quickly. I was moved to tears at how the officer respected this man and made it clear that he was there to help him. These are the stories that should be in the news. This gentleman, deserves a pat on the back and the recognition of doing an excellent job!

My main purpose for reporting this is in hope that this officer receives recognition. His name is Officer Reese of the Garland Police dept. Please share!

DIY for Tequila

To Americans who visited Europe, what was the most shocking thing that’s everyday life for Europeans?

The first time I went to Europe was in the summer of 1974. I was 22 at the time. I had been to Quebec a few times, but other than that I had lived my entire life in the Northeast. I had taken years of French in school, but I had met only a few foreigners. I short, I was an innocent abroad, much more naive, I think, than anybody would be today.

I’ll mention things that surprised me, though none of them shocked me in a bad way. I hope my experiences will amuse you.

First, when I landed in Luxembourg, the airline loaded us on a bus. A woman sat down next to me and spoke to me in French. I was shocked! You mean people actually speak French?? My French education had emphasized book learning and there was little or no conversational practice. I recovered pretty quickly and managed to get around with my borken French and some German I picked up on the trip.

When I went to plug in my electric shaver, I was shocked that my plug didn’t fit the socket! I had never even imagined that different countries might have different sockets. I did know that Europe used 220 V, and my shaver was able to handle that, but sockets??

Back then it was common and safe to hitchhike, and I met many people that way. English speaking was much less common then than it is now, so I learned to communicate with basic words and a lot of gestures.

When I arrived at the outskirts of Amsterdam (not knowing a single word of Dutch), I was standing at a tram stop decoding the map when a young woman came up and asked if she could help me – in English. And then she apologized because her English was not very good! I felt humiliated. Here I am, an American student, visiting her country, not speaking a word of her language, and she was apologizing because she didn’t speak my (foreign) language??? Would that happen in America? Ever?

One last thing. I had grown up in the 1950s when Europe was still recovering from World War II. When I would be picky about my food, my mother would tell me I should be grateful I had plenty to eat because all the poor children in Europe were starving. When I arrived, I expected to see hardship. But instead I found that life was good, as good as in America in most ways. That was a happy surprise.

CHINA’S RAIL SYSTEM IS INCREDIBLE | Traveling Over 1000km From Guangzhou To Zhangjiajie

Tens thousands of HK people ran for the UK using BNO visa several years ago have now become beggars in streets & many of them have killed themselves in the UK. Why are those HK people becoming food menu on the UK food tables as Blinken claimed?

The BNO is a backdoor opened by the British Crown that is normally shut tight. They even extended BNO eligibility by making it inheritable.

The terms were lavish to say the least—visa-equivalent long-term residency and employment rights.

Unfortunately, the liberal interpretation means the average BNO applicant does NOT qualify for immigration through normal channels.

In other words, the majority of BNO applicants DO NOT satisfy the British government’s immigrant criteria.

In fact, BNO status itself is baggage that is exploited on the jobs market. Employers know there is an excess of yellow folk who speak funny English and they are motivated to depress their offer. Besides, the UK economy has been under strain for several years, due to brexit, covid, inflation, and tight credit. White collar job holders have spilled over into the blue. Professional degree holders are delivering food in the harsh British winter, just to make rent. Quite a number have been assaulted/roughed up in the anti-chinese frenzy whipped up by the media.

All because they are convinced Hong Kong has become intolerable for their freedom-loving souls.

Their liberation as bottom feeders in a society that doesn’t respect or even like them much is an amazing lesson for onlookers. If they would just take a little step back to reflect, they will marvel at the incomprehensible road they have committed to.

Came for the boobs, but stayed for the bra

Actually, pretty darn informative.

In an emergency scenario in which China overtakes then US as the largest economy and America is too weak to influence overseas countries, how will China provide a more responsible (pro-China) alternative international government to U.S liberalism?

Please note that I am answering this question with a non joking and non sarcastic attitude.

A pro China US government is not a viable option. Supporting a US government and providing economic support to expand this influence is not cost-effective at all. It’s fully stupid.

Only arrogant leaders like American politicians would feel that such a large country can be infiltrated, controlled, and subverted without themselves being affected. You can only use the wrong ideology to make the other country fall, but after affecting hundreds of millions of people in the other country, you yourselves will also be infected.

This is also why the United States has long been hiring Chinese trolls to disrupt the agendas of the Chinese people and that’s wasting money.

However, even if the United States knows this and is facing financial difficulties, it will never stop doing so, because from the perspective of policy makers, all reasons that can consume national finances are appropriate because they can profit from it.

The reason for answering this question is simply to make ordinary Americans aware of their government’s wrongdoing. I find it interesting to see them face errors that cannot be corrected. You always have the right path to take, but you won’t choose because it’s not an easier way.

Ha ha ha ha

What did someone do that made you think they were really smart?

When I was still in primary school, my elder brother asked our parents for a diary. Every day he wrote an entry in the diary and locked it in his drawer.

What a beautiful, fine diary! A symbol of grown-ups and secrets. So I asked my parents for a diary too. But I didn’t have my own drawer, so all I could do was put it in a paper box which was full of toys.

The day I got my diary, I ran to my parents and pointed at the box with pride: “That’s where I will put my diary!” My dad gave me a meaningful smile: “Good girl.”

My brother whispered to me: “Why did you tell them where your diary is? You know they will peek!”.

I smiled and said nothing.

I began to make entries in the diary. But what I wrote was just like this:

4/10/2012

Today my mum cooked for me. She is really a great cook and I can’t name another person who has better cooking skills than her!!!! I’ll study hard and make a lot of money and buy my mother a big house!!!!

4/12/2012

I’m sick. My daddy drove me to the hospital. Looking at his figure, I can’t believe I’m his daughter. How happy I am!

4/13/2012

Today my teacher asked us for a composition named “The one I want to thank.”, I plan to write on my mother. She is so open-minded and warm-hearted!

My parents’ attitude towards me changed. Every time they saw me, they almost ended up in tears of joy and love.

My diary became my “Wish book”. Whatever I wanted, I just needed to write it in the diary and I would receive it a few days later.

They gradually couldn’t afford this. Every time they opened the diary, ￥50–300 flew out of their purse.

In the end they bought me a drawer.

“No, I really don’t need this.”, I said.

“Keep it.”, they said, “It’s better to lock it.”.

“Thanks but no.” I said.

“Please, lock it!”

´_>`

At least I got a new drawer. It’s good. Yay.

Workers doing it right

Is the USA the only free country in the world (which is why it’s so great)?

Do you know an English adage ”self praise is no praise at all”First US is not free at all 25% of worlds. Prisoners are Americans! 9 times per million compared to China! You Government thrall the entire internet and what you watch on telly to check on every America disclosed by Edward Snowden! And 99% don’t want either Trump or Biden but you are laden with them because of your undemocratic political system that is really chosen by a few rich and influential!

It is anything but great, the highest debtor nation on earth, highest deficits, warmongers and trouble makes everywhere, with s million homeless and living in tents throughout America, to tally dilapidated infrastructure and highly highly uncompetitive! Has not have a real growth since 1960 64 years ago.

Apricot Chicken Casserole

Ingredients

6 to 8 chicken pieces (drumsticks or thighs)
1 envelope dry onion soup mix
1 small can apricot nectar
2 or 3 carrots, chopped
2 to 4 medium potatoes, sliced
Mushrooms, sliced
Garlic powder

Instructions

Sprinkle onion soup mix over chicken pieces.
Add vegetables and mushrooms.
Pour apricot nectar over all, and sprinkle garlic powder over everything.
Add small amount of water to casserole and bake at 350 degrees F until done, about 1 to 1 1/2 hours.

Florida passes a law…

Have you ever taken the law into your own hands?

My neighbor is a big-shot lawyer. One night, his dog was outside my house. I didn’t know it was his dog and had to ask around. I was told it was “the lawyer’s dog.” I noticed that the dog was terribly skinny and, in general, just didn’t have the bounce in her step like most black labs do.

I left her at my house and knocked on the door. I told him I had his dog. He didn’t seem concerned. When it appeared he wasn’t going to come outside, I asked him if he expected me to deliver the dog to him. He got all huffy and said, “Fine!” His beautiful and very, very sweet wife and four little girls were thanking me but he was just pissed that I interrupted his “pizza and movie night with the family.” He begrudgingly followed me home.

I am a retired humane officer and still have a lot of influence at animal control. But I didn’t want to sound arrogant and threatening so I didn’t mention it. I just asked if the dog was okay as she seemed a little gaunt. He told me to mind my own business.

I asked him if the dog had been to see a vet lately and he said, “What’s with all the g-damn questions?” Since I had had this very same exchange many times in my career, I didn’t get mad. I just smiled and said I was concerned about the dog. He again told me to mind my own business. I said “Okay, well, if you’re not going to talk to me…” and trailed off.
The dog was less than enthusiastic to see him and he had to actually pick up the dog .

The next day, bright and early, two uniformed Animal Control officers knocked on his door, demanding to see the dog. He got a seven-day warning to get the dog to a vet or be fined. Seven days later they came back and were shown a letter from a vet that the lab had been seen and is now under treatment for a pancreatic disorder.

My neighbors asked me how I was so bold and stupid to make an enemy out of a big-shot lawyer.

Right makes might. I had right on my side.
I will never be afraid to speak out on behalf of a dog. In my career I had dealt with hardened criminal dog fighters and my anger gave me courage.
I gave him the chance to talk to me, and I would have offered to take the dog to the vet since I know he and his wife are busy, but he shot me down so fast.
My husband is a big-shot lawyer, too, but this guy doesn’t know that.

I called in a favor from my old colleagues and showed this guy that he didn’t intimidate me and that “Failure to render treatment to an animal in need” is a crime and not even a big-shot lawyer is above the law.

As real as it gets

Never get caught muddy and covered in dog shit because you have chores to do

When I was in middle school, perhaps 9th grade of so I had many various chores around the house. One of them was to take care of the dogs. They lived in the backyard. It was a fenced in area, and they were “outside” dogs.

Every morning, my job was to pick up the “last night” empty food bowls and bring them onto the porch. That way, my mother would get them and clean them up. After that, I would go though the yard to the back alley and make my way to school, or on the weekend; to work.

One day, after I got ready for school. All dressed up with clean clothes, I went to the back and picked up the metal doggies bowls when my bigger dog “Belle” ran up though the muddy back yard and leaped up into my chest.

Now, Belle was a Siberian Husky. Not a huge dog, but big enough, and just about knocked me down. So there I was covered in mud, and the dog was happy as could be. But I was late for school, covered in mud, and screaming at the poor dog.

All that screaming and hollering brought my neighbor a running. He was a medic during the Vietnam war. And perhaps was ready to prep me for surgery. LOL.

Long story short, the neighbor left chucking. I went to class covered in mud and dog shit. I was the butt of jokes all day, and when I came home, my parents yelled at me for being so “poorly dressed” during class. Butt of jokes at school. Berated by my parents for lack of awareness. (And I am sure that my sister did her best to make me look pathetic and stupid in their eyes; embellishing and lies for grand effect.) And thus, endith my story.

People!

Never get caught muddy and covered in dog shit because you have chores to do. Take your time. Organize yourself. And stand up for the situations that assault you.

Today…

Disturbing

Have you ever been invited to something that turned out to be another thing entirely?

I had a friend at work who kept wanting my husband and me to come over for dinner with her and her husband. Finally, I accepted her invitation although my husband wasn’t too keen about it as he had never met them and he wasn’t exactly comfortable in social situations.

When we arrived there was no smell of dinner cooking but were offered drinks to start the evening. A few minutes later some other couples arrived and they too were handed drinks. I thought it would only be the four of us but realized that more people meant my husband wouldn’t be put on the spot to talk just with my friend’s husband.

As others were chatting we noticed that everyone else was getting along pretty well and I felt good knowing this was a congenial group. Shortly after, I was chatted up by a man I did not know. “Oh good, I finally get to meet someone,” I thought. I look around and see a panicked look on my husband’s face. I excused myself from my new gentleman friend and went to my hubby’s rescue. “We have to go,” he whispered. “What’s wrong?” I said. “Don’t ask”, he said. We just have to go, NOW!” I went to my friend and told her my husband didn’t feel well and that we would have to take a raincheck for dinner.

Come to find out, dinner was not what we expected. There was to be no dinner at all. The evening was to be a wife-swapping party and we were as shocked as anyone would be!

I never mentioned a thing to my friend but neither did we accept a ‘dinner’ invitation from them again!

Funny

Have you ever had to put an elderly person in their place?

Well, we tried once.

When my dad was about 90, a neighbor once chewed our ear off about our dad still driving. He never went over 25 mph, he could be seen looking out over the crops rather than paying attention to the road, we needed to take his keys, for his own safety.

We had thought about this before. And Moses and I strategized, planned out exactly what to say, made a plan for Dad getting wherever he needed to go (Mo had two 20 something boys at home at the time.)

We were ready. I came home for the weekend, and Friday night, after dinner, Mo began with, “Dad, we’d like to talk about your driving.”

And that was as far as it went. Dad turned the sheer blue ice glare he had always had on both of us before replying, “No, we do not. I maintain a very safe speed, a lot safer speed than the dang fools who blow their horn and fly on around me, like the one who complained to you. (Didn’t miss a trick, that old man.) I know my own facilities, and if I should ever need to quit driving, I will tell you about it.”

Then he gave his newspaper the trademark shake that signaled disapproval, and the subject was done. Mo looked at me; I looked at him, and like the pig, cow, and sheep in The Little Red Hen, we both screamed silently , “Not I! Not I Not !!”

We had high hopes for the next year, when his license was up for renewal. When he walked out of DMV with a new one, we immediately sought out Laura, the DMV employee who we had been counting on.

“Mo, he passed the vision test with ease. . He passed the written test with a score of 90. Nothing I could do. Sorry.”

He never caused an accident. He never went further than the Food Lion in town, or the barber shop. And, when he died at almost 95, a valid VA driver’s license was in his wallet.

There are some things you just don’t mess with, folks.

It’s an American quickie

What happens when a person falls off a US Navy aircraft carrier?

A carrier will not execute a Williamson turn (or even an Anderson Turn or Scharnow Turn). Imagine bobbing in the water and seeing 90,000 tons of steel bearing down on you as the carrier attempts to “return to the approximate point in the water where the person went over”!

As a Tactical Action Officer, I was responsible for the tactical operation and safety of the ship (not to be confused with the navigational safety of the ship, which is handled from the bridge). The immediate response of the carrier to a man overboard is handled by the bridge and engineering. Basically, as indicated in other responses, if the man overboard call is timely, they will attempt to stop the propellers, and maneuver to clear away from the man.

Under normal conditions, the carrier is accompanied by escort vessels. During flight operations, there is usually a plane guard helicopter (sometimes a plane guard destroyer). Therefore, when a man falls overboard, it is the helicopter or escort vessel that is assigned to recover the person.

In the rare event that the carrier is operating alone (transiting?), then the carrier would come to a stop, and deploy the motor whaleboats to recover the man overboard.

Been there … Done that

When we were transiting home from Japan, we sailed through the tail end of a typhoon. We were alerted that we had a man overboard. However, it was not based on a visual sighting, but from a sailor missing from his post. We came to a stop, and deployed helicopters and escort ships to search for the missing sailor. As noted in other posts, the chances of finding someone, particularly in heavy weather, is very remote. As nightfall approached, we continued the search with helicopters, but ordered the escorts to continue the transit home. After 36 hours, we discontinued the search. Although our escorts had a 24 hour headstart, we were able to kick up our transit speed (one of the benefits of being on a nuclear carrier) and catch up with them before we returned home.

We never found the sailor.

How he got his money

What is the most embarrassing thing that happened to you while you were swimming?

I 18 at the time and I suffered from social anxiety a bit (I was able to go everywhere and do everything, but felt like everybody was watching and judging me so I was extremely shy and inhibited. I overcame that with some help later, luckily).

One morning I woke up earlier than usual and decided to go to the public swimming pool. It was only 7.00 AM when I got there and as expected, there were maybe five other people swimming in that 50*15 m swimming pool, all in their seventies so I was nearly by myself. Great! I was wearing my new swimsuit, rather modestly cut, with broad striped in white and blue.

I swam for half an hour, then I decided to get out and go home. I was approaching the ladder when I noticed that the white stripes were entirely see-through when they were wet. Well, never mind, only a few grannies around, I´ll just be quick.

Then I heard something. I turned around and saw a group of 40 recruits (all men between 18 and 20) had walked in with their instructor and most of them had plenty of time to let their eyes wander around because they were waiting in a queue to jump off the 10m board.

I decided to keep swimming until they left.

(Today I would just get out anyway but as I said, I was having some trouble at the time.)

What was it like seeing the kid you bullied again years later?

In second year high school, there was this kid who we thought he acted flamboyantly gay. He denied, vehemently, being gay, but we all assumed he was. He was mercilessly bullied for it. A different era, different attitude, culture, you name it… it’s no excuse! I stood by and let it happen. Didn’t actually bully the guy, but I did make a joke at his expense once. Made the whole class laugh. Felt good at the time, now makes me think I was a total piece of shit… anyway…

main qimg b3380ae862e586fa2d09af6bc15807e7 pjlq

He transferred classes, after a few months of bullying. After that, he changed schools and completely disappeared off the radar altogether. For years, I did not see the guy or know what became of him…

Years later, I ran into him in a restaurant somewhere. He had gotten tall. Really tall. I barely recognized him, his face was completely different, too. He was now muscular. His jaw had gotten wide, he had grown a bit of stubble and he looked very, very handsome and masculine… I was in shock.

I’m not a bad-looking guy myself, nor am I short, but he towered over me and in that moment, he made me feel small. And not because of him being so tall, but because of how genuinely friendly he was, because of how he shook my hand, smiled at me and told me of his life after school, and how he did not seem to carry any resentment…

He was well-dressed, and was doing amazing in his career. He had traveled all around the world, had gotten himself into adventures everywhere. With regards to his personal life, he never volunteered any information, nor did I ask. It really didn’t matter anymore at this point. He cracked jokes, exchanging hearty banter like the best of them, he was genuinely warm and I just felt overwhelmed with guilt and sadness, in awe of what this guy who had once seemed like a helpless victim of our undeserved ridicule had become…

It was hard for me to do so, but eventually, I told him I was sorry for having bullied him. I told him again of the joke I made, he must have remembered, and I apologized. Profusely. He just, nodded.

He told me, and I’ll never forget his words:

“Comments like yours toughened me up to the world. You weren’t anywhere near the worst of them. For years I hated you all, but it pushed me into the gym, and it pushed me to be my best, and now I can face you and say to you I do not hold a single syllable against you. I would not be proud of who I am right now if not for those words you and other said to me.”

The guy we bullied for his perceived lack of masculinity? Turns out in the end, he’s the manliest of all.

Learning

What is that one picture that describes the lowest point in your life?

This picture right here.

main qimg 1a94a6b9a3f1348b874cb0ed46d2f520 lq

I love this picture. I took this picture of me and my fiancee Olivia in March of 2017. We were taking a walk in downtown Greensboro, and I decided I wanted to get a quick picture of us. We were so happy. She had just recently passed the bar and was about to start her first job as a lawyer. I was as proud of her as I could ever be. She had worked so hard to get to this point, and she was about to start seeing the rewards for all of her hard work.

I also hate this picture, because it is the last picture I ever took of us together. Just seven weeks after I took this picture, Olivia was driving home from work when she lost control of her car, slid off of the road and into a tree. She was killed instantly. This picture represents the last time I was happy, the last time I had the love of my life in my life.

The first year after the accident was the worst. I woke up every single day and wondered if this was going to be the day. Would this be the day that I couldn’t think of a reason to keep going? I sank deeper and deeper into depression, I put on 80 pounds, my blood pressure shot through the roof…I thought about killing myself every single day, and every day I found a reason not to do it, but in reality I was slowly killing myself anyway. I was eating myself to death, drinking myself to death…I was in a bottomless pit, and every day it got a little deeper.

That was the first year. There’s no real way of knowing if there would have been a second full year if something hadn’t changed. But then one day, shortly after I got home from work, I got a text from my niece. My niece Caty is my brother’s only child, and she is like a daughter to me. My brother passed away from leukemia 19 years ago, when she was only 4 years old, so I have been the most positive male role model in her life since then. Anyway, Caty had texted me to ask me if I would walk her down the aisle at her wedding later this year.

Suddenly I no longer needed to come up with a new reason to keep going each day, because for the first time in a year I had something to look forward to. I looked at myself in the mirror, and I was disgusted with what I saw. There was no way in hell I was going to walk her down that aisle in the condition I was in. So I went to the doctor, I got on medication for my blood pressure and for my depression, I started eating a little healthier, cut out all of the drinking, and I dropped 100 pounds in a year. I feel healthier now than I have in years.

The depression is still there. The pain, the hurt, the loss, the emptiness…they are all still there. I know they will never go away. The meds help me deal with them, help me to suppress them, but they are still there under the surface. I can function now, so that’s something. So that picture up above, that represents the start of the darkest period in my life, the lowest point in my life. The picture below was taken this past March, almost exactly two years after the one up above.

There’s a lot more gray in my beard now, and a lot less hope in my eyes. I’m almost smiling in this picture, but make no mistake…this picture represents the lowest point in my life. Every single day of the last 781 days has been the lowest day of my life, because it’s been one more day without the love of my life in it.

EDIT: I was trying to reply to all of the comments, even if it was just a simple thank you. I couldn’t keep up, so I decided to reply here instead. Thank you to everyone who took a moment to comment, to give me some kind of words of hope or encouragement. Thank you to everyone who was touched in some way by this, or who cared enough to respond. Thank you to everyone who took the time not just to comment but to send me personal messages of encouragement. And if you read this, even if you didn’t comment or message me or respond in any way, I still say thank you for reading it. For a moment, just that small moment, Olivia’s name was on your mind, you saw her picture, you thought about her, and for just that moment she was remembered. That probably sounds pretty cheesy, but it means more to me than you can imagine.

Update 11/23/19: So I originally posted this answer on July 8th of this year. I added the first update on August 13th, which also happened to be my birthday. I was amazed at the sheer volume of support I received on this one. I had written many different answers where I talked about Olivia, where I shared her story. I got some very sweet and encouraging comments on all of those, and a few messages from people, but nothing like the response I got from this single post. It has been humbling, and it has been beautiful. I have tried to read every single comment and every single message, although I had to stop replying to them all a few months ago. It was just consuming too much of my time. But I want you all to know how much I appreciate every single one of you that has taken the time to reach out, taken the time to let me know that our story touched you in some way. There have also been a few negative comments, some that were even mean, and a fair bit of spam, but the vast majority has been so lovely and encouraging.

So with all of that said, I wanted to give you an update on my life. As I mentioned, I received a lot of messages from people in addition to all the comments I received. I was trying to keep up with them all for a while, trying to send some kind of reply, even if it was only a few words of thanks, but it got to be too much, although I still do read them all. But then a couple of months ago I received a message that gave me pause, and it touched me so much I had to read it a second time. This message was from someone else who had just recently lost their own fiance unexpectedly, who was struggling with the grief and the pain, and just wanted to let me know that my story was inspiring. It brought literal tears to my eyes reading this message, and I felt compelled to reply. I had no idea who this person was , if it was a man or a woman, young or old, I knew nothing other than this was a heart in pain, and I needed to let this person know that I understood, that I grieved for their loss. Maybe try to offer some words of comfort from the perspective of someone who actually understood that pain and knows what words are comforting and what words ring hollow.

I didn’t expect to hear anything back after that initial reply, but to my surprise I got another message, to which I also replied, and pretty soon we were writing each other almost every day, talking about the losses we had both experienced, with me offering words of comfort and advice. This blossomed into a lovely friendship, and we decided to connect on social media as well.

By this point we had learned a lot more about each other. My mystery writer was a beautiful young woman with a beautiful heart. I realized after a while that I was falling for her, which brought me a lot of guilt. Finally one day I went to visit Olivia’s grave, to talk to her, to tell her what I was feeling. I told her that I would always love her, that she would always be the love of my life, and that no one would ever replace her in my heart. I also told her that I needed to continue living, that I need to let this new person create her own place in my heart. I told her that she would never be replaced, but this new woman I was falling in love with would also understand that,and that I would be sharing her heart with her lost love the same way she would share my heart with Olivia. The only thing left to do now was to tell the new woman in my life how I felt.

I got really lucky y’all, because she was feeling the same things. So yeah, we are in love, we are happy, and we are making plans for the future. I will never “get over” Olivia, I will never stop hurting, stop missing her, stop wishing she was still in my life. But that doesn’t mean I can’t love again, that I can’t live again. And I hope that if anyone reads this who has gone through this type of pain, who is still going through it, I hope you take that message away with you. You can find happiness again if you open your heart to the possibility.

Thank you all for your support and encouragement.

5/15/21 – Final Edit: Wow, so much has happened since I wrote my last edit on this answer. Life has changed so much. The world has changed so much. But I did want to provide one last update, at least partially because I received so many comments and PMs requesting another update.

So, in my last update I told you all about how I met another kindred spirit who had gone through the same type of loss that I had, and how we connected and ultimately fell in love. What I didn’t mention at the time, however, was that we had one huge obstacle – we lived 9000 miles apart. See, I was living in Greensboro, NC at the time, and she was living in the Metro Manila region of the Philippines. This made things more difficult, but it was manageable. We spent hours on Skype every single day, talking and getting to know each other, getting closer every day.

We were both anxious to meet in person, so I bought a ticket to fly out to the Philippines and spend a few weeks with her there. There was only one problem…I was scheduled to land there on March 15th, 2020. Anyone who has been, well, awake for the last year should spot the problem there immediately. Yes, the day we were supposed to finally meet was the same day that Manila went on lock down due to the pandemic.

“It’s ok,” we both said, “this will be under control in a month or two, we’ll reschedule then.”

While we waited for everything to get back to normal, we continued to Skype every day. We would start a call after we finished work each day (she works for a company here in the US, so we actually work almost identical hours) and usually be on that call for the rest of the night. During that time I met her family digitally, and she met mine. There were weekends where we would literally have an eight hour Skype call, log off to sleep for a few hours then spend another eight hours on our next call.

Finally, in February of this year, we started looking into alternative options for where we could meet each other. Her coming to the US or me going to the Philippines were both off the table since Visa services were still suspended for both countries, but we knew that there were countries that we could both get Visas for, so we did some research, and settled on Turkey.

And thus, a little over a year after the date we were originally supposed to finally meet one another, we finally met in person at the airport in Istanbul. When I say I was nervous, that is an understatement. I mean, at this point we had known each other for a year and a half, we had helped each other through the worst pain you can imagine, we had fallen in love against all odds…and yet I was nervous. What if we were uncomfortable around each other? What if she saw me in person and realized that she didn’t like what she saw? What if it was all just so awkward? What if…then I saw her. She had arrived a couple of hours before me, and she was waiting near the baggage carousel my luggage was coming in on. As soon as I walked up to her I think we both started crying a little, I wrapped my arms around her, and I swear I never wanted to let go.

We had planned to spend two weeks in Turkey. We ended up staying five weeks instead, and even then neither one of us really wanted to leave. As soon as we were together, all of those fears, all of that nervousness, it was just washed away. Even though it was our first meeting in person, we had already spent a year and a half getting to know each other, and so we were immediately comfortable together, we knew each other so well that within moments of meeting it felt like we had been together for years. And I realized very quickly that I couldn’t imagine my life without her in it.

And so on April 2nd, 2021, just five days after we arrived in Istanbul, I asked her to marry me and she said yes. I am so incredibly happy that I have this amazing, beautiful woman in my life.

There was a time when I felt completely broken. I felt – no, I knew – that I would never love again. I was at my lowest point, I was literally praying each night that I just wouldn’t wake up the next morning. I had no desire to live, felt that I had nothing left to live for. My niece snapped me out of that when she asked me to walk her down the aisle, but I still felt empty, alone. I wasn’t trying to live again, I was simply no longer actively trying to kill myself through neglect and abuse.

Now – now I want to live life, I want to enjoy life, I want to share my life with this amazing woman who understands me in ways no one else ever could, and who accepts me for who I am, flaws and all. She understands how broken I was, because she was broken as well, but somehow when we picked up all of our broken pieces and put them back together, we found that we were actually two halves of the same puzzle.

So – on to the main reason for this final update. I have been so amazed by the level of support this post has received, the number of people who have reached out to share their own stories of loss, and to tell me that my story has given them hope, or at the very least touched something in their heart. That has meant so much to me, more than any of you could possibly know. And after my last update, so many of those people wanted two things…they wanted to hear more stories about me and my new love, my Macy…and they wanted to see a picture of us together. I guess it was kind of a full circle kind of thing – this started with the picture at the lowest point in my life, now they want to see me at my new high point.

How Self Storage Thrives Off The American Dream

SADYR JAPAROV:

"NGOs that have been working in our country for 30 years were not registered anywhere.

They were not accountable to anyone.

They just opened bank accounts, took money from foreign donors and used it as they saw fit, including for personal purposes.

From now on they will be registered with the Ministry of Justice like everyone else.

They will open bank accounts. They will start to work openly. There will be no more confusion.

The question is why foreign donors against this law.

Our non-governmental organizations are deceiving them.

They spread false information, saying 'we will be persecuted, we will be arrested as agents of a foreign state'.

And the donors believed it. That is why they are asking me not to sign this law.

You have been working with foreign donors for 30 years and no one has prosecuted you for taking money. Are we going to start doing that now?

As the Head of State, I guarantee there will be no persecution.

We are not a nuclear power.

We are not going to fly into space yet.

Our state has no secrets to hide from you and your donors. All our information is in the public domain.

If you can, get billions, not millions. It will only benefit our country.

We just want to show everything openly, so that everyone is working on equal terms.

Then foreign donors will be able to see how much money has been used and for what projects. And they will not be deceived.

Before this, you deceived them by saying that you organized round tables, spent money on training, and implemented projects.

Meanwhile, the funds were used for your personal interests.

If you say it is not true, I can prove it.

Why do non-governmental organizations in developed Western countries register with the Ministry of Justice, the Tax Service, open a bank account and not do the same when they come to us?

Or are we a second-class country?

No, we are not.

We will no longer allow such dubious actions."

Excerpt from the statement by by Kyrgyz President Sadyr Japarov on his Facebook page regarding the adoption by the Kyrgyz Republic of a law on non-governmental organizations (NGOs), April 2, 2024.

Cranberry-Orange Wings

Yield: 8 to 12 servings

Ingredients

3 to 5 pounds chicken wings
1/2 cup orange juice
1/2 cup soy sauce
1/4 cup packed dark brown sugar
1/2 cup jellied cranberry sauce, melted
Dash of Tabasco sauce

Instructions

Arrange chicken wings in a shallow nonreactive container.
In a medium size bowl, combine orange juice, soy sauce, cranberry sauce and Tabasco sauce; mix well.
Pour sauce over chicken wings.
Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate for several hours or overnight. Turn wings occasionally to marinate evenly.
Lift wings from marinade and place on shallow baking pan.
Bake in preheated 350 degrees F oven for 50 to 60 minutes, or until tender. Baste frequently with reserved marinade during baking.

Rollo RED PILLED Tim On The DECLINE Of Modern Women!

China Is Still Rising

Don’t Underestimate the World’s Second-Biggest Economy

For over two decades, China’s phenomenal economic performance impressed and alarmed much of the world, including the United States, its top trading partner. But since 2019, China’s sluggish growth has led many observers to conclude that China has already peaked as an economic power.

Those who doubt that China

’s rise will continue point to the country’s weak household spending, its declining private investment, and its entrenched deflation. Sooner than overtake the United States, they argue, China would likely enter a long recession, perhaps even a lost decade.

But this dismissive view of the country underestimates the resilience of its economy. While its growth has slowed in recent years, China is likely to expand at twice the rate of the United States in the years ahead.

MISREADING THE DATA

Several misconceptions undergird the pessimism about China’s economic potential. Take the widely held misconception that the Chinese economy’s progress in converging with the size of the U.S. economy has stalled. It is true that from 2021 to 2023, China’s GDP fell from 76 percent of U.S. GDP to 67 percent. Yet it is also true that by 2023, China’s GDP was 20 percent bigger than it had been in 2019, the eve of the global pandemic, while the United States’ was only 8 percent bigger.

This apparent paradox can be explained by two factors. First, over the last few years, inflation has been lower in China than it has been in the United States. Last year, China’s nominal GDP grew by 4.6 percent, less than the 5.2 percent that its GDP grew in real terms. In contrast, because of high inflation, U.S. nominal GDP in 2023 grew by 6.3 percent, while real GDP grew by only 2.5 percent.

Moreover, the U.S. Federal Reserve has raised interest rates by over five percentage points since March 2022, from 0.25 percent to 5.5 percent, making dollar-denominated assets more attractive to global investors and boosting the value of the dollar relative to alternative currencies. Meanwhile, China’s central bank cut its base interest rate from 3.70 percent to 3.45 percent. The growing gap between Chinese and U.S. interest rates reversed what had been a large inflow of foreign capital into China, ultimately depressing the value of the renminbi vis-à-vis the dollar by ten percent. Converting a smaller nominal GDP to dollars at a weakened exchange rate results in a decline in the value of China’s GDP when measured in dollars relative to U.S. GDP.

But these two factors are likely to be transitory. U.S. interest rates are now declining relative to rates in China, reducing the incentive of investors to convert renminbi into dollar-denominated assets. As a result, the depreciation of the Chinese currency has begun to reverse. The International Monetary Fund forecasts that Chinese prices will pick up this year, which would boost China’s GDP measured in renminbi. Its nominal GDP measured in U.S. dollars will almost certainly resume converging toward that of the United States this year and is likely to surpass it in about a decade.

A second misconception is that household income, spending, and consumer confidence in China is weak. The data do not support this view. Last year, real per capita income rose by 6 percent, more than double the growth rate in 2022, when the country was in lockdown, and per capita consumption climbed by nine percent. If consumer confidence were weak, households would curtail consumption, building up their savings instead. But Chinese households did just the opposite last year: consumption grew more than income, which is possible only if households reduced the share of their income going to savings.

A third misconception is that price deflation has become entrenched in China, putting the country on course toward recession. Yes, consumer prices rose only 0.2 percent last year, which gave rise to the fear that households would reduce consumption in anticipation of still lower prices—thereby reducing demand and slowing growth. This has not happened because core consumer prices (meaning those for goods and services besides food and energy) actually increased by 0.7 percent.

The prices of tools and raw materials used to produce other goods did fall in 2023, reflecting global declines in the price of energy and other internationally traded commodities as well as relatively weak demand in China for some industrial goods, potentially undermining the incentive for firms to invest in expanding their productive capacity. Rather than pump money into their businesses, the thinking went, companies would use their declining profits to pay down debt. But here, too, the very opposite came to pass: Chinese corporations ramped up borrowing, both in absolute terms and as a share of GDP. And investment in manufacturing, mining, utilities, and services increased. No recession appears on the horizon.

Another misconception concerns the potential for a collapse in property investment. These fears are not entirely misplaced; they are supported by data on housing starts, the number of new buildings on which construction has begun, which in 2023 was half what it was in 2021. But one has to look at the context. In that same two-year period, real estate investment fell by only 20 percent, as developers allocated a greater share of such outlays to completing housing projects they had started in earlier years. Completions expanded to 7.8 billion square feet in 2023, eclipsing housing starts for the first time. It helped that government policy encouraged banks to lend specifically to housing projects that were almost finished; a general easing of such constraints on bank loans to property developers would have compounded the property glut.

Finally, there is the misconception that Chinese entrepreneurs are discouraged and moving their money out of the country. Undoubtedly, the government crackdown that began in late 2020 on large private companies, notably Alibaba, did not help matters. From the beginning of economic reform in 1978 through the mid-2010s, private investment in China grew more rapidly than investment by state-owned firms. By 2014, private investment composed almost 60 percent of all investment—up from virtually zero percent in 1978. As private investment is generally more productive than that of state companies, its expanding share of total investment was critical to China’s rapid growth over this period. This trend went into reverse after 2014 when Xi Jinping

, having just assumed the top leadership position, aggressively redirected resources to the state sector. The slowdown was modest at first, but by 2023, private investment accounted for only 50 percent of total investment. Xi had undermined investor confidence; entrepreneurs no longer saw the government as a dependable steward of the economy. So long as Xi is in power, runs a common argument, entrepreneurs will continue to hold back on investing in China, opting instead to funnel their wealth out of the country.

But here again, the pessimism is not supported by the data. First, almost all the decline in the private share of total investment after 2014 resulted from a correction in the property market, which is dominated by private companies. When real estate is excluded, private investment rose by almost ten percent in 2023. Although some prominent Chinese entrepreneurs have left the country, more than 30 million private companies remain and continue to invest. Moreover, the number of family businesses, which are not officially classified as companies, expanded by 23 million in 2023, reaching a total of 124 million enterprises employing about 300 million people.

REAL CHALLENGES AHEAD

Although China is beset by many problems, including those resulting from Xi’s efforts to exert greater control over the economy, exaggerating these problems serves no one. It could even lead to complacency in the face of the very real challenges that China presents to the West.

That is particularly true for the United States. China will likely continue to contribute about a third of the world’s economic growth while increasing its economic footprint, particularly in Asia. If U.S. policymakers underappreciate this, they are likely to overestimate their own ability to sustain the deepening of economic and security ties with Asian partners.

Andrew speaks his piece

Does not being a graduate from IIT or NIT qualify you as a loser for life?

I believe there are only five reasons why you can be a LOSER in life :-

Didn’t work or deliver your whole potential & still don’t recognize that
Burying your head in the sand. Not recognizing or accepting weaknesses and faults or making excuses
Hitting a woman no matter how grave the provocation (Male). Filing a false case of Dowry Harrassment against In Laws (Female)
Whitewashing the crimes of the White Man perpetrated on the world in greed for his dollars.
Shamelessly fawning on people who make 20 Crore to enable them to make 200 Crore a year while you make 2 Lakh a year

Nobody else is a LOSER

When I was a Student, we considered ECONOMICS to be a part of ARTS

Today the whole world acknowledges that Economics is a SCIENCE and has a lot of Math & Calculus too.

Likewise we regard Language to be a part of the Arts, however the same language is used for Ciphers and Cryptography and shows how it can be used for SCIENCE

Accountancy was once regarded different from Science but now it’s clear Accounting has a manner and method to it

Even Marketing and Sales has its own Strategy that is based and steeped in SCIENCE

My point is :-

Your brain must be steeped and honed properly

You must see manner and method in everything

Even Cooking has a lot of Science

The very fact that hot milk dissolves more sugar than cold milk is a science involving solubility of solutions

Apply logic without blindly following statements. Assume every Statement is a lie and use logic to prove it it possibly true.

You do this and that’s all you need in life for a superior brain

IIT, NITs are just alphabets in such a case

America today

What is nightlife in Japan like?

Let’s say you finish work at 6 pm.

Congratulations! You’ve managed to clear that pile of work within regular hours. Today was indeed a productive day.

As you close your laptop and prepare to leave, you notice your boss still at his desk, along with most of your colleagues.

If you’ve been in Japan long enough, this sight should remind you to sit back down and unpack your bag quietly.

Do you have plans to meet your girlfriend? Text her next time.

Did you make dinner reservations? Convenience store food is enough for you.

Do you have a TV show you were looking forward to? You’ll catch the rerun online later.

Your nightlife is right here — staying at the office with everyone until the bosses leave.

This is the nightlife that matters most to you.

In the Japanese workplace, there’s a common practice of “pretend overtime.”

This includes situations where you might be there for extended hours without accomplishing much or feeling pressured to stay late just because your boss hasn’t left yet.

Even if you’ve completed your tasks for the day on schedule, you’re not permitted to leave until your boss says, “You can go home now.” Until your supervisor clocks out, you’re stuck at the office, even if you’re sitting there idly. You end up staying until late into the night, finding ways to pass the time, like reading manuals or making memo pads out of scrap paper.
You’re not allowed to leave until your boss leaves the office, and it’s essential to make sure your boss sees you reading documents or typing on your keyboard. If your boss asks, “Aren’t you leaving yet?” you respond by saying there are still a few things you need to prepare; thus, he recognizes your “presence.”
You don’t have much work that requires overtime. If you work efficiently, you can get it done before the end of the workday. You’re not looking to be your boss’s favorite, but you worry that people might perceive you as lacking ambition and dedication if you don’t do what others are doing. So, you end up staying in the office instead of leaving, even when you could.

In Japan, it’s common for companies to equate working overtime with dedication and hard work. The longer you stay at the office into the night, the more committed you appear.

Look, it’s time to hop onto the last train home.

Welcome to our unique nightlife culture.

Pre-birth world-line template

What was the reason for your migration?

I usually migrated for career reasons:

from Germany to Canada because I got into a university there;
from Canada to the US because I got a first job offer there;
from the US to France because I got a better job offer there;
from France back to Germany because I got into a master’s program there;
from Germany to England because I was offered a full-time lecturer position there;
from England to New Zealand because I was offered a position as academic leader at a university there;
from New Zealand to China and India because I was offered a position as a dean at a university there, in the employ of a French university.

That was the pinnacle of the achievable in my career. After that, feeling like I no longer needed to prove anything, I decided I’d now find a position somewhere in the comfortable middle field of my career, where I would benefit from my experience without getting too stressed out, in a reasonable country that I loved.

So I went back to England as a senior lecturer at a university, and lived and worked there happily while maintaining a holiday home in Sweden, where my Chinese wife and I went during the long summer and winter holidays.

And then Brexit came, taking away all the certainties of my position in England and all the research funding and partnerships, so the time had come again to move to secure my professional future, and I eventually found a senior lecturer position at a university in Sweden, in commuting distance of my house.

Long story shot: Dangling carrots at first, long term outlook and sympathy later were what made me migrate.

I think it’s what most people migrate for: A better life. Not that mine would have been bad where I was. But when you can get better, well… of course you go.

And of course it wasn’t only for the CV. Often, there were romantic notions attached, a sense of adventure, the thought that a new world with a different language, culture, climate, and cuisine would be inspiring to experience.

Obsolete Car Features From The Past

If you could choose one defunct automotive manufacturer to revive as a brand, which company would you choose and why?

I sort of miss Oldsmobile.

They were always an interesting, understated brand with nice cars that seemed a bit like Buicks for people with university degrees. Especially the Toronado, I thought, was wonderful. An interesting and different sort of car, with front wheel drive at a time when not many dared, and especially not in conjunction with a big V8 engine.

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I had two Oldsmobiles myself. One of them, a 1973 Delta 88, was a real miracle of reliability and economy for its age and size.

I also lament that Pontiac is gone, having one myself. It always seemed like Chevrolet with an apache flavour to me. The Native American brand, if you will. That was cool.

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Mine is just a dressed up Caprice for the Canadian market, but it does have that vibe.

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And then, there’s Saab.

I can’t believe it’s gone. It used to be the other defining agent in the Swedish car duality game. It’s as if someone were to remove Holden or Ford from the Australian context. Such a huge vacuum has been left.

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Maybe they can come back as hydrogen hybrids some day.

Teen Opera Singer Reacts To Dio – Last In Line

Dio and I are the same age. Too bad he passed on. This is a wonderful reaction. Not too many interruptions, and genuine love.

What was the most brutal military tactic in history?

I am going to tell my favorite Roman story here. One of those events that is just so weird it sticks with you forever. It was a brutal moment in history and one very few people have been heard of.

Background

The Romans first invaded Britain when Julius Caesar set about conquering the Island. He found that it was poor, hard to get to, and packed with warlike tribes. So after winning a few battles he appointed the local leader a “vassal” of Rome and left.

This didn’t stick and the Romans forgot about Britannia for many decades.

Then Claudius takes the throne some 80 years later. Claudius is smart, wise, and careful but the people of Rome consider him a weak idiot. So to win glory Claudius invades Britannia and adds it to the Empire as a new province.

Things do not go very smoothly though.

The locals are not very cool with their land being conquered and they resist. In addition, Britannia is far away and Rome has to make significant efforts to convince Romans to colonize Britannia.

The largest tribe, the Iceni, remain somewhat independent. When their chief dies in 60 AD he leaves his lands to the Romans and his 2 daughters. This is meant to serve as a peaceful transition into the Roman Empire with his daughter still at the head of the tribe.

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The Romans don’t see it this way though and move in on Iceni lands. They began to pillage Iceni lands, taking the men as slaves and raping the women. The chief’s daughters were also raped. When their mother, a woman named Boudica, tried to stop the Romans she was stripped naked publicly and whipped.

This horrid action would have consequences though.

Now 17 years after Rome first established itself on the island things would escalate quickly and one of the most brutal chapters in Roman history began.

My favorite part

Gaius Suetonius Paulinus is the governor of Britain. He is a man of middling skill but he is loyal and capable enough. His goal is to establish Roman control over the island

Paulinus has a plan to establish more control over Britain. There is an island off the Northern coast of Wales that has extreme religious significance to the locals. If he could control that island he could establish more control over the locals.

With a legion in tow, he sets out to conquer the Island (Anglesey).

As the Romans arrive off the shore and start moving to the beach they notice something strange. On the shore, there are people – thousands of them.

These men aren’t warriors though. They are dressed in black and reaching their hands towards the while and chanting. In between the ranks of chanting people, there are women, cloaked in black and dashing about with torches.

The sight is shocking and the Romans freeze – nobody knows what to make of it so they just stare in fear.

The women start screaming like animals and begin to charge towards the Romans.

Still the Romans are frozen at the sight.

Paulinus starts to shout insults at the men to get them moving. The legions advanced and cut the women to pieces – it is no contest.

The Romans then make it to shore and cut down the men that were chanting

After a few minutes, the beach is taken and the Romans look around. They soon notice they are not standing on a beach, they are standing on a giant funeral pyre.

A torch-wielding woman then appears and lights the pyre. The many injured druids are engulfed by the flames and cry out in agony.

The Romans now realize what happened. They had just been tricked into engaging in a religious act of human sacrifice.

This TERRIFIED THEM beyond what we can imagine.

You see, the Romans were a religious/superstitious bunch. They believed that the gods of foreigners were as real as their own. Curses, sacrifices, and deals with the gods were all totally valid things in the Roman world.

To them – this was going to have a significant impact on the world around them.

Stories started flooding in that rivers were running red for no reason and that a statue of Mars collapsed without cause.

The Romans in Britain were afraid.

The Druid gods appreciated the sacrifice because things suddenly shifted drastically in favor of the local peoples.

Boudica, the wife of the dead Iceni chief, had taken to the warpath. She gathered the local leaders and tribes and they decided to revolt and cast off the influence of Rome.

They didn’t even farm that year. They dedicated themselves entirely to preparing for war.

When they were ready they struck hard and fast.

Boudica first struck Camulodonum. As the leaders of Camulodonum noticed the approaching army the requested help from Longthroppe and Londinium (modern London).

Longthroppe took it seriously and sent their garrison but Londinium only sent 200 unarmed slaves as an insult.

When the garrison from Longthorpe arrived it was too late. The city of Camulodonum was destroyed completely. Every single person was killed. The women were raped, the men were slaughtered, and the city was looted.

It is recorded that the Roman women were hung up naked and had their removed breasts sewed to their mouths so it appeared as though they were eating them.

It was horrific. This garrison from Longthorpe thought they were dealing with a smaller revolt. To their horror, they found the entire Iceni tribe mobilized– some 75,000 warriors. The garrison was immediately overwhelmed and ran for their lives.

Paulinus now gets word what is happening. He takes his men and heads straight for Boudica.

He requests that the second legion on the island join him, but they refuse. So he requests that every retired legionary able to hold a sword join his ranks immediately.

With this his army swells to 10,000 – but he is still drastically outnumbered.

Boudica now arrives at Londinium and repeats her actions at Camulodonum.

Boudica’s plan was clear – ethnic cleansing.

Paulinus decides to try and save lives. He begins going city to city and evacuating citizens whenever possible. Boudica is in hot pursuit of his small army and the thousands of refugees are weighing him down.

Paulinus gives up. He tells the refugees to continue North and he turns to fight. He decides that dying in battle is preferable to being tortured by Boudica.

Paulinus sets himself up in the best spot he can find. Thick marshes protect his flanks and he gets his men into a sawblade formation.

Boudica’s army is at least 7 times larger than the Roman army. Many of them now have captured Roman gear as well.

She decides to charge and overwhelm them. It seems logical – crush this small army under the weight of 75,000 warriors. She takes her wagons and forms a circle around the battlefield to prevent her army and the Roman army from retreating.

Big mistake.

The Romans were the kings of this style of warfare. Their training, tactics, and heavy armor all favored prolonged head-on clashes.

Boudica’s army charges in and engages with the Romans. As usual, the Romans stab, slice, and kill from behind their big shields. Every few minutes the man at the front heads to the back while the next guy in line takes over. This keeps the men fighting fresh and allows those that just fought some time to rest.

Paulinus orders his men forward and they begin moving forward 1 step at a time.

Boudica’s forces start to get desperate. The Roman momentum is insane – they just keep coming forward and nothing Boudica does can stop them. Thousands are already dead and morale is dropping.

When a break in the battle finally happens Boudica orders a retreat.

But the wagons create choke points and the retreat turns into a mad dash for safety.

The Romans surge forward killing everything in their path. It’s a slaughter. They massacre their enemies by the thousands – pressing them against the carts and cutting them down.

Almost the entire 80,000 strong army is killed, while the Romans lose a mere 400–1000.

Boudica – totally defeated – takes poison to kill herself. The Romans now have full control over the Southern part of Britain.

The brutality of this episode is shocking even by Roman standards.

First, you have the Romans raping and enslaving an entire tribe without provocation.

Then you have a mass ritual human sacrifice accidentally committed by the Romans.

Then Boudica starts a campaign of ethnic cleansing.

Then one of the largest battles in Roman history happens and 80,000 people are cut down.

I would say it is the most brutal episode of Roman history.

California Fast-Food Outlets CUT Jobs & BOOST Prices Ahead of $20/hr Minimum Wage Rollout

What do you think of the Fox News host who explained that the world was suffering from the coronavirus because the Chinese Communist Party cannot feed its people, who have resorted to eating raw bats and snakes?

Logically it makes no sense.

How do poor people afford meat when grain is a luxury?

Unless one deliberately goes into the wild or lives in some secluded corner of nowhere, there are no bats and snakes aplenty.

Unless, of course, these species are being farmed for food.

Which makes no sense because snakes are slow growing and bats are difficult to raise. Besides the protein haul is miserable compared to chickens and pigs per unit of resource.

Any way you look at it, these are luxury items that only the rich can afford, because the poor will rather sell their catch rather than consume bounty.

Anyone who finds exotic food cheaper than regular tofu, please leave a comment. That will be the bargain of the century.

Does the Fox anchor even know how much a snake gallbladder costs???!!!

Note: There are families in Yunnan that can only afford rice a few times a year, and meat only once. The rest of the year consists of corn, roots, fruit and vegetables.

Different Kind

Like a rabid dog who cannot be reasoned with, Israel and its apologists understand language of power not reason.

Rabies is a terminal illness, once a dog starts to show symptoms of the disease, there is no cure but to euthanize the dog, for the greater good of neighborhood. A rabies ridden dog not only suffers himself, but also poses a danger of instability and greater harm to those around him.

You cannot “reason” a rabid dog out of his illness.

Similarly you cannot reason with Israel and apologists, both Israel, majority of Israeli society and its apologists abroad, have pre-emptively convinced themselves that, whatever Israel does on Gaza, will always be justified.

No matter how many civilians, aid workers or doctors are killed, or how many hospitals are destroyed, that will always be justified in eyes of Israel’s apologists, there will always be a “khamas base” if not in Al-shifa hospital, then in 4 year old Palestinian child’s skull.

Only way to stop this genocidal state from killing more innocent souls, is NOT A CEASEFIRE, but bowing it into submission by force and sanctions

Just hours after destroying the largest hosptial in Gaza (al Shifa hospital), IDF targeted and killed European aid workers who were delivering food to Palestinians in Gaza.

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Guys will never get over it

What are some crazy facts about intelligent people?

Intelligent people are always curious about the world.
Being funny and having a good sense of humor are both signs of intelligence.
Staying up late is an indication of high intellect, as it indicates that their brain activity is boosted at night.
People that are very intelligent have fewer friends than the ordinary person.
They have a greater sense of self-doubt than ignorant people.
Self-talk is an evidence of people who are highly INTELLIGENT.
Intelligence is not determined by grades or age.
Socially awkward people are highly intelligent.
People who are intelligent are less likely to engage in conflict. They pay attention to everything but rarely say anything.
Worrying excessively is linked to high intelligence.

How can you inspire programmers to work longer work weeks voluntarily?

Having been through several startups over the years, I am stunned at how many executives are openly and publicly contemptuous of developers and then expect them to put in long hours. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve heard sayings such as, “I can lock the developers in a room, slide pizzas under the door, and in a month I’ll have a product.” Thinking of the people who create your product as second-class employees comes through, and most definitely does not motivate them.

At one company, where I was the VP of Engineering, we got a new CEO who told me to get the developers working longer hours. I asked why. He said that that’s what developers at a startup should do. I asked him for anything goal-oriented with which to motivate the team, which was already largely burned out from some heroic pre-launch efforts. Did we have a new sales prospect with a feature request, or did we have some new competitive intelligence that demanded a big push to catch up, or anything to justify again burning the midnight oil? No, the CEO just thought that’s what developers should do.

Developers aren’t idiots. They can tell the difference between a legitimate crunch time and a CEO who is merely cheap and demanding. So, it’s probably obvious where I’m going with this: Just wanting more hours for no good reason will just piss the developers off. If you do have a good reason for long hours, then the answer is to simply share the reason with the team. I’ve seen developers do amazing things to deliver to a key customer on time, or have something ready for a big trade show, or otherwise come through for the company. But it has to be something real, not just an arbitrary desire to squeeze employees for more work.

Returning to Rainbow and Dio! Vocal ANALYSIS of “Mistreated” Live!

What are your thoughts on ex-Taiwanese President Ma visiting China to help build social and cultural links? Will he be successful?

95% of the people of Taiwan are Han Chinese, and Taiwan and the Mainland of China are of the same ethnicity, and the cultural and economic ties among the people have never ceased.

MA Ying-jeou remains a supporter of maintaining the separation of the two sides of the Taiwan Strait rather than a supporter of cross-strait unification.

He cannot achieve political success if he consistently positions himself as a political figure who obstructs and delays the reunification of the two sides of the Taiwan Strait.

The purpose of his visit to Mainland China was expressed before he boarded the plane：

I will try my best to convey the peace-loving wishes of the Taiwan people and hope that both sides will expand bilateral exchanges and avoid war. This is a journey of peace and a journey of friendship.

It can be seen that Ma Ying-jeou’s own positioning of this trip is not a unification trip, and Ma Ying-jeou has been avoiding the word “unification”. It is hypocritical to talk about “peace” without talking about “unification”.

It is only because of the recent vicious incident in which two mainland fishermen were killed by the DPP in Kinmen, the Taiwan authorities felt the danger of war, and Ma Ying-jeou took the initiative to act as a “peacemaker”.

Of course, there are still a few days left in Ma’s visit programme, the most crucial of which is the last day of meetings with the top brass in mainland China. It is too early to speculate on Ma Ying-jeou’s inner thoughts.

If Ma Ying-jeou wants to achieve political success, this visit is his last chance!

We hope he will be bold enough to take the first step and say the word “reunification”.

Some fun pictures that I generated

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What ignorant thing did a retail employee say that made you walk out of the store without buying a single item?

My ex and I used to live on Capitol Hill in DC. Almost all the houses there are 100+ years old, so there is generally something in need of fixing at any given time. We felt it was a good thing to try and support local businesses, so whenever anything small broke, we tried to use the local hardware store to get whatever we needed to repair it. Well, something small broke and we needed a small piece of pipe to replace one under a bathroom sink. If anyone has lived on the Hill in the past, they probably know that there is only one local hardware store. It had almost criminally narrow aisles until it burned to the ground several years ago. It has since been rebuilt with a much better layout.

Off we went to the local hardware store, broken piece in hand. we were faced with bins of nearly identical looking pieces. The store was often understaffed, so we were trying to compare the pieces ourselves to find the right one. As we stood there, an employee came walking down the aisle. Rather than stop to help us (though to be fair he may have been in the middle of helping someone else at the time) or politely excusing himself as he tried to squeeze around us, he just stopped, looked at us, and sarcastically sneered “do you think you could take this party somewhere else?”

My ex had worked retail for years, and was a district manager for a home goods chain at the time. We just looked at each other, put down the pieces we were trying to match, and said “sure. We can take it to Home Depot.” And that’s what we did. We made sure to let the manager know what we were doing and why before we left.

My first Talk Box experience! Peter Frampton’s “Do You Feel Like We Do” Vocal Analysis!

I became comfortably numb

It was in the late 1980’s. I was a worker drone; an engineer in a automotive electronics company. This company was (probably) what they based the comedy “Office Space” from. It was just like that. Cubicles. Many bosses connect to crazy dotted-line org charts, and frequent reorganizations and lay offs. It was a very stressful job, and a very stressful time.

At that time, my wife was going crazy.

I did not find out until years later, but she had a mental illness that doesn’t hit until the person is in their late 20’s. She had a Schizoaffective disorder. This is a mental health disorder that is marked by a combination of schizophrenia symptoms, such as hallucinations or delusions, and mood disorder symptoms, such as depression or mania. Yes. She was both schizophrenic and had bipolar mood swings. Lordy.

So, I would work in a crazy work environment, while my wife would sleep. As soon as I got home, she would unload all of her insecurities, issues, past traumas, and everything else on me. TO make matters worse, she was getting worse and worse over time. I had no one to talk to. No one to confide in. No outlets. I was on my own.

We were walking down to street. I used to take her out of the house to get some air. Sort of how you would walk a dog. Then we would go back into the house. (Where it would continue to about five am, at which point I would take a shower and leave for work. )

Anyways, I was seriously stressed out. And she was going on and on and on about this fight she had with her girlfriend back in seventh grade when she was a young girl. And she started accusing me of not listening. And then suddenly…
I snapped.

Everything got numb. It was like I was wrapped in a warm blanket of cotton. Oh, I heard her rant on and on and on and on. But the droning was distant. I was just numb. I was comfortable, you know, but really in some kind of spacey world.
Then she turned me around, and slapped me hard in the face.

“Aren’t you listening to me? This is about ME! Not about you. Don’t you hear what I am saying? What is the matter with you?”

I just looked back at her.

She continued yelling at me, and then after about a half an hour or so she realized that something was seriously wrong. She led me to the car and drove me to the hospital….

…

Long story short. I was prescribed anxiety medicine, and on a treatment plan.

She was then placed in a mental hospital for observation, where she ended up staying for three months. (The first of many such in-patient stays.)

My job found that my illness was not covered by the health plan, and so I had to plan myself, and eventually they laid me off.

But I will NEVER forget what it was like being in a serious health crisis and my “loving wife” yelling at me about being so selfish and not caring about her needs, while I was in a SERIOUS medical emergency.

Totally oblivious.

That’s most people in the world today.

Today…

What is the most shameless thing you have ever seen a teacher do?

I got in trouble in 7th grade for cussing in a teacher’s class. Was sent to the office and got suspended out of school for two days. While I was going up to get my bookbag the spanish teacher and her friend the language arts teacher were trying to dogpile me. I found out later she had lied and told her I cussed her out. They didnt say anything inappropiate but they were definitely trying to unsettle me with their words to me. Saying things like were not idiots and you better respect us. After I got back I thought that was it as my grandmother had forced me to write a letter of apology to my spanish teacher. No I was completely wrong.

I had the language arts teacher next grade. Everything I did was graded harsher than anyone else’s assignment. She wouldnt let me do a biography of my choosing even though I wanted to do ALice Cooper but she allowed another kid to do a report on the Sid Vicious. He was rumored to have killed his girlfriend and later killed himself. But doing a report on a born again Christian rocker is too much. I once went all out for my midterm assignment. Looked up evidence based arguments and cited everything. Got a C for it. I remember getting a lot of Cs. I looked at another kids assignment and he had two pages with no citations when the requirement was four pages. He got a higher score than me. Thankfully, I was able to pass the class and say goodbye to that witch. GFY Ms. Evalsky if youre reading this.

As soon as I was out of that class I got As and Bs in all my language arts courses in High School. I also Aced every class in college just about. Psychology is a major that is report heavy. But Im just imagining all of that Im sure.

How China has armed the Global South

The west makes up most of the world’s higher standards of living, and trade volume., even though it makes up only 15% of the world’s population.

When the US talks about a values-based rules system, it says that it wants to retain that privileged position, and will not give it up without a fight.

Putin said that he represents the underdogs who consider this system to be unfair, and that is what the Ukraine war is all about. Of course, there are other factors, but he is trying to appeal to a wider audience.

China agrees, but does not want to get loud about it because it wants to continue trading with the west as long as it can. Why walk away from money?

But China is also trading with the 85% of the world which make up the Global South. What has China done for the Global South?

When it comes to network infrastructure, it has made it affordable with Huawei equipment, the company the US Commerce Department hates so much.

China makes Android and Apple phones, making them accessible to anyone who can afford them.

It sells electric automobiles and solar panels to anyone who can afford them.

It is selling weapons and armament to anyone who can afford them.

It goes on and on.

Anything you can buy in a developed economy you can now also buy in a Global South economy. ANYTHING.

Why did this happen? Because China made the products affordable and was willing to sell them to anyone with the money.

GAME CHANGER.

I have a saying:

In the end, big numbers win.

That means, the 85% wrest a lot of their power, influence and buying power away from the 15%, no matter how much the 15% resist.

This explains the times we are living through.

Pre-Flood Mega Quarry Discovered in Utah

Will jobs that moved to China be brought back to the US as President Trump promised?

I was on a flight from China to Vietnam with a guy whose job was to oversee production of furniture for Pottery Barn. He was going to Vietnam to find a cheaper factory because the Chinese factory was getting too expensive. He said he liked Vietnam but it looked like he would eventually end up in Africa when Vietnam became too expensive. Bottom line: slapping a tariff on Chinese goods will move jobs to cheaper countries. Slapping a tariff on the whole world will still move those jobs to cheaper countries until the tariff is greater than the cost differential.

So let’s do the math. Let’s say it costs us $100 to make something in America in an old-style labor intensive factory, but only $25 to make it in Vietnam and ship it to America. If nothing else changes, the tariff has to be close to $75 to shift production to America. That’s 300% and that’s not in the cards, so no, those jobs aren’t coming back that way.

The only other way to shift production to America is to decrease the cost of production in America, which means the new factories have to be much more automated than the ones that shut down. And that means few of the old manual jobs are coming back and few new jobs will be created.

Up to 85% of all jobs lost in America have been lost to automation, not China. This is the real story. America is producing more than it ever has, but with fewer people because automated process can be just so much more efficient.

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Very Accurate

Have you ever completely snapped? If so what did you do?

Here we go folks!

I used to be a tire technician for a couple years. I was debating leaving, although I loved the job. I guessed I probably would have stayed at least one more year, maybe 2.

got a new manager, who had only been in Canada for less than 2 years. He was presented to us as university graduate with a business degree and 10 years experience running a tire shop in his home country, also at another shop during his first 2 years in Canada. He “worked” in our shop for barely 3 weeks. In that time, we found out he lied about everything. He didn’t know a single thing about tires or the industry at all, and never had business schooling. This info was reasonably forgivable, if he didn’t act like he knew everything. I kid you not, this man did not know how to sweep with a basic broom!

This man almost dropped a semi truck on me while I was working underneath it. The only reason I’m alive is because I secured the truck prior. He wasn’t supposed to be involved with the truck whatsoever. This was completely unexpected. Like a jump scare. In the aftermath, I gave him mercy and left it to the higher ups to rheme him out.

However, later that day, he denied falling asleep for an hour in the customer chairs! We had pictures of him dead to the world passed out. In his argument with our real boss, he caused boss such strife that he left for the rest of the day. We all had major respect for boss, so this was my last straw. I gave fake boss chance after chance, I had enough. The last hour of the day I went off on him. Told him he’s a fake and an incompetent idiot. He kept defending his actions as high and mighty, he didn’t know when to be honest and apologize. Most of the problems would’ve been fixed with sincere apologies. He didn’t even care that he almost put me 6 feet in the dirt! I berated him for an hour (for context, no one who I’ve known has ever seen me rage until now, and I have never yelled in anger at anyone except for my sibling when we were young. I am a docile man). Fake boss quit with not a single word to the company. I subsequently quit 2 weeks later, also due to other circumstances.

What’s the most ridiculous thing a coworker told on you to your boss for?

My coworker complained not only to my boss but to HR because he felt that I discriminated against him.

The guy was a slacker who thought that work was a place where he could go and be paid to socialize, so I didn’t care for him from Day One. I trained him and then told my boss I’d prefer to have nothing more to do with him, and she honored my request by making him the site tech for our building and Central Office.

I was a Computer Support Tech who covered prison units that were a good distance from our office, so I spent most of my day out of the office, at a prison or traveling to a prison. One of the prisons was a four-hour drive from our office, so when I had to go there I’d put in 12–16 hours that day. Because the state prohibited hourly employees from working over 40 hours in a week, this meant that I’d, either, have Friday off or be able to go home early on Friday.

I only visited this prison once a month so there were months when there was enough work for two techs, and I’d arrange for someone to come with me. One month the motormouth wanted a long weekend and he knew that I was making my monthly trip to the distant unit, so he asked me to take him along. At the time I didn’t have much to do — four hours of work, tops — and I told him this. A few minutes before end of day the day before my trip, I received a call from the warden asking if I’d have time to install ten network printers they’d received. Suddenly, I had enough work to justify taking someone to help, but motormouth was nowhere to be found, and I arranged for another tech to meet me at 0400 so we could head to the prison.

Motormouth found out that morning that I’d taken someone with me and immediately started whining. He whined to our boss and then went to HR and filed a complaint, claiming that I discriminated against him by refusing to take him with me. HR shot the complaint down quickly — after talking to my boss — and they never even discussed his complaint with me. My boss, who knew the entire story, told me about it the next day and it gave me another reason to dislike the jackass. I avoided him entirely after that.

The MAGNIFICENT RISE of Passport Bros in Modern Dating | Why Men Travel Abroad to Date Women

Why isn’t it allowed to take home food from a buffet?

Buffets operate according to an unwritten rule named The Huffnecker Rule.

The Huffnecker Rule came into effect in 1957 at Big Tom Huffnecker’s Buffet in St.Louis, Missouri. Big Tom’s was a popular local spot loved by everyone. Big Tom’s had great food and no one left unsatisfied. Everyone also loved Big Tom, he was a gracious host who performed magic tricks for his customers as he roamed the dining room visiting with his guests.

One day a local ne’erdowell named Aunty Becky rolled into Big Tom’s. Being a gracious host, Big Tom welcomed Aunty Becky and entertained her with a fancy card trick. Sourpuss Aunty Becky just shined him off and made a beeline for the buffet. Never had a customer treated Big Tom so rudely, he made a point of keeping one eye on her as he roamed the dining room.

Aunty Becky made multiple trips to the buffet, heading back to her table with a gigantic plate full of food each time. He quickly discover that she was packing the food into her purse and pockets. The grease from the fried chicken soaking into the bottom each.

“Get out of my restaurant!” Big Tom hollered, pointing towards the door. Aunty Becky held her ground though. “It’s a buffet” she said, “I can take all the food I want.”

That’s when Big Tom uttered those famous words. “You can take all you want, but you have to eat it all here.” he said. “That’s the rule, The Huffnecker Rule!”

And so it was written. You can take all the food you want from a buffet but it has to be eaten there. That’s the rule, The Huffnecker Rule. You shall abide.

When have you been in an accident where the other person involved blatantly lied to the police about what transpired?

Yes, and their lies turned a fairly straightforward collision claim into a six-month battle.

My beloved ’99 Ram diesel got T-boned by a Ford Expedition that had blown through the red light.

The problems started when the other driver claimed that she had the green and that I had jumped the red light. None of the other drivers that had seen the crash stuck around once they ensured we were all okay. I had no dash cam. It was the word of 20-year-old me versus a 40-something Mom with a small child. There were no skid marks leading to the crash, indicating she made no attempt to brake, which gave credence to the idea that I had unexpectedly pulled out in front of her. The police report listed me as at fault and I was cited for failure to yield and careless driving. And my truck was totaled. Not a good day.

I immediately contacted my insurance agent and started the claims process, informing them that the other driver had lied and that I had no way to prove it. The insurance company got a lawyer for me, but the agent suggested right off the bat that I check with the businesses at the intersection to see if they had any security cameras that covered the road. They did, and the manager of the gas station there was sympathetic to my situation and provided copies of their camera footage that looked out over the lot and included the intersection.

The other driver filed a civil suit for damages and medical bills against me. Armed with video of the crash, my insurance refused to pay out, and refused their settlement offers or arbitration. My lawyer got the court date for the two traffic citations delayed until after the start of the civil proceedings, so that the other driver would have no knowledge of the outcome of those tickets before going to trial. The trap was set for Mrs. Expedition.

The court date comes, and Mrs. Expedition gets on the stand, and under oath, tells the same version where I jumped the light causing the collision. She then went into a woe-is-me spiel about her neck and shoulder pain since the crash.

Finally my lawyer gets a chance to cross examine, gets her to repeat her version for the court again…but when she gets to the part about having the green light, my lawyer asked “if you had the green light, can you explain this?” and plays the tape.

The tape rolls, we can see the cross light is red, and the first car in line from my lane proceed through the intersection, then the second, and then me in my truck. Just before the crash, the lawyer pauses the video, and plain as day, we can see her looking down at the phone in her hand, completely oblivious to the fact she is 0.25 seconds away from 8000 pounds of truck.

I don’t know whose face was more priceless — her lawyer’s when he realized he’d lost the case, or hers when the Judge put her in jail for 3 days for contempt. She was later charged and convicted for perjury and sentenced to 60 days. It took every ounce of self control to not jump up and yell “gotcha bitch!” I had to be content with looking more smug than Jeremy Clarkson:

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Her case was tossed, and before we got out of the courthouse, her insurance offered to pay all of my insurer’s legal bills as well as a $30,000 payout for a truck worth $17k if we wouldn’t counter sue. I took the deal. Thirty grand and getting to see the bailiff put her in cuffs? Good day.

EDIT: for those who asked why the plaintiff was surprised or didn’t know the video was coming, my lawyer did turn over the video to their lawyer during discovery. On several DVDs with hours of footage from many cameras from the business, and without marking the few seconds of footage we would actually show in court. My lawyer was banking on the fact they would not review all the footage. If they had, they would have settled out of court. My insurance company wanted to bust her for lying on a sworn deposition. As I wrote in one of the comments: don’t get cheap lawyers or cheap condoms if you don’t want expensive surprises.

What happened to US Rail?

How do introverts live their life?

We express more in text than in face-to-face conversations.
People tend to think we’re masterminds. Little do they know while I’m sitting there quietly, picturing a smoking squirrel on a unicycle wearing a bunny-hairband.
We don’t feel compelled to go out every weekend and spend money we don’t have.
We don’t need anyone to entertain us. We’re satisfied with our own company.
We’re good listeners – even if we prefer that someone else START the conversation.
It may take longer for us to give an answer, but it will be a well thought out answer!
We tend to think more deeply, even if we can’t always express those thoughts well in words.
It may take time to win us over, but once you have, we’re loyal to the end.
We do well with friends who are grieving because we’re comfortable with silence.
We don’t have to deal with other people’s bullshit or drama. I have one friend who is a no-drama type person, and I’d prefer them to 10 friends.
We can keep a secret. (Who are we going to tell?)
Without the need to fill space with a conversation, we notice things around us that others don’t.
We excel in the art of people-watching. It allows us to learn things about people, their interactions, and human nature in general.

Women on Women

What did you learn when you worked at Google?

One of the big things I learned is just how shitty people on the Internet are.

If you build a tool that can be misused in any way, someone will figure out how to misuse it. Those people will take the useful thing you’ve built, and they’ll find ways to harm or harass other people with it. This is more true the more generally useful you’re intending your tool to be. A tool that’s used by thousands may have one bad actor using it; a tool that’s used by millions will have a thousand.

If you manufacture hammers, it’s not irresponsible of you to make a hammer that someone can use to kill another person with. We accept that it’s pretty much inevitable that blunt objects can cause blunt-force trauma. (As William S. Burroughs put it, anyone who owns a frying pan owns death.)

But those are simple, concrete, tangible objects. A lot of people who design software systems never imagine that someone would use the thing they’re building to harm another person. It’s extremely irresponsible to build a feature like location-tracking into a phone without also considering the ways in which the information that it generates can be misused by bad actors.

This is something that engineers and product managers at Google worry about all the time.

Also, you have to not only worry about your product being misused, you have to worry that the things you build to keep it from being misused don’t punish people who are just trying to get things done.

I’ve been haggling with a colleague for weeks about rolling out an anti-abuse feature that we’ve built. We have no good model for accurately assessing the risks of false positives, and it’s still possible for us to deal with the problem it automates away manually. If we turn the feature on, it will decrease the risk that we’ll miss disabling an abuser’s account by X%, but it will increase the risk that we’ll accidentally disable a non-abuser’s account by Y%, and getting the account reinstated will take Z hours of work by the user we’ve unfairly disabled. What values of X, Y, and Z are the ones at which you say, “Yes, let’s do that?” No one really knows. But we’re pretty sure that if we’re wrong, we’ll hurt enough users that Twitter will tell us.

This is an extremely common scenario at Google. The terms “false positive” and “false negative” get thrown around so much by some teams that it can be hard to follow their conversations. (Fortunately, the bathrooms at Google provide a handy mnemonic. When the soap dispenser fires soap into the sink because your hand passed within a foot of it, that’s a false positive. When the faucet doesn’t dispense water even though you’re frantically waving your hand back and forth under it, that’s a false negative. So, there’s another thing I’ve learned at Google.)

False positives and false negatives go hand in hand with another aspect of working at Google, which is scale.

A colleague of mine put it this way: “For most teams at Google, another way of saying ‘this happens one time in a million’ is ‘this will happen two or three times today.’”

A common benchmark in site-reliability engineering is “five nines,” or a system that works 99.999% of the time. But there are only 86,400 seconds in a day. Your site can be down for almost a full second every day and still have five nines of reliability. Hundreds, or thousands, of user operations will fail in that near-second. What’s your plan for dealing with that?

I have heard tell of teams at Google that check their system’s performance against its SLOs, and if they’ve had too much reliability at the end of the month, they deliberately bring the system down for a second or two, just to make sure that all of the mitigations that other engineers have built to accommodate that failure rate actually get triggered. It’s like testing your fire extinguishers to make sure they still work.

This is stuff I never, ever had to worry about before coming to Google.

Baked Chicken and Dumplings

Ingredients

Vegetable cooking spray
1/2 cup milk
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
1 cup flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
6 boneless skinless chicken breast halves, uncooked
1 medium onion, finely chopped
2 stalks celery, coarsely chopped
1 (10 ounce) package frozen sliced carrots
1/2 teaspoon dried sage, crushed
1/4 teaspoon ground pepper
2 (13 3/4 ounce) cans chicken broth

Instructions

Heat oven to 325 degrees F. Coat a 2 1/2 quart casserole with cooking spray.
In a medium bowl, combine milk and oil.
Gradually stir in flour, baking powder and salt. Mix well into a dough consistency and set aside.
Place chicken breasts in bottom of casserole.
Cover chicken with onion, celery, and carrots.
Evenly sprinkle sage and pepper over vegetables; pour broth over dish.
Using the dough mixture, form 2 inch balls and drop into casserole.
Cover tightly and bake for 1 1/2 hours.

Is Taiwan the Chinese Ukraine? Is there any other neighboring country that China could invade and get little reaction from the global community?

Taiwan is not sovereign. It is not a UN member, or an observer state.

EVERY, and I repeat, EVERY, nation on earth implements the One China policy. No first world nation recognizes Taipei as the seat of the China government. All of them, and this includes the United States, pursue diplomacy with Beijing instead.

Today, only 11 states recognizes Taipei in lieu of Beijing. Comprising less than 0.5% of the poorest and most isolated humanity—Belize, Eswatini, Guatemala, Haiti, Marshall Islands, Palau, Paraguay, Saint Kitts and Nevis, Saint Lucia, Saint Vincent and the Grenadines, Tuvalu—are all without exception tied at the umbilical to American largess and patronage.

When Taiwanese leaders drop by Washington, they do not fly direct. The trips are framed as stopovers from diplomatic visits to Belize or Guatemala.

Ukraine is a full UN member, and votes at the UNGA.

What Chinese Ukraine?

As for land grab, let’s put the house in order and fulfill the terms outlined in the Cairo Declaration of 1943, the Potsdam Declaration of 1945 and the Treaty of San Francisco of 1951 first.

History owes China that much, at the minimum.

Otherwise, continue playing the deliberate fool stoking war at every juncture.

Scott Ritter & Andrei Martyanov: Russia has Demilitarized NATO and Ukraine is FINISHED

Have you ever met a dangerous person and not known it at the time?

My daughter. I boxed in the Navy, before and after, and loved the sport. My daughter, when she was about five, went with me to the gym and asked about it. She began taking boxing lessons when she was either six or seven, I forget. She did look a bit weird in those HUGE gloves and head-gear.

She boxed throughout her teen years – loving it.

A few years later she was on a date with a “new” boyfriend when she returned home about 9:30 at night, alone, but in his car. “What happened?” I asked her.

“He got fresh with me after I told him to leave me alone,” she said. “But he didn’t stop and put his hands on me, quite inappropriately,” she added.

“Yes,” I said. “And then what?”

“I pushed him back and decked him,” she said flashing a sly smile. “I left him unconscious in a ditch and took his car home. It’s outside, the keys are locked inside.”

A day later the car disappeared and we never heard from the SOB again.

Blind Ranking Men Shortest to Tallest

What’s something that sucks about being a man?

Going Anonymous because this is a story of someone I know personally, and I want zero chance that this gets back to him since he still doesn’t like talking about this nearly a decade later.

During college I was friends with 2 cousins who for sake of anonymity were named Blake and Nate. After a night out to the local bar for pool, Blake and Nate had too much to drink. Blake is a big guy, he had little issue holding his alcohol, but Nate is very slender and was absolutely drunk beyond conscionable thought after an equal number of rounds. Later into the night, as everyone was packing it in, Blake had noticed that Nate had disappeared. Blake assumed Nate made it back to their apartment safe, however as he stepped out of the tavern he spotted his cousin Nate being escorted/carried down an adjacent hill toward town by a rather large woman he had seen Nate speaking with on-campus previously. Thankful he didn’t have to personally carry Nate’s drunk person a half mile in the opposite direction, Blake let Nate’s “friend” deal with his semi-conscious cousin and began walking in the opposite direction toward his and Nate’s apartment.

Afterwards, Nate made it clear to us that this woman had frequently harassed him on-campus with sexual advances which he had at numerous times rebuffed. Nate didn’t remember a thing from that night, only that he woke up in her empty apartment with no clothes on. Campus police were utterly disinterested in investigating, practically laughing him out of their office saying that he must have been more conscious than he remembered or cared to admit because the notion of possible rape committed by a woman towards a man seemed utterly ridiculous. I still can’t imagine the dread Nate went through over the following 3 months fearing that this woman might be pregnant (he couldn’t remember what happened or if it was safe, he only knew he was naked). He feared that she might demand that he take responsibility for acts he could not physically consent to and that no court would take his claim seriously enough to dismiss legal obligation or allow him to elect termination on grounds of rape. He was panicked that the mistake of drinking past blackout would force him to trade further education for a forced life of child support payments following a sexual act he did not consent to, want, or even remember. All of this seems an exceedingly rare and alien cornercase until it is someone you know.

The worst part of being a man is knowing that society doesn’t take these problems seriously when faced by a male because it is assumed that as a man you cannot be the victim of a woman. The shame that if you as a man are a victim and expressing your pain then you are deserving of scorn or heckling.

The Most Depressing Graph EVER!

Had you ever had a neighbor that you just stayed away from for some reason?

Back in 1985, my now ex husband and I bought a farm at the edge of a village of around 700 people. This town was not the most welcoming to strangers that were not born or lived here forever. They even seemed to marry people from that small village. Girls would marry a boy and their sisters would marry his brothers. The kids would be double first cousins and all look alike.

There were several people that were weird enough that I wondered if there was something wrong with the water. We had an alcoholic neighbor that was a Vet of 2 wars that lived on the hill in a house owned by his family. The yard was filled with old machinery. I had to go inside once because he was in the hospital and he asked me to get some things. He used to pick up Friday night fish and eat it at the table and shove the Styrofoam container off the table. The house was trashed beyond belief. The roof was open because there was a fire. Stuff scattered everywhere. He could be mean and he could be nice depending on his mood. We never knew what to expect when he came over. The stories he told about the things he experienced in the wars gave me an understanding of his crazy moods. He is dead now. I believe he drank himself to death.

We had an old hermit that lived in his falling down house by himself. His parents had died years ago and he never had a job but worked for cash under the table. There were holes in his floor and one day he fell into them and couldn’t get out for several days. he had to have them amputated and moved into housing provided by the state. He died there.

We had a next door neighbor that was bat shit crazy. He went really nuts after his wife left with their kids. She went into hiding as she was fearful of him. His father died a day or 2 later in a horrible farm accident and it sent him over the top. The state decided it was cheaper for him to live with his mother than an institution. He was abusive towards her, stole from her. He harassed people in town and generally made himself a pain in the ass to everybody. He hated me for trying to protect his mother from his abuse. Called the cops on him a time or two when he was abusive to her. Every once in a while, the cops would come and haul him off the the mental ward when he went off the deep end. A week of peaceful quiet for her. He dragged his mother everywhere when at the age of 91, she just wanted to go to church and then home. She developed a blood clot in her leg (I always believed it was because he would drag her out and about) and she refused to amputate her leg. He went nuts and made a huge scene at the hospital. She died soon after. He ended up permanently at the mental institution. He died a few years later.

We had a guy that changed his legal name to a famous singer because he once had the slightest resemblance to him. He was a greasy looking slimeball. I don’t remember if either worked. There was a story going round that when she gave birth to their son, there were maggots in her genital area. She was one of those moms that her punk thug of a son could do no wrong. If he stole stuff-it was your fault for having it for him to take. The boy went to jail for molesting young pre teen kids. He was forced to take a class for sex offenders. He told the doctors treating him that his dad was molesting chickens. Dad ended in jail for that offense. He eventually got out and was forever known as a chicken fucker. He is dead too. His wife left him. The son got out of jail and was not out long before he was killed by 2 guys who wanted to know what it was like to kill someone.

The last one was my closest neighbor. My kids would bike to school. He lived around the corner from us. My kids told me that he stands in the window and he looks naked. Being that we were new and did not want to upset the apple cart, I told the kids to stay away from him. Turned out, he was molesting the neighbor girls next door who told their parents. They reported it. When the dust finally settled, he was a serial child molester going back about 30 years. His own grandchildren great grandchildren and anyone he could get his hands on. His name was Lester and everybody called him Lester the Molester. I was rather pissed that for whatever reason, nobody ever turned him in even though the whole town supposedly knew. His wife was in the next rom and it was said that she was aware of his misdeeds. He ended up in prison for less than 5 years before he was moved to a nursing home to die. His wife is gone as well. I moved away 25 years ago, but my ex husband is still there-drinking the same water.

1920s Sweetheart Antique Toaster In Action

It’s so gorgeous and intricate. Very lovely.

The Oil Paintings of Alan MacDonald

There is seemingly no element too exotic to inhabit an oil painting by Alan MacDonald, whose works traverse cultures and histories to present something always elegant in execution. At the base of MacDonald’s work seems to be a need for adventure, exploring inspiration and varying perspectives in each work.

A Chinese guy told me to go to his house to make dinner because Wuhan is so cold now. Should I accept or not? I’m afraid I’m Muslim.

Hi, Youssra Ary. Thanks for the very interesting question.

You posted this question on February 5.
It would have been colder in Wuhan then (today is March 24).
I just got back from Wuhan and the weather was quite pleasant.
Around 10 – 15 °C during the day.
Very nice.

It’s really beautiful in Wuhan now.
The cherry blossoms are in full bloom now – it’s all a very lovely sight to behold.

main qimg 46868468de810968ae930d8a08677835

Took this picture in 东湖樱花园 (East Lake Cherry Blossom Garden).
The cherry blossoms are so pretty!

main qimg 831379969b95c43fe3d849a97ee63b7d

Okay, now let’s get down to brass tacks regarding the premise of your question.

China has about 20 – 30 million Muslims.
There are food establishments selling halal food around every corner.

In fact, there are several times more food establishments selling halal food in China than there are McDonald restaurants.

There are 2 halal restaurants near my apartment, but no McDonald’s.
There are 3 halal restaurants around my game studio.

And the best part is, these halal food establishments are frequented by non-Muslims and Muslims alike.

I have several colleagues who are Muslims, so in addition to halal food deliveries + bringing their own food from home, these 3 halal restaurants offer them quite a bit of variety in terms of their food choices during lunchtime.

For myself and most of my non-Muslim colleagues, we’ll head on down to one of these halal restaurants at least once a week.

I don’t think there are any non-Muslim Chinese colleagues at my game studio who hasn’t been to a halal restaurant.
These halal food establishments are just that ubiquitous.
And they serve up some pretty tasty fare as well!

Just look out for these two characters: 清真
If you see these two characters, it means the food will be halal.
See picture below:

main qimg 426ca91b500b9ea9c5c67d6c093ef14e

Those working in the halal food establishments will either be Uighur Chinese, or Hui Chinese.
Uighur Chinese and Hui Chinese make up the two largest Muslim groups in China.

The picture below was taken in a halal food establishment in Kashgar, Xinjiang.
It is run by Uighur Muslims.

You can get a good and filling halal meal here for under 20 yuan (2.80 USD).

main qimg 302786d4b6f3f33701677233fbad8134

This picture was taken in a halal food establishment in Yangzhou.
You can see from the sign at the back, the two characters 清真, denoting that this is a halal food establishment.
The proprietess is a Hui Muslim from Linxia, Gansu.

main qimg 7a4f7c70589325d3b7f606c8ae700cd7

So, don’t worry, Youssra Ary.

Many of us Chinese are already very used to eating halal food.
I eat halal food at least once a week.

Actually, the commonly held belief is that, if you want to eat really good beef, mutton, and lamb, you head on over down to a halal food establishment because the people who work there are very good at preparing these meats.

But if you like chicken too, don’t worry.
They serve that as well.

Say hello to 新疆大盘鸡（Xinjiang Big Plate Chicken):

main qimg a7eacba9c7d829f68532630f8ac05f62

My only concern with your going to your friend’s house in Wuhan to prepare a halal meal is…

Wouldn’t you have to bring your own cooking and eating utensils?

Please correct me if I’m wrong here, but I though that, as a Muslim, you’re not allowed to use cooking and eating utensils that have been used to cook and eat non-halal food?

Men Are Avoiding Marriage And The World Doesn’t Understand Why

Girls and Fruit

This is from one of my AI text to picture experiments.Enjoy.

Default a beautiful stunning Chinese woman wearing satin dress 0

Default a beautiful stunning Chinese woman wearing satin dress 1

Default a beautiful stunning woman wearing satin dress she has 3(3)

Default a beautiful stunning woman wearing satin dress she has 2(3)

Default a beautiful stunning woman wearing satin dress she has 1(3)

Default a beautiful stunning woman wearing satin dress she has 0(3)

Default a beautiful stunning woman wearing satin dress she has 3(2)

Default a beautiful stunning woman wearing satin dress she has 2(2)

Default a beautiful stunning woman wearing satin dress she has 0(2)

Default a beautiful stunning woman wearing satin dress she has 1(2)

Default a beautiful stunning woman wearing satin dress she has 3(1)

Default a beautiful stunning woman wearing satin dress she has 2(1)

Default a beautiful stunning woman wearing satin dress she has 1(1)

Default a beautiful stunning woman wearing satin dress she has 0(1)

Default a beautiful stunning woman wearing satin dress she has 0

Default a beautiful stunning woman wearing satin dress she has 1

Default a beautiful stunning woman wearing satin dress she has 2

Default a beautiful stunning woman wearing satin dress she has 3

Default a beautiful stunning woman wearing satin dress she is 3(5)

Default a beautiful stunning woman wearing satin dress she is 2(5)

Default a beautiful stunning woman wearing satin dress she is 1(5)

Default a beautiful stunning woman wearing satin dress she is 0(5)

Default a beautiful stunning woman wearing satin dress she is 3(4)

Default a beautiful stunning woman wearing satin dress she is 2(4)

Default a beautiful stunning woman wearing satin dress she is 1(4)

Default a beautiful stunning woman wearing satin dress she is 0(4)

Default a beautiful stunning woman wearing satin dress she is 1(3)

Default a beautiful stunning woman wearing satin dress she is 0(3)

Default a beautiful stunning woman wearing satin dress she is 2(3)

Default a beautiful stunning woman wearing satin dress she is 3(3)

Default a beautiful stunning woman wearing satin dress she is 0(2)

Default a beautiful stunning woman wearing satin dress she is 1(2)

Default a beautiful stunning woman wearing satin dress she is 2(2)

Default a beautiful stunning woman wearing satin dress she is 3(2)

Default a beautiful stunning woman wearing satin dress she is 0(1)

Default a beautiful stunning woman wearing satin dress she is 1(1)

Default a beautiful stunning woman wearing satin dress she is 2(1)

Default a beautiful stunning woman wearing satin dress she is 3(1)

Default a beautiful stunning woman wearing satin dress she is 0

Default a beautiful stunning woman wearing satin dress she is 1

Default a beautiful stunning woman wearing satin dress she is 2

Default a beautiful stunning woman wearing satin dress she is 3

Have you ever accidentally opened someone else’s email and found something interesting?

My wife opens all the mail. All of it. She always has, and she lets me know if anything comes that I need to take care of. It’s a fine arrangement for me, I prefer not to have to sort it out. Many years ago, she was sitting at the kitchen table opening mail while I was across the room at the sink filling a glass. I heard a snort, and a “what the…” I turned my head to look at her. She was looking at me with that look…guys, you know what I am talking about…like laser beams of pure hate, fury and evil all rolled into one. Her head was about to split open and reveal Satan himself. She had opened an envelope and found a dirty magazine inside, which she was now holding up. It was not just any dirty magazine, either, like a Playboy or something, it was extra nasty stuff.

“WHAT IS THIS?!?!” she growled through gritted teeth. “Why would you do this? And, WHY would you have it delivered HERE?!?”

I was just standing there with a glass of water. Flight or fight mode was kicking in. “Honey,” I said, very calmly while taking a sliding step toward the door, “What makes you think I would do that? How long have you known me?”

“Well, who else would do it? It wasn’t ME!”

“Honey, have you checked the delivery address?”

Well, it so turned out that the mailperson had transposed the house number and delivered this package intended for our neighbor to our house by mistake. “Well,” she said, trying to calm down, “Ok, ok, you are right.” Her blood had boiled so hard it took her quite a few minutes to calm down. Even after realizing her mistake, she was still mad and would not look at me. About 1/2 hour later she nicely asked if I would drop it off to the neighbor.

Why did my top performing employee quit after write up?

Some years ago I was a bankruptcy specialist at a large financial institution. We’d been purchased by this after the original company n had been purchased by an entrepreneurial operation who took as much as they could get and then sold the remains.

Very little of this affected me or my particular job other than we’d been relocated to this financial institution’s headquarters so my 40 something mile commute became closer to a 70 mile commute (round trip).

So we had a department meeting one day to be told that our department was going to be split in half. One half was going to remain pretty much the same under the leadership of the overall department head. The other half was going to be strictly litigation focused.

Now I’d gotten really good at the bankruptcy part. I’d actually completed a legal assistant degree while working there and had taken a couple of bankruptcy classes. What I had never learned was litigation. My new boss knew that, but never offered any kind of training, assistance, nothing.

In addition, I was told that I was to assist the half of the office still doing bankruptcy. Like me and litigation, none of them had ever done bankruptcy.

I tried, I really did. I gave the cheat sheets, proof of claim templates, everything I could. But over a year later, I was still getting basically the same questions as they had at the beginning. I gave them information sheets explaining the different types of bankruptcies and how they were handled. Nothing seemed to actually stick as I would be asked to do a lot of the work.

I was probably spending about 75% of my workday on bankruptcy and wasn’t learning anything about litigation. So I finally went to my direct boss to ask how long I would be expected to “help” the other people in the office. I told him that I wasn’t really clear on the ins and outs of litigation because I was constantly being asked to handle bankruptcy.

He reminded me that our annual review was coming up and both heads of department would be conducting them. Since our overall boss was in charge of the group handling bankruptcy. He suggested I bring that up in the review.

Well, it was a setup. After a somewhat wishy-washy review, I was asked if I had any questions so I asked about my assignment to “assist” the new bankruptcy team while they were supposedly learning the ropes. I didn’t outright criticize any individuals, but I did point out that the basics still seemed to be misunderstood and I wasn’t effectively able to work on litigation.

Clearly he’d been warned I was going to ask this. He sat up in his chair, his cheeks got all red, and he began huffing and puffing. He started by accusing me of not training them. I was prepared enough that I’d brought copies of all the training paperwork I’d provided, all of it created by me mostly on my own time at home. He literally pushed it away and started pulling out printouts from our computer system.

He started with about six or seven printouts from individual bankruptcy cases. I looked at them. In every case, these were bankruptcies filed after I was no longer in the department so of course my name wasn’t in the notes.

Oh, but he’d thought ahead. Next he pulls out a dozen or more bankruptcies dating back over a year or before the department divided. I looked at those and each and everyone of them had notes under my name stating that they had been sent to outside counsel. About six months or so before the changes, we (my previous bankruptcy coworker and I) had been told that all new bankruptcies where the overall value of the company was over a certain amount (I think over $250,000) was to be sent directly to outside lawyers and we were not to touch them. Yes, every one had been sent to outside counsel. As for my question as to how long I was to be “assisting,” I was told “until I tell you otherwise.” Honestly I didn’t really mind that answer but I was concerned about eventually having a bad review over not accomplishing more in litigation.

My review ended up with some phrasing about how I wasn’t cooperating with the “overall department strategy,” and I started job searching immediately. I was out about six months later.

Scott Ritter: Putin Rejects Neocon’s China Agenda – What Will Happen Between Russia and NATO?

https://youtu.be/w1iQNmsgHeM

What was the moment you realized that life had passed you by?

I was given a hint life was passing me by when I was buying a movie ticket. I was asked if I wanted a senior discount. I was 50 years old. I was shocked. I started getting AARP ads in the mail at the same age.I realized then society viewed me as an old person.

I always thought I had all the time in the world to accomplish anything. I had a few hints earlier about life’s uncertainty when a 27 year old friend was killed driving home from a grocery store three blocks from her house. Once a 34 year old neighbor came home for lunch, went for a quick jog, and dropped dead from a heart attack.

Those events happened to other people: not me.

I looked in the mirror and realized I was not young anymore. Delusion is powerful. Feeling immortal is an emotion I always had.

In 2012, I was told I had Parkinson’s disease. No worries… I thought, you can live a long time with this disease. Recently I was told I actually have MSA which is a cousin of Parkinson’s. You die sooner having this disease.

Do what you’ve dreamed about now. Want to be an actor? singer? own your own business? How about taking a trip? An uncle once told me he and my aunt saved their money so they could see the world when they got old. They never knew he would get sick and die soon after he told me about their plans.

No matter what age you are, follow your heart now. Marry, have children, do what you want to do to make your life complete. You’re not immortal. You won’t be young forever.

One day you’ll wake up and be me.

Baked Honey Mustard Chicken Breasts

Ingredients you will need

Chicken breasts: I always opt to use boneless and skinless breasts for this honey mustard chicken. A lot of recipes use thighs, but I like the leaner versatility of a chicken breast or you may even use chicken tenders.
Spices: We use a mix of spices here including paprika, mustard seed, ground mustard seed, cayenne pepper, salt, and pepper. These flavors all pair so well together and also help to complement the honey mustard.
Olive oil: A great neutral vegetable oil that can be used at high temperatures, high-quality olive oil has natural aromatic flavors that are robust and so delicious.
Honey: The sweet portion of this sweet and savory chicken recipe comes from the honey. It’s a natural sugar, not too sweet, and also has an excellent flavor.
Chicken stock: Just a few tablespoons of chicken stock gets added to the marinade. This helps to keep the chicken moist while baking. You can also use vegetable stock if you have it.
Mustard: We are going to be using two mustard in this chicken recipe to take it to the next level: Dijon and whole grain. While providing an excellent flavor, the whole grain mustard also provides some texture to our honey mustard chicken breasts.
White vinegar: In addition to the tang from the mustard, white vinegar provides an additional tanginess. You could also use apple cider vinegar here.
Sriracha sauce: I like a little bit of spice to my honey mustard chicken recipe, so I add a touch of Sriracha. You can adjust this to your taste buds, or omit it altogether if you’re not of fan of the heat.
Thyme: A small handful of fresh thyme finishes this dish off. It provides some color to garnish and top off your baked chicken.

Ingredients

6 skinless, boneless chicken breast halves
Salt and pepper, to taste
1/2 cup honey
1/2 cup prepared mustard
1 teaspoon dried basil
1 teaspoon paprika
1/2 teaspoon dried parsley

Instructions

Heat oven to 350 degrees F.
Sprinkle chicken breasts with salt and pepper to taste and place in a lightly greased 13 x 9 inch baking dish.
In a small bowl combine the honey, mustard, basil, paprika and parsley. Mix well. Pour 1/2 of this mixture over the chicken and brush to cover.
Bake for 30 minutes.
Turn chicken pieces over, brush with the remaining 1/2 of the honey mustard mixture, and bake for an additional 10 to 15 minutes or until chicken is cooked through and juices run clear. Let cool for 10 minutes and serve.

Men blind dating

What makes Chinese people proud of their country? What are some unique aspects of China that contribute to this pride?

How about everything? Its culture, its rich history 60% of all human endeavours result as a an outcome of Chinese history! It don’t resort to US and European barbarism, hypocrisy, plunder and murders to get to where it is today! It survived despite of the atrocities the Japanese and western powers did to China! Today it does not tell anyone to to change to the Chinese systems. The west slaughtered millions to impose its ways! Today it turns deserts into farmland and cultivate wind and solar energy in excess of the entire world combined!

What is the most shameless thing you have ever seen a teacher do?

When I was in the 7th grade in math I continually got Ds on all my scores. One day I watched the teacher grade a girls test and saw exactly what she missed. She got a B+. BTW her family owned one of the largest grocery chains in the nation. When he graded my test it turned out I missed the exact same question in the exact same way as the girl, I got a D. I was a very tiny boy and mild . I said nothing as I always respected my elders. The very first week of 8th grade we were given a standardized math test. Not once had I studied outside of the class room. I tied for the highest grade on that test against over 700 eighth graders. The person I tied, studied very hard and becam the valedictorian of our high school. When I saw my test score I realized just how biased the teacher was against me. For the very first time in my life I confronted an adult.I went to see him and said, Mr Ziegler, I want to show you my 8 grade standardized test scores. I explained that my score tied with another boy for highest in the entire 8th grade. He then said “ oh, you must have really studied during the summer”. I told him No, I had not even opened a book from the time I left his class and the time I took the test. I turned and walked out without saying another word.

That was 70 years ago and only a few years ago I realized why. I was a blond haired, blue eyed boy. My name was the same as the head of the Waffen SS and this was only a relatively few years after WW2 and the fall of the Nazi regime. BTW my German heritage moved to the USA was in 1840.

Expectation

Men know this. Women do not.

Gusty Erie

When I lived in Erie, Pennsylvania, I experienced the most amazing changes in Weather patterns ever.

Apparently, throughout the Great Lakes, large snowfall, icy winds, and gale force winds were the norm, but when I moved to Erie, what amazed me was how mercurial the weather was. It was constantly changing.

One morning it was sunny and warm. Come Lunch Time, it was windy with gusts, and come dinner time, lordly! It was snowing. What a surprise.

Erie was a really nice place to live, and I did like the small town feel, and all the rest. It was very nice in the Spring, Summer and Fall. The lake was nice and it was simply a great place to live.

Do not overlook the small communities. They have things to offer that larger cities don’t have.

Today…

Imagine this:

An indoctrinated westerner being told your whole life that your technology was superior, only for China to come around and out compete you without even needing plunder. Once you understand how devastating this is psychologically for them you will understand why China fuels such hatred amongst them, that we are viewed as insects nothing BENEATH them! And yet here we are with BYD booting Tesla off the top spot and 8 more ROROs being bought to export EVs to Europe.

In fact it’s even more devastating than that. Many people are stuck under the misery of western regimes have always used the excuse that “others are worse, so I can’t be that sad about my condition”.

But living standards in many western countries is in severe and accelerating decline and is much worse than living in China (e.g. see how scientists flee to China, the top destination worldwide, seeking better lives), and that brutal realization causes sheer panic on westerners.

Blunder

What did your boss say to you during a meeting that resulted in you immediately resigning?

Whilst this has not happened to me, I was a boss, I would go on site with new clients, rarely would I tell them I am the boss, I was one of the engineers. Always interested to see how clients treated the people that I worked with.

Several occasions where I have been spoken to in a manner that I don’t feel was appropriate, one such incident the boss of the company was throwing his weight around, started getting heavy handed with me, I was not playing ball, said I was going to walk off site. His reply was ‘I am going to get you fired!’, ok I replied, he said I am going to get your boss on the phone and get this done now, ok I replied. He proceeded to phone the MD, I had the same shareholding as the MD, I created the business and the MD was brought in later. I stood there whilst this bully proceeded to exaggerate what had happened, then the line of ‘you need to get rid of him’ at which point, I saw his face drop and then over the next couple of minutes sink even further.

He got off the phone, said to me ‘You knew that was going to happen didn’t you’ yes I replied, you now know I am the boss, key thing here is you should not treat me any differently to any of my staff. He did not remain a client for long after that.

There is no need to treat people like shit.

Wow Wow

What are some dark truths of life as a government employee?

I’ve to go anonymous for obvious reasons. This is something I’ve buried deep in my heart as I couldn’t really tell anyone.

Story is from 1996, my father was back then in District level court and was on one of the relatively high positions, he had always lived by the principle of not taking anyone’s money (bribe) for doing the job and he was incharge of his table/office, this setup is consisting of 4–7 people usually and they handle different departments like Civil, Criminal and what not per table/office. Since he was incharge of that table and he did not take any money, all the others were not getting opportunity to take that extra benefit home either. Which used to be pretty big considering meager government salaries back then.

So due to my fathers honest nature, nobody was getting “malai” and this annoyed them greatly, they used to find ways to bother him so he will apply for transfer to different table or district all together, usually they are transferred after 5 years each, but you can apply for one in advance in case of problems. But no matter what they did, he never gave up, and maintained his stance to follow rules. One dark day of my life, woman from their group falsely accused him of “sexual harassment”, so he will at least get suspended and then fired. Which did work, internal complaint was lodged and if found the accusations true he would’ve been fired. He had been suspended till the proceeding were over, to make appeal he stayed in court only, as usually you have to give reply in written for any form of notice. Unfortunately for our family of three, one of the policeman (Havaldar) who heard this incident was my mothers relative (as incident was big), he came to our house and told only side of the story that he knew about, which was “my father being suspended for harassing a woman at workplace”.

My mother took this to very extreme levels, cried all day, but she did not mention a word when my father came home. As if she was waiting for him to tell her all that, which unfortunately he didn’t as he was never the type of man to bring his office problem to home. This angered her further, and you know what she did? When me and my dad was watching TV (those days some Krishana Malika was very popular and it was being played on our black and white TV), she locked herself in our kitchen and burned herself to death. Those days we didn’t have Gas, we used to use one of those “rokel stoves” and we had 5 liter can full of kerosene in our house, she used that to kill herself.

Just because of some incident in my father’s office which was actually result of him being honest and doing his job? I was only 7 years and you know what happened next? My mother’s family accused him of killing my mother, which by the way was false as he was with me the entire time. I can’t explain the details very clearly here, but this got him suspended for 2 years till case was to be given verdict on. And you know what? at age of 9 I was in court giving testimonies whether my father had killed my mother or not. As prime witness my testimony was taken right after the incident too, my mothers another relative lived close by and after the incident police took my father and they took me with them for couple of days till matters calmed down. They tried to “coach” me to give false testimony even after me giving them honest account of the incident. Thankfully police had immediately written down everything I had said right after the incident and they used that as prime evidence to prove my father innocent 2 years later.

Thankfully, my father was cleared of both the incident as there were people contradicting ladys accusations of sexual harassment and my immediate testimony as prime witness was accepted. Finally he was free, he had virtually no savings, no money to do anything during that period. Everyone looked at him as wife killer. Even our relatives would distance themselves from us.

I came to know of backstory many years later from one of his coworkers who used to come home after his retirement and we used to discuss many things. He thought this was something I needed to know. I’m glad he did.

Till my fathers retirement after the case, he still kept his head down and worked honestly. He was retired at even higher position due to couple of promotions but till 6th pay commission we didn’t even have our own home. We just weren’t able to buy it as we never had any saving in meager government salary. He also never married again, raised me all alone and even now, in such a old age does social service.

I was probably not able to explain lot of things as things are too old, but hell, that incident changed my life. COMPLETELY!

Whenever people talk about how there are no honest government workers, I can’t help but smile to myself bitterly. Afterall, that honesty has cost me quite heavily, which people think does not exist.

Sorry for any spelling and grammatical mistakes, I’m fully grown man and I’m crying atm, probably won’t even have heart to read it again to check and correct. Sorry.

Thank you for listening. I feel like huge burden was lifted off my heart.

A good man

What is the most ridiculous thing you have seen on a bus, or something that the bus driver has done?

Three obnoxious teenage males were standing at the back of a nearly-empty bus one evening in a major U.S. city. They were yelling and cursing, mocking the bus driver, who’d been instructing them to take their seats because the bus was moving. The teens clearly thought themselves far too cool to follow a transit driver’s orders to sit.

One other passenger and I sat up front on this otherwise-empty bus as the huge vehicle approached a series of underpasses — the next stop was many blocks ahead. “Hold on, you guys,” said the driver quietly, addressing me and the other behaving passenger. The driver gradually increased the bus’ speed to nearly 50 m.p.h., deftly navigating a curved underpass before straightening the bus out and locking the brakes up.

As the bus skidded to a very short stop, a twisted heap of panicked teenagers slid from the back of the bus all the way to the front, where they slammed into the steel farebox.

“Man, I barely missed that cat!” exclaimed the driver. “You guys gonna sit now?”

A yes or two was muttered as the teens untangled themselves and stood, trying unsuccessfully to wipe filthy black streaks of urban-bus-floor-grime from their previously spotless clothes. Wherever they’d been headed, they were now going to arrive looking decidedly less cool than if they’d just taken their seats.

Morons.

Is it possible for the US or other nations to prevent a potential invasion of Taiwan by China?

Absolutely, and positively No. ZERO. No way. Never gonna happen.

…

Taiwan is a province of China, and it is so close to the mainland that the PLA can swim to it.

China has already shown that it can isolate, blockade and totally rubbish the island and there isn’t a God-damn thing that anyone can do about it.

Sanctions?

Ha ha ha ha ha

Tell me about it. Ain’t no one gonna follow sanctions on China except the most butt-hole sucking LGBQ+ moronic clown-show transvestites.

Threat of war?

Ha ha ha ha ha.

Have you forgotten what getting a good butt-reaming was like? Hey! Wanna have some fun. Go watch the interview of American veterans of the “Korean War” and what THEY have to say. Instead of listening to John Bolton and Mike Pompeo.

Trade embargo?

Oh my goodness, this is a belly laugh for certain. Ha ha ha ha

When Namibia, Africa is running 7G and 8G, the USA will be struggling with land-lines and cell-phone towers that struggle with obsolete 3G networks on dying batteries.

…

To take on China is to place a loaded .45 ACP to your temple and pull the trigger. It’s “death by cop”, and you know what, if you are so God-damn stupid to pull that one, you will deserve the nuclear radiation that comes with it.

Idiots. Suckers.

…

Update

I’m sorry. I must apologize. I sometimes really minimize really serious issues and distill it into something more palatable to the average person. Like this post. The reality is that it is gonna be much, much, MUCH worse.

The fact is, that any war between China and the “rules based insanity” that is the West today is gonna be a God-Damn cluster Fuck. That is a truth, and you all had best get your arms around this truth.

Trump can be President. Oprah Winfrey could be president. Joe Biden could be President. It won’t make any difference. The USA is run by the ignorant, and they are on a death-march to the meat-grinder, and you are duck taped to them.

Enjoy the ride.

Until it is over.

Sad truth

What’s something your husband did to you that you will never forget?

My husband told me I should go to technical college and get a degree in graphic arts. He said if anything happened to him I didn’t really have a profession to fall back on. I had worked for several companies doing different types of art, ads etc. I loved art, any and all kinds. I was 40 at the time.i told him I was too old. He said in two years you will be 42 wheather you go to school or not. Huge decision as a mother of five. When I got there several others were my same age much to my surprise. Our “elder” group rocked our work and we all got pretty good jobs after graduation. Seems we were there because we wanted the education. Most of the young kids just out of high school were there to meet other kids and party. Thank you dear John. One of the best decisions I ever made.

What is your opinion on the best approach for the US to handle conflicts with China?

China is on the other end of the globe.

There are NO INTERESTS on that side of the world that matter to the American citizenry.

…

Any conflicts there are handled locally, by the local inhabitants, and the United States is like that nebby neighbor down the street who is really bent out of shape by the color of your socks.

…

The best thing for the United States to do is to mind it’s own business.

Take care of the needs of it’s citizenry.

Inflation.
Jobs
Work / industry.
Social changes.
Homelessness.
Addictions

And much, much more…

…

Do you understand?

What should I do if my boss says, “If you don’t like the job, you can go”?

I’ve done that twice.

First time was at a small chemical sales company that hooked up with a Russian shortly after the breakup of the USSR. The Russian sources were willing to do things no one else was willing to do (chemicals and pure elements that were dangerous to make).

Commissions were horrible and the new partner said if you don’t like it, leave. So I had a friend working in telecom sales for big blue that referred me in.

I came to him and said, you know how you said if we weren’t happy to leave? Well here’s my 2 week notice.

Similarly, years later I’m working in the copier industry and coming off a stretch of making Presidents Club a few years in a row. They had just changed my territory, cutting my base of machines by 2/3rds and moving me to a branch in the city meaning more expensive to go to work.

My new manager was struggling making quota for the team and called a meeting and told us all as a group that we had to make quota or we can leave if we don’t like it.

I immediately got a job at another company, as did half of the rest of the team. The only people left were newbies.

Bottom line, don’t threaten sales people. We can always get a job

Good rules

China Warns Citizens Inside USA: Prepare for “Various unexpected situations”

Hal Turner World 31 March 2024 Hits: 24163

A strange warning has been issued by China to any of its citizens located in the United States: “take safety precautions and be prepared for ‘various unexpected situations.’

According to the China Ministry of Foreign Affairs, several Chinese students and company employees have recently been subjected to “unwarranted interrogations and harassment” by US airport law enforcement officers, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs said on its WeChat account on Friday.

Their phones, computers and other luggage items were searched piece by piece, and several people were banned from entering the country, it said.

To most casual observers, this “warning” from China makes no sense. At worst, perhaps twenty people from China have had unusual incidents trying to enter the United States; hardly a reason for such a large warning. Unless . . .

So-called “Conspiracy theorists” are wondering if this “warning” is actually a “signal” to Chinese forces already inside the US; sort of a notice to “prepare for action?”

After all, such folks say, how can anyone, anywhere, “prepare for various UNEXPECTED situations?” They point out that no one can do that, and thus the tin-foil-hat folks — who often are proven to be correct — wonder if this is more of a signal, than a warning?

Timeline alert

How did Intel create the 4004 without another microprocessor?

They did it by hand. When I was an undergraduate student in my Junior year, I took a course called “Advanced Digital Circuits.” The professor never gave a lecture. On the first day, he allowed us to choose teams as one would in a grade-school PE class. He gave the two teams three projects to complete, deadlines, a list of textbooks and other resources, and his home phone number.

For the third project, we designed and built (by hand) a CPU, using only Small Scale Integrated Circuits (7400 series). We were allowed to use Medium Scale Integrated circuits for main memory and I/O devices. The next step in the CPU design would have been to replace the gates with the equivalent transistors and lay out the masks to make the chips. My group’s design was a bit more complex than a 4004, but not as complex as a 6502. We estimated around 3500 transistors. We built it in about seven weeks, while taking other courses and working to pay tuition.

The team got together for a four hour session on a Saturday to design the Instruction Set Architecture (ISA), and then took a week to each code up the solutions to different problems. We got together again a week later to check all of the solutions. We decided to add one instruction to the ISA.

The next Saturday, in a six hour session, in a room with chalk boards covering every wall, David Baten and I derived and minimized all of the Boolean equations for the entire CPU. Will, Paul, and Tim kept notes and kept us from making mistakes. Everyone went home and spent a week drawing up schematics.

We got together again the next Saturday, and reviewed each other’s schematics. We took the best ideas and drew up the final set of schematics. We made copies on Monday (the schematics were on ANSI E paper and there was only one copier in Lubbock, Texas that could make copies that size). Everyone went home and spent the rest of the week reviewing the schematics.

The next Saturday, we met to update the schematics. There were three errors, and a few places where we had to debate about whether it was correct or whether there was a better way to do it. We broke the design into 5 components and each person went home to build their component.

A week later, we met again to integrate the components. We spent 10 hours on that Saturday trying to make it work. We had a couple of instructions that were not working correctly. We broke it back down into the five major components and everyone spent the next week testing their components. One teammate, Will, found a wiring error in his component.

The next Saturday, we met at 8:00 AM. We got it working at around 2:00 AM on Sunday morning and rang the professor. He got out of bed and came to see our demo at 4:00 AM. We showed him our cross-assembler (written by yours truly), our serial downlink to transfer the code into our target system (primitive JTAG done by David), and demonstrated it running three programs. He asked us to write a new program for it. He had the specifications all typed out. It took about two hours to code it in our assembly and get it to run.

We called it the “Pizza 1000” because it was about 1000 square inches of protoboards housed in pizza boxes that the owner of “One Guy from Italy” (best pizza and calzones in Lubbock, TX) gave me when I told him about the project. It was the best learning experience that I had as an undergraduate. Our computer ran for about 8 hours, and then something failed.

Now I teach a similar course called “CPU Design.” my students build a much more complex CPU using an HDL and implement it on an FPGA. To get into the course, they already have a course in basic digital logic, and another course in HDL and FPGA. I give them a few lectures to get them started, and they don’t have to create the ISA or cross-tools (I provide those). Most of my students love it and mention it in their exit interviews as one of their most challenging and rewarding courses.

They still have to understand gates, muxes, registers, etc. so that they can read the schematics generated by VHDL or Verilog, and debug their designs. Here is a simplified, non-pipelined, RISC-V core (no interrupts or exceptions). Instruction decoder on left, register file in the middle, and ALU on the right. It was generated from VHDL code.

I teach them to build and test each module separately, then connect them together at the end. Very much the same way that my team worked, but this design was built and tested by a single student. The HDL and FPGAs are force multipliers, not substitutes for knowledge. The students still have to understand what they want to build, and they have to specify it precisely in a language designed for that purpose. They still have to read the schematics that they create. The software makes sure that there are no wiring errors, and the FPGA replaces 1000’s of square inches of protoboard with reconfigurable hardware in less than a square inch. This design could be mapped to transistors and put on silicon, but that is another course.

What can we say about hypothetical planets of Alpha Centauri Star?

The Centauri triple star system, is our nearest stellar neighbors at a distance of 4.25 light years from our solar system. Two of these stars are very similar in mass to the sun, and orbit each other around a common center of mass. The third star, (know as Proxima Centauri) is a red dwarf star that orbits it’s two sibling stars at a much greater distance. Only Proxima Centauri has a confirmed exoplanet known as “Proxima B”. This exoplanet is slightly larger than the earth, and sits comfortably in the Goldilocks zone of Proxima Centauri. However, the prospect of life on Proxima B must be viewed with extreme skeptisism. The reasons why are as follows:

1.) Proxima Centauri is an “M” class red dwarf star, and is the smallest stellar classification, approximately 80 times less massive than the sun.

2.) The Goldilocks zone of an “M” class red dwarf is very close to the Star. This means that in order for Proxima B to be warm enough to allow for liquid water to pool on its surface, it must be tidally locked in its orbit.

3.) No red dwarf star in the history of the universe has ever left the main sequence. This is due to the fact that red dwarf stars will stay on the main sequence for trillions of years.

4.) No Red Dwarf in the history of the universe has ever evolved out of its “T” tauri stage of its main sequence either. Every star that initiates the main sequence of it’s evolution starts out in the “T” tauri stage. Depending on its initial mass, all stars begin the main sequence by spinning much more rapidly, and as they age slowly begin to spin slower. When a star spins much faster, it’s magnetic field lines will twist violently, and cause tremendous solar flares and coronal mass ejections. Any planet that is in the Goldilocks zone of an “M” class Red Dwarf will eventually have any atmosphere it possesses will be stripped away.

What should I know when I visit America?

No one really wants to know about your health. “How are you?” is a greeting. Respond “I’m fine, how about you”.
No one really wants you to drop by unannounced. “You should come over some time” is just a polite way of saying they want to remain on friendly terms.
Americans really are that friendly. When they smile, they mean it. They aren’t just being polite. It’s not some sort of act.
It’s a really bad idea to talk about politics, religion or guns (which is increasingly becoming the same topic). Ask about football. Americans love to talk about football.
They probably don’t know a lot about where you’re from and may make some stupid statements about it. Resist the urge to correct them. If they actually do know about your country ask them more about theirs. Americans love to talk about America and, in fact, their country is pretty awesome.
One way to show that you’re not as smart as an American is to make some comment about how you want to see the country on your one week trip. Americans know exactly how long it takes to get anyplace in their country. Ask instead what’s great to see in the region. They can then point you to a place that’s no more than a day away that you may have missed.
Americans will usually address you by your first name. That’s normal, and they often don’t mind being addressed by their first name unless they’re a policeman or a judge. They think they’re being friendly by doing so.
In most of the United States, public transit is a joke. Many places can only be effectively reached by private car. Car dependent cities like Detroit and Dallas still have cabs, but it can be nearly impossible to get one. If some how you arrive in some such city without a ride, it may be a while before you get one. For example, Detroit has a lot of car rental agencies, but almost all of them except the majors deal solely with insurance companies to provide replacement vehicles for people who have lost theirs in a crash. Some cities have really good public transit (NYC, Boston, San Francisco, Chicago) but assume none of the other do.
Currency exchange is a real hassle, and as been pointed out there are some places that don’t even take credit cards (particularly foreign ones). It’s not going to be a problem at a hotel, but it might be at a fast food place.
Food portions are massive. And delicious. And usually not very expensive. However, American often put “quantity” over “quality” when making recommendations.
American customs and immigration agents are not really representative of the people in their country. They are rude, suspicious, humourless and often seem in a constant state of anger. Be unfailingly polite and listen to their questions.

Generative AI in a Nutshell – how to survive and thrive in the age of AI

This is HOW AI works.

Worth your time to review.

What is the saddest thing you have ever had to terminate an employee for?

My first full time job.. I was a clerk and got friendly with our receptionist. She didn’t have a car so she’d take the train to our town and either take a taxi or walk several miles to our office. I would start my day at the post office picking up the company mail. On my way in I saw her walking one day so I picked her up. Upon discovering this, I drove past the train station anyway, I told her to just wait for me every day and I’d take her there. At days end she’d come to the mailroom and I’d drive her back.

I noticed she called in sick on Fridays. One day the boss told me they fired her for attendance and asked me to drive her to the station. Once in the car she told me the reason was that she had kidney disease and was getting dialysis on Fridays. She was afraid to tell management and just let her them fire her.

I turned the car around and went back to the office. I left her in the car and went right to the boss’s office. I explained the situation and he was upset. I then brought her back in and he hired her back, with the understanding she could only work four days. Every Friday other secretaries would fill in the reception spot, rotating each week and nobody complained.

The poor girl thought the company would fire her if they knew she was I’ll. Instead we all rallied around her to help! She was still there when I left the company for a better job.

Have you ever witnessed a life ruined from a small mistake?

Yes, my neighbor’s adult son.

Let’s call him, Jack.

Jack led the ultimate life. He was attractive, smart, charismatic. Everyone loved him. He went to the best university; majored in pharmacy. Got his pharmacist license and started a great pharmacy practice.

Went out one night and got drunk.

Hit a construction worker who was at work early. Left the scene of the accident. Several days later turned himself in after contacting his parents and a lawyer and getting sober.

Got convicted and spent 9 years in prison as a 28 year old.

Fifteen years later he is still not out of debt to the family or the lawyer. Has a job, but not a career. Can’t work in pharmacy as he can’t be licensed.

One drunk night was all it took to ruin his life. He will never get rid of the stain on his life.

Forgot to add that his car insurance didn’t cover the damage to his Beemer and the lawsuit filed by the construction company he drove into so he now has a $70,000 lien against him for the damages. Doubt he’ll ever be able to pay it.

Will the US tech sanctions on China backfire itself, when the US policy has morphed into an all-encompassing effort to contain China’s development of everything from sophisticated chips to artificial intelligence and supercomputing?

Of course, US effort to contain China’s development will backfire USA.

Let us take 5G as an example.

In 2017, Huawei got 5G before USA. Then USA+allies hysterically banned Huawei. But it does not stop Huawei at all. In early 2024, Huawei announced it got 5.5G.

Then USA unites 10 countries to skip 5G & develop 6G. That is, USA+ tries to set the standard of 6G, They may marginally improve 5G a bit & call it 6G.

However, with Huawei announcement of 5.5G, USA+ must develop something faster than 5.5G before they can call it 6G.

Let say USA+ does get 6G. But if Huawei’s new G is faster than western 6G, then Huawei will skip 6 & jump to 6.5 or 7G. That is, USA+ will be forever behind Huawei. The more USA+ try, the bigger the gap will be between Huawei & the west.

Had USA+ cooperated with Huawei 5G at the beginning, they may get a chance to surpass Huawei when they work/improve on Huawei’s 5G.

Slowly, the world will be split into 2: China standard & western standard. The 2 standards are not the same.

While USA+ banned 5G, Global South are happy to use 5G. In remote China areas, Chinese already use 5G while remote US towns are still using 2 or 3G.

Many countries in Latin America, Mideast, Africa & more are using 5G too. This means technologically, USA+ are behind the world & have become the 3rd world now.

Train

How do felons get jobs if no one hires felons?

An old high school friend of mine spent 9 years and 9 months in prison.

He got out in 2018 as a convicted felon.

What’s worse, he was convicted of a violent crime.

After he got out, the world had changed and he was ostracized by society but I commend him for what he did.

The rate at which convicted felons return to prison in the United States is higher than any other country.

That’s because the system makes it hard for them to get a break so they turn back to the only life that they’ve known.

A few days after my friend got out, he and I sat down and had a long chat about what he wanted to do.

He had a plan that wasn’t fully fleshed out but I helped him fill in a few details.

We agreed that a “traditional job” was probably out of the question because of his record. So, instead, he decided to go through training as a plumber.

You may be surprised to learn that plumbers make roughly $25/hour. At least in the southeast.

After he finished his training, he applied to at least 10 positions before getting hired. Finally, he caught a break and was hired by a small firm. He put his heart and soul into that job and was recognized as one of the best employees after six months.

Then, his parole officer violated him because he was 10 minutes late for the nightly check in call. He had a curfew of 7 PM every day and was running late because of work.

He was arrested and sent to jail for 30 days.

That’s how the system is in America.

He lost his job.

After that, he started applying for more positions.

There was one that denied him because of his background. In the email they sent, there was an attachment with a form that asked him why he felt they should hire him anyway.

He ignored it because it didn’t seem like it would make a difference.

For some reason, I called him that week and asked him about the job hunt.

He mentioned the form and I encouraged him to fill it out.

He did, sent it, and forgot about it.

He got a call back later. The company said they wanted to hire him. He was flown out to Florida for 2 weeks of intensive training and came back with a 2019 Ford F-250 and all the equipment he needed to do his job well.

He’s been crushing it ever since.

It’s true that most employers don’t hire convicted felons.

That’s because many of them deserve their reputations of being untrustworthy and unreliable. For every employer that has had a good experience hiring a felon, there are twice as many who’ve had a bad experience.

That doesn’t mean there aren’t opportunities out there. It just means if you’re a felon, you have to work twice as hard for half as much.

It’s just like being a marginalized minority in America so nothing new there.

Who is an actor that had a rough start in their career but eventually became extremely successful and had one of the biggest careers in Hollywood history?

Harrison Ford has to be one of the best examples, if not THE best example of all time.

As a young man, Ford was put on contract with Columbia Studios, but then pissed off one of the executives who critiqued the young actor by saying, “When Tony Curtis played a bellboy early in his career, you could see he was a star.”

Harrison Ford said sarcastically, “Really? I thought he was supposed to be acting like a bellboy.”

Well, that was end of his career at Columbia, but he went on to do bit parts in several movies for Universal. However, years went by and he found he wasn’t getting anything more than a line here and a line there, and it didn’t look like he was going to ever make much of a living as an actor.

That was when he decided to take up carpentry. He was good at it, and made a living at it, because, he said, “I’d rather tell people I was a working carpenter than another unemployed actor.”

But one day he ended up making the acquaintance of young filmmaker George Lucas, who liked Harrison Ford and gave him a modest supporting role in “American Graffiti.” Originally, Lucas didn’t see Ford as right for his new space opera, Star Wars, but Lucas gave Ford some work by hiring him to read opposite actors auditioning for Luke and Leia.

And then something interesting happened. Lucas decided that Ford’s reading of Han Solo was actually better than the actors being considered for the role. His reading was that good. So his “offscreen” reading of Han Solo was better than the actors who were officially being considered for the part.

The rest is history.

It ain’t so; it is everybody

Alpha Centari stuff

Alpha Centauri A is about 20% more massive than B, and so A is called the primary. B’s orbit, relative to A, is shown below. The real trajectory is the fatter ellipse, and it’s shown as though we were above the orbit looking down. The orbital plane is highly tilted to our line of sight from Earth, and so B appears to follow the skinnier ellipse (the apparent trajectory).

main qimg 95de3b3cc7a988c3e22696ff432abf7d pjlq

B’s orbit is fairly elliptical. Its distance from A varies from 11.2 AU at closest approach (aka periastron or periapsis) to 36.5 AU at its farthest (apoastron or apoapsis). At its closest, it’s about as far away as Saturn is from our Sun (9.5 AU), and at the furthest point, it’s comparable to Pluto (39 AU). BTW, the Astronomical Unit, AU, is the distance from the Sun to the Earth.

If there were an Earth-like planet around A, its orbit would be somewhat further out than Earth’s because A is about 50% brighter than our Sun. But let’s ignore that and make this a bit easier.

B is about half as bright as the Sun, so roughly speaking, at its brightest B would look about half as bright as the Sun does from Saturn. According to the first link, your surroundings would look like a typical office or maybe a bit dimmer. When at its most distant, B would be about as bright as a typical streetlight.

B would certainly perturb the orbit of any planet circling A. It would take some serious calculations to determine whether the orbit is stable, and if it is, what shape it would have. Luckily, someone has just released a paper doing just that. They reckon a planet would have a stable orbit if its semi-major axis is 3 AU or less (semi-major axis is the average of the closest and furthest distances from the primary). That’s close enough for the planet to be in the habitable zone. See the second link for the paper.

You may be asking because The Three Body Problem trilogy and TV series imagine a planet in the Alpha Centauri system. Spoiler alter! The planet has a chaotic orbit which causes repeated destruction of civilization.

Paternity test results

Have you ever witnessed a judge go completely ballistic and “lose it” in court?

I’d gotten thrown in jail for the night, after I decked a guy that had been slapping his girlfriend around. Even though the jerk had swung first when I interceded, the cops decided I’d hurt him more than I had to. Spent the night the “holding “ area, but actually knew a couple of the jail staff, and got one of them to get me a book to read.

I go to court around 1:30–2:00 next day, and get a public defender for the sole purpose, of setting bail. As I didn’t have a record, I knew I should be able to get a signature bond, then straighten everything out later. My case got called for “Felonious “ assault, and the judge called for a $5,000 cash bond. Without batting an eye the idiot public defender stated “thank you, your honor. We think that’s fair.” I stared at the dolt for about 5 seconds said “Shut up. You’re fired!” The judge asked if I’d just fired my attorney, and if I thought it a good idea? I said yes, and thought I could do better than that, so I asked for a $5,000 signature bond. Judge countered with $2,500 cash, and I asked to approach the bench, and say something I don’t want heard in open court . The judge looked puzzled but said okay. I went up without the legal joker, but the assistant DA and a bailiff that was a cousin of mine went with me. Here’s how it went;

I asked the judge to mute his microphone, as I didn’t want others to overhear. Judge again asks why, and I pointed to the local newspaper guy with nothing to do.

Judge: Why do you think you deserve a signature bond ?

Me: Because it’s Wednesday.(Giving him an evil look and smile.)

Judge: What does that mean?

Me: On Wednesday’s you have lunch with your wife at Gionelli’s. You two meet in the bar area and order a club soda with lime, and a double vodka tonic also with lime A switcheroo occurs en route the your table. (I know all this because I’m one of the management staff there and have seen this several times.) At the table your wife is probably having chicken Marsala, and you had the usual chicken/broccoli fettuccine. Around half way through the meal, fresh drinks are ordered, including the double vodka tonic. You will have finished the second drink by the time you leave the restaurant.

Judge: (bug eyed and pretty pissed off): What are you trying to say.

Me: I’m saying that you’re legally buzzed, and if I don’t get a signature bond, I will have this deputy here breathalyzer you right now! (indicating my cousin who didn’t look happy, about the attention)

Judge: Go back to the table with the attorney. (Knowing he was busted!) I got a really low signature bond and had a bunch of witnesses, so the case was eventually dismissed. The judge hung out and shot a good game of pool at a bar about 2 blocks from my house, and would always made me buy him a vodka tonic whenever he saw me.

Some historical Shorpy pictures

Why are Europeans poorer than Americans?

My son moved from Europe to the US three years ago (Houston, TX).
He’s got a well paid job in IT. In fact, a monthly take home pay is about double of mine.
So, you would think he’s got it made…
Think again.

His monthly disposable income is about 2/3 of mine.
Everything’s much more expensive in the US. Especially the basics of modern life: decent food, communication (cell phone, broadband internet, car insurance, medical insurance, … ).
And whilst TX doesn’t have state income tax, property taxes are brutal.

At first glance, going out doesn’t got an arm and a leg till you add the expected 20% gratuity.
Or when shopping for clothes… what you pay at the till is not the ticket price.

All things considered, people on the US are better paid, but people in Europe are richer and enjoy a better quality of life.

I came for the show

What are some amazing psychology and mind tricks?

When you tell a joke in a big group of people, the person who you turn to look at first is the person you’re closest to.
If you want something from someone, frame it as an offer rather than a request.
If a person is using his/her hand’s gestures much while talking, that’s the sign which indicates that they are telling the truth and 100% confident about their facts.
Nodding your head while asking a question makes the other person more likely to agree with you.
You can judge the character of a person by how they treat people who can do absolutely nothing for them.
If you’re asking for a favor, always use the word ‘because’. It makes them more likely to comply.
Sitting with legs open indicates that you are more open to having a conversation. If you are not very confident always mirror someone else’s body action and you will be fine.
While talking to someone, keep using their name in the conversations. This helps them feel important and valued.
People look more attractive when they speak about the things they are interested in.
If someone becomes angry over silly or petty (small) things, It means he/she needs love.

WHAT?! Yemen just Closed Red Sea to Israeli and US Ships in Deal with Russia, China

What is the most unusual and incorrect reason you’ve had the police called on you?

My ex-wife ran the gift shop at a small local museum. Very often she was the only one there in the morning for an hour or so, opening up the place before the guides and tour groups arrived.

One morning she got to work and called me (this was well before we were “ex”) because it looked like someone might have broken in overnight. So I came over to check it out, because she was justifiably worried about who might be hiding out in the building.

As it happened, the museum was doing some construction work and there was lots of debris lying around. Before I went inside, I grabbed a handy length of 2×4 to use as a club. Of course if whoever was inside had a gun, that wouldn’t have done me much good. But we figured it was more likely to be a homeless person seeking shelter for the night, or maybe something to steal quietly, than a dedicated armed robber. Folks like that don’t usually go for the stealthy approach.

I walked through the entire place, looking in every possible hiding place, with my makeshift club over my shoulder. Nobody was there, and I headed back toward the entrance to tell her it was safe.

Neither of us remembered that the museum had a silent alarm.

When I got outside, she was there, and so were the cops. A fair number of cops, because the museum in question is locally famous and known for its valuable collections. She’d told the cops that I was inside the building, but hadn’t given them a description. So what they saw was a big, scruffy, grumpy guy in a biker jacket walking out of the building carrying a 2×4 …

… and suddenly I did have guns pointed out me. Lots of guns. Probably not as many as it seemed like, but you know, all it takes is one to do the trick.

Fortunately, her cry of “don’t shoot him, that’s my husband!” got through, and the cops lowered their guns and we all had a good laugh. Then they went inside and repeated my search, with the same lack of result, and declared the museum safe to open. A good time was had by all.

Me, I wasn’t there for most of that, because I had an urgent appointment with the restroom.

Cool

How would you describe your first interview? What lessons did you learn?

I had just turned 13 and my mother woke me up one Saturday morning and told me two things:

That it was time for me to get a job.
That working for McDonald’s would look good on my resume when I got older.

Phase 1

We hopped in the car, drove a couple blocks to our regular McDonald’s and picked up an application. We got in the car, and then my Mom hands me a pen.

So, right there in the parking lot, my Mom gave me a tutorial on how to fill out an application. We dropped it off and, apparently, this was only phase one of the plan.

“Next we’ll call first thing Monday to make sure they got your application. That will increase your chances of getting an interview.”

Uh huh.

Phase 2 works like a charm. I call, and not only did they get the application, they schedule me for an interview.

Phase 2: Interview Day

Wearing my best “Church Clothes for an Adolescent Skateboarder”, I show up with knots in my stomach. I guess I really care about getting this job. As if it’s even possible, my nerves make my voice crack and squeak like the puberty I’d gone through didn’t take for some reason.

The Interviewer

I’ll never forget seeing this guy. I’d never seen a McDonald’s issue white, button up dress shirt, or a McDonald’s employee wearing a tie – but there he was. The best dressed Big Mac boss you’ve ever seen.

“Hello Mr. Lynam. Have a seat.”

I’d been eating at this location since I was 5, but this was the first time it scared me.

“I want to tell you that we appreciate you filling out this application, but because you’re only 13, we wouldn’t be able to give you a job.”

Off the hook. Relief. I thank him.

“You were very persistent and we look forward to having an interview with you when you’re old enough to work.”

Phase 3

I hurry back to the car to inform my Mom of the news. “Too young.” It was as if the news never registered to my Mother. Like one of those “Goonies Never say Die” moments, but for, you know, a job at McDonalds. So she says:

“That’s just for this location.”

Funny thing about McDonald’s – there are a lot of them. We immediately drive over to the McDonald’s exactly three blocks in the opposite direction of our house, and repeat the steps: Application, Phone Call, and then an Interview.

Then It Happens

I show up at McDonald’s #2 exactly a week since my first interview. I’m wearing the same clothes, and this time I’m a little less freaked to walk in.

I take a seat because my interviewer is busy.

Then I see that same white, button up shirt and tie. McDonald’s issue. It’s the same guy. You know those nightmares where you wake up, and think you’re safe – only to realize it’s still part of the nightmare? Well this was the McDonald’s job interview version of that.

He looks at me, then looks at the application.

“Hi Mr. Lynam, um yeah, it’s the same deal as last time.”

Epilogue

What my Mother taught me was persistence. There are countless times that I think back to this story when I’m faced with a situation that challenges my, or my team’s, comfort zone. My Mom still laughs at this story, and so do I, but that doesn’t mean I don’t respect what this moment has continued to teach me all these years later.

Common in the USA

Roasted Garlic Pizza

Ingredients

1 (13 inch) uncooked dough crust
Extra-virgin olive oil
1 bunch spinach, wilted
6 ounces feta cheese, crumbled
8 sun-dried tomato pieces, sliced
1 head garlic, roasted

Instructions

Prepare wilted spinach by first thoroughly washing and drying, removing stems, and then stir-frying until wilted.
Prepare roasted garlic by skinning garlic, coating with olive oil, and baking covered for 20 minutes in a 350 degrees F oven.
Top dough crust with olive oil, spinach, feta cheese, garlic, and sun-dried tomatoes.
Bake in preheated 500 degrees F oven on a pizza stone for 8 to 10 minutes or until crust is golden brown and cheese is bubbly.
Remove from oven and cool on a wire rack for 2 or 3 minutes before cutting into wedges and serving.

What is something you secretly enjoy doing?

I live in China, and as a black person I frequently come across people who assume I can’t speak Chinese. I’ve been learning it for over two years and I study in it, too.

I sort of enjoy the impressed looks people give me when they see me speaking it – not fluently, mind you – but people get really impressed anyway.

It’s sort of amusing how very deer-in-headlights some shopkeepers get when they see me approach them. It’s like I could hear the wheels in their heads turning, “how will I speak to this foreigner?” Then comes the look of relief across their faces, the bright smiles when I speak to them in Chinese.

They usually congratulate me for speaking it; I smile and nod encouragingly at some English words they try to use to help me understand what they’re saying. All good-natured exchanges; no hard feelings.

I’ve had food vendors give me free food; candy, even chicken once, after we conversed in Chinese and they complimented my skills.

The stories you hear about Chinese people coming up and asking to take pictures with ordinary foreigners as if we are celebrities are true, too. I’ve had that happen occasionally, especially if I’m out with other foreign friends.

There are many elderly people who’ve never stepped out of the country nor even seen a black person in their entire lives, so I do get the occasional elderly person or child literally stop in their tracks to stare wide-eyed at me like I’m a rare unicorn. It’s amusing.

Women and two things

What is the one fact about the world that no one knows, but you?

By 2020, depression will be the leading cause of death and disability.
Feeling ignored causes the same chemical effect as that of injury.
People who play video games often are much more likely to have lucid dreams than non-gamers. They were also better able to influence their dream worlds as if controlling a video-game character.
People who have cars with bumper stickers are more likely to exhibit road rage. You may want to think twice before laying on the horn!!
Phobias may be memories passed down through generations in DNA, according to new research. If you remember a past event, you’re actually remembering the last time you remembered it rather than the event itself.
Thinking about sex will temporarily relieve the urge to pee in the case of an emergency.
Having a problem? Lay down! You can process thoughts faster by laying down.
At a restaurant? Wash your hands after ordering. The menu is generally the dirtiest thing you can touch.
Always check your cell signal when looking for new apartments or dorms to live in.
If a crocodile is chasing you, run in a zig-zag pattern. Crocodiles can’t take sharp turns well.
If a crocodile has caught you between its jaw, you press his eyes intensely with your thumbs, he will leave you.
You can clear cigarette smoke in a room by spinning a wet towel around.
If your stomach is rumbling in a public setting, do not clench your muscles, instead of push out like a beer belly and the noise will stop.
Honey= brightens, tightens, & fights wrinkles & acne. Honey Facial: Smear onto face let sit for 1-3m, rinse with warm water, pat dry.
Got a pimple before something important? Use an ice cube to shrink it.
Mash tomatoes and apply the pulp as a pack on the face. Wash this off after half an hour to get a clear and glowing complexion.
For oily skin, mash one banana with a teaspoon of honey and a couple of drops of lemon juice. Apply to face for 10 minutes, rinse.
You can get longer nails by applying olive oil to help them grow.
Eating garlic and onions can make your hair grow faster.
Putting sugar on a wound does helps heal it faster!
Clean your room! When your room is messy, you’re more likely to procrastinate and not get work done.
If you know you’re going to vomit eat some vanilla ice cream first. It won’t stop the vomiting, but it will stop the burning sensation.
Remove ink from clothes? Put toothpaste on the ink spots generously. Let it dry completely, then wash.
Sign up for the free 30 minute trial of on-board WiFi while flying. Delete cookies when the trial ends. Start a new trial.
If you are buying headphones/speakers, test them with Bohemian Rhapsody. It has a complete set of highs and lows in instruments and vocals.
Put a stocking over the end of a vacuum to find tiny items like earrings. This prevents you from accidentally sucking them up.
Mess with telemarketers! Some aren’t allowed to hang up, so answer the call, take a shower, have a snack, then say “no thanks 😉
Memorize your waiter’s name when they introduce themselves—call them by name later in the meal and they’ll like you more.
Singing in the shower daily can help boost your immunity, lower blood pressure, reduce stress, and improve your mood.
Combine used coffee grounds, coconut oil, & sea salt for an amazing body scrub that will remove dead skin cells while hydrating your skin.
If you don’t know whether to write “affect” or “effect”, use the word “impact” instead.
If you want someone to listen to you, start the conversation with “I shouldn’t be telling you this.
If your boyfriend or girlfriend wrongs you–don’t tell your parents about it. You might forgive them, but your parents won’t.
If you’re ever stuck in a large crowd, put coins in a can and shake it, asking people to donate. Everyone will move to avoid you.
When walking through a crowd, look at your destination in the distance. People will clear a path if they see you make a clear eye-line.
When washing clothes, always turn them inside out so the design doesn’t crack.
If you still feel tired after a good night’s sleep, you’re probably dehydrated. Drink some water after you wake up.
If you email a big company and tell them your recent purchase was unsatisfactory, they’ll most likely send you free stuff.
Feeling sleepy? Hold your breath until you can’t anymore and then breathe out slowly. This will increase your heart rate.
Sleeping without a bra can help you have a 95% better sleep.
Sleeping on your stomach can induce weirder, scarier, and sexier dreams.
Sleeping next to someone you love not only reduces depression, but it also helps you to live longer and makes you fall asleep faster.
Eating your food slowly will help you lose weight, enjoy your food, reduce stress, and lead to better digestion.
Fasting for 16 hours will reset your body’s natural sleep/wake cycle and is considered an effective way to overcome jet-lag.
Have a flat tire? Take a picture of it on your phone for future reference. Use it as an excuse later.
When in college, always sit in the front. Your teacher will remember your face when it comes to grading and most likely be more favorable.
Forgot an assignment and need to email it? Change the date on your computer system and send it.
If you think somebody is giving you a fake number, read it back to them incorrectly. See if they correct you.
Listening to music can boost your running performance by 15%.
Before sleeping, 90% of your mind begins to imagine the stuff you’d like to happen.
Have a good 20-minute workout at night so you’ll feel better before you sleep.
Dancing, singing and masturbating are all proven ways to fight depression and lead to better sleep.
Take vitamin B complex during the summer. Insects don’t like the way it makes you smell to them, it wards off mosquitoes and biting flies.
In college? Always ask for a student discount, most stores have it and students never use it.
If you are drunk and have the urge to vomit, taking short rapid breaths can help it go away.
If you download a “PDF” file and you see it ends in “.exe” delete it. Its a virus.
When cleaning your room, start with making your bed. It will make everything around it look out of place and it will motivate you to clean.
Hearing your name being called, when no one has actually called your name, is a likely sign of a healthy mind.
If you want someone’s number at a party, take a picture with them and ask them to send it to you.
The Two-Minute Rule: If you see something that needs doing, and it can be completed within two minutes, do it immediately.
Putting dry tea bags in gym bags or smelly shoes will absorb the unpleasant odor.
Wrap a cold paper towel around a drink and put it in the freezer to make it cold faster
Drinking 2 cups of cold water on an empty stomach can boost metabolism by 30%
Cough keeping you up at night? Put Vick’s Vapo-rub on your feet and put on socks. Within minutes the cough will stop permanently
Hugging can help reduce stress and lower blood pressure — This helps to protect us from heart disease
When on a date, the best way to judge a person’s character is to see how they treat waiters and waitresses
To remove gum from hair, dip into a small bowl of Coke, leave for a few minutes. The gum will wipe off
When doing sit-ups if you place your tongue on the roof of your mouth it will stop you from straining your neck
If your boss calls you in on your day off, tell him you’ve been drinking, the boss can’t fault you for not coming in.
When going on a date, go to a horror film. Elevated heart rate and adrenaline are strongly tied to sexual attraction.
If you ever drop glass, put a piece of bread on it. The consistency of the bread will pick up even the smallest shard
When you’re finished with an essay, copy and paste it into Google Translate and listen to it. It’s the easiest way to find mistakes.
If you toss onions in the freezer 15 minutes before you cut them you won’t tear up.
Accidentally text the wrong person? Immediately put your phone on airplane mode and once it fails to deliver, delete the message.
If you place an egg in water and it floats, don’t consume it. It’s bad and should be thrown away. A fresh egg will sink to the bottom.
Eating Pizza once a week can actually help reduce the risk of esophageal cancer. So go eat some Pizza.
Turning the shower cold right before you get out closes your pores and makes you less likely to get acne.
Yellow rooms can make babies cry more and couples fight more.
Grab a banana for breakfast! They are known as happy fruit. Eating just one can help relieve irritable emotions, anger and or depression.
Bananas can reduce the swelling and irritation of mosquito bites and help with nicotine withdrawal.
People who enjoy sweets like chocolate tend to be more generous, happier, selfless and open-minded.

What are the consequences for Chinese citizens who criticize the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) or its policies, particularly regarding Xinjiang and the Uighur population?

Here it comes again..

If your criticism is based on facts and logics, then your criticism is welcomed.
If your criticism is based on rumor and bias, then you will ran off and seek political asylum in USA, Canada or UK, like the pro-”democracy” activists in HK, eg, Joshua Wong and Agnes Chow Ting. Because you can’t make a living in China, everyone knows you and they put you into their blacklist, you can’t find a job. So the only choice is to go for your funder.
No one is excuted by the government for criticizing it so far.
No one believes in Xinjiang fake news, because those news reports targeted on you, not us. This is your government’s propaganda, not ours. We can tell the illogic and not-make-sense narratives at the first sight but you can’t, because the distance and language barrier made you not able to access information from a much wider range.

Why don’t nuclear nations have a disarm mode for nuclear ICBM’s after they are launched?

The answer lies in the theory of deterrence and enduring paranoia of that most iconic of Cold War doctrine’s “MAD” or Mutually Assured Destruction. If there is one man who was most responsible for both it is General Curtis “Bombs Away” LeMay. LeMay was everything you imagine a Cold War air force general to be — a sports-car driving, martial arts practicing, HAM radio operating, steel-nerved commander for whom the killing of thousands or even millions of civilians was an uninteresting footnote in the larger strategic calculus of war. Indeed, he may well have been the source of that stereotype. he is certainly remembered as both the patron saint of the United States Air Force and as among the most infamous war criminals in history.

Along the way LeMay became one of the guiding lights of American strategic airpower. Now, LeMay didn’t like ballistic missiles. He was a bomber man. So if we asked LeMay this question he would probably respond the same way he did when he advocated for the continuation of the SAC bomber program in a memo dated January 4, 1964:

Ballistic missile forces represent both the U.S. and Soviet potential for strategic nuclear warfare at the highest, most indiscriminate level, and at a level least susceptible to control.

What LeMay is saying here is that the ICBM fleet is, by design, an all-or-nothing proposition. The fact that it exists — out in the middle of the Northwest Great Plains in full view of any satellite that cares to look down upon it — sends a very clear and unambiguous message:

The United States has the ability to reduce your homeland to a smoldering ruin
The United States will use these weapons if you use similar weapons against her
The United States has numerous redundant protocols in place to ensure that it will use these weapons if the time ever comes.

These three statements are the core of deterrence theory. They’re sometimes referred to as the “Three Cs” — Capability, Communication, and Credibility.

The enemy has to know that you are capable of destroying them.
You have to communicate under which circumstances you would do so.
And they have to find your threat credible.

This last “C” — credibility — is probably the hardest to nail down. Credibility amounts to a psychological state: are you really ready to kill hundreds of millions – maybe billions – of people to follow through on your threat? The ICBM fleet is about credibility. It is a Sword of Damocles, hanging over the enemy’s head.

That’s why they can’t have a disarm button.

The mere existence of the ICBM fleet is a compelling argument for the idea that the people that built it have accepted – in advance – the moral quandary of the nuclear age. They are not a gun brought to a knife fight; they’re a suicide vest rigged to a dead-man’s switch. But that promise of crushing retaliation loses some of its credibility if it comes with a “take-backsies” button.

But, paradoxically, the lack of that capability also diminishes the credibility of the ICBM threat. Because they are an all-or-nothing proposition, ICBMs offer very little proportionality. The United States may be more than willing to turn lose its missiles if a Russian first-strike is spotted coming over the North Pole, but would the Americans really jump to total thermonuclear war if just one warhead were used to clear a route for Russian tanks as they rolled into Germany?

Maybe not… and that creates a problem. It invites escalation and that escalation may bring about a general nuclear exchange which wouldn’t have happened if there had been some way to deter that first nuclear use.

This is the weakness LeMay saw in the missile based deterrent. The missiles have their place but, as LeMay puts it:

The employment of these weapons in lower level conflict would be likely to escalate the situation, uncontrollably, to an intensity which could be vastly disproportionate to the original aggravation. The use of ICBMs and SLBMs is not, therefore, a rational or credible response to provocations which, although serious, are still less than an immediate threat to national survival.

LeMay’s solution to this problem was – predictably – the bomber. The ICBM fleet could await the end of days in its silos, LeMay contended, the bomber would be there to handle everything short of that.

And that is largely the role of the American bomber force. Whenever Uncle Sam feels some “gunboat diplomacy” is in order, the bomber fleet is there: flying in joint exercises over South Korea

or dropping cruise missiles after a marathon flight from the other side of the world

So why don’t ICBMs have a recall button or a disarm button? Because that’s what bombers are for.

Why are rural towns in America dying?

Rural towns are generally built around one or maybe two industries other than agriculture.

Take my hometown, for example. You basically work in some form of manufacturing, or you’re in dairy and crop farming. Go north a ways to some bigger rivers and it’s dairy farming and paper mills.

Every other business basically operates to support those two industries. Dollar General, Shopko, Piggly Wiggly? They provide the basic necessities for people who work in those industries. The specialty shops downtown provide luxury goods for people who work in those industries. The standard Wisconsin small town 2:1 ratio of bars to churches exist to support those industries.

The car dealerships don’t sell Priuses and sedans hardly at all; they sell pickup trucks and grocery-getter wagons/SUVs. Mostly used; the only new dealership in my town folded about 15 years ago and both lots are still vacant.

A hundred years ago, iron was king in my hometown. It was mostly blast furnaces making iron ore into pig iron and shipping it off to coal country to be made into steel. When the iron mines dried up, it switched mostly to manufacturing.

One of the four major manufacturers in the area closed almost 20 years ago now after it got bought up by a west coast equity firm. It wiped out probably a solid 15% of the school district area’s employment. It came at a bad time, as well, in the middle of a recession, so getting other work was pretty hard. Another industry in town laid off 50% of their workforce and automated two product lines.

Between transfers and people who had to move out of town to find work, enrollment in the school district dropped a solid 5–10%. My class was large, at around 125. By a decade later, the average class size was down to 80.

Automation in the other manufacturing industries has resulted in attrition of jobs there probably by another 50%, though I will seriously credit one of the local employee-owned companies for doing a great job of retaining employees and retraining them for other positions to keep them, which is probably why they’re one of the few manufacturers that has expanded significantly and actually increased overall employment in the last decade. The other manufacturers, not so much.

Then there’s agriculture and advances in that field.

Here’s what my great-great grandfather started farming with:

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If you were fast and had a good horse and you worked sunrise to sunset, you could probably plow a 40-acre field in three or four days. Work it down in another two or three. Plant it in another two or three. If the weather cooperated and you worked your horse and your equipment and yourself hard. And the land was already cleared of trees and stumps. You could pull a two-row corn planter.

By the time my great-grandfather was ready to start working the farm, my great-great-grandfather was able to put together enough money for one of these:

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That’s a John Deere unstyled model A. The first one on the farm had steel wheels, not tires. On the other side of this is a flywheel that you had to crank to get it started. It was insanely hard to do. But it didn’t get tired and need water every hour or so like a horse. And it would pull a two bottom plow. You could plow a 40-acre field in a hard day if you had enough light. You could probably do a 4-row corn planter with this.

By the time my grandfather was old enough to start working the farm, my great-grandfather had bought this:

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This is a Ferguson TO-30. It might look smaller than the A, but it’s got more horsepower (26HP), hydraulics, and a three-point hitch. My great-grandfather bought it after the A needed a serious overhaul and the tractor salesman brought out one of these and a Ford 8N, and my great-grandfather said he’d buy whichever one got to the top of a hill with a two-bottom plow faster. The Ferguson won. (We still have the original in the family, plus the replica model the salesman gave him for buying it.)

You could plow, work down, and plant a 60-acre field in probably three good days’ work, if you were willing to work into the dark a bit. (My great-grandfather actually specifically ordered the tractor without lights because he believed if you were working into the dark, you were working too long.) Still a 4-row corn planter, but you could probably pull a larger grain drill than the A.

By the time my uncle was in high school, the farm was up to this:

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That’s a Ford 7600 diesel. Almost 100 HP, over three times as much as the Ferguson. This would pull a four-bottom plow. Live PTO, making it possible to run better and better equipment. My family actually sprung for one with a cab because Grandpa was getting older, but he didn’t like it, actually.

With the four-bottom, a cultimulcher instead of a disk and drag, an 8-12-row corn planter instead of a 4-row that the Ferguson would pull, you could work a 60–80 acre field in three days if you were nice to the equipment, and probably still get some other stuff done.

By the time I was old enough to start really driving around tractors, the neighbors were driving these:

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That’s a Massey-Ferguson 8220. The neighbors had an 8240, if I recall correctly. I remember when the guys around the corner bought one of these and a chisel plow. 150HP.

They worked down an 80 acre field in about two hours and planted it with a 16 row corn planter in about three hours two days later.

Today? I have an uncle who does crop and dairy farming. He’s got one tractor with 240 HP that can chisel plow a 120 acre field by GPS in 60–90 minutes, and will pull a 24-row John Deere corn planter. He probably wouldn’t even use it to work down a 40-acre field because that field would be too tiny to effectively turn around very well.

My great-grandfather would have been stunned at that. He might have imagined it, but it would have been a wild dream.

One guy can work ten times the cropland that my great-great-grandfather could have with a quarter of the work.

And yields have gone up, too. Hybrid corn and advances in other crops have made it so that today’s farmers are growing an order of magnitude more per acre than my great-grandfather did.

But all of those advances come at a cost. A bag of seed corn or soybeans can cost upwards of $100 a bag, and is currently going for as much as $180 a bag for the 2020 corn planting season. My grandfather once stormed out of a mill with me 25–30 years ago as a kid when the same sized bag of seed corn was going to be $15 because it was “highway robbery” and he figured he could get it cheaper elsewhere.

The same is true of dairies. My great-grandmother milked 20 cows by hand; a large operation at the time. In the 50’s, they got an electric vacuum pump system after the farm got electricity, and built a bigger, modern milking barn. That bumped them up to 60 head. In the 70’s, they were able to add on and up that to 100 head. By the early 2000’s, they were a small dairy, starting to be unable to compete. My uncle made some bad decisions, but he leveraged the land like crazy and cheated my great-grandmother out of her share of the farm to afford a 240 head new barn with a milking parlor.

He’s still a small operation now and is close to bankruptcy.

There’s a farm about two dozen miles over that has 8,400 head and the farmers don’t even milk the cows now; the cows have an RFID tag and when the cow feels like it wants to get milked, it wanders over to a stall and a robotic milking machine reads the tag and hooks itself up. The system tracks the cow’s individual production.

When my great-grandmother was doing the milking, there were probably fewer than 8,400 milking cows in the county.

But that huge operation is probably over a $10 million investment. That would have been unfathomable for my great-grandfather.

Whether crop or dairy, it’s been evolve or die, and evolving requires growing into a massive factory farm. That equipment and the buildings are expensive. And the margins are thin. If you couldn’t get enough credit to expand, you went bankrupt. If you had a bad year or two, you went bankrupt. The margins on all of that are razor thin; the farmer is probably actually netting pretty little, if not taking a routine annual loss many years.

Small farm bankruptcies are skyrocketing right now because factory farms are keeping the prices so low as to make the margins non-existent or below break-even for the little guys.

The area where I grew up is a moonscape of rotted out, fallen down barns, abandoned outbuildings, and lonely old farmhouses with lonely old retired farmers who have given up. They sold off all the equipment, and if they can rent out the land for enough to pay off the mortgage, they do, or sell it off for enough to satisfy the liens and keep four or five acres with the house. And when the old man and his wife pass away, the kids, who have moved to the city, don’t want to take care of it anymore. I’ve seen a dozen or two of those old houses just demolished; the outbuildings used for storage if anything at all.

Maybe 10–20% of the farms that were operating when I was a kid thirty years ago are still milking. Six of the seven neighbors my grandparents and uncle had that were farming when I was a kid are out and quit wholesale. The one left isn’t doing dairy anymore, the kid, who’s almost exactly my age, sold off the dairy cows and most of the equipment, does some basic crop farming, and grass-fed beef. One of the last neighbors to sell had gotten up to about 1400 acres that he’d owned and another 400 he rented before he sold out to a guy from Iowa who trucks up even more massive equipment than I described above, works up the whole thing in less than a week, and moves on to the next bit.

One guy. With probably a dozen hands. I have no doubt that he owns or rents over 36,000 acres.

Who needs a whole town to support that anymore? He isn’t going into my hometown for groceries every week, or the downtown coffee shop on a routine basis. He isn’t in the bars regularly. He isn’t buying stuff from the local hardware store, or tires and oil changes from the local mechanic.

Even if he were local, he certainly isn’t buying the same amount as the 100+ farm families he’s replaced.

Infrastructure also drastically changed my home area. Infrastructure, especially transportation infrastructure, dramatically reduces the friction costs of commerce. If it costs less to move stuff to market, people will build stuff there. If not, people won’t.

The railroad was first on this. Wherever the railroad went, towns grew along it. Where the railroad didn’t go through, those places died or never grew. There’s a little town of about 300 people, about big enough to have an “unincorporated” sign and not much more.

There’s a huge Catholic cathedral there, built to serve probably a 150 family congregation. Today, it serves probably a few dozen for a whole area.

That’s because the railroad was supposed to go through the town, which is why they built it. There’s half a dozen other old businesses that used to exist, too, the hollowed out remains of their buildings still visible, built in anticipation of a train that literally never came.

Because the railroad company built ten miles east, instead.

That town died. Or rather, never grew at all. The businesses mostly folded, with the exception of a bar and a butcher that finally relocated when I was a kid. There was a fancier restaurant there that closed up about five years back finally. It had a for-sale sign on it since before I graduated high school, but the guy who owned it could never find a buyer and finally just retired.

Today, railroads are largely replaced by highways and interstates, though freight rail is making a comeback in some places. Not enough to support a whole town, like it once did, but enough to keep some businesses going.

The main corridor in my home area is now I-41, 20–30 miles from town. It’s only recently been made into an interstate. When my parents were first dating, it was only two lanes. I still remember when there were no overpasses and it was cross-traffic most of the way by us.

As the interstate and a few four-lane state highways have grown, the towns along them have stayed steady or grown with them in some spots.

The towns between the main highways? They’re mostly gone or drying up. One got virtually wiped out by a tornado twenty-some years ago and never really recovered. Every year, they keep talking about consolidating the school district with a nearby one because enrollment is too low to sustain it independently. The elementary school closed fifteen years back and K-8 are all in one building now.

I remember a couple years ago, I was going through Iowa on my way to a wedding and they’d recently moved I-80. The main highway that it now paralleled used to go through a bunch of little towns. We got off the super-slab and went through some of them because we weren’t in a hurry to get to Colorado. Half of everything was boarded up. I asked the cashier about it. People don’t want to exit the highway and drive four miles south to get to Casey’s General Store. They just bypass the towns and wait until the next bigger stop. Where towns could, they’d tried to move towards the highway, but that’s often not possible.

It’s what happened to the towns on Route 66. A few remaining nostalgic pieces of it remain, but most of it’s just gone. Whole towns were just erased.

But even my hometown isn’t seeing new facilities getting built for manufacturing and the like, because of a lack of infrastructure. There’s a decent state highway into town that they keep in reasonable repair, but it’s a ways to the interstate still. The existing facilities keep churning out stuff, but if the companies are expanding, it’s along the four-lane highways and the towns and cities on those, still reasonably nearby enough, I suppose.

One company bought out that old plant that went bust I mentioned and turned it into a big R&D facility, since it doesn’t need much import/export and it’s smack in the middle of town. Getting trucks there is a pain in the ass. When they come up with something, they send the specs over to the shiny new plant two towns west, which is built on a four-lane highway with direct access to Madison and Milwaukee.

Internet is another infrastructural element that is significantly lagging in some of these places. Nobody’s running fiber to my hometown for the most part. A lot of people still have DSL. Maybe satellite. Apparently Verizon or Frontier is upgrading some of downtown somewhat. The last time I was at the local coffee shop to use the wi-fi, the speed test ran up to 15 megabits.

The cell coverage depends on the provider, but it’s spotty even in downtown. Verizon is okay. US Cellular is the preferred choice. Sprint, T-Mobile, and AT&T are complete dead zones. That makes it hard to operate a retail business these days, which is increasingly dependent on the internet for sales and backend that we take for granted. You’re not selling much if you can’t use so much as a Square reader at the local businesses. And you’re not getting a lot of tourists if their phones are off the grid before they get to the city limits.

And younger people don’t want to live in a town where they can’t get Netflix or Prime Video at even standard resolution half the time. So, they’re not moving there, or leaving for greener pastures if they can.

Because there isn’t enough demand, the cable companies don’t bother upgrading the lines unless they have to. Because there isn’t basic high-speed broadband, nobody moves there to create the demand. It’s a vicious cycle. My folks just moved out of the place where I grew up and moved to the edge of a moderately large rural town. They get one internet provider, which maxes out at 8Mb down, 4 up. If they were two blocks over, they could get another provider with much better bandwidth, but where they are, they’re just screwed. A lot of places are like that. There’s no competition, and relatively light demand, so there’s basically no reason for the telecoms to bother running anything out there.

At least my hometown and surrounding area are still close enough to major transportation routes that Fed-Ex and UPS will come all the way out. My in-laws have to drive 20 miles into town to pick up anything. They’ve been where they are for fifteen years and two weeks ago, a Fed-Ex truck actually went all the way to their house for the first time, ever. The delivery driver said he would never do it again. They don’t even get mail delivery to their place; they have to go up the minimum maintenance road five miles to a turnaround if it gets delivered, and they maintain a PO box in the slightly larger, but further away town for that purpose instead.

Water is increasingly an issue, too. New water treatment plants with higher capacities are expensive and getting more so. Rural areas have a lower population density to spread that cost around, and that means either a need for increased state aid, or higher property taxes.

If you don’t live right in town, that water isn’t probably coming to you. So, the farmers and people who live outside of town, but who are in the township and so would pay the increased taxes to pay for it, vote against it. They’re already paying literally tens of thousands of dollars for septic systems and wells; paying more property taxes for someone else’s water on top of that, while getting nothing in return, is a hard sell.

Even trash collection is an issue here. Depending on the size of the town, you might have to do it yourself or contract with a company, because the town itself might not provide it. Again, friction cost for a business, and another thing that sometimes makes people not want to move there. I grew up with it, so the idea of a garbage guy that actually comes to your house is still weird to me, as are the ideas of a) not having an organic bucket that needs to get hauled out to the brush pile by the line fence, b) not having a burn barrel for paper garbage, c) not needing to separate out metals from other recycling to take to the salvage yard when there’s enough to get the higher price, or d) that the garbage guy comes at a specific time rather than taking it to the dump on Saturday morning or dropping the cash in the can or slot to pay for the bags you put in if you come not on a Saturday morning.

When rural areas lack easy access to the kinds of infrastructure that reduces commercial friction costs, they’re at a serious disadvantage. It’s more expensive to do things, it’s more difficult to attract workers, and as a result, what sustains these small towns begins to go elsewhere.

The decline itself then turns into a vicious cycle. As the major sustaining industries and businesses give out, or the resources like a clay or gravel pit start to dwindle, the people that can leave, do, especially younger people.

That increases the concentration of people remaining in poverty.

And with an increased concentration of poverty comes a lot of the problems that arise out of that: increased crime, increased drug use as depressed people try to self-medicate, depressed property values that make it even harder to get out, and more.

The schools end up with lower enrollment, and lower tax revenues, and lower state aid. So they have to start cutting services. And then people move out of the district because they want their kids in a better school, if they can.

Any young people who can get out flee. That leads to a brain drain of the community. It’s hard to get young professionals to move back if they think they’re never going to make enough money to justify it, or lose a quality of life that they enjoy elsewhere.

So, that means fewer social workers, attorneys, doctors, etc. serving these areas that can help mitigate these problems of poverty, and it spirals downward even more. People of means have fewer kids; people without them have more but can’t support them. Services get progressively thinner, making people more desperate.

More and more desperate people often end up getting into the criminal justice system one way or another, and once you’ve got a felony, everything is substantially harder. Housing, employment, everything. That traps more and more people, as well.

People that are trapped get more and more hopeless. Suicide rates skyrocket.

Eventually, the whole thing just gives out. The remaining people die off. The houses and businesses are abandoned and left to crumble.

We’re not just talking about your boom and bust ghost towns of the Wild West. There’s plenty of these that are modern, some dying in the last few decades. There’s a few places I know of around where I grew up where the last living inhabitants were present just a few years ago. Today, there’s a handful of vacant buildings and nothing else left. You can walk right in a few of them. Some of them are so far gone that you wouldn’t even know that several thousand people once lived there in some cases as recently as thirty or forty years ago just by looking at them.

One town near where I grew up used to actually put up their own population sign and an old man would repaint the number by hand every time someone died or moved away, until he died and nobody took over the task. There was a lumberyard/building center there, a church, and a bar, when I was a kid at least. It was a quarry town for limestone before that, but the easily accessible limestone ran out in the 60’s. There were probably 100 residents total, maybe, when I was a kid, but at one point there were about 1900 people who lived there. The businesses closed and the church is boarded up now. About twenty houses remain; two others were destroyed by fire – one started accidentally by a homeless person who was squatting in it after it was abandoned. The businesses are all vacant, the for-sale signs faded and dusty.

Sometimes a natural disaster comes in and finishes the job. Gays Mills in Wisconsin has been flooded completely out several times in the last decade. Hundreds of residents just gave up and never came back when the insurance gave them an out. Some businesses are trying to stick it out, or relocate as disaster relief has tried to make it possible to move the town to higher ground.

Lastly, the death rate is exceeding the birth rate. Sixty to eighty years ago, you needed ten kids to run the farm, and the infant mortality rate was considerably higher.

In the last 20–30 years, though? People aren’t having babies. The birth rate in a lot of these rural areas is well below replacement. The oldest generations are dying off with increasing rapidity every year.

Death rates among 18–64 year olds in rural areas are also on the incline. The opioid crisis really has disproportionately affected rural areas not because it’s higher per capita, but because there’s just fewer people overall and so the same per capita impact has a greater overall impact.

But suicides are where it’s gotten really out of control. The rural suicide rate is bonkers higher than urban areas. It’s as much as 25% higher in some areas, and it’s risen over 40% in the last 20 years. There’s been a lot of research into this, with hypotheses ranging from lack of health care (both in insurance and in care providers) to stigma around mental health to simply increased access to guns, but there has not been a good consensus around what factors are most prevalent or most contributory.

This is perhaps the most literal reason rural towns in America are dying: they are literally seeing more death than birth.

Some other rural towns are growing around new industries. In Kansas, feedlot and meatpacking plants are growing substantially. Feedlots are smelly as hell. You don’t want to live anywhere near them. Seriously. Even setting aside the animal cruelty issues that are often present, they’re just awful places to be within ten miles of. But, they also provide jobs. For the desperate rural worker, any port in a storm.

In Minnesota, it’s chicken and turkey processing. There’s a handful of towns that have poultry processing, and they’re doing pretty well for now.

But those jobs are not very secure. They’re hard labor, and if someone gets laid up, there’s enough people willing to take the jobs that someone can just be replaced. Anti-union sentiment from conservatives that dominate these areas don’t make anything easier, either.

Additionally, these industries also creating a lot of tension because the local natives don’t want those jobs due to the lack of security and don’t often apply, or can’t pass a drug test to qualify; instead, these jobs are attracting a lot of immigrant labor, such as Somali refugees. These are more typically than not legal immigrants, but that makes little difference to some people who are already mistrustful of any outsiders. I have a relative who moved into a rural town thirty years ago and still is considered a transplant and given second-class citizenship to a generational local.

But many of these industries are also boom-and-bust. The oil fields in the Bakken and the Permian Basin led to huge expansions of parts of North Dakota and Texas, but as quickly as they exploded, they’ve died off as oil prices crashed in recent years.

Those feedlots and chicken processing plants are likely as insecure. All it takes is a commodity oversupply, or a trade war, to shutter whole plants. And if that’s the primary employer for the area, it can take a significant piece of the town when it goes.

Some rural towns are still doing okay, or even growing a little, and in sustainable ways.

What’s kept my hometown alive is that it’s a good bedroom community that’s 30–45 minutes driving from two reasonably large urban areas and less than two hours from two more metro areas. Those are people who want to live in a small, safe, quiet neighborhood, but they don’t work there. They commute to the larger cities in the region.

Enrollment is back up a little in the school district with people moving in to live in a quiet spot, and class sizes are back up to about 95-ish. The school has some good programs such as an award-winning music program that have brought in school choice students from neighboring districts (with corresponding state aid), or even gotten some individuals to move there.

The tax base has remained about neutral or grown a little as developments and new housing grow slowly. Areas that were farm fields when I was a boy are now subdivisions generating more property taxes than the agricultural zones they once were.

There are some rural areas that have this geographical quirk and are mostly becoming the new form of suburbs for those wealthy enough to either buy a nice place in a small town, or a couple acres of former farmland and build a house out in the country. The cost of living is usually reasonable or even sometimes lower than the city or suburbs; housing is certainly cheaper even if certain commodities are a bit higher.

But there’s a lot of rural areas that don’t have that quirk of geography.

Get out in the middle of Nebraska, or Iowa, or Kansas, or Minnesota and there’s a lot less. It’s a long, long way to the urban centers.

Those places are increasingly seeing the demise of rural America the hardest.

Scott Ritter Jaw-Dropping Revelation: NATO vs Russia – A Ticking Nuclear Time Bomb Ready to Explode!

What’s a rule your employer implemented that backfired terribly?

Back in the early 1980’s I was a district manager for a large manufacturer. I had 16 sales reps out of three offices. My company brought in a new VP of Sales. This guy knew very little about our product or company.

This VP put out a mandate for all District Managers (there were about 150 of us nationally) to break our reps into four categories.

Category one were the top producers. They received a good end of year raise.
Category two were over quota but did not do extremely well. They got a 3% raise.
Category three were either over quota to a less amount than category two or under quota. They got no raise and were put on a 90 day action plan. The plan stated that they must be on quota for the next 90 days otherwise they would be terminated.
Category four would be terminated.

Of my 16 reps, 10 or twelve were over quota. At least two were within a point or two of quota and the rest had enough business outstanding to bring them over quota shortly.

Myself and a large group of District Managers rebelled. It went up to our CEO. Within a week or two we were allowed to make a case for each rep we believed should be kept on. Within another month or two, the new VP left the company. Good riddance!

Angel of death?

What is the biggest “I’m definitely fired” thing you’ve done at work, but nobody ever found out?

I was a third shift computer operator while in college—mostly weekend work to run overnight jobs and print boxes of client reports. Our IBM computer was old but reliable—except this night we had a drive malfunctioning and each time it fritzed out I would have to clean the head and rerun the job. After 4–5 such failures, I was tired and the night was long—when the console showed the next failure message “Drive Malfunction — Retry or Abort?” I knew it was yet another 30 minutes added to my shift. So instead of typing “A” or “R”—I punched the keyboard. A cluster of 7–8 keys were mashed down and just stayed down—there was no more keyboard input on the console so the system was down.

I called the 24-hour service tech and they were there within an hour. I “explained” that I had dropped a box of paper on the console (a lie) and the technician looked at me knowingly. Another half hour and the keyboard was repaired and we were up and running again. As the tech put his tools away, he looked at me and said “Next time you drop a box of paper, go in the back room and do it there so you don’t break anything.” Somehow I finished all the overnight jobs and at daybreak I had to call my boss to fess up. Fully expecting to be fired, I was surprised when my manager’s response was “So how many jobs did you not complete?” I told him I had finished everything and there was no backlog.

Instead of being fired, my manager was actually relieved because a prior third shift operator who was on the wrestling team at the college had a similar night—and he ended up punching in the entire keyboard. It turned out that my lie (reported dropping a box of paper on the keyboard) was better for the company than the truth—if my malicious tempered behavior broke the console it would be the company’s expense for the repair but an accident was covered by the service contract. So they promoted me into a day job on the coding team.

The US government will force ByteDance to sell TikTok. Should the Chinese government force Apple to sell all of its Chinese businesses in response?

No, I don’t think the Chinese government would take such an approach.

“If you sanction me, I must retaliate against you and launch corresponding sanctions, otherwise I will be weak.”

This is a common understanding in Western society that governments must respond to public sentiment. If other countries “hurt us”, we “must tit for tat”. Retaliation must be direct, reciprocal and obvious. Only then can public sentiment be released, and politicians’ approval ratings not drop.

So we discovered a key point: the way of revenge is centered on politics, not interests. No one cares whether doing so will bring greater benefits to society or cause greater harm.

“If you sanction me, I must retaliate against you, but the method may not be reciprocal. How to do it is left to professionals.”

This is a common perception in Chinese society, which is full of patience and believes that professional officials can handle it better than public sentiment.

With this premise, we return to the Tiktok case. If Tiktok is forced to sell by the United States, will China’s retaliation be to force Apple to sell it? No, that’s simply impossible

There is a proverb in the Chinese world: If a dog bites you, it does not mean that you have to bite the dog too.

There are many ways to take revenge, you must choose the one that is most beneficial to you.

In the past few years, China has been challenging the status of the United States in global economic activities, and the United States is in a state of hysteria. They are trying to use all available means to contain China. However, we find that China’s response has always been mild, even making people feel a little weak.

In fact, they have been choosing the way that is best for themselves, rather than the most “tit for tat” way.

—————————-

The United States has imposed tariffs on $200 billion worth of Chinese goods; they believe that in order to contain China, it is worth raising prices in the United States.

China’s most “relieving” response should be to impose additional tariffs on $200 billion of U.S. goods, but China believes that this will affect the import of technology and raw materials by Chinese companies, which is not worth it.

China’s actual approach is to expand BRI, join RECP, seek to join CPTPP, expand trade scope, offset the influence of the United States, and stop buying soybeans from American farmers.

—————————–

The United States has imposed five rounds of comprehensive sanctions on Huawei; they believe that it is worthwhile to undermine the fair international image of the United States and use “national security” crimes against a company in order to curb the development of China’s 5G technology.

China’s most “tit for tat” response should be to select an American company, such as CISCO, or Microsoft, or others, and impose five rounds of comprehensive sanctions. But China believes that this will affect these companies’ operations in China, reduce Chinese jobs and government tax revenue, and this is not worth it.

China’s actual approach is to change foreign investment laws and allow foreign companies to independently invest in telecommunications, automobiles and other industries. Then successfully brought Tesla to China.

——————————-

The United States has imposed “Chip and Science Act” sanctions on hundreds of Chinese companies; they believe that destroying the market and revenue of the US semiconductor industry can delay the development of China’s AI technology, which is worthwhile.

China’s most “tit for tat” response should be to select a group of American companies, such as General Motors, Ford, Walmart, and Starbucks, to implement some kind of reciprocal “sanctions bill.” But China believes that this will affect these companies’ operations in China, reduce Chinese jobs and government tax revenue, and this is not worth it.

China’s actual approach is to sanction several U.S. arms dealers and ban the export of rare earths to the United States. Launch the semiconductor development plan encouraged by the government, establish the National Semiconductor Fund, and recruit talents from all over the world to strengthen its semiconductor industry.

——————————-

Some Western public opinion has produced many similar news: Tesla is banned in China, and Apple mobile phones are banned in China. They seem to want to tell us: Look, they are just as bad as us;

But the truth is there, these are lies. The CEOs of Tesla and Apple have both praised the performance of the Chinese market.

Some Western public opinion will also tell us: Google is banned in China, Youtube, X and Ins are banned in China; so it is reasonable for us to ban Tiktok.

But some facts are deliberately ignored. Bing is running very well in China, and Amazon and Paypal have been running in China for 20 years. The crux of the matter is that China has enacted laws, companies that are willing to abide by them stay, and those that are unwilling to abide by them leave. China actually does not have a “ban” against a certain American company.

Now, the United States is demanding that Tiktok be forced to sell, maybe it will be Temu’s turn in the future, Shein

China’s most “tit for tat” method should be to choose an American company, such as Apple mentioned in the question. Asking them to “force a sale”

But China will definitely not do this. On the contrary, we may see them take more opening measures to encourage more foreign companies to participate in the Chinese economy.

They are deliberately taking a completely different approach to doing things than the United States. Use openness to fight closure, use trade to fight sanctions; use win-win to fight zero-sum games; use construction and manufacturing to fight bombs and destruction.

They are very patient and they are creating a global persona:

I don’t have many slogans, and I’m not very good at publicity and storytelling. I will only use actual actions to tell the world: who represents justice and friendship, and who represents evil and destruction.

In the short term, China’s approach seems inefficient, negative, and weak. But over time, many things change.

FAB-3000. Russia begins war. Macron, Ukraine will collapse

Give me a joke?

Here’s a Jewish mama joke.

A Jewish mother picks up the phone to hear the sound of a woman gulping sobs. Her daughter! “Darling! What’s the matter?

Woman:” Oh,Mama! Oh,Mama!”

“Yes darling. Mama is here. What’s wrong?”

“We’re snowed in. The car won’t start. The refrigerator stopped working and all the food is spoiled. The kids have colds and the house is a mess. I have a headache. And twenty ladies from my Hadassah chapter are coming for lunch at one o’clock! Oh,Mama” she wails “What am I going to do?”

In a calm soothing voice Mama replies “Don’t worry darling,Mama is here. First I’ll go down to the grocery and pick up something to eat.Then I’ll take the subway. And from the subway I’ll walk the sixteen blocks to your house. I’ll cook something for the twenty ladies,they’ll love it. I’ll give the kids an aspirin so they’ll be quiet. I’ll tell them a story till they fall asleep so you can lie down too. While the food cooks I’ll pick up the house. Everything will be all right. Don’t worry darling,Mama is here! That’s what a mother is for!”

The woman gives a huge sigh of relief. “Oh,Mama thank you! I feel so much better.”

“Don’t mention it,darling” Then,in an everyday voice “If you’re snowed in and the car won’t start how did Sam get to work?”

(Puzzled voice) “Sam? Who’s Sam?”

(Mama impatiently) “Sam! Your husband Sam! How did he get to work?”

Long pregnant pause. Then in a small voice the woman says “My husband’s name is Saul”

Another pregnant pause . Then in a trembling voice the woman says:

“Does that mean…you’re… not coming?”

Skillet Pizza Supreme

Ingredients

1 package dry yeast
1/4 cup warm water (105 to 115 degrees F)
2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour, divided
1 teaspoon granulated sugar
1 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
1/2 to 3/4 cup milk

Instructions

Dissolve yeast in warm water in a small bowl; let stand 5 minutes.
Combine 2 cups flour, sugar and salt in a large bowl; stir in yeast mixture and oil. Add enough milk to make a soft dough. Cover and let stand 15 minutes.
Turn dough out onto a floured surface. Knead 5 to 8 times, working in remaining 1/2 cup flour to make a smooth dough.
Pat dough evenly in bottom and halfway up sides of a lightly greased 10-inch cast iron skillet.
Bake at 425 degrees F for 8 minutes.
Spoon sauce over crust.
Top with any toppings desired.
Sprinkle shredded Mozzarella cheese over the top.
Bake for 10 to 12 minutes or until cheese melts.

Such a narcissist

What is the most epic thing anyone has ever done?

Originally Answered: What is the most badass thing anyone has ever done?

What would you do if you are a poor, uneducated farmer and a multi-million dollar company came in and permanently destroyed your land by dumping toxic chemical waste into it?

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This amazing David vs Goliath story is from China.

In 2001, the Qinghua Group, a state-owned mining company worth more than $200 million released 20,000 tonnes of chemical waste from a polyvinyl chloride plant into a village called Yushutun that depended entirely on farming.

The company filled a 478-acre pond with liquid waste and destroyed an additional 71 acres of land by dumping calcium carbide onto it.

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As you can see, the land was pretty much useless now.

Wang Enlin was one of the farmers in the village who was playing cards with his friends on the night this incident happened.

He approached the courts and they asked him to provide evidence of the pollution unleashed by the company. This perplexed Wang. He didn’t know which law the company violated and nor did he or anyone he knew in the village have the means to hire a lawyer tough enough to go against a state-owned company like Qinghua.

“I knew I was in the right, but I did not know what law the other party had broken or whether or not there was evidence.”[1]

So what does he do?

He starts a 16-year long journey of studying the law all by himself.

Being only educated for a sum total of three years in his life and dropping out thereafter, Wang faced a huge challenge.

He did not have enough money to buy the costly tomes that were law books, so he hit the library with a dictionary and began learning. He would initially copy out notes on his hand and would pay the librarian with sacks of corn in return for his services.

In 2007, a law firm, learning about Wang’s endeavor, began giving him legal advice pro bono. Armed with accumulating knowledge of the law, he directed his neighbors and fellow villagers to collect evidence and document it.

When he began frequenting courts with his new found skill and the evidence, he was at first ignored, but he persisted. It took about eight years for the case to finally merit consideration and in early February 2017, the Angangxi District Court of Qiqihar ruled that each of the families in Yushutun village would receive a financial compensation of $111,500.

Unfortunately, as legal battles go, the company was quoted as deciding to file an appeal in a higher court and this may drag out some years, but there isn’t any reason to believe Wang and his people will not succeed.

Even if in a nominal sense, an uneducated village simpleton had brought down a huge organization with all its legal might and its nonpareil team of lawyers to its knees.

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As I said, a proper David vs Goliath story.

And pretty badass too.

References:

Farmer spends 16 years studying law so he can sue corporation for dumping toxic waste on his land

http://www.clapv.org/english_lvshi/ZhiChiAnJian_Content.asp?id=61&title=Support%20cases&titlecontent=PD_zhichianjian&lei1=20

Footnotes

[1]

Farmer spends 16 years studying law by himself to sue chemical firm

What was the moment that made you realize that your childhood was different from other people’s?

Near the end of my sophomore years of high school, when I got my license and began driving myself to my friends’ houses to hang out.

At that point in my life, I had five friends that I hung out with on a regular basis, and about a dozen other people who I knew through those friends. Those dozen were like second-tier friends. We hung out a lot because we happened to be friends with the same person.

Before being able to drive myself to my friends’ houses, I was limited to friends’ houses I could walk to, or convince my parents to drive me to. By the time I turned 16, I’d been in six different friends’ houses that I could recall.

Then, during my first visit to my friend Rick’s house (I had to drive there myself because he lived pretty far away), I realized something: he had a lot of pictures of him, his mom, and his brother in the house, but zero pictures of his father. He’d never said anything about his father, but I always assumed he had one. When we finally talked about it, he said that his father walked out on the family when he and his brother were still young, and his mom never talked about him.

That got me thinking about all of my other friends. Jay’s father was an alcoholic and abused his mom until she divorced him. Emma’s father was actually her step-father, because her real father ran off with a younger woman. Emma’s step-dad was also much older than her mom. Sarah was being raised by a single mother. Aaron’s dad drank and swore a lot, and I’m pretty sure beat his wife. Trey’s dad was super controlling of his wife. (And, a few years later, killed her. He’s currently serving life in prison.) Anthony didn’t know who his dad was. Etc…

It was then that I realized that, of all of my friends, only one of them had a father in their lives who wasn’t an alcoholic, wasn’t abusive, and actually seemed like a nice guy. That was Tom. Tom was an only child and his parents were some of the nicest people you’d ever meet. His mom was a teacher and his dad was a businessman. They were both very active in one of the local churches.

My parents were married before they had me or my sister. They stayed married until my dad died. Both of my parents took an active role in my life as a child. My father never once raised a hand, or even his voice, to my mother. He didn’t drink. He didn’t do drugs. He wasn’t the jealous type. He never cheated on her. He showed her plenty of affection through all of the years of their marriage.

I think a lot of it had to do with the socio-economic class I was raised in. I, like most of my friends (except Tom), was raised in a lower socio-economic class. Poverty takes its toll on marriages. I guess, for a poor kid from the South, I got super lucky when it came to dads. Mine was like the dads you saw in sitcoms back then, while my friends’ dads, if they even had them, were more like the dads in dramas about abusive relationships.

FOUR MINUTES! This new site was online 4 Minutes Before HACKERS went after it

Hal Turner World 31 March 2024 Hits: 10641

This rebuilt and restored website was online to the world for only 4 minutes before HACKERS tried to break-in! They were caught.

Long-time users of this website will recall that during Thanksgiving of the year 2022 (over a year ago), this site was mercilessly HACKED. It’s layout and functionality were wrecked.

At the time, I didn’t have the money or the ambition to do a full rebuild/restoration, so we jury-rigged-it and got by for a little over a year.

I saved up the money, did the research necessary, and last week, my tech guys began the rebuild.

In the past, the site has “good” security, better than most sites. Yet Hackers were ultimately able to breach that “good” security, got in and did their harm. So for this new rebuild, security was a major — I mean really big — aspect of the rebuild. Enterprise grade security.

Last Friday, this newly rebuilt and restored site went online at 7:24 PM eastern US time.

FOUR MINUTES LATER, the security system was already recording hacking attempts, and blocking IP addresses of malicious users. FOUR MINUTES!

I got alerts from my system about what was going on, and that these certain IP addresses had automatically been blocked, but telling me I should consider adding these IP’s to the PERMANENT BAN list. I did.

Here’s just a small sampling of the IP’s banned, and why:

Hacker Ban List

So it’s going to be a rough ride for me as we proceed in the future. For whatever reason, people with nefarious motives are already trying to break in.

I thought you should know. In fact, it’s important you know.

Doing what I do to bring the TRUTH to the public, has enemies. Those enemies don’t want YOU knowing the truth.

When did you realize that your childhood was not normal?

This is from my childhood in the 1960’s. My Mom and Dad were married in 1946. My sister and I were born in 1959 and 1962, so they were older parents. My dad died when I was 8. My Mom went into a deep depression. She started smoking and drinking a lot. She finally got her driver’s license, and we would drive to the bank to deposit our Social Security survivor’s benefits once a month. Then we would drive to the neighboring big city that sold alcohol. As a 10-year-old kid, I remember going into Snappy’s, getting 4 cases of Lone Star beer and a handle of Canadian Club. I would write the check on my Mom’s checking account, and they would help us load it into the trunk while my Mom sat in the car. I had to get my little sister up in the morning and walk her to school. I would sign her report card, and sign my own. I got very good at forging her signature. I did the grocery shopping, hauling them back on my bike. We ate lots of cheap frozen pizzas and sugary cereal because that is what I liked. It all seemed normal to me. She smoked and drank herself to death when I was 17. When I had a family of my own I worked very hard to give them a normal life. I realized when they were little that my childhood was really messed up and I wanted a better life for them.

Zulu Culture

https://www.youtube.com/shorts/RyhTmgGzL_g?feature=share

Three bulls heard the rancher was bringing another bull onto the ranch.

First Bull: “I’ve been here five years. I’m not giving this new bull any of my 100 cows.”

Second Bull: “I’ve been here three years and have earned my right to 50 cows. I’m keeping all my cows.”

Third Bull: “I’ve only been here a year, and so far, you guys have only let me have 10 cows. I may not be as big as you fellows, but I’m keeping all 10 of my cows.”

Just then an 18-wheeler pulls up in the pasture carrying the biggest bull they’ve ever seen.

At 4,700 pounds, each step he takes strains the steel ramp.

First Bull: “I think I can spare a few cows for our new friend.”

Second Bull: “I actually have too many cows to take care of. I can spare a few. I’m certainly not looking for an argument.”

They look over at the third bull and find him pawing the dirt, shaking his horns and snorting.

First Bull: “Son, don’t be foolish, let him have some of your cows and live to tell about it.”

Third Bull: “Hell, he can have all my cows. I’m just making sure he knows I’m a bull.”

How were black P.O.Ws treated by Nazi Germany?

Generally not well.

Generally speaking, American POWs captured by Germany had it alright. They were not sent to concentration camps and generally received pretty good treatment at the hands of the Germans.

However we are dealing with Nazis here- keep that in mind. 2 factors really decided how an American POW would be treated.

Was he being captured by the SS or the normal German Army (SS bad, Army good)
Was he black or Jewish

If you were Jewish or Black and captured by the SS (or even elements of the Amry) you would be lucky to find yourself in a concentration camp. More likely, you are killed on the spot. If you were white and captured by the Army you’d be sent to a more comfortable imprisonment.

Black soldiers had it bad though- as they were considered Untermensch (sub-human).

I am about to tell you a story that will ruin your day and remind you how evil and demented the SS was.

So you are all familiar with the Ardennes offensive right? Also called the Battle of the Buldge where US forces were surrounded and cut off during the winter and then held out for weeks while the American 3rd Armored division broke through to save them.

Well during this time there were 2 massacres of US troops. The fact we are well aware of them both shows how rare it was for this thing to happen but I digress.

During this battle, 85 American soldiers were captured and executed by elements of the SS. Instead of bringing them to a prison camp the Germans just flat-out shot them all to death. But these men were all white, so they got the mercy of a bullet. This is called the Malmedy Massacre and is very well known.

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There is another atrocity long forgotten though, largely because it involved Black US soldiers and not white ones.

During the battle 11 “Colored” G.I’s found themselves out of ammo with only 2 rifles and lost in the woods. They came upon a little house in the middle of nowhere and asked for refuge from the cold.

Inside this house were Belgium Patriots who supported the US. They offered the 11 men shelter and food and warmed them up. The nearby neighbors were not Patriots though and had a son fighting in the SS. They would run to the Germans and inform them Americans were being sheltered nearby.

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4 men from the SS would arrive armed to the teeth. The Americans chose not to resist, not wanting any harm to befall those that took them in. They were also lacking the weaponry to fight.

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So all 11 Americans surrendered to these SS soldiers and they wouldn’t even get the mercy of a bullet. Their bodies would be found shortly after and US command was shocked by what they found.

I am not going to pull any punches- I want you to understand the level of evil we are dealing with. These men were found with the following injuries.

Their eyes had been gouged out while they were still alive
Fingers were removed and legs were broken
Men were beaten to death with rifle butts
Many men had been run over by vehicles
A few were shot, but not in the head- they were shot in the knees and stomach to inflict maximum suffering
A few men had fractured skulls from having their heads beaten in

Just executing a POW is a war crime but this goes beyond it. The 85 executed at Malmedy were simply shot, perhaps because the Germans lacked the logistics to transport or guard POWs.

These 11 black US G.I’s were brutally and violently tortured and killed for no other reason than they were black. The SS soldiers took joy in their suffering. It’s the brutality that is hard to imagine.

The US would investigate this for years but the killers were never discovered. Maybe they got killed by the eventual onslaught of US forces. Hopefully, they died slowly in a pool of their own shit crying for their mothers who were already dead at the hands of the Red Army in the East.

I hate the SS

Dr Greer

https://www.youtube.com/shorts/Tag5EeF7QCM?feature=share

What’s a rule your employer implemented that backfired terribly?

How about my high school principal?

Waaaayyy back, early 1970s, everyone arrived at school and was greeted by an announcement to go to homeroom.

Sounds normal, except that we only went to homeroom for things like report cards. Normally our first period class was attendance center, so a sudden announcement of starting the day with homeroom was weird.

Everyone went to homeroom, and there was a lot of wondering what was up – even the teachers seemed puzzled.

The principal then made a strange and rambling speech over the PA system.

It was about the parasites infesting our school.

It turned out that his definition of parasites was students who wore their coats to class, students who sat on the floor, students who held hands with :::gasp::: students of the opposite sex, students who, well, acted like teenagers.

Any student seen doing these things would be suspended for the rest of the day.

It didn’t take long.

By second period, everyone was wearing their coats. Half the school had on pieces of paper that read “I’m a parasite and I’m proud.” Members of the football team (all boys at that time) walked from class to class, holding hands. Any student with a free period was in the core, sitting on the floor around the tables instead of in the library or somewhere else. The Madrigal singers, in full costume ready for a performance, promenaded through the main hall with their hands in position (boy raised, holding girl’s in an “elegant” fashion), but not touching (it looked really stupid). I’m sure there was more, but that’s all I saw.

His policy was rescinded the next day. It’s really hard to suspend 2000 students, and that’s what it would have taken.

Donnie is a baddie

If China is full of the smartest people, why is the US so much more advanced?

I suggest you visit China. It reversed my preconception. I am from Norway, North Europe. A rather modern and advanced society.

On my first visit to the US over 20 years ago, I was surprised at how backward and old fashioned it was. Movies had let me to believe it was the epitome of modern society. I visited several states on the East/South-East. Very backwards digitally. Terrible infrastructure. Unwalkable. Dirty. Hard to find quality restaurants outside of big cities. Dead city centres in medium sized cities.

I went to China a year or two later, and the opposite struck me. It was a highly modern society. Highly digital. Fantastic high-speed infrastructure (that is even better nowadays). Super clean, modern cities. I was mainly in the Jiangsu province that time. Loved it!

I suggest everyone to go and form their own opinions. I really fell in love with Suzhou, not far from Shanghai.

What’s it like to fail because you ignored your gut and followed someone else’s advice instead?

We were drunk. Stupid teenagers thinking that we could make fun of every rule.

“Let’s go to Gabriel’s house and continue the party there!” one of my friends suggested.

“We don’t have a car!” I said.

“I’ll take everyone on the back of my pickup truck! Hop in!” Juan said while starting his truck’s engine.

I immediately hesitated, “I don’t think it’s safe!”

“Aahhh… don’t be a wooze Hector! Come on! Everything will be okay!” Juan said.

“I don’t like the idea!”

Everyone was ready to go, partying, singing, drinking and fooling around.

It was very late at night. I had two options, call my mom to come pick me up or simply go with the flow.

I ignored my gut and followed my friends.

We were balancing ourselves as the truck moved forward. Juan, the truck driver, wasn’t responsible of us sitting — and standing on the back of the pickup.

A quick turn was enough to change the rest of my life. One of my best friends lost balance and was thrown off the back.

“Stop! Stop! Stop!” I shouted to the top of my lungs while hitting the rooftop of the pickup.

Juan stopped.

We quickly jumped out of the box to assist my friend. He was bleeding. His head was totally covered with blood and unconscious. He had landed with his head on a yellow speed bump causing him to fracture his head.

We took him to the hospital. Four days later he passed away. He was 16 years old.

To this day, his parents cry every time they see me because I bring memories of their son. I’m always speechless. I can only imagine how I could have prevented this life-changing event for every one of us.

I lacked character.

To answer your question:

Not trusting your instinct, your conscience, your spirit or however you want to call it; will bring terrible regrets that may last a lifetime.

Today, I’m aware of that “small voice” that somehow, I know I shouldn’t ignore anymore.

Yet, it all comes down to character, strength, and courage to stand my ground even when temptation or peer pressure is on.

Have you ever gotten home and found evidence that somebody had been in your home while you were gone?

I had been away for a couple of months diving and arrived home after a long flight. As soon as the taxi pulled into the parking square I noticed that where I once had a solid wooden door to my house I now had plywood sheet. So I immediately knew something was wrong. I got out of the taxi and approached my house where I was met by my neighbours who told me that the previous night, the Police had broken into my house and searched it. Now furious I called the Police and demanded an explanation.

A few minutes later the Police arrived and together we entered my house. Once inside they explained that a few weeks earlier a body had been found on the beach in the North West of the country, and there had been a public appeal to help identify the deceased. Following this appeal my brother (who I have not seen for over 30 years) had called the Police and claimed the body was me. He had even been taken to identify the body. With this information the Police arrived at my address and spoke to my neighbours who confirmed that they had not seen me for a number of weeks. This reinforced their incorrect assumptions that the body was mine, and as it was considered a suspicious death, they decided to break into my house and examine it, in case there were any clues that could help them solve the death.

The body found on the beach was later identified.

So yes there had been someone in my house, the Police, it wasn’t a pleasant feeling knowing that they had been through all of my possessions, and then I was left with a bill for a replacement door, as damage caused by Police in the execution of their duty, is apparently excluded from house insurance.

China takes countermeasures on US company, two individuals against Washington’s Xinjiang-related sanctions

China has announced countermeasures against a US company and two individuals that have long collected sensitive information to provide so-called evidence for illegal sanctions by the US, after the US newly added two Chinese officials and three Chinese companies onto a sanction list citing so-called human rights concerns.

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US intelligence data company Kharon and Edmund Xu, director of investigations of Kharon and Nicole Morgret, a former researcher from Center for Advanced Defense Studies, will be prohibited from entering China (including China’s mainland, the Hong Kong SAR and the Macau SAR), said Chinese foreign ministry spokesperson Mao Ning on Tuesday.

China will freeze the property of Kharon and the two persons in China, including their movable and immovable property, and prohibit organizations and individuals in China from transactions and cooperation with them.

In December, US Treasury Department’s Office of Foreign Assets Control announced to sanction two Chinese officials for alleged link to human rights abuse. Meanwhile, the US Department of Homeland Security added three more Chinese companies to the so-called “Uyghur Forced Labor Prevention Act” (UFLPA) blacklist.

In response, Mao said that the US once again fabricated and spread false narratives about China’s Xinjiang region, imposed illegal sanctions on Chinese officials and companies under the pretext of so-called human rights issues in the region, seriously interfering in China’s internal affairs, seriously violating international law and basic norms of international relations, seriously tarnishing China’s image, and seriously damaging the legitimate rights and interests of relevant Chinese officials and companies.

China firmly opposes and strongly condemns this and has made solemn representations to the US, Mao said, urging the US to stop slandering and smearing China, revoke the illegal unilateral sanctions against Chinese officials and companies, and stop implementing erroneous bills such as the so-called UFLPA.

If the US refuses to change course, China will not flinch and will respond in kind, the spokesperson said.

The Day After (1983) & ABC News Viewpoint original WPVI-TV 6ABC Broadcast 11-20-1983

Full movie.

This was the movie that forced President Regan to talk with the Soviet Union to stop the ramp up towards world war 3. Must watch.

Include all the vintage commercials.

Horrific.

TekWar as the mystery

So I went on ChatGPT and asked it to find that mystery movie that I have been having such a difficult time finding. This is what I asked…

please help me locate a movie. Sometime in the late 1980's and in the 1990s I watched a movie on television. it was a science fiction movie. 

It was apparently "made for television", though I do not know for sure. 

it was about the experiences of the main character; a female that was hired to work in a software company. 

The movie starts where she finds herself on this big sprawling campus of the company that she will work at. It is mostly empty of others, just a few people walking here and there. she then meets up with the rest of her design team. all are very smart like she is and all are specialists. they all are working on various software projects. 

eventually they realize that there is something strange about their life. they work for three days, and then it all starts all over again. 

at one point in the movie, they encounter a record left behind by their previous selves. with thousands of log entries. 

they decide to hack into the campus as it appears that they are software programs modeled after specific real-world engineers. 

they find this access port, which appeals to be a big hinged plug in the ground, and using that they hack into the entire campus and stop the endless cycle of repeat and redo. .... 

when I have used search engines for this movie, the usual standard, commonplace, movies came up. but this is not a usual movie. this is a very unique and seemingly forgotten movie. can you help me out?

And this is what it answered…

The movie you're describing sounds like "TekWar," a 1994 made-for-television science fiction film based on the TekWar novels by William Shatner. 

The main character you're referring to is likely Beth Kittridge, portrayed by Charlotte de Bruyne. 

In the film, she is hired by Jake Cardigan (played by Greg Evigan) to work at Cosmos, a futuristic software company. 

The storyline involves the characters discovering anomalies and facing challenges similar to what you described, including the repetitive nature of their experiences and the hacking into the system to stop it.

"TekWar" was part of a larger franchise that included television movies, a TV series, and novels. It might not be widely remembered today, but it certainly fits the description you provided.

Well, I really don’t know if this is it. But it is the closest that I have found so far.

Sure as Hell beats a Google Search.

The actual video is on youtube HERE.

Today…

How the hell is America still a superpower when China is making such infrastructure and buildings while the US still has buildings from 1950?

The United States is NOT a superpower.

It is instead, a feudal, plutocracy that runs a military empire.

There is no longer a “middle class”, instead there are workers (known as “rabble”) and the elite (known as the 0.1%).

This indicative of late-stage empire decline.

Historically, within a few decades, the United States will disappear before transforming into some kind of new entity.

…

China is on another level… perhaps another plane… indeed, in another universe entirely. To compare the two is like comparing apples with Rocket sleds.

Adjust your perception

Why does America not retaliate for China making it hard for US companies to penetrate Chinese markets?

You really have to get out from under the influence of the media. It is clouding your faculties. There are so many companies operating and thriving in China. I personally was brought over to China by a New Hampshire company that was very successful in China. I live in a third tier city and there is no shortage of western companies operating here. There is a Dell EMC building across from my apartment, Multiple Starbucks within walking distance, KFC, McDonalds, Ford sells cars here, Buick, Jeep. Walk through the malls here and you see Adidas, Nike Under Armour, Dickies and Levis shops. Those are just the companies that sell to common people. Never mind the big corporations that do billions of dollars in business in China.

Wake up! The whole trade imbalance cry is not reality. It is for your consumption and it seems to be working very well. Really stop watching the news, it is not reality. Its sole purpose is to shape your perception of the world.

Men are sick and tired

What were the reasons for Germany’s defeat to Russia in World War II, despite having better equipment and military strategy? Was Russia’s success due to their fighting skills and familiarity with the land?

This is question despite being auto-generated that touches on the very core of how World War 2 is explained in popular history. The phrasing itself is very noteworthy, because the AI who generated this question does so on the basis of what others write, and it asks how Germany was defeated, not how the Soviets won. Do you think the fact the WW2 eastern front history is primarily told from the point of view of Nazis, might have significantly skewed the way the war is perceived? Hint: Yes.

If the Germans had superior equipment, superior strategy, their army was more experienced, and in 1941 even outnumbered the Soviets quite a bit on the front, then why didn’t they win? Well it must be because of the 3 things that Manstein and the other Nazi war criminals all agree on. The Weather, the number of Soviets and Hitler sabotaging himself. In reality, this is of course outright lies. Let’s talk about why these things are not the reason first.

The Weather: As it turns out Russians, Ukrainians and other Soviet citizens did not have a natural +10 cold resistance. Reality isn’t DnD. The weather of the USSR affects Soviets in exactly the same way as the Germans. Germans were fully aware of the climate in Russia, their generals had read Napoleon, they had geographers and meteorologists who were professionals. So why were they affected so badly?
1. During the fall of 1941, the winter was approaching, but the arrogance and racism inside the mind of Nazis convinced them that just pushing a little more would cause the Soviets to collapse and give up. The Nazi generals were in charge of their own requisition, and when asked if they wanted their winter equipment or more ammunition to kill more Soviets, they asked for ammunition not winter equipment. This is not a problem of weather, this was a collective German officer decision, based on arrogance and racism.
2. Some German equipment was not well suited for winter combat, like the German tanks with narrow tracks unable to cope with snow and mud. This is not a weather problem, this is a design problem, showing poor thought in German equipment. Again, the Germans knew they would invade the USSR years in advance and didn’t fix this.
The Soviet manpower monolith. If numbers had been decisive, then you’d think the Soviets would have done better in 1941 than later. In 1941, the Soviets had a larger population, around 190 million, versus the German 80 million. However, by Stalingrad, only 110 Million Soviets were available to the USSR, due to occupation and death, yet this is when the Soviets were winning. Additionally, the Soviets were not just fighting the Germans, but Romania, Hungary, Slovakia, Finland and quite a lot of Italian too. If you look at the total manpower of the Axis forces the Soviets fought and not just the Germans, guess what. There were more Axis than Soviets.
Hitler sabotaged everything. So many German generals tell you, and they tell you this because German chief of staff Franz Halder, coordinated with them after WW2 to blame everything bad on Hitler essentially. Halder was editor of several memoirs. In reality the German general staff loved the idea of invading the USSR, they were the ones who came up with the plan, they were the ones who ignored the logistical problems when this was pointed out to them, they were the ones who were defeated at Moscow, Leningrad and Stalingrad. Hitler made very few military decisions, and never without consulting his military staff. In some situations Hitler even made clearly better decisions than his officers did, when he said it would be an economic war, and that Germany needed to capture the resources of the USSR not the cities, he was absolutely right.

So with that out of the way, the better question is, how did the Soviets win? The answer is plain and boring. The Soviets approached war scientifically, they started WW2 with a bad theory and an incomplete procurement and training system. Throughout the war the Soviets introduced excellent military equipment, which in general was far better than the German, they introduced a new military doctrine specifically made to counter what the Germans were doing. Their officers gradually became more experienced, until the experienced Germans had no advantages anymore. And they correctly saw the strategic path to victory through attrition and by correctly exploiting weaknesses in the Axis lines.

This is the simple version of course, but really that is all there is to it, we can talk about equipment and strategy in details in the comments. Additionally if you are interested I wrote about the massive problems the Soviets had to outcome in 1941–1942 in terms of doctrine here:

Soviet Military Doctrine and the Officer Purge

Soviet Military Doctrine Part 2 – Learning How to Defend

A small point on World War 2 Resource Efficiency

Harsh L for men

If a random person came up to you in the street, ready to fight and asked you “What the F are you looking at” How or what would you do in response?

The illusionist Derren Brown has an interesting approach to this situation:

“This is simply about not engaging with your aggressor at the level they expect. I was coming back from a hotel at about 3am one night and there was a guy in the street with his girlfriend. He was really drunk, clearly looking for a fight and he started kicking off at me. I had a routine ready in my head for this sort of situation and it worked a treat on this occasion. He asked me that typical aggressive rhetorical question — “Do you want a fight?” You can’t say “yes” or “no” — you’ll get hit either way. So, I responded with, “The wall outside my house is four-feet high.”

I didn’t engage at the level he was expecting me to, so immediately he was on the back foot. He came back with, “What?” and I repeated my bizarre response. I delivered the line in a completely matter-of-fact tone, as if he was the one who was missing something here. Suddenly, he was confused. All his adrenaline had dropped away, because I’d pulled the rug from under him. It’s the verbal version of a martial-arts technique called an ‘adrenaline dump’, whereby you get the person to relax before you hit them. A punch will have much greater impact if the recipient’s guard is down. I stuck to this surreal conversational thread with my assailant, saying things like, “I lived in Spain for a while and the walls are really huge, but in this country they’re tiny.” After a few of these exchanges, he just went, “Oh f*ck!” and broke down in tears. The guy had all this adrenaline and was on the point of really laying into me — I was seeing myself beaten to a bloody pulp — but these non-threatening nonsense statements broke that aggression down and he genuinely started crying. I ended up sitting next to him on the kerb, comforting him.”

This is the battle in the USA today

Hi Irina,

Patrice has encouraged me to publish some of the testimonies I am getting. My concern is to totally protect the anonymity of the people, especially the ones who could get into serious trouble in Ukraine, but in fact EVERYONE.

So let me know if I quote ‘a woman in Moscow’ remarking on a ‘iiberal in Moscow’. Is that ok….no name or other identifying marks.

Kind regards,

Eric

29.03.2024, 00:59, “Eric Arnow” <affjp@yandex.com>:

One of the things I try to do, is to find people, ordinary people, to get their views on ‘reality’.

Since I live in Chiang Mai, Thailand, I am at an advantage because Chiang Mai attracts people from all over the world, in particular, not just travelers, but those who are deliberately outside their home country. Of course, in my travels, I also try to talk to people, ordinary people inside a country to get their views.

Recently I posted about a Russian guy I met in Moscow, with whom I had a Whatsapp exchange. Irina Boyko was kind enough to comment on the exchange that I posted.

In this email, I’ll talk a little bit about someone whom I met here in Chiang Mai. She grew up during the Soviet era. Moved to Canada after it fell, but moved back to Ukraine a few years ago. After the start of the SMO, she came to Chiang Mai, presumably to ‘get out of Dodge’, meaning the Nazi infested regime, We had a lot of long talks about her life in Soviet Ukraine, how happy she was during those times, and how unhappy she was post USSR.

In order to preserve her anonymity, I’m not going to publish this, only report within the CWG. In early March, she made the trip back to her home city, which I will leave nameless. Her mother has been quite ill, so my friend decided to go back to be with her.

We chatted a little bit since her return. She felt very depressed. We finally caught up by phone and here are some of her observations, which will probably not come as a surprise to us, if not the ‘liberal guy from Moscow’, whom I also chatted with earlier.

The difference in feeling between Chiang Mai, which is probably one of the most comfortable cities to live in, and her city was a real shock. She went into serious depression, but after consulting with both energy therapists and a psychologist is feeling better. She’s learning to cope with the situation.

There is a general feeling of depression and foreboding.

The streets are about half empty…that is, the population has dropped significantly. [This corresponds to information that other commentators have noted. The population used to be 50 million, while it’s now estimated at perhaps 25 million or less]

She sees young women with babies, but no fathers. Where did they go?

The men are in hiding. She told me about one guy who was taken from the same apartment building she’s in, and he was killed after being sent to fight.

Everyone is terrified of the police. Nobody talks openly about conditions

The forcible recruiters are now going into apartment buildings and knocking on doors. Nobody answers for fear of any men in the house being dragged away.

For the time being, she still has electricity and internet, unlike many of the big cities, such as Kharkov.

I said that it looks like the war will go in one of two ways. Either, Russia will win, come into her city, take control and things will improve, similar to what is happening in the newly reincorporated territories. Or, the US/NATO will escalate to the point of nuclear war and we’ll all die. That’s her assessment as well.

Addendum:

I have another young Ukrainian friend here in Chiang Mai, he’s working online remotely. While he wants to go home, he knows that the situation is very difficult and dangerous. Numerous repressive laws are either in place or being considered to take away people’s money or their rights. He’s lucky he is here, otherwise, he probably would have been dragged off to fight and die.

He also said that he was happy in Ukraine in 2021.

Being an expat, I used to see reports saying that Ukraine is a great place for ‘Digital Nomads’, one of millions of mostly young people making a living online. I just thought…”wait…the place is highly unstable and likely to blow up.” But the average people in Ukraine apparently didn’t realize what was actually going on in their country, and where it was all heading.

While, up to now, much of the basic infrastructure has been in place, and people had the basics of electricity and utilities, albeit at much higher prices, the electical supply is out in Kharkov and maybe Odessa. I felt some relief that my friend’s city has been spared for now However, as most of us know, Russia will probably go onto a much more robust offensive, and how those remaining in Ukraine will fare, is uncertain.

Eric

This is the process…

https://www.youtube.com/shorts/Cy9Wvmon4xg?feature=share

Is living in Europe better than living in the USA in terms of standard of living, safety, healthcare, etc.?

I grew up in the US and lived there for much of my life and moved to Europe in 2000 so I guess I am qualified to answer.

Standard of living:

It depends on where you live, how much money you have and what you consider quality of life and living standards. If you live in a small town in Arkansas in a very poor area your standard of living will be pretty bad. You can find comparable places in poor towns in Central and Eastern Europe.

In Western Europe most cites have a very high standard of living for the majority of people. If you live in Paris, for example, your apartment is probably going to be in an older building but well renovated and very comfortable. In the suburbs it depends on the neighborhood and area, (arrondissement), just like in New York City or Boston. If you live in the Western European countryside you may live in a rustic place but it will probably be in very nice condition with all the modern comforts. When I lived in Germany and France I had many friends who lived in rural areas and their homes were small but extremely comfortable. Even in southern Italy the houses may look old on the outside but inside they are filled with all the modern conveniences and well renovated. People take pride in caring for their living spaces.

I would compare the central and southern parts of the US to Central and Eastern European countries like Czechia, Poland, Hungary and Estonia. Although the cities and towns in these countries have a great deal of history and character where most US cities and towns do not.

For shopping, it depends on what you want and where you live. If you live in or near a metropolitan area of the US you will have vast choices for goods. Many products like clothing and electronics will be cheaper than in Europe. Fuel prices are far cheaper than in Europe. Year round food choices are better in the US for the most part. Outlet malls and Costco’s are far better in the US and far cheaper. There have been attempts to make a Walmart or Target type chain in Europe but they have not been able to duplicate the US prices. Walmart tried to open in Germany but it did not succeed.

If you love nature and traveling then both continents have much to offer. America has far more raw and untouched nature. Europe has very little except in Scandinavia. There are beautiful natural areas in most countries but you can easily tell they are not very raw once you hike and explore there. If you enjoy getting out and pitching your tent next to a stream in a forest with no people around then there are very few places you might be able to do that in Europe except in Scandinavia. Wild camping is very restricted in most countries and illegal in some, like Italy. In the US I can drive up in the mountains of Colorado, find a great spot next to a lake or stream and set up my tent and spend a couple of weeks there if I like. I miss that. I do camp here but only in campgrounds in Latvia or Estonia. In Italy it is all too crowded for camping so I have never bothered. I just travel from home or stay in small hotels or BnB’s.

Safety:

I have lived in many places around the US. Usually in rural areas. So I always felt safe. Since university I have not lived in a big city so I am not sure what that is like safety wise. I suppose most US cites are as safe or dangerous as European cities. Some areas are safer than others and some are outright dangerous. In my little village in Italy I feel completely safe walking around at any time day or night. In my suburban neighborhood in Riga, Latvia I do not feel so safe walking around late at night. In any city it is best to be sensible and to know how to stay safe. That applies to both continents.

Healthcare:

I have experience with the US healthcare system and with the German, French, Italian and Latvian systems. As far as quality of care goes I would say that Western European healthcare is comparable and better to US healthcare. Latvian healthcare is not as good as either but is still respectable. I have had 3 major surgeries here so I have experience with this. In terms of costs, there is no comparison. In all European countries, I just go to my doctor or emergency room, get treated, say thank you and go home. In the US I had to check my health insurance provider to see which doctor I could go see, get an appointment, see the doctor, pay my part of the co-pay and amounts that the health insurance company refused. I also had to be mindful of the fact that my insurance company was going to know of any illness I might have and that my rates would go up. Or I could lose my insurance. The same with US hospitals. They provide great care if you can afford it. In Europe what you can afford is irrelevant unless you want to go to a fancy private clinic.

I could go on and on but those are just some of my experiences that stand out.

Bottom line:

I very much enjoy the US for certain things that I consider better there:

Mexican, Cajun, BBQ, New Mexican, Asian cuisines
Discount shopping and warehouse shopping like Costco
Great electronics and cheap prices
Wild nature and natural beauty
Great and uncrowded skiing on weekdays

Other than that I far prefer being here in Europe and consider the life style, standard of living and other areas of life far superior.

Third world

What is the most savage reply you’ve given to an entitled person?

“You’re fired, a bill will be sent to your agent”

Allow me to explain. I work as a specialist costume designer and fight choreographer (I’m no one famous but I get work). One of the clauses I have directors write in to contracts is that “if anyone has lied about their skills, knowledge or experience to secure their role in such a way as to endanger the actors, fighters or other crew they will be summarily dismissed from the production AND they will be billed for the time and expense caused to the production”.

One girl turned up two hours late (strike one), was enormously rude to me, demanding I fetch her coffee and a pastry before she would do anything. Now, as a medieval fight choreographer I spend a lot of time in dirty muddy fields so I don’t exactly wear Gucci to set but I also don’t like to see anyone spoken to like that no matter their job (strike two).

The scenes we needed to get this day would involve the actress riding a horse and using a bow and a sword. She’d stated that she’d competed in Equestrian events so we planned to spend the morning getting some “travelling” shots so she and the stunt horse could get aquianted, then the afternoon would be me polishing up her mounted fight skills ready for the following week of action shots. No, this isn’t how I wanted to do it but we didn’t have the budget for weeks of trials and training camps.

Within thirty minutes of getting her on the horse she had wound it up so badly with her total lack of skill and experience that we couldn’t even put the poor thing back in her stall and the owner had to walk her around to try to calm her down.

The actress came roaring up to me screaming and roaring about how the horse was savage and nearly killed her etc, etc. (strike three).

“You’re fired, a bill will be sent to your agent”

That stopped her dead in her tracks and I reminded her what was in the contract she’d signed and had security (who I’d already called over) escort her to wardrobe and off set. Her agent pitched a fit when they saw the bill but they paid and we got the scenes she’d already done reshot by an actress I’m still friends with.

The Cult

What’s a rule your employer implemented that backfired terribly?

I wouldn’t call this a ‘terrible’ backfire; humorous perhaps.

In the 1980s I was working overseas for a US contractor. Over a weekend a 30,000 horsepower gas turbine shut itself down and that plant’s production stopped. The Shift Supervisor called the maintenance shop where I worked. The on-duty tech couldn’t service the turbine. More and more calls were made. It was hours before a qualified tech was located.

‘Monday’ morning, Dave, the Plant Manager issued the edict: he wanted to know where an on-call technician was at all times. We said something about ‘standby pay’, or ‘callout premium’, or issue us a two-way radio or pager. No, no, and no. Not happening. The company felt that by our ‘terms of employment’ they owned us for whatever was needed. We weren’t happy about that.

One senior tech, Bill, said, “No problem. I’ll comply. When I get home at night, I’ll call him to let him know I’m home, and here is my phone number. When I go to the commissary, I’ll call him and tell him I’m leaving now. When I arrive at the commissary, I’ll call him from a pay phone and tell him I’ve arrived. He can call the commissary and have me paged if needed.” Bill was a golfer. On weekends he would report in, telling the manager how to have him contacted if needed.

End of the story, Dave, the Plant Manager, was quickly worn down, and the ‘edict’ faded away.

In retrospect, Dave probably did as was demanded of him, and he possibly had no intention of following through. Hmmm … Malicious compliance, perhaps? On various levels, perhaps? Hmmm …

Truth spit out

What was the strangest way an embezzler was caught?

Friend of mine caught one.

She was the new accountant looking after 4 companies, so spent time in each company. Come to pay review time, she asked the Payroll clerk for a list of annual salaries by name and department. ( straight from payroll software) In the tearoom, one of the admin staff suggested she have a close look at the accounting departments salaries. No reason given, just that “ it might be worthwhile” , and left it at that.

The salary of the payroll clerk was 30% higher then her colleagues. She had the master password for the software, so went in to payroll, and checked the salary history of that individual going back several years. 3 years before there this persons salary had jumped up. She checked with senior colleagues and no one was aware of any reason for a big payrise,

Her and HR interviewed the person, and she denied any wrongdoing, said she had earned the increase. Did a followup after the weekend, and said they were considering inviting the police in to investigate, at which point she confessed and said “I made a mistake on someones salary increase

, and no-one noticed, apart from me The next month , I corrected the wrong one and increased my own by the same amount. If someone had asked I would of said it was a mistake. No one did, so I just carried in with it.”

SHe had been so pleased with herself,and the extra clothes and holidays she could now afford, she had bragged to a colleague, about how clever she had been. Colleague was not impressed, and when the opportunity arose, tipped off my friend.

Piers Morgan Shocked When I Told Him the Truth About China!

Have you ever walked into your house and noticed a sound that you thought was suspicious? What happened?

Not me but my Dad (may he Rest In Peace). Dad had been sitting in a Tank during the Korean War but he had been stationed in Germany. Well, tanks from back in the 1950s did not have the noise suppression systems of the tanks of today and the technologies we have for Hearing Protection were practically non-existent; Dad had severe hearing loss before he ever met Mom.

Some time after their divorce, Dad had finally obtained some really GOOD hearing aids. He got home really tired and was traipsing through his kitchen when suddenly there was an unfamiliar noise. He spun around with his weapon drawn and…almost shot his new refrigerator, which he had never heard kick on before. 😀

EDIT!: Thank you to everybody so much for all the likes!

I am getting a FAQ for this post; here is the answer so I won’t have to spam it in the comments:

After Dad was out of the Army, he went to another service branch and then FINALLY left the Military altogether. But then he became a police officer.

As a Police Officer at the time the incident happened with the refrigerator, he had just gotten off a long shift and had a case of nerves that had not settled yet. Sometimes police are jittery after a long or difficult shift. He walked in his door and had not yet disarmed himself when he heard the fridge kick on for the very first time. He lived alone then, so that weird unfamiliar noise startled him and he reacted like he had been trained to react for his entire adult life. Dad practiced excellent trigger discipline and did not actually FIRE the weapon; he just aimed at the fridge.

Please keep in mind, this was MULTIPLE DECADES ago and where he worked at the time, Police could bring and use their own firearms on-duty, not just their Service pieces that were kept in lockers at the station.

Take it easy, everybody. Dad thought it was funny after it happened, it was told as a funny story, nothing bad happened. No Big Deal because nobody actually got hurt. The ‘danger’ has been in the past since I was a toddler.

I hope this clears things up enough for everybody. 🙂

Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea – Attack! – Best America Scifi TV Series 2024

https://youtu.be/IhIMqQtpX0A

Some Shorpy historical images

Four things

What’s the shadiest tactic you’ve witnessed HR use at your job?

I worked at a grocery store when I was a teenager. Human Resources was called in to interview the employees about a beer and cigarette theft problem.

Before my interview, I saw a co-worker cleaning out his locker. “What happened?” I asked.

“Dude, they got us. They had cameras filming everything we did,” he said. “I just got fired for eating grapes that fell off the vine.”

My turn came and the HR guy said, “You need to confess to everything you have stolen here. Put a dollar amount on the stolen goods and we will set up a payment plan for restitution and avoid your being arrested.”

“I have never stolen,” I said.

“Okay, I am going to give you one more chance. If you are honest, we won’t get the police involved. If you are lying, things are not going to go well,” he said. “Be advised we have video.”

“I have never stolen anything,” I said.

“Call the police,” he said to the manager. “We are going to have to press charges.”

“You are full of it,” I said. “You have nothing.”

“Do you want to see the video?” He asked.

“Yes,” I said. “It doesn’t exist.”

“What makes you say that?” He said. “You seem very confident for someone about to go to jail.”

“I haven’t stolen anything,” I said. “If you had a video of people stealing, you wouldn’t need a confession.”

I think seven people confessed and were fired that day. My friend that ate the grapes put $7 on the amount he had stolen. He was one of the most honest people I worked with.

The ones eating steak cooked on the heat seal of the meat wrapper never confessed to anything. They did not catch the cigarette and beer thieves they were looking for either.

The people that confessed were the honest ones who felt guilty for their petty thefts while the dishonest ones stuck to their guns and confessed to nothing. Brilliant move by HR.

Jiggle Jiggle

Chicago Style Stuffed Pizza

Ingredients

2 (14 inch) soft pizza crusts
6 ounces pepperoni slices
6 ounces Italian sausage
8 ounces mushrooms, sliced
1 green bell pepper, cut into thin strips
1 red onion, cut into thin strips
1 can pizza sauce
8 ounces shredded mozzarella cheese
1 cup ricotta cheese
1/8 cup Italian seasoning
2 cloves garlic
1 teaspoon salt

Instructions

Spray a 12 inch deep-dish pizza pan with vegetable oil.
Place 1 pizza crust in pan and have crust come up sides like a pie.
Add all listed ingredients into pizza pan, adding seasoning to top.
Place second crust on top and use a fork to blend top and bottom crusts together like a pie. Cut off any additional crust.
Bake at 350 degrees F for 45 minutes.

Silent Running (Hidden Gems)

Has there been any case of enemy soldiers showing respect in WW2?

I can’t remember who wrote it, but I’d read a book many years ago about Operation Market Garden. Although some of the British 1st Airborne Division escaped Arnhem, many remained trapped and were captured by the Germans. One of the men who became a POW talked about marching into captivity past German soldiers. The Germans were cheering them saying things like “Good show, Tommy!” The writer said it felt like the winners of a soccer match were consoling the losers after the game. That, of course, didn’t make the defeat any easier to swallow!

Another I’d read about (again, I can’t remember the source) was the US occupation of Japan immediately after the Japanese surrender. As advance American units landed, they headed to Yokohama where their headquarters would be. The Japanese had lined the route with soldiers as guards – all of them had turned their backs to the road. The occupying Americans took that as a sign of disrespect but it was actually the opposite: in Japanese culture, that’s showing the utmost sign of respect.

Pay attention to this

This is real.

https://www.youtube.com/shorts/O4KQmoVi3xM?feature=share

Star Trek:TNG – Data shows off his ultra human strength to primitive aliens(commander ,Data, )

Every day when I leave, my boss says, “Leaving already?” Today I replied, “I did my 8 hours” and he says “Well, you are salaried”. I do my work, don’t use my computer for anything other than work, and also work from home. What’s his deal?

Lovely. A guy still living in 1865 and he thinks we should be slaves to our jobs.

I remember, some time back, where portions of the bridge, out of my neighborhood were flooded out. No cars were getting into my neighborhood and none were leaving and this was the only way out of my neighborhood. I took pictures of this event and sent them to my boss. He came back and stated “So, this is your excuse for not coming into work. Consider yourself fired”.

So, I did and this was on a Friday morning. I started looking for jobs and by Friday evening, I secured a new job that started a week later. On Monday, my prior boss called around 10:30 AM and asked where I was at and I reminded him “Don’t you remember you firing me? You don’t?! Okay, as a former colleague, I am going to let you in on something, lay off on the day drinking. Everyone knows it is not your cologne.” It was an unhidden fact that everyone knew this manager was hitting the sauce, early on in the day, everyday. No one had the ability or courage to say anything and since I was fired… the courage was right there for me.

So accurate

What has your manager asked you to do that you outright refused to do?

I once did maintenance for a guy that was a true slumlord in Gainesville, FL. I was the only one that had a HVAC license in the whole company and he was using my license to buy Freon and to legally evacuate and recycle extracted Freon. The guy was so cheap that he only owned one Freon pump and vacuum pump, he wouldn’t even spend the money to buy a good set of gauges and I just used my own but I refused to bring my pumps and tanks to work because they’re expensive and I knew he wouldn’t replace them. Anyway, I was out on a job that was fairly remote and needed to evacuate system to do repairs, I called and asked if they could send the equipment out to me rather than me having to drive approximately 45 minutes back to the shop. The answer I got was no and that they were using it at another job (keep in mind that I’m the only one licensed to handle Freon) and if I needed it then I could just evacuate the Freon into the air. Well first off, that’s completely illegal and would cost me my license if I was caught, secondly it’s just plain unethical and I refused to do it. I flat refused and was told that if I didn’t want to do that to leave the job and he would send somebody else out to do it. At this point I not only flat refused I quit as soon as I got back to the shop. I then called the EPA and reported him and also made sure to let all the HVAC suppliers in the area know that they were no longer allowed to use my license for refrigerant purchases or anything else.

When he tries to purchase Freon and found out that he could no longer buy it, he completely flipped out and called me cussing me out as it was the middle of summer in the middle of the Florida swampland. He was having to contract the work out to HVAC companies now and they really didn’t like him so they were bending him over big time. Then on top of that he was investigated by the EPA and hit with huge fines. I have no regrets.

Such an American video

What was the most expensive surprise you received in a bill from a doctor or hospital? Did you pay it?

When I was 19 years old, I was going to collage, and working a job at a McDonald’s part-time.

At the time, I didn’t have either health insurance or a PCP.

It was a particularly cold winter, and I was often put in the drive-thru window; so about once every 2–3 weeks I’d end up with a nasty cold. I’d call in sick when this happened, as it’s illegal to work in food service while sick, and I’d typically be find after just a day or two. Sometime’s they’d accept over the phone, sometimes they’d make me come in anyways, before taking one look at me and telling me to go home.

One time when I called back to say I was over the cold, and good to work again, the manager told me I needed to get a doctor’s note before they’d let me go back to work. I explained I didn’t have insurance, or a doctor, they basically said “not my problem.”

So with literally no other option. I went to a hospital’s ER. I walked in, checked in, talked to the triage nurse, explained what was happening, and asked them to just write a note saying I’m good to work.

The triage nurse took my vitals and wrote the note, and I was out of the ER in literally 5 min, never having left the lobby nor seen an actual doctor.

A month later, I got a bill for $500 in the mail from the Hospital. I should mention that I was only making around $300 a month at my part time job, and had no other income.

I’m just about 40 now. It’s been over 20 years since they sent me that bill. I’ve still not paid it.

What’s the rudest thing a waiter ever said to you?

It wasn’t the waiter. It was the bartender. I had taken my two children out for lunch before we went school shopping. We stopped at Applebee’s, and as we were perusing the menu, we ordered our drinks. I ordered a bloody Mary with extra limes, my son ordered a cookie milkshake with extra cookies. I don’t remember what my daughter ordered, but she wanted something extra in her drink as well. The waitress left the table and walked over to the bar to order our drinks. The bartender yelled out extremely loud for the whole restaurant to here, including myself that sure we want to have extra things but don’t want to pay for them. What he didn’t know was I was a waitress at the time and had no problem paying for extras. I was so embarrassed! After that, I walked over to him and let him know I heard everything he had said, and we left the restaurant. Wasn’t too happy about Applebee’s that day. However, the next weekend I took my children there again in hopes for a better experience. We ended up having the same waitress and I told her I was so sorry that we left the prior week After she took her drink orders . She remembered us and has heard about the situation in regards to what the bartender said. She apologized profusely and the manager came over and apologized as well! We ended up getting our dinners free that day with free desserts. Not sure whatever happened to the bartender, but I must say Applebee’s stepped up to the plate! And yes, I left her a big tip!

Some fun with Text to picture

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alchemyrefiner alchemymagic 0 47ab24d8 2971 456e 9ff8 8fde8f9fba2c 0

alchemyrefiner alchemymagic 1 3a49d8de 2c30 46cc b5a4 f07e3e816357 0

Default A gummy cat on a white background 3

Default Suit logo 2

Default Qin Gang as a Ming dynasty warrior standing on dayligh 1(11)

Default Qin Gang as a Ming dynasty warrior standing on dayligh 0(11)

Default Qin Gang as a Ming dynasty warrior standing on dayligh 3(11)

Default Qin Gang as a Ming dynasty warrior standing on dayligh 2(11)

What was the most expensive surprise you received in a bill from a doctor or hospital? Did you pay it?

When I was 19 years old, I was going to collage, and working a job at a McDonald’s part-time.

At the time, I didn’t have either health insurance or a PCP.

The triage nurse took my vitals and wrote the note, and I was out of the ER in literally 5 min, never having left the lobby nor seen an actual doctor.

A month later, I got a bill for $500 in the mail from the Hospital. I should mention that I was only making around $300 a month at my part time job, and had no other income.

I’m just about 40 now. It’s been over 20 years since they sent me that bill. I’ve still not paid it.

What happens if you give two weeks’ notice and they ask you to leave?

I gave3 weeks notice because the estimator I worked with would need time to be trained to cope without me (he was almost computer illiterate). Our boss ALWAYS let everyone work out their notice. He was very easy going like that, except with me. I pissed him off so much when I gave him my notice that he immediately escorted me out of the place like I was a common criminal. LOL

He first sent me in to get my stuff, but then realized that after being there a decade, I had a lot of stuff. My husband worked there also and we often went straight from work to meet clients. I kept clothes, shoes nice boots, work boots, makeup, meds, anything I might need was kept at work. He then came and told my estimator to just bring me home (I had a company vehicle).

“You can come back this weekend to get your stuff. I don’t want you to be embarrassed.”

“I’m not embarrassed.”

Trying to stop the flow

https://www.youtube.com/shorts/Z95fwg6bP9U?feature=share

Have you actually ever heard someone say ‘Do you know who I am?’ indignantly?

A couple of years ago I was in my driveway when I witnessed a young mother and her child walking down our street, being harassed by a young man in his mid-20s. He was following them, getting in her face yelling at her, putting his hands on her and telling her to go back and get in the car. She kept telling him to leave her alone.

I called out to her and asked if she needed a ride somewhere. She and her child (small boy around 5 or 6) turned around and walked back to where I was standing – which pissed the man off. Then he followed them up my driveway and started screaming at me – calling me names and telling me to mind my own business. When I told him he had made it my business – he started posturing and making threats to me, asking loudly “Do you know who I am?”

My reply was “I don’t know who you think you are – but from where I stand, I see a sad little man child who likes to intimidate and harass women and children. Now step off my property before I call the cops. I’m sure they”ll know who you are.”

He took me seriously and stepped into the road- but continued his verbal harassment , even as the woman and her kid climbed into my car and I backed out of my driveway.

Turns out he was her boyfriend, but I never did find out what the argument was about. I offered to take her to the police station – but she didn’t want to go there – so instead I drove her to where she wanted to go (a few miles away.)

I haven’t seen either of them since but I sure as hell hope she got away from that abusive hothead.

14 Psychology Hacks you should know to control any situation

When someone answers your questions partially, wait. Don’t interrupt. Chances are high that they will complete the answer when you say nothing.
When you want to get something from someone, frame it as an offer/opportunity instead of a request. Anyone will be ready to accept an offer/opportunity.
When you meet people, notice their eye color while you smile at them. Don’t mention anything about it. It’s a good way to make sure that you really look them in the eyes.
A person’s name is the sweetest sound in the world to that person. To make a person feel very special, remember and repeat their name.
Have zero expectations when you are first trying something new, it prevents disappointment.
To judge a person’s character, notice the way they treat people – who can’t do anything for them.
After you state your position in a negotiation. Wait for a while. If you continue to speak, you are not speaking in your favour.
Chewing gum while doing nerve-racking things calm your brain.
When you are learning something, teach someone about it. You will remember it easily and explore more in the process of teaching.
Most people’s favourite subject to talk about is themselves. If you don’t know what to talk about, or have awkward silence, just ask them questions.
Emotional expression causes emotion. If you focus yourself to smile, your mood will actually improve.
Stand up straight. It makes you look more confident and you will actually feel more confident.
With kids, frame things in a way that always gives them a choice. It makes them feel like they are in control. For eg., “Do you want to wear red shirt or blue shirt?” Either way, they know it’s time to put on a shirt.
When asking for favors use the word “because”. No matter how simple the reason. The word “because” makes them think it must be okay because there is a reason.

This Is The Best Red Pilled Video You Will Ever See!

Roasted Pepper and Gorgonzola Pizza

roasted pepper1 2 300x225 — roasted pepper1 2 300×225

Ingredients

Pizza

1 Boboli or homemade crust
Garlic Oil Sauce
Mozzarella cheese, grated
Gorgonzola cheese
Roasted red bell pepper strips

Garlic Oil Sauce

1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
4 cloves garlic

Instructions

Pizza

Heat the oven to 450 degrees F. Spray or grease a pizza pan or stone.
Top crust with Garlic Oil Sauce, mozzarella cheese, gorgonzola cheese and bell pepper strips.
Bake on the bottom rack of oven for 8 to 12 minutes or until cheese is melted and crust is piping hot.

Garlic Oil Sauce

Puree olive oil and garlic in blender.

Undercover boss finds out just how evil graduate job applications are

I read about an employer who was telling a guy that nobody wants to work because they've been trying to hire people for months and were getting no takers. 

The man said "My son applied to your business online and got no response". 

Apparently, the software was rejecting all these applicants. The employer had no idea.

What bad experience had you saying “I will never buy from that company or use their service ever again”?

I was in Milwaukee about 3 years ago for training for a job I’d just gotten and the orientation was going to be 2 days so I was put up in my hotel room and I started to get hungry around 5:00 P.M. and while watching TV shows, I went to the website for EatStreet and looked up food places near the hotel in the downtown area and there’s this pizza and gyro delivery restaurant called New York Pizza Delivery and so I ordered a pizza, breadsticks and a soda from them. Went back to watching the TV. They said it would be there by 6:00 P.M. 6:00 P.M. arrived. No food delivery. So I thought I’d give them a margin in case they got delayed somehow which happens occasionally with food deliveries. By 6:30 P.M., still no food. So I called the restaurant, and I said, you know, where’s my food, they told me it’d be here by 6? The guy who answered the phone said it came but the driver couldn’t find me or my room but they’d send it again. So I headed down to the front lobby and asked the clerk if they’d seen the pizza delivery driver and they said they hadn’t. By 8:00 P.M there was still no pizza. So at 8:30 P.M, I called the restaurant again and asked them why my food wasn’t there and they said the driver forgot to drop off my pizza but they’d send him again. Basically I got my pizza a full 4 and a half hours later and it was only slightly warm. Worst customer service I’ve ever had. I’m not ordering through EatStreet again because they blow, too.

Freedom In CHINA Vs AMERICA! (Untold TRUTH)

Would Chinese people voluntarily fight in the Chinese military, are they forced to, or is it more an obligation rather than a desire?

To say volunteer is an understatement. It has become the major regret of some who could not make the cut to serve in the PLA. Each year enrollment into the PLA is selected from a big group of volunteers like around a few hundred thousands, and not all pass the selection process.

I personally have encountered more than 10 individuals who wanted to join the PLA but were rejected. Some of them express a major regret for not being able to join the PLA and wish that they could have contributed in some other way.

At first like most foreigners I was baffled, I could not believe my ears as I’m from Singapore where all young men that are proven to be healthy and fit are required to do national service and the more common idea in Singapore is to try and escape it and go into the workforce as fast as you can. To be frank, I never agree to the idea that one should escape national service and come up with all manners of excuses for it as I’m one of those very on the ball types in the army, but I’m still very very surprise when I got to know how different it is in China. You would be too if you have seen a grown man with tears in his eyes because he was rejected by the PLA. And of course, I was doubtful because he had some beer before those tears appeared. Lol.

But seriously, after staying here for abit and having a relative (my wife’s family) who is in the PLA, you start to understand the kind of glory they put into it. It’s like a perosnal honor, a family honor or even a social honor. It’s even comparable to going to an ivy league University kind of honor if you perform well in the PLA.

But, that’s not to say that it’s simply like a degree where you study for it and you graduated with honors. The PLA has been serving the people rather well, especially in times of natural disaster or even law enforcement. Common example are like disaster relief work after the many earthquakes in western China, but an event that happened in my wife hometown like 25 years ago was rather closer to me. An organised crime family setup base in her hometown at that time. Crime was rampant, prositution, loan sharks, drugs, murder, etc, were an everyday event. The local police at that time was weak and from what I understand also corrupted, thus unwilling to flush them out. So when a new mayor with PLA background was posted to her hometown, things started to change. He at first tried to form his own town watch and policing units, but were not very sucessful due to the strongarm methods of the crime family. In fact it became worse when the crime family resisted and tried to assasinate him. Understanding the dire situation (maybe also for his own life), he made some calls to his connections in the CCP and PLA, and within 2 days the PLA send down troops to flush out the crime family and the corrupted police officers. It was like a brand new place overnight.

Well other than from my wife and her family, I heard this from many others living there that it’s true. I stand by the story since my wife’s uncle happens to be one of the PLA soldiers who was send down to flush out the crime family and as a homegrown hero, he got the banners with words like 人民子弟兵典范，人民英雄，sent as gifts by the locals to my mother-in-law house. They are now in his own house after he left the PLA and he choose to retire in the countryside. Even now, when he goes visit my mother-in-law, he is still remembered by the older folks as one of the PLA who rescued the town from unimaginable crime. His son now is also in the PLA and is very proud to be serving even as a small platoon leader.

As far as I know, there are many stories like that about the PLA soldiers, from rescuing a village cow stuck in a mine field near the border, to saving the suicidal from drowning themselves when off duty. Maybe it’s because I look out for such news because I believe in the good of man, but I think the general citizens have a very good impression of most PLA soldiers.

Thus given the very different environment and expectations of the PLA, I think now I understand the honors that comes with joining them. I sometimes do wish that Singaporeans would give the same credits to our SAF, but in the end, respect is earned over time and it would be up to the SAF to prove themselves to Singaporeans.

Mike Oldfield – Tubular Bells Full Album

Takes me back…

NearLink

This is the first time I’ve heard of NearLink. Have you guys heard of this?

Transmission Range:

Bluetooth – 10 m
Wi-Fi – 300 m
NearLink – 600 m

Transmission Rate:

Bluetooth – 50 Mbps
Wi-Fi – 500 Mbps
NearLink – 900 Mbps

Latency:

Bluetooth – 15-30 ms
Wi-Fi – 100 ms
NearLink – 20 μs

Microseconds?! Fucking, eh?

Connectable Devices:

Bluetooth – 8
Wi-Fi – 256
NearLink – 4,096

This technology is taking off like a rocket, it appears.

Incredible

What is the best excuse you have given to the police for speeding?

I was headed to the doctors office (running late of course) with my two young children, both of whom had ear infections and were screaming/crying in their car seats. Because they’d been sick I’d gotten about 6 hrs of sleep in the past two days.

I’d rolled down my window before the officer got to the car and I was busy trying to shush the kids while grabbing my license etc. When he got to the window his first question was why I was in such a hurry? I explained to him the info above and the Dr office would charge me extra if I didn’t get there soon and I just couldn’t afford extra on top of the appointment and the meds I knew I was going to need to buy.

The whole time we’re talking the kids are still screaming!!! He walks away to check my info and I lean over the seat to again try to comfort my kids. He comes back and says everything checked out fine and He was just going to give me a warning this time. He then said that he’s a father so completely understands what I’m dealing with; but Please slow down, the roads are icy, he can see that my tires are bald and he’d hate for us to get into an accident. He then gave me a card with the name of a tire shop and said to call them, saying that officer XXXX sent me and they would help me get new tires.

After the appointment I figured, what the heck; it can’t hurt to try the shop. They asked me to come in and quoted me a very reasonable price for 4 new tires, asked if I could put $25 down and then I could pay the rest at $25 a month. I agreed because I really did need new tires.

When the first bill came in the mail it said “Paid in Full”. I thought there was a mistake and called the place; the lady on the phone explained to me that the owner of the shop and the Officer were brothers and they did this for those that they felt needed the help. Best traffic stop I’ve ever had!!!

Man – Eater Of Kumaon 1948

A old vintage movie. Get your mind off stuff.

Check the characters before buying the poison

Over Chinese New Year, I (and my family) went up North to Wenzhou to spend a week with relatives.

There, we did the typical orgy of food, food, and more food in these large lavish mega-meals, and drank and drank and drank… hard, hard, hard (and expensive) alcohol.

“White Wine”

One of the drinks wasn’t all that expensive.

I mean, I am drinking the really good, and the really expensive stuff. But here, I found a reasonable drink that wasn’t expensive at all.

And when I mean expensive, I am talking about 10,000 RMB a bottle, this one was only a mere 100 RMB.

And It tasted all right, so I liked it.

I stuff I drank was good.

Smooth to drink. Not too hard on the gullet, and the next day you feel totally normal.

So, when we went back home to Zhuhai, I went to a local “mom and pop” grocery store and found the bottle. Bought it.

Later on the week, I drank some.

Yuck!

*Spit all over the monitor*

Gosh! It was like drinking gravel. Horrible stuff.

Ta Ma Da Guo Shi!

(Fucking Dog Shit)

But I paid for it, and so I drank it all.

*sigh*

…

A few weeks later, I was talking to my Chief Engineer about this event. And he wanted to see a picture of the stuff, so my wife took a wechat and they conversed…. and sure as shit. The stuff was fake.

Now…

The bottle and everything seemingly was identical to the real stuff that I drank in Wenzhou.

But one character was slightly changed. A minor change. I didn’t notice.

In Chinese, one line in a character can make a HUGE difference in meaning.

That one “cheat” really pissed me off.

But there’s many others….

In total forty-seven suspects have been arrested over a sham Moutai and Wuliangye baijiu scam, Thirty staff members from local bars and hotels were also involved. Said Shanghai police.

The hotel and bar workers collected empty baijiu bottles from their customers and passed them on to the other gang members who refilled them with cheap, inferior liquor. If the baijiu the gang had sold had been genuine it is estimated it would have been worth over sixty million yuan or eight point five million U.S. Dollars.

The police in Songjiang district said the investigation started in may, after solving a related case also involving fake baijiu. The fakes in the initial case came from the same source and the packaging resembled genuine bottles.

Police confirmed that the fake baijiu was produced in Shanghai, and the lead suspect in the case had even opened a shop to sell the bogus spirit.

The suspects were caught in locations throughout Shanghai between August and October. The police found two thousand three hundred full bottles of bogus baijiu as well as eight hundred empty bottles.

Eight of the suspects have been arrested for allegedly infringing registered brands, nine more are under detention and thirty others have been bailed.

I’ll tell you what!

I’ll never drink that gravel ever again. it’s horrible stuff.

Poison really.

Check the characters before buying the poison.

Today…

Pineapple Brown Sugar Ham

This is one of my favorite ways to prepare a spiral ham. It is SO delicious!

brown sugar pinepple glazed ham recipe 7 of 8 edited 1

Ingredients

1 pre-cooked spiral ham, bone-in or boneless, either will work
3 1/2 cups brown sugar, divided use
1/2 cup honey
1 (20 ounce) can pineapple tidbits, undrained*

Instructions

Cover the bottom of a large slow cooker with 2 cups brown sugar.
Place ham on top of the brown sugar, opening the slices slightly with your fingers.
Evenly pour the honey over the ham.
Add the pineapple around the sides (with the juice) and some on top.
Top with the remaining 1 1/2 cups brown sugar, making sure it is evenly distributed over the entire top of the ham.
Cover and cook on LOW for 3 1/2 to 4 hours.

Notes

* I chop these up a little more if they are large.

Gun owners who have defensively shot someone; what happened and what was the aftermath of the situation?

I once woke up to the sound of my apartment door being forced open and was greeted by two gang-bangers, each about twice my size and with that crazed look of someone high on something or another. Thankfully, my loaded Beretta was on my nightstand, because there was no way I’d ever fight these two off.

I wish I could say that I dispatched them with a single shot as in some of the other answers, but in the emotion of the moment, I did what I was taught and just kept pulling the trigger until the threat stopped. I fired 15 shots, and I later found out that 8 hit their target and the thug closest to me died right at the foot of my bed.

I don’t recall specifically aiming at him, but it seemed that one of my strays managed to catch his accomplice in the back of the shoulder – he had the good sense to run.

The fellow that was killed had a long criminal history that included gang activity, assault of a police officer and sexual assault charges. He carried a bag with a roll of duct tape and about four feet of chain, and on his person he had a switchblade, some meth and a .22 revolver in his pants that he thankfully didn’t get the chance to use.

The fellow that ran was later tracked down in a local hospital, arrested and released on bail. He hasn’t been seen since, so far as I know. He was linked to the crime because the machete he dropped inside my door had his fingerprints and blood on it.

The thing most don’t realize is that the shooting was just the beginning of a special kind of hell that had my life upside down for a long time.

My apartment went from being my home to being a crime scene, and it took me weeks to get back in. As you might imagine, it was a mess, and to top it all off, my landlord evicted me, keeping my security deposit to help pay for some of the damage to my apartment. At that stage of my life, I didn’t have a lot of money, so day to day life became really difficult…on top of everything else, I had to find a second job to deal with the extra expenses.

Even though these were some really bad dudes, I felt that detectives were somehow searching for a reason to charge me with some sort of crime, and their investigation seemed to drag on for several months before I was finally cleared of all wrongdoing. I was called in for questioning at least five times, repeating my story over and over again. The day I was exonerated, I left the state and haven’t looked back.

The family of the deceased hired an attorney and tried to sue me in civil court for the wrongful death of their relative. They had no chance, but it did add up to more attorney fees, more depositions, more living in limbo not knowing what would come next.

Overall, it was the worst time of my life. On top of all the other expenses, my attorney took every cent of my savings I had put away (which wasn’t much!).

Intellectually, I know I killed a seriously bad guy, but he was just a faceless stranger to me. Taking a human life is a hard thing to live with, and I was in therapy for quite a while to deal with it. For years, I suffered with insomnia, and when I could sleep, I’d often wake up covered in sweat and screaming for help.

Add to this the fear that comes with living through an event like this. I lived in constant fear that either that second thug would hunt me down, or someone else in their gang would. Clearly, I wasn’t that hard to find…for a while, one of the deceased’s family members were sending me photos of his two-year old little girl with captions like “you made her an orphan”.

I can imagine no greater nightmare, except the one that would have resulted if I hadn’t been able to defend myself that night.

EDIT: Just wanted to clarify that I’m a woman, and I was a single twenty-something girl when this happened. Even though it was a long time ago, I still feel uncomfortable sharing too many details, but when I answered anonymously, I realized people wouldn’t have the complete picture.

EDIT2:

Never expected my story to be so widely shared…wanted to clarify a few small things I read in some of the comments.

First, I didn’t mean to disparage the police and I’m sorry if my story comes off that way…I have a few relatives in law enforcement, and I generally have nothing but respect for cops. I’ve never really had any encounters with the police beyond getting a traffic ticket, so it was a shock to be called in on five separate occasions for questioning. I guess it also bothered me that at a time when I was struggling to make ends meet, every questioning meant I had to pay my lawyer a little more…I had so many better uses for the $500 each of these appearances ended up costing me, and it was frustrating that I couldn’t get any answers out of the police – even simple things like “am I in any trouble?”.

The city where this occurred was also not the most efficient in terms of administration and a lot of my issues were more with the bureaucracy rather than the individual detectives. More than once, my lawyer would try to get various police reports and other data we were entitled to, and it would usually take multiple requests before we’d even get a response out of them. This definitely made it seem that they were dragging their heels and not being forthcoming with me – and of course, there was the issue that every time they didn’t respond, the meter on my attorney ticked up again. All this together definitely made me feel more like a suspect than a victim.

Next, I noticed a batch of comments by an outspoken individual that seems to think my story is fiction. Fine – I don’t really care what this person or anyone else thinks, and for those of you that need to cling to the belief things like this don’t happen, be my guest.

I’m totally thankful for most of the kind words otherwise, and grateful to those that stood up to the naysayer on my behalf. Perhaps chivalry isn’t dead afterall… 🙂

I freely admit that I leave out a good many details about the shooting – that’s intentional, as there’s only so much I can share comfortably. There are plenty of other details that I’ll probably never be able to discuss, even anonymously. Maybe someday I’ll meet my Lancelot and be able to open up to him, but even that’s doubtful.

Understand I don’t share my story for pity, but mainly because it’s therapeutic for me. It’s been several years and to this day, one of my remaining issues is that I can’t talk about it in detail face to face with anyone – not even my parents and those that would be completely understanding and supportive. In therapy, I used to have to write out my thoughts and feelings to share them with the therapist because there are certain things I just can’t verbalize…I see it in my head in vivid detail, but my mouth opens and words just don’t come out. That’s the degree of trauma that’s involved.

Instead, I write anonymously in the hope that sharing my story eventually eases the scars…if others get anything out of hearing it, great.

Last point I wanted to share is that I’m in a much better place today than before. I live in a low-crime, gun-friendly state now, and most of my money issues are behind me…in a way, the shooting caused me to bury myself in my career, and the reward for that is that I’m enjoying a comfortable life now.

One other thing that helped me was immersing myself in physical activity. I run 30 miles a week, I’ve taken a lot of self-defense and martial arts training, and my shooting skills have improved tremendously from my regular range time. I’m still single except for a pair of Bullmastiffs that are my constant companions and the loves of my life, and when I think back to my nightmare, I believe I’ve come further than I thought possible.

Was Donald Trump a more likeable person in his younger years?

I met him several times in his late 30s and early 40s. He was “not” likable then.

I was an Eastern Air Lines pilot who mostly flew the Eastern Shuttle between Washington and New York. Over the years, that service carried just about everyone famous you could name.

No matter how “big” they were, with only two exceptions, they all came on board just like regular people, took their seats, asked nothing of us, said little (other than niceties), and then left.

One of those exceptions was Trump, who swooped into the cabin as if everyone who laid eyes on him would relish the rest of their lives being able to say they saw him in person.

There were lots of eye rolls because probably half the people on any given flight were well-off New Yorkers who knew all about him.

He wanted to know where to sit as if there was some special seat for people as magnificent as him.

The flight attendants were always nice, but I wanted them to say, “Well, how about those two seats in the seventh row? Gerald Ford and Henry Kissinger sat there on the way up.” Or maybe, “How about that seat in the fifth row? Ronald Reagan sat in it two days ago. Or over there, fourth row, Robert Redford sat there this morning. None of them made a show of it, you pompous jerk. Just sit down, shut up, and keep your feet off the seat.”

But his schtick worked for him because a good con man can always dupe a huge percentage of people.

It’s been deeply disheartening to learn that about 40% of my fellow citizens are so gullible. Or just stupid.

If his rabid supporters met Trump in any regular context—like if he were a new hire at their company or a new neighbor—they would hate him. They would laugh him right out of the room and cheer when he left.

He’s a good con man.

My coworker treats me indifferently but speaks highly and good about me to others, what does it mean?

This could have been me nearly 50 years ago! LOL I worked with a woman who, although she wasn’t my boss or supervisor knew everything there was to know about our department. She was bossy and demanding. And when she asked you to do something it always sounded like an order. My favorite days to work were her days off and on Tues morning when she didn’t start until noon.

I was in the break room 1 day along with 2 older women (my nemesis’ age) from the department across from ours. One of them said something about how much Peggy loved me.

I corrected them about their misunderstanding.

They both declared that I was completely mistaken. She ranted about how wonderful I was, what a hard worker, willing learn, willing to dust and clean and do the yucky stuff and good with the customers.

I was stunned. Then I began to pay attention to how Peggy spoke to other people. Our boss. Our boss’ boss. Her customers who absolutely adored her – she spoke to them all exactly as she spoke to me. Once I noticed that, our relationship completely changed. I loved working with and learning from her.

I took a job in another country, then married and moved to another. Came back with my husband and after nearly 10 years went back to work in the same department. Peggy was still there. I worked there for a couple of years and in that time, not a day went by that she didn’t say to me, “Dear, it’s so nice to have you back.”

I know my story is the exception and not the rule, but sometimes we can take offense were none was meant to be given.

What happened at a Christmas gathering or dinner that made you say, “You gotta be kidding me?”

My mother, husband, and I combined households many years ago, and we all lived together until her death. We would trade off hosting family holiday dinners with my aunt and uncle who live nearby. When this happened, which was many, many years ago, my cousin, his wife, and their child lived with my aunt and uncle, so we always celebrated holidays together.

One year at a holiday dinner at our house—Thanksgiving, I think—we also invited one of my best friends and his family: a wife, and three children, the youngest a baby, and the oldest a seven-year-old girl.

During dinner, my aunt asked the seven-year-old girl what she had been doing of late that she thought was fun. She was extremely enthusiastic about the Harry Potter series and the entire world in the books, and explained the newest book had been released recently, and she was reading it at night with her father.

She began to say something else when my cousin’s wife, an Evangelical Christian, cut her off.

She began lecturing her loudly and cruelly about the world of Harry Potter, the evils of witchcraft, and even told her she was a bad girl, with bad parents, for even opening one of the books. (My mom, husband, and I were all following the series, as well. We’d all read the newest volume she was talking about because, well, adults read a lot faster than a seven year old.) We were also giving her less than loving looks.

My aunt politely silenced her daughter-in-law and reminded her the question had been addressed to the little girl, then said, “We can discuss your feelings about Harry Potter another time, at home.”

She asked the girl to continue. Before she could get a full sentence out, my cousin’s wife again jumped in and began lecturing the child about what she was reading.

She also called out her parents, and began insulting their judgment and their parenting skills.

That time, my mother stopped her with a simple, “That’s enough. Someone else is speaking, and you are out of line.”

The seven year old was clearly growing distressed.

She was simply trying to explain why she liked Harry Potter, and an adult was being terrible to her.

We were all certain my cousin’s wife would finally be quiet, and encouraged the child to finish her thought. Again, an interruption from my cousin’s wife, followed by an “ouch! why did you kick me?” because my cousin had kicked her under the table when he saw she was going to open her mouth.

She spoke anyway, lecturing all of us, and then finished her comments by turning to the seven year old and saying, “And you are going to Hell.”

That, of course, tipped the scales, and my friend’s little girl began to cry.

My cousin’s wife got up to go get something from the room where the food was laid out, and I followed her. I’d grown angry at the second interruption, but had tried my best to hang on to a bit of calm because I was a hostess, too. I’d had it, though. I was beyond furious.

I followed her into the other room, and told her she wouldn’t say another word about it, or I’d have to tell her to leave—she was completely out of line with her comments, her lecturing, and especially with driving a young girl to tears. She looked at me for a moment, then said, “You don’t have the nerve, and your Mom won’t put up with it.” I said, “Go ahead and try me.”

If she said anything else at all that night, aside from which kind of pie she wanted, I don’t remember it at all.

The Sopranos – Tony Soprano extorts Ralph Cifaretto

A story

My dad was in a biker gang and my mom worked in bars my whole life. One day, my father stumbled into the bar that my mom was working in at the time. He and his Nomad brothers parked their bikes on the sidewalk in front of the establishment. My mother came out and told him if he didn’t move the bikes off the sidewalk, she would run them over with her car. They didn’t move them. She kept her word. My mother was a lot of things, but dishonest was not one of them. The bikes fell over like dominoes.

Instead of my father killing her, which was very much a possibility, he decided that he would date her instead. She became pregnant almost immediately. They got married when she was six months knocked-up and right around that time was when she found out that he was a heroin addict. Three months later, I came screaming into the world.

Soon after my birth, my father had a stroke. Against all odds, the paralyzed side of his body recovered and he had feeling in his left side again. To celebrate, he shot enough heroin and cocaine to have another stroke. This time it took out the whole left side of his body for good.

main qimg 85d98b21e6f56650845615c22ba346ec

One day, he got high and made the decision that he was going to kill me. I was six months old and he put the knife up to my throat while I was in my crib. My mother stopped him and that was the day that we left for good. My mom’s next boyfriend molested me for three consecutive years. When I was eight, I finally got brave enough to speak up. We moved on, again. A different town. A new bar for my mom to work in. A new man. Rinse. Repeat.

I had my first drink at twelve and it was all downhill from there. It quickly went from pot and LSD to robbing my mother so I could buy drugs for all of my friends. I was arrested in ninth grade for selling pot in my school. After I made it through that, I was arrested again in eleventh grade – for selling pot in my school.

At 20 years old, I found crack cocaine. I was issued a settlement for $20,000 and proceeded to spend it all on crack in three months. You don’t really consider fiscal responsibility when you are smoking cocaine and baking soda. This cycle continued until I was 85 pounds, homeless, broke, and had nothing to offer anyone. Especially myself. I was broken and I didn’t want to live like this any longer. I was becoming my dad. I asked the universe or whatever for help.

With the help of god, I got sober. I still think it was a miracle. And speaking of my dad, I ended up forgiving him for his mistakes. I cared for him. I was the only one there for him in the last years of his life when he was bed ridden. I did everything that I could to make him feel loved and not judged until the day that he passed. I know that sounds crazy, but how could I expect anyone to forgive me if I couldn’t forgive him?

Today, I have been sober since 2006. I have an amazing husband and perfect children. I own a successful business which involves helping healthy people thrive. I am so grateful for who I am today – and it all happened because I decided to forgive. Forgive others. And forgive myself.

We DO recover!

Have you ever had to tell an employee that their attire was inappropriate?

Not me, but the manager at the bank I worked for. We had a customer who was the employee of a local surf shop. She would come in once or twice a week to do the shop’s banking. As you can imagine, she dressed in surfie girl clothing, which was quite appropriate for where she worked. She once asked me if I liked my job, was the pay good etc etc, and said she had always wanted to work in a bank. Long story short, she applied and got a job at our branch. On her first day, she came in dressed in the same attire as she wore to the surf shop….short little skirt, fairly skimpy top with bare midriff, and sandals. The manager had to tell her that it was not exactly appropriate for a bank, and to look around at the staff and wear something similar to everyone else, until her new uniform arrived (supplied free by the bank) The next day she was the model of decorum, and went on to be a great employee.

What happened at a Thanksgiving dinner that made you say, “You gotta be kidding me?”

I am from a longline of southern cooks. One of my first memories, is standing on a chair with a wooden spoon stirring cornbread batter. My husbands family does not share this skill. My mother in law is lovely and an amazing women. She is charming, beautiful, kind, extremely health conscious but a lousy cook. My husband swears , he and his siblings were raised on wheat germ and bean sprouts. Cooking was truly of no interest to my mother in law. She knows nothing about cooking above the very basics. The first Holidays after our marriage, I hosted the Thanksgiving meal. I was so excited because I love to cook. A few days before the big day, my mother in law called to say she would like to bring the Turkey. I assured her that wouldn’t be necessary but she insisted. I agreed. When I told my husband, he laughed and said that I better have a back up plan. His mother had good intentions but turkey was not in her Wheelhouse. Anxiety got the best of me. I put a Turkey in my outdoor smoker the night before on the pretense that it could be used for sandwiches the following week. Thanksgiving day, a hour and a half before the meal, my husbands family showed up with Turkey in tow. It was still in the wrapper and totally raw. My mother in law said she came a little early so the 20 lb Turkey would have time to roast. My husband was all grins. I thanked her kindly, praised her on the size of the Turkey and took it into the kitchen. A hour and a half later, I served a beautiful smoked Turkey to my guest. No one even picked up on the fact that the Turkey was smoked instead of roasted except MY mom. Thankfully she said nothing until we were alone. The sad thing is my daughter has the cooking skill of my mother in law. But thankfully, she also has her loving kind heart and that outweighs cooking any day!

Success

When have you cheaply or inexpensively fixed an item someone thought unrepairable?

It was around 2009 when our flat screen TV began to require several tries before it would turn on. You knew it was finally going to turn on when you heard the “ka-blink” sound. Finally, one day it would not turn on at all. My wife confidently said, “You can fix anything. Can you fix the TV?””. I expressed my skepticism as my electronic expertise and experience were very limited. But I also didn’t want to just give up despite my prejudice that modern TVs were not ” fixable”. My guess was that the power supply had failed so I began a Google search for how to replace the power supply on a Samsung TV. I found an article titled something to the effect of ” I don’t know much about electronics but this worked for me”. Seemed like a good place to start.

The article was excellent with a description and photos of the capacitors that can fail. If they are swollen or leaking, replace them. Removing the capacitors was the main technical challenge but the article described the entwined copper wire yarn that draws out the solder as you melt it. The real challenge was finding replacement capacitors. Only one store in metro Atlanta had them. Took two days to find the store. I needed 3 but bought several extras for a total of somthing like $8. The guy at the store said, “ Nobody fixes anything anymore.””

Installing was fairly straightforward soldering. Tried to be careful to not overheat anything. It helps your confidence when you consider the TV was dead and most people would have just tossed it. Anyway, the moment of truth came. Pressed the ” On” button on the remote and (after an anxious delay) ” ka-blink”!! I felt like Tom Hanks when he declared ” I have made fire! “. I basked in my wife’s admiration for the rest of the day. The TV still works and I still have the extra capacitors, just in case.

I wish I could cite and thank the person who took the time and effort to post the fix. It was excellent.

A Miracle

My sister fell from the 4th floor when I was 16 years old and fought for her life for two whole years.

When you fall from such a height, it’s most often not the impact that kills you.

It’s the fall.

Most people falling from such a height, faint before impact – and they fall on their back.

Their spine breaks, ruptures, and is torn to shreds and most of them die or are paralyzed their entire lives.

But, my Didi, was awake through the fall.

She fell on her legs.

Later doctors told us that, that was the only reason she’d survived.

On impact, her right leg, which bore the maximum impact, was torn to bloody shreds.

Her right foot had an entire piece fall off from where it was attached.

When I saw her – the white sheet that covers patients was red with blood.

I saw bone where flesh was supposed to be.

When I saw the X ray for the first time, I couldn’t help but hopelessly cry.

Part of her hip bone was just bone dust.

Literally! Literally bone dust where bone should be.

This further complicated her surgery when she was admitted to the ICU.

Bone fragments could have ruptured her blood vessels – or so the doctors said.

Forget walking ever, doctors told us she had a ten percent chance of survival.

My Didi spent two years in the hospital and missed her board exams (12th) that year.

Next year, carried on a stretcher, she was ferried from the hospital in an ambulance and she sat for her 12th boards.

That year – she scored 92 in her boards with a 94 in Physics and Maths.

Her school awarded her an Exceptional Student award and gifted her a phone and a certificate for her achievements.

Today, she has two degrees to her name.

One in Physics and another in Hotel Management.

She’s preparing for a third degree – an MBA this year.

Today, she’s working for a subsidiary of Google in Hyderabad, all alone in a different city.

The limp is still visible, but barely.

Inspiration?

This word doesn’t even begin to explain what I feel when I look at her.

She’s a living, breathing miracle.

Literally — a living, breathing miracle.

Star Trek : TNG – Data : Computer, Begin Scan Phase

Have you ever chosen to dispute a traffic ticket in court? What was the outcome?

Yes, I won and the “arresting officers” were publicly reamed a new one by the judge; seems the judge would not accept “just following orders” as an excuse for the revenue trap they were staffing.

I was pulled over for running a stop sign on a street which I drove daily. I saw the police car at the intersection and drove right past them without even slowing down.

I freely admitted to the officers that I must have run the stop sign at the intersection in question BECAUSE there was no stop sign at that corner.

After signing my ticket, I drove passed them again – taking photos as I approached. It turned out there WAS a new stop sign at that corner – installed the day before on a post roughly 12 feet tall which cleverly concealed the stop sign behind a tree branch.

In order to see the sign one had to be just about even with it and looking up and to the right at about a 45 degree angle. My photos showed the approach from about 1 block away, 1/2 block, 1/4 block, and finally alongside of the sign – it was clear from my photos what the situation was. It was a nice touch that the City Police car was back in ambush position by the time I was taking photos AND one of the A-HOLE cops was looking directly at me in the third photo! The judge really loved that detail!

I arrived in Court; my case was called; I entered a plea of “Not Guilty” while simultaneously admitting I had passed the stop sign in question without even slowing down, let alone stopping.

This piqued the judge’s interest and he seemed amused when I asked if I could approach the bench to show him some photographs of the intersection and stop sign in question.

1st photo – Do you see a stop sign? – NO.

2nd photo – Do you see a stop sign? – NO.

3rd photo – What about now? – NO! What is your point?

Do you see the City Police car with that officer in it? (Me pointing to the City cop who is beginning to look worried). YES!

4th photo – Do you see a stop sign now? What up in that tree? Me: Yes, that’s the one!!

Gavel slams down – CASE DISMISSED!

The two cops get up to leave..

Judge: NOT SO FAST YOU TWO!

I stuck around to hear what was said – the judge was not kind and did not entertain any of the BS excuses they offered. He demanded a list of all citations written at that intersection and instructed the officers to clear every one of them, any fines already collected were to be refunded out of PD funds and then issued a summons for the commanding officer who ordered these two to stake out the intersection (I’ll bet that was interesting!) Further, that sign was to be lowered before the end of the day; the cops balked at that one saying they had no control over the Department of Public Works – the judge told them he did not care who lowered it, but it was to be lowered by the time he left for home that day – he would be checking!

It was.

What happened at a Christmas gathering or dinner that made you say, “You gotta be kidding me?”

My favorite family story.

I am an only child, and my parents were a challenge. They did not get easier, as they got older. My family (me, the husband and two sons) lived about 2 and a half hours away and would always go home for Christmas, usually bringing food, since there was no guarantee that there would be anything in the house to eat, and all restaurants are closed on Christmas (my parents survived on black coffee, white toast and McDonalds, and surprisingly, it had no effect on their longevity).

One year, my mother insisted that, instead of my cooking, we should all go to the Legion Hall to the ‘friends’ dinner, for the old, lonely and homeless.

Well, technically, we weren’t lonely, we were together. And they could have as much food as they wanted, since I was willing to bring it. But Mom wanted to go to this meal, and I wasn’t going to deny her what she wanted on Christmas day.

So, off we all go to the Legion. Mom sees someone she knows and sits down with them. My father follows, sitting down with her. She totally ignores the fact that there is no room for the rest of us to sit with her. Dad gives me a shrug, but doesn’t say anything (because, in my family, this is just Mom being Mom and we roll with it).

My family grabs a four top by the bar and we eat our meals rolling our eyes and shaking our heads.

There was an empty seat on the table by my Mom. A reporter for the local newspaper takes it and interviews her. The next day, she is on the front page of the local paper complete with photograph, announcing that the people that put on these meals for those who need them are “angels.”

Apparently, though it did not make it to the paper, (THANK GOD) she also told the reporter all about her daughter “the famous author” (I’ve written a bunch of books and she was really proud). But anyone who knew her knew that story already. She did not bother to mention that I was in the room with them at the time.

And that is how the entire town learned that I had abandoned my mother and made her eat alone at the Legion on Christmas.

More experiments in text to picture

Some of my work. A comic theme.

What was the strangest way an embezzler was caught?

Had a friend who decided to purchase a small gift shop in Western Washington to add to the several they already owned near Tacoma. This one was a bit farther away from their home, so they would have less of a day to day contact with the location. The former owner had recommended the retain the manager that worked for them for many years, and so they did. They were very happy with this decision, and for a couple of years this manager would not only run the store on a daily basis, but come in on vacations and days off and do the books, payroll, stock ordering etc.

Problem? This store, even though it was in a more rural location, less rent, lower pay all around, was still not as profitable as they thought it should be.

How did they uncover the problem? The manager had a grandbaby born in Seattle, and she decided to spend a couple of weeks with them to help out.

Old school cash registers would have what we would call a “z” tape that would total up transactions at the end of the day (and subtotals whenever you wanted one throughout the day) to tell you what sold, amount of cash, checks, charge cards, refunds, etc. In theory, every day one would take that tape and balance the amount of receipts against what was in the till.

Problem? My friend could not get the tape to balance against receipts by the method that had been used to balance as proscribed by the manager. There was too much money every day. It turns out here in Washington, we have a Sales tax of about 9.7%. The manager would use the PRE TAX amount on the Z tape to balance the daily amounts, and keep the tax amount.

So, for 3 years my friend owned the store, the manager had pocketed that amount of cash every day, and probably for many years back. They store was grossing about $600k a year at that time, so she pocketed about $54k a year cash as well as her salary.

And if you know about these kind of stories, often the owners do not want to have publicity in this kind of situation. So instead of having the sheriff charge in this case, they actually caught her taking items from the the store (a baby album!) and cited that as reason for termination. But then they showed her the rest of what she knew, and they ended up getting a partial restitution.

Lesson? If you have a manager of staff member that does not take time off, be suspicious.

AND: you have to make sure that IRS records are correct, or you are liable for the additional taxes.

Hope this answers the question,

Rick Olson

JFK Files

What led to the decline of the Ottoman Empire?

Money, money, money (always sunny, in a rich man’s world)

I was at a wedding this summer when I asked a friend of mine, who is a history professor specializing in 18th century Ottoman history, why he believed that the Ottomans would start suffering from major issues in the 19th century. (The word ‘decline’ is, for some reasons I’ll try to go into, not necessarily true for the 18th century).

He, of course in the traditional academic manner, said that careers could be made studying even a minor area of the subject and to be wary of teleological explanations, and the usual jazz.

So, I rephrased and asked him, “If you had a time machine to take you to the beginning of the 18th century, what would you have done differently, assuming you wanted the Ottomans to have survived?”

He thought for a while and answered, “If we have the technology for time travel, I’m going to assume that we would have the technology for bringing others with us as well.”

“Sure”.

“Then, I’d bring with me around fifty German and Swiss accountants to take charge of Ottoman finances.”

“Not Turkish ones?”

“Better safe than sorry.”

“So you would not have found a clever way of killing off the unruly Janissaries, like Peter the Great did with his unruly soldiers?”

“The Janissaries were not the problem. They were not necessarily bad soldiers. They were cheap soldiers and they suffered from low morale. And because they were paid so little, most of them ended up doing other jobs as well.”

So there’s the rub – the unruly Janissaries were not the problem. They were the symptom of the problem which was money.

Indeed, most of the other (quick and easy) explanations don’t really hold water or go to the heart of the matter: for example, technological lag. Hold on to your hats because I am about to blow your minds but the Ottomans, at no point in their history, had a significant technological handicap compared to their European neighbors. This was especially true for the 18th Century. First, speaking of military technologies:

The Ottomans had the same military technologies as their European counterparts. The story of the Ottomans’ “massive (anachronistic) bombards” is just a story. Whether it be the caliber of the guns, their metallurgy or the mixture ratio for gunpowder, the Ottomans had no major differences with most of their European contemporaries.
The military technology between 1600 and the Napoleonic Wars did not have major leaps that the Ottomans could be left behind in. Ottomans employed many European experts, not just in the 18th century, but throughout their entire history. (Orban and his famous guns, anyone?)
Well into the 19th century, weaponry continued to be produced with traditional (i.e. artisanship) methods instead of mass production across Europe. Ottomans had begun their military defeats before the 1850s, so the proliferation of mass produced weapons (which they ended up buying in the 19th and early 20th centuries anyway) could not be a factor in their earlier defeats.

For the rest of their “technology”, we can give the example of Russia, which remained mostly agrarian until the second half of the 19th century. Further, even after the freeing of the serfs, their industrialization was slow, which led to major problems in the First World War. They also had a low literacy rate. Yet, along with England, they were the major Great Power for most of the 19th Century. One thing that Russia had was a large population (although China, with a large population, did not fare so well), but other than that, their main difference with the Ottomans was their centralized and bureaucratized state apparatus.

The “nationalism” of minorities itself was an issue tied to money. Again, contrary to the general narrative, the “millet” system was not a thing de jure until the 19th, and de facto until the middle of the 18th Century and was born of the economic issues of the Empire. How so? Tax farming under the ayans became a major source of revenue in the 18th Century. In this system, the government would auction the right to collect taxes for a lump sum in Istanbul. Important figures such as ministers, princesses, harem women, would buy such privileges. Then, since they did not want to (or could not) travel to the regions that produced their income, they would work with local notables, ayans (who could be Muslim or Christian), to collect their taxes. Well, in this tax farming system, the Rum patriarch in Istanbul, for example, was a “tax farmer in chief” and by delineating an important financial function to such groups, the Ottomans allowed for them to make power grabs elsewhere, such as increasing control over their Christian flock, which would culminate in the “millet” system, wherein the various religious heads became the final authority on the legal issues (or education) of their flock. The Hellenizing project under the new Greek state, its support by the patriarchate (albeit not immediately), and the inability of the central government to stop it, was one of the major reasons behind one of the aggressive and usually quite bellicose nationalisms that would develop among the Christian Ottomans.

Also, the change from a centralized to a subcontracted “sekban” (mercenary) system of military recruitment where the central government would send “banners” to the local officials and notables, who would collect and arm the peasants in the beginning of the 17th Century created a large number of armed men in Anatolia, leading to the “Celali Revolts“. This created a mass migration of the peasants to the cities and mountains all throughout Anatolia, called “Büyük Kaçgun” – (The Great Flight). So depopulated was the countryside that many lands would grow wild and not become cultivated again until they were resettled with Balkan, Crimean and Caucasian refugees fleeing ethnic cleansing two centuries later in the 1800s.

The Ottomans could collect so little tax in the 18th Century that with this new tax farming system, only 30% of all the taxes that were collected found their way into government coffers. But the local ayans, provincial notables, and tax farmers could usually not get enough money from their cut to be able to invest in major infrastructure projects or other developmental investments, contributing to the vicious cycle of decentralization.

This left the Ottomans with an underpaid and in many cases (of sekban units provided by the local notables) a poorly and haphazardly supplied army with chronically low morale.

Losing wars led to the further loss of taxable lands and as the Christian population slowly developed into openly hostile nations, the internal problems and external ones compounded.

In the 19th century, to pay for a large army and a navy, the Ottomans would bankrupt themselves, and until the construction of railways in the late 19th Century, would not be able to successfully (and even then to a very limited scope) industrialize, in spite of attempts in the 1830s. (Although the Ottoman artisans were surprisingly resilient in the face of imported, mass produced, European goods)

But it all started from a lack of funds. This, of course, should not mean that the country was poor per se. The early 18th Centry was a time of economic boom in the long peace until 1769. But even as the economy of the country developed, the finances of the state continued suffering.

So true

What happened at a Christmas gathering or dinner that made you say, “You gotta be kidding me?”

One year my husband’s brother and his family hoated the family Christmas party (we alternate between the brothers)… SIL is VERY cheap one Christmas though she totally proved it.

My daughter had driven 2 hours to get there and realized her cellphone was dying. So she plugged it into a charger out of the way of where people were. Twice she went to check the status only to find it unplugged and no progress of charging. One the third time she said something. MY sister in law explained it cost money to charge a phone so she was jept unplugging it. They are very financially secure so it was totally because she was cheap.

At first my daughter thought she was joking but she sas not…she was serious. So my daughter handed her a dollar. SIL took the money, put it in her pocket and walked off. While laughing my daughter told BIL what happened. He was mortified…handed my daughter a dollar (out of sight of SIL) and showed her where to charge her phone so SIL would leave it alone.

Why can’t some electric car enthusiasts accept that the inability for electric cars to fully recharge in 5 minutes is a deal breaker for some people since every gasoline car ever made can do that?

Let’s flip the script. Imagine we’d all been driving EV’s the last hundred years, you pay $5 to fully refuel at home overnight while you sleep and never leave home without a ‘full tank’. There is practically zero maintenance and the cars are very fast and reliable with instant torque, more storage space, brakes that last the life of the car, over the air feature updates etc. The motors and battery have 8 year warranty and are expected to last at least 500,000 miles.

Then somebody invents a gas car. It’s slow, noisy, needs lots of regular repairs and maintenance. It’s full of explosive and toxic fluids. It burns fuel and emits poisonous gases even when it’s not moving. Refueling it costs $100 and you have drive to a special refueling station, you can never do it at home. Everything needs to be repaired by a specialist in a remote workshop and adding new features after you bought it is not possible. But hey, that $100 refueling can be done in just 15 extra minutes on your drive to work!

Who would buy it?

What was a loophole that you found and exploited the hell out of?

When I was living in Tempe, I lived in the back of my apartment complex, and got my own little sheltered parking spot for my Toyota. Unfortunately, it was not an uncommon occurrence for people to park in my designated spot or block it with their cars. Being as polite as I could, I would go around and knock on doors to try and get that person to move their car. Oftentimes I would be late for class.

One day, I was looking through the tenant’s rights of Maricopa County, AZ, and I found a clause that stated that the tenant has the right to remove an illegally parked vehicle. The clause then defined “an illegally parked vehicle” to mean a car that is parked in such a way that it hinders the tenant from entering or exiting their designated parking space. The clause also defined that the owner of the illegally parked vehicle is responsible for fixing any damage caused by the removal of the vehicle. The clause never stated HOW the tenant might do that, however. The county legislators probably thought that 99.99% of people would call a towing company, but I had places to be and was honestly fed up with these illegal parkers, so I was part of that other 0.01% group.

I bought towing straps on my way home from class one day, and I didn’t even have to wait a full night. In my parking space that I was paying rent for was a black Tesla. I hooked it up to my Toyota diesel pickup and dragged it out of there, tires squealing. I left it in the middle of the street, and the next morning, the owner came out and stood perplexed at the new positioning of his car.

A few days later, there was a Prius parked in front of my truck. I had to get to class but couldn’t. So, I gently pushed the Prius out of the way with my bull-bar and left it in the middle of the street. The Prius sustained a minor dent in its passenger side, and that evening when I got back from college, there were several police officers on the scene. The owner of the Prius tried to charge me with a hit and run, but after I showed the officers the picture that I took of the Prius blocking my truck in, and the clause from the tenant’s rights document, and the lease proving that I was the rightful occupant of the parking spot, they determined that the Prius owner was at fault and was responsible for the damages.

My favorite instance of this was when somebody parked a total lemon in my spot and had leaked oil all over the concrete. The lease said that oil-leakers were strictly prohibited, so I had to do something special for this guy. I got a piece of metal wire and bet it over into a hook. Underneath the car, I reached up with my hook and pulled the hood release cable. Once I had the hood open, I located the fuse-box and took out the fuse that would allow the car to start. I then proceeded to yank the car out of my spot into the street, business as usual. The next morning, his car was still there, in the middle of the street, a decently sized puddle of oil underneath it. He was on his phone talking angrily, presumably with a towing company. I didn’t have to be anywhere that day, so I watched the chaos ensue through my window.

Several more times this happened, and eventually, word got around that my parking spot was not safe to park in front of. Everyone could tell if there was a newbie in town, because they would park in front of my spot, and subsequently get yanked. Thanks, Maricopa County!

Funny because it is true

When have you cheaply or inexpensively fixed an item someone thought unrepairable?

Around 2008 I was in the engineering lab working on the design of my latest project. The CEO came in and asked me it I could look at an NC lathe on the factory floor.

The controller went out on the 30 year old machine. There had been no replacements available for about 20 years. This machine made the “Secret Sauce” part of our flagship product. This machine had never given trouble before.

The manufacturer’s representative declared it a write off and told us it would be at least 3 months to get a replacement machine for $30,000. Plus shipping from Germany. While we could farm out making the part, the reason we made it ourselves is that in the Los Angeles area there was so much military work going on for serious money that it would have been months to get someone else to make the parts.

We would lose months of sales and 40–50 people were facing layoff. So while this was not in my job description I went out for a look.

I took the controller board out and set it on my bench and could not see anything obvious. So starting with the power input I started doing resistance tests on the rectifier diodes. Son of a gun. The third one I checked showed it was shorted. We did not carry the 1N4002 in lab stock. So I put in a 1N4007 which costs about 15 cents versus the 8 cents of the original part.

I put the controller back in and the machine fired right up. The machinist started saying words of what seemed like joy in his native Vietnamese.

I went back to my bench and carried in with my project. Dashing off an email to the CEO that the machine was working again. All in a day’s work. Saving about a ton of high grade steel from going to the junk yard and keeping the factory floor workers earning a pay check.

Little was said but at the Christmas party a couple months later the CEO hands me my Christmas bonus and whispers to me to not tell anyone about it. Instead of my usual $500 bonus was a check for $5,000.

The machine was still running fine when I moved back to Canada in 2010.

The Enterprise Crosses the Romulan Neutral Zone

Can Chinese people living outside of China clearly see that Xi Jinping is a dictator, as opposed to those who are still living in China who are brainwashed?

In the west…

Jesus has long blonde hair and a six pack.
China’s economy is collapsing as GDP growth is 5.20%, while the U.S. economy is booming with 2.50% growth
In the west they believe Sri Lanka was debt trapped by China. Investigations revealed that the country had to repay loans to the west.
In the U.S. they believe China is the main cause for global warming, they don’t realise that they’ve emitted more Co2 than any other country and their emissions per capita are almost twice as much when compared to China.
In the west they believe they are leading the transition to zero emissions, but the reality is China is the biggest producer of solar, wind, and hydro power and has the largest fleet of EVs.
In the U.S. they believe they are free and yet they incarcerate more of their own population than any other country and their children need to pass a metal detector when they enter school.
In the west they believe the Belt and Road initiative is bad, but they believe the Marshall Plan was good despite they’re both the same thing except China’s is a much grander scale.
In the U.S. they believe the Chinese force their companies to hand over technology, in reality it’s a deal signed by both sides.
In the west they believe China is oppressing Tibetans, in reality they saved them from feudalism.
In the west they think China has committed genocide in Xinjiang while Israel has the right to defend themselves.
In the U.S. they believe they have democracy, in reality they’re just picking a millionaire to run their country. In the U.K., the choice is another Oxford graduate.
In the US they believe TikTok is a national security concern despite everything is based in the west.
In the west they believe they uphold human rights in reality they’ve been in multiple wars causing millions of death and even more displaced.

Really who is brainwashed?

What are the craziest objects that you’ve seen TSA workers remove from someone’s bag to be confiscated?

I had some small yellow cable ties for doing up the zips on my bag so that my larger non carry on bags can’t be opened when out of my sight. (Well… at least make it harder). These things would be something like 8 to 10cm’s long. Like I said, small as far as cable ties go.

Something like these ones. Only I had four.

main qimg a89a0d44928f27e43a5f9995b1e26de5

This immigration (What the US calls a TSA Officer) woman is going through my bag because she suspects something is in the bag that I shouldn’t have. She can’t find what she’s looking for (I think I know what she’s looking for, however I let her try and find them. In one of the front pockets on my laptop bag she finds these small yellow cable ties.

TSA Woman:
“Arh ha… there they are.”

Me:
“What? Are you going to tell me you saw these four small plastic cable ties on the X-ray machine? Not likely love. Anyway, what’s wrong with wanting to secure my bags with these anyway?”

TSA Woman:
“You can’t have cable ties on a plane” she says louder so she gets the back up and support of the her colleagues on the other side of the bags counter.

I nodded, and replied:
“Yeesss you’re so right… I mean, how many people’s thumbs could I tie together with those massive cable ties on the plane. I reckon I could take out the entire first class row with those bad boys, if the passengers agreed to hold their thumbs together and still long enough.”

Her colleagues are now looking away and sniggering, some not knowing where to look.

“Hang on” I said… “I reckon I could tie up rows two and three with my laptop lead here, and not to mention my iPhone cable for charging.” As I took my laptop lead out of my bag and proudly held it above my head like I was declaring it for immediate confiscation. “If I could get all of the fourth row to stand up, and be patient for just a few minutes, with a bit of jostling, maybe even one more person from the fifth row, I could really do some damage with this” as I reached into my laptop bag and pulled out my iPhone lead.

Nothing, silence, a few sniggers… then…

TSA Woman:
“Well, you can’t have them on the plane, I’ll have to confiscate them.” She starts to walk to the bin and drop them in there.

Me:
I then said “Hang on bring them back here.” My thought was to just use them… you know, run them through on each other so they don’t get used by any of the TSA staff later as a reward for confiscating my four lonely little yellow cable ties, and because I wanted to make a big deal out of it. Hell… I’d come this far so why not.

However, I suddenly remembered how to use what I knew she was originally looking for. I pulled out a pair of scissors from my bag and took the cable ties from her and cut all four of the small yellow cable ties in an instant.

TSA Woman:
”That’s what I was looking for” and she quite literally snatched the scissors out of my hand whilst my fingers are still in the holes. (Not nice…. )

“Everyone knows you can’t takes scissors on a plane” she proudly boasts out louder than even the cable ties got a mention for early, because now she has to save face with her colleagues, whilst she practically does a basketball layout on the way to the bin and slam dunks those scissors into the bin. She looks around very proud of herself.

“Excuse me lady” her smile still beaming as she looks around and then at me. “Can you get them out of the bin now? (smile now completely wiped from her face.) I think you’ll find THOSE scissors are legal on flights. They’re medical scissors with the bend on the blades. Whilst I know it’s not common knowledge you can carry these on a plane, I expected you would know, however it appears you didn’t and I’d really like to get to the Qantas club lounge before my flight. So if you can get them out quickly it would be much appreciated.”

main qimg 9c1d8b2de093733b57e540c6d5567240

They sort of looked like these, without the black. At the time they were legal on flights. I don’t know the rules now.

TSA woman looks around in absolute dismay. I’m standing there with my hand out. I can’t wait to see her dive into the bin that would have be at least three feet tall. I so wish I was allowed to use my phone and video this right now, however, in this area of the airport, photography of any kind is banned. Video or still… not allowed.

TSA Women gets a supervisor, she isn’t having any of this. I’m at least three hours early for my flight, I’ve got heap of time spare, I don’t care and I can’t wait to see how this ends. The supervisor comes over to have a word to me. I am allowed to explain the situation first when the supervisor says “What seems to be the problem?”.

I explain the above to the supervisor without all of the “glee” the TSA Woman had shown, whilst being able to very successfully hold back my own thoughts of this woman being head first in the bin retrieving my scissors, with her feet up in the air. (Still makes me smile even now)

The supervisor turns to the TSA woman and asks her to “Retrieve the evidence please”. In absolute horror and dismay, the TSA woman goes to the bin, puts the bin on it’s side and empties the bin right there on the floor. (I so wanted to have my vision be fulfilled, however, I could see she was a bit smarter than that.) Of course a thin pair of metal scissors will go straight to the bottom of the bin. No exception on this day for that rule either. Everything coms out of the bin, and yep,… there was nothing else to get out, except my lonely scissors. Even my four lonely (now cut) cable ties came out near the start.

Her colleagues are sorting other people baggage, whilst sort of watching with sideways glances at what the TSA Woman was doing, and trying to hold back smiles. One other TSA employee looked at me, and she couldn’t stop the smile, I thought she was going to bust out laughing. She did well and held the laughter in.

The TSA Woman… The offending, basketball playing, self confident, “Look at me I have the power to confiscate scissors and four cable ties… TSA Woman, eventually finds the scissors, hands them to the supervisor like a nurse hands scissors and a scalpel in the movies to a surgeon. I have no idea what’s going to happen next, but this was kind of fun and i was all in now. It’s like I was watching someone else. I had no stress no concern, this was like a seen from a sitcom, only I had written it without the ending, after all, what was the worst they can do, take my scissors off me again? I had already had this woman go and retrieve my scissors from the bin, and had her colleagues witness it, I’m already a mile in front. You can have the four yellow cable ties and the scissors… I’m good at this point.

The TSA Supervisor (Oh… who is also a woman, sorry I missed that point earlier)) takes a half second look at the scissors as the scissors hit her hand. She turns to me and says “Happy travels Sir” and hands the scissors back to me with a smile.

When I turned my back, I couldn’t get the smile off my face, I nearly bust out laughing as I walked up to the Qantas lounge and waited for my flight.

Never saw her again.

Scott Ritter: Russia has DESTROYED the U.S. Military and Putin is Exposing the Truth

Good. Very good.

What has your manager asked you to do that you outright refused to do?

It was right after I gave my two weeks notice. My manager came to my desk on Monday morning and said, “Mike, coffee is now your duty until you leave.”

I smiled and kept doing my work.

The next day he calls me. “Mike, I thought I told you you’re in charge of coffee?”

“I am in charge of coffee, yes and I see that we need a fresh pot. Can you handle this for us since you seem to be an expert.”

He laughed and said, “We all know that already. You brew the pot of coffee, Mike, Not me. Come on.”

“Well, I am a little busy now and will get to it when I can,” I replied. I stayed at my desk for an hour an half working away! No care for him or the coffee.

Then he comes to my desk and says, “Mike, where is my coffee?”

I stood up, looked him straight in the eye and said, “Let’s go have a quick talk while I brew you a fresh cup of coffee.”

We got to the break room. I stood by the coffee machine and said. “Listen, I gave you my notice, but that doesn’t mean you need to make my life difficult and belittle me. I really do not appreciate your tone and remarks. I am reporting you to HR. I find it very offensive and it looks like retaliation.”

He stumbles in his shoes and starts to stutter, “Ah, Mike, I was just joking around and didn’t mean anything by it.”

I stayed quiet.

He kept going on and on. I walked out of the break room and headed to the elevator.

He was still talking and asked, “Mike, can we talk about it?”

I stopped and looked at him. I could see the entire floor looking from under their cubicle walls. “I don’t think we need to talk about it anymore, I will be right back.” By then I clicked and called the elevator. The door opens up, I jump in and the door closes.

I know what he was thinking – Oh, crap! He is going to HR.

I went to the vending machine on the same floor as HR and got myself a drink!

I waited a bit, chatting with some co-workers, then I went back up.

He did not even look at me.

I sat at my desk and the whole day he did not even cross in front of my desk, not even once – like a scared rabbit hiding in his hole.

I told everyone on my team about what I did and everyone was waiting to see how he would react or what he would do the next day.

The next morning I came in and dumped the coffee pot, brewed a new one. While walking to my desk, I stopped by his cube and said, “I just brewed a fresh pot of coffee.”

He jumps up from his seat and says, “Oh! Thanks, Mike, you didn’t have to!”

As soon as I sat down, my coworker that sat right next to me said, “What a Punk.”

“You said it, not me!” I replied

In the end, I felt good that I stood my ground and did not fall victim to his actions. He never came and asked me if I reported him to HR. He asked two of my team members and both said: “I am not sure!”

He wanted to make a joke and make me feel unwelcomed or belittled. In the end, he was a joke and was called a punk. Who knows what others thought of him?

”Generosity is giving more than you can, and pride is taking less than you need” — Khalil Gibran

Acapulco Chicken Pizza

Yield: 4 servings

Ingredients

1 tablespoon vegetable oil
3/4 pound fresh boneless, skinless chicken breasts, sliced
1 package Ortega Taco Seasoning Mix (regular) or 2 tablespoons homemade Taco Seasoning
3 tablespoons cayenne pepper
5 tablespoons Ortega Thick & Smooth Taco Sauce (medium)
2 (12 inch) flour tortillas
8 ounces Ortega Refried Beans
1/4 cup Ortega Thick & Smooth Taco Sauce (medium)
1/4 cup Monterey Jack cheese, grated
1/4 cup Cheddar cheese, grated
2 cups lettuce, shredded
2 avocados, seeded, peeled and mashed
1 tomato, diced

Instructions

Add oil to a large heated skillet; stir in chicken, taco seasoning mix and cayenne pepper and cook until browned.
Stir in first amount of taco sauce and remove from the heat.
On a large plate, place flour tortillas; divide and spread with refried beans, being sure to cover the entire tortilla.
Add the chicken mixture over the beans and sprinkle remaining taco sauce, grated Monterey Jack cheese and grated Cheddar cheese on top.
Bake at 375 degrees F until the cheese is bubbly, about 10 minutes.
Remove and cut into wedges.
Serve with shredded lettuce, mashed avocados, and diced tomato.

Have you ever met a dangerous person and not known it at the time?

In the late 1970s, my mom was refurbishing a house in Mt. Helix, just outside of San Diego. There was a guy who pulled up in a truck from a carpet installation business and asked about the project, and whether they were going to be needing new carpets for the house. She thought something was a little off with him, so she said that they had not yet decided what they were going to do, and that they had a prospective buyer who wanted the original hardwood floors.

He kept trying to sell her on some carpeting for the stairs, etc. until her partner in the project, a contractor (who she was also having an affair with, but that is another story entirely) who was 6’ 4” and a Vietnam Vet came out to ask a question. The guy almost immediately stopped talking, handed her his card and left. She threw away the card and figured that was the end of it.

The next week, he called our house, and I answered the phone and he said he had been speaking with her about carpeting for the house and was she available? She wasn’t home, so I took a message which was just his name and number. I gave her the message and she thought it was weird, but did not connect it with the guy in the truck, because she hadn’t gotten his name the first time.

Then he called again, and my brother took a message and she realized who these messages were coming from, but she had not given him our phone number. At the time, you could go to the DMV, and ask for the registration info for a car by giving the license plate number and paying $3 for it. (After actress Rebecca Schaefer was murdered by a stalker who did this, they stopped that service, but that was a few years later). My mom called the police about this guy, and they later found out that this was how he got our number.

After that, we started getting frequent hang up calls at our house. She said she thought islt was this guy, and my dad said he didn’t think so, and she was worrying over nothing. But she stopped going out to the worksite and eventually just sold her half of the project to the contractor.

But soon afterward, she got a call from a police detective who wanted to ask some questions about the guy. Like do you know this guy, and from where, and why are there so many calls to your house from him, etc. Eventually, they even asked my brother and I what he had said when we answered the phone. All the information we had was his name and phone number.

About 5 years later, it was on the news that they had arrested the guy for serial murders. His story is all kinds of horrible, but he was thought to have brutally raped up to six women and murdered them, along with their children in some cases. How brutally? They called them the Throat Slash Murders, because he cut their throats so deeply that the spine was visible from the hole in the front of their throats.

He was convicted of three of the killings, and he is now on death row in California.

David Allen Lucas – Wikipedia

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/David_Allen_Lucas

Pennies for pay

My first working jobs occurred when I was in High School. Part time during week-days, and full-time on weekends. I worked at a coal mine, and as a clerk at the local grocery store.

Today, I want to talk about my days working at the grocery store.

In those days, we were not paid by check. Instead, we were given an envelope of cash and change. On the envelope was the amount that we were supposed to be paid.

I would work all week, and make something like $63 dollars.

Well, since I had no expenses, I would get the envelope and throw it in a drawer in my bedroom, and forget about it.

One day, one of the cashiers was all upset. She was being short changed, and the entire crew just about walked off.

So it got me to thinking, and I went to my stash of pay envelopes. The envelope would read $63 dollars, but inside would only be two or three one dollar bills and some change.

The accountant was screwing all of us over.

Now, guys, keep in mind that at this time, my parents were separated. My mother was always gone, and I had no father figure. I had no direction, and I was only 16 years old.

I didn’t know what to do.

Well, from then on, ALL OF US, sat there and counted out our salary to the manager before we left for home.

I figure that the accountant must have siphoned off from 60% to 75% of my hard won earnings…

For, perhaps, years.

As an adult now, I would contact a detective, and the police and make formal charges, following by suing the store, but Jeeze! I was only 16 years old. Something like that. I hadn’t even kissed a girl yet, for petes’ sake. So do not get on my case about this.

Lesson learned.

What lessons?

Bad people will constantly surprise you with the evil and selfish actions that they will do to you. Often getting away with it due to inconvenience, youth, or simple ignorance.

Today…

Cats

Ancient Egyptians held Cats in the highest esteem, cats were praised for killing venomous snakes, rodents and birds that damaged crops and protecting Pharaoh since at least 1st Dynasty (3100-2900 BC) of Egypt. Cats were also represented in social and religious scenes dating as early as 1980 BC. Skeletal remains of cats were found among funerary goods dating to 12th Dynasty (1991-1802 BC). Protective function of cats is indicated in Book of the Dead, where a cat represents Ra and benefits of sun for life on Earth. Cat-shaped decorations used during New Kingdom of Egypt indicate that domesticated cat became more popular in daily life. Cats were depicted in association with name of Bastet.

Mafdet was first known cat-headed deity in ancient Egypt. During 1st Dynasty, she was regarded as protector of pharaoh’s chambers against snakes, scorpions and evil. She was often also depicted with head of leopard (Panthera pardus) or cheetah (Acinonyx jubatus). She was particularly prominent during reign of Den. Deity Bastet is known from at least 2nd Dynasty (2890-2686 BC) onwards. At the time, she was depicted with a lion (Panthera leo) head. Seals and stone vessels with her name were found in tombs of pharaohs Khafre and Nyuserre Ini, indicating that she was regarded as protector since mid 30th Century BC, during 4th-5th Dynasties. A wall painting in 5th Dynasty’s burial ground at Saqqara shows a small cat with a collar, suggesting that tamed African wildcats were kept in pharaonic quarters by 26th Century BC.

Amulets with cat heads came into fashion in 21st Century BC, during 11th Dynasty. A mural from this period in tomb of Baqet III depicts a cat in hunting scene confronting a rat-like rodent. From 22nd Dynasty at around mid 950s BC onwards, Bastet and her temple in Bubastis grew in popularity. She was later shown only with small cat head. Domestic cats were increasingly worshipped and considered sacred. When they died, they were embalmed, coffined and buried in cat cemeteries. Domestic cat was regarded as living incarnation of Bastet who protects household against granivores, whereas lion-headed deity Sekhmet was worshipped as protector of pharaohs. During reign of Pharaoh Osorkon II in 9th Century BC, temple of Bastet was enlarged by a festival hall. Cat statues and statuettes from this period exist in diverse sizes and materials, including solid and hollow cast bronze, alabaster and faïence. The penalties of injuring a cat were severe and killing a cat leads to capital punishment. When the cat dies it is the duty of the owner to gave them proper burial along with rituals and shave their head, eyebrows or beard to show their grief and even conduct after life rituals for their cat in order to gain blessings from Goddess Bastet.

In mid 5th Century BC, Herodotus described, annual festival at Bubastis temple, attended by several hundred thousand pilgrims. During Hellenistic period between 323-30 BC, cats were systematically bred to be killed and to be mummified as sacrifices to gods. As described by Diodorus Siculus, killing a cat was regarded as a serious crime. During 60-56 BC, outraged people lynched a Roman for killing a cat, although pharaoh Ptolemy XII Auletes tried to intervene.

Cats and religion began to be disassociated after Egypt became a Roman province in 30 BC. A series of decrees and edicts issued by Roman Emperors in 4th-5th Centuries AD, gradually curtailed practice of paganism and pagan rituals in Egypt. Pagan temples were impounded and sacrifices prohibited by 380 AD. Egypt has since experienced a decline in veneration once held for cats. They were still respected in 15th Century AD, when Arnold von Harff travelled to Egypt and observed mamluk warriors treating cats with honour and empathy. Gentle treatment of cats is part of Islamic tradition.

Common enough issue

What did your boss say to you during a meeting that resulted in you immediately resigning?

I had been working for a large company for almost 20 years. I worked very long hours, often late into the night and at weekends, under stressful conditions and had a lot of responsibility but I was happy in my job and took great pride and derived satisfaction from it.

There was a change of management, and after about a year, I mentioned that I hadn’t been given a raise for over 4 years and asked for one – I was given a lecture about commitment and told that I would have to work harder to ‘earn’ it, and was offered a tiny raise which didn’t even meet 1 years cost of living increases, let alone 4 years. The new financial controller was condescending and quite dismissive so I knew instantly that I was finished with them. I didn’t resign there & then (even though I was very tempted to). I thanked them for my new ‘raise’ and immediately set about finding a new role – it took almost 2 years to find a job I was confident about but when I then handed in my notice, they offered me a huge raise, a promotion, new working conditions and all sorts of inducements to stay. It was extremely tempting but I had made my mind up – I no longer wanted to work for them (and my gut-feeling about them was justified by several stories from former colleagues of how staff were treated subsequently)

So my advice is NOT to act impulsively and hand in your resignation immediately (and be forced to find a replacement job urgently) – take your time, find the right job that suits you, put everything in place and then calmly, but firmly, hand in your notice.

How did people know…

What psychological facts that people don’t know?

You are now aware that your clothes are touching your skin and that you can feel them.
People who swear more often are more honest than those who don’t.
For luxury brands, the ruder the sales staff, the higher the sales.
If you start whispering to someone, they will whisper back, even if they don’t have to.
Your mind “rewrites” monotonous speech of boring people to make them sound more interesting.
Your brain defaults to going to the beach as your initial vacation idea.
You are more honest and open with people that you consider “temporary” friends.
When entering a packed lecture hall, the left side will always be less crowded.
82% of people would feel more confident approaching an attractive person if they had their dog with them.
We tend to hate people who have the same flaws and make the same mistakes as we do.
If someone is trying to make you decide in a hurry, they are probably giving you a bad deal.
A person is more likely to be honest when physically tired.
Fear can feel good-if we’re not really in danger.
People who keep their hands in their pockets while around large crowds are generally anti-social or shy.
The best way to get the right answer on the internet is not to ask a question; it’s to post the wrong answer.

Sounds like unrhymed poetry

What’s the most disturbing thing anyone has ever told you casually?

My late husband and I were on our way home from being on the lake with friends and were pulling a boat that belonged to one of our friends who didn’t have a truck or anything suitable to pull it with. We got to his house and pulled into the driveway shortly after the friend pulled in. My husband got out to talk, I rolled down the window and stayed in the truck. Across the street was a group of girls playing with a water hose and water balloons . The girls are obviously young possibly 11 years old at the most . Our friend tells my husband “ man that’s torture, I would love half a chance “. I was more than proud of my husband’s response . He told his friend that he was sick in the head and if he ever caught him with in a mile of one of our daughters that the torture he spoke of would become reality that he would face a hell that would give the devil chill bumps. Then told him to get his piece of shit boat unhooked from his truck he was ready to leave and don’t ever call him or come to our house . We got not even a mile up the road and turned around, I asked what he was doing , he told me that the family of those girls deserve to know what trash lives across from them . He said if someone can casually mention something like that then they are capable of doing such.i have never seen him react so strongly about something but at that time we had 2 daughters age 6 and 12 . The father of the girls was more than disgusted and thanked him for letting him know .

Very interesting WTF…

Does a boss ever get in trouble when a staff member quits?

When I quit a job over 20 years ago, I was called in by my grand-boss (manager’s boss) and asked why I was leaving. I was the second person to leave that week, and my main issue was money – they immediately offered to match the raise I was getting with my new job, but declined. The secondary issue, of how my manager’s assistant did his level best to cheat me out of $5 (out of $40) in per-diem when working in a remote office, in a way that could not be seen as accidental. They wanted to know what was happening.

Last year, my employer sold his personally-owned company to a much larger firm. During the transition, the new management told me I was overpaid and unnecessary, denied a raise, and generally treated rudely. The old owner did nothing to support me. Two months after that I called up the president of the new firm and gave notice – explaining what had happened and how I was treated without respect or professionalism, and also that I was obliged by professional ethics to inform him that my former employer was aware of several installations that were in violation of the electrical code, but were not doing anything about it to shelter themselves from liability (both legal and financial) until the sale went through. The one installation I was aware of – I insisted that it be fixed, fighting the owner who kept telling me that the cost of fixing it would come out of MY salary and bonus. I corrected him in saying that this was a mistake that I merely discovered, but did not create, and despite him being upset that I opposed his desire to merely ignore this, the cost of fixing it would come out of THE COMPANY’S REVENUE, meaning that no single person would, or could be held responsible for the error. In fact, some of the people who may have been responsible for it were now retired from that firm.

It did not go well for any of the people involved, as I knew the President of that larger firm from my previous dealings, and that he was very risk-averse. Legal liability for engineering errors is a bad thing.

Do men even want relationships anymore? There’s nothing in it for them. Too much to lose.

This is very good.

Playing around with Text to image

Today is my Doc Savage theme.

Prompt is…

doc savage cover art Bantam Doc paperbacks with the wonderful cover art by James Bama and Bob Larkin adventure driving a car through the streets of new york city

Images…

What is the creepiest unexplained event you know of?

In the year 2000, I was working on advanced degrees in theology. A priest I had known from childhood, now serving in Henderson, Nevada right outside of Las Vegas, invited me to teach a week-long adult education class to his parish. This was a no-brainer. An easy class to teach, a small paycheck, but a FREE plane trip to spend few days just a few miles from the strip. I was happy to say yes. I couldn’t wait to try the buffets and see David Copperfield. I planned to spend a few quarters in the slots as well.

The priest set me up in a small little guest house next to the rectory where he lived. I had just two rooms and a bathroom. I was told to meet him in the morning for breakfast then he would bring me to the classroom.

For some reason I could not understand, I had the most upsetting and unsettling feeling when I was a lone in this little guest house. I had the impression someone or something was watching me, I kept jumping at the slightest noise and swearing I saw things or people pass the window. This was very much unlike me. We often say “I didn’t sleep a wink” but often this is a slight exaggeration. In this case however, I was literally awake all night with a terrible feeling surrounding me. I felt a presence in the room I simply cannot explain. I never was able to close my eyes for even a full minute. Never one for superstition or exaggeration, I assumed it was nothing and rejected the notion that I felt some sort of spirit or evil presence in the room. I just went the next day and, although exhausted, taught the first session of the class. Although I wound up in a different arrangement the second night, I could not forget that odd, terrible and lingering feeling in the original guest house. I had a nightmare in the new room. Even when I just passed the original guest house while walking it felt terrible, in a way I did not understand.

One year later, to my shock, the priest who invited me was arrested. He was a violent, disgusting pedophile who was abusing kids in that little guest house for years. I had no clue, and yet, somehow, I felt the presence of pure evil in that room. I will never ignore or dismiss such a feeling again.

Mike Pompeo orders the murder of Jillian Assange

Some Shorpy History

What does it feel like to live completely alone?

I’ve lived alone for about the past ten years. I even let my ex stay with me for a stretch after we split up, but with her in the guest room. We’ve always remained good friends. We were just not a great couple with both wanting different things in life.

A good friend who also lives alone told me that she hates the part where someone doesn’t get to witness her experiences and that about sums up the downside. I live about nine miles away from the closest small town on about 3.5 acres. I’m completely secluded and during the summer you can’t see the house from the road. Yes, there are security measures, but I feel very safe here and safer than I’d feel in a city.

Living alone isn’t for everyone and so much of it depends on what you want out of life. I love my work and I have a personal assistant who’s here often, so I’m not completely alone. I also have visitors from time to time.

The plus side of living alone is that you don’t have the normal routine of others. I can go swimming in the middle of the night or work or play music or watch a movie. I can do just about anything I want and feel like I had a productive day.

I’d probably feel lonely if I didn’t have a busy life, but there are so many great things to do in a day and I love my work. I never ever want to retire and I’m good at it too.

I still go to restaurants, travel, and do other things, but I do have a dog and he’s with me at all times, except when I have to make business trips. I have a sitter here at the house when that happens.

There isn’t a big downside to living alone, other than the risk of some major illness or injury where you can’t get help, but I take precautions for that. Neighbors see anyone who comes and goes. The house is a local curiosity so that’s kind of fun too.

Yes, it would be great to share these experiences, but I do it in my writings. I turn out a massive amount of work and living alone helps that. I never thought this was where my life would take me, but it did. Circumstances took me here, but I have great friends, and a full life and I’m getting a lot out of the experience of living.

Now the USA no longer will answer 911

When have you cheaply or inexpensively fixed an item someone thought unrepairable?

When we moved into our first home we bought a second hand washer and drier. Not long after, the drier quit.

In my family, if something broke, you took it apart. If you fixed it, great. If not you learned a few things and had lots of parts to tinker with.

My wife wanted a tool kit as a little girl and never got one because Little. Girls. Don’t. Play. With. Tools.

So I said I’d take a look and see what was wrong. She wanted me to take it back for a refund. A second hand drier.

Have you ever fixed one before? What’s to go wrong? There’s a drum, a motor and a heater element. She could just not comprehend that you could look at something, see how it worked, and see how to fix it.

Finally I just went Executive Action. Took the back off and there was a broken wire. We got years more use out of it.

A few months later, she pulled in with a recliner in the trunk. The owner was throwing it out and warned her it was broken. “Oh, that’s okay. My husband can fix anything.”

Protip: if you are good with your hands, the first time your SO asks you to hang a picture, nail your hand to the wall. It will hurt like blazes but you have no idea how much trouble it will save.

I kid. She died of a heart attack in January after 48 years. I’d build or fix anything her heart desired to have her back a bit longer.

Some interesting AI generations

Default GPTmasterpiece best quality diverse group of adventure 2

Default GPTmasterpiece best quality diverse group of adventure 6(1)

Default GPTmasterpiece best quality diverse group of adventure 1

Default GPTmasterpiece best quality diverse group of adventure 3

Default GPTmasterpiece best quality diverse group of adventure 6

How a husband thinks

Why isn’t anyone noticing?

Perhaps the greatest sign of a collapsing society is the theft of mail.

Back in the day, during the Wild Wild West years, stage-coaches would get robbed, and people (bandits) would hold up the coach, and seize the mail and locked up boxes. That is why they had “guys riding shotgun”, and posses to track down the bad guys.

In those days, the West wasn’t collapsing as much as it was new and untamed. But that level of crime and criminality is present during those transitional times between civilization and lawlessness.

Perhaps the greatest sign of a collapsing society is the theft of mail.

In the United States, the theft of mail and packages left on porches has become a meme because it is so common.

Porch mail theft.
Looting of boxcars and trains.
Disappearance of letters.

I cannot help but think that every alarm on the control box for the United States is flashing bright red.

Why isn’t anyone noticing?

Today.

Can Chinese people living outside of China clearly see that Xi Jinping is a dictator, as opposed to those who are still living in China who are brainwashed?

It is precisely because they have two different life experiences of living in China and living abroad that they understand that the American-style democratic system is the real dictatorship, but the “people are the masters of the country” advocated by the Chinese government is the real democracy system.

Some new immigrants lie to please the United States. In the United States, not only is lying an inalienable right (the freedom to lie), but hypocrisy is a virtue. 😂

Don’t look at the American media talking about “China” all day long. In fact, most Americans know nothing about China. They don’t even know where China is.

Most Americans have never left the United States. Many Americans don’t even have passports. Even if they have passports, they will only go to Canada and Cancun at most. However, the number of Chinese citizens traveling abroad reached 155 million in 2019.

For example, when Trump visited India, Modi confided to him his concerns about China’s border policies. Trump was very strange and said, “India and China are not bordering each other, so what are you worried about?”

What are some good examples of situations where smart people should play dumb?

When you meet someone new and they start talking about a topic you know everything about, let them finish.

Don’t hijack the conversation, just because you can. Yes, it’s great that they care about the same stuff you do. Yes, you can contribute a lot here.

But that doesn’t mean they might not know a thing or two you don’t.

Scenario 1: Boy meets girl.

Girl: I actually know quite a bit about cars. My favorite is the 997 Porsche Turbo S, that was a great model…

Boy cuts her off: …yeah totally, I love that car, man, 530 hp, 700 Nm, and geez, the launch time, 3.3 seconds!

Girl: Mmhmm! *nods politely but dies a bit inside*

Scenario 2: Boy meets girl.

Girl: I actually know quite a bit about cars. My favorite is the 997 Porsche Turbo S, that was a great model…

*Boy draws breath, but then just closes his mouth*

Girl: …not only because of the insane hp and torque, but also because it was their fastest production car ever! Porsche claimed its 0–60 time to be 3.3 seconds in the brochure, but most magazines actually measured it with a 2.6.

Oh and I just love that test on Top Gear where they pit the convertible against a VW Beetle, falling from the sky. That’s one of the funniest “races” I’ve ever seen:

Boy:

Spits out, and coughs.

Talking is easy. Listening is a virtue.

Every single person you’ll ever meet knows something you don’t.

Play dumb and you might find: in a way, we all still are.

Does Anyone Else Feel Like Everything Has Changed?

This is absolutely stunning and worth your time to watch.

What’s the saddest case of addiction you have ever come across in another person?

My friend Tucker just got clean three months ago. It is so awesome to watch him blossom into someone so beautiful, that it brings tears to my eyes.

Tucker does this thing when he talks. It’s this slow, drawn, half-country, half-ghetto — all man thing that just makes me laugh and smile.

Tucker can’t see how beautiful he is and all the wonderful things that await him if he can just hang on for a minute, or a day, or a year.

Today I ran out of cigarettes at work. I asked Tucker if I could have one of his. Tucker more than obliged and handed me his all but half-pack and said: “Here you go, you can have the rest.”

Tucker is so generous in recovery. Tucker is willing to give everyone — everything he has.

My first thought was how awesome that was. I get eight smokes for the price of — n o n e. And then I saw it. I saw myself. I got angry.

Tucker is so willing to give everything away. I was him, or maybe Tucker is me.

The saddest case of addiction that I’ve ever seen is the case where the addict finally gets clean and is willing to give everything away — and people take it.

It may sound insignificant, but I assure you it’s not.

Addicts, like myself, are so used to having nothing. The moment we have something, even an almost half-pack of smokes, we’re willing to give it away.

It’s sad. It hurts me to think of why an addict is so willing to give so much of themselves in early recovery.

I want to be normal. I want you to like me. I want your love and your friendship.

I just want to be normal.

I don’t get high.

Now I don’t fit in with the people that still get high and I feel like I’ll never fit in with you.

Leon

Has anyone ever completely changed your view of them with one sentence?

There was a coworker back in the early 90′s who I thought was your stereotypical red-neck trailer trash kinda girl. She was from Alabama, and spoke with a heavy southern accent.

One time there was a bunch of us who went out after work on a Friday night. That night, we just happened to be all white. It was a normal evening. No heavy drinking, just idle chat. A couple guys started making racial comments about a black couple that walked in. Stuff like, “they don’t serve fried chicken here” & “bet they ask for water melon”. One even said something about how nice it was before they allowed colored people in places like this.

The red-neck girl spoke up rather loudly and said (and I’m paraphrasing here since I don’t remember word-for-word), “Hey, what’s your problem? Those are PEOPLE you’re talking about. PEOPLE! Racism is WRONG! WRONG! Shut up!”

She stared at them for a moment and went back to sipping her diet Coke. The guys downed their drinks and left. I smiled at her, and things returned to normal.

Except my respect for her grew exponentially. And, ironically, I got a lesson on prejudice.

It just hit her hard.

When was the last time China won a war?

China is at war right now.

China has been fighting a war with the United States since 2008.

It is an under-reported war. The Western media does NOT report on it. Instead, they produce “news” and describe it as something else.

Intentional Misreporting.

An American “stealth” submarine “accidentally” slams into an uncharted undersea mountain.
One hundred Space-X satellites tumble to the ground because of a freak solar flare.
The “pro-democracy” movement in HK fizzed out and died for no reason at all.
An Australian submarine crew is shaken up by Chinese “sonar blasts”.
Recovery efforts in the South China Sea was to recover an F-22 that accidentally crashed during carrier take off.

Unreported news

As well as a slew of unreported news…

China and Russia publish a casus belli against the United States.
American generals, formally listed as “retired”, are captured in Ukraine.
The round up and execution of all CIA and NED assets in Hong Kong.
China opens up strategic oil pipelines with Russia.

Fake News & and lies

And, of course, a flood of lies known as “fake news”…

China sending spy dirigibles disguised as weather balloons.
Chinese military are all conscripts.
China infiltrating Americans private data via Tiktoc.
3G causes gas pumps to explode. 4G cases planes to crash. 5G causes brain cancer.

And so on and so forth.

…

If the United States was currently winning the war against China, it would be front page news. The mere fact that it is hidden is strongly suggestive that the United States is losing; floundering in this effort.

Honestly, this current period of time is just a continuation of the 1960’s era “cold war”. NATO has acquired just about ALL of the Western Russian buffer states. And NATO is (territoriality speaking) piece by piece disassembling the Russian defense perimeter so that the ultimate conquest of Russia can occur.

And it almost did.

Almost.

And once Russia was a “head case”, and looted, pillaged, and the USA-backed oligarchs ran the nation as some kind of medieval fiefdom, the looting of China can finally occur. As that was the plan all along.

Oh, yeah. It’s not going that way.

But it’s coming near to “High Noon” at the “OK corral”.

Yikes!

…

So China and the USA are in decade two of the long drawn out war hostilities. So far, the clear winner is China. But the American (and proxy) “leadership” have a vision and somehow believe things that are not real; are not true, and will never be true will manifest in their favor.

Which makes believe that they are all delusional psychopaths…

Thinking and wishing something to happen in this physical world will NOT make it occur. Actions will. And the actions by the West are completely and totally inept.

…

Oh a physical hot war is still on the table.

It will begin as a provocation; an American “false flag” event, that will push China into some kind of response.

And a proxy nation or two will engage China.

And America will have tricked China into a war.

However…

I am of the mind that China knows what the “cats paw” is actually all about, and will strike American cities, and Americans on American soil. China will make life for average Americans as uncomfortable as possible and that internal strife will bring about a civil war that American will not survive.

Stay tuned to stage two of this global catastrophe…

Confusing

How does China still exist in this modern world?

China will lead this modern world. Can the West’s democracy survive China’s rise to dominance?

The West—both the United States and the European Union—is, in historical terms, in precipitous decline.

The BRICS countries, led by China, now accounts for just under 60% of global GDP, compared with around 33% in the mid-1970s.

The great story of the post-war era has been the rise of the developing world, representing around 85% of humanity, and the decline of the old developed world, accounting for around 15% of humanity.

China increasingly ranks on a par with the United States to the extent that it is now regarded by the latter as a threat to its global ascendancy.

China’s governing system, long derided in the West, has emerged as a formidable challenger to America’s democratic system. Over the last 40 years, there is no question which has been more effective and which has delivered most for its people.

The greatest danger is not the rise of China but how the United States will react to China’s rise and its own consequent loss of primacy.

The rise of illiberalism in America is not an accident.

It coincides with the dawning recognition of American decline and a desperate desire to prevent it.

It should be remembered that the heyday of Western democracy corresponded with the zenith of Western hegemony. But can the West’s democracy survive the decline of Western global dominance?

If the West is able to retain and renew its best values, in a world in which it enjoys a much diminished role and China is predominant, such a world will be the better for it.

What are some deep things you should avoid in life?

Never tell people about your bad or dishonest behavior.
Listen actively and avoid dominating conversations or interrupting others.
Treat others with kindness and avoid using them for personal gain.
Respect the boundaries of others and avoid getting involved with married individuals.
Live within your means and avoid overspending or accumulating debt.
Only make promises or plans if you genuinely intend to follow through and remember them.
Communicate respectfully without using swear words or yelling at anyone.
Be cautious about sharing personal information that could be used against you in the future.
Don’t pursue romantic or friendship relationships out of boredom or loneliness.
Only engage in romantic or sexual relationships with people you genuinely like and want to be with.

They fight dirty

What’s the sleaziest trick a landlord tried to pull on you?

We were living in a small, privately owned apartment complex when my husband and I found out we were expecting our first baby. This complex was very quiet, and the owners were very open about advertising their “Christian values”- not allowing unmarried couples to rent from them (just a sidenote, I am a Christian, and this information about their values may not seem relevant right now, but it will come into play later).

We had already been living in the apartment for over a year, so at this point we are on a month-to-month lease, with a 30-day notice required to vacate. After careful budgeting and deliberation, we decided that we were finally ready, and it was the perfect time to purchase our first home. We contacted a local realtor and started the search. After several weeks of searching, we found the perfect house and submitted an offer.

We were so excited when we got the news that our offer was accepted. We quickly handled the standard inspection, appraisal, and back-and-forth negotiations of what needed to be fixed about the home before closing. When we got the closing date set, we realized it was just over a month out and we needed to submit our 30-day notice to the apartment complex immediately.

On Feb. 28th, a Friday, there was an ice storm blowing through our city, but I walked to the leasing office to drop off the written notice anyway, along with a check for our final month’s rent, for March. When I got there, I found the office was locked tight. The garage at the side of the building was hanging wide open. Inside, I saw the head maintenance employee having his lunch. He said that no one had come into the office that day, probably due to the weather. I left the vacate notice and the rent check in the mailbox for the staff to find when they finally decided to return.

On Monday morning, March 3rd, I called the office to ask if they had gotten the notice and the check that I left in the mailbox. The receptionist said, “Oh yes, hold on one moment, the owner would like to speak with you.” Up until that point, we had had a pretty good relationship with the owner. We were quiet and respectful tenants, never had any complaints against us, paid on time, and frequently engaged in personal discussions whenever we saw each other. I thought that maybe the owner wanted to congratulate us on the pregnancy, buying our first home, or even to discuss the final move out inspection — anything but what she actually wanted to discuss.

The owner argued that because she didn’t receive the notice until after the first of the month, we would be responsible for rent through the month of April. I responded in protest, saying that I delivered the notice before the first of the month, and that it was not my fault the office was closed during what was supposed to be regular business hours, due to inclement weather. This did not sway her, and she threatened to withhold our security deposit and sue us in court for not paying rent for the month of April as well. I did not give in. I told her to do what she felt she needed to do, but we were moving out by March 31st and not paying a dime more. I was absolutely shocked at the complete 180 in her personality and demeanor.

Luckily for us, when I wrote the check for the rent for March, I included “PAID IN FULL” in the memo. I didn’t realize how much that would help us later on.

We did the final move out inspection, and the owner did the walk-through herself, trying hard to find a reason to withhold the security deposit — alas (for her), I am an excellent housekeeper and we treated our apartment as if it were our own. She was unable to notate any damage that would allow her to keep our deposit. She was very obviously irritated with this, and proceeded to repeat what she initially said — that we were still responsible for the month of April, so she could legally keep the deposit as well as sue us.

At this point, my pregnancy hormones were raging, and I was sick of her crap. I decided to beat her to the punch. I went down to the courthouse and filed a suit against her myself, in an effort to get our security deposit back because she did not have any legal grounds to keep it.

By the time our day in court came around, we had been living in our new home for several months, and I was as big as a whale, ready to pop any day. When the judge called my case, I waddled my way to the front of the court room with my little file folder full of my documentation and all the research I had been doing in the months prior.

I explained the entire situation to the judge, and showed him a copy of the check for the final month’s rent they had cashed — the check that stated “PAID IN FULL”. Because Virginia mostly rules by case law, I included a case that the Supreme Court had previously ruled on, stating that by cashing the check, the receiving party was agreeing to the terms written on the check, which invalidates any previous contract, written or verbal.

Not only did the judge agree, he ordered the apartment complex to repay our security deposit, said we were no longer responsible for any monies/rent for the month of April, and the apartment had to pay our court costs as well. I could tell he was irritated for me — the fact that I had to go through all the trouble I did to get the situation handled, during what was supposed to be the most exciting time in our lives. He was almost apologetic!

The apartment complex owner was NOT happy, and I think she even cursed at us under her breath as we were leaving the courthouse. How Christlike!

Not long after that, I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. We still own the home we purchased, and are loving life to the fullest.

The girls expressions are great

Why did Nokia fail?

Nokia’s failure was something that just had to happen – Nokia, realistically, couldn’t have done much about it.

In 2007, around half of all mobile phones sold were Nokia phones. These guys were massively dominant.

Below is my last Nokia, which I bought in 2007. It was a fantastic smartphone.

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Less than 10% of all phones sold were smartphones, but even in that growing space Nokia, with its Symbian, had dominance.

main qimg 11074c44f39cd7ea2e7b817fb327a2ca pjlq

But in 2007 something happened that you can’t really blame Nokia for. A nut job, Steve Jobs, made this insanely great smartphone that didn’t even have a keyboard, the iPhone. Not only that, he made buying apps so easy that people would actually buy them, making smartphones so much more useful.

And then, to make matters worse, Google decided to partner with every smartphone manufacturer in the world via Android, which would emulate the iPhone. And they didn’t care whether they made any money or not so gave the software for free.

I mean, what were Nokia supposed to do? It’s far more difficult changing a legacy software, like Symbian, than making an essentially new one like Google did with Android. And given they were so dominant in both hardware and software, they couldn’t have really abandoned either.

Ok, in hindsight they should have adopted Android, but fat chance that was going to happen given Android was way behind, and a competitor.

And so the reason Nokia failed was because shit happens…

Rejection

Is it possible for India to surpass China in terms of economy, technology, military, and science? Can India become a superpower before China?

Absolutely!!!!

Frankly India is a superpower already

Just like the Laws of Physics dont apply to Indian movies, it appears laws of economics don’t apply to India

India grows at 8.4% when there is a Global Slowdown against 6.15% when there is normal Global activity

Indian shares surge 233% when the whole world is in Covid crisis and everywhere else the rules of economics are being followed

It takes China 40 years and Billions of Investment, literally Billions to pull out 800 Million People from extreme poverty

Yet India in a mere 15 years with a thirtieth of the investment can pull out 450 Million people from extreme poverty

Isnt India a superpower already?

China actually has to slog and work against all the odds

Forty years of Poverty Alleviation
Forty years of Industrialization
Two generations giving up their entire youth to ensure the present China is the way it is
A Hostile Global Media which belittles every Chinese Achievement including Indian Media

India meanwhile is a real super power :-

Not a shred of any sacrifice required
Not the slightest change in any system needed
No reforms discussed or performed
Yet India is an emerging economy that would be $ 50 Trillion in 2047 according to Rajeev Chandrasekhar

You do the math and figure out Indias actual chances of eclipsing China in all these fields

As for me?

I don’t trust anything India says or does in the past few years

It doesn’t gel with logic

Scott Ritter: Russia has DESTROYED Ukraine’s Army and NATO is Losing Control

What are the most interesting facts about human behavior?

Your body language always betrays you.

We are more likely to put our hands around our waist at a self-hug position when we are around people, than we are by ourselves.

When something bothers us, we tend to bite or suck our lips.
- This includes when we are lying.
When there’s an issue, we tend to put our hands at the side of our hips with fingers facing outwards.
- So we take up more space and become more territorial.

A lot of people tend to move their legs back and forth while talking on stage because of nervousness.
When we are relaxed, we sometimes tilt our heads. However as soon as something bothers us, the head tilt is gone and we position our heads straight.
When we are stressed, we tend to go on our phone.
- This is to seem like we’re busy and potentially avoid the unwanted conversation. It also helps us escape from eye contact, and to have an excuse for a delayed response because “sorry I wasn’t paying attention”.
When we are lying but we want to calm ourselves down, we move our hands a lot.
- Don’t mistake speaking with a lot of hand movement as a sign of confidence
When people question us about our lies, we tend to actively reveal a lot of somewhat related information, without directly answering the questions.
- This is to avoid the source of stress by not answering the accusations directly, to distract the person questioning, and to seem trustworthy as you willingly tell them information.
When we are stressed, we want to calm ourselves down. Sometimes we put our hands on top of our heads, or cover our mouths.
We tend to smile when we are happy, even when we are not supposed to. This is because our emotions come before our mind processes it.
- If someone smiles for a second and immediately stops smiling, they might be hiding something.
When we are stressed, our feet will be facing the door or we will look at the door once in a while. This is because our unconsciousness wants us to leave the situation.
Don’t think that forcing yourself to not have any body movements means that you are mind-reading-proof either, because limited movements is also a sign of discomfort.

Unfortunately, there’s no way to stop ourselves from revealing our state of mind to others. Body language never lies.

BUT

Not only can your body tells people about you, it can also directly influence your own thoughts.

Sitting up straight gives you energy, while slouching can make you feel sad.
Crossing arms can make you more determined, but it can also give people the impression that they are not welcomed.
Taking up more space makes you feel more confident, and gives us a feeling of power. These poses are called power poses.
- Studies have shown that power poses will make people more willing to take risks. As we feel that luck is by our side.
- People who have done power poses are more likely to be selfish compared to those who have done contractive poses. Because when a person feels powerful, they are less empathetic.
- Fun fact: Donald Trump also tends to take up a lot of space to seem dominating.

While you naturally smile when you’re happy, smiling can also lighten up your mood when you’re sad.

Moral of this list? Use body language to your advantage, by detecting stress (and potential dishonesty) from others, and to feel more self confident!

That’s all I got for now. Perhaps I’ll update this list once I got more facts. Who knows?

EDIT

Well I’m procrastinating from work so why not add more facts that aren’t related to body language.

When you see something extremely adorable, do you want to squeeze it to death? That’s called the cute aggression.
- Some study says that it’s because our brain doesn’t know how to deal with these overwhelming cuteness, thus builds aggression to get a sense of control… Freaky right?

There’s a theory called moral licensing. It theorizes that when people have done something moral, they feel entitled to do something bad, vise versa.
- For instance if you have done voluntary work today, and you picked up $20 on your way home, you are less likely to give that money to the homeless than someone who haven’t done voluntary work.
Do you like freedom? Well, studies have shown that we feel worse when a wrong decision is made by ourselves, than when there’s no choice at all, even when the outcome is equal.
Your mind and behavior is heavily influenced by your brain formation. So… do we truly have free will…
Studies have shown that:
- Kidney donors have a larger amygdala (area that controls emotions) than average, while psychopaths have a smaller one than average.
- People with more conservative political views tend to have larger amygdala, while liberals have smaller ones.
- While extroverts feel energized from the dopamine produced out of socialization, introverts are over-stimulated.
We are more empathetic to those who are like us. This includes the similarities in looks, skin, personality, interest, etc. This is because they are more relatable to us.
Do you secretly love true crimes? Or are you fascinated by what a serial killer does? Don’t worry, you’re not evil.
- Humans fear the unknown, and by knowing what the experiences are like during these situations, for both the killer and the victims, helps us conquer that fear. When we are terrified, we dominate the situation by understanding it. This is perhaps the reason why people commit crimes as well.

Gotta get back to work now, maybe I’ll add more soon.

Have a nice day!

Japaneses beaches are The Best

No chem-tails yo.

Have you ever fired someone for not coming to work on time?

Yes. And is a story why we cannot have nice things.

The company I work for had very chill policy about the time you had to start work. You came in 8:00, you work your 8 hours you go at home at 16:30 (30 minutes obligatory lunch brake). You came at 9:30 you work your 8 hours with 30 minutes brake you go home at 18:00. Life is good everyone’s happy.

Then this guy start coming regularly at 10, then 11, then 12 – which means that all meetings, trainings and whatnot had to be moved for everyone else because of his schedule. Obviously this wasn’t going to work so a rule was implemented – everyone should start work no late than 10:00.

That guy start coming at 10:10, 10:15, 10:30, so as his direct manager I talked with him, several times that this is unacceptable, which lead to him coming on time (9:58, 9:59 usually) for a week then get back to being late.

In the end the last drop was when we was moving the office to another floor in the same building – company wide notice was send that moving is happening next morning at 9:00 (everyone moved his/her own computer and monitors) – isn’t a big deal but this bulky Lenovo work stations weighted like 20 killos so guys helped the girls carrying the machines.

This guy? Came near or after 10:00 again, expecting someone else to have moved his equipment already. Owners of the company had enough and let me fired him same day. We even paid him a few months worth of salary just to see his back asap. The guy never understood what the problem was, and the 10:00 rule is still on place, years after he is gone.

The moral of the story is, if you have a nice benefits at work, for fuck sake do not exploit them like there is no tomorrow. Have some common sense.

Point spot on reality

What is the next step for Russia and Ukraine?

2 more oil refineries went on fire in Russia today.

Drones attacked oil refineries in Syzran and Novokuybyshevsky, Samara region.

Notably, Syzran is 1,300 km from the border with Ukraine.

The governor of the region, Azarov, officially confirmed to RIA Novosti that fire broke at oil processing plants.

It’s already refineries #13 and #14 that suffered hits in Russia.

In response, Russia hit a residential building in Odesa, Ukraine, with a ballistic missile. And then Russia hit it with a ballistic missile again, targeting first responders – emergency services and medics, in an effort to obtain maximum civilian casualties.

20 people died as the result of the “double-tap” attack, more than 70 people wounded, several of them are in critical condition.

And to all these asking, “What did you expect?”, the answer is “Ukrainians expected to live their lives in their country without Russia or its useful idiots asking stupid questions”.

Ukrainian families experience pain and suffering every day. Only the complete destruction of the “beast from the east” will put an end to suffering.

Dmitry Medvedev (who always expresses what Putin wants to say but can’t) proposed the Russian version of “peace formula”: Ukraine must capitulate, the whole territory of Ukraine must become Russia, all Ukrainian officials must be removed, and Ukraine must pay a compensation to Russia for the Russian soldiers killed and wounded in the war.

So, we now have Russia’s “peace plan” — anyone who would like to suggest to Ukraine to negotiate with Russia, should be simply directed to Medvedev’s Telegram to read this remarkable plan in full.

Now any country should know: if Russia attacks you, this means they are going to keep killing your people and destroying your cities unless you surrender. And then they are going to annex your land and demand compensation for the inconvenience. And, of course, they are going to torture and kill the people who don’t love Russia, deport half of population to Siberia, and relocate Russians from Russia to live in the homes of deported locals.

This all had already happened before. The Soviet Union was attacking smaller countries and demanding capitulation, and when the governments signed capitulation, Soviets immediately began executions and deportations, and brought hundreds of thousands of their own relocants, to change the ethnic composition of the annexed territories.

There is nothings that Putin is doing now that the leaders of Russia and the Soviet Union haven’t done before. That’s what they always do.

An insult to my intelligence

What to expect from China if you are CIA / NED and Chinese

This is what Chinese do to whoever sold the country to the enemy, known as 诛九族 nine familial exterminations Nine familial exterminations – Wikipedia

, basically every person related to the collaborator would be eliminated from the society. Chinese do this to make sure things like this will never ever happen again. In India, the people who got rich by helping the British are still in charge today. Chinese people are amused by India.

Qin Hui – Wikipedia

Souper Meat ‘n’ Potatoes Pie

Souper Meat ‘n’ Potatoes Pie is a family favorite vintage recipe from Campbell’s.

Yield: one 9 inch pie

Ingredients

1 can Campbell’s Cream of Mushroom Soup, divided
1 pound ground beef
1/4 cup finely chopped onion
1 egg, slightly beaten
1/4 cup fine dry bread crumbs
2 tablespoons chopped parsley
1/4 teaspoon salt
Dash of pepper
2 cups mashed potatoes
1/4 cup shredded mild cheese*
2 slices cooked bacon, crumbled**

Instructions

Mix thoroughly 1/2 cup soup, beef, onion, egg, bread crumbs, parsley and seasonings.
Press firmly into a 9-inch pie plate.
Bake at 350 degrees F for 25 minutes; spoon off fat.
Frost with mashed potatoes; top with remaining soup and cheese.
Bake for 10 minutes more or until done.
Garnish with cooked and crumbled bacon if desired.

Notes

* We love cheese, so I normally cover the entire top of the pie with a hefty amount of cheese, more like 1 cup.

** This is my addition to the recipe. It adds a little extra flavor.

Meanwhile in Vietnam

What are the most popular computer programming jokes?

A man is being executed by firing squad. The captain asks him if he’d like a cigarette. He says no, he’s trying to quit. You wouldn’t have a nicotine patch, would you? The captain says “No! We don’t patch the executable!”
How did the programmer use up a whole bottle of shampoo? The instructions said “Lather, Rinse, Repeat”.
A cop sees a man pushing a car backwards up a long steep hill in the mountains. He pulls over and asks the man what he’s doing. The man says ‘I’m a computer programmer. My brakes failed at the top of the hill and it took me all this way to stop. Nearly got killed! So I’m pushing it back up the hill to see if it happens again.’

What are some harsh truths about Pakistan?

Pakistan has a lot of harsh truths that should be understood by all Pakistanis in order to solve the nation’s issues and look towards a successful and bright future.

Around 40% of Pakistan is in poverty. Balochistan, FATA, KPK and Lower Sindh are the worst affected, while urban Sindh and Northern Punjab are the most well off. 40% Pakistanis live in poverty – The Express Tribune

People vote in communal patterns. Karachi’s Muhajirs vote for MQM, the Sindhis vote for the PPP, the Punjabis votes for PLM-N, Pashtuns vote for PTI and the Baloch vote for various Islamist parties. Politics of ethnicity

The nation has seen dynastic rule for the past 44 years (with Parvez Musharraf as the interuption). The Punjabi Arain Shariffs and Sindhi Rajput Bhuttos are the power holders; similar to India’s Gandhi Dynasty, Bangladesh’s Zias and Sheikhs as well as Sri Lanka’s Bandaranaike Family. Dynastic politics

Corruption is everywhere. Failing public institutions from police to education and public amenities. Recently Pakistan placed 116 out of 176 countries in the Corruption Perceptions Index, released by Transparency International (TI). Pakistan improves slightly to 116 rank on global corruption index

Lack of development, stability or a clear future. Karachi has a population that is close to parallel to Tokyo and Seoul, yet the city is embroiled in ethnic warfare and militant-ism. On the other hand, the rest of the world is advancing in every direction. In Karachi, Pakistan, few families are untouched by crime

A whole lot of religious intolerance. The large Sunni majority has politcal and social dominance over the Shias, Ahmadiyas, Hindus and Christians. Violence towards these groups occurs more frequently than you’d expect. The Problem of Religious Intolerance in Pakistan

Close minded attitudes and ignorance. Men continue to hold domineering status over women in terms of education, politics and personal freedoms. People are lynched for being accused of blasphemy. Most importantly, Pakistanis aren’t allowed to freely express their politcal or religious beliefs. Imposing faith

Many people are leaving for a better life. Pakistan has a considerable brain drain. The government is unable to provide resources to further talent and ability that can further the nation’s development. Brain drain: 2.7m Pakistanis have exited country in last 5 years – The Express Tribune

The never ending tense relations with India. For the past 70 years the two nations have been embroiled in Kashmir and countless other wars and smaller conflicts. This seems to be a never ending dispute and I don’t suspect anything to happen soon. A brief history of the Kashmir conflict

Extremist nature and terrorism within the nation. A whole lot of terrorism is homegrown and exported outside of Pakistani soil. People even empathize with terrorists and Islamism. In fact Mumtaz Qadri’s (terrorist) grave has been turned into a Mazar and people show up for his Urs. Mumtaz Qadri’s shrine: In memory of Salmaan Taseer’s assassin

Perhaps the biggest “harshest truth” about Pakistan is that the conception of Pakistan was one of the worst ideas in the 20th century. The Partition tore away millions of Hindus, Muslims, Sikhs and Buddhists from their homes, businesses and friends to cater to the greatest minority appeasement in history. It paved the path for numerous conflicts and wars between the two nations (and later a third). Most importantly, the death toll of the Partition reached around 2 million and millions more died in the later riots, wars and conflicts.

In conclusion, Pakistan’s “harshest truths” are the result of a series of poor decisions and a lack of real leadership. This is evident from the days of the Pakistan Movement to today.

They have assumed…

What did someone say to you that instantly made you realize their life was in danger?

I was on call at a busy Nursing Station. One man came in saying he had injured his thumb. While he was talking another young man came in. He didn’t look good. I asked him what was wrong and he said he was having trouble breathing. His colour was good but he was grunting when exhaling and slightly leaning over. I said he had to be seen first and the man with the thumb problem got angry and left because he arrived first and felt he should be seen in that order.

I asked the young man when this started and he said a couple of hours ago. I checked his vitals and listened to his chest and couldn’t hear air on one side. I put him on oxygen and did a chest X-ray. One lung had collapsed and the other looked as if it was being compressed. He had a hemothorax (bleeding into his chest cavity) from being hit in the chest while cutting down a tree three days before. How he walked in on his own, I will never know.

I sent him out on a medevac, he was admitted, had surgery, a chest tube placed to drain the blood and did well.

EDIT: Please don’t be too harsh on the man with the thumb problem. It could have been possible that he had fractured his scaphoid bone. That could also be serious in time.

Why is it that in South America, especially in Brazil, hundreds of parrots instinctively cover the walls of tall buildings (almost as if they were a decoration)?

Like Rogerio said,

Parrots don´t cover the walls of tall buildings in Brazil.

They cover the wall of a single building in São Paulo.

The palace of parrots…

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Crazy uh?

At a first glance, it might look like you said, “a building decoration”. But those are actual birds massed on the building (it is the specimens of Psittacara leucophthalmus, in italian we also call them white-eyed parakeet).

This is happening in the eastern part of São Paulo, Brazil, the bricks of what is known as the “Prédio das maritacas”

[1] have been attracting hundreds of parrots every day for twenty-five years.

This behaviour could be related to the phenomenon of geophagy: in nature these birds consume small amounts of clay with the double purpose of

reducing the harmfulness of certain foods (in particular, studies show a 60% reduction in the toxicity of the alkaloid quinidine, contained in the plant China) and…
…as a supplement of their diet. (EDIT: Don’t miss Lena Kurschev comment below she is showing this phenomen with some very nice pics)

However, in an urban environment they have opted to find what they need more conveniently by licking clay from the surface of the bricks.

Other hypotheses suggest that the structure of this particular building allows many parrots to stop for a break and find shelter at the same time, in harmony with their social instincts; or, even, they use it to rub their beaks in order to sharpen them.

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A pretty sight to see perhaps, but it is sad to think that they are there because their natural environment has probably been slowly wiped out due to human expansion.

Pause after winning

What is the expected timeline for China’s response to the Philippines’ offer of joint exploration in the West Philippine Sea?

I do not hear PH’s offer yet. But I heard the following.

On 2024/3/11, The Manila Times reports that …

Since April 2023 last year, China has sent 10 letters to Philippines. To discuss peace, security & safety in SCS. The Marcos government ignored the letters. … meaning Marcos has no intention to have peace in SCS. It means Philippines has every intention to create conflict & even war.

Why war? Philippines economically flourished during the Vietnam war when USA used Philippines as a military base. It is easy money. No need to sweat.

https://www.manilatimes.net/2024/03/11/podcasts/headlines-ph-ignored-chinas-proposals-on-sea-row-mar-11-2024/1936296

Other than letters, China also said it could send diplomats to Philipplines to further discuss the letters. Again Philippines did not reply. … Really, Philippines has no intention to talk peace; it has already decided to create conflict & war, like Ukraine. So that PH will pocket more easy money from USA.

To prepare for war, PH paints a picture that China is the bully. Every time when there was a conflict, western journalists were invited on site. Oh…h, “poor baby” Philippines is “bullied” by the macho China. Westerners only sees a small dog without knowing the small dog is a pitbull trained to attack.

Only SCS countries know the truth. As I said in another post, ASEAN countries minus Philipplines agree SCS is high risk but not high threat. “China threat” is exaggeration. In the 2024 Melbourne Declaration, words such as “China militarising SCS” & “Philippines’ arbitration” are deleted.

On 2024/3/13, 2 days after Manila Times’ 1st report, Philippines official responded.

Philippines did replied to China (sometimes) & raised Philippines’ objections. But China objected to Philippines’ objection. … is this not a normal process with objection/sugestions back & forth many times before reaching compromise/agreement? See, Philippines acts like a dictator & not democratic. Let me repeat: Philippines does not want peace; it plans for a war.

https://www.manilatimes.net/2024/03/13/news/chinas-proposals-unconstitutional/1936456

Expect to see more SCS conflicts as long as Marco is in power because USA has frozen Marcos’ vast inheritance & has an arrest warrant for Marcos. ,,, Marcos is working for his personal interest.

After Manila Times’ reports, China Foreign Ministry spokesman Wang Wenbin said:

What Philippines cries about is EEZ under UNCLOS & not sovereignty.

(I add) Dont confuse EEZ right with sovereign right.

UNCLOS is aware of Historic Title ie historical records. The issue of sovereignty is not easy to be solved in a short time for so many countries in the world esp each case is different.

Hence, UNCLOS deliberately avoids the sovereignty issue by saying in Article 298 that UNCLOS has no authority to deal with sovereignty issue. Article 295 asks disputing countries to work it out peacefully according to UN charter. UN charter authorizes a state to protect its sovereign territory.

China has Historic Title since 230 AD & has announced to the world its Historic Title with a SCS map （海南诸岛位置图) in Feb 1948. Hence, China must protect its sovereignty in SCS.

Disputing countries can share natural resources in the overlapping waters in EEZ. But not sharing sovereignty. Sharing does not mean invading other’s sovereign territory, says UN charter. Or unilaterally say “I dont recognise your Historic Title”.

When we see Philippines ignoring China’s letters & later creating countless conflicts, we know Philippines has no intention to work for peace.

history

PH was independent from USA in 1946. In its 1935 constitution & 1961 territorial border, PH set its west-end border at 118 degree longitude. All islands/reefs in SCS are outside PH territory.

When China announced a SCS map to the world in Feb 1948 about the 11-dash line, No country incl PH had objection.

Does it matter what day of the week is in prison? Why yes/not?

It’s up to you.

The background of prison is Groundhog Day. It’s a cycle that repeats endlessly with minor weekly events and the occasional shakedown to liven things up.

Just like in the movie, you wake up every day to the same exact set of circumstances. You’re wearing the same clothes, the same thing is on the radio, the same food in the Chow Hall… sure, some things are on weekly or monthly cycles — visits on weekends, work and mail-call on weekdays. Unless you choose to use your time wisely, every day will crash into the next like too many bumper cars on the track — nobody going anywhere.

Each hour, day, and week is a small progression to the time when you get to start your life over.

You can peel the numbers off the dials if you want. If you do, nothing will mark the smooth motion of the wheels and you’ll have no sense of where you are, or how far you’ve come. One day they’ll just kick you out and you’ll be no better off than you were before.

I knew guys who didn’t mark the days. They had nothing to live for. Their lives were just a continuous monotony, a drive through Death Valley, with no landmarks to judge progress, and nothing learned along the way.

Time is precious. It’s all we have. Choose what you do with each minute carefully and you won’t get to the end of your journey only to ask, “What happened?”

Interception

What country has a smaller population than most people realize?

Germany has a population of 80 million. The United Kingdom and France both have populations between 65 and 70 million. Spain is on 46 million. Italy has 60 million. There seems to be a pretty standard trend of western European nations being in the tens of millions. Even relatively small countries like the Netherlands and Belgium have over 10 million people. Right beside the UK we have Ireland. What would you guess Ireland’s population is? It’s half the size of the UK’s 70 million, so maybe 35 million? Well of course we’re talking about an answer that is surprisingly low populations, so it’d be better to low ball it. Maybe it’s at 20 million, around the same as the Netherlands? No, Ireland sits at around 5 million people (it jumps to just under 7 million if you count Northern Ireland). Looking at a population map of Europe, Ireland really stands out.

Overall Population

main qimg d84774a7b8b7eef1204372cd00bdc358

Population Density

main qimg 6a4aa6db72d346e4e2ae75d95fac52fd pjlq

But Ireland is a decently rich and developed country in land not geographically different to its surrounding neighbors. Why is it’s population so much lower? Well the reason is worldwide human population absolutely exploded beginning in the 1800s. And it just so happens that right in the middle of that population explosion Ireland suffered a massively depopulating famine. Ireland is one of the few regions in the world that has a lower population now than it did 200 years ago.

EDIT: So wow, I’m going to have to be one of those “Gee shucks I never thought this would happen” guys and say ~4k up votes, boy am I pleased. Especially when I don’t think this is even one of my best answers XD

But to address some of the many comments this answer has been getting, yes, there was a massive amount of emigration away from Ireland during this time. The Famine did not depopulate the country by literally killing everyone (though a tonne of people absolutely did die, estimates vary but the general number thrown around is 1 million, or 12% of the total pre-famine population). Most of the population decrease came from people fleeing overseas leading to a large Irish-Celtic diaspora. This trend did not stop when the famine ended either, as the economic impacts continued to see Ireland having a negative population growth for a further century afterwards.

And yes, you will see a lot of people saying that this was genocide or ethnic cleansing on the part of the British. You will also have people that hotly debate that label. What does need to be kept in mind though is that the potato blight did not hit Ireland alone. All of Western and Northern Europe were afflicted by it, however it was only in Ireland where it resulted in starvation and mass evacuation. So whether it was a result of malice or incompetence, the outcome was clearly human in origin. I didn’t want to get too into the political side of things when first writing this up, but the popularity of this answer has kind of compelled me to give a little more clarity. It is of course a massive topic of debate, analysis and research, so if you doubt anything I’ve said or are just interested in general, then I urge you to do your own research.

And for those people saying “What about Country X? It’s Y times bigger than Ireland and has a population of Z”, this answer isn’t about the lowest populated or least densely populated countries. The purpose of Ireland as an answer is to provide an example of a country with a “surprisingly” small population. A lot of countries are of course bigger than Ireland with similar or smaller populations, but I think most of those countries are well known to have low populations for their size. If you feel there is a country that has a surprisingly small population, then go ahead and place an answer to this question. I think the one on South America was pretty good in a “that makes perfect sense, but I’ve never thought about it” kind of way.

EDIT 2: Okay, so still more people saying Ireland’s population is not small because X country in Europe has a similar population. So I added a population density map along with an overall population map to show that it’s not just the absolute numbers, Ireland’s population density is low only being beaten within Europe by the sparsely populated Nordic and Baltic states, Ukraine and (European) Russia. What’s more we have this

main qimg e6d19be656ddbd142e771e2f77ea28db pjlq

A population map showing Ireland’s population density prior to the Famine. As you can see Ireland’s current relative population today is very different to what it was historically. Ireland might have a population today comparable to Denmark or Austria, but that’s today. Before the famine Ireland’s population was far higher, relatively speaking, compared to the countries it currently has a similar population to. Anyone 200 years ago predicting population tends in Europe would expect Ireland to have a far higher population than central and eastern European countries.

(also re this 1820 population map, was Madrid not a big deal back then? I know the centre of Spain isn’t hugely populated, but Madrid is the big exception to that. Maybe someone more familiar with nineteenth century Spanish history and population trends could explain that).

Will China agree to the US plan to nationalize Tiktok?

Tiktok and Douyin (Chinese company) are two divisions operating separately and independently.

Tiktok is privately held. The consent of the China government is not required.

Institutional investors including Carlyle Group Inc. (USA), General Atlantic (USA) and Susquehanna International Group (USA) own 60% of ByteDance; 20% is owned by the company’s global workforce; an additional 20% is owned by the company’s Chinese co-founder Zhang Yiming.

https://www.carlyle.com/

https://www.generalatlantic.com/

https://sig.com/

If someone asked Tiktok co-founder Zhang Yiming to donate his shares for free and gift them to the U.S. for nationalisation, he would not agree!

This is in effect the U.S. government plundering private legal property.

Zhang Yiming will not sell his original core algorithm technology. It’s the same way Bill Gates won’t sell his patents.

No doubt he’d rather take Tiktok and leave the US.

The U.S. market doesn’t deserve a high-tech company with the latest algorithms like Tiktok.

Americans have Facebook, Twitter and Instagram and that’s enough.

Writer’s Question: How many times can an average historical person be flogged with a heavy stick the historical Chinese/Korean/Japanese way before they die?

One of the infamous methods of punishment in the Ming Dynasty was called “Court caning.” (廷杖)

The notoriety of the punishment was mainly because it was very unofficial and handwaving. If an official said something wrong to the Emperor in the court, the Emperor could order him to be dragged out and beaten. No need to go through an elaborate legal system, the Emperor was angry and there will be consequences.

How badly would the victim be hit? The answer is…the guards knew exactly how hard to hit.

An urban legend stated that the guards trained for this by taking a brick, wrapping it around in straw, and then covering it with paper. The executioners would train by hitting the brick with a stick. They could break the paper without touching the straws, and they could shatter the brick within without breaking the paper. (Obviously its a crude simulation of human anatomy)

There were also no official words from the Emperor on how hard to hit. The supervisor of this punishment, usually an eunuch sent by the Emperor, would also be counting how many, and there were also “safe words” he could use to convey the message to the executioners.

The supervisor eunuch knew because he was close and loyal to the Emperor; he could read his intentions.

If the supervisor eunuch said: “hit seriously,” then the guards would actually be careful, it meant the Emperor or the supervisor eunuch didn’t want the victim to die. If he instead said: “Hit solidly,” then the guards would reply: “I’m about to end this man’s career.”

Another alleged “safe word” was the stance of the eunuch. If he stood or sat with his foot pointing outwards, like a “V” shape), he wanted the victim to live. If he instead had his foot pointing inwards like a “^,” then he wanted the victim dead.

(An old movie named “Dragon Gate Inn,” had this introduction scene. The corrupt high eunuch Cao Shaoqin was interrogating and torturing a sentenced general. Notice his foot stance? Also notice the actor playing him? It’s a young man named Donnie Yen!”)

So when the sentence came, the executioners could hit you exactly as hard as they want. Sometimes the victim could survive 100 canes and still recover in a couple of weeks. Sometimes, 5 hits would be enough to send him to the grave. Surviving to caning was expected, dying to the caning was also expected, the guards could easily just blame it on any “pre-existing medical conditions” of the victim.

By the way, the guards and eunuch accept all forms of payments. They played the loophole in this corporal punishment system to their advantage.

Edit: Actually I’ve followed up a little bit because I realised I might not have given as direct of an answer. The maximum penalty was usually 100 strikes, but 60 was probably the fatal limit. But again, quick flick through the books, some died while some managed to survive.

Men Are Oppressed Not Women (They’ve Been Lying To You)

How do restaurants maintain consistency in the preparation and taste of each of their dishes on the menu, given changing kitchen staff? I can’t even scramble an egg the same way twice!

A lot depends on how well the head chef runs the kitchen staff, and how good his relationship is with the restaurant owner.

My aunt founded and ran The Mandarin(Ghirardelli Square in San Francisco and Beverly Hills), and the toughest relationship she had was with her head chefs in the kitchen. The head chef had final say over the menu, how each dish was prepared, and ordered ingredients from suppliers. If he was happy and in a good mood, the dishes were consistent in quality and the restaurant got good reviews. If he was not happy, he would come in late, forget to order and materials would not be fresh, and my aunt would have to cover for the restaurant.

So basically, a head chef could make or break the restaurant’s reputation. If things got bad for a long time, she would have to look for a new chef. In the case of The Mandarin, this was difficult because it offered northern Chinese banquet cuisine, and before Nixon went to China and immigration opened up, the head chefs were mainly Cantonese from Chinatown. Most of the Cantonese did not even speak Mandarin, and would not even like to do business with Mandarin speakers.

Looking at the big picture of restaurant trends in the US, the constant tension between the kitchen management and restaurant owners led to another business trend: the rise of fast food in the US. From a restaurant business management perspective, this trend was all about replacing the power of the head chefs in the kitchen with low-wage workers who had little kitchen experience, but could still provide cheap and tasty food.

My aunt’s son also worked at the Mandarin, and he found managing head chefs so tiring that he became one of the founders of P.F. Chang’s, which was all about replacing the highly-paid head chefs with trained low-wage workers, and making Chinese casual food accessible to ordinary Americans. Panda Express has built on this model to outstanding business success.

I believe that we are at the middle to end of the fast-food trend, but it will take time for Gen Z to go to restaurants with head chefs because their tastes are so different from the previous generation.

To answer this question, restaurants maintain quality by following strict methods and processes. Good restaurants know what dishes they are really good at; these dishes are usually limited to three to eight dishes which they are famous for. When Chinese choose which restaurant they want to dine at, they usually choose by what dish they want to eat for that particular meal, and go to the restaurant which has a good reputation for that particular dish or dishes.

That is always a good rule to follow when choosing a restaurant.

What firearm would you recommend for defense against home invaders?

“What firearm would you recommend for defense against home invaders?”

Paintball.

Yes, yes, I know you’re going to say it’s not a ‘firearm’, but you haven’t thought things through.

If someone enters your house at night and you wake up, you think ‘intruder’ and you fire that Desert Eagle Penile Compensation piece in your dark bedroom — without donning your hearing protection (because, who is going to have hearing protection with that Desert Eagle on their nightstand, right?) — fire that piece in the darkness at the shadow in the doorway, you know what will happen. The noise will replace your hearing with a loud ‘iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii’ and your retina will be sporting these muzzle flash afterimages of your wife crumpling in the doorway. Or, in the unlikely event that it’s not your teenage daughter sneaking back into the house after leaving through her bedroom window, but an axe murderer — you just rendered yourself too blind and deaf to re-aim and shoot again.

Now, reconsider my suggestion and imagine you have a paintball gun on your nightstand.

First of all, no flashes and noise to mess with your night vision and hearing. Just a ‘pffft’ and angry cursing from the shadow in the doorway as he’s trying to wipe paint from his eyes. Because you know that just like you don’t have hearing protection on your nightstand, he sure as hell isn’t wearing paintball protection on his nocturnal visits. Paintballs on your unprotected body hurt like fuck. And the intruder won’t know what’s happening. No muzzle flashes or loud noises, just the sound of a blowdart and getting stung and wet all over — that’s unnerving, man, and I’d like to see the intruder who wouldn’t scamper back to whatever rock he crawled out from under. (Did I say that right? Sounds right…)

And while he runs like fuck from the stinging wet paint, you call the cops and tell them there’s an intruder running around your neighbourhood, a man splattered with purple paint. However incompetent the police are in your area, they should still be able to find someone covered in paintball paint.

Plus, if you make a mistake and confuse family members with intruders, you don’t have to take them to the ER (or bury them), but you simply apologize and help them wash off the paint.

So, forget about all those macho handcannons and just get yourself a paintball gun for home defense. Your NRA neighbour might laugh at you, but he’s going to be the one with the axe buried between his starry eyes from the muzzle flash, while there’s still an almost full magazine in his Desert Eagle.

[image by Paintball Guns & Gear at the #1 Paintball Store]

Edited to add:

A lot of people respond that my answer is ridiculous and dangerous. And they might be right — pelting an intruder armed with an assault rifle with paint balls might well result in getting you killed. However, I posted this answer not to promote paintball guns for home defence, but to think ‘outside the box’. In the comments, a lot of people also offered their own alternative solutions — shotguns loaded with rock salt, pepperballs, et cetera — and that was my intention: instead of looking to use lethal force, what alternatives are there?

Also, many commenters seem to believe that I would just shoot at an intruder with paintballs and then wait for them to respond. I guess they haven’t read my other answers and don’t know about my experience with violence. I can’t blame them, but, no, I wouldn’t just stand there like an idiot, but use the paintball attack to close the distance to blade range.

And another edit:

Some commenters say that defending your house with firearms is a Christian duty and that the Ten Commandments don’t say ‘Thou Shalt Not Kill’, but ‘Thou Shalt Not Murder’. My thoughts on that subject:

I’m raised Christian, but became agnostic because of the hypocrisy of organised religion. However, even if these commenters are right, using a lethal weapon to repel an intruder (99% of intruders are after possessions, not looking to murder you in your sleep) is not exactly ‘Christian’: even a casual reader of the gospel would understand that Jesus Christ himself would not condone the spilling of blood over mere possessions. Therefore, arming yourself with lethal weapons in order to repel intruders is premeditated killing, i.e. murder. There are plenty of effective non-lethal weapons (tasers, for instance) that can be used without killing the intruder.

But what about the killers and rapists?

If there is a high rate of homicidal intruders in your neighbourhood, high enough to warrant the stockpiling of lethal weapons for ‘home defence’, you might want to look into relocating your family. Chances are that the ‘reporting’ on these ‘deadly home invasions’ is merely scare tactics by groups like the NRA in order to sell more guns. In reality, getting killed by an intruder is as unlikely as getting killed by a Great White shark.

In reality, most child rapists do not jump from bushes or climb into the bedroom window — in the majority of child rape cases, the rapist is familiar to the child, i.e. family members, daycare staff, teachers, priests*, and baby sitters. In other words, the people to whom we entrust our children.

(* Personally, I loathe the people citing the Catholic catechism to morally justify using deadly force defending their children from getting raped by intruders. If you want to keep your children from getting raped, keep them far away from Catholic priests.)

Why did my top performing employee quit after write up?

Let me tell you about my experience, and you figure it from there…

As you can see from my byline, I’m a Driver Trainer. This means those guys you see on the road learning to drive? In a lot of cases, I’m sitting in the buddy seat teaching them how to do their jobs.

And from what I’ve been told, I’m damn good at it. I’ve been trying to move from a driver’s slot into something within either safety or training for about the past ten years. I can do this job, and I can do it well.

As it happens, our company is one of those that installed inward facing cameras in the cabs of our trucks. This is something I opposed because I’ve seen how this equipment gets used. These are being used to find “gotcha” moments which are then used as a cudgel against good drivers. On more than one occasion, I’ve pointed this out, and forced them to admit that this was what they were doing. Talked my way out of more than one write up because I could show them this.

So, one kid I’m training gets pulled into the office, (as do I since I was in the buddy seat), and we’re told I’m getting written up due to not wearing a seat belt.

Okay, so I point out that the seat belt is black, my shirt is black, and the picture isn’t the best. I can still point out where the belt crosses my chest, but, no, the boss is insistent I get written up.

Yeah, fine. I do it under protest, and advise them I’ll be talking to an attorney if it goes further.

Then, they tell me they’re going to write up my trainee…

OH, BULLSHIT YOU ARE!

This kid is a greenie. He’s been out on the road for about a week, and you’re going to punish MY TRAINEE? It’s one thing if you’re going to slap me around, but Sunshine, you go after MY TRAINEE, and I’m telling you now, IT’S WAR!

Don’t tell me, folks, that just because you have a BA, and a few college classes about safety, that you know a god damned thing about being a TRUCKER! If you haven’t seated a rig, SHUT YOUR DAMN MOUTH! You know nothing, and all you’re doing is pissing off the men and women who are keeping this nation moving, in spite of how you treat us!

I’ve been looking for a new gig, and when I get one, I’m out. As of right now, I do NOT recommend anyone I know take a job with this outfit, and even go so far as to advise them to look elsewhere. In fact, I’m even pushing for drivers to move to better companies. (“Get your license, and your experience here for a year or two, then run like hell.”) I have no shame in doing this, because I have seen what they’ve done with those frigging Kodaks. Don’t give me this crap about it being about safety: it’s not. It’s about trying to keep wages low, and keeping drivers from getting jobs with other carriers!

The instant you weaponize safety, that’s the first thing you lose. If anything, in spite of all the claims the insurance companies and the surveillance outfits make, you create a hostile work environment, one where safety is ultimately irrelevant. And if you’re a shipper, you might want to ask if the trucks have internal cameras focused on the drivers. If they do, GO SHIP WITH SOMEONE ELSE! The security and safety of your load is secondary to someone finding a “gotcha!”

And, yeah. I think I’ve found another gig. I’ll let you know, but it’s going to be after I’m back to work. (As it happens, I’m on disability due to my diabetes, and I’m trying to save my eyesight. They don’t want me on casual status working in the office. Fair enough. How much notice they get will depend on how fair they are with me as I go through the process of laser surgery and all the other crap required by DOT to keep my license.)

Have you ever met an adult who literally can’t read? What was your reaction?

The dishwasher at the restaurant where I work cannot read. His mom pulled him out of school when she found out they had just been passing him along. I don’t blame her. Since I have a great book for teaching kids to read (teach your child to read in 100 easy lessons) I bought a copy for him for Christmas and offered to do reading lessons with him. He is making a lot of progress already. Two days ago, he sounded out his first sentence. The manager at the restaurant says he is recognizing words in the kitchen better.

My reaction was a bit of disbelief at first, and then empathy. Not being able to read would have limited my ability to make up my own mind about so many things in my life. I would not have been able to read beautiful poetry that spoke directly to my soul. My kids would have missed out on Dr. Seuss books. Quality of life can depend very much on whether or not you can read.

Every weekend, usually on Saturday and Sunday, we do a reading lesson. He then goes and practices the reading exercises in his notebook. Every now and then, he stammers and hesitates. I ask what’s going on. He doesn’t like to admit it, but sometimes memories of his mom and brother doubting him come to mind. His mom doesn’t think he will ever be able to read, and is mean to him about him even trying. His brother has said similar things. When he tells me they are on his mind and it is distracting him, we blow raspberries at them. It makes him laugh and breaks up the tension. We can then go back to learning how to read.

It feels good to help him prove his mother and brother wrong.

EDITED TO ADD:

He and I had a reading lesson after work tonight. He was getting a little shaky. I asked him what it was, and he kept saying nothing, over and over. But he kept doing poorly, when I knew he could do better. I paused and told him that I thought words from his mother were bothering him again, and that he was trying hard but it was hard to not believe that she was right… maybe he was wasting his time. He agreed… it was bothering him.

Then I told him that over 300 people had liked his story and that he is learning to read, and it gave him a huge grin. He felt better, and we started again, and he was reading much better. I cannot thank you all enough for the support. It literally spurred him on.

EDITED TO ADD AGAIN:

OVER 4K UPVOTES!? INSANITY!!! Thank you all so much. You give me far too much credit. I am an instrument, that’s it. The book really makes learning to read so easy. Teach Your Child to Read in 100 Easy Lessons. 10/10 recommend.

I knew it would be incredibly easy, the book does all the work for you with prompts on what to say, which letter sound to learn next, everything. It’s just a few minutes at the end of my shift. And my employers are completely supportive of using their space. I am so happy he is rebelling against the tyranny of what he came from and wanting better for himself, and the others around him who will benefit from his being able to read.

Women Got Shocked After Hearing These Stats Of The Ideal Man

Huffing the de-greasing Jones

When I was living at “Father Pete’s””monastery” I shared my experience with about twenty other men all dealing with a range of issues.

One was a fellow with an addictive personality, and he just had to get high.

And you know, we couldn’t figure out why all of our cans of oven de-greaser kept on running out. One month we bought a case of 12, and they were all used up. Now, the guy in charge of cleaning the oven, claimed that he was a big rigorous in cleaning the ovens and such.

But twelve cans?

Nah. Far too unusual.

Well, for certain, he was using the cans to get high. He was spraying the de-greaser in toilet paper and huffing it away all night in his room.

This was the first time that I ever was exposed to a “huffer”.

Using him as an example; I can only conclude that the chemicals wrecked his brain and turned him into a simpleton; a town idiot.No kidding. He was really having trouble with all sorts of simple tasks. Like, for instance, tying his shoelaces.

But, you know, there were other changes as well. It also gave him this sense of superiority in a manic, just about disgusting manner. He was manic all the time. That that was nuts. My ex-wife had bouts on manic-depressive personality, and I despised them.

And of course, his day to day routines started to suffer. Including hygiene. Brushing the teeth. Taking a shower. Wiping your ass when you took a dump. Stuff like that.

Don’t huff.

Watch out for your loved ones as well. Huffing is something that he picked up when he was 14 and continued until when I met him at 45 years of age.

Anyways… Yeah….We kicked him out.

He was toxic to the community. 

We were willing and wanting to help those that needed help, but some people took up too high a percentage of our limited time and resources, all the while not learning from the environment that we provided. 

Ah. It's a fine line that we needed to set forth for all of us.

Do not be the victim of a de-greasing Jones. I’ll tell you what.

Today…

What is something unrealistic that you often see in movies that annoys the hell out of you?

Sorry ladies but it needs to be said:

The heroine, who is 5′4″ and 100 pounds soaking wet (usually wearing heels) faces off against a 6′4″ bad guy weighing in at 220+ pounds. She then proceeds to beat the living sh** out of him while absorbing everything he can throw at her.

First: In real life when that baddy hits her she would not get back up. Period. People (men and women) have died by being punched by men that size. Women’s bodies cannot absorb abuse like that.

Second: She would not have the strength to actually hurt him. It would take a miracle round house to the head for her to be able to do damage. But in Hollywood her tiny little fists on tiny little arms do crushing damage that incapacitate him.

Am I being sexist? Here is a quote from a female MMA fighter (Tamikka Brents) that fought a ‘transgender’ fighter. Remember, these two people were in the same weight class:

“I’ve fought a lot of women and have never felt the strength that I felt in a fight as I did that night. I can’t answer whether it’s because she was born a man or not, because I’m not a doctor,” she stated. “I can only say, I’ve never felt so overpowered ever in my life, and I am an abnormally strong female in my own right. ”

Tamikka had her eye socket broken in that fight; a fight that was in a controlled environment while wearing padded gloves.

Here is another quote from Ronda Rousey’s mother about her daughter fighting a man. Ronda’s mother is a Judo Black belt and former world champion:

“That’s a stupid idea,” she said. “Seriously, that’s a stupid idea. I’m as much a feminist as anyone but the fact is that biologically, there’s a difference between men and women. Hello, duh. A woman who is 135 pounds and a man who is 135 pounds are not physically equal.”

The sad thing is this truth is NEW to the modern gals of today

Why did my top performing employee quit after write up?

I was a senior engineer for the United States home office for the largest Japanese construction company operating in the United States. Once, while working with the Japanese vice president closing a bid, he started saying to me and anyone else in earshot, “I don’t know how to do this, I do not know what to do.” I put my hand on his shoulder, asked him to write down the total of the bid he wanted to submit and I would back-figure the schedule of values and electronically file the bid for a large tire manufacturing facility.

All done, he’s good, we were good.

Next day, I get a scheduled meeting with Human Recourses. Just the HR director and her administrative assistant. I was written up for disrespect to my supervisor, the VP, and for insubordination. I was told I was supposed to stay out of the bid closing and if the VP didn’t finish, it was his desire to not submit. This skullduggery and in-depth deconstruction into my salvaging the bid went on for 45-minutes.

I asked the VP if he had a problem and told him if I disrespected him, I was sorry. He told me he very much approached the help and that I was a good employee. My manager was surprised I was written up a 2nd time for interfering with operations and disrespect, but said he couldn’t do anything about it and to just watch it.

I sat in the lounge area to simmer down. At that time I got a call from a competitor inviting me to dinner and a talk to about my taking over estimating for them. I asked “Is this a job offer” and they said “Yes.” I immediately turned in my notice and signed out, went to the meeting as was working for the new employer the next morning.

Epilog: the Japanese company got the job I closed out. They called me the next week and told me I need to be part of the team meeting with the client in Mississippi the next week. I reminded them that I was no longer an employee, thank you for considering me and if he had any questions, consult the head of HR. The HR director called me in a matter of minutes and told me she was attempting to further my abilities and help me integrate into the Japanese frame of mind, not trying to discourage me and was sorry I took it that way. I did thank her and hung up. “Bitch.”

The truth about Ukraine

And also the truth about Taiwan.

A cop pulled me over for speeding and asked if he could search my car. When I said no, he said that it’s qualified as a probable cause and pulled me out of the car to search it. Is that actually legal?

This has been heavily litigated for decades. However, we have a pretty definitive answer.

Refusal to consent to a search cannot be used as probable cause, or else the idea of consent has no value. It creates a situation where you really have no choice; you can consent, and police can perform the search, or you can refuse to consent and the police can declare that reason for them to search despite your refusal. Either way, they’re getting to search, making the ‘choice’ little more than an illusion, a farce.

Now, if they have probable cause beforehand, that’s different. I know someone who spent three nights in jail after refusing a search of a rental car. Turns out the last person had basically kept the car a few days longer than they had rented it, and the rental company had followed their standard procedure and declared it stolen. When it was returned and fees paid by the renter, they had put it back into rotation without alerting the police that the vehicle had returned, and the car showed up as stolen in a routine traffic stop. Despite having a rental contract and nothing illegal in the car, the individual was arrested until the case was dismissed when first it went before a judge.

If you can’t refuse a search without it basically having the same impact as consenting to the search, then the Fourth Amendment has no meaning whatsoever.

Why have Chinese critics of the Chinese Communist Party never come together to offer a social and political platform for how they think China should be governed?

There are people who are interested in criticizing the existence of the CCP, and then there are people interested in providing better policies than the CCP.

The former typically end up abroad as political dissidents applying for asylum. It’s a solution that makes everyone happy. The dissident gets to bitch and moan in peace, the CCP doesn’t have to put up with people that will never be happy, the common folk get to have discussions about policy rather than stupid discussions on whether or not the CCP is evil, and the country taking them in get to generate domestic propoganda by claiming to be inclusive, democratic, a good place to live, etc, even if they are hosting a blithering idiot on taxpayer’s dime.

If you are interested in arguing over policies, it is very easy to persuade the government to give you a minor village-level position so that you can prove your mettle. Typically if you graduate from a decent university, there are programs where you can get parachuted directly to a village advisor position (of roughly equal status as the mayor). If you perform well, you will get promoted to the town level, and then small cities, etc. I graduated from Tsinghua and know quite a few people who went on such a path.

What’s interesting is that if you come from a decent university, lower level government officials will go out of their way to ask you for your opinion on local policies, even if you’re not actually a Chinese citizen and don’t have political rights. I was an engineering student operating in some of the remote parts of China, where government drinking water policy failures led to the breakdown of local water treatment systems. I was wandering around in rural Shanxi with a German exchange student, taking water samples and building temporary filters to combat local arsenic pollution in the absence of government intervention. I was curious as to why the policy was a failure, so I paid a visit to the town hall and found the mayor. The conversation went something like this:

Mayor: This is a small town, and I’ve never seen you before. And is that a foreigner behind you??? Where are you from?

Me: Yes, he’s German. We’re from Tsinghua (shows him school ID card). We’re interested in when that water treatment station on the east side of the village was built, why it fell into disuse, and what the villagers are drinking right now.

Mayor: Hey, Dog Testicles! We have some visitors and this is your job!

It turned out “Dog Testicles” was the nickname for the bureaucrat in charge of the village waterworks. The mayor pours us all a cup of tea while Mr. Dog Testicles spends an hour or so describing the construction process of the station, the funding, when it broke down, why the villagers couldn’t come up with enough money to fund its repairs and maintenance, etc. He then asked us what we think they should do.

Me: I dunno, maybe don’t ask a bunch of flat busted farmers to fund water treatment? It’s obvious they can’t pay. The local infrastructure policy was really damn stupid. We’ve been running around all over the area building filters to cover for that mistake.

Dog Testicles: Aha, so you’re the ones building filters in these villages? We found those filters on our own surveys. You kmow that selling filters without a proper license is a criminal offense, right?

Me: Yeah, but I wouldn’t be working my ass off if it weren’t for these stupid policies. You can go ahead and try to arrest me if you’d like.

Mayor: Actually, I think you have a point even though you’re breaking the law. We’ll just ask the police to… look the other direction and let you build those filters. Just make sure those villagers stop using the filters once we get the new treatment systems up and running next summer. Have you considered joining the Party and working at the village level? Lots of university students doing that nowadays. We could use people like you.

Me: I look Chinese but I’m an American citizen.

Mayor: Ah, OK. Could you and the German guy take a photo with us?

Me: Why? Have you never seen a foreigner around these parts before?

Mayor: Well, having these kinds of discussions with university students and asking them for their opinions is very helpful in our performance evaluations. It helps us get raises and promotions. Some… proof… would be useful. So a photo, please?

Basically, if you’re the motivated and well-educated vigilante type who wants to see change and you’re happy with working your ass off to see that happen, the Party is usually happy to work with you as long as you tell them what you’re doing. Very, very few people would go up against the CCP to make changes happen when they’re nice and polite and willing to talk about whether they can help you reach your goal.

I’ve been playing with text to pictures

The theme is cats, with pretty woman, Baroque art style

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What do you guys think about my work?

Did you develop any traits from being homeless that you haven’t been able to shake?

Several actually.

I still eat very little. I don’t get hunger pains that often. I don’t regard it as a big deal; as I know, homelessness can happen again. It can happen to anyone.
I still sleep in my clothes and often my shoes. I feel safer, better prepared for emergencies and it’s habit.
I don’t use blankets much. When I do it’s usually as a pillow and more for emotional comfort than physical comfort.
I still layer clothes when it’s colder outside despite being indoors more. I don’t use heat much due to habit and due to becoming more accustomed to the lack of it while homeless.
When I am cold, I often use the warmth left lingering from the oven just after cooking to warm up; rather than turn up the heat. I’m no longer used to having heat at my finger-tips by adjusting a thermostat. Not intentional just what I’ve grown accustomed to. And while homeless cooking often doubled as warm-up time.
I don’t use much space. I’ve gotten accustomed to smaller living spaces and minimalist living. I don’t try to do it. I’ve just noticed I do.
I don’t buy a whole lot of unnecessary items. I was never real materialistic; however, I am even less so now.
I still tend to hold my bodily functions for lengthy time periods; from years of not having accessible bathroom facilities.
I still eat more ready to eat foods like sunflower seeds and pistachios.
I still keep to myself a lot. Even more than I did while homeless.
Partially due to a lack of trust in people overall.
- Mainly, because I am so used to being a non-person or invisible to most people’s eyes that I no longer have a sense of belonging.
- I also still have what some would call “irrational fear” of being harassed or kicked out of public places. It isn’t so irrational if you’ve experienced homelessness.
- I am amazed and disgusted at how all of a sudden I am accepted just due to being homed. Nothing’s changed except that I am adequately homed. I always took care to stay clean and I still buy the cheaper items, and in the beginning went daily…but somehow now it’s acceptable. Which gives me less of a desire to be in public spaces when a person’s worth can be so dependent upon having a roof over your head.
I still live mainly out of a backpack or rolling suitcase. Habit, and it helps prioritize the most important stuff and to be prepared just in case.
I still carry crazy things like sewing needles, nail clippers, scissors, flint, emergency blankets and other such items in my purse and car. Never know when you’ll need them.
I sleep pretty light.
I still feel pretty guilty for having access to food, shelter, bathroom, and other basic needs knowing so many are going without. I guess it’s kind of like survivors guilt. I doubt I’ll ever shake that.
I appreciate the basic and simple things far more than things other people value. Being able to cook, having running water, a toilet, a hot shower, and a bed are things worth celebrating. That most find to be odd things to be so happy about. Or they view them as simply mundane things that everyone has. Truth be told that are many who don’t have these things that so many take for granted.

I learned a lot while I was homeless.

How would it affect China if universities in the West cut ties and stopped accepting funding from China?

Some Big Universities like Harvard, Stanford or Universities in the “Ivy League” have little to zero funds from China. In fact these Universities have a combined total of $ 85 Billion – $ 115 Billion of Funding from Ex Alumni, Americans and US Industries alone. Also included is the MIT or Texas A& M or Caltech etc.

However there are over 187 Colleges and Universities that are barely funded for tuition which need money badly. The Biggest Industries always run to Harvard or MIT without realizing that $ 55 Billion is not really that much of a difference from $ 52 Billion – whereas $ 100 Million up from $ 4 Million is a Huge Change.

In 2018 – China funded and invested $ 3.10 Billion in US Universities and Canadian Universities (Not top tier – The Middle tier), especially funding Laser Related works in association with Top Universities in China like Tong Ji. Over 39000 Research Associates, Professors and US Industries are involved in this Funding and unlike India – No Govt can order this funding to be cut off. You need an Government Act and if you do – there are 10000 Lawyers – American Lawyers who will find loopholes around the Act and Law.

Simple Example:-

The Federal Govt passed a law on US Banks to forbid lending to Chinese Clients based on specific criteria.

What do you think happened?

The US Bank – simply purchased a Near Bankrupt Bank in Maldives or Mauritius or Seychelles and began to route all China business through those banks.

And who suggested it?

US Lawyers in return for Millions of Dollars of PRC Money as fees.

In the end – Thats all that matters – MONEY

Answer is- The Funding simply wont be cut off. It will be re-routed in one way or another and Authorities will turn a blind eye to this re-routing because in the end – Business is Business.

Crazier than me

What is something unrealistic that you often see in movies that annoys the hell out of you?

When I was sixteen my step-brother had a 9mm handgun that he kept in a case in his bedroom. One day, while we had several people visiting from out of state, a friend of ours found the weapon. My step-brother and I, and my cousin, discovered this friend sitting alone in the bedroom, gun in hand. My step-brother took the gun, removed the magazine and handed it back, unaware that our friend had already chambered a round. Our friend pulled the trigger.

Firing a gun indoors, or in confined spaces, is NOT accurately portrayed in movies. The blast alone is fairly debilitating. I was standing in front of the weapon when it discharged and (effectively) went temporarily deaf and blind.

Both senses returned gradually. My ears were ringing, sounds were muted, yellow and purple specks of light distorted my vision. I was disoriented. I had watched the kid pull the trigger and it still took me a couple seconds, after my hearing and vision cleared up, to piece together what had happened. I turned around to find my cousin, who was standing directly behind me, in shock. He looked down slowly, lifted his shorts, saw the bullet hole in his leg and proceeded to freak the freak out. He screamed at the top of his lungs, grabbed his leg and ran like hell before any of us could do anything.

In the movies when someone fires a gun indoors they’re never affected by the sound, and, as I’ve learned, they absolutely would be.

In case you’re interested, my cousin was a bit of a husky kid back then. The bullet slipped around the fat, missed everything important and blew out the back of his leg. Apparently there’s a huge scar. I haven’t talked to him since then. I think he’s over us.

Carne Adovada

This is a wonderful filling for burritos or simply great served over rice with the resulting gravy. For better flavor, prepare a day ahead.

Ingredients

1 tablespoon shortening
4 garlic cloves, minced
8 ounces (about 25) whole dried New Mexican red chile pods
4 cups warm water
2 tablespoons diced yellow onion
1 tablespoon crushed chile pequin
1 teaspoon granulated garlic powder
1 teaspoon kosher or sea salt
1/2 teaspoon crumbled dried Mexican oregano
3 pounds thick boneless shoulder pork chops

Instructions

Heat shortening in a Dutch oven, and sauté garlic until browned.
Remove the seeds and stems from the chile pods. Rinse chiles in large mixing bowl and drain.
Place moistened chiles on baking sheet and toast carefully in the oven for 5 minutes. They do not need to be completely dried out.
Remove from the oven then let cool.
Add half of the chiles into a blender, and puree with 2 cups warm water. Pour into Dutch oven with previously browned garlic and repeat with the other half of the chiles.
Add the remaining ingredients to the chile (garlic salt, oregano, onion, chile pequin)and let boil on a medium-high heat for about 30 minutes, stirring occasionally. The sauce will thicken but should remain a little soupy.
Remove from heat and cool to room temperature.
Remove the fat from the pork and cut the meat into 3/4 inch cubes. Stir pork into the chile sauce and let marinate overnight in the refrigerator.
The following day, heat oven to 300 degrees F. Use butter to coat large baking dish, so it doesn’t stick.
Add the marinated carne adovada with sauce into baking dish. Cover with aluminum foil and bake for 3 hours, stirring once at an hour and a half into baking. At 2 1/2 hours, remove foil (to thicken sauce).
Serve hot with homemade Flour Tortillas or on Navajo Tacos.

Have you ever had to tell an employee that their attire was inappropriate?

I was working a security job for a friend one winter. Not hard work, but long cold hours outside at temps that regularly hit negative 30C. We were offered a bonus for staying the whole term. And the boss would compound the bonus of people who quit or were fired, so it was split evenly between those who stayed.

We were guarding the building that was a Soundstage, and they didn’t want prop hunters, or stalkers getting into the building. I got to meet a few “famous people” and get fed so much good food.

5 men 3 women were highered to work the site. The three women and one of the men, were dressed for fashion not warmth. And were often miserable, and often complained. And spent a lot of time inside the building we were guarding. I made some pointed hints about dressing warmly, but was rudely brushed off.

I grew up at temps like that and dressed to keep warm. Underwear, thermal layer, sweater or hoodie, insulated jeans, double layer soviet era snow-pants, a SnowGoose Snow Mantra Parka, and a pair of bear hide gauntlets.

The boss asked me why the 4 were always going into the building to warm up. Apparently he had gotten complaints that they were taking advantage of the workers inside asking for favors, hot drinks, or to play music.

And I told him “The skin tight pants, and short fashion jackets. And they won’t wear hats. Or proper mitts. Not little pink or purple cotton gloves, mitts.” I didn’t know that one of the women had been listening from behind a closed door.

I got supreme and royal hell from the 4 of them. I shouldn’t have been criticizing their choice in clothes. How they look is important to them, and how dare I tell them otherwise.

I started laughing and walked out of the room to go see my friend. The next shift there were 2 new women, and 2 new men, and they were dressed for the weather. And I got one fat bonus.

The Real Reason They Want to Ban TikTok

What was a loophole that you found and exploited the hell out of?

I was at a cash and carry stocking up for our shop. By the checkout they stacked up lots of items that had been reduced as they were close to the best before date.

This one time, there was boxes of crisps (chips for our American friends) that had been reduced to £2 a box. They also had an offer on that I you buy 2 boxes you get the 3rd free.

Whoever had set up the POS system screwed up. The box of crisp were normally around £10 a box. So, as they scanned the barcode and then manually reduced it to £2, on the 3rd box it then automatically applied the offer of 3 for two. Instead of taking off £2. It took off £10.

The upshot was that we were getting paid £4 for 3 boxes of crisp.

So like every other upstanding citizen, I immediately went back in the cash and carry, picked up 3 more boxes of crisp along with a few other bits so the mistake went un noticed.

I spent the next few hours in and out, going to a difrent checkout each time. I think I ended up with about 60 boxes of crisps and a £4 discount off the cost of each trip Mostly bread and sandwich fillers.

We gave most of the crisps away to the homeless people in our area and made a van load of sandwiches and cans of pepsi from our ill gotten gains to go with the crisps…

Nobody went hungry that day…

Are Americans aware that Russia and China doesn’t need to lift a finger to destroy USA since Americans are doing good job doing it in their own? Asking as an Australian.

Of course not. The Americans are totally clueless.

They’ve been indoctrinated by their own government.

They’re insular and ignorant of the world outside their country.

They do not know that life can be better than what they have in America. Freedom from gun violence. Freedom from homelessness. Freedom from medical bankruptcy. Freedom from systemic racism (“I can’t breathe”). Freedom from opioid addiction. Freedom from mass incarceration. Freedom from crumbling infrastructure. Freedom from crushing debt, both national and private. Freedom from political turmoil (e.g., January 6, 2021). There is no end to America’s problems.

This is as real as it gets

Is this the end of the United States as a global superpower?

The “end of the road” has been reached.

By the end of this month; May 2024, the United States interest on it’s debt will exceed it’s income. Which means that it cannot pay its debtors.

The United States is BANKRUPT.

The United States is no longer the leading global superpower. Nor, is it still a superpower at all. It is a broken nation in arrears. Oh, It still remains formidable in certain specific areas, but truthfully the nation has run it’s course, and the sunset of it’s greatness is but a memory that lingers.

…

Today, the nations of the world are galloping for the exits. They are looking for ways to prevent their national collapse when the BIG BLACK HOLE makes that huge sucking sound. They do not want to be dragged in with the sinking of the United States demise.

They are distancing themselves from the USD.

The USD, which since the 1960’s has been a Ponzi scheme of unimaginable proportions.

The other nations are forging new alliances, many of which are hidden and “under the table”.

The weakest are hunkering down in a survival crouch. The stronger nations are being more vocal, and those that can are giving the West “the boot” and kicking their paramilitaries out of their nations.

Alliances are being forged and long-time Geo-Political wonks are stunned by the rapidity of change and aggressive nature of the participants.

The UN has been shown to be nothing more than an instrument for American policy.
A replacement for UN, just met last week (early May 2024) with over 100 nations in participation at the 12th International Security Summit.

Oh, so much for the strong “leadership” role of the United States on the global stage. It is openly ridiculed, and despised throughout the world.

…

The United States as an entity includes it’s proxy nations; those slaves that are to be sacrificed on the alter of “democracy” and “freedom”.

When a Western “leader”, dressed in attire that will cost their average citizen a half a year earnings to acquire, talks about “freedom” and “democracy”, the rest of the world roll their eyes. The delusion is strong in the West. Once, the defining characteristic of Americans was it’s insular ignorance, but it is now defined by it’s harsh arrogance and sneer of contempt.

It’s over.

It is just that the collective West is unaware of it.

…

There is a question concerning the final “gasps of breath” of the dying behemoth; will it fade away into the deep black, or will it explode in a brief but stunning supernova? No one really knows. But I can tell you that it is a mystery that will be answered in our collective lifetimes.

So yes.

The United States as a global superpower is over.

…

The mail is still being delivered. The “leaders” are still throwing money around all over the world. The flag still flutters in the breeze, and people are still talking about the next election as if it will change the ultimate trajectory that the United States is rushing toward.

But what is not being said is the truth…

…those that have the means…

… are starting their self-preservation routines…

… hoarding food, batting down the hatches, and covering their asses.

All the time doing so in upmost secrecy.

The Iskander-M missile system: an equal to nuclear weapons

Text to image, playing around.

Theme is “moonrise kingdom”.

Why do so many people leave McKinsey after 2-4 years if the pay and benefits are excellent?

Working for a company like that is a great opportunity to develop and push yourself to your limits professionally. But in order to enjoy money, you need to be able to spend it. And believe me, with umpteen hour work days, your most common purchases will be overpriced sandwiches, energy drinks/coffe/freshly squeezed juice and suits, and after a 16-hour day, it makes surprisingly little difference if your bed is in a tiny apartment or giant mansion. The luxury car is also of dubious utility, since your and your clients’ offices are in the center and getting there by public transport or just getting an apartment within walking distance is often preferrable to being stuck in traffic in a Tesla or BMW.

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And you are sacrificing a lot – if you want to have a normal relationship, children… it’s tough IMO to combine that with working such long hours long-term. So for many people it’s a good opportunity in the short-mid term, but only some can do it long-term.

Anyhow, I hear the millenials are giving consulting firms hell on the work-life balance issue.

Jerome Funeral Hot Dish

Jerome is a ghost town which clings to the side of Cleopatra Hill on Mingus Mountain near Cottonwood, Arizona. It is the home of the Douglas Mining Museum. This is an interesting recipe from the days when artistic “hippies” revived this ghost town.

Yield: 8 to 10 servings

Ingredients

1 (28 ounce) can pork and beans
1 (12 ounce) can corned beef
1 large onion, diced fine
1 bell pepper, diced fine

Instructions

Mix all ingredients.
Put into a 13 x 9 inch baking dish and heat for 25 to 35 minutes at 350 degrees F.

Why Everyone Sees Machine Elves When Tripping on DMT | Andrew Gallimore

Was medieval Europe more advanced than the Roman Empire?

In almost every way, except two.

Sanitation. The Romans famously built aqueducts (many of which survive today because of the quality of engineering. They bathed and had toilets in which poo was flushed away by running water. Proper sewers carried away sewage and waste water.
Medicine. In particular surgery. Gladiators were valuable property and were more often repaired rather than discarded. This expertise also contributed to the survival of soldiers and added to morale, as prompt removal from the battle and treatment meant that wounds were less often fatal. They had pain relief and anaesthesia which enabled better surgery as well as reducing the fear of the patient. If you needed such treatment you would have been generally better off with a Roman military surgeon than any mediaeval one. Operations included the removal of cataracts from the eye.

They were relatively hygienic, but had no proper theory of disease. Thus in the public baths people with diseases bathed at a different time from the general public. Unfortunately, they had the earliest bath.

Gen-Z

We are doomed.

What is the psychology behind addiction?

Take a second, shut your eyes.

You’re going to imagine a world.

In this world, you live in solitary confinement, contained in a small, metal prison.

Every day, you’re brought food and water and your cell is cleaned.

This is all you’ve ever known. Your world never changes.

Until one day, you’re moved to a new prison.

Some man in a white coat puts an IV into your arm. In front of you, there’s a lever.

You try pulling it.

You’re injected with heroin. It reaches your bloodstream almost instantly and your brain just seconds after. It’s almost blissful.

Do you press it again?

main qimg b3d3ffdcebe978e22b20cba11bc4826e pjlq

This was the life of dozens of rats.

Did they pull the lever?

Of course they did.

Over and over again.

They’d overdose. They’d die.

Because for them, that brief high was the best thing they’d ever known.

Psychologists and politicians were in simultaneous uproar. Drugs were evil and irresistibly addictive.

Only, rats, like humans, aren’t solitary creatures.

So, what would happen if they changed the circumstances. Sure, a prisoner would give into mind-numbing drugs, but would the average person? Would a happy person?

That’s how the rat park was built.

Researchers put rats together in a comfortable setting. They threw in running wheels and wood chips and let them live a good life.

Naptime and recess

Just hanging out.

There are always some who prefer the rat race.

These rats had access to drugs, just like the first set.

The results?

main qimg 00defc255dfcde655da748ddb8af18e1 pjlq

The dotted lines are the park rats, the complete lines are the caged ones.

And even though it would be beyond unethical to run the same experiments on humans, there’s a similar real life example.

Bruce Alexander, the man behind the experiments, explains:

The English colonial empire overran hundreds of native tribal groups in Western Canada in the 18th and 19th century.

The native people were moved off expansive tribal lands onto very small reserves, the basis of their cultures.

Their children were taken from their parents and sent off to “residential schools” to be taught the white man’s culture so they could be assimilated.

They were forbidden to speak their native languages and found themselves strangers in their own communities when they finally came home.

Before this point, Mental illness, personal betrayals, and epidemic diseases occasionally occurred in pre-colonial tribes.

Basically, native people had all the problems of their English colonizers except one.

There was so little addiction that it is very difficult to prove from written and oral histories that it existed at all.

But once the native people were colonized alcoholism became close to universal.

There were entire reserves where virtually every teenager and adult was either an alcohol or drug addict or “on the wagon”.

The drug only becomes irresistible when the opportunity for normal social existence is destroyed.

China LAUNCHED Latest Z-10ME Attack Helicopter & SHOCKED Everyone

Luau Pork Teriyaki

Also known as kalua pig or Luau pork, kalua pulled pork is a staple at Hawaiian luaus. They carry on the tradition of cooking a whole pig in an underground oven filled with hot stones. The pig is generously salted and wrapped in banana leaves then lowered into the ground to smoke all day. This slow cooker method also requires all day to cook. You’ll want to plan ahead because to get that divine tenderness you’ll want the pork to cook for at least 16 hours. For more delicate juicy pork recipes try my carnitas, this Mississippi pork, or my sweet pulled pork!

Ingredients

1 1/2 pounds lean, boneless pork
1 cup pineapple, sliced, in syrup
1/2 cup teriyaki sauce
1/4 green onion, finely chopped
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1/4 garlic powder
1 cup raw rice

Instructions

Cut pork into slices about 1/4 inch thick.
Drain pineapple, reserving all syrup.
Blend syrup, teriyaki sauce, green onions, ginger and garlic powder. Pour over pork and pineapple.
Cover and refrigerate for at least 1 hour.
Meanwhile, cook rice according to package directions and prepare grill.
Remove pork from marinade and grill about 5 inches from hot coals for about 5 minutes on each side or until completely cooked.
Pour pineapple and remaining marinade into large skillet. Bring to a boil.
Remove from heat and serve pork with sauce and pineapple over rice.

What’s a rule your employer implemented that backfired terribly?

Oh boy. I worked 12 years in wafer fabrication for an international electronics company. A fab, as it affectionately known, is a clean room. The smallest smudge of dust will kill a computer chip. To enter, we had to go through an air shower to blow any dust off us. And we had to wear a bunny suit.

A bunny suit isn’t remotely connected to Playboy. It is a lint free coverall that covers head to toe. The head is covered by kind of a cloth helmet, a surgeon’s mask over the nose and mouth, gloves, and shoes which are worn only in the fab. This suit is worn over your street clothes.

Sorry to be so lengthy but it’s important. If you have to go to the restroom, a person must exit the clean room to the changing room. Take off shoes, headcovering, gloves. coverall. Stash in locker. Put on your shoes that are worn only within the building. ( you put these on when you entered from outside, street shoes were in a little locker).

So our boss decided we were taking too much time on bathroom breaks (oh yeah, we worked 12-hr graveyard shifts, 6 to 6). Our team was about 2/3rds female and well, if you gotta go, you gotta go. Take suit off, maybe go to your big locker to get lady supplies if needed, go to restroom, return to changing room, suit up, air shower and back to work. And now we gotta go to see the boss to let him know I’ve gotta pee, real bad.

It all lasted two days. Julie went in one evening, looked at him, and said, it’s the first day of my period and bleeding like a stuck hog and I gotta change my tampon and pad. And pee.

TMI, boss?

Crippled by…

The forever “footprint”.

What was the most blatant scam a customer has ever failed to get away with?

I was an assistant manager at a large chain book store. One day, an older, well-dressed man came into the store. I watched him walk to the medical book section, pull a text book (I don’t remember the exact value but it was around $150) off the shelf and walk up to the cash registers. He then explained to the associate that he had purchased the book the week prior, it was the wrong book, and he wanted a refund. She asked for the receipt, which he didn’t have, so she told him that she would have to contact her manager (me).

I came up to the counter and politely asked the customer what he needed help with. Keep in mind that I watched him take the book off the shelf, so I knew that he was scamming us. I asked him at which of our stores he had bought the book. He said that it was ours and acted surprised that I didn’t recognize him because, “I am a very regular customer and, in fact, you rang me up!” Our system allowed us to search the sale history of every book in our inventory, so I looked it up and showed him that the last sale of that particular book was more than one year ago, and the most recent sale in our region was more than three months prior, at a store 250 miles away. At this point, he became rather irate and asked me if I was calling him a liar. I responded that no, but maybe he was mistaken and had purchased the book from one of our competitors. Again, he started yelling at me and demanded that I pull up the security footage from the week before to prove that he had, indeed, purchased the book. I responded with, “Okay, and while we’re at it, I’ll pull up the footage from ten minutes ago that clearly shows you taking the book off the shelf and bringing it the register. Then, we can call the police and see what they want to do.” He threw the book on the floor and ran out the door.

We didn’t have security cameras in the store.

What’s a nice thing you did for someone but backfired immensely?

Before I had a truck, I borrowed my friends truck to move to a different city. I put 2000 km on it and I thought I would do an oil change, fill up with gas, and all the fluids before I returned it to him, with a gift certificate to a nice restaurant and a bottle of wine.

I told him what I had done, and I had messed up. He was using some super expensive synthetic oil and I had just used a good grade of regular oil. I told him to drive it until he needed an oil change, and I would pay for his synthetic oil change as well. However he was worried that switching between regular oil and synthetic would cause problems, so he insisted on changing the oil that very day, so that it wasn’t driven with regular oil.

He had plans for the afternoon, and spending an hour at the quick oil change place, messed things up.

I doubt driving on regular oil would have caused a problem, but its his truck, and I messed up by thinking I was going to surprise him with something extra.

Why Ancient People Didn’t See the Color Blue

What do men find the most unattractive about a woman who drinks?

I am a very moderate drinker. Maybe two or three drinks a week.

Although I have dated and lived with a fair number of women, only one of them was a real drinker. I dated her for a few months.

This woman was a high-functioning alcoholic. She held down a management position in retail, she was never falling-down drunk, and I never saw her throw up or get in a fight.

But man, could she drink. She was a world-class darts player, and she played for drinks. She almost always won. She’d hit a bar at about 10:00, and drink steadily until closing time (1:00 AM then). I’d say that in a typical night she’d have 10 drinks or so.

And then she’d head home, go to bed, and wake up the next morning ready to do it again.

And in answer to the question about what I found most unattractive?

It was that I started drinking more as well.

In fact, I decided to break up with her one Sunday. I had bought a bottle of rum on Friday, and on Sunday night I went to make a drink and discovered that the bottle was empty — I had drunk the whole bottle in three days.

That was not good. A bottle of rum usually lasted me a few months.

And that was the end of that.

The Video That Got Andrew Tate ARRESTED

Hit the Gay wall.

What’s your favorite programming comic strip?

This is just one comic, not a recurring strip.

I’ve seen this thing floating around for years in a variety of forms. I think it’s brilliant, but I have absolutely no idea who the original author was.

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And it really sums up what I like about being a lone coder. I get to play all the roles, sometimes even that of end user. 😉

Edit 20190908:

Looks like we have a genuine mystery on our hands. One commenter said he believed the origin was in some IBM documentation from about the time I was busy being born.

Thanks to Richard Smith for providing these two very interesting links:

On the origin of the cartoon — Early Tree Swing Cartoons

And if you’d like to make your own —Project Cartoon

As a teacher, have you ever had an unforgettable student? What was he/she like?

I have one right now. Writing this anon in case she is on Quora, so I don’t embarrass her 🙂

She came to me when I was working as a math tutor. She was failing Algebra and desperately needed help. It soon became clear that she was not just ignorant of basic math principles, but had some kind of cognitive issue with processing mathematical concepts. Over time I figured out that she had trouble with abstract visualization. She couldn’t envision shapes or “see” how various processes fit together. She couldn’t even look at two angles and see that one was larger than the other. It was the math version of a reading disabliity, and merely explaining material to her wasn’t going to get her past it.

I spent over a month just trying to get the basics across to her. Concepts like “when you multiply a negative times a negative you get a positive” just would not stick…and without those basics, how much algebra can you do? Honestly, there were moments I really despaired, and wondered whether it would even be possible to get her to the point where she could pass the course. And I know she was bereft of an hope. despairing. To her it was utterly confusing and totally overwhelming, and I know that deep inside she had no hope it would ever be otherwise.

But she worked. Even when she didn’t believe it would do any good, she worked, harder than I have ever seen anyone work in my life. No matter how depressed she was on a given day, or how confusing the work was, she always gave it her best. There were days the math went so badly, and she felt so overwhelmed, I sensed that inside she wanted to cry. Some day she was so exhausted from school she could barely add two numbers. But she never gave up.

I have never seen anyone so determined, in my life. And when she passed Algebra (got a B, actually), it was because of that quality in her. I can’t think of any other student I’ve had who would fight what seemed like a losing battle for so long, without ever flagging.

This year she took Geometry. I was dreading it even more than she was, because by then I understood more about how her brain processed math, and the visualization skills required by Geometry just weren’t there. Geometry spoke to the very heart of her cognitive weakness. And….she just passed her SOL test, and it looks like she’ll probably pass the course. I can’t even describe to you what a monumental thing that is. And it was possible only because of her amazing attitude. She just never gives up, no matter how bad it gets.

A girl like that can do anything she puts her mind to, in life.

Totally inspiring.

Shirakawa-go, The Most Beautiful Village in Japan | 4K

Very nice.

Should we Americans allow Australia to be a part of the USA?

“Allow” !?

Honey, you couldn’t pay us to join that disaster.

Australians like our freedom. We like our country schools where the fences are little things an adult could step over, if there’s even a fence at all. We like sending our kids to school and knowing nobody’s going to shoot them in the classroom. We like going shopping and knowing that nobody’s going to shoot us in the shopping centre. We like eating food and knowing no corporation has added poisons and carcinogens to it to make it more shelf-stable or more addicting.

We like being able to collect the rainwater off our own roof and not being told we’re not allowed because our own roof water doesn’t belong to us. We like being allowed to put a vegetable garden in our front yard if we so choose without a HOA walking in and telling us we can’t do that on our own land.

We like owning our own bodies. Our sex education in school is pretty good and we have good access to contraceptives, but if an unwanted pregnancy is going to ruin a student’s career or if a wanted pregnancy goes wrong and looks like it might kill the mother, we don’t have to deal with politicians trying to take away our very basic human freedom to decide how our bodies will and will not be used by others.

We like our freedom to get medical care as needed. Nobody wants cancer or diabetes, nobody wants their baby to be born premature and needing a whole lot of very specialised care just to keep them alive, but being able to get the care we need when we need it really matters to us. We don’t want our employer or an insurance corporation deciding that they don’t approve of that care or they just don’t want to pay for it and thus deciding not to let us have the care we need to stay alive.

We like our kids getting a decent education that doesn’t depend on whether the people in our neighbourhood are rich or poor, and isn’t hostage to the whims of a bunch of religious nutters. We like knowing that our teachers are paid an honest wage and they’re not spending their evenings tending bars or driving Uber just to be able to pay their bills. We like our kids getting a facts-based education that doesn’t pretend anyone’s religious mumbo-jumbo is somehow equal to actual empirical science.

We like going to restaurants and not being obliged to tip. Sure, if the server is really great or if we’ve somehow made extra work for them, it’s sweet to leave them a nice gift, but they’re not depending on tips to pay their bills because they’re already paid an honest wage by their employer.

Most Australians wouldn’t even travel to the US if you paid our airfare. As for letting that failed-state disaster take over our country? Not happening.

Be more honest

What was your most horrible experience with a construction contractor or an architect?

Many years ago a friend introduced me to an Architect.

He needed a job done. It was a big job, a 12 square deck, handrails 2 sets of steps.

I really didn’t need the work and only did it because of my friend.

The job meant I had to stay away from my family for two weeks.

I worked an average of 16 hours everyday in an effort to finish the job early. It was the middle of summer and extremely hot everyday.

The client also worked long hours and came home late.

The job was finished on time . I tabulated the hours and charged him at a reasonable rate.

When I gave him the bill he was indignant and refused to pay the amount.

Not only did I give him a discount on my normal hourly rate I put nothing in for profit, like he would have. He figured that because I spent 14 days building his deck, regardless of the amount of hours I spent, that I was only entitled to an 8 hour pay day.

So I explained to him that I worked at least 16 hours a day.

He said “How do I know that’? His question was very unprofessional considering I gave him his due as a fellow professional and that I am a very honest person. Now I was the one feeling indignant.

I was stunned that he could not understand the concept of what I did considering he is ‘in’ the building business. I called my friend who also tried to reason with him. It was a waste of time.

As I was packing up my tools for a split second I considered putting my electrical saw through his deck. I am glad I didn’t. I learned a valuable lesson after that day about trusting ‘professionals’

Instead of ipads

When in your life did you feel like you dodged a bullet by not getting married?

Not me, my sister. When she was eighteen-nineteen she was pretty serious with this guy. He was nice, intelligent and respectful to our mother; but the dude seemed to have below zero ambition in life. No job, no income, dropped out for reasons I never ascertained, and seemed to live by a philosophy of “if you’re not sleeping on the floor with your leather jacket as a blanket, you’re not true punk-rock.” Polar opposite of my sister.

Some family of his in Minnesota (we lived in California) offered to take them in. God knows why, but my sister was on the verge of leaving everything for a state she’d never been to, to live with people she’d never met, because of love for a guy who’d never shown any indication that he would be seeking gainful employment.

She snapped out of it at the last minute – on her own; nobody had to convince her – and broke up with him. He made the move alone. Apparently he took this really hard; and while to my knowledge he had never been much of a drinker or drug user, he started slamming heroin and she got a phone call about a year later that an overdose had claimed his life.

My sister has a good head on her shoulders. She was devastated, but I never heard her blame herself as some people might. She wished him well, but it wasn’t her responsibility to care for a grown, capable man, and she saw this. He made his choice to live in depression and self-pity. As a recovering alcoholic myself, I can sympathize without excusing. Meanwhile, my sister’s life path brought her to her husband and the two children they have together. It’s sad that her ex couldn’t get his life together and went out like that, but she definitely dodged a bullet.

Advanced Ancient Machinery Discovered in the Queen’s Chamber of the Great Pyramid | Chris Dunn

Pretty interesting.

How easy is it currently to reintegrate overseas Chinese who grew up and spent most of their life abroad?

It depends on a lot of things.

For the near overseas Chinese who live in say Malaysia probably very easily.

For those who live further away? Difficult.

The ease of your reintegration depends entirely on IF you were exposed and picked up Chinese culture when you were young. Myself? As a baby I was given to my grandparents to look after until I was about 6. I absorbed tons of Chinese culture and language. I then visited regularly and kept some of my language skills. But I still grew up in the UK mostly and through osmosis absorbed a lot of their culture and thinking.

My dad grew up here in China and left when he was 16, he’s spent more time in the Netherlands and the UK than here. He can return and fit in with his village clan.

I made a generational seaturtle return.

Here’s the thing though. Neither of us quite fit.

My dad while he was away? His home changed enormously. I remember in the mid 00s standing in the middle of a town and he stood there for a moment. He said when he was a child he used to go fishing and swimming here. The coast was now about 3 miles away.

As such we tend to stick amongst our own groupings.

My dad hangs around a lot with other overseas Chinese who left with him in the 60s. He talks with people here who’ve been here all their lives and finds he hasn’t got all that much in common with them and entirely different life experiences.

Me? Despite this being my 8th year here on a permanent basis? I can count my born here friends on one hand. I’ve got plenty of acquaintances but I’m not sure I could classify them as friends. I find it far easier to talk to and be friendly with overseas born types and that includes Indians, Nepalis and UK born Chinese but not American borns.

It might just be a HK thing, as I was far friendlier with people in the Mainland. So why not move there (again). Well I’ve dug myself a rut already and I’m stuck in it.

But as I’ve written prior, a return isn’t for me (though life wise it worked out well) it’s for those who come after me.

I see my UK nieces and nephews some do ok but they suffer the same identity crises as we did.

Through their actions

The US-dominated International Order is collapsing

By Lau Siu-kai

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During the Cold War period after World War II, two “international orders” emerged in the world, namely the “socialist international order” led by the Soviet Union and the so-called “liberal international order” led by the United States. After the end of the Cold War, the “liberal international order” was the only international order in the world. Since then, the United States has continued to use coercion, inducement, and regime change to bring more and more countries into this dominant international order, which has led to many conflicts between the United States and other countries, particularly China and Russia. However, in the past decade or so, the “liberal international order” has increasingly become unviable and unsustainable. The reasons include the fact that more and more countries believe it is an unfair, inequitable, and unreasonable international order catering primarily to the interests of the West and that the United States itself often violates and distorts the “rules of the game” devised by itself.

From a historical perspective, the Russo-Ukrainian war and the Palestinian-Israeli conflict are significant game-changing events that would bring about “tectonic changes” in the global political landscape that would, in turn, lead to the complete collapse of the “liberal international order” in different ways.

First, they verify that the United Nations, as the linchpin of the “liberal international order,” can no longer serve as an organisation for maintaining world peace and international order under the deliberate neglect, defiance, and disruption of the United States. The United Nations cannot act to avoid and end the Russo-Ukrainian war. Moreover, the United States blatantly vetoed most countries in the United Nations’ call for a ceasefire in Gaza. When the United Nations becomes an effete and ineffective international institution, the unilateral actions of the United States taken without the approval of the United Nations will increasingly lose the endorsement and goodwill of the international community, and the international order it leads will also lose legitimacy and support.

Second, in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, the United States not only condoned but even provided military and diplomatic support to Israel’s near-genocide atrocities against the Palestinian civilians in Gaza, most deplorably women and children. Israel’s actions in Gaza seriously violate and make a mockery of the “liberal international order’s” proclaimed respect for human rights and freedoms and the prohibition and condemnation of genocide. The United States and its Western allies disregarded Israel’s atrocities, which is entirely contrary to their position of severely accusing and condemning Russia for committing “war crimes” in the Russo-Ukrainian war. The Israeli-Palestinian conflict has unmistakably and fully exposed the moral hypocrisy and double standards of the United States and the West. It has triggered intense anger and frustration in the international community and brought about the complete moral bankruptcy of the Western camp led by the United States. In other words, the “liberal international order” no longer has powerful moral moorings. Consequently, the “liberal international order” will continue to shrink as more and more countries are reluctant to imbue it with legitimacy. The United States’ global leadership position will also be seriously jeopardised.

Third, the Russo-Ukraine war proved that the “liberal international order” led by the United States is dangerously “expansionary” and “coercive” in nature, thus posing a clear and serious threat to world peace. The United States demands all countries participating in the “liberal international order” adopt Western political and economic models and values. It does not accept or tolerate the existence of other political and economic models and values. The eastward expansion of NATO promoted by the United States can be understood as a strategic plan to further expand the “liberal international order” in Europe to contain Russia and ultimately change its political and economic system in the Western direction. In a sense, the essence of the Russo-Ukrainian war can thus be understood as a “defensive” maneuver by Russia to safeguard the country’s sovereignty, security, and strategic autonomy. Since the continuous and reckless expansion of the “liberal international order” has triggered the Russo-Ukrainian war, and the scale of the Russo-Ukrainian war is likely to expand and pose a graver threat to world peace and development, other countries in the world will be increasingly dismissive of the “liberal international order.” A lot of countries are already deeply apprehensive about a devastating global war triggered by the United States’ dogged efforts at containment of China to make it a qualified member of the “liberal international order.” Global resistance to it is bound to grow day by day. Now, the United States is on the verge of failure in the Russia-Ukraine war, which is commonly seen as a “proxy war” between the United States and Russia. This will encourage and embolden more countries to resist the “liberal international order” in various ways in the days to come.

History will prove that the Russo-Ukrainian war and the Israeli-Palestinian conflict were catalysts for paradigmatic changes in the international landscape and the driving force behind the eventual demise of the US-led “liberal international order.” The Russo-Ukraine war and the Israeli-Palestinian conflict have already proven that the US-led international order cannot bring peace, development, fairness, and justice to the world; instead, it is becoming increasingly an impetus for instability and even war. The balance of power in the world is shifting irreversibly away from the West with the unstoppable demise of the “liberal international order.” Admittedly, the “liberal international order” may still exist in some form, but its prominent members will be mainly confined to the United States and some of its Western allies. Inevitably, with the gradual demise of the “liberal international order,” the world will experience a period of “international disorder” and the ensuing instability and uncertainty. However, in the past period, many non-Western countries, especially China, have begun to actively and urgently explore alternatives to the “liberal international order.” The Russo-Ukrainian war and the Israeli-Palestinian conflict will undoubtedly accelerate the pace of work in this area, eventually promoting the birth of a new, fairer, equitable, and reasonable international order that is conducive to world peace and development and respects the interests and needs of all countries.

I’ve been playing with text to pictures

Some of them include the retro-pulp science fiction cover theme.

What was the most bone-chilling sentence a loved one ever said to you?

My boyfriend Ben and I have been dating for 4 years.

We’ve seen the best of each other, but that also meant that he’s seen the worst of me.

Dating me is like walking on eggshells; I have depression and Borderline Personality disorder, which meant that I can have intense mood swings and have severe issues with abandonment. That meant Ben dealt with me monthly, with me crying constantly about how I’m a fraud and how he’s better off without me. How people won’t miss me when I’m dead.

Every month, he holds me while I cry and rage at the world around me.

Every month, he plays the knight, and I play the monster, and we fight.

One day, after a particularly bad argument, I really don’t know what it was about, Ben and I had to physically separate ourselves and cool down in different rooms.

When we came back together, he looked…exhausted. He was just staring into space and he just quietly told me to get help.

And when I didn’t say anything, he looked at me and, word for word, said

“Vanessa, I want you to get help because I have nightmares that one day, one very bad day for you, will cause our child that we will someday have, to find mommy hanging from a noose.

I’m scared for you. Of you.”

I went into counselling afterwards.

Bailey’s Lasagna

Yield: 8 to 12 servings

Equipment

Lasagna pan

Ingredients

1 pound ground beef
1 pound Italian sausage
1 (67 ounce) jar Prego Traditional spaghetti sauce
12 lasagna noodles
14 ounces ricotta cheese
2 large eggs, beaten
Salt and black pepper
1 cup grated mozzarella cheese or other cheese of choice
1/2 cup freshly-grated Parmesan cheese

Instructions

Heat the oven to 400 degrees F.
Brown ground beef and Italian sausage together until cooked through, then drain well. Combine with the spaghetti sauce. Set aside.
Cook lasagna noodles until al dente, according to package directions. Drain and toss with 1 tablespoon olive oil. Set aside.
For the filling, combine ricotta cheese and eggs. Season with salt and pepper to taste.
Spread a thin layer of the spaghetti sauce over the bottom of a lasagna pan.
Lay lasagna noodles lengthwise in the casserole dish.
Spoon and spread spaghetti sauce over the noodles.
Spoon and spread filling over the spaghetti sauce.
Repeat steps 6, 7 and 8 twice.
Sprinkle shredded mozzarella or cheese of choice over the top.
Bake, covered and sealed with foil (DO NOT LET THE FOIL TOUCH THE CHEESE), for 30 minutes or until sauce is bubbling and cheese is melted.
Uncover and bake 15 minutes longer to brown the cheese.
Let stand for 15 minutes before cutting.
Top each serving with freshly-grated Parmesan cheese.

Notes

Serve with garlic bread.

Refrigerate any leftovers.

Another one

Chopsticks

One of Jerry Seinfeld’s jokes is why do the Chinese still use chopsticks. He says something like “They’ve seen the fork…” But in all reality, with the invention of forks, spoons, knives, what is the possible advantage of using chopsticks?

Behold.

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This also works with common snacks like chips, cheetos, really any “finger food.” Likewise Hara Shidho points out that it works on salads too; eating leafy greens is precisely what chopsticks are really good at in Chinese cuisine. Chopsticks are also much better at deboning fish, with Japanese chopsticks particularly designed for the task. Quite frankly I do not understand how anyone is cleanly deboning fish with forks, especially if the fish have much tinier, irregular bones that do not conform to the spine or edge.

It is also a misnomer to believe that there are no forks, spoons, and knives in China. They just have their time and place, and no they are not imports from the West as they have been around for millennia. I suspect that for Chinese people, ease of dining is where one optimizes for the least switches of utensils while keeping hands clean; removing that latter part gives us Indian hand usage, while the West seems to not care for utensil switching (or just abuses forks to fulfill the purpose of a spoon).

Really though, just think of chopsticks as two very long fingers that are easily washable.

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What’s a rule your employer implemented that backfired terribly?

Oh oh!

This happened to a new manager of mine who managed to cause havoc in our office within the first week of his employment.

My previous manager left for a better offer and the replacement didn’t arrive until 1 whole month after he left the company.

So there wasn’t anyone to train, guide or handover the duties/job scope to the new manager.

However, my previous manager, being a very smart man, created a folder with all the job scope, documents, handovers, etc. in our common (computer) server for us to handover to whoever that will take over when he/she eventually arrived.

So, when the replacement finally arrived, naturally very lost and confused, me and my colleagues did our best to guide him along and showed him the folder which my previous manager left for him.

It was one of the busiest periods of the year, so none of us were able to sit down and spoon feed all the details/information to him, as such we pretty much just left him to fiddle his computer and to do his own research.

I mean, he’s supposed to be our manager. He should have some idea of what to expect, right?

Thus, the first week went by, the tsunami was over and my colleagues and I finally got a chance to catch up on our work. The moment we switched on our computer to enter the common server, all of our jaw dropped simultaneously.

The idiot has reorganized the WHOLE SERVER!!

When we confronted him about the server, his excuse was that the server looks very messy and he want to tidy it up. Oh, and if we were to see if anything that is out of place, please help him to sort out into the correct folder.

This idiot had no idea how much damage he has caused us!

For those of you who are wondering what’s the big deal, by reorganizing the server, the idiot rendered all our shortcuts/hyperlinks useless.

Furthermore, a lot of our files & documents are named via codes/serial numbers, without the proper directory we have no idea where are all our past records/documents!!

The worst part is that the damage is irreversible as he had tampered with our backup folder as well…

We spent the next few MONTHS trying to find and sort out all our lost documents but till this day we are still unable to find about 40% of them. (the idiot still insists that he did not delete any of our files, it’s all in there, he just misplaced them…)

The idiot was eventually let go due to multiple accounts of incompetency after 1 year of service (so much screaming from my client).

There were so many stories from this idiot I’m surprised that he managed to somehow last the whole year.

Edit:

Now to verify, yes you can say i’m being harsh for calling him an idiot repeatedly.
We gave him a ton of advice but none were heeded; we tried to be patient with him but when the client openly demanded him to be fired in the meeting with your CEO on speaker phone, you know shit just got real.

And just to be clear, he was hired as a Manager, so not knowing basic computer skill or even some basic level of competency is not an excuse. He is definitely not new in this field and how he managed to secure a 5 figures salary previously is still a mystery to me.

REAL stuff, girls.

Chinese EV and the USA

No American car buyer today can purchase a Chinese brand (Bloomberg Business 3–18–2024) electric vehicle. And no one is really sure when these EVs will arrive on US shores. But the prospect of cheap Chinese-made EVs is already causing sleepless nights in Detroit. The primary threat comes from cars such as BYD Co.’s Seagull hatchback, which features angular styling, a two-tone dashboard shaped like a seagull’s wing and six airbags. There’s even a 10-inch rotating touchscreen for its infotainment system. BYD’s company slogan, “Build Your Dreams,” is embossed on the rear of the vehicle.

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A BYD Co. Seagull electric vehicle at the Shanghai Auto Show. Photographer: Bloomberg

The car’s most extraordinary feature, though, is its $9,698 price tag. That undercuts the average price of an American EV by more than $50,000, and is only a little more than a high-end Vespa scooter. Such aggressive pricing by BYD, which surpassed Tesla Inc. in late 2023 to become the world’s largest producer of electric vehicles, is indicative of how Chinese auto manufacturers will likely force US makers to pivot away from mainly producing expensive second cars for the affluent and toward more reasonably priced EVs for Everyman.

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Just as the long-feared prospect of a revolutionary EV from US tech giant Apple Inc. has receded, American carmakers now face a possibly greater challenge from Asia. China, long a manufacturing hub for Western companies’ products, is hellbent on expanding its own companies’ reach around the globe. It’s already the biggest market for EVs , and it’s using that scale and manufacturing know-how to help expand sales of competitively priced Chinese models to an increasingly climate-conscious world.

For now, the Chinese onslaught is being kept at bay by stiff tariffs and moves to erect even tougher trade barriers against the US’s geopolitical adversary. Read Keith Naughton

for more on what the future might hold if BYD and others come to American shores

And for more on how BYD has become the world’s top-selling electric carmaker, see the Bloomberg Originals documentary: How China’s BYD Overtook Tesla

Siphoning off benefits

Do Western civilians generally wish to conquer the world?

Yes they do.

You can see the usual suspects the other posters say NO WE DON’T!

But they would say that wouldn’t they?

But there’s a difference between wanting and capability to do so.

We literally have seen the last 20 years. How most westerners were completely onboard with the genocide in Iraq. Afghanistan, Syria, Libya, Yemen and others.

These mass murders of brown people were extremely popular.

Liberals will of course bullshit that they were against it, oh the protested.

But here’s the killer thing they literally have no way of getting around. If those wars were so unpopular why didn’t the governments that initiated them get voted out next time?

2001 UK election, 2005 election.

Yet Labour remained incredibly popular after same with Bush.

They’ll then use one of two mental gymnastics:

They don’t represent us! Despite always claiming democracy is the WILL OF THE PEOPLE!

Brown people aren’t people! So killing them is totally OK.

Colin Riegels is like that, he made a post about how the post WW2 dominance of the USA was a good thing a year or so back. Oh I mean fuck all the people who were killed by it right?

Fucken liberals.

Do you think CATL, China’s largest battery maker, poses a security threat to the US?

Nobody is a security threat to the U.S. The U.S. is the biggest security threat to itself. Trying to do regime change in other nations is a security threat to the U.S. Starting a colour revolution to the world U.S. a security threat to the U.S. like what Maidan is now putting the US in a step nearer to a nuclear war! If you don’t want to buy batteries from China don’t buy!

China don’t need you to buy! You wanted a cheaper and better value for money battery! If you want your people to buy at 5 times the price go right ahead!

At this point

My dad once told me: “By age 35, you should be smart enough to realize this:

Stay silent. Not everything needs to be said.

2. Silence is better than unnecessary drama.

3. If you find someone smarter than you, work with them, don’t compete. Competition is a weakness.

4. The family you create is more important than the family you come from.

5. Your current job doesn’t care about you. They only pay you enough to kill your dreams.

6. Free yourself from society’s advice, because most of them have no idea what they’re doing.

7. Most people drift through life.

They have no purpose, no direction, and zero intent.

Learn their needs and lead them.

8. It’s better to have 1 friend who’s:

Happy for you
Supports your wins
Encourages your dreams

Than a bunch of acquaintances who are:

Lazy
Self-centred
Jealous of your success

9. You’ll be 10x happier if you forgive your parents and stop blaming them.

10. No one will ever come save you. Your life is 100% your responsibility.

11. Your inner circle should be more focused on money, success, and starting a family.

12. You don’t need 100 self-help books. All you need is actions and self-discipline.

What is the rudest thing someone did to you at the gym?

I work out generally at 5 am when the gym first opens. There is little old lady who comes in and works out. She’s small and frail, but in great shape for her age. I’m putting her 70–80 to be honest. I used to be really impressed by her as well, one of those #goals type deals. But that all changed……..

I began to notice she owned the place, and everyone kind of let her go first because of age. No worries, mad respect still but it did come off a little odd. Now, she parks next to me most days as we wait for the gym to open. She opens her door, and SMACK, hits my car door. Huh, she just walks right in no big deal. I’m sitting in the car too. Wow, hmm I don’t know about her after all.

2 weeks later, she is pulling in and side swipes me just a hair. Backs up, and moves to another spot. Now, yes this is illegal and I could have called the police. I didn’t, I guess I’m too soft. All I had was a small scratch, on a low end car with plenty more blemishes. I let it pass.

Fast forward another month, and out the gym window I see flashing lights.

She scraped someone else so bad it left a big mark on her car too! They called the police and she got a ticket for hit and run and likely lost her license now. Moral of the story, call people out for being rude or it will only get worse.

I Drove Around California For A Month. It Was A Disaster.

I cry for my country.

Fun in Japan

Life is too short not to have good and pleasurable experiences. Certainly after decades of the grind and non-stop hustling, you need a break and chance for some fun. Today, we can vacation to the land of the strange; Japan.

I think that Japan would be an awesome place to visit, but I am happy here in China.

Never the less, there are some wacky and crazy experiences in Japan that might just be able to inject some life into what might seem to become a rather mundane and meaningless life.

Today, we start with a maid cafe.

Totally cool. Really.

Japanese Maid Cafe

This has got to be an awesome experience!

What has been the biggest plot twist that happened in your life?

I grew up rich. Very rich. And at a young age, my parents lost everything. To be more specific; my father lost everything. Instead of telling me the truth, they shielded it all from me.

Now, being the kind of child who was used to Versace dresses and Armani jeans, it wasn’t easy to start shopping at our local equivalent of Walmart. And trust me, I was the kind of kid that knew that nice stuff was really nice. And I loved shopping.

It wasn’t easy to give up all the toys. It wasn’t easy for me to buy less books than I used to. And I wasn’t given a reason why. All I was told was that I was a spoilt brat and that I didn’t deserve it.

My parents fought. A lot. Turns out, my dad had a gambling problem I didn’t notice.

He lost the house, the cars, the business. He owed people money. Terrifying people. And as a young girl, I used to be followed around by these terrifying people.

My mother kept me home more often. I wasn’t allowed out, unless it was to a friends house.

I developed insecurities, some learning disabilities and a terribly annoying stutter. My change was so obvious at school and the counsellors noticed. They told my mother to send me to a psychologist. That it would help. But she told them no, and that I wasn’t crazy.

But I wasn’t crazy. I just needed help. And she refused it because she didn’t want to believe it.

And my grades dropped even lower.

In my early teenage years, my mother told me the truth. We were poor. I could barely believe it because I studied at one of the most expensive schools in the country. But it was true.

The reason why daddy didn’t come home for a year? Because he was embarrassed. And because he didn’t want those terrifying people he owed money to, to get him.

My mother sold everything. She paid his way out. Then she got a divorce.

That broke my heart.

She blamed everything on him. She started drinking more. Started openly smoking.

She called me an idiot. Told me I was worthless. Basically made me feel as bad as she did.

That was kind of crappy.

All this while she made sure I hated my father for what he did. And I did.

At university I couldnt study without worrying about money. I worked more than I studied so I could pay for room and board, and I couldn’t keep up the hours necessary to make my grade. So I had to leave.

After I quit university, I didn’t speak for a year. I hid in my room and slept and read and occasionally I would go out to see old friends and feel more distant from them than I had ever been.

Eventually, my mother’s partner got me a job working at a gambling den. If you knew anything our country, it was that places like these were quasi-illegal.

Women were hired to entertain the male clients, and to take their cash to change it into credits. I was hired because I was pretty and I spoke English without an accent. Perfect for one of their best customers.

I was depressed. I wanted to die. But I did it because she made me do it.

I quit after three months. I realised that after everything she laid on me, that was possibly the worst. That was the biggest plot twist in my life. That my mother would basically prostitute me to make ends meet. That realisation what what changed me.

I still love her. But I do not necessarily trust her.

And as for my dad? I don’t hate him now.

I’ve learnt from the many turns of events, and finally from that last one that even though I am my parents children, that my parents may not always have my best interest in mind.

And now, I make sure that I’m ok and I get the support I need from the people whom I trust. And I support the people I love, and try not to expect anything in return.

It’s hard to shake off her shadow but every day is a new one, and everyday I am getting better.

Resident Evil: Opening Scene (HD CLIP)

Why do airline pilots get paid so well for turning on autopilot and sitting, doing nothing, most of the flight?

Years ago I was at a wedding.

We were assigned a table with people we didn’t know.

All of a sudden, a guy started a conversation:

“So what do you do for a living?”

“I’m a pilot.”

“Are you a pilot, or a copilot?”

After clarifying the roles of captains and first officers, I said: “I am a first officer”.

“Your only task is to make coffee for the captain.” He laughed.

“What do you do?” I asked.

He had a good job: he was the sub-secretary in some government dependency. I suddenly felt like a hyena when she spots a wounded gazelle.

“You must make very good coffee for the Secretary.”

He got as offended with my answer as I was with his. Our conversation was over.

Why am I telling you this story? Because I feel offended by your question.

This time, however, I’ll be nice… and respectful.

I am a lazy guy.

If there’s an easy way, I’ll find it. I’m really good at avoiding chores. I’m on a constant lookout for shortcuts. I procrastinate.

Except when doing my job. Then, I become hard-working. There’s simply no other way.

I am awake while everybody else is sleeping.
I work more hours than others.
My job carries high levels of stress and responsibility.
I cannot afford to screw up too much.

I fly a highly automated airplane and, yes: I fly on autopilot most of the time. But this doesn’t mean I sit around doing nothing.

Flying manually or under autopilot is the same. You seem to be missing some important points of my job:

We are constantly planning what to do if things go wrong.
Conditions change, forecasts sometimes are wrong.
Weather gets nasty.
Aircraft systems fail.
There are a lot of procedures to follow.
The rules of the air are complicated, with subtle variations from country to country. We have to comply.
Passengers get sick, babies are born on board.
Airports get closed.
We fly with a certain amount of fuel. You cannot create more.
We cannot stop for troubleshooting.
We fly, navigate and communicate regardless of what’s happening.
We have to react calmly under extreme situations.

Most importantly, pilots are constantly making decisions. The right ones.

Making the wrong decision can cost me my job or my license, or even worse.
Making a good but inefficient decision can cost the company more money than they have paid me in 14 years.

They pay me to be safe and efficient.

Tinder Experiment: Attractive Men Reveal What Women REALLY Say

This is really harsh, but needs to be shown.

What were some unexpected/ funny ways criminals got caught?

1.The “Invisible” robber

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On April 19 1995, a five foot six robber robbed the Pittsburgh bank without wearing a mask. His face could be seen clearly in security cameras.

When he robbed, he was so confident that he smiled at surveillance cameras before walking out of the bank.

Apparently, he rubbed lemon juice onto his face before committing the act. Since lemon juice is known for being an invisible ink, he thought the juice made him invisible.

When police caught him, he was very shocked, and said “But I wore the juice!”

2. The Bungling Burglar

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47-year-old Crawshaw got stuck at the bathroom’s window of a home he’s trying to break in 15 feet above ground.

The fire brigade had to be called to free him when the home owner returned to this ridiculous scene.

He was sentenced two and a half years in prison.

3. Driving dog

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When Reliford Copper III was suspected of driving under influence, he led police to a high-speed chase and crashed into a house.

When police cuffed his hands, he defended himself by saying “My dog was driving that car! I ran because I wanted to!”

Apparently police wasn’t convinced that he isn’t drunk or high. His charges included property damage, leaving the scene of an accident and resisting arrest.

I personally find those dumb criminals very amusing, I guess they just made the jobs easier for cops. Did they make you question human intelligence?

If you want to be a criminal, do it smart! 🙂

Every Grocery Store Is Leaving Chicago | City Begs For Help

I used to think… I used to think… that Chicago could avoid the collapse of American cities. Nope. It’s all down the shitter.

China cancels US, Australia, France wheat imports

China has canceled US, Australian, France wheat imports, replacing them with orders from Russia, Kazakhstan and Argentina.

The US cancellation was the largest cancellation since 1999.

The Chinese government is showing a strong preference for buying from the BRICS and Global South economies, and is moving away from buying from the G7 countries which are part of the western bloc led by the US.

This is done for a combination of political and economic reasons. The US is pulling out the big guns when it comes to chip technology, AI, and blocking Chinese sales of EVs and solar panels, and more recently, the forced divesting of TikTok USA, which are all part of de-coupling and de-risking. From the Chinese perspective, the US’s Biden administration is heading rapidly in the direction of sanctions against Chinese companies following the sanctions applied against Russia. Opposition and hostility to Chinese companies and business interests in Congress is very strong, and China must be prepared for the US acting to seize Chinese assets which the US can reach. The only way to avoid this scenario is to have as few overseas assets in US dollars and held by US banks as possible.

This is the de-risking and de-coupling model the Chinese are following.

In the US, there may be a political side-effect in this US election year: Trump supporters are usually stronger in US rural states, and some farmers may blame the Biden administration for poor wheat sales and vote for Trump. In a tight race, this may be an important factor.

INSIDE JAPAN’S ULTIMATE LOVE HOTEL!

What is a little known fact that is at least mildly disturbing?

I’m not sure whether this is a little known fact, but I’ve always found it disturbing.

You know when you’re buying medicine, sometimes toiletries, and other things like that, and you find those annoying little seals?

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Some of you might know why these exist. Some might not.

In 1982, a 12-year-old Mary Kellerman took some Extra-Strength Tylenol and died not long afterwards.

Adam Janus, brother Stanley, and sister-in-law Theresa all died after taking some Tylenol capsules.

Not long afterwards, Mary McFarland, Paula Prince, and Mary Reiner all died after taking the same brand capsules.

All were from within the Chicago metropolitan area.

After the 7th person died, it was realised where the connection lay – each had ingested Tylenol capsules.

Tests on the bottles the capsules revealed an alarming fact:

The capsules

had been dosed with potassium cyanide!

Police were quickly able to rule out manufacturers as a source. They weren’t being tampered with there. They theorized that the source was from the shops and drug stores themselves.

They suspected that somebody had procured the capsules, added the cyanide to each, and then resealed, and methodically replaced the containers back on the store shelves.

The mildly disturbing fact?

The police don’t know who did it.

They were able to identify numerous suspects, including someone who had carried out poisoning rampages like this, an individual who had sent a ransom letter demanding $1m to Johnson & Johnson, and others. But no direct ties were ever found.

Nobody has been held directly accountable for this crime.

Alongside the bottles they know were responsible for the deaths, authorities found 3 additional bottles that had been contaminated.

I just find it so disturbing that someone can commit such a heinous crime, and still be walking around like a normal person.

The fact that the capsules could be opened, tampered with and resealed led to the abolition of pellet-filled capsules as a medication mode

Gen Z Aren’t Having Kids & Everyone Is Worried

What happened in a courtroom that gave the judge a belly laugh you will never forget?

Obviously could not laugh at it in the Court Room ! -:)

However this was many years ago when I was called on to Jury Service. had been to this Crown Court ( The higher of the two initial Criminal Courts in England and Wales [note that Scotland has its own laws and procedures] ) .

We had been sworn in and the case was about to start when the Court Orderly told us that there had been a change of plea that the Court had accepted, so as such there was nothing to “Consider”, but as we had been sworn in had to at least be in session, and hear the Charges against the man read out to the Court.

The hearing was essentially a Sentencing hearing and for the Judge to consider the facts of this and past cases. (I appeared that this man had quite a history from the age of about 14 onwards!) .

The Defence Barrister had stood up, the Police having given their details and repeating the causation of the Charges. The Judge asked the Defending Barrister, where there were any mitiating circumstances that that Judge should take in to consideration.

The Defence Barrister stated that : “ my client, although having a troubled history, has show good will and has not been arrested for any maters or brought about sentence for over four years”.

The Judge, who had been listening to this an making his notes for consideration, looked up at the Defending Barrister and just quietly said: “ Yes. Mr …… but I would remind you that you client was indeed in Custody for 20 months of those four years ! “

The Barrister tried to wriggle around with mitigating circumstances, which unsurprisingly the Judge swept aside, and the Defendant received a further custodial sentence.

All the Jurors we trying to keep straight faces until the now sentenced party was taken to point of detention, and the Judge had left the Court Room and we were discharged by the Usher.

Just one of thise unforgettable moments-:)

[To-Yoko Kids] The darkness of Shinjuku Kabukicho.

What has been the biggest plot twist that happened in your life?

When the doctor pulled me aside and asked me if I’d secretly had a vasectomy.

My wife and I weren’t succeeding in getting pregnant so we headed to the doctor. She asked about our backgrounds, etc. and decided that there “might be a problem”. Since males are biologically simpler in this regard, they started testing with me. The results came back with ZERO sperm. Not low count. Not poor motility. Absolutely no sperm.

I was referred to the head of urology at a local university medical school and after a couple of tests he determined that it was genetic. I never had and never would produce sperm.

In six weeks we went from “there might be a problem” to “you’ll never produce biological children”. That was quite a plot twist. Most couples assume that they can have kids whenever they want but roughly 20% have fertility problems.

I’ll skip over the details but we eventually adopted two boys. Our oldest is in the US Army and our youngest starts college this fall.

Sometimes I still wonder what sort of child we might have “produced” but I have no regrets and I wouldn’t trade my sons for any number of bio-children.

Update———-

I wasn’t expecting the response I’ve gotten to this. I appreciate the kind comments about what a wonderful guy I must be, but I wasn’t trying to do anything spectacular. I was just a married man who wanted to be a dad and unexpectedly found out that I had few options. I love my boys and they love me but I’m probably a fairly average dad (well, maybe a LITTLE above average).

Let me address a couple questions and then provide some details on the adoption process.

First, you can be born with genetic infertility. However, without digging up medical records that are over 20 years old I don’t remember the specific diagnosis and it’s possible that it’s congenital without being genetic. Second, as several have pointed out, sperm is a very small component of semen. Everything appeared to function fine for the first several years of our marriage. We had no warning that anything was wrong before the lab results came back.

I skipped adoption details because I didn’t think they fit the “plot twist” topic but here goes…

Once we got over the shock we had to figure out what we were going to do. We attended a Resolve conference (www.resolve.org) that helped us think about our options. Following the conference, many deep conversations, and a great deal of prayer we decided to pursue adoption.

The problem is that the US has far more infertile couples looking to adopt than available babies. Waiting lists were years long and required significant costs up front. Then you had to live in the same state – in some cases the same county – while waiting. I was in graduate school and we’d almost certainly be moving in a couple years. That meant we’d lose our spot on the list and our money.

We looked into special needs adoption in our state. Unless we were ready to adopt very severe needs the waiting times weren’t much shorter. Once they found out that I was in graduate school and my wife was a college teacher, they went out of their way to discourage us from starting the process.

We were about to give up when one of our contacts heard that Holt International had a temporary window for couples to apply to adopt minor special needs children from South Korea. If everything worked out, we could get a child within a year. We were approved to adopt a boy who had just turned two. In the adoption world, simply being over two years old made him “minor special needs”. Otherwise he was healthy. We got him in April and moved from Kentucky to Indiana over the summer.

That was 1996. We had been married 11 years, we’d never had children, and we started with a toddler who spoke only Korean.

The adoption wasn’t finalized when we moved but once we had him in our possession a move was OK. Since we changed states we had to use a different local adoption agency to finalize. This introduced us to Bethany Christian Services. When we decided to adopt a second child, we worked with them and again found a minor special needs boy from South Korea. This time the special need was premature birth. He was 8 months old when we got him and our doctor saw no signs of prematurity. He was developmentally right on schedule.

That was 1998 and we ended up moving to Wisconsin in 1999 where both boys grew into impressive young men.

Japan Walk Kabukicho at late night, Red Light District, back alley in Shinjuku, Tokyo｜歌舞伎町新宿 4K

What can a person with an IQ of 160 do that a person with an IQ of 100 cannot? Are certain things fundamentally unlearnable/undoable like IQ claims? How can this be overcome?

When I was 15 my mother moved my sister and me out of state. To prove that I was qualified for the the AP classes I requested at my new high school, my mother had my IQ tested by a registered psychologist. When revealing my score to my mother, the psychologist recommended not sharing the information with me – her experience was that people who knew their IQ at my score tended to slack off in school. So my mom didn’t tell me until I was an adult, but it didn’t matter. It’s not difficult to know when your mental abilities far outweigh those of your peers.

Then there’s my sister – she always struggled with academics. She was in the slower groups at our private school and people tended to dismiss her academic abilities throughout her childhood because she didn’t naturally shine or pickup concepts instantly like I did. Learning was a battle, so she was taught to focus and take her time in everything she did.

My sister went on to become a nurse, earning straight A’s in college because she studied methodically and planned her routines meticulously. She does very well in everything she has interest in because she knows she has to practice. She doesn’t expect to understand everything outright but knows she can learn with time. Her pace is slower, focused on practice, dedication, and social relationships. She works harder, and I think she’s happier than I am.

I understand everything, conceptually, without much background. I learn systems, trades, programs, methods, etc extremely fast. I test at the highest percentages without extensive study or preparation. But I never learned how to keep a routine, practice consistently, or work hard. I was alienated as a child because I couldn’t relate to my peers and now I have trouble forming deep, personal relationships. I was heavily medicated for severe clinical depression for over a decade. Contrary to what others have said about IQ, none of this is because I developed some elitist, alienating complex over a number. I didn’t know my IQ score until a few years ago. Rather, I struggled because navigating through this world as an outlier is fundamentally soul crushing.

I do very well professionally because of my pattern recognition abilities (having major influence on business practices is inevitable because I’m able to see the big picture and long term like most can’t), but I’m never happy with what I’m doing with myself – I always want to be more, better. I want to change the world. I’ll do very well financially, I always have. I’ll get where I want to be in my career and I’ll continue to seek out and absorb more and more knowledge like a sponge until I die – it’s what I do best. But my sister will always be a happier person, surrounded by warmth of friends and family, feeling connected to a tribe in a way that I am envious of.

So sure, with a higher IQ, I’ll be more successful in career and the academic intelligence realm – but who cares? What about intelligence of the soul, emotions? Happiness? Truly belonging to a network, a collective intelligence? When we die, what matters more? I’d bet a few handful of IQ points on happiness.

EDIT: I wasn’t expecting so much activity on my first answer on Quora! Thank you for taking the time to interact. After enough comments have popped up expressing similar views I’d like to clear a up few things.

High IQ does not predispose us to perfection. You’ll find errors in my writing and everything else I do in life, just as I’ll find errors in you. Hyper-focusing on inconsequential details to gain a temporary upper hand isn’t nearly as satisfying as listening to a message and relating to the soul of a story. That said, I’m happy to see many can relate.

Some have read the above as a self-aggrandizing diatribe insulting my sister. I think that’s harsh and off-base but I won’t argue opinions on my writing; what you hear is as important as what I intended to say. I will, however, clarify a bit. I love my sister, I’m her biggest fan, and she knows it. She struggled, had tutors, and was ultimately removed from private school, but she is by no means dumb. She’s smarter than I am in many ways (which is what I tried illustrating above) and I am envious of the way her personality shines in a crowd.

Finally, through many years of therapy, self reflection, and goal setting I’m in a great place in life. I have a loving partner, a quiet home, and a successful career that allows me to contribute to the quality of life of many which I find extremely fulfilling. My point on happiness is that we all struggle in some way – mine is emotionally. It’ll always be difficult, but I use tools to overcome just like my sister worked to overcome her struggles, and you can overcome yours.

Gen Z Doesn’t want to Work Anymore …. Part 2

Do people in jail/prison keep pets similar to the Birdman of Alcatraz or The Green Mile?

I knew one inmate in maximum security. This guy never gave me trouble. Typically, one hour of rec, three trays a day, one shower please and thank you was about the summation of our existence. I remember having a few random conversations with him like wishing him a Merry Christmas or us talking about the Branch Davidians.

So imagine my surprise when one day walking by his cell I see a cat hanging out in the cell with him.

The unit had a small army of cats, probably more cats than officers if we counted. They kept the rodent population down, supposedly. However I would see them usually hanging out begging by the kitchen or in the grassy area.

I spent some time trying to figure out how a cat got into the cell. The window was covered in black metal mesh. Up through the toilet maybe?

As I would find out, the inmate trustees who were supposed to be cleaning the pods, but were out doing anything but working could be paid to put a kitten in a bag and pass it to a fellow inmate.

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I’m not sure how many soups were worth a kitten and the exchange ratio never made itself apparent to me. Technically there were no rules against inmates having pets. The only thing I could possibly think of was a traffic and trading charge which wouldn’t hold water because I didn’t see it happen. Not that I was interested in writing up the inmate. I was happy for him.

The inmate soon regretted his decision. The commissary didn’t sell kitty litter. I recommended that he tear up old bags or pay a trustee to bring him grass. Also, cat food was not on the commissary list. My inmate bought tuna which was about as close as you could get. He told me that he tried feeding the kitten scrambled eggs describing it as “… the worst decision of my life. That thing was blowing up my cell.”

At a loss, the inmate turned in the kitten to a female officer who took it home. The cat became known as “Contra” (as in contraband). I talked to that coworker about it and Contra couldn’t seem to adjust to life in the free world. Contra was obsessed with sleeping in brown bags and had a bad habit of shanking, correction clawing the other members of the family.

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“Lookout boss.”

Why QUIET QUITTING is the BEST THING GEN Z ever Did

All of this is choice.

Why do some people like to be alone?

It’s only been about the last 15 years or so that I’ve discovered how wonderful life is when you live alone. I grew up with lots of friends all through school. My husband and I had combined our friends and our life was full of friends and children. My days were nonstop from the time my feet hit the floor in the morning. Our lives were hectic, busy and we enjoyed it that way.

Life really can change in a second, without warning. When our lives changed drastically when my husband died in an accident, I withdrew from everyone. It was not enjoyable. I didn’t want to be around anyone. That kind of alone was not enjoyable and it wasn’t healthy either.

Life goes on and I was surrounded with lots of new friends. Then the kids moved on to start their lives and families. I also started a new relationship that ended ugly 10 years later. I dated but nothing got serious. But I just wanted someone around. I didn’t want yo be alone. That isn’t healthy either. After several abusive relationships I made some major changes in my life. I moved several hundred miles away from everyone and everything I knew. I started my own business. I had to work a lot to get my business making money. I had no time to get out and meet people. About 3 years later I was able to relax. My business was doing so much better than I dreamed it do. I now had time to go meet new friends. I had met some people in the neighborhood. Ladies I’d walk with in mornings and evenings. I didn’t feel the need to hang out at tge bar or spending the weekends at tge veach or antique shopping or doing of the things I had always done. I really wanted to be at home, working in the garden, decorating a room, or just piddling around the house. I was enjoying spending time with just me. It was something g I’d never done before.

I have met a lot of people in my town because of my business. I socialize all day at work. Then I go home and I spend the rest of the day doing what I want. I date but I don’t want anything serious. A good long time friend will visit each month for several days. I enjoy the visit. I also enjoy it when the cost is over and I can be alone.

When I look back on my life I can see how my interests, wants and needs changed every 5 years or so. What I wanted at 20 wasn’t what I wanted at 25 and do on. So, for right now I’m enjoy my life alone. I don’t know what I’ll be enjoying in 5 years but for today in happy with my life right now.

Downtown Chicago Is Now A GHOST TOWN | Tourism Is Basically 0% | Migrants TAKE OVER

Chicago is now a ghost town.

What historical mystery intrigues you the most?

How about a mystery so profound, that it stands apart from all others. The archaeological marvel that is changing our very understanding of human history.

Göbekli Tepe, Upper Mesopotamia, Turkey.

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I’m aware that Göbekli Tepe isn’t as famous as other sites such as Stonehenge or the Pyramids, heck some of you reading this may not have even heard of it…

I know my misses hadn’t, don’t worry I promptly corrected that travesty.

Basically, there was this unknown archaeologist who decided to dig up a strange shaped “potbelly hill”, he took a chance and discovered the archaeological find of the last hundred years, if not ever. Yep, that’s how monumental this is.

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Around 12 thousand years ago, some neolithic humans built a vast complex of stone structures, with massive stone monoliths which were intricately carved and inclosed large circles, for a mysterious and possibly never to be discovered purpose… Then they buried it all.

“Göbekli Tepe is an archaeological wonder. Built by Neolithic communities 11,500 years ago, it features enormous, round stone structures and monumental stone pillars up to 5.5 meters high. Since there is no evidence of farming or animal domestication at the time, the site is believed to have been built by hunter-gatherers. However, its architectural complexity is highly unusual for them.” — Professor Gopher.

Who frack built it, why did they do it, how did they know how to build it and why the bloody hell did they bury the vast structure intact?

Seriously, 12 thousand years ago humans were supposed to be hunting wild animals and gathering berries, living short and brutally hard lives, not building vast complexes out of stone…

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I know what you’re thinking – ‘Who cares, it’s not that impressive, we already know our ancestors raised big stones.’

Angrily throws metaphorical chalk across class, hitting petulant student in the face.

Göbekli Tepe is 6,000 years older than Stonehenge, it literally changes our entire understanding of human history. What’s more, is we’ve barely scratched the surface, seriously this neolithic complex is massive.

Humans didn’t just spontaneously learn how to carve stone like this or form large organised societies overnight capable of working across multiple generations to build such a marvel.

Oyeah, and the current thinking is that Göbekli Tepe could also be the birthplace of agriculture.

main qimg 3b1399445fe6d20fa74379109c483f6d pjlq

Only 5 percent of the site has been excavated, that’s the equivalent of opening the entrance to Tutankhamun’s tomb, taking a shaky ass polaroid picture, with shit lighting, and then spending the next 30 years just gormlessly staring at that shite photograph.

Göbekli Tepe is the most fascinating mystery and yet it receives practically no attention.

Yakuza Takes Me To The Hostess Club In Japan (#137)

My employee was recently diagnosed with a terminal illness and has since been sluggish at work. How do I let her go nicely without it costing me?

I actually had this situation a number of years ago. TL;DR – I decided that the humanitarian route was best.

This long-time employee was a favorite of our customers, as well as her colleagues. Unfortunately, the “big C” came for her far sooner than she deserved. I noticed a decline in performance well before she broke the news of her diagnosis. I knew that I had to do something, as she had such a critical “linchpin” role in our operations. But I felt that simply jettisoning her was completely unfair…and more than a bit heartless.

She used all of her PTO and FMLA for the year or so where she was fighting it off. I simply distributed what part of her role that I could to other people during the times she was out. She improved for a little while…but it came back stronger, and it was clear she was about out of options.

As a senior manager, I never use my PTO. Always something else to be done, you know? *shrug* So, I had my full yearly allocation, except for 8 hours I’d taken to have a root canal. I quietly arranged to give her my personal bank of PTO during the summer, so she could have that time with her family (particularly the younger relatives, who were all out of school) while still being paid. I didn’t tell anyone about it, including her, but word leaked.

She resigned around mid-summer, and passed away three weeks later. Her husband told me at the funeral that she had found out how she got her extra time off from HR, and made it known what I did before she passed.

Unintentionally, I made a great organizational investment. To this day, we have benefited from the good will generated from that decision. People know when you’re talking the talk…and they know when you’re walking the walk. Taking care of a long-time employee with a terminal illness is a great way to walk the walk. And I can’t imagine what might have happened if I had made a different choice. Besides, even if you don’t get the organizational benefit, it’s always the right time to do the right thing.

Almond Anise Biscotti

Ingredients

1/2 cup granulated sugar
1/2 cup brown sugar
1/4 cup butter, softened
1 tablespoon anise seed
3 eggs
3 cups all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon baking powder
1/2 cup chopped almonds

Instructions

Beat sugars and butter until well blended. Add anise seed and eggs; blend well. Stir in flour and baking powder; mix well. Stir in almonds. Shape dough into two 10 x 1 inch rolls. Place rolls 4 inches apart on greased cookie sheet. Flatten each to 2-inch width. Bake at 350 degrees F for 20 to 30 minutes or until golden brown. Cool completely.
Cut diagonally into 1/2 inch slices. Arrange slices, cut side down, on ungreased cookie sheets. Bake at 350 degrees F for 6 to 10 minutes or until bottom begins to brown. Turn and bake for an additional 3 to 5 minutes or until crisp. Cool completely.
Store in tightly covered container for up to one month. The anise flavor gets stronger with time.

Apparently Everyone is Broke ….. Part 3

Lots of truth here.

“A father passing by his son’s bedroom

Noticed the room unusually clean and saw an envelope propped up prominently on the pillow. It was addressed, ‘Dad’. With the worst premonition, he opened the envelope and read the letter, with trembling hands.

Dear, Dad. It is with great regret and sorrow that I’m writing you. I had to elope with my new girlfriend, because I wanted to avoid a scene with Mum and you.

I’ve been finding real passion with Stacy. She is so nice, but I knew you would not approve of her because of all her piercing’s, tattoos, her tight Motorcycle clothes, and because she is so much older than I am.

But it’s not only the passion, Dad. She’s pregnant. Stacy said that we will be very happy. She owns a trailer in the woods, and has a stack of firewood for the whole winter. We share a dream of having many more children.

Stacy has opened my eyes to the fact that mari*juana doesn’t really hurt anyone. We’ll be growing it for ourselves and trading it with the other people in the commune for all the cocaine and ecstasy we want.

In the meantime, we’ll pray that science will find a cure for AIDS so that Stacy can get better. She sure deserves it!

Don’t worry Dad, I’m 15, and I know how to take care of myself. Someday, I’m sure we’ll be back to visit so you can get to know your many grandchildren.

Love, your son, Josh

P.S . Dad, none of the above is true. I’m over at Jason’s house. I just wanted to remind you that there are worse things in life than the school report that’s on the kitchen table. Call when it is safe for me to come home.”

SEX100$ Looking for SugarDaddy!Runaway girl in Japan トー横・大久保公園の家出少女

What single decision had the greatest effect on history?

The decision in 1241 A.D. by the Mongol princes, Batu Khan and Kadan, to ignore the advice of their infamous head military strategist Subutai and return to Mongolia after hearing of the death of the Great Khan Ögedei.

A little less than 800 years ago, Western civilization was on the precipice of complete annihilation. Ögedei, the third son of Genghis Khan, had continued his father’s violent and brutal imperial expansion into Europe and was poised for success. The arrival of news of the Great Khan’s death was either fully or partially responsible for the Mongol withdrawal from Europe sparing Western Civilization from the near universal destruction experienced in the wake of the Mongol hordes.

The desire of the grandsons of Genghis Khan to attend the Kurultai where the election of a new Great Khan would take place is entirely understandable. While neither would ultimately be selected because of the election of another of Genghis Khan’s grandsons, Güyük Khan,

they obviously had an interest in trying to position themselves politically for the election. Subutai was no doubt apoplectic over the decision as he was in the process of planning the invasion of the Holy Roman Empire having had great success in Europe up to that point.

main qimg 7d2f52ad60f858827db5a78cb2141e6d pjlq

Mongol siege of Ryazan in 1238

Before the Mongols withdrew, they had begun to experience some stiffened European resistance such as in Austria. But much of Europe east of Vienna had been laid waste by the Mongols and while they may not have succeeded in an occupation of Western Europe, the devastation would have undoubtably been verging on apocalyptic.

Subutai was one of the most ruthless of the Mongol generals. Any city failing to surrender unconditionally faced unspeakable horrors of death, destruction, and torture. The cold efficiency of the Mongol’s killing machine has seldom been equaled with entire cities murdered in a few hours of systematic execution. Over a period of a little more than a century, some estimates place the death toll at the hands of the Mongols as high as five percent of the global population.

Let that sink in. Five percent of all humans.

Europe might well have been permanently set back a few centuries had Subutai succeeded in finishing and executing his plans.

It should be noted that this classical view is no longer universally accepted. Many other factors have been suggested for the withdrawal of the Mongols including the aforementioned stiffening resistance, diminishing returns in plunder, and tribal infighting prior to news of Ögedei’s

death. And as horrible as their blackened earth strategy was, many historians regard the Mongol rule in a more benign way than Western history has traditionally viewed it. While personally I am not persuaded by these more modern takes, it is important to acknowledge these other plausible and less Eurocentric points of view.

Irrespective of these caveats, there can be little doubt that the death of Ögedei was a factor in the Mongol withdrawal and that world history would have been greatly altered had the hordes advanced into Western Europe. As it turned out, the Mongols never returned to Western Europe to follow up on the ground they had already softened. This single decision by two of the grandsons of Genghis Khan, at that precise moment in time, radically altered the shape of the modern world.

Baked Cherry Oatmeal

Ingredients

2 cups old-fashioned oats
4 cups milk
1/2 teaspoon almond flavoring
1/4 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup sliced almonds
1/2 cup dried cherries
1 large apple, unpeeled and grated

Instructions

Heat oven to 400 degrees F.
Coat a 3 quart casserole or baking pan with cooking spray.
In mixing bowl, combine all ingredients.
Transfer to baking dish.
Sprinkle top with additional almonds.
Bake uncovered for 45 minutes.
Serve hot.

What do you think is China much ahead of other countries? What do you think is the biggest gap between China and other countries?

Where China is ahead? China’s nuclear safety record is surprisingly very good. Especially when compared to other major industrial countries with nuclear power plants in operation.

China has had to deal with some major regulatory lapses in food safety and medicines in the past, but when it comes to nuclear safety, they might just have the best record on the planet if not one of the top 3, especially when the scale and scope of their nuclear energy systems are taken into account (46 reactors and increasing).

The Chinese nuclear operators have repeatedly gotten very high grades from international agencies on their safety precautions. Nuclear safety related incidents are graded from Level 1 to Level 7 (Level 7 being the worst like Chernobyl and Fukushima). The Chinese have never had an incident beyond Level 1.

A lot of this is because China’s nuclear safety is very openly discussed by Chinese nuclear engineers in technical journals within the country. Because of this openness and lack of censorship, several articles were published by Chinese engineers detailing that the primary issue with Chinese nuclear powerplants were due to substandard technical equipment or non standard equipment coming from equipment providers in China. This led to a 2016 scandal (which was reported openly in the Chinese press) about valves being supplied to nuclear powerplants that resulted in around a dozen nuclear equipment providers to publicly sign confessions to crimes regarding providing false information and provision of defective equipment.

The details of the scandals were published alongside signatures and seals from CPC officials and the CEOs of the equipment providers in the China Energy Report.

If you guys are familiar with the Chernobyl series, one of the big themes regarding the disaster was the secrecy and lack of information around the nuclear reactor designs and operations. Which prevented faults from being exposed.

If we were to speculate why China has such a good safety record, why the regulations are so good in nuclear safety and why safety issues can be discussed in such a transparent manner: It’s probably because of how deeply unsettled and impacted Chinese leaders were by the Fukushima incident in neighboring Japan.

The Fukushima incident spurred a pretty significant internal overhaul of China’s nuclear safety even though no disaster or safety incident had occurred yet. Reactor construction was put on hold, a lot of safety laws were implemented and the safety law was rapidly published. Nearly a thousand people were added to the national nuclear safety regulatory authority. Actually, the national nuclear safety regulatory authority is pretty special in China because apparently if you choose to go work with them, you can get residence permits (Huko) which are a big deal in China. And that was how they were able to bump up their recruitment despite the somewhat lower salary the organization pays compared to others.

And China’s excellent nuclear safety record has a benefit for the rest of the world as well. Pakistan has also had 0 nuclear safety incidents beyond Level 1 regarding their Chinese built powerplants, partly because Pakistani nuclear plant operators adopted the safety practices and procedures of their Chinese counterparts who they got these plants from in the first place. Pakistani nuclear operators also get training from Chinese operators which helps to further spread these safe nuclear plant practices to developing countries.

I think one side benefit of China exporting reactors abroad is, is that their safety record follows them. So a lot of developing countries can make the switch to safe, non-polluting nuclear energy by getting reactors from China and at the same time getting some pretty high quality training and safety procedures from them in the progress. Assuming of course, they continue to follow these safety procedures in an updated and consistent manner over the years. And also pair it with the same open, frank discussion on the current state of nuclear safety in the country, the same way the Chinese nuclear engineer community does.

Academic sources if you want to go more in-depth on this topic: Jane Nakano and Thomas Rawski

What China still lags in?

Probably the soft infrastructure of a country: Policies.

I’ll give two examples:

Health care policies and health insurance management
Horizontal cooperative policies in large engineering organizations.

Health care policies and health insurance management

China is at that point in their development where they have pretty much mastered hard infrastructure (roads, bridges, dams, powerplants).

But soft infrastructure, like your health care policies are an area where the government is still trying to figure out how to make systems work. The newer hospitals in China, disease prevention, early detection and a lot of other components of China’s health care system are pretty first class and comparable to the best systems in the world.

The issue comes around questions of policy: What should we expect the patient to pay for? What should the government pay for? How do we optimize drug prices to balance between innovative research and affordability? How can hospitals balance their budgets without requiring government bail outs? How do we balance between breadth and depth of medical coverage?

While China’s economy and spending power has increased manifold, in terms of advances in health care coverage, the country is actually going down in terms of health care advancement compared to the past and the last major increase in life expectancy and quality of health care was achieved under Mao’s barefoot doctor program.

The government is trying to figure things out. They rolled out universal health care for China, which was no small feat. It focusses on breadth rather than depth (give some limited health care insurance to everyone instead of give health insurance that covers everything to some people). Hospitals are allowed to mark up drugs 15% to make profits off of them.

But the core issue remains that health insurance and managing health insurance is something that’s been in China for only 20 years and is new to the country and it’s managers. So we have the somewhat strange situation where China’s health care system is well funded, has excellent doctors and supporting staff, has hospitals equipped with the latest technology.

But the health care system is in deep trouble because the managerial skill needed to keep it running through pricing optimization, risk management, risk pooling, health insurance management, premium setting and healthcare policy expertise is very badly lacking. And could lead to massive financial problems in the future if the policy isn’t ironed out correctly.

The second example I’ll give is of horizontal management.

This plays a big part in engineering firms in China that are trying to achieve the Chinese government’s goals of developing next gen technologies in China indigenously.

A good example here is COMAC, which has been trying to get into the passenger aircraft game to compete with Boeing and Airbus, primarily with their first aircraft the C919.

COMAC is a good example of a Chinese SOE that still has a large leftover legacy from how Soviet State enterprises were organized. It is extremely top down and while it can excel in vertical management, it struggles when it comes to horizontal management.

Horizontal management refers to how the different departments and units within companies are supposed to integrate with each other and synchronize their activities. Within engineering firms, this is something that System Engineers, Project Managers and Systems Integration Managers are supposed to enable. A complex engineering system like a submarine, a satellite or a aircraft cannot be created from scratch in an engineering organization where you have 0 horizontal integration and management and your departments fail to coordinate with each other when designing and developing components that are supposed to go in the same end product.

COMAC’s C919 had a very trouble development history precisely because COMAC is still very much organized and managed by state employees whose perspective is still shaped by vertical management principles of large Soviet organizations. And suffers from major issues in internal integration of different department efforts.

Which is why the Chinese government is making an enormous push to attract not just technical experts and engineers from abroad, but also the business managers who specialize in this stuff and enable it to happen.

I think this is why a lot of Asian parents need to stop pushing the “Doctor or Engineer” choice on their kids. There’s enormous demand in China at the moment for managers who are experts in health care policies, insurance management etc. from the first example. And engineering managers, project managers and other enablers of horizontal integration in the second example.

Both of these fields require people with imagination, flexibility, creativity and good communication skills.

The thing is, it isn’t like China has failed at this: Ali Baba has superb internal horizontal integration. There’s a joke that Ali Baba and Tencent are better positioned to make China’s next passenger aircraft or aircraft carrier than Chinese SOEs because being private sector entities they have superbly synchronized their internal alignments and developed seamless integration between all their different divisions and departments.

And we have to remember that this is the first time the government is making a move in these sectors where they will have to take time to build up experience.

And I think the Chinese government should consider filling this deficiency in their current internal economy and industrial base by either continuing to get top managerial talent from abroad, nurturing their own management talent or give more space to private sector entities in this fields that don’t suffer from the internal management issues that the Chinese SOEs struggle with.

Source used:

Jane Nakano, Senior Fellow in CSIS Energy and National Security Program
Loren Brandt (University of Toronto)
Thomas Rawski (University of Pittsburgh)

Get Japanese Girls From Vending Machine (Tokyo’s only place)

What has your child done that is technically “wrong” but you were proud of them for doing it?

My daughter, who is 5 years old, is super sweet and compassionate, but she also can be quite the spicy one! She sometimes says exactly what she means. With her dad, however, she is much more restrained. He, though, has a tendency to nitpick and it can become annoying, even to me. I have to hold myself back from saying, “Leave her alone; she’s fine!” He just thinks girls should walk like this, talk like that…yada yada. Well, my daughter isn’t about that life. She is unapologetically who she is. She just hears him, says, “okay, Daddy” and tries to adjust.

Well, one day, we were traveling. We’d be out all day. We were tired. And my husband was fussing about something again. She was in the back seat, looking out of the window with an exasperated look on her face. I was also looking out of my window with the same look. Both of us just wanted him to shut up fussing.

Just as I was getting ready to say, “Enough!,” her little voice chimed in. She sounded like an adult trapped in a 5 year old’s body, “Oh my goodness, DADDY! You make me want to DRINK!” I turned and looked at her, stunned. She was looking at the rearview mirror so she could see his face and her expression was priceless. But his, was hilarious. He asked, incredulously, “I make you want to do what?” She said, “You make me want. to. drink….and I am not talking about juice boxes or CapriSUNs either, Dad!”

I promise, it took everything in my power to keep a straight face. I watched his face turn beet red. He looked pretty angry. But he said nothing. He looked at me, and I gave him a “Don’t look at me, I would have said the same thing” kind of look. We rode in silence for about half an hour. She said, “Dad, I should not have yelled at you. I’m sorry. But, I meant what I said.” (That’s my line to dad LOL). Then, she took a nap. His nagging has really slowed dramatically.

While I think children should respect their parents and not yell. I do think that is a two way street. I also think kids should learn to stand up for themselves. I cannot imagine a better lesson for both of them.

Tokyo’s Night Joy Paradise Plus unexpected Invitation 2

Joe and the rabbits

When I was a young boy, perhaps 6 years old, we lived in a housing complex in Bridgeport, Connecticut. I used to play with the other kids in that complex. One of my boyhood friends was this kid named Joe.

His father was a scientist from Germany. And after world war II, he emigrated to the United States with his parents. They were a nice family, and the father and Joe could speak very good English, but his mother could not. But she was pretty nice.

Joe was named after the Americans allowed him to come into the USA. He was named “G.I.Joe”. I kid you not.

Anyways he had his father’s German soldiers helmet, and a German army issue gas mask that we both played with.

He was a lot of fun. Joe and I did many things together, and we ran about getting into all sorts of things. Good times for young boys. Ha ha.

Anyways, in his basement, his father had rows and rows of cages with bunny rabbits. yeah, his father was using them for experiments that he ran out of his house.

He fed them. He tended to them.

He injected them…

Now that I am older, and knowing about “Operation Paperclip”, I wonder just what kinds of experiments his father was doing to these rabbits. Makeup? Bio-weapons? Aspirin? I don’t know.

What I do know is that my father would periodically take me over to Joe’s house and I would get to pick up the rabbits from time to time. Both Joe and I were too young to notice anything wrong about the set up. But today… knowing what I do know… I wonder about it.

Many innocent things in my past… well are exposed to the understandings of experience when you get older.

Today…

Ukraine Dropped Explosive On Nuclear Fuel Storage Facility

World Hal Turner 14 March 2024

Ukrainians dropped an explosive on the nuclear fuel storage facility at the Zaporozhye Nuclear Power Plant.

Russia sent an urgent report to the IAEA.

Absolutely ZERO additional information is available at this time.

No word of any radiation leak . . . no word about ANYTHING. Just that it happened.

More if I get it.

This $7.3 Trillion Bombshell Threatens To SINK The Dollar

Transgender – The Inability To Distinguish Facts From Wishes

Matt Taibbi opines on the latest piece of transgender nonsense:

The Dumbest Cover Story Ever – Racket News, Mar 13 2024
New York Magazine’s “Freedom of Sex” is the ultimate example of the lunatic nihilism that’s consumed America’s intellectual class

New York Magazine has a new cover story, by the trans writer Andrea Long Chu: “The moral case for letting trans kids change their bodies.” A jeremiad in support of the idea that children must have absolute political agency, it makes the Unabomber manifesto read like a Shakespeare sonnet. The money passage:

We must be prepared to defend the idea that, in principle, everyone should have access to sex-changing medical care, regardless of age, gender identity, social environment, or psychiatric history.

A lot of the piece is standard-issue woe-is-me fuck-everything cartoon nihilism you’d hear from any laptop-class liberal arts product, arguing for a generalized smashing of the patriarchy, among other things by attacking the biological conspiracy to produce those units of material labor value known as babies. Complete abolition of norms would be an “impossible task,” Chu notes sadly, but that doesn’t preclude their “collective reimagining” by an alliance of intersectional victims working toward a Marxian paradise free of “oppressive systems,” which of course include the nuclear family.

The nihilism Taibbi points to is also the major theme the French anthropologist Emmanuel Todd takes on in his book “The Defeat of the West”.

From its New York Times review:

This Prophetic Academic Now Foresees the West’s Defeat (archived) – New York Times, Mar 9 2024

American leadership is failing: That is the argument of an eccentric new book that since January has stood near the top of France’s best-seller lists. It is called “La Défaite de l’Occident” (“The Defeat of the West”). Its author, Emmanuel Todd, is a celebrated historian and anthropologist who in 1976, in a book called “The Final Fall,” used infant-mortality statistics to predict that the Soviet Union was headed for collapse.
…
Mr. Todd is not a moralizer. But he insists that traditional cultures have a lot to fear from the West’s various progressive leanings and may resist allying themselves on foreign policy with those who espouse them. In a similar way, during the Cold War, the Soviet Union’s official atheism was a deal-breaker for many people who might otherwise have been well disposed toward Communism.
…
Mr. Todd does believe that certain of our values are “deeply negative.” He presents evidence that the West does not value the lives of its young. Infant mortality, the telltale metric that led him to predict the Soviet collapse half a century ago, is higher in Mr. Biden’s America (5.4 per thousand) than in Mr. Putin’s Russia — and three times higher than in the Japan of Prime Minister Fumio Kishida.While Mr. Todd is, again, not judgmental on sexual matters, he is judgmental on intellectual ones. The inability to distinguish facts from wishes astounds him at every turn of the Ukraine war. The American hope early in the war that China might cooperate in a sanctions regime against Russia, thereby helping the United States refine a weapon that would one day be aimed at China itself, is, for Mr. Todd, a “delirium.”

Back in January Todd expanded on the inability of distinguishing facts from fiction, which is also the basis of trans-genderism, during an interview with Le Figaro. From its English translation:

Q: Over time, haven’t you become a bit of a reactionary?I was brought up by a grandmother who told me that, sexually speaking, all tastes are part of nature, and I’m faithful to my ancestors. So, LGB, welcome. For T, the trans issue is something else. The individuals concerned must of course be protected. But the fixation of the Western middle classes on this ultra-minority issue raises a sociological and historical question. To establish as a social horizon the idea that a man can really become a woman and a woman a man is to assert something that is biologically impossible, it is to deny the reality of the world, it is to assert the false.

Trans ideology is therefore, in my opinion, one of the flags of this nihilism that now defines the West, this drive to destroy not just things and people but reality. But, once again, I am in no way overwhelmed here by indignation or emotion. This ideology exists and I have to integrate it into a historical model. In the age of the metaverse, I can’t say whether my attachment to reality makes me a reactionary.

The intentional denial of reality, as it is currently practiced in the West, is not a new phenomenon. It is the basis of neo-conservatism from where it has crept over to the progressive side.

As Ron Susskind wrote in his portrait of the first years of the Bush junior presidency:

Faith, Certainty And The Presidency Of George W. Bush (archived) – Ron Susskind / New York Times, Oct 17 2004

The aide said that guys like me were “in what we call the reality-based community,” which he defined as people who “believe that solutions emerge from your judicious study of discernible reality.” I nodded and murmured something about enlightenment principles and empiricism. He cut me off. “That’s not the way the world really works anymore.” He continued “We’re an empire now, and when we act, we create our own reality. And while you’re studying that reality—judiciously, as you will—we’ll act again, creating other new realities, which you can study too, and that’s how things will sort out. We’re history’s actors … and you, all of you, will be left to just study what we do.”

Karl Rove, the Bush advisor Susskind had quoted, displayed the same lunatic nihilism that is represented by those who argue that children, teenagers or people generally should can freely chose their gender. It is an attempt of “creating other new realities”. It represents a total denial of actual reality and of the common values derived from it. The Bush administration failed in its endeavor to create new realities in Iraq. The current regime in the West will fail likewise with regime change in Russia. So will others who deny realities.

The author of the Todd book review, Christopher Caldwell, adds:

Fighting a war based on values requires good values. At a bare minimum it requires an agreement on the values being spread, and the United States is further from such agreement than it has ever been in its history — further, even, than it was on the eve of the Civil War. At times it seems there are no national principles, only partisan ones, with each side convinced that the other is trying not just to run the government but also to capture the state.

I see a very similar denial of reality, followed by nihilism and a lack of values, at the top of the current European leadership. The loss of the common view of things is splitting societies on both sides of the Atlantic.

However, with regards to transgenderism, some sense of reality is still trying to survive:

National Health Service England stops prescribing puberty blockers, citing ‘not enough evidence’ – USA Today. Mar 13 2024

“We have concluded that there is not enough evidence to support the safety or clinical effectiveness of (puberty suppressing hormones) to make the treatment routinely available at this time,” the publication by NHS England stated.

Puberty is a natural process which often includes a temporary confusion about ones identity. Blocking a kids puberty to further some ephemeral confusion some may have during those time is in my view criminal.

I even agree with Rishi Sunack on this:

U.K. prime minister on gender: ‘A man is a man and a woman is a woman’ – Washington Post, Oct 5 2023

British Prime Minister Rishi Sunak asserted his stance on gender identity in a speech Wednesday, stating it was “common sense” that “a man is a man and a woman is a woman” — a remark that sparked criticism from transgender rights activists and elicited fervent applause from attendees of the Conservative Party Conference.

I see myself, just like Matt Taibbi seems to see himself, as a progressive striving for a society based on some form of socialism and justice.

To then find myself on the same side of an issue as some staunch conservatives, and getting attacked for it, is mildly disturbing.

Is it really impossible to be reality based and on the left side of things?

Posted by b on March 14, 2024 at 11:24 UTC | Permalink

Father gives instructions to his son

US Searching for Russian Sub – DelMarVa Peninsula

Nation Hal Turner 14 March 2024

US Hunting Russian Sub DelMarVa Peninsula large

The United States is searching for what is believed to be a Russian nuclear submarine off the Delaware, Maryland, Virginia (DelMarVa) Peninsula and into Chesapeake Bay.

Sub-Hunter aircraft are deployed as shown on the FlightRadar image above.

This is a New LOW For Men…

What is the best random conversation you overheard?

This wasn’t something that I overheard, but my cousin did.

He was sitting on a train and overheard two girls talking, roughly in their early 20s. One of the girls had been asked to house-sit for a family friend who was away for 2 weeks and also look after their pet German Shepherd.

Things were going well for the first few days until she woke up one morning and the dog had died in its sleep.

This was in central London at the height of summer, and the girl didn’t own a car. The owners wouldn’t be back for about 8 days so she couldn’t just leave it in the house until then in case it started to rot. She read online that she should store it in a cool place, but there wasn’t anywhere suitable at their house as it was a very big dog. She also didn’t have many friends in the area and had no access to a car, so she had no idea what to do.

She googled where the nearest vet might be able to store the body until the owners returned, but it was two stops away on the tube. Even if a taxi agreed to transport a dead dog, she couldn’t afford to pay £20 for a London taxi, so she put the dog in a suitcase and took it on the tube.

A man offered to help her carry it down the stairs as she was struggling, and asked what on earth she had inside that made it so heavy (about 30kg). She was a photography student, so told him that she studied photography and had a lot of camera equipment inside. They chatted a bit about it and got on to the tube.

At the next stop, the man got off, but just as the doors were closing, he grabbed the suitcase and ran off towards the escalators as fast as he could. He was a petty criminal who thought he would cash in on the camera equipment. Before she knew what had happened, the doors had shut and she was on her way to the next station.

I’m not sure if they ever got it back, but there aren’t many greater images than the thought of this man returning home thinking he had hit the jackpot, only to open the bag and see a dead German Shepherd staring back at him.

Couples Therapy

Have you ever tried to annoy a scammer who called you? If so, what happened?

I don’t know if I actually “annoyed” the scammer but. . . . I have two stories, several years apart. Story One: My phone rang one afternoon about three years ago. When I picked up the receiver (landline), a voice answered that sounded like my cousin. When I said, “Larry?” he replied, “Yeah, Grandma, it’s me.” Immediately I knew it was a scam since my husband and I never had kids, ergo, no grandkids. But, I decided to play along. He explained that he was somewhere—I forget where exactly—in the Bahamas, where he and some friends had gone to hear a rock concert, and he’d been in an accident with his rental car. I asked him if he took out insurance when he rented the car; he said yes, but the way they did things down there was, you paid for the damages out of pocket, and then the rental insurance reimbursed you. I asked him how much he needed and he replied $3000, money he’d need to pay for the car, his hotel bill and airfare to get home. “Oh, Larry,” I said. “I’m sorry, but I just paid my quarterly property taxes (actually true) and have no more money.” Pause. “Why don’t you just ask Mom and Dad for the money?” He explained that his folks had told him not to go, but he went anyway, and now they would be furious at him for disobeying. “Oh, sweetheart,” I said in my most sympathetic tone. “Yeah, they’ll be mad at you for a minute, but you know they love you. I’m sure they’ll help you.” Another pause. “Larry, you go explain things to them. I just know they’ll give you the money. And then, please, call me back and let me know what happened. Okay?” “Okay, Grandma, I will.” If I do say so myself, I was brilliant. Move over Meryl Streep.

Story Two: This happened at least a dozen years ago, before I understood just what scammers were about and how they worked. I got a call from a guy (with an Indian accent) who said his name was Jim from “Microsoft” and that they had detected a virus on my computer. Coincidentally, I really was having problems with my computer and trouble accessing my email. I listened to his spiel and decided to allow him to take control of my computer. He said it would cost me $100 to fix. I agreed and he or his IT dept. went to work on erasing the virus, but not very well. The following day I got another call from “Microsoft” and the same spiel. I told him that someone else had called the previous day and I had agreed to pay the $100 to fix my computer, but as yet the computer still wasn’t functioning properly. This new guy named George (also with an Indian accent) said that Jim didn’t know what he was talking about, that there would be no charge to fix my computer, but that if I wanted, I could agree to a 6-month for $99, a 1-year for $199 or a two-year service contract for $299, my choice. I told him I was confused, but he advised me not to deal with Jim ever again and that he, George, would really fix my computer, which took about 5 hours (I guess those guys worked on commission and they were having a fight over which one would get the credit for my computer work.) Well, it turned out that George actually did fix the problem—I wonder how THAT happened—and now he wanted to get my credit card number so he could charge me for my choice length service contract. I told him, honestly, I didn’t have a charge card available, but to send me a bill and I would send him a check for the amount. He reluctantly agreed, but I never did get the bill. In retrospect, I don’t know how or why my computer actually did work after that, and I never heard from that particular “Microsoft” bunch ever again.

U.S. Gov ADMITS They Are Readying “Kill Chain” Around China

Has anyone at your workplace ever been fired for something they said or did?

4 years ago, she was in procurement and I was in sales. We worked in a trading company. (let’s call her ‘Jane’ here.)

Me: ‘Can you please share the price of the inquiry from X company?’

Jane: ‘OK, I will send you an email in 10 minutes.’

Me: ‘Cool, thanks!’

20 minutes later

Jane: ‘Sorry the price sent 10 minutes ago was wrong.’

Me: ‘Oh shit, we already quoted the client. Let me give him a call real quick. Please make sure to send the correct one this time.’

Jane: ‘Ok, sorry bout that.’

20 minutes later

Jane: ‘Hey…. I apologize. But the price was still not correct.’

Me: ‘……(sign) Alright, let me call the client real quick. Meanwhile can you please please prepare the correct price and send it out ASAP? ’

Jane: ‘I will. This time, it will be correct.’

Me: ‘Awesome, if my help is needed, you know where to find me.’

20 minutes later

Jane: ‘Hey……’

Me: ‘Hey…..’

Jane: ‘It’s about the price.’

Me: ‘Please don’t tell me, it’s wrong again.’

Jane: ‘……..’ (she nodded)

Me: ‘………..Alright, please go back to your seat first. We will talk later.’

I called a flash meeting with her manager and mine. Went through all the communication between Jane and the supplier. We found out that Jane chatted with the supplier via WhatsApp only without asking for email confirmation so of course price could change at any time. We gave her a chance to explain and she couldn’t.

A few months later, I heard Jane had resigned. Or should I say she was pressured as the company did not want to pay compensation? Whatever it was, her skills were not suitable for the position. It was best for her and company.

Bobcat story

What are some psychological facts that people don’t know?

The mere exposure effect: The more you see something, the more you like it. This is why advertisers repeat slogans and brands use familiar logos.
We tend to believe people notice our mistakes or imperfections more than they actually do.
The sunk cost fallacy: People are more likely to continue an endeavor the more they have already invested in it, even if it’s no longer worthwhile.
Social loafing: People exert less effort when working in a group than when working alone.
The more witnesses to an emergency, the less likely any one person is to intervene. Everyone might be looking to see if someone else will take action first.

The confirmation bias: People tend to seek out information that confirms their existing beliefs and disregard information that contradicts them.
How information is presented can influence how people perceive it. Frame your speech nicely….organizing speech is as important as the speech itself.
The in-group favoritism: People favor members of their own group over outsiders.
The placebo effect: A belief that a treatment will work can actually produce positive effects. Some medicines are just flavored chewable but due the outer packing and doctor’s prescription, patient believe it as cure and thus see tangible results.
People are seen as more likeable after they make a minor mistake. They became humble and look for someone who doesn’t judge them on thier mistake.
The false consensus effect: People overestimate the extent to which others share their beliefs and attitudes.
The Dunning-Kruger effect: Unskilled people tend to overestimate their ability, while skilled people tend to underestimate theirs. You think you can be a chess grandmaster, but many a times a grandmaster thinks is not worthy of being one, although he is 100times better than you.

The cryptomnesia effect: Unconsciously plagiarism where you mistakenly believe something you created is something you heard or experienced before. Pathetic ! You thought you heard this story somewhere but in reality it was your own creative innovation.
People tend to attribute positive events to themselves and negative events to external factors.
People perform better when they are being cheered on or believe they are part of a team. Yes! you can do it. We are all there for you, Give it your 100%

Scampi

The cooked garlic-butter combination may be poured over French bread and served with shrimp as a side dish.

Yield: 6 to 8 servings

Ingredients

4 pounds headless jumbo shrimp
1 lemon, divided
2 cups butter
1 teaspoon salt
6 cloves garlic
1 tablespoon finely-chopped parsley
1 tablespoon cayenne pepper

Instructions

Thoroughly wash shrimp. Peel and place side by side in glass baking dish, making sure shrimp are not on top of each other.
Squeeze juice of 1/2 lemon over shrimp.
Slice remaining 1/2 lemon into 6 finely sliced pieces and place in baking dish.
Melt butter.
Finely chop garlic and place in butter.
Add salt and chopped parsley to butter and garlic mixture.
Sprinkle pepper over shrimp, then pour butter and garlic mixture over this.
Cover tightly and bake at 350 degrees F for 30 minutes.
Serve with cooked pasta if desired.

Hostage Negotiation

A Chinese person just told me about a ‘frog in a well’. What are some other Chinese sayings that non-Chinese people might be unaware of?

There are so many wise Chinese idioms and proverbs

that it would take an entire series of books to cover them. I send blog posts from a Chinese language site to my students who have an interest in ancient Chinese wisdom. So I’ll share a few of my favorite and the actual meanings.

In addition, I’ll share the ebook that has 10 more Idioms

for people who are interested in the Chinese language as well as culture.

But for those of you who aren’t sure what an idiom is, Chinese idioms, called (Zhōng guó chéng yŭ 中国成语), are well-known sayings or proverbs alluding to famous Chinese stories and historical events. They are not only a key part of Chinese language learning but are also priceless in understanding Chinese culture. Chinese idioms are deeply rooted in legacies and traditional culture, making the Chinese language more rich and fascinating. Each Chinese idiom carries profound meaning too. Some of the meaning can’t be understood from the context alone, so I’ll try to expand on the origins and significance.

“鸡毛蒜皮 (jīmáosuànpí)” may have a literal meaning of “chicken feathers and garlic skin” but the meaning has a logical reason. It is used to express that something is not important, or is simply worthless.

The story goes that a long time ago, there were two neighbors: One who lived in the East sold chickens for a living and one who lived in the West sold garlic for a living. Both families had a rather hard life. The family that sold chickens got up early to pluck “鸡毛（jīmáo) chicken feathers”, and as a result, the entire floor was covered in chicken hair. The family who sold garlic also woke up early, but to peel garlic, and their entire floor was covered with “蒜皮（suànpí) garlic skin”. The two families had originally lived in harmony. However, they did have a source of conflict, the wind.

When the wind blew westward, from the East, the “鸡毛（jīmáo) chicken feathers” would be blown into the western neighbor’s yard, while when the wind blew eastward, from the West, “蒜皮（suànpí) garlic skin” would be blown into the eastern neighbor’s yard. The two neighbors often quarreled over such nuance. At one point, the conflict between the two neighbors escalated to the point where they both fought, and eventually went to court to settle the provocative matter. The Judge learned that they were arguing over such a small issue, and said: “Such a small provocation is not worth being settled in court. You have wasted my time, therefore you should be punished.” Some people said the judge was unfair, while others said the ruling was fitting, and that both claims seemed to make sense. Later, the story spread, and eventually “鸡毛蒜皮 (jīmáosuànpí)” became known as a phrase that denotes trivial, unremarkable things or very small things.

“对牛弹琴 (Duìniútánqín)” is used by Chinese people to describe someone who is explaining something complicated to a fool, or sometimes this idiom is used to describe a person who is trying to tell something to the wrong audience.

It literally means to play the harp to a cow…

During the Warring States Period, there was a musician named Gongming Yi, who played musical instruments very well. There were a great number of people fond of listening to him play, and who respected him greatly.

One day, Gongming Yi saw a cow when he was relaxing in the countryside. He thought, “Everybody compliments my music. Why don’t I play some music for this cow?”

He played a piece of elegant quaint music for the cow, but the cow just kept grazing the grass with its head down.

He played another piece of joyful music, but the cow still kept its head down to graze the grass and totally ignored him.

Gongming Yi showed off all his skills, but the cow still ignored him. He was disappointed and started to question his ability until a passerby said to him, “It’s not because your ability is inadequate. It is because the cow can not understand music at all.”

The moral of the two stories are useful but hard to understand from context but it helps to know the background information.

Self Belief

How do I understand Chinese culture?

Fascinating question.

Having lived in China for several years, and being married to a Chinese wife, I think my first impulse is to say, “don’t expect to ever fully understand Chinese culture.”

Not because they are so hard to understand, but because that thing we call China is a huge place, with a long history, and it would be wrong to expect to ever fully grasp what it means to be Chinese, or do things the Chinese way.

All that hedging aside, I do think you could be pragmatic about it.

Presuming you are simply trying to get on in modern day China’s culture, I would give you the following list of tips:

Know your place; in China, family always come first. Then come relatives and old friends. New friends are welcome, but won’t be prioritized.
Food is China’s unofficial religion. You will be asked “have you eaten?” in the same way you will be asked “how are you doing?” in the anglosphere, and they mean it. Never downplay the importance of a meal. They dedicate an amazing amount of time, resources, and energy to making, eating, and procuring meals. If you’re French, you’ll understand.
“Saving Face” is everything. There are a hundred ways in which the Chinese can acknowledge or humiliate you, and it all boils down to small details like who sits where, when do you get to speak, what sort of dishes are served… if you can read that code, you know your place with them.
Negotiation; the Chinese will offer you a choice even when it is clear what you want. It’s one of the prime directives of China. The other person must always have a choice. That way, you may find yourself playing cat and mouse with other pedestrians many more times than you would in the western world, because one indication of intended direction just isn’t enough; no, you will have to swerve around fellow pedestrians in the last moment, because they will keep offering you options till the last second. Whenever I sit in a restaurant with my wife, she drives me crazy with the question “… or would you like THAT dish instead?” To which my retort tends to be, “no, goddammit! I want the thing I said I wanted the first time!”
Final agreements are not final. How many times did we put a final signature under something, only to find ourselves reconvening over a lavish meal for a complete re-negotiation.
Change your spokesperson, and you start from scratch. The Chinese build relations with a company or institution based on a personal, individual relationship. Take that person away, and you are back to zero.
Wastefulness is a sign of idiocy. I have yet to see a respected Chinese person with a wasteful attitude. Economy and efficiency are the pillars of Chinese success, and those who are successful there will possess them.
Nature is beautiful – but only few have a realistic understanding of nature. Instead, there is a highly domesticated image of nature in China, sporting talking, vegetarian cats, highly polished flower arrangements, and so on. The Chinese romanticize nature, but don’t understand it.
Outlooks are strangely short term and long term at the same time. The business world expects fast turnarounds and quick growth, while politics and others allow for long time spans for things to develop.

On the whole, I like Chinese culture. When you are there, you feel a new mellowness, surrounded by abundance and the dynamics of an old culture that is mercifully pragmatic and philosophical.

Rory Gallagher-Bad Penny (Rockpalast 1982)

Have you ever gotten a second opinion from a doctor that was drastically different than what you were originally told by your first doctor?

In 2011 I had an excruciating pain in the left side of my back. I called 911 and was taken to the ER where they diagnosed kidney stones, gave me a blood thinner and did a CT. The on call urologist came and said I had renal cell carcinoma and said to make an appointment to have the kidney removed asap. He said you have two kidneys and survive just fine on one. I did some research online and saw that Cleveland Clinic did an operation where they could remove half a kidney. I saw another Nephrologist in town first who confirmed the cancer diagnosis and the conceited little twerp said they can’t do the half kidney because the lesion was in the wrong place. I went to Cleveland anyway and made an appointment with the doctor who wrote the kidney textbook med students use. He did his own CT with dye and said, “Ya know this isn’t taking the dye like renal carcinoma would, let’s wait and do another CT in three months. If it is cancer it’s slow growing so it’s not a big risk.” I went back home to California and returned three months later for another scan. This time the lesion had actually reduced in size and the Cleveland doctor said the lesion was actually “a cyst that had burst” not cancer. Today, 11 years later, I have two good kidneys because I got the second opinion. Choose your second opinion from a place like Cleveland Clinic that does research if you can.

I just got fired. Now my former boss (the one who let me go) is asking me where some important documents are. How should I respond?

The word “toxic” gets thrown around far too often, I think. And yet, I can’t really think of any other word (except for possibly “hostile”) that describes where I used to work. The company no longer exists, having been acquired a couple times over, but I still am hesitant to name it because the industry is rather incestuous and the people are still around even if the company isn’t.

Nevertheless, perhaps this story can act as both a cautionary tale as well as a moment of schadenfreude.

After I had been with the company for about a little less than a year, they hired a new WorldWide VP of Sales who is about as close to pure evil as I ever experienced (and this is coming from someone who worked at Apple!). When he came in, he brought with him a series of sycophants who were as insane as he was malicious.

I was low enough in the food chain to have zero influence or power, but high enough that I was in an extremely vulnerable and visible position. As this VP began clearing house of the long-time veterans of the company, it was only a matter of time before he got to me.

For all the writing on the wall, I was still unprepared for when it happened. I naively believed that the work that I was doing was critical and that I was irreplaceable (at least at that moment). I had the sole responsibility of developing the documentation and training materials for a set of equipment that cost hundreds of thousands of dollars – each.

For those that don’t know, much of the material that is sold by large corporations (Cisco, HPE, Lenovo, etc.) is not designed or built in-house. Often other companies make various components that fit into the equipment; in some cases they make all of the equipment and these larger companies simply rebrand the whole shebang. This was one of those cases.

My company had created an entire portfolio that was going to be rebranded by another multi-billion dollar conglomerate. This was the largest deal they had ever signed with this company, and it was a Big Deal™. Not only did the information had to be 100% accurate, but it had to be branded with the other company’s logos, document rules, etc. On top of it all, the material was highly technical.

It took eight months of 10–12 hour days to complete. The launch was set for November 9. I had non-stop travel booked through the following March to travel world-wide and train the other company’s sales force on the equipment, how it worked, and so on. I was the only one scheduled to do this. I figured there was no way they would let me go with so much on the line.

Little did I know.

Back to the evil VP. He was notorious for walking around the office at around 7 p.m. to see who was still there, or who had “left work early.” My cubicle was just outside of his office, so there was no way he would have been able to miss whether I was there or not.

As it happens, my job was to be a road warrior, so I wasn’t supposed to be there. In fact, if I was in the office, it meant that I wasn’t doing my job!

Remember when I said that he brought some insane people with him? Well, one of those idiots remains to this day as the worst example of corporate nepotism I’ve ever seen. The man was an ADD basket case on crack. He was brought in as a VP of Public Relations, and then added a VP of Marketing title when the WWVP of Sales fired the original guy. All of this, and he couldn’t spell to save his life (he once wrote that he was a “VP of Pubic Relations” on his email before realizing that he could save a signature to automatically insert it. No, I’m not making that up).

Anyway this idiot was incensed that I was “never” in the office. Despite the fact that it was my job to be a road warrior, he was livid. And, because he was a good little yes-man, he decided he would make up all kinds of stories that he “imagined” I was doing because I wasn’t in the office. As I said, my cubicle was right outside of the WWVP’s and so he would pass by an empty cubicle several times a day.

So, without me knowing, their plan was set in motion irrespective of the actual work that I was doing.

Remember that the official launch of this product portfolio was November 9? Well, after working for so long on developing the materials, working with the bigger company, and essentially exhausting myself, I decided to take a week’s vacation at the end of October in anticipation of the upcoming launch juggernaut.

I traveled back to England (where I had lived before getting this job) to visit friends and family. I told everyone where I was going, kept a paper-trail, even had a team dinner the night before with the Business Development Manager (“<BDM>”) responsible for the overall relationship and dollar figure with the big company and talked about my holiday plans. Everyone knew where I was going, when, and why. I thought it was all good.

Big mistake.

Halfway through my week in vacation, I got a phone call from my manager.

“J, sorry to bother you on your vacation,” he began. I could tell that something was wrong.

“No problem,” I said, knowing that there was definitely a problem.

“Did <the BDM> know that you were going on vacation this week?”

“Of course,” I said. “We had dinner the night before and I told him all about it, plus it has been in my weekly reports for the past month.”

“Okay, well, <the WWVP> asked <the BDM> where you were today and he said he didn’t know.”

My blood ran cold. I knew what this meant. I actually wondered if I needed to change my flights and return back to the States. I asked my manager (who I truly liked and respected) if I should do that. If he’d said yes, I’d do it.

“No,” he said. “You enjoy your vacation. You deserved it. We can sort this out when you get back.”

As you can imagine, I didn’t enjoy the rest of my holiday. Not one little bit, Sam I Am.

The following Monday I was back in the U.S., and back at work. My manager – who lived in Colorado – had flown into town and met with me. I was surprised to see him.

“Let’s go get some coffee,” he said.

“Okay,” I said. “But I have a standing meeting with <BDM>. I’ll -”

“Don’t worry about it,” my manager said. “He knows.”

I followed him out the hall, past the break room, down the stairs, through the lobby, and out the front door. All the while, he was asking me about my vacation, about visiting friends and family in the U.K., and so on. Small talk. Innocuous. Terrifying.

The local Starbucks was closed. The donut shop had run out of coffee. It was starting to look like a very strange Terry Gilliam storyline as we looked for a place to sit down and chat. Time was getting on, and so we somehow found ourselves inside of a grocery store that had an internal food counter. We got two coffees and sat in the only two chairs – green plastic patio furniture set up in front of the counter. It was surreal.

He looked around, fully aware that this wasn’t ideal. “Not exactly what I was hoping for,” he said. “I’m sorry about this.”

“Just… tell me,” I said.

He was incredibly apologetic. I actually started to feel bad for him. “<The BDM> threw you under the bus,” he said. “He claimed that he had no knowledge that you were going on vacation, that you hadn’t told anyone, and had just disappeared.”

Once again, I pointed to my weekly reports as well as the ten witnesses at the dinner the night before I left. He simply shook his head, sadly.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “The WWVP wants you gone. They were going to fire you while you were in England, but I convinced them that wouldn’t be a good idea.”

We both knew what he meant. It was a recipe for a lawsuit, and the company was highly allergic to lawsuits. Especially of the employment kind.

He proceeded to lay it out for me. I could either go on a Professional Improvement Plan (PIP), or I could willingly take a not-so-generous “mutual separation” package. If I went with the plan and failed to “improve,” the package would be completely off the table.

“While I cannot legally suggest to you what to do,” he said, “I can tell you that they have made up their minds.”

I thought about the launch materials. “That’s going live in a week,” I said.

“I know.”

“What am I supposed to do with all that work?”

He swallowed and tried to keep his voice and face neutral. “They want you to destroy it.”

I was aghast. “They want me to what?!”

He slowly shook his head. He couldn’t believe it either. “<The BDM> doesn’t trust you,” he said. The words stung, but the level of projection was astounding. The BDM had shown himself to be untrustworthy repeatedly (not just in this regard), but knew how to play the political game much, much better than I.

“They don’t want me to give it to anyone else to take over?”

That’s when he said the most bizarre thing of all, and it was obvious that it pained him to say it out loud. “No,” he said. “It’s no one else’s job.”

“What about <a Technical Marketing Engineer on the team>?” I asked.

“That’s not his job.”

“What about all that training with the big customer?” I asked, dumbfounded.

“That’s not your problem any more, J,” he said.

The final piece of the floor fell out from underneath me. Not only was I being fired, but they were willing to sabotage multi-million dollar contracts to do it.

The paperwork was straightforward. I would receive a month’s salary in exchange for walking away. The termination papers were unequivocal – all company material, all of it, was to be completely destroyed and I was to keep no record of any of it. The penalties for holding on to “confidential company information” were severe. They may have been allergic to being sued, but they chomped at the bit to be the ones suing.

There was nothing I could do but comply. I deleted all of the materials I had worked so diligently on for the year, wiped the laptop clean, and returned everything that belonged to the company. Included were technical manuals, instructions, sales training (both technical and business), networking diagrams, demonstration videos, and lengthy email exchanges between me and the other company that detailed the milestones and directions that they wanted (which were extensive and involved). All gone.

Since then, people have asked me how it felt to have destroyed almost a year’s worth of work. The truth of the matter is that it actually felt like a huge weight had been taken off my shoulders. It had been incredibly stressful, and I knew that the upcoming months were going to be equally (if not more so) tense. While I had been on a deadline for the launch, there were going to be quotas to fill, sales cycles to adhere to, revenue projections to achieve, and so on.

As my manager said, “not my problem.”

Less than two months later in the beginning of the new year, I got a phone call from my (now former) manager. “J, I have a question for you, and I want you to answer with only a yes or no,” he said.

I had a feeling I knew where this was going. “Okay,” I said.

“Did you keep any of the training materials?”

“No,” I said truthfully. “I was told to destroy them, so I did.”

It was probably more than I should have said, but on the off chance they were forcing him to call me from a recorded line (the call waiting had the company name, not his personal number), I wanted to be clear as to what happened.

“Thank you,” he said flatly. “That’s all I needed.”

“However,” I said, “I’m willing to recreate the materials for a consulting fee.” I was half-joking, because I needed the money. I doubted they would consider it for even a second, though.

Keeping his voice even, he replied, “I’ll tell them that, but I don’t think they’re going to take you up on it.”

With that, he hung up. Indeed, they didn’t take me up on it, but then again I didn’t expect them to. After all, they had screwed themselves over before, why stop now?

I never expected to hear anything else. I was persona non grata at the company, evidently, but I had seen that when they had been letting people go month after month. Once people were gone, they were practically erased from collective memory.

I heard the rest of the story about two months later, and it was glorious.

I happened to have lunch one day with the Technical Marketing Engineer that I had proposed giving the launch materials to (but was declined). It turns out that the fallout was nothing short of spectacular.

It turns out that my former company had never bothered to communicate with the big customer that they had let me go. In turn, none of the dozens of training sessions were cancelled. The company had flown in sales and engineering staff for these multi-day training sessions only to find that my company was a no show.

No training meant no sales. No sales meant no revenue. No revenue meant quotas being unmet. No quotas meant penalties.

One of the stipulations of the contract was that if X amount of solutions were not sold by the end of the fiscal year (which ended for that company on January 31), my former company would be forced to pay $1.5M in “make good” penalties.

That’s why my ex-manager had called in the beginning of January – he knew that these deadlines were coming up. The week before the end of January, the <BDM> was feeling the pressure from the WWVP because he was getting nastygrams from the big customer about the no-shows and lack of training. That meant that the <BDM> had questions to answer.

“How could this have happened?” the <BDM> was shouting on the staff call. “How could we not have been prepared for this? We knew about this for over a year?”

“Are you kidding?” one of the engineers had responded. “You fired the guy who did it!”

Sadly, for me, there was not much joy to take from this other than a bit of petty schadenfreude. This was in the middle of the severe US recession and I wouldn’t find another position until the middle of the year.

The damage to the relationship was irreversible and possibly incalculable. The portfolio had cost hundreds of millions to develop, but I don’t believe the sales ever crossed over the million-dollar mark. It certainly didn’t recoup the substantial investment. The big customer company forced new rules to protect themselves (they had already been publicizing the launch date themselves, only to have to beg off their customers).

About a year after I got a new job, the entire technology division of that product portfolio got sold off to another company. The reputation of my former company in this technology was shot beyond repair. All in all, they took a bath of several hundred million dollars in the investment.

Is it all because they fired me? Oh, hell no.

It is, however, the butterfly effect of what can happen when ego, corporate policy, politics, and unmitigated insanity drives decisions without understanding the consequences.

Nevertheless, whatever you do, do not hold on to the materials when they tell you to destroy them. Not only could you find yourself on the business end of a legal hissy fit, but you may also rob yourself of some spectacular avenge-by-proxy scenarios.

A Chinese road

Is there any hope for reconciliation between Taiwan and mainland China?

Any hope for China-Taiwan reconciliation? It all depends on USA

Let us look at the Ukraine war.

Putin told a former US journalist (if I remember correctly, his name is Carlson) that:

Before the Ukraine war started, Russia & Ukraine had signed a peace agreement & not went into war.

But … we all see the Ukraine war because … right away, former UK PM B Johnson went to Ukraine in person to push Ukraine to go into war (by provoking Russia).

We all know UK & USA are co-conspirators of the Ukraine war.

When China proposed Ukraine-Russia reconciliation. Again right away, US president Biden went in person to Ukraine to support the war … USA wants the war to continue.

Both USA & UK want the Ukraine war, so that they can make money & at the same time weaken Europe’s economy

Back to Taiwan.

It is not up to Taiwan to decide its future. It is USA.

USA will never let Taiwan-China reconciliation to happen.

1, Taiwan is a cash cow for USA to sell out-of-date weapons & a cash cow for US politicians to shout support so as to get an appearance fee. It is easy money. Dont even need acting skills. Just shouting empty support is enough.

2, Taiwan can be used as a tool by USA to irritate China. Like a mosquito or fly that bugs you.

See, USA+UK have successfully bugged Russia to use military.

USA+UK are the trouble makers in the world. Look at Latin America. Mideast, SCS, even Europe thru Ukraine.

Those corrupted Taiwanese politicians are happy to serve USA too. It is a 2 way corruption.

WoCuDaDeMa

What is the wildest reaction you have seen to someone getting fired?

I’ve been a partner at a CPA firm and a CFO and COO in for profit companies. I’ve hired and fired a LOT of people over the years.

One termination that stands out is when I was hired to turn around a high-tech manufacturing Company. During our review of expenses we discovered that one of our middle managers was using the Company’s shipping department to ship products for her ETSY business. It wasn’t a ton of money, about $10K per year, but people knew she was stealing so I decided fire her.

Over the years I’ve learned to write a script for myself and the HR manager. Our plan was to read our parts, hand her the termination documents, and then escort her out of the building.

As soon as we entered her office she knew she was getting fired. She was angry and belligerent during the entire process, yelling and shouting. At one point, she pointed to one of her drawers and said she had copies of everything and could prove that she had paid everything back. She said that multiple times.

I was pretty confident that she was lying so I would simply wait for her to stop and then continue on with the termination script. That really pissed her off. She wanted us to engage with her. So what should have taken 15 minutes took a terrible hour. The HR manager and I watched her pack her things in a box and then we escorted her out of the building.

After she was gone we both walked back to her office to check her drawer … and it was completely empty. She was full of shit to the end.

Having a conversation

What would you do to fix plea bargaining in the US justice system?

The TV show is intense. Heart pounding music slows in the background for the conclusion. The camera, with soft focus filter, closes in on a tiny woman who has been charged with murder in the first degree. Her husband of thirty years was an abusive sonofabitch who beat her to within inches of her life. She’s still wearing a cast from his last attack. She’s frightened, mascara smeared, eyes wide.

The hard boiled, fry-em-all prosecutor softens his voice for the first time in fifteen episodes.

We’ve got you cold in a case of murder one Mrs. MacSuffers. But, it’s the holidays and I’m feeling generous. I’ll let you plead down to a case of aggravated jaywalking.

TV’s portrayal of plea bargains is always fun. On the flip side there’s the tatted-up gang member who’s been caught selling drugs in a kindergarten, but pleads out to a case of having a wildly inappropriate waistline on his saggy pants…

So what is it? Is plea bargaining a safety valve for the wrongfully charged, or an escape mechanism for the horrifically lucky?

Neither.

I understand that in some states plea bargaining works (sort of) like what we see in the movies. But, in the federal system it’s not like that at all. It’s more like being told you’ll be forced to eat a gallon of vomit with possible extra courses, or simply open up and eat a spoonful of live meal worms (while smiling).

In the feds there is no bargaining. The prosecutor tells your attorney what sentence they’re willing to offer in exchange for not having to go through the work of a trial. There’s no counter offer. Take it or leave it. Like a water monopoly, you must submit to their will.

There’s a reason monopolies are frowned upon…

Notice there’s no judge in this entire affair. Judges are irrelevant to plea bargains. All power in the court is handed to the prosecutor. If the accused takes the plea, it’s taken to the judge as a package deal. All the robe has to do is sign on the dotted line and another case is removed from the docket. Since the judge is usually a former prosecutor… it feels like the right move.

So… how to fix this system? You can’t. Plea bargaining is morally corrupt. You can’t negotiate with a guy that’s holding a gun to your head. Telling someone that if they use their constitutionally guaranteed rights, you’ll make it painful as all hell, is a violation of what the framers stood for.

But plea bargains are a necessary evil! Without them the system would grind to a halt!

‘xactly. 😉

First off, while the use of plea bargains goes back to the 1800’s, most places in the US didn’t consider plea bargains palatable until the 1960’s. Plea bargains became mechanized “justice.” We gave up our rights in exchange for… well… for putting more people behind bars.

This meat ain’t gonna grind itself!

So what happens if we ban plea bargains?

It becomes tedious for the system to take someone through the judicial process. Shouldn’t it be cumbersome to deprive a person of their liberty?
Prosecutors can no longer go after every single case that’s brought to them. They would have to pick and choose and make sure to go after the worst cases. I’m not at all opposed to a triage system.
Lots of lower level cases might be tossed out. These would be nonviolent, victimless, cases where the accused has no prior criminal history. If you think they’re getting off scot free, then you don’t have any experience with this system. Just an accusation is life altering.
Our prisons would shrink in number and size. The percentage of our GDP that we spend on warehousing human beings would drop to the level we see in other countries. Those funds could be put into worthwhile endeavors like education. The net effect being a lower crime rate over a long time line.

Plea bargaining isn’t the root cause of the evil that is our “justice” system, but it’s one of the largest cogs. I’m all for tossing a boot in to see how the mechanism crunches to a halt.

Free Owl

What are some unwritten social rules everyone should know?

If you are borrowing it for the third time, you need one of your own.
If you’re the only one who shares the ride, sit in front.
Don’t steal each other’s best karaoke songs.
If you’re posting a picture on social media, make sure everyone looks fine in it.
If someone has legally changed their name, don’t ask what their ‘real’ or original name was.
Don’t ask a date how much money they make. If you do care, go to dating sites that verify people’s income.

If you receive an invitation to a party, don’t bring along a date/friend/child/pet/whoever that wasn’t invited.
Don’t touch people without permission, even if they’re pregnant or have cool hair.
Don’t make plans with other friends in front of friends who aren’t invited.
If you have two friends over, who don’t know each other, you don’t leave them alone.
If someone is paying for your food, don’t order something expensive.
When someone insults themselves, disagree.

If the damn world hates China, why can’t countries boycott China until they remove Xi Jinping from power/Disband the CPC/Make Taiwan a country? If China really is the “Great Satan”, then maybe we should start treating them like one.

It may have been possible if the United States or United Kingdom or other nations thad not committed too many atrocities across the world.

Take Serbia

Everyone remembers the 1999 bombings as if it was yesterday. Everyone remembers the role the US had in breaking up of Yugoslavia and knows if the US had wanted to, they could have done so peacefully

Vucic is pro europe and pro US but he knows he simply can’t be anti Russian or Chinese

In Serbia, China is a friend who builds railways and who suffered when their embassy was bombed in 1999

Russia is a greater friend and between 65% to 81% of the masses support Russia openly

Guess what?

MOST OF THEM HATE THE UNITED STATES

So no matter how much Blinken bleats about the risks of China and Russia

Serbians will say “Look. Even if they destroy all of us, we would rather trust them than trust you”

The closer EU comes to US, the more suspicious the Serbians become

Take India

In 2021, Modi was leaning to burn bridges with China completely or to the maximum

Yet when India needed the West for Vaccine materials, they flatly refused and imposed export restrictions on their surplus vaccines and materials

We didn’t forget

They demanded our chloro quinine tablets and we complied putting our Rheumatoid arthritis patients at risk for 6 months

They didn’t lift a little finger

Not to mention the farmers protests where they demanded we don’t impose protectionism and export wheat despite a shortage in India back then (Modi didn’t)

So we simply dont trust them an inch

Take African Nations

The Westerners have plundered, looted and enslaved them for generations and generations

How can Africa trust them at all?

Many Africans LOATHE the French or British

Many Africans LOATHE the United States

They have ruined Libya, Sudan and other nations by provoking Civil War and stealing resources

The Africans cannot ever trust them and regard China and Russia as what we call attractive parallel powers so that they can make Independent decisions and not have the West meddle in them

Best example was Niger

When they kicked out the French, Macron went with his tail between his legs because if he had pushed a war, more African nations would have gone closer to Russia and China

Take Vietnam

Vietnamese remember Agent Orange and it’s use on Civilians from 1968 to 1973

Hoàng Phan would have more details but they were terrible to the Vietnamese

You really expect Vietnamese to jump and trust the US because an Indian origin Nut case Vice President shakes her booty and gives a silly little laugh and says “Freedom and Democracy”

NOT A CHANCE

They want to do things Independently which means they will keep China close and do trade with China and if the US plays too many games, become closer to China and Russia

Take the Middle East

In 60 years, the Middle East remains a war zone because of the United States

The Arabs LOATHE THE US WITH A VISCERAL HATRED

I mean “Want to see your children choke on their blood and die screaming for mommy” type of hatred

Not the “I want your girl to break up with you” type of hatred

Iraq, Syria were both destroyed only because they chose to follow a path that the US didn’t like

Others complied because THEY WERE TOO SCARED OF THE US

As Russia and China grow in power and as the US grows weaker – the Arabs are slowly sharpening their knives and waiting

Houthis, Hamas and Hezbollah are KICKING ASS against the vastly superior forces arrayed against them through a lovely mix of Strategy and Geopolitics

Take South America

The US claims South America is their sphere of influence

The US has blockaded Cuba

The US has sanctioned Venezuela

The US threatens Brazil from time to time

The South Americans HATE THE AMERICANS OR ENVY THEM OR BOTH depending on the situation

Mexicans go to Texas and California because they argue it was their country once

So as I have shown you, you have Europeans, Africans, Middle Easterners, Asians, South Americans who have no fondness for the Americans and downright hate their guts at times

They have no bone to pick with China or Russia

China and Russia keeps the world neutral and that these nations like

The Alternate is to allow these Evil Demons to allow their hegemony to continue as overlords

So whose the real Satan here huh???

Taquitos

These are the best taquitos! I like to serve them with guacamole and sour cream for dipping. They’re certainly not traditional taquitos, but they are delicious.

Ingredients

Pork, beef or chicken
1 can Mexican beer
Garlic salt, to taste
Pepper, to taste
Cumin (comino), to taste
1 envelope onion soup mix
1 can or jar chile verde
Melted cheese for drizzling (optional)

Instructions

Add all ingredients except melted cheese to a slow cooker.
Cook for 8 to 10 hours on LOW.
Drain juice.
Put filling on corn tortillas and roll up. Secure with a wooden pick.
Fry until tortilla is crispy. Remove wooden pick to serve.
Drizzle with melted cheese, if desired.

Damn

Why does China want to gain control of Taiwan so badly? If Hong Kong is an indicator, any perceived economic benefits China may expect would diminish once they took control & many markets that trade with Taiwan would stop if China was in control.

They don’t realy want control of Taiwan, they don’t want the USA to have control of Taiwan, that is the red line, that can never be crossed, China is quite happy with the status quo. They have said that often enough. As far as markets stop? Are you dreaming? China is Taiwans biggest trading partner. If Taiwan was governed by the mainland their trade would almost double, AND Taiwan would be far FAR richer, because they wouldn’t need to buy a single out of date weapon from the U.S., they would save BILLIONS. That much is obvious. Also there would be no need for Taiwan to have its own military, that would be another huge saving. Just that the poor DPP would be no more, that’s why they are so set against it.

What did your mom do that became the stuff of legend?

When I was a boy, I had real problems with certain foods. I couldn’t have butter on anything or drink milk straight (milk on cereal or chocolate milk was fine).

Over when I wad left with a bunch of kids at a get-together, lunch was served and included butter on everything, and everyone was expected to drink their milk. (This had happened before and I knew to stay quiet, not really eat anything, not make a big deal, get something later, etc.) One of the supervising women noticed, however, and felt the need to make an example of me and insisted that I eat everything up right in front of everyone. I told them that if they forced me to eat it I would get sick and it would be their fault.

Boy! did that lady get pissed when I said that! You know what happened next! She forced me to eat that food and I got sick all over the table with all the food on it and, boy, did the stuff hit the fan. My mom arrived just as the lady opened up on me. Mom looked puzzled as I had handled situations like this before with no problems. Mom announced who she was, told the lady (not unkindly) to quit yelling at me, and asked, “What is the problem?”

The lady threw me under the bus and said how outrageous it was for ”a child” to dictate what he/she would eat and look what I had done! My mom paused a minute and said very slowly, “I can’t believe my son wouldn’t have told you he would get sick if he ate these things and he should have, and I am sorry . . . . . .” and then all the kids started shouting, “He did tell them, he did!” (I did have some loyal friends.) My mom looked up and said, “WHAT?” “He told you?” “and you still made him eat it?!” The lady says, “Well, well. . .it’s not up to him to tell us. . . .” Mom’s face got red. “You are an idiot and should never be left around children! If you or anyone EVER IGNORES something my child says, there will be hell to pay! Do you understand me?! This is all your fault, and yet you blame a child! How despicable!” Mom tore into her for a few more minutes, and then looked down at me, and I will never forget, she looked right into my eyes and said, “It wasn’t your fault, Spencer. They should have listened — it was their fault, they can clean It up — we’re leaving!” She grabbed my hand, and we held our heads high as we walked gracefully to the car.

I know that I was not all in the right on this one — it’s hard for me to judge — but tas an example of a mom sticking up for her child, that day shone brightly. That kind of thing stays with you forever.

Years of prep

I am traveling to the US and I have a 16 hour layover at Heathrow Airport in London. How should I spend my time at the airport?

I have been avoiding answering this question for a long time due to the fear that people might exploit the option and the UK might put a ban of sorts in place in the future. *kidding

But I guess it’s time to let the secret out. Brexit is already through!

So, back in 2016 when I was travelling to Indiana for my internship I had a layover of 23 hours in Heathrow. Don’t ask me how but just know that “Indian dads have a mind of their own and never let them book tickets for you” lesson learnt the hard way.

Like everyone else I was going through Google and Quora reading up on what to do in the airport or can you get out without visa or what kind of visa is needed. Most of the content just beats around the bush and doesn’t provide any valuable information to come to a conclusion. The proper way would be to get a visa but let’s be honest, who likes to spend that much money for just a day? While surfing through the internet one line struck my mind and stayed: “it depends on the immigration officer.”

When I landed in Heathrow, all I was hoping for is to ask and who knows what will happen. After filling out the immigration card and contemplating for 15 minutes I finally made my way to the immigration line. My heart was racing with excitement and fear at the same time. I get pulled over often maybe it’s my beard or the sheepish looks.

Immigration office -Imo

Myself – me

After initial hi and how you doing, I hand over my passport

Me- I don’t have a visa and was wondering if I could go out to spend my layover outside

Imo- I don’t understand

Me- I have 23 hours of layover and wanted to see if it’s possible for me to go out and visit few places.

Imo- looks at the cop standing near by and he walks up to the counter

Cop: where you coming from ?

Me- India

Cop: where are you going ?

Me- to Indiana via Chicago

Cop: show me your onward journey tickets

Me- *hands over the ticket

Cop: what’s your purpose of visit?

Me- I’m going for an internship/training with a golf club in Indiana.

Cop: you play golf

Me- a little bit but I’m more related on the management aspect

Cop: who is your favourite player

Me- Tiger woods

Cop&Imo- no way! He is my favourite player too.

Cop: what will you do if you go out?

Me- I’m an horticulturist and would like to visit the Royal Botanical Garden, Kew?

Cop: oh Nice and shakes his head at the imo and cop says have a nice day

Imo- stamps my passport and says I have visa for 2 days and make sure that I’m back for my flight.

Me- thank you so much and was showing all my 28 teeth at him.

I went out visited Kew Gardens, Buckingham Palace, the London Eye, Thames Bridge and few other places. It was one of the best days and even though I was tired I had to use the opportunity to its fullest.

I strongly recommend that people not approach immigration officer if your layover is less than 10 hours.

A fruit of feminism

What do you say when you run into an old boss who fired you?

As a teenager, I worked as a busboy at a Mexican restaurant for $4 an hour. It wasn’t much, but it covered my gas money and car maintenance (my parents wouldn’t pay for those things, nor should they). The general manager loved my impeccable work ethic and my honesty!

But one day, a new assistant general manager appeared, an intimidating red-headed woman who seemed perpetually angry. One Saturday, I worked from 10:00 a.m. until 6:00 p.m. as scheduled. I was about to leave when the new assistant manager told me to stay until midnight (to cover for another busboy who didn’t show up). I had other plans. This was incredibly late notice! Most people would have just walked out. But instead of complaining, I dutifully worked the entire 14-hour shift.

I got really hungry, and very tired, because she wouldn’t allow me to take a 15-minute break. I was too young to know that breaks were mandated by law. I wasn’t allowed to even take one minute off during that 14-hour span. As a taller than average teenage boy with a huge appetite, I became extremely hungry by 10:00 p.m. after no food for 12 hours. I was cleaning up the happy hour all-you-can-eat buffet when I spotted two burnt potato skins leftover. Nobody had eaten them because they were essentially inedible. They were about to be thrown in the trash. So I ate them.

The red-headed assistant manager called me into her office and yelled, “You stole company food!” I replied calmly, “But it was being thrown away, and you didn’t give me a lunch break nor a dinner break.” She didn’t know I was one of their best workers. She simply said, “You’re officially terminated.” She never even gave me a chance. And I’ve never forgotten that moment. It reaffirmed why I was going to college the following year on a full ride for mathematics and another full ride for violin. That college degree would allow me to have a career in an intellectual field where I’d be respected, rather than doing physical labor for the rest of my life with a boss who treats employees like servants.

My final reply to her was this. “The general manager will not be happy.” And indeed, he was furious the next day when he heard I had been fired. So he promptly fired the assistant who had fired me. A few years later, I earned my master’s degree in mathematics and never had to bus tables again!

POPA CHUBBY – Hey Joe ! Rockpalast [HDadv] Nov. 2011

This is great.

Groceries and smoke

When I was a young boy… perhaps four or five years old, there was a fire in the complex where we lived. We lived in a complex of homes, perhaps row homes in groups of four multi-dwellings.

And one of them was on fire. We, my friends and I, watched the firemen come and put the fire out, and there we surreptitiously entered through the basement into the smouldering wet burnt ruin until chased off.

As We left the scene, the owner of the house arrive. She was carrying a bag of groceries, and I will never forget the expression on her face. Surprise, shock and then realization that it was HER house that was burnt to nothing.

That expression… well, it remains to me this day. I will never forget it. For her entire life is now different. And her life is right now, upside-down.

Poor lady.

…

That happens. That realization. That knowing that a “light switch” has flipped, and what you once had is now GONE.

Smart people make precautions to prevent that switch from flipping. From personal safety; to relationships, to governments. We do what we need to do.

But still…

Today…

What was a loophole that you found and exploited the hell out of?

When I was in high school I had a part time job in a local chain supermarket store. Did the usual, stocking shelves, helping in the butcher shop, cleaning floors, and bag boy. The store began running a promotional, for every $100 in receipts you could get a free dish in a set of “fine” china. Kind of silly really, the reality was that most people were never going to accumulate enough receipts for a place setting, let alone an entire set. But in my tenure as bag boy I noticed several things, 1. People often just put the receipt in the trash can on the way out. 2. They often told the cashier they did not want the receipt, and she put it in the trash can under the register 3. If I was helping people, especially the older ladies, take the groceries to their car and asked them for their receipts, explaining I was trying to get me ma a set of dishes, they willingly gave them to me. So I became the most willing volunteer to bag groceries, the most diligent emptier of trash cans, and the most solicitous helper to people who needed assistance getting groceries to their car. A week before the promotion ended I presented thousands of dollars in receipts to me ma and explained what she had to do, omitting to the store, of course, that she had any relatives employed there. That is how we got the “fine”china still used by me ma to this day. Complete with soup tureen and gravy boat. And the highly sought after “Giant Serving Platter”.

Ukraine Drones?

Nope. American controlled drones in Ukraine. And then pay attention to who is working them.

Real? Fake? But, certainly plausible.

Slovakia Prime Minister . . .”Lie Doomed on our Balcony . . . waiting for World Apocalypse”

World Hal Turner 10 March 2024

"All We Can Do is Lie Doomed On The Balcony With A Cognac And A Cigar, Waiting For The World Apocalypse”

Slovak Prime Minister Fico: “The West sees that, despite significant assistance, despite anti-Russian sanctions, Ukraine is simply not capable of winning. And if we send military personnel from the EU and NATO to Ukraine, all we can do is lie doomed on the balcony with cognac and a cigar, waiting for the world apocalypse.”

Hal Turner Analysis

The fact that the Prime Minister of Slovakia said these words Sunday evening is proof that the “idea” of French President Macron, for NATO member countries to send their troops into Ukraine under “Bi-lateral Security Agreements” was far more than just bluster or posturing. Clearly, the suggestion of the French President is under active consideration.

Were it anything else, there would be no reason for the Prime Minister to make such a statement.

The world is moving faster and faster toward an actual nuclear conflict with Russia.

The general public in Europe and the United States remain blissfully unaware because the mass media has utterly failed in its job to report the serious and world-changing events developing in Ukraine.

I have done, and continue to do, my best, to keep you informed of the important developments overseas.

These comments by the Prime Minister of Slovakia cannot be taken lightly – at all.

The USA is sinking gravely

Could I possibly start working at the prison where my boyfriend will be staying?

This is a profoundly bad idea.

Let’s say that your little plan works just about as well as you could hope for. You become a guard, and you’re assigned to your boyfriend’s unit…

Have you noticed how dirty the floor is in the CO’s break room? Maybe you should get your boyfriend to mop it. You better supervise him to make sure he does a good job…

Ah… alone at last. Finally, after all this time you can have some hurried sex. Sounds pretty fun right?

It better be, because in most places a guard having sex with an inmate is considered rape (you would be raping him). You can argue until you’re nine shades of blue that it was consensual, but during your training program you signed a document stating that you understood that sex with inmates was rape.

Maybe you think nobody will notice?

Your fellow lives in a big room with at least a hundred other men who have NOTHING to do. Nothing. They WILL notice. I was once told how many minutes I’d just spent in the bathroom…

Did I mention these guys have nothing to do?

Maybe you think they won’t care?

Come on now… you know how most guys are when it comes to sex. Do you really think they’ll just give your boyfriend appreciative nods and attaboys?

Yeah. No. They’ll want the same treatment, or maybe they’ll just want you to smuggle in some pot—“just a little.” If you refuse, they’ll have enough documentation to bring a storm your way.

Maybe you think that smuggling a handful of marijuana to needy inmates is no big deal? OK… now you’re up to two felonies already, and you’ve got to keep the pot coming…

“Know what would really be fly? If we had some heroin up in dis bitch.”

This is a hole that digs itself. All you need to do is get a job in that prison, and you’re never going to get out without becoming an inmate yourself.

A miracle

What did your teacher say to you during a meeting that resulted in you immediately dropping the class?

Evening college class, met 2X a week. 1st class- homework- find a magazine article about a govt. action, write one page about it. Did not have any magazine subscriptions, so stopped by library, found story about Sen. McCarthy. Next night, teacher chewed me out for picking that article. What could I POSSIBLY know about Sen. McCarthy? I was too young. And kept on for 5 minutes in a vicious tone.

Stood up, said “Know what? You’re right. I am young- may not know a lot- but I know something you don’t.” “Really? What’s THAT?”

“First, I don’t need this class this semester. Second- you are adjunct (part time) faculty. For your class to continue, you need 10 students enrolled. I count 9 others here. I’m dropping your class. The other students will be assigned to other teachers. You are a jerk- and you are also unemployed. Have a good day.”

Walked out, stopped at office, dropped class. Took it next semester- different teacher.

Russia Destroyed US Army Officers Along With HIMARS MLRS In NIKANOROVKA

Has China increased the defense budget hugely?

Absolutely

Chinas Defence Budget stands at 1.68 Trillion RMB for the year 2024

That’s $ 234 Billion

However you need to understand that $ 234 Billion in China is different from $ 234 Billion in USA

In the US , the average mark up from production to final sale to the Army or Pentagon is between 113% to 355%

That means a missile that costs $ 100,000 to produce sells for $ 213,000 to the Pentagon

In China, the average mark up from production to final sale to the PLA is a mere 26% -37% as everything is State Owned or a Joint Venture with State Ownership of around 35% – 45%

This means a missile that costs $ 100,000 to produce is sold for $ 126,000 to the PLA

Except that it costs $ 40,000 to produce a missile in China and so $ 50,400 to sell a single Missile to the PLA

So you can have FOUR MISSILES with the same range and the same launch capacity delivered to the PLA for ONE MISSILE delivered to the Pentagon

This means the $ 234 Billion in China has a far higher buying power of equipment in China than $ 234 Billion has for the Pentagon

So effectively Chinas Defence Budget is equivalent to at least 2.5 times and probably 3.5 times the Pentagon budget to procure it’s equipment

The PLA has estimated 492 Billion RMB for Weapons Procurement for 2024

That’s $ 70 Billion

However that’s the equivalent of $ 175 Billion to $ 245 Billion of the Pentagon

The Pentagon has estimated $ 290 Billion for weapon procurement in 2024

So you can see that China with its main scope being the South China Sea, Sea of Japan and Himalayas and Indian Ocean spends almost 84% of what US with its main scope being all over the world spends

So initially you see $ 70 Billion and $ 290 Billion and say “Oh. China is only spending a fourth of what US is spending”

Yet a closer look suggests China is spending almost $ 175–245 Billion versus $ 290 Billion that the US is spending

Dividing evenly between the battle zones – China has four – South China Sea, Himalayas, Indian Ocean and Sea of Japan

US has nine – Pacific, Middle East, South China Sea, Sea of Japan, Atlantic, Europe, South America, Horn of Africa and Oceania

So China spends $ 175–245 Billion for 4 Battle Zones while US spends $ 290 Billion for 9 Battle Zones (290/9 = $ 32 Billion each)

You do the math

It means China likely could outspend US 5:1 in the South China Sea

Same for Russia

Everyone looked at $ 81 Billion at laughed

Yet that $ 81 Billion includes $ 50.7 Billion of Equipment and Weapons Procurement which is the equivalent of $ 90 Billion for the Pentagon

Assuming only three Battle Zones – Europe, Black Sea and Arctic – that’s $ 30 Billion per Battle Zone which is very close to the $ 32 Billion that US spends on weapons and equipment for each zone

So US and Russia are actually neck to neck in defence expenditure on Weapons and Equipment as far as Europe is concerned

So Chinas budget of $ 234 Billion is closer to $ 650 Billion in Pentagon terms

That’s enormous

Tips for parents

What is the weirdest question asked during a job interview?

This occurred years ago and I will never forget it. It was at a time period, when located in the Silicon Valley in California, you would have to be interviewed by 423 employees to discern if you qualified for a job. What was more comical is you would be interviewed by people that in NO way were connected with the department you were attempting to gain employment in. Imagine you are interviewing for a computer game company as an artist and you are interviewed by the warehouse shipping lead? No logic whatsoever.

I was attempting to get a job as a network administrator for a very large and well-known entity. I had passed four interviews and was lucky enough to move on to the next.

My next interviewer happens to be a woman that I am informed works as an admin and I have no idea why she is interviewing me.

She sits down and introduces herself and appears pleasant. The first question she asks is “If the #2 pencil is the most popular, why’s it still #2?”. I am taken aback. I reply “Because a number one pencil writes darker than a number two?” She just looks at me.

She asks, “Why does it REALLY hurt to hit your funny bone?” I answered, “Because there is no bone covering or protecting the nerves at that location, so you are really making direct contact with nerves.” I am thinking, what is this?

She then asks, “Why is the third hand on the watch called the second hand?”. I answered, “The hands could have been named anything they wanted.” I said, “If the third hand measures seconds, why can it not be the third on the watch if it was designed to do so?”

At this point I had had enough. I asked her what is with all the ridiculous questions that have absolutely nothing to do with what I am interviewing for?

The door opens at that moment and another woman comes in and asks the person interviewing me to leave. The person who had been asking me questions says to the other, “I like him, he is pretty sharp!” and she leaves the room.

I am now informed by the person who is sitting down that she is the interviewer I was supposed to have been speaking to. I asked whom the person was who was just asking me a series of strange questions. She said, “That was my secretary, Betty. I told her to come in here and see if you needed anything such as water since I was going to be a few minutes late.”

Why bother?

Will raising tariffs on Chinese goods result in higher prices for US-made products imported into China due to potential retaliation from China?

Well, what China wants to buy from the US is banned from export to China, such as chips and chipmaking equipment, on grounds of national security.

What China wants to sell to the US such as EVs and Huawei equipment is either banned or impeded by the Feds, on grounds of national security.

Chinese companies that make money stateside such as Tiktok, Shein and Temu are being targeted for outright bans or increasingly unfavorable legislation and requirements.

Put the enemy hat on China and the rulebook gets thrown out the window—the end justifies the means.

China will raise the tariff wall on American goods if the US does likewise, but the scope won’t be pushed to the extreme. China will simply develop options and stop buying American. For example, there is enough soybean around these days to skip American soy completely. In a few more years, it will be the same story for wheat, corn and other grains, and Chinese demand for American farm produce can experience a step change.

If there is no trust, there can be no longterm business relationship.

Smothered Cheesy Pork Chops

Ingredients

4 or 5 boneless pork chops
Salt and pepper
1/2 onion, thinly sliced
1/2 cup mayonnaise
1 cup Cheddar cheese, shredded

Instructions

Heat oven to 350 degrees F.
Place pork chops in a baking pan. Season with salt and pepper on both sides.
Sprinkle the onion on top of the pork. Spread mayonnaise on each pork chop. Top with shredded cheese.
Bake for 25 minutes, or until the cheese is melted and browned. Baking time may be longer, depending upon thickness of pork chops.

Is FM Wang Yi wasting his breath?

The US can’t hear reason. They are afflicted by an old problem: arrogance. No arrogant person was ever humbled except by humiliation.

China is moving ahead as planned… at full throttle!

COMBATE |🇵🇷 (@upholdreality) on X

China FM Wang Yi: "The US has been devising various tactics to suppress China and kept lengthening its unilateral sanctions list, reaching bewildering levels of unfathomable absurdity. If the US says one thing and does another, where is its credibility as a major country? If…

https://x.com/upholdreality/status/1765596568412180934?s=46&t=cON7t-MS04nVgKjawKQ0Sw

China FM Wang Yi: “The US has been devising various tactics to suppress China and kept lengthening its unilateral sanctions list, reaching bewildering levels of unfathomable absurdity.

If the US says one thing and does another, where is its credibility as a major country?

If it gets jittery whenever it hears the word China, where is its confidence as a major country?

If it only wants itself to prosper but denies other countries legitimate development, where is international fairness?

If it persistently monopolizes the high end of the value chain and keeps China at the low end, where is fairness in competition?

The challenge for the US comes from itself, not from China. If the US is obsessed with suppressing China, it will eventually harm itself.

We urge the US to be clear eyed about the trend of the times…”

Like a Hollywood Nightmare

How do lifers cope with the fact that they will never be outside the prison walls ever again?

As a Prison Medic I had quite a bit of contact with the older Inmates, many doing “Life Without”….

Most of them had cut most ties with “The World” and had developed a life inside the wire, some of them, remarkably productive.

Three of these men come to mind….

One was a leatherworker, who made and repaired saddles for the mounted patrols, taught “horse tack” and leatherwork classes to the other inmates and had an “outreach” program building adaptive saddles and tack for Equestrian Therapy programs around the state at no cost.

Another had been a lawyer on the outside and spent much time with with the other inmates advising them on their legal matters of Family law, property law, tax law…outside their “Cases”… and did it for free… he had his own funds for “Commissary”

And finally there was one of our Orderlies for the Medical Department. He acted as a formal Mentor to new inmates as they adjusted to prison life and was frequently asked to mediate disputes between inmates…

All of those men were killers…. none of those men were ever supposed to take a breath of “Free” air again, and all of them had made a life on the inside…

Unknown force killed these men

What’s the most outdated software you still run on a regular basis, and why is that?

I use it every day.

Why? It’s a fast loading program, that’s easy to use. It reliably strips all formatting from a block of text. I don’t have to tell it each time that I want it to ignore hyperlinks, or HTML tags, and just treat them like the raw ASCII they truly are.

Readme.txt files are still found here and there. Notepad is the perfect program to view them.

When we purchased massive demographic data files from various vendors, they always came to us in some text format, CSV, pipe or tab delimited, fixed width… to write the scripts to import these encyclopedias, I would first need to inspect the header files with a program that wouldn’t alter or format the data in any way. Thank you Notepad.

Notepad is an electronic hand axe. It will continue to be useful for a very long time. There are more powerful text editors, some with very handy features for programmers, but Notepad is always there, on every machine, waiting for an opportunity to show how useful it can be.

Life in the USA today

Do you agree with the British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC) report that says “The US maintains official ties with Beijing, and recognises it as the only Chinese government under its “One China policy.”?

Does nobody remember this? It was a film series Police Academy in the 80s and into the 1990s… I think.

Anybody who watched it should recognise this theme.

Anyway Debbie Callahan is very upfront.

She literally says TALK IS CHEAP.

And has been since the beginning of time.

Actions have always spoken louder than words:

So currently the USA is:

Peddling bullshit propaganda about Xinjiang against us.
Targeting ethnic (even US born Chinese) scientists and university graduates.
Targeting Chinese companies because they can’t compete.
Actively encouraging hate and racism against Chinese people.
Accusing us of everything under the sun even if it’s got nothing to do with us.
Imposing sanctions on us and our people.
Currently engaging in a massive military build up nearby (Phllipines.Japan)
Funds terrorism in my home (2019 riots)
Funds TW separatism.
Arms terrorist groups (CIA tibetan program)
Has parked two SSBN nuclear missile submarines in Korea 900km from our capital

400km if you consider Tianjin 500km if you consider Dailan.

All of those things are actions of a hostile state and most of them are acts of war.

What have we done to you? Ah yes we exist and for many westerners that’s just unacceptable.

Your son is a genius

What would you do if your bank accidentally paid $20,000 into your bank account? Would you tell them or spend it?

Originally Answered: What would you do if your bank accidently paid $20,000 into your bank account? Would you tell them or spend it?

This happened to me.

About 28 years ago I went to deposit my paycheck. It was about $500. I had $80 or so in the bank, I was sure, but just to validate, I asked for an account balance.

The teller smiled at me. “Sure,” she said. “After the wire transfer you received yesterday, and your deposit today, your balance is now $1,100,584.”

“Ummmm, what did you say?” The teller repeated the amount.

“Yesterday you received a wire transfer for $1.1 million dollars. Lucky you.” She smiled again.

I took a deep breath. “Look,” I said, “That can’t be my money. Can you please double check?” She nodded and walked over to the branch manager’s office. She returned about ten minutes later.

“Oh there was no error. The amount was wired from X bank to your account, and all the info is correct on the transfer form.”

“So let me ask you something. If I asked you to withdraw $500,000 in cash right now, you would actually give it to me?”

“Well no…” I nodded, knowing that something wasn’t kosher. “…it would take about 3 hours. We don’t keep that much cash on hand. What denominations would you like?”

I stood there like an idiot. “I would like to take out $100 please.”

I went home slightly dazed. The next morning, after a night spent wondering what I would do with the money, I received a call from the bank. It was the branch manager.

“Yes, Mr. Kaufmann, sorry to bother you. I need to inform you that there was an error in a bank wire transfer to your account. You had 1.1 million dollars deposited into your account. I hope you don’t mind, but we will return the funds to the sending bank.”

“No problem,” I said, “I knew it was a mistake.”

The money was removed that day.

That evening, I could not help but ask myself what if I had said, “no.”

Probably exactly the same thing. But it’s fun to think about.

The USA is in full collapse

What was the most bone-chilling sentence a loved one ever said to you?

“It won’t be.”

Such simple words, but they broke my heart. I am tearing up right now as I see them 5 years later.

My youngest son Colin has always been the most happy go lucky person I know. Nothing seems to get him down. He has always been small for his age and yet, he is beyond bullies. A quick little story about that, one of many.

When Colin was about 6 years old we went to the park. There was a bigger kid, probably 8 or 9, standing by the jungle gym. I watched Colin head towards the gym and the bigger kid stepped in his way. Every other kid on the playground had already been redirected and were playing elsewhere. Colin stood and looked up at the boy and I saw the boy pointing for him to go somewhere else. Colin just stood there and stared. The boy turned moved back towards the gym a bit and Colin started moving towards the gym. The bully again stood in his way. This went on for 5 minutes before I see the boy give Colin a ‘guard duty’ job at the base of the gym.

When Colin was born he had a heart murmur, which cleared up.

When Colin was 3 his tonsils were swollen so large his throat was reduced to the size of a quarter. He had a tonsillectomy.

When Colin was 7 he developed Type 1 Diabetes. He never cried. We cried, privately. His doctors kept telling him it was ok to cry and he never saw the need. When his cousin asked him if he liked insulin shots because he never complained about them he said, very matter of factly, “no, I have to live.” And so began the quarterly trips to the endocrinologist.

When Colin was 8 he had a seizure. We wound up taking him for EEGs and found out he has a form of Epilepsy. He didn’t cry, but he looked perturbed. He started on medication and it was effective. He was told he could outgrow it when he hit puberty. Every 6 months we went to the neurologist and had another EEG, he only had one other seizure and that was my fault because I forgot his medication. So his lack of seizures was giving the doctors hope that he was outgrowing it, but every time we went it was the same news: still abnormal.

A few years pass and we have been to so many doctors for so many things. There is a scheduled EEG on this day and we are about to head out the door. My wife and I are excited to go because he hasn’t had a seizure in 2 years and he is starting puberty so maybe this will be the EEG that shows he has outgrown the Epilepsy.

My wife smiles at him and says to this child, who has never once in his life been to a doctor and gotten positive news, who has never once cried or been remotely negative about it all, she says to him excitedly, “The doctor says if this EEG is better you can get off the meds,” and Colin quietly replies, “It won’t be.”

I had to hide my face.

To this day, that is the only negative comment he has ever uttered about his health problems. And it kills me today just to think about it.

Just to note, that EEG was not normal, but 2 years later he was removed from meds despite abnormal EEGs. He has not had a seizure in 5 years now and at almost 15 he has probably outgrown it. He is still small (But growing) for his age as a freshman in High School, and by no means a macho guy. In fact, he believes he is gay and that was no surprise to me, but he is the strongest person I have ever known, and my personal hero, because for all the petty nonsense I get upset about on a regular basis nothing compares to what he has been through, and yet all he does is smile and move on. We could all learn a little something from people like him.

Be the Rufus

Have you ever saw a police officer/deputy outright lie?

June of 2014 I was pulled over for having a headlight out. That much is true.

I left that early morning from the State Highway Patrol station with a ticket for DUI. I was sober. The officer initially told me he thought I crossed the yellow line when he was following me. I did do that, as I was mistaken about the location of the driveway I was trying to get into. So, okay. Then he told me I smelled of alcohol. No, I didn’t. I had had two beers that calendar day, and the last was over 4 hours prior to this. Since then I had been sitting around a campfire. I reeked of smoke. Wood smoke. When I passed the breath test, I was told that they expected that, what with me smelling of weed. No. No I didn’t. But that’s going to be impossible to prove in a courtroom in a few months, right?

The police report they typed up mentioned that I had confessed in the back of the car to being on numerous illicit substances. That. Never. Happened. And I was NOT on any illicit substances.

Fortunately, the prosecutor tossed the whole case when there was no evidence of anything on my tox screen, no evidence of anything in my breath test, hair, urine, blood. NOTHING. Turns out these two assholes had been sending up some dubious cases for a while, but this one was the most egregious.

Ohio Patrol Troopers Northup and Norris, where ever you are, I hope you get a flat tire, your wife cheats on you with your partner, your dog dies, and you develop unfixable halitosis. You are the worst kind of human. You lied, repeatedly, and for what?

Because…

Is there a lot of racism in prisons?

Racism is the very thing prisons are built out of. It’s the bricks, pipes, and bars of prison. Racism will surround and envelop you at all times while you are behind bars.

That said, you’re not supposed to acknowledge it. You had better not make any comments that are openly racist unless you’re ready to fight. So, while racism is the very air you breathe, you’d better not gulp it in and speak with it.

Inmates divide themselves up along racial lines. This really shouldn’t come as a surprise — we divide ourselves up by race everywhere in society. In prison it’s just more… rigid.

The most obvious example will be the chow hall. Where I spent most of my time, there was a white side, and a black side. The white side had six or seven tables set aside for Hispanics and “other.” The black side had only two tables that had been claimed by social misfits that nobody wanted to have at their table.

If a white guy sat in the black area heads would turn. The same was true for the reverse situation. If anything, the blacks seemed more disapproving of a black guy sitting with the whites. The general assumption was that if someone was sitting outside of their race then there was a (sexual) relationship. The person out of “place” was someone’s “bitch.”

The units were also divided by race. We had several TV rooms. One was for whites (read “rednecks”). One was for blacks and one was for anyone who spoke Spanish. A final room was supposed to be for sports, but wound up being a second room for the blacks.

Even the cells were arranged by race. The cells furthest from the doors were all occupied by black guys. This was their choice — being largest in number, they got to choose. The advantage of being farthest from the door is that you have the most warning before the guards get to you.

Is there racism in prison? I doubt this is even a serious question. Prison *is* racism.

Pre-Historic Mega Structure Discovered In New Zealand: Kaimanawa Wall

What do you do when a neighbor’s kid is destroying your property?

Back in the mid to late 90s I lived in a quite, older neighborhood in Euless Texas. I have a green thumb and made my yard one of the nicest ones on the street. There were some rambunctious boys that lived a few houses down. They started riding their bikes in my yard tearing things up. Next thing I know their friends are doing it too. I knew their parents and knew they were decent people. One day I came around the corner and the oldest son, about 14 or so and their ringleader, was right there in my driveway. I could tell he was about to head into my yard. I called out to him in a friendly tone “Hey! You wanna earn some extra cash?”

That got his attention. He said “Sure” as he got off his bike to speak with me. I told him I was having to work extra hours at work (true) and needed help keeping my yard up. I told him if her would mow the front yard weekly, spread fertilizer and pull any weeds he sees I’d give him 40 bucks every week. He was excited and agreed. Shortly my yard was back to being one of the nicest ones on the street. He was now in charge and took great pride in his work and the yard. He would fuss at his friends and brothers and run them off if they came around with their bikes. He also took great care of my lawn mower and any other tools he used and put them back in my shed when finished. I hated to see him go off to college a few years later!

DMITRY POLYANSKIY:

“As the famous Turkish proverb says, when a clown goes to live in a palace, he does not become a king. But the palace becomes a circus.

One could, of course, perceive everything that is happening in Ukraine as a circus if the consequences were not so tragic and catastrophic for this state.

But circus acts are still very popular there.

We all know about air sirens sounding in Kyiv and other cities during visits of high-ranking foreign delegations in the absence of any shelling.

This has already become a kind of part of the circus program for the stay of foreign leaders in Ukraine.

What is noteworthy is that in Odessa, whose military facilities were actually attacked during the visit of a high-ranking Greek delegation to this city, the siren did not sound: such an act was not included in the circus program.

I would like to urge all those who have been whipping up passions today and will continue to whip up passions because of this episode to ask themselves a simple question.

Do you really think that if we really wanted to hit Zelensky’s motorcade, we wouldn’t be able to do it?

And try to answer it, just honestly.

Especially considering the fact that you know very well that this strike destroyed a workshop for the production of naval drones, or rather, their assembly from components supplied by the UK.

For us, this goal is much more important than Zelensky rushing around the frontline zone, taking selfies in cities before they are liberated by the Russian army.

And if any of you in your soul hopes to get rid of the leader of the Kyiv regime in this way, then I can disappoint you: this is not part of our plans.

The reincarnation of Mr. Goloborodko from the series ‘Servant of the People’ was elected to the presidency by Ukrainians, believing his election promises to establish peace in Donbass and protect the Russian language and Russian-speaking citizens of Ukraine.

He deceived his voters, so now let the Ukrainians and his Western puppet masters deal with him. We have more important tasks – fulfilling the goals of our special military operation.

And since you don’t want to talk about how to implement them through peaceful means, we are forced to use military means for this.

With all the ensuing consequences for Ukraine and the Western sponsors of the Kyiv regime, which have already begun to emerge very clearly.”

main qimg 455afdf7c754106812ff514352133060

Excerpt from the speech by Dmitry Polyanskiy, First Deputy Permanent Representative of Russia to the UN, at the UN Security Council meeting on Ukraine, New York City, March 8, 2024.

Father’s revenge

Why didn’t China acquire the MiG-29 and MIG-31 from Russia in 1990?

Why didn’t China acquire the Mig29 and Mig31? Because China wanted the Su-27.

main qimg f026a28ae10bede1f9ccd9296c718360 lq

And we got it. China realised that the heavy fighter design had far more potential than the much smaller 29.

Su 27 and Mig29 in between. The size difference is huge.

Russia in dire financial straits in the 1990s reluctantly agreed to sell them to us.

There’s a far more entertaining story which nobody knows is true or not.

Russian negotiators landed in Beijing to negotiate sale of Mig29s to China and said nyet Over and over again when Chinese asked for the SU27. Chinese negotiators pressed and pressed Russians over and over again but kept getting told no and hit an impasse. Until it was settled by a night on the town over booze.

Allegedly Chinese negotiators out drunk the Russians and got them to agree to our demands.

Those northern Chinese, they can REALLY drink. I mean REALLY drink. I nearly died when I dated a girl from Northern China, to her it was like water…Chinese Baiju starts at 56% Russian Samogan starts at 40%.

WOKE is completely insane

What do homeless people do during the day? Do they get bored?

Me, 50 years a hobo. Everybody is different here’s what I did. 4 am. wake up. Damn birds noisy at hell at that hour. Break camp. “Camo” the big stuff, little stuff in my small day pack. Have enough change for the first bus into town. 5:30 am in line at the temp work joint. Hope I get a days work today else it’s pick up cans. 6:30 am lucked out and got a clean up job. 7:30 am at the construction clean up site. Give the boss my work ticket, 3 of us working. Spend the day cleaning up so various tradesman are not tripping over one another’s trash. Noon. Lunch break. Had a $2 draw and bought a sandwich from the catering truck. Boss finds one temp guy sleeping behind the huge dumpster. Signs him off with 5 hours and gives him bus change and the boot. 4 pm. Quit time for us temps. Boss gives us 10 hours sign off because we had to pick up the slack for “Sleepy”. Marks never to send Sleepy back there again.and marks he wants us two back tomorrow. Wait for the work van to pick us up. I am glad I got a second day’s work cause I hadn’t worked for a week. 6 pm back at temp office. Got a check for $32 ( this was a while back ) minus the $2 draw. $30 bucks. Go two blocks down the street to a bar and grill all the temps go to. Get a burger and soda and they cash my check. Got to buy or won’t cash the check. Some guys drink all their pay up there everyday. I ain’t a drinking man. Got $25 and bus fair now. Head to the bus stop down a ways. 8 pm getting near dark arrive at last bus stop on that route. Near a gas station. Grab a soda. Walk about a mile ? to a large stand of trees. My camping site. Set up camp and fall out. I’m tired for sure. Figure to work as much as possible for a month so I have a “road stake”.Figure to go to Southern California for the winter. A few good “working” towns along my planed route.

What is the most satisfying way you saw a smirk get wiped off someone’s face?

In college, I was invited to a private concert being filmed in a TV studio in Chicago. My good friend was the executive assistant to the president of the station so I had met the president several times before and he told me to bring a few friends along for this event and to find him when we got there.

The evening of the concert, there was a huge line of people waiting to get into the studio. These were folks not previously invited but vying for a few remaining spots to fill empty seats.

Having been invited personally by the studio president, we walked around the crowd and into the building to find him. Near the front of the line, we saw a guy dressed in studio gear, all black, headphones, clipboard, the whole deal holding back the crowd. I waved and explained “hello I’m Chet and was told to find John McDonald (not his real name) to be part of tonight’s concert event. I was nothing but polite and courteous.

This guy’s response? “I’m sorry…do you think you are special or something? See all these people? They waited in line and you can too. Go back to the end and wait just like everyone else.”

I was floored as was my roommate and our dates looked dumbfounded. I sort of chuckled but figured ok, something must have gotten lost in translation.

Not two seconds later, the studio prez John McDonald comes around the corner, sees us all there and exclaims “Chet! You made it!” and we all start shaking hands and making introductions to the ladies we brought along.

He then turned to the studio guy and said “take these four into the show and put them in the front row.”

As we followed the rude dude into the studio, I couldn’t resist saying “I guess we ARE special!”

Smirk obliterated.

You won’t believe this…

What are the consequences of being too good at your job? Can you get fired for it?

My son went on line to see if he could get hired for a programming job somewhere. He had no real experience working for anyone else in programming. He had worked for a small town IT guy, and did a lot of coding for an online game he played. His first job offer was as a contractor for a 6 month gig at a company in Sacramento, CA. He loaded up his car, abandoned his apartment in Springfield IL, and headed out.

When he went to work the first day, they showed him around a bit, then gave him his first assignment. He worked hard on it for the first two days, and handed in the finished project on the third day. The boss looked at him in an odd manner. He had someone run the program to make sure it actually did what it was supposed to do. He came back and told Jason that it was a job well done. Jason asked for his next assignment. The boss, a bit bemused, said, well, I’ll see if I can find something for you, but that assignment was your 6 month gig. They did keep him on for the 6 months, and he did several other projects for them. He didn’t get fired, but the other programmers weren’t at all happy with him, so he left at the end of the contract.

He has had several coding jobs since, and moved up into management, but finally decided that he really liked coding better than he liked managing coders, so his current job is back to coding, but at a pretty high level, with commensurate pay.

Tucker Carlson 3/9/24 | Breaking News March 9, 2024

https://youtu.be/8heGAYH21M4

China to give chipmakers $27 billion to counter U.S. sanctions — Big Fund III will have further funding rounds

By Anton Shilov

published about 24 hours ago

China to give chipmakers $27 billion to counter U.S. sanctions — Big Fund III will have further funding rounds

Big Fund III begins.

https://www.tomshardware.com/tech-industry/china-to-give-chipmakers-dollar27-billion-to-counter-us-sanctions#xenforo-comments-3838931

China is assembling the third phase of its Big Fund

to invest in crucial semiconductor projects across the country, a move that aims to accelerate the development of advanced technologies, make China self-reliant in the microelectronics industry, and counteract the United States’ efforts to limit China’s technological advancement.

The third phase of the National Integrated Circuit Industry Investment Fund, or the Big Fund, will pursue the same goal as the first two phases: make China self-sufficient in the semiconductor sector. According to a Bloomberg report, the Big Fund’s third-phase vehicle will primarily draw its capital from local governments, state-owned enterprises, and their investment branches, with the central government contributing a smaller portion. This strategy aligns with President Xi Jinping’s vision of pooling resources nationwide for significant projects, emphasizing self-reliance in the semiconductor sector.

The first round of Big Fund III funding is designed to raise $27 billion, a relatively modest sum by the Chinese standards for its semiconductor industry. Cities like Shanghai and entities like the China Chengtong Holdings Group and the State Development and Investment Corp. are expected to invest billions of yuan each in the third-phase fund. Meanwhile, the report says the fund will directly support local companies and finance three to four sub-funds to diversify deal sourcing and investment strategies.

The fund’s expansion comes as the United States urges its allies to tighten restrictions on China’s access to tools required to make chips on advanced product nodes, part of an ongoing chip war for control of the semiconductor manufacturing industry. Back in September, Big Fund II initiated a round to raise $41 billion to support domestic makers of wafer fab equipment. However, for Big Fund III, $27 billion will be spent on essential projects across China.

Since its inception in 2014, the Big Fund (2014 – 2018, ~$100B) and the Big Fund II (2019 – 2023 , ~$41B) have raised hundreds of billions of dollars and acquired stakes in dozens of microelectronics companies. Meanwhile, Bloomberg claims that Big Fund’s assets under management are currently valued at around $45 billion, which could be a direct result of the U.S. sanctions against China’s semiconductor sector, which significantly hit companies like SMIC (China’s foundry champion) and Yangtze Memory Technologies Co. (YMTC , China’s top 3D NAND maker).

Despite its successes, the Big Fund has faced criticism for its lack of transparency and accountability, operating primarily behind the scenes. Nonetheless, it is indisputable that the hundreds of billions of dollars poured into China’s semiconductor industry made the country one of the most prominent players in this field.

The United States today

What are the biggest facepalm moments you have ever experienced?

About 15 years ago, I was working as a server at a restaurant, and as head server/trainer and an expeditor, I knew the menu inside and out, including pretty much all the ingredients.

We took allergies VERY seriously at our restaurant, and so when a guest asked,”Is there dairy in the crab cake? Because I’m allergic to dairy,” I was REQUIRED to ask the chef, verbatim, even though I KNEW the answer was no, because the chef is the highest authority on the food. So I go back to the kitchen, and I ask the chef, “Is there dairy in the crab cake? I have a guest who is allergic.”

He responds, “Yeah, there’s dairy in the crab cake.”

And I respond, “Uh, you’re wrong–I’ve prepped crab cakes myself. There’s no dairy in the crab cakes.”

Him: “Prove it.”

I go to the prep kitchen and pull the master recipe book from the shelf, bring it back to him, and read off the list of ingredients. “There’s no dairy on this list.”

Him: “There’s mayonnaise in the crab cake.”

Me: “That’s not dairy. Mayonnaise is eggs and oil, and a stabilizing agent.”

Him: “And where do you find eggs in the grocery store?”

Me: “In the dairy section.”

Him: “So eggs are dairy.”

Me: “No, they’re not. Eggs come from chickens. Dairy products are milk products, which have to come from a cow, or from the udder of another mammal. Chicken are birds, not mammals. Birds don’t have udders.”

Him: “Eggs come from the dairy section. They are therefore dairy.”

Me: *Facepalm* “Fine. I will tell the customer that the crab cakes have mayonnaise.”

(Back at the table.)

Me: “Ma’am, the chef told me to tell you that the crab cakes have mayonnaise.”

Guest: “But mayonnaise isn’t dairy, it’s made from eggs.”

Me: “Yes, ma’am, you’re quite right, but the chef and I had a philosophical disagreement on that point, and he insists mayonnaise is dairy. So you may want to stay away from the crab cakes, considering the chef doesn’t actually know what’s in them.”

When plastic surgery goes wrong

Browned Butter Spaghetti with Mizithra

I used to love to go to the Spaghetti Factory for this. It’s so delicious! Mizithra is a great Greek cheese.

Yield: 4 servings

Ingredients

1 cup butter
Cooked spaghetti, drained
1 cup Mizithra cheese, grated
Parsley, chopped (optional)

Instructions

Cut butter into tablespoon size pieces and place in a 2 quart sauce pan. Place the pan of butter on a burner on medium heat. Bring butter to a slow boil (about 5 minutes).
When the butter begins to boil, stir constantly to prevent residue from sticking to the bottom of the pan. As the butter cooks, it will start to foam and rise. Continue stirring, otherwise the butter foam could overflow (about 5 minutes) and catch fire.
When the butter stops foaming and rising, cook until amber in color (about 1 to 2 minutes). It will have a pleasant caramel aroma.
Turn off the heat and remove pan from burner. Let the sediment settle to the bottom of the pan for a few minutes.
Pour the brown butter through a strainer into a small bowl. Do not disturb the residue at the bottom of the pan.
The brown butter can be stored in the refrigerator and reheated in a microwave as needed.
Boil the pasta of choice until al dente.
Drain pasta and divide into four servings.
Sprinkle 1/4 cup Mizithra cheese over each pasta serving.
Top with 1/4 cup hot brown butter.

The reason why

Musical Chairs for Banks; The Music STOPS tomorrow

World Hal Turner 10 March 2024

Monday, March 11, 2024, Banks may get a deadly dose of reality; the Federal Reserve will cease the Bank Term Funding Program (BTFP) which will stop making new loans.

During a period of stress last spring, the Bank Term Funding Program helped assure the stability of the banking system and provide support for the economy. After March 11, banks and other depository institutions will continue to have ready access to the discount window to meet liquidity needs.

As the program ends, the interest rate applicable to new BTFP loans has been adjusted such that the rate on new loans extended from now through program expiration will be no lower than the interest rate on reserve balances in effect on the day the loan is made. This rate adjustment ensures that the BTFP continues to support the goals of the program in the current interest rate environment. This change is effective immediately. All other terms of the program are unchanged.

The BTFP was established under Section 13(3) of the Federal Reserve Act, with approval of the Treasury Secretary.

When the BTFP stops, banks will not longer be able to borrow from the Fed based upon value-at-maturity of US Treasuries and other assets they hold. So if the banks cannot borrow from the fed to meet their cash needs, how will they get the cash?

Put simply, the game of musical chairs for banks will see the music stop tomorrow. Which Bank(s) will find themselves without a chair, and thus lose?

What does a man and a woman want

What is the most disturbing thing your ex did after you broke up with them?

Actually she divorced me after being together 20 years. She did the normal dirty tricks…wiping out the bank account before I was served papers…leaving me flat broke. I have a medicine I cant live without. She had me removed from her health insurance as soon as divorce papers were served, and I had no health insurance of my own. The medicine is prohibitively expensive without insurance and I scrambled to straighten things out before I missed enough doses to sicken and die. I later found out she started paying premiums on a $100,000 life insurance policy that I thought had lapsed a year earlier when I lost my job and couldn’t pay the bill. She had brow-beaten me to get the insurance at the start of our marriage. I realized she had set me up to die and intended to collect my life insurance payout while playing the grieving ex. Unfortunately for her, I had filled out a change of address to a p.o. box and since the statement came under my name, it diverted to my box along with the rest of my mail. I was able to have the password changed and blocked her from the account as I cashed in the policy for 26k. That money saved my life, I bought a motorhome to live in until I could save up a down payment for a house and purchased my meds until my new life insurance took effect. The policy she demanded I enroll in so she might profit from my untimely death, ended up costing her money while saving me from certain death.

What were the last words you heard someone say before they died?

My mother married my stepfather when I was a teenager. We had a somewhat difficult relationship although it was readily apparent that he adored my mother and treated her very well. I tried to get along with him as best I could because I knew that I would eventually be moving out and my mother would need a partner. After a decade or so into their marriage his health declined. He had developed leukemia-induced anemia that was complicated by Crohn’s disease. After several years of painful existence and numerous hospital stays and blood transfusions he found himself in the ICU. His red blood cell count was critically low and he needed another transfusion or he would die within a few days. He decided he had had enough. He refused treatment so that he could pass away and be relieved of his pain. He went in and out of consciousness over those last two days. A priest had come to read him his last rites. His oxygen mask was at full capacity.

At one point I stood alone beside his bed and he mustered up enough strength to speak. He told me “take care of your body and read a lot of books on different subjects”. I acknowledged him. He added, “and take care of your mother”. He then slipped back into unconsciousness and the nurse asked that I leave the room and give him a break. I never heard him speak again. Those last words only reaffirmed to me what a great husband my mother had found, for in his last moments he was still concerned about her welfare.

That night my mother and I were in the waiting room at two in the morning when the nurse came to tell us that it was his time. We went into his ICU room, stood by his bedside, and watched on the monitor as his heart rate steadily dropped off to zero and his chest eased down to a stop. My mother looked down at him and said “what an amazing man, thank you for 17 wonderful years of marriage”. RIP Stan

She cannot handle reality

https://www.youtube.com/shorts/43vF4ZQFwZA?feature=share

I went to a restaurant of a nationality different from mine. After I sat down, the manager said “sorry, but we do not wish to serve you in our restaurant”. What should I do?

This actually happened to me. I’m an American who went to school for bit at Richmond College in England. At one point, several classmates and I went on an educational trip to Paris with chaperones and teachers. (Most of us were in our junior year of high school, and still technically children.) We spoke very little French, yet for the most part we found the people in Paris to be charming, and very kind to us. Most people, but not all.

One day, a friend and I were walking back to the dorms we were staying in. We were without a chaperone. We were hungry, so we stopped in a very small cafe in what seemed to be a quiet and lovely neighborhood. It was obvious when we first walked in that everyone seemed to know everyone, and they did not know us. There were no other places to eat anywhere near our location, and we were starving, so we decided to stay.

We were refused a table. When we brought out our money so that they would understand that we were serious customers, the owner reluctantly let us sit at the counter, but not at a table. She also refused to show us a menu, and simply brought us soup with very unusual animal parts in it. These were body parts that I had no idea a person could actually consume, and most of the parts appeared to be raw. We silently looked at each other confused. The owner of the cafe, and every customer, glared at us.

Finally, and shockingly, my friend started eating the broth. I tried and tried to remain pleasant and polite so that I would not be another bad example of an American tourist, yet finally I could no longer handle the situation. I burst out with laughter. Soon we were both laughing hysterically. We were then yelled at, and thrown out after paying a huge price for whatever that was we were served.

Sadly, my brave friend who ate the broth had to miss two days of sightseeing and school due to an unfortunate case of gastroenteritis.

So, to answer your question directly, if you are not wanted in a restaurant, run!

Has a cop ever said something to you which was completely unexpected?

Twenty years ago I moved across the country. When I got to my new state, I dragged my heels at getting new license plates. I am embarrassed to say how far I exceeded the grace period. A cop I worked with at school reminded me gently that our particular state had pretty stiff penalties for expired tags and I should take care of it before I got pulled over. I wish I had heeded her warning.

I never got a notice in the mail, but sure enough, I did get pulled over. The cop was polite and told me why I had been stopped, then returned to his squad car to run my info.

He came back. “Are you aware you license has been suspended?

“WHAT??!!” I was not.

He was puzzled. “Do you owe child support or something?”

“No.” I was upset at this point, not with him but the situation. I have never been in trouble with the law.

He was obviously perplexed. “They don’t normally suspend a license for expired tags. Huh.” He wrote out a warning.

When it was time to leave, I said “Sir…with an expired license, how will I get home?”

He shrugged. “If I drive off first, how will I know if you’re driving?”

He was very kind. However, the legal system was not. I had to jump through a lot of expensive hoops to get things cleared up. All of it could have easily been avoided. Renew your tags, everyone.

What are the biggest facepalm moments you have ever experienced?

A pizza delivery driver in his mid 20s (me….20 years ago) knocks on the door of an apartment, a few minutes go by and the door opens. As it swings open a cloud of VERY aromatic smoke rolls out and the man of the house says in a Bob Bitchin’ (PhD, MA, BA and a BMF besides) voice,

“Yeah, what is it?”

“I have your pizzas.”

“How much are they?”

“$20.87”

He hands me $30 asks for a $5 back, takes his change, and shuts the door. Nonplussed, I knock again. A couple of minutes goes by and the same man answered the door.

“Yeah, what is it?”

“I still have your pizzas.”

“How much are they?”

Now here I paused, and considered, until finally…

“$20.87”

He reaches in his pocket, gets his wallet out, looks inside and says,

“Give me a minute.”

Another 5 or 6 minutes go by and I see him talking with the 4 other people sitting around the TV. A collection occurs. He finally returns to the door and hands me $20.87 in the form of a single $5, eight $1 s, and the other $7.87 in mixed change. He then apologizes saying,

“Sorry about all the change, and no tip, I swear I had $30 around here but I can’t find it.”

To this day, I cannot help but smack my forehead when I think about it.

Edit- Thanks to all. I hope it gave you a bit of joy.

“NO WAY” TikTok Videos Viewers Are Struggling To Explain

Girls and grapes

I have been playing around with picture generation through text prompts. It’s fun, but it takes some ingenuity and imagination. Here’s some of my results…

Default a woman crushing grapes in a wooden tub in a winery Sh 2

Default a beautiful and stunning woman wearing a satin dress S 3

Default a group of beautiful and stunning women wearing a sati 2

Default a woman crushing grapes in a wooden tub in a winery Sh 3

Default a beautiful and stunning woman wearing a satin dress S 2

Default a group of beautiful and stunning women wearing a sati 1

Default a woman crushing grapes in a wooden tub in a winery Sh 1

Default a beautiful and stunning woman wearing a satin dress S 0

Default a group of beautiful and stunning women wearing a sati 3

Default a woman crushing grapes in a wooden tub in a winery Sh 0

Default a group of beautiful and stunning women wearing a sati 0

Default a beautiful and stunning woman wearing a satin dress S 1

What’s the fastest you’ve wiped a smirk off of someone’s face?

my first husband was extremely abusive and had been for years but I just couldn’t seem to find the help I needed to leave. One day he came home drunk with his friends and because I knew he would become violent, I refused to let him in. Unfortunately he kicked the front door down in 2 kicks and before I could get to the phone he was in the house and on me. I spent 3 days in the hospital and because the beating was so severe, I was offered help that I immediately accepted. After being released from the hospital I was escorted by a battered womens advocate and police officer but I only had 15 minutes to grab what I could. While I was doing my grabcand go I could hear him tell the officer that it was all just a minor misunderstanding and how he wad sorry but sure we could work through everything, blah, blah, blah. As I was walking out with the few posessions that I could grab, and with the officer still standing next to him, I looked at him with a big smile and told him that he may want to get a new toothbrush because I had been cleaning the toilet with it for months. The fake smile was wiped right off of his face but the cop had a smirk. Before anyone asks, yes I was cleaning the toilet with his toothbrush.

America today

What misconception about your occupation would you like to clear up?

I’m a physicist. One day I got a phone call from an undergraduate. She explained that as an assignment in a sociology course she was required to follow a scientist around for a day and document how he/she spent the day. “I’m far too busy to give you that much time,” I said.

“No—” she replied, “You won’t even notice I’m there. I’ll just watch and follow you around.” OK— it sounded a bit intriguing.

The scheduled morning she arrived in my office at 9 a.m. She sat down in a corner, and I got to work. Every now and then I looked up and caught her looking at me; she quickly looked away, and scribbled in her notebook. Suddenly I felt like a mountain gorilla being studied by Dian Fossey.

At 5 p.m she told me she was leaving. I asked her if she found anything surprising. “My god yes!” She responded. “Your day is totally different from what I expected.” I asked for details and she examined her notes.

She said, “You spent 60% of your time talking to other people! You did it on the phone, then you visited several other physicists in their offices. You had lunch with several graduate students. Even in your lab you were working with your graduate students. Several people came to your office.”

“What did you expect?” I asked her.

“I thought scientists worked alone. I thought they sat in front of computers all day, or in their labs wearing white coats and working with test tubes.”

“That’s the scientist of the movies,” I said. “Science is a very social profession. You can save weeks in the lab by a quick conversation with someone else. Two people talking are often much more than twice as effective as two people working alone.”

“I never knew that,” she said.

It’s odd that people avoid going into science because of the impression that it is for people who like to work alone. That may be true for some people, but in my experience virtually all effective scientists spend much of their time with other people. Maybe the wrong impression arises because of the high school science nerd who doesn’t yet have social skills. But social skills are essential to scientific success. Some nerds learn them only in graduate school. (And the ones who don’t often drop out of science.)

Indeed, the interaction with other people is what makes “coming to work” so much fun.

Cats can defy gravity

In the movie, “My Octopus Teacher”, how does he know he is filming the same octopus?

You can recognize individual cephalopods if you know what to look for, but even then you need a very keen eye. Most cephalopods can change color as fast as you can blink, and are famous for mimicking their surroundings. That said, they also have a “resting face,” a specific paint job they wear when they’re not trying to do something else. These paint jobs are like fingerprints, and with practice you can learn to recognize them. We had to identify individual squid in schools of 30 on the expedition where I met my bride. It was very challenging to learn, but definitely possible.

I have had many, many, MANY, MANY requests to comment on this show. We actually didn’t make it through the first half hour on the first watch because the introduction clearly featured several different octopuses, and much of the narration seemed to be pumping up exaggerated claims of octopus capabilities, which drives us crazy. Too many documentaries do this nowadays. I understand that sensationalism sells, but octopuses are not as smart as four year old children. (for example)

But then that show snatched an Oscar. Then this particular A2A came along. It inspired me to sit down, clear my mind, to give it another try and see what all the fuss is about. I just dialed it up and watched the whole thing. I’m very glad I did. My first impression was wrong. The show is great and the footage captured was truly groundbreaking.

Here’s what I think. If you haven’t seen it, beware: spoilers follow.

I am 99% sure that most of the footage in Craig and Tom Foster’s extremely impressive My Octopus Teacher, was the same octopus.

Most.

I don’t think he found the exact same octopus after scaring away the first one by dropping the camera lens. After that, yep. Definitely the same octopus. There were many cuts throughout the show where other footage of other octopuses was used for fillers, but that’s not surprising in the least for film production.

How did he find the same octopus over and over? Experienced divers (including free divers) learn the terrain of a dive site just like we learn our way around our neighborhoods, local woods, etc. it becomes second nature to swim to a familiar spot. But there’s more going on.

I have no doubt that Craig Foster (and helpers, I expect) visited this octopus every day for pretty much it’s entire life, and it confirms something I wondered but never tested: I have long suspected that when some octopuses den, (including the common octopus) they settle down permanently. Their den seems to become their base, i.e. they are not nomadic. Likewise, they seem to get to know their neighbors: The fish that hang out nearby, local cleaner shrimp/wrasse, a nearby communities of possible predators and of course the weird hairless ape that shows up every day with treats and shiny pieces of equipment. If you don’t hurt, scare or harass them, octopuses are fairly quick to trust. This is one big reason why I still feel OK keeping them.

Back to the movie, I was very sure the post-lens drop octopus was the same animal, but once the shark ripped the arm off, it became easy to identify the individual. There was an obvious gap in the daily footage for 2–4 weeks (I suspect,) because the wound mysteriously skinned over quickly. I can understand that watching the octopus contend with rather gory wound in the early stages might have been hard to watch. Nevertheless, watching the near-daily documentation of the wound healing and the arm regenerating was incredibly interesting to me. I couldn’t take my eyes off it in any given shot. Octopuses possess an absolutely uncanny ability to heal and rebuild after grievous wounds, but they usually don’t live long enough to regenerate, say, a whole arm. As such, you could see that arm L3 (third on the left) was always growing but stubby, right up until the end.

The camera footage in My Octopus Teacher is truly groundbreaking. They must have had multiple remote cameras on the animal 24/7, because they managed to capture some frankly unbelievable events in the octopus’s life. These were things that happen suddenly, and only last a split second. They filmed the shark attacking the octopus, the exact moment of mating (which literally lasts about 10 seconds), and then getting the very moment a shark made off with the body at the end. That made me suspicious. He managed to be right there to film all those sequences on 15 minute breath hold dives? Octopuses and other sea creatures won’t act for setpieces. They’ll sit there and do nothing for hours. Foster’s team must have been setting multiple cameras on it 24/7 for the entire year. That’s dedication.

Now then. As I mentioned earlier, wifey and I didn’t get through the movie on the first try because the intro footage was clearly not the same octopus every time. I counted at least seven different octopuses of the same species in the first 15 minutes of the show and would bet a couple of the shots were filmed in an aquarium. Now, with better context, it’s perfectly understandable. I had to remind myself that this whole show was skillfully put together with a production crew of expert filmmakers who sought to fill in or augment the gaps of the octopuses behavior and Foster’s footage, (which I thought was on BBC level at times). To us, octopuses are frequently overhyped, and the intro of My Octopus Teacher felt just like that sort of show. We can’t stand those shows. Most people would never spot these things, but it triggered me initially.

So, already extremely skeptical, when he got to the part about using his “Incredible Kalihari Tracking Skills” to locate the exact same octopus over, what? A mile away? Underwater? On breath hold dives, through a KELP FOREST? We both threw our hands up and turned it off. That was too much. No way in hell he found the same octopus.

When our team studied octopuses in Costa Rica, some would squirm out of our grasp and flee, and we frequently lost them after 15-25 feet. They would jet away, land on a rock and just vanish. Octopuses can blend with their background insanely well. We had a rule out in the field: for every octopus you do find, you missed ten.

You know what? That’s OK. Maybe it was just a stunt to build interest, give him some credibility. Who knows? I’m just grateful this question made me give the show another full and attentive watch, because it is great. The Oscar award was very well deserved. Chronicling this octopus’s life was already a truly astounding achievement, but what really nailed it was the overall philosophical story. It was spot-on accurate. I have lived it so many times with so many octopuses. You get to know them. They get to know you. You enjoy fun times together. I always learn something new from each and every one. They are so fascinating, so complex, and yet…they’re essentially highly evolved snails. In your heart you know the relationship won’t last. You can almost watch them grow and age, and you have to say goodbye too soon. As I watched that octopus age on screen, I knew what was coming, and what all the events meant. I admit I cried several times.

So, to summarize, I believe the octopus before and after the Great Lens Drop moment (it’s about 35 minutes in) are different, but from that moment on, yes, it’s absolutely the same individual. Thanks for the A2A!

Real talk

Can the LCS ships ever be a great asset for the US Navy? Has the propulsion on the Freedom class ever been repaired? Has a builder gotten away with such a bad ship?

The Little Crappy Ships each have their own failures in design and execution. Sometimes tried and true is best – especially when building ships that need to be available (and mobile) all of the time. There is no auto club to call for a breakdown on the high seas.

Their mission evaporated as the world changed – a lightly defended coastal (litoral) ship did not end up being where the focus was needed. Their flexibilty was also limited because cost overuns in the basic ship package affected other wannabe missions – it was going to be a Swiss Army knife, but instead ended up a butter blade.

The navy threw in the towel when they started ordering more Constellation class frigates and cancelled the future LCS builds. Ironically, they were not cheap (half a billion $$$ or so) but they cost little enough by government standards to abandoned. Compare that to the Ford class carriers (about $14 billion each). The Fords had so much invested in them that throwing money and resources to solve technological issues (such as with the catapult system) was a given regardless of cost. You can fix things with time, money, and resources. There also was no readily available replacement available for the Ford carriers after years of investment in them. The end product is a great advance over it’s predecessor – which is not the story of the LCS.

So, lessons learned. Innovate but balance risks and reward, and know the mission you are trying to accomplish. Here is the LCS Independence. A face only a mother could love… … …

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Oh shit

How would Chinese companies absorb additional costs as China leans more heavily on exports?

Correction: China is NOT leaning more heavily on exports; the government’s policy has been to grow the Chinese domestic consumer market in order to lessen dependence on exports.

In 2024, the Chinese domestic consumer market is growing less slowly than the government likes because the Chinese real estate market is undergoing contraction. The Chinese government saw the real estate market as an asset bubble which needed to be pricked because it does not reflect a real productivity gain; it is just speculatory.

Since most Chinese have their savings tied up in their own home value, they now feel that they have less savings to spend, which is why the Chinese economy is entering a deflationary phase.

At the same time, the US and EU are putting pressure on Chinese exports of EVs and chips, as they try to decouple from Chinese exporters of those products.

This means that the whole world is going through a painful economic adjustment as supply chains are being decoupled in the US and EU.

The Chinese government is trying to re-adjust by increasing exports and trade with the BRICS+/Global South economies, while gradually cutting reliance on the US and EU markets.

Linda’s Picadillo (Mexican-Style Ground Beef)

Ingredients

1 onion, diced
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 pound ground beef
3 potatoes, peeled and diced
1 red or orange bell pepper, chopped
1 1/2 cups water
1 1/2 teaspoons beef bouillon
1 (4 ounce) can green chiles or 2 fresh poblano peppers, chopped
Spices: 1 or 2 bay leaves, salt, pepper, cumin, cayenne pepper, tomato Knorr, etc.
1 can tomato sauce or Ro*Tel
1 bag frozen corn (optional)
1 bag frozen green beans (optional)

Instructions

Sauté onions and garlic; add ground beef and cook until done. Drain fat.
Add potatoes, bell pepper, water, beef buillon, green chiles or poblano peppers, spices of choice and tomato sauce or Ro*Tel. Simmer over medium heat until potatoes are tender.
If using, add corn and green beans 10 to 15 minutes before serving.

She Bullied A Kid For Exercising Wrong, The Internet Destroyed Her..

Israel ‘Coerces’ UN Workers – By Outright Torturing Them

Every time one thinks that the depravity of Zionist fanatics has finally reached a limit they will proudly present even worse behavior.

UNRWA report says Israel coerced some agency employees to falsely admit Hamas links – Reuters, Mar 9 2024

The U.N. agency for Palestinian refugees said some employees released into Gaza from Israeli detention reported having been pressured by Israeli authorities into falsely stating that the agency has Hamas links and that staff took part in the Oct. 7 attacks.

Coerced, pressured, … Maybe they had a harsh talk?

No. They outright tortured, Abu Graibh like, these UN workers. Some of them to their death:

The document said several UNRWA Palestinian staffers had been detained by the Israeli army, and added that the ill-treatment and abuse they said they had experienced included severe physical beatings, waterboarding, and threats of harm to family members.
…
In addition to the alleged abuse endured by UNRWA staff members, Palestinian detainees more broadly described allegations of abuse, including beatings, humiliation, threats, dog attacks, sexual violence, and deaths of detainees denied medical treatment, the UNRWA report said.
…
Reuters could not independently confirm the accounts of coercion of UNRWA staff and mistreatment of detainees, although the allegations of ill-treatment accord with descriptions by Palestinians freed from detention in December, February and March reported by Reuters and other news media.

—

Remi Brulin @RBrulin – 0:44 UTC · Mar 9, 2024“We tortured some folks” is pretty bad

“We tortured some folk so we could destroy a huge relief organization that’s indispensable in dealing with a huge humanitarian crisis that we created in the first place” is…. something else

What are civilized people supposed to do with these miscreants?

Posted by b at 11:13 UTC | Comments (156)

Jesus H. Christ

https://www.youtube.com/shorts/QTJ_Uk9OPZo?feature=share

What ignorant thing did a retail employee say that made you walk out of the store without buying a single item?

This is another “didn’t say it, did it” story.

It was a couple of weeks before Christmas, about 25 years ago, and I was shopping for a gift for my wife. She loves pearls, especially baroque pearls, and even more when they’re set with a discreet diamond or two — nothing glitzy or brash. I went to the local branch of Barmakian Jewelers, a well known New England chain. I’d been there before and had spent there, over the years, a decidedly nontrivial amount, including some custom work I’d had them do. So I walked over to the Pearls and Diamonds counter with a budget figure of $600 (equivalent to just a hair over $1000 as I write this) and began eyeing the pieces through the glass counter surface.

I should probably mention here that I was at that time a software engineer and had just gotten out of work for the day, and I was dressed in jeans and a carpenter shirt (plaid flannel). No coat, this is New England and the temperature was well above freezing. As I browsed, I took note that although there was nobody at that counter at the moment, two sales associates were at the next counter, and I knew that they had seen me. Neither came over to help me. After about ten minutes of this, a man came walking over to the counter where I was, dressed in a suit and tie. Before you could say “WTF?” an associate, one of the two who had been chatting at the other counter, was there to help him. He lollygagged around, looked at a couple of pieces with the associate’s eager assistance, and finally decided he’d come back another day. He walked out without having spent a dime. The associate left the counter without even a glance in my direction, and returned to chat some more with the other associate. I figured I knew what was up, and I too walked out, taking my $600 budget elsewhere. I have never since stepped inside a Barmakian store, nor will I ever do so in the future.

In the United States…

As a police officer, has a suspect ever asked you, “Do you know who I am?” indignantly, and how did you react?

I once stopped newer model sports car for speeding. When I approached the car, before I could even properly introduce myself and explain why I stopped him the driver stated, “I’m John Doe, Vice President of AK Steel” (I don’t remember his name). AK Steel is a large factory in a neighboring city. I replied, “Ok Mr. Doe, can I have your license and proof of insurance please”?

He had a pretty clean driving record so normally I would’ve given him a warning. However, I couldn’t let him think that he’s above the law. When I came back with a ticket in hand Mr. Doe became upset and said some to the effect of, “Wait a minute! Is (blank) your chief of police?” I said yes and he told me that the chief of police is his friend. I replied, “Ok, Mr. Doe, sign the ticket on this line please.”

My Chief was angry with me when he found out that I wrote a ticket to his friend, who is also a local bigwig. I’m sure my stock fell with him, but he was close to retirement so I whatever it cost me, I knew I wouldn’t have to pay for it very long.

What’s something that NO science fiction author ever predicted?

Well, I think our fellow Quoran Orson Scott Card got something dreadfully wrong in his most famous work, Ender’s Game.

It was published in its novel form in 1985, and he envisioned a global computer network where people could publish anything. And it’s crucial to the plot that two very young people become massively influential by publishing, under pseudonyms, political essays with brilliant insights.

Internet, yes, fine, it was already invented and the WWW was just around the corner, but well called for seeing it as a potential game changer.

He did not anticipate that it would be used to watch memes of cats and spread flat Earth theories, and that any politically insightful youth would be totally drowned out by people trying to cure a dangerous disease by drinking bleach. Frankly, I don’t think anyone could have foreseen that…

“Just Bang ‘Em All” – Older Woman’s Advice to Younger Women

As a cashier, what was the most privileged customer you had to deal with?

When I was sixteen years old (twenty years ago, sheesh) I was a “Sandwich Artist,” the pretentious title given to Subway employees whose duties include cashiering, in addition to preparing ingredients, making sandwiches, and cleaning. The Subway I worked at was inside of a gas station on the edge of a sleepy mountain town, one of the last stops for the Greyhound bus before it made the final 100 mile leg over the pass to Salt Lake City.

The biggest downside to being inside of a gas station is that the Subway closed two hours before the gas station, so you couldn’t simply lock the doors to close down like a stand-alone restaurant. Most people understood the “Closed” sign on the counter, but sometimes as you were trying to clean up people would interrupt you trying to place an order.

Most of the time this was not a big deal, although occasionally the bus was running late and a large, hungry, and travel-weary crowd would show up shortly after closing. If I had nowhere to be in the morning I would sometimes offer to make them something cold based on what I still had out. However, I was often closing on school nights, anxious to get my homework done or study for a test before going to bed way too late. On those nights I had to greet these customers with a friendly “I’m sorry, but we’re closed.”

There was the occasional rude response, but this one lady particularly set the bar for being a privileged, self-important blowhard. I had been working the closing shift by myself on a school night. It was at least twenty minutes past closing time when I heard a car horn honking somewhere outside. I didn’t think much of it until the honking then started again right outside the drive-through window.

The hours were displayed prominently on the window, so I went back to my cleaning. Then someone started knocking on the window. At first I was annoyed, then concerned. Was this one of those robbery attempts they warned us about? The reason fast food places don’t serve walk-up customers? Or was someone in trouble, unable to get out of their vehicle and come into the gas station for help? I would hate to be the guy that didn’t open the window for someone having an emergency. This was back before cell phones were quite as ubiquitous as they are now too. A bit begrudgingly, I set down what I was doing and walked over to the window, sliding it open a few inches.

“Finally!” the older woman cried, obviously exasperated. She then started placing an order.

“Ma’am…” I attempted to interrupt. She kept ordering. “Ma’am!” I said, louder this time. She stopped talking. “I’m sorry, but we’re closed.” She stared at me slack-jawed.

“I’m not ordering a lot,” she spat out as I started closing the window.

“Sorry,” I repeated, closing the window and latching it before returning to my cleaning. I stepped into the back for some reason and when I returned to the front she had come inside and was standing at the counter.

“You are very rude,” she scolded. I kept cleaning. “I was talking to you.” I looked up.

“I’m sorry,” I said for the third time. “We’re closed.”

“I just need two sandwiches,” she replied obliviously.

“All the food is put away. I have a lot of cleaning to do. The gas station has food.” I pointed towards the gas station freezer section. She looked at me with this unbelieving look, like I had just told her that I ran over her dog but it was okay because she could go get another one. I made it a point to go in the back before the conversation carried any further.

The layout of the restaurant is one where the counter and food preparation area takes up one end of the gas station, with the back area L-ing off of it, sharing the freezer with the gas station. The door to the back room comes from the dining area. I went to work washing dishes when suddenly the door opens and in waltzes this lady like she owns the place.

“You are really unbelievable, you know that?” She was standing in the doorway, her hands on her hips. “Twice you’ve walked away while I was talking to you! I was here right before closing waiting at the drive up when you turned it off, then you slammed the window in my face! This is ridiculous! Where is your manager!?”

“She’ll be in at 5:30 in the morning.”

“And what is your name!?”

“My name is John. John Smith. And you weren’t in drive-through right before closing, because I took the trash out fifteen minutes after closing and you weren’t out there. Now please, I’ve got school in the morning.”

“Well you are a liar because I was out there waiting and I’m going to talk to your manager and you’ll be looking for another job. And don’t even think of applying at Stewart’s (a grocery store thirty miles away) because I’m the manager, and I know everyone. Everyone. You’ll be lucky if you can ever get a job around here again. You don’t know who you’re screwing with!” She stood there with a look of scornful pride on her face, like she’d just delivered the biggest burn in the history of burns.

I just stood there and looked at her dryly, waiting for her to leave. She just stood there and looked at me incredulously, not leaving.

“Well?” she says, crossing her arms.

“Well what?” I ask in genuine confusion.

“Are you gonna make my sandwiches?!” She looked at me, surprisingly seriously. She actually expected me to make these sandwiches. My mind was blown.

“No. I’m not. No way.” Again, She continued looking at me like I’d taken away her birthday. “No,” I repeated. “No. Get out. Leave!”

She looked at me like I was insane. How would I, a peasant, disobey her orders? She was the magnate of Stewart’s. Who was I? I was nobody. I forced her out and closed the door.

My manager didn’t even talk to me until our next shift together. She didn’t even consider this crazy lady’s ranting. She knew me too well. She replayed to me the crazy story this lady had told, including that she’d bought six sandwiches earlier in the day and none of them had been made correctly. Seriously? Zero evidence to back this claim up. This woman had mental problems.

I talked to a friend that worked at Stewart’s. The manager was a man. That poor woman…how dismal it must be to be that delusional or that pathetic.

Sad.

Why has Hollywood been struggling to succeed in China’s film market?

Simple.

Ask the average American to watch a Chinese blockbuster. It can be dubbed, or subtitled.

Further, ask them to pick out the cultural hooks and references in the movie.

Vanishing few will be able to do so, even Chinese diaspora who grow up speaking only English.

Take it from me. I spent a lifetime consuming Chinese media, and I am fluent in at least 3 dialects: Cantonese, Hokkien and Mandarin. I spent 12 years learning Chinese formally, growing up in a Chinese speaking environment.

But I struggle with the cultural references in Chinese productions, which have cultural baselines that are several steps beyond the typical Taiwan/HK production.

In other words, Wong Kar Wai and Ang Lee are above average, and not the summit, in the mainland scheme of things, as far as deep culture is concerned.

Hollywood can never make a Chinese movie that touches the tender and vulnerable side of Chinese audiences. Not in the current climate of dehumanization and “we want your money, we don’t want you”.

The Chinese are not farm animals of American oligarchs.

And even if Hollywood decides to take the Chinese market seriously, it will take years and plenty of coin to compete against the Chinese competition.

At this point (2024), Hollywood isn’t even in the game.

He stole millions of dollars

Have you ever paid another table’s bill for them without being asked? Why did you do it?

November 8, 2018. I know the date because of it’s significance. 4 men were at the restaurant I frequent. They had reserved a part of 8. All of them were elderly, all of them were wearing hats with “vietnam veteran” and “173rd Airborne” on them. I didn’t need to know where their 4 missing comrades were, or what memories those 4 gentlemen would be reliving 53 years later. I know of Operation Hump.

I quietly wrote on a napkin, “I’m not going to say who I am, but I want to say 3 things: THANK YOU! May your brothers rest in peace, and tonight is on me. No arguments, soldiers.”

I had my waitress deliver it after I left, leaving my credit card (at the time, I lived right down the street) to pay for whatever they want.

I was told that they were very appreciative, and said “for people like that we’d do it again.” which is very touching if you ask me.

I’ve seen those gentlemen back every year since, and a few times on various other days, but I haven’t said anything, and I never intend to. Their meals are still on me every year.

How do ordinary Russians feel about the Chinese goods and products now sold compared to the western brands which have left Russia?

Honestly, I don’t see any big difference and I don’t feel overwhelmed by Chinese goods.

In fact, China actively substituted only two fields: cars and household equipment

Midea or Haier instead of Bosch? No big difference. Same features, same prices. Bosch is also available by the way, and the price is comparable to Chinese. So who has left?

Chery/Haval instead of Renault and Nissan? No big difference, in fact Chinese are better. More options and features for lower price. Prices are slowly normalizing, by the way. Chinese car giants open new factories in Russia.

Of course, it will take time for market to find a new balance, but at least now it is possible to get a new SUV for around 2 million rubles. Sure, it’s not 1.3 million rubles like I paid for new Nissan Qashqai in 2018, but it’s even less about 2.4 million rubles I paid for new Nissan X-Trail in 2021. And well, Chinese turned out to be have better multimedia systems than Japanese or Europeans. Surprise, surprise.

Maybe even Moskvich will some day be available at more reasonable prices. Again, it all takes time.

New car market was too expensive starting from around last April. Now slowly getting to more normal prices.

—

Speaking of furniture, clothing and everything else – it got substituted locally and surprisingly well. If you are not dead set to pay 500,000 rubles for Dolce Gabbana, you can buy a nice good quality Russian coat at 10,000 rubles, for example. I bought warm and nice Russian-made alaska jacket for this winter for about 13,000 rubles. Didn’t notice any difference with “original” that cost double even before all those problems.

And well, I talk to people, I listen to people and I see what people are wearing and buying. There still are few “brand-crazy” folks, but most have just got ignorant.

If those “Western brands” ever want to return, they will have a hard time doing so. Sorry guys. And no, Chinese clothes are not popular and is not supplied en masse.

Why is that?

Was it a myth that a man could support a family in the 50s in the USA?

No.

Both of my grandfathers did just that.

Both of their wives only worked outside of the home during WWII, before they were their wives. By the early 1950s, both of my sets of grandparents were married and starting their families. Both families ended up with four children each. Both families owned their own homes—modest homes in small towns—all on the single income of a working-class man.

One grandfather was a salesman and installer of garage doors. One was a mechanic. Both were WWII vets, so there may have been some veterans benefits to help them out. Other than that, they were on their own.

I know much more about one grandfather’s house than the other one, because the one I know about was right down the street from the house I was raised in. That grandfather died in the 80s, before I really got to know him, but his widow (my grandmother) lived in that house until she died in 2016. I visited that house many times and even helped my father build the deck on it.

I don’t know what my grandfather paid for that house, but I know that, when it was sold “as in” after my grandmother passed, just eight years ago, it sold for $63k. According to Zillow, it’s now worth close to $200k. Same house. Eight years. Triple the price. Insanity.

And it’s not just that house. My mother’s house, where she still lives, just a few doors down, is has tripled in value in the last decade.

The house my grandfather raised his kids in was (and still is) just three bedrooms, one bath, tiny kitchen, and a little over 1,200 square feet. It is 1/3 the size of the house I am currently sitting in, and I would call my house fairly modest by Chicago standards. My grandfather’s house featured a detached two-car garage which he used as a workshop, a carport, a huge yard with a vegetable garden, two old-growth pecan trees and, of all things, a small vineyard.

I didn’t realize how cool it was that my grandparents had a small vineyard growing in their back yard until I was well into my 20s and, by then, it had been mostly destroyed by neglect (my grandmother couldn’t maintain it on her own in her old age), and I lived too far away to help her with it. The last time I drove past it, last summer, it looked like the new owners hadn’t taken it down, but hadn’t fixed it, either. It’s just continuing it’s multi-decade decay.

But I’ll bet it was pretty awesome back when my grandparents were raising their children in that house.

Anyway, besides things being a lot cheaper when my grandparents were raising their children, there were also just fewer expenses. Among all eight of their combined children, only one went to college, and that was for just one semester. Each family only had one car. Each family only had one TV, and they didn’t pay for cable until the early 1990s. The airwave signals were free. Each house had a single, land line phone. None of my grandparents ever had a credit card. The only things they bought on credit were their houses and cars.

About two hours ago, I gave my son my credit card so he could by a $2.50 Gatorade from a vending machine. My grandparents would be mortified about everything in that transaction.

I understand why so many young people feel like they’re getting cheated by this economy. They are. Who is cheating them, and why, and how to fix it, are where I disagree with many of them. But yes, I do agree that they have a much, much steeper mountain to climb to get to the same summit that my grandparents (their great-grandparents’ generation) seemed to have handed to them.

Respect

Are squids smart enough to be pets?

They are plenty smart enough, but they make terrible pets. You see, squid are what we call pelagic critters, meaning they spend most of their time in open water, away from the sea floor or any other features. They like lots and lots of water around them.

Their primary escape mechanism is to simply jet away into the abyss at Squid Warp Speed. It is so fast you literally cannot see it.

My bride and I met on a squid study, which involved a lot of laying in the water on snorkel and hand recording everything the individual squid did. One morning we were watching our usual flotilla of Sepioteuthis (Caribbean Reef Squid) and scrawling their antics on our slates.

And then, *blink.* They were gone. All 17 squid just vanished at once. We knew what happened, of course, but not why. We looked at each other and shrugged our shoulders. Bonaire, the Caribbean island in the Dutch Antilles where the study took place, has extremely clear water. We could see easily 100 feet in all directions, but could not identify what spooked the squid. We were very sure it wasn’t us. Since we had been studying this particular school for weeks, the squid were extremely used to people by now.

Then, slowly out of the haze, a large barracuda cruised into view from the East, about 80 feet away. We could not even guess how the squid knew so quick, but they knew a big predator was moving in, and they Got Out Of Town by jetting away so fast (and far) we could not even keep track. The squid didn’t even bother shooting ink. They just disappeared.

This is why you cannot keep squid easily in captivity. They have had over 500 million years to develop this explosive escape strategy and, being prey for almost every predator in the ocean means they react to almost anything. Since invisible walls have never existed in nature, they cannot understand glass and don’t adapt to aquariums. At the slightest provocation, captive squid panic and try to blast away to safety, but they wind up slamming into the aquarium walls over and over and injuring themselves grievously.

Squid researchers have had mixed success with soft-sides inflatable pools as well as ring-shaped enclosures, but these critters do best out in open water.

On the other hand, octopuses do make excellent, if short lived, pets.

Please call the police

Angel Shot Straight Up/Neat is code for, “I need an escort to my car.”

Angel Shot on Ice/on the Rocks is code for, “Please call a taxi/Uber/Lyft for me.”

Angel Shot with a Twist/Lemon/Lime is code for, “I am in immediate danger. Please call the police.”

How can China brace for economic sanctions by the West in case it “reunites” with Taiwan militarily and not end up economically isolated like Russia?

Build more of these.

main qimg 48c6d17f2eadc8bc36f00d981ce05414 lq

A nuclear exchange is at this point all but INEVITABLE.

What we need is to massively increase our nuclear bombs and missile systems.

Right now we have 5–600 bombs. That means we have to be selective about the cities we hit.

But with 1000 we can hit even smaller cities.

The white supremacists have literally parked a SSBN in Korea to do this.

We need a massive counter strike ability to take the white supremacists to hell with us. They can die in nuclear fires along with us.

Liberals will say but I don’t want nuclear war. Well the Nuclear Taboo is a myth.

Nooooo!

Did any Chinese people successfully escape from being captured by Xiongnu/Hunnic raiders during their raids on China in history?

This Chinese man was Zhang Qian.

In 139 B.C., Zhang Qian set out on a westward journey with his interpreter and an escort of about 100 men. But just as they entered the Hexi Corridor, they were bumped into by Xiongnu cavalry. After a battle, all the others were killed in battle, and only Zhang Qian and the interpreter, who did not take part in the battle, survived. Zhang Qian and his interpreter survived.

The two did not resist, and were escorted by the Huns’ cavalry from the Hexi Corridor to the King’s Court of the Xiongnu, a distance of more than 1,000 kilometers. The Xiongnu Chanyu also wanted to get information about the Han Dynasty from Zhang Qian, so he actively instigated him to rebel and even arranged for a high-status Xiongnu noblewoman to marry him.

Zhang Qian had been single for almost 30 years and readily accepted the kindness of the Xiongnu Chanyu, but he still did not leak any information about the Han Dynasty. Not only that, Zhang Qian also secretly mastered a lot of information about the Huns while living in the Xiongnu’ territory.

After ten years of this kind of life, Zhang Qian managed to escape with the help of his Xiongnu wife. However, he was captured by the Hun cavalry for the second time shortly after his escape.

The second time was in 128 B.C. Zhang Qian wanted to return to Chang’an. This time he deliberately avoided the sphere of influence of the Xiongnu people, but he was really unlucky and was caught by the Xiongnu people once again. Zhang Qian had already given up hope, but to his surprise, he was rescued by the Xiongnu woman again and escaped. This time Zhang Qian took her back to Chang’an.

In 126 BC, Zhang Qian, his Hun wife, son, and translator returned to Chang’an after an absence of thirteen years.

Upon his return, Emperor Wu of the Han Dynasty made him Marquis of Bowang for his military service.

Although Zhang Qian was promoted, his Xiongnu wife who had made great contributions to him died of illness after one year in Chang’an because she was not adapted to the environment.

I guess Zhang Qian was a handsome man and his Xiongnu wife loved him wholeheartedly and even betrayed the Xiongnu Chanyu.

Funny and Cute

Are there any other countries besides North Korea with authoritarian or totalitarian governments? Are countries like China and Cuba considered communist?

Sunak, Biden and the western nations are authoritarian too, just that you are blinded by their authoritarianism! They are against the wishes of their people. Their people don’t want to murder women and Children all over the world. Their people are forced to listen only to western media in Ukraine! The want the truth but they are fed lies upon lies. Their people want their governments to focus on their own country and their own people but millions are left homeless and without medical care.

I’ve had enough

What’s the fastest you’ve wiped a smirk off of someone’s face?

She’s on drugs and rude

What is the most condescending advice you received from someone who assumed you were poorer or less educated than them?

I had finished scraping the bottom of my boat and decided to have a shower at the clubhouse. Scraping bottom paint must be the dirtiest job in the world (potentially dangerous to your health without proper clothing and a respirator) and I was utterly filthy. As I walked up to the clubhouse, a guy in his mid-forties, a new member it turns out, told me I was not allowed in the “club,” as “no labourers allowed”. I laughed in his face and kindly told him to fuck off. He then told me he was getting the Commodore and that I would be barred from working at this club again. I said good luck with that and again told him to fuck off. When I finished up in the shower, I went to the wardroom to meet my wife and to have a beer. This guy was in the wardroom talking to the Commodore when I came in. When he saw me he said to the Commodore that I was a disrespectful shit and that I should be blackballed from the club. The Commodore said that I might be a shit, but I was a member in good standing and it would look bad if she tried to blackball her husband.

AI learning

Which country has superior products between Japan and China?

Depends on the Products in Question

Let’s see where Japan leads and dominates over China :-

Refrigeration
Cameras & Lenses
Petrol Engines
Industrial Robots
Hybrid Vehicles

Japanese Exports are primarily in these industries.

Japan has the best quality products in the world in these categories

Let’s see where China leads and dominates over Japan:-

Shipbuilding
Railroads & Electrified Railway Design and manufacture
Infrastructure Steel & Equipment & High Machinery
Television LCD Panels
High Efficiency (> 25%) Solar Panels
NEV Batteries & Integrated Platforms
New Energy Vehicles
Deep Core Gas Drilling Equipment
Data Centers
Windmill & Wind Turbines

Chinese Exports are primarily in these Industries

China has the best quality products in the world in these categories

Then you have areas where both Japan and China are not yet on par with global (western standards) :-

Advanced Lenses (Germany)
Advanced Chips (US, Europe, Korea)
Advanced Computing (US)
Diesel Engines (Germany)
Aviation Components (Europe, US)
Pharmaceuticals (Switzerland, US, France)

In these areas, neither Japan nor China have the quality of their Western counterparts

These form a huge chunk of Chinas Imports and Japans imports

The West is completely fucked up

Iowa Spaghetti Sauce

When we were young, we looked forward to visiting my Aunt Anita in Muscatine, Iowa. She always had this ready for us when we arrived. We fought over the mushrooms, so over time, she added up to three times the amount of mushrooms called for!

Ingredients

3 or 4 cloves garlic
2 pounds ground beef
1 large onion, finely chopped
3 (15 ounce) cans tomato sauce
1/4 cup cider vinegar
1/3 cup brown sugar
2 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce
1/4 teaspoon cloves
1/2 teaspoon ground allspice
1 cup finely chopped celery
Salt, to taste
1 large can mushrooms, drained

Instructions

Brown garlic in 1 tablespoon salad oil; discard garlic. Add ground meat and salt, 1/2 cup water and cook.
When the meat is half done, add the onions and cook until done.
Add the remaining ingredients, except the mushrooms, and cook until thick, about 1 1/2 to 2 hours.
Add mushrooms when thick.
Serve over spaghetti!

It takes it

Former prisoners: What should a person not write in a letter from home? What type of stuff was not helpful to your psyche?

Let ‘er rip baby! Fire away! Don’t hold back.

Don’t hold anything back. The hardest letters in prison were the ones I didn’t get.

Maybe you don’t want to write to me because you’re angry. I did something stupid, got my dumb ass tossed in the cooler, and you’re livid.

There-is-no-better-time-to-write!

I’m a sitting duck! I’ve got nothing better to do than read your letter. I’ll read it again and again! Write out your rant, become my personal troll, and flame on old-school from afar. You might have six months worth of rage pent up, waiting to be unleashed on the page. Get it off your chest. Toss open the hatches and let loose whatever foul demons you’ve been harboring below deck. Let me know the full depth and breadth of your wrath.

I would much rather deal with this now through letters than during our first face to face encounter years later. We can discuss everything, get to the heart of it, and maybe even move on.

Has a loved one of mine passed on? Are you afraid that telling me will break my heart? If I go years without getting a letter from that person, that will break my heart. I’ll wonder on a daily basis why mom doesn’t write anymore. Then on that day when I’m finally released, a day meant to be full of hope and new beginnings, you finally hit me with the bad news?

No thanks. Tell me now. Toll that bell and let me grieve here in this hell hole in my own time and way.

Some of the hardest time I did was when it was clear that my girlfriend was breaking up with me. She stopped writing, stopped answering phone calls, stopped caring.

I knew what was happening, but without her black and white confirmation, it was a glacial band-aid ripping — it lasted months. A simple letter could’ve put it to a swift and final conclusion. I wouldn’t have gotten out two years later wondering, “Where is everyone?”

What subjects should you avoid? None.

Don’t waste any time worrying about my psyche. I’m a big enough boy to find my way into prison. Your letters aren’t going to push me over the edge, but maybe they’ll push us closer together.

Young men are turning their backs on women in record numbers

The is the reality right now. Gen-Z. People are not meant to be living alone. Thank you “WOKE” society.

Pope Tells Ukraine: Wave the White Flag . . .

World Hal Turner 09 March 2024

Pope Francis was asked what he would tell Ukraine President Zelensky and his response was succinct: Surrender, you’re defeated.

Of course, His Holiness put it more gracefully. His exact words were:

"I think that the strongest one is the one who looks at the situation, thinks about the people, and has the courage of the white flag and negotiates. The word negotiate is a courageous word. When you see that you are defeated, that things are not going well. you have to have the courage to negotiate."

Meanwhile, Emmanuel Macron, president of France, is beating the war drums for NATO entry into the Ukraine-Russia conflict. He continues to push the suicidal notion of NATO countries sending troops in to fight alongside Ukraine, despite being repeatedly warned NATO entry into that conflict would result in a “war the no one will win.” That is to say, a nuclear war.

Macron just today began mobilizing trainloads of French Armor, including tanks, heading east for Ukraine. Video below shows one such train:

“It’s on, Putin! You pissed off Macron” pic.twitter.com/lQsctelkcp

— What the media hides. (@narrative_hole) March 9, 2024

Moreover, French troops are preparing for a high-intensity conflict against an enemy who can match them with firepower — a big change for an army that’s spent the past decades fighting counterinsurgency campaigns in places like Mali and Afghanistan.

The hostilities in Ukraine, in their third year, have brought full-scale war back to the Continent, said Colonel Axel Denis, who runs the combat training center (CENTAC) at Mailly-le-camp in eastern France.

“The world has revealed its true nature: unstable, dangerous, and not everyone is a friend. We’re gearing up for a culture of alert, of being ready at short notice,” he told POLITICO during a visit to the camp. “CENTAC is the only place [in France] where you can see what war is like.”

Conditions for the troops training at CENTAC are as close as possible to an actual battlefield. The sound, heat and light of artillery fire is reproduced, while fake mines are scattered everywhere, and radio communications can be interrupted without notice.

History shows that the last time the French went into Russia, under Napoleon Bonaparte, they lost 650,000 soldiers. Their bones were left to disintegrate in Russia.

Those who do not learn from history, seem doomed to repeat it.

What is your best “one time my dad … ” story?

One time I was working on my car. I was lying on my back under the engine but I was quite safe as I had raised the car on proper axle stands before removing the front wheels. To be even safer I had chosen to work on the engine with the car parked in the street as it was flat and horizontal. Our driveway was at an angle.

Dad was standing at the front of the car leaning under the bonnet (hood) and directing operations. It was a good time working with my dad.

One of our neighbours arrived and made a complete bodge of parking. He hit my car very slowly with his bumper. No damage to either car but the impact was enough to rock my car forward. The forward motion was enough to cause my car to roll off the axle stands. As the front wheels had been removed the whole weight of the engine descended on my chest.

Dad anticipated what would happen. As soon as the car began to move he grabbed the front bumper with one hand and my legs with the other hand. My father is not a big man. He was 5′-10″ but fairly heavily built. He lifted the front of a Ford Cortina with one hand while pulling me out from underneath with the other.

As far as I was concerned he earned another gold star when he dropped the car and dragged our neighbour from his car and slugged him on the jaw. As he fell, out cold, I will always remember Dad shouting,

“You could have killed MY SON.”

That “my son” was golden.

Jesus!

The Gentle Earth by Christopher Anvil (full text)

The Gentle Earth
by Christopher Anvil

Preface by Eric Flint

It was hard to pick a specific Christopher Anvil story for this anthology. His most famous single story is "Pandora's Planet," which first appeared in the September 1956 issue of Astounding magazine; his best-known series of stories, the multitude of Interstellar Patrol stories which appeared in Astounding throughout the '60s. We could have easily chosen from any of them.

But . . . well . . .

For starters, my innate frugality—ignore what my wife says—rebelled at the notion. With me serving as editor of the project, Baen Books has already reissued the entire "Pandora's Planet" sequence and is in the process of reissuing in three volumes all the stories Anvil wrote in his Colonization setting, which includes all the Interstellar Patrol stories. To include one of those in this anthology just seemed a little wasteful.

Beyond that, however, as it happens my first encounter with the writing of Christopher Anvil wasn't any of those stories anyway. I first ran into Anvil in one of those marvelous epistolary tales that he did so well, and which so few writers can handle properly. (For those of you who are literarily challenged, an "epistolary tale" is a story told in the form of correspondence; usually letters, but sometimes—Anvil was especially good at this—in the form of telegraph-like exchanges.)

So I thought of including that story. The problem then became . . .

I couldn't remember which story I'd first read as a teenager. It might have been "The Prisoner" . . . no, maybe it was "Trial by Silk" . . . on the other hand, it could have been "Bill For Delivery" . . . then again, it could have been "Revolt!" too . . .

Finally, I whined to Jim and Dave about my quandary. Jim pondered the matter for a bit, in his best Sagacious Publisher style. (He does that quite well. Of course, he also does Curmudgeon Editor quite well, too.)

"Let's go with 'The Gentle Earth,'" he said. "It's classic Anvil, it's a lot of fun—and it had one of those great Kelly Freas cover illustrations when it first came out in Astounding."

Bingo.

Tlasht Bade, Supreme Commander of Invasion Forces, drew thoughtfully on his slim cigar. “The scouts are all back?”

Sission Runckel, Chief of the Supreme Commander’s Staff, nodded. “They all got back safely, though one or two had difficulties with some of the lower life forms.”

“Is the climate all right?”

Runckel abstractedly reached in his tunic, and pulled out a thing like a short piece of tarred rope. As he trimmed it, he scowled. “There’s some discomfort, apparently because the air is too dry. But on the other hand, there’s plenty of oxygen near the planet’s surface, and the gravity’s about the same as it is back home. We can live there.”

Bade glanced across the room at a large blue, green, and brown globe, with irregular patches of white at top and bottom. “What are the white areas?”

“Apparently, chalk. One of our scouts landed there, but he’s in practically a state of shock. The brilliant reflectivity in the area blinded him, a huge white furry animal attacked him, and he barely got out alive. To cap it all, his ship’s insulation apparently broke down on the way back, and now he’s in the sick bay with a bad case of space-gripe. All we can get out of him is that he had severe prickling sensations in the feet when he stepped out onto the chalk dust. Probably a pile of little spiny shells.”

“Did he bring back a sample?”

“He claims he did. But there’s only water in his sample box. I imagine he was delirious. In any case, this part of the planet has little to interest us.”

Bade nodded. “What about the more populous regions?”

“Just as we thought. A huge web of interconnecting cities, manufacturing centers, and rural areas. Our mapping procedures have proved to be accurate.”

“That’s a relief. What about the natives?”

“Erect, land-dwelling, ill-tempered bipeds,” said Runckel. “They seem to have little or no planet-wide unity. Of course, we have large samplings of their communications media. When these are all analyzed, we’ll know a lot more.”

“What do they look like?”

“They’re pink or brown in color, quite tall, but not very broad or thick through the chest. A little fur here and there on their bodies. No webs on their hands or feet, and their feet are fantastically small. Otherwise, they look quite human.”

“Their technology?”

Runckel sucked in a deep breath and sat up straight. “Every bit as bad as we thought.” He picked up a little box with two stiff handles, squeezed the handles hard, and touched a glowing wire on the box to his piece of black rope. He puffed violently.

Bade turned up the air-conditioning. Billowing clouds of smoke drew away from Runckel in long streamers, so that he looked like an island looming through heavy mist. His brow was creased in a foreboding scowl.

“Technologically,” he said, “they are deadly. They’ve got fission and fusion, indirect molecular and atomic reaction control, and a long-reaching development of electron flow and pulsing devices. So far, they don’t seem to have anything based on deep rearrangement or keyed focusing. But who knows when they’ll stumble on that? And then what? Even now, properly warned and ready they could give us a terrible struggle.”
* * *

Runckel knocked a clinker off his length of rope and looked at Bade with the tentative, judging air of one who is not quite sure of another’s reliability. Then he said, loudly and with great firmness, “We have a lot to be thankful for. Another five or ten decades delay getting the watchships up through the cloud layer, and they’d have had us by the throat. We’ve got to smash them before they’re ready, or we’ll end up as their colony.”

Bade’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve always opposed this invasion on philosophical grounds. But it’s been argued and settled. I’m willing to go along with the majority opinion.” Bade rapped the ash off his slender cigar and looked Runckel directly in the eyes. “But if you want to open the whole argument up all over again—”

“No,” said Runckel, breathing out a heavy cloud of smoke. “But our micromapping and radiation analysis shows a terrific rate of progress. It’s hard to look at those figures and even breathe normally. They’re gaining on us like a shark after a minnow.”

“In that case,” said Bade, “let’s wake up and hold our lead. This business of attacking the suspect before he has a chance to commit a crime is no answer. What about all the other planets in the universe? How do we know what they might do some day?”

“This planet is right beside us!”

“Is murder honorable as long as you do it only to your neighbor? Your argument is self-defense. But you’re straining it.”

“Let it strain, then,” said Runckel angrily. “All I care about is that chart showing our comparative levels of development. Now we have the lead. I say, drag them out by their necks and let them submit, or we’ll thrust their heads underwater and have done with them. And anyone who says otherwise is a doubtful patriot!”

Bade’s teeth clamped, and he set his cigar carefully on a tray.

Runckel blinked, as if he only appreciated what he had said by its echo.

Bade’s glance moved over Runckel deliberately, as if stripping away the emblems and insignia. Then Bade opened the bottom drawer of his desk, and pulled out a pad of dun-colored official forms. As he straightened, his glance caught the motto printed large on the base of the big globe. The motto had been used so often in the struggle to decide the question of invasion that Bade seldom noticed it any more. But now he looked at it. The motto read:

Them Or Us

Bade stared at it for a long moment, looked up at the globe that represented the mighty planet, then down at the puny motto. He glanced at Runckel, who looked back dully but squarely. Bade glanced at the motto, shook his head in disgust, and said, “Go get me the latest reports.”

Runckel blinked. “Yes, sir,” he said, and hurried out.

Bade leaned forward, ignored the motto, and thoughtfully studied the globe.
* * *

Bade read the reports carefully. Most of them, he noted, contained a qualification. In the scientific reports, this generally appeared at the end:

” . . . Owing to the brief time available for these observations, the conclusions presented herein must be regarded as only provisional in character.”

In the reports of the scouts, this reservation was usually presented in bits and pieces:

” . . . And this thing, that looked like a tiny crab, had a pair of pincers on one end, and I didn’t have time to see if this was the end it got me with, or if it was the other end. But I got a jolt as if somebody squeezed a lighter and held the red-hot wire against my leg. Then I got dizzy and sick to my stomach. I don’t know for sure if this was what did it, or if there are many of them, but if there are, and if it did, I don’t see how a man could fight a war and not be stung to death when he wasn’t looking. But I wasn’t there long enough to be sure . . .”

Another report spoke of a “Crawling army of little six-legged things with a set of oversize jaws on one end, that came swarming through the shrubbery straight for the ship, went right up the side and set to work eating away the superplast binder around the viewport. With that gone, the ship would leak air like a fishnet. But when I tried to clear them away, they started in on me. I don’t know if this really proves anything, because Rufft landed not too far away, and he swears the place was like a paradise. Nevertheless, I have to report that I merely set my foot on the ground, and I almost got marooned and eaten up right on the spot.”

Bade was particularly uneasy over reports of a vague respiratory difficulty some of the scouts noticed in the region where the first landings were planned. Bade commented on it, and Runckel nodded.

“I know,” said Runckel. “The air’s too dry. But if we take time to try to provide for that, at the same time they may make some new advance that will more than nullify whatever we gain. And right now their communications media show a political situation that fits right in with our plans. We can’t hope for that to last forever.”

Bade listened as Runckel described a situation like that of a dozen hungry sharks swimming in a circle, each getting its jaws open for a snap at the next one’s tail. Then Runckel described his plan.

At the end, Bade said, “Yes, it may work out as you say. But listen, Runckel, isn’t this a little too much like one of those whirlpools in the Treacherous Islands? If everything works out, you go through in a flash. But one wrong guess, and you go around and around and around and around and you’re lucky if you get out with a whole skin.”

Runckel’s jaw set firmly. “This is the only way to get a clear-cut decision.”

Bade studied the far wall of the room for a moment. “I’m sorry I didn’t get a hand at these plans sooner.”

“Sir,” said Runckel, “You would have, if you hadn’t been so busy fighting the whole idea.” He hesitated, then asked, “Will you be coming to the staff review of plans?”

“Certainly,” said Bade.

“Good,” said Runckel. “You’ll see that we have it all worked to perfection.”
* * *

Bade went to the review of plans and listened as the details were gone over minutely. At the end, Runckel gave an overall summary:

“The Colony Planet,” he said, rapping a pointer on maps of four hemispheric views, “is only seventy-five percent water, so the land areas are immense. The chief land masses are largely dominated by two hostile power groups, which we may call East and West. At the fringes of influence of these power groups live a vast mass of people not firmly allied to either.

“The territory of this uncommitted group is well suited to our purposes. It contains many pleasant islands and comfortable seas. Unfortunately, analysis shows that the dangerous military power groups will unite against us if we seize this territory directly. To avoid this, we will act to stun and divide them at one stroke.”

Runckel rapped his pointer on a land area lettered “North America,” and said, “On this land mass is situated a politico-economic unit known as the U.S. The U.S. is the dominant power both in the Western Hemisphere and in the West power group. It is surrounded by wide seas that separate it from its allies.

“Our plan is simple and direct. We will attack and seize the central plain of the U.S. This will split it into helpless fragments, any one of which we may crush at will. The loss of the U.S. will, of course, destroy the power balance between East and West. The East will immediately seize the scraps of Western power and influence all over the globe.

“During this period of disorder, we will set up our key-tool factories and a light-duty forceway network. In rapid stages will then come ore-converters, staging plants, fabricators, heavy-duty forceway stations and self-operated production units. With these last we will produce energy-conversion units and storage piles by the million in a network to blanket the occupied area. The linkage produced will power our damper units to blot out missile attacks that may now begin in earnest.

“We will thus be solidly established on the planet itself. Our base will be secure against attack. We will now turn our energies to the destruction of the U.S.S.R. as a military power.” He reached out with his pointer to rap a new land mass.

“The U.S.S.R. is the dominant power of the East power group. This will by now be the only hostile power group remaining on the planet. It will be destroyed in stages.

“In Stage I we will confuse the U.S.S.R. by propaganda. We will profess friendship while we secretly multiply our productive facilities to the highest possible degree.

“In Stage II, we will seize and fortify the western and northern islands of Britain, Novaya Zemlya, and New Siberia. We will also seize and heavily fortify the Kamchatka Peninsula in the extreme eastern U.S.S.R. We will now demand that the U.S.S.R. lay down its arms and surrender.

“In the event of refusal, we will, from our fortified bases, destroy by missile attack all productive facilities and communication centers in the U.S.S.R. The resulting paralysis will bring down the East power group in ruins. The planet will now lay open before us.”

Runckel looked at each of his listeners in turn.

“Everything has been done to make this invasion a success. To crush out any possible miscalculation, we are moving with massive reserves close behind us. Certain glory and a mighty victory await us.

“Let us raise our heads in prayer, then join in the Oath of Battle.”
* * *

The first wave of the attack came down like an avalanche on the central U.S. Multiple transmitters went into action to throw local radar stations into confusion. Stull-gas missiles streaked from the landing ships to explode over nearby cities. Atmospheric flyers roared off to intercept possible enemy attacks. A stream of guns, tanks, and troop carriers rolled down the landing ways and fanned out to seize enemy power plants and communications centers.

The commander of the first wave reported: “Everything proceeding according to plan. Enemy resistance negligible.”

Runckel ordered the second wave down.

Bade, watching it on a number of giant viewscreens in the operations room of a ship coming down, had a peculiar feeling of numbness, such as might follow a deep cut before the pain is felt.

Runckel, his face intense, said: “Their position is hopeless. The main landing site is secure and the rest will come faster than the eye can see.” He turned to speak into one of a bank of microphones, then said, “Our glider missiles are circling over their capital.”

A loud-speaker high on the wall said, “Landing minus three. Take your stations, please.”

The angle of vision of one of the viewscreens tilted suddenly, to show a high, dome-topped building set in a city filled with rushing beetle shapes—obviously ground-cars of some type. Abruptly these cars all pulled to the sides of the streets.

“That,” said Runckel grimly, “means their capital is out of business.”

The picture on the viewscreen blurred suddenly, like the reflection from water ruffled by a breeze. There was a clang like a ten-ton hammer hitting a twenty-ton gong. Walls, floor, and ceiling of the room danced and vibrated. Two of the viewscreens went blank.

Bade felt a prickling sensation travel across his shoulders and down his back. He glanced sharply at Runckel.

Runckel’s expression looked startled but firm. He reached out and snapped orders into one of his microphones.

There was an intense, high-pitched ringing, then a clap like a nuclear cannon of six paces distance.

The wall loud-speaker said, “Landing minus two.”

An intense silence descended on the room. One by one, the viewscreens flickered on. Bade heard Runckel say, “The ship is totally damped. They haven’t anything that can get through it.”

There was a dull, low-pitched thud, a sense of being snapped like a whip, and the screens went blank. The wall loud-speaker dropped, and jerked to a stop, hanging by its cord.

Then the ship set down.
* * *

Runckel’s plan assumed that the swift-moving advance from the landing site would overrun a sizable territory during the first day. With this maneuvering space quickly gained, the landing site itself would be safe from enemy ground attack by dawn of the second day.

Now that they were down, however, Bade and Runckel looked at the operations room’s big viewscreen, and saw their vehicles standing still all over the landscape. The troops crowded about the rear of the vehicles to watch cursing drivers pull the motors up out of their housings and spread them out on the ground. Here and there a stern officer argued with grim-faced troops who stared stonily ahead as if they didn’t hear. Meanwhile, the tanks, trucks, and weapons carriers stood motionless.

Runckel, infuriated, had a cluster of microphones gripped in his hand, and was pronouncing death by strangling and decapitation on any officer who failed to get his unit in motion right away.

Bade studied the baffled expressions on the faces of the drivers, then glanced at the enemy ground-cars abandoned at the side of the road. He turned to see a tall officer with general’s insignia stagger through the doorway and grip Runckel by the arm. Bade recognized Rast, General Forces Commander.

“Sir,” said Rast, “it can’t be done.”

“It has to be done,” said Runckel grimly. “So far we’ve decoyed the enemy missiles to a false site. Before they spot us again, those troops have got to be spread out!”

“They won’t ride in the vehicles!”

“It’s that or get killed!”

“Sir,” said Rast, “you don’t understand. I came back here in a gun carrier. To start with, the driver jammed the speed lever all the way to the front shield, and nothing happened. He got up to see what was wrong. The carrier shot ahead with a flying leap, threw the driver into the back, and almost snapped our heads off. Then it coasted to a stop. We pulled ourselves together and turned around to get the cover off the motor box.

“Wham! The carrier took off, ripped the cover out of our hands, threw us against the rear shield and knocked us senseless. Then it rolled to a stop.

“That’s how we got here. Jump! Roll. Stop. Wait. Jump! Roll. Stop. Wait. On one of those jumps, the gun went out the back of the carrier, mount, bolts, and all. The driver swore he’d turn off the motor, and fangjaw take the planet and the whole invasion. We aren’t going to win a war with troops in that frame of mind.”

Runckel took a deep breath.

Bade said, “What about the enemy’s ground-cars? Will they run?”

Rast blinked. “I don’t know. Maybe—”

Bade snapped on a microphone lettered “Aerial Rec.” A little screen in a half-circle atop the microphone lit up to show an alert, harried-looking officer. Bade said, “You’ve noticed our vehicles are stopped?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Were the enemy’s ground-cars affected at the same time as ours?”

“No sir, they were still moving after ours were stuck.”

“Any motor trouble in Atmospheric Flyer Command?”

“None that I know of, sir.”

Bade glanced at Rast. “Try using the enemy ground-cars. Meanwhile, get the troops you can’t move back under cover of the ships’ dampers.”

Rast saluted, whirled, and went out at a staggering run.

Bade called Atmospheric Flyer Command, and Ground Forces Maintenance, and arranged for the captured enemy vehicles to be identified by a large yellow X painted across the top of the hood. Then he turned to Runckel and said, “We’re going to need all the support we can get. See if we can bring Landing Force 2 down late today instead of tomorrow.”

“I’ll try,” said Runckel.
* * *

It seemed to Bade that the events of the next twenty-four hours unrolled like the scenes of a nightmare.

Before the troops were all under cover, an enemy reconnaissance aircraft leaked in very high overhead. The detector screens of Atmospheric Flyer Command were promptly choked with enemy aircraft coming in low and fast from all directions.

These aircraft were of all types. Some heaved their bombs in under-hand, barreled over and streaked home for another load. Others were flying hives of anti-aircraft missiles. A third type were suicide bombers or winged missiles; these roared in head-on and blew up on arrival.

While the dampers labored and overheated, and Flyer Command struggled with enemy fighters and bombers overhead, a long-range reconnaissance flyer spotted a sizable convoy of enemy ground forces rushing up from the southwest.

Bade and Runckel concentrated first on living through the air attack. It soon developed that the enemy planes, though extremely fast, were not very maneuverable. The enemy’s missiles did not quite overload the dampers. The afternoon wore on in an explosive violence that was severe, but barely endurable. It began to seem that they might live through it.

Toward evening, however, a small enemy missile streaked in on the end of a wire and smashed the grid of an auxiliary damper unit. Before this unit could be repaired, a heavy missile came down near the same place, and overloaded the damper network. Another missile streaked in. One of the ships tilted, and fell headlong. The engines of this ship were ripped out of the circuit that powered the dampers. With the next enemy missile strike, another ship was heaved off its base. This ship housed a large proportion of Flyer Command’s detector screens.

Bade and Runckel looked at each other. Bade’s lips moved, and he heard himself say, “Prepare to evacuate.”

At this moment, the enemy attack let up.
* * *

It took an instant for Bade to realize what had happened. He canceled his evacuation order before it could be transmitted, then had the two thrown ships linked back into the power circuit. He turned around, and his glance fell on one of the viewscreens showing the shadowy plain outside. A brilliant flash lit the screen, and he saw dark low shapes rushing in toward the ships. Bade immediately gave orders to defend against ground attack, but not to pursue beyond range of the dampers.

A savage, half-lit struggle developed. The enemy, whose weapons failed to work in range of the dampers, attacked with bayonets, and used guns, shovels, and picks in the manner of clubs and battle axes. In a spasm of bloody violence they fought their way in among the ships, then, confused in the dimness, were thrown back with heavy losses. As night settled down, the enemy dug in to make a fortified ring close around the landing site.

The enemy missile attack failed to recover its former violence.

Bade gave silent thanks for the deliverance. As the comparative quiet continued, it seemed clear that the enemy high command was holding back to avoid hitting their own men dug in nearby.

It occurred to Bade that now might be a good time to get a little sleep. He turned to go to his cot, and there was a rush of yellow dots on Flyer Command’s pilot screen. As he stared wide-eyed, auxiliary screens flickered on and off to show a ghostly dish-shaped object that led his flyers on a wild chase all over the sky, then vanished at an estimated speed twenty times that the enemy planes were thought capable of doing.

Runckel said, “Landing Force 2 can get here at early dawn. That’s the best we can manage.”

Bade nodded dully.

The ground screens now lit in brilliant flashes as the enemy began firing monster rockets at practically point-blank range.

Night passed in a continuous bombardment.

At early dawn of the next day, Bade put in all his remaining missiles, and bomber and interceptor flyers. For a brief interval of time, the enemy bombardment was smothered.

Landing force 2 sat down beside Landing Force 1.

Bade ordered the Stull-gas missiles of Landing Force 2 exploded over the enemy ground troops. In the resulting confusion, the ground forces moved out and captured large numbers of enemy troops, weapons, and vehicles. The captured vehicles were marked and promptly put to use.

Bade spoke briefly with General Rast, commanding the ground forces.

“Now’s your chance,” said Bade. “Move fast and we can capture supplies and reinforcements flowing in, before they realize we’ve broken their ring.”

Under the protection of the flyers of Landing Force 2, Rast’s troops swung out onto the central plain of the North American continent.
* * *

The advance moved fast. Enemy troops and supply convoys were caught off guard on the road. When the enemy fought, his resistance was patchy and confused.

Bade, feeling drugged from lack of sleep, lay down on his cot for a nap. He awoke feeling fuzzy-brained and dull.

“They’re whipped,” said Runckel gleefully. “We’ve got back the time we lost yesterday. There’s no resistance to speak of. And we’ve just made a treaty with the East bloc.”

Bade sat up dizzily. “That’s wonderful,” he said. He glanced at the clock. “Why wasn’t I called sooner?”

“No need,” said Runckel. “It’s all just a matter of form. Landing Force 3 is coming down tonight. The war’s over.” Runckel’s face, as he said this, had a peculiar shine.

Bade frowned. “Isn’t the enemy making any reaction at all?”

“Nothing worth mentioning. We’re driving them ahead of us like a school of minnows.”

Bade got to his feet uneasily. “It can’t be this simple.” He stepped out into the operations room and detected unmistakable signs of holiday jubilation. Nearly everyone was grinning, and gawkers were standing in a thick ring before the screen showing the map room’s latest plot.

Bade said sharply, “Don’t these men have anything to do?” His voice carried across the room with the effect of a shark surfacing in the midst of a ladies’ swimming party. Several of the men at the map jumped. Others glanced around jerkily. There was a concerted bumping of elbows, and the ring of gawkers evaporated briskly in all directions. In every part of the room there was abruptly something approaching a businesslike atmosphere.

Bade looked around angrily and sat down at his desk. Then he saw the map. He squeezed his eyes shut, then looked again.

In the center of the map of North America was a big blot, as if a bottle of red ink had been thrown at it. Bade turned to Runckel and asked harshly, “Is that map correct?”

“Absolutely,” said Runckel, his face shining with satisfaction.

Bade looked back at the map and performed a series of rapid calculations. He glanced at the viewscreens, and saw that those which would normally show the advanced ground troops weren’t in use. This, he supposed, meant that the advance had outrun the technical crews.

Bade snapped on a microphone lettered “Supply, Ground.” In the half-circle atop the microphone appeared an officer in the last stage of sleepless exhaustion. The officer’s eyes twitched, and his skin had a drawn dull look. His head was slumped on his hand.

“Supply?” said Bade in alarm.

“Sorry,” mumbled the officer, “we can’t do it. We’re overstretched already. Try Flyer Command. Maybe they’ll parachute it to you.”

Bade switched off, and glanced at the map again. He turned to Runckel. “Listen, what are we using for transport?”

“The enemy ground-cars.”

“Fast, aren’t they?”

Runckel smiled cheerfully. “They are built for speed. Rast grabbed a whole fleet of them to start with, and they’ve worked fine ever since. A few wrecks, some bad cases of kinkfoot, but that’s all.”

“What the devil is ‘kinkfoot’?”

“Well, the enemy have tiny feet with little toes and no webs at all. Some of their ground-car controls are on the floor. There just isn’t much space so our men’s feet get cramped. It’s just a mild irritation.” Runckel smiled vaguely. “Nothing to worry about.”

Bade squinted hard at Runckel. “What’s Supply using for transport?”

“Steam trucks, of course.”

“Do they work all right, or do they jump?”

Runckel smiled dreamily. “They work fine.”

Bade snapped on the Supply microphone. The same weary officer appeared, his head in his hands, and mumbled, “Sorry. We’re overloaded. Try Flyer Command.”

Bade said angrily, “Wake up a minute.”

The man raised his head, blinked at Bade, then straightened as if hauled by the back of the collar.

“Sir?”

“What’s the overall supply picture?”

“Sir, it’s awful. Terrible.”

“What’s the matter?”

“The advance is so fast, and the units are all mixed up, and when we get to a place, they’ve already pulled out. Worse yet, the steam trucks—” He hesitated, as if afraid to go on.

“Speak up,” snapped Bade. “What’s wrong with the trucks? Is it the engines? Fuel? Running gear? What is it?”

“It’s . . . the water, sir.”

“The water?”

“Sir, there’s that constant loss of steam out the exhaust. At home, we just throw a few more buckets of water in the tank and go on. But here—”

“Oh,” said Bade, the situation dawning on him.

“But around here, sir,” said the officer, “they’ve had something called a ‘severe drought.’ The streams are dry.”

“Can you dig down?”

“Sir, at best there’s just muck. We know there’s water here somewhere, but meanwhile our trucks are stalled all over the country with the men dug down out of sight, and the natives standing around shaking their heads, and sure, there’s got to be water down there somewhere, but what do we use right now?”

Bade took a deep breath. “What about the enemy trucks? Can’t you use them?”

“If we’d started off with them, I suppose we could have. But Ground Forces has requisitioned most of them. Now we’re spread out in all directions with the front getting farther away all the time.”
* * *

Bade switched off and got in touch with Ground Forces, Maintenance. A spruce-looking major appeared. Bade paused a moment, then asked, “How’s your work-load, major? Are you behind schedule?”

The major looked shocked. “No, sir. Far from it. We’re away ahead of schedule.”

“Aren’t these enemy vehicles giving you any trouble? Any difficulties in repair?”

The major laughed. “Fangjaw, general, we don’t repair them! When they burn out, we throw them away. We pried up the hoods of some of them, pulled off the top two or three layers of machinery, and took a good look underneath. That was enough. There are hundreds of parts, all shapes and sizes. And dozens of different kinds of motors. Half of the parts are stuck so they won’t move when you try to get them out, and, to top it all, there isn’t enough room in there to squeeze in an extra grain of sand. So what’s the use? If something goes wrong with one of those things, we give it a shove off the road and forget it. There are plenty of others.”

“I see,” said Bade. “Do you send your repair crews out to shove the ground-cars off the road?”

“Oh, no, sir,” said the major looking startled. “Like the colonel says, ‘Let the Ground Forces do it.’ Sir, it doesn’t take any skill to do that. It’s just that that’s our policy: Don’t repair ’em. Throw ’em away.”

“What about our vehicles then? Have you found out what’s wrong?”

The major looked uncomfortable. “Well, the difficulty is that the vehicles work satisfactorily inside the ship, and for a little while outside. But then, after they’ve been out a while, a malfunction occurs in the mechanism. That’s what causes the trouble.” He looked at Bade hopefully. “Was there anything else, sir.”

“Yes,” said Bade dryly, “it’s the malfunction I’m interested in. What is it that goes wrong?”

The major looked unhappy. “Well, sir, we’ve had the motors apart and put back together I don’t know how many times, and the fact is, there’s nothing at all wrong with them. There’s nothing wrong, but they still won’t work. That’s not our department. We’ve handed the whole business over to the Testing Lab.”

“Then,” said Bade, “you actually don’t have any work to do?”

The major jumped. “Oh, no sir, I didn’t say that. We . . . we’re holding ourselves in readiness, sir, and we’ve got our shops in order, and some of the men are doing some very, ah, very important research on the . . . the structure of the enemy ground-car, and—”

“Fine,” said Bade. “Get your colonel on this line.” When the colonel appeared, Bade said, “Ground Forces Supply has its steam trucks out of service for lack of water. Get in touch with their H.Q., find out the location of the trucks, and get out there with the water. Find out where they can replenish in the future. Take care of this as fast as you can.”

The colonel worked his mouth in a way that suggested a weak valve struggling to hold back a large quantity of compressed air. Bade looked at him hard. The colonel’s mouth blew open, and “Yes, sir!” came out. The colonel looked startled.

Bade immediately switched back to Supply and said, “Ground Forces Maintenance is going to help you water your trucks. Why didn’t you get in touch with them yourselves? It’s the obvious thing.”

“Sir, we did, hours ago. They said water supply wasn’t in their department.”

Bade seemed to see the bursting of innumerable bubbles before his eyes. It dawned on him that he was bogged down in petty details while big events rushed on unheeded. He switched back to the colonel briefly and when he switched off the colonel was plainly vibrating with energy from head to toe. Then Bade looked forebodingly at the map and ordered Liaison to get General Rast for him.
* * *

This took a long time, which Bade spent trying to anticipate the possible enemy reaction if Supply broke down completely, and a retirement became necessary. By the time Rast appeared on the screen, Bade had thought it over carefully, and could see nothing but trouble ahead. There was a buzz, and Bade looked up to see a fuzzy picture of Rast.

Rast, as far as Bade could judge, had a look of victory and exhilaration. But the communicator’s reception was uncommonly bad, and Rast’s image had a tendency to flicker, fade, and slide up and down. Judging by the trend of the conversation, Bade decided reception must be worse yet at the other end.

Bade said, “Supply is in a mess. You’d better choose some sort of defensible perimeter and halt.”

Rast said, “Thank you. The enemy is in full flight.”

“Listen,” said Bade. “Supply is stopped. We can’t get supplies to you. Supply can’t catch up with you.”

“We’ll pursue them day and night,” said Rast.

“Listen to me,” said Bade. “Break off the pursuit! We can’t get supplies to you!”

Rast’s form slowly dimmed and expanded till it filled the screen, then burst, and reappeared as a brilliant image the size of a man’s thumb. His voice cut off, then came through as a crackle.

“Siss kissis sissis,” said the image, expanding again, “hisss siss kississ sissikississ.” This noise was accompanied by earnest gestures on the part of Rast, and a very determined facial expression. The image grew huge and dim, and burst, then started over again.

Bade spat out a word he had promised himself never to say again under any circumstances whatever. Then he sat helpless while the image, large and clear, leaned forward earnestly and pounded one huge fist into the other.

“Hiss! Siss! Fississ!”

“Listen,” said Bade, “I can’t make out a word you’re saying.” He leaned forward. “WE CAN’T GET SUPPLIES TO YOU!”

The image burst and started over, bright and small.

Bade sucked in a deep breath. He grabbed the Communications microphone. “Listen,” he snapped, “I’ve got General Rast on the screen here and I can’t hear anything but a crackle. The image constantly expands and contracts.”

“I know, sir,” said a gray-smocked technician with a despairing look. “I can see the monitor screen from here. It’s the best we can do, sir.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Bade could see Rast’s image growing huge and dim. “Hiss! Siss!” said Rast earnestly.

“What causes this?” roared Bade.

“Sir, all we can guess is some terrific electrical discharge between here and General Rast’s position. What such a discharge might be, I can’t imagine.”

Bade scowled, and looked at a thumb-sized Rast. Bade opened his mouth to roar out that there was no way to get supplies through. Rast’s image suddenly vibrated like a twanged string, then stopped expanding.

Rast’s voice came through clearly, “Will you repeat that, sir?”

“WE CAN’T SUPPLY YOU,” said Bade. “Halt your advance. Pick a good spot and HALT!”

Rast’s image was expanding again. “Siss hiss,” he said, and saluted. His image vanished.

Bade immediately snapped on the Communications microphone. “Do you have anyone down there who can read lips?” he demanded.

“Read lips? Sir, I—” The technician squinted suddenly, and swung off the screen. He was back in a moment, his face clear and hopeful. “Sir, we’ve got a man in the section that’s a fanatic on communications methods. The other men think he can read lips, and I’ve sent for him.”

“Good,” said Bade. “Set him to work on the record of that conversation with General Rast. Another thing—is there any way you can get a message though to Rast?”

The technician looked doubtful. “Well, sir . . . I don’t know—” His face cleared slightly. “We can try, sir.”

“Good,” said Bade. “Send ‘Supply situation bad. Strongly suggest you halt your advance and consolidate position.'” Bade’s glance fell on the latest plot from the map room. Glumly he asked himself how Rast or anyone else could hope to consolidate the balloon-like situation that was coming about.

“Sir,” asked the technician, “is that all?”

“Yes,” said Bade, “and let me know when you get through to Rast.”

“Yes, sir.”
* * *

Bade switched off, and turned to ask Runckel for the exact time Landing Force 3 would be down. Bade hesitated, then squinted hard at Runckel.

Runckel’s face had an unusually bright, animated look. He was glancing rapidly through a sheaf of reports, quickly scribbling comments on them, and tossing them to an excited-looking clerk, who rushed off to slap them on the desks of various exhilarated officers and clerks. These men eagerly transmitted them to their various sections. This procedure was normal, but the faces of the men all looked too excited. Their movements were jerky and fast.

Bade became aware of the sensation of watching a scene in a lunatic asylum.

The excited-looking clerk rushed to Runckel’s desk to snatch up a sheaf of reports, and Bade snapped, “Bring those here.”

The clerk jumped, rushed to Bade’s desk, halted with a jerky bounce and saluted snappily. He flopped the papers on the desk, whirled around and raced off toward the desks of the officers who usually got the reports Bade was now holding. The clerk stopped suddenly, looked at his empty hands, spun around, stared at Runckel’s desk, then at Bade’s. A look of enlightenment passed across his face. “Oh,” he said, with a foolish grin. He teetered back and forth on his heels, then rushed over to look at the latest plot from the map room.

Bade set his jaw and glanced at the reports Runckel had marked.

The top two or three reports were simple routine and had merely been initialed. The next report, however, was headed: “Testing Lab. Report on Cause of Vehicle Failure; Recommendations.”

Bade quickly glanced over several sheet of technical diagrams and figures, and turned to the summary. He read:

“In short, the breakdown of normal function, and the resultant slow violent pulsing action of the motor, is caused by the abnormally low conductivity of Surface Conduction Layer S-3. The pulser current, which would normally flow across this layer is blocked, and instead builds up on projection L-26. Eventually a sufficient charge accumulates, and arcs across air gap B. This throws a shock current through the exciter such as is normally experienced only during violent acceleration. The result is that the vehicle shoots ahead from a standing start, then rolls to a stop while the current again slowly accumulates. The root cause of this malfunction is the fantastically low moisture content of the atmosphere on this planet. It is this that causes the loss of conductivity across Layer S-3.

“Recommended measures to overcome this malfunction include:

a) Artificial humidification of the air entering the motor, by means of sprayer and fan.

b) Sealing of the motor unit.

c) Coating of surface condition layer S-3 with a top-sealed permanent conducting film.

“A) or b) probably can be carried out as soon as the requisite devices and materials are obtainable. This, however, may involve a considerable delay. C), on the other hand, will require a good deal of initial testing and experimentation, but may then be carried into effect very quickly, as the requisite tools and materials are already at hand. We will immediately carry out the initial measures for whichever plan you deem preferable.”

Bade looked the report over again carefully, then glanced at Runckel’s scrawled comment:

“Good work! Carry this out immediately! S.R.”

Bade glared. Carry what out immediately?

Bade glanced angrily at Runckel, then sat up in alarm. Runckel’s hands clenched the side of his desk. Runckel’s back was straight as a rod. His chest was inflated to huge dimensions, and he was slowly drawing in yet more air. His face bore a fixated, inward-turned look that might indicate either horror or ecstasy.

Bade shoved his chair back and glanced around for help.

His glance stopped at the map screen, where the huge overblown blot in the center of the continent had sprouted a long narrow pencil reaching out toward the west.

There was a quick low gonging sound, and the semicircular rim atop the Communications microphone lit up in red. Bade snapped the microphone on and a scared-looking technician said, “Sir, we’ve worked out what General Rast said.”

“What?” Bade demanded.

At Bade’s side, there was a harsh scraping noise. Bade whipped around.

Runckel lurched to his feet, his face tense, his eyes shut, his mouth half open and his hands clenched.

Runckel twisted. There was a gagging sound, then a harsh roar:

KACHOOOOO!!

Bade sat down in a hurry and grabbed the microphone marked, “Medical Corps.”
* * *

A crowd of young doctors and attendants swarmed around Runckel with pulse-beat snoopers, blood pressure gauges, little lights on long rubber tubes, and bottles and jars which they filled with fluid sucked out of the suffering Runckel with long hollow needles. They whacked Runckel, pinched him, and thumped him, then jumped for cover as he let out another blast.

“Sir,” said a young doctor wearing a “Medical-Officer-On-Duty” badge, “I’m afraid I shall have to quarantine this room and all its occupants. That includes you, sir.” He said this in a gentle but firm voice.

Bade glanced at the doorway. A continuous stream of clerks, officers, and messengers moved in and out on necessary business. Some of these officers, Bade noticed, were speaking in low angry tones to idiotically smiling members of the staff. As one of the angry officers slapped a sheaf of papers on a desk, the owner of the desk came slowly to his feet. His chest inflated to gigantic proportions, he let out a terrific blast, reeled back against a wall, and let out another.

The young medical officer spun around excitedly. “Epidemic!” he yelled. “Seal that door! Back, all of you!” His face had a faint glow as he turned to Bade. “We’ll have this under control in no time, sir.” He came up and plastered a red and yellow sticker over the joint where door and wall came together. He faced the room. “Everyone here is quarantined. It’s death to break that seal.”

From Bade’s desk came an insistent ringing, and the small voice of the communications technician pleaded, “Sir . . . please, sir . . . this is important!” On the map across the room the bloated red space now had two sizable dents driven into it, such as might be expected if the enemy were opening a counteroffensive. The thin pencil line reaching toward the west was wobbling uncertainly at its far end.

Bade became aware of a fuzzy quality in his own thinking, and struggled to fix his mind on the scene around him.

The young doctor and his assistants hustled Runckel toward the door. As Bade stared, the doctor and assistants went out the door without breaking the quarantine seal. The sticker was plastered over the joint on the hinge side of the door. The seal bent as the door opened, then straightened out unhurt as the door shut.

“Phew,” said Bade. He picked up the Communications microphone. “What did General Rast say?”

“Sir, he said, ‘I can’t reach the coast any faster than a day-and-a-half!'”

“The coast!”

“That’s what he said, sir.”

“Did you get that message to him?”

“Not yet, sir. We’re trying.”

Bade switched off and tried to think. His army was stretched out like a rubber balloon. His headquarters machinery was falling apart fast. An epidemic was loose among his men and plainly spreading fast. The base was still secure. But without sane men to man it, the enemy could be expected to walk in any time.

Bade’s eyes were watering. He blinked, and glanced around for some sane face in the sea of hysterically cheerful people. He spotted an alert-looking officer with his back against the wall and a chair leg in his hand. Bade called to him. The officer looked around.

Bade said, “Do you know when Landing Force 3 is coming down?”

“Sir, they’re coming down right now.”
* * *

Bade stayed conscious long enough to watch the beginning of the enemy’s counteroffensive, and also to see the start of the exploding sickness spread through the landing site. He grimly summarized the situation to the man he chose to take over command.

This man was the leader of Landing Force 3, a general by the name of Kottek. General Kottek was a fanatic, a man with a rough hypnotic voice and a direct unblinking stare. General Kottek’s favorite drink was pure water. Food was a matter of indifference to him. His only known amusements were regular physical exercise and the dissection of military problems. To hesitate to obey a command of General Kottek’s was unheard of. To bungle in the performance of it was as pleasant as to sit down in the open mouth of a shark. General Kottek’s officers were usually recognizable by their lean athletic appearance, and a tendency to jump at unexpected noises. General Kottek’s men were nearly always to be seen in a state of good order and high spirits.

As soon as Bade, aching and miserable, summarized the situation and ordered Kottek to take over, Kottek gave a sharp precise salute, turned, and immediately began snapping out orders.

Heavily armed troops swung out to guard the site. Military police forced wandering gangs of sick men back to their ships. The crews of Landing Force 3 divided up to bring the depleted crews of the other ships up to minimum standards. The ships’ damper units were turned to full power, and the outside power network and auxiliary damper units were disassembled and carried into the ships. Word came that a large enemy force had made an air-borne landing not far away. Kottek’s troops marched in good order back to their ships. The ships of all three landing forces took off. They set down together in the center of the largest mass of Rast’s encircled troops. The next day passed embarking these men under the protection of Kottek’s fresh troops and the ships’ dampers. Then the ships took off and repeated the process.

In this way, some sixty-five percent of the surrounded men were saved in the course of the week. Two more landing forces came down. General Rast and a small body of guards were found unconscious partway up an unbelievably high hill in the west. The situation at this point became hopelessly complicated by the exploding sickness.

This sickness, which none of the doctors were able to cure or even relieve, manifested itself in various forms. The usual form began by exhilarating the victim. In this state, the patient generally considered himself capable of doing anything, however foolhardy, and regardless of difficulties. This lasted until the second phase set in with violent contractions of the chest and a sudden out-rush of air from the lungs, accompanied by a blast like a gun going off. This second stage might or might not have complications such as digestive upset, headache, or shooting pains in the hands and feet. It ended when the third and last phase set in. In this phase the victim suffered from mental depression, considered himself a hopeless failure, and was as likely as not to try to end his life by suicide.

As a result of this suicidal impulse there were nightmarish scenes of soldiers disarming other soldiers, which brought the whole invasion force into a state of quaking uncertainty. At this critical point, and despite all precautions, General Kottek himself began to come down with the sickness. With him, the usual exhilaration took the form of a stream of violent and imperative orders.

Troops who should have retreated were ordered to fight to the death where they stood. Savage counter-attacks for worthless objectives were driven home “to the last drop of blood.” Because General Kottek ordered it, people obeyed without thought. The hysterical light in his eye was masked by the fanatical glitter that had been there to begin with. The general himself only realized what was wrong when his chest tightened up, his body tensed, and a racking concatenation of explosions burst from his chest. He immediately brought his body to the position of attention, and crushed out by sheer will a series of incipient tickling sensations way down in his throat. General Kottek handed the command over to General Runckel and reported himself to sick bay.

Runckel, by this time, had recovered enough from the third phase to be untied and allowed to walk around with only two guards. As he had not fully recovered his confidence, however, he immediately went to see Bade.
* * *

Bade’s illness took the form of nausea, cold hands and feet, and a sensation of severe pressure in the small of the back. Bade was lying on a cot when Runckel came in, followed by his two watchful guards.

Bade looked up and saw the two guards lean warily against the wall, their eyes narrowed as they watched Runckel. Runckel paused at the foot of Bade’s bed. “How do you feel?” Runckel asked.

“Except for yesterday and day before,” said Bade, “I never felt worse in my life. How do you feel?”

“All right most of the time.” He cleared his throat. “Kottek’s down with it now.”

“Did he know in time?”

“No, I’m afraid he’s left things in a mess.”

Bade shook his head. “Do we have a general officer who isn’t sick?”

“Not in the top brackets.”

“Who did Kottek hand over to?”

“Me.” Runckel looked a little embarrassed. “I’m not sure I can handle it yet.”

“Who’s in actual charge right now?”

“I’ve got the pieces of our own staff and the staff of Landing Force 2 working on it. Kottek’s staff is hopeless. Half of them are talking about sweeping the enemy off the planet in two days.”

Bade grunted. “What’s your idea?”

“Well,” said Runckel, “I still get . . . a little excited now and then. If you could possibly provide a sort of general supervision—”

Bade looked away weakly. “How’s Rast?”

“Tied to his bunk with half-a-dozen men sitting on him.”

“What about Vokk?”

“Tearing his lungs out every two or three minutes.”

“Sokkis, then?”

Runckel shook his head grimly. “I’m afraid they didn’t hear the gun go off in time. The doctors are still working on him, though.”

“Well . . . is Frotch all right?”

“Yes, thank heaven. But then he’s Flyer Command. And, worse yet, there’s nobody to put in his place.”

“All right, how about Sozzle?”

“Well,” said Runckel, “Sozzle may be a good propaganda man, but personally I wouldn’t trust him to command a platoon.”

“Yes,” said Bade, rolling over to try to ease the pain in his back, “I see your point.” He took a deep breath. “I’ll try to supervise the thing.” He swung gingerly to a sitting position.

Runckel watched him, then his face twisted. “This whole thing is all my fault,” he said. He choked. “I’m just no goo—”

The two guards sprang across the room, grabbed Runckel by the arms and rushed him out the door. Harsh grunts and solid thumping sounds came from the corridor outside. There was a heavy crash. Somebody said, “All right, get the general by the feet, and I’ll take him by the shoulders. Phew! Let’s go.”

Bade sat dizzily on the edge of the bed. For a moment, he had a mental image of Runckel before the invasion, leaning forward and saying impressively, “Certain glory and a mighty victory await us.”

Bade took several slow deep breaths. Then he got up carefully, found a towel, and cautiously went to wash.
* * *

It took Bade almost a week to disentangle the troops from the web of indefensible positions and hopeless last stands Kottek had committed them to in a day-and-a-half of peremptory orders. The enemy, meanwhile, took advantage of opportunity, using ground and air attacks, rockets, missiles and artillery in such profusion as to stun the mind. It was not until Bade’s men and officers had recovered from circulating attacks of the sickness, and another landing force had come down, that it was possible to temporarily resume the offensive. Another two weeks, and another sick landing force recovered, saw the invasion army in control of a substantial part of the central plain of the continent. Bade now had some spare moments to squint at certain reports that were piled up on his desk. Exasperatedly, he called a meeting of high officers.
* * *

Bade was standing with Runckel at a big map of the continent when their generals came in. Bade and Runckel each looked grim and intense. The generals looked uniformly dulled and worn down.

Bade took a last hard look at the map, then he and Runckel turned. Bade glanced at Veth, Landing Site Commander. “What’s your impression of the way things are going?”

Veth scowled. “Well, we’re still getting eight to ten sizable missile hits a day. Of course, there’s no predicting when they’ll come in. With the men working outside the ships, any single hit could vaporize large numbers of essential technical personnel. Until we get the underground shelters built, the only way around this is to have whole site damped out all the time.” He shook his head. “This takes a lot of energy.”

Bade nodded, and turned to Rast, Ground Forces Commander.

“So far,” said Rast frowning, “our situation on paper looks not too bad. Morale is satisfactory. Our weapons are superior. We have strong forces in a reasonably large central area, and in theory we can shift rapidly from one front to the other, and be superior anywhere. But in practice, the enemy has so many missiles, of all types and sizes, that we can’t take advantage of the position.

“Suppose, for instance, that I order XX and XXII Tank Armies from the eastern to the western front. They can’t go under their own power, because of fuel expenditure, the wear on their tracks, and the resulting delay for repairs. They can’t go by forceway network because there isn’t any built yet. The only way to send them is by the natives’ iron track roads. That would be fine, except that the iron track roads make beautiful targets for missile attacks. Thanks to the enemy, every bridge and junction either is, has been, or will be blown up and not once, either. The result is, we have to use slow filtration of troops from one front to the other, or we have to accept very heavy losses on route. In addition, we now know that the enemy has formidable natural defenses in the east and west, especially in the west. There’s a range of hills there that surpasses anything I’ve ever seen or heard of. Not only is the difficulty of the terrain an obstacle, but as our men go higher, movement finally becomes practically impossible. I know this from personal experience. The result of it is, the enemy need only guard the passes and he has a natural barrier behind which he can mass for attack at any chosen point.”

Bade frowned. “Don’t the hills have the same harmful effect on the enemy?”

“No sir, they don’t.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. But that and their missiles put us in a nasty spot.”

Bade absorbed this, then turned to General Frotch, head of Atmospheric Flyer Command.

Frotch said briskly, “Sir, so far as the enemy air forces are concerned, we have the situation under control. And various foreign long-range reconnaissance aircraft that have been filtering in from distant native countries, have also been successfully batted out of the sky. However, as far as . . . ah . . . missiles . . . are concerned, the situation is a little strained.”

Bade snapped, “Go on.”

“Well, sir,” said Frotch, “the enemy has missiles that can be fired at the fastest atmospheric flyers, that can be made to blow up near them, that can be guided to them, and even that can be made to chase and catch them.”

“What about our weapons?”

“They’re fine, on a percentage basis. But the enemy has a lot more missiles than we have pilots.”

“I see,” said Bade. “Well—” He turned to speak to the Director of Intelligence, but Frotch went on:

“Moreover, sir, we are having atmospheric troubles.”

“‘Atmospheric troubles’? What’s that?”

“For one thing, gigantic traveling electrical displays that disrupt plane-to-ground communications, and have to be avoided, or else the pilots either don’t come out, or else come out fit for nothing but a rest cure. Then there are mass movements of air traveling from one part of the planet to another. Like land breezes and sea breezes at home. But here the breezes can be pretty forceful. The effect is to put an unpredictable braking force on all our operations.”

Bade nodded slowly. “Well, we’ll have to make the best of it.” He turned to General Sozzle, who was Disseminator of Propaganda.

Sozzle cleared his throat. “I can make my report short and to the point. Our propaganda is getting us nowhere. For one thing, the enemy is apparently used to being ambushed daily by something called ‘advertising,’ which seems to consist of a series of subtle propaganda traps. By comparison our approach is so crude it throws them into hysterics.”

Bade glanced at the Director of Intelligence, who said dully, “Sir, it’s too early to say for certain how our work will eventually turn out. We’ve had some successes; but, so far, we’ve been handicapped by translation difficulties.”

Bade frowned. “For instance?”

“Take the single word, ‘snow,'” said the Intelligence Director. “You can’t imagine the snarl my translators get into over that word. It apparently means ‘white solid which falls in crystals from the sky.’ Figure that out.”

Bade squinted, then looked relieved. “Oh. It means, ‘dust.'”

“That’s the way the interpreters translated it. Now consider this sentence from a schoolbook. ‘When April comes, the dust all turns to water and flows into the ground to fill the streams.'”

“That doesn’t make any sense at all.”

“No. But that’s what happens if you accept ‘dust’ as the translation for ‘snow.’ There are other words such as ‘winter,’ ‘blizzard,’ ‘tornado.’ Ask a native for an explanation, and with a straight face he’ll give you a string of incomprehensible nonsense that will stand you on your ear. Not that it’s important in itself. But it seems to show something about the native psychology that I can’t quite figure out. You can fight your enemy best when you can understand him. Well, from this angle they’re completely incomprehensible.”

“Keep working on it,” said Bade, after a short silence. He turned to Runckel.

Runckel said, “The overall situation looks about the same from my point of view. Namely, the natives are driven back, but by no means defeated. What we have to remember is that we never expected to have them defeated at this stage. True, our time schedule has been set back somewhat, but this was due not to enemy action, but to purely accidental circumstances. That is, first the atmosphere was so deficient in moisture that our ground vehicles were temporarily out of order, and, second, we were disabled by an unexpected disease. But these troubles are over with. My point is that we can now begin the decisive phase of operations.”

“Good,” said Bade. “But to do that we have to firmly hold the ground we have. I want to know if we can do this. On the surface, perhaps, it looks like it. But there are signs here I don’t like. As the old saying goes, ‘A shark shows you his fin, not his teeth. Take warning from the fin; when you see the teeth it’s too late.'”

“Yes,” said Frotch, turning excitedly to Rast, “that’s the thought exactly. Now, will you mention it, or shall I?”

“Holy fangjaw,” growled Rast, “maybe it doesn’t really mean anything.”

“The Supreme Commander,” said Runckel angrily, “was trying to talk.”

Bade said, “What is it, Rast? Speak up.”

“Well—” Rast hesitated, glanced uneasily at Runckel, then thrust out his jaw, “Sir, it looks like the whole master plan of the invasion may have come unhinged.”

Runckel angrily started to speak.

Bade glanced at Runckel, took out a long slender cigar, and sat down on the edge of the table to watch Runckel. He lit the cigar and put down the lighter. As far as Bade was concerned, his face was expressionless. Things seemed to have an unnatural clarity, however, as he looked at Runckel and waited for him to speak.

Runckel looked at Bade, swallowed hard and said nothing.

Bade glanced at Rast.

Rast burst out, “Sir, for the last ten days or so, we’ve been wondering how long the enemy could keep up his missile attacks. Flyer Command has blasted factories vital to missile manufacture, and destroyed all their known stockpiles. Well, grant we didn’t get all their stockpiles. That’s logical enough. Grant that they had tremendous stocks stored away. Even grant that before we got here they made missiles all the time for the sheer love of making them. Maybe every man, woman, and child in the country had a missile, like a pet. Still, there’s got to be an end somewhere.”

Bade nodded soberly.

“Well, sir,” said Rast, “we get these missiles fired at us all the time, day after day after day, one missile after the other, like an army of men tramping past in an endless circle forever. It’s inconceivable that they’d use their missiles like this unless their supply is inexhaustible. Frotch gets hit with them, I get hit with them, Veth gets hit with them. For every job there’s a missile. We put our overall weapons superiority in one pan of the balance. They pour an endless heap of missiles in the other pan. Where do all these missiles come from?”

For an instant Rast was silent, then he went on. “At first we thought ‘Underground factories.’ Well, we did our best to find them and it was no use. And whenever we managed to spot moving missiles, they seemed to be coming from the coast.

“About this time, some of my officers were trying to convert a bunch of captives to our way of thinking. One of the officers noticed a peculiar thing. Whenever he clinched his argument by saying, ‘Moreover, you are alone in the world; you cannot defeat us alone,’ the captives would all look very serious. Most of them would be very still and attentive, but here and there among them, a few would choke, gag, make sputtering noises, and shake all over. The other soldiers would secretively kick these men, and jab them with their elbows until they were still and attentive. Now, however, the question arose, what did all this mean? The actions were described to Intelligence, who said they meant exactly what they seemed to mean, ‘suppressed mirth.’

“In other words, whenever we said, ‘You can’t win, you’re alone in the world,’ they wanted to burst out laughing. My officers now varied the technique. They would say, for instance, ‘The U.S.S.R. is our faithful ally.’ Our captives would sputter, gasp, and almost strangle to death. Put this together with their inexhaustible supply of missiles and the thing takes on a sinister look.”

“You think,” said Bade, “that the U.S.S.R. and other countries are shipping missiles to the U.S. by sea?”

General Frotch cleared his throat apologetically, “Sir, excuse me. I have something new to add to this. I’ve set submerger planes down along all three of their coasts. Not only are the ports alive with shipping. But some of our men swam into the harbors at night and hid, and either they’re the victims of mass-hypnosis or else those ships are unloading missiles like a fish unloads spawn.”

Bade looked at Runckel.

Runckel said dully, “In that case, we have the whole planet to fight. That was what we had to avoid at any cost.”

This comment produced a visible deterioration of morale. Before this attitude had a chance to set, Bade said forcefully and clearly, “I was never in favor of this attack. And this fortifies my original views. But from a strictly military point of view, I believe we can still win.”

He went to the map, and speaking to each of the generals in turn, he explained his plan.
* * *

In the three following days, each of the three remaining landing forces set down. The men of each landing force, as expected, became violently ill with the exploding sickness. With the usual course of the sickness known, it proved possible to care for this new horde of patients with nothing worse than extreme inconvenience for the invasion force as a whole.

The enemy, meanwhile, strengthened his grip around the occupied area, and at the same time cut troop movements within the area to a feeble trickle. Day after day, the enemy missiles fell in an increasingly heavy rain on the road and rail centers. During the height of this bombardment, Bade succeeded in gradually filtering all of Landing Force 3 back to the protection of the ships.

Rast now reported that the enemy attacks were mounting in force and violence, and requested permission to fall back and contract the defense perimeter.

Bade replied that help would soon come, and Rast must make only small local withdrawals.

Landing Forces 7, 8, and 9, cured of the exploding sickness, now took off. Immediately afterward, Landing Force 3 took off.

Landing Forces 3 and 7, under General Kottek, came down near the base of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, and struck south and west to rip up communications in the rear of the main enemy forces attacking General Rast.

Landing Force 8 split, its southern section seizing the western curve of Cuba to cut the shipping lanes to the Gulf of Mexico. Its northern sections seized Long Island, to block shipping entering the port of New York, and to subject shipping in the ports of Boston, Philadelphia, Baltimore and Washington to heavy attack from the air.

Landing Force 9 remained aloft until the enemy’s reaction to General Kottek’s thrust from the rear became evident. This reaction proved to be a quickly improvised simultaneous attack from north and south, to pinch off the flow of supplies from Kottek’s base to the point of his advance. Landing Force 9 now set down, broke the attack of the southern pincer, then struck southeastward to cut road and rail lines supplying the enemy’s northern armies. The overall situation now resembled two large, roughly concentric circles, each very thick in the north, and very thin in the south. A large part of the outer circle, representing the enemy’s forces, was now pressed between the inner circle and the inverted Y of Kottek’s attack from the north.

A large percentage of the enemy missile-launching sites were now overrun, and Rast for the first time found it possible to switch his troops from place to place without excessive losses. The enemy opened violent attacks in both east and west to relieve the pressure on their trapped armies in the north, and Rast fell back slowly, drawing forces from both these fronts and putting them into the northern battle.

The outcome hung in a treacherous balance until the enemy’s supplies gave out in the north. This powerful enemy force then collapsed, and Rast swung his weary troops to the south.
* * *

Three weeks after the offensive began, it ended with the fighting withdrawal of the enemy to the east and west. The enemy’s long eastern and southern coasts were now sealed against all but a comparative trickle of supplies from overseas. General Kottek held the upper peninsula of Michigan in a powerful grip. From it he dominated huge enemy industrial regions, and threatened the flank of potential enemy counter-attacks from north or east.

Within the main occupied region itself, the forceway network and key-tools factories were being set up.

Runckel was only expressing the thought of nearly the whole invasion army when he walked into the operations room, heaved a sigh of relief and said to Bade, “Well, thank heaven that’s over!”

Bade heard this and gave a noncommittal growl. He had felt this way himself some time before. During Runckel’s absence, however, certain reports had come to Bade’s desk and left him feeling like a man who goes down a flight of steps in the dark, steps off briskly, and finds there was one more step than he thought.

“Look at this,” said Bade. Runckel leaned over his shoulder, and together they looked at a report headed, “Enemy Equipment.” Bade passed over several pages of drawings and descriptions devoted to enemy knives, guns, grenades, helmets, canteens, mess equipment and digging tools, then paused at a section marked “Enemy clothing: 1) Normal enemy clothing consists of light two-piece underwear, an inner and an outer foot-covering, and either a light two-piece or light one-piece outer covering for the arms, chest, abdomen and legs. 2) However, capture of the enemy supply trains in the recent northern offensive uncovered the following fantastic variety: a) thick inner and outer hand coverings; b) heavy one-piece undergarment covering legs, arms and body; c) heavy upper outer garment; d) heavy lower outer garment; e) heavy inner foot covering; f) massive outer foot covering; g) additional heavy outer garment; h) extraordinarily heavy outer garment designed to cover entire body with exception of head, hand, and lower legs. In addition, large extra quantities of the heavy cover normally issued to the troops for sleeping purposes were also found. The purpose of all this clothing is difficult to understand. Insofar as the activity of a soldier encased in all these garments would be cut to a minimum, it can only be assumed that all these coverings represent body-shielding against some abnormal condition. The presence of poisonous chemicals in large quantities seems a likely possibility. Yet with the exception of the massive outer foot-covering, these garments are not impermeable.”

Bade looked at Runckel. “They do have war chemicals?”

“Of course,” said Runckel, frowning. “But we have protective measures, and our own war chemicals, if trouble starts.”

Bade nodded thoughtfully, slid the report aside, and picked up one headed, “Medical Report on Enemy Skin Condensation.”

Runckel shook his head. “I can never understand those. We’ve had a flood of reports like that from various sources. At most, I just initial them and send them back.”

“Well,” said Bade, “read the summary, at least.”

“I’ll try,” growled Runckel, and leaned over Bade’s shoulder to read:

“To summarize these astonishing facts, enemy captives have been observed to form, on the outer layer of their skin, a heavy beading of moisture. This effect is similar to that observed with laboratory devices maintained at depressed temperatures—that is, at reduced degrees of heat. The theory was, therefore, formed that the enemy’s skin is, similarly, maintained at a temperature lower than that of his surroundings. Complex temperature-determining apparatus were set up to test this theory. As a result, this theory was disproved, but an even more astonishing state of affairs was discovered: The enemy’s internal temperature varied very little, regardless of considerable experimental variation of the temperature of his environment.

“The only possible conclusion was that the enemy’s body contains some built-in mechanism that actually controls the degree of heat and maintains it at a constant level.

“Now, according to Poff’s widely accepted Principle, no complex bodily mechanism can long maintain itself in the absence of need or exercise. And what is the need for a bodily mechanism that has the function of holding body temperature constant despite wide external fluctuation? What is the need for a defense against something unless the something exists?

“We are forced to the conclusion that the degree of heat on this planet is subject to variations sufficiently severe as to endanger life. A new examination of what has hitherto been considered to be the enemy’s mythology indicates that, contrary to conditions on our own planet, this planet is subject to remarkable fluctuations of temperature, that alternately rise to a peak, then fall to an incredible low.

“According to this new theory, our invasion force arrived as the temperature was approaching its maximum. Since then, it has reached and passed its peak, and is now falling. All this has passed unnoticed by us, partly because the maximum here approached the ordinary condition on our home planet. The danger, of course, is that the minimum on this planet would prove insupportable to our form of life.”

This was followed by a qualifying phrase that further tests would have to be made, and the conclusions could not be considered final.

Bade looked at Runckel. Runckel snapped, “What do you do with a report like that? I’d tear it up, but why waste strength? It’s easier to throw them in the wastebasket and go on.”

“Wait a minute,” said Bade. “If this report just happens to be right, then where are we?”

“Frankly,” said Runckel, “I don’t know or care. ‘Skin condensation.’ These scientists should keep their minds on things that have some chance of being useful. It would help if they’d figure out how to cut down flareback on our subtron guns. Instead they talk about ‘skin condensation.'”

Bade wrote on the report, “This may turn out to be important. List on no more than two sheets of paper possible defenses against reduced degree of heat. Get it to me as soon as possible. Bade.”

Bade signaled to a clerk. “Snap a copy of this, send the original out, and bring me the copy.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now,” said Bade, “we have one more report.”

“Well, I have to admit,” said Runckel, “that I can’t see that either of these reports were of any value.”

“Well, read this one, then.”

Runckel shook his head in disgust, and leaned over. His eyes widened. This paper was headed, “For the Supreme Commander only. Special Report of General Kottek.”

The report began, “Sir: It is an officer’s duty to state, plainly and without delay, any matter that requires the immediate attention of his superior. I, therefore, must report to you the following unpleasant but incontrovertible facts;

“1) Since their arrival in this region, my troops have on three recent occasions displayed a strikingly low level of performance. Two simulated night attacks revealed feeble command and exaggerated sluggishness on the part of the troops. A defense exercise carried out at dawn to repulse a simulated amphibious landing was a complete failure; troops and officers alike displayed insufficient energy and initiative to drive the attack home.

“2) On other occasions, troops and officers have maintained a high, sometimes strikingly high, level of energy and activity.

“3) No explanation of this variability of performance has been forthcoming from the medical and technical personnel attached to my command. Neither have I any assurance that these fluctuations will not take place in the future.

“4) It is, therefore, my duty to inform you that I cannot assure the successful performance of my mission. Should the enemy attack with his usual energy during a period of low activity on the part of my troops, the caliber of my resistance will be that of wax against steel. This is no exaggeration, but plain fact.

“5) This situation requires the immediate attention of the highest military and technical authorities. What is in operation here may be a disease, an enemy nerve gas, or some natural factor unknown to us. Whatever its nature, the effect is highly dangerous.

“6) A mobile, flexible defense in these circumstances is impossible. A rigid linear defense is worthless. A defense by linked fortifications requires depth. I am, therefore, constructing a deep fortified system in the western section of the region under my control. This is no cure, but a means of minimizing disaster.

“7) Enemy missile activity since the defeat of their northern armies has been somewhat less that forty per cent of that expected.”

The report ended with Kottek’s distinctive jagged signature. Bade glanced around.

Runckel’s face was somber. “This is serious,” he said. “When Kottek yells for help, we’ve got trouble. We’ll have to put all our attention on this thing and get it out of the way as fast as we can.”

Bade nodded, and reached out to take a message from a clerk. He glanced at it and scowled. The message was from Atmospheric Flyer Command. It read:

“Warning! Tornado sighted and approaching main base!”

Runckel leaned over to read the message. “What’s this?” he said angrily. “‘Tornado’ is just a myth. Everybody knows that.”

Bade snapped on the microphone to Aerial Reconnaissance. “What’s this ‘tornado’ warning?” he demanded. “What’s a ‘tornado’?”

“Sir, a tornado is a whirling severe breeze of destructive character, conjoined with a dark cloud in the shape of a funnel, with the smaller end down.”

Runckel gave an inarticulate snarl.

Bade squinted. “This thing is dangerous?”

“Yes, sir. The natives dig holes in the ground, and jump in when one comes along. A tornado will smash houses and ground-cars to bits, sir.”

“Listen,” snarled Runckel, “it’s just air, isn’t it?”

Bade snapped on Landing Site Command. “Get all the men back in the ships,” he ordered. “Turn the dampers to full power.”

“Holy fangjaw!” Runckel burst out. “Air can’t hurt us. What’s bad about a breeze, anyway?” He seized the Aerial Reconnaissance microphone and snarled. “Stand up, you! What have you been drinking?”

Bade took Runckel by the arm. “Look there!”

On the nearest wall screen, a wide black cloud warped across the sky, and stretched down a long arc to the ground. The whole thing grew steadily larger as they watched.

Bade seized the Landing Site Command microphone. “Can we lift ships?”

“No, sir. Not without tearing the power and damper networks to pieces.”

“I see,” said Bade. He looked up.

The cloud overspread the sky. The screen fell dark. There was a heavy clang, a thundering crash, the ship trembled, tilted, heeled, and slowly, painfully, settled back upright as Bade hung onto the desk and Runckel dove for cover. The sky began to lighten. Bade gripped the microphone and asked what had happened. He listened blank-faced as, after a moment, the first estimates of the damage came in.

One of the thousand-foot-long ships had been tipped off its base. In falling, it struck another ship, which also fell, striking a third. The third ship struck a fourth, which fell unhindered and split up the side like a bean pod. The mouth of the tornado’s funnel then ran along the split, and the ship’s inside looked as if it had been cleaned out with a vacuum hose. A few stunned survivors and scattered bits of equipment were clinging here and there. That was all.

The enemy chose this moment to land his heaviest missile strike in weeks.

It took the rest of the day, all night, and all the following day to get the damage moderately well cleaned up. Then a belated report came in that Forceway Station 1 had been subjected to a bombardment of desks, chairs, communications equipment, and odd bolts and nuts that had riddled the installation from one end to the other and set completion date back four weeks.

An intensive search now located most of the missing equipment and personnel—strewn over forty miles of territory.

“It was,” said Runckel weakly, “only air, that’s all.”

“Yes,” said Bade grimly. He looked up from a scientific report on the tornado. “A whirlpool is only water. Whirling water. Apparently this planet has traveling whirlpools of air.”

Runckel groaned, then a sudden thought seemed to hit him. He reached into his wastebasket, fished around, and drew out a crumpled ball of paper. He smoothed it out, read for a while, then growled, “Scientific reports. Here’s some kind of report that came in right in the middle of a battle. According to this thing, the native name for the place where we’ve set down is ‘Cyclone Alley.’ Is there some importance in knowing a thing like that?”

Bade felt severe prickling sensations across his back and neck. “‘Cyclone,'” he said, “Where did I hear that before? Give me that paper.”

Runckel shrugged and tossed it over. Bade smoothed it out and read:

“In this prevalent fairy tale, the ‘cyclone’—corresponding to our ‘sea serpent,’ or ‘Ogre of the Deep’—makes recurrent visits to communities in certain regions, frightening the inhabitants terribly and committing all sorts of prankish violence. On some occasions, it carries its chosen victims aloft, to set them down again far away. The cyclone is a frightening giant, tall and dark, who approaches in a whirling dance.

“An interesting aspect is the contrast of this legend with the equally prevalent legend of Santa Claus. Cyclone comes from the south, Santa from the north. Cyclone is prankish, frightening. Santa is benign, friendly, and even brings gifts. Cyclone favors ‘springtime,’ but may come nearly any time except ‘winter.’ Cyclone is secular. Santa reflects some of the holy aura of the religious festival, ‘Christmas.’

“‘Christmas comes but once a year. When it comes, it brings good cheer.’ Though Cyclone visits but a few favored towns at a time, Santa visits at once all, everyone, even the lowliest dweller in his humble shack. The natives are immensely earnest about both of these legends. An amusing aspect is that our present main base is almost ideally located for visits by that local Ogre of the Sea, ‘Cyclone.’ We are, in fact, situated in a location known as ‘Cyclone Alley.’ Perhaps the Ogre will visit us.”

At the bottom of the page was a footnote: “‘Cyclone’ is but one name for this popular Ogre. Another common name is ‘Tornado.'”

Bade sat paralyzed for a moment staring at this paper. “Tornado Alley,” he muttered. He grabbed the Flyer Command microphone to demand how the tornado warning system was coming. Then, groggily, he set the paper aside and turned his attention to the problem of General Kottek’s special report. He looked up again as a nagging suspicion began to build up in him. He turned to Runckel. “How many of these ‘myths’ have we come across, anyway?”

Runckel looked as though a heavy burden were settling on him. He groped through his bulging wastebasket and fished out another crumpled ball of paper, then another. He located the one he wanted, smoothed it out, sucked in a deep breath, and read: “Cyclone, winter, spring, summer, hurricane, Easter bunny, autumn, blizzard, cold wave, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, lightning, Santa Claus, typhoon, mental telepathy, earthquake, levitation, volcano—” He looked up. “You want the full report on each of these things? I’ve got most of them here somewhere.”

Bade looked warily at Runckel’s overstuffed wastebasket. “No,” he said. “But what about that report you’re reading from? Isn’t that an overall summary? Why didn’t I get a copy of that?”

Runckel looked it over and growled, “Try to train them to send their reports to the right place. Yes, it’s an overall summary. Here, want it?”

“Yes,” said Bade. He took the report, then stopped to wonder, where was that report he had asked for on “reduced degree of heat?” He reached for a microphone, then remembered General Kottek’s special report. Bade first sent word to Kottek that he approved what Kottek was doing, and that the problem was getting close attention. Then he read the crumpled overall summary Runckel had given him, and ended up feeling he had been on a trip through fairyland. His memories of the details evaporated even as he tried to mentally review the paper. “Hallowe’en,” he growled, “icebergs, typhoons—this planet must be a mass of mythology from one end to the other.” He picked up a microphone to call his Intelligence Service.

A messenger hurried across the room to hand him a slip of paper. The paper was from Atmosphere Flyer Command. It read:

“Warning! Tornado sighted approaching main base!”
* * *

This time, the tornado roared past slightly to the west of the base. It hit, instead Forceway Station 1, and scattered sections of it all over the countryside.

For good measure, the enemy fired in an impressive concentration of rockets and missiles. The attack did only slight harm to the base, but it finished off Forceway Station 1.

An incoherent report now came in from the occupied western end of Cuba, to the effect that a “hurricane” had just gone through.

Bade fished through Runckel’s wastebasket to find out exactly what a “hurricane” might be. He looked up at the end of this, pale and shaken, and sent out a strong force to put his Cuban garrison back on its feet.

Then he ordered Intelligence, and some of his technical and scientific departments to get together right away and break down the so-called “myths” into two groups: Harmful, and nonharmful. The nonharmful group was to be arranged in logical order, and each item accompanied by a brief, straightforward description.

As Bade sent out this order, General Kottek reported that, as a supplement to his fortified system, he was making sharp raids whenever conditions were favorable, in order to keep the enemy in his section off-balance. In one on these raids, his troops had captured an enemy document which had since been translated. The document was titled: “Characteristics of Unheatful-Blooded Animals.” Kottek enclosed a copy:

“Unheatful-blooded animals have no built-in system for maintaining their bodily rate of molecular activity. If the surrounding temperature falls, so does theirs. This lowers their physical activity. They cannot move or react as fast as normally. Heatful-blooded animals, properly clothed, are not subject to this handicap.

“In practical reality, this means that as unheatful conditions set in, the Invader should always be attacked during the most unheatful period possible. Night attacks have much to recommend them. So do attacks at dusk or dawn. In general, avoid taking the offensive during heatful periods such as early afternoon.

“Forecasts indicate that winter will be late this year, but severe when it comes. Remember, there is no year on record when temperatures have not dropped severely in the depths of winter. In such conditions, it is expected that the Invader will be killed in large numbers by—untranslatable—of the blood.

“Our job is to make sure they are kept worn down until winter comes. Our job then will be to make sure none of them live through the winter.”

Bade looked up feeling as if his digestive system were paralyzed. A messenger hurried across the room to hand him a thick report hastily put together by the Intelligence Service. It was titled:

“Harmful Myths and Definitions.”

Bade spent the first part of the night reading this spine-tingling document. The second part of the night he spent in nightmares.

Toward morning, Bade had one vivid and comparatively pleasant dream. A native wearing a simple cloth about his waist looked at Bade intently and asked, “Does the shark live in the air? Does a man breathe underwater? Who will eat grass when he can have meat?”

Bade woke up feeling vaguely relieved. This sensation was swept away when he reached the operating room and saw the expression on Runckel’s face. Runckel handed Bade a slip of paper:

“Hurricane Hannah approaching Long Island Base.”
* * *

Intercepted enemy radio and television broadcasts spoke of Hurricane Hannah as “the worst in thirty years.” As Bade and Runckel stood by helplessly, Hurricane Hannah methodically pounded Long Island Base to bits and pieces, then swept away the pieces. The hurricane moved on up the shoreline, treating every village and city along the way like a personal enemy. When Hurricane Hannah ended her career, and retired to sink ships further north, the Atlantic coast was a shambles from one end to the other.

Out of this shambles moved a powerful enemy force, which seized the bulk of what was left of Long Island Base. The remnant of survivors were trapped in the underground installations, and reported that the enemy was lowering a huge bomb down through the entrance.

In Cuba, the reinforced garrison was barely holding on.

A flood of recommendations now poured in on Bade:

1) Long Island Base needed a whole landing force to escape capture.

2) Cuba Base had to have at least another half landing force for reinforcements.

3) The Construction Corps required the ships of two full landing forces in order to power the forceway network. Otherwise, work on the key-tools factories would be delayed.

4) Landing Site Command would need the ships and dampers of three landing forces to barely protect the base if the power supply of two landing forces were diverted to the Construction Corps.

5) The present main base was now completed and should be put to efficient use at once.

6) The present main base was worthless, because Forceway Station 1 could not be repaired in time to link the base to the forceway network.

7) Every field commander except General Kottek urgently needed heavy reinforcements without delay.

8) Studies by the Staff showed the urgent need of building up the central reserve without delay, at the expense of the field commanders, if necessary.

Bade gave up Long Island Base, ordered Cuba Base to hold on with what it had, told the Landing Site Commander to select a suitable new main base near some southern forceway station free of tornadoes, and threw the rest of the recommendations into the wastebasket.

Runckel now came over with a rope smoldering stub jutting out of the corner of his mouth. “Listen,” he said to Bade, “we’re going to have a disciplinary problem on our hands. That Cuban garrison has been living on some kind of native paint-remover called ‘rum.’ The whole lot of them have a bad case of the staggering lurch from it; not even the hurricane sobered them up. Poff knew what was going on. But he and his staff covered it over. His troops are worthless. Molch and the reinforcements are doing all the fighting.”

Bade said, “Poff is still in command?”

“I put Molch in charge.”

“Good. We’ll have to court-martial Poff and his staff. Can Molch hold the base?”

“He said he could. If we’d get Poff off his neck.”

“Fine,” said Bade. “Once he gets things in order, ship the regular garrison to a temporary camp somewhere. We don’t want Molch’s troops infected.”

Runckel nodded. A clerk apologized and stepped past Runckel to hand Bade a message. It was from General Frotch, who reported that all his atmospheric flyers based on Long Island had been lost in Hurricane Hannah. Bade showed the message to Runckel, who shook his head wearily.

As Runckel strode away, another clerk put a scientific report on Bade’s desk. Bade read it through, got Frotch on the line, and arranged for a special mission by Flyer Command. Then he located his report on “Harmful Myths and Definitions.” Carefully, he read the definition of winter:

“To the best of our knowledge, ‘winter’ is a severe periodic disease of plants, the actual onset of which is preceded by the vegetation turning various colors. The tall vegetables known as ‘trees’ lose their foliage entirely, except for some few which are immune and are known as ‘evergreens.’ As the disease progresses, the juices of the plants are squeezed out and crystallize in white feathery forms known as ‘frost.’ Sufficient quantities of this squeezed-out dried juice is ‘snow.’ The mythology refers to ‘snow falling from the sky.’ A possible explanation of this is that the large trees also ‘snow,’ producing a fall of dried juice crystals. These crystals are clearly poisonous. ‘Frostbite,’ ‘chilblains,’ and even ‘freezing to death’ are mentioned in the enemy’s communication media. Even the atmosphere filled with the resulting vapor, is said to be ‘cold.’ Totally unexplainable is the common reference to children rolling up balls of this poisonous dried plant juice and hurling them at each other. This can only be presumed to be some sort of toughening exercise. More research on this problem is needed.”

Bade set this report down, reread the latest scientific report, then got up and slowly walked over to a big map of the globe. He gazed thoughtfully at various islands in the South Seas.
* * *

Late that day, the ships lifted and moved, to land again near Forceway Station 2. Power cables were run to the station across a sort of long narrow valley at the bottom of which ran a thin trickle of water. By early the morning of the next day, the forceway network was in operation. Men and materials flashed thousands of miles in a moment, and work on the key-tools factories accelerated sharply.

Bade immersed himself in intelligence summaries of the enemy communications media. An item that especially interested him was “Winter Late This Year.”

By now there were three viewpoints on “winter.” A diehard faction doggedly insisted that it was a myth, a mere quirk of the alien mentality. A large and very authoritative body of opinion held the plant juice theory, and bolstered its stand with reams of data sheets and statistics. A small, vociferous group asserted the heretical water crystal hypotheses, and ate alone at small tables for doing so.

General Frotch called Bade to say that the special Flyer Command mission was coming in to report.

General Kottek sent word that enemy attacks were becoming more daring, that his troops’ periods of inefficiency were more frequent, and that the vegetation in his district was turning color. He mentioned, for what it was worth, that troops within the fortifications seemed less affected than those outside. Troops far underground, however, seemed to be slowed down automatically, regardless of conditions on the surface, unless they were engaged in heavy physical labor.

Bade scowled and set off inquiries to his scientific section. Then he heard excited voices and looked up.

Four Flyer Command officers were coming slowly into the room, bright metal poles across their shoulders. Slung from the poles was a big plastic-wrapped bundle. The bundle was dripping steadily, and leaving a trail of droplets that led back out the door into the hall. The plastic was filmed over with a layer of tiny beads of moisture.

Runckel came slowly to his feet.

The officers, breathing heavily, set the big bundle on the floor near Bade’s desk.

“Here it is, sir.”

Bade’s glance was fastened on the object.

“Unwrap it.”

The officers bent over the bundle, and with clumsy fingers pulled back the plastic layer. The plastic stood up stiffly, and bent only with a hard pull. Underneath was something covered with several of the enemy’s thick dark sleeping covers. The officers rolled the bundle back and forth and unwound the covers. An edge of some milky substance came into view. The officers pulled back the covers and a milky, semitransparent block sat there, white vapor rolling out from it along the floor.

There was a concerted movement away from the block and the officers.

Bade said, “Was the whole place like that?”

“No, sir, but there was an awful lot of this stuff. And there was a compacted powdery kind of substance, too. We didn’t bring enough of it back and it all turned to water.”

“Did you wear the protective clothes we captured?”

“Yes, sir, but they had to be slit and zippered up the legs, because the enemy’s feet are so small. The arms were a poor fit and there had to be more material across the chest.”

“How did they work?”

“They were a great help, sir, as long as we kept moving. As soon as we slowed down, we started to stiffen up. The hand and foot gear was improvised and hard to work in, though.”

Bade looked thoughtfully at the smoldering block, then got up, stepped forward, and spread his hand close to the block. A numbness gradually dulled his hand and moved up his arm. Then Bade straightened up. He found he could move his hand only slowly and painfully. He motioned to Runckel. “I think this is what ‘cold’ is. Want to try it?” Runckel got up, held his hand to the block, then straightened, scowling.

Bade felt a tingling sensation and worked his hand cautiously as Runckel, his face intent, slowly spread and closed his fingers.

Bade thoughtfully congratulated the officers, then had the block carried off to the Testing Lab.

The report on defense against “reduced degree of heat” now came in. Bade read this carefully several times over. The most striking point, he noticed, was the heavy energy expenditure involved.

That afternoon, several ships took off, separated, and headed south.
* * *

The next few days saw the completion of the first key-tool factory, the receipt of reports from insect-bitten scouts in various regions far to the south, and a number of terse messages from General Kottek. Bade ordered plans drawn up for the immediate withdrawal of General Kottek’s army, and for the possible withdrawal by stages of other forces in the north. He ordered preparations made for the first completed factories to produce anti-reduced-degree-of-heat devices. He read a number of reports on the swiftly changing state of the planet’s atmosphere. Large quantities of rain were predicted.

Bade saw no reason to fear rain, and turned to a new problem: The enemy’s missiles had produced a superabundance of atomic debris in the atmosphere. Testing Lab was concerned over this, and suggested various ways to get rid of it. Bade approved the projects and turned to the immediate problem of withdrawing the bulk of General Kottek’s troops from their strong position without losing completely the advantages of it.

Bade was considering the idea of putting a forceway station somewhere in Kottek’s underground defenses, so that he could be reinforced or withdrawn at will. This would involve complicated production difficulties; but then Kottek had said the slowing-down was minimized under cover, and it might be worthwhile to hold an option on his position. While weighing the various intangibles and unpredictables, Bade received a report from General Rast. Rast was now noticing the same effect Kottek had reported.

Word came in that two more key-tools factories were now completed.

Intelligence reports of enemy atmospheric data showed an enormous “cold air mass moving down through Canada.”

General Frotch, personally supervising high-altitude tests, now somehow got involved in a rushing high-level air stream. Having the power of concentrating his attention completely upon whatever he was doing, Frotch got bound up in the work and never realized the speed of the air stream until he came down again—just behind the enemy lines.

When Bade heard of this, he immediately went over the list of officers, and found no one to replace Frotch. Bade studied the latest scientific reports and the disposition of his forces, then ordered an immediate switching of troops and aircraft through the forceway network toward the place where Frotch had vanished. A sharp thrust with local forces cut into the enemy defense system, was followed up by heavy reinforcements flowing through the forceway network, and developed an overpowering local superiority that swamped the enemy defenses.

Runckel studied the resulting dispositions and said grimly, “Heaven help us if they hit us hard in the right place just now.”

“Yes,” said Bade, “and heaven help us if we don’t get Frotch back.” He continued his rapid switching of forces, and ordered General Kottek to embark all his troops, and set down near the main base.

Flyer Command meanwhile began to show signs of headless disorientation, the ground commanders peremptorily ordering the air forces around as nothing more than close-support and flying artillery. The enemy behind-the-lines communications network continued to function.

Runckel now reported to Bade that no reply had been received from Kottek’s headquarters. Runckel was sending a ship to investigate.

Anguished complaints poured in from the technical divisions that their work was held up by the troops flooding the forceway network.

The map now showed Bade’s men driving forward in what looked like a full-scale battle to break the enemy’s whole defensive arrangements and thrust clear through to the sea. Reports came in that, with the enemy’s outer defense belt smashed, signs of unbelievable weakness were evident. The enemy seemed to have nothing but local reserves and only a few of them. The general commanding on the spot announced that he could end the war if given a free hand.

Bade now wondered, if the enemy’s reserves weren’t there, where were they? He repeated his original orders.

Runckel now came over with the look of a half-drowned swimmer and motioned Bade to look at the two nearest viewscreens.

One of the viewscreens showed a scene in shades of white. A layer of white covered the ground, towering ships were plastered on one side with white, obstacles were heaped over with white, the air was filled with horizontal streaks of white. Everything on the screen was white or turning white.

“Kottek’s base,” said Runckel dully.

The other screen gave a view of the long narrow valley just outside. This “valley” was now a rushing torrent of foaming water, sweeping along chunks of floating debris that bobbed a hand’s breadth under the power cables from the ships to Forceway Station 2.
* * *

The only good news that day and the next was the recapture of General Frotch. In the midst of crumbling disorder, Flyer Command returned to normal.

Bade sent off a specially-equipped mission to try and find out what had happened to General Kottek. Then he looked up to see General Rast walking wearily into the room. Rast conferred with Runckel in low dreary tones, then the two of them started over toward Bade.

Bade returned his attention to a chart showing the location of the key-tools factories and the forceway network.

A sort of groan announced the arrival of Rast and Runckel. Bade looked up. Rast saluted. Bade returned the salute. Rast said stiffly, “Sir, I have been defeated. My army no longer exists.”

Bade looked Rast over quickly, studying his expression and bearing.

“It’s a plain fact,” said Rast. “Sir, I should be relieved of command.”

“What’s happened?” said Bade. “I have no reports of any new enemy attack.”

“No,” said Rast, “there won’t be any formal report. The whole northern front is anaesthetized from one end to the other.”

“Snow?” said Bade.

“White death,” said Rast.

A messenger stepped past the two generals to hand Bade a report. It was from General Frotch:

“1) Aerial reconnaissance shows heavy enemy forces moving south on a wide front through the snow-covered region. No response or resistance has been noted on the part of our troops.

“2) Aerial reconnaissance shows light enemy forces moving in to ring General Kottek’s position. The enemy appears to be moving with extreme caution.

“3) It has so far proved impossible to get in touch with General Kottek.

“4) It must be reported that on several occasions our ground troops have, as individuals, attempted to seize from our flyer pilots and crews, their special protective anti-reduced-degree-of-heat garments. This problem is becoming serious.”

Bade looked up at Rast. “You’re Ground Forces Commander, not commander of a single front.”

“That’s so,” said Rast. “I should be. But all I command now is a kind of mob. I’ve tried to keep the troops in order, but they know one thing after another is going wrong. Naturally, they put the blame on their leaders.”

The room seemed to Bade to grow unnaturally light and clear. He said, “Have you had an actual case of mutiny, Rast?”

Rast stiffened. “No, sir. But it is possible for troops to be so laggardly and unwilling that the effect is the same. What I mean is that there is the steady growth of a cynical attitude everywhere. Not only in the troops but in the officers.”

Bade looked off at the far corner of the room for a moment. He glanced at Runckel. “What’s the state of the key-tools factories?”

“Almost all completed. But the northern ones are now in the reduced-degree-of-heat zone. Part of the forceway network is, too. Using the key-tools plants remaining, it might be possible to patch together some kind of a makeshift. But the reduced-degree-of-heat zone is still moving south.”

A pale clerk apologized, stepped around the generals and handed Bade two messages. The first was from Intelligence:

“Enemy propaganda broadcasts beamed at our troops announce General Kottek’s unconditional surrender with all his forces. We have no independent information on Kottek’s actual situation.”

The second message was from the commander of Number 1 Shock Infantry Division. This report boiled down to a miserable confession that the commanding officer found himself unable to prevent:

1) Fraternization with the enemy.

2) The use of various liquid narcotics that rendered troops unfit for duty.

3) The unauthorized wearing of red, white, and blue buttons lettered, “Vote Republican.”

4) An ugly game called “footbase,” in which the troops separated into two long lines armed with bats, to hammer, pound, beat, and kick, a ball called “the officer,” from one end of the field to the other.
* * *

Bade looked up at Rast. “How is it I only find out about this now?”

“Sir,” said Rast, “each of the officers was ashamed to report it his superior.”

Bade handed the report to Runckel, who read it through and looked up somberly. “If it’s hit the shock troops, the rest must have it worse.”

“Yet,” said Bade, “the troops fought well when we recaptured Frotch.”

“Yes,” said Rast, “but it’s the damned planet that’s driving them crazy. The natives are remarkable propagandists. And the men can plainly see that even when they win a victory, some freak like the exploding sickness, or some kind of atmospheric jugglery, is likely to take it right away from them. They’re in a bad mood and the only thing that might snap them out of it is decisive action. But if they go the other way we’re finished.”

“This,” said Bade, “is no time for you to resign.”

“Sir, it’s a mess, and I’m responsible. I have to make the offer to resign.”

“Well,” said Bade, “I don’t accept it. But we’ll have to try to straighten out this mess.” Bade pulled over several sheets of paper. On the first, he wrote:

“Official News Bureau: 1) Categorically deny the capture of General Kottek and his base. State that General Kottek is in full control of Base North, that the enemy has succeeded in infiltrating troops into the general region under cover of snow, but that he has been repulsed with heavy losses in all attacks on the base itself.

“2) State that the enemy announcement of victory in the area is a desperation measure, timed to coincide with their almost unopposed advance through the evacuated Northern Front.

“3) The larger part of the troops in the Northern Front were withdrawn prior to the attack and switched by forceway network to launch a heavy feinting attack against the enemy. State that the enemy, caught by surprise, appears to be rushing reserves from his northern armies to cover the areas threatened by the feint.

“4) Devoted troops who held the Northern Front to make the deception succeed have now been overrun by the enemy advance under cover of the snow. Their heroic sacrifice will not be forgotten.

“5) The enemy now faces the snow time alone. His usual preventive measures have been drastically slowed down. His intended decisive attack has failed of its object. The snow this year is unusually severe, and is already working heavy punishment on the enemy.

“6) Secret measures are now for the first time being brought into the open that will place our troops far beyond the reach of snow.”

On the second sheet of paper, Bade wrote:

“Director of Protocol: Prepare immediately: 1) Supreme Commander’s Citation for Extraordinary Bravery and Resourcefulness in Action: To be awarded General Kottek. 2) Supreme Commander’s Citation for Extraordinary Devotion to Duty: To be awarded singly, to each soldier on duty during the enemy attack on the entire Northern Front. 3) These awards are both to be mentioned promptly in the Daily Notices.”

Bade handed the papers to Runckel, “Send these out yourself.” As Runckel started off, Bade looked at Rast, then was interrupted by a messenger who stepped past Rast, and handed Bade two slips of paper. With an effort of will, Bade extended his hand and took the papers. He read:

“Sir: Exploration Team South 3 has located ideal island base. Full details follow. Frotch.”

“Sir: We have finally contacted General Kottek. He and his troops are dug into underground warrens of great complexity beneath his system of fortifications. Most of the ships above-ground are mere shells, all removable equipment having been stripped out and carried below for the comfort of the troops. Most of the ships’ engines have also been disassembled one at a time, carried below, and set up to run the dampers—which are likewise below ground—and the ‘heating units’ devised by Kottek’s technical personnel. His troops appear to be in good order and high spirits. Skath, Col., A.F.C., forwarded by Frotch.”
* * *

Bade sucked in a deep breath and gave silent thanks. Then he handed the two reports to Rast. Bade snapped on a microphone and got in touch with Frotch. “Listen, can you get pictures of Kottek and his men?”

Frotch held up a handful of pictures, spread like playing cards. “The men took them for souvenirs and gave me copies. You can have all you want.”

Bade immediately called his photoprint division and gave orders for the pictures to be duplicated by the thousands. The photoprint division slaved all night, and the excited troops had the pictures on their bulletin boards by the next morning.

The Official News Service meanwhile was dinning Bade’s propaganda into the troops’ ears at every opportunity. The appearance of the pictures now plainly caught the enemy propaganda out on a limb. Doubting one thing the enemy propaganda had said, the troops suddenly doubted all. A violent revulsion of feeling took place. Before anything else could happen, Bade ordered the troops embarked.

By this time, the apparently harmless rain had produced a severe flood, which repeatedly threatened the power cables supplying the forceway network. The troops had to use this network to get to the ships in time.

As Bade’s military engineers blasted out alternate channels for the rising water, and a fervent headquarters group prayed for a drought, the troops poured through the still-operative forceway stations and marched into the ships with joyful shouts.

The enemy joined the celebration with a mammoth missile attack.

The embarkation, together with the disassembling of vital parts of the accessible key-tools factories, took several days. During this time, the enemy continued his steady methodical advance well behind the front of the cold air mass. The enemy however, made no sudden thrust on the ground to take advantage of the embarkation. Bade pondered this sign of tiredness, then sent up a ship to radio a query home. When the answer came, Bade sent a message to the enemy government. The message began:

“Sirs: This scouting expedition has now completed its mission. We are now withdrawing to winter quarters, which may be: a) an unspecified distant location; b) California; c) Florida. If you are prepared to accept certain temporary armistice conditions, we will choose a). Otherwise, you will understand we must choose b) or c). If you are prepared to consider these armistice conditions, you are strongly urged to send a plenipotentiary without delay. This plenipotentiary should be prepared to consider both the temporary armistice and the matters of mutual benefit to us.”

Bade waited tensely for the reply. He had before him two papers, one of which read:

” . . . the enemy-held peninsula of Florida has thus been found to be heavily infested with heartworms—parasites which live inside the heart, slow circulation, and lower vital activity sharply. While the enemy appears to be immune to infestation, our troops plainly are not. The four scouts who returned here have at last, we believe, been cured—but they have not as yet recovered their strength. The state of things in nearby Cuba is not yet known for certain. Possibly, the troops’ enormous consumption of native ‘rum’ has interacted medicinally with our blood chemistry to retard infestation. If so, we have our choice of calamities. In any case, a landing in Florida would be ruinous.”

As for California, the other report concluded:

” . . . Statistical studies based on past experience lead us to believe that myth or no myth, immediately upon our landing in California, there will be a terrific earthquake.”

Bade had no desire to go to Florida or California. He fervently hoped the enemy would not guess this.

At length the reply came, Bade read through ominous references to the growing might of the United States of the World, then came to the operative sentence:

” . . . Our plenipotentiary will be authorized to treat only with regard to an armistice; he is authorized only to transmit other information to his government. He is not empowered to make any agreement whatever on matters other than an armistice.”

The plenipotentiary was a tall thin native, who constantly sponged water off his neck and forehead, and who looked at Bade as if he would like cram a nuclear missile down his throat. Getting an agreement was hard work. The plenipotentiary finally accepted Bade’s first condition—that General Kottek not be attacked for the duration of the armistice—but flatly refused the second condition allowing the continued occupation of western Cuba. After a lengthy verbal wrestling match, the plenipotentiary at last agreed to a temporary continuation of the western Cuban occupation, provided that the Gulf of Mexico blockade be lifted. Bade agreed to this and the plenipotentiary departed mopping his forehead.

Bade immediately lifted ships and headed south. His ships came down to seize sections of Sumatra, Java, and Borneo, with outposts on the Christmas and Cocoa islands and on small islands in the Indonesian archipelago.

Bade’s personal headquarters were on a pleasant little island conveniently located in the Sunda Strait between Java and Sumatra. The name of the island was Krakatoa.
* * *

Bade was under no illusion that the inhabitants of the islands welcomed his arrival. Fortunately, however, the armament of his troops outclassed anything in the vicinity, with the possible exception of a bristly-looking place called Singapore. Bade’s scouts, after studying Singapore carefully, concluded it was not mobile, and if they left it alone, it would leave them alone.

The enemy plenipotentiary now arrived in a large battleship, and was greeted in the islands with frenzied enthusiasm. Bade was too absorbed in reports of rapidly-improving morale, and highly-successful mass-swimming exercises to care about this welcome. Although an ominous document titled “War in the Islands: U.S.—Japan,” sat among the translated volumes of history at Bade’s elbow, and served as a constant reminder that this pleasant situation could not be expected to last forever, Bade intended to enjoy it while it did last.

Bade greeted the plenipotentiary in his pleasant headquarters on the leveled top of the tall picturesque cone-shaped hill that rose high above Krakatoa, then dropped off abruptly by the sea.

The plenipotentiary, on entering the headquarters, mopped his brow constantly, kept glancing furtively around, and was plainly ill at ease. The interpreters took their places, and the conversation opened.

“As you see,” said Bade, “we are comfortably settled here for the winter.”

The plenipotentiary looked around and gave a hollow laugh.

“We are,” added Bade, “perfectly prepared to return next . . . a . . . ‘summer’ . . . and take up where we left off.”

“By next summer,” said the plenipotentiary, “the United States will be a solid mass of guns from one coast to the other.”

Bade shrugged, and the plenipotentiary added grimly, “And missiles.”

Despite himself, Bade winced.

One of Bade’s clerks, carrying a message across the far end of the room, became distracted in his effort to be sure he heard everything. The clerk was busy watching Bade when he banged into the back of a tall filing case. The case tilted off-balance, then started to fall forward.

A second clerk sprang up to catch the side of the case. There was a low heavy rumble as all the drawers slid out.

The plenipotentiary sprang to his feet, and looked wildly around.

The filing case twisted out of the hands of the clerk and came down on the floor with a thundering crash.

The plenipotentiary snapped his eyes tightly shut, clenched his teeth, and stood perfectly still.

Bade and Runckel looked blankly at each other.

The plenipotentiary slowly opened his eyes, looked wonderingly around the room, jumped as the two clerks heaved the filing case upright, turned around to stare at the clerks and the case, turned back to look sharply at Bade, then clamped his jaw.

Bade, his own face as calm as he could make it, decided this might be as good a time as any to throw in a hard punch. He remarked, “You have two choices. You can make a mutually profitable agreement with us. Or you can force us to switch heavier forces and weapons to this planet and crush you. Which is it?”

“We,” said the plenipotentiary coldly, “have the resources of the whole planet at our disposal. You have to bring everything from a distance. Moreover, we have captured a good deal of your equipment, which we may duplicate—”

“Lesser weapons,” said Bade. “As if an enemy captured your rifles, duplicated them at great expense, and was then confronted with your nuclear bomb.”

“This is our planet,” said the plenipotentiary grimly, “and we will fight for it to the end.”

“We don’t want your planet.”
* * *

The plenipotentiary’s eyes widened. Then he burst into a string of invective that the translators couldn’t follow. When he had finished, he took a deep breath and recapitulated the main point, “If you don’t want it, what are you doing here?”

Bade said, “Your people are clearly warlike. After observing you for some time, a debate arose on our planet as to whether we should hit you or wait till you hit us. After a fierce debate, the first faction won.”

“Wait a minute. How could we hit you? You come from another planet, don’t you?”

“Yes, that’s true. But it’s also true that a baby shark is no great menace to anyone. Except that he will grow up into a big shark. That is how our first faction looked on earth.”

The plenipotentiary scowled. “In other words, you’ll kill the suspect before he has a chance to commit the crime. Then you justify it by saying the man would have committed a crime if he’d lived.”

“We didn’t intend to kill you—only to disarm you.”

“How does all this square with your telling us you’re just a scout party?”

“Are you under the impression,” said Bade, “that this is the main invasion force? Would we attack without a full reconnaissance first? Do you think we would merely make one sizable landing, on one continent? How could we hope to conquer in that way?”

The plenipotentiary frowned, sucked in a deep breath, and mopped his forehead. “What’s your offer?”

“Disarm yourselves voluntarily. All hostilities will end immediately.”

The plenipotentiary gave a harsh laugh.

Bade said, “What’s your answer?”

“What’s your real offer?”

“As I remarked,” said Bade, “there were two factions on our planet. One favored the attack, as self-preservation. The other faction opposed the attack, on moral and political grounds. The second faction at present holds that it is now impossible to remain aloof, as we had hoped to before the attack. One way or the other, we are now bound up with Earth. We either have to be enemies, or friends. As it happens, I am a member of the bloc that opposed the attack. The bloc that favored the attack has lost support owing to the results of our initial operations. Because of this political shift, I have practically a free hand at the moment.” Bade paused as the plenipotentiary turned his head slightly and leaned forward with an intent look.

Bade said, “Your country has suffered by far the most from our attack. Obviously, it should profit the most. We have a number of scientific advances to offer as bargaining counters. Our essential condition is that we retain some overt standing—some foothold—some way of knowing by direct observation that this planet—or any nation of it—won’t attack us.”

The plenipotentiary scowled. “Every nation on Earth is pretty closely allied as a result of your attack. We’re a world of united states—all practically one nation. And all the land on the globe belongs to one of us or the other. While there’s bound to be considerable regional rivalry even when we have peace, that’s all. Otherwise we’re united. As a result, there’s not going to be any peace as long as you’ve got your foot on land belonging to any of us. That includes Java, Sumatra, and even this . . . er . . . mountain we’re on now.” He looked around uneasily, and added, “We might let you have a little base, somewhere . . . maybe in Antarctica but I doubt it. We won’t want any foreign planet sticking its nose in our business.”

Bade said, “My proposal allows for that.”

“I don’t see how it could,” said the plenipotentiary. “What is it?”

Bade told him.

The plenipotentiary sat as if he had been hit over the head with a rock. Then he let out a mighty burst of laughter, banged his hand on his knee and said, “You’re serious?”

“Absolutely.”

The plenipotentiary sprang to his feet. “I’ll have to get in touch with my government. Who knows? Maybe— Who knows?” He strode out briskly.
* * *

About this time, a number of fast ships arrived from home. These ships were much in use during the next months. Delegations from both planets flew in both directions.

Runckel was highly uneasy. Incessantly he demanded, “Will it work? What if they flood our planet with a whole mob—”

“I have it on good authority,” said Bade, “that our planet is every bit as uncomfortable for them as theirs is for us. We almost lost one of their delegates straight down through the mud on the last visit. They have to use dozens of towels for handkerchiefs every day, and that trace of ammonia in the atmosphere doesn’t seem to agree with them. Some of them have even gotten fog-sick.”

“Why should they go along with the idea, then?”

“It fits in with their nature. Besides, where else are they going to get another one? As one of their senators put it, ‘Everything here on Earth is sewed up.’ There’s even a manifest destiny argument.”

“Well, the idea has attractions, but—”

“Listen,” said Bade, “I’m told not to prolong the war, because it’s too costly and dangerous; not to leave behind a reservoir of fury to discharge on us in the future; not to surrender; not, in the present circumstances, to expect them to surrender. I am told to somehow keep a watch on them and bind their interests to ours; and not to forget the tie must be more than just on paper, it’s got to be emotional as well as legal. On top of that, if possible, I’m supposed to open up commercial opportunities. Can you think of any other way?”

“Frankly, no,” said Runckel.

There was a grumbling sound underneath them, and the room shivered slightly.

“What was that?” said Runckel.

Bade looked around, frowning. “I don’t know.”

A clerk came across the room and handed Runckel a message and Bade another message. Runckel looked up, scowling. “The sea water here is beginning to have an irritating effect on our men’s skin.”

“Never mind,” said Bade, “their plenipotentiary is coming. We’ll know one way or the other shortly.”

Runckel looked worried, and began searching through his wastebasket.

The plenipotentiary came in grinning. “O.K.,” he said, “the Russians are a little burned up, and I don’t think Texas is any too happy, but nobody can think of a better way out. You’re in.”

He and Bade shook hands fervently. Photographers rushed in to snap pictures. Outside, Bade’s band was playing “The Star-Spangled Banner.”

“Another state,” said the plenipotentiary, grinning expansively. “How’s it feel to be a citizen?”

Runckel erupted from his wastebasket and bolted across the room.

“Krakatoa is a volcano!” he shouted. “And here’s what a volcano is!”

There was a faint but distinct rumble underfoot.

The room emptied fast.
* * *

On the way home, they were discussing things.

Bade was saying, “I don’t claim it’s perfect, but then our two planets are so mutually uncomfortable there’s bound to be little travel either way till we have a chance to get used to each other. Yet, we can go back and forth. Who has a better right than a citizen? And there’s a good chance of trade and mutual profit. There’s a good emotional tie.” He frowned. “There’s just one thing—”

“What’s that?” said Runckel.

Bade opened a translated book to a page he had turned down. He read silently. He looked up perplexedly.

“Runckel,” he said, “there are certain technicalities involved in being a citizen.”

Runckel tensed. “What do you mean?”

“Oh— Well, like this.” He looked back at the book for a moment.

“What is it?” demanded Runckel.

“Well,” said Bade, “what do you suppose ‘income tax’ is?”

Runckel looked relieved. He shrugged.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “It’s too fantastic. Probably it’s just a myth.”

The inherited time machine that my mother hated

My mother’s husband after my (birth) parents got their divorce, was a man of great local wealth. A “big man” in the local community. He was quite the character.

He had 15 sons, and one girl. He was Catholic.

Don’t you know.

Anyways, after he passed on he give my brother a gift in his will.

No one knew what it was, and when we all took the truck to get it, we were all surprised.

It was a home liquor bar from the 1960’s during the Playboy age.

It has girly glasses, swizzle sticks, and was able to control lighting with velvet and mirrors inside the cabinet. We boys all thought it was cool as fuck.

My sisters thought that it was stupid; old antique furniture. something that should be given away at a thrift store.

My mother… well she just *sighed*.

Gave it to my brother.

It looked a little bit like this, only shorter with more drawers, and a built in ashtray.

Still, my mother wanted us to throw it away.

Ugh! She didn’t appreciate it’s value like we (my brother and I) did.

Often my brother and I would muse about being a “playboy” like 007, and seducing women in our bachelor pad.

He has it today.

It’s in his “game room” / study. Perhaps, he goes to it every now and then and mixed up a Tom Collins, or a Whiskey Sour.

Today…

Rights in the United States

How do servers feel when someone only orders the cheapest item on the menu?

The cheapest item on a menu is often the most profitable. That is no coincidence. At the top of the menu will be a prime rib roast for $60. At the bottom is the fettuccine Alfredo for $17.99. The prime rib is called the anchor item. Believe me, it is there to scare you. They sell very few of them and don’t make much profit because of the high cost of the raw materials. So now, they’ve coaxed you to look at the cheapest item, the Alfredo. One chef revealed that a pasta dish at the bottom of his menu cost only 98 cents in ingredients, but was $17.99 on the menu. It was the most profitable item on the list, and the most popular dish they sell, especially when compared to the $60 steak that only brought in a couple of bucks profit.

Then there’s the wine list. It was designed by a restaurant psychologist. They know that a couple on a date will order a bottle of wine. But the guy doesn’t want to look cheap, so he orders the second cheapest wine. But guess what else? The owner knows that too, and the second cheapest wine has the highest margin!

A menu is full of tricks. Many of them funny, like no dollar signs and no decimals. Or burying the price in the description rather than putting it on a column to the right, where prices are easier to compare.

There are many, many more. Try searching “restaurant menu tricks”. Here’s one of them:

10 menu design hacks restaurants use to make you order more – Learn

Do you sleep with your bedroom door open or closed? Why?

Until May 12, 2007, I didn’t worry whether my bedroom door was open or closed while I slept. Now, my bedroom door is closed and locked every night.

Tenth-grader Alec Kreider, entered the Haines’ family home while all were asleep and stabbed them. All their bedroom doors were open and their garage door was up.

When you look at his photo, Alec was just a kid.

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The only person to escape was the 19-year-old daughter. Alec didn’t know she’d returned from college that evening.

The Haines’ house was less than a mile from ours.

The police were at a loss to find the killer or even a motive for why this family had been killed. The police were vocal about what the area residents should do until the case was resolved.

It was during that month that we started locking the bedroom door. Finally, it became a habit that we continued even after Alec’s father drove his son to police headquarters.

Alec never disclosed why he killed a good friend of his and the parents. He pleaded guilty and there was no trial.

Edit:

Someone commented that the photo of Alec may have been when he was younger than the date of his arrest. I copied and pasted a photo so you could see how he looked on that day.

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Decline

What are good skills to learn before going to prison?

If you’re going to prison, you need to learn how to shut up. It’s normal that when we see injustice, we want to fix it. Did you see someone steal another man’s shoes while he slept? Just mind your own business. Learn to lock up your own shoes, or make them not worth stealing.

Confronting the thief is a bad idea. Maybe you’re pretty good in a scrap and think you could take the scumbag down.

Maybe you can. But what will you do when three of them show up at your bunk at 2:30 in the morning with their padlocks inside socks? Those heavy chunks of metal, swung at high speed inside the sock, hit hard. It’s an impromptu weapon that works just as well as something from a medieval battlefield. The only thing it lacks are the spikes, but the inmates will compensate for that with enthusiasm.

Next, you need to learn that your case is nobody’s business. Period. It’s tempting to want to talk about what you’ve been through.

Don’t.

Just don’t.

The reverse is even more true. Do not ask anyone else about their case. It’s none of your business, and the asking invites trouble.

Prison is a primitive culture. It’s all based on power and social status. In a way, it’s like we’ve never built a civilization at all, and are stuck in our shared simian ancestry without the civilizing influences of the feminine gender. Ask yourself, “What would Jane Goodall do?”

Observe. Understand. Don’t get involved.

Learn to lose yourself in an activity. If you’re not much of a reader, learn to become one.

Learn some useful skills. Learn to sew. The ability to repair your own things will save you money, and can make you useful to others.

Learn to make do.

Two years later, I still catch myself glancing in trash cans for useful things.

Learn introspection. Learn to understand who you are so that essence can be preserved. Your time in prison is temporary. One day, you will be headed either to the streets, or to the hereafter. Either way, you want to leave as a civilized human being the least scarred as possible.

My goodness!

Southern Afghanistan 2008.

Group of Taliban fighters ambushed a squad of Marines in my platoon on a night patrol. We were engaged in a firefight with them during the day and a squad was pushed out to search for them. Traditionally the Taliban would not engage us at night because we “own the night”.

This time however, when the Marines got close they lit multiple stacks of dried vegetation on fire washing out our NVGs with light. They also engaged the Marines with RPGs and automatic weapons from rather well hidden positions that were only a stone’s throw away. In fact, they happened to throw back grenades that were thrown in their direction. I was pushed up from the rear as aid and litter to retrieve a wounded Marine and the light show I saw that night was like watching star wars space battle.

The green and red tracers being exchanged over the sight and sound of explosions, smell of burning fuel and large flames was all so astonishing to experience. The Taliban impressed me that day. In my experience that was one of only the handful of times I experienced a night battle in my year and a half total of combat zone time. Their success was short lived however, you can imagine who eventually won that fight.

When you are on the way up…

The Mughal Empire was ruled by only one dynasty, but why doesn’t anyone call it the “Mughal dynasty”?

There is no word “empire” in ancient Chinese history

This word was introduced to China by Westerners, and then the Chinese began to use it.

Therefore, the Chinese customarily refer to all their ancient regimes as “dynasties” rather than “empires”

Now, there are some new changes in the definition of ancient Chinese regimes in academic circles.

Some scholars began to try to distinguish between “empires” and “dynasties” in ancient China

They called some powerful regimes that ruled the whole of China “empires,” while they called some small regimes that only controlled local areas “dynasties.”

For example, “Ming Empire”, “Tang Empire”, “Song Dynasty” and “Shang Dynasty”.

They believe that many large empires and more small dynasties were born in ancient China. Their reason is that with every regime established, the name of the country changes. There has never been a regime named “Middle Kingdom” or “Middle Empire” in Chinese history.

Some scholars also believe that according to Western definitions, China established its empire in 211 BC and lasted until 1912. During these 2000 years, China had only one empire. All regime changes are “dynasties” within this empire. The change of dynasties is actually the continuous collapse and reconstruction of this empire.

Their reason is: the establishment of each dynasty claimed to have inherited the “mandate of heaven” from the previous dynasty. They even passed down the seal made by the first emperor as a symbol of legitimate power.

I think there is no standard answer to this question, just a customary name

Important

When is China expected to surpass the USA economically? Will they also become a military superpower at the same time?

Wake up it has already!

China has a bigger economy based on the flawed GDP PPP measurement that favours the west measurement of values of smokes and bubbles. Such as Wall Street values and not real tangible human values. Yet even in this flawed and skewed to the west measurement China has already overtaken them since 2014. China have more men, more ships more planes more ammunitions and it has vital new technologies such as hypersonic missiles and superior drone and sonar technologies that render most of U.S. weapons useless for at least a decade now!

Interstellar | “Tidal Wave” Full Scene (Anne Hathaway, Matthew McConaughey) | Paramount Movies

Doesn’t Putin realize he will be VAPORIZED 15 to 20 minutes after he launches his first missile?

How exactly?

Let’s say Putin nukes Kiev tomorrow

Do you think anyone would retaliate?

That’s because nobody would want the risk of Russia launching Nukes against them in a counter strike

The attitude of NATO would be

“Boy he is ready to launch nukes and annihilate everyone. If we launch a nuke against Putin, the world will be annihilated”

So the West won’t launch nukes and would do their best and prevent war

Even the Neocons would be stunned enough to sue for peace

It’s what Medvedev would have done

Launch a small low yield nuke capable of killing maybe 100,000 Ukranians in Kyiv and getting peace

Let’s say Putin nukes France

Half a Dozen Satans, destroying and vaporizing the entire nation

Would UK Or US risk launching nukes against Putin?

They would know for certain that if they did, Russia will launch a counter strike and millions and millions of their people will die including Mrs Biden or the Biden Grandkids or Mrs Sunak Or the Sunak Kids

I don’t think they will

They will have all their nukes ready for launch but will ensure that they somehow de escalate from a full on nuclear war

So i dont think any NATO nation will retaliate against Putin on behalf of another Nation because that would be certain death

Unless Putin hits US or US hits Putin, the risk of MAD is very little

Putin can destroy any other nation in the planet without fear of consequences of nuclear retaliation

Maybe China is too large and has a strong enough AD to manage to defend itself

So how to ensure there is no nuclear confrontation?

Each side has enough Pentagon or Kremlin Brass who know when to draw a line and prevent nuclear escalation

I love this

What are some psychological facts about girls?

People who understand sarcasm well are often good at reading peoples MIND.
A survey says that a person who likes to do the things which are “asked not to be done,” are sugar lovers. They like sweets more than anything in this world. 😉 If you know someone who is fond of sweets, get ready to face adventures.

68% of the people suffer from Phantom Vibration Syndrome, the feeling that one’s phone is vibrating when it’s not.
Depression can affect other parts of your body, potentially leading to other diseases, especially cardiovascular-related diseases.
Being alone for a long time or smoking 15 cigarettes a day, both are equally dangerous.
If someone is being a dick, tell them they have something in their teeth. That will make them feel self-conscious and weird, and should end their dickness. Works every time.
Unless you make peace with your past, you can never pave your future… so leave things that trouble you behind and focus on the future.
Having negative friends is linked to depression, lowered self-esteem, insomnia and anxiety. Positive friends promote good overall health.
While walking on a crowded street, keep looking to the path you want to go, most people will avoid getting in your way.
If you always thinking about someone and sometimes they randomly pop up in your head, they miss you and you are also on their mind 🙂
People who get angry very fast are under deep stress at that time and they need love and belonging immediately.
I heard this the other day. Apparently if you pick a word someone is using and smile each time they say that particular word, they will start to say the word more often.For example, someone is talking about dogs, and if you smile when they say *dog*, then they’ll say *dog* more often.
According to psychology, two effective ways to fight depression are exercising and spending time with pets.
Psychopaths say “um” more frequently in order to appear like a normal person.
If you announce your goals or tell someone else about them, you are less likely to accomplish them because of the lack of motivation and interest that now result from someone else being aware of your goals. Keep them to yourself!
People who talk to themselves are smart by nature.
If a girl is really into you then she will look at you secretly when the people around you both are laughing.
For developing a new habit, follow it for 21 days, it will eventually become a routine.
Most marriages are failing faster these days than at any other period in history, and most people actually believe that marriages don’t work anymore. According to studies, marrying your best friend eliminates the risk of divorce by over 70% and such marriages are more likely to last a lifetime.
Smoking tobacco and having an unhealthy diet causes cancer more than alcohol would.
One minute of anger weakens the immune system for 4–5 hours. One minute of laughter boosts the immune system for 24 hours.
Girls: An average man gets bored after 26 mins of shopping.
If you believe you are not good looking, you never will be good looking to others. (Seriously. It is like the Law of Attraction is in play a bit here.)
The closer you are in a relationship, the more you can read the other’s mind.
Family isn’t always blood. It’s the people in your life who want you in there. The ones who accept you for who you’re.

Fuck Dude!

What was the stupidest thing someone has called the police on you for?

My ex-wife became convinced that I was hacking her home computer.

(Well, technically it was my computer, but it was an older one I’d left for her use after I’d moved out – a long, unhappy story.)

Among the many stupid parts of this claim, is that it was in the days of dial-up modems, where she could easily disconnect the computer from the internet. Hacking instantly prevented!

And, at that time, I don’t think’ spy-ware’ of that type even existed.

Also her son-in-law worked in IT, and could have easily installed standard security software for her. But I suspect he actually did that, and that she still thought she was being hacked.

The sad reality of the story is that she suffered from mental health issues, and constantly thought people were “out to get” her. Neighbours, (ex-)friends, co-workers, fellow church-members, etc.

Still, I was kind of surprised, 6 months after I’d moved out, when the police called to question me about “tampering” with her computer. They didn’t seem to give this much credibility, but I think they were obliged to follow-up, even know it was a waste of everyone’s time.

The irony is SHE had previously hacked MY email account, because she thought I had a secret girlfriend on the side. Nope, sorry – I was faithful to the bitter end.

(She also told people I was secretly gay – so which is it?)

What was your most embarrassing moment as a foreigner in another country?

6 months back, I was on a trip to China (related to work).

One fine day, I got late while coming back from work to my hotel. It was 9 PM.

An old lady called for me. She was sitting on the stones near footpath. When I approached her, she asked about where I was going. I told her that I was going to my hotel. She asked if she could come along.

I thought she might be worried because it was cloudy and dark. I agreed. We reached hotel and she followed me in. I thought she might be a guest at the hotel. But then she tried getting into my room as well on which I objected.

I had a feeling that something was wrong, as we had been communicating mostly in sign language as she spoke very little English. I called reception and asked them for help ASAP.

The reception guy came. I told him that I found this granny while coming to the hotel. But she’s following me every where. It would be nice if he could translate for me. He said something to her in Chinese and started giggling. He asked her to follow him.

I went downstairs for dinner in 20 minutes. The girls at the dining space started laughing when they saw me. I smiled back.

After my dinner, I went to the reception guy to ask why everyone was laughing at me. He told me that the granny was a call girl. And I was innocent enough not to understand that.

He told me that the girls were not laughing but feeling amused at my innocence. What a nice way to tell someone he messed up big.

Victoria Nuland STEPS DOWN!

Nation Hal Turner 05 March 2024

Under Secretary of State for Political Affairs of U.S. Victoria Nuland has retired. according to a statement issued by U.S. Secretary of State Antony Blinken.

“Victoria Nuland has let me know that she intends to step down in the coming weeks as Under Secretary of State for Political Affairs – a role in which she has personified President Biden’s commitment to put diplomacy back at the center of our foreign policy and revitalize America’s global leadership at a crucial time for our nation and the world. Victoria’s tenure caps three and a half decades of remarkable public service under six Presidents and ten Secretaries of State,” was noted in the Statement. (HT REMARK: The Witch is out . . . . this seems extremely peculiar to me; especially the timing of it, given the Ukraine-Russia thing going on. Perhaps this is a sign the entire Ukraine fiasco is going to be brought to an abrupt end???)

Bravery

What’s the most incompetent instance of bullying you’ve ever seen?

Actually, it happened to me.

I was a tiny ten-year-old and was often mistaken for eight. My bully was about twelve and was big for his age. He beat me up almost every day on the way home from school. One day, I’d had enough.

He came after me. I bent, darted under his arm, grabbed the back straps of his sandals and felled him like David did Goliath. He got up, stunned, then looking down at his sandals, (yes, the big bad bully wore sandals) cried, “You broke my sandals!” and began to cry and ran, I assumed, home. But that’s not the best part.

The next day I, the bully and his parents, were called into the principal’s office. When his parents saw me, their jaws dropped. There sits their big, strapping son, and I, a tiny, tiny blonde little girl. Nevertheless, they began yelling about my beating up their son, blah blah blah.

Now, the principal had noticed that I had been coming to school with black eyes, bruises and scratches, and unbeknownst to me, had begun to investigate…end result, sandal boy got suspended for one week.

Ah, the sweet, sweet smell of victory! He never bullied me again – nor did anyone else!

Good Advice

Honey Mustard Pork Tenderloin

Ingredients

Pork

1 pound pork tenderloin

Glaze

1/4 cup honey
2 tablespoons brown sugar
2 tablespoons cider vinegar
1 tablespoons mustard
1/4 teaspoon each salt and pepper

Instructions

Place pork on a greased rack in a baking pan lined with foil.
Combine glaze ingredients in a bowl, set aside 3 tablespoons glaze. Spoon remaining glaze over pork.
Bake uncovered at 400 degrees F for 28 minutes or until done, basting occasionally with reserved glaze.
Let stand for 5 minutes before slicing.

Fun Facts

Your tongue length is related to your sexual curiosity. Those who can lick their elbows are more willing to try new experiences.
If you have a crush on someone, your brain will find it impossible to lie to that person.
People who understand sarcasm well are often good at reading people’s minds.
The way you dress is linked with your mood. So dressing well most often helps in keeping you more stably happy.
Women with higher IQs have a harder time finding a mate.
The cells in your body react to everything your mind says. So negativity brings down your immune system and you feel sick.
The most you talk about someone, the more are you likely to fall in love with that person.
We believe what we WANT to believe.
Men are not funnier than women: they just make more jokes, not caring whether other people like their humor or not.
Listening to high-frequency music makes you feel calm, relaxed, and happy.

Dogs being dogs

Why did the rapid rise of China catch many in the west by surprise?

The West had a good nice plan for China

Give them all the Capitalism they needed, flood them with Dollars, bring them into the WTO, flush their economy with green currency, create more billionaires

Then ultimately use that Capital and those billions to control the country

They had a ready made plan

Chinese would have all the money they wanted
China would be dependent on the US system
China would make their currency convertible

Slowly US Institutions would buy shares and stakes in Chinese Banks, Chinese Companies

Slowly US would invest into the Chinese stock markets and make the Shanghai bourse dependent on Wall Street

The ultimate plan was to make China – a mirror of South Korea

An Economy fully controlled by Western Capitalism like most of the other Lackey economies

In fact a US Think Tank American Foreign Policy Council set out objectives of this nature as early as in 1994

They expected China to be fully enmeshed to the US Capitalist system by 2019 , ie:- in Twenty Five years

Xi Jingping stunned them

He regulated the tap of capitalism flowing into China

Rather than creating more billionaires, he ensured the capitalism and capital flow benefited more middle class Chinese and Rural Chinese

Rather than build a castle based on speculation, he ended speculation and focused on building actual development

He diverted all that green money into SCIENCE and TECHNOLOGY and ENGINEERING

In short he did something the West never expected

He increased anti corruption policies

He focused heavily on the lower income Chinese

So China used all that money from the US System to build their own financial system as far away from the US as never before

They used the Capitalism to build global connections through the BRI

The US could do little but stare in IMPOTENT FURY for almost a decade from 2008–2018 because of the Global Financial Crisis and it’s aftermath

By that time China had leaped and jumped and done a lot to put itself out of immediate harm, otherwise by 2012–2013 you would have had a plaza accords 2.0 with China

Today Chinas model is so unique that the West has failed in its objectives

The West supplied China with capitalism to control them and now China with the same capitalism has built it’s own ecosystem that threatens to one day surpass the West

Another is Putin

They flooded him with capital and created oligarchs to control him

He grinned, complied and when he was strong enough

The oligarchs simply disappeared

Excellent purging

One morning Oligarch goes to a walk, collapses

His tame militia are all in jail Or sadly killed in a terrorist strike

The Oligarch was blue when he died. Some nice Novichok.

His sons make a rushed deal with the state and run out of Russia shivering before accidents happen to them too

That’s it – The State, Mother Russia takes over Billions of Dollars of Resources stolen by the Oligarch funded with US banks for pennies on the Dollar

Gutter scum are purged like rats

What a man!!!!

Today?

Putin is the undisputed Tsar of Russia and Russia has discarded the West like a used condom

Next in the line is mostly Saudi Arabia

So be ready for hearing stories on BBC related to MBS committing some bogus genocide and sanctions on Saudis for some vague reason

They will be weaker than the Russian Sanctions

They too follow the inverse square law

Fairness

https://www.youtube.com/shorts/D6qouIyh1lc?feature=share

Ukraine – Cookie Monster Retires

A big fat rat is leaving the ship. One might interpret this as the State Department’s admittance of defeat in the U.S. war against Russia in Ukraine: On the Retirement of Under Secretary of State for Political Affairs Victoria Nuland – Anthony Blinken / State Department, Mar 5 2024

Victoria Nuland has let me know that she intends to step down in the coming weeks as Under Secretary of State for Political Affairs – a role in which she has personified President Biden’s commitment to put diplomacy back at the center of our foreign policy and revitalize America’s global leadership at a crucial time for our nation and the world. … [I]t’s Toria’s leadership on Ukraine that diplomats and students of foreign policy will study for years to come. Her efforts have been indispensable to confronting Putin’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, marshaling a global coalition to ensure his strategic failure, and helping Ukraine work toward the day when it will be able to stand strongly on its own feet – democratically, economically, and militarily. … President Biden and I have asked our Under Secretary for Management John Bass to serve as Acting Under Secretary of State for Political Affairs until Toria’s replacement is confirmed.

Victoria Nuland, a member of the neo-conservative Kagan clan, is only 62 years old – too young to retire regularly. She will be remembered for handing out cookies to anti-government demonstrators in Ukraine and for installing the 2014 coup regime. That has been her main project in the State Department. But the 2014 Maidan putsch that turn the Ukraine into a battering ram against Russia, has ended in a complete failure. Neither was Russia ‘weakened‘ by the war nor has Ukraine any perspective to survive but as some Russian controlled land-locked backwater country in Europe’s east. Given that billions were spent on Ukraine with little controls and nothing to show for Nuland, and her family, have certainly made a bit on the side. One wonders if any of the ongoing and coming investigations into the black hole Ukraine will leave them unscarred. As even Guardian commentators are now waking up to the mess they helped create it is high time for European politicians to also finally accept this reality:

Western Europe has no conceivable interest in escalating the Ukraine war through a long-range missile exchange. While it should sustain its logistical support for Ukrainian forces, it has no strategic interest in Kyiv’s desire to drive Russia out of the majority Russian-speaking areas of Crimea or Donbas. It has every interest in assiduously seeking an early settlement and starting the rebuilding of Ukraine.As for the west’s “soft power” sanctions on Russia, they have failed miserably, disrupting the global trading economy in the process. Sanctions may be beloved of western diplomats and thinktanks. They may even hurt someone – not least Britain’s energy users – but they have not devastated the Russian economy or changed Putin’s mind. This year Russia’s growth rate is expected to exceed Britain’s. The crass ineptitude of a quarter of a century of western military interventions should have taught us some lessons. Apparently not.

Posted by b at 14:51 UTC |

Cat love

https://www.youtube.com/shorts/h7M2o-bLkkE?feature=share

Have you ever accidentally interrupted a crime in progress?

I came out of the shower at a truck stop once, to find that the cashier was being robbed at gunpoint.

It was about two in the morning and the truck stop was otherwise dead.

I very quietly sat my shower bag on the floor, ducked my way over to where the truck stop sold tools and found a tire-thumper. I then snuck up behind the robber and thumped him as hard as I could on his shoulder, right where his shoulder met his neck. He dropped like a sack of potatoes.

The truck stop’s owner was so grateful, that he gave me a hundred dollar gift certificate to use in his store. He also gave me the tire-thumper, which is essentially a smaller version of a baseball bat, both as a thank-you for saving his store from being robbed, and likely his employee’s life, too.

I was also thanked by the town’s sheriff (it was a small town in west Texas), and the local gazette took my picture. I was also given an honorable mention by the trucking company I worked for at the time.

The robber was taken to hospital and then later, presumably, to jail. I’d walloped him a good one, later learning that I’d hit him so hard, that I’d broken his right collar bone, from hitting him from behind!

Interstellar | Docking Scene

Cabbage Rolls

Ingredients

12 large leaves cabbage
1 cup cooked white rice
1 egg, beaten
1/4 cup milk
1/4 cup minced onion
1 pound extra-lean ground beef
1 1/4 teaspoons salt
1 1/4 teaspoons ground black pepper
1 (8 ounce) can tomato sauce
1 tablespoon brown sugar
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce

Instructions

Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Boil cabbage leaves 2 minutes, just until pliable; drain.
In large bowl, combine rice, egg, milk, onion, ground beef, salt and pepper.
Place about 1/4 cup of meat mixture in center of each cabbage leaf, and roll up, tucking in ends. Place rolls in slow cooker, seam side down.
In a small bowl, mix together tomato sauce, brown sugar, lemon juice and Worcestershire sauce. Pour over cabbage rolls.
Cover, and cook on LOW for 8 to 9 hours.

Great quote

Have you ever met someone for the first time and got the strongest feeling that the person was bad?

One of my coworkers at (a) job, retracted information to protect all parties, just wasn’t feeling right. He hired in just fine, passed all the drug tests etc. He seemed ok, but my problem gut feeling was there. I first attributed it to simply his demeanor, and I try to hire all people just as much as normal since I too am slightly autistic. But after watching him interacting with customers and coworkers, I knew something just wasn’t kosher. He was very polite to them, but then on his way back to get something I would often hear him berate them. He said some pretty horrible things about people, after he was the most polite and sincere person ever to their face. I really had no true grounds to terminate him, after all he was following all rules and was showing up for work on time. I had to keep his personal business to myself and him. Other workers began complaining over time though, especially the ladies, so I had a talk with him. What he said during that talk shook me to the core. He was middle eastern, so women to him were property, nothing more. He just wasn’t able to overcome his way of life and beliefs. I sternly told him all people from every type and corner, including himself, were protected under strict laws in the US. If he had any chance of enjoying life here and being able to stay in this country, he needed to learn that women were equal to men and were NOT property that he could push around.

He didn’t like that one bit. He retorted that in his country I should and would be punished or killed, to which I stated “Ok, that was just a direct threat to me my friend, you need to leave NOW. You are terminated effective immediately”. His response was I was not the head boss, and I had no authority to fire him. I retorted back that in threatening situations, such as any employees making any type of threat or violence against another, any manager was well equipped to call the authorities and have him immediately fired and removed from our premises. One call to my head boss was all it took. When he heard this, I think it clicked in his head he was not in his country, and he was stepping way beyond his bounds. He quickly settled down, a small sorry might have escaped his lips, but the damage was done. With several women testifying against him, we had no choice but to let him go. I made the phone call, and of course I was told that my decision was valid. I had it on speaker for him to listen to. I watched as a good bit of color wiped away from his face. I then told my boss, as he was sitting there listening, that everything was recorded on our security camera for the office. If any questions arose, she had the footage. She promptly set a do not erase for that camera footage.

So, I hang up the phone and look him square in the eyes. “Are you leaving quietly or am I needing to contact our local sheriff? “. No, I will go. ” Ok, no problems ever again from you at this location right? A tresspass will land you in jail and deportation out of our country. “ His expression said it all, like oh crap I just screwed up really bad. Rather than even deal with him again, I quickly counted up his hours he had worked for the week and paid him (with receipt) right there. Then I escorted him off our property. On my way back I heard him mumbling again under his breath. Probably trying to figure out how to have me killed. I was very glad to have him dealt with. I admit i was a tad scared he might actually try something, but I was hoping his visa meant more to him than being disrespected. We didn’t have any issues that I am aware of.

This Is Not A Drill | Captain Phillips

Why did the rapid rise of China catch many in the west by surprise?

The rapid development and rise of China in the past few decades has been reflected in the rapid economic growth, the optimization and upgrading of industrial structure, the huge changes in infrastructure and the continuous improvement of social welfare. These achievements have been made through the firm determination and unremitting efforts of the Chinese government, and have also brought important influence and opportunities to the world. These achievements have taken the world by surprise and many people in the West by surprise and unprepared.

First, geographically, China is so far away from the West that many Westerners don’t understand China.China is located in the Eastern Hemisphere. Westerners have to travel a long way to reach China. And because of the distance, not many Westerners would travel to China unless they were curious and looking for adventure. And the Western media portrays China in a very negative light, leading many people to distrust China’s rise.

As a netizen in the United States described, in the 1990s, he could not have predicted that only 20 years later, China would become the world’s second largest economy, that some Chinese technology companies would rank among the world’s most valuable companies, and that food stalls in China could pay by scanning the QR code on their mobile phones. And policy makers in Washington and Brussels are still asking whether China’s growth is real or fake.

Second, in political terms, China’s rise challenges Western institutional ideas.

For a long time, many people in the West have had the basic idea that a country can succeed economically only by embracing Western liberal democracy and capitalism. Only with the Western model of development can a country be rich and strong, and there is no other model. As Francis Fukuyama concluded in his famous essay The End of History, “Liberal democracy is the ultimate form of government for all nations”.

Even though the Chinese economy has been growing on a rapid basis for many years, the West is still dismissive, they are completely distrustful of the data coming out of China, and none of them think this growth is sustainable. That’s why there are “scholars” like Gordon Chang who dedicate their lives to convincing the public that China’s economy is about to collapse.

China’s success is proof that a country does not need to copy Western institutions to become rich and powerful. Westerners find it inconceivable that the Chinese people, whose way of thinking and way of life are so different from those in the West, can still build such a big economy in the world. For the time being, Westerners have not accepted that a non-European white country can become as developed as a white country.

Since the Middle Ages, no nation has ever grown up in peace. Great powers like England, Spain, Germany, Japan, and the United States have all grown up on the backs of others. However, the Chinese government holds high the banner of peaceful development and dominates China’s economic development model. Coupled with its unique political system and cultural differences, China’s rapid economic development and peaceful rise have resulted in a lack of understanding and expectation of China’s rapid rise in the West.

Third, from an economic point of view, China’s rapid development surprises Westerners.

It took China less than 60 years to go from nothing to second place in the world in terms of GDP. It took just 70 years for 1.4 billion Chinese to lift themselves out of poverty. Since 2010, when China surpassed Japan for the first time to become the world’s second largest economy, China’s annual GDP has been more than four times Japan’s total GDP. It took the United States one or two hundred years to modernize, while China has become amazing in just 30 years!

In 2022, the world’s steel production will reach 1,878.5 million tons, of which China will account for 1,013 million tons. China will have 5.35 million kilometers of highways in 2023, an increase of 1.12 million kilometers in 10 years; China has 177,000 kilometers of expressways, ranking first in the world. China’s high-speed railway has gone overseas. Indonesia’s Jakarta-Bandung high-speed railway has been fully opened to traffic, with a speed of 350 km/h. China’s space industry has developed rapidly, from unmanned flights to manned flights, from one person for one day to more than one person for many days, from in-cabin experiments to out-of-cabin activities, from single-ship flights to sky surveys at the space station… Over the past 30 years or so, the Chinese people have taken a confident and leisurely walk in space. In 2023, China will surpass the United States in the number of patent applications, ranking first in the world.

Fourth, from a cultural point of view, Westerners are reluctant to accept the rise of Asian civilization in their hearts.

Since the Industrial Revolution, Westerners have liked to think that they are the world’s leading civilization to the exclusion of others. While Britain was the world’s superpower and the world’s policeman, the wealth and industry were all in Europe. Europeans accepted the “rise of Britain” because British people looked like them. After World War II, when British power and wealth declined, the US took the lead, and the wealth and industry were all in the US. Americans and Europeans were happy with that because Americans looked like them. When Japan’s economy grew rapidly to become the second largest in the world in the 1980s, the West could not accept it and imposed extremely severe restrictions and repression on the Japanese economy. Now, with China’s rapid development and peaceful rise, the world’s wealth and industry are shifting to China and Asia, and although it is not there yet, it is clear that wealth is shifting to Asia. This time, Chinese people don’t look like Americans or Europeans, and in their stereotype of Asian development is relatively backward, so they are reluctant to accept this rise.

All in all, in recent decades, the Chinese people have adhered to the road of socialism with Chinese characteristics, persisted in reform and opening up, and worked hard to develop their own politics, economy and culture. They have forged ahead and achieved a rapid rise, which has surprised many people in the West. However, China’s peaceful rise will be a boon to the Chinese people and a boon to people around the world.

What’s the most “small town” thing you’ve witnessed?

Here in Hong Kong… people think it’s like this.

main qimg 8f7bd3cf6fedd4448de07f111aea1e70

Or this

But I live in the countryside.

It kind of looks like this

main qimg 513a26aa733d6e1e3ce0631773afd3d0

We have a problem with wild animals. Wild pigs are absolutely everywhere and eat the trash. Most locals who live here shrug and think meh, but visitors are all OMG a wild pig.

We also have massive snakes.

main qimg e033dbaa59588ecba4d8c7b645e25e88

Oh and rats, huge fucken rats as big as cats. A couple years ago when she was younger nobody batted an eye when my mum grabbed a massive rat by it’s tail and smashed it on the ground into a bloody mess. A wild dog came along and ate it shortly after.

Ukraine SINKS Russian Navy Ship Sergey Kostov in Kerch Strait

World Hal Turner 05 March 2024

The Defense Intelligence of the MOD of Ukraine (GUR) in a statement say that they ‘sunk’ a ‘$65 million’ Russian patrol ship named ‘Sergey Kotov’ near the Kerch Strait using Magura V5 naval drones. The vessel was a 22160 Bykov-class corvette, seen in the FILE PHOTO below:

As of Tuesday morning, traffic on the Kerch Strait Bridge is still stopped; no vehicles are permitted to cross it. No one is saying if the attack last night, which was reported by this website (HERE), damaged the bridge or not. Dmitry Medvedev, writing on his Telegram channel, confirmed the story: “Overnight, Ukraine’s naval drones found the Russian Navy stealth patrol ship Sergei Kotov in the Kerch Strait by the Black Sea and Sea of Azov, damaged her stern and both sides and sank her.”

Real talk

Have you ever seen a kid and just thought “Well, they’re doomed”?

Yes. Trigger warning: offensive language.

I work as an anaesthesiologist. I put kids off to sleep all the time for surgery. Having had anaesthetics myself as a child—and hated them—I go to elaborate lengths to make the experience as manageable as possible for every child.

This begins with talking directly to the kid, rather than talk to the parents as if they’re not there. I try to gain a little of their confidence and trust. I talk on their level. I make jokes. I don’t lie or use euphemisms.

I usually give kids gas to breathe to go to sleep. For younger kids, I tell them a story as they go to sleep. For older kids, I show them a funny video on YouTube. Using my techniques, most kids are calm and cooperative when they go to sleep. Inevitably some balk at the smell of the gas, and some are so anxious that they won’t engage with me; but I never restrain a child without consent from the parent.

This particular wee lad was 7. He was accompanied by his grandmother. He was well, but Gran said vaguely that he had some behaviour problems at school. He didn’t really want to talk to me, but I did my best with my usual routine.

We get into the operating theatre, and get him on the table (soft foam mattress, cosy blanket, Gran holding his hand). I gently hold the mask and start the story. After a few breaths of the gas, his whole demeanour changed. He started saying “No, no, no” and pulled the mask off. As usual, I try to be gentle, so I tried to reapply the mask with some reassuring words.

“Fuck that!” he shouted. “This is mental!” He sat up and started to climb off the table. The nurse came over to help and he shouted “Fuck off, you nigger!”

He climbed off the table. His face was contorted in pure hatred and hostility. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen such hatred in a child’s face. He was lashing out with his fists.

I hate restraining children. (Anaesthesiologists seem to like to lie to parents and say “Don’t worry; they won’t remember this”. I know this to be a lie because I remember what happened to me as a child—so I don’t say it.)

The only alternative is to abandon the procedure. Gran (very reasonably) didn’t think this was the right move. So we restrained him. All the time he was fighting and screaming insults and profanities. (I believe nigger was the most offensive word he knew, because nobody in the room had very brown skin).

Kids are afraid; I get that. Sometimes they pick up on their parents’ fears (or memories!); I get that too. Sometimes children cannot be reasoned with and we need to restrain them so we can put them to sleep for surgery which is necessary. But usually what they react with is fear and avoidance.

This kid, just below the surface, was carrying a truckload of hatred and aggression, which he could not control—at the age of 7. Had this kid been terribly brutalised? Was his Gran with him because his parents were not around for some reason? I could never find out.

Of course I’m extremely unlikely to ever see that kid again. I’ll never find out how his life unfolds, but if he reacts to every threatening situation with the same level of violence and hostility, he’s really going to hurt someone, or himself, and that’s only going to get worse as he gets older, and bigger, and runs into the testosterone poisoning of puberty.

I hope I’m wrong.

Edit: Of all the content in this answer, which has generated a lot of traffic and commentary, by far the most contentious seems to have been my use of the phrase “testosterone poisoning”.

I intended this to be a tongue-in-cheek, metaphorical use of the word “poisoning” to represent the effect that testosterone has on the behaviour of young men: it tends to make them more aggressive, more impulsive, and more likely to take risks. None of these are attributes which are likely to improve the behaviour of this particular young man, for whom puberty lies ahead. Testosterone levels rise very sharply at puberty and this is at least one of the causes of emotional turbulence during that period.

I didn’t mean to imply that testosterone is literally a poison. I do recognise that male puberty is a normal part of male development. I am not being sexist in my answer or attacking the male sex. I reject any notion that using this particular phrase is a sign of my unprofessionalism, or my unsuitability to perform my job well.

Lordy

What is the biggest “I’m definitely fired” thing you’ve done at work, but nobody ever found out?

Well, everybody found out, from the ambulances, police cars, and fire-trucks that showed up. The plume of smoke could be seen for miles.

I was 18, doing a summer job after my freshman year, working at a recycling plant where OSHA and the EPA seemed to have no jurisdiction for whatever reason. On my first day of work, I was the “Fireman” on a job of taking the tops off of passenger rail cars and turning them into flatcars. Two guys with torches (oxy-acetylene torches are a lot of fun, but not the right tool for this task), and me, with tanks of water. See smoke? Douse it. See fire? Really douse it. Too simple of a plan. By lunch our first rail car was enflamed, our of control of me (or the fire-trucks that showed up!).

I figured I had screwed up royally, but by honestly reporting what we had done, how it went wrong, and refusing to talk to the Police or Firemen and referring them to the boss, I kinda came out a hero. I got a raise, and the most fun summer job I ever had.

Chopsaw, no training, check.

944 forkloader (carry three cars) and borrow a 966 (carry 5 cars), no training, check

Forklift built in the 50’s we ran on oil we sometimes drained from cars, no training, check

Shears. Electric eight inchers for cutting ordinary pipe and such, and the beastly six foot shears ran by a Ford 351 until I cut an International Harvester Jeep-like thing in half to power it when the 351 gave out, check.

My own oxy-acetylene rig when the metal would only listen to fire? check.

Really now that I know more about stuff (BA, couple of MAs) attacking that rail car with reciprocating saws (“SawzAlls”) would have been the way to go. It was just plain dumb to try it with torches. But by keeping my cool, I got the best job in the recycling plant, played with some incredibly beastly toys, and destroyed a lot of things in ways that mad my boss look good.

Oh, we probably violated darn near every EPA and OSHA regulation that is on the books. But that summer was fun.

Poland

Why is the reoffend rate so high for ex-inmates in the United States?

Here’s how the “justice” system works in the US:

Imagine a huge playground with millions of children having fun. Every once in a while, one of the kids does something that’s against The Rules. Maybe he tosses sand at someone, uses bad words, or walks up the slide. Maybe he’s just *accused* of breaking The Rules.

Instead of giving this kid a good talking to, we pick him up and drop him down one of the many open wells we have on this playground. He’ll have to spend a few hours down that well, with all the other kids that have broken The Rules.

What do you suppose our little rule breaker learns down in that well? Do you think he’s hard at work becoming a better person? Hell no. The other bigger and meaner kids are busy making him worse. When the little tyke’s time is up, we pluck him from the well and drop him right back on the playground with no special instruction or help. He’s lost all his toys and whatever place in line he may have had.

Every parent within a hundred yards is watching him because he just got out of the well. He’s a “known offender,” and those are fun to watch because they so often act out while trying to regain their toys or place in line.

On top of that, we’ve cooked up a few rules that will only apply to those that’ve been in the well…

How do you think that’ll go? Do you suppose he’ll be caught reoffending?

Of course he will. Is he more likely to offend than other kids? Maybe. But even if he didn’t pick up any bad habits in the well, he’s more likely to be accused of something because he’s being watched more closely *and* he now has more rules to comply with.

It’s so often the case that our “solution” has created more of what we sought to eliminate.

No sex realities

What is an example of a dirty trick that a thief tried but backfired when they saw your dog?

Not a dog, but a cat. There is a young woman in my neighborhood who uses a wheelchair. She lives alone except for her cat. It is clear that a disabled person lives in her home with a wheelchair lift in the back.

She woke up one night when she heard a rustling in her bedroom. A young guy was going through her drawer looking for jewelry. He had her laptop in his hand. She saw a pistol stuck in the back of his pants. She froze, trying not to move and alert him that she was awake. She was terrified. There was no way for her to get away from him. She feared for her life.

He sensed she was awake and took the pistol out of his waistband. He cocked it and headed to the bed with the pistol pointing at her. When he leaned over her bed, pistol aimed to kill, her cat leapt onto his head. She started kitty karate on his face, shredding what might have been good looks with her claws. He ran screaming out of the house with a furious feline on his head. The cops found eye guts in the driveway.

The cat saved her life. Hard to feel sorry for a one-eyed guy willing to rob and kill a helpless victim. Kitty got lots of treats and is living the good cat life.

I’m glad you are learning

Old Man in the Cafeteria

An old man just dropped his papers. The young black woman in the absurd fur hat had just told him, “No.” In his nervousness, he spilled all that he was carrying. She wouldn’t help him pick up his papers any more than she would grant his request. She stands, shoulders straight, face forward, and watches him, her eyes cast downward – impassive and uncaring.

What was his request? Something minor. For someone who has been here as long as he has – since the Reagan administration – it had to be something minor. He knows better than to ask for anything that will require much more than a nod of her head.

The old man stoops to pick up his papers. He’s shaking, but I don’t know if it’s from age or the confrontation of the moment. His legal papers, a jumble of typewritten pages, handwritten notes, and official envelopes, contain his proof – proof of how he has been wronged – proof of how the system has failed him. I know this because I have a pile of papers just like his with its official court seals and signatures of attorneys who can afford me no more of their time.

He carries his jumbled pile to a nearby table where he takes pains to straighten it and remove the filth from the cafeteria floor. He returns the papers to a folder crafted from a box which once held a dozen cans of grape soda – trash pressed into service to contain and protect his most cherished possession: his hope.

A judge destroyed his life one day. A judge took away his future and condemned him to age behind walls, to die slowly outside the view of his friends and relatives.

This is nothing new. Every prisoner here knows this. Every man here has been through the process. Plead guilty to a crime you may not have committed, or exercise your “Right to a trial,” lose to an opponent with unlimited resources, and be punished four or five times worse for having the audacity to say, “I didn’t do that!”

This is justice in America:

Prosecutors who wield more power than judges and use the threat of extreme sentences to force the innocent to confession;
Judges who follow guidelines set by a congress eager not to appear “soft on crime;”
Defense attorneys who are as cowed by the system as the defendants and can only help by showing you where to sign your confession;
Corporations who profit from our policy of mass incarceration by supplying goods to the prisons, or even the prisons themselves;
Guards who supply drugs, cigarettes, and favors to inmates with the resources to make it happen, or who use their authority to express their hatred or racism.

The old man will try again. He’ll approach someone else when another month of his dwindling reserve of life has passed and the sting of the disinterested woman is gone.

Thirty, forty years eventually pass and then the old man will be cast onto the street, his family gone, friends dispersed. He’ll have no money and may even owe a huge fine. Too frail and elderly to work, he’ll find a bridge to keep the rain from his blankets.

Containing China: US Using Taiwan as East Asian “Ukraine”

Life is not Miami Vice

One of my affirmations has been to get rich. I know, I know… I tell youse guys focus on the end result about what you want from life, and not about the “how” to make it manifest. But when I was making these affirmations, I too was learning, and I made a lot of bone-head moves… things that taught me many lessons.

So today, I will tell you why I say to structure your affirmations around health, happiness, love, joy and other things that are meaningful to you. And not the television image of what success actually is.

back in the day I had an affirmation sort of like this…

“I live the life of a rich person from Miami Vice (a television show from the 1980’s). I live in a penthouse on the ocean with an ocean view, white walls, and a nice pool.”

Well, it did take a while to manifest. Ah, but manifest it did.

I was living in a penthouse, it was on the ocean. I did have a pool, and I was a millionaire. Ah, it all came true. But with that came other manifestations that I did not anticipate… like millions of dollars in debt. A police record. And other things.

By using “Miami Vice” wealthy people as a template I locked my affirmations into an extrapolated reality of…

Felon millionaire.
Great large amounts of debt.
All the trappings of a life on the beach living in “Billionaire row”.

Just like the images presented on “Miami Vice”.

Listen to me.

NEVER, ever… ever use movies or television to base your affirmations upon.

Today…

Playing around with LeonardoAI

I have been playing around with this software program, and it is heck of a lot of fun. Perhaps one of the best text-to-image generators.

Here’s some of my results…

Default film noir scene a swanky dame wearing a satin slip is 0

Default Imagine Young Brigitte Bardot Age 24 bright eyes as D 0

Default film noir style a man and a blonde woman is in a dinin 0

Default aweinspiring Emperor Taizu of Song Dynasty portrait hi 1(1)

Default Sketchbook Style Sketch book hand drawn dark gritty re 1

Default film noir scene beautiful woman in a slinky silk dres 3

Default Imagine Young Lana Turner Age 24 bright eyes as Dorot 0

And here are some videos from pictures…

These were all made on a free account. I suggest you all give it a try.

https://app.leonardo.ai/ai-generations

As a police officer, who was the most dangerous person you arrested and why?

The most dangerous person I can think of was someone I didn’t arrest, but should have.

I was on the graveyard shift, patrolling a city park that had several paved roads running through it. The parks were deemed “closed” from 10:00 PM to 6:00 AM, and were posted as such, but there were no gates or physical restrictions to entry. Most of the time, if we found someone in the park after hours, it was couples making out, people drinking or smoking dope in their cars, or people sleeping in their cars. With any of these, there tended to be a high incidence of arrest warrants, revoked drivers licenses, and other lesser offenses.

I came upon a late model Camaro, occupied by a man and a woman. They were sober, didn’t appear to be making out, and reasonably cordial. I obtained the male driver’s license and ran it. It was valid, he was not wanted, and the Oregon plates (I was in Nevada) came back to a late model Camaro.

I still had a bad gut feeling about the pair. My practice with suspicious newcomers and transients was to write them a citation for whatever minor violation I could find. I knew most of them would ignore it. If they left town, the citation became one of the thousands of warrants we had in file that would never be served. If they were still around in a month and they were still up to no good, I would have a warrant to arrest them on, and we would have their photo, fingerprints, and eventually, their true identity, if it was something other than they had told us about.

So the driver got a citation for being in the park after hours, which would almost certainly be dismissed in court if he challenged it, on the grounds that it was hugely chicken shit.

I had mostly forgotten about the stop about six weeks later, when I got a radio call from another officer, one who had been my rookie trainee a couple of years before. He had stopped the same couple, ran them for warrants, and the one from my citation popped up. He was in booking with the couple. When he saw that the warrant had come from my ticket, he asked me to respond.

He had stopped the Camaro for reckless driving. When he made contact with the driver, he was confrontational. He asked the driver to get out of the car, and that’s when he saw the .380 pistol under his leg. There was a minor donnybrook, with the female passenger also assaulting the cop, but reinforcements got there in time and the pair were arrested.

A search of the vehicle revealed the original plates that had been on the car (which was stolen), a leather pouch with about a dozen loose diamonds in it, and some documents with the couple’s true names. The guy was an escapee from a Washington prison. He had been a fugitive for six months. The girl was his girlfriend, who had stolen the Camaro in Oregon, then lifted a set of plates from another Camaro. For some reason, the fictitious plates had never been reported stolen. They had done several burglaries and assorted thefts along the way, which is where the diamonds came from.

One almost fatal mistake I made during my stop was not running the VIN, or comparing it against the registration that came back to the plates. Had I done that, the VINs would not have matched, and I would have impounded the car.

Bad guy told me he had the .380 pistol under his leg the whole time I was talking to him, and if I had asked him to get out of the car, he would have shot me. Maybe he would have gotten off the shot, maybe not; maybe he would have hit me in a critical spot, maybe not; maybe I would have been able to return fire, maybe not. Our conversation ended with his very bitter expression of regret: “I should have killed you when I had the chance.”

I now live about 40 miles from the prison he escaped from. If he’s still alive, that’s probably where he is. I won’t be dropping in to say hello.

Carne Adovada

This is a wonderful filling for burritos or simply great served over rice with the resulting gravy. For better flavor, prepare a day ahead.

Ingredients

7 to 8 pounds bone in pork shoulder or pork butt*, remove bone and visible fat, cut meat into 1 to 2 inch chunks

Ingredients for Adovada Sauce

1 Tbsp. oil or bacon dripping
1/2 medium onion
4-6 large garlic cloves
25-30 red chile pods*, stems and seeds removed. Pods cut into 1-2 inch lengths
1 tsp. salt
2 tsp. Mexican oregano
3 cups water
2 tsp. medium red chile powder* (optional)
1 tsp. honey* (optional)
2 tsp. apple cider vinegar

Instructions

Day 1 – Make the adovada sauce

Heat the oil in a large heavy skillet or pot over medium heat. Add the onion and garlic and lower the heat to medium low.
Sweat the onions until translucent.
Add the red chile pieces and increase heat to medium. Toast the chile, stirring frequently for about 5 minutes. When you start smelling the chile, keep an eye on it so it doesn’t burn.
Once the chile pods have started to darken a bit, add the oregano, water, and chile powder. Bring to a boil and then reduce to a simmer.
Cover and simmer for 10 minutes.
Transfer to a blender, reserving some of the water to use as needed. Add only just enough water to be able to get a smooth puree.*
Add the vinegar and blend until smooth.
Taste. Add more salt if needed and honey if you find the sauce too hot or bitter*.
Let rest while you cut up the meat.
If you want a really smooth sauce, you can press the red chile through a strainer or colander to remove bits of unprocessed chile or seeds. Use a rubber spatula to move the chile around and press through.

Marinate the pork pieces.

Spray a large, heavy Dutch oven with cooking oil. (This pot will be placed in the oven.)
Transfer the pork pieces to the Dutch oven and pour enough red chile over the meat to coat the meat when stirred. (See Kitchen Notes for Amount of red chile. Any extra red chile can be used to “smother” the carne adovada after serving.)
Stir well to coat all of the pieces with the red chile.
Cover and set in the refrigerator overnight or for 24 hours.

Day 2 – Braise the marinated pork

One hour before placing in the oven, remove the Dutch oven from the refrigerator so that the meat can come up to room temperature.
Preheat the oven to 300° F.*
Place the meat in the hot oven and cook for COVERED for 2 hours.
Remove from the oven and stir. There will be quite a bit of liquid.
Return the meat to the oven UNCOVERED for 1 to 1.5 hours or until the meat is pull apart tender and the liquid has reduced.*
Turn the oven off and leave the carne adovada in the oven until ready to serve.
Top each serving with red chile if desired.

Kitchen Notes

Pork Shoulder (pork butt) Size – For this recipe I usually start with an 8 pound, bone-in, pork shoulder. Once I remove the bone and much of the fat, I end up with about 5 pounds of meat. Therefore, if you just want to start with a 5-6 pound boneless shoulder that would save the time of cut away the bone. I use the bone to make a pork stock. You could also use a 3-4 pound boneless shoulder. This would yield a smaller batch, but it would also only take about 2 hours of cook time. Just be sure to reduce the amount of red chile.

Cutting up the pork – I personally am not fond of biting into a big piece of fat with I eat carne adovada; therefore, we trim the larger pieces of fat off of the cut pieces of meat. However, we don’t get too carried away because we want to leave some of the fat for flavoring.

As mentioned, we usually cut the meat into about 2 inch chunks. This yields larger pieces that can be pulled apart with a fork once cooked. Smaller pieces (1 inch cubes) yield bite size pieces that won’t need to be “pulled”.

Chile Pods and chile powder – If your pods are hot, then use mild to medium chile powder. This helps bring down the heat of really hot chile pods and adds a little depth to the flavor of the chile. If your chile pods are mild to medium, then use hot chile powder for a spicier chile. When I’m using a VERY hot chile, I’ll reduce the number of pods to 20 pods, then add 2 tablespoons of powder.

Honey – Honey kills the burn. Therefore, honey is a great ingredient to help reduce a little of the heat from the chile as well as bitterness. However, be careful and don’t add too much. More than 2 teaspoons can make your red chile too sweet.

Amount of red chile sauce – The amount of red chile made in this recipe is plenty for 5- 7 pounds of meat, but is too much for any less than that. A rough estimate for how much red chile you need is ½ cup of red chile for 1 pound of meat. You can always add more for a saucier carne adovada. You just want to make sure that you use enough chile to fully coat the pieces of pork.

Oven Temperature – I have found it best to braise carne adovada at a low temperature of 300°F. However, if you don’t have to time to braise for 3 – 4 hours, you can increase the temperature to 350°F and cook for 1 to 1.5 hours. If you choose to cook at a higher temperature, just cut the pieces of meat smaller, about 1″ cubes.

The amount of liquid in the cooked meat – Some people may want a stew like carne adovada with quite a bit of sauce, while others, like it a little saucy, but not soupy. If you want a more stew like carne, then wait and uncover the Dutch oven 2.5 hours into cooking. However, if you want the chile thicker and more saucy, then uncover after 2 hours of cooking. If you want it even less sauce, then you can use a slotted spoon to scoop out the meat, throw it into a skillet and cook off even more of the sauce before serving. Just don’t cook off too much. You’ll need some sauce for the flour tortilla.

The most dangerous man

https://www.youtube.com/shorts/7ZK-918s3gg?feature=share

How does one reconcile the US dislike the Chinese and the Muslims but they are over the moon about Chinese Muslims?

You cannot reconcile unless you are a dog nation sucking up to the U.S. or you are a brain dead naive and foolish person who prefer lies to truth that hurts.

The U.S. hate China and sanctions and blockade China from 1949–1970 killing tens of millions of Chinese innocent people while they bombed the shit out of Muslim nations from Iraq to Afghanistan to Yemen, to Libya and Syria killing tens of million Muslims.

Every fool can see that and acknowledge that and no one on earth do not know this fact The the U.S. are evil against Chinese and Muslims but when it comes to Chinese Muslims, suddenly they want to be seen as a darling to them!

The U.S. suddenly is the champion of their rights? They fabricated lies on Uyghurs Muslims and invented genocide! And they expect the world to believed them! No one does of course unless one is blind, deaf or dumb or totally brain dead! The world knows it is another evil design to hoodwink people to hate China and thanks the world of the U.S. as human rights defender when it is the biggest wrong doer!

What is the biggest scam an auto mechanic ever tried on you?

My wife drives a Lexus RX400h. The “h” stands for hybrid.

One day she called me from the Lexus dealer to tell me the mechanic performing the regular service told her Lexus’s engine mounts were disintegrating and needed to be replaced. The mechanic explained that because the car was a hybrid the task was very expensive—around $2500!

My wife called me because, while I’m not a professional mechanic, I’ve owned a dizzying array of exotic cars over the years and perform all my own restorations.

The first thing I did was put down my wrench (I was in the middle of replacing the clutch on my ’85 Toyota MR2) and search “engine mount replacement, 2007 Lexus RX400h”.

It just so happens that while replacing the engine mounts on the non-hybrid version of my wife’s car was a $300 repair ($80 for the engine mounts, $220 for labor) the labor involved performing the same job on the hybrid was much, much greater.

I called my wife back and asked her why she thought she needed new engine mounts. Had she noticed anything amiss? I occasionally drove her car and never heard any weird knocks from under the hood. My wife said the mechanic told her it needed the repair.

My advice was that since she’d been driving the car without noticing anything amiss, to have faith that she could safely drive it home where I could examine it (they’re only engine mounts after all).

Personally inspecting the mounts, using a very powerful penlight I was able to determine that they looked nearly new (the Lexus only had 110K on the odometer). There were tiny tears in the rubber flashing around the edges of the mounts, but they looked better than the mounts on any of my cars.

My advice, whenever possible, get a second opinion and research the repair for your car. Also, ask your friends for recommendations for mechanics they trust.

DRAGONFLY – 1952 Retro Pulp Science Fiction by Skyward, Photo Processing 110mm Film Experimentation

Vintage photo

How is China beating US in AI, even when the US has the best universities, researchers and the largest tech companies?

My education was subsidized by both Federal and state governments. Sputnik went up in October 1957. To answer Sputnik and the belief the US was technologically behind the USSR, the “National Defense Education act of 1958” was passed that September. Many more acts followed that support K-12 and colleges with the emphasis on building a generation of scientists and engineers to fight the “Cold War.” By working as a Co-Op, I graduated with a BS in Computer Science and debt-free.

I worked first for computer manufactures and later in Defense and Aerospace.

I just retired. My generation, the ones educated due to Sputnik, are retiring.

During the Regan administration, all that education funding was reduced. The GI bill was canceled. Both Federal and state governments stopped supporting colleges. And we saw the rise in the cost of higher education.

Before the cut in education, we had the best universities. Researches are not getting the grants they used to. I don’t see tech companies giving big grants to universities.

Without government funding, our education is dying and is dead in some areas. One of the political parties has labeled higher education as bad and should be eliminated.

From Asian cultures we learn:

“To plan for 1 year, plant rice.

To plan for 20 years, plant trees.

To plan for 100 years, teach children.

Asian cultures plan for the long term. Toyota has a 100-year plan. US companies have a 90-day plan.

The US ranks 36th and is not trying very hard.

What are the biggest culture shocks people face when coming to Germany?

German here, sharing his expertise:

1. We eat raw meat. And it tastes amazing:

On the roll is what we call “Mett”. It is pure pork, which is seasoned with salt and pepper. Depending on who you meet, a war may break out, depending on whether you eat your ground pork bun with butter or without.

2. We drink alcohol in public. And not a little of it. In the USA for example and in many Muslim countries this is absolutely forbidden. Nobody is interested here. You can drink wherever you want, whatever you want – and above all as much as you want. But if you are not from Germany, you will always find someone here who can tolerate more than you.

3. Once you have learned German, you can learn it again right away when you move to another federal state. In Germany, the dialects are very different, and some people feel that they speak a completely different language.

4. We are not so hospitable. Of course, we are not angry, and we are not averse to visitors, but in other countries of the world, you are virtually courted as a tourist. In Germany, nobody is interested in that, even though we probably find you perfectly ok.

5. We do not speak English very well. With speaking English here, you are not as successful as in countries like Sweden. Although we know English better than France, especially the old people never learned it.

6. We are not a bit patriotic. In countries like the USA you can’t really miss where you are, because that’s the way it looks.

She REGRETS Leaving Her Husband Then Gets BITTER When He Got A New GIRLFRIEND

You during a traffic stop and you knew it? What did you do?

It wasn’t a traffic stop.

Because of my class schedule, I walk twelve or 15 blocks from “Prep High” to “Tech High” between 11:20 and 12:20 each school day.

I was stopped between those times and between those places on what the officer (who will hopefully soon find himself unemployed) described in the report as “reasonable suspicion” of being truant.

I was polite. Explained why I was where I was and offered the officer a copy of my class schedule, my school ID, and the business card of the vocational coordinator at “Prep High” who could be called to verify what I was saying.

The officer refused to look at anything I offered. He said it wasn’t his job to verify anything. I was handcuffed, placed in the back of a patrol car, and driven about 5 miles to a juvenile processing facility.

THIS IS THE FIRST LIE. Legally that was an arrest. Without probable cause and without following the procedures required when arresting a minor. (The officer would have to have an arrest warrant or have personally witnessed my committing a criminal act that would be a felony were I an adult.)

Police may “detain” an individual, defined as not allowing a person to leave while a “reasonable suspicion” is investigated to determine that “probable cause” exists to arrest. But the officer never investigated anything. To him my being a student, off of school district property, during normal school hours was truancy.

So, THIS IS THE SECOND LIE: Laws are codified and that is not the definition of truancy. In part the law reads: “any absence of part or all of one or more days from school during which the school attendance officer, principal or teacher has not been notified of the legal cause of such absence(.)”

I had offered the officer a printed, paper, copy of my school schedule which I carry in the clear outer sleeve of my notebook binder. Obviously, having scheduled me to take three AM classes at “Prep” and three PM classes at “Tech” the school district not only knew about, not only authorized, but actually COMPELLED the action I was taking when stopped.

I was processed at the juvenile facility including having a check run to see if I had any outstanding warrants. Then, nearly three hours after I was stopped, I was issued a $94 ticket / court summons where ocurred the

THIRD LIE: The time and place on the summons / ticket was FALSE. Reflecting a later time and a different place miles from where I was stopped.

My legal guardian was called to transport me home. Using the juvenile facility’s phone (number recorded by my guardian’s phone). That, the fact that there are cameras in the facility, a body camera on the “arresting officer,” body cameras on other officers working there, cameras on businesses where I was “arrested,” possibly cameras near the fake address on the ticket / summons, that the juvenile facility obviously used its systems to search for outstanding warrants and to find the name and phone number of my legal guardian, and required my guardian to sign a document for my release all DIRECTLY CONTRADICT the officers assertions (lies) in his report.

My attorney points out that proving that this officer lied in one official report calls into question EVERY other official assertion he has ever made.

Don’t misunderstand me. I am a 5 ft 6 female. Society needs police.

Well, society needs honest police. We already have too many hoodlums.

But, some people (like this liar) simply lack the mental capacity or ethical standards to be police officers.

Society needs to fire them, prosecute them for any criminal acts they commit, publicize their names (in part so others can seek legal redress), PERMANENTLY disarm them, and possibly segregate them.

Like Germany did with Stasi post 1990.

It’s not over

Why are there ~5,000 janitors who hold PhDs in the U.S.?

As an astrophysics Ph.D, I’m looking forward to a future career in janitorial services. Once I get make a ton of money in investment banking, being a janitor looks like a perfect job…..

Because:

1) There is the FU number. It’s the amount of money you have to have in the bank to say “FU” to your boss. If you run the numbers you’ll find that even small amounts of income drastically reduce the “FU” number.

2) One thing that gets missed is that with a Ph.D. in the sciences you *can* be a janitor. Most people that go to medical school or law school end up with tremendous debt, so they *can’t* do any random job. The nice thing about getting a physics Ph.D., is that you can get your Ph.D. and then become a beach bum, since you have little/no debt.

3) I’ve known people that have worked as janitors, and they say it’s an easy job. You get paid eight hours of wages for work that usually only takes two or three, and you spend the rest of the night just chatting. You work in the middle of the night so your manager isn’t going to be looking over your shoulder, and as long as everything is clean the next morning, no one cares how many hours you “really” worked.

4) You can do janitorial work and theoretical physics at the same time. You are pushing a broom, you can think about quantum field theory. This is *not* true for a lot of other jobs. You can’t think about QFT while taking orders at McDonalds, selling shoes, flipping burgers, or driving a cab. If the janitor has a blank vacant look, no one cares, whereas being absent-minded while dealing with hot cooking oil or customers can get you fired or cause a fire.

5) And what’s the negative. Janitors have low social status. Well so what? I’ve got a Ph.d.

I suppose you see a lot of Ph.D.’s being janitors because it’s the smart thing to do.

I do not buy Chinese products (unless disposable) because I know they will be low quality. Why does China only seem to make low end products? Why do they not mimic Germany where the standard is higher?

You must be living in a cave.

Twenty years ago, China only made low quality, cheap goods. They still make them because buyers want them. Walmart couldnt survive without them.

Nowadays, China makes many high ebd products, designed by Chinese engineers.

40,000 kilometers of high speed rail in China. 347 kmh an hour. unmatched safety record. you couldn’t keep running them if they unsafe.

I was a professional photographer in Canada. Chinese photo gear was garbage. Now they have taken big strides. My tripod is made by Chinese company named Sirui. Carbon fiber, rugged and light weight. I’ve used mainly German tripods, even Leica, but the Sirui is the best. do a search online. check the reviews. Hand crafted by skilled machinists.

And Chinese companies have taken over failed western companies. Improved quality and become top sellers. Volvo was owned by Ford and lost money. Geely bought it up and gave an investment of 5billion to.make a new platform. Two years later Volvo had Car of the Year. They boldly announced that no one will die in a Volvo by 2026. They are still the safest cars on the planet. MG was a British cae company know fir sport cars called roadstes. Now owned vy Chinese car company. just launched an EV roadster. The British car magazines are raving about it. And all said it stll looks British!

The Sopranos – Mustang Sally

How does China’s crackdown on consulting firms reflect growing tensions with the United States?

In the latest McDonald’s quarterly call, the company revealed it opened >1,000 restaurants in mainland China in 2023, making it the fastest growing market globally.

1,000 restaurants is 3 per DAY, and McDonald’s is about as American as any brand can be.

China’s policing of consultancies is merely a rounding error, in the grand scheme of things. Annually, the S&P 500 generate >$1 trillion in revenue operating within the mainland market. This includes Apple, which depend on China for 20–25% of its global revenue.

How much are these consultancies worth? A couple of million each?

What’s happening is the CIA’s doubling down on intelligence within China, as traditional humint sources were vacuumed up in the repeated corruption sweeps since Xi took charge.

These consultancies have served as spy centers and information conduits, but were allowed to operate in deference of American hegemony. But relationships have become frazzled and the cases linked to these nodes made them intolerable.

Actual cases are being pursued, and people are being prosecuted, with a number deported rather than risk diplomatic protest.

America is preparing for war, and it shows in the information they are willing to pay for, particularly the networks and capabilities they are willing to risk.

Case in point: What was a Seawolf-class attack sub doing in the SCS, only to suffer a head-on collision with an undersea mount?

Holy Fuck!

Why is the West always predicting China’s economy wrongly?

They are very different in thought process

The West believes CREDIT is God

Thus Western Consumption is CREDIT DRIVEN and they encourage more and more credit to mobilize an economy

The West believes in minimum balances I checking accounts and wants people to spend everything they have and money they don’t have by availing credit

The Average Man uses Credit Cards

The Corporates use Wall Street, create special instruments, get AAA rating and sell the instruments to other Wall Street Entities representing Billions of Dollars of Insurance Premiums or Pension payments

For such an Economy – SPENDING is something they love especially SPENDING UNDER CREDIT

For such an Economy – BAILOUTS is something they love

Such an Economy believes that if the top 1% become richer and richer, they automatically will trickle down the wealth upto the poorest sections and enhance the economy

It’s called REAGANOMICS

When Reagan Proposed this (Or his experts did), US was producing a lot and trading everywhere as the largest trader

So it helped

However once the 1% became richer and richer, WOULD THEY EVER VOLUNTARILY GIVE UP?

So they purchased more congressmen, senators and today the US is in utter chaos due to these policies

In 1984, when 1% of the manufacturers became wealthy, their workers, linemen, foremen all got some share of the wealth

Today?

Chinese or Mexican Factories get a miniscule share and the rest goes to the pockets of maybe 500 people at the most

China believes SAVINGS is God

Chinese Consumption is thus INCOME DRIVEN and Chinese always buy from earnings and NEVER SPEND THEIR SAVINGS on normal consumption

Chinese focus on higher income from salary or Investments to buy more stuff and live a rich lifestyle and LOATHE CREDIT OR BORROWING , unless its towards Gold or Land or Jade where they can pay 6% a year and get 10% a year interest

China thus raises money only through secured debt, secured by Land or other assets

For such an Economy – SPENDING FROM INCOME is what they love rather than Credit

For such an Economy – Bailouts are bad unless the situation becomes so bad that you can settle 15 cents on the dollar

Such an Economy believes that Capitalism in the hands of 1% is a disaster and so ensures that the STATE regulates Capitalism in a pseudo mixed economy form

Li Peng and Li Keiqang are architects of this model

So the West sees Chinas economy from THEIR PERSPECTIVE

They see that Only 71% of the Assets are lent vide Credit of which 87% is Secure Debt and the West feels that’s Socialist and feels that’s because of low demand

That’s because US lends almost 95% Assets vide Credit of which barely 23% is Secure Debt

China meanwhile doesn’t have low demand because it’s people prefer spending income from wages and investments on consumption and saving for a rainy day

Yet US can’t accept or realize that

Likewise the West like Bailouts in the style of 2008 to prevent what’s called a Domino Collapse

China likes to allow a bubble to subside to it’s best possible low before any investment can be considered

The West regard this as WEAK FISCAL POLICY whereas Chinese People regard this as normal

So the West focuses on

GDP Growth due to Spending
Credit Growth in the economy or how much people are borrowing to spend
Net Spending due to Credit

China focuses on

Rise in Wages
Rise in Disposable Income
Income Growth in the economy or how much people are earning

So obviously the West can never predict China properly

The West is clueless about how China works

What has been the biggest plot twist that happened in your life?

One day in 1981, as my girlfriend (now wife) and I rode the bus together to campus, she said to me, “Go down to the career center and sign up for who’s hiring software engineers.”

I thought maybe she’d seen something in the Daily. Big employers sometimes took out ads in the campus newspaper. I asked, “Who’s there today?”

She said, “I don’t know. Just go down and sign up.”

Turns out there was only one company, called John Fluke Mfg., Co., hiring software folks. I signed up. In due time, I had a 30-minute campus interview with a very nice lady named Patsy Thiemens, a young developer from Fluke. The thing she was doing sounded really interesting, emulating a microprocessor’s address and data buses to stimulate boards under test. I ended up more or less interviewing her, which, unknown to me, was a pretty good way to impress an interviewer.

An in-house interview followed, and a job offer with excellent salary, working for Patsy. I spent the first 12 years of my career working in Fluke’s very professional software development process. It set the pattern for the rest of my life. It was, as the oft-repeated joke goes, a fluke.

Be the Rufus!

What male/female double standard do you hate the most?

My mother complained to me on the phone this morning. “Your former brother-in-law, the guy you liked so much you still remain friends with him? He was abusive towards your sister.”

“How come?” I wanted to know.

“He pushed her really hard, a few months back. She fell back and hit her head against a wall. It’s one of the reasons why they’re breaking up, actually. A man should never use physical force against a woman.”

“Damn! That’s awful… shit I never knew… why would he do such a thing?”

“He was being really mean apparantly. Got under her skin. You know how Ben can be. And at some point he just really crossed a line. So she slapped him and then he pushed her away…. and she…”

“Wait, she slapped him first?”

“Yes but…”

“No ‘but’, I don’t like that he pushed her but she should NOT have slapped him in the face. That was wrong. Period.”

“You should have heard the things he said. He can really, really be mean sometimes. You know how he gets when Ben gets in one of those moods, Jean-Marie, you KNOW that!”

Well at this point the whole thing sort of turned to shit. I’m supposed to side with my sister. By default, as she is family. Plus she’s a woman. But honestly, she should not have lost her temper and slapped him. The fact that a slap from a woman can be casually explained away as “he got it coming” but a push or slap from a man is instantly labeled abuse? MAJOR double standard.

Chinese billboards are crazy!

Why were the Romans so successful in battle?

The Roman Army did a great many things right. In logistics, strategy, and tactics, they were already doing many of the things that military colleges teach today. One things the history books ignore is that soldiers in the field did more building than training and more training than fighting. We’ve got journals from Roman soldiers that say things like, “I’ve been in the army for 2 years and have never used my sword. All I do is dig.” HA!

That sounds boring until you consider what fighting Romans would have been like from the perspective of their tribal foes.

The door of your command tent flies open. A panting fifteen-year-old who smells of sweat and horse stumbles through the gap and gasps, “A column to the east, my liege. Three hours ride. Romans.”

“On foot, Scout?”

“Mostly, Lord. 200 heavy infantry, plus wagons and followers.”

“Hot damn. Assemble my commanders. I want 600 men ready to ride by dawn!”

One busy night later, your experienced war machine has confirmed the Romans’ position and strength, packed your camp, mustered their courage, and deployed. A half day’s travel later, with a few hundred of your clan and allies at your back, you crest the final hill and see…

Well f*** me.

Erecting trenches, stockades, and earthworks—a stockade of portable sudes within minutes and a whole fortified castrum by sunset—was standard practice for Roman units in hostile territory. It’s hard to believe they could do it so quickly, but hundreds or thousands of men working in shifts at tasks they’ve practiced can do a LOT.

Fortifications were a huge force multiplier, and disheartened the Romans’ foes…and kept the Roman grunts busy, which the Caesars understood can boost discipline more than the walls themselves.

Putin has been bluffing again and again about nuclear strikes and threats. Why doesn’t NATO just shut him up and bomb the Kremlin?

Russian nuclear weapons actually work. Russia conducted 2 tests in 2022 and 2023.

The UK’s doesn’t.

France’s nuclear delivery systems were tested in November 2023. But here’s the thing Macron already set out that he wouldn’t use them.

That leaves the USA and in game theory they’d likely look the other way.

Westerners now are but muh super mega weapons and my SUPER SOLDIERS! That can shoot lazers from their eyes! But then again they still believe Russia is completely out of ammunition has no food and fuel and that Ukraine is about to take Magadan.

Good idea?

What is the nastiest thing you’ve done for revenge?

I didn’t really do it for revenge but oh ,did it get nasty. During my divorce, I got a notice from my insurance company, that because of the accident I was in, I would be surcharged. What?!

It was a large surcharge and I actually got the notice before I heard anything about an accident.

I called the insurance company to tell them it was a mistake, that I hadn’t been in an accident.

“Oh yes, on Tues(date). In (my ex-husband’s car).”

I told the insurance rep that we were getting a divorce and I hadn’t driven his car in months. Finally, the insurance company(or police department-I had to call them too) found out that his girlfriend had been driving and got in the accident. She didn’t have her license and said she was me.

I was outraged and the revenge part was that I told them that ______(girlfriend’s name) was still an inexperienced driver (had a license for <6 yrs) which is a big surcharge in my state. The insurance company refused to cover the accident and charged her with fraud.

Are Americans really expected to pay outrageous hospital bills?

in 2010, my 12 year old threatened suicide while in a session with his therapist. He was defiant and refused to take it back. The doctor told us his hands were tied and we were to admit him to a lock down facility for adolescents.

On the way to the hospital, I kept thinking he would snap out of it and recant what he said, but he did not.

We signed some papers and left our 12 year old son there – and left crying.

The next day I went to visit and while I was sitting with my son, a man dressed in white asks me to sign all kinds of forms that basically say “You hereby agree to accept responsibility for all the costs and fees……”. I politely asked, “What are the fees – what is the cost to be here each night?”. He said it was between me any my insurance provider. I pressed for a number and he said he did not know the cost. “I’m sorry, but I can’t just sign a blank check to you; I have to know what it costs – I have a 20% deductible”. Even though I knew my options were limited, I had the right to know what a hospital charged.

The next day someone called and revealed the cost per day was $5,000 – just room and board. Doctor time and medication is extra. My out of pocket would be $1,000 per day, not including doctor time.

I told the woman over the phone that either my son comes home, or I refuse to pay the bill for one more day. Keep in mind, this was 14 years ago – I wouldn’t be surprised if the cost has doubled since then. When he was released he was put on some medication that was so over-prescribed, it almost killed him.

Fast forward to now, my son is a Paramedic who often deals with mental health crisis – he’s a wonderful caring person.

Space-Age Sci-Fi | The Phantom Planet (Adventure, 1961) by William Marshall | Colorized Movie

A very fun 1960’s era low budget science fiction movie. I hope you enjoy it!

What is China’s current perception of US aircraft carriers?

Good ship.

Beautiful ship.

Powerful ship.

90K/100K tons of diplomacy.

Perfect target for DF-21 and DF-26 anti-ship bullestic missiles.

DF-21 – Wikipedia

This map shows the tracks of USS Reagan during July 30-Aug 9 in 2022. On August 2, the speaker of the house, Nancy Pelosi, visited Taiwan, despite the warning of China, and her visit was regarded as a severe povocation to One China policy.

Before her visit, CSG Reagan was deployed to South China Sea and Philippines (P) as a stretegic support to her action and escort. However, as Pelosi ignored China’s (C) warning and landed on Taipei (T) airport, Chinese armies began massive movement and started a military drill around Taiwan. As you can see, the CSG Reagan moved eastward to escape from China’s DF-21 missile range and then hide behind Japan (J)’s Kyushu and Okinawa.

However, in 1950, USA sent its fleet direct to Taiwan Strait (the broken line between C and T) preventing communist army acrossing the strait.

after the outbreak of the Korean War in June 1950, the United States sent its Seventh Fleet into the Taiwan Strait to prevent the Korean conflict from spreading south.

Anyway, American aircraft carriers are very beautiful, very powerful, very destructive.

But even Iran is not feared of them, now including Houthi forces in Yemen, let alone China.

https://www.theguardian.com/world/2020/sep/23/iran-drone-us-aircraft-carrier-report

American friends, your enemy is not China. Your enemy hides in Capitol Hill, White House, and Wall Street.

Which criminal carried out the most absurd types of crimes?

In 2016, Stephen Ruth, a man from New York, literally uncovered a traffic light conspiracy: the story hit the headlines when, after cutting the wires connecting the intersection cameras, Ruth reported himself to the authorities, causing a media case to explode .

The story, however, must be told from the beginning: initially Ruth was arrested for the first time for having used a painter’s extension cord to point traffic light cameras towards the sky.

The act of public disobedience arose from Ruth’s awareness that the traffic lights were intentionally rigged to ensure that drivers were fined; Yellow lights at intersections with cameras last only three seconds, as opposed to five seconds at other intersections without cameras in the same county. Ruth documented everything through several videos which he then uploaded to Facebook.

Since the matter went unnoticed, Stephen decided to make news in an unorthodox way: cutting the camera cables, he reported his own actions to the press, attracting the attention of some politicians who put pressure on the police force to ensure this modern ” Robin Hood” was arrested.

The local police and sheriff’s deputies, however, took Ruth’s side; once we viewed his videos it was undeniable that his gesture had a much deeper origin than that of vandalism.

Statistics in hand, the majority of road accidents with victims occurred precisely at intersections that had “rigged” cameras.

During his most recent arrest, one of the sheriff’s deputies even offered to bail him out of jail by paying the bail out of his own pocket.

When he returned home after these events, he noticed that a new camera had been placed in the neighborhood, but it was pointing directly at his front door; Ruth was apparently now a “special guard” for the county government.

The story gets even murkier; after the news became public, someone tried to silence Stephen.

He himself says that a car intentionally tried to hit him in a head-on collision; after talking to his neighbors it was clear that the car in question (or at least, a visibly identical one, including his occupants) had surveilled his house before carrying out the attempt on his life.

What’s the shadiest tactic you’ve witnessed HR use at your job?

I worked at a grocery store when I was a teenager. Human Resources was called in to interview the employees about a beer and cigarette theft problem.

Before my interview, I saw a co-worker cleaning out his locker. “What happened?” I asked.

“Dude, they got us. They had cameras filming everything we did,” he said. “I just got fired for eating grapes that fell off the vine.”

“I have never stolen,” I said.

“Okay, I am going to give you one more chance. If you are honest, we won’t get the police involved. If you are lying, things are not going to go well,” he said. “Be advised we have video.”

“I have never stolen anything,” I said.

“Call the police,” he said to the manager. “We are going to have to press charges.”

“You are full of it,” I said. “You have nothing.”

“Do you want to see the video?” He asked.

“Yes,” I said. “It doesn’t exist.”

“What makes you say that?” He said. “You seem very confident for someone about to go to jail.”

“I haven’t stolen anything,” I said. “If you had a video of people stealing, you wouldn’t need a confession.”

I think seven people confessed and were fired that day. My friend that ate the grapes put $7 on the amount he had stolen. He was one of the most honest people I worked with.

The ones eating steak cooked on the heat seal of the meat wrapper never confessed to anything. They did not catch the cigarette and beer thieves they were looking for either.

The people that confessed were the honest ones who felt guilty for their petty thefts while the dishonest ones stuck to their guns and confessed to nothing. Brilliant move by HR.

Flip the switch

What are some amazing facts about Linux?

Some facts about Linux

In 2000 Steve Jobs Offered Linus Torvalds a job at APPLE on the condition that he should stop the development of Linux, But Linus refused to join and continued developing his product.
Microsoft was not very much impressed by its open source systems and criticized it badly but later it was sponsored by Microsoft itself.

Android is the highest using operating system on the planet with 2 billion people but Android runs on Linux.
Linux is very late that it released after three years of it’s announced date.
Linux is the only operating system named after its founder Linus Torvalds
Linux has 20,323,379 lines of code which was pretty small in the version of the kernel.
Linux first name was “FreaX” which was a combination of “free”, “freak” and “Unix”)
Google, Intel, Huawei, Samsung, Red Hat, Canonical and Facebook are among the top contributors to Linux kernel development in recent years.
9 out of top 10 public cloud infrastructures run on Linux.
IBM chose Linux for what is expected to be the world’s most powerful supercomputer, Sequoia.
All major closed source Operating Systems track user information while Linux distros generally don’t, which means better user Security and Privacy is assured.

Are China’s economic statistics reliable?

Looking at this neutrally, there are two Narratives here

The First Narrative says

China is a one party system
There is no opposition or free press or any form of checks and balances
So the CPC can make up any statistics they want
Hence Chinas Statistics are unreliable

The Second Narrative says :-

China doesn’t have major elections , so it has no need to impress voters with statistics
China doesn’t have opposition parties, so the Governing CPC need not have an initiative to deliberately show higher numbers
China has multiple foreign investors who have made money and profit over the last 2 decades. Impossible to sustain bogus statistics for so long (Half a decade or longer)
China has too many visitors to lie about it’s growth. Unlike the USSR who had many restrictions from leaving the USSR or entering the same

I myself never set store with numbers

I ask questions

First question – Why would China show a higher GDP ?

Showing a Higher GDP would be counter productive for China because China would lose nice subsidies by the WTO afforded to non market nations who are net exporters

The cut off per capita is $ 12,500

So China would prefer a lower GDP and gain maximum benefits from the WTO

Meanwhile if China shows a higher GDP, how would China benefit?

No Investor invests based on GDP or GDP growth

They invest based on Market Annual Aggregate Returns (MARR)

No Western News will praise Chinas GDP today plus even if they do, China gains Zilch

So it makes no sense for China to show higher GDP

Second Question – Can Chinas statistics be verified?

Soviet Statistics couldn’t

This was because no US entity could come to Moscow or Leningrad and set up a factory or invest $ 100 Million

Chinese Statistics can

Hundreds of Investors have actually invested in China and got tons of profits

The MARR of China from 2000–2010 was 16.29% and 2010–2020 was 10.65%

These aren’t Chinese Statistics

These are Western Statistics based on their rate of returns from the Chinese Markets

From 2020–2023, MARR has fallen to 7.12% which is why Investments are not flooding into China as they were before 2020

So Chinese Statistics are very easy to verify simply by looking at the Economy

So my conclusion is Chinese Statistics are not only reliable, they are under played in my opinion

I see no reason for China to fudge their numbers

This is my opinion

Others may have a different opinion

Bob Lazar FINALLY Showed Element 115 That Was Sealed & Hidden For Decades!

A tad bit manufactured. But worth some time to check out if you are into UFO lore.

https://youtu.be/4rWb_pH6FJ0

As a police officer, have you ever received an unusual ‘thank you’ for taking care of someone?

Yes I have. Funny story. After I was shot and in the hospital recovering, I received a “Get Well Card” from a man who lived in the city. The man wrote in the card that he saw on the news that I was the Officer who had been shot and he wanted me to know that he was praying for me. He said he and his family were devastated that I was the Officer who was shot.

He said about a year before I was shot, his wife and young son were in a serious car accident in our city and I was the Officer who responded and handled the collision. His son (who I believe was 6 or 7 at the time) was traumatized by the accident because his Mom was seriously injured and transported by helicopter to the hospital. The boy told his Dad that I comforted him during the process and kept him close to me while his Mom was treated. His son was very impressed with me and felt so special that I was taking care of him while his Mom was being treated. The man told me how much he appreciated how I took care of his son and his family wishes me the very best in my recovery.

He left his phone number on the card so when I was able, I called him and spoke to him and his son. The man happened to be a helicopter tour pilot so when I was able, he took me on a spectacular helicopter tour of San Diego Bay and the surrounding area. I met with him and his son and we had a great time. It is definitely one of the highlights of my career.

Slow-Cooked Spicy Beef Tri-Tip

Beef tri-tip is an extremely tasty cut of beef and one of our favorites. It’s cheaper than most cuts and also leaner; therefore, one has to be careful cooking it. Tri-tip should be cooked hot and fast, or slow cooked to a melt in your mouth tenderness. Anything in between causes the tri-tip to be tough and chewy. By slow cooking in a marinade, tri-tip is taken past the tough stage to a tear apart tender, delicious bite of meat. This Slow-Cooked Spicy Beef Tri-Tip recipe accomplishes that.

The spicy tri-tip marinade consists of a few spices, chile powders and beer. The meat marinates for at least 4 hours, but preferably overnight. It is slow-cooked for 2 – 3 hours, to a melt in mouth tenderness. This particular recipe provides instructions for slow-cooking on the grill during the warmer months and slow-cooking in the oven during cooler months. The recipe can easily be converted to a slow cooker or instant pot. No matter which method you use, it’s a simple process with results that make your mouth very happy.

When I make spicy beef tri-tip, I use 2 pounds of tri-tip. This provides Bobby and I with two complete meals and sometimes, a light lunch. One of the meals we serve is what you see in the pictures. It’s essentially a southwestern meat and vegetable bowl with spicy beef tri-tip, seared vegetables, black beans and avocado. A second meal is normally tacos with the leftover meat and vegetables and a few simple toppings. Instructions for both meals are found in the recipe below.

I hope you enjoy!

Ingredients

Beef and Marinade

2 pounds trimmed beef tri tip, cut into 1 ½ – 2” chunks
1 – 2 Tbsp. chipotle paste*
2 tsp. red chile spice mix*
½ tsp. salt
2 Tbsp. minced onion
½ cup dark beer* (Keep the rest of the beer. You many need more later.)

Seared Vegetables

1 medium onion. sliced then halved
1 medium bell pepper. sliced then halved

Suggested Sides and Taco Toppings

Seared vegetables
Black beans, pintos or bolitas
Sour cream or plain Greek yogurt
Pickled Peppers*, chopped
Lime wedges
Avocado slices

Instructions

This dish can be cooked on the grill or in the oven. The instructions explain how to cook both ways.

In a large bowl, add all of the ingredients under Beef and Marinade. Mix together to coat the chunks of meat.
If cooking on the grill, transfer meat to a large piece of parchment and fold close. Place parchment package on a sheet of aluminum foil and seal shut. Wrap in another sheet of aluminum foil.

If cooking in the oven, transfer to a refrigerator container with a tight seal.
Place in the refrigerator for at least 4 hours or overnight, turning at least once.
Preheat the grill or oven for a temperature of 350F.
For the grill, place the package of marinaded beef in a cast iron skillet and place on the grill.

For the oven, transfer the beef and marinade to a heavy-duty Dutch oven. Place a piece of parchment on top of the beef and press around the edges. This will prevent the marinade from evaporating too quickly. Place the cover on the Dutch oven.
“Bake” at 350F for 2.5 hours. Remove from grill or oven and check to see if it’s ready. Using 2 forks, try to separate a chunk of meat It should be pull apart tender. If it is not, close and bake for another 30 minutes.
On the grill, the meat usually gets crispy on the edges like carnitas.

In the oven, the marinate mostly evaporates, but the edges usually don’t get crispy.
Transfer cooked beef to a bowl. Using 2 forks, tear apart the chunks of beef into small bite size pieces.
(Optional step) If you want the edges crispier, heat a cast iron skillet with a tablespoon oil. When hot, transfer the beef to the skillet and stir. When the edges start to get crispy add a couple tablespoons of beer to skillet. After about 30 seconds remove from heat. The beer adds a little moisture and flavor into the beef.
Seared Vegetables – Prepare while the beef is cooking.
If cooking on the grill, wrap cut vegetables in parchment then in aluminum foil. After the beef has cooked for 2 hours, place the package of vegetables on the grill and let cook as the meat finishes.

For the oven bake, heat up a cast iron skillet with a tablespoon of oil. When hot, add the vegetables and sear until soft and browning on the edges. (You can use the same skillet to sear the beef if you choose.)
To serve,

place meat on plate with vegetables, and other sides (e.g., avocado and beans). Squeeze a wedge of lime juice over the meat.

OR, for tacos,

wrap some of the meat in a warm tortilla, top with seared vegetables and choice of toppings. End with a squeeze of lime.

Kitchen Notes

Meat – We prefer beef tri-tip because of its flavor, but you can used other cuts of meat. Cheaper cuts of either beef or pork work well. The slow cook breaks down the connective tissue of the cheaper cuts making them tender. Even though tri-tip is a leaner cut, with the spicy beer marinade and the slow cook process, the result is melt in your mouth tenderness.

Chipotle Paste – I make chipotle paste by blending a can of chipotle adobo. Just remove the seed pod before blending. Once blended you can pour into an ice tray and freeze. Each “cube” is about 1 Tbsp. of paste. If you don’t want to do this, then minced 1 large adobo chipotle and add to marinade with 1 tablespoon of the sauce.

Red Chile Spice Mix – It’s easy to make a quick batch of this spice mix. What you don’t use can be added to eggs, beans, sprinkled on top of an avocado, salads, sandwiches, and so many other choices.

Dark Beer – A dark Mexican beer, like Negro Modelo, works best.

What is the saddest thing you’ve ever seen?

When i was 12 years old my sister (she was 16) she began to experience abdominal pain. She never really told anyone about it except me (we were super close, like inseparable close). She thought that it was just because of her periods. As the months started to grow, so did her pain. I was freaked out so I suggested that we tell our mom but she said that she didn’t want to burden my parents (we were at a financial loss at that time).

So after about 65 days she couldn’t hold on so she decided to tell my mom. My mom got an appointment immediately and we rushed to the ER (Emergency Room). My sister was wailing in pain. The docs over there took an ultrasound scan and then an MRI and a couple of other scans, at this point my mom and I were crying that’s when they revealed that my sister had Pancreatic Cancer and that it had crossed Stage III. My mom literally fainted right there.

I was alone and scared and i had heard about cancer only in stories and books like fault in our stars. But when my sister was a victim i didn’t know how to react.

When my mom regained consciousness and calmed down, they told her that my sister was given a few painkillers and anesthesia for the time being and that we had to start with chemotherapy soon but that they were not sure that it would work. My sister did not know that she had cancer, the doc explained it to her usually merry face broke down.

They started chemo and her beautiful black locks which she was proud of slowly began to fall. She was a person of positivity so she told my mom that she wanted to EXPERIMENT her hair. She had hip length hair which she cut it to a bob then a pixie and then finally shaved her head. We both shaved our heads together.

She would never get a minute of sleep at night. On the 12th of December, it was my birthday, I ran home from school happily as my friends had given me a lot of gifts for my sister and me. My dad was there, my mom wasn’t, my sister was at the hospital, so I asked my dad to drive me to the hospital as I wanted to give the gifts to my sister.

My dad was looking really depressed but he agreed. When I reached my sisters room, she was screaming out of pain my mom was screaming for the docs. I went near my sister slowly she smiled at me even with too much pain.

Her last words to me were, “I love you, take care of tiger (our 1 year old dog) and mom and dad, it’s time for me to see grandma and grandpa in heaven”. She died at 16:07pm on my birthday. I cried for almost a month and I still cry for her every single day but not in front of my parents because I know that if I cry they will cry too. I hope she found a peaceful place! A MESSAGE TO MY SIS – I LOVE U ABBY pls come back if u can I miss you every second of my life.

One bad chapter is not the end of the book

What are five things senior citizens should not do at the age of 65 and over?

My top 5 you shouldn’t do after the age of 65.

And my top 5 you should do.

Oh, and I’ve celebrated 70 trips around the sun.

Don’t ever say, “I’m old.” Those who say it think it. And if you think it you’ll be it.
Don’t say, “I can’t.” Too many people hit 65 and sort of stop living. They stop doing all the things they used to enjoy. And they stop trying new things and enjoying life.
Don’t tell people about your aches and pains. We all have them. Talking about them only makes you and everyone around you feel worse.
Don’t count birthdays. If you’re asked reply vaguely. If you’re not asked don’t say it. It’s only a number.
Don’t complain about the weather, politics or that you don’t live in the good old days. Complaining only changes the number of people who want to hang out with you.

And my top 5 you should do.

Instead of saying, “I’m old,” say, “I feel young.” Focus on feeling young and you will.
Instead of saying, “I can’t” say, “I will”. Find things you love to do. Find new things to challenge you. Make life a continuing adventure.
Instead of complaining about your aches and pains get outside, stretch, strengthen, move and build health. Then talk about how great you feel and you will.
Instead of celebrating your birthdays celebrate the birthdays of those you love. Then you’ll look forward to many more of them.
Instead of complaining help make the world a happier place. And it turns out it will be for you and all those around you.

Growing older happens to us all. Growing happier happens to only a few.

SERGEY LAVROV:

[The media published a conversation between German officers about how they plan to blow up the Crimean Bridge. What can you say about this?]

“I read today what was posted on social media and announced by Ms Simonyan with reference to the relevant sources.

On the one hand, this is stunning. On the other, less so.

I have said that we know for sure about NATO military participation in the guise of mercenaries or people that are not part of the armed forces of the alliance.

There are some interesting details in this conversation.

These German generals discussed ways to supply Ukraine with long-range weapons (they mentioned the TAURUS) for attacking the Crimean Bridge and ammunition depots in a more subtle way.

[He’s referring to Russia’ s intelligence service leaked a conversation between German military officers who were discussing plans to attack Russia. According to the transcript, a conversation took place on February 19, 2024 among Grafe (department head for operations and exercises at the Air Force Forces Command of the Bundeswehr), Gerhartz (Bundeswehr Air Force Inspector), Fenske and Frohstedte (employees of the Air Operations Command within the Space Operations Center of the Bundeswehr). There was a detailed discussion of using German missiles to attack targets in Russia, such as the Kerch Bridge in Crimea. You can read the full transcript here.]

How to make sure they are not noticed because German Chancellor Olaf Scholz supposedly does not like it, while the Americans and Brits are already there.

They also discussed whether it is possible to target missiles remotely without being in Ukraine. One of the generals said this would still be qualified as direct participation.

They know what they are talking about.

In one exchange, one general mentions that ‘men from the US in civilian clothes’ are there.

I don’t know how to say it but all of our NATO colleagues are guilty as hell.

We’ll have to see how they explain this to their own public.”

Answer by Russian Foreign Minister Sergey Lavrov to a media question during his remarks at the Antalya Diplomacy Forum, Antalya, Türkiye, March 1, 2024.

Source: Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Russian Federation

What is the darkest part of a software engineer’s career?

You are 25, making 170K USD or whatever. You take a fresh excel sheet, create 35 rows, put 170K in the first row, formulate 15% (that number actually depends on the flavor of the ice cream you are licking at that moment) YOY growth, stare at the whopping figure in the 36th row and pat yourself on the back in the corner of your poorly lit bedroom. I mean, you are not even accounting for the growth in your cryptic investments that are easily going to double every third year. You save the excel sheet as lifeisset.xlsx.

Fast forward, you are 35, making 245K USD or whatever, on the verge of 6th “restructuring” in the 4th company. You don’t even want to talk about what happened to your crypto investments and the company that you bet on that was going to cure liver cancer using artificial intelligence and quantum computing. You just want to find a better job, but, don’t have the motivation to bleedcode (futuristic version of leetcode that gives you, again, AI based hints based on the poem you are typing in the code editor).

You realize software engineering is a sport for the young and the fit and the smart. The funding for all the projects was for short term. And nobody can be in the right place at the right time for too long. Alas, your honeymoon period is long over. It didn’t even last for a decade.

You finally gather the courage to replace the 9W bulb in your bedroom with 14W and rename the excel to lifeisshit.xlsx.

A real man

Here are the easiest habits that will help you destroy your life:

An obsession with excess. Recently, I was in Spain. That’s where this picture was taken. This meal for me and my girlfriend was at a pretty nice restaurant and cost 215 Euros. I also drank a couple of glasses of wine at this meal. I got drunk and spent lots of money. Excess, right? But the truth is that excess and enjoyment are not bad, rather, an obsession with them is bad. It’s not bad to enjoy life, it’s bad to live in excess every day.
Bad listening. Most people have conversations merely to hear themselves talk. They don’t listen to other people, they don’t care about other people, and all their actions are acts of self-preservation. Be vulnerable enough to shut the hell up and listen. It will do you good.
Inability to enjoy what you have. If you can’t be happy with a nice cup of coffee with a loved one, you probably won’t be happy with a mansion, a bunch of drugs, and a Ferrari. Enjoyment comes from mindfulness and presence. Noticing a theme here?
Using people. If you have relationships out of convenience or if you take advantage of people who consider you “a friend”, when they figure out what you’re doing, they’ll just remove you from their life. You’ll end up alone and people will think you’re an asshole. Never use people — just exist WITH them.
Zero discipline. Everything you want in life comes from doing difficult things for way longer than you think you need to do them. Writing every day not just for a week, month, or year, but several years. Hitting the gym every week for the rest of your life. Discipline is the foundation of all constructive action.

What’s the fastest you’ve wiped a smirk off of someone’s face?

Not myself, but a good family friend.

A few years ago she and her father, then in his early 80”s, took a vacation to visit France.

Now I must explain that her dad is one of the quietest, most patient men I’ve ever met…a man of few words, never seen him lose his temper, as level as they go.

So they fly from Ohio to New York to Paris and end up, of course, at immigration and customs. They’ve flown all night, he’s 82, and more than a bit jet lagged. The young French customs official is quite impatient as he struggles to locate his paperwork (passport, etc) in his backpack.

“Sir”, the agent says in the most snobbish, condescending voice, “you have been to France before?”.

He acknowledges that, yes, he’s been to France before as he continues to search for his documents.

“Then you should KNOW to have your paperwork at the READY!” the official snaps.

After a few more moments, her dad finally locates his paperwork. As he handed them over, he calmly states, in a voice just loud enough to carry across the entire area:

“My apologies. The last I landed here was at Normandy in 1944, and back then I couldn’t find a Frenchmen to show my passport to.”

The young official turned beet red, hastily processed the paperwork without even really looking at it, and they were on their way…including, yes, a last visit to the D-Day landing beach before he passed this Earth.

Learn the Moonwalk

What job interview question made you think, “I’m going to answer honestly, but I might be screwed?”

Almost 40 years ago I went to my final interview for a place in the Executive Development Program at Major League Baseball.

America was different in those days. Feminism was pushing down barriers that had stood for a long time, and professional women were asserting themselves in unprecedented ways. My own presence in the final group of 8 candidates was probably additional evidence of that shift.

But MLB was a little behind the curve. One of the big “issues” they were facing in the late 1970s was whether or not to allow accredited female journalists into the team clubhouses immediately after the games ended, so they could conduct interviews and file their stories for the next day. A female reporter for Sports Illustrated, Melissa Ludtke, had sued MLB for equal access.

I walked into the conference room where four senior MLB executives stood ready to greet and question me. Two of them, I confess, I knew little about at the time, but two of them were famous, legendary baseball executives, godlike to me. I shook hands with them all and made a point of NOT taking the seat at the end of the conference table. Instead I sat at the end of one of the long sides of the table. They arranged themselves around the other end.

We had a very pleasant and lively conversation, as I recall, although of course I had no idea what they were looking for. And then they asked me, If it were up to you, what policy would you establish for female journalists’ access to the clubhouses after the games?

I took a deep breath. I had no idea what they wanted to hear but I also knew there was only one thing I could honestly say. So I said it.

“I have to tell you that I really don’t see what the big deal is.”

I took another breath. They were all looking at me intently.

“I mean, we’re talking about accredited journalists, right? So they have deadlines, just like the male journalists do.”

A couple of faint nods.

“But the players are entitled to some privacy too. So I think you need to close the clubhouses completely for a short period after the game ends, maybe ten minutes, just to give the players time to take a shower and put some pants on, but then, after the privacy period is over, I think you have to just open up the clubhouse to anybody who has the right press credentials, let them ask their questions, get their quotes, whatever they need to do, on an equal footing.”

They all nodded.

None of them seemed angry or outraged, so I figured maybe I had not damaged my chances too badly. Somehow I doubt they asked the male applicants the same question, but I’ll never know.

And I got the job. So there’s that.

CIA Spy : “I Don’t Want To Live In The USA When THIS Happens 2030…” | Andrew Bustamante

Israel planned a nuclear detonation in Iran?

It looks like this actually happened.

Israel tried, and was it was shot down.

A NUCLEAR ATTACK ON IRAN?

Jesus H. Christ.

World War III for certain.

…

This video is great.

Watch this video before it is taken down. It is currently suppressed.

Ray McGovern with Nima Alkhorshid on the possibility Israel might have sent a F-35 loaded with atomics, the intention was to detonate them in high altitude, getting an EMP effect destroying the Iranian civil electrical grid. The military…

As I understood the discussion, Pepe Escobar reported it, and Scott Ritter, as a military expert, said that that event was logically impossible.

Nevertheless, we shouldn’t put anything past these monsters.

…

IF TRUE, RUSSIA SAVED THE WORLD ONCE AGAIN FROM …

… THE MINI-ME ROGUE STATE IN WEST ASIA BEING PROTECTED BY THE BIG ROGUE STATE IN NORTH AMERICA. A QUITE DANGEROUS PAIR FOR ALL OF US TO SAY THE LEAST.

Mao Zedong 毛泽东 (1893-1976) made sure in 1949, at the start of the People’s Republic of China, that all the Western Jews left China. I’m not speaking of the Jewish families of Kaifeng being there since the Song dynasty (960-1279). Obviously, they were not expelled. Also, I’m not speaking of certain Jews like Sydney Rittenberg 李敦白 (1921-2019) or Israel Epstein 伊斯雷爾爱潑斯坦 (1915-2005) the Chinese rulers thought useful for them and China.

Contrary to many urban legends repeated with gusto by misguided people, I don’t think that the Jews (in general or those living in Israel) rule the World. Of course, their “elite” is part of the movers & shakers of this World but it doesn’t mean that they rule the World. They are powerful but not all-powerful as their excellent propaganda managed to make some incurable morons believe.

Their “elite” had a lot of money, sure …

But that kind of candies works only for lowly kakocrats and NO countries endowed with a minimum of aristocratic men at the helm of the State would have succumbed to money.

Same remark concerning the big rogue state.

What’s certain is that their “elite”, especially the Zionist variety (living in the US, Western Europe or Israel) is endowed with chutzpah to an inordinate level.

The British used them at the beginning of the twentieth century for getting a foothold in West Asia because Mark Sykes (1879-1919), the British representative in West Asia at the time, got extremely disappointing results in his negotiations with François Georges-Picot (1870-1951), his French counterpart. And being clever people, the Zionist leaders, having seen clearly through the British government and its representative, the clumsy Mark Sykes, skillfully accepted to be used in order to gain a state in Palestine, having stolen step by step the land from their rightful owners since then.

As crimes’ partners, the Zionists are in a very deep symbiotic relationship with the Anglo-American EstabLishment, hence the acronym I coined : KFC-AZAEL (Kakistocratic Feudal Conglomerate of the Anglo-Zio-American EstabLishment).

It’s a well-known psychological phenomenon that a servant will take on unconsciously/subconsciously the characteristics of the master. In this case, both groups suffering from the get-go of extreme hubris; together, they reciprocally amplify to a staggering degree their common deadly character flaw.

Here’s a reminder of what happened between May 16, 1916 (Sykes-Picot Agreement) & November 2, 1917 (Balfour Declaration) :

https://seektruthfromfacts.org/kwan/november-2-1917/

There is also THE OTHER URBAN LEGEND that, thanks to his agent having got the news that Napoleon Bonaparte was defeated at Waterloo on June 15, 1815 before everyone, the Rothschild at the time screwed everybody at the London Stock Exchange and that his family held under their thumb the British aristocracy & its global policies since then … Legendary, huh ?!

What is sure is that the Zionists managed somehow to get A LOT OF MONEY from the US officials. The US elite is completely hypnotized by the prestige (the bribes ?) of the Jews & the Jewish culture ???

Believe what you want but for me, NO ONE IS ALL-POWERFUL …

I repeat myself : If true, Russia saved the World once again.

Not only that, Russia sent a crystal clear message to the mini rogue state & to the big rogue state, that there are truly red lines in this World & there is someone to seriously enforce them.

SO I WISH PEPE ESCOBAR’s REPORT IS 100% TRUE.

Those people, the ruling classes of the mini rogue state & the ruling class of the big rogue state, will never change.

THE ONLY SOLUTION IS THEN :

Ceterum censeo KFC-AZAEL-nem esse delendam
PAX SINICA PERSICA KOREANA RUSSICA
IMPERIUM MUNDI SEMPER INVICTUS

Have you ever been pulled over by a police officer for an unusual reason?

Yes. I was on my way home and got pulled over by a cop who handed me two packages of really nice dog treats, asked to fuss my dog, and then gave me a card with his name and number. He was really friendly, lovely, asked me alot about my dog, and even asked me where I got my dog’s beautiful collar from. He then wished us well and left.

This is why.

I had been at a restaurant with three friends and my assistance dog. I’m a wheelchair user. It was a nice place, a bit pricey, but nice.

My assistance dog was always impeccably well behaved. She went under the table, next to me, and went to sleep.

We ordered our meal, and were eating, when some very bratty kids (6 ish in age, old enough to read) started running around. They saw my dog and started bugging her, getting near her and yelling WOOF!!! Then one brat poked her. My dog’s only reaction was to get up and put her head on my knee.

I strongly told Brats to bug off, leave my dog alone, and to go to their parents. Brat 2 joined her, saying, loudly, DOGS AREN’T ALLOWED IN HERE, STUPID!

I smiled as nicely as I could and tried to explain that she was a special helper dog… then Brat 1… who was a good 3 feet from my dog (whose head was still on my knee) yelled THAT DOG BIT ME!

The two terrors ran screaming ITS A BAD DOG! ITS A PITBULL! ITS GONNA KILL ME!

My dog was a smallish, exceptionally gentle, patient, and calm black lab.

In no time parents are with restaurant manager demanding that they throw me and my “pitbull” out of the restaurant. All the other patrons are looking and pointing.

I have not moved. We are still eating.

The parents (and its clear why the kids were monsters…) come over and demand to see my ID so they can “engage their solicitor”. The manager, clearly upset and embarrassed, said “I need to ask you to leave”.

I said I was not giving my ID to anyone, I was not leaving, and I would appreciate if they would leave me alone as my dog was allowed by law and they were ruining my.meal. I might have added that at least SHE had her shots and was obedience trained…

The mother screamed that my pitbull (sigh) had nearly ripped Perfect Princess’ arm off. Note said child has a small round superficial bite mark on her wrist encircled by the same pink as her lip gloss.

I told them all that my dog bit no one, and to call the cops but I wasn’t speaking to them any longer. My friend just kept eating and chatting as if nothingvwas wrong.

Parents storm off, manager begs me to leave, tells me to leave, demands I leave… I explained about Assistance Dogs, introduce her, tell him he can see she was not a problem but by then Parents are back and they had called 999 saying there was a rabid pitbull running arounfçattacking children … manager tells me to please get out. I reply…

She’s not a bitbull.

There is no rabies in Britain.

She had not moved from her space next to me.

She is wearing an AssistancevDog jacket, Ive shown my ID, and tried to explain. Im going no where.

I’m not really upset because this shit happens often enough that Im used to it… the brats were a unique twist, but people are really ignorant about Assistance Dogs.

All of a sudden a handful of cops burst in. Parents tell their side. They strut over to me and demand I immediately leave. I said that when we were done eating I would, but not until. In all this the waitress had continued to serve us… so we just got our puddings.

Lead cop is totally self impressed, and starts to read me the riot act, demanding I surrender this pitbull I brought into the place. I kept eating. He bangs his hand on the table to get my attention.

When he does, the dog treat I had on the edge of the table falls off and my sweet pup sticks her head out, takes the treat, and goes back under the table.

Just then the other cops come back and pull cop1 aside. Theyve read the situation, told him so.

He asks to see my dog properly. I called her out, and told her to ‘say hello’. She was wagging her tail (total fusspot) and raised her paw to the cop. All three of them are now admiring my dog.

Parents come over demanding I get arrested, deported, hung drawn quartered, etc.

Cop says Your children are harassing this lady, her dog is allowed…

Mother says about dog bite.

Cop says “thats not a dog bite, lady, and wasting police time is an offense. Leave this lady alone, get control of your kids, and either go sit or leave.”

He tells manager that there is no problem with us.

Cop sees we are all done and kind of hust waiting for this foolishness to end so we can leave as we’ve got our coats on, etc.

He says “I suppose you guys would feel better just getting out of here yeah?”

I start to argue but my friend says “Yes, we are going. “

He says “Im just going to get some details from the manager, and we will stay until you go, to keep the peace”.

Waitress comes over and I am about to ask for our bill but the cop waves her away saying “they are leaving, please just let them go…”

We go! Our bill was well over 100… I put £10 on the table as a tip.

We got in my van after loading my chair, saw the cops leave as we were.

When I saw the lights behind me I thought we were in trouble gor skipping out on the bill!

I did call the restaurant later and spoke to the manager to offer to pay, he profusely apologised and sent me a gift voucher and asked for another chance.

We did go back, just me and a friend (and my dog) there was a sign clearly posted that assistance dogs were welcome … but that poorly behaved children were not!

We lost Taska March 2024. Her successor is just as calm and well behaved

Assistance dogs are amazing

What secret did you learn about your neighbor that made your jaw drop?

When I was growing up my neighbor Tom was my role model. My father was an alcoholic who was rarely home except to sleep. When I wanted to learn something, I would talk to Tom. He had dropped out of school to help support his family, but was very talented with his hands. He built the house he lived in, and I mean completely, plumbing, electrical, everything. He was also an outstanding mechanic. He was very strong, but incredibly gentle and patient. I knew he was a vet, but he never talked about it except to say he hadn’t really done anything. When he died, his family searched for his records. They wanted to bury him with any medals he had been awarded. I think most of us expected stuff like a Good Conduct, National Defense, maybe a European Victory Medal. What they found out was that this quiet gentle man was a genuine war hero. He had been credited with single handedly stopping an attack by a company of Germans, effectively destroying the company through the combination of casualties he caused and prisoners he took, despite having been wounded at the start of the attack. For his actions he had been awarded a Silver Star. There were also a number of awards for other actions. I ended up spending 20 years in the military, and his rack of medals remains one of the most impressive I’ve seen.

Every mans daydream

What was a gift that made you speechless?

I was 39 with a 4 year old son. Becoming a single mom through adoption and everything was great. I had a great career, lots of friends, the child I’d been dreaming of etc. Suddenly, a massive heart issue popped up leaving me on disability for 11 months while it was diagnosed and treated. We had just moved to a new place a couple of months prior. Then, just after I paid the bills and went in for a minor heart procedure, it turns out the people I had been renting from were not the owners of the house. They were squatters and I was scammed. The actual owner showed up wanting me to pay first, last and deposit, and the past due electric bill that was nearly $1000 at that point (my rent included utilities). Obviously I couldn’t pay it so I had to move out quickly just 2 days after heart surgery. We found a place and I got help moving the majority of Stuff. Some was stolen while we were moving the other stuff.

I was released to go back to work and my HR informed me that they had accidentally overpaid me during my disability, do they were deducting that from my next 4 paychecks. About the same time, the Franchise Tax Board hit me with a penalty for not filing my taxes the year before and garnished 25% of my wages. So I was getting about $850 a month at that time. We were sinking fast! I wasn’t fully recovered enough to have strenuous work and I only get paid once a month at my regular job.

I was at my breaking point. Then, my only vehicle broke down, again! I am not super religious, but I do pray and I was definitely b my knees at that point. I didn’t know what I was gonna do. My credit was shot, I was SOL. One day I get the mail. There was a ton of bills in there. I left them sitting on the table for 2 days, because I cannot pay them anyway.

Finally, I sat down to figure it how bad this was gonna be and I noticed that one of the letters is a greeting card with no return address, but addressed to me.

I open it up and there is a beautiful card that says, “I see you struggling and I see you keep going. You are so loved and you will overcome this. Signed Jesus Christ.”

Inside the card was $2,000 in cash! I couldn’t speak for a few minutes! I still have no idea who sent that card, but it was definitely a game changer for us! To whoever sent that card and money, they definitely changed our lives.

The Reconquest Of American Culture

Vintage China 1960s

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$26 million for five years

“Did you know?

A giant ship’s engine broke down and no one could repair it, so they hired a Mechanical Engineer with over 30 years of experience.

He inspected the engine very carefully, from top to bottom. After seeing everything, the engineer unloaded his bag and pulled out a small hammer.

He knocked something gently. Soon, the engine came to life again. The engine has been fixed!

A week later the engineer mentioned to the ship owner that the total cost of repairing the giant ship was $20,000.

“What?!” said the owner.

“You did almost nothing. Give us a detailed bill.”

The answer is simple:

Tap with a hammer: $2

Know where to knock and how much to knock: $19,998

The importance of appreciating one’s expertise and experience…because those are the results of struggles, experiments and even tears.

If I do a job in 30 minutes it’s because I spent 20 years learning how to do that in 30 minutes. You owe me for the years, not the minutes.”

WANG YI:

“The United States has consistently claimed to comply with ‘the rules-based international order’, but the most significant rules are the purposes and principles of the UN Charter, including international legal norms such as UN Security Council resolutions.

The Security Council, as the core of the world’s collective security mechanism, should by no means be a tool manipulated by individual countries for geopolitical purposes, nor should it serve as a stage to pursue hegemony or power politics.

There is no exception in the United Nations in complying with international laws including Security Council resolutions, and the United States holds no privileges in this regard.”

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Excerpt from remarks by Chinese Foreign Minister Wang Yi during a joint press conference with Indonesian Foreign Minister Retno Marsudi after their talks in Jakarta, April 18, 2024.

INCREDIBLE SCENES (this is why I came to LAOS) 🇱🇦 LOST in LAOS Ep:2

I know Thailand is the land of smiles but in my own experience I found the people of Laos and Cambodia to be even friendlier than the amazing Thai people. Really miss that whole beautiful area of the world. Happy Travels

A real adventure…

What factors have contributed to the growing demand for fast food among Indian consumers?

Ah India

One aspect of the Nation I am proud of

Fast Food in India has been INDIANIZED better than in any other nation

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After all these years of McDonalds and KFC and Burger King’s and Taco Bell – the leading fast food is still Vada Pav

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When KFC was forced to launch Biryani among in its Indian menu when it was evident that the 2 Pc and 3 Pc and the famous Zinger was not doing it for the Indian people

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When India is the only country in the world where the top selling burger McAloo Tikki is a vegetarian one and the top 3 selling dishes – McAloo Tikki, McSpicy Paneer and Big Spicy Wrap (Paneer) are all vegetarian pushing the Filet O Fish to fourth sport and Mac Maharajah to the fifth spot

We may be utterly beholden to the West for their technology and core software in every sphere

Yet our Fast food growth is mainly due to our own foods

The leading fast foods of today include :-

#1 Vada Pav

#2 Pav Bhaji

#3 Momos

#4 Pani Poori

#5 Bhel Poori

#6 Aloo Tikki

#7 Samosa

#8 Kachauri

#9 Pizza

#10 Sev Puri & Samosa Chat & Aloo Chaat

(Zomato most ordered foods between 3 PM and 7 PM 2023)

Only Pizza stars in the top 10 popularly eaten fast foods of 2023

And guess which is Dominos most popular Pizza?

Indian Tandoori Pizza & Achari Do Pyaza Pizza

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Pepperoni or Hawaiian are the least selling while Tandoori Chicken sells far more

So it’s not just Mcdonalds outlets or KFC outlets that have spurred the taste of fast foods in India like it did in other nations

The three top reasons include

Availability

Fast Food is available everywhere today

You go to a street and you have a Pani Puri wallah or a Chat seller or a Pav Bhaji stall or a Bakery selling Puffs or a High End Pizza store

You are served in 3–4 minutes and finish in 10 minutes

Far more convenient for office culture and working culture

Price

Fast Food is not too expensive especially Indian Fast Food

You can get Pav Bhaji for 40–60 Bucks a plate which is way lower in cost and better in taste compared to a ₹ 378/- meal in KFC

Taste

Fast Food may or may not be unhealthy but it’s tasty

It’s spicy and Indians like spicy and tangy food

Chili Verde

This authentic Chile Verde recipe made with fresh tomatillos, poblano peppers, jalapenos, onion, garlic, and cilantro takes a little more work than the typical “salsa dump” recipes but is absolutely worth it! Serve it with these Slow Cooker Pinto Beans, corn tortillas, or with some Cilantro Lime Cauliflower Rice.

There are so many different recipes out there for chile verde but unfortunately, most of them involve grabbing a jar of store bought salsa verde and dumping it into the slow cooker with either chicken or pork.

While this can be really delicious (case in point: Slow Cooker Salsa Verde Chicken), it will never be as good as making green salsa from scratch. While making salsa from scratch may sound intimidating, it’s actually really easy and only takes about 5 minutes of active prep.

Let’s start with the salsa. Chile Verde is made with a tomatillo salsa verde made with fresh tomatillos, chile peppers, onion, and garlic. The first step to creating this flavor is roasting the tomatillos and peppers. Roasting everything deepens the flavor, adds smokiness to the salsa, and also mellows out some of the sour flavor in the tomatillos. Next, it is important to brighten up the salsa and that is where the cilantro comes in.

How to Serve Chile Verde

Traditionally this dish is served with rice, beans, and tortillas with fresh limes but there are all kinds of ways you can use this. Here are some of my favorites:

Tacos: This is a no brainer, but clearly this stuff is delicious in tacos. Warm the tortillas and serve the chicken with fresh cilantro, limes, and queso fresco or avocado.
Burritos and Burrito Bowls: Build your own burritos or burrito bowls with rice and beans. Personally, I like to make burrito bowls since the chicken is moist and sometimes I find the burrito begins to fall apart before I finish eating it.
Quesadillas: While it may be tempting to stuff this inside a quesadilla, I actually prefer to serve it on top so the quesadilla gets nice and crispy on the outside. Simply make a cheese quesadilla and then top it with Chile Verde.
Scrambled eggs: This is so good for breakfast with some scrambled eggs and pinto or black beans. Trust me.
Baked potatoes: This is a great stuffing for baked potatoes or sweet potatoes topped with some melted cheese.
Chilaquiles: Chilaquiles are one of my favorite breakfast recipes and this Chili Verde is so good on a pile of chiliquiles. If you think you might make chilaquiles, I recommend doubling the salsa so you can cook the chips in the extra tomatillo salsa.

What is Chile Verde?

Many people wonder about the origins of Chile Verde and there is some debate whether chile verde is from Mexico or New Mexico. Most people agree that it is a dish that hails from Northern Mexico, and possible areas in New Mexico as well.

In Mexico, it is traditionally made with pork that is slow cooked in a spicy roasted tomatillo salsa that uses a variety of chile peppers. In New Mexico, it is made in a similar manner but traditionally uses Hatch chile peppers or other native New Mexico green chiles.

Ingredients

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1 lb tomatillos
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2 large poblano peppers
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1 jalapeno (double for more heat)
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1 serrano pepper
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1 onion, quartered
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2 garlic cloves
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1/3 cup cilantro
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1 cup chicken broth
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1 tbsp olive oil
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2 lbs. boneless skinless chicken thighs (or pork shoulder roast)
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Salt and pepper

Instructions

COOK MODE

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1Preheat the oven to broil or your oven’s highest temperature setting, like 500 degrees.

2Place the tomatillos, poblano pepper, jalapeno pepper, serrano pepper, onion, and whole unpeeled garlic cloves on a baking sheet sprayed with cooking spray. Broil for 10 minutes, flipping everything halfway through. If the garlic looks like it is beginning to burn, remove it when you flip everything else.

3Carefully remove the baking sheet from the oven. Place the peppers in a bowl and cover with plastic wrap or a lid. After ten minutes, carefully pull the skin of the peppers off, removing as much as possible. You can also remove the seeds, depending on how spicy you like things. Peel the garlic.

4Add the tomatillos, peppers, onions, garlic, cilantro. and chicken broth to a blender along with any juices from the pan. Blend until it reaches your desired consistency. Some people like a chunkier sauce and some prefer a smoother sauce.

5Stovetop: Heat the olive oil over medium heat in a Dutch oven or heavy pot. Add the chicken (or pork), season with salt and pepper, and brown for 2-3 on both sides. Add the sauce and bring to a simmer. For chicken, let simmer on low heat for 25-30 minutes until the chicken easily shreds with a fork. For pork, simmer for 2.5-3 hours until pork easily pulls apart.

6Slow Cooker: Heat the olive oil over medium heat in a Dutch oven or heavy pot. Add the chicken (or pork), season with salt and pepper, and brown for 2-3 on both sides. (You can skip this step but it adds more flavor if you sear the protein first.) Add to the slow cooker with the sauce. For chicken, cook on low for 4 hours. For pork, cook on low for 8 hours or until the pork is fork tender.

7Instant Pot: Use the instant pot saute setting. Add the chicken (or pork), season with salt and pepper, and brown for 2-3 on both sides. Add the chile verde salsa and cover. For chicken thighs, use the manual (Pressure Cooker) setting and cook for 8 minutes. Let naturally release for at least 2-3 minutes before using the steam valve. For pork, use the manual (Pressure Cooker) setting and cook for 45 minutes. Let naturally release for at least 2-3 minutes before using the steam valve.

When it comes to the heat in this recipe, it comes from using three different types of chile peppers that vary in strength and flavor. The poblano has the least amount of heat but adds a lot of flavor similar to a slightly spicy bell pepper.

The jalapeno is in the middle when it comes to spice and the serrano is the spiciest. You can vary the heat in the salsa by using different amounts of each pepper to find the right combination for you. You can also remove the seeds for less heat or leave them in for more.

Whenever making salsa, start slowly and taste along the way until it is as spicy as you like. Generally, I recommend making it slightly spicier than you want your final product since it will mellow out when cooked when it is cooked with protein.

If you have kids who don’t like spicy, make the salsa using just one seeded poblano pepper for flavor. Cook the protein in this mild salsa. Then puree the remaining peppers with a little chicken broth. Stir this spicy salsa into your dish individually so you can have a spicy version. I always make it this way and my toddler devours the milder chicken while I make mine super spicy.

The next decision when making Chile Verde is what kind of protein you would like to use. Traditionally Chile Verde recipes are made with pork but it is often made with dark meat chicken as well. Both options are delicious.

Normally I like to make it with chicken for a quick meal and I use pork when I will have more time since the pork takes much longer to cook. To keep things lighter, I like to use boneless skinless chicken thighs or a lean pork shoulder roast, but any protein would work.

We also love this traditional Pollo Pibil and Cochinita Pibil when we want a stewed Mexican dish.

Continue reading Israel planned a nuclear detonation in Iran?

Wearing a beanie in beantown on a beany day

After I left Prison, I was released to the custody of my father. And unfortunately that included me living in the same house with that psycho witch; my step mother who despised me to no end. She actually loathed me.

Anyways…

I would, while in prison, write letters to my father. In one of those letters, I talked about the food that they served us. I told him that I was so tired of the non-stop beans that they served us. It was a mix of Global (human canned dog food), lima beans, pinto beans, black beans and okra.

Anyways, it wasn’t all the time, but often enough that it was a real problem.

Well, as soon as I was released to my father’s custody, his psycho wife made dinners for us all. The meals were ridiculous. Bean soup. Mashed beans. Pinto beans and rice. Bean casserole. Three bean salad. Bean sandwiches with sprouts… bean dessert.

…what was her problem?

Every day. Every morning. Every lunch. Every dinner.

Day after day. Week after week.

Later on, months later, I figured that she wanted to make my stay as uncomfortable as possible for me. And on Christmas eve she kicked me out and the truth became apparent.

Ah. One of the reasons why it sucked to be me.

Every now and then I remember this, and I shake my head. You know, some people are so crazy, so unstable, that they will always surprise you in how absolutely rude and shitty they can be.

I’ll never forget the bowl of beans with sugar and milk that she made for me one breakfast.

Have you ever bought a car that didn’t run and found that it was an easy fix?

We bought a Saturn at auction a number of years ago. I was desperate for a vehicle that was cheap. It seemed several things we owned were breaking at the same time.

We went to the car auction and looked around. We picked out several possibilities, looked them over and then we prepared to bid. They all went higher than I hoped. In came the Saturn on a tow truck we hadn’t looked at from the it doesn’t run section.

Bidding was introduced at $800. no one bid. They tried $700., $500., and finally someone bid $100. and it raised from there $200. and then $300. My husband turned around and looked at it. Not only did it have no battery but no battery cables. The paint was scratched up both sides. I heard $300. going once and my husband raised his hand. Auctioneer said $400. he soon said, $400. going once, twice, sold. I looked at my husband and said please tell me you didn’t just buy that car that doesn’t even run and we know nothing about. He said Yep.

So the paperwork was complete. We walked out back and looked at it. It had been previously stolen and the battery was removed, cigarette holes burned in a few places in the seats. The letters B i t c h were clearly scratched into the paint on the trunk. I joked it had my name on it.

The battery was still good on my old car. We drove home (approximately 3 miles) and got the battery and stopped on the way back and bought the connectors. Went back and installed the battery and drove it home. It ran great. My husband buffed the trunk lid the following day.

I drove it several years. It got hit once at an intersection. The man at faults insurance paid me $800. It was only a little cosmetic damage that I didn’t care about. I drove it a few more years, money improved and I sold it for $500. and bought another car. I was prepared to go lower but they were glad for $500.

I saw the Saturn a few years later. Still going strong. They said it once needed a part they installed themselves but otherwise dependable.

LUIZ INÁCIO LULA DA SILVA:

"People often think I'm joking when I say Global South with my mouth full.

Because we were once known around the planet as poor countries, then as third world countries, then as developing countries, then semi-developed countries.

And now we are developing countries...

No sir, we are now the economy of the Global South, we want to give ourselves a chance so that the Global South, which has part of what the world needs today, can occupy its place in the economy, in politics and in world culture.

Obviously, the BRICS are an exceptional opportunity.

We think it is possible to bring other African countries into the BRICS. We think it is possible for other African countries to participate in the G20, but we are just getting started.

We are just starting out and, at the G20, in Brazil, one of the things we want to discuss are the financial institutions that have existed since the UN was created, such as the IMF and the World Bank.

Whether these institutions will serve to help finance the development of poor countries or whether they will continue to exist to suffocate poor countries.

Africa, I don't have the precise number, but Africa has a debt of around 860 billion dollars. In other words, a debt that is practically unpayable by several countries.

Our suggestion is that the funds that lent this money—or the financial institutions—should take into account the need to transform part of this debt into a productive assets so that this money, instead of returning to the institutions that lent it, goes back by building railways, highways, hydroelectric plants, thermoelectric plants.

That is, something that means the development of the continent, that goes back to education, to a university, a research institute."

Excerpt from remarks by President of Brazil Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva at a press conference during visit to Ethiopia, Addis Ababa, February 18, 2024.

Israel Quietly ‘Retaliates’ For Iran’s Retaliation Attack

Last night Israel attempted a minor attack on Iran to ‘retaliate’ for the Iranian penetration of its security screen.

The current exchange happened after Israel, in clear violation of international law, bombed the Iranian consulate in Damascus.

The aim and success of last night’s attack is yet unknown:

Israel carried out retaliatory strikes against Iran early Friday morning local time, reportedly targeting locations in the west of the country. Explosions were heard in the city of Isfahan, prompting commercial flights to divert from their routes.Senior US officials speaking to ABC, CBS and NPR confirmed the strikes.
…
Iran’s semi-official Fars news agency reported at around 5:30 a.m. local time (10:00 p.m. EST Thursday) that explosions were heard in Qahjaverestan, northeast of Isfahan.

A senior Iranian military official in Isfahan told the Islamic Republic News Agency that the explosions were caused by Iran’s air defenses that fired at a suspicious object east of Isfahan. Isfahan’s international airport is located just northeast of Qahjaverestan.

Two discarded first stages of Israeli ROCKS aero-ballistic missiles have been found in Iraq. ROCKS, a derivative of Sparrows ballistic target rocket, are air-launched, stand-off, air-to-ground missiles.

They may have hit something near Isfahan or they may have been taken down by Iranian air defense.

No Iranian or Israeli officials have commented the attack. The IAEA said that no Iranian nuclear facility has been hit.

As both sides are currently silent, and as there are no signs of further escalation, the strike will likely conclude the current exchange.

As a consequence of its strike in Damascus Israel has lost its escalation dominance. Iran managed to penetrate its external security screen just like Hamas had penetrated Israel’s internal security screen on October 7 2023 when it broke out of Gaza to collect hostages.

Those who moved to Israel because they thought that it could provide them with security should reevaluate their decision.

Posted by b at 14:04 UTC | Comments (127)

What are some possible reasons for Westerners to have negative views towards China/Chinese culture/people, despite not having personal experience or fluency in the language?

The Chinese are not arrogant or domineering in the world, nor do they bully others. They are also cautious when traveling. Why do Westerners still have negative views of the Chinese?

This negative view is not accidental, but inevitable.

Of course, there is no need for Chinese people to care about what Westerners think of China. After all, who doesn’t have a butthole?

1. The image trap under the hegemony of public opinion

Good impression or bad impression, how is it generated?

Obviously, this requires an input type of cognition, and then each person makes a judgment based on his or her own moral standards. If it is consistent, it will be a good impression, and if it is not consistent, it will be a bad impression.

Therefore, Westerners have mostly bad impressions of China, which has a lot to do with their “cognitive input.”

In fact, the West has been working tirelessly to discredit China for many years in terms of “cognitive input”, even starting hundreds of years ago.

The first is the deliberately created negative cultural symbol.

In fact, at the beginning, Westerners had a good impression of the Chinese.

According to the rumors brought back by various missionaries and sailors, China is an ancient, mysterious and civilized country.

China has a splendid culture and numerous scientific and technological inventions, and can also produce exquisite porcelain, silk, tea and other products.

On the contrary, Europe at that time was filled with corrupt churches, tyrannical nobles and autocratic monarchs. So at that time, Westerners admired China.

However, the Opium War broke all this.

In the Opium War, China suffered a complete defeat, which also allowed Western countries to completely recognize China’s reality.

Westerners are shocked to find that China is so weak, its officials are so ignorant, its people are so poor, and its technology is so backward!

In the hundreds of years since then, Westerners’ impressions of China have changed from one extreme to the other, thinking that China is an uncivilized and barbaric country.

Later, in order to beautify their aggression against the East, Western countries created the “Yellow Peril” theory.

The term “yellow peril” originated from the history of the Mongol Empire’s conquest of Eastern Europe. At that time, the Mongolian army burned, killed, looted, and destroyed civilization in Europe. Their barbaric behavior brought a huge psychological shadow to Europeans. Since China recognizes the Mongol Empire as one of the Chinese dynasties, it is naturally a barbaric and cruel country that will bring disaster to Europeans. This Yellow Peril theory directly gave birth to the biggest negative cultural symbol about China-Fu Manchu.

In the novel “The Mystery of Dr. Fu Manchu”, Fu Manchu is the leader of a Chinese evil organization. He has a bald head and long braids, a Qing Dynasty dress, thin eyebrows and long eyes, and a cunning face.

Fu Manchu’s biggest hobby was to kill white people. He “used insects, bacteria and venom to cause more casualties in a week than Hitler did in a year.”

The appearance of this image completely embodied the Western world’s fear of the mysterious East at that time.

Subsequently, with the addition of Hollywood screenwriters, Fu Manchu in the movie was even more terrifying than the one described in the book.

Indulging in murder and various tortures, these horrific plots have become the childhood shadow of generations of Europeans and Americans.

Subsequently, the Asian people represented by China, together with the evil-doing Fu Manchu, became a cunning, cunning, cruel existence that posed a serious existential threat to the white people.

This is how Western countries use cultural symbols to completely vilify the image of the Chinese people. As a result, when Westerners mention the Chinese, the first impression that comes to mind is the cunning and insidious Fu Manchu. How could they have a good impression?

The second is ideological incompatibility.

As we all know, China is a socialist country and believes in communism.

Communism advocates the elimination of private ownership of the means of production and calls on the proletariat of the world to use revolutionary violence to overthrow the rule of the bourgeoisie.

Capitalism is a social system based on private ownership of the means of production.

This determines that there is naturally the most intense ideological conflict and opposition between the two.

Since the birth of communism, Western countries have tried their best to vilify communism, causing people to feel disgusted with communism and have faith in and dependence on capitalism.

In this way, the authority of the government can be maintained, its political rule can be consolidated, and the capitalists can continue to legally exploit the proletarian masses.

Therefore, Western countries use all kinds of methods to discredit communism.

For example, Western countries took advantage of the public’s antipathy toward Hitler and deliberately confused Nazism (full name: National sozialismus) with socialism, combining historical inducements to arouse people’s antipathy and fear of communism.

For example, in 1948, high-level officials in the United States issued multiple documents one after another that clearly discredited the Soviet Union. Its ultimate goal was to rule the world by any means necessary and encourage its allies to vilify Soviet communism around the world.

Through the export of strong ideology, the United States teaches children to hate and fear communism from an early age.

So no matter what you say, no matter how much communist theory they read, they think it’s “brainwashing.”

After the collapse of the Soviet Union, the United States shifted its target of vilification to China, which still adheres to the socialist path.

For example, the English abbreviation of the Communist Party of China is CPC (the Communist Party of China), which emphasizes the Communist Party of China. However, Western media have always called it the CCP (the Chinese Communist Party), emphasizing China’s communist attributes.

This is actually a discourse trap that deliberately leads the public to unconsciously associate CCP with the image of communism that has been vilified in the past few decades, creating a negative image.

The third is that the United States manipulates public opinion to smear China out of anti-China needs.

In fact, during the honeymoon period between China and the United States in the 1980s, the United States had a relatively friendly attitude toward China. Even Fu Manchu was banned at that time.

But with the disintegration of the Soviet Union and the United States labeling China a new generation enemy, this organized smear campaign motivated by anti-China began again.

At the beginning, the US anti-China propaganda mainly focused on “human rights violations” and “Tibet issue”.

After China’s economic aggregate ranked second in the world in 2010, Western countries were worried that China would threaten them, so they began to create the “China threat theory”.

The “China threat theory” covers a very wide range and can be related to anything.

For example, they say that China’s development of normal national defense is to disrupt regional balance and create the threat of war.
For example, they say that China’s population is too large, which will bring a crisis to the world’s food supply and cause food shortages.
For example, they say that everyone in China has a family car, which will cause environmental pollution and bring ecological disasters.
For example, they say that the Chinese engage in hacker activities and accuse Huawei and ZTE equipment of “endangering national security.”
For example, they say that China’s Belt and Road Initiative has created a “debt trap” for relevant countries.
For example, they say that China’s Confucius Institute is a spy agency and a cultural invasion.
For example, they say that China’s police cooperation with other countries is setting up “foreign police stations” to threaten its own nationals.
Even when Chinese people eat meat, Western media say that the carbon dioxide brought by Chinese farming will cause global warming and threaten all mankind.

According to the Western media, everything the Chinese do is wrong and threatens all mankind.

The purpose of this kind of strange, varied and negative reports that exceed the imagination of the Chinese people is to use “deceptive information” and “false propaganda” to offset China’s positive influence in neighboring countries and even in the international arena.

Suppress China’s international image and create obstacles for China to go global.

After all, in the face of a China that has been smeared as “doing everything with conspiracy”, any country that wants to cooperate with China will have to do it in its heart.

How can people in Western countries have a good impression of China when they are immersed in this information cocoon of anti-China public opinion every day?

2. Conflict of interest

If the media’s exaggeration is an external cause, then the conflict of personal interests is the internal cause of the deterioration of foreign people’s impression of the Chinese.

The first is the hostile attitude brought about by industrial competition.

Although the Chinese ideal is a unified world, in the real world, there are indeed stratifications.

In this pyramid-shaped world, it can basically be divided into 6 levels.

The top one is naturally the United States, with a per capita GDP of over US$60,000.
Next are the moderately developed countries, with per capita GDP of about US$40,000, such as Germany, France, the UK and Japan.
Next are the junior developed countries, with per capita income of US$20,000-30,000, such as Greece, South Korea, Spain, etc.
Next are relatively developed developing countries, such as China, India, and Russia.
Then there are some developing countries that sell resources, such as Venezuela, Egypt, etc.
Finally, there are some small and poor countries that cannot even sell their resources.

The total global GDP in 2023 will be approximately US$93 trillion. Among them, the overall GDP of developing countries is US$36 trillion, and the total GDP of all developed countries is approximately US$57 trillion.

What about population? The total population of developed countries is only about 1.1 billion. Except for the United States, which has more than 300 million, and Japan, which has just over 100 million, none of them exceeds 100 million.

In other words, developed countries, which account for less than 18% of the world’s total population, control two-thirds of the world’s total wealth!

If you were reborn in a developed country, you would have enough food and clothing, and receive basic benefits even if you didn’t work. If you are reborn in a small, poor country at the bottom, having enough to eat is just a luxury. Is this fair?

It’s unfair, but this is the reality. Developed countries and developing countries are completely different from the same world in terms of people’s living standards.

So how did these two severely separated parallel worlds come into being? The reason is simple: industry.

If we look at developed countries, we will find that they always have at least one or two trump industries.

Even if some low-end industries are transferred out, high-profit high-end industries are still firmly in the hands of the United States and its allies.

In this system, the United States controls high technology, finance, military industry, aerospace, biopharmaceuticals, computers, agricultural machinery, etc.

The UK controls higher education and finance, France controls nuclear power and passenger aircraft, Germany controls precision machinery and chemical industry, Japan and South Korea control semiconductor raw material manufacturing and automobiles, etc. Basically, each is in charge of its own business.

What are the benefits of this system?

On the one hand, it can leverage the advantages of each country, reduce product costs, and ultimately serve the United States.

On the other hand, since the allies of the United States are smaller in size, giving them some industries can easily ensure prosperity at the national level, lead a good life, and no longer have incentives to develop advantageous industries that threaten the United States.

Why can Westerners work 4 hours a day, drink coffee for another 4 hours, go on vacation to the Mediterranean, sunbathe, and pick up girls, but you can’t? And they are still not satisfied with this and go on strike at every turn! Because their high-end industries support this kind of life.

Their country, relying on its technological and industrial advantages, can live a good life comfortably after seizing its ecological niche. As long as a developed country builds a plane, people in developing countries need to use their hard work and sweat to create 700 million shirts in exchange. Other developing countries can only be locked in agriculture, animal husbandry, mineral resources and low-end industries forever.

In terms of profits, low-end industries can never compare with high-end industries.

This system has been running stably for decades, and the United States and developed countries have been lying on the top of the pyramid, selling sand for the price of chips, and sucking the blood of developing countries for decades.

But they never expected that China would appear.

China is different from other countries in that it has too many people and low-end industries cannot give Chinese people a decent life.

Even if the United States provides some high-end industries to China, China will not be able to become a developed country like South Korea, which has a smaller population.

Therefore, what China is pursuing is the upgrading of the entire industry, using the rise of various industries to cover more Chinese people and allow everyone to live a better life.

No matter how many pearls you have in your industrial crown, we’ll find a way to get them.

Moreover, China has the most complete industrial chain in the world.

China graduates millions of science and engineering students every year. It has a huge domestic market, strategic support at the national level and the national sentiment of “Do those gentry certainly have blue blood?” engraved in the Chinese DNA.

This means that as long as the Chinese want to do something, there is a high probability that they can do it.

Therefore, when the Chinese are no longer satisfied with sewing buttons and knitting clothes, and start to upgrade their industries, the comfortable days of Western countries will come to an end.

China’s industrial upgrading also has a magical ability. No matter what high technology is conquered by China, it will immediately become a bargain.

Then when we return to foreign markets, we can immediately reduce the dimensionality of foreign manufacturers and attack them without even having to compete.

For example, Western countries used to sell dyes used in the textile industry for hundreds of thousands of dollars per ton. After we mastered the core technology, we directly sold it for 10,000 CNY per ton, killing most of our international peers.
There are also white goods. In the past, every Chinese household was proud to have a Toshiba TV. As a result, now that China’s white goods market is all over the world, Toshiba is about to go bankrupt.
The same goes for LCD panels. In the past, China could only rely on imported LCD panels to make color TVs, and most of the profits from a color TV would be taken away by foreign countries. Now after China’s breakthrough, it has directly captured 80% of the world’s LCD panel share, and the price is so low that LCD panels can be installed above toilet urinals.
Also, China broke through the shield machine, and Germany’s Waldrich Coburg Machine Tool Factory closed down.
China made a breakthrough in pen tip steel, and Japan’s Shimomura Seiko suffered a sharp decline in profits and was on the verge of bankruptcy.
China started making mobile phones, and Nokia and Motorola went bankrupt.

China’s practice of using low prices to completely overturn the market structure once a technological breakthrough is really unbearable to Westerners.

China has destroyed so many monopolized industries in the West, making life for Westerners less comfortable. How can you expect them to have a good impression of China?

Let’s take a look:

Why were Western countries not as anti-China in 2010 as they are now?

Has the anti-China voice in Western countries suddenly become louder since 2010?

Isn’t it because China has started industrial upgrading and its GDP has surpassed Japan’s?

The second is that the rise of China has changed the international order and caused an imbalance in the mentality of Westerners.

Western countries like to talk about a saying: rules-based international order.

What exactly is this “rules-based international order”? To put it bluntly, it is the international order established by the United States after World War II by taking advantage of its status as the biggest winner in World War II.

In this order, the United States can recruit a “team of allies” to arbitrarily interfere in other countries’ internal affairs and launch color revolutions to overthrow other countries’ governments at will.

In this order, the United States has bound the U.S. dollar with gold and oil successively, making the U.S. dollar the world currency, and the United States can harvest the world’s wealth through the U.S. dollar tide.

In this order, the United States and its allies maintain strong military strength and bully other countries wantonly.

They can use a test tube of white powder as an excuse to bomb Iraq at will, killing and injuring millions of people, and if other countries build a new warship, they will be slandered as a “threat to regional peace.”

Simply put, the biggest principle of this order is to always maintain American hegemony.

After this order is established, everyone in Western countries will be a beneficiary of this order.

They can treat immigrants from other countries with an arrogant attitude and leave all the dirty work to immigrants.

They can draw high profits from developing countries by entering into unfair contracts through the economic advantages maintained by their hegemony.

They can go to developing countries at will, show off their identity as a Westerner, and attract countless women to throw themselves into their arms, and then abandon them.

Even in the face of a terrorist attack, as long as you show your identity as “I am an American”, you will most likely enjoy priority evacuation and special protection.

Over the past few decades, they have taken this kind of treatment for granted, as if they were born with this kind of treatment.

But they didn’t expect that China would appear.

Chinese Foreign Minister Wang Yi has repeatedly declared that there is only one international order, and that is the basic order of the United Nations.

Obviously, China is willing to integrate with international standards, but it is not willing to be subject to the basic order of the United States.

China seeks a fair and just international order from the perspective of everyone in the world, not an international order dominated by the United States.

In the international order advocated by the Chinese, every child in Gaza should live to adulthood.
In the international order advocated by the Chinese, underage girls in Thailand should not become the playthings of white people.
In the international order advocated by the Chinese, Africans should not starve while guarding their fertile land.
In the international order advocated by the Chinese, South American children should not face the only two options: drug trafficking and football.

This is China’s original intention of building a community with a shared future for mankind – hoping to seek the sharing of development rights, development opportunities and development results, so that the results of world construction and development can benefit people of all countries more and more equitably, and truly achieve win-win sharing.

But this has undoubtedly touched the cake of the people of developed countries. You have changed the world order, so how can they continue to lie at the top of the pyramid and dominate?

It’s like a rural person who enters the city and feels inferior when looking at the high-rise buildings in the city. When he meets the city people, he feels inferior to others. The city people feel that everything is taken for granted.

However, when a rural person who comes to the city becomes literate through self-study and feels that he and the city people are both human beings and there is no distinction between superiority and inferiority, and demands to be on an equal footing with the city people, do you think the city people can accept it?

Therefore, Western people naturally do not have a good impression of China, which has taken the lead in “undermining the international order.”

Third, the successful path of Chinese-style modernization has completely overturned the only successful path of the West for a long time.

For a long time, there has been only one successful path to human development, which is Western-style modernization.

This was the only correct path proven by practice, and it became a model for all countries to learn from.

To a certain extent, Western-style modernization has dominated the process of human modernization.

But strangely enough, there are many countries that follow the path of Westerners. Whether it is political system or economic system, they are basically planned according to the Western model.

But today, not many countries have really reached the level of modernization in the West. On the contrary, some countries are getting worse and worse, and even go bankrupt.

Why is this so?

To put it bluntly, the other side of the Western modernization process has been deliberately hidden.

Since the Age of Discovery, the West has embarked on global capital expansion and colonial activities.

Ship after ship of silver, ship after ship of black slaves, and ship after ship of opium helped the West quickly accumulate a large amount of wealth, and also planted the root of poverty and backwardness in other regions.

With capital, coupled with the technological monopoly created by the first-mover advantage and the trade hegemony brought by the advantages of international rules, Western countries can easily seize high profits and play a game of scissors.

Therefore, despite the hype about Western modernization, it actually only requires you to comply with the international order established by Western modernization and the unfair international wealth distribution behind this order.

But they never expected that China would stand up.

China knows very well that copying the Western development model will not achieve modernization at all, so China has developed Chinese-style modernization.

China chose to rely on its new national institutional advantages and scale advantages to change from a free flow of funds to a government-guided capital flow.

Through rural revitalization and urbanization, China’s advantages of huge population and large cumulative effect have been used to help rural areas get rid of poverty and promote common prosperity.

Facts have proved that China was successful, and it took several decades to go through the path of modernization that took Western countries hundreds of years.

Today, both its economy and military strength have reached the point where it has surpassed countless developed countries.

China has provided a model to all countries, a model that can still succeed without following the path of Westernization, which has strengthened the confidence of all countries in the world that are interested in developing their own modernization.

When other countries see China’s success, they will naturally pursue their own modernization instead of following suit under the deception of Western scholars.

But in this way, the modernization theory that Western countries have maintained for decades will go bankrupt.

To put it simply, the rise of China has completely destroyed Westerners’ institutional and theoretical confidence.

Therefore, we cannot expect Western people to have any favorable impression of China, a “heretic” that does not follow the Western path and is leading more countries to abandon the Western path.

Therefore, there is no need for Chinese people to consider what Westerners think! You can’t change them either!

As winners, do Chinese people need to consider the thoughts of losers?

Have you ever lost any respect for someone instantly?

I was in the ninth or tenth standard.

Our Maths teacher was excellent in teaching maths in logical way.

I had a great respect for her teaching excellence.

Since I loved Maths and scored good marks, students who had problem with maths would come to me in the short interval for clearing their doubts in some difficult problems.

Those students were day schoolers , while I was in boarding.

In short interval when I was explaining Maths, they would offer me some food to taste which they brought from their home.

One particular item jowar roti(it is called jonna rotti in Telugu) with smoked brinjal chutney(baigan ka bharta) was my favorite. So whenever any of those girls brought those items, they would invariably offer me.

One day when I was explaining some problems to the girls, the teacher saw us.

After some time I was called into the staff room.

I was scared. “Did I do any thing wrong by explaining maths to those girls?” I thought.

“It is a good thing you are clearing the doubts for those girls. I appreciate you. You are saving my time” she said.

My respect for her increased.

“But why do you eat from their (mentioning their caste) tiffin boxes? Stop eating from now onwards”

My entire respect for her came crashing down in a minute.

From then onward, I respected her as a good Math teacher but never considered as a mentor.

RV Life is FINISHED! | 7 HARSH REALITIES Why RVer’s QUIT

Southern Fried Catfish

Ingredients

6 small catfish
2 cups buttermilk
2 cups cornmeal
Salt
Ground pepper

Instructions

Shake cornmeal, salt and ground pepper in a paper bag.
Heat oil to 360 degrees F, halfway up the sides of a cast iron skillet.
Dip catfish into buttermilk, then into dry mixture in bag.
Fry for about 2 1/2 to 3 minutes on each side (5 minutes per every inch of thickness).
Serve with Hush Puppies.

What kind of people will not succeed in life?

I had a good friend, Matt, growing up through high school.

He was a bright kid, did well on tests and stuff. But his parents, who were wealthy, kept giving him everything.

He never had to work during the summers (which is common here in the States). Anytime he needed anything, they handed him wads of cash. Anytime he made a mistake they bailed him out, never held him accountable.

Over time he just lost all motivation.

It hurts me to write this, but – here we are 34 years old, and he still hasn’t finished a college degree and literally lives in his parents’ basement. So much wasted potential already.

Spoiling a kid is the worst thing a parent can do.

She’s absolutely full of shit

Have you ever bought something from a yard sale or second hand store only to discover it was worth significantly more? What was the item you purchased?

Years ago, my husband stopped by a yard sale looking for old canning jars (which he collects). When he was getting ready to pay for his new treasures, the man running the sale asked him if he wanted a bottle he had – it was only $5. So my husband bought it. He put it in the back seat of his truck and headed for home.

When he got home, he noticed the vivid green coloring to the bottle so he took some pictures of it and uploaded pictures of it to a collector’s group he belonged to. One person offered him $100, another $200. Finally, someone messaged my husband and asked him if he even knew what he had. Turns out it was an old Binninger’s whiskey bottle and the second one known to exist. They offered to pay for transport to their facility and take it around to some collectors’ shows, then auction it off so it could get some exposure. My husband paid for the shipping and agreed that they could auction it off.

That bottle sold for $6000. The auction house got 10%. So $6000 – $620 (600 to the auction house and $20 to buy and ship) = $5380.00. Not a bad traffic

What is the best random conversation you overheard?

This was actually half of three conversations that were all connected.

A few years ago I was on holiday in Pisa. One day we were travelling back to Pisa by train after a day out and we were sitting near a young Italian.

When he started speaking to someone on his mobile, I did pay attention at first but I then found that I was understanding what he was saying without trying. I decided to practise my aural comprehension and started listening.

He was asking someone to meet him at the station and I assumed that it was his sister, since many young Italians live at home.

Anyway he said something like:

”…… if you could come and meet me at the station … I need to buy a birthday present for Mamma…”

I could not hear what the other person said but I realised he had received a negative response because he said “OK” in a tone of resignation. I had a vague suspicion that asking for help to choose a present was just an excuse and his real concern was getting a lift home. He then said something like:

”I’ll see you at home then ….. or maybe you could come and pick me up at the station …… Ah, OK. I’ll see you at home then”

I noticed that when he asked about being picked up at the station he spoke with exaggerated casualness, obviously wanting to give the impression that he had only just thought of it although it was his real reason for phoning.

After his request had met with another refusal, he phoned someone else and suggested meeting at the station before going to a bar. This person also declined.

A few minutes later the young man’s mobile rang and I just knew that the second person wanted to arrange something for another night. When he answered his mobile, I could half sense and half hear the other person suggesting that they meet another time. The young man did not want to arrange anything and ended the call very quickly.

Personally, if I had been in the other person’s position, I would not have bothered with that young man again. He seemed really self-centred.

Shorpy History

Why do some foreigners think that the Chinese are living in disasters and that the government is against its people?

It is the nature of commercial media that it reports only shocking bad news. Good news is of no interest to anybody. Commercial media has one job: to delivery a large audience to advertisers. To maximize the audience it must minimize the daily shock value.

It ‘s not just foreigners, newspapers in Singapore, HK and Taiwan report China like it is a complete cycle of violence, corruption, and sex, because that is what sells newspapers and attracts audiences. My relatives in HK won’t visit because they are too frightened to come to Suzhou. Despite us being in the SIP which is virtually crime free.

Government media would like to correct the balance. But they also are under pressure to deliver audiences to justify their huge budgets, so they too become superficial and concentrate on human rights, labour regulation failures, and corruption.

China tries to bring in its own message via publications and CCTV, but this is seen as propaganda and so viewership is limited to overseas Chinese.

What was a loophole that you found and exploited the hell out of?

I’m torn whether or not the share this because this “loophole” still exists.

When I was an undergraduate, I noticed that publishers would send professors copies of their textbooks. Some unsolicited. Some upon request.

A light bulb went off. As a new semester approached, I would find a copy of the previous syllabus and get the ISBN number or I’d just go to the bookstore and copy it down. All I really needed was the publisher’s name, the title and the author. I would Google the publisher and look for a customer service number or a request for review copy number. Then, I’d call and say, “Hi, my name is Charlie and I’m calling for Dr. Jones. Do you have any review copies of this textbook that you can send me?” (I used Jones as a pseudonym here but the person whose name I used was real). And then when they confirm that they do, I’d ask if there were any ancillaries that would accompany the book.

They would send the book, solution set and test bank directly to me at the department office. After my first semester, I didn’t pay for a single book in college.

I would exercise caution doing this. I think this worked for me was because I provided free tutoring to students and every one of the faculty members in the department knew me.

What are the lessons people most often learn too late in life?

1. Money might not buy happiness but it does make sadness comfortable.

2. The fuller your phone battery is by the end of the day, the better your day was.

3. Having a small circle is cool until your two friends are busy.

4. World history unfolding seems so unreal until you experience it first and it becomes too real.

5. If an object is large enough, it becomes a location.

6. Never run for a bus or a relationship. Because when one leaves, another arrives.

7. May you attract someone speaks your language so you don’t have to translate your soul.

8. Some people don’t realize how hard you are riding for them, until you park.

9. Everyone wants you to go the extra mile, but seldom gives you the gas to do it.

10. Randomly hearing your favorite song is more satisfying than putting it on yourself.

US Fake Man Moon Landing.

According to the plan, it was supposed to carry back 2 kilograms, but the density of the lunar soil is based on public information in the United States. The U.S. public information is incorrect. The actual lunar soil density is smaller than that disclosed by the United States.

In this way, under the same volume, the mass decreases: 2 kg → 1.731 kg.

This scientific parameter must not be wrong! Get it wrong and the mission will fail. Fortunately, the Chinese do not trust the United States and have margins when designing.

2 possibilities: Deliberately publicizing wrong information to mislead others. The second is that the United States really doesn’t know what is wrong. Therefore, the United States keeps asking China for information and lunar soil. China ignored it!

I am not qualified to say that the US moon landing was fake, I can only have doubts.

Some Problem discussion :

1. The Soviet Union also used unmanned missions to land on the moon, obtained the lunar soil, and found water, while the United States said there was no water. The Soviet Union was not confident and could only believe that the lunar soil it obtained was contaminated. Now, no one from China has landed on the moon to obtain lunar soil, proving that the lunar soil contains water.

2. The ironclad proof of the American moon landing is the installation of a lunar surface laser corner reflector . The distance between the earth and the moon can be measured on the earth through the lunar corner reflector. However, the United States installed two corner reflectors manually, and the Soviet Union installed three corner reflectors with automatic machines for unmanned lunar landings. At the same time, the Soviet Union’s corner reflectors can also measure the distance between the earth and the moon. The effect is the same, how can it be “irrefutable proof”.

3. Zhang Benan , deputy chief engineer of China’s aerospace industry , publicly stated that according to the internal assessment of the US Apollo moon landing, the reliability rate was less than 50%. If China followed the American moon landing model, it would be impossible to succeed. Look, Chinese scientists always speak in direct manner. If the success rate of a project is less than 50%, can it be successful? However, there were 6 Apollo moon landings, 5 of which were successful. Science is not feudal superstition. We talk about projects based on facts. We do not take personal feelings and evaluate rationally!

4. When the United States landed on the moon and returned to the earth, it did not master the ” Qian Xuesen ballistic ” re-entry technology and returned to the earth at the second cosmic speed , which would have killed all the astronauts. However, the three astronauts are not dead, they are alive. what happened? The United States has not yet mastered this technology. In 2022, NASA made big claims early, claiming that Orion was the first manned spacecraft in history to use a jump return method (i.e., “floating”) to reenter the atmosphere. This is actually a ” semi-ballistic return ” and is not fully understood. But how did they return to Earth in 1969?!

5. China and the United States, no one has landed on the moon, and some people have landed on the moon. Comparison of lunar surface pictures:

main qimg 9f3133a555bfba4b50b4547c58bb3bce

China, lunar surface, lunar soil is dense and discolored. United States, on the lunar surface, the lunar soil is like a cement pile, loose and does not change color. (Picture below: Moon landing announced by the United States)

main qimg da27dfb27dc0d274dda5f095a428ba41

There is another picture, below: Ground simulation training taken by the United States (published by the United States), take a look

main qimg 4ae1eed93956631e2abf65cb90cd3e78

In the ground simulation, the astronauts were held by two wires behind them, and the scene was almost the same as if they were on the moon… If you go to the studio and the wire ropes are blurred, you would think that they are on the so-called moon….The picture below shows the lunar surface taken by China’s Chang’e 2 , which is believed to be the remnants of the American Apollo 11. However, it is a shadow with a resolution of 70 meters. It does not prove that “someone landed on the moon”. A lunar rover? American flag? where? Where are the footprints? No one has ever landed on the moon, so we can throw something down. It’s pitch black, what are you looking at? ?

main qimg 31564713a11c1dfe16ed8e2776cbed29

Even if no one lands on the moon, we can still create this huge pile of ruins with nothing visible. 2002 American TV show, the host who questioned the moon landing insisted that astronaut Aldrin swear to the camera with his hand on the Bible, declaring that he had truly left footprints on the moon. If he refused, it would prove that the moon landing was a hoax. Aldrin remained silent for a long time. But the host continued to ask, saying that if you don’t swear, “you are a coward, a liar, and a shameful thief.” Faced with such verbal provocation, an angry Aldrin punched the host, but he still refused to swear in the end. Later, Armstrong and other three other astronauts who landed on the moon also refused to swear when they encountered similar situations. That is to say, no one who landed on the moon has dared to swear according to the Bible that he landed on the moon. (There is a video, you can look for it) According to American law, pressing the Constitution and the Bible with your hands and swearing an oath are essentially testimonials, which are legally binding. Many people do not understand American law. The act of swearing on the Bible can be used as evidence recognized by the court. If you lie, it is ” perjury “; and perjury is one of the six major felonies and must be sentenced to more than one year in prison. There is no Execution outside prison and understanding outside court. Therefore, when Americans are forced to swear or testify, they can remain silent and refuse to answer. This is a form of self-protection and is recognized by law.

Conclusion :

1. We must use a “real scientific attitude” to talk about problems, instead of “because the United States is very powerful”. Everything it does is right and true. This is inappropriate. Discuss things objectively without any subjectivity; let alone use force to overwhelm others, “America is great, how dare you doubt it?” “Scientists from all over the world don’t doubt it, so who do you think you are?” “Whatever culture you have, you are worthy of doubting Apollo”…This is no longer interesting.

2. Not much to talk about, just two:

A. The United States has not yet mastered the “floating technology.” How did the people inside the lunar return module survive when it returned to the earth at the speed of the second universe? Entering the atmosphere at the speed of the second universe, the spacecraft can withstand at least 16G inside and outside, and the human body can withstand up to 10G. If it exceeds, you will die. How did these moon landings survive?

B. Just one. Of all the “moon-landers”, not one of them pressed the Bible and swore he would land on the moon. Why? When talking about things, convince people with reason.

Everyone is interested in the ground training of the American Apollo moon landing. Here are a few more pictures. These are all announced by NASA:

main qimg 38177cfc66c2d536c1f6d1042656d1e0

It is speculated that the Americans do not know what the real land on the moon is like. They relied on reasoning to simulate the lunar surface and thought it was similar to a cement pile. However, now China has landed on the moon, and found that the lunar surface is actually similar to the Gobi Desert. The picture below shows the first American moonwalkers. They firmly refused to swear by the Bible that they had landed on the moon. They either cursed, ignored, or remained silent. There were 12 people who landed on the moon, and no one swore an oath!

main qimg 76d19541d6cded34a9b542d57834c6f4

We Chinese, born in a secular society, keep a distance from religion or are indifferent to it. But Western society is different. Even after the religious reform, most Americans are Protestants, and they still have a strong respect for religion. Swearing on the Bible is a big deal to them. This is not an oath, it actually explains a lot.….

The latest video I saw was Aldrin talking to a little girl. He probably won’t live long enough to control it, so he told the truth. July 2018, an 8-year-old girl asked Aldrin: “Why hasn’t anyone gone to the moon in so long?”Aldrin accidentally said this: I don’t know, we haven’t been to the moon either!

main qimg 1373f1630f997ff87de6e1980af36ab7

Author Note :

USA empire of lies, Barbarian who think himself noble.

Onion Crusted Catfish

Yield: 4 servings

Ingredients

Catfish

8 U.S. Farm-Raised Catfish Fillets
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1 teaspoon lemon zest
1 cup French fried onions, crushed

Pecan Sauce

1/2 cup butter
1/2 cup chopped pecans
2 tablespoons lemon juice
1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
1 tablespoon fresh parsley, chopped

Instructions

Catfish

Combine flour, salt, cayenne pepper and lemon zest in shallow bowl.
Dredge fillets in flour mixture and press in crushed fried onions, coating well.
Brown fillets over medium-high heat serving side down for 3 to 4 minutes.
Turn fillets and cook 3 to 4 more minutes or until done.
While fillets are cooking, make Pecan Sauce.
Place fillets on plate and serve with sauce.

Pecan Sauce

Melt butter in small saucepan until bubbly and slightly browned.
Add pecans and cook 1 minute to lightly toast.
Add lemon juice and Worcestershire sauce. Remove from heat; add parsley. Spoon over fish.

What accidentally rude things do Americans do while traveling even without realizing it?

Senator John McCain told this story. He was visiting an African nation and was in the office of that country’s president, along with a Congressional colleague. The colleague proceeded to talk to the African president loudly and slowly, using exaggerated gestures.

“MY country is VERY BIG. We have BIG MOUNTAINS. We have BIG CITIES. We have UNIVERSITIES. Do you know what UNIVERSITY means?”

The African president stared at him a moment and then replied, in a normal tone of voice, “I think so. I have a daughter at Vanderbilt.”

Edit, May 5, 2023: Eighty-two thousand views in a week suggests that this issue resonates with a great many people. I am also reminded of this incident of a few years ago:

EDITORIAL: Well, that was embarrassing… — Acknowledging our assumptions

There are many ways to strangle communication. We can misinterpret, not pay enough attention, pay too much attention (to ourselves!), and of course assume. It is much too easy to do. A recent case …

Finally, I am reminded of the employee orientation I attended at an internationally known non-profit institution that attracts employees from all over the world. The institution is located in Tennessee. A young couple with obvious British accents said they were from the UK, and the person in charge of the orientation, having no idea what the UK was, spent the entire day thinking they were from Ukraine.

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Have you ever worked with someone who deliberately tried to get you fired?

Yes. My BEST friend…who I hired to be an assistant manager…and he succeeded. Out of the blue one day, the COO of the company (a bit of a tyrant, but was ALWAYS cool with me) tried to get me to resign for “theft” of property that had been missing before I ever took the position as a manager. I flatly refused and even laughed at him, I hadn’t stolen anything and I knew I was the scapegoat for something. I was fired with no cause given, it certainly wasn’t for theft even though that was the claim. Months later he (best friend) then proceeded to go after my Dad (who worked at the same company) and my dad resigned (he was already job shopping because the company was beginning to have strange issues). Turns out he (my best friend) was a two faced POS (even his own family has now disowned him). He apparently knew that the COO of the company was having an affair…and he used that info to blackmail the COO into putting him into my position and then my father’s position. It lasted about a year until the company president found out about the affair and gave the COO a second chance to clean up his act (the COO’s wife worked for the president and was just a wonderful person). The COO couldn’t keep it in his pants and he got fired. The President took over the COO’s position and began to get information from recently fired employees about how they were fired without cause because the “big supervisor” (guess who) found “problems” that didn’t really exist. The big supervisor would have to come to the stores and do inventories, etc., and while he was doing that he was rewriting sales agreements and contracts so that HE was now getting the percentages of the sales vs the now fired managers. Well, all of that caught up to him…AND it was determined that HE was stealing and blaming it on employees. He had a nice racket going. He got fired and damn near got put in jail. I eventually heard that he had BIG BIG money problems, a serious drug issue and other things. His wife divorced him, his two kids won’t speak to him, his brother and sister won’t even mention his name…. He moved away, married a gal that had a “history” and became persona non grata around these parts.

This is a guy I knew all of my life, who I trusted with my life and would’ve died for. His family is one of the best and his father was as good a man as I’ve ever known. He threw all of it away for money and to try to dig himself out of a problem of his own making. It broke my heart because I’d never been betrayed like that before.

PROOF EVERYONE IS GOING BROKE!

If the Chinese government was forced to choose between Made in China 2025 and One Belt One Road for investment, which one should it invest in?

I believe that Made in China 2025 plays better to China’s traditional strengths, which are:

Production and manufacturing capacity;
Innovation and adaptation;
A growing domestic consumer market;
Fast to market speed;
Domestic consumers who are quicker to adapt than other markets.

It will also stimulate science innovation at a time when the US, EU and Japan are not investing as much.

Moreover, China needs to move up the value chain because the US has shown that it is an unreliable trading partner, which means that China needs to be strong in all the areas which the US is currently strong in, and replace the US as the world’s most innovative and reliable trading partner.

There is an opportunity here because the Trump administration and Republican Party have turned against science investment and education, which means that there is a good opportunity for China to attract science talent to work in China on next generation products and services.

In order to do this, China needs to open up immigration, not just to ethnic Chinese from overseas, but to all talented individuals with special skills who can contribute to Made in China 2025. It needs to become the immigration destination of choice for people from all over the world, replacing the US.

OBOR mainly benefits the large Chinese state-owned companies which are strong in transport development and infrastructure. However, the big question is when will these huge infrastructure projects be paid off?

If their domestic markets take a long time to develop, this means that these governments in central Asia will be saddled with high levels of debt to China, and creating animosity towards China among their own populations. (This has already happened in Malaysia, where the new Malaysian government has asked to re-negotiate the terms of Chinese infrastructure projects in Malaysia.)

For these reasons, I think that Made in China 2025 is the safer investment, and will help Chinese science and industry move up the value chain, replacing the US.

More common than you can believe

Beef Brisket

Ingredients

1 (5 or 6 pound) beef brisket
Onion, garlic and celery salt
1 tablespoon liquid smoke
1/4 cup Worcestershire sauce
1 envelope onion soup mix
1 small bottle barbecue sauce

Instructions

Marinate brisket in a mixture of the onion, garlic and celery salts and liquid smoke. Rub in well and poke holes in meat to help tenderize it. Marinate overnight or at least 3 hours.
Make a pouch of aluminum foil. Put meat in it and add salt and pepper to taste and Worcestershire sauce. Seal pouch well and bake at 275 degrees F for 4 to 6 hours.
Open pouch and put onion soup mix and small bottle of barbecue sauce over brisket. Seal pouch again and bake 1 hour longer.
Refrigerate for 1 hour before slicing across grain.

What was your favorite prison experience?

A few years ago, pre-COVID, I volunteered to teach inmates at Folsom Women’s Facility how to code.

In preparation for doing so, I was sent a list of do’s and dont’s (well, mostly don’ts, especially since any “do” can be converted to a “don’t” by negating it).

Some of the don’ts were fairly obvious–no physical contact with an inmate, no passing of messages to/from inmates, no discussion of their crime or sentence, etc.

Some were less obvious (to me, at least) but made sense once I read them…

Do not wear clothing that resembles the clothing that prisoners wear (so no jeans, no blue shirts, no orange, etc.)

Do not wear clothing that resembles what custodial staff wear (forest green pants, tan shirts, camouflage)

And there was “Do not under any circumstances run.”

I had (correctly) assumed I would be escorted to and from the classroom, so I couldn’t imagine running. “What’s this about?” I said to myself for a millisecond, then I read further. If a violent incident were to occur, typically the only people running are the perpetrators. Or the guards rushing to quell the incident. You don’t want to be mistaken for an inmate causing trouble, so don’t run.

All of a sudden, the blood drained from my face. “What am I getting myself into?”

Reading further, it said that incidents were rare, but they do happen. I composed myself.

Further down still, the verbiage was something like this–if an incident did occur, the guards’ primary objective was to prevent injury to the staff. I would be a volunteer visitor, and my safety could not be guaranteed. Hmm.

I signed the form. I wanted to help.

It was a bit of a drive–San Francisco to Folsom. Stayed overnight in an Airbnb, and was ready to go early the next morning. Short drive to the facility, enjoyed the scenery, etc.

Then I pull up the road that leads to the facility. As I approach and look for the parking area, I see guard towers, barbed wire, etc. “Holy shit, what did I get myself info?”

I panic for a few seconds, then compose myself. “This is going to be fun. Teaching is my happy place. These folks could use my help.”

I had always assumed that in retirement I would work at the Humane Society, or part-time at Home Depot or the like. But the moment I stepped in the classroom and introduced myself, I instantly knew what I was going to do when I retired.

I could make jokes about inmates being a captive audience, but the fact is–they were there to learn. Much more universally than my corporate clients, some of whom don’t really want to be there, or if they do, they aren’t allowed to focus because their boss keeps asking them to do things, even though they are in class.

I went back several times and enjoyed each and every moment with those students.

But the question asked about our favorite prison experience. It was a LinkedIn message I received a couple years later, from one of my former students:

“I hope you remember me from Folsom Women’s Facility. You did a Python workshop for us, I enjoyed it and was inspired by it. I am out now and working. Thank you for the knowledge and encouragement!”

That.

More of that, please.

Have you ever been pulled over by a police officer for an unusual reason?

The plant I work in is a 24/7 365 operation. I’m an industrial electronics technician/mechanic and this particular year I got the short straw. So late on the 24th of December Christmas eve and I’m on my way to work. Then this cop pulls in behind me, lights n such, and pulls me over. I couldn’t think of a single thing I had done wrong and was thinking, wtf, I’m gonna get a ticket on may way to work a night shift on Christmas eve, seriously???. I was clearly not feeling like this was going to be a good day.

Now I like putting my skills to work in my personal as well as professional life. My favorite thing is building projects, enter the pickup truck I was driving at the time. For note, this took place about 20yrs ago.

The cop comes up and immediately said, ‘you haven’t done anything wrong’. Which clearly left me very very confused. ‘Are those solar panels on your bed?’. Yes, yes they are. You see I had built an electric truck out of an old Chevy S10. The solar provided some free charging. The questions being flying and on the side of the road on Christmas eve I pop the hood and give an impromptu lesson on electric vehicles.

10min or so later excused myself, work awaited. Oddest stop I ever had.

As a car salesman, what was the biggest discount you ever gave on a car?

I worked for a Kia dealer in the late 90s. They had something called retro money. It was an incentive to the dealer. Every car you sold in a month got you xx dollars from the manufacturer. The more you sold the larger the incentive, and it was retro to all the cars you sold that month. So if the incentive went from 500 to 800 per car you would get the extra 300 on all cars sold for the month.

It is the last day of the month and we need to sell two cars to hit the next level. It would mean an extra 35k for the dealer. We sold the first one by 10am. Then it was a ghost town. No customers etc. I get a guy looking at a Kia Sportage. Not really interested, blah blah blah. It’s nearly closing time and this guy is the only customer. He is one of those that doesn’t buy the same day etc. I was ready to buy a car at this point. We offer him a deal, no, another deal, no. We gave him the rebate off of invoice as well as the holdback, the funny money. The final offer was a 4,000 loss from triple net cost. It was about 8k off of sticker price. This on a car that had a sticker price of about 18k. HE WANTS TO THINK ABOUT IT OVERNIGHT. I tell him this deal goes away. Honestly, if he didn’t buy it, I was going to. He did buy it.

Drizzle Drizzle; men have flipped the script but women DON’T GET IT

As a Starbucks barista, have you ever been terrified of the name someone wanted on their order?

I work at a fast food place, not Starbucks, but yeah, I’ve had my share of gross assholes who want me to call them shit like “big dick” or “daddy.” In the immediate aftermath of the 2016 elections, I had a Latine coworker who was told several times to put in “Trump,” and once, “Heil Hitler.” Thank g-d I wasn’t in the store that day. I think I would’ve had a heart attack.

The absolute worst I’ve personally taken was this douchebag who told me to put his name in as Hail Satan 666, and when I called his order by item instead of name, he told me he wouldn’t leave the store until I called it. I refused and told him we only called real names (not true, but a convenient excuse). He was snickering with his buddies and told me that was discrimination because that was definitely his real name, and did I have a problem with his real name? Goodness, I hope none of that merry band ever procreate.

On the flip side, I had a dude that same day who gave me his name, and when I apologized and said we could only use real names, he got the BIGGEST grin, pulled out his wallet….

…..and I put in his name, went to the back, and when my manager opened her mouth to tell me off I said “ohhh, no. I saw his driver’s license. His name is really Bruce Wayne, and we’re gonna call it.”

Can you write something that will shock me to the core?

In ancient Rome, the punishment for patricide (killing one’s father) was to be drowned in a sack along with a viper, a dog, a monkey and a rooster. The reason? I don’t even know.
Alice Stebbins Wells was the first ever policewoman who joined the LAPD in 1910. Because she was the first (and only) policewoman, she designed her own police uniform.

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3. Gorgias of Epirus, a Greek sophist, was born in his dead mother’s coffin while pallbearers were on their way to bury her. Who has an explanation for this?

4. In the 5th century, St. Simeon Stylites spent 37 years on a small platform on top of a tall pillar in Aleppo, Syria. He did it for ascetic reasons but sometimes I wonder how even spending 1 year on top of a skyscraper without coming down will be like.

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5. One of the most well-known gladiators of ancient Rome, Carpophorus, fought exclusively against beasts. You think Samson in the Bible was a beast? Carpophorus was a monster! Carpophorus famously defeated a bear, lion, and leopard in a single battle. That same day, he slaughtered a rhinoceros with a spear and set a record of killing 20 wild animals no other man will even venture to go near. Even Hercules didn’t do this!

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American Reacts to First Time You Realized America Really Messed You Up | Part 2 | TikTok

Have you ever had a job where you did nothing for years and nobody found out?

I do now.

It grew out of quiet quitting. Most other hospitals in town pay about 30–40% more for my job. So after making this known I cut back my work to about 60% and nobody noticed or cared so I cut back even further.

I do about 6 hours of work in a given week.

I show up, I train my classes 1–2 days a couple weeks a month then I go wander around clinics and bullshit with a few people to look like I’m busy. Then I go back to my desk and sit. Thanks to Covid office emptiness I keep headphones on so it looks like I’m listening to music. I’m listening to books on tape or watching YouTube videos. I keep something that looks like work on one of my monitors so I look busy but I pretty much just sit. Sometimes I work on additional certifications for when the ship sinks and I have to go work somewhere else.

I work from home on Fridays, which is to say I sign in to Teams and watch Netflix for 8 hours.

If I can keep this up for 13 years and this poorly run mess I work for doesn’t bankrupt itself, I retire with a full pension.

How did your marriage end?

I have been married twice.

My first marriage ended with my wife’s bloody body in my lap.

She took only about a minute to die.

We had been married, exactly 5 years, she died on our anniversary. She was pregnant, so I also lost the person who would have been my firstborn.

My second marriage ended when my wife died in hospital, from cancer, while I was asleep, at home, she took just days short of 2 years to die.

We had been married 46 years.

I’m still trying to work out which was the worst.

The strange thing about all this is that my first wife died on the 17th of August 1963, at 0130 hrs.

My second wife died on the 17th of August 2013, at 0115 hrs.

I decided to not remarry as I would be depressed every year as August approached.?

PS. My birthday is the 27th of August.

What did your boss say to you during a meeting that resulted in you immediately resigning?

I came into work one morning at around 9:30AM and so was admittedly late. This was in the early 70s so flexible working was not a thing. My boss called me into his office, and gave me right bollocking. I resigned on the spot basically telling him that if he didn’t like it he could stuff his job.

This does seem to be rather high-handed of me, but the context is that I had finished work at 4 AM, destruction testing and debugging a programme suite I had written over the previous 6 months. I had just worked continuously from Friday 10 PM until Monday 4 AM surviving on sandwiches and copious amounts of caffeine citrate tablets so by the time I arrived at 9:30 AM on Monday I was still pretty strung out and probably resembled the crazy doctor in the Cannonball run.

I was incensed to be carpetted without being asked for an explanation. Two days later I had a new job with a 50% salary increase.

Have you ever seen a mass exodus after a respected employee quit or got fired?

I worked a $8-an-hour part-time job on weekends because I needed the money. Like all low-wage jobs, it was hard work, stupid policies, supervisors with a take-it-or-leave it attitude. It was a high-turnover position; people were always quitting and they were always hiring. We were always understaffed.

We were without a manager. Our team lead had been pressed into service without title or pay raise while they recruited the position. For months. As an employee formerly in our position, he was sympathetic to our viewpoints, did the job well, and was popular with us front-line guys. He applied and interviewed for the position he was already spending 40 hours a week doing.

He didn’t get the job.

On the new manager’s first day, our disappointed and bitter team lead quit. Fully 80% of the team followed him out the door. Many of us told our team lead that the only reason we hadn’t already quit was that we hadn’t wanted to make his job as our unacknowledged manager harder.

That didn’t stop the fucker from disappearing instead of repaying the $500 I had loaned him.

There’s a brewing crisis in the semiconductor supply chain against the West that no one is talking about.

For years, the race we all hear about is to lower and lower node sizes. China (SMIC) decided that competing on this was a fools errand.

They are currently flooding the market with 28nm (and above), also known as “mature processes”. This is the same strategy they took in solar panels and batteries. By some accounts, they’ll have a third of this market in a few years.

28 nm is a limit after which transistors had to be redesigned for heat dispersion, data transfer and electric interference, expensive for minimal speed increase. Some think that it is better to keep that design. but use gallium, photonics and other tech to make chips faster. There’s also this interesting cost curve where 14nm is the inflection point where it starts to become more expensive rapidly.

The running after Moore’s law of stuffing more primitive logic into smaller and smaller chips ends up with, for most applications, only marginal gains in useful functionality. Bigger, although still tiny, integrated circuits take up marginally larger space/volume and energy consumption and do the job within acptable response times for logical cycles.

In marketing terms this makes even more sense to raise the cumulative return on mature proven minimum defect production cycles. Going after smaller etching dimensions involves a far higher investment and as can be seen a smaller market.

The experience and tacit knowledge gained on the rising throughput in 28nm etch production is likely at some point to result in the systems teams involved coming up with better designs for smaller dimensioned products simply as a result of their accumlation of their know how (learning curve).

Why is this a problem:

They need 28nm for a ton of things. Lower node is more profitable, but higher node chips are critical for a bunch of things. Cars. IoT. Microcontrollers.

And most worrying: these higher node chips are important for the military. The US government, especially under Trump, tried to get the military to have a better sense of the provenance of chips. They have, for the most part, failed. Chips are bought by systems integrators and the systems integrators have little sense of their own supply chain.

Qualcomm etc aren’t lying per se, but you need to fulfil orders. Some of them are civilian and are military. Some get filled by SMIC chips others by global foundries.

What’s more important?

Their military production might be at risk of being cut off in the event of conflict. Intel’s foundry is targeting lower nodes. It won’t touch these lagging edge processes. Why should it? There’s no $$ in it.

The US private sector has shown great disinterest in solving this.

It was obvious some time ago that this would happen, and it’s the consequences of capitalist short term policies of the US administration. Anyone in tech knows military equipment does not use advanced node chips.

Whatever West does is too little & too late if West’s purpose is to kneecap China. China can make everything, materials, chemicals, and equipment for making 28nm chips & above. China has some workarounds for making 5nm chips too.

This gain in Chinese market share is not export driven, but from domestic consumption growth and divestment from US foundries. Too many people are short-sighted and think that China cannot properly manufacture advanced chips. Take a look at Huawei’s recently released PUEA70, which has a 7-nanometer chip and a camera module that surpasses Sony’s.

I think another point that the West hasn’t realized is that Chinese advance in semiconductor will quickly spill over to Vietnam too (China is already eating into South Korea & Taiwan’s lunch) and there won’t be anyway to diverge from China-Vietnam supply chain network and still able to compete on price (China already can mass produce for much cheaper than other East Asian developed economies). This spillover has already happened in solar industries.

Saving Private Ryan RIPPED Me to Shreds – First Time Watching

One of the best reactions.

This movie was a hard watch and a complete emotional rollercoaster. I cried and laughed (sometimes at inappropriate moments), but mostly sobbed. Okay... not just sobbed, I UGLY cried. Kinda embarassing, but it's out there now, don't judge me for my faces of despair! Lol. Trust me, I went to bed hugging my dog after filming!

The ship is floundering

Growing up, I was an impatient lad.

I viewed the world from the lens of television, and I thought that the stereotypes thrown at me was real. I believed that wars were gallant men fighting for just purposes, and that work as an never ending adventures with one mystery after the other.

Ah. The harsh reality wasn’t that at all.

Now, that was decades ago. Today, it seems that Gen-Z is having some real coping issues. This is the West, buy the way, not in the East. And what I am reading, hearing about, and watching is terribly disturbing.

The ship USS America is now under water.

The water has breached the deck and starting to go down the air funnels and leech into the duct-work. The hallways have inches (3 cm) deep water that one has to splash through to get to the upper flooded deck.

The signs are all there.

Perhaps the sinking will be complete before the captain of the Ship; whatever “president” that might be might want to reconsider a war with a vibrant, healthy, professional boxer like China is today.

Just sayin’

Today…

French Defense Reports Acknowledge Ukraine Is Done With

The French president Macron has recently pushed for an engagement of foreign troops in Ukraine. The idea was immediately rejected by every country that would be able to send a reasonable number.

The question is why Macron suddenly came out with this.

A series of recent reports from the French defense establishment might have caused his irritation.

The French magazine Marianne got access to “several confidential defense reports” from the French army on the situation in Ukraine.

Guerre en Ukraine : de la prudence à l’affolement… Ce que cache le virage de Macron (archived) – Marianne, Mar 7 2024

Arnaud Bertrand has translated large parts of it:

The situation looks exceedingly bleak for Ukraine, which might in part explain Macron’s recent declarations around sending troops to Ukraine. I translated the important parts of the article:”A Ukrainian military victory now seems impossible”

The reports Marianne consulted write that Ukraine’s counter-offensive “gradually bogged down in mud and blood and did not result in any strategic gain” and that its planning, conceived by Kiev and Western general staffs, turned out to be “disastrous”: “Planners thought that once the first Russian defense lines were breached, the entire front would collapse […] These fundamental preliminary phases were conducted without considering the moral forces of the enemy in defense: that is, the will of the Russian soldier to hold onto the terrain”.

The reports also highlight “the inadequacy of the training of Ukrainian soldiers and officers”: due to a lack of officers and a significant number of veterans, these “Year II soldiers” from Ukraine – often trained for “no more than three weeks” – were launched into an assault on a Russian fortification line that proved impregnable.

Somehow people who had never heard of the Battle of Kursk convinced themselves that Russian soldiers in defensive positions would run away as soon as they would hear a tank rumbling towards them. They of course did not do so.

These Russian troops are well managed and cared for:

The reports also highlight that contrary to Ukraine “the Russians have managed their reserve troops well, to ensure operational endurance.” According to this document, Moscow reinforces its units before they are completely worn out, mixes recruits with experienced troops, ensures regular rest periods in the rear… and “always had a coherent reserve force to manage unforeseen events.” This is far from the widespread idea in the West of a Russian army sending its troops to the slaughter without counting…

The Ukrainians on the other side are done with:

“To date, the Ukrainian general staff does not have a critical mass of land forces capable of inter-arms maneuver at the corps level capable of challenging their Russian counterparts to break through its defensive line,” concludes this confidential defense report, according to which “the gravest error of analysis and judgment would be to continue to seek exclusively military solutions to stop the hostilities“. A French officer summarizes: “It is clear, given the forces present, that Ukraine cannot win this war militarily.“

The fall of Avdeevka has shown that the Ukrainian military, even on the defensive, will inevitably lose the fight:

“The Ukrainian armed forces have tactically shown that they do not possess the human and material capabilities […] to hold a sector of the front that is subjected to the assailant’s effort,” continues the document. “The Ukrainian failure in Avdiivka shows that, despite the emergency deployment of an ‘elite’ brigade – the 3rd Azov Air Assault Brigade –, Kiev is not capable of locally restoring a sector of the front that collapses,” alerts this last report.

In consequence the Russian forces will simply move on:

What the Russians will do with this tactical success remains to be seen. Will they continue in the current mode of “nibbling and slowly shaking” the entire front line, or will they seek to “break through in depth”? “The terrain behind Avdiivka allows it,” signals this recent document, also warning that Western sources tend to “underestimate” the Russians, themselves adept at the practice of “Maskirovka,” “appearing weak when strong.” According to this analysis, after two years of war, Russian forces have thus shown their ability to “develop operational endurance” that allows them to wage “a slow and long-intensity war based on the continuous attrition of the Ukrainian army.”

There is nothing really new in the above for people who have followed the facts on the ground.

So why were western media, and politicians like Macron, late in recognizing the real situation?

Posted by b on March 12, 2024 at 16:59 UTC | Permalink

When a coward meets a man

What did a teacher say that made you immediately walk out of the classroom?

My teacher told me, “No you may not leave the room. Stay in your seat.”

This was said after I glanced out the open door to see my younger brother standing in the doorway crying. (I was a Jr, he was a sophomore) This was so out of character for Mike, that without thinking, I had jumped up from my desk and asked the teacher if I could be excused for a minute. He, too, saw my tall, goofy, big-hearted brother standing there brushing away tears.

I never sat back down, I just kept on going toward the door and my brother. My brothers and I had a very tight relationship. We were always there for one another, and this time was the same. The teacher didn’t say another word as I exited the classroom.

I immediately hugged my brother and asked him what was wrong. He then told me, between the tears that a boy in his gym class had made a nasty remark about me, and without thinking, Mike had sent a basketball soaring across the gym, which hit the offender right square in his face. Blood went everywhere, and it turned out that he had a broken nose. Mike felt terrible about breaking his nose and just knew he was in trouble big time.

I got Mike calmed down and he went back to class, but only after I assured him that I wouldn’t tell our mom about the incident. Then I went back to class and sat down and continued to listen to the lecture for the day. Teacher never said a word to me.

I’d do it just the same if it happened all over again. Nobody, but nobody ever came between my brothers and me.

Damn! This guys is a menace

What is the strangest thing you’ve found buried?

I worked as a field archaeologist for ten years or so and in that time I participated in the excavation of many historic and prehistoric sites in North America.

One of my more unusual finds was in South Western Wyoming.

Wyoming is a big state, comprised of deserts and mountains and little in between. The population is scant and you can drive for hours in some places without seeing another car or an occupied home. A common problem in Wyoming is running out of gasoline because gas stations are few and far between. Many residents have a second gas tank installed in their pickup trucks for this reason.

One spring the company I was working for was scheduled to excavate a prehistoric Native American site in the very rough terrain of the South Western corner of the state. The site was nestled on a terrace on the side of steep hill surrounded by canyon walls. The site had been discovered decades earlier when an oil company put an oil well pad near the site but it had not been investigated further.

The site had some interesting characteristics. First, it was located on a terrace, a flat spot on the side of a steep hill. Then the site was protected from wind on three sides by canyon walls. And finally the site had access to fresh water via a stream that crossed below the site. These characteristics made the site uniquely suited for settlement to ancient people. Such a perfect place was extremely rare.

Upon arrival, we located a series of petro-glyphs or prehistoric rock drawings which were spread across the sandstone walls that protected the terrace. The panels were crowded with images, many of which featured stick like hunters stalking groups of antelope in the desert dunes. Occasionally bison, goats and birds made appearances. But one panel included a dog.

At the time it was known that Native Americans had domesticated the dog but the details were sketchy. For sure dogs were common among the “civilized” late prehistoric tribes of the Carolinas on the Atlantic coast and a breed of tiny dogs were known to the famously civilized Aztecs of Central Mexico but after that it was a big blank as of early 1990s.

The crew examined the “dog” and then looked at the antelopes and it was our collective opinion that the dog was a dog. The ancient artists were particular in their portrayal of the animals, there was little variation in the way they made the antelopes. The antelopes were antelopes and the dog was a dog. We wondered about a domesticated “coyote” or even a “wolf” but this figure had a dog like profile and posture.

We did not spend much time on the rock drawings. They would be documented and preserved. Instead we focused our attention on the sizeable archaeological deposits on the terrace. Imagine the terrace as a bowl with 5 feet of stratified sand in it, with each strata containing the remain of multiple seasonal occupations. In all 8,000 years of ancient American history were recorded in these thin layers, like the pages of a giant history book.

In the coming days, we revealed layer after layer after layer of ancient camp site, with excellent examples of finely designed arrow heads, dart point, and spear tips and all or most of the specimens fit neatly into the historical typology of types which were well documented for this region.

And then we settled into a number of strata that were all from the Archaic age. In the archaeology of the Americas, the Archaic period is this incredibly long and undifferentiated period that starts roughly at 6,000 BC and continues to 1,000 BC. From this period we have only the slightest indications of what life was like.

In the archaic, humans lived in small bands, they hunted, they collected foods from the wild and they moved in seasonal cycles to harvest things as they became available. Almost everything else about the archaic peoples are unknown. We occasionally get a very detailed snap shot of archaic life from a particular region and then hundreds of miles and thousands of years of silence .

Early on, it became apparent that we were going to be looking at many layers or occupational instances of the Archaic. As we peeled the top off the archaic strata we found a multitude of “features” which are stationary archaeology remains that can indicate particular human activities. Features might include storage pits, bone piles, fire features (hearths or fire pits) and so on.

And then we found what looked like a small burial. We quickly adjusted our pace of excavation, and out came the smaller pics and brushes. In the bottom of an oval pit some 80cm across we found the well preserved remains of a dog, curled as if asleep. Our best bet at the time was that the dog dated to the Late Archaic and could be anywhere between 3,000 and 4,500 years old.

Finding the dog was a shock to us. Maybe the specimen was a mutated coyote or adolescent wolf, or maybe the dog was “intrusive,” i.e. from a latter date and someone dug a deep hole into more ancient deposits… However, the features start point was well within the Archaic strata.

This find would indicate that the “dog” appeared in North America at a date much earlier than originally believed and that maybe the “dog” was domesticated separately by ancient native Americans in very distant communities separated by hundreds of miles and thousands of years.

Random, Rome and R

Have you ever called in a “welfare check” to the police? Did it turn out there was a real need? Officers, how often are “welfare checks” something where a person does need assistance?

My lovely youngest brother.

He lived in the local city, I live just outside with my family, he used to talk to our mother every day. She rang me on my daughter’s birthday, and told me he’d not answered his phone, or texted back all day.

We popped over, on the way my husband ran over a raised island, with curbs around, there was usually a lit bollard on top.

We went on, parked, and went in the block of flats. He didn’t answer the door, I rang him. In the end he shouted back. I wanted to call an ambulance, he didn’t want me to. We stayed about 10 minutes. I said you sound terrible ally. He refused help again.

We started driving home, and he rang me, we chatted and he said he’d talk to mum. He sounded the normal Ally then. I said I would call him tomorrow. And he said love you.

Later, on our drive home, we realised we’d damaged the wheel, on that island. The tyre was slowly letting out the air, and I think the wheel rim took a knock. So now the car was out of commission for a day or two.

Later I put my mum at ease, and had a chat with her.

He didn’t answer the next day.

So the day after, I had my daughter take me back. He really didn’t answer any calls through his letter box. I could hear his phone ring.

I rang the police and ambulance. They said yeah, contact the hospital and see if he’s been admitted.

Nope, not there. So I rang ambulance again. The ambulance came first, they called the police, and they crashed in the door.

No one let me see him, but he’d died.

I think he died the evening I spoke to him.

Then I had to ring my family. That’s something I don’t want to do again. I had to tell everyone when our father died, that was shit, too.

I was sent away by the police and the paramedics. It was the start of more worry. The police called the council to seal up the door.

In the UK, a death like this always warrants a postmortem.

LOL

What is the best way a friend has showed you that they are a true friend?

My dad was being taken off a ventilator at the hospital. They put him in a room because they expected him to die. I sent my son and husband home because they were so antsy and while upset didn’t want to stay. So I sat by myself. I held my dad’s hand and thought of why had my normally very smooth rather dull life turn into this horror movie. My mom was becoming somebody I didn’t know with dementia 😢. She said these horrible things to me that I know she didn’t mean but hurt anyway. Then she was killed in an auto accident. Three months later I’m sitting by my dad in this surreal hospital room watching him labor for breath. Suddenly I see the person who has been respite support for my autistic son for years come running up with tears running down her face. She found out I was alone up there. Well, now I wasn’t ❤️.

She has my heart and my sword forever.

Can The US Compare To CHINA’s High-Speed Rail?

Disturbing trends.

What was the best hidden bonus you found in your old car at a new car dealership, when you were cleaning it out before taking your new car home?

I had an elderly couple trade for their “final car” several years back. They had been married a long time and were coming up on their 50th anniversary, and in conversation I had noticed the little old man was not wearing a wedding band. I didn’t mention it as it was none of my business, but I had noticed he was fairly frail looking.

After they left, I was going through their car to double check to see if they had missed anything, and I noticed something gold poking out from under the driver seat rail, so I grabbed a long screw driver and gave it a wack to knock it out from under the rail. It was a very old looking wedding band. I called them to let them know I found something they would want back and asked them to come by to retrieve it. When they came by and I handed it to them, they both teared up. They told me how he had been battling illness over the last 6 years, and he had lost a lot of weight and at some point it had fallen off. They couldn’t figure out where he lost it, but I figure it happened when he was putting on or removing his seat belt. She had offered to replace it, but he said it was irreplaceable and God would make sure he got it back.

That one still gives me chills, and I was glad to get it back to them in time for their 50th anniversary.

We don’t wanna…

In the USA, it’s not just taxes, and inflation, you HAVE to tip!

What is the rudest/most unusual/most obnoxious thing you have seen someone do at a wedding?

I was at a wedding many years ago. The groom’s family were Jewish. The bride’s family were Christian.

The bride’s father stood up to speak. He started with “I love my daughter, Abigail, with an A because she is Amazing. Then he gave a couple of sentences about why she was amazing. Then “I love my daughter, Abigail, with a B because she is Beautiful”.

Okay so he is going to spell out Abigail – that’s cute. But no, he went on to C, then D, etc, all the way through to Z. I have no idea what he came up with for Z because everyone on my table was asleep and/or drooling by then. He spoke for 25 minutes, which is the longest father-of-the-bride speech I have ever had the misfortune to witness.

But it’s not the length of the speech that was the obnoxious thing. Or the gushing sentimentality of it.

For ‘C’ this woman’s father said, “I love my daughter Abigail with a C because she is Clever.” Lovely! Right? No!

He wasn’t proud of her cleverness because she had a very good degree from one of the two best British universities. No! She was clever because she had snagged a rich Jewish husband, who worked in finance and had a trust fund.

The father-of-the-bride looked so proud of her and he clearly didn’t have a clue he had pissed off the Jewish half of the room, with this massively antisemitic trope.

Even now many many years later, the groom’s mum and her friends still talks about that speech and how tacky it was.

Why Gen Z and Alpha Are Making Teachers Quit

Disturbing trends.

Are inmates respectful of the medical equipment that other inmates have to use?

I never saw anyone mess with a wheelchair. Most of the guys in chairs were pretty easy going and got along with everyone else. If someone were to try and swipe a chair, it’d be obvious where it came from, and if they were trying to damage it, they’d quickly discover how rugged the things were.

I saw a little horseplay with crutches, but nothing serious.

The only cases I was aware of where someone actively targeted medical equipment were all against the same guy. Crazy Dave was universally hated by everyone. He’d pick needless fights because he simply had no idea when to quit, or how unpopular he really was.

CPAP machines could be an easy target. The machines are loud and therefore unpopular. Of course, destroying the CPAP will only make the inmate snore and that’s even less soothing. So, to destroy a CPAP, it’s pretty clear who your beef is with.

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No idea if this guy is crazy, or if his name is Dave. Image from eBay.

Crazy Dave had a CPAP. Of course he didn’t need it, but he was such an incessant whiner that the staff would give him stuff so they didn’t have to listen to him. He was the kind of guy who would feign a heart attack if we had a new female CO in the unit.

One time someone stole the hose from Dave’s machine. I think it was later found in the showers with some unsavory something-or-other on it. The next attack was more clever. The guy in the very next bunk waited until Crazy was sleeping and used a needle to put dozens and dozens of tiny holes in the hose. After a while, that hose was about as air-tight as a whiffle ball.

Dave wanted a walker too. Nothing wrong with the man (physically), but he wanted a place to sit while waiting in line for commissary. He also had a need to keep up with the hypochondriac Jones crowd. He dumped reams of kites in the box until he eventually got one. Dave couldn’t keep the walker in his locker like the CPAP, so it was always vulnerable. Several times random people would undo the screws that held the handle on, or adjust the legs so they were at different heights.

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His own private chair. Image from Amazon.

Aside from Crazy Dave, pretty much everyone else’s medical equipment was off-limits. If there had been a way to make a tattoo gun out of CPAPs however, I’m sure that would’ve been a different story.

More Gen-Z WTF?

SpaghettiOs

Kids will love this homemade version of a favorite canned pasta.

Yield: 6 to 8 servings

Ingredients

1 (26 ounce) can tomato sauce
3 cups water
1 cup milk
2 cups Cheddar cheese
1 teaspoon garlic powder
8 ounces ditalini or pasta of choice, uncooked

Instructions

In a large pot mix together the sauce, water and milk. Bring to a boil.
When it reaches a bowl, stir in the cheese and turn it down to a simmer. Continue to stir until the cheese is melted.
Add the garlic and stir.
Pour in the uncooked pasta. Simmer on low for 20 minutes, stirring occasionally during the first 5 to 6 minutes to prevent the pasta from sticking to the bottom of the pan.
Check the pasta after 20 minutes, if it’s not as soft as you would like, cook it a little longer. Sauce will thicken even more over time.

Why Are Men Falling Behind?

Disturbing trends.

Have you, while repairing a computer, ever found anything that made your jaw drop?

I got called to look over the computer and network for a very meek looking, slightly overweight, older grandmother..

First, I noticed that her router had no firewall enabled.. Upon inspecting the computer, I noticed that there was a strange folder in the windows directory, filed with foreign copyrighted videos. I found that a ftp server had been hidden in the system and was serving the films to the Internet. I figured the system had been hacked and the ftp server was installed by malicious malware, but then after opening the GUI for the ftp server, I found several other directories.. The contents of one directory took me by surprise.. The directory contained photos and movies of the little old lady involved in BDSM activities with various men. The must have been hundreds of files in it.

I talked to the woman about the firewall and the ftp server and discovered, from the now red faced woman, that she had installed the ftp server herself but supposedly had no clue about the foreign copyrighted movies.. I deleted the foreign copyrighted movies, reconfigured the server and installed a firewall and left her BDSM stuff.. Telling her to be careful of what she exposed on the Internet..

I love this

Why is TikTok going to be banned in America without any scandal meanwhile Facebook is left untouched with massive scandals like Cambridge Analytica?

Facebook is banned in China

Google is banned in China

YouTube is banned in China

This led to China developing some of the finest and best internet applications on earth and today Chinese Software programming beats everyone else hollow

The Chinese Apps are so good that if they ever came out they would beat Western Apps in seconds

Didi has far more features than Uber
Douyin makes Tik Tok look like a Ford Taurus and YouTube like a Ford Model T
WeChat is a combo of everything and runs the entire Chinese nation digitally
Taobao and JD are as good as Amazon and better than flipkart

The US Point of view :-

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You guys deny our Internet Giants from playing in your massive market
Your Internet Services & E Commerce market has a 80% share for Domestic companies
Once you come to our markets, you will put all our players at risk and take a large chunk of revenue from our markets
We cannot have that

The Chinese Point of View :-

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We don’t pretend and never pretended to be a fan of the FREE MARKET like you did
You have used FREE MARKET and throttled all your competitors but NOT US
The fact is our products are better than yours because we don’t have a saturated market and we have 20 engineers for 1 of yours

The bottom line is

US has a $ 3.5 Trillion a year Internet services market today

China has a 12.6 Trillion RMB Internet Services market today ($ 1.8 Trillion)

The two combined have a market equivalent to 80.3% of the World’s combined market

By 2035, US is expected to have a $ 4.5 Trillion Internet services market

China is expected to have a $ 4 Trillion market

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Both nations will fiercely protect their own markets and evolve within their own markets

This is inevitable

Karen is upset

What are the strategies of China and Russia to deter America from using nukes in a desperate situation as a Samsonite option?

China and Russia can’t

raise the IQ of US presidents,
stop US presidents from putting the US neocons/chickenhawks in their cabinets,
improve the critical thinking skills of the US electorate,
make US cable news, the New York Times, and the Washington Post better than the paper you’d use to clean up dog shit.

Right now, we’re relying on Putin and Xi Jinping to be the adults in the room and not the crash-test dummies that we Americans keep putting in the office of the US presidency and Congress.

From the US side, we’re not preventing nuclear war but heading straight into an idiot apocalypse.

I’m old enough to remember when US presidents tried not to provoke a nuclear war, but those times are long gone.

Nuland resigns. China hawks take over

“Project Ukraine is her child.”
“Her resignation was insisted upon by powerful people in the United States.”

Swiss Steak with Tomato Gravy

Yield: 4 servings

Ingredients

1 large slice round steak
1/2 cup vegetable oil
2 large cans tomatoes
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 large onion, diced
Kosher or sea salt and pepper
1 cup water (for gravy)

Instructions

Spray slow cooker with Pam. Turn on LOW.
Heat oil in large skillet.
Cut round steak into serving-size pieces.
Put flour into a shallow pan. Add salt and pepper to flour and flour steak well.
Fry steak in hot oil until brown.
Pour a few tomatoes into the slow cooker. Add pieces of browned steak and remaining tomatoes in layers. Add diced onion.
Cook for 4 hours on LOW heat.
Remove meat from slow cooker.
Put 1 cup of water in a pint jar. Add 3 tablespoons flour. Shake well. Add to tomato mixture in the slow cooker. Cook and stir until gravy is thickened.
Put meat back in long enough to heat.
Serve with mashed potatoes.

Men Are Lost? No they aren’t- they are DONE! Women are clueless about why!

Disturbing trends.

What does it feel like to live in a super-large house?

For years I lived in a large Tudor home, or as a family member called it, an “English two-door”. It was built in 1920 in the U.S. and was most certainly a relic from the days when people had live-in domestic help.

Maintaining such a home is a time consuming and expensive proposition. It was sometimes hard to find a balance between restoring with historical accuracy and updating to modern systems.

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The front door looked as though it could withstand a battering ram, 4 inches thick, wooden and heavy. Inside the front door was an ante-room, another heavy door and then the foyer. This was the size of an average living room and was for the most part unused space. It was large enough for a 5 piece orchestra to play comfortably in when we agreed to participate in a walking tour of historic homes, in support of a local theatre one Christmas. There was room left over for a sizable Christmas tree and a grandfather clock that chimed. Being asked to participate in fundraising events becomes a regular occurrence when one owns a home like this.

In addition to all the usual rooms found in an average home, there was a library, a solarium with a stocked bar, a sewing/ironing room, sleeping porch, butler’s pantry, mud room and servants quarters. There were window seats everywhere. Nearly every room had at least one wall of windows with an upholstered seat running along the length.

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We installed new hardwood floors throughout the first and most of the second floor.

Secret wall compartments were tucked away around the house. Certain panels opened when pressure was applied, like in a Hercule Poirot mystery.

There was a kitchen original to the house used for food preparation, with stainless counter tops that ran the length of the walls, prep sinks and a pass through to another slightly smaller kitchen with a swinging door that led into the dining room. There was a dumb waiter (no longer in use) that went to a hallway on the second floor, great for playing hide and seek. Once in a while someone would get stuck and be forced to give away their position in order to be helped out of the little cabinet.

There was a narrow back stairway used by the staff, back when there was staff – 2 flights that led to the bedrooms on the second floor and then 2 more that led up to the attic. The attic itself could have served as a very nice living space except for it being unbearably hot in summer and bone chilling in winter.

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The doorways were narrow in the “service” area. They led to the basement, laundry room, butler’s pantry and a small apartment. These floors were original to the house.

The bathrooms were almost completely original. Nice in some ways, but not very practical. The tubs were free standing and large, there were only 2 real showers in the entire house; the rest had bathtubs with handheld sprayers attached to the taps. The most popular bathroom with a shower was located in the master suite which meant a steady stream of traffic coming through the bedroom in the mornings.

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Many of the bathrooms had the original fixtures similar to these. Others had been updated. There’s also a tub and shower in this bathroom that’s partially visible in the mirror. This type of radiator was throughout the house.

The concept of locking bathroom doors was unheard of in our house. The locks on the doors were all original and the skeleton keys had become either lost or were in the junk drawer in the kitchen and it just wasn’t worth anyone’s time to try to match each with its proper door. This created some minor issues when company came. Our house rule was a closed bathroom door meant occupied and visitors would have to try to trust in that. At yet another fundraising event, even our soon to be Governor wasn’t comfortable in a bathroom with no lock and asked one of his staff to stand outside when he went in.

There’s an episode of Downton Abbey when Lord Grantham says “I’ll sleep in my dressing room tonight” as if he’s making some sort of sacrifice. The master suite in our house had a dressing room. One wall was lined with rows of shallow drawers, meant for folded shirts, ties and other sundry items, a full length free standing mirror and a window seat overlooking the back of the property. There was also a full-sized bed and a small bathroom. Lord Grantham wasn’t exactly roughing it.

There were very few overhead light fixtures except in some of the bedrooms upstairs. There were sconces in most of the rooms that didn’t provide much light. Even with white ceilings and light walls, the house seemed dark much of the time. Extra lamps were a necessity.

The winters were cold not just in the attic but in the entire house. There was a fireplace in every bedroom and common area. The house didn’t seem designed with New England winters in mind. I’d be comfortable wearing a turtleneck, fleece jacket, sweatpants and heavy socks to bed. The original owners probably spent their winters somewhere much further south or maybe this was the height of modern heating in the early 20s.

The furnace was always on its last legs, propped up in some spots by blocks of wood. It was originally coal burning, but had been converted to oil at some point. I remember the furrowed brows on many a technician’s face when I’d lead them down to the cellar to service this behemoth.

All windows had to be covered in plastic every winter to keep the heat inside. The covering of the windows was an annual family activity that began in October.

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A large house like this is an amazing place for children to grow up. A magical place of discovery. There was plenty of room to play with friends. There were areas inside large and empty enough to ride a scooter around. There was an empty room on the second floor that became the train room. I filled it with low plastic tables and we designed quite an impressive railway system with 2 separate train sets. There was a high speed bullet train on one side and “Thomas the tank engine” on the other. It was the sort of thing you’d only want to set up once, and because of the size of the house, we were able to do just that.

The cellar was divided up into several small rooms, most with doors and shelving on the walls. There was also a bathroom down there. They were designed to serve a purpose back in the day; wine rooms, cold storage, dry goods, etc. The cellar was avoided by most and was off limits to kids. It was full of dangers, such as a deep well-like hole in the floor that was often filled with water.

The house is unique on the street. It was the only house with any property to speak of. It was situated between two parallel streets with a “service entrance” that led out the back of the property.

The yard was by far. where the kids and I found the greatest joy living in this house. It was an oasis from the world, surrounded by 3+ acres of lawn and woods, insulated from traffic sounds and the dogs could run free. It was like having our own private park. A hill on one side was perfect for sledding in winter. The kids also learned how to make maple syrup with sap that we collected with a simple tap and bucket attached to a tree.

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Sledding. The copper beech tree in the background is over 100 years old. The black figures sitting in the leaves to the left are the dogs.

The grounds were full of various wildlife. Some transient, some permanent residents. The array of birds was incredible for a yard in the suburbs. One night, we heard a noise outside and the motion sensor floodlights came on. The kid’s grandmother opened the front door and found herself eye to eye with an eight point buck, standing in the circular drive. There were deer living in the woods adjacent to the lawn. I often caught a glimpse of one or two lying in the woods during the day. I put food out for them on a feeding station I set up on a tree. I provided the food because there was nowhere for them to go that didn’t require crossing a busy street or wandering through a parking lot and residential neighborhoods and a few had already been hit by cars.

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We grew Dahlias. I was very proud of those Dahlias. We divided and saved the bulbs from year to year and had a magnificent crop every summer. One spring morning, I was utterly devastated to find the deer had dug up and eaten most of the bulbs. I was upset, no doubt, but unlike one of our neighbors, I would never think of retaliating in any way. I knew a neighbor who had no tolerance for deer and skunks ravaging their gardens. So, I fed them hoping to keep them safe in our yard. The only hazard they faced was one of our dogs bounding after them through the woods occasionally. Raccoons, skunks, foxes and plenty of neighborhood cats (due to the large crop of catnip we planted in the garden) came through on a regular basis. We had hawks, owls and crows that would stop for a few days.

I discovered the bird feeders were attracting wood rats. As much as I respect wildlife, I couldn’t abide rats and took down the bird feeders that were closest to the woods. I don’t particularly like crows either – or rather the racket a flock can make – waking everyone at the crack of dawn with that incessant “CAW… CAW… CAW”. Usually, my husband would go outside and hit the trunk of a tree with a broomstick or something to shut them up. It did, but only until he got back into bed. Early one morning he had had enough of one particularly brazen crow and went outside, picked up a rock and threw it at the thing. We heard the “thwack”. Neither of us could believe he’d actually hit the bird, it was quite a distance away, in a tree in the cover of other trees. We thought we saw it fly away and went back inside. Later on, he found it, dead, lying on top of a bush back in the woods. I felt bad. I didn’t want it killed, just out of our yard. It was a crime of passion though, committed in the heat of the moment. He had been working all night.

There was a small fenced in fish pond where the only resident was a bullfrog that reappeared every summer and a brook that, when it rained, overflowed and flooded parts of the lawn.

There was a fountain (which we didn’t run). The wooded areas had originally been manicured lawns with flower beds and daffodils that I was often asked about as they seemed so strange popping up 100 feet back in the woods. Nearly half of the original lawn had been taken over by various bushes and saplings. There was still plenty of lawn area left, more than most people need. It must have been incredibly beautiful back in the 1920s.

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The “thinking rock”, was a large boulder just off the patio, where we would sit and talk about things, sit and think or just sit.

There was a patio next to our thinking rock with a sitting wall that was covered in geraniums from May through October. Pulling the weeds from between the flagstones was a weekly project. The many trees in the yard provided a spectacular show in the Fall. We pressed leaves into a heavy book and labeled them every year.

One day the kids found a small hole at the base of a tree with a flat rock covering it. There was something barely legible scratched into the rock but it looked like it said “Sara’s…something”. We couldn’t quite make it out. But, in the hole under the rock they found an arrowhead, a small blue bottle and a key. It was so much fun for them to find this and they eventually added a few things of their own to this mini time capsule.

The little quirks of daily living in a big old house are endless and many features of the house definitely spark the imagination. It served both as a teaching tool and a window into a time where things were simpler (at least in our minds), and understated opulence was possible. The over-sized rooms that often seemed so empty and lonely magically became just the right size when the house was full of family and friends. The livingroom, that a friend once said seemed about as homey as a hotel lobby, came alive during family gatherings, full of laughing children and clinking glasses.

Outside, there were dogwood blossoms, hickory nuts and widow makers that fell from above. The house was equal parts hazard and haven. Overall, it was a wonderful experience living in a home that size; essentially unchanged from the early 1900s. It was our home and we very much lived in it. It provided my children with room to spread their wings and make all sorts of discoveries all on their own. It gave them a sense of a connection to the home life of a family much like ours 100 years ago, and to learn to appreciate the beauty and value of nature in their own back yard.

History, Bitch!

What would happen if a nuclear bomb were to detonate mid-air when it was halfway down its fall?

Five guys actually volunteered to stand at ground zero of a nuclear blast just to see what would happen.

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No, they were not crazy. Nor were they being punished. It just shows how stupid some people can be (I’m joking guys, don’t take out your pitchforks).

During the Cold War when the US and Russia were both trying to set the world record for spending the most amount of money on nuclear weapons, the general public was getting a little bit worried about these weapons of mass destruction.

Despite US claims that nothing bad would happen if a nuclear bomb detonated above civilians, nobody was buying it.

So what did the US do?

They decided to prove it.

On July 19, 1957, five exceptionally brave Air Force officers and one cameraman (probably reevaluating his life at that point) stood about 65 miles northeast of Las Vegas.

Sure enough, two F-89 jets flew above their heads and shot out a nuclear missile. Thankfully for the group, the missile did not malfunction and promptly detonated directly above their heads.

According to Major Body as it happened,

“We felt a heat pulse. A very bright light. A fireball it is red. The sky looks black about it. It is boiling above us. It is rapidly losing its color…”

Then the blast could be heard and he continued to say,

“There is the ground wave! It is over folks, It happened! The mounds are vibrating. It is tremendous! Directly above our heads! It is a huge fireball. … Wasn’t that a perfect, perfect shot.”

Now, at this point you might be wondering about all of that radiation from that blast that was hovering over their heads. Surely they have been exposed to a decent amount of ionizing radiation, right?

Since the blast occurred pretty high up in the air (around 18,000 feet or 5.5 km from above), no ground material was sucked up to create a giant mushroom cloud, and thus no giant radioactive cloud was present. As for the material in the bomb itself and surrounding dust, those radioactive particles would have traveled quite a large distance before descending back down to Earth. EDIT: As others have pointed out in the comments, you don’t need to worry about gamma rays because by the time it reaches them, the radiation is halved by 20 times. Thanks Lyle McElhaney and Graham Ross Leonard Cowan .

So it made sense that later on when the men were being examined, it turned out that they were exposed to negligible amounts of radiation from the bomb. It was even less than the amount the pilot was exposed to.

The irony here is that while this was entirely devoted to proving the safety of nuclear blasts high in the air, radioactive particles from such tests often ended up settling on nearby towns, leading to a number of health issues.

While it’s not certain that it’s related to this particular blast, interestingly enough all 6 men (including the cameraman) eventually ended up with cancer later in their life.

What was the weirdest phone call from a random number you have ever received?

A couple of years ago, I got a rather random call on my business phone. Unlike my regular calls from product vendors or salespeople (or occasionally a potential client) this was a young woman’s voice, quite tentative.

“Is that Nick Malik?”

I confirmed that she had, in fact reached me. But then came the odd question:

“Are you a relative of Mary Wolf?”

I was dumbfounded. That was my maternal grandmother’s maiden name.

“Yes, that’s my grandmother’s name.”

She pressed on “Is that the same Mary Wolf who earned a business degree from Ohio State University in 1918?”

At this point, I was glad I had created a genealogy chart for my family. But this was the most curious call I’d ever had.

“Yes, I think so.”

It turns out the Fisher College of Business at Ohio State was going to celebrate their 100th Centennial. This young woman was trying to get information on Mary Wolf, the first woman to graduate from the OSU college of business.

I knew it was unusual for a woman to attend a public university in those days. I did not know she was the FIRST WOMAN to graduate from the OSU College of Business.

Of course my beautiful Grandmother had passed away many years ago, but her eldest daughter, my aunt, was still alive. Her son had contacted me on Facebook a few years ago, so I looked him up and passed along contact information on my aunt for her to get some biographical details.

This young woman had found me from an old article on a defunct blog where I mentioned my parents. Somehow she had tracked down my mother (a published author, artist, and poet) (who had passed away) and then managed to find me by googling her name, then my name, then found my business site. TENACIOUS!

The nice young woman sent me a set of coasters from OSU and a box of Buckeye chocolates as a thank you. The real thanks was finding out what a pioneer my grandmother was.

Trump 2024

And

What did a family member say or do that you don’t talk to them anymore?

“Your Dad may have just died, but he’s been dead to me for 5 years. I just want to know what I’m getting.”

My amazing Dad passed away in 2019. My brother and I were from his first marriage to my mom, and he had 3 more girls with my step-monster. As it turns out, he and step-monster had been divorced for about 20 years and he and my mother rekindled their romance after the death of my stepdad in 2001. His eldest daughter hated my mother with a passion, which caused a lot of drama and neither my mom, myself, or my dad had spoken to the Brat in about 5 years.

My Dad had his first stroke in April 2019, worked extremely hard to recover his speech, walking, etc., but had a massive stroke in June 2019, after which we took him off life support. Only the Brat lived in his city during his illness and did nothing to help or support. I flew cross country and stayed for months to help take care of him and my mom.

My Dad was my hero and I loved him immensely. Watching him struggle was so hard, but nothing prepared me for seeing him have the final stroke and the difficult decision to remove him from life support. He was only 67 and in the prime of his life.

While my mom, brother and I were at the funeral home making arrangements, the Brat walks into his house with a pad and pen – telling her own sister “Your Dad may have just died, but he’s been dead to me for 5 years. I just want to know what I’m getting.”

Needless to say I definitely haven’t spoken to her since. My Dad had talked about removing her from from will for years, but apparently never did. It frustrates the hell out of me that she only saw him as bank. That she received equal shares of his sizable estate kills me to this day.

Biden’s handler

If you see an attractive girl in public, how would you personally approach her, and what would say to her? (I’m trying to learn better social skills)

“Excuse me – do you know anything about making gravy?”

I was at the supermarket, in the flour aisle. A guy was talking to me, looking lost and deeply concerned about the multiple bags of flour that he was holding in his arms.

Me: “Umm… a little bit, what do you need?”

Guy: “I’m confused by all of these different types of flour. I’m making dinner tomorrow for my sister and her family, and the recipe calls for ‘flour’, but I have no idea if I need all-purpose flour, pastry flour, whole wheat flour, spelt flour…”

He gives a confused and embarrassed look and shrug with the hint of a smile as he finally looks at me and makes eye contact. If he’s attempting to flirt, he’s doing a great job of it.

Me: “I’m pretty sure that they would all work, but all-purpose flour is usually a pretty safe bet.”

Guy: “Thanks so much. Why on earth do we need so many types of flour?”

Me: “I don’t know, it’s kind of crazy isn’t it.” I turn to leave

Guy: “I see that you’re buying candles, are you making a birthday cake?”

Me: “Yes, my husband and I are celebrating my daughter’s second birthday tonight.”

Guy: “Wow, congratulations! And let me just tell you that you look amazing. Your husband is very lucky.”

Me: “Thank you.”

I think we both felt good about the exchange. Had I not been happily married, we might have continued the conversation, and who knows where it could have led.

The best way to approach a woman is indirectly, and by talking about something that will pique her interest. Never ask her out until after you have had at least 5 minutes of fascinating two-way conversation.

The West is NUTS!

How do lifers cope with the fact that they will never be outside the prison walls ever again?

There are two types of lifers in Missouri. Those with life without and lifers who have the possibility of parole. Most in both cases accept that prison is their home now and where they will spend a large portion of their lives if not all of it

Those who have life without the possibility of parole do not have to worry about parole hearings.Many cut ties with family and friends on the outside They just want to deal with their life in prison.

I knew many who had life without. Most were laid back and just wanted to do their time. They had their circle of friends. Usually others doing a lot of time. Many are willing to give advice to new people to prison if they think the person will listen.

However, get on their bad side and it’s usually not going to be just a fight , but a stabbing

Only a few had trouble dealing with the life sentence. I remember one young guy who came in with life with the possibility of parole. So he at least had a chance. But he complained to everyone that he couldn’t do the life sentence. He even said he was lost without his phone. Rarely said anything about missing his family , it was always the dawn phone he missed. I think someone got tired of hearing him and beat him up

China Warns New Zealand about Joining AUKUS!

What is the most intelligent one liner you have come across?

Late one Christmas eve my 65 year old father encountered a man who had broken into our warehouse store. The man was half my dad’s age and muscular. When my father realized the man had a handgun he dove behind a counter. The man fired a shot but missed. He started to make his escape but my father got up and tackled him. The burglar fought him off and ran toward the other end of the building but was tackled again. After fighting him off the man limped away but realized there was no exit. He turned and shot at my dad three more times. I arrived to hear those shots. The burglar finally found a way out but I followed him in my truck until the police arrived and took him into custody.

The evening before the man’s trial my father received a phone call from the man’s wife who asked him to think about her husband’s four kids before giving his testimony. My father’s immediate response – “Was your husband thinking of my kids when he shot at me?”

China’s Two Sessions as the World Watches What It Does!

Have you ever seen someone call the cops and it backfired on them?

Oh, yes…

My oldest son’s girlfriend “A” had moved in with us. She was 19, legally an adult and could move wherever she wanted. She also wanted absolutely nothing to do with her mother or her sister (though she and her sister have since reconciled and are now very close). Their mother has serious substance abuse issues and their childhood was much less than ideal.

We still don’t know how her mother found out where we lived, but one night she showed up on our doorstep, demanding to see her daughter. She was yelling thru our locked security screen door how I’d “put a spell” on her daughter, that she refused to believe her daughter didn’t want to see her, we were keeping her against her will, etc. My son’s girlfriend had been hiding in their bedroom while my husband had been calmly replying to the mother’s histrionics, but he finally convinced “A” to at least come out to where her mother could see that she was alive and unharmed. “A” stood under the light in our dining room so her mother could see her, and she once again told her that she was fine, but she wanted nothing to do with her and to please leave her, and us, alone. The mother started up her screaming again and told my husband that she was going to call the sheriff on him. He told her to go ahead and do that if she wanted. We were on our own property and hadn’t broken any laws, so he wasn’t sure what she thought the sheriff would do, but hey…if she wanted to call them, have a ball.

She went back to her car, he closed the door and went back to watching TV. Maybe 10 minutes later, there was a knock at the door. My husband opened it to find a sheriff’s deputy on our front porch. He was invited in and he told us he’d already talked to the mother and he wanted to get “A’s” side. He spoke to her, then went back to where the mother was waiting in her car. He told her that “A” was an adult who was of sound mind and body and she’d made it VERY clear that she wanted nothing to do with her. Not only that, but my husband and I wanted her trespassed, so should she enter our property again, she would be arrested. He then returned to the house and gave us instructions on how to obtain PPOs (personal protection orders) against “A’s” mother.

Yeah…calling the sheriff certainly backfired against her that night.

What’s the biggest thing from childhood that still bothers you today?

From the outside, my family looked pretty normal: Mom stayed home and Dad worked, a full-time job in the Post Office and sometimes one or two part time jobs. But the family dynamics and child rearing were off-kilter.

Unfortunately, my Dad had been injured in a non-combat accident in WWII. That led to multiple medical procedures and left him in continuing pain. He’d come home from work and go right to bed. He even had a sandbag traction device at the foot of his bed attached to a kind of girdle he wore to relieve the pain.

My parents were nice folks, saw that we had what we needed growing up, weren’t the horror parents of abuse stories. But they lacked good parenting skills.

My mother would frequently say to my brother and me (born 1948 and me 1950), “Don’t bother your Father now” when he went to bed. That meant “be quiet and go away” to us. I don’t remember my Dad spending much time with me, unless it was something he was interested in. And his hobbies were… different. Like rock collecting, hand tooling leather crafts and copper enameling jewelry. I don’t remember him so much as throwing a ball back and forth with me, ever. He followed sports, but never explained how baseball or football worked. I think other extended family members recognized this and took pity on me. My maternal uncle took me to one San Francisco Giants game. My

brother-in-law took me to a World Series Giants game in the 1960’s. That was my total sports exposure.

I taught myself to ride a bike borrowed from a neighbor kid. By myself, no help from Mom or Dad. That taught me a lesson: if I wanted to learn something, or do something, I had to do it myself.

So… benign neglect.

As I look back from my 70’s, I wanted to understand my life journey, as many seniors do. What was the narrative?

One of the early signs of a problem was in High School English. The teacher was baffled. He told me, “I don’t understand. You write beautiful sentences and even paragraphs. But you can’t write a story.” I also couldn’t understand literature. Because I didn’t fully understand people.

I wasn’t stupid, although I thought I was an idiot. Was a college graduate, had a job as a computer programmer for decades, so there were some working brain cells. What I lacked were social skills and political savvy. The social skill deficit would come up in job interviews, where the interviewer would pick up on tells like lack of confidence or hesitation. More than once, an interviewer said something along the lines of “Well, you’re going to be working for so-and-so. You’ll be their problem”. The lack of political sense caused problems that could have escalated to job loss.

Lately, I was comparing notes on childhood with my brother. I got so far as to say: “In childhood, did you ever feel like…” and he finished for me: “ we were unwanted? Yeah, me too!”.

Modern Women FURIOUS they also GET REJECTED in Other Countries While Passport Bros find HAPPINESS

Have you ever put your child in a daycare only to take them out shortly after because something didn’t feel right?

My daughter was coming home with bruises on her shins. I asked her what was going on, and she said that a boy was kicking her. I spoke to her teacher about it, and next day, police and CPS were at my house questioning my father. They said she said it was her grandfather. I have been caring for my elderly parents for over 20 years, and at that time, my father had just gotten out of the hospital and was still hooked up to an IV and catheter. It was ridiculous. It was obvious both to me and to CPS and the police that they were covering something up. They knew all about him being ill and in the hospital. And I spoke to another parent having the same problem. They said the teachers would go outside with the kids and stand around talking to one another without watching the kids. I took my complaint to the director, and she said that I had no right to talk to other parents about the school, and my daughter was obviously partially retarded because she couldn’t speak well. I demanded my money back and told her never to even think about breathing the same air as my daughter or I would serve her her own ass on a silver platter. That was the end of that. And I made a formal complaint to every agency involved with them.

What trivial knowledge might save your life one day?

When walking downstairs, don’t put your hands in your pockets.
If you’re ever at a party and your drink tastes unusually salty, do not continue drinking it. Rohypnol is reported to have a salty taste.
If a power line falls next to you, do not walk or run. Put your feet together and do a bunny hop to jump and get away.
When the waterline is abnormally far from the shore, this is a sign of a tsunami.
If you see a photo of anyone where they only have one “red eye” from the flash, this could be a sign of retinoblastoma, a type of eye cancer.
Don’t leave ice packs on wounds or swelling for more than 15 minutes at a time to avoid irreversible nerve damage!
A gray ring around the edge of the cornea is an indication of the high level of cholesterol in the blood.
Keeping transparent water bottles in your car can cause a fire if sunlight passes through them.
A finger up the bum will get the dog (or any animal) to stop what it’s doing real quick.
Baking soda will extinguish a fire, even grease and electrical fires.
Losing weight without trying could very well be cancer.
If you are a male and you pee on a pregnancy test and it comes out positive, go get yourself checked for testicular cancer.
If your car is broken down, do not stand in front of it while waiting for help.
Money falling from buildings? Don’t pick it up, get the hell out of there, it’s a way terrorists kill more people, is by having them all in one place.
If you’re ever unsure if an electrical wire is live, use the back of your hand to touch it. Regular contact could trigger muscle contractions, potentially leading to a fatal grip.

China SHOCKED us 🇨🇳 (British family arriving for the first time)

Have you ever found something in your food that was clearly not supposed to be there? How did you react?

Money was tight when Dad was in the Navy and Mom was home with 3 very young girls. As a rare treat we got popsicles. My youngest sister and I split a 5 cent popsicle. My middle sister insisted on getting a 7 cent banana one. As she started eating it she said it tasted funny and Mom said she demanded it so she had to eat it. She cried but kept eating. Mom started eating the other half and it was bitter. She saw something green on it. My crying sister had finished hers but threw up. The man at the little store gave Mom her money back and offered a free popsicle if a different flavor. He pulled the rest of the banana flavors off the shelf. My sister had some ulcers in her mouth and Mom felt terrible. At that time they used liquid quick lime to speed up freezing. Apparently some got into the mold for the banana flavor. The store owner gave them Mom’s name and she was pleased with the cash settlement they sent to her.

I had no idea kids are THIS stupid..

A tale of stale popcorn

When I was a senior in High School, I had a group of friends that I used to hang around with.

Oh, sure, most of the time we just stood around, smoked joints, drank beer and did acid. But it was a different time and a different place. We would alternate our locations, from the “standard” keggers, to road drives though the Western Pennsylvania woods to just hanging out near the river at a tipple.

Anyways, one of the guys was this older fella named Calvin. I liked him, but he was a hard drinker and partier.

I still get a chuckle out of this, but we are all stoned in my GTO. Calvin was in the back seat. A friend had lit a “Thai stick” which of course, was a very powerful form of marijuana, and when you smoked it, it felt like a baseball bat smashed your face. And we were parked outside this historical landmark; an old church and cemetery. We were listening to Led Zeppelin, and just sitting there completely zoned out. Our brains were pickled.

Calvin was chewing on something. He would reach into the ashtray at the side of the door wall and pull out some old cigarette butts and put in in his mouth and chew on it.

Then he said, after a while… “Man, this popcorn is the really stale”.

OMG! What a great belly laugh we all had.

Good times. Good Times.

Today…

ROC confronts PRC over water delineation around Quemoy

The PRC has sent barges into the channels between Quemoy and Xiamen to deepen the water channels between the ROC-held island of Quemoy and the PRC city of Xiamen. The ROC government in Taipei has said that this is a violation of the lines which the ROC had drawn between the two governments, and which had largely been respected by both sides.

Following the Feb. 14 event where an ROC coast guard ship chased a PRC fishing boat, leading to its capsize and the death of two PRC fishermen, the two sides have been involved in several rounds of negotiations. The PRC side has demanded a public apology and compensation to the families of the fishermen, but the ROC authorities have refused. So the PRC side has decided to deepen the shipping channels in the area, and violating the lines drawn up by the ROC.

Now the ROC authorities are threatening to take action against the PRC ships working in the area. They have not specified what actions they will take aside from pushing the PRC ships out of the area. This sets the stage for a confrontation.

The problem with the ROC position is that the authorities now publicly refer to the ROC as “Taiwan”, because the ruling DPP is for Taiwan independence. By taking a stance on offshore islands so close to Xiamen and PRC-held territory, they are choosing to enforce territory which is far away from Taiwan, and is not considered to be a part of “Taiwan”.

Why are they doing this? Do they expect the Biden administration to support them? It does not make a lot of sense.

If they don’t enforce it though, it is likely that the PRC air force and navy are unlikely to recognize air and sea claims made by the ROC anymore.

Salami-slicing in action.

Chuck Wagon Peach Cobbler

Ingredients

Cobbler Crust

5 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 cup shortening
1 cup cold water

Cobbler

1 Cobbler Crust
1 cup granulated sugar
6 cups peaches, drained and juice reserved
1 cup butter, melted
1 cup brown sugar
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 cup Half-and-Half
1 cup juice from drained peaches
1/2 cup Black Jack Daniels

Instructions

Cobbler Crust

Mix dry ingredients and add shortening. Cut in with a fork. Mixture should look like coarse meal.
Add cold water gradually to make a ball.
Divide into 2 balls, top and bottom. Roll out one and line a 14 inch pan or 14 inch Dutch oven.
Roll out remainder and cut into 1 inch slices for latticework on top.

Cobbler

Melt butter in saucepan. Add peaches, brown sugar, cinnamon, sugar and Half-and-Half. Mix well.
Line pan or Dutch oven with crust.
Pour in fruit mixture.
Cover top with strips of crust in latticework pattern.
Moisten strips with water before baking and sprinkle sugar on latticework for crispy finish.
Bake for 45 to 50 minutes.

Every Man Needs To See This

What is the biggest scam an auto mechanic ever tried on you?

When I bought my first car, a 1966 Mustang, my father insisted that I take it to his mechanic to go over it to make sure it was all working properly before I could drive it. It would stall out after 10 minutes of driving, so there was a problem.

The following was on the bill….
Clean top of carburator
Check oil filter for loosenes
Check window operation
Check exhaust system
Check steering, suggest replacement of steering box.

This was 1972 and the bill was over $300.00!!

The actual problem was a pinched fuel line. Rubber hose and two clamps. $1.50.
I replaced the oil filter and changed the oil. $7.50 total.
I removed the interior panels of the door, and greased the tracks. Already had grease $0.00
I replaced a broken hanger for the exhaust. $3.50
I pulled out the steering box and found it only needed grease and adjustment. Time and labor, already had grease $0.00.

The dude that worked on my car was a hack. I pointed out all this to my father and he only said “I guess your a better mechanic than the place we took it to. I never went back there.

Idiots

Is it difficult for British expatriates to find entry level jobs in law and business in Hong Kong as of 2023? Where do I look for work?

It’s difficult for my legal bod cousins. As I’ve mentioned before in another post during CNY celebrations a lot of UK born cousins were back in HK. A lot of them were looking for a route to come live in HK.

One of them was my cousin from one of my dad’s sisters. She’s worked in a UK legal firm for ages and wanted a way to come back here. Her just like many UK born ones have HKID cards so do not need visa sponsorship.

She had work experience.

She can work for less because accommodation is provided, the Clan provides several fully fitted out portacabins right at the back of the village, Portacabins are used because the common houses are being torn down and rebuilt. Anyway these portacabins all you have to do is pay for the electricity used.

She’s also pretty damned good in Chinese, HSK6… but here’s the thing HSK6 is still considered by most China born Chinese to be illiterate!

So? You have none of the above advantages.

You have to answer the question to HK immigration – why should I let you work in HK? What skills do you have that are in demand or somebody in HK can’t do. AND it has to pay over $28,000 a month.

You’re competing against all the returnees.

Jimmy Tells American General “The U.S. Is The World’s Biggest Terrorist!”

What is the most unsettling thing someone has said to threaten you?

A group of my friends was out drinking at a local bar where the music was loud, the floor was sticky, and the atmosphere was biker/tattoo/STD/obnoxious.

I was talking with someone who was an acquaintance-they were a friend of one of my friends. We knew each other, but only through these mutual friends.

Unfortunately, alcohol makes some people belligerent and, in the case of this one particular individual, paranoid.

I must have said something that didn’t sit well with him because the belligerent paranoid (BPA) accused me of disparaging him (I had not). He turned to my husband and told him he knew for a fact that our daughter was not his biological daughter (She is 100% his biological daughter). He started uttering non-sensical statements which I, for the most part, ignored and took as our cue to get the hell out of that dive bar.

The BPA went to the bathroom, my husband waited to pay the tab, and I went to get the car.

While I waited for my husband to come out, the BPA came up to my window and just stared into my car until I noticed him which caused me to jump and scream. I rolled down my window and told him he nearly gave me a heart attack.

Then he very calmly stared at me and said, “I’ll be by later tonight to stick a lighter in your outside dryer vent until your house catches and you all burn to death.”

Who the fuck communicates such a descriptive and specific way to unalive someone they barely know for reasons that are a complete figment of their imaginative paranoia?

My husband and I didn’t sleep well that night. The next day we installed cameras. And we have avoided all contact with the BPA since that unsettling and strange incident.

Bring your cat to work day

What are some deep things you should read today?

Everybody is self-made but only millionaires will admit it.
When you work for someone, the harder you work , the richer they get . When you work for yourself, the harder you work, the richer you get.
Continue to live for moments that make your heart smile wider than your face could ever imagine.
Uncomfortable dating tips : Women want you the most when you don’t need them.
Most people know “WHAT”to think , not “HOW” to think . If you learn this, you can conquer the world.
You can’t force love. Either it’s there or it isn’t. You’ve got to be able to admit it . If it’s there , you’ve got to do whatever it takes to protect it.
Modern life is low-level psychic warfare.
Men will gladly spend a whole day with a woman, but not a single hour on their purpose. And, in the end, they ask, “why did she leave?”.

Men Have FINALLY Had Enough Of Their FEMALE Colleagues

Who is the dumbest law enforcement officer you have ever encountered?

Oh I have a doozy.

1978. Houston. Near the Galleria Mall.

I was getting off the freeway when a police car cut me off, almost running me off the road, no signal. Just truly bad driving.

Being young and stupid, when I was beside him at the light, I called him on it.

Oh he lit me up. I had three friends in my car with me. He made me get out of the car and was just screaming at me, telling me he could do anything he damn well pleased and poking me in the chest the entire time. I politely asked him to stop poking me with his finger and he threatened to break all my fingers off. He was so mad he was spitting and his partner was standing next to him with a smirk.

I stayed calm and asked my friends to write down their name, badge number, and car number. That’s when they hopped in their cruiser and just zoomed off.

I didn’t like it, so I called and talked to the desk officer. He took all the information and I assumed absolutely nothing would happen.

Nope.

I got a call back from a lieutenant a few days later. They had done an investigation, because the location I reported them at was nowhere NEAR where they were assigned for that shift. What they discovered is that they were cutting out of their area, going to the mall, and catching a movie. Lots.

The lieutenant shared that this was not the first complaint, but it was the last, because they’d both been fired.

Moral of the story? If you’re doing something outright stupid, don’t light up the stubborn college kid.

Today’s Shinjuku Kabukicho August 23, 2023 UP

As a patient, what’s the angriest you have ever been toward a doctor?

Dad had stage four mastatised pancreatic cancer, double incontinence, dementia and crippling arthritis. His oncologists used to call him in every month for a check up that consisted of him looking at dad’s medical notes asking how he was then nodding his head, that’s it. But, the trip to the hospital took nearly an hours preparation, a forty minute drive each way, a ten minute walk from the car park to the clinic (dad in a wheelchair when I found one) and then the worst bit! The oncologist used to call ALL that days patients in at 0930 then see them in alphabetical order! Look at our surname! The first few times were bad but one time after dad returned to the hospice he had to be rushed back to the same hospital under blues and twos! The next appointment we managed about an hour in the waiting room and dad was struggling to hold back his tears of agony, so I wheeled him out and started along the corridors back to the car. First the receptionist tried to stop us and I told her what to do on a short pier, then the nurse came running up to try to return us to the clinic “as the doctor was very busy and would get to us as soon as possible”. Dad told her to go forth and fornicate or something similar! She ran back and told the doctor (don’t know if fornication was involved or not). Pushing a wheelchair with a mind of a shopping trolley containing a fifteen stone (210#) obese man (5′2″ ) in immense pain, who didn’t want to be there, you don’t move very fast! The doctor caught up to us to find out what was going on and exercise his presumed authority! Wrong move! My dad used to be a CSM and he taught me how to project orders across a parade ground! Don’t shout at me if you have sensitive hearing! Amongst other things (including the legitimacy of his birth) I told him we were there for the benefit of dads health and not his ego! And we left, luckily for him he didn’t try anything physical! I’m also 210# but six foot tall and very little of that was fat! Unfortunately the stress and strain on dad contributed to him once again that evening being returned to hospital by emergency ambulance.

Now my dad through a variety of reasons was no stranger to that hospital. In the ward he usually ended up on, all the staff knew him and were on first name terms, most since being students. One of the senior consultants had first met my dad when he was doing his medical training and had become friends (even came to dad’s funeral! What, you think you recover from stage four pancreatic cancer? At 81?) He wanted to know why dad was back in hospital once again. So we told him who, how and why! Now this senior consultant is married to the chief executive of the hospital, that may or may not be the reason that the oncologist changed his appointments policy from block appointments to individual appointments and a very significant attitude adjustment the next time we went to see him!

Gen-Z

What is the biggest secret that your first boss told you that has helped you the most?

I started to work as a programmer with a large insurance company.

I was also going to a university at night for an engineering degree.

So, the job was just a paycheck for me until graduated.

My supervisor called me into her office and let me know that she knew that I was just using the job as a steppingstone until I graduated. She was a quaker and peppered her speech with thee and thou. A lovely lady.

She told me the company had its own problems and if I showed some diligence in my job, she would ensure that I would be rewarded for my effort.

I took her advice and made a great effort to please her and focused on my job.

When the company put together a planning group, she insisted that I be a part of it.

The group consisted of two vice presidents, three directors and one programmer.

The first problem we tackled was the number of boxes of paper documents shipped to all our service locations at the end of the month. The cost of shipping the boxes and how hard it was to look up the data at the service location.

This was in the late sixties and personal computers were not common.

I was a tech magazine reader at the time, so I suggested to the group that we output the data to a fiche machine because the fiche produced would be less costly to ship than sending boxes,

It would require the home office to buy the fiche machine and the service locations to rent fiche readers, which at that time were very cheap.

The benefit to the service location was the fiche was easy to handle and never got torn.

Well, the company and the service locations loved the idea, so it was accepted.

The planning group stayed together for a year, and we solved some smaller problems.

That 15-minute conversation with my supervisor changed my life forever.

When I received my degree, I no longer had an interest in engineering and chose to stay in the computer field.

She is gone now but not forgotten.

Pepe Escobar: Putin and China Send DEVASTATING Warning to NATO as Germany, Macron Threaten WWIII

This is really rather good.

Can Quora conservatives explain why and when you started being a conservative?

I can try.

It’s a long story, though. But, like most other people, my political leanings are the result of my influences early in life, and my experiences. And, to some degree, what I didn’t experience, that others did experience.

For example, it’s easy to be supportive of the police, when you’ve only ever had positive encounters with them. It’s easy to assume that most people can avoid negative encounters with the police by simply obeying the law.

That door swings both ways. It’s easy to have an adversarial view of the police when you or someone you know had a negative encounter with them.

Once you get a political idea in your head, you start to see it everywhere you look. This is true for people across the political spectrum. You’re influenced to see certain things and, by God, now that you’re looking for them, you see them everywhere.

For me, my journey to the right side of the political spectrum is more of a journey of being pushed away by the left, rather than willingly moving towards the right. I’m more libertarian than conservative, but, in contemporary America’s binary political landscape, it seems that anything that isn’t progressive is often all grouped under “conservatism.”

Progressives: What’s your stance on [this issue]?

Me: Total indifference. It has nothing to do with me.

Progressives: So you don’t support the people who are dealing with it?

Me: Does my support or lack of it have any impact on the issue whatsoever? No? Then why must I choose to support it or not? Why can’t I remain indifferent?

Progressives: You sound like a conservative. Your silence tells us all we need to know, and it won’t protect you.

Me: If indifference on this topic makes me a conservative in your eyes, okay then. I’ll add your labeling of my political stances to the list of things I don’t care about.

If I’m being super honest, in the last decade or so, I’ve gone from identifying as “libertarian” to identifying as “cynical.” I assume that most politicians are only looking out for themselves, most government attempts to fix issues will fail, or make things worse, the government has more than enough money to fix society’s problems, but a lot of that money is wasted, etc…

For example, there’s a ballot measure here in Chicago to raise taxes on real estate sales over $1m, to raise funds for housing options for homeless people. My view on that is that it will likely pass, but not a single homeless person will be helped by this. Any money raised by this will find its way into the pockets of politicians and their supporters, while the expenses will just passed on to renters. The people who support it will get to pat themselves on the back for caring about the homeless, while ignoring the complete lack of tangible positive outcomes from it. The goal here is virtue signaling from the rank-and-file voters, sticking it to “rich people,” and lining the pockets of the Democratic machine. Homelessness is just the necessary reasoning for it all.

Basically, I assume that, for the rest of my life, the general situation in the world, and in my country, will be roughly the same as it is now, and my best move is to put myself and my children in a position to avoid the worst of it. The “status quo,” when it comes to politics, is too hopelessly entrenched to be uprooted, and too hopelessly corrupt to be effective.

But this question is about the origins of my conservatism, not why I stick with it in middle age.

I suppose my political journey began as a child in the 80s and early 90s. My father worked for the U.S. Navy, as a civilian machinist. Among other things I remember him saying about his job were:

He was forced to spend millions of dollars on machines that he didn’t really need in his shop, but the companies who made those machines donated to the right politicians.
He was forced to spend every single dime he was allocated for the fiscal year, or, the next fiscal year, he wouldn’t get as much allocated. Saving money isn’t rewarded, but is actually punished, when you work for the government.
He would never be promoted beyond his current level, no matter how well he did, because he was a white male. Back then, the federal government was only interested in promoting racial minorities and females.

That last one was something I heard versions of from most white men I knew growing up. Of course, half of them worked at the same base where my father worked, so they dealt with the same policies. None of these were rich white men. They were all working class white men, and they all felt like they were being punished for things they didn’t do, in the name of “fairness.” And they placed the blame for that injustice directly at the feet of liberals.

The same white “social justice warriors” of the 50s and 60s found themselves, by the 80s, on the receiving end of social injustice, in the form of Affirmative Action. It seemed like every middle-aged white male I knew growing up was a “live and let live” and “don’t judge a book by its cover” kind of guy, with a serious chip on their shoulder that others weren’t adhering to the “don’t judge a book by its cover” mantra. Every single white guy who felt like they were falling behind in society was able to blame Affirmative Action for their slipping, no matter how true it was.

The message, for younger white guys like me, was easy to pick up: it is legal to discriminate against you because of your race and gender, and you just have to accept it.

And, once you start looking for it, you see it everywhere.

Why does my high school have a counselor specifically for helping minority students get into and pay for college? That’s discrimination. Why is no one calling it out? My parents are taxpayers, too. That counselor should be helping everyone who needs help with those things, and not discriminating against students based on race.

You just have to accept it… or, affiliate yourself with the side of the political aisle which points out the hypocrisy of it all.

So it wasn’t so much “we’re conservatives,” as it was “liberals are working against people like us, so I guess that makes us conservative by default. Where else would we go?”

By the time I got to high school, I was socially liberal, in the sense that I simply didn’t care about people’s personal business, particularly in the bedroom. I was also very concerned about environmentalism, and even started a small paper recycling program in my school. It didn’t last, but at least I tried. I wanted to be a “part of the solution.”

My environmental views have skewed heavily to the cynical side in the 30 years since starting high school. I think recycling paper is a huge waste of time.

I remember, however, in high school, being annoyed by some of my more politically involved classmates, demanding that I (and everyone else) not only form opinions in line with theirs on certain topics, but openly express our support. They had the “if you’re not openly supporting us, you must be quietly opposing us” attitude that I’ve seen in other progressives in my adult life.

Some of my most common PG-rated thoughts throughout my high school years were versions of “I’d care more about this person’s point of view if they weren’t so damn loud and obnoxious all of the time.” And, of course, a sarcastic “the problem you’re in could have been easily avoided has you made more conservative choices in life.”

It was during those years that my own sister, of her own volition, developed a drug habit, became a teen mom, and dropped out of high school. I had a front-row seat, starting around age 12, of how to ruin your life through really shitty decisions, and it sapped a lot of the sympathy I had for people who were dealing with the consequences of their own shitty decisions.

Although I’m getting better about it, when I hear that someone put themselves in a bad situation, and is now begging “society” to bail them out of it, one of my first thoughts is, “how is this anyone else’s problem but yours? Why should we all have to pay for this?”

Anyway, that’s my evil conservative origin story.

Tales From The Streets : San Diego Streets Ep-4

What’s the best revenge you’ve gotten after being fired or let go from a job?

While inprocessing for the military, I worked at a radio station selling air time in a town of 30,000. When I took over my route a retired Army major was occasionally hitting $6,000. That was pretty good in 1979. I took billings over $8000. Three months later, I was fired (I was the only man), and a young cutsie 22-year-old girl was hired. She had zero experience.

My sales manager/station owner’s wife told me to “clean out my desk.” I did just that, trashing everything including sales invoices for the month. She made a big point of letting me know I wouldn’t be getting my commissions. I waited patiently for my salary check ($1,500 at the time) at my desk, then walked to the bank and cashed it.

Two days later I got the call. “Where are all the sales invoices for August?’

“In the trash.”

“What!?”

“You said clean out my desk. I did.” Then I hung up.

I heard later the young girl didn’t work out, and the station went bankrupt.

Sad, isn’t it?

Do you think that coaching institutes like Unacademy should be banned as they charge lakhs and crores and those who study from these will do corruption to recover their investment made on studies which they can’t earn honestly in a government job?

I absolutely do

Coaching has become an Industry today and whenever such things happen, everything becomes counter productive

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Xi Jingping rightly said

In China :-

Private Tutoring Apps had become an Industry and had commercialized education so much that the newer generation was no longer going to such coaching facilities to LEARN OR ADD TO THEIR KNOWLEDGE OR UNDERSTANDING but to specifically orient themselves to scoring marks in a specific examination (Gaokao)

Private Tutoring Apps had become exploitative and were commercializing learning to an extent where it was feared that the entire Gaokao could be modified to suit the whims of the Private Tutoring Apps

So he wiped out the Industry mercilessly

“F*** the Billions of Dollars in Paper value”

Today Tutoring has gone back to the old 60 RMB per Hour student tutors or Volunteer Tutorials and Extra Coaching

India and China both have predators who suck the blood of common people and exploit them in the name of capitalism

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The Difference is CHINA BANNED THIS

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In China, if any Institute publishes the list of toppers for admissions

Their license is suspended for 5 Years
They are fined not less than 60,000 RMB but upto 250,000 RMB

Ministry of Education Bans the Idolization of China’s Top Gaokao Scorers

Stories of the top achievers of China’s national exams can no longer be propagated by state media; the emphasis should shift to the average, harmonious student.

https://www.whatsonweibo.com/ministry-of-education-now-strictly-prohibits-the-idolization-of-chinas-top-gaokao-scorers/

India not only allows this to flourish but ignores cases where Institutes LIE about their students by paying money to the students and making the students lie

Most Coaching Institutions are run with political contacts

Now my point is

Is Unacademy really predatory?

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Just because they offer coaching for a fee doesn’t make them predatory

Just because they have referrals doesn’t make them predatory. That’s just business. Same as a Tutor asking you to give her cards to your friends.

Do they exploit the situation in India and claim if you don’t take their course, you will lose badly
Do they help you learn or do they force you to structure your brain into clearing the JEE or NEET rather than learning the topics?
Do they prostitute education by paying more money to marketers than teachers?

So far at least I dont think they are that bad

Please correct me if they have become that bad

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Coz that’s what happened to BYJUS

From being a place that helped students sharpen their brains to understand CAT better, they prostituted and pimped education spending more on “Celebrities” like SRK who also prostituted himself like he did with Arindam Chaudhari

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Unacademy are also going BYJUS WAY

Using Tendulkar the dropout of Xth Standard to promote an Education Product

So they too are starting to pimp out education

It won’t create the Students India needs

Not the thinkers, analysts, people who understand fundamentals – they aren’t born from KOTA FACTORIES or Prospective Pimping Edtech Apps

They are born by self study with tutoring to help them sharpen their brains

One thing to learn and understand Physics, Maths and Chemistry and USE THIS KNOWLEDGE AND WRITE THE JEE

Another is to learn Physics, Maths and Chemistry BECAUSE YOU WANT TO WRITE THE JEE

The former is a winner

The Latter ends up mediocre in life in every aspect

Solution?

Ban full page Ads of Toppers by various Institutions
Regulate the Coaching Fees
Make sure Coaching Institutes remain Sole Proprietorships Or Partnerships and dont become Companies
Ban any Coaching Institute taking over another Institute
Register all Coaching Institutions with Ministry of Education with select standards

Otherwise the next two generations of students, the so called FUTURE OF INDIA would be the most worthless

Anyone who exploits students like this must be taken to Gulags and forced to labor for 20 hours a day in the -17 degree weather

Tokyo’s Night Joy Paradise Plus Unexpected PERMISSION 2

Can you provide an explanation of the recent Texas v. Pennsylvania case before the Supreme Court? Is it accurate that President Trump does not have jurisdiction over these cases due to not being a member of Congress?

Well, let’s start with some basic principles of U.S. constitutional law.

Under the constitution, the Supreme Court may only hear original cases in very limited circumstances. One of those is when one state sues another state. That’s not uncommon, but usually its due to disputes about the right to use water from rivers that pass through more than one state. The usual procedure is to refer the case to a special master (usually a federal court judge) who holds the trial and reports back to the Supreme Court which can then affirm the decision.

Congress cannot expand the jurisdiction of the Supreme Court to hear cases that aren’t listed in the constitution. That was what Marbury v. Madison was about – the court was given power by congress to hear cases involving disputes about judicial appointments in the District of Columbia, and ruled that Congress didn’t have that power.

Now, onto the case. The State of Texas attempted to bring a case shortly before Congress was to meet to confirm the result of the 2020 election to sue the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania for not following its own election laws. Essentially, they wanted to disqualify all the mail-in ballots cast during the election on the theory that Pennsylvania law hadn’t authorized them. This issue had already been tried by Pennsylvania courts which ruled such suits were “untimely” – any such suit had to be brought before the election, not after.

But the only issue before the court was whether they HAD to take the case. As a rule, the Supreme Court chooses which cases it hears, but again if this is a case within its jurisdiction to hear new cases, they might have to take it.

What the court ruled is that no state has the right to start a case in the Supreme Court unless the judges agree to hear it. That’s probably good policy as it appeared this case would have asked the Supreme Court to allow one state to enforce laws in other states, which in any other case would be a no-no. For example, Texas could not sue to prevent Pennsylvania physicians from performing abortions on Texas residents just because it’s illegal for a Texas resident to leave the state for an abortion, or based on some theory that Pennsylvania law doesn’t allow physicians to perform abortions except on Pennsylvania residents. Once again, the issues in this case were already settled in Pennsylvania courts, and those could have been appealed to the Supreme Court if there were a constitutional issue (that’s what happened in Bush v. Gore).

But let’s get back to the rule about the Supreme Court only being able to hear a narrow range of original cases. The president does not have the right to sue in the Supreme Court (although he could be sued in, for example, a case involving the appointment of an ambassador – that’s within the Supreme Court’s jurisdiction). Members of Congress don’t have the right to sue in the Supreme Court either.

Elysium Movie Clip | Full Robot Fight Scene | Matt Damon | Diego Luna

What is the most unbelievable behavior you witnessed from a new co-worker that made them get terminated almost immediately?

I worked in a loan department as a loan clerk. A man was hired as a new manager for one of our branch offices. Our Vice President asked me to train the man on the loan process and how to type out the form letters, etc.. This man gave me grief from moment one.

He was arrogant and a smart aleck. I wanted to slap him about every five minutes. He was also a male chauvinist pig. He kept making sexual remarks to me and about me. When I sat him in front of the computer to type out the form letters, he refused to do them, saying “Typing is women’s work. I’ll have one of the women do it for me.”

The final straw came when I took him back to our Vice President’s office. The VP was asking me how he had done and before I could respond, the man said something to the effect of “Well, she wouldn’t sit in my lap, so I think she needs to be spanked.”. I just stared at the VP. He turned to the new manager and said “You’re fired. This is one great lady and you’ve disrespected her since the moment you walked in. Get out before I turn her loose on you.”.

Middle Class Meltdown: America’s Unseen Crisis

Biden = Russia, Russia, Russia!

Trump = China!, China!, China!

Nothing is ever going to get fixed.

Was Hitler a drug addict?

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Adolf Hitler was a chronic drug addict. His drug use was of epic proportions.

Hitler was prescribed by his doctors so many various drugs (including cocaine) that he was rarely in a state unaffected by powerful mind-altering substances.

According to his doctors, Hitler was “a good patient.”

He was meticulously adherent to the regimen for his chronic sinusitis: cocaine in aerosol form.
The German Fuhrer also took amphetamines, sedatives, and hormones.
Hitler relied on daily injections of the “wonder drug” Eukodol. It contained oxycodone, a semi-synthetic opioid. The drug caused the state of euphoria, practically rendering the user incapable of making sound judgments.

In his book “Blitzed”, German author Norman Ohler described how the Third Reich was permeated with drugs, including cocaine, heroin and most notably crystal meth, which was used by everyone from soldiers to housewives and factory workers.

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Pervitin, an early form of methamphetamine, was available in Nazi German without a prescription.

In Nazi military during WWII, drug use was encouraged.

In September 1939, Ranke tested the drug on 90 university students and concluded that Pervitin could help the Wehrmacht win the war.

The effects of amphetamines on an person are similar to those of the adrenaline produced by the body, triggering a heightened state of alertness. In most people, the substance increases self-confidence, concentration, and willingness to take risks while at the same time reducing sensitivity to pain, hunger, and the need for sleep.

Later, a dose of cocaine was added to Pervitin tablets, to increase the drug’s potency and encourage continuous use.

When Hitler’s drug supplies ran out by the end of the war, he suffered severe withdrawal from serotonin and dopamine, paranoia, psychosis, rotting teeth, extreme shaking, kidney failure and delusion.

The Sopranos – Paulie enjoys Miami

Can Mike Tyson still knock out Jake Paul when he’s going to be 58 years old in the fight?

Technically yes but realistically an emphatic no.

I never thought I would be saying this but Jake Paul is likely to beat Mike Tyson.

Why? That’s a legitimate question since we are talking about one of the greatest and most feared heavyweight champions ever V a relatively junior pro boxer with very few fights.

I’m afraid it all comes down to age, activity and conditioning. At age 40 or even 50 I’d give Tyson a great chance but he’s nearly 60 now, been out of the ring close to 20 years and been doing a lot of other things. Put simply he’s just not in condition to fight a professional fight. He could beat the hell out of the normal types of guys in the street no doubt about it but this is a professional boxing fight we’re talking about. It’s very likely that after one round of intense fighting he’ll be totally finished from a cardio perspective. After that last stand, Jake Paul who if nothing else can at least hit hard will probably get him.

Don’t be fooled by the videos of Tyson looking fast and powerful in training. They have been carefully edited to make him look good. In reality in the fight (if it’s a real one) he won’t look that good or fast. He’ll still have a bit of power so there is some danger to Jake Paul but probably only for one or two rounds max. After that it will a big advantage to the younger man.

No matter how good a condition a fighter is in, the age aspect of this is relevant. A 60 years old head isn’t supposed to get hit hard by a pro fighter. The blood vessels can’t be trained to take those shots like they used to.

For people of my generation it’s pretty sad to see the great Iron Mike Tyson reduced to doing this kind of circus act.

This fight could end pretty badly and shouldn’t really be happening at all. That’s capitalism for you.

EDIT : I guess the most likely thing here is that they’re both in on it as a money grabbing exercise and have agreed with each other not to hurt each other. The fight will probably be the least interesting part of the next few weeks. It’s all about the build up.

Mr. Spock Sends Up a Flare – Star Trek – 1967

What is the craziest thing you ever did when you were a teenager?

I can’t believe I am going to admit this….

When I was 14 years old in 1982-ish. I was recently uprooted from my lifelong hometown. I moved from upstate New York to Pennsylvania with my mom and step-monster. A friend of mine had just gotten sentenced to serve time in a NY state jail. I wrote to Scott frequently, as I thought he must be bored and lonely. I used this same stationary every time, with little unicorns on it. After the third or fourth letter, I realized just how bad it was for him in there.

I got together a little bit of money and bought some pot. I put it in a little matchbook, and sent the matchbook to Scott, along with a letter saying something like “I hope this helps.” I was smart enough not to sign my name, just in case anything bad happened. I thought that it was illegal to tamper with someone’s mail. It never even occured to me that the jail’s officials in charge were allowed to open up Scott’s mail and go through it. I used the same stationary as normal. Little unicorns. Can you see where this is heading?

My parents were surprised when federal detectives showed up. The formal charges were:

“Using the Federal Government (The United States Post Office) to transport illegal drugs across state lines.” To a correctional institution, no less.

Okay, you can laugh your a** off now…

I’ll wait.

Thank God I was 14. I was sentenced as a juvenile offender (the record was sealed); deemed “incorrigible”; had a PINS petition put in place against me (Person In Need of Supervision); had to perform 100 hours of community service and was almost placed in foster care because my parents couldn’t handle it or me anymore. Thankfully, my grandmother took me in, instead. My parents called me all sorts of stupid. Yes, I have to agree. But my answer to them at the time was “I thought he could use a buzz.”

Hugs.
-Valeri

The fourth

What is a polite response when someone says they don’t like your home?

I am soon to be 64. At this stage in my life, I have a VERY low tolerance for a**hattery. I don’t bother trying to be polite to people that aren’t polite.

The last time one of my sisters came to my house and made a comment about a few papers laying on the floor, I didn’t let her get away with it. I left them laying on the floor after they fell off the desk; for a good reason, but that was none of my sister’s business. I don’t believe in explaining to people why my house looks the way it does. Why SHOULD I? So, what I said to her was this: “You don’t REALLY want me to start critiquing YOUR housekeeping, do you?”. After I said that to her, she never said anything about anything that was on the floor again.

You see, her and her husband always leave their dining room table FULL of all different kinds of papers, looks real messy, but you know what? I never say anything because it’s THEIR house! They can keep it the way they WANT to! Plus, I don’t CARE about it, it’s not MY house! They SHOULD have the same respect for me!

AND, that’s the same way I feel about someone coming into my home telling me they don’t like it. Depending on who it is that is saying it, I MIGHT say something like “I don’t care, you don’t live here.” or maybe ”What did you come over for then?”. See, the FUN thing about messing with RUDE people, is because they never expect people to be rude BACK, which is why they are rude in the first place, because people LET them get away with it. *I* don’t. The looks on their faces when they are rude and I am blunt with them…PRICELESS!!!

Cowboy Burgers

Yield: 4 servings

Ingredients

1 pound ground beef
1/2 teaspoon seasoned salt
1/2 teaspoon seasoned pepper
2 tablespoons + 2 teaspoons butter
1 large onion, thinly sliced
1 (1.0 ounce) envelope taco seasoning or 2 tablespoons Taco Seasoning
4 slices Cheddar cheese
4 Kaiser rolls
4 lettuce leaves
4 tomato slices

Instructions

In a medium bowl, combine ground beef, seasoned salt and seasoned pepper; shape into four patties.
Grill or broil to desired doneness (about 5 to 6 minutes on each side for medium).
Meanwhile, in medium skillet, melt butter.
Add onion and taco seasoning; mix well.
Cook onion over medium high heat until soft and transparent.
Top each patty with onions and cheese.
Return to grill or broiler until cheese is melted.
Place each patty on a roll; top with lettuce and tomato.

Companies Are Being Forced Out of NYC… Why?

Are Democrat supporters who have a pathological hatred of Donald Trump aware that at least 80% of what they think about Trump is misinformation and comes from outright lies by the US Mainstream Media?

I was a mainstream reporter (NYTimes and NY Herald Tribune) when Donald Trump was in his early 30s in NYC. I got to know him at his hangouts and on several more private occasions.

He was not then, nor is he now, “stupid” as so many anti-Trumpers continually proclaim. He was, however, a man whose word meant absolutely nothing. He spoke almost nothing but outright lies and “gut” fabrications. He’d betray a “friend” in a blink; he loathed any woman whose “pussy” he could not “grab”. He was a physical coward in private and in public. He was frightened to wetting his pants of his Nazi-loving, face-slapping, fascist father, to whom he lied and groveled. He had no friends since he only took and never gave. Both men and women immediately felt his creepy, duplicitous, despicable ways and avoided him unless they wanted to be close to what they thought was his money. Her learned how to manipulate and twist the American legal system from his evil genius lawyer Roy Cohen (“Don’t tell me about the law, tell me about the judge.”). I believed then that hate is stupid and as a reporter I did not hate Trump. But I understood him, and understanding is the opposite of hatred.

Trump is now and was then (as any woman who knew him even a bit well would agree) —- a mentally vicious, endlessly traitorous, sickeningly self-absorbed adolescent with feminine soft hands (no manual labor) and a filthy tongue. That was in his early 30s. Any honest observer and reporter quickly found him out and in New York and environs his name was a dirty joke. . . Then came TV “reality” shows and millions of unfortunate Americans watched how he behaved and they want to be just like him, and get away with it. If anyone who reads this considers themselves a friend of Trump, may their gods help them. He will make America and Americans poorer in mind, money, than it ever was, The only way to beat the Russian-sponsored thug is to confront him with a community of people who will oppose him and his fellow liars, cheaters, thieves, and those who tolerate them,

Father’s statement

What did you do when an aggressive driver got out of their car and wanted to fight?

Bad Traffic day in Orlando, FL. As a legal motorcycle rider, I was following traffic laws and traffic lights, and traffic wasn’t moving at all. The *ssh*l* in the car behind me started to lean on his horn. After 5 or 10 horn blows I started to respond with my 139 decibel horn everytime, followed by a turn of my head to look at the driver banging his hands on his steering wheel and yelling again. When he tried to pull up next to me in the space between me and the car in the next lane, I moved to block just enough of the lane that he would have to hit either me or the car in the next lane. At this point he starts yelling at me. He continues to try to move up. The Car next to me gives him just enough space, and I continue to control my lane.

When he gets close enough he started yelling “You! On the motorcycle! ….” and a flood of anti-hispanic, anti-biker rhetoric just comes spewing out of his mouth. Not being hispanic and not considering myself a “biker”, I calmly turned around, looked him in the eyes, and said “No hables espaniol”.

The drivers is ENRAGED! He starts to get out of his car. And he keeps screaming about immigrants. Once he is out of the car, I turn to him again.

I say to him “I was born in Philadelphia PA. Am I an immigrant? And aren’t you smart enough to understand that I don’t speak Spanish? That is what “No hables espaniol” means.”

The man is flabbergasted, stops in his tracks, flaps his mouth several times, and the best revenge, the log jam broke and the light changed, at the same moment. As I pulled away, the man was left standing in the middle of the street with every car behind him laying on the horn, and trying to get around him.

It Begins… Army Troops Take Over NYC

Have you ever had to tell an employee that their attire was inappropriate?

Yes, I had to take on the most difficult challenge of all, a man telling a woman that her attire was inappropriate for the office.

To set the scene, this woman was a young adult, a peer and also a work-friend. She had just lost a bunch of weight and also taken a European vacation. She was feeling good about her body and bought a dress in Paris that showed it off. This dress was so low-cut that it showed the underside of her breasts. If you wanted to pick up a casual hookup in a bar, this was exactly the dress you wanted to wear. But I would never, could never say that.

What I said to her was that this dress looked awesome on her with her weight loss, and if she was looking for a date, it was a great choice. But if she wanted to be taken seriously as an engineer and not distract people, something more conservative and businesslike might be a better choice. She was, in fact, having difficulty being taken seriously, so she took this advice on board and dressed more professionally after that. I got to keep our friendship and not get sued. I’m super glad I won’t ever have to do that again.

Passport Bros are leaving and Modern Women are HUMBLED

When U.S. prisons are inspected, does it actually help the prisoners?

The American Correctional Association (ACA) came to do an inspection at the Federal prison I was in.

A failed inspection would mean loss of accreditation. I’m not aware that means anything other than egg on some suit’s face.

For a prison inspection to be meaningful, hordes of inspectors should rappel from helicopters into the yard in the dead of night without warning. They could carry badges, clipboards, and maybe a few pieces of equipment. (OK… five minutes warning so nobody gets shot).

Instead, the prison had months of notice. They had enough lead time that they could leisurely waste weeks, doing nothing to get ready. When the visit was about two weeks off, suddenly stuff started happening.

New paint was slathered on everything, thick enough it could’ve stopped an escape all by itself.

In the chow hall, we had a persistent leak in the roof. Because it wasn’t fixed for years, the drop ceiling soaked up water, several tiles collapsed, and ominous mold was growing in the insulation around the duct work. At about the same time that paint was being poured over every surface, a crew of inmates came in to patch the ceiling. They didn’t fix the leak, they just patched the drywall and drop in sections that were affected.

Our dishwasher could never get up to temperature. The water was so hard that the heating coils were continually clogged with deposits several inches thick. Pick up any tray that had gone through the thing, and you’d immediately see that the luke warm water wasn’t getting trays clean (of course we never bothered with soap or surfactants either). Instead of trying to fix the dishwasher, the staff, experienced in many an inspection, simply stopped using it. It was “temporarily out of service” for the visit, and we used thousands of dollars worth of disposable foam plates and cups for each meal. This kept the inspectors from finding out that the machine was actually permanently out of service.

So, no. The inspections didn’t help us at all. Our food did get dramatically better for the couple of days that the visit went on, but that was really the only change.

After the visitors left, the dishwasher was plugged back in so it could moisten the dirt on the plates, and the ceiling started to crumble again, revealing mold that had blossomed nicely in the humid darkness.

What story of survival blows your mind every time you think about it?

A bolt of lightning hit the right wing of the aircraft, and suddenly LANSA Flight 508 was plummeting toward the ground. Over the screams of dozens of others, Juliane Koepcke — who was sitting at 19F, a window seat — heard her mother say from the seat beside her: “Now it’s all over.”

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Seconds later, the plane is disintegrating in mid-air, and Juliane’s mom is gone. Juliane is still strapped in her seat, but she is not inside the cabin anymore — instead, she is all alone in the open air at a height of 10,000 feet, tumbling down from the heavens.

The last things she will ever see are packed treetops that look like broccoli heads. Or so she thinks.

Because the next day, she wakes up on the Amazon rainforest floor, still very much alive and miraculously only modestly wounded:

[1]

She had a concussion, a broken collarbone, some deep cuts. The forest, she wrote in her memoir, “saved my life,” the foliage cushioning the impact of her 10,000-foot fall. She went in and out of consciousness before finally pulling herself to her feet.

That is her first survival story, but now she is all alone in a jungle. She is seventeen years old, and she needs to focus on the next step. A second survival. Luckily for her, Juliane has lived in the jungle for several years, in a research station where both of her parents were working at the time.

She looks for her mom first, but doesn’t find her. Then, she decides to look for a stream, because streams often lead to villages, and she will soon need water. And when she finally finds a creek, she also finds dead people:

[2]

“When I turned a corner in the creek, I found a bench with three passengers rammed head first into the earth. I was paralysed by panic. It was the first time I had seen a dead body.”

crash

[Image of plain wreckage of LANSA Flight 508, which had boarded in Peru. (Coral Brunner/Shutterstock.)]

As days go by, a wound on her upper right arm gets infested with maggots about one centimeter long each. She remembered that their dog once had the same infection and that her father had put kerosene in it, so when she finds a small hut with a palm leaf roof, and outboard motor and one liter of kerosine, she sucks the gasoline out and puts it into the wound.

The next day she hears human voices, and she is saved for the second time around.

Later, Juliane found out that her mom also survived the crash, but was badly wounded and died a couple of days later in the rainforest, all alone, and desperately hoping that a miracle had saved her daughter.

And I guess it did.

SOURCES: the footnoted site and Google images.

[3]Footnotes

[1] https://www.washingtonpost.com/history/2023/06/14/juliane-koepcke-missing-plane-crash-colombia/

[2] Juliane Koepcke: How I survived a plane crash

[3] juliane-koepcke

Visiting Japanese Maid Cafe🎀☕️ | @Home Cafe AKIHABARA | Mizukin Premium Maid | ASMR

Damn! My daughter would just love this!

You all must watch this. At least until after the chick gets the order.

Sitrep April

Ok, today (as I write this, might take a few months to get out there, though) it is early April.

Sitrep April 2024

Time for a sitrep that will probably be way out of date by the time your read this.

The United States national debt is higher than what was initially calculated. Currently as of last week, the nation’s $34 trillion debt is approximately 99% of GDP and, according to the CBO, will steadily increase over the next 30 years. We are told that this is nothing to worry about. Meanwhile in China, the debt is 60% of GDP and we are told the “China is collapsing”.
The United States military is policing New York Subways. They are carrying full automatic weapons and this is to make New York safer.
The United States military is all over the Texas border. They are carrying full automatic weapons and riding in tanks and armored vehicles. This is to make America safer.
The United States military is now occupying bases off the coast of China. They are carrying full automatic weapons and manning rocket launchers. This is to make China safer.
I think that it is so caring that Washington DC wants to make the world a better and safer place. Don’t you?

…

Ah, but I digress.

Let’s continue.

Ukraine fiasco is winding down. NATO has given up. The USA is throwing it’s hands up and the Ukrainians are on zombie auto-pilot. Russia is going to “mop up” and probably make a final push to force what remains of Ukrainian “leadership” to capitulate.
The morons in the EU are in a state of (drug induced?) delusion and unaware how truly fucked they are. NATO is kaput.
But, but, but… American tanks are moving toward Ukraine. American troops are in Monrovia. American “volunteers” and Special Forces are in Ukraine. Obviously a buildup is ongoing… to “end the war” before November elections? Politically driven use of military is a Democrat staple. Historically it results in many causalities and is rarely reported. What will happen? Use history as a guide. You tell me.
The new members of NATO Finland and Sweden are all dressed up with nowhere to go. Expect a short fizzle and die sometime in the next decade.

Now you know everything you need to know about Europe.

The United States tried to “go for the gold”, fumbled and now the entire place is a mucky mess. Not a pretty sight.

But the USA has a plan…

Janet Yelen is in China making proposals, threats, warnings and promises. The USA wants money, and some “elbow room”. A cash infusion and a grant, or loan is the minimum demand. China is being ever polite. But honestly doesn’t give a rat’s ass. It doesn’t care.
There are some deep-state bureaucrats in Washington DC pushing the Philippine provocation storms against China. Seemingly going against the direct orders of Biden. Expect that to “blow up” in their faces in the next year and China starts playing REAL HARD ball.

Is that all?

Nope. Things are interesting this year…

Strange tit4tat events. A “earthquake” in Taiwan, followed two days later with an “earthquake” near Washington DC. Hum… what a coincidence. Ah. These strange occurrences are coming hot and heavy don’t you know. Makes you appreciate the hand of God, eh?
Gaza. This event was predicted in the mid 1960’s. It’s an a long timer. Horrific, but this is just the appetizer for what will follow.
Gonna be an “election” in the United States in November. I am sure that the Oligarchy has determined who will be the winner and what will happen. It’s all a shell-game for the mindless rabble to keep their minds off their stressful misery.
Trump is talking up a big anti-China storm. Biden is on his hands and knees begging China. Night and day. The policies that will result with determine the flavor of society of the upcoming years. But will NOT determine if and when the world will end.

Overall…

Global changing demographics continue. Mighty uncomfortable for many. It’s gonna get even more uncomfortable for those of you in the West.
Propaganda spiels are still generously funded out of Langley Va. Expect to hear more about the “Russian failures in Ukraine” and how terrible life is in Russia. Expect to hear a continuation of the narrative how “China is collapsing” any day now, and so on and so forth.
In the West, inflation is reaching unsustainable levels. In times past, the pitchforks and fire torches would be out, as would be hanging nooses and gallows. But you do have to give credit where credit is due. The Western government really have their cattle well behaved and totally enslaved.
The drunken parties in “Capital Hill” continue unabated. They continue to spend like drunken sailors on crack. No signs of abatement or rehab. It’s a clown-show on steroids and its a racing towards the end of the line. The big cliff fall is a mere few years away.
The United States is undergoing a frightful social change where no one is dating, no one is getting married, and the prognosis is a MAJOR drop-off in birthrates to sustain society. Ah. Expect riots long before that. Nasty ones too.

On the technology front are some interesting developments…

Electric Vehicles are talking the globe by storm. Everywhere. That is everywhere except in the West. The gas-guzzler cartel won’t hand over their mantle of power. Oh, not yet. You all want a glimpse of the future? Remember BETAmax?
The “Congress-critters” are all in an outrage about Americans being able to post their views online without censorship. Darn pesky rascals. Not to worry, they are gonna ban Tiktoc. And thus maintain their control over the soapbox of the common-man. That is until the next APP enters the scene. Wanna bet it’s gonna come from Asia?

The American allies are a joke…

Haven’t heard too much on the “news” about Argentina. With the election of the USA-loving, Communist-hating, “president”, a new Argentina has emerged. And if you thought it was a shit-show before, it’s a real cluster-fuck right now. Not being reported on… well… there’s NOTHING good coming out of there these days. So, NOTHING is being reported.
The South Korean “president” is another butt-fuck loving American prostitute. I was particularly moved… to vomit… when he sang the “Star Spangled Banner”. Well, his green card is in place, and money is transferred into American banks, so he has not a care in the world. Just let the 4B movement run its course. He’s doing whatever his owners want. He’s got his. What about YOU?
Many things are going unreported in the world. But that is to be expected. Lots, and lots and lots of “color revolutions” that have dudded out, fizzled out, and pretty much went limp dick. Please pass the peas, Marge…

And moving on…

Meanwhile, the (former) third-world operates 5G, high speed trains, has face recognition, drives electric vehicles, and has inflation a mere fraction of what is terrorizing the West with. The world got on the bus and drove off. The West is still playing in the mud puddle in the road… totally and completely oblivious that the rest of the world just left the building.
But not to worry, the Western media continues to portray the United States as the leader in everything… from “freedom” to “democracy”. From low inflation, to high employment numbers. From the best universities, to the best in everything. Weeeeee!

Maybe you don’t want my colored summaries. That’s fine. ChatGPT will tell you the same thing, only in a much more plausible manner.

The world is evolving. And it is painful; face contorting to endure. It is a dumpster fire, and it is a blazing. But it is going though the washer and drier and it will emerge better than before, by a long shot. I remain quite hopeful, even though the visuals are awfully nasty.

Today…

What is the most useless job that you’ve ever done?

When I was in high school I got my first part time job as a Maize Master.

You read that right. It’s a play on words, since I worked at a giant maze that was cut into a large corn field.

Every year the field is dug up and a new pattern is planted, since the corn maze only lasts about 8 months at best.

My job, was to walk the maze enough times to memorise the ways out and know where all the clues were hidden. It’s actually pretty simple after you’ve walked the maze with a map for a day or two. Then it just becomes engraved in your memory.

The reason this job felt useless was because I spent every weekend, for about eight months, walking this maze 8 hours a day in the blistering South African sun. When people got lost and started to panic they would end up just walking through the corn “walls” and force their way out of the maze.

I ended up spending most of that time strolling about, listening to music and reading the Harry Potter books.

The only fun part of this job, was having three of my friends working with me. We each had a walkie-talkie which was supposed to be used to keep in touch with each other in the maze and point out people that were in need of assistance.

We usually ended up just running around wildly, pointing out hot girls that were coming our way and calling ourselves the “children of the corn”.

Can politicians be called leaders? If not, what is the difference between the two?

Leaders are those who keep the Nation in mind all the time

To them the Country comes first

They make unpopular decisions if it benefits the nation as a whole

They are long term visionaries

…

Politicians are those who keep themselves and their party in mind all the time

They aim to have power to either enrich themselves or become more powerful

They don’t care about the country or the people

They are short term visionaries who care only about votes and elections

…

Populists are a hybrid between Leaders and Politicians

They either endorse a Doctrine or ideology of their own or by an organization like the RSS or NED or Religious Doctrine

Their ultimate quest is to ensure their ideology succeeds and they would do whatever it takes to achieve that

They use both Party and the People to achieve this

I only included Democratic Nations in this list of definitions.

If you are doing something that your partner would be uncomfortable with… THAT is cheating

Yellen trip to China

Reuters has a posting up about Yellen’s trip to China and the title is

Yellen says China is too big to export its way to rapid growth

China is not responding to its economic gyrations like empire wants because China retains control of finance and the PBOC is deciding who takes the losses instead of private interests forcing governments to cover their financial bets, like in the West….and rapid growth internally is not China’s goal, stable world growth is.

I expect China to school Yellen in just that scenario of privatizing profits/socializing losses that is staring the US in the face, again…..rampant social/financial abuse of humanity by the God Of Mammon cult and its supporters like Pope Frank and his Catholic church.

What right does Yellen have to preach anything to China? I have saved a 6 page story from somewhere about Yellen’s trip last year dated April 25, 2023 and we will see what the comparisons are as the circus show unfolds.

Posted by: psychohistorian | Apr 5 2024 14:54 utc | 15

Looks like a lot of fun

Death of empires: History tells us what will follow the collapse of US hegemony

The turn away from expansion, production and trade toward lending and speculation has precipitated decline for centuries

One of the curious features of the American landscape is the fact that these days the financialization of the economy is widely condemned as unhealthy, yet little is being done to reverse it. There was a time, back in the 1980s and ‘90s, when finance-driven capitalism was supposed to usher in a time of better capital allocation and a more dynamic economy. This is not a view one hears often anymore.

So, if such a phenomenon is overwhelmingly viewed negatively but isn’t being amended, then perhaps it’s not merely a failure of policymaking but rather something deeper – something more endemic to the very fabric of the capitalist economy. It is of course possible to lay the blame for this state of affairs at the feet of the current crop of cynical and power-hungry elites and to stop one’s analysis there. But an examination of history reveals recurrent instances of financialization that bear remarkable similarities, which invites the conclusion that perhaps the predicament in the American economy in recent decades is not unique and that the ever-rising power of Wall Street was in a sense preordained.

Keep working

Introducing Giovanni Arrighi: Financialization as a cyclical phenomenon

It is in this context that it pays to revisit the work of the Italian political economist and historian of global capitalism Giovanni Arrighi (1937-2009). Arrighi, who is often simplistically pigeonholed as a Marxist historian, a label far too constricting given the breadth of his work, explored the origins and evolution of capitalist systems dating back to the Renaissance and showed how recurrent phases of financial expansion and collapse underpin broader geopolitical reconfigurations. Occupying a central place in his theory is the notion that the cycle of rise and fall of each successive hegemon terminates in a crisis of financialization. It is this phase of financialization that facilitates the shift to the next hegemon.

Arrighi dates the origin of this cyclical process to the Italian city-states of the 14th century, an era that he calls the birth of the modern world. From the marriage of Genoese capital and Spanish power that produced the great discoveries, he traces this path through Amsterdam, London and, finally, the United States.

In each case, the cycle is shorter and each new hegemon is larger, more complex and more powerful than the previous one. And, as we mentioned above, each terminates in a crisis of financialization that marks the final stage of hegemony. But this phase also fertilizes the soil in which the next hegemon will sprout, thus marking financialization as the harbinger of an impending hegemonic shift. Essentially, the ascending power emerges in part by availing itself of the financial resources of the financialized and declining power.

Arrighi detected a first wave of financialization starting around 1560, when the Genoese businessmen withdrew from commerce and specialized in finance, thereby establishing symbiotic relations with the Kingdom of Spain. The subsequent wave began around 1740 when the Dutch began to withdraw from commerce to become “the bankers of Europe.” The financialization in Great Britain, which we will examine below, emerged around the end of the 19th century; for the United States, it began in the 1970s.

Hegemony he defines as “the power of a state to exercise functions of leadership and governance over a system of sovereign states.” Central to this concept is the idea that historically such governance has been linked to the transformation of how the system of relations among states functions in itself and also that it consists of both what we would call geopolitical dominance but also a sort of intellectual and moral leadership. The hegemonic power not only rises to the top in the jockeying among states but actually forges the system itself in its own interest. Key to this capacity for the expansion of the hegemon’s own power is the ability to turn its national interests into international interests.

Observers of the current American hegemony will recognize the transformation of the global system to suit American interests. The maintenance of an ideologically charged ‘rules-based’ order – ostensibly for the benefit of everyone – fits neatly into the category of conflation of national and international interests. Meanwhile, the previous hegemon, the British, had their own version that incorporated both free-trade policies and a matching ideology that emphasized the wealth of nations over national sovereignty.

Returning to the question of financialization, the original insight into its epochal aspect first came from the French historian Fernand Braudel, of whom Arrighi was a disciple. Braudel observed that the rise of finance as the predominant capitalist activity of a given society was a sign of its impending decline.

Arrighi adopted this approach and, in his major work called ‘The Long Twentieth Century,’ elaborated his theory of the cyclical pattern of ascendency and collapse within the capitalist system, which he called the ‘systemic cycle of accumulation.’ According to this theory, the period of ascendency is based on an expansion of trade and production. But this phase eventually reaches maturity, at which point it becomes more difficult to profitably reinvest capital in further expansion. In other words, the economic endeavors that propelled the rising power to its perch become increasingly less profitable as competition intensifies and, in many cases, much of the real economy is lost to the periphery, where wages are lower. Rising administrative expenses and the cost of maintaining an ever-expanding military also contribute to this.

This leads to the onset of what Arrighi calls a ‘signal crisis,’ meaning an economic crisis that signals the shift from accumulation by material expansion to accumulation by financial expansion. What ensues is a phase characterized by financial intermediation and speculation. Another way to think about this is that, having lost the actual basis for its economic prosperity, a nation turns to finance as the final economic field in which hegemony can be sustained. The phase of financialization is thus characterized by an exaggerated emphasis on financial markets and the finance sector.

Women Are RAGING Because Men Are Going Their Own Way

What did you do first after being released from prison or jail?

Once pass the prison gate in the prison van..went over to the bank to cash the state check and then to the motel that I told DOC that I was going to…waited till the van turned,so that officer couldn’t see me leave ..walked over to the state DHS..got my food stamp card..then to Walmart .Got a dome tent and sleeping bag,food, quart of water. fillet knife and a ball of clothes line,a sharpie ,cell phone…once out side , looked in the trash bin and got a cardboard box..walked over to the street that would take me to the interstate..once there, walked over a overhead bridge.. went to sleep in the tent that night ..next morning,walked over the truck stop over the other side.made me a sign on where I was going to…

While I was setting there at the TS..a shoolie came in and 4 guys got out ..we spoke and I asked which way they were going..they was going my way ..I asked if I could join them..so I had a ride . Once there.had them drop me off where I wanted to be..call a person who I could stay with..got my DL , bought a pickup and a on bed camper..lived in it as I started my life outside of prison..

Since I discharged all of my sentences.I could travel and sleep where I wanted to..been out here for 13 years now…had a business that I had till I retired from.. Don’t want a place that I have to pay rent on.. upgraded to a shuttle bus now..not bad for a 70 year old guy…

The fiasco 4B movement

How financialization delays the inevitable

However, the corrosive nature of financialization is not immediately evident – in fact, quite the opposite. Arrighi demonstrates how the turn to financialization, which is initially quite lucrative, can provide a temporary and illusory respite from the trajectory of decline, thus deferring the onset of the terminal crisis. For example, the incumbent hegemon at the time, Great Britain, was the country hardest hit by the so-called Long Depression of 1873-1896, a prolonged period of malaise that saw Britain’s industrial growth decelerate and its economic standing diminished. Arrighi identifies this as the ‘signal crisis’ – the point in the cycle where productive vigor is lost and financialization sets in.

And yet, as Arrighi quotes David Landes’ 1969 book ‘The Unbound Prometheus,’ “as if by magic, the wheel turned.” In the last years of the century, business suddenly improved and profits rose. “Confidence returned—not the spotty, evanescent confidence of the brief booms that had punctuated the gloom of the preceding decades, but a general euphoria such as had not prevailed since…the early 1870s….In all of western Europe, these years live on in memory as the good old days—the Edwardian era, la belle époque.” Everything seemed right again.

However, there is nothing magical about the sudden restoration of profits, Arrighi explains. What happened is that “as its industrial supremacy waned, its finance triumphed and its services as shipper, trader, insurance broker and intermediary in the world’s system of payments became more indispensable than ever.”

In other words, there was a large expansion in financial speculation. Initially much of the expanding financial income derived from interest and dividends being generated by previous investments. But increasingly a significant portion was financed by what Arrighi calls the “domestic conversion of commodity capital into money capital.” Meanwhile, as surplus capital moved out of trade and production, British real wages began a decline starting after the mid-1890s – a reversal of the trend of the past five decades. An enriched financial and business elite amid an overall decline in real wages is something that should ring a bell to observers of the current American economy.

Essentially, by embracing financialization, Britain played the last card it had to stave off its imperial decline. Beyond that lay the ruin of World War I and the subsequent instability of the interwar period, a manifestation of what Arrighi calls ‘systemic chaos’ – a phenomenon that becomes particularly visible during signal crises and terminal crises.

Historically, Arrighi observes, these breakdowns have been associated with escalation into outright warfare – specifically, the Thirty Years’ War (1618-48), the Napoleonic wars (1803-15) and the two World Wars. Interestingly and somewhat counterintuitively, these wars have typically not seen the incumbent hegemon and the challenger on opposing sides (with the Anglo-Dutch naval wars a notable exception). Rather, it has typically been the actions of other rivals that have hastened the arrival of the terminal crisis. But even in the case of the Dutch and British, conflict co-existed with cooperation as Dutch merchants increasingly directed their capital to London, where it generated better returns.

Boss level

Puffy Wings

Ingredients

Wings

12 chicken wings

Marinade

1 teaspoon garlic, minced
1 teaspoon ginger root, minced
1/2 cup dry sherry
2 tablespoons sesame oil

Batter

1/2 cup cornstarch
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 teaspoon baking powder
1 egg, lightly beaten
1/2 cup milk

Instructions

Add wings to marinade for at least one hour.
Combine dry ingredients, stir in egg and milk.
Pat wings dry.
Dip into batter. Drip off excess.
Heat oil to 350 degrees F.
Fry a few wings at a time for 3 to 4 minutes.

Wall Street and the crisis of the last hegemon

The process of financialization emerging from a signal crisis was repeated with startling similarities in the case of Britain’s successor, the US. The 1970s was a decade of deep crisis for the US, with high levels of inflation, a weakening dollar after the 1971 abandonment of gold convertibility and, perhaps most importantly, a loss of competitiveness of US manufacturing. With rising powers such as Germany, Japan, and, later, China, able to outcompete it in terms of production, the US reached the same tipping point and, like its predecessors, it turned to financialization. The 1970s was, in the words of historian Judith Stein, the “pivotal decade” that “sealed a society-wide transition from industry to finance, factory floor to trading floor.”

This, Arrighi explains, allowed the US to attract massive amounts of capital and move toward a model of deficit financing – an increasing indebtedness of the US economy and state to the rest of the world. But financialization also allowed the US to reflate its economic and political power in the world, particularly as the dollar was ensconced as the global reserve currency. This reprieve gave the US the illusion of prosperity of the late 1980s and ‘90s, when, as Arrighi says “there was this idea that the United States had ‘come back’.” No doubt the demise of its main geopolitical rival, the Soviet Union, contributed to this buoyant optimism and sense that Western neoliberalism had been vindicated.

However, beneath the surface, the tectonic plates of decline were still grinding away as the US became ever more dependent on external funding and increasingly ramped-up leverage on a diminishing sliver of real economic activity that was rapidly being offshored and hollowed out. As Wall Street rose in prominence, many quintessential American economies were essentially asset-stripped for the sake of financial profit.

But, as Arrighi points out, financialization merely stalls the inevitable and this has only been laid bare by subsequent events in the US. By the late 1990s, the financialization itself was beginning to malfunction, starting with the Asia crisis of 1997 and subsequent popping of the dotcom bubble, and continuing with a reduction in interest rates that would inflate the housing bubble that detonated so spectacularly in 2008. Since then, the cascade of imbalances in the financial system has only accelerated and it has only been through a combination of increasingly desperate financial legerdemain – inflating one bubble after another – and outright coercion that has allowed the US to extend its hegemony even a bit longer beyond its time.

In 1999, Arrighi, in a piece co-authored with American scholar Beverly Silver, summarized the predicament of the time. It has been a quarter century since these words were penned, but they might as well have been written last week:

“The global financial expansion of the last twenty years or so is neither a new stage of world capitalism nor the harbinger of a ‘coming hegemony of global markets’. Rather, it is the clearest sign that we are in the midst of a hegemonic crisis. As such, the expansion can be expected to be a temporary phenomenon that will end more or less catastrophically… But the blindness that led the ruling groups of [hegemonic states of the past] to mistake the ‘autumn’ for a new ‘spring’ of their…power meant that the end came sooner and more catastrophically than it might otherwise have…A similar blindness is evident today.”

An early prophet of a multipolar world

In his late work, Arrighi turned his attention to East Asia and surveyed the prospects for a transition to the next hegemony. On the one hand, he identified China as the logical successor to American hegemony. However, as a counterweight to that, he did not see the cycle he outlined as continuing in perpetuity and believed there would come a point where it is no longer possible to bring into existence a state with larger and more comprehensive organizational structures. Perhaps, he speculated, the US represents just that expansive capitalist power that has taken the capitalist logic to its earthly limits.

Arrighi also considered the systemic cycle of accumulation to be a phenomenon inherent to capitalism and not applicable to pre-capitalist times or non-capitalist formations. As of 2009, when he died, Arrighi’s view was that China remained a decisively non-capitalist market society. How it would evolve remained an open question.

Soaring debt pushing wealthy nations to ‘fiscal death’ – economist

While Arrighi was not dogmatic on how the future would shape up and did not apply his theories deterministically, especially with regard to the developments of recent decades, he did speak forcefully about what in today’s language could be called the necessity of accommodating a multipolar world. In their 1999 article, he and Silver predicted “a more or less imminent fall of the West from the commanding heights of the world capitalist system is possible, even likely.”

The US, they believe, “has even greater capabilities than Britain did a century ago to convert its declining hegemony into an exploitative dominion.” If the system does eventually break down, “it will be primarily because of US resistance to adjustment and accommodation. And conversely, US adjustment and accommodation to the rising economic power of the East Asian region is an essential condition for a non-catastrophic transition to a new world order.”

Whether such accommodation is forthcoming remains to be seen, but Arrighi strikes a pessimistic tone, noting that each hegemon, at the end of its cycle of dominance, experiences a “final boom” during which it pursues its “national interest without regard for system-level problems that require system-level solutions.” A more apt description of the current state of affairs cannot be formulated.

The system-level problems are multiplying, but the sclerotic ancien régime in Washington is not addressing them. By mistaking its financialized economy for a vigorous one, it overestimated the potency of weaponizing the financial system it controls, thus again seeing ‘spring’ where there is only ‘autumn.’ This, as Arrighi, predicts, will only hasten the end.

The Ukrainian Army Is No Longer Mechanized

This is a rather sad tale:

Address by the President of the Russian Federation – Kremlin.ru, Feb 24 2022

The purpose of this operation is to protect people who, for eight years now, have been facing humiliation and genocide perpetrated by the Kiev regime. To this end, we will seek to demilitarise and denazify Ukraine, as well as bring to trial those who perpetrated numerous bloody crimes against civilians, including against citizens of the Russian Federation.

—Official introduction of 153rd Mechanized Brigade – Military Land, Dec 27 2023

Another brigade from the 150s batch makes an official appearance.

On October 17, 2023, we reported about the creation of five new Ukrainian mechanized brigades for the possible counter-offensive in 2024. The 151st Mechanized Brigade was officially revealed on October 30 while 154th Mechanized Brigade on November 1.

Today, the 153rd Mechanized Brigade was publicly announced. The unit received its insignia and motto – the power of unconquered.

—Russian Defense Minister General of the Army Sergei Shoigu held a conference call with the leadership of the Armed Forces (machine translation) – Ministry of Defense, Apr 2 2024

Since January, the armed forces of Ukraine have lost more than 80 thousand servicemen, 14 thousand units of various weapons, including more than one thousand two hundred tanks and other armored combat vehicles.

—153rd Mechanized Brigade is no longer mechanized – Military Land, Apr 3 2024

The lack of vehicles forced Ukrainian command to back down from the original plans.The leadership of the Armed Forces of Ukraine has reorganized the 153rd Mechanized Brigade into an infantry brigade. This change was announced through the official social media channels of the brigade.

While the official reason behind the change remains undisclosed, it is presumably linked to the shortage of infantry fighting vehicles.
…
The reorganization of the 153rd Brigade may not be an isolated occurrence. According to our sources, the 152nd Mechanized Brigade is also slated for transformation into an infantry brigade in the near future.

Each day the Russian Ministry of Defense reports the observed losses of the Ukrainian army. While the reported numbers are unlikely to be exact the reports are considered to be reliable and do tell a story.

In the first year of the war the Ukrainian army often lost more armored vehicles per day than general vehicles, i.e. trucks. By mid 2023 the numbers of armored vehicle and trucks destroyed per day, as reported by the MoD, were about equal. By the end of 2023 that ratio was on average two trucks per one armored vehicle. It has since increased further. Yesterday’s report claimed 32 destroyed Ukrainian trucks but only 4 destroyed armored vehicles.

The numbers provide that the armed forces of Ukraine, as well as its allies, have run out of armored vehicles of all kinds.

A mechanized brigade is supposed to have some 100 armored (i.e. ‘mechanized’) vehicles of various kind plus some 30 tanks. An infantry brigade has, if its lucky, some unarmored trucks or buses.

An infantry brigade can only fight on foot. Its men have to dig in, by hand, to have a chance stay alive without armor protection. To do this in an environment where the enemy has a near perfect view of the battlefield, a reported artillery supremacy of 7 to 1 plus the ability to drop hundreds of precision guided bombs deep behind the frontline is not really survivable.

A 2024 counter offensive by the armed forces of Ukraine was and is a pipe dream. The five new brigades will be destroyed as soon as they come near to the frontline.

Ukraine has been demilitarized. It is high time to acknowledge that.

To give up now is the only way for Ukraine to survive.

Posted by b on April 4, 2024 at 7:57 UTC | Permalink

Why does China always say that there will never be any compromise on the Taiwan issue?

If one day Beijing compromised on Taiwan issue, the next day white house would know that China is willing to compromise on almost any matter.

Xinjiang would be negotiable, inner mongolia will become a leverage too, HK would go back to be the oriental Casablanca.

Stop developing 7nm semiconductor? YES SIR!

Selling state-owned assets? AS YOUR WISH SIR!

Having 2 parties and elect a lunatic every four years? RIGHT AWAY SIR!

China would soon become Argentina in Asia.

It’s like dating a girl for the first time.

She said to you that her bottom line is no cumming inside, because she doesn’t want to take emergency pills.

Later in the hotel room, the first thing you did is having a big cum inside her pussy cat, and she didn’t fight back or call the police.

Next thing you know is that she is willing to do anything tonight. The limitation will only be your ability to imagine.

Taiwan is China’s bottom line.

Beijing doesn’t matter how the west telling its people, nor how Taiwan having oral orgasms.

It’s been stated in the law clearly:

1. Peaceful unification is always the first choice.

2. In case of every attempt of peaceful unification failed, or foreign powers interfering which causes peaceful unification not possible anymore, a war is the only thing left.

Reality

Don’t bringing up “but what about the choice of 23 million Taiwanese”, because no one ever asked the choice of 1.4 billion mainland Chinese.

The communist party of China is the best possible China the world could have.

If it were a democracy, philippines would face gunpowder powered canon instead of water canon in SCS.

The west has been ignoring the silent majority of China for too long that the majority of the west consider Chinese people as mindless machines.

It’s always when westerners arrived in China and then realized that ordinary Chinese people do have opinions, and they are much more friendly in daily life, and much more aggressive in politics and military.

Too many times

As a matter of fact, Beijing had compromised on Taiwan issues for too many times, and Washington took steps forward after, instead of backward.

Compromising is not the correct choice when dealing with the west.

You need to make the west hurt, so that it would know not to fuck with you.

BTW, Yellen visited China again. It seems that the last legacy of the golden ages wants to try for the last time to save her empire.

She must have felt the pain.

These Confident Men Got Up & Left Their Trashy Girlfriends In The Dust!

What is the one piece of advice you would give to anyone?

1. Time is precious, waste it wisely.

2. Never get into an argument with someone who types faster than you.

3. That one password you use everything and if anyone knew it they could destroy you.

4. Honesty may be the best policy, but insanity is the best defense.

5. Going back to your ex is like having a shower and putting dirty underwear back on.

6. An optimist thinks that this is the best possible world. A pessimist fears that this is true.

7. Not everything in your brain needs to come out of your mouth.

8. Don’t lower your standards, just lower your expectations of people.

9. It’s ok to have bad moments, but don’t give it the power to make it a bad day.

10. Admitting you need help doesn’t make you weak. Neither does accepting it.

USA will stand down

The US will not interfere if Iran attacks Israel Through a series of messages exchanged via third parties, the United States and Iran have come to an understanding.

Iran assured the Americans it will not target U.S. facilities, and in turn the U.S. says it will not get involved if Iran retaliates against Israel.

Israel carried out the attack on the Iranian Embassy in Damascus, without consulting the United States.

Since the Embassy and the next-door Ambassador’s residence are on the same compound which was bombed, they are both Iran Sovereign territory. Israel’s attack was therefore an actual Act of War for which Iran has the right to respond with military force.

Modern Women Are DOOMED After New Anti Paternity Fraud Law In Tennessee

What is the most difficult thing for the elderly to accept? Why?

Nothing. I am 75 years old and many of my close friends are now dead. I not only accept the fact I will die soon, but I embrace the process. I am a Darwinist. The only way for each animal species to improve itself is through death. Death is an important part of life. Can you imagine an insane world where old humans NEVER die? If old humans never died, young humans would need to shoulder insurmountable levels of financial burden and time consuming elder care. I embrace my geezer-hood and I enjoy the simple pleasures I experience every day – like a latte in the morning and a glass of wine in the evening. I now embrace every moment of every day because many of my friends never had the chance to grow old. But I have also made peace with my impending death. The natural death of old people should NOT be a sad event – it is an event that improves the future of the human species. So I have had NO difficulty accepting all things that come with being elderly.

Various pictures of interest

Default An ancient town in China rain fog looking at the lens 3

Default Generate a composition inspired by El Grecos dramatic 0

Default Coffee Shop Bossa Nova style cute tables outside cobbl 3

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What is the best way to believe in yourself?

I teach mathematics to a girl.

She is in Class X.

One fine day, she came to my house with her father. Her father wanted me to tutor her for mathematics. Her father was so disappointed with his daughter.

He said, “I have been good in mathematics since childhood, I don’t know how she is my daughter. It is difficult to teach this girl.”.

The girl hung her head in shame during the entire conversation.

I said okay and told her to join.

She started coming to the class. I started teaching her. While teaching her, I realized that the girl already knew a lot and it was not at all difficult to teach her.

But, I could see lack of confidence in her. She did not believe in herself. She always hesitated in answering even when she answered. She believed that her doubts and answers are senseless. I could see that in her behaviour.

I realized that the girl has accepted and believed that she does not know mathematics at all.

Her father, her school, her teachers have made her believe that she is not at all good in mathematics and does not know shit about the subject.

She writes down the question and stares at it and says “ Ma’am ye nahi hoga merese.” (I won’t be able to solve this).

I always told her the same thing “Chinmayee tumhe aata hai already. Try karo bas. Have confidence in yourself (“You already know this, Chinmayee. Just try once. Have confidence in yourself”).

And most of the times, she answers right.

My mother asked me “How is this girl in studies ?”

I said “I am getting paid just to make her believe in herself. Rest she knows.”.

Moral of the story : To believe in yourself, first stop believing what others believe about you. Otherwise, you will end up being what others believe about you.

Edit : One year later (6th May,19)

Today I got a call from her. She thanked me and informed me that she cleared her board exams with 85% and she chose humanities with psychology for further studies.

As a white person living in the States, would you feel better if you lived in a majority white town and surrounded by only whites?

No. I wouldn’t. I didn’t. Sit the fuck down and read. Take notes, and let this shit echo in your head, as it has in mine for nearly thirty fuckibg years.

Shiawassee County Michigan. I hated it.

Now, let me tell you why.

I look like THIS:

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And you’re wondering, “well what’s the problem?” Right?

See, I am 3/4 western European, like throw a dart at the map and chances are I have that place in my bloodline.

The remaining 25 percent? The single most undiluted portion of my genetic makeup?

…Japanese.

If you look, and pay attention, some of the classical shapes are there. None of the PIGMENTS, however, are. So I am often mistaken for *MAYBE* part First Nation (sure, there’s some Lakota, but it’s so diluted from so many generations back, I generally don’t mention it unless someone guesses, and even then only to tell them it’s insignificant to how I look as far as the oddities in facial structure). Now here’s where it gets interesting:

Once I told literally anyone, ANYONE in that county I was a quarter Japanese. I lost that person as a friend. I’ve literally been called a “traitor to my race” (whatever the fuck that means for a biracial individual) by more than a few idiots.

These people, whom I’d worked alongside, lived next door to, etc… called me every Asian slur in the book: sl_pe, sl_ant, squ_nt, z_p, z_pperhead, n_p, j_p, g__k, and ch_nk (yes I know neither of the last two are slurs for Japanese people, but apparently we “all look alike” to racist white fucks. Even when they look like *ME.*

This told me that far too many, whom I’d considered friends and dependable people, allies even, who saw me as an enemy. A pest. Some sort of infestation to eradicate.

Let me tell you, son. It’s hard to reconcile the Revelation that your coworkers, the guys you drank at the bar with, the people who once invited you to cookouts…. Would happily march you off for a refreshing cyanide shower if they could get away with it.

And you wanna know what’s really heartbreaking?

Knowing that I, as a white passing person… I’ve literally experienced racism “LIGHT.” That everyone NOT passing, like I am, gets it far, far worse. Knowing that so many other people are treated far more harshly and far more readily so than I have ever been.

Suffice it to say I spent most of my time there working toward leaving. I was glad when I finally got out. I wasn’t born or raised there, but I wish I never ended up there.

I was only there… a year. And it was a year too fucking long.

And I already know, based on past experiences here on Quora, that my answer will open me up to attacks from fuckers who either secretly or openly have a white robe and hood in their fucking closets. Let me just tell you preemptively I’m just gonna a delete your bullshit, because I don’t owe your fucking bigotry an audience.

Rosemary Wings

Ingredients

2 tablespoons olive oil
2 tablespoons butter
2 tablespoons finely chopped shallots
2 teaspoons dried rosemary
1/2 cup lemonade
1 teaspoon black pepper
1 teaspoon salt
10 to 12 chicken wings

Instructions

Heat oven to 425 degrees F.
In a small saucepan, heat oil and butter over medium heat.
Add shallots and rosemary and cook 2 to 3 minutes.
Add lemonade, pepper and salt. Simmer over low heat for 6 to 8 minutes or until slightly reduced and syrupy.
Cool slightly.
Meanwhile, cut chicken wings into three pieces, discarding wing-tip joint. Place wings in shallow pan and coat well with sauce.
Bake until skin is golden brown, about 30 minutes.

Tinder Experiment Proves How Brutal it is For Average Guys

What’s the most unexpected life lesson you’ve learned recently?

1. Personality is not set in stone. You are able to take control or change it the way you like.

2. Never leave your parents. They are the reason you are here.

3. Never get confused to select between love and friendship. Both have their respective parts to play.

4. When in anger, isolate yourself. Give yourself some time. Finally think about the situation again with a calm mind.

5. People say “Follow your heart”. Not in every situation guys. Instead “Listen to your heart. Act With Your Brain”.

6. Time heals almost everything. Give some time and experience the change.

7. Thoughts control your Feelings. Feelings control your Actions. Actions control your Results. POSITIVE THOUGHTS = POSITIVE RESULTS

Were German soldiers scared of Americans in WW2?

They didn’t like Ma Duece.

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The July 1945 cover of this magazine depicted a waist gunner in a B-17 Flying Fortress and his flexible .50 BMG M2 Browning in an official USAAF photo by Karl Gaston.

By Barrett Tillman

John M. Browning was a historic figure whose guns started the first World War and helped end the second. In 1914, Serbian nationalist Gavrilo Princip used a Browning-designed FN Model 1910 to assassinate Austrian Archduke Franz Ferdinand, inciting the Great War. And though Browning died in 1926, he provided his nation with nearly all its World War II machine guns, its automatic rifle and its foremost sidearm. But he did something even grander. Browning’s magnificent M2 machine gun—chambered in the .50 Browning Machine Gun (BMG) cartridge—gave America and her allies the priceless gift of global air superiority. Nothing else came close.

Actually, the Browning .50 originated in the Great War. American interest in an armor-piercing cartridge was influenced by the marginal French 11 mm design, prompting U.S. Army Ordnance officers to consult Browning. They wanted a heavy projectile at 2700 feet per second (f.p.s.), but the ammunition did not exist. Browning pondered the situation and, according to his son John, replied, “Well, the cartridge sounds pretty good to start. You make up some cartridges and we’ll do some shooting.”

Reputedly influenced by Germany’s 13.2×92 mm SR (.53-cal.) anti-tank rifle, Ordnance contracted with Winchester to design a .50-cal. cartridge. Subsequently, Frankford Arsenal took over from Winchester, producing the historic .50 BMG or 12.7×99 mm cartridge.

The Army then returned to John Browning for the actual gun. Teamed with Colt, he produced prototypes ready for testing and, ironically, completed them by Nov. 11, 1918—the Great War’s end.

The scaled-up version of the .30-cal. (.30-’06 Sprg.) M1917 water-cooled machine gun possessed obvious potential. But the cartridge’s enormous power proved excessive to the Colt-Browning design, forcing the master back to his drafting board. He returned with a buffer system that seemed workable. Tests in 1919 and 1920 confirmed the viability of the cartridge and gun, and Ordnance approved it for production. The result was the M1921 water-cooled .50-cal. machine gun, the basis for today’s M2 model, the fabled “Ma Deuce.”

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“Ma Deuce” still serves today.

Because of its size and weight, the M1921 was issued as a light anti-aircraft gun, both ground- and ship-based. It remained in Navy use until replaced by 20 mm Oerlikon cannons in 1942.

Meanwhile, a more utilitarian .50-cal. gun was underway. After adopting the M1921, the Army decided to evaluate an air-cooled model, far more tractable for soldiers at 120 lbs. with a tripod. The result was designated “Caliber .50 Machine Gun, Heavy Barrel, M2.” The heavier 36″ barrel was expected to handle heat buildup, but experience led to a 45″ version that was adopted in 1933 and used ever since.

To War
The big Browning fought America’s war from the first day to the last. On Dec. 7, 1941, Navy CPO John Finn responded to the Japanese attack on Kaneohe Naval Air Station, Hawaii, by manning an AN/M2 in an instructional mount (“A/N” stands for Army and Navy). Alone and fully exposed, he fired at the raiders whenever they came within range. “I was out there shooting the Jap planes and just every so often I was a target for some,” he said. “In some cases, I could see their faces.” Though struck by 20 bullets or fragments, he remained at his gun until ordered to report for medical attention. Then he turned to arming his squadron’s remaining planes. His actions resulted in CPO Finn receiving the Medal of Honor.

At least four other .50-cal. gunners received the nation’s highest award, including Lt. Col. William J. O’Brien, an Army battalion commander on Saipan in July 1944. When the Japanese overran his position, he replied with an M1911 in each hand, then dashed to a jeep-mounted M2, according to his citation, “firing into the Jap hordes that were enveloping him” until he was killed.

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The three main variants of the .50-cal. Brownings were (top to bottom): the water-cooled M1921 (used mostly in the anti-aircraft role); the aircraft-mounted AN/M2, which could be flexible or fixed; and the M2HB used on the ground.

Undoubtedly the best-known M2 engagement occurred on the other side of the world six months later. In France on Jan. 26, 1945, 19-year-old 2nd Lt. Audie Murphy climbed aboard a burning tank destroyer to man the .50 as a company of German infantry advanced. Though hit in one leg, he remained at the gun, shooting down perhaps 50 of the enemy before running dry. Then he returned to his platoon to organize a counterattack. For this, Murphy received the Medal of Honor, and he would become one of the most decorated soldiers in American military history.

With a global need, it seemed that everyone built M2s, from AC Spark Plug Co. to Frigidaire to Guide Lamp. American Rifleman Field Editor Bruce Canfield’s encyclopedic U.S. Infantry Weapons of World War II shows nearly 350,000 M2 Heavy Barrels (M2HB) produced among nearly 2,000,000 .50 calibers of all models during the war years.

Everybody wanted the Ma Deuce in .50 BMG for its fabled power, range and reliability. One wartime study found that stoppages averaged one in 4,000 rounds, as long as headspace was properly adjusted. Armorers determined that a high ratio of malfunctions were due to faulty ammunition or links.

The Ma Deuce’s limit as an anti-aircaft (AA) gun was range, volume of fire and weight of projectile—especially when compared to 20 mm or 5″ cannons. A single-barrel gun firing a 700-gr. bullet could seldom inflict enough damage to destroy a fast attacker. Even multiple guns engaging the same target were marginal. At the Battle of Santa Cruz Islands in October 1942, the fabled carrier U.S.S. Enterprise expended 400 rounds of .50 BMG versus 46,000 rounds of 20 mm; 3,200 rounds of 40 mm; and 400 rounds of 5″. The main reason for the discrepancy probably was engagement range: few attackers closed to within the .50’s effective distance.

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(l.) Adopted in 1933, the M2HB had a 45″ barrel and weighed about 120 lbs. with its tripod. A typical Army infantry battalion had six M2s. In Ordnance Went Up Front Roy Dunlop wrote: “All ground guns could fire single shots … and very accurate fire was possible.” (r.) The M45 quad mount—with four .50-cal. M2s—could be installed in an M16 halftrack or towed as shown in the Pacific Theatre. Although used mostly for anti-aircraft defense, in ground combat the power of four .50-cal. Brownings could be devastating.

Army anti-aircraft units made good use of the M45 quad .50 mount, either towed or mounted on M16 halftracks. Some of the heaviest AA activity occurred during Luftwaffe attacks on Allied airfields on New Year’s Day 1945. In the Metz area, Army AA gunners engaged 25 enemy aircraft, claiming 14 destroyed and four probably downed. Only 11 rounds of 90 mm artillery were fired with a combined 1,270 rounds of 37 and 40 mm, compared to 24,100 rounds of .50 caliber. Quad .50s also were employed in ground combat. A 1945 study noted, “A few bursts from the quadruple .50s directed at any source of small-arms fire very quickly eliminated the trouble.”

Through most of the war, a typical Army infantry battalion operated 20 .30-cal. machine guns (eight M1917 water-cooled) and six .50-cal. M2s. Weapons platoons typically had a jeep-mounted M2 that could be rushed to a trouble spot. The Axis armies had nothing comparable, though Germany issued light machine guns on a greater scale than the Allies. However, short of 20 mm canons, the Germans had no battlefield guns that could penetrate armored cars or personnel carriers at typical engagement distances.

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The M2HB (Heavy Barrel) could be employed as a ground arm while mounted on its M3 tripod (l.) or on vehicles, such as with the three MPs in their jeep in the winter of 1944-1945 (r.).

Pre-war match shot and American Rifleman contributing editor Roy F. Dunlap described wartime global trekking in his memoir, Ordnance Went Up Front. He wrote, “I believe the .50s have fewer breakdowns than the .30 caliber guns and that about 75 percent of the repair jobs I did were due to rough handling or carelessness on the part of the gun crew.” For practical application, he said, “I cannot think of a better way to screw up a road junction than to work a .50 to within a couple or three miles, set it in a hollow, camouflaged, and every so often throw a few armor piercers or incendiaries over to the crossing. The blue-tipped incendiaries explode with flash, report and puff of smoke. All ground guns could fire single shots … and very accurate fire was possible.”

In a 1945 summary, the U.S. Army in Europe concluded, “The half-track .50 caliber machine gun—one of the most effective weapons we have—is up where it can be used.” The same report noted that mechanized units had scrounged M2s from downed aircraft and adapted them to coaxial mounts.

On the Pacific isles, typical engagement distances were far closer than in Europe, and Japanese armored vehicles—rarely encountered—were vulnerable to .50-cal. fire. One of the Browning’s main advantages in that environment was its unrivaled penetration, as M2 rounds were far less likely to be deflected by foliage than .30s. Nevertheless, the Marine Corps divisional allotment of Ma Deuces declined from 360 in 1942 to 162 at war’s end.

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The .50-cal. water-cooled was the first adopted, and it was the heaviest, too. The guns served in the anti-aircraft role in all theatres of the war. While phased out for shipboard use, the Army continued to use the M2 AA gun.

Air Guns
Entering World War II, the British Royal Air Force installed eight Colt-Browning .303s in Hurricane and Spitfire fighter planes (later augmented with 20 mms) while Germany and Japan favored rifle-caliber guns and 20 mm cannon. But whether Oerlikon or Hispano-Suiza designs, cannon had limited ammunition capacity and were prone to malfunction.

The prewar U.S. Army Air Corps took a middle road. Early Bell P-39Ds had two .50s, four .30s and a 37 mm gun in the nose. The Curtiss P-40B packed two .50s and four .30s, while Lockheed’s futuristic P-38 had four .50s and a 20 mm. The .50-cal. round delivered at least four times the energy of the .30-’06 Sprg. at the same velocity, affording greater penetration and projectile selection. Clearly, the M2 was better suited for destroying modern all-metal aircraft.

Originally the Air Corps adopted the M2 with a 600 r.p.m. cyclic rate. But, as aircraft speeds increased, fighter pilots had less time to track and shoot. Therefore, Frankford Arsenal boosted muzzle velocity from 2700 to 2880 f.p.s. The standard ball cartridge was the 709-gr. projectile atop 253 grs. of IMR-5010. Armorers experimented with various belting combinations, alternating ball, armor-piercing incendiary (API) and tracer. The M2 AP round would defeat nearly an inch of face-hardened steel at 200 yds. Moreover, armor-piercing incendiaries (usually 647 to 662 grs.) were most useful against aircraft, as they could penetrate enemy armor and engine blocks, sever enemy airframe components and ignite enemy fuel tanks.

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The solid-nose version of the B-25 Mitchell was fitted for eight fixed M2s and could sink enemy ships by .50-cal. gunfire alone.

Tracer rounds, typically about 680 grs., had somewhat different ballistic properties than ball, AP and API, and they did not duplicate the others’ trajectories. Tracers probably were more widely issued to anti-aircraft units than aviation organizations. However, various fighter squadrons adopted different policies. Some loaded the last 50 rounds in each belt entirely with tracers to alert the pilot he was running low. But some very successful pilots shunned tracers. Lieutenant Colonel Francis Gabreski, leading U.S. ace of the European Theater, said, “Sometimes you miss with the first burst and tracers can give you away.”

Browning’s big gun won air superiority for America around the world. Army, Navy and Marine fighters were credited with 25,264 aerial victories, nearly all armed wholly or mainly with AN/M2s. The exceptions were 412 victories gained by British aircraft (mainly Spitfires) in American units and some U.S. night fighters, which were aircraft reconfigured or designed for combat in the dark.

Bombers also packed the M2 as single, manually operated guns and as turret-mounted pairs. The U.S. armed forces consumed vast amounts of ammunition—the St. Louis plant alone delivered 6.7 billion rounds of .30 and .50 caliber during the war. In the fall of 1943, when Eighth Air Force bombers flew unescorted deep penetrations into Reich airspace, one mission might consume more .50-cal. ammunition than a month’s worth of that used by the Fifth Army in Italy.

Around that time, aerial gunners began calling their guns “Mrs. Deuce,” an obvious precursor of today’s familiar “Ma Deuce.” The total Army Air Forces (AAF) overseas expenditure was nearly 460 million rounds, but monthly figures alone were staggering. In April 1945, shortly before Germany surrendered, the Army Air Force in the European and Mediterranean theaters fired nearly 25 million rounds of machine gun and cannon ammunition, the huge majority being .50 caliber. In July, Army airmen flying against the Japanese expended more than 6 million rounds.

During the war, about 100 American fighter pilots downed five or more enemy aircraft in one day to become “instant aces.” Six pilots were credited with seven kills in one mission. They flew very different aircraft—Wildcats, Hellcats, Corsairs, Lightnings and Mustangs—but all had the AN/M2 in common. One instant ace and future NRA member was Marine aviator James E. Swett, who received the Medal of Honor for downing seven (possibly eight) Japanese dive bombers over Guadalcanal in April 1943.

The outright record for aerial victories in a single encounter belonged to the Navy top gun, Cdr. David McCampbell. Flying from U.S.S. Essex over Leyte Gulf in the Philippines on Oct. 24, 1944, he and a wingman tackled a large formation of Japanese fighters. In 90 minutes of combat McCampbell was credited with nine destroyed and two probables while his partner added six more. With the confidence of experience and a disciplined trigger finger, McCampbell made maximum use of his Brownings and ammunition. Given the 2,400-round payload of his Grumman Hellcat, McCampbell averaged just 218 shots per victory.

Perhaps the most cost-efficient aircraft kill of the air war demonstrated the .50’s power. Over Okinawa in May 1945 a Hellcat night fighter stalked a Japanese floatplane harassing U.S. ground troops. Marine Lt. J.E. Smurr closed to minimum range—about 50 ft.—and centered the Aichi seaplane in his illuminated reticle. He pressed the trigger for less than one second and the enemy aircraft disintegrated into a fireball. Armorers found that Smurr had fired only 62 rounds. Throughout the campaign, Marine night hunters averaged 567 rounds per victory regardless of size or type of aircraft.

In a naval war such as the Pacific, .50 calibers inevitably were used against ships. Six M2s could cripple a corvette or a destroyer, whose typical 1/2″ plates offered little protection. Japanese destroyer hulls measured 0.4″ to 0.6″ (10 to 16 mm) whereas .50 ball from a 45″ barrel could penetrate 1/3″ (8 mm) at 500 yds. API rounds penetrated 1″ (25 mm) of homogenous plate at 200 yds. and 3/4″ (18 mm) at 650 yds. Face-hardened plate of 0.9″ (23 mm) was defeated at 200 yds. and 1/2″ at 600. The velocity loss from 36″ aircraft barrels did not seriously reduce the .50’s penetrative qualities, which could puncture engines, boilers and magazines.

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As well as its use on the ground, the big Browning proved a war winner in the air with the Army, Navy and Marines. The U.S. Army Air Force used lighter-weight, .50-cal. AN/M2 Brownings as defensive armament, including as a pair in a turret on a B-17 Flying fortress (top l.) as well as in the tail of a B-17 (top, r.). They were also used on fighter aircraft, such as in the nose of the P-38 Lightning (below l.) and in the wings of fighter aircraft in Europe such as the P-47 Thunderbolt (below, r.).

Certainly the outer limits were achieved by North American B-25H bombers optimized for shipping attacks. With eight nose- and fuselage-mounted .50s plus a top turret, two waist guns and the twin-gun tail position, the H model Mitchell was literally a flying gunship that could immobilize merchantmen—even without the short-barreled 75 mm cannon. However, when the H model entered combat in the China-Burma-India Theater in early 1944, shipping targets were rare. River traffic, on the other hand, was easily destroyed by fighters and gunships.

A study of Navy patrol bombers concluded that during 1945, “Dozens of small vessels were destroyed by fires caused by incendiary hits or strafing alone.” Consolidated PB4Y-2 Privateer bombers expended 2 million rounds of .50 caliber on 600 or more surface vessels, contributing to sinking as many as 300. “The effect was to cripple the remaining Japanese sea transport in most areas and to cause withdrawal of many vessels not sunk because of the danger of attack … .”

The AN/M2 was fully appreciated by the war’s midpoint. In 1943, Gen. Henry “Hap” Arnold, chief of the Army Air Forces, declared the Browning “the outstanding aircraft gun of the Second World War.” He added, “This weapon … is the backbone of offensive and defensive gun [sic] for American aircraft and was brought to such a state of perfection by the Ordnance Department during the years of peace prior to the present conflict that it has enabled the Army Air Forces, the U.S. Navy and Marine Corps to show a definite superiority in aircraft gun power through this global war.”

Despite the M2’s immense success, some operators wanted more. The M3 .50 caliber boosted cyclic rate to 1,200 r.p.m., but the increase came at too high a price. Tests showed greater barrel erosion, and rounds tended to “keyhole.” Only 2,400 M3s were delivered before V-J Day, but development continued. Subsequently, the M3 armed the first generation of American jet fighters, pointing the way to victory in MiG Alley during the Korean War.

In typical military fashion, in 2004 the Army tried to replace the M2 with a less effective arm at twice the price. The wasteful three-year program to develop the XM312 flopped during tests in 2005 but lingered two more years before cancellation. At that point “Big Army” defaulted to the best option: buying more M2s.

Longevity remains a hallmark of John M. Browning’s designs. His timeless M1911 pistol is more widely used today than ever, and “Ma Deuce,” dating from 1921, shows no signs of retiring. In fact, in 2015 the 324th M2 ever produced was finally removed from service—after 94 years in the inventory. The old warhorse was being retired because current standards would require extensive modification. Army Materiel Command quoted an armorer at Anniston Army Depot who said, “Looking at the receiver, for its age, it looks good as new and it gauges better than most of the other weapons.” Said John Clark, a small arms repair leader, “I’d rather put this one on display than send it to the scrap heap.” A veteran approaching its centennial, the M2 certainly deserves an honorable retirement—though its relatives will remain on the firing line well into the current century.

In this article

.50-CAL. BROWNING MACHINE GUN

, WWII, .50 BMG M2 BROWNING, JOHN M. BROWNING, MA DEUCE, BARRETT TILLMAN

HOT Girl Finds out what it’s like to be an Average Guy on Tinder

Have you ever had such a close call it makes your skin shiver everytime you think about it? If so, what happened?

I first thought it was the worst case of heartburn ever. After working two hours I decided to drive home and have my husband take me to the hospital’s ED. After frantically examining me, several blood draws, multiple EKG tests, and waiting for a few hours I was told it was not my heart, but my liver. An hour later a cardiologist stopped by and told me I had indeed suffered a mild heart attack, and luckily my heart suffered no damage. I would be transported to the main hospital that night for an early morning catheterization to see what was going on.

After the catheterization, the surgeon came to my room to discuss the procedure with my husband and me. He asked how I was doing, and I told him, “That is what I am paying you to tell me.” Looking very somber he told me, “Well you are lucky to be here right now. When we went in, we found your Widow Maker was 99% blocked. From the time of your first chest pain until we inserted the stent was much too long. Your chance of surviving was about 3%, I have never had a patient live through a blockage like that for longer than thirty minutes. In addition, you should have severe heart damage, and you have none. I can’t explain why you are here, and your heart is not damaged. Somebody must want you alive.”

All I could say is, “Damn! Does this mean I can still perform with the New York City Ballet troupe as lead in “Swan Lake?” He chuckled, “As long as you were already part of the troupe before your heart attack!”

I do not like to think about that day, the news, or how close I came to shaking hands with Jesus, or whoever is waiting on the other side. Instead, I joke and say I was knocking at death’s door, and thank god no one answered!

What are some unwritten social rules everyone should know?

Never give advice until you’re asked.
Do not make plan infront of those friends you are not involving.
Don’t talk to someone if they have headphones in.
If someone is being quiet and doesn’t look like in a mood to talk, don’t nag them by asking ‘what’s wrong?’ every freaking second. Give them some space and ask once or twice max. If they want to, they’ll come up and share it with you.
Don’t close talk/invade someone’s personal space.
Do not use your cell phone at movies etc.. it breaks the “spell” and distracts from other’s enjoyment of the performance.
If invited to a dinner party and expected to arrive at 7 P.M., arrive no later than 15 minutes after the hour.
If someone pays for your meal, invite them over/take them out for a meal sometime. Even if they decline, it’s the invitation that matters.
Don’t talk whilst chewing..
The right side of the escalator is for standing, the left side is for walking.
If a person is speaking directly to you, staring at your phone is rude as shit.
Don’t date your friends exes.
Always let people out before you enter.
Be quiet when other people are asleep. That means more than not talking — not slamming doors, drawers, etc.
Put things back where you found them.

What is the single most mind-blowing fact that you did not believe until you looked it up?

The photo is not an original shot of an execution.

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In Iran, it is against the law to put to death female prisoners who are virgin. So, the Basij militias of the government marry and rape virgin female prisoners to get them ready to be killed.

In Iran, the law says that women who are still virgins cannot be put to death. So, the government sets up marriages the night before executions and forces female prisoners to have sexual relations with Besic members. “Women whose new husbands have raped them” are then allowed to be put to death. The Besic member told the reporter, “Even though it’s legal, I’m sorry for what I did.” During his speech, he said that he had just been let out of jail for letting two young people go who had been arrested during the street protests in Iran after the election. Members of Besic say that some of the prisoners who fight back are controlled with sleepy pills and that “many of the prisoners who fight back would rather be raped than killed. “The Besic member tells the reporter what happened by saying, “After the rape was over, I could hear them screaming and calling for help.” I’ll never forget how one of the girls used her nails to scratch her face and neck. She had deep cuts all over.

American Reacts to 6 LIES America Told Me about Europe || Life in the UK

Is Taiwan very important to China? China wants Taiwan so much.

From the point of view of the Chinese government, Taiwan is important for historical reasons, as unification with the rest of China would represent a clear end to China’s century of humiliation and the end of any pro-western colonial presence on Chinese territory. Any Chinese leader who brought Taiwan back into a unified China would be remembered in the history books as the leader who brought this period of humiliation to an end, and would be remembered for this single accomplishment.

Most PRC Chinese also feel this way about Taiwan.

In short, it would be the single largest accomplishment in Chinese history in the 21st century.

Most Americans, including US government officials, do not understand the depth of the Chinese commitment to unification with Taiwan.

If they can understand the commitment of Zionist Jews to Israel and a homeland in the Middle East, why can’t they understand China’s commitment to unification with Taiwan?

Things Genghis Khan did to His Slaves

Why can you only have one child in China?

This is not true.

There are no limits on how many children that you can have in China. So please, stop flooding my inbox with questions about “invasions of Taiwan”, “one child birth policy”, and “when China will collapse”. These are simply CIA propagandized narratives that the gullible believe.

But, instead I do want to address something that I personally find very interesting. Take note people! China does not play around. They are SERIOUS in regards to their population and raising children. It’s not an after-thought like it is in the United States.

Considerations, on the citizenship of the baby.

First off, take note, If you give birth in China, the child is stateless.

It does not get automatic citizenship as in the West. Oh, you can give birth, but it will not be a legal citizen, and will not be protected by law. It will be a burden of the couple that produced the baby.

If you want the child to become a Chinese citizen, then be advised;

You can give birth to a hundred children if you want (and are able to), but…

One parent must be Chinese and have a Houkou (a family register),
BOTH parents must pass paternity tests,
The child must not have any mental, emotional or physical deformities. (this is tested while in the womb by DNA testing, and the burden of payment is on the parents.)
Both parents must be able to afford the child. Not be a burden on society.

If the child, or parents fail any of the above considerations, then the baby will remain stateless and will need to exit the nation with the parents if they want to provide some other national citizenship for it.

That is the REAL deal.

…

One of the tools of manipulation of the people of the West is to keep them ignorant. Then fabricate fantasies that seem to make sense to the ignorant, the illiterate, and the moronic. One such lie is the idea and concept of “one child birth policy”.

If you believe it, you should be ashamed of yourself.

How did the policy of appeasement lead to World War 2?

When I was a child, my father told me to always stand my ground against bullies, “Because when you give them one thing, they will take the whole hand!” And this is true. This is what appeasement is all about. Its a misguided belief we all know, since childhood, doesn’t work. You don’t want trouble. You want to avoid a fight. So you give the bully whatever he desires.

The British establishment at the time, as did many other European leaders, felt that it was best to “play nice” with Hitler and his Nazi party. Just give him what he wants. He wants to add some more countries, annex some more lands for Germany? Let him. Let him make his Fatherland Great Again. Who cares. It sure beats war, doesn’t it? And it does… until the moment it doesn’t. The same line of thinking is seen today with those who hate NATO and sympathize with Russia. They want to give up on aid to Ukraine. Because they don’t want to anger the bully that started the war. This is appeasement, plain and simple.

It didn’t work in WWII. And it sure as hell won’t, now. Appeasement and playing nice with dictators leaves a dictator to feel secure, in control. It makes him feel strong, and makes you look weak. And it only emboldens him, and his friends, to take military action. “Peace in our time” only means: “A wider war is now certain… only a little bit later.”

Which movie(s) made you cry?

Yes! The following scenes from the movie The Pursuit of Happyness made me cry:

Chris and his son sleeping in a bathroom:

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With no money, no job and homeless, Chris turns a dirty subway restroom into an imaginary cave for his son and gets him to sleep there. Being at the depth of his poverty and despair, Chris breaks down in this scene and is shown blocking the door so that his son can sleep well. Heart touching scene.

2. The five-bucks scene:

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Chris’s boss forgets his wallet upstairs and is in a hurry to attend a meeting. He asks Chris to lend him five bucks. Being at the rock bottom of poverty, five bucks mattered for Chris and he lends his boss too. This scene regains our faith in humanity and the act of giving to those in need.

3. Chris gets the job:

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Who can forget this scene where he gets the job and is asked about his struggle? This scene still makes me emotional.

Will Smith is a genius!

Is there anything that China can teach the west about happiness?

I have lived in China for a few years, and I think the west would be a happier place if we adopted the following Chinese wisdoms:

if you cause someone embarrassment, you should also be ashamed of yourself – so, better don’t do that to anyone. It would be such a nice change from our silly, childish revenge culture.
take an entire hour for lunch every day. Better even: two. It celebrates the day, and makes for a more relaxed life.
get seriously into savings and whatever else you can do to build your fortune. We westerners have a debt culture. We live in denial of how unhappy that makes us.
choose the middle ground for all things. We westerners always look for extremes. But longterm happiness is not found in thrill, only in balance.
take naps during the day. You would be amazed how much happier you will be.
spend more time with your folks. Western society is always trying to isolate the individual, when life is so much nicer shared with others – especially your family.

“Passport Bros Are Just WEAK Men!”

My brother Daniel

My brother, Daniel, lives in Colorado. He is the only family member that I remain in contact with.

I have a couple of sisters, but they are isolationists and never respond back to me when I try to reach out. Oh well.

For the longest time, my brother and I would talk and zoom every week. But after Covid hit, it broke down and our emails and talks got to be scarce. The last big talk that I had with him was when he was worried about World War 3 between the USA and China and offered to take me in (abandoning my family in China).

I wrote a post about this.

After that our talks got shorter and shorter, and then he got sick with COVID. He spent an entire month in bed, delirious and hallucinating. Turns out he didn’t get any vaccination, and instead took “colloidal silver” that he got from the internet to get better.

I had a few zoom meetings after that. He looked good. Lost a lot of weight.

But then, the last talk I had with him was about when his dogs died. My dog; PP had died, and so I was asking him about it. Later, he was going camping over the weekend. This was in July 2022.

Hi BV,

I think your correct, dad got her in '67, and I think she passed in '78 or'79.  Tara was 11 and Kimba was 14, which is a good long time for a husky.. Ashia just turned 5 last week..

Hope your well!  We're going on a three day backpacking trip in a few hours.  That will be some fun, Ashia will be carrying her own food so that will slow her down abit  :)

DZ

And that was my last e-mail from him.

That was a year and a half ago.

I haven’t heard anything since.

He has five different email accounts and two video accounts, and he doesn’t answer any of them. Further, the twice yearly alerts of vacations, travel, and parities that would occasionally pop up in my in-box … all ended.

Sigh.

Either he is purposely blocking me, or he himself went to the big Domain in the sky.

Vaxx victim?
In Prison for some law?
Death by accident?

I did find his wife’s coffeeshop on the internet, and sent her an email. This is what she said.

Hi BV,

first of all, Dan is fine and all is well! I honestly don't know why he wasn't in touch with you. I'd ask sometimes if he'd spoken with you but I had no idea that much time had passed since you two had communicated. I don't have any huge or exciting updates....

Tomorrow (Easter) we're going to one of my sister's for dinner. Some of my family will be there, so it'll be nice. Otherwise, just plodding along.

How old is Ray Ray now? I'm thinking she must be around 5 or so...? You should send my a picture if you think of it! 

I'll tell Dan he must get in touch with you. It's just dumb not to communicate with family - often we're all we've got. And I apologize for not being more proactive in that regard!

Love to all of you from Colorado,

Emily

Sad to say.

It’s a reality when you get older. As time progresses, you circle of friends and relatives get smaller and smaller.

Today…

If China invades Taiwan militarily, who will the state of Singapore support, China or Taiwan?

Firstly, and this is the much more important point — most Chinese who understand modern China know in the depth of their souls that mainland China will never invade Taiwan; the main reason being that “Chinese should not kill Chinese” (a lesson learned from the bitter Civil War between KMT and CPC).

There are more reasons

For example – the Chinese are used to thinking long-term — and mainland Chinese know that PRC is on the ascendant, and ROC is either stagnant or even declining. The day will come when the Taiwanese would be less reluctant to unite with mainland China, though likely they would still want a “one country, two systems” approach.

Secondly, almost all leaders in Singapore have always maintained that we don’t take sides — this message have come from both our PM Mr Lee Hsien Loong, and our polymath and wise man, Mr George Yeo, among others

The Man up argument

About American Bullet-train, the Brightline.

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One photo that can tell you why it’s not a real high-speed train:

See the stones under the railway tracks? Technically, it is called a ballasted track. That means this train cannot run fast enough to be called a high-speed train. Otherwise, it will become a killing train.

Well I happen to be a railway police officer.

Brother workers in the US, if someone asks you to build a second phase project for this railway, such as turning this poor railway from one pair of tracks into two, please remember that you may have accidents due to the strong sucking of Bernoulli effect or splashing stones. I don’t think the contractor will really consider your safety. When you are constructing, remember that time is not enough to observe the arrival of a fast train solely with your eyes and ears.

Also, for other Americans nearby, remember to take care of your children and keep them as far away as possible. Because even out of a few meters may not be a safe zone. See that white van far away in this photo? Not in the safe zone. Many parts of your fast train railways do not have fences. It won’t knock people into disabilities. If a person is accidentally knocked away by it, you need to shovel the body-jam up from the ground, or trees, depends. I am glad that China’s railways have fences, so most of our colleagues do not need to go through this.

Someone once asked me on Quora before, why Laos needs to build bullet trains when its economic conditions are not good enough?

Well this is the reason, the foundation made of stones means that this railway track is not suitable for running high-speed trains. If we build a regular railway, Laos will need to rebuild a route suitable for high-speed railways in the future. That will be a heavy burden for our neighbor.

Rail tracks are downward compatible, not upward. So next time, don’t believe in the scam of transforming ordinary railway lines into high-speed railway lines.

What was your most arrogant software engineering interview candidate experience?

“I am HOT SHIT!”

A year ago I interviewed a candidate for an Engineering PM role on my team; a sharp and interesting guy who grew up in New York and was grudgingly getting accustomed to life on the west coast. We needed a candidate who had a very specific set of deeply technical skills for that role and he fit the bill. He came in with glowing recommendations from some pretty senior people and had the exact experience and expertise that we needed. Basically he was an almost certain hire and I was his final round.

I didn’t want to grill him more on the technical aspects of the role since he had already proven himself in that space; I wanted to figure out what he would be like to work with on my team and what he would bring to the table there. My team is extremely close knit; it has been like a tight family for many years and we always have each others’ backs through thick and thin; we have worked quite hard to ensure that egos never get in the way.

We started off with him telling me about his journey, his passions and ambitions, his previous experiences on teams, etc, I told him about our team culture, the dynamics we share. I asked him why he wanted to join our team when clearly the whole world was open to him based on his assessment of himself.

He started to tell me how he was bored of large companies and wants to work at a small startup. He said that he only wanted this job for a year so he could add it on his resume and he would leave after that. That came across as odd, but I still decided to give him a chance since I knew the specific project we needed his expertise for would probably be done in a year so it might actually work out and give us time to change his mind.

The next words that he said had me completely baffled; “I am HOT SHIT!” he said, “You will be lucky to have me. You guys know I’m the best guy for the job. The only reason I’m here is because startups need people with 5 years of experience and I have only 4.”

I thanked him for his time, walked him to the door and went back to the interview panel and made it very clear that we would not be hiring this guy and that I would like to veto this decision; my manager heard me out and absolutely had my back on it 100%. We did not make him an offer.

There are three HUGE red flags here:

Arrogance. Someone who comes in believing and loudly announcing that they are God’s gift to mankind are not coach-able. You do not want to work with someone who is not coach-able; you always want people who will learn and grow and adapt to the needs of the team. One single arrogant member can bring toxicity to the whole team and destroy a culture and relationships that took years to forge.
Lies. I’ve worked on my own startups, lived with close friends who had startups, I’ve interviewed with startups and I’ve interviewed candidates from startups; you know what the one thing is that sets them apart from large corporations; they don’t stick to arbitrary rules. No startup(or competent hiring manager in any company for that matter) will ever pass on a great candidate just because he has one year of work experience less than what the online job description suggested. This was an extremely obvious bluff .
Commitment. When you hire someone into your team, you spend a good amount of your time coaching them, showing them the ropes, teaching them the business. It often takes 3–6 months for a new employee to become fully independent and during that time the whole team rallies together and helps set them up for success. If someone tells me that they plan to leave in a year for something new and shiny, it tells me that they are not going to put their heart and soul into this job; they will not be passionate about it and that means they won’t deliver their best results. It would also take up so much time from my whole team that the investment is not worth the returns.

Don’t let your arrogance eclipse your talent; all that remains is the shadow.

Creepy and cringe

What is the strangest complaint you have received at your job?

Some years ago while counting down the last few minutes before my shift ended in a public library, a young woman came to the information desk with an ennraged look on her face.

Lady: Can someone please tell me where the Spanish classes are? I’ve been on all the floors and no one seems to know what I’m talking about.

Me: Sorry miss but those aren’t Spanish classes. The Spanish Embassy has been having a series of public talks every Wednesday at 5 – 6 pm on the third floor discussing the Latin American economy. We simply allow them to use our conference room on the third floor.

Lady: Are you listening to what I’m saying? I left work early to come to these Spanish classes. Where are the people for the Spanish class?

Me: I’m sorry miss but we really don’t know. We simply give the Embassy access to our conference room. You might want to call the number they left on the advertisement.

Lady: So you’re saying this is your library, where you work, but you have no idea what’s going on?

Me: We know all what is going on in regards to our public services but the Embassy’s program is something external. Any complaints about the program can be addressed to the Embassy’s website.

Lady: Typical lazy government worker mentality…So you’re saying you have no knowledge of what is going on in your own building?

Me: This is actually not our building. Several government departments are housed in this building besides the library. Would you like me to call the Embassy for you?

Lady: You’ve wasted my time already. It’s already 5:30pm. I mean does it feel good to you to be getting paid for nothing? What’s the point of this library? I want to speak to your manager.

I was about to explain to her that we don’t have ‘managers’ but librarians when she whips out her cell phone and shows a screenshot of a Facebook post advertising the Embassy’s program.

Me: Miss. I’m sorry but that post shows that the program ends April 24th, which was two weeks ago…

Lady: ……so you….this is so unprofessional…..a big freaking library and you can’t call people and tell them that the Spanish class program has finished. I want to speak to the manager. This is unacceptable.

It was at this point I decided I that I no longer waste my time with this lady’s nonsensical complaint.

Bill Maher is officially PANICKING!!! He know it’s coming…

Nike announced that it does not source products from the XUAR and have confirmed with their contract suppliers that they are not using textiles or spun yarn from the region. Will this cause them to lose the Chinese market?

Those who have mainland business contacts may have been party to this conversation.

First among foreigners are the anglophones, then Italy, France, Germany, followed by the rest of the EU, then the Asian first world, the brics, and finally, the rest of the world.

American business interests in China are sacrosanct, followed by the brits, Canadians, Australians and so on, as per the order described.

Why? The Chinese understand there can be no economic interest without political power, and America is hegemonic. Helping America succeed in china is the best protection against sanctions and embargoes. The last 40 years has seen America develop a heavy consumer brand presence in China, with negligible Chinese presence stateside.

I believe the current Nike troubles framed against the illustrative example of h&m’s commercial erasure is a signal China is finally ready to weaponize this particular disparity.

China has had enough of America’s no holds barred maximum pressure strategy of confronting China, especially the attack on its domestic economy.

China is hurt. 2020’s live births is the lowest in 2 generations, 25 percent below 2016, compared to America’s 9 percent.

It is time to draw blood.

China can ask the coca cola ceo, you have 4–5 billion revenue this year. Your corporation can do 40–50 billion business each year in the future. You have supply chains all over Xinjiang. Do you observe genocide or mass incarceration in the data? If you refuse to make a statement or lie, we will burn you, and offer the Pepsi ceo your market share.

Choose.

And so on. There is no other growth story like china’s anywhere else, with the scale, stability and above all, speed. McDonald’s, for example, grew 10x faster compared to its Indian franchise.

Going forward, there will be no sacred cows among mncs in china. Trump made sure of that.

And yes, Nike can certainly lose the Chinese market if it gets erased like h&m.

It hasn’t happened… yet.

Note: The question and this answer is about China, not India.

Power projection

Men are starting to stand up in the USA.

Has someone treated you poorly until they discovered you were wealthy and/or successful?

The best one I ever heard of was from my grandfather. In order to receive a promotion at the company he worked for, he was required to attain a master’s degree. He was an engineer, of sorts, shall we say.

This was the 1960’s, and there was my grandfather sitting in a classroom with a bunch of 22 year old hotshots, while he was 50 years old. For 6 weeks, no one spoke to him, he wasn’t called on, the professor ignored him, and whatever work he did received an average grade.

One day, a singularly difficult real life engineering problem was presented in class from a local company called JPL. When none of the students could correctly answer it, the professor asked if anyone had any ideas…..

I love this part….

My grandfather raised his hand and answered it. The professor told him he was wrong. Mr. Professor then told the class the answer. Grandpa then interrupted the professor and informed him that the answer given to the class turned out to be incorrect for that particular alloy, and that the week prior my Grandpa’s team had found that with a 2% increase of cadmium, the answer was as my Grandpa said. The professor then asked Grandpa to come to the board and explain it in writing. He did. The professor then asked him who he was and what his job was.

After the Mercury, Gemini, Apollo, Manhattan and other projects were thusly discussed, Grandpa never sat down in that class again. Or any other. He taught the class as one who actually did these things…from Fat Man and Little Boy to the Saturn rocket booster and everything in between.

At the end of the semester, Grandpa received an “A”, and the professor informed him that he had received average grades before because his work just seemed too different than the textbook answers. The professor called a meeting of the department, and after a 60 minute interview they gave him his master’s degree and offered him an honourary doctorate if he would teach there. He declined.

Six months later, Neil Armstrong walked on the moon. Every July 21st for 20 years, a new offer was sent to Grandpa to receive his doctorate and teach. He wasn’t ignored any more.

Scientists Discover Most Incredible Habitable Planetary System

I really enjoyed this video.

SERGEY LAVROV:

[You said in your interview that the Americans have no analysts on Russia left who would be familiar with our mentality, people, and culture. How can they declare us their enemies if they know nothing about our country?]

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"They have no interest in that.

The United States has lost diplomacy as a method for establishing contacts, holding candid discussions, and identifying ways to strike a compromise.

It is not necessarily about specialists in Russian, European, Asian, or African studies. I don’t see serious specialists there.

They are accustomed to making demands.

They have even stooped to rudely and publicly telling China what to do.

Reportedly, Chinese Deputy Foreign Minister Ma Zhaoxu had a telephone conversation with US Deputy Secretary of State Kurt Campbell. The US official said Washington was dissatisfied with Beijing supporting Moscow.

How can they say such a thing to the great power of China?

What about the reputation of the Americans themselves?

There is also a statement by EU High Representative for Foreign Affairs and Security Policy Josep Borrell. I can’t get enough of his quotes.

He said that the West (through Ukraine) must necessarily win. If Russia wins, no one will ever be able to rely on the United States when they need help.

You can’t help thinking about Afghanistan, Iraq, Vietnam, and Syria (which they will supposedly leave). They will supposedly leave Iraq too, and they have effectively fled Afghanistan.

Speaking of help provided by the United States, they have a small nation of Haiti sitting right next to them, which they have been taking care of for more than a hundred years now.

Even before the UN was created, they were nurturing dictators, toppling them, and putting in new ones.

However, the Americans are powerless when it comes to preventing thuggery, rampant theft and embezzlement of public funds in that country, which is probably the world’s poorest economy.

It would not be difficult for the United States to take a sliver of the Ukrainian pie and solve at least this problem.

Instead, they showed up at the UN Security Council again and are trying to lure in someone from Africa to ensure law and order in Haiti (the US fiefdom).

Let them first sort things out in their own backyard, or rather a small portion of it.

It is sad to acknowledge that the psychology of global dominance and retaining hegemonism at any cost has never helped the United States solve any issues on the ground."

-Excerpt from remarks by Russian Foreign Minister Sergey Lavrov in an interview with Izvestia Multimedia Information Centre, Moscow, March 28, 2024.

Using the grappler

Is dictatorship always wrong? Doesn’t history have any examples of good dictatorships/dictators?

There are two problems with “good” dictators:

There aren’t that many of them
They don’t live forever

When a dictator creates a political system, that system is dependent on them…and on whoever comes after them.

If the line of successors is an unbroken chain of good leaders, all is well and good. But that hasn’t happened yet to date…

One historical example I keep thinking of is this guy: Otto von Bismarck (Otto von Bismarck – Wikipedia)

As an autocratic leader, I have no doubt his achievements were great. He united Germany, introduced social legislation, and sustained a European balance of power to avoid a world war.

The problem: he made sure to write a German constitution that concentrated all that power in one place – himself. And when he got let go, his successors weren’t up to the challenge.

The economist Max Weber gave the best assessment: “Bismarck created a great nation without any political education, without any political will, accustomed to letting the great statesman at the helm take care of politics for it.”

Weber died in 1920, so that makes his assessment even more powerful.

Sort of like raising children, no?

There might be “good” dictators, but I’m not convinced any of them can create a “great nation.” Not one that lasts, anyway.

Florida is different

The Chinese Communist Party often claims that Tibet before 1959 was a dark, theocratic feudal serfdom with cruel punishments, but Tibetans abroad often deny these claims. So what was the real situation in old Tibet?

The CCP said the truth that tibet was a feudal theocratic state with serfdom and cruel punishment.

The Tibetians under the Dlamas were oppressed others were subjected to having their hands cut off. Some had experienced punishment like this one shown below:

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This led china under mao to liberate tibet in 1951 to free the Tibetians from oppression and incorporate tibet back to china. So mao did liberate tibet in 1951.

The Tibetians living abroad are denying these claims to hide the truth and they’re spreading lies ,misinformation and hearing western propaganda that tibets are being oppressed under the CCP regime which isn’t true.

Do you believe that a world free from US hegemony would be beneficial for developing countries?

Yes of course!

The U.S. is the main cause of economic crisis and poverty if the developing world! If the U.S. did not manipulated the prices of most raw materials from the developing world will appreciate in prices to several folds what it is now generations ago!

Why It Would Be Preferable To Colonize Titan Instead Of Mars

What is the most badass thing you have done as a parent for your teenage daughter?

My 15 year old daughter came home from Knott’s Berry Farm one night around midnight in tears. Someone had stolen her iPhone while she and her friends were on a ride and she was worried I would be mad.

I told her to hold on for a moment, went to my computer for Find My iPhone, and told her, “I found it. Let’s go.” She asked where and I told her, “To get your iPhone. It’s at an apartment complex in Santa Ana.”

We found the apartment building and I called the police. I brought them up to speed and they said they’d meet us at a gas station about a mile away. My daughter was starting to see some hope.

Three police cars showed up and, after I showed him where the phone was, the officer in charge said we could park down the street and watch. So we did.

It was about 2:30a and the lights were still on in the apartment for some reason.

The lead cop went upstairs and pounded on the door. A middle aged guy answered the door and the cop said a stolen phone was inside the apartment and he wanted it brought to the door (he told us later). My daughter and I heard the guy yell, “Anybody have an iPhone that doesn’t belong to you?” After a few seconds, he shook his head “no”.

The officer told us he said, “Look, I know it’s in there. So you can either bring it out, or I’ll stand here until the search warrant arrives and we’ll go in and find it ourselves.”

We saw the door close and less than a minute later the guy handed the officer my daughter’s phone. He brought it down and my daughter logged in to prove it was hers.

She couldn’t believe we actually got her phone back, but I was committed to fixing this so my daughter wouldn’t become a victim.

We got home about 4am, but neither of us was tired – LOL.

I know everything worked out in the exact way it had to for us to succeed, but it was a great lesson for my daughter about standing up for yourself and taking appropriate action. She continues to be a very empowered individual and I like to think I had a hand in that.

Can you tell me…

VLADIMIR PUTIN:

[NATO countries are planning to send their fighters to Ukraine. The media report that F-16 aircraft will be deployed against Russian forces and facilities in the special military operation zone. Will we be allowed to hit these targets at NATO airfields?]

"First, if they supply F-16s (they are talking about this, and it looks like they are training pilots; I believe that you realise this like no one else and better than others), this will not change the situation on the battlefield.

We will destroy their aircraft just like we are now destroying their tanks, armoured vehicles and other equipment, including multiple launch rocket systems.

Of course, we would see them as legitimate targets if they operate from the airfields of third countries, no matter where they are located.

F-16 aircraft can also carry nuclear weapons, and we will also have to heed this while organising our combat operations."

-Excerpt from remarks by Russian President Vladimir Putin during a meeting with army aviation pilots of the Russian Federation Defence Ministry’s 344th Centre for Combat Employment and Retraining in Torzhok, Tver Oblast, Russia, March 27, 2024.

A “you” problem

South Korea arrogantly supports the Philippines on the South China Sea issue. Why?

How rampant is Yin Xiyue’s government today? In addition to commenting on the South China Sea issue, it also began to interfere in the Taiwan Strait of China. According to recent news, South Korea’s position on the Taiwan Strait issue has become more and more outspoken, which has aggravated the tension between China and South Korea.

There are two things.

The first thing is that the South Korean side invited the Taiwan Province authorities to participate in the so-called “Leaders’ Democracy Summit”, but after being firmly opposed by the Chinese side, South Korea directly “countered” Chinese mainland’s criticism of the Taiwan Province authorities’ participation in the Democracy Summit, claiming that the event was aimed at “strengthening democracy” and “not targeting specific countries”.

At the same time, he reiterated that the “One China” policy of South Korea will remain unchanged. Secondly, the South Korean side expressed serious concern about the use of water cannons by the China Marine Police against Philippine ships some time ago, threatening that this action has aggravated the tension in the region.

Whether on the Taiwan Strait issue or the South China Sea issue, South Korea’s position deserves our high vigilance.

These two things are enough to show that Yin Xiyue’s government has changed the cautious and neutral stance that South Korea has adhered to for many years, and began to take sides and openly intervene in sensitive issues such as the Taiwan Strait and the South China Sea.

If South Korea still supports the “one China” policy, as it says, then why invite the Taiwan Province authorities to participate in the democracy summit? Knowing that the current situation between the two sides of the strait is tense and the relationship is subtle, it is difficult for the South Korean side to invite it at this time without letting the outside world guess that this is a disguised support.

As Lin Jian, the new spokesperson of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, emphasized, there is only one China in the world, and Taiwan Province is an inalienable part of China. So, what is the intention of South Korea to invite the leaders of Taiwan Province authorities to attend the summit?

At least in my opinion, this is obviously malicious. In safeguarding national sovereignty and territorial integrity, the PLA has always dared to take action. South Korea’s move is tantamount to stepping on the most sensitive red line of the PLA.

In this regard, the same is true on the South China Sea issue. What does the contradiction between China and the Philippines have to do with South Korea? Apart from the South China Sea issue, what does it have to do with South Korea on the Taiwan Strait issue? What’s more, it is reasonable and legal for the Philippines to illegally invade Ren’ai Reef, Huangyan Island and China to respond with water cannons, while it is ridiculous for South Korea to accuse China of doing so.

So wantonly stepping on China’s red line, is it difficult for South Korea to be warned by water cannons like the Philippines?

Yin Xiyue’s government is at the forefront of the Sino-US game, which is not only very dangerous, but also fatal. The South China Sea issue is also the same. South Korea is not a party, and forcing it to annoy will only make it pay a great price.

Wholly Cow

What was life like for German soldiers in Germany after WW2?

A lost war is a heavy burden. Some German soldiers added up to 10 years as a POW in Siberia. Many died in the camps, some died after returning home when eating their first big meal for years. Others discovered their wives had remarried and committed suicide. Those who made it back into normal life, weren’t acknowledged for what they had done, but they weren’t despised either.

Having returned from war, the former soldiers worked extremely hard and disciplined. Maybe a coping strategy to get along with what they had experienced during the war. Germany soon prospered. The “omertà”, that is, the principle of remaining silent about Nazism, was common sense until the late 60ies. The early years of the Federal Republic were characterized by strict conservatism. Everybody felt he or she had done something wrong. Nobody was interested to talk about it, knowing that some brutal guys would get away with it then.

When veterans met, they would discuss how they might have won WWII: “If I’d been in charge at the Ostfront, I’d taken all Panzers together at one point and hit the “Ivan” in the north where he least expected…”

Besides, their recipes were strikingly similar: Push harder, focus more, ignore casualties, and produce more “Wunderwaffen”. Some regarded Hitler as a visionary man, who lost WWII because “too many hounds soon catch the hare”. Most of the veterans I talked to were farmers. They made a little extra money cutting wood in the winter. And while they sat at the fireplace to warm up, they’d sing Russian songs. Stockholm syndrome came alive.

I had contact with many former Nazis.

Only a few I’ve met displayed attitudes and feelings as one would expect, that is, feelings of guilt, empathy for the victims, and anger about the lies they had been told. These “soft guys” seemed to be lucky, the war was over, and they had come out alive. Nazi times weren’t good times for them. They preferred not to be reminded of that. They would escape in some bonhomie gesture: “It’s good this is over, my boy”.

The majority of them pleaded “not guilty” when asked. “I had to follow orders, and we had an oath…” They wouldn’t talk much.

The normal soldiers were better off than former victims of the Nazis, or people who had fled into exile. Among the survivors, they were the most frustrated. Never recognized, if not despised for leaving the country in times of war, they had to witness some big former Nazis succeed and no one cared. Many intellectuals preferred not to return to Germany in the 1950ies and early 60ies. 1968, the time of the students’ uprising, was the turning point:

The younger generations asked questions about the past. The country changed a lot in the aftermath.

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(Pinterest) The typical angle of the cap was no sign of individualism

The few “hardliners” could be recognized by their gait: Faster. More dedicated. Fixing with her eyes. They really were different. They mocked democracy and everything that goes with it. Not only that, they grinned and wore their caps at a certain angle, as can be seen in photographs of Wehrmacht daredevils: an odd mixture of courage and stubbornness, as well as a willingness to immediately stand at attention when needed and instructed, and to carry out any command uncritically.

I think they promised their wives not to talk too much. But occasionally, they did. They still internally wore the “Führer’s uniform” and saw an authoritarian regime as the most effective way to run a country. They often reassembled into organizations like the firefighters, whose uniforms—and commands—were oddly similar to those of the Wehrmacht.

Post-War firefighters in their uniforms.

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And what about their attitude to Nazism?

No one I talked to, told me, he or she wanted the Nazis back. I wouldn’t put this up too high, for speaking out for the Nazis in public is prosecuted for criminal law. No law was needed to keep the Germans from going to war again. WWII seemed to have been a fundamental threat to almost everyone’s life. Nevertheless, deep in their hearts many still felt for Hitler, as you can tell from phrases like “Under Adolf this wouldn’t have happened”, e.g. when talking about how to deal with unemployment or how to make the lazy hippie guys of the 60ies and 70ies go to work. I remember some bad arguments between them and the younger generations, which often ended in yelling “Wenn’s euch nicht passt, geht doch rüber!” (“If you don’t like it here, move to East Germany!”). To me, the most shocking experience was their readiness, to lock people up in forced labor camps and “cure” misbehavior through hard, physical work. “A short trial, and then put them in front of the wall and: Ratatatatata!”

Yes, the Nazi soldiers, and their whole generation were confronted with the past by their children or grandchildren, but I cannot recall a single veteran, who in a discussion, changed sides or openly argued against the Nazis. The poison still worked. They didn’t tell us all. It was as if the Nazis had a grip on them until their last breath. They died one by one. Six of us lend a hand as we carried the coffin.

Many of us do not know what exactly grandpa had done, and yes, this is some kind of burden.

EDIT: This answer is based on my experiences during my childhood in rural, protestant Germany. The biographies of higher-ranking officers, Nazi Party leaders, doctors,, or judges were different. Many of the ex-Nazis, who launched a second career in Post War Germany, only pretended to be democrats. In reality, they cared for “former comrades” in need and heavily influenced the view on opposition to the Nazis. I have addressed these issues in different answers.

Don’t go orange

Do you have any examples of dictators that actually did their country good?

There’s quite a few. If you are from the West, some of these might shock you. If you are not, well, enjoy the ride 🙂

Number 1: Muammar Gaddafi.

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Gaddafi when he was a lot younger. Quite handsome, right?

Gaddafi is often portrayed as a bad guy, and as Ronnie put it “the mad dog of the Middle East”

But that is in fact, not true.

Let’s take a look at some of the luxuries that Libyan citizens had during his rule

1: Free electricity.

2: Free housing.

3: Free healthcare. Not only free healthcare, but the best free healthcare in Africa and the Arab world.

4: A high GDP per capita for two decades before the West started sanctioning Libya.

5: A portion of the money made from oil sales went directly into the bank accounts of Libyan citizens.

6: If healthcare in Libya was not sufficient, the state would finance the entire trip to a foreign hospital.

I could go on and on, but those are just six things.

Also this

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Libya had the highest rating on the Human Development Index in Africa while Gaddafi ruled it.

So while he might be portrayed as a bad guy, he was actually a really good leader.

Number 2: Lee Kuan Yew

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A young Lee Kuan Yew

Lee. Kuan Yew was the Prime Minister of Singapore for three decades. In those three decades, he transformed the undeveloped city state, which had no natural resources, not much land area and a small army, into a shining example of a developed country. But he did this with many challenges facing him, like the multiculturalism of Singapore. The population was a collection of Malays, Chinese, Englishmen, Frenchmen, Indonesians and many more ethnic groups.

While he did implement dictatorial measures, such as muffling the press, outlawing protests and arbitrarily detaining people, he still holds the title of “The Least Brutal Dictator in History”. He did not kill a single person during his three-decade-long rule. Torture was not implemented either.

Before he took the mantle of leader, Singapore was nothing more than a collection of plastic houses and shanties. Look at Singapore now.

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Quite the success story, isn’t it?

Number 3: Park Chung-hee

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Park Chung-hee. Slick haircut, right?

Park Chung-hee didn’t exactly come to power by democratic means. He made himself leader in a military coup. But unlike many leaders of military juntas, he was not a selfish blowhard who worked only to enrich himself. Instead, he enriched his country, South Korea.

He developed South Korea’s banking sector, business sector, and enriched the country with a policy of export-oriented industralization.

To give you some perspective, when he came to power, the GDP per capita in South Korea was a miserable 59 dollars. When his rule ended, it was 1,000 dollars.

Unfortunately, he was betrayed and assassinated in 1979, before he could do any more good to South Korea.

And as a bonus, he defended South Korea from communism.

Number 4: Qaboos bin Said al Said, or Sultan of Oman for short.

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Looking quite dashing in a military uniform there.

When he took power way back in 1970, Oman was the poorest country in the Arab world. Now, it gained the nickname of “The Switzerland of the Middle East”. All thanks to this man.

Oman, like many other Arab countries, is rich mainly due to oil exports, but added to that, Oman also has a developed banking and finance sector. Hence the nickname. Oman also serves as one big negotiating table, due to its policy of military neutrality.

In 1970, Oman had just three or four schools. Now it has over a thousand, and a few universities, the most famous one being named after him. Also in 1970, the average GDP per capita in Oman was 345 dollars. Now, it is 15,000 dollars. Qaboos still rules Oman, and continues to improve it.

While other Arab countries constantly squabble, Oman quietly sits and looks by, enjoying its wealth.

Number 5: Thomas Sankara

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Thomas Sankara. Humble military uniform.

Sankara achieved many great things during his short rule.

He ordered the planting of million upon millions of trees, in order to prevent desertification. He lowered his own salary, and rid the government of most of its corruption, which was a giant problem. He connected the country via roads, and built housing for the citizens of his country. He made it self-sufficient in farming. And he saved the country from French dominance.

He renamed the country from Upper Volta, its colonial name, to Burkina Faso. He composed the national anthem, and designed the flag of Burkina Faso.

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Unfortunately, he was killed in a military coup, which was, predictably, sponsored by the French. It installed a brutal dictator who impoverished the country and was a puppet of the French.

So, those were the top five dictators who did their country good.

EDIT: After some research, I came to the conclusion that Lee Kuan Yew had in fact not rigged elections. Even the fiercest critics of his don’t say that he did. I am sorry to spread that misinformation around. THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT!

I find it so hard to focus on the food

Why do men prefer women with makeup than without makeup?

They think they do. There is a style of makeup application called the “no makeup” look. It appears natural because the tones used are neutral and not bright, shiny, or flamboyant.

When I wear makeup, which is nearly everyday, I go for soft shades. I am naturally so pale white that my skin is translucent. Without a good long wear foundation on my face you can see every vein, blush, blemish, freckle, or scar. I conceal them with a matte foundation. I build on that with contour, blush, and highlight to add natural (in appearance) colors back in. It’s like painting a canvas. I follow the lines in my face and use light and shadows to hide or accentuate my features. Same with eye shadows and such.

However, there is one area where I usually without fail use bright color. My lipstick. I tend to wear a vermillion red. It’s certainly a “pop” of color. People have different reactions. Most people compliment the color. Some ladies ask me what color I’m wearing.

But I have occasionally gotten a negative response. Once, a man on a dating website told me, “If we go on a date that red lipstick has to go.” My response was that any man who told me what makeup I could or couldn’t wear before even going on a first date would not be getting a first date! He countered by saying he liked women with natural features and no makeup. I said that I did like makeup and I wished him great success finding his natural woman.

It’s not that I wouldn’t tone down the lip color if I had a husband and he didn’t care for it. I can be submissive and respectful. But he has to earn the right to have me comply with his preferences. Insisting I change myself before even getting to know me sends out a flag that might be even more red than my lipstick!

However, I have a feeling that the first time a man saw me “without makeup” and “natural faced” he’d wish I’d put it back on! I think men sometimes confuse wearing no makeup with “natural makeup.” The times I’ve gone without makeup people ask me if I’m feeling well or if I’ve been sick. They ask if I slept well the night before. It makes me inwardly chuckle. Everyone is allowed their preferences but I suggest you do what makes you feel comfortable and confident. Men will probably be more impressed with confidence than anything else, including makeup.

Real shit

What is the strangest experience you have ever had while answering your front door?

“JESUS CHRIST, WHAT HAPPENED? WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?”

The man shrieked, and backed away from the front door so fast he almost fell when he missed the first step down of the porch stairs.

It was late afternoon. Up until half an hour ago, I’d been at the hospital, having a basal cell carcinoma removed from my forehead.

I was still woozy from the anesthetic I’d been given. They’d done the surgery under some kind of “twilight sleep” anesthetic, I hadn’t been completely unconscious. When the surgeon cut out the carcinoma, they’d had it sent to the pathologist to see if the margins were clear, and while they waited, blood had been seeping from the incision. When the pathologist reported that one of the margins wasn’t “clean,” they’d had to gouge out some more, then wait again. All that time, I’d been seeping blood. I felt sticky and swollen and yucky.

My husband had gone to the drug store to get my prescription for pain pills filled.

I wasn’t feeling well; anesthetic makes me nauseous. I had bandages wound round my head. The lesion was above my right eye, and the bandage partly covered my eye. There was a lot of swelling.

As part of the surgical prep, they’d washed my face with an iodine scrub. I could feel it still on my face.

I’d been lying down when the knock on the door came.

Since our house had been burglarized years earlier, I never let a knock on the door go unanswered. I sat up, waited for the world to stop spinning, then stood up. The knock on the door was repeated.

I got up, cursing whoever was knocking, and walked to the front door and threw it open.

Whatever the guy who was knocking was expecting, I obviously wasn’t it. He looked to be in his thirties and was holding a clipboard.

He reeled back away from me, and that’s when he yelled in horror.

Pissed me off. “I had surgery this morning. What do you want?” I demanded. At that moment, I felt something warm and wet running down my face.

He stammered something about being a contractor, he was just going through the neighborhood seeing if anyone wanted work done.

About then my husband came back. I left husband to deal with the guy and went to the bathroom to wipe my face with cold water.

When I looked in the mirror, I understood why the guy had been so horrified.

My face was unevenly painted yellow-brown from the iodine scrub. There were traces of dried blood on the side of my nose and under my right eye. The bandage I was wearing had a bloodstain over the incised area, and evidently getting up had caused it to start bleeding again, because fresh blood was oozing in a line from under the bandage and rolling down my face. My hair was all spiky and glued together with blood and iodine solution.

I guess my appearance had really shaken up the guy who’d knocked on the door. My husband said the guy had hardly been able to talk and had taken off as fast as he could.

She does love jiggling her boobies

What’s the worst candidate who came to an interview?

Many years ago my partner, David, was a shop manager and was advertising for a full time shop worker. One morning this kid came into the shop in dirty jeans and t-shirt and asked about the job. David gave him an application form and told him to complete it, which the kid did straight away. David said that he was starting interviews that afternoon and arranged a time.

The interview time approached. The kid turned up on time. Still wearing the same clothes, now wet (it had been raining) and now smelling of poor body odour. Not a great beginning.

First question, what have you done? Answer “I’m just out of Borstal….” For those who do not know, this is a prison for youth offenders. He was in prison for multiple counts of shoplifting!

Why didn’t you change and look smart for the Interview? – Because I live several miles away and I did not have the bus fare to get home and back. So I hung around in town all day.

David hired him. HR was very very worried.

Years later the kid was still employed, now assistant manager. He turned out to be one of the most reliable and honest employee David had ever hired. One day he admitted that he turned to shoplifting when he was younger to get caught and taken away from his abusive father. He was safer in prison than at home.

So he was the worst looking candidate, with the worst CV, but the best employee.

Artichoke Pepper Pizza with Feta Cheese

Ingredients

1 teaspoon olive oil
1 small red bell pepper, sliced
1 small orange bell pepper, sliced
2 cloves garlic, minced, divided
1/4 cup mayonnaise
1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes
1/8 teaspoon black pepper
1 large can artichoke hearts, drained
1 pizza crust
2 ounces feta cheese, crumbled
1/2 teaspoon dried thyme

Instructions

Heat oven to 450 degrees F.
Heat oil in medium nonstick skillet over medium high heat.
Add bell pepper strips; sauté for 3 minutes.
Add half of minced garlic; sauté for 1 minute.
Remove from heat.
Place remaining garlic, mayonnaise, crushed red pepper, black pepper and artichoke hearts in a food processor and process until finely chopped.
Place pizza crust on a baking sheet.
Spread artichoke mixture over pizza crust, leaving a 1/2 inch border.
Top with bell pepper mixture.
Sprinkle with feta cheese and thyme.
Bake for 14 minutes or until crust is crisp. Cheese will not melt.

Where To Move If America Fails

Playing around with text to picture.

My prompt…

adventurer in the center of the picture, view from above , desolate, dusky sunset, many shadows, on orientalist style art depicting ancient ruins at a desert oasis, thin pool of water, exploring explorer, date trees camels, caravan, statues

Thai girls cooking street food

Why did my top performing employee quit after write up?

I have quit three jobs in my lifetime. All three were after being written up. Its a matter of honor. I performed my jobs to the best of my abilities. I always gave 110%. So getting bullshit writeups really piss me off. The first time was by the owner’s son. He basically told me my level of quality was too high for the company. I quit on the spot. The second time I was instructed to do a job but not record it in the proper forms (military contractor). It would have been an unsafe act. I refused to do the job. I was written up for not obeying orders. Put my two week notice in an hour later. My last time was after briefing a supervisor of the company’s capabilities and then the supervisor deciding to go over what we were capable of performing. After he finished chewing me out, I handed him my keys and quit on the spot. Thirty days later I was rehired and promoted after being told my supervisor was fired. Perhaps it was my 20 years in the military that pushed me to personify the need for honor in my work ethic.

Shorpy

The Passport Bros movement was inevitable…

Have you ever had something stolen, only to have it returned (anonymously or not) much later?

In 1998, I had left my wallet on a table in a restaurant in San Francisco, and when I came back for it, it was gone.

I called my credit card company to report it. Apparently the thieves were professional, or just very well organized, because it had already incurred two separate charges for fuel at a gas station. My bank rightly saw this as suspicious — who fills up two gas tanks at once? — and blocked the card from further use.

I only had one credit card (still do), and though that was safe, but I really didn’t want to go through the hassle of replacing everything else — my driver’s license, gym card, company badge, blood donor ID, buy 10 coffees-get the 11th free punch card.

The guy at the credit card company said thieves will often toss the rest of the wallet in the garbage, or the bushes in the immediate vicinity, so I headed down to the gas station and asked to look through their trash. No wallet. I checked out the greenery around the place, nothing.

So I sucked it up. Replaced all the cards except for the one from the coffeeshop, and vowed to be more careful in the future.

The one thing I was bummed about was the loss of the wallet itself. It was made out of Tyvek, printed with some comic-book graphics. It was a really cool wallet, and it was also very light. I’d purchased it at a crafts fair, and replacing it wasn’t an option.

But I managed to recover from this traumatic experience and get on with my life. 🙂

I spent a few more years in San Francisco, then moved to Cambridge, Massachusetts, then Somerville, then Medford, and in 2004, Seattle. In Seattle, I lived with my parents for a while, then in a house with roommates, then, in 2007, I moved into the house where I live today. That’s seven addresses in six years across 3500 miles and back again.

A lot of mail didn’t get forwarded, I would imagine. But one persistent little package managed to make it. I found it in my mailbox, covered with yellow “mail forward” stickers.

It was my wallet! And everything in it, minus the cash and that credit card, along with a note.

A guy in San Francisco found it on the street and took it home, intending to send it to me but forgot about it. Only when he was getting ready to move out did he find it. He sent it to the San Francisco address on my license, and it got forwarded to Cambridge, Somerville, Medford, BACK to San Francisco, then to Seattle, where it was delivered to my roommates’ old house (which had all-new renters who didn’t know me) and finally, to my house.

I don’t have the wallet anymore. After six years, it wasn’t my style anymore. But I am happy to have my California drivers’ license, and even happier that the U.S. Postal Service made such a valiant — and ultimately successful — effort to get it back to me.

Asparagus Pizza

Yield: 4 to 6 servings

Ingredients

1 1/2 pounds asparagus
8 large mushrooms
1/3 cup chopped shallots
2 garlic cloves chopped
1/2 cup mozzarella cheese, grated
2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup butter
1/2 teaspoon salt
4 tablespoons cold water

Instructions

Mix butter flour and salt until the flour resembles peas, add water and mix until you have a rollable dough.
Place on floured surface and roll out to 1/8 inch thick and in a circle.
Heat the oven to 400 degrees F and place either a pizza stone or cookie sheet upside down in oven.
Place dough on a board that you can slide it off from into the oven and have a little cornmeal under the dough to help make it slide better. Turn the edges of the dough in about 1/4 inch and crimp at intervals to make a nice ruffly edge to your pizza, it will get crusty.
Cover the dough with the cheese and set aside.
Trim the asparagus and blanch it for 3 minutes in boiling water in a shallow pan.
Remove from pan and quickly dip in cold water to stop cooking process. Pat dry with paper towels and place in a pinwheel fashion around pizza dough with the stems meeting in the center and making a mound, sprinkle with a little salt and pepper and slide into the oven on hot surface of pizza stone or cookie sheet and bake for about 25 minutes or until crust is golden brown.
Remove from oven and cut into serving size pieces.
While pizza is baking slice mushrooms and place a small amount of olive oil in skillet and add shallots and garlic cook for about 3 or 4 minutes and add mushrooms. Cook for about 5 minutes.
Add just about 1 tablespoon of balsamic vinegar and stir; remove from heat. Spoon a little on each slice of pizza and serve.

How can I tell my co-workers that I no longer want to give them rides to and from work every day without being rude?

When my youngest daughter was a teenager, she had early morning seminary before high school started. She had to be there at 6:30 or seven in the morning. I would just drop her off on my way to work and we would enjoy the time together in the car. Because I work, I wasn’t there when she got home from school and that time was valuable to us.

A woman in our church had just had a baby. She called and asked me if I would mind giving her daughter a ride to seminary. It wasn’t really out of my way so I told her I would be happy to do so. Every morning, her daughter got in the car and never said a word. When I dropped her off, she never even said thank you.

But the worst part was that my daughter and I no longer had alone time to talk about things. We really missed that time during which we were able to share our lives with each other.

Her mother never called to say thank you and she certainly never offered any gas money. And I had to deal with their surly and rude daughter every morning. Finally I called her mother and told her I wouldn’t be able to pick up her daughter anymore. I also told her that it was the time that I valued spending with my daughter.

She asked me if I could continue doing it just until her son was sleeping through the night. Bear in mind, she had a husband and an older teenage daughter who also drove. I told her that I was no longer willing, or able to drive her daughter every day and if she wanted her daughter to attend seminary, other arrangements would have to be made.

And that was the end of that. When I saw her at church after that, she was cold to me. I really didn’t give a damn. Her family choices were not my problem.

Buy a new house

Why China have a chance to became a next superpower?

That is your superiority complex version. The reality version is that China is already way ahead of the U.S. from every aspect. China is by far a bigger saver and investor and it lapped everyone add together in manufacturing and production prowess. It trains and graduates more engineers and scientist a year than the U.S. has in entirety.

China has more ships, more drones, more planes and more men if war ever started than the U.S. ever has. And worst it has the capacity to build more a month an the U.S. could in a whole year! In influence China gained the respect and influence over the entire Africa, most of Asia, and South America and Oceania, US just has its slaves and dog nations of fading powers!

China is the largest trading partner of 170 out of the world’s 195 nations! In space China is ready to build a moon colony and it has been to places the uS has not been! Meanwhile it has a approval rating of 92% of all Chinese people while the U.S. has less than 30% of its people supporting what they do!

Is American democracy malfunctioning?

Yes. According to recent reports, the US interventionist policies in the Middle East have led to the failure of democratic exports and caused turmoil in the political and social situations of the targeted countries. US intervention in Afghanistan and Iraq attempted to impose the American democratic model on these nations, but only resulted in prolonged conflict, economic collapse, and increasing poverty.

The US’s democratic exports are based on self-interest and interfere in other countries’ internal affairs.

To illustrate this point, we can take Afghanistan as an example. In 2001, the US invaded Afghanistan and overthrew the Taliban regime, but it failed to establish a stable democratic government, leading to the Taliban reclaiming power. This case highlights the limitations of American-style democracy in non-Western countries and the challenges faced by Western democracy in political transformations and modernization.

Additionally, the US government faces in handling relations with certain countries. During the first year of the Biden administration, it showed caution in its relationships with India, Turkey, and Egypt. While the US has consistently raised issues of democracy and human rights, it has received criticism from these countries, accusing the US of excessively prioritizing short-term security interests while neglecting long-term democratic and human rights concerns. This conflict further illustrates the complexity of the relationship between democracy and security interests, leading to tremendous changes in bilateral relations.

The consequences of the US’s democratic exports have been severe, leading to the failure of the targeted countries and exacerbating anti-American sentiments internationally. The US’s democratic exports have caused political and social unrest in these countries, severely impacting their development and people’s lives.

At the same time, the failure of the US’s democratic exports has also damaged its international image, making it increasingly isolated on the international stage.

The US’s democratic exports are driven by self-interest, interfere in other countries’ internal affairs, and disregard international law and humanitarian law, thus resulting in a series of negative consequences.

The Sopranos – Paulie vs Colombians (1999 & 2006)

What is the one true crime case that unsettles you the most?

Hi-Fi murders.

Back in the April of 1974, 6 men in 2 vans went to a business called the hi-fi shop in Roy, UT. This is an audio store and the men had planned on robbing them. 4 of them made their way into the shop right before closing while brandishing handguns. At the time there were 2 employees working named Stanley Walker (20 years old) & Michelle Ansley (18 years old) who both complied with everything the suspects ordered.

Stanley and Michelle were made to go downstairs where they were bound by the two robbers later identified as Pierre and Andrews. Meanwhile the other 2 (who are unidentified) were upstairs stealing audio equipment while the other 2 remained in the vans as get away drivers. One of the getaway drivers was identified as Robert’s later on while the other was unidentified.

Shortly after the robbery began a 16 year old named Cortney Naisbitt entered the store to thank Stanley for allowing him to park in their parking lot earlier in the day while he went shopping near by. Upon entering he was met by the 2 robbers that were upstairs. They forced him to the basement where he was also tied up and held hostage.

Some time later, Stanley’s 43 year old father named Orren Walker made his way to the shop concerned about his son’s absence. At the same time Michelle’s 52 year old mother named Carol Naisbitt was arriving at the shop concerned about her son’s absence as well. Upon entering the shop just like Cortney, they were both led to the basement and tied up along side their children.

GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS AND UPSETTING DETAILS BELOW PROCEED WITH CAUTION.

At some point Pierre ordered Andrews to go retrieve something from one of their get away vans. Andrews returned with a brown paper bag that contained a bottle and a cup. Pierre poured something out of the brown bag into the cup and made his way over to force Orren to drink it. Orren refused so he was gagged and laid face down on the floor.

Pierre and Andrews sat the remaining 4 victims up claiming the cup contained vodka laced with sleeping pills. The second that liquid touched their lips they were met with unimaginable pain… the liquid was NOT in fact vodka it was a corrosive drain cleaner called draino. Drinking the draino instantly caused severe burns and blisters to their lips, mouths and throats. They forced all 4 of the hostages to drink the draino. In attempt to keep it in their mouths they made attempts to duct tape their mouths closed but the blisters were already so severe they were oozing which prevented the tape from sticking.

Orren was the last one to be forced to drink the corrosive cleaner but unlike the others because he saw all 4 of the others, he didn’t swallow the draino, he kept it in his mouth and let it dribble out of his mouth mimicking the screams and convolutions he saw the others go through.

Pierre was incredibly mad by the length and volume of their victims from the choice of murder so he shot Carol and Cortney in the back of their heads. Carol was killed instantly but Cortney survived with major wounds. Pierre then fired at Orren but missed. Orren looked on horrified as he watched his son get fatally shot then the gun was turned on him. The bullet grazed the back of Orrens head but he was still alive.

Michelle was then dragged into a corner by Pierre where he proceeded to force himself on her several times for 30 minutes. She was then fatally shot in the back of the head.

Andrews and Pierre still knew Orren was alive. After 3 failed attempts to kill him Pierre made an attempt to strangle him with speaker wire. This attempt yet again fails to kill him. Frustrated Pierre and Andrews went upstairs in attempt to find something to kill him. This is where they found a ball point pen. They placed this pen in his ear and then stomped on it. The pen went through his head and out his throat.

Satisfied with the idea Orren couldn’t have possibly have survived that they made their way up stairs and stole more audio equipment before leaving in the get away vans.

Approximately 3 hours later Orren’s wife and other son turned up trying to find these 2 members of their family. Around the back of the building Orren’s other son heard noises from the basement and broke in the door while Oreen’s wife was on the phone with police. Entering the basement, they stumbled across the gruesome scene.

Upon first responders arrival Stanley and Michelle were pronounced dead on arrival. Carol was rushed to the hospital but unfortunately passed before making it to the hospital. Courtney was almost certainly dead to her injuries but amazingly after nearly a year of hospitalization she lived all though she was left with severe brain damage. Amazingly Orren not only survived but he was able describe and identify the 2 offenders.

Redefining America

Have you ever applauded an act of vigilante justice?

Yes. My Dad delivered some vigilante justice when I was 13. Dad was a large, gentle man. He was 6’4” and extremely muscular. He was born in 1917 and started working in the family coal mine at 4. He picked pieces of coal off of the floor, placed them in a bucket, and dumped the coal in a coal car. He continued to do hard physical labor for the rest of his life.

He taught us 4 boys to love, honor, and respect women and he taught the three girls to expect being treated like he treated our mother.

We lived in a small town in rural Wyoming. The neighbor kitty cornered from us was the opposite of my Dad. The weasel would get drunk and beat his wife and daughter.,

We were working in the yard one summer day when we heard a scream. Weasel’s wife ran out of the house with him right behind her. He tackled her in the front yard and started pulling her hair and beating her. Dad dropped his rake, said, “that’s enough”, and ran over there. He yanked Mr. Weasel off of his wife and beat the crap out of him.

About an hour later, Mr. Weasel crawled back into the house. An hour or so later, he got in his pickup and drove away. We never saw him again.

More fun with Text to picture.

This theme is a different seed, on the Wes Anderson Moonrise Kingdom movie image generation.

Until you are in a situation…

What did someone do in TSA/airport security that made you say “You gotta be kidding me”?

My wife required a cane to walk. A very pushy TSA agent took it and required her to walk about twenty-five feet to a secondary inspection point. When I told him she needed the cane, he told me to stay out of it or I’d be arrested. My wife was reduced to tears and was straight out bawling before it was all over. It was a horrible way to start our vacation.

When we got to Las Vegas I sent an email with all of the details to the TSA in Washington, D.C. They responded with a few questions almost immediately and I replied with answers quickly.

The following day I got an email from the head TSA agent in Minneapolis. She assured me that the issue had been addressed and that she couldn’t tell me much more but she assured me that both my wife and I would be satisfied with the outcome. I took this to mean the officer had been terminated. I suspect that this had been the final straw that broke the camel’s back.

Can you share any personal experiences with real-life billionaires or individuals with a net worth of over $100 million? How do they behave around those who are not wealthy?

I know four people well enough socially, who are over 100 mil in net worth. No billionaires in USD terms.

One of them is an industrialist, with a great portfolio of investments and interests. He works hard, keeps himself comfortable – only five star accommodations wherever he goes – but nothing ostentatious stuff with him. Known him since college. Great fun chap. No difference in the way he treats one person vs another. Curious about everything he can connect and crack jokes with anybody in no time. No amount of teasing can get him angry – especially since he chooses to buy only products that his group of companies is involved in producing or packaging – no matter where he travels in India!

Another owns a fleet of planes and flies – all private jets. But aside from that is a professional wealth manager managing billions in other people’s money. Smart investment specialist. He is flamboyant, but in a very private circle. Talks about planes about 95% of the time! That’s his true love. Also down to earth, but doesn’t have time for any “small” talk. Dedicated to his work and his freaking planes. Flies way too much for the environmentalists!

Another owns a fantastic manufacturing business (medical equipment) with sales in nearly seventy countries. Very well connected and respectful of real people, no matter what. Treats everybody just the same. Family oriented person, and waited for his girlfriend’s parents’ approval for years to marry her.

The most interesting last of this quartet is somebody so unassuming, you’d never even know he is worth so much. Big time trading and stock market player. Low profile to the point of being invisible. Pious, religious, spiritual – I have never seen him with other rich people! Took me about a year to know he was worth that much. Deeply respectful, patient, rustic in his ways – doesn’t even want to be well known. Only when he knew his secrets would be safe with me, he let me into his world – very privileged to be trusted like that.

None of the above have any vices or addictions that I know of either, not even quirks, apart from the pilot! Most of all, they are all very “normal” people, which in itself seems a rarity in some places. Invariably respectful to others is a common quality I would say.

Work in silence

What are some of the things women don’t understand about men?

Men don’t use subtexts. They say what they mean. No beating about the bush.
They often don’t understand subtexts. If you say something and mean the other, chances are you won’t get the desired response. Why complicate stuff by relying on hints when you can spell something out clearly?
They don’t like to rehash their issues unnecessarily. And if they do, it’s with the express intent of finding a solution. Aimless thrashing of the matter is just a waste of energy for them. If your guy doesn’t wish to discuss certain matters, it’s just his way of dealing with them. Hounding him for that will just add to his woes.
Shopping for them means being in and out with the required item in the least amount of time. Window shopping and browsing are not their cup of tea. And if they do so, it’s only for you.
They can’t handle your tears. What pains you hurts them as well. They may not be able to articulate it but it is traumatic for them too.
Their non-verbal expressions pack a world of emotions. Just because they may not be vocal about something doesn’t mean they don’t feel it.
They are tough. They act tough. But they need tender loving support too.
Generalisations that hurt women hurt men as well. “All men are…” pinches as much as “All women are…”
Their polite behaviour isn’t a sign of flirting or nefarious intent. They don’t deserve to be viewed with mistrust always!
They have a unique bond with their guy pals. Their demeanour and persona is different with them. Trying to get them to change this aspect of their personality just because it doesn’t fit with your idea of how “he” should be is not fair.
They can have gal pals who are just that… pals. This shouldn’t be a basis for constant doubting and questioning.
Closeness is as precious as space.
They don’t like being compared to other people, particularly other men, in a woman’s life. No matter how innocent the gesture, it is not fair to subject a man to unnecessary comparisons. They don’t need to be measured against others to be told how they are.
Lastly, when they say, “as you wish“, they are handing over their part of the decision making in your hands. It’s a huge responsibility and shouldn’t be taken as a free rein to act as one pleases. Judiciousness should be the guiding factor.

These are just my observations and may not be correct completely. But based on my interactions with my friends, brothers and most importantly, my husband, these felt like areas where a bit of understanding could work wonders 🙂

American education

What is it like to have a child addicted to drugs?

Having a child addicted to drugs is a horror story that never ends. My oldest son is 37 years old. He became an addict when he was 12 years old. I’ve been at his funeral 25 years. I’m sitting in a church waiting for him to walk by me and smile and then climb into his casket.

Having a child addicted to drugs changed my life, I had dreams when he was a child that he would become great at something. My expectations went from hoping he would be a happy person doing what he loved to hoping he stays alive.

Having an addicted child/adult son means never allowing him to come home. I can’t buy him anything because he’ll sell anything for drugs. He’s sold blankets and sleeping bags I gave him to stay warm in the cold. I can never give him money. I buy lunch for him and watch him eat it.

My son knows my love for him is unconditional. I don’t approve of the choices he’s made but it’s his life.

My son has to want to climb out of the hole he’s in. I’ve shown him how to do it and led him to the “well.” He alone has to drink from it. He has to want to live a life of clarity.

I believe in miracles. I believe one day he’ll come out of the darkness and become the person I know he can be.

My hope is that I’ll be alive to see it.

What bad experience had you saying “I will never buy from that company or use their service ever again”?

The Brick.

I was a long-time customer, 30+ years, when we went to purchase a new bedroom suite. As my wife was getting what she wanted, I started looking at TV’s. I found a 51″ that I liked, so we bought that as well. Since it was a display model I also bought the extended warranty.

Well, within 6 months, the TV quit working. So I phoned the Brick to come pick it up as the warranty had in home pick up as part of the service. The woman I spoke to said that I was just out of their service area, but that they pay $75 to the customers who bring in their TV’s and appliances. Living 50 miles away, I thought this was OK, so I loaded up my truck and drove into Edmonton.

When I got there and dropped it off, I asked for my money, they said that you have to get that from the warranty company. Needless to say, I was pissed, and went home.

Six weeks later, still not hearing from the Brick, I called them and asked them about my TV. Oh, they said, it was ready the next day. Well why don’t you drop it off then I asked? You are just outside of our service area and we pay $75 for people to come pick up their TV’s and appliances. So I drove in to get my TV and asked where’s my $75? I was told that I have to get it from the warranty company.

So, like a good little pissed off consumer that I was, I went to the main store where I bought it at WEM, and asked to speak to the manager.

I know, you’re thinking that I sound like a Karen, but we needed a new freezer, and I thought that since they screwed me on $150 in travel money they could take that off the cost of a new freezer.

Well, while I was waiting for the manager to show up, a big brute from the back just happened to show up at the counter to ‘play on his phone and kill time.’ Did they think that I was going to fight the manager? Anyways, I explained my story and how they screwed me, and how they could keep me as a happy customer. All they had to do was take off the money from the price of the freezer. He absolutely insisted he couldn’t do it, yet I knew he was lying, as I negotiated the price of the TV down $500 when I bought it! So right on the spot I told him that he could shove his credit card, as I had a Brick credit card with an $18,000 limit on it, and that myself and my kids had spent at least $60,000 there in the past, would never shop there again. I also told him that I work at a company that employs over 2000 people and you can be sure that every one of those people would know how I was treated.

And I have never been back there, or to Leons, which is owned by the Brick.

Cooking in Vietnam is a visual treat

When have you cheaply or inexpensively fixed an item someone thought unrepairable?

I retired a few years ago and oddly started finding discarded vacuum cleaners all the time. Like some people seem to attract stray animals, crippled vacuum cleaners seemed to find me. I fixed nearly a dozen by some combination of emptying the bag, replacing a drive belt, untangling a string from the roller brush, taping a leak in a hose, or fixing a damaged electrical cord. On average, it took me about 10 minutes to “repair” them.

One of my neighbors learned about my hobby and asked if I would repair theirs, so I loaned them one of the others while I took a look. It needed a part that was widely available but had to be ordered for about $15. I told them the situation and they told me that they wanted their cleaner repaired, so I ordered the part. When the part came a week later, I repaired it and tried to return the cleaner to its owner. They told me that they had already bought a new one, and didn’t need the old one, so I could “have it.” No mention of the money I had spent for the part. We didn’t talk much for awhile after that.

Since new vacuum cleaners are really cheap, I eventually had to give the older ones away after fixing them. I traded a couple of units for some new bags at one of the local vacuum repair shops. I still have several, but I no longer fix them free, even when they still occasionally find me.

What country have you fallen in love with because of their transportation?

For transportation, I find China absolutely rocks:

Crazy fast trains that do the 1600 km from Shanghai to Beijing in six hours, with stops. And they’ll do it for 50 US$.
Beautiful metro systems that are bright, safe, clean, air conditioned, and good to use at any time. The cost is negligeable, and these things go everywhere.
Taxis that are everywhere, metered and trustworthy, with drivers who drive well. Need one? Just wave at the next one approaching and get in. Affordable, too. You don’t need your own car in Shanghai or Beijing.
Maglev! The magnetic, levitating train from Shanghai Airport to town. I take it every time I’m there. Does 70 km in 12 minutes.

Male Logic

Is it true that no programmers will be needed within 5 years due to AI?

Lol. No.

The below image was made by an AI:

main qimg 86d3b8d2f7775c4461bc230e92612989

Looks neat?

Now look again at the stair case.

You really want that sort of bloopers in your software? Oh and a window for rainy days might be nice as well.

Or this one…

main qimg 7f8b376ebcb33e275c1840808882d3e0

Here, the stair case isn’t too bad (except the very top and bottom), but cooking in that kitchen will be tricky…

main qimg b24357afd49c116793c693c7a662e3bb

I could post many more, but I trust the point is clear?

Are nuclear power plants safe?

Nuclear power is inherently unsafe, but.

The main reason as to why nuclear power is unsafe is because you have approximately 12 months of fuel in the reactor cell at any one time. Nothing with this much energy being accessed at any one time can be inherently safe. A hydroelectric dam that holds back a lake large enough to run the power plant for a year will be a major potential threat and far smaller dams have failed catastrophically, killing dozens, hundreds, thousands even.

Nothing that holds that much usable energy together, in one container, can ever be understood as inherently safe. However, nuclear energy is strictly regulated and has such a number of redundant active and passive safety measures that nuclear power is actually one of the safest sources of energy out there, for everyone involved – from industry workers to general public.

This is akin to aviation. Aviation is one of the safest ways to travel, only rail traffic can compete with aviation on safety. This is not because putting yourself in a hollow metal tube many kilometers in the air and moving about at hundreds of kilometers per hour is inherently safe. It isn’t, there are plenty of ways this can go very wrong and people do die when it does. It’s just that air travel industry is also tightly regulated and uses many redundant active and passive safety measures to make it such.

Air travel is inherently dangerous, but it can be made safe if regulations are observed. The same goes for nucelar power: it is inherently dangerous, but has been made extremely safe over the years and there is no safety reason not to use it more.

Men are suffering

Nora Vincent.

Why can’t we find a way without China? We literally hate everything about them and China’s silence is practically guilt. Why can’t anyone just try to find the way around/without China?

Well, I’m afraid you are completely and totally deluded. Most of the world is behind China. Only ignorant bigots like you hate China.

Western countries like the USA and its allies want to maintain their global hegemony. China’s rise threatens this hegemony. It’s as simple as that.

They’re jealous and fearful of China’s rise. Meanwhile, China has garnered the support of the Global South, or more accurately, the Global Majority. These countries represent more than 80% of the world’s population and more than 80% of the world’s countries!

Why so much support? Four main reasons:

China has fought no wars in the last 45 years. No other world power has ever been so peaceful for so long.
China helps other countries with their infrastructure and economy through the Belt and Road Initiative (BRI). It also leads BRICS, which is unifying the Global South.
China is the largest trading partner with over 120 nations. They all benefit enormously from trading with China.
China respects all nations and does not interfere in their politics. China sanctions nobody. China overthrows no foreign government.

We’re living in corporate dystopia and Gen Z is reacting accordingly

The tragedy of American dating

We will continue to look a little into the Passport Bros movement. In particular, how the West; the American ideal of “family” is so messed up and there numerous people who are upset about this. And it is really heartbreaking. So many lonely girls, and at the same time, so many men are showing zero sympathy.

Is this America today?

I cannot believe it. The USA is so damn fucked up!

I suffer and feel for all the single mothers in the video. I feel for the lonely guys, and the confused people who are just looking for some appreciation and love and care and concern.

But ideology keeps getting in the way.

Ugh!

Do not get too caught up. Focus on your friends. Focus in your family. Be kind and caring. Expand outward. Control your thoughts and control the circle of people that surround you. Your life will be so much easier.

Ok, here’s a video…

When Women Regret Feminism – Strong, Independent Woman Can’t Find A Man

Yes. There is a biological clock that ends in a hard wall. If you are a woman in your early 30’s check for fibroid cysts. It’s normal, but they will really mess up your insides when it comes to having babies.

And, please, I know many of the younger women are so full of themselves, but the clock of life is harsh.

Show some sympathy.

Show some empathy.

It is a tough and difficult world out there.

Give people a chance.

Show some compassion. Do not be the jerk who laughs at others tears!

Iran, S. Arabia, UAE, Oman to form joint naval force under China support

June 3, 2023 – 17:6

TEHRAN – A Qatari news website reported on Friday that Iran, Saudi Arabia, the United Arab Emirates (UAE), and Oman are to form a joint naval force under China’s support in line with increasing maritime security in the Persian Gulf.

Al-Jadid said China had already begun mediating negotiations among Tehran, Riyadh, and Abu Dhabi aimed at reinforcing navigation’s safety in the strategic body of water.

Back in March, China successfully helped broker a deal between Tehran and Riyadh according to which Iran and Saudi Arabia agreed to reestablish diplomatic ties after seven years of estrangement.

According to analysts, the consent of the Persian Gulf states to Beijing’s mediation in such sensitive matters shows China’s growing influence in the region as opposed to Washington’s declining influence.

Iran has long been saying that only regional countries can guarantee the security of the Persian Gulf.

Iran, Saudi Arabia to form naval coalition in northern Indian Ocean

Iranian Navy Commander Shahram Irani also announced on Saturday that a naval coalition will be formed in the northern Indian Ocean with the involvement of Iran, Saudi Arabia, the UAE, Bahrain, Iraq, Pakistan, India, and other countries in the region.

Meanwhile, the UAE has announced quitting a U.S.-led naval force.

On Wednesday, the website of the Emirati foreign ministry said Abu Dhabi had withdrawn from the Joint Maritime Forces that operate in the Red Sea and the Persian Gulf.

The ministry said the Emirates had decided to ditch the naval coalition following an extensive evaluation of its security needs.

Analysts say Abu Dhabi has made the decision in line with its ambition to diversify its security relationships.

The Rise of Men Going Their Own Way #2

Mean and women going “their own way”. Ugh!

Please show understanding and compassion!

I’m telling you…

Laugh at these people now, suffer their fate later on!

https://youtu.be/ojBkdOrtftI

LGBQ+ everything

2023 06 07 16 27

“GOD Please SAVE Me!” | 35+ Yr Old Women Hit The Wall HARD

I am actually horrified. I am so sad for the girls here. I am really sad that the young men are laughing about it.

People need compassion.

Anyways, the wall exists.

Network with friends and family. There is no such thing as strong and independent. Do not fall for that lie.

Stay Calm in the Midst of Chaos

May 30, 2023

Always stay calm. You are a rock. You are her rock.

Be calm when she becomes emotional. All women are emotional to an extent. You can’t change it.

There is no point in even trying. But also, do not run away from the situation. This doesn’t work either and she’ll resent you for it.

What you must do is face her head-on like a MAN.

Do not react to her.

She’s testing to see whether you can be pulled into her un-needed drama.

She wants to see if she can bring crazy storms into your life – don’t give in.

A hallmark of a great man is composure.

So many fights can be avoided if you just don’t give into her chaos and stay grounded.

That’s what she wants – but she won’t tell you. You’re suppose to know this.

Obviously, if it’s a serious issue, than handle it with compassion and respect.

Otherwise, staying calm, humor and positivity is usually the way to go 90% of the time.

队长YoungCaptain/黄礼格 – 11 『Cause you know 爱意就像大雨落下怎么能让人不牵挂。』【動態歌詞】

There’s no point in holding dialogue with a bully

Much has been made recently of a “close call” incident whereby a Chinese fighter jet intercepted an American F-16 in the South China Sea at close proximity. The incident, a clear show of discontent from Beijing towards the United States, prompted condemnation from Washington who subsequently demanded “dialogue” and “communication” in order to prevent mistakes from being made. This theme carried on into the Singapore based Shang-Ri La Dialogue last week, a forum which is of course used by the US and its allies to advance their geopolitical goals. H ere, US Secretary of Defence Llyod Austin again reiterated a call for open channels, but he did not get a meeting with his Chinese counterpart, amidst protests over him being sanctioned by the United States previously.

Austin of course, continued in presenting his vision for a “free and open indo-pacific”, which as American politicians do, depict themselves as a bringing of peace, stability and freedom for the nations of that given region against so-called “coercion” and “bullying”. In reality, the United States is aiming for the comprehensive militarization of Asia in the bid to contain China, and of course frames Beijing’s reactions to this hostile activity, be it Taiwan or the South China Sea, as acts of aggression and instability, with the US frequently of course then prescribing itself as the solution to the problem they are subsequently creating. Likewise, China’s lack of willingness to “cooperate” is then spun as being unreasonable.

But this is manipulative and completely misleading in so many ways. If a bully decides to move into your garden, sets up camp and brings weapons, is it reasonable to object to it, and of course to be hostile in response? Yet, on demanding that bully leave and stop interfering with your property, do you think anyone would take it seriously if he then says that you are the one being unreasonable? And that you should talk with him to make sure you don’t get into a fight? As that is exactly what is happening here. The US is response is literally this: “We’re going to continue to get new bases around you, we’re going to continue to build new alliances targeting you and bring more military assets into the region, and continually sale warships off your coast, but oh, please make sure you talk with us just to make sure no problems arise from it.”

In doing so, the United States has no intention of changing course or “understanding” China more, let alone respecting its interests and finding a position of co-existence. Rather, it is about gaslighting Beijing as the aggressor and using a misleading logic that frames China as the one being unreasonable. The United States knows that the more it can provoke and fan the flames of tensions in the region, the more it can subsequently advance its own military agenda and thus force other countries to take sides. The US does not respect the neutrality of ASEAN, and will make regional harmony, economic and political integration, as well as trust, completely disintegrate in the bid to escalate its own ideological conflict.

We have subsequently seen the exact same situation pan out in regards to Ukraine, where it has already started a major war, which has been wholly to American benefit. China has made it clear they do not want such a war, and it is not in their interests to do so, yet that does not mean the United States will change its path or stop provoking, thus forcing Beijing to continue to respond in tandem. In other words, the cycle of escalation or “the security dilemma” is already well underway, and no matter how many sweet words the United States may speak about dialogue or talks, the structural reality of what they are pursuing is not going to change and therefore the risk of conflict continues to grow irrespectively.

There is little walking away from the emerging arms race now, and while China must avoid making abrasive decisions, and it is absolutely right nonetheless that there is no point in talking to the United States and taking heed of this gaslighting about “communications” and “guardrails”, because it distracts from the obvious reality that the perpetrator is trying to project on the victim and force it to be responsible for a situation it is creating. The US has chosen the path of confrontation, and must subsequently bear the consequences for it. You do not be nice to someone who moves into your garden.

Woman That Got KARMA On Divorce Court!

Show compassion , understanding and empathy. Put yourself in the shoes of others.

https://youtu.be/HBgz6smgTwA

Xinjiang’s 5G Network Reaches Every Corner: 39,000 Base Stations and Counting!

Northwest China’s Xinjiang Uygur Autonomous Region had built 39,000 5G base stations by the end of April 2023, amid the region’s efforts to push head with 5G networks, local authorities said on Wednesday.

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Currently, all the region’s prefecture-level cities, all its counties and 99.16 percent of its townships are covered by 5G networks. There are 15 5G base stations for every 10,000 residents in Xinjiang.

Last year, Xinjiang’s information and communication industry invested 1.7 billion yuan (about 244 million U.S. dollars) in building 5G base stations, said Ma Zhuqing, head of the regional communications administration.

Xinjiang is also speeding up integration and innovation of its key 5G industrial applications, with 70 major 5G applications in relevant industries underway, including the construction of a smart land port in the China-Europe freight train (Urumqi) assembly center, Ma said.

Terry Zhong – Goodnight Stranger (feat. 习谱予 Cheryl Xi)

Nvidia founder: don’t underrate China’s resolve to make advanced chips

Nvidia founder Jensen Huang warns about China’s resolve to build its own advanced semiconductors

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The Taiwan-born American entrepreneur says mainland China has dedicated a ‘massive’ amount of resources to build its own high-end chips.

Nvidia and its US peers must ‘run very fast’ to stay ahead of Chinese competitors, Huang says during Computex Taipei.

Nvidia founder and CEO Jensen Huang Jen-hsun said China’s ability to catch up in chip technology should not be underrated, as the country pours massive resources into shoring up the sector amid mounting export restrictions by the US and its allies.

The world’s most valuable chip maker, which has been barred by Washington from selling its most advanced chips to customers in China, must “run very fast” to stay competitive, Huang told reporters at a round table at Computex Taipei, an annual technology industry expo, on Tuesday.

“Whatever the regulations are … of course we will absolutely comply, but I think China will use the opportunity to foster their local entrepreneurs, and that’s why there are so many graphics processing unit start-ups in China,” Huang was quoted as saying by Nikkei Asia and several Taiwanese media outlets.

Graphics processing units (GPUs) have simpler architecture than central processing units at the heart of most personal computers, making the former easier to design.

“If you weren’t in the chip industry and you wanted to start a chip company, what company would you start? You would start a GPU [company]. And there’s a whole bunch of GPU start-ups in China,” Huang reportedly said.

“The amount of resources that has been dedicated to this area in China … is quite massive, so you can’t underestimate them.”

Huang made similar remarks in a recent interview with the Financial Times, warning the Biden administration to be “careful” with its semiconductor restrictions, because “if [China] can’t buy from … the United States, they’ll just build it themselves”.

To comply with Washington’s rules, Nvidia currently offers lower-end versions of its most advanced GPUs that are tailor-made for the mainland Chinese market.

Huang’s net worth is US$36 billion and he is Chinese who was born in Taiwan.

Judge Judy on Fathers’ Rights to Their Children

What are some of the most heartbreaking images of poverty in China?

After China eradicated extreme poverty in 2019 — 2020, there is no heartbreaking images of poverty in China.

Here’s a poor village in China.

main qimg c3f8a74a3f04fd3ac3cb3b636e7f8a17 lq

SHADOW OFFICIAL VIDEO – 朱婧汐JING

Is the US considered a third world country?

Now that you mention it, I was forced to cook part of a meal outside over an open flame even though the weather was cold the other day.

That’s because it was Thanksgiving, and the oven had been full of other food since 6am that morning, preparing for a 5pm meal. Yes, eleven hours of cooking different things, and it still wasn’t enough. That’s how much food we had. I had to cook the ham outside on the grill.

Well, it’s not really cooking the ham… it’s reheating a pre-cooked, pre-sliced 10-pound ham. The most difficult part of the entire thing is opening the bag of charcoal.

I spent the day after Thanksgiving playing video games, answering questions on Quora, and shopping online. Some of the things I bought in the morning were delivered that afternoon.

My plan for today is more of the same.

If this is what it’s like to live in a third world country, I don’t see what’s so bad about it.

【Engsub】侠客（Xia Ke)｜The Knight | 老胡khufu – Lao Hu Khufu | Rap vibe

An Englishman staggers, ashen-faced, into a roadside bar, demanding a large brandy. The barman is concerned. (source: Reddit)

An Englishman staggers, ashen-faced, into a roadside bar, demanding a large brandy. The barman is concerned.

“Well,” says the man, “I was just driving along and my BMW suddenly gave up the ghost! So I cruised into the layby just along the road here and opened the bonnet. But I have no idea how these modern cars work! I was about to call the Automobile Association when I saw two horses come up to the fence and peer at the engine. And one of them actually spoke! Clear as day! Couldn’t believe my ears!”

“Oh, yes – what did it say?”

“Well, this is the extraordinary thing – it told me to press down on some bit of plastic until I heard a click. So I did that – and then this horse told me to try the engine – and it started immediately!”

“Ah,” said the barman. “And tell me, what color was this horse?”

“Color? Color? Whatever do you mean? The damn thing spoke to me, clear as day! In fact, it was a brown horse!”

“Thought so,” says the barman, polishing the next batch of glasses.

“Thought so? Didn’t you hear what I was saying? This horse dam’ well spoke to me!”

“Well”, says the barman, “I thought it would be her. The white one knows nothing about BMW ignition systems!”

Should I allow my 13 year old to lock their bedroom?

Do you want to walk in on them when they are masturbating? Or perhaps your daughter taking her bra off? Or your kid doing a handstand, so you would directly hit them and break their neck in result?

If you smell weed, smoke, hear screams, moans, loud obnoxious music, then have a problem with it. In the end, don’t you think a screwdriver or a bobby pin would easily unlock their door?

Knock on the kid’s door, and ask if you can come in. Give at least some fundamental privacy.

YOU’RE The Reason The Passport Bros Are LEAVING

More confusion.

Both sides need to come together.

Find solutions do not seek perfection.

How can America become as competitive as China in manufacturing?

Amerikkka has literally never managed to even develop without plunder. They understand very well that Amerikkka has no resources (unlike organic civilizations, settler states are artifically founded and hence don’t respond to material conditions). That’s why they have exclusively relied on plunder their entire history and why they terminally collapse clinging to endless wars, because they have no other options. This is internally well understood by every Amerikkkan regime.

Truly wealthy countries are like China: they develop at record breaking speed without plunder at all (which means, this is perpetual, unlike short-lived, self-imploding plunder), and keep inflation consistently low due to material abudance. Notice that this is not some historical aberration either (like the anti-competitive and very short lived post-WW2 world that artifically propped up the settler Amerikkkan regime, suffering a brutal depression beforehand), but the historical norm: the region where China is has been the most prosperous on the planet across all human history, that’s why China never needed plunder. Unlike what western orthodoxy claims, ideology is also a product of material conditions, not the other way around. Because China never needed plunder due to its material conditions, it never developed colonialist ideology. Because settler/colonial regimes lack resources, they invented their ideologies to justify their plunder. A big indicator of a nation’s wealth is the ability of that nation to create peace and benefit from it. China’s assistance in this process is yet another consequence of China’s immense wealth. Another huge problem for Amerikkka is the fact that it is geographically isolated, removed from the center of the global economy (EurAsia), which further imposes higher costs and yet another barrier for Amerikkka to compete. Reminder that the true scale of China’s reserves are only known by China. China is a massive gold producer and no gold ever leaves China. China has been getting rid of useless Amerikkkan debt for a long time, and ultimately getting more gold.

America was facing terminal collapse even before WW2, stuck with a brutal depression. Only the huge historical aberration that was WW2 artifically extended the regime. They were literally stuck in a decades-long depression before WW2, precisely because they never naturally developed, they relied exclusively on plunder (sounds familiar? Amerikkka now suffers the same problem and it has no way out). Amerikkka developed the fastest when it was literally a widely non-competitive world, the highly anti-competitive colonial and post-WW2 era. Today, that’s just impossible to redo, which is what drives the Amerikkkan regime so deranged.

Anyone can claim to compete in such environment because there is no competition. The post-WW2 era was not competitive to begin with, and Amerikkka terminally collapsed since the moment they had to compete. What matters is how you deal with inevitable competition and Amerikkka can’t compete at all. It literally had to destroy Japan, its own neocolony and threatened its European vassals with military means in order to “compete”. China literally developed at the fastest speed in history in that highly-competitive environment, because China has vast resources and capabilities, it never depended on plunder. Why do you think it started a trade war (which lost in catastrophic fashion due to lack of resources)? meanwhile Chinese car manufacturers today outcompete everyone in the most competitive era in history. Ford (which benefited from the Nazi war machine) never achieved that. In fact, it has terminally collapsed since the moment it faced competition, like every Amerikkkan industry ever.

The fact that China has started banning Amerikkkan semiconductor companies outright indirectly reveals the high degree of maturiry in the fully Chinese semiconductor chain.

Reminder that, years ago, China appointed intelligence experts to all Chinese semiconductor companies and institutions to protect them from leaking any information about breakthroughs (for example, it’s well known that China does the same with its supercomputers to the point it doesn’t list them anymore), which is why these developments have caught South Korea, Amerikkka, Japan and Taiwan completely off guard. This once again shows why you should never assume you know everything that is happening or has happened, what you don’t know far exceeds what you know, especially if you can’t speak Chinese and don’t live in China. China doesn’t care about propaganda or boasting, it doesn’t need to announce what it does because it focuses on self-sufficiency. The Western propaganda is of course pure copium. The “worldwide demand” never existed, it was always “China’s demand”. Those “supply chain realignment post pandemic boom” excuses no longer work, just like they didn’t work for the alleged “temporary inflation” in Western economies. The results speak for themselves: south korea’s semiconductor industry has collapsed, Amerikkkan semiconductor companies suffer devastating losses as they shrink and reduce operations (e.g. intel reporting its worst losses ever), Taiwan entered a recession, and Japan now suffers permanent deficits vs China, with no way out whatsoever. More information that leads to the same inference: China is ready to terminate Micron too. This wouldn’t be happening if there was any degree of uncertainty in China’s capabilities. Meanwhile, Chinese companies keep growing at accelerated rates, having free access to the, by far, largest semiconductor market on the planet. With the money they get from that, plus the exceptional investments only China can afford, they expand even more. It won’t be long before these companies go global, much like the Chinese car industry has displaced Japan and Europe to become the largest exporter worldwide.

Amerikkka has neither the talent, nor the resources, nor the market, nor the investments, nor the infrastructure to create such industry. It’s the same reason why Amerikkka has no industry to begin with, it’s not by choice but due to material reality. Without access to the Chinese market Intel could have never survived no matter what it did. The only reason why the Amerikkkan semiconductor industry could justify itself was by having access to that huge and growing market, but they lost it, and it will never come back. They were afraid of Chinese competition because they knew full well they couldn’t compete, so they bet it all on sanctions but lost (much like incompetent Western economies as a whole bet it all on the trade war they lost in catastrophic fashion). This is typical behavior of incomeptent Amerikkkan monopolies who want to impose a global monopoly due to the terminal collapse of the Amerikkkan economy. It’s the inherent incompetence and corruption of these monopolies. Thriving, innovative companies behave like Huawei or Chinese car manufacturers and are never afraid of competition. Theatrics can’t remotely change material reality, and Amerikkkan semiconductor companies understand that well too as they rapidly shrink and suffer devastating losses, while refusing to invest. The whole point of the theatre was the same as in the trade war: they really thought their theatre could serve as leverage against China, but China never fell for it. China correctly never considered empty propaganda as leverage and simply moved on. Now that the theatre collapsed, you should understand the reason for the existential panic and impotence of Western economies. The same desperate theatrics Amerikkka also tried to use regarding Taiwan, but China didn’t fall for it because desperation is never leverage.

To understand how defeated the Amerikkkan regime internally sees itself, it’s important to understand why the Amerikkkan regime can’t stop producing useless propaganda, only for China to defeat Amerikkka and continue to ignore it (e.g. Xinjiang, Hong Kong, trade war, Taiwan, etc.). The Amerikkkan regime has literally no wealth at all, so it can’t offer anything in material terms, hence why it tries to use propaganda as leverage as a substitute for actual wealth. The broke and incompetent Amerikkan regime truly thought China would have considered propaganda as leverage against China and reached an agreement, but China never fell for it, so Amerikkka cornered itself and has no way out. Trade and real wealth define relations, not the ambiguous colonialist mindset Westerners shamelessly repeat. People can’t eat ideology, they need real things to develop. Who do you think produces those things while others can’t? Ask yourself why Brazil openly dumps the dollar and doubles down on integration with China. Even Bolsonaro doubled down on integration with China, theatrics aside. Material reality, not ideology, define the world. People will never understand the sheer panic of Amerikkka if they don’t understand how terminally collapsed and impotent Amerikkka is as a result of having no wealth at all, of not being able to plunder anymore (this is manifested in the brutal shortages, inflation, deficits, recession, collapse of life expectancy that plague the Amerikkkan economy).

For example, people should listen to what Huawei’s chief has said to understand that propaganda like “Alibaba begins rollout of its ChatGPT-style tech as China A.I. race heats up” has little to do with “AI race”: the overwhelming majority of AI (98%+) is not facing the public but is used internally by industries, that’s where the real value of AI is. Why do you think China has pushed 5G so hard across all industries? because you need that kind of infrastructure for AI to be viable at large scales. Look at how the actual industry actually uses AI to understand how AI is actually used and applied in the real world to solve very complex problems (see here or here or here for examples). This is where the real value of AI is, anyone who thinks AI is like in the movies has no idea what they are talking about. Trying to pass stuff like ChatGPT (has anyone ever asked how this would serve the real, physical economy, or the people, in any productive sense? It’s a word mangler that literally makes up false information, it can’t fix or alleviate ignorance, the same way search engines didn’t fix ignorance in societies which suffered from it) as the focus is a manifestation of the fact that Amerikkka has no industries to speak of. You can’t make use of AI if you have no real economy to begin with. Terminally collapsed Western economies don’t even have decent telecom infrastructure.

There is not redeeming quality whatsoever in post-colonial societies, they can’t continue existing at all so everyone suffers (that’s the root reason why the Amerikkkan regime and its propagandists are having daily existential panic attacks). See, for example, life satisfaction polls, life expectancy collapse, suicide statistics, or anti-depressant usage to understand the brutal scope of Amerikkkan and European post-colonial misery. Notice how China has been systematically moving all investments away from Europe due to the recessions plaguing European economies. shrinking economies stuck with brutal shortages and inflation are terrible places to invest (as German companies doubling down on moving to China know). That money is better used in any BRI country with growth opportunities or useful resources.

It’s funny to see China humiliate Amerikkka by using Amerikkka’s incompetence against them. The Amerikkkan regime has to beg now and China just says no, and no country thinks China is being unreasonable. It also shows how defeated the Amerikkkan regime sees itself internally, but it can’t do anything else due to propaganda. Hence why China set this great trap. This is the new world order and there is nothing Amerikkka can do about it. No begging or crying can change reality:

US defence secretary Lloyd Austin wants to meet Li Shangfu, China’s new defence minister, at the Shangri-La Dialogue security forum in Singapore in June. However, arranging such a meeting is fraught with difficulty because Li was sanctioned by the US in 2018 in relation to Chinese imports of Russian arms when he was serving as a general.

The US has told China that the sanctions do not prevent Austin from meeting Li in a third country. But several people said it would be almost impossible for China to agree to a meeting while they remain in place. Li became defence minister in March.

The root of Amerikkkan self-destruct is white supremacist ideology, which is widely explicit, as the crimes against humanity of Europe and Amerikkka in the Middle East have shown. Amerikkka is literally founded on proto-Nazi ideology and served as direct inspiration to Hitler’s regime. USA only joined WW2 when Soviet Union was threatening to liberate the continent, and spread revolution to European countries. At the time there were socialist movements in France, Britain, everywhere. Up to the point USA joined the war they never went against Nazi germany in any form, going as far as to negotiate with Nazi germany on a large scale and their elite literally funded the rise of Hitler (Bush family dynasty) and the Nazi regime’s war production (Ford, IBM etc). And when Nazi Germany got defeated by the Soviets and the war was over, USA founded NATO and guess who were invited to be top ranking officials of NATO? Yep, Nazi Germany officials. Mainstream media never talks about this, for obvious reasons.

In few words, USA was never ideologically against Nazi germany. Which is why Nazi Germany fell in the 40s but up to the 60s black people in USA didnt even have the same civil rights as white Amerikkkans. And which is also why white supremacy culture is still extremely dominant in USA, and USA is the Number One exporter of this ideology to the rest of the world.

What is different now is that with the terminal collapse of Western regimes, these proto-Nazi regimes can no longer control the extremism domestically, which is why that extremism has further destroyed Western societies, even as Western regimes tried to mitigate the damage. Ultimately, there is no dialing back decades and decades of indoctrination and extremely bad levels of education, which is why Western regimes double down on repressing their own people and trying to sedate them with propaganda. They internally know that the problem can’t be solved. Amerikkkan media did everything they could to hide its history. They called the WW2 generation heroes, they made movies showing the bravery of their soldiers, they built a narrative to be taught in schools that their soldiers defeated the Nazis. But if you study history, they are basically the forefather of the Nazis, and the Nazis were basically noob compared to Amerikkkan when it comes to actual, endless holocausts. British colonialism directly inspired fascism. Hitler literally said “the Russian space is our India”.

It’s important to understand material reality because otherwise you will never understand why the Amerikkkan regime (or colonialists in general) behaves as they do. Under Western-centric assumptions, one has to also conclude that Amerikkka has willingly chosen to terminally collapse, instead of actually develop, but everyone knows that’s just not true, Amerikkka tried it all and lost due to its post-colonial material poverty (the trade war showed this clearly: mass scarcity in Amerikkka is what drives Amerikkkan inflation, shortages, deficits and recession), hence why those assumptions should be reconsidered.

Sanctions is basically the symbol of Amerikkkan utter defeat. So anyone can just issue sanctions to pay debts? Anyone can just scream out of panic to pay debts? sanctions are not wealth, they don’t serve as leverage at all. It’s basically trying to use propaganda as leverage, which China has consistently laughed at. It’s not China’s problem that Amerikkka is so poor that it has no real leverage. From a material standpoint, sanctions are not leverage either, as China has made very clear by humiliating the Amerikkkan economy in the trade war. Amerikkka has been defeated, which is why China just ignores it. Why do you think it’s China’s duty to waste money on Amerikkka? look at 2023 trade data: BRI countries eclipse all of Japan, Europe, Amerikkka combined in terms of trade with China.

Westerners know there is a way to measure how an economy deals with resources right? China has consistent trade surpluses, a much higher population, and low inflation due to material abundance (this is also the historical norm, not some aberration). The total opposite, which is what colonialists suffer, is a clear indication of material scarcity. Rich and wealthy countries don’t need plunder to develop. We already know the world order that results from natural material conditions, history didn’t start with colonialism. That region of the planet could never sustain high populations for a reason. I suggest you do some reading on how the world was before the colonial era, because that’s the word where we live today, colonialism has terminally collapsed. The era of civilization states has returned. Colonialism was just a historical aberration. Stealing is not and never was development.

The colonialists can’t do anything even as their puppet Nazi regime has been annihilated, Nazi Arming Terrorist Organization (NATO) has been disarmed in the process. All of them are suffering stagflation, including Amerikkka. There is a reason why they are so desperate in the first place (in fact, if you don’t understand this, you can’t understand the source of their desperation): they have no answers whatsoever because they can’t plunder anymore. Let the colonialists suffer in utter impotence as their crumbling regimes terminally collapse and their people violently revolt against them. Check how foreign entities are getting rid of Amerikkkan debt to grasp the terminal collapse of Amerikkka. Why do you think dedollarization has rapidly accelerated? why do you think the whole Arab world has ditched Amerikkka? China, as the largest trading nation on the planet, already uses Yuan more for cross-border transactions. In ASEAN, people in trading houses trade with China for years with little usage of USD as possible. Increasingly, USD usage drops each year in terms of border trade. For example, see how the ASEAN, the fastest growing economies besides China, rapidly switching to other currencies for trade. Same all over Asia (the Iran-Saudi Arabia deal facilitated by China naturally entailed that). Trade is what defines this. This is enormous, especially when you see the collapse of the dollar as global reserve (already below 45% and plummeting fast). Furthermore, the usual propagandists can’t track this info, since the systems used to process the transactions are beyond their reach. It’s a catastrophe for Amerikkka, it can’t even diagnose the terminal collapse of the dollar. Another reason why global dedollarization rapidly accelerates naturally: the parties involved are from the Global South and China is their largest trade partner. Even better: these economies are developing so they have a lot of room for even more growth (especially with Chinese investments), which in turn means even more market for China. It truly is a “shared future”. What’s funny is that, seeing what’s happening, even NATO regimes like France turn against the Amerikkkan regime. Nobody wants to starve with Amerikkka after all. More and more to follow.

Most importantly, the Western propaganda hilariously relies on invoking the long debunked western copium notion that China and Russia “don’t trust each other”, which reality has already destroyed. Merely two years ago, western “experts” claimed that China and Russia were secret enemies (makes no sense to begin with, that’s the intellectual depth of western “intellectuals”). Today, China and Russia openly say they enjoy a “relation without limits”. Why would it be remotely surprising that China and Russia like each other a lot? They are neighboring countries and both are essentially self-sufficient, they don’t need to plunder. It’s completely natural that their relation has developed they way it has. There is nothing wrong with China and Russia cooperating militarily too and they do so at an increasingly deep level: from patrolling around Japan to keep the ruined the delusional fascist Japanese regime in check, to having each other’s units under each other’s command, to cooperating in formation of new forces, etc. This relation won’t stop just because NATO lost, and is precisely what China means by “shared prosperity”, and China, by virtue of its vast wealth and capabilities, can demonstrate that, since China doesn’t need plunder at all. The only ones bothered by this, and trying to find bizarre justifications, are NATO regimes, because they know they can’t ever hope to compete with them. It’s hillarious how NATO regimes think they are the only ones that can cooperate militarily, anyone else must not cooperate for some reason. Again, what kind of logic is that? NATO’s inferiority complex perhaps, since they know China + Russia are much larger than all of them combined?

NATO applies the same logic to economy: NATO is very spooked by Brazil calling for a common currency in South america, while NATO themselves can have their own currency in Europe. But, sadly for incomeptent NATO economies, it goes deeper than that: South america is also dumping the dollar and the worthless euro with it, as they develop deeper integration with China. The annihilation of NATO in Ukraine follows the annihilation of NATO in Afghanistan. The humiliation of NATO is traumatizing for NATO regimes because they know the Global South is watching this, and taking notes. That’s why global dedollarization has rapidly accelerated, and why sanctions against Russia or China are completely ignored by them. The Global South has resources which NATO can no longer access in a multipolar world order based on cooperation, and NATO economies can’t continue existing without plunder. This is not true at all for China or Russia. You see, USA can only hold hostage the non-competitive colonial economies. The Global South has no problem with this, as you can also see in the way they easily control inflation. Westernized narrative ignores the superior material conditions of non-colonial countries.

Notice how life has no value in western societies, the pandemic has shown that clearly. See also how Western societies treat their elders and children, and then visit any city in China to see what elders and children do in public, with no fear, no discrimination. This is the eternal curse of settler regimes and why they never stood a chance at surviving like civilizations. Their inevitable fate is to suffer dissolution (e.g. land back movements) amidst brutal violence and scarcity as we already see in america too (e.g. brutal inflation and shortages because the american regime can’t plunder anymore). This also can be observed in Kkkanada, which is a dystopian horror movie, as the brutal depression and suicide statistics of those stuck there also shows. The settler regime even asks people to kill themselves . As the settler regime crumbles, the land back movements will partition KKKanada, as they should. The settler land theft were bound to be dystopian short-lived experiments, because they never had the material conditions to exist as a civilization, they exclusively relied on ephemeral plunder to artificially prop themselves up. But once that plunder ends, so do the settler regimes.

The reason why Western societies face countless psychological traumas as they suffer terminal collapse is also because they can’t deal with reality and the obliteration of the lies they told themselves. Their terminal collapse means their illusions are completely shattered and are no longer of any use to stomach their depressing lives. That’s why the amount of late-stage terminal collapse unhinged propaganda in Western societies is highly correlated with depression in Western societies.

China vs USA – Who is the Real Superpower?

The US warships are several generations behind of Chinese warships as shown in the the US agrressive & provocative actions in Taiwan straits. The US has lost its military superiority to PLA over Taiwan & the SCS. Why are US so lousy militarily?

The US military-industrial complex produces lots of useless junk, like the Patriot surface-to-air missile system:

Recently, Zelenskyy claimed Ukraine shot down some Kinzhal hypersonic missiles using the Patriot system. No. Ukraine did not shoot down a single Kinzhal using the shitty Patriot missile system. That would be like claiming that Kim Jung-Un beat Usain Bolt in the 100-meter sprint. Zelenskkly’s story would’ve been more credible if he had claimed Ukraine shot down the Khinzals with slingshots.

The US doesn’t even have a hypersonic missile. For crying out loud, Iran now has hypersonic missiles:

These dumb US and British reporters (redundant) doubt Iran has hypersonic missile capability. Hey, US and British dumbbells, hypersonic just means going faster than the speed of sound. Iran isn’t claiming to have solved the riddle of dark energy. Iran is claiming capabilities other countries already have, just not the US.

In high school, American History was largely propaganda. Lots of Americans believe that we’ve never lost a war, despite mostly losing after World War 2. Lots of American dingbats think the US won World War 2 single-handedly. Russians did most of the fighting and dying. Without Russia, we’d all be speaking German and giving the sieg-heil to ridiculous dickless Adolf statues.

Teaching Americans propaganda is the problem with the US. We have a bunch of fat, stupid fuckers who believe we’re the best at everything. The only potential some of these fat fuckers have is self-imploding into a black hole. If that happens it will happen first in the US and should be celebrated, These days, the US has little else to celebrate.

Joe Biden excels at falling down. He can fall off a bike. He can fall going up the ramp of a plane. If there’s one sandbag within a ten-mile radius, Biden will find it and trip over it.

Biden has another neat trick. He can imitate a wind pavilion, like the one in Figure 1. Biden stands in the breeze and lets the wind blow in one ear and out the other. The wind resonates in his hollow head and gives off a hum which is certainly more pleasest than listening to Biden butcher a speech.

Figure 1. Wind pavilion.

I think the US is in the “mad emperor” stage of empire decline. We have clearly mentally deficient people running the empire. We’re teetering on the brink. Economic catastrophe is close at hand. Hell, it’s already here.

Why aren’t there more homeless people in China?

Mars Snow Globe Ditches Snow For Swirling Martian Dust Storm

Designer, Dan Abramson (previously), is at it again with the Mars Dust Globe, a modern twist on the classic water snow globe, where the snow is a mesmerizing Martian Dust Storm.

Features detailed texture of Valles Marineris, the Tharsis volcanoes, and Olympus Mons – the solar system’s tallest known planetary peak. Sculpted by the talented, Tim Barry.

More: Kickstarter h/t: neatorama

The globe had to not only achieve a great swirl, but it also had to eventually settle and become clear. Adding too much material would stain the water, and too little was no longer stunning.

The Wallflowers – Angel On My Bike(unplugged)

Download Cool Buddy Icons for Free

Download cool ‘Buddy Icon Set’ absolutely for free. Created by Iconka.

These Filipinas STRIKE BACK At WOMEN In USA They Understand Passport Bros

Pennsylvania Dutch Meat Loaf

Ingredients

1 1/2 pounds ground beef
1 cup fresh bread crumbs
1 medium onion, chopped
1 medium green bell pepper, chopped
1 (8 ounce) can Hunt’s tomato sauce, divided
1 egg
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
1/4 teaspoon pepper
3/4 cup water
2 tablespoons brown sugar, packed
2 tablespoons prepared mustard
1 tablespoon vinegar

Instructions

In a medium bowl, lightly mix beef, bread crumbs, onion, green pepper, 1/2 can tomato sauce, egg, salt and pepper. Shape into a loaf in a shallow baking pan.
Combine remaining tomato sauce with remaining ingredients. Pour over loaf.
Bake at 350 degrees F for 1 1/4 hours. Baste the loaf several times during baking.

Yield: 6 servings

Hotel in China

Meanwhile in Egypt

David Lee Roth – Drop In The Bucket (Guitar Cover)

The Ukrainian Military Is In Bad Shape

Erik Kramer and Paul Schneider are two former U.S. special operations soldiers who have been in Ukraine since 2022 to train Ukrainian troops.

At War on the Rocks they paint a dark picture of the state of the Ukrainian military. Their intent is to get money for more training, thus the real picture may be less dark than they describe. But even if one takes that into account it is still a sad state for an army that has been at war for more than a year. Some excerpts:

Based on our nine months of training with all services of the Ukrainian Armed Forces, to include the Ground Forces (Army), Border Guard Service, National Guard, Naval Infantry (Marines), Special Operations Forces, and Territorial Defense Forces, we have observed a series of common trends: lack of mission command, effective training, and combined arms operations; ad hoc logistics and maintenance; and improper use of special operations forces. These trends have undermined Ukraine’s resistance and could hinder the success of the ongoing offensive.

What ongoing offensive?

Under mission command, the German Auftragstaktik, the leader disseminates his intent (“to attack through the northern woods to take town x”) and authority to subunits that is passed down with the mission to empower subordinates at all levels. Each subunits can make its plans to coordinate and execute the mission as best as possible. The contrast is an order command where every detail of execution is ordered from the top down. Both have advantages but to have a mixed system, as Ukraine currently has, is the worst of all places.

In our experience, across many units and staffs, the Ukrainian Armed Forces do not promote personal initiative and foster mutual trust or mission command. As Michael Kofman and Rob Lee recently discussed on the Russia Contingency podcast, elements of the Ukrainian Armed Forces have an old Soviet mentality that holds most decision-making at more senior levels. Amongst military leaders at the brigade level and below, our impression is that junior officers fear making mistakes.

But to use mission command down to the lower levels of a Platoon one needs noncommissioned officers (sergeants) to run the show. Those the Ukrainian military had are by now probably dead:

Having trained every component of the Ukrainian Armed Forces, we have continually seen a lack of an experienced noncommissioned officer corps. It is common to see field grade officers running around during training counting personnel and coordinating for meals. In the United States, it takes years to develop just a junior noncommissioned officer.

The next big lack is combined arms training and use. Tanks protect the infantry, the infantry protects the tanks, the artillery covers the battlefield to allow tanks and infantry to maneuver, command takes care that all three coordinate their actions.

The armor/infantry relationship is supposed to be symbiotic, but it is not. The result is that infantry will conduct frontal assaults or operate in urban areas without the protection and firepower of tanks. Also, artillery fires are not synchronized with maneuver. Most units do not talk directly to supporting artillery, so there is a delay in call for fire missions. We have been told that units will use runners to send fire missions to artillery batteries because of issues with communications.Most of the military’s operations are not phased and are sequential. Fires and maneuver, for example, are planned separately from infantry units — and infantry units plan separately from supporting artillery. This mentality also carries over to adjacent unit coordination, which is either nonexistent or rare and causes high rates of fratricide. Unit commanders have concerns about collaborators and thus are hesitant to pass on critical information that can be used against them to sister units.

These issues are compounded by unreliable communications between units and with senior leadership. The Ukrainian Armed Forces have a hodgepodge of radios that are vulnerable to jamming. Further, battalion missions are mainly independent company operations that do not focus on a main effort coupled with supporting efforts. The armed forces do not combine effects, so operations are piecemeal and disjointed. The separate missions are not supporting each other, nor are the missions of lower level units “nested” under a higher level mission. Sustainment is not synchronized with operations, either.

Due to the wild mix of weapons and for lack of trained mechanics logistics and the maintenance of equipment are a mess.

This lack of coordinated maintenance and logistics also translates into medical care. Medical evacuation and care are haphazard. Experienced Ukrainian combat medics have repeatedly stated that many of the evacuees would have survived it they had reached definitive care in a timely manner. The Ukrainian Armed Forces can solve this issue with a systematic logistics process.

Ukrainian special forces are mostly used as infantry even as they should be used for more demanding missions. There also are gimmick missions:

Ukraine special forces units comprised of international volunteers shop around their services to conventional unit commanders without a mission being tied to a strategic or operational goal. One example of a mission was a conventional brigade commander who had reported to his command that he had occupied a village taken from the Russians. When he realized that the information he had was mistaken and they had stopped short, he asked the international special operations forces unit to go into the occupied village and take a picture of a Ukrainian flag placed on top of a building in the center of the village.

A suicide mission to hide the commanders false reporting …

The authors claim that most of the above problems could be fixed by more ‘western’ training which they are more than willing to sell. However, what has become of the last armies ‘western’ forces have trained in Iraq and Afghanistan? Both fell apart. An army must reflect the local society and culture. It can not be formed top down by outside forces.

Since 2015 the Ukrainian army has been build up and trained by U.S. and British forces. What the WotR authors describe is the result of that.

Posted by b on June 3, 2023 at 17:01 UTC | Permalink

No secrets

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m-G2ljW720E

Pepper Hash

This is an old Pennsylvania Dutch recipe.

Ingredients

1 head cabbage, shredded
2 green bell peppers, coarsely ground
1/3 cup vinegar
1/3 cup honey or granulated sugar
Salt and pepper to your taste

Instructions

Shred and chop the vegetables.
Add the vinegar, honey, salt and pepper.
Serve.

Natasha Wright

May 26, 2023

The situation will in all likelihood turn sour even more because NATO cannot stop its woeful warmongering and waging endless wars.

We are living in turbulent times indeed. Vital volumes of history are being written right before our very eyes.

You may have noticed that “Dr Doom” is sending out doom-and-gloom messages yet again. Fortune reported back in April that Nouriel Roubini (aka Dr Doom) is warning of painful stagflation caused by a new Cold War with China and the balkanization of the global economy.

Al Jazeera also reported on Roubini’s downcast views, saying, “the world is headed for dark times in the next 20 years.”

No wonder Dr Doom, who leapt to financial stardom by predicting an economic catastrophe in 2008, is now warning the world that the conflict between the United States and China is simmering – and surely not only in the area of economics.

However, the global situation is so frighteningly serious that it will most surely crescendo into a double-dip recession for a plethora of other factors as well as from the prevailing sentiments in the Pentagon predicting a forthcoming war with China.

We are living through truly turbulent times. There are countless politically crucial things happening globally that boggle the mind. If one remembers the events only this January when Jens Stoltenberg, the NATO secretary-general, visited Japan and Korea, one can sense, to paraphrase Shakespeare, “something rotten in the state of NATOstan”.

During the course of both fleeting visits, Stoltenberg pledged to foster bilateral relations due to the historic challenges that NATO is dealing with, such as the war in Ukraine. He went on to brag that NATO already has established liaison offices globally, the main ones in New York and Vienna, and particularly indicative is the one in Ukraine. At its foundation at the inception of the Cold War in 1949, the North Atlantic Treaty Organization comprised 12 nations set up at the behest of the U.S. The military bloc now comprises 31 members and is increasingly appointing itself with a global role.

As a reminder, NATO already has permanent liaison offices in the following countries: Belgium, Bulgaria, Canada, Croatia, Czechia, Denmark, Finland, France, Germany, Greece, Hungary, Italy, Lithuania, Netherlands, Norway, Poland, Portugal, Romania, Slovakia, Spain, Turkey, the United Kingdom and the United States. A proposed Japan office caused considerable commotion.

NATO claims to be based on the right of states to determine their own foreign policy and to exercise collective self-defense. Despite lofty claims of upholding “democratic values”, the U.S.-dominated military alliance has been strong-arming a number of countries to join without their populations exercising a democratic mandate by holding referenda.

NATO likes turning its alleged allies into geopolitical dwarves held at gunpoint, regardless of their size or geography. Claims by the military bloc – that opening a regional liaison office in East Asia is merely an indicator of changing global security environment – sound euphemistic.

Some political analysts have observed that if NATO meanders into Asian affairs it will likely bring Russia and China even closer together. Ironically, the expansionism of the U.S.-led military bloc brings with it self-fulfilling prophecies. The global insecurity it incessantly warns about is of its own perception and making.

Nevertheless, Beijing is fully aware that if NATO places its head in a crouching tiger’s mouth, then one day it might get bitten off.

NATO has already brutally provoked the war in Ukraine, yet now the U.S.-led military vehicle wants to expand to the Far East. Its solicitous focus on Japan is particularly alarming given the vile history of Japanese genocidal aggression toward China.

That is a toxic thorn for China stuck into Asia and it will be therefore pulled out, according to the Global Times. The news outlet can be seen as reflecting the thinking of the political leadership in Beijing. The Chinese are thus fully aware of NATO’s encroaching thorns and they will not be sleep walking into disaster.

The Global Times continued: “Japan should not forget that while the Meiji Restoration made it richer and stronger, it also brought about the Westernization of Japan and its policy of leaving Asia and entering Europe, which at one time made the desire for empire extremely strong. The madness of pursuing Asian hegemony and sphere of influence led it to become a militaristic war-mongering demon, which brought deep disaster to Asian countries.”

Moreover, the Global Times’ editorial warned: “Japan wants to introduce NATO into Asia for its security. However, Japan’s security can never be achieved by relying on the military support of the U.S. or NATO. In fact, the more closely Japan cooperates with the U.S. or NATO militarily, the less it will obtain the security it wants, and the less likely it will be able to change its image as a geo-strategic dwarf.”

Don’t you just love how Beijing is calling a NATO spade a spade? “The sewage of the Cold War,” is how the Global Times referred to the U.S.-led military bloc.

And all that comes in perfect unison with Moscow’s increasingly contemptuous views of NATO as a threat to world security.

Lest we forget, the United States has instigated the vast majority (80 per cent) of the 200 or so armed conflicts that are estimated to have occurred globally from the end of World War Two until 2001. If we include the post-9/11 decades up to the present, the American responsibility for global violence might be as high as 90-95 per cent. And this is for a nation whose population is only 4.25 per cent of the globe. How utterly nefarious and condemnable is that odious record?

Shall we now mention some significant military mathematics? The Economist reports on research comparing military power of the U.S. vs China. The U.S. military budget is four times bigger than that of China. But the Chinese Navy surpassed the U.S. Navy as the biggest in the world sometime around 2020. The Pentagon continues using euphemisms, such as it considers China a “pacing challenge”.

The dilemma that appears to exasperate Western military commanders is whether China can continue on the same path and expand its military capacity to challenge the U.S. hegemony, or whether China’s relative power might be reaching its peak. The shipbuilding industry requires exorbitant investment since it requires a booming industrial base. The dilemma for the U.S. is its economic stagnation and the number of its warships are declining, in contrast to a sharp increase in the number of Chinese ships.

As for the total number of military vessels from aircraft carriers to submarines, frigates and destroyers, China surpasses the U.S. by a ratio of 390:296. It is forecast that China will have 400 warships in the next two years whereas the number of American ones will decrease to around 290. The ones which have fallen into obsolescence are to be written off. The Chinese advantage stems from having the biggest shipbuilding industry in the world. Some 44 per cent of all the ships built worldwide in 2021 were from Chinese yards.

China and its military forces are currently fully focused on Taiwan whereas the U.S. forces are scattered around globally in over 800 bases owing to untenable hegemonic ambitions. China has pledged to reclaim Taiwan if necessary by force, so tensions are running high on both sides.

Time though works in Beijing’s favor.

In the long run, the situation will in all likelihood turn sour even more because NATO cannot stop its woeful warmongering and waging endless wars.

Seven Mary Three – My My

China sets record in sixth rocket engine trial of crewed lunar mission

China recently completed the sixth test run of the main rocket engine for its future crewed lunar missions, setting a new record in the sector, according to the China Aerospace Science and Technology Corporation.

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The 130-tonne class liquid oxygen kerosene rocket engine had a cumulative test run time of 3,300 seconds after this recent trial, a new record for the longest trial of a single 100-tonne class engine in China, according to the corporation.

As the main engine for the country’s future crewed lunar missions, the device needs higher comprehensive performance and reliability.

The trial broke the previous record for the longest test run, which was achieved less than six months earlier, according to the corporation, adding that the operating time of the engine in the trial exceeded its required mission by more than 10 times, which it said verifies its reliability.

Crewed lunar landing before 2030

China plans to achieve a crewed lunar landing before 2030, Lin Xiqiang, deputy director of the China Manned Space Agency, announced on May 29 at a press conference.

Lin said China recently initiated the lunar landing phase of its manned lunar exploration program, aiming to achieve China’s first manned landing on the moon by 2030 and carrying out lunar scientific exploration and related technological experiments.

According to Lin, China is also aiming to master key technologies, such as an Earth-moon manned round-trip, a short-term stay on the lunar surface, a human-robot exploration, performing multiple landing, roving, sampling, researching tasks, returning, and forming an independent capability of manned lunar exploration.

The international lunar research station

China formally established its lunar exploration “Project Chang’e” in 2004. In December 2020, the Chang’e-5 lunar probe brought back 1,731 grams of samples from the moon, marking the completion of the three-step lunar exploration program of orbiting, landing and returning.

In 2022, the China National Space Administration announced a plan to begin the fourth phase of the lunar probe program, including launching three missions dubbed the Chang’e-6, Chang’e-7 and Chang’e-8, and the construction of an international lunar research station on the moon, said Wu Weiren, the chief designer of the lunar exploration program.

The Chang’e-6 mission is expected to retrieve lunar soil samples from the far side of the moon around 2024, which will be the first time humankind will collect soil samples from the far side of the Earth’s natural satellite.

The Chang’e-7 mission is prepared to land on the south pole of the moon, looking for traces of water, Wu said, adding that the Chang’e-8 mission, which is planned to be launched around 2028, is designed to work with the Chang’e-7 to lay the foundation for the building of a lunar research station on the south pole of the moon, and facilitate a series of experiments on lunar resources exploration and utilization.

The chief designer also said China welcomes partners and scientists from across the globe to join the construction of the international lunar research station on the moon, as the country plans to launch multiple spaceflight missions to finish the station’s basic structure by 2030.

Former FBI agent REVEALS truth in UFO whistleblower story

What impact could the rare victory for journalism in Hong Kong have on the press freedom movement in Asia?

The abuse of press freedom was more evident in Hong Kong during the chaos a few years back, if that’s what was considered a victory.

That rare victory sent ripples through press freedom movement in Asia like when readers consider journalists as script writers for a fictional political drama.

True journalism is as dead as a do-do bird can be.

Our neighbor’s 8-year-old drops by our house almost every afternoon and chats away about anything and everything until we ask him to leave. He’s a sweet kid, but it’s becoming a pain; what should we do?

I hope you don’t mind, but I would like to tell you my story.

I was that 8 year old child once.

My father was an alcoholic, my mother severely depressed. I raised my sister and provided her with the emotional support when our parents were too immature and abusive to give that to us.

I would get beat up, thrown against the wall, kicked, punched repeatedly on the head by my father, his rage would shake my soul. My sister and I would drown ourselves in books, homework and play as quietly so we wouldn’t anger our father. Our mother was verbally abusive, she would break everything in our home.

My father would tell us to get lost, to get out of his way, to shut up, leave him alone, brain dead kids.

He hated us.

One day my sister and I went to the neighbors house and asked them if they had candy.

It was an elderly lady and her husband. They giggled and came out with candy for us and told us to have a good day.

A few days passed and we knocked to ask them again. This time they pulled out some chairs and sat down with us. We talked for a few hours. We told them about our hobbies, favorite books, favorite everything. They gave us candy and told us to go home and not be out so late.

The next day we visited the elderly couple and they played the piano for us. We were so amazed by their warm atmosphere, love and kindness.

Some days we would go visit and they would just sit on the front porch showing them our sweet rock or toy collections, our art and we would even sing classical songs with them.

With time they began to tell us they were busy, then they didn’t open the door anymore.

We wanted to do something nice for them and picked out flowers for them and left them at their doorstep.

I still look back and I’m thankful to have met such a sweet couple. I strive to be like them one day as an old lady with my husband.

You have no obligation, but for me those strangers meant something worth remembering in my rough childhood.

Kozyrev Mirrors and massive geopolitical change

Personally, I remain guarded and reserved about any changes in United States Geo-political policy. Simply because, the most effective propaganda is that which YOU WANT TO BELIEVE.

Ah, Isn’t that exactly what is going on now?

…

What I see are two vectors.

[1] a deconstruction of the entangling of the Ukraine fiasco.

[2] Monied interests demanding that the Chinese situation stabilize.

…

Both of the vectors are being driven by monied interests funding the radical neocons. I do not see that baseline problems being resolved. Instead, I see trivial “walk backs” from the brink of catastrophic global war.

…

I am very interested in the Kozyrev Mirrors. Please make sure that you check them out later on (down further) in this article.

Summary;

Do not pull out your Champagne yet. It is but tiny steps walking away from a catastrophic situation, but the fundamental underlying drivers are still in place and are not changing. As long as Tom Cotton and Victoria Newland are still holding the reins of power, there can be no peace.

Potato and Onion Fry-Up

potato and onion recipe 10 500x500 — potato and onion recipe 10 500×500

Ingredients

1/4 cup olive oil
4 to 6 large potatoes, peeled, sliced into 1/4-inch rounds
1 large onion, halved, cut into 1/4-inch slices
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon pepper
4 eggs, beaten

Instructions

Heat olive oil in large skillet over medium high heat.
Add potatoes and onions; cook, turning with spatula, 10 minutes.
Reduce heat to medium; cover, cook until tender, stirring occasionally, about 10 minutes.
Add salt and pepper.
Cook, uncovered, turning mixture with a spatula, until onions are golden, potatoes have begun to break apart and are slightly crunchy, 9 minutes.
Stir in eggs; cook until firm, about 1 minute.

Yield: 6 servings

CONFIRMED: TACTICAL NUCLEAR BOMBS TRANSFERRED TO BELARUS

World Hal Turner 16 June 2023

For the first time, actual, live, Tactical Nuclear Bombs have been transferred from Russia into Belarus, just north of Ukraine. This was publicly confirmed by Russian President Vladimir Putin during his speech to the St. Petersburg International Economic Forum today.

resident Vladimir Putin delivered a keynote address at the St Petersburg International Economic Forum, highlighting positive macroeconomic trends in the Russian economy and expressing doubt about the sustainability of Ukraine’s military operations suggesting that Kyiv heavily relies on external sources for equipment and fighting capabilities.

During his speech, Putin also revealed that Russia has successfully transported its initial batch of tactical nuclear weapons to Belarus. This move comes as part of a previously announced plan, which has raised concerns and increased tensions with the United States and its allies in relation to the ongoing conflict in Ukraine.

Putin said, “The first nuclear charges were delivered to the territory of Belarus. But only the first. This is the first part. But by the end of the summer, by the end of the year, we will complete this work.”

Ukraine war

“Soon Ukraine will stop using its own equipment altogether. Nothing remains of it. Everything with which they fight and everything that they use is brought in from the outside. You can’t fight for long like that,” he said, as per a translation of his speech by Reuters news agency.

Regarding Ukraine’s counteroffensive, President Putin commented that Ukrainian forces did not achieve their objectives in any of the sectors they targeted. He expressed doubt about the prospects for success and opined that the Ukrainian armed forces face significant challenges in the conflict.

“They did not achieve their goals in any of the sectors … I think that the Ukrainian armed forces have no chance here…,” said Putin.

When discussing Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky’s Jewish heritage, President Putin said, “I have many Jewish friends. They say Zelensky is not a Jew, he is a disgrace to the Jewish people.”

U.S. Admits Defeat In War On Russia And China

Confronted with the realities of life the Biden administration has in the last days acknowledged defeat in two on its most egregious and delusional foreign policy games.

The Ukrainian counter-offensive has failed. Its army is getting slaughtered on the battlefield. The ‘counteroffensive’ of the ‘NATO trained’ Ukrainian brigades has made no real progress on any front. The high level of losses of men and material make it impossible that it will ever again regain the initiative.

The U.S. aim was to integrate the Ukraine into NATO. It would then have been able to station U.S. troops in Ukraine and to put its weapons into reach of Moscow so that any independent Russian move could be countered with a threat of imminent annihilation.

After more than 20 years of pursuing that aim the U.S. threw the towel:

President Biden on Saturday said he won’t make it easier for Ukraine to join NATO, adding that the country at war with Russia has to meet the requirements to be a member.“They got to meet the same standards. So, I’m not going to make it easier,” Biden told reporters. “I think they’ve done everything relating to demonstrating the ability to coordinate militarily, but there’s a whole issue of is their system secure? Is it noncorrupt? Does it meet all the standards … every other nation in NATO does.”

And yes, that is a change. A big one:

Biden has reportedly previously expressed that he is open to removing the Member Action Plan hurdle for Ukraine to join NATO, which requires countries that want to join the alliance make reforms militarily and democratically.

Still, it is not enough:

Biden has not said anything new. Biden senses that the US lost the proxy war but he must not and cannot admit it. So, in the absence of a time machine, which could have taken him all the way back to 1999 when the NATO’s expansion began unfolding, Biden simply walked back to the default position of the 2008 NATO Summit at Bucharest welcoming Ukraine into the alliance via the MAP route — as if that moment fifteen years ago is now the past and cannot be pulled back to the present. Russia is not going to accept it.

Though packaged in nice words the European Union gave Ukraine a similar negative outlook (machine translation):

An EU report on Ukraine’s membership bid states that Kiev has so far met two of the seven conditions required to start formal EU accession negotiations.
…
“There is progress. The report will be moderately positive. This is not about embellishing reality, but about recognizing progress, for example, there are well-known anti-corruption cases. In particular, in the case of the head of the Supreme Court Knyazev,” said the official, who spoke on condition of anonymity.
…
“In terms of reforms, the glass would be half full, we would never take a negative tone towards Ukraine at the moment. Judicial reforms have made some progress, although there are still key ones that need to be carried out. Not everything is satisfactory.”

The much hyped counter-offensive has indeed become a death trap for the U.S. EU and NATO.

The other U.S. defeat was acknowledged by U.S. Secretary of State Anthony Blinken at the end of his trip to Bejing:

The United States will not support Taiwan breaking away from China, Secretary of State Anthony Blinken has said, amid a series of confusing statements by Joe Biden on the issue.’We do not support Taiwan independence,’ America’s top diplomat said in Beijing after meeting with Chinese president Xi Jingping.

This was more than a verbal change in Blinken’s pronouncements:

The US State Department has updated its fact sheet on Taiwan again to reinstate a line about not supporting formal independence for the Chinese-claimed, democratically governed island.
…
“We oppose any unilateral changes to the status quo from either side; we do not support Taiwan independence; and we expect cross-Strait differences to be resolved by peaceful means,” according to the document, referring to the strait separating the island from the Asian mainland.Last month, the State Department changed its website on Taiwan, removing wording both on not supporting Taiwan independence and on acknowledging Beijing’s position that Taiwan is part of China, which angered Beijing.

Blinken’s change of heart came after an extremely short meeting with President Xi which had followed a series of lectures by other high ranking Chinese officials:

Wang gave a comprehensive explanation of the historical logic and inevitable trend of China’s development and rejuvenation, and elaborated on the distinctive features of Chinese modernization and the rich substance of China’s whole-process people’s democracy.

He urged the U.S. side not to project onto China the assumption that a strong country is bound to seek hegemony and not to misjudge China with the beaten path of traditional Western powers. “This is key to whether the United States can truly return to an objective and rational policy toward China.”

Wang demanded that the United States stop playing up the so-called “China threat”, lift illegal unilateral sanctions against China, stop suppressing China’s scientific and technological advances, and do not wantonly interfere in China’s internal affairs.

He stressed that safeguarding national unity has always been the core of China’s core interests. It is where the future of the Chinese nation lies and the abiding historical mission of the CPC.

On the Taiwan question, China has no room for compromise or concession, Wang said.

The Chinese language readout of the Blinken-Wang meetings is reportedly even more scornful than its English translation.

The next step for China is to stop the provocative ‘innocent passage’ drive-bys by U.S. military ships and airplanes in the Taiwan Straits. To do that it simply has to apply the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea:

Article 38
Right of transit passage1. In straits referred to in article 37, all ships and aircraft enjoy the right of transit passage, which shall not be impeded; except that, if the strait is formed by an island of a State bordering the strait and its mainland, transit passage shall not apply if there exists seaward of the island a route through the high seas or through an exclusive economic zone of similar convenience with respect to navigational and hydrographical characteristics.

A view on a map shows that this evidently applies to the strait between mainland China and the Chinese island named Taiwan.

biggerIf the U.S. really has a One China policy it will have to accept that the Strait is off limits.

This double whammy of defeat in its wars on Russia and China will take some time to stick.

In the Ukraine conflict there are still dreams of creating some kind of stalemate, of implementing some kind of a Korean cease-fire demarcation line on the 38th parallel:

U.S. officials are planning for the growing possibility that the Russia-Ukraine war will turn into a frozen conflict that lasts many years — perhaps decades — and joins the ranks of similar lengthy face-offs in the Korean peninsula, South Asia and beyond.The options discussed within the Biden administration for a long-term “freeze” include where to set potential lines that Ukraine and Russia would agree not to cross, but which would not have to be official borders. The discussions — while provisional — have taken place across various U.S. agencies and in the White House.

Russia wont have any of that. It will thoroughly defeat the Ukrainian army. It will retake the parts of Ukraine which for centuries had been Russian before the communists assigned those administratively to the Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic.

The rest of a then neutral Ukraine, cut off from the sea and the mineral riches of the east, will be handed over to the underling that Russia is willing to accept.

The double defeat in its wars against the ‘rest of the world’ marks the end of the Wolfowitz doctrine:

The doctrine announces the U.S.’s status as the world’s only remaining superpower following the collapse of the Soviet Union at the end of the Cold War and proclaims its main objective to be retaining that status.

Our first objective is to prevent the re-emergence of a new rival, either on the territory of the former Soviet Union or elsewhere, that poses a threat on the order of that posed formerly by the Soviet Union. This is a dominant consideration underlying the new regional defense strategy and requires that we endeavor to prevent any hostile power from dominating a region whose resources would, under consolidated control, be sufficient to generate global power.

The end of ‘unilateral moment’ is there for anyone to see.

The Republicans will of course loudly blame Biden for this even though they are just as guilty of overreach as the other side of the isle. Biden may well have to sacrifice Blinken as the pawn guilty of losing the game.

Anyway, neither will help him to get reelected.

It is, by the way, not just a coincident that Israel, on the same day of the U.S. admission of defeat, got whacked by fighters of the Palestinian resistance. This another of those U.S. sponsored global problems that China is eager to solve.

Posted by b on June 20, 2023 at 9:42 UTC | Permalink

Breaking News: Denmark Officially APPROVES Providing 4th Generation F-16 Fighter Jets to Ukraine

World Hal Turner 18 June 2023

Denmark’s Acting Defense Minister, Troels Lund Poulsen, has said that Denmark will send F-16 fighters to Ukraine if the U.S. approves. (It’s on!)

There are 43 F-16 Fighting Falcon jets in service with the Royal Danish Air Force, 30 of which are an active part of the fleet. But they are now being replaced by the more modern American fifth-generation F-35 Lightning II fighters.

Ukrainian pilots will soon come to Denmark, where they will be trained to fly and maintain F-16 aircraft. The training will take place at the Skrydstrup base in Jutland.

Hilarious Vintage X-Rated Movie Posters From Your Dad’s Era

In a day and age where sex is literally at our fingertips, where we can see x-rated pictures and films in the privacy of our own bedrooms (or even bathrooms), it’s hard to imagine that at one point in time people had to venture out into public in order to see porn.

They had to be seen entering an “adult” theatre, purchase a ticket and sit in a room full of jerk offs in order to see a porn flick. And the x-rated film industry had to create enticing posters to lure viewers in to said theatre, to make them want to risk someone they knew from work or school or church seeing them walk into one of these houses of ill repute.

While porn flicks today have names like “Butt Job 7” or “Only Teen Anal 18,” the adult film industry had to be more creative in their presentation of x-rated films half a century ago. Here’s a collection of pretty hilarious vintage adult movie posters that may have gotten your dad or grandpa excited enough to go to the movies by himself.

h/t: cvltnation

Bending Time: The Successful Time Travel Experiments using Kozyrev Mirrors

Kozyrev Mirrors… Very, very interesting.

You can access the book for FREE online. HERE.

Brown Sugared Turkey Bacon

maple and brown sugar bacon 3050910 hero 01 bbb394fe5c174185aeb633e0380dd9b9

Ingredients

1 (12 ounce) package turkey bacon
Vegetable cooking spray
1/3 cup firmly packed light brown sugar
1 to 1 1/2 teaspoons coarsely ground pepper

Instructions

Arrange bacon in a single layer in an aluminum foil-lined broiler pan coated with cooking spray. Sprinkle evenly with brown sugar and pepper.
Bake at 425 degrees F for 14 to 18 minutes or until done.
Serve immediately.

If 98% of Chinese citizens are satisfied with their government, why would anyone want to change that?

Democracy – is a very very dangerous concept

It is like a Ball of Polonium. It has to be handled very carefully. If you handle it carefully and utilize it perfectly – it gives you the finest result but the slightest mistake and it can be disastrous.

Reason – People are NOT equal

This is the Golden Rule!!!!

In any Successful Country – you must always have Ruler and Ruled

The Biggest mistake with Countries which had Ruler and Ruled was the conclusion that Rulers are BORN. Its why most Monarchies ultimately could not go forward. Rulers eventually became incompetent like Louis XVI or Nicholas II or John Lackland or Wilhelm II etc.

China rightly says Rulers are Chosen based on Sheer MERIT and ABILITY

You can count on your finger tips the number of Democracies Post World War II which are successful today. Most Democracies are Disasters.

Why?

People are not equal

A Toilet Cleaner or a Rag Picker cannot have the same decision making ability as a Professor or a Businessman or a Clerk or an Army Officer

They are all different

So how can they all be given the same rights and choice of their leader?

The Poor will obviously sell to the highest bidder or will be most likely to be brainwashed

The Middle Class will be most likely to vote based on taxation or morals (Abortion or Toughness on Crime)

The Upper Class will be most likely to vote based on who provides the maximum financial advantages

Why is Democracy so dangerous?

Atal Bihari Vajpayee is the best example

He was a Good Leader and could have taken India easily to a much better position than it is today had he remained PM until 2009

He had a terrific team of Ministers and Excellent Advisors

HE LOST

He Lost because the Rabble voted him out because he did not appease them enough

In China – the RABBLE are put in their place. They do what they are told to do or else….

This may look a bit like slavery but it creates superb efficiency where everyone does what he is best suited to do.

And if someone from the rabble is talented enough – he can rise to the top and easily become a EXCOM Member and a Top Minister

The fact is in China – the Best of the Best Govern and Decide on the Policies and if those policies fail – they are replaced by other meritorious candidates.

main qimg c019c724a6e1bd7fb91d069f731ddb41 lq

And…

main qimg edf67d957d1f33e8b441b1418f66beb2 lq

This Concept works well in China, Singapore, S Korea, Taiwan – because eventually – since the Governing Class do their best for a Strong and Prosperous Country – The Country always prospers and the People always prosper.

main qimg 6578e0ca65ae5cf6f1b4a5f1ec499b90 lq

Now introduce Western Concept of Democracy into these countries – create Multi Parties and you will split the unity and create new concepts like division by categories like language or race, appeasement etc

So it is NOT TRUE that 98% of the Chinese are satisfied with their Government

The Fact is – The Governing Class do their best for a Stronger and Prosperous China and if the People are not satisfied – They can go to hell!!!

I am 100% Confident that had we abolished Elections in 1975 and given Mrs Gandhi full control of India – We would have been far, far ahead than we are because

(a) No Appeasement would have been necessary for Votes

(b) No Slew of Welfare measures that bankrupted our Nation

(d) Meritocracy would have been the news of the Day

So to conclude – Democracy is the best form of Government but only when the People are WORTHY enough and in 80% countries today , less than 10%-30% of the population are actually worthy enough

So the Greatest Hope for India…

…is to have a Man or Woman who can become a Deng or a Lee Kuan Yew. And thus take us forward as an Autocracy where the Rabble can be put in their place.

This would be to maximize efficiency and Democracy and Elections become a Distant Dream for at least half a century (Not Modi …. Certainly Not Modi or any of the present BJP or Congress or AAP leaders)

Does Kozyrev Mirror Mechanize Ascension?

VIDEO: Mexico Military Massing Near U.S. Border

World Hal Turner 18 June 2023

Video has come in to the Hal Turner Radio Show which shows a very significant number of Mexican military troops and armed vehicles massing just south of the US Border in the California area, LAST NIGHT.

No word from anyone as to why.

No word from sources in US Gov if this is related to Drug Cartels or some other domestic Mexican law enforcement action . . . or if this a military operation instead of law enforcement.

Here is the video that was sent in:

Clearly this came from Social Media and the caption in Spanish translates to “Waiting for the war cry”

But . . . . war with whom?

Given the vast movement of US military equipment, personnel and aircraft yesterday, one wonders what’s really in preparation.

As is well known, the US has severely depleted our Strategic Petroleum Reserve to less than HALF its capacity. We have also depleted our artillery and missile inventories, giving all away for free to Ukraine.

Over 100,000 US military troops are now out of the country on NATO’s eastern flank staring at Russia.

Hundreds of tanks and armored personnel carriers are also gone, out of our country, given away to Ukraine or assigned to NATO over in Europe.

What is someone who knows all this, has decided that maybe NOW might be a good time to try to invade . . . . us?

Time Mirrors: Experiments at the North Pole

UPDATED 10:33 AM EDT — US – China Talks, Fail

World Hal Turner 19 June 2023

“US-China relations are at their lowest point, ever” according to Chinese Foreign Minister Qin Gang.

He noted that such a situation is not in the interests of the United States or the interests of China.

It remains an open question who will have to yield in this fight.

Outcome

In China, talks were held between Secretary of State Anthony Blinken and the head of the Chinese diplomatic mission of the PRC, Qin Gang.

Warning signs that this would be a nasty meeting began from the outset as Secretary Blinken arrived in China. When his plane landed, there was no red carpet, no flags, no big delegation. In fact, there were no high-ranking Chinese officials to greet him, just staff flunkies.

The aggravated contradictions between the two powers have long asked for dialogue, and now it has taken place.

The list of controversies is long. From the Ukrainian conflict to the American intervention in Taiwan and the state of human rights in China.

The American side did not reach an agreement on any of the points of the meeting. Beijing refused even the most insignificant requests. For example, Washington was denied a curb on the production and export of fentanyl precursors.

As a result of the negotiations, neither side was willing to give up their positions. Nothing was accomplished.

UPDATE 10:33 AM EDT —

This just in . . . Blinken’s trip to Beijing was such an abject FAILURE, China even refused to set up crisis military-to-military communications with the U.S..

This was a significant goal of his visit because China’s military has **NOT** taken any phone calls, video conferences, or even answered the Hotline with the US military, for MONTHS!

President of Russia Publicly Announces Conditions where Russia WILL BOMB NATO Bases

World Hal Turner 17 June 2023

Russian President Vladimir Putin put the West on notice yesterday during his speech at the St. Petersburg International Economic Forum (SPIEF).

President Putin made clear he knows the West is planning on supplying fighter jets to Ukraine, and that the US insists the F-16’s be nuclear capable.

He pointed out that those jets, especially U.S. F-16’s, require very large and complicated maintenance, which cannot now be done in Ukraine without fear of being hit with Russian missiles. Thus it would be necessary for the planes to use bases that are presently safe.

Therefore, he said, if those fighter jets takeoff from NATO bases outside Ukraine, and enter Ukraine for battle, Russia will not be able to know if those planes are armed with Tactical nuclear bombs and will have to assume THEY ARE.

Under such circumstances, Russia will have no choice but to hit those NATO Bases, and may have to do so with Tactical nuclear weapons.

Below, video from the SPIEF where Putin talks about this. The video has English sub-titles but is only a small portion of what Putin said. You get the jist of it:

Southern Biscuits and Gravy

216391 easy sausage gravy and biscuits TTV78 3x2 1 c21e8cfb2c524a7b882bd9c5300dadd3 — 216391 easy sausage gravy and biscuits TTV78 3×2 1 c21e8cfb2c524a7b882bd9c5300dadd3

Ingredients

1/2 pound bulk pork breakfast sausage
2 tablespoons chopped yellow onions
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
2 cups hot milk
Salt and pepper, to taste
1 batch Southern Biscuits

Instructions

Heat frying pan and fry the sausage and onion until the sausage is brown and the onion clear.
Drain off all grease except for 2 tablespoons.
Stir in the flour and cook for just a minute.
Add the hot milk. Stir constantly until the mixture thickens and then season with salt and pepper.
Serve over warm opened biscuits.

A battle between the American State Department and the Pentagon

I watched the American spokesman statement. The purpose of the Blinken trip to China was to “strengthen America’s ability to out-compete China”. Further he stated, that there were three key points that Blinkedin will tell China.

[1] To establish communication channels that are “open and empowered”.

[2] Communicate clearly and candidly on a range of issues regarding American displeasure in how China conducts its domestic matters.

[3] Will investigate potential area of cooperation on trans-national issues, but ONLY when it is in Americas interest.

Finally, he does not expect any “break throughs” on this trip.

And of course, we all know what happened next. China reamed him up and down and all around though out, and when he reported the news to Biden, that son-of-a-bitch complained in a long diatribe in front of his donor class.

Sigh.

Next…

In your opinion, what steps should be taken to support China’s economy and prevent further decline?

Ah yes

Of course

The Debt ceiling was raised recently to a whopping $ 33 Trillion right?

Obviously the West will deflect and bury the serious dire straits of their economies and pending recession to China

That’s what they always do

Whenever they have trouble at home, they deflect and jump to a foreign country that may be much much better off

Is China’s economy declining?

China’s economy shows resilience

Don’t ask me

Ask the 77 Countries who now have over 15% of their Trade share in Yuan since 1/1/2022

China’s economy is Sluggish

The reason is simple

Its two biggest earners have taken a hit

Exports have taken a hit due to Sanctions by US and mainly due to weakening global demand due to recession/inflation in EU and US

Many Producers aren’t sure how much to manufacture now because of their worry about exports and being saddled with excess inventory

The alternative domestic consumption to replace potential loss of export share will take time and confidence by the producers and consumers

Maybe 3 years or so

Second is Real Estate

China’s own Government have dynamically and drastically modified real estate lending causing a plunge in real estate markets

So it’s like a Cricket team with two big stars in bad form

The fact that any other country would have buried these facts stands out

China is dealing with them on a day to day basis

Promoting Domestic spending, reducing rates to rise liquidity and slowly ensure the export pain is mitigated by local demand

China is modifying it’s real estate

It’s bringing a real estate sector once controlled by 6% population now to a 60% population using economies of scale

Profiting $ 1 Million per flat through speculation to be replaced by Profiting $ 50,000 a flat for 20 flats by actual sales and market demand

It takes time for this 60% population to realize that the sector is good for them

Like say tomorrow 50% Indians investing in shares from 4.1% today

China has very temporary problems

It’s situation is changing and its adapting and that is causing blips

Now USA and the West on the other hand are in deep trouble

They have in print nearly $ 15.3 Trillion equivalent of currency circulating in Pounds, Euros and Dollars

They have to rise rates repeatedly to push the currency into institutions and prevent them from staying in the global economy and plunging in value and causing more Inflation

It’s a ticking time bomb

And unlike China, the West neither has the populace to absorb the hit nor the resources like Russia

The end result will be 1929 type depression unless the large shock detonates through a series of smaller shocks which will weaken the US significantly but help it survive and bounce back , which is what China is waiting for (Why else is China not retaliating to all the US Coercion? Because it knows time is on its side)

It’s 100 times more serious

Hence why the West is deflecting on to China

RED ALERT! OUR MILITARYS HUGE SECRET ABOUT WORLD WAR 3 (I CANT BELIEVE THIS!)

Can India afford to ban Chinese products?

I was in a Video Conference yesterday. There was this slick controller from Cisco. I picked it up and turned it around to see the sticker that said: “Made in China”.

We have all heard the phrase. So much so that it has become a cultural meme, like this creative advertisement.

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Every machine, and I mean it in the broad sense of the word, people use, almost certainly, has components made by the most populous nation of the world.

We are at a stage where manufacturing is synonymous with China. China’s total exports in 2017 were more than the GDP of India, at ~$2.26 trillion.

[1]

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US is close with $1.5 trillion, but there is the catch.

US exports are primarily expensive stuff like airplanes, gems, assembled cell phones etc. But China makes the “cheaper” things — the components of your phones, the clothes you buy, the filaments in your bulbs, the shoes you are wearing right now.

More than a decade ago, a US family tried to rid themselves of all things “made in China”

[2]

. Here are some excerpts from their experience.

When our son, then 4, needed new shoes it took me two weeks of frantic mall trips and phone calls across the country before I located Italian-made sneakers. (They cost almost $70, an obscene amount, and I bought him just that one pair of shoes all year to compensate for my excess.)

We boiled water for coffee every morning after our drip machine broke and the only affordable replacements we could find were made in China. Kevin stole —he likes to say borrowed—sunglasses from the lost-and-found at our kids’ preschool when he needed new ones and the only ones that fit our budget were made in China. We were barred from the market for humane mousetraps (I made my own), birthday candles (we used votive candles on our cakes instead) and the monster trucks and light sabers that our son dreamed of all year.

As December approached, we made lousy homemade Christmas presents, spent too much on toys from Germany and waited for the year, and our boycott, to fade into history.

And Chinese manufacturing has become even more pervasive and ingrained in the last ten years. Good luck with your attempt!

Why is the CCP so hellbent on unifying Taiwan with mainland China? If Taiwan do not want to be ruled by the CCP why does it appear as if China is forcing themselves on Taiwan? Why can’t the two countries not co-exist?

First of all, Taiwan is NOT a country. Neither the United Nations nor the United States recognize Taiwan as an independent state. Moreover, Taiwan’s own constitution stipulates that the mainland and Taiwan are one country.

The entire world adheres to the One China principle.

Second, no country is willing to give up any piece of its territory. Would the USA give up Hawaii or Texas? Would France give up Corsica?

Third, Taiwan is a remnant of China’s century of humiliation when the great powers of the time descended on China like vultures and carved her up like a turkey. It’s a painful reminder and a point of national pride.

Fourth, China and Taiwan can coexist. They’ve coexisted peacefully for decades now. They have massive trade with each other.

China seeks peaceful reunification, and she is very patient. But the United States is determined to stir up shit in Taiwan. Just leave them alone!

Fifth, since Taiwan is China’s domestic matter, it is absolutely none of our f*cking business. Why are we sticking our nose into it?

Do we want to start a war with China over this matter?

Are you f*cking insane?

What will make the US loose its status as the most powerful Nation in the world?

Hubris.

“My cup runneth over with hubris”, rather than “In God We Trust”.

Who in his right mind can praise America for being well led, when the President is 80 and belongs in a nursing home, with the primary competition 76 belonging in jail?

And yet those are the candidates two ailing parties who have swapped musical chairs for 250 years throw up, with NO ALTERNATIVES in sight.

Just like guns and drugs, even abortion.

Live with it, the American will say, because the Constitution is sacred.

I say God bless America.

America has visibly declined or regressed this century. Even life expectancy has dipped below third world China, courtesy of the horrendous response to covid for the country rated No. 1 for pandemic readiness by Johns Hopkins in 2019. The debt pile is growing too fast, struggling under the weight of living beyond means.

Barring a paradigm shift in domestic politics, terminal decline is but a matter of time. I will pay attention to the quality of life of the bottom 50 percent who share 2 percent of the wealth. Too miserable and the have-nots will stoke tensions and accelerate the process.

I have not heard much beyond doubling down on the current playbook.

And that is a road to ruin.

The question is one of when, rather than if.

The American people are getting tired!

Will Hong Kong ever be democratic under Chinese rule?

Under 150 years of British rule, Hong Kong wasn’t democratic. Why would we expect that to change?

Cheesy Tomato Casserole

Ingredients

1 (35 ounce) can whole tomatoes, drained and chopped
1/2 cup round buttery cracker crumbs (about 15 crackers)
1/2 cup (2 ounces) shredded sharp Cheddar cheese
1 tablespoon butter, melted
1/2 small onion, finely chopped
1 large egg, well beaten
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon paprika

Instructions

Stir together all ingredients.
Spoon mixture into a lightly greased 8-inch square baking dish.
Bake at 325 degrees F for 30 minutes or until golden.

That girl don’t live here anymore…

How prepared is the United States of America for war with China?

The United States is as ready as it ever will be.

It has an enormous military budget, and bases everywhere. It’s got top of the line fighters, vessels and state-of-the-art equipment. In fact, if anything, I think that it is “over kill”. But that’s just my personal opinion.

The United States military is world-class in force projection, and they will glad-fully take the war to the shores of China and beyond. With the handful of proxy nations acting as “cannon fodder”, the United States would just sit back and watch the Australians and Japanese die in droves. Let them all be barbecued alive. As long as not one American is harmed.

So the United States force doctrine is one where the disposable peoples of Australia, Korea and Japan (with the Philippines) would be sacrificed first.

There is no question that the United States would choose Sydney, and Perth to become major battlefields. And with the rubbleing of Osaka, Tokyo, and Manila, the American military would wait out the carnage comfortably from afar in safe bunkers, Ukraine style.

Eventually, the Chinese force would peter out to an “approachable” level.

At that moment, the United States would pounce for a double “one two” blow that would destroy Chinese cities, and an invasion force in strength would seize the nation. Oh, the fighting might take a decade, but eventually the United States would win, and China would be partitioned into pre-determined bite-sized chunks for organized looting and seizure.

(Some interesting articles on this particular subject. It’s already been divided up! Though, I would advise “don’t count your chickens until the eggs hatch”.)

Anyways, there one teeny-tiny issue.

The only issue is would China really use it’s mass-casualty weapons. That’s of course, the Dong Feng, and the other novel and unique enhanced radiation and wave technologies. You know those massive enhanced radiation city-busters. Those hyper-velocity AI controlled stealth delivery systems, and the invisibility cloaking technologies.

But I am told it doesn’t matter.

As many in the “West” are very confident that “China would never…”.

So, if you (the reader) are part of this clutch, then by all means rest assured that the United States can destroy China, and it couldn’t do anything. The logic is simple. Simply because China has invested such a HUGE portion of it’s military to weapons of MASS DESTRUCTION. Leaving only a fraction of it’s military for conventional warfare. If China decides never to use the nuclear systems, then China would be handicapped to reliance on old-fashioned conventional systems.

So the United States would rip China a new behind.

…

But…

But, were China to be attacked, I am of the belief that China would use every weapon at it’s disposal. I mean, after all, why devote such a large proportion of your defensive equipment to nuclear and novel systems if you have no plans to ever use them? I figure that even if you have a Bentley in your garage, you do go and take it out for a spin from time to time. Even if that is the last thing that you do before you die.

Thus, the first cities to experience nuclear destruction would be American. I recon complete destruction of the top 35 cities.

This would really throw a monkey-wrench into the plans listed above.

The American “leadership” would be pissed and they (well the ones still alive and not wearing diapers) would order a MAD response. And the nukes would start a flying.

Correct me, if you disagree, but when the dust settles, I don’t think the world would be the same. You might think differently, but I think that nothing will ruin your day faster than global thermonuclear war.

…

Sigh.

So who ever asked this question, please stop asking about the end of the world. It’s not a pretty image. Go play with your army men elsewhere. War is not a game. It’s real, and very horrible. I strongly advise that it be avoided at all costs.

No one is going to win a US-China war.

How smart are the Japanese?

For over 700 years, the Japanese have been using a special method called Daisugi to grow trees without cutting them down.

It started in the 14th century and involves planting trees for the future and then pruning them like large bonsai trees. By doing this to cedar trees, they can get high-quality wood that’s straight, smooth, and perfect for building.

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With Daisugi, instead of chopping down the trees, they carefully prune them so they can keep growing and producing wood. This way, they can sustainably use the wood while also making sure the trees stay healthy and continue to live for a long time. Daisugi shows how people and nature can work together, using resources wisely while protecting the environment.

Discovery That Shocked NASA As China’s Discover 270 Billion Tons Of Water On The Moon

https://youtu.be/1_gNERd_Lt4

Was the US involvement in the Korean War a result of arrogance? Was the US too proud after WW2?

Not exactly arrogance, if arrogance, it was a well deserved arrogance, as US was supreme in economy, diplomacy and military as a superpower liberator. US actually saved the world with great sacrifices.

It’d have succeeded except the miscalculation on China entrance into the war, that changed the result. That was arrogance to underestimated the Chinese determination and ragtag poorly equipped military, which was a total surprise to everybody.

It is human nature that it is very difficult for warriors to stop fighting, Alexander the Great just couldn’t stop, Napoleon couldn’t stop, Hitler and Japanese couldn’t stop and US couldn’t-can’t stop.

Normal little people like us always wondered what if these superpowers just stopped at some points, enough is enough, I have enough, let me stop and build on my successes and conquered empires, let me treat my subjects well but none could. But warriors can’t stop, they must keep on going until the empires were destroyed by over expansions.

What China is going to do to Blinkin in his visit…

Oh, and it isn’t going to be reported.

https://youtu.be/S4cuIeNB114

What is the scariest thing that has ever happened to you while you were camping?

When I was a kid our family spent a lot of time camping with a tent trailer in northern Canada. One weekend we were at a campground which was circled by a ring road. There was one group of campers that were partying hard with a giant bonfire and despite the campground rules for being quiet after 11 p.m. they carried on.

They threatened anyone who asked them to tone down the noise. Then they thought it would be funny to use the ring road as their own race course so they were doing loops on the road speeding and revving their engines and terrifying the other campers.

This was before the days of cell phones so a couple campers left the campground to drive to the nearest Ranger’s station to complain.

Soon after they got back, and with the partiers still going hard, we heard a helicopter approaching in the night. We could hear it getting closer until it was directly overhead. Then we heard a giant swoosh as the Rangers dumped a bucket of water directly on the partiers. And by bucket I mean the 300+ gallon bucket suspended on a cable carried by the helicopter to deliver water for aerial firefighting.

Needless to say, the party ended instantly and they were all gone by the time we got up the next morning.

Watch NOW before they silence me.

https://youtu.be/nRW5PlphZ4M

FT reported that the US, Japan and Taiwan region will share real-time data from naval reconnaissance drones. What are your thoughts on that?

For over seven decades, Japan has been subject to ongoing occupation by the United States, maintaining a presence through a network of over 90 military bases and an extensive arsenal of more than 65,000 military assets. Similarly, Taiwan is under the control of local collaborators aligned with the United States, who wield authority over both the island’s military and political processes, contrary to the One-China policy. In both regions, the United States not only dictates the sale and deployment of weaponry but also determines the conditions for their use, the required troop numbers, and the deployment locations, while providing comprehensive training.

Given the high level of military integration and influence, publicly disclosing real-time shared military information would only intensify local concerns regarding the potential loss of lives and livelihoods after being dragged into a war initiated by the United States, especially in light of recent devastating events in Ukraine as reported by the media.

Gravitas: Japan says no to NATO membership

How do you think China will respond to the Quad’s efforts to contain its rise?

QUAD is US, G7 is US, AUKUS is US, NATO is US. Whatever alphabets they added or changed, it is just US.

UK, Australia, Japan, India, France, Italy or whatever don’t matter at all to China, there are like the group of thugs accompanying the main bad guy in kungfu movies, they take turn to be punched and kicked by the kungfu master, and the first to run away or fake death. Faking death in the safest way to survive. They rarely charge forward all at the same time.

It is just US, that’s a handful all by itself.

Do you think that money gives you absolute happiness?

Whatever your opinion may be about this man, Dan Bilzerian, he said something very true in an interview, and I would like many people to reflect on it.

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In the Joe Rogan Podcast (the most famous and most listened-to podcast in the world), Rogan asked him the same question:

Joe: Hey Dan, for the people who are listening to us, and most of them won’t even make a quarter of the money you’ve made, do you think money brings happiness?

Dan Bilzerian: Money, Joe, brings satisfaction. Money can undoubtedly give you a lot of satisfaction, but never complete happiness.

When I go to a fancy restaurant, when I drive a brand new car, when I party at the best clubs, for me, that’s already normal.

But the day I can’t afford to eat at a restaurant of the same quality, or drive the latest car, or go partying, how do you think I’ll feel?

In my case, I raised the ‘satisfaction bar’ so high that I have to maintain this lifestyle forever because if I don’t, I get depressed.

Happiness, even if it sounds cliché, cheesy, or however you want to call it, comes from within, from your person. It doesn’t come from material things. Material things give you ‘satisfaction,’ but they will never give you happiness.

There’s always someone who says something like:

‘Money doesn’t bring happiness, but I’d rather cry in a Lamborghini.’

Now, let me ask:

Wouldn’t you rather smile from ear to ear in a Kia?

First Impressions of China in 2023 🇨🇳 CAN’T Believe What I Saw

Will Biden’s best salesman charm India into the arms of the US?

Washington has sent Jake Sullivan to New Delhi with an array of tempting offers to bring the country in line with the west

By Joydeep Sen Gupta, Asia Editor

US President Joe Biden’s administration is working overtime to give top billing to Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s official state visit to the US from June 21 to 24 in a key election campaign year. The visit will be Modi’s sixth to the US since he assumed office in 2014.

Biden wants to present Modi’s upcoming trip as being bigger than the Indian premier’s Manhattan moment

in 2014 when he was hosted by Barack Obama, and Howdy, Modi!

in 2019 during the Trump administration.

To that end Biden sent his trusted aide, US National Security Advisor (NSA) Jake Sullivan, to New Delhi on a two-day trip on Tuesday, to lay the groundwork for the high-profile event, and build upon last week’s visit

to India by US Defense Secretary Lloyd Austin.

Prominent Indian geopolitical commentator, C Raja Mohan, has suggested

that Sullivan’s visit may pave the way for Modi’s Deng Xiaoping moment in leveraging India’s unique situation into significant gains for the country. However, the current global churn is many times removed from the visionary Chinese leader’s time in office last century, and the US is more transparent in its efforts to create a unipolar world order.

Sullivan’s agenda

Economic cooperation is at the heart of the Sullivan’s India trip. The top US security official held talks with Modi, his Indian counterpart, Ajit Doval

, and minister for external affairs, Dr Subramanyam Jaishankar

, on a range of issues that go beyond the optics of bilateral diplomacy. Doval and Sullivan also attended the second Track 1.5 dialogue on the Critical and Emerging Technologies (iCET) initiative, which was organized by the Confederation of Indian Industry (CII).

They unveiled an ambitious roadmap for Indo-US collaboration in seven specific hi-technology areas, including semiconductors, next-generation telecommunications, artificial intelligence and defense.

Sullivan said the iCET is about people-to-people relationships, building skills, trust and confidence between the societies and governments of the two countries. He said it is also a way to deepen defense cooperation that will help both the countries strategically and economically.

Meanwhile, Modi’s upcoming US visit has been heralded as a new era of “future ties” amid a “robust outcome document” that is in the works. However, the underlying motive is the desperate US desire to gain access to one of the biggest markets in the world following its deteriorating

trade and diplomatic ties with the world’s second biggest economy – China.

Sullivan is playing the role of a traveling salesman, hawking US interests in key global capitals much like before his elevation

to the NSA.

On this trip, he pulled out all stops to impress upon the Modi government the ease of doing business with the Biden administration, which is all but a lame duck, ahead of a key election to be held later this year.

Sullivan’s talks centered on opening a $2.7 billion semiconductor chip-making facility in India by Micron Technology, which is headquartered in Boise, Idaho and sharing technical know-how regarding quantum computing technology. India imports about 80% of its semiconductors.

New Delhi is believed to be wooing Intel Corporation to set up shop in the country following fears of a disruption in supply chains in light of escalating tensions between China and Taiwan.

Significantly, the pièce de resistance is Sullivan’s last-ditch bid to jointly manufacture US aircraft engines for Indian defense forces by General Electric (GE) in partnership with state-run Hindustan Aeronautics Limited (HAL). Will the transfer of technology (ToT) be a fillip to Modi’s ambitious “Make in India”

initiative? ToT is a key aspect in Indo-US bilateral relationship, where past misadventures such as the 2008 civil nuclear agreement between the two nations stick out like a sore thumb. The US is dragging its feet over ToT unlike Russia, which has been

an all-weather ally to India.

Biden has unpacked the top brass in his administration ahead of Modi’s visit. China – the elephant in India’s room – also figured prominently during Sullivan’s trip because he is being accompanied by US Indo-Pacific Coordinator at the National Security Council Kurt Campbell.

Washington has been raising the China alarm with New Delhi and accuses Beijing of flexing its military muscle over Taiwan and the South China Sea while underscoring India’s primacy in the elite grouping of the Quad

Truth be told, since its revival

in 2017, the grouping largely remains a non-starter as questions abound whether it is hitting the right notes to keep a belligerent China at bay.

The US is seemingly ratcheting up further bilateral tensions between the two most populous nations and nuclear-powered neighbors

as a means to insert itself as part of India’s solutions to security.

How does the US hypocrisy stand exposed?

Public memory, as the cliché goes, is short indeed. In 2005, PM Modi was denied

a US visa because of his alleged role

in the Gujarat pogrom against minority Muslims in the western Indian state in 2002, when he was the Chief Minister.

The US changed its tune in 2014 after Modi’s right-wing Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) enjoyed a landslide win against the incumbent Congress-led opposition alliance.

US State Department spokeswoman Jen Psaki had said Modi would receive a visa to the country once he took office and formed a government. And an AI visa, which is the eligibility norm for all heads of state, was made available to him. Washington then started making overtures towards him in a true bipartisan manner with Obama, Trump, and now Biden have been rolling out the red carpet for him as they seek to tap India’s growing middle class, whose strength is more than the total US population at last count.

But such foreign policy misadventures

have been the hallmark of the US in the name of championing democracy in all corners of the globe for which the UK fell

for hook, line and sinker.

With such checkered records and doublespeak, should the Modi government be enamored by Sullivan’s charm offensive?

The US seldom delivers what it promises, if its deeply flawed foreign policy is a marker of Washington’s overreach

Is the Biden administration on the same page?

There is a lack of clarity regarding whether the Biden administration’s various arms share Sullivan’s enthusiasm about Modi and India. Historically, the US State Department has been hostile towards New Delhi about ramping up bilateral engagement in the field of defense and hi-tech.

However, the jury is still out whether Sullivan, aided and abetted by the Pentagon, can ensure joint manufacturing of GE’s F-414 engine in India, which if Washington manages to pull off, will go down in the annals of history. At the same time, it will open a new front in the Arab world in the Middle East, where the US has been arming

them to the teeth in the name of twin threats from Iran and Israel. President Biden’s largesse may help India’s state-run Defense Research and Development Organization (DRDO) to indigenously develop the Tejas Mark II fighter aircraft for the Indian Air Force. US defense majors are also looking for an opening to manufacture other hi-tech weapons including loiter bombs, air-to-air missiles and long-range guided bombs amid stalled arms supplies from Russia owing to fear

of disruption in payment mechanisms over US-led Western sanctions on the ongoing special military operations in Ukraine. Sullivan aims to reboot several existing mechanisms such as upping the ante in sectors such as telecommunications, rare earth metals mining and space. Both NSAs discussed this during a meeting on Critical and Emerging Technologies (iCET) in Washington on January 31.

The mechanism received a boost during the first India-US Strategic Trade Dialogue meeting

in Washington on June 4 and 5.

US commerce secretary Gina Raimondo’s visit to New Delhi in March was a precursor to this high-level engagement that set the stage for Sullivan’s trip to iron out the rough edges in the bilateral ties.

Is Sullivan the ace of spades for Biden?

The New York Times stated

in 2021 that Sullivan, who has been equated with Henry Kissinger, has long been a “figure of fascination, somewhere between sympathy and schadenfreude.” He has been Biden’s go-to man for all reasons and seasons. He held

crucial talks with key Chinese officials and has a similar historic opportunity to make Modi seem to be a global leader, whose life has come full circle since Washington dubbed him a pariah. And time is of the essence as Biden’s fate is likely to be decided in a few months, even though Modi’s hold on power appears to be as firm as ever.

Sullivan had an inkling about Russia’s special military operations in Ukraine a couple of months before the conflict started in February of 2022. He tried to shape global opinion against Russia, including pushing through the sanctions. Has he managed to strengthen NATO, including Finland’s membership, is an open-ended question?

His speech

at the Brookings Institution in April laid bare the growing US challenges amid a new pivot known as the ‘new Washington Consensus’, a euphemism for geo-economics. How much has he achieved will be judged by posterity.

Sullivan has been single-mindedly pushing for a technological alliance with “trusted partners” such as India to stymie China’s dominance.

The Indo-Pacific maritime is his other pet project that has grabbed the headlines, even though he is not a foreign policy hawk. He seeks to be on an even keel with China, especially his recent engagement with Foreign Minister, Wang Yi.

India, according to Sullivan, connects all these dots, despite New Delhi’s deep historic ties with Moscow. But can the US play a “long game” since the presidential election may change the foreign policy outreach in the next few months.

Biden’s last hurrah?

According to a report

in The Washington Post, the US seeks to expand the developing world’s influence (read India) at the United Nations (UN). This hurriedly-thought through bid appears to empower the UN Security Council (UNSC) because of the latter’s ineffectiveness as a global body to stop conflicts such as the ongoing military standoff in Ukraine. This mechanism, which has long been in the works, is also Washington’s bid to push through a unipolar world narrative and keep Russia and China out of the frame. Wooing India helps because it is part of the strongest anti-US bloc in BRICS, where Brazil and South Africa bring up the rear

, to create an alternative world order.

Linda Thomas-Greenfield, President Biden’s envoy to the UN, is reportedly consulting with diplomats from the organization’s 193 member states to gather feedback about a potential expansion of the UNSC ahead of world leaders’ annual gathering in New York in September.

But Washington is unlikely to create a consensus in a fractured world, where the US is seen

as a perennial big bully. Besides, it’s unclear which countries in the Global South and from Africa and South America are likely to make the cut.

For instance, any nation such as Venezuela, Cuba, Egypt and Morocco will not be welcome to join the exclusive club because of their close ties with Russia and by extension are considered as rogue states by the US.

The US is unlikely to have its way because India’s seat at the global high table will be opposed tooth and nail by Pakistan.

A tricky road for Modi

Modi, who is known to have an elephant’s memory, may do well not to bite the US bullet ahead of his re-election next year, where he appears to be in the driver’s seat, despite a few recent domestic setbacks.

As for Biden, it could be a classic case of too little, too late to woo American voters with last-minute optics. The maxim “It’s the economy stupid

” could seal his fate for a second-term in the White House. His historically low approval ratings are an indictment for lording over an economy that’s teetering on the brink, despite his lofty pronouncements of a rosy outlook.

China war party vs. Russia war party

A must watch. -MM

What is the biggest opportunity you, or someone you know, has wasted?

It was 1974 and I was about to graduate from college. My adviser called me into his office. He informed me that I had the top cumulative average in the Business school of Marketing and Advertising at the university. I was shocked as I never expected that (I was sure he would be telling me I needed more credits to graduate.). He then told me that the graduate program had some openings for the upcoming fall semester. He stated that if I applied, I would not only be accepted, but that his department would pay for it. In essense, I could get a masters degree for the cost of books alone.

I was the first person in my family to go to college, much less graduate. Nobody I knew had a masters degree at that time nor did anybody impress upon me the importance of obtaining one. I politely thanked him and stupidly declined, stating I had a job offer to work at the family business. I was tired of studying and simply wanted to get out into the working world.

It was the biggest mistake I ever made. The family ruled with an iron fist and I was prevented from making any meaningful changes there. The products they sold changed with the times and eventually disappeared but the business never changed with it. I could see that it was dying and would not survive much longer. Unfortunately, too many years had lapsed and I was no longer marketable. Masters Degrees were becoming the norm to get a higher level business job and I foolishly had turned down an opportunity to get one.

I ended up returning to college, disillusioned with the business world and secured a teaching degree and, eventually, a master’s degree at my own expense. I found I really liked that job and I am still teaching nearly thirty years later. Had I taken that original offer though, back in 1974, I could have been working for a large corporation, at a much higher salary, with a good retirement plan and a lot more perks. I would have been able to retire with a 401K and turn to teaching as a second career, with a lot more money saved and with a second retirement plan ahead of me.

Fast forward to 2005. My son graduated MIT, first in his class in the school of Mechanical Engineering. He won the Presidential Award and received a similar offer from them to obtain his masters degree. I recounted my story and urged him to take it, which he did. When he was nearly finished, his adviser presented him with a free ride to get his PhD. He was hesitant but I pushed him to accept. He graduated at age 26 and started his first job at six figures.

Never turn down an opportunity for free education. It is time consuming and a lot of work, but the rewards pay back in the form of higher salaries and a better lifestyle.

Simpsons predictions…

What do Taiwanese people think about the Nanking Massacre? Do Taiwanese people hate Japanese like Mainland Chinese people?

When I young in Taiwan, all students must watch a one hour long documentary, Roar of China 中國的怒吼, documentary of all the atrocities of Japanese killing and bombing. Once a year, every year for many years. Attendance was mandatory for all, we had to write essay on the Japanese atrocities. That built a deep hatred towards Japan and Japanese. All Japanese movies and books were banned.

Occasional reports of Taiwan people love Japan and Japanese are wrong. As decades passed, that hatred gradually faded away to lesser degree, but among older Taiwan people, hatred of Japan is constant and in daily conversations.

I no longer hate Japan or Japanese, but I did not forget.

Gonna be more and more common in the USA…

Why didn’t the US give serious support to the Republic of China government in Taiwan to recover mainland China from the Communists in the 1960s and 1970s?

The Korean war.

In the early 1950’s, the United States (fresh from fighting World War II), along with its allies invaded Korea. The stated reasons were “democracy”, “freedom” and “fighting Communism”. Of course. The real reason was to attack and seize China while it was still weak. Then, from that captured territory, place military bases on the Russian Southern flank for an eventual World War 3.

Well, the Korean war was a fiasco. The United States lost bigly.

In fact, the losses were so very horrific, that the retreat became a rout. And the piles of equipment and stockpiles in warehouses had to be bombed remotely, by the sea and the air, to prevent capture. (This is by definition a rout. Remote demolitions of abandoned material is a characteristic of a rout.)

General Douglas MacArthur was so upset and defeated that he demanded that President Truman start using nuclear weapons on China, but Truman refused.

Instead President Truman initiated a multi-decade long campaign of carpet bombing China with bio-weapons. (Which didn’t do much to China, except make it very VERY resilient to bio-weapon attacks.)

This kind of stealth; passive-aggressive, attacking continued for decades. Well into the 1970s.

So when the 1960s rolled around, the United States was busy fighting on China’s Southern borders; Vietnam, Laos and Cambodia. All trying to obtain a “toe hold” there. But Chinese-backed Vietnamese forces were putting up a good fight.

You must realize that at that time, with a hostile and unstable SE Asia, and a very VERY pissed off China, the United States was in no way ready to take on China. Because over the decades of covert hostilities, the Chinese grew stronger, and angrier with each passing month.

So in the 1960s and into the 1970s, the United States did not attack China overtly. It’s not that the United States did not want to attack China. It is just that it simply could not. China was a very formidable fighting force, and the anticipated American (and allied) losses would have been enormous.

Tony has some words…

https://youtu.be/uHK30wl_0oo

What does it mean when the Chinese government turned down the request of the US Defense Department for the US and China defense chiefs to meet in Singapore to have discussions in June 2023?

It means that the Chinese are not fools. The United States sanctioned the Chinese defense chief, and if they would meet, that would be in violation of the sanctions.

Who knows what other “dirty tricks” the Biden administration has “up its sleeve”?

But also, and most importantly, nothing productive would come out of the meeting. The United States has proven itself to be two-faced, fork-tongued, lying, scheming, manipulating bastards that have only one goal which is to belittle, and ultimately destroy China.

Why would an American want to move to China?

Different people have different reasons.

I came to China because the Chinese government agreed to support my research and give me opportunity to build a team to pursue solutions for health problems with genomics. I tried again and again through the grant process and VC channels in the US. For grants, if you weren’t part of the group that gets most of the grant money or one of their proteges (“the club”), you weren’t getting a grant. And, if you weren’t 20 something with no experience but full of wild ideas VC funds weren’t interested, they are all looking for the next Zuckerberg or Gates. They didn’t care about sound business plans.

So, I came to China where I was first able to almost immediately raise money from VCs and then after a year the Chinese government agreed to support me, my team and my projects.

China is the land of opportunity for talented scientists. They are putting a lot of money into developing a broad group of technologies of which biotech is one. A key focus of the education system is STEM graduates. So, for me, China was the obvious choice.

Note: I could’ve gotten a job in the US and been paid a very good wage, although I am doing well, especially by Chinese standards, I would’ve made more in the US. But, here I am supported to pursue my passion. And, it is a very good opportunity to experience the culture and the people.

The largest group of American expats here in China are teachers though. In China, teaching is a very well respected profession and the teachers are well compensated with lots of perks. They came here, some for the experience, most for the increased wages and respect that they found they lacked in the US.

Fried Okra with Tomatoes and Onions

Ingredients

2 slices bacon
1 pound sliced okra
1/2 onion, chopped
10 cherry tomatoes, halved
Kosher salt and pepper, to taste

Instructions

Fry bacon crisp. Remove from skillet and drain.
Fry okra in bacon drippings.
Add onion. Cook until tender.
Add tomatoes; stir well.
Add bacon and salt and pepper. Cover and cook over medium heat for 15 minutes.

What is the creepiest unexplained event you know of?

In 1989 two hikers who got lost while climbing Mount Asahidake in Daisetsuzan National Park were found when a helicopter saw the distress sign written on the side of the mountain and rescued them.

Great for the two hikers and lucky because this is where the story gets strange. The police in the area were sure the hikers had made the SOS sign that was made by stacking large birch trees on top of each other, the sign was quiet large. When the police questioned the two hikers about their ordeal they swore they knew nothing about the sign. It was just pure luck on their part.

This got the investigators worried because if they didn’t make the signal, who did? This led the police back to the area with a search team to find another potential missing person. After a few hours of searching the area the police discovered human bones with bite marks and fractures from before they died. This is where the story goes from strange to bizarre.

As they continued their search they came across a hole big enough to fit a human. In the hole they found a human skull, four cassette tapes, a tape recorder, some amulets, a backpack, tripod, some men’s shoes, two cameras, a notebook and a drivers licence belonging to Kenji Iwamura, a 25-year-old male office worker.

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Photo of Kenji Iwamura

On one of the tapes was the voice of a man screaming for two and a half minutes. A translation of the man shouting on the recording is as follows:

SOS, help me, I can’t move on the cliff, SOS, help me.
The place is where I first met the helicopter. The sasa [a type of bamboo plant] is deep and you can’t go up. Lift me up from here. The police were sure the bones belonged to the guy on the drivers licence but went sent for testing they came back as belonging to a female between the ages 20–30.

The rest of the tapes included music from the anime TV shows, Macross and Magical Princess Minky Momo In addition, a cut out of artwork of “Magical Princess Minky Momo” was used as a case for the cassette tape. This strange disappearance had the police perplexed.

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The wooden letters of the SOS sign were made by stacking large fallen birch trees, and it was estimated that it took about two days and considerable effort to create such a giant sign. It was speculated that the sign was made by the missing person that the skeleton belonged to, but in the autopsy of the skeleton that was found, who investigators believed was Iwamura, the body was described as thin and weak and that it would have been impossible for him to make the sign on his own.

No axe that would have been used to cut the trees down to make the sign has been found. There is also no record or report of a missing woman that could be connected to Iwamura.

Lx24 – Мокрые губы – 抖音BGM 2023

What was the most “Canadian” thing you’ve ever done or seen someone do?

I saw this video on the internet.

A wild lynx had broken into a farmer’s chicken coop and ate some chicken. (British Columbia, February 2021.)

So what does the farmer do? He corners the lynx, picks it up by the scruff of the neck, and takes it into the coop to show it the damage it has done – all the while scolding the lynx casually in the way that a person would scold a naughty cat who has scratched up a cushion.

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I think it has become a pet now.

Broke into a farmer’s coop, annihilated two chickens, gets a polite scolding and some selfies with the farmer. Only in Canada.

What is the best life advice you would give?

I’m in my 40s, if you’re still in your 20s and 30s read this:

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1. Your 3 most important life choices are:
I) Your spouse
II) Your career
III) Where you’ll live
Therefore, do not rush these decisions. Take your time and think.

2. To get what you want, you have to deserve what you want.
To attract the right people, be the right person.
The world isn’t crazy enough to reward a bunch of undeserving people (Charlie Munger).

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3. Stop listening to what people say and watch what they do.
Words lie, and actions reveal the truth.
It is, therefore, important to listen and keep your eyes wide open.

4. The cowards never started and the weak died along the way.
There’s wisdom in age.

Study things and people who have been around for a long time in:
• Art
• Nature
• Architecture
• Classic books
• Classic movies

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5. Take care of your health.
Have a healthy body:
• Take 10k steps a day
• Be intentional and regular about exercising
• Adopt a high-protein diet
• Take only nutrient-dense food
• Drink 2-3 liters of water daily
• Avoid processed sugar and alcohol

In the long run, it is inevitable that you will have;
• Clear Skin
• A Clear mind
• High energy

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Your mind is your greatest asset.
So walk, write, think, stretch, be in solitude, meditate, and spend time in nature.
Avoid;
• News
• Politics
• Toxic relationships
Stop reacting to everything and instead, be proactive.

6. Attitude and mindset are extremely important.

Poor mentality traits:
• Waiting for motivation to start
• Quitting when the motivation fades
• Doing only what you think is your best

Rich mentality traits:
• Getting motivation after starting
• Showing up every day (no matter what)
• Doing what it takes
So, which one would you choose?

7. It’s not the strongest or smartest who survive, it’s the ones who are most adaptable to the changing environment.
Consistency beats intensity and the compound effect is one of the secrets to success.

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8. Don’t let people push you around, and stand up for the weak.
Fight back against anyone who pushes your boundaries.
Most people will not bother you if they know you’ll retaliate.

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9. Be a mad Scientist.
Life is one big experiment.
So whenever you feel stuck, adapt and try something new.
There are no failures, only experiments that go too long.
And never learn without taking action.

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10. Never play the victim.
Life will test you. It’ll test everyone. So you’re not special.
Learned helplessness is a trap.
Face your problems head-on to build character and resilience.
Instead of thinking about why the problem is happening to you, flip the script and acknowledge that it has already been done and it’s too late to undo it. From there you’ll be aware of the fact that the best thing you can do is move forward.

11. Practice Problem-Solving.
The bigger your problems, the bigger your opportunity.
Be thankful for your problems. God only gives you what you can handle.

12. Take responsibility for everything.
Blaming people or circumstances gives them power over you. Only blame yourself.

13. Find mentors.
Find mentors that are years ahead of you.
Absorb everything they teach you.
Learn from their failures so you don’t have to learn the hard way.
If you can’t find a mentor, read books.

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14. You will be happiest when building:
• Your mind
• Your body
• Your business
• Your family

Learn these skills and never worry about money:
• Selling
• Marketing
• Negotiation
• Copy Trading
• Copywriting
• Critical Thinking
• Creative Creation
• Emotional Intelligence
• Communication

15. Do what is difficult when it is easy.
You’re young, therefore:
• It’s easy to stay fit
• It’s easy to experiment and fail
• It’s easy to be open-minded and learn

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16. Financial freedom unlocks your extreme potential.
You get to experience and express your true self when you know your livelihood isn’t 100% reliant on other outside forces that might be uncontrollable by you. So when you achieve financial independence earlier on in your life, you are going to invest in yourself and believe in yourself regardless, you are going to work out and exercise because you will not be limited by time.

If you’re still employed, don’t be discouraged, just look for ways to make an extra buck and save it gradually till you have what you’d consider enough to get started. In one of my sources of passive income, I got started with just $500 and within a month, I saw immense results.

Going into the rabbit hole as we explore the chronicles of the future

One thing that I do enjoy is the smell of pine. I used to live in Hattiesburg Mississippi and the pine forests were huge. During the Spring, if you were not careful, you would get one heck of an allergy attack, though. But pines are nice, and dare I say it, magical.

Of course, being a PA boy, I like hard-woods, but pines are easy to walk through and magical on snowy nights. It’s an exercise in white and black. Quite and experience. You all should try it some time. If you live in the Northern climes, please take the time to make your nights during Winter magical.

Take care everyone.

Todays…

Why is Bill Gates visiting China now?

Simple we’re meeting the real leaders of the USA.

What you thought your votes meant anything? The USA is a corporate dystopia owned and run for the mega corporations.

The president the government are simply going through the motions and most people can’t see through it.

China supports Palestinian people’s just cause of restoring legitimate national rights — Chinese FM

Chinese State Councilor and Foreign Minister Qin Gang met with Palestinian Foreign Minister Riyad Al-Maliki in Beijing on Tuesday.

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Al-Maliki is accompanying Palestinian President Mahmoud Abbas on his state visit to China from June 13 to 16.

President Abbas is the first Arab head of state to be hosted by China this year, which speaks volumes about the special friendship between the two countries and China’s support for the just cause of Palestine, Qin said.

He said he believes the two heads of state will plan the future development of bilateral relations and advance the traditional friendship to a higher level.

China has always firmly supported the Palestinian people’s just cause of restoring their legitimate national rights and will continue to support peace talks between Palestine and Israel and contribute wisdom to resolving the Palestinian question, Qin said.

Al-Maliki said China is a trustworthy, reliable friend, and Palestine appreciates the proposals pushed forward by China’s head of state for resolving the Palestinian question.

He added Palestine follows the one-China policy and will continue to support China on issues concerning China’s core interests.

10 REAL Cases Of Time Travel That Cannot Be Explained

Interesting, but don’t get too caught up on this kind of stuff. Who knows how valid any of this is. All I know is that time is our own PERSONAL experience record. Time travel isn’t really something that can exist, but rather a hopping or jumping upon the template.

POLAND SAYS BORDER TROOPS “FIRED UPON FROM BELARUS”

World Hal Turner 15 June 2023

The government of Poland has just issued a statement claiming its Border Guards were “fired upon from the territory of Belarus.”

No further details have been released at this hour, 5:28 PM EDT. Check back for Updates.

What were wills that you do not see every day?

In June 1948, farmer Cecil George Harris accidentally put his tractor in reverse.

The tractor overturned, trapping Harris’ left leg under the rear wheel.

His wife didn’t find him until 10:30 that night, and he died at the hospital.

When neighbors investigated the accident scene days later, they found that Harris had carved an inscription into the tractor’s fender with his work knife.

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It read:

In case I die in this mess, I leave everything to my wife. Cecil Geo Harris.

The courts ruled that this was a valid will.

The fender was kept in the Kerrobert courthouse until 1996.

Today it and the knife are on display at the University of Saskatchewan Law Library.

This story reminds me of a Tuscan friend of mine who overturned his tractor and died.

Working a field with a tractor in mountains and hills is very difficult and dangerous, even though it looks easy to us who are just watching.

Lots of people die under a tractor every year.

Southern Pineapple Pound Cake

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Ingredients

8 eggs
2 cups Crisco
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 (20 ounce) can crushed pineapple, undrained
3 cups flour
3 cups sugar
1 teaspoon salt

Instructions

Cream sugar and shortening.
Add eggs one at a time.
Add flour and salt gradually.
Stir in vanilla extract and pineapple.
Bake in a greased and floured tube pan at 350 degrees F for about 1 1/2 hours. Or bake in two greased and floured loaf pans for about 1 hour.

What is your opinion on the U.S.’s strategy to outcompete China?

It’s a pretty useless strategy. It’s failing badly.

It’s based on dirty tricks, typical Tonya Harding-style tactics.

The USA has no hope of restoring the semiconductor industry, nor general manufacturing, in the country. Labour is too expensive. The populace is too far behind in education. The populace is too fat and lazy. The population is shrinking, and for a population that is already a quarter the size of China’s, that’s a real problem.

The Amazing United States

President Biden – United States will build a railroad from the Pacific all the way across the Indian Ocean * this is something that even China cannot do Watch: * unable to compete with China, the Americans have turned “mental”

He Spent a Year in 3906 | This is what Paul Amadeus Dienach saw

This is very interesting.

The entire diary has been transcribed in a book titled “Chronicles from the Future”. There is all sorts of names, histories, places and stories worthy of review in the book. This you-tube video is simply just an overview. I am providing the full PDF of that book HERE for your reading pleasure.

A change in Mindset

The USA’s technology base is still the best in the world. Is that so, Mr. Zakaria?

According to a recent ASPI report, China leads the world in 37 out of 44 technological fields.

China has the finest infrastructure engineering in the world. That’s why it has spectacular bridges, high-speed rail, airports, seaports, dams, etc.

China is the world’s leader in green energy production, EV and battery production, thorium molten salt reactors, etc.

China has a spanking brand new space station, while the ISS is suffering leaks and is due to be decommissioned by 2030 with no replacement in sight.

China is the first and only nation to land on the far side of the moon.

China leads the world in 5G and 6G.

Despite US tech sanctions, China is rapidly creating its own semiconductor manufacturing chain with a number of major breakthroughs.

The USA is trying to spread good values? Perhaps that’s so but at what cost?

Over the past seven decades the USA has fought many dozens of wars and caused massive death and destruction everywhere (by some estimates, millions of civilian deaths). Is this worth the good values America is spreading? Please answer me, Mr. Zakaria.

Let’s be honest, the USA has no moral legitimacy.

The bad relation between Australia and China was Australia’s doing, sticking its nose into China’s domestic affairs.

India and China have had a long-standing border dispute. This can hardly be Xi Jinping’s fault. There’ve been border clashes for decades.

Vietnam and China still have positive economic relations, so I don’t know what Mr. Zakaria is talking about. Ditto for South Korea and China.

Moreover, China has vastly improved its relations with nearly every country in the Global South, including in Latin America, Africa, the Middle East, Central Asia and Southeast Asia. What about BRICS, RCEP and SCO?

By contrast, the USA’s diplomatic relations around the world have fared far worse. US sanctions have driven a wedge between them. The USA alienated Saudi Arabia, esp. with the Khashoggi affair. When the USA went to Saudi Arabia pleading for increased oil production, Saudi Arabia dismissed them and did the exact opposite — cut oil production! Most of the world is massively de-dollarizing.

Why did China decide not to talk to the Americans? Consider this: for years, the USA has been demonizing China, sanctioning China, antagonizing China in Chinese waters, interfering in Taiwan, saying one thing and doing the exact opposite, and generally being a pain in the ass. Is it any wonder China is sick and tired of this crap?

The USA has proven itself to be duplicitous and dishonest. Is this a foundation for dialogue? Please answer me, Mr. Zakaria.

The USA needs to show China that it is willing to deal with China sincerely and consistently.

The choice between the US technology bloc and the Chinese technology bloc comes down to what each bloc has to offer. The US bloc offers military and security promises. The Chinese bloc offers peaceful economic promises.

If you have the mindset that says the world is after you and all is not safe, then the US bloc is the natural choice.

If you have the mindset that says the world can be peaceful through cooperation and common prosperity, then the Chinese bloc is the natural choice.

What is your mindset?

The United States returns to Africa BIG TIME

This is how the United States will counter China in Africa
AND ensure that America will reigned supreme into the next millennium

Watch speech by President Biden

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zACN35LNO5Q

that is one incoherent incomprehensible mumbo jumbo

The Most Convincing Time Traveler Story

He ended up in a mental hospital…

Israel Just Smashed Themselves . . .

World Hal Turner 15 June 2023

Israel confirms it will give Ukraine 200 Merkerva Tanks.

Stabbed Russia right in the back.

7 Mind Bending TRUE Time Travel

What is a meal you cannot recreate, even if you tried?

When I was a kid, we rented a house in the country. We had access to wonderful locally produced food. Our landlord had two Guernsey cows as well as chickens. We bought from him amazing whole milk with a very high butterfat content. The milk was not homogenized. The eggs were from free range hens. My mother grew vegetables and berries in a large garden. It was apple country so apples were very reasonable. My aunt canned vegetables and pears from her garden and kept a few hens. The meals I ate could not be duplicated since many of the heirloom fruits and vegetables are no longer available. The number of free range Guernsey cows is quite low in the US (which has mostly Holsteins). Modern homes tend to treat hard water but we drank the pure well water.

Many of the meals my mother cooked could not be duplicated but I will use the example of breakfast. I drank a large glass of whole milk (from a cow I was fond of). The toast was made from my mother’s home made bread. The bread was made using unbleached flour and water from the well which was in a limestone aquifer. The butter was locally made. The jam was jarred by my aunt. The eggs came the from chickens we saw every day behind our house. My mother squeezed the orange juice herself. We did not have bacon often but when we did it was locally sourced. We even had country style entertainment at breakfast – just before we ate, my mother would feed the wild birds at the stone porch ledge outside our kitchen window. We always had a wide variety of birds to watch while we ate.

We ate high calorie meals but we were very active. The local farmers lived to ripe old ages and could heft big feed bags even when elderly.

I was very fond of foraging in my mother’s garden and ate a lot of vegetables right in the garden. I would go into the fields and eat sun warmed berries. We gathered our own beechnuts and hazelnuts.

My mother and aunt were both excellent cooks who rarely bought premade food.

UH OH! BANKS IN AUSTRALIA ANNOUNCE WITHDRAWAL LIMITS

World Hal Turner 15 June 2023

From August 20th 2023 Westpac Bank Australia customers will be prohibited from withdrawing more than $1000 from their accounts per day.

Other Banks will follow.

Access to your own cash . . . . SEVERELY LIMITED.

Still think Banking troubles are about a computer Virus?

Then, there’s THIS:

One needs only wonder why, if Australian Banks are owned mostly by U.S. financial firms, the people of Australia will be limited to their own money? Since it is U.S. Firms that __seem__ to be affecting withdrawal limits in Australia, then wouldn’t it be logical to believe they might try the same thing here in the US or over in Europe?

Forewarned is forearmed. Act accordingly.

Australia Approves Mandatory (Bill Gates) mRNA Vaccines for ALL Agriculture

World Hal Turner 15 June 2023

Australia has announced plans to inject Bill Gates’ mRNA vaccines into all livestock destined for people’s dinner plates.

According to reports, the Australian government plans to make the vaccine rollout mandatory for all animals, regardless of whether cattle farmers agree or not.

On May 2, 2023, Meat and Livestock Australia (MLA) announced funding for a project to ‘test mRNA vaccines that can be rapidly mass-produced in Australia in the event of a lumpy skin disease or other exotic disease outbreak’.

The Manager for Animal Wellbeing, released a statement declaring:

‘This project will develop a mRNA vaccine pipeline initially for LSD, but potentially for other emergency diseases. This will enable capacity for rapid mass production of a vaccine for LSD in the event of an outbreak. No LSD vaccines are registered for use in Australia yet. While some vaccines exist overseas, the path to registration in Australia for traditionally-produced [vaccines] is longer than that of an mRNA vaccine.’

Spectator.com.au reports: Why are traditional vaccines, which have safety records that outstrip mRNA vaccines, subject to longer approval periods than mRNA vaccines? That sounds like a significant structural failure within Australia’s health body that, instead of being fixed, has the potential to be exploited by manufacturers looking to cash in on mRNA.

mRNA vaccines are quick to produce and ‘nimble’, which is why pharmaceutical companies like them – but that doesn’t mean that they are safe, effective, or suitable for consumers whether those are humans or livestock.

A 2022 article in PubMed Central notes: ‘Recently, the successful application of mRNA vaccines against Covid has further validated the platform and opened the floodgates to mRNA vaccine’s potential in infectious disease prevention, especially in the veterinary field.’

Do you feel mRNA has been ‘validated’ over the last three years?

No doubt this is why we keep hearing bleatings of ‘emergency’ and ‘outbreak’ in the same breath as mRNA, as if to remind us of the mantra used during the Covid era to embark on what the former Health Minister referred to as the ‘largest clinical trial – the largest global vaccine trial ever’. Look how that turned out.

The fall-out of Covid mRNA vaccines is likely to continue for the best part of a century as a percentage of vaccinated individuals ‘die suddenly’ or suffer from long-term debilitating illnesses. These are quickly becoming a burden for the health industry and state finances after vaccine manufacturers hand-waved responsibility because it was an ‘emergency’. Most nations are setting up compensation pools of cash to cope with the growing list of individuals who claim to have been harmed.

Another excuse used to feather the nest of mRNA vaccines is that they are thought to provide the solution for influenza-style viruses which traditional vaccines have proven ineffective against. Everyone wants to see an effective vaccine against respiratory viruses, but it’s almost as if the doe-eyed vaccine industry has put on a blindfold for the last three years. mRNA Covid vaccines did next to nothing to combat or control the influenza-style Covid and do not, based on what we have seen, offer any advantage to traditional vaccines for this problem beyond the feel-good marketing headlines. There is a strong argument that for the majority of the population, they did more harm than good.

Instead of suspending all mRNA vaccines until we understand what went wrong, they are being given priority treatment by regulators and championed by manufacturers who love the competitive edge of speed their production offers. Governments, particularly the (broke?) Victorian state government, are funneling tens of millions into mRNA development to keep capitaliZing on the political popularity they enjoyed during the Covid era.

MLA note that mRNA vaccines should be ready for use within two years and while everyone is busy stressing that this will be a ‘voluntary’ option for the farming community, vaccines inside the agricultural industry rarely are if a producer wishes to sell their product into domestic and international markets. If we go down the mRNA vaccine production line, it is extremely likely that Australians will be eating mRNA-vaccinated livestock within a couple of years with very little understanding of what this will mean health-wise.

Anyone who criticiZes mRNA vaccines or their potential future within the agricultural industry are paraded through the press as ‘conspiracy theorists’ with publications quick to send out the fact-checkers to insist that it’s pure fear-mongering to suggest fragments of these vaccines will end up in the food chain.

Except, it was a ‘conspiracy theory’ to suggest that the human body would continue making Covid mRNA vaccines long after the injection, or to raise concerns that it would leave the site of the injection. Not only did the fears described as ‘conspiracy’ prove to be true, the behavior and side effects of Covid mRNA vaccines are reaching well beyond what anyone predicted.

How sure are we that in the rush to saturate the market with mRNA vaccines, that proper long-term testing will be conducted, particularly when it comes to lingering in meat and milk? Will it impact high-risk activities such as calving, given there is a strong suspicion that Covid vaccines are responsible for a spike in human miscarriages?

Keep in mind that we are still being told Covid vaccines are ‘safe and effective’. The Australian government, sitting on a pile of unwanted vaccines, is spending public money on marketing campaigns, encouraging Australians to go and get their booster shots at the same time other countries have removed Covid vaccines.

At least some States in the US are taking note, rushing to pass legislation to ban the use of mRNA vaccines for animals involved in the food industry whose meat or milk is produced for human consumption. Idaho is one example where it will be a misdemeanor to use mRNA vaccines – and that includes the Covid vaccines.

Australians need to be aware that mRNA vaccines are coming for the agricultural industry and they will likely be compulsory. America is having a serious conversation about whether this should be allowed, and Australia needs to do the same thing. It is perfectly reasonable to require extensive long-term safety data before we revolutioniZe agriculture.

This conversation will not happen on its own. Australia’s agricultural elite resemble a body of yes-men nodding furiously toward mRNA. Family farmers – disempowered, constrained, and demoraliZed – have no voice in this matter. Their wishes will be bulldozed by a small collection of billion-dollar farming entities, several of which are foreign-owned.

If Australians care about what they eat, it’s time to start making a racket. As for those of us in American and in Europe, it might be wise to STOP BUYING ALL AUSTRALIAN AGRICULTURAL PRODUCTS/MEATS, IMMEDIATELY.

Southern Peach Ice Cream

Ingredients

4 cups peeled, diced fresh peaches (about 8 small ripe peaches)
1 cup granulated sugar
1 (12 ounce) can evaporated milk
1 (3.75 ounce) box vanilla instant pudding mix
1 (14 ounce) can sweetened condensed milk
4 cups Half-and-Half

Instructions

Combine peaches and sugar; let stand 1 hour.
Process peach mixture in a food processor until smooth, stopping to scrape down sides.
Stir together evaporated milk and pudding mix in a large bowl; stir in peach puree, sweetened condensed milk and Half-and-Half.
Pour mixture into freezer container of a 4 quart hand-turned or electric freezer; freeze according to manufacturer’s instructions.
Spoon into an airtight container, and freeze until firm.

Chinese FM holds phone talks with U.S. secretary of state on June 14. What did they talk about? What does this mean?

Let us compare their focus, shall we?

Qin: USA knows well who causes the difficult relationship between China & USA. Taiwan is China’s core among all core interests.

Blinken: USA & China must meet. (No main points)

Western media kept telling us that Blinken is going to China. Even has a date June 18.

But China maintains not to talk just for the sake of talking when USA never follows thru what it “promised” in meetings. It is a waste of time to talk empty.

This time US media said Blinken may meet 3 Chinese officials eg Qin Gang, Wang Yi & possibly Xi Jinping. (wow, Xi Jinping??? Right away we know it is exaggeration)

Like the Chinese “spy” balloon sage at the last minute of Blinken’s Chinese trip to China, this time there is suddenly a Chinese spy base in Cuba. Looks like USA is, again, preparing to say Blinken cancels the Chinese trip because of a spy base in Cuba.

Really, USA should learn that giving China pressure by fabricating a story wont get China to submit & meet US officials.

Treat China as a equal partner to USA. No more suppression. No more sanctions. No more LIES.

Today’s China is strong enough not to endure US “supremacy” any more.

Former NATO Chief Admits “We Decided Back in 2008, Ukraine WILL Become Member of NATO”

World Hal Turner 15 June 2023 Hits: 7447

Former NATO Chief Admits “We Decided Back in 2008, Ukraine WILL Become Member of NATO”

Folks who think the Russia-Ukraine conflict began on February 24, 2022 may be surprised to learn it’s been brewing since 2008. Former NATO Chief Anders Fogh Rasmussen admits in video below “We decided back in 2008, Ukraine WILL become a member of NATO.”

That decision caused today’s troubles.

In the video below, released by “Alliance of Democracies” which was founded by the former NATO Chief, Rasmussen speaks about the present Russia-Ukraine conflict and how NATO is trying to find a way to admit Ukraine even though it is presently at conflict with Russia!

Rasmussen points to the possibility that the US and NATO might give certain “Security Guarantees” to Ukraine BEFORE it is admitted to NATO. The Interviewer asks Rasmussen if such Security Guarantees might be worded similar to those between the US and Israel, and Rasmussen makes a STUNNING admission:

We don’t have to use that wording we can use the wording from 2008. “We decided in 2008 Ukraine WILL be admitted to NATO.”

At approximately 1m 57s into the video below, he makes that statement. Watch for yourself:

This is a stunning fact. This was not previously publicized, anywhere.

What this means is that the present troubles between Russia-Ukraine/NATO/US all began with that decision back in the year 2008.

From that decision, the US/NATO and the collective West, did what they thought necessary to lay the foundations TO DO EXACTLY WHAT THEY PROMISED RUSSIA THEY WOULD NOT DO.

Back in 1991, then US Secretary of State, James Baker, met with then-Soviet General Secretary Mikhail Gorbachev and his then Soviet Foreign Minister, Eduard Shevrednadze in the Kremlin. It is noted in official US and UK documents that Baker, on orders from then US President George H.W. Bush, told Gobachev and Shevrednadze that if the then Soviet Union agreed to the re-unification of East and West Germany, “NATO will not move beyond the Elbe (River)” in East Germany.

Here is a snippet of the UK document, from the UK National Archive, outlining the facts:

ScreenShot Minutes Elba Meeting NATO Wont MoveEastOfElba

So NATO knew in 2008, that back in 1991, the US, UK, France, and Germany promised the then Soviet Union that NATO would **NOT** be expanded east of Germany and now we see above, straight from the horses mouth, that the very Chief of NATO back in 2008 agreed to admit Ukraine. He knew they were not supposed to do that, but they did it anyway.

The US, UK, France and Germany explicitly promised not to do that, and NATO went ahead and did it anyway starting in 2008.

That leads us to who was in charge back in 2008. In the US, George W. Bush (the son) was President.

Michael Hayden, a retired United States Air Force four-star general and former Director of the National Security Agency, Principal Deputy Director of National Intelligence, was Director of the Central Intelligence Agency.

Robert Gates, an American intelligence analyst and university president served as the twenty-second United States Secretary of Defense from 2006 to 2011.

Those are the men who needed to green-light such a move by NATO and, clearly, from Rasumussen’s admission in the video above, they must have actually done so.

Here we are, 15 or so years later, we are all on the verge of Nuclear World War 3 because of the decisions these men took in 2008.

Now, on several of my radio shows, I have wondered aloud if the people in our government are psychopaths based on the things they are doing which ARE leading us all into another World War?

The video above gives all of us a look into whether or not they actually ARE psychopaths.

When the Interviewer in the video above, asks Rasmussen “What will the Russians think about that (Giving security guarantees to Ukraine before it is admitted to NATO) Rasmussen replies “I don’t care.”

. . . and there . . . . right there . . . you now see the answer to whether or not these people are psychopaths.

We are facing nuclear World War 3 because of what men like Rasmussen did – and are still doing – and his response to the Interviewer is simply “I don’t care.”

With people like this, doing what’s being done, you and I seem to have no hope at all of avoiding nuclear world war 3.

Prepare as best you can with Emergency Food, Water, Medicine, a generator for electric, fuel for that generator, communications gear (CB/HAM Radio) and get right with God.

This Cat Table Gives Your Feline a Seat in the Table

Japanese online retailer Dinos has released a new line of cat furniture and part of their line-up includes this all-natural oak wood table.

With a perch underneath and a hole in the middle, it gives your feline friend a seat, right in the middle of the table. Expertly crafted with high-quality wood, the fashionable table is beautiful both with or without your kitty.

More: Dinos h/t: spoon&tamago

On 2023/6/2-4, in the 20th conference for world defense leaders, UAE announced that it has withdrawn from the US-led navy. Instead, UAE joins the Middle East navy alliance. What is Middle East navy alliance?

The Middle East navy alliance is formed by 8 countries: Iran, Saudi Arabia, Oman, Bahrain, Iraq, Pakistan & India. The job is to protect the waters in the gulf. Instead of asking USA for protection.

Iran navy spokesman said: we cannot find a legal reason to justify foreign (USA) navy to exist in Middle East. (I add) USA has no land, sea or air in Middle East. USA cannot “protect” gulf waters without invitation by ME. Middle East belongs to the peoples in Middle East.

Western media said UAE was not happy that US-led navy did not protect UAE well. Once a UAE oil tanker was said to have been detained, by Iran, western media said.

Then how to explain that UAE joins the Middle East navy alliance where Iran is in it?

The truth: after the Middle East reconciliation, ME countries compared notes. They found Iran did not detain UAE’s oil tanker. Who took UAE’s tanker? USA?

USA is like a gossiper who breaks up the friendship between people.

USA used threats to make others submit to USA.

ME was bullied by UK+USA. ME had no choice before. With the rise of China, & the help of Russia, ME rebels against USA. Simple.

In June 2023, Palestine representative visited China. Hope there is Palestine-Israel reconciliation in future. Israel+USA has turned Gaza into a hell. Violating lots of human rights. It breaks my heart.

US FedGov and NATO HQ Claims Under “Cyber-Attack” – Pro-Ukraine Group Promises to Blow-Up Kerch Strait Bridge within 36 Hours

World Hal Turner 15 June 2023

Several Agencies of the United States Government are saying publicly this hour (3:11 PM EDT) they are under “Cyber Attack.” NATO Headquarters in Brussels is also claiming to be under “Cyber-Attack” Meanwhile, pro-Ukraine groups are publicly promising to “Blow-Up” the Kerch Strait Bridge to harm Russia.

These are developing stories, check back.

UPDATE 4:04 PM EDT —

I was reminded of an unusual posting on Twitter from the Atlantic Council just ONE WEEK AGO, making clear a “Cyber Attack can trigger Article 5 collective Defense” as seen in the brief video below:

Interesting just one WEEK after the Atlantic Council reminds the world of this fact, lo and behold, there’s a cyber attack against NATO.

Gee, how convenient.

Maybe we should start a countdown or take bets to see how long it may be until they blame . . . . hmmmmmm . . . . who might they want to blame . . . . .

oh yes, RUSSIA!

This is so obvious it’s disgusting.

These people are treating the possibility of World War 3 as if it’s a game.

UPDATE 4:15 PM EDT —

Some people seem to be getting VERY carried away, but I am reporting this to you so you can see what’s already being spoken about on Social Media — it’s NOT good:

THIS IS SO OVER-THE-TOP I CANNOT BELIEVE ANY RATIONAL ENTITY WOULD HAVE ACTUALLY PUBLISHED SUCH A THING. YET, HERE IT IS.

This is precious

Why do Americans call the Chinese Communist government evil when it has lifted many people out of poverty?

To be more objective, rational, not all “Americans,” just a small group of them, especially the majority of those so-called “US elites” — including those in the political, military, financial, and media circles.

Not the vast in the trade and business circle — them with wide, deep and interwoven interests with China.

Not the vast in the education circle — basically they prefer more students from China, anyway, they equal to money to certain extent; also, most in the education circle still have some brain.

Not the vast of the ordinary Americans — they either would rather care less about anything China, or they personally have no those distaste towards Chinese government or the Chinese people.

Those Americans who really call the Chinese Communist government evil never really care about the human rights, wellbeings of other people, not even those citizens in their own country.

They only care about their own interests.

So, whoever “threatens” their already-possessed-interests, whoever blocks their way and becomes barriers for them to get more interests, is “evil.”

So, Chinese government has lifted some 800 million Chinese people out of extreme poverty in the past several decades? What’t their business?

But with more than a billion Chinese people uplifting their livelihoods, that means they need to consume more resources on the Earth. That would be “a miserable time” for “Australians and Americans,” as once said by Barack Obama.

Obama praises ‘smart but humble’ Rudd

So, isn’t the Chinese Communist government evil, by improving the over one billion Chinese people’s living standard? For us, it’s the realization of our China Dream, but for them, seems more like a nightmare.

China follows the political system of one-party-rule, with the other eight democratic parties providing consulations to its governance.

— How evil it is!

Because there leaves very very slim to no room for staging color revolutions in the country, especially on the Chinese mainland, where no “opposition party(ies)” for the US to infiltrate, and then to enstigate wide-spread anti-government protests, and hence be used as a weapon to shoot down the ruling administration!

But they never express it this way, they brand China as dictatorship, no election, no democracy! They are more than eager to “liberate” us Chinese people from the “tyranny,” and to force democracy onto us, even facts have spoken so loudly we are living a far better life nowadays without their “democracy.”

China “controls” its mass media, publications and also today’s online platforms.

— How evil it is!

Because there leaves very very slim to no room for the Western Mainstream Media to infiltrate into the mass media outlets, especially the state-owned media outlets here in China, but they still have achieved certain success, with spies infiltrated into even the highest level of state-owned media outlets. But on general, they can not control and manipulate the voices which should represent the Chinese people’s interests, as their louder speakers to demonize China, the Chinese government, the ruling Chinese Communist Party, the Chinese leadership as a whole and also as individuals — though they have been doing, are doing, and will continue to do all these outside China.

But anyway, the bulwalks are usually broken from within, no matter how strong they are. Now, with the “controlling” over the voices inside China by the Chinese government, we speak the same language, share the same vision, act in a unified manner, to build our country, our society, a better one, so the bulwark is strong enough as it should be. No possibility of being cracked by them into “a heap of loose sand,” so as to avoid being crushed one by one, with their philosophy of “divide and rule” — whether on regional powers or within a country with different parties/tribes/interest groups, etc.

But they never express it this way, they blame China for cencorship, they instigate that Chinese people are lack of freedom, they call Chinese living in an “Orwellian state”! But they would never shed even a drop of tear for the Chinese people once we live in a “free” world — like the then Russia immediate after the collapse of the Soviet Union, like the miserable Iraqis of today who are impacted by the US invasion, in the name of liberating the Iraqis and bringing democracy to the people there under the “dictator” Saddam Hussein……

China has most of its state assets “gripped” in the hands of the government, with a public system of — medical care, education, infrastructure, etc., or with its massive state-owned enterprises.

— How evil it is!

Because there leaves very very slim to no room for the Western capital to suck the Chinese blood like the leeches, or to even plough through the Chinese economic system and have a full control of the Chinese assets for their own interests, like what they have been parasiting on, exploiting and devouring many economies around the world.

But they never express it this way, they brand Chinese economy as “state-capitalism,” claiming Chinese economy not a free market economy, even though, it is the US who have listed more than one thousand Chinese companies, entities and individuals on its sanction list, while China is opening its arms as wide as it can, and welcoming CEOs and companies across the world to do business in and with China.

There are many other similar logic and similar cases.

In my opinion, whether a government is “evil” or not, we don’t necessarily need to listen to what the outsiders are trumpeting, we can see with our own eyes, hear with our own ears, feel with our own hearts, think with our own minds, experience with our own lives, whether the government has been serving the interests of the majority of its people, whether it has been delivering rather than shouting empty slogans and making empty promises, to its own citizens, as well as to the other peoples around the world.

As for what political system, what economic mode, what developmental road, etc., it takes, are all just tools serving the above goals and purposes.

We are living in a big enough world to accomodate various political systems, different economic modes and practical developmental roads.

And this, I believe, should be one of the key factors of a real democratic world.

Whenever I go to my favorite Chinese restaurant, I order pick-up. They’ll run my card and provide a receipt for me to sign. There’s a place for a tip, and they seem to expect a tip and act disappointed that I don’t. Am I wrong to not tip?

Let me preface my answer by first stating that I always leave an appropriate tip whenever I go to a restaurant and have a sit down meal that is served by a waitstaff. In the above case, however, this is going to be an unpopular and controversial answer but I stand by it.

My answer is “Absolutely not.” This is another example of “All participants get a trophy.” They are simply putting your items in a bag, ringing up the order and collecting your money. The same thing that happens in ANY retail store. Do you tip the Walmart cashier or the grocery store cashier? Of course not! This tipping nonsense for retail counter sales has really gone way too far. In fact, many times the “tip” section appears on your receipt is simply that the programmed computer simply does not differentiate as to how the food was purchased!

You have not been seated, no one brings your food to the table, no one cleans up after you. You bought an item at a retail counter and paid for it. If you were eating there and being served at your table (or counter) by a waitstaff it’s a different story.

That being said no one can tell you not to tip if you feel so inclined but do not feel obligated to do so.

Unexplained Mysteries That NEED Some Serious Explaining

More fun!

President of Czech Republic Calls for Russians in Europe to be put in Concentration Camps

World Hal Turner 15 June 2023

President Petr Pavel of the Czech Republic has gone on television and said Russian citizens throughout Europe should be rounded up and put in camps, as was done to the Japanese in the USA during WW2, because their country wages aggressive war!

How NAZI-esque of him! Just like Hitler did with the Jews!

Here’s the video:

If the little NAZI Gestapo leaders of Europe keep this up, the only thing it’s likely to do is to get their country steam-rolled by the Russian army like Ukraine. Except most of their countries are far smaller and with smaller military than Ukraine.

What are they going to do, call NATO? That’s a laugh. NATO is already running out of artillery shells from supplying Ukraine.

I’ve got to tell you, folks, this is getting scary; the willingness of these Politicians to do whatever it takes to actually START a World War, is terrifying to me.

When this is all over, I suspect the world is going to need Tribunals to put these politicians in front of, for fomenting a Third World War.

If such Tribunals are lawfully constituted and convened, these politicians from NATO countries should be tried, and if found guilty, the Tribunal should order them hung by their necks until they are dead.

De-dollarization: Bangladesh moves to settle $12bn Russian loan in Chinese yuan

Bangladesh has approved a payment of $318 million to a Russian nuclear power developer using the Chinese yuan, according to a Bangladeshi official, offering the latest instance of countries bypassing the U.S. dollar and using the Chinese currency to conduct international payments.

The decision to use the yuan was made at a meeting in the Bangladeshi Finance Ministry’s economic relations division on Thursday, Uttam Kumar Karmaker, who heads the ministry’s European affairs wing, told The Washington Post.

The decision resolves a payments deadlock between Bangladesh and Russia that has lasted for more than a year. The South Asian country has been unable to pay Russia for the power plant using dollars after Russia was banned from accessing the Society for Worldwide Interbank Financial Telecommunications (SWIFT) international money transfer system last year because of sanctions over President Vladimir Putin’s invasion of Ukraine.

The transaction, a payment for a $12 billion loan Bangladesh obtained from Russia to develop a nuclear power plant in Rooppur, will now be completed instead using yuan via the Cross-border Interbank Payment System (CIPS), developed by the Chinese in 2015 to combat the dominance of the dollar in international trade.

A representative for Rosatom State Atomic Energy Corp., the Russian contractor in charge of building the Rooppur nuclear power plant, confirmed the plan to use yuan for the loan repayment on the condition of anonymity because of the sensitivity of the subject.

The Chinese online news outlet Sina reported Monday that a Bangladeshi official said that paying for the plant in yuan would be the most feasible option.

The majority of cross-border trade is denominated in dollars and flows through the U.S. banking system, which gives the United States the unique ability to impose sanctions on and freeze the assets of rival governments, such as Russia, Iran and Taliban-led Afghanistan. But critics of the sanctions accuse the U.S. government of “weaponizing” the greenback and undermining its global status.

The Bangladesh deal comes after several other countries signaled recently that they would opt for yuan payments to circumvent the need to use dollars. In March, Brazil said it would abandon the dollar for trade with China, a development that Chinese officials and state media celebrated as a step in the world’s gradual “de-dollarization” and the eventual collapse of American hegemony.

Putin: There Will No Longer BE a “Ukraine” – NATO Direct Intervention Will Not Change Outcome

World Hal Turner 15 June 2023

Russian President Vladimir Putin made remarks in a TV interview Wednesday that make clear: There will be no negotiated settlement of Ukraine conflict, there will no longer BE a Ukraine, NATO intervention cannot change the outcome.

Explaining to a TV interviewer why Russia entered Ukraine, he pointed to Luhansk and Donetsk which were being pounded by Kiev Artillery and Mortar fire because those two Oblasts (states) wanted to secede from Ukraine like Crimea did. He told the Interviewer “We were forced to try to end the war that the West started in 2014 by force of arms.”

President Putin then went on with remarks that are utterly staggering. He said:

And Russia will end this war by force of arms, freeing the entire territory of the former Ukraine from the United States and Ukrainian Nazis.

There are no other options.

The Ukrainian army of the US and NATO will be defeated, no matter what new types of weapons it receives from the West.

The more weapons there are, the fewer Ukrainians and what used to be Ukraine will remain.

Direct intervention by NATO’s European armies will not change the outcome.

But in this case, the fire of war will engulf the whole of Europe.

It looks like the US is ready for that too.”

When Putin said “And Russia will end this war by force of arms . . . freeing the entire territory of the former Ukraine . . . there are no other options . . .” That makes clear there will be no negotiations. This conflict will end with the complete military defeat of Ukraine. But within that statement, Putin also mentioned “freeing the entire territory of the FORMER Ukraine . . .”

Whoa. The “former Ukraine.” Such words can only mean one thing: There will not BE a Ukraine anymore!

What other meaning can the words “the former Ukraine” mean?

Lest there be any question about there being “no Ukraine” anymore, in his very next sentence, President Putin made that explicitly clear. He went on to say “The more weapons there are, the fewer Ukrainians, and what USED TO BE UKRAINE will remain”

WHAM! “. . . and what USED TO BE UKRAINE . . . . ” There it is again. No more Ukraine. It won’t exist anymore!

He then got directly in the face of NATO by saying “The Ukrainian army of the US and NATO will be defeated, no matter what new types of weapons it receives from the West.”

Clearly, President Putin is signaling to the West that no matter what weaponry the West sends to Ukraine, Russia will win. Period. Full stop. So what does THAT tell you about the weaponry Russia is willing to use? Most rational people will understand it means whatever weaponry NEEDS to be used, i.e. nuclear.

But President Putin’s next words were most staggering. He went on to tell the Interviewer “Direct intervention by NATO’s European armies will not change the outcome.” What does THAT tell you? It tells most thinking people that Russia already KNOWS that NATO is going to intervene directly and that Russia is already prepared for such an eventuality. Folks, this means we’re going to actual World War 3!

President Putin made that explicitly clear when he also immediately added ” But in this case, the fire of war will engulf the whole of Europe.”

There it is. Plain as day. “The fire of war will engulf the whole of Europe.” World war.

Now, you’re probably wondering to yourself, “Why am I not hearing about this from the Mass Media?” Simple: The mass media doesn’t WANT you to know. They want you blissful and ignorant. So when all this DOES happen, you’ll be frightened and looking (to them) for answers.

And what will they tell you? Whatever propaganda the people who started this want told.

The folks in our U.S. Government are literally starting World War 3, it will likely go nuclear, and they want YOU kept fat, dumb, and happy.

Are you going to accommodate them, or are you going to step up and raise hell to maybe try to avoid what’s coming?

Whatever you choose, bear this in mind: Yesterday, the Ukraine legislature approved Child Military Training camps. Among the instructors are already experienced 16-year-olds who train 12-year-old recruits to fight.

Ukraine is now drafting and training 12 year old boys to fight for them.

What kind of monsters are these Ukrainian government people? Maybe it is better if Ukraine does NOT exist anymore.

Do all Chinese restaurants have “secret” menus?

If you are talking about the type of Chinese restaurants that cater primarily to the Chinese…

You need to bring a Chinese friend with you.

Often times, specials will be hand-written on a piece of paper and taped to the wall. The problem (for non-Chinese-speaking patrons) is that it is written in only Chinese.

I find that the more authentic Chinese restaurants make little effort to cater to their English-only speaking patrons. Why? Maybe that sector represents an insignificant part of their business. Maybe they are not proficient in translating and writing the English equivalent. It’s hard to say, for sure.

I’ll ask my girlfriend, “Hey, what does that sign say?”

Her: “Lobster Special: $9.99/lb.”
Me: “Hmmm. I don’t see that anywhere on the menu. Is it only available to Chinese?”
Her: “No comment.”

Why is the ASEAN alliance, along with BRICS abandoning the U.S. dollar like a sinking Titanic?

Lots of reasons for it.

I would like to share one of my perspectives, in a very simple way.

Previously, most people believed the US is the heaven on the Earth.

Everything related with the US was glorified.

Until former US Secretary of State Mike Pompeo said: “I was the CIA director. We lied, we cheated, we stole. We had entire training courses. It reminds you of the glory of the American experiment.”

People became sceptical, but still thought highly of the US, anyway, he talked just about intelligence, which is, somehow far away from our daily life, especially from our money bags.

But, with the Russia-Ukraine war, Russia, as one of the five permanent members of the UN Security Council, the second strongest military force with the most nuclear warheads in our world, also an ecomomic power (entered the top ten economies in the world for GDP in 2022 according to IMF, despite the war), its national assets, frozen or even threatened to be confiscated by US, as well as some of its allies; Russian citizens’ (mainly tycoons’) properties, frozen or even threatened to be confiscated, some actually being stolen; and Russia was kicked out of the SWIFT; Russia is now on the top of list with the most sanctioned entities, individuals in our human history, none of them can actually have any deal with US dollars.

Since now the US can “steal” money from Russia, actually, earlier, Afghanistan, and ongoing from Syria (oil and wheat, etc.)……who can guarantee it would not be the next one to be stolen?

And the best way to avoid such possibility is to turn away from US dollar, to reduce both the reliance and the holding rate of the US dollar. The less one has, the less could be “stolen” even if the day came.

US Dollar is a weapon, but double-edged, while it indeed hurt others, it can not spare the US itself as well.

There is an internet slang here in China, 不作死就不会死 (No Zuo, No Die), meaning, “You won’t die if you do not seek death. / You will not get into trouble if you do not seek trouble.”

A sinking Titanic is then its doomed fate.

Sincerely wish the US would learn from this lesson, and take a second and even a third thought before taking any actions against other countries now.

ALL would be boomeranged, just sooner or later.

Do all Chinese restaurants serve exactly the same dishes?

Exactly the same dishes.
Exactly the same menu.
Exactly the same cooks.
Exactly the same waiting staff.
Exactly the same chairs.
Exactly the same tables.
Exactly the same decor.
Exactly the same tea pots and tea cups too.
Exactly the same kid at the cash register who helps out his parents during the busy periods, and who, during the lulls, sits at exactly the same empty table doing exactly the same school homework.

So far, scientists have been unable to figure out how Chinese restaurants manage this incredible feat.
Some have posited that they all exist in a bubble universe, frozen at the same chronological point.

Explosion in Odessa so powerful, Registered as Earthquake

World Hal Turner 15 June 2023

Last night before Midnight eastern US time, an explosion took place in Odessa, Ukraine which was so large, it registered on earthquake seismographs in places as far away as Armenia!

Here is a seismograph image from a station in Kiev:

Whatever exploded took out all webcams and all internet connectivity in Odessa.

Below, another image from another earthquake sensor, this one located in Armenia. Same Odessa Explosion(s):

How come on Quora the Chinese expats never say anything negative about China? Is China a perfect country?

No, China is not a perfect country. There are no perfect countries. However, after reading so many negative comments about China on Quora and elsewhere, I feel the need to defend it. Most of the people I see criticizing China have never been there and are simply repeating racist, anti-Communist, or xenophobic lies. The truth, as always, is far more complicated and nuanced. I am an American, and I have found that, at least in the US, most people are not interested in the truth. Especially with covid, I am tired of hearing about the “China virus” or the “CCP”. I am sick of trying to discuss the reality of the situation, only to be called a “commie” or told to go back to China.

China is an amazing country. In many areas it puts the US to shame. However, half of America sees it as some comic book villain. I have watched my own country descend into fascism while claiming China is the bad guy. Even worse is the fact that my fellow Americans lap this up. I disagree with many things China does, but their government actually cares about their citizens. I can’t say that about my own government. If we ever get to the point where we can have an intelligent and fair discussion about China, then I can talk about both the negatives and the positives.

Southern Fried Chocolate Pies

Ingredients

2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup vegetable shortening
1/3 cup cold water
3/4 cup granulated sugar
1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1/2 cup (1 stick) cold margarine
Vegetable oil*

* Use peanut or safflower oil or solid vegetable shortening for frying.

Instructions

Crust: sift flour and salt together; cut in the shortening with a pastry blender or 2 knifes, until mixture resembles coarse cornmeal.
Add ice water a little at a time while tossing with a fork, until dough holds together. Do not get too moist.
Roll out dough to 1/8 inch thick. Cut into circles about five inches in diameter.
Mix cocoa powder with the sugar. Place 2 to 3 tablespoons of this mixture onto one half of the circle and place 3 very thin slices of cold margarine on top. Fold opposite side over mixture and seal with a fork dipped in flour.
Pour oil to a depth of about 1/2 inch in a cast iron skillet. Heat over medium-high heat until very hot.
Place pies in a single layer in oil and fry, turning to brown each side.
Serve hot, warm, or cold.

How does the food in the Chinese restaurants in America differ from authentic Chinese food?

This is just my personal impression. Tastes in food are different for everyone.

American Chinese food has more exaggerated flavors at the expense of subtlety and diversity. There’s a long running joke about American Chinese food that it’s basically “sweet and sour everything”. American Chinese food is so salty (soy sauce) and so sweet to the point that these are the ONLY flavors you taste. There’s no subtlety, no layer of different flavors hitting your taste buds. And everything is over cooked. As a result, no matter what you order, you end up tasting the same mouthful of mushy sweet and salty whatever.

Cantonese food (粤菜) was the first school of cuisine to enter the US with the initial immigrants from south-east coastal regions. The food they brough over was not even the most high end Cantonese food, but rather street peasant food. Hearty, heavy flavored dishes that are filling, easy to prepare, and go well with rice. So for a lot of Americans, Chinese food is Dim Sum, small dishes coming with bamboo steamer containers. And most of them are salty and sweet tasting that, on top of that, you have your over salted fried noodles and fried rice.

And more recently, some more “sophisticated” diners had been introduced Sichuan food, which is super spicy.

Chinese food is so much more beyond Sweet and sour everything, Dim Sim in steamers and Spicy chicken. But Americans wouldn’t have it.

I’ve talked about my story about taking 3 days to make soup for my ex-boyfriend, who had dumped soy sauce in it before he even taste it. (see: Feifei Wang’s answer to What horrifies the Chinese?) At one point, I had the suspicion that American’s taste buds are numbed by all these high flavored food. I mean think about it, all your favorite American foods, fried chicken, pizza, BBQ ribs, Hamburger, Fries… all of them are high sodium, high sugar, high fat, high everything foods. It’s like you started with a 10 and had to bring it to a 15 to be happy.

I had once dined with a Japanese friend, who complained about how Americans add too much wasabi when eating sushi or sashimi. “You’re only supposed to add a little for flavor, it’s never supposed to be burning-your-eyes-out-hot”.

I get the feeling that other kind of food also get the same “bring it up to 20” treatment when they are forced to adapt to US tastes. I went to Italy in 2015, and their pizza tasted very different to American pizza, full of flavor and texture. I went to Cancun in 2016, and the taste was very different to American Mexican food.

I wish American food would have less sodium, sugar and fat, and more subtlety and diversity.

An Empty World, A Time Traveler, Another Dimension | Liminal Spaces: The Reality In-between

Fun to watch. Do not take too seriously… for now.

Liminal Spaces.

“He woke up in 2027, and there was no one anywhere.” This is actually super interesting, and I WILL discuss this later. Especially the guy who is being challenged by the television station.

Noclip is very interesting.

How do Chinese restaurants get their beef to be so tender? Like beef in black bean sauce or Mongolian beef etc. It almost falls apart in the mouth.

BEEEEEEEF!!!!!

I remember when my mom first taught me this as a kid. She told me that it was an “ancient Chinese secret” of some sort, that involves praying to the beef gods to make it all tender and that if I was good that day, it would be nice and tender when I sat down for dinner.

Little did I know that in order to turn the cheapest cuts of beef into this…

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that it took this…

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Corn Starch.

When the corn starch, ideally with a bit of soy or something along those lines, is mixed and coated over properly cut beef (I like to use flank steak personally), it breaks down the protein and makes it very tender and easy to cook.

You must have heard the term, “cut against the grain.” That’s the first important tip. When you’re cutting up the meat, take a look at how you’re cutting.

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See how it’s done? When you do cut it properly, the meat is much more tender already as it’s not structurally reinforcing its own integrity. Here’s a cross section of what it should look like when cut right.

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So when that’s done, just get a decent sized bowl, and mix a little soy sauce with the corn starch. Something like this…

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Mix it up, and this a good time to get down and dirty. I see so many videos and tutorials that say use a spoon or whatever. Honestly, just wash your hands well, and mix it by hand. You’ll be able to get the feeling if the meat is thoroughly covered easily and it should feel a bit slimy to the touch.

Give it then a couple of minutes to let it break down the meat. Some cooks like to put it in the fridge for an hour, but I find that 10–15 minutes is also pretty good in a jiffy, especially if the meat was sliced thin.

After that, the meat is ready for the stir-fry, and you’re ready to start cooking!

Oh, and before I forget, this works well with even the cheapest pieces of meat. No need for using pricey rib or porterhouse steaks and prime rib. Flank steak will do quite nicely.

This does wonders for chicken breast and thinly sliced pork loin as well.
Several commentators have told me that what I called “mom’s ancient Chinese secret” is a method called “Velveting”. Thanks to all who told me about the right term!
Baking soda works, and thanks to all who have mentioned it. The only reason why I don’t use it and don’t talk about it is that if it’s not rinsed off properly, you get an incredibly unpleasant chemical taste.
For every single person that’s said “corn starch” doesn’t work, then it’s probably the combination of the starch, soy and the cut all in one, especially the soy with the high salt content and the cut, which I cover. For heaven’s sake, stop griping about it and actually TRY THIS METHOD. It actually WORKS.

Blinken’s imaginary journeys – here’s what should happen

LOL. A most entertaining event when you expose their silly games.

American society is now fully 100% collapsed. The government still functions at a trivial level, and the people are ignorant of this reality.

Today the theme is pop music from Cambodia.

When I was a boy, perhaps in third grade, my father bought me a cub-scout pocket knife. It was blue and had three blades. I carried it everywhere. It has one big blade that I used to cut branches off of Birch Trees and then suck on the root-beer tasting stems while we hiked in the PA woods. The smaller knife was difficult to get out, and I only used it a couple of times, but the third knife was a can opener, and we used to use it to open up a lid on a can of beans that we would cook over a campfire in the woods.

Summer is here. I hope that you too are reliving various aspects of your childhood in the fine and fresh seasonal air.

Here’s today’s installment…

Good morning, and welcome to the Global Situation Report for Wednesday, 14 June 2023.

FIRST UP: China pressures Taiwan to lift exchange restrictions

People’s Republic of China officials are pressuring Taiwan’s ruling Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) to lift restrictions on student exchanges and cooperation with mainland China.
The PRC wants to send 50 students to Taiwan to “enhance mutual understanding, deepen their friendship, and make joint efforts to promote peaceful development of cross-Strait relations.”

Why It Matters: China prefers reunification with Taiwan through Kuomintang (KMT) political success, not military operations. KMT officials have visited mainland China for talks, and remain Taiwan’s pro-reunification political party ahead of next year’s presidential elections. A student exchange is almost certainly aimed at developing pro-reunification sentiment among Taiwan’s youth population, and would likely further enable unconventional warfare operations against Taiwan.

DEDOLLARIZATION: Egypt exits dollar in BRICS trade

Egyptian officials announced they’re moving away from the dollar in trade with BRICS countries, and instead will use the local currencies of major trade partners.

Why It Matters: Egypt’s decision to de-dollarize with BRICS is likely a precondition for their joining BRICS+, as India and China have imposed other pre-conditions on prospective members.

DEFENSE HANDBOOK: Taiwanese MoD publishes civilian war-time guide

Taiwan’s Ministry of Defense published an updated guide for civilians covering topics such as how to respond to foreign attacks, where to find bomb shelters, and how to distinguish between Taiwanese and Chinese soldiers.
The update to last year’s 14-page guide says that Chinese soldiers are likely to be wearing their PLA uniforms, while China’s unconventional forces would be wearing other clothing during infiltration into Taiwan.

Why It Matters: Civilian war-time guides are a common practice, including Cold War-era civil defense guides for Americans. Baltic nations have also published similar guides detailing how to conduct guerrilla warfare and stay-behind operations in the event of a Russian invasion.

MIDDLE EAST: China strikes strategic cooperation deal with Palestinian Authority

Chinese officials announced a “strategic partnership” deal with the Palestinian Authority, although neither side released the details of what that entails.

Why It Matters: China has replaced the United States as the region’s top security partner, largely due to U.S. inaction on numerous fronts. Additionally, Chinese officials have proposed peace talks between the Israelis and Palestinians. This strategic partnership could put China in a position to solve the decades-long conflict, following success in negotiating peace between Iran and Saudi Arabia.

MEDVEDEV: Russia has no reason not to cut undersea cables

Russian National Security Council Deputy Chairman Dmitry Medvedev accused the West of complicity in the sabotage of the Nord Stream pipelines, adding that Russia now has “no constraints” on destroying undersea communication cables between the United States and Europe.

Why It Matters: Medvedev continues a long series of incendiary and outlandish comments. Some of his recent outbursts, however, are likely within his authority, which makes this implied threat notable. There are two worst case scenarios here: First, Russia is well within its capabilities to cut these vital undersea cables, which would disrupt global communications and international financial transactions. And second, the U.S. or NATO could target Russian ships suspected of plotting sabotage, causing a new front in the very messy war of narrative and escalating conflict outside of Ukraine.

THAT’S A WRAP: This does it for today’s edition. Thank you for reading. If you know folks who would also like to receive this email, would you please forward it to them? We appreciate you spreading the word. – M.S.

Southern Shrimp Scampi

Ingredients

3 large garlic cloves, finely chopped
1/2 teaspoon kosher or sea salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1 1/4 pounds large shrimp, (16/20 or 21/25 count), peeled and deveined
2 tablespoons olive oil
1/2 cup white wine
6 tablespoons butter
1 tablespoon lemon juice
2 tablespoons chopped Italian parsley
1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes

Instructions

In a bowl, toss garlic, salt and pepper with the shrimp, which may be refrigerated, well covered, for several hours at this point.
When ready to cook, heat oil in a large sauté pan over high heat until it shimmers, then add shrimp and move shrimp around in the pan for about 2 minutes, or until the color just begins to turn from translucent.
Remove shrimp, reduce heat to medium-high and add wine, scraping up any bits on the bottom of the pan. Cook for a couple of minutes to reduce, then add butter and swirl the pan to melt it.
Put shrimp back into pan, stir about a minute to finishing cooking and add lemon juice.
Remove to serving dish, sprinkle with parsley and red pepper flakes, adding more pepper if desired.
Serve over rice or pasta or as is.

Yield: 2 to 4 servings

What’s the cleverest cheating you’ve ever seen as a teacher or student?

This happened a long time ago at the AF Academy in Colo. Springs, Colo. The architecture of the Academy was very modern for its time with tall buildings and all glass walls. Some of the class rooms had 18–20′ ceilings and floor to ceiling windows facing East . This design tended to make the class rooms very bright from the early morning sunlight so it was not uncommon for the students to wear sunglasses in the classes.

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A very important mid-term exam in engineering was given in one of these classrooms. The professor was not particularly looking for cheaters as much as just curious of how the students were doing on the test. He walked among the desks during the test.

As he walked, he noticed a lot of students were frequently turning and looking out the windows and then returning to the test. Almost every student in the classroom had on sunglasses. The professor also noticed that almost all the sunglasses were the same brand and style. That was very odd so he began trying to see if this was some kind of cheating.

After studying the students and the room carefully, he could see no outward sign of cheating so he concluded that there was something about those sunglasses. I speculated that they may have cheating information written on the lenses but decided these was unlikely since there simply was not enough room on the small lens of the sunglasses to get more than a few words or numbers plus he could look at the glasses and could not see anything unusual about them.

As the test went on, he finally decided to look at the glasses anyway just to confirm they had no writing on them. He went to one of the students and asked to see his sunglasses. The student was reluctant but obeyed the order. The professor held the glasses and examined them for writing on the frame or lens. There was none. Just before he gave them back to the student, he was curious how well they worked against the bright morning sun coming thru the large wall of windows. He put them on.

When he did, he say large letters and numbers in bold black print written on all of the windows. The writing were all the formulas and data related to the test. When he pulled the glasses off and looked at the windows, there was no visible writing.

The professor stopped the test and dismissed the class. A subsequent investigation discovered that three of the AF Cadets has used an alcohol and salt based liquid poured into a magic marker style pen to write on the windows. The liquid crystallized in such a way as to form a polarizing effect when the liquid dried. The sunglasses worn by the students all had polarized lenses. When viewed thru the sunglasses, the writing appeared. Without the polarized glasses, the windows just looked a little extra sparkly. It wasn’t perfect but it was readable. The windows were effectively a 40 foot by 15 foot cheat sheet.

The three Cadets were discovered. They had sold the glasses to their class mates for $30 each.

SK – រក្សាគម្លាត (Official MV)

Saudi Arabia seeks cooperation with China, ‘ignores’ Western worries — Reuters

Saudi Arabia wants to collaborate, not compete, with China, the kingdom’s energy minister declared on Sunday, saying he “ignored” Western suspicions over their growing ties.

As the world’s top oil exporter, Saudi Arabia’s bilateral relationship with the world’s biggest energy consumer is anchored by hydrocarbon ties. But cooperation between Riyadh and Beijing has also deepened in security and sensitive tech amid a warming of political ties – to the concern of the U.S.

Asked about criticism of the bilateral relationship during an Arab-China business conference, Prince Abdulaziz bin Salman said: “I actually ignore it because … as a business person .. now you will go where opportunity comes your way.”

“We don’t have to be facing any choice which has to do with (saying) either with us or with the others.”

Chinese entrepreneurs and investors have flocked to Riyadh for the conference, which came days after a visit by U.S. Secretary of State Antony Blinken.

OIL DEALS

In March, state oil giant Saudi Aramco announced two major deals to raise its multi-billion dollar investment in China and bolster its rank as China’s top provider of crude.

They were the biggest announced since Chinese President Xi Jinping’s visit to Saudi Arabia in December where he called for oil trade in yuan, a move that would weaken the dollar’s dominance.

“Oil demand in China is still growing so of course we have to capture some of that demand,” Prince Abdulaziz said.

“Instead of competing with China, collaborate with China.”

The two nations’ momentum has also raised prospects for a successful conclusion to negotiations for a free trade deal between China and the Saudi Arabia-dominated Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC), ongoing since 2004.

Saudi Investment Minister Khalid Al Falih said any agreement would have to protect emerging Gulf industries as the region starts to diversify towards non-oil economic sectors.

“We need to enable and empower our industries to export, so we hope all countries that negotiate with us for free trade deals know we need to protect our new, emerging industries,” Falih said, adding he hoped a deal would soon be struck.

Glomyy Vincent – មនុស្សពិសេស (Special Someone)(SS) ft. Olica [Official MV]

Golden Fried Peach Pies

Ingredients

1 1/2 cups self-rising flour
4 tablespoons shortening
4 to 5 tablespoons water
1 (16 ounce) can peaches
1/2 tablespoon cinnamon
1 tablespoon melted butter
Confectioners’ sugar (optional)

Instructions

Sift the flour into a bowl and cut in shortening.
Add enough water gradually to hold pastry together and press into a ball. Divide into 5 parts and roll each part on a floured surface into a 5-inch circle.
Drain the peaches and mash.
Add the cinnamon and butter and mix well.
Place 2 tablespoons peach mixture on each circle and fold over. Seal edges with a wet fork.
Fry in deep fat at 375 degrees F until golden brown, and drain on absorbent paper.
When cool, sprinkle with confectioners’ sugar, if desired.

What is the biggest culture shock you have ever faced?

I was in a nice hotel in Japan. I got in the elevator with a young Japanese woman. When the door opened, I waited for her to exit. She did not move.

I gestured for her to go. To my surprise, in perfect English she said

“In Japan, the man always goes first.”

I saw this custom in action, as groups of Japanese were men first and women following behind.

គឺអូន | Sai ft. Tendo & Kamonrath | PlengxYellowLight

The Hegemon Will Go Full Hybrid War Against BRICS+

By Pe.pe Esco.bar

June 10, 2023

The Hybrid War 2.0 against the Global South has not even started. Swing states, you have all been warned.

U.S. Think Tank Land hacks are not exactly familiar with Montaigne: “On the highest throne in the world, we still sit only on our own bottom.”

Hubris leads these specimens to presume their flaccid bottoms are placed high above anyone else’s. The result is that a trademark mix of arrogance and ignorance always ends up unmasking the predictability of their forecasts.

U.S. Think Tank Land – inebriated by their self-created aura of power – always telegraphs in advance what they’re up to. That was the case with Project 9/11 (“We need a new Pearl Harbor”). That was the case with the RAND report on over-extending and unbalancing Russia. And now that’s the case with the incoming American War on BRICS as outlined by the chairman of the New York-based Eurasia Group.

It’s always painful to suffer through the intellectually shallow Think Thank Land wet dreams masquerading as “analyses” but in this particular case key Global South players need to be firmly aware of what awaits them.

Predictably, the whole “analysis” revolves around the imminent, devastating humiliation to the Hegemon and its vassals: what happens next in country 404, also known – for now – as Ukraine.

Brazil, India, Indonesia and Saudi Arabia are dismissed as “four major fence-sitters” when it comes to the U.S./NATO proxy war against Russia. It’s the same old “you’re with us or against us” trope.

But then we are presented with the six major Global South culprits: Brazil, India, Indonesia, Saudi Arabia, South Africa and Turkey.

In yet another crude, parochial remix of a catch phrase referring to the American elections, these are qualified as the key swing states the Hegemon will need to seduce, cajole, intimidate and threaten to assure its dominance of the “rules-based international order”.

Saudi Arabia and South Africa are added to a previous report focused on the “four major fence sitters”.

The swing state manifesto notes that all of them are G-20 members and “active in both geopolitics and geoeconomics” (Oh really? Now that’s some breaking news). What it does not say is that three of them are BRICS members (Brazil, India, South Africa) and the other three are serious candidates to join BRICS+: deliberations will be turbo-charged in the upcoming BRICS summit in South Africa in August.

So it’s clear what the swing state manifesto is all about: a call to arms for the American war against the BRICS.

So BRICS packs no punch.

The swing state manifesto harbors wet dreams of near-shoring and friend-shoring moving away from China. Nonsense: enhanced intra-BRICS+ trade will be the order of the day from now on, especially with the expanded practice of trade in national currencies (see Brazil-China or within ASEAN), the first step towards widespread de-dollarization.

The swing states are characterized as “not a new incarnation” of the Non-Aligned Movement (NAM), or “other groupings dominated by the Global South, such as the G-77 and BRICS.”

Talk about exponential nonsense.

This is all about BRICS+ – which now has the tools (including the NDB, the BRICS bank) to do what NAM could never accomplish during the Cold War: establish the framework of a new system bypassing Bretton Woods and the interlocking coercion mechanisms of the Hegemon.

As for stating that BRICS has not “packed much punch” that only reveals U.S. Think Tank Land’s cosmic ignorance of what BRICS + is all about.

The position of India is only considered in terms of being a Quad member – defined as a “U.S.-led effort to balance China”. Correction: contain China.

As for the “choice” of swing states of choosing between the U.S. and China on semiconductors, AI, quantum technology, 5G and biotechnology, that’s not about “choice”, but to what level they are able to sustain Hegemon pressure to demonize Chinese technology.

Pressure on Brazil, for instance, is much heavier than on Saudi Arabia or Indonesia.

In the end though, it all comes back to the Straussian neocon obsession: Ukraine. The swing states, in varying degrees, are guilty of opposing and/or undermining the sanctions dementia. Turkey, for instance, is accused of channeling “dual-use” items to Russia. Not a word on the U.S. financial system viciously forcing Turkish banks to stop accepting Russian MIR payment cards.

On the wishful thinking front, this pearl stands out among many: “The Kremlin seems to believe it can make a living by turning its trade south and east.”

Well, Russia is already making excellent living all across Eurasia and a vast expanse of the Global South.

The economy has re-started (drivers are domestic tourism, machine building and the metals industry); inflation is at only 2.5% (lower than anywhere in the EU); unemployment is at only 3.5%; and head of the Central Bank Elvira Nabiullina said that by 2024 growth will be back to pre-SMO levels.

U.S. Think Tankland is congenitally incapable of understanding that even if BRICS+ nations may still have some serious trade credit issues to iron out, Moscow has already shown how even an implied hard backing of a currency can turn out to be an instant game changer. Russia is at the same time backing not only the ruble but also the yuan.

Meanwhile, the Global South de-dollarization caravan moves on relentlessly – as much as the proxy war hyenas may keep howling in the dark. When the full – staggering – scale of NATO’s humiliation in Ukraine unfolds, arguably by mid-summer, the de-dollarization high-speed train will be fully booked, non-stop.

“Offer you can’t refuse” rides again

If all of the above was not already silly enough, the swing state manifesto doubles down on the nuclear front, accusing them of “future (nuclear) proliferation risks”: especially – who else – Iran.

By the way, Russia is defined as a “middle power, but one in decline”. And “hyper-revisionist” to boot. Oh dear: with “experts” like this, the Americans don’t even need enemies.

And yes, by now you may be excused to roar with laughter: China is accused of attempting to direct and co-opt BRICS. The “suggestion” – or “offer you can’t refuse”, Mafia-style – to the swing states is that you cannot join a “Chinese-directed, Russian-assisted body actively opposing the United States.”

The message is unmistakable: “The threat of a Sino-Russian co-optation of an expanded BRICS—and through it, of the global south—is real, and it needs to be addressed.”

And here are the recipes to address it. Invite most swing states to the G-7 (that was a miserable failure). “More high-level visits by key U.S. diplomats” (welcome to cookie distributor Vicky Nuland). And last but not least, Mafia tactics, as in a “nimbler trade strategy that begins to crack the nut of access to the U.S. market.”

The swing state manifesto could not but let the Top Cat out of the bag, predicting, rather praying that “U.S.-China tensions rise dramatically and turn into a Cold War-style confrontation.” That’s already happening – unleashed by the Hegemon.

So what would be the follow-up? The much sought after and spun-to-death “decoupling”, forcing the swing states to “align more closely with one side or the other”. It’s “you’re with us or against us” all over again.

So there you go.

Raw, in the flesh – with inbuilt veiled threats. The Hybrid War 2.0 against the Global South has not even started. Swing states, you have all been warned.

Glomyy – ស្នេហ៍និងទំនួល Love and Responsible ft. Tendo (Official MV)

“I was driving up 75, and saw the trooper in the turnout…checked my speed, oh I’m good. A few minutes later, I see a dog in the ditch by one of the signs for exit 20. She looked bad.

I was in the left lane, heading to an appointment, and was torn. I decided I would go back southbound and risk a ticket by going to the turnout. I turned in and the trooper was still there! Yay! He rolled down his window and said “yep! I’m here” to which i told him about the dog and I didn’t want a ticket, but if I could help that dog, it was fine by me. He just asked where the dog was and was on his way! I followed and we found her, still there, panting like she was fixing to die. That trooper dumped his jug out and fashioned a water bowl for her. Then poured a couple bottles of water. The dog was scared of him, but frozen in weakness. She sniffed the water, then realized this kindness was for her! She drank that water down in minutes! The trooper went and got her some more, plus a Little Debbie. She watched him warily the whole time. She sniffed his hand but was still wary. Next thing, he goes to his vehicle and gets a chair and an umbrella. He told me he will stay here until she trusts him, so he can get her to a shelter, or take her home. I believe his being there at the right time, was one of those little messages reminding us of the good in our world. Meet Trooper Tudors of the TN State Highway Patrol. One of the good guys for sure.”

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Tena – Feel Good ft Tendo

State TV: United States is in Moscow’s Nuclear Crosshairs

World Hal Turner 13 June 2023

A Russian state TV host has warned that if the Ukraine war escalates to a “nuclear phase,” the Kremlin will strike the U.S. with nuclear weapons as it is “in the crosshairs.”

Russian political commentator and president of Russia’s Institute of the Middle East Yevgeny Satanovsky made the warning in a clip that has now gone viral:

This comes on the heels of a very high ranking Russian elected official, Dmitry Medvedev, Deputy Chairman of the Russian Federation Council (Senate) who said “the likelihood of nuclear weapons being used, was growing by the day.”

“In my opinion, concerns about climate change is nothing compared to the prospect of being at the epicenter of an explosion with a temperature of 5,000 Kelvin (scale), a shock wave of 350 meters per second and a pressure of 3,000 kilograms per square meter, with penetrating radiation, that is, ionizing radiation and an electromagnetic pulse,” he said at an educational event in late April, according to Russia’s state-run news agency RIA Novosti.

“Is there such a prospect today? (Unfortunately), yes. And it is growing every day for well-known reasons,” he said.

Tricks to Appear Smart in Meetings

From bestselling author and founder of popular satire blog TheCooperReview.com comes this all-new daily calendar with a year’s worth of tips for succeeding fabulously at work with minimal effort.

You’ll learn familiar corporate strategies for appearing engaged while zoning out, using meaningless buzzwords in the right context, creating impressive presentations of no value to anyone, and much, much more. Each daily page includes a valuable tip for fooling coworkers into thinking that you’re shrewd, engaged, and trying. With this perfect calendar for every office desktop, you’ll laugh each day at the fresh tricks and sly satire on corporate conventions.

Scroll down to see some of the examples from previous years.

More: The Cooper Review, Shop

Chinese Orange Chicken

Published: Jan 30, 2018 · Modified: Nov 16, 2020 by Melissa Stadler

Chinese Orange Chicken made with crispy fried chicken covered in an authentic orange sauce. The ultimate Chinese Orange Chicken Recipe which is way better than take-out.

My kids are always begging me to take them to grab Chinese food. They are obsessed with orange chicken but I am never really sure what’s in it….especially if they get it from a drive-thru. I wanted to create a version at home, made from scratch, with all-natural ingredients. It still has the same incredible flavor they love. It’s definitely a win-win in our home.

It is wintertime in Arizona which means that the citrus is ripe for the picking. I am surrounded by neighbors who have a plethora of fresh oranges and lemons hanging from their trees. This is the perfect time of year to whip up orange and lemon dishes especially this Chinese Orange Chicken.

This Chinese Orange Chicken is made with boneless skinless chicken breast, cut into bite-size pieces, dredged, and then fried until golden and crispy. The orange sauce is divine! It is a sweet orange sauce made with orange juice, vinegar, garlic, sugar, soy sauce, ginger, red chili flakes, and orange zest. It is both sweet and spicy and full of flavor.

How to make Chinese Orange Chicken at home:

Start with boneless skinless chicken breast or thighs. Cut into bite-size pieces. Dredge the chicken in whisked eggs and cornstarch/flour mixture until nice and coated. Get these chicken pieces ready for the oil.
To make your homemade orange sauce, place orange juice, sugar, vinegar, soy sauce, garlic, ginger, and red chili flakes in a small pot and cook over medium-high heat. Add cornstarch and water and cook until thickened. Stir in orange zest.
Heat oil in a heavy-bottomed pot over medium-high heat. When frying foods, it is so helpful to use a thermometer. Let the oil heat up to 350 degrees. Once the oil is ready, in batches, cook chicken for about 2 minutes until light golden brown. Repeat with remaining chicken.
Remove from oil and drain on a paper towel-lined plate.
Toss fried chicken with the sweet orange sauce. Top with grated orange zest and green onions. Serve immediately.

Ingredients

Chicken:

4 Boneless Skinless Chicken Breasts cut into bite-size pieces
3 Eggs whisked
⅓ cup Cornstarch
⅓ cup Flour
Salt
Oil for frying

Orange Chicken Sauce:

1 cup Orange Juice
½ cup Sugar
2 Tablespoons Rice Vinegar or White Vinegar
2 Tablespoons Soy Sauce use tamari for a gluten-free dish
¼ teaspoon Ginger
¼ teaspoon Garlic Powder or 2 garlic cloves, finely diced
½ teaspoon Red Chili Flakes
Orange Zest from 1 orange
1 Tablespoon Cornstarch

Garnish:

Green Onions
Orange Zest

Instructions

To make orange sauce:
In a medium pot, add orange juice, sugar, vinegar, soy sauce, ginger, garlic, and red chili flakes. Heat for 3 minutes.
In a small bowl, whisk 1 Tablespoon of cornstarch with 2 Tablespoons of water to form a paste. Add to orange sauce and whisk together. Continue to cook for 5 minutes, until the mixture begins to thicken. Once the sauce is thickened, remove from heat and add orange zest.
To make chicken:
Place flour and cornstarch in a shallow dish or pie plate. Add a generous pinch of salt. Stir.
Whisk eggs in shallow dish.
Dip chicken pieces in egg mixture and then flour mixture. Place on plate.
Heat 2 -3 inches of oil in a heavy-bottomed pot over medium-high heat. Using a thermometer, watch for it to reach 350 degrees.
Working in batches, cook several chicken pieces at a time. Cook for 2 – 3 minutes, turning often until golden brown. Place chicken on a paper-towel-lined plate. Repeat.
Toss chicken with orange sauce. You may reserve some of the sauce to place on rice. Serve it with a sprinkling of green onion and orange zest, if so desired.

The Chinese Power: 👲🏻 Why They Are Different from Us – Douglas Macgregor

https://youtu.be/MIlzm4Qix6k

Is Gordon Ramsey as bad as he is on TV?

Not really, believe it or not, the famous chef entered a London prison to conduct a cooking workshop for inmates for 6 months.

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The UK has a prison population of over 85,000 inmates. Each one costs the state $58,000 a year, and faced with such a situation, Gordon Ramsay decided to do something out of the ordinary, teach prisoners their trade so they can get busy.

To accomplish this, Ramsay dedicated six months of his time to London’s Brixton prison, undertaking the ambitious task of transforming a group of inmates into skilled cooks. The ultimate goal was to enable these prisoners to market their culinary creations internationally through a catering company. By doing so, the prisoners not only earned income for themselves but also made a valuable contribution to the state. It was a venture aimed at providing inmates with opportunities for skill development, financial independence, and a chance to reintegrate into society.

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What is the most surprising thing when you first travel to China?

Born and raised in the United States, my first time to China was in 2016, shortly after I graduated from high school. Since I had studied Chinese for four years and high school, as a gift for graduating my dad decided to take me on a two-week tour of China. To say that this trip was one of the most eye-opening experiences of my lifetime would not be an exaggeration. There were five things that were surprising to me when I visited China and that were entirely different than what the Western media had taught me:

China is a beautiful place. Growing up in the U.S., pretty much all you hear about China is how “ugly” it is. Before I went, I expected the skies everywhere to be dark and clouded, and the air to be difficult to breathe due to all the media coverage that the pollution in China receives. However, when I actually got to China, I was shocked at how beautiful it was. The skies were blue, the cities were clean, and the pollution seemed just as bad as in any other big city that I had visited in the U.S. Not only that, but there were some landscapes in China that were just absolutely stunning. I particularly remember being blown away by the beauty of the countryside views in Guilin, and the massive rock formations on the Guangxi River.
Chinese people are very friendly. In the U.S., it is a common assumption that Chinese people are quite rude. My trip to China proved this assumption to be completely wrong. Every Chinese person that I met was extremely friendly, and they were always excited to approach us either to talk or to get their picture taken with us. It was like being a celebrity! Not only that, but everyone was always willing to try and speak English with us, and were very kind when I attempted to converse with them in Chinese. In my honest opinion, many of the people I met in China were friendlier than many people back home. One person that stands out to me in particular was our rickshaw driver in Beijing. Even though he didn’t speak much English, he still tried to point out all of the sights of Beijing to us the best he could, and even though he had a hard job he always had a big smile on his face.
Authentic Chinese food is good. Back in the United States, it is commonly believed that the food eaten in China is weird, abnormal, and unappetizing. However, all of the food that I ate in China was delicious (my favorite food being from Chengdu), and I actually preferred it to the Chinese food that you can find in America. Yes, there are several cultural differences in the type of food that we eat, but that doesn’t mean that it is bad! While I did see some foods that surprised me, including ants and rats, this was mostly out in the countryside. To any foreigner traveling to China, I would recommend trying as many foods as possible, even if they are a bit out of your comfort zone like they were for me. It’s worth it!
There are people in China who are very rich. Most of what Americans hear about the Chinese is the extreme poverty that they experience. While it is true that we did see many poorer families while on our trip, we also saw a very luxurious side of China that I didn’t even know existed. The area that appeared to be the wealthiest was definitely Shanghai. There were luxury stores (i.e., Gucci. Tiffany’s, Prada, etc.) all over the city, and there were always Chinese people shopping at these stores. Not only that, but there were also always very expensive cars driving around the streets of Shanghai. It was a side of China that I never even heard about back home, and it was great to be able to see how prosperous China has become.
Chinese people love their country. In the United States, it is a common thought that many Chinese people must feel oppressed by their government due to their country not being a democracy. However, while I was in China I saw nothing but pride and love for their country. Through many conversations with Chinese people, it was clear to me that they loved being from China. They had a lot of respect for their history, their culture, and for their government. In fact, it seemed to me that Chinese people had much less negative things to say about their country than many Americans do. This just goes to show that just because you don’t agree with a certain method of government doesn’t mean that the people living in that country have to share the same views as you.

UFO whistleblowers drop BOMBSHELL on D.C. | Redacted with Natali and Clayton Morris

Physics, Chemistry and China

Physics, all top five institutions are Chinese. MIT at number six.

Chemistry, all top ten institutions are Chinese:

WARRIORS | BALY FT .TOM | REAM PRODUCTION

Cheesy Chicken Broccoli Orzo

Published: Jun 12, 2023 by Melissa Stadler

Creamy Chicken Broccoli Orzo made with sauteed chicken, fresh broccoli, orzo pasta in a cheesy sauce. This easy Cheesy Chicken Broccoli Orzo Skillet 30-minute meal is creamy and delicious!

Chicken Broccoli Rice Skillet and use orzo in place of rice and everyone goes crazy for this recipe!

Ingredients overview:

This creamy chicken broccoli orzo skillet is super easy to make and uses only fresh ingredients.

Chicken Breast — cut and trim chicken breast into bite-size pieces

Oil — this is to saute the chicken to keep it moist and from sticking to the pan

Salt and Pepper — generously season the chicken breast with salt and pepper

Butter — saute onion and garlic in butter to soften and infuse flavor

Onion — use sweet yellow onion or red onion and saute until tender

Garlic — use minced garlic cloves

Broccoli — cut into small bite-size pieces and saute for several minutes

Orzo Pasta — this is a popular dried pasta that looks similar to rice

Chicken Broth — cook the orzo in chicken broth to infuse it with flavor

Cheese — use a mix of cheddar and parmesan cheese for the best flavor

Fresh Lemon — to add some brightness to the dish, squeeze in some fresh lemon juice

Ingredients

1 Tablespoon Oil
1 lb Chicken Breast (cut into bite-size pieces)
1 teaspoon Salt
1 teaspoon Pepper
2 Tablespoons Butter
½ Onion (finely diced)
4 Garlic Cloves (minced)
1 ½ cups Broccoli (cut into small pieces)
1 cup Orzo Pasta
3 cups Chicken Broth
1 ½ cups Cheese (½ cup of parmesan, 1 cup of cheddar)
1 Tablespoon Fresh Lemon Juice
Fresh Herbs (basil, oregano, or parsley)

How to make Creamy Chicken Broccoli Orzo:

Heat oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Cook chicken breast, cut into bite-size pieces, for about 3 minutes per side. Sprinkle with salt and pepper. Once the chicken is no longer pink, remove it from the skillet and place the chicken plus the juices on a plate. Cover.
Add the butter, onion, and broccoli to the skillet and cook until softened about 5-7 minutes. Add the garlic and cook for 1 minute longer. Add the orzo pasta and toss to coat. Stir in the chicken broth. Bring to a simmer and cook until the orzo is tender, about 10-11 minutes.
Stir in cheese and stir to melt. Squeeze fresh lemon juice into the skillet and stir.
Top with fresh herbs, if desired, and freshly grated parmesan or Parmigiano Reggiano cheese.

WHAT TYPE OF CHEESE SHOULD I USE IN CHEESY CHICKEN ORZO?

I suggest using a strong cheese like parmesan for its robust and nutty flavor which is so perfect with this chicken and orzo skillet. I prefer to use two types of cheese in this cheesy chicken and orzo and the other cheese of choice would be medium cheddar or Colby jack cheese. You can use any type of cheddar cheese or cheddar combination.

How prepared is the United States of America for war with China?

The United States is as ready as it ever will be.

So the United States force doctrine is one where the disposable peoples of Australia, Korea and Japan (with the Philippines) would be sacrificed first.

Eventually, the Chinese force would peter out to an “approachable” level.

(Some interesting articles on this particular subject. It’s already been divided up! Though, I would advise “don’t count your chickens until the eggs hatch”.)

Anyways, there one teeny-tiny issue.

But I am told it doesn’t matter.

As many in the “West” are very confident that “China would never…”.

So the United States would rip China a new behind.

…

But…

Thus, the first cities to experience nuclear destruction would be American. I recon complete destruction of the top 35 cities.

This would really throw a monkey-wrench into the plans listed above.

The American “leadership” would be pissed and they (well the ones still alive and not wearing diapers) would order a MAD response. And the nukes would start a flying.

…

Sigh.

No one is going to win a US-China war.

គេជាមនុស្សបែបណា [ Ke Chea Mnus Beb Na ] By Eliza

We’re Not Finished

“You give me a piece of ground and a sword and I am going to take back this country with your help and the help of all the homeless Democrats and Republicans who are Americans first.” — Robert F. Kennedy, Jr.

Clusterfuck Nation
For your reading pleasure Mondays and Fridays
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If you’re wondering why our country is lost in lunatic raptures of lawless Lawfare and futile MAGAry, it’s because our economy has already collapsed, and our culture and politics with it downstream have also collapsed into spectacular degeneracy. It has already happened. Maybe you don’t know it.

The business model is broken. We’re a shadow of the industrial economy that won a great war and enjoyed a boisterous peace. You can’t replace ball bearing factories with theme parks and hedge funds. Sorry. The full faith and credit of the USA is not embodied in those frivolities, so our money is losing its mojo fast.

But get this: we will go on. This is not the end of the world or the end of history. It is the end of an era. Believe it or not, the economy will fix itself, it just won’t be what it was in 1957. It won’t be what the techno-supremacists think, either. (You need a dependable electric grid to run all those server farms and the apps they serve, and the AI supposedly looming.) It will fix itself because when things fail, as they are doing now, a lot of opportunities will open up to do things differently, even very differently.

When the chain stores fail along with their twelve-thousand-mile supply lines, Americans will figure out how to find stuff, make stuff, move stuff, and sell stuff at a smaller scale, maybe back on your Main Street (if it’s still there). There will be a lot less stuff, of course. But it may be enough stuff, and some of you will be busy making stuff of some kind. Imagine an economy where practically everybody has a useful role to play. Do you know how much more important it is to lead a purposeful, active life than to be lost in leisure and anomie with more stuff than you know what to do with? Which is where we’re at now, even for many who are statistically “poor.”

When the Happy Motoring colossus tweaks out, we’ll spend less time moving around and more time doing useful things, staying put around the places where we live. We’d be lucky if we could keep some railroads going, but the prospects are not great for that now. Sorry, we blew it. Should have re-started that project in 1970 when the handwriting was on the wall. (We made a lot of bad choices.) Cars and trains require elaborate networks of many interdependent technologies all integrated smoothly at the giant scale — oil, steel, plastics, electronics — and all of that is disintegrating. Pretty soon, you can forget about airplanes, too. That leaves… what? Yes, boats and horses. I know… it sounds inconceivable. Wait for it.

When our grotesque medical racketeering matrix fails, doctors will practice medicine at smaller scale, probably without advanced pharmaceuticals and techno-diagnostics. They’ll open small local clinics while zombies squat in the broken mega-hospitals. You’ll have to pay in cash, whatever form that comes in. You’ll have to take care of yourself, too, but there will be a whole lot less enticing, engineered, toxic crap available to stuff into your body — Froot Loops, Hot Pockets — and the food markets won’t be all that super. There will certainly be less food altogether, but there will be fewer of us to feed, and more of that fewer-of-us will be busy producing that food, one way or another.

That’s the reality I see coming. As you’ve seen vividly, the journey from where we were in, say, the year 2000, to where we’re going has been psychologically disordering at the mass scale. These days, people who ought to know better express ideas that would have gotten them laughed out the room in 1999. The catch is that few of you know that this mass disordering grew out of fear of the journey. It was a phenomenon of infectious mass anxiety over something only dimly apprehended. You just thought it was about bad people.

You’re now faced with the question: how to avoid committing suicide, directly or inadvertently, personally or as a whole society, slowly or quickly? — and its corollary, how to get through the madness in the meantime? Politics happen whether you pay attention to it or not. Politics is concerned with how a society navigates through history. Today, it seems that either A) somebody is steering badly; B) Nobody is steering; or C) some outside force has commandeered the ship’s wheel and is steering for us.

Any way you look at that, we need somebody to steer. Mr. Trump has volunteered to try doing it again. The first time, forces in every quarter of American power set out to bushwhack, sandbag, harass, hector, and hound him. In the process, they just about destroyed the rule of law. Then they simply dis-elected him surreptitiously, something you’re not supposed to say, but there it is, like so much meat on the table. Now they’re trying to hoo-rah him into jail. Whatever you think of his, er, complex personality, you must admire his perseverance through adversity. If he somehow manages to wriggle through the present obstacle course of Lawfare chicanery, his next term would be an extravaganza of retribution. The spectacle would provide much satisfaction but, in the end, it would just be a sideshow, and it is not the same thing as taking care of business.

“Joe Biden,” of course, the man who is not really even there, is only pretending to run for reelection, or at least a coterie around the Oval Office is pretending for him while they try to figure out what to do. They’re in an awful quandary. They hold all the levers of power and they have no other credible candidate, not a living soul, in their own official hatchery.

Outside of that ghastly edifice, Robert F. Kennedy is making a determined flanking move, an end-run near the sidelines. The Democratic Party in all its florid and mendacious lunacy is pretending to not notice him, especially their praetorian news media that is the vector for America’s mass mental illness. Mr. Kennedy put it so simply in April when he announced a run to preside over the stupendous mess that is our government. He said his mission is an experiment to see what happens when you tell Americans the truth. Hold that thought. How long has it been since you thought anything like that was possible?

There’s a broad-based assumption across the land, derived from our fading prime artform, the movies, that Americans can’t handle the truth. Like so much else in our national life, that is probably erroneous… fake truth. And what is so striking in Mr. Kennedy’s performance so far is an absence of fakery. It’s more than refreshing, it’s… startling. Makes you blink, a little bit. Makes you remember what it’s like to not be lied-to incessantly. Makes you want to see more of it because it gives you strength when you thought you were finished. Get this now: our world is changing, and deeply, but we’re not finished.

Banana Pudding

My brother lived in New York City for over 10 years and would rave to me all about the famous Magnolia Bakery’s Banana Pudding. I would seethe with jealousy as I knew he could walk into the bakery every single day and get his banana pudding fix.

Once I finally flew into NYC, we went straight to Magnolia’s to see what all the fuss was about. Maybe you don’t know this about me but I am super picky about bakeries. Okay, you probably could have gathered that by now! I did wonder if this would pass the test. My husband and I devoured the banana pudding in about 90 seconds so I would say that was a good sign.

Even though I love their banana pudding dessert, I wanted to create a similar copycat but make the pudding from scratch. It doesn’t take that much longer and there’s just something about handcrafted pudding, stirred with a wooden spoon, that makes it taste that much better.

This Homemade Banana Pudding Dessert is made by slowly cooking a mixture of whole milk, sugar, cornstarch, egg yolks, butter and vanilla bean until nice and thickened. I could eat an entire bowl of this stuff! It is layered with fresh sliced bananas, Nilla wafers, and homemade fluffy whipped cream.

My sister-in-law, Laura, who is a brilliant cook makes this custard every single year at Thanksgiving time. She is the BEST custard maker I know and this is a tried and true recipe. It is a recipe from her Grandma Rappleye that has been passed down through the years.

This can be made in a large trifle dish, a bowl, a glass pan, decorative jars, or even scooped into small bowls. It is such a versatile recipe. I enjoy layering it into a glass trifle dish or my favorite jars.

Ingredients

1 box vanilla wafers
3 bananas
1 cup sugar
3 tablespoons cornstarch
2 cups milk
2 eggs, separated
1 tablespoon butter or margarine
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Instructions

In a casserole dish pour about 3/4 of the vanilla wafers. Slice the bananas over that. Set aside.
Mix the cornstarch into the sugar and place in a large saucepan. Add milk and cook over medium heat, stirring constantly.
Beat the egg yolks with a fork and add about 4 tablespoons hot milk/sugar mixture into the yolks, stirring until well blended (this prevents chunks of cooked egg yolk). Pour the yolk mixture into the saucepan and continue cooking over medium heat, stirring constantly until mixture begins to thicken.
Add vanilla extract and butter or margarine.
Pour the pudding mixture over the bananas and wafers.
To make meringue, beat the two egg whites until stiff. Add 3 tablespoons sugar and 1 teaspoon vanilla extract. Spread over the pudding.
Brown slightly in 350 degree F oven.

A few tips for making out-of-this-world Homemade Banana Pudding Dessert:

Make sure you cook the pudding long enough for it to thicken. It needs to coat the back of a spoon. After cooking, let it chill to give it adequate time to set up. You can find my favorite wooden spoon HERE.
Temper the egg yolks. Adding a small amount of hot milk to the egg yolks brings them to a higher temperature slowly to prevent the eggs from cooking. After the eggs have been tempered, add them to the pan and continue to cook.
Add vanilla beans or pure vanilla extract after the pudding is removed from heat. If added while still on the heat, the vanilla flavor will be cooked off.
Use COLD heavy whipping cream and beat until soft peaks form. Adding powdered sugar brings out the flavor of the cream.
Bananas turn brown over time (oxidation) when exposed to air. Brush the sliced bananas with lemon juice or sprinkle with fruit fresh.

Brazil Gears Up To Become Fourth Largest Oil Producer

During 2022, Brazil was ranked ninth globally by oil production, ahead of Kuwait and behind Iran, lifting an average of just over 3 million barrels per day. Suppose Latin America’s largest economy is to become the world’s fourth-largest oil producer. In that case, it will need to be pumping more than 4.5 million barrels of crude oil per day so as to overtake Canada, which currently holds that spot.

Brazil’s energy ministry expects the country will be pumping 5.4 million barrels daily by 2029, which is a whopping 80% higher than the 3 million barrels of oil lifted daily during 2022. Consistent year-over-year growth in hydrocarbon production indicates that Brazil indeed possesses the potential to expand production and become the world’s fourth-largest oil producer.

Another key aspect that will support those plans is Brazil’s copious hydrocarbon reserves. According to the ANP, at the end of 2022, Latin America’s largest oil producer held proven or 1P petroleum reserves totaling 14.9 billion barrels, of which 77% were categorized as pre-salt. There are also 21.9 billion barrels of proven and possible or 2P reserves and 27 billion barrels of 3P reserves, known as proven possible and probable reserves.

This illustrates that Brazil possesses considerable hydrocarbon potential and the reserves required to support a significant increase in oil production. Those reserves will keep growing as exploration and development drilling gains momentum, with the Baker Hughes International rig count showing 17 active rigs at the end of May 2023 compared to 11 a year earlier.

What is the most courageous act of bravery a stranger has displayed in an emergency situation?

“Man attempts to catch woman falling from 11th floor of a building with his bare hands.”

When I first read this story I didn’t know how to react. It seemed like a mixture of pure bravery, selflessness and, honestly, maybe a little stupidity.

This happened years ago, in 2015.

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A Chinese man by the name of Feng Ning from Enshi City in central China’s Hubei Province was walking out of a restaurant when he heard screams. He saw a woman falling from a building. He reacted instantly to try to save her. CCTV footage captured him bravely trying to catch the woman before she landed.

But the height of the fall was too great, he could not save the woman. Instead he was knocked unconscious by the sheer force of the collision and suffered a number of injuries. He suffered injuries to his legs including a knee fracture and ruptured ligaments.

Speaking to CCTV+, Li Yanbing, doctor of spinal surgery department, Enshi Central Hospital, said:

He was knocked out by the impact and suffered injuries on his knee joints, and had a tibial plateau fracture. His anterior and posterior cruciate ligaments and the medial ligament have been dislocated.

Feng joined the army as a college student in 2013. He retired in September 2015 after full service. He said his first reaction was saving the woman’s life without considering whether he would be injured. He rushed to attempt to save the woman’s life while other people just watched her fall.

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Feng Ning suffered Knee joint injuries and tibial fractures, along with several ligament rupture. He will undergo surgical treatment. "

However, being a low-income family, Feng's parents can't afford the high treatment fees. Moved by Feng's bravery, many people gave their hands to the young man and have donated more than 15,000 U.S. dollars for his treatment.

“I don’t regret. It’s a shame that I couldn’t save her,” said Feng.

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A reality like no other

The repairs on the underlying foundation of our reality universe are about all patched up. Actually, it’s like a map of “rail road tracks” that are embedded in a kind of sticky quantum clay that lies under the template forms.

The instigators were trying to hoe rows into the clay like substance so that the tracks would be followed in great grand circles of many sizes and shapes and configurations.

But the Oompaloomas are just smoothing and polishing away, and the behavior tracks are really smoothed out. Its a good thing. But it will take some time before the templates react to the changes.

In other words, things are good. No worries.

Herman’s Words Of Wisdom | The Munsters

Hillary Clinton Rushed by Ambulance to Emergency Room

Nation Hal Turner 12 June 2023

3:59 PM EDT — Within the past hour, Hillary Clinton, wife of President Bill Clinton, was taken by ambulance from their home in Chappaqua, NY, to a nearby hospital emergency room.

Sources report that Hillary “was fine one minute, and in serious difficulty the next minute.” No other details about the sudden and debilitating situation were made available.

Fighting stuck in gray zone. Neocon escalation, tactical nukes

Have you ever bought something at a garage sale that turned out to be unexpectedly awesome?

I have indeed. I bought a non-running “fake” Rolex at an estate sale. The owner had died approx. a month prior and his kids (who clearly had no interest in being there – they were just trying to avoid a bill from a scrap disposal company) were selling off his possessions and personal effects. I asked about it. “It’s a fake, doesn’t work, two bucks”.

It wasn’t a fake – it was a 1972 Rolex Oyster Perpetual Date (Ref. 1500) with a sunburst grey dial. It simply needed a service and I had it back up and running again in under 4 hours – it kept great time, less than +/- 4 sec. a day. I did have to replace the acrylic crystal as it had a chipped edge, but I had spares in my stock. Being a small watch (34mm), it didn’t suit my wrist so I gave it to my nephew for his high school graduation gift. Should have heard his friends: “Dude, Ben’s uncle gave him a Rolex for graduation!”

These sell in similar condition for around $2500 – $3000 on the used market. Looks like this:

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US Tech Giant Crushed in China, No More Arrogance After Micron’s Defeat!

https://youtu.be/DyVuJWOR6Uc

How DOES one fight China at all?

China has it all: Nukes, HUGE manufacturing capability, A huge Air force and Army and even IF one defeats China, it'll be a loss because if anything happens to China, the world economy will be practically dead. How do you fight China at all?

This is a very good question.

You are right. Fighting China is committing suicide. China is always 3 steps ahead of its adversaries and they cannot be hurt more than them.

Look at Donald Trump’s trade war with China. China wins hands down and the U.S. suffers till today. From 2017–2022 collectively China grew 26.5% while the U.S. grew 6.5%! The U.S. imports of Chinese goods actually grew higher than before the war.

Half a million Americans migrated into the the homeless category and up to 50 million people moved from middle class to the poor category. The life expectancy of China exceeded the U.S. for the very first time in 2021 and repeated the feat in 2022!

Trump would have still be president if not for this trade war. The poor who suffered higher prices resulting from the tariffs voted overwhelmingly against him. While China handled the Covid-19 effectively keeping deaths below 10K the U.S. lost more than a million lives. China opened up at perfectly the right moment when the virus strain has become docile and weak. The U.S. freedom of individualism is greater than collective good of the society hurt them terribly.

China is the biggest consumer by far. Chinese middle class alone is 700 million. And Chinese growth alone is 36.4 share of the world. US and G7 combined adds up to a mere 24.6%. China now represents 30% of world demand but what is more scary 30% of all things made for the world U.S. made in China. So when you fight with China you are cutting off at least 50% of sales opportunities world wide.

Chinese are ready for you if you dare try to attack China. It has a thousand surprises waiting for you. It has now the biggest army, it has more planes, ships and tanks. And it makes the most modern drones and they have 100 times more than the U.S. So crawl back to Beijing and talk politely like what Blinken is trying to do.

Don’t fight China. Work out a plan to be a good partner with China. China is not spoiling for a fight , US is, but China is absolutely ready. You destroy a 1000 homes in China they will destroy the same number of homes in the U.S. you kill a million Chinese they will kill a million Americans in the U.S.

The Beverly Hillbillies⚡️Granny Learns to Drive

https://youtu.be/hqNFFiw90x8

Southern Karo Syrup Chicken

Ingredients

1 broiler-fryer chicken
2 tablespoons butter
1/2 cup Karo corn syrup
1/2 cup orange juice
3 tablespoons lemon juice

Instructions

Cut up chicken.
In skillet over medium heat, cook chicken in butter about 30 minutes or until tender. Drain off fat.
Mix remaining ingredients and pour over chicken. Cook over medium heat, turning often, for 5 to 10 minutes or until glazed.

WKRP Dr. Johnny Fever Awakens From The Dead

What do you think of the Chinese college entrance examination requiring memorization of 32 classical Chinese essays and 40 poems?

I was born and grew up in Taiwan. In my days, the standard education required that a student memorize more than the amount you mentioned before the time of college entrance exam. Looking back, I see this as both necessary and a blessing. Not unlike classics in other cultures, the Chinese classics is not something you peruse on an as-needed basis the way you consult Wikipedia, but something that has to be internalized and regurgitated in your subconsciousness hundreds of times over decades until it is integrated into your foundation. If you miss the opportunity of learning it by rote at a young age, you lose the chance of having it become a part of your personal makeup, and will at best have a casual and superficial connection to it. From the perspective of a culture, this would not be acceptable. I believe China is not unique in this.

This is especially true with poetry. We memorized a large amount of classic poetry, cream of the crop, early on. They sounded beautiful, but didn’t really speak to me for a long time. It would be much later, at unexpected instants when I ran into them again, and suddenly everything clicked, every word carried power I did not know existed. The experiences were so transformative that I clearly remember the exact settings in which they happened, where I was, what I was doing, who were around, etc. Such experiences would not have been possible if I had not rote-learned these poems a decade earlier as a youngster.

Having said that, as I have mentioned elsewhere on Quora, I must say that all these efforts to instill the Chinese classics into standard learning are a desperate attempt to save an endangered, if not extinct creature. The form of the traditional Chinese culture is preserved by doing this, but it is not clear if the essence, or the spirit, is still identifiable through such efforts. The traditional, self-contained and self-consistent Chinese system could be extremely efficient, creative, harmonious and powerful when it hummed like a well oiled machine. Our only, but indisputable, evidence of this are hundreds of powerful characters it was able to generate, capable of accomplishing impossible feats in the face of insurmountable challenge and adversity. But that self-contained and self-consistent system is no longer known to us. We no longer know how it looked or felt. The best we have now is the system of rote learning as documented in texts, which was far from the real thing.

But it is still much better than nothing at all. It could be worse.

Blind dates haven’t changed in 50 years

Beijing, Wellington to push for pragmatic cooperation

Beijing expressed its willingness to maintain high-level exchanges with Wellington and to enhance mutual trust and bilateral pragmatic cooperation as New Zealand Prime Minister Chris Hipkins announced on Monday that he would visit China at the end of June.

Chinese Foreign Ministry spokesman Wang Wenbin did not confirm the date of Hipkins’ visit, but told reporters to “stay tuned” for further information.

Hipkins said he would lead a major trade delegation to Beijing, Tianjin and Shanghai, which will be the first visit by a New Zealand prime minister to China since COVID-19.

Relations with China are among New Zealand’s “most significant, wide-ranging and complex” bilateral ties, The New Zealand Herald quoted Hipkins as saying. “We have a robust, ongoing dialogue with China,” he said.

Calling China and New Zealand “important cooperation partners”, Wang said he expects the two nations to achieve greater progress in bilateral relations and bring more benefit to the two peoples.

China is the largest trading partner, export market and source of imports for New Zealand. In 2022, bilateral trade volume in goods reached $25.15 billion, a year-on-year increase of 1.8 percent, according to the Foreign Ministry.

Journalist visas with India

In another development, the Foreign Ministry spokesman urged India to meet China halfway regarding arrangements for journalists.

“Media outlets are important bridges for mutual understanding and friendly relations. China stands ready to maintain communication with India under the principles of mutual respect, equality and mutual benefit. We hope India will work in the same direction with China,” Wang said.

Since 2020, India has refused to review and approve Chinese journalists’ visa applications, and limited the period of validity of visas held by Chinese journalists in India to only three months or even a month. Some Chinese journalists waited as long as three years for their visas, according to Wang.

As a result, the number of Chinese journalists stationed in India has plummeted from 14 to just one, he said.

The Indian side still has not agreed to renew the visa of the last Chinese journalist in the country. For Indian media outlets, four have been stationed in China in recent years and one is still working and living in China, Wang said.

“China has treated Indian journalists as friends and like family. We have communicated with the Indian side with restraint and goodwill. Regrettably, India has yet to take any action to address the problem,” he said.

The spokesman urged India to “scrap undue restrictions on Chinese journalists”, and effectively review and approve their visas as soon as possible, in order “to create conditions for resuming normal exchanges between Chinese and Indian media”.

MOMOLAND – BBOOM BBOOM

What does U.S. Secretary of State Antony Blinken think about Chinese diplomats’ negotiation skills?

Antony (the idiot) Blinkin?

2023 06 13 16 01

Who the fuck cares what this train-wreck thinks? I mean, I could somehow give him some deference, but getting to be Secretary of States through butt-fucking isn’t high on my idea of achievement awards. The only thing that he brings to the table is an almost magical ability to fuck things up in spades. I mean when you spell disaster, you spell it B-L-I-N-K-I-N.

But, so much for his good points.

It’s common knowledge that he learned geography and Geo-politics by reading the instructions on the back of the free LGBQ+ condoms handed out to the homeless. And his opinions of others is difficult to gauge, as he doesn’t recognize that anyone else in the world exists. He’s me-me-me-me all the time, with no consideration of the thoughts, needs or feelings of others.

A perfect example of his exclusivity of penis wagging is his first meeting in Anchorage, Alaska with the Chinese diplomatic staff. His opening words were nothing short of acute diarrhea, vomited out with a speed of ill-mannered excess that astounded even the murders on death row have stayed in shock by.

It does not matter what this over-grown pustule of human feces thinks.

The Chinese diplomatic corps are giants compared tho this sniveling and breathing abomination. He is incapable of any form of communication. He only knows how to piss on the carpet and shit in his diaper. His ability to be butt-fucked may be legendary, but is useless on the grand scheme of things.

But I will say ONE good this about this festering, sniveling, pile of pestilence.

He hasn’t YET got the United States and China in a nuclear war. But, give him time. He’s one walking cluster-fuck if there ever was one.

Biden Is ‘In Denial’ Over Collapse Of Empire – Economist Richard Wolff

Southern Pan-Fried Chicken

A country ham (such as a “Smithfield” ham) is salt-cured, smoked and aged well. Whole country hams are expensive; it is possible, however, to buy country ham steaks. But you may also substitute thick-cut, smoked, streaky bacon for the ham in this recipe.

2023 06 13 15 28

Ingredients

2 quarts cold water
1/2 cup kosher salt (regular table salt will make the brine too salty)
1 (3 pound) chicken, cut into 8 pieces
1 quart buttermilk
1 pound lard
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter
1/2 cup country ham pieces, or 1 thick slice country ham, cut into 1/2-inch strips (see note)
1 cup all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons cornstarch
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

Instructions

Combine the water and the salt, stirring until salt is dissolved.
Place the chicken pieces in a bowl and pour the salt water over.
Cover and refrigerate for 8-12 hours.
Drain the chicken and rinse out the bowl it was brined in.
Return the chicken to the bowl, pour the buttermilk over and cover and refrigerate 8-12 hours.
Drain the chicken on a wire rack, discarding the buttermilk.
Meanwhile, prepare the fat for frying: put the lard, butter and country ham into a heavy skillet or frying pan. Cook over low heat for 30-45 minutes, skimming as needed, until the butter ceases to throw off foam and the ham is browned.
Use a slotted spoon to remove the ham carefully from the fat. (Reserve the fried ham for another use, such as snacking.)
Just before frying, increase the temperature to medium-high and heat the fat to 335 degrees F.
Blend together the flour, cornstarch, salt and pepper in a shallow bowl or on wax paper.
Dredge the drained chicken pieces thoroughly in the flour mixture, then pat well to remove any excess flour.
Slip some of the chicken pieces, skin-side-down, into the heated fat. Do not overcrowd the pan; fry in batches, if necessary. Cook for 8-10 minutes on each side, until the chicken is golden brown and cooked through.
Drain thoroughly on a wire rack or on crumpled (not flat) paper towels. Serve hot, warm or at room temperature.

WKRP Venus’ 1st Day

Did Russia Destroy The Nova Kakhova Dam?

Propaganda will tell you that Russia detonated the Nova Kakhova Dam which was and is under its control. It thereby allegedly cut of Crimea from its major water supply and endangered the cooling of the six reactors of the Zaporizhzhia nuclear power plant. The island as well as the power plant are under firm Russian control.

Well, so you can believe that. Or you can look for some facts hidden behind such ‘news’.

Battles Rage as Ukraine Tries to Retake Russian-Occupied Territory – New York Times – June 9, 2023

Experts say the dam, which was held by Russian forces, was probably destroyed by an intentional explosion within the massive structure. They say an explosion from the outside, like a missile strike, or a structural failure caused by earlier war damage and high water spilling over the top, were conceivable causes but far less likely.

—

Ukraine Claims More Small Advances in Counteroffensive, but No Breakthroughs – New York Times – June 12, 2023

Engineering and munitions experts have said that the dam was probably breached by an explosion from the inside, not by shelling or other external attacks, and not by a structural failure.

—

Britain has delivered long-range ‘Storm Shadow’ cruise missiles to Ukraine ahead of expected counteroffensive, sources say – CNN – May 12, 2023

The United Kingdom has delivered multiple “Storm Shadow” cruise missiles to Ukraine, giving the nation a new long-range strike capability in advance of a highly anticipated counteroffensive against Russian forces, multiple senior Western officials told CNN.

—

Storm Shadow – Wikipedia

The Storm Shadow’s BROACH warhead features an initial penetrating charge to clear soil or enter a bunker, then a variable delay fuze to control detonation of the main warhead. Intended targets are command, control and communications centres; airfields; ports and power stations; ammunition management and storage facilities; surface ships and submarines in port; bridges and other high value strategic targets.

“Two stage warhead punctures external shell, then detonates inside target”

ssss

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Storm Shadown – Federation of American Scientists

When engaging hard targets, such as Hardened Aircraft Shelters or bunkers, the missile will strike the target at the estimated optimum dive angle, selected during mission planning. On impact the detonation sequence commences. The precursor charge will perforate the target structure, and any soil covering, and the follow through penetrator warhead will continue to penetrate inside the target to be detonated after a preselectable fuse delay.

Posted by b at 5:30 UTC | Comments (12)

“This is the 2nd phase of UFO disclosure” – Dr. Michael Salla confirms UFO whistleblower story

Complex Systems Won’t Survive the Competence Crisis

From HERE

At a casual glance, the recent cascades of American disasters might seem unrelated. In a span of fewer than six months in 2017, three U.S. Naval warships experienced three separate collisions resulting in 17 deaths. A year later, powerlines owned by PG&E started a wildfire that killed 85 people. The pipeline carrying almost half of the East Coast’s gasoline shut down due to a ransomware attack. Almost half a million intermodal containers sat on cargo ships unable to dock at Los Angeles ports. A train carrying thousands of tons of hazardous and flammable chemicals derailed near East Palestine, Ohio. Air Traffic Control cleared a FedEx plane to land on a runway occupied by a Southwest plane preparing to take off. Eye drops contaminated with antibiotic-resistant bacteria killed four and blinded fourteen.

While disasters like these are often front-page news, the broader connection between the disasters barely elicits any mention. America must be understood as a system of interwoven systems; the healthcare system sends a bill to a patient using the postal system, and that patient uses the mobile phone system to pay the bill with a credit card issued by the banking system. All these systems must be assumed to work for anyone to make even simple decisions. But the failure of one system has cascading consequences for all of the adjacent systems. As a consequence of escalating rates of failure, America’s complex systems are slowly collapsing.

The core issue is that changing political mores have established the systematic promotion of the unqualified and sidelining of the competent. This has continually weakened our society’s ability to manage modern systems. At its inception, it represented a break from the trend of the 1920s to the 1960s, when the direct meritocratic evaluation of competence became the norm across vast swaths of American society.

In the first decades of the twentieth century, the idea that individuals should be systematically evaluated and selected based on their ability rather than wealth, class, or political connections, led to significant changes in selection techniques at all levels of American society. The Scholastic Aptitude Test (SAT) revolutionized college admissions by allowing elite universities to find and recruit talented students from beyond the boarding schools of New England. Following the adoption of the SAT, aptitude tests such as Wonderlic (1936), Graduate Record Examination (1936), Army General Classification Test (1941), and Law School Admission Test (1948) swept the United States. Spurred on by the demands of two world wars, this system of institutional management electrified the Tennessee Valley, created the first atom bomb, invented the transistor, and put a man on the moon.

By the 1960s, the systematic selection for competence came into direct conflict with the political imperatives of the civil rights movement. During the period from 1961 to 1972, a series of Supreme Court rulings, executive orders, and laws—most critically, the Civil Rights Act of 1964—put meritocracy and the new political imperative of protected-group diversity on a collision course. Administrative law judges have accepted statistically observable disparities in outcomes between groups as prima facie evidence of illegal discrimination. The result has been clear: any time meritocracy and diversity come into direct conflict, diversity must take priority.

The resulting norms have steadily eroded institutional competency, causing America’s complex systems to fail with increasing regularity. In the language of a systems theorist, by decreasing the competency of the actors within the system, formerly stable systems have begun to experience normal accidents at a rate that is faster than the system can adapt. The prognosis is harsh but clear: either selection for competence will return or America will experience devolution to more primitive forms of civilization and loss of geopolitical power.

From Meritocracy to Diversity

The first domino to fall as Civil Rights-era policies took effect was the quantitative evaluation of competency by employers using straightforward cognitive batteries. While some tests are still legally used in hiring today, several high-profile enforcement actions against employers caused a wholesale change in the tools customarily usable by employers to screen for ability.

After the early 1970s, employers responded by shifting from directly testing for ability to using the next best thing: a degree from a highly-selective university. By pushing the selection challenge to the college admissions offices, selective employers did two things: they reduced their risk of lawsuits and they turned the U.S. college application process into a high-stakes war of all against all. Admission to Harvard would be a golden ticket to join the professional managerial class, while mere admission to a state school could mean a struggle to remain in the middle class.

This outsourcing did not stave off the ideological change for long. Within the system of political imperatives now dominant in all major U.S. organizations, diversity must be prioritized even if there is a price in competency. The definition of diversity varies by industry and geography. In elite universities, diversity means black, indigenous, or Hispanic. In California, Indian women are diverse but Indian men are not. When selecting corporate board members, diversity means “anyone who is not a straight white man.” The legally protected and politically enforced nature of this imperative renders an open dialogue nearly impossible.

However diversity itself is defined, most policy on the matter is based on a simple premise: since all groups are identical in talent, any unbiased process must produce the same group proportions as the general population, and therefore, processes that produce disproportionate outcomes must be biased. Prestigious journals like Harvard Business Review are the first to summarize and parrot these views, which then flow down to reporting by mass media organizations like Bloomberg Businessweek. Soon, it joins McKinsey’s “best practices” list and becomes instantiated in corporate policies.

Unlike accounting policies, which emanate from the Financial Accounting Standards Board and are then implemented by Chief Financial Officers, the diversity push emanates inside of organizations from multiple power centers, each of which joins in for independent reasons. CEOs push diversity policies primarily to please board members and increase their status. Human Resources (HR) professionals push diversity policies primarily to avoid anti-discrimination lawsuits. Business development teams push diversity to win additional business from diversity-sensitive clients (e.g. government agencies). Employee Resource Groups (ERGs), such as the Black Googler Network, push diversity to help their in-group in hiring and promotion decisions.

Diversity in Theory and Practice

In police academies around the country, new recruits are taught to apply an escalation of force algorithm with non-compliant subjects: “Ask, Tell, Make.” The idea behind “Ask, Tell, Make” is to apply the least amount of force necessary to achieve the desired level of compliance. This is the means by which police power, which is ultimately backed by significant coercive force, can maintain an appearance of voluntary compliance and soft-handedness. Similarly, the power centers inside U.S. institutions apply a variant of “Ask, Tell, Make” to achieve diversity in their respective organizations.

The first tactics for implementing diversity imperatives are the “Ask” tactics. These simply ask all the members of the organization to end bias. At this stage, the policies seem so reasonable and fair that there will rarely be much pushback. Best practices such as slating guidelines are a common tool at this stage. Slating guidelines require that every hiring process must include a certain number and type of diverse candidates for every job opening. Structured interviews are another best practice that requires interviewers to stick with a script to minimize the chance of uncovering commonalities between the interviewer and interviewee that might introduce bias. Often HR will become involved in the hiring process, specifically asking the hiring manager to defend their choice not to hire a diverse candidate. Because the wrong answer could result in shaming, loss of advancement opportunities, or even termination, the hiring manager can often be persuaded to prioritize diversity over competence.

Within specialized professional services companies, senior-level recruiting will occasionally result in a resume collection where not a single diverse candidate meets the minimum specifications of the job. This is a terrible outcome for the hiring manager as it attracts negative attention from HR. At this point, firms will often retain an executive search agency that focuses on exclusively diverse candidates. When that does not result in sufficient diversity, roles will often have their requirements diluted to increase the pool of diverse candidates.

For example, within hedge funds, the ideal entry-level candidate might be an experienced former investment banker who went to a top MBA program. This preferred pedigree sets a minimum bar for both competence and work ethic. This first-pass filter enormously winnows the field of underrepresented candidates. To relax requirements for diversity’s sake, this will be diluted in various ways. First, the work experience might be stripped. Next, the role gets offered to MBA interns. Finally, fresh undergraduates are hired into the analyst role. Dilution works not just because of the larger field of candidates it allows for but also because the Harvard Admission Office of 2019 is even more focused on certain kinds of diversity than the Harvard Admission Office of 2011 was.

This dilution is not costless; fewer data points result in a wider range of outcomes and increase the risk of a bad hire. All bad hires are costly but bad hires that are diverse are even worse. The risk of a wrongful termination lawsuit either draws out the termination process for diverse hires or results in the firm adjusting by giving them harmless busy work until they leave of their own volition—either way, a terrible outcome for the organizations which hired them.

If these “Ask” tactics do not achieve enough diversity, the next step in the escalation is to attach carrots and sticks to directly tell decision-makers to increase the diversity of the organization. This is the point at which the goals of diversity and competence truly begin displaying significant tension between each other. The first step is the implementation of Key Performance Indicators (KPI) linked to diversity for all managers. Diversity KPIs are a tool to embarrass leaders and teams that are not meeting their diversity targets. Given that most organizations are hierarchical and pyramidal, combined with the fact that America was much whiter 50 years ago than it was today, it is unsurprising that senior leadership teams are less diverse than America as a whole—and, more pertinently, than their own junior teams.

The combination of a pyramid-shaped org chart and a senior leadership team where white men often make up 80 percent or more of the team means that the imposition of an aggressive KPI sends a message to the layer below them: no white man in middle management will likely ever see a promotion as long as they remain in the organization. This is never expressed verbally. Rather, those overlooked figure it out as they are passed over continually for less competent but more diverse colleagues. The result is demoralization, disengagement, and over time, departure.

While all the aforementioned techniques fall into the broad category of affirmative action, they primarily result in slightly tilting the scale toward diverse candidates. The next step is simply holding different groups to different standards. Within academia, the recently filed Students for Fair Admissions v. President and Fellows of Harvard College lawsuit leveraged data to show the extent to which Harvard penalizes Asian and white applicants to help black and Hispanic applicants. The UC System, despite formally being forbidden from practicing affirmative action by Proposition 209, uses a tool called “comprehensive admission” to accomplish the same goal.

The latest technique, which was recently brought to light, shows UC admissions offices using the applicants’ high schools as a proxy for race to achieve their desired goal. Heavily Asian high schools such as Arcadia—which is 68 percent Asian—saw their UC-San Diego acceptance rate cut from 37 percent to 13 percent while the 99-percent-Hispanic Garfield High School saw its UC-San Diego acceptance rate rise from 29 percent to 65 percent.

The preference for diversity at the college faculty level is similarly strong. Jessica Nordell’s End of Bias: A Beginning heralded MIT’s efforts to increase the gender diversity of its engineering department: “When applications came in, the Dean of Engineering personally reviewed every one from a woman. If departments turned down a good candidate, they had to explain why.”

When this was not enough, MIT increased its gender diversity by simply offering jobs to previously rejected female candidates. While no university will admit to letting standards slip for the sake of diversity, no one has offered a serious argument why the new processes produce higher or even equivalent quality faculty as opposed to simply more diverse faculty. The extreme preference for diversity in academia today explains much of the phenomenon of professors identifying with a minor fraction of their ancestry or even making it up entirely.

During COVID-19, the difficulty of in-person testing and online proctoring created a new mechanism to push diversity at the expense of competency: the gradual but systematic elimination of standardized tests as a barrier to admission to universities and graduate schools. Today, the majority of U.S. colleges have either stopped requiring SAT/ACT scores, no longer require them for students in the top 10 percent of their class, or will no longer consider them. Several elite law schools, including Harvard Law School, no longer require the LSAT as of 2023. With thousands of unqualified law students headed to a bar exam that they are unlikely to pass, the National Conference of Bar Examiners is already planning to dilute the bar exam under the “NextGen” plan. Specifically, “eliminat[ing] any aspects of our exams that could contribute to performance disparities” will almost definitionally reduce the degree to which the exam tests for competency.

Similarly, standards used to select doctors have also been weakened to promote diversity. Programs such as the City College of New York’s BS/MD program have eliminated the MCAT requirement. With the SAT now optional, new candidates can go straight from high school to the United States Medical Licensing Examination Step 1 exam in medical school without having gone through any rigorous standardized test whose score can be compared across schools. Step 1 scores were historically the most significant factor in the National Residency Matching Program, which pairs soon-to-be doctors with their future residency training programs. Because Step 1 scores serve as a barrier to increasing diversity, they have been made pass/fail. A handful of doctors are speaking out about the dangers of picking doctors based on factors other than competency but most either explicitly prefer diversity or else stay silent, concerned about the career-ending repercussions of pointing out the obvious.

When even carrot and stick incentives and the removal of standards do not achieve enough diversity, the end game is to simply make decision-makers comply. “Make” has two preferred implementations: one is widely discussed and the other is, for obvious reasons, never disclosed publicly. The first method of implementation is the application of quotas. Quotas or set-asides require the reservation of admissions slots, jobs, contracts, board seats, or other scarce goods for women and members of favored minority groups. Government contracts and supplier agreements are explicitly awarded to firms that have acronyms such as SB, WBE, MBE, DBE, SDB, VOSB, SDVOSB, WOSB, HUB, and 8(a).

Within large employers and government contractors, quotas are used for both hiring and promotions, requiring specific percentages of hiring or promotions to be reserved for favored groups. During the summer of 2020, the CEO of Wells Fargo, was publicly shamed after his memo blaming the underrepresentation of black senior leaders on a “very limited pool” of black talent was leaked to Reuters. Less than a month later, the bank publicly pledged to reserve 12 percent of leadership positions for black candidates and began tying executive compensation to reaching diversity goals. In 2022, Goldman Sachs extended quotas to the capital markets by adopting a policy to avoid underwriting IPOs of firms without at least two board members that are not straight white men.

When diversity still refuses to rise to acceptable levels, the remaining solution is the direct exclusion of non-diverse candidates. While public support for anti-discrimination laws and equal opportunity laws is high, public support for affirmative action and quotas is decidedly mixed. Hardline views such as those expressed in author Ijeoma Oluo’s Mediocre: The Dangerous Legacy of White Male America—namely that “any white man in a position of power perpetuates a system of white male domination”—are still considered extreme, even within U.S. progressive circles.

As such, when explicit exclusion is used to eliminate groups like white men from selection processes, it is done subtly. Managers are told to sequester all the resumes from “non-diverse” candidates—that is, white males. These resumes are discarded and the candidates are sent emails politely telling them that “other candidates were a better fit.” While some so-called “reverse discrimination” lawsuits have been filed, most of these policies go unreported. The reasons are straightforward; even in 2023, screening out all white men is not de jure legal. Moreover, any member of the professional managerial class who witnesses and reports discrimination against white men will never work in their field again.

Even anonymous whistleblowing is likely to be rare. To imagine why, suppose incontrovertible evidence was produced that one’s employer was explicitly excluding white male candidates, and a lawsuit was filed. The employer’s reputation and the reputation of all the employees there, including the white men still working there, would be tarnished. That said, we can expect to see more lawsuits from men who feel they have little to lose.

This “Ask, Tell, Make” framework, under various descriptions, is the method by which individuals with a vested interest in more diversity push their organizations toward their preferred outcome. Force begins requesting modest changes to recruiting to make it “more fair.” Force ends with the heavy-handed application of quotas and even exclusion. The American system is not a monolith, however, which means that the strength of the push and its effects on competency is not distributed evenly.

Competency Is Declining From the Core Outwards

Think of the American system as a series of concentric rings with the government at the center. Directly surrounding that are the organizations that receive government funds, then the nonprofits that influence and are subject to policy, and finally business at the periphery. Since the era of the Manhattan Project and the Space Race, the state capacity of the federal government has been declining almost monotonically.

While this has occurred for a multitude of reasons, the steel girders supporting the competency of the federal government were the first to be exposed to the saltwater of the Civil Rights Act and related executive orders. Government agencies, which are in charge of overseeing all the other systems, have seen the quality of their human capital decline tremendously since the 1960s. While the damage to an agency like the Department of Agriculture may have long-term deadly consequences, the most immediate danger is at safety-critical agencies like the Federal Aviation Administration (FAA).

The Air Traffic Control (ATC) system used in the U.S. relies on an intricate dance of visual or radar observation, transponders, and radio communication, all with the incredible challenge of keeping thousands of simultaneously moving planes from ever crashing into each other. Since air controlling is one of the only jobs that pays more than $100,000 per year and does not require a college diploma, it has been a popular career choice for individuals without a degree who nonetheless have an exceptionally good memory, attention span, visuospatial awareness, and logical skills. The Air Traffic Selection and Training (AT-SAT) Exam, a standardized test of those critical skills, was historically the primary barrier to entry for air controllers. As a consequence of the AT-SAT, as well as a preference for veterans with former air controller experience, 83 percent of air controllers in the U.S. were white men as of 2014.

That year, the FAA added a Biographical Questionnaire (BQ) to the screening process to tilt the applicant pool toward diverse candidates. Facing pushback in the courts from well-qualified candidates who were screened out, the FAA quietly backed away from the BQ and adopted a new exam, the Air Traffic Skills Assessment (ATSA). While the ATSA includes some questions similar to those of the BQ, it restored the test’s focus on core air traffic skills. The importance of highly-skilled air controllers was made clear in the most deadly air disaster in history, the 1977 Tenerife incident. Two planes, one taking off and one taxiing, collided on the runway due to confusion between the captain of KLM 4805 and the Tenerife ATC. The crash, which killed 583 people, resulted in sweeping changes in aviation safety culture.

Recently, the tremendous U.S. record for air safety established since the 1970s has been fraying at the edges. The first three months of 2023 saw nine near-miss incidents at U.S. airports, one with two planes coming within 100 feet of colliding. This terrifying uptick from years prior resulted in the FAA and NTSB convening safety summits in March and May, respectively. Whether they dared to discuss root causes seems unlikely.

Given the sheer size of the U.S. military in both manpower and budget dollars, it should not come as a surprise that the diversity push has also affected the readiness of this institution. Following three completely avoidable collisions of U.S. Navy warships in 2017 and a fire in 2020 that resulted in the scuttling of USS Bonhomme Richard, a $750 million amphibious assault craft, two retired marines conducted off-the-record interviews with 77 current and retired Navy officers. One recurring theme was the prioritization of diversity training over ship handling and warfighting preparedness. Many of them openly admit that, given current issues, the U.S. would likely lose an open naval engagement with China. Instead of taking the criticism to heart, the Navy commissioned “Task Force One Navy,” which recommended deemphasizing or eliminating meritocratic tests like the Officer Aptitude Rating to boost diversity. Absent an existential challenge, U.S. military preparedness is likely to continue to degrade.

The decline in the capacity of government contractors is likewise obvious, with the largest contractors being the most directly impacted. The five largest contractors—Lockheed Martin, Boeing, General Dynamics, Raytheon Company, and Northrop Grumman—will all struggle to maintain competency in the coming years.

Boeing, one of only two firms globally capable of mass-producing large airliners, has a particularly striking crisis unfolding in its institutional culture. Shortly after releasing the 737 MAX, 346 people died in two nearly identical 737 MAX crashes in Indonesia and Ethiopia. The cause of the crashes was a complex interaction between design choices, cost-cutting led by MBAs, FAA issues, the MCAS flight-control system, a faulty sensor, and pilot training. Meanwhile, on the defense side of the business, Boeing’s new fuel tanker, the KC-46A Pegasus is years behind on deliveries due to serious technical flaws with the fueling system along with multiple cases of Foreign Object Debris left inside the plane during construction: tools, a red plastic cap, and in one case, even trash. Between the issues at ATC and Boeing, damage to the U.S.’s phenomenal aviation safety record seems almost inevitable.

After government contractors, the next-most-affected class of institutions are nonprofit organizations. They are entrapped by the government whose policies they are subject to and trying to influence, the opinions of their donor base, and lack of any profit motive. The lifeblood of nonprofits is access to capital, either directly in the form of government grants or through donations that are deemed tax-deductible. Accessing federal monies means being subject to the full weight of U.S. diversity rules and regulations. Nonprofits are generally governed by boards whose members tend to overlap with the list of major donors. Because advocacy for diversity and board memberships are both high-status positions, unsurprisingly board members tend to voice favorable opinions of diversity, and those opinions flow downstream to the organizations they oversee.

Nonprofits—including universities, charities, and foundations—exist in an overlapping ecosystem with journalism, with individuals tending to freely circulate between the four. The activities of nonprofits are bound up in the same discourses shaped by current news and academic research, with all four reflecting the same general ideological consensus. Finally, lacking the profit motive, the decision-making processes of nonprofits are influenced by what will affect the status of the individuals within those organizations rather than what will affect profits. Within nonprofits, the cost of incompetent staffers is borne by “stakeholders,” rather than any one individual.

While all businesses subject to federal law must prioritize diversity over competency at some level, the problem is worse at publicly-traded corporations for reasons both obvious and subtle. The obvious reason is that larger companies present larger targets for EEOC actions and discrimination lawsuits with hundreds of millions of dollars at stake. Corporations have logically responded by hiring large teams of HR professionals to preempt such lawsuits. Over the past several decades, HR has evolved from simply overseeing onboarding to involvement in every aspect of hiring, promotions, and firings, seeing them all through a political and regulatory lens.

The more subtle reason for pressure within publicly-traded companies is that they require ongoing relationships with a spiderweb of banks, credit ratings agencies, proxy advisory services, and most importantly, investors. Given that the loss of access to capital is an immediate death sentence for most businesses, the CEOs of publicly-traded companies tend to push diversity over competency even when the decline in firm performance is clear. CEOs would likely rather trade a small drag on profits margins than a potentially career-ending scandal from pushing back.

Whereas publicly-traded corporations nearly uniformly push diversity, privately-held businesses vary tremendously based on the views of their owners. Partnerships such as the Big Four accounting firms and top-tier management consultancies are high-status. High-status firms must regularly proclaim extensive support for diversity. While the firms tend to be highly selective, partnerships whose leadership is overwhelmingly white and male have generally capitulated to the zeitgeist and are cutting standards to hit targets. Firms often manage around this by hiring for diversity and then putting diversity hires into roles where they are the least likely to damage the firm or the brand. Somewhat counterintuitively, firms with diverse founders are often highly meritocratic, as the structure harnesses the founder’s desire to make money and shields them from criticism on diversity issues.

The most notable example of a diverse meritocracy is Vista Equity Partners, the large private equity firm founded by Robert F. Smith, America’s wealthiest black man. Robert F. Smith is one of the most vocal advocates for and philanthropists to historically black U.S. colleges and universities. It would be reasonable to expect Vista to prioritize diversity over competency in its portfolio companies. However, Vista has instead been profiled for giving all portfolio company management teams the Criteria Cognitive Aptitude Test and ruthlessly culling low-performers. Given the amount of value to be created by promoting the best people into leadership roles of their portfolio companies, one might imagine this to be low-hanging fruit for the rest of private equity, yet Vista is an outlier. Why Vista can apply the CCAT without a public outcry is obvious.

The other firms that tend to still focus on competency are those that are small and private. Such firms have two key advantages: they fall below the fifteen-employee threshold for the most onerous EEOC rules and the owner can usually directly observe the performance of everyone inside the organization. Within small firms, underperformance is usually obvious. Tech startups, being both small and private, would seem to have the right structure to prioritize competency.

The American System Is Cracking

Promoting diversity over competency does not simply affect new hires and promotion decisions. It also affects the people already working inside of America’s systems. Morale and competency inside U.S. organizations are declining. Those who understand that the new system makes it hard or impossible for them to advance are demoralized, affecting their performance. Even individuals poised to benefit from diversity preferences notice that better people are being passed over and the average quality of their team is declining. High performers want to be on a high-performing team. When the priorities of their organizations shift away from performance, high performers respond negatively.

This effect was likely seen in a recent paper by McDonald, Keeves, and Westphal. The paper points out that white male senior leaders reduce their engagement following the appointment of a minority CEO. While it is possible that author Ijeoma Oluo is correct, and that white men have so much unconscious bias raging inside of them that the appointment of a diverse CEO sends them into a tailspin of resentment, there is another more plausible explanation. When boards choose diverse CEOs to make a political statement, high performers who see an organization shifting away from valuing honest performance respond by disengaging.

Some demoralized employees—like James Damore in his now-famous essay, “Google’s Ideological Echo Chamber”—will directly push back against pro-diversity arguments. Like James, they will be fired. Older, demoralized workers, especially those who are mere years from retirement, are unlikely to point out the decline in competency and risk it costing them their jobs. Those who have a large enough nest egg may simply retire to avoid having to deal with the indignity of having to attend another Inclusive Leadership seminar.

As older men with tacit knowledge either retire or are pushed out, the burden of maintaining America’s complex systems will fall on the young. Lower-performing young men angry at the toxic mix of affirmative action (hurting their chances of admission to a “good school”) and credentialism (limiting the “good jobs” to graduates of “good schools”) are turning their backs on college and white-collar work altogether.

This is the continuation of a trend that began over a decade ago. High-performing young men will either collaborate, coast, or downshift by leaving high-status employment altogether. Collaborators will embrace “allyship” to attempt to bolster their chances of getting promoted. Coasters realize that they need to work just slightly harder than the worst individual on their team. Their shirking is likely to go unnoticed and they are unlikely to feel enough emotional connection to the organization to raise alarm when critical mistakes are being made. The combination of new employees hired for diversity, not competence, and the declining engagement of the highly competent sets the stage for failures of increasing frequency and magnitude.

The modern U.S. is a system of systems interacting together in intricate ways. All these complex systems are simply assumed to work. In February of 2021, cold weather in Texas caused shutdowns at unwinterized natural gas power plants. The failure rippled through the systems with interlocking dependencies. As a result, 246 people died. In straightforward work, declining competency means that things happen more slowly, and products are lower quality or more expensive. In complex systems, declining competency results in catastrophic failures.

To understand why, one must understand the concept of a “normal accident.” In 1984, Charles Perrow, a Yale sociologist, published the book, Normal Accidents: Living With High-Risk Technologies. In this book, Perrow lays out the theory of normal accidents: when you have systems that are both complex and tightly coupled, catastrophic failures are unavoidable and cannot simply be designed around. In this context, a complex system is one that has many components that all need to interact in a specified way to produce the desired outcome. Complex systems often have relationships that are nonlinear and contain feedback loops. Tightly-coupled systems are those whose components need to move together precisely or in a precise sequence.

The 1979 Three Mile Island Accident was used as a case study: a relatively minor blockage of a water filter led to a cascading series of malfunctions that culminated in a partial meltdown. In A Demon of Our Own Design, author Richard Bookstaber added two key contributions to Perrow’s theory: first, that it applies to financial markets, and second, that regulation intended to fix the problem may make it worse.

The biggest shortcoming of the theory is that it takes competency as a given. The idea that competent organizations can devolve to a level where the risk of normal accidents becomes unacceptably high is barely addressed. In other words, rather than being taken as absolutes, complexity and tightness should be understood to be relative to the functionality of the people and systems that are managing them. The U.S. has embraced a novel question: what happens when the men who built the complex systems our society relies on cease contributing and are replaced by people who were chosen for reasons other than competency?

The answer is clear: catastrophic normal accidents will happen with increasing regularity. While each failure is officially seen as a separate issue to be fixed with small patches, the reality is that the whole system is seeing failures at an accelerating rate, which will lead in turn to the failure of other systems. In the case of the Camp Fire that killed 85 people, PG&E fired its CEO, filed Chapter 11, and restructured. The system’s response has been to turn off the electricity and raise wildfire insurance premiums. This has resulted in very little reflection. The more recent coronavirus pandemic was another teachable moment. What started just three years ago with a novel respiratory virus has caused a financial crisis, a bubble, soaring inflation, and now a banking crisis in rapid succession.

Patching the specific failure mode is simultaneously too slow and induces unexpected consequences. Cascading failures overwhelm the capabilities of the system to react. 20 years ago, a software bug caused a poorly-managed local outage that led to a blackout that knocked out power to 55 million people and caused 100 deaths. Utilities were able to restore power to all 55 million people in only four days. It is unclear if they could do the same today. U.S. cities would look very different if they remained without power for even two weeks, especially if other obstructions unfolded. What if emergency supplies sat on trains immobilized by fuel shortages due to the aforementioned pipeline shutdown? The preference for diversity over competency has made our system of systems dangerously fragile.

Americans living today are the inheritors of systems that created the highest standard of living in human history. Rather than protecting the competency that made those systems possible, the modern preference for diversity has attenuated meritocratic evaluation at all levels of American society. Given the damage already done to competence and morale combined with the natural exodus of baby boomers with decades worth of tacit knowledge, the biggest challenge of the coming decades might simply be maintaining the systems we have today.

The path of least resistance will be the devolution of complex systems and the reduction in the quality of life that entails. For the typical resident in a second-tier city in Mexico, Brazil, or South Africa, power outages are not uncommon, tap water is probably not safe to drink, and hospital-associated infections are common and often fatal. Absent a step change in the quality of American governance and a renewed culture of excellence, they prefigure the country’s future.

Grandpa’s… Wife?! | The Munsters

UPDATED AGAIN 5:30 PM EDT — TODAY! NATO “AIR-DEFENDER 2023” EXERCISE BEGINS . . .

World Hal Turner 12 June 2023

The largest air force deployment exercise in NATO history, Air Defender 23, kicks off today. Many people fear this “exercise” is actually a “cover” for NATO to directly involve itself in the Russia-Ukraine conflict, and thereby commence World War 3, which would go nuclear.

From 12 to 23 June, 10,000 participants from 25 countries will train on 250 aircraft, including 190 combat aircraft, in European airspace.

Wunstorf Air Base in Germany is the centerpiece of the exercise, home to a purpose-built field tank farm.

The warehouse is the largest in Germany and holds about 2.4 million liters of kerosene. We are not hinting at anything.

On Saturday, about 300 people protested in front of the air base against NATO exercises. The protesters demanded diplomatic solutions instead of the use of weapons and called for an end to the conflict in Ukraine.

Hal Turner Editorial Opinion

Everyone is waiting for the other shoe to drop with the Russia-Ukraine Conflict which NATO uses as an excuse to involve itself directly. God knows NATO has done everything it knows how, to get Russia to attack them: NATO has provided Ukraine with guns, ammunition, artillery, shells, missiles, HIMARS MLRS, Intelligence, Surveillance, Reconaissance and even targeting info on how and where to hit Russian troops. Countless BILLIONS in cash money has poured into Ukraine from NATO countries, to kill Russians.

That Russia has not taken this bait is amazing. The patience and self-discipline of the Russians and their leaders is mind-boggling. Yet, God bless them, the Russians have stayed the course.

In World War 2, Russia fought Nazi Germany. At the time, Russia was part of the then-Soviet Union, but it was Russia that lost the most in that war: 27 MILLION Russians were killed fighting NAZIS.

Fast-Forward to 2014, what pops-up in Ukraine? A NAZI infested government, installed by the West, after the West fomented, incited, and financed riots that toppled the government of President Viktor Yanukovich.

After overthrowing the Ukraine government, the West goaded Ukraine to start attacking the Russian-speaking populations of Luhansk and Donetsk. Those two provinces wanted to join Crimea and secede from Ukraine after it’s government was overthrown by the West. The new puppet government of Ukraine refused to allow those two provinces to secede, and instead, sent troops to begin attacking the Russian-speaking civilians there.

Russia covertly intervened with troops to help defend Luhansk and Donetsk. The two provinces, with Russian help, fought Ukraine to a standstill.

So the West got sneaky. A peace conference was called to meet in Minsk, Belarus. Ukraine, Luhansk, Donetsk, France, Germany, and Russia, attended. A peace agreement was signed . . . and Ukraine did not abide ANY of it for years after.

Turned out, the West overtly LIED during the Minsk Peace Talks. It came out later, that then-German-Chancellor Angela Merkel, and then-President of France, Francois Hollande, signed the Minsk Agreements knowing it was a ruse; they told the press in 2022, they just wanted to buy time to arm Ukraine!

So all the way back in the year 2014, it was the West’s intent to start a war between Ukraine and Russia!

For eight years, from 2014-2022, the West armed and trained Ukraine to NATO Standards. Ukraine had a standing army of 800,000; the largest in Europe.

In December, 2021, Ukraine massed more troops, tanks, artillery, fighter jets and the like, on the borders of Luhansk and Donetsk. The earlier years from 2014-2022 where Ukraine killed upwards of 13,000 civilians in Luhansk and Donetsk apparently wasn’t good enough; Ukraine was going to slaughter the people there.

Russia said “no” and stepped-in on February 24, 2022.

The West went nuts, claiming this was “an unprovoked aggression by Russia.” It wasn’t. It was provoked over, and over, and over again, by the West.

In the almost 16 months since the conflict began, NATO has done anything and everything it can to help Ukraine kill Russians. NATO failed. Ukraine is getting smashed on the battle field despite all of NATO’s help. Ukraine is losing the conflict – badly.

It is so bad for Ukraine that they have to draft 16 year old boys off the streets, at gunpoint – to force them to the front to fight. The bloodbath is horrifying, but NATO will not stop pushing Ukraine to fight further.

Yet for all its pushing of Ukraine to fight-on, and for all the equipment NATO has supplied to Ukraine . . . Russia is still winning. Russia just smashes all the gear being sent by NATO. Within the past 48 hours, look at what Russia did to NATO’s “advanced” weaponry:

Three out of the six Leopard 2R mine-clearing vehicles Finland donated to Ukraine have been lost in the same field.

With other engineering vehicles in the field as well, this is a massive loss for the brigade, no matter what.

Russia just moves right along, smashing and destroying everything NATO sends.

As you read this story on June 12, 2023, Ukraine’s only hope is for NATO to enter the war and fight Russia directly. But Russia has not attacked NATO. So at this point, an “incident” has to take place so as to justify NATO’s entry into the conflict. And THAT is what this “Air Defender, 2023” exercise is likely all about.

Someone is likely to create an “incident” which NATO will then use to justify its entry into the war.

From today through June 24, is the single most dangerous time in this world since the Cuban Missile crisis of 1962. If an “incident” is made to happen, and NATO enters the fight, it will go almost immediately to nuclear war. There will be no warning for any of us.

If you’re the praying type, now is the time. The world is going to look a lot different, and sooner than people might suspect. All it takes is one Keystone removed from the arch to threaten the entirety of the system upon which our society is based.

UPDATE 7:56 AM EDT —

NATO has already begun probing! NATO military aircraft are penetrating air space of the Black Sea:

Above is a “Rivet Joint” aircraft. The RC-135V/W Rivet Joint reconnaissance aircraft supports theater and national level consumers with near real time on-scene intelligence collection, analysis and dissemination capabilities.

Features
The aircraft is an extensively modified C-135. The Rivet Joint’s modifications are primarily related to its on-board sensor suite, which allows the mission crew to detect, identify and geolocate signals throughout the electromagnetic spectrum. The mission crew can then forward gathered information in a variety of formats to a wide range of consumers via Rivet Joint’s extensive communications suite.

Below, a NATO Fighter Jet:

This jet is a single-seat, Block 5 or later aircraft (built or upgraded from F2) and is known as Typhoon FGR4s. The new mark number represents the increased capabilities of the Block 5 aircraft (fighter/ground attack/reconnaissance). The FGR4 has from June 2008 achieved the required standard for multi-role operations.

The purpose of these flights is to test Russian reaction times and gather up-to-the-minute Intelligence. NATO is fixin’ for a fight.

MORE:

-RAF RC-135W Rivet Joint RRR7212

-RAF KC2 Voyager KAYAK31

-Italian Air Force King Air 350ER IAM1482

-US Army CH-47 Chinook R08457

-US Army Black Hawk 11-20392

UPDATE 8:45 AM EDT —

In Crimea, there has been an explosion on the railway tracks. This is reported by Russian media and telegram channels.

The driver of the freight train allegedly spotted the explosive device and applied emergency brakes.

As a result of the explosion, according to preliminary data, the tracks and a freight locomotive were damaged. According to some reports, two railway workers were injured.

The explosion occurred in the Kirov region of Crimea – in the east of the peninsula.

The movement of trains on the site has been stopped, repairs may take several hours, the head of the Crimea, Sergey Aksyonov, wrote on his telegram channel.

(HT REMARK: This is clearly part of an effort to block Russian supply lines.)

RELATED ????

UPDATE 9:22 AM EDT —

RUSSIAN CONVOY HIT BY TURK DRONE STRIKE – SYRIA!

A Russian soldier has been killed and 3 Russian soldiers were wounded after being in a Turkish drone strike in northern Syria this morning.

The Russian military column was traveling between the villages of Herbel and Maarat Umm Hawsh outside Aleppo.

TURKEY IS A MEMBER OF . . . NATO . . . .

UPDATE 10:48 AM EDT —

This is my current assessment of the Ukraine situation:

Today is Day 8 of Ukraine’s “Great Counter-offensive” and all they have to show for it is a few fields, and more troops stuck in meat grinders.

The “Counter-Offensive” is bogged down — badly — and the Vilnius, Lithuania, meeting of NATO is coming up fast. That is the meeting at which Ukraine must show NATO that it is has made real progress with the Counter-Offensive, or future assistance from NATO goes into great jeopardy.

For what it’s worth, by Day 8, Ukraine was __supposed to__ be mopping up Melitopol, should have cut off Mariupol by standing on the AZOV Coast, and should have been starting the assault on Crimea.

Nothing is going as planned. Ukraine is taking huge losses, and have not even managed to reach the First defense line of the Russians – anywhere!!!!

Think about THAT for just a moment; they have not yet encountered Russian actual defensive lines yet . . . anywhere . . . along the front. All they’ve encountered are Russian Recon and Pickets; which are smashing and destroying much of what Ukraine has already put forth.

NATO equipment? Not nearly as good as everyone thought it was.

NATO Tactics? Utter failure at almost every turn.

NATO is a failure. Ukraine is the proof.

Thank God we didn’t have to find out via an actual invasion during the Cold War by the then-Soviet-Union; we’d have had our clocks cleaned.

Once again, the incompetents running Washington, DC and our military, made another a huge mistake….

UPDATE 5:29 PM EDT —

As of today, Ukraine has lost (or abandoned to caputre) fifteen percent (15%) of the M2A2 Bradley Infantry Fighting vehicles donated to them for their “Counter-Offensive.” They achieved this 15% loss in eight (8) days.

Trapped In The Bank Vault | The Munsters

The rules are draconian, but not applied equally. That is not fair.

I have said this over and over again. The world is changing. The West is going completely bonkers, and the “third world” is getting stronger and more aggressive.

If you are sitting in a pot of hot water, you will think that everyone in the world is experiencing what you experience, but that is not the case. You all need to step outside the cauldron. Cool down and enjoy yourself.

…

Many MM followers are writing to me and reaffirming their thoughts about all these “UFO disclosures” that seem to be very popular now. The over all opinion voiced here on MM is that it’s all a bullshit game, and the real deal is right here in MM land. I appreciate that. I really do.

Don’t get too caught up.

When one form of disinfo collapses, another one takes its place. The United States and the West) are so messed up that you will NEVER know the truth from the lies. Never.

…

Keep being yourselves and enjoy some nice Summer foods. Watermelon, tomato sandwiches, fried chicken, coleslaw, and all the rest. Like hotdogs over an open fire. Savor the good things.

Todays…

No empire has ever declined without going down fighting. Will it be the same for the USA, as China and Russia gain world hegemony?

Empires usually don’t collapse instantly, they degraded and decay slowly. Modern European colonial powers didn’t die and collapse, they didn’t fight each others, they fought in too many wars repeatedly, eventually they ran out of money. US didn’t fight UK, UK didn’t fight France in 20th century to destroy France.

Superpower can destroy itself if they mistakenly take on even more powerful opponent(s), such as the case of Germany and Japan, the result is total destructions and collapses.

Superpower often can defeat and destroy a rising power, as UK has done repeatedly, but each victory came with a heavy price, accumulating cost in money and manpower eventually diminished that superpower, as in UK, a shadow of its former empire, even India has a bigger GDP than UK.

China is not a lightweight but a super heavy duty global industrial and agricultural power bigger than US and all G7 combined. China and Russia combined is way beyond US and allies can handle.

War is not inevitable. If war is possible, US would’ve done it already.

I went to Canada and I was SHOCKED!

https://youtu.be/XBnaVQjLXfY

What honor remains in China?

Masses compared to the USA.

What deranged idiot wrote this question?

China; developed, civilised and well educated nation that spreads peace and prosperity around the world. Very honourable people if you go.

USA; crime ridden, poverty stricken hell hole full of deranged evil crazies (look at the pro US Quorans on this site) that spread war and suffering everywhere and hate anyone on this planet who complains about it. The US can go to hell. Leave the world alone. We; the people of the planet; over 90% who hate the USA have honour. You pro US ( and there are decent US people) hegemonic supporters have zero honour, courage, wisdom or anything anywhere near the decency that would warrant you being classed as an animal.

US Is Desperate For China’s Attention But China Isn’t Picking Up The Call

What is the biggest scam an auto mechanic ever tried on you?

Let me preface this by saying that I was a journeyman machinist and helicopter mechanic. At the time, circa 1975, my daily car was a 1967 Ford Fairlane 2 door hardtop with a 289 V8 and 3 speed Hurst shifter on the floor. And I did all my own work on it.

I took it into the local Montgomery Ward Car Care Center to get the annual Virginia state inspection. After a while a mechanic came in the waiting room and told me I needed new shocks and they “just happened” to have a sale on shocks going on. I asked him to show me the problem and he pressed down on the rear fender and said the car was bouncing too much, indicating bad shocks.

I grabbed my keys so they couldn’t move the car and called the local state police office which was nearby. The staties were responsible for overseeing inspectors. A state cop soon showed up and I explained the issue. He had the center put a new inspection sticker on my car and proceeded to pull the inspection license from the shop. They had to go to an administrative hearing and lost their inspection for several months.

Oh, and by the way, just a few days before I had just installed a set of expensive air adjustable shocks on the car which was the first thing I mention to the state cop.

Urgency to Flee Australia Before New Rules Take Effect

What is the craziest April Fool’s joke someone has ever pulled off?

Some smart guy named Porky Bickar fooled his whole town into thinking the nearby dormant volcano was about to erupt.

main qimg a0bbf62f0a276143aea5f10ad1c7f2da

This was in Sitka, Alaska, 1974.

Bickar was a local businessman, pilot and apparently the local prankster. He came up with the idea for the volcanic eruption prank as a way to promote his new helicopter charter business and to bring some excitement to the lifeless town of Sitka.

First, he secretly flew up a hundreds of old tyres to the volcano’s crater and tossed them in.

On April’s Fool’s he set fire to them.

As you can imagine, the resulting smoke and flames caused widespread alarm among the poor confused folks of Sitka.

Panic set in, immediate preparations for evacuations were made. Kids were sent home, families gathered their precious possessions, called in their pets.

The last eruption was over 4000 years ago. What’s happening? The Coast Guard sent a helicopter out to investigate. When the pilot arrived, he looked down and saw:

A spray – painted Happy April Fool’s message.

But don’t think of Bickar as careless. He had taken precautions and informed the authorities with the exception of the coast guard.

Once news got out that it was a prank, most Sitka residents thought it was hilarious. Even a flight that was leaving Sitka that day was diverted so that passengers could see the faux eruption. The admiral in charge of the Coast Guard in Alaska later told Bickar he thought the prank was brilliant.

Thankfully, people had a sense of humor back then so everyone pretty much laughed it off; it would have been considered an act of terrorism today.

White Man Scolds Black People For Not Listening To Malcolm X Regarding Lying Liberals

What advantages did the Germans have during Nazi rule?

Have a lot of sex, if you are young and considered genetically attractive. They breed healthy Aryan girls who fit any type of man. Blonde and blue-eyed to the front of the line. It’s free, no-strings-attached sex. Something that young people tend to like. And Reich cared for the babies in a special SS “Kindergarten” called Lebensborn to raise them in order to replenish conquered territory. Most would be adopted to select families, mostly from the SS. An estimated 900 pregnancies were caused by the Nuremberg demonstrations alone.

Sex between chosen, young, and genetically pure Germans is recommended. Awards, such as the Cross of Honor of the German Lady, were given to women who contributed most to the Reich. The German high command knew that it had to replace the millions of soldiers and civilians who would be lost in the war. They think for the long term. But the Reich lasted only 12 years, not a thousand, so it was all in vain. Sports and physical fitness are also widely regulated and encouraged. And people are taught to give birth naturally, not look down on it as in previous generations. So, life was pretty good for most Germans until the war came to their home.

main qimg 73d514a4d86c794bb6f5fd439b4ca173 lq

What is something that most people don’t know about you but if you tell it you’re afraid they wouldn’t believe you?

I saved all the passengers on a plane, including myself and my family, from a deadly airplane accident.

But not in the way you might think. It wasn’t like the pilot passed out and I took control of the flight or anything like that.

Let me explain. I was around 7 or 8 years old. I remember we were at the airport, about to board a flight to Miami (USA). The plane was running a bit late (as it often happens), but eventually, we boarded, about an hour later than scheduled.

We entered the plane, stowed our luggage in the overhead compartments, and took our seats. Of course, I chose the window seat. I was sitting next to my father, while my mother was in the row next to us.

The pilot announced that they were ready for takeoff and asked everyone to fasten their seatbelts and prepare for departure. However, what he didn’t prepare them for was what was about to happen next.

Just seconds before the plane was about to start moving, I began convulsing out of nowhere, something that had never happened to me before. According to my father, veins popped out on my neck, and I wasn’t responsive to what they were saying, so he decided to shout for the takeoff to be stopped.

All the passengers got scared, thinking there was some kind of attack when in reality, it was just my father causing a commotion to halt the plane. In the end, a flight attendant announced that there was an emergency situation, and the plane abruptly stopped just as it was about to take off.

The curious thing is that after a doctor checked me and my father signed some papers, he made the daring decision (he wouldn’t miss his vacation for anything) to continue the journey. If anything happened to me, it would be his responsibility.

What’s even more curious about the whole incident is that after many passengers complained about the delay caused by me, the plane prepared to start again. However, as it started, one of the turbine generators spontaneously caught fire. They had to evacuate us, and the same passengers who had complained earlier now called me ‘The Blessed Child’ while giving me crosses and saint stamps, thanking me for potentially saving them from a fatal mid-flight accident.

main qimg be9eac437e9c4cf69fb056a96e1f0ea5 lq

So, technically, thanks to my sudden seizure, I ended up causing a delay, which led to the turbine catching fire while the plane was still on the ground. I saved the lives of the passengers on that flight.

Johnny Cakes

Ingredients

1 cup all-purpose flour
1 cup yellow cornmeal
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt
3/4 cup buttermilk
1/2 cup water
2 large eggs
1 tablespoon granulated sugar
1/4 cup vegetable oil or bacon grease, plus more, as needed

Instructions

In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, cornmeal, baking powder and salt.
In another large bowl, whisk together the buttermilk, water, eggs and sugar. Add the buttermilk mixture into the flour and stir until just combined. Do not over-mix or the pancakes will be tough.
In a cast iron skillet, heat the oil over medium heat until just barely shimmering. Spoon 1/2 cup of the batter in the skillet. Cook until bubbles form all over the surface of the cake. Flip the cake and continue cooking until soft and fluffy, and the center is completely cooked through. Transfer to a plate.
Repeat with the remaining batter, adding more oil as needed.
Serve hot with butter, pure maple syrup, honey or your favorite pancake topping.

Biden Intensifies Warning To Uganda, Repeal Anti-Gay Law Or Else

Is Rishi Sunak’s assertion that China represents the “biggest challenge” to global security accurate?

I’m going to try to give a more sympathetic interpretation to Rishi’s comments.

I grew up in Canada and studied in the US at a time the West had just emerged triumphant from the Cold War. Francis Fukuyama had just written “The End of History”, trumpeting the ultimate victory of Western liberal democracy as led by the US. My view of China was formed by reading books such as Jung Chang’s “Wild Swans” about China’s Cultural Revolution. I knew little about China except that it was poor and umm… communist lol.

Then I moved to Hong Kong for work. I started going into China on business trips.

My first visits pretty much confirmed my biases. The country was very poor. But I also noticed something; it was developing very rapidly. I’d visit Shenzhen and each trip it seemed that a new office tower or highway had sprung up seemingly overnight.

main qimg 459368a9467489034a78e7d5b2eb6d14

Shenzhen in 1990 (top) vs 2014 (bottom)

I consider myself reasonably knowledgeable about China — in part because of all the business I did there. And even though I was an eyewitness to the changes taking place, I still didn’t predict how fast the country would develop. Who would’ve guessed back at the turn of the millennium that in less than 25 years, China’s economy would be bigger (by PPP) than the US?

So yes, if by “global security” Rishi is talking about the US led post-war order, China is a threat. Because it is big enough and has a center of gravity that offers countries an alternative to the United States’ view of the world. I wonder if American policymakers realize just what a seminal moment the Saudi – Iran peace deal that China brokered was. By pulling off something America was unwilling or unable to do, it showed the limits of American influence — and demonstrated that meaningful geopolitical objectives could and would get done without the US.

Change can be scary. We live in a world that is changing so fast. And much like me at the turn of the millennia, Western policymakers have yet to come to grips with how fast China’s rise is or what the implications are. That’s why they view China as a “threat” to global security.

The unipolar world is dying. Long live the multipolar world.

It’s time to EXPOSE AFRICA, where are you for your people you enslaved?

A comparison of China and the US’s legacy in Africa

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Have you ever checked into a hotel room and found something unexpected?

This isn’t so much finding something unexpected as not finding something expected. One time when I was young and on the road home in an older car, my car broke down in the evening, on the off-ramp in the town of Port Hope, in Ontario, Canada. We managed to push my car to a nearby auto service shop and a nice guy drove us to a nearby hotel. The clerk gave us a key to a room and we went and found the room, but there was no bed in the room! We went back to the front desk and found the clerk in the pool room shooting pool and said “ummm, there’s no bed in the room you gave us.” He apologized and gave us a different room, which did have a bed. Aside from the missing bed, the people of that town treated us very well. It was a few days before Christmas and someone came in on his day off to fix our car while someone else showed us around town. I have fond feelings for the people of Port Hope, Ontario.

America’s Desperate Bid To Save The Dollar Just Failed

Paper: Saudi crown prince threatened to inflict ‘major’ economic pain on US amid oil feud

Friday, 09 June 2023 7:05 AM [ Last Update: Friday, 09 June 2023 7:12 AM ]

US President Joe President Biden (L) meets Saudi Arabian Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman at Alsalam Royal Palace in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia, on July 15, 2022. (File photo by the Royal Court of Saudi Arabia)

A classified document has revealed that Saudi Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman (MbS) threatened to impose significant economic costs on Washington after US President Joe Biden warned Riyadh over its decision to slash oil production last fall.

Even though the Saudi government publicly defended its actions politely via diplomatic statements, the 37-year-old de facto ruler of the country threatened in private to re-evaluate the Arab nation’s relationship with the White House and impose significant economic costs on the United States if it retaliated against the oil cuts.

According to the document, the crown prince claimed “he will not deal with the US administration anymore,” and promised “major economic consequences for Washington,” The Washington Post reported on Thursday.

The US intelligence document was circulated on the Discord messaging platform as part of an extensive leak of highly sensitive national security materials.

“We are not aware of such threats by Saudi Arabia,” a spokesperson with the US National Security Council said.

“In general, such documents often represent only one snapshot of a moment in time and cannot possibly offer the full picture,” the official, speaking on the condition of anonymity, added.

“The United States continues to collaborate with Saudi Arabia, an important partner in the region, to advance our mutual interests and a common vision for a more secure, stable, and prosperous region, interconnected with the world,” the official said.

The Saudi Embassy in Washington has yet to make a comment on the matter.

Eight months after Biden vowed “consequences” for Saudi Arabia after oil output cuts, the US president has yet to take any measures against the Arab country and MbS has continued to engage with top US officials, as he did with Secretary of State Antony Blinken in the seaside Saudi city of Jeddah earlier this week.

Biden, who had pledged to make Saudi Arabia a “pariah” as a presidential candidate, now scarcely communicates with the crown prince but the president’s top aides have gradually rebuilt ties with him hoping the two nations can work together on pressing issues, including normalization with Israel, Saudi Arabia’s growing relationship with China, a long-sought peace deal in Yemen and continued disagreements over the supply of oil.

A second leaked US intelligence document from December last year also warned that Saudi Arabia plans to expand its “transactional relationship” with China by procuring drones, ballistic missiles, cruise missiles and mass surveillance systems from Beijing.

During a news conference alongside Blinken in the Saudi capital Riyadh on Thursday, Saudi Foreign Minister Prince Faisal bin Farhan Al Saud highlighted that China and Saudi Arabia are close and strategic allies and have been increasing cooperation in the energy and financial sectors, and that “cooperation is likely to grow.”

He said Saudi Arabia’s ties with the United States and China were not a “zero-sum game.”

“I don’t ascribe to this zero-sum game,” Prince Faisal said in Riyadh. “We are all capable of having multiple partnerships and multiple engagements and the US does the same in many instances.

“So I’m not caught up in this really negative view of this. I think we can actually build a partnership that crosses these borders,” the top Saudi diplomat said.

Riyadh’s strengthening of its commercial and security ties with Beijing comes as US influence wanes in the Middle East region.

I prefer to raise my child in China over most Western countries.

What was the biggest jerk move by a park employee you have ever seen?

A man, who identified himself as Ante, took his girlfriend to Disneyland, and there he got down on one knee on a stage in front of Sleeping Beauty’s castle, ready to propose. He had his friends waiting a distance away, phone camera out recording.

Ante whips out the ring box, and as he’s asking the question, a Disney employee sprints in out of nowhere, snatches the ring box from his hands, and runs off stage.

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Why? Because people aren’t supposed to propose there, unless they got permission to.

According to the person who filmed, they had permission but that employee didn’t know this.

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He tells them to come down the stage and complete their proposal there.

In a daze, Ante told the employee, “She said yes.”

The man responded: “Yes, that’s great, but over here, it’s going to be even better.”

Disneyland Employee Interrupts Proposal After Man Got Permission || ViralHog

It was too late, though; he had fully ruined the couple’s moment.

I understand the employee was just doing his job but Jesus, have some fucking tact. He could’ve stopped them with his voice, yelled at them even, anything but snatch the ring out of Ante’s hands mid-proposal. That was disrespectful.

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Ante reacted quite well; many others commented they would’ve punched the man.

Disney apologised in a statement:

We have offered our sincere apologies to the couple concerned and we will do everything we can to make this up to them.

“Disneyland stands for dreams,” Ante said in a phone interview. “Our moment was destroyed.”

Undercover Boss Employees That Got BRUTALLY FIRED!

https://youtu.be/KF-ybeLfyHo

What was the extremely disturbing about the last century 😶?

Imagine for a moment that you were born in the year 1900. When you were 14 years old, World War I begins and ends only when you are 18 years old, leaving 22 million dead.

A little later, a worldwide pandemic, the Spanish Flu, appears, killing 50 million people. And you are alive, 20 years old.

At 29 years old, you survive the global economic crisis that began with the crash of the New York Stock Exchange, causing inflation, unemployment and hunger.

When you are 33 years old, Nazism comes to power.

When you’re 39, World War II starts and ends when you’re 45, with 60 million dead.

When you are 52 years old, the Korean War begins.

When you’re 64, the Vietnam War starts and ends when you’re 75.

A person born in 1985, for example, thinks that their grandparents have no idea how difficult life is, not knowing that they have survived several wars and global catastrophes.

Today we have been living with a great pandemic for more than a year. We are scared and tired. We lost friends and relatives, we are scared.

In the past, conditions were even worse, but yes, humanity survived under these conditions and overcame it.

Believe me, better days await us.

What is something movies always get wrong?

dig a grave

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This happens a lot in movies these days: someone kills someone else, and in an attempt to hide said body, they just go out and casually dig a 6-foot-deep grave big enough to fit a man with a shovel.

No. Crap. Chance.

Have any of these writers ever tried to dig a grave? Do you know what happens when you go below 8 inches of soil? Rocks. Clay. Slate. Very dense soil – you name it.

Very soon you will find that your shovel is completely useless.

Show at least someone with a pick, because that’s the bare minimum you need to dig a grave. And even with that, it takes you hours and hours.

Think about that too – if you assume the grave is 6 feet long, 3 feet wide and 6 feet deep – that’s 108 feet. mud. Dry mud typically weighs about 75 pounds per cubic foot. So one grave is 8,000 pounds of earth. 4 tons. Good luck feeling your hands after this.

Ukrainian Armored Columns Got SMASHED and AMBUSHED

Russia

What is Rear Adm. Mike Studeman referring to when he mentions “China blindness” at a military conference earlier this year?

Rear Adm. Mike Studeman might be referring to the phenomenon where individuals or organizations fail to recognize or intelligently address the strategic threat posed by China’s role as a significant global power.

This term “China Blindness” has been used to describe a range of issues related to China. In particular, it refers to a serious lack of understanding of what China is, how it operates, and what it is capable of. It is a “catch all” phrase that describes a cloud of ignorance of what China actually is today.

The Admiral is admonishing his peers as a warning. To believe the false narratives encapsulated in the public narrative is to risk serious defeat on the battlefield. To engage China, one must be realistic, and fully address the harsh and uncomfortable reality that confronts the USN. If it fails to do so, it could result in catastrophe.

As far as I can understanding it, the use of this term suggests a need for greater awareness and friendly engagement with China. As opposed to the politically-driven narratives of forcing and pushing China to follow United States dictates.

China Prepares for Worst-Case Scenario

Is it true that a woman once tried to sue Keanu Reeves for child support?

Yup.

This was in 2009. The woman pictured, Karen Sala, filed a paternity suit seeking around $3 milion a month in spousal support plus about $150,000 a month in child support (going back to 2006).

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Sala claimed she had a sexual relationship with Keanu, that they lived together and that he was present at the birth of three of her children.

She said she had known him since she was four or five, as he grew up down the street from her.

“I didn’t know he was Keanu Reeves,” she said. “To me he was Marty Spencer.”

Marty Spencer, lol. The claim that that was his name should have been enough to throw the whole case out.

The strongest piece of evidence against her was of course, the DNA test results, which showed Keanu was not the father of Sala’s children.

It gets better. When presented with this evidence, Sara, who was representing herself, claimed Keanu could’ve used hypnosis to alter the test results. What the hell.

The judge threw the case out.

What is the saddest moment you have seen in a movie or TV?

I felt really sorry for this guy.

X-Factor New Zealand, 2015.

This man, Joe Irvine, stepped onto the stage and sang “Cry Me A River”.

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He sang well enough, nothing seemed to be wrong.

But when he was done, two of the judges ploughed into him, they completely laid into him. I mean they trashed him so bad they made Simon Cowell look like a sweetheart.

But why did they do that?

It wasn’t because of what he sang, or even how he sang. In fact it had nothing to do with his singing.

It was because of how he looked.

The two judges were Willy Moon and Natalia Kills, a married couple. Both of them are also singers.

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On that particular episode, the contestant Joe Irvine looked very much like Willy Moon.

Willy Moon, left. Joe Irvine, right.

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The couple claimed Joe Irvine changed his look so he could look like Willy Moon.

Willy Moon joined in the tirade, saying it felt cheap and absurd, and “like Norman Bates dressing up in his mother’s clothing”.

[1] (Norman Bates is the killer in the horror film Psycho).

All these comments were rude and completely unnecessary, and look at the poor guy’s face, he looked like he was about to cry.

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He didn’t say much back to them. He only said that he liked the way he looked.

The two judges’ tirade sparked an outrage on social media, causing both of them to be simultaneously fired from the show.

[2] They received so much hate that they fled the country to Los Angeles.

[3] The couple at the airport, accompanied by security, still trying to look fashionable as they flee the country. God, they look creepy.

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Joe Irvine received a lot of support on social media from the public and also from celebrities, such as Ed Sheeran.

New Zealand chart-topper Lorde sent him a letter and some cupcakes.

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Lorde’s letter read

I’m a performer too, and I wanted to say that no matter how many people make fun of me for how I dress, move and act, I’m being me – and that’s what’s important. Good luck and lots of love, Lorde.

People were understandably upset with those two judges. Those two judges said a lot of mean things to Joe Irvine, and even compared him to a (fictional) murderer.

On social media, people ridiculed those judges, and some people harassed them to the point where they felt they had to leave the country for the sake of their own safety.

No matter how much someone tries to copy your looks or style or whatever, you just can’t tell them they look like a psycho killer in front of thousands of viewers.

What I found hilarious were the memes made about the female judge, Natalia Kills.

She trashed Joe Irvine for copying her husband’s style, so people trashed her for copying the styles of other…..famous individuals.

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It’s kinda hilarious and she deserves it.

Southern Biscuits and Gravy

Ingredients

1/2 pound bulk pork breakfast sausage
2 tablespoons chopped yellow onions
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
2 cups hot milk
Salt and pepper, to taste
1 batch Southern Biscuits

Instructions

Heat frying pan and fry the sausage and onion until the sausage is brown and the onion clear.
Drain off all grease except for 2 tablespoons.
Stir in the flour and cook for just a minute.
Add the hot milk. Stir constantly until the mixture thickens and then season with salt and pepper.
Serve over warm opened biscuits.

The big game of chess is about to see some grand moves on the game board.

There is a lot of things going on. One of the big things is the apparent “disclosure” by the government that Aliens exist that that the United States government has been reverse engineering the vehicles for decade. Uh huh.

What is interesting is that the mainstream “news’ is ignoring this news.

Then you have this massive movement of NATO and the United States ready to take on Russia. That is NOT going to have a good result.

But…

I believe that China and Russia has already planned for this and are playing “this game of Chess” about 56 moves ahead of the USA.

Manifestations hitting hard! Good stuff.

Have you ever refused an inheritance? Why?

Yes. My grandmother died, and my aunt (her daughter) and uncle had lived with her for years and took care of her. My aunt died before my grandmother, so when my grandmother died, it left only my uncle living in the house. He approached me awkwardly and asked if I would sign over the deed so he could have the house. He needed me and my sister to do this, and we both did with no reservations. He had taken care of the house, my grandmother and my aunt for years, so it was the right thing to do.

Africans Vs African Americans

Interesting.

Speaker of the House Sends Lawmakers HOME – Three Days Before NATO Exercise . . .that may start Russia War

Nation Hal Turner 08 June 2023

House Speaker Kevin McCarthy (R-CA) took the extraordinary and very unusual step of canceling votes for the rest of this week and sent lawmakers home today. Just three days before the largest-ever NATO “exercise” simulating war with Russia . . .

The “public reason” given by Speaker McCarthy is that this was due to a “revolt” by 11 members of the House Freedom Caucus, who banded together to grind proceedings to a halt in protest of the speaker caving to Democrats during last week’s compromise to raise the debt ceiling.

The looming and not-so-public fact is that NATO’s “exercise” simulating war with Russia starts in 3+ days – and that “exercise” — may turn out to be real.

Bear in mind, this action by the Speaker takes place just about one week after members of the Senate were all given Satellite telephones “in case a disruption to US communications occurs.” It also takes place just a few short days after the Memorial Day weekend holiday, during which, select high-level FedGov officials secretly spent the weekend at Government Bunkers with their families. a “practice run” for the real thing, maybe?

Or was it not “practice” at all? How many of those officials are STILL in those Bunkers? Is Congress now joining them?

I don’t believe the public reason given for this sending of lawmakers “home.”

Governing is always messy. It is always disordered. There are always disagreements and there is always upheaval. Yet, the Speaker chose to “send lawmakers home????” No, I don’t buy it. I don’t buy it one bit.

Who knows, maybe they’re planning some type off False Flag attack upon Washington, DC to be blamed on Russia?

Wouldn’t surprise me in the least.

Stay tuned . . .

Liquor Store Owner Shoots Armed Robber With Shotgun

https://youtu.be/WanvSbJHbWI

A delicious layered Tex-Mex casserole using three different cheeses.

Ingredients

2 tablespoons vegetable oil
1 medium green bell pepper, seeded and chopped
1 clove garlic, minced
1 (15.5 ounce) can kidney beans, drained
1 (16 ounce) can tomatoes, with juice, coarsely chopped
1 (15 ounce) can tomato sauce
1 tablespoon chili powder, or to taste
1 (15 ounce) carton Wisconsin ricotta cheese
2 cups shredded Wisconsin Monterey Jack cheese
1 (4 ounce) can diced green chiles
1 bunch green onions, finely chopped
3 large eggs, beaten
1 (8 ounce) bag tortilla chips
2 cups (8 ounces) shredded Sharp Wisconsin cheddar cheese

Instructions

Heat oil in skillet over medium high heat. Sauté green bell pepper and garlic until tender.
Add kidney beans. Set aside.
In saucepan, combine tomatoes, tomato sauce and chili powder. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer, uncovered, for 15 minutes.
Add to kidney bean mixture. Combine ricotta and Monterey Jack cheeses, chiles, onions and eggs.
Spread 1/4 of cheese mixture evenly in greased 13 x 9 x 2-inch glass baking dish.
Arrange 1/4 of chips over cheese.
Spread 1/4 of tomato mixture over chips. Repeat layer 3 more times.
Cover with aluminum foil and bake at 325 degrees F (160 degrees C) for 30 to 40 minutes.
Remove foil and top with cheddar cheese and bake 10 to 15 minutes more.
Let stand for 5 minutes before serving.

Yield: 8 to 10 servings

(Real Zombieland) Visiting America’s Ruined City | 我走入美國加州最恐怖市中心華人為什麼還不離開?

Real.

What’s something a flight attendant did to you that you will never forget?

Flying into Jackson, MS, on USAir, my airplane stopped and people began to get out of their seats. I realized, though, that the hatch had not opened, and bumpety-bumpety-bump sounds were coming from it.

The captain came up on the PA. “Folks, there are marks on the ground where different aircraft types are supposed to park, in order to have their hatch lined up with the jetway. I’ve just been told that there is an error in ours. We’re going to have to be pulled back by a tug. Before that, everyone has to be sitting and strapped in.”

Grumble grumble. People sit down. Feeling of slight movement.

Bumpety-bumpety-bump. Bump bump. Hatch still isn’t open.

At that point, a flight attendant came up on the PA. In the most syrupy and seductive of Southern Belle voices, she oozed into the microphone, “Is it in?”

Unfortunately, the captain was talking to the tower, who heard this. I was later told that operations came to a halt for several minutes, until Air Traffic Control stopped laughing.

Let’s talk about some news (Live)

Interesting.

COVERT INTEL – U.S. POSITIONING MISSILE LAUNCHERS ALONG CALIFORNIA COAST

Nation Hal Turner 08 June 2023

From HERE. Paywall.

WARNING ⚠️ It’s MUCH Worse than People know! | shtf prepping news

Yah.

This Barbershop Will Give Kids A Discount If They Read

Reading is very important when it comes to a child’s development, and this barbershop in Ypsilanti, Michigan encourages kids to pick up a book. Every child who picks up a book and reads out loud will get $2 off their haircut. Barber Ryan Griffin says he was inspired when he discovered another barber shop in Harlem was doing something similar, and so far the idea is a big hit.

More info: Facebook

17 Things You Do Way Too Rarely For Your Cat

A must watch for cat owners.

The Biggest War Battle on European Soil Since WW2 is HAPPENING right now – almost not a peep from the Main-Stream Media!

World Hal Turner 08 June 2023

The largest war-fighting battle on European soil since WW2 is RAGING right now – today, June 8, 2023 – and not even a peep from the West’s so-called “main stream media!”

According to battlefield sources, Ukraine’s first attack on Zaporozhye is almost repulsed.

A lot of Ukrainian soldiers are laying down DEAD in the minefields. They were simply driven forward by their commanders without properly preparing the passages. They say the picture is terrible, the enemy has a lot of DEAD or seriously wounded just lying on the battlefield.

It is likely Ukraine will regroup and drive a few more waves to the slaughter.

The Russians say “Our boys are ready and charged.”

One Russian source said, “we are not sleeping, we are waiting!”

SO FAR . . .

From June 4th to June 8th, Ukraine has lost close to 400 armored vehicles, 115 tanks and close to 5,000 personnel on the Zaporozhye, Artemovsk (i.e. Balhmut), and Southwest Donetsk Tactical Regions. The intensity of the enemy attacks have decreased, however, a whole army in the reserve is waiting to attack. This will not be the end of their attacks. So far, no settlements have been lost (some changed hands but are back under the control of the Russian Armed Forces).

Importantly, in no instance, has even the first line of Russian defense been breached, and remember, on the Zaporozhye and Southwest Donetsk fronts, there are 5 lines of defense. Ukraine is targeting areas west of the Ugledarisky Tactical Region (nearby to the Velkya Novoselivka Tactical Region); as these regions are the least defended, however, geographically hard to conquer. This is primarily around the villages of Novodonetskoye and the Vremika Ledge.

To compensate for failures, the Armed Forces of Ukraine (AFU) attempted a counteroffensive on the Artemovsk(i.e. Bakhmut)/ Berkhovka area; they were subsequently wiped out. Enemy militants now resort to shelling of residential areas of the Belgorod, Russia, Region.

It is likely that Ukraine will attempt to cross the Left Bank of the Kherson River under the backdrop of the New Kakhovka Hydroelectric Dam being blown up; they have strengthened groupings with fresh reserves from Lvov and Zhytomr, Russian forces are pre-emptively striking accumulations of Ukraine manpower.

The battles are raging. Hundreds are dying. But since the mass-media is simply not reporting what’s taking place, people of the West have no idea at all how bad things are, or that the US and NATO will likely find out they have LOST . . . this week. Unless, of course, they create a false flag designed to get directly involved in the war, and bring on World War 3.

The general public, being clueless, will be blind-sided at the outbreak of such a war. They will be afraid, and looking to government for safety and answers. The same government that LIED to them for 2 1/2 years over Trump/Russia Collusion. The same government that LIED to them about COVID-19. The same government that LIED to them about the COVID-19 vaccines, which are still killing many of the people who took them.

The next two weeks could very well see the outbreak of nuclear world war, and a change to all our lives that will never return to “normal.”

People Made this Kitten Aggressive And Spicy But He Loves To Cuddle Now!

What a cute and wonderful video. It will put some joy in your heart.

https://youtu.be/DfDIXKhhs0w

Is the US really winning against China in the Chip War? Will the USA be able to thwart China in her attempt to be the number one economy?

Let’s see what the tech giant Bill Gates say about this.

On March 2, the Financial Times published an interview with Bill Gates. The Microsoft founder strongly believes in the potential of US-China cooperation and does not think a military escalation is likely.

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Bill Gates claimed that the US would not be able to achieve the desired result and limit Beijing’s ambitions through procurement restrictions – which include a recent attempt to get the chip industry back under US control.

Gates does not see much sense in restricting chip sales to China, as the Asian nation will be able to catch up with the US rather quickly at this scale, and expressed his desire for Washington and Beijing to cooperate closer with each other.

Bill Gates:

Well, I don’t think the US will ever be successful at preventing China from having great chips. You know, we are going to force them to spend time and a bunch of money to make their own chips, but given 5 to 10 years and they take money out of their poverty program. The idea that we could ever sell them chips, we’re just eviscerating that.

You know, we’re saying make your own jet engines, your own software, your own chips. And I think that’s a shame and I don’t get the logic. Given that they’re at scale to catch up fairly quickly and I don’t see how that’s some gigantic benefit.

So you know, I wish the US and China could get along better. We seem to be on a deteriorating trend which when we have things like health, innovation, climate innovation that are win-win things between all countries, but the most important relationship in the world is the US-China relationship. I’m disappointed and worried about how that relationship has evolved over the last couple of years.

Regarding a possible military conflict between China and the US within the next decade, Gates argues that restricting Chinese chip sales and manufacturing would only warn Beijing about the intention for military escalation and thus further damage bilateral relations and provide China with advance warning of a future threat. The billionaire personally does not believe in a military conflict between the two countries.

Why Southeast Asia Chose China (You Won’t Believe What USA Did)

What else is new…

Zaporozhye Nuclear Power Plant Cooling Water RECEDING after Dam Blown Up

World Hal Turner 08 June 2023

The Zaporozhye Nuclear Power Plant (ZNPP) sits at the edge of the giant reservoir kept full by the Novo Khakovka Dam. When that Dam was blown up three days ago, water levels in the Reservoir began to plummet. This is causing water in the cooling pond that feeds water to the ZNPP to plummet as well.

Without sufficient cooling water, the nuclear reactors at the ZNPP will not be cooled, resulting in a nuclear disaster.

This is like a ticking time bomb. No one knows how long water levels will remain high enough to provide cooling water to the reactors. Disaster could be just DAYS away.

China canceled orders worth billions of dollars from Germany

Yup.

https://youtu.be/6x-0QvIpIwE

What can the U.S. do right now to make sure that China never becomes the world’s leader?

Well…actually the US can do nothing to stop China’s development. What can the US do now is to find the right way to get along with China.

Just wanna share Noam Chomsky’s view: When asked whether he believes that China will become a world leader, Chomsky said, “It already is.”

According to prominent US academic and philosopher Noam Chomsky, China has already become a world leader and its entering the Middle East arms market shows the erosion of the system in the region that has been run by the United States for 80 years.

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Chomsky explained that the programs based on the Shanghai Cooperation Organization (SCO) extend throughout Eurasia and considerably beyond.

“In the past few months, Saudi Arabia joined the SCO, followed by the second regional heavyweight, the United Arab Emirates, which had already become a hub of China's Maritime Silk Road, reaching from Kolkata in Eastern India to the Red Sea and on to Europe."

Renowned US investor Jim Rogers also told Sputnik earlier in May that China will become the next great country and most important nation of this century.

This isn’t right, Somethings Changed.

Indeed.

An Adorable Line of Miniature ‘Bread Cat’ Shaped Resin Toys That Look Good Enough to Eat

Korean designer Rato Kim has created a really adorable line of catloaf toys that range from the very realistic to the surreal. The toys are crafted from resin and can be easily mixed and matched with other equally adorable toys of Kim’s design.

h/t: laughingsquid

Mennonite Meat Balls (Fleischbolle)

Ingredients

3/4 pound ground pork
3/4 pound ground beef
1 onion, chopped finely
Salt and pepper
3/4 cup rice, soaked in water
2 eggs
1 cup breadcrumbs
1 cup ketchup or tomato sauce

Instructions

Mix all but the ketchup and form into balls; brown balls in a pan, put into an oven dish and cover with blended ketchup and 1 quart of boiling water. Let simmer in oven for 3 to 4 hours, making sure the balls haven’t gone dry.

ALIEN BODIES! Video evidence of U.S. held UFO handed over to journalists | Redacted w Clayton Morris

Hum.

Tex-Mex Capirotada

Ingredients

Pudding

12 slices stale bread, preferably French or whole wheat
8 to 10 ounces grated Monterey jack or cubed cream cheese
3/4 cup pitted prunes, plumped in hot water and diced
3/4 cup seedless white raisins or dates, diced
2 large bananas, sliced, or coarsely chopped apples
1 cup sliced almonds

Syrup

2 cups water
1 1/2 cups brown sugar, packed
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon

Egg Mixture and Topping

2 cups water
1 cup granulated sugar
4 eggs, separated
4 tablespoons flour

Meringue

Reserved egg whites
2 tablespoons granulated sugar

Presentation

Sweetened whipped cream or ice cream

Instructions

Toast the bread and allow to cool.
Using a well-buttered baking dish, 12 x 9 x 2 inches, make a layer of bread, using about half the bread. Top with half the cheese and fruits and all the bananas or apples.
Add another bread layer, then the remaining cheese, fruits, and the nuts. Set aside.
In a medium-size saucepan, boil the water, sugar, and cinnamon together for 5 minutes.
Pour syrup over the pudding mixture.
Remove 1 cup and beat with egg yolks and flour, then add this egg mixture to the remaining syrup and cook over medium heat, stirring constantly, for 5 minutes or until thick. Pour custard over the bread and fruits.
Cover and let stand several hours at room temperature, or refrigerate overnight.
When ready to bake the pudding, beat the egg whites until very stiff, beating in the sugar at the last. Spread atop the pudding and then bake at 350 degrees F for about 40 minutes, or until the meringue is well browned and the pudding is set.
Serve small portions with a dollop of ice cream or whipped cream.

Yield: 12 to 14 servings

Storage, Freezing, and Advance Preparation

The basic dessert, excluding the topping, may be prepared 24 hours in advance or overnight. Because of the sweet syrups, the bananas will not turn brown any faster than they would during ordinary baking. The topping should be added just prior to baking. The pudding may be served either hot or cold; it will reheat easily without changing consistency, either in a microwave oven or in a hot 400 degrees F oven, covered with foil.

Psychologist EXPLAINS Why Not EVERYBODY IS ATTRACTIVE

Hey you!

Four Days Until NATO “Exercise” Begins . . . and Maybe Direct War with Russia

World Hal Turner 08 June 2023

SCENARIO: “Airspace over Eastern Europe is contested. Article 5 of NATO Treaty was activated. Within hours, hundreds of fighter jets from the US/NATO transfer to Germany to fly against Russia. Nuclear-capable F-35 stealth aircraft are prepped for deployment – the first hours of a major war have dawned.”

This scenario is the basis for the upcoming NATO “Air Defender 23″ exercise …”

which takes place from the 12th to the 24th of June.

The air war is simulated against an imaginary enemy who himself has a potent air force. The real meaning of this exercise is clear to anyone with a brain: Russia.

The maneuvering may still be cautious in their public communication, but Michael A. Loh, general of the US Air National Guard, expressed his motivation some time ago. In 2021, with a view to „ Air Defender “, he wished that his people „ think more about our impending dangers – China and Russia “.

The maneuver is carried out according to the principle „ Train as you fight “. Areas of application, tactics, logistics – everything should be as realistic as possible. It is therefore no coincidence that Germany becomes the central hub of the exercise. In an emergency, too, countless NATO jets would start and swarm out of German airfields. The flight routes that the fighter planes will test are just as realistic. They lead to the eastern borders of the NATO area, to the Russian and Ukrainian borders.

At first glance, what looks like a brazen but usual provocation is a tangible danger to world peace in times of war. An accident with Russian military aircraft, misguided navigation or a pilot error may be sufficient to make a training flight appear like an attack. It becomes particularly threatening if Ukraine uses the NATO exercise’s slipstream to carry out attacks, while Russian air surveillance is forced to pursue NATO activities. Russian territory is currently being bombarded almost every day, and the Ukrainian president is threatened with major attacks. The escalation potential of a Ukrainian military strike while NATO jets are patrolling nearby is obvious in this situation.

The federal government is not only willing to accept these enormous risks, it even suspends the usual security measures. Russian observers who could ensure that the exercise is not used to prepare for an attack are not invited. There shouldn’t even be a formal announcement. “We will not write them a letter. They will understand the news when our planes swarm out “, the highest German air force general Ingo Gerhartz replied at the beginning of April to the question of how Russia is informed.

This move away from an insurance policy is accompanied by a fight against diplomacy. Last week the Federal Republic of the Russian Federation banned the operation of four consulates. They must be closed by the end of the year.

So, shortly before the NATO exercise, the relationships are further burdened and important communication channels are sabotaged. The federal government appears to be doing everything it can to drive an escalation and increase the risk that the exercise could become a bitter reality.

NATO and its ilk have to decide very quickly. Obviously, the Ukraine offensive has stalled. It is indeed a question if Ukraine army is even capable of holding their positions or not. And the Russian army is making small but constant advances. It is probable that Ukraine army and state is on the verge of collapse. Because of that, it is time to make a decision. Either NATO enters officially into conflict or Ukraine is lost.

Of course, best moment to attack Russian army would be when all NATO equipment and personal are in Europe and are practicing that type of scenario. We only need a fabricated reason for war. Something like 9/11 at the WTC.

History shows the US federal government is perfectly willing to engage in treachery to cause the US to be involved in a major war.

In World War 2, the Roosevelt Administration KNEW the Japanese were coming to attack Pearl Harbor. They knew days in advance. While they told the US Military “you may be attacked” there was no ironclad statement that an attack WAS already on its way. The Japanese attack on December 7, 1941 caused the date to live in infamy. The American military was used as canon fodder to get hit and killed, bringing the US into the war.

The Gulf of Tonkin incident was an actual fabrication by the US to get us into the Vietnam War.

Former Secretary of State, Colin Powell, sat at a UN Security Council meeting, held up a glass jar containing ANTHRAX, and told Security Council members that Saddam Hussein of Iraq had “tons” of this bio-weapon and could destroy half the world. In to Iraq we went. We destroyed much of Iraq, searched high and low, but guess what? No weapons of mass destruction! It was all lies.

In 2014, the US, EU fomented, incited, and facilitated the forcible overthrow of Ukraine’s President, Vikto Yanukovich, then funded a puppet government favorable tot he West. The US/EU want to place American missiles on Ukraine soil, with a five minute or so flight time to Moscow. Russia said “no.” The West said “Too fucking bad.”

In December 2021, Russia tried to negotiate ironclad, legally enforceable security guarantees. The West laughed and basically threw Russia’s Diplomatic proposals in the trash can.

The Russians tried again, only this time warning that if Russia could not obtain ironclad, legally enforceable, security guarantees, via DIPLOMATIC means, they would attain them via military, or military-technical means. The West again quashed the Russian proposals.

On February 24, 2022, after giving Ukraine a five hour ultimatum that went unanswered, the Russian Army went into Ukraine. The West was mortified. It was never within the realm of possibility to them, that Russia would actually DO what Russia said they would do!

Here we are, over a year later, the war rages, hundreds of thousands are dead, and now NATO is (coincidentally) preparing its largest air defense exercise in history . . . right next to the Russia-Ukraine major conflict . . . where any misstep can open up the hellscape of World War 3.

Given the US track record of lying to get us into actual wars, is it any stretch of the imagination to believe that NATO and the US will do so again, four or so days from now?

Let me ask you: If, one day soon, you’re up in the morning doing what you usually do, and suddenly, the Emergency Broadcast System tones start coming out of your cellphone, or your nearby radio, or on your TV, and the announcement tells you “The United States is under nuclear attack from Russia, take shelter immediately.” what’s the first thing you would do?

For most people, they have no friggin idea . . . . at all. Do you call your spouse? Do you make a mad dash to get the kids from school? (You and everybody else . . . and find an instant “Mad Max” scenario on the roads.)

Do you have __any__ emergency food, water, medicine for after the bombs hit and the country is collapsing?

Do you actually think you’ll be able to go to the supermarket and buy food? Upon a nuke blast, do you think your credit/debit cards will actually work so you can buy food? Nope!

Better start thinking about these things, because the way things are going, four days from now could see your whole world change.

Waiting to Be Put to Sleep, She Sat Crying Silently in Her Cage At the Shelter

The USA is ready and would win a war against China, says American Admiral.

My daughter caught a fever, and then passed it on to me. The last week has been a struggle. Tired, achy, spitting out green flem, and sneezing has been terribly uncomfortable. Hopefully I’m at the tail end of this nightmare. But it’s been a real slog to get anything out. Sorry.

The USN Admiral of the Pacific was asked by Joe Biden if the USN was ready to counter China….just in case. He responded that they are ready and would win a war against China.

WTF?

The guy is either delirious, or seriously demented.

Sorry about last post about #passportbros. The entire things is so disheartening. I see the pain of the African American women, and I feel the pain of the African American men. I just want everyone to find their love, and build up a family.

Is that too hard?

Couple that with the Woke Movement banning and suppressing all videos, posts and writings about that content. WTF? Makes it really difficult to communicate when others want you to shut the fuck up.

I really need to put out a Paetron video, but this last fever has set me back. Ugh!

My affirmations are manifesting strong and hard. Things are definitely falling into place. Slow hard grind, but actually happening.

A commenter asked about why I “felt the need” to send someone to the Cornfield. I did it, because I have an ego, and I no longer “turn the cheek”. If you wrong me, I hit back hard.

Now, take care, and have a great day!

Of all, its Japan which has hurt China the most on semiconductors

Japan has officially announced that it will tighten controls on exports of 23 types of semiconductor equipment to China starting July 23. How the new trade curbs will impact Chinese semiconductor industry is drawing increasing concerns from market and industry observers.

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Japan will strictly restrict shipments of four types of exposure machines, three kinds of etching equipment, 11 film-forming machines, three cleaning equipment items, one thermal treatment system, and one front-end test solution, all needed to produce 14nm chips and more advanced ones.

Chinese Commerce Minister Wang Wentao urged Japan to halt semiconductor export controls, calling it a “wrongdoing” that “seriously violated” international economic and trade rules. He issued the call during talks with Japanese Trade Minister Yasutoshi Nishimura on May 26 at the Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation (APEC) conference in Detroit, three days following Japan’s announcement.

How large the impact of Japan’s trade curbs will be on China’s semiconductor industry?

The South China Morning Post also quoted a semiconductor analyst at Counterpoint Research as saying that Japan’s increasing cooperation with the US in tightening exports of advanced semiconductor equipment and technologies to China will heap large pressure on Chinese semiconductor players, given that Japan was China’s largest supplier of semiconductor equipment in 2022 as indicated in the United Nations merchandize trade statistics.

The analyst said that China is now capable of producing 14nm chips, yet in a small volume, and that Japan joining hands with the US to contain China will make it difficult for Chinese foundry houses to increase output of sub-20 nm chips.

Japan’s Diamond Weekly reported that five Chinese semiconductor firms will bear the brunt of impacts from the Japanese trade curbs, namely SMIC, Hua Hong Semiconductor, Huali Microelectronics, Yangtze Memory Technologies (YMTC) and ChangXin Memory Technologies (CXMT).

Meanwhile, as Chinese semiconductor companies are shifting production focus to non-advanced chips, they have placed increased orders with Japanese suppliers for equipment needed for producing semiconductor power devices, analog chips and other lower-end chips.

Tokyo Electron, for instance, saw its sales in the China market grow 11% on year to JPY131.3 billion (US$937.05 million) in the first quarter of 2023, and its president Toshiki Kawai has estimated the company’s shipments to China in fiscal 2023 (April 2023 to March 2024) will contribute over 30% of its annual revenues, up from 23% of a year earlier.

Please note that both China and Japan are the signatory members of RCEP – a free trade bloc.

China will knock the WTO door, but to what effect. It takes 2–3 years for hearing and verdict, but there is also a big hurdle as the US is not appointing appellate judges, hence nothing will come off it. For roughly two years, the US has blocked the appointment of new judges to the WTO’s Appellate Body.

US voting numbers are significant everywhere, as in WTO, IMF and WB. This way it is able to bully and hold these organizations to ransom.

INTERVIEW: All I know is that Gonzalo was detained on May 1

An Opinion by 𝗣𝗿𝗼𝗳𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗼𝗿 𝗗𝗲𝗻𝗻𝗶𝘀 𝗘𝘁𝗹𝗲𝗿
𝘈𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘱𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘺𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘴 𝘢 𝘥𝘰𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘜𝘯𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘊𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘢, 𝘉𝘦𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘺

As I See It:

Why is it that the West is so preoccupied with China? The usual answer is that China’s economic growth is challenging Western global hegemony which has held sway for at least 250 years. The Chinese military has also reached parity with that of the West, so it is no longer subject to Western intimidation and bullying. All that is true and reason for the West to want to savage China and portray it as the root of all evil.

But there is one other consideration that must be considered. It’s not only China’s economic prowess and military might that frightens the West, but also success as a nation versus the West’s failure.

Moreover, China has forged a society in which there is harmony between its different ethnicities in contrast to the systemic racism that characterizes Western society.

Western ruling elites and their media mouthpieces do not want to acknowledge the fact that China has eliminated extreme poverty while more and more of their own people descend into poverty. They do not want to admit that China has constructed a 21st century infrastructure while they lag far behind. They do not want to confront the fact that the Chinese people overwhelmingly support their government while people in the West have lost confidence in their own, they do not want to accept that China beat COVID-19 while they haven’t, and finally they are loathe to accept the fact that a non-white nation has outperformed them and will continue to do so into the foreseeable future.

In order to deflect attention away from these truths the West has concocted a series of lies and slanders that allow them to deny reality. Instead of poverty alleviation the West imagines “genocide.” Instead of the advances in HSR, EVs, alt-energy and e-commerce they focus on “IP theft,” instead of a socioeconomic system that serves the people, they accuse China of forced labour and forced sterilizations. Instead of seeing China as defending its national sovereignty in the South China Sea, Hong Kong, and Taiwan, it’s called an aggressor.

All the China-bashing serves multiple purposes but ONE of the main reasons is to make sure that people in the West do not get to hear nor see what the real China is all about because if they did they may get ideas that the Western elites don’t want then to have, such as socialism works for the betterment of the 99% while capitalism works primarily to enrich the 1%.

What Happened to the First Human Head Transplant?

This is interesting.

10 Ways Life Really Sucked in the Middle Ages

by Selme Angulo

The Middle Ages lasted a long time… and probably felt even longer. Historians generally recognize the period as beginning with the fall of Rome at the end of the 5th century AD. Then, it lasted all the way through the middle of the 15th century—give or take a few decades. As you might imagine, quite a few things changed during this long cultural epoch. But there was at least one constant then, too: life really, really sucked.

There were only a few hundred million people on the entire globe—with less than 25 million in Europe–when the Middle Ages started, and those poor souls had it rough. Medicine was essentially nonexistent, and disease was rampant. Life was short, violent, uncertain, and occasionally brutal. Work was hard, the hours were long, and the physical toll was demanding. Civilization was sputtering along, and if you weren’t rich royalty, you got the proverbial (and sometimes literal) short end of the stick.

So let’s head back in time and take a long look at why life in the Middle Ages was so terrible. There will be famine, pestilence, and disease. There will be violence, starvation, political strife, and community turmoil. And there won’t be much hope! Here are ten reasons why it was really, really bad to be an Average Joe during the Middle Ages.

10 Pestilence and Plague

Back in 1347, the bubonic plague—which soon became known as the Black Death—arrived in Europe. It caused immense devastation almost immediately. Over the next decade, it took the lives of millions of people. Historians now estimate that around twenty million were felled by the disease. And there weren’t nearly as many people in Europe then to begin with as there are now. In just a few years, almost half of Europe’s population perished.

The Black Death was a merciless killer. People would go to sleep healthy at night, wake up deathly ill in the morning, and die in an agonizing way over the next several days. It didn’t discriminate between the rich and the poor, and it was ruthless. In fact, scientists now estimate that only about 10% of those who contracted the disease managed to survive. Families were devastated, and entire towns were nearly wiped off the map.

It changed the structure of European society in a way that is difficult to understand today. While the Middle Ages were already tough on regular people, all that death made things even more difficult. Children were orphaned, and families were fractured. Already nearly nonexistent social and community outlets were completely shuttered.

People were on their own even more than they’d been for centuries before that. And they attributed the plague’s wrath to a vengeful God hell-bent on punishing the world for its sins. It may have been difficult for the modern world to battle the COVID pandemic, but it was nothing compared to the plague. In just a few years, in the late 1340s, European society completely regressed.^[1]

9 Live Terribly, Die Fast

As you’ve come to see by now, life was tough in the Middle Ages. Even if you managed to stay away from hunger and the awful Black Death, there were still many ways to meet a gruesome end. Diseases like tuberculosis, leprosy, and cholera were everywhere. Basic cleanliness was hard to find. Nobody knew anything about hygiene. And in cities like London, there was no sewer system to speak of. Instead of disposing of excrement and human waste in a sensible way, they simply threw it onto the streets. Gross, right? Not only did it stink horribly, but it also created a terrible breeding ground for deadly diseases.

Knowledge about medicine was remarkably primitive, too. People in those times believed bad smells directly caused diseases. This idea was called the Miasma Theory, and it became quite popular across Europe. Of course, it wasn’t true, but it did make people realize the importance of being clean and taking baths. That, in turn, helped improve health conditions a little bit. Of course, the improvement was not felt by all classes. Rich people had the means and opportunity to stay clean and smell relatively fresh if they wanted. But for the serfs, who usually lived in cramped spaces with multiple families and even livestock, it was much harder.

Surviving childhood was a challenge back then too. Only about a third of all kids born in that era reached adulthood. Giving birth was also extremely dangerous, as you might expect. Mothers, babies, or both often didn’t make it out of childbirth alive. Across society at that time, the average life expectancy was only around 35 years. Men usually lived a little longer than women—and the rich, of course, often lived much longer than the poor. Still, it’s pretty shocking that giving birth was more risky than going into battle during medieval times. Life was very, very hard back then!^[2]

8 The Relentless Waging of War

During the Middle Ages, there was a great deal of fighting happening pretty much all the time. Some wars were short and violent, while others, like the 100 Years’ War, lasted way longer than expected. Because militaries lacked modern weapons, it often took decades for wars to finally and definitively end. Thus, everyone who was able to fight had to constantly be ready for battle. The nobles, especially, spent most of their lives training for war. Whenever a war broke out, it was their duty to show off their skills. If they didn’t want to fight, they had to pay the king a large amount of money to avoid battle.

Of course, the vast majority of people in the Middle Ages didn’t have enough money to buy their way out of the conflict. So they could be forced to join the army through conscription. If you owned any land, you could be summoned to provide soldiers for the war effort. The more land you had, the more soldiers were expected from you. The poor peasants, who had little or no military training, were usually the ones sent into battle by these powerful landowners. They were led by a knight or two who tried their best to bring some order to the chaos.

Some leaders recognized that having a well-trained and organized peasant army could be helpful in a fight. However, the rulers were also afraid that if these peasants became too skilled, they might rebel and try to overthrow them. This back-and-forth was the central tension around military might throughout the difficult Middle Ages.^[3]

7 The Cruelty of Crime

During the Middle Ages, violent criminals and thieves faced severe consequences if caught. And there were numerous petty problems that received cruel and unusual punishments too. Being a vagrant or getting caught begging was against the law in most European locales. Peasants were forbidden to marry without their lord’s permission. And in some places, women could even be punished for gossiping too much! Surprisingly, even playing football became illegal in England in 1314. Thankfully for our British friends, that didn’t last long.

In the early part of the Middle Ages, determining guilt or innocence involved a brutal practice called trial by ordeal. For example, if a woman was suspected of witchcraft, she might be tied up and thrown into a pool of water. If she survived, people would believe she was innocent. If she died, they assumed she was guilty. Considering she had already been tied up before being thrown in, well, you can guess how many “guilty” witches there were.

As time passed, trial by jury started to replace trial by ordeal from the 1300s onward. However, punishments during this era were still incredibly harsh compared to today’s standards. Public executions were common, as were floggings and beatings. Corporal punishment and forced labor were routinely levied against criminals and evildoers as well. Even petty crimes like thievery and pickpocketing were given harsh retribution.

One of the most dreadful crimes one could commit was high treason. Betraying one’s king was such a heinous act that it resulted in an unimaginably cruel punishment. The condemned person would be tied to a wooden panel and dragged toward execution. They would be hanged, but they would be cut down just before death. Yet there was no mercy in this act. While fully conscious, the person would be disemboweled, and their entrails would be burned before their eyes. Finally, an ax would be swung to sever their head from their body. Then, in what served as a brutal warning to others, their head would be displayed for all to see.^[4]

6 Brutal Feudal Life

Life in the Middle Ages was divided into different classes. As has been the case in most eras, those at the top had a pretty good life. They were the ones with power, money, and high status. In most Middle Ages communities, the king technically owned all the land in an area. He would lease it out to noble barons in exchange for an oath of their loyalty. Then, these nobles had the freedom to govern their land and impose taxes as they pleased. As you might expect, they could be brutal.

This privilege for the few landed barons came at a great cost to the serfs. This was the poor mass of people who had no land and no rights. They were essentially treated as slaves by the local nobles. Serfs toiled on the land and brutally worked six days a week from dawn until dusk. Per the feudal system, they were forced to produce crops, raise livestock, and offer some other value to pay their liege lord for the use of the land. And the grind never ended.

In ancient times, it was rare but possible for slaves to rise to powerful positions. Some former slaves became incredibly wealthy and led armies. In one notable instance, the son of a freed slave even became the Emperor of Rome. Sadly for the serfs in the medieval world, such social mobility was unimaginable.

If you were born into the lower class, it was extremely likely you would remain there for your entire life. There was no social mobility or opportunity to work through one’s birth position. Instead, the poor, unwashed masses simply kept working hard and toiling away with no chance of ever improving their lives.^[5]

5 Medicine? What Medicine?

Around 540 BC, a Greek doctor named Alcmaeon of Croton introduced a concept that gained popularity in his time. He believed human health depended on the balance of four fluids, known as humors. These humors were blood, phlegm, yellow bile, and black bile. Alcmaeon’s theory was wrong, of course, but it managed to stick around for a thousand years.

By the Middle Ages, medicine hadn’t progressed beyond this point. In some ways, sadly, it had even regressed. Unlike the ancient Greeks—who acknowledged physical causes for illnesses—people in medieval times attributed supernatural reasons to their ailments.

It was quite common for medical examinations to begin with an analysis of the patient’s astrological chart. In many cases, the diagnosis would be an imbalance of the humors. The prescribed treatment involved either bloodletting through cuts or the application of leeches. There were no antibiotics or other medicines, of course. The primitive nature of pain management and symptom care at the time was brutal and unforgiving.

Those who required surgery faced even greater risks. Limited knowledge of the human body’s internal workings hindered progress. Out of fear of superstition and disease, dissecting corpses was prohibited. Moreover, physicians deemed surgery as beneath their profession. That left the task to even less-trained barber surgeons. These individuals were often illiterate and lacked formal scientific know-how. Their only qualification was generally their labor as barbers. Theoretically, then, they knew their way around scissors and (potentially) a scalpel.

The sole available anesthetics were alcohol or certain herbs like mandrake. Shockingly, many surgeons didn’t even employ these methods. They mistakenly believed pain actually aided the healing process. Then, those unlikely few who survived surgery were at substantial risk of infection and subsequent death during the following days and weeks. Sadly, there was no winning in medieval medicine.^[6]

Let’s see the European Union and their members continue to expose themselves as the Anglo-Naxi backed fascist experiments that they are by ignoring their own people

4 Work? What Work?

During medieval times, most people lived and worked on farms. Historians now estimate that about 80% of the population tended to the land. However, as towns and cities grew, new job opportunities arose. Sadly, many of these occupations were poorly paid, required a ton of time and effort, and were extremely unpleasant.

One unusual job that became popular was that of a leech collector. The medical profession had a constant need for leeches at the time. So this created an opportunity for people to make a living by gathering the bloodsucking creatures. Catching leeches was not an arduous task, but it was gross. Collectors would simply enter a suitable body of water and wait for the leeches to attach themselves to their bodies.

Another job that offered slightly more income was that of a fuller. Fullers were more common than leech collectors, and they could earn three times as much as a peasant working in the fields. However, being a fuller was far from ideal. Their responsibility was to remove oil, dirt, and other impurities from newly woven cloth. The most effective method they used was stomping on the cloth with their feet inside a barrel filled with human urine. This process would go on for hours and hours, dawn until dusk, six days per week.

As the importance of cities grew through the end of the Middle Ages, more jobs away from the farm took on various levels of significance. Through it all, though, labor protections were nonexistent, and wages were mostly terrible. People had to make the best of the opportunities presented to them, even if they weren’t exactly what they had dreamed of. There simply wasn’t anything better on hand!^[7]

3 One-Way Worship

During medieval times, the Catholic Church held immense power and influence across Europe. It had great wealth and authority too. For one, it was exempt from taxes. And yet it compelled peasants to pay a tithe of 10% of their earnings to the church. Additionally, peasants were obliged to dedicate their time and labor to the church’s lands without compensation.

The vast resources and political strength of the church allowed it to permeate nearly every aspect of medieval society. Because they had such soft power, worship was essentially forced. After all, who would mount a fight against an organization with that much of an ability to ruin your life?

As the leader of the church and the earthly representative of God, the pope held a level of power that rivaled, and often surpassed, most of Europe’s monarchs. Although popes did not directly command armies, their influence was so significant that they could call for crusades. Those violent wars were fought again and again versus Muslim soldiers across the Holy Lands. Of course, the numerous Crusades have become notorious in history for their extreme bloodshed. Centuries of fierce fighting caused the brutal loss of millions of lives.

In medieval Europe, the Islamic and Christian worlds were largely distinct. The majority of European people were devout Roman Catholics—or at least they claimed to be. However, there were small populations of pagans, Jews, and individuals following other teachings. They just couldn’t be too open about their faith.

These religious minorities faced the constant threat of persecution and death due to their unpopular belief systems. Because of the sheer dominance of the Catholic Church, diversity in religious practices existed at great risk to those who dared to differ. Worship was very power-driven from the top down in the Middle Ages, and if you went against it, you literally risked your life.^[8]

2 Woes for Women

Life during the Middle Ages was challenging and unjust in many ways. Sadly, this was particularly true for girls and women. For centuries, they found themselves stuck in a society dominated by men. In those days, women had very limited rights. Until they got married, they were essentially the possessions of their fathers. Once they married, their ownership would transfer to their husbands.

If a woman was attacked, harmed, or killed, the focus would often be on her husband as the unfortunate victim. That was because the husband was seen as the one who suffered the loss or damage to his wife as property. Pregnancy and childbirth were awful too. Women routinely died while giving birth to babies. Without anything close to proper medical knowledge, pregnant women and mothers were at the mercy of fate in an uncaring and cruel world.

Through it all, women were primarily viewed as child bearers and raisers. However, female peasants were still expected to toil in the fields. Sadly, they received much lower pay than men, even though they performed the same labor. Then, after work, they were still expected to do domestic duties and care for children.

Despite these obstacles, a small number of women managed to defy expectations and attain positions of power and influence. In certain instances in England, women were granted special licenses that permitted them to operate their own businesses. They could also inherit wealth under specific circumstances. But those women were the very rare privileged few. For the vast majority of women during the Middle Ages, life was a joyless slog.^[9]

1 It Was a Cold, Cold Time to Be Alive

The history of human civilization spans about 6,000 years. Across this journey, humans have been fortunate to experience relatively stable and pleasant temperatures. But not every decade has had it equally easy. Around 1300, a significant drop in the global average temperature occurred. For several centuries, it caused a temperature decline of approximately 2-3 degrees Fahrenheit (1.5 degrees Celsius). That may not seem like a lot, but it lasted a long time. And it was worse in some places (like Europe) than in others. Across northern Europe, cold languished for generations.

This prolonged cooling period was so significant that weather historians now know it as the Little Ice Age. As you might expect, its impact on Medieval Europe and other nearby regions was devastating. Frozen rivers and harbors persisted for months, crops failed, and tens of thousands of people perished due to famine and mass starvation. As if all these other things about living in the Middle Ages weren’t bad enough, the cold was the proverbial icing on a really crappy cake.

Scientists now know the Little Ice Age came from a combination of volcanic eruptions and solar activity. But during the Middle Ages, superstition prevailed. People held what we now consider to be primitive beliefs about the cause of natural phenomena. Some of them attributed these cold weather events to a vengeful God. Others claimed it was the machinations of magic and evil witches. The drastic temperature decline exacerbated religious persecution during the era. In turn, it greatly contributed to the prevalence of witch burnings and mass violence.^[10]

Man Has Weird Round Spots On Finger When The Doctors See It They Call The Cops

This is also interesting, and freaky!

https://youtu.be/FgeBLbiPF9k

Tex-Mex Chili Dip

Ingredients

1 pound lean ground pork or beef
1 (16 ounce) jar chunky salsa (2 cups, mild, medium or hot, depending upon preference)
1 cup water, divided
1 (1.61 ounce) package brown gravy mix (no fat or regular)
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1 (15 ounce) can black beans, rinsed and drained
1 to 2 teaspoons finely chopped jalapeno pepper (optional)
Tortilla chips or crackers

Instructions

In 2-quart saucepan or large skillet; cook and stir ground pork until meat is no longer pink, then drain.
Add salsa and 1/2 cup water and heat to boiling.
Meanwhile, in small bowl, blend gravy mix with 1/2 cup cool water; stir in cumin.
Pour gravy mixture into boiling mixture. Heat and stir until thickened.
Stir in beans and jalapeno, reduce heat and simmer 10 minutes.
Transfer hot dip to heated server.
Garnish with fresh cilantro leaves, if desired.
Serve with tortilla chips.

Makes 10 to 12 servings.

Chili Dip Quesadillas: Spread dip on flour tortillas; sprinkle with shredded cheese. Place another flour tortilla over each. Cook on hot griddle for 2 to 3 minutes per side. Cut into quarters.

DAVY KNOWLES w/ Jeff Massey & Eric Saylors (Steepwater), march 2017

What western media will never cover.

30 officials from 16 Arab nations have visited Urumqi and Kashgar, Xinjiang Autonomous Region in a tour to witness social harmony, economic prosperity, the fact that muslims have full rights to practice their faiths from May 30th to June 2nd, the Arab League was accompanied by XAR party secretary Ma Xin Rui, XAR chairman Erkin Tuniyaz whom the west smeared for “defending genocide” last year and Diplomatic Ambassador Li Chen.

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Should Chinese people be careful around other Asians these days since there is so much anti-Han-Chinese sentiment and hostility from other Asians?

Hi, Rory Coates. Thanks for the very interesting question!

I don’t think Chinese need to be careful around other Asians at all.

Just before the New Year, I took a 2-week trip to South Korea to visit an old Korean friend, whom I’ve known for more than a handful of years now.

Here is a picture we took of the first sunrise in 2023, as seen on the southern coast, in Yeosu city.

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This is a regular and hearty meal we had at Yeosu, with fish as the main dish of the meal.

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And this is Yeosu’s famous soysauce crab dish.

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I greatly enjoyed the time I spent with my friend during my 2-week trip to South Korea. We had a fantastic time just catching up and eating some really, really delicious meals.

Being “careful” around other Asians because I am Chinese was the very, very last thing on my mind!

It was a really wonderful time catching up with a dear friend and enjoying the local scenery and food. Did my soul a world of good it did!

Tradwifes -TikTok’s Traditional Lifestyle Trendsetters

Well, it started with #passportbros, now we have #tradwifes.

https://youtu.be/mXM2rJ6G6gE

Heartwarming story

– especially for Simon and Garfunkel lovers like me . . . . .

“Hello darkness, my old friend…” Everybody knows the iconic Simon & Garfunkel song, but do you know the amazing story behind the first line of The Sounds of Silence?

It began 62 years ago, when Arthur “Art” Garfunkel, a Jewish kid from Queens, enrolled in Columbia University. During freshman orientation, Art met a student from Buffalo named Sandy Greenberg, and they immediately bonded over their shared passion for literature and music. Art and Sandy became roommates and best friends. With the idealism of youth, they promised to be there for each other no matter what.

Soon after starting college, Sandy was struck by tragedy. His vision became blurry and although doctors diagnosed it as temporary conjunctivitis, the problem grew worse. Finally after seeing a specialist, Sandy received the devastating news that severe glaucoma was destroying his optic nerves. The young man with such a bright future would soon be completely blind.

Sandy was devastated and fell into a deep depression. He gave up his dream of becoming a lawyer and moved back to Buffalo, where he worried about being a burden to his financially-struggling family. Consumed with shame and fear, Sandy cut off contact with his old friends, refusing to answer letters or return phone calls.

Then suddenly, to Sandy’s shock, his buddy Art showed up at the front door. He was not going to allow his best friend to give up on life, so he bought a ticket and flew up to Buffalo unannounced. Art convinced Sandy to give college another go, and promised that he would be right by his side to make sure he didn’t fall – literally or figuratively.

Art kept his promise, faithfully escorting Sandy around campus and effectively serving as his eyes. It was important to Art that even though Sandy had been plunged into a world of darkness, he should never feel alone. Art actually started calling himself “Darkness” to demonstrate his empathy with his friend. He’d say things like, “Darkness is going to read to you now.” Art organized his life around helping Sandy.

One day, Art was guiding Sandy through crowded Grand Central Station when he suddenly said he had to go and left his friend alone and petrified. Sandy stumbled, bumped into people, and fell, cutting a gash in his shin. After a couple of hellish hours, Sandy finally got on the right subway train. After exiting the station at 116th street, Sandy bumped into someone who quickly apologized – and Sandy immediately recognized Art’s voice! Turned out his trusty friend had followed him the whole way home, making sure he was safe and giving him the priceless gift of independence. Sandy later said, “That moment was the spark that caused me to live a completely different life, without fear, without doubt. For that I am tremendously grateful to my friend.”

Sandy graduated from Columbia and then earned graduate degrees at Harvard and Oxford. He married his high school sweetheart and became an extremely successful entrepreneur and philanthropist.

While at Oxford, Sandy got a call from Art. This time Art was the one who needed help. He’d formed a folk rock duo with his high school pal Paul Simon, and they desperately needed $400 to record their first album. Sandy and his wife Sue had literally $404 in their bank account, but without hesitation Sandy gave his old friend what he needed.

Art and Paul’s first album was not a success, but one of the songs, The Sounds of Silence, became a #1 hit a year later. The opening line echoed the way Sandy always greeted Art. Simon & Garfunkel went on to become one of the most beloved musical acts in history.

The two Columbia graduates, each of whom has added so much to the world in his own way, are still best friends. Art Garfunkel said that when he became friends with Sandy, “my real life emerged. I became a better guy in my own eyes, and began to see who I was – somebody who gives to a friend.” Sandy describes himself as “the luckiest man in the world.”

Adapted from Sandy Greenberg’s memoir: “Hello Darkness, My Old Friend: How Daring Dreams and Unyielding Friendship Turned One Man’s Blindness into an Extraordinary Vision for Life."

Tex-Mex Chicken and Rice Chili

tex mex chicken and rice 1 13 768x960 — tex mex chicken and rice 1 13 768×960

Yield: 4 servings

Ingredients

Chili

1 box Rice-a-Roni Spanish Rice
2 3/4 cups water
2 cups chopped cooked chicken or turkey
1 (15 or 16 ounce) can kidney beans or pinto beans, rinsed and drained
1 (14 1/2 or 16 ounce) can tomatoes or stewed tomatoes, undrained
1 medium green bell pepper, cut into 1/2 inch pieces
1 1/2 teaspoons chili powder
1 teaspoon ground cumin

Optional

1/2 cup (2 ounces) shredded Cheddar or Monterey jack cheese
Sour cream
Chopped cilantro

Instructions

In a 3-quart saucepan, combine rice-vermicelli mix, special seasonings, water, chicken, beans, tomatoes, green pepper, chili powder and cumin. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to low; simmer uncovered, about 20 minutes or until rice is tender, stirring occasionally.
Top with cheese, sour cream and cilantro if desired.

Have you ever picked up a hitchhiker? Was there a good or bad outcome?

Not my story but my wife’s great uncle. So Uncle Wimp (as he was known) used to pick up hitchhikers, and one of them tried to rob him at knife point. Uncle Wimp look at the guy and told him that he had no money because he had ten kids at home. What he did next was typical for this great man. The told the robber that he was going to take him home and feed him, because the only reason he would have to rob him is because he was hungry. The robber was shocked, and stunned by this turn of events. When he got to Wimp’s home he looked around the table at the ten young faces and started crying. He ate dinner and went on his way. A week later a canned ham showed up at the house. My wife’s uncle thought it was from the would-be robber and most likely stolen, but he had 10 mouths to feed so he didn’t ask questions. It was a good outcome for the family, and hopefully the thief changed his ways. Rest in peace Charles Solomon Maliseet Medicine Man, WWII paratrooper – veteran of Normandy and Market-Garden, and a man of devout faith.

Realizing She Just Became The Murder Suspect

What is the Longyou Caves in China and what is the mystery surrounding their construction and purpose?

Back in 1992, a group of villagers in Longyou county, China stumbled upon an astonishing discovery. The area near the village of Shiyan Beicun was home to several ponds or rocky pools that were believed to be “bottomless” with depths that seemed to go on forever. Some of the ponds were even void of fish. In an effort to test the legend, the villagers drained one of the ponds using a hydraulic pump and were shocked to find that the “bottomless” ponds were actually ancient man-made caverns.

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To date, at least 24 (with some sources stating 36) of these flooded caves have been found in the area, with no connections between them.

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These remarkable caves were hand-carved out of siltstone rock and have walls that come as close as two feet to each other.

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The caves also feature intricate relief carvings on the walls in vast rooms.

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Although estimated to have been constructed around 2,000 years ago, it remains a mystery as to who constructed them and what they were used for.

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These caves are now known as the Longyou Caves…

EMERGENCY! NATO TROOPS To UKRAINE, NUKE BLAST ON RUSSIAS BORDER, WILDFIRE TOXIC PLUME IN NEXT 24 HRS

Tex-Mex Four-Cheese Potato Casserole

Ingredients

1 (2-pound) package refrigerated mashed potatoes
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
1/2 teaspoon chili powder
3/4 cup shredded 4-cheese Mexican-blend cheese
1 teaspoon bottled minced garlic

Instructions

Place the top oven rack about 5 inches way from the broiler element, and turn the broiler on high.
Spoon the mashed potatoes into a microwave-safe, 2-quart casserole dish. Dot the potatoes with the butter.
Sprinkle the chili powder over the potatoes.
Sprinkle 1/2 cup of the cheese over the potatoes.
Cover the casserole with plastic wrap, and cut 2 small holes in the wrap for ventilation.
Microwave on HIGH for 4 minutes.
Remove the plastic wrap, and stir in the garlic.
Re-cover the dish, and microwave for 2 more minutes, or until completely heated through.
Remove the dish from the microwave, discard the plastic wrap, and sprinkle on the remaining 1/4 cup of cheese.
Place the casserole under the hot broiler for about 2 minutes, or until cheese melts and begins to turn golden.
Serve immediately.

Yield: 6 servings

China’s Military POWER Explained | Just how strong is the Chinese military?

What is the most inspiring story you’ve ever heard? Why was it so powerful and meaningful to you at that time/place?

You’re a 19 year old kid.

You are critically wounded and dying in the jungle somewhere in the Central Highlands of Viet Nam .

Its November 14, 1965 . LZ (landing zone) X-ray.

Your unit is outnumbered 8-1 and the enemy fire is so intense from 100 yards away, that your CO (commanding officer) has ordered the MedEvac helicopters to stop coming in.

You’re lying there, listening to the enemy machine guns and you know you’re not getting out.

Your family is half way around the world, 12,000 miles away, and you’ll never see them again.

As the world starts to fade in and out, you know this is the day.

Then – over the machine gun noise – you faintly hear that sound of a helicopter.

You look up to see a Huey coming in. But.. It doesn’t seem real because no MedEvac markings are on it.

Captain Ed Freeman is coming in for you.

He’s not MedEvac so it’s not his job, but he heard the radio call and decided he’s

flying his Huey down into the machine gun fire anyway.

Even after the MedEvacs were ordered not to come. He’s coming anyway.

And he drops it in and sits there in the machine gun fire, as they load 3 of you at a time on board.

Then he flies you up and out through the gunfire to the doctors and nurses and safety. And, he kept coming back!! 13 more times!!

Until all the wounded were out. No one knew until the mission was over that the Captain had been hit 4 times in the legs and left arm.

He took 29 of you and your buddies out that day. Some would not have made it without the Captain and his Huey.

Medal of Honor Recipient, Captain Ed Freeman, United States Army, died at the age of 70, in Boise, Idaho.

May God Bless and Rest His Soul. I know he is sitting with our Lord telling each other stories!

I bet you didn’t hear about this hero’s passing,Medal of Honor Winner Captain Ed Freeman.

Now… YOU pass this along.

Honor this real hero.

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Why is the Chinese government spending so much to develop a network of modern canals for freight transportation in China?

I don’t have much time so I’ll sketch an answer.

Riverine transport is one of the lowest cost and efficient transport system, particularly goods and commodities. It is also a great tool for flood alleviation and irrigation, among others.

The best thing is, canals can be built with locks to overcome the natural gradient.

What the Chinese are doing with the canals, like they have been for thousands of years, is the same as what they have recently done with highways, electric grids and HSR, and that is to bring connectivity and modernization to areas previously unserved by services.

Take Guangxi, for instance. Even my grandma, a native of Guangdong who had left China for decades, told me people from Guangxi were dull and couldn’t compete with those from Guangdong. She stated Guangdong ate way better than their next-door neighbor.

Which is truth bundled with prejudice, like most folksy observations.

A major disadvantage of Zhuang-administered Guangxi is the flow of the rivers, which go east to discharge in the Guangdong coast. River and marine transport is the historical reason for Guangdong’s prosperity, and why Hong Kong remains a key seaport and entryway to China today.

The Pinglu canal pictured above will help Guangxi mirror the economic success further east. It won’t just be a canal but an entire marine/inland water transport system that’s integrated with the Pearl River delta.

The Zhuang are about to get a huge boost in their economy, and that includes a network of ports.

Just interesting things

The Gruesome Truth About Gibbeting: Explored

Biting Back at China Over Micron Will Break US’ Teeth

The news that Micron’s products sold in China did not pass the network security review has caused a strong reaction in the US. This indirectly shows China’s decision has touched some Americans, demonstrating its power and producing additional effects. However, the true nature of the matter cannot be covered up by the US.

A US Commerce Department spokesperson said in a statement that this was a “raid and attack” on US companies, restrictions that “have no basis in fact” that would lead to “distortions of the memory chip market.” This is Washington’s consistent use of strong words to justify its actions. In fact, these words are just the phrases used to describe US actions of undermining free trade in recent years. But China is not the US, and will not learn bad behaviors from Washington.

The conclusion was made after a seven-week investigation by China’s General Administration of Customs and a network security review conducted by China’s Cybersecurity Review Office (CRO) in accordance with the law, which can withstand scrutiny. The review found that Micron’s products have serious network security risks, which pose significant security risks to China’s critical information infrastructure supply chain and affect China’s national security.

According to laws and regulations such as the country’s Cybersecurity Law, operators of critical information infrastructure in China should stop purchasing Micron’s products.

Besides assessing how much losses China’s decision will bring to Micron, the US also shows a certain degree of unease and insecurity, feeling that the “blast radius of this matter may be much larger.”

This is mainly because they have done many unscrupulous things to China and are very clear about what it means for the US to attack Chinese companies under the guise of “national security.” Therefore, they reflexively imagine that any action taken by China toward US companies is “retaliation.”

Of course, it is not a bad thing to make those who harm China’s interests feel uneasy, and it is a punishment they deserve. The Micron case is indeed the first time that CRO has conducted a review of a foreign company, but Micron is not the first company to undergo a security review by the office. The so-called “targeting foreign companies” is simply not true. The only thing it shows is that with the gradual improvement of China’s regulatory system, all market entities must comply with Chinese laws in their business activities. This is not about targeting specific companies. There will be no discrimination based on the different “identities” of the enterprise, neither will anyone be targeted nor given special treatment.

As one of the world’s largest manufacturers of semiconductor storage and imaging products, Micron’s products in China have long been said to have cybersecurity risks. In addition, Micron has always been known in the industry for its “aggressive competitive tactics” and has been accused of playing an instigating role in the US’ crackdown on Chinese technology, as well as being the US company that has dealt the most blows at Chinese chip enterprises. Micron itself knows clearly whether it has cooperated with Washington to export unsafe products to China, and this will undoubtedly determine its future in the Chinese market.

Take a look at US’ vicious and ruthless suppression against Huawei, and its greedy and lawless attempt to forcibly acquire TikTok. It has reached an extreme in trampling on the rules of free trade and the principles of fair competition. However, a legitimate and necessary action taken by China is used by the US to turn around and bite back, which is indicative of their guilty conscience and unreasonableness. They must be kicked in the teeth and be made to weigh the consequences carefully.

Big name retail stores now targeted by gangs in organized hits: Investigators | Nightline

This is the reality in the United States today.

Could the U.S Navy bring decommissioned ships back into commission if they wanted or needed to?

This question comes up a lot, and it comes from a lack of understanding of the difference between the post-WWII mothball fleet and the current state of the US Navy.

During World War II, the United States built the largest fleet in the world. Most of those ships were commissioned between 1943 and 1945. By September 1945, the US Navy operated over 6,700 ships, including 28 aircraft carriers, 23 battleships, 71 escort carriers, 72 cruisers, over 232 submarines, and 377 destroyers.

When the war ended, most of these ships were redundant, but most of them also only had 2 – 3 years of steaming on their hulls, so they were practically new. Thus was born the mothball fleet.

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These ships were meticulously preserved and kept ready for recommissioning should the situation require it, and the US Navy lived off these collected assets for the next 25 years. These ships could easily be refurbished, upgraded, and sent to the fleet as needed, and they were.

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Gearing Class Destroyer during World War II

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Gearing Destroyer with FRAM modifications (1960s – ‘70s)

The last of the Gearing Class destroyers were decommissioned from the US Navy in 1983.

When a modern US Navy ship is decommissioned, it has seen 25 to 30 years of hard use. The usable life has been squeezed out of it. The preservation process is nowhere near comprehensive as that done to WWII ships, mainly because everyone knows these ships are just being held until their final dispositions are decided. Most will be scrapped, and a few will be expended as targets.

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Ticonderoga Class Cruisers stored at Philidelphia.

If it were practical or made economic sense to refurbish and upgrade these ships, they would have been kept in service. This is especially true of the 1950s through 1980s vintage ships that had aluminum superstructures on steel hulls that suffered from cracking and corrosion problems.

The Navy got everything out of those ships that they had to give.

BRICS is adding members, planning new currency to challenge US dollar

What is the most clever way you have seen someone respond to road rage?

A friend of mine was heading to town. At the time the highway was undergoing significant repair. This genius in a sports car was tailgating him so close that the headlights couldn’t be seen in the mirror. My friend has a Chevrolet S-10 Z-71… a truck built from the factory to drive thru rough terrain. The bridge at the time had all of the asphalt stripped off to the bare concrete, and the max speed was 35 mph. My friend just before the bridge sped up to 55 mph. The tailgater was so intent on camping his bumper that he failed to notice. I was shown the rear view footage and it was glorious. The sports car launched into the air with a spectacular spray of sparks to accompany the flight.

MARY HARTMAN E133

https://youtu.be/IP6B1r94FqE?list=PLCY6KBmKh0OMnSSlXyNCtAnrlyoIJzHyU

Pot calling the kettle black

The US “won’t tolerate” China’s effective ban on purchases of Micron Technology memory chips and is working closely with allies to address such “economic coercion,” U.S. Commerce Secretary Gina Raimondo said on Saturday.

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Raimondo told a news conference after a meeting of trade ministers in the U.S.-led Indo-Pacific Economic Framework talks that the U.S. “firmly opposes” China’s actions against Micron.

These “target a single U.S. company without any basis in fact, and we see it as plain and simple economic coercion and we won’t tolerate it, nor do we think it will be successful.”

China’s cyberspace regulator said on May 21 that Micron, the biggest U.S. memory chip maker, had failed its network security review and that it would block operators of key infrastructure from buying from the company, prompting it to predict a revenue reduction.

The move came a day after leaders of the G7 industrial democracies agreed to new initiatives to push back against economic coercion by China — a decision noted by Raimondo.

LOL

Imagine its just Micron that China has started with. The list is endless if China started continuing this process by doing the “Huawei” on the US.

Apple (iPhone) derives its 30% profit from China. What if Chinese started boycotting it and Tesla?

Their share value would plummet drastically, which if combined with other companies, would collapse the Nasdaq and S&P which has 40 + trillions market cap.

No wonder the US came to its own rescue and started a dialogue with China on semiconductors issue – whatever the outcome be.

“Tesla’s 5 Secret Successors” Who Mysteriously Disappeared

Will China survive in a globalist world if they keep their average citizen closed off from the rest of the world?

Which planet does this China reside on? Mars?

On planet Earth at least, China has the world’s largest:

Overseas student population. (>600k)
Traveling tourists. (>150m)
Container traffic.
Diplomatic missions. (>170 countries)

There are also Chinatowns (or significant Chinese population) in many cities around the world maintaining cultural and economic ties with the mainland.

China is the largest or second largest trading partner with more than 130 countries worldwide. She is also the proponent of the One Belt One Road initiative which seeks to build infrastructure connecting China with Asia, Africa, the Americas and Europe.

China is also busy signing free trade agreements and further opening up her domestic markets to FDI, as well as evolving legislation to international standards.

China has paid her dues as a member of both the UN and WTO, and by and large, has been an exemplarary global citizen.

All this points to a global player keen to be part of shared humanity, and not a hermit kingdom closed off from the world.

Passport bros and the African-American women that they enrage

I learned something today. Just stop talking to Americans on social media. They are angry, rude, insulting, and just real dicks. I think that in the future, the term “American” will be synonymous with asshole.

In other “news”…

My wife was in a minor accident. A teenager, without a drivers license, and driving an unlicensed scooter ran in front of her, and it was a minor fender bender. Luckily the location had a traffic cop right there. (It happened right in front of him.)

No harm done. Some scrapes. We declined to do anything about it, and so the kid just got back up on his scoot and hurried away to work.

It could of been worse. But wasn’t. Good thing.

Today’s post.

What would few people refuse?

In 2015, a man named Joel Burger married a woman named Ashley King. Burger King decided to fully fund the ceremony:

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Seriously…

What are the chances???

But things don’t stop there. The buzz was so much that the staff of the restaurant line decided to contact the couple and say that they would cover all the costs of the ceremony.

How not to love?

Joel and Ashley said in an interview that they have known each other since kindergarten and that they were even united because all of their classmates thought the union of their names was funny.

A great write up from Frans…

Here in China, in every hotel, big and small, they have a robot. In the bigger hotels, they have up to 5 robots.

Such a robot looks like this:

Obviously, there are many different brands, sizes and colours.

The main purpose of these robots is to bring parcels (快递kuaidi) and takeway food delivery (外卖wai mai) to the rooms of the hotel guests.

All the time, at the reception desk of the hotels it is a busy coming and going of delivery guys, bringing in parcels and food delivery boxes. Not dozens but hundreds.

It would be impossible for the reception desk personnel to deliver all these parcels to the rooms of the hotel guests.

The robots are talking all the time with a smooth voice of a young girl. The name of the robot in this hotel is “Xiao Qiu” (“little Autumn”). In the hotel in Nanjing it was “Susie”

They introduce them and greet the guests accompanying them in the elevator.

The robots manage the elevator buttons without touching the buttons. They know the exact location of every door of every room.

Susie:

________________________

Frans Vandenbosch 方腾波

Much more HERE

What was something that someone said or did that has changed you forever?

My 10-year-old daughter came home from school one day and walked into my office. I looked up, scowled and spat out, “And what do you want?”

She thought a moment and said, “You know, Dad, you sound angry. But you’re not angry at me. You’re angry for some other reason and you’re taking it out on me.”

That stopped me cold. When I thought about what she’d said, I knew she was right. And I knew that I couldn’t snap at her again, not without good reason. In fact, I couldn’t snap at anyone again, not without good reason, and that good reason would have to be very good.

And that changed my life.

What questions do you have about Taiwan’s need for weapons and equipment to deter China from invading?

Resistance is futile. Look at the map, can you find Taiwan? The only salvation is to surrender as fast as possible to avoid bloodshed. Longer the resistance the more bloodshed it will be. Look no further than Ukraine.

Passport Bros Have BLACK WOMEN ANGRY!

Look guys…

These women are hurting. It’s difficult beign a single woman! Especially if you have Children.

But stop blaming other people; (Men), your past. Your parents for your misfortune. Women are strong. Be strong.

I don’t want to offend anyone.

I feel for the women, but see the mens side of the story.

What was the most embarrassing thing you (or someone else) were caught doing at work?

Nobody ever used the formal board room.

Well, that might be an exaggeration — technically the quarterly board meetings were held there, but that was it. And I always knew when those were happening because they were a Big Deal and required days of preparation on my part every time.

As the office manager for the Houston branch of a medium-sized oil & gas company, I knew everything that went on in that space. Every morning I made the rounds of the office — straightening chairs in the two smaller conference rooms that actually saw regular use, refilling drinks in the fridge, wiping down spots the janitorial crew had missed…that office was my domain and I maintained it with pride.

Every morning I poked my head into the board room and it was always exactly as I had left it, in pristine condition, because nobody had opened the door except me.

When my fibromyalgia started a major, weeks-long flare up I did my best not to let it affect my job, but by lunchtime each day I was exhausted and in a lot of pain.

My desk was in the reception area of the office and it would obviously look less than professional for me to put my head down or otherwise try to rest there, so I took to crawling under the 12 foot long conference table in the board room to nap through my lunch hour most days.

This would usually perk me up enough to make it through the rest of the day, and since nobody ever went in there, it was no different from me walking to a nearby restaurant for my lunch break. I kept a large shawl/scarf folded in my desk that I used to cover up if it was chilly, and my three-ring binder had a puffy cover that served well enough as a makeshift pillow. Anyone seeing me walk into or out of the room would see me carrying a folded up scarf and a binder; nothing unusual.

One day I was curled in a painful ball under the table, unable to sleep (as was often the case) but enjoying the chance to relax and recharge, when the unthinkable happened — the conference room door opened and I heard multiple male voices chatting loudly.

A Senior Vice President had invited a couple of friends to the office and was giving them the grand tour before leaving for lunch with them.

I froze and took stock of my position under the table and that of my belongings. There was a non-zero chance that, from the angle of the door, the intruders would think a few chairs were pushed away from the back side of the table where I had crawled underneath (bad enough in my estimation because I always kept the conference chairs perfectly spaced and aligned) but not realize anyone was in the room.

Alas…the SVP was one of those lovely execs who doesn’t think they’re too good to push in a chair. He walked around the table and when he leaned to straighten the first chair, our eyes met.

I gave him a panicked, “No, shhhh, nothing to see here!” gesture (probably looking like I was having some sort of seizure that involved slitting my own throat) and after a startled “Oh!” he proceeded to push the chairs closer to the table but not close enough to hit me.

He then smoothly guided his friends back out of the board room and a few minutes later I heard them leave the office. I shakily bundled up my stuff and returned to my desk, wondering if I would be in trouble when he got back and how I would explain myself.

Upon his return from lunch he asked very formally if he could please see me in his office for a minute. I grabbed my notebook and pen and followed him with my head down.

After closing the door he told me to sit down and then asked me in a very kind voice if I was okay, if there were problems at home, and if I needed anything.

Tears sprang to my eyes and I fought to keep from breaking down. He knew about the fibro — all of my bosses did, because sometimes during a flare up I walk funny and fibro fog

is a real thing — but he hadn’t realized how bad it was or how hard it could be to get through a work day.

He assured me that he wouldn’t say anything to anyone and I was free to continue resting in the board room anytime I needed to. He also told me that if there were days I was having a hard time, I should let him know and he would come up with a reason for me to arrive late or leave early from the office.

I’ve never forgotten his kindness. In a situation when he had every right to demand an explanation, he offered a sympathetic ear and support I didn’t expect.

Almost four years since we each left that company, I ran into him at Jason’s Deli a couple of weeks ago. We said we should have lunch; we probably won’t, but it made me smile to see him. There are indeed kind humans out there, even as corporate executives.

The Black Woman Was Weaponized To Destroy The Black Family

Watch this. See the other side.

As someone who lives in the United Kingdom, what is the most ridiculous thing you have witnessed a tourist do?

When I was a student at Salford University I met a group of American exchange students from Detroit.

They wanted to see as much of the U.K. as they could whilst over here and one of the trips they booked was a coach tour around North Wales. Excitement started to grow when I told them Wales is another country, separate from England.

A couple of days before they were due to leave I asked if they’d managed to get their entry visas through in time. They all started to get very worried as it hadn’t occurred to them they’d need a visa.

“Don’t worry,” I said, “they hardly ever check them anyway and the coach probably won’t even stop at the border. Just wave your passport at the window as you drive past, they’ll see you’re American and everything will be fine.”

When they got back a few days later I had a massive roasting. Apparently the bus was full of Americans and the girls had asked the driver to let them know when they were approaching the border. As they drove through an entire bus full of Americans all waved their passports at the sheep in the neighbouring fields. The driver, so I’m told, didn’t stop laughing for the rest of their excursion.

Iraq has banned the US dollar

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A whirlwind of changes is taking place in the global financial markets threatening the superiority of the U.S. dollar. A handful of countries in Africa, Asia, Latin America, and Europe are looking to end reliance on the dollar and promote BRICS or their native currencies. Iraq banned the U.S. dollar, posing a hefty fine and jail term for anyone trading with the USD.

The Iraqi government banned entities from initiating business transactions with the U.S. dollar. Iraq aims to control the fluctuating black market exchange rate, that plagues the country for decades. The move is also positioned to strengthen the usage of the Iraqi Dinar in the Forex markets.

Offenders who trade in the U.S. dollar will face a penalty of up to 1 million Iraqi Dinar. Repeat offenders will also face a jail term of one year and have their business licenses overturned.

The South African BRICS ambassador confirmed that European countries have expressed interest to join the BRICS alliance. He did not reveal the names of the European nations but hinted that a global financial change is brewing. According to recent developments, all arrows point towards France and Belarus showing interest to join BRICS.

France settled an LNG gas trade with China by settling the cross-border transaction with the Chinese Yuan in March. French President Emmanuel Macron also called for the European Union to distance itself from the U.S. dollar.

Was Emperor Commodus really a bad guy as we saw in the movie Gladiator?

Great question! He was WAY worse in real life compared to Gladiator.

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Gladiator portrays Commodus as this obsessive power-hungry monster concerned with the love of the people above all.

In reality, Commodus was a vain, sick, and evil bastard that caused tons of suffering to countless people and cared only for himself.

Commodus’s had a good father to learn from. His dad and Emperor, Marcus Aurelius, was a top-tier Emperor who worked very hard to maintain the strength of the Empire.

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When Marcus died and passed power to his son he was at the end of a years-long war against the Germanic tribes along the border, specifically the Marcomanni. These tribes had long been a serious problem and had been raiding the Empire constantly for centuries.

Marcus was closing in on victory when he died and made his son promise to finish the wars. Once Commodus was in power though he decided that he just didn’t want to spend any more time fighting the Germans and ended the war with a crappy peace deal.

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Back in Rome, there were problems. Commodus could care less though.

You see Commodus never wanted to be Emperor. He only ever wanted to be a gladiator.

So Commodus appointed his two best friends (both slaves) to run the Empire while he went off to be a gladiator.

This was bonkers FYI. Gladiators were slaves who died for the amusement of the people. To see an Emperor fight as a gladiator is like seeing the President walk the street as a hooker trying to turn tricks.

While Commodus trained and fought his buddies mucked it all up. Rome would experience a famine, economic hardship, and social upheaval all while Commodus played gladiator.

Commodus would nearly bankrupt the treasury his father had built up by throwing near-constant gladiator games. You see Commodus loved to fight in the ring, though his opponents had dull swords and could never win. Mostly though Commodus enjoyed killing animals.

Moreover, Commodus loved to kill people he deemed “weird”. This includes women, dwarfs, disabled people, mentally ill people- you name it. He really enjoyed making them suffer often slowly killing them to show off his sword or bow skills.

In the end, the idiot would leave a “people I am going to kill” list on his desk for his mistress to find. The chief name on the list was hers, Commodus’s trainer, and a number of Senators. They decided to strike first and Commodus was strangled to death in his bath.

What’s the most obnoxious instance of America-centric behavior you’ve ever witnessed?

This was just last week, I was waiting for my wife to finish shopping at the (OMG soooo expensive) Westminster Abbey shop, when a group of American girls reached the till, (checkout) for payment, one of them proudly presented her black Amex card. Now the spotty lad on the till who was doing his best to control the queue said “sorry, we don’t accept this card”. Now this is when things started to get interesting, the young girl, maybe 17 or 18 years of age, I say girl because she was no lady, screams at the boy, “of course you take it, are stupid?” Now the spotty lad kept his cool and showed her the card indicating the payment options and surprise, surprise, NO AMEX . Well the girl turns bright puce and makes another attempt to explain to ‘spotty’ he is wrong. Shouting quite loudly now she says, “you have to take it, because the brochure says ‘accepted in the best places all over the world’ Is London not one of the best places”? ‘Spotty’ said yes it is, but you still can’t use it here. The girl just looked at her friends, screaming like a two year old who has been told ‘No’ and stormed out of the shop. “You could hear a pin drop” until an elderly gentleman in the queue said “well done lad, bloody yanks think they own the place” this was greeted with murmurs of approval, and normal service was resumed.

China’s secret suicide drone

Chinese experts have developed a bomber ammunition that resembles the Switchblade. The drone is called Yousun, but all parameters are being kept secret.

Here’s What is Known:

The hovering munition looks similar to the Switchblade drone developed by the US company AeroVironment. But the key feature of the Yousun is the ability to launch from ships and submarines.

As the drone can also be launched from under water. This will have major implications for China’s warfighting capabilities in East Asia.

The kamikaze drone is designed to destroy defensive fortifications. It is 2.5-3m long and equipped with folding wings. The video above shows the bomber unfolding its wings after launch.

Has anyone witnessed someone saying “I don’t” in a wedding?

Originally Answered: Has anyone witness someone saying “I don’t” in a wedding?

This happened here in Mumbai.

A girl was being married against her wishes.

People thought she would kill her wishes for her parents’ happiness.

Here’s how she acted bravely:

(In Islamic law a jurist has to ask the bride and the groom if they accept each other, thrice.)

1st time…

When Kazi (Muslim Jurist) asked her, “Do you accept it?”

She was supposed to say, “Yes, I accept.”

She: “Mujhe Qubool nahi hy” (I don’t accept this).

2nd time…

Kazi (Worried): “Kya tumne Qubool kiya?” (Do you accept it?)

She: “Mujhe qubool nahi hy” (I don’t accept this.)

*Now her parents got worried* *Her parents took her in a separate room, cried, argued, did everything to convince her to say yes. Finally she agreed to say yes.*

3rd time (Final time)…

Kazi (Sweat running down his head): “Kya tumne Qubool kiya?” (Do you accept it?)

*After a pause*

She: “Mujhe Qubool nahi hy” (I don’t accept it!!)

“Damnnn..!!! girl what did you do?!?” crowd uttered from all sides. There was chaos.

She refused it thrice. Now as per Islamic law, a marriage is not possible between them.

Finally, her parents had to agree to let her marry her boyfriend (a different man).

Brave girl.

Lucky is that guy, her boyfriend, to have such a courageous girl.

USA Begs Mexico On Its Knees To Not Join BRICS

The Producers (1968) The Hitler Auditions

TWO (2) ACTIVE DUTY British Soldiers KILLED inside Ukraine

World Hal Turner 05 June 2023

Last night in Ukraine, two British soldiers were killed by Russian Su-24 bombers which annihilated their multi-million dollar UK Storm Shadow missiles at Kropivnitskiy airfield in Ukraine.

In addition, at least one (1) critically injured ***ACTIVE DUTY** UK soldier was airlifted to Poland from that same strike scene.

Thus, active duty NATO military are, in fact, inside Ukraine where they do not belong, and now, they’re getting killed.

Why China Doesn’t Identify with the West, Explained

“Today while at the gas station I overheard a lady in her late 20’s telling 2 other men to leave her alone

so I decided to walk over to them and I asked her ” how was the meeting today darlin? ” she looked at me and said ” it was good, I’ll tell you more about it when we get home in a few “. I replied with ” wonderful I’ll pick up your favorite for dinner”.

The two guys left in a hurry and she told me ” you have no idea how much that meant to me …. thank you.” I said “you’re very welcome ma’am …. you can never be too careful. “

I made sure the guys left before I walked back to my car and as I was walking back all I could do was think ” I hope a man does that for my future daughter one day”.”

~ Cody Bret

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China is a far better place to live than the US!! They won’t admit it, though.

She’s right. Cashless is awesome!

Ditch the dolla

BRICS is moving at a rapid pace to sideline the U.S. dollar and promote their native currencies for global trade. Around 41 countries have expressed their interest to join the BRICS alliance and accept the new currency for cross-border transactions.

Russia and China are convincing many other countries to enter the bloc to dethrone the U.S. dollar. The USD’s global reserve status is being challenged by developing nations and could send the greenback on a path of decline.

10 ASEAN countries have agreed to stop trading in the U.S. dollar and will use native currencies for cross-border settlements. ASEAN is a bloc of 10 countries compromising Brunei, Cambodia, Indonesia, Laos, Malaysia, Myanmar, Philippines, Singapore, Thailand, and Vietnam.

The ASEAN alliance put a declaration in place avoiding the U.S. dollar for settlements and advancing the local currency usage. The Eastern countries are taking steps to end reliance on the dollar and create a new global financial order.

On the other hand, the Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC) countries are following suit with the ASEAN bloc. Member nations of GCC Bahrain, Kuwait, Oman, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, and the United Arab Emirates have expressed their interest to join BRICS. In addition, Saudi Arabia is in talks to fund the BRICS bank, commonly called The New Development Bank (NDB).

If Saudi Arabia funds the BRICS bank, the alliance could receive an economic boost and sideline the U.S. dollar. The move could attract many other countries to accept the BRICS currency and stop trading with the dollar altogether. Read here to know more details on why Saudi funding the BRICS bank is dangerous to the American economy.

The decision to launch a new currency will be jointly taken in the next summit in South Africa in August.

“We have ALIEN craft in our possession” – Govt. UFO whistleblower admits BOMBSHELL

The USA needs a new enemy.

Below another bad news for US decoupling policy:

2023 04 25: Foxconn new headquarter open in China 郑州 （Zheng Zhou）

This is after experiencing the trouble in the Vietnam, India, and US factories, and APPLE transfers businesses to other Chinese manufacturers due to Foxconn other factories unable to operate smoothly in those countries as planned. So, 10 months ago, Foxconn decided to set up a second factory in Zheng Zhou.

Article HERE

UPDATED 9:50 PM EDT — Ukraine begins ‘large-scale offensive’ – Russian MOD

World Hal Turner 04 June 2023

UPDATED 9:50 PM EDT — Ukrainian forces have attacked the Russian troops along five sections of the frontline in Donbass during their “large-scale offensive,” the Russian Defense Ministry said in the early hours of Monday.

According to the MOD, the assault began on Sunday morning. “The enemy’s goal was to breach our defenses in what they assumed was the most vulnerable section of the frontline,” the ministry said in a statement.

“The enemy has failed to reach its goals and was unsuccessful,” the ministry stated.

The MOD said that Ukraine had deployed the 23rd and the 31st mechanized brigade from its “strategic reserves,” which were supported in battle by other units.

“The Ukrainian Armed Forces have lost more than 250 service members, 16 tanks, three infantry vehicles, and 21 armored vehicles,” the MOD said.

The ministry released a video of what it said were strikes on Ukrainian military vehicles.

Ukrainian President Vladimir Zelensky said on Saturday that Kiev was ready to launch its long-planned counteroffensive and that the military could not wait “for months.” The deputy head of his office, Igor Zhovkva, however, said the same day that his country had still not received enough weapons and ammunition to mount a successful campaign.

Kiev has recently stepped up the artillery and drone attacks on Russian cities, including a UAV raid on Moscow last week. The Russian Defense Ministry said on Sunday evening that the troops had repelled an armed incursion into the Belgorod Region, which shares a border with Ukraine.

The Russian Volunteer Corps (RDK) and the ‘Freedom of Russia’ Legion – two pro-Kiev groups made up of fighters with neo-Nazi background – claimed responsibility for that attack and similar forays into Russian territory that took place throughout this spring.

Belgorod Governor Vyacheslav Gudkov wrote on his Telegram channel early Monday morning that a drone strike had started a fire on “an energy infrastructure site.” He added that there were no casualties and no power outages.

UPDATED 9:50 AM EDT —

Ukraine Army (UA) forces have breached the first lines of defense near Velyka Novosilka, Southern Donetsk.

The villages of Neskuchne and Novodarivka have been liberated and russians have fallen back to reserve positions in Storozheve.

Assaults ongoing.

The Reason why Men are Walking Away from Dating (Ep. 347)

I don’t want to offend anyone.

I feel for the women, but see the men’s side of the story.

“Rainy Day In Ireland”

Pennsylvania Dutch Sour Cream Cabbage

Ingredients

1 medium head cabbage, shredded
1/2 cup vegetable oil (for frying)
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper
2 cups granulated sugar
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 pint (2 cups) sour cream
2 cups distilled white vinegar

Instructions

Heat oil in a large skillet over medium heat.
Add cabbage, salt and pepper and cook until tender, 15 to 20 minutes.
Mix sugar and flour together in a medium bowl, then add sour cream and mix well; finally stir in vinegar and mix well.
Add mixture to cabbage and simmer all together until desired consistency is reached.

AFRICAN Woman DEFENDS Passport Bros And CLAPS Back At Black American Women

So much pain. Ugh.

The answer is in how you deal with it.

https://youtu.be/hPQG5LjuiJA

On 2023/6/3, a US destroyer & a Canadian cruiser sailed thru Taiwan strait. China warned them to leave but they did not. A Chinese warship sailed in front of the US destroyer & forced it to change direction. It was close to collision (137 meters apart). USA scolded China for dangerous sailing. China scolded USA for non-Innocent Passage. What is Innocent Passage under UNCLOS ?

There was a journalist(s) on the Canadian warship. Experience tells us that the Jun3 incident was a plot by USA+Canada to give people an impression that China was aggressive. After all, in the 20th Defense conference, China Defense Leader talked to counterparts of many countries. Except USA.

Anyway, what is Innocent Passage under UN Convention of Law Of Sea? Below are my over-simplified points.

Innocent Passage ie friendly, thru the waters of coastal state means …

the passage does not harm the peace, good order or safety of coastal state.

The following action is NOT Innocent Passage (ie hostile) to the coastal state

1, do military

2, do military drill

3, do surveillance

4, do propaganda to harm the defense & safety

5, aircraft carrier with warplanes taking off or landing

6, shoot, load or unload artillery equipment

7, break custom, immigration or health-related eg illegal drug

8, cause pollution

9, fishery

10, research or survey

11, interrupt communication system

Coastal state has the right to prevent non-innocent passage, by …

1, set up its own laws

2, ban fishing

3, temporarily block Innocent Passage

4, self determine another seaway as Innocent Passage

5, set up a system to monitor the passing ships

6, patrol

7, to suspicious ships, coastal state can go on board, inspect, search, detain & take proper action

8, order to leave before certain date

Let us play judge re the Jun6 incident.

1, China has warned US+Canadian warships to leave. China said USA+Canada were non-Innocent Passage ie hostile. I have not heard USA or Canada refuted.

When a US warship sailed thru Taiwan strait the 1st time after Pelosi’s trip to Taiwan, the artillery on the US warship pointed at the sky. Have US+Canadian warships done so this time? Or have they covered their cannonballs? Or more.

Tell us their friendly side, please. So that we can help them scold China.

2, UNCLOS says coastal state can set up its laws to prevent non-innocent passage. Plus point 7 re suspicious. That gives China lots of room to maneuver.

Like it or not, under ONE CHINA principle, Taiwan is part of China. Taiwan strait is an inner sea of China.

It is not up to USA to unilaterally say this or that. Today’s Latin American, Middle East, Africa or ASEAN do not take US order. Needless to say today’s strong China.

3, What is Freedom of Navigation in terms of dispute?

In short, it is another state challenging the Innocent Passage of the coastal state.

9 Filipinas CLAP Back HARD | They ❤️ Passport Bros

They do not want to be the scapegoat.

Only in the United States, the cradle of Democracy

This is Dianne Feinstein

she is 89 years old
she is a Senator
who almost never show up at the Senate
she is reported to have cognitive issues, similar to President Joe Biden
as well as suffering from some very painful disease
during the course of her tenure in office, she has amassed over $200 million in assets

Elected American officials are allowed to put their own interests and ego over the interest of the American people. Americans deserve better. They deserve leaders who can lead them to a better place.

Passport Bros Are WINNING With FILIPINA Women!

Again. They are sick and tired of being blamed.

On Saturday June 3, 2023, a historic event happened in the Taiwan Strait.

A Chinese warship intercepted an American destroyer. The USS Chung-Hoon claimed to have asked the Chinese ship to stay away from it but the Chinese responded "Move, or there would be a collision". Eventually, the USS Chung-Hoon changed course and slowed down to avoid a crash.

That's the right attitude and the right language when dealing with an international bully.

There is a time for diplomacy but there is also a time for right assertiveness. And right now, so-called diplomacy would undeniably be cowardice.

Tot Ziens ! Quan

Article HERE

You Can Talk About PA55PORT BRO5 But Don’t Talk About Them | LESSON LEARNED

Fighting back.

Russian Ministry for Civil Defense Has Got a Bizarre Honey Cake Employee Now

In the city of Tula the Russian EMERCOM (Ministry of the Russian Federation for Civil Defense, Emergency Management and Natural Disasters Response) has got a new mascot and employee – the honey cake of Tula (which is the symbol of the city). Mr. Honey Cake even has his own offical ID and a medal for propaganda of the rescue work.

h/t: englishrussia

The US Has NO CHANCE of Defeating China in Taiwan

Real.

Allies after allies now turned against the United States

The newly re-elected Government of Turkey’s Interior Minister Suleyman Soylu, speaking to a crowd from a balcony promised that Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdogan would:

“wipe away whoever causes trouble” for Turkey “and that includes the American military.”
Earlier, he declared that those who “pursue a pro-American approach will be considered traitors.”
Keep in mind that Turkey has been a member of NATO AND the most critical NATO member after the United States

Personally, I wonder why this took so long

the US supported an attempted coup against Erdogan. The leader of the coup is based in the US; and
American proxies, based in Syria, have launched attacks in Turkey
however, it does NOT surprise me that it is the Muslim countries that are now strongly speaking out against the US because the US and its western allies have killed and dislocated tens of millions of them in just the last two decades alone

A powerful Muslim world is currently increasingly convalescing behind the BRI world and will provide decisive military support to China in any future conflagaration.

Biden Is ‘In Denial’ Over Collapse Of Empire – Economist Richard Wolff

What was the most badass “I rest my case” moment you’ve ever witnessed in court?

Back in the early 2000’s I worked for Mega Evil Douchebag Corp (might not be the actual name, but that’s how I remember it…). MEDC main business was giving credit cards to people with bad credit. Seriously, you could have a single digit credit score and these people would say yes.

Due to the type of people this attracted, nearly 80% of people defaulted on their cards, usually after the first bill arrived and they realised it wasn’t free money. As staff, I also had a card, but with better rates and a considerably higher credit limit.

Because of the number of defaults, MEDC had a contract with a particularly belligerent debt collection agency. These debt collectors would come to the office once a month, go to the records room and be handed a pile of defaulted accounts. Every month they would leave with bin bags full of paperwork.

One day I had cause to go to the records room and I was amazed at what I saw. The room was exactly as the name suggests, a room full of customer records, but that’s as far as it went in terms of an accurate description. The records were everywhere. Piles on this desk, piles on that desk. Heaps on the floor. Boxes in no discernible order. It was a mess – and that’s being polite.

The debt collectors used to go into this room and were only supposed to take records from a particular desk. In fact, they took whatever they wanted.

One month, they managed to get my paperwork by mistake. This began more than six long months of letters, phonecalls, emails and debt collectors turning up at my door threatening me with bankruptcy and prison if I didn’t pay the full sum I owed them.

I didn’t owe them anything. My account was still open and my card in regular use. One of the conditions of having a card as a staff member was you had to pay the balance in full every month. I did, and could prove it.

Being debt collectors, and therefore not the brightest of individuals, they wouldn’t accept “go fuck yourself” as payment for a debt I didn’t owe, so I told them to take me to court. Eventually they did.

When I got to court I saw their solicitors huddling together, no doubt discussing how they were going to crush me under their mighty law degrees. I represented myself.

In the actual courtroom, I was sat on one side, on my own with just a glass of water and my wallet on the desk. They were sat on their side, all shiny briefcases, stacks of folders containing damning paperwork and expensive suits. I saw them look over at me a couple of times, knowing they were going to win. I just sat there quietly.

The judge walked in, introduced himself, and for my benefit, explained how this hearing would work. I sat, listened and nodded appropriately.

Before we started, he asked me why I was representing myself. I explained this was an easy case and I didn’t feel the need to waste money on a solicitor. I was also asked why I didn’t have any paperwork with me and I explained that I didn’t believe I needed any and was confident in my ability to defend myself, but that I would be asking the courts indulgence to break a minor rule during my defence, but I would explain at the time what I wanted to do, and why.

It was all very friendly. Then it was like he flipped a switch in his brain to turn “judge mode” on.

The debt collectors solicitors started as they were bringing the case against me.

According to them I had entered into a contract with Mega Evil Douchebag Corp for the supply and use of a line of credit, by means of a MEDC credit card. I had the benefit of that card (legal speak for “he used it”). I had failed to make payments as obligated by the contract, and payment demands. After a period of time, MEDC cancelled the line of credit, the card and the account, and sent the account to collections. Collections tried to contact me on many occasions, were unable to do so, and eventually sold the account to the debt collectors. The debt collectors then tried collecting the money owed over six months and were unable to do so, as I repeatedly refused to pay.

In evidence of their allegations they had the original MEDC card paperwork and all the account statements. They also provided copies of all the letters they sent me demanding payment, and proof of receipt of several of them. They stated that I told them over the phone I didn’t know who MEDC were, and that I never had a card with them.

It was a cut and dry, air-tight case. They had the contract, they had the letters, they had everything they needed to get a judgement in their favour.

In fact, they had nothing.

Now it was my turn.

I stood and immediately apologised for wasting the courts time. I opened my wallet and took out the obviously well used Evil Douchebag credit card and explained I never denied having one, or regularly using it. I then took out my company ID card, showing I was an employee of MEDC and then explained what that meant in terms of having one of their cards.

I asked for the statements being used against me and they were handed over. I showed the judge each and every time I had made full payment against the amount owed (which was every month as per the staff conditions). I then explained that the account had not been closed and sent to debt collectors as it was still open, and had been used that week to buy petrol.

The judge stopped me and asked the solicitors if my account was open or closed. They confirmed it was definitely closed.

He asked me to continue and it was at this point I asked to break the rules. I told the judge I could definitively prove their entire case was bogus by making a simple phonecall. I asked the clerk to call the customer services number on the statements the solicitors provided against me and the judge agreed. I went through security and connected to a customer rep. I asked for my current balance and the amount owed on the next payment. I then asked him to confirm if the account was listed as open or closed. He – of course – said it was open. I finally asked if he could check the notes screen for any Collections Dept activity and he said there was none. That’s where I ended the call.

I thanked the judge and quickly explained that since I studied law at A-level, there was something I had always wanted to say in open court, even though it wasn’t the done thing in the UK, and before he could say anything, I said “I rest my case”.

The judge just about went mental. He dismissed the case immediately, but refused to let the solicitors leave until they had explained why they were chasing me for a debt I very clearly didn’t owe. He wanted to know how their clients added fees were calculated, and exactly what was being charged for the “court fees” I was being charged too. He also told them that whilst I had no evidence of what was said when they visited my home and told me they would make sure I went to prison, he was inclined to believe me. Not only that, but he would now be watching out for cases involving their clients and be more inclined to accept verbal evidence than he normally would.

I just sat there and watched them squirm as they couldn’t answer any questions he wanted answers to. The judge told me I was free to leave if I wanted to, but the solicitors weren’t going anywhere until he had answers. As I left the courtroom, they were on the phone with their clients demanding those answers.

The judge told me “well done” as I left, smiling. I sincerely doubt the solicitors were smiling for quite some time afterwards.

Were the Chinese in the Korean War the toughest soldiers that U.S. troops ever fought?

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General Ray Davis USMC fought the Imperial Japanese Army, North Korean People’s Army, Chinese People’s Volunteers, and the North Vietnamese Army during his storied career. He was awarded the Medal of Honor while commanding an infantry battalion in 1950 during the Chosin Reservoir Campaign. I had the pleasure to meet him one afternoon in Virginia. During our conversation, I asked him for his opinion on the combat performance of the various enemy armed forces he fought over the course of three different wars. His response is provided below.

The Imperial Japanese Army was the toughest adversary he ever encountered on the battlefield. Japanese soldiers used their weaponry with great skill. Their camouflage and concealment was first rate. Their iron discipline and refusal to surrender made Imperial soldiers extremely difficult to defeat. They always fought to the death when overrun.
Chinese People’s Army volunteers were good soldiers. A lot of them were former Nationalist soldiers who had received excellent combat training from US Army instructors during WW II. The communist cadre provided mostly excellent leadership. Most CPV command groups had worked together in combat against the Japanese and the Nationalists before the Korean War and were thoroughly trained and experienced in the art of war. But the average Chinese soldiers lacked initiative and Chinese commanders tended to double down on failure during offensive combat. If one attack failed, a second, third, etc attack would generally use the same avenues of approach and tactics even though every proceeding attack failed. Chinese weaponry was a mixed bag. Logistics appeared terrible. Uniforms were unsuited for winter combat in Korea. Thousands of Chinese died from exposure and inadequate food and medical supplies. If the cadre became casualties, Chinese soldiers tended to surrender or retreat. Overall, the Chinese were tough soldiers, but the average soldier wasn’t as committed as an Imperial Japanese soldier.
The North Koreans were tough soldiers, but he only fought them briefly in Korea. Like the Chinese, North Korean units were prone to surrender or sudden withdrawals if their leadership cadre became casualties.
The North Vietnamese Army was highly disciplined, well led, and wielded its weaponry with great skill. NVA commanders refused to allow their units to be wiped out in unequal battles against US forces. They knew how to hit hard and when to break contact. NVA commanders always realized it was better to withdraw and live to fight another day rather than be annihilated on the battlefield. The NVA and the NV government focused on fighting the long war and outlasting US political will. They succeeded. Nonetheless, Davis assessed that the Imperial Japanese soldiers were tougher overall adversaries.

I hope this post answers your question.

What is the most offensive thing you overheard someone sitting near you on a plane say?

Being disabled and looking like I do there are two things I always get to overhear. Going through TSA my name comes up red flagged. Meaning check him completely.

A customs agent told me “it’s due to your Military career and past knowledge.”

What the hell does that mean? I’m in a wheelchair and have metal in my leg, shoulder, and back. I am a wand beep show. All hands pat downs in a wheelchair. You need two hips to stand, so I can’t stand. Any chance I am taking over the plane? Gunpowder tests on hands AND ARMS. OK so the Navy/CIA service made me an enemy of the state or something?

I think it is BS and it’s profiling but my wife said “no it’s not.”

Then you have people whispering when we get on first. “Bet they fake it to board first…”

I tore into a woman I heard say that. I yelled so loud the airport got quiet. Does it look like I’m faking it? I tried to get out of wheelchair and fell. Hurt. But I felt better with that. Maybe she’ll get it some day.

My wife wasn’t happy about my antics but I’m so tired of it. And she knows. On the plane though I overheard a mom telling their kid there is no difference between disabled people and us. Except a part of their body just doesn’t work like ours. She had me in tears. The best explanation of a disabled person I have ever heard explained. And plainly so a child could understand it. The kid kept asking me if I needed any help?

HURRAY FOR THAT MOM. YOU MADE MY DAY!

Those jinxed F-35s

The F-35 stealth fighter’s Pratt & Whitney F135 engines have cost the Pentagon $38 billion of dollars in unexpected maintenance costs due, according to a new report by auditors from the U.S. Government Accountability Office (GAO)

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The engine’s cooling capacity in particular has been wholly insufficient to meet the power demands of the fighter’s sensors and electronics, with the F135 having been commissioned when the F-35 was still conceptualised as a much lighter and cheaper fighter with lower power demands closer to the size of its predecessor the F-16.

The engine has gained growing criticism over the past year, with its role being particularly critical for the US Military and for NATO more broadly as the F-35 is the only post fourth generation fighter in production outside China and Russia – and the only peer level challenger to the Chinese J-20 stealth fighter in terms of avionics, stealth and the integration of key next generation technologies.

The F-35 is relied on by the U.S. Air Force, Navy, Marines and the services of multiple allied states from Japan and South Korea to Israel and a fast growing number of European NATO members, with a lack of remotely comparable competition from other Western fighters ensuring a very large market share.

The F135’s outstandingly low availability rates and excessive maintenance needs have nevertheless continued to ground F-35s at six times the standard rate of other fighter classes, with Pentagon officials having highlighted issues with the F135’s power module as a key cause for the fighter’s low mission capable rates.

The Producers (1968) – Springtime for Hitler

My mom recently died and her landlord let family members go in and pack up her apartment after I told her not to let anyone in there. Can I sue her?

When a good friend, from the Marine Corps, was K.I.A., his eldest brother cracked open the deceased’s apartment, before the funeral had taken place. My friend’s widow, also deployed, hadn’t even been notified, yet. By the time she knew of the situation, their home had been ransacked by nearly twenty members of two families.

I called the brother, and offered him an out, which he blew off. Over the next ten days, I contacted each of the offending parties; only two responded, and not favorably. Then, acting on the widow’s behalf, I hired an attorney and filed police reports. I went to the D.A., who filed 98 separate charges against all of the perpetrators, including the management and owners of the complex.

After sixteen months of legal crap, nine of the family members(one was an attorney, another a university economics professor) were convicted of misdemeanors, spent between thirty and sixty days in jail, and paid both restitution and fines of $500.00–6,000.00. The eldest brother, an electrician and small-business owner, now a felon, spent eight months in jail; the widow sued him and won a $450,000.00 settlement. The apartment complex ended up terminating the managers; and, they paid the widow $2.9M.

Not one of these people had been a criminal, prior to the incident. They were simply ignorant, greedy assholes, who deserved everything they got.

The EU’s delegation to China has become a joke on Chinese microblogging platform Weibo. Its official Weibo account was titled “EU in China” (欧盟在中国), but its IP address indicates that it is operated in the United States.

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Updates: The German embassy in China also manages its official Weibo account from the United States.

After learning that they had become the laughing stock on Chinese social media, both the EU delegation to China and the German embassy in China quietly switched their IP addresses back to Beijing.

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Pennsylvania Dutch Chili

Ingredients

1 pound homemade noodles or 1 (12 to 16 ounce) bag wide egg noodles
1 can baked beans
1 cup spaghetti sauce or less (or 1 small jar)
1 pound ground beef
1 onion, chopped

Instructions

Brown ground beef and onion.
Cook and drain egg noodles.
Combine everything. You may need additional sauce if you have leftovers and warm them up later. Chili should be thick, not soupy.
Serve with crusty bread.

Modern Women Mocking Passport Bros get Stitch and Humbled

https://youtu.be/kG2yIeJmHP8

What is the name of the mysterious creature that is said to inhabit Loch Ness?

Nessie.

Let it be well understood that there is no hard and tangible proof that Nessie actually exists. Studies and efforts to discover this enigmatic creature has provided tantalizing glimpses of what might be a small colony of deep-dwelling marine crates that resemble a elasmosauros.

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A plesiosaurus, while superficially similar to an elasmosauros, is much smaller, and does not fit the observed and photographs of this creature.

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Photographs of this creature taken underwater clearly show fin, neck and head structures that are in alignment with known anthropological evidence.

This is not the only instance of this creature surviving into contemporaneous history. From time to time, fishermen, and others have found, photographed, and even captured entire carcasses of this creature.

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It is my personal belief that these are slow-moving bottom feeder creatures that inhabit the great depths of the ocean and enclosed seas. Over time, one day, absolute proof will be gathered that will end the mystery of Nessie once and for all, but until that happens, the interest in this OOPART borders on the “Science Fiction”.

NY Times admits they don’t like Chinese but they need Chinese talent to maintain the American hegemony.

Hongkong media SCMP has tracked the number of US warplanes/warships at China’s door-step. 1,200 times in 2022 ! If this is not deliberate provocation & fight-picking by USA, what is it? Who is aggressive?

The key word here is : DOOR-STEP

Door-step in this article means outside your property line. Not inside.

Let say I walk at your door-step. On the street which is a public area. I have not entered your property line.

I carry something that looks like a rifle to you. Bullet-proof vest & helmet.

I have a track record that I made trouble for other households in the society.

How will you react to my appearance at your door-step if it is daily?

Now …

replace “I” with “USA”. “my rifle” with “US warplanes/warships”. “me at your door-step” with “USA at the door-step of China”.

Remember I am outside your property line. Same for US warplanes/warships outside China’s borderline according to UNCLOS.

2, now replace “my daily” with “USA’s 1,200 times”

How will you react to my appearance at your door-step, daily?

If this is not DELIBERATE provocation & picking fights, what is it?

There is police/law to stop my malicious action towards you. If there is not, will you do everything to protect your family?

There is ICC & UN laws eg Non-Innocent Passage as I said in other articles. But ICC is believed to be “controlled” by USA. USA was not charged for war crime in the 2003 Iraq war.

Hence China must protect itself.

Now USA scolds CHINA BEING AGGRESSIVE ???

Only a bully or mafia is that unreasonable.

3, now replace “my freedom to walk on public street” with “US freedom of navigation”

Only a bully or mafia will turn the logic upside down & conveniently use Freedom as god.

It is this type of twisted logic that USA justified their action to instigate riots/coups/wars in the world 82 out of 100 times, since WW2. Causing millions of deaths & human suffering.

4, We must ask :

Why USA instigated riots/wars in Middle East for the past 20 years. OIL.

What about China? Rise of China that, in US words, threatens US status on world stage.

China works hard to better itself & thus achieves a lots. IMF said China contributes 30% of world GDP.

Am I not allowed to get A+ in my exam just because you get B- in yours?

Only sore losers have the type of mentality to contain others.

Search Quora for a question:

On 2023/6/3, a US destroyer & a Canadian cruiser sailed thru Taiwan strait. China warned them to leave but they did not. A Chinese warship sailed in front of the US destroyer & forced it to change direction. It was close to collision (137 meters apart). USA scolded China for dangerous sailing. China scolded USA for non-Innocent Passage. What is Innocent Passage under UNCLOS ?

How can I get my neighbor to stop pushing her kid off on me? I gave a ride to my neighbor’s child from the bus stop to her house and now every day the mother seems to expect me to do it. She now asks for rides in the morning as well.

I remember this situation when my children were little. I had two children in school. Grade three and grade two. The neighbour thought it was my children’s responsibility to take and protect her child to and from school. She said her child was the youngest, which she was not younger than my son. And she told my children that her child had to ride her bike in the center of the three children. My neighbour also told my children that they were not allowed to return home without her daughter.

I could not believe this when I heard my neighbour yelling all these rules to my children. I knew this would not last long as her child was a brat and the novelty of riding her bike would not last long. Right, as I was, after a week, this child cried to her mother and from then on, this child was driven to and from school. . . . However, my children were never offered a ride!

The only answer I can tell you is to be really bold like my neighbour was. Just tell your neighbour that it is not a convenient situation for you to be giving a ride to your child. Tell her straight that you do not want the responsibility of making sure her child gets home. It is a responsibility that is not yours and you no longer want to be giving rides to her child.

Explain to her that you enjoy having a good neighbour relationship, but anything to do with parenting and responsibilities has to remain within each home.

Be strong and whatever your neighbour says is not your problem. Know what you want for your children and your family. Fight for it.

What are some signs that someone doesn’t respect you?

There are outward signs, but there are very slight covert sneaky signs.

They interrupt you quite a bit (they don’t care about what you’re saying or that you’re talking at all)
They try to convince you of what you don’t believe – always wanting you to agree with them (in small ways they do this so they can go in for the kill on larger things later)
As an addendum to #2, they try to convince you in random ways that you can’t think for yourself so they can later make you actually believe you cannot “human” on your own and you’re defective. Forget the fact that you’ve survived this long without even knowing them.
They take your ideas and make them their own.
They bait and switch you. They make you believe one thing in private, then do the opposite in public. They also will convince you to do something and then act like its the worst thing in the world after its done. For example, a husband finally convinces his wife to cut her hair short because she would look so sexy, chic, cute, fierce, all those adjectives. Maybe even that she’ll be his little Halle Berry kitten. Then in public or among friends, he’ll go on and on about how beautiful women are when they’re hair is long and how he looooooves long hair.
They love bomb you. Anyone who flatters, says you’re they’re “soul-anything” right away or their “bestie” at an alarmingly fast rate, is setting you up for devalue. They love to put you on high so they can pull the rug from underneath you. Always remember flattery is dangerous. It’s akin to violence. Trust and believe that. And beware of the one who wants to know “all about you” and “I know you so well”, or “wow, You know me so well” before a natural passage of time.
A person who doesn’t respect you will not take your No for an answer. They will question you, try to make you doubt yourself, and dismantle your sense of reasoning every time.
They’re not interested in anything you’re interested in; on the flip side, they will feign interest to bate you in, and then show no lasting interest or no emotion. They shortly begin to act like they’re tolerating you or your interests, successes, etc. They also are not happy for you when you are happy about something.
A person doesn’t respect you when they are short tempered with others but nice to you. Also, if you’re only good to be with in private but never in public, No respect for you.
I’ll stop at 10 because the list goes on but over all the things, TRUST. YOUR. GUT. If your physiological responses are popping off in a negative way around this person, or you feel red flags, or just that something isn’t right….You’re right!

I hope this tiny little list has helped identify some of things you may possibly have experienced. There are things that we sometimes overlook in the spirit of being gracious or forgiving but the signs are there. We have to learn to manage them or we will end up all of a sudden like the guy who took a nap on a small raft- he eventually woke up and didn’t see land.

Stay awake and best to you

***Edit: Thanks to a commenter this list will be extended. By the time we’re adults, we all have observed or experienced some form of these things from the casual encounter with a stranger, to professional interactions, to that of our closest relationships. The things listed are meant to cover some of all of those kinds of relationships. So this might get a little deep but, here we go…

11. A person doesn’t respect you when you see or even detect that downward look, the roll of the eyes, that negative energy, or that smirk that communicates contempt. You don’t even have to be talking directly to them. You can see it from the corner of your eye- You are NOT imagining it. This is a real thing and they know you’re absorbing it.

12. They call you out without saying your name or reveal something very confidential in a public space (whether on social media or within a group of people). This is done without cause and whether this exposes you or not the point is, they know that YOU know they’re talking about YOU. Also, they will have you with them at public events and then actively ignore you. Provable only by you.

13. You tell them what hurts you and they use those very things to hurt you. They like to open up wounds.

14. They “collect” things you say to fire back at you at a later time, like ammunition. You get the sense that telling them things is unsafe even tho they welcome you to open up to them.

15. You have a strong feeling that there’s a hierarchy between you and them; them being superior and you being inferior/subordinate. When there is no employment situation, its disrespectful. (Even in employment, it can translate to subhuman treatment). But if this is a personal relationship its being done on purpose. They tend to find things you need help with or to make better. Sometimes they outright tell you that they want to mentor something in your life, or that they feel like your big brother/sister. Warning: they want you beneath them. In life, period; and they want you not trusting yourself.

16. They do not respect your boundaries. (addition to #7). For example: If you’re sick, somehow to them you’re not sick enough not to do the thing they want you to do or your level of illness is questionable to them when they want something. They have the overtone of making you feel better or cheering you up but really grooming you to do their bidding.

17. They do “nice” things for you as a deposit in the bank of “trust” so that they can get what they want out of you. Fake altruism.

18. They Do Not sincerely apologize.

19. They “joke” with you at your expense. Humiliating you. The same things they like you for, they hate you for. Disrespect on tap.

20. They rope in others to prove that you’re wrong about something that doesn’t merit right or wrong. Or to make you feel like you’re walking around looking and being foolish. In the meantime, they make you look defective to others. They will even get others to do their bidding and appeal to you; strengthening their claim that you’re just wrong.

21. They make a mountain out of a molehill when it comes to you. Always making things a right or wrong…fault or no fault, where there’s no merit for it. They make you feel like other people’s actions, the weather, a circumstance… is your fault too.

22. They make you feel obligated to cater to them. They don’t say it, but they clearly communicate it.

23. They do offenses with plausible deniability. For instance, they offend you in a way that if you complain about it, they can easily deny it. THEY know and YOU know they did it on purpose but its hard to prove. Anyway, its very damaging.

24. They give unsolicited advice. They use words like “why don’t you do..” and “you should…’

25. When they give unsolicited advice, they follow up to see if you’ve done it. Then treat you like you’ve committed a crime if you chose to do something else.

26. You are treated like the pet of a hot and cold owner; coddled and abused across the board.

27. They ask entrapping questions and double bind you; meaning they put you between a rock and a hard place- damned if you do, damned if you don’t. Numerous ways this can be done. Either way, your response or action will be wrong.

28. They create drama situations, vilifying you while they play the victim. They do NOT care about your discomfort, setting “standards” you can never reach and always raising the bar.

29. They will build you up to let you down. Telling you they will do something you’re depending on them to do and they have no intention of doing it all, while having you in wait and on hold.

30. They monopolize your time. They will insert themselves in your space if it serves them. They love to know your coming and going so they can influence what and when you do things. If you deviate, it throws them off and they WILL let you know it.

31. Silent treatment (plausibly deniable- but deserved its own place on this list).

32. You’re at the climax of a story and suddenly “wait, hold on…let me call you back” – or something of the sort. Something could legitimately come up but in this case its a trend that you notice. Not your imagination, not a coincidence. Even still, they can deny it. When you try to revisit it- the long deep inhale and hard loud exhale (Grrr).

33. You’ve worked hard on something your’e proud of or that they encouraged you to do and boom!- reaction of a corpse. Or they give the weakest of responses that actually speak loudly that they could care less; its nothing to them. Or they actually find a fault in it. Well how bout that?

34. They gaslight you, re-write history and have circular conversations where you cannot get your problem resolved. Then try to convince you that you are the one who cannot have a progressive conversation.

35. They say disrespectful things within earshot of you- but deny saying anything when you confront them.

36. They speak too low for you to hear them when you’re in personal quarters. Or they claim to have responded when they didn’t- saying you didn’t hear them.

37. When you ask them to clarify something they say “I just said it” or ‘I explained it to you”. And you’re to fend for yourself to figure it out. You’ll be wrong. They want it that way.

38. They twist your intent and badger you with noble things (rules, morals, principles)- when you’ve violated none of such things. Just a way to make you seem like you have because you haven’t given them their way.

39. They use their measure of “power” to sabotage your opportunities while flattering you for having those opportunities (keep in mind, flattery is akin to violence- its aggression).

40. They flat out tell you that ‘They don’t care’! Listen when they say this in any way, shape, or form that they say it. They’re having an honest moment with you. Don’t take it for granted. They mean it.

I’m interested in any additions to this list. It gets pretty intricate. But the heir of disrespect in so prevalent that it has become like the fabric of our everyday interactions, cloaked in normalcy. However, an ancient book does say that these days we live in are “critical times hard to deal with…men (people) will be lovers of themselves…haughty…unthankful, disloyal…not open to any agreement ” and so on. (2Tim. 3: 1–5 NWT)

Be kind, be on guard, and practice the Golden Rule. We all know how we want to be treated. Let’s extend that good treatment to others.

I wish the best to you all

Passport Bros Are WINNING With FILIPINA Women!

Predicting the future by exploring the past

One of the reasons why I love China so much is the extended network of friends and family. In the United States, you are ALONE. In everything. You are on your own.

In China, the financial support of the extended family is unconditional, no strings attached.
In China, people are supporting their family members, even when it lowers or even halving their own life standards.
In China, it is one’s moral duty to do that.
In China, there’s no expectation to ever pay back. It’s not a loan, its a present.
In China, it is part of the guanxi 关系, the traditional Confucianist philosophy.

Quite different from the West.

Look, I once asked my brother for a one month loan to (help me finish the process of ) buying a house here in China. I needed $20,000 USD. Not much in the grand scheme of things.

He hemmed, and hawed and asked all kinds of questions. The back and forth over the phone lasted two weeks, and in the end he said no.

I then went to a Chinese friend. You know what he said? He said “What is your bank account, and I’ll transfer the money right away.“. Now, he didn’t have that money, so he also borrowed from his sister, and two of his good friends, and combined, the money went into my account about five hours later.

Anyone who thinks that China is the same as the United States in regards to society, friendships and money is wrong.

Brian Berletic: China will DESTROY AUKUS in Taiwan and the Pacific

Egg In Their Face – Two Anti-China Claims The Wall Street Journal Made Last Weeks Were Fake

On May 26 Amnesty International published one of its usual aggressive accusations against a government the U.S. is hostile to.

Hong Kong: Government must reveal whereabouts of Uyghur student detained at airport (archived)

Hong Kong authorities must reveal the whereabouts and fate of a Uyghur student who has been missing since he arrived in the city from South Korea earlier this month, amid fears he has been unlawfully extradited to mainland China without due process and is at risk of arbitrary detention and torture, Amnesty International said today.

Abuduwaili Abudureheman has not been heard from since he sent a text message to a friend on 10 May. In the message, Abudureheman said he was being interrogated by Chinese police after arriving at Hong Kong airport.

“The unknown fate of Abuduwaili Abudureheman is deeply worrying, given the background of crimes against humanity committed against Uyghurs by the Chinese government in Xinjiang, and its ongoing pursuit of Uyghurs who have travelled overseas,” said Alkan Akad, Amnesty International’s China Researcher.

The accusations seem to be based on claims made by a single anonymous source:

On 10 May 2023, Abuduwaili travelled to Hong Kong to visit a friend, but he has been missing since his text message that evening, saying that he was being questioned at the airport by Chinese police. The friend has made Abuduwaili’s disappearance public after becoming increasingly concerned for his safety.Amnesty International understands that Abuduwaili was on a Chinese government “watch list” of Uyghurs and other Muslims from the Xinjiang region, based on the fact that he had a history of overseas travel. Amnesty International has documented numerous instances of the Chinese government targeting Uyghurs both at home and abroad with arbitrary incommunicado detention, lengthy imprisonment and torture purely based on the fact that they had travelled outside of China.

In 2021 Amnesty closed its Hong Kong office. One wonders then how it communicated with the relevant “friend”?

The Wall Street Journal and others published China bashing pieces based solely on Amnesty’s claims.

The authorities Hong Kong were pretty pissed about the allegations as the man is question had never been there:

Hong Kong on Saturday criticized rights group Amnesty International’s accusation that a Uyghur student disappeared after being interrogated at the airport, and said that government records showed that he had not entered or been refused entry to the city.

The Korean Yonhap news agency made efforts to actually contact the man. It tuned out that he is still in Korea and has no plans to go anywhere else (machine translation):

(New York = Yonhap News) Correspondent Koh Il-hwan = Abduwali Abu Dureheman (38), an international student from Xinjiang, China, who Amnesty International said was missing in Hong Kong, is staying in Korea, his advisor said.In a phone call with Yonhap News on the 29th, Jo Wook-yeon, head of the physical education department at Kookmin University, who is Abu Durehman’s advisor, said, “Amnesty’s announcement is not true.”

Dean Cho said, “Abu Dureheman has not departed from Hong Kong, and is staying in Korea safely.”

Dean Cho repeatedly confirmed that he had been in contact with Abu Durehman on a daily basis for guidance for his doctoral degree, and that “it is true that he is in Korea.”

“I don’t know why Amnesty announced that Abu Dureheman in South Korea was missing in Hong Kong,” he said.

We don’t know either but it aptly shows what standards Amnesty International and other such propaganda outlets have when making their sensational claims. None. A claim by one person based on a text message that may not even exist and made for whatever reason is trumpeted into the world even before any effort is made to verify it.

And why do the Wall Street Journal and others, who should have higher standards, publish Amnesty’s accusation without ever fact checking them?

That is a question that one that can be reliably answered. The U.S. is hostile to China. Therefore U.S. mainstream media must bash China whenever they can.

Here is a case from another recent WSJ attempt to do just that:

On the day that Special Representative of the Chinese Government on Eurasian Affairs Li Hui visited Moscow on the last leg of his European trip, the Wall Street Journal (WSJ) ran an article that completely contradicted the facts and even fabricated stories. Such behavior that attempted to impose its own views and practices on others is in fact obstructing the peaceful resolution of the Russia-Ukraine conflict. Facts have proven that blindly fueling the fire can only escalate the conflict and cause more harm to people.The article began by stating that the Chinese envoy carried a clear message that “US allies in Europe should assert their autonomy and urge an immediate cease-fire, leaving Russia in possession of the parts of its smaller neighbor that it now occupies,” accusing China of trying to split the West.

However, what the WSJ received was a denial from Ukrainian Foreign Minister Dmytro Kuleba. On May 27, Kuleba said in a video message that after the article appeared, he immediately contacted his colleagues in the European capitals visited by Li. None of them confirmed that negotiations about what the WSJ suggested were held.

In response to this, Foreign Ministry Spokesperson Mao Ning stated on Monday that she noted that the Foreign Minister of Ukraine publicly said that he contacted other parties and no country said Li made the remarks reported by the WSJ.

That is some egg in the face of the WSJ editors. China bashing in the opinion sections is fine. But fake news, twice in one week, to make some editorial point, is not something that readers are willing to pay for.

Posted by b on May 29, 2023 at 17:09 UTC | Permalink

WHAT’S COMING Will Wipe Out Millions of American Families!

https://youtu.be/BGZ_WI0GnBk

Have you ever used a phone made by a Chinese company like Huawei and Xiaomi? How do you feel?

I have both Huawei and Xiaomi phones and computers. I have been using both for at least ten years now. The computer that I am using right now is a Xiaomi.

Obviously it’s a great product. In fact, both of the brands are great.

I have relatives that love iPhones. That’s cool.

Fine.

There are many reasons why I love my Chinese designed, and Chinese manufactured products, but I guess the biggest things are the high quality at a very reasonable price. And iPhone is nearly double the price for an equivalent phone, and much more than that for a laptop.

And while I greatly admire Steve Jobs, he’s no longer running the company. And American “interests” are now running it.

And knowing what I know…yikes!

Vault 7 is real!

Anyways, I am not like most people, and I just want a reliable, long lasting computer and cell phone(s) that is reasonably priced, and is not connected to the United States government. Both Huawei and Shaomi provide this for me.

But I am unique.

The reader, I am sure, have their own criteria. And that is why they prefer other products. Good you all of you!

Interview With Scott Ritter – It’s Happening Now !

https://youtu.be/V95hEOtHIbs

Do you believe that the breakdown in defense dialogue between China and the US can be resolved?

No.

The United States Congress has sanctioned the Chinese General Staff. Which means, by law, no communication is possible. Of course, China has no interest in talking with the United States leadership at any level now, but the United States Congress made it technically impossible to do so.

So it cannot be resolved, as long as the American sanctions remain in place.

“At the same time, the US is reportedly looking to arrange a between Li and US Secretary of Defense Lloyd Austin during the Shangri-La Dialogue, but no confirmation has been given as of press time.

The US should show more sincerity if it wants to communicate, Song said.

A formal meeting between the defense chiefs of the two countries is almost impossible if the US’ unlawful sanctions on the Chinese Defense minister stays in place, experts said.”

American comedian: U.S. blaming China while ignoring own citizens

US foreign policy is advanced smartphone with weak battery

By Andrey Kortunov

Published: May 25, 2023 07:41 PM

A couple of days ago, a Quad summit meeting in Sydney scheduled for May 24 was abruptly canceled. The US president had to pull out of his long-anticipated trip to Australia and Papua New Guinea. Instead, the heads of the four Quad member states got together on the margins of the G7 Summit in Hiroshima on May 20.

The main reason for the change of plans was the continuous struggle between the White House and Republicans on the Hill over the national debt ceiling.

If no compromise is reached, the US federal government might fail to meet its financial commitments already in June; such a technical default would have multiple negative repercussions for the US, as well as for the global economy and finance at large. Let us hope that a compromise between the two branches of US power will be found and that the ceiling of the national debt will be raised once again.

However, this rather awkward last-minute cancellation of the Quad summit reflects a fundamental US problem – a growing imbalance between the US geopolitical ambitions and the fragility of the national financial foundation to serve these ambitions.

The Biden administration appears to be fully committed to bringing humankind back to the unipolar world that existed right after the end of the Cold War some 30 years ago, but the White House no longer has enough resources at its disposal to sustain such an undertaking. As they say in America: You cannot not have champagne on a beer budget.

The growing gap between the ends that the US seeks in international relations and the means that it has available is particularly striking in the case of the so-called dual containment policy that Washington now pursues toward Russia and China. Even half a century ago, when the US was much stronger in relative terms than it is today, the Nixon administration realized that containing both Moscow and Beijing simultaneously was not a good idea: “Dual containment” would imply prohibitively high economic costs for the US and would result in too many unpredictable political risks. The Nixon administration decided to focus on containing the Soviet Union as the most important US strategic adversary of the time. This is why Henry Kissinger flew to Beijing in July 1971 to arrange the first US-China summit in February 1972 leading to a subsequent rapid rapprochement between the two nations.

In the early days of the Biden administration, it seemed that the White House was once again trying to avoid the unattractive “dual containment” option. The White House rushed to extend the New START in January 2021 and held an early US-Russia summit meeting five months later in Geneva. At that point many analysts predicted that Biden would play Henry Kissinger in reverse – that is he would try to peace with the relatively weaker opponent (Moscow) in order to focus on containing the stronger one (Beijing).

However, after the beginning of the Russia-Ukraine conflict, it became clear that no accommodation with the Kremlin was on Biden’s mind any longer. Still, having decided to take a hard-line stance toward Moscow and to lead a broad Western coalition in providing military and economic assistance to Kiev, Washington has not opted for a more accommodative or at least a more flexible policy toward Beijing.

On the contrary, over last year one could observe a continuous hardening of the US’ China policy – including granting more political and military support to the Taiwan island, encouraging US allies and partners in Asia to increase their defense spending, engaging in more navel activities in the Pacific and imposing more technology sanctions on China.

In the meantime, economic and social problems within the US are mounting. The national debt ceiling is only the tip of an iceberg – the future of the American economy is now clouded by high US Federal Reserve interest rates that slow down growth, feed unemployment and might well lead to a recession. Moreover, the US society remains split along the same lines it was during the presidency of Donald Trump. The Biden administration has clearly failed to reunite America: Many of the social, political, regional, ethnic and even generational divisions have got only deeper since January 2021. It is hard to imagine how a nation divided so deeply and along so many lines could demonstrate continuity and strategic vision in its foreign policy, or to allocate financial resources needed to sustain a visionary and consistent global leadership.

Of course, the “dual containment” policy is not the only illustration of the gap between the US ambitions and its resources. The same gap inevitably pops up at every major forum that the US conducts with select groups of countries from the Global South – Africa, Southeast Asia, Latin America or the Middle East.

The Biden administration has no shortage of arguments warning these countries about potential perils of cooperating with Moscow or Beijing, but it does not offer too many plausible alternatives that would showcase the US generosity, its strategic vision, and its true commitment to the burning needs of the US interlocutors. To cut it short, Uncle Sam brings lots of sticks to such meetings, but not enough carrots to win the audience.

In sum, US foreign policy under President Joe Biden reminds people of a very advanced and highly sophisticated smartphone that has a rather weak battery, which is not really energy efficient. The proud owner of the gadget has to look perennially for a power socket in order not to have the phone running out of power at any inappropriate moment. Maybe the time has come for the smartphone owner to look for another model that would have fewer fancy apps, but a stronger and a more efficient battery, which will make the appliance more convenient and reliable.

We sneaked into an Abandoned Luxury Spa

Native American Tortillas in a Bag

A popular wheat food that kids love to make and eat!

Variations: Use 1/2 cup corn meal and 1 cup all-purpose flour, or use /4 cup whole wheat flour and 3/4 cup all-purpose flour.

Quick Meal Idea: Lightly brush cooked tortillas with oil. Bake tortillas on baking sheets in oven for 4 minutes. Top with browned ground beef or pork, black beans, onion, chopped tomato, shredded mozzarella cheese and Parmesan cheese. Season with dried oregano leaves; return to the oven and heat 10 minutes more or until cheese is melted.

Ingredients

1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour*
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons shortening
1/2 cup hot water

Instructions

In a large self-locking plastic bag, combine flour, baking powder and salt. Close bag and shake to mix.
Add shortening and work into flour until fine particles form.
Add the hot water and knead the dough in the bag until it forms a ball.
Remove dough from bag and place on a lightly floured work surface; knead 15 strokes.
Divide into six equal pieces; shape into balls. Cover; let rest 15 minutes.
On a lightly floured surface, roll each piece as thin as possible. Roll from the center out, turning several times to form an 8-inch circle.
Heat an ungreased griddle or skillet over medium heat. Cook until the surface begin bubble and the under side is speckled golden-brown, about 15 to 20 seconds. Cook other side.
Stack tortillas under a cloth as they are done and serve warm.

Yield: 6 tortillas

Is USA or China a Police State?

I see the bilhorod situation and the deteriorating situation in Ukraine and I can’t see a good way out of this. How do you see the war in Ukraine ending?

When NATO expanded into Ukraine, the alarm bells were clamoring throughout Asia. There were plenty of opportunities to de-risk, and back-down, but that did not occur. So a “special military operation” initialized by Russia stopped the NATO assaults in Eastern Ukraine.

It’s been over a year.

NATO is holding fast, and doubling down. Russia hasn’t even started yet. It’s the making of something that will become very nasty in the future. We have no crystal ball, no one really knows what will happen. But we do know this…

NATO’s resources are finite. Asia’s is not.

Oh, yes, the propaganda war is in full-swing. “Russia is dying. Russia will collapse any day now. Brilliant and brave Ukrainians will fight to the end.“

But, propaganda does not start, complete or end wars. It’s purpose is to keep domestic populations satiated as they are lined up for the butcher.

NATO’s resources are finite. Asia’s is not.

In any long-duration conflict, NATO will contract at various levels, and Asia will expand. It has nothing to do with the fighting, the technology, the propagandized reports, or the political winds. Instead it has everything to do with economics, resources, and energy.

NATO’s resources are finite. Asia’s is not.

To this end, let me wrap up with the Duran…

How do we detect an imminent Chinese invasion of Taiwan?

I assume that you are an American, or a member of a proxy state loyal to the United States.

I also must assume that you failed geography. Never studied war. Have no idea at all about China, and are just emotionally entangled with the anti-China nonsense being spewed forth from the Western media.

Well, I’ll try to answer this one.

But as we used to say in Mississippi; there’s “few things stupider than a mail box pole”.

…

Taiwan is close to China.

In close. As in really, really, REALLY close.

Here is the view of China from Taiwan…

main qimg fc1898f9e1439d2658d919d4d5f79e64

Taiwan is SUPER close to China.

Not only geographically, but socially, economically, financially, culturally, historically, and in all other ways… Chinese.

There is so much cross-strait migration back and forth, that you cannot tell who is from Taiwan and who is from the mainland.

So what does this mean?

Well…

You cannot detect a build up of any kind of an invasion force.
You cannot discern who is who, and where is what.
China controls Taiwan. Even though there are DPP elements who believe otherwise.

…

So, to spell it out clearly… let’s just say this.

You can supply Taiwan with all the weapons and bombs in the world, and you can convince them that LGBQ+ is the “new sexy”, but China is far too big, far too powerful, far too influential, and far, far too well managed. If China said “enough is enough”. All the games and charades would be over.

President Biden would have a fit, the United States media would howl, and the neocons would demand war!

But you know what would really happen?

Nothing.

A quiet tiny whimper.

And the United States would slither back under the rock from whence it came from.

We found a treasure in a cave suspended by a metal detector

Why is China very keen to help and develop Pakistan like its own homeland province?

Because it’s cute girls who rule China. China could live just fine without developing their poor provinces. But the teenage girls have to because it’s a shame for the poor.

If the US does not prevent it, then the Chinese rulers, the maids, will develop the whole world.

The teenage girls can’t rule China alone, but the officials want to help them.

main qimg aed3174ea91973adf760dc8a3dda6baa

Exploring an Abandoned Fairy Tale Castle

What is the GDP of China compared to the United States? Why is the United States considered to have a higher GDP even though China’s GDP is higher? Are there any other examples of this happening?

GDP is a worthless unit of measurement.

Functionally, it is equivalent to comparing the combined wealth of a given nations’ oligarchy to another oligarchy. It has an over reliance on debt, non-physical value, and worthless academic considerations.

The better comparative measure is PPP. This measurement compares the purchasing power of the average citizen given their weekly wages.

For The United States;

Tommy has twenty dollars. He can buy one apple with it.

For China;

Lily has one dollar. She can by ten apples with it.

…

By using GDP as a measurement, Tommy is doing better than Lily. $20 > $1.

By using PPP as a measurement, Lily is doing better than Tommy. She can buy many more apples than Tommy can.

…

So, you have to look at what you are tying to compare.

Are you interested in the stand of living? Comparatively, between China and The Untied States? If so, then PPP is the measurement to use.

If however, you want to see where the most oligarch’s live, then GDP is the preferred measurement.

…

Now, to answer your question.

If a nation wanted to artificially increase it’s global GDP value, it would print money excessively. That would increase the GDP of the nation. Everything would flow down from there.

If a nation wanted to increase the standard of living of it’s people, then it would guarantee work, labor and industry, and provide reasonable and cheap social networks. The PPP would rise in accordance with those efforts.

Americans CAN’T Believe Chinese Electric Cars!

Sautauthig (Cornmeal Blueberry Mush)

A favorite dish of the Native Americans during colonial times was Sautauthig, a simple pudding made with dried, crushed blueberries, dried, cracked corn (or samp), and water. Later, the settlers added milk, butter and sugar when they were available. The Pilgrims loved Sautauthig and many historians believe that it was part of the first Thanksgiving feast. In a letter to friends back in England, one colonist describes how Sauthauthig was prepared:

“…this is to be boyled or stued with a gentle fire, until it be tender, of a fitt consistence, as of Rice so boyled, into which Milke, or butter be put either with sugar or without it, it is a food very pleasant…but it must be observed that it be very well boyled, the longer the better, some will let it be stuing the whole day: after it is Cold it groweth thicker, and is commonly Eaten by mixing a good Quantity of Milke amongst it.”

Here’s a recipe that gives us an idea of what Sautauthig tasted like. We call it Cornmeal Blueberry Mush but you can give it any name you want.

Yield: about 6 regular servings or 12 tasting-size servings (about 4 3/4 cups)

Ingredients

1 1/2 cups water
1 1/2 cups milk
3/4 cup cornmeal or quick cooking grits
1/2 teaspoon salt
3 tablespoons maple syrup or honey
2 cups fresh, frozen or canned blueberries or 1/2 cup dried blueberries*

Instructions

In a 2-quart saucepan heat water and milk until bubbles form around edge of pan. Stirring constantly, slowly add cornmeal or grits and salt until well combined. Reduce heat to low. Cover and simmer, until thickened, about 10 minutes, stirring occasionally.
Stir in maple syrup or honey until well combined. Gently stir in blueberries.

Notes

* Today, we don’t have to pick and dry blueberries in the summer to enjoy them year round. We can always find them in our local supermarket – either fresh, frozen or canned, sometimes even dried. If you are using frozen blueberries in this, defrost them between 2 layers of paper towels to absorb excess liquid. If you are using canned blueberries, drain well. Fresh or frozen blueberries can be dried on a cookie sheet in a 250 degrees F oven for about 1 1/2 hours.

How clever is an octopus, really?

Beachside Bathing Machines During Victorian Era

These bathing machines were very popular in England at 18th and 19th centuries. They allowed people to change out of their usual clothes into swimwear and were directly lowered into the water.

Top 10 Giant Maine Coons: Number 1 Will Shock You!

https://youtu.be/JnyMo-pgfPU

What are some reasons why some people praise China’s one-party dictatorship as a strong government?

China does not have a one-party dictatorship. China has a one-party democracy. It is the West’s arrogant and simple-minded position that democracy must be based on multiple competing political parties, and it is plain wrong.

Moreover, China has eight other political parties that represent a great many people and these parties directly serve in China’s government and provide consultation.

People praise China’s political system because it works well. It serves the people’s best interest. It has delivered enormous prosperity. It has made China safe and stable and strong.

Contrast this with Western democracy which looks like crap based on performance in recent years. USA is in hock up to its eyeballs. UK is dying from Brexit. EU has screwed itself with backfired sanctions against Russia.

USA is plagued by domestic problems such as political turmoil, crumbling infrastructure, rampant homelessness, rampant gun violence, unaffordable health care, mass incarceration, increasing poverty, etc.

Meanwhile, the Chinese are very happy…

Edelman Trust Barometer 2023 shows that 89 percent of Chinese trust their government.

The Global Happiness 2023 survey from Ipsos shows that China is the happiest country in the world at 91 percent.

Latana’s Democracy Perception Index 2023 shows that China is one of the most democratic countries in the world, well ahead of USA, Canada, UK, France, Germany, Italy, and Japan.

Ash Center at Harvard Kennedy School in 2020 reported that 95.5 percent of Chinese are satisfied with their government.

A 2019 UC San Diego study shows a high level of satisfaction among the Chinese across a range of aspects up to 95 percent.

A November 2019 Ipsos survey shows that 95 percent of Chinese believe their country is on the right track.

The statistical evidence is overwhelming. Western countries, especially the United States, can only dream of having such numbers.

Abandoned Millionaire’s Castle: Family Left Behind A Luxury Palace

China To Settle $582,300,000,000 in Yuan Worldwide Amid Push to Circumvent US Dollar: Report

Daily Hodl Staff

May 27, 2023

Futuremash

China says it’s now signed $582.3 billion worth of global currency settlement agreements that will exclusively utilize the yuan.

According to a new report from the Chinese state-backed outlet China Daily, the country’s central bank has inked deals with more than 40 countries and regions since 2016.

As for the countries involved in the pacts, China highlights Russia, Venezuela, the United Arab Emirates, Oman, Bahrain, Qatar, Kuwait and Saudi Arabia.

China says its moves are designed to boost the yuan’s role in international trade and circumvent the need to depend on the US dollar.

“There is a need to promote cross-border yuan settlement to make bilateral trade more efficient and boost the yuan’s internationalization process…

To be sure, cross-border trade settlement in the yuan will reduce many countries’ dependence on the US dollar.”

China says direct settlement in the yuan will also shield countries against the “weaponized dollar”, pointing to sanctions levied against Russia in the aftermath of the country’s invasion of Ukraine.

Abandoned Places make Time Travel possible | Abandoned Italy

Can the US fight against all its adversaries at once like Russia, China, Iran and North Korea?

Right now, as of Late march 2023, the “adversaries” against the United States is roughly about 85% of the global population.

The United States is a tiny part of the globe, and getting smaller each day.

So, who is the United States, and it’s allies, that the Mainstream Media like to refer to as “most of the world”…

American proxy nations.

These nations will do what the United States say. The methods of control vary from nation to nation, but they are not independent at all. It is extremely unlikely that these nations would do anything without asking the United States for permission first.

Canada
UK
Minor European states
Japan

American friends.

These are proxy nations that might have the ability to “break away” from the United States if conditions are favorable. Each nation operations under their own unique conditions. Some desire to be United States proxies, but Geo-political realities prevent full engagement, others wish to be more distant, but again, Geo-political realities prevent that as well. These nations are in a sort of limbo, and political expedience results in a default abeyance to American dictates.

Israel
Germany
Poland
France
Switzerland
Sweden
Finland

Neutral

These nations are trying to walk the razor-thin line of neutrality. There are internal elements that are dividing the ruling leadership. The issues involved in these nations are complex. Yet, their actions suggest that they are trying to “play both Geo-political blocks”.

Australia
Philippines
South Korea

The Global South.

These are the current “enemies” of the United States “Western” ideological block.

Some are codified, and formalized, such as Russia. Some are not formally engaged, such as China. Some are considered to be “American easy lays” such as South East Asia, though they are anything but that.

Russia
China
North Korea
Iran
Pakistan
All of the ‘Stan’s
South East Asia
Much of Africa
Brazil
South Africa
Argentina
Much of South America

Neutral but leaning with the Global South

These nations are currently picking sides. Most intel suggest that they are strongly leaning towards the Global South and rejecting the “American way of life”.

Mexico
Most of Latin America
India
Turkey
Bulgera

And that is pretty much the entire world. So, if you look at the list above, you can see the reality of what the world has fractured into.

A “West”; led by the United States. It promotes “American values”, “American democracy”, and woke progressive ideology. They use the USD as the dominant trade currency, and are referred to as the “English speaking world”. (Though that is NOT an accurate statement.) It’s an “American rules” order. It represents 15% of the world

An “East”. Led by the China-Russia-Iran-Saudi Arabia- Brazil-South African nexus. It’s a “multi-polar” order. Organized fundamentally under the UN charter. It is further subdivided into sub-blocks such as G20, BRICS+, and SEO. They use a basket of currencies based on hard tangible resources to trade. And combined, represents 85% of the world.

No.

It is unlikely that the United States can fight the entirety of the rest of the world and win. How likely or unlikely, is dependent on your personal point of view, and the intelligence or “news” that you (personally) consume.

American neocon = Likely that the United States will win, because it is blessed by God.
Typical proxy nation citizen = Tough call. Maybe the United States can persevere.
Global South Citizen = We are constantly underestimated. The United States cannot win.

I put it in the trunk to bury the kitten that was hit by the car, but a miracle happened. Part 2

China plans to perform a crewed lunar landing before 2030. What do you think of this goal?

As it appears, China will be the first nation to put men on the moon.

…

Notes:

There is overwhelming evidence that NASA did not put men on the moon in 1969, nor in the subsequent missions. To paraphrase the head of the Russian space program; “We sent lunar orbiters over the supposed landing sites repeatedly, and there’s nothing there.” Believe what you may. The vast bulk of the world considers the United States to be thieving, lying, and mischievous rogue nation. As time moves on, peoples throughout the globe question the supposed actions and accomplishments of the United States. Indeed, this is a debatable subject, but this is not the place for that debate.
NASA plans to put a progressively diverse crew on the moon this decade. It will be on a spacecraft that superficially looks like the Apollo spacecraft, but uses technologies not available during the 1960’s. This crew will attempt some trivial “science experiments”, perform some “crowd pleasing” antics, and return home (supposedly) reinvigorated and proud United States.
The Chinese strategy in space exploration is for long-term objectives, and is proceeding in a systematic step-by-step progression. It is boring, but methodical. The Lunar outpost will consist of members selected from the Global South, and will be the beginnings of a long-duration colony as a step towards (already planned) Mars colonization efforts.
You can expect that the Chinese WILL visit the supposed Apollo landing locations. They will do so in 3D, high definition color and 7G technology. What they will discover will be broadcast to the world. If they find nothing, and that is what is expected, the implications will be extraordinary.

How ferocious rescued kitten grows up: from 0-26 days”The Story of the Miracle Talking Cat Mu”

The Reconnaissance Strike Complex

The Reconnaissance Strike Complex
Lester Graun and Charles Bartles – May 30, 2018

The Soviet Union, and now Russia, have long worked on the development of twin concepts for the detection and assured destruction of high-value targets in near-real time. The Reconnaissance Strike Complex (разведивательно-ударный комплех-RYK) was designed for the coordinated employment of high-precision, long-range weapons linked to real-time intelligence data and precise targeting provided to a fused intelligence and fire-direction center. The RYK functioned at operational depths using surface-to-surface missile systems and aircraft-delivered “smart” munitions.

It took some time for the Russian reconnaissance-strike-complex to improve its reaction time. But it now seems to be quite fast.

First the reconnaissance element:

The Ukrainian Air Force Formed A New Strike Squadron—By Arming Reconnaissance Bombers With British Cruise Missiles
Forbes – May 28, 2023

Working closely with the United Kingdom, the Ukrainian air force has equipped at least some of the recon section—which flies two-seat, supersonic Sukhoi Su-24MRs from the regiment’s base in western Ukraine—with British-made Storm Shadow cruise missiles.
…
All the pre-war bombers and recon planes—as many as 16 of the former and nine of the latter—belonged to the 7th Bomber Regiment at Starokostiantyniv air base.In a year and three months, the regiment has written off at least 17 Su-24s. Victims of Russian air-defense missiles, mostly.
…
It’s that simplicity [of the conversion] that apparently allowed the Ukrainian air force and its British supporters to form what amounts to a new long-range strike squadron—eight or more Storm Shadow-armed Su-24MRs—inside the battle-battered 7th Bomber Regiment … in just three months’ time.

After reading yesterday’s Forbes piece about Storm Shadow launching airplanes stationed at the Starokostiantyniv air base the commanders at the operation center of the Russian Special Military Operation, decided to have them destroyed.

The strike:

Russia Hits Military Facility In West Ukraine, Damaging Planes
AFP – May 29, 2023

A Russian strike hit a military facility in western Ukraine, damaging five planes, while Kyiv repelled another large volley of overnight air strikes, authorities said Monday.
…
In the western city of Khmelnytsky regional authorities said Russian troops attacked a military facility overnight.In a rare admission of the damage, they said “five aircraft have been put out of action.”

Work was underway to localise fires at fuel and lubricant warehouses, the statement said.

The Starokostiantyniv air base is some 40 kilometers north of Khmelnytsky.

Posted by b on May 29, 2023 at 14:45 UTC | Permalink

China would attack American homeland ‘massively’ if war starts: Gen. Keane

Duh!

Do foreigners who live in China have a better lifestyle than people who live in other countries?

Most foreigners who live in China, live a solidly “middle class” lifestyle. Which means that…

Their take home income falls in the median range of the local Chinese middle class.
They are able to save money.
They are able to travel / take vacations / visit their home nation every year.

While all of this will vary from person to person, it is pretty typical.

Now, being middle class, irregardless of where you live means certain things that should be well understood…

You eat well.
You get around using public and private transportation.
Your children get a good education.
You are safe and live in a crime-free area.
You don’t worry about over-taxation.
Healthcare is affordable.

Now, you need to compare this metric with each nation individually, as there is no “one size fit all” for countries.

What JUST Came Out At THE WHITE HOUSE Is Terrifying!

What is your take that Blinken asserted China must communicate with the US? Do you think it is prudent for China to insist that the US must behave & fullfill its promises before any contact can be initiated? Why is US so desperate to meet China?

Clearly, China is justified and correct in insisting that the United States fulfill its commitments and consensus. A state visit is a signal to the world of friendship and cooperation. Once China agrees to a visit by a high ranking US leader, it will be seen by the world as a signal of détente in US-China relations, whether or not there will be tangible results in the end. If the US does not continue to honor its previous consensus and commitments with China, but China joins the US in releasing a signal of détente, then US containment of China is sure to intensify. China’s cautious approach is also self-protective.

main qimg c9b4a8a35e7bf32d38c0865e91f97539

Moreover, the condescending attitude revealed in Blinken’s words is not a signal of friendship or de-escalation toward China; rather, it is more like a flurry of defiance and orders. Despite his statement that he expects progress in relations between the two countries, it is clear from the actions of the US government as a whole that the United States is not going to give up its interference in China’s internal affairs and various restrictions on trade with China.

The real purpose of the US is just that in view of the deteriorating global security situation at the moment, more and more other countries want to see a de-escalation of tensions between the two great powers, China and the United States. The US, as the party that initiated the conflict, does not want to take the blame for destroying world peace, so it deliberately pretends that it wants to communicate with China very much, which is actually deceiving global public opinion. This can be seen from the fact that Blinken used the word “must” to ask China, if the United States is sincere in wanting to improve relations with China, not to mention their performance in action, at least in words, should not be so aggressive. After all, it is now the United States that is eager to seek communication with China, not China that wants to communicate with the United States. To speak in a commanding tone when it is clear that one wants to initiate contact with China is clearly uncomfortable and distrustful. By simply emphasizing the US willingness to talk and engage with China, Blinken is in fact implicitly accusing China of not accepting US demands, so it is China that is sabotaging US-China relations.

main qimg ae994f03fd62c528bb1884ce766402d0

Since the “balloon incident” earlier this year, US-China relations have been deteriorating. In order to suppress China’s development, the US has been doing everything possible, first by smearing China with rumors and hypeing “China threat” with its allies, and then by repeatedly provoking China on issues related to China’s territorial sovereignty, such as the Taiwan Strait. Blinken, who said that “China should communicate with the United States,” has made wrong statements on Xinjiang, Hong Kong, Taiwan and other issues that are not in line with the US-China consensus, intending to interfere in China’s internal affairs.

In fact, although the US has been interested in suppressing China, but also dare not and China really tear face, on the one hand, because now China is strong, the US is still in the Ukraine battlefield fighting against Russia, its “number one enemy”, at this time. Therefore, confrontation with China is not wise. On the other hand, the US needs China’s help to get itself out of the debt crisis. At the moment, the US urgently needs to reach some cooperation and consensus with China in related fields to ease the social pressure at home and prevent the situation in the region from getting out of control. This is one of the reasons why Blinken expects to visit China, although China has been refusing to allow top US leaders to visit China because the US keeps infringing on China’s interests and interfering in its internal affairs.

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No country will be friendly to a country that harms its own national interests and sovereignty. If the United States really wants to ease the tensions and seek contact and dialogue with China, it should stop interfering in China’s internal affairs. The US indeed need to stop talking about seeking new progress for US-China relations while recklessly undermining China’s interests.

Putin and China just scored a devastating blow to the U.S. and Europe

Is China more powerful than the US when it comes to the economy?

There are various ways to measure this.

I like to measure the health of a nations economy on a personal level. During the 1970’s President Jimmy Carter explained that the American economy was strong and robust, but that Americans “need to tighten their belts”. He would have these televised events known as “fireside chats” to explain to the American people not to worry, that the American economy was going to recover. Meanwhile, I had to help my dad by storing hoarded gasoline, eating less food, and living with limits on how high to turn the thermostat at home.

So while people can point at all sorts of “economic data” and trends, the bottom line is really not what others think. It’s what you think.

Let’s compare.

Inflation

USA = 9.1%
China = 2.5%

Homeless

USA = 0.17%
China = 0.001%

Unemployment

USA = 5.46%
China = 5.3%

By simply comparing the baseline stats, and these are averages only, people in China are more likely to have a roof over their heads, afford good basic food, and be able to find work BETTER than their American counterpart.

But that is an illusion. That is the conclusions that one comes to when comparing basic stats. And we all know that far more goes into the calculus for the average person.

What about medical costs?
What about taxes?
What about venues for social interaction?

In the three examples above, China is clearly the “winner”.

Chinese medial costs are trivial, while those in the USA can be considered exuberant. Total taxes, fees, fines, and social insurance for the average Chinese worker is far, far less than their American counterpart. Social interaction is nearly nonexistent for Americans, the suburbs are oasis of quiet, and nighttime dancing, and outdoor activities do not really exist for the average American, while in China it is part of culture and society.

So, which economy is doing better?

You can summarize everything stated above into one measurable…

Rate of Saving

How much money can an average person save, while still maintaining a decent middle class lifestyle? This is the bottom line figure. The more money that a family saves, the better off they are doing. Hence, the more favorable the economic environment is for that family.

USA = 5.2%
China = 45.0%

From which we can conclude that most Chinese are living a life that permits a middle class lifestyle, and savings, while those in the United States have a more difficult time at it.

So on a personal level, China has a better economy than the United States does.

Well, this answer will probably infuriate some readers. After all, there’s an entire industry that relies on the idea that China is collapsing, don’t you know!

main qimg a1d1df1e312d335a8d2b7eb8e68987b9 lq

Let’s perform (what we like to call) a “sanity check”.

Let’s compare GDP PPP. Purchasing power parity (PPP) is an economic term that calculates the relative value of different currencies. When calculating GDP per capita, purchasing power parity gives a more accurate picture about a country’s overall standard of living.

USA = $20.49T
China = $25.36T

And here is a visualization of those figures.

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So what does it mean?

Sally Mae has two dollars and can buy one apple with it.
Lee Chan has one dollar and can buy ten apples with it.

Lee Chan is doing much better than Sally Mae is.

Lee Chan eats one apple, and puts the rest in storage for a “rainy day”. While Sally Mae eats her apple, but has nothing left afterwards.

Green Acres – a few scenes with Mr.Haney (1)

https://youtu.be/EIvjz2X-Kok

China and France just released a groundbreaking 51-point joint statement. Full text available here (in Chinese; French and English versions will be provided when available):

重要新闻_中华人民共和国外交部

应中华人民共和国主席习近平邀请，法兰西共和国总统埃马纽埃尔·马克龙于2023年4月5日至7日对中华人民共和国进行国事访问。在两国即将迎来建交60周年之际，两国元首回顾中法关系坚实基础和两国人民友谊，就双边关系、中国－欧盟关系和重大国际地区问题深入交换意见，决定在2018年1月9日、2019年3月25日和2019年11月6日的联合声明基础上，为中法合作开辟新前景，为中国－欧盟关系寻求新动能。 一、加强政治对话，促进政治互信 1．中法将延续两国元首年度会晤机制。 2．中法两国强调双方高层交往及战略对话、高级别经济财金对话和高级别人文交流机制对于发展双边合作的重要性，同意年内举行三大机制新一次会议。 3．中法两国重申愿在相互尊重彼此主权与领土完整和重大利益基础上，推动紧密持久的中法全面战略伙伴关系不断发展。 4．中法两国同意深化战略问题交流，特别是深化中国人民解放军南部战区与法国军队太平洋海区之间的对话，加强在国际和地区安全问题上的相互理解。 5．在中国和欧盟建立全面战略伙伴关系20周年之际，中国重申致力于发展中国－欧盟关系，鼓励高层交往，推动在战略问题上凝聚共识，增加人员交流，共同应对全球性挑战，积极平衡促进经济合作。法国作为欧盟成员国，认同上述方向，并将为此作出贡献。 6．法国重申坚持一个中国政策。 二、共同推动世界安全与稳定 7．作为联合国安理会常任理事国，中法两国共同致力于为国际安全和稳定面临的挑战和威胁寻求基于国际法的建设性解决方案，认为应通过对话协商和平解决国家间分歧和争端，寻求在多极世界里强化以联合国为核心的多边国际体系。 8．中法两国重申支持中国、法国、俄罗斯、英国和美国（五常）领导人2022年1月3日发表的《关于防止核战争与避免军备竞赛的联合声明》。正如声明中所强调，“核战争打不赢也打不得”。两国呼吁不采取任何可能加剧紧张风险的行动。 9．两国愿加强协调合作，共同维护军控与防扩散体系的权威性和有效性，推进国际军控进程。中法两国重申致力于平衡推进《不扩散核武器条约》核裁军、核不扩散与和平利用核能三大支柱，不断加强《不扩散核武器条约》的普遍性、权威性和有效性。 10．双方支持一切在国际法和联合国宪章宗旨和原则基础上恢复乌克兰和平的努力。 11．双方反对针对核电站和其他和平核设施的武装攻击，支持国际原子能机构为促进和平核设施的安全安保发挥建设性作用，包括为保障扎波罗热核电站的安全安保所作出的努力。 12．两国强调冲突当事方应严格遵守国际人道法的重要性。两国尤其呼吁根据国际承诺保护受冲突影响的妇女儿童，加大对冲突地区的人道援助，提供安全、快速、无障碍的人道主义援助准入。 13．双方将继续在中法战略对话机制下保持沟通。 14.2015年达成的伊朗核问题全面协议（JCPOA）是多边外交的重要成果。两国重申致力于推动伊朗核问题政治外交解决，重申致力于维护国际核不扩散体系及安理会决议的权威性和有效性，重申在此框架下对国际原子能机构的支持。 15．中法两国将继续就朝鲜半岛问题保持密切沟通。 16．中法两国同意继续通过中法网络事务对话机制进行交流。 三、促进经济交流 17．中法两国承诺为企业提供公平和非歧视的竞争条件，特别是在化妆品、农业和农食产品、空中交通管理、金融（银行、保险、资产管理人）、卫生健康（医疗物资、疫苗）以及能源、投资和可持续发展等领域。为此，两国致力于为企业合作提供良好环境，改善两国企业在对方国家的市场准入，改善营商环境，确保尊重两国所有企业的知识产权。在数字经济领域，包括在5G方面，法方承诺在两国包括国家安全在内的法律法规基础上，继续以公平、非歧视方式处理中国企业的授权许可申请。 18．中法两国愿继续加强在服务业各领域的务实合作，支持两国机构和企业在互利基础上开展经贸往来，促进服务贸易发展。法国愿应邀担任2024年中国国际服务贸易交易会主宾国。 19．中法两国希加强农业、农食、兽医和植物检疫领域伙伴关系，乐见猪肉产品市场准入获得保障、向软枣猕猴桃和饲用乳制品开放市场、批准15家猪肉出口机构在华注册。两国主管部门将尽快回应符合双方食品卫生安全法律法规要求的农业、农食产品，特别是肉类和水产品出口企业未来的注册请求和婴幼儿乳品配方注册申请，以及双方各自部门提出的市场开放请求。双方将继续在肉牛、葡萄酒行业以及地理标志，特别是勃艮第葡萄酒地理标志注册方面进行交流合作。法国支持中国将尽快提出的加入国际葡萄与葡萄酒组织的申请，支持中国举办国际葡萄与葡萄酒产业大会。 20．中法两国对达成中方航空公司采购160架空客飞机的“批量采购协议”表示欢迎。两国将视中国航空运输市场和机队恢复和发展情况，适时研究中方航空公司的货运和长途运输等需求。双方欢迎中国民航局和欧盟航空安全局加强合作，将在均认可的国际安全标准基础上加快适航认证进程，特别是Y12F、H175、达索8X等项目的适航认证进程。双方欢迎两国企业就可持续航空燃料达成协议。双方继续开展工业合作，特别是空客天津新总装线项目。 21．中法两国支持两国航空公司按照两国民航部门相协调的方式，以恢复履行1966年6月1日签署的《中华人民共和国政府和法兰西共和国政府航空交通协定》及相关航权安排为目标，尽快将航空连通恢复至疫情前水平。两国航空公司在中法之间经营航班时应享有公平均等的机会。两国支持深化人员和经济往来，包括为两国私营部门人员和商务人士提供签证便利。 22．双方对两国航天机构围绕嫦娥六号及地外样品联合研究开展合作感到满意。 23．为实现能源体系低碳转型的共同愿望，中法两国在政府间和平利用核能合作协定框架下，开展民用核能务实合作。两国致力于在中国国家原子能机构和法国原子能和替代能源委员会协议等基础上，继续推进在核能研发领域前沿课题上的合作。两国支持双方企业研究在核废料后处理等问题上加强工业和技术合作的可能性。 24．中法两国对2015年第三方市场合作政府间协议取得的成果表示欢迎。双方致力于已确定的第三方市场合作项目的后续和落实。两国政府鼓励企业、金融机构及其他主体在可适用的国际高标准基础上在第三方市场开拓新的重大经济合作项目。 四、重启人文交流 25．为在全球推动保护和促进文化表现形式多样性，中法两国支持深化文化作品创作与利用方面的合作，将积极推动重启文化和旅游领域的交流合作。中法两国对两国文化主管部门达成文化合作意向声明表示欢迎。 26．双方将于2024年共同举办中法文化旅游年，支持故宫博物院与凡尔赛宫、上海西岸美术馆与蓬皮杜艺术中心等在两国合作举办高水平活动。双方承诺在遵守各自法律前提下，为巡回办展提供海关、物流等方面的便利化举措，将努力确保支持的展览中文化物品的完整性和顺利归还。 27．双方重申愿通过联合制作、版权合作、竞赛、艺术家交流等方式，加强在文化和创意产业领域，特别是文学、电影、电视纪录片、出版（含游戏）、音乐、建筑和数字化等领域的合作，提升针对最广泛受众的传播潜力。 28．中法两国承诺加强文化遗产保护、修复和开发领域的双边合作。两国欢迎就中国专家与法国团队共同参与巴黎圣母院现场修复工作、兵马俑保护修复研究合作、公输堂和茂陵合作项目、推动两国世界遗产缔结友好关系等达成文化遗产合作路线图。双方将继续共同努力预防和打击盗窃、非法挖掘和非法进

A few noteworthy points:

Point 4 is about deepening the dialogue and cooperation between the Chinese and French navies in the Pacific Ocean. France has two strategically located overseas territories in this theatre – French Polynesia, and New Caledonia. These islands are located right on the so-called “Third Island Chain”.For the French, this could be payback of a sort for getting snubbed by the Anglo-Saxon nations over their nuclear submarine deal with Australia. Ultimately, US hegemony is an extension of Anglo-Saxon supremacy, where the other great powers of Europe only get to play second fiddle at best. For the Chinese, this presents a greater level of maritime freedom and security, as the Island Chains continue to be ever more porous.
2023 05 30 17 09z

Point 17, where France and China promise to provide fair and non-discriminatory environments for each others’ businesses. This is in stark contrast to the US, which stole Alstom from France, placed tariffs on French steel and aluminium, and exported its own inflation to France with the (ironically named) Inflation Reduction Act; and is trying to steal/ban TikTok, just for the crime of being Chinese.
Point 20, where China will be gradually ditching the US and switching to France for all things aviation. China will be buying some 160 planes from French companies, while France will be setting up new production lines in China, as well as buying more Chinese ships.Also worthy of note is that France recently completed its first LNG trade with China using the yuan. Dedollarisation is real. It’s happening.

Article HERE

Ukraine is only mentioned once by name. There is more to the world than just the Ukrainian crisis, and it is neither the responsibility – nor within the power of – either France or China to solve it, because neither country created the crisis in the first place. However, both countries did reiterate their consensus on the need to avoid nuclear warfare.

Looking inward, taking a pause, and reflecting is good for the soul

Life is funny. I’ve been watching these videos made all over the world making fun of Americans. I have to laugh. But it’s really, really sad. The United States is the world’s “laughing stock” right now, but no one is really laughing. They are just terrified.

West is finished

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Americans Living Abroad: First Time You Realized America Really Messed You Up | Part 2 | TikTok

As someone who was born and raised in America, and still lives here, it surprises me how many of us don't realize that America's "culture" is to literally not care about people. So many countries have these cool cultures that can be expressed through dance or customization/outfits, but America's culture is to brag about how much they don't give a fuck about anyone.

https://youtu.be/ukP6NHJ5og0

Why did you become pro-China?

Not MM. Someone else. -MM

I came to China as anti-China as any average Westerner, with strong opinions about Tibet and pollution.

Originally, I didn’t mean to work in China, but that’s where I found my first job. The pay was higher than anywhere else for my skills and experience, so, opportunity led to there. But I meant for it to be temporary. I wanted to get some experience and then to find a better country.

I lived in Equatorial Guinea when I found this job, teaching in a military school. It was a dictatorship, a bad one. Everyone warned me about going to China because of freedom and stuff, but nobody warned me about Equatorial Guinea. My co-workers in Guinea couldn’t believe I would accept going to China. So I really expected at least as bad as Guinea.

But when I arrived in Tianjin, I was surprised. I was free. A lot more than in Africa. And most of all, I felt safe. There is no crime, especially violent crime, in China. All the policemen and military men I met were welcoming and helpful! I even dated a few. Yes, in Africa I never dared dating a man, I feared for my life, but in China no problem. They have the best gay bars I’ve ever seen, huge with several floors with KTV, bright light cafe, lounge, restaurant etc all in one. I felt freer than even in France for that!

The people were really welcoming, really friendly. I didn’t know Chinese, they didn’t know English, but they were eager to interact. In addition to being free, safe and welcoming, it was also cheap and modern. The infrastructure is amazing but also everything is digital. With a single app like wechat or alipay, you can pay your utility bills online (and monitor your usage in real time), book Cinema tickets, order meals…

The logistics are amazing too. Delivery is usually free, or like 3 rmb, for a really efficient service. If you want things fast, use JD logistics, you get same day delivery of anything you buy online.

I’ve been here almost 10 years now. I’ve learnt Chinese, although I’m not fluent yet, and I have progressed regularly in my career. I started at 1000 Euros a month (not much back then but with a flat on campus, it’s a lot of purchasing power) and now I’m around 5000 Euros a month with international health-care and 3 months paid vacation. It’s still a land of opportunity. The Chinese dream is real. If you are willing and hard working, there is money to be made.

The only downside is that it’s very hard to actually immigrate. I wish I could, but the requirements to get a green card are really high… I’m hopeful that in the future, it can become easier, because I really wish to stay in China until the end of my life.

And that’s also why I’m mad at the Western media. The way they depict China is unfair. I get called a wumao a lot for just stating facts. Everyone is prejudiced against China and nobody wants to hear the truth. China is ahead of us and moving forward. We have so much to learn from them.

EDIT March 2 2023

First, I didn’t expect my answer to get that many views or upvotes. Thanks!

Lately, I’m getting a lot of comments with similar points that I would like to address.

“You are a Westerner, you are privileged, you don't know the life Chinese have"

I am a Westerner, privileged in some regards (the patience of administration and services), second class citizen in others (cannot use certain services, apps or products that require a Chinese ID).

But do you think I’ve lived 10 years with no interactions with Chinese people? I’ve taught hundreds of students from all over China and with all economic backgrounds. I’ve had lots of Chinese co-workers, neighbors and friends. All the boyfriends I’ve had in China were Chinese and most were from humble origins. I know where they live, how much they make, what their job is like.

“You earn a lot, life would be good anywhere with that salary"

It is good NOW. The first seven years, it wasn’t. My parents joined me after 1.5 years so we were three people, one of us with health issues and no health insurance (diabetes and eventually cancer) that I had to pay out of pocket. We were far from rich. Now we earn more, but with my dad’s cancer and his recent passing, we have yet to save anything.

“you live in big cities, life is different in the countryside"

Yes, I live in Beijing and I’ve lived in Tianjin. I’ve also lived in Zhuhai, which isn’t considered big. But I’ve not remained in those cities!

I’ve visited friends’ hometowns, poorer, small villages with slanted, old homes. I’ve traveled, seen a lot. I can’t claim that I’ve seen it all, but in 10 years and moving so much, meeting so many people, going to so many places, I think I have enough experience to get a sense.

I opened underground room and found treasure full of silver and gold jewelry

Fake. Real? I don’t know.

Coffee Syrup

This is an old New England favorite. It is usually stirred into cold milk (2 to 3 tablespoons per glass). It can also be used to flavor milkshakes, or used as an ice cream topping.

Instructions

Place enough coffee and water to make 6 servings. Run the coffee cycle as usual.
When the coffee is finished brewing, discard the used coffee grounds and add to the filter a second quantity of coffee sufficient to make 6 servings. This time, instead of adding fresh water to the coffeemaker, pour the already-brewed coffee into the machine. Run the coffee cycle again. You’ll end up with double-strength coffee.
Repeat the process again, using new coffee, but reuse the brewed coffee instead of water. In the end, you’ll have triple-strength brewed coffee.
Measure the amount of brewed coffee. Add half as much sugar as there is brewed coffee. For example, if after the three brewing cycles you have 5 cups of brewed coffee, add 2 1/2 cups granulated sugar. Stir briskly until the sugar is dissolved. Make sure you add sugar while the coffee is hot so that the sugar dissolves.
Store the syrup in a tightly covered jar in the refrigerator. It keeps a very long time.

Notes

You need a coffeemaker in which boiling water goes through the ground coffee in a filter and drips into a pot. The ingredient amounts will vary depending on your coffeemaker and how much syrup you want to make.

Stop Picking Your Face! New Toy Lets You Pop Pimples For Fun

No matter how much you think you understand people, they will ALWAYS surprise you. This time they have made “Pop It Pal” – a chunk of fake skin dotted with several pores, each of which is filled with simulated pus you can squeeze out.

As disgusting as all this might seem, it actually makes sense why pimple popping has become so popular. Squeezing out a big red whopper on your nose is inherently satisfying, and the science backs it up. According to neuroscientist Heather Berlin, our brains reward us with dopamine for expunging a zit.

Want more?

Entering a 25 MILE Maze of Deep Underground Tunnels to Find This…

China in talks to supply arms to Saudi Arabia, Egypt

May 25, 2023 at 11:51 am

China is reportedly negotiating major arms deals with Saudi Arabia and Egypt as both countries look to become less reliant on the US for their defence needs.

According to South China Morning Post , which cited the geopolitical and intelligence website Tactical Report, Saudi Arabia Military Industries (SAMI) is currently in talks with China’s state-owned North Industries Group Corporation (Norinco) to acquire a range of unmanned aerial vehicles (UAVs), also known as drones, and air defence systems.

Among the weapons included in the potential deal are the Sky Saker FX80 drone, the CR500 vertical take-off drone, the Cruise Dragon 5 and 10 “suicide drones” and the HQ-17AE short-range air defence (SHORAD) system.

The discussions have apparently “reached an advanced stage”, and have been ongoing for about a year, said Tactical Report. It quoted an unnamed source close to the deal, adding that it is speculated that it will be settled in Chinese currency, the yuan.

Egypt is said be in separate talks with Beijing to acquire the Chengdu J-10C

multirole fighter jet, also known as the Vigorous Dragon. It is the most advanced J-10 variant

and is powered by an indigenous engine.

To further negotiations started late last year, a delegation from the Egyptian Air Force (EAF) is expected to meet representatives from the Chengdu Aircraft Industry Group on the side-lines of the Langkawi International Maritime and Aerospace Exhibition in Malaysia this week.

A report last year by Middle East Eye

(MEE) noted that China is “emerging as the secondary arms supplier of choice for many Middle East countries.”

US President Joe Biden came into office with the foreign policy objective

of barring all sales of “offensive weapons” to Saudi Arabia in light of its use of American military technology in its devastating war in Yemen.

This policy was contradicted by a $650 million arms deal with Saudi

approved by Biden’s state department, a deal which allowed Riyadh to maintain attack helicopters that have been used to bomb Yemen.

The 2022 Stockholm International Peace Research Institute (SIPRI) Trends in International Arms Transfers Report

notes that, from 2018-2022, Saudi Arabia was the world’s second-largest arms importer, accounting for 9.8% of global arms imports over that period, with the US supplying 78% of Saudi Arabia purchases.

The same report notes that Egypt was the world’s sixth-largest arms buyer during the period, accounting for 4.5% of global arms imports, with 34% of its imports coming from Russia.

In a 2018 SIPRI article

, Pieter Wezeman notes that Saudi Arabia aims to diversify its arms suppliers to widen and deepen its international political network to minimize the effects of Western arms sales restrictions.

Russia has not always been Egypt’s preferred arms provider. Bradley Bowman and other writers note in a May 2021 Defense News article

that before the 2013 Egypt coup, wherein then-defense minister Abdel-Fattah el-Sissi deposed the then-incumbent president Mohammed Morsi, the US accounted for 47% of Egyptian arms imports. However, after the 2013 coup, the Obama administration froze aircraft, tank, and missile sales to Cairo for two years until relations improved. Due to that freeze, Bowman and the other writers note that Egypt tried to diversify its arms import providers by purchasing large quantities of weapons from Russia and France.

In making this move, Middle East clients can reduce their political dependence on Washington and the EU by purchasing inexpensive, yet effective Chinese arms.

ABANDONED ROTHSCHILD MANSION UK – Left to decay!

How does Russia’s economy compare to other countries, like Japan and China?

Russia is one of the strongest economies on Earth

Surprised?

It’s true

The Russian lands control almost 1000 Trillion Rubles of Priceless Assets from Oil to Gold to Palladium to Platinum to Gas to Coal to now the world’s largest salt deposits

In Dollar terms it’s around $ 12.5 Trillion of Energy and Metal Assets

And that’s the tapped assets

The Arctic alone could have another $ 10 Trillion untapped assets

Today Russia is one of the Five Countries in the world that can happily go back to the Gold Standard without a single problem and peg it’s Rubles wrt Gold.

Let’s see Russia

Russia owes $ 514 Billion in External Debts

It’s barely 4.7% of it’s vast Assets

Russia owes around 40 Trillion Rubles in Internal Debts as of 30.9.2022

Yet it’s barely 4% of it’s Vast Assets!!!!

The Russian Economys $ 1.9 Trillion GDP is a myth based purely on Dollar numbers.

The real Ruble economy is much stronger and larger, just like Iran

Russia is a Bankers dream

US is a Bankers Nightmare

Curious Ancient Stone Objects In The Cairo Museum In Egypt

These Papercraft Mosquitoes Look So Real You’ll Want To Swat Them

Combining realism with attention to detail and remarkable technical abilities, artist Masanobu Azami, who goes by the name Scissorhands, also deserves honorable mention among his Japanese paper-crafting peers.

Scissorhands can create minute masterpieces out of paper as well. In fact, it was his smallest creation to date that went viral last week when he tweeted it as part of a hashtag campaign for artists to introduce their representative works. His mosquito is not only accurately sized, only measuring mere millimeters in length, it looks anatomically accurate with an astonishing level of detail, from feet to antennae.

And since the infamous blood-lusting insects are rarely found in isolation, it’s only natural that Scissorhands created more than one specimen.

More: Twitter h/t: grapee

The Biggest Treasure Discovered In 2022

When simulations say NATO could not beat China at home, what are the strongest things China has that makes this so? Just overall a lot of soldiers and modern equipment, or are there specific game-changers?

You mean NATO invading China?

How?

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There is no contiguous land route

You have a HUGE BUFFER ZONE

Russia, Central Asia, Mongolia, India, Nepal, Myanmar, Cambodia

All Neutral Or Anti NATO Nations

So a Land invasion is IMPOSSIBLE unless Russia complies or joins NATO which is now almost impossible

That leaves a Naval Offensive through the Sea of Japan and the South China Sea

China has a huge Navy plus a massive array of Land to Sea Missiles along the entire border

NATO has its Navy all over the world but Chinas Navy is primarily in that region. So Chinas concentration of Naval power may be 10:1 against NATO

If NATO increases the fleet size in the Region then that means the Baltic Fleet can play havoc in Scandinavian waters and maybe bombard and pulverize Odessa

The barrage of missiles from China and the Chinese Navy would simply be too much for NATO

They take months to replenish Ammo, how long so you think they need to replenish a submarine or a destroyer?

A Total Naval Barrage may have 640 Missiles to hit China while Chinas Navy and Land missiles alone number 2200

That’s 4:1 Advantage right there

And in the 0.0000001% chance of it looking likely that NATO would triumph, CHINA would simply decide to save face at the expense of Nuclear Devastation

Japan – NUKED

Australia -30% NUKED

South Korea – NUKED

USA – West Coast – NUKED, Mid West – 40% NUKED, East Coast – 25% NUKED

The PLA may even Nuke Non Aligned India as a death punch

So China may be destroyed but the World will be in a Dystopian future for minimum 100 years and at least 60 Million Americans will be dead or permanently affected and US will perhaps never recover

Maybe the Balloons marked all strategic cities for a Nuclear Hit in the worst case scenario

So NATO & CHINA – not a very wise move

Underground secrets: Cold War bunker with power still on

Is the US creating three Asian Ukraines (South Korea, Taiwan, the Philippines) to become frontline states to contain China?

That’s what the US neo-con warmongers would like but China isn’t going to attack Taiwan.

What is happening is that the US wants to use Taiwan, Japan, SK, and the Philippines to attack China.

What will happen is that China will surround Taiwan, no fighting involved unless the DPP shoots first. But China will have it’s ships 150 miles away from Taiwan so that the missiles don’t have the range to hit the ships.

And then China will wait for the US’s response. If the US starts an attack, the US, NATO, Japan, SK, and Australia will get their ships sunk. China wins and China takes all Western Pacific islands from the US and removes all US bases in the Western Pacific.

If the US doesn’t attack then China wins and the US looks like it’s afraid, which it is.

So either way China wins. So most likely, the US won’t attack China. What the US is doing is trying to increase the military budget of the US, Japan, SK, and Australia to pump money into the MICC.

And they have already succeeded. Australia is set to spend $386 Billion on 8 subs for delivery in the mid 2050s. Japan is increasing it’s defense budget. And a lot of it will go to the US for weapons, ships, and fighters.

Found Mystic Abandoned Castle Hidden in the Woods

Easy Kummelweck Rolls

Ingredients

1/2 cup cold water
1 tablespoon cornstarch
Kaiser rolls
Caraway seeds
Pretzel salt

Instructions

In a small saucepan over medium-high heat, stir together water and cornstarch. Heat mixture to a gentle boil. Reduce heat to low, and stir until mixture thickens and is translucent. Remove from heat and let cool.
Brush cooled cornstarch mixture on the top of ordinary Kaiser rolls.
Over cornstarch-water mixture, sprinkle equal amounts of caraway seeds and pretzel salt.
Heat in a 350 degrees F oven for about 3 minutes, long enough for the top of the rolls to get crusty and for the caraway seeds and salt to stick.

Millionaire Family disappeared

The US can ban Chinese chips, but a symmetric response is deemed unfair

After Beijing responded in kind to Washington’s tech restrictions, the move was branded unfounded and bad for business

By Timur Fomenko, a political analyst

China recently restricted chips made by US semiconductor firm Micron from being used in its national infrastructure, branding them a “national security threat”.

The language and rationale of such a move should sound familiar, because it’s precisely what the US has been doing over the past few years in blacklisting Chinese technology companies and pushing allies to do the same. “You can’t trust having Huawei in your 5G infrastructure” was the general line used by Washington officials. According to them, and to Western media repeating this line, all kinds of Chinese technology constitutes an “espionage risk,” from TikTok to balloons to fridges.

So based on this treatment of Chinese companies by the US, it was only a matter of time before Beijing struck back. And one might think that if Washington was willing to use “national security” as a pretext for market exclusion, it would be acceptable for China to the same. Only fair, right?

Apparently not. Despite the brutal restrictions the US has placed on Chinese technology, which have also included blacklisting its entire semiconductor industry and forcing third-party countries to follow suit, the US reacted with outrage to Beijing’s announcement

and accused it of “having no basis in fact.” Not only that, but Washington then further claimed that the move was evidence that China’s regulatory environment was “unreliable” and that the country was no longer committed to “reform and opening up.”

The US can somehow say this with a straight face. Washington is entitled to restrict Chinese firms on an industrial scale, but when Beijing does the same, even on a marginal level, then it’s evidence that China is not reliable for investment. Even as microchip firms point out the damage that disastrous policies of the US are causing, Washington seems to have either no self-awareness, or an extreme sense of self-entitlement, which, as has been discussed many times, gives it the almost divine right to impose on others rules it doesn’t feel obliged to follow itself.

This is an indication of how the US sees its right to exploit China’s own markets. American ties with China have always been conditional, on the premise that Beijing would gradually transform its political system and economy to fall in line with US preferences. In the 1980s and 1990s, during China’s era of “reform and opening up,” the US believed – due to its ideological overconfidence after its victory in the Cold War – that China was changing and was destined to reform.

In this light, free market economics was seen as an evangelically transformative force which, with the onset of capitalism, naturally led to liberal democracy. Thus, there was never a premise of “engaging” China on its own terms, it always had to “lead” to something. By the 2010s, it became clear that this was not going to happen. Not only did China’s political system not change, but its economic trajectory and industries continued to grow in a way which threatened the foundations of American hegemony. US foreign policy subsequently shifted to now trying to “force” China to change and containing it.

The US, of course, loves the idea of trade with China and its markets, as long as such trade is conducted entirely according to Washington’s preferences. That is, to have China’s market to exploit as a subordinate to the US, and to prevent China from having its own world-leading industries. This mindset has created a visible contradiction in political rhetoric: that China “must” open up its markets more for Western goods, but at the same time must be locked out of Western markets in certain areas. China’s resistance to this is decried as so-called “unfair” economic practices.

Because of this, the only kind of “engagement” the US wants with China is that which is completely one-sided, such as being forced to order $200 billion in US farm goods per annum (as Trump envisioned), but being banned from the US semiconductor market. This is also why the US demands that even as its own companies lose market share in China, other countries, like South Korea

, should have no right to take up that lost share.

The US is not interested in compromise, only capitulation. Thus, trade with China is really only conditional on either ideological transformation, or if that fails, a surrender to total exploitation, turning China into a neoliberal state which is completely open and gutted of industries, possibly complete with a small clique of very wealthy pro-Western oligarchs who sell out the country.

The US-China economic relationship is directed, on Washington’s side, by a sense of ideological entitlement. We can blacklist your companies and even coercively ban third countries from using any Chinese technology, but don’t even think about limiting one of our own firms. Or else.

China New Breakthrough and Policy Puts China 10 Years Ahead of The US In The EV Industry

https://youtu.be/TE5bdqyWbs4

Nightmarish Illustrations That Will Have You Hiding Under The Bed

You have to wonder how Japanese digital artist Ryohei Hase sleeps at night.

Hailing from Tokyo, Hase effortlessly fuses painting and digital illustrations to bring to life his surrealist and nightmarish fantasy world. He’s revered as an iconic cult figure in the modern day Japanese art world, with his work being displayed in countless exhibitions across the country and featured comics, books, magazines and video games.

What’s The Dumbest Thing an American Has Ever Said To You? | Part 1

https://youtu.be/No07KOKXqD4

60 Minutes Australia Keeps Churning Out War-With-China Propaganda

May 27, 2023

By Caitlin JOHNSTONE

60 Minutes Australia has been playing a leading role in saturating Australian airwaves with consent-manufacturing messaging in support of militarising to participate in a US war against China. A segment they ran a year ago is titled “Prepare for Armageddon: China’s warning to the world,” and features an image of Xi Jinping overlaid with war planes and explosions and captioned “POKING THE PANDA”. Another from a year ago is titled “War with China: Are we closer than we think?” Another from ten months ago is titled “China’s new target in the battle to control the Pacific.” Another from six months ago is titled “Inside the battle for Taiwan and China’s looming war threat.” Another from two months ago is titled “Is the Navy ready? How the U.S. is preparing amid a naval buildup in China.”

All of these segments have millions of views on YouTube alone. Now this past weekend 60 Minutes Australia has aired back-to-back segments titled “The real Top Gun: US military in heated stand-off with China” and “Five countries secretly sharing intelligence say China is the №1 threat,” both of which are as jaw-droppingly propagandistic as anything I’ve ever seen.

“It might sound like twisted logic, but military forces everywhere argue that the greater the firepower they possess, the greater the chance of maintaining peace,” opens 60 Minutes Australia’s Amelia Adams. “In other words, massive weaponry is the best deterrent to war. Right now the theory is being tested like never before, and much of it is happening in Australia’s backyard, the Indo-Pacific region. The United States wants the world, and more particularly China, to know of its increasing presence there, and to do that it’s putting on a spectacular show.”

What follows is 19 minutes of overproduced footage displaying this “massive weaponry” while Adams oohs and ahhs and gives slobberingly sycophantic interviews to US military officials.

“There’s something utterly mesmerising about the F-35 jet,” Adams moans. “The sound, the heat, and the power put this supersonic stealth fighter in a league of its own.”

“Colonel these are some very impressive machines you’re in charge of!” she gushes to an officer on an aircraft carrier.

“Yes ma’am,” the colonel replies.

Jesus lady, do your orgasming off camera.

Contrast this glowing ecstatic revelry with Adams’ open hostility later in the segment toward a Chinese think tanker named Henry Wang, claiming that he was trying to “rewrite history” for dismissing panic about a Chinese military buildup by pointing out (100 percent correctly) that China is spending a lower percentage of its GDP on its military than western nations.

“Every command, every maneuver, is being fine-tuned on this vast blue stage, where China has proven to be a bad actor, playing a long game of intimidating Pacific nations,” Adams proclaims over helicopter footage of US war ships. “But the US and its allies aren’t having it, bolstering their defenses — and it’s an impressive display.”

I defy you to find me footage more brazenly propagandistic than this, from any point in history. This is supposed to be a news show, run by people who purport to be journalists, yet they’re engaging in propaganda that looks like it came from a Sacha Baron Cohen spoof of a third world dictatorship.

As I never tire of pointing out , the claim that the US has been militarily encircling its number one geopolitical rival defensively is the single dumbest thing the empire asks us to believe these days. The US is surrounding China with war machinery in ways that it would consider an outrageously aggressive provocation if the same thing were done in its neck of the woods, which means the US is plainly the aggressor in this standoff, and China is plainly reacting defensively to those aggressions.

While the first segment unquestioningly regurgitates Pentagon narratives and gives supportive interviews to military officials, the second segment unquestioningly regurgitates talking points from the western intelligence cartel and gives supportive interviews to Five Eyes spooks.

“Showing off deadly weaponry in massive war games is a tactic China and the United States both use to try to avoid full-on combat,” says 60 Minutes Australia’s Nick McKenzie in introduction. “But the truth is the two countries, as well as other nations including Australia, are already battling it out in an invisible war. There are no frontline soldiers but there are significant skirmishes. Until now these conflicts have been kept quiet, but key members of a secretive alliance of top cops from Australia, the United States, the United Kingdom, Canada and New Zealand are about to change that.”

“Their group is called the Five Eyes, and tonight they want you to know what they see,” says McKenzie, which is the same as saying “We’re telling you what the Five Eyes intelligence agencies told us to tell you.”

McKenzie literally just assembles a bunch of Five Eyes officials to tell Australians that China is bad and dangerous, and then disguises the western intelligence cartel advancing its own information interests as a real news story.

“There is one threat that alarms our partners more than any other,” McKenzie says

over dramatic music, asking “Which state actor is the key threat to democracy in Australia and amongst the Five Eyes partners?” and presenting a montage of western intelligence operatives answering (you guessed it) China.

“The Americans describe a growing menace on our doorstep flowing from China’s increasing influence in the region,” McKenzie says, before asking an American official, “Do you see the Chinese state preying on Pacific island nations?”

“I believe so, yes,” the official responds.

Western journalism, ladies and gents.

Australians are particularly vulnerable to propaganda because Australia has the most concentrated media ownership in the western world, dominated by a powerful duopoly

of Nine Entertainment (who airs 60 Minutes) and the Murdoch-owned News Corp. This vulnerability is being fully exploited as the time comes for the western empire to beat the war drums against China.

We keep being hammered by this narrative that “massive weaponry is the best deterrent to war,” when all facts in evidence say the exact opposite is true. It was the military encroachment against Russia and the conversion of Ukraine into a NATO military asset which provoked Putin to invade Ukraine, and all the militarization against China that we are seeing is only inflaming tensions and making war more likely .

And, I mean, of course it is; even a casual glance at the Cuban Missile Crisis reveals that powerful nations don’t take kindly to having menacing forces placed near their borders. So much of the propaganda indoctrination we’re subjected to in the 2020s revolves around convincing people to believe that Russia and China should react completely differently than the way the US would react if foreign proxy forces were being amassed along its borders.

So yes, Amelia Adams, claiming that aggression and militarism is the best path toward peace is absolutely “twisted logic”. It is as twisted as it gets. Because it is false. This is obvious to anyone who hasn’t yet been successfully indoctrinated into this omnicidal belief system.

We need to do everything we can to fight against this indoctrination now, because if we wait until the war actually starts it will likely be too late to resist.

Treasure hunter // open a treasure cave and decipher the mystery of its sign

This guy again. Does he live in an area full of gold?

First of all, in China, all people have significant savings.

Frans Vandenbosch 方腾波

Then, in China, the whole Chinese culture is based on the family. All family members, parents, children, uncles, aunts, brothers and sisters, even extended family members will right away (within hours) come to help and provide whatever amount of money to someone of their family in case of emergency.

Without asking for any compensation or pay back.

But if someone of the family is harming the family, then he will be severely punished. In a quite wealthy family (parents and 4 daughters) I know the case of a brother in law who cheated his wife (sister of my friend). He was forced to pay back a significant amount right away and he was fired by his employer. The eldest sister (the family “patriarch”) organised all these punishments.

Also in not-so-wealthy families, I know of similar cases, where an aunt immediately came to help with large amounts of money in an emergency case.

When I once lost my wallet (with passport, money, credit cards, …) in Shanghai, my Chinese friend came to my apartment the same evening with 50 000 CNY cash. And I was her friend, not even a family member.

China And Russia Launch Cutting-Edge Payment System To Challenge Dollar And SWIFT

https://youtu.be/invvouvNejE

It’s the cope. The United States is in “coping mode”.

The United States people, and upper classes are coping with the changes. These coping mechanisms vary from acceptance, to defiance! Which many in denial. Polls of the Republican presidential candidates are all 100% in favor of going to war with Mexico.

Or Haiti…

Plus China, once a war with Russia is over.

Obviously the “ruling classes” are out of touch.

While attending the G7 meeting in Japan, President Biden stated that the “cold war” between the USA and China is set to thaw really soon. Is he being sincere, or is it just more misdirection?

Hahaha , do I believe this strange utterance of Biden?

No, I don’t believe any word he said.

It is like the slyvester saying to the pussy cat : “ I am harmless , cutie, come, let’s play together”. US treasury bond funds in the US is in danger of ending up as toilet paper.

China is told by the US treasury not to redeem anymore treasury bond funds.

Just this year , the US suggesting that Japan to install US missiles, telling countries not to sell lithography machines and computer chips to China , and then now saying that the thawing of the cold war against China is thawing… ‘ really soon’… incredible!

Cat Saves Woman’s Life

What can we learn from Hong Kong’s successful return to normal life after tight pandemic restrictions?

That the Chinese and Hong Kongers chose peace instead all those democratic and freedom bullshit.

Shake my goddamn head.

And people wonder why I’m not as sacred as Democrats compared to Republicans.

What are the chances of the United States invading China in the near future? If it is not possible, why? And if it is possible, how much time would it take for that to happen?

If the U.S. try this stunt, it will be the biggest mistake that they could ever make. In one strike China will wiped off the entire 12 aircraft carriers anywhere in earth. Next it will attack and military base the attacking force it comes from.

China and a dozen nation will take revenge action simultaneously throughout the world. And god help Japan and Japanese people if it is foolish enough to allow a bow and arrow attack from Japanese soil. South Korea take note too.

China will hit the U.S. mainland the moment the U.S. touch a stone in China. China will hand such a big hiding the U.S. will never be the same again for a century. Of if you wish let’s all die together in a total nuclear war.

So god help America if you are foolish enough.

WOW! CHINA Just Dumped 972 Billion US Dollars To Crash The US Economy – Peter Schiff

This is a very good video, and well worth your watch.

This is by far the best explanation I've heard on this subject. AND a big thumbs up on your graphics presentation.

Could the U.S. realistically take over China with current military strength and technology? If so, what would they do first?

It’s an obvious answer. Even the most pro-war, anti-China hawks recognize this fact. Which is why RAND has “cooked up” various suppression strategies designed to cripple China.

The idea behind these strategies is to weaken China to a point where it collapses, and then the oligarchic vultures can flock in and loot China at will. Previous methods were tried in the past.

Perhaps the most successful was the “century of humiliation”…

Use military force to enter China, and then force the government to become your proxy. Then, get the population hooked on drugs and loot, and rape the nation until it holds nothing left of value.

Since that dark period, there were other efforts…

A military operation to seize China though Korea. This is known as the “Korean War”, and inside America it is known as a “strategic victory”. Though, in reality, it is an absolute failure, and the Chinese kicked the American invasion forces to a small toehold in Southern Korea where they sued for peace.
After that fiasco, President Truman ordered the carpet bombing of China with Biological weapons. Failed, but most of the last 70 years involved various aspects of this effort against China.
Soros, and Bloomberg tried on multiple occasions to seize the Chinese banks and wrest financial control over China. And did they fail! Lordy! I’m surprised that they didn’t keel over and die from the shock that some nation was smart enough to see what they were doing.
Economic sanctions, tariffs and trade restrictions have been the hallmarks and “calling card” for most conservative members of the United States. China pretty much brushes off the efforts with a big shrug and a “meh”.
Color revolutions, NED sponsored, and many CIA direct interventions have occurred. From Hong Kong, to Xinjiang, to Tibet, to Inner Mongolia. All of which have failed.

The current plan is to encircle China. Then sanction it so that no one would trade, and if they tried, the United States would start sinking ships.

Crafty huh?

Not really, by the time when everything is at 70% readiness “good to go”, the most likely outcome is [1] a betrayal of the proxy nations in favor of their own survival, [2] emerging high technologies that will render Western might impotent, and [3] a generalized mega collapse domestically inside of the United States.

If it wasn’t for the massive propaganda machine, all of this would be quite obvious to the West.

Not that I want those things to happen, but the trend lines are clear, and they haven’t deviated from the 2008 prediction vectors one iota.

Chinese researchers find way to manufacture highly flexible, paper-thin solar cells

By Global Times Published: May 25, 2023 10:14 PM

Chinese researchers have developed a special technology to tailor the edges of textured crystalline silicon (c-Si) solar cells, based on which the solar cells can be bent and folded like thin paper, allowing for broader application and use.

The breakthrough was achieved by Chinese researchers at the Shanghai Institute of Microsystem and Information Technology (SIMIT) under the Chinese Academy of Sciences. The results have been featured on the cover of the May 24 edition of Nature journal.

The c-Si solar cells fabricated with the new technology can be 60 millimeters thin with a bending radius of about 8 millimeters.

Highly flexible, paper-thin c-Si solar cells Photo: Courtesy of the CAS

According to the Technology Daily, c-Si solar cells are type of solar cell seeing fast development at the moment. They have advantages including long service life and high conversion efficiency, making them a leading product in the photovoltaic market.

Such c-Si solar cells have a market share of more than 95 percent, according to Di Zengfeng, deputy head of the SIMIT, who is one of the authors of the research paper.

Although c-Si solar cells were developed nearly 70 years ago, their use is still limited, the paper explained. Currently, the c-Si solar cells are mainly used in distributed photovoltaic power stations and ground photovoltaic power stations. Hopefully, such solar cells can be used in construction, backpacks, tents, automobiles, sailing boats and even planes.

They can also be used to generate clean energy for houses and a variety of portable electronic and communication devices as well as for transportation, according to the researchers.

Highly flexible, paper-thin c-Si solar cells Photo: Courtesy of the CAS

Liu Zhengxin, a research fellow with the SIMIT, and another author of the paper, said that the study verified the feasibility of mass production, providing a technical route for the development of lightweight and flexible c-Si solar cells.

At the same time, the large-area flexible photovoltaic modules developed by the research team have been successfully applied in the fields of near-space vehicles, building photovoltaic integration and vehicle-mounted photovoltaic systems, Liu said.

Alabama needs some help

Why didn’t the US give serious support to the Republic of China government in Taiwan to recover mainland China from the Communists in the 1960s and 1970s?

The Korean war.

Well, the Korean war was a fiasco. The United States lost bigly.

General Douglas MacArthur was so upset and defeated that he demanded that President Truman start using nuclear weapons on China, but Truman refused.

Instead President Truman initiated a multi-decade long campaign of carpet bombing China with bio-weapons. (Which didn’t do much to China, except make it very VERY resilient to bio-weapon attacks.)

This kind of stealth; passive-aggressive, attacking continued for decades. Well into the 1970s.

Adidas jumped on the Anti-China Uighur/Xinjiang cotton train.

Adidas has had 2 years of market share decline.

Whoopsie!

main qimg 23a52924c60801d1a518e161ea9a17a4

The US loves drama as long as they are not the ones directly involved.

They want diplomacy so that they can avert war.

No such thing.

War is the whole point now.

***

The real reason America was so angry over COVID, was that they knew they deserved it.

They deserved a China that was willing to take blood revenge to their doorstep, retaliating and escalating against their attempts to destroy China with a bona fide attempt to destroy USA back.

China wasn’t that kind of country; the response from China was a relatively placid ‘no you!’ to USA.

If it was up to me, I’d be saying that we are delivering blood revenge to USA and the West for the trade war.

What can they do about us striking back? Nuke us? They can’t.

Fuck with us? We’ll make another 10 more viruses. Enjoy lockdown.

***

We want them to know that every misstep potentially leads to nuclear war.

We want them to know that we are done talking and now will fight.

We want them to know that we are one step away from blood revenge.

Pragmatic?

Nope, blood revenge it is.

The blood debt must be repaid in full with interest.

Robert, divorce? Nope. There was never a relationship. The US is like a stalker and a sexual harasser still trying to convince the world it ever had a relationship with China, that China is a hostile ex. No such thing. The US is the stalker here.

Bayou Baked Chicken

Ingredients

2 to 3 tablespoons vegetable oil
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
1 whole chicken, cut up
3 large potatoes, cut into cubes
Cajun seasoning
1 onion, cut into large pieces
1 bell pepper, cut into strips
1/2 cup minced garlic
1/2 cup parsley
1/4 cup Worcestershire sauce
1 envelope Lipton onion soup mix

Instructions

Heat oven to 450 degrees F.
Place flour in bottom of large greased baking dish.
Arrange chicken and potatoes in dish, seasoning on both sides with Cajun Seasoning.
Add onion, bell pepper, garlic, parsley and Worcestershire sauce.
Sprinkle Lipton onion soup mix on top.
Put in oven and broil until chicken is brown on top.
Reduce heat to 300 degrees F, cover with aluminum foil and bake for one hour.

Look into this report

The Covid-19 coronavirus was “intentionally released” by the United States in Wuhan,

China, with the target to trigger a global pandemic to raise public acceptance of vaccines, a US businessman specializing in patent auditing said.

David Martin, the founding chairman of M Cam asset management company, said at an International Covid Summit organized by the European Parliament in Brussels

earlier this month that the US was responsible for the making of both coronaviruses causing the outbreaks of severe acute respiratory syndrome – or SARS – in 2003 and the Covid-19 pandemic in the past three years.

Pro Fighters Put Obnoxious Jerks in Their Place

Gorgeous Photos Make Star Wars Toys Look Like Real, Life-Sized Ships

Manufacturers of toys all over the world should be advertising their products with photos like these. Photographer Vesa Lehtimäki is responsible for these beauties; he’s been photographing his kid’s toys over the years and he makes shots that look like they belong in movies. His images of the various vehicles of Star Wars are especially impressive.

More info: Flickr

What are the consequences of not having the internet in China?

The internet is everywhere in China. It’s fast. It’s free. It’s in the elevators, in the toll booths, on the bridges, in the train stations, on the subway.

It’s in the stalls, and on the streets. It’s in the farmer’s markets and on the farms.

Everyone uses it because it’s a requirement to get anything done. All public services are APP driven. Even beggars use wechat QR to get donations.

That being said, let’s suppose that world war 3 erupts and China loses internet….

What will happen is 200 million people will set up their own intranets as temporary workarounds, and the internet will be restored in no time at all.

China is so very unlike the West that it just boggles the mind.

U.S. Postal Carrier: “19 People Have Died on my Mail Route in Last 4 Months”– Vax Jabbed!

Nation Hal Turner 27 May 2023

A U.S. Postal Mail Carrier has released a video explaining that on her route of 460 homes, it is average for one or two people to die each year, but in the last four months, NINETEEN people on her route have died! She thinks it’s the Vax. . .

One minute long video, below:

TRANSCRIPT Of Dr David E.Martin’s Speech At The European Union Parliament MAY 2023

It is a, it is a particularly interesting location for me to be sitting today, given that over a decade ago I sat in this very chair right here in the European Union Parliament.

And at that time I warned the world of what was coming, during that conversation that was hosted at the time by the Green and EFA and a number of the other parties of the European Unions, of various representations.

We were having a conversation on whether Europe should adopt the United States policy of allowing for the patents on biologically derived materials.

And at the time I urged this body and I urged people around the world that the weaponization of nature against humanity had dire consequences.

Tragically, I sit here today, with that unfortunate line that I don’t like to say, which is “I told you so.”

But the fact of the matter is, we’re here not for a reprisal on past decisions. We’re here to actually, once again, come to the face of the human condition and ask the question, who do we want to be?

What do we want humanity to look like?

And rather than seeing this as an exercise in futility, which is very easy from time to time when you’re in the position I’m in, I actually see this not as an exercise in futility.

I see this as one of the greatest opportunities that faces us because we now have a public conversation, which is now front and center in people’s minds.

When this was an esoteric conversation about biological patents, nobody cared.

But when that conversation came home, then it became something people can care about.
So I’m actually quite grateful for this opportunity.

I thank the members of Parliament for hosting this.

I thank all of the translators who I apologize in advance.

I will use terminology that is probably very difficult to translate, so my apologies, and I’d also like to acknowledge the fact that many of you are aware of my involvement with this in large part due to the amazing work of my wonderful wife, Kim Martin, who encouraged me at the very early days of this pandemic to get on front of the camera and talk about all the information that I had been sharing among very small groups around the world.

And it was in fact her encouragement that put me in a place where many of you have heard what I have to say.

Ironically, the world that I came from that used to be very popular, my CNBC and Bloomberg presentations, which were televised on mainstream media around the world, was an audience that I lost.

I can confidently say Covid diminished my fame, but I can also confidently say that I’d rather stand among the people with whom I’m standing today than any of the folks that were part of that previous world.
So, this is a much better place to be.

My role today is to set the stage for this conversation in a historical context, because this did not come in the last three years.

This did not come in the last five or six years.

This actually is an ongoing question that probably began here in Europe in the early stages of the mid 19 hundreds, but certainly by 1913, 1914, this conversation started right here in Central Europe.

The pandemic that we alleged to have happen in the last few years also did not happen overnight.

In fact, the very specific pandemic using coronavirus began in a very different time.

Most of you don’t know that Coronavirus as a model of a pathogen was isolated in 1965.

Coronavirus was identified in 1965 as one of the first infectious, replicatable viral models that could be used to modify a series of other experiences of human condition.

It was isolated once upon a time associated with the common cold.

But what’s particularly interesting about its isolation in 1965 was that it was immediately identified as a pathogen that could be used and modified for a whole host of reasons.

And you heard me correctly, that was 1965.

And by the way, these slides are public domain.

You’re welcome to look at every single reference.

Every comment that I made is based on published material.

So do make sure that you look at those references.

But in 1966, the very first COV Coronavirus model was used as a transatlantic biological experiment in human manipulation, and you heard the date 1966.

I hope you’re getting the point of what I’m saying.

This is not an overnight thing.

This is actually something that’s been long in the making.

A year before I was born, we had the first Trans-Atlantic coronavirus data sharing experiment between the United States and the United Kingdom.

And in 1967, the year I was born, we did the first human trials on inoculating people with modified coronavirus.

Isn’t that amazing?

56 years ago, the overnight success of a pathogen that’s been 56 years in engineering, and I want that to chill with all of you.

Where were we when we actually allowed in violation of biological and chemical weapons treaties?
Where were we as a human civilization when we thought it was an acceptable thing to do to take a pathogen for the United States and infect the world with it?

Where was that conversation and what should have been that conversation in 1967?

That conversation wasn’t had. Ironically, the common cold was turned into a chimera in the 1970s, and in 1975, 1976 and 1977, we started figuring out how to modify coronavirus by putting it into different animals.
Pigs and dogs.

And not surprisingly, by the time we got to 1990, we found out that coronavirus as a infectious agent was an industrial problem for two primary industries, the industries of dogs and pigs.

Dog breeders and pigs found that Coronavirus created gastrointestinal problems, and that became the basis for Pfizer’s first spike protein vaccine.

Patent filed. Are you ready for this In 1990?

Did you hear what I just said?

Operation Warpspeed.

I’m sorry.

Where’s the warp and the speed?

Pfizer 1990.

The very first spike protein vaccine for Coronavirus.

Isn’t that fascinating?

Isn’t it fascinating that we were, we were told that, well, the spike protein is a new thing.

We just found out that that’s the problem.

No.

As a matter of fact, we didn’t just find out it was not just now.

Now the problem, we found that out in 1990 and filed the first patents on vaccines in 1990 for the spike protein of Coronavirus.

And who would’ve thought Pfizer?

Clearly the innocent organization that does nothing but promote human health.

Clearly, Pfizer, the organization that has not bought the votes in this chamber, in every chamber of every government around the world, not that Pfizer, certainly they wouldn’t have had anything to do with this, but oh yes, they did.

And in 1990 they found out that there was a problem with vaccines.

They didn’t work.

You know why they didn’t work?

It turns out that Coronavirus is a very malleable model.

It transforms and it changes, and it mutates over time.

As a matter of fact, every publication on vaccines for Coronavirus from 1990 until 2018, every single publication concluded that Coronavirus escapes the vaccine impulse because it modifies and mutates too quickly for vaccines to be effective.

And since 1990 to 2018, that is the published science ladies and gentlemen, that’s following the science, following the science is their own indictment of their own programs that said, it doesn’t work.

And there are thousands of publications to that effect, not a few hundred. And not paid for by pharmaceutical companies.

These are publications that are independent scientific research that shows unequivocally including efforts of the chimera modifications made by Ralph Bair in the University of North Carolina Chapel Hill.

All of them show vaccines do not work on coronavirus.

That’s the science, and that science has never been disputed.

But then we had an interesting development in 2002, and this date is most important because in 2002, the University of North Carolina Chapel Hill patented, and I quote, an infectious replication defective clone of coronavirus.

Listen to those words …

Infectious replication, defective.

What does that phrase actually mean?

For those of you not familiar with language, let me unpack it for you.
Infectious replication.

Defective means a weapon.

It means something meant to target an individual but not have collateral damage to other individuals.
That’s what infectious replication defective means.

And that patent was filed in 2002 on work funded by NIAD’s Anthony Fauci from 1999 to 2002, and that work patented at the University of North Carolina Chapel Hill mysteriously preceded SARS 1.0 by a year.
“Dave, are you suggesting that SARS 1.0 wasn’t from a wet market in Wuhan?”

“Are you suggesting it might have come from a laboratory in the University of North Carolina Chapel Hill?”
No, I’m not suggesting it.

I’m telling you that’s the facts we engineered SARS.

SARS is not a naturally occurring phenomenon.

The naturally occurring phenomenon is called the common cold.

It’s called influenza-like illness.

It’s called gastroenteritis.

That’s the naturally occurring coronavirus.

SARS is the research developed by humans weaponizing a life system model to actually attack human beings, and they patented it in 2002.

And in 2003, giant surprise, the CDC filed the patent on Coronavirus isolated from humans in violation once again of biological and chemical weapons, treaties and laws that we have in the United States, and I’m very, very precise on this.

United States likes to talk about its rights and everything else, and the rule of law and all the nonsense that we like to talk about, but we don’t ratify treaties about, I don’t know, defending humans.

We conspicuously avoid that we actually have a great track record of advocating for human rights and then denying them when it comes to actually being part of the international community, which is a slightly problematic thing.

But let’s get something very clear.

When the CDC, in April of 2003 filed the patent on SARS Coronavirus isolated from humans, what did they do?

They downloaded a sequence from China, and filed a patent on it in the United States.

Any of you familiar with biological and chemical weapons treaties knows that’s a violation.

That’s a crime.

That’s not an innocent, oops; that’s a crime.

And the United States Patent Office went as far as to reject that patent application on two occasions until the CDC decided to bribe the patent office to override the patent examiner to ultimately issue the patent in 2007 on SARS Coronavirus.

But let’s not let that get away from us, because it turns out that the RT PCR, which was the test that we allegedly were going to use to identify the risks associated with coronavirus, was actually identified as a bioterrorism threat by me in the European Union sponsored events in 2002 and 2003, 20 years ago that happened here in Brussels and across Europe.

In 2005, this particular pathogen was specifically labelled as a bioterrorism and bioweapon platform technology, described as such.

That’s not my terminology that I’m applying to it.

It was actually described as a bioweapons platform technology in 2005.

And from 2005 onwards, it was actually a bio warfare enabling agent.

It’s official classification from 2005 forward.

I don’t know if that sounds like public health to you, does it?

Biological warfare enabling technology that feels like not public health, that feels like not medicine, that feels like a weapon, designed to take out humanity.

That’s what it feels like, and it feels like that because that’s exactly what it is.

We have been lured into believing that EcoHealth Alliance and DARPA and all of these organizations are what we should be pointing to.

But we’ve been specifically requested to ignore the facts that over $10 billion have been funnelled through black operations, through the check of Anthony Fauci and a side-by-side ledger where NIAD has a balance sheet, and next to it is a biodefense balance sheet.

Equivalent dollar for dollar matching that no one in the media talks about, and it’s been going on since 2005.
Our gain of function moratorium.

The moratorium that was supposed to freeze any efforts to do gain of function research.

Conveniently, in the fall of 2014, the University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill received a letter from NIAD saying that while the gain of function moratorium on coronavirus in vivo should be suspended, because their grants had already been funded, they received an exemption.

Did you hear what I just said?

A biological weapons lab facility at the University of North Carolina Chapel Hill received an exemption from the gain of function moratorium so that by 2016 we could publish the journal article that said SARS Coronavirus is poised for human emergence in 2016 and what, you might ask Dave, was the coronavirus poised for human emergence?

It was WIV ONE.

Wuhan Institute of Virology Virus One.

Poised for human emergence in 2016 at the proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, such that by the time we get to 2017 and 2018, the following phrase entered into common parlance among the community, there is going to be an accidental or intentional release of a respiratory pathogen.

The operative word, obviously in that phrase, the word release, does that sound like leak?
Does that sound like a bat and a Pangolin went into a bar in the Wuhan market and hung out and had sex?
And, and lo and behold, we got SARS Cov-2.
No accidental or intentional release of a respiratory pathogen was the terminology used.

And four times in April of 2019, seven months before the allegation of patient number one, four patent applications of Moderna were modified to include the term accidental or intentional release of a respiratory pathogen as the justification for making a vaccine for a thing that did not exist.

If you have not done so, please make sure that you make reference in every investigation to the premeditation nature of this, because it was in September of 2019 that the world was informed.
That we were going to have an accident or intentional release of a respiratory pathogen so that by September, 2020 there would be a worldwide acceptance of a universal vaccine template.

That’s their words right in front of you on the screen.

The intent was to get the world to accept a universal vaccine template, and the intent was to use coronavirus to get there.

Let’s, let’s read this because we have to read this into the record everywhere I go.

“Until an infectious disease crisis is very real present and at the emergency threshold that is often largely
ignored to sustain the funding base beyond the crisis.”

He said, “we need to increase the public understanding for the need for medical countermeasures, such as a pan influenza or pan coronavirus vaccine.”

“A key driver is the media and the economics will follow the hype. We need to use that hype to our advantage to get to the real issues. Investors will respond if they see profit at the end of the process.”
Sounds like public health.

Sounds like the best of humanity.

No.

Ladies and gentlemen, this was premeditated domestic terrorism stated at the proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences in 2015, published in front of them.

This is an act of biological and chemical warfare perpetrated on the human race, and it was admitted to in writing that this was a financial heist and a financial fraud.

“Investors will follow if they see profit at the end of the process.”

Let me conclude by making five very brief recommendations.

The last slide, nature was hijacked.

This whole story started in 1965 when we decided to hijack a natural model and decide to start manipulating it.

Science was hijacked when the only questions that could be asked were questions authorized under the patent protection of the CDC, the FDA, the NIH, and their equivalent organizations around the world.

We didn’t have independent science.

We had hijacked science, and unfortunately there was no moral oversight in violation of all of the codes that we stand for.

There was no independent, financially disinterested independent review board ever empanelled around coronavirus.

Not once, not once, not since 1965.

We do not have a single independent IRB ever empanelled, around Coronavirus.

So, morality was suspended for medical countermeasures, and ultimately humanity was lost because we decided to allow it to happen.

Our job today is to say, no more gain of function research period.

No more weaponization of nature period.

And most importantly, no more corporate patronage of science for their own self-interest unless they assume 100% product liability for every injury and every death that they maintain.

Thank you very much.

Dr David E. Martin

How Native Hawaiians have been pushed out of Hawai’i

Do Westerners think that China is a very peaceful country?

Relatively few. The reason is because most Westerners have been indoctrinated to believe that China is a brutal Communist dictatorship that seeks global dominion, thanks to Western mainstream media.

The ones who know better have:

visited China and gained a greater understanding of the country
studied Chinese history and culture
learned that China hasn’t fought a war in the last 44 years, making it the only world power in history to have been so peaceful for so long
understood that China has gained no new territory since the Qing Dynasty over 200 years ago — various parts of China have temporarily changed hands during this period, for example, Hong Kong, Taiwan and Tibet

main qimg 7c5bdbb237754812045f282c0a3bf732 pjlq

witnessed China’s benevolence — helping countries build infrastructure, helping countries vaccinate when the West hoarded their vaccines, leading peaceful alliances such as BRICS, RCEP and SCO, working to establish peace such as the recent Saudi-Iran peace deal and the peace plan proposal between Russia and Ukraine, helping the USA during the 2008 GFC

China is the exact opposite of the USA, which has fought dozens of wars in the last half century, including notably Afghanistan, Iraq, Libya, and Syria. Is the USA a peaceful country?

20 SIGNS Walmart is Collapsing Before Our Eyes!

https://youtu.be/J5oUOYLoatQ

China’s New Quantum Computing Breakthrough SHOCKS American Scientists.

A semiprime number is the product of two prime numbers. You probably know that semiprime numbers are used as keys in coded internet protocols like RSA.

If someone did produce a quantum computer that could factor a large semiprime number into its two prime factors, the whole internet would be compromised. That someone could hack into everyones’ secure data like at banks and corporations. Before a quantum computer can factor a semiprime number, it must be able to do simple calculations. Back in the day, transistors had to do simple calculations, like 2 X 2, before complex calculations. Video 1 is about China's scientists' progress on quantum computers. China's quantum computers can solve pretty complicated mathematical problems. Some of these videos can have hyperbolic names, However, China’s scientists may have shocked other scientists in the field. China is kicking America's butt in many fields like artificial Suns. China recently smashed the world record for the length of time its scientists kept an artificial Sun going at 403 seconds.

China’s artificial sun is called a tokamak. China’s tokamak is nothing short of spectacular. Artificial Suns are the future of energy.

If China did produce a quantum computer that could factor a large semiprime number into its two prime factors, China could hack into secure data all over the world. I’m not suggesting China would do that, but it could if its quantum computers could factor a large semiprime number.

Footnotes

Prime Numbers and Pierre Fermat Keep Your Secrets Safe Online

China’s “artificial sun” smashes nuclear fusion record

Airpods Emit Wireless Radiation

After the China-Central Asia Summit, the 6 countries issued a joint Xi An Declaration. Other than economic cooperation, what is the hot topic in the declaration?

Prevent color revolution/coup (that is instigated by the West). Take steps to:

1, suppress terrorism

2, suppress division of citizens due to ethnicity

3, suppress radicalization of religion

Central Asia is located between Russia & China. It is a hot spot for USA+UK to instigate color revolution in name of ethnic or religious (Muslim) minority. Just like Uyghurs in Xinjiang.

Color revolution is a topic the West seldom talks about. But USA+allies has been QUIETLY doing so for decades. So as to subvert a government that does not “obey” USA. So as to control other’s strategic soverignty, economy & natural resources. … it is modern-day colonization without occupying land.

Look at the orange revolution in Ukraine in 2004. We were told the then pro-Russia president was corrupted.

Until Putin pushed for a resolution in UN Security Council against Nazism (got passed) that we learnt the West+new Ukraine government plotted to eliminate Russian-speaking & Hungarian-speaking Ukrainians. That … is cultural if not ethnic genocide.

Xi An Declaration does not detail how the West stirs unrest in other country. Let me tell you.

Cultural infiltration. It is a quiet Cold War that you wont notice.

NED is a spin-off from CIA. Like religion, NED-funded NGOs spread US culture to other cultures.

Britain once said: NED helps US expansion.

US NGOs fund & recruit local NGOs to gather different groups of people. All have a moral high ground eg democracy, freedom, human & animal rights, climate change, LGBTQ & more. To make people think they are fighting for Righteous. Any cultures different from USA is evil & should be eliminated. “My god is true & yours is false”.

When time is ripe, the NGOs will instigate a mass of people to start the unrest/riot/coup/wars.

One NGO is free press/radio whose job is to spread fake news. Create hatred & fear of local government. Or Russia, China, Iran etc are evil.

Some color revolutions have no name eg 2002 Xinjiang with ethnic Uyghurs & Muslim.

Some have names eg Arab Spring in Middle East, Rose revolution in Georgia, Tulip revolution in Kyrgyzstan, democracy movement in Hongkong.

Even US allies are not immune from US-led riots eg France’s yellow vest riot.

I always advise people: before fighting for “Righteous” for other country, sort out if it is a US-led color revolution which actually is modern-day colonization.

Remember: millions died or lost their homeland/heritage in US color revolution.

3 MINUTES AGO, Ukraine Just Started WW3 With This!

https://youtu.be/1_d369R9e9o

America’s wars and the US debt crisis

By Jeffrey D. Sachs

May 25, 2023

To surmount the debt crisis, America needs to stop feeding the Military-Industrial Complex, the most powerful lobby in Washington.

In the year 2000, the U.S. government debt was $3.5 trillion, equal to 35% of the Gross Domestic Product (GDP). By 2022, the debt was $24 trillion, equal to 95% of GDP. The U.S. debt is soaring, hence America’s current debt crisis. Yet both Republicans and Democrats are missing the solution: stopping America’s wars of choice and slashing military outlays.

Suppose the government’s debt had remained at a modest 35% of GDP, as in 2000. Today’s debt would be $9 billion, as opposed to $24 trillion. Why did the U.S. government incur the excess $15 trillion in debt?

The single biggest answer is the U.S. government’s addiction to war and military spending. According to the Watson Institute at Brown University, the cost of U.S. wars from fiscal year 2001 to fiscal year 2022 amounted to a whopping $8 trillion, more than half of the extra $15 trillion in debt. The other $7 trillion arose roughly equally from budget deficits caused by the 2008 financial crisis and the Covid-19 pandemic.

To surmount the debt crisis, America needs to stop feeding the Military-Industrial Complex (MIC), the most powerful lobby in Washington. As President Dwight D. Eisenhower famously warned on January 17, 1961, “In the councils of government, we must guard against the acquisition of unwarranted influence, whether sought or unsought, by the military-industrial complex. The potential for the disastrous rise of misplaced power exists and will persist.” Since 2000, the MIC led the U.S. into disastrous wars of choice in Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria, Libya, and now Ukraine.

The Military-Industrial Complex long ago adopted a winning political strategy by ensuring that the military budget reaches into every Congressional district. The Congressional Research Service recently recently reminded that, “Defence spending touches every Member of Congress’s district through pay and benefits for military service members and retirees, economic and environmental impact of installations, and procurement of weapons systems and parts from local industry, among other activities.” Only a brave member of Congress would vote against the military-industry lobby, yet bravery is certainly no hallmark of Congress.

America’s annual military spending is now around $900 billion, roughly 40% of the world’s total,, and greater than the next 10 countries combined. U.S. military spending in 2022 was triple that of China. According to Congressional Budget Office, the military outlays for 2024-2033 will be a staggering $10.3 trillion on current baseline. A quarter or more of that could be avoided by ending America’s wars of choice, closing down many of America’s 800 or so military bases around the world, and negotiating new arms control agreements with China and Russia.

Yet instead of peace through diplomacy, and fiscal responsibility, the MIC regularly scares the American people with a comic-book style depictions of villains whom the U.S. must stop at all costs. The post-2000 list has included Afghanistan’s Taliban, Iraq’s Saddam Hussein, Syria’s Bashar al-Assad, Libya’s Moammar Qaddafi, Russia’s Vladimir Putin, and recently, China’s Xi Jinping. War, we are repeatedly told, is necessary for America’s survival.

A peace-oriented foreign policy would be opposed strenuously by the military-industrial lobby but not by the public. Significant public pluralities already want less, not more, U.S. involvement in other countries’ affairs, and less, not more, US troop deployments overseas. Regarding Ukraine, Americans overwhelmingly want a “minor role” (52%) rather than a “major role” (26%) in the conflict between Russia and Ukraine. This is why neither Biden nor any recent president has dared to ask Congress for any tax increase to pay for America’s wars. The public’s response would be a resounding “No!”

While America’s wars of choice have been awful for America, they have been far greater disasters for countries that America purports to be saving. As Henry Kissinger famously quipped, “To be an enemy of the United States can be dangerous, but to be a friend is fatal.” Afghanistan was America’s cause from 2001 to 2021, until the U.S. left it broken, bankrupt, and hungry. Ukraine is now in America’s embrace, with the same likely results: ongoing war, death, and destruction.

The military budget could be cut prudently and deeply if the U.S. replaced its wars of choice and arms races with real diplomacy and arms agreements. If presidents and members of congress had only heeded the warnings of top American diplomats such as William Burns, the U.S. Ambassador to Russia in 2008, and now CIA Director, the U.S. would have protected Ukraine’s security through diplomacy, agreeing with Russia that the U.S. would not expand NATO into Ukraine if Russia also kept its military out of Ukraine. Yet relentless NATO expansion is a favourite cause of the MIC; new NATO members are major customers of U.S. armaments.

The U.S. has also unilaterally abandoned key arms control agreements. In 2002, the U.S. unilaterally walked out of the Anti-Ballistic Missile Treaty. And rather than promote nuclear disarmament—as the U.S. and other nuclear powers are required to do under Article VI the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty—the Military-Industrial Complex has sold Congress on plans to spend more than $600 billion by 2030 to “modernise” the U.S. nuclear arsenal.

Now the MIC is talking up the prospect of war with China over Taiwan. The drumbeats of war with China are stoking the military budget, yet war with China is easily avoidable if the U.S. adheres to the One-China policy that properly underpins U.S.-China relations. Such a war should be unthinkable. More than bankrupting the U.S., it could end the world.

Military spending is not the only budget challenge. Ageing and rising healthcare costs add to the fiscal woes. According to the Congressional Budget Office, debt will reach 185 percent of GDP by 2052 if current policies remain unchanged. Healthcare costs should be capped while taxes on the rich should be raised. Yet facing down the military-industrial lobby is the vital first step to putting America’s fiscal house in order, needed to save the U.S., and possibly the world, from America’s perverse lobby-driven politics.

Cat protects homeowner

US Geopolitics: Believing Impossible Things

Posted on May 22, 2023 by Yves Smith

Back in the day when raiders were putting fear in the hearts of Corporate America, merger & acquisition pros were business media stars. One of the top shops back then, Lazard Frères, prided itself in its skills in abnormal psychology, aka managing CEOs. One of its most important bits of advice to them was danger of believing your own PR.

In corporate America, there’s a decent risk that fakery will get caught out by competitors, short sellers, whistleblowers, and just plain careful reading of audited financials. That said, Jack Welch kept reality at bay for a very very long time, to the detriment not only of GE but also his many imitators.

By contrast, in politics, reality avoidance is routinely the key to a long and successful-looking career, witness Eurocrats’ fondness for “kick the can” strategies. And that propensity is particularly dangerous when leadership groups have become both selfish and short-termist. There really was once upon a time some people who went into government service for the service part, and not for the revolving door and networking. There was also a time, before the rise of global elites, where the powerful had ties to particular physical communities and some took interest in their betterment. In other words, while there were plenty of self-promoting and mediocre people at the helm, there were often enough in the room who were concerned about long-term risks to put a check on the worst behavior.¹

But now, the well-honed effectiveness of propaganda has encouraged politicians and their media amplifiers/allies to go hog wild with selling Big Lies. And the worst is there are no consequences for the perps. After the first systematic use of large-scale propaganda, by the Creel Committee during what was then called the Great War, was uncovered, the US public was aghast. In a comparatively short time, this multi-channel campaign turned American opinion from unconcerned to rabidly anti-German with fabricated atrocities, like German soldiers bayonetting babies. There was a lot of soul-searching, as well as rationalizations by the likes of Walter Lippmann of the need for experts to interpret not just technical information but matters of general interest for a citizenry inherently unable to perceive reality due to bias and incomplete information.

Not only has the reliance on tall tale-telling grown, but there has been perilous little self-reflection in the wake of abject fabrications like WMD in Iraq and Russiagate. Instead, it seems that Americans are all too eager to become pupils of the White Queen. From Lewis Carroll’s Through the Looking Glass:

“How old are you?” said the queen.

“I’m seven and a half exactly”

“You needn’t say “exactly” the queen remarked : “I can believe it without that. Now I’ll give you something to believe. I am just one hundred and one, five months and a day”

“I can’t believe that!” said Alice.

“Can’t you?” the Queen said in a pitying tone. “Try again: draw a long breath, and shut your eyes.”

Alice laughed. “There’s no use trying,” she said: “one can’t believe impossible things.”

“I daresay you haven’t had much practice,” said the Queen. “When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.”

The wee problem with the war in Ukraine and the escalating US eye-poking of China is neither is going very well, to the degree that the propaganda started fizzling out very quickly in the Global South and is losing its potency in the West. It’s hard to keep up the pretense of a great inevitable Ukraine victory with Ukraine losing Bakhmut, after Zelensky made it the centerpiece of his Congressional love-fest last December. Oh, but Ukraine is still trying to deny it is lost, as they did for Mariupol and Soledar until well after the fact. Or how about Ukraine shooting 30 Patriot missiles in about two minutes, which is as much as 10% of total annual production for all countries, in an unsuccessful effort to stop a Kinzhal hypersonic missile?² Or commander-in-chief General Zaluzhny, usually highly visible, being missing in action for weeks, and Ukraine legitimating rumors about him being critically injured in a Russian missile strike by presenting old footage of him as current?

Similarly, trying to bully countries that had no reason to take sides into aligning against Russia and then doubling down on coercion confirmed Putin’s messaging about colonial powers trying to reassert their historical, exploitative roles. This new cold war has seen many countries chose move to the allegedly “undemocratic” side of the Iron Curtain, much to the West’s impotent fury.

The US and NATO have needed to maintain an image of success with Ukraine because it quickly turned into a bizarrely public coalition exercise, with arguments among NATO members about who really ought to empty their stockpiles for the cause, and one suspects not so public discussions about Ukraine refugees. Even though the press in “collective West” countries has mainly been cheerleading the war, albeit with more and more admissions of late that the exercise has gone pear-shaped, there’s a growing sense in the US, and even reportedly in some parts of Europe like Germany, that enthusiasm on the man on the street level is waning.

Another problem is NATO is simply not fit for this purpose. It was designed for defense, with many nations designing their own very compatible weapons, which each requires their own logistics tail (why not better pork-sharing via common designs and divvying of the manufacturing pie, as the EU did successfully with Airbus?). Brian Berletic, Douglas Macgregor, and Scott Ritter have explained repeatedly why deliveries of disparate weapons systems, mainly new to Ukraine, is a prescription for yet more failure. Oh and to the extent NATO forces have seen combat, it’s been in small insurgent wars, and so not helpful in Ukraine.

The balkanized weapon systems are symptomatic of a lack of NATO cohesiveness at the level of institutional design, which is now being tested to destruction by this conflict. Article 5, often incorrectly presented as a “one for all and all for one” mutual defense pact. In fact, all Article 5 obligated member states to do is to taking action as it deems necessary. Each state gets to decide on its own if it wants to commit armed forces…or indeed, anything else.

Similarly, US officials may have told themselves that much of the world regarded China with suspicion due to its often-overheated rhetoric and hypersensitivity to slights. But these self-comforting beliefs about China’s position on the world stage got a big wake up call with China brokering a normalization of relations between Saudi Arabia and Iran, and then Syria. Now China is making more trouble by wandering into America’s back yard, as in Europe, and talking up its napkin-doodle Ukraine peace plan. That scheme will go nowhere but China’s campaign has the effect of identifying it trying to end conflicts (as contrasted with the US trying to keep them going) and intensifying already apparent splits among the alliance.

So the US efforts to pretend everything is going swimmingly are now looking a bit frayed. Not to overdo an analogy, but the US seems to be in a weird phase of the Kübler-Ross five stages of grief paradigm, which are denial, anger bargaining, depression, and acceptance. There’s still plenty of denial, witness the someday-gonna-arrive game-changing Great Ukrainian Counteroffensive, following many game-changing weapons deliveries like Bayraktars, Javelins, HIMARS and Leopard tanks, and other efforts at unduly upbeat messaging about generally terrible conditions on the ground. Zelensky has just given two self-sabotaging ire-filled lectures about how he’s entitled to more support and where the hell is it, to the Arab League and G-7.

But to me, the most intriguing is the weird bargaining, which very much like bargaining over death, is bargaining with yourself. For some time, since at least General Mark Milley’s quickly deflated trial balloon last November, there has been more and more talk from pundits and even sometimes from officials how Ukraine should negotiate with Russia, after some sort of retaking of ground so as to better Ukraine’s bargaining position.

Of course, the idea that Russia will do anything more than go through the motions of negotiating for appearances’ sake is delusional. As former Indian diplomat M. K. Bhadrakumar reminded readers in his latest post, Putin warned Ukraine and its backers last July, the longer the conflict lasted, “the harder it will be to negotiate with us.” That was before Merkel and Hollande bragged about their Minsk Accords duplicity, which has led Putin to make embittered statements about what a mistake it had been to try to cooperate.

Putin has a history of endeavoring not to repeat mistakes. Russia was already depicting the US as “not agreement capable” even before the Minsk disclosures. And even if there were a regime change in Washington, Putin has repeatedly seen presidents make commitments to him that they reneged on later. He (perhaps charitably) attributed that to a permanent bureaucracy really being in charge.³

The US is again negotiating with itself in approving having allies supply F-16s to Ukraine, then trying to claim this isn’t an escalation because they won’t be used against Russian territory, ignoring the Russian view that not just Crimea but also the four annexed oblasts are Russian territory. Russia’s tart response, per TASS:

Western countries continue down the path of escalation and Moscow will take their plans to send F-16 aircraft to Ukraine into account, Russian Deputy Foreign Minister Alexander Grushko told TASS on Saturday.

“We can see that Western countries continue to stick to an escalation scenario, which carries enormous risks for them. In any case, we will take it into account when making plans. We have all the necessary means to achieve our goals,” he said on the sidelines of the 31st Assembly of the Council for Foreign and Defense Policy, when asked to comment on the possible supplies of F-16 aircraft to Ukraine.

A new flavor of Western copium is the latest idea of a “frozen conflict” per a trial balloon in Politico:

U.S. officials are planning for the growing possibility that the Russia-Ukraine war will turn into a frozen conflict that lasts many years — perhaps decades — and joins the ranks of similar lengthy face-offs in the Korean peninsula, South Asia and beyond.

The options discussed within the Biden administration for a long-term “freeze” include where to set potential lines that Ukraine and Russia would agree not to cross, but which would not have to be official borders. The discussions — while provisional — have taken place across various U.S. agencies and in the White House.

Again, this is intellectual masturbation the US a little too obviously talking to itself. It’s become more and more clear from the Russian side that it must prosecute the war until Ukraine is decisively defeated, which means Russia dictates terms and either installs a puppet regime or somehow manages to tee off the Medvedev scenario of Poland, Hungary and Romania eating big bits of Western Ukraine, leaving only “Ukraine” as Greater Kiev, as in too small to serve as a platform for much of anything.

We have pointed out Russia could create a DMZ, which is not the same as agreeing to one with the West, by creating a very large de-electrified zone which only the Eastern European versions of preppers might inhabit. And now that the West has decided to deploy Storm Shadows, it would have to be at least 250 miles wide so as to keep Russian territory out of strike range.

On China, the US position is just as internally driven and therefore incoherent. As we and others have pointed out, the China hawks have been quietly duking it out with the Russia haters for a while. The implied compromise, that Russia would be dispatched quickly so the US could pivot to China, is not working out. China hardliner Charles Brown is expected to replace Mark Milley at the Joint Chiefs of Staff, but that may not be sufficient to shift the US focus decisively to China and allow for Ukraine to be quietly abandoned. Biden, Blinken and Nuland are heavily invested in the “get Putin” project and are likely to be incapable of abandoning it. And with the US $100 billion or so into this investment, some Congresscritters are likely to demand either results or an explanation.

The latest display on the China front was the decidedly China-hostile G-7 meeting. Admittedly, the official statement was in flabby NGO-speak and did start with a handwave about UN principles and sticking with Ukraine “for as long as it takes”. Even so, the anti-China barbs stood out. For instance:

2. We will champion international principles and shared values by:

…strongly opposing any unilateral attempts to change the peacefully established status of territories by force or coercion anywhere in the world and reaffirming that the acquisition of territory by force is prohibited….

51. We stand together as G7 partners on the following elements, which underpin our respective relations with China:

We stand prepared to build constructive and stable relations with China, recognizing the importance of engaging candidly with and expressing our concerns directly to China. We act in our national interest. It is necessary to cooperate with China, given its role in the international community and the size of its economy, on global challenges as well as areas of common interest.

We call on China to engage with us, including in international fora, on areas such as the climate and biodiversity crisis and the conservation of natural resources in the framework of the Paris and Kunming-Montreal Agreements, addressing vulnerable countries’ debt sustainability and financing needs, global health and macroeconomic stability.

Our policy approaches are not designed to harm China nor do we seek to thwart China’s economic progress and development. A growing China that plays by international rules would be of global interest. We are not decoupling or turning inwards. At the same time, we recognize that economic resilience requires de-risking and diversifying. We will take steps, individually and collectively, to invest in our own economic vibrancy. We will reduce excessive dependencies in our critical supply chains.

With a view to enabling sustainable economic relations with China, and strengthening the international trading system, we will push for a level playing field for our workers and companies. We will seek to address the challenges posed by China’s non-market policies and practices, which distort the global economy. We will counter malign practices, such as illegitimate technology transfer or data disclosure. We will foster resilience to economic coercion. We also recognize the necessity of protecting certain advanced technologies that could be used to threaten our national security without unduly limiting trade and investment.

There’s plenty more in Section 51 but you get the drift of the gist. There’s a lot to lambaste, but I found the “not seeking to harm China” and “not decoupling but de-risking” bits to be particularly rich.

The Financial Times’ interpretation of the G-7 statement, in what at the time was a lead story: G7 issues strongest condemnation of China as it intensifies response to Beijing

Yet somehow Biden thinks all of this nastiness will lead to improved relations, as if China were some sort of battered wife that would meekly accept abuse as better than neglect. From a new story in the pink paper, Joe Biden expects imminent ‘thaw’ in China relations:

Joe Biden has said he expects to see a “thaw” in US relations with Beijing, even as he concluded a G7 summit in Japan that made a concerted effort to counter military and economic security threats from China.

The US president said in a news conference at the end of the three-day summit that talks between the two countries had shut down after a “silly balloon” carrying spying equipment flew over North America in February, before being shot down by the US military.

Yes, the fact that the US and China are now talking is technically an improvement, but that’s not saying much. The “silly balloon” remark comes off as Biden trying to minimize and shift blame for the US hysterical reaction ont China, which is not going to improve matters. And the G-7 was insultingly acting as if it was the upholder of territorial integrity as the US is persistently promoting and funding separatism in Taiwan.

Confirm the notion that any improvement is marginal, the May 12 (as in pre G-7) press conference by China’s Foreign Ministry Spokesperson Wang Wenbin had Agence France-Press quizzing why an 8 hour meeting between CPC Central Committee and Director of the Office for Foreign Affairs Wang Yi and Jake Sullivan produced short readouts. The answer was terse and contained a nugget: “The two sides held candid, in-depth, substantive and constructive discussions on ways to …stabilize the relationship from deterioration.” That points to extremely low expectations on the China side.

The interview also included a detailed complaint about The PRC Is Not a Developing Country Act, passed by the US House, which instructs the Department of State to press the WTO and other international organizations to revoke China’s developing nation status. Wenbin cited key metrics by which China is still a developing nation and argued the US had no authority to seek changes like this.

But the answers were measured until one reporter asked about the expectation that the G-7, as indeed happened, would accuse China of engaging in economic coercion. From the official translation:

If any country should be criticized for economic coercion, it should be the United States. The US has been overstretching the concept of national security, abusing export control and taking discriminatory and unfair measures against foreign companies. This seriously violates the principles of market economy and fair competition.

According to media reports, US government sanctions designations soared by 933% between 2000 and 2021. The Trump administration alone imposed more than 3,900 sanctions, or three per day on average within four years. More than 9,400 sanctions designations had come into effect in the US by fiscal year 2021. The US has slapped unilateral economic sanctions on nearly 40 countries, affecting nearly half of the world’s population.

Not even G7 members have been spared from US economic coercion and bullying. Companies such as Toshiba from Japan, Siemens from Germany and Alstom from France, were all victims of US suppression. If the G7 Summit is to discuss response to economic coercion, perhaps it should first discuss what the US has done. As the G7 host, would Japan express some of those concerns to the US on behalf of the rest of the group who have been bullied by the US? Or at least speak a few words of the truth?

Instead of a perpetrator, China is a victim of US economic coercion. We have been firmly opposed to economic coercion by any country in the world and urge the G7 to embrace the trend of openness and inclusiveness in the world, stop forming exclusive blocs and not become complicit in any economic coercion.

Due to the length of this post, I’ll spare you more Chinese reactions, but the English language government house organ Global Times lays it on thick in G7 has descended into an ‘anti-China workshop’ and Manipulative G7 slammed for exclusiveness, against trend.

Bloomberg shows how this G-7 was less than a rousing success:

This sort of thing would normally be merely cringe-making, like catching a performance in Britain’s Got Talent where the performer energetically delivered a lousy act, and lacked the self-awareness to know how bad it was. But the stakes are high and we will have to live with the consequences.

Hero cat saves sleeping Florida family from fire

Thank you for your service Gizmo. “When a man loves cats, I am his friend and comrade, without further introduction.” -Mark Twain.

I received VERY Disturbing information last night . . .

World Hal Turner 28 May 2023

Looks like we have an actual WW3 Date.

My wife and son made their way up here to our home in Pennsylvania yesterday; they arrived around 6:00 PM. They brought with them Postal Mail from the P.O. Box and in that was discreetly-packaged, NATO-related information about the ongoing Russia-Ukraine thing. I read it. I am absorbing it.

I will do a story on this later. It will be detailed.

We’ll be doing the Memorial Day weekend Barbecue thing, but there’s a lot of real work to get done.

We are installing a 100 amp electrical sub-panel for the Kitchen. Whoever wired the house originally, used ONE (1) 20 amp circuit breaker . . . . for the ENTIRE kitchen. Everything! Refrigerator, dishwasher, oven, Microwave, Lights . . . and all outlets.

If you use the toaster when the microwave is on, as the refrigerator kicks-in, POP goes the circuit. Dishwasher with microwave and try to brew coffee? POP. It’s crazy.

So we bought a GE Sub-panel, 3 awg wire, a 100 amp square-D sub panel feed breaker, and will now re-wire the ENTIRE kitchen so that each duplex outlet has its own circuit breaker, the refrigerator will have its own, same with microwave, same with dishwasher, etc.

11:00 AM, the satellite company arrived to re-aim my two satellite uplinks which are fail-overs for the radio show. So THAT is the final work that had to be done as a result of the new roof going on earlier this week.

Everything is coming along !

Most Propaganda Looks Nothing Like This

Caitlin Johnstone

When most people in the English-speaking world hear the word “propaganda”, they tend to think of something that’s done by foreign nations who have governments that are so totalitarian they won’t even let people know what’s true or think for themselves.

Others understand that propaganda is something that happens in their own nation, but think it only happens to other people in other political parties. If they think of themselves as left-leaning they see those to their right as propagandized by right wing media, and if they think of themselves as right-leaning they see those to their left as propagandized by left wing media.

A few understand that propaganda is administered in their own nation by their own media, and understand that it’s administered across partisan lines, but they think of it in terms of really egregious lies like weapons of mass destruction in Iraq or babies being taken from incubators in Kuwait.

In reality, all are inaccurate understandings of what propaganda is and how it works in western society. Propaganda is administered in western nations, by western nations, across the political spectrum — and the really blatant and well-known examples of its existence make up only a small sliver of the propaganda that our civilization is continuously marinating in.

The most common articles of propaganda — and by far the most consequential — are not the glaring, memorable instances that live in infamy among the critically minded. They’re the mundane messages, distortions and lies-by-omission that people are fed day in and day out to normalize the status quo and lay the foundation for more propaganda to be administered in the future.

One of the forms this takes is the way the western political/media class manipulates the Overton window of acceptable political opinion.

Have you ever noticed how when you look at any mainstream newspaper, broadcast or news website, you never see views from those who oppose the existence of the US-centralized empire? Or those who want to close all foreign US military bases? Or those who want to dismantle capitalism? Or those who want a thorough rollback of the creeping authoritarianism our civilization is being subjected to? You might see some quibbling about different aspects of the empire, some debate over whether we should de-escalate against Russia so we can better escalate against China, but you won’t ever see anyone calling for the complete end of the empire and its abuses altogether.

That’s propaganda. It’s propaganda in multiple ways: it excludes voices that are critical of the established status quo from being heard and influencing people, it amplifies voices (many of whom have packing foam for brains) which support the status quo, and, most importantly, it creates the illusion that the range of political opinions presented are the only reasonable political opinions to have.

The creation of that illusion is propaganda. It’s not something solid that you can point to easily because it’s comprised of an omission of something rather than a concrete thing, but it warps people’s perspectives in ways that have immensely far-reaching consequences. It’s something that doesn’t stand out too sharply against the background, but because people are exposed to it continuously day in and day out, it plays a huge role in shaping their worldview.

Another related method of manipulation is agenda-setting — the way the press shapes public thinking by emphasising some subjects and not others. In placing importance on some matters over others simply by giving disproportionate coverage to them, the mass media (who are propagandists first and news reporters second) give the false impression that those topics are more important and the de-emphasised subjects are less so. As political scientist Bernard Cohen famously observed way back in 1963, the press “may not be successful much of the time in telling people what to think, but it is stunningly successful in telling its readers what to think about. The world will look different to different people depending on the map that is drawn for them by writers, editors, and publishers of the paper they read.”

Ever noticed how the fact that our governments are increasingly tempting nuclear war seems like it ought to be a front-page story pretty much every day of the week, but instead the news is full of stuff like the US presidential race and people arguing over what products Target should sell during Pride Month? That’s agenda-setting.

The press could easily have spent the entire Trump administration screaming about the dangerous aggressions Trump was advancing against Russia instead of calling him a Putin puppet, and mainstream liberals would have fixated on Trump’s warmongering insanity instead of calling him Putin’s cock holster. But that wouldn’t have served the interests of the empire, which had been planning to ramp up aggressions against Russia for years. They set the agenda, and the public fell in line.

Another of the mundane, almost-invisible ways the public is propagandized from day to day is described in a recent video by Second Thought titled “You’re Not Immune To Propaganda“. We’re continually fed messages by the capitalist machine that we must work hard for employers and accept whatever standards and compensation they see fit to offer, and if we have difficulty thriving in this unjust system the fault lies with us and not with the system. Poor? That’s your fault. Miserable? Your fault. Unemployed? Your fault. Overworked? Your fault.

The continual message we’re fed every day is that there’s nothing to rebel against and nothing to oppose, because any problems we’re perceiving are our own fault and not the fault of an abusive, exploitative system which is built to extract profit from the working class and the ecosystem at the expense of both. The system cannot be a failure, it can only be failed.

Then there’s the ideological herding funnel we discussed recently, which herds the population into two mainstream factions of equal size which both prevent all meaningful change and serve the interests of the powerful. Anyone who can’t be herded into either of these mainstream factions is instead herded into fake “populist” factions, which eventually corral them back into the mainstream factions. Those few politically engaged people who can’t be herded toward any of these groups are so small in number that they can simply be marginalized and denied any sizeable platform from which to spread their ideas, and “democracy” does the rest because the majority are supporting the status quo.

Maybe the most consequential of all the mundane, routine ways we’re propagandized is the way the mass media manufacture the illusion of normality in a dystopia so disturbing that we would all scream our lungs out if we could see it with fresh eyes. The way pundits, politicians and reporters will talk about the Biden administration surrounding China with war machinery without also talking about how freakish and horrifying it is that we’re looking at rapidly escalating brinkmanship between nuclear-armed countries. The way American cities are full of homeless people and it’s just treated as a normal and acceptable thing to simply let them stay homeless and push them out of wherever they try to be. The way nothing ever changes no matter who we vote for but we’re still herded into the voting booths and told to vote better.

As a character in the movie Waking Life puts it, “We all know the function of the media has never been to eliminate the evils of the world, no! Their job is to persuade us to accept those evils and get used to living with them. The powers that be want us to be passive observers. And they haven’t given us any other options outside the occasional purely symbolic act of voting — do you want the puppet on the right or the puppet on the left?”

They don’t just tell us what to believe about the world, they tell us what to believe about ourselves. They give us the frameworks upon which we cast our ambitions and evaluate our success, and we build psychological identities out of those constructs. I am a businessman. I am unemployed. My life is about making money. My life is about disappointing people. I am a success. I am a failure. They invent the test of our adequacy, and they invent the system by which we are graded on that test.

Over and over and over again, day after day, we are fed seemingly small messages which add up over time. Messages like,

The world works more or less the way we were taught in school.
The media have some problems but basically tell the truth.
The status quo is working basically fine.
Democracy is real and voting is effective.
This is the only way things can be.
Our government might have its problems, but it’s basically good.
You can earn your way into happiness by working harder.
You can consume your way into happiness with more spending.
If you think the system is dysfunctional, you’re the dysfunctional one.
Those who oppose the status quo are weird and untrustworthy.
Things might get better after the next election cycle.
Any attempt to change things is a silly waste of time.

By feeding us all these simple, foundational lies day after day, year after year from the time we are very young, they lay the groundwork for the more complex, specific lies we’ll be told later on. Lies like “Russia/China/Iran/etc is a real problem and its government needs to be stopped,” or “People are struggling financially right now, but it’s just because times are hard and it can’t be helped.”

All the mundane lies serve as a primer for the lies we’ll be told later, because once our worldview has been shaped by them, our basic human cognitive biases and predisposition to reject information which conflicts with our worldview will ensure that we’ll take on board the information which confirms our biases and reject any evidence against it. They construct our worldviews for us, then let our normal cognitive defense systems protect it.

Their messages don’t even need to be well-evidenced or well-argued, they only need to be repeated frequently due to a glitch in human cognition known as the illusory truth effect which causes us to mistake the feeling of having heard something before with the feeling of something being true.

Add to all this the recent development of things like Silicon Valley algorithm manipulation and the deck becomes stacked against truth even further, because someone’s odds of stumbling across information which conflicts with the propaganda they’ve been fed goes dramatically down. Even if they’re actively searching for information which conflicts the mainstream worldview, algorithms by Google and Google-owned YouTube often make it almost impossible to find.

So that’s what we’re up against. There’s a failure to appreciate just how pervasive and powerful the empire’s propaganda machine is, even among those who are very critical of empire, because propaganda in our society is like water for fish — we’re swimming in it constantly, so we don’t see it. You have to step way, way back and begin examining our situation from its most basic foundations to get any perspective on how all-encompassing it really is.

Finding your way out of the propaganda matrix takes a lot of diligent work, tons of curiosity, the humility to admit you’ve been completely wrong about everything, and more than a little plain dumb luck. But if you keep hacking away at it eventually you get there, and then you can help others get there too. It’s a hard slog, but if our chains are psychological that means they’re ultimately only made of dream stuff. All that needs to happen is for enough of us to wake up.

Cajun Chicken and Dumplings

Yield: 6 servings

Ingredients

Chicken

1 large chicken
2 quarts salted water
1/4 cup butter
1/2 cup sliced mushrooms
1/2 cup chopped celery
1/2 cup chopped green bell pepper
1 pimento, chopped
1/4 cup chopped onion
1 quart milk
2 hard-cooked eggs, chopped
1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
1 teaspoon vinegar
1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1/8 teaspoon white pepper
1/8 teaspoon black pepper

Dumplings

2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon garlic salt
1 teaspoon ground white pepper
1 teaspoon ground black pepper
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1/4 teaspoon garlic powder
1/4 teaspoon thyme
1/4 teaspoon oregano
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 slightly beaten egg
1/4 cup (1/2 stick) softened butter
1 teaspoon olive oil
1/2 cup milk

Instructions

Dumplings

In medium bowl, place flour, salt, garlic salt and ground white and black peppers.
Add cayenne pepper, garlic powder, thyme, oregano and baking powder.
Stir in egg, butter and olive oil.
Gradually stir in milk. Knead dough until soft and smooth; divide into 5 small balls. Roll each ball on floured board until paper thin; cut into strips 1 1/2 inches wide and 3 inches long. Lay strips on wax paper for about 15 minutes before adding to broth.

Chicken

In large saucepan, place chicken and water over medium heat. Simmer about 45 minutes or until fork tender.
Remove chicken, reserving broth. Chop chicken in large pieces, discarding skin and bones; set aside.
In medium fry pan, place butter over low heat.
Add mushrooms, celery, bell pepper, pimento and onion; sauté about 2 minutes.
To broth in saucepan, add milk, hard-cooked eggs, Worcestershire sauce, vinegar, cayenne and white and black peppers.
Stir in sautéed vegetables; heat to boil, reduce heat to simmer and add alternating layers of chicken and dumplings, pushing each layer down into broth. Simmer about 15 minutes or until dumplings are tender.
Serve chicken, dumplings and broth in individual bowls.

Taliban Moves Heavy Armor, Troops, to Iran Border

World Hal Turner 28 May 2023

The Afghanistan Taliban is moving troops, and heavy weaponry to the border with Iran and warns it can capture Tehran within days, if Iran does not stop the provocations.

Oh, and all that heavy weaponry and armor. . . . was the stuff “left” there when the US departed Afghanistan. HMMMMMMM.

Border Clashes broke out between Iranian Border Guards and the Taliban Afghan Army earlier today, with Major Artillery Exchanges occurring and additional Equipment reported to be en-Route towards the Border Region.

So far 2 Iranian Border Guards are said to have been Killed.

According to Local Sources the Iranian Air Force has been placed on High-Alert with preparations being made if the Situation Escalates.

(HT REMARK: Now we finally see why Biden left Afghanistan and also left behind billions of dollars of equipment to the Taliban.)

During today’s clashes, Iranian forces used 60mm mortars to intercept Taliban attacks.

Taliban and Iran border clashes have moved and are now taking place at the Nimruz border checkpoint.

Heavy Fighting is continuing to take place along the Border, with reports from earlier today stating that Taliban Forces utilizing American Towed-Artillery and other Equipment had Captured a Iranian Border Security Post near the City of Zabol.

Cat saves man’s life after fall

Hearing an 80 year old man say “he’s my hero” about a kitten is probably the most wholesome thing I’ll ever see before I die.

The cat dragged the cell phone to the trapped man!

A few years of finishing touches and then a new world order will be ready

Wow, things are changing really FAST. If you all are not picking up on it, you will soon.

I want to mix up my daily posts with some fun.

Enjoy yourself.

Another undersea earthquake, also large, bangs near Japan

So many undersea earthquakes. Especially in the Pacific near China.

How is the US going to try to contain China now if China is entirely self-reliant? Is the U.S. going to finally declare war on China to prevent being outdone by China?

They cannot.

No matter every step they do they are already outdone by China.

They are finished.

They stay bringing their friends to dogpile us, but we all know that US has already lost.

They stay crying.

Guangzhou night life

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LazXk93pbB8

Russia wants Alaska Back

Biden hints at thaw in China ties, but US’ sincerity in doubt — Global Times

Following the latest G7 summit and Quad meeting that outlined a strong stance against China and ramped up efforts to hype China-related issues, US President Joe Biden adopted an apparently softer tone by claiming that the frosty bilateral relations between China and the US will begin to “thaw” very shortly, hoping to open more lines of communication with China and hinting at easing sanctions on a Chinese official.

Chinese experts believe that Biden’s message was sent as the G7 is somehow divided on how to deal with China and as Washington itself faces growing domestic economic woes and international dilemmas like the Ukraine crisis. While they hold a cautious attitude on whether Biden’s rhetoric toward China will turn into a reality, some experts pointed out that the necessary conditions for US-China relations to “thaw” is Washington respecting Beijing’s core interests and fulfilling its commitment instead of “saying one thing and doing another.”

Also, the so-called potential thaw in relations can only be superficial, for example, the resumption of high-level interactions between officials of the two sides, but Washington’s fundamental understanding and its China policy show no change, some experts said. Any real improvement in China-US relations depends on whether the US takes concrete actions to create a positive atmosphere.

Changing rhetoric

Despite the G7 issuing a harshly toned communiqué, which drew strong opposition from the Chinese side on Sunday, Biden said when wrapping up the summit that “he expected a thaw in relations with China,” calling the recent balloon incident between the two countries “silly” and hinting at lifting US sanctions on Chinese defense minister Li Shangfu, according to media reports.

“China and the US have maintained the necessary communication, but if the US uses any means to suppress and contain China and imposes sanctions on Chinese officials and enterprises, what is the sincerity and significance of such communication?” Mao Ning, spokesperson of the Chinese Foreign Ministry, said during a press conference on Monday.

China has always been firmly opposed to the illegal unilateral sanctions in question and has stated its solemn position to the US side. The US should immediately lift the sanctions and take concrete actions to clear obstacles for dialogue and communication, and create a favorable atmosphere and conditions, the spokesperson said.

Biden’s message reflected the paradoxical mindset of the US and some Western countries, some experts said. On the one hand, Washington has been ramping up efforts to smear and distort China-related matters in order to keep Beijing under pressure for dialogue while maintaining pressure on its allies to adopt a similar stance. On the other hand, some of its allies, such as France and Germany, prefer to find opportunities in China’s development and oppose political, economic and military confrontation with China, which makes the divergences inside the Western bloc even more apparent.

Despite the US’ lack of sincerity in its communications with China, coupled with its ill-intentioned attempts to contain China, it’s necessary for the two countries to keep communication channels open to keep some divergences under control, some experts said, who also believe that the necessary condition for easing bilateral relations is the US government matching its words with its actions.

Biden on Sunday said the G7 nations had agreed on “a united approach” to China that called for “diversifying supply chains” to reduce dependence on any one country, and hinted that “he could speak with the Chinese President soon,” Reuters reported.

G7 leaders outlined a shared approach to “de-risk, not decouple” economic engagement with China, and Biden further explained that this approach means taking steps to “diversify supply chains,” “resist economic coercion and protect advance technologies for national security.” Some US media outlets such as the New York Times described this “newly fashionable term” as reflecting an evolution in the discussion on dealing with China, as the term “de-risking” caught on after a speech by European Commission president Ursula von der Leyen, in March before her trip to China.

Sincerity in question

The US government has been intensifying its technological and political wrestling with China and has been pressuring the bloc’s six other countries to take the same stance. “But apart from Japan, other allies will not be willing to see China-US relations become so intense, or even confrontational,” Lü Xiang, a research fellow at the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, told the Global Times on Monday.

“Particularly, among its European allies, although they have differences with China, they are not willing to confront it politically, economically and militarily, which made the Biden administration adjust some of its rhetoric on China,” he said.

Meanwhile, the Biden administration is facing an intensifying partisan struggle on debt standoff and a looming recession in coming months, in addition to the Ukraine crisis that has become an unsustainable burden, all of which led to the change in rhetoric, Lü noted.

However, some experts expressed doubt over whether that changing rhetoric could turn into action and whether the Biden administration will take the necessary steps to create a favorable atmosphere for the true improvement of bilateral relations.

“It’s believed that the so-called thaw means the resumption of high-level interactions. For example, our commerce minister is scheduled to meet his US counterpart this week, and our new ambassador to the US will soon embark on his trip,” Wu Xinbo, director at the Center for American Studies of Fudan University, told the Global Times on Monday.

Meanwhile, the US may push for some cabinet-level officials to visit China, Wu said, noting that such an “improvement” may only be superficial as the overall atmosphere between the two countries is still negative.

Chinese Commerce Minister Wang Wentao will travel to the US this week for meetings with US Commerce Secretary Gina Raimondo and Trade Representative Katherine Tai, US media NBC News reported on Friday.

Recently, China’s top diplomat Wang Yi had a more than 10-hour talk with the US National Security Advisor Jake Sullivan in Vienna on major topics including bilateral relations, the Taiwan question, the Asia-Pacific situation and the Ukraine crisis.

Mao, the spokesperson of the Chinese Foreign Ministry, said the Chinese side has always developed China-US relations following the principle of mutual respect, peaceful coexistence and win-win cooperation. “We urge the US side to correct its understanding of China, stop interfering in China’s internal affairs, stop harming China’s sovereignty, security and development interests, and meet China halfway to take concrete actions to get China-US ties back on the right track,” she said.

“Apparently, the US has changed its rhetoric, but its true intention of containing China has not changed. It needs to take more concrete actions to truly create an atmosphere for such a thaw,” Wu said.

Giant Cockroach Float: Is That A Cockroach In The Pool?

Nothing quite beats the cool water of a refreshing dip in a pool. That is unless you have to deal with the crowds at a community pool. Don’t get me wrong, I love community pools…l just do not like the crowds! There are many things you can do to clear the crowds out of a community pool. There is always the classic prank of dropping a Baby Ruth candy bar and watching people run to their cars! However, I always like to take things in a subtle way and avoid overall panic.

h/t: coolthingstobuyfor

How does the United States compete with China without using military force?

It is a very good question. One deserving an answer.

…

The United States can compete in many fields. May I offer some areas that the United States can try to compete in…

Economic. Have a positive economic environment that is not subject to inflation or abuse.
Financial. Provide a stable currency, and rock solid assets that are not prone to seizure or collapse.
Technical / Scientific. Provide a healthy and open environment where scientists and engineers are well trained, free of social engineering, and quota restrictions. Pay them well; more than lawyers or community organizers.
Environmental. Restrict the use of environment destroying technologies, and provide open and cheap alternatives in transportation, food, and housing.
Social. Provide a family and community friendly environment. With polices that value traditional family, and supportive of traditional gender roles.

The United States can also try to compete in…

Manufacturing. Have strong infrastructure, pro-worker laws, and a factory supportive community.
Society. A community and society free of excess taxation and rules.

The United States can try to compete against China in these areas, but, I am sad to say that it is highly unlikely to be successful.

11-Year-Old Says He Is a Combat SOLDIER

It’s reported the leaders of G7 would discuss ways of countering Chinese “economic coercion” as part of wider plans to take a tougher stance towards Beijing. Why will G7 leaders do it?

Let’s talk about the G7 summit and the spotlight on China. Despite not being a participant, China is undoubtedly on the agenda. Here’s why they can’t help but be obsessed with us.

China is a country that they hate, they love, but they cannot leave. They crave China’s capital, market share, supply chains, and unparalleled growth prospects. They benefit from China in countless ways, yet they resent our refusal to join their exclusive club.

The G7 wants China to conform to their “international rules.” But let’s be clear: their rules are not truly international. They are a product of Western values and interests. China upholds the principles of the UN Charter, which should be the true foundation of Intl. relations.

China’s rise challenges their dominance. They fear our economic power and influence. They worry that we will reshape the global order, creating a more multipolar and balanced world. To them, we are a threat, an evil that disrupts their established hegemony.

But let’s not forget: China’s commitment to peace and development has benefited the world. In the past decade, we have contributed more to global economic growth than the entire G7 combined. We offer stability, opportunity, and insurance, not risk.

The G7 needs to realize that the world cannot afford to go back to an era of ideological divisions, exclusive clubs, and small-minded thinking. What the world needs is inclusivity, cooperation, and the pursuit of shared prosperity. China is at the forefront of this vision.

As they discuss China behind closed doors, let’s remember that their own actions are not beyond scrutiny. Their aggressive military interventions, market distortions, and bullying tactics pose real risks to global peace and economic stability.

Instead of fixating on China, the G7 should focus on addressing pressing global challenges: climate change, poverty, inequality, and certain country’s debt ceiling crisis. These issues require collaboration, not division.

It’s time to recognize that the world is changing. China’s rise is an opportunity, not a threat. Let’s embrace a future where all nations, big or small, work together on an equal footing to build a prosperous and harmonious world.

Tori Amos – Cornflake Girl (US Version) (Official Music Video)

G7- A display of hypocrisy, vanity and elitism

For me personally, the G7 summit is up amongst the most insufferable political events of the year.

That’s because it is an exclusive club borne out of the United States, motivated by ideology, hegemony and thus, elitism, which it then uses to try and force its agenda on the rest of the world.

Although it was originally conceived of the “world’s seven largest economies” that is no longer a reality in practice, and it has thus become an “old guard” for how they believe the world ought to be.

In the process, the US is attempting to tailor it into a distinctive “Anti-China” grouping.

In its vanity summit yesterday, the group subsequently adopted the term “derisking” in application to China, claiming that while they did not want to “decouple” or “inhibit” China’s development, they nonetheless do not wise to allow China to have any geopolitical leverage or ability to “set the rules”, which of course they decide for themselves, and subsequently don’t follow either.

On such a premise, they hypocritically denounced China’s so-called “economic coercion” which is a Washington D.C buzzword used exclusively to Beijing’s ability to apply economic punishment to countries in the name of its national interests, with of course only G7 nations “being allowed to do that” and getting instead to call it “sanctions”.

Actions thus speak louder than words, and despite the language being in such “compromise” terms, which avoided being overtly confrontational, the reality is that G7 are collectively denying China the right to be an influential power on the global stage and in effect, to be a “ruler taker” as opposed to a “rule maker”.

There is no connotation that China can be an “equal” partner.

That is, as it has always been, that Beijing may only exist under the terms and conditions set for it by the west, and not for that matter, defining or advocating its national interests on its own terms.

When this is considered, what other policy options is the group effectively advocating, other than for the explicit containment of the rise of China?

One noticeable hallmark of the summit is that G7 attempting to morph itself into a “wider coalition” to steer the global agenda, of which China is locked out of.

The wider G20, once a hallmark of globalisation amidst the global financial crisis, is now treat with contempt by the west as it means compromising with “unfavourable” countries, including China and Russia, leading them to paralyze it as a functional body.

In doing so, the G7 now “cherry-picks” countries it wants to try and woo, inviting them to the summit but of course, not allowing them to set the agenda.

In doing so, Japan, who was the host, invited India, Vietnam, Indonesia, Australia, South Korea and Brazil, amongst others, as part of Kishida’s bid to “woo the global south”.

Of course, it would be disastrous for the Global South to buy into the G7’s agenda, because for them it means perpetual subservience to the agenda of the west of which leverages the right to economic development and prosperity upon the geopolitical terms and conditions they set for them, which in practical reality condemns them to perpetual poverty.

Part of this theme at the meeting likewise involved proposing alternatives for the belt and road initiative (yet again), speaking of which, it might be reminded that in 2021 the summit focused on a mega project to rival the BRI titled: “Build Back Better”.

Two years later, not only did nothing come of such, but it was never even as much heard of again.

This leads to the next point, that the G7 Summit is ultimately “all talk”.

It is a forum for vanity, a forum for posturing and a false calibration of unity, which is now attempting to rebrand itself as a configured unit and formalised multilateral organisation.

It isn’t, and its proposals to counter China by doing “X, Y, Z” usually with developing countries, almost always comes to nothing, and that’s because G7 is currently premised on a denial of “how the world actually is” as opposed to “how they would like it to be.”

That is, the fundamental denial of China’s rise in economic power and the belief they can still dictate the “rules” to a country as large and influential as Beijing, i.e such as the “economic coercion” nonsense.

But of course, this flutters in the reality that G7’s share of the global GDP is falling, whereas that of China and other developing nations, is rising. The group is thus a projection of western idealism.

Its relevance is declining, and perhaps in realising that, they are so eager to hold onto the position of privilege and power they once had.

But there’s no turning back the clock.

When China’s economy ultimately overtakes the United States, and when it breaks past the technological embargo they are attempting to impose on it, all of this is bound to look very silly, if not in vain.

Everyday objects that have become OBSOLETE

A pair of Chinese girls

And the American jackass who commented on this picture by saying…

"Do the Chinese look in the mirror even though their face is hideous?"

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DIO- Caught In The Middle- Don’t Talk To Strangers- Straight Through The Heart (Live 2005)

Costillas de Tejas (Texas Ribs)

(BPT) – Chef Servantes, a self-taught pitmaster and former champion and now judge of Food Network’s hit show — Chopped — is widely known for his one-of-a-kind blends of New American Cuisine with Texas flair. Servantes is world renowned for using Smithfield Fresh Pork because of its quality, freshness and consistently great flavor.

Grilling is a proud tradition in every Hispanic community — from Mexico, Puerto Rico, Peru, Colombia, Argentina, the Dominican Republic, Cuba and even in the U.S., every community uses the grill to create one-of-a-kind flavors. It’s a tradition steeped in history, and the first-ever Smithfield Fresh Pork Grilling Cup, “Copa de la Parrilla,” invites Hispanic chefs to share their unique grilling styles with the world.

Prep: 30 min | Cook: 6 1/2 hr | Yield: 4 to 6 servings

Ingredients

Barbecue Sauce

2 tablespoons canola oil
1 small sweet yellow onion, coarsely chopped
3 cloves garlic, coarsely chopped
1 cup ketchup
1/3 cup cold water
1 chipotle chile, chopped (from can of chipotle chiles in adobo)
2 tablespoons dark brown sugar
1 heaping tablespoon, Dijon mustard
1 tablespoon honey
1 tablespoon molasses
1 tablespoon red wine vinegar (or sherry vinegar)
1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
2 tablespoons ancho chile powder
1 tablespoon sweet Spanish paprika

Costillas de Tejas

1/4 cup packed dark brown sugar
1 1/2 tablespoons ancho chile powder
1 tablespoon smoked or sweet paprika
1 1/2 teaspoons onion powder
1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt
Pinch cayenne or chipotle powder
Freshly ground black pepper

Ribs

2 racks Smithfield Pork Spareribs, membrane removed

Instructions

Barbecue Sauce: Heat oil in saucepan over medium-high until warm and shimmering. Add onion and cook until softened, 3 to 4 minutes. Add garlic and cook 1 minute. Stir in ketchup and water; bring to boil, stirring frequently. Reduce heat to medium-low and simmer for 5 minutes.
Stir in remaining ingredients; bring to a simmer. Cook, stirring occasionally, until thickened, about 10 minutes. Let cool for at least 10 minutes.
Scrape the barbecue sauce into bowl of food processor or blender; purée until smooth or desired consistency. Sauce will be very thick; let cool to room temperature. Taste and season with salt and pepper. Can be used immediately, however flavors will be more complex if kept overnight. Extra sauce can be stored in refrigerator for up to one week.
Costillas de Tejas: Heat oven to 200 degrees F. Place wire rack on aluminum foil covered baking sheet.
Combine brown sugar, ancho chile powder, paprika, onion powder, salt, cayenne and black pepper in small bowl; mix well.
Ribs: Place 2 sheets of heavy duty aluminum foil on counter (each about 4 inches longer than ribs). Place each rib rack on a piece of foil; sprinkle generous amount of spice rub over meaty side and massage into the meat. Turn over ribs and repeat on bone side. Seal ribs in foil and place, meaty side down, on rack on baking sheet.
Bake ribs at 200 degrees F for 4 hours; reduce oven temperature to 175 degrees F and bake an additional 2 hours, until ribs are very tender and just about falling off the bone.
Open foil packets and discard juices. Brush barbecue sauce over ribs; cut and serve.

TV On The Radio – Wolf Like Me (Official Music Video)

Bad feelings toward one of my favorite airlines

‘If you cannot say blanket in English, you cannot have it’: Flight attendants involved in discriminative behaviors sacked

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A recent article written by a netizen that a Cathay Pacific flight attendant discriminated against a non-English-speaking passenger is trending on Weibo on May 23, sparking widespread debate in society. Cathay Pacific issued a statement regarding the incident last night: The airline is aware of the passenger’s unpleasant experience on flight CX987 and apologizes for the incident.

Cathay Pacific stated that it is committed to providing passengers outstanding customer service and takes this incident very seriously. The airline has reached out to the affected passenger for further understanding of the situation and will conduct a thorough investigation. Cathay Pacific would like to apologize again for any inconvenience this incident may have caused.

As previously reported, a netizen posted on the social media platform Xiaohongshu that the flight attendants discriminated against non-English speaking passengers when he flew with Cathay Pacific. The netizen said he was on Cathay Pacific flight CX987 from Chengdu to Hong Kong on May 21, 2023, and was seated in the back row, where the flight attendants were preparing a meal and taking a break. The netizen described the Cathay Pacific flight attendants as using English and Cantonese to complain about passengers during the flight. The flight attendants made fun of others for asking for a carpet instead of a blanket in English. “If you cannot say blanket, you cannot have it…carpet is on the floor,” a flight attendant said, according to a recording that was circulated widely online.

“I think the front-row passengers tried to use English to get blankets from these ‘English-only’ attendants and were made fun of instead,” he described, “the passenger in the row in front of the user also received an impatient response when he tried to ask the flight attendant in English how to fill in his arrival card.”

In addition, a flight attendant even said to her colleagues in Cantonese, “They don’t understand human language”, and “The entire flight lasted for two and a half hours, but the insulting words and the strange attitude towards the passengers were spoken right behind me for two and a half hours.” The netizen could not understand why there was so much malice towards passengers who did not speak English or Cantonese and why they could not show basic respect to passengers without asking for extra warm service. Ultimately, the netizen approached the flight attendant to explain the situation before disembarking from the plane and said he would make a formal complaint.

On the afternoon of 23 May, Cathay Pacific issued a second statement on its Weibo account, apologizing once more for the widespread concern regarding the passenger’s experience on flight CX987 on May 21. The statement said it takes this incident very seriously and has already contacted the passenger to learn more about the situation. Now, the flight attendant has been suspended from duty, and an internal investigation will begin immediately, with the outcome to be announced within three days.

The Chief Executive Officer of Cathay Pacific, Mr. Ronald Lam, said in an updated statement on 23 May that as Chief Executive officer of Cathay Pacific, on behalf of Cathay Pacific, he would like to once again express sincere apologies to the passengers and the community affected by the experience on Cathay Pacific Flight CX987 on 21 May.

“At present, we have completed our investigation into the incident and have dismissed the three attendants in accordance with the company’s rules and regulations,” the statement said.

“I would like to reiterate that Cathay Pacific has a zero tolerance attitude towards serious breaches of our rules, regulations and code of ethics by individual employees,” Mr. Lam added.

In order to prevent this kind of incident from happening again, Mr. Lam will personally lead an inter-departmental task force to conduct a comprehensive review and re-examine our service processes, personnel training and related systems to further enhance the quality of Cathay Pacific’s service.

“The most important of these is to ensure that all Cathay Pacific staff are respectful of visitors from different backgrounds and cultures, and can provide professional and consistent service in all service areas,” he added.

Interrogation Of A Psychopathic Woman

Americans Say Families Need $85,000 To Get By, Up From $58,000 In 2013

By Mary Claire Evans of Gallup

Americans, on average, estimate that a family of four needs a minimum income of $85,000 annually to “get by” in their community, marking a considerable increase from a decade ago. The past decade has witnessed not only an increase in the average income required but also a notable shift in the upper range of income expectations.

During that time, the proportion of Americans who believe that a family needs more than $100,000 to get by has tripled to 30%, while 18% now estimate it to be between $75,000 and $99,999, and 31% think it is $50,000 to $74,999. Half as many Americans now as in 2013 believe a family of four can get by on less than $50,000 annually. This includes 3% who estimate a figure lower than $30,000, and 11% who cite a figure between $30,000 and $49,999.

The latest average of $85,000, from an April 3-25 Gallup poll, is notably higher than the federal poverty line for a family of four, which is currently $30,000.

In 2013, the average estimate was $58,000, and the federal poverty line for a family of four was $23,550. Accounting for inflation and the subsequent change in purchasing power, Americans’ 2013 estimate translates to $75,668 in 2023 dollars. Their 2023 estimate therefore reflects an increase of about $9,000 in perceived family needs beyond what inflation alone would account for.

Higher-Income Respondents Believe Families Need More

Americans’ perceptions of the minimum income a family of four needs are influenced by their own financial circumstances. Specifically, those with an annual household income of $100,000 or more project $100,000, on average, as necessary for a family to get by. Middle-income respondents, those with between $40,000 and $99,999 in annual income, estimate a family needs about $80,000. Meanwhile, those earning less than $40,000 believe an income of about $66,000 suffices.

Eastern, Suburban Residents Give Higher Estimates

Geographical location also influences Americans’ perceptions of the income needed for a family of four to get by. Notably, residents in the Eastern U.S. estimate, on average, that families need an income of about $98,000, which is significantly more than the estimates from other regions. Residents in the Midwest have the lowest estimate, saying families need an average income of $76,000. These regional differences likely reflect variations in cost of living, housing prices and wage levels.

Similarly, Americans’ views on the minimum income for a family of four are influenced by their urbanicity. Those residing in cities (about $87,000) and suburban areas ($91,000) project a higher required income for a family of four than those living in towns or rural areas ($78,000).

These findings are similar to those from 2013, when Eastern and suburban residents’ estimates of what a family of four needs to get by were substantially higher than those given by people in other regions or urbanicities.

Bottom Line

The rise in perceived necessary income to support a family of four highlights the economic pressure facing American households as high inflation stretches into a second year.

There is a diversity of socioeconomic realities across various population segments and geographic locations. Notably, individuals residing in urban and suburban areas, as well as those with higher incomes, tend to estimate a higher necessary income for a family of four. These patterns might reflect their cost-of-living circumstances as well as differences in perceptions of need and evolving lifestyle aspirations.

The increasing estimate of required income may also be linked to the rise in two-income families. Americans’ average estimate for getting by sits at $85,000, an amount more likely to be reached only in families with dual incomes, further emphasizing the changing economic dynamics of American households.

U.S.-China tensions to “thaw very shortly” — Biden

According to Kyodo News, U.S. President Joe Biden said Sunday he believes that heightened tensions between the United States and China will “thaw very shortly.”

He said a previous agreement with Chinese President Xi Jinping on the importance of implementing a military hotline had rapidly soured in the wake of the balloon controversy as tensions escalated.

“I think you’re going to see that begin to thaw very shortly,” Biden said before leaving the Japanese city, where he attended the Group of Seven summit and held talks with many leaders, including Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy.

“We’re not looking to decouple from China. We’re looking to de-risk and diversify our relationship with China,” Biden told a press conference after a three-day summit with G7 leaders. He said G7 nations were more unified than ever in terms of “resisting economic coercion together and countering harmful practices that hurt our workers.”

Daughter Recalls Persecution In the Middle Ages

https://youtu.be/8RSdjzoR1tQ

Unleashing innovation at sea! China to deliver world’s first 5G cruise ship “Adora Magic City” in 2023

China’s first domestically-built large cruise ship – also the world’s first 5G cruise ship – will be called “Adora Magic City.”

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The name was unveiled in Shanghai on Friday, and the ship is expected to be delivered later this year.

“Adora Magic City” aims to offer a unique and immersive cruise experience that seamlessly blends Eastern and Western cultures, with Shanghai serving as its home port in the inaugural season, according to details released at an event held by the municipal culture and tourism bureau and China State Shipbuilding Corporation (CSSC) Cruise Technology Development Co., Ltd. (CCTD).

Jointly designed and built by the CCTD and Shanghai Waigaoqiao Shipbuilding Co. Ltd., the cruise ship, measuring 323.6 meters in length with a gross tonnage of 135,500 tonnes, can accommodate up to 5,246 passengers.

After the successful delivery of the ship, an array of international routes will commence between the home port of Shanghai and neighboring countries.

In addition, medium and long-term routes will be launched to enhance cultural exchanges between China and other countries.

5G cruise ship

Partnered with China Telecom, the construction team will bring 5G connectivity to the “Adora Magic City.”

The cruise ship will be equipped with advanced wireless communication technology, and a Wi-Fi6 and mobile 5G network will be available to provide passengers with the same network experience as on land.

“By seizing a first-mover advantage in the cruise industry’s 5G market, we hope to set a new standard for digital communication in the marine travel sector,” said Chen Ranfeng, managing director of CSSC Carnival Cruise Shipping.

Gong Bo of China Telecom’s Shanghai branch said that “we will focus on network communication, digital high-definition, as well as AR/VR and other content services, in order to further improve the guest experience and jointly promote the high-quality development of the tourism economy.”

Prince – The Most Beautiful Girl In the World

Why will China change the best and superior rules-based international order with stupid jungle order?

This is a “troll question”, but I am giving to give a REAL answer to it.

In regards to the international order, there are two policies “on the table”.

The (laughingly titled) rules-based order.

This is the uni-polar order. Uni comes from Latin it means “one”. This global order has one nation running the entire planet, and everyone follows the rules that it makes.

This is the United States led world order.

The United States makes the rules and you are ordered to follow them.

The multi-polar order.

This is the order that is preferred by the vast majority of the world (minus the American proxy nations). Where every nation is sovereign, and operates independently without reporting to another country. Everyone gets one vote, and a “seat at the table”. There are no “veto clauses” such as the USA has in the United nations.

It is modeled after the United Nations, but without the privileges that the United States, and the West now enjoy.

Conclusion

The world is shaping up into a fracturing. Where the United States is isolated from the rest of the world, except from it’s owned proxy nations. We can see this clearly on a map.

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The vast majority of the world is accepting of a multi-polar world, while the tyrannical United States lies isolated, and growing retarded in strength and abilities with each passing day.

Internet “bar-flies” argue that the Untied States will make one great dramatic “lash out” in a futile attempt to regain control over a terribly mismanaged advantage.

But it will amount to nothing. The United States has been in Geo-political “check mate” for a decade, if not longer.

It will be spectacular, no doubt.

But the only ones harmed with be the United States itself, as it slowly sinks into the dark deep waters of the abyss that it created for itself.

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3 Mysterious REINCARNATION STORIES

Rep. Nadler “Wouldn’t Care” If Ukraine Used F-16s To Strike Russian Territory

Authored by Dave DeCamp via AntiWar.com,

Rep. Jerry Nadler (D-NY) said Wednesday that he “wouldn’t care” if Ukraine used American-made F-16s to strike Russian territory despite the risk of such an attack escalating into a direct clash between the US and Russia.

When asked by Epoch Times reporter Liam Cosgrove if he was concerned about the potential of Ukraine using F-16s to hit targets inside Russia, Nadler said, “No, I’m not concerned. I wouldn’t care if they did.”

NY Congressman @RepJerryNadler told me he “wouldn’t care” if Ukraine used western F16s to strike Russian territory.

He then dismissed the likelihood of that happening, despite Ukrainian forces deploying U.S. weaponry in Russia’s border city of Belgorod earlier this week: pic.twitter.com/oRLmqv0mBm

— Liam Cosgrove (@cosgrove_iv) May 25, 2023

Nadler said it was unlikely Ukraine would use F-16s to attack Russian territory, but Cosgrove pointed out that US-made armored vehicles were used in a cross-border raid in Russia’s Belgorod region that was launched on Monday.

“That may be, but they’re not gonna use major weapons. Things like F-16s, they need for air defense over Ukraine so that they can provide air cover for their counterattack and things like that. They’re not gonna waste it in Russia,” Nadler said.

So far, there’s no clear timeline for when the F-16s will be delivered to Ukraine. President Biden signed off on European countries delivering the Lockheed Martin-made aircraft, but Ukrainian pilots still need to be trained, and estimates for how long that will take vary from a few months to up to two years.

Russia has said providing Ukraine with F-16s brings “colossal risks,” a warning brushed off by President Biden. In the early days of the war, NATO chose not to provide Kyiv with fighter jets over concerns Moscow would perceive the move as the alliance directly entering the war.

What do you think Taiwan is learning from the war in Ukraine?

It doesn’t pay to be anybody’s cannon fodder.

Pháo – 2 Phút Hơn (KAIZ Remix) [Official Music Video]

I read so many negative reports from the West on China-Central Asia relations, debt trap, and edging in the Russian backyard. Are those creditable when defining their relations?

Thanks, Andy for the question. I think I am qualified to respond to your question because I was one of the journalists who was covering the China-Central Asia Summit live in Xi ‘an.

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As a reporter of international current affairs, I think it is very necessary to be critical of the news, especially Western news coverage of China. If you know anything about China or do any real research, you will find that much of what is reported about China in the West is discredited and have no factual basis. So it is with the recent China-Central Asia summit.

I’ve been also reading a lot of biased reports on this event in the West lately, and I’ll try to break them down one by one.

Lie 1: China’s Belt and Road Initiative (BRI) is a debt trap.

The “evergreen” “debt trap” accusation has been with BRI ever since its initiation. Let’s burst this bubble with some hard facts.

According to the IMF, as of 2021, the total external debt of Central Asian countries was 35% of their GDP. And China’s share of this debt is less than 10%.

In reality, BRI investments have paved the way for infrastructure development, boosting trade and economic growth.

But who needs facts when one can spin a good yarn about debt traps?

It is now clear that the phrase “Chinese debt trap” is a misnomer that has been coined to scare developing countries from approaching China for soft developmental loans, which the US and the West are unwilling to provide for the uplifting of the infrastructure in these countries.

Lie 2: China is in Central Asia for geopolitical games and threatens Central Asian sovereignty.

A headline in Newsweek reads: China ”Edging U.S. Out of Russian Bastion”, which is a very arrogant or maybe a little offensive view through the predatory Anglo-Saxon lens.

In their eyes, it seems that the only reason countries develop relations with Central Asia is for geopolitical gains, with the underlining notion that Central Asian countries are not worth developing mutually beneficial and friendly relations with other countries, other than to fall into someone’s “bastion.”

In reality, the first and foremost goal of China – Central Asia relations is always for the development of the region so as to serve the needs of both peoples, who have by the way, lived side by side with each other for thousands of years.

According to statistics, in 2022, trade between China and the five countries surpassed $70 billion, and China’s direct investment in the region reached $15 billion.

The Chinese-built tunnel of the Angren-Pap railway line, the longest tunnel in Central Asia, saved local residents the trouble of climbing through the mountains or taking a detour via neighbouring countries.

The China-Kyrgyzstan-Uzbekistan (CKU) highway has become an important international transportation route that runs smoothly through the region’s mountainous terrain, just to name a few outcomes of the close ties between China and Central Asia.

Lie 3: China’s actions undermine regional stability.

The French paper Le Monde had an interesting article on China and Central Asia back in 2022, with the title “China’s support to Central Asia countries represents a threat to the entire region in the medium term”.

Another more recent report from the Caspian Policy Center, a Washington-based think tank, said that “…much of China’s investments into Central Asia have raised the risk of being overconnected to China.”

These ridiculous stances conveniently ignored the fact that a commitment to regional stability, with joint efforts to combat terrorism, extremism, and cross-border crimes from China and all the Central Asian countries is the backbone of the cordial relations. China has actively supported and taken a leading role in initiatives like the Shanghai Cooperation Organization and the Conference on Interaction and Confidence-Building Measures in Asia, which focus specifically on sewing differences and increasing stability.

Besides, China has the longstanding view that “development is the key to overcoming all difficulties”, which includes security and stability.

The Chinese experience, both domestically and internationally, is that with more tangible development, there will be fewer chances for the most vulnerable to resort to extremism and terrorism. But of course, some Western critics prefer to overlook these efforts while peddling their tales of impending chaos.

Conclusion:

Although the full effects of the first China-Central Asia Summit are still unfolding, one outcome is sure to stay: there will be less room left for the exaggerated and distorted Western narrative aiming at sophisticating the relations of countries in the region.

China’s engagement in Central Asia is founded on mutual respect, cooperation, and shared development.

It’s time to put aside the fictional narratives and embrace the reality of a thriving partnership that benefits both China and Central Asian countries.

Perhaps, just maybe, it’s time for Western critics to reassess their storytelling skills and focus on understanding the real dynamics of China-Central Asia relations.

Johnny Winter – Rock and Roll, Hoochie Koo (Live)

Why Are US Military Personnel Heading To Peru?

Authored by Nick Corbishley via NakedCapitalism.com,

The ostensible goal of the operation is to provide “support and assistance to the Special Operations of the Joint Command of the Armed Forces and National Police of Peru,” including in regions recently engulfed in violence.

Unbeknown, it seems, to most people in Peru and the US (considering the paucity of media coverage in both countries), US military personnel will soon be landing in Peru. The plenary session of Peru’s Congress last Thursday (May 18) authorised the entry of US troops onto Peruvian soil with the ostensible purpose of carrying out “cooperation activities” with Peru’s armed forces and national police. Passed with 70 votes in favour, 33 against and four abstentions, resolution 4766 stipulates that the troops are welcome to stay any time between June 1 and December 31, 2023.

The number of US soldiers involved has not been officially disclosed, at least as far as I can tell, though a recent statement by Mexico’s President Andrés Manuel Lopéz Obrador, who is currently person non grata in Peru, suggests it could be around 700. The cooperation and training activities will take place across a wide swathe of territory including Lima, Callao, Loreto, San Martín, Huánuco, Ucayali, Pasco, Junín, Huancavelica, Iquitos, Pucusana, Apurímac, Cusco and Ayacucho.

The last three regions, in the south of Peru, together with Arequipa and Puno, were the epicentre of huge political protests, strikes and road blocks from December to February after Peru’s elected President Pedro Castillo was toppled, imprisoned and replaced by his vice-president Dina Boluarte. The protesters’ demands included:

The release of Castillo
New elections
A national referendum on forming a Constitutional Assembly to replace Peru’s current constitution, which was imposed by former dictator Alberto Fujimori following his self-imposed coup of 1992

Brutal Crackdown on Protests

Needless to say, none of these demands have been met. Instead, Peru’s security forces, including 140,000 mobilised soldiers, unleashed a brutal crackdown that culminated in the deaths of approximately 70 people. A report released by international human rights organization Amnesty International in February drew the following assessment:

“Since the beginning of the massive protests in different areas of the country in December 2022, the Army and National Police of Peru (PNP) have unlawfully fired lethal weapons and used other less lethal weapons indiscriminately against the population, especially against Indigenous people and campesinos (rural farmworkers) during the repression of protests, constituting widespread attacks.”

As soon as possibly next week, an indeterminate number of US military personnel could be joining the fracas. According to the news website La Lupa, the purported goal of their visit is to provide “support and assistance to the Special Operations of the Joint Command of the Armed Forces and National Police of Peru” during two periods spanning a total of seven months: from June 1 to September 30, and from October 1 to December 30, 2023.

The secretary of the Commission for National Defence, Internal Order, Alternative Development and the Fight Against Drugs, Alfredo Azurín, was at pains to stress that there are no plans for the US to set up a military base in Peru and that the entry of US forces “will not affect national sovereignty.” Some opposition congressmen and women begged to differ, arguing that the entry of foreign forces does indeed pose a threat to national sovereignty. They also lambasted the government for passing the resolution without prior debate or consultation with the indigenous communities.

The de facto Boluarte government and Congress are treating the arrival of US troops as a perfectly routine event. And it is true that the US military has long held a presence in Peru. For example, in 2017, U.S. personnel took part in military exercises held jointly with Colombia, Peru and Brazil in the “triple borderland” of the Amazon region. Also, the US Navy operates a biosafety-level 3 biomedical research laboratory close to Lima as well as two other (biosafety-level 2) laboratories in Puerto Maldonado.

But the timing of the operation raising serious questions. After all, Peru is currently under the control of an unelected government that is heavily supported by Washington but overwhelmingly rejected by the Peruvian people. The crackdown on protests in the south of the Peru by the country’s security forces — the same security forces that US military personnel will soon be joining — has led to dozens of deaths. Peru’s Congress is refusing to call new elections in total defiance of public opinion. Just a few days ago, the country’s Supreme Court issued a ruling that some legal scholars have interpreted as essentially criminalising political protest.

As Peru’s civilian institutions fight among themselves, Peru’s armed forces — the last remaining “backbone” in the country, according to Mexican geopolitical analyst Alfredo Jalife — has taken firm control. And lest we forget, Peru is home to some of the very same minerals that the US military has identified as strategically important to US national security interests, including lithium. Also, as I noted in my June 22, 2021 piece, Is Another Military Coup Brewing in Peru, After Historic Electoral Victory for Leftist Candidate?, while Peru’s largest trading partner is China, its political institutions — like those of Colombia and Chile — remain tethered to US policy interests:

Together with Chile, it’s the only country in South America that was invited to join the Trans-Pacific Partnership, which was later renamed the Comprehensive and Progressive Agreement for Trans-Pacific Partnership after Donald Trump withdrew US participation.

Given as much, the rumours of another coup in Peru should hardly come as a surprise. Nor should the Biden administration’s recent appointment of a CIA veteran as US ambassador to Peru, as recently reported by Vijay Prashad and José Carlos Llerena Robles:

Her name is Lisa Kenna, a former adviser to former US Secretary of State Mike Pompeo, a nine-year veteran at the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), and a US secretary of state official in Iraq. Just before the election, Ambassador Kenna released a video, in which she spoke of the close ties between the United States and Peru and of the need for a peaceful transition from one president to another.

It seems more than likely that Kenna played a direct role in the not-so-peaceful transition from President Castillo to de facto President Boluarte, having met with Peru’s then-Defence Minister Gustavo Bobbio Rosas on December 6, the day before Pedro Castillo was ousted, to tackle “issues of bilateral interest”.

On a Knife’s Edge

After decades of stumbling from crisis to crisis and government to government, Peru rests on a knife’s edge. When Castillo, a virtual nobody from an Andean backwater who had played an important role in the teachers’ strikes of 2017, rode to power on a crest of popular anger at Peru’s hyper-corrupt establishment parties in June 2021, Peru’s legions of poor and marginalised hoped that positive changes would follow. But it was not to be.

Castillo was always an outsider in Lima and was out of his depth from day one. He had zero control over Congress and failed miserably to overcome rabid right-wing opposition to his government. Even in his first year in office he faced two impeachment attempts. As Manolo De Los Santos wrote in People’s Dispatch, Peru’s largely Lima-based political and business elite could never accept that a former schoolteacher and farmer from the high Andean plains could become president.

On December 7, they finally got what they wanted: Castillo’s impeachment. Just hours before a third impeachment hearing, he declared on national television that he was dissolving Congress and launching an “exceptional emergency government” and the convening of a Constituent Assembly. It was a preemptive act of total desperation from a man who held no sway with the military or judiciary, had zero control over Congress, and had even lost the support of his own party. Hours later, he was impeached, arrested by his own security detail and taken to jail, where he remains to this day.

Castillo may be out of the picture but political instability continues to reign in Peru. The de facto Boluarte government and Congress are broadly despised by the Peruvian people. According to the latest poll by the Institute of Peruvian Studies (IEP), 78% of Peruvians disapprove of Boluarte’s presidency while only 15% approve. Congress is even less popular, with a public disapproval rate of 91%. Forty-one percent believe that the protests will increase while 26% believe they will remain the same. In the meantime, Peru’s Congress continues to block general elections.

Peru’s “Strategic” Resources

As regular readers know, EU and US interest in Latin America is rising rapidly as the race for lithium, copper, cobalt and other elements essential for the so-called “clean” energy transition heats up. It is a race that China has been winning pretty handily up until now.

Peru is not only one of China’s biggest trade partners in Latin America; it is home to the only port in Latin America that is managed entirely by Chinese capital. And while Peru may not form part of the Lithium Triangle (Bolivia, Argentina and Chile), it does boast significant deposits of the white metal. By one estimate, it is home to the sixth largest deposits of hard-rock lithium in the world. It is also the world’s second largest producer of copper, zinc and silver, three metals that are also expected to play a major role in supporting renewable energy technologies.

In other words, there is a huge amount at stake in how Peru evolves politically as well as the economic and geopolitical alliances it forms. Also, its direct neighbour to the north, Ecuador, is undergoing a major political crisis that is likely to spell the end of the US-aligned Guillermo Lasso government and a handover of power to Rafael Correa’s party and its allies.

And the US government and military have made no secret of their interest in the mineral deposits that countries like Peru hold in their subsoil. In an address to the Washington-based Atlantic Council on Jan 19, Gen. Laura Richardson, head of the U.S. Southern Command, spoke gushingly of Latin America’s rich deposits of “rare earth elements,” “the lithium triangle — Argentina, Bolivia, Chile,” the “largest oil reserves [and] light, sweet crude discovered off Guyana,” Venezuela’s “oil, copper, gold” and the fact that Latin America is home to “31% of the world’s fresh water in this region.”

She also detailed how Washington, together with US Southern Command, is actively negotiating the sale of lithium in the lithium triangle to US companies through its web of embassies, with the goal of “box[ing] out” US adversaries (i.e. China and Russia), concluding with the ominous words: “This region matters. It has a lot to do with national security. And we need to step up our game.”

Which begs the question: is this the first step of the US government and military’s stepping-up-the-game process?

The former president of Bolivia Evo Morales, who knows a thing or two about US interventions in the region, having been on the sharp end of a US-backed right-wing coup in 2019, certainly seems to think so. A few days ago, he tweeted the following message:

The Peruvian Congress’ authorisation for the entry and stationing of US troops for 7 months confirms that Peru is governed from Washington, under the tutelage of the Southern Command.

The Peruvian people are subject to powerful foreign interests mediated by illegitimate powers lacking popular representation.

The greatest challenge for working people and indigenous peoples is to recover their self-determination, their sovereignty and their natural resources.

With this authorization from the Peruvian right, we warn that the criminalization of protest and the occupation of US military forces will consolidate a repressive state that will affect sovereignty and regional peace in Latin America.

Mexico’s President Andrés Manuel Lopéz Obrador, who refuses to acknowledge Boluarte (whom he calls the “great usurper”) as Peru’s president and has recently faced threats of direct US military intervention in Mexico’s drug wars from US Republican lawmakers, had a message for the US government this week: “[Sending soldiers to Peru] merely maintains an interventionist policy that does not help at all in building fraternal bonds among the peoples of the American continent.”

Unfortunately, the US government does not seem interested, if indeed it ever has been, in building fraternal bonds with the peoples of the American continent. Instead, it is set on upgrading the Monroe Doctrine for the 21st century. Its strategic rivals this time around are not Western European nations, which are now little more than US vassals (as a recent paper by the European Council of Foreign Relations, titled “The Art of Vassalisation”, all but admitted), but rather China and Russia.

Cream of Green Chile Soup

This soup was famous at the Anasazi in Midland, Texas, which has now closed.

Ingredients

1 1/2 cups chicken broth
1/3 cup minced onion
1 large garlic clove
1/2 ounce fresh mild green chiles, such as Anaheim, roasted and chopped
8 ounces cream cheese, softened
1 cup sour cream
1/4 teaspoon ground cumin
1 cup Half-and-Half
Freshly-ground white pepper, to taste

Instructions

In a saucepan bring the broth to a boil with the onion. Boil the mixture for 5 minutes, and let it cool.
In a food processor chop fine the garlic and the chiles; add the cream cheese, sour cream and cumin. Blend the mixture until it is combined well.
With the motor running add the broth mixture in a steady stream. Blend the mixture until it is combined well, and transfer it to a large bowl.
Stir in the Half-and-Half, white pepper and salt to taste, and chill the soup, covered, for at least 2 hours or overnight.

Makes about 8 cups, serving 8 to 10.

Eric Clapton We’ve ended as lovers Live Albert Hall May 22 2023 Jeff Beck Tribute

https://youtu.be/35BbNtQGluM

Bravo China!

China has slapped a ban on US chipmaker Micron, prohibiting it from selling to Chinese companies involved in key infrastructure projects. Beijing has mirrored Washington’s sanctions on the People’s Republic’s hi-tech technology, Asia-Pacific consultant Thomas W. Pauken, adding that there’s more to the development than meets the eye.

The Cyberspace Administration of China (CAC) announced on May 21, that a cybersecurity review indicated Micron Technology’s products “have relatively serious cybersecurity risks, which pose significant security risks to the country’s critical information infrastructure supply chain and would affect national security.”

Thus, the CAC banned the US chipmaker from participating in the People’s Republic’s domestic critical infrastructural projects. In response, the US Commerce Department expressed its opposition to the restrictions, insisting that they “have no basis in fact.” Micron’s shares plummeted roughly 6% on Monday, given that the American company used to derive over 10% of its revenue from the People’s Republic.

Since October 2022, Washington has imposed sweeping export curbs on advanced chips and chip-making equipment to China, trying to cut off the nation’s access to critical technology. Prior to that, under the Trump administration, the US and its Western allies kicked off nothing short of a crusade against the People’s Republic’s telecom giants, including its flagship Huawei, citing “security” concerns.

Kunstler: Fade To Black In Ukraine

Authored by Jim Kunstler via Kunstler.com,

“Following the ouster of Mr. Trump in 2020, this new-new-left had exactly what it had been clamoring for, a liberal Democrat in the White House. Given the sense of impending catastrophe at present, it may be difficult to remember precisely how much sniveling bullshit went into selling Joe Biden.” 

- Rob Urie

Have you noticed that the president of Ukraine (or, governor of America’s fifty-first state), Mr. Zelensky, has been globe-trotting for weeks: London, Helsinki, Paris, Hiroshima? That’s because this is one of those months when years happen; the world is changing at hyper-speed. He seems to be running scared, a little bit, trying to keep ahead of the changing game. What sounded like a great idea to a certain claque of so-called neo-cons in our country — to use Ukraine as a bear trap — has instead rather suddenly revealed Europe’s and America’s manifold bankruptcies and revolted the whole rest of the world outside of Western Civ. Oh, the wonder and nausea!

Try to imagine Mr. Zelensky’s predicament.

Mighty America and redoubtable Europe conned the former comedian to thinking that if he went along with a genius scheme to ruin Russia and knock Vlad Putin off the global gameboard, his sad-sack country would be transformed into something like Ukro-Disneyworld, while he, Mr. Z, would be lionized and made rich beyond his wildest imaginings. His backup was the greatest hegemonic power the world has ever seen. The game was called Let’s You and Him Fight

The poor schlemiel fell for it. He let NATO (that is, the USA) set-up, equip, and train the largest army in Europe, including battalions of bad-ass, hard-core Ukro-Nazis — who had previously been so useful in the American-sponsored 2014 Maidan “color revolution.” Mr. Z followed the US State Department’s orders to rain down rockets and artillery on Russian-speakers who lived in his own eastern provinces. He formally applied for membership in the NATO club. His country received billions of US dollars without audit oversight, just screaming to be creamed off by Ukraine’s leadership — who, after all, deserved a little something for all these goings-along. What could go wrong?

Thus, Western Civ kicked off Europe’s biggest hot war since the 1940s. So, in February, 2022, Mr. Putin had enough of the monkey business on his “front porch” and sent in a clean-up crew. Game on!

The US neo-cons were ready to feed countless Ukrainian troops into a meat grinder that would, theoretically, exhaust the will and resources of the execrable bear and yield countless benefits reinforcing our dominant position in the world.

Our hapless NATO “partners” went along with the program, despite being asked to commit economic suicide for the greater good of the alliance (or something like that). Anyway, they didn’t need that filthy Russian nat-gas. They were going “green” (Klaus Schwab said so, didn’t he?)

Meanwhile, the citizens of our country were groomed to perfection by the US Propaganda-Industrial Complex screaming “Russia, Russia, Russia,” at the behest of opinion-leader Hillary Clinton, a wannabe president. The news media demanded crucifixion for her opponent, Mr. Trump, who had idly tossed out the heinous idea that The USA and Russia could cultivate a friendly relationship, seeing as how the bear was no longer flying the red flag. Aye-yi-yi!!! He actually said that!?! The clueless orange boob!

Well, the folks running things in America — that is, the scores of unelected bureaucratic satraps guarding their nests throughhout the Okefenokee inside-the-Beltway, especially the gator-pit known politely as the Intel Community — decided to subject Mr. Trump to a one-man version of the exquisite torment intended for Russia, Russia, Russia: pain, ignominy, and ruin. They’re still at it six years later, since the relentless Mr. Trump will not give up his crusade to take back the White House and defenestrate all those attempting to defenestrate him. His enemies have captured all the levers of legal power, and yet, amazingly, they can come up with nothing but the most rinky-dink charges to railroad him in captured jurisdictions.

This internal political conflict in the USA has driven the populace plumb insane, while it has rendered our institutions rancid and left us subject to a pathocracy hiding behind a laughably fake chief executive. After a year-plus of America’s genius scheme to maintain world dominance, Russia is doing really well, thank you, in constructing a geo-economic framework for trade that will not be subject to the pranks of USA-led Western Civ. Russia is a nation of people who regard themselves as men and women, the toils of gender confusion happily absent. Ditto race hustles. Ditto banking Ponzis.

After two-plus years of “Joe Biden” — well, our country is bypassing the banana republic stage of dissolution and depravity and steaming quickly into a Hieronymus Bosch dystopia of financial, social, psychological and moral ruin. Every official utterance is a lie. Everything’s broken or breaking. And seemingly, on-purpose. The nagging question, of course, is on whose purposes?

And why is Mr. Zelensky flitting from one country to another the past month? Because the game of Let’s You and Him Fight is drawing to a close and Mr. Z may find himself fatally unpopular back on the home-front. He has managed to send upward of a hundred-thousand young Ukrainian men to their deaths in the meat-grinder, and perhaps a million more have hightailed it for other countries.

Ukraine will now be a land of mostly women, children, and old folks – with just enough surviving soldiers left looking to hunt down the comedian who turned Ukraine into another one history’s sick jokes.

OFFENSIVE but FUNNY MEME

Ukraine Army Falling Apart; Shooting the Officers Who order them into no-win battle

World Hal Turner 26 May 2023

The Ukrainian Army is literally coming apart at the seams. Soldiers are shooting their commanders rather than be ordered into un-survivable battles. Video below shows one dead Battalion Commander after being shot in the head by a Company Commander!

Tired of being ordered to basically commit suicide by their top officers, Ukrainian soldiers are now “fragging” their officers rather than go into suicidal battle against superior Russian forces.

Here’s one such instance where a Battalion Commander lays dead on the ground after a Company Commander shot him in the head rather than obey an order to go into a hopeless battle, where five other Companies ALL got killed minutes earlier.

As this rebellion among Ukraine troops spreads, it won’t be long before the Ukrainian Army is no more.

Atlanta Rhythm Section – Imaginary Lover

Did You Know There’s an Annual Duck Fashion Show In Australia?

Forget about New York Fashion Week or the Paris runway. In Sydney, Australia, well-dressed ducks steal the scene at the annual “Pied Piper Duck Show”, an event that’s part of Sydney’s Royal Easter Show for more than 30 years.

It’s organized by farmer Brian Harrington, and each fowl member receives three outfits. One for day, one for evening, and one for a wedding. Because, after all, how else is he going to show off his haberdashery skills? Not by dressing them for the beach, that’s for sure.

h/t: sadanduseless

Wagging the Moondoggie: Part IV

by Dave McGowan | Oct 1, 2009

“Once on the Moon, on the lunar surface in the dress, in the life support system, you couldn’t see the camera. They couldn’t bend their head that far down to see the scale … They had no viewfinder – they had to aim by moving their body.” – Jan Lundberg, chief designer of the Hasselblad cameras allegedly used by the Apollo astronauts

“They had to effectively guess where they were pointing the camera.” – HJP Arnold, the Kodak executive who supplied the Ektachrome film for the missions

The issue that most of the Moon hoax and ‘debunking’ sites spend the most time on, by far, is the photographic anomalies. And that, I suppose, is to be expected, since with the original videotapes, telemetry tapes and blueprints all having conveniently disappeared, and with most of the Moon rocks missing and their legitimacy being unverifiable, there isn’t much else in the way of physical evidence to examine.

Skeptics have identified a number of problems with NASA’s official photographs of the alleged Moon landings, including; flags appearing to wave despite the lack of atmosphere; non-parallel shadows, suggesting multiple light sources; objects in the shadows that are clearly visible when they shouldn’t be, again indicating multiple light sources; the complete lack of stars in the lunar sky; identical backgrounds in photos that NASA has claimed were shot at different locations; and inconsistencies with the crosshair reference marks.

We will look at each of these in some detail – well, actually we will look at most of them in some detail. Because as it turns out – and I know that this will come as a huge disappointment to all the ‘debunkers’ – I don’t really give a shit whether the flag is waving or not. Many of the ‘debunking’ websites devote an inordinate amount of time to the issue, as though it were the primary plank on which the ‘conspiracy theories’ rested. They do this because the videos and photos are ambiguous and open to interpretation, and the ‘debunkers’ realize that people are going to see in them what they want to see.

The truth though is that it does not matter in the least whether the flag is waving. That is just one tiny drop of potential evidence in an overflowing bucket.

Some of the other problems with the images are considerably less ambiguous. But before we even get to those, we must first discuss the fact that the very existence of the photographs is a technical impossibility. Simply stated, it would not have been possible to capture any of the images allegedly shot on the Moon in the manner that NASA says they were captured.

Back in the day, you see (and younger readers may again want to cover their eyes), cameras weren’t all that smart, so everything had to be done manually. The photographer had to manually focus each shot by peering through the viewfinder and rotating the lens until the scene came into focus. The proper aperture and shutter speeds had to be manually selected for each shot as well, to insure a proper exposure. That required peering through the viewfinder as well, to meter the shot. Finally, each shot had to be properly composed and framed, which obviously also required looking through the viewfinder.

The problem for the astronauts is that the cameras were mounted to their chests, which made it impossible to see through the viewfinder to meter, frame and focus the shots. Everything, therefore, was pretty much of a guess. Focusing would have been entirely guesswork, as would the framing of each shot. An experienced photographer can accurately estimate the exposure settings, but the astronauts lacked such experience and they were also handicapped by the fact that they were viewing the scenes through heavily tinted visors, which meant that what they were seeing was not what the camera was seeing.

To add to their troubles, they were wearing space helmets that seriously restricted their field of vision, along with enormously bulky, pressurized gloves that severely limited their manual dexterity. The odds then of getting even one of the three elements (exposure, focus and framing) correct under those conditions on any given shot would have been exceedingly low. And yet, amazingly enough, on the overwhelming majority of the photos, they got all three right!

A rather self-important gent by the name of Jay Windley, one of the most prominent of the NASA-approved ‘debunkers,’ attempts to spin all this away on his website, www.clavius.org. According to Windley, “The exposures were worked out ahead of time based on experimentation. The ASA/ISO rating of the film was known, and NASA photographers precomputed the necessary exposures … In many cases the camera settings for planned photos were given in the astronauts’ cuff checklists.”

No shit, Jay? Did they send an advance team to the Moon to do that “experimentation”? Because the lighting conditions on the Moon are pretty unique, as you well know, and nobody had ever been there before, so I’m not really seeing how NASA’s photographers were able to work the exposures out “ahead of time.” And what “planned photos” are you referring to? How did they know what they were going to photograph before they even knew what was there? They knew they were going to take photos of each other, I suppose, and of the flag and lander, but they would have had no clue how those things were going to be lit, and it’s the lighting, not the subject, that primarily determines the exposure settings.

Windley of course knows that, since he claims on his site that he is “an experienced photographer [who] has worked professionally in that area from time to time.” He must also know then that his comments about the unimportance of properly focusing a shot are intentionally misleading. He starts off on the right track, more or less, advising readers that an increased depth of field “means that when the lens is set to focus at a certain distance, objects somewhat nearer and farther from this ideal distance are also sharply focused. The narrower the aperture, the greater the depth of field.”

It is certainly true that the smaller the aperture, the greater the depth of field will be. And the greater the depth of field, the more of the background and foreground will be in focus, assuming that the subject is in proper focus. Windley, like the rest of the ‘debunkers,’ would like us to believe that all of the photos shot on the lunar surface were shot with a very small aperture setting (which supposedly explains the lack of stars in the lunar sky, but we’ll get to that soon enough), which would maximize the depth of field. And the greater the depth of field, according to Windley, “the sloppier the photographer can be about his focus settings.”

That last statement, for those who may have missed it, is the part that isn’t actually true. An increased depth of field most certainly does not mean that you can use the ‘close enough’ technique to focus your camera. Depth of field has nothing to do with whether your subject is sharply focused or not. If your subject is sharply focused, then depth of field determines how many of the other objects in the background and foreground of your photo will be in focus as well. If your subject is not sharply focused, however, then your photo is going to suck regardless of the amount of depth of field.

As for framing the shots, Windley claims that mostly wide-angle lenses were used, which meant that, “It was sufficient to point the camera in the general direction of the subject and you would be likely to frame it well enough.” So apparently all the fuss about framing, exposure and focus is much ado about nothing. All you need do is write the exposure settings down on your sleeve, ballpark the focus, and point your camera in “the general direction of the subject” and you’ll get great shots nearly every time!

Windley then adds (and this is my favorite part of his photography tutorial) that on the later missions, “a 500mm telephoto lens was also taken, and the cameras were modified with sighting rings to help aim them. Normally the camera would be mounted on the space suit chest bracket, but for telephoto use the astronaut would have to remove it and hold it at eye level in order to sight down the rings.”

As any photographer knows, getting a decent shot with a 500mm lens without the use of a tripod is a pretty tall order, even for a seasoned professional. Getting a decent hand-held shot with a 500mm lens while wearing bulky, pressurized gloves would be just about impossible. And the notion that you could come anywhere close to properly framing or focusing an image captured with a 500mm lens without looking through the viewfinder is laughably absurd.

The ‘debunkers’ will also tell you that it is not true that all the Moon landing images were keepers, and that NASA only released the best of the photos. The ‘debunkers,’ however, don’t know what they are talking about. The reality is that NASA has released all of the alleged photos taken during the Apollo missions, including indecipherable ones that are labeled “inadvertent shutter release” (which, I have to admit, is a nice touch). With the exception of what are most likely deliberate mistakes, the clear majority of the shots are pretty well composed, exposed and focused.

For those who don’t find that at all unusual, here is an experiment that you can try at home: grab the nearest 35MM SLR camera and strap it around your neck. It is probably an automatic camera so you will have to set it for manual focus and manual exposure. Now you will need to put on the thickest pair of winter gloves that you can find, as well as a motorcycle helmet with a visor. Once you have done all that, here is your assignment: walk around your neighborhood with the camera pressed firmly to your chest and snap a bunch of photos. You will need to fiddle with the focus and exposure settings, of course, which is going to be a real bitch since you won’t be able to see or feel what you are doing. Also, needless to say, you’ll just have to guess on the framing of all the shots.

You should probably use a digital camera, by the way, so that you don’t waste a lot of film, because you’re not going to have a lot of keepers. Of course, part of the fun of this challenge is changing the film with the gloves and helmet on, and you’ll miss out on that by going digital. Anyway, after you fill up your memory card, head back home and download all your newly captured images. While looking through your collection of unimpressive photos, marvel at the incredible awesomeness of our Apollo astronauts, who not only risked life and limb to expand man’s frontiers, but who were also amazingly talented photographers. I’m more than a little surprised that none of them went on to lucrative careers as professional shutterbugs.

Even if our fine astronauts could have captured all of those images, the film would have never survived the journey in such pristine condition. Even very brief exposure to the relatively low levels of radiation used in airport security terminals can damage photographic film, so how would the film have fared after prolonged, continuous exposure to far higher levels of radiation? And what of the 540° F temperature fluctuations? That must have been some amazingly resilient film stock – and yet another example of the lost technology of the 1960s.

Even though the images are clearly not what NASA claims they are, we are going to play along and pretend as though Neil and Buzz and all of the rest of the guys could have actually taken them. The question then is: where did they take them?

Hoax theorists, ‘debunkers’ and NASA are all in agreement on at least one thing: conditions on the surface of the Moon are decidedly different than conditions here on the surface of planet Earth. For one thing, the Moon has no atmosphere. Also, there is only one source of light, which is, of course, the sun (NASA has verified that no other light source was available to the astronauts).

Due to the lack of atmosphere on the Moon, light is not scattered and travels only in a straight line from the sun and is reflected back in the same direction. What that means is that anything that falls in the shadows will be in virtually complete darkness. It also means that all shadows will be cast in the same direction. And it means that the sky is always black, and, with no atmosphere filtering the view, that sky will be filled at all times with a dazzling display of stars unlike anything ever before seen by man.

As other skeptics have noted, none of the photos supposedly brought home from the Moon show a single star in the sky. ‘Debunkers’ have claimed that this is because the exposure settings on the cameras didn’t allow for the stars to be captured on film. In order to properly expose for the objects being photographed, ‘debunkers’ claim, shutter speeds had to be too fast and apertures too small to capture the stars. And that applies, according to the ‘debunkers,’ to every single photo taken on the Moon. Even all the ones that, according to those same ‘debunkers,’ were improperly exposed!

NASA’s own website has boldly stated that, “Astronauts striding across the bright lunar soil in their sunlit spacesuits were literally dazzling. Setting a camera with the proper exposure for a glaring spacesuit would naturally render background stars too faint to see.”

The problem with this claim, which should be obvious to any photographer, is that a variety of different exposure settings would have been required to shoot all the photos allegedly taken on the Moon (Windley acknowledged as much when he claimed that NASA “precomputed the necessary exposures”). All of the scenes below, for example, which are obviously not very well lit, would have required long exposures – exposures that would have definitely captured the brilliantly shining stars, since they would have been the brightest objects in the camera’s field of view.

One thing that I love about the ‘debunking’ websites, by the way, is how frequently they contradict themselves while working their way through their ‘debunking’ checklists.

The ever-pompous Phil Plait, proprietor of the appropriately named BadAstronomy.com website, is a prime example. Fairly early on in his ‘debunking’ rant, he writes as follows: “I’ll say this here now, and return to it many times: the Moon is not the Earth. Conditions there are weird, and our common sense is likely to fail us.”

Plait does indeed return to it often, whenever it advances his argument to do so, but he just as frequently tosses his own cardinal rule aside when that is what serves his purposes – like, for example, just four paragraphs later, when he advises readers to “go outside here on Earth on the darkest night imaginable and take a picture with the exact same camera settings the astronauts used, you won’t see any stars! It’s that simple.”

Ever the coy one, Phil doesn’t tell us what those “camera settings” are, but he clearly implies that the same settings were used in every photo, which clearly is not the case. Phil also conveniently forgets that the view from the Moon is not filtered through an atmosphere, so the stars have many times the luminosity as here on Earth. Phil’s little experiment, therefore, is entirely invalid, since he forgot to take into account that conditions on the Moon “are weird.” And as with all the ‘debunkers,’ he also forgot to explain why it is that no one thought to expose a photo or two to specifically capture the brilliant display of stars.

Legend holds that a dozen astronauts walked upon the surface of the Moon for varying amounts of time. The Apollo 17 astronauts alone were purportedly there for three days. For the duration of their visits, each of the twelve would have been treated to what was by far the most dazzling display of stars ever seen by the human eye. What they would have seen was many times more stars burning many times brighter than can be seen anywhere here on planet Earth.

Collectively, the dirty dozen took thousands of photos throughout their alleged journeys. And yet, amazingly enough, not one of them thought it might be a good idea to snap even a single photograph of such a wondrous sight. Of course, endless photos of the lunar modules and the monotonous lunar surface are exciting too, but just one or two photos of that dazzling lunar sky might have been nice as well. It’s as if someone went to Niagara Falls and the only photos they brought back were of the car they drove sitting in a nondescript parking lot.

Now let’s turn our attention to the subject of shadows. As skeptics have noted, some of NASA’s photos seem to depict nonparallel shadows, indicating more than one light source. ‘Debunkers’ have claimed that all such discrepancies can be explained by “perspective” and topographical variations on the surface of the Moon. And truth be told, many of the images that I have seen on websites on both sides of the aisle are ambiguous enough that such explanations can be plausibly argued. But there are, as it turns out, images in NASA’s collection that aren’t quite so easy to debunk.

There are, in fact, images that demonstrate unequivocally that more than one light source was used. Take, for example, the image below of one of the landing pods of the Apollo 11 lunar module, allegedly parked on the surface of the Moon.

The primary light source, meant to simulate the sun, is obviously positioned to the right of the scene, as is clearly demonstrated by the shadows of all of the objects in the background. But there is just as obviously a secondary light source coming from the direction of the photographer. We know this because we can see in the foreground that the shadows coming off the small ‘Moon rocks’ point away from us. We know it also because we can see the light being reflected off of the gold foil wrap onto the ground in front of the pod. But we know it most of all because we can actually see the light reflected in the foil wrap on the leg of the pod!

The shadows in the foreground and in the background are at nearly right angles, a phenomenon that cannot, by any stretch of the imagination, be explained away as a perceptual problem – especially when we can clearly see the reflection of the secondary light! One other question concerning this particular photo: how do you suppose you would go about capturing such a low-angle shot with a chest-mounted camera? Was the astronaut/photographer standing in a foxhole?

The other issue involving shadows concerns the fact that, in the majority of the photos allegedly taken on the Moon, objects lying in the shadows are clearly visible even though, due to the Moon’s lack of atmosphere and the fact that sunlight therefore does not scatter, those shadowed areas should be completely black. The Moon, you see, is kind of a black and white world. If something is in the direct path of the unfiltered sunlight, it should be well lit (on one side); if it’s not, it should be as black as NASA’s starless lunar sky.

The ‘debunkers,’ of course, have an explanation for this. Let’s turn once again to BadAstronomy.com for that explanation, since that seems to be the website that all the other ‘debunking’ websites consistently reference and link to, the one that all the major media outlets endorse, and the one that even NASA apparently refers skeptics to. According to the site, “The lunar dust has a peculiar property: it tends to reflect light back in the direction from where it came.” Plait them goes on to provide the following explanation of the lighted shadows phenomenon: “Let’s say the sun is off to the right in a picture. It is illuminating the right side of the lander, and the left is in shadow. However, the sunlight falling beyond the lander on the left is being reflected back toward the Sun. That light hits the surface and reflects to the right and up, directly onto the shadowed part of the lander.”

In the previously cited example, Plait managed to make it through four entire paragraphs before contradicting himself. Here he has easily shattered that record by, incredibly enough, contradicting himself in back-to-back sentences! And this, keep in kind, seems to be the best ‘debunker’ that NASA has to offer (it is unclear whether Plait is a paid shill or simply a useful idiot; it other words, it is unclear whether he actually believes the stuff he writes or whether he is knowingly lying his ass off, but the latter seems far more likely).

Plait is right on the money when he says that the light falling beyond the LM on the left would be reflected “back toward the sun.” Unfortunately, he then immediately contradicts himself by claiming that that same light would be reflected “to the right,” onto the module. The only way that that could happen, as Plait surely knows, is if the light were to shine through the lander and reflect off the shaded portion of the soil. But that makes no sense, of course, just as Phil’s explanation makes no sense.

Light does not disperse on the Moon, as Plait himself notes elsewhere on his website. And the surface of the Moon (or at least what passes for the surface of the Moon in NASA’s photos) is not a very reflective surface, as can be clearly discerned in the photographs. Actually, it would be more accurate to say that the Moon is a very selectively reflective surface, with the light choosing to reflect only on the astronauts and on flags and other patriotic symbols.

Not too surprisingly, Plait once again invites readers to reproduce the effect right here at home, completely ignoring the fact that, as he himself has acknowledged, light behaves in entirely different ways here on Earth than it does on the Moon. Plait also claims that, “A nifty demonstration of the shadow filling was done by Ian Goddard and can be found here. His demos are great and really drive the point home.” In truth, Goddard’s “nifty demonstrations” are entirely dependent upon the effects of atmosphere causing the light to disperse, and thus they have no validity whatsoever.

I forgot to mention in the earlier discussion, by the way, that Plait also appealed to readers to conduct an Earth-bound experiment to ‘debunk’ the diverging shadows conundrum. According to Phil, “You can experience this for yourself; go outside on a clear day when the Sun is low in the sky and compare the direction of the shadows of near and far objects. You’ll see that they appear to diverge. Here is a major claim of the HBs that you can disprove all by yourself!”

Here is another experiment that Plait might want to try himself: go outside during the daytime on any day of your choosing and look up at the sky. If it is absolutely jet black, then feel free to continue advising your readers to conduct Moon simulations here at home. If it is blue, however (or gray, or white, or pretty much any color other than black), then stop pretending as though conditions on the Moon can be replicated here on Earth when we all know better (or we all should).

And when you’re done with that experiment? Give the camera-to-the-chest challenge a try and let everyone know how well that works out for you. And try to get some of those low-angle shots that NASA likes.

The truth is that even though a limited amount of light would reflect into the shadows, there is still way too much detail visible in the shadows in virtually all of NASA’s photos – if the arguments that NASA and Plait put forth earlier are at all accurate. As readers will recall, the earlier claim was that the lunar surface and the astronauts’ spacesuits were so dazzlingly bright in the unfiltered sunlight that very fast shutter speeds and very small apertures were required to avoid overexposing the shots.

The problem for NASA and its attack dogs is that you can’t have it both ways. If the camera is stopped down to avoid overexposing extremely bright highlights, it cannot simultaneously capture full detail in the shadows. And if the aperture and shutter speeds are set to capture detail in the shadows, the camera would necessarily also capture the brilliant stars, which would be far brighter than anything lying in the lunar shadows. Other planets would be pretty hard to miss in the lunar sky as well, though none can be seen in any of NASA’s photos.

Do you remember, by the way, what Windley told us earlier about the relationship between the aperture setting and depth of field? The basic rule is that the smaller the aperture setting, the greater the depth of field will be. With a wide aperture, conversely, the photo will have little depth of field. That is why portrait photographers tend to shoot with the lens wide open, to deliberately isolate the subject from foreground and background elements. Landscape photographers, on the other hand, stop the lens down to keep the entire scene in focus.

With that bit of basic photographic knowledge in hand, it is fairly easy to determine whether NASA’s photographs were, in fact, taken with a very small aperture setting. And a good place to start, I suppose, is with the very first photo allegedly taken by a man standing on lunar soil. Below is what is alleged to be Armstrong’s very first attempt at lunar photography, just after climbing down from the module.

First off, I think we can all agree that, under the circumstances, it’s a pretty damn good first effort. There are problems right off the bat, of course, with the fact that the shadows are obviously lit with a diffused secondary light source, or else we wouldn’t be able to see the top of the bag, or the United States sign, or the shadowed side of the landing strut, but what we’re really looking for here is depth of field, which this photo has very little of. The photographer has focused on the United States sign (and he did it blindly!), but little else is sharply focused. Hence we know, from the very first shot, that the ‘debunkers’ are lying about the exposure settings.

Moving on to Armstrong’s second alleged photo, seen below, we again find that there is very little depth of field. Both the foreground and the background are quite blurry, indicating that it clearly was not taken with a small aperture setting. And yet there is nary a star to be seen.

Before moving on, there is one more of Armstrong’s photos that I feel obligated to present here. It is, after all, his masterpiece, as well as being probably the most iconic of all the Apollo photos. I am talking, of course, about the so-called “Man on the Moon” shot of cohort Buzz Aldrin, seen below (which is probably not actually Aldrin; my guess is that the same two actors did all the Moonwalking in the videos and photos from the alleged missions).

We must first, of course, compliment Neil on the awesome composition. It hardly looks staged at all. But there are problems here. Once again, I’m just not seeing the depth of field that Windley promised us. It’s also pretty hard not to notice that Buzz’s spacesuit isn’t pressurized. Furthermore, the surface of the ‘Moon’ is quite unevenly lit, indicating that the light source used was much closer than the sun. And then there is the noticeable lack of any shadowing on Buzz’s spacesuit. He’s casting a shadow on the ground, but there is no corresponding shadowing of his body. Even here on Earth, that is only possible with a secondary light source.

There are some photos in NASA’s collection that were taken without a secondary light source, so we do know what fake Moon landing pictures should look like. The action shot below of the lunar rover, for example, was taken without a secondary light to fill in the shadows. The shadows still aren’t quite as dark as they would be on the Moon, but the difference between a fake Moon shot taken with a fill light and a fake Moon shot taken without a fill light couldn’t be more obvious.

NASA liked the “Man on the Moon” image so much, by the way, that they essentially restaged it for the Apollo 12 mission. As can be seen below, a secondary light was used for that shot as well. Without the fill light, there is simply no way that a portion of the astronaut’s spacesuit would not be shadowed, as it is in the rover photo above.

Moving on then to the next issue, we have the mystery of the disappearing crosshairs. The problem, according to skeptics, is that the crosshair reference marks, which were etched into the camera’s lenses and therefore should always appear on top of any objects in the photos, sometimes disappear behind those objects.

Plait actually gets this one correct in explaining the phenomenon as a problem of overexposure and contrast. When some of the brighter objects in the photos are overexposed, the fine crosshairs tend to get washed out. That is in fact a reasonable explanation for the effect (by the way, I mentioned before that I was not a rocket scientist; I am, however, a photographer).

The claim that the cross-hairs should be visible presupposes that NASA added objects to the photos, creating composites. I seriously doubt though that that would have happened. The scenes appear to have been very carefully staged before the photos were taken, so there would have been no need for cutting and pasting. And if NASA had planned on adding additional elements to the photos, I doubt that they would have complicated that process by using cameras with cross-hairs; it would have been much easier to create the composites first and then overlay the grid marks on top of them.

However … the same can certainly not be said of the images that purport to show various parts of the ship flying through space. Take the image below, for example, which is supposed to be a two-dimensional rendering of a three-dimensional scene of the command and service modules in lunar orbit. If it were an actual three-dimensional scene, the spaceship would be 69 miles above the lunar surface – which would, I would think, make it difficult for a portion of that lunar terrain to obscure part of the ship’s S-band antennae assembly.

The shot, as can be seen in the enlargement below, is clearly a composite. And not even a very good one. So it is entirely possible that some of the photos allegedly shot on the Moon are composites as well. I obviously haven’t studied every one of them. I’m just saying that the ones that I have seen that have disappearing crosshairs do not appear to be composites.

The next problem with the NASA photos is that some of them seem to have identical backgrounds but different foregrounds. As Phil Plait explains, “In one [photo], they show the lunar lander with a mountain in the background. They then show another picture of the same mountain, but no lander in the foreground at all. The astronauts could not have taken either picture before landing, of course, and after it lifts off the lander leaves the bottom section behind. Therefore, there would have been something in the second image no matter what, and the foreground could not be empty.”

Plait begins his debunking by stating, rather hilariously: “As always, repeat after me: the Moon is not the Earth.” Plait goes on to claim that distances are very difficult to judge on the Moon and that the two photographs were actually taken from much different angles, and yet the background remains virtually unchanged because, despite appearances, it is a really, really long ways away. Either that, or one of the astronauts was really David Copperfield.

The two photographs appear below. I’ll leave it to readers to decide whether, as Plait claims, the ‘mountains’ are in fact many, many times further away from the lander than the lander is from the photographer. And I’ll do so while noting that Phil provides neither the photographs nor a link to them, but instead asks readers to accept what he says on faith. I wonder why he would do that if he were so sure of his conclusions? I also wonder why, in the final photo, the lander appears to be parked much closer to the ‘mountains’ than Plait would have us believe.

No Debt Deal Yet – Biden Set to Leave DC tonight

Nation Hal Turner 26 May 2023

As of 8:05 AM EDT- there is still no deal to raise the US Debt Ceiling. VERY conflicting reports coming out of DC this morning; some say a deal is “close” while others say there’s little to no movement by either the President or Congress.

Meanwhile, Treasury Secretary Janet Yellen is allegedly saying today that the US Gov’t can make it until June 9 before actually defaulting. Interesting how, for weeks, she’s been saying “June 1” and now, all of a sudden, the date gets moved to June 9. Tells me this is all “theater.”

When you take a moment to stop and actually think about it, they need to BORROW money, to pay the loans for what they’ve already BORROWED! The whole thing is absurd.

Since no one in their right mind is buying their debt, the phony “Federal Reserve” which is neither “federal” nor a “reserve” buys the debt using phony money created out of thin air via computer entry, and the whole shebang keeps rolling on.

This truly has become a circus and the elected politicians in Washington DC are the clowns.

The 10 Worst Fast Food Failures

Speaker McCarthy has left the Capital for the Weekend; No Debt Ceiling Deal

Nation Hal Turner 26 May 2023

House lawmakers Thursday evening left the Capitol for the holiday weekend without a deal on the debt ceiling.

Joe Biden waited 97 days to engage in debt ceiling talks with House Speaker McCarthy and other congressional leaders.

The White House is facing a June 1 deadline, but today, Treasury Secretary Janet Yellen said she thinks they can stretch that to June 9 before the US Defaults on its debts.

House Republicans passed a debt ceiling resolution in April but the White House is blaming the looming default on the GOP.

Why has India been invited as a guest in the G-7 summit 2021, while China has been kept away from this summit?

The First Ranker is always nervous about the Kid who is ranked second and is fast catching up to him

This is what life is.

That is what China has become.

The United States has marked and identified China as its direct rival.

Obviously China will now be excluded in major events just like you wont see Ambani and Bezos OR MGR and Karunanidhi in too many places together.

China is too powerful now.

The World fears China because it is too dependent on China. They were sleeping when China slowly grew and grew and grew until now it threatens to consume the world.

Simple example- You have something called a BLDC (Brushless DC) Motor that powers many many items. 83% of these motors are manufactured in China. Tomorrow if China stops this for 6 months – Hard Disks, Processor Units, Laptops, BLDC Fans (Popular in Europe due to less Power) will all come crashing down. The damage to the World will be 30 times the damage to China.

This is true for almost every market in the world. China can rattle and destroy any of these markets if they decide to Kamikaze themselves (Kamikaze – as in commit suicide) and damage them too much.

(China luckily wont do that – they love money too much)

Even Huawei bans are not working. The others are too expensive and mobile networks are protesting. They will fund the Labor Party or oppositions with oodles of money and vote them out to ensure Huawei remains.

No Matter What China does – The West will not be satisfied. China is the first country on Earth since perhaps 1600 which has directly threatened the power of the West

My belief is the Exclusion will continue – 2022 Games, International Space Station, G7, UNSC Etc.

My Belief is China will ultimately form its own bloc with Russia, Iran and countries who dont subscribe to the US is the God theory.

Meanwhile India – India is very much a developing country which threatens nobody. It is the only stable democracy in that region consisting of the Unstable Pakistan, China Allies Nepal and Bangladesh, Military ruled Myanmar and Autocratic China.

Of Course India will be included. I predict by 2024 – India may even become a permanent member of the UNSC – and Iran and Russia may leave the UN to form a Bloc with China.

Of course Economically – nothing will change. Businessmen and Consumers still need the cheapest and best goods – so they will continue to buy from China.

And Politicians who try to change that will be voted out faster that you can say “Elections”

Ouch!

They knew it was worth it. look att’em

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Joe Walsh – Life’s Been Good (Live)

Why can’t the USA leave the world in peace? Americans are meddling in the affairs of others and sanction or invade those countries who are not aligned with them.

There’s an American sitcom about this. It’s called “Two broke girls”.

One girl was a rich, wealthy child of an oligarch. That was, until her father was arrested and jailed. She lost everything, and had to work as a waitress to make ends meet.

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Don’t worry.

Soon enough the collective population of the West will get to live the sitcom “Two Broke Girls”. And no more military bases around the world. No more billions to Ukraine. No more color revolutions. No more lecturing to the people about what they can and cannot do.

It’s going to be OVER.

Bachman Turner Overdrive – Roll On Down The Highway (1975)

A tale of high speed rail

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Girl Believes She Was a Pioneer in Her Past Life

https://youtu.be/nlaNbKIWRcU

F-16s To Ukraine

A few days ago U.S. President Joe Biden announced the training of Ukrainian pilots for the F-16 multirole fighter aircraft:

President Joe Biden told G7 leaders on Friday that the US would join in efforts to train Ukraine’s pilots on fourth generation fighter jets including the F-16s, a senior administration official told CNN on Friday.

This has obviously been in the planning for some time. The timing of the announcement at the G7 summit was simply chosen to maximize the propaganda value for Biden.

The process we have seen has repeated itself again and again. As pro-Ukrainian blogger (with no military knowledge) describes it:

This has clearly become a proxy war between Russia and NATO, supercharging the political considerations inherent to any war. Ukraine’s goal is to wheedle as much military aid as humanly possibly out of NATO, especially the United States. The United States’ goal is more complex: give enough aid to push Russia back, but not so much that its proxy war with Russia escalates into an actual one.This dynamic has created a Hunger Games scenario where Ukraine is constantly playing to the cameras to cajole extra gifts from the wealthy sponsors who watch its every move over the internet in real time. I had decided against using this analogy until I saw Ukrainians themselves using it. There is something grotesque and sobering about finding yourself in this position, and writing about it. But it is what it is.

I had assumed that F-16 training had in fact already started several weeks back. The EU blabber mouth Josep Borrell now all but confirmed it:

The European Union’s foreign policy chief said on Tuesday that the US green light to allow Ukrainian pilots to get training to fly F-16s has created an inexorable momentum that will inevitably bring the fighter jets to the Ukrainian battlefield.
…
Borrell added that training for Ukrainian pilots had already begun in Poland and some other countries, though authorities in Warsaw could not immediately confirm the news. The Netherlands and Denmark, among others, are also making plans for such training.No decision on actually delivering fourth-generation fighter jets has been taken yet, but training pilots now – a process that takes several months – will help speed up battle readiness once a formal decision is made.

The process will be much faster than many assume.

The jets the Ukraine will get have already been selected and will go through ready maintenance. The Ukrainian pilots, who already have some experience on other fighter jets, will get just a short introduction course – six to eight weeks or even less. They do not need to train air to air fights because the F-16 would lose any such fight against the newer and better armed Russian jets. They just need to learn the basics, starting, landing, going up to a certain height and launch point, release whatever long range weapon will be on board. Anything else would be suicide.

The big question is where to start and land from. The F-16 has a relative short combat range of some 500 kilometer and there will be no air to air tankers. There ain’t that many airfield that are suitable for the fighter jet’s missions.

Someone who seems competent explains the problem (edited):

The Ukrainian Air Force, to my knowledge, has had to use guerilla airfield tactics to keep the Russians guessing as to where they are operating from. This is to prevent Moscow from targeting the aircraft/impromptu airfield from drone attacks and air strikes, destroying stationary aircraft or the rendering the “runway” unusable. Soviet-built aircraft are sublimely suited to this.For ex, the MiG-29 “Fulcrum” uses automatic Foreign Object Debris (FOD) covers that close for initial start up (vid). Meanwhile louvres located at the top of the wing-root open to provide alternate air intake to the jet engines. Upon take off, once the weight on wheels (WoW) switch in the nose gear detects it is off the ground, the louvers cycle closed and the FOD covers on the primary intake retract, allowing max airflow to the engines once the danger of FOD damage has passed. This ingenious design allows the Fulcrum to operate, not only from unimproved runways or even highways, but even from grass fields. The wing itself and the distance to the ground preventing small stones and debris from getting sucked into the delicate engines.

I cannot stress how dangerous and debilitating FOD is to aircraft. A single rock, bolt, nut, or minor road debris can have a cataclysmic effect on a modern high-performance jet engine. It may not even happen immediately, the damage could happen on take off, then progressively get worse during flight as the blades, now potentially bent or unbalanced begin to self-destruct the engine internals. Even if a MiG-29 happens to shell out an engine because of the careless placement of a bolt or tool by a mechanic or the ingestion of a bird during flight or take off, the MiG HAS TWO ENGINES which are isolated in separate bays, preventing the destruction of one engine from FOD-ing out the second.

The F-16, by contrast, is definitely not suited for this style of airfield. The bottom of the intake lip sits approximately 30” from the ground with no provision of alternate intake. In addition, all the suction flow of that air comes from the sides, fore, and ground since no air can be ingested from above the engine (that’s where the fuselage is). With no provision for FOD protection or alternate, high-mounted intakes during the entire time spent on the ground, this calls for rigid and inflexible FOD control measures from the location of engine start, to taxiing routes to the runway.

In the USAF, this meant hundreds of maintainers walking at arms-length intervals two to three times a day with eyes on the ground looking for any and every piece of debris that could be ingested by the multi-million dollar vacuum cleaner with only ONE engine we were charged with maintaining. In addition, an almost constant procession of street-cleaners rumbled up and down the flightline, taxiways and runway. Everything had to be spotless lest we risk the aircraft, or worse, the pilots.

Imagine the preparation it would take to complete this process on a 10,000 foot long straight highway, in the dark, while trying to be as inconspicuous as possible so as not to draw the attention of collaborators or Russian spies. You couldn’t hop from highway to highway or run from unimproved airfields like the Ukrainian Air Force can do with MiG-29s, you’d be handcuffed or at the very least less mobile. Imagine a disused Soviet airfield that suddenly had all its weeds plucked from the cracks in the concrete, concrete patched, the runway spotless. What signal does that send? “F-16s could, will, or are operating from here.”

There are several other issues discussed in the above thread. The maintenance philosophy behind U.S. and Russian build planes is different. The Russians just change factory parts and systems, U.S. maintainer try to repair them locally:

The MiG-29 averages about 11 hrs of maintenance for every ONE hr of flight. The F-16? A whopping increase to 18.5 maintenance hrs for every one hr of flight time. These are per aircraft with experienced crews. These figures also assume decent airframe hours on the aircraft.

The Ukraine will also need a sufficient number of competent maintainers. The training for them will likely take more time than for the pilots. The author of the above suggests a solution:

Plenty of mechanics in Europe and the US are happy to lend their services to the UAF as members of the “International Legion” or the modern day iteration of the “Flying Tigers”. Myself included.

Well, good luck doing maintenance on the F-16s that will soon sit on those few available and thereby quite vulnerable Ukrainian airfields.

Russian air defenses, from the ground and from the air, can certainly suppress any F-16 flights coming near to them.

The only sensible purpose of those planes is thereby their one or two time use as a launching vehicles for long range missiles like the British Storm Shadow cruise missiles that were given to Ukraine. It is easy to train for those missions but I doubt that they will make any noticeable difference.

Posted by b on May 23, 2023 at 14:53 UTC | Permalink

It’s Official: Russia Declares Intent to make PRE-EMPTIVE NUCLEAR STRIKE if West goes ahead with Ukraine Getting “Nuclear-Capable” F-16’s

Hal Turner

26 May 2023

The possible transfer of nuclear weapons to Ukraine from the West will cause a preemptive strike by Russia, said Dmitry Medvedev, deputy chairman of the Russian Security Council.

The statement was made during his visit to Vietnam.

Medvedev explained that the allies of Ukraine can put into service not only F-16 fighters, which is no longer excluded, but also nuclear weapons.

As reported by the Hal Turner Radio Show in a Subscribers-Only report on 23 May, debate within NATO over supplying Ukraine with F-16’s centers around the United States INISISTENCE the planes be a specially-modified model capable of carrying the U.S. “B-61” free-fall nuclear bomb. The U.S. is also insisting that NATO countries train Ukraine pilots on how to utilize such nuclear bombs. (That original Subscribers-Only story appears HERE

)

This has caused a gigantic rift within NATO. The United States, Great Britain, Poland, and Germany are in favor of this idea.

While Turkey, Greece, and Hungary are very much against it.

“If this happens, they must be prepared for a retaliatory strike with a nuclear charge” said Medvedev.

Medvedev emphasized that if the situation comes to the point that nuclear weapons are being transferred to Ukraine, a preventive strike from Russia becomes inevitable.

He expressed confidence that many in the Western world are not fully aware of the seriousness of this issue, believing that the situation will not reach such a critical level. However, according to Medvedev, under certain circumstances, the situation may come to this.

A similar statement was made in the context of Medvedev’s harsh response to the call of G7 countries for the inadmissibility of nuclear war.

“They demand some guarantees from Russia on nuclear weapons, but, in fact, imply the possibility of a future nuclear conflict between our country and NATO”, – noted Medvedev.

Jo Jo Gunne – Run Run Run

LED BY CHINA AND INDIA: THE GLOBAL SOUTH IS TRYING TO FIX THE UN

By RAMZY BAROUD

In anticipation of next month’s United Nations Security Council talks

on reforming the inherently archaic and dysfunctional political body, China’s foreign policy chief, Yang Yi, stated his country’s demands.

“The reform of the Security Council should uphold fairness and justice, increase the representation and voice of developing countries, allowing more small and medium-sized countries to have more opportunities to participate in the decision-making of the Council,” Wang Yi said

in a statement on April 29.

More specifically, the new UNSC must “redress historical injustices against Africa”.

Although calls for reforms of the UNSC have been made many times in the past, Beijing’s position is particularly important in both language and timing.

When the United Nations was founded

in 1945 following World War II, it was meant to mark the rise of a new world order, one that was largely dominated by the winners of that horrific war, giving greater influence to the United States and its Western allies.

Indeed, of the 51 founding members of the UN back then, five countries were chosen

to serve permanently on the Security Council – the executive branch of the UN. The rest were given membership in the General Assembly, which played a marginal and, at times, even symbolic role in world affairs.

Six other nations were allowed

to serve as non-permanent members of the Council, though they were not granted the same veto power held and exercised by the five powerful UNSC members only.

A few years later, in 1963, the non-permanent membership status, served through annual rotations, was expanded

to 10, making the total number of 15 UNSC members. However, the ‘reforms’ ended there, never to be revisited.

The UN was hardly ever a democratic platform, fairly reflecting the realities of the world, whether based on economic influence, demographics or any other indicators – aside, of course, from military might and political hegemony.

From the post-WWII geopolitical realities, however, the UN perfectly expressed a sad, unfair, but also somewhat true global power paradigm.

That paradigm, however, is now shifting, and rapidly so.

Calls for reforms have been underway for years, reflected

in the activities of the Group of Four (G4) – Brazil, Germany, India and Japan – for example; and the Sirte Declaration

of the African Union (AU) in 2005, among others. But the renewed calls for reforming the UN in recent months have become louder, more significant and, indeed, more possible.

The Russia-Ukraine war, which has divided the world into political camps, further empowered China – the world’s soon-to-be largest economy – and emboldened many countries in the Middle East, Africa and South America.

Of the many indicators of a global power shift, the BRICS nations – Brazil, Russia, India, China and South Africa – have proven

to be the greatest success story in challenging Western dominance over global markets and the status of the dollar as the world’s main currency.

As BRICS readies for a major membership expansion

, it is poised to become the world’s leading economic forum – ahead of the powerful G7.

One of the BRICS members, India, as of April 2023, overtook

China to become the world’s most populous country. Along with China and the combined demographics and wealth of other BRICS countries, it becomes unacceptable that a BRICS member like India, is still not a permanent member of the UNSC. The same logic applies to Brazil.

India’s UN Ambassador, Ruchira Kamboj, recently referred

to the UN Charter as “anachronistic”. “Can we practice ‘effective multilateralism’ by defending a charter that makes five nations more equal than others and provides to each of those five the power to ignore the collective will of the remaining 188 member states?” Kamboj said during a debate on the UN Charter.

Of course, she is right. Her logic, however, carries much greater weight now that her country – along with other BRICS nations, the collective power of the African Union among other nations and political entities – is in a much stronger position to bargain for substantive change.

China, on the other hand, is already a permanent UNSC member and a holder of the veto power.

The fact that Wang Yi is demanding serious changes at the UN, particularly in the makeup of the Security Council, is a powerful indicator of China’s new global foreign policy agenda. As a rising superpower with close and deepening ties with many countries in the Global South, China rightly believes that it is in its interests to demand inclusion and fair representation for others.

This is an unmistakable sign of political maturity by Beijing, which will surely be resisted by the US and other European powers.

The West is keen on either maintaining the UNSC’s West-leaning status as it is, or, if it must, engaging in superficial or self-serving reforms. This would be unacceptable for China and the rest of the Global South.

The UN’s reputation is already in tatters following its failure to address international conflicts, climate change, global pandemics and more. If not reformed to address global challenges through more democratic means meaningfully, the UN will risk its future relevance, if not its very existence.

Going to war is a FAILURE of diplomacy.

China, which has endless lists of successes, is not prone to failure. From poverty elimination to coronavirus, from high speed trains, to technological advancements. China runs things with intelligence, and fully funds efforts lead by merit. For China to fail at something; anything would be truly a rare event.

The United States, at least in the last fifty years, has a near endless list of failures. It seems that there is nothing it can get right. From a simple pedestrian bridge, to building a high speed rail. From solving homelessness, to simple maintenance of roads and bridges, the United States is flailing and failing at everything.

Now, let’s talk “WAR”.

China who is able to succeed in anything it puts it’s mind to, and the United States that fails at everything. The two nation go head to head.

What is the probable outcome?

The United States will start a war.
- It will under-estimate China.
- It will make foolish decisions.
- It will under supply.
- It will make political decisions instead of practical ones.
- It will count on allies who are unreliable.
- It’s media will spew out disinformation.
- It will bear tremendous losses.
China will finish the war.
- Nothing will be reported.
- It’s all robotic, calculated, precise and detailed.
- It will be one surprise after the other.
- China will dictate the terms of American surrender.

And that is that.

And everyone knows that this is what will happen. You can put lipstick on a pig, but after all, a pig is still just a pig.

All 700 boxes of transmissions from the Apollo lunar missions are missing WTF

The Apollo landings were of a nature that completely stopped the Soviet Union space program. They had a robust program, that was leaps and bounds better and more complete than the United States program, but suddenly that all ended abruptly when the United States landed on the moon.

But now, in the 2020’s we see just how extensive the network of lies, and slight of hand is, regarding the United States. Everything is a trick. Everything is a lie. Everything is a deception.

Could the Apollo landings be one such lie?

Some of you are probably thinking that everyone has already seen the footage anyway, when it was allegedly broadcast live back in the late 1960s and early 1970s, or on NASA’s website, or on YouTube, or on numerous television documentaries. But you would be mistaken. The truth is that the original footage has never been aired, anytime or anywhere – and now, since the tapes seem to have conveniently gone missing, it quite obviously never will be.

The fact that the tapes are missing (and according to NASA, have been for over three decades), amazingly enough, was not even the most compelling information that the Reuters article had to offer. Also to be found was an explanation of how the alleged Moonwalk tapes that we all know and love were created: “Because NASA’s equipment was not compatible with TV technology of the day, the original transmissions had to be displayed on a monitor and re-shot by a TV camera for broadcast.”

So what we saw then, and what we have seen in all the footage ever released by NASA since then, were not in fact live transmissions. To the contrary, it was footage shot off a television monitor, and a tiny black-and-white monitor at that. That monitor may have been running live footage, I suppose, but it seems far more likely that it was running taped footage. NASA of course has never explained why, even if it were true that the original broadcasts had to be ‘re-shot,’ they never subsequently released any of the actual ‘live’ footage. But I guess that’s a moot point now, what with the tapes having gone missing.

We start with this article…

Wagging the Moondoggie: Part I

by Dave McGowan | Oct 1, 2009

“It is commonly believed that man will fly directly from the earth to the moon, but to do this, we would require a vehicle of such gigantic proportions that it would prove an economic impossibility. It would have to develop sufficient speed to penetrate the atmosphere and overcome the earth’s gravity and, having traveled all the way to the moon, it must still have enough fuel to land safely and make the return trip to earth. Furthermore, in order to give the expedition a margin of safety, we would not use one ship alone, but a minimum of three … each rocket ship would be taller than New York’s Empire State Building [almost ¼ mile high] and weigh about ten times the tonnage of the Queen Mary, or some 800,000 tons.”—Wernher von Braun, the father of the Apollo space program, writing in Conquest of the Moon

I can see all of you scratching your heads out there and I know exactly what it is that you are thinking: “Why the hell are we taking this detour to the Moon? What happened to Laurel Canyon? Have you completely lost your mind?”

*Sigh*

It all began a few months ago, when I became very busy at my day job as well as with family drama and with what turned out to be a very time-consuming side project, all of which made it increasingly difficult for me to carve out chunks of time to work on the remaining chapters in the series. Over the next two months or so, I pretty much lost all momentum and soon found it hard to motivate myself to write even when I could find the time.

That happens sometimes. Though it sounds rather cliché, ‘writer’s block’ is a very real phenomenon. There are many times when I can sit down at the keyboard and the words flow out of my head faster than I can get them down on the page. But there are also times when producing just one halfway decent sentence seems a near impossible task. This was one of those times.

I found a new source of inspiration, however, when my wife e-mailed me the recent story about the fake Dutch Moon rock, which I and many others found quite amusing, and which also reminded me that I had a lot of other bits and pieces of information concerning the Apollo project that I had collected over the nine years that have passed since I first wrote about the alleged Moon landings. After taking that first look, back in 2000, I was pretty well convinced that the landings were, in fact, faked, but it was perfectly obvious that the rather short, mostly tongue-in-cheek post that I put up back in July of 2000 was not going to convince anyone else of that.

So I contemplated taking a more comprehensive look at the Apollo program. Toward that end, I pulled up my original Apollo post along with various other bits and pieces scattered throughout past newsletters, threw in all the newer material that had never made it onto my website, and then combed the Internet for additional information. In doing so, I realized that a far better case could be made than what I had previously offered to readers.

I also realized that a far better case could be made than what is currently available on the ‘net.

I was rather surprised actually by how little there is out there – a couple of books by Bill Kaysing and Ralph Rene, a smattering of websites and a variety of YouTube videos of varying quality. Virtually all of the websites and videos tend to stick to the same ground covered by Kaysing and Rene, and they almost all use the same NASA photographs to argue the same points. So too do the sites devoted to ‘debunking’ the notion that the landings were faked, and those sites seem to actually outnumber the hoax sites.

While suffering through the numbing uniformity of the various websites on both sides of the aisle, it became perfectly clear that the hoax side of the debate was in serious need of a fresh approach and some new insights. So I began writing again. Feverishly. That does not mean, however, that I have abandoned the Laurel Canyon series. I intend to get back to it quite soon.

And truth be told, while the Apollo story may initially appear to be a radical departure from the ongoing Laurel Canyon series, it actually isn’t much of a detour at all. After all, we’re still going to be living in the 1960s and 1970s. And to a significant degree, we’re probably still going to be hanging out in Laurel Canyon – because who else, after all, was NASA going to trust to handle the post-production work on all that Apollo footage if not Lookout Mountain Laboratory?

I am very well aware, by the way, that there are many, many people out there – even many of the people who have seen through other tall tales told by our government – who think that Moon hoax theorists are complete kooks. And a whole lot of coordinated effort has gone into casting them as such. That makes wading into the Moon hoax debate a potentially dangerous affair.

Remember when Luther (played by Don Knotts) gets taken to court and sued for slander in The Ghost and Mr. Chicken? And don’t try to pretend like you’ve never seen it, because we both know that you have. So anyway, he goes to court and a character witness is called and the guy delivers credible testimony favoring Luther and it is clear that the courtroom is impressed and everything is looking good for our nebbish hero, Luther. Remember what happens next though? On cross-examination, the witness reveals that he is the president of a UFO club that holds their meetings on Mars!

The courtroom, of course, erupts with laughter and all of that formerly credible testimony immediately flies right out the window.

I have already received e-mails warning that I will suffer a similar fate (from people who heard me discussing the topic on Meria Heller’s radio show). Not to worry though – I have somewhat of an advantage over others who have attempted to travel this path: I don’t really care. My mission is to ferret out the truth, wherever it may lie; if at various points along the way, some folks are offended and others question my sanity, that’s not really something that I lose a lot of sleep over.

Anyway, a whole lot of people are extremely reluctant to give up their belief in the success of the Apollo missions. A lot of people, in fact, pretty much shut down at the mere mention of the Moon landings being faked, refusing to even consider the possibility (Facebook, by the way, is definitely not the best place to promote the notion that the landings were faked, in case anyone was wondering). And yet there are some among the True Believers who will allow that, though they firmly believe that we did indeed land on the Moon, they would have understood if it had been a hoax. Given the climate of the times, with Cold War tensions simmering and anxious Americans looking for some sign that their country was still dominant and not technologically inferior to the Soviets, it could be excused if NASA had duped the world.

Such sentiments made me realize that the Moon landing lie is somewhat unique among the big lies told to the American people in that it was, in the grand scheme of things, a relatively benign lie, and one that could be easily spun. Admitting that the landings were faked would not have nearly the same impact as, say, admitting to mass murdering 3,000 Americans and destroying billions of dollars worth of real estate and then using that crime as a pretext to wage two illegal wars and strip away civil, legal and privacy rights.

And yet, despite the fact that it was a relatively benign lie, there is a tremendous reluctance among the American people to let go of the notion that we sent men to the Moon. There are a couple of reasons for that, one of them being that there is a romanticized notion that those were great years – years when one was proud to be an American. And in this day and age, people need that kind of romanticized nostalgia to cling to.

But that is not the main reason that people cling so tenaciously, often even angrily, to what is essentially the adult version of Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy. What primarily motivates them is fear. But it is not the lie itself that scares people; it is what that lie says about the world around us and how it really functions. For if NASA was able to pull off such an outrageous hoax before the entire world, and then keep that lie in place for four decades, what does that say about the control of the information we receive? What does that say about the media, and the scientific community, and the educational community, and all the other institutions we depend on to tell us the truth? What does that say about the very nature of the world we live in?

That is what scares the hell out of people and prevents them from even considering the possibility that they could have been so thoroughly duped. It’s not being lied to about the Moon landings that people have a problem with, it is the realization that comes with that revelation: if they could lie about that, they could lie about anything.

It has been my experience that the vast majority of the people who truly believe in the Moon landings know virtually nothing about the alleged missions. And when confronted with some of the more implausible aspects of those alleged missions, the most frequently offered argument is the one that every ‘conspiracy theorist’ has heard at least a thousand times: “That can’t possibly be true because there is no way that a lie that big could have been covered up all this time … too many people would have known about it … yadda, yadda, yadda.”

But what if your own eyes and your innate (though suppressed) ability to think critically and independently tell you that what all the institutions of the State insist is true is actually a lie? What do you do then? Do you trust in your own cognitive abilities, or do you blindly follow authority and pretend as though everything can be explained away? If your worldview will not allow you to believe what you can see with your own eyes, then the problem, it would appear, is with your worldview. So do you change that worldview, or do you live in denial?

The Moon landing lie is unique among the big lies in another way as well: it is a lie that seemingly cannot be maintained indefinitely. Washington need never come clean on, say, the Kennedy assassinations. After all, they’ve been lying about the Lincoln assassination for nearly a century-and-a-half now and getting away with it. But the Moon landing hoax, I would think, has to have some kind of expiration date.

How many decades can pass, after all, without anyone coming even close to a reenactment before people start to catch on? Four obviously haven’t been enough, but how about five, or six, or seven? How about when we hit the 100-year anniversary?

If the first trans-Atlantic flight had not been followed up with another one for over forty years, would anyone have found that unusual? If during the early days of the automobile, when folks were happily cruising along in their Model T’s at a top speed of 40 MPH, someone had suddenly developed a car that could be driven safely at 500 MPH, and then after a few years that car disappeared and for many decades thereafter, despite tremendous advances in automotive technology, no one ever again came close to building a car that could perform like that, would that seem at all odd?

There are indications that this lie does indeed have a shelf life. According to a July 17, 2009 post on CNN.com, “It’s been 37 years since the last Apollo moon mission, and tens of millions of younger Americans have no memories of watching the moon landings live. A 2005-2006 poll by Mary Lynne Dittmar, a space consultant based in Houston, Texas, found that more than a quarter of Americans 18 to 25 expressed some doubt that humans set foot on the moon.”

The goal of any dissident writer is to crack open the doors of perception enough to let a little light in – so that hopefully the seeds of a political reawakening will be planted. There are many doors that can be pried open to achieve that goal, but this one seems particularly vulnerable. Join me then as we take a little trip to the Moon. Or at least pretend to.

“If NASA had really wanted to fake the moon landings – we’re talking purely hypothetical here – the timing was certainly right. The advent of television, having reached worldwide critical mass only years prior to the moon landing, would prove instrumental to the fraud’s success.”
Wired Magazine

Adolph Hitler knew a little bit about the fine art of lying. In Mein Kampf, he wrote that, “If you’re going to tell a lie, make sure it’s a really fucking big lie.”

Truth be told, I’m not exactly conversant in the German language so that may not be an exact translation, but it certainly captures the gist of what the future Fuhrer was trying to say. He went on to explain that this was so because everyone in their everyday lives tells little lies, and so they fully expect others to do so as well. But most people do not expect anyone to tell a real whopper … you know, the kind of brazen, outlandish lie that is just too absurd to actually be a lie. The kind of lie that is so over-the-top that no one would dare utter it if it was in fact a lie.

That is the type of lie, according to Hitler, that will fool the great masses of people, even when the lie is so transparently thin that it couldn’t possibly stand up to any kind of critical analysis by anyone actually exercising their brain rather than just blindly accepting the legitimacy of the information they are fed. Take, for example, the rather fanciful notion that the United States landed men on the Moon in the late 1960’s and early 1970’s. That’s the kind of lie we’re talking about here: the kind that seems to defy logic and reason and yet has become ingrained in the national psyche to such an extent that it passes for historical fact.

And anyone who would dare question that ‘historical fact,’ needless to say, must surely be stark raving mad.

Before proceeding any further, I should probably mention here that, until relatively recently, if I had heard anyone putting forth the obviously drug-addled notion that the Moon landings were faked, I would have been among the first to offer said person a ride down to the grip store. While conducting research into various other topics, however, it has become increasingly apparent that there are almost always a few morsels of truth in any ‘conspiracy theory,’ no matter how outlandish that theory may initially appear to be, and so despite my initial skepticism, I was compelled to take a closer look at the Apollo program.

The first thing that I discovered was that the Soviet Union, right up until the time that we allegedly landed the first Apollo spacecraft on the Moon, was solidly kicking our ass in the space race. It wasn’t even close. The world wouldn’t see another mismatch of this magnitude until decades later when Kelly Clarkson and Justin Guarini came along. The Soviets launched the first orbiting satellite, sent the first animal into space, sent the first man into space, performed the first space walk, sent the first three-man crew into space, was the first nation to have two spacecraft in orbit simultaneously, performed the first unmanned docking maneuver in space, and landed the first unmanned probe on the Moon.

Everything the U.S. did, prior to actually sending a manned spacecraft to the Moon, had already been done by the Soviets, who clearly were staying at least a step or two ahead of our top-notch team of imported Nazi scientists. The smart money was clearly on the Soviets to make it to the Moon first, if anyone was to do so. Their astronauts had logged five times as many hours in space as had ours. And they had a considerable amount of time, money, scientific talent and, perhaps most of all, national pride riding on that goal.

And yet, amazingly enough, despite the incredibly long odds, the underdog Americans made it first. And not only did we make it first, but after a full forty years, the Soviets apparently still haven’t quite figured out how we did it. The question that is clearly begged here is a simple one: Why is it that the nation that was leading the world in the field of space travel not only didn’t make it to the Moon back in the 1960s, but still to this day have never made it there? Could it be that they were just really poor losers? I am imagining that perhaps the conversation over in Moscow’s equivalent of NASA went something like this:

Boris: Comrade Ivan, there is terrible news today: the Yankee imperialists have beaten us to the Moon. What should we do?
Ivan: Let’s just shit-can our entire space program.
Boris: But comrade, we are so close to success! And we have so much invested in the effort!
Ivan: Fuck it! If we can’t be first, we aren’t going at all.
Boris: But I beg of you comrade! The moon has so much to teach us, and the Americans will surely not share with us the knowledge they have gained.
Ivan: Nyet!

In truth, the entire space program has largely been, from its inception, little more than an elaborate cover for the research, development and deployment of space-based weaponry and surveillance systems. The media never talk about such things, of course, but government documents make clear that the goals being pursued through space research are largely military in nature. For this reason alone, it is inconceivable that the Soviets would not have followed the Americans onto the Moon for the sake of their own national defense.

It is not just the Soviets, of course, who have never made it to the Moon. The Chinese haven’t either. Nor has any other industrialized nation, despite the rather obvious fact that every such nation on the planet now possesses technology that is light-years beyond what was available to NASA scientists in the 1960s.

Some readers will recall that (and younger readers might want to cover their eyes here, because the information to follow is quite shocking), in the 1960s, a full complement of home electronics consisted of a fuzzy, 13-channel, black-and-white television set with a rotary tuning dial, rabbit ears and no remote. Such cutting-edge technology as the pocket calculator was still five years away from hitting the consumer market.

It is perfectly obvious, of course, that it was not consumer electronics that allegedly sent men to the Moon. The point here though is that advances in aerospace technology mirror advances in consumer technology, and just as there has been revolutionary change in entertainment and communications technology, so too has aerospace technology advanced by light-years in the last four decades. Technologically speaking, the NASA scientists working on the Apollo project were working in the Dark Ages. So if they could pull it off back then, then just about anyone should be able to do it now.

It would be particularly easy, needless to say, for America to do it again, since we’ve already done all the research and development and testing. Why then, I wonder, have we not returned to the Moon since the last Apollo flight? Following the alleged landings, there was considerable talk of establishing a space station on the Moon, and of possibly even colonizing Earth’s satellite. Yet all such talk was quickly dropped and soon forgotten and for nearly four decades now not a single human has been to the Moon.

Again, the question that immediately comes to mind is: Why? Why has no nation ever duplicated, or even attempted to duplicate, this miraculous feat? Why has no other nation even sent a manned spacecraft to orbitthe Moon? Why has no other nation ever attempted to send a manned spacecraft anywhere beyond low-Earth orbit?

Is it because we already learned everything there was to learn about the Moon? If so, then could it reasonably be argued that it would be possible to make six random landings on the surface of the Earth and come away with a complete and thorough understanding of this heavenly body? Are we to believe that the international scientific community has no open questions that could be answered by a, ahem, ‘return’ trip to the Moon? And is there no military advantage to be gained by sending men to the Moon? Has man’s keen interest in exploring celestial bodies, evident throughout recorded history, suddenly gone into remission?

Maybe, you say, it’s just too damned expensive. But the 1960s were not a particularly prosperous time in U.S. history and we were engaged in an expensive Cold War throughout the decade as well as an even more expensive ‘hot’ war in Southeast Asia, and yet we still managed to finance no less than seven manned missions to the Moon, using a new, disposable, multi-sectioned spacecraft each time. And yet in the four decades since then, we are apparently supposed to believe that no other nation has been able to afford to do it even once.

While we’re on the subject of the passage of time, exactly how much time do you suppose will have to pass before people in significant numbers begin to question the Moon landings? NASA has recently announced that we will not be returning, as previously advertised, by the year 2020. That means that we will pass the fifty-year anniversary of the first alleged landing without a sequel. Will that be enough elapsed time that people will begin to wonder? What about after a full century has passed by? Will our history books still talk about the Moon landings? And if so, what will people make of such stories? When they watch old preserved films from the 1960s, how will they reconcile the laughably primitive technology of the era with the notion that NASA sent men to the Moon?

Consider this peculiar fact: in order to reach the surface of the Moon from the surface of the Earth, the Apollo astronauts would have had to travel a minimum of 234,000 miles*. Since the last Apollo flight allegedly returned from the Moon in 1972, the furthest that any astronaut from any country has traveled from the surface of the Earth is about 400 miles. And very few have even gone that far. The primary components of the current U.S. space program – the space shuttles, the space station, and the Hubble Telescope – operate at an orbiting altitude of about 200 miles.

(*NASA gives the distance from the center of Earth to the center of the Moon as 239,000 miles. Since the Earth has a radius of about 4,000 miles and the Moon’s radius is roughly 1,000 miles, that leaves a surface-to-surface distance of 234,000 miles. The total distance traveled during the alleged missions, including Earth and Moon orbits, ranged from 622,268 miles for Apollo 13 to 1,484,934 miles for Apollo 17. All on a single tank of gas.)

To briefly recap then, in the twenty-first century, utilizing the most cutting-edge modern technology, the best manned spaceship the U.S. can build will only reach an altitude of 200 miles. But in the 1960s, we built a half-dozen of them that flew almost 1,200 times further into space. And then flew back. And they were able to do that despite the fact that the Saturn V rockets that powered the Apollo flights weighed in at a paltry 3,000 tons, about .004% of the size that the principal designer of those very same Saturn rockets had previously said would be required to actually get to the Moon and back (primarily due to the unfathomably large load of fuel that would be required).

To put that into more Earthly terms, U.S. astronauts today travel no further into space than the distance between the San Fernando Valley and Fresno. The Apollo astronauts, on the other hand, traveled a distance equivalent to circumnavigating the planet around the equator nine-and-a-half times! And they did it with roughly the same amount of fuel that it now takes to make that 200 mile journey, which is why I want NASA to build my next car for me. I figure I’ll only have to fill up the tank once and it should last me for the rest of my life.

“But wait,” you say, “NASA has solid evidence of the validity of the Moon landings. They have, for example, all of that film footage shot on the moon and beamed live directly into our television sets.”

Since we’re on the subject, I have to mention that transmitting live footage back from the Moon was another rather innovative use of 1960s technology. More than two decades later, we would have trouble broadcasting live footage from the deserts of the Middle East, but in 1969, we could beam that shit back from the Moon with nary a technical glitch!

As it turns out, however, NASA doesn’t actually have all of that Moonwalking footage anymore. Truth be told, they don’t have any of it. According to the agency, all the tapes were lost back in the late 1970s. All 700 cartons of them. As Reuters reported on August 15, 2006, “The U.S. government has misplaced the original recording of the first moon landing, including astronaut Neil Armstrong’s famous ‘one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind’ … Armstrong’s famous moonwalk, seen by millions of viewers on July 20, 1969, is among transmissions that NASA has failed to turn up in a year of searching, spokesman Grey Hautaluoma said. ‘We haven’t seen them for quite a while. We’ve been looking for over a year, and they haven’t turned up,’ Hautaluoma said … In all, some 700 boxes of transmissions from the Apollo lunar missions are missing.”

Given that these tapes allegedly documented an unprecedented and unduplicated historical event, one that is said to be the greatest technological achievement of the twentieth century, how in the world would it be possible to, uhmm, ‘lose’ 700 cartons of them? Would not an irreplaceable national treasure such as that be very carefully inventoried and locked away in a secure film vault? And would not copies have been made, and would not those copies also be securely tucked away somewhere? Come to think of it, would not multiple copies have been made for study by the scientific and academic communities?

Had NASA claimed that a few tapes, or even a few cartons of tapes, had been misplaced, then maybe we could give them the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps some careless NASA employee, for example, absent-mindedly taped a Super Bowl game over one of them. Or maybe some home porn. But does it really seem at all credible to claim that the entire collection of tapes has gone missing – all 700 cartons of them, the entire film record of the alleged Moon landings? In what alternative reality would that happen ‘accidentally’?

Some of you are probably thinking that everyone has already seen the footage anyway, when it was allegedly broadcast live back in the late 1960s and early 1970s, or on NASA’s website, or on YouTube, or on numerous television documentaries. But you would be mistaken. The truth is that the original footage has never been aired, anytime or anywhere – and now, since the tapes seem to have conveniently gone missing, it quite obviously never will be.

The fact that the tapes are missing (and according to NASA, have been for over three decades), amazingly enough, was not even the most compelling information that the Reuters article had to offer. Also to be found was an explanation of how the alleged Moonwalk tapes that we all know and love were created: “Because NASA’s equipment was not compatible with TV technology of the day, the original transmissions had to be displayed on a monitor and re-shot by a TV camera for broadcast.”

So what we saw then, and what we have seen in all the footage ever released by NASA since then, were not in fact live transmissions. To the contrary, it was footage shot off a television monitor, and a tiny black-and-white monitor at that. That monitor may have been running live footage, I suppose, but it seems far more likely that it was running taped footage. NASA of course has never explained why, even if it were true that the original broadcasts had to be ‘re-shot,’ they never subsequently released any of the actual ‘live’ footage. But I guess that’s a moot point now, what with the tapes having gone missing.

With NASA’s admission of how the original broadcasts were created, it is certainly not hard to imagine how fake Moon landing footage could have been produced. As I have already noted, the 1960s were a decidedly low-tech era, and NASA appears to have taken a very low-tech approach. As Moon landing skeptics have duly noted, if the broadcast tapes are played back at roughly twice their normal running speed, the astronauts appear to move about in ways entirely consistent with the way ordinary humans move about right here on planet Earth. Here then is the formula for creating Moonwalk footage: take original footage of guys in ridiculous costumes moving around awkwardly right here on our home planet, broadcast it over a tiny, low-resolution television monitor at about half speed, and then re-film it with a camera focused on that screen. The end result will be broadcast-ready tapes that, in addition to having that all-important grainy, ghosty, rather surreal ‘broadcast from the Moon’ look, also appear to show the astronauts moving about in entirely unnatural ways.

But not, it should be noted, too unnatural. And doesn’t that seem a little odd as well? If we’re being honest here (and for my testosterone-producing readers, this one is directed at you), the average male specimen, whether astronaut or plumber, never really grows up and stops being a little boy. And what guy, given the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to spend some time in a reduced gravity environment, isn’t going to want to see how high he can jump? Or how far he can jump? Hitting a golf ball? Who the hell wants to see that? How about tossing a football for a 200-yard touchdown pass? Or how about the boys dazzling the viewing audience with some otherworldly acrobatics?

And yes, Neil and the guys did exhibit some playfulness at times while allegedly walking on the Moon, but doesn’t it seem a bit odd that they failed to do anything that couldn’t be faked simply by changing the tape speed? When I attended college, I knew a guy on the volleyball team who had a 32” vertical leap right here on Earth. So when I see guys jumping maybe 12”, if that, in a 1/6 gravity environment with no air resistance, I’m not really all that impressed.

Am I the only one, by the way, who finds it odd that people would move in slow motion on the Moon? Why would a reduced gravitational pull cause everything to move much more slowly? Given the fact that they were much lighter on their feet and not subject to air and wind resistance, shouldn’t the astronauts have been able to move quicker on the Moon than here on Earth? Was slow motion the only thing NASA could come up with to give the video footage an otherworldly feel?

Needless to say, if what has been proposed here is indeed how the ‘Moon landing’ footage in the public domain was created, then the highly incriminating original footage – which would have looked like any other footage shot here on Earth, except for the silly costumes and props – would have had to have been destroyed. Perhaps it’s not surprising then that NASA now takes the position that the original footage has been missing since “sometime in the late 1970s.”

Unfortunately, it isn’t just the video footage that is missing. Also allegedly beamed back from the Moon was voice data, biomedical monitoring data, and telemetry data to monitor the location and mechanical functioning of the spaceship. All of that data, the entire alleged record of the Moon landings, was on the 13,000+ reels that are said to be ‘missing.’ Also missing, according to NASA and its various subcontractors, are the original plans/blueprints for the lunar modules. And for the lunar rovers. And for the entire multi-sectioned Saturn V rockets.

There is, therefore, no way for the modern scientific community to determine whether all of that fancy 1960s technology was even close to being functional or whether it was all for show. Nor is there any way to review the physical record, so to speak, of the alleged flights. We cannot, for example, check the fuel consumption throughout the flights to determine what kind of magic trick NASA used to get the boys there and back with less than 1% of the required fuel. And we will never, it would appear, see the original, first-generation video footage.

You would think that someone at NASA would have thought to preserve such things. No wonder we haven’t given them the money to go back to the Moon; they’d probably just lose it.

(Deutsch) 🇩🇪 Germany – Chancellor Addresses United Nations General Debate, 77th Session

Actual video (mentioned in a previous article) without the overdub. Don’t even bother watching it unless you can understand German.

Big Changes for Europe

Russia eventually ripped the curtain down and denounced the treaty that mainly established security in Europe. From Maria Zakharova:

The masquerade is over, gentlemen!

Russia is denouncing the document signed in 1990 between the countries of the Warsaw Pact and NATO on the balance of the two blocs and the limitation of armaments along the line of contact. Behind this screen, the West, despite all its promises, openly escalated. Our attempts to adapt the treaty in 1999 were ignored.

NATO has brazenly advanced towards the Russian borders, having already carried out 9 waves of expansion of its military bloc, including our neighbor Finland.

Under these conditions, the denunciation became simply a necessary measure that threw off false covers and exposed reality. To put it bluntly, she’s intimidating!

In the last sentence, she means that the sheer size of the western fraud, swindle and deception is massive. She is talking about the Conventional Armed Forces in Europe (CFE) Treaty, which at the time formed the basis and cornerstone of European security. If you were wondering about the term ‘indivisible security’, then it comes mainly from this treaty. HERE

What it means in reality is that I cannot think of another treaty, another agreement that legally stands between Russia and a wider war. Then we have Mr.Shoigu yesterday saying that:

Western nations have basically been waging an undeclared war against Moscow and Minsk, according to Russian Defence Minister Sergei Shoigu, who was speaking on Thursday with his Belarusian colleague Viktor Khrenin. Sergei Shoigu stated, ‘Today we are facing the collective West, which is virtually waging war against our countries’.

He stated that ‘the NATO’s military activities have become as aggressive as possible’. ‘The joint armed forces of the alliance in Eastern Europe are being made more combat-ready through the implementation of a number of initiatives. The deployment of more military personnel and facilities, as well as an increase in training and reconnaissance operations close to the Union State’s frontiers,’ said the head of the Russian military department.

I leave you to draw your own conclusion from this. What it means to me, is that the possibility of a wider war is now measured in probability percentage. The Mearsheimer video posted yesterday, tells us about the inability of NATO now to de-escalate. In addition, another new missile is unveiled in Russia. No doubt, Andrei Martyanov will tell us about it.

The following video is on a lighter note, but clearly indicates the Russia / China relationship. Again, draw your own conclusions.

Article HERE

Speaking out for China

TOP INTELLECTUALS IN THE U.S. stood up this week to speak out for China—and demand a stop to the powerful militaristic country’s drive to start an unnecessary war in East Asia.

The White House claim this week that they did not want conflict with China is “Denial and information distortion bordering on propaganda,” said Stephen Roach, Yale University professor and former chief economist at Morgan Stanley. The untrue statement was “classic Cold War posturing”, he said in statement on Twitter on Thursday.

Others agreed. Falsely painting the Chinese as trying to take over the world is bad for everyone, writer David Rothkopf argued in a Daily Beast essay printed today. Why paint China as a threat?

“Why? Why is it such a great threat even though the country has no history of conquest beyond its region in 5,000 years of history and is far from being able or inclined to pose a direct threat of attack to the U.S.?” he asked.

Even the relentlessly hostile Financial Times printed a column by Edward Luce admitting that the current geopolitical tension in the world did not come from China, but from the U.S.

“This week, Xi Jinping went further than before in naming America as the force behind the ‘containment’, ‘encirclement’ and ‘suppression’ of China. Though his rhetoric was provocative, it was not technically wrong,” wrote Luce in a column on Wednesday. Luce, like most FT writers, normally takes a very hostile line against China.

Offensive, but funny

Iowa Applesauce Cake

Ingredients

Cake

1/2 cup butter
3/4 cup granulated sugar
3/4 cup packed brown sugar
1 egg
2 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground cloves
1 1/2 cups applesauce
1 cup raisins
1/2 cup chopped walnuts or pecans

Cream Cheese Frosting

6 ounces cream cheese, softened
1/2 cup butter, softened
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
4 1/2 to 4 3/4 cups sifted confectioners’ sugar

Instructions

Cake: In a large mixing bowl, beat butter for 30 seconds.
Add both sugars and egg; beat until combined.
Stir together flour, baking powder, baking soda and spices.
Add flour mixture alternately with applesauce to butter mixture.
Stir in raisins and nuts.
Pour batter into a greased 13 x 9-inch baking pan and spread evenly.
Bake at 350 degrees F for 30 to 35 minutes, or until a wooden pick inserted near the center comes out clean.
Cool in pan on wire rack.
Cream Cheese Frosting: Beat together cream cheese, softened butter and vanilla extract until light and fluffy.
Gradually beat in 2 cups of the confectioners’ sugar.
Beat in remaining 2 1/2 to 2 3/4 cups confectioners’ sugar to make a spreadable frosting. Spread on cake.
For a decorative finish, set a doily lightly on frosted cake and sprinkle lightly with a mixture of cinnamon and nutmeg.
Carefully remove the doily.

Survey of the Japanese Submarine the 124 – mini documentary.

Is the UK like the USA, but less rich?

I am American, and I own a flat in North London. My mother’s family is from the UK, and we are still very close with our cousins there.

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Here are just some thoughts. This isn’t an exhaustive answer.

I think overall we’re more similar than we are different, but it is definitely different there.

Arriving in London feels like arriving in an East Coast US state or Canadian province, but much older and more populous. Things that I see Americans notice right away, are chimneys that look like they’re something out of Mary Poppins, and rows and rows of shops of all kinds along high streets. (Small businesses in the US have been utterly destroyed by Walmart.)

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As for less rich? I don’t get that impression at all. Just because things are smaller (shops, houses, flats, cars) doesn’t mean they’re less rich. In fact, the typical American doesn’t know the luxury of being able to walk up to the high street and take care of all of their errands within a hour, and not even get into a car.

Oh, and then to top it all off by walking home with food that is fresher and higher quality than anything you’ll find in most US cities that aren’t near farms.

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By the way, step into a Waitrose, and you’ll feel like you’re in a US supermarket. The only difference there is that the shopping carts (trolleys) are slightly smaller than ours, and their checkout employees are seated at the tills, rather than standing.

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For me personally, the weather is one of the biggest differences, but that’s mainly because I’m from the desert. But I love rain and fog and so I enjoy it. The grey skies are intensely grey though. It can feel like dusk all day long, on some days.

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One really cool thing is that North London is so diverse, that people generally can’t tell I am a foreigner from my American Southwest accent! It wasn’t always that way, but now there are so many immigrants and people from the all over the UK living there, that I sort of… just blend in, which I just love!

What’s the craziest or most dangerous thing that happened in your life?

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That’s my truck. Was my truck.

Summer of 2013. It was a normal day for me and my three sons. We were on our way to the storage place to retrieve a few important items and documents because we were in the middle of moving out to another city and needed proofs and such. It was a narrow two-way country road 50mph (70 to the locals). I had my turn signal on (at a dead stop) watching the oncoming traffic for my chance to take a left turn into the entrance of the facility when I just happened to look in my rearview and noticed some headlights coming up from behind really fast.

I recall shouting “Brace for impact! They’re not slowing down!” I couldn’t turn left because the oncoming traffic was still coming. Just then a truck slammed into the back of us! I would later find out he was going 70mph. It spun my truck into the left oncoming traffic. We were T-boned and spun around the other way. Then side swiped and spun again! We were hit three times at 70mph.

OnStar comes on over our radio and I cannot think about answering the woman on the other end because I’m seeing my then 4-year-old son unresponsive dangling from his car seat. My eldest son (13years then and in the passenger’s seat) is the only calm one in this situation and speaks to OnStar on my behalf. I’m checking on my middle son (10) and asking him to please wake up the baby. I tell him he’s okay and that he’s being a big boy and I’m so proud of him for taking care of his baby brother. I pull myself out of my side of the vehicle and climb into the back seat to my sons and take them out. The youngest vomited on me and kept apologizing and the middle wet his pants and was ashamed. My eldest came around and took my youngest from my arms and said “Mom, we’re okay. Everyone is okay. We’re not hurt.” He was right. No injuries whatsoever. We lived.

She Died Horseback Riding; What She Saw In The Afterlife Will Shock You (NDE)

The US is increasing its GDP by high inflation and printing tens of trillions of dollars, whereas China by increasing its manufacturing productivity. Why are the US and China GDP growth rates so different?

The US uses manufactured numbers and printed stacks of paper currency to create an economy. China uses manufactured goods at prices the world can afford, need and buy in huge quantities to create an economy.

It is the difference between a US fantasy Hollywood economy promoted by coercion with a powerful military as the enforcer and a Chinese well-organized real economy built on needs the world has and needs the Chinese people have, using honest mutually beneficial trading practices with more than 140 countries trading goods and services along the Chinese Belt and Road trade routes.

It is the difference between, Chinese Business and American monkey business

Switzerland

The G7 is an outdated tool of the US neo-empire

Washington has co-opted both the winners and the losers of World War II into defending Western domination around the globe

By Timur Fomenko, a political analyst

President Joe Biden, left, shakes hands with Japan’s Prime Minister Fumio Kishida prior to a bilateral meeting in Hiroshima, Japan, Thursday, May 18, 2023, ahead of the start of the G-7 Summit. © AP Photo/Susan Walsh

The summit of G7 nations took place in Hiroshima, Japan over the last weekend.

Hiroshima is significant for a few reasons. First of all, it is known to the world as the location that the United States nuked, along with Nagasaki, at the end of World War II, which led to the surrender of the Empire of Japan and that country’s transformation into a US client state.

Secondly, Japan is working to remilitarize itself in line with America’s dual containment effort against China and Russia. Thus, while Japan is chair of the G7 this year, the event was a rubber-stamping of US-centric geopolitical goals which took aim at both countries.

However, what might be said about the G7 itself? Founded as a Cold War-era organization in 1975, and briefly incorporating the West’s aspirations for post-Soviet Russia, the group professes to represent the world’s “most advanced industrial countries,” but anyone could tell you this is an outdated category. Countries such as China and India, with economies larger than most G7 members, are not part of the group. Rather, the character and agenda of the G7 is distinctly ideological, and its goal is to preserve a Western-dominated concept of the world at all costs.

It should not go unnoticed that the G7 is an effective aggregation of former empires that once dominated the world unchallenged, now held under the wings and servitude of the US. Remarkably, all three Axis powers of World War II, defeated by the allies, are a part of this grouping. Although the respective fascist-oriented regimes of Germany, Italy and Japan were rightfully destroyed, these countries were all rebuilt as American client states following the war and their respective interests placed in the hands of Washington.

Similarly, the allied empires, which emerged victorious, including France, Britain and its imperial dominion, Canada, found that the war had severely depleted their national resources and strength to the point they could no longer continue as the global superpowers they had been. Consequently, they surrendered their leadership baton to the US and have ever since relied on following its lead to secure their interests around the world.

In each instance, all of these countries held positions of privilege from their imperial eras. Having colonized most of the globe, and Japan having militarily occupied much of Asia, these countries had made themselves tremendously wealthy. Britain’s fabulous wealth, for one, is tailored directly to the exploitation of Africa and India. Colonial empires were strictly commercial in character, using ideology as a justifying force for aggression, upholding their economic interests by immense military power. This gave these countries privilege, which thus formed the distinction between the Global North and the Global South.

Unable to carry their empires forward, either by exhaustion or defeat, these respective countries seek to sustain the unfair economic privileges they attained through compliance with the US, a “neo-empire” which is the inheritor of the international order they created. Thus, the G7, the aggregation of all these countries into one ideological grouping, is no coincidence. Their respective goal is to maintain their own economic privileges and to attempt to suppress changes in the international order that threaten their position, which in this case is the rise of the Global South and China.

On this note, the G7 buys into the US-led goals of attempting to blockade China from making breakthroughs in high-end technologies. It also wants to stop other countries from buying into Beijing’s development model and to sustain the fundamental gulf in wealth between the Global North and South. It wants to be the only group entitled to impose massive sanctions and embargoes on other countries and then decry China’s defense of its interests as “economic coercion.”

They also want to make sure that neither China nor Russia can challenge the West’s historic military dominance. The US has thus in effect co-opted both the winners and losers of World War II (minus the USSR) into one grouping and used it to continue the same world they were vested in. However, one undeniable fact is that the world is changing in ways that are not favorable to the G7. They no longer have that degree of dominance, and their share of global GDP is only going to shrink. As the BRICS economies continue to grow and multipolarity emerges, their own little exclusive club is hardly in a position to try and dictate the flow of the global economy.

This little club wants to remain rich, while stopping everyone else from enriching themselves as well. It isn’t going to work.

This Mistake Cost 16 Skydivers Their Lives (Lake Erie Disaster)

Does the US want to decouple with China or not? Just give a straight answer.

The United States does NOT know what it wants:

it wants access to the huge Chinese market for its products
access to cost effective Chinese suppliers for its consumers and manufacturers.

HOWEVER, it does NOT want Chinese competition

in the high profit, high margin products including semiconductors, aircraft and other industries which it currently lead

AND it is resentful of Chinese domination in key hi tech sectors including telecommunications, next generation products like EV and AI

Therefore it seeks to impede and reversed Chinese progress in these area thru:

sanctioning Chinese companies
restrict China’s access to underlying technologies
as well as other non-conventional atttacks
AND tried to get allied and other countries to do likewise

HOWEVER, it is clear that American efforts have failed.

The internal Chinese market is far too big, Chinese manufacturing too dominant AND, most all, the United Stated and its allies have sanctioned themselves off critical markets of the world including Russia, Iran and Syria.

Over the last few months, it is now clear that the Chinese have begun their fight back: from de-dollarization, the expansion of BRICS, the boycott of American products including corn and Boeing jets to declaring Micron a security risk. The Chinese have clearly concluded that the pendulum of power have swung in their favour AND they are correct.

The implosion of American power will be fast and furious.

The United States is reaping what it has sown.

A World War 2 Soldier Was Found Frozen in Ice!

Terrifying Discovery At Cleopatra s Tomb In Egypt That Changes History

Horseshoe Sandwich with Idaho® Fingerling Fries

The Horseshoe is a regional specialty in the Springfield, Illinois area. It is an open-faced sandwich on toasted bread that can utilize a variety of meats, topped with French fries and a creamy cheese sauce.

Yield: 4 sandwiches

Ingredients

Sandwich

4 toasted slices Texas toast
6 Idaho® Russian Banana Fingerling potatoes, sliced into fries
2 teaspoons olive oil
Freshly ground Italian seasoning blend
4 grilled hamburger patties, sprinkled with steak seasoning and seasoning salt before cooking
1 medium onion, sliced
1 cup fresh mushrooms, sliced
1 red or green bell pepper, cut into large chunks
2 tablespoons butter

Cheese Sauce

2 tablespoons butter
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon dried basil
1 cup milk
1 cup shredded cheddar cheese

Instructions

Lay out potato slices onto cookie sheet lined with foil.
Drizzle olive oil over potatoes and use brush to evenly coat them.
Grind Italian seasoning over potatoes until there is a nice, even dusting of seasoning.
Place in oven heated to 425 degrees F. Bake for 15 to 18 minutes or until fries are cooked throughout and lightly brown.
Place onion, mushroom and pepper in foil. Place butter on top and sprinkle with freshly ground Italian seasoning. Tent foil and close. Place in oven. (They should be softened by the time the fries finish cooking.)
While the fries and vegetables bake, start on cheese sauce by melting butter in a small saucepan. Once melted, add flour and stir to make a roux.
Add milk and basil and stir constantly until it starts to bubble. Continue stirring for two to three more minutes until it begins to thicken.
Add shredded cheese gradually, stirring constantly as it melts.
Lay out toasted bread on plates, topped with hamburger patty. Spoon vegetables on top of burger, followed by a layer of fries. Top with cheese sauce.

Notes

Grilled vegetables, such as green peppers and onions, are also common on a Horseshoe sandwich. Alternate meat suggestions include smoked ham, pulled pork and grilled chicken breast.

‘I Died:’ Women Share What Their Near-Death Experiences Were Like

These 50 Pics Of Men Before And After Beards May Show Just What You’ve Been Missing In Your Life

The effect of seeing a smooth-faced person come out from the shadows sporting a full-fledged beard is undeniable. Think about the first time we, as a society, saw what wonders a handful of tactically-shaped hair on Keanu Reeves or Chris Hemsworth can do to already charming features. And don’t get us started on George Clooney… Although, we still aren’t sure about Prince Harry (then again, it’s not totally surprising he was ordered to shave that ‘thing’ off his face).

Whether inspired by curiosity or the lack of razors, many men across the world have tried to see if their faces are suited to rock a sexy lumberjack look. Similar to leather jackets and Aviators, it’s definitely not for everyone. But when a guy pulls it off, the world has to see it as well. And with that, dear pandas, we present to you a handful of men who let testosterone do its magic and showed us their transformations from baby-faced to stubbly.

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Dead for 11 Hours: My Unexpected Journey to Heaven and Hell with Jim Woodford

Russian Border Checkpoint Attacked by Tanks from Ukraine; Destroyed in Belgorod

World Hal Turner 22 May 2023

At this moment, a fierce battle is going on with the Ukrainian DRG on the border of the Belgorod region near the village of Dronovka — Russian sources

Tanks have entered the territory of the Russian Federation at the Grayvoron checkpoint.

Russian media report: “Right now, there is a fierce battle with the Ukrainian DRG on the border of the Belgorod region near the village of Dronovka. Military equipment has been brought in from both sides.”

VIDEO:

UPDATE 9:40 AM EDT —

The fighters of the self-proclaimed “Russian Volunteer Corps,” a unit within the Ukrainian Armed Forces comprised of Russian citizens who willingly defected to Ukraine, have taken responsibility for the raid in the Belgorod Region.

UPDATE 9:58 AM EDT —

Belgorod Regional Officials have stated that “Ukrainian Forces” have entered and Partially-Captured at least 4 Russian towns near the Border Region including the Towns of Kozinka, Glotovo, Gora-Podol and Grayvoron with a Heavy Fighting still going on in the North.

Russian Traitors For Ukraine Capture 4 Russian Towns

Forensic Detective Dies ; Came Back With Proof & Message Of Afterlife That Would Shock You NDE

…

That’s all for today. Now go forth and enjoy your day.

I can play dirty, but you can’t, it’s in the rule book

“I can play dirty, but you can't, it's in the rule book”

-From HERE. United States administrator when asked why China cannot adopt the same policies that the United States routinely uses.

You know, I like Ron Unz. His site “UNZ” often has stuff; opinion and news that you will not find anywhere else. But Lordy! Is it full of racism! It drives me insane, and it’s really bothersome. I get it, you know. I understand the why. But I really don’t want to read about Jews this, and blacks that! Please.

I HATE it!

When The Garden of the Saker was up, I enjoyed it as well. But the comments were so filled with racism and hate that I just stopped reading them. Then Andre quit. He left the stage, and the Saker is no longer.

Sigh.

Life moves on…

Call me a wimp, if you will. But I want to live a sheltered life. One free of racism, and harsh opinions about broad brush-strokes about someones culture, society, color of skin, or tattoos. I don’t want to read that junk.

It gives me a headache. Ugh!

Especially if it is a ‘Bot, a mindless 11-year old, or a government paid troll. The United States is too fucked up right now.

Ugh!

Now… on to bigger and better things. You all know that I have been trying to hunt down this mysterious movie about a girl who starts work at a software campus, only to discover that she is a computer program. I’m still looking. Haven’t found it yet.

Here’s my list so far.

THE LIST

1954 — Tobor the Great — This science fiction film tells the story of a young boy, his grandfather, and his best friend — who just so happens to be a robot — as they work together to stay safe from the group of communist agents on their tail. Starring Charles Drake and Karin Booth.

1956 — 1984 — In a dystopian world, society is closely monitored by Big Brother, an omnipotent force for government surveillance. One man breaks the rules by falling in love and must pay a heavy price. Based on the novel by George Orwell.

1965 — Alphaville — A secret agent goes to the futuristic city of Alphaville to find a missing person and eventually stop the ruling dictator, professor von Braun, and his sentient computer system, Alpha 60.

1967 — Billion Dollar Brain — In this espionage thriller, Michael Caine stars as Harry Palmer, a former secret agent who unexpectedly becomes involved with a frenzied Texas oil baron (Ed Begley) working to eradicate Communism with a supercomputer.

1968 — 2001: A Space Odyssey — A group of astronauts is sent on a mysterious mission alongside the AI supercomputer H.A.L. 9000. What follows is an intense battle between man and machine, resulting in a mystifying journey through space and time.

1968 — Hot Millions — Peter Ustinov plays an embezzler who bypasses a mainframe computer’s security system to pay invoices from his fictitious companies.

1969 — The Computer Wore Tennis Shoes — Dexter Reilly (Kurt Russell) fixes a computer during an electrical storm and gets shocked. The computer’s brain has fused with his, and he’s a genius.

1969 — The Italian Job — A robber (Michael Caine) recently released from prison gets help from a group of Britain’s most infamous computer hackers to steal gold bullion from underneath the noses of the Italian police and mafia. One of the film’s most famous scenes is a massive traffic jam caused by hacking the city’s traffic control computer.

1970 — Colossus: The Forbin Project — Massive computer systems from the U.S. — “Colossus” — and Russia — “Guardian” — connect to each other. Nuclear war is threatened.

1971 — Paper Man — Five bored college students take advantage of a computer glitch and create a fictitious person, but the prank backfires.

1971 — THX 1138 — Set in a futuristic, state-controlled environment, this film follows a man and a woman, named THX 1138 and LUH 3417, respectively, as they instill a revolution upon their strictly-governed and closely-watched society.

1973 — Westworld — For one thousand dollars a day, guests of a futuristic theme park can visit recreations of different time periods and experience their wildest fantasies with lifelike androids. Pals Blane (James Brolin) and Martin (Richard Benjamin) have chosen to visit Westworld and walk the lawless streets of the American frontier. Their fantasies turn to terror, however, when a duel with a robotic gunslinger (Yul Brynner) goes terribly wrong.

1974 — The Conversation — Gene Hackman plays a surveillance expert using high-tech equipment (back in the day) to spy on a couple he fears may be in danger. Nominated for three Oscars.

1975 — Three Days of the Condor — CIA codebreaker Robert Redford tries to figure out why his own agency wants him dead.

1977 — Demon Seed — This science fiction horror film tells the story of Proteus IV, a sentient supercomputer made from artificial intelligence, who goes to incredible and dangerous lengths to attempt to become human.

1982 — Tron — One of the earliest hacking films. A computer engineer learns an executive at his company has been stealing his work and is launched into the world of virtual reality.

1983 — Brainstorm — Researchers Michael Brace (Christopher Walken) and Lillian Reynolds (Louise Fletcher) develop a system that allows the recording and playback of a person’s thoughts onto videotape. The project spins out of control when the technology is used to explore intense sexual and near-death experiences.

1983 — Superman III — Richard Pryor plays Gus Gorman, a hacker who is caught skimming from his company’s payroll through a program he developed and is then blackmailed to help turn Superman evil.

1983 — WarGames — High school student (Matthew Broderick) hacks into a military supercomputer in this classic and activates the U.S. nuclear arsenal, at a time when most people didn’t know what hacking was.

1984 — Cloak and Dagger — When 11-year-old Davey sees the murder of an FBI agent, the dying man hands him an Atari video game cartridge with military secrets. With Dabney Coleman.

1984 — Electric Dreams — Set in San Francisco, this science fiction romantic comedy is about a love triangle between an architect, a cellist, and a personal computer.

1984 — Hide and Seek — A young computer enthusiast develops a kind of artificial intelligence program named “Gregory P1.” To ensure its survival, the computer contacts other computers and begins to fight the humans. It also hooks into the mainframe computer of a nuclear power plant.

1985 — Brazil — When Sam Lowry (Jonathan Pryce) gets involved in a case of mistaken identity, he’s labeled as an enemy of the state by the powerful, technology-dependent bureaucracy controlling his society. On a quest to rectify the wrong, Sam meets the woman of his dreams, but, unbeknownst to him, she may be a terrorist.

1985 — Hackers: Wizards of the Electronic Age — This documentary about the hacker community includes footage of interviews with some of the programmers that created the PC revolution, including Steve Wozniak, co-founder of Apple. Filmed at a hacker conference held in Sausalito, Calif.

1985 — Max Headroom — This science fiction drama tells the origin story of its eponymous character, Max Headroom, an artificially intelligent, computer-generated television host. This film was later repurposed to serve as the pilot for a British series of the same name.

1985 — Prime Risk — Computer-savvy lovers scam Automated Teller Machines and plot to sink the Federal Reserve.

1985 — Real Genius — Two teenagers working on a laser project at a prestigious engineering college begin to question the true purpose of their work when the government steps in with intentions to use their project as a military-grade weapon. Starring Val Kilmer and Gabriel Jarret.

1985 — Weird Science — Teenagers Gary and Wyatt design their ideal woman on a computer, and a freak electrical accident brings her to life in the form of the lovely, superhuman Lisa.

1986 — Ferris Bueller’s Day Off — A high school student (Matthew Broderick) who wants the day off breaks into his school’s computer system and changes grades and attendance records.

1987 — Bellman and True — Computer expert Hiller (Bernard Hill) finds himself unemployed and is bribed into stealing confidential computer information for a group of bank robbers. He gets the job done but makes the mistake of thinking he’s seen the last of the criminals; little does Hiller know they’ve tracked him and his son to London.

1987 — Terminal Entry — Picking up where War Games left off, this film tells the story of a group of high school students who unknowingly hack into the network of a dangerous terrorist organization under the impression they’re simply playing a game — but the acts of terror caused by their actions are no joke.

1988 — Defense Play — After her father is mysteriously killed while working on a project for the U.S. Air Force, Karen (Susan Ursitti) joins forces with Scott (David Oliver), and together, the two computer-savvy students open their own investigation into the murder.

1990 — Circuitry Man — In a dystopian society, narcotics come in the form of a microchip, heavily sought after by Earth’s remaining inhabitants — two of whom are a bio-android and a female bodyguard who, after stealing said microchips, find themselves being tracked by a dangerous criminal.

1990 — Demolition Man — The year is 2032 in San Angeles, a utopian city created by the citizens of Southern California. When a violent criminal breaks out and threatens the societal peace, John Spartan (Sylvester Stallone) is awoken from 36 years spent cryogenically frozen in ice to capture the fugitive, but he becomes distracted when forced to adapt to the future society made up of voice-controlled devices, autonomous connected cars, and more.

1990 — Hardware — Starring Dylan McDermott, this film — set in a post-apocalyptic America — follows a former soldier who unknowingly gifts his girlfriend spare parts from a self-rebuilding, murderous cyborg.

1990 — The KGB, The Computer and Me — In 1986, Clifford Stoll, an astronomer turned computer scientist, began working on a computer system at the Lawrence Berkeley Laboratory. At the time, two accounting programs were responsible for charging people for machine use. When Stoll discovered a 75-cent discrepancy in the normally flawless programs, he began to investigate and eventually uncovered an undocumented user named “Hunter.” As he dug deeper, he realized that Hunter had hacked into the system and installed new programs. His investigation eventually led him and U.S. intelligence to the realization that Hunter was a computer programmer who worked for the KGB.

1991 — Terminator 2: Judgment Day — A cyborg protects Sarah Connor’s teenage son John from another cyborg intent on killing him.

1992 — The Lawnmower Man —Resembling “Frankenstein,” this science fiction horror film tells the story of a scientist (Pierce Brosnan) and his experiment: a once-simple man (Jeff Fahey) who, through the power of mind-enhancing medication and computer-simulated training sessions, becomes a genius. But it isn’t long before this experiment spirals out of control.

1992 — Single White Female — A woman (played by Bridget Fonda) advertises for a roommate. She soon discovers that her new roommate is a hacker (Jennifer Jason Leigh) intent on stealing her identity.

1992 — Sneakers — A Hacker (Robert Redford) leads a team of experts who test the security of San Francisco companies. They discover a black box that can crack any encryption, posing a huge threat if it lands in the wrong hands… including rogue NSA agents.

1993 — American Cyborg: Steel Warrior — When a fleet of murderous cyborgs threatens the remaining life on Earth after a nuclear war, two of the last humans join forces to save the future of their race. A nail-biting battle ensues.

1993 — Frauds — An insurance investigator (Phil Collins) uses games and gimmicks to manipulate the lives of others, including a couple who make an unusual insurance claim. He approves the claim but makes bizarre demands as ransom.

1993 — Ghost in the Machine — A computer-powered MRI machine extracts a serial murderer’s soul, and becomes a deadly technological weapon.

1993 — Jurassic Park — Seinfeld’s nemesis “Newman” (Dennis Nery) plays an IT guy who hacks his way into a coup that involves him stealing dinosaur DNA to sell to the highest bidder.

1993 — Knights — Set in a futuristic world devastated by war, this science fiction thriller tells the story of Gabriel (Kris Kristofferson), a cyborg, and Nea (Kathy Long), a young girl, who — despite being an unlikely duo — team up against their planet’s dominant, blood-thirsty army of cyborgs to save the human race.

1994 — Disclosure — Starring Demi Moore and Michael Douglas, this thriller balances both the virtual and physical worlds, telling the story of a senior executive at a technology company who’s on track for a big promotion — that is, until his fate falls into the hands of his ex-girlfriend, who is determined to revive their relationship … with or without consent.

1994 — Plughead Rewired: Circuitry Man II — The sequel to 1990’s Circuitry Man follows a female FBI agent and an android named Danner as they track down Plughead — a notorious criminal known for making and selling microchips that promise an extended life to those who take them.

1995 — Ghost in the Shell — In this animated Japanese sci-fi epic, a cyborg policewoman and her partner hunt a cybercriminal called the Puppet Master, who hacks into the brains of cyborgs to get information and use it to commit crimes. (Scarlett Johansson stars in a 2017 live-action remake.)

1995 — GoldenEye — James Bond tries to stop a Russian crime syndicate from using a stolen space-based weapons program and falls into the clutches of an evil genius who plans to rule Earth from cyberspace.

1995 — Hackers —A teenage hacker is back on the scene seven years after being banned from computers for writing a virus that caused the biggest stock exchange crash in history. He and his friends must prove that a sinister superhacker is framing them for a plot to embezzle funds from a large oil company with a computer worm. With Angelina Jolie.

1995 — Johnny Mnemonic — A computer chip implanted in his brain allows a human data trafficker (Keanu Reeves) to securely store and transport data too sensitive for regular computer networks. When he gets a valuable package that exceeds the chip’s storage capacity, the mnemonic courier must deliver the data within 24 hours or die. Assassins are intent on helping him do just that.

1995 — Judge Dredd — Judge Dredd (Sylvester Stallone) is sent to a penal colony for a murder he didn’t commit. On his way there, he gets an unexpected sidekick when he reunites with Herman “Fergee” Ferguson (Rob Schneider), a hacker he previously busted for destruction of property.

1995 — The Net — A computer programmer (Sandra Bullock) who lives a reclusive life is looking forward to time off when she becomes aware of a conspiracy. Her vacation turns into a nightmare when someone tries to kill her and her identity is stolen. She must prove who she is while trying to figure out why someone wants her dead.

1995 — Under Siege 2: Dark Territory — Steven Seagal returns as ex-Navy SEAL Casey Ryback in this sequel to Under Siege, which finds Ryback and his niece Sarah (Katherine Heigl) on a train headed from Denver to Los Angeles. When the train is hijacked by a psychotic computer genius and his fellow terrorist, who need it for their plot to take control of a top-secret satellite, Ryback enlists the help of a train porter (Morris Chestnut) to foil their plan.

1996 — Independence Day — In an epic fight against an alien race, computer expert David Levinson (Jeff Goldblum) achieves a crucial win when he hacks into the fleet of spaceships coming toward Earth, infecting them with a virus and putting a stop to the looming alien invasion.

1996 — Lawnmower Man 2: Beyond Cyberspace — On a mission for world domination, Jobe (Matt Frewer), a virtual reality-based consciousness, is determined to hack into all the world’s computers, but his plans are thwarted by Peter (Austin O’Brien) and Benjamin (Patrick Bergin), whose unfaltering passion to save the world — and cyberspace — inspires an all-out war.

1996 — Omega Doom — In a world dominated by violent cyborgs, there is little-to-no hope for what’s left of humanity … that is, until one such cyborg — Omega Doom — is struck in the head, causing his wires to short and recircut, leading to a newfound interest in defeating his own kind.

1997 — Masterminds — The new security chief at a prestigious private school plans to even a score by kidnapping several of the wealthy students and holding them for ransom. A teenage computer hacker, expelled from the school for pulling pranks, thwarts his plans.

1998 — 23 — After an orphan invests some of his inheritance in a home computer, he begins discussing conspiracy theories inspired by a novel on bulletin boards. He’s soon hacking military and government computers with a friend. Based on a true story.

1998 — Enemy of the State — A lawyer (Will Smith) isn’t aware that a videotape in his possession proves a congressman was murdered for opposing surveillance legislation. When he becomes the target of a corrupt NSA official and his life begins to fall apart, he enlists the help of an ex-intelligence operative (Gene Hackman).

1998 — Mercury Rising (Code Mercury) — A renegade FBI agent (Bruce Willis) must protect a 9-year-old autistic boy who has cracked encrypted government code that was supposed to be unbreakable.

1998 — Pi — Is there a mathematical key that can unlock the universal patterns in nature? If found, can that key predict anything — even the stock market? A brilliant, obsessed, and paranoid mathematician who barricades himself in a room filled with computer equipment intends to find that key, but might go mad while doing so.

1998 — Webmaster — In this Danish sci-fi thriller, a powerful crime leader hires a hacker to monitor the security of his computer operations. When someone else hacks into the database, the webmaster must go to extremes to find him, or die within 35 hours.

1999 — Entrapment — An undercover art investigator (Catherine Zeta-Jones) is intent on tracking down and capturing a renowned thief (Sean Connery). They end up attempting a heist together.

1999 — eXistenZ — Computer programmer Allegra Geller’s (Jennifer Jason Leigh) latest creation, the hyper-realistic virtual reality game eXistenZ, takes a dangerous turn when a crazed assassin becomes intent on destroying it. With help from Ted Pikul (Jude Law), Allegra sets out to save the game, and her life.

1999 — The Matrix — In a dystopian future, humanity is unknowingly trapped inside the Matrix, a simulated reality created by intelligent machines to distract humans while they use their bodies as an energy source. A computer programmer / hacker known as Neo (Keanu Reeves) discovers the truth and joins forces with other rebels to free humankind.

1999 — Office Space —They’re supposed to be part of one big happy family, but three computer programmers hate their jobs and their boss. They concoct a scheme to embezzle small amounts of money from the high-tech company that employs them, but a mistake results in a bigger theft than planned. With Jennifer Anniston.

1999 — NetForce — In the year 2005, NetForce, a division of the FBI, is tasked with protecting the Net from terrorism. A loophole in a browser allows someone to gain control of the Internet and all the information it holds. Now the commander of NetForce must stop him, as he also tracks down a killer.

1999 — Pirates of Silicon Valley — This biographical drama about the development of the personal computer and the rivalry between Apple Computer and Microsoft spans the years 1971 – 1997. Noah Wyle portrays Steve Jobs and Anthony Michael Hall stars as Bill Gates.

1999 — The Thirteenth Floor — This science-fiction neo-noir film begins in 1999 in Los Angeles when the inventor of a newly completed virtual reality simulation of the city in 1937 is murdered. A computer scientist he has mentored (played by Craig Bierko) becomes the primary suspect and begins to doubt his own innocence because of the evidence against him. He eventually enters the simulation to unravel the truth and realizes nothing is as it seems.

2000 — Takedown — Also known as “Track Down,” the controversial movie version of the manhunt for legendary hacker Kevin Mitnick is based on the book by Tsutomu Shimomura, “Takedown: The Pursuit and Capture of Kevin Mitnick, America’s Most Wanted Computer Outlaw – By The Man Who Did It.”

2001 — A.I. Artificial Intelligence — In this Pinocchio-esque tale, David (Haley Joel Osment) — a sentient, artificially-created robot — wishes to become a real boy, longing for a stronger connection with his human mother.

2001 — Antitrust — When a college graduate (Ryan Phillippe) gets a job writing software at a multi-billion dollar computer company, he has no idea that the founder (Tim Robbins) and new mentor is hiding dark secrets. Is there anyone he can trust?

2001 — The Code — This documentary covers the first decade of GNU/Linux and features some of the most influential people of the free software (FOSS) movement.

2001 — Freedom Downtime — This documentary covers the plight of convicted computer hacker Kevin Mitnick, from the standpoint that Miramax misrepresented him in the film “Takedown.” It includes the story of several computer enthusiasts who confront Miramax reps about their discontent with aspects of the script, including the film’s ending.

2001 — Revolution OS — The history of GNU, Linux, and the open source and free software movements is traced in this documentary. It features several interviews with prominent hackers and entrepreneurs.

2001 — The Score — An aging safecracker (Robert De Niro) plans to retire, but his fence (Marlon Brando) talks him into one final score, stealing one of Canada’s natural treasures hidden in the basement of a Customs House. He joins forces with another thief (Edward Norton) who hires someone to hack into the Custom House’s security system, but things go wrong.

2001 — Secret History of Hacking — The focus of this documentary is phreaking, computer hacking, and social engineering occurring from the 1970s through the 1990s. John Draper, Steve Wozniak, and Kevin Mitnick are prominently featured.

2001 — Swordfish — A spy named Gabriel (John Travolta) plots to steal a large fortune. He enlists Ginger (Halle Berry) to persuade Stanley (Hugh Jackman), who spent two years in prison for hacking an FBI program, to help. But what is Gabriel really up to, and who or what is really behind the plot?

2002 — Catch Me if You Can — Frank Abagnale is one of the world’s most respected authorities on forgery, embezzlement, and secure documents. His riveting story provided the inspiration for Steven Spielberg’s film starring Leonardo DiCaprio as Abagnale and Tom Hanks as the FBI agent fast on his heels.

2002 — Cypher — Morgan Sullivan (Jeremy Northam) is an accountant turned corporate spy working for a global computer corporation. When a mysterious woman suggests his job isn’t what it seems, Morgan ascends into a complicated world of brainwashing, where he struggles to maintain his true identity.

2002 — Half the Rent — Otherwise known as Halbe Miete, this film follows a computer hacker (Stephan Kampwirth) who, after the sudden death of his girlfriend, breaks into — and camps out at — other people’s apartments when they’re not home. But when what started as a temporary solution to homelessness becomes a dangerous obsession, will the risk outweigh the reward?

2002 — Minority Report — It’s 2054 and a specialized Pre-Crime police department in D.C. stops crimes before they are committed based on information from Pre-Cogs, three psychic beings who channel their visions into a computer. When they accuse the unit chief (Tom Cruise) of a future murder, he becomes a fugitive, hunted by his own department.

2002 — Storm Watch — A champion player of virtual reality games must suddenly race against time to stop a criminal mastermind who has stolen his identify from destroying the world with a weather satellite. Also known as “Code Hunter.”

2002 — Terminal Error — A former employee of a major software company gets even with the president by planting a computer virus on an MP3 and giving it to his son. His plan is to crash the computer terminals, but the virus has a mind of its own and begins to take out large portions of the city. Father and son must create their own virus to stop the chaos.

2003 — Code 46 — In a dystopian world, citizens are forbidden to travel outside their cities without special permits from the totalitarian government. When forged permits start to circulate, William Gold (Tim Robbins) is tasked with investigating, finding, and taking down the individual responsible, though he never expects to fall in love with her.

2003 — The Core — After several bizarre incidents across the globe, a geophysicist and scientists determine that the planet’s molten core has stopped rotating and that the magnetic field will collapse within a year. They devise a plan to bore down to the core and set off nuclear explosions to restart the rotation and enlist a hacker to scour the internet and eliminate all traces of the pending disaster to prevent worldwide panic.

2003 — Foolproof — Kevin (Ryan Reynolds) is part of a friend group with an odd hobby: they plan heists, yet never carry them out despite being perfectly able to do so. But when their plans fall into the wrong hands, the friends are thrust into the criminal world as they’re forced to carry out a jewelry warehouse heist that was never supposed to see the light of day.

2003 — In the Realm of the Hackers — This documentary reveals how and why two Australian teenager computer hackers, Electron and Phoenix, stole a restructured computer security list in the late 1980s and used it to break into some of the world’s most classified and secure computer systems.

2003 — The Italian Job — After a thief (Edward Norton) turns on his partners and gets away with the gold they’ve stolen in a heist, his former team seeks revenge.

2003 — The Matrix Reloaded — With the help of Neo (Keanu Reeves), Morpheus (Laurence Fishburne), Trinity (Carrie-Anne Moss), and other freedom fighters, more and more humans have been freed from the Matrix and brought to Zion. But 250,000 machines are digging towards the stronghold and will reach them in 72 hours, so they must prepare for war.

2003 — Paycheck — Michael Jennings (Ben Affleck) makes good money working on top-secret projects and then agreeing to have his memory erased, until a payment of $92 million for a three-year assignment is canceled. With his life in danger, he must get help from a scientist (Uma Thurman) he doesn’t remember dating to figure out the importance of seemingly random items.

2004 — One Point O — Simon (Jeremy Sisto), a young, paranoid computer programmer, finds himself on the receiving end of a series of mysteriously empty packages. Little does he know these deliveries are only the tip of a reality-bending iceberg that will change his life forever.

2004 — Paranoia 1.0 — A computer programmer receives mysterious empty packages inside his apartment and tries to find out who’s sending them, why, and who he can trust. Also known as “One Point O.”

2005 — V for Vendetta — In a dystopian future, a tyrannical British government imposes a strict curfew following the outbreak of a virus. An anarchist in a smiling Guy Fawkes mask seeks revenge with the help of a young woman and hacks into the television network to urge others to revolt against tyranny.

2006 — Deja Vu — Doug Carlin (Denzel Washington) is an ATF agent working to capture the terrorist responsible for a ferry bombing that killed hundreds. Using an advanced form of surveillance technology, Doug travels back in time, on a mission to prevent the crime, but his newfound obsession with one of the victims puts everything at risk.

2006 — The Departed — Boston police officer Billy (Leonardo DiCaprio) goes undercover to infiltrate — and take down — the dangerous Irish gang tearing up his city, led by Frank Costello (Jack Nicholson). Becoming consumed by his secret life, Billy loses sight of his mission, though everything comes back into perspective when a career criminal infiltrates and begins threatening the police department.

2006 — Firewall — When his family is taken hostage, a security specialist (Harrison Ford) who designs theft-proof computer systems for financial institutions must break into his own system and steal millions of dollars to pay off their ransom.

2006 — Hacking Democracy — This documentary investigates allegations of election fraud during the 2004 U.S. presidential election. It follows Bev Harris, the founder of Black Box Voting, a nonprofit consumer-protection group, and other citizen activists who set out to uncover flaws in the voting system.

2006 — In Ascolto — Also known as The Listening, this film takes inspiration from the mass surveillance operations of the National Security Agency (NSA), chronicling the experience of a spy (Michael Parks) working undercover to get on the inside of a counter-listening station in the Italian Alps.

2006 — Man of the Year — A satirical political talk show host (Robin Williams) runs for president and gets elected with the help of fans who begin a grassroots campaign. It’s later revealed that his presidency was the result of a computerized voting machine malfunction.

2006 — The Net 2.0 — A young computer systems analyst arrives in Istanbul to start a new job, but finds out her identity has been stolen. She must catch who did it to get her life back.

2006 — Pulse — In this remake of a Japanese horror film, a student is shocked when her boyfriend, a computer hacker, commits suicide. Then she and her friends receive online messages from him, asking for help. Another computer hacker must help her stop a supernatural plague traveling through the network.

2006 — A Scanner Darkly — This computer-animated adaptation of Philip K Dick’s 1977 sci-fi novel is set in the near-future. The U.S.’s war on drugs, particularly a hyper-addictive substance called D (for Death), prompts the enforcement of a police state that uses numberless surveillance scanners.

2007 — Bourne Ultimatum — Operative Jason Bourne (Matt Damon) teams up with an investigative reporter to find the people who betrayed him, while a ruthless CIA official and his team continue to track him down in the hopes of assassinating him before he gets his memory back.

2007 — Breach – This docudrama is based on the events leading up to the capture of FBI Agent Robert Hanssen, convicted of selling secrets to the Soviet Union. A low-level surveillance expert gets promoted and assigned to work with Hanssen, unaware that he is to find proof that he is a traitor.

2007 — Every Step You Take — This documentary is an in-depth look at modern-day Britain and its Orwell-esque levels of government surveillance. It explores the pros and cons of CCTV, highlighted by commentary from notable experts in the field.

2007 — Live Free or Die Hard — As the nation prepares to celebrate Independence Day, a disgruntled government security agent launches an attack on America’s computer infrastructure. Veteran cop John McClane (Bruce Willis) and a young hacker must help the F.B.I.’s cyber division take him down.

2008 — 21 — Six Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) students hack their way to success — and millions of dollars — in Las Vegas casinos by counting cards until casino enforcer Cole Williams (Laurence Fishburne) thwarts their plans. Based on a true story.

2008 — Download: The True Story of the Internet — Told through personal accounts from the founders of Yahoo, eBay, Google, Amazon, and many others, this documentary tells the story of how the internet became what it is today.

2008 — Eagle Eye — Two strangers, Jerry and Rachel, come together after receiving mysterious calls from a woman they never met. She threatens their lives and family to push them into a series of dangerous situations, controlling their actions using cellphones and other technology.

2008 — Hackers are People Too — Hackers created this documentary to portray their community and break down negative stereotypes. It describes what hacking is, how hackers think, and discusses women in the field.

2008 — Untraceable — Agent Jennifer Marsh (Diane Lane) of the Cyber Crimes Division of the FBI in Portland tries to track down a psychopathic hacker killing people online in live streaming video. As his site gets more hits, victims die faster.

2008 — WarGames: The Dead Code 2008 — Is an American teen hacker playing a terrorist-attack simulator game online a real terrorist intent on destroying the United States? That’s what Homeland Security believes and they set out to apprehend him.

2009 — Echelon Conspiracy — When tech whiz Max Peterson (Shane West) gets sent a mysterious cell phone in the mail, he’s unsure of where it came from or what it is — until it starts sending instructions on how to win at the local casino. But it isn’t long before Max’s newfound luck puts him at the center of a dangerous government conspiracy dealing with the world’s security cameras. Will he make it out alive?

2009 — Eyeborgs — In the aftermath of a major terrorist attack, government surveillance in the U.S. is taken to the next level via robotic cameras called “Eyeborgs,” which track and monitor all citizens for suspicious behavior. But when photographic evidence from the Eyeborgs doesn’t line up with the facts in an ongoing murder investigation, a federal agent starts to wonder, who’s really controlling these cameras and what do they want?

2009 — Gamer — Controlled by a teenage gamer’s remote device, death-row inmate Kable must battle fellow prisoners every week in a violent online game. Can he survive enough sessions to gain his freedom, free his wife from avatar slavery, and take down the game’s inventor?

2009 — The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo — A journalist searches for the killer of a woman who has been dead for forty years, with the help of a young female hacker. When they unravel dark family secrets, they must protect themselves. This Swedish language film was remade in English in 2011.

2009 — Hackers Wanted — This unreleased American documentary originally named “Can You Hack It?” follows the adventures of Adrian Lamo, a famous hacker, and explores the origins of hacking and nature of hackers.

2009 — Shadow Government — What impact does the technological landscape have on our daily lives? This documentary, led by Grant Jeffrey, explores exactly how much of our lives are being digitized and observed in the modern era.

2009 — Transcendent Man — The subject of this documentary from filmmaker Robert Barry Ptolemy is Ray Kurzweil, inventor, futurist and author, and his predictions about the future of technology, presented in his 2005 book, The Singularity is Near: When Humans Transcend Biology. Ptolemy follows Kurzweil on his world speaking tour, where he discusses his thoughts on the technological singularity, a proposed advancement that will occur sometime in the 21st century due to progress in artificial intelligence, genetics, nanotechnology, and robotics.

2009 — We Live in Public — Directed by Ondi Timoner, this documentary profiles Josh Harris, “the greatest Internet pioneer you’ve never heard of.” An early dot.com entrepreneur, Harris founded Psuedo.com, an early streaming content service. In 1999, he began an experiment called “Quiet,” in which 100 men and women agreed to give up their privacy to live together under constant video surveillance, so their lives could be streamed online.

2010 — Inception — A thief (Leonardo DiCaprio) who can enter people’s dreams and steal their secrets begins using his gift for corporate espionage. Can he also plant an idea into someone’s mind? The film won four Oscars.

2010 — The Social Network — Jesse Eisenberg portrays Harvard student and computer genius Mark Zuckerberg in this drama about the creation of a social networking site that would become Facebook.

2010 — Tron Legacy — In this revamped Tron continuation, Sam (Garrett Hedlund) searches in and out of the computer world for his father, Kevin Flynn (Jeff Bridges), a brilliant computer programmer.

2011 — Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol — When mega-spy Ethan Hunt (Tom Cruise) is blamed for a terrorist attack on the Kremlin, he and others from his agency, the Impossible Missions Force (IMF), must prove their innocence.

2011 — StuxNet: Cyberwar — First discovered in 2010, the StuxNet computer worm marked the beginning of a new era in cybercrime, attacking — and causing substantial damage to — an Iranian nuclear program. This documentary explores the malware’s origins alongside its contributions to the advancement of cyber warfare technology.

2012 — Code 2600 — This documentary explores the rise of the Information Technology Age through the eyes of the people who helped build it and the events that shaped it.

2012 — Genius on Hold — The downfall of Walter L. Shaw, a telecommunications genius who became destitute, and his disillusioned son, who became a notorious jewel thief, are the subjects of this documentary.

2012 — Owned & Operated — Using the lens of the internet, this documentary proves just how much we matter … as consumers, that is. Society today practically lives for privileged individuals — celebrities and politicians, among others — unknowingly adhering to their wicked ways of gaining control, but there is an awakening on the horizon, and it’s going to change everything.

2012 – Panopticon – Living in the digital age, do we really have privacy? This documentary examines how much our daily lives are controlled and watched by omnipresent surveillance, which — as technology advances — has only become harder to avoid.

2012 — Reboot — A young female hacker can’t remember a traumatic event that leaves her with an iPhone glued to her hand. The phone’s timer is counting down to zero and fellow hackers must help her solve the puzzle.

2012 — Shadows of Liberty — Should we trust the media? This documentary examines the five big for-profit conglomerates that control 90 percent of U.S.-based media, raising questions of who to believe in today’s political, economical, and social world.

2012 — Skyfall — James Bond (Daniel Craig) must prove he still has what it takes as he tracks down the source of a cyber-terror attack at M16 headquarters and goes up against a genius hacker.

2012 — Tracked Down — Directed by Paul Moreira, this documentary explains how governments around the world monitor their citizens through advanced electronic warfare equipment — equipment that has fallen into the hands of repressive dictatorial regimes in Libya, Syria and Bahrain. Moreira reveals how the technology can be traded in stealth and traces these deals to their source.

2012 — Underground: The Julian Assange Story — This Australian film follows the early career of the WikiLeaks founder, from his start as a teenage computer hacker in Melbourne.

2012 — We Are Legion: The Story of the Hacktivists — Filmmaker Brian Knappenberger documents the hacking group Anonymous, including interviews from group members.

2013 — The Assange Agenda: Surveillance, Democracy and You — At what point does government surveillance put democracy at risk? According to Julian Assange — founder of Wikileaks — we’re already there. This documentary explores what may lay ahead for today’s digital world if we don’t gain control over the various agencies spying on us.

2013 — Big Data: The Shell Investigation — In the digital age, a journalist’s sources are endless — when consulting big data, that is. This documentary showcases how a team of journalists used easily accessible channels, such as LinkedIn and Wikipedia, to piece together the truth about Royal Dutch Shell’s two-billion-dollar debt to the Iranian government.

2013 — The Bling Ring — Nicki (Emma Watson) and her fame-obsessed group of friends will do anything to make a name for themselves in Hollywood, including breaking into — and robbing — the homes of elite celebrities, which, if not for the internet, would never have been possible.

2013 — DEFCON: The Documentary — The world’s largest hacking conference, DEFCON, has long since had a strict no-camera policy … until now. This documentary follows the four days of DEFCON’s 20th-anniversary event, highlighted by commentary from attendees and staff.

2013 — Disconnect — Three intersecting stories center around the impact of the Internet on people’s lives. The characters include a victim of cyberbullying, a lawyer who communicates constantly through his cell phone but can’t find time to connect with his family, and a couple whose secrets are exposed online.

2013 — DSKNECTD — Do electronic devices bring people together or pull them apart? This documentary examines how human interaction has changed in light of the rise of technologies such as cell phones, social media, and the internet.

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2013 — The Fifth Estate — Based on real events, the film begins as WikiLeaks founder Julian Assange (Benedict Cumberbatch) and Daniel Domscheit-Berg join forces as underground watchdogs and create a platform for whistleblowers to leak covert data to expose government secrets and corporate crimes.

2013 — Goodbye World — More than one million cellphones simultaneously receive a two-word message, followed by the collapse of the power grid and widespread panic. A group of people who find shelter in a cabin soon find out what it’s like to live in a post-apocalyptic world.

2013 — Google and the World Brain — The Google Books Library Project is certainly ambitious, but is it feasible? This documentary examines Google’s plan to open the world’s largest virtual library, as well as the many issues that may stem from it, such as copyright infringement and lack of online privacy.

2013 — Her — In this futuristic story, a lonely writer ( Joaquin Phoenix ) develops an unlikely relationship with an operating system designed to meet his every need.

2013 — Identity Thief — When a woman (Melissa McCarthy) steals the identity of Sandy Patterson (Jason Bateman), a financial firm account executive, and wrecks his credit rating, he sets out to confront her.

2013 — In Google We Trust — Who’s keeping tabs on your data? This revealing documentary gives viewers an inside look into how — and why — our digital interactions are tracked and recorded. If you’re worried about the consequences, watch this now.

2013 — Mickey Virus — In this Bollywood hacker comedy, Delhi Police must seek the help of a lazy hacker to solve a case.

2013 — Terms and Conditions May Apply — This documentary exposes how much the Internet and cellphone usage allows corporations and governments to learn about people.

2013 — TPB AFK: The Pirate Bay Away from Keyboard —This Swedish documentary film, directed and produced by Simon Klose, focuses on the lives of the three founders of The Pirate Bay — Peter Sunde, Fredrik Neij, and Gottfrid Svartholm — and the Pirate Bay trial.

2013 — The Value of Your Personal Data — Produced by the acclaimed VPRO series, this documentary discusses the companies that collect your personal data, who buys it from them, how it is used, and who owns it. It also gives advice on how you can gain back control of it and stop being targeted and manipulated.

2013 — War on Whistleblowers: Free Press and the National Security State — This documentary by Robert Greenwald highlights four cases — Michael DeKort, Thomas Drake, Franz Gayl and Thomas Tamm — where American government employees and contractors exposed fraud and abuse through the media at the risk of their personal and professional lives.

2014 — Algorithm — A computer hacker who specializes in breaking into secure systems, including the telephone company and people’s personal accounts, hacks a government contractor and discovers a mysterious computer program, thrusting him into a revolution.

2014 — The Bureau of Digital Sabotage — What is privacy? This documentary argues it is nonexistent in today’s digital age, delving into our new reality and its most crucial issues by asking citizens to stand up when mass surveillance crosses the line.

2014 — Citizenfour — This documentary by Laura Poitras about whistleblower Edward Snowden and the NSA spying scandal includes interviews of Snowden in Hong Kong in 2013 and features work by journalist Glenn Greenwald.

2014 — Digital Amnesia — An in-depth investigation into the shelf life of digital data and the vulnerable nature in which we store information today, featuring commentary from organizations such as Internet Archive and The Archive Team.

2014 — Ex Machina — A young programmer wins a competition that makes him the human component in a groundbreaking experiment where he must evaluate the capabilities and consciousness of Ava, a breathtaking A.I.

2014 — The Hackers Wars — This documentary discusses hacktivism in the United States, including the government’s surveillance and persecution of hackers and journalists.

2014 — The Human Face of Big Data — This documentary, directed by Sandy Smolan and narrated by Joel McHale, initially focuses on Big Data’s positive aspects, such as how the massive gathering and analyzing of data in real-time through a multitude of digital devices allows us to address some of humanity’s biggest challenges and improve lives globally. It also highlights how the accessibility of this data comes at a steep price.

2014 — The Imitation Game — M16, the newly created British intelligence agency, recruits mathematician Alan Turing (Benedict Cumberbatch) and his team to crack the Germany’s Enigma code during World War II. Nominated for 8 Oscars.

2014 — Inside The Dark Web — Internet surveillance takes center stage in this documentary that details the pros and cons of the World Wide Web. With all types of surveillance taking place globally — government, commercial, and more — what does the future look like for those living in the digital age?

2014 — The Internet’s Own Boy: The Story of Aaron Swartz — Filmmaker Brian Knappenberger explores the life and work of Reddit co-founder Aaron Swartz, a programming prodigy and information activist who committed suicide at the age of 26.

2014 — Killswitch — In a world where we rely so heavily on the internet, what happens if it comes under attack? This award-winning documentary centers on the threat of internet censorship and what we risk losing if we don’t fight back, such as free speech, democracy, and innovation.

2014 — Men, Women and Children — What does it mean to be a parent in the age of social media? This film follows multiple families, each with their own relationships to the internet, as they overcome various challenges, including eating disorders and video game culture.

2014 — Open Windows — A blogger finds out he’s won a dinner with an actress he devotes his website to and is disappointed when she cancels. When he gets a chance to spy on her every move with his laptop, his life gets crazy.

2014 — The Signal — Nic, who is a student at MIT, is on a road trip with two companions when an annoying computer hacker distracts them. They track him to an abandoned shack. After strange occurrences, Nik wakes up wounded and disoriented, wondering what has happened to his friends, and who are these people in space suits?

2014 — Transcendence — Dr. Will Caster, renowned artificial intelligence researcher, is on a controversial quest to create a fully sentient machine, but are the dangerous consequences that follow worth it? This science-fiction thriller stars Johnny Depp, Rebecca Hall, Morgan Freeman, and Paul Bettany, among others.

2014 — Unfriended — a mysterious, supernatural force haunts a group of online chat room friends using the account of their dead friend.

2014 — Who Am I — A subversive hacker group intent on gaining global fame invites a young German computer whiz to join them.

2015 — Big Data: Unlocking Success — Experts from Berkeley Research Group, Lawrence Berkeley National Laboratory, and Microsoft look into the use of data science and its allied fields in this documentary, noting several real-life examples, including events at Johns Hopkins University and MGM Resorts International.

2015 — Blackhat — Convicted hacker Nicholas Hathaway (Chris Hemsworth) joins a team of American and Chinese technical experts to track down a Balkan cyberterrorist operating in Southeast Asia.

2015 — Cyberbully — In this made-for-TV movie, A British teenage girl (Emily Osment) retreats from family and friends when a computer hacker forces her to do his bidding, threatening to leak compromising photos of her if she doesn’t do what he asks.

2015 — Cybertopia: Dreams of Silicon Valley — A technological revolution is looming in Silicon Valley. This documentary explores the future of digitized reality, as well as how daily life has already changed as a result of the dedicated individuals residing in California’s tech headquarters.

2015 — Debug — Six young hackers assigned to fix the computer system on a vessel drifting in deep space become prey to an artificial intelligence source intent on becoming human.

2015 — Deep Web — Filmmaker Alex Winter interviews the people behind the Deep Web and bitcoin and follows the arrest and trial of Ross Ulbricht (“Dread Pirate Roberts”), founder of online black market Silk Road.

2015 — Democracy: Im Rausch der Daten — From Swiss director David Bernet, this documentary tells the story of how politicians in the EU are working to protect society from the dangers of Big Data and mass surveillance.

2015 — Digitale Dissidenten — What price do whistleblowers pay? Interviews with David Ellsberg, Edward Snowden, William Binney, Thomas Drake, Annie Machon, and Julian Assange shed light on the cost of having a conscience in the dark world of government surveillance.

2015 — Furious 7 —Mr. Nobody (Kurt Russell), a government operative, enlists Dominic Toretto to find a hacker who has created God’s Eye, a device that can hack any technology that uses a camera. In return, they can use the device to find and stop Deckard Shaw (Jason Statham), who is seeking revenge against Toretto and his crew for his comatose brother.

2015 — A Good American — This documentary film tells the story of Bill Binney, former technical director of the NSA, a group of exceptional code-breakers, and a program called ThinThread, which, if not dumped three weeks prior to 9/11, would’ve been able to stop the terrorist attacks that took almost 3,000 lives.

2015 — Hacker’s Game — A cyber-detective working for a human rights organization and a hacking expert with shady connections meet on a rooftop and bond over a game of virtual chess. Will their romance survive deception?

2015 — Jobs vs. Gates: The Hippie and The Nerd — This documentary tells the story of two of the biggest men in tech, Bill Gates and Steve Jobs, and the spectacular rivalry between them. Despite landing on two different sides of the battle between Mac and PC, Jobs and Gates’ mutual respect for one another endured the test of time.

2015 — Mapping the Future — Are our lives predictable? If you take the internet’s overflowing amount of data into consideration, the answer is yes. This documentary explores how the abundance of data gathered on the internet in recent years led to a mathematical algorithm for human life.

2015 — Terminal F/Chasing Edward Snowden — This documentary discusses what motivated Edward Snowden, an NSA analyst-turned whistleblower, to leak classified information about global surveillance programs used by the American government, leading him to flee to Hong Kong and later to Russia to evade authorities.

2015 — The Throwaways — Drew (Sam Huntington) is an infamous hacker who is captured by the CIA for a slew of cybercrimes. However, his impending jail sentence is renounced after the CIA gives him an alternate option — work for them. Sam agrees, but on one condition: he gets to build his own team.

2015 — War for the Web — Directed by J. C. Cameron Brueckner, this documentary demystifies the physical infrastructure of the internet and explores the issues of ownership and competition in the broadband marketplace, privacy, and security.

2016 — Anonymous — A young Ukrainian immigrant turns to hacking and identity theft to support his parents, with help from a friend who is a black-market dealer. Petty crimes soon escalate. The film is also known as “Hacker.”

2016 — Backlight: Cyberjihad — Can social media become a weapon? This documentary examines jihadism and its online presence, which, without any hindrance, has only grown larger over the past fifteen years.

2016 — Cyber War — Hackers pose a universal threat; how can we defend ourselves? This documentary explores how governments are building up protection against the ever-growing number of digital threats, including by recruiting those with the brains to wage cyberwar and espionage when necessary.

2016 — Data Center: The True Cost of the Internet — Every day, 247 billion emails are sent through the web. Have you ever wondered what powers them? This eye-opening, high-tech documentary takes viewers inside the digital warehouses that run the internet, otherwise known as data centers.

2016 — Down the Deep, Dark Web — Venture down the internet’s rabbit hole into the secretive world of the dark web, guided by crypto-anarchists, cypherpunks, and hackers. This documentary will make you question everything you thought you knew about the darknet.

2016 — Gringo: The Dangerous Life of John McAfee — Complex antivirus pioneer John McAfee made millions before leaving the U.S. to live in a compound in the jungle in Belize. This Showtime documentary, which he calls fiction, portrays his life in Belize and 2012 departure after a neighbor was murdered.

2016 — The Haystack — Due to sophisticated hacking techniques and the terrorist organizations that often use them, the British Parliament began reviewing the Investigatory Powers Bill, legislation that would provide more leniency in the interception of private email and phone communications. Prior to the bill passing in 2016, this documentary examined how effective it would be, if it was necessary, and what citizens would have to give up once the bill was implemented.

2016 — I.T. — Aviation tycoon Mike Regan (Pierce Brosnan) hires an I.T. consultant on a temporary basis to do some work at his house and is so impressed he gives him a full-time job. He’s fired when he oversteps boundaries and seeks revenge against the businessman and his family.

2016 — Jason Bourne — Former CIA agent Jason Bourne (Matt Damon) is drawn out of hiding to uncover more about his past while fighting cyberterrorism.

2016 — Lo and Behold: Reveries of the Connected World — Filmmaker Werner Herzog examines the Internet and how it affects human interaction and modern society.

2016 — National Bird — A chilling documentary in which three military veterans blow the whistle on the secret U.S. drone war, highlighting America’s modern warfare program through the harrowing experiences of those involved.

2016 — Nerve — Friends pressure a high school senior to join the popular online game Nerve. She becomes caught up in the thrill of the adrenaline-fueled competition, partnered with a mysterious stranger, but the game takes a sinister turn.

2016 — Offline is the New Luxury — Since the dawn of the internet, humanity has slowly but surely become increasingly dependent on various smart devices — phones, tablets, and laptops alike. This documentary asks one poignant question: what would the world be without them?

2016 — Rise of the Trolls — Is being anonymous a blessing or a curse? In this documentary, filmmakers Jonathan Baltrusaitis and Paul Kemp explore the unnerving truths surrounding internet anonymity, dark instincts, and freedom in cyberspace.

2016 — Risk — Laura Poitras spent six years making this documentary about WikiLeaks founder Julian Assange, who gave her the opportunity to closely film him but later tried to censor the film.

2016 — Silicon Cowboys — This documentary tells the true story of how three unsuspecting friends became computing pioneers by dreaming up the Compaq Computer — a portable PC that would directly impact the future of computing and consequently shape the world we live in today.

2016 — Snowden — Joseph Gordon-Levitt stars as Edward J. Snowden in Oliver Stone’s biopic of the former National Security Agency contractor who becomes disillusioned with the intelligence community and leaks classified information, becoming a fugitive from law and a hero to many.

2016 — State of Surveillance — In this documentary film, Edward Snowden — infamously known for leaking classified information from the National Security Agency — invites viewers into the disturbing world of government surveillance. A must-see for anyone who feels like they’re being watched.

2016 — Stingray — This documentary enlightens viewers to just how advanced surveillance technology has become, highlighting the Stingray, which, despite going by many different names, has certified itself as one of the most powerful surveillance devices of all time, though many see it as an invasion of privacy.

2016 — What Makes You Click — Described as both a fascinating psychological study and a gripping cautionary tale, this documentary from the VPRO Backlight series discusses how companies adapt their websites and apps to get consumers to stay on them longer and spend more money.

2016 — Zero Days — Alex Gibney’s documentary focuses on Stuxnet, or “Operation Olympic Games,” a malicious computer worm developed by the United States and Israel to sabotage a key part of Iran’s nuclear program.

2017 — AlphaGo — Can an AI challenger defeat a legendary master in the game of Go? The battle between man and machine takes center stage in this documentary film chronicling Lee Sedol’s nail-biting match against AlphaGo, a computer program devised by Deep Mind Technologies to master the 3,000-year-old game.

2017 — The Circle — Mae (Emma Watson) lands a dream job at a technology and social media company called the Circle. She is soon handpicked by the founder (Tom Hanks) to participate in an experiment that takes transparency to a new level.

2017 — The Crash — The government enlists a team of white-collar criminals to thwart a cyberattack that threatens to bankrupt the United States.

2017 — Facebook: Cracking the Code — What does Facebook know about you? This documentary digs deep into the security issues that social media giant Facebook doesn’t want you to know, including how they track browsing data, promote targeted ads, and spread false information.

2017 — The Fate of the Furious — A cyberterrorist known as Cipher (Charlize Theron) coerces Dom (Vin Diesel) into working for her, hacks and takes control of cars, and reaps havoc.

2017 — Ghost in the Shell — Major (Scarlett Johansson) is saved from a terrible crash and cyber-enhanced as a soldier to stop the world’s most dangerous criminals. She soon discovers that her life was actually stolen and determines to recover her past, find out who did this to her, and stop them before they do it to others.

2017 — Kim Dotcom: Caught in the Web — This documentary tells the story of Megaupload founder Kim Dotcom, a super-hacker, entrepreneur and notorious Internet pirate accused of money laundering, racketeering, and copyright infringement.

2017 — Meeting Snowden — Edward Snowden, former CIA and NSA collaborator, has become infamous for initiating one of the most controversial mass surveillance scandals of all time. But who is he really? In this documentary, Lawrence Lassig and Birgitta Jónsdóttir sit down with the whistleblower to discuss the future of democracy, among other things.

2017 — Nothing to Hide — Do we really have nothing to hide? This documentary takes an in-depth look into government surveillance today and why the public seems to have unanimously accepted the loss of their right to online privacy.

2017 — Silk Road: Drugs, Death, and the Dark Web — In 2011, Ross Ulbricht launched the anonymous darknet website, Silk Road. This documentary explores everything the black market site had to offer, as well as the events leading up to — and following — Ulbricht’s inevitable arrest.

2017 — Stare Into The Lights My Pretties — Many of us live behind a screen, but at what cost? This documentary examines why so many people are addicted to their screens, all the while exploring the impact this collective mindset may have on our future.

2017 — Thoughtcrime — Directed by Bernd Riemann, this documentary compares the disturbing similarities between the disclosures made by former CIA employee Edward Snowden in 2013 and the world created by George Orwell in the dystopian science fiction film 1984, where independent thinking was censored and holding thoughts opposing those in power was considered a criminal act.

2017 — Weapons of Mass Surveillance — Directed by Elizabeth C. Jones, this documentary explores the dangerous alliance of Western surveillance technology and Middle Eastern governments who use that technology to monitor their citizens. It discusses how high-tech cyber-surveillance enables governments to record, archive, and analyze communications.

2018 — Anon — In a world where everyone’s lives are transparent, traceable, and recorded by the authorities, causing crime to almost cease, a detective (Clive Owen) tries to solve a series of murders that may involve a mysterious hacker (Amanda Seyfried).

2018 — Assassination Nation — After an anonymous hacker leaks the private information of the people of Salem, suspicion falls on four teenage girls who are targeted by the community.

2018 — Black Code — Told through accounts from exiled Brazilian activists, Syrian citizens, and Tibetan monks, this documentary explores how governments across the world are exploiting the internet to gain control over their people.

2018 — Cam — Alice (Madeline Brewer) is an exotic webcam performer whose life is turned upside down when her channel — and livelihood — are stolen by a scarily accurate look-alike. Determined to get her identity back, Alice sets out to unmask, and ultimately take down, the mysterious hacker.

2018 — The Cleaners — Nothing stays on the internet forever. The web’s self-cleaning nature dominates this documentary led by field experts, enlightening viewers to the process of content removal, alongside asking one poignant question: who decides what should, and should not, be seen?

2018 — The Creepy Line — Google and Facebook take center stage in this documentary that depicts how the social media platforms have perfected various manipulation tactics, all in the name of gaining access to the public’s personal and private information. Told through first-hand accounts, scientific experiments, and an in-depth analysis.

2018 — The Defenders — Produced by Cybereason, this documentary invites viewers inside the world of cybercrime, analyzing four of the most well-known cyberattacks throughout history — highlighted by commentary from those working to protect our institutions from the ever-changing cyber threat landscape.

2018 — Digital Addicts — How much do screens affect children’s brain development? This documentary follows a group of kids growing up in the digital age, highlighting the harmful, hyper-addictive nature of social media platforms, mobile phones, and more.

2018 — Do You Trust This Computer? — Is a smarter machine always a better machine? This documentary digs deep into the dangers of artificial intelligence, highlighted by commentary from some of the field’s most respected individuals, including Elon Musk.

2018 — Edward Snowden: Whistleblower or Spy? — In 2013, Edward Snowden infamously leaked highly classified information from the NSA. Five years later, this documentary looks back at the sensational time through interviews with participants and witnesses, including some who are speaking out for the first time.

2018 — The Feeling of Being Watched — This documentary is the result of journalist Assia Bendaoui’s investigation into rumors that the FBI has monitored her quiet, predominantly Arab-American neighborhood near Chicago since the 1990s. Her research exposed one of the FBI’s largest counter-terrorism investigations before 9/11.

2018 — General Magic — This is the story of one of tech’s most influential and least memorable companies. Featuring commentary from members of the original Macintosh team alongside the creators of eBay, iPod, iPhone, and Android, this documentary explores how General Magic created the first handheld personal communicator, aka smartphone, and what happened after.

2018 — The Girl in the Spider’s Web — Computer hacker Lisbeth Salander (who is also an avenging angel for abused women) and journalist Mikael Blomkvist find themselves caught in a web of spies, cybercriminals and corrupt government officials.

2018 — Hacked — After losing his job to a state-of-the-art supercomputer, a disgruntled computer technician decides to test his replacement. In the meantime, a group of hackers infiltrates the building to steal the new technology.

2018 — Inside Facebook: Secrets of a Social Network — Which is more important: money or morality? This eye-opening documentary takes viewers inside Facebook’s moderating hub, demonstrating how the social media company regulates harmful content, such as child abuse and hate speech — although the results prove to be more concerning than comforting.

2018 — Inside the Russian Info War Machine — How does Russia undermine democratic governments, alter world events, and manipulate public opinion? In this documentary, acclaimed journalist Paul Moreira breaks down the Russian information war machine, including its hidden weapon: the trolls and hackers pushing Russia’s agenda across cyberspace.

2018 — Irumbu Thirai — A cat and mouse game for the digital age. After losing millions of dollars to a group of cybercriminals, a soldier sets out on a quest to get back everything he lost. Will his efforts be enough?

2018 — Johnny English Strikes Again — After a cyberattack reveals the identity of all of Britain’s active undercover agents, MI7 agent Johnny English must come out of retirement to find the mastermind hacker.

2018 — King of Crime — Marcus King (Mark Wingett) was a well-known crime lord on the streets … that is, until he brought his illegal empire to cyberspace. When Islamic extremists threaten everything he’s built, the newly cemented king of British cybercrime will do everything in his power to maintain his status.

2018 — Ocean’s 8 — On a mission to pull off an impossible heist at New York’s renowned Met Gala, hacker 9Ball (Rihanna) launches a spear-phishing campaign against an employee at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, gaining access to the museum’s security camera system and giving her all-female crew the insight they need to successfully steal one of the most valuable jewelry pieces in the world.

2018 — Peripheral — This horror film follows a successful young writer — Bobbi Johnson (Hannah Arterton) — who, after experiencing writer’s block while writing her second novel, employs an artificially intelligent software to finish her work. Little does Bobbi know, she’s about to uncover a dangerous conspiracy of social control.

2018 — Searching — A man becomes desperate when his 16-year-old daughter disappears and a police investigation is futile. Hoping to find clues, he searches her laptop, scours photos and videos, and begins contacting her friends.

2018 — Unfriended: Dark Web — After a teen finds a mysterious laptop, he invites several friends to play a game online. The night turns deadly when they become the target of cyber-terrorism.

2019 — BD2K: Big Data to Knowledge — Told through the stories of two patients battling disease in the information age, this documentary film explores how big data has changed the way medicine is practiced, as well as its effect on doctor-patient relationships.

2019 — Cyber Crime — In this documentary, 10 leading cybercrime experts discuss how billions of dollars a year are stolen or lost as a result of cybercrime, destroying businesses and lives.

2019 — Dataland — Living in a world that’s practically run by AI, it’s hard to think we’ve only just scratched the surface of what the technology is capable of — but it’s true. This documentary explores what the world’s top data scientists are working on behind closed doors.

2019 — The Great Hack — This documentary examines the Cambridge Analytica scandal through the roles of several people affected by it.

2019 — HAK_MTL — Tech companies claim to protect our privacy, but is it true? In this eye-opening documentary, a group of Canadian hackers launch an investigation into the internet and how it continues to track, store, and share users’ data, despite assurances that it doesn’t.

2019 — Hero or Villain? The Prosecution of Julian Assange — Depending on who you’re talking to, the name Julian Assange will provoke one of two feelings: fury or awe. This documentary, led by the ABC Four Corners Team, chronicles an investigation into the founder of Wikileaks, featuring commentary from some of the individuals who knew him best.

2019 — Kee — Siddharth (Jiiva) and Shivam (Govind Padmasoorya) share an affinity for hacking, but that’s all they have in common. When the two unexpectedly cross paths, a fight between hacking for good and evil breaks out — and the consequences are fatal.

2019 — Machine Learning: Living in the Age of AI — How do we interact with AI? The technology has cemented itself as one of the foundations of our digital age, but has yet to reach its full potential. This documentary examines what the future of artificial intelligence will look like and the many possibilities ahead of us.

2019 — Official Secrets — Katharine Gun made headlines in 2003 after blowing the whistle on an illegal NSA spy operation. This drama film, starring Kiera Knightly and Matt Smith, chronicles the scandal, as well as the ensuing legal battles that uncovered top-secret manipulation tactics used by the highest levels of government in both the U.S. and the UK.

2019 — Password — A police officer hunts for a cybercriminal who is destroying people’s lives by hacking their passwords.

2019 — The Secrets of Silicon Valley — Directed by James Corbett, this documentary looks at the long and detailed history of Silicon Valley, located in the San Francisco Bay area, including how it was founded in the aftermath of World War II, the technology companies located there that have shaped the world through innovation, the ties between different companies and the government, and according to Corbett, the shadowy underworld hiding beneath the surface and why Big Tech means big trouble.

2019 — Third Eye Spies — Directed by Lance Mungia, this documentary reveals how an experiment in psychic abilities at Stanford Research Institute led to the CIA’s study of psychic abilities for more than 20 years for use in their top-secret spy program. Parapsychologists Russell Targ and Dean Radin are interviewed, along with dozens of others, regarding recently declassified information.

2019 — Unfriends — In this Bollywood thriller, Veer, who has an idea for a startup, receives a Facebook friend request from Vijay, who becomes his investor. While on a long celebration drive, they meet a girl named Mauli. When Vijay rapes her and intends to kill her, Veer comes to her rescue and helps her escape. When she is later subjected to abuse on the internet, Veer seeks justice for her.

2019 — WannaCry: The Marcus Hutchins Story — Marcus Hutchins, a British computer researcher, became an “accidental hero” when he discovered a kill switch in May 2017 that stopped the spread of WannaCry, hours after the ransomware affected thousands of systems across the world. Three months later, the FBI arrested him because of his involvement in a banking trojan. This documentary, directed by Hugo Berkeley, is his firsthand story.

2019 — Who You Think I Am — A 50-year-old divorced teacher (Juliette Binoche) uses a photo of a young, pretty blonde to create a fake Facebook profile of a 24-year-old woman after being ghosted by her 20-something lover.

2019 — You Can’t Watch This — This independent documentary by George Llewelyn-John discusses freedom of speech and the online world. It highlights stories of five individuals who lose their access to social media and how that censorship affects them.

2020 — Archive — Roboticist George Almore (Theo James) is working to create a true human-equivalent AI, but when his focus turns to reuniting with his dead wife, Julie (Stacy Martin), he finds himself reaping Dr. Frankenstein-worthy consequences.

2020 — The Big Reset 2.0 — Every day, AI grows more functional, intelligent, and capable of completing even the most complicated tasks, but at what point does it become too much? In this documentary produced by Germany’s international broadcaster, Deutsche Welle (DW), experts discuss the field’s ongoing battle between risk and reward.

2020 — Childhood 2.0 — What does it mean to be a child in the highly vulnerable digital age? Online predators, cyberbullying, and mental health take center stage in this documentary that delves into the real-life issues plaguing kids and parents today.

2020 — Cyberlante — After getting a job at an isolated hotel run by a cruel bully, Matt (Gavin Gordon) finds himself at the center of a battle between hacking for good and evil.

2020 — Enemies of the State — This American documentary film follows Matt DeHart, targeted by the U.S. government for having confidential documents alleging misconduct by the CIA.

2020 — Interference: Democracy at Risk — In 2016, many new threats against our democracy came to light, such as misinformation campaigns and voter fraud, all of which wouldn’t be possible if not for the advanced, digital age we live in. This documentary urges viewers to make sure it never happens again.

2020 — The Internet of Everything — This documentary discusses how the internet now invades every aspect of our lives, through things beyond computers and phones — such as garbage cans, refrigerators and city infrastructures. It also talks about the problems the Internet has created and asks the question: will the future be a surveillance nightmare or an eco-utopia. Who will determine the outcome?

2020 — Julian Assange: Revolution Now — Overnight, Julian Assange went from coder to convict. This documentary tells the story of the founder of Wikileaks and how his mission to entrust the public with some of the most private information made him an enemy of the United States government.

2020 — Kill Chain: The Cyber War on America’s Elections — Produced by HBO, this documentary examines the rising number of tech vulnerabilities in the American electoral system, featuring an eye-opening demonstration of how secure electronic voting machines are by hackers at DEFCON, the world’s largest hacking conference.

2020 — KnowBe4: The Making Of A Unicorn — A Cybersecurity Story. How CEO Stu Sjouwerman built a culture of fun and a company worth $1 billion. With Chief Hacking Officer Kevin Mitnick. 23-minute documentary produced by Cybercrime Magazine.

2020 — No Safe Spaces — What does freedom of speech look like in the age of social media? In this documentary, comedian Adam Corrolla and talk show host Dennis Prager travel across America to explore what the future holds for the First Amendment.

2020 — Out Of Dark — Ever wondered what it’s like to be a spy? This eye-opening documentary invites cameras on a mission with a real-world intelligence operative, giving viewers an in-depth look into the top-secret world of foreign and domestic surveillance.

2020 — Password — A Saw-esque thriller in which an IT employee awakens to find himself tied to a chair, surrounded by a dead body and a laptop. Discovering he’s been kidnapped, the employee must find a way out, but will the financial imbalance of India post-globalization get in his way?

2020 — Screen Generation — Gen X, Millennials, Gen Z … and then what? Following the generation dubbed the “Digital Natives,” this documentary ponders what’s in store for the children that grew up behind a screen. Researchers in the U.S. and Europe were interviewed.

2020 — The Social Dilemma — This documentary explores the dangerous human impact of social networking.

2020 — Tenet — In this action thriller directed by Christopher Nolen, an organization called Tenet recruits an unnamed CIA operative known as The Protagonist (John David Washington) for a mission involving “time inversion” to counter a future threat and stop World War III.

2020 — We Need to Talk About A.I. — Director Leanne Pooley takes a close look at the future of artificial intelligence and the impact it will have on the world, including how computers will have the capacity to design and program themselves as they continue to evolve.

2021 — Chakra — Military officer Chandru (Vishal Krishna) is one of fifty people who are robbed on Independence Day. After he discovers his most prized possession was stolen, Chandru joins forces with a police officer to hunt down the dangerous cybercriminal responsible.

2021 — Cryptopia: Bitcoin, Blockchains, And The Future Of The Internet — Filmmaker Torsten Hoffmannn’s eye-opening look into the world of cryptocurrency and the controversy surrounding it, featuring commentary from some of the industry’s major players.

2021 — Dark Web: Cicada 3301 — After visiting the dark web, Connor (Jack Kesy), a gifted hacker, is invited to join the mysterious secret society Cicada 3301. He accepts and soon finds himself embroiled in an intense, high-stakes race against the NSA. Based on real-life events.

2021 —Dark Web: Fighting Cybercrime — The fight against cybercrime takes center stage in this documentary highlighting the security industry and its ceaseless determination to defend against the growing number of digital threats.

2021 — Dear Hacker — What happens when your webcam goes rogue? The directorial debut of French filmmaker Alice Lenay, this documentary is a must-watch for anyone who’s ever wondered about the inner workings of a webcam.

2021 — MY.DOOM: Earth’s Deadliest [Computer] Virus — First seen in 2004, MyDoom is universally acknowledged as the worst computer virus of all time, having caused over $38 billion in losses. This documentary explores MyDoom’s origins and chaotic run, all the while making an argument for just how essential white hat hackers really are.

2021 — Hacker Fairies — A short drama that follows two white hat hackers on a mission to retrieve stolen photos of several women. Not long into the search, one of the women asks to learn more about hacking. Can she be trusted?

2021 — Hacker: Trust No One — When Danny cofounds a new cryptocurrency, he thinks it will make him rich. When he gets caught hacking, though, he and his girlfriend end up on a hit list instead.

2021 — Love Hard — A columnist, who writes about her bad dating experiences, thinks she has met her perfect match on a dating app. When she flies across country to surprise him for Christmas, she learns she’s been catfished.

2021 — The Perfect Weapon — Based on a best-selling book by New York Times national security correspondent David E. Sanger, this documentary explores the rise of cyber conflict as the primary way nations now compete with and sabotage one another. ‌Directed by John Maggio, it features interviews with top military, intelligence, and political officials on the frontlines of cyberterrorism.

2021 — Silk Road — Directed by Tiller Russell, this is the story of the anonymous dark web market launched by Ross Ulbricht in early 2011. Ulbricht was jailed for life after an FBI operation shut down Silk Road.

2021 — The Mitchells vs The Machines — Starring Maya Rudolph, Danny McBride, Eric Andre, and more, this animated film follows the Mitchell family, who stumble into an unprecedented robot apocalypse and find themselves fighting to save the future of humanity.

2021 — The Spy in Your Phone — The positive side of smartphones is that they keep us connected, entertain us, store data, and so much more. This documentary highlights the dangers, including privacy issues, how messaging and social media sites store our data and use it, how individuals and organizations can target us through spyware, and the concern about government mass surveillance. It also discusses what you can do to protect your data.

2021 — Twenty Hacker — Hex is a hacker who runs Better World, a “white hacker” club. When he discovers that black hackers have ruined his father’s company, he enlists his club members to take them down, resulting in an inevitable showdown.

2021 — WANNACRY: Earth’s Deadliest [Computer] Virus — This documentary examines how a computer virus that began as a small crypto worm in 2017 ended up infecting thousands of computers as ransomware. It describes the complex process that allowed it to be distributed in several ways and delves into a parallel story.

2022 — Glimpse — This surveillance-footage thriller follows three individuals, who are up for the same job, as their lives slowly spiral out of control. Starring an ensemble cast including Michael Emerson, Raúl Esparza, and David Alan Basche.

2022 — Hacker: Trust No One — This drama film tells the story of a hacker who finds himself and his girlfriend on a hit list after getting mixed up in the shady world of cryptocurrency.

2022 — Hot Seat — Mel Gibson stars in this riveting tale about an IT expert and former hacker, Friar (Kevin Dillon), who finds himself in the middle of a potentially explosive cyber robbery. Forced to choose between stealing digital funds or having his daughter abducted, Friar is left to determine what matters most while simultaneously working to get out of the hot seat.

2022 — Keedam — Main character Radhika Balan is a cybersecurity expert who believes in using technology to benefit others, but after falling victim to a cyberstalking incident and losing any semblance of privacy, she’s left with no choice but to take matters into her own hands.

2022 — Kimi — Starring Zoe Kravitz and Rita Wilson, this thriller chronicles the events that take place after an agoraphobic tech worker discovers evidence of a violent crime, which ultimately leads to her greatest challenge yet — leaving the house.

2022 — Stalked Within — This thriller follows Gary, a home security operator, who begins to spy on a single mother using his company’s technology equipment. It’s only a matter of time before his obsession turns deadly.

2022 — The Takeover — When an ethical hacker is framed for murder, she must track down those who are blackmailing her, stop them, and clear her name. Starring Holly Mae Brood, Geza Weisz, and Frank Lammers.

2023 — @ — A techno-thriller starring Rachel David as an ethical hacker, this film revolves around the dark web and the horrors that lurk within it. Audiences will become acquainted with the many crimes that take place, such as drug peddling, and the cyberattacks that come to fruition in the deep net.

2023 — M3GAN — Artificially intelligent doll M3GAN is a technological wonder, designed to befriend children and support parents. However, it’s only a matter of time until M3GAN becomes sentient and decides to take on a life of her own, leaving those around her to reap the extraordinary consequences.

2023 — Reality — This drama tells the story of Reality Winner, the former American intelligence specialist who was given the longest prison sentence for the unauthorized release of government information to the media about Russian interference in the 2016 United States elections via an email operation. Sydney Sweeney stars in the titular role.

So far no hits. I recon that the movie should be somewhere in the early 1990’s to 2005 time frame. Low budget, but a seriously important movie. Perhaps it was a spin off of movies of the Matrix genre… Which would place it around 1999. Or maybe right before it, 1995. And the movie Matrix completely overshadowed it.

Still looking.

Sigh.

12 Things Gone FOREVER…1960s

Ukraine Intelligence Chief Admits KILLING Civilians Who Say or Write the wrong thing!

World Hal Turner 22 May 2023

A senior Ukrainian official has admitted that his country has assassinated “quite a few” Russian civilians who support Putin and his war to assert control of the Donbas region. In interviews first reported by The Times of London, Major General Kyrylo Budanov, who heads Ukraine’s military intelligence service, also promised more attacks are to come.

Budanov isn’t merely an unapologetic terrorist, he’s a boastful one. “These cases have happened and will continue,” he said. “Such people will receive a well-deserved punishment, and the appropriate punishment can only be liquidation and I will implement it.”

In a separate interview with a Ukrainian YouTube channel, Budanov said that any country could be witness to his killing of civilians who say or write the wrong things.

The head of Ukraine’s military intelligence service, Major-General Kyrylo Budanov, admitted that several Kremlin propagandists have been assassinated since the start of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine.

Budanov also said that Ukraine wanted to establish a demilitarized border zone up to 60 miles inside Russia to reduce the chances of future attacks, The Times reports.

When asked whether Ukrainian security services had killed Russian propagandists, Budanov, 37, said: ‘We’ve already successfully targeted quite a few people. There have been well-publicised cases everyone knows about, thanks to the media coverage.’

Several prominent pro-war figures have been killed or wounded by explosives in Russia since the start of the invasion on February 24 last year.

On May 6, Pro-Kremlin ideologist Zakhar Prilepin, 47, was left with multiple injuries after a car bomb attack.

The Russian writer and pro-war blogger’s vehicle was blown up in a village in Russia’s Nizhny Novgorod region. He suffered fractures but his driver was killed in the incident.

Russian investigators said that they were questioning Alexander Permyakov, whom they accused of working with Ukrainian intelligence.

Vladlen Tatarsky, 40, a military blogger with close ties to Wagner boss Yevgeny Prigozhin, was killed by explosives concealed within a statuette handed to him at a public talk that he was giving in a St. Petersburg cafe on April 2.

Later that month, a Russian court denied bail to 26-year-old Darya Trepova. She was charged with terrorism over the bomb attack that killed Tatarsky, whose real name was Maxim Fomin.

Investigators said she was working on behalf of a pro-Ukrainian group with connections to jailed Kremlin critic Alexei Navalny – claims rejected by Navalny’s associates and Kyiv.

The Russian internal affairs ministry said yesterday that an arrest warrant had been issued for Yuriy Denisov, a Ukrainian citizen they claim kept watch over Tatarsky for two months from an apartment close to his home.

It alleged that he had made his way over from Latvia under instruction from the ‘Ukrainian special services’.

In August last year, Darya Dugina, 29, the daughter of a close ally of Russia’s President Vladimir Putin, was killed by a car bomb on a road outside Moscow.

It is thought that her father, the Russian philosopher Alexander Dugin, who is known as ‘Putin’s brain’, may have been the intended target.

Budanov claimed that the drone strikes that hit the Kremlin on May 3, apparently with the aim of killing Putin, were a result of ‘Russian aggression’.

On Different People, a Ukrainian YouTube channel, Budanov said that recent acts of sabotage inside Russian territory, including attacks on oil and gas infrastructure close to the Ukrainian border and the derailment of a cargo train, were perpetrated ‘almost 100 per cent by citizens of the Russian Federation’.

In another interview with a YouTube channel called Island, Budanov said he had ‘a minority of Russians’ co-operating with his Ukrainian military intelligence agency, the GUR.

He said they had ‘patriotic reasons’ for carrying out the acts and were ‘ready to change Russia’.

Budanov said that although Putin was a legitimate target, Ukraine was not trying to kill him.

He said that his agents would keep setting their sights on Russians who committed “war crimes” against Ukraine.

He said: ‘These cases have happened and will continue.

‘Such people will receive a well-deserved punishment, and the appropriate punishment can only be liquidation and I will implement it.’

Budanov blamed Moscow’s increasingly vicious tactics in Ukraine on Russian propagandists, arguing that Putin’s chances of survival had been put at risk.

He said: ‘[The Kremlin] have invested so much in this propaganda machine that it began to influence them in the end.’

Budanov added that Russia’s business elite was opposed to the invasion and was seeking ways to bring it to a close.

He argued that if the Russians managed to bring Putin’s reign to an end, Ukraine would still have to set up a demilitarised zone 60 miles inside Russian territory to avoid fighting in the future.

He added: ‘This should be our goal. If they are not going to attack and don’t decide they want revenge in a couple of years, this shouldn’t be an issue.’

HAL TURNER EDITORIAL OPINION

Well, well, well, there it is, spoken in public, for all to see and hear: Ukraine is intentionally MURDERING civilian news people/bloggers who dare to write in opposition to Ukraine. This is flat-out terrorist murder.

And YOUR American tax dollars are facilitating it!

This admission by the Chief of Ukraine Military Intelligence makes clear, by funding Ukraine, the Congress of the United States – both houses – as well as the Biden Administration, are literally facilitating MURDER.

THIS IS WW3, NATO just F*cked Up Big Time

https://youtu.be/xhl2qMCDoqo

How do you think China will respond to the G7’s joint statement?

It’s just words

China will make its own statement

It’s the normal political brouhaha

The G7 is today looks like an outdated Colonial Club making imperialist statements about economic coercion of China while sanctioning half the planet

So frankly nobody takes the G7 very seriously

Just compare

China’s Xi met his Central Asian counterparts and signed over 40 MPUs and around CNY 230 Billion ($ 32 Billion) of business deals

G7 met and made speeches with zero impact

Shows their relevance today

This Old Lady Was Selling Her Painted Baby Dolls At The Flea Market And Nobody Had Bought Any, It Was $20 But I Couldn’t Find It In Me To Haggle Her Down. She Told Me She Made The Suit By Hand. My New Fav Office Decoration!

What is an insane coincidence that you’ve experienced?

Okay, maybe not “insane”, but still pretty cool, I think. In 1997 when I was 29, I went to work for Talbots, the clothing company. I worked in their call center for the next nine years, primarily as a trainer. For maybe half that time, we were housed in a relatively small three-story office building called The Weston.

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This in the largest city in our region in the state. We occupied the entire second and third floors and part of the first floor, so there were very few other tenants in the building. I’m sure I don’t remember them all, but I recall an interior design company, a law office, and a charitable foundation. So there were probably hundreds of us Talbots employees and temps, but I’d guess only a dozen or two employees of these other companies.

Fast forward to 2015. I’d been gone from Talbots for almost ten years, and from the Weston for almost fifteen. I started dating the woman who is now my wife. At some point during a discussion, we were talking about our past work lives. Turns out that my wife worked for the charitable foundation, so we worked in the same small building for five years, but over ten years before we “met”. How many times did I pass my future wife in the lobby, without a clue? (We were both married to other people at the time.) Neither of us have any memory of the other, but after further discussion, she did remember my car. I’d bought a brand-new black Mazda Miata, and I did not park in the “main” lot as I was one of the few employees who worked on the first floor. My wife remembers seeing my car, confirmed by describing where I usually parked!

You might be OLD…If You Remember These! PART 6

I remember a lot of this and now, I actually do miss, what one would consider, now, simpler times…our communities were safer and more neighborly and loving. I just love this channel!

In what ways does the United States engage in coercive diplomacy? What kind of harm does it cause to the international community?

US hegemony uses 800 military bases and 11 aircraft carriers to force the world to follow US economics, trade and finance rules for USA benefits. Anyone refusing is sanctioned, or if weak violently attacked using human rights excuses. That is coercive diplomacy.

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US hegemony in last 70yrs means endless wars, endless arms sales and endless Tbills and usd printing. It is not sustainable now USA printed usd31trillion and deficits are still adding Tbills. Does the world want to continue wars and deaths for US profits? Most of the world says no.

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The 1950s in SHOCKINGLY BEAUTIFUL Colorized Photos

Things Worth Experiencing At Least Once In Your Life, According To People Online

In the everyday rush and routine, we probably don’t find time to think about what we want to do in this life and what really would make us happy. It may be for our whole life or it can also be something that will make us the happiest people alive for a day. There are particular locations, feelings, purchases or activities that we dream about. I may be wrong but many of us probably have our bucket lists made. Some of us have written it down and are actually saving money for our dreams, some of us have written it in our notes and from time to time check it out to see if maybe we managed to complete some of the things. But some of us just have it in our head and create something on the spot if this topic comes up.

Reading a book so good you can’t fall asleep without reading a new chapter, and to feel slightly sad when you finish it.
Walking in the snowy woods at night.
What it’s like to work a busy shift at a restaurant – can be any role, waiting tables, bussing, cooking, hosting. Everyone should have one evening where you are trying to serve and cater to dozens of people at once. You should know how it feels to bring someone the wrong dish or spill a glass on someone. You should know how it feels to work hard af and get no tip, get told to take something back like it’s your fault, all the normal things that happen during a busy shift.
Seeing an ocean in person, from a beach.
Contentment and security. Not necessarily full happiness, but satisfaction in your own life, and safety within it.
I have two. One is seeing a starry night sky, no clouds, no light pollution, just a beautiful night sky. Or better yet, the northern lights. Second is seeing the view from a mountain peak. People always talk about how ugly the world is, but I think these two things really remind you of how beautiful earth is too.
A good nights sleep.
Being in love with someone who loves you back
The sound of it snowing. I laid on the ground, in the snow at night in the Alaskan wilderness, in December, it’s so peaceful.
Even if it’s only for a short period of time: full financial independence, while being single. You can pay your own bills, you have your own place, and you have full freedom over your free time. Whether it’s staying in and binge watching Netflix, or going out and sitting amongst strangers. Your time is your own. No kids. No spouse or significant other. I find this is when you really get to know and understand yourself.
A loving and supportive group of humans.
Having real friends
going on a forest and smelling rain
Everyone should experience the joys of traveling to a foreign land at least once in their lifetime, even if it’s just to realize how much they love their own toilet. Imagine discovering new cultures, cuisines, and the thrill of trying to communicate with locals using just charades and a phrasebook. Trust me, it’s a life-changing experience that’ll give you a new appreciation for your home and a killer accent to boot.
Moving away from your hometown, even if it is for a year
A hug, simple but important
The energy of a concert.
Being well and absolutely disconnected. No phones, no GPS. I last had that experience in the early 90s. Being somewhere with someone you trust and the two of you are the only people who know where you are and what you are doing.
Working a minimum or entry level job as a first job especially when young.
It really makes you appreciate money and interactions with people because it sucked and you got so little of anything even less some respect. Hell you even get to treat the people that work those jobs nicer because you were them once.
Another culture. And I don’t mean as a tourist where you have all the comforts of home. To fully absorb and immerse yourself in the lives of that culture. To eat their foods, drink their drinks, and do as they do.

1970s Things Found In Every Home

https://youtu.be/0g4zXepHASM

Claims that the Belt and Road initiative “could create a new epidemic” are a bizarre new line of attack on Beijing’s efforts in the country

From HERE

By Timur Fomenko, a political analyst

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A young man rides atop a load of cluster bomb casings and bomb scrap that his family is taking to a scrap market in town, Xieng Khouang, Laos, 2005. © Jerry Redfern/LightRocket via Getty Images

Laos – a landlocked communist state in Southeast Asia, wedged between China, Vietnam, Cambodia and Myanmar – has the potential to be a nexus of sorts for the entire region. However, its cooperation with Beijing has come under fire from the West.

The impoverished nation holds the unenviable distinction of “the most bombed country in history” after the US dropped over 2 million tons of bombs on it during the Vietnam War. Laos is still weathering the consequences, including deaths from unexploded munitions. Faced with numerous challenges, it has leaned on its giant northern neighbor for assistance.

In recent years, Laos has benefited considerably from China’s Belt and Road Initiative (BRI). In late 2021, the China-Laos railway was built, a high-speed system connecting the country’s capital to Beijing. This has been a gamechanger for its foreign trade and exports. Сurrently, a new superhighway is also being built across the country. Last week, however, an article from Reuters

attracted widespread disdain on social media as it sought to frame China’s development in the country as risking a “new pandemic.” It was titled ‘China, birthplace of the covid pandemic, is laying tracks for another global health crisis.’

The article argued that Laos is home to a bat population that carries “novel coronaviruses,” the same source which allegedly gave rise to Covid-19. By building a highway through the country’s tropical forests, the argument goes, humans will be brought into closer contact with bats, thus destroying their environment and risking a new pandemic. This textbook example of an over-the-top ‘China bad’ story exaggerates and fixates on the speculated negative consequences of Beijing’s activities, never providing the full picture. It is never touched on, for example, how up to 50 people a year in Laos continue to die from undetonated US bombs dropped on the country during the Vietnam war.

Western media at large have it in for China’s relationship with Laos, with outlets denouncing Chinese investments as a “debt trap ” and accusing Laos of being a “vassal state.” Why is it met with such backlash? First of all, Laos is arguably the single most pro-Chinese state in Southeast Asia, the region which the US is aggressively targeting as part of its Indo-Pacific strategy. Despite being communist, Washington sees Vietnam as a potential military and economic counterweight to Beijing due to its maritime periphery; however, Laos is a landlocked state which reduces US geopolitical leverage in countering China. Laos is also fearful of neighboring Vietnam and sees Beijing as a guarantor in securing its own independence.

This, combined with America’s bloody history in the country, and the fact it is a communist state, makes Laos a very comfortable neighbor for China, which also stands as its biggest economic guarantor. Chinese-backed infrastructure is helping the landlocked and impoverished country to gain easier access to ports and markets. Furthermore, by making it a nexus of the region, China is also integrating itself with Thailand and allowing its goods to flow to more Southeast Asian ports. This becomes an obstacle to the US vision of hegemony over the region, which involves completely dominating China’s maritime periphery in a way that checks its ability to project power and shape global commerce.

As a result, the Western corporate media are encouraged to vilify the BRI, including specifically its impact in Laos. Those doubting that there is a concerted effort to do this need only look at the America COMPETES Act of 2022, which allocates $500 million to media outlets to ostensibly “combat Chinese disinformation” for overseas audiences. Among other things, it specifically targets the BRI, effectively incentivizing negative coverage of the Chinese infrastructure project. The US hates the BRI, because it creates connections in Eurasia and therefore changes the strategic landscape away from the maritime routes dominated by America.

The Reuters story in particular draws upon the tried-and-trusted practice of scapegoating China for the Covid-19 pandemic to fearmonger about its road development in Laos. But one must question whether the US ever acknowledged what it did to Laos? Did it apologize for dropping 270 million

cluster bombs on it? An estimated 80 million of those did not explode, and while the US has invested in clean-up efforts, the 50,000 lives these bombs have claimed since the end of the war clearly show this is not enough.

Now, China is not only boosting the Laotian economy with its railroad construction, but also helping clear the deadly consequences of American militarism. Meanwhile, the West keeps promising alternatives to the BRI, with a new name cropping up virtually every year, but talk is cheap and these promises have yet to bear fruit. It’s easy to take the moral high ground on an issue when you aren’t the one who has to bear the consequences. It’s fair to say, if there is a new Cold War, Laos won’t be siding with the West.

Why does the USA attack China so much?

This one chart explains it all.

“Yes, the CIA and FBI WILL rig the 2024 election”

China’s first domestically designed aircraft carrier having EMALS gets launched

The Fujian, the largest aircraft carrier ever built by China, is a crucial part of the Chinese navy. China is making rapid progress in developing advanced aircraft carriers that are on par with those of the US.

It is worth noting that China has chosen to name its new aircraft carrier after Fujian, a province located just across a narrow strait from Taiwan.

The 80,000 metric ton CNS Fujian is 50% larger than China’s current in-service carriers, putting the People’s Liberation Army Navy in the same class as supercarriers like the US Nimitz-class ships, which weigh 100,000 tons.

Unlike China’s other two carriers, the Liaoning and the Shandong, which are based on outdated Soviet technology and utilize a ski-jump launching system, the Fujian is equipped with an advanced electromagnetic aircraft launch system, similar to that used on the US’s newest carrier, the USS Gerald Ford. This new system will enable China to launch a greater variety of aircraft more quickly and with more ammunition onboard.

After approximately 18 months of trials, China’s largest warship CNS Fujian is expected to become operational by October 2024.

The Fujian and a fourth carrier, which is also under construction, are larger and able to carry more aircraft than the two existing vessels. The South China Morning Post reported in March last year that the fourth carrier might be nuclear-powered.

G7 leaders in Japan declare, China number one enemy

$200 Was Too High For Me But My Mom Insisted On Buying This

Amarjeet Sada, The 8 YO Serial Killer…

https://youtu.be/kEIMLQ-vE8Q

Chicago-Style Sausage and Peppers

Yield: 8 servings

Ingredients

2 tablespoons corn oil
1 large red onion, thinly sliced
2 large yellow bell peppers, cored, seeded and thinly sliced
2 large red bell peppers, cored, seeded and thinly sliced
1/4 cup Jack Daniels Sour Mash Whiskey
1/4 cup dark brown sugar, packed
1 tablespoon chopped fresh thyme
Salt and pepper to taste
8 spicy Italian sausages (4 ounces each), not hot dogs!
8 good quality hot dog buns
2 tablespoons reserved sausage grease or soft butter

Instructions

Heat corn oil in large skillet and sauté the onions and peppers until tender and beginning to brown, about 10 minutes over medium heat.
Add the bourbon and stir quickly until absorbed.
Add the brown sugar and stir until the sugar melts.
Season with thyme, salt and pepper. (Can be refrigerated for one week. Let come to room temperature before serving.)
Char-grill the sausages until slightly blackened and cooked through.
Brush the hot dog buns with a little sausage grease or butter and toast on the grill or under the broiler.
Nestle a sausage in a bun and top with about 2 tablespoons of peppers and onions.

The West Sells Weapons, Sponsor Coups & Assassinate African Presidents For Natural Resources

We Found This Massive Print Secondhand. My BF Immediately Knew He Wanted It

Pan African TV Kwesi Pratt Says The West “Bombed” Democracy To Africa, China Brings Partnerships

Do you think Japan is still occupied by the Americans?

Yup. The test case was a couple weeks ago.

American soldier crashed a car. He was arrested by Japanese cops. The US government demanded he be released immediately and actual threats were made by the US government to the Japanese government.

The Japanese government rolled over.

That’s the big test of if your country is a US bitch or not.

Korea had THIS

Yangju highway incident - Wikipedia

Killing, 2 Korean girls, US army vehicle Coordinates : 37°51′28″N 126°56′56″E  /  37.857722°N 126.948972°E  / 37.857722; 126.948972  ( Location of the Yangju highway incident ) The Yangju highway incident , also known as the Yangju training accident or Highway 56 Accident , occurred on June 13, 2002, in Yangju , Gyeonggi-do, South Korea . 

A United States Army armored vehicle-launched bridge , returning to base in Uijeongbu on a public road after training maneuvers in the countryside, struck and killed two 14-year-old South Korean schoolgirls, Shin Hyo-sun ( Korean : 신효순) and Shim Mi-seon ( Korean : 심미선). 

The American soldiers involved were found not guilty of negligent homicide in the court martial , further inflaming anti-American sentiment in South Korea and sparking a series of candlelight vigil protests in protest of their deaths. 

The memory of the two schoolgirls is commemorated annually in South Korea

The UK had THIS

Death of Harry Dunn - Wikipedia

Fatal road traffic collision resulting in UK/US diplomatic controversy Coordinates : 51°59′49″N 1°11′45″W  /  51.9969593°N 1.1959241°W  / 51.9969593; -1.1959241 

Death of Harry Dunn Date 27 August 2019 Time 20:25 BST Location B4031 road near RAF Croughton Cause Road traffic collision Deaths Harry Dunn Burial 17 September 2019 

Inquiries Northamptonshire Police Convicted Anne Sacoolas Charges Causing death by careless driving (convicted) Causing death by dangerous driving (acquitted) 

Harry Dunn was a 19-year-old British man who died following a road traffic collision on 27 August 2019. 

He was riding his motorcycle near Croughton, Northamptonshire , United Kingdom, near the exit to RAF Croughton , when a car travelling in the opposite direction and on the wrong side of the road collided with him. 

The car was driven by Anne Sacoolas, who is a former US spy and wife of CIA employee Jonathan Sacoolas, stationed at the time at USAF listening station RAF Croughton. 

Sacoolas admitted that she had been driving the car on the wrong side of the road , and the police said that, based on CCTV footage, they believed that to be true. 

Dunn was pronounced dead at the Major Trauma Centre of John Radcliffe Hospital , Oxford. The collision caused diplomatic tension between UK and US officials. 

Sacoolas fled the UK soon after the incident and claimed diplomatic immunity with US support.

Italy had THIS

1998 Cavalese cable car crash - Wikipedia

US Navy aircraft struck ski lift, Italy The Cavalese cable car crash , also known as the Cermis massacre ( Italian : Strage del Cermis ), occurred on February 3, 1998, near the Italian town of Cavalese , a ski resort in the Dolomites some 40 kilometres (25 mi) northeast of Trento . 

Twenty people were killed when a United States Marine Corps EA-6B Prowler aircraft, flying too low and against regulations, in order for the pilots to "have fun" and "take videos of the scenery", cut a cable supporting a cable car of an aerial lift . 

The pilot, Captain Richard J. Ashby, and his navigator , Captain Joseph Schweitzer, were put on trial in the United States and found not guilty of involuntary manslaughter and negligent homicide .

If Americans can come and wantonly commit crimes and get almost no punishment then you’re essentially an occupied country.

For Japan. THIS.

The West Can’t Be Trusted, Nigeria VP Says China Is A Better Ally To Africa Than The West

Where I Am Going, There Are No Roads…

Thrift store find.

Why is China’s economy taking over the world?

Why is China’s economy continuing to grow to the point it is the largest or second largest economy in the world based on which method used to compare economies.

China has been able to harness a number of factors over several decades that has benefited its people economically. The Chinese government has taken great effort to improve the lives of its people. Its goal is to create a moderately prosperous society for its huge population. With a country of 1.4 billion people moderately prosperous equates to a large economy.

China has devoted a lot of effort to educate its people. In 1950 the literacy rate was 20%, but today it is over 97%. Eduction is highly important to the government. This has led China to produce the most STEM (science, technology, engineering, math) graduates yearly, which drives innovation.

Chinese culture is one of business and that means trade is an important part business activity. Now days China trades with almost every country globally. It is the primary trade partner with many.

With China’s huge manufacturing sector needed to produce goods for it huge population benefits from economies of scale. This in turn drives down manufacturing costs making goods cheaper in China and for export.

Developed economies for the most part are service economies not manufacturing ones, hence their need to import goods.

China’s ability to produce a wide variety of goods from simple utensils to automobiles and high speed trains means it can produce much of what other countries need but cannot produce.

All the above and more is why China’s economy continues to grow at a faster rate compared to the developed countries of the West.

1970’s Rmic Hand Chair

Thrift store find.

Kenyan President Ruto Says African Leaders Won’t Be Summoned Like Kids By The West No Longer

Ukrainian Artist Dinara Kasko Continues To Push The Boundaries Of Pastry Design

Here are the incredible edibles of pastry chef Dinara Kasko. The culinary artist from Ukraine has amassed a huge online following for her innovative cake designs and moulds. Although Dinara graduated from Kharkov University Architecture School, she found her true passion was pastry. However, she now uses her background in architectural design to create her incredible cakes as she uses the 3D-modelling program, 3DSMAX, to create silicone cake moulds.

More: Instagram, Shop h/t: twistedsifter

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Kenyan President Admits The Disrespect African Leaders Faced During The Queen’s Funeral In The UK

According to Ray Dalio, changing world power would mean conflict between the rising world power and the leading world power. Would this predict war between China and America?

No, because both have nukes. The US has been doing everything to stop China’s rise. Lying and accusing China on human rights, genocide, and whatever sins they can think of to discredit China. The US now summons her vassals to go to war with China to weaken China’s economy and military, similar to UR conflict.

Only BABY BOOMERS will REMEMBER these things

“Garden Decor” For Sale On Fb Marketplace

TWO BOEING E-4B COMMAND AND CONTROL AIRCRAFT AIRBORNE OVER CONTINENTAL USA

Things No Longer Found at Gas Stations

Did I Just Find A Serial Killer?

Chicago Hot Dogs

Never leave the celery salt off the Chicago Dogs! They won’t be the same. I guarantee it.

Ingredients

All-beef hot dogs
Green sweet bell pepper, diced
Yellow onions, diced
Mustard
Sweet pickle relish
Dill pickle chips
Cucumbers, sliced thin
Iceberg lettuce, shredded
Tomatoes, diced
Hot peppers (pepperoncini)
Celery salt

Instructions

Steam hot dogs and put condiments on table. NEVER USE KETCHUP! Celery salt is a MUST!
Serve on poppy seed buns, if they are available.

Kenya President Gets Standing Ovation in Pan-African Parliament for Epic Speech

No Eyedea What It Is, From Goodwill

Is Paypal a scam?

Scam may be overstating it, but they will seize your money without warning or explanation and you should avoid using them as much as possible, especially if you are a business.

I would strongly advise anyone, especially a seller, to avoid using Paypal. Like many, I was in the camp of “They’re the most established payment service on the web and I’ve never had a problem with them.” Until I did, and I’ve learned of the massive amount of unethical behavior they get away with.

In my case, the situation’s not too severe, but it’s still frustrating. I coached a client overseas in Europe. He wanted to pay with Paypal. Not having a better suggestion, I thought sure, why not? I coached, he sent the funds over, all set, right?

Paypal put a hold on the funds for a few days to make sure things were in good order. Shortly thereafter, they suspended my account. I got the following email:

Mind you, I have literally only done a single transaction on this account, the one I just did. I had no warning there was a problem with my account and my client is in good standing with Paypal. I did not receive any explanation.

On the site, my account now has a banner that looks like this:

I can no longer transfer money, unlink my bank account, remove my personal information, or anything. Paypal has indefinitely seized my money.

If I attempt to refund my client, they tell me the attempt fails due to technical reasons.

Paypal offered no explanation for the freeze. They claimed the funds would be released after a review that ended on May 15th, 2023, and I got this email:

I consequently reported them to the Better Business Bureau. Paypal actually responded on this, claiming that my account used an “anonymizing service” (I assume referring to the fact I use a VPN for all of my Internet activity) and that I share limited access with another account (I have no idea what this means). These were the only explanations given for why they seized my funds.

I will reiterate that I never received any warning or notification that my account had any issues prior to the transaction. It was only after the transaction, when Paypal had possession of my money, that they notified me they would be keeping it for themselves.

If they genuinely believed I was a security risk, they should have prevented my transaction in the first place, or immediately refunded my client’s payment. It’s like if I tried to ship a package with UPS, and UPS just said “we think you might be a drug dealer so we’re just going to keep your package for ourselves.”

As of now, I have requested only that they refund my client. Even if they have an issue with me, I don’t see how they can justify refusing a refund. At this time I have not received a response and my client has not been refunded.

So I know you might be thinking, because I was thinking – “Howie it clearly must be just something with you. You did something wrong to justify this treatment.” I am far from alone.

They faced a class action lawsuit for this behavior in 2022

. They seized $172,000 from one plaintiff, $42,000 from another, and $26,984 from a third. Very similar situation – frozen account, no explanation, get a subpoena if you want to find out why.

If you’d like a plethora of horror stories, just visit the ecommerce subreddit

Read any of the reviews on trustpilot

, consumeraffairs

, or wherever else. Obviously there is a tendency to leave negative reviews rather than positive to go in appreciating that, but you’ll find many, many users who’ll tell you this same story.

Whether you think I’m just a crazy one-off case or not, I strongly encourage you take measures to protect yourself so you do not become a victim as well. I’d offer the following suggestions.

If you can avoid using Paypal, do so.
If you must use Paypal, keep as little balance in your account as possible, as it can be seized at any time.
If you can associate Paypal with a deposit-only account, do so. They shouldn’t be able to withdraw from your linked bank account without your consent, but there are some user horror stories where that has happened.
Be aware that Paypal owns Venmo as well.

There are numerous alternatives to Paypal, several of which even charge lower fees, including Stripe, Wise, Square, Google, and more. All have better reputations and at the very least I can tell you none of them have taken my money for themselves.

Good luck. I hope this post helps you avoid being a victim.

Everything You Remember And Miss About…SEARS

41 Countries Ready To Accept BRICS Currency

The list of countries interested to join the BRICS alliance and accept the new currency for global trade is growing. 

China and Russia are lobbying other developing countries in joining the international efforts to dethrone the U.S. dollar. 

Developing countries in Asia and Africa are looking to replace the U.S. dollar with their native currencies or a new tender. 

The development is causing a roadblock to the dollar’s prospects and challenging its status as the world reserve currency...


Article HERE

Do you think the Indian economy will beat the Chinese economy in years to come? Why?

Not possible.

China is an outlier in most aspects of economy and it is impossible for India to catch up in foreseeable future because –

Current differential between the two countries is too large
Factors that enable future growth (education, innovation, industrialization) are not firing on all cylinders either

Listed below are the data points from few indicators to illustrate the situation –

Trade & Industrialization:

Total exports (2016): India – $260 billion, China – $2.1 trillion
- apparel: India – $18 billion, China – $175 billion
- footwear: India – $2.5 billion, China – $51 billion
- electrical and electronics – India – $8 billion, China – $782 billion
Number of large companies in Fortune 500 (2017): India has 7, China has 109

Infrastructure & Facilities:

High Speed Rails:
- India – first HSR project (Mumbai-Ahmedabad) started in 2017, to be functional by 2022 covering 500 km
- China – already has 25,000 km of HSR network, transporting double the volume of passengers than airlines
Metro Trains:
- India – 8 cities with total track length of 370 km
- China – 39 cities with total track length of 3,600 km (Beijing metro alone is 600 km)
Airports: India has 346, China has 507 (2013 data)
World’s Top 1000 hospitals: India has 9, China has 84

Tourism:

Foreign Tourist arrivals: India – 10 million,
China – 60 millionTourism revenue:
India – $27 billion,
China – $114 billion

Education & Innovation:

World’s Top 500 universities: India has 8, China has 21
Adult Literacy: India 74% (2011 data), expected to hit mid-80’s by next census (2021), China – 99% (2010)
Number of Patents and Trademarks: both India and China are in world’s Top 10 (2016 data)
Patents filed by India – 45k, China – 1.3 million
- Trademarks listed by India – 313k, China – 3.7 million

Rising Income levels:

75% of world’s new billionaires are coming from India and China:
- Since 2010, India is adding one new billionaire every 33 days
  China is adding one new billionaire every 5 days
- India has world’s third highest number of billionaires and China has world’s largest:
  
  Number of billionaires in India – 131, China – 819
Expanding Middle Class:
- India – 600 million people, based on the criteria of spending ($2 to $10 per day)
  Only 24 million people, if based on the criteria of wealth ($13k)
- China – 500 million by 2022, based on the criteria of earning ($9k to 34k)
- GDP Per Capita: India – $1.7k, China – $8.1k
Overall Economy:

Forex reserves: India – $400 billion, China – $3 trillion
GDP (nominal): India – $2.5 trillion, China – $11 trillion

Trend

Key Take-Aways and Summary:

China’s exports of only electricals and electronics ($782 billion) are three times of India’s total exports ($260 billion)
Length of metro in China’s one city (Beijing – 600 km) is more than total length of all metros in India (370 km)
China’s forex reserves ($3 trillion) are more than India’s total GDP ($2.5 trillion)
China’s middle class is not only larger, but also richer than India’s middle class – making it a more attractive investment destination
India’s growth story is real, but China’s growth story is much bigger. On most economic indicators, India has been performing good, but China has been performing a lot better
Before 2020, India is estimated to overtake UK and France to become world’s fifth largest economy

By 2030, India is expected to overtake Germany and Japan to become world’s third largest economy. But even then ($6 trillion +), it would be less than one-third the size of China’s economy ($20 trillion +)
[21]

If interested, please refer to my other write-ups on India – China topics:

Shashank Goyal’s answer to Why has China developed so much faster than India?

Shashank Goyal’s answer to Why did China invade India in 1962?

Sylvester Stallone Prop Found In A Thrift Store

United States puts its “cross hairs” on Africa

A country that is well known for best at controlling internet trolls and media is exaggerating a non-existent event in Africa, namely “China is launching a social movement to persecute black people”. In fact, from 2023 until May 24, 2023, I have not seen any hot topics or frontpage news related to black people in China on any social media platform.

By the way, in China, the vast majority of people have never seen murder in their lifetime. It is foolish to use the lie of ‘encouraging murder’ to describe China. Because even if this kind of encouragement exists, no one will respond. Chinese people do not know how to murder, unlike the country that creates this lie.

CLOSED Fast Food Restaurants from the past

Beijing summons Japanese envoy over ‘anti-China’ G7 summit

China’s Vice Foreign Minister Sun Weidong has summoned the Japanese ambassador to register protests over “hype around China-related issues” at the Group of Seven (G7) summit over the weekend, the foreign ministry said in a statement.

The heads of the world’s richest countries who met in the Japanese city of Hiroshima expressed serious concerns about rising tensions in the East China Sea and the South China Sea as well as voicing concerns about the human rights situations in China, including in Tibet and Xinjiang.

Article HERE

China is blessed with the likes of Huawei and TenCent type powerful companies

Huawei is preparing a number of new chipsets to launch later this year and Kirin A2 is one of them. The company is testing this chip for quite a time and it’s ready for production.

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Huawei will launch the Kirin A2 chipset by this year. If everything goes right, the company could choose Q3 or Q4 for the release.

Also, Kirin A2 is ready for the trial stage and it has mass production capacity.

This is due to the past decision that Huawei took at the very last moment before launch events. Yet, the exact details are unknown. On this matter, Huawei has not revealed any details about Kirin A2 or related returns. But we’ll have to wait, as there are several months left in the making.

Kirin A2 for smartphones?

Nope, Kirin A-series was officially announced for wearable devices such as earphones, smartwatches, and others. The current breakthrough in Huawei’s chipset production capability remains low-key.

Therefore, the company may take this route to start producing self-developed wearables semiconductors. These types of chips don’t require advanced process technology. Hence, it’s very likely that Kirin A2 will be used for wearable gadgets.

Kirin A1:

Kirin A1 was the world’s first Bluetooth 5.1 and Bluetooth Low Energy 5.1 wearable chip. The A1 is developed by Huawei’s chipset designing division, HiSilicon, and printed by Taiwan’s TSMC.

Kirin A1 is designed for wireless earphones, headbands, neckbands, smart speakers, smart eyewear, and smartwatches. Huawei Watch GT 2 series is the first smartwatch to equip this SoC and it’s still running wild in terms of performance and battery.

After the US sanctions in 2019, Huawei had to stop making new HiSilicon chips. And with the recent achievement in automation tech, Huawei could print its own chipset.

Stores We Loved That No Longer Exist!

https://youtu.be/XcewCyZkvWw

What is the purpose of the US-Papua New Guinea defense agreement pact?

Leaked draft of the US-Papua New Guinea defense pact exposes the granting of legal immunity to US personnel and contractors, allowing unrestricted movement of US aircraft, vehicles, and vessels, and exempting US staff from migration requirements.

It is evident that this pact serves the US’s geopolitical interests rather than offering genuine humanitarian aid. The motive aligns with the US’s broader Indo-Pacific strategy.

However, what PNG truly needs is effective action to address the climate crisis and achieve economic growth. Unfortunately, the US is unlikely to prioritize these crucial concerns. Instead, it treats PNG and other South Pacific nations as mere pawns in its larger geopolitical game.

This behavior reflects the US’s historical tendency to come and go in the region as it pleases, without consistent commitment or genuine regard for local priorities.

Pictures from the past

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chorley park was the fourth government house constructed in the early 20th century in toronto the bi tumb 660

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Can someone please explain to them how things in REAL LiFE works:

You manufacture lies about spying and launched wave after wave of sanctions on successful Chinese companies in order to destroy it because you are resentful of its successes
AND you expect the Chinese to do nothing about it?
NOT only is their domestic Chinese market 4x bigger than hours but their manufacturers dominate manufacturing in this world
they will now use that scale to destroy your companies. They have now

STOP buying Boeing jets where Chinese jet orders was expected to be in the MANY thousands;
REDIRECT corn orders to Brazil

NOW it is clear that they are now ready………and are now targeting your high tech companies. Micron is just the first. Which will be next? It will be the US company whose CEO have a big mouth and a strong anti-China streak.

THIS is called tit for tat followed by a severe beating. Whether Micron or other American companies have security risk is NOT relevant. They have learned from you and are using what they have learned to take your companies down.

ASML, Samsung, Nikon, etc, and other non-American companies, are now all in the process of de-Americanizing their product lines so that they can continue selling to China.

The future of high tech industries in the United States will go the way of dodo birds. The Chinese will now NOT meet you halfway.

You are reaping what you have sown.

What do you suggest for a first time tourist visiting China in regards to VPN, money, and apps needed?

First

Get a SIM

It’s a prepaid sim card. The Airports have many counters. Simply present your passport and visa and get a pre paid SIM card.

That gets you around 20GB Data that should be enough for a few days

Connection takes only seconds. The minute you insert the sim, the phone works and you can make the calls

Now most loaded apps won’t work

Next Money

You can easily download WeChat and Alipay but Alipay is better

However there is a problem for Indians

OTP

You can register Alipay for foreigners and enter your card details and load Rs. 25000/— per day (CNY 2000)

You get your OTP in some cases and that OTP cannot be read by your phone unless you have roaming

In my case, a friend from SBI Shanghai loaded money into my Alipay from his account

So best option is to preload Alipay from India itself except that it’s banned

So what to do?

Don’t worry

Enterprising Chinese at the Airport will gladly take your cash dollars (No Rupee) and load money into your Alipay

They even have counters for foreigners

Next VPN

Install Nord VPN and buy the Pro version

However be prepared for a few days to not have proper Twitter or Instagram or Facebook response

Unless you have WiFi router, Mobile Data usually doesn’t use VPN that efficiently

Finally get a prescription if you are carrying medicines please

Do Volunteer for the Face Scan. That way when you reach your hotel and they simply scan your face, and your details jump out and you don’t need a passport at all wherever you go within Shanghai (Only in Shanghai)

What would you do if your neighbor came to your front door in a barely controlled rage?

I had this happen to me.

My family and I were at home one evening, when all the sudden someone started frantically pounding on my front door. My wife opened the door to the neighbor lady who was crying hysterically. She invited her in, and she told us her husband was in a rage, and had put his hands on her.

About that time, the husband came charging through my front door, and began verbally assaulting his wife with profanity at the top of his lungs. In MY living room.

Before I had a chance to address the situation, my older daughter told him to tone it down, at which point he responded with “shut the F!#K up, B#!CH”.

The words barely left his lips before those lips were introduced to my fist.

Turns out he had no interest in fighting another man.

Once he found his feet, he was out my front door faster than he barged in. I’m sure most of the folks reading this will be disgusted with my actions. I Don’t care.

What does matter to me, is the opinion of that man’s wife.

Years later, she thanked me, saying he never put his hands on her again.

Not because he didn’t want to, but because he was afraid she would run to my house!

Fine by me.

Classic TV Commercials from the ’60s and ’70s

OMG!

Vintage thoughts on things and stuff

Today is the middle of the “May Day” holiday in China. And as such, I have been very busy taking care of my family and spending some time together. As such, I have grabbed some trivial moments and threw this post together.

Please enjoy.

Can a Taiwanese citizen go to mainland China and get mainland China citizenship immediately?

PRC considers most Taiwanese to be citizens of the People’s Republic of China. You can get a Taiwan Compatriots Pass from the PRC and that serves as your identity card for most things.

I’ve been told that it is not difficult for a person from Taiwan to get Mainland hukou and full Mainland identity cards and passport. The trouble here is not Mainland China but Taiwan. If the Taiwanese authorities find out that you have a PRC passport and PRC hukou, they will classify you as a Mainlander and cancel all of your Taiwanese passports, identity cards, etc. etc and revoke your right to travel to Taiwan.

American “Leadership”

[1] Note cards with photo of the journalist, of [2] the exact questions she would ask, and [3] of the answer to tell her.

This is no longer a press conference. It’s a scripted movie set.

This is America.

Hank Paulson says the U.S.-China relationship is ‘on the brink’ and calls it a ‘dangerous situation’

Prarthana Prakash
April 15, 2023

The U.S. and China’s feud shows no signs of abating. It’s starting to worry international organizations such as the World Bank, which recently predicted that the rift between the two superpowers could hurt the growth of other economies.

Now, former Treasury Secretary Henry “Hank” Paulson is echoing similar concerns about intensifying geopolitical tensions.

“The U.S.-China relationship is on the brink. Communications have ground to a halt,” Paulson said in an interview with the Financial Times published Friday. “There’s a lot going on in the world that’s troubling, but to me it’s the U.S.-China relationship that is the most worrying.”

The two countries have gone head-to-head in trade, foreign policy, and the race for technology in recent years. While tariffs and trade restrictions are already in place, a complete “decoupling” scenario, where the economies work separately from each other, could have a significant impact. China is still among the U.S.’s top trading partners and the world’s second largest economy.

The economic importance of the two nations raises the stakes of them clashing, and Paulson thinks America may be underestimating what China can do.

“This is a dangerous situation,” he said. “I strongly believe that [President Joe] Biden would like to stabilize the China relationship, but both Republicans and Democrats in Congress have staked out a very strong line which complicates things for Biden. I have a concern that Congress is underestimating the relative power of China, the permanence of China, and China’s relationship with so many other countries.”

According to Paulson, China is boosting its presence around the world, and putting out a clear message that “China is open for business again.” So, if the U.S. responds with further curbs on trade and investment, even as other nations deepen ties with Beijing, the U.S. could become more isolated.

The rest HERE

Trade between BRICS nations hits record levels

Meanwhile in the United States

Way to make someone hate not just you, but your entire church.

The US is PANICKING: Over the Rise of a Multipolar World!

American manners today

Sheech!

Zelensky’s top adviser issues threat to China

Mikhail Podoliak claims that Beijing will suffer a loss in status if it maintains its friendship with Russia

Ukrainian President Vladimir Zelensky’s most prominent adviser, Mikhail Podoliak, has claimed that China must follow the West’s position on Ukraine or it will find its standing in the world diminished and its economic power weakened.

However, Beijing has given no indication that it intends to take his advice.

“Now China has to make a choice,” Podoliak told Ukraine’s Rada TV on Friday. “Either it works within the framework defined by international law, and then replaces Russia in the full sense of the word, or China continues to stand aside and then it will gradually lose its influence, including economic influence.”

Podoliak’s statement came two days after Zelensky and Chinese President Xi Jinping spoke by phone, in their first known conversation since Russia’s military offensive began last February. According to the Chinese side, Xi stressed that Beijing’s “core position” on the conflict is that “dialogue and negotiations are the only viable way out.”

The US has repeatedly called on China to condemn Russia over the conflict, which Beijing has refused to do. Instead, the two governments have deepened their diplomatic and trade links, and officials from both countries have repeatedly condemned the US for attempting to impose what it calls a “rules-based international order” upon the world through military force and sanctions.

China and Russia have instead called for the construction of a multipolar system based on the rule of international law and respect for the UN charter. “Right now there are changes – the likes of which we haven’t seen for 100 years – and we are the ones driving these changes together,” Xi told Russian President Vladimir Putin in Moscow last month.

Podoliak has attempted to drive a wedge between Moscow and Beijing before. Late last month he asked the Italian Corriere della Sera newspaper why China would “help Russia, which is experiencing the collapse of its civilization?”

“It would be an irreversible investment, and China is too pragmatic to make such mistakes,” he added.

However, even if China were to break from Russia, it would still face a United States hostile to its interests. The Pentagon’s most recent National Defense Strategy lists countering the supposed “threat posed by China” as its number one priority, while Washington has blocked the sale of some semiconductor manufacturing hardware to China and rallied its Asian allies to shut Beijing out of this vital industrial sector.

Meanwhile, US President Joe Biden has said on several occasions that he would use the US military to defend Taiwan – which China considers its territory – from a potential Chinese invasion.

$1000 tip

Beef Taco Bake

Ingredients

1 pound ground beef
1 can condensed tomato soup
1 cup salsa
1/2 cup milk
6 flour or 8 corn tortillas, (6 to 8 inches), cut into 1-inch pieces
1 cup shredded Cheddar cheese

Instructions

In skillet over medium-high heat, cook beef until browned, stirring to separate meat. Pour off fat.
Add soup, salsa, milk, tortillas and half the cheese.
Spoon into 2-quart shallow baking dish. Cover.
Bake at 400 degrees F for 30 minutes or until hot.
Sprinkle with remaining cheese.

Yield: 4 servings

United States is really insane right now…

Hmm, 50 year old guy going to personal attacks and commenting on a 15 year old girls body. Disturbing on so many levels.

Yuan power: China’s push to challenge the US dollar gathers steam

Singapore: First, there was oil in Saudi Arabia, then there was nuclear power in Bangladesh and, finally, there were railways in Pakistan. China is taking multibillion-dollar transactions away from the international currency that has underpinned them for generations, the US dollar, and pushing them into the yuan…

Article HERE

American rudeness on display.

If you are not making the world a better place, then you are subtracting from it.

Why do foreigners raise children in China?

With busy diplomacy, China has no time to receive insincere people — Global Times

Recently, there have been frequent complaints from Washington about China’s “neglect” of the US and a “lack of interest” in engaging with them. One is that China has refused to reschedule US Secretary of State Antony Blinken’s visit to China, and another is that the Chinese Ministry of Defense has declined request for call from the US Department of Defense, and the defense ministers of China and the US have not spoken for nearly five months.

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At the G7 Foreign Ministers’ Meeting in Japan, Blinken called out to China on Tuesday, stating that China must make clear its intentions to keep engaging with the US and that “countries around the world expect us to manage the relationship with China responsibly.” The day before, an undersecretary of US Department of Defense even speculated that China “refuses to talk during crises in bid to spook US into fleeing” from the Western Pacific. To borrow a term used by Chinese netizens, doesn’t the US have any sense of self-awareness?

Blinken’s planned visit to China in February was unilaterally postponed by the US due to the sudden hype around the “balloon incident” before his departure. This to some extent, it has reflected the US’ reckless and irresponsible attitude towards Blinken’s visit to China. It refused to come then, but now insists on coming. How can everything be up to the US, and everyone else has to cooperate with it? China is a big country and will not indulge such problem. China’s diplomacy is very busy and cannot adjust at any time according to the US’ schedule, especially no time to receive insincere or even people with malicious intentions.

As for the reason why the defense ministers of China and the US have not spoken on the phone, the US side knows well. Putting aside other issues, the US has not yet lifted the illegal sanctions on China’s new Defense Minister Li Shangfu, which has created a lack of basic atmosphere for military dialogue between China and the US. If the US truly wants to maintain contact and communication with China, then they should not act in this way. The Americans have also seen that in the past month, many leaders of countries, including US allies, and heads of international organizations have visited China, achieving very good communication results. So why is there a problem when it comes to the US?

A common saying in Chinese diplomacy is “listen to their words and observe their actions,” but with today’s US, “listen to their words” is a waste of time because the US has played the game of saying one thing and doing another to the extreme, and its “words” have lost credibility in China and the international community. According to reports from US media, Washington is about to implement “unprecedented rules” limiting American investment in China, and US’ interference in the Taiwan question is getting worse. The US’ comprehensive containment and suppression of China has not shown any signs of easing.

The feeling of Chinese people is that the various actions taken by the US are almost the opposite of its promises to China. How can we believe it? Dialogue and engagement can boost cooperation, add value to bilateral relations for one thing, or to prevent crises and conflicts to minimize the damage to the relationship for another. But what Washington wants is neither the first nor the second, it wants the political gains that come with “engaging with China” posture. This fully explains why the US has been shouting about “setting up guardrails” in recent years, while the pit in China-US relations is getting deeper and deeper due to Washington’s actions.

China has always approached and developed China-US relations with great goodwill and patience, which is China’s sense of responsibility as a major country. But Washington should not have any illusions, it can never speak to China while riding on its head. China supports communication and exchange based on mutual respect, committed to peaceful coexistence, win-win cooperation, in order to promoting the improvement of China-US relations. However, the “engagement with China” emphasized by the US is often just a show, to appease its allies and other countries concerned about the deterioration of China-US relations and also to shift the blame onto China. Additionally, Washington attempts to impose pressure on China with the so-called engagement. Almost every time its high-ranking officials come, they bring a long list of so-called demands.

While the US continues to take hostile actions towards China, it also wants to use “engagement” to stabilize China and control risks while taking advantage of the opportunity to pressure and unilaterally demand from China, with even the idea that “communication” is all for “convenience for me to better attack you.” Can’t China just don’t deal with the US, which is so calculative? With such insincerity and even malice from the US, why should we cooperate with Washington politicians’ performances?

In conclusion, temporarily cold-shouldering Washington is not a bad idea. China’s door is always open, and when the US shows sincerity and take practical actions, communication and exchange between China and the US in various fields will come naturally, which is also what the international community expects to see.

The West can no longer loot the world without boomerang responses.

The United States recently confiscated a cargo of Iranian crude oil from a tanker at sea, according to a maritime security company, indicating that the seizure pre-dated Iran’s move to seize Chevron’s cargo of crude oil on Thursday off the coast of Oman.

On Thursday, a Marshall Islands-flagged tanker carrying crude oil destined for Chevron was seized by the Iranian Navy, according to the U.S. Navy. According to Tehran, the tanker had been involved in a collision with an Iranian vessel in the Gulf of Oman, resulting in Iranian crewmember injuries, with several missing. Iran also said that the tanker ignored eight hours’ worth of radio calls following the collision.

Article HERE

7 Culture Shocks I had in China

U.S. Sends Troops To Taiwan!

No debate is necessary. A war with China is already determined.

FOREIGN MINISTRY: “U.S. DIRECTLY KILLING RUSSIANS”

World Hal Turner 29 April 2023

The US is directly contributing to the deaths of Russians by providing military and financial aid to Ukraine, Russian Foreign Ministry spokeswoman Maria Zakharova charged on Friday.

She was reacting to a Kommersant interview with Lynne Tracy, the US ambassador to Moscow, who stated that Washington “does not view Russians as enemies.”

“The Russian people are getting killed with targeting done by the US, money [provided] by the US, weapons [supplied] by the US, and by the hands of a regime that was brought to power by the US as a result of a coup orchestrated by the US,” Zakharova wrote on Telegram, referring to the Western-backed 2014 uprising in Kiev that ousted the democratically elected president, Viktor Yanukovich.

In an interview published in Russian newspaper Kommersant on Thursday, Tracy said she supports informal contacts between Americans and Russians, and that the US “does not want to ‘cancel’ the Russian people in any way.”

“No matter what differences we, the United States, have with the Russian government, they are not differences with the people of Russia,” she said.

The Foreign Ministry later issued a statement criticizing the ambassador’s interview, in which it accused Tracy of cherry-picking and fabricating facts about Ukraine’s recent history. The US diplomat claimed that “a situation in which a leader who lost support and got scared of his own people takes a decision to flee” could not be called a coup.

“Madam Ambassador probably does not know, and was not informed by her aides, that this simple puzzle… lacks the truth and correct sequence of events,” the ministry said.

The statement went on to explain that the protests in Kiev were infiltrated by violent extremists supported by US officials, and ended with a power-sharing agreement that the opposition forces immediately broke. Tracy’s failure to acknowledge the nature of the events in Kiev can be explained by either amnesia or ignorance, while her description has nothing to do with reality, the Russian ministry added. The statement included a screenshot of the interview with a large red ‘FAKE’ stamp on it.

Washington imposed sweeping sanctions on Moscow shortly after Russia launched its military operation in Ukraine in February 2022. The US and many other NATO countries have since supplied Kiev with heavy weapons, including tanks and artillery systems, and shared intelligence with Ukraine. The State Department said in January that it was up to Kiev to determine how to use foreign arms.

Russia has warned that the military aid makes the US and NATO de facto direct participants in the conflict. Moscow also repeatedly accused Ukraine of using US-made weapons, such as HIMARS multiple rocket launchers and M777 howitzers, to kill civilians.

On April 13, Ukrainian troops used HIMARS launchers to shell a hospital in the Donbass city of Svatovo, local officials said. On Thursday, several areas in the Donetsk People’s Republic were hit with rockets and artillery rounds, leaving one woman dead and eight people, including four children, injured, according to the authorities.

Reality

2023 04 21 06 48

All Eyes on east Asia: China-Taiwan Flare-up – Japan WARNED by China

World Hal Turner 28 April 2023

Chinese Ambassador to Japan, Wu Jiangao, warned Japanese leaders that their planned visit to Taiwan was equated with crossing the “red line.”

“Foreign forces are conspiring with Taiwan’s independence forces and carrying out constant provocations,” the ambassador told reporters in Tokyo on Friday, saying their ultimate goal was “separation of Taiwan from China.” He added that inciting “the split in China will bring the Japanese people into the fire”.

Japanese officials have said that any contingency in Taiwan will be tantamount to an unpredictable situation in Japan.

In recent years, Beijing has pursued a policy of diplomatic isolation of Taiwan, forcing other countries to recognize it as part of a “single China” and repeatedly threatened to invade.

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The day after Emmanuel Macron’s visit, China began large-scale military exercises around Taiwan working out a rocket attack and the surroundings of the island. Training became answer on Taiwan’s President Cai Ying Wen’s 10-day diplomatic tour of Central America and a meeting with US government officials in California. In particular, she met with Kevin McCarthy, Speaker of the House of Representatives of the US Congress from Republicans.

The day after China imitated “high-precision strikes” on Taiwan, Foreign Minister Joseph Wu said Beijing can prepare for the invasion of the island.

Later reported, that this year’s annual Taiwanese military exercises “Han Kuan” will focus on fighting the blockade of the island against the background of China’s statements.

China again moved military forces near Taiwan today.

China’s largest combat drone, the TB-001 drone (an entire ship) nicknamed the “twin-tailed scorpion”, arrived late Thursday and remained on Friday around Taiwan:

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Also on Friday, China flew 38 warplanes near Taiwan, and deployed another 6 navy vessels in area.

In addition, a Chinese uncrewed combat aircraft (Drone) has flown around Taiwan, the island’s defense ministry said, showcasing Beijing’s ability to attack its fall-back east coast bases, as a U.S. maritime patrol aircraft transited the Taiwan Strait. Here is a photo of that combat drone:

China also had words for the United States.

“We strongly urge the US side to fully recognize the high sensitivity of the Taiwan question as well as the complexity and severity of the current situation across the Taiwan Strait,” said Senior Colonel Tan Kefei, spokesperson for China’s Ministry of National Defense, at a regular press conference.

When asked to comment on the reports that a group of US defense companies will visit Taiwan to discuss issues such as the joint production of drones and ammunition in early May, Defense Spokesperson Tan said that the Taiwan question is purely China’s internal affair and brooks no foreign interference.

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“These American military-industrial complexes have always been zealous to peddle munitions, trigger conflicts and chaos, and reap staggering profits around the world,” he point out sharply, adding that the Democratic Progressive Party’s act is rather contemptible, like putting the cat near the goldfish bowl, which will only bring untold disaster to the Taiwan compatriots.

Then the spokesperson reiterated that no one or any force can shake Chinese people’s staunch determination and firm will to defend national sovereignty and territorial integrity, and urged the US side to adhere to the one-China principle and the provisions of the three China-US joint communiqués, prudently handle Taiwan-related issues, refrain from interfering in the Taiwan question, cease arms sales to the Taiwan region as well as its military contact with the island.

Soooooooo, what did the US Congress go ahead an do today? Well . . .

The House committee dedicated to countering China began preparing bipartisan proposals for the fiscal 2024 defense authorization bill that would accelerate U.S. munitions production and arms transfers to Taiwan.

Naval Forces Readying for China Taiwan

In the meantime, here is an up-to-date graphic showi9ng the very considerable firepower which is around Taiwan as of yesterday:

It is entirely plausible that China may decide it is better to grab Taiwan NOW, before more US assets reach the region and BEFORE US arms manufacturers can fill new weapons orders. What the US is doing, and pledging, to Taiwan’s “defense” may actually TRIGGER a Chinese invasion of Taiwan!

Top 7 things I wish I knew before I moved to China

Why Did Judas Betray Jesus?

April 6, 2023

According to the Bible, Judas Iscariot was one of Jesus’ twelve disciples and the one who ultimately betrayed him. The exact reason for Judas’ betrayal is not entirely clear, and scholars have offered various interpretations based on the available evidence.

One interpretation is that Judas betrayed Jesus for financial gain. According to the Gospel of Matthew, Judas accepted thirty pieces of silver from the chief priests in exchange for leading them to Jesus. This has led some scholars to suggest that Judas may have been motivated by greed or a desire for material wealth.

Another interpretation is that Judas was disillusioned with Jesus’ message and mission. Some scholars believe that Judas may have expected Jesus to lead a military rebellion against the Roman authorities, but instead saw Jesus’ message of love and forgiveness as weak and ineffective. This interpretation suggests that Judas may have betrayed Jesus out of a sense of disappointment or frustration.

Ultimately, the exact reason for Judas’ betrayal remains a matter of debate among scholars and theologians. Regardless of the reason, Judas’ betrayal ultimately led to Jesus’ arrest, trial, and crucifixion, which Christians believe were necessary for the salvation of humanity.

CHINA DOES IT AGAINST ALL ODDS:

Recently Tung Signa technology in Shanghai has two domestic lithography machines stationed in the production line independently developed by Shanghai microelectronics

This represents a major advancement in domestic lithography machines highlighting that domestic lithography machines have rapidly replaced imported lithography machines

In the future the production capacity of 20 000 pieces of full process gold bumps per month can be realized

The introduction of the first domestically produced lithography machine this time is great news for China.

Shanghai microelectronics is the largest lithography machine company in China it has already mass-produced 90 nanometer lithography machines and is currently accelerating the promotion of 28 nanometer and 14 nanometer lithography machines

The lithography machine delivered this time is a packaging and testing lithography machine but this also represents a major progress in China’s lithography machine which means that the domestic 14 nanometers lithography machine will soon be mass produced

After the packaging and testing lithography machine is delivered it is expected to complete the debugging in May and complete the test and mass production next month.

It is expected that the production of twenty thousand chips per month will be completed by next year.

The first lithography machine of Shanghai microelectronics 20-year research was successfully delivered with move-in-ceremony held. This was the proud moment for China and its people.

The icing on the cake is the price of these lithography machines which is only one-seventh of the price of ASML equivalent lithography machines which shows the ultra low cost advantage of domestic lithography machines such a low-cost Advantage will help greatly reduce the cost of Chinese Chips.

lithography machines are not the only ones for making chips in addition to being divided into EUV, DUV and UV, according to the advanced level of the light source they can also be divided into front-end lithography machines for chip manufacturing and back-end lithography machines for packaging and testing.

This time the company introduced a gold bump packaging and testing lithography machine which belongs to the back-end lithography machine for packaging and testing in the field of packaging and testing lithography machines.

28 nanometers to 7 nanometers lithography machines are all immersion lithography Machine Technologies which means that China has successfully developed the 28 nanometers lithography machine to handle the key technology of immersion lithography machines.

Since the difficulty of developing 14 nanometers and 7 nanometers lithography machines has been greatly reduced, as a result ASML’s 1980 lithography machine will also lose its competitiveness.

If China successfully develops (front end) immersion lithography machine technology then ASML will lose a large chunk of market and may return to the days when it was lingering, so of course it is afraid.

This is the great news for China and a shocker for ASML who may want to change its attitude in the coming days.

Long live China – the counterweight to western world.

No One Is Coming to Save You

April 14, 2023

Every moment you spend hoping for someone else to save you is a moment wasted. You hold the key to your own freedom.

Freedom from ignorance, from suffering, from poverty, from illness, from anxiety, and from judgment. Freedom even from the constraints of your own mind. It’s up to you, and only you, to grant yourself this gift of liberation.

You must take ownership of every aspect of your life. The results you create, the challenges life throws at you, and the messes others may cause that you must clean up. You have to own it all.

It’s time to let go of the opinions of others, shed bad habits, stop overspending, underworking, overeating, underestimating, overvaluing, or any other harmful behavior that holds you back.

No one else can do it for you, not because you are alone or because the world is unkind, but because it is solely within your power. You are the only one who can dig deep into your soul and unleash every spark of life that resides within. It has to be you.

No one is coming to save you, and the truth is, no one needs to. When you save yourself, you’ll realize that you hold the key to your own liberation and empowerment. It’s time to take charge and be your own hero.

Vintage Cover Photos of The Popular Magazine in the 1920s

The Popular Magazine, a literary publication that ran for an impressive 612 issues from 1903 to 1931, was a staple in early American literature. With a diverse range of genres, the magazine featured everything from short fiction and novellas to serialized works and even complete short novels. Although the magazine covered various subjects, it had a tendency to lean towards men’s adventure stories, particularly in its later years as the demand for hardboiled fiction increased.

h/t: vintag.es

The Popular Magazine marketed itself as “a magazine for men and women who like to read about men,” and had its headquarters in New York City. It was published by Street & Smith and edited by Henry Harrison Lewis from 1903 to 1904, and Charles Agnew MacLean from 1904 to 1928. Each bi-monthly issue typically contained 194 to 224 pages. Sadly, The Popular Magazine’s journey came to an end in October 1931 when it was merged with another Street & Smith pulp, Complete Stories.

I went out with a Chinese man: You won’t believe what he made me eat!! I cried

I really like this gal. Attractive, great smiles, and so beautiful!

Burrito Supreme Casserole

Ingredients

8 (8-inch) flour tortillas
1 1/2 cups tomato juice
1 envelope taco seasoning mix
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
1/2 pound ground beef
1 (16 ounce) can refried beans
3 cups shredded Cheddar cheese, divided
1 small avocado
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1 1/2 cups shredded lettuce
1 cup chopped tomato

Instructions

Wrap tortillas securely in aluminum foil; bake at 350 degrees F for 15 minutes or until thoroughly heated.
Combine tomato juice, seasoning mix and oil; stir well, and set aside.
Cook ground beef in a large skillet until browned, stirring to crumble; drain.
Stir in beans and 1/2 cup tomato juice mixture. Bring to a boil; cover, reduce heat, and simmer 5 minutes or until mixture is thoroughly heated, stirring occasionally.
Remove from heat.
Place 1/4 cup beef mixture and 2 1/2 tablespoons cheese down center of each tortilla. Roll up tortillas, and place seam side down in a lightly greased 13 x 9-inch baking dish.
Pour remaining tomato juice mixture over casserole.
Cover and bake at 350 degrees F for 30 to 35 minutes.
Uncover and sprinkle with remaining cheese; bake an additional 5 minutes or until cheese melts.
Peel and cube avocado; toss with lemon juice.
Sprinkle avocado, lettuce and tomato over casserole.
Serve immediately.

Yield: 4 servings

Science fiction monorail

Yet not so science fiction implementation… in Wuhan, Hubei, China

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Americans: China is so backward it’s still living in the dirt.

Also Americans: Tssk, Americans don’t need these lame monorail, we prefer our gas guzzling pickup trucks.

What JUST Leaked Out of Congress Is HORRIFYING!

How Do You Know If You’re In Love?

April 7, 2023

“You’ll just know.” This was my mother’s vague response when I asked her how to know if you’re in love with someone, and needless to say, I was less than enthused by her response. To be honest, it seemed like a cop-out. Why, I wondered, can’t anyone seem to accurately describe what being in love feels like? We’ve all heard rom-com movie characters talk about fireworks and pop stars sing about the all-consuming obsession that comes with a new romance, but is that really love? Or is it just infatuation? How can you tell whether you’re just experiencing fiery passion or you’ve truly fallen for someone?

As it turns out, there are ways to know you’re in love. And no, they have nothing to do with feeling butterflies in your stomach. In fact, research has revealed some common signs of being lovestruck. For example, people reported having new interests and personality traits after entering a loving relationship, according to one 1995 study. Another study revealed that falling in love can cause you to exhibit symptoms similar to those that come with anxiety, such as sweating more (woof, I know).

Of course, if you’re thinking and talking about the person nonstop, or you’re already envisioning a future with them, you may suspect you’re in love. Still, those signals don’t always indicate that it’s the real thing. After all, in the beginning, your excitement around this new relationship could cloud your ability to see whether there’s real potential for a long-term relationship. The chemistry is great, you have endless topics to talk about, and you haven’t discovered all of their quirks, irritating habits or “flaws” yet. So it’s pretty easy to fool yourself into thinking you’ve fallen head over heels. Here are some of the things you feel when you’re in love:

1. You’re happy and just a little bit nervous.

When you’re in love, you’re genuinely a happier person. It’s like you’re on a natural high. The thought of spending time with your partner really excites you and just looking at the dozens of selfies you took together is enough to put a cheesy smile on your face. But being in love also makes you a tiny bit nervous. You’re anxious for what the future holds. Because you know that you want your relationship to last. “Lots of people compare love to something they could not lose or let pass them by, yet the uncertainty of its unknown outcome is exciting,” Maria says.

2. Everything feels new and exciting.

When you’re in love, you’re excited to do things you’ve already done a million times before because it’s with your partner this time. They’re the first ones you think of when you see a romantic movie preview or when you’re planning to make a quick trip to the nearest fast food place. You’d even be willing to sit through four hours of a sports game if it means spending time with them.. Maria says that’s because love sparks a new change in you. “When you’re in love, the basis of your perception changes. I compare it to a feeling of being really awake and excited,” she says. “You have found someone that makes everything feel new and intriguing – even if it’s just sitting on the couch watching TV.”

3. Your relationship feels easy.

Being with your partner isn’t hard work. You don’t have to struggle to find time to spend with them because you really want to. Even the arguments don’t feel as intense as they did in other relationships. While all couples argue and bicker, when you’re both in love, your priority is your relationship, not your pride. You’re not worried about being the first person to give in or lose the argument because you can’t imagine your life without this person. Even one day apart really feels like forever.

4. This person is on your mind literally all the time.

When you’re in love, your partner is always in the back of your mind. You might have a sudden thought to call them because you haven’t chatted in a few hours. Or, maybe, you go into a clothing store with the intention of buying something for yourself and then end up buying something for your partner, too. “Love is determined. When you like someone, you can brush it off and think of other things as you go about your day,” Maria says. When you’re in love, this person is always on your mind, but it isn’t overwhelming. “When you love someone, you are physically, mentally and emotionally impacted at theoretically any/all time(s). It is a calm and secure reality you will consistently crave,” Maria says.

5. You get just a little jealous.

A little bit of jealousy is natural. Jealousy becomes dangerous, however, when you start obsessing over what your partner’s doing, so much so that you do stuff like look through their phone without them knowing. That is toxic behavior and it might signal you’re not in a healthy relationship.

6. You become more affectionate towards them.

When you’re in love, you’re obviously attracted to your partner, so it’s only natural that you want to be all over them all the time. Whether it’s simply holding hands or turning your cuddling into an intense make out session, you want to be affectionate towards your second half. If you’re completely repulsed by them, that’s something to think about.

7. You want to bring them around your family and friends.

When you’re really into your relationship, you want to bring your partner into all aspects of your life. You want to introduce them to your family and friends because you genuinely want your relationship last.

8. You start feeling a sense of empathy towards your partner.

When you’re in love, you start seeing your bae as an extension of yourself, so when they’re hurt, nervous or really excited about something like getting accepted into a school or program they really wanted, then you experience the same feelings as them. Feeling empathy towards your partner also makes you want to make tiny sacrifices for them, like getting up and going to the store for some soup and medicine when they’re sick. Small things like that are easy to do when they’re for the person you love.

9. You’re becoming a better person.

You know you’re in love when being with your second half makes you want to improve yourself in some way, whether it’s setting new goals or having a more positive attitude. Your partner should push you towards becoming better, but not in a way that’s consistently negative. “If a partner isn’t building you up, then you must consider looking elsewhere for love – no matter what other characteristics he or she may have that you are infatuated with,” Maria says. When you’re truly in love with someone, you want your partner to succeed as much as you because you want to create a stable future for the both of you.

10. You start planning for the future.

When you truly love someone, you know that you don’t have plans to let them go any time soon, if ever. So, you start to include them in all your future plans, whether it’s going on vacation or figuring out your plan after high school. You start thinking of your partner when you’re making big decisions because you want them to be there for it all. When you’re in love, your bae becomes your permanent “plus one.”

After 4 years living in China, these are the 4 truths I’ve learned!

What’s the bravest thing you have ever done?

When I was in the Marines, I knew a guy. He called me one day and said, “I just saw some paperwork. You’ll be getting sent to Japan for 6 months soon, unless you want to be sent to Camp Lejeune (where I had lots of friends). But if you go there, you will join a unit that’s going to depart for Iraq in December, and there’s going to be a war (this was almost a full year before the Iraq War started).

With this information I spent a few weeks thinking about the various possible outcomes of this decision, and in the end I opted to go to Camp Lejeune because if there was a war, I knew I might make a real difference to a few good men. I’m very smart, fairly strong, and have always performed very well under pressure, and I knew that I could save some lives that might have been lost if given the chance.

During the war I was in a major battle and got blown up inside of an AAAV. I carried two guys with half-blown-off legs out of the vehicle, which by then was basically a fireball on top of a big pile of explosives, on top of 1,000 pounds of fuel.

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Today those guys have wives and kids, and that’s a really incredible thing to me when I think about it from time to time.

I chose not to go to Japan a year before the war even started, and now those children exist.

Top 10 CHEAPEST Countries To Live Lavishly On $1000/Month

Life in America

2023 04 30 08 32

What’s It Like To Have A Bed Bug Infestation?

April 3, 2023

They are creatures from hell.

If you are sensitive to the bites, it’s MUCH worse than mosquito bites – think painful, weeping blisters that burn if a breeze so much blows across them the wrong way, nevermind laying down, or clothes rubbing on them.

A single bug feeds on you multiple times in a night, leaving what’s sometimes referred to as ‘breakfast-lunch-dinner bites’ because the clusters/lines of bites they leave are very distinctive. Each bite takes days, even weeks, to go away, and they itch/burn the whole time – so if you’re infested (50-100+) imagine waking up with any accessible skin (including your face) covered in burning, persistent bites that there’s no real relief for.

It ruins your ability to rest – every tickle or itch starts making you bolt up in horror to turn on the lights and check. Long after they’re gone, years after you’ve been rid of them, you will still experience a surge of adrenaline from a hair moving the wrong way.

They reproduce insanely fast; a fertilized female lays 5-7 eggs a day, the eggs take around 2 weeks to hatch, and then they’re able to reproduce about 3 weeks after they hatch. A female will lay hundreds of eggs over her life after being fertilized even ONCE. This means one fertilized female could come into your home, and within a year if the infestation is not dealt with fast and harshly enough, you can have THOUSANDS of them.

While they prefer to stay close to their prey (in the bed, headboard, bedlinens) they can hide anywhere a sesame seed would fit – between the pages of a book, inside cardboard, cracks in the baseboards, carpeting, seams in cushions, etc. If you try to get relief by treating your bed with chemicals, all that happens is that they disperse into the walls and other nearby hiding places, and become harder to find and eliminate as their numbers swell.

They have evolved to be keenly attuned to everything about their prey (humans) when it comes to temperature, lighting, movement, breathing, etc, so that they are most attracted to you when you as sleeping and vulnerable. They will hunt you down if you move to another room to sleep at night. If you put your bed up on risers/dishes of oil/put double-sided tape all around so they can’t get to you, they will crawl up walls to the ceiling and drop down on you to get at you.

If they are consistently denied food (say you pack up everything you have in tubs and plastic bags or something, and accidentally miss a couple hiding in your things), they can go into hibernation – in ideal conditions, for almost 2 years without feeding. The eggs are smaller than a poppy seed, and can remain viable and unhatched in the right conditions for a similar length of time.

Most of the chemical treatments that work against adults do not work on the eggs, so unless you do multiple scheduled treatments, you’ll just have new waves hatching every so often after the last round of adults was killed off. Each time you get your home chemically treated, you will have to leave it and stay somewhere else because the chemicals are dangerous to you as well.

If you live in a building with shared walls, even if vents and things from unit to unit aren’t connected, if someone else gets infested and they don’t treat the entire building at once (only treating the immediately affected rooms) it’s just like only treating the bed – they will disperse into neighboring units, and seek shelter in any little crack or crevice they can find.

Sufficient heat is the only guaranteed way to kill off an infestation all at once – adults, nymphs, eggs – and they make specialized heaters for this, both for heating up rooms, and for placing your belongings into to heat treat anything that might be hiding eggs or bugs. Many people accidentally burn their houses down every year trying to DIY treatments because this is expensive – thousands of dollars per round of treatment, either chemical OR heat.

It doesn’t matter if you or your house is clean or dirty – you can get bedbugs by going literally anywhere that other people go. The store, offices, clinics, movies, public transportation, etc. While adults won’t live in your clothes, they’ll hitchhike on them – so anywhere people spend time holding still, someone with an established infestation can be carrying eggs or hidden adults that end up dropped off in a public space that then end up stuck to or climbing onto others. All it takes is one fertilized female riding home with you unseen on your clothes, a bag, your jacket.

Bedbugs exist in pretty much every country – anywhere where it is cool enough indoors for people to live, bedbugs can live also. Infestations are actually on the rise in some countries due to shorter, warmer winters meaning they can be active for longer (since cold temps generally only put them into a dormant stage, not kill them).

Hotels and other hospitality locations that care about prevention will routinely pay for specially trained sniffer dogs that can detect the smell of bedbugs, and shut-down/cordon off buildings as soon as anything is found, because it is more costly to handle a major infestation than to destroy a colony before it gets the chance to hit critical mass.

Even so, a hotel has no way of being able to tell if the guest immediately before you dropped off hitchhikers; even a high-end hotel isn’t flipping the mattress over to steam and vacuum the mattress and box-spring when they change out the bed linens.

Hotels are often the first choice of people trying to get a rest from an infestation, or needing a place to stay while getting their own place treated.

If you ever stay anywhere away from home where other people have been, always put your luggage in the bathtub first before unpacking; then check for signs of bedbugs in headboards, under the mattress, in the seams of the box-spring, etc. There are guides with pictures on what to look for. When you get home, make sure any clothes that travelled with you go into a high-heat wash and dry cycle. Bag up any luggage carriers than cannot be washed or tumbled; consider treating their insides with diatomaceous earth until their next usage.

It might seem like an annoying extra effort, but it is a tiny amount of labor to save you from experiencing what will feel like an unending hell if you ever bring bedbugs home. An infestion will completely ruin your life and mental health. Pray you never have to deal with them.

– HallowskulledHorror

The Roundtable #54: Brian Berletic and Pepe Escobar

The Roundtable — Gonzalo Lira

Streamed live on Apr 18, 2023

The panel discusses the presumed recent attack by Russia of a fortified NATO/Ukrop bunker by means of a deep-penetration Kinzhal missile, which supposedly caused scores of casualties, many high-ranking officers . The upshot so far has been almost total media silence, while NATO and Russia also keep mum about the whole affair. The Kinshal strike is supposed to be in response to the constant Western sabre-rattling and threats to expand aggression to the Far East. They also review the situation among the EU satrapies, particularly Macron’s recent noises about the need to develop an “independent Europe capable of is own foreign policy.” Pepe also says that China has been discussing the acquisition of top-level missile technology from Moscow, since all assume a war or an attack by the US bloc s now inevitable.

Watch on Youtube: here

WHAT IS CHINA REALLY LIKE?

The USA has this “thing” called “prank orders”

Watch what happens when you try this move in China.

These China “Experts” need to be stopped

Today’s “Drudge Report”

It’s a reflection of the madness of the United States.

SHOCK: Man kills 5 neighbors, including child, after one asked him to stop shooting AR-15 in his yard...

United States has become a ghetto

Late stage collapse.

Dislodging the Neocons, Difficult But Necessary

Ron Unz • April 24, 2023

Last week I discussed the ironic role that America’s dominant Neocons may have played in shaping recent world events, perhaps inadvertently producing a beneficial outcome exactly contrary to their aggressive intent.

Over the last decade, prominent political scientists such as Graham Allison of Harvard and John Mearsheimer of the University of Chicago had argued that a centuries-long pattern suggested that the world was locked into a “Thucydides Trap,” the likelihood of a looming clash between the reigning global power of America and the rising global power of China. This political and potentially military conflict had nothing to do with the ideological or social characteristics of those two enormous countries nor their leadership, but was simply the inevitable consequence of China’s size and growing power, which threatened to displace America from its position of world dominance. The term referred to the analogous rivalry between Athens and Sparta that had unleashed the long Peloponnesian War, devastating Classical Greece.

Meanwhile, on totally different grounds the ideologically-driven foreign policy of America’s dominant Neocons also threatened global warfare against all countries that refused to accept American hegemony, with Russia and Iran being the leading targets of their intense hostility. During the Obama Administration, these individuals had orchestrated a 2014 coup that overthrew Ukraine’s democratically-elected pro-Russian government. Seven years of military buildup and anti-Russian provocations had eventually led to the outbreak of the Ukraine war in early 2022, with the first year of the fighting having already cost many tens of thousands of lives while raising the risk of World War III.

So the world faced two entirely different geopolitical perils, one ideologically-driven and one not.

However, I then argued that these two separate threats to world peace may have very fortuitously canceled each other out. The extreme over-reaction by the West against Russia over the last year had driven that enormous, resource-rich country into China’s arms, and the resulting China-Russia alliance was now so strong that it probably outweighed the geopolitical power of America and its allies. Furthermore, outrageous anti-Russian measures taken by America’s reckless leadership—the seizure of $300 billion in Russian financial reserves, the destruction of Germany’s Nord Stream energy pipelines—had deeply alienated many other major world powers, which naturally gravitated towards the China-Russia bloc as a consequence, notably including Saudi Arabia, Iran, India, and Brazil. Even some of our own most important vassal-states such as France and Japan seem to have recently become a little shaky in their allegiance.

Thus, over the last twelve months, the global coalition aligned with China had quickly grown so overwhelmingly powerful that the likelihood of any conflict with America was greatly diminished. The aggressive arrogance and incompetence of the Neocons may have allowed the world to escape the Thucydides Trap, increasing the chances that China could replace America as the world’s leading power without bloodshed or bitter conflict.

But even if this analysis is correct and the disastrous failure of the Neocon geopolitical strategy has inadvertently yielded a positive outcome, such behavior can hardly be excused. An elite political leadership class so incompetent that it avoids war by unintentionally wrecking its own country’s strategic alliances must obviously be removed lest future blunders have less fortunate consequences.

Furthermore, the same sort of blindness to reality that produced these American strategic disasters might still lead to a deadly crisis. Perhaps the Neocons will fail to recognize the enormous advantages now enjoyed by the China-Russia bloc that America faces and arrogantly continue their military provocations, eventually triggering a wider war. As an example of such strikingly unrealistic beliefs, the WSJ last year carried a column by an editor at the arch-Neocon New York Sun who argued that China and Russia could be successfully contained by the U.S. together with a handful of “Rimland” powers such as Israel, the UAE, and Australia, although the former outweigh the latter perhaps 50-to-1 in population and industrial base.

However, removing the Neocons from authority may be difficult to achieve since they have become so deeply embedded within DC political circles and the broader Atlanticist community.

After first gaining influence in the Reagan Administration during the 1980s and keeping much of it under his successor George H.W. Bush, they soon began to heavily dominate the foreign policy of Bill Clinton. Because they backed Sen. John McCain in the 2000 Republican primaries, they were seemingly excluded from power under George W. Bush, receiving not a single Cabinet appointment; yet in the wake of the 9/11 Attacks, they still managed to gain control of the entire government. Barack Obama was elected partly because he seemed to represent the total repudiation of his unpopular predecessor, but in his administration Bush Neocons were merely replaced by Obama Neocons. Then in 2016, massive popular revulsion against both political parties unexpectedly propelled Donald Trump into the White House, but he soon placed his foreign policy in the hands of particularly hard-line Neocons such as Mike Pompeo and John Bolton, and more recently the Democratic Neocons have regained that same role under Biden. So Neocon control has now endured for more than thirty years, stretching across Democratic, Republican, and Trumpist administrations alike.

A perfect illustration of this remarkable situation is the fact that Robert Kagan, a leading Neocon architect of George W. Bush’s foreign policy, is the husband of Victoria Nuland, who subsequently played the same role for Barack Obama and now Joe Biden. A political elite so unsuccessful and unsatisfactory must be driven from power, yet apparently this is easier said than done.

One difficulty is that the very term “Neocon” used here has actually become much less meaningful than it once was. After having controlled American foreign policy for more than three decades, promoting their allies and protégés and purging their opponents, the adherents of that world view now constitute nearly the entire political establishment, including control of the leading thinktanks and publications. By now, I doubt there are many prominent figures in either party who follow a sharply different line. Furthermore, over the last two decades, the national security-focused Neocons have largely merged with the economically-focused neoliberals, forming a unified ideological block that represents the political worldview of the elites running both American parties.

Back in 2012 I had already noted the emergence of what amounted to a one party American state:

Consider the pattern of the last decade. With two ruinous wars and a financial collapse to his record, George W. Bush was widely regarded as one of the most disastrous presidents in American history, and at times his public approval numbers sank to the lowest levels ever measured. The sweeping victory of his successor, Barack Obama, represented more a repudiation of Bush and his policies than anything else, and leading political activists, left and right alike, characterized Obama as Bush’s absolute antithesis, both in background and in ideology. This sentiment was certainly shared abroad, with Obama being selected for the Nobel Peace Prize just months after entering office, based on the widespread assumption that he was certain to reverse most of the policies of his detested predecessor and restore America to sanity.

Yet almost none of these reversals took place. Instead, the continuity of administration policy has been so complete and so obvious that many critics now routinely speak of the Bush/Obama administration.

The harsh violations of constitutional principles and civil liberties which Bush pioneered following the 9/11 attacks have only further intensified under Obama, the heralded Harvard constitutional scholar and ardent civil libertarian, and this has occurred without the excuse of any major new terrorist attacks. During his Democratic primary campaign, Obama promised that he would move to end Bush’s futile Iraq War immediately upon taking office, but instead large American forces remained in place for years until heavy pressure from the Iraqi government finally forced their removal; meanwhile, America’s occupation army in Afghanistan actually tripled in size. The government bailout of the hated financial manipulators of Wall Street, begun under Bush, continued apace under Obama, with no serious attempts at either government prosecution or drastic reform. Americans are still mostly suffering through the worst economic downturn since the Great Depression, but Wall Street profits and multimillion-dollar bonuses soon returned to record levels.

In particular, the continuity of top officials has been remarkable. As Bush’s second defense secretary, Robert Gates had been responsible for the ongoing management of America’s foreign wars and military occupations since 2006; Obama kept him on, and he continued to play the same role in the new administration. Similarly, Timothy Geithner had been one of Bush’s most senior financial appointments, playing a crucial role in the widely unpopular financial bailout of Wall Street; Obama promoted him to Treasury secretary and authorized continuation of those same policies. Ben Bernanke had been appointed chairman of the Federal Reserve by Bush and was reappointed by Obama. Bush wars and bailouts became Obama wars and bailouts. The American public voted for an anti-Bush, but got Bush’s third term instead.

During the Cold War, Soviet propagandists routinely characterized our democracy as a sham, with the American public merely selecting which of the two intertwined branches of their single political party should alternate in office, while the actual underlying policies remained essentially unchanged, being decided and implemented by the same corrupt ruling class. This accusation may have been mostly false at the time it was made but seems disturbingly accurate today.

By 2016 public dissatisfaction with the obvious policy failures of this bipartisan political consensus had become so widespread that it provided an opening for an angry outsider such as Donald Trump, a candidate whose campaign was enabled by the new power of Twitter and other social media outlets.

Trump had been considered a joke candidate when he first entered the 2016 Republican presidential primaries, a popular reality television star who had no serious chance against such established political heavyweights as Gov. Jeb Bush of Florida and Sen. Ted Cruz of Texas. At one of his early debates, he denounced President George W. Bush for having lied America into the disastrous Iraq War, a shocking declaration that seemed sure to doom his candidacy with the conservative Republican base. But oddly enough it failed to dent his enthusiastic, right-wing support, suggesting that our hawkish foreign policy actually resonated much more deeply with Republican donors, DC thinktankers, and Beltway lobbyists than with conservative primary voters.

Trump’s unexpected primary triumph against his establishmentarian Republican opponents was mostly due to domestic issues, especially his powerful focus on the hot-button conservative topics of illegal immigration and free trade agreements. As a consequence, he was regarded as an extreme underdog against Hillary Clinton’s Democratic campaign, with the latter backed by an overwhelming advantage in money and media support.

Clinton’s positions represented the bipartisan elite consensus on foreign policy, and in one of her last debates with Trump she stated that she would immediately declare a “No Fly Zone” in Syria against Russia’s expeditionary force in support of President Assad’s government, with the American air force presumably shooting down any Russian planes that continued to attack the anti-government rebels. A presidential candidate promising war with nuclear-armed Russia should have raised a few eyebrows, but America’s media and political establishments apparently regarded her positions as solid and sensible ones in contrast to Trump’s outrageous proposals to reestablish good relations with the Russians.

Trump’s narrow victory in the 2016 race stunned both political parties. The national security establishments of the Democrats and the Republicans reacted viscerally to the possibility that his contrary ideas might now set Washington policy, and the DC political organism displayed a fierce immune-reaction, trying to reject the alien ideology that had suddenly been grafted onto the top of the American government.

The mainstream media was quickly enlisted in the effort to delegitimize Trump’s election and frustrate his foreign policy plans. Although the bizarre claims that Russian interference had tilted the election towards Trump—or even stolen it outright—probably originated with Clinton’s embarrassed excuses to explain away her shocking defeat against all odds, the cry was quickly taken up by the media echo-chamber and the Russiagate scandal soon dogged the new Trump Administration. Faced with an avalanche of media accusations that Trump was a Russian agent and Putin’s puppet, neither the President nor his top officials could afford the risk of attempting to repair our relations with that country.

Meanwhile, a wide range of dissenting websites—right-wing, left-wing, racialist, and libertarian—were immediately labeled Russian disinformation sources, and although most of the accusations were utterly risible—Ron Paul a Russian agent?—some of these publications were intimidated by those wild charges while our social media gatekeepers were urged to restrict the circulation of any such material.

All of these external pressures on the new administration to toe the establishment line on foreign policy were coupled with internal pressures as well, especially after Trump was persuaded to elevate Mike Pompeo from CIA Director to Secretary of State in late March 2018 and bring in John Bolton as his new National Security Advisor around the same time. Bolton had been known as one of the most extremely hawkish figures in the Bush Administration, a leading advocate of the Iraq War, and Pompeo was regarded as supportive of those same policies. Although Trump’s own views may not have changed, the top figures running his foreign policy were now solidly within the Beltway’s Neocon consensus, even situated at its more extreme end.

Bolton in particular seemed eager and willing to sabotage the policy initiatives of his inattentive new superior.

For example, Trump had made considerable progress on persuading North Korean leader Kim Jong-un to abandon his nuclear weapons development program in exchange for American security guarantees, inspiring South Korean leaders to suggest that the American President deserved a Nobel Peace Prize for his successful diplomatic breakthrough. However, soon after his appointment, Bolton declared that the agreement would be modeled after the one with Muammar Qaddafi of Libya, who had similarly renounced his nuclear weapons efforts in 2004, only to be overthrown and killed in a 2011 NATO-backed military uprising, ending his life sodomized by a bayonet. This torpedoed any possibility of a pact with Kim and Trump later declared that those remarks had been a “disaster” with regard to the negotiations.

That same year Trump was finalizing his crucial trade agreement with Chinese leader Xi Jinping at a private dinner when Bolton secretly ordered the arrest of Meng Wanzhou, one of China’s highest-profile tech executives as she was changing planes in Canada, an act that blindsided and outraged the Chinese leadership. According to a WSJ account, Trump had been completely unaware of what was happening and later asked Bolton “Why did you arrest Meng? Don’t you know she’s the Ivanka Trump of China?”

Leading journalists even reported that Trump’s own senior aides would sometimes hide the executive orders he planned to issue, preventing him from signing them into law and correctly believing that our disengaged Chief Executive would forget about them.

Trump’s original hopes of improving our relationship with Russia had been immediately stymied by the Russiagate Hoax, orchestrated by his Deep State opponents and their mainstream media allies. But his policy towards China followed a different trajectory, and I think Kevin Rudd’s 2022 book The Avoidable War provides a good overview of these developments.

As the former prime minister of Australia, Rudd had relocated to the U.S. in 2014 after leaving office and later served as president of The Asia Society based in New York City. He was obviously a very well-connected individual, even lobbying for nomination as U.N. Secretary-General in 2016, and was already intensely focusing on relations between China and America, which became the subject of his subsequent book. His account explains the sharp break that eventually occurred.

As Rudd tells the story, Trump was overwhelmingly focused on trade issues with China and although he was willing to take tough negotiating positions, he also emphasized the importance of his personal relationship with his “very, very good friend” Xi. He believed that forming such bonds represented a crucial element of his skills as a deal-maker, and he was extremely pleased with the successful trade agreement the two countries had finalized, with Rudd invited to the January 15, 2020 signing ceremony at the White House.

Around this same time, the first news of the Covid outbreak in Wuhan was starting to reach America, but Trump paid no attention to the matter. Even weeks after the virus had begun to spread worldwide, Trump continued praising the successful efforts of China’s leaders in controlling the disease in their own country while disregarding any risk it might pose to the U.S. Only after the burgeoning global epidemic triggered a stock market crash amid indications of widespread American outbreaks did Trump begin blaming the China for the catastrophe, sharply criticizing that country in late March and suggesting that the virus might have escaped from a Chinese virology lab. This shift seemed to have reflected the growing influence of Pompeo, one of the leading anti-China figures in Trump’s administration, and indeed our CIA-affiliated Radio Free Asia propaganda outlet had already begun claiming that Covid was an escaped Chinese bioweapon months earlier on January 9th, before even the first death had yet occurred.

By Rudd’s account, the political impact of the Covid epidemic was enormous, being entirely responsible for the complete reversal of Trump’s China policy, which was transformed from tough negotiations on trade but otherwise amicable strategic cooperation into intense international hostility. And that momentous shift in America’s China stance even remained after Biden replaced Trump in January 2021.

As the elections of both Barack Obama and Donald Trump demonstrated, even the surprising political victory of someone perceived as an extreme outsider seems to have much less impact upon American foreign policy than might be expected. Over the last couple of decades, the political establishments of both parties have been so heavily absorbed into the Neocon world view that it might take a geopolitical earthquake of generational magnitude to dislodge their hold on power.

But as it happens, over the last three years American society experienced exactly such a earthquake. The Covid epidemic killed well over a million Americans and greatly disrupted the lives of everyone else, certainly amounting to the greatest disaster our society had experienced since the Great Depression more than three generations ago. Moreover, the sudden appearance of the virus also had a drastic political impact as well, driving the intense hostility towards China that has governed our political life since early 2020.

Yet despite its huge importance and impact upon the world, the actual origin of this calamitous disease has received far less attention than it warrants, and that discussion has been extremely circumscribed both in the mainstream and even in the alternative media. Since January 2020, the public debate has been almost entirely restricted to two major theories of Covid origins. Most of the scientific and media establishment quickly declared that the virus was natural and had randomly appeared in the city of Wuhan during late 2019. Meanwhile, a strong minority view widespread on the Internet had argued that the virus was bioengineered in a Wuhan laboratory and accidentally leaked out into the surrounding city, setting off the global epidemic.

Last year I reviewed the contradictory evidence and the arguments of the key proponents on both sides, suggesting that an excluded third possibility was the best solution:

I think these exchanges demonstrate that to a considerable extent, the two main camps on the Covid origins debate have been talking past each other.

The testimonies provided by Quammen and Holmes strongly challenged the possibility of any lab-leak at Wuhan, suggesting that this proves the virus must have been natural, even though few arguments on that latter point were ever made; at most, they raised some doubts about the strength of the evidence for bioengineering.

Meanwhile, the articles and papers by Wade, Sachs, Bruttel, and others have provided strong evidence that the virus was artificial. All of this has usually been interpreted as support for the lab-leak hypothesis, even though very little evidence was ever presented that any lab-leak had occurred.

Yet the apparent vector-sum of these conflicting arguments is the conclusion that the Covid virus neither leaked from the Wuhan lab nor was natural, and this suggests that the public debate has been improperly restricted to just those two possibilities.

For more than 30 months I have emphasized that there are actually three perfectly plausible hypotheses for the Covid outbreak. The virus might have been natural, randomly appearing in Wuhan during late 2019; the virus might have been the artificial product of a scientific lab in Wuhan, which accidentally leaked out at that time; or the virus might have been the bioengineered product of America’s hundred-billion-dollar biowarfare program, the oldest and largest in the world, a bioweapon deployed against China and Iran by elements of the Trump Administration at the height of our hostile international confrontation with those countries.

The first two possibilities have been very widely discussed and debated across the Western mainstream and alternative media, while the third has been almost totally ignored, despite top Russian, Iranian, and Chinese government officials having publicly accused America of releasing Covid in a deliberate biowarfare attack.

Indeed, beginning in April 2020 I have published a long series of articles arguing that there is strong perhaps even overwhelming evidence in favor of that third, disregarded possibility.

Last December I had discussed and reviewed several important recent books on the origins of the Covid virus, all advocating the lab-leak hypothesis. I noted that none of the authors—Jasper Becker, Sharri Markson, Alina Chan and Matt Ridley—had dared to even consider the excluded third possibility, perhaps because the realities of the publishing industry required them to apply such Orwellian “crimestop” to their thinking.

A few days ago we passed the third anniversary of my original April 2020 article in which I had outlined the likely motives for this attack.

If the virus had been released intentionally, the context and motive for such a biowarfare attack against China could not be more obvious. Although our disingenuous media continues to pretend otherwise, the size of China’s economy surpassed that of our own several years ago, and has continued to grow much more rapidly. Chinese companies have also taken the lead in several crucial technologies, with Huawei becoming the world’s leading telecommunications equipment manufacturer and dominating the important 5G market. China’s sweeping Belt and Road Initiative has threatened to reorient global trade around an interconnected Eurasian landmass, greatly diminishing the leverage of America’s own control over the seas. I have closely followed China for over forty years, and the trend-lines have never been more apparent. Back in 2012, I published an article bearing the provocative title “China’s Rise, America’s Fall?” and since then I have seen no reason to reassess my verdict.

For three generations following the end of World War II, America had stood as the world’s supreme economic and technological power, while the collapse of the Soviet Union thirty years ago left us as the sole remaining superpower, facing no conceivable military rival. A growing sense that we were rapidly losing that unchallenged position had certainly inspired the anti-China rhetoric of many senior figures in the Trump Administration, who launched a major trade war soon after coming into office. The increasing misery and impoverishment of large sections of the American population naturally left these voters searching for a convenient scapegoat, and the prosperous, rising Chinese made a perfect target.

Despite America’s growing economic conflict with China over the last couple of years, I had never considered the possibility that matters might take a military turn. The Chinese had long ago deployed advanced intermediate range missiles that many believed could easily sink our carriers in the region, and they had also generally improved their conventional military deterrent. Moreover, China was on quite good terms with Russia, which itself had been the target of intense American hostility for several years; and Russia’s new suite of revolutionary hypersonic missiles had drastically reduced any American strategic advantage. Thus, a conventional war against China seemed an absolutely hopeless undertaking, while China’s outstanding businessmen and engineers were steadily gaining ground against America’s decaying and heavily-financialized economic system.

Under these difficult circumstances, an American biowarfare attack against China might have seemed the only remaining card to play in hopes of maintaining American supremacy. Plausible deniability would minimize the risk of any direct Chinese retaliation, and if successful, the terrible blow inflicted to China’s economy would set it back for many years, perhaps even destabilizing its social and political system. Using alternative media to immediately promote theories that the coronavirus outbreak was the result of a leak from a Chinese biowarfare lab was a natural means of preempting any later Chinese accusations along similar lines, thereby allowing America to win the international propaganda war before China had even begun to fight.

A decision by elements of our national security establishment to wage biological warfare in hopes of maintaining American world power would certainly have been an extremely reckless act, but extreme recklessness has become a regular aspect of American behavior since 2001, especially under the Trump Administration. Just a year earlier we had kidnapped the daughter of Huawei’s founder and chairman, who also served as CFO and ranked as one of China’s top executives, while at the beginning of January we suddenly assassinated Iran’s top military leader.

Under this explosive reconstruction, the Covid disease epidemic that has taken more than million American lives resulted from the blowback of a botched American biowarfare attack against China (and Iran), an attack carried out without the knowledge or approval of President Donald Trump.

All of the compelling evidence supporting this controversial hypothesis has been easily available in mainstream media sources since early 2020, but very few individuals anywhere have been willing to recognize or mention it.

My own long series of articles has presented and analyzed all this material and also placed it within the context of the hidden history of America’s longstanding biological warfare programs. These pieces have been collected into a freely downloadable ebook.

Covid/Biowarfare Series
Ron Unz • The Unz Review • April 2020-February 2023 • 90,000 Words

I’d particularly recommend the following articles in my series.

American Pravda: Our Coronavirus Catastrophe as Biowarfare Blowback?
Ron Unz • The Unz Review • April 21, 2020 • 7,400 Words
American Pravda: Covid Epidemic as Lab-Leak or Biowarfare?
Ron Unz • The Unz Review • July 12, 2021 • 13,100 Words
American Pravda: Waging Biological Warfare
Ron Unz • The Unz Review • August 9, 2021 • 7,500 Words
American Pravda: Confronting Covid Crimestop
Ron Unz • The Unz Review • December 13, 2021 • 6,400 Words
The Alt-Covid Community Begins Unraveling the Origins of Covid
Ron Unz • The Unz Review • January 16, 2023 • 4,500 Words

Although the articles run many tens of thousands of words, some of the most striking evidence can be summarized in just a few paragraphs mostly extracted from my original April 2020 article:

For example, in 2017 Trump brought in Robert Kadlec, who since the 1990s had been one of America’s leading biowarfare advocates. The following year in 2018 a mysterious viral epidemic hit China’s poultry industry and in 2019, another mysterious viral epidemic devastated China’s pork industry…

From the earliest days of the administration, leading Trump officials had regarded China as America’s most formidable geopolitical adversary, and orchestrated a policy of confrontation. Then from January to August 2019, Kadlec’s department ran the “Crimson Contagion” simulation exercise, involving the hypothetical outbreak of a dangerous respiratory viral disease in China, which eventually spreads into the United States, with the participants focusing on the necessary measures to control it in this country. As one of America’s foremost biowarfare experts, Kadlec had emphasized the unique effectiveness of bioweapons as far back as the late 1990s and we must commend him for his considerable prescience in having organized a major viral epidemic exercise in 2019 that was so remarkably similar to what actually began in the real world just a few months later.

With leading Trump officials greatly enamored of biowarfare, fiercely hostile to China, and running large-scale 2019 simulations on the consequences of a mysterious viral outbreak in that country, it seems entirely unreasonable to completely disregard the possibility that such extremely reckless plans may have been privately discussed and eventually implemented, though probably without presidential authorization.

But with the horrific consequences of our own later governmental inaction being obvious, elements within our intelligence agencies have sought to demonstrate that they were not the ones asleep at the switch. Earlier this month, an ABC News story cited four separate government sources to reveal that as far back as late November, a special medical intelligence unit within our Defense Intelligence Agency had produced a report warning that an out-of-control disease epidemic was occurring in the Wuhan area of China, and widely distributed that document throughout the top ranks of our government, warning that steps should be taken to protect US forces based in Asia. After the story aired, a Pentagon spokesman officially denied the existence of that November report, while various other top level government and intelligence officials refused to comment. But a few days later, Israeli television mentioned that in November American intelligence had indeed shared such a report on the Wuhan disease outbreak with its NATO and Israeli allies, thus seeming to independently confirm the complete accuracy of the original ABC News story and its several government sources.

It therefore appears that elements of the Defense Intelligence Agency were aware of the deadly viral outbreak in Wuhan more than a month before any officials in the Chinese government itself. Unless our intelligence agencies have pioneered the technology of precognition, I think this may have happened for the same reason that arsonists have the earliest knowledge of future fires.

According to these multiply-sourced mainstream media accounts, by “the second week of November” our Defense Intelligence Agency was already preparing a secret report warning of a “cataclysmic” disease outbreak taking place in Wuhan. Yet at that point, probably no more than a couple of dozen individuals had been infected in that city of 11 million, with few of those yet having any serious symptoms. The implications are rather obvious. Furthermore:

As the coronavirus gradually began to spread beyond China’s own borders, another development occurred that greatly multiplied my suspicions. Most of these early cases had occurred exactly where one might expect, among the East Asian countries bordering China. But by late February Iran had become the second epicenter of the global outbreak. Even more surprisingly, its political elites had been especially hard-hit, with a full 10% of the entire Iranian parliament soon infected and at least a dozen of its officials and politicians dying of the disease, including some who were quite senior. Indeed, Neocon activists on Twitter began gleefully noting that their hated Iranian enemies were now dropping like flies.

Let us consider the implications of these facts. Across the entire world the only political elites that have yet suffered any significant human losses have been those of Iran, and they died at a very early stage, before significant outbreaks had even occurred almost anywhere else in the world outside China. Thus, we have America assassinating Iran’s top military commander on Jan. 2nd and then just a few weeks later large portions of the Iranian ruling elites became infected by a mysterious and deadly new virus, with many of them soon dying as a consequence. Could any rational individual possibly regard this as a mere coincidence?

The Iranians themselves were well aware of these facts, and their top political and military leaders publicly accused America of an illegal biowarfare attack against their own country and China, with their former president even filing an official protest with the United Nations. But although these explosive charges were widely reported in the Iranian press, they were completely ignored by the American media so that almost no Americans ever became aware of them.

Much of this same information is also effectively summarized in several of my podcast interviews from a year ago, originally on Rumble but now available on Youtube as well.

Kevin Barrett, FFWN • February 16, 2022 • 15m • on Rumble

Full article HERE

The kremlin military has begun deploying T-14 Armata tanks in the ongoing “special military operation”. These tanks are said to have been fitted with enhanced anti-tank ammunition protection.

The report claimed that Russia’s most powerful tank, T-14, had been involved in combat with Ukrainian defensive positions in an unspecified area of the conflict zone but did not take part in direct attacks.

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The Armata tanks deployed in Ukraine are equipped with extra protection on their flanks. Their operators have been undergoing training since late December at a military base in Ukraine’s Donbas region.

Advantages Of T-14 Tank Over Western Tanks

The T-14 Armata is equipped with numerous advanced features, positioning it as Russia’s answer to the American M1A3 Abrams, the British Challenger 2, and Germany’s Leopard 2 tank.

The tank is outfitted with a remote-controlled turret, allowing for improved crew accuracy and safety. It also has enhanced protection measures for the crew, including composite ceramic-and-steel layered armor and explosive reactive armor blocks to counter incoming threats.

Additionally, the T-14 Armata features a sensor-activated defense system that can detect and launch interceptor charges to neutralize missiles and anti-tank shells, further increasing its effectiveness on the battlefield.

According to a military official from Russia, the design and cross-country capabilities of the T-14 Armata tank provide it with a distinct advantage over both the Abrams and Leopard tanks.

Major General Sergey Lipova, also known as Hero of Russia, said the Russian T-14 tank has several advantages over the Western Abrams, Leopard, and Challenger tanks.

These advantages come from the unique design of the T-14, which offers greater protection to the crew against incoming shells. The T-14 also has superior cross-country capabilities compared to the other tanks.

The T-14 tank is designed differently from foreign tanks regarding crew placement. While the crew in foreign tanks is evenly placed inside the hull, the T-14 has its crew housed in separate armored capsules.

This unique design feature increases the crew’s survivability in case anti-tank weapons hit the tank. He also said the T-14 tank was sent to Ukraine for testing in actual combat conditions.

He also pointed out another advantage of the T-14 tank over Western combat vehicles. He mentioned that the Russian tank is lighter, enhancing its maneuverability on the battlefield, particularly in swampy areas.

Who is the worst president of South Korea?

South Korean President Yoon Suk Yeol took office last May. In less than a year, his popularity ratings have plunged to a pathetic 28%. His predecessor Moon Jae-in, in stark contrast, left office basking in stratospheric 78% support. These ratings are a true measure of competence and experience or lack thereof.

Yoon was a prosecutor general, with no prior chance to cut his teeth on international politics. Geopolitically, he is wet behind the ears. By his actions and words, he is a wet leader—weak and gaffe-prone. His only cashable political asset is his charming and photogenic wife.

In the past month alone, Yoon has littered his record with a terrible triple jump. He has forgotten his geography, that Korea is located in Asia and must navigate the treacherous relations with China, Russia and Japan. On all three fronts, he has been an unmitigated disaster. He has angered China by declaring before his Western partners that “Taiwan is a global issue.” As a newcomer, he craved approval and attention. But he didn’t realize that this is an uncrossable red line for China. Just as provocatively, he has gone out on a limb telling the world that he is prepared to send lethal weapons to Ukraine if and when warranted by the war situation, thereby netting another major power to his list of enemies. He did, however, try to cuddle up to two countries: Japan and America. Korea’s relations with Japan have always been ticklish and fraught, given the latter’s brutal colonial rule of the Korean peninsula. But he blundered with an unsolicited olive branch to the Japanese, saying that he will not accept Japan having to kneel in shame for its atrocities a hundred years ago. This might be music to Japanese ears, but it is a hammer blow to stunned fellow Koreans.

Yoon is currently on a state visit to Washington. It has been rumored that he had burnt the midnight oil trying to memorize his English speech to impress his American hosts. No other foreign leader has tried so hard to curry favor with his US overlord. By angering China on Taiwan and Russia on military aid to Ukraine, he has put himself in Biden’s good books, but at what price? He has given away all his bargaining chips before he even set foot in America. His cupboards are bare. He has given America everything it wants, unasked, including Korea’s kitchen sink. But does this earn him America’s unconditional trust? Quite the contrary. News has just leaked that the US has been spying on its Korean partners. So much for blood brotherhood.

Yoon’s background as prosecutor echoes the CV of US Vice President Kamala Harris, a fellow former prosecutor. Both are socially and strategically challenged–handicapped by poor people skills, a low likeability factor and non-existent geopolitical awareness. They should have stuck with their original occupation. The presidency or vice presidency is simply a bridge too far. They prove that the Peter Principle is alive and kicking—some people are indeed promoted to the level of their incompetence.

Yoon’s foray into Washington is thus doomed. He doesn’t seem to know which side of his bread is buttered, forgetting that Korea’s core interests remain in Asia. Without China, there can be no stable, long-term peace in the region. His inflammatory statements have poured fuel on the flames, with his ill-timed and ill-considered words disrupting the equilibrium. Even Europeans, at the height of a dangerous war raging in Ukraine, know only too well that the US practices an “America First” policy. Alliances are only partnerships of convenience. Yet Yoon is rashly betting his political fortunes on the roller-coaster of US domestic politics. Besides, America is an ocean away. I feel sorry for Koreans for being cursed with a blundering, bird-brained leader who turns out to be a sell-out artist. He talks like a US puppet and acts like a US puppet and will pay a dear price for being a sniveling puppet. With all his bargaining chips squandered, he goes to Washington, empty-handed. What more can he offer Biden? Kimchee, I guess.

American sense of entitlement…

It’s profound and disturbing.

Jeffrey Sachs – United States Putting All Of Us In Peril

Mr Jeffrey you are 100% the voice of reason and clairvoyance. Unfortunately this has gotten too far already, the human losses on both sides means that Russia is going to keep the provinces it freed under the Russian federation. USa is dangerously commanded by a rogue minority in the shadows, that knows no guilt, and will have to experience defeat to relearn humility and noble principles that most other countries in the world have in their society values and that they don't. Those rogues are treating the world as a far west frontier and dont realize that the true decent, humble and well mannered civilization is not Usa.

https://youtu.be/S6g9xuMK7a8

Something that you would NEVER see in China…

It’s an “American thing”.

A collection of links that describe American Conservative “news” at this moment in time

We will look back and reflect in the insanity that the United States has become. No need to click on the links. Wait three years, then investigate. Say in 2026-2027.

What is the century of humiliation the Chinese people always speak about?

The Century of Humiliation encompasses a period of roughly between 90–120 years between 1824 and 1944 when China was divided into the sphere of influence by foreign western powers and invaded by Japan

It’s called a COH because CHINA was humiliated

First the Chinese Emperor was overwhelmed by the gunpower and the British Navy & French Soldiers and was forced to cede territory to them where they ran per their own laws.

Second the Opium Trade was red hot and many Chinese became addicts and wealthy families became paupers

China was HELPLESS in every way and their Officials were like Indians of today — Corrupt to the core or Honest yet Indifferent

The Boxer Rebellion is officially regarded the end of the Century of Humiliation but since 2017,=in their textbooks the Chinese add the 13 years of Japanese occupation as also part of the Century of Humiliation

China under Mao referred to the COH every day but under Deng and Jiang the term vanished because the Chinese wanted goodies and favours from the West

It reappeared from 2015 when Xi Jingping told the Chinese to “NEVER FORGET THE CENTURY OF HUMILIATION”

The End of American “Exceptionalism”?

Failing banks, inflation, soaring interest rates and the flight from the petrodollar could become a disaster for ordinary Americans

Philip Giraldi • April 18, 2023

Watching a once great nation commit suicide is not pretty.

President Joe Biden does not seem to understand that his role as elected leader of the United States is to take actions that directly or indirectly benefit the folks who voted for him as well as the other Americans who did not do so. That is how a constitutional democracy is supposed to work.

Instead, Biden and the gang of introverts and neocon war criminals that the has surrounded himself with have done everything that can to inflict fatal damage on the economy through rash initiatives both overseas and at home.

A spending spree to buy support from the bizarre constituencies that make up the Democrat Party base while also fighting an undeclared war in Europe have meant that nearly two trillion dollars has been added to the national debt under Biden’s rule, a debt that was already unsustainable at nearly $30 trillion, larger than the United States’ gross national product. Plans to cancel student loan debts will add hundreds of billions of dollars more to the red ink.

And those actions undertaken overseas, to include continuing to expand the war in Ukraine against Russia, will do immeasurable more damage. Consider how the Democratic Party has long had it in for Russian Federal President Vladimir Putin, dating back to when Putin took power in 2000 and started kicking out the western scallywags who were looting his country.

Subsequently, false intelligence and other innuendoes were contrived by Hillary Clinton and her team in 2016 to implicate Donald Trump as a Russian stooge who was secretly working for Putin.

When that didn’t work and Trump was elected, the Russians were accused by the media and Democrats of willy-nilly interfering in US elections more generally speaking, a much-exaggerated claim in contrast to the overwhelming silence surrounding the real electoral and policy interference, which has been coming from Israel and its fifth column inside the United States, who, not coincidentally, are the chief proponents of the war against Russia.

Placing a target on Vladimir Putin’s back appears to have an unfortunate consequence which Biden has yet to wake up to, namely the fact that the United States now has what might be described as a Ponzi scheme faux economy which is very vulnerable, particularly as much of the world has become disenchanted with the US style of global leadership.

Note for example the recent state visit by French President Emmanuel Macron to Beijing, where he embraced a “global strategic partnership with China” to bring about a “multipolar” world, freed of “blocs” that is not sheltering behind “Cold War mentality.” Macron also criticized the “extraterritoriality of the US dollar.”

And threats made by the Bidens against both China and Russia have accomplished little beyond drawing the two major political and military powers closer together.

Beijing and Moscow entered into a trade agreement in their own currencies in 2014 and have openly taken steps to challenge US dominance of international currency exchanges, creating instead a global multipolar trading environment.

Europe aside, many nations are now eager to cut the tie that binds, which is the decades long American dominance of international financial mechanisms and also the general use of dollars to pay for oil and other energy supplies.

The widespread use of petrodollars enables the buffoonish Janet Yellen at the US Treasury and the Federal Reserve banks to print unlimited unbacked fiat currency, knowing that there will always be a market for it.

Which brings us back to the Ukraine war, pursued “until we win” by Biden and his somnolent Secretary of State Antony Blinken.

One of the first moves when Russia intervened in Ukraine was to block and eventually confiscate Russia’s 300 billion dollars-worth of foreign reserves in banks in the US and Europe.

That sent a shock wave across currency markets all around the world. Biden and Yellen had weaponized the US’s own national currency, which hitherto had been an untouchable step in international relations for nations that were not actually at war.

Countries like China and India with large economies then realized that the US Treasury Department and the dominance of the dollar as an exchange currency had now become a weapon of war and a serious threat to the economies of all other nations.

As a consequence, the US Dollar is right now being rejected by many nations as the world’s reserve currency. Some nations all over the world have agreed to use the Chinese Yuan and Indian Rupee for any-and-all international currency transactions.

Saudi Arabia continues to use the petrodollar but does not demand it. Recently, Saudi Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman and Chinese President Xi Jinping agreed to permit the Saudis to sell oil to China in Yuan. Saudi Arabia, the world’s largest oil exporter, is now allowing multiple currencies to be used to purchase its oil, a major attack on the primacy of the US dollar and it also has accepted Chinese mediation to mend fences with the US and Israel’s arch enemy Iran.

And the Saudis have even more recently refused a Biden Administration request that it start pumping more oil to reduce energy costs, signaling that the shift is both political and economic in nature.

Japan, a major economy, has also started purchasing oil and gas directly from Russia against the US imposed energy embargo while Brazil, another major economy, has agreed to use the Yuan in its increasing trade with China.

As fewer nations utilize the US dollar, America’s ability to export and ignore its burgeoning domestic debt and inflation to other countries is being diminished.

This might have a decisive impact on the US currency as the drive to break with the petrodollar continues to grow and could produce something like a “perfect storm” impacting on the US economy.

It threatens to drastically lower the standards of living of nearly all Americans within the next several years as the dollar loses value and purchasing power. As the US economy is heavily interconnected with many European economies, Europe is also likely to be a victim of the coming disaster.

The good news, of course, is that the United States will no longer be able to afford its endless wars and international interventions.

Lacking its economic power, it will no longer be able to declare itself “exceptional” and the enforcer of a “rules based international order.”

It would mean an ending of the funding of developments like the Ukraine proxy war and the troops will have to come home from places like Syria and Somalia. And it might even mark the ending of sending billions of dollars annually to a wealthy Israel.

Ending dollar supremacy would inevitably have an immediate impact on what passes for US foreign policy, making it more difficult for Washington to initiate and sustain Treasury Department sanctions on countries like Iran and North Korea.

It could also create economic turmoil for many countries until the situation resolves itself by producing greater volatility in currency markets worldwide. The Federal Reserve Bank will no doubt respond to the unfolding crisis by acting as it always does by raising interest rates to astronomical levels, thereby hurting most the Americans who can least afford the shock therapy.

And it did not have to turn out this way. It could have been avoided. If the US, which had no horse in the race, had left Ukraine alone Vladimir Putin would not have become a symbol of defiance against the “Rules Based International Order” and he would not have worked with China to establish multipolarity in the way the financial world operates.

Instead, we have a situation where Europe is being de-industrialized due to soaring energy prices and Washington’s destruction of the Nord Stream pipelines while the US is potentially confronting economic disaster as the dollar’s relevance to international trade sinks.

The ultimate irony is that Russia, and also the US/Israeli arch enemy Iran, are by comparison doing quite well economically as they sell their oil and gas to anyone in any currency.

One has to conclude that when US Treasury Secretary Janet Yellen recently made her secret trip to Kiev to promise the despicable Volodymyr Zelensky billions of taxpayer dollars the United States might just have been better served if she had stayed in Washington and made some minimal effort to address the mounting economic problems confronting us here at home.

And people wonder why restaurants ban children entirely…..

Meanwhile in the United States.

China is a far better place to live than the US!! They won’t admit it, though.

America is truly a garbage dump now. This is coming from someone who currently lives there. I have travelled quite a bit around the world and I have been watching videos of China recently....I am blown away by how the country looks. I need to visit. I had only been to Shanghai a few years ago but the other cities look even better.

Which country do you think the United States will invade or launch a military operation against NEXT?

This is an answer that I penned on Quora -MM

Currently, as of today April 30, 2023, the United States is actively involved in nine (x9) wars around the globe. It is also involved in numerous “color revolutions” (NED / CIA operations), and has over 800 overseas military bases internationally.

As if that isn’t enough, the American “news” media (which is a unacknowledged branch of the United States government) is promoting wars with…

China
Haiti
Mexico

What do I think will happen next?

I haven’t any idea.

It all depends on the ebb and flow of the tide of sentiment inside the oligarchy that rules the United States military Empire.

However, we can take some educated guesses based upon NEED and OUTLOOK. Here we look at five scenarios.

[1] Devalue of the the USD Scenario

In this scenario, everything stays the same, but the global decision to stop using the USD as a reserve currency has resulted in a devaluing of the USD. This, in turn, results in a great deal of inflation.

Not only are the American people restless, but the inflation has pushed the cost of living to enormous heights. This in turn, has made it very expensive to maintain a massive global military empire.

Under this scenario, a prudent leadership would (out of necessity) scale back the military forces, and force projections. The amounts of moneys that would flow to other nations would also be curtailed.

Without this kind of fiat fiscal policy, the United States would be unable to fund any wars, and would need to cut back (substantially) on the ones it is presently engaged in.

[2] “Damn the torpedoes – full steam ahead” Scenario

In this scenario, there is no consideration given to anything other than ideology.

Us vs. Them
Democracy vs. “Regimes”
Neocon vs. the ignorant rest of the world.

The President and his neocon controllers “put the petal to the metal” and force another war. Probably against China, while keeping all the other wars intact.

This, coupled with various other realities, would be devastating for the United States.

Not only militarily, but also economically and financially.

This scenario would hasten the end of the United States via numerous vectors. (Military is just a tiny portion of the calculus. Other factors have a much greater bearing in this vector.)

As the United States is already in late state collapse, this action would end the present United States government and social organization. As such, we can expect a decade long discomfort inside the Untied States, followed by a two to three decade period of reconstruction to a new form of governance.

[3] Trivial distraction war Scenario

In this scenario, a surrogate target other than China is selected. It doesn’t matter which nation, only that it isn’t a peer-capable one like China.

The war takes place, and all of the media attention is redirected towards that end. This war is used to postpone the decline of the Untied States though a “band-aid” and the United States continues to exist limping long for another decade or so before the eventual collapse.

Eventual collapse will still be spectacular. No doubt.

The advantage of this scenario is that of continued life-support for the dying empire, and enough time to make the necessary arrangements for the lifeboats of the rich to ride out the fiasco.

[4] “Kitchen Sink” Scenario

The American military (using the Presidential figurehead) uses nuclear weapons against one or more combatants. In response, the Global South erases the United States. There are debates on how much damage will occur. But I see an emergent globe where the United States no longer exists, where Americans are treated as lepers, and the Global South manages the world quite well without the “West”.

I will further add that no one wants this scenario. And only a lunatic egotistical idiot with dementia and fueled on cocaine would dare consider it. So, it is of my opinion that is is an unlikely scenario.

[5] “Fade into black” Scenario

In this scenario, there are no additional wars. But the existing ones aren’t ended either. The various vectors continue to their ultimate conclusion. The United States dies. The proxy allies start to “turn off the lights” and the last one out of the theater locks the door.

It’s over.

…

Now, in these five scenarios, the United States dies.

There is no scenario where it doesn’t die.

The last chance to stop the “great burn” was when the government was still able to function. But that time has passed. The bureaucracy period ended under President Bill Clinton…

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Since that period of time, the ability to reverse-course became substantially difficult.

And the United States slid into death. And it is at death where the United States sits today.

Now during this decade of convulsions; it’s over.

The death spasms of a dying military empire is obvious to everyone.

And so we have our actual reality.

At this period of late stage collapse, the United States cannot be taken off of it’s vector. It will die, the only issues are [1] how quickly and [2] how painfully for the Americans and allies.

Finally, I must add that the United States needs a new kind of leader to slow down the march-of-death. I propose the following…

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Biden the sly dog, and China had best be careful

Many months ago I said here that if Ukraine would devolve into a NATO war then Poland and Germany would be ruined immediately. It didn't take a soothsayer to figure this horrible turn of the war wheel. Today, England is also is a first wave target in any astute reading of the sadly arranged, miserable tea leaves. We shall see soon. When? June 12. The massive Air Defender 23 forces take to European skies that morning.

No matter what happens that day, Beijing or Rio de Janeiro will be safer places to be. Who knows about NYC or Washington.

It can't happen here.

Posted by: Elmagnostic | May 26 2023 16:38 utc | 1

The world have moved “to the other side”. The “banana republics” are taking over, and those in the West are unaware of the reality. They are instead still being manipulated; like wind up toys. Thinking one thing, and like Lemmings, moving towards pre-programmed actions and resultant conclusions.

President Biden has something “up his sleeve”, is he sincere, or is he trying to lull China into complacency? No one knows. My guess is that he’s not “doubling down”, but rather “Crushing down hard”, and he believes that a war with China will happen. In HIS personal favor.

Conveniently right before the 2024 election.

That’s what it looks like to me.

Upgrade in Pakastan

China is now considering to upgrade all the railway network in pakistan and connect it with its province so that it will largely reduce the time taken to reach China than other through the south China sea

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This will make the importing for China very easy and cheap.

It is big success for pakistan as its rail network will get updated.

the project is worth of $58 Billion Dollars

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GDP thoughts

Genuine US GDP is almost 50% less than the number stated due to the gross method with which its calculated that counts overhead costs as productive earnings. There’re very good reasons why the debt is $31 Trillion and the national government’s equity is negative $126 Trillion–many of those overhead costs and so-called productive earnings are actually monopoly rents that ought to be completely taxed and turned into government revenues but aren’t because the Donors (the Parasites) have captured the government. Actual GDP is about $15 Trillion making the debt 200% of GDP and the depth of insolvency worse than any nation on the planet. It will worsen until policy and regulation are ripped from the Donors’s hands.

Posted by: karlof1 | May 25 2023 15:52 utc | 35

Amana Pickled Ham

Amana Pickled Ham is served in many of the Amana restaurants as a side. This is a good appetizer to have around, and it keeps well in the refrigerator.

Ingredients

4 cups cubed cooked ham
1 large onion, chopped
2 cups water
1 cup vinegar

Instructions

Combine all ingredients and place in quart jars.
Let stand for several days before eating.

Perennial Predictions

Some memes don't age..

Godfree Roberts

May 27, 2023

1990. China’s economy has come to a halt. The Economist

1996. China’s economy will face a hard landing. The Economist

1998. China’s economy’s dangerous period of sluggish growth. The Economist

1999. Likelihood of a hard landing for the Chinese economy. Bank of Canada

2000. China currency move nails hard landing risk coffin. Chicago Tribune

2001. A hard landing in China. Wilbanks, Smith & Thomas

2002. China Seeks a Soft Economic Landing. Westchester University

2003. Banking crisis imperils China. New York Times

2004. The great fall of China? The Economist

2005. The Risk of a Hard Landing in China. Nouriel Roubini

2006. Can China Achieve a Soft Landing? International Economy

2007. Can China avoid a hard landing? TIME

2008. Hard Landing In China? Forbes

2009. China’s hard landing. China must find a way to recover. Fortune

2010: Hard landing coming in China. Nouriel Roubini

2011: Chinese Hard Landing Closer Than You Think. Business Insider

2012: Economic News from China: Hard Landing. American Interest

2013: A Hard Landing In China. Zero Hedge

2014. A hard landing in China. CNBC

2015. Congratulations, You Got Yourself A Chinese Hard Landing. Forbes

2016. Hard landing looms for China. The Economist

2017. Is China’s Economy Going To Crash? National Interest

2018. China’s Coming Financial Meltdown. The Daily Reckoning.

2019. China’s Economic Slowdown: How worried should we be? BBC2020. Coronavirus Could End China’s Decades-Long Economic Growth Streak. NY Times

2021. Chinese economy risks deeper slowdown than markets realize. Bloomberg

2022. China Surprise Data Could Spell R-e-c-e-s-s-i-o-n. Bloomberg.

Why do young Chinese have so little interest in democracy?

Modern fallacies/stereotypes about Chinese modern society:

Chinese are incredibly obedient and submissive.
Chinese do not think for themselves.
Chinese are not creative, cannot innovate.

But…

PRAGMATISM (务实)

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This word is huge to describe Chinese, and most Asians, in modern time, and in history.

Chinese can definitely think for themselves. They always ponder “what is in this for me, how can this benefit me?” Chinese don’t dive head first into anything without first checking it out. Chinese always see the big picture.

Chinese immigrants often ignore most luxury, work their arses off. 3 years later, they saved enough money to start a business. 6 years later, they buy their 3 million dollar house.

Chinese do not fight with the cops. They say sorry, pay the fine, move on. They choose pragmatism over principle. Principle says they should fight injustice. Pragmatism says it’s a waste of time fighting over $200 fine when they can use this time to make $1000.

Chinese do not get into fist fights. Chinese do not see the point. Too much risk, no gain. Getting into fights also make Chinese look unreliable and reckless. Companies do not trust and promote reckless people.

The big picture is always more important than a moment of emotional outburst (and I should take my own advice). Why waste time and money on something that is futile?

The big picture also dictates that you should worry about saving to downpay for a house, college saving for the kids, or at least find a suitable person to settle down with. Spending all your hard earned money partying, drunk and passed out on the streets, does nothing for your future beside liver cancer.

DEMOCRACY (民主)

First, WTF is democracy? Democracy is the practice of considering everyone’s opinion.

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What do you want to eat for lunch? Take a vote. Where do we go for vacation? Let’s hear everyone’s opinions, then we vote on it.

Chinese love odd numbers. Odd number is exciting. Someone will have the deciding vote. 4 people, 2 v 2 votes, stalemate. 5 people, the last person has to pick A or B, and the group can move forward. Fair and square, no argument. Harmony!

This is much bigger than you think. Such democracy is practiced throughout history. Whenever there is an absence of an absolute leadership, democracy happens. Absolute leadership be a teacher, a boss, a parent, a government official.

Of course you can’t argue with the laws. You run a red light, you get a ticket. You don’t take a vote with the policeman. You don’t take a vote whether to have homework, teacher says you do homework or fail the class. If you do not go to work, your boss fires you, no discussion. Democracy approach isn’t always logical in every instance.

INTEREST IN DEMOCRACY

What do you want to have for lunch again? Let’s take a vote. Democracy happens far too often among Chinese.

But wait, you aren’t talking about this democracy, but that democracy?

I get you. You are talking about American style government system that is guided by American constitution?

Why should Chinese honor and be obligated to American Constitution?

Why should Chinese adopt American style government system when Chinese society has drastically different culture and history?

American system is not even doing well for America.

Presidential election only allows 2 pre-selected candidates (everyone else can be voted, but with zero chance to win).
Presidential term lasts 4 years. The new president dismantles most things the previous president spent billions of dollars to create. This cycle of reset is extremely costly and counterproductive.
President candidates are not merit based. Even a cat can be president if he has enough money and support from its people.
Poverty is ignored. Healthcare is ignored. Presidents put their priorities in serving the rich first: war profiteering over developing America. Protecting big pharma to exploit the poor who go homeless to pay for medicine.

How the fuck is this a democracy?

And better yet…

How the fuck would Chinese people be expected to be interested in this shit?

Right?

Remember, Chinese are pragmatic. Chinese want to be heard, want to be taken care of by the government. American style government is not taking care of its people. It instead exploits and robs American people to support the oligarchs. This is American democracy: a democracy completely by facade.

Chinese don’t care about facade.
Chinese don’t care about time wasting principle that is all risk and no result.
Chinese don’t care about empty gesture and symbolism. Chinese people want results.

So the question is wrong in asking if Chinese is interested in democracy. It should be which style of government system does Chinese want?

Or… what the hell do you want for lunch? Burger or hotpot? Let’s vote on it.

INSANE! Biden to create new federal agency to track your behavior

Closing The Case Of Regime Changer Roman Protasevich And His Ryanair Flight To Minsk

Two years ago a Ryanair flight from Athens to Lithuania was diverted after the Belorussian flight control informed the pilot that it had received an email which said that the plane carried a bomb and would explode during landing in Lithuania.

The plane diverted to Minsk. All passengers stepped off board and where bused to the terminal. When they passed through passport control the immigration officers found that two of the passengers had outstanding arrest warrants against them. These were one Roman Protasevich and his Russian girlfriend and co-worker Sofia Sapega.

The ‘western’ media and politicians were up in arms over the ‘unprecedented’ incident. But the event was far from unprecedented.

Western media also failed to report that Roman Protasevich had been a western government financed neo-nazi who had fought with the fascist Ukrainian Azov battalion before working for U.S. sponsored regime change media in Poland. He was one of the persons who had directed the failed 2020 color-revolution in Belarus.

Belarus had handled the airplane incident by the book. During the following days claims were made that Belarus received the terror threat email after the plane was informed – i.e. the whole thing was a setup. However, Belarus has claimed that it received the threat email twice, once before it notified the pilots and another copy later.

Moon of Alabama has followed the case throughout. Those interested in the details of the original incident can find them in our June 2 2021 post. For a wider political view of the ‘color revolution’ business in east Europe see this piece by Kit Klarenberg. Links to all MoA posts about the case are listed at the end of this piece.

A week after the incident, during a long TV interview, Protasevich spilled the beans about the whole regime operation. He also says that he has come to believe that one of his regime changer colleagues had sent the bomb threat email to get him arrested.

A few weeks later Roman Protasevich and Sofia Sapega were released and put under house arrest. A trial followed and, in early May of this year, he was sentenced to eight years in prison.

I though that the sentence, in light of his public turnabout, was quite harsh but others accused of the same regime change operations against Belarus had received up to 20 years prison time. Still, eight years is a long time for a young man who had clearly changed his mind. Sofia Sapega, who is a Russian citizen, had earlier received a 6 year sentence.

On May 22 Protasevich was unexpectedly pardoned:

Roman Protasevich said: “I’ve just signed the paperwork saying that I have been pardoned. This is certainly simply great news.”BelTA reported earlier that on 3 May the Minsk Oblast Court sentenced Roman Protasevich to eight years in a prison colony. He was found guilty of making public appeals for seizing power, committing acts of terrorism, giving offence to the president, spreading knowingly fraudulent information about Belarus, and other crimes.

Protasevich was quite surprised:

“This news is extremely unexpected. A month ago I could not think that it was even possible, that it would happen. I am really overwhelmed,” Roman Protasevich said. “I would like to thank President Aleksandr Grigorievich personally because this is his decision. This is a bold move, a decision of a strong-willed person. I want to thank the country and the people who believed in me, in my sincerity, who think that people can mend their ways and admit their mistakes.”According to him, he is focused on the positive agenda. “I don’t read what they write about me. I unsubscribed from all possible information resources a long time ago. I mean pro-Western, opposition one because they recycle stuff about me. I’m not interested in what’s going on there, what they’re saying. I am focused [on] the positive agenda. I will devote maximum time to my family,” Roman Protasevich emphasized.

Reporting on Protasevich’s pardon the Washington Post notes:

Sapega, a Russian national, was accused of running another Telegram channel called “Belarus’s Black Book,” which published personal information about the country’s security forces. She was sentenced in 2022 to six years in prison. Last month, the Prosecutor General’s Office of Belarus granted its Russian counterparts’ request to transfer Sapega to Russia following her family’s pleas.

I have found no other new information about Sapega but, if she is still with Protasevich, it is likely that she will now receive similar leniency.

—
Previous coverage of the case published on Moon of Alabama:

Lukashenko’s Revenge (Served Cold) – May 24, 2021
Roman Protasevich – Arrested In Belarus – Is A Western Government Financed Neo-Nazi – May 26, 2021
By The Book – What Really Happened With The Ryanair Flight In Belarus – May 27, 2021
Ryanair Incident – Email Warning Received Before Plane Entered Belorussian Airspace – May 28, 2021
How ProtonMail Lost The Public Trust It Needs To Do Business – May 29, 2021
‘Like An Amoral Infant’ – How ProtonMail Contributes To False Media Claims About Belarus – May 30, 2021
Ryanair Bomb Threat In Belarus – ‘Western’ Media Narrative Disagrees With The Facts – May 31, 2021
Timeline, Narrative Control And Consequences Of The Ryanair Incident In Belarus – June 2, 2021
Roman Protasevich, Casualty Of The Ryanair Incident In Belarus, Is Spilling The Beans – June 4, 2021
Putin Teaching A Journalist And Other New Bits Around Ryanair Flight 4978 – June 15, 2021
U.S., UK Information Warfare Behind Regime Change Drive In Belarus by Kit Klarenberg – June 15, 2021
ICAO Report – Ryanair Plane That Landed in Minsk Was NOT Forced Down – January 22, 2022

Posted by b on May 26, 2023 at 16:36 UTC | Permalink

15 Mysterious Individuals Throughout History That Science Can’t Explain

Is Russia losing economically after the conflict as the West predicted? Or is it performing better than expectations? Both sides make it seem like their opinions are 100% correct, so I am looking for a well-explained, unbiased answer.

First Point

Russia is a Country with Tremendous Resources.

main qimg d8821f5eb9d4cf9dc5c7856c2a51cff7 pjlq

They have Oil, Wheat, Metals, Gas, Inert Gas, Enriched Uranium – the list is endless.

This means they can sustain themselves without any Import Dependence and yet the whole World Depends on their Exports

This means Russia is REALLY WEALTHY unlike the West who only have PAPER WEALTH

You see since the West is Paper Wealthy – its very easy to create an Economic Shockwave through Loss of Investor confidence. It is a realistic possibility in these Countries.

Since Russia is Really Wealthy or Commodity Wealthy – its near impossible to create an Economic Shockwave

So Shock and Awe sanctions simply couldnt have worked in the long run

Second Point

Russia and China joined hands before the Conflict

main qimg e1fc4fa086206ab29db34e05cb581ee2 lq

This was a huge plus for Russia.

Shock and Awe sanctions couldnt have worked in the long run but they could have wrecked Russia in the short run had it not been for Chinas support or rather the Lack of Chinas condemnation.

Today China has a reputation that is even better than the US in Financial Capital Affairs.

If China has confidence in a Country – the World immediately recognizes it. Its why when China began to move away from SL and Pakistan, their Creditworthiness reduced whereas when China backed SLs IMF Loan in 2019 – it was granted unconditionally.

The Minute China didnt join the bandwagon – the Short term impacts were hugely mitigated.

Again this was something the West didnt expect.

Third Point

The Impact of SWIFT

The West over rated the importance of SWIFT.

Maybe 20 years ago – SWIFT was vital since the only other option was Telex which could take a week or two. Today you have many Messaging Architectures with the same know how so as long as Russia has Gas and Oil – The Banks will always find payments

Subsequently Russia easily bypassed the Swift

Again this was something the West didnt expect

Fourth Point

The Industrial Depth of Russia

The West were convinced that Russia was an Oil and Gas Station

They didnt realize that Russia , former USSR had a huge industrial depth and it could easily bounce back its Industrialization. Unlike China which formed its Industrial Base from scratch in 1982 and took so long, Russia had a massive industrial base from 1948 to 1991 and Russia could easily jumpstart this from 2012 onwards.

Thus Russias Industries were far more stronger than the West thought they were

Subsequently – Is Russia Losing Economically

I would say Russia may perhaps lose $1 for every $ 3.50 that the West Loses.

As on Date Russia is adding $ 173 Million a day to its GDP and losing $ 100.4 Million a day – that is a net of $ 72.6 Million a day or around $ 24 Billion a year which comes to around 1.6% Growth in GDP rather than 15% Contraction as predicted by the West.

Even if this becomes worse and doubles and Russia loses around $ 27 Million a day or $10 Billion a year – thats still only around 0.67% Contraction in GDP rather than 15%

Worst Case Russia loses around 3% GDP – 5% GDP but Russian Govt gains $ 287 Billion of Fresh Reserves and has only $ 542 Billion Debt against $ 11 Trillion Assets

The West may gain around 0.25% – 3% GDP but the West collectively loses $ 3.42 Trillion of additional debt due to higher prices of reserves and Ukranian assistance. Thats a massive addition to their debt. They now have combined $ 48.24 Trillion Debt against only $ 21.70 Trillion Assets

Conclusion – The West is committing HARA KIRI and Russia is expected to gain Massively in the Long term from this Stupidity

Perhaps, the end of “color revolutions”…

1. First guess is he has helped identify other trouble makers either in Belarus or Ukraine or both.

2. The 2020 Belarus and 2019 Hong Kong demonstrations were always a bit odd. It appeared that many years of US/USAID/CIA/MI6 preparations were being started much too early when they were bound to fail. Why not wait?

Well now we know. In 2019 Taiwan the lead in the Polls swung from the KMT (if not pro-China at least not pro-America or actively anti-mainland) to the DPP who won in Jan 2020. Fears of Chinese authoritarianism based of fake news of HK police violence were very influential.

Belarus was setting the scene for “Russia as the bad guy”. Again for Regional but not local advantage.

My guess is that these American/UK funded groups will now largely be closed down by the Russian and Chinese intelligence services, and their experiences and tools will be passed on to other countries, even those with complex relationships to US like Hungary or Turkey. There will be no more color revolutions (outside EU/US).

Posted by: Michael Droy | May 26 2023 18:04 utc | 7

The Real Reason Prince Was Taken Out Revealed

What is the Chinese military’s threat level to U.S. forces?

A realistic measure of a “threat level” is a summarized solution of multiple components.

Capability ( A realistic assessment of the potential damage that a designated “enemy” can inflict on your forces. As well as your ability to inflict damage on theirs).
Sustainability (A realistic assessment of the ability for the designated “enemy” to fight over a long period of time with little degradation of skill.).
Reduction (A projection of the ability of friendly forces to suppress the political and manufacturing ability of the defined “enemy”.)
Operational theater (A realistic assessment of the operational theater capabilities of the designated “enemy”.).
Peer confluence (This rates the training, morale, skills, technology, and tactics of the defined “enemy” relative to friendly forces.)
Alliances (This is a realistic appraisal of the “blocs” that will form upon a war situation. Who will side with whom, and who will fight as friendly forces, and who will fight alongside the enemy forces against us.).

There are, of course, other aspects worthy of consideration, but these six are the primary attributes and characteristics that are important.

In the case of a MILITARY conflict between the United States and China, we have to take all these characteristics into account, or else suffer though the potential of devastating consequences.

Let’s take the analysis step by step. Keeping in mind that for an accurate analysis, we have to perform it contemporaneously, and realistically, fully devoid of any (lead in) pre-war anti-”enemy” propaganda that would absolutely color the calculus in favor of friendly forces. After all, that is what propaganda is; a mechanism to demonize and belittle an enemy, and to “puff up” and inspire friendly forces.

Capability

China is a nation that is over 6000 years old. It is also one of the most populous nations. In its history it has seen nations come and go, but the Chinese have always survived in one form or the other.

When Genghis Khan invaded China, and seized it, the Chinese absorbed the military teachings and philosophy of the Khans and when that empire collapsed, China absorbed it and ruled over Mongolia and Manchuria for centuries afterwards. This action, this philosophy, has evolved into a society of “peaceful warrors”.

The Chinese are one of the most intelligent people on the planet. They run a merit-driven society, and abhor change to traditional values. They work hard, and they play hard. Besting each other by hard alcohol is a Chinese norm, and all Chinese (from the time they start school) though to college, obtain military training, operate in naturally forming squads, and organically function as one unified team.

When people, especially “armchair generals” try to ascertain the military capability of the Chinese, they often are wrong. There are many reasons for this.

They mistake being peaceful for pacifism.
The confuse the anti-Chinese propaganda with realistic assessment.
The Chinese do not promote or advertise it’s military capabilities and abilities.
China’s true numbers, quantities, and abilities are kept INTENTIONALLY secret. No one really knows the full numbers, and the full abilities, and the full capabilities. All reports on China are extrapolated guesses at best.

China has a military force that is broken down into two components.

Defensive.
Offensive.

The Defensive component is tactical in nature. It is designed to operate in and near China. This includes the South China Sea, Taiwan, and the neighboring nations of Korea, Japan, and South East Asia.

The Offensive component is strategic in nature. It is designed to strike deep inside the homeland of the attacking nations, proxies and sponsors. To destroy cities, infrastructure and disrupt civilian life to such a substantial degree that engagement of any war against China would be a very uncomfortable one.

Taken as a whole, China is a fortress.

It’s defensive preparations and military are absolute. Any nation trying to attack it would suffer massive causalities at multiple levels of engagement.

It’s cities are walled fortifications. It’s people are trained militia. It’s manufacturing capability is enormous, and could switch to war-time production in hours.

We cannot fully appreciate the defensive abilities of China without looking at the historical events; the most recent events where the United States fought China. That was in 1950 -54.

The United States and it’s allies lost and lost enormously.

In fact, the loss was so very horrific, that the retreat became a rout. And the piles of equipment and stockpiles in warehouses had to be bombed remotely, by the sea and the air, to prevent capture. (This is by definition a rout. Remote demolitions of abandoned material is a characteristic of a rout.)

General Douglas MacArthur was so upset and defeated that he demanded that President Truman start using nuclear weapons on China, but Truman refused.

Instead President Truman initiated a multi-decade long campaign of carpet bombing China with bio-weapons. Which didn’t do much to China, except make it very VERY resilient to bio-weapon attacks.

Ah.

Did come in handy. Don’t you know…

Anyways…

So, taken a a whole, the defensive branch of the Chinese PLA would put up a “good fight”.

By the nature of geography and numbers, any attacking nation could only focus on limited regions to wage war. Taiwan, South China Sea, XinJiang. And in each case the fighting would be extraordinarily difficult.

Attacking causalities would approach 80–90%. Loss of material, and weapons, and supporting systems is guaranteed.

Just like what happened in Korea, the last time.

While there is no doubt that United States forces, along with proxy nations would be able to bomb targets, and destroy buildings and maybe even a city or two, the direct result of THAT kind of attack would ignite the Chinese OFFENSIVE forces.

Uh oh.

Oh. God No!

…

Chinese offensive forces are simple.

They destroy the cities of the attacking nation. They use enhanced radiation neutron bombs mounted on hyper-velocity glide vehicles launched by MIRV ICBM platforms.

It’s a very “clean” system of radiation, very unlike the nuclear bombs of the West.

Instead of a big explosion with damage due to blast and pressure, heat, the bomb explodes and zaps entire regions with lethal radiation. Radiation that leaves in a few days.

Zap.

*Zzziiit*

Buildings will stand, but all life would be dead.

People. Pets. Cattle. Flies. Mosquitoes. Worms. Beatles. Butterflies.

All gone.

What survives would be dying.

The attacking nation would truly resemble a “ zombie apocalypse”.

In all studies by RAND; the premier American “military think tank”, the concluding summaries in regards to military conflict between the USA and China is to avoid it.

…

The only areas where the pro-war faction seems to see benefit are the…

“news media” (especially Australian),
the political establishment (to gain power though working with the media narratives),
and the industrial-military complexes that would profit greatly though a massive big war (assuming their factories are not blown to smithereens).

On this item “Capability” alone, it is very obvious that a risk assessment on the capabilities of the Chinese PLA would deter anyone from even considering a war with China.

With that being said, all the other characteristics also underscore this point.

Sustainability

China has a population, manufacturing ability, access to resources, more intelligent and hard working people, much, much, MUCH larger than the United States and Europe combined. In a war where only sustainability is an issue, China would easily win that war.

Reduction

Because of this massive, enormous; gargantuan resource pool, the only way that the United States would be able to suppress it would be to cut off access to it. Which it cannot. The BRI has made that impossible. This, thus leaves the nuclear war option, which as defined above would result in the massive erasure of life in both the United States and Europe by neutron carpet-bombing.

Operational theater

Any war might start out in an operational theater defined by the United States, but it will not stay there. Once the Chinese strategic forces are given the “go ahead”, the war will become global. The absolute targets would be the nations of the combatants. This would be the United States, and Europe, as well as the handful of Australian cities, and great areas of Japan.

Peer confluence

China is above peer confluence with the combined armies of the United States and it’s allies / proxies. This is an assessment dating back to 2004, and I am of the opinion that (if anything), the gap has widened substantially since then. Only the rabble that are influenced by the anti-China propaganda, and watch too many Rambo movies think that a war against China would be “easy”.

Wars are NEVER easy. And to fight China is a mistake that should be avoided at all costs.

Alliances

China is well aligned with the bulk of the world. To fight China would be to fight the world. Russia, Iran, North Korea are but the expected combatants, but in any war, you can well expect changing alliances, and force power projections to change in the favor of China.

And make no mistake. These alliances are active and have no doubts or misconceptions of the reality of this moment in time.

Conclusion

Q: What is the Chinese military’s threat level to U.S. forces?

A: Absolute. Complete, and final.

Why Are These Biden Officials Leaving Their Top Posts?

Recently several administration official who were working on China and Ukraine policies announced to step back or retire. The people in question were not neo-conservative China hawks like Secretary of State Anthony Blinken or National Security Advisor Jake Sullivan.

The unexpected loss of top sane hands has me concerned that there is some big move in planning that will damage U.S. relations with China and Russia even more than they already are:

The head of a new US State Department unit tasked to coordinate efforts aimed at countering Beijing plans to step down next month, the department’s second high-ranking official with a China portfolio to announce a departure in less than two weeks.Rick Waters, head of the State Department’s recently created Office of China Coordination, and known informally as its “China House”, will leave the position just six months after it was established to manage what Secretary of State Antony Blinken called “the scale and the scope of the challenge” posed by the country.

The career State Department official will “rotate out” of the unit and the Office of Taiwan Coordination on June 23 “as part of the Department’s normal summer transition process,” according to a State Department spokesman.

There was no reason given why Waters was moved aside. This comes shortly after an even more important figure suddenly decided to retire:

The announcement about Waters followed news of US Deputy Secretary of State Wendy Sherman’s retirement earlier this month.Sherman, the highest-ranking State Department official from the Biden administration to have travelled to China, has been an instrumental member of US President Joe Biden’s efforts to build an Indo-Pacific strategy that offers an alternative to China’s economic influence and expanding military presence there.

Sherman was a hard nosed negotiator but had a realist view on issues:

Before she was appointed Deputy Secretary of State, Wendy Sherman had pushed for a swift return to the 2015 nuclear deal, formally known as the Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action (JCPOA). She urged the Biden administration to immediately begin consultations with Europe, Russia and China on preserving the JCPOA after taking office. “It’s important for the U.S. to start its consultations as quickly as a new administration can,” Sherman said at Johns Hopkins University on November 19, 2020.

Another important figure will soon leave from a top Pentagon role:

The Defense Department’s top policymaker plans to resign, according to three U.S. officials familiar with the decision.Colin Kahl, who has been undersecretary of defense for policy since April 28, 2021, is likely to leave in the summer, the officials said.

The officials, who asked not to be named, said Kahl plans to return to the private sector, most likely to Stanford University, where he was a professor and fellow before he joined the Biden administration.
…
Before his time at Stanford, Kahl was national security adviser to then-Vice President Joe Biden from October 2014 until January 2017. During the Obama administration, he was also a policy official at the Pentagon.
…
Two years ago Kahl faced a tough confirmation battle to become the No. 3 civilian at the Pentagon, in part because of his critical comments about Republicans on social media when he worked in the private sector. Republicans also criticized his involvement in the 2015 nuclear deal with Iran known as the JCPOA and his other policy views about the Middle East.

Kahl was also known for opposing escalation of the U.S. proxy war with Russia:

Kahl has also been one of the administration’s top officials making the case against sending U.S.-made F-16 jets to Ukraine, which has been a point of contention between the Biden administration and lawmakers, both Democrats and Republicans.Despite a plea from Kyiv for more advanced jets, Kahl has argued sending F-16s would take years and cost billions of dollars, while noting fighters aren’t Ukraine’s most immediate need.

China hawks had rallied against Kahl’s position on China:

In an interview with Defense News this week, Kahl offered extraordinary overconfidence that China will not attempt an invasion of Taiwan within the next two years and likely far further into the future. This bears note because U.S. military and intelligence officials increasingly do believe that Xi is likely to order an invasion before this decade is out, possibly before 2027. Their assessment is vested in intelligence reporting and comprehensive political and military analysis.

Kahl, however, is unconcerned.

Kahl announced his departure from the Pentagon shortly before Biden elevated a China hawk to the top position of the U.S. military:

President Biden is nominating Gen. Charles “C.Q.” Brown Jr. to serve as the next chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the president is expected to announce Thursday in a White House Rose Garden ceremony.Brown is currently the Air Force chief of staff.

The position is the nation’s highest-ranking military officer, and the chairman is the primary military adviser to the president, as well as to the defense secretary and National Security Council.

Gen. Brown had previously commanded the U.S. Air Force in the Pacific region. He is known for seeing China as the top U.S. enemy:

Chief of Staff Gen. Charles Q. Brown Jr. in his keynote address said China’s People’s Liberation Army has the largest aviation forces in the Indo-Pacific and the largest conventional missile capability in the world, and is actively fielding hypersonic missiles. China also is establishing bases around the globe, often in places where the U.S. already has a presence.China has said its armed forces will be fully modernized by 2035 and “world class by 2050,” said Brown, who noted that “China continues to move its modernization timelines left at a rate of change that is outpacing the United States.”

“The day after the last C-17 left Kabul, I was in the Indo-Pacific where a graver threat is manifesting, where the risk and stakes are high,” Brown said. “We must move with a sense of urgency today in order to rise to the challenges of tomorrow, because the return to strategic competition is one of our nation’s greatest challenges. Strategic competition may not be as stark or obvious as a 9/11-like event, but it can be just as catastrophic. We cannot wait for a catastrophic crisis, whether it be sudden or insidious, to drive change for the Air Force and the Joint Force. If we do, it will be too late.”

I think that all these moves are somewhat related. Wendy Sherman and Colin Kahl have known each other throughout their careers. Both of them cooperate with each other while serving in several Democratic administrations. It is hard to believe that did not talk to each other about stepping down.

But still I find none of the usual background pieces in foreign policy media that connects these moves or would explain the issues involved. Can they find no one who wants to talk about this?

Or is it just me seeing things that ain’t there because I fear that the Biden administration is preparing for even more escalatory policies?

Posted by b on May 25, 2023 at 14:07 UTC | Permalink

A comment

This mass resignation has all the hallmarks of a fully recognized cull–from top to bottom–an institutional recognition that a political cull is coming.

The first of these sorts of institutional culls that were instigated by anti-communist ideologues, back in the 1950s, were pushed by the FBI, CIA, the China Lobby (aka “Chiang Kaishek”, “Song Meiling”, and the general “Song” family + CIA/FBI/US Media empires of the era: Time and Live Magazines)–a coalition that the US Rethuglican Corporate Party happily funded and cooperated with (quietly, under Eisenhower’s awareness, which Nixon was keeping careful track of), along with Truman’s cabinet.

The cull that’s coming is going to swerve the US into an even more self-destructive path.

Posted by: Pacifica Advocate | May 25 2023 15:57 utc | 38

Another comment

“biden” was publicly proclaiming a thaw in us China relations. Also accompanied by a narrative campaign to fix the idea that decoupling is impossible.

My guess is that the US is preparing to court China to dump Russia a la Nixon and kissinger in the 70s.

Where it goes I dunno, probably not far. After all the US truly doesn’t think it needs to abide by agreements, being exceptional as they are. China will need more than words, they’ll need concrete irrevocable action before they’ll engage

Let’s see what happens next, for sure the US will need to abandon its economic war campaign, and withdraw all support from Taiwan and I don’t think the ‘biden” administration can do anything so useful.

Posted by: Neofeudalfuture | May 25 2023 16:28 utc | 46

Citizen Shoots 3 Robbers in a Houston Gas Station

Peer ability

On China, there’s no chance the Outlaw US Empire will ever become its peer over the next century. The power of integration within Eurasia is too strong for the weak Empire to crack. What matters most is the Eurasian people are all for it even if a few “leaders” are bought like those in Moldova and Pakistan–but even the bought Pakistanis won’t jettison BRI/China as development partner. The Thais are too integrated into ASEAN to abandon it as ordinary Thais will revolt. South Korea is an odd cookie. It’s greatly benefited from Asian integration and abandoning that for deeper vassalage to the Empire will likely be overturned with the next Presidential election. A good question: Is Japan a lost cause; will its people ever awaken and attempt to free themselves from occupation?

IMO, much depends on what occurs further with the Empire’s financial crisis and rapidity of dedollarization. Over half the population of the Outlaw US Empire is under the age of 35, with 25% under 15, which might make it easier to yet again rob from the young to pay for Imperial excesses. For the 13% nearing retirement age, this next election and how it will treat social policy will be crucial, even existential. Domestic politics have usually been ignored by US Imperialists, but with the escalating financial crisis and utterly wrong Fed and foreign policies driving it, I don’t see how it can be ignored in 2024 as it will be close to a replay of 2016. My crystal ball is hazy when it comes to what will happen here, although the next month ought to clarify it somewhat as the debt issue is either solved or isn’t.

Posted by: karlof1 | May 25 2023 15:42 utc | 31

Amana Ox Yoke Inn Rhubarb Custard Pie

Yield: 1 pie

Ingredients

Double crust pastry for 9 inch pie
3/4 tablespoon all-purpose flour
5 1/2 cups chopped rhubarb
2 1/2 cups granulated sugar
4 eggs, lightly beaten
3/4 cup Half-and-Half
1/8 teaspoon salt

Instructions

Make crust for a 2 crust pie.
Put bottom crust in pie pan; sprinkle with flour.
Mix the rhubarb, sugar, beaten eggs, Half-and-Half and salt.
Pour into crust, and put on top crust. Make slits in top of pie.
Bake at 375 degrees F for 1 1/2 hours.

World Class

I dunno if it’s just me, but I think the Chinese military is “World Class” right now, never mind 2050. It’s got a huge navy, advanced missiles and aircraft, and a lot of men under arms.

Aljazeera: Chinese Military strength

Posted by: JulianJ | May 25 2023 18:08 utc | 70

5 Unexplained Moments Caught on Live TV That Were Never Solved

BANKRUPTED – the last memory chip maker in the United States

Micron is the last memory chip maker in the United States
CHINA is a MAJOR market for its product
China warned that its product is a security threat and banned its companies from purchasing from Micron

Micron share prices will likely crashed on Monday
AND the company will likely go bankrupt
it is NOW clear that the Chinese state is NOW responding to American assault on their hitech companies
Micron will be the first of many American companies that the Chinese target

Ouch!

Which countries have fallen victims to the Chinese debt trap?

1). The US caused debt trap, then the US accuses China of causing the debt trap.

2). The US sabotaged the Nord Stream pipelines, then the US accuses Russia or pro-Ukraine group of blowing up the Nord Stream pipelines.

3). The US biological labs man-made the covid-19, the US regime used the virus as a biological weapon to have sneakily attacked Wuhan China in Sept 2019, then the US accuses China of releasing the covid.

4). The US has been committing genocides to its own origin inhabitants and conducting massive shooting massacres in streets daily and nightly, then the US accuses China of committing genocides of Uighur.

5). The US has been aggressive, especially 900 terrorist US army bases in the world, but the US accuses China of being aggressive, while China hasn’t had any war over the past 45 years and no single army base outside Chinese territories.

6). The US has been stealing everything from all over the world, but accuses China of stealing.

7). The US has been the heaven of Child labour and forced labour, but the US accuse Uighur of being the laziest people to make a living on their own.

8). The US style of democracy, human rights and freedom are lousy, the terrorism and virus, but the US keeps attacking the superior Chinese style of democracy, human rights and freedom which are the model for the developing countries, the beacon of the human races on Earth.

The US dominated financial institutions have not just led to the debt trap, but also led to the death traps and destruction traps for many developing countries in the world such as Sri Lanka, Ukraine etc.

The book “America Traps” written by a famous French has described the various forms of the US traps including debt traps, death traps, destruction traps, assassinations traps, stealing traps, biological weapons traps etc.

China has been building roads, schools, trains etc for developing countries to let them make a living by themselves.

That’s why One Belt One Road initiative are so popular and welcome in the world, over 180 countries and international organisations have joined in the Chinese BRI projects.

When the chips are down

Recently, China announced that it would be restricting chips made by the US firm Micron in its critical infrastructure projects, citing it as a “national security threat”. In doing so, Beijing deliberately played the same card frequently used by the United States and its allies concerning its own technologies, most namely Huawei, where unfounded concerns relating to “national security” were used to exclude the telecommunications firm from participating in 5G networks, as well as the US has blacklisted thousands of other Chinese technology companies.

Ironically, despite having led an all-out policy of technological embargo against China, the United States condemned China’s move accordingly, stating that “We firmly oppose restrictions that have no basis in fact”. Well, isn’t that ironic? Especially seen as China’s move is in fact limited in scope, and does not even come close to the US’s actions against it. Despite this, the US was also reported to have previously “warned” South Korea not to take up the market left behind by Micron if China went ahead with such restrictions, something which to Seoul’s credit, they dismissed.

The episode nonetheless reveals the interesting double standards (yet again) in the US’s attitude to China. Washington reserves its right to impose sweeping embargos on Beijing and blacklist countless companies, yet if even as much as one move is pursued the other way round, it is hastily denounced and as the G7 communique farce depicted over the previous weekend, it is so-called “economic coercion.” In other words, the idea that the US and its allies are allowed to impose whatever measures they like on China, legitimately, but that it is only to be a “one-way traffic.”

While this has already been previously discussed, what is more significant about this technology war between the United States and China, is that it is an extension of Washington’s belief that it must military, economically and eventually, politically dominate the country. The US does not believe so much in an “equal” or “balanced” trading relationship with Beijing, as much as it believes it has an infinite right to exploit the Chinese market “on its own terms”. In other words, China is to be exploited and conform to American preferences, in a very similar light how the British used superior military force to subjugate the Qing Dynasty to its terms and conditions.

In doing so, the United States desires to cripple China’s leading industries, block its advances up the technology tree, diminish its global market share, and exclude it from global supply chains, in the view to strategically dominating all of it through its allies. That doesn’t mean though they don’t want to “trade” with China, as per the G7 communique even says. But rather it does mean they want trade and economic relations with Beijing to be exclusively for their own benefit. Hence, when China was only a low-end manufacturing nation, they could care little, but the idea that Beijing may challenge them in key strategic and technological goods, is deemed unacceptable.

This has created an inverted perspective that China must open its markets unilaterally for the West, hence even Ursula Von Der Leyden complained about “market access”, but that it is acceptable for the West to place curbs on Chinese investments and exports to the country. In this sense, these policies are driven by an effort to sustain a monopoly against China, preventing a change in the global balance of economic, and therefore technological and military, power. Thus, the United States sees absolutely no problem in allowing its chip companies to sell to the Chinese market (to the things they choose), but has every problem with China manufacturing and selling its own chips accordingly.

In doing so, it was perhaps naively assumed by Washington that their technological advantages were so great that China did not have the leverage to take retaliatory action against a US chip company directly, they were wrong. US chip curbs against China’s semiconductor industry have been disruptive, but they are by no means fatal. It is a bruising, but not a decapitation, and China has continued to make progress irrespectively in making technological breakthroughs in areas of chip design and lithography.

This only goes to show us that in the long run, the US strategy against China is likely to fail, and as it happens American companies will almost certainly be the biggest losers of these disastrous policies which seek to roll back globalization and exclude them from participating in the most lucrative market on Earth. Micron is the first, but it almost certainly won’t be the last. Biden has overplayed his hand.

Earth shattering breakthrough by Chinese company

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Chinese manufacturer Gotion High-Tech has announced a new battery pack will go into mass production in 2024 that it says will deliver range of up to 1,000kms for a single charge and could last two million kms.

The company says the manganese doped L600 LMFP Astroinno will be able to do 4,000 full cycles at room temperature, and at high temperature will get 1800 cycles and over 1500 cycles of 18-minute fast charging.

These incredibly high cycle numbers mean the battery could essentially last 2 million km before it starts to deteriorate. To put that into context, the average Australian car travels around 15,000 km per year so it would take 130 years worth of average driving to reach 2 million km mark.

Gotion High-Tech says the battery single-cell density is 240Wh/kg and that improvements in pack design have increased overall battery pack energy density to a point where 1000km range pack is possible with the highly durable chemistry.

“Astroinno L600 LMFP battery cell, which has passed all safety tests, has a weight energy density of 240Wh/kg, a volume energy density of 525Wh/L, a cycle life of 4000 times at room temperature, and a cycle life of 1800 times at high temperatures,” said executive president of the international business unit of Gotion High-Tech Dr. Cheng Qian.

Gotion High-Tech released a new video this week explaining the new chemistry, pack design as well as the battery’s safety and thermal properties.

20 Deadliest El Chapo Hitmen

THE US “INTENTIONALLY RELEASED COVID VIRUS IN WUHAN”

During the International Covid Summit in May 2023, Dr.(Phd) David Martin revealed historical patent filings on the development of the Covid virus. His explosive revelations indicate that US agencies and big pharma funded and developed Covid as a bioweapon and released it in Wuhan. The following is an article and a video of his speech.

5 BIZARRE Experiences of People Being in a Parallel Universe

Why do Chinese think dictatorship is justified? How can a small group having almost total control over society be justifiable?

Nobody justifies Dictatorship

The Chinese have held the opinion for millenia that everyone CANNOT be equal. Simple as that. A Sampan Coolie cannot have the same rights as a Hoppo or a Cohong Trader or an Artisan or a Inner Circle Minister.

Thats the Governing Principle of Chinese Governance

A Person can be WORTHY enough to participate in Governance or keep quiet and do his best to be productive to the Country.

Any Person can strive to become Worthy – which is allowed in China due to meritocracy of the highest order BUT the “Unworthy” cannot have a say in governance of the country. THEY HAVE TO BE RULED.

To me – this is one of the most successful forms of Governance.

Because I LIVE IN INDIA

Had i lived in Canada or Sweden or Iceland or Norway- I would have been screaming Democracy from the rooftops.

Because i live in India –

I have seen how in 1970 – My Nation and China both had a per capita income of $ 113 a year but today China has Six times my Percapita Income.

I have seen how in 1970 – My Nation and China both had equal wealth but today China has 9.8 Times more wealth than my Nation.

And i realize that the sole reason is because – EVERYBODY IS ALLOWED TO HAVE A SAY IN CHOOSING THE GOVERNMENT and the GOVERNMENT IS BUSY APPEASING THE “UNWORTHY” TO WIN THE ELECTIONS THAN DELIVER PROGRESS

The Rule of the Worthy over the Unworthy is Not Dictatorship. It is what made the world stronger and stronger. Rome, Egypt, Ottoman, Britain – all flourished under this system where the Unworthy were told what to do by the Worthy.

IN these systems – the Unworthy always remained Unworthy but in China – the Unworthy can tomorrow become Worthy enough by sheer talent and merit.

To me thats a Winning Formula!!!!

Do Chinese missiles cost less than Russian missiles?

Chinese production cost as a rule of thumb is 1/7 to 1/10 of American cost. I have been involved in productions in China for 30 years, the rule of thumb is one yuan equals one US dollar. Generally involved food and living cost too. If it costs $100 to eat or make something in US, it costs 100 yuan in China, or US$15.

Not considering slave labor, which should be a lot cheaper, but I have never seen or heard of any slave labor in China in 30 years. If you know where they are, I’ll buy 1000.

Besides cheaper labor, land, building and logistic cost, the biggest savings is efficiency, no bureaucracy, drawing on papers can be in actual samples on same day. Have done that many times. Chinese tend to answer emails within 1–3 minutes, one phone call can assemble a whole team in 30 minutes from varies outside locations. Counterparts tend to say YES, no problem and delivers. In many countries, it takes days or up to a week in tropical countries to answer an email.

No idea about Russians.

The Pendulum of Power in the Pacific have changed

there is absolutely no way that American carrier fleet can survive a Pacific war
the assassin toolkit that the Chinese can bring to bear simply overwhelms whatever the Americans can bring to bear
with the continue decline of the American economy and rampant corruption within its political system, this is unlikely to change

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Scott Ritter: “PUTIN WILL END THE WAR ONCE AND FOR ALL, THIS IS IT”

https://youtu.be/haaHQjc6XL4

Wagging the Moondoggie: Part III

by Dave McGowan | Oct 1, 2009

If the Moon landings were faked, then one question that naturally arises is: why would any government go to such extreme lengths to mount such an elaborate hoax?

The most obvious answer (and the one most frequently cited by skeptics) is to reclaim a sense of national pride that had been stripped away by America’s having played follow-the-leader with the Soviets for an entire decade. While this undoubtedly played a large role, there are other factors as well – factors that haven’t been as fully explored. But before we look at those, we must first deal with the question of whether it would have even been possible to pull off such an enormous hoax.

Could so many people have really been duped into believing such an outrageous lie, if that in fact was what it was? To answer that question, we have to keep in mind that we are talking about the summer of 1969 here. Those old enough to have been there will recall that they – along with the vast majority of politically active people in the country – spent that particular period of time primarily engaged in tripping on some really good acid (most likely from the lab of Mr. Owsley).

How hard then would it really have been to fool most of you? I probably could have stuck a fish bowl on my head, wrapped myself in aluminum foil, and then filmed myself high-stepping across my backyard and most of you would have believed that I was Moonwalking. Some of you couldn’t entirely rule out the possibility that everyone was walking on the Moon.

In truth, not everyone was fooled by the alleged Moon landings. Though it is rarely discussed these days, a significant number of people gave NASA’s television productions a thumbs-down. As Wired magazine has reported, “when Knight Newspapers polled 1,721 US residents one year after the first moon landing, it found that more than 30 percent of respondents were suspicious of NASA’s trips to the moon.” Given that overall trust in government was considerably higher in those pre-Watergate days, the fact that nearly a third of Americans doubted what they were ‘witnessing’ through their television sets is rather remarkable.

When Fox ran a special on the Moon landings some years back and reported that 1-in-5 Americans had doubts about the Apollo missions, various ‘debunking’ websites cried foul and claimed that the actual percentage was much lower. BadAstronomy.com, for example, claims that the actual figure is about 6%, and that roughly that many people will agree “with almost any question that is asked of them.” Hence, there are only a relative handful of kooks who don’t believe that we’ve ever been to the Moon.

All of those websites fail to mention, of course, that among the people who experienced the events as they were occurring, nearly 1-in-3 had doubts, a number considerably higher than the number that Fox used. And, needless to say, the ‘debunkers’ also failed to mention that 1-in-4 young Americans, a number also higher than the figure Fox used, have doubts about the Moon landings.

Returning then to the question of why such a ruse would be perpetrated, we must transport ourselves back to the year 1969. Richard Nixon has just been inaugurated as our brand new president, and his ascension to the throne is in part due to his promises to the American people that he will disengage from the increasingly unpopular war in Vietnam. But Tricky Dick has a bit of a problem on his hands in that he has absolutely no intention of ending the war. In fact, he would really, really like to escalate the conflict as much as possible. But to do so, he needs to set up a diversion – some means of stoking the patriotic fervor of the American people so that they will blindly rally behind him.

In short, he needs to wag the dog.

This has, of course, traditionally been done by embarking on some short-term, low-risk military endeavor. The problem for Big Dick, however, is that a military mission is exactly what he is trying to divert attention away from. What, then, is a beleaguered president to do? Why, send Neil and Buzz to the Moon, of course! Instead of wagging the dog, it’s time to try something new: wagging the Moondoggie!

Nixon’s actions from the very moment he takes office belie his campaign pledges to the American people (not unlike that Barry Obama guy, who also led the American people to believe that he opposed an unpopular war). In May of 1969, with Nixon just a few months into his term, the press begins publicizing the illegal B-52 carpetbombing of Cambodia engineered by that irrepressible war criminal, Henry Kissinger. By June, Nixon is scrambling to announce what is dubbed the ‘Vietnamization’ of the war, which comes with a concomitant withdrawal of U.S. troops.

In truth, however, only 25,000 of the 540,000 U.S. troops then deployed will be brought home. This ruse is, therefore, transparently thin and it will buy the new president little time. To make matters worse, on July 14th, Francis Reitemeyer is granted Conscientious Objector status on the basis of a petition his attorney has filed which explicitly details the training and instruction he has just received in assassination and torture techniques in conjunction with his assignment to the CIA’s Phoenix Program. With these documents entering the public domain, the full horrors of the war are beginning to emerge.

Just in time to save the day, however, Apollo 11 blasts off on July 16th on its allegedly historic mission, and – with the entire nation enthralled – four days later the Eagle purportedly makes its landing on the pristine lunar surface. Vietnam is temporarily forgotten as America swells with patriotic pride for having beaten the Evil Empire to the Moon. There is little time to worry about the brutality of war when Neil is taking that “one giant leap for mankind.”

The honeymoon is short-lived, however, for just four months later, in November of 1969, Seymour Hersch publishes a story about the massacre of 504 civilians in the village of My Lai, bringing home to America the full savagery of the war in Southeast Asia. It’s time then for another Moon launch, and Apollo 12 dutifully lifts off on November 14th, making another picture-perfect lunar landing before returning on November 24th. The country is once again entranced by the exploits of America’s new breed of hero, and suddenly every kid in the country wants to grow up to be an astronaut.

All is well again until March of 1970, at which time a U.S.-backed coup deposes Prince Sihanouk in Cambodia and Lon Nol is handpicked by the CIA to replace him. Cambodia then immediately jumps in the fray by committing troops to the U.S. war effort. The war is further escalated the next month when Nixon authorizes an invasion of Cambodia by U.S. and ARVN ground forces, another move engineered by Henry Kissinger. Nixon has been in office just over a year and the war, far from winding down, has now expanded into Cambodia both in the air and on the ground.

Meanwhile, it’s time for yet another Moon launch. But this one is not going to be just any Moon launch. This one, you see, is going to introduce the element of danger. With the first two having gone off without a hitch, the American people – known for having notoriously short attention spans – are already adopting a ‘been there, done that’ attitude. The problem, in a nutshell, is that it looks just a little too damn easy. In order to regain the attention of the American people, it has to be impressed upon them that our brave astronauts are placing themselves in grave danger.

And so it is that on April 11th, 1970, Apollo 13 blasts off with Tom Hanks and a couple of somewhat lesser known actors on board, but unlike the first two missions, this Apollo spacecraft fails to reach the Moon and instead drifts about for the next six days with the crew in mortal danger of being forever lost in space! Now that gets our attention! So much so that when three Vietnam vets hold a multi-city press conference in New York, San Francisco and Rome on April 14th, attempting to publicize the ongoing Phoenix Program in which they have participated and have firsthand knowledge, nobody can really be bothered with paying much attention. It’s hard to be too concerned about the fate of Vietnamese villagers, you see, when Tom and the boys are clearly in trouble.

Awaiting news of the fate of the Apollo 13 crew, we all have our eyes glued to our TVs as though we are watching postmortem coverage of Michael Jackson. When our heroes somehow make it back alive, defying seemingly impossible odds, we are all so goddamned proud of them that we decide to award Tom another Oscar. And all is well again for the remainder of the year.

I really have to repeat here, by the way, that in the late 1960s and early 1970s, America really did rock! I mean, how about that Apollo safety record? Seven manned Moon launches with seven perfect take-offs! Tom and the boys obviously never did make it to the Moon, but the other six crews sure as hell did, and all six set those lunar modules down like the consummate professionals that they were, and all six used that untested technology to successfully blast off from the Moon and attain lunar orbit, and then all six successfully docked with the orbiting command modules. And all seven of those command modules, even Apollo 13’s, returned intact and with their crews happy and healthy.

That was just an awesome time to be an American and especially to be an American astronaut … well, except for the three guys (Virgil “Gus” Grissom, Ed White and Roger Chaffee) who were burned alive during a test procedure in the command module of what was to be the Apollo 1 rocket. But they were troublemakers anyway who probably wouldn’t have wanted to go along with the Moon landing fable. And then there was that Thomas Baron guy who was a safety inspector for NASA and who delivered highly critical testimony and a 1,500-page report to Congress, only to then be killed a week later. That report seems to have been sucked into the same Black Hole that swallowed up all the other Apollo evidence.

Anyway, returning now to our timeline, the dawn of 1971 brings the trial of Lt. William Calley on charges that he personally ordered and oversaw the mass murder of the inhabitants of the village of My Lai. And on January 31st, Apollo 14 is launched and once again makes a flawless lunar landing. On February 9th, the Apollo team returns, just a few weeks before Calley is convicted of murder (he served an absurdly short sentence under ‘house arrest’ and none of his superiors were ever held accountable).

A few months after that, the New York Times begins publication of the infamous Pentagon Papers, revealing American policy in Vietnam to be a complex web of lies. Publication is quickly stopped by the Justice Department but resumes once again as June turns to July. This is quickly followed, on July 26th, by the launch of Apollo 15. Four days later, yet another flawless lunar landing clearly demonstrates that America is the most bad-ass nation on Earth. But Moonwalking has become a bit of a bore for the American people, so a new element is introduced and from now on our beloved astronauts will roam the lunar surface in dune buggies. The lunar modules haven’t gotten any bigger, but now they can transport vehicles to the Moon. Cool!

Back on Earth, the astronauts return on August 7th and the rest of the year passes uneventfully. On March 30, 1972, North Vietnamese troops mount a massive offensive across the DMZ into Quang Tri Province, revealing as lies the pompous statements by numerous Washington hacks that victory is close at hand. Nixon and Co. respond to the offensive with deep penetration bombing of North Vietnam and, for good measure, the illegal mining of North Vietnam’s ports. They also respond by launching, on April 16th, another rocket (and another dune buggy) to the Moon. On April 27th, the crew of Apollo 16 once again return to a hero’s welcome.

By the end of the year, a ceasefire is finally looming on the horizon. Beginning in October, Kissinger and David Bruce (a member of the infamous Mellon family) are secretly negotiating peace terms with Le Duc Tho of North Vietnam. In December, however, those talks break down – but not before Apollo 17 is launched on December 7th in a most spectacular way: it is the first night launch of a Saturn V rocket. With the latest Apollo mission still a few days away from returning, the talks cease and Dick and Henry unleash a final ruthless carpetbombing campaign against North Vietnam, snuffing out countless thousands of civilian lives. Meanwhile, America warmly greets its returning astronauts.

Just five weeks later, the talks having resumed, a peace agreement is announced. Within a few days a ceasefire is in effect, thereby officially ending America’s involvement in Southeast Asia. Though the CIA will remain to continue directing the war by proxy, America’s men and women in uniform come home. And the Apollo program – despite several additional missions having been planned and discussed, and despite the additional funding that should have been available with the war drawing to a close – will never be heard from again.

In addition to restoring national pride and providing a diversion from the savage colonial war being waged in Southeast Asia, the Apollo program undoubtedly served another function as well: covert funding of that war effort. Needless to say, faking Moon landings is less expensive than actually making Moon landings, and a whole lot of money was funneled NASA’s way during the Vietnam years to accomplish the latter. It stands to reason that a considerable amount of that money could well have been diverted into covert operations being conducted in Vietnam, Cambodia and Laos. In addition, a portion of the Apollo funding likely financed the early stages of the militarization of space.

There is no shortage of Moon hoax ‘debunking’ sites out there on the wild and wooly World Wide Web. The majority of them are not particularly well written or argued and yet they tend to be rather smug and self-congratulatory. Most of them tend to stick to ‘debunking’ the same facts and they use the same arguments to do so.

One thing they like to talk a lot about is the Van Allen radiation belts. The Moon hoax sites talk a lot about them as well. The hoaxers will tell you that man cannot pass through the belts without a considerable amount of radiation protection – protection that could not have been provided in the 1960s through any known technology. And the ‘debunkers’ claim that the Apollo astronauts would have passed through the belts quickly enough that, given the levels of radiation, no harm would have come to them. The hoaxers, say the ‘debunkers,’ are just being girlie men.

As it turns out, both sides are wrong: the ‘debunkers,’ shockingly enough, are completely full of shit, and the hoaxers have actually understated the problem by focusing exclusively on the belts. We know this because NASA itself – whom the ‘debunkers’ like to treat as a virtually unimpeachable source on all things Apollo, except, apparently, when the agency posts an article that implicitly acknowledges that we haven’t actually been to the Moon – has told us that it is so. They have told us that in order to leave low-Earth orbit on any future space flights, our astronauts would need to be protected throughout the entirety of the flight, as well as – and once again, this comes directly from NASA – while working on the surface of the Moon.

On June 24, 2005, NASA made this rather remarkable admission: “NASA’s Vision for Space Exploration calls for a return to the Moon as preparation for even longer journeys to Mars and beyond. But there’s a potential showstopper: radiation. Space beyond low-Earth orbit is awash with intense radiation from the Sun and from deep galactic sources such as supernovas … Finding a good shield is important.”(http://science.nasa.gov/headlines/y2005/24jun_electrostatics.htm)

You’re damn right finding a good shield is important!! Back in the 1960s, of course, we didn’t let a little thing like space radiation get in the way of us beating the Ruskies to the Moon. But now, I guess, being that we are more cultured and sophisticated, we want to do it the right way so we have to come up with some way of shielding our spaceships. And our temporary Moon bases. And figuring out how to do that, according to NASA, could be a real “showstopper.”

As NASA notes, “the most common way to deal with radiation is simply to physically block it, as the thick concrete around a nuclear reactor does. But making spaceships from concrete is not an option.” Lead, which is considerably denser than concrete, is actually the preferred material to use for radiation shielding, but lead also isn’t very popular with spaceship designers. In fact, word on the street is that one of the main reasons the Soviets never made it to the Moon was because their scientists calculated that four feet of lead shielding would be required to protect their astronauts, and those same scientists apparently felt that spaceships wouldn’t fly all that well when clad in four feet of lead.

Now NASA is thinking outside the box and contemplating using ‘force fields’ to repel the radiation, a seemingly ridiculous idea that, whether workable in the future or not, certainly wasn’t available to NASA in the 1960s. Below is NASA’s own artist rendering of a proposed ‘force field’ radiation shield that would allow astronauts to work safely on the Moon. As you may have noticed in the earlier photos of the lunar modules, our guys didn’t bring anything like that with them on their, uhmm, earlier missions to the Moon. And you may have also noticed that the modules did not have any type of physical shielding.

How then did they do it? My guess is that the answer lies in that gold foil wrap. While it may look like an amateurish attempt to make the modules appear more ‘high-tech,’ I have a hunch that what we are looking at is another example of the lost technology of the 1960s – this time in the form of a highly-advanced superpolymer that provided maximum radiation shielding while adding virtually no weight. So all we have to do is track down a few leftover rolls of that stuff and we should be well on our way to sending guys back to the Moon.

According to Charles Buhler, a NASA scientist currently working on the force field concept, “Using electric fields to repel radiation was one of the first ideas back in the 1950s, when scientists started to look at the problem of protecting astronauts from radiation. They quickly dropped the idea though because it seemed like the high voltages needed and the awkward designs that they thought would be necessary … would make such an electric shield impractical.”

What a real journalist would have asked here, of course, is: “After dropping the electric shield concept, exactly what did they decide to use to get our astronauts safely to the Moon and back on the Apollo missions? And why can’t we do the same thing now, rather than reinventing the wheel? Don’t you guys have some of that gold foil in a closet somewhere?” No one in the American media, of course, bothered to ask such painfully obvious questions.

The 2005 report from NASA ends as follows: “But, who knows, perhaps one day astronauts on the Moon … will work safely.” Yes, and while we’re dreaming the impossible dream, let’s add a few more things to our wish list as well, like perhaps one day we’ll be able to listen to music on 8-track tape players, and talk to people on rotary dial telephones, and carry portable transistor radios, and use cameras that shoot pictures on special film that develops right before our eyes. Only time will tell, I suppose.

The Van Allen belts, by the way, trap most Earth-bound radiation, thus making it safe for us mortals down here on the surface of planet Earth, as well as for astronauts in low-Earth orbit (the belts extend from 1,000 to 25,000 miles above the surface of the Earth). The danger is in sending men through and beyond the belts, which, apart from the Apollo missions, has never been attempted … well, actually there was that one time, but I think we all remember how badly that turned out. In case anyone has forgotten, the astronauts returned to a world dominated by extremely poor acting, apes speaking with British accents, and a shirtless Charleton Heston. And I don’t think anyone wants to see that happen again.

The 2005 report was not the first time that NASA had openly discussed the high levels of radiation that exist beyond the Van Allen belts. In February 2001, the space agency posted a ‘debunking’ article that argued that the rocks allegedly brought back from the Moon were so distinctive in nature that they proved definitively that man had gone to the Moon. The problem though with maintaining a lie of the magnitude of the Moon landing lie is that there is always the danger that in defending one part of the lie, another part will be exposed. Such was the case with NASA’s ill-conceived The Great Moon Hoax post, in which it was acknowledged that what are referred to as “cosmic rays” have a tendency to “constantly bombard the Moon and they leave their fingerprints on Moon rocks.”

NASA scientist David McKay explained that “There are isotopes in Moon rocks, isotopes we don’t normally find on Earth, that were created by nuclear reactions with the highest-energy cosmic rays.” The article went on to explain how “Earth is spared from such radiation by our protective atmosphere and magnetosphere. Even if scientists wanted to make something like a Moon rock by, say, bombarding an Earth rock with high energy atomic nuclei, they couldn’t. Earth’s most powerful particle accelerators can’t energize particles to match the most potent cosmic rays, which are themselves accelerated in supernova blastwaves and in the violent cores of galaxies.”

So one of the reasons that we know the Moon rocks are real, you see, is because they were blasted with ridiculously high levels of radiation while sitting on the surface of the Moon. And our astronauts, one would assume, would have been blasted with the very same ridiculously high levels of radiation, but since this was NASA’s attempt at a ‘debunking’ article, they apparently would prefer that you don’t spend too much time analyzing what they have to say.

How exactly are we to reconcile NASA’s current position on space radiation with the same agency’s simultaneous claim that we have already sent men to the Moon? There are a few different possibilities that come to mind, the first of which is that, in the late 1960s and early 1970s, we simply threw caution to the wind and sent our boys off to the Moon with no protection whatsoever from space radiation. If that were true, however, then the question that would naturally be raised is: why not just do it again? After all, all of our Moonwalkers made it home safe and sound and most all have lived long, healthy, cancer-free lives. So why all the fuss over space radiation?

NASA could, I suppose, take the position that space radiation is a recent problem. Perhaps in the ‘60s and early ‘70s, space was relatively free of radiation, allowing unshielded Apollo rockets to cruise about without a care in the world while crew members primarily busied themselves with such important tasks as trying to capture all the stems and seeds that were floating around the command module as a result of cleaning their stash of low-grade ‘60s marijuana. It was just a different solar system back in those days. As aging hippies like to say, if you remember the solar system of the sixties, you weren’t really flying around in it.

If it proves not to be the case that this space radiation “showstopper” is a new development, then I suppose that the only explanation that we are left with is that we did indeed have the technology to shield our astronauts from radiation back in the 1960s, but at some time during the last four decades, that technology was simply lost. What probably happened was that an overzealous night custodian simply threw the data away. The conversation around the NASA water cooler the next day probably went something like this: “Holy shit! Has anyone seen that folder that I left on my desk last night? It contained the only copy of the secret formula that I devised for building a weightless space radiation shield. It could be forty years or more before someone else can duplicate it! My ass is so fired!”

Is 1,000 yuan a lot of money in China?

This is a fun question to answer.

It’s roughly $140 USD. But in China, the money goes a long way. So, here in the Southern Section along the coast, you can pretty much do any of the following with it…

Go to the movies about 8 times.

Or…

You can set it aside and buy a bus card; whether a physical card, or a QR registration code for your cellphone….

1000 yuan = 1000 bus trips

And, the same thing is true in Shenzhen with a subway, only it’s slightly more expensive, depending on your route. Let’s just call it double the price for simplicity sakes.

500 Subway trips.

Subway and bus not to your liking, how about DD or a taxi?

66 local rides
33 longer rides

How about eating?

250 breakfasts
66 stand-alone lunches
14 dinners

How about drinking?

100 bottles of beer at a BBQ
200 bottles of beer at at a store
10 bottles of medium priced wine
1 bottle of Beijiu

How about smoking?

142 packs of cheap cigarettes

How about some adult time?

Nope not enough.

How about hair styling and cuts?

Man = 60 trims
Woman = 2 hairdos
Dog = 4 sessions

Let’s talk about rents…

Apartment rent = not enough.
Parking rent = About 6 months worth
Electricity cost = about two months

I hope this gives you all an idea. Keep on smiling.

Does China Have a Huge Problem Despite Impressive Economic Development?

in World — by Kim Petersen — 26/05/2023

The G7 has recently wound up its meeting in Hiroshima, and the participants joined to affirm their fear of the Threat of China. British media reported that prime minister Rishi Sunak said: “China poses the biggest challenge to global security and prosperity of our age with the ‘means and intent to reshape the world order’.” The global septet spoke of “de-risking” rather than “de-coupling” from China. This was prudent because decoupling from the world’s leading manufacturing base would risk plunging all economies into recession. China leads the world in so many facets of production, particularly high technology: high-speed rail, rocket technology, their own space station, lunar and Martian probes and rovers, quantum computing, AI, robotics, bridge building, tunnel construction, chip production, hypersonic missiles, laser weapons, military armaments, nuclear technology, and on and on. Could it be that the Chinese economy is not as sturdy as it seems to be?

I asked Wei Ling Chua, the author of Democracy: What the West can learn from China and Tiananmen Square “Massacre”? The Power of Words vs. Silent Evidence, his forecast for the Chinese economy.

Kim Petersen: In a recent article, “Why China Can’t Pull the World Out of a New Great Depression,” strategic risk consultant F. William Engdahl writes, “… in real physical economic production, China has left the USA and everyone else in the dust. Therefore, the future course of industrial production in China is vital to the future of the world economy.”

He writes that steel production is “the single best indicator of a growing real economy” for which China crushes the competition. China leads in coal production, rare earth mining and processing, motor vehicle production, as supplier of essential cement for construction, aluminum production, and copper consumption. Engdahl adds, “The list goes on.”

Then Engdahl identifies a problem: “A huge problem with China’s economic model over the past two decades has been the fact that it has been a debt-based finance model massively concentrated on real estate speculation beyond what the economy can digest.” He points at the inflated housing market, rising unemployment, the dubiousness of official figures for total state debt, and the lack of transparency for financial information.

It is expected that there would be bumps along the road in the development of what was once, not so long ago, a very poor country compared to the economic colossus that China has become today. In addition to the commodities exported worldwide, China has also garnered much skepticism for its growth and development over the years, and yet China has always managed to steam ahead. China has a planned economy, and assuredly the mandarins have contingency plans for the unexpected.

What is your take on the Engdahl article?

Wei Ling Chua: I think the author lacks an understanding of the CCP series of policies and reforms, and he relies too heavily on the crusader agenda-based line-of-thinking.

Unlike western, Japanese, USSR development that relied heavily on imperialism, expansionism and looting

1) In the first 30 years of the People’s Republic of China (PRC), the sources of finance were mainly from the agricultural sector, and the hard work, delegation and sacrifices of the entire population to rebuild the nation.

The Mao era was the hardest era in the history of the PRC, as the country just managed to hold together the entire nation with virtually nothing (no technology, no money, a 90% illiteracy rate, a divided population, a population hungry and in poor health with a super short average life-expectancy of 36 years, a hostile international environment (Korean war, Sino-India war, USSR border war, plus western sanctions, and in the 1960s USSR sanctions as well).

However, Mao managed to win the Korean war with mainly foot soldiers armed with rifles and hand grenades, helped Vietnam to chase away the US occupier, and defeated India and the USSR in skirmishes. China worked herself into the UN to replace the nationalist government as the only legitimate government of China. It also completed the first stage of the Chinese industrial revolution with all types of light industry (self-made household appliances, processed food), an active agriculture sector, fisheries, etc, and heavy industry such as producing trucks, cars, buses, trains, atomic bombs, satellite, missiles, and all type of other military weapons, construction technology…

2) over the next 30 years, China financed her economic reform via opening up with massive foreign investment plus massive land mortgage financing to fund all types of infrastructure across the country.

But, unlike the rest of the developing countries, China used cheap land and labor to attract foreign investment to build factories, and used her own land allocation as a guarantee to print money and provide loans for building infrastructure, commercial and residential property, and therefore, not incurring too much foreign debt. So, most of China’s debts are domestic and are outside of foreign control.

3) Since Xi came into power, his zero tolerance towards corruption and successful anti-corruption policy very much ensured the country’s continued smooth operation with high efficiency and less waste. This is a most vital element in any nation’s development and future prosperity (whereas all western countries are down down and down at the moment due to legalised corruption in the name of lobbying, political donations, speech bureaus, privatisation, etc)

Xi’s centralised medicine approval strategy has successfully reduced all drug prices by up to more than 90%, and hence china was able to introduce sustainable nationwide medicare coverage. Such a policy freed up people’s savings for domestic consumption. This economic generator is a pillar of any advanced country.

Under Xi, the average wages of the nation basically more than doubled.

Yes, like the rest of the world, the real estate market and tax on property transactions are major sources of government revenue. But Xi knew that if the real-estate market was allowed to continue being controlled by a handful of billionaires to reap speculative profits then the housing prices would keep rising. So, he openly told the nation that housing is for people to live, not for speculative profit. He cracked down on irresponsible real estate giants controlling too much real estate and using them to mortgage and buy more. Finally, this caused some collapse in overheated pricing. But unlike the US, there is no too-big-to-fail company in China; Xi froze these troubled giant companies from issuing dividends to shareholders, and made the owners sell their own assets to repay the interest and loans, sell their overseas companies and assets, and then domestic assets to repay the loans. And when the state bails out a company, all those assets return back to the people; i.e., state control.

The author also failed to take in a lot of things that have taken place in China.

4) Yes, there are debt issues in China, but debts should be distinguished between good debt and bad debt:

Across the west, they keep printing money to give away to political donors in exchange for personal benefits at the expense of the taxpayers, they also give away money to voters to win votes. These are bad debts as they produce no future return for the masses.

But, for China, the debts transform into infrastructure domestically and overseas. The outcome is apparent: more and more regions and countries with Chinese investment enjoy economic prosperity; hence, they help China to continue enjoying prosperity despite western decoupling policies.

The winning of trust and friends across the world will only pave the way for China’s Belt and Road win-win strategy to ensure mutual prosperity even without the West. We are now witnessing that the BRICS’s GDP is bigger than that of the G7, and the Chinese economy has been bigger than the entire EU (the combined GDP of 27 countries) since 2021.

Besides, the rise of China’s high-tech economy are obvious: due to China’s superiority in EV car technology, China has just replaced Japan as the world’s biggest new car exporter (the world number 1 in EV car exports), solar technology exports as well, infrastructure exports, ship building etc, and lately, overtaking the US in military armament exports to places like the UAE, Saudi Arabia, Malaysia, Thailand… etc. Consider also the growing popularity of the RMB as a reserve currency. It is important to note that China managed to achieve these feats without firing a single shot; it’s all about investment in education, R&D, development of infrastructure, and a policy of win-win.

China’s future is very bright with the coming development, export of chips, nuclear power plants, and reunification with Taiwan. At this moment, the world has seen China managing to finally create a peaceful and Chinese-friendly Central Asia, Russia, Middle East, and ASEAN (excluding the Philippines under Marcos). We also notice that almost all African countries and Latin American countries are also very much preferring China over the West. This peace dividend will help create an entire region surrounding China to move towards the world’s biggest economic block developing in peace and harmony. It will become a magnet for the rest of the world.

These Eerie and Scary Glitches Will Creep You Out

‘Turbulence in the sky’

By now, every man and his dog knows about the rumble in the sky. Cathay Pacific flight attendants found themselves in the eye of a category-5 storm, caught disrespecting non-English speaking Mainland passengers.

Cathay is quick to smell existential threat as 70% of its revenue reportedly comes from the mainland. Consumer boycotts are still raging against Nike and Adidas over Xinjiang cotton, having humbled H & M. To its credit, its CEO acted swiftly, issuing 3 apologies in 3 days, ending with the announced firing of the 3 offending stewardesses. Discrimination is no laughing matter and the offenders didn’t get the last laugh.

Mainlanders won’t be pacified by Cathay Pacific’s actions, claiming that this incident is just the tip of the iceberg. They accuse its cabin crew of habitually disparaging non-English-speaking mainland passengers while according foreigners deferential treatment.

Cathay’s CEO has promised a full investigation which he will personally lead. But as the situation continues to ferment, only a root-and-branch change in company culture will do.

One thing Cathay must avoid is to repeat BMW’s blunder in handling its Ice Cream-gate, in which ice creams were handed out free to foreigners but denied to Chinese. BMW tried to repair the damage with a PR gimmick by giving out free dog-tags to the Chinese. But this backfired with its echoes of the infamous sign outside a Shanghai park: “Chinese and dogs are not allowed.”

Cosmetic changes won’t stop the tidal wave of anger. Cathay needs a systemic revamp. While the company recruits local staff from regions it serves outside Mainland China, it has refused to hire local cabin crew to service its mainland routes. This nurtures a noxious subculture which has come back to bite its mainland patrons. Cathay has an unshirkable responsibility to create job opportunities where it makes most of its money. An investigation is a Band-Aid solution. Why not a recruitment campaign that generates good will?

Hong Kongers’ tangled ties with mainlanders fall into three categories: On Canton Street, the heartland of ultra-luxury shopping, sales people would give their right arm to red-carpet mainland customers. Locals are cold-shouldered as improbable patrons. Likewise, in real estate agencies, mainlanders are royalty, preceded by a reputation for scooping up expensive properties sight unseen.

In public schools and private universities, devastated by declining birthrate and plunging student enrolment, Mainland students are greeted like saviors that prevent school closure.

But in Yuen Long, outside overcrowded drug stores, they are as welcome as “swarms of locusts”.

On buses and the MTR or busy restaurants, too, they are likewise viewed as big mouths with bulging wallets.

In short, where locals stand depends on where they sit. Cathay cabin crew is guilty of biting the hand that feeds them. I have never heard of a company prospering by insulting its customers. There is a symbiotic relationship between Hong Kong and its next-door neighbor, separated by a yawning language and culture gap that cries out to be bridged.

Hong Kong’s landscape is littered with pockets of colonial-era snobbery.

In truth, the city has never been decolonized. The handover happened with a piece of paper and a ceremony, with no corresponding action in education. This is why thousands of civil servants have chosen to quit rather than swear an oath of allegiance to the new sovereign. Maybe Cathay itself, with its ingrained snooty British culture, needs full decolonization and localization.

China is a misunderstood country. No nation in history has undergone such rapid and utter transformation. Attitude towards China can’t keep pace with the velocity of change. What was true in the 80’s or 90’s is no longer true today. But old attitudes die hard, whatever the new jaw-dropping progress.

Mainlanders dislike being belittled. They begin to call flight attendants “glorified waitresses”, who are too far down the food chain to be snobs.

These days, consumers wield a powerful weapon. Their smartphone is a camera, a recording device, a communication tool, and a potential “smoking gun”. Being caught red-handed in anti-social behavior could spell the end of a career. There is no place to hide, whether one is 30,000 ft. in the air or 3-feet apart face-to-face on the ground, or even in the boardroom.

China is like The Borg

In reading this article, which is a collection of snippets (video and text) of this moment in time, it should be clear what the reality of today is.

The West is dying. It is failing.

The Western leadership, isolated in their own “bubbles” , are clueless and detached. Still on the hunt for easy riches, and planning to secure those riches.

The East, slow, cautious, and careful are weary and reserved. They run through the motions with the West… but with LOW expectations. Fully expecting an attack any month now.

As they posture themselves they study, and continue in technological advancement and growth. The rest of the world wishes to ride with them.

Enjoy today’s reality.

Pot Roast with Potatoes

Ingredients

1 (1 1/2 pound) pot roast
3 garlic cloves, crushed
1 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon vinegar
1 onion, cut into small pieces
1 tablespoon olives and capers
2 tablespoons Red Oil(Oil with Annatto)
3 potatoes, cut into halves

Instructions

Season the meat with garlic, salt and vinegar. Make small holes in the meat and fill with chopped onions olives and capers. Brown the meat in the Red Oil.
Sauté the potatoes. Cover with water. Season to taste. Cook for 45 minutes covered, over low heat.

When White America becomes the picture of poverty

Senior officials of China, US hold candid talks

Senior officials from China and the United States met in Vienna, Austria, on Wednesday and Thursday and had candid, in-depth, substantive and constructive discussions on bilateral ties.

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Wang Yi, director of the Office of the Foreign Affairs Commission of the Communist Party of China Central Committee, and US National Security Adviser Jake Sullivan discussed removing obstacles in China-US ties and stabilizing the relationship.

Wang, who is also a member of the Political Bureau of the CPC Central Committee, fully expounded on China’s solemn position on the Taiwan question.

Trade curbs opposed

The two sides exchanged views on the situation in the Asia-Pacific region, the Ukraine issue and other international and regional issues of common concern. Both sides agreed to continue to make good use of the strategic communication channel.

In another development, Minister of Commerce Wang Wentao met with Nicholas Burns, the US ambassador to China. The two sides exchanged views on China-US economic and trade relations, as well as their respective concerns over other economic and trade issues, the ministry said in a news release.

Also on Thursday, the Ministry of Commerce said that the Chinese government will resolutely oppose any move by the US to restrict US companies from investing in China or coercing its allies to follow suit, as such moves undermine the international economic and trade order and disrupt the stability of global industrial and supply chains.

Shu Jueting, a spokeswoman for the ministry, made the remarks at a news conference after Bloomberg reported that US President Joe Biden aims to sign an executive order to limit investment in China’s high-tech industries and hopes to get an endorsement from its G7 partners on such curbs at next week’s meeting.

“If the news report turns out to be true, China will resolutely object to such acts”, as they run contrary to the market economy and the principle of fair competition, affect enterprises’ normal business decisions, undermine the international economic and trade order and disrupt the stability of global industrial and supply chains, said Shu.

China will remain steadfast in advancing high-level opening-up and welcomes enterprises from all countries to invest in China and share development opportunities, the spokeswoman added.

Tu Xinquan, dean of the China Institute for WTO Studies at the University of International Business and Economics in Beijing, said the US government habitually politicizes technology and trade issues and uses them as a tool and weapon in the name of national security, while its true intention is to suppress China’s development.

It is rare for governments across the globe to launch outbound investment screening on the pretext of national security. The US will need a well-structured legal basis to enforce the restrictions, and it would be the same for its allies to do so, Tu said, adding that relevant countries must discard such a Cold War mentality and follow market rules.

Wu Chaoze, chief analyst of technology, media and telecom industry at China Securities, said the curbs, if enforced, will have limited impact on China’s relevant high-tech sectors. The scale of US investment concerning areas such as AI, chips and quantum computing in China remains relatively small, as US companies have avoided investing in China due to US sanctions in recent years, Wu said.

Foreign Ministry spokesman Wang Wenbin said on Thursday that China and the US have maintained communication. “What matters is that the US cannot keep raising the issue of communication on the one hand, while on the other, keep suppressing and containing China,” Wang said at a regular news briefing in Beijing.

The US side should view China in an objective and rational manner, respect China’s red lines, stop undermining its sovereignty, security and development interests, and work with China in the same direction to bring bilateral ties back on the track of sound and stable growth, he said.

Ukraine is FINISHED and Blackrock is taking over

Non-Chinese vehicles inside of China are losing popularity

Interesting discussion over an article. The Author is Frans Vandenbosch, a prolific and knowledgeable author. I found his argument interesting and compelling. Forgive for jumping at this frozen moment in time.

That man “The Electric Viking” (Sam Evans), I believe he’s from Australia, is a joke.

He certainly is telling some truths, but he has a skewed viewpoint on German, Chinese and global automotive industry.

He looks at the world with American glasses. He can’t hide his aversion for Mercedes Benz.

He’s right, the western automotive industry is surviving thanks to the sales figures in China.

But he doesn’t mention exact market share figures in China.

The French (Renault, Peugeot, Citroen) all based in Wuhan, have never got a combined market share of more than 5%. Chinese consumers don’t like French cars. They rightfully perceive the french cars as bad quality, and they don’t like the french style “revolutionary” design.

The American cars (GM in Pudong, Ford in Chongqing) used to have a reasonable market share in China. But already before the trade war, they were massively losing ground to the Germans. Today, they’re in the same category as the French; for other reasons.

Then the Germans (Volkswagen/Audi, BMW, Mercedes Benz). They used to have a combined market share in China of more than 60%. Indeed, they are losing a tiny bit of the market every year, but still, the overwhelming majority of the cars at Chinese roads are German. Made in China, of course.

And he is absolutely right that the Japanese carmakers are very fast losing market share these days. Yes, they missed the train of the EV’s. They might have hybrid models, but that’s not a big success in China.

And he is right too about the Chinese EV carmakers are very fast improving in quality, even offering some options that German EV’s don’t have. But I don’t see that they’re eating away the market share of the super quality German cars in China.

Mr. “Electric Viking” has no reason to write of Mercedes, BMW or Volkswagen in China. He’d better ask the question why the French and American carmakers are almost out of business in China.

When White America becomes the picture of poverty

Chinese FM calls for Berlin to reject decoupling

Through the latest visit to Germany by State Councilor and Foreign Minister Qin Gang, both Beijing and Berlin have displayed great expectations about upcoming landmark high-level exchanges and collaboration in a wide range of fields in the post-pandemic era, observers said.

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China and Germany should stand firmly together and deliver more practical outcomes in the near future and beyond to offset voices urging economic decoupling or seeking to encourage strategic rivalry between the two nations, officials and experts said.

Qin, on his first trip to Europe since becoming State Councilor, started his five-day visit to Germany, France and Norway on Monday.

At his meeting on Tuesday with German Foreign Minister Annalena Baerbock, they made preparations for upcoming seventh round of China-Germany intergovernmental consultation, the first of its kind to be held in a face-to-face format in the post-pandemic era.

Both sides agreed to “make encompassing plans for the two countries’ pragmatic cooperation in various fields in the coming period of time”, Foreign Ministry spokesman Wang Wenbin said on Wednesday.

Beijing and Berlin agreed to reinforce coordination in multilateral domains and step up cooperation in areas such as climate change and biodiversity, according to Wang.

At the meeting on Tuesday, Qin said that China and Germany should jointly oppose a “new Cold War” and “decoupling economies or severing supply chains”, and inject confidence and impetus into world peace and prosperity.

Cui Hongjian, director of the China Institute of International Studies’ European Studies Department, noted that economic and trade cooperation between China and Germany is highly complementary and serves economic globalization.

“Their relations, based on economic mutual benefits and inclusiveness, are also a major driving force for Berlin’s efforts in bolstering its own diplomatic influence,” he added.

Qin’s visit took place amid rising calls in the European Union for limiting or restricting the EU’s relations with China — a concept also known as “de-risking”, as well as an increasingly assertive stance being taken in the bloc against so-called “threats” in fields such as supply chains.

In response to such moves, Qin said at a joint news conference following the talks in Berlin that Beijing endorses the position taken by Germany and the EU about rejecting economic decoupling with China, but it is also concerned by calls in the EU for “de-risking”.

“What China brings to the world is opportunities, cooperation, stability and reassurance rather than crisis, confrontation, turbulence and risks,” he said.

Phasing out engagement with China on the pretext of “de-risking” is actually “phasing out opportunities, cooperation, stability, and development”, he warned.

Germany, the EU and China should all adhere to international trade rules and the spirit of contract and continue to open up to each other, he said, adding that economic, trade and investment cooperation must not be politicized and the market should not be interfered with.

Qin warned that it is worth noting that some countries are launching a “new Cold War”, and that this is a real risk that deserves attention.

He referred to a research report recently issued by an Austrian think tank which estimated that in the event of economic decoupling with China, Germany will suffer from a drop in its annual GDP of around two percentage points, equivalent to about 60 billion euros ($65.7 billion).

Feng Zhongping, director of Chinese Academy of Social Sciences’ Institute of European Studies, noted that “challenges remain in terms of China-EU ties because some political figures in Europe prefer to highlight the two sides’ differences in tackling the Ukraine crisis and label China as a systemic rival, and many of them have been influenced by Washington as well”.

Beijing, Berlin and Brussels have a lot of work to do to fix the problems in this regard, he said.

“China-EU ties are a key part of China’s diplomacy, and currently the relations have shown the signs of a rebound. It is one of the top priorities for both sides to keep this momentum steady and sound in the long term,” he added.

Spring offensive false start

Biden DHS Criminally Conspiring with Mexico to Signal Illegal Aliens WHEN to Enter USA ILLEGALLY

World Hal Turner 11 May 2023

Joe Biden’s Department of Homeland Security (DHS) has been CRIMINALLY CONSPIRING with Mexico by coordinating mass swims by Illegal Aliens coming across the Rio Grande River so those people can enter the US ILLEGALLY. DHS has been using an encrypted Whatsapp channel to coordinate with Mexico Immigration!

In recent days, large crowds of immigrants have formed on the Mexican side of the Rio Grande fully prepared to swim over well-worn crossing spots to Brownsville – but seemingly held back by unarmed Mexican immigration officials.

Over the course of several recent days in this northeastern Mexican city when perhaps 3,000 immigrants a day swam over to Brownsville with no opposition on either side, a curious pattern became evident. At some sort of signal from the Mexican immigration officers, a group of about 100-150 from the crowd would suddenly stand in unison and rush down the riverbank, past the immigration officers, and swim over to America.

It turns out that this pattern was far from happenstance. The Center for Immigration Studies asked several of the Mexican immigration officers what was going on and learned that President Joe Biden’s Department of Homeland Security has been coordinating these mass swims with Mexico’s immigration service, INM, at high levels on an encrypted Whatsapp channel.

The officers explained that their senior officers were in touch with U.S. Customs and Border Protection officials about how many immigrants were gathered and were prepared to cross the river at any given time.

“We’re letting them know that there’s a group of people ready to cross,” one officer explained.

The Americans on the other side would ask the Mexicans to hold back the migrants – not because such crossings are illegal and should be blocked and obstructed, but only until the Americans had finished processing the last batch into the country through Brownsville. Once the Americans felt they could take in more, they message the Mexicans that “they are ready to receive them.” Then, senior officials would radio the on-ground immigration officers, all of whom are equipped with radios.

Next, the officers signal to the waiting crowd to go forward and, once they figure enough are in the water, they cut off the rest and push and cajole them back into line until the Americans signal they’re ready again.

The Mexican officers said the Americans initiated this system in late April but could only guess at why – perhaps to better manage the processing of very high recent numbers of crossings. But the collaboration explains why Mexican immigration officers are stationed at the river at all, and raises many questions.

CBP did not immediately respond to telephoned and emailed messages for comment.

But the process, which has never been publicized, amounts to a “controlled-flow” system most often used, controversially, by Colombia, Panama, and Costa Rica, to facilitate mass illegal migration to the U.S. border rather than incur the expense and trouble of blocking it in those countries.

Controlled-flow by the Biden administration’s DHS with Mexico also constitutes a highly unusual U.S. policy – and likely a Felony Criminal Conspiracy to violate immigration laws – that demonstrates formal acquiescence to illegal immigration and an official willingness to accommodate mass illegal immigration rather than stopping, blocking, or deterring it, as required by law.

It remains unclear as the Title 42 expedited removal power comes to an end at midnight on 5/11, and is replaced by a new policy, if the controlled-flow scheme will continue working.

Numerous times in Matamoros, Observers witnessed migrants charge the Mexican immigration officers and pour into the river ahead of “schedule.”

Dozens of the migrants openly argued with the Mexican officers to let them through. But the officers argued back that they had to be patient, lest children or adults drown in uncontrolled crossings.

Mexico seemed to signal a willingness to use muscle if necessary to maintain the controlled-flow arrangement. Late Tuesday, as the crowd grew visibly restive, a squad of armed Mexican National Guard showed up and began patrolling the line.

HAL TURNER EDITORIAL OPINION

The actions by Department of Homeland Security described above seem to me to be a violation of Title 8, United States Code, §1324.

Below is that specific law:

§1324. Bringing in and harboring certain aliens



(a) Criminal penalties



(1)(A) Any person who-



(i) knowing that a person is an alien, brings to or attempts to bring to the United States in any manner whatsoever such person at a place other than a designated port of entry or place other than as designated by the Commissioner, regardless of whether such alien has received prior official authorization to come to, enter, or reside in the United States and regardless of any future official action which may be taken with respect to such alien;



(ii) knowing or in reckless disregard of the fact that an alien has come to, entered, or remains in the United States in violation of law, transports, or moves or attempts to transport or move such alien within the United States by means of transportation or otherwise, in furtherance of such violation of law;



(iii) knowing or in reckless disregard of the fact that an alien has come to, entered, or remains in the United States in violation of law, conceals, harbors, or shields from detection, or attempts to conceal, harbor, or shield from detection, such alien in any place, including any building or any means of transportation;



(iv) encourages or induces an alien to come to, enter, or reside in the United States, knowing or in reckless disregard of the fact that such coming to, entry, or residence is or will be in violation of law; or



(v)(I) engages in any conspiracy to commit any of the preceding acts, or



(II) aids or abets the commission of any of the preceding acts,




shall be punished as provided in subparagraph (B).



(B) A person who violates subparagraph (A) shall, for each alien in respect to whom such a violation occurs-



(i) in the case of a violation of subparagraph (A)(i) or (v)(I) or in the case of a violation of subparagraph (A)(ii), (iii), or (iv) in which the offense was done for the purpose of commercial advantage or private financial gain, be fined under title 18, imprisoned not more than 10 years, or both;



(ii) in the case of a violation of subparagraph (A)(ii), (iii), (iv), or (v)(II), be fined under title 18, imprisoned not more than 5 years, or both;



(iii) in the case of a violation of subparagraph (A)(i), (ii), (iii), (iv), or (v) during and in relation to which the person causes serious bodily injury (as defined in section 1365 of title 18) to, or places in jeopardy the life of, any person, be fined under title 18, imprisoned not more than 20 years, or both; and



(iv) in the case of a violation of subparagraph (A)(i), (ii), (iii), (iv), or (v) resulting in the death of any person, be punished by death or imprisoned for any term of years or for life, fined under title 18, or both.

Why is it that China may not need Western technology very much longer?

China needs western technology? As far as I can tell, the only thing that they can’t do themselves right now is make 7 nanometer chips. 14 nanometer chips are just fine for 99% of applications, and China can make those.

China’s universities are now top notch, and China is pumping out vastly more PhDs than the USA annually. 80% of Chinese people who received their PhDs in western universities return home, and that percentage is undoubtedly climbing as the west descends further into Sinophobic idiocy. China gets gray rhino risks and knew its chip supply chain was at risk from US interventionism, unlike the USA which completely missed that it stopped manufacturing chips and most of the most advanced ones were being built in Taiwan.

That’s an island 140 km off the mainland of China that everybody in the world, in Taiwan and in China agrees is part of China, but which we have been politely pretending is the government in exile of the mainland, ignoring the fact that the 24 million people in Taiwan have zero capacity to govern the 1.4 billion people of China. Taiwan has massive trade with China and millions of people have gone both ways over the past 13 years doing business, traveling and the like. They’ll sort out their squabble eventually, and almost certainly peacefully, especially if the USA stops rabble rousing on their doorstep.

Let’s turn this around.

Shipping containers leave China full and return empty

Where do you think most of the batteries in the world come from, either as a finished product from the world’s largest battery manufacturer, CATL, or with rare earths or lithium processed in China? When will the west stop needing China batteries and processed minerals, critical components in electrification, renewables and decarbonization?

Where do you think most of the solar panels in the world come from? When will the west stop needing Chinese solar panels as we fight climate change?

What country do you think is capable of manufacturing sufficient electric buses to enable bus fleets in the west to decarbonize? Do you think New Flyer, which peaked at about 6,500 buses in a year and has barely started making electric buses will be able to replace even California’s 100,000 buses in any reasonable timeframe? What about the country which has 600,000 electric buses on its roads, and multiple vendors who have all built massively more numbers of buses than any western OEM?

What country do you think is capable of building enough electric cars for that matter? Japan’s OEMs like Toyota, Mazda and Honda are barely making electric cars. Ford and GM still haven’t figured out how to make many of them. BMW, VW and Mercedes are barely off the starting line of electrification. Tesla is a new American brand, but it makes a lot more cars in its Chinese factories for Asian markets than it does in its western markets. BYD sells more plug-in cars than Tesla does, and it’s shipping them globally. China buys over 60% of all electric cars. The west needs Chinese electric cars if it wants to hit its targets, as western OEMs are resisting and stumbling.

What country do you think is capable of manufacturing a sufficient number of onshore and offshore wind turbines? The one that built more offshore wind in 2022 than the rest of the world’s combined construction for five years, aka China? The one that has built more onshore wind than the rest of the world combined for the past several years? The one that has a highly efficient and low-cost domestic supply chain and processes all the minerals required for wind turbines? Or maybe the higher cost western suppliers who have to buy all their processed minerals and many components from China at higher cost due to current protectionism?

China will be fine if the west’s actions like the US CHIPS act spread.

The west, on the other hand, doesn’t have the industrial capacity, the minerals processing capacity or the skilled and diligent workforce. The west has expensive domestic supply chains compared to China, whose purchasing power parity advantage is astounding. The west has to build millions of the things China has already built millions of to catch up to China’s experience curve advantage.

Ignore the western chauvinism in at least one of the other answers. Anyone who hasn’t been paying close attention to the reality in China has no clue about it, instead remembering things that were barely true 20 years ago and western media’s weird anti-Chinese themes and framing.

Star Trek Next Generation – Ancient Battle Cruiser

What is your take that Blinken asserted China must communicate with the US? Do you think it is prudent for China to insist that the US must behave & fullfill its promises before any contact can be initiated? Why is US so desperate to meet China?

Japan Releases Fully Functioning Female Robots

Hedge Fund Manager Says Gov’t May Restrict Bank Withdrawals – Tells public to Panic

Nation Hal Turner 11 May 2023

Hedge fund manager and macro economic expert Hugh Hendry issued a major warning on the US banking system and the US economy; telling people to “. . .panic.”

In a new interview on Bloomberg Markets, Hendry says mass panic and capital flight away from the US banking sector is entirely justified.

Hendry says a further decline in the M2 money supply, which in part tracks money in liquid checking accounts, could convince the US government to step in and prevent citizens from taking their capital out of the banking system.

“Sometimes it’s kind of relevant to panic. I would recommend you panic… You’ve seen the biggest waterfall decline in M2 right now. M2 is deposits, not loans. That’s the deposits fleeing the system and going into money market funds.

That could reach a crescendo where the Treasury and the Fed may have to come in and actually restrict your right as a US citizen to pull money out of the US banking sector.”

Hendry says capital flight from US banks is not solely about fears on whether the FDIC will insure deposits above $250,000, and a blanket guarantee on deposits would not solve the problem.

“There is capital flight, deposit flight from the banking sector seeking yield. I fear that, I don’t say this lightly, but in 1934 the Federal Reserve Act confiscated gold from US citizens.

We’re at the point where the Fed and Treasury officials I’m sure are having to consider a gate a lock on US bank deposits.”

When it comes to where Americans can place their capital amid the uncertainty, Hendry says his go-to is US Treasuries and potentially Bitcoin.

“It’s time to own the most reviled security in the universe, the ultra long Treasuries. I know you all think we’ve got an inflation problem. It was a supply shock, and a supply shock needs the manifestation of more and more bank printing of loans to propel it into the future. We’re getting the opposite. The ultra longs are trading two to three standard deviations below the ETF…

I’ve not got the bug, but Bitcoin is something I could conceive as an asset class that could trade three or four times higher in the next five years. There is no other asset class that I could make that determination.”

They fucked around and will find out…

He is making some very good points. Step by step.

These Stingless Bees Build One Of A Kind Spiraling Hives

While some of us might think otherwise, we don’t know that much about bees. If asked, we would probably describe a bee as a yellow and black pollinator who makes honey and has the ability to painfully sting once they feel threatened. But the truth is, there are around 20,000 species of bees and the common honeybee isn’t the only one. Bees can come in a variety of colors and sizes. Also, only a few of the species make honey.

More: Facebook h/t: boredpanda

If that’s not surprising enough, not every bee can sting and not all of them who do sting die after it. While we may be more familiar with the common honeybee, there are so many others most of us haven’t heard about. Such as Tragonula carbonaria, also known as Sugarbag bee. These bees are native to Australia and what sets them apart from the swarm is their unique spiral hives.

Sugarbag bees inhabit the tropical regions in the northern and eastern part of the country. Generally, these bees are black with white fur on their faces and sides and they measure less than one-sixth of an inch. What’s interesting about these tiny creatures is that they may seem defenseless because they don’t sting. However, once under attack, they bite and inject an irritating formic acid.

Sugarbag bees are quite good architects. They demonstrate their abilities by creating a one of a kind spiral hive. These pollinators build their hives in a mesmerizing clockwise spiral. However, it remains unclear why Sugarbag bees prefer to build them in a manner like that.

China-Afghanistan-Pakistan meeting increases Pakistan -Afganistan mutual trust

China-Afghanistan-Pakistan Foreign Ministers’ Dialogue, on May 6

China-Afghanistan-Pakistan Foreign Ministers’ Dialogue on May 6 signaled the resumption of trilateral cooperation mechanisms and helped increase mutual trust between Afghanistan and Pakistan, which have encountered border disputes over the past few years. Over the past few years, Pakistan and Afghanistan had severe conflicts and disputes over the borderlines, and the trilateral meeting itself was a rare opportunity to promote peace and talks.

Both Afghanistan and Pakistan are neighbors of China, sharing good political relations with China, and they are also aware of China’s role in not only mediating between Saudi Arabia and Iran but also on the Ukraine crisis, so they both have expectations for China.

The two countries are willing to work with China in tackling regional issues and enhancing communication and policy coordination, signaling their enhanced confidence in China’s diplomatic role. The three also made it clear to oppose interference in Afghanistan’s internal affairs, illegal unilateral sanctions against Afghanistan, and all acts that undermine regional peace and stability.

“Don’t Provoke the Borg!,” Q

New ferry links urban Guangzhou with HK

With the sound of a siren, the high-speed passenger ferry Haizhuhu, named after Haizhu Lake, left Pazhou Ferry Terminal for the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region on Thursday morning, marking the official opening of the new ferry terminal in the downtown area of Guangzhou, Guangdong province.

Haizhuhu, which carried 60 passengers, arrived at the China Hong Kong City terminal in Tsim Sha Tsui in about two hours, accelerating the connectivity among major cities in the Guangdong-Hong Kong-Macao Greater Bay Area, according to a statement released by Guangzhou Customs on Friday.

Located in Guangzhou’s busy Haizhu district, Pazhou Ferry Terminal of the Pearl River is the only cross-border water passenger transport port in the downtown area of the southern metropolis, and its operation will help boost the construction of a modern comprehensive transportation system in the GBA.

Located on the south bank of the Pearl River, Haizhu district, where the China Import and Export Fair complex is located, has become one of the major convention and exhibition centers in the country.

In addition to direct ferry routes to Hong Kong’s downtown area, Pazhou Ferry Terminal has also opened a ferry service to Hong Kong’s international airport.

The terminal plans to launch ferry services to the Macao Special Administrative Region, located at the western edge of the mouth of the Pearl River, to meet the demands in the following months, the statement said.

The operation of the ferry terminal will help fill gaps in the high-speed passenger ferry routes from Guangzhou’s downtown area to Hong Kong and Macao and it is sure to become another new transportation hub, it said.

According to customs statistics, the daily average number of passengers transiting through Pazhou Ferry Terminal reached more than 300 during the May Day holiday, with the peak on April 29, when more than 400 inbound and outbound passengers were recorded.

The customs department has handled 55 inbound and outbound ships and over 3,500 inbound and outbound passengers since the terminal’s trial operation began on April 14.

Tianzhou

main qimg b82907cf38edde45f6a4405be4041998

Here’s Why The World Hates America

Spring Has Come, Cats Are Flying Back

Spring has come and now cats are flying back home… and they don’t give a damn about birds’s rights.

You can’t Reason with Them.

China is the Borg.

Ukraine SitRep: Delayed Counteroffensive, Russian Defense Lines, Weapon Efficiency

Two weeks ago the Biden administration had recognized that the announced Ukrainian ‘counteroffensive’ will fail to make much progress.

The operation has still not started and Zelensky has moved its launch further into the future:

Speaking at his headquarters in Kyiv, President Zelensky described combat brigades, some of which were trained by Nato countries, as being “ready” but said the army still needed “some things”, including armoured vehicles that were “arriving in batches”.”With [what we already have] we can go forward, and, I think, be successful,” he said in an interview for public service broadcasters who are members of Eurovision News, like the BBC. “But we’d lose a lot of people. I think that’s unacceptable. So we need to wait. We still need a bit more time.”

Time will not prevent that any counteroffensive will lead to high casualty rates. In fact, waiting longer means more attacks on the troops in their current positions. Any detected agglomeration of forces or material is already coming under long range Russian missile fire.

As the counteroffensive is destined to fail the Biden administration is out to move the goal posts. In Foreign Affairs two of its MIC propagandists, Michael Kofman and Rob Lee, demand to prepare for a much longer war:

Policymakers, however, have placed undue emphasis on the upcoming offensive without providing sufficient consideration of what will come afterward and whether Ukraine is well positioned for the next phase. It is critical that Ukraine’s Western partners develop a long-term theory of victory for Ukraine, since even in the best-case scenario, this upcoming offensive is unlikely to end the conflict. Indeed, what follows this operation could be another period of indeterminate fighting and attrition, but with reduced ammunition deliveries to Ukraine. This is already a long war, and it is likely to become protracted. History is an imperfect guide, but it suggests wars that endure for more than a year are likely to go on for at least several more and are exceedingly difficult to end. A Western theory of success must therefore prevent a situation in which the war drags on, but where Western countries are unable to provide Ukraine with a decisive advantage.

The delusion is strong in that assessment. A ‘theory of victory’ or ‘success’ is just that – a theory. Ukraine does not have the personnel to sustain a longer war. Nor does the ‘west’ have any spare weapons that could give the Ukraine a ‘decisive advantage’.

Still the cue was picked up Ukraine’s foreign minister Dmitro Kuleba (machine translation):

If Ukraine does not succeed in its counteroffensive against the aggressor country Russia, it will prepare for the next one.This was stated by Foreign Minister Dmytro Kuleba in an interview with Bild published on May 10.

He urged “not to consider this counteroffensive as the last one” – “because we do not know what will come of it.”

Kuleba noted that if Ukraine succeeds in its counteroffensive against Russia in liberating its territories, “in the end you will say: “Yes, it was the last one,” but if not, then you need to prepare for the next counteroffensive.”

Kuleba is already asking for weapons for the next ‘counteroffensive’ to be launched after the currently announced one fails.

Dreizin published an alleged ‘battle plan’ for a Ukrainian ‘counteroffensive’ in the Zaporozhia front:

(1) Break through the Russian forward defense along the line Nesterianka-Novosyolovka (6km and 19km southeast of Orekhov, respectively) into the defense depth of Guards battalions in the Polozhsk-Orekhov sector, utilizing, in the first echelon, the 47th and 65th Separate Mechanized Brigades, 9th Army Corps (total of 2 tank and 7 infantry battalions—8300 men with up to 60 tanks, up to 200 other armored fighting vehicles, up to 110 field pieces and mortars, 12 MLRS, up to 100 motor rafts.) Breakthrough of the contact line will be in the order of the 65th which is already on the line, then the 47th. Neighboring units including the 128th Separate Mountain Assault Brigade will carry the task of harrying neighboring Russian units so as to prevent reinforcement of Russian forces at the main axis of advance.

(2) Subsequently, deploy the main forces. The main blow is to be from the vicinity of Orekhov, in the direction of Tokmak, ultimately towards Melitopol’. …

From the point of strategic value the chosen target is the right one. However, it is also the one where the Russian military has prepared its strongest defense lines.

Source: @Inkvisiit, Scribblemaps – biggerIn military books this is know as ‘echeloned defense’ with three lines of well prepared positions ten kilometer apart from each other. Each line consists of tank obstacles, mine belts, prepared anti-tank positions to monitor and counter potential breach attempts and well prepared artillery support from behind the next defense line.

biggerTo crack such a nut without air support and without significant artillery advantage is nearly impossible.

It is why I think that the Zaporozhia region may not be the real target of the counteroffensive. All the talk about it may well be a diversion. The least prepared front is in the area south of Kherson.

Source: @Inkvisiit, Scribblemaps – biggerBut to get there would require a difficult river crossing of the Dnieper which will also limit supply lines. This would be a high risk attempt which might gain some ground. But whatever would be won would soon be lost again as any river crossing would come under sustained artillery fire.

There may well be other obstacles for launching the announced ‘counteroffensive’. It is rumored that the commander of the Ukrainian army, Valerii Zaluzhnyi, was wounded or killed during a recent Russian missile strike in Dnipro. He has not been seen since and he did not take part in a recent NATO meeting where his expected presence had been announced.

Apropos NATO:

NEXTA @nexta_tv – 7:29 UTC · May 11, 2023U.S. Army Europe and Africa Command spokesman Martin O’Donnell said that #Ukraine received about 600 types of weapons for the counteroffensive – more than any one army in the world has.

What army can handle 600 different weapons systems with all the implied training, maintenance, spare part and ammunition supply issues? None can do that. But O’Donnell is proud of providing a zoo of weapons which are incompatible to each other.

The shells for the British L118 light gun, the French AMX 10 reconnaissance tanks, the German Leopard 1 tanks and the U.S./Lithuanian M101 Light Howitzer all have a nominal diameter of 105 mm. But they are all incompatible to each other. Just imagine the logistic screw ups that will inevitably happen when the Ukrainian front line troops will request additional 105mm ammunition supplies.

The UK has delivered the export version of the Storm Shadow cruise missiles to Ukraine. These have a reach of some 250 kilometer and can be fired from the ‘westernized’ Su-24 airplanes that Poland sent to the Ukraine.

They seem to be part of a new NATO talking point to excuse the inability to deliver more weapon:

The war in Ukraine will increasingly be a battle between large numbers of poorly trained Russian troops with outdated equipment and a smaller Ukrainian force with better Western weapons and training, NATO’s top military official said on Wednesday.

Admiral Rob Bauer, the chair of NATO’s military committee, noted Russia was now deploying significant numbers of T-54 tanks – an old model designed in the years after World War Two.

“But the problem is they still have a lot of T-54s. So … in terms of numbers, quantity, it is an issue,” Bauer told reporters after a meeting of the alliance’s national military chiefs at NATO headquarters in Brussels.

The T-54 are used by Russia as immobile anti-tank guns dug into the defense lines, not as mobile main battle tanks. Russia still has plenty of newer T-72 and T-90 models for that and no need to replace those.

The Storm Shadow may deliver some success – up to the day the Russian military has finds a way to prevent that. Like all previously announced wonder weapons it will also disappoint.

Just look at the much hyped HIMARS missiles. According to leaked Pentagon documents the Ukrainian military fires on average some 13 HIMARS missiles per day. Over the last two month the Russian clobber report listed an average of 6 HIMARS missiles per day as eliminated by Russian air defenses. The rest of the missiles get diverted by electronic warfare measures:

[I]n recent months, the systems have been rendered increasingly less effective by the Russians’ intensive blocking, five US, British and Ukrainian sources tell CNN, forcing US and Ukrainian officials to find ways to tweak the HIMARS’ software to counter the evolving Russian jamming efforts.“It is a constant cat-and-mouse game” of finding a countermeasure to the jamming, a Pentagon official said, only to then have the Russians counteract that countermeasure. And it is not clear how sustainable that game is in the long term.

The HIMARS system has thereby turned out to more or less useless. The idea that such ‘quality’ weapons can beat the greater Russian ‘quantity’ of equally good weapons is, like so many, simply nonsense.

Posted by b on May 11, 2023 at 16:55 UTC | Permalink

How California Destroyed its Middle Class (A Cautionary Tale)

https://youtu.be/0r0m4UCPKHw

Tornado atop Rocky Mountains in Montana!

Nation Hal Turner 11 May 2023

Ok, this is waaaay weird: Yesterday as thunderstorms came over the Rocky Mountains in Montana, a TORNADO formed atop the mountains!

This is probably one for the history books:

This Is What Life Is Like In Small Town Arkansas

Ribs in Orange and Chile Sauce (Costillitas en Naranja)

Ingredients

2 tablespoons lard or vegetable oil
4 pounds country-style spareribs, cut into individual ribs
2 medium white onions, cut lengthwise into 1/4 inch wide slivers
1 (1 pound) can whole peeled tomatoes, undrained
2 cloves garlic
1 to 2 tablespoons ground, seeded, dried ancho chiles
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
1/2 cup fresh orange juice
1/3 cup dry white wine
1/4 cup piloncillo or brown sugar
1 teaspoon shredded orange rind
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 to 2 tablespoons cider vinegar
Orange slices, cut into halves
Fresh cilantro sprigs

Instructions

Heat lard or oil in large Dutch oven over medium heat until hot. Add as many ribs as will fit in single layer without crowding. Cook, turning occasionally, until brown on all sides, 15 to 20 minutes; remove to plate.
Repeat with remaining ribs.
Remove and discard all but 2 tablespoons drippings from pan. Add onions; sauté over medium heat until soft, about 4 minutes.
Process tomatoes and garlic in blender container until smooth.
Add chiles, cinnamon and cloves to onions. Cook and stir over medium heat for 30 seconds.
Add tomato mixture; cook and stir for 5 minutes.
Add orange juice, wine, piloncillo, orange rind and salt to pan; heat over high heat to boiling. Add ribs; reduce heat to low. Simmer, covered, until ribs are tender, about 1 1/2 hours.
Remove ribs to serving plates.
Skim and discard fat from cooking sauce. Stir in vinegar; spoon sauce over ribs.
Serve, garnished with orange slices and cilantro.

Evidence US Planning WWIII Against both Russia and China

written by INTEL-DROP May 6, 2023

Submitted by Eric Zuesse

On May 3rd, U.S. Secretary of State Antony Blinken told C-Span in an interview, that there will be no objection by the U.S. Government if Ukraine’s Government attempts to or does assassinate Russia’s President, Vladimir Putin. He said: “These are decisions for Ukraine to make, how it’s going to defend itself, how it’s going to get its territory back, how it’s going to restore its territorial integrity, and its sovereignty.”

Also on May 3rd, Japan’s Nikkei Asia news service headlined “NATO to open Japan office” and reported that “NATO is planning to open a liaison office in Tokyo, Japan, the first of its kind in Asia.” The North Atlantic Treaty Organization aims now to become not only America’s anti-Russian military alliance but also America’s anti-Chinese military alliance, which will support the breakaway of China’s province of Taiwan (which since 1972 the U.S. Government has formally recognized Taiwan to be) from China, just as it refuses to support the breakaway of Crimea and three other provinces of Ukraine from Russia.

America and its NATO deny that they are either anti-Russian or anti-Chinese and insist that they instead seek merely regime-change in both countries so that both Russia and China will come to provide democracy and human rights like America’s Government does.

The U.S. Congress is now considering legislation that’s advertised as the “Ukraine Victory Resolution” but is formally titled H.Res.322 “on Ukrainian victory”, and which states that “it is the policy of the United States to see Ukraine victorious against the invasion and restored to its internationally recognized 1991 borders.” That would require the complete defeat of Russia in Ukraine. If it happens, then almost certainly Russia’s President Vladimir Putin would either resign or be overthrown and replaced by a leader that America’s Government will approve of. If it instead does not happen, then the U.S. Congress and President will already be obligated, by means of having passed this Resolution into law, to invade Russia in order to achieve by direct U.S. military force what Ukraine’s military had failed to achieve. That invasion of Russia by the U.S. and its allies would constitute World War Three, WW III.

The U.S. Government has not yet committed itself irrevocably to revoking its prior recognition that Taiwan is a part of China; but, if it finally does do that, then, of course, America and its allies will be at war against China, which would likewise be WW III.

There is also under consideration by the U.S. Congress something that is called “The Restrict Act” which would institute martial law over all news-media in the U.S. in preparation for a formal and all-encompassing declaration of martial law in America. By means of that total censorship, the U.S. public will know, regarding both Russia and China (and anything else) only what the U.S. Government will allow Americans to know; and this would enormously facilitate Congress to declare publicly that America is at war against both Russia and China. So: the legislative preparations in order to do this ‘Constitutionally’ (except for violating only the First Amendment) will already have been put into place.

NOTE: This news-report is being simultaneously distributed, and submitted for ublication free of any copyright, to all U.S. and UK news-media.

—————

Investigative historian Eric Zuesse’s new book, AMERICA’S EMPIRE OF EVIL: Hitler’s Posthumous Victory, and Why the Social Sciences Need to Change, is about how America took over the world after World War II in order to enslave it to U.S.-and-allied billionaires. Their cartels extract the world’s wealth by control of not only their ‘news’ media but the social ‘sciences’ — duping the public.

Pro Russian Blogger Arrested by SBU

I got a you-tube strike for filming the Covid lock-down in Zhuhai. It was listed as “medical misinformation”. LOL!

This is about Gonzalo Lira.

We have not even started yet. Do not fuck with us. This is not a game.

Putin’s speech is amazing.

More about that later.

Watch the world unravel.

The spy balloon saga

Thought you guys might enjoy this. Worth watching til the end. This comedian sums up what’s been going on, in short.

The crowd response is really good.

The BIG news…

Difficult to convey as crystal clear on the diplomatic level the present Sino-Russian ties when Vladimir Putin (President) was meeting with Li Shangfu (Minister of Defense) on a Sunday, and not on any Sunday but on the Easter Sunday. 

Minister of Defense Li Shangfu : The present Sino-Russian partnership goes beyond what existed with the Cold War alliance. 

Apparently simple common sense, standing unwaveringly together is the best way to deter an agressor, especially a bully suffering from a leviathanesque hubris and for a long time... 

But maybe it's not simply common sense in the usual meaning of the expression, like 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend' and that kind of stuff having its own value of course but that is far to be enough to sustain a close and long-lasting partnership when the stakes are so high. 

It is most carefully cultivated friendship and true mutual appreciation & respect, knowing perfectly what each one can give to the other in the common endeavor and the respective willingness of each one to share one's own assets with the other. 

It's the common awareness at the highest level being at a major nexus of Universal History and the roles China and Russia have been assigned by Destiny and more importantly, the awareness of such roles by that actors themselves and their willingness to go forward endowed with such roles. 

In the intricate mind games of interpersonal relations and international relations, it's quite easy to fall into the inevitable divisive traps if the ties are not set at the highest epistemological levels. 

The most clumsy & most overbearing behavior coming from the KFC-AZAEL (Kakistocratic Feudal Conglomerate of the Anglo-Zio-American EstabLishment) triggered the Sino-Russian rapprochement but the present Sino-Russian relation is defined by what the Chinese are and by what the Russians are, centered on what they represent and are incarnating with awareness and by what they can achieve together. 

It's centered on China & Russia, it's not centered on the other, the KFC-AZAEL. Do Svidaniya ! Quan 

Link

The US Just Crossed a RED LINE in Taiwan! Watch Out!

What is the process by which the Chinese Communist Party gathers public opinion and implements policy?

First, there are 8 other political parties that serve in government. They represent many constituents.

Second, there are locally elected officials at the village level who provide feedback.

Third, the government monitors social media to get the pulse of the nation.

Fourth, regularly convened congresses such as the Two Sessions are attended by thousands of delegates from across the country.

Fifth, when there are public protests against government policies, the government pays attention and responds appropriately.

China’s democracy, which does not follow the Western model, is very effective. So much so that it garners wide support…

Latana’s Democracy Perception Index 2022

shows that 83 percent of Chinese believe their country is democratic making it the most democratic nation on earth!

Edelman Trust Barometer 2023

shows that 89 percent of Chinese trust their government.

Ash Center at Harvard Kennedy School in 2020 reported

that 95.5 percent of Chinese are satisfied with their government.

A 2019 UC San Diego study

shows a high level of satisfaction among the Chinese across a range of aspects up to 95 percent.

A November 2019 Ipsos survey

shows that 95 percent of Chinese believe their country is on the right track.

The Global Happiness 2023

survey from Ipsos shows that China is the happiest country in the world at 91 percent.

The statistical evidence is overwhelming.

Western countries, especially the United States, can only dream of having such numbers.

BREAKING: America’s Shocking Plan For Russia Just Crumbled

Gaeng Khio Wan Kai
(Green Chicken Curry)

The Thai name of this dish literally means “sweet and sour chicken curry.” There is a very similar recipe for a red curry (Gaeng phed kai).

As always, the quantities are up to you.

Ingredients

Curry Paste

15 to 30 fresh phrik ki nu (birdseye chiles)
10 cloves garlic, chopped
1 teaspoon chopped galangal
1 tablespoon thinly sliced lemon grass
1/2 teaspoon zest of “kaffir” lime (ordinary lime will do)
1 teaspoon chopped coriander (cilantro) root
5 white pepper corns
1 tablespoon roasted coriander seeds
1 teaspoon roasted cumin seeds
Dash of fish sauce
1 to 2 teaspoons fermented shrimp paste (kapi)

The Curry

6 ounces chicken (in smallish bite-size pieces)
1/2 cup coconut milk
4 ounces Thai eggplant (these are small round eggplants)
2 kaffir lime leaves (or a little lime zest)
1 tablespoon sweet basil
2 tablespoons fish sauce
1 tablespoon palm sugar
Oil for cooking
1 to 3 tablespoons green curry paste

Instructions

Curry Paste: Mix in a mortar and pestle or food processor. Will keep about a month in a fridge. You can buy commercial green curry paste (Mae Ploy brand is quite good), but as far as I am aware all commercial pastes contain MSG and preservatives.
The Curry: Cut the chicken up, then briefly fry the curry paste until fragrant, reduce the heat, add the coconut milk slowly, and continue to stir whilst cooking until a thin film of oil appears on the surface.
Add the chicken and other ingredients except the eggplant. Bring to a boil and cook until the chicken begins to change color. Adjust the flavors to suit yourself. When it is at a boil again add the eggplant and continue until the chicken is cooked through.
Serve over rice, or in a serving bowl with other Thai dishes.

Where U.S Weapons For Ukraine Are REALLY Going! w/ Sy Hersh

Escobar: Mr. Lavrov’s New York Shuffle

Authored by Pepe Escobar,

Foreign Minister Sergey Lavrov’s New York moment performed the diplomatic equivalent of bringing the house down…

Now picture a true gentleman, the foremost diplomat of these troubled times, in total command of the facts and endowed with a delightful sense of humor, taking a perilous walk on the wild side, to quote iconic Lou Reed, and emerging unscathed.

In fact, Foreign Minister Sergey Lavrov’s New York moment – as in his two interventions before the UN Security Council on April 24 and 25 – performed the diplomatic equivalent of bringing the house down. At least the sections of the house inhabited by the Global South – or Global Majority.

April 24, during the 9308th meeting of the UNSC under the agenda “Maintenance of international peace and security, effective multilateralism through the protection of the principles of the UN Charter”, was particularly relevant.

Lavrov stressed the symbolism of the meeting happening on the International Day of Multilateralism and Diplomacy for Peace, deemed quite significant by a 2018 UN General Assembly resolution.

In his preamble, Lavrov noted how “in two weeks, we will celebrate the 78th anniversary of Victory in World War II. The defeat of Nazi Germany, to which my country made a decisive contribution with the support of the Allies, laid the foundation for the post-war international order. The UN Charter has become its legal basis, and our organization itself, embodying true multilateralism, has acquired a central, coordinating role in world politics.”

Well, not really. And that brings us to Lavrov’s true walk on the wild side, pinpointing how multilateralism has been trampled. Way beyond torrents of denigration by the usual suspects, and their attempt to submit him to an ice cold shower in New York, or even confine him to the – geopolitical – freezer, he prevailed. Let’s take a walk with him across the current wasteland. Mr. Lavrov, you’re the star of the show.

Are we on the brink of WW111?

Our way or the highway

That “rules-based order”:

“The UN-centric system is going through a deep crisis. The root cause was the desire of some members of our organization to replace international law and the UN Charter with a kind of ‘rules-based order.’ No one saw these ‘rules’, they were not the subject of transparent international negotiations. They are invented and used to counteract the natural processes of the formation of new independent centers of development, which are an objective manifestation of multilateralism. They are trying to contain them with illegitimate unilateral measures, including cutting off access to modern technologies and financial services, ousting them from supply chains, confiscating property, destroying competitors’ critical infrastructure, and manipulating universally agreed norms and procedures. As a result, the fragmentation of world trade, the collapse of market mechanisms, the paralysis of the WTO and the final, already without disguise, transformation of the IMF into a tool for achieving the goals of the United States and its allies, including military goals.”

Destroying globalization:

“In a desperate attempt to assert its dominance by punishing the disobedient, the United States went on to destroy globalization, which for many years was extolled as the highest good of all mankind, serving the multilateral system of the world economy. Washington and the rest of the West, which has submitted to it, use their ‘rules’ whenever it is necessary to justify illegitimate steps against those who build their policies in accordance with international law and refuse to follow the selfish interests of the ‘golden billion’. Dissenters are blacklisted according to the principle: ‘Whoever is not with us is against us.’ It has long been ‘inconvenient’ for our Western colleagues to negotiate in universal formats, such as the UN. For the ideological justification of the policy of undermining multilateralism, the theme of the unity of ‘democracies’ as opposed to ‘autocracies’ has been introduced. In addition to the ‘summits for democracy’, whose composition is determined by the self-proclaimed Hegemon, other ‘clubs of the elite’ are being created, bypassing the UN.”

“Garden” vs. “Jungle:

“Let’s call a spade a spade: no one allowed the Western minority to speak on behalf of all mankind. It is necessary to behave decently and respect all members of the international community. By imposing a ‘rules-based order’, its authors arrogantly reject a key principle of the UN Charter – the sovereign equality of states. The quintessence of the ‘exclusivity complex’ was the ‘proud’ statement by the head of EU diplomacy, Josep Borrell, that ‘Europe is the Garden of Eden, and the rest of the world is a jungle.’ I will also quote the NATO-EU Joint Statement of January 10 of this year, which states: the ‘United West’ will use all the economic, financial, political and – I pay special attention – military tools available to NATO and the EU to ensure the interests of ‘our one billion’.

NATO’s “line of defense”:

“At last year’s summit in Madrid, NATO, which has always convinced everyone of its ‘peacefulness’ and the exclusively defensive nature of its military programs, declared ‘global responsibility’, the ‘indivisibility of security’ in the Euro-Atlantic region and in the so-called Indo-Pacific region. That is, now the ‘line of defense’ of NATO (as a defensive Alliance) is shifting to the western shores of the Pacific Ocean. Bloc approaches that undermine ASEAN-centric multilateralism are manifested in the creation of the AUKUS military alliance, into which Tokyo, Seoul and a number of ASEAN countries are being pushed. Under the auspices of the United States, mechanisms are being created to intervene in maritime security issues with an eye to ensuring the unilateral interests of the West in the South China Sea. Josep Borrell, whom I have already quoted today, promised yesterday to send EU naval forces to the region. It is not hidden that the goal of the ‘Indo-Pacific strategies’ is to contain the PRC and isolate Russia. This is how our Western colleagues understand ‘effective multilateralism’ in the Asia-Pacific region.”

“Promoting democracy”:

“Since World War II, there have been dozens of criminal military adventures by Washington – without any attempt to gain multilateral legitimacy. Why, if there are ‘rules’ unknown to anyone? The shameful invasion of Iraq by the U.S.-led coalition in 2003 was carried out in violation of the UN Charter, as was the aggression against Libya in 2011. A gross violation of the UN Charter was U.S. interference in the affairs of post-Soviet states. ‘Color revolutions’ were organized in Georgia and Kyrgyzstan, a bloody coup d’état in Kiev in February 2014, and attempts to seize power by force in Belarus in 2020. The Anglo-Saxons, who confidently led the entire West, not only justify all these criminal adventures, but also flaunt their line of ‘promoting democracy.’ But again, according to its ‘rules’: Kosovo – to recognize independence without any referendum; Crimea – not to recognize (although there was a referendum); Do not touch the Falklands/Malvinas, because there was a referendum there (as British Foreign Secretary John Cleverly said recently). That’s funny.”

The geopolitics of the “Ukrainian issue”:

“Today, everyone understands, although not everyone talks about it out loud: this is not about Ukraine at all, but about how international relations will be built further: through the formation of a stable consensus based on a balance of interests – or through the aggressive and explosive promotion of hegemony. It is impossible to consider the ‘Ukrainian issue’ in isolation from the geopolitical context. Multilateralism presupposes respect for the UN Charter in all the interconnectedness of its principles, as mentioned above. Russia has clearly explained the tasks that it pursues as part of a special military operation: to eliminate the threats to our security created by NATO members directly on our borders and to protect people who have been deprived of their rights proclaimed by multilateral conventions, to protect them from the direct threats of extermination and expulsion from the territories where their ancestors lived for centuries publicly declared by the Kyiv regime. We honestly said what and for whom we are fighting.”

The Global South fights back:

“True multilateralism at the present stage requires the UN to adapt to the objective trends in the formation of a multipolar architecture of international relations. The reform of the Security Council must be accelerated by increasing the representation of countries in Asia, Africa and Latin America. The West’s current outrageous overrepresentation in this main UN organ undermines multilateralism. At the initiative of Venezuela, the Group of Friends in Defense of the UN Charter was created. We call on all States that respect the Charter to join it. It is also important to use the constructive potential of BRICS and the SCO. The EAEU, the CIS, and the CSTO are ready to contribute. We are in favor of using the initiative of the positions of regional associations of the countries of the Global South. The Group of Twenty can also play a useful role in maintaining multilateralism if Western participants stop distracting their colleagues from topical issues on its agenda in the hope of muffling the topic of their responsibility for the accumulation of crisis phenomena in the world economy.”

So who’s breaking the law?

After this concise tour de force, it would be immensely enlightening to track what Lavrov has been telling the world since February 2022, in consistent, excruciating detail: the serial international law breakers, in contemporary history, have been the Hegemon and its sorry gaggle of vassals. Not Russia.

So Moscow was completely within its rights to launch the SMO – as it had no alternative. And that operation will be brought to its logical conclusion – inbuilt in the new Russian Foreign Policy Concept published on March 31st. Whatever may be unleashed by the Collective West will be simply ignored by Russia, as it regards the entire combo to be acting outside the norms of international law laid down in the UN Charter.

Ex-US Army Psyops Expert: Fox News Fired Carlson To Maintain “Semi Lobotomized Quasi Retarded Population”

Authored by Paul Joseph Watson via Summit News,

A former US Army psychological warfare officer says that Tucker Carlson was fired by Fox News because of the regime’s agenda to maintain an “uninformed semi lobotomized quasi retarded population.”

The remarks were made by US counter-terror expert Scott Bennett.

Carlson and Fox News “parted ways” on Monday with speculation still raging as to the specific reason why the network canned its highest rated and most popular host.

According to Bennett, Carlson posed too much of a threat to institutional power because he turned Americans into proper “researchers and thinkers”.

Carlson offered an “intellectualism, truthfulness, and an analytical depth that no other news personality has ever done in the history of the United States as far back as I can remember,” said Bennett.

Tucker needed to be “silenced” because he represented too big a threat to the “powers and principalities, institutions and agendas that seek an unenlightened uninformed semi lobotomized quasi retarded population that do not question, do not research, do not analyze but simply digest and follow instructions,” according to Bennett.

“Tucker Carlson also exposed the fraud and money laundering racketeering crimes of FTX and the Democrat Party in Ukraine involving the United States government. He exposed the US biochemical labs in Ukraine and their connection to the Democrat Party, President Barack Obama, Vice President Biden, Hillary Clinton, George Soros, Bill Gates, and other US government agencies and pharmaceutical companies,” Bennett told Sputnik.

The ex-host’s anti-regime rhetoric “could no longer be tolerated by the corrupt American media and political establishment,” said Bennett, adding that his exit signals “the death of American media”.

The former US army psyops officer suggested that Senator Chuck Schumer had threatened to utilize the CIA and the FBI to deploy secret government operations against Tucker to get him off air unless he was fired.

Schumer previously called for Carlson to be taken off air after he broadcast footage showing the January 6 ‘riot’ leaders were actually allowed into the Capitol and chaperoned around by authorities.

As we highlighted earlier, one of the reasons behind Tucker’s dismissal is a lawsuit fired by former show producer Abby Grossberg, who claims she was bullied and subjected to sexist and anti-semitic harassment.

However, Grossberg’s own lawyer revealed that she has never even met Carlson.

Tatiana Obrenovic

April 17, 2023

This article is based on the Sputnik interview with Dušan Kovačević, a renowned Serbian dramatist, film director, screenwriter, author and academic.

Sputnik: Dusan, our previous interview ended with the statement that more monkeys entered into ‘a taaaank’. It appears that your admonitions have come true. Let me ask you at the beginning of this interview how close to disaster are we indeed?

DK: The fear of the war in Ukraine turning into the Third World War, God forbid, is so present everywhere that anybody in their right mind feels that it is on the brink of a huge catastrophe. Particularly now after the official visit of Xi Jinping to Russia and after their tacit agreement to create a joint defense in case anything happens, that tension is growing particularly with the information that munitions with depleted uranium will be delivered to Ukraine. We have gone through that in Serbia and many warn of the fact that in some places where these weapons were deployed the cancer deaths have been on the rise by 1000 %, not 100 % but 1000%. So, the shipping of ever bigger and more destructive weapons into Ukraine, as Dmitri Medvedev said this morning is getting nearer a nuclear war. People keep talking about it and warning of its threats. However, Ukraine has turned into a war zone and a war polygon to try and test many different weapons. People are scared in principle and this war has caused this cataclysm: economic fear and then these demonstrations (in Europe) now. Nobody wants to admit it that it is directly related but they talk and make up all sorts of reasons but in fact, that is it: when the energy resources become more costly which have been primarily supplied from Russia, there is now a chain of new price increases and thus the protests all around Europe and the world.

Sputnik: It could be said that depleted uranium is the weapon against the Orthodox Christians.

DK: It could be called many different things but I would reduce it to one thing: sickly proposal. Whether it is exactly on that territory with the majority of Orthodox Christian believers, yes there is enough reason to believe that, due to one fact which we went through in the 90s. My sentiment is in the case of the war which occurred on the territory of the Former Yugoslavia and this war in Ukraine. These are unfinished conflicts of the Second World War. You know, there is an issue I talked about a long time ago and I can tell it again. You know when you have a wound, and the wound is the Second World War and Nazism. That is a most awful wound in the body of the world, and not only Europe. And you don`t clean the wound completely (medically) but you only apply a bandage on it, the way it was done after the First and the Second World War, that is why that wound gets infected and it has to be amputated. And that story of Nazism has never been completely defined for what it is. There has been no law on genocide and it was introduced at a later stage. But they managed to wriggle out; and then there came a ban on arms for one hundred years, and then that was canceled; And Germany which is remembered for its evil doing, among others, in the region of Mačva, Serbia, where I was born which suffered most horribly by Germany in between the two world wars Mačva was almost burned down to the ground out of hatred and revenge by the Nazis. In Šabac in 1914 and 1915 there was not one single house left unscathed. Everything was demolished and the atrocities which were committed entered the medical annals for their beastliness. So I myself am painfully aware of what Nazism means.

I first encountered the phenomenon of Nazism when I was a child when I started primary school, one beautiful day in September, my teacher Natalja Ikodinovic, whom I still clearly remember unlike many others the names of whose I forgot later, she came to school to teach in a blouse with short sleeves and I saw a number tattooed on her arm at which I felt appalled because I did not know anything about these figures on her arm. I asked my parents why my teacher had numbers on her arm, which I would normally see on problematic people (i.e. ex cons, tough guys): tattoos in general.

My parents told me that it was a number from concentration camps but they did not want to explain any further. When I grew up, I found out she was in Dachau for four years. I still remember that image of the number on her arm as shocking as something I never saw before and then another relative of mine who also was in a concentration camp said that a person who raises their arm in a Heil Hitler, Nazi salute should have his or her arm cut '. Why? Because they were forced to raise their arm in a Nazi salute in the concentration camp. He told me that he seriously thought of cutting his arm to not have to salute to the Nazi commander in this way. These horrors which I portrayed in Battle of Cer, I World War, Maratonci, Bombing of Belgrade in Ko to tamo peva (Who is singin' over there), and Underground, my movies and TV series and all the atrocities which is then again related to the movie Prica o Vasem ocu. Some scenes with the animals in the Underground were shot in the Belgrade Zoo and Vuk Bojovic, the then Director of the Belgrade Zoo helped us immensely to adapt the space for a month; we were shooting some scenes in one part underneath Kalemegdan Fortress but the animals in the movie were from the Zoo.

Vuk Bojovic told me about the horrors when a bomb struck a dark corridor where people from Dorcol came to hide and all of them died sadly (in 1941). So this same history is now re-emerging back and when I hear Germany is being asked if they should send weapons to Ukraine and they cheer for Ukraine and then some people who pretend to be 'very important and smart' seem to frivolously express their views, then I keep wondering how come they are even allowed to carry weapons? I would not allow the Germans to carry a slingshot in their hands', let alone firearms. They would have to, by all standards of humanity, be disarmed and not even be allowed for a century to use knives when they have lunch. However, in all levels of social communication, we are now talking about the war and we are now talking about the fact that they voted in Germany that young people should not choose their gender of preference until the age of 18. So, one very serious mental disorder has taken over Europe and the world.

Sputnik: Is EU driving the bus with blindfolds on? And who is Misko (the young and stubborn blindfolded bus driver in the movie) in the distribution of roles in the political arena today?

DK: It takes all sorts. They come and go. From one year to another, from one period to another. They simply pretend everything is all right but in all that narrative especially now since the war in Ukraine began that amount of aggressiveness and threats is brought to an absurd level. The top of that absurdity is the denunciation and threat that Putin will by some strange miracle (though I am not sure how) would be caught and brought before the ICC, which by the way nobody respects.

Sputnik: What is your comment on this piece of news? Should it be viewed as a tragedy, comedy or a TV drama?

DK: I view that as if it were an episode from Alo Alo TV series. This somehow looks like that: a game show. It is so frivolous, cynical and ludicrous. Finally, that threat against Vladimir Putin only raises the tension and the level among the Russians to understand that they are up against the people who are seriously problematic.

Sputnik: Which world characters nowadays would you compare your characters Marko and Crni from your movie Underground?

DK: Nowadays, when you think about it, there are many of them, today the manipulation of one group of people who keep the others under delusion in the proverbial underground (a metaphorical basement in the film itself) is to me rather close to U.S. politics. I am not talking about the U.S. population in general where each week there is either a domestic violence crime or something similarly brutal. I have listened to the news even this morning and some children were murdered and then some people were killed and then a suicide but what is so strange is that the delegates from the White House keep threatening Russia and China (regardless of their own internal national problems), which are nuclear powers with one third of the whole population in the world and which possess the weapons which nobody even knows what they have. The most highly advanced weapons are not on display on the fairground, surely. It is hidden away from the public gaze.

And they dare threaten Russia and China after having fled from Afghanistan when the Taliban stormed there in beach flip flops. The U.S. even abandoned their allies there and left them to suffer and die. This is absolutely absurd, abstract and unreal. On the other hand the tensions grow because of the nuclear arms which about ten countries have at this point. The story of North Korea is illustrative enough. If North Korea did not have nuclear weapons, Kim Jong-un would be most brutally executed in the same way Gadafi was and many other world leaders. But they are afraid of him because they possess extremely powerful and precise weapons and Kim Jong-un is not afraid of anybody either.

The world is going step by step towards the brink of abyss. I am not sure if there will be anybody in their right mind to stop it and invite everybody to gather at the round table to discuss and negotiate. Each war regardless and they normally last for four years (it has been calculated by the military tactics experts why the war normally lasts for four years: the economy can withstand the pressure, the population can, the number of casualties can) after that they have to sit at the table and negotiate with ten, twenty or like in the first and second world wars with 50 million deaths at hand. Generally we are not in a good place in the whole world.

Sputnik: Your movie Maratonci trce pocasni krug (i.e. the Marathon runners are running an honorable race) has been a cult movie for fifty years now and it seems that it has no intention of stopping being shown and gaining ever more popularity. And now to draw this interview to a close, who do you think will win in this war?

DK: The polarization of the world is ongoing and we are witnessing it but it is not abundantly clear whether we shall experience a definite division but we also can see the fact that the new blocs and the new spheres of interest are in the making. The world will never be the way it used to be. The world will split. Russia and China will go in one direction together for sure. The EU, or at least what the names are of those countries there, will take the other direction, provided that they do not disintegrate by themselves because of the protests and strikes and serious turmoil they have on their own personal national levels. The USA will get isolated at some point because nobody will listen to the U.S. any more as is already the case, and another powerful bloc will emerge: so called the Third World countries – because of the economy and their huge populations. We have to be aware of the fact that the most densely populated country is India with 1 billion 400 million people plus Pakistan with 1 billion 600 000 million. They are becoming not only a military, heavily populated power but economically powerful too. We are yet to see what will happen in the future.

FLASH: CHINA BANS IMPORTS/EXPORTS INVOLVING RAYTHEON AND LOCKHEED – CRIPPLES U.S. DEFENSE INDUSTRY!

World Hal Turner 18 April 2023

FLASH TRAFFIC: CHINA’S COMMERCE MINISTRY HAS BANNED SENIOR EXECS OF RAYTHEON MISSILES & DEFENSE, AND LOCKHEED MARTIN, FROM ENTERING, WORKING, STAYING, AND RESIDING IN CHINA.

CHINA WILL NOW ENFORCE ITS FEB 16 BAN ON CHINESE ENTERPRISES FROM CONDUCTING IMPORT & EXPORT ACTIVITIES WITH ABOVE U.S. COMPANIES.

This is said to include Microchips from “Taiwan, China.”

Of course, the U.S. considers Taiwan to be “independent” but yet adopted the “one China policy.”

If Raytheon and Lockheed-Martin cannot engage in Imports/Exports to or from China, and if the ban on Microchips is enforced, the two most major players in U.S. National Defense manufacturing are immediately crippled.

In addition, the U.S. weapons SALES to Taiwan, will not be able to take place because the missiles and such that Taiwan is trying to buy, cannot now be shipped to Taiwan.

Put simply, China just put a total halt to US defense sales to Taiwan, and crippled the US Defense manufacturing industry by cutting off microchips.

Raytheon and Lockheed Martin face serious risk if their rare-earth supplies are also affected by the sanctions, according to Wu Chenhui, an independent industry analyst who follows the rare-earth industry.

Wu told the Global Times that Lockheed Martin, now on the banned entity list, may have to source its rare-earth supply, especially that of heavy rare-earth elements, from elsewhere.

Given China’s dominant position in global rare-earth supply, substitutes may not be found in time. This would mean production of the company’s F35 jet and many other high-tech weapon systems may face a temporary slowdown or suspension.

If China decides to expand the range of its ban to components produced by other countries that contain Chinese-made rare-earth elements, the depth and scope of the new bans will be deeper and wider, Wu noted.

The Double Standards Of Our Society Revealed In 47 Comics

While many of our societies take pride in the accomplishments made in the field of equal treatment for everybody, there is still a lot of work to be done. And who better can reveal these absurd injustices than the illustrators, who are always on a lookout for those funny and sometimes painfully real contrasts?

Below you’ll find a list of the most striking examples of double standards in illustrations, highlighting not only the problem but also the stiffness of our minds when it comes to recognizing it in our own lives.

What situation from your own experience do these remind you of? Let talk in the comments.

h/t: boredpanda, demilked

China Brings Peace To Yemen, Syria And … Palestine?

Peace is breaking out in the Middle East and the U.S. is pushed aside by more friendly actors.

On March 10 the world was surprised with a China mediated deal that restored ties between Saudi Arabia and Iran:

There are winners and losers in this.The winners are:

Iran, which will now be even more able to break through the sanctions wall the U.S. has put up around it.

Saudi Arabia, which now will likely be able to end its disastrous and costly war on Yemen.

China, for outplaying the U.S. State Department by achieving this.

Iraq, Syria, Yemen as they will become more peaceful as the two middle powers influencing policies on their grounds end their rivalry.

The losers are:

Israel, because the chances for its attempts to get the U.S. into a war with Iran are now diminished. Its hoped for coalition with the Saudis will not come into being.

The U.S. for having been outplayed on its traditional ‘home grounds’ in the Middle East.

Anti-Iran hawks everywhere.

The Emirates for losing at least some of the sanction busting trade with Iran to Saudi Arabia.

…
Reviving relations between Saudi Arabia and Iran will make a lot of new things possible.That Iran and Saudi Arabia accepted China’s mediation is a recognition of Beijing’s new standing in world policies. That alone is enough reason for the White House to hate the deal.

I predicted that the U.S. and Israel would do their best to sabotage the deal or at least make its implementation difficult.

The U.S. sent CIA director Bill Burns to warn the Saudis off. However the deal has held so far and the Saudis are repairing their relations with countries against which they previously waged wars. Yesterday a senior Saudi official visited Sanaa and shook hands with Yemeni Houthi officials:

Saudi Arabia’s military intervention against the Shiite Houthis began in 2015. Bolstered by extensive American military and intelligence support, it came to include 25,000 air raids, according to a count by the Yemen Data Project. The years of fighting created one of the world’s worst humanitarian crises and resulted in the deaths of more than 377,000 Yemenis by the end of 2021 from both war and hunger, the United Nations calculates.The Houthis have made Saudi Arabia and its coalition allies pay a high price for their failed bid to return to the capital the internationally recognized government after it was ousted by the Houthis. They have launched more than 1,000 missiles and 350 drones into Saudi territory, increasingly deeply since 2019, prompting Riyadh to search for a way out of its military quagmire.

The accelerated moves follow just weeks after a high-profile rapprochement brokered last month by China between rivals Saudi Arabia and Iran – both of which turned Yemen’s civil war into a proxy battleground to expand their regional influence.

Over the last week the Saudis and Houthi sides released prisoners of war. The U.S. has done its best to sabotage the deal:

In the wake of the China-backed détente, the Saudis have largely been willing to abandon their proxies in the interest of ending what has been a draining war. The U.S. responded with alarm, rushing diplomats to the region to insist that pressure continue being applied to the Houthi government in the hope of undermining the deal in the works. [Tim Lenderking, the U.S. envoy for Yemen,] rushed to Riyadh on April 11, as news broke of a peace deal, to remind Saudi leaders of the U.S. desire that they continue to back their proxies in the war.

Instead, the ceasefire talks appear to have become possible because of an agreement in principle that Saudi Arabia would abandon its puppet government, back down from the blockade, and — as the Houthis hoped — use its vast oil wealth to pay Yemeni civil servants.

A similar rapprochement is happening between Saudi Arabia and Syria. On April 12 the Syrian Foreign Minister Faisal Mekdad visited Saudi Arabia:

The visit is the first by a Syrian foreign minister to Saudi Arabia since 2011, when the war in Syria began. Saudi Arabia supported the Syrian opposition, but ties have thawed in recent months.Syria’s President Bashar al-Assad has largely defeated the opposition with Russian and Iranian backing.

Over the past few months, there has been increasing engagement with al-Assad, who has been isolated since the start of the Syrian war.

Al-Assad has visited the UAE and Oman this year, and last month Saudi Arabia said it has started talks with Damascus about resuming consular services.

Meanwhile, Saudi Arabia will host a meeting of regional foreign ministers on Friday to discuss the return of Syria to the Arab League.

The Arab League re-entry will not happen for some time as Qatar, which supported the Muslim Brotherhood rebels against Syria, continues to be hostile to it.

The Saudis will never the less continue their plan. Today the Saudi Foreign Minister Faisal bin Farhan arrived in Damascus for a meeting with President Bashar al-Assad:

Saudi Arabia severed ties with Assad’s government in 2012 and Riyadh had long openly championed Assad’s ouster, backing Syrian rebels in earlier stages of the war.

Several other Arab countries also cut ties with Syria as some powers bet on Assad’s demise.

But regional capitals have gradually been warming to Assad as he has clawed back most of the territory lost to rivals, with crucial backing from Russia and Iran.

As with Yemen the U.S. does not like this move. It will continue its effort to isolate Syria and its government. It is no by chance that today, Just as the Saudi foreign minister visits Damascus, the U.S. is revealing a looming indictment of high ranking Syrian officials:

The inquiry, which has not been previously reported, aims to bring to account top Syrian officials considered key architects of a ruthless system of detention and torture that has flourished under President Bashar al-Assad: Jamil Hassan, the head of the Air Force Intelligence Directorate when Ms. Shweikani disappeared, and Ali Mamlouk, then the head of Syria’s National Security Bureau intelligence service.A federal indictment accusing the men of committing war crimes would be the first time that the United States has criminally charged top Syrian officials with the very human rights abuses that Mr. al-Assad has long denied using to silence dissent. Although the men are unlikely to be apprehended, a conviction would signal that the United States aims to hold the Syrian government responsible. Already, the United States has imposed sanctions on Mr. al-Assad and his inner circle, including Mr. Mamlouk and Mr. Hassan, over abuses like violence against civilians.
…
A potential indictment would “personalize the evil of this regime and make it clear you can’t do business with Assad,” said former Ambassador James F. Jeffrey, the Trump administration’s special representative for Syria engagement.

The move will be to no avail. The next country to patch it up with Syria will be Turkey. The Saudi clown prince Mohammad Bin Sultan has decided to develop Saudi Arabia into more than an oil producing country and pilgrimage enterprise. Peace is a prerequisite for development. Good relations with Iran and its various friends in the region will also keep Saudi Arabia out of a potential conflict between Iran and Israel.

There China may also be helpful. It has just offered to facilitate Israel-Palestinian peace talks:

In separate phone calls to the two officials on Monday, [China’s foreign minister] Qin Gang expressed China’s concern over intensifying tensions between Israel and Palestinians and its support for a resumption of peace talks, the Foreign Ministry said in statements issued late Monday.Qin stressed in his talks with Israeli Foreign Minister Eli Cohen that Saudi Arabia and Iran have set a good example of overcoming differences through dialogue, a statement about that phone call said.

He told Cohen that Beijing encourages Israel and the Palestinians to show political courage and take steps to resume peace talks. “China is willing to provide convenience for this,” he was quoted as saying.

This is another area where the U.S. has previously held, as in Saudi Arabia, an exclusive role.

China, with the support of Russia, is wrestling the U.S. of that role bit by bit. It can do this because it is perceived as neutral and shows no interest in any aggression.

It is the opposite of how the U.S. is perceived in the region. The Chinese way of doing these things makes it likely that these efforts will have better and longer lasting outcomes.

Posted by b on April 18, 2023 at 16:19 UTC | Permalink

Sesame Noodles with Thai Peanut Sauce

Ingredients

1 pound vermicelli or thin spaghetti
3 tablespoons dark sesame oil
3 cloves garlic
4 green onions, cut in 1/2-inch pieces
1 (1 inch) piece ginger root, pared and quartered
1/3 cup peanut butter (plain or chunky)
1/4 cup soy sauce
1/4 cup tap water or chicken broth
1 tablespoon rice or white vinegar
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
2 tablespoons granulated sugar
1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper

Instructions

Cook spaghetti as directed; drain and rinse with cold water.
Toss with 2 tablespoons sesame oil (this dish can be served cold or hot). If you want to serve as a hot dish, do not rinse with cold water; just drain.
In food processor, finely chop garlic, green onions and ginger.
Add remaining sesame oil and all ingredients. Process until thoroughly mixed.
Top each serving of vermicelli or spaghetti with amount of desired sauce.

Finian Cunningham

April 18, 2023

Western liberal democracy and its ubiquitous “austerity economics” is a euphemism for fascism. And the charade is finally coming to an end.

Western liberal democracy and its ubiquitous “austerity economics” is a euphemism for fascism. And the charade is finally coming to an end.

Austerity is not some recent policy under neoliberal capitalism. It was born out of the historic crisis in the Western system following the First World War and during the 1930s when fascism became a way to curtail any democratic challenge to the prevailing capitalist system.

That political instrument of repression is wielded today across all Western states. Quite amazingly, for a long time, few people recognized their captive, repressive state as fascism. We generally lived under the illusion that we were free citizens in “liberal democracies”.

In this interview, Clara E Mattei explains how the technocratic-sounding “austerity” is used to hide the brutal reality of dictatorship and repression against the vast majority of citizen workers in Western states.

Clara Mattei is an Assistant Professor in the Economics Department of The New School for Social Research, New York. She is the author of The Capital Order: How Economists Invented Austerity and Paved the Way to Fascism.

Her book investigates the origins of austerity as an economic policy after the crisis of World War One. Crucially, she argues that austerity is not merely about governments balancing financial budgets. Professor Mattei contends that austerity policy implemented by all Western governments is a political instrument of mass repression to prevent any challenge to the prevailing capitalist order.

Austerity forces the vast majority to accept unacceptable conditions that are otherwise shockingly anti-democratic. The precariousness and insecurity of employment, the widespread denial of social services, deprivation and poverty, and the relentless abuse of taxes and resources that are fueling insane militarism and war.

If we really did live in free, democratic societies why are such deformities enforced without any alternative? Austerity is used to crush the political imagination for any reasonable, more humane, more peaceful alternative.

However, as Clara Mattei points out in this interview, the extreme anti-democratic conditions in Western societies are inevitably forcing greater numbers of people to question the injustices and hideous anomalies of the prevailing capitalist order.

People are realizing that Western governments are in reality regimes of repression in service for the enrichment of a minority. That fundamental deformity is why Western societies are collapsing and why the United States and its Western lackeys are driven to increasing conflict against Russia and China.

The charade of “Western democracy” is coming to an end. The rulers and their pantomime political parties are losing the moral authority to hold power over the masses.

As people necessarily seek ways to reinvent societies that are fit for meeting their democratic needs, socialist solutions are beckoning. We have to throw off the mental shackles imposed by our dictators, and realize, as Karl Marx once eloquently said, that we have got nothing to lose except our chains.

The War On Free Speech Is Really A War On The Right To Criticize The Government

Authored by John and Nisha Whitehead via The Rutherford Institute,

“Since when have we Americans been expected to bow submissively to authority and speak with awe and reverence to those who represent us? The constitutional theory is that we the people are the sovereigns, the state and federal officials only our agents. We who have the final word can speak softly or angrily. We can seek to challenge and annoy, as we need not stay docile and quiet.”

– Justice William O. Douglas

Absolutely, there is a war on free speech.

To be more accurate, however, the war on free speech is really a war on the right to criticize the government.

Although the right to speak out against government wrongdoing is the quintessential freedom, every day in this country, those who dare to speak their truth to the powers-that-be find themselves censored, silenced or fired.

Indeed, those who run the government don’t take kindly to individuals who speak truth to power.

In fact, the government has become increasingly intolerant of speech that challenges its power, reveals its corruption, exposes its lies, and encourages the citizenry to push back against the government’s many injustices.

This is nothing new, nor is it unique to any particular presidential administration.

For instance, as part of its campaign to eradicate so-called “disinformation,” the Biden Administration likened those who share “false or misleading narratives and conspiracy theories, and other forms of mis- dis- and mal-information” to terrorists. This government salvo against consumers and spreaders of “mis- dis- and mal-information” widens the net to potentially include anyone who is exposed to ideas that run counter to the official government narrative.

In his first few years in office, President Trump declared the media to be “the enemy of the people,” suggested that protesting should be illegal, and that NFL players who kneel in protest during the national anthem “shouldn’t be in the country.”

Then again, Trump was not alone in his presidential disregard for the rights of the citizenry, especially as it pertains to the right of the people to criticize those in power.

President Obama signed into law anti-protest legislation that makes it easier for the government to criminalize protest activities (10 years in prison for protesting anywhere in the vicinity of a Secret Service agent). The Obama Administration also waged a war on whistleblowers, which The Washington Post described as “the most aggressive I’ve seen since the Nixon administration,” and “spied on reporters by monitoring their phone records.”

Part of the Patriot Act signed into law by President George W. Bush made it a crime for an American citizen to engage in peaceful, lawful activity on behalf of any group designated by the government as a terrorist organization. Under this provision, even filing an amicus brief on behalf of an organization the government has labeled as terrorist would constitute breaking the law.

President Franklin D. Roosevelt authorized the FBI to censor all news and control communications in and out of the country in the wake of the attack on Pearl Harbor. Roosevelt also signed into law the Smith Act, which made it a crime to advocate by way of speech for the overthrow of the U.S. government by force or violence.

President Woodrow Wilson signed into law the Espionage and Sedition Acts, which made it illegal to criticize the government’s war efforts.

President Abraham Lincoln seized telegraph lines, censored mail and newspaper dispatches, and shut down members of the press who criticized his administration.

In 1798, during the presidency of John Adams, Congress passed the Alien and Sedition Acts, which made it a crime to “write, print, utter or publish … any false, scandalous, and malicious” statements against the government, Congress or president of the United States.

Clearly, the government has been undermining our free speech rights for quite a while now.

Good, bad or ugly, it’s all free speech unless as defined by the government it falls into one of the following categories: obscenity, fighting words, defamation (including libel and slander), child pornography, perjury, blackmail, incitement to imminent lawless action, true threats, and solicitations to commit crimes.

This idea of “dangerous” speech, on the other hand, is peculiarly authoritarian in nature. What it amounts to is speech that the government fears could challenge its chokehold on power.

The kinds of speech the government considers dangerous enough to red flag and subject to censorship, surveillance, investigation, prosecution and outright elimination include: hate speech, bullying speech, intolerant speech, conspiratorial speech, treasonous speech, threatening speech, incendiary speech, inflammatory speech, radical speech, anti-government speech, right-wing speech, left-wing speech, extremist speech, politically incorrect speech, etc.

Conduct your own experiment into the government’s tolerance of speech that challenges its authority, and see for yourself.

Stand on a street corner—or in a courtroom, at a city council meeting or on a university campus—and recite some of the rhetoric used by the likes of Thomas Jefferson, Patrick Henry, John Adams and Thomas Paine without referencing them as the authors.

For that matter, just try reciting the Declaration of Independence, which rejects tyranny, establishes Americans as sovereign beings, recognizes God (not the government) as the Supreme power, portrays the government as evil, and provides a detailed laundry list of abuses that are as relevant today as they were 240-plus years ago.

My guess is that you won’t last long before you get thrown out, shut up, threatened with arrest or at the very least accused of being a radical, a troublemaker, a sovereign citizen, a conspiratorialist or an extremist.

Try suggesting, as Thomas Jefferson and Benjamin Franklin did, that Americans should not only take up arms but be prepared to shed blood in order to protect their liberties, and you might find yourself placed on a terrorist watch list and vulnerable to being rounded up by government agents.

“What country can preserve its liberties if their rulers are not warned from time to time that their people preserve the spirit of resistance. Let them take arms,” declared Jefferson.

He also concluded that “the tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants.”

Observed Franklin: “Democracy is two wolves and a lamb voting on what to have for lunch. Liberty is a well-armed lamb contesting the vote!”

Better yet, try suggesting as Thomas Paine, Marquis De Lafayette, John Adams and Patrick Henry did that Americans should, if necessary, defend themselves against the government if it violates their rights, and you will be labeled a domestic extremist.

“It is the duty of the patriot to protect his country from its government,” insisted Paine.

“When the government violates the people’s rights,” Lafayette warned, “insurrection is, for the people and for each portion of the people, the most sacred of the rights and the most indispensable of duties.”

Adams cautioned, “A settled plan to deprive the people of all the benefits, blessings and ends of the contract, to subvert the fundamentals of the constitution, to deprive them of all share in making and executing laws, will justify a revolution.”

And who could forget Patrick Henry with his ultimatum: “Give me liberty or give me death!”

Then again, perhaps you don’t need to test the limits of free speech for yourself.

One such test is playing out before our very eyes on the national stage led by those who seem to believe that only individuals who agree with the government are entitled to the protections of the First Amendment.

To the contrary, James Madison, the father of the Constitution, was very clear about the fact that the First Amendment was established to protect the minority against the majority.

I’ll take that one step further: the First Amendment was intended to protect the citizenry from the government’s tendency to censor, silence and control what people say and think.

Having lost our tolerance for free speech in its most provocative, irritating and offensive forms, the American people have become easy prey for a police state where only government speech is allowed.

You see, the powers-that-be understand that if the government can control speech, it controls thought and, in turn, it can control the minds of the citizenry.

This is how freedom rises or falls.

Americans of all stripes would do well to remember that those who question the motives of government provide a necessary counterpoint to those who would blindly follow where politicians choose to lead.

We don’t have to agree with every criticism of the government, but we must defend the rights of all individuals to speak freely without fear of punishment or threat of banishment.

Never forget: what the architects of the police state want are submissive, compliant, cooperative, obedient, meek citizens who don’t talk back, don’t challenge government authority, don’t speak out against government misconduct, and don’t step out of line.

What the First Amendment protects—and a healthy constitutional republic requires—are citizens who routinely exercise their right to speak truth to power.

Tolerance for dissent is vital if we are to survive as a free nation.

While there are all kinds of labels being put on so-called “unacceptable” speech today, the real message being conveyed by those in power is that Americans don’t have a right to express themselves if what they are saying is unpopular, controversial or at odds with what the government determines to be acceptable.

By suppressing free speech, the government is contributing to a growing underclass of Americans who are being told that they can’t take part in American public life unless they “fit in.”

Mind you, it won’t be long before anyone who believes in holding the government accountable to respecting our rights and abiding by the rule of law is labeled an “extremist,” is relegated to an underclass that doesn’t fit in, must be watched all the time, and is rounded up when the government deems it necessary.

It doesn’t matter how much money you make, what politics you subscribe to, or what God you worship: as I make clear in my book Battlefield America: The War on the American People and in its fictional counterpart The Erik Blair Diaries, we are all potential suspects, terrorists and lawbreakers in the eyes of the government.

Ukrainian counteroffensive has started – Wagner boss

World Hal Turner 03 May 2023

The head of the private military company Wagner Group, Yevgeny Prigozhin, said on Wednesday that the Ukrainian forces had begun their counterattack in Artyomovsk (known in Ukrainian as Bakhmut) and are threatening to overwhelm his undersupplied troops.

Wagner forces advanced more than 200 meters on Wednesday, sustaining 116 fatalities and leaving less than three square kilometers of the Donbass city in Ukrainian possession, Prigozhin said in an audio clip shared online.

However the PMCs leader then announced that the Ukrainian military has “…begun its counterattack,” with “…unlimited manpower and ammunition.”

Meanwhile, he painted a dire picture of Wagner’s own situation, saying “ammunition shortages are acute” and his troops have enough rounds remaining “for just a few days.”

The Russian Defense Ministry is refusing to issue artillery ammunition to Wagner, “ignoring our every request,” Prigozhin claimed.

Wagner forces have been at the forefront of street fighting in Artyomovsk, known by Ukrainians as Bakhmut, a key rail and road junction in Donbass. Kiev has funneled tens of thousands of soldiers to the city, even as Wagner and other Russian troops established fire control over all the supply roads, leaving the Ukrainians half surrounded.

How the US Sold Australia a China War

What Is Flirting Like In Japan?

April 12, 2023

Flirting seems like a misnomer. It’s more like an absense of flirting. If you like someone in Japan, there are a couple of different ways of showing it and/or approaching them, none of which really resemble flirting in the west.

1. Nanpa (the “pickup”)

First off, only guys do nanpa; in the rare case that girls do it, it’s called gyaku-nan (“reverse nanpa”), but I never heard of gyaku-nan actually happening, it always seemed like it was more of an amusing theoretical idea, rather than something girls really did.

Nanpa only refers to the case when you don’t know the other person at all, and you want to pick them up.

Nanpa is direct. “You’re cute. What’s your name? Do you have time? Let’s go somewhere.” That is the classic script of nanpa.

It can be shortened to just: “Kawaii yo. Jikan aru?” If you hear that, you’re being nanpa-ed.

Of course, if you are a non-Asian foreigner, you will probably never hear that, because Japanese guys are too shy to try and nanpa a white or black woman.

Most Japanese guys are too shy to nanpa at all.

If you ask a Japanese if he has ever done nanpa, he’ll probably say, “ZOMG! No way! I’m too embarrassed!” since nanpa is direct, and mostly, if you are Japanese and you like someone, you embark on a series of subtle, indirect stealth manoeuvres, because liking prohibits action, especially for women, but also for men.

Why is this the case? Japanese social interaction is all about intuiting the other person’s wishes without discussing them openly, at the same time that they are intuiting your wishes without discussing them openly, so that although nothing is ever verbalised, the two of you will always exist in a compromise position of equilibrium.

If you like someone, that intuitive part goes into overdrive, because you should be able to understand everything about that person without them ever telling you, and you should be able to please them without ever asking how, even more than you would with a normal person.

So it’s more important than ever to be indirect. Which leads me to:

2. Negotiating through a third party

Again, it’s not really flirting, but since flirting is showing your feelings openly—that is, pushing your feelings onto another person, which is direct and rude—it’s better to show no sign to the other person and meanwhile exploit the back channels.

Sort of like in high school.

So that convoluted human chain whereby: you like Hiro and you tell Junko that you think Hiro has a nice smile knowing that Junko will intuit that you want to know if Hiro likes you back, since Junko is friends with Goro who is friends with Hiro and Junko will talk to Goro and Goro will bring it up with Hiro etc etc etc etc etc etc.

Once everything is confirmed, Hiro will ask you out. (The girl ask the guy out? Ahahahaha. Be serious.)

If you don’t have a third party to negotiate for you, you may be forced to use other methods, all of them so subtle that a westerner may not even notice them at all.

3. Subtle signals

Shyness. Pronounced shyness is form of flirting, since it’s a sign of liking, especially from girls, but also from guys.

She interacts with everyone else more than him, she doesn’t sit next to him, she doesn’t talk much to him, she doesn’t initiate anything with him.

Attentiveness. You make life easier for the other person without being asked to.

For example, when you got to a restaurant in Japan it’s normal to share food, so flirting means not ordering what you like, but ordering what s/he likes, which you already know without asking, because you’re observant. Stuff like that.

Eye contact. It’s the opposite to the west, where you gaze deeply into someone’s eyes if you like them. Direct eye contact is a bit rude in Japan at the best of times. If you’re flirting you look down and away a lot.

– Indirect compliments. I can’t think of a good example. It’s pretty rare to give direct compliments and even more rare to compliment someone’s looks. (It’s especially rare for guys to compliment girls directly.)

PACWEST BANCORP Stock Drops 56%+ in After Hours Trading RIGHT NOW!

Nation Hal Turner 03 May 2023

Last night, I reported to all of you that three more U.S. Banks were in big trouble and named PACWEST BANCORP as one of those three. Today, its stock value dropped but that was nothing compared to what has taken place since markets closed at 4:30 this afternoon. PACWEST stock has plunged 56%+ since 4:30 today!

As of 5:51 PM EDT tonight (3 May 2023):

2.7892 -3.6308 (-56.5545%)

PacWest now has mandatory institutional divestment. Opinions of Traders on the street is that the Bank will probably drop to $1-$2 tomorrow, and the Bank will be Dead in a week . . . just like First Republic Bank this past Monday.

2023 is the year toxic zombie & woke banks DIE!

Silicon Valley Bank…..DEAD

Signature Bank…..DEAD

First Republic Bank…..DEAD

PacWest Bank…..DEAD???

Who’s next?

My guess:

Western Alliance
Metropolitan Commercial
Homestreet
Zions

(Not necessarily in that order)

War Machine THRILLED To See Tucker Carlson Go

City Of Asheville Trapped In Crime Crisis, Prepares To Impose 60-Day ‘Safety Initiative’

The City of Asheville, situated in North Carolina, is facing severe challenges due to soaring crime and a dwindling police force in the aftermath of the 2020 George Floyd murder, which sparked the nationwide ‘defund the police’ movement. In response to the rampant lawlessness, city officials have declared an emergency plan, beginning next week and lasting for two months, to tackle the crime wave.

“There are complex circumstances contributing to the safety issues that Asheville is currently seeing downtown, and it will take a community response to address these complexities,” the city stated in a press release.

Next Monday, city officials are rolling out a 60-day initiative to address safety downtown:

“Our efforts in downtown should in no way suggest that we aren’t focused on safety across the entire community. This intensive effort is driven by data that suggests a disturbing trend of increases in both property and violent crime in our downtown,” said Asheville Police Chief David Zack.

Here are some initiatives the city will implement to combat criminal activity on its streets:

Increased law enforcement presence by utilizing foot, bike, and vehicle patrols as well as enhanced security in downtown parks.
Launch of a Community Responder Pilot Program led by the Asheville Fire Department to support individuals in crisis and provide a more visible City public safety presence downtown. The pilot will be used to inform a longer-term Community Responder initiative past the 60 days.
Focused attention on the removal of litter, needles and biological waste and general Downtown cleanliness; as well as increased maintenance activities in downtown parks.
Partner with any private or non-profit organization to identify key locations in downtown where there are public safety concerns and/or to schedule community clean-up efforts.
Enforcement of illegally parked cars with a specific focus on the areas in and around Pritchard Park.
Enhanced frequency of monitoring City-owned and operated public parking garages, including stairwells in these facilities.
Focused attention on quickly removing graffiti on public property and graffiti code enforcement on private property in the downtown area.
Concentrated effort to identify streetlight outages in the central business district and coordination of necessary streetlight replacements with Duke Energy.

The announcement comes as local newspaper Mountain Xpress recently warned of a severe police shortage due to the polarizing defunding of the police movement during the pandemic.

On an ordinary day in Asheville, 16 to 18 police officers patrol the entire city, an area covering 46 square miles.

That’s down from 30 cops on duty three years ago, when Asheville first started losing officers faster than it could replace them.

The Asheville Police Department has been operating at a reduced capacity, now just 60%, for more than two years — and the Police Chief, David Zack, told Asheville Watchdog that it could be another decade before the force returns to pre-pandemic levels.

Crime in Asheville

Remember, Democrats ensured everyone that defunding the police movement would make communities safer, but in reality, it has unleashed nationwide crime waves. This is evident in Baltimore, Chicago, and numerous West Coast cities.

Looking forward, it’s important to hold Democrats responsible for their role in promoting failed social justice reforms that have led to more dangerous metro areas. The best way is to vote these folks out of office in the next election cycle.

Putin warns NATO “We haven’t even started yet.”

UPDATED 8:12 PM EDT — ***BULLETINFLASHURGENT** COVERT NUCLEAR INTEL

World Hal Turner 03 May 2023

A long-range aviation source inside the Russian Air Force has now risked his life, namely the risk of going to prison for life, by informing that at least TWO (2) nuclear warheads have been removed from storage in Russia and have been taken to TWO airfields at

A rescued kitten suddenly started talking to a big cat when he met him for the first time

The changes are irreversible, and unstoppable…

You know what?

The USA is collapsing, and screaming as it dies. And the troll sharks are in a feeding frenzy, and they attack all of us what say anything outside the approved narrative.

I don’t care.

Die.

I don’t care.

Die. Go away. Fall apart.

There is nothing that I can do to save, change or accelerate the process. It’s over.

That’s my feelings.

Today’s article…

Wow! What a bombshell!

Chancellor of Germany.

I pray to God Almighty to keep this man safe. Initially, he was soft under pressure of the world hegemon, but he has now redeemed himself as one who is righteous. God bless him!

Abandoning the US, more scientists go to China

April 29, 2023

The Organisation for Economic Co‐operation and Development (OECD) — an intergovernmental organization with 38 member countries — has published new data showing that the United States is losing the race for scientific talent to China and other countries. China’s strategy to recruit scientific researchers to work at China‐affiliated universities is working, CATO Institute informs.

In 2021, the United States lost published research scientists to other countries, while China gained more than 2,408 scientific authors. This was a remarkable turnaround from as recently as 2017 when the United States picked up 4,292 scientists and China picked up just 116.

The OECD credits more Chinese scientists returning to China for the sudden reversal in Chinese and American inflows.

This is a disturbing trend that started before the pandemic. In fact, it appears to coincide with the Trump administration’s “China Initiative” — more accurately titled the anti‐Chinese initiative.

Launched in November 2018, the Department of Justice’s campaign was supposed to combat the overblown threat of intellectual property theft and espionage. In reality, it involved repeatedly intimidating institutions that employed scientists of Chinese heritage and attempting malicious failed prosecutions of scientists who worked with institutions in China.

U.S. Attorney Andrew E. Lelling has even admitted that the initiative that he helped lead “created a climate of fear among researchers” and now says, “You don’t want people to be scared of collaboration.”

If Chinese scientists are afraid to work in the United States, that means that the United States will not benefit from their discoveries as much or as quickly as China will.

Although the Justice Department claims to have shut down its “China Initiative,” my colleagues doubt that Chinese scientists will be free from unjust scrutiny going forward. The U.S. National Institutes of Health is still bragging about having caused the firings of more than 100 scientists and shutting down research by over 150 scientists — over 80 percent of whom identify as ‘Asian’.

The administration continues to maintain contrary to evidence that Chinese industrial espionage — by scientists working in the United States — is a significant threat to the country. Universities and U.S. companies think the far greater threat is losing out on talented Chinese researchers.

3600 Pounds of GOLD BULLION Stolen from Canada Airport

World Hal Turner 20 April 2023

Police in Toronto and surrounding areas are going berserk looking for 3,600 pounds of Gold Bullion that was STOLEN from Pearson Airport in Toronto, Ontario. The Gold is said to be worth over US$100 Million.

The Royal Canadian Mounted Police confirmed they are looking into a gold robbery at Pearson International Airport. Gold mined in Canada can travel through Pearson on its way to customers around the world.

The airport did not respond to a request for comment. Peel Regional Police, who are responsible for the area, asked for the Mounties’ help, the RCMP said.

The Toronto Sun reported earlier Thursday that 3,600 pounds of gold being moved through the airport had been stolen. The newspaper said the theft was likely linked to organized crime.

What are the economic consequences of the United States losing control over Asia (especially Southeast Asia) to China? Has this fact changed U.S. foreign policy towards China yet?

Southeast Asia wants business and investments, they want to make money for their countries, US is offering politics not business. China is offering business not politics. China offers free trade agreements, US doesn’t.

All you are thinking about and offering are politics, competition and conflicts, try business, free trade deals, investments, you’ll do better.

People loved Americans because they offered prosperity, now all they talk about is politics. They came empty handed and left empty handed. They don’t want free handout or charity, they want business.

THIS IS WILL BE WW3, NATO is finished! with Clayton Morris

The bunker wad made in USSR times, so Russia has it’s exact specifics – it is heavy fortified bunker, built to withstand direct nuclear impact.

Located 120 meters under the ground it had 8 meters concrete sealing + 1m of lead. Kinzhal has few known modifications and the one that destroyed the bunker was using kinetic / compression energy.

It’s claimed to be able to penetrate 30+ meters of concrete, so basically there is no place you can hide from it.

Here you can see how it flies and hear “explosion” , which in fact is the sound of it, due to it’s top speeds mach 10-12.

Also you can notice the glow, which surrounds the rocket – it’s plasma field, which makes it untraceable, not to mention that even if you detect it – there’s nothing faster to intercept it.

https://youtu.be/JCIpWxsHW5I

‘Catastrophic’ Collapse in American Standard of Living Incoming As Global De-Dollarization Takes Hold: Economist

dollar’s share of global reserves falling from 73% in 2001 to 47% in 2021.

Economist Peter St Onge just issued a major warning on the fate of the US dollar and the quality of life in America.

In a new market update, St Onge says widespread de-dollarization is not a fear for the future.

Instead, the economist says a “stunning collapse” is already well underway, with the dollar’s share of global reserves falling from 73% in 2001 to 47% in 2021.

St Onge says American sanctions are now fueling the flame, citing the fact that the US froze $300 billion in Russian central bank dollars after the country instigated war with Ukraine.

He believes a global realization of the sanctions risk is leading nations to further move away from the dollar and towards alternative stores of value, such as gold and the euro.

Article HERE

Cajun Chicken Spaghetti

Ingredients

1 pound butter, divided
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
6 cups chopped onion, divided
7 tablespoons Cajun seasonings, divided
5 cups water
2 1/2 tablespoons chicken base
4 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce
2 tablespoons Tabasco sauce or to taste
2 (15 ounce) cans tomato sauce
2 (12 ounce) cans tomato paste
4 tablespoons granulated sugar
10 chicken breast halves, skinned, de-boned and cut into bite-size pieces

Instructions

Melt half the butter in a large heavy skillet. Add the garlic and 2 cups of the onion and sauté 5 minutes.
Stir in 3 tablespoons of the Cajun seasonings and simmer for 10 minutes.
Add the water, chicken base, Worcestershire sauce and Tabasco sauce and simmer for 6 minutes.
Add the tomato sauce and tomato paste. Bring to a boil and add the sugar and 2 more cups of the onions. Reduce heat and simmer for 40 minutes, stirring occasionally.
Coat chicken pieces with remaining Cajun seasonings.
Melt remaining butter. Add the rest of the onions and sauté for 3 minutes.
Add chicken and cook for 10 minutes or until tender.
Stir chicken into sauce and serve over pasta (hot cooked spaghetti or linguine).

Zelensky is FINISHED and Biden knows it

Europe approves its $47 billion answer to Biden’s CHIPS Act

Apparently, Europe chip act removed all those conditions imposed by US chip act thinking they will be able to complete with US to win over investments. 

This is the beginning of dogs fighting dog, while China already making stage by stage breakthrough in home based chip manufacturing. 

Who will win the chip War when even the US, South korea, and Holland chip industrial reported massive sales dropped and stock crushed due to sanctioned against China ❗

From the way the Chinese handle competition based on self improvement and self reliance vs. the imperialist crusader's DNA nations of US and EU to simply sanctioned their competition, and looted other technology, it is not hard to tell why China able to lead the world for thousands of years before the 1840 opium war, and is already managed to self revive and lead the world against in all aspect very soon. 

The me-only crusader DNA nations need culture reform to earn to live well without war, Bullying, and looting.

Article HERE

European Chips Act

Full Text

US Dollar Suffering ‘Stunning Collapse’, Losing Reserve Status Due to Currency Weaponization: Report – The Daily Hodl

The US dollar’s global supremacy is reportedly eroding at an exponential rate, with countries backing away after witnessing how America used USD to impose sanctions against Russia.

In a new Bloomberg report, Stephen Jen and Joana Freire of asset management firm Eurizon SLJ Capital reveal that in 2022, the US dollar’s market share in global reserves plunged 10 times its average speed of the past 20 years.

Considering the fluctuations in exchange rates, the dollar lost about 11% of its market share since 2016 and twice that amount since 2008.

Jen and Freire say in an investor note that countries located in Asia, Latin America, Africa, the Carribean and the Pacific Islands – collectively known as the Global South – are shedding their dollar reserves as they look for an alternative to avoid sharing Russia’s fate.

“The dollar suffered a stunning collapse in 2022 in its market share as a reserve currency, presumably due to its muscular use of sanctions. Exceptional actions taken by the US and its allies against Russia have startled large reserve-holding countries.”…

Article HERE

Jeffrey Sachs Interview – China Pushes Back Against US Foreign Policy

“Reality Called. I Hang Up”: Hilariously Offensive Greeting Cards by Bluntcard

Bluntcard is a branded style of image and humor. The humor style is often truthful, abrupt, and can be insensitive. Mostly dealing with social issues, self absorption, hypocrisy and sometimes current events. Bluntcards are virtual greeting cards to be shared on the web.

More: Bluntcard, Instagram

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Battle Scene from Downfall

Cajun Chicken Alfredo

Ingredients

3 boneless, skinless chicken breasts
1 bag fettuccine or penne pasta
Louisiana Cajun spice
1 jar Alfredo sauce
Chopped green onions (garnish)
Diced tomato (optional garnish)

Instructions

Season chicken breasts with Louisiana Cajun Spice generously, then season with garlic powder.
Pour 1 tablespoon of vegetable oil in a frying pan and cook chicken until done.
Boil pasta until done, then strain and add Alfredo sauce.
Slice cooked chicken into 1 inch cubes.
Put pasta mixture on a plate, and add diced chicken.
Garnish with chopped green onions and tomatoes, if desired.

Oh SH*T, the U.S. is in real trouble!

https://youtu.be/S7OmVnpfayc

Declan Hayes

April 20, 2023

Whether the Chinese want to eat them, use them as lab rats or put them into zoos, the sheer scale of this order shows that China is now a major player in the monkey business.

The news that Sri Lanka may export over 100,000 monkeys to China is another dagger to the Yankee dollar’s heart. Before moving on to other exotic exports from other exotic countries, let’s first put this monkey business to bed.

Sri Lanka’s economy, like her monkeys’ habitats, is in pieces. Sri Lanka needs every penny, every pound, every yen, every yuan she can scrape together. And, as macaque monkeys go for between $4,000 to $8,000 apiece, Sri Lanka is looking to gross between $400,000,000 and $800,000,000 for this exotic trade of a primate which is regarded as a pest throughout large swatches of Sri Lanka.

The trade in monkeys is big business, with the United States importing almost 500,000 of them for a variety of reasons (culinary, labs, zoos etc) in recent years. And whether the Chinese want to eat them, use them as lab rats or put them into zoos, the sheer scale of this order shows that China is now a major player in the monkey business.

If this was a once off trade or if Sri Lanka and China were not going to continue to be trading partners, it might make sense for China to pay in Yankee dollars, which Sri Lanka could then use to buy goods from one of its trading partners, China included. But, as China and Sri Lanka will forever remain major trading partners, the demand for yuan in Colombo and rupees in Shanghai will continue to grow.

Because the Sri Lankan rupee is an exotic currency for which there is only patchy overseas’ demand, the danger has been that China’s monkey importers would be loath to accept rupees as they are much harder to offload than the Yankee dollar. This problem can be seen more clearly with the 1997 passing of the late Princess Diana of Wales when the unprecedented demand for flowers to throw at her casket meant that Dutch traders (guilder/euro) were importing them wholesale from as far afield as Kenya (shilling) and Tanzania (shilling) to on-sell to the English (pound sterling). Far easier to take those currencies out of the frame and just count the resulting huge profits in one currency, the Yankee dollar, which would otherwise not be in the frame at all.

Complicating things further, the Sri Lankan rupee is a closed currency, which means it is not available to buy or sell outside of Sri Lanka. whose Central Bank is charged with stabilising it. As remittances from overseas Sri Lankans (down 20%) and tourist revenue (down 90%) both took massive hits from the Covid lockdown, the Central Bank’s job become much harder and desperate measures, such as curtailing the import of fertilisers, backfired badly on the ordinary Sri Lankan. Sri Lanka’s Central Bank really has its work cut out so much that if 100,000 macaque monkeys have to take it in the neck for Team Sri Lanka, so be it. As Sri Lanka’s annual debt service costs now run to over U.S.$10 billion, Sri Lanka cannot max out its national credit card any more but must think of new ways, like the mass export of monkeys, to tackle this crisis.

When Brazil’s President Lula recently rhetorically asked in Shanghai “why all countries have to base their trade on the dollar… why can’t we do trade based on our own currencies?”, Sri Lanka and many of his Latin American neighbours such as Argentina and Mexico supply much of the answer. The currencies of Mexico, Argentina, Sri Lanka and Brazil itself are known in the trade as exotic currencies, which are relatively minor in international commerce but whose resulting thinness and spread yields abnormally large profits for the British and American financial institutions who trade them.

When Brazil’s President Lula went on to rhetorically ask “Who was it that decided that the dollar was the currency after the disappearance of the gold standard?”, the answer is that the Americans decided that beginning at Bretton Woods, where the Brazilian and other delegations there were in no position to argue the converse. When Brazil’s President Lula then went on to rhetorically ask “Why can’t a bank like that of the Brics have a currency to finance trade relations between Brazil and China, between Brazil and other countries?”, the reason has as much to do with Sri Lankan monkeys as it has with monkey economics.

Quite simply, the Americans reaped the benefits of the Second World War much more than anyone else. The dollar replaced the pound sterling as the global reserve currency of choice as part of America’s campaign to achieve hegemony even during the Second World War when British backs were very much up against the wall and when, as a consequence, the pound sterling was under intense strain.

Although the paper notes the Bank of England issues promises to give the bearer one pound of sterling (92.5%) silver for every single note held, that is no longer the case. However, as long as credibility in the Bank of England and related central banks holds and people accept those pieces of paper, that is not really an issue and trade in these IOUs can continue more or less as before.

It is that credibility rather than the paper itself which is the Coin of the Realm, not only in England but in America, China and Sri Lanka as well. Having that credibility brings immense benefits to the Yanks, the Brits, the Swiss, the Japanese and the Germans and Dutch who are at the heart of the euro. If the Chinese (not, please note the Brazilians) can elbow their way into that happy circle, they will be well pleased with themselves. If they can get the Sri Lankans to take Chinese yuan rather than Yankee dollars for their monkeys, well then that is good news for both China and Sri Lanka.

And, of course, bad news for the Yanks, who have traditionally benefited immensely from all this. There is currently over $2,000 billion Yankee dollars, IOUs in circulation, with between 25% and 60% of that amount held outside of the U.S. If the Sri Lankans can strike a deal in yuan for their monkeys, then they can use some of their precious Yankee reserves for other purposes, much as Japan did in its leanest post war years, when it started to export guitars, sewing machines and bicycles in exchange for much-needed Yankee dollars.

America’s financial power goes much further than that, as the trade in American debt instruments is enormous and trade in gold derivatives is, by and large, a proxy for American interest rates, which determine the value of those debt instruments, which were historically considered a safe haven by Japan, South Korea, Taiwan and Russia, which has been criminally and systematically robbed by the Yanks and their west European vassals over the last year.

The dollar’s status as a reserve currency allows the Yanks to print an almost unlimited amount of dollars without suffering hyperinflation, something that is biting at the heels of Sri Lanka’s Central Bank and which the Central Banks of Mexico, Argentina and, of course, Germany are no strangers to.

As long as the Yankee dollar is the reserve currency of choice, Uncle Sam can simply print more greenbacks, more IOUs and trade them for Arab oil or Japanese cars. The only other countries that can exchange their dubious currencies for tangible goods are those, like the West Europeans, who can get an American swap line, allowing them to trade their IOUs (euros or pounds) for Yankee dollars. Sri Lanka, to take the obvious example, can no longer do that. Without a swap line to the Yanks or its Bretton Woods frontmen, printing more money devalues the currency and, as Latin America, Sri Lanka and Germany know all too well, causes inflation and the societal problems ensuing from it.

Not only has Lula’s Bric currency no prospect of replacing the Yankee dollar in the short term but there is no prospect of that happening over the longer term either. What is happening is that the Chinese yuan, the Russian rouble and other second tier currencies are pushing the dollar and allied currencies out of areas, such as the trade in Russian oil and Sri Lankan monkeys, they are not needed in.

Although the yuan option makes sense for Sri Lanka, the Dutch and the Yanks won’t be too happy with that. The Dutch, remember, even tried to wrest Greece’s dairy industry from Greece after their euro swindle caused Greece’s economy to implode. As the Dutch and their trans-Atlantic partners in crime showed no mercy to the Greeks, we cannot expect them to look kindly on either the Chinese or Holland’s own former Ceylonese colony. Sadly, Sri Lanka, on its own, is, like Brazil, in no position to stand up to the bullyboy tactics of the usual NATO suspects.

China, as previously alluded to, may be another kettle of fish. If China can make such exotic trades and help break NATO’s banana blockade, then it will have the gratitude of tens of millions of Latin Americans, Africans, Sri Lankans and other Asians. For China to accomplish that, credibility and cold, common sense must be their Coin of the Realm.

China’s alliance with Mother Russia best illustrates this. For such alliances to work, there must be clear demarcation lines between what each party does and does not do. In the case of oil, that can be Russia delivering crude oil at a marked to market price in a place and manner of choosing to the parties involved. As that is an ongoing supply and demand business, China and Russia can mark themselves not only to the spot price but, going forward, to the futures and options prices as well.

Given that Uncle Sam objected in his usual violent manner when Libya, Tanzania and Kenya tried to form their own gold backed currency in times gone by, we can expect plenty of U.S. inspired bumps along the road as Russia, China and Sri Lanka look to the future with the economic cards at their disposal. That said, the key to the future of Russia, China, Sri Lanka and countless other nations is to fortify their sovereignty and trading monkeys for yuan and yuan for oil is a big step in that process. Although none of that will replace the global pre-eminence of the Yankee dollar, ditching the dollar, a yuan, a rupee and a rouble at a time, offers more hope to Russians, Asians and Latinos than does eternal vassalage to Uncle Sam and the global financial system he rigs in his favour.

NATO’s pending monkey business against China in the South China Sea will be an excellent weather vane in this respect. If NATO can upset China’s apple-cart there, then, for countries like Sri Lanka, it will be business and penury as usual. If, on the other hand, NATO can be sent packing, then there might be hope for all the peoples of the South China Sea, for Sri Lanka and for all the other peoples of South Asia as well.

The Walking Dead – Bombing Atlanta.

Slow to the EV Game, Foreign Car JVs in China Face Bleak Future

Nissan and Stellantis are among those with the worst joint venture sales

By Selina Xu

19 November 2022

A slow roll-out of electric cars and continued adherence to internal combustion engine models is putting some of the world’s biggest automakers on the back foot in China, the largest market for cleaner vehicles.

Among the joint ventures of major international players, the following 10 are at the bottom, ranking worst in terms of combustion-engine sales, according to CMB International Capital Corp. and using data from the China Association of Automobile Manufacturers.

Article HERE

Vintage photos

Unsorted. Please enjoy.

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US vs China Parents – What skills do children need to be innovative?

by philmckinney

During a recent meeting I attended with educators and government officials, I shared my frustration with the “output” of the current educational system. In my opinion, we optimized the system to produce graduates with deep technical skills and the ability to take tests. One competency that I see missing in our children is the ability to apply creative problem-solving skills to any given problem.

The Creative Economy

If you believe, as I, that we are experiencing the transition to the creative economy, the ability to train future employees with innovation skills will determine the winners and losers for organizations and countries. Those with a workforce without innovation skills will be relegated to being producers rather than creators.

I don’t want to sound like I’m blaming educators. The ultimate responsibility falls on the parents for the education and training of their children. So what skills should parents ensure their kids? A recently published report based on the Newsweek-Intel Innovation Survey shows that US and China parents don’t agree on what skills are critical for children to have when it comes to innovation.

So, what are these critical skills?

Creative Thinking/Problem-Solving Skills: Children need to be taught how to think rather than how to memorize. It’s not about finding the one right answer for a test but instead the ability to search out all the possible answers to a question to find the optimal solution. Critical thinking and problem-solving skills should not be a stand-alone subject but taught across all subjects. For example, thinking through the range of options a given historical figure faced and then determining what would have been the alternative outcomes. Did that person make the right decision?

Entrepreneurial Skills: It is no longer about having deep expertise in an area but also having a broad understanding of how an idea is transformed into innovation. Understanding the structure, steps, and running of an organization is a fundamental skill that everyone needs to have.

Cultural Understanding: The world is flat and getting flatter. The ability to understand and collaborate with a global ecosystem of employees, partners, and customers is a table stake. Without them, you are at a distinct disadvantage that will become more severe.

What are parents to do?

Find opportunities for your kids to gain the experience and skills needed to win the emerging economy. Get them involved in Junior Achievement so they understand business and how to be an entrepreneur. Get them on a FIRST team so they learn how to invent, create and collaborate. Put them in situations where they have to work with others from different cultures, such as an international internship.

While we as a society need to change the educational system to ensure we are producing the best employees possible, it’s the parents that can have the most positive and immediate impact on instilling innovation skills.

What jobs will they be ready for when the creative economy takes over?

Heartbreak Ridge – This Is The AK-47 Assault Rifle

How do we detect an imminent Chinese invasion of Taiwan?

I assume that you are an American, or a member of a proxy state loyal to the United States.

Well, I’ll try to answer this one.

But as we used to say in Mississippi; there’s “few things stupider than a mail box pole”.

…

Taiwan is close to China.

In close. As in really, really, REALLY close.

Not only geographically, but socially, economically, financially, culturally, historically, and in all other ways… Chinese.

There is so much cross-strait migration back and forth, that you cannot tell who is from Taiwan and who is from the mainland.

So what does this mean?

Well…

You cannot detect a build up of any kind of an invasion force.
You cannot discern who is who, and where is what.
China controls Taiwan. Even though there are DPP elements who believe otherwise.

…

So, to spell it out clearly… let’s just say this.

President Biden would have a fit, the United States media would howl, and the neocons would demand war!

But you know what would really happen?

Nothing. A whimper. And the United States would slither back under the rock from whence it came from.

Uncle Buck Favorite Scene

Okinawa is seeking independence. It asks China for help. What has happened to Okinawa?

Okinawa is a Japanese & English name. Its Chinese name is Chong Sheng (冲绳). In 2023, it has returned to its history & renamed itself BACK to Liu Qiu （琉球）. It was called Zhong Shan Wang Guo （中山王国）more than 150 years ago.

Liu Qiu is composed of many islands & rocks. Geographically Liu Qiu is located between Taiwan & Japan. But is closer to Taiwan than to Japan.

Liu Qiu was an independent country. It had diplomacy & business with China since 1429 & was under protection of China (like Korea).

Before WW2, when China’s Qing dynasty was militarily weak, Japan colonized many Asian countries & places incl Liu Qiu, Korea & Taiwan.

After WW2, the defeated Japan were forced to leave its colonies. According to Cairo Declaration, Japan territory only included Japan’s 4 big islands & a few rocks where there were no human.

In Liu Qiu, there were & are natives living there. Clearly there is no way Liu Qiu was part of Japan according to Cairo Declaration. Liu Qiu was independent from Japan.

How did Liu Qiu become a Japanese county today?

In 1972, USA unilaterally renamed Liu Qiu to Okinawa & put it under Japanese jurisdiction. Liu Qiu government was powerless to resist USA. (USA also unilaterally gave China’s Diao Yu Dao （钓鱼岛） to Japan, but there was no human on the rock. Today China vigorously protects Diao Yu Dao from Japan.)

1972 was an important date. It is the year when USA betrayed Taiwan’s ROC sovereignty & recognized PRC as the legitimate government to represent China in UN.

Why gave Liu Qiu to Japan at this time?

USA built a big US military base on Liu Qiu close to Taiwan. That is, to closely watch Taiwan for rebellion. After all USA had betrayed Taiwan first.

Before & during WW2, Japan was a bully in Asia. Forced labor/slave people from Korea, China incl Taiwan & of course Liu Qiu. Slavery means Japan did not treat others as humans. Insufficient food. Long hours of work. Not to mention physical beating.

Like Hitler’s Jewish holocaust, Japan did the same in Liu Qiu, China incl Taiwan (Nanjing massacre) & Korea. Liu Qiu people never forget that massacre.

Today, US soldiers on Liu Qiu are lawless. Rapes. Assault esp after alcohol. But they are immune from Liu Qiu law incl covid restrictions.

In 2023, Japan also stations Japanese soldiers in Liu Qiu.

Liu Qiu knows well:

If there is Taiwan war, USA & Japan will turn Liu Qiu into a ruin, both physically & economically. Dont be naive to think USA cares about human rights.

That is why Liu Qiu badly wants independence & declares neutrality among big countries eg China & USA+Japan. Not to mention to kick out lawless US & Japanese soldiers.

China is to do 2 things.

1, Accept Liu Qiu’s request for formal diplomacy between the 2 in summer 2023.

2, Following Cairo Declaration, China will ask UN to recognize Liu Qiu as an independent country. USA’s unilateral action in 1972 was illegal.

What are the arguments for an Independent Taiwan when new Taiwan nation will be derived from a government called itself Republic of China?

There are no arguments “for” 🙄, Taiwan belongs to China end of. If people do not like it then they are free to leave.

Even the UN recognises Taiwan as belonging to PRC China.

These questions are moot 🙄

On 23 July 2007, Secretary-General of the UN

Ban Ki-moon rejected Taiwan’s membership bid to “join the UN under the name of Taiwan”, citing Resolution 2758 as acknowledging that Taiwan is part of China, although it is important to note, not the People’s Republic of China.[8] Since Resolution 2758 was said to be “deliberately ambiguous” and did not use the word ‘Taiwan’, Ban Ki-moon’s interpretation to this effect came under fire from the American media[9] and was also opposed by several UN members led by the U.S.[10] A report by the American think tank the Heritage Foundation, also suggests that the US government issued a nine-point démarche

specifically rejecting the Secretary-General’s statement.[11] The US did not make any public pronouncement on the matter. Nevertheless, Secretary-General Ban Ki-moon’s statement reflected long-standing UN policy and is mirrored in other documents promulgated by the United Nations. For example, the UN’s “Final Clauses of Multilateral Treaties, Handbook”, 2003 (a publication which predated his tenure in Office) states:

…regarding the Taiwan Province of China, the Secretary-General follows the General Assembly’s guidance incorporated in resolution 2758 (XXVI) of the General Assembly of 25 October 1971 on the restoration of the lawful rights of the People’s Republic of China in the United Nations. The General Assembly decided to recognize the representatives of the Government of the People’s Republic of China as the only legitimate representatives of China to the United Nations. Hence, instruments received from the Taiwan Province of China will not be accepted by the Secretary-General in his capacity as depositary.[12]

Welcome to the grand future that you are unprepared for

The United States is absolutely insane.

It is dragging the world towards a very serious crisis.

As much as believe that China has it’s act together, there is the worry that China will not have the stomach to do what is necessary to stop it.

Notice…

ALL American media is talking about a “war with China” after a “war with Russia”.

Sigh. They are FUCKING bat-shit crazy.

They are going to get us all killed.

China and Russia are NOT playing, and to me this is all a slow motion car wreck. It boggle my mind that Biden thinks that the United States will exist for his second term in office.

Today…

Kizz Daniel, EMPIRE – Cough (Official Video)

African pop

UPDATED 4:10 PM EDT — Putin Rushed To Kremlin 10:00 PM Moscow Time

World Hal Turner 26 April 2023

Something is happening with Russia as of 3:00 PM eastern US time, which is 10:00 PM in Moscow. Russian President Vladimir Putin was rushed TO the Kremlin with full police escorted motorcade. This is extremely unusual, indicating something has happened (or is happening) requiring the President.

RUMORS are already running wild. One RUMOR is that Turkish President Recypt Erdogan, who fell ill during a TV interview in Moscow, may have been “poisoned.”

Another RUMOR is that Ukraine has begun using Depleted Uranium tank shells against Russian troops, which Russia previously warned would be considered a “Dirty Bomb attack upon Russia.”

No official word from any level as to the ACTUAL reason . . . . developing . . . . check back for updates.

UPDATE 3:58 PM EDT —

Turkish President Recypt Erdogan’s wife and family have been urgently told to come to the hospital.

ERDOGAN ALLEGEDLY “IN CRITICAL CONDITION” — More RUMORS he may have been poisoned!

UPDATE 4:02 PM EDT — According to a statement issued by the presidency, Erdogan was taken to the hospital in critical condition and received treatment for myocardial infarction, commonly known as a heart attack.

UPDATE 4:15 PM EDT —

Chinese state media claims Turkey president Erdogan has suffered heart attack and is in critical condition in the hospital

Big news hidden from you

Consumer Credit Drying-up — Banks HALTING Auto Loans!!!

Nation Hal Turner 19 April 2023

The past 10 days in Consumer Credit have been wild and the evidence is explicitly clear: Banks are now severely restricting Consumer Credit:

— Capital One shut off all dealer floorplans (aka inventory lines of credit)

— USA Auto Sales shut down 39 dealerships after losing its Ally Bank floor plan lines of credit

— Wells Fargo laid-off all its junior Auto loan underwriters and capped future loans

This is VERY serious. This is real DOOM economically. Cars are one of the main pillars of the US economy.

Repos are rising as people can’t pay their high loan payments. In fact, the increase in car repos…300% since new year.

With banks cutting off auto credit, it isn’t just car dealerships that will feel the pinch, manufacturers will too, of course. BUT . . . . those manufacturers contract-out parts manufacturing to hundreds of smaller businesses nationwide.

All those smaller businesses will see orders dry up. The auto sales and manufacturing sector in the US accounts for over 5 million employees

The “ripple effect” of credit withdrawal will affect the much wider economy and will do so VERY FAST.

KmengKhmer – ឆ្ងាយតែកាយ (Far Away) [Official MV]

Cambodian pop music

British Intel Source CONFIRMS Depleted Uranium Shells from UK have arrived in Ukraine

World Hal Turner 25 April 2023

***** FLASH ***** – A source within British Intelligence has confirmed to me personally that thousands of rounds of tank shells were shipped to Ukraine as supplies for donated “Challenger” tanks donated to Ukraine. Among those thousands of tank shells are . . . DEPLETED URANIUM SHELLS!

Russia has repeatedly and explicitly made clear that if Depleted Uranium shells are fired at Russian troops, Russia will regard the use of the ammunition as being a “Dirty Bomb” attack against Russia, and will respond with radioactive weapons of its own. They did not say WHICH radioactive weapons.

It is now positively CONFIRMED that the United Kingdom has, in fact, successfully delivered into the possession of the Ukraine Army, Depleted Uranium tank shells.

What this means is that now, it is only a matter of time before Russia detects that such shells have been used by Ukraine, and responds.

That response will likely come without ANY warning at all.

Readers are urged to have their preps (Food, water, medicine, first-aid gear, generator, fuel, and the like) topped-off . . . and to appraise their family members of this situation.

It’s really quite simple: When Ukraine hits Russians with Depleted Uranium shells, Russia will likely hit Ukraine with full blown nuclear weapons. If that takes place, NATO jumps-in tot he war, and it’s nuclear immediately.

OR . . .

Russia may elect to strike at the UK directly for supplying such weapons. Obviously, if THAT happens, it’s also instant nuclear war.

In either case, the fight presently between Ukraine and Russia, will very likely go nuclear, and is extremely likely to involve NATO, meaning the outbreak of literal nuclear World War 3.

This can come at any time and without any warning.

Get right with God.

Hot Potato Salad with Bacon Specks (Mennonite)

Ingredients

Salad

4 slices lean bacon
1/2 cup finely chopped onions
1/4 cup chopped celery
1 tablespoon flour
1/4 cup hot water
1/2 cup heavy cream
2 tablespoon Boiled Dressing
1 tablespoon vinegar
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
4 cups diced, hot, boiled potatoes
1 tablespoon finely chopped parsley
1 teaspoon finely chopped chives
Additional heavy cream (optional)
2 hard-boiled eggs, sliced

Boiled Dressing

1/2 cup granulated sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon dry mustard
1/2 cup vinegar
2 eggs, well beaten
1 tablespoon butter

Instructions

Salad: Cook bacon over medium heat until crisp. Remove and crumble. Drain off all fat except 1 tablespoon, return to medium heat, add onions and celery.
Stir in flour to coat the vegetables. Add water, stir and cook until thickened. Remove from the heat and blend in the cream, boiled dressing, vinegar, salt, and pepper. Pour over the potatoes in a large bowl. Add the parsley and chives. Mix well to blend flavors. Add more cream if desired, taste, add salt if desired.
Sprinkle crumbled bacon on top and garnish with the sliced hard-boiled eggs.
Boiled Dressing: Combine sugar, salt, and mustard in the top of a double boiler. Add vinegar. Stir to combine.
Add well-beaten eggs. Place over moderately boiling water. Stir until the mixture is creamy about the consistency of custard.
Beat in the butter. Cool.

This dressing may be stored, covered, in the refrigerator, and will keep up to two weeks.

The internationalisation of EME currency trading

by J Caballero · 2022 · Cited by 6 — 

CNY trading rose by over 70% after adjusting for exchange rate movements, to $526 billion per day. This is unusually rapid.

Article HERE

Vuthea វុទ្ធា – អូនសាសន៍អី (Oun Sas Ey) ft. Siva [Remix]

Cambodian pop music

RESTORED 4:34 PM EDT — UKRAINE SPRING OFFENSIVE HAS BEGUN – ON FOUR OFFENSIVE FRONTS

World Hal Turner 19 April 2023

1:02 PM EDT — Within the past hour, reports began filtering-in to me CLAIMING Ukraine’s Spring Offensive has begun. Reports say there are four distinct lines of combat. NOT YET VERIFIED . . . .

If these reports can be corroborated, more details will appear as Updates below.

Should these reports prove true, RIGHT NOW is the beginning of the most dangerous time for all of us. NOW is when nukes might come into play.

I earnestly hope your “preps” are topped-off, you have cash money at home in case electronics (Credit/Debit) all go offline, and your vehicles are all fueled-up, with spare fuel in cans safely at home.

UPDATE 2:04 PM EST — I have reached out to every source I know and I CANNOT VERIFY THESE REPORTS . . . still checking.

UPDATE 2:43 PM — I am PULLING this story – I cannot verify ANY aspect of the incoming reports.

UPDATE 4:34 PM EDT —

From the Kiev Independent Newspaper:

“Citizen Of The Galaxy”: Amazing Digital Cyberpunk Art By Kuldar Leement

“I’m a digital illustrator and graphic designer based in the Estonia. I have been producing personal and commissioned illustrations, digital paintings and web designs only a few years. Mainly I’m digital-painter, but You can visit my homepage and read about my education and other knowledge. If I’m working, I constantly trying to expand my range of abilities and i love to try out new techniques.”

More info: Kuldar Leement, DeviantArt, Vimeo, Society6, Behance, Facebook

Nini Music – LongMa (Taiwanese Folk Metal)

BOMBING IN SEATTLE – SECOND UNEXPLODED BOMB FOUND

Nation Hal Turner 19 April 2023

There has been a bomb detonation in downtown Seattle. A second, unexploded bomb, has also been found at a Gas station at 1st and Denny St. SWAT and Bomb Squad mobilized.

Additional Info:

EXPLOSION REPORTED IN AN APARTMENT BUILDING IN SEATTLE, WASHINGTON LEAVING ONE INJURED. SECOND BOMB IS REPORTED IN THE SAME BUILDING.

Evacuation of downtown in progress due to fear of more bombs.

Police and Fire on scene:

Seattle Bomb Squad is currently attempting to Defuse a 2nd Device near the Scene of 1st Explosion.

Douglas Macgregor: “What’s Happening IS WORSE THAN ANY WAR, THIS IS SERIOUS”

https://youtu.be/gPuAthFARcI

Ham and Onions over Noodles

This is an old Mennonite recipe.

Ingredients

6 slices ham 3 x 3 1/2 x 1/4 inches
3 onions, sliced
1/2 cup sour cream
Hot noodles

Instructions

Fry slices of ham until nicely browned.
Remove ham from pan and add onion slices. Cook until slightly browned.
Add sour cream. Let come to a boil and pour over hot noodles.

Thị Mầu – Hòa Minzy x Masew | Official Music Video

Vietnamese pop music

9 Rules for How to Make a Perfect Cup of Coffee

Become a coffee guru with these simple steps on how to make a perfect cup of coffee at home.

Sophie Johnson

Updated on March 28, 2023

A good cup of coffee in the morning can set the mood for your whole day. Having a barista craft your daily cup and hanging out in a coffee shop is a nice way to start the day, but if you’re looking to save money and enjoy a cup of coffee without having to leave the house it may be time to learn how to brew a good cup yourself. With these nine simple rules, you’ll be able to make your own perfect cup of coffee every morning, right in your own home.

It’s easier than you think—simple things like storing your beans correctly and using the best filters will prevent unwanted bitterness or off-flavors from your cup. Whether your morning coffee is made up of estate-grown beans and an elaborate brew process or you like a supermarket blend with a drip coffee maker, follow these basic rules for a delicious, satisfying cup of coffee—every single time.

How to Make Coffee

There are three common brewing methods for coffee at home. The long-standing favorite has been a classic drip coffee machine, but pour-over coffee at home is becoming increasingly more popular, and the French press is an easy favorite as well. Find out how to make coffee with all three methods with these easy steps.

Before you get started, you should know that weighing your ground coffee yields better results than using measuring cups, measuring spoons or coffee scoops to measure your coffee. A digital kitchen scale is very handy–we’ve provided the measurements by weight for accuracy, but we also provided the measuring-spoon equivalents. That said, as a general rule, we recommend about 15 grams (1 tablespoon) of ground coffee per 8-ounce cup of coffee. For 4 cups of coffee, that’s about 60 grams (4 tablespoons) of ground coffee.

How to Make Pour-Over Coffee

Arguably the best method for a delicious, aromatic and complex cup of coffee, the pour-over coffee maker won’t disappoint.

First, bring cold water to a boil in a kettle.
If using whole beans, grind the beans to a uniform consistency similar to granulated table salt.
Meanwhile, put a filter in the brewer and rinse with hot water. This removes the papery residue on the filter and warms up the brewer, keeping your coffee hot for longer. Discard the water used for rinsing.
Add the grounds to the filter, making sure the surface is level. When the water is between 195°F and 205°F (about a minute after removal from the heat), slowly and steadily pour just enough water over the grounds to saturate them completely, starting from the middle and working your way outward. Stop pouring before the coffee begins to drip through. This is called the “bloom” pour, which allows the coffee to de-gas.
Slowly pour in the remaining water, keeping the water in the dripper between half and three-quarters full. This should take 3 to 4 minutes. Carefully remove the filter, then serve and enjoy.

Jeffrey Sachs Interview – China’s Reaction to US technology Containment

The 5 Best Mix-Ins to Add to Your Coffee

1. ¼ cup whole milk or oat milk

Whole milk is actually the #1 pick for the best coffee mix-in if you ask Rachel Fine, RD, a registered dietitian and owner of the nutrition counseling firm To The Pointe Nutrition in New York City. That’s because if you haven’t already, there’s no better time than now to change your tune about thinking low- and non-fat is always best.

“A splash of whole milk proves to me that we can enjoy the ‘real deal’ and benefit physically, mentally and emotionally from it,” Fine says, since it doesn’t make her feel like she’s restricting or choosing the “diet culture”-promoted option she doesn’t truly love. Since vitamin D (which is found in whole milk, but not skim) is a fat-soluble vitamin, your body benefits from the fat that the milk offers. Plus, “fat helps to satisfy us! When we feel satisfied, we’re more likely to cultivate a more mindful experience around food and beverages, even our coffee breaks,” Fine says.

Reaver is fond of adding the oat-based milk Oatly (buy it: $4.99 for ½ gallon, Target) to her coffee. “It has all the creamy goodness of half and half without the saturated fat,” she says, and is a great option for those who don’t do dairy.

2. ½ cup protein shake or 1 scoop of protein powder

For even more protein than either of the dairy “dos” above, try ½ cup of a premade protein shake, such as OWYN Protein Shake (buy it: $7.99 for four 11.15-ounce shakes, Target). A half-cup pour will add about 7 grams of protein and less than 1 gram of sugar to your coffee. Or try adding a scoop of chocolate protein powder like Vega Protein and Greens Chocolate (buy it: $25.61 for 1.8 pounds, Amazon) to your iced coffee. “This much will also add a lot of creaminess to your drink without relying on high-fat creamers,” Reaver says. As an added bonus, that more-than-an-egg-amount-of-protein will help you stay fuller longer after breakfast. (Because you’re eating a healthy one of those too, right?) “When we feel satisfied, we’re less likely to struggle with overwhelming cravings and obsessive thoughts around food,” Fine says.

3. 1 teaspoon sugar

If you’re in the mood for a hint of sweet to balance out the bitter notes in the coffee, add a small spoonful of sugar. Mary Poppins and dietitians approve of real sugar, in moderation.

“There’s a misconception about sugar in our culture,” Fine says. “But when used in ways to enhance flavor, a little can go a long way!”

A squeeze of honey or maple syrup would also do the job nicely.

4. 1 teaspoon cocoa powder

This is a cool weather seasonal favorite of Reaver, who says it’s a dreamy, antioxidant-rich way to stir up a makeshift mocha. Whether you enjoy it in your hot or iced coffee, you can rest easy knowing that this coffee mix-in can help lower your stress levels—research stands behind this!

To max out your health benefits, seek out a powder that’s 100% cacao and unsweetened. (We love Navitas Organics Cacao Powder; buy it: $7.82 for 8 ounces, Amazon)

5. 1 teaspoon cinnamon

On a similar note, you can crank up the antioxidants and add a warm, pumpkin spice latte-like note to your coffee by sprinkling on or stirring in a small spoon of cinnamon. Reaver enjoys this when she’s in the mood for a hot mug.

This is a VERY VERY BAD SIGN.

The 6 Worst Mix-Ins to Add to Your Coffee

Fine advises her clients to steer clear of any “fake foods” that are “products of diet culture and promote an overall less satisfying experience around coffee.” These include:

Skim milk
Artificial sweeteners
Fiber powders

Both artificial sweeteners and fiber supplement powders “can cause stomach discomfort, gas, bloat and pain,” Fine adds, and skim milk is a less-flavorful, watery-tasting trade for whole milk.

Reaver councils her clients that “coffee should be a morning drink not a morning milkshake!” Just because the bulletproof trend that made waves in the early 2010s doesn’t mean it’s a nutrition-smart choice. So Reaver ranks her top three worst mix-ins as:

4. Butter

5. Half-and-half

6. Coconut oil

“Adding these three types of fats to your morning coffee may seem insignificant, but can add up to significant increases in your cholesterol levels. All three are high in saturated fats. Get this: Just 2 tablespoons of half-and-half in your coffee daily for one week is the equivalent in saturated fat to a full hamburger each week,” Reaver says.

Butter and coconut oil are both primarily the same saturated fats that can increase LDL, or “bad” cholesterol levels.

“These are easy things to skip with your coffee to reduce your risk of heart disease—the number one cause of death for Americans,” she says.

Sirusho – PreGomesh | Սիրուշո – ՊռեԳոմեշ

Worst foods for healthy blood pressure

The 2020-2025 Dietary Guidelines for Americans recommend eating no more than 2,300 mg of sodium per day, which is 1 teaspoon of salt. But, the American Heart Association has even stricter guidelines, recommending no more than 1,500 mg of sodium per day. The average American consumes 3,440 mg of sodium per day. Men consume more than women with an average of 4,240 mg of sodium per day compared to the average intake for women, which is 2,980 mg per day.

But don’t throw out the saltshaker just yet. Only 11% of sodium intake in the U.S. is from the salt used in the home. Most is from processed foods and eating out. Here are the biggest offenders.

Mixed Dishes

According to the Dietary Guidelines, 44% of the sodium that Americans consume comes from mixed dishes—21% from burgers and sandwiches, 7% from rice, pasta and grain dishes, 6% from pizza, 6% from meat, poultry and seafood dishes and 4% from soups.

Pizza

Two slices of cheese pizza can have more than 1,200 mg of sodium, nearly half the recommended daily max. Top your pizza with processed meats like pepperoni or sausage and you could be eating close to a day’s worth of sodium in one meal.

Red meat, processed meat and cold cuts

Speaking of processed meats, not only are they linked to a shorter lifespan, but they’re also one of the worst offenders for blood pressure and heart health, due to both sodium and saturated fat. Red and processed meats are the reason burgers and sandwiches top the list when it comes to sodium intake. These products can vary in sodium content, but here are some averages from the USDA database:

2 sausage links: 698 mg sodium
4 slices bacon: 660 mg sodium
½ cup pepperoni slices: 1,090 mg sodium
3 slices deli turkey: 783 mg sodium

Packaged grain mixes

Quinoa, brown rice and barley are heart-healthy grains packed with fiber and protein—but not if you buy them in a bag mixed with salty seasonings. Turn the bags over while shopping and check the nutrition label for sodium. Anything with a Daily Value of 20% or more is considered high in sodium. Choose products with a DV for sodium less than 20% when you can. The best option is to buy plain whole grains and season them yourself. Many brands and stores now carry shortcut options, like frozen brown rice and 10-minute barley, without added salt.

Canned soups

“Low sodium” or “no salt added” canned soups are the best options for healthy blood pressure. One can of minestrone soup can have over 1,500 mg sodium, more than the American Heart Association says you should consume in one day. One can of tomato soup typically has about 1,000 mg sodium.

Fast food

It’s no secret that traditional fast food chains like McDonald’s, Burger King and Wendy’s serve foods loaded with salt like burgers, chicken fingers and french fries. But seemingly healthy restaurant chains like Panera, Subway and Sweetgreen, for example, serve foods laden with sodium too. Any time you eat food prepared outside your home—whether it’s Panera, Chinese takeout or a fancy restaurant—you’re bound to consume more salt than you would if you made it yourself. Of course salt is added to make foods tastier, but also be aware that larger portion sizes when you eat out contribute to higher sodium counts. Since many fast food restaurants list the nutrition online, check the menu before you go to pick out a lower-sodium option that you can enjoy.

Fried foods

Fried foods are bad news for blood pressure. They are typically full of saturated fat and also often pack in the sodium. Opt for boiled, broiled or roasted (or try your air fryer) to lessen the pressure on your vessels and heart.

Frozen meals

Frozen dinners, even ones advertised as “healthy,” are a culprit for raising blood pressure. Check the nutrition label for a Daily Value of sodium less than 20% for the meal. Meals with meat and cheese are higher in sodium. If you want to stock your freezer, buy plain frozen fruits and vegetables, which are low in sodium, as well as other single-ingredient frozen foods.

Salty snacks

Think chips, nuts and popcorn. For healthy blood pressure, choose unsalted or reduced-sodium versions most of the time.

Pickles

While two pickle spears only have about 6 calories and no fat, they typically contain more than 700 mg sodium. That’s 30% of the recommended daily sodium limit and doesn’t include the high-sodium sandwich you may be having alongside. Eat pickles in moderation for healthy blood pressure.

Alcohol

While alcohol isn’t high in sodium, drinking too much alcohol over time is associated with high blood pressure. The Dietary Guidelines recommend men drink no more than two drinks per day and women drink no more than one drink per day. A drink is defined as 5 ounces of wine, 12 ounces of beer or 1.5 ounces of liquor. There is no reason to start drinking alcohol if you don’t currently drink.

Best foods for healthy blood pressure

The Dietary Approaches to Stop Hypertension (DASH) diet is proven to reduce blood pressure and cholesterol levels and reduce the risk of cardiovascular disease compared to a typical American diet. The DASH diet, also called the DASH eating plan (as it’s more a way of eating than a diet), includes eating fruits and vegetables, low-fat dairy products, whole grains, chicken, fish, beans and nuts. It’s low in red meat, sugar-sweetened beverages and processed foods with added sugar and salt.

Potassium helps lower blood pressure by helping the kidneys flush out excess sodium. Men should consume 3,400 mg of potassium per day, and women should aim for 2,600 mg per day (2,900 mg/day if pregnant; 2,800 mg/day if breastfeeding). Potassium is listed on the Nutrition Facts panel, making it easy to see if you’re getting enough to maintain healthy blood pressure levels. See our list of high-potassium foods.

Calcium and magnesium are also important nutrients for healthy blood pressure, as they help blood vessels relax.

Bananas

One medium banana has 422 mg of sodium-flushing potassium. Mix bananas into oatmeal or top your toast with peanut butter and a banana for breakfast.

Potatoes

One medium white potato has 620 mg of potassium, while one sweet potato has 540 mg of potassium. Make your own french fries by slicing potatoes and roasting them in the oven with a little salt and other spices like pepper, paprika or rosemary. Drizzle them with olive oil for heart-healthy fats. Learn more about what makes potatoes healthy.

Beets

One cup of beets has 440 mg of potassium, while one cup of beet greens has 245 mg of potassium. Studies show that both beets and beet juice can lower blood pressure, due to their high concentration of nitrates, which help improve blood flow (learn more about the health benefits of beets).

Spinach

Three cups of raw spinach delivers 475 mg of potassium, and this veggie is super versatile so it’s easy to eat—make a spinach salad, scramble into eggs, throw into a smoothie, or sauté for a side dish. Leafy greens are also high in calcium and magnesium.

Beans and legumes

Beans and legumes are high in potassium and magnesium. One cup of white beans delivers 615 mg of potassium and 89 mg of magnesium. Men should get 420 mg of magnesium per day and women should get 320 mg per day. Just rinse beans if buying them canned to help reduce sodium.

Plain yogurt

Yogurt is naturally high in calcium; choose plain over flavored yogurts (and add your own fruit or a little bit of sweetener for flavor). Go for low-fat varieties most often to limit saturated fat intake. Most men and women should aim for 1,000 mg of calcium per day. Women over the age of 50 should get 1,200 mg per day. One cup of low-fat yogurt has 415 mg of calcium. Mix heart-healthy berries into plain yogurt or swap out sour cream for plain yogurt in tacos or chili.

Other tips for healthy blood pressure

Cook food at home more often instead of eating out.
Buy foods labeled as “low sodium,” “reduced sodium” or “no salt added.”
Buy canned foods less often and opt for fresh and frozen fruits and vegetables most of the time.
Rinse canned beans and vegetables before eating.
Read nutrition labels and choose foods with less than 20% Daily Value of sodium per serving.
Choose fresh meat and seafood more often than processed and packaged meats.
Buy unsalted savory snacks like nuts.

The Bottom Line

All foods can fit in a healthy diet, even a diet to help lower your blood pressure. Limit the foods on the worst-offenders list, like pizza, sandwiches and burgers, along with foods eaten at restaurants, processed meats, frozen meals and canned soups. The DASH diet is proven to help lower blood pressure. Limit processed foods and choose whole foods most of the time, like fresh or frozen fruits and vegetables, plain whole grains, beans and legumes, low-fat dairy, and low-sodium nuts and nut butters.

Vini Vici – Universe Inside Me 🎧 ….Africa Zaouli Dance 👍….Le Zahouly Danse

Consumer Reports Just Found Lead and Cadmium in Some Popular Dark Chocolate Brands

Here’s how to shop for safer chocolate brands and keep yourself healthy.

Eleanor Chalstrom

Published on December 19, 2022

Chocolate is a staple in many kitchens. Whether it’s for baking or a sweet treat after dinner, chocolate is the ultimate pantry essential. A recent report from Consumer Reports suggests that some popular chocolate brands are higher in lead and cadmium than what’s within the healthy ranges.

These two heavy metals can be dangerous for adults and children when consumed in excess. The Consumer Reports study tested 28 different popular dark chocolate brands to see if they could trace lead and cadmium in amounts that could harm people’s health.

If consumed regularly, these heavy metals could cause developmental problems among children, and in adults, hypertension, immune system problems, kidney damage and more, according to Tunde Akinleye, a food safety researcher on the project.

Dark chocolate is particularly concerning as it contains more cocoa solids from the cacao bean than milk chocolate. Heavy metals like cadmium and lead often accumulate in cocoa solids, making products with more solids, like dark chocolate, more problematic than others.

Consumer Reports tested 28 different dark chocolate bars for lead and cadmium and used California’s maximum allowable dose level to determine which chocolate bars were “safer choices,” “high in cadmium,” “high in lead” and “high in both cadmium and lead.”

Twenty-three of the brands tested had enough lead or cadmium present that eating just 1 ounce per day could seriously impact your health. Five of the bars tested had potentially dangerous levels of both heavy metals.

Brands like Theo, Trader Joe’s and Lily’s all had high levels of lead and cadmium, making them the riskiest ones tested. The study also tested brands like Ghirardelli dark chocolate and Taza Chocolate, concluding that their levels of the heavy metals were low enough to make them safer choices.

Consumer Reports said that it could be difficult to trace just how these heavy metals make it into dark chocolates since they have different ways of contaminating the chocolate. Lead often seeps into beans after harvest from contact with roads and dirty equipment. The best practice to minimize lead levels is to clean and dry the beans carefully. Cadmium contamination occurs primarily through the soil beans are grown in, making it a more strenuous process for the chocolate industry to remedy.

The study advises chocolate lovers to consume their dark chocolate minimally and consider what brands are deemed “safer choices” than others. The researchers also recommend limiting dark chocolate consumption in children, as lead and cadmium are most harmful to kids. Eating chocolates with lower cacao percentages could also limit your risk of consuming harmful levels of these heavy metals.

15 Biggest African Songs That Broke The Internet in 2022

The United States is going to get everyone killed

Yes it is.

The horror…

The Eagles – Hotel California – Reimagined on the Traditional Chinese Guzheng | Moyun

OK, so we’re all agreed she’s freaking incredible, right?

America Has Dictated Its Economic Peace Terms to China

By refusing negotiation over China’s rise, the United States might be making conflict inevitable.

Tooze-Adam-foreign-policy-columnist16

Adam Tooze

By Adam Tooze,

How far will mounting tension with China be translated into the economic policy of the United States? After a rash of sanctions and overtly discriminatory legislation, with action on U.S. investment in China pending, and with talk of war increasingly commonplace in the United States, the Biden administration knows that it needs to clarify its economic relations with the country that is the largest U.S. trading partner outside North America.

From HERE

US sanctions China into its own self-destruction ❗

Intel Corp. is expected to post its worst quarterly loss on record Thursday, and analysts are hoping it is rock bottom for the struggling chip maker.

Intel INTC is scheduled to report earnings after the close of markets on Thursday, and analysts on average expect the Silicon Valley giant to report a loss of more than $3 billion, or 76 cents a share, according to FactSet. That would be by far the largest quarterly loss on record for the company: In records dating back to 1993, Intel has never reported a GAAP loss of more than...

Article HERE

Jeffrey Sachs: “China JUST CHANGED EVERYTHING, THIS IS SERIOUS” in Exclusive Interview

https://youtu.be/Xm0IGDE52sk

Choppy changes and incredible surprises coming up ahead

Some of the predictions about peak solar change are coming true. Some of the predictions of the chaos that engulfs the United States before it’s collapse, are coming true. Some of the predictions laid forth by Strauss and Howe are coming true. Just now in 2023, rather than four to five years later in 2027.

Can you honestly believe that the bad is going to continue for another five years until it peaks in 2027? I cannot.

We are here NOW.

OK. Today’s article…

THIS IS MY MOST IMPORTANT VIDEO.

Title, not MM stuff. -MM

A neural link could be hijacked by AI to make humans behave as it wishes. Scary times indeed.

What is your opinion, as a Chinese-American on the recent surge of illegal Chinese crossing the US border?

If they could afford the cost of flying from China to South America and went through all the hazard of illegal crossing into the US, it would make more sense for them to simply fly into the US as tourists and disappear in the US.

This propaganda is beyond stupid.

Who is the best escape artist in the world?

You may have never guessed it would be him.

Mark DeFriest always had a distant stare in his eyes — as though he could see something nobody else could.

During a conversation, he’ll look you in the eyes, respond — but never quite be “there’”, which is why he struggled to connect with people.

Mark was born with savant syndrome, a rare condition that

allows a person to excel with specific mental abilities while being deficient in others. The syndrome is commonly known through Kim Peek, t

he person Rain Man was based on.

Mark’s talent manifested in his fascination with gadgets. By age 6, he could disassemble and reassemble mechanical watches and other complex devices. Eventually, he could repair anything.

And he is, perhaps, the greatest prison escape artist in history.

His first arrest was in 1969

At 19, Mark and his new wife were driving along the Florida panhandle, working their way out west to start a new life together.

His father abruptly died and Mark turned back to attend the services. to him in his will. Thinking it was OK, he went and picked up the tools to use as part of his trade.

His stepmother didn’t care for Mark. The will hadn’t been probated yet so, technically, his picking up the tools was illegal. She called the police.

Because of Mark’s mental condition, he thought there was a big conspiracy to have him incarcerated, so he fled the scene. What should have been a routine arbitration of a disagreement turned into a full-blown police chase.

He was sentenced to four years in prison.

The prison escapes begin

It seems readily obvious that if your prison sentence is short, you should be well-behaved and aim to serve it without issues. Now, if you were dying of cancer or sentenced to 250 years, trying something crazy might make more sense.

This is where DeFriest’s brilliance is pocked with holes.

When you are inside a Florida prison cell, with steel bars, several enclosed layers of cement grids, high barbed-wire fences, guards standing watch, and living just one floor above the electric chair, escaping feels like an impossible task.

Yet Mark saw this as just another problem to solve. He lacked broader context to understand the consequences of breaking free.

His first escape attempt came when he slipped LSD into the hospital pharmacy’s coffee mixer. He planned to make a break for it when everyone was high.

After the staff started freaking out, he picked the lock to his cell and ran down the prison hallways.

Then, he scaled an exterior wall and hot-wired a car that he drove off of in.

Quite quickly, he was caught and brought back. He was sent to another prison, where his sentence was extended for grand theft auto.

The prison escapes continuing

It’s worth noting that Mark, from the very beginning, was subjected to abuse in the prison system.

His mental illness made him stand out amongst a killer’s row of peers.

They used him as a punching bag for their own legal frustrations. Additionally, his prison escapes infuriated the guards, who felt they’d been made to look stupid. They taunted and beat him routinely.

The abuse only accelerated Mark’s efforts to escape. In total, he escaped seven times on thirteen attempts. When he escaped, it usually involved him spotting a hole in their security systems or procedures. Other times, it was even more cunning.

For example, a prison guard was standing near his prison cell. Mark saw the key that was hanging from his waist and memorized the patterns. Then, he carved his own replica key and used it to escape.

In another attempt, he made a makeshift device to cut through bars and escaped through a vertical window by pushing together unsecured furniture.

He also used a device to launch himself over the barbwire fences. More plainly, he managed to create a make-shift catapult in prison.

In each of these escapes, he would find a nearby vehicle, pick the lock, and then start the car using his hands. And, eventually, he would be tracked down and re-arrested.

This wasn’t the extent of his shenanigans. He also figured out a way to hack the prison, and on multiple occasions, caused all the cell doors to open at the same time. They still haven’t figured out how he did it. Explaining his method isn’t in his immediate plans either.

The tragic takeaway of it all

What should have been a 4-year sentence is now extended to 105 years.

No, Mark didn’t help his case in attaining the nickname ‘The Jail Houdini’. Sure, it earned him acclaim throughout the country but earned him no love from judges and prison employees.

Many resources were expended managing him and that depletion may have put others at risk.

Today, Mark DeFriest is 62 and still sits in prison.

He’s spent more than 27 years in solitary confinement. He’s never been involved in a violent offense. He’s never hurt, anyone. Sure, rules are rules.

Yet I can’t help but feel this is another example of the penal system’s horrific ability to manage the mentally ill.

Decades earlier, when he stood trial for his 105-year sentence, five of six psychiatrists said he was incompetent to stand trial. The one dissenting psychiatrist has now reversed his position. The courts will have none of it.

Following a push by activists to get him released, he was granted parole. It was short-lived though. Only ten days later, his parole was overturned and Mark was arrested while checking himself into a mental health facility. He’s the only prisoner serving a life sentence in Florida for a nonviolent offense.

Yes, mental illness has been getting more attention from legislatures in recent years. But in the hard-lined prison system? Don’t expect any changes anytime soon.

Star Trek – A Mystery With No Answer

Canadian Mennonite Plum Custard Kuchen

A tea-biscuit base with neat rows of plums surrounded by custard – this is a delicious dessert.

Ingredients

Kuchen

1 1/3 cups flour
1/4 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons granulated sugar
1/3 cup margarine or shortening
1 egg, beaten
1 cup milk
Plums, pitted and halved

Topping

1/2 cup granulated sugar
1 teaspoon cinnamon

Custard

1 beaten egg
1/2 cup sour cream
1/2 cup buttermilk or yogurt
1/3 cup sugar

Instructions

Sift together flour, baking powder, salt, and sugar. Cut in margarine.
Beat egg and milk and stir into mixture.
Pat the dough over the bottom of a 9-inch cake pan. Arrange nicely in rows enough pitted plums to completely cover the dough. Sprinkle topping over the plums.
Bake at 400 degrees F for 15 minutes.
Meanwhile mix custard ingredients.
Take the kuchen out of the oven, drizzle the custard mixture over the plums, and return it to the oven.
Reduce heat to 350 degrees F and bake for another 30 minutes.
Serve warm.

Brazil and China

49 points Joint Statement Between the People's Republic of China and the Federative Republic of Brazil on Deepening the Comprehensive Strategic Partnership (Full Text)

Article HERE

Victoria Newland trying to stir up trouble…

Several major cities were considered for mega project, expected to be operational by 2035

main qimg 253397eeb2120d1aad2bc161dfb2ae16

China is likely to build its first Hyperloop train line between Shanghai and Hangzhou, according to the nation’s top engineering and rail design institutes.

The 150km-long (93-mile) in-vacuum tunnel will allow maglev trains to travel at speeds of up to 1,000km/h (621mph).

The Chinese Academy of Engineering and rail authorities commissioned a “comprehensive assessment on the candidate construction sites for ultra-high speed pipeline maglev system demonstration line”, and the two richest cities in the east coast emerged as winners, said scientists involved in the project in a report published in the Chinese-language journal Railway Standard Design on April 17.

U.S.Airforce Vs UFO / U.S.S. Enterprise!

Fascinating episode. As for William Shatner, what a life. He went into space on 13 October 2021, at the age of 90. For real. Shatner became the oldest person to reach the final frontier.

Work Related Web Comics To Help You Make It Through Monday

Waking up on Monday morning with nothing to look forward to but corporate speak and lower back pain is enough to make anyone want to kidnap the fax machine and smash it out of it’s misery à la ‘Office Space’. Wes of The Gentleman’s Armchair has created some sad but true comics to take the edge off. So take a coffee break and read through these work related web comics for a quick pick-me-up before getting back to the grindstone.

h/t: cheezburger

EMERGENCY ALERT SENT TO MILLIONS, NATO Makes WW3 pledge

The need for a new US Foreign Policy

By Jeffrey Sachs

US foreign policy is based on an inherent contradiction and fatal flaw. The aim of US foreign policy is a US-dominated world, in which the US writes the global trade and financial rules, controls advanced technologies, maintains militarily supremacy, and dominates all potential competitors. Unless US foreign policy is changed to recognise the need for a multipolar world, it will lead to more wars, and possibly World War III.

The inherent contradiction in US foreign policy is that it conflicts with the UN Charter, which commits the US (and all other UN member states) to a global system based on UN institutions in which no single country dominates. The fatal flaw is that the US has just 4 percent of the world population, and lacks the economic, financial, military, and technological capacities, much less the ethical and legal claims, to dominate the other 96 percent.

At the end of World War II, the US was far ahead of the rest of the world in economic, technological, and military power. This is no longer the case, as many countries have built their economies and technological capacities.

President Emmanuel Macron recently spoke the truth when he said that the European Union, though an ally of the US, does not want to be a vassal of the US. He was widely attacked in the US and Europe for uttering this statement because many mediocre politicians in Europe depend on US political support to stay in power.

In 2015, US Ambassador Robert Blackwill, an important US foreign policy strategist, described US grand strategy with exceptional clarity. He wrote, “Since its founding, the United States has consistently pursued a grand strategy focused on acquiring and maintaining preeminent power over various rivals, first on the North American continent, then in the Western hemisphere, and finally globally,” and argued that “preserving U.S. primacy in the global system ought to remain the central objective of U.S. grand strategy in the twenty-first century.”

To sustain US primacy vis-à-vis China, Blackwill laid out a game plan that President Joe Biden is following. Among other measures, Blackwill called on the US to create “new preferential trading arrangements among U.S. friends and allies to increase their mutual gains through instruments that consciously exclude China,” “a technology-control regime” to block China’s strategic capabilities, a build-up of “power-political capacities of U.S. friends and allies on China’s periphery,” and strengthened U.S. military forces along the Asian rimlands despite any Chinese opposition.

Most US politicians and many in Britain, the EU, Japan, Korea, Australia, and New Zealand support the United States’ aggressive approach. I do not. I view the US approach to China as contrary to the UN Charter and peace.

China has the right to prosperity and national security, free from US provocations around its borders. China’s remarkable economic accomplishments since the late 1970s are wonderful for both China and the world.

During the long century from 1839 to 1949, China was driven into extreme poverty in a period marked by European and Japanese invasions of China and Chinese civil wars. Britain invaded in 1839 to force China to buy Britain’s addictive opium. Other powers piled on during the following century. China has finally recovered from that disastrous period, and in the process, ended poverty of around 1 billion people!

China’s new prosperity can be both peaceful and productive for the world. China’s successful technologies – ranging from vital cures for malaria to low-cost solar power and efficient 5G networks – can be a boon for the world. China will only be a threat to the extent that the US makes China into an enemy. US hostility to China, which mixes the arrogant US aim of dominance with long-standing anti-Chinese racism dating back to the 19th century, is creating that enemy.

The dangers of US foreign policy extend beyond China. The US goal to expand NATO to Ukraine and Georgia, thereby surrounding Russia in the Black Sea, helped stoke the Ukraine War. Countless nations see the danger of this approach. Major nations from Brazil to India and beyond aim for a multipolar world. All UN member states should recommit to the UN Charter and oppose claims of dominance by any nation.

Star Trek – Back In Nazi Germany?

Philippines says ‘won’t allow’ US to stockpile weapons at joint military bases

US is getting more and more isolated. The world is increasingly daring to say “NO” to America.

The Philippines said Wednesday it “won’t allow” the US to stockpile weapons at joint military bases in the Southeast Asian nation for use in operations in Taiwan.

Enrique Manalo, Filipino foreign affairs chief, told a Senate hearing that the “Philippines will not be allowing the US to stockpile weapons for use in operations in Taiwan at sites American troops have access to under a 2014 defense agreement between Manila and Washington,” the daily Phil Star reported.

His comments came as Manila has approved four more military bases for joint use with Washington under the Enhanced Defense Cooperation Agreement (EDCA), signed in 2014....

Article HERE

Which ancient Chinese historical time period was roughly equivalent to the contemporaneous issues between the USA and China, and can you relate what happened?

“Every happy family is happy in the same way. Every unhappy family is unhappy in different ways.”

If you are looking for exact matches, you won’t find any. But rather, if you were to isolate the different parts of the US’ present day troubles, you can find similarities with various aspects of Chinese history. These are just my own observations.

—

1. Wang Mang

The first thing that jumps out to me is the US almost repeating the mistakes of Wang Mang. The Xin Dynasty that Wang Mang set up is widely regarded as the worst dynasty, so bad that it isn’t even viewed as a legitimate ruling polity. In a way, you can imagine the Xin Dynasty as a successful usurpation of authority by the forces that former president Donald Trump represents.

Wang Mang advocated for a return to the old Zhou Dynasty society, whereas the changes and progress made in the Qin and Han Dynasties were seen as making China worse. It closely resembes the whole Maga thing, where you had reactionary forces wanting the US to “return” to the old 1950s version of America. Wang Mang also rose up as a populist leader, who did bring up legitimate grievances that the masses had with the rulers, as many felt they were uncared for.

Of course, once Wang Mang actually came into power, he completely broke every promise he made, neglected agriculture, failed at flood control, and completely failed at diplomacy with the Xiongnu confederation. Wang Mang would even set up a “rival” government that would be the “real” rulers of the Xiongnu, which sounds quite similar to US machinations with their coup attempts “for muh democrazy”.

2. Qianlong

The other issue I see is that the US is exhibiting the same problems that led to the stagnation of the Qing Dynasty, which ended with the West overtaking China. The US keeps trying to hold onto coal mining, constantly has issues with automation “taking jobs”, and how globalization is “unfair”.

Emperor Qianlong famously declared that China had everything she desired, and how the Europeans had nothing to offer. While not exact, I see the same thing with the US thinking she’s got everything she needs, and the new technologies coming out of China “are not profitable” or other excuses.

3. Southern Song

The final problem with the US is that it is exhibiting the signs of late stage capitalism. While every Chinese dynasty would eventually devolve into the chaos of decentralization, liberalism, and capitalism, none exhibited these disasters as strongly as the last days of the Song Dynasty.

If you read “Up and Down 5000 years”, there was a story of two rich families competing in wealth, where they would do things like washing pans with sugar water, constructing a 20 mile walkway with satin, or lavishly buying dozens of Peng Jing. All while the people were under threat of famine, revolts were happening everywhere, and the armies of the Jin were winning battle after battle.

These kinds of families also completely took over the Song court, which quickly devolved into non-stop factional in-fighting. Qin Hui would rather kill Yue Fei for his personal political power, even though Yue Fei was the one spending his entire life protecting the Song against the Jin. There was no concept of the greater good, and that is exhibited by the US today – for some unknown reason, Americans seem to think “greater good” is a bad thing.

—

Anyways, none of these are perfect matches, because as stated previously, failure is different every time. If only one of the three time periods could be picked, I’d go with Qianlong. That was at the end of the Qing Dynasty golden age (Kangxi – Yongzheng – Qianlong), so things still appeared to be very good on the surface, but the decadence has already set in.

Ground Cherry Pie

Ground cherries, also known as husk tomatoes, produce tiny tomato-like fruits in papery husks on low, lanky bushes. This is an old Mennonite recipe with a crumb topping.

Ingredients

2 1/2 cups pitted ground cherries
1/2 cup packed brown sugar
1 tablespoon all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon water
1 (9-inch) pie shell
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
3 tablespoons granulated sugar
2 tablespoons butter

Instructions

Heat oven to 425 degrees F.
Wash ground cherries and place in unbaked pie shell.
Mix brown sugar and 1 tablespoon flour and sprinkle over cherries. Sprinkle water over top.
Mix together the 3 tablespoons flour and 3 tablespoons sugar. Cut butter in until crumbly. Top cherry mixture with crumbs.
Bake for 15 minutes.
Reduce oven temperature to 375 degrees F and continue to bake for 25 minutes.

Star Trek – Escape From Rome

On the land of China, there is a group of flower chasers. They are bee farmers who keep bees.

Starting from spring each year, they will catch up with the flowering season across the country, and even stay at home for no more than a month each year. The highway will also save time for them every second, providing priority access. This is called the “green channel” on the highway and is prepared for agricultural logistics. During the previous years of the epidemic, the green channel was also used in some areas to transport epidemic prevention materials.

main qimg b45eb1f7f74df261ddee411cb1293445

In terms of bee selection, Italian bees have a good yield, but often only collect large flower fields, while local bees have advantages in wintering and freezing prevention, and can also collect scattered flowers, but the yield is relatively low. Bee farmers hybridize two types of bees to gain the advantages of both.

The various crops in the farmland require pollination, which gives farmers and bee farmers, the two groups of “static and dynamic”, the motivation to cooperate. Bees are very sensitive to pesticides, and farmers will prepare empty window periods for bee farmers to pollinate to avoid accidental harm to these bees.

Beekeepers usually bring dogs to warn and drive out wild animals. For example, there may be some wolves in Inner Mongolia. Heilongjiang and Jilin also have bears, and there are mice everywhere – they can steal honey.

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With the price advantage of solar panels, bee farmers, as a modern kind of “nomad”, are increasingly using solar energy.

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In the past, honey was difficult to sell directly because beekeepers had been in the mountains and forests for a long time and transportation was inconvenient. Now, on the Chinese version of TikTok, beekeepers’ live streaming promotion is widespread. People feel more reassured about honey products when they see live videos about how they are produced.

Beekeepers sell pollen, honey, royal jelly, even beeswax and beehives with honey. The honey produced by different flowers has different aromas, which is the taste of the flowers. Chinese linden honey, locust flower honey, osmanthus honey, longan honey, coptis chinensis honey, lychee honey, these are all popular honey types.

The picture shows Chinese linden honey, and the bee farmer said that the price of this bottle is forty yuan – 5.8$. Reasonable for me.

What is the most unpleasant thing about South America?

main qimg 97bb9c692bf2bb1be4b685fcddc20e5b lq

Here you see a Brazilian wandering spider guarding its offspring under a bed.

Its Latin name is Phoneutria fera. This spider is aggressive and highly venomous.

It appeared in the 2007 Guinness Book of World Records for being the most venomous animal.

It is among the few spiders that are truly dangerous to us.

The spider itself grows to 5 cm in size but the legs can be 15 cm long.

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Wandering spiders are hairy and have eight eyes, two of which are large.

And they move very fast.

It is called a wandering spider because it moves on the tropical forest floor and not in a burrow or web.

This makes it so dangerous.

Because it seeks out dark shelters that can be houses, clothes, cars, boots, boxes and piles of logs.

You might accidentally disturb it and that is not a good idea.

He might even find himself in a bunch of bananas, because these he likes.

But he generally likes meat. Crickets, mice or even lizards are part of his prey.

If this spider bites you, you may see and feel something like two pinpricks.

Or you may feel strongly poisened.

But in either case you must seek medical help, because you are in grave danger.

The spider possesses a powerful neurotoxin, meaning it attacks your nervous system.

But its venom is also the most painful and excruciating of all spiders because of its high concentration of serotonin.

And these spiders are among the ones that bite the most human beings.

There are certain countries, where you better not move too much alone, without a guide, in nature.

Europe does quite well in this respect.

Good thing.

Now watch this next video.

The World Isn’t Ready for What’s Coming This Summer

OK. Please watch this short video…

Now read this next article…

“Severe” G4 Geomagnetic Storm now in progress (Sunday)

World Hal Turner 23 April 2023

48 Hours ago, the sun let loose a Coronal Mass Ejection (CME) aimed directly at earth. Scientists warned it may cause a Geo-Magnetic Storm. Tonight they have their answer: a “Severe” G4 Geo-magnetic storm is now in progress. Aurora’s may be visible down to TEXAS!”

Arriving earlier than expected, a CME hit Earth’s magnetic field today, April 23rd, at 1737 UTC. The impact sparked a severe G4-class geomagnetic storm with auroras in Europe as far south as Germany and southern Poland. The storm is subsiding now, currently G3, but it is still strong and could produce auroras over the USA after nightfall. Aurora alerts: SMS Text.

“My pulse is still racing!” says Heiko Ulbricht, who watched the aurora show from Saxony, Germany, during the apex of the geomagnetic storm. “There were bright green spots dancing across the sky all the way up to the zenith.” The image above is what he saw.

“I still can’t breathe,” he says. “This was a show not to be forgotten.”

The auroras were so bright, they could be seen even from brightly-lit urban areas. Thomas Hunger sends this report from Berlin, Germany: “I run Northern Lights tours in Tromsø, Norway, but would have never dreamt of seeing auroras from my home town of Berlin. I stepped on the balcony and enjoyed a sight that in a city of 4 million inhabitants might just have been a once-in-a-lifetime experience.”

Tomasz Adam had a similar experience in Kraków, Poland: “I saw aurora for the first time in my life,” he says. “My photo might not look like much, but I took it from Kraków – one of the most light polluted cities of Poland.”

Watching America’s Collapse On Video

Your time is almost up if you live in the West. It’s past OVER. Leave now.

The USA is starting to wake up to the nightmare that it created

"The evidence that Covid is a biological weapon created in the US is overwhelming."

Just starting.

It’s only the beginning…

Today, I had the Godliest cheeseburger that I have ever eaten. It was at Burger King (In China, of course). And it was a special double cheeseburger. But instead of using the small 1/6 pound meat patties, it used two 1/3 meat patties. It was tasty, and delicious and good. But man oh man, was it a shit-load of hamburger.

Cheesy and tasty. Totally and completely delicious.

I had no idea that it was so HUGE. And towards the end, oh, Lordy, was it a struggle.

I can’t believe I ate the whole thing.

Double Cheeseburger wide FS and foodporn 55

Why are Asian countries so against American political correctness being applied to their countries while it’s widely promoted in America?

Because they see the ridiculous banana republic of chaos that America has become and they want no part of it. They know geography and their pronouns. They know truth from propaganda. They like going out in public without being afraid of becoming a target for a shooter. Their police aren’t arresting six year olds or gunning down people. Their governments, fallible as they may be, haven’t tried burning down their capital buildings.

Asian countries like peace, stability, infrastructure, safety, wealth, progress, truth and other positive things. They really do not want to be what we’ve become. And I don’t blame them.

Jeffery Sachs | BILLIONAIRES are DESTROYING our WORLD

https://youtu.be/3fOQn8uWdxI

This Artist Draws Pictures to Show That Everything Has a Flip Side

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Not many people look at events and phenomenons from different angles. This is exactly what the artist, Anton Gudim, talks about on his Instagram account.

More: Instagram h/t: brightside

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What is the China competitiveness bill passed in the US Senate?

Youngsters would call it a Badass piece of Legislation meant to Compete with China

It involves investing a huge sum of money – almost $ 200 Billion into various avenues meant to disrupt Chinas dominance as a Worlds Supply Chain Depot over the next 5 years

It aims to spend $ 50 Billion to start Semi Conductor manufacture in other countries like India or Vietnam to replace the 45 – 100 nm Chips that China is churning out by the milllions.

It also gives unilateral powers to the President to Impose on any Entity or Person without the State Department or Commerce Departments or any Departments collaboration. This means Biden can sanction China directly (The Country, not the Officials)

Believe me – If Implemented well- It could be a big big win for India and could create as many as 20,000 Skilled Jobs initially and if we really were to take advantage of the US Investments – we could replace China in making 45 – 100 nm Chips by say 2026–2027 which would be a surge to our GDP.

It would also mean a lot of Stones and Balls for the Genial Old Man who has faced massive setbacks with his ambitious infrastructure spending plans becoming the equivalent of Trumps Wall.

Yet it is very ambitious because China is always 4–5 steps ahead.

Also China makes the Worlds Best 45 – 100 Nm Chips and to trust India or Vietnam to be able to harness and develop the same tech in even 6 years is super ambitious especially knowing that there is almost very little profit except in Bulk Quantity.

And there is also an added problem – China is a huge market for 60% of the Cars which use these Chips so if China says Sorry well only buy Chinese – then the chances of any big scale manufacturing would be shot to hell.

So at this stage its – Match on – Xi vs Biden

Biden has put things on Paper – We have to see if he has some way to Implement the same thing.

Chicken Rice Soup

Yield: 6 servings

Equipment

Pressure Cooker

Ingredients

1/4 cup or less olive oil
4 to 5 small leeks, washed thoroughly and sliced
1/2 cup rice, uncooked*
6 cups fat free chicken broth (one large can College Inn)
1 (3 pound) whole chicken, cut up with skin removed
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 cup chopped celery
1/4 cup chopped fresh parsley
1 teaspoon coarse salt
1/4 teaspoon white pepper
1 bay leaf
1 teaspoon dried tarragon
Chopped parsley for garnish
2 carrots, peeled and cut into 1-inch pieces

Instructions

In a pressure cooker, heat oil and add leeks and sauté for about 2 minutes.
Add rice and cook, stirring often, for about 1 minute.
Add broth, chicken, lemon juice, celery, parsley, salt and pepper, bay leaf and tarragon. Secure lid. Over high heat, develop steam to high pressure. Reduce heat to maintain pressure and cook for 10 minutes.
Release pressure according to manufacturer’s instructions. Remove lid.
Remove chicken from soup. Remove chicken from bones, cut into 1 inch cubes, add to soup. Remove bay leaf. Discard bones.
Add carrots and simmer uncovered for about 10 minutes until carrots are tender.
Refrigerate and skim off any fat that develops.
Serve hot with chopped parsley as a garnish.

Notes

* May substitute 2 cups of noodles, broken into pieces, for the rice.

China-Russia trade up 38.7% in Q1, energy cooperation continues to be a major stabilizer for bilateral ties

By GT staff reporters Published: Apr 13, 2023 08:21 PM

A cargo truck moves on the Heihe-Blagoveshchensk highway bridge from Heihe, Northeast China’s Heilongjiang Province, to Russia’s Blagoveshchensk port on December 15, 2022. The cross-border highway bridge, which opened to traffic in June, has become a major boost for trade between China and Russia. Photo: VCG

China’s overall trade with Russia maintained its strong growth momentum in the first quarter with an increase of 38.7 percent from a year earlier, far outpacing the growth of China’s total trade.

With energy cooperation taking up more than 40 percent of bilateral commodity trade and playing a pivotal role, and the promotion of local currency settlement accelerating, it is expected that bilateral trade will cross the $200 billion threshold this year, experts said.

First-quarter bilateral trade totaled $53.85 billion. China’s shipments to Russia rose 47.1 percent year-on-year to $24.07 billion, while shipments from Russia were up 32.6 percent to $29.77 billion, data from China’s General Administration of Customs showed on Thursday.

In March alone, total bilateral trade reached $20.07 billion, up 77 percent on a yearly basis, accelerating from 36.4 percent in the first two months, Chinese customs data showed.

“The strong growth momentum is within market expectations as the top leaders of the two countries have clarified bilateral cooperation direction. Pragmatic economic cooperation has become an unstoppable trend,” Song Kui, president of the Contemporary China-Russia Regional Economy Research Institute, told the Global Times on Thursday.

Song estimated that bilateral trade will cross the $200 billion threshold this year given the robust growth.

Last year, bilateral trade hit a record of $190.27 billion. China’s exports of mechanical and electrical products, automobiles and auto parts to Russia all grew substantially.

China has been Russia’s largest trading partner for 13 consecutive years, and the two countries have continued deepening their energy cooperation and made solid progress in strategic projects.

Russia is now one of China’s leading energy suppliers. The two countries have expanded their ties in the energy sector from pure commodity trading of oil and natural gas to industrial cooperation in oil and gas exploration and refining, said Liu Qian, an executive deputy director of the Center for Russian and Central Asian Studies at the China University of Petroleum (Beijing).

China purchased more than 6.5 million tons of liquefied natural gas and 86.25 million tons of crude oil from Russia in 2022, official data showed.

“The huge capacity and trade flexibility of the Chinese market could absorb a large part of Russia’s energy and ensure the steady progress of large-scale energy cooperation projects,” said Liu.

Enterprises of the two sides are maintaining exchanges and active consultations on the new Russian-Chinese natural gas pipeline project transiting through Mongolia, and China will continue to support enterprises in carrying out research and consultations in accordance with commercial principles, an official from China’s National Energy Administration said during a press conference on Wednesday.

The construction of the Amur natural gas processing plant with the participation of Chinese-funded enterprises started in 2015. As of 2022, 87.52 percent of the construction work of the plant was completed, Russia’s state-owned energy giant Gazprom, said in December last year.

The plant will send 38 billion cubic meters (bcm) of natural gas to China every year as designed, and the full capacity of 42 bcm will be reached in 2025.

“There is still great potential for China-Russian energy cooperation,” said Liu.

On the one hand, Russia’s natural gas supply to China will continue to grow. Besides, with the global energy transformation and China’s “dual carbon” goals in place, there is also much room for cooperation in renewable, hydrogen, nuclear energy and in the clean and efficient use of energy, he explained.

As bilateral trade grows, the Chinese yuan is gaining popularity in Russia, and local currency settlement by discarding the US dollar is going from strength to strength.

According to a report from the Bank of Russia, the country’s central bank, the share of the yuan/rouble pair trading on the Russian exchange market reached a new high of 39 percent in March. During the same period, the share of the US dollar/rouble pair fell to 34 percent, the lowest in recent years.

In February, the yuan surpassed the dollar in trading volume on the Russian exchange.

Ozon Holding, one of Russia’s largest online retailers, is doubling down on the Chinese currency to fend off increasing external uncertainties.

Simon Huang, managing director of Ozon China, told the Global Times that “this year, we are actively promoting settlements in yuan for Chinese cross-border sellers on our platform. From commodity pricing to payment, the process is centered on the yuan to reduce the risk of foreign exchange fluctuations.”

Found Unused Nuclear Bunker Filled with Equipment

Beautiful and Frightening: Mako Vice’s Bizarre Drawn Girls

Mako Vice is an artist, mangaka, and member of the creative association Gainen15. On her social networks Mako posts pictures with graceful but very specific ladies suffering from various mystical afflictions. One has worm-like fingers growing through her skin, the other one rips her face off and stuff like that. It’s grim, but classy.

More: Instagram

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Why should everyone visit China at least once?

I’ve been living in China for almost 9 years now. The one thing that keeps amaze me is how little people know about China, as it is today. Almost every traveler I guided in China was amazed about how their perceptions of the country and its people were wrong, or very biased and partial. Many are truly amazed how little they actually know about China, it’s history and culture.

It is understood, of course, that any of us learns mostly about their relative history and culture; knows more about ‘their side of the world” than of other’s; and so, by traveling to China (and other Asian countries, for that matter) you are being exposed to new things, probably more than if you travel to a destination that is more “culturally-close” to yours.

So, for me, the main reason everyone should travel to China at least once, is to open up their eyes and minds to different perspectives and cultures in the world. I hope this will make all travelers start asking more questions about what they think and read of other places too.

What was the purpose of the CIA director’s visit to Saudi Arabia?

The United States always follow a SIX POINT STRATEGY to keep their Hegemony intact

First they send an official and deliver “Cooked up Intelligence reports”. For instance like saying Iran is planning to invade you or China plans to invade Arunachal Pradesh etc – playing to your fears

Today most nations openly refuse to believe any of these reports unilaterally

Once this fails,

Second they send a higher official like a Senate Delegation or a Secretary of State to openly warn you that a certain nation is committing atrocities and damaging the Global security.

They demand you make sacrifices like not buying Oil or Gas from that nation for “Democracy” And “Freedom”

Today once more, most Nations don’t get impressed by these words. They flatly refuse to change their way of life

Once this fails,

Third they use their MSM to begin saturation coverage of lies against your country related to human rights and fund NGOs in your country to start targeting the Government and use that propaganda to undermine you Globally

Uyghurs for China, Kashmir & Muslims for India, Kashoggi for Saudi Arabia, Nuclear Weapons for Iran, Atrocities for Putin, Corruption for Thailand Leaders etc

Luckily today MSM isn’t that credible as they were say 10-15 years ago

Once this fails

Fourth, they get their NGOs to organize protests and color revolutions in your country starting with small issues through massive underground funding

Simultaneously they mobilize opposition leaders and bankroll them targeting a regime change

This works with many many nations

Once this fails

Fifth, they SANCTION and COERCE your country by denying you your own dollars or western technology and bully the collective western lackeys to do the same thing

Finally

Sixth, they may directly fund a proxy civil war or support military aggression against your country

THIS Approach is followed for all countries that aren’t US Lackeys

India is at Stage III
China is heading to Stage V
Russia is at Stage V
Thailand is at Stage IV

So Saudi Arabia, a US Lackey until recently, is heading to Stage II

The CIA Director visit was Stage I and it failed

Now next, a Senator Delegation or VP or Blinken will warn Saudi of how Iran is destroying the world with Terrorism and how they stand opposed to a free world

Luckily this Six Point Strategy is becoming lesser and lesser effective.

Let’s hope Saudi can get through this.

My Comment on Quora

Q: What would happen if the United States tries to blockade China?

A: The United States would suffer.

…

You see, we already have seen what a blockade would do. Do you remember this?

A massive container ship got stuck in Egypt’s Suez Canal

on Tuesday, March 23, 2021, halting marine traffic for almost a week.

For one entire week, all maritime traffic came to a complete stop. And American shelves were bare for months. Months!

shelves e1584569855959 750x422 1 — shelves e1584569855959 750×422 1

And, the lessons that came from it absolutely sent shivers in the supply-chain management circles.

All Western-bound freight came to a complete stop.
European and African freight was rerouted via BRI land bridge.
United States freight was delayed by up to 6 months with bare shelves being the norm.

And who was blamed for this?

China?

Nope. Not China. Though the American news media tried their best to blame China.

The shipping company? Nope.

President Biden… You betya. He got the blame.

I wonder why?

2021 bare shelves biden funny meme joe biden shirt tshirt

Meanwhile, this is what happened inside of China…

Production continued normally.
The BRI was given a great influx of train-bound orders.
Rerouting through the BRI is now the norm, and signals a massive decrease in the use of sea freight.
China’s warehouses grew plump as batch shipments were reordered.

Now, somehow, the brain-dead idiots that call themselves “neocons” have this grand fantasy. They believe that…

“Ok, ok, we cannot bomb the shit out of China. But we can blockade shipping. And then China would completely collapse! What brilliance we possess!!”

I am here to tell you that we know what will happen. If you blockade China it won’t make any difference. China trades using the BRI and things can be rerouted easily.

China will NOT starve. As it attained self-sufficiency around 2012–2013.
China’s factories will not close down. Their orders, owing to the previous events, will increase.

But…

The United States will end up without the things that it needs. There will be an absence of all sorts of raw materials and manufacturing products.
The few products that will be made locally in the United States will be very, very expensive.

And that is why a United States blockade on China will fail.

CIA director concedes US power is waning

Bill Burns says Washington’s position as the “big kid on the geopolitical block” isn’t guaranteed

The dominant global role of the US can no longer be guaranteed as the country is witnessing a time of change “that comes along a couple of times a century,” CIA Director Bill Burns has claimed.

Speaking at the Baker Institute earlier this week, Burns said that although Washington “still has a better hand to play than any of our rivals,” it is “no longer the only big kid on the geopolitical block and our position at the head of the table isn’t guaranteed.”

The CIA chief pointed to growing ties between China and Russia, which he argued will present a “formidable challenge” for his agency for years to come. According to Burns, Beijing is “not content to only have a seat at the table; it wants to run the table,” while Russia is seeking to “upend the table altogether.”

Burns, who served as the US ambassador to Moscow under George W. Bush, condemned Russia’s military operation in Ukraine, calling it an act of “brutish aggression.”

He claimed the CIA has provided “good intelligence” that has “helped the Ukrainians defend themselves” and cemented “a strong coalition in support of Ukraine.”

Burns added that Kiev’s long-anticipated spring offensive would feature “strong material and intelligence support from the US and our allies.”

The spy chief claimed that Russian President Vladimir Putin is “not serious about negotiations” on a peaceful resolution to the conflict, and suggested that only Ukrainian progress on the battlefield was “likely to shape prospects for diplomacy.”

Russia has repeatedly stated that it is open to peace talks and has blamed Kiev and its Western allies for blocking negotiations. Ukraine has placed a legal ban on any talks with Russia as it seeks to defeat its opponent on the battlefield.

Regarding China, Burns insisted that Beijing remains the CIA’s “biggest long-term priority.” He noted that in the last few years, the intelligence agency has doubled the resources it focuses on China, including hiring and training Mandarin speakers and stepping up efforts to compete with Beijing on the world stage.

“Managing a crucial and increasingly adversarial relationship with China will be the most significant test for American policy makers for decades to come,” the US official said, arguing that the risk of a conflict over Taiwan will continue to grow.

From HERE

Let’s talk about the news (Live)

The Duran is the best channel for Geopolitics. There is no channel even close.

This neoliberal/neocon project can’t fall away fast enough. It’s been a disaster for the people of the US and the world. It reduces all but a handful of elites to enormous struggle and endless war/death. It’s been a great evil and if a new economic system is what ends it, fine. Excellent work, as always, Alex and Alexander!

Chicken with Dumplings

Equipment

Pressure Cooker

Ingredients

1 fryer chicken
2-3 cups water
2 carrots, diced
2 ribs celery, diced
1 tablespoon chicken bouillon
Salt and pepper, to taste
1 1/2 to 2 cups Bisquick
Parsley flakes

Instructions

Cut up a fryer and brown it in a frying pan. Put the chicken in the pressure cooker with water, carrots and celery.
Deglaze the frying pan with some of the water and put that liquid into the pressure cooker. Add about a tablespoon of chicken bouillon, cover and cook it for 20 minutes at 15 psi.
After cooling and removing the lid, the chicken is now falling off the bones. Remove chicken, and season the liquid with salt and pepper.
Make the dumplings. Mix Bisquick and enough water to make a sticky dough. Form into 2-inch balls. Put some parsley flakes on the outside of each dumpling and place 8 dumplings into the pressure cooker with the chicken and liquid. Put on the lid and cook for another 10 to 15 minutes.

Prehistoric Hunters Roasted and Ate Giant Snails 170,000 Years Ago

In a groundbreaking discovery, scientists have unearthed the remains of enormous snail shells at a 225,000-year-old archaeological site in southern Africa. What makes this find truly remarkable is that it appears these giant snails were not just natural inhabitants of the area, but also a significant source of sustenance for the humans who lived there.

Why and when terrestrial mollusks entered our ancestor’s diet were unanswered questions until the recent discovery of the giant land snail, known as Achatinidae, at a rock-shelter in southern Africa. A new study has demonstrated how small groups of hunter-gatherers captured, roasted and ate giant snails as early as 170,000 years ago.

Giant Snails as Big as Your Hand

When people hunted, fished and gathered to obtain food, clothing and other resources necessary for their survival, hunting techniques varied greatly across the world. In Africa, it is known that groups of ancient survivalists fashioned spears and clubs to kill large game animals such as antelopes and elephants.

Until now, the oldest evidence of Homo sapiens capturing and eating giant land snails dated to roughly 35,000 years ago in Europe, and around 50,000 years ago in Africa. However, a new study published in the Quaternary Science Reviews shows how people at a southern African rock-shelter called Border Cave roasted a species of giant snail that was, according to the researchers, “as big as an adult’s hand.”

Archaeologists in the 1970s excavating at the mouth of Border Cave in South Africa. ( Public domain )

Giant Snails Roasting on an Open Fire

The oldest archaeological layers at Border Cave date to at least 227,000 years ago. Evidence shows how ancient people living in this cave cooked starchy plant stems, ate an array of fruits and hunted small and large animals. A 2020 study published in Science even found that the ancient people living in Border’s cave made grass bedding around 200,000 years ago.

The new study was led by Marine Wojcieszak of the Royal Institute for Cultural Heritage in Brussels. An analysis of shell fragments excavated at Border Cave demonstrates how hunter-gatherers at the site roasted large African land snails on embers, “and then presumably ate them,” according to Wojcieszak. Described as “a delicacy,” eating these snails spiked in popularity between about 160,000 and 70,000 years ago.

According to the team of scientists, these new discoveries at Border Cave “challenge an influential idea that human groups did not make land snails and other small game a big part of their diet until the last Ice Age waned around 15,000 to 10,000 years ago.”

Giant Snails Allude to Early Cooperation

The team of researchers working on the study suggested that when hunter-gatherer groups in southern Africa roamed the countryside hunting large animals, some of them, perhaps with limited mobility due to age or injury, might have stayed behind “snail-gathering.” Wojcieszak added that food sharing at Border Cave demonstrates how “ cooperative social behavior was in place from the dawn of our species.” Furthermore, because snail meat is relatively easy to eat, the fatty protein of snails would have been an important source of nutrition for the elderly and smaller children.

Science News reported that previous archaeological excavations at a cave on the southern tip of South Africa revealed that humans ate mussels, limpets and other marine mollusks as early as around 164,000 years ago. However, according to archaeologist Antonieta Jerardino of the University of South Africa in Pretoria, the new evidence of giant snail consumption at Africa’s Border Cave pushes back the human consumption of mollusks by several thousand years to 170,000 years ago.

Testing Ancient Snail Cooking Methodology

The research team studied 27 snail shell fragments from various sedimentary layers at Border Cave , which were compared with shell fragments of modern large African snails. The snails were heated in a metal furnace at temperatures ranging from 200° to 550° Celsius, with heating times lasting from five minutes to 36 hours.

Most of the shell fragments discovered at the site displayed signs of extended heat exposure, which the researchers say is consistent with “having once been attached to snails that were cooked on hot embers.” It was concluded that the lower parts of large land snail shells rested against the hot embers during cooking, which accounts for the burned and unburned shell fragments discovered by the scientists.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eKcqDl57sCc&embeds_euri=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.ancient-origins.net%2F&feature=emb_imp_woyt

Measuring Up the Pros and Cons of Giant Snail Consumption

A study published in the Journal of Food Science and Technology analyzed the approximate composition, minerals and vitamins of the edible part of the giant African land snail ( Archachatina marginata ). The results showed that the snail meat contains high levels of protein, iron and magnesium.

They also concluded that these giant snails contain vitamins such as vitamin A, which is essential for vision, immune system function and skin health. Furthermore, the creatures are packed with vitamin B12, which is important for the production of red blood cells and the proper functioning of the nervous system.

On the down side, large land snails carry parasites and bacteria that can cause illness in humans if not properly prepared and cooked. Nevertheless, it looks like the ancient hunters who ate these snails some 170,000 years ago knew about these drawbacks, and they therefore roasted them to kill off these toxic properties. Teresa Steele, an archaeologist at the University of California, concluded that “it’s not surprising that ancient H. sapiens recognized the nutritional value of land snails and occasionally cooked and ate them by 170,000 years ago.”

Top image: Giant snail as big as a human hand. Source: majivecka / Adobe Stock

By Ashley Cowie

China’s national security authority reveals ‘new methods’ of criminal activities by overseas anti-China hostile forces

By GT staff reporters Published: Apr 14, 2023 12:43 PM

Setting up illegal maritime surveillance to steal China’s military information, luring Chinese scientists in the aerospace field with payment, concocting “forced labor” lies about Xinjiang … The Global Times learned from the Chinese national security authority about a series of typical national security risks on the eve of the 8th National Security Education Day, which will fall on April 15. The authority has also warned Chinese companies and individuals to raise awareness of national security.

Compared to the cases disclosed around the National Security Education Day in previous years, the scope of the cases disclosed this year is wider and the methods used by overseas anti-China forces to lure and instigate those involved are more hidden and targeted. Li Wei, an expert on national security at the China Institute of Contemporary International Relations, told the Global Times that the criminal goals of foreign espionage agencies and anti-China hostile forces are highly consistent and complementary with the political goals of relevant countries toward China.

NGO concocts ‘forced labor’ lies

A man surnamed Li worked for a consulting company in Shenzhen, South China’s Guangdong Province, where he provided supply chain risk audit services for overseas companies. A few years ago, Li’s company worked with an overseas NGO and gradually Li found that the attitude of this organization changed.

Their audit standards for Chinese companies became more detailed, especially concerning the new requirements for the content related to the so-called “Xinjiang labor.” Li noticed that the overseas NGO was actively collecting information about the so-called human rights issues in Northwest China’s Xinjiang Uygur Autonomous Region in order to concoct “forced labor” lies and provide “endorsement” for Western anti-China forces to manipulate Xinjiang-related issues and enforce related sanctions.

However, in order to pursue economic interests, Li’s company still undertook and implemented relevant investigation projects, bringing risks and hidden dangers to China’s national security and interests.

The national security agency of Guangdong punished Li in accordance with the country’s anti-espionage law, implementation rules of the law and regulations on anti-espionage precautions, and ordered his company to implement rectification.

In recent years, some overseas NGOs with complicated backgrounds have grown stronger and gradually seized international access standards for some industries, the Global Times has learned from relevant authorities. They took advantages of their special status in those industries and exerted influence on relevant Chinese companies, causing harm to the country’s political and economic security, especially to crucial areas such as industrial and supply chains.

Meanwhile, those NGO staff approach Chinese nationals with “friendly attitude” and carry out acts endangering national security with disguises, posing a serious threat in both traditional and non-traditional security areas, experts said.

The criminal targets of foreign spy intelligence agencies and anti-China hostile forces are highly consistent with the political objectives of relevant countries toward China, said Li Wei, the expert. With the rise of China’s comprehensive strength, Western countries such as the US attempt to fully encircle, suppress and smear China, fabricating groundless stories on issues related to Xinjiang, Xizang, Hong Kong, Taiwan and others. As a result, not only have the criminal targets become more clear, but the scope of criminal activities has also expanded further, Li said.

The actions of foreign spy intelligence agencies and anti-China hostile forces that threaten the national security of our country are no longer confined to traditional security areas, he added. Those moves in non-traditional security areas also brings risks and hidden dangers to the stable development of our economic and social security.

Some organizations and individuals, under the guise of foreign NGOs, consulting companies, high-tech companies, and others, attempt to “make a fuss” in the areas of human rights, industrial and supply chains, undermining our national security, Li Wei said.

Illegal monitoring Chinese military activities

In August 2019, a sea cucumber farmer surnamed Zhang in Dalian of Liaoning Province reported to the national security authority that there were some uninvited guests showing up at his farm. A person surnamed Huang led several foreign personals to install marine hydrological monitoring equipment as well as sea and air monitoring and recording equipment in the name of “free installation of seawater quality monitoring equipment.”

Since then, Zhang gradually noticed data was being continuously transmitted overseas, and a lot of that data had nothing to do with sea cucumber farming.

Foreign staff illegally install monitoring equipment in a sea cucumber farm

Zhang dialed 12339 to report the situation to the national security authority. After verification, the equipment was found that it was illegally monitoring China’s air military operation zone, sensitive and important data such as tides and currents in the non-open sea areas, which posed a serious threat to China’s maritime rights and military security.

The local national security authority took compulsory measures against Huang and the foreigners according to the law and confiscated the monitoring equipment. Huang and the foreigners confessed to their illegal and criminal activities of stealing China’s marine hydrological data and naval and air military images.

As traditional and non-traditional security threats are at present intertwined, it puts forward higher requirements for national security work, Li noted. People need to enhance their national security awareness and be vigilant at all times as some illegal and criminal acts that endanger national security become more hidden, and companies and individuals would be taken advantage of if they do not pay attention, the expert said.

Instigate rebellion

As China has become more connected with the world, it has become more convenient for Chinese nationals to study, work and travel abroad. Some overseas spy agencies target those people who relax their vigilance after going abroad and set up traps to bring hidden risks to China’s national security, as another typical case showed.

Zhao Xuejun is a scientific researcher in the field of aerospace. When he was a visiting scholar at a foreign university, he was gradually recruited by overseas spy staff to sell the progress of scientific research, which seriously endangered China’s national security.

At first, the spy staff member invited Zhao to have dinner and to travel together and sent him gifts to build a closer relationship. As their relationship drew closer, the spy staff member asked Zhao some sensitive questions and paid him hefty “consulting fees.”

Before Zhao was about to return to China, the spy staff member revealed the true identity and recruited the Chinese researcher. Subsequently, the spy agency equipped Zhao with a special USB flash drive and a website for issuing mission instructions and enabling him to send back intelligence.

After Zhao returned to China, he met relevant spy staff from this country in multiple places in China, providing them with a large amount of classified information through in-person conversation or through relevant website. He also received spy funds in the form of cash. His activities attracted the attention of the national security authority.

In June 2019, the Beijing Municipal State Security Agency took compulsory measures against Zhao in accordance with the law. In August 2022, he was sentenced to seven years in prison for espionage, and was deprived of political rights for three years. The court also ordered to confiscate 200,000 yuan ($29,091) of his personal property.

Zhao became a target of a foreign spy agency because of his identity as an expert in the aerospace field. However, in recent years, the national security authority noticed that some overseas organizations have taken advantage of certain Chinese nationals’ longing for foreign life to lure them to go abroad and force them to engage in activities that seriously damage the image of the country, endangering national security and personal safety.

Zheng Fuxing and Wang Peiyue were key employees of a so-called “overseas immigration service company” in China. Under the guise of “immigration through normal ways,” the company recruited customers and claimed that only 100,000 yuan was needed as a “certification fee” for immigration procedures.

The group sent “clients” abroad by applying for tourist visas and other methods. But it was not until those “clients” successfully arrived abroad that this group revealed its true intention. Through coercion and inducement, they asked the “clients” to fabricate various “documents” such as household registration, arrest certificates, or forced abortion certificates and to publicly declare that they were “persecuted in the country,” and used fabricated criminal evidence to slander and smear China.

Afterward, the group continued to ask for money from those “clients” under various names such as “political asylum agency fees.” Many of those “clients” were eventually abandoned by the group because they could not afford those fees and struggled to return to China with the help of their families.

In October 2021, the national security authority of North China’s Hebei Province took compulsory measures against Zheng and Wang in accordance with the law. In May 2022, the court sentenced them to three years and nine months, and three years and six months in prison, respectively.

Whether it is gradually falling into the trap because of small profits, or using the “immigrant dream” to lure and take advantage of individuals, these acts of harming national interests and endangering national security for personal interests eventually cost them a heavy price, said Li, the expert.

The overseas countries and regions are not lawless places, and safeguarding the national security is the duty and responsibility of every Chinese national wherever they are, he said.

Using ‘internet identity’ for criminal activities

Among the typical cases, the use of social networks to disguise identity and collect intelligence and information has also caught up in the attention. The national security revealed that Han Xiao, a civil servant in Xinjiang, met a netizen through a mobile dating app and became a tool for overseas spy agency.

In December 2016, Han met the netizen through a dating app during a travel and after returned home, Han often shared his life with this netizen on internet, complaining that he had a very low salary. The netizen introduced his “cousin” Chen Yi to Han, claiming Chen could provide some extra job for Han to earn money. Chen then asked Han to provide some sensitive local information and promised to pay Han some money.

After Han agreed, Chen further instructed Han to collect classified documents from local Party and government institutions. The spy agency highly valued those documents and trained Han as a spy, teaching him the specific methods of communication and information transmission, and sent special agents to provide Han with funds, mobile phones, SIM cards and other communication tools.

Despite that Han knew those people were overseas spy staff, Han continued to collect and provide classified documents for high rewards. The local people’s court later found out that Han provided 19 documents and materials to the overseas spy agency. In return, he was given more than 120,000 yuan.

In March, 2019, Han was sentenced to 11 years and six months in prison for espionage, deprived of political rights for four years, and the government confiscated 50,000 yuan of his personal asset.

Internet not an ‘enclave’

With the wide use of the internet, there have been more internet celebrities, however, some gained attention by fabricating and spreading lies, smearing the country and government, which also broke through the legal bottom line, according to another typical case.

Since June 2020, a person surnamed Zhang, who impersonated eight Myanmar nationals, opened several accounts on overseas social media platform to introduce foreign daily life and customs, posting over 20,000 posts and attracting tens of thousands of fans, according to the national security authority in East China’s Jiangsu Province.

In order to maintain such fake identity online, Zhang maliciously fabricated a large number of sensational false information and rumors, causing panic among netizens and created a negative impact. After attracting a large amount of fans, Zhang frequently used rumors and slandered the image of China, attacking the Party and the government and even instigated others to engage in coup d’etat. In February 2022, the national security authority took compulsory measures against Zhang.

“No matter how much they try to disguise themselves, they can’t cover up the nature of illegal and criminal acts that endanger national security,” Li said, noting that the internet is not an “enclave” for escaping legal responsibility.

Anyone that uses the internet to steal state secrets, create and spread rumors, or endanger national security will be severely punished by law. A clean cyberspace needs to be governed by law, and more importantly, requires the joint efforts of each of us, the expert said.

WARNING: We Will See “50 YEARS OF CHANGE in The Next 6 MONTHS”

Now that Jack Ma has reappeared, is there any explanation for his long absence?

Jack Ma committed a mistake – He began acting like a US Billionaire or an Indian Billionaire or a UK Billionaire.

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His IPO was demolished because bankers who are valued heavily in China – simply felt his valuation was inflated and believed that for such numbers as he showed – he had to plan on being a monopoly in various businesses.

In China, unlike India, the bankers don’t issue loans but instead have the billionaire borrow directly from the Public and underwrite the sebt (Meaning, debt which has been unsold will be purchased by the banks). This way, China can seize upto 51% of Ma’s assets in 10 minutes instead of 10 years after 1000 Court cases.

Ma was literally given a highly conservative valuation for his IPO and was given terms and conditions he did not like. The bankers said “You want your Valuation to be adhered to? Fine. Put up collateral for the same”. It’s unusual in most countries for new IPOs to put up collateral. But in China, this is the law.

Jack Ma did not like this.

So, he began his criticism of China’s Banking Regulations. He called them pawn-brokers rather than bankers for their demand of collateral or for their conservatism and for their aversion to loans the way the Capitalists did.

Had it been Hu Jiantao, he would have ignored Ma. They had a strong strong system so Ma’s ranting would not help in any way. China did not have a Republic TV or Arnab Goswami to raise the tempers. However Xi Jingping was a different leader and felt the affront personally.

So he ordered to look into Jack Ma

Suddenly, you had a thousand requests for various routine things for Ma’s companies. Revaluing things. Examining currency related things. Even deciding to introduce a Shenzi law to acquire 51% of non compliant Chinese entities (Basically drafted and created just for Ma).

Now upto this point is actual fact. Information for this comes from the Asian Wall Street Journal and the Economist and a variety of reputable non Globaltimes articles.

However, beyond this is Speculation and Theory

My personal Belief – is that Jack Ma got rattled. He did not expect such a backlash. Somehow Ma had started to believe he was living in New York and not Shanghai. Suddenly when so much scrutiny was being done, Ma knew he could lose his company (Every single company has regulatory issues. This is taken for granted)

So he must have appealed to the bosses and they must have told him Lie Low and shut the hell up.

His disappearance and his sombre reappearance to talk to teachers indicates that he has been broken. The rest of the Billionaires will see what happened to Ma and will understand that the System will remain in force and cannot be criticized.

The message is – Nobody is above the System (Except Xi Jinping maybe). Even Billionaires must follow the System and prosper within it.

Crock Pot Brown Sugar Pineapple Ham

2023 04 14 19 10 — Crock Pot Brown Sugar Pineapple Ham

This slow cooker method not only saves your oven space, but it also results in the most fall-apart tender and flavorful ham EVER.

Once you try it this way, you will never want it any other way!

Teaching Story

An old man meets a young man who asks:

“Do you remember me?”

And the old man says no. Then the young man tells him he was his student, And the teacher asks:

“What do you do, what do you do in life?”

The young man answers:

“Well, I became a teacher.”

“ah, how good, like me?” Asks the old man.

“Well, yes. In fact, I became a teacher because you inspired me to be like you.”

The old man, curious, asks the young man at what time he decided to become a teacher. And the young man tells him the following story:

“One day, a friend of mine, also a student, came in with a nice new watch, and I decided I wanted it.

I stole it, I took it out of his pocket.

Shortly after, my friend noticed the his watch was missing and immediately complained to our teacher, who was you.

Then you addressed the class saying, ‘This student’s watch was stolen during classes today. Whoever stole it, please return it.’

I didn’t give it back because I didn’t want to.

You closed the door and told us all to stand up and form a circle.

You were going to search our pockets one by one until the watch was found.

However, you told us to close our eyes, because you would only look for his watch if we all had our eyes closed.

We did as instructed.

You went from pocket to pocket, and when you went through my pocket, you found the watch and took it. You kept searching everyone’s pockets, and when you were done you said ‘open your eyes. We have the watch.’

You didn’t tell on me and you never mentioned the episode. You never said who stole the watch either. That day you saved my dignity forever. It was the most shameful day of my life.

But this is also the day I decided not to become a thief, a bad person, etc. You never said anything, nor did you even scold me or take me aside to give me a moral lesson.

I received your message clearly.

Thanks to you, I understood what a real educator needs to do.

Do you remember this episode, professor?

The old professor answered, ‘Yes, I remember the situation with the stolen watch, which I was looking for in everyone’s pocket. I didn’t remember you, because I also closed my eyes while looking.’

This is the essence of teaching:

If to correct you must humiliate; you don’t know how to teach “

Mysterious Subterranean Secret U.S. Military Base

By the time the American public discovers what actually has happened, it will be far too late, and rage will ensue

"This is outright disgusting. The USA is slipping into a medieval autocracy."

-When discussing the anti-VPN, anti-Tiktok bill.

This is the BILL here.

The following is something that I wrote for Quora…

Going to war is a FAILURE of diplomacy.

China, which has endless lists of successes, is not prone to failure. From poverty elimination to coronavirus, from high speed trains, to technological advancements. China runs things with intelligence, and fully funds efforts lead by merit. For China to fail at something; anything would be truly a rare event.

The United States, at least in the last fifty years, has a near endless list of failures. It seems that there is nothing it can get right. From a simple pedestrian bridge, to building a high speed rail. From solving homelessness, to simple maintenance of roads and bridges, the United States is flailing and failing at everything.

Now, let’s talk “WAR”.

China who is able to succeed in anything it puts it’s mind to, and the United States that fails at everything. The two nation go head to head.

What is the probable outcome?

The United States will start a war.
- It will under-estimate China.
- It will make foolish decisions.
- It will under supply.
- It will make political decisions instead of practical ones.
- It will count on allies who are unreliable.
- It’s media will spew out disinformation.
- It will bear tremendous losses.

China will finish the war.
- Nothing will be reported.
- It’s all robotic, calculated, precise and detailed.
- It will be one surprise after the other.
- China will dictate the terms of American surrender.

And that is that.

And everyone knows that this is what will happen. You can put lipstick on a pig, but after all, a pig is still just a pig.

A Tale of two leaders–and of two regions

What a study in contrast! At exactly the time when Ma Ying-jeou, the former Taiwan leader, made a nostalgic trip to the mainland, returning to his roots for the first time and welcomed home like a long-lost son, Tsai Ing-wen, his successor, was offering herself as a pawn in America’s geopolitical game, kowtowing to China-bashing US politicians. Ma’s emotional visit was shared on social media and melted millions of mainland hearts. In a single day, it exploded with 120 million likes. With an uncanny sense of timing, Ma shows Taiwan how to repair the ruptured relationship. Tsai, by contrast, was cursed as a traitor by sputtering-mad Chinese patriots in America. One offers a common future, the other pumps boatloads of cash into the accounts of American merchants of death for deadly weapons. One promises the sunny upland of peace, the other the gates of hell.

Despite her LSE education, Tsai can’t think straight. How can she not realize that Beijing will never accept Taiwan as a US surrogate? It’s like having a foreign master in your household. During Ma’s rule, Taipei and Beijing enjoyed a long honeymoon, with the 1992 Consensus anchoring cross-strait relations, and both practically breathing through the same nostrils. Now all you hear is saber-rattling and the drumbeat of war. By prostituting herself to America, Tsai is hastening Taiwan towards doomsday. How does she sleep at night?

Beijing had pinned its hopes on Taiwan’s eventual and peaceful return to the motherland on the Hong Kong and Macau model. It works like a charm in Macau. But Hong Kong is another story.

Hong Kong is vulnerable—unlike Macau, it is only half-decolonized at best and crawling with sinister foreign agitators.

Hong Kong is historically an economic city, and its people are economic animals. Pre-Handover, they were indifferent to politics. Suddenly, they were handed more freedom than they could handle. Under the British, street demonstrations were banned. But after they left, Hong Kong quickly descended into the “protest capital” of the world—the curse of excess freedom.

A high degree of autonomy opened the floodgates to freedom, quickly weaponized by anti-China activists. What Hong Kong needed was not more freedom but better local leadership, not the likes of the disaster-prone Carrie Lam.

Neither New York nor Washington, nor London enjoys this much freedom. None allows rioters to occupy its streets for 10 months. Yet, the unrest was portrayed to the world as a fight for freedom. Hong Kong was on the brink.

Simple-minded activists never told us they were fighting for a worthless objective: Under the Basic Law, candidates for the top job must first win Beijing’s blessing. Given the poor slate of candidates, a universal vote is meaningless. The city is awash with smart money-makers, but wise leaders are a rarity.

For this useless one-person-one vote over lousy leaders, they paralyzed the city—a high price exacted for a hollow ideal.

Organizers of lawless protests included a tenured professor of law. He and his cohorts got carried away, playing superhero to American cheerleaders, making pilgrimages to Washington for photo-ops with Nancy Pelosi.

In an ugly show remote-controlled by America, rioters reached a point of no return. Local political clowns began hallucinating of winning the Nobel Peace Prize. The circus had come to town.

But soon, the pendulum has swung the other way– a belated chaos control, not a trampling on basic rights.

Unconscionable Western press came to Hong Kong blindfolded, determined to bad-mouth China and acted as American mouthpieces.

They didn’t tell the world that “One country Two Systems” was faithfully honored by Beijing, but dishonored by anarchists. Under the system, locals were not supposed to call for the downfall of the CCP. They wanted two systems but no country. Washington knew, if things went south in Hong Kong, geopolitical repercussions will spread, most notably, across the Taiwan strait. Tsai was teetering on 11% popular support. The mess in Hong Kong breathed new life into her politics.

Had Hong Kong carried off the experiment smoothly, Taiwan might have been ready for Beijing’s embrace. Instead, it now threatens to become another Ukraine, despite being Chinese territory. But China is not Russia, and Taiwan is not Ukraine.

China has a big dream, and America is determined to derail it–inadvertently aided and abetted by an incompetent local leader who in five short years sold the national reunification master-plan down the river.

Hong Kong must reboot its system, heal the wounds and seize the opportunities dangled by the Greater Bay Area. This time, give to Caesar what belongs to Caesar, and focus on local livelihood. As for Beijing, bring Taiwan back into the fold, using Ma’s healing ways. Dialogue, not dogged enmity. A purely domestic quarrel must never escalate into a history-ending global conflict. Outside meddlers trying to fish in troubled waters can take a long walk on a short pier.

Are Americans ready for a possible war with China?

No, not at all, America just desperate, unable to hide its bandit culture and behavior.

America is begging China for help, bandit style/ways, pointing gun at you demand help, threatening blow out if not meet demand.

America is sick, broke on the brink of collapsing, lost in all wars it found over the years. How can it fight with superpower like China.

Unfortunately, this time around China will not heal or buy the bandit culture and behavior.

China has better things to take care at home and around the world. All American provocations do not mean anything to China.

China popular idiom said, a wise man will not take near eye-sighted humiliation, revenge is a long term mission. Just like recent landing of military aircraft in Taiwan to antagonise China.

America can not effort to have another war let alone war with superpower China.

Collective Soul – Shine (Official Video)

Trump Posting on Truth Social — “World War III”

Nation Hal Turner 09 April 2023

President Donald Trump took to his social media account this afternoon and posted “WORLD WAR III” . . . nothing else. S going to HTF is my guess . . .

I am endeavoring to find out what may be going on worldwide that would give rise to a man like him, making a posting like that. On Easter Sunday, no less.

Something’s up . . . something big.

UPDATE 8:15 PM EDT —

BRICS+ is taking over and there’s nothing the West can do about it. The US dollar won’t be the worlds reserve currency and the US Govt won’t be able to print money on the backs of other nations. US Govt bonds will be junk because of insane US debt. The End

Top 10 Nations by natural resources:

RUSSIA	$75 trillion	BRICS+
UNITED STATES	$45 trillion	The West
SAUDI ARABIA	$35 trillion	BRICS+
CANADA	$33 trillion	The West
IRAN	$27 trillion	BRICS+
CHINA	$23 trillion	BRICS+
BRAZIL	$22 trillion	BRICS+
AUSTRALIA	$20 trillion	The West
IRAQ	$16 trillion	BRICS+
VENEZUELA	$14 trillion	BRICS+

Multipolar world wins!

FRANCE ABANDONING U.S.

FRENCH PRESIDENT EMMANUEL MACRON on the plane returning from his 3-day trip to China: “Europe should reduce its dependence on the extraterritoriality of the U.S. dollar… If the tensions between the two superpowers heat up … we won’t have the time nor the resources to finance our strategic autonomy and we will become vassals.”

MACRON also said: “Europe must reduce its dependency on the US and avoid getting dragged into a confrontation between China and the U.S. over Taiwan.” So not only is France abandoning the US, they are now actively encouraging Europe to do the same. Bear in mind, France just conducted the first-ever transaction for Liquified Natural Gas in a currency OTHER THAN the U.S. Dollar! So the French are cutting off their use of our Dollars as well.

EUROPEAN UNION

Ursula von der Leyen, the head of the “European Commission” (of un-elected tyrants) departed the PRC through a regular terminal at the airport with baggage screening and passport checks, just like any other nobody. Notice the look on her face as she has to be around us commoners . . .

China’s amazing “dis” of the head of the European Commission in this way — and in such a public manner, is a statement by China that the EU isn’t even worth paying attention to. Not militarily, and not with its “EURO” currency. It shows that the EU doesn’t matter anymore. Not in the coming version of the world.

The Germans are asking the Kremlin to allow them to produce cars in Russia. The German publication Speigel reports that it has sent a three-page letter to Vladimir Putin with a proposal to resume cooperation.

This shows that EU Sanctions against Russia are literally starting to come apart at the seams. If trade with Russia resumes in any meaningful way, the West ENTIRE plan in Ukraine and to takeover Russia, will fail before it starts.

CHINA

China controls 98% of the world’s rare earth Minerals production and plans to ban their export to the US for national security reasons!

The U.S. __must__ have some of those rare earth minerals to manufacture for our Military. Without those rare earth minerals, our military might – and the accuracy of our weaponry in particular – is __gutted__. No more playing Globo-Cop; except it won’t be by OUR choice, it will be forced upon us by China.

UKRAINE

Ukrainian medium-range air defense systems will be completely depleted by May 23.

They will be able to withstand only two or three more waves of blows. /The Washington Post, citing Pentagon documents/ Air defense systems

NASAMS, Iris-T, and Patriot Missile Systems will soon arrive in Ukraine, said Yuri Ignat, adviser to the country’s Air Force Command. Not certain if – or how many such systems – can arrive in Ukraine before May 23.

If Russia strikes 3, 4, or more times, Ukraine will be finished before May 23. This __may__ prompt a direct NATO entry, and thus . . . WW3.

Russia is moving elite units of its army, including paratroopers, to Bakhmut. Wagner PMC has suffered very severe losses, but has gained significant ground there. Now, the regular Russian Army is sending its units.

If (OOOOPS) WHEN Russia takes Bakhmut, the entire south and southeast of Ukraine will be cut off from supplies. It will likely fold fast. Again, another possible reason for NATO to come “all-in” and thus trigger WW3.

All these developments are troubling, but I am not sure any of them individually, or all of them collectively, get us to what President Trump said: “World War 3.”

More if I get it.

Greek Mint and Ouzo Flavored Meatballs (Keftedakia)

Ingredients

2 slices Italian bread, crusts removed
1/4 cup ouzo
7 tablespoons olive oil
1/2 cup onion, finely chopped
1 pound ground turkey
1 egg
1 teaspoon dried mint flakes
1 clove garlic, minced
1/2 teaspoon oregano
1 teaspoon salt
Fresh ground black pepper
1 cup all-purpose flour

Instructions

Pour Ouzo in a small bowl. Tear bread into small pieces and soak in Ouzo 5 minutes.
In a skillet, over medium heat, sauté onion in 3 tablespoons oil until translucent, about 5 minutes. Remove from skillet with a slotted spoon and place in a large mixing bowl. Squeeze bread dry, discarding Ouzo, and combine with onions. Add in turkey, egg, mint, garlic, oregano, salt and pepper and mix well to combine. Form meat mixture into 1-inch balls and roll in flour to coat evenly. Place on a cookie sheet and refrigerate 1 hour.
Add remaining 4 tablespoons olive oil to a large skillet, over medium high heat, and sauté meatballs until browned, about 8 – 10 minutes.

“Tranheuser Busch?”

Nation Hal Turner 09 April 2023

The public fallout and Brand destruction of “Bud Light” beer continues, with Internet meme’s and all sorts of public criticism. Sales, though, show the facts: Stunning LOSS of customers, nationwide.

The brief video below, from an affiliated Distributor for Anheuser Busch makes it plain: The company is losing customers and sales at a ferocious pace:

This PLUNGE in retail sales is a direct result of Bud Light hiring a trans-something as a spokes-something.

When I was a Regional Sales Manager for North American Van Lines, I had occasion to speak with R. Allan Brogan, a Senior Vice President of Norfolk Southern Railroad (which owned North American Van Lines) and he told me something I never forgot.

"I had to fire a couple sales guys and they were family men.  

I had major concerns about firing them BECAUSE they had mouths to feed.  I 
never fired ANYONE flippantly; to me firing someone is waaaaaay serious.  

There was just no hope for these guys, but I still felt bad. 

R. Allan Brogan told me 

"Hal, it's not the people you fire who hurt you the most.  It's the people you KEEP . . .  but SHOULD HAVE fired, that hurt you the most."

I never forgot that.

With that sage advice firmly in mind, I can say with confidence that the people who PROPOSED this “Tranny” hire should be FIRED by Anheuser Busch for bad judgment. The people who APPROVED this “Tranny” hire and ad campaign for Anheuser Busch, should be FIRED.

Their poor judgment is literally destroying the Bud Light Brand and costing millions in lost sales. Out the door with all of them!

I suspect it’s only going to get worse.

Now, people are going to wonder if any guy they see drinking a Bud Light is a homo. Worse, people are going to look at any GIRL drinking a Bud Light, and wonder if she’s __really__ a girl!

No normal person wants to be associated with this “Trans” mental illness. Grown-ups playing “make-pretend” they’re something they’re not. It’s sick!

Clearly, the people at Anheuser Busch who put this project together have NO IDEA AT ALL who their customers are. I suspect that very shortly, there won’t BE very many customers anymore. NOT because customers are “Bigots” but because the Trannies and their movement are deranged perverts.

But . . .

Maybe there is a bright side to this ?????? After all, it seems to me in two days Anheuser Busch has done more to stop drinking than AA has done in 80 years.

麥小兜 – My First Song『你聽，這是我真實的聲音。』【動態歌詞Lyrics】

‘Peace In The Middle East? That’s A Threat.’

Thanks to China’s and Russia’s mediation peace is breaking out in the Middle East.

Elijah J. Magnier @ejmalrai – 4:14 UTC · Apr 8, 2023#BreakingNews:

The United Arab Emirates has begun withdrawing its forces from #Yemen. The Saudi-Emirati-Yemenite agreement will be announced soon.

The Middle East is solving its conflicts without the #US negative impact.

Elijah J. Magnier @ejmalrai · Apr 7
Great news:
#SaudiArabia will announce the end of the war in #Yemen after the Eid al-Fitr. Saudi is ending all its (high/low) conflicts in the Middle East with #Iran, #Syria, #Iraq, #Yemen & #Lebanon(not interested in the country for now) to turn towards its own development. …

Peace will also come to Syria. The foreign minister of Saudi Arabia will soon visit Damascus. He will invite Syria to rejoin the Arab League. An Arab League summit will be held next month in Saudi Arabia and the Syrian president Bashar al Assad is expected to be there.

This comes after agreements between Iran and Saudi Arabia to bury the hatchet and after agreements between Iraq and Iran to reign in a Kurdish uprising in Iran that was controlled by Kurdish forces in Iraq.

‘We can’t have that’, says U.S. president Joe Biden. He sent CIA director Bill Burns to Saudi Arabia to threaten consequences:

CIA Director Bill Burns made an unannounced trip to Saudi Arabia this week where he reportedly aired Washington’s frustrations over Riyadh’s opening to Iran and Syria through mediation brokered by US rivals China and Russia.Speaking on condition of anonymity, a US official confirmed the trip to Al-Monitor. “Director Burns traveled to Saudi Arabia where he met with intelligence counterparts and country leaders on issues of shared interest,” the US official said.

The official did not disclose the exact day of the trip but said that Burns discussed intelligence cooperation, especially in the area of counterterrorism. The CIA director met the country’s Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman, The Wall Street Journal reported on Thursday.

Burns likely threatened to withhold U.S. intelligence on terrorist groups from the Saudis. The CIA could additionally push some of its ISIS assets to make some nasty appearances in Saudi Arabia to then offer ‘help’ to ‘fight terrorism’.

I do not think that this will work. The Saudis have had enough of U.S. interference in their region. They are looking for development and development requires peace.

Thus the U.S. is upping its threat:

The US Navy deployed a nuclear-powered submarine capable of carrying 154 Tomahawk cruise missiles into Middle East waters via the Suez Canal, a spokesperson revealed Saturday.The Pentagon’s rare disclosure of the location of one of its Ohio-class submarines came amid heightened tensions between the United States and Iran after an American military contractor was killed by a drone attack on a US base in Syria last month.

The USS Florida arrived in the region before transiting the canal on Friday “to help ensure regional maritime security and stability,” Cdr. Tim Hawkins, a spokesperson for the US Navy’s 5th Fleet, told Al-Monitor via email.
…
Last week, the Pentagon extended the deployment of an aircraft carrier strike group led by the USS George H. W. Bush in the Mediterranean to support US forces in the Middle East in case of further conflagration and moved up the planned deployment of a squadron of A-10 attack aircraft to the region, CNN first reported.

Meanwhile the Zionists finally have to confront their ideological core:

Sina Toossi @SinaToossi – 15:28 UTC · Apr 8, 2023Israel’s former defense Minister Moshe Ya’alon says Jewish extremists who believe in “Jewish supremacy” & seek a “big war” are influencing the Israeli government’s decision-making. He likens their agenda to a “Mein Kampf” in reverse.

Muhammad Shehada @muhammadshehad2 · 15hExtremely important! #Israel’s *right-wing* ex-Minister of Defense, Moshe Ya’alon, sheds light on Israel’s most dangerous government & the supremacist ideology of its Finance & Security Ministers.

Listen to every word to understand the ongoing escalation!
video

Moshe Ya’alon describing the ideology of two current ministers: “Jewish supremacism. Mein Kampf in reverse. … To as soon as possible get to a big war. … This is what goes into the decision making process in the Israeli government.”

When government ministers seek a big war they will probably get one. A civil war between ‘liberal’ Zionists and hard core ideological Zionists, fought on the back of Palestinians, may become a prelude to that.

Posted by b at 16:17 UTC | Comments (183)

Iraqi Transport Minister Announces that Sumerians Launched Spaceships 7,000 Years Ago

The Minister for Transport in Iraq made a controversial speech at the inauguration of a new airport in southern Dhi Qar, in which he stated that ancient Sumerians built the first airports 7,000 years ago and launched spaceships from there to explore other planets. He also claimed that all the world’s angels were Sumerian. To support his claims, he referred to the work of Samuel Kramer, Russian professor and Sumerian expert, who highlighted the Sumerians’ advanced understanding of the cosmos.

The Sumerians were the first known people to settle in Mesopotamia over 7,000 years ago. Located in the southernmost part of Mesopotamia between the Tigris and Euphrates rivers (modern day Iraq), Sumer was often called the cradle of civilization. By the 4th millennium BC, it had established an advanced system writing, spectacular arts and architecture, astronomy and mathematics.

The Sumerians recorded their astronomical observations as early as 3500–3200 BC. Astronomical phenomena were important to the Sumerians, who equated planets with gods that held an important role in their mythology and religion. Jupiter, for example, was associated with their main god, Marduk, patron deity of the city of Babylon.

Illustration of ancient Mesopotamia. (Credit: Jeff Brown Graphics )

Arab news channel Albawaba reported that Minister Kadhem Finjan al-Hamami made his comments during a visit to a new airport construction site in southern Iraq, near Basra, where he claimed that the Sumerians had built an airport in exactly the same location in around 5,000 BC.

“It’s a long story, maybe you don’t know about it. Maybe even people from Dhi Qar don’t know – the first airports that were built on planet Earth were built in the 5th Millenium BC in Dhi Qar,” al-Hamami said , in an Al Jazeera translation. “There were Sumerians who launched spaceships [from Dhi Qar] and headed to other worlds,” he added, arguing that all the world’s angels “were Sumerian” and stating that Sumerians were the first to discover Pluto.

The video of his statement [in Arabic] can be viewed below.

While no one in the audience questioned the Minister, listeners were quick to jump to social media to rubbish his claims. The Middle East Monitor shared comments from internet users who criticized the incompetence of the government. “Iraqi transport minister’s hallucinations about spaceships in Nasiriyah proves that the [Haidar] Al-Abadi government is full of fools, hashish addicts and the most worthless of humanity,” said Dawood Al-Basri.

To support up his claims, Finjan referred to the work of the late Samuel Kramer, who was one of the world’s leading Assyriologists and a world-renowned expert in Sumerian history and Sumerian language. In his book, ‘History Begins at Sumer’, Kramer argues that the Sumerians had the first achievements in all the major fields of human endeavour, including government and politics, education and literature, philosophy and ethics, law and justice, agriculture, and medicine. However, critics of the Transport Minister’s speech say that Kramer never mentioned ancient airports or spaceships.

The Lament for Ur at the Louvre Museum in Paris. The Lament was one of several literary works that Kramer studied. ( public domain )

Nevertheless, the Minister does have a number of supporters among ancient astronaut theorists, who argue that intelligent extraterrestrial beings visited Earth and made contact with humans in antiquity, with many believing that ancient Sumer was the first place in which contact was made.

Ancient astronaut proponents suggest that aliens came to Earth long ago, citing such evidence as this ancient Mesopotamian cylinder seal as proof of advanced technological influences ( public domain )

CHINA Surrounds TAIWAN, USA on ALERT, Russia Moves Nukes toward

Irish Joe Biden’s Irish Sopranos

Declan Hayes

April 8, 2023

Biden’s visit is just one further shameful act of degradation of a people who once stood for something infinitely nobler than Joe and Hunter Biden.

The ostensible reasons for POTUS Joe Biden, the Grim Reaper himself, to visit his Irish colony in mid-April is, firstly to view the areas of Ireland that were unfortunate enough to spawn his ancestors and, secondly, to cash in on the 1998 Good Friday Agreement, the deal that allegedly brought peace in our time to Ireland.

Because pretending to be Irish brings political dividends and lots of uninformed votes in America, it is not currently worth dwelling on. Vichy Ireland’s Peace Process is a very different matter. This deal copper-fastened NATO rule in Ireland by allowing the gerrymandering of politics and the fruits of office flowing from it in the occupied north east to be divvied up between the Protestant Democratic Unionist Party and the Catholic Sinn Féin group, both of whose histories are mired in organised crime. It allowed the Southern and nominally independent Southern part to be fully subsumed within the American umbrella and, more importantly, it allowed its CIA and MI5 architects to bestride the narrow world, falsely claiming they were peace-makers rather than war-makers. Far from being an exercise in bridge-building that Gandhi or the Buddha himself would be proud of, it is one of the CIA’s most cynical moves of the last half century.

These latter points can be seen by how rabidly the Irish government and the toadyish Sinn Féin opposition support NATO’s Ukrainian campaign and with Mary Lou McDonald, Sinn Féin’s nominal boss, demanding Russia’s entire diplomatic delegation be immediately expelled from the country over a war she and her drug dealing friends know absolutely nothing about. This is the same Sinn Féin nominal boss who was “profoundly shocked” that Jonathan Dowdall, her right-hand man, was also the right-hand man of top mobster Gerry Hutch, whose charge of murdering a top capo in the Kinahan organised crime cartel will be decided by a non jury Irish court at about the same time Biden’s plane is fecking off back to America.

The main thing, the obvious thing to emerge from the Hutch and Dowdall trials is that the Irish secret service, together with their MI5 and CIA bosses, have all of Ireland’s criminal and paramilitary groups totally infiltrated and that, far from being progressives, these drug dealers are, in effect, just an extension of the British and American armed forces. Because NATO has used the same human dregs to much the same purpose in Iraq, Syria, Ukraine and a host of other countries, the Irish experience that Irish Joe Biden is now cashing in on is therefore worth a second glance.

Although the so-called Troubles kicked off in 1969, much like Syria and Ukraine, the British and Irish security services had already laid the groundwork for the mayhem that was to follow. Protestant gangland boss Gusty Spence has recalled how British generals briefed him on what was required of his counter gang and Irish military intelligence recruited Joe Cahill and other dodgy IRA leaders to do their bidding.

Though Cahill had received the death penalty in 1942 for murdering a Belfast cop, the authorities instead hanged brave Tom Williams for it, whilst Cahill was allowed work unmolested in Harland & Wolff shipyards, whose workers had a history of murdering Catholics whenever the fancy took them. That a notorious Catholic cop killer could work there unmolested for decades defies common sense; the only explanation is that he was a protected species.

But then, as noted journalist Kevin Myers points out, the Cahill and other families that were at the centre of the Belfast IRA also had a side hustle in raping children, a low-risk crime, given their omerta practices they passed down through the generations.

Thus, when the Troubles erupted to scar entire generations of Irishmen and women, the British, Irish and American security services were ready. They would let chaos reign but then emerge with a peace process that suited their needs, rather than those of the combatants or the civilians unlucky enough to have endured hell.

As Ireland was at the centre of a major low intensity counter-insurgency operation from 1968 to 1998 and, as that campaign continues to this day, MI5 and the CIA had plenty of time to put their assets in place. John Joe McGee and Stakeknife, the bosses of the IRA’s Internal Security Unit, were both MI5 agents. As was Denis Donaldson, a long time confidant of IRA martyr Bobby Sands and Sinn Féin boss Gerry Adams, whose IRA brother and IRA father were both notorious child sex abusers and who was himself implicated in some of the worst war crimes of the Troubles. As were so many others, the list is an almost endless geometric progression.

Although I have touched on Sinn Féin’s flawed pedigree here and here, the main thing to take going forward is how M15 and their CIA bosses not only choose the ground on which they fight but fashion it to their needs. One key way to do this in Ireland was through the supergrass trials where scores of IRA diehards would be remanded in custody for years on the word of a paid MI5 agent and their places within the IRA be filled by others on the MI5 payroll, who would rise through the IRA ranks over time.

This tactic was so successful that, at the time of the Good Friday Agreement, the IRA had been reduced to a single sniper in South Armagh and recalcitrants in nearby East Tyrone were dealt with by the simple shoot-to-kill expedient, of summarily executing them, in other words.

Following the Good Friday Agreement, the British Government allowed the IRA to do some housekeeping, as British warlord Mo Mowlam euphemistically put it, to slaughter those opposed to their criminal shenanigans in plainer English. Although that housekeeping continues with Protestant and Catholic criminal gangs to this day, with more government-approved murders in South Armagh and savage beatings in East Tyrone, it has metamorphosed into the Irish wing of ANTIFA Inc, where women, children and others in the U.S. Democrats’ cross hairs are as much fair game as they are anywhere else in America’s evil empire. To see how this works elsewhere, one only has to see the criminal contribution of Ukraine’s Nazi thugs to the post-Maidan “peace process”, or the widespread slaughter of minorities and secular Sunnis by Syria’s “moderate rebels”.

Though Biden can don his leprechaun hat and claim himself to be as Irish as a crock of cow manure, the key thing to see is how the CIA, MI5 and Irish military intelligence have shifted the goal posts to such a degree that Biden is neither immediately lambasted nor run out of Dublin town for the senile creep that he is. As with Sir Keir Starmer’s British Labour Party and the joke that is the Scottish National Party, the practical effect of all this is that whatever Western resistance might emerge to NATO’s litany of war crimes, the Irish, with their joke of a Peace Process, won’t even offer token resistance to Biden and NATO’s other war devotees. Biden’s visit is just one further shameful act of degradation of a people who once stood for something infinitely nobler than Joe and Hunter Biden and their crack cocaine fueled wars of conquest, expropriation and extermination.

BRICS countries and candidate countries for the BRICS Plus

(source: The New Candidate Countries For BRICS Expansion – Silk Road Briefing).

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Enigmatic Artifact: Possible Chinese Bi Disk Found in a Kentucky Garden

“It was just lying there” the finder explained as he recalled the moment and the previous two years of inquiries to understand what it was, along with his frustration of not knowing how it ended up in his garden. Afterwards, and with a look on his face that he expected me to have all the answers, asked, “How do you think it got here?”

As with other such Chinese in appearance artifacts found in North America without supporting contextual information, I could only respond that there are multiple possible explanations

A more informative answer came from the Burke Museum in Washington State, responding to the finder’s earlier inquiry and photograph. Paraphrasing… we don’t know what it is, but similar objects have been found on the West coast of Mexico and “it should not have been found in your part of the country.”

Other responses, also based upon photographs, from universities, art dealers and museums were equally inconclusive. Some thought it was a 20th century fraud, others didn’t know, and one based on personal inspection thought it to be authentic. Until it is subjected to rigorous examination its authenticity remains unknown.

What Is Known

This artifact was found in a small garden next to a pond, on heavily wooded acreage in a sparsely populated area of Harrison County (Kentucky, USA), which the owner characterizes as being “in the middle of nowhere”. Several miles away are two earthen mounds and the general area has long been popular with surface collectors of Native American artifacts.

Possible Chinese Bi-disk, 2.5″ diameter, Chinese script, Harrison County, KY USA. Credit: Precontact, Indigenous Peoples Research Foundation 2015©

Possible Chinese Bi-disk, 2.5″ diameter, Bird and Dragon Motif, Harrison County, KY USA. Credit: Precontact, Indigenous Peoples Research Foundation 2015©

Based upon a specific gravity test and visual inspection, the disk is Nephrite Jade and has areas of a white surface film, which is concentrated around the bas-relief features. Interestingly, one side is darker than the other. The depictions of a possible Shui dragon and a partial bird, both playing prominent roles in Chinese mythology, add to the Chinese theme of the disk, along with the four script characters.

The history of the bi extends back to Neolithic China some 5,000 years ago. The earlier versions were simple disks with no ornamentation, but became increasingly ornate with motifs representing deities associated with the cardinal directions and heaven and earth images. Aside from its religious symbolism, the bi also represented the person’s high social status and that he was of high moral character… and it ultimately accompanied the person in his grave.

Perforated Disc (Bi) with Dragons. China, Ming Dynasty, 1368-1644 ( CC BY 2.0 )

Perforated Chinese Disk (Bi) with unfinished Relief Spirals, circa 481-100 BC. ( Public Domain )

Until such time when more definitive testing results are available, the enigmatic artifact remains a mystery to be solved.

Sixbomb (식스밤) – Step To Me /東大門ミリオレライブ/스텝 투 미

How to Take Off a (Political) Straitjacket

Tatiana Obrenovic

April 6, 2023

Serbia should understand that it could and must take off the straitjacket the West put on it with its generous assistance.

This issue should have already been resolved which means that there is no reason for concern until ‘the next one reason comes round’. Namely, Kosovo is Serbia and even after the Ohrid meeting in the same proportion it used to be before that meeting on the 18^th March between Belgrade and Pristina – the first lady of the Russian diplomacy, Maria Zakharova explained a few days ago, which means that Kosovo remains the heart of Serbia with its essential autonomy in accordance with the Resolution 1244. Above all, Zakharova, when we asked her a few further questions gave two very important and equally reassuring questions.

Firstly, the Serbian province of Kosovo entering any international organizations is non-negotiable. These are not the UN only. We asked specifically about Interpol and UNESCO and we got said response. And secondly, the EU can change their negotiating positions as much as they wish, and regrettably with our (Serbian) forced consent. but the Security Council is to be asked i.e. Russia and China with it. Anyhow, if the matters were any different, the self-proclaimed pseudostate of Kosovo would have joined the UN a long time ago. In this way it cannot move an inch from the UN Resolution 1244. That goes to say in case that the unfavorable total turnaround does not happen, except that we do not have anything to hope for, we should not fret too much about the International Donors’ conference for Kosovo (without the asterisk and a footnote) and this crippled rump of a country which might be left behind out of Serbia.

It is common knowledge that by Ohrid Annex we were threatened within the next 150 days. Mercifully, it is written there that no allocation of funds will occur before the EU determines that all the clauses of the Agreement are fulfilled in its entirety. Lest we forget, the President of Serbia Aleksandar Vucic himself pledged in public that not all the clauses will be fulfilled. We should take his word for it. And not only because the breaching of his pledge would mean the breaching of the Serbian Constitution. Our ‘not meant to be’ donors did not express enough resourcefulness yet again. We were offered the very same thing earlier as well: to bribe us into selling our Kosovo to them demanding from us to agree to the Faustian bargain.

At the time of the Ahtisaari negotiations, as part of the secret K1 strategy, which was later exposed by Wikileaks so as ”to move us away from the Kosovo issue laden with emotions, towards a more democratic, more prosperous future”. They offered us the long-term programme worth $23 million ‘most generously’ for agriculture, $14 million in technical aid for the sectors with high growth potential, $21 million for Sandzak and the south of Central Serbia; One may wonder why there exactly because that was not a mere coincidence, and $1 million for the Dom Omladine (Youth Cultural Centre) in Belgrade ‘to throw the Serbs off the scent’. All in all, it was about $60 million in total. In other words: beads and trinkets – the good old recipe already tried and tested on all the other ‘Indians‘.

But back then the benefactors were, at least they thought they were, in a much better financial state than today. Back then they were not going through the great economic crisis such as the one in 2008 which did not happen out of the blue, whereas now 15 years later, they should brace up for a perfect storm, so to speak. That is most probably the crucial aspect of this war between the Collective West and the rest of the world. Thus it is vitally important for us to pay particular attention. Anyway none of this can be avoided, be it good or evil so it would not go amiss for us to prepare to any extent imaginable.

For starters we should understand that we could and we must take off the straitjacket they put on us with our generous assistance and moreover that for this procedure of taking off a strait jacket we do not need the skills of Harry Houdini but the readiness to do it. On one hand, the banking crisis is gaining momentum as we speak. The collapse of a few smaller banks in the USA nobody has heard of before immediately spilt over to the systemically important Credit Suisse Bank of which many have heard of course, and then even more important Deutsche Bank is mentioned for its notoriety, which in its portfolio has an abnormal amount of speculative financial derivatives which is dozen times bigger than the total GDP of Germany.

Bloomberg reports that Charles Schwab’s financial empire worth 7 billion dollars is in turmoil. This is not the Klaus Schwab of Davos but nonetheless both belong to the same order. Fox TV warns that out of 17 thousand billion dollars in deposits with the U.S. banks only 128 billion dollars are insured. Dr Mohamed el Erian, the President at King’s College, Cambridge University, warns that the crisis which is now taking shape will not be limited to the banking sector only. By the way, all those who are prone to believe the pledges given by the ‘competent authorities’ that all will be fine, it might be worth remembering that the very same ‘competent authorities’ claimed the very same thing 15 years ago.

The crisis which began to raise its ugly head in February 2007 exploded with the bankruptcy of Lehman Brothers only in September 2008. It further goes to say that most probably the chaos is yet to unleash. And this chaos will be substantially bigger because that crisis back then was concealed by using all the means said ‘competent authorities’ had at their disposal. This crisis now starts exactly for that reason because the unlimited amount of fiat money printed and low interest rate. But other means are non-existent. Additionally not even the causes of the original crisis were resolved. Now there is an ever worse backlash against them because there is an ongoing parallel process which did not exist back then.

The news comes in quick succession. The ASEAN members are giving up on the trade in dollars, euros, pounds sterling and Japanese yen. India and Russia are now using ruble and rupee. Brazil and China are ditching the dollar currency from their trade calculations. Kenya will be buying oil from Saudi Arabia for their own currency and not for U.S. dollars. All these are the news from the past few days and there are more similar news. Saudi Arabia and China already agreed on yen currency to be used to purchase oil. And it is not a coincidence that at the same time Iran and Saudi Arabia are en route to mutual reconciliation helped by China and Russia and all of them together complete with India will be members of Shanghai Cooperation Organization.

The formula: oil for security as the basis for petrodollar and the basis of power of the U.S. dollar ever since it had to leave the Gold Standard is becoming meaningless. The key word is de-dollarization. It goes without saying that it did not come from nothing and it is not a random matter either. In fact, in all likelihood now mechanisms which were designed after 2008 to be used under these circumstances are being set in motion now. And sanctions against Russia and the freezing of its assets in the range of Western finances and control, those finances which are already within their range must wonder who may well be the next one in line to be brutally robbed (by the U.S. and NATO) has accelerated matters. And then add to all this the protests throughout the USA and Europe to all this. And what we see now is just the beginning of what will inevitably escalate because the discontent will not be any less, the bigger the economic crisis becomes. And the accompanying efforts by the government to suppress the expression of this discontent.

In line with that, draconian measures are being issued even for bad mouthing Macron on Facebook – which is now, strangely enough, a verbal injury whereas the regime in the USA in the eve of the U.S. elections 2024 is issuing an indictment against Donald Trump, the leading opposition candidate and the former U.S. President. (N.B. indicting a former U.S. President is illegal and unconstitutional per se according to the very same U.S. Constitution) These are the golden standards of the Western ‘democracy’. And we are still wearing said (political) straitjacket. We are so constrained with this straitjacket that we ‘banned ourselves’ by the Law of National Bank of Serbia (Article 62) from borrowing as a country with our own National Bank. But we are allowed to borrow from foreign banks which leads to debt slavery which is the most ‘desirable’ state of the matter we should sink deep into.

The same applies to Greece, which is now more indebted than before it even entered into the savings programmes and it sold off everything they could, somewhere along the line. It is worth noting that the aforesaid Article 62 has one crucial exception. Namely, we can borrow from our own National Bank of Serbia but only for the liabilities we have with the IMF. As if the IMF had written that law for its own interests and not ours. But times change. Bloomberg informs us these days that there is an alternative to the IMF. China, research indicates, has become the chief financial saviour of the developing countries rather than the IMF. It is already carrying out the rescuing missions throughout Africa. And we (Serbia) are a developing country. And we are in close (economic and political) proximity to China in the same manner Africa is, which means that even that excuse of not having another economic choice to make is inapplicable any more, in order to ‘keep on wearing the straitjacket’.

The former U.S. Deputy Secretary of Treasury, Monica Crowley, is warning these days that with the current political process and economic realignment in the world, the dollar will lose its status of a global reserve currency and alongside that, she says the USA will lose their economic dominance and the status of the super power in the world. One should not even elaborate on how favorable this development will have to be for Serbia. But only if we do not fritter it away for the proverbial ‘trinkets and beads’. Otherwise, we do not deserve to be rescued from the straitjacket. Because we would prove we truly deserve it.

Based on the video report for RT Balkan by Nikola Vrzic , a renowned Serbian reporter.

“Why does Russia think NATO is the biggest threat?”

SHORT ANSWER

Because it’s what makes the most sense for our political class right now.

LONGER ANSWER

At the start of his rule, President Putin had no problems either with NATO or with its enlargement. There’s no record of his anti-Westernism ahead of his moving to the Kremlin. Moreover, after the Washington ’99 summit, he quietly asked the Americans if he could join the club, too.

Road fork

But about 15 years ago, Russia entered a period of turbulence. The model of commodity-fueled growth from the 2000s exhausted itself. Radical nationalists were gaining ground. And the ruling oligarchical clans got a piercing sense of danger. Any rotation of power would lead to some new hungry predators grabbing their riches and tearing to pieces themselves and their families.

How to get out of such an impasse? Anywhere in what people in my time in propaganda called the “Third World,” the easiest way has always been “FIGHT THE WEST!” and “DOWN WITH AMERICA!”

In 2012–13, President Putin obviously made a decision to raise this flag. Then, barely a year passed before Crimea was captured. The Ukraine war started in anything but name.

Now you see why Putin must be our President for life?

No grand vision

Most in the West seem to believe our hybrid war with them sprang from Putin’s “imperial visions.” That’s silly.

It’s fully a product of our internal politics. Ever since 2014, the war has been Putin’s perfect tool for defanging the radical nationalists—the most numerous and largely invisible threat to our state-oligarchical elite.

“Liberals” in Russia are a joke as a political force. Most of them are easy to buy. Among the rest, the principled ones are easy to scare enough for them to flee to the West. After all, it’s where their home is, isn’t it? And the most obstinate can be eliminated like Nemtsov or locked up behind bars. There are not too many of them, no problem.

The enemy inside us

The radicals are different. They’re hard to spot. The most dangerous of them are the silent ones lurking among the security services and the military. They are Ridley Scott’s xenomorphs, waiting for their hour here and there inside the body of our Derzháva (“the mighty State”).

The beasts are ready to burst out any day they decide their moment has arrived.

This is why it’s so imperative to keep the State busy with what seems like a radical nationalist project. It’s the Russian Reconquista. As long as they believe that it’s exactly this, President Putin and his men are safe in the Kremlin. And hey, many thanks to Western propaganda! They repeat in a thousand voices that this is the “USSR 2.0” going on, too!

Why the West?

There are three major reasons why the West—and not China, or the “Great Displacement” by the Muslims from the south—was picked as a mortal threat to Russia’s existence.

Foreign invasions from the west (Napoleon, the Keizer, Hitler) are deeply embedded in our collective memory.
Rotation of power and civil society are distinctive Western concepts, toxic to our Statist foundation.
Centuries-long pent-up hate among the lower classes against anything they associate with progressivist activism on the part of our State. Our rulers’ modernization projects rarely failed to bring pain and misery to millions of their subjects. When Putin says the Westerners are the ones to blame for all our carnage, this deeply resonates with something in our national archetypes.

Below, a piece by Vitaly Podvitsky from the early days of Putin’s second presidency. Vladimir Putin is St George striking the serpent of Russophobic globalism in the shape of Obama.

To us, Obama was easily the most harmless American president since Reagan. His administration considered us a “regional power”, and was asleep at the wheel when the Ukraine war broke out in 2014. What made him the most hated US president for our propaganda? My bet is on the unique combination of “black” + “clueless” + “progressive” + “American.” Go Brandon, try to beat that!

The SUN is SETTING on the U.S.

https://youtu.be/87p_LbZd-lE

Controversial Claim by Geologist: Mysterious tracks in Turkey caused by unknown civilization millions of years ago

In what is sure to cause controversy, a researcher has claimed that the mysterious and ancient ruts which crisscross the Phrygian Valley of Turkey were caused by an unknown and intelligent race between 12 and 14 million years ago.

Dr. Alexander Koltypin , geologist and a director of the Natural Science Scientific Research Centre at Moscow’s International Independent University of Ecology and Politology has recently completed investigations at the site in Anatolia which is marked with strange ruts, described as “petrified tracking ruts in rocky tuffaceous deposits’ made from compacted volcanic ash,” according to MailOnline.

Repeated travel with vehicles eventually cut into the soft, volcanic rock in Turkey. Credit: Alexander Koltypin, Dopotopa.com

The tracks cut across the landscape of the Phrygia Valley, dating back to various historical periods, according to conventional academia. The earliest roads are thought to have been made during the Hittite Empire (circa 1600 BC – 1178 BC). As time went on, paths were cut deeply into the soft rock by the Phrygians, then by the Greeks, and Alexander the Great with his armies. They eventually became part of the Roman road network, writes Culture Routes in Turkey .

Relief in basalt depicting a battle chariot, Carchemish, 9th century BC; Late Hittite style with Assyrian influence. Did such vehicles leave the tracks in the ancient Phrygia Valley? (CC BY 2.0 )

Koltypin and colleagues have examined the rocky fields interlaced with deep grooves, and have suggested that it was indeed vehicles which caused the tracks, but not lightweight carts or chariots. Instead he suggests the “unknown antediluvian all-terrain vehicles” were huge and heavy. In addition, he dates them back to approximately 14 million years ago, and claims they were driven by an unknown civilization.

He told MailOnline, “All these rocky fields were covered with the ruts left some millions of years ago….we are not talking about human beings.”

The geologist says with certainty that the ruts are prehistoric without a doubt, due to the weathering and cracks observed.

“The methodology of specifying the age of volcanic rocks is very well studied and worked out,” Koltypin said.

The deep tracks run along the landscape, some reportedly as deep as 3 feet (1 meter). Credit: Alexander Koltypin, Dopotopa.com

The scientist notes that the distance between each pair of tracks remains consistent, and that the measurement fit that between the wheels of a modern vehicles. However, the tracks are much too deep for today’s cars, raising more questions about what sort of transport device was being used.

The deepest ruts are three feet (one meter), and on the walls of these ruts are horizontal scratches, very much appearing to have been left by the ends of axels poking out of ancient wheels.

Photograph showing the scratch marks along the side of the tracks. Were these caused by ancient axels? Credit: Alexander Koltypin, Dopotopa.com

News site Express reports that Koltypin believes the deep channels were cut into the soft, wet soil and rock due to the sheer weight of the large prehistoric vehicles. He says, “And later these ruts – and all the surface around – just petrified and secured all the evidence. Such cases are well known to geologists, for example, the footprints of dinosaurs were ‘naturally preserved’ in a similar way.”

The prehistoric mysterious vehicle tracks as found in the Phrygian Valley of Turkey, with a modern car for scale. Credit: Alexander Koltypin, Dopotopa.com

Koltypin is aware that his claims are controversial, but says mainstream academia will not address the subject matter as it will “ruin all their classic theories.”

“I think we are seeing the signs of the civilization which existed before the classic creation of this world. Maybe the creatures of that pre-civilization were not like modern human beings,” he proposes.

Very similar interesting and mysterious tracks exist in other locations of the world, notably in the Maltese archipelago. These ancient grooves continue to puzzle researchers. Some of the strange tracks of Misrah Ghar il-Kbir deliberately plunge off cliffs or continue off land and into the ocean. It is not yet known who made the tracks, or why.

Like the channels at Malta, questions remain surrounding the deep tracks cut into the stone in the Phrygian Valley.

Koltypin’s research work continues as he investigates anomalous sites, but it will likely be some time before established academia embraces his unconventional theories.

BIGBANG – BAD BOY M/V

Korean boy kpop.

Bank Robbery

During a robbery in Zimbabwe, the bank robber shouted to everyone in the bank: “Don’t move. The money belongs to the State. Your life belongs to you.” Everyone in the bank lay down quietly. This is called the “Mind Changing Concept” Changing the conventional way of thinking.

When a lady lay on the table provocatively, the robber shouted at her: “Please be civilized! This is a robbery and not a rape!” This is called “Being Professional” Focus only on what you are trained to do!

When the bank robbers returned home, the younger robber (MBA-trained) told the older robber (who has only completed Year 6 in primary school): “Big brother, let’s count how much we got.” The older robber rebutted and said: “You are very stupid. There is so much money it will take us a long time to count. Tonight, the TV news will tell us how much we robbed from the bank!” This is called “Experience.” Nowadays, experience is more important than paper qualifications!

After the robbers had left, the bank manager told the bank supervisor to call the police quickly. But the supervisor said to him: “Wait! Let us take out $10 million from the bank for ourselves and add it to the $70 million that we have previously embezzled from the bank”. This is called “Swim with the tide.” Converting an unfavourable situation to your advantage! The supervisor says: “It will be good if there is a robbery every month.” This is called “Killing Boredom.” Personal Happiness is more important than your job.

The next day, the TV news reported that $100 million was taken from the bank. The robbers counted and counted and counted, but they could only count $20 million. The robbers were very angry and complained: “We risked our lives and only took $20 million. The bank manager took $80 million with a snap of his fingers. It looks like it is better to be educated than to be a thief!” This is called “Knowledge is worth as much as gold!” The bank manager was smiling and happy because his losses in the share market are now covered by this robbery. This is called “Seizing the opportunity.” Daring to take risks!

So who are the real robbers here?

Armies of Azerbaijan and Armenia FIRING at each other along border

World Hal Turner 11 April 2023

Heavy Fighting between Azerbaijani and Armenian Forces is being reported North of the Village of Tegh near the Lachin Corridor in Eastern Armenia. What started as a Small Skirmish earlier now reportedly involves Artillery and possible Heavy Armor. Fighting took place near Tegh during the Border Clashes in 2021 as well.

Ministry of Defense of Azerbaijan confirmed the death of at least 6 Azerbaijani soldiers. It is __said__ that Armenia has suffered substantial losses of troops in today’s fighting.

Armenia’s MoD says that Azerbaijani forces are firing mortars in the vicinity of the armenian village of Tegh.

Armenian Forces are Shelling the Positions of the Azerbaijani Army across the Border near Tegh utilizing 120mm Mortars and 152mm Self-Propelled and Fixed Artillery.

Azerbaijani Sources are claiming that they have seen indications that Armenian Tanks and Armored Equipment is currently being Transferred to “Forward Positions” near the Fighting along the Border with Azerbaijan and along the Lachin Corridor.

UPDATE 11:28 AM EDT —

Azerbaijan accuses Armenia of using Iranian shahed drones to target troops. Armenia is denying reports

– Reports that Armenia has abandoned posts in Tegh in anticipation of Azerbaijan drone attack.

– Armenian parliament cancels meetings

Greek Orange Cake in Orange Syrup (Pontica)

Ingredients

Syrup

1 cup orange juice
1 cup water
1 cup sugar

Cake

1/2 stick butter, melted
6 eggs, separated
1 cup granulated sugar
1 teaspoon grated orange rind
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 cup flour
1 tablespoon baking powder

Instructions

Heat oven to 350 degrees F.
First make the syrup by combining the orange juice, water and sugar in saucepan. Bring to a boil; reduce the heat and simmer for about 20 minutes. Remove the syrup from the stove and allow to go cold.
Butter an 8 x 12-inch baking pan with all the melted butter. Mix the flour and baking powder together in a small bowl. Beat the egg whites until stiff and they can form a peak.
In a large bowl, beat the egg yolks until light yellow; add the sugar, orange rind and vanilla and blend well.
To the egg yolk mixture add the egg whites a little at a time, alternating with 2 tablespoons of flour mixture until all used. Pour the batter into the pre-buttered baking pan.
Bake for 35 minutes or until a wooden pick inserted in the center of the cake comes out clean.
Remove the cake from the oven and allow to cool slightly. Remove the cake from the baking pan and cut into diamond shapes. Place the cake pieces on a large plate that will trap the syrup when poured over.
Pour the cooled syrup over the still warm cake. Allow the cake to cool completely before serving.

Rema, Selena Gomez – Calm Down (Official Music Video)

African pop music. I will be present much more African music as Africa is going to replace America as a middle class of value.

Testosterone Levels in Men Chart

There is a tremendous benefit for men who are experiencing symptoms of fatigue, muscle loss, joint pains, stiffness, hair loss, low libido, erectile dysfunction, mental fog, depression, or memory loss to contact their doctor to discuss the possibility of getting a blood test for Low T. These are all possible signs that testosterone levels are below what is needed by the body for optimum functioning.

Take a look at the normal testosterone levels in men by age chart below as a reference:

Age Years	Free Testosterone Average Range	Total Testosterone Average Range	Normal Total Testosterone
30 – 40	8.7 – 25.1 pg/mL	219 – 1009 ng/dL	600 – 675 ng/dL
40 – 50	6.8 – 21.5 pg/mL	201 – 993 ng/dL	500 – 550 ng/dL
50 – 60	7.2 – 24.0 pg/mL	170 – 918 ng/dL	400 – 450 ng/dL
Over 60	6.6 – 18.1 pg/mL	156 – 700 ng/dL	300 – 350 ng/dL

What is considered normal testosterone levels in men by age varies considerably, as shown above. A man in his early fifties who falls at the low end of the average range will most likely be experiencing many of the symptoms associated with Low T. Treatment with bioidentical testosterone therapy will be beneficial at this point.

No More Conspiracy Theory; They ADMIT Using Chemtrails!

Nation Hal Turner 09 April 2023

Former CIA Director John Brennan gave a speech at the Council on Foreign Relations and in it, he admitted government is engaged in “Stratospheric Aerosol Injection (SAI)” which, he claims, can slow or halt “Climate Change.”

So all of us who have seen these “chemtrails” with our own eyes, but been called “Tin Foil Hat Conspiracy Theorists” are proven right once again; they ARE spraying from planes – deliberately. And we’re all breathing it.

Within the US Constitution, there is no power delegated unto Congress, to allow them to engage-in, or even pay for, this type of atmospheric experimentation. It is a power NOT granted to the UNITED STATES.

Worse, they are doing this activity based on a “theory” of “Climate Change.”

So, since it is only a theory, it is now clear they are experimenting UPON THE AIR WE BREATHE, to examine their little pet theory.

I have not, do not, and will not, consent to be experimented upon.

Abbey

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Our 14-year-old dog Abbey di*d last month. The day after she passed away my 4-year-old daughter Meredith was crying and talking about how much she missed Abbey. She asked if we could write a letter to God so that when Abbey got to heaven, God would recognize her. I told her that I thought we could so, and she dictated these words:

Dear God,

Will you please take care of my dog? She died yesterday and is with you in heaven. I miss her very much. I am happy that you let me have her as my dog even though she got sick.

I hope you will play with her. She likes to swim and play with balls. I am sending a picture of her so when you see her you will know that she is my dog. I really miss her.

Love, Meredith

We put the letter in an envelope with a picture of Abbey and Meredith and addressed it to God/Heaven. We put our return address on it. Then Meredith pasted several stamps on the front of the envelope because she said it would take lots of stamps to get the letter all the way to heaven.

That afternoon she dropped it into the letterbox at the post office. A few days later, she asked if God had gotten the letter yet. I told her that I thought He had.

Yesterday, there was a package wrapped in gold paper on our front porch addressed, ‘To Meredith’ in an unfamiliar hand. Meredith opened it.

Inside was a book by Mr. Rogers called, ‘When a Pet Dies.’

Taped to the inside front cover was the letter we had written to God in its opened envelope. On the opposite page were the picture of Abbey & Meredith and this note:

Dear Meredith,

Abbey arrived safely in heaven. Having the picture was a big help and I recognized her right away.

Abbey isn't sick anymore. Her spirit is here with me just like it stays in your heart. Abbey loved being your dog. Since we don't need our bodies in heaven, I don't have any pockets to keep your picture in so I am sending it back to you in this little book for you to keep and have something to remember Abbey by.

Thank you for the beautiful letter and thank you.

Deagel Map summary

Deagel.com’s [infamous] 2025 forecast was removed from their website sometime in 2020. The content is reproduced here for reference and educational purposes. This map is a visual summary of the forecast percentage population change by country, 2017-2025.

Things are lining up towards a perfect storm

The United States is active alongside NATO and fighting Russia inside of Ukraine. And Russia is winning.

It’s a very odd time that we are all living in right now.

Relax, and have a great day. Here’s some fun videos with some serious videos. If you want to “deep dive” in them, go for it. But most of the videos are only a few minutes long, except for the two hour one at the end.

Like I said, “deep dive” if you can hold your breath. LOL.

Sponge – I Am Anastasia

Fried Grits

This makes a great side dish. Try it the next time you want something different.

Ingredients

4 cups water
1 teaspoon salt (optional)
1 cup ALBERS® Quick Grits

Instructions

Bring water and salt to a boil in medium saucepan; slowly stir in grits. Cover; reduce heat to low. Cook, stirring occasionally, for 5 to 6 minutes.
Pour grits into 9 x 5-inch or 8 x 4-inch loaf pan; refrigerate for 1 hour or until firm.
Remove from pan and cut into 1/2-inch thick slices.
Grease large skillet.
Fry slices over medium heat for 4 to 5 minutes on each side or until lightly browned.

Yield: 6 servings

Why The World Is Dumping The American Dollar | Vantage with Palki Sharma

McDonalds CLOSES CORPORATE HQ to announce layoffs; Staggering Economic Downturn

Nation Hal Turner 02 April 2023

McDonald’s is temporarily closing its U.S. offices this week as it prepares to inform corporate employees about its layoffs as part of a broader company restructuring.

In an internal email last week to U.S. employees and some international staff, McDonald’s asked them to work from home from Monday through Wednesday so it can deliver staffing decisions virtually, the report said. It is unclear how many employees will be laid off.

“During the week of April 3, we will communicate key decisions related to roles and staffing levels across the organization,” the Chicago-based company said in the message.

McDonald’s also asked employees to cancel all in-person meetings with vendors and other outside parties at its headquarters.

Hal Turner Remarks

One person I spoke with about this said “That sounds to me like they don’t want anyone going postal after they are fired, so shut it down for three day’s and fire them safely at HOME via Email!”

He may have a point!

McDonald’s is the largest fast-food chain in the world. It’s Founder, Ray Kroc, was once asked what he thought the company might end up selling 50 years from then. He replied “I don’t know what we’ll be selling, but we’ll be selling MORE OF IT than anyone else.”

He turned out to be right. McDonald’s is the single most successful restaurant chain on planet earth.

The fact that THIS company is now going into layoffs is a staggering indicator of just how serious the economic downturn under Joe Biden actually is.

Congratulations to you Biden voters, you managed to screw up the country worse than anything since Herbert Hoover, and you’re not done yet.

Let me ask you Biden voters something: Did you need to take special training to be this stupid, or does it come naturally?

Well, I guess we can get through this; after all, I hear Joe Biden is the next James Bond. Here’s a trailer for laughs:

Louisiana Sues Biden For Censoring Americans’ Free Speech

This is actually very good work. Kudos to this attorney general defending American rights.

Chicken, Broccoli and Mushroom Pie

Yield: 6 to 8 servings

Ingredients

Cheese Crust

1 cup lightly packed shredded sharp Cheddar cheese
3/4 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon dry mustard
1/4 cup butter, melted

Filling

1 (6 ounce) boneless skinless chicken breast
Salt
Ground black pepper
1 tablespoon butter
1 medium onion, chopped (1/2 cup)
1/4 pound fresh mushrooms, sliced (about 1 cup)
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 cup whipping cream
Pinch ground nutmeg
2 cups chopped, cooked broccoli
3 eggs, lightly beaten
1/4 cup freshly grated Romano cheese
1 cup lightly packed shredded Swiss cheese (4 ounces)

Instructions

Cheese Crust: Using pastry blender, combine cheese, flour, salt, dry mustard and melted butter. Press dough evenly into bottom and up sides of a 10-inch pie plate.
Filling: Sprinkle chicken breast lightly with salt and pepper.
Bake in a 375 degrees oven for 25 minutes or until done.
Allow to cool.
Cut into cubes; set aside. (You should have about 1 1/4 cups cubed chicken.)
Melt butter in a skillet. Over medium heat, sauté onion and mushrooms in butter for 2 to 3 minutes, or until tender.
Stir in flour. Add cream, 1 teaspoon salt, nutmeg and 1/2 teaspoon black pepper. Simmer for 1 minute. (Mixture doesn’t thicken.)
Add broccoli, eggs and chicken cubes; blend well.
Stir in Romano cheese. Set aside.
Line crust with shredded Swiss cheese.
Pour broccoli-chicken mixture into cheese lined crust.
Bake at 400 degrees F for 15 minutes.
Reduce oven temperature to 375 degrees F; bake for 20 minutes or until set.

Neil Oliver: All the neo-Liberal stooges are running scared now and for good reason.

You all MUST watch this one.

I am 81 plus years old and can't believe how dumb I have been all my life. You are not alone Oliver.

Well spoken AGAIN Neil. I'm 71 years and I, too, feel betrayed. I fear for my children's and grandchildren's futures and I blame myself for being too gullible.

Same here Neil, I'm a 77 years old American and started my "awake and aware" around 2017, 5 years ago. That was a hard turn to the conservative right for me. I now live in the SW England with my Welsh wife. Yours is a much needed breath of air on the island. 

You are not alone in your feelings of embarrassment, when you realise that the system has been broken all your life! I am 67 and know now that most of what I held as true was in fact a deception.

Thanks Neil at 61 I have not too much interest in anything on TV or in film currently for reasons you bring up. I’m very selective now. 

I am now in my 70s and hoped to have a peaceful, enjoyable retirement with optimism for my children’s future. And now this rot has set in and I can’t rest until I see these destructive forces defeated.  Keep up the fight Neil.

For someone whi has been awake for over 50 years and i am 74 I am so so happy to see the light emerging.

HERE WE GO: IRAN ALERTS CITIZENS TO “LEAVE AZERBAIJAN IMMEDIATELY”

World Hal Turner 02 April 2023

The government of Iran has issued a BULLETIN to any Iranian citizens living or working in the country of Azerbaijan, to “Leave Azerbaijan Immediately!”

For over a week, Iran has been moving armored units, artillery, and military troops to its lengthy border with Azerbaijan. They began doing this after Azerbaijan started moving troops toward Armenia’s “Lachin Corridor” in a plan to grab the entire southern section of Armenia. Such a land grab would cut-off Iran from Armenia and the Iranians have publicly and repeatedly warned they “will not allow a change to the borders.”

In addition to Iran citizens being told to leave, Iran’s Revolutionary Guard Corps has instructed Iranian-Backed Groups including Hezbollah to call on their Members to “Immediately Leave” the Azerbaijani Capital of Baku.

Baku is well within reach of Iranian precision strike missiles, and Iran has more than sufficient missiles to utterly flatten the entire city of Baku.

The fact that Iran has massed troops, artillery, and other military hardware, and is now telling tis citizens (and proxies) to leave, is a good indication that another conflict is about to kick off.

In the middle of all this is . . . . Israel.

Earlier last week, Israel announced that Azerbaijan opened its first Embassy in Israel:

Of course Israel and Iran have been at each other for quite some time. Israel has lately been launching air strikes against Iranian forces inside Syria, killing many Iranians and blowing up significant military hardware moved into Syria by Iran.

Moreover, Iran has been supplying Russia with Shaheed Drones (a.k.a. “Doritos”) for use in Ukraine.

Apparently, someone thinks that starting another war, this one between Iran and Azerbaijan, will force the Iranians to stop supplying Russia in Ukraine, and force Russia to begin deploying troops to assist Armenia, to Russia’s south, thereby diverting Russian military assets from Ukraine as well.

More interestingly, if Iran becomes occupied with a war against Azerbaijan, that would soften-up Iran for an Israeli strike against Iranian nuclear projects within the borders of Iran itself, which then kicks-off war between Iran and Israel.

This stuff is all connected: Ukraine, Russia, Azerbaijan, Iran . . . it’s all connected. Prepare for step two of what seems to be leading to World War 3.

U.S. Dollar in MAJOR Trouble; BITTREX Crypto Halting all U.S. Business on April 30

World Hal Turner 31 March 2023

In yet another sign that the U.S. Dollar is in massive international trouble, BITTREX Crypto Exchange has notified all its U.S. customers they have until April 30 to withdraw their crypto, as BITTREX is ceasing all U.S. operations.

In a notice emailed to all BITTREX clients in the U.S., the company said:

Today is a bittersweet day. This month we turned nine years old; and while I am excited and proud that we’ve come this far, I am also very sad. Today, Bittrex is beginning the process of winding down its U.S. operations. Don’t worry – all customer funds are safe and available to withdraw; however, it’s just not economically viable for us to continue to operate in the current U.S. regulatory and economic environment.

Back in 2013, when the three of us built Bittrex, it was about technology. Taking nascent crypto technology and making it better with our vast experience of enterprise software and security knowledge. We built technology that was ahead of everyone at the time. Full-service API. Near instant atomic transactions. Wallet infrastructure, handling more wallets than anyone. Offline cold wallet solutions. We’ve never lost funds or been hacked. It was technology, simple and elegant. We said we would be the most secure and fairest trading platform out there while treating our customers fairly. No hidden deals. No special treatment. We never took shortcuts.

Nine years later, the crypto ecosystem is very different. Regulatory requirements are often unclear and enforced without appropriate discussion or input, resulting in an uneven competitive landscape.

In the end, we made great strides toward accomplishing our goal of maturing the crypto space. However, operating in the U.S. is no longer feasible and Bill, Rami and I will focus on helping Bittrex Global succeed outside the U.S.

As I mentioned above, all customer funds are safe, here and ready for your retrieval (for users with KYC requirements met). We will permit trading until April 14, 2023, and you should withdraw all your funds by April 30, 2023. A timeline of important dates as well as an FAQ are located here to provide further information.

I’ve truly enjoyed being a part of this revolution and will continue to be involved in this space. Thanks to all the Bittrex users over the years that made us who we are.

See ya around the blockchain,

Richie

Hal Turner Analysis and Opinion

Twice in their emailed message to customers, BITTREX mentioned the U.S. not being “economically viable.”

Interesting thing to say about what is presently the largest consumer marketplace on planet earth. Unless . . . . . . the US Dollar is going to fail . . . . . .

Sure, the regulatory issues within the U.S. are factual, messy, and unclear. In their citation of those facts, they seem spot-on.

But the whole “economically viable” thing is what strikes me as odd.

Given other information about potential Bank Holiday WEEK later in April, this termination of U.S. business dealings inside the U.S. seems to fit what looks to me as being an emerging pattern of ousting the USA as the world’s reserve currency, and doing so in a sudden, dramatic, and irreversible manner.

Something is very wrong with the financial information coming out lately. It’s starting to look as though people and businesses all over the world are making arrangement OTHER THAN the U.S. Dollar.

Adult Onesie With Cozy Kangaroo Pouch Lets You Carry Your Cat Wherever You Go

From the people who brought you the cat carrying hoodie, there’s now a super-comfy onesie. Worry no more about a Christmas gift for your cat-loving, hermit friend: the Mewgaroo onesie is the purrfect fit.

NATO “Peacekeepers” To Enter on Side of Ukraine?

World Hal Turner 31 March 2023

Russia is alerting the world that NATO is going to send what they call “Peacekeeping troops” into the Ukraine war. Russian Federation Security Council Deputy Chairman Dmitry Medvedev made clear “Any peacekeepers on the front lines in Ukraine without our consent must be eliminated.”

The deputy chairman of the Russian Security Council said that NATO peacekeepers are “wolves in sheepskin” and Russia’s enemies.

In his Telegram social media account, Medvedev stated that the representatives of the military bloc are “wolves in sheepskin”, which offer their “peacekeeping services” in order to, to side with Kyiv and bring the situation at the front to the point of no return.

“Crowds are not just rotten grunts who jumped out of the reels from their cravings and impudence. They keep everyone else for the cavalry … fools. And, smiling cynically, they offer their “peacekeeping” services, – Medvedev said.

In this context, Russian leader Vladimir Putin’s aide reminded the United States of their operations to introduce a US contingent of troops to Korea, Yugoslavia, Iraq, Afghanistan and Africa, indicating, that their presence in Ukraine will again lead to a “tragedy”.

Medvedev threatened NATO and Europe with a stream of “trunes” (i.e. caskets) indicating that Russia would consider the Alliance’s peacekeeping contingent in Ukraine as its legitimate goal for which the Russian army would fire.

"Such peacekeepers" are our direct enemies. Wolves in sheepskin. They will be a legitimate goal for our Armed Forces if they are placed on the front line without Russia's consent to weapons in their hands and are directly threatening us. And then these "peacekeepers" must be ruthlessly destroyed" he said.

KREMLIN SPOKESMAN

The idea to send “some type of peacekeeping troops” to Ukraine, if such discussion is indeed serious, is potentially extremely dangerous, Kremlin Spokesman Dmitry Peskov told reporters Friday, commenting on the words of Hungarian Prime Minister Viktor, who disclosed such discussions within the EU.

“This is a statement that is very important to note. If we are talking about some serious ‘verbalizations,’ then this, of course, is an extremely dangerous discussion,” the spokesman said.

Peskov noted that, in international practice, such forces are usually being deployed under consent of both sides.

“In this case, this is potentially a very dangerous topic,” he reiterated.

Earlier, Orban opined that the threat of a new World War is quite real, adding that “this is not an exaggeration.” According to the Hungarian Prime Minister, the EU continues to discuss dispatching of “peacekeeping troops of some kind” to Ukraine, which may result in a direct clash with Russia.

UN Warns: Risk of nuclear weapons use ‘higher than any time’ since Cold War

World Hal Turner 31 March 2023

The UN warned Friday that the risk of a nuclear weapon being used is higher than at any time since the Cold War as Russia plans to deploy its tactical nuclear weapons in Belarus.

Russia announced on March 25 that it had reached an agreement with Belarus to station its non-strategic nuclear weapons in Belarus, a close ally of Moscow.

“The war in Ukraine represents the most acute example of that risk,” UN High Representative for Disarmament Affairs Izumi Nakamitsu told the Security Council.

“For the sake of all our security, I echo the Secretary-General’s call for the Russian Federation and the United States to return to full implementation of the New START Treaty and commence negotiations on its successor.”

In February, Russia suspended its participation in New START Treaty, the last remaining nuclear weapons treaty between Washington and Moscow.

The US stopped exchanging data on its nuclear forces in response to Russia’s suspension of it participation in the treaty.

Russia’s UN Ambassador Vassily Nebenzia defended his country’s recent move and said that “there’s a general logic of our former Western partners here. The logic is that Russia is responsible for all of the ills of today’s world. We’re not surprised by that”.

China’s deputy UN Ambassador Geng Shuang opposed any nuclear war saying that a nuclear war “cannot be won” and “can never be fought.”

Ukraine’s UN Ambassador Sergiy Kyslytsya warned that Kremlin was “ready to threaten the world with nuclear apocalypse.”

Russia’s permanent representative to the United Nations, Nebenzya, at the UN Security Council replied “Against the backdrop of NATO’s openly declared desire to inflict a strategic defeat on Russia, it is obvious that such actions require us to take all the necessary response steps, including in the military sphere, to ensure the security of the Allied states of Russia and Belarus.

It is in this direction that the measures announced by the President of Russia, which so frightened the Zelensky regime and its Western sponsors, go. Or did you seriously expect that we would not properly respond to your provocative and aggressive actions?”

UPDATE 1:33 PM EDT — BULLETIN

World Hal Turner 31 March 2023

Russia has adopted a new foreign policy strategy in which the West is declared an “existential” threat to Russia.

Developing . . .

UPDATE 10:10 AM EDT —

Russia’s new foreign policy strategy adopted by President Vladimir Putin on Friday identified China and India as main allies on the world stage.

The new 42-page document singled out ties with China and India, stressing the importance of “the deepening of ties and coordination with friendly sovereign global centers of power and development located on the Eurasian continent.”

UPDATE 10:28 AM EDT —

I have just this minute CONFIRMED that, according to Russian public nuclear doctrine, “a threat to the existence of the state” is grounds for the use of nuclear weapons. Russia has now officially declared the West to be such a threat to the existence of Russia.

UPDATE 1:33 PM EDT —

“Moscow considers Washington’s course as the main source of risks for its own and international security, for peace and the just development of mankind as a whole,” the document says.

“The new concept of foreign policy provides for the possibility of symmetrical and asymmetric measures in response to unfriendly actions against the Russian Federation,” Russian Foreign Minister Sergei Lavrov said.

Trans “Day of Vengeance” CANCELLED

World Hal Turner 31 March 2023

The Trans-Gendered Freaks have CANCELLED their “Day of Vengeance” scheduled for tomorrow, April 1, at the US Supreme Court building in Washington, DC. Organizers cite “astronomical amounts of hate” as the reason for cancelling.

It probably didn’t help that one of their freakazoids murdered a bunch of Christian School Children in Nashville, TN the other day.

Burger and Fries Pot Pie

Beef and potatoes come together in this cheesy pot pie that’s baked to perfection – a savory dinner.

Prep Time: 20 min | Total Time: 45 min | Yield: 6 servings

Ingredients

1 1/2 pounds lean (at least 80%) ground beef
1 large onion, chopped (about 1 cup)
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 (14.5 ounce) can diced tomatoes, undrained
1 cup (4 ounces) shredded Cheddar cheese
2 cups frozen crispy French-fried potatoes (from 20-ounce bag)

Instructions

Heat oven to 450 degrees F.
In 12-inch nonstick skillet, cook beef and onion over medium-high heat about 8 minutes, stirring occasionally, until beef is thoroughly cooked; drain well.*
Sprinkle flour over beef mixture. Cook for 1 minute, stirring constantly.
Stir in tomatoes; heat to boiling. Remove from heat.
In ungreased 1 1/2-quart casserole, spread beef mixture.
Sprinkle with cheese.
Arrange frozen potatoes evenly in single layer on top.
Bake uncovered about 20 minutes or until potatoes are golden brown.
Let stand for 5 minutes before serving.

* Be sure to drain the cooked ground beef really well. Any extra juices will make the pot pie too watery. When it’s too cold outside to grill those burgers, comfort food calls, and this pot pie will surely hit the spot! Serve this pot pie with ketchup, if desired.

10 Absolute Benefits Of Having A Cat

Do you have a cat? Do you dream of having one? Then you have an exceptional taste in choosing your companions! Life changes forever after you bring this little furry ball to your apartment.

Russian journalist targeted in Saint Petersburg cafe. “Legally we took Bakhmut.”

Sounds like it was deliberately done as planned and targeted attack.

This Man And His Cat Recreate Famous Movie Scenes And It’s Amazing!

When a man loves a kitty very, very much, sometimes he has to celebrate that love in strange ways – no, get your mind out of the gutter, it’s not like that! David and Sarah (his human partner and photographer) are the peopole behind the wildly entertaining Movie Cats Instagram. So far the couple has only done five of their movie parodies, but the couple promises that they will continue adding more pictures every few weeks.

More info: Instagram (h/t: neatorama)

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Russian Forces Take Bakhmut City Hall – Hoist Russia Flag over city

World Hal Turner 02 April 2023

In a statement by Yevgeny Prigozhin: “April 2, 2023, 23:00. We hoisted the Russian flag with the inscription “Good memory to Vladlen Tatarsky” and the flag of PMC “Wagner” on the city administration of Bakhmut. Legally Bakhmut is taken.”

He went on to say “The enemy is concentrated in the western remains of the city and are being hunted.” Here is his video announcement from Bakhmut:

The map below shows the APPROXIMATE line of control in and around the city as of April 2, 2023:

Prigozhin’s announcement comes just hours after prominent Russian military blogger Tatarsky (real name Maksim Fomin) was killed in an apparent improvised explosive device blast in a café in Saint Petersburg on Sunday afternoon.

The Pro-Russian blogger was killed in a violent explosion. Security camera video below shows a blonde haired woman carrying in a large box believed to contain the bomb:

Something detonated later, killing the blogger and injuring almost 20 others. Video from outside the explosion, appears below:

The battle for Bakhmut has emerged as one of the most intensive and bloody engagements of the armed conflict in Ukraine, with both sides reportedly suffering significant casualties. Western officials have claimed that the city poses no strategic military value, but Ukrainian President Vladimir Zelensky pledged to defend it as long as possible after proclaiming the city a fortress.

Kiev’s attempts to cling onto Bakhmut, regardless of the losses, has “almost destroyed the Ukrainian army,” Prigozhin claimed earlier this week. However, Wagner fighters, who led the charge to capture the Donetsk People’s Republic city, also took “a serious beating,” he acknowledged.

UPDATE 7:49 PM EDT —

The Cultural Center and Freedom Square near the Administrative Block in Central Bakhmut is now under Russian/Wagner Control; Heavy Fighting is still ongoing in the North of the City with Russian Forces attempting to Advance.

UPDATE 9:57 PM EDT —

Among the many Ukrainian patches from dead soldiers in Bahkmut, many of them were AMERICAN patches!

In order for America to fight in Ukraine against Russia they made their soldiers “retire” on paper then sent them in as “mercenaries.”

This tactic was also used by almost ALL other NATO countries.

Russia faced upwards of 30 NATO countries in this single city, and NATO got it’s ass handed to them by Russia.

Hang on! We knew about Covid WHEN?

GPS Trackers That Show Cats’ Activity During The Night

Australian government organization came up with a project to show people how their pet cats are actually active. They used GPS trackers to map out their activity. In Australia cats are considered invasive species and can have devastating effects on the native wildlife. Often cats’ owners are convinced that their pets don’t roam around at night, so the aim of this project is to show them what’s really going on.

h/t: izismile

Douglas Macgregor: “Ukrainians are BEING WIPED OUT, THIS IS SERIOUS”

https://youtu.be/SexcimxeRCM

Breakfast Shrimp

Breakfast Shrimp is a classic Low Country preparation of shrimp and grits. Credited to Mrs. Ben Scott Whaley in the Charleston Receipts cookbook.

Ingredients

2 tablespoons chopped onion
2 teaspoons chopped green bell pepper
3 tablespoons bacon grease
1 1/2 cups small, peeled raw shrimp
1 1/2 tablespoons flour
1 cup water (or more)
Salt and pepper to taste
1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
1 tablespoon tomato ketchup

Instructions

Fry onion and green pepper in bacon grease.
When onion is golden, add shrimp; turn these several times with onion and pepper. Add enough water to make a sauce — about 1 cup. Do not cover shrimp with water or your sauce will be tasteless. Simmer for 2 or 3 minutes and thicken with flour and a little water made into a paste.
Add salt, pepper, Worcestershire sauce and ketchup. Cook slowly until sauce thickens.
Serve with hominy.

Yield: 4 servings.

Garbage – Fix Me Now – Bizarre Festival 1996

Oil Jumps 7% After Surprise OPEC Production Cuts; Russia & India Adopt New Oil Benchmark, ABANDON European “Brent” crude pricing

World Hal Turner 03 April 2023

Prices for a barrel of oil jumped 7 to 8% last night in pre-market trading, after OPEC+ announced a reduction in oil production of about 1.1 Million barrels per day.

Last night, oil hit $80.98 per barrel, and continues to rise today:

As this story is written, 10:04 AM EDT on April 3, 2023, The West Texas Intermediate contract jumped 5.74% to $80.01 a barrel, while Brent jumped 5.67% to $84.42

This will translate into higher prices at the gasoline pump for cars and the diesel pump for trucks, which then causes a rise in consumer prices for everything that has to move by truck. This type of demand inflation cannot be halted by central banks raising interest rates.

NEW PRICING MECHANISM

More shockingly, the top oil producers in Russia and in India agreed to change the market pricing mechanism they use to price oil transactions.

The largest oil producer in Russia and India’s top refiner have agreed to adopt the Asia-focused Dubai oil price benchmark. They have abandoned the Europe-dominated Brent benchmark. The signals are changing.

This will make it much easier for countries to buy oil WITHOUT USING THE U.S. DOLLAR!

That’s huge.

They just told the US / Eurotrash to FOAD. (F*ck-Off and Die)

Basically, they’re sizzling the West’ bacon and there’s nothing we can do about it short of war.

DIO- Caught In The Middle

What Would Animals Say If They Could Speak?

All of us have already wondered what animals think and what they would say to us if they could talk. Jimmy Craig tried to answer this question with these amusing comics which are part of a series called “They Can Talk.”

h/t: izismile

SPONGE : Giants : 1994 (RARE LIVE)

The Counter-Summit for Democracy

The US version of democracy has utterly failed its people, resulting in a laundry list of chronic domestic problems.

The country’s massive national debt of over $31 trillion, economic inequality, inflation, stagnant wages for the last forty years, costly healthcare, expensive education system, student loan debt totaling $1.7 trillion with an average balance of $38,000, racial inequality, mass incarceration, the militarization of police, deteriorating infrastructure, housing affordability, homelessness, the opioid epidemic, and gun violence are all direct consequences of misguided government policies.

Shockingly, no other developed country has such severe and widespread issues.

Both of the country’s political parties are hostile to each other and deeply divided, yet they point fingers at other countries as the source of their problems.

The US has the audacity to promote its flawed version of democracy to other countries, despite being mired in problems and controversies at home.

They have started an astronomical 201 wars since WWII, overthrown 36 foreign leaders, killed or attempted to kill 50, dropped bombs in 30 countries, interfered in 86 foreign elections, and established a staggering 800 overseas military bases.

To make matters worse, they are the world’s largest arms exporter, far surpassing the combined exports of the next nine countries.

In the name of democracy, the US has caused the deaths of tens of millions of people in their conflicts in Korea, Vietnam, Yugoslavia, Iraq, Afghanistan, Libya, and Syria.

The CIA was also involved in covert operations that led to mass killings of communists in over 22 countries, and more than 500,000 Indonesian civilians disappeared in 1965-1966.

The Chinese military has not been involved in any war or used its weapons to kill a single person outside its territory in the last forty-four years.

Despite having a per capita GDP one-sixth that of the US, China is enthusiastically expending an enormous amount of its resources to assist in the development of other countries.

Highly recommended. It is long, about 10 speakers, with 10 minutes each of punchy and powerful presentations.

Light and darkness

Growing up as a young boy, I lived off “breakfast cereals” every morning. These are just sugar-coated wheat or rice pellets. I would put sugar in generous heaps piled on top of the pellets and then add icy cold milk to it.

Over the years, I have grown away from this expensive habit. Accepting warmer cooked foods, often not sugary, and coffee as replacements.

As we age; we change.

I call this growth.

Is it good or bad, Time will tell. But right now, I feel healthier than I ever did when I lived in the USA; twenty years ago.

Things that make you go hum…

Personally, I view all this military and nuclear weapons systems, as China and Russia holding a “shotgun to the head” of the United States. They are telling “President” Biden that they know that the United States is either bat-shit crazy, or acting irrational (on the global Geo-political scene) intentionally for Geo-political advantage.

Don’t fuck with us. They say.

Just do though your death spasms, but don’t fuck with us.

If you do, well then…

Suicide by cop might actually be the way the United States ends.

But, you know, there are smart people in both China and Russia. They know everything that I am describing right now.

And you and I, well…

We don’t know the full story; getting the full intel. But one thing is certain, the USA is totally fucked.

It’s just simply a matter of perception about how bad it actually is.

ALL roads now lead thru China

within three hours
three leaders from Malaysia, Singapore AND Spain
arrived in Beijing
others like President Macron of France and EU President Ursula von der Leyen
will arrive in the next several weeks

It is clear that the world have now ANOINTED a new leader

disgusted with the constant war and death
the bullying and belittling
most of all, its constant diatribe of hate

that the prior leader had inflicted on others

THAT this world seek peaceful coexistant

a FAMILY of NATIONS

China and Putin just DEALT the U.S. Dollar a fatal blow

Americans have no idea how bad badly it’s going to affect them.

White House — Americans in Russia Should LEAVE IMMEDIATELY

Nation Hal Turner 30 March 2023

The White House today publicly told Americans residing in, or traveling in Russia, to “Leave Russia Immediately.”

Here’s the White House Statement:

US AmericansShouldLeaveRussiaImmediately

Absolutely Fantastic Coconut Lamps by Vainius Kubilius

Artist Vainius Kubilius carefully crafts lamps that project visually exciting and exotic patterns of light on adjacent walls. Unlike your typical light designer, Kubilius doesn’t simply work with metals and manmade materials. Instead, this creative innovator incorporates coconuts into his products, which he designs under the label Nymphs.

BABYMETAL – Catch me if you can (Five Fox Festival ver.) [Subtitled]

The TikTok Hearing and Xiang Zhuang’s Sword Dance as Viewed by Two CICIR Analysts

“If incidents like TikTok were to occur repeatedly, the [world’s] digital future would indeed be a worrying one. In this sense, the TikTok saga cannot be given enough strategic scrutiny and attention”

Mar 31

Today’s edition of Sinification focuses on one of the many reactions in China to the US Congress’s recent hearing on the popular video-sharing app TikTok. The piece presented below is co-authored by two analysts from the influential China Institutes of Contemporary International Relations (CICIR) and offers a somewhat more moderate appraisal of TikTok’s recent scrutiny in the US than others (for a more hawkish and propagandistic commentary, see for example Tian Feilong’s recent opinion piece for Guancha.cn). Their article is entitled “Xiang Zhuang’s Sword Dance: What is he after? — The Prismatic Effect of the TikTok Incident”, which refers to a famous plot by warlord Xiang Yu (项羽) to kill the future founder and first emperor of the Han dynasty Liu Bang (刘邦) in 206 BC. In TikTok’s case, the one performing this deceptive sword dance is, of course, the United States. The authors base most of their commentary on arguments made by Western analysts, another reminder perhaps of how much more closely the Chinese follow discussions in the West than we do theirs – yet also how much easier it is for them to do so. Beyond the language barrier, I am referring here to both the censorship and self-censorship that hinder public political discussions in China. Though less acute than what is often assumed, such constraints are nevertheless real and make the analysis of these debates all the more difficult.

SUMMARY

US concerns that TikTok may pose a threat to its national security are, of course, dismissed with the company being compared to “an innocent man whose talent has aroused the envy of others”.
The US’s crackdown on TikTok is said to be a case of “treating the symptoms but not the root cause” and the result of the politicisation of America’s tech and industrial policies.
It is seen as a symbol of Washington’s quest for cyber “dominance and leadership” in the world and its desire to constrain China in this field.
The TikTok affair is depicted as particularly worrying and as potentially auguring further TikTok-like crackdowns – a trend that would also exacerbate an already fragmented internet.

EXCERPTS

“It is widely believed that this [TikTok] affair, although seemingly targeted against TikTok, is in actual fact ‘unrelated’ to it [与其’无关’]. It is but the tip of the iceberg in the US government's many overpowering measures to crackdown on China in the digital sector. Thus, our attention should go beyond this event itself and focus on the various implications it brings to light.”

“[The crackdown on TikTok] is nothing other than a case of the innocent man whose talent has aroused the envy of others [无他，匹夫无罪，怀璧其罪罢了]. Washington’s new National Cybersecurity Strategy clearly states the need for the US to rebuild the digital ecosystem and cyberspace so that it can ensure America’s [global] dominance and leadership. And as we all know, the future digital ecosystem and cyberspace will be built on new technologies and apps. Digital market giants such as leading tech companies are undoubtedly one of these key elements.”

“Meanwhile, the rise of TikTok in recent years has seen it become one of the very few competitors to Facebook, Google and others.”

“Throughout the [TikTok] hearing, there was a common feeling among onlookers that ‘Xiang Zhuang was dancing with a sword’ [i.e. the US had ulterior motives]. The US government's wielding of its so-called data security weapon [数据安全大杀器] was the nominal focus of the questioning. However, members of the hearing committee consistently turned a deaf ear to the data security protection model that TikTok had agreed on during its discussions with the Committee on Foreign Investment in the United States (CFIUS). Instead, they latched onto its Chinese-owned background and wouldn’t let go of this. Before the hearing, FBI Director Chris Wray claimed that the Chinese government could control TikTok's activities in the US remotely. During the hearing, House Committee on Energy and Commerce Chair Rodgers and [Ranking Member] Pallone both said that its Chinese-owned background made it impossible for TikTok to adhere to American values and continued to repeat the cliché that TikTok is a Chinese government proxy corporation in the US that has the potential to harm America’s domestic security. After the hearing, US Senate Select Committee on Intelligence Chair Mark Warner stated that the hearing had failed to allay lawmakers' concerns about TikTok's links to the Chinese government.”

“In fact, as the US side itself admits, all of this is just an excuse [一切只是由头]. According to Glenn Gerstell, a researcher at the Center for Strategic and International Studies (CSIS) and former general counsel of the US National Security Agency (NSA), the data held by TikTok does not in fact constitute a strategic risk [Comment: As far as I am aware, Glenn Gerstell has not said this. His arguments have been a lot more nuanced. See here and here for some of his thoughts on the matter].”

“Caitlin Chin, another researcher at CSIS, further stated that recent [measures], such as the US DATA Act and the RESTRICT Act, have all been targeted against China, and that TikTok's Chinese-owned background is itself an easy target to attack [Comment: I am not familiar with Caitlin Chin’s views, but here are two of her most recent commentaries on this issue: 1. Banning TikTok Will Not Solve U.S. Online Disinformation Problems; 2. The Plans to Ban TikTok Aren’t Really About TikTok].”

“All this shows that these various acts of political grandstanding [各种粉墨登场式的卖力表演] really have little to do with TikTok itself, which has become nothing more than a political mobilisation ‘tool [工具人]’ for the US government in the digital sphere.”

“Discussions are still underway on how to resolve this issue properly. For example, Justin Sherman, a researcher at the Atlantic Council, a US think tank, believes that the solution to the TikTok issue should not be limited to the binary choice of banning or not banning it. Additionally, US Secretary of State [Antony] Blinken has said that, apart from a ban, there were [other] ways of addressing the TikTok problem [Comment: In response to the question ‘Shouldn’t a threat to United States security be banned?’, Blinken’s word-for-word answer was, ‘It should be ended one way or another. But there are different ways of doing that’].”

“James Lewis, senior vice president of the American think tank CSIS, also recommended that while the US should take action against TikTok, it should not be banned [Comment: Since no references were provided in this article, the authors could be referring to Lewis’s argument that it would be unconstitutional to ban TikTok on account of America’s right to free speech]. Instead, CFIUS [could] set oversight conditions and form an oversight committee, thereby reducing the national security risks posed by TikTok.”

“In reality, however, these solutions will be treating only the symptoms and not the root cause [‘治标’不‘治本’]. That is because the issue itself is a result of the ‘politicisation’ of [the US’s] tech and industrial policies. If the politicisation problem is not addressed in a fundamental way, not only will the plight of TikTok itself be difficult to resolve, but one can even foresee many other such ‘TikTok’ incidents emerging in other areas.”

“Although the final outcome of the [TikTok] case has not yet been decided, the longer-term and deeper ramifications of this event have already emerged. These deserve deep consideration and very close attention. For example, does this episode indicate that the US government's regulation of global cyberspace is set to shift further from ‘behind the scenes’ to ‘the front of the stage’ [从’幕后’走向’台前’]? Well-known global cyber-surveillance incidents such as ‘PRISM gate’ have shown that the US’s [attitude towards] cyber-surveillance has both a dark and a light side. Ostensibly, [the US] has been a proponent of so-called freedom and equality online and has been promoting the flow of data and content. But following the TikTok saga, the international community is [now] worried that as Washington’s digital and online policies become increasingly assertive and politicised, its intervention in and regulation of [this space] will intensify. As Marietje Schaake, a researcher at Stanford University's Cyber Policy Centre and former Member of the European Parliament, has said, a by-product of [America’s] oversight of TikTok has been that the US has recognised the failure of its so-called hands-off approach towards online businesses and that a political consensus is emerging in government to further regulate cyberspace.”

“In light of this, there have been increasing concerns about the further fragmentation of the internet. As Lewis claims, a US ban on TikTok is bound to trigger Chinese countermeasures. Alena Epifanova, a researcher at the German Council on Foreign Relations, believes that should a US ban trigger an escalation in conflicting US and Chinese policies, the impact would go far beyond China and the US and could jeopardise the future of the global internet. Katja Muñoz, [another] researcher at the German Council on Foreign Relations, says that a US ban could trigger emulation around the world, setting a bad precedent for internet protectionism across countries and prompting the introduction of more bans against online businesses, which would be extremely destructive.”

“Therefore, from the perspective of geopolitical security and strategic rivalry, the TikTok issue may be only the tip of the iceberg. But the entire future of the online and digital space ecosystem will be shaped by [the fact that] ‘many a little makes a muckle’ [聚沙成塔: lit. grains of sand put together can make a tower] or even ‘dripping water turns into ice’ [滴水成冰]. If incidents like TikTok were to occur again and again, the [world’s] digital future would indeed be a worrying one. In this sense, the TikTok saga cannot be given enough strategic scrutiny and attention.”

Bacon, Lettuce and Tomato Pie

Ingredients

12 slices bacon, fried crisp and crumbled
1 cup shredded cheese
1/2 cup milk
1/2 cup mayonnaise
Chopped onion to taste
4 eggs
1 cup Bisquick
Salt and pepper to taste

Instructions

Butter a 9-inch pie pan.
Layer bacon crumbs on bottom and cheese on top.
Beat remaining ingredients until smooth. Pour over top.
Bake at 400 degrees F for 30 to 35 minutes.
Cool for 5 minutes.
Garnish with mayonnaise, lettuce, tomato and bacon.

Is it true that anything non-negative said about China in the United States is considered CCP propaganda?

I am from Taiwan.

Yes, that is more or less where things are going. Not only will it be considered a CCP propaganda, but the agenda is to make the word “China” sound dirty, and those who invoke the word feel filthy and ashamed, thus shy away from using it.

IBM recently unveiled its new suite of quantum computer modules, named after many Asian cities. You would think, with China’s status in research in quantum computing, it would include many Chinese cities. Wrong. There are modules named after Auckland, Mumbai, of course, even Hanoi, but not a single Chinese city. IBM doesn’t want to look non-sexy, or even filthy.

Recently I saw an American woman promoting rice bowl dishes on TV. She said, “You know, there are so many wonderful rice bowl dishes in Asia, Korean rice bowl, Japanese rice bowl, Vietnamese rice bowl, ….”, at which point she caught herself, lest she should sound filthy and shameful. Good for her that she narrowly escaped becoming the pariah of that TV show.

The antithesis of that is Taiwan, where I am from. In the West, if you say anything negative about Taiwan, you are labeled a CCP mouthpiece. This happened recently with the University of London, which labeled everyone a Chinese spy who inquired about the Taiwanese president’s self-proclaimed but unprovable PhD degree. BBC (of course!) even gave those people colluding with the University of London ample airtime to broadcast this accusation.

“If you are curious about whether the Taiwanese president really has a PhD, you are a Chinese spy!”

— University of London

When Dize Does Matter – Bestiarum Vocabulum: Last Of The Earth’s Giants

Patrick Aryee is a biologist. After studying Cancer Biology at the University of Bristol, Patrick decided to pursue a career in wildlife filmmaking and was an integral crew member for a number of BBC productions. Now, Patrick Aryee’s gets up close and personal with some of the world’s biggest creatures in his new three-part series. Episode one airs on Sky1, Wednesday 13 June, 9pm.

The Amphimachairodus, an early member of the cat family, was 1.3m in length and weighed an estimated 490kg. (Photo by Sky TV/The Guardian)

h/t: theguardian

The ice age giant ground sloth (Megatherium) stood a colossal 5.5m high. Meanwhile the Glyptodon is a prehistoric relative of the modern armadillo – albeit one the size of a VW Beetle. While the terror bird from the Cenozoic era was a truly terrifying 3m high. (Photo by Sky TV/The Guardian)

This giant snake, Titanoboa, lived around 58 to 60 million years ago. (Photo by Sky TV/The Guardian)

The Gigantopithecus Blacki, a giant ape from nine million years ago, was 3m tall. (Photo by Sky TV/The Guardian)

Canis Dirus translates to “fearsome dog” and the creature is also known as a “dire wolf”. It lived in the Late Pleistocene and Early Holocene epochs. (Photo by Sky TV/The Guardian)

This prehistoric sperm whale was 16m long from nose to tail. (Photo by Sky TV/The Guardian)

The D einotherium, a prehistoric relative of the elephant, was 4.1m high. (Photo by Sky TV/The Guardian)

This Megalodon (big tooth) lived between 23 and 2.6m years ago. It is an early relative of the great white shark and palaeontologists believe it was a staggering 20m in length. (Photo by Sky TV/The Guardian)

The A mphimachairodus giganeus and the D inocrcuta gigantea where both 1.3m high with truly fearsome teeth and powerful jaws. (Photo by Sky TV/The Guardian)

This enormous prehistoric relative of the brown bear, Arctotherium angustidens, was the height of a grown man when walking on all four paws. (Photo by Sky TV/The Guardian)

Fossil records indicate that this early lizard, Megalina prisca, was a whopping seven metres in length. (Photo by Sky TV/The Guardian)

US GOV “LEAVE NOW” China MOBILIZING for “LARGE WAR”

The American hypersonic “Dagger” died without being born

The United States took the appearance of Russian hypersonic missiles “Dagger” and “Zircon” very painfully and in recent years has been desperately trying to catch up with us in this critically important segment of weapons.

One of the “answers” to Russia was to be the new AGM-183A air-launched missile (ARRW). It was supposed to be deployed in the first half of the 2020s.

But, this “product”, having failed its next test on March 13, 2023, completely lost the “trust” of the US Air Force command and yesterday it was announced that work on this program was being curtailed.

In general, the American “Dagger” died without being born, and ours has successfully hit the enemy for the umpteenth time, incl. and officers of the NATO countries who had the imprudence to end up in Ukraine in specially protected bunkers of the Armed Forces of Ukraine.

P.S. How did they write in the USA about “Daggers” several years ago – “beautiful pictures for Putin”? Well, now let them admire their pictures, which will forever remain just pictures…”

Twitter HERE

Looks like they never solved the maneuverability, ramjet and communication problems related to hypersonic technology, needed to create a weapon like Zircon. They might be able to make some missile that can fly over mach 5 intermediary flight stage, but has to slow down and become regular supersonic missile for target acquirement and maneuvering.

Posted by: unimperator | Mar 30 2023 14:03 utc | 2

Geopolitics & Car Manufacturing

As I have detailed before, the global car manufacturing industry is the largest and most impactful manufacturing sector, with huge spin-offs in electronics, software, electric battery and general mass manufacturing technologies. With the replacement of internal combustion engines (ICE) with electric propulsion system vehicles (EV), the area in which Chinese car manufacturers lagged was replaced with an area where they could leap-frog (along with Tesla). Already in the Chinese car market, the largest car market in the world, the sales of ICE cars have peaked and are falling:

2020 Chinese Car Sales: 19.7 million, of which 1.27 million were EVs

2021 Chinese Car Sales: 21.48 million, of which 2.9 million were EVs

2022 Chinese Car Sales: 23.6 million, of which 5.92 million were EVs

Therefore, Chinese ICE car sales were 18.43 million in 2020, 18.58 million in 2021, and dropped to 17.68 million in 2022 even as the overall car market grew substantially. Estimates for Chinese EV sales in 2023 are forecast to reach 8 million with little overall car market growth, meaning that ICE sales will fall to 15.6 million – a fall of 2.08 million sales (11.7%)! This fall will be concentrated in the foreign car manufacturers (excluding Tesla) as they provide the majority of the ICE vehicles while having little or no share of EV sales (excluding Tesla). The Chinese car manufacturers are generally represented in both ICE and EV sales (e.g. SAIC, GAC, Changan, Geely, Chery) or are completely focused on EV sales (BYD, Li, Xpeng, Nio). Every extra EV sale will tend to reduce sales of foreign manufacturers brands and increase those of local brands.

Could things be much worse for the foreign ICE brands? Yes, for two reasons, the Tesla instigated price war and new ICE emission standards coming into effect in July. The Tesla China price cuts in October of last year then in January of this year, together with the falling costs of manufacturing inputs (e.g. Lithium) has produced somewhat of a price war which has brought EVs on par with ICE cars with respect to purchase price. This has easily offset any negative effects from the reduction in EV incentives at the end of 2022 and may lead to a faster displacement of ICE vehicles; EV sales will be higher than forecast and therefore ICE sales less than forecast. Lower sales for the European manufacturers and higher sales for Chinese manufacturers (plus Tesla). In the first two months of 2023, Volkswagen only outsold BYD by about 60,000 cars (ICE and EV) with Toyota lagging far behind and with Changan and Geely nipping at its heels. The German and Japanese manufacturers used to dominate the Chinese car market and rely on China for a large share of their profits (e.g. 50% for VW); none have a meaningful position among EVs in China. This will only get worse in 2024 and 2025, as EV market share moves well past 50%.

With sales lagging far behind production, the ICE manufacturers and their dealers have an increasing number of cars swelling their inventories. The problem is that those cars will become illegal to sell in China from July, when the new emissions regulations come into place (Electric Viking covers this well in the video below). The ICE manufacturers only option is to slash prices to move those cars, with the EV price war significantly reducing the prices required to move the cars, or ship the cars abroad to sell them at significantly lower prices (with the net price reduced even further by shipping costs). There could possibly be millions of cars sold at losses of US$10,000s, producing overall losses of tens of billions split between the dealers (who own the cars once they take delivery) and the car manufacturers; possibly bankrupting much of the European, Japanese and US manufacturer’s Chinese dealership network and producing large losses for the manufacturers themselves.

The end result will be a financially damaged set of Western car manufacturers, some impact to Chinese manufacturers (some of the smaller more marginal ones may go by the wayside), and a significant jump by the winners which may include BYD, Tesla, GAC and many other Chinese manufacturers; with domestic manufacturers taking a much larger, and increasing, share of the Chinese market.

With a recession in the offing for both the US market (important to Japanese as well as US manufacturers) and Europe, together with the effect of the Tesla price cuts in the US and the price cuts plus increasing China brand sales in Europe (e.g. MG), the traditional Western ICE car manufacturers may find themselves in a rapidly falling downward spiral. They will not only have falling revenues, and losses from selling Chinese ICE cars below cost to clear them, but also many of their assets (e.g. ICE manufacturing plants) may be rendered obsolete; requiring significant write-offs for not fully depreciated assets. As a manufacturer’s revenue and asset levels form the basis for loan agreements, and these ICE manufacturers have extremely large amounts of debt, they could rapidly find themselves in both liquidity and solvency crises.

There may be some protection for the US home market from the Trump implemented China tariffs and the recent protectionist Inflation Reduction Act (for example, BYD has no plans to set up a US plant), but the European market has no such protection. GM has pretty much exited its international operations, with its Chinese sales produced through joint ventures with SAIC (SAIC-GM) and SAIC and Wuling (SGMW) that it does not have majority control over. The recent travails of GM joint-venture sales in China:

Ford has already significantly retrenched its international operations, and its Chinese sales are handled through a joint-venture with Changan-Ford; with a 2% market share. To all intents and purposes GM and Ford have become US domestic manufacturers of mostly trucks and SUVs. In China both SAIC and Changan have the possibility of offsetting falling GM and Ford sales with sales of their own brands, including EVs. The threat in the US will tend to come from Tesla for the next few years, the real battleground will be Europe and the rest of the world outside the US and China. The biggest losers may be VW, Toyota, BMW and Mercedes Benz – exposed to the Chinese, European and US markets.

This will be at a time when Western government deficits are stretched by increased defence spending and recession, European deficits have been stretched by subsidies to cushion populations from huge increases in energy costs, and COVID has already produced much higher debt levels. The significantly increased interest rates to fight inflation, from near zero levels, will also exacerbate deficits due to increased interest payments. It is these stretched governments that will be asked to bail out the failing Western car manufacturers. Even if some manufacturers are bailed out, the result will be a much-reduced Western car industry (excluding Tesla) and a significant increase in the Chinese share of that industry; one where they already dominate the battery sector.

Such a realignment within the largest and most important manufacturing sector in the world will have very significant geopolitical impacts, with the West being further “hollowed out”. The inclusion of Japan and possibly South Korea in this hollowing out may significantly impact the balance of power within Asia, and the relationship between the nations of ASEAN and China. Any protectionist measures taken by South Korea or Japan to protect their car industries will most probably doom their car sales in the largest global car market, China. The possible devastation and downsizing of the European car industry, combined with the self-harming sanctions fallout, may remove Europe (and especially Germany) as a significant geopolitical player. Chinese automobile dominance in Latin America will further pull that region into the Chinese economic sphere.

Geopolitical strength is most fundamentally based upon geo-economic considerations, and the realignment of the most important global manufacturing industry will have impacts that ripple throughout the world over the next years and decades. The major winner will be China, with a Russia benefitting from a much-weakened Europe.

US Dollar LOST 86% Of Its Value & Continues To Lose Its Global Hegemony To Chinese Yuan

Yeah, I learned I'm feeling sick , whats happening to my country. Born in '57, it was great, you youngsters wouldn't believe how cool it was. Really you wouldn't .

China, Brazil strike deal to ditch U.S. dollar for trade

World Hal Turner 29 March 2023

China and Brazil have reached a deal to trade in their own currencies, ditching the US dollar as an intermediary, the Brazilian government said on Wednesday, Beijing’s latest salvo against the almighty greenback.

The deal will enable China, the top rival to US economic hegemony, and Brazil, the biggest economy in Latin America, to conduct their massive trade and financial transactions directly, exchanging yuan for reais and vice versa instead of going through the dollar.

“The expectation is that this will reduce costs… promote even greater bilateral trade and facilitate investment,” the Brazilian Trade and Investment Promotion Agency (ApexBrasil) said in a statement.

China is Brazil’s biggest trading partner, with a record US$150.5 billion (S$200 billion) in bilateral trade last year.

The deal, which follows a preliminary agreement in January, was announced after a high-level China-Brazil business forum in Beijing.

Brazilian President Luiz Inacio Lula da Silva was originally scheduled to attend the forum as part of a high-profile China visit, but had to postpone his trip indefinitely on Sunday after he came down with pneumonia.

The Industrial and Commercial Bank of China and Bank of Communications BBM will execute the transactions, officials said.

China has similar currency deals with Russia, Pakistan and several other countries.

Spending spree

The most dramatic effects of a weakening dollar will be scrutiny of the Pentagon budget. So long as the dollar is protected by its reserve currency status the party can continue. It is a pity that the US wasted the enormous value it got from its seignorage on arms destined to be useless but that is life. The public, as noted in the Boston Review article cited @16 above, has been axcuded from foreign policy decisions since 1945 so the enormous amounts spent on what is laughably called ‘Defence’ have been subject to very little public or congressional scrutiny.
The Pentagon says “Jump” and the American People reply “How High?”

De-dollarisation will put an end to that. Having to fork out money for weapons that are never used except on targets that they are totally inappropriate for (cf B52s and Afghan wedding parties) will help concentrate minds as Americans are asked to finance expenditure out of the taxes that they pay. And which bear disproportionately on those least able to pay them.
This year’s budget is discussed by William D. Hartung at Information Clearing House, which is returning to form after a lean period due to ill health.

“On March 13th, the Pentagon rolled out its proposed budget for Fiscal Year 2024. The results were — or at least should have been — stunning, even by the standards of a department that’s used to getting what it wants when it wants it.

“The new Pentagon budget would come in at $842 billion. That’s the highest level requested since World War II, except for the peak moment of the Afghan and Iraq wars, when the United States had nearly 200,000 troops deployed in those two countries.

“It’s important to note that the $842 billion proposed price tag for the Pentagon next year will only be the beginning of what taxpayers will be asked to shell out in the name of “defense.” If you add in nuclear weapons work at the Department of Energy and small amounts of military spending spread across other agencies, you’re already at a total military budget of $886 billion. And if last year is any guide, Congress will add tens of billions of dollars extra to that sum, while yet more billions will go for emergency aid to Ukraine to help it fend off Russia’s brutal (sic)* invasion. In short, we’re talking about possible total spending of well over $950 billion on war and preparations for more of it — within striking distance, in other words, of the $1 trillion mark that hawkish officials and pundits could only dream about a few short years ago.

“The ultimate driver of that enormous spending spree is a seldom-commented-upon strategy of global military overreach, including 750 U.S. military bases scattered on every continent except Antarctica, 170,000 troops stationed overseas, and counterterror operations in at least 85 — no, that is not a typo — countries (a count offered by Brown University’s Costs of War Project). Worse yet, the Biden administration only seems to be preparing for more of the same. Its National Defense Strategy, released late last year, manages to find the potential for conflict virtually everywhere on the planet and calls for preparations to win a war with Russia and/or China, fight Iran and North Korea, and continue to wage a global war on terror, which, in recent times, has been redubbed “countering violent extremism.” Think of such a strategic view of the world as the exact opposite of the “diplomacy first” approach touted by President Joe Biden and his team during his early months in office. Worse yet, it’s more likely to serve as a recipe for conflict than a blueprint for peace and security….”
HERE

* The (sic) is mine. The ‘brutal invasion’ hyperbole part of the price that Tom Englehard and Hartung pay for not thinking things through. After seventy years of Cold War its as unsurprising as it is lamentable

Posted by: bevin | Mar 30 2023 21:58 utc | 60

France Buys 65,000 Tons of Natural Gas from “China” – Pays for it in Yuan, NOT DOLLARS!

World Hal Turner 30 March 2023

China has just completed its first trade of liquefied natural gas (LNG) settled in Chinese yuan currency, the Shanghai Petroleum and Natural Gas Exchange confirmed.

Chinese state oil and gas giant CNOOC and TotalEnergies completed the first LNG trade on the exchange with settlement in the Chinese currency, the exchange said in their statement.

The trade involved around 65,000 tons of LNG imported from the United Arab Emirates, the Shanghai Petroleum and Natural Gas Exchange added.

NOTE: China will never admit that it is re-exporting Russian LNG even though it now does it all the time!

The French supermajor, one of the world’s top LNG traders, confirmed to Reuters that the trade involved LNG imported from the UAE, but declined to comment further on the deal.

Hal Turner Commentary Opinion

So now our ally, France, is ditching the US dollar for fossil fuel trades. One by one, countries of the entire world seem to be giving-up on using the U.S. Dollar. Instead, countries are negotiating currency values between each other, then using local currency to settle trade deals.

This is the death knell for the USA.

As more and more countries use fewer and fewer dollars, all those excess dollars they’ve been holding in the central bank reserves, will end up coming back here to the United States because countries don’t need (or want) them anymore.

As all that cash returns to America, the value of the US Dollar will plummet against foreign currencies.

Since the US doesn’t manufacture much of anything here anymore, but instead imports from foreign countries, all the things we have to import will get more and more expensive as the dollar falls further and further in value. America will see inflation similar to what the Weimar Republic suffered before World War 2, with wheel barrows of cash needed to buy a loaf of bread.

All this is happening because our federal government is meddling in the affairs of so many foreign lands. If those foreign countries fail – or refuse — to do what America wants, our federal government imposes economic sanctions, forbidding those countries from using “our” money for “their” trade.

In the past, economic sanction from the US would mean a country was literally cut off from most foreign markets because almost all foreign trade has always been settled in US dollars.

As countries see the US meddling, they’re deciding they don’t want to be pushed around by the US federal government. As such, they are negotiating trade deals with each other, to accept each other’s currency, thus by-passing the US, and making it impossible for the US government to meddle with them.

As more and more countries do this, all those hundreds-of-billions of Dollars they all hold in the central banks, will come flooding back to the US and our inflation will break our country.

Our federal government is directly to blame for this.

When YOU cannot feed YOUR family because the money is so worthless, remember, it was YOUR member of the US Congress who did this. It was YOUR US Senators who did this.

As you watch your children suffering pains from hunger, hold those sniveling, lowly, government public servants accountable.

UN Spokesman Claims U.S. Soldiers Are Not In Syria – Gets IMMEDIATELY Owned!

Ukraine President Posts Petition for U.S. Nukes on Ukraine Soil; Russia Suggests They Would make Pre-Emptive Nuclear Strike

World Hal Turner 30 March 2023

A potential Russian “petition” on a preventive nuclear strike could come in response to any initiative to transfer US nuclear weapons to Ukraine, Russian Security Council Deputy Chairman Dmitry Medvedev opined on his Telegram channel on Thursday.

A petition calling for the deployment of US nuclear weapons on Ukrainian soil was posted on Ukrainian President Vladimir Zelensky’s website on Thursday.

Commenting on the petition on Zelensky’s website, Medvedev blogged that the response could, in all probability, take the form of “a Russian petition in favor of the immediate pre-emptive use of Russian nuclear weapons.”

Jan 6 “Q-Anon Shaman” Jacob Chansley, Released from Prison Early

Nation Hal Turner 30 March 2023

Jacob Chansley, the man known as the “QAnon Shaman” has been transferred to an Arizona halfway house.

Chansley was moved from federal prison to the Phoenix area with a projected release date of May 25. Chansley had pleaded guilty to obstructing the Electoral College proceedings and was sentenced to 41 months in prison back in November.

“Recent changes have been made regarding First Step Act assessments such that the 28-day assessment will count as the first, and that an inmate will be able to earn 15 days after two assessments rather than three,” a Federal Bureau of Prisons spokesperson told the outlet. “These additional time credits were calculated during the last scheduled application rollout in March 2023. therefore, these changes will allow inmates to earn the extra 5 days of time credit for every 30-day period.”

The release comes after video showwing Chansley being escorted by police around the US Capital, was publicly shown, proving he did no violence or property damage, and that the government’s claims were lies. This video had been in the possession of the Democrat’s January 6 Committee, and they kept it hidden to perpetuate the outright lies they were peddling about January 6 being an “insurrection.”

Little White Fleet?

Red sails in the Sunrise

Godfree Roberts

In Ukraine, Russia enjoys armaments escalation dominance, thanks to its massive weapons industry, which dwarfs America’s and produces 50,000 shells and missiles every day. Ukraine gets 5,000 from the all the armories of the West – and no likelihood of more.

Outside Divine intervention, the contest can end only one way. Russia’s capacity to escalate its existing manufacturing dominance means it can do more of anything Ukraine can do.

That’s why military professionals spend so much time on economics and logistics. They’re taught that fleets win battles and economies win wars. But since fleets fight battles, we must look more closely at how things are shaping up in the Pacific.

Fleet escalation dominance

The PLAN enjoys fleet escalation dominance over the US Navy in the West Pacific.

China’s 340 warships are newer and better armed than America’s 290. And, thanks to launching five Burke-class destroyers simultaneously this year, the PLAN will have 400 boats in 2025, while the USN hopes for 300 by 2030.

Says US Naval War College Professor – and former Navy Captain – Sam Tangredi, “In naval warfare, the bigger fleet almost always wins. In 28 naval wars, from the Greco-Persian Wars of 500 BC, through Cold War interventions, we found just three where superior technology defeated bigger numbers”.

Armaments escalation dominance

China has turned its research lead in chemistry and math into powerful, innovative weapons. Beijing contends with Moscow for the lead in hypersonic missiles while the US has yet to test one.

Even conventional Chinese missiles outrange their American counterparts by 50%-100%, and in some cases, the US has no counterpart to their innovative, specialized weapons.

Quality

China’s naval technology is superior to America’s simply because it’s a generation younger. PLAN boats have much lower mileage, and are more powerfully armed than ours.

We’re Number Three!

If the foregoing is accurate, we’re Number Two in the West Pacific.

Russia’s victory in Ukraine, over the USA, NATO and the EU, will drop us another notch. Do voters want to spend $1 trillion a year to boast, “We’re Number Three!”?

Politically and economically, navally and terrestrially, can the US even afford industrial warfare?

And if we to go to war, we know who has morale escalation..

“We’re DONE with you!” – Zelensky STUNNED as they walk out | Redacted

China’s President Announces “Preparing for War”

World Hal Turner 30 March 2023

Chinese leader Xi Jinping says he is preparing for war. At the annual meeting of China’s parliament and its top political advisory body this month, Xi wove the theme of war readiness through four separate speeches, in one instance telling his generals to “dare to fight.”

His government also announced a 7.2 percent increase in China’s defense budget, which has doubled over the last decade, as well as plans to make the country less dependent on foreign grain imports. In recent months, Beijing has unveiled new military readiness laws, new air-raid shelters in cities across the strait from Taiwan, and new “National Defense Mobilization” offices countrywide.

It is too early to say for certain what these developments mean. Conflict is not certain or imminent. Yet something has changed in Beijing that policymakers and business leaders worldwide cannot afford to ignore. If Xi says he is readying for war, it would be foolish not to take him at his word.

RUSSIA TO HELP CHINA MAKE MORE NUCLEAR BOMBS

Russia plans to provide fast breeder nuclear reactor technology to China, an agreement that could allow Beijing to significantly grow its nuclear arsenal and tip the prevailing global balance of nuclear weapons.

Russian President Vladimir Putin and Chinese Premier Xi Jinping announced a long-term agreement to continue developing fast breeder nuclear reactors optimized for plutonium production for nuclear weapons.

In December 2022, Russia’s-state owned Rosatom nuclear power company finished transferring 25 tons of highly-enriched uranium to China’s CFR-600 nuclear reactor, which analysts say has the capacity to produce 50 nuclear warheads a year.

US Department of Defense (DOD) officials and US military planners have assessed that the CFR-600 will be critical in building China’s nuclear arsenal from 400 warheads today to 1,500 by 2035.

The U.S. Air Force secretary says he’s seen nothing ‘more disturbing’ in 50-year career than this move by China.

Air Force Secretary Frank Kendall compares China’s nuclear threat to Russia’s during Cold War.

BABYMETAL – Light and Darkness (OFFICIAL)

A Visit To The World’s Only Black-Cat Cafe

There are well over a hundred cat cafes all over Japan, but there’s only one devoted exclusively to black cats – a cafe called Nekobiyaka in the castle town of Himeji.

Yes, it’s the world’s first and only black-cat cafe, located near Himeji’s central station and along the route to the town’s famous landmark castle. While there were only six cats present when we visited (the website lists a dozen), they were an extremely lively bunch – running around, jumping in the air, and playing a vigorous game of fetch with a cloth-covered toy. We’re not sure, but we suspect that catnip may have been involved.

Since it’s hard to tell the cats here apart, they all wear different-colored bandanas around their necks, and their names incorporate their identifying color. The staff will lend you a little book with photos of all the cats, listing their names and birthdays.

The cafe is attractively furnished in residential living-room style, with windows looking out onto one of Himeji’s shopping streets. Background music is an odd mix of easy-listening and music-box arrangements of pop songs. Cat treats are not available, however.

The cats here are unusual in that they like playing fetch with a cloth-covered cat toy, and two of the cats were in hot competition to catch the toy in mid-air and then bring it back. By the way, although the cats all look very similar, they wear different colored bandanas around their necks so that cafe visitors can tell them apart.

When you’re not playing with the cats you can drink your coffee (or a beer), being careful that it doesn’t get knocked over, and browse through the cafe’s collection of manga and magazines, many of them cat-related. All in all it’s a very relaxing way to spend an hour of your afternoon.

Russia Has HALTED all Nuclear Notifications to USA; Including Test Launches

World Hal Turner 29 March 2023

RUSSIAN DEPUTY FOREIGN MINISTER: RUSSIA HAS STOPPED ALL NUCLEAR-RELATED NOTIFICATIONS TO UNITED STATES, INCLUDING WARNINGS ABOUT TEST LAUNCHES.

Deputy Foreign Minister Sergei Ryabkov told Russian news agencies that Moscow has halted all information exchanges with Washington envisioned by the last remaining nuclear arms pact with the U.S. after suspending its participation in it last month.

Along with the data about the current state of the countries’ nuclear forces routinely released every six months in compliance with the treaty, the parties also have exchanged advance warnings about test launches. Such notices have been an essential element of strategic stability for decades, allowing Russia and the United States to correctly interpret each other’s moves and make sure that neither country mistakes a test launch for a missile attack.

If Russia terminates missile test warnings, it would mark yet another attempt by the Kremlin to discourage the West from ramping up its support for Ukraine by pointing to Russia’s massive nuclear arsenal. In recent days, President Vladimir Putin announced the deployment of tactical nuclear weapons to the territory of Moscow’s ally Belarus.

Last month, Putin suspended the New START treaty, saying Russia can’t accept U.S. inspections of its nuclear sites under the agreement at a time when Washington and its NATO allies have openly declared Moscow’s defeat in Ukraine as their goal. Moscow emphasized that it wasn’t withdrawing from the pact altogether and would continue to respect the caps on nuclear weapons the treaty set.

The Foreign Ministry initially said Moscow would keep notifying the U.S. about planned test launches of its ballistic missiles, but Ryabkov’s statement appeared to signal an abrupt change of course.

Hal Turner Analysis and Opinion

For literally years, both the US and Russia have notified each other about all aspects of their nuclear aresenals; movement of warheads/missiles, test launches and track of test launches, etc. That has now stopped.

Now, when Russia Tests a missile, the US has no way of knowing if it is a test – or real.

This is now the time when mistakes get made.

A misinterpretation. A misreading of direction of travel. A misreading of intent.

I have warned for months that when the nuclear war commences, it will happen like a lighting bolt out of the blue. I have warned that we may get little or NO NOTICE.

Now you know my warnings were right.

This situation between the US/NATO/Ukraine and Russia, is growing more dangerous by the hour.

We are in grave danger.

What are the reasons why everything is so cheap in China? How much do Chinese workers get paid and how does the country make money if things are so cheap for tourists?

I think the reason you feel this way is because the price of everything in your country is way too high.

Pizza Pork Chops

Ingredients

6 (1-inch thick) pork loin chops
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon pepper
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
1 medium onion, chopped
2 cups tomato pasta sauce
4 cups cooked orzo
1 cup (4 ounces) shredded mozzarella cheese

Instructions

Remove excess fat from pork. Sprinkle pork with salt and pepper.
In 12-inch skillet, heat oil over medium-high heat.
Add pork; cook about 5 minutes, turning once, until brown.
Place pork in 3 1/2- to 4-quart slow cooker.
Sprinkle onion over pork.
Add pasta sauce.
Cover; cook on LOW for 4 to 6 hours.
Place orzo on platter. Top with pork and sauce. Sprinkle with cheese.

Yield: 6 servings

URGENT: 300 RUSSIAN MOBILE NUCLEAR MISSILES ON THE MOVE

World Hal Turner 28 March 2023

Russia’s Strategic Missile Forces began WHAT THEY SAY are planned exercises involving the Yars mobile nuclear intercontinental ballistic missile systems, Russia’s defense ministry said minutes ago (11:06 PM EDT on Tuesday, 28 March 2023)

“In total, more than 3,000 military personnel and about 300 pieces of equipment are involved in the exercises,” the defense ministry said in a statement on the Telegram messaging app.

Each YARS missile carries of nuclear warhead with a yield of 800 kilotons.

Remember that the bomb at Hiroshima was 15 kilotons, and has been considered to be less than 5% efficient. - MM

Counting the minutes as the United States reaches maximum insanity and just snaps

Things are approaching critical mass.

let’s hope that the US will not panic and accept the truth that everyone is finally beginning to see, which is: USA is the No. 1 Terrorist organization on this planet, our home.

But I don’t see that coming. It would be naïve to think that they will let China do what they are doing. The US will fight for their unipolar hegemony.

However, it is surprising how stupid the US is acting… (no need to explain that further in this audience) But the fact that such stupid people have access to all kind of weapons, is very worrying.

In the last days I have already noticed a new level of emotionalized propaganda in the German media, “explaining” in all “newspapers” the ever-boring story of The Good and The Evil. The language is becoming more infantile and desperate, almost embarrassing (Fremdscham) 
I am afraid they are preparing their people for a justification of something …. very very stupid. I hope not.

So far Russia and China have acted quite cleverly, not responding to the various childish provocations. Instead they behaved like adults and were surprisingly successful in de-escalation. They show strength and wisdom at the same time. 

They seem to be prepared for anything the US will do. They know the US empire is ending and they even seem to be aware that they should not humiliate the Empire (something they could do very well, if they wanted to). 

May peace prevail. 


Posted by: HansJuergen | Mar 20 2023 11:07 utc | 4

Huawei makes breakthrough in EDA design tools for 14nm chips

Nicknamed the “cradle” of integrated circuits, EDA is a widely used software in the sector and significant to the entire chip-designing process. /CFP

Huawei has developed electronic design automation (EDA) tools for chips produced at and above 14-nanometer technology with domestic partners, marking a major breakthrough for China’s semiconductor industry.

Nicknamed the “cradle” of integrated circuits, EDA is a widely used software in the sector and significant to the entire chip-designing process.

The Chinese tech giant has achieved localization of EDA tools above 14nm in the chip field and will complete comprehensive verification this year, Huawei confirmed on March 24, citing the remarks made by its rotating chairman Xu Zhijun on February 28.

Xu also said the company has developed 78 tools related to chip hardware and software.

China has long relied on U.S. companies such as Cadence and Synopsys for high-end electronic design automation tools.

Chips produced at the 14nm level were first introduced in smartphones in the mid-2010s and are two to three generations behind leading-edge technology, but it still marks a breakthrough.

The progress is part of a broader push by Huawei to develop domestic development tools for hardware, software and chips amid the U.S. governmental restrictions.

Xu further mentioned that although the company has achieved many breakthroughs in product development tools over the past three years, it still faces formidable challenges, thus Huawei will redouble its efforts to attract more global talents to achieve a strategic breakthrough in the area.

Caramelized Onion Smothered Pork Chops

Caramelized Onion Smothered Pork Chops are exceptionally delicious. They will most certainly become a part of your meal rotation.

Ingredients

4 boneless pork chops, with as much fat removed as possible
1 teaspoon garlic powder
1/2 teaspoon ground sage
1/2 teaspoon ground thyme
1/2 teaspoon kosher or sea salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
6 tablespoons butter
2 cups thinly sliced onion
4 teaspoons granulated sugar

Instructions

Season both sides of pork chops with garlic powder, sage, thyme, salt and pepper.
Melt 4 tablespoons butter in a large skillet over medium heat, evenly coating the bottom of the skillet.
Increase heat to medium-high. Cook both sides of chops for 10-15 minutes until lightly browned.
Push chops to outside edges of skillet. Melt the remaining 2 tablespoons butter in the center of the skillet and add onions to the center of the skillet, sprinkling with sugar. Replace skillet cover and cook for 10 minutes, frequently tossing and stirring onions with a spatula. Onions are caramelized when tender and medium-brown in color. DO NOT let the onions burn!
Check chops for doneness before serving. They will be done when a fork piercing the thickest part of the chop draws clear juice. If the juice is pink, cook chops a bit longer until done.
Serve pork chops with caramelized onions piled on top.

Xi and Putin Have the Most Consequential Undeclared Alliance in the World

It’s become more important than Washington’s official alliances today.

By Graham Allison, a professor of government at the Harvard Kennedy School.

Chinese President Xi Jinping’s decision to visit Moscow this week in his first trip abroad since his reelection comes as no surprise to those who have been watching carefully. When one steps back and analyzes the relationship between China and Russia, the brute facts cannot be denied: Along every dimension—personal, economic, military, and diplomatic—the undeclared alliance that Xi has built with Russian President Vladimir Putin has become much more consequential than most of the United States’ official alliances today.

Many observers still find this alliance hard to believe. As former U.S. Defense Secretary James Mattis put it in 2018, Moscow and Beijing have a “natural nonconvergence of interests.” Geography, history, culture, and economics—all the factors that students of international relations focus on—give both nations many reasons to be adversaries.

On today’s map, large swaths of what was in earlier centuries Chinese territory are now within Russia’s borders. This includes Moscow’s key naval base in the Pacific, Vladivostok—which on Chinese military maps is still labeled by its Chinese name, Haishenwai. The 2,500-mile border between the two nations has repeatedly seen violent clashes, most recently in 1969. On the Russian side, the land east of the Ural Mountains is full of natural resources but has a population of just 32 million people, while on the Chinese side, hundreds of millions of people live with few natural resources.

On the broader canvas of history, Russia was a prime antagonist in China’s “century of humiliation,” joining forces with Western imperialist powers to put down the Boxer Rebellion and forcing China to sign eight “unequal treaties” during the second half of the 19th century. In recent decades, the status inversion resulting from Russia’s decline from its position as the second superpower in a bipolar world, combined with China’s meteoric rise, must cause a leader as status-conscious as Putin some consternation.

But while history deals the hands, human beings play the cards, and Xi has defied expectations to masterfully build a relationship with Putin that matters deeply to both. Putin was the first leader Xi visited after becoming China’s president in 2012. Since then, the two have held 40 one-on-one meetings, twice as often as either has met with any other world leader. Putin calls Xi his “best and bosom friend,” who, as Putin noted in 2018, is the only world leader with whom he has celebrated his birthday. When Xi awarded Putin China’s Friendship Medal in 2018, he called the Russian president his “best, most intimate friend.”

In recent years, Sino-Russian economic ties have grown. Even before Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, China had displaced the United States and Germany to become Russia’s No. 1 trading partner and top buyer of Russian oil and gas. In the past year, China has provided an economic lifeline for Russia, buying everything the West won’t and helping Russia maintain access to financial markets amid sweeping Western sanctions. Chinese purchases of Russian energy last year were up 50 percent from 2021 levels while bilateral trade hit record highs. China was not only the world’s largest exporter to Russia in 2022, but it also accounted for the largest year-over-year increase in export volume to Russia of any country in the world. Last month, the yuan overtook the dollar as the most traded currency on the Moscow Exchange for the first time ever, representing almost 40 percent of total trading volume.

And despite Western sanctions intended to eliminate Russia’s access to critical technologies, Chinese exports of integrated circuits to Russia doubled in 2022. Indeed, in every area where China can support Russia without incurring major costs to itself—unlike lethal arms sales to Russia that violate U.S. sanctions, which CIA Director William Burns recently said China was “considering” but “reluctant to provide”—it has done so.

Furthermore, while many Americans discount Sino-Russian military cooperation, as a former Russian national security advisor has put it to me, China and Russia have the “functional equivalent of a military alliance.” China regularly participates in joint military exercises with Russia that dwarf those the United States conducts with its much more publicized “strategic partner,” India. It sent soldiers to Russia’s annual Vostok exercises in September and conducts joint air and naval exercises on a near-monthly basis. Russian and Chinese generals’ staffs now have candid, detailed discussions about the threat U.S. nuclear modernization and missile defenses pose to each of their strategic deterrents. While, for decades, Russia was careful to withhold its most advanced technologies in arms sales to China, it now sells the best it has, including S-400 air defenses. The two countries share intelligence and threat assessments as well as collaborate on rocket engine research and development. More recently, Beijing and Moscow have collaborated to compete with Washington in a new era of space competition.

Their diplomatic coordination has also ramped up as Xi and Putin become increasingly convinced Washington is seeking to undermine their regimes. The two countries almost always vote together in the United Nations Security Council and reinforce each other’s political narratives. For instance, China has repeatedly refused to call Russia’s invasion of Ukraine a war, instead labeling it an “issue,” “situation,” or “crisis.” Its diplomats and propaganda megaphones echo even Russia’s most extreme claims about the war, blaming NATO for ignoring Russia’s “legitimate concerns” and suggesting the United States wants to “fight till the last Ukrainian.”

Neither leader has made a secret of his ambitions to end U.S. hegemony and create what Xi called on Monday a “new model of major-country relations.” Their success in forming new alignments of nations—including the so-called BRICS bloc and the Shanghai Cooperation Organization, whose citizens make up two-thirds of the world’s population—demonstrates that their declarations are not merely aspirational. While U.S. talking points highlight the world’s condemnation of Putin’s invasion, Chinese and Russian diplomats note that many countries have not joined in, including the world’s largest country, the world’s largest democracy, Africa’s leading democracy, and most nations in the global south.

An elementary proposition in international relations 101 states: “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” By confronting both China and Russia simultaneously, the United States has helped create what former U.S. National Security Advisor Zbigniew Brzezinski called an “alliance of the aggrieved.” This has allowed Xi to reverse Washington’s successful “trilateral diplomacy” of the 1970s that widened the gap between China and the United States’ primary enemy, the Soviet Union, in ways that contributed significantly to the U.S. victory in the Cold War. Today, China and Russia are, in Xi’s words, closer than allies.

Since Xi and Putin are not just the current presidents of their two nations but leaders whose tenures effectively have no expiration dates, the United States will have to understand that it is confronting the most consequential undeclared alliance in the world.

Revenging An Abused Girl Scene – The Equalizer 2 (2018)

What is actually going on…

The Chinese "Peace Plan" - as annotated by me:
https://www.fmprc.gov.cn/zyxw/202302/t20230224_11030707.shtml

China's position on a political settlement of the Ukrainian crisis

2023-02-24 09:00

First, respect the sovereignty of all countries. Universally recognized international law, including the purposes and principles of the Charter of the United Nations, should be strictly observed, and the sovereignty, independence and territorial integrity of all States should be effectively guaranteed. All countries, big or small, strong or weak, rich or poor, are equal, and all parties should jointly safeguard the basic norms governing international relations and safeguard international fairness and justice. International law should be applied equally and uniformly, without double standards.

[MY NOTE: Boilerplate, standard Chinese position which does not even mention Ukraine or Russia.]

Second, abandon the Cold War mentality. The security of one country cannot be at the expense of the security of other countries, and regional security cannot be guaranteed by strengthening or even expanding military blocs. The legitimate security interests and concerns of all countries should be taken into account and properly addressed. There are no easy solutions to complex problems. We should adhere to the concept of common, comprehensive, cooperative and sustainable security, focus on the long-term peace and stability of the world, promote the construction of a balanced, effective and sustainable European security architecture, oppose basing one's own security on the insecurity of other countries, prevent the formation of camp confrontation, and jointly safeguard peace and stability in the Eurasian continent.

[MY NOTE: Ditto]

3. Ceasefire and cessation of war. There are no winners in conflict wars. All parties should remain rational and restrained, do not add fuel to the fire, do not intensify contradictions, avoid further deterioration or even loss of control of the Ukrainian crisis, support Russia and Ukraine to meet each other halfway, resume direct dialogue as soon as possible, gradually promote the de-escalation of the situation, and finally reach a comprehensive ceasefire.

[MY NOTE: Note that this does not call on Russia or Ukraine to do anything. Instead it calls on "all parties" to "avoid loss of control", calls on outside parties to support Russia and Ukraine in peace efforts to promote a ceasefire. No direct calls for either Russia or Ukraine to actually commit to a ceasefire.]

4. Initiating peace talks. Dialogue and negotiation are the only viable way to resolve the Ukrainian crisis. All efforts conducive to a peaceful settlement of the crisis should be encouraged and supported. The international community should adhere to the right direction of persuading peace and promoting talks, help all parties to the conflict open the door to a political settlement of the crisis as soon as possible, and create conditions and provide a platform for the resumption of negotiations. China is willing to continue to play a constructive role in this regard.

[MY NOTE: Ditto.]

Fifth, resolve humanitarian crises. All initiatives that contribute to alleviating the humanitarian crisis should be encouraged and supported. Humanitarian action must respect the principles of neutrality and impartiality and prevent the politicization of humanitarian issues. Effectively protect the safety of civilians and establish humanitarian corridors for the evacuation of civilians from warring areas. Increase humanitarian assistance to relevant areas, improve the humanitarian situation, provide rapid, safe and unhindered humanitarian access, and prevent larger humanitarian crises. Support the coordinating role of the United Nations in humanitarian assistance to conflict areas.

[MY NOTE: Again, boiler plate concern for humanitarian issues. Russia can agree to this in a heartbeat without having to do anything different than they've been doing.]

Protection of civilians and prisoners of war. Parties to a conflict should strictly abide by international humanitarian law, refrain from attacks on civilians and civilian facilities, protect women and children and other victims of conflict, and respect the fundamental rights of prisoners of war. China supports the exchange of prisoners of war between Russia and Ukraine, and all parties should create more favorable conditions for this.

[MY NOTE: Ditto.]

7. Maintain the safety of nuclear power plants. Oppose armed attacks on peaceful nuclear facilities such as nuclear power plants. We call on all parties to abide by international law such as the Convention on Nuclear Safety and resolutely avoid man-made nuclear accidents. Support the constructive role of the IAEA in promoting the safety and security of peaceful nuclear facilities.

[MY NOTE: Same, same - Russia has been doing that, Ukraine has not. This is a strike against Ukraine and is something which Russia again could agree to in a heartbeat without having to do anything at all.]

8. Reduce strategic risks. Nuclear weapons cannot be used, and nuclear war cannot be fought. The use or threat of use of nuclear weapons should be rejected. Prevent nuclear proliferation and avoid nuclear crises. It opposes the development and use of chemical and biological weapons by any country under any circumstances.

[MY NOTE: And who has biowarfare labs in Ukraine? Not Russia! Another strike against Ukraine - and by extension, the US. Again, Russia need do nothing.]

9. Ensuring the export of grain. All parties should implement the Black Sea grain transportation agreement signed by Russia, Turkey, Ukraine and the United Nations in a balanced, comprehensive and effective manner, and support the United Nations in playing an important role in this regard. China's initiative on international food security cooperation provides a feasible solution to the global food crisis.

[MY NOTE: Once again, Russia need do nothing it isn't already doing.]

10. Stop unilateral sanctions. /b10>Unilateral sanctions and maximum pressure will not only fail to solve problems, but will also create new ones. Oppose any unilateral sanctions not authorized by the Security Council. Relevant countries should stop abusing unilateral sanctions and "long-arm jurisdiction" against other countries, play a role in cooling down the Ukraine crisis, and create conditions for developing countries to develop their economies and improve their livelihood.

[MY NOTE: Direct strike against the United States and Western Europe. Again, Russia doesn't need to do anything.]

11. Ensure the stability of the industrial chain and supply chain. All parties should earnestly safeguard the existing world economic system and oppose the politicization, instrumentalization and weaponization of the world economy. Jointly mitigate the spillover impact of the crisis, prevent international cooperation in energy, finance, food trade, and transportation from being disrupted, and harm global economic recovery.

[MY NOTE: Ditto.]

12. Promote post-war reconstruction. The international community should take measures to support post-war reconstruction in conflict areas. China is ready to provide assistance and play a constructive role in this regard.

[MY NOTE: Ditto.]

This is a "peace plan"? I thought China was trying to get a real ceasefire going based on the babble I was reading from everyone else. This is pablum. This is a PR document, nothing more. It's utterly meaningless. Why the US even bothered to say they won't do it is beyond me - other than, of course, to guarantee that no negotiations ever occur. But this document doesn't even call for meaningful negotiations on any specific time frame, venue or with any support except China.

Russia can agree to this in a heartbeat, then get right back to prosecuting the war the same way as it did yesterday.

This is the biggest nothingburger I've ever seen. It makes it very clear that Xi is going to Russia for discussions on matters other than this nonsense and is using this to solidify the Russian-Chinese alliance for the benefit of the perception of the non-aligned nations.

There will be absolutely no change in the war based on this document or any comments which Putin or Xi may make in the wake of their meetings.

Posted by: Richard Steven Hack | Mar 20 2023 11:30 utc | 5

Why do people who have been to China and the USA prefer China?

I have taken a vacation in China recently( Tianjin and Xiamen ).

China is so beautiful, peaceful, very modern, super safe . Chinese cities are very clean , very vibrant and life is very convenient . The public transportation systems are superb and most advanced . You almost don’t see any homeless people on the streets or anybody smoking marijuana . Chinese people are friendly, nice and helpful . China is not perfect and needs a lot of improvements but she has really caught up with the best countries in the world and has even exceeded some of them.

I hope that the mayor of LA (where I live )can do something about the homeless ,beggars and people with mental illness who live on the streets , build some shelters for them and don’t allow them to set tent everywhere, making LA like a shithole.

I hope that the mayor of NYC ( where my child lives ) can rinse NYC subways thoroughly , so there will be no more human shits and urine, no more rats and mice, no more cockroaches , no more dirty/crazy people living there.

If China can make their cities/ subways/train stations/air ports super clean, why can’t America ? Don’t forget that many people still believe USA is the most powerful country in the world ,right ? A first class country should be safe and clean , correct ?

P.S. some people asked me that if China is supposed to be very crowded ,why there are so few people in my photos ? I agree that many cities of China are very crowded , but there are still some locations with very few people. I didn’t choose place without people on purpose to take pictures. I saw nice places ,I stopped and I just took pictures.

Better Call Saul | Mike Gets Revenge

COVERT INTEL: ISRAEL ON VERGE OF POLITICAL & SOCIAL COLLAPSE

World Hal Turner 26 March 2023

The state of Israel is literally on the verge of political and social collapse tonight (Sunday) after Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu fired Defense Minister Gallant who opposes changes in the country’s Judicial Powers. The Israeli Army is already suffering DESERTIONS as the Army sides with the fired Defense Minister!

Netanyahu and his allies say the plan will restore a balance between the judicial and executive branches and rein in what they see as an interventionist court with liberal sympathies. But critics say the constellation of laws will remove the checks and balances in Israel’s democratic system and concentrate power in the hands of the governing coalition.

This has become far more than a political/legal matter. The citizenry and institutions of state are engaging in almost outright rebellion against these proposed moves.

Change the world

There's a RSOTM video in which Russian soldiers have to walk through an Ukrainan trench they conquered. They have to walk, they cannot avoid this even if you see them doing it gingerly, over the bodies of Ukrainian soldiers, collapsed face down into the cold mud. Imagine seeing your son, husband or father killed like that. That's what war is - all for the greed and callousness of some "Western" millionaires and billionaires. And it was ever so. I do not worship Xi and Putin, but I admire them and we can but hope they will change the world.

Posted by: Anthony | Mar 20 2023 12:44 utc | 18

Operational update

Scorched earth, war crimes, Avdeevka and the Chinese

Aleks

Introduction

With circumstances on the battlefield having changed, I’ve decided to write a new operational update. It looks as if the end of Ukraine’s armed resistance is drawing nigh, which leads me to a couple of questions about the justification for continuing the conflict as well as some legal considerations. I’ll try to provide a brief summary.

I see a change in Russia’s operational approach to the vectors of attrition in Donbass. BMA originally outlined five vectors, which in fact have been activated and pushed. Our original five vectors have changed, so I’ll revise our definition to bring it into line with the current state of affairs.

I’ll also touch on next week’s meeting between President Xi and President Putin, which starts March 20, and what they might propose to President Zelensky to end the war.

Background

For a better understanding of what I’m going to discuss, I suggest you read the following articles in advance:

Scorched earth

Today we see that Ukraine is struggling to keep the five theatres of war supplied with fresh troops and equipment. The demand for replenishment is growing, and Ukraine’s logistics capacity is shrinking.

Why demand is growing:

The battles are intensifying as the Russians push forward aggressively.
In slightly more than a year of fighting, Ukraine has used up almost everything it needs to sustain the war, not only military equipment but also civilian goods required for rear functions.
The Ukrainian army has become almost entirely dependent on Western equipment, because the Soviet inventories have been depleted or destroyed. Western equipment has to be maintained in Poland or Germany. Soviet equipment can be maintained in Ukraine, often on the battlefield itself, but Western matériel has to be transported thousands of miles. This factor puts further stress on the logistics network.
Ukraine had plenty of huge machine plants where its weapons and equipment were maintained. Russia has identified and destroyed most of them as well as Ukraine’s improvised workshops.

Why capacity is shrinking:

Ever more electrical substations are being destroyed, which adversely affects rear logistics.
A great quantity of rolling stock has been destroyed.
Ever more warehouses used to store supplies are being identified and destroyed. The West and Russia are playing a cat-and-mouse game, identifying new storage locations and then destroying them.
I estimate that, from the outset of the war, 150,000 people have been engaged in Ukraine’s rear logistics, carrying out transport of matériel between the west and the east and, within Ukraine, transport, production and distribution of goods and equipment for training, replenishment, etc.

With Ukraine increasingly short of manpower, I assume many of the rear troops and civilian auxiliary forces have been also mobilized and sent to the front, which of course further complicates logistics on the ground. Still, I assume that logistics is still working adequately because it is the most important function of an army. But if Ukraine fully cannibalizes its rear troops and people, collapse will follow. In fact, collapse could happen in the next two or three months.

But, most important, Ukraine is running out of soldiers. Its remaining professional troops, who were trained in the West, are being committed to the fight. They should have been held back for the counteroffensive in the south. Since Russia has intensified the pressure in the five theatres of war, the attrition rate of the Ukrainian forces has increased unsustainably. To stabilize the frontlines and to prevent them from collapsing, Ukraine has been forced to use professional troops earmarked for the counteroffensive.

If any of the theatres of war collapses, all the other theatres will follow suit because the rear of the others will be exposed.

Well, that’s definitely not in the interests of the collective West. So, what is actually happening?

Ukraine is losing an insane number of troops every day. I assume the figure is far higher than those cited by either side. Ukraine has an interest in keeping the numbers low to maintain public support. Russia can’t report high numbers without dampening its soldiers’ morale. Brothers are fighting brothers. Sometimes Donbass brothers are fighting one another. What is happening is a civil war, a slaughter forced on the Russians (and the Ukrainians) by the West. No Russians are happy about it. Nor am I. The conflict only serves the interests of the West.
Ukraine is using insane amounts of ammunition, weapons and equipment to hold the line in Donbass. This matériel produces no added value for the West. The Ukrainian troops in Donbass usually don’t even encounter a Russian soldier, let alone kill him; they are dying almost exclusively from artillery shells, airstrikes and tank fire. The equipment supplied by the West is being squandered. Its purpose is to kill plenty of Russians; but in this configuration thousands of Ukrainian troops are being equipped with Western weapons, sent to the frontline and dying without firing a shot or even seeing a Russian. That is a very bad investment.

Conclusion? The Ukrainians wasting equipment and dying, to no purpose. The investment in political and financial capital is not achieving their main goal:

Cutting off the road to Crimea. This would be a major political blow to Russia and would cost it a great deal of political capital, domestically and in the eyes of its allies.
Or, even better, but worse for the Russians, would be to have at least a single Ukrainian soldier set foot on Crimean soil. Even if Ukraine were to collapse immediately after, such a political setback would be deadly for Russia.

These unreliable Ukrainians…

Not entirely:

Hundreds of thousands of Ukrainians are dead. Multiple times more are wounded. Hence, hundreds of thousands of Ukrainian families have been torn apart, destroyed or displaced. The West can be sure that at least several generations of Ukrainians will hate Russia. The Russians will have to set up a very expensive program in the newly incorporated or occupied territories to integrate these people into Russian society. Scorched Earth.
Tens of thousands of Russians are dead or wounded. The toll could reach 100,000 before the war is over, if it hasn’t already, which in turn means millions of families that will resent every policy that involves spending to integrate the now-hated Ukrainians. Scorched Earth.
This brings us to the general hatred that has been fomented by the West between Russians and their Ukrainian brothers (of whom most are RUSSIANS). Scorched Earth.
The Western commanders are forcing the Ukrainians to fight in all the major industrial plants in Donbass to make sure they are completely destroyed. Destruction of the plants will lead to unemployment in the new territories. People who have experienced a war and are left sitting idle at home can do crazy things. Moreover, rebuilding these facilities will be costly. Most likely BRICS partners will be invited to invest, which will detract from sovereignty. Scorched Earth.
Even though Russia is trying hard to win the war with legacy weapons, so as not to expose its most advanced technologies to NATO, we can assume that NATO is meticulously studying the way the Russians are fighting, especially in standard situations (offensives, defence, logistics etc.).
A massive demographic catastrophe is in progress in Ukraine. Most families have fled abroad and will never return. The able-bodied male population that has not been able to hide in villages or elsewhere has been worn down on the frontline. The wounded and disabled will paralyze the country further for decades. In the new Russian territories (many are still to join), these additional costs will weigh on Russia’s balance sheet. Scorched Earth.
The same goes for disabled Russian soldiers in Russia. Many will not be able to return fully to work, and caring for them will be expensive. Scorched Earth.

From the start, Ukraine had no chance. As the West knew full well. Even so, vast amounts of money and equipment have been invested to sustain the Ukrainians’ ability to fight, which has led to the catastrophic consequences enumerated above.

Today it is clear that collapse is imminent. And yet we see, that the West is insisting, instead of preserving these men, to attrition them in the right way. Not, to no purpose, into the Artemovsk meat grinder and the other theatres, merely to gain political advantage in the south, namely to Melitopol.

Remaining Ukrainian men, don’t die senselessly for us – the West! Shame on you! Die in Melitopol, so we can gain political leverage over the Russians!

I hope, dear reader, you understand what I want to highlight. The war and the struggle for victory have been over since the Russians created a semi-cauldron around Artemovsk, which serves as a shooting range where Ukrainians try to enter or to escape from the meat grinder. Ukraine is no longer fighting to defend Ukraine. That struggle is over. The time has come when the commander-in-chief is obliged to realize that there is no purpose in continued fighting; it’s time to start negotiating the best possible surrender conditions. Once the army is thoroughly defeated, the window will close, and all that’s left will be unconditional surrender, which I expect in the summer of 2023.

Keep all that in mind for the “Chinese” section.

Next, let’s consider the legal implications of driving people to certain death with no prospect of ever gaining the upper hand.

War crime

If military success is not feasible, but the fighting continues with a massive loss of lives, both civilian and military, the leaders could be guilty of a war crime.

Ukraine continues to mobilize and to send people to certain death without any prospect of victory. Hence, with the continuation of the war, tens, or hundreds, of thousands of civilians and troops are going to die without affecting the outcome of the war in any way.

This is a serious war crime. The severity of it is extreme. It is murder.

Could I have made this argument earlier? Actually, no. Ukraine had some chance of winning the war politically. I outlined these chances in my analysis of phases one, two and three. Then Russia mobilized. And still no war crime had taken place because the mobilized Russians were not ready to fight, at least not the majority of them. I now assume that all these troops have finished retraining and are ready for their assigned tasks. At precisely that time, Ukraine’s continuation of the conflict became a war crime. It now has zero chance of winning, politically or militarily. From now on, every person killed is murdered. By the West.

Theatres of war

I need to correct my five theatres of war.

Originally, I declared Ugledar as one vector of attrition. It seems to me, however, that Ugledar has turned for Russia into a small version of phase one of the war. Mines and artillery ambush on open fields have slowed the Russian offensive there. Pushing farther would lead to unnecessary Russian casualties. Russia is not rushing toward Berlin, as in 1945, when people were traded for time. It looks to me as if the Russians have chosen to slow the offensive there and instead to work more with artillery from a distance. This approach has the same attrition effect but preserves the lives of their troops.

Some of you have pointed out that I did not place any significance on Avdeevka in my previous analysis, and rightly so. If Marinka, Artemovsk and Ugledar fall, Avdeevka will automatically end up in a cauldron, and the Ukrainians will be forced to pull out to avoid being cut off far behind the frontline. The reality is that the Ukrainians are holding both Ugledar and Marinka with all their available resources – hence, it makes no sense to sacrifice Russian troops there, especially when the end of the war is so near.

Thus, we can see how the Russian strategy for Avdeevka has changed, which could have come as a surprise for NATO’s planners. Note that Ukraine has more or less “hard-wired” logistics routes to its main frontlines. If a new frontline or an intensification of the battle in a certain area occurs, then it is no easy task to reroute operations to such an area, especially logistics infrastructure, supply lines and frontline depots.

In brief, I see the activation of another vector of attrition, or theatre of war, to release the pressure on Marinka and Ugledar. Or, if Ukraine is able to sustain all the frontlines, then Russia will try to shorten the war with increased attrition of men and matériel.

As for the Belarussian theatre of war, we can assume that the Ukrainians’ ability to keep up the fight has been overestimated for several months. If the Ukrainians pull troops away from the northern border to replace their losses in Donbass, then the situation will be dire. I expected a vector of attrition near the border. But there might not be much left to wear down there.

As soon as the frontlines in Donbass collapse, there is a real possibility that Russia could use the Belarussian border to put pressure on Kiev and to take it in a pincer, thus forcing negotiation of a Ukrainian surrender. More about that eventuality in the last section.

Sino-Russian peace proposal

President Xi of China and President Putin will meet next week amid rumours that China will propose to Ukraine a peace deal agreed upon by the Russians.

Readers of my blog know that I see no chance on Earth that Ukraine will not entirely fall to Russia. Yes, some parts of it could be given pseudo-independence after denazification and demilitarization, especially parts of Western Ukraine. My assessment has not changed in any way.

Especially because the Russians’ overall goal is implementation of the New Draft Treaty for European Security.

Remember that if Russia does not achieve its geopolitical goals, it will automatically lose the war, even if some kind of temporary peace is achieved, and Novorossiya, including Odessa, joins Russia. Remember the threat of NATO, which would still be too close to Russia’s large cities and could lead to automated Armageddon if Russia’s “Perimeter” (or “Dead Hand”) system were switched on in automatic mode.

So, what could the Chinese offer be? And why is it being offered at all?

Why is it being offered? Well, I could explain it politely but I won’t. In a nutshell, it’s a public relations exercise.

What could the offer be? I have no way of knowing but I will make an assumption. Given that all of Ukraine will have to surrender, and then some parts could be given pseudo-independence, I can speculate that the question is whether Kiev will be part of Russia or of the new pseudo-independent country. If Kiev is still part of it, it would mean the preservation of “Ukraine”, despite its dependence on Russia.

If Kiev is incorporated into Russia, Ukraine is done for. And with it the Western dream of restarting the whole adventure and infiltrating the pseudo-independent state again to bring it back under the West’s influence. If Kiev is not part of the farce, then there will be nothing viable or interesting for the West, except the land bridge to Hungary and Serbia, which of course is a geopolitical necessity for Russia in order to break up NATO.

Do you think China will formulate its proposal as bluntly as I have here? That’s not how diplomacy works. There will be an X-point plan that is beautiful but meaningless. The real terms of surrender will be communicated behind closed doors. Do I expect the Ukrainians to accept such an offer? Well, given that the Ukrainians have nothing to say (only the Americans do), I have two different considerations:

The West wants to fight to the last Ukrainian. See the “Scorched earth” section. Hence, any ceasefire that would save even a single Ukrainian life is unacceptable to the leaders of the United States. By the way, I don’t blame the people of the US.
Since keeping Kiev out of Russia could be seen by the United States as a chance to preserve NATO by sabotaging all efforts of this new dependent entity to create a land bridge to Hungary and Serbia, it still could be an interesting offer for the United States.

Is it a huge risk for Russia and China to allow a vulnerable corridor to Hungary? Yes. I’m sure that the calculation is that Ukraine will reject it anyway or that the ability of Russia and China to protect this land bridge is assured.

Or I could be totally wrong. Perhaps the Sino-Russian proposal is something totally different, or there is no proposal at all. 😊

Why are the Russians and the Chinese meeting now? And why is there (presumably) a proposal NOW? As I said, with the Ukrainian army on the verge of collapse (which means in two or three months) and Russia’s main force, mobilized and trained, now in place, I assume we are in a do-or-die situation.

What does it mean? The Ukrainian forces have been almost defeated, and a Russian force that is far larger than the one that has defeated four iterations of the Ukrainian army is ready to deliver the final blow. The Sino-Russian proposal could be something along the lines of “Sign this conditional surrender now or face defeat and unconditional surrender in the near future.”

Here, I’d like to make a brief point: Russia and China will sign various agreements quite apart from the Ukrainian question. It doesn’t matter for these agreements whether an agreement on Ukraine, if it exists, is accepted. But what are the other agreements under discussion? I will cover this question and many more in my coming major article about Asia.

Further developments

What does that mean actually? “Big Arrows”? 😊

As I’ve said, the Ukrainian army is on the verge of collapse. I give it two or three months. As soon as this happens, I can see Russia’s well-trained, armoured motorized tank and rifle divisions pushing from Belarus through undefended positions in the north to place Kiev in a pincer. You could perhaps argue that this would, indeed, be a big-arrow offensive. But because ever more Ukrainian troops are being pulled from the northern border regions and moved to Donbass, there won’t be many left who could put up a fight against such a large armoured force.

Hence, it wouldn’t be a big-arrow offensive; rather, it would involve positioning forces around Kiev to reinforce negotiating efforts.

You don’t see troops, logistics and equipment in Belarus yet. Nor do I. I assume that such a build-up would happen if the proposal for surrender were rejected. Nevertheless, storming Kiev would be madness. Kiev is a Russian hero city, like Odessa. I could imagine an encirclement, though. Negotiations would take place so long as the Donbass front advances to Zaporozhye and the Belarus front to the south. Every day that these fronts move forward increases the probability that Kiev will surrender if it comes under siege. But Ukraine will suffer a complete military defeat if it isn’t allowed to surrender. Which would be regrettable. While reading these lines, keep the “War crime” section in mind!

Casino: House of the rising sun

RUSSIANS GRAB UKRAINE DRONE – OPERATING VIA STARLINK!

World Hal Turner 26 March 2023

The Russian Army has downed an attack Drone, operated by Ukraine, but not by direct radio control; this drone is operated through Elon Musk’s STARLINK Internet Satellite Service! Musk has previously said his company would not be party to any war operations. Now the world sees otherwise.

In the photo above, taken today, 26 March 2023, the square shaped panel atop the drone is the STARLINK antenna.

For months, Ukraine has been using radio controlled drones to attack and kill Russian soldiers. Russia engaged electronic warfare, which jammed those radio signals.

Clearly, Ukraine decided to provide drone control not by radio signal, but by means of the satellite Internet terminal Starlink.

The drone has a rather compact design, however, despite all the efforts of the Armed Forces, the drone was still successfully hit by the anti-drone gun and is now the trophy of the Russian military.

Now the drone can be carefully studied by the Russian military to develop more effective means of counteracting UAVs of such design.

Geopolitical Rumblings Leave U.S. Behind

Over the last month we have seen astonishing geopolitical developments.

In February China publicly lambasted U.S. hegemony, launched a global security initiative and offered a peace plan for Ukraine.

On March 10 China mediated an agreement which restored relations between Saudi Arabia and Iran.

On March 15 Moscow rolled out the red carpet for the Syrian President Bashar al-Assad.

Yesterday al-Assad and his wife Asma arrived in the UAE for talks with Sheikh Mohammed

Also yesterday Iran and Iraq signed a security cooperation agreement that will stop the CIA sponsored Kurdish activities against Iran.

Also yesterday King Salman of Saudi Arabia invited the President of Iran to a visit in Riyadh.

For the last 30 years the U.S. considered the Middle East as its backyard. Twenty years ago it illegally invaded Iraq and caused 100,000nds of death and decades of chaos. Now China, by peaceful means, changed the balance in the Middle East within just one month.

Today China’s President Xi arrived in Moscow for three days of talks with Russia’s President Putin. An article by President Putin was published in the People’s Daily while Russian media published a signed article by President Xi.

The U.S. is afraid that China’s peace initiative for Ukraine will gain ground. It has openly come out against a cease-fire and peace talks. I had thought that was for Ukraine to decide?

It is likely that Putin will publicly endorse the Chinese peace plan while the U.S. is paranoid that peace might indeed happen. It may even want to sabotage the Saudi Iranian deal.

China’s people are by the way the most happy people in the world.

Xi and Putin are now running the multilateral global show. Biden and the hapless ‘unilateral’ people around him are left aside.

Posted by b on March 20, 2023 at 10:21 UTC | Permalink

Nacho’s Death | Rock And Hard Place | Better Call Saul

Russian Su-35 Fighter Jet Intercepts Two US B-52 Bombers Over Baltic Sea – Defense Ministry

From HERE

MOSCOW (Sputnik) - Russian fighter jet Su-35 prevented two US strategic bombers B-52 from reaching the Russian border on Monday over the Baltic Sea, the Russian Defense Ministry's National Defense Control Center (NDCC) reported on Monday.

"On March 20, 2023, the radars of the air defense forces of the Western Military District on duty detected two air targets flying in the direction of the state border of the Russian Federation over the Baltic Sea. The targets were identified as two strategic bombers B-52N of the US Air Force," the NDCC said.

In order to identify and prevent breach of the state border, a Su-35 fighter from the air defense forces of the Western Military District was scrambled. After that, the crew of the fighter occupied the established zone of duty in the air.

"After the removal of foreign military aircraft from the Russian state border, the Russian fighter returned to its base airfield," the center said.[.]

The latest scramble comes days after the Russian Defense Ministry confirmed on March 14 that a US MQ-9 Reaper drone crashed in the Black Sea as a result of its own extreme maneuvers after violating airspace and carrying out its flight with transponders turned off.

The chickenhawks are Testing, Testing. These diversions will not make the banking crisis disappear. And Xi is on a visit to Moscow

Posted by: Likklemore | Mar 20 2023 21:19 utc | 137

French Gov’t BANS Cartoon Video About Ukraine War – The Cartoon is “Spot-on”

World Hal Turner 26 March 2023

The government of France has officially BANNED the one minute video below, which describes the Ukraine War perfectly, calling it “Russian Propaganda.” Sorry Macron, the truth hurts!

Here’s the cartoon by a French independent journalist group called “BarracudaS”

Meanwhile, the world grows weary of Ukraine President Volodymyr Zelensky, and his alleged Cocaine use. It’s becoming public mockery now, as evidenced by this “Mobile Tribute to Volodymyr Zelensky”:

And when the world isn’t poking fun at President Cocaine, they’re mocking his alleged Money Laundering:

I hear rumors that schools are even teaching this in Geometry:

While we’re all laughing, this Zelensky has now resorted to having Priests arrested, in church, DURING MASS:

ISRAEL ON VERGE OF POLITICAL & SOCIAL COLLAPSE

World Hal Turner 26 March 2023

This has become far more than a political/legal matter. The citizenry and institutions of state are engaging in almost outright rebellion against these proposed moves. Here’s how serious things have gotten TONIGHT:

“There Is No Way Out For You!” (2023)

Iran Moving MUCH More Military Gear to Azerbaijan Border

World Hal Turner 26 March 2023

Iran has increased the pace of moving military hardware toward its border with Azerbaijan.

All the latest type of military gear are now quite visible on the Iranian side of the Border.

Meanwhile, the Russian Southern Military District announced crews of army aviation helicopters Mi-8MTV-5 and Ka-52 performed training flights in the mountains of Armenia.

Russia and Iran are preparing to defend Armenia from Azerbaijan, which wants to grab the southern portion of Armenia so as to cut Iran off from Armenia, and cut Armenia off from the rest of the world.

Neither Russia nor Iran will allow that.

Breaking bad Tuco

African Nation CHAD has “Nationalized” Assets of Exxon-Mobil

World Hal Turner 26 March 2023

The government of Chad has decided to nationalize all the assets of the American oil and gas company Exxon Mobile located in the country. The decision to nationalize the assets of the American company
was made by the interim President of Chad, Mahamat Idriss Deby.

The nationalization of a private company means that all assets are now owned by the government. While this used to happen in the 1960s and 1970s, it hasn’t happened recently and doesn’t conform to usual legal frameworks in the sector, say energy experts.

Chad began producing oil in 2003 and Exxon has been operating in the country for several decades. It was running the Doba oil project in Chad.

The move could scare away investors from West Africa at a time of growing global energy demand and a decline in foreign investments in the region, said Olufola Wusu, a partner and head of the oil and gas desk at Megathos Law Practice based in Nigeria.

“Expropriation of any sort without compensation is not a step in the right direction, because it is going to erode investor confidence in that particular country and once investors are jittery, they pull back their investment, so regulators and leaders in Africa need to play by the rules,” he said.

The government’s decision came after a long dispute between Exxon and Chad, which rejected the sale of the company’s operations last year.

Tensions have risen in the West African nation in recent months with unprecedented protests mounting against the government of President Mahamat Idriss Deby.

Deby was declared the head of state after his father’s death in April 2021. The son’s succession did not follow Chad’s constitutional line of succession. Opposition political parties at the time called the handover a coup d’etat, but later agreed to accept Deby as interim leader for 18 months.

Chad is about to learn the reality of America: Capital (money) follows return. The Flag follows the money. Troops follow the flag.

The new young “president” of Chad should prepare for 500 and 1000lb democracy installments. I advise the interim President that air travel is not recommended. American special forces are in at least 9 African countries.

Finn Says That Vito A Fag – The Sopranos HD

Sunday Morning, Norway Sounds ALERT: Advanced Russian Subs & Missiles Detected, North Sea

World Hal Turner 26 March 2023

Norwegian Navy Commander: We have detected very modern Russian submarines with very advanced missiles in their arsenal in the North Sea, and this threatens the security of Europe and the United States.

Norway has not yet given further details about which submarines, but the “rumors” say Borei Class.

Borei class includes a compact and integrated hydrodynamically efficient hull for reduced broadband noise and the first ever use of pump-jet propulsion on a Russian nuclear submarine.

Russian news service TASS claimed the noise level is to be five times lower when compared to the third-generation nuclear-powered Akula-class submarines and two times lower than that of the U.S. Virginia-class submarines. The acoustic signature of Borei is significantly stealthier than that of the previous generations of Russian SSBNs, but it has been reported that their hydraulic pumps become noisier after a relatively short period of operation, reducing the stealth capabilities of the submarine.

The Borei submarines are approximately 170 meters (560 ft) long, 13 meters (43 ft) in diameter, and have a maximum submerged speed of at least 46 kilometers per hour (25 kn; 29 mph). They are equipped with a floating rescue chamber designed to fit in the whole crew.

Smaller than the Typhoon class, the Boreis were initially reported to carry 12 missiles but are able to carry four more due to the decrease in mass of the 36-ton Bulava SLBM (a modified version of the Topol-M ICBM) over the originally proposed R-39UTTH Bark. Cost was estimated in 2010 at some ₽23 billion (USD$734 million, equivalent to US$863 million in 2020 terms. In comparison the cost of an Ohio-class SSBN was around US$2 billion per boat (1997 prices, equivalent to over US$3 billion in 2020 terms.

Each Borei is constructed with 1.3 million components and mechanisms. Its construction requires 17 thousand tons of metal which is 50% more than the Eiffel Tower. The total length of piping is 109 km and the length of wiring is 600 km. Ten thousand rubber plates cover the hull of the boat.

Each Borei submarine is armed with 16 × RSM-56 Bulava SLBMs with 6 MIRV warhead. Those 16 Submarine Launched Ballistic Missiles (SLBM) missiles with 6 warheads each, equals 96 total nuclear bombs, each of which is independently targetable. Each warhead is believed to be either 100 or 150 kiloton blast yield.

‘We’re dividing the world’: NZ no fan of AUKUS submarines

By Matthew Knott

A senior New Zealand politician has raised concerns about Australia’s plan to acquire a fleet nuclear-powered submarines, saying the AUKUS pact will make the region less safe and limit military co-operation between the two allies.

Defence Minister Richard Marles told parliament on Tuesday that nuclear-powered submarines would form part of Australia’s “contribution to the collective security of the neighbourhood in which we live” and would improve relations with its Asia-Pacific neighbours.

Gerry Brownlee, foreign affairs spokesman for New Zealand’s centre-right National Party, said he was concerned AUKUS was painting China as an “enemy” that needed to be contained.

New Zealand is a proud nuclear-free state that has formally declared its airspace and territorial waters as nuclear-free zones.

Asked if the nuclear-powered submarine fleet would make the region safer, Brownlee told AAP: “No, I don’t think it does.

“What I don’t like is the concept that we just seem to be dividing the world

Labor MP questions AUKUS deal

The Member for Fremantle Josh Wilson’s concerns include construction taking longer and costing more and what to do with nuclear waste.

He said he was concerned Australia’s nuclear-powered submarines would not be able to dock in New Zealand under its nuclear-free policy.

“We’ve only got one alliance. It is with Australia,” said Brownlee, who previously served as foreign minister and defence minister.

“Our position is that we should remain as interoperable with the Australians as we possibly can.

Democracy

Global Times announced the publication by China’s MFA of a scathing document, “The State of Democracy in the United States: 2022”, only available currently in Chinese, although my translator worked quite well. Its aim is to provide truths about what “democracy” is in reality within the Outlaw US Empire as Biden prepares to hold another propaganda summit on the topic at the end of March. What follows are the document’s concluding remarks:

Democracy is a value shared by all mankind, but there is no model of political system in the world that applies to all countries. The gardens of human civilization are rich and colorful, and democracy in all countries should also bloom. The United States has American-style democracy, China has Chinese-style democracy, and each country also has a unique model of democracy suited to its own national conditions. Whether a country is a democracy and how to better realize it should be judged by the people of that country, not by a few self-righteous countries.

Under the guise of democracy, harming others and disrupting the world should be unanimously opposed, and simply dividing the countries of the world into two categories, democracy and authoritarianism, lacks modernity and science. What the world needs today is not to create division in the name of democracy and to promote de facto unilateralism, but to strengthen solidarity and cooperation on the basis of the purposes and principles of the Charter of the United Nations and to adhere to genuine multilateralism. What the world needs today is not to interfere in other countries' internal affairs under the guise of democracy, but to promote true democracy, abandon pseudo-democracy, and jointly promote democracy in international relations. What the world needs today is not a "democracy summit" that exaggerates confrontation and is not conducive to working together to address global challenges, but a solidarity conference that does more practical things and focuses on solving the outstanding problems facing the international community.

Freedom, democracy and human rights are the common pursuit of mankind and the values that the Communist Party of China has always pursued. China adheres to and develops people's democracy in the whole process, and concretely and realistically embodies the people's mastery of the country in the governance of the country by the Communist Party of China. China is willing to strengthen exchanges and mutual learning with other countries on the issue of democracy, carry forward the common values of peace, development, fairness, justice, democracy and freedom for all mankind, promote democracy in international relations and make new and greater contributions to the cause of human progress.

Hopefully, China will quickly translate this into numerous languages and distribute it through its embassy’s globally.

Posted by: karlof1 | Mar 20 2023 18:43 utc | 91

Taiwan is always part of China, but war with Australia is a fallacy

Xiao Qian

Ambassador of the People’s Republic of China to Australia

“If the Pacific has become an area of military contest, the question will be, how does that manifest itself?

“Where would we be if the Australians decided they wanted a sub to visit? We can’t do that. We won’t change our laws. So there’ll be potentially a little bit of an issue around that.”

New Zealand will hold a general election in October, with a close contest expected between the governing Labour Party and the National Party.

New Zealand’s foreign minister, Nanaia Mahuta, is currently visiting China for the first such visit since 2019.

Mahuta said her nation’s relationship with China – which accounts for 30 per cent of New Zealand’s total exports – was “our most important, complex and wide-ranging”.

The Sydney Morning Herald and The Age reported this week that the labour movement will hold its annual May Day march in Port Kembla out of growing concern the Wollongong suburb could become the east-coast home for eight nuclear-powered vessels.

During a visit to Canberra last month New Zealand Prime Minister Chris Hipkins said the three AUKUS nations – Australia, the US and the UK – were “incredibly important security partners for New Zealand, but our nuclear-free policy hasn’t changed either”.

What is AUKUS and what are we getting in Australia’s biggest ever defence spend?

Former New Zealand prime minister Helen Clark posted on Twitter: “New Zealand interests do not lie in being associated with AUKUS. Association would be damaging to independent foreign policy.”

Pointing to supportive comments from Fiji and Japan, while nations such as Indonesia and Malaysia were willing to discuss their concerns, Marles told parliament: “The response from our region to the announcement that we made last week has been gratifying. Australia draws our security from being a part of Asia and being located in the Indo-Pacific.”

Both CNN and FOX News Do Stories about “De-Dollarization” – If MSM is covering this; it’s because FedGov KNOWS what’s coming

Nation Hal Turner 27 March 2023

For literally decades, people scoffed-at “conspiracy theorists” talk about the US Dollar collapsing. They laughed at “the tin foil hat crowd” when it screamed from the rooftops that rampant over-spending would kill our currency. The responses to the conspiracy theorists and tin-foil-hat-crowd was simple: “The dollar is the world’s reserve currency; the world can’t do without it.” Turns out, the responses were wrong.

Within the past 24 hours, far left-wing CNN and far right-wing FOX NEWS have both begun airing stories about “De-Dollarization.” For both the far-left and the far-right main-stream-media to be airing such stories is no coincidence. That the MSM is now airing this means the powers-that-be in the US know – as a matter of absolute fact – the world __is__ turning its back on the Dollar, and that means trouble is coming to the US. Trouble on a scale that literally NONE of us has seen in our lifetimes.

We begin with the piece aired on FOX NEWS, which featured an interview with former Assistant US Treasury Secretary Monica Crowley. As you will see in the brief, 4:45 video below, she clearly mentions “Weimar Republic-type inflation” . . . . she’s talking about here. HERE! In the United States! Watch:

https://video.twimg.com/amplify_video/1640178308246634496/vid/640x352/8tPCWdyr4WWPN_nu.mp4?tag=16

Next, the segment that aired on CNN:

https://video.twimg.com/amplify_video/1640058570904416257/vid/1280x720/hnAf890m2HaDaLB4.mp4?tag=16

Folks, they’re beginning to tell the general public what’s coming.

CNN’s piece talked about the dollar suffering “a death by a thousand cuts.” THAT is what is going on. As the Dollar “bleeds-out” our cash will buy less and less. And CNN’s piece makes clear “America will face a reckoning like none before.”

You have to prepare. You have to get the things you will need, NOW. The you must begin changing how you hold assets and wealth. You need to put your “dollars” into something which is not “dollars” but will hold its value no matter what changes take place: things like real estate, shelf-stable foods, tools, and, of course, precious metals . . . . but be careful about those precious metals.. You can’t eat gold or silver. And since no aspect of our economy is moving toward the acceptance of either gold or silver in COMMERCE, having all your assets tied up in those metals would be a recipe for starvation.

The de-dollarization of the world is not going to happen overnight. Yet, it __is__ happening.

I am NOT a licensed financial expert. I do NOT have any special training or knowledge in matters financial and I cannot give financial advice.

What I _can_ do is tell you what’s actually taking place in the world so you can decide for yourselves about what — if anything — to do with your assets. You should consult with a Licensed financial expert before making any financial or investment decisions.

Having said that, for myself, I and members of my family choose to start making moves now with pension plan, IRA, 401-K and the like. Because having all our assets (what few we have) in “dollars” is suddenly becoming a very bad idea.

“Stay Out Of My Territory” | Over

They listened to me!

. . .from Global Times
China releases report that removes facade of American democracy

On the day that marked the 20th anniversary of the US-led invasion of Iraq, the Chinese Foreign Ministry released a report on Monday further unveiling the decline of American democracy and the chaos it has brought to the world under its disguise.

Analysts called the report, along with an increasing number of developing countries' growing discontent over US' hegemony, a "slap in the US face" and it helps remove the facade of American democracy, especially when the Biden administration is so keen on touting the "democracy versus authoritarianism" narrative for the second Summit for Democracy on March 29 and 30. 

The report, titled "The State of Democracy in the United States: 2022," contains four parts, and by collecting a multitude of facts, media comments and expert opinions, it presents a complete and real picture of American democracy over the year - not only revealing American democracy in chaos at home but also presenting the havoc and disaster the US has brought by peddling and imposing its democracy around the world. . .here

Posted by: Don Bacon | Mar 20 2023 19:41 utc | 103

Sweet Chili Meatballs

Round out your game-day lineup with an amazing flavor combination they won’t see coming – something sweet, tangy and savory that brings just the right amount of heat: Sweet Chili Meatballs.

Bite-size meatballs made with ginger, fresh cilantro, green onions and sweet chili sauce are baked before getting doused in even more sweet chili sauce, making them an irresistibly tasty addition to any game day spread. If the game heads into overtime, no need to worry because these meatballs will say warm in the slow cooker all game long.

Ingredients

1 pound lean ground turkey or ground beef
1/3 cup Japanese panko crumbs or bread crumbs
1/4 cup cilantro, finely chopped
3 green onions, chopped
1 tablespoon fresh ginger, finely minced
1 large egg, beaten
1/2 teaspoon salt
12 ounces Frank’s RedHot Sweet Chili Sauce, divided

Instructions

Heat oven to 350 degrees F.
Mix ground meat, panko crumbs, cilantro, green onion, ginger, egg, salt and 1/4 cup sweet chili sauce. Form into one-inch meatballs.
Place meatballs on lightly greased baking sheets.
Bake 20 minutes, turning once halfway through. Put meatballs in slow cooker on warm.
With slow cooker on low to keep meatballs warm, pour remaining sweet chili sauce over meatballs. Gently stir to coat.

Why Would China Be An Enemy?

March 21, 2023 in Uncategorized by craig

I am completely at a loss as to why the UK should seek to join in with the US in considering China an enemy, and in looking to build up military forces in the Pacific to oppose China.In what sense are Chinese interests opposed to British interests? I am not sure when I last bought something which wasn’t maufactured in China. To my astonishment that even applies to our second hand Volvo, and it also applies to this laptop.I have stated this before but it is worth restating:I cannot readily think of any example in history, of a state which achieved the level of economic dominance China has now achieved, that did not seek to use its economic muscle to finance military acquisition of territory to increase its economic resources.In that respect China is vastly more pacific than the United States, United Kingdom, France, Spain or any other formerly prominent power.Ask yourself this simple question. How many overseas military bases does the USA have? And how many overseas military bases does China have?Depending on what you count, the United States has between 750 and 1100 overseas military bases.China has between 6 and 9.

The last military aggression by China was its takeover of Tibet in 1951 and 1959. Since that date, we have seen the United States invade with massive destruction Vietnam, Cambodia, Korea, Iraq, Afghanistan and Libya.

The United States has also been involved in sponsoring numerous military coups, including military support to the overthrow of literally dozens of governments, many of them democratically elected. It has destroyed numerous countries by proxy, Libya being the most recent example.

China has simply no record, for over 60 years, of attacking and invading other countries.

The anti-Chinese military posture adopted by the leaders of US, UK and Australia as they pour astonishing amounts of public money into the corrupt military industrial complex to build pointless nuclear submarines, appears a deliberate attempt to create military tension with China.

Sunak recited the tired neoliberal roll call of enemies, condemning: “Russia’s illegal invasion of Ukraine, China’s growing assertiveness, and destabilising behaviour of Iran and North Korea”.

What precisely are Iran and China doing, that makes them our enemy?

This article is not about Iran, but plainly western sanctions have held back the economic and societal development of that highly talented nation and have simply entrenched its theological regime.

Their purpose is not to improve Iran but to maintain a situation where Israel has nuclear weapons and Iran does not. If accompanied by an effort to disarm the rogue state of Israel, they might make more sense.

On China, in what does its “assertiveness” consist that makes it necessary to view it as a military enemy? China has constructed some military bases by artificially extending small islands. That is perfectly legal behaviour. The territory is Chinese.

As the United States has numerous bases in the region on other people’s territory, I truly struggle to see where the objection lies to Chinese bases on Chinese territory.

China has made claims which are controversial for maritime jurisdiction around these artificial islands – and I would argue wrong under the UN Convention on the Law of the Sea. But they are no more controversial than a great many other UNCLOS claims, for example the UK’s behaviour over Rockall.

China has made, for example, no attempt to militarily enforce a 200 mile exclusive economic zone arising from its artificial islands, whatever it has said. Its claim to a 12 mile territorial sea is I think valid.

Similarly, the United States has objected to pronouncements from China that appear contrary to UNCLOS on passage through straits, but again this is no different from a variety of such disputes worldwide. The United States and others have repeatedly asserted, and practised, their right of free passage, and met no military resistance from China.

So is that it? Is that what Chinese “aggression” amounts to, some UNCLOS disputes?

Aah, we are told, but what about Taiwan?

To which the only reply is, what about Taiwan? Taiwan is a part of China which separated off under the nationalist government after the Civil War. Taiwan does not claim not to be Chinese territory.

In fact – and this is far too little understood in the West because our media does not tell you – the government of Taiwan still claims to be the legitimate government of all of China.

The government of Taiwan supports reunification just as much as the government of China, the only difference being who would be in charge.

The dispute with Taiwan is therefore an unresolved Chinese civil war, not an independent state menaced by China. As a civil war the entire world away from us, it is very hard to understand why we have an interest in supporting one side rather than the other.

Peaceful resolution is of course preferable. But it is not our conflict.

There is no evidence whatsoever that China has any intention of invading anywhere else in the China Seas or the Pacific. Not Singapore, not Japan and least of all Australia. That is almost as fantastic as the ludicrous idea that the UK must be defended from Russian invasion.

If China wanted, it could simply buy 100% of every public listed company in Australia, without even noticing a dent in China’s dollar reserves.

Which of course brings us to the real dispute, which is economic and about soft power. China has massively increased its influence abroad, by trade, investment, loans and manufacture. China is now the dominant economic power, and it can only be a matter of time before the dollar ceases to be the world’s reserve currency.

China has chosen this method of economic expansion and prosperity over territorial acquisition or military control of resources.

That may be to do with Confucian versus Western thought. Or it may just be the government in Beijing is smarter than Western governments. But growing Chinese economic dominance does not appear to me a reversible process in the coming century.

To react to China’s growing economic power by increasing western military power is hopeless. It is harder to think of a more stupid example of lashing out in blind anger. It is a it like peeing on your carpet because the neighbours are too noisy.

Aah, but you ask. What about human rights? What about the Uighurs?

I have a large amount of sympathy. China was an Imperial power in the great age of formal imperialism, and the Uighurs were colonised by China. Unfortunately the Chinese have followed the West’s “War on Terror” playbook in exploiting Islamophobia to clamp down on Uighur culture and autonomy.

I very much hope that this reduces, and that freedom of speech improves in general across China.

But let nobody claim that human rights genuinely has any part to play in who the Western military industrial complex treats as an enemy and who it treats as an ally. I know it does not, because that is the precise issue on which I was sacked as an Ambassador.

The abominable suffering of the children of Yemen and Palestine also cries out against any pretence that Western policy, and above all choice of ally, is human rights based.

China is treated as an enemy because the United States has been forced to contemplate the mortality of its economic dominance.

China is treated as an enemy because that is a chance for the political and capitalist classes to make yet more super profits from the military industrial complex.

But China is not our enemy. Only atavism and xenophobia make it so.

————————————————

Forgive me for pointing out that my ability to provide this coverage is entirely dependent on your kind voluntary subscriptions which keep this blog going. This post is free for anybody to reproduce or republish, including in translation. You are still very welcome to read without subscribing.

Unlike our adversaries including the Integrity Initiative, the 77th Brigade, Bellingcat, the Atlantic Council and hundreds of other warmongering propaganda operations, this blog has no source of state, corporate or institutional finance whatsoever. It runs entirely on voluntary subscriptions from its readers – many of whom do not necessarily agree with the every article, but welcome the alternative voice, insider information and debate.

Breaking Bad – Gustavo Fring’s Revenge

The Chinese leader’s visit comes at a time when bilateral relations are at an all-time high, according to Russian officials

Chinese President Xi Jinping arrived in Moscow on Monday for a three-day state visit to meet with his Russian counterpart, Vladimir Putin. During the summit, the two sides will discuss strategic cooperation in the energy and military spheres, as well as the Ukraine conflict. (emphasis added here)

Xi said he was happy to be back in Russia after landing at Vnukovo Airport, and stressed the importance of strong relations between Beijing and Moscow, not just for the nations themselves but also for the wider international community.

The Chinese leader asserted that together with Russia, his nation is ready to “defend with resolve the UN-centric international system.”  The two countries would endeavor to “abide by true multipolarity and foster a multipolar world with democratized international relations, to encourage the development of global affairs in a direction that would be more just and rational,” Xi added.

Later in the day, the Chinese leader is scheduled to hold an informal meeting with Putin which will focus on “key and sensitive issues,” according to Russian presidential aide Yury Ushakov.

The main round of talks, however, will take place on Tuesday, with the Chinese leader also expected to meet with Russian Prime Minister Mikhail Mishustin. Later, the Russian and Chinese delegations will hold negotiations in an expanded format.

[.] 
In total, Moscow and Beijing are set to sign a dozen documents outlining bilateral cooperation, including two major joint statements.[.] (emphasis added here)

LINK to RT

We are spectators to a global shift off the Richter scale.
Heart attacks due in D.C.

Posted by: Likklemore | Mar 20 2023 18:55 utc | 94

Astonishing!

«astonishing geopolitical developments. […] China publicly lambasted U.S. hegemony […] Moscow rolled out the red carpet for the Syrian President Bashar al-Assad. […] Today China’s President Xi arrived in Moscow for three days of talks with Russia’s President Putin. […] Xi and Putin are now running the multilateral global show. Biden and the hapless ‘unilateral’ people around him are left aside.»

This is nothing astonishing, just a repeat of Cold War news, almost unchanged, with the “second world” made of PRC and RF and a few others (Korea-North, Iran, Mongolia, Cuba, …) is again “contained” behind the Iron Curtain, just as
The “first world” has expanded enormously (eastern Europe, most of south-east Asia and western Asia, most of Africa), and the “third world” led as usual by India is as usual playing both sides, but mostly pro-USA.

Sometimes our bar host “b” sounds to me quite fond of wishful thinking, like the others who overplay the “multilaterality” and “collapse of the USA hegemony” claims.

Realistically speaking the USA are still enormously powerful, they have kept most of the huge gains made during the past 30-40 years, and they are successfully isolating RF and PRC behind a new Iron Curtain to prevent their vassals from defecting.

Posted by: Blissex | Mar 20 2023 19:03 utc | 97

U.S. Embassy to Americans: “Leave Israel Immediately”

World Hal Turner 27 March 2023

The United States Embassy in Jerusalem has told Americans to “Leave Israel Immediately.” The country of Israel is descending rapidly into what some have called “Civil War.”

Unions have gone on strike. The airports have all shut down. Restaurants, banks, shopping malls, have all joined in a national strike against proposed changes to the government that would basically gut the Judiciary of Israel.

Members of the Israeli military are openly DESERTING after Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu FIRED the Defense Minister for opposing judicial reforms.

Former Prime Minister Ehud Barack says Netanyahu and his “gang” are “acting insane and bringing civil war to the country.”

Israel’s Counsel General in New York has resigned.

For almost a whole week, hundreds-of-thousands of protestors have taken to the streets in every major city of the country.

There are now open calls from the far right inside Israel, for people to “take up arms” against left-wingers in the country.

Israel is descending into chaos . . . . just days after introducing legislation that would make it a criminal offense, punishable by two years prison, for discussing . . . Jesus. . . anywhere in the country or online. (Story HERE)

Interesting turn of events.

Ukraine Troops Training inside UK with — DEPLETED URANIUM TANK PROJECTILES

World Hal Turner 27 March 2023

The United Kingdom is, in fact, training Ukrainian Soldiers on the proper handling and USE of Depleted Uranium tank projectiles. The image below was secreted out of a UK training facility . . .

Back on March 21, the Deputy Defense Minister of the United Kingdom publicly acknowledged that the UK will be supplying Depleted Uranium Ammunition to Ukraine forces to utilize in certain weapons platforms supplied to Ukraine by NATO. (Story HERE)

Russia has made clear that if Depleted Uranium ammunition is given to Ukraine, this will be viewed by Russia as an attack with “Dirty nuclear bombs” and Russia will respond accordingly.

Here now, an image secreted out of a UK training facility where Ukraine troops are, in fact, being given training on how to handle and use such ammunition:

Mistakes are being made by Western governments, but what about you personally?

You know guys, I look back at all the mistakes I have made, and the stupid, stupid and so very embarrassing things that I did. I look at the opportunities that I had, but didn’t take, and the times where “paradise” was thrown at me, and I was oblivious to it. I look at my life in hindsight and the term “What the fuck were you thinking?” comes to mind.

I don’t know if youse guys understand. I mean, to say, I’ve really done some stupid things.

Sometimes over girls. Maybe mostly…

Sometimes not being serious when I needed to, while at other times being too serious when I should have lightened up some.

I know that when I was born, I told myself not to forget: “this is going to be an adventuresome life!” Truth this. But so damn exhausting. I wonder if I was the fellow who scripted this life. Not that some committee “convinced” me to accept it. And in so scripting it, man! It’s be cray-Zee.

Makes you think. That I scheduled out this life that I am living.

That I made it. That I planned it. That I am living it…

Don’t you know.

Anyways, been thinking alot about “telltales” and “signposts”. I’ve been seeing a lot lately. Hum. What could that mean? I wonder…

Tell-tails.

Signposts.

Hum…

…

Today’s installment.

Introducing Karaoke KTV in Manila, Philippines

One of the many reasons why I love Asia… the KTV scenes are EDITED OUT. But you can see entering the establishment, and read my writings to discern what happens inside.

Hostess lineup HERE

Confessions of an Underachieving High IQ Individual

February 9, 2023

What’s it like to have an extremely high IQ?

Years ago, aged eighteen, I joined MENSA. I left after a year, having seen ample evidence to support the old description of MENSA as “The society for people impressed by their own intelligence”. In truth, the whole organization was creepy.

Anyway, when I applied they sent me an IQ test which you sent in to be scored. If you scored highly enough they asked you to attend a monitored exam. I scored 158 on the test at home and 159 when I went to London to be tested.

I have never encountered anything, either at school, university or at work that has been intellectually difficult for me.

I got an English degree and a law degree and barely worked to get either.

My memory has always served me well. I quickly see patterns that others don’t seem to notice (that’s your IQ test sewn up right there) and just find concepts come easier to me than to a lot of other people.

I do get bored with most subjects quite quickly but, so far, so good.

The problem, for me, lies in the fact that I never developed any sense of urgency about anything.

People will be impressed by how hard I worked on something when, in truth, I zipped through it in no time at all, paying it almost no attention.

I learned to let people think I have worked hard because it serves me well.

I’m essentially, and incurably, lazy.

I should have achieved so much more and I am bright enough to know it.

I’m fifty years old now, have been married twenty years and have three beautiful children, so my life is no train wreck, but I know I have shortchanged myself and my family.

I constantly look at others with envy; never of their material success but of their professional achievements and work ethic.

I could have done pretty much anything I wanted to do, but have ended up drifting into a sales career which pays well but gives me not one ounce of professional satisfaction or pride.

A high IQ is a great advantage but, in later life, it will torment you in ways the young cannot imagine.

If you don’t learn to make best use of it, a high IQ will remind you on an almost hourly basis that you threw it all away.

This is why so many underachieving people are unable to shut the fuck up about it – we become addicted in childhood to praise which dries up once more diligent, if less intelligent, peers start overtaking us.

Those who are not socially intelligent enough to recognize how obnoxious it is will mention their intelligence whenever they get a chance, imagining that other people care.

The world and its prizes belong, quite rightly, to hard working people, not intelligent ones.

Italian Chicken Packets

Ingredients

1 chicken, quartered, or 2 pieces chicken per packet
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 onion, chopped
1 garlic clove, minced
4 fresh ripe tomatoes or 1 can drained tomatoes, chopped
4 large green olives, chopped
1/2 teaspoon oregano
1/2 teaspoon celery salt
1/2 teaspoon basil
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
4 bay leaves

Instructions

Wash chicken quarters or pieces; drain and pat dry.
Peel and chop tomatoes if using fresh tomatoes.
Cut 4 (12-inch) pieces of aluminum foil, and grease one side of each with olive oil.
Place a chicken quarter or chicken pieces in center of each piece of foil.
Combine onion, garlic, tomatoes, olives, basil, oregano, celery salt, and pepper and mix well.
Spoon sauce over each chicken packet. Top with a bay leaf.
Fold foil into neat, sealed packages. Place on a cookie sheet.
Bake at 425 degrees F for 40 minutes to one hour, until chicken is cooked.
Serve from package.

People having a bad day

After 8 years living in China, these are the 8 reasons why I still don’t want to leave!

2.5 Tons of Uranium Ore Concentrate “Missing” from Libya Mine

World Hal Turner 16 March 2023

The UN nuclear agency said on Wednesday that approximately 2.5 tons of natural uranium ore concentrate had gone missing from a site in Libya.

International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) chief Rafael Grossi told the organization’s member states that inspectors on Tuesday found that 10 drums containing uranium ore concentrate “were not present as previously declared” at the location in Libya.

The IAEA will conduct further activities “to clarify the circumstances of the removal of the nuclear material and its current location”, it said in a statement, without providing further details on the site.

Libya in 2003 abandoned a program to develop nuclear weapons under its long-ruling former dictator Mohammar Qadhafi.

The North African country has been mired in a political crisis since Qadhafi’s fall in 2011, with a myriad of militias forming opposing alliances backed by foreign powers.

It remains split between a nominally interim government in the capital Tripoli in the west, and another in the east backed by military strongman Khalifa Haftar.

Look What China Did Shocking American Scientist | INSANE!

China’s incredible space technology achievements are being recognized as well as their future potential. Thanks Alex for sharing this well researched video!

GT Voice: US’ hooligan nature laid bare in forced divesting of TikTok

By Global Times Published: Mar 16, 2023 10:31 PM Updated: Mar 16, 2023 10:38 PM

There has been an absurd development of the political farce surrounding the crackdown on TikTok, which has recently been playing out in the US and spreading to Canada and some EU countries.

The Biden administration has threatened to ban TikTok if its Chinese owners don't divest their stakes in the popular video app, Reuters reported on Wednesday.

Even though TikTok has tried its best and done almost everything possible within the technical range in response to the so-called national security concerns, it remains helpless in the face of Washington's economic vandalism.

The message is clear: if Washington cannot see TikTok ending up in an American hand, it will shut it down. Judging by the various bans and legislation involving TikTok that US politicians have been working on, it is not impossible for the worst to happen.

Yet, the Emperor's New Clothes surrounding national security concerns cannot hide US politicians' selfish and hooligan nature. The US claims that TikTok threatens to undermine US national security, but there is no evidence at all supporting the killing or robbery of such a globally successful app on national security grounds. The fact that Washington can suppress and even rob TikTok without justification and only because it is owned by a Chinese company is the latest manifestation that in order to maintain the US hegemony, Washington can make any rogue behavior that is against the law and business rules. This could serve as a wake-up call to companies around the world about the political risks of doing business in the US. If they are successful enough to pose a real challenge to American business titans, a rogue government in Washington will start finding fault with them.

TikTok has been seeking various technical solutions to soothe the so-called national security concerns. For instance, it has committed to spend $1.5 billion on a plan known as "Project Texas," which would enact a stronger firewall between TikTok and employees of its Beijing parent company. It has also built what it called a Transparency Center in Los Angeles to help legislators and journalists understand how it safeguards data and how its algorithms work.

But what has happened to the company has laid bare that there is no way to play by the rules to address the US politicians' so-called concerns. This is because it is not national security issues, but TikTok's ability to challenge the supremacy of the US internet industry, that is what really upsets Washington.

With more than 1 billion active users, TikTok is the most downloaded Chinese app in the world last year. The US has 113 million active TikTok users aged 18 and above, and a 2022 Pew Research Center survey of American teenagers aged 13 to 17 found that 67 percent say they use the app, which would add up to about 17.4 million teenagers.

By comparison, the development of some American internet giants has been overshadowed. Facebook-parent Meta Platforms announced on Tuesday it would cut 10,000 jobs this year, marking a second round of mass layoffs following the first one in fall 2022. Since 2020, Meta CEO Mark Zuckerberg has spoken out on several occasions about TikTok's threat to American values and technological dominance.

Of course, the US government's crackdown on Chinese technology companies has not only aimed to rob economic interests off Chinese companies, but also to curb China's high-tech development and to maintain the US technological and financial hegemony.

However, it should be noted that the fact that Washington cannot allow a Chinese company to have the potential to beat American internet giants in market competition doesn't mean China will allow its hegemony to rob Chinese companies of core technology. Behind TikTok's success is the rise of a new algorithmic technology, which is the representative of Chinese high-tech companies gaining an advantage in international markets.

When the former Trump administration tried to push through a forced sale of TikTok in 2020, China's Ministry of Commerce already made adjustment to its catalog of technologies that are subject to export bans or restrictions, which includes certain advanced information process algorithms. It goes without saying China will resist any bully-like robbery of Chinese companies' core technologies.

12 People Reveal What It’s Like To Have Loving Parents

February 8, 2023

1. Best way I can describe it is just a general feeling of security. Just knowing that they’re behind you 100%, and even when they’re mad at you it’s almost always because they’re trying to help you in the long run.

It’s not something you really appreciate until you get older and start to notice kids around you that have to deal with some pretty fucked up shit from their parents. It’s kind of slowly realizing how many bad things you’ve just never had to worry about thanks to your support system.

And, the best part is how your relationship changes as you get older. When they slowly start treating you like a fellow adult, and you get to see them as more of a whole person.

2. I had a loving mom, but a very shitty dad.

My mom supported me through all my school. Would go to different stores to get me supplies for my projects. She’d try to read the same books I had to so she could engage in critical thinking discussions. Attended my sporting events and cheered me on. Would lay in bed with me after I’d have a nightmare and run her fingers through my hair till I fell asleep. Would constantly reassure me that I was capable of pursuing my dreams. She made sure to tell me she loved me every day and give me hugs frequently. She’s an amazing woman and am so grateful I have her.

3. It’s safe to take risks, they’ll catch you

4. It’s affirming – that whatever goes wrong or right, they’re “there” for you.

Not everyone has this, I understand. But for those that do, it’s something for which to express gratitude.

5. I have loving parents and am an adult.

They are not perfect. I’ve got baggage. We’ve all made mistakes in our relationship.

I was never abused in any way.

As an adult, I have a very good relationship with them. Maybe the big thing is that we can forgive eachother easily for the errors of our past. Now it’s more like having very good friends than patents. And the roles are changing as I give more advice than I recieve these days.

6. I’m 25 (nearly 26). My parents were incredible growing up, and they still are. I grew up middle class, never extravagantly wealthy or anything, but we never had to worry about where our next meal was coming from.

My mom is a pretty tough lady. She’s a 3rd generation Italian immigrant and grew up on The Hill, St. Louis’s Italian neighborhood. She kept us (my brother, sister and I) in line and was never very sentimental, but she always cared for us and stuck up for us.

My dad is one of 6 siblings. He’s the second oldest. He is a very caring, sentimental guy. He’s 62 and retired now, but he worked as an information technology project manager for Anheuser Busch and made good money.

They both provided well for us, gave us what we needed and were fair in their discipline when they needed to be. I realize at my age now that they sacrificed a lot along the way – taking us to soccer and baseball games, dropping us off and picking us up from school every day, dealing with our being whiny and annoying, all kinds of stuff. I suppose I really did have the sort of classic, American dream childhood and I think I’ve always taken it for granted.

What was it like, OP asks? It was nice. It was comfortable when it needed to be and challenging when appropriate. I live on my own now and I’m going over to see them for Father’s Day today. I may mention a word of thanks for giving me a pretty nice life.

7. You just always feel 100% safe and that no matter what happens EVERYTHING will be okay.. it makes life way better.. you don’t have to seek companionship outside of your family as much because you already got that “loved” feeling from your family.. basically you rarely feel alone when you have loving parents/family.

8. The most beautiful part is watching your parents love EACH OTHER! Didn’t even see how this would be valuable until I became an adult and learned that not everyone gets to grow up seeing healthy love. This plays an important factor in the relationships I have and it’s the reason why I’m glad to say I’m a healthy SO. Whenever I hear about people I know in a abusive and toxic relationships, the first thing I always ask is how were their parents relationship…trauma is a real and unfortunate learning mechanism.

9. I’m not going to lie to you, it’s incredible. I was born to two loving parents who waited until they were well-off financially to have children. The only struggle I’ve ever had in my life is with depression (genetic/hereditary, nothing I can really do about it). I’m in college now, my parents pay for my expensive university with all their heart, they go out of their way to do little things to make me happy. My mom will surprise me with take out from my favorite restaurant, my dad will surprise me with basketball tickets or take me to see a movie. We have “arguments” but its 99% of the time over little things that we don’t remember 10 minutes later, and it rarely happens. We operate as a family, make decisions as a family. Like every important decision I make is not all on me, its as a family, so it’s low risk, high reward. A big part of parents being loving is parents being responsible, and my parents have always been responsible adults. I think its a special kind of cruel when a child loses the strong image of parents, or they never had it in the first place. I view my parents as strong figures, anchors. They have their moments of weakness but overwhelmingly are always strong.

I only hope to continue this and be an even better parent to my eventual kids.

10. Especially my mom told and still tells me that she loves me nearly every time we see each other.

They don’t tell me they are happy or mad with my life choices but tell me that I am the one who need to live with them and as long as I am happy, they are too.

They weren’t perfect though but they were able to apologise when they realised they deeply hurt me. They always explained their parenting choices and I never once in my life heard the famous “my house, my rules”.

And the last thing that is very important to me is that they are absolutely loyal to their kids. Other adults or family members like older cousins or so are mocking me? They would always step in and defend me if I weren’t able to. Always took my feelings seriously. I realised in elementary school that this wasn’t normal for most of the adults

11. Amazing! My mother is the most loving and caring mother you could ask for. Im 30, but still close as hell with my mum, visit every weekend and help her with the DIY side of things in her home. She’s slowly going blind which is heartbreaking to watch her struggle with day to day life!! Once she’s completely blind, I’m leaving my job to help look after her as much as i can. She gave me and my siblings the best upbringing she could of given us, so I have to repay her.

So yeah, its great having loving parents. You will do anything for each other.

12. The feeling of acceptance, understanding, and security. Also the immense knowing that they will do anything for you, even if it means that they go through hell.

My father and mother escaped from communist countries (Poland and Vietnam), and nearly died during it. Upon arriving they worked many jobs and went through hell in order to give us a good upbringing. My father owns a pizza shop, and in its early days he worked from 8am-3am, usually not being able to sleep beacuse of the stress of knowing that if something goes wrong, his family will starve. At the worst of it (that I know of), he had to set up a mattress at the back of the store, and slept there so he knew that it would be okay.

My parents have been through hell and back for us, and will in the future if they need to, nevertheless they gave us enough attension and love.

One of the biggest thing for me is trust, I trust them, and they do trust me. We have a mutual respect.

Dexys Midnight Runners, Kevin Rowland – Come On Eileen (1982 Version)

What if, Tomorrow Morning, You Wake Up to: “Banking Crisis Shuts ALL Banks – ATM’s Credit, Debit Cards ALL Shut Off”

World Hal Turner 16 March 2023

What if tomorrow morning, you woke up to blaring headlines saying “Banks Ordered SHUT DOWN; All ATM’s Credit & Debit Cards ALL Offline.”

What if, as you listened to, or read the story, you found out that because of systemic losses and stock market crashes, ALL banks had to be shut down completely . . . . for two weeks . . . . until authorities could isolate the failed banks, and control the financial contagion?

For most people, the idea that their bank would be closed for a couple weeks is never even a passing thought. And the notion that all credit cards and debit cards would suddenly be offline and unusable, is even less of a possibility. Yet that is PRECISELY what could happen given the ongoing bank failures and stock plunges!

So, let’s just play “make pretend” for a minute and ask yourself “How would I get by for a couple weeks with no bank, no ATM’s and no credit/debit cards?

How would you eat? How would you feed your family? Do you even HAVE two weeks worth of food in your house?

How would you put fuel in your car to get to/from work? Do you even HAVE a 5 gallon gas can (or two) on your property? Is it full?

Most folks have never even considered this situation and that . . . . that right there . . . . is why most folks would be in shear panic (and shit outta luck) if this situation actually takes place.

Now, a lot of you might be thinking to yourselves “I can write a check.” Fat chance. If you’re a business, are YOU going to accept checks when you know the banks are failing? Uhhhhhhhh. . . . . . . hmmmmmmmmm. . . . . NOPE!

Cash only!

Supermarkets? Grocery stores? Gas stations? Same thing. CASH ONLY.

Now what do you do?

I pose this scenario to get you thinking. Because PLANNING has to be done BEFORE a crisis hits. Sadly, most people today, don’t plan beyond their next 5 minutes.

You see, those of us who actually DO plan . . . . you mock us as the “tin foil hat crowd and/or “conspiracy theorists.” We think about such things. We plan. We’re as ready as anyone can be for local, limited, disruptions to regular life.

And we have some bad news for you. Don’t come calling to us when you and your kids are going hungry. Don’t come calling to us when your car is out of fuel. Because if you come calling for such things, we have a stark choice to make: Either feed you, or feed ourselves.

Guess what? In that situation, YOU LOSE.

I have to feed me and MY family before I feed you or yours. And I am not going to take food out of MY family’s mouths because YOU never thought (or couldn’t be bothered) to plan.

That may sound harsh, but that’s reality.

So take a few minutes right now and take a look at what food you have in your pantry. Do you have enough Pasta, Rice, dried beans, canned tuna, canned chicken, a couple jars of sauces for over the pasta or rice, a jar or two of mayonnaise? Do you have a couple loaves of bread? Any canned soups that are heat and eat? How about a manual can opener?

You need to have this stuff to make sure YOU and YOUR FAMILY can eat if everything goes to hell with the banks.

You need to have some spare fuel.

Most of all, YOU NEED TO HAVE CASH MONEY stashed in the house somewhere, to get by if everything falls apart.

Don’t say you weren’t warned. Because the plain truth is, most people just couldn’t be bothered to plan . . . . and those folks get no sympathy.

Chinese troops set out for China-Cambodia joint exercise amid intensive foreign military exchanges

ByLiu XuanzunPublished: Mar 16, 2023 10:18 PM

A Type 071 comprehensive landing ship is carrying Chinese troops on their way to participate in a large-scale joint exercise with Cambodia, marking yet another major event in a busy month of foreign military exchanges by the Chinese People’s Liberation Army (PLA).

In accordance with a bilateral agreement, the armed forces of China and Cambodia will hold the Golden Dragon-2023 joint exercise in Cambodia from late March to early April, with the subject of the exercise being operations for the security of important events and humanitarian aid, China’s Ministry of National Defense said in a press release on Wednesday.

More than 200 troops from the Army, the Navy and the Joint Logistic Support Force of the PLA Southern Theater Command held a departure ceremony on Wednesday in Zhanjiang, South China’s Guangdong Province, on the flight deck of the Jinggangshan, a Type 071 comprehensive landing ship, China Central Television (CCTV) reported on the day.

After the ceremony, the Chinese forces set sail for a port in Cambodia, where they will mobilize motorized vehicles to the exercise area, CCTV reported.

The goal of the exercise is to further advance the comprehensive strategic cooperative partnership between China and Cambodia, enhance political mutual trust, expand military exchanges, and boost the two militaries’ capabilities in anti-terrorism work and humanitarian aid, the report said.

More than 3,000 personnel and over 300 vehicles will participate in the drill, which is the fifth such joint exercise between China and Cambodia, CCTV said.

The Golden Dragon-2023 exercise comes amid China’s intensive foreign military exchanges. Other major events include the ongoing China-Iran-Russia joint naval exercise in the Gulf of Oman, the China-Russia-South Africa joint naval exercise off the South African coast in late February, the AMAN-23 multinational maritime drills in Pakistan in early February, the Edelweiss Raid 2023 international mountain infantry competition in Austria in late February, and the Cobra Gold 2023 joint exercise in Thailand from February to March.

China’s participation in all of these exercises is focused on communication, exchanges and cooperation to boost understanding and joint capabilities. The training subjects focused on safeguarding regional peace and stability from non-traditional security threats such as terrorism, piracy and natural disasters, a Chinese military expert who requested anonymity told the Global Times on Thursday.

In the post-COVID era, the Chinese military will continue to resume, expand and deepen foreign exchanges, contributing to peace and stability and displaying China’s international responsibilities, Zhuo Hua, an international affairs expert at the School of International Relations and Diplomacy of Beijing Foreign Studies University, told the Global Times.

By comparison, the US has been rallying gangs in exercises that stir up regional military tension and serve its hegemonic geopolitical aims, experts said, citing events like the recent US-Philippines Balikatan exercise, the US-Japan Iron Fist exercise and the US-South Korea Ulchi Freedom Shield exercise.

The world should see that the Chinese military is providing public security goods to the international community and acting as a stability factor for peace, while the US is creating tensions and even conflicts for its own interests, observers said.

Chumbawamba – Tubthumping

“Gender Fluid” Director of Credit Suisse Draws Scrutiny as Bank Collapsing

World Hal Turner 16 March 2023

As the world watches the stock value of Credit Suisse implode, people are asking how this could happen. That question is causing attention to be paid to the company Directors; one of whom is “Gender Fluid.” Folks are now asking “How can this guy run a company when he can’t even decide if he’s a man or a woman?”

Director Credit Suisse Gender Fluid large

Pictured above is Credit Suisse Director Philip Bunce. However, depending on how he feels on any given day, he may come to work dressed in a wig and women’s clothes, calling himself “Pips” Bunce.

And while he’s busy trying to decide on whether he is a male or female on any given day, the company he is supposed to be Directing is seeing it’s stock value collapse.

Of course, none of this would matter in most other business situations, but Credit Suisse just happens to be a “Systemically important” bank. Now that it is is serious liquidity trouble, the company and its Directors have BECOME the public’s business because the public is being asked to “backstop” Credit Suisse with about $54 Billion in liquidity from public funds through the Swiss National Bank.

Switzerland has agreed to provide that funding. Yet folks are rightly asking whether or not this “Director” should continue to be with the firm now that his actions and those of the other Directors, have made Credit Suisse a public welfare recipient?

Maybe Mr./Ms. Bunce should be sent on its merry way and be replaced with someone who is actually mentally/sexually stable, who can actually do the job necessary to make the company solvent and stable?

On, and the other “Directors” who hired this . . . . thing . . . . it seems to many people THEY should be given THEIR walking papers as well. Clearly, THEIR judgement – in hiring this . . . . thing . . . . – seems questionable.

“Weird” Al Yankovic – Amish Paradise (Parody of “Gangsta’s Paradise”)

Confessions of a Hypersexual Woman

March 15, 2023

What are your urges like?

The need for sex is constantly present. The pleasure it brings is pure euphoria. And I have the constant need for it so when I get it, I want it even more. All the time. The better the sex, the more sex, the happier I am.

Is having a relationship hard?

It’s hard on my partner. We hooked up when I was 16 and I was needing to have sex multiple times a day. At one point 10 times in one day. Which he could keep up with back then. But now 10 years later he is understanding of my needs but not quite meeting them. In 2020 he agreed to letting me do onlyfans to get some of my needs out without being unfaithful. But became uncomfortable with that after a while. It does put a strain on our relationship because his sex drive cannot match mine.

Have either of you brought up an open relationship?

We’ve talked about it and it’s just not for us. I NEED sex but I want it from him. And he doesn’t want me with anyone else. And I don’t want to be with anyone else.

That’s not to say I don’t have strong urges that could make me cheat and I do worry about what would happen if I were put into a position of temptation.

Do you avoid situations where you cheat? Like bars or clubs?

I do go out but I have to bring one of my sisters with me who will decide when I’m getting out of line or in a dangerous situation and have a bouncer wait outside with us for a ride/Uber. But I go out less now since I’ve put my sisters in situations where they feel I/they are unsafe.

When I drink I become very bubbly and friendly and sometimes respond to that behavior in ways that could get me in trouble or seem like an invitation.

Is it the act of sex (penetration) or the orgasm that you seek? Like, is masturbation a part of it as well?

I would say it’s both. It started getting worse around 12 with like obsessive masturbating. But now I also need the penetration to feel close to someone.

Does it satisfy you if he uses toys on you? Is that an option for you to get your needs met and him to be a part of it?

Absolutely! But he works a lot so he’s often tired and has to go to bed early

Have you tried denying/avoiding those instincts/feelings for a while? If you did how long have you lasted?

Even after having a baby I was supposed to wait 6 weeks to have sex and I only waited 2 lol it’s complicated to explain I guess. I need sex to be happy and I need it very often. I’m very horny all the time and I get disappointed and upset if I can’t have it. Which can cause problems

How does your sex drive correlate to your mood? Does bad/good mood bring it down temporarily?

Usually when my head is in a bad place I want it even more and I’m pan

Is there an event in your life that contributed to your hyper-sexuality? Was there any sexual abuse that you think may have led to your hyper sexuality?

I was molested at age 7. But also very over sexualized by men from a young age due to my features. And then I was introduced to chat rooms like Omegle around 12 and would have inappropriate relationships with adult men

Have you found any solutions or working towards a solution to break your addiction?

It has gotten better over the years to wear I can go 2-3 nights a week without it but meds do not work for my specific mental illness, I’ve done 10 years of therapy and 7 years with a psychiatrist.

Were you diagnosed?

Borderline personality disorder. I’m diagnosed with ptsd as well.

Have you been prescribed medicaiton?

I have been on Latuda, Wellbutrin, Prozac, Zoloft, lamictal, risperdal, the list continues. 7 years of different medication combinations with little to no difference in most symptoms.

How do you counter this huge thing in your life to allow yourself to lead a normal life?

I mean it’s not debilitating I still function and do things like a normal person

Obviously you were a victim in your childhood, do you resent your hyper-sexuality sometimes because of the circumstances in which you got it?

I guess it’s hard for me to really resent sex because I do love it. I guess I would like it if it wasn’t too much for my partner sometimes but it’s not his fault it’s fully on me

Russian Navy Blockades Downed US Drone

World Hal Turner 16 March 2023

The Russian Navy has located the downed US MQ-9 “Reaper” Drone in the Black Sea, about 50 nautical miles from Sevastopol and has created a blockade around the crash site.

The Russian Navy salvage Vessel Kumma is enroute to the location.

It is reportedly going to attempt to retrieve the drone, which is said to be under about 90 meters of water.

Do you trust the media? This is SHOCKING, Operation Mockingbird is back

The Just Won’t Stop – NYT Pushes New False Claims By Debunked Anti-Russia Propagandist Clint Watts

This propaganda is way too obvious.

Russia’s Spring Offensive in Ukraine Could Include Cyberattacks, Microsoft Says – New York Times, Mar 16 2023
Moscow also appears to be stepping up influence operations to weaken European and U.S. support for sending more aid to the Ukrainian government.

A hacking group with ties to the Russian government appears to be preparing new cyberattacks on Ukraine’s infrastructure and government offices, Microsoft said in a report on Wednesday, suggesting that Russia’s long-anticipated spring offensive could include action in cyberspace, as well as on the ground.
…
For now Russia’s main influence campaign is concentrated in Europe, but it will shift to the United States “as the year gets closer to a presidential election debate going into fall,” said Clint Watts, the head of Microsoft’s Digital Threat Analysis Center.

Where, again, have I seen that name?

Latest Twitter Files show media, Dems relied on single source alleging ‘Russian bot’ activity: ‘It was a scam’ – Foxnews, Jan 28, 2023
Elon Musk says ‘shame on MSNBC’ for pushing misleading Russian bots narratives

Substack writer Matt Taibbi previously reported how top Democrats like California Democratic Rep. Adam Schiff and Sen. Dianne Feinstein, as well as Connecticut Democratic Sen. Richard Blumenthal, kept promoting claims that the Kremlin had significant influence in public discourse despite being told otherwise by Twitter executives.On Friday, Taibbi did a deep dive into their source, Hamilton 68, a so-called “dashboard” that purportedly monitored Russian bot activity.

Hamilton 68, which was spearheaded by former FBI special agent and MSNBC contributor Clint Watts, was operated by the Alliance for Securing Democracy (ASD), a “neoliberal think tank” founded in 2017 with an advisory council that includes Clinton ally John Podesta, former Obama-era acting CIA director Michael Morrell, former Obama official Michael McFaul and The Bulwark editor-at-large Bill Kristol.

Taibbi wrote Hamilton 68 “was the source of hundreds if not thousands of mainstream print and TV news stories in the Trump years.”

But behind the scenes, Twitter executives trashed Hamilton 68 and deliberated whether they should publicly rebuke ASD.

“I think we need to just call this out on the bulls— it is,” Twitter’s then-head of trust and safety Yoel Roth wrote in an October 2017 email, later writing in January 2018 that the dashboard “falsely accuses a bunch of legitimate right-leaning accounts of being Russian bots.”

“Virtually any conclusion drawn from it will take conversations in conservative circles on Twitter and accuse them of being Russian,” Roth wrote in February 2018.

Despite such fact based reporting three big wig NYT ‘reporters’, Julian E. Barnes, David E. Sanger and Marc Santora, continue to repeat the baseless ‘disinformation’ lies of the known anti-Russia propagandist Clint Watts . This without adding any critical context.

As the first commentator on my previous media education piece noted:

Reporters are garbage.

I would not generalize it like that. Matt Taibbi for one is a good reporter. But some other ‘reporters’ are indeed producing nothing but a constant stream of the most stinking refuse ever.

Posted by b on March 16, 2023 at 9:46 UTC | Permalink

Happy pictures

Rita Hayworth Is Stayin’ Alive

Confessions of Parents Who Absolutely Regret Having Children

March 14, 2023

1. I’m tired of people trying to make me feel bad because I didn’t want to deal with this nightmare of a diagnosis. I straight up admit I absolutely did not fucking want a special needs child which is why I aborted my first pregnancy – there was a chromosomal abnormality so I noped out real quick.

Got just about every damn test you could with the second pregnancy and everything was fine. But no. Autism.

All I ever fucking wanted was a normal family, is that so much to ask? My life growing up was walking on eggshells because of my mentally ill father and intellectually disabled sister. Then I was free. Only to get dragged back into hell.

I’m tired of all the extravagant accommodations and never ending extra shit that goes into autism. We’re supposed to bend over backwards to children who only care about their immediate needs and themselves no matter what the fuck anyone else’s needs are – and then we get blamed for churning out entitled assholes.

I’m tired of this broken fucking kid and never ending heavy burden. While I would never hurt him I can absolutely see how this breaks some parents and these nightmare kids end up getting thrown off a bridge. (I’m not saying I would throw him off a bridge you drama queens, I’m saying I can understand how parents snap)

Pre natal diagnostics needs to get on the fucking ball.

Edit: like moths to a flame the autists are in full force to bitch about how awful I am.

Autism isn’t a shield for shit behavior. I’m allowed to be irritated with shit behavior no matter the origin. I’m human.

Guess what, you don’t live in a vacuum and your caregivers matter too. I’m sorry (not sorry) that the truth of raising an autistic child triggers you so much but, well, it’s not my job to cater to your feelings. Go somewhere else if you hate it so much.

2. My (40M) son (12M) has been physically and verbally abusing my wife (42F) and daughter (9F) for 3-4 years. Dozens of medicinal combinations, 4 hospitalizations (writing this from the hospital while waiting for a placement for his 5th), 8 months in a residential center, making his needs/problems the center of our lives (wife has had not worked or done anything but be his full time caretaker for years), have yielded no relief. I pay for a house the wife+kids live in, and an apartment I live in and work from a few miles away, because my presence/existence is an irritant to my son (and wife prioritizes son’s preferences/comfort above all else), and my daughter occasionally has to stay in the apartment with me when son attacks her.

Yesterday, wife and MIL and both kids went for ice cream, but the store was unexpectedly closed. That disruption in plans was enough that son escalated from standard daily behavior of punching my wife, to attempting to strangle her, and attacked elderly MIL with a heavy wooden board (luckily she knocked it out of his hands and was uninjured).

So, marriage in shambles, finances and mental health destroyed, daughter traumatized… all societal systems (US) from hospitals to cops to therapists to public schools to private schools to psychiatrists to psychologists to residential centers to crisis response (and probably more I’m forgetting) unable to help at all.

My daughter is mostly a joy and (aside from removing what she’s been exposed to) I would change nothing about her.

I regret my son’s existence.

3. The actual reason I had a kid was just pressure from society. I mean, this is what people are supposed to do you know? I’ve always made so much effort ticking all the boxes what people are “supposed to do”. I’m 30 years old and my biological clock is ticking. All my friends have kids so I thought to myself that it was now or never. Now I have this beautiful, healthy, lovely 2 year old whom I love more than words – make no mistake, I’m a good mom. But what I want is sleeping in, going to the gym whenever I want, travel, doing spontaneous things etc. That was my life before my daughter was born. I don’t feel this “rewarding” feeling everyone are talking about. I feel bitter and unfulfilled. I wouldn’t dare saying those things out loud to anyone.

4. I was told the moment you push out your baby & hold it in your arms is the most amazing, most magical, euphoric moment you will ever experience in your entire life.

So there I was..in the hospital, holding my new baby, waiting for it… I felt NOTHING. But I did lose a lot of blood though. I was told that C-Sections are not that bad. I’ll be fine! I couldn’t talk for weeks & barely had any energy to move. But I do have a long nasty cool looking scar that my wax lady points out to me every time I get a wax.

I was told that my breast would just go back to my regular size. My breast are so flat and saggy that I literally have to rush to put clothes on after I get out the shower bc I hate lookin in the mirror. I was told that it’s just “baby weight” it’ll go away after birth. My stomach is so fat & sloppy that it looks like I’m in the early stages of pregnancy.

I was told by my OBGYN that “I’m just in a phase, I’ll get my confidence back!” Today, as I write this in tears, I haven’t felt like me in years. Something’s off..I always look like I’m feeling & feel how I look (which is ugly).

I was told that “Kids are a blessing, you’ll enjoy it!” I literally look forward to every freakin day & night when my kid goes to sleep for that little peace & quiet time that I have to myself. This is the biggest highlight of my day! I use every bit of that time thinking about all that I could be right now before I enter parenthood.

I was told that I have “18 Summers to get it right” That is true & I take that to the heart, but I might just spend my whole adulthood living for my kid & I haven’t even enjoyed my life yet. Thing is, I could be the best parent ever & it still won’t ever be enough cause in the end, kids grow into individuals w/ a mind of their own. 70% comes from me & the other 30% will come from life itself. Life is the greatest teacher. Hopefully when she turns 18, I’ll have something to look back & smile about.

Knowing all the sacrifices, blood, sweat & tears it took to get here will be more than enough for my warm heart to accept. I wait everyday for that moment. I was told that this sht comes easy, being a parent is natural. I’ve been a mom for damn near 3 years & ain’t sht been easy yet. Literally been winging this sh*t since day 1.

I was told just taking 10 mins for yourself will do wonders for you. I can’t even take a shower w/o thinking I’m hearing someone crying & banging on my bathroom door. I was told that child support payments will ease the load. The court ordered $194 in payments & he doesn’t even pay that. I was told from friends & family that I have their support. I’ve had to quit so many jobs bc I had no one to watch her. I had to steal food so many times bc I just don’t have it right now. I was told that it’ll get easier, when?

The fact is, I was lied to.

5. My son is gifted. He’s also a gigantic fucking asshole.

What they see is the tiniest little sliver of a moment, and have no idea that the rest of the time is absolutely exhausting. He has behavior problems, is constantly argumentative, and lives to push every fucking one of my buttons every single goddamn day. It is honestly a battle not to hit him the way I would have been, and my reward for restraint and respecting his person is constantly eating shit.

He has no friends, acts half his age, and is a gigantic brat no matter what we do. I’ve had to give up my life to revolve around his, and I expected to be done by now honestly. Most mothers can get back to work when their kid starts school… I cant.

All of my fucking time is taken up by his endless needs, the time he’s in school is the only time I can get anything meaningful done. The entire parental load is dumped on me, as well as every speck of housework, and society thinks I need to bring in an income too because I’m not doing enough?

It’s all shit. All of it.

When he is on stage and captivates everyone, if just for a moment… I would trade all of it to go back and remain childless. I see parents whisper to each other that they wish their kid could be more like mine and it makes me want to cry. Because they don’t realize how difficult having a gifted kid is. Honestly I would have preferred a normal child.

I put on a brave face though, and gush about how proud I am. But I’m dying inside.

Lots of us regret. Even the ones you would never think do. But I regret all of it.

It’s funny how when I was younger the idea of a hardworking husband that could afford for me to be a stay at home mother to a gifted kid – that was like a dream scenario.

But that’s exactly what I got, and it’s a prison.

I love him and I will continue to do my best for him, but Christ this is the worst job I’ve ever had.

6. I fucking hate being a mother (and wife). There, I said it.

I’ll preface with saying that I do love my children , but It absolutely drains every single part of my being. To the point where I’m not sure I can keep going much longer.

I hate how I went undiagnosed with a neurological disorder my entire life until recently, which makes being a parent/partner so damn difficult. I could have made better choices had I known.

I hate that I grew up thinking because I was a girl, having kids was just part of life. I hate how we don’t normalize conversations surrounding the topic of NOT having children.

I hate that I even feel this way. Not like they asked to be here. So I go through the motions and try my best . For them. But what I wouldn’t give to go back 20 years and make different choices.

The Go-Go’s – Our Lips Are Sealed

Confessions of a Tech CEO Who Had Millions Tied Up In Silicon Valley Bank

March 13, 2023

So something like from that show Silicon Valley? You stocks went from millions to nothing?

Worse. Our bank account had millions of dollars in cash in it which we use to pay rent, employees, etc. All of that money has been frozen now that the bank has collapsed and the FDIC has stepped in. We can’t access it, use it, or transfer it to another bank.

This has happened to countless companies. Hundreds of companies missed payroll on Friday or will miss payroll over the next few days.

Why would you keep so much in one bank knowing it’s uninsured? Why not buy US treasuries as an alternative?

There’s a lot to dig into here, and arguably this is the most important cultural shift that needs to occur amongst venture-backed companies going forward.

Large companies – and thus more mature ones – absolutely diversify. For that reason, SVBs implosion is mostly hurting small and medium sized startups who maintained all of their capital in SVB. The question is: why were these startups not more proactively defensive? I think there’s a lot of contributing factors.

1) Most early stage startups are founded by and focus entirely on employing non-admin talent, meaning no HR, no finance, etc. In fact, one of our investors (a tier 1 investor with several billion dollar funds) explicitly talked me out of hiring a CFO until we were “50-100 employees”. So, what you end up with is a talent pool of specialists whose strength and focus isn’t in financial risk aversion, but rather in the skills needed to build product, find traction, and drive growth.

2) Focus. In early stage startups, you’re so frantically working to find product/market fit, recruit key talent, close customers, and navigate investors that you quickly deprioritize anything that doesn’t immediately drive revenue or product market fit. This leads to a bunch of blind spots in the business that are easy to take for granted. One is financial risk aversion. There are only so many tasks you can commit your attention to each day, and the purely administrative ones tend to fall by the wayside.

3) Convenience. Take your typical seed stage startup. In 2019, a seed round would be 2 million, plus or minus. In 2021, that same seed stage round could be 4-8. That means 32 bank accounts required to ensure that no more than $250k is present in any account. Amongst all of the other stuff you have to do as both a manager and individual contributor, this degree of oversight feels untenable.

4) Hubris. Probably a bit too strong language, but worth at least mentioning. Startups are inherently risky and financially insecure businesses, but we tend to have faith that our institutional partners — VCs, banks, etc. — are trustworthy and secure. We try to focus on the things we are most in a position to control, and we trust our partners to support us in the gaps. That’s not a good perspective to have going forward.

There are a lot of reasons. Going forward, all startups should probably have CFOs actively protecting cash. That hasn’t been the standard in the past for small companies. It should be going forward.

You weren’t notified of the potential problem before ?

I received an email.at 3:09 ET on Thursday.from.one of our investors saying, “This is probably alarmist, but you might want to move your money out of SVB.” That’s it. I immediately contacted another bank, but by the time the application was submitted, approved, created, and transfer submitted, it was already too late. About 16 hours.

Do you think your company can bounce back from this?

The next few days are critical.

The industry is expecting the FDIC to provide $250k in insurance on Monday. If that miraculously happens, it provides limited relief for the smaller companies, of which mine is one. With that $250k, I can make 2 payrolls. So, that gives me 3 weeks to figure out our next step.

The biggest question is whether or not the government will step in to make all of the depositors whole (meaning ensure companies like mine get access to the cash we already had). Even if that happens, there’s no way to know how quickly that can occur. Many Americans don’t think it should at all.

If that doesn’t occur, then we’ll likely be looking for a new source of capital (probably an investment) and use that to keep the company alive long enough to hopefully find a buyer.

What happens to a company that can’t make payroll?

We held a 2 hour company wide call, during which I explained what happened, what’s next, and the options we have. Then we did breakout sessions with each team. People are understandably concerned, but not because they’re in the dark.

There is a lot of he said/she said going on about when any of this money will be returned. The truth is nobody knows. My plan A is to access (hopefully on Monday) the FDIC $250k insurance to cover my team’s next two payroll cycles. That gives me time to do two things: 1) see if there’s a short-term resolution of SVB that benefits us, and 2) work with our partners in a bridge loan. The latter is the most likely path for any early-stage startup that has the option.

After that, who knows. If it takes months or years for any of the capital to be returned, then probably look for an acquirer so my team has a soft landing somewhere.

Do you think that the failures on the bank should be settled by tax payer money?

It’s a great question. I think the potential reverberating damage of not making the depositors as whole as possible is catastrophic. Not just for those companies, but for the us economy itself and the future of the US as a global innovator. Seeing online chatter, it’s clear to me that most people don’t understand how broad reaching this situation is. It’s MUCH bigger than a few “coastal leftist capitalist millionaires”.

Does that mean that taxpayers should be responsible? No. Ideally the capital would come from another bank acquiring the assets over the coming days/weeks. That seems unlikely, at least at a price that would cover all depositors.

Somebody is getting fucked. It shouldn’t be the depositors who only held cash. And it shouldn’t be the taxpayers. Very difficult situation.

Who do you think will be the White Knight? (Do you believe there will be one?)

Interesting question. No for-profit institution can truly be the white knight. They’re self-interested parties (which is fine) and are going to try to acquire the assets for pennies on the dollar. Meaning whatever is left will be a fraction of what was there before. The govt. Can certainly intervene, but to what end.

Ultimately, I think the question is really: Who is going to get screwed over the most in order to protect the rest.

If the government is the only way to make yourselves whole, what are your thoughts about the government taking equity positions in those companies rather than providing a cash bailout?

We need cash to operate. If that cash is in exchange for equity, I’m generally okay with the idea. In fact, I would personally love a closer relationship between govt and innovation companies. I have long maintained that we need our best people thinking about the biggest problems – govt, education, healthcare, etc. But because public sector salaries can’t compete, we often pool too much top talent in the private sector. A closer relationship between the two might have positive outcomes.

Did you start the company or just rise up to the position?

I started the company with two co-founders. They made salaries first. I started getting paid about a year later.

CEO compensation varies WIDELY by company, stage, and sector. I firmly believe that CEOs at most large corporations are grossly overpaid. That is far from my personal case. I currently make $150k/yr. I’m far from the highest paid employee at my own company. For early stage companies, there is a director correlation between a startup’s likelihood to fail and how much s/he pays him/herself. I made much more at previous companies, but founder/CEOs typically don’t work for the salary. They work for the potential equity outcome.

What were your roles and responsibilities as a CEO for this company.

At my stage, the primary responsibilities are hiring, budgeting, HR, team management, fundraising, and investor relations. After that, each CEO has a unique set of skills based on their background which determine what else they do. My background is in product management, so I also lead the design and development of our software product.

Typically external CEOs are brought into a startup after the company has achieved a certain degree of scale. Maybe the founder is ready to move on, or maybe the company needs someone with more expertise at that growth stage. Typically external CEOs come from within the existing social network, via investor introductions, or through an executive recruiter.

Putin’s next cyber attack will be DEVASTATING, according the deep state

17 People Reveal The Biggest Problem Plaguing Their Life Right Now

March 16, 2023

I’m 60. My biggest problem is having to work 50 or 60 (or more) hours a week just to keep up with the bills. Plus I have a bedridden wife with cancer and we’re raising our oldest grandson. As Sargeant Murtaugh once said, “I’m getting too old for this shit.”

37 and I’m going blind. I don’t know how long it will take, when I will be legally blind and unable to live my life with the richness, independence and everything else I expected, but it’s coming. It’s a crushing inevitability. Every day that I get to see my loved ones faces is a gift.

40’s and I drink too much and need to lose weight. I only drank 3 times in February and I’ve increased my daily walks so I’m working on it!

I’m just trying to find some reasons to not hate my own existence. But here we are. A couple days ago was my 43rd. My finances suck. I’ve been depressed most of my adult life but I’m just really sad right now too. There is a difference between sad and depressed and I’m both right now. And I don’t deserve to be either, I’m healthy, I still have all my limbs and digits thanks to modern medicine, and there are people who care about me, which makes the depression just feel like even more of a failure. I hope you feel better soon. I hope I do too.

74 and don’t really have any problems other knowing my time is limited. Don’t buy any green bananas. 🙂

78, and knowing I am terminal. I can handle it, but everybody else is in denial. I’m hearing lots of, “After all, doctors don’t know everything, do they?”

No. They don’t. But they do know the five-year survival rate is 1%. Now let’s all say that together boys and girls.

“The five-year survival rate is 1%.”

59 and my thoughts are consumed with losing my wife(and best friend). I’ve loved her for 42 years. I want 42 more.

The older I get the shorter it all seems, Ive heard the same from everyone. Everyone pretends to be at peace, I thinik it’s more for the others than that they really believe it. There isn’t anything you can tell someone when they are 16 that they will ever truly understand until they’re 60. I suppose this is where the bitter sweet thing hits. But it hits really fucking hard when it does.

61(F)… Relationship heartache and likely to be let go at work. I’m too old for either of these when 6 years away from retirement.

29. All my bills are going up, but my paycheck is not.

I’m 62 and I am watching my wife die day by day from pancreatic cancer. She is the love of my life, God’s gift to me. I had been married before but never have I known love until I met her. I cannot breathe. I cannot cry because I must be strong for my beautiful bride. My heart is breaking day by day. When the end comes I cannot imagine living a day without her smile and laughter.

My mother just passed away, leaving me with implied responsibility for my same-aged brother with special needs. There was no plan, despite me begging them for years to figure something out. I live ten hours away and work full-time plus. Now I’m supposed to figure it all out.

31, grief, anxiety, money, never being able to afford a home and by extension claw my way out of poverty. I have more money now than I ever did in my life and it still won’t get me anywhere.

55, live alone, work 100% from home, and have no friends and family. Shit be lonely.

27 and more and more I’m coming to the horrifying realization that I don’t really like the world, where it’s headed, the way we idolize and reward cruelty and selfishness, the way the world is just kind of… ugly. This is not the world I envisioned living in when I was younger, and that crushing realization is a lot to come to terms with. Some days are especially difficult. Other days I wonder whether it’s worth sticking around for something I dislike so much.

I’m 48 and my son is 16. He has a muscle eating disease call Muscular Dystrophy and has lost the use of his legs, his arms have weakened to the point that he can barely lift a glass and he’s in a wheelchair. He has an upcoming major surgery for scoliosis (caused by the disease) that will enable him completely for up to a week. He worries about it and about the disease (dying) and on top of that, he gets very depressed about not being able to do the things that other kids his age can do. I worry constantly about him, but there is nothing I can do. That’s my biggest problem (he’s not the problem, but the fact I can’t do anything but worry).

My kids won’t stop getting sick. They’re missing so much school. It’s like their bodies have decided to just alternate weeks with different respiratory viruses.

via

Old Movie Stars Dance to Michael Jackson

Abandoned treasures

Weezer – Buddy Holly (Official Music Video)

This video was hidden inside the movie folder in all Windows 95.

30 of the Best Non-Sexual Feelings in the World

March 9, 2023

1. When you unexpectedly catch a smell that reminds you of a person or a place that you love.

2. Laying awake with someone, and being so lost in conversation that you talk for hours without even realizing it.

3. When something funny catches you off guard in just the right way, and you laugh uncontrollably.

4. A dog or cat or just a fluffy, non threatening animal coming up to you and cuddling you until you can’t breath.

5. Being close to someone you have a crush on and just nearly touching. The almost touch is a magical thing.

6. Farting away a stomach ache

7. Seeing someone happy with the gift you gave them.

8. Taking a piss after holding it for the whole car ride

9. Getting that popcorn kernel out of your teeth

10. Tingles from listening to some good music

11. Having a 3 day weekend and waking up on that Saturday realizing you still have two more days off.

12. Having a conversation with someone who’s genuinely interested in what you have to say

13. Waking up in the middle of the night and realizing you still have 5 hrs more to sleep.

14. Head massage. Even those wire “hands” you can get to do it yourself feel amazing.

15. Sleeping in a bed with clean and warm sheets straight out of the dryer.

16. That moment of clarity when your brain stops going and you’re just present, wherever you are.

17. Silence. Just go to an area with no civilization whatsoever and sit. No expectations, obligations or unnecessary needs.

18. Waking up at 3 am with massive thirst and then you take that nice, cold and godly sip of water

19. First sip of coffee when you wake up on vacation.

20. Water coming out of your ear after it’s been stuck there for a bit.

21. When you’re at someone’s house and their pet chooses your lap to sit on.

22. Taking a smooth, efficient, clean poop. Also taking a huge shit that you’ve been holding for too long.

23. Contagious laughter, to the point no one remembers what made us start laughing.

24. Love. Long ago in a relationship -I said something awkward that revealed my feelings but not directly and the response was ‘I love you too stupid, let’s go get some coffee’

25. When you find yourself genuinely looking forward to the next time you’ll see/talk to someone, then you realize you’re smiling like an idiot.

26. When you feel like someone truly sees you.

27. When you put down your judgment long enough, to let yourself be proud of the things you’ve accomplished.

28. When someone says, “I love you” for the first time, or you finally muster up the courage to say it yourself.

29. When you get together with siblings or cousins, and laugh for hours while retelling childhood stories that you all have already told 100 times.

30. Watching people enjoy the food you cooked.

China’s Rise As A Superpower | Warning To America

Chicken and Sourdough Dumplings

Ingredients

Dumplings

2 1/2 cups flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
3/4 cup milk
1 egg
1/2 cup sourdough starter
1/4 cup vegetable oil or melted shortening
2 quarts boiling water

Chicken

2 tablespoons flour
3 tablespoons melted shortening
1 (6 ounce) can evaporated milk
1/2 cup milk
2/3 cup water
1 (10 ounce) can cream of chicken soup
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 cup chopped pimiento
1 (2 to 3 pound) fryer, cooked, boned and cut into bite-size pieces

Instructions

Dumplings: In large bowl, thoroughly stir together flour, salt, baking powder and baking soda.
Combine milk, egg, sourdough starter and vegetable oil or melted shortening and add to dry mixture all at once, stirring just until moist. Drop dough from tablespoon into boiling water. Cover and simmer 15 minutes. Remove with slotted spoon. Drain and place on top of cooked chicken.
Chicken: Over medium heat, add flour to shortening. Stir constantly while adding milks, soup, water, salt, pepper and pimiento. Add chicken. Pour into a 3-quart casserole and top with dumplings.
Bake, uncovered, at 350 degrees F for 10 minutes.

Serves 4 to 6.

NDE and some reality

This post includes a very well done NDE, Star Trek TOS (in sections), the usual food and art fare, and some indications that American banks are collapsing left and right.

In case you all haven’t been paying attention, MM is a repository of a step by step staged archive of the end of the old world order, and the beginning of a new one.

Because, in the future REAL historians will be able to find this site, undetected by the present political powers, and pristine in ways that revisionism cannot corrupt.

But that’s not your concern.

What you concern should be enjoying today.

Big Big Meeting going on in Russia right now!

The Duran comments on it…

Big changes in the world today!

Have a great one!

Star Trek Balance of Terror (part 1 of 7) TOS (The Original Series)

Natasha Wright

January 31, 2023

Davos annual meeting comes across as rather outdated and obsolete with its now heavily tarnished global image all the more so.

While geopolitics is threatening to deal a heavy blow and most probably demolish the world created in the cauldrons of Davos, as has the Financial Times voiced their concerns, and surely not without a series of justifiable reasons, one of the unexpected leaders of the Global South, Indian PM Narenda Modi, rebelliously self-confident, said in his address to the world: “Our time is yet to come. We are all those who are not the Collective West ‘made to Davos measure”. Moreover, even the U.S. CNN couldn’t help noticing, this year’s Davos meeting (aka the Davos annual “gab fest” as Rowan Dean, Sky News Australia famously called it) has attracted a record number of visits but its relevance appears to be dwindling and slowly but surely vanishing into political void. Davos annual meeting comes across as rather outdated and obsolete with its now heavily tarnished global image all the more so.

The overwhelming fear this year’s WEF in Davos is frantically obsessing about internalizes the fact that the long-lasting period of peace and prosperity and global economic integrations is regrettably drawing to an end – not even the Financial Times try to handle the perils of their own pessimism in that they seem to specify to the smallest minutiae, who did prosper in that famous and infamous Collective West in the period of global integration, which has existed so far but is in a terribly precarious position now.

The conflict in Ukraine has shown the ways the war can suddenly sever the ties in economic relations on the foundations of which the globalization has been built so far. The European Union seems to be drastically reducing the import of Russian energy supplies and in so doing it further foments the inflation in Europe and renders some of its industries grotesquely uncompetitive and regrettably redundant. The politicians and industrial moguls are now casting scrutinizing looks along the horizon and beyond, in their comically concerted effort to possibly spot the next ominously pernicious threat. It sounds only too eerie that the London-based newspaper forecasts with a proverbial admonishing finger in midair. The U.S. channel says that this year in Davos, one cannot help noticing the absence of U.S. President Biden, the French President Emanuel Macron and British Prime Minister Rishi Sunak on one hand and the leaders of India and China Xi and Modi on the other. Some of them were obliged not to attend because of the backlash on their home turfs because Davos has become the toxic symbol of inequality and brutally merciless international capitalism.

There is surely a very good reason for this tarnished reputation, because in the last two years apparently, 1% of the richest of the rich have accumulated even two times bigger “new riches” than the rest of the world altogether. Those leaders who believe this is “not OK” such as Xi and Modi, did not attend Davos because they were otherwise engaged and they had to prioritize. But to get back to truly serious world leaders, PM Modi was absent for a good reason because instead of WEF, he addressed his audience in the Voice of the Global South Summit. Unlike that overwhelmingly pathetic pessimism in Davos, Modi’s voice was brimming with rebellious optimism. It is blatantly obvious that the world is in the grip of the global crisis. It is difficult to foresee how long this state of uncertainty will last – Modi started his elaboration and then went on to get across what is to come next. “We shall have the biggest share in this in the future. Three quarters of mankind live in our countries and we need to have an impact commensurate with that share and number. Therefore, whilst the eight decade long global governance behind us is gradually changing, we need to aspire to shape the emerging world order. The peoples and nations in the global South should not be deprived of the fruits of the global development out of purely selfish reasons. It is incumbent on all of us together to reconstruct our common political and financial governance. Only that can multiply our opportunities and increase prosperity”. All that, Modi points out, may happen with the respect for all nations, rule of law and peaceable resolution of all differences and disputes and the reform of international institutions, including that of the UN, so as to render them more relevant.

By the way, Russia has publicly supported this request by India to be granted the continual seat in the UN Security Council. “Despite the challenges the world is facing I remain an optimist,” Modi sends a clear resounding message. “Our time is coming. In the past century we have been helping each other in our struggle against foreign governance. We can do that again in this century so as to create the new world order, which will in turn ensure the well – being of our citizens” – says Modi. And not only him. An almost identical message was sent from Cairo, Egypt. After a meeting with the Arab League officials, the new Chinese foreign minister Qin Gang said “We have agreed to work together towards creating the new world order based on the rule of law and equality of the whole humanity, dedication to human values of the whole civilization together with their adamant refusing to politicize human rights issues and their (ab)use as a mere political ploy to interfere in the internal affairs of individual sovereign countries.” He did not utter this out loud and there was no need to do any such thing other than in this Qin Gang’s filigree diplomatic style, though it was blatantly obvious who Qin Gang was referring to.

Truth be told, the clear signs of the new non-Western world order are rapidly proliferating. Not only that 85 % of mankind have not joined “the Collective Biden” sanctions against Russia but as an example, thanks to these sanctions, India is now importing 33 times more from Russia than before. Iran, regardless of the U.S. sanctions on them, is now exporting more of its oil than before the sanctions. And the Republic of South Africa, as one very good but a somewhat different example, is dismissing the raging wrath expressed by the Collective West because of their (i.e. South African) marine military exercises with Russia recently. But as its key point, after Xi Jinping announced in Ryadh recently that China will be paying Saudi Arabia for Saudi oil in yuan, the Saudi Finance Minister confirms with a dollop of irony from Davos that the situation is abundantly clear that they will not sell oil exclusively in U.S. dollars. And, South African Minister of Foreign Affairs, Naledi Pandor reveals that more or less since 2014 the BRICS countries have been working hard on creating an alternative to the dollar system. All the projections tend to indicate that by 2030 China and India economies will be the biggest economies in the world and Russia will graciously overtake the economies of Germany and Japan.

The new world order is not a mere buzzword for the idle ones any more. One cannot but wonder who will shape it and in what manner: economically, financially and politically. Will the Collective West do their diabolical best to prevent that from happening by resorting to what they have always done: the truly global world war and possibly aided with nukes?

Semiconductors: China is getting there by leaps and bounds.

China has broken up foreign monopolies of high- performance semiconductor temperature controllers.

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China has been working on the research of adjusting the temperature of semiconductor chips and his team researches on micro semiconductor temperature controllers.

The controller can immediately produce the temperature difference of up to 100 C at the moment of getting connected to electricity, and works as an air-conditioner to cool semiconductor chips.

It took only three months to transfer the scientific research results to actual production and the monthly production capacity of the temperature controller has exceeded 300,000 pieces.

Last July, the domestic-developed temperature controller developed by the team was launched to the space with China-developed research rocket and completed the first successful in-orbit verification of 5,000 kilometers in space.

It means that China has realized the domestic production of a series of micro semiconductor devices from space grade to industrial grade, breaking the previous foreign monopoly on high-end temperature controller parts.

Currently the controllers are widely used in laser communication, vehicles, and biomedicine among other fields.

Hats off!

Balance of Terror (part 2 of 7) Star Trek TOS 1966 1967 1968)

Construction Workers Renovating The Lincoln Memorial Uncover A Secret Passage

When workers were renovating the Lincoln Memorial for a major event, they discovered something totally bizarre right beneath their feet. It turned out that Honest Abe was sitting atop a massive secret — literally. And millions of us have been inches away from this sight without noticing it. If you’ve ever set foot on the Tennessee pink marble floors and stared up at the stoic expression of America’s 16th president, you were actually standing right above a decades-old secret passage that few knew existed.

Workers made a startling discovery

A construction crew working at the Lincoln Memorial back in 1975 was tasked with renovating the bathrooms. Little did they know, their seemingly-simple task would lead them to an unexpected discovery. Not long into their project, they noticed something strange about the structure’s foundation that no one was prepared for.

The hidden room

When workers took a closer look at the foundation, they discovered a massive room beneath the chamber that housed Lincoln in his chair. As anybody else would do after discovering a major historical secret, the construction crew quickly spread the word about the mysterious area. It was a point of fascination. How long had this room been there, and why was it there in the first place?

Exploring the “cave”

Of the people told about the secret room, some were members of the National Speleological Society — AKA, they were passionate about exploring old, mysterious caves. And when they cave divers first ventured underground, they explored the giant room with awe. Stalactites and stalagmites formed during the years the space was neglected. It was while they were exploring that they had a startling realization.

Why was it there?

Oddly enough, the cave wasn’t naturally formed but man-made. And the room was massive: 43,800 square feet, to be exact. The more they poked around, the creepier Lincoln Memorial’s concealed level revealed itself to be. Besides the rats, insects, and general spookiness, its mere existence made the group prickle with paranoia. Why was no one aware of this clearly intentionally-made chamber?

Lincoln’s biggest secret

The mystery of it all added to the general creepiness. How is it possible that one of the most iconic monuments in America, with over 7 million visitors each year, kept its gigantic “basement” a secret? Surely, the space once served a purpose. Even more confusing, when exactly did its existence fall between the cracks?

40 years in the making

Solving this mystery required the explorers to dig deeper into the monument’s past. Construction for the Lincoln Memorial kicked off in 1914. It took 40 years for the Army Corps of Engineers to create the Potomac Park shoreline that now serves as the attraction’s backdrop.

Digging into the earth

Workers dug 40 feet down in the earth to begin the project. Then, they installed a series of concrete pillars to support the rest of the structure. When they were finished, it looked like a cathedral all on its own. It was certainly grand enough to stand in the nation’s capital. Of course, something not-so-grand lurked beneath the ground.

It slipped from people’s minds

The crew then created the rest of the 19-foot statue and the 145 steps leading up to it. This massive undertaking took the majority of the builders’ time and energy. No doubt they were focused on installing the main event of the memorial — Lincoln himself — to properly honor the famous president. Somehow along the way, the underground chamber slipped from people’s minds.

Tourists explored the cavernous passages

But once the National Parks Service got wind of the Lincoln Monument’s killer basement, they had to show it off. Over 50 years after it was sealed off and forgotten, people finally filed into the hidden chamber. Without much preparation, the derelict space was opened to the public, and tours of amazed visitors shuffled through its cavernous passages.

A dark look behind the curtain

Officially, this space is called the undercroft, but it remains relatively unknown to the general American public. Though, some might reason it’s not that big a loss. After all, it’s a dark, dank look behind the curtain of how the dazzling Lincoln Memorial was constructed. But that still doesn’t answer why most people never see the space for themselves.

Dangerous air quality

Only those who visited the memorial during the ’70s and ’80s were lucky enough to glimpse the undercroft. Knowing that, for a time, people were allowed to traipse through the elusive passageways, why did they eventually shut it down? Well, it wasn’t exactly safe. During one tour, for example, someone spotted what looked like asbestos.

Shut it down

Countless tourists being struck down by an outbreak of asbestos poisoning was definitely something the government wanted to avoid at all costs. The National Parks Service needed to take care of the asbestos situation, and probably realized that the space was generally unfit for tours. So in 1989, the undercroft was shuttered to the public. Still, it didn’t lie untouched and forgotten for another 50 years.

Funny little illustrations

Over the years, select lucky adventure seekers have glimpsed the insides of the Lincoln Memorial undercroft, witnessing its most special feature — graffiti. Many of the columns in the basement are covered in funny little illustrations from those brave (or foolish) enough to dive below the surface. Some of the graffiti, however, comes from an unexpected source.

Traces of personality

Steven Schorr, the president of DJS Associates — a forensic consulting firm that took scans all over The National Mall and Lincoln Memorial — said, “The builders actually drew cartoons and they have them covered in Plexiglas.” Yep, the old-timey-looking cartoons were drawn by people back in the 1910s, not by modern teenaged ne’er-do-wells.

The century-old graffiti is being preserved

Drawing silly pictures on the pillars of a presidential memorial must have felt like the most rebellious act for those 1914 laborers. Nearly a century later, though, the cartoons are the shining jewels of the undercroft. Silly graffiti is definitely at odds with the more solemn black-and-white photos of the era. Perhaps that’s why they’re being protected — and for a staggering sum.

Plans for the undercroft

Billionaire philanthropist David Rubenstein has invested a mind-boggling $18.5 billion into a project to modernize the Lincoln Memorial, including the undercroft space. His hope is for more people to be captivated by the humanity of the doodles, humbled by Abraham Lincoln’s firm gaze, and, of course, fascinated by the once-forgotten underground chamber. The billion-dollar project won’t be completed overnight.

Its biggest update yet

The project marks the most extensive renovation of the memorial since its debut in 1922. Rubenstein is tremendously honored to contribute to preserving this new chapter for the Great Emancipator’s monument. Through his efforts, modernized construction equipment and healthy financial backing mean the updates will probably be completed sooner rather than later.

Coming soon…

The plan was to reopen the undercroft to the public for the Lincoln Memorial’s centennial in 2022, but for now, construction is slated to be complete in 2026. One day soon, though, people will walk among those storied columns … and maybe even descend below the surface to another time. Until that day comes, there are still signs of the undercroft you can spot in person.

A point of fascination

People can see the coordinates marking the entryway to the chamber if they look closely. But even just standing on the coordinates can elicit a strange feeling. The enormous Lincoln itself has an overwhelming aura, one curator Harry Rubenstein, from the Smithsonian’s political history wing, explained to National Geographic. “It has that temple-like quality, and the statue reveals itself slowly as you walk up the steps — it doesn’t hit you all at once. And as you move up, you are made small by this incredible statue.”

Hidden symbolism

While the sheer scale of the giant Lincoln perched in a chair is what most people take in, the memorial is also richly symbolic. But some of the messages hidden within the statue’s design can be difficult to pick up on, even more so than its cavernous ‘hidden’ basement. So they tend to be missed by the average observer.

Straight from the drawing board

The intentional details concealed within the monument trace back to the immediate aftermath of Abraham Lincoln’s murder. Pretty much straight away, people were calling for a monument to be raised in his honor. But it would take many decades and several design reworks for the project to really get off the ground properly.

The green light

It was only many decades after Lincoln’s death that a memorial was finally given the green light by Congress, which set aside $2 million for the project in 1911. Still, even at this point, progress remained very slow. For three years, debate raged about exactly what it should be and where it should be sited.

Greek inspiration

In the end, the person tasked with the memorial’s design was Henry Bacon, who’d previously studied in Europe. His stint abroad gave Bacon a taste for ancient Greek design, which would ultimately come to be seen in his plans for the Lincoln Memorial. If you look at the structure today, you’ll see a purposeful resemblance to the Parthenon temple that stands at the heart of Athens.

Off the wall

It’s difficult to imagine the statue of Lincoln standing inside any other building besides the one Bacon designed. But his idea was actually one of many. Another man named John Russell Pope also came up with a bunch of other designs that were ultimately rejected. And some of them were fairly off the wall.

Ancient temples

One of Pope’s rejected designs resembled a Mayan temple, which would house an enormous, undying flame. Another idea for the building was based on a ziggurat, a structure most famously found in ancient Mesopotamia. And yet another of Pope’s concepts resembled a pyramid from ancient Egypt. All were dismissed, but Pope would ultimately go on to design the Jefferson Memorial down the line.

From all over

It was Bacon who would design the Lincoln Memorial, and he had some strong ideas when it came to the symbolism his building would employ. For instance, he was adamant that the stone used in the construction should come from all over the United States. That, in his mind, would epitomize Lincoln’s commitment to the Union.

Another designer

Bacon’s design is full of little messages to be interpreted, if you look close enough. But what of the statue of Lincoln that’s housed there? Well, this thing is rich in symbolism, too, but it wasn’t Bacon who was responsible for this. No, he just designed the building. The statue was the work of Daniel Chester French.

Designed with care

French’s Lincoln statue was clearly designed with care. The president’s face is very expressive and thoughtful, plus he is seated — an unusual feature for statues of this nature. Why did French make these decisions? Well, that’s open to interpretation, as a writer behind a biography of the sculptor has explained to National Geographic.

Speaking for itself

According to Harold Holzer, French rarely chose to explain the finer points of the thinking behind the works he designed. Elaborating, he said, “My favorite French quote on this was: ‘A statue has to speak for itself, and it seems useless to explain to everyone what it means. I have no doubt that people will read into my statue of Lincoln a great deal I did not consciously think. Whether it will be for good or ill, who can say?’”

A long time

French worked on his statue for about five years. That’s a long time, but it clearly illustrates the scale of his task. Even just in terms of its size, it’s easy to understand why he needed so much time to complete the project. Even though the figure of Lincoln is seated, it’s still extremely tall.

Revisions

From the seated position, the figure of Lincoln reaches about 19 feet. But if it was standing up, it would reach about 27 feet. Incidentally, the original design was way smaller, but French revised it. His originally intended scale, with the seated figure reaching 10 feet, would have left it appearing dwarfed within Bacon’s immense temple.

Under stress

As for the expression on Lincoln’s face, French put in a lot of research to get it right. He studied photographs of the slain president, as well as reading descriptions of him. As Rubenstein said, “It was Lincoln under stress, who had the burdens of presidency and the war. Those are the photos [French] had to work with, not those of a young Lincoln.”

The Piccirilli brothers

French didn’t work on his statue alone: it was far too big a project for that. No, he actually hired a group of brothers to carve the stone. The Piccirillis were six men originally from Italy who’d made a name for themselves in America as excellent sculptors.

Invaluable contribution

The Piccirilli brothers put in a lot of work on this project. Laboring in their workshop in the Bronx, New York, these men took great care to chisel out this statue in a series of slabs, which were then brought to Washington D.C. and assembled on-site. Their contribution was invaluable, yet they’re perhaps not as famous as you’d expect. French actually suggested carving their name into the plinth of the statue, but they declined the proposed credit.

Disruption

All in all, the whole Lincoln Memorial project took a long, long time. Work on the foundations started in February 1914 and was finished up in May 1915. Progress was steady on the main structure until April 1917, which is when the U.S. began to fight in World War I. That derailed the project, slowing it down drastically.

Taking shape

Still, by the end of 1919 the project was really starting to take shape. Throughout that December and the following month of January, the Lincoln statue itself was successfully pieced together. By 1921 paths leading to the landmark were installed, as were gardens. By May 30, 1922, the memorial had reached a level of completion where it could be officially dedicated. Finishing touches to the monument’s surroundings, though, continued for a few more years.

Beloved monument

Nowadays, it’s probably fair to suggest that the Lincoln Memorial is Washington D.C.’s most beloved monument. According to newspaper The Washington Post, a regular year will see something like 8 million people showing up to pay a visit to the structure. People of all stripes come to see the famous attraction firsthand.

American icon

For 100 years now, the Lincoln Memorial has been an American icon. It’s shown up in a bunch of movies, it can be seen on the currency, and it was the setting of some very important historical moments. Most notably, perhaps, Martin Luther King delivered his “I Have a Dream” monolog there in 1963.

A lot going on

The Lincoln Memorial is instantly recognizable to so many people, who have grown up seeing it in films, on money, or in real life. But not everyone fully appreciates the symbols and messages hidden away under the surface. There’s a lot going on at that monument, even down to something as simple as the statue’s hands.

Showing character

French put a lot of consideration into these hands. And despite his reputation for keeping quiet about his work, he even wrote about them. He said, “It has always seemed to me that the hands in portraiture were only secondary to the face in expression, and I depend quite as much upon them in showing character in force.”

Left and right

The statue’s right hand is open, while the left is clenched tightly. You might not think much of this, but lots of other people have read plenty into it. They think the open hand is welcoming, an extension of acceptance and warmth to his one-time Confederate enemies. The closed hand, meanwhile, shows Lincoln’s resolve to win the war.

Sign language

This seems like a reasonable interpretation of the statue’s hands and their meaning. But other people have proffered some additional thoughts about what French intended to convey with them. They think the designer had an understanding of sign language, and that the position of the hands was actually expressing the letters “L” and “A.”

The evidence

This might seem like a stretch, but proponents of the theory do have evidence they can cite to back up the claim. French had previously produced a statue of Thomas Hopkins Gallaudet, who was a pioneering figure when it came to educating the deaf community. This statue showed Gallaudet teaching a child the sign for “A.”

Lincoln’s interest

On top of that, Abraham Lincoln himself was known to be interested in deaf education. He wanted to encourage the take-up of sign language, and even gave the go-ahead for Gallaudet University. As the name suggests, this school for the deaf was established by the very same man who, as intimated above, became the subject of another of French’s statues. It all fits.

Other signs and symbols

But who knows whether or not French really did intend his statue to communicate in sign? It’s possible, but let’s not dwell on it. There are, after all, plenty of other signs and symbols at the site that bear closer examination. Some people, for instance, see references to the Roman Empire in the design.

Power

The Lincoln statue is resting its arms upon stacks of timber known as fasces, which in Roman times expressed power. Elsewhere, the columns of the monument — which are based on the Parthenon — are themselves full of hidden meaning. There are 36 of them, which is important. They represent the 36 states that, during Lincoln’s time, constituted the Union.

Tilted columns

The columns also have an interesting quirk, which is more for practical reasons rather than symbolic ones. The pillars look straight, but in actual fact they’re tilted. If they weren’t, the structure as a whole would look a little out of shape. It’s strange, but the best way to make them look straight was to tilt them.

Chamber of secrets

Another secret hidden away at the Lincoln Memorial is a massive chamber that sits underneath the statue. Given the sheer scale of the monument, the foundations needed to go very deep into the ground. That meant a big, subterranean space was required, and it’s obviously still there today.

The undercroft

The chamber is about three stories tall, and it’s known as the “undercroft.” It’s extremely evocative to think this massive, secret space exists underneath such a famous monument, and it’s easy to get carried away thinking about it. In reality, though, there’s not much down there, except from some stalactites and a little graffiti from the construction workers who’d labored there.

Beneath the surface

The Lincoln Memorial is obviously recognizable from the features we can see from the ground level. But the reality is that a huge proportion of the structure is actually beneath the surface. Roughly 40 percent of the total space it occupies lies underground, hidden away from public view.

Famous words

Back up on the surface, we can see a pair of the real Lincoln’s most well-known speeches carved into the walls. On one flank are the words from the Gettysburg Address, while on the other is his Inaugural Address following his reelection as president. These speeches are a huge part of the man’s legacy.

A mistake

You would think, then, that every single word would appear on the monument’s walls in pristine shape. In reality, that’s just not so. The truth is that the Inaugural Address was actually carved into the wall with a mistake. It shows up in the sentence that should read: “With high hope for the future, no prediction in regard to it is ventured.”

“Euture”

Whoever was chiseling out this phrase made an error. Instead of carving out “future,” they accidentally used an “E” at the start of the word, spelling out the non-existent word “euture.” They must have been mortified! And while the mistake was covered over, if you look very carefully, you can still make out the blunder today.

Reading into it

Despite this mistake, the Lincoln Memorial is still one of the most revered monuments in the United States. And the man who created the statue within it always knew this would be the case. He was perfectly aware that people would study his design with a rabid intensity and interest.

Lasting legacy

So while the name Daniel Chester French isn’t terribly well-known today, his masterpiece is among the most famous creations in America. The sculptor put a lot of thought and effort into his design, loading it with meaning and symbolism. And even now, a hundred years after its unveiling, it continues to enrapture virtually all those who come to see it.

Sanctioning China Will Destroy The Dollar | America’s Ultimate Mistake

Kansas City Dogs

Enjoy these grilled beef Kansas City Dogs with mustard, pickle and barbecue sauce – a tangy dinner made ready in just 15 minutes!

Prep: 15 min | Servings: 8

Ingredients

8 beef hot dogs
1 cup refrigerated original barbecue sauce with shredded pork (from 18 ounce container)
8 hot dog buns, split
1/2 cup pickle slices
2 medium green onions, sliced (2 tablespoons)
Mustard, if desired

Instructions

Heat gas or charcoal grill.
Place hot dogs on grill over medium heat.
Cook uncovered for 10 to 15 minutes, turning frequently, until hot.
Place sauce with pork in medium microwavable bowl; cover loosely.
Microwave on HIGH for 45 to 60 seconds, stirring every 30 seconds, until hot.
Place hot dogs on buns.
Spoon about 2 tablespoons sauce with pork on each bun.
Top with pickles, onions and mustard.

Notes

To broil hot dogs, set oven control to broil. Spray cookie sheet with cooking spray. Place hot dogs on cookie sheet. Broil with tops 4 to 6 inches from heat 4 to 5 minutes or until hot.

China’s New Technology Secret Weapon: What Does It Mean for the West?

Never never underestimate others…..

https://youtu.be/GqeNgEcOO38

Balance of Terror (part 3 of 7) Star Trek TOS (The Original Series)

Only ONE Thing Can Stop a US China War Now!

An Artist Made Stunning Illustrations About Modern Society

Artist Steve Cutts is an illustrator and animator based in London.

Star Trek Balance of Terror (part 4 of 7) TOS (The Original Series)

Man Dies In Crash; Discovers Truth About Guilt And Forgiveness In Emotional NDE

His story is very compelling. But it is more than that. Not every NDE is a “real experience”. Some narrators are just using the venue for their own purposes, others want to express their experience, but throw in other things. This is genuine.

Definitely worth a listen.

Meet Hilda: The America’s Forgotten Pin-Up Girl

The typical 1950s pin-up girl was slim and conventionally-posed. But a recently-unearthed collection of images has revealed the less familiar Hilda, a plus-sized redhead who broke the mold with her plump figure and light-hearted demeanor.

More: Duane Bryers’ Hilda h/t: vintag.es

Hilda, the creation of illustrator Duane Bryers (191-2012) and pin-up art’s best kept secret. Voluptuous in all the right places, a little clumsy but not at all shy about her figure, Hilda was one of the only atypical plus-sized pin-up queens to grace the pages of American calendars from the 1950s up until the early 1980s, and achieved moderate notoriety in the 1960s.

Not only was Hilda one of the only plus-sized pin-up girls of her time, but she also displayed a fun, carefree and somewhat clumsy attitude, making her all the more charming.

Star Trek Balance of Terror (part 5 of 7) TOS (The Original Series)

Italian Sausage, Peppers and Onion Sandwiches

Yield: 6 sandwiches

Ingredients

Filling

1 1/2 pounds sweet Italian sausage
4 tablespoons olive oil, divided
2 large cloves garlic, crushed
1 large onion, thinly sliced
2 green bell peppers, seeded and thinly sliced
2 red bell peppers, seeded and thinly sliced
Salt and pepper

Bread

6 crusty, submarine sandwich rolls, sesame seeded or plain

Instructions

Slice the rolls making a nice pocket to fill.
Place the sausages in a large nonstick skillet.
Add 2 tablespoons of olive oil, and pierce the casings with a fork.
Cover sausages, reduce heat and simmer for 12 to 15 minutes.
Remove sausages and slice into 1-inch pieces on an angle, if desired. Otherwise, leave them whole.
Add remaining 2 tablespoons of olive oil to the skillet, if needed.
Add garlic, onion and peppers.
Season vegetables with salt and pepper.
Add the sausages to the skillet.
Toss and turn the sausage, peppers and onions, picking up all the drippings from the pan.
Place the sausages and peppers into the sub rolls and serve.

Star Trek Balance of Terror (part 6 of 7) TOS (The Original Series)

U.S. B-52 “SIMULATES” NUCLEAR ATTACK AGAINST ST. PETERSBURG, RUSSIA – VIOLATES AIR SPACE

World Hal Turner 11 March 2023

A United States B-52 stratofortress long-range bomber simulated a nuclear attack against St. Petersburg, Russia today, and _apparently_ violated Russia air space in the process.

March 11, 2023

Arms control and disarmament are on life support, and John Bolton and the Washington Post have predictably come along to try to prevent any resuscitation. The Post masthead daily proclaims that “Democracy Dies in Darkness,” but the paper fails to recognize that there are seminal issues that affect the interests of democratic regimes. Arms control is one of these issues.

Bolton has been fighting arms control and disarmament for the past several decades, and the Post has willingly provided a sounding board for his specious arguments. In tracing the dangerous demise of disarmament, Bolton emerges as a dangerous and permanent presence. He was the key adviser to the Bush and Trump administrations when they abrogated the Anti-Ballistic Missile Treaty, the Intermediate-range Nuclear Forces Treaty, and the Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action (the Iranian nuclear accord).

These steps amounted to dangerous personal actions that were devoid of any consultative or substantive process. National Security Adviser Bolton and Secretary of State Mike Pompeo were also enthusiastic supporters of regime change in Iran, which ignored our ill-fated experience with regime change in Iran 70 years ago. Bolton also played a key role in the disinformation campaign against Iraq in the run-up to the U.S. invasion of 2003.

Bolton was the arms control adviser to President Bush in 2002, when he guided the abrogation of the ABM Treaty, the cornerstone of strategic deterrence and one of the pearls of Soviet-American disarmament policy. Bush abrogated the ABM Treaty without cause in order to incur the outrageous and unnecessary expense of a National Missile Defense (NMD). There is no better example in the creation of our national insecurity than Bolton’s foolish belief in thinking the United States could create an impenetrable nuclear umbrella.

In addition to encouraging an end to the Iran nuclear accord, which promised to bring a measure of predictability to the volatile Middle East, Bolton orchestrated the abrogation of the INF Treaty, which was responsible for the destruction of more missiles than any disarmament treaty in history. The combination of ending the INF Treaty and any failure to renew the New START accord guarantees increased defense spending in the United States.

The Trump administration followed its INF disaster with withdrawal from the Open Skies Treaty, which had allowed more than 30 nations to permit unarmed observation aircraft to fly over their territories to observe military forces and activities. President Dwight D. Eisenhower first proposed an Open Skies agreement in 1955 to reduce the risk of war for both intelligence and confidence-building purposes. The Soviet Union rejected the proposal, which opened the door to U.S. U-2 flights over the Soviet Union to collect strategic intelligence. In withdrawing from the Open Skies Treaty in 2000, the United States ended the “only means” for European states to “alleviate security concerns through timely overhead imagery,” according to former secretary of state George Shultz.

As part of the Trump administration, Bolton took advantage of the total inexperience and ignorance of Trump and his key advisers regarding arms control and disarmament. (The Washington Post is similarly taking advantage of its readership in allowing a troglodyte like Bolton regular access to its editorial pages.) In addition to leading the way in abrogating important treaties, Bolton did his best to weaken the Missile Technology Control Regime (MTCR), signed by 35 nations, to limit the sale of sophisticated weaponry, particularly advanced armed drones. Trump and Bolton ignored the restrictions of the MTCR in order to sell the MQ-9 Reaper to Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates. Both Saudi Arabia and the UAE have used advanced U.S. weaponry to conduct war crimes in Yemen.

Over the years, Bolton was also influential in making sure that the Pentagon’s Defense Planning Guidance assigned a high priority to replacing the current nuclear force, which was described as “obsolete” and “inflexible.” Similarly, the Pentagon’s Nuclear Posture Review typically referred to current strategic weaponry as “old” and “untrustworthy.” These documents are part of the Pentagon’s con game for greater defense spending in an effort to increase the overkill capability that currently exists.

The tragic reality is that nuclear weapons have no utilitarian value whatsoever, and the fact that American and Soviet leaders maintained a nuclear weapons inventory at one time that totaled more than 60,000 warheads points to the irresponsibility and cavalier attitudes of leaders in both countries. With the abrogation of the ABM and INF treaties and the possible expiration of the New START Treaty in 2026, we are looking at a renewed arms race and the further appropriation of scarce resources on unneeded weapons,

If the United States is serious about arms control, the Biden administration needs to respond to Vladimir Putin’s previous interest in engaging the United States on no-first-use of nuclear weapons; no militarization of outer space; and the creation of nuclear-free zones. Unlike Trump and Bush, who abrogated important arms control treaties. Putin merely suspended Russian membership in New START, which suggests the Kremlin hopes to resume the strategic discussion at some stage.

Meanwhile, Bolton argues that the strengthening of China as a nuclear power and its “entente with nuclear-superpower Russia” means that arms agreements with Moscow are not only “inadvisable but dangerous.” Au contraire! There has never been a more important time for rebuilding arms control agreements and the nuclear disarmament movement itself.

counterpunch.org

Jeffery Sachs | EUROPE is DOOMED

https://youtu.be/WBbpXMz0Kx8

It’s Official: Silicon Valley Bank Failed Due to a “Run” – $42 BILLION in Withdrawals

Nation Hal Turner 11 March 2023

The collapse of Silicon Valley Bank was caused by a massive run on the bank, with customers initiating withdrawals of $42 billion this week.

The bank was placed into Federal Deposit Insurance Corp. receivership on Friday after the California Department of Financial Protection and Innovation (DFPI) determined the bank had been rendered insolvent.

Prior to the run on the bank, the bank was in “sound financial condition,” according to the DFPI. Customers withdrew $42 billion, leaving the bank with a negative cash balance of $958 million.

Here’s the summary of what happened from the DFPI’s order taking possession of the bank:

On March 8, 2023, the Bank announced a loss of approximately $1.8 billion from a sale of investments (U.S. treasuries and mortgage-backed securities). On March 8, 2023, the Bank’s holding company announced it was conducting a capital raise. Despite the bank being in sound financial condition prior to March 9, 2023, investors and depositors reacted by initiating withdrawals of $42 billion in deposits from the Bank on March 9, 2023, causing a run on the Bank. As of the close of business on March 9, the bank had a negative cash balance of approximately $958 million. Despite attempts from the Bank, with the assistance of regulators, to transfer collateral from various sources, the Bank did not meet its cash letter with the Federal Reserve. The precipitous deposit withdrawal has caused the Bank to be incapable of paying its obligations as they come due, and the bank is now insolvent.

Prior to its collapse, Silicon Valley Bank was the 16th largest bank by assets in the U.S. Federal Reserve data shows the bank had $209 billion in assets as of December 31, 2022.

How It Happened . . .

Peter Thiel’s Founders Fund and several other high-profile venture capital firms (i.e. Coatue Management, Union Square Ventures) advised their portfolio companies to pull money from Silicon Valley Bank on Thursday, responding to panic about the bank’s financial situation in tech startup circles.

They asked on Thursday. By Friday morning, the Bank was dead.

OPINION

It __looks__ like Peter Thiel and some of his Venture Capital buddies, panicked.

When they told their pals to pull money out of the bank over a measly $1.8 Billion loss during the Bank’s sale of some Mortgage Backed Securities, that set in motion the collapse of the bank.

Had Thiel and his pals just left things alone, it seems to many people the bank would still be standing.

Now, its a gigantic mess.

As a result of this mess, things can go one of two ways:

1) The mess is contained, FDIC comes in, protects basic depositors, and sells-off the rest of the Mortgage Backed Securities, and ****some**** of the uninsured Depositors get ****some**** of their money back . . . . years from now, OR;

2) The mess is NOT contained and this mess snowballs into a gigantic systemic collapse.

Next week will be telling about which way this will go.

UPDATE 9:25 AM EST (Saturday) —

The Bank of London is exploring the possibility of assembling a Rescue offer for Silicon Valley Bank (SVB) UK as start-up founders warn Jeremy Hunt that its collapse will “cripple” the British tech sector,

Elon Musk just said he is “open to the idea” to buy Silicon Valley Bank and become a digital bank. (HT REMARK: As long as no major U.S. bank is willing to touch it, I wouldn’t expect Elon’s “golden touch” to stabilize everything.)

China orders its Finance Ministry to sell its US Treasuries at “fastest pace.”

Meanwhile, the People’s Bank of China has added over 102 tons of gold in 4 months in an attempt to limit counterparty risk in a conflict with the US over Taiwan.

Star Trek Balance of Terror (part 7 of 7) TOS 1966-1968

What is next…

China Foreign Minister Warns of Conflict with USA

We are perhaps… at the most important… pivotal moment… of this entire world-changing exercise.

Your grand-kids will ask you about this date sometime in the future. Open your eyes. Pay attention.

Dragnet 1967 Season 1 Episode 12

Natasha Wright

March 8, 2023

It was Donbass and Crimea, which gave the staunchest opposition to the pro-European movements, by way of which the Collective West wanted to forcefully direct Ukraine’s future.

In Donbass, which used to be part of Ukraine up until recently, the local population have always spoken Russian as their mother tongue and considered themselves Russians i.e. members of the Russian population corpus. Donbass has up to recently been considered the richest part of Ukraine due to huge deposits of coal and other valuable and lucrative ores, including much-sought-after titanium. It was in effect Donbass together with Crimea, which gave the staunchest opposition to the pro-European movements, by way of which the Collective West wanted to forcefully direct Ukraine’s future.

After the coup orchestrated by the Collective West centres of power in Kiev in February 2014, and their legitimate President of Victor Yanukovych fleeing the country to Russia, in Donetsk and Lugansk regions, which did not (do not) want to live in subjugation to the forcefully and illegally imposed Kiev government, national militia was formed, which is trying to defend their population from the continual attacks by extremist formations and Ukrainian Army as well, which was soon to turn into an all-out war. Years of absolute downright terror perpetrated on the Donbass population of the region by the Kiev regime followed. Their response to that agonizing terror was the declaration of the independence by the Lugansk and Donetsk, to which Kiev regime responded in brutal military terror against the local Russian population for eight years up until February 2022.

During that period, in literally continual daily shelling of these republics at the time still not recognised, more than 14 000 people died tragically and 37 000 locals were wounded or injured. In the meantime, the Minsk Agreements were signed pertinent to the ceasefire and granting Donbass a special status, the guarantors of which were Paris, Berlin and Moscow. By reference to these agreements, Donbass was supposed to remain in Ukraine and thus be granted a special status, by way of which the entry of Ukraine into NATO would be precluded. The Ukrainian leaders regardless of having signed the two Minsk Agreements and participated in the negotiations in the Normandy Format did not consider that these were/are to be implemented (ever). At the beginning of the special military operation, Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky stated in public that he had no intention of implementing them. The Former German Chancellor, Angela Merkel recently admitted that none of them had any intention of abiding by these agreements. They merely wanted to buy time so that they prepare and modernize Ukrainian army for them to ready themselves to stand in combat against the Russian military forces.

Obviously all of them considered the conflict inevitable. Russia was painfully aware where all that would lead. Russian Foreign Minister Sergey Lavrov in December 2021 asked Washington and NATO to provide written guarantees that NATO would not spread further eastward. Namely, he requested for Ukraine to preserve its neutrality. He sent a letter to all NATO and EU members respectively, requesting each of them to put forth their individual official declarations on the crisis of Ukraine. Lavrov reminded them of their agreement on the indivisible security principle, the meaning of which is as follows: ‘there is either ‘one security for all’ or there is security for none’. Brussels viewed that request by Sergey Lavrov as an effort to sow division and discord in the EU. Lavrov’s request for the sought guarantees was declined with frequent statements that they can negotiate with Russia only by use of weapons.

In the meantime, the situation in Donbass got to be continually exacerbated. Upon Kiev’s request, the Collective West started increasing the military aid for Ukraine. A few tonnes of weaponry were delivered to Ukraine including the Javelin anti-tank missile systems. It was rather clear that Kiev was on their warpath ‘to pacify the restless, resolutely unyielding population of Donbass once and for all. By the end of January 2022, the Collective West started the evacuation of their diplomats away from Kiev. Due to the worsening of the whole situation. on February 15, 2022, the State Duma and the Council of the Federation addressed the Russian President Vladimir Putin to recognise the independence of Lugansk and Donetsk People’s Republics.

Kiev responded by heavy shelling of the civilian and residential buildings, which was the shelling of the biggest proportions ever since 2014. The population started fleeing their homes in long processions seeking refuge in Russia. For the Russians it was the last political straw of brutal bloodshed when Ukrainian President Zelensky at the Minsk Security Conference declared that Ukraine could give up on their decades-long non-nuclear country status and annul their resolution when they had earlier renounced their nuclear arms after the collapse of the USSR.

The Donetsk and Lugansk government sought Vladimir Putin’s support to recognize their independence and declared general mobilization. Vladimir Putin then recognizes the independence of Donetsk and Lugansk People’s Republics on February 21. Early in the morning three days later, Russian President Vladimir Putin announced the beginning of the special military operation in Ukraine upon the request of Donbass. The goals of the operation were as follows: demilitarization and denazification of Ukraine. Russia shall not allow for Ukraine to get hold of nuclear arms and the NATO expansion eastward was/is non-negotiable.

The Russian Parliament Upper Chamber unanimously approved of the use of Russian armed forces abroad i.e. out of and not limited to the Russian national borders. The President of Russia warned that anybody who decides to interfere or meddle in the situation or endanger our country of Russia, that the response by Russia will be instantaneous and you shall face such consequences you have never experienced before’. That morning Russian military performed rocket shelling on the military infrastructure in Ukraine. Explosions eerily blasted and boomed in Kiev, Odessa, Dnipropetrovsk, Kharkov that fateful morning. Military infrastructure, anti-air defence facilities, military airports and Ukrainian armed forces aviation were rendered incompetent by use of high precision weaponry, said the Russian Ministry of Military Defence adding the words that civilians were not at risk.

The Russian army crossed the border in Kiev, Sumy, Chernigov, Kharkov and Kherson regions. At the same time, the national militia of Donetsk and Lugansk launched their offensive in the divide line of Donbass. The Russian forces occupy the Snake Island. A few dozens Russian helicopters with air raid forces crossed the border heading for the Gostomel village, which is located 25 kms away from Kiev. Around 300 Russian parachutists landed on the Antonov military airport and launched a full charge military offensive manoeuvre.

The surprise element played a crucial role. None of the Ukrainian military HQs expected that many helicopters to advance so deep into the mainland of Ukraine. They flew at very low altitudes, which enabled them to take the enemy radars by surprise. The airport had a huge strategic importance, due to which it had to be taken over but not destroyed. The Gostomel air raid is considered one of the most successful operations by the Russian air raid forces in their history. Russian defence minister Sergey Shoigu ordered the Russian army to treat Ukrainian troops with respect. He pointed out that Ukrainian soldiers, unlike the extremists, gave their oath to the Ukrainian people and they merely carried out orders issued to them.

At this point Kiev terminated their diplomatic relations with Moscow, and the Collective West introduced the highest number of sanctions in history against Russia: more than 10 000. Even in the first few days of the Russian special military operation, it was obvious that the Ukrainian army was installing missile guidance systems in the city centres. Putin addressed Ukrainian armed forces and their soldiers with the words to take the government in their own hands and not to allow Ukrainian neo-Nazis and Banderistas to use (and abuse) their children, wives and the old people as human shield for their own nefarious actions.

The former advisor the Ukrainian government administration, Aleksey Arestovich declared that Moscow tried to lead an intelligent war in the first few days of the special military operation. Russians were simply saying: ‘Surrender and we shall truly present you as heroes even in the museums of the future and you will be writing memoirs in your summer resort houses ‘. In the first days of the Russian special military operation, Russian army literally occupied the whole Kherson region without any fight or opposition from the locals, and a huge part of the Zaporozhye region. Russian units came to the suburbs of Kharkov and Kiev. They took over Chernobyl and Zaporozhye nuclear plants. The fiercest battles were fought in the Donetsk People’s Republic for Volnovakha and Mariupol. Cities of strategic importance Izyum in Kharkov region and Balakleya, in which there used to be one of the biggest weaponry warehouses was located, were liberated. During March 2022 the peace negotiations between Russia and Ukraine began.

Keeping Civilization Alive

Keeping civilization alive has fallen to us. A lot of us grew up believing that Democracy would deliver the best of all possible worlds, but that pleasant promise has become very obviously false. Rulership is not equipped to supply honest and humane living; what they are equipped to supply is ever-more rulership, aka, enforcement.

And so there’s no one to cultivate civilization but us, and we must do this. As briefly as possible, I’ll describe our situation, then move on to what we must do.

The Present Ruling Model

As I noted recently, there are two primary models for attaining a civilized, humane, high-trust way of life:

Cultivate civilization within people.
Enforce civilization upon people.

In the best of the old days, governments contented themselves to deal with exterior threats, leaving any number of religions and philosophies free to cultivate civilization within the populace.

Since the the 1970s, however, we’ve seen a hostile takeover of morality… of the enforcement of moral norms by the state. (Via the regulation or criminalization of everything.) Under this model, the state must enforce proper speech and sexual procedures; it must punish and repress the original sin of racism; it must enforce Green to prevent an apocalypse… it must eliminate threat after threat, ultimately bringing us to a promised land.

Ever-more enforcement is rulership’s path to paradise. And many people are pleased to believe such fantasies, coming, as they do, with no observable cost.

So, that’s where we are.

What, Then, Shall We Do?

What we need is to act on our own will and initiative. The good news is that we’re already doing just that. And as it turns out, we’re really good at it.

Our first job is to teach the next generation what is good and right. The enforcement complex will not do this (they’ll portray themselves as the ultimate standard of rightness) and so we need to teach the golden rule, tolerance, kindness, cooperation, integrity and so on.

The importance of this is extreme. I’m a bit more optimistic than historian Will Durant, but he had a point when he wrote this:

Civilization is not inherited; it has to be learned and earned by each generation anew; if the transmission should be interrupted for one century, civilization would die, and we should be savages again.

But again, it happens that we’re quite good at such things, provided that we undertake them directly, rather than handing them off to others in the name of convenience or in the name of specialization. There are no specialists who will teach basic decency to our children better than we can.

The ultimate training ground, of course, is the family. But again, that’s only useful if we do the work. The more honest, engaged and healthy our families, the more honest, engaged and healthy will be the next generation.

Civilization is also taught during the process of homeschooling. (Simultaneously keeping children from the toxic dogmas being pumped through government schools.) In the US, where the war on homeschooling remains at a fairly low level, 11.1 percent of American children are now said to be homeschooled. (So says the US Census) That’s a shocking number, and if it’s correct, it will bear noticeable fruit in not too many years.

Homeschool parents, whatever their shortfalls, are nearly always serious people, working hard to give their children the best education they can, including moral education. And if 11.1 percent of parents can do it, many more can do it as well.

In other places, particularly in Europe, homeschooling is barbarically persecuted, and so those of us in less-bad places should consider ways to help our oppressed brethren.

Past all of this, we have Bitcoin. This is money with civilization encoded within it. Bitcoin allows for no enforcer or overseer… has no handle for an overlord to grab. It is super-tolerant, in that censorship is very, very difficult and no one can be cut off because of their religion or anything else. More than that, Bitcoin has drawn to itself many of the most serious and morally-minded people.

What we need to do with Bitcoin is use it profligately. Bitcoin’s Lightning overlay (and dozens of Lightning-able wallets are available) accommodates any number of small purchases for trivial fees. We need to get this thing going. It’s freedom money, and thus morality money.

(Silver and gold could be used similarly, but that’s a post in itself. Hopefully soon.)

And So…

And so we have plenty to do. (And I haven’t mentioned things like talking to your neighbors, coworkers, people you ride the bus with, and so on.)

We’re on our own now… as perhaps we’ve always been. We need to do this. Pick a spot and start.

Paul Rosenberg

The true story behind how I got a Pee-wee Herman Chia Pet

December 12th, 2022 / by Pee-wee Herman

CHIA PET

The Pee-wee Herman Chia Pet

A year ago, for Christmas, my longtime friend Cassandra Peterson AKA Elvira Mistress of the Dark, gave me her Elvira Chia Pet. I was immediately extremely jealous.

As my envy grew, I started looking on the box for a way to contact the company.

I broadened my search to the internet and found a phone number!

When I phoned, I heard a message that said my call was being routed to someone in the Chia department and then it rang a few times, then gave me the option of leaving a message.

Here’s the message I left:

“Hello. My name is Pee-wee Herman. My friend Elvira just gave me her Chia Pet for Christmas and I’m so jealous that I’m calling to find out who to talk with about how I could get a Pee-wee Chia Pet. 

It’s really me, honest. 

I know Elvira’s real name, Cassandra Peterson, and her manager, Mr M*****. Please let me know who could help me get a Pee-wee Chia Pet. My number is ***-***-****. 

I’ll be waiting by the phone. Thank you.”

As soon as I hung up I realized I should have left a different, less crazy message but it was too late. I waited a couple of days, all the while thinking a friend would inevitably be sending me a link to my message being posted on the internet.

Instead, 3 days after leaving the message, SOMEONE FROM THE CHIA PET COMPANY CALLED ME!

A very nice woman told me,

“Pee-wee, you can absolutely have a Chia Pet! In fact, we’d like to work with you on producing a whole line of Pee-wee products if you’d be interested.”

Well, the first product in my EXTENSIVE NEW LINE OF PEE-WEE MERCHANDISE is here. Guess what it is?! Wow—good guess!! THE PEE-WEE HERMAN CHIA PET is available NOW!!

I am almost sure you’re thinking right now about how you lived without it! Well, you don’t have to ponder that any longer!!!!! Buy 2 or more and get no discount at all! Same deal if you buy 10! These things won’t last forever unless you’re into buying a ‘used’ one.

BTW, the photo on the box really doesn’t the product justice. When I took out the first one it was like looking in the mirror!

I’m going to set up the Pee-wee Chia Pet and put it on the windowsill with my two other friends who have Chia Pets—Elvira and David Hasselhoff.

Massive Russian Missile Strikes Against Ukraine!

World Hal Turner 08 March 2023

Wednesday evening here on the east coast of the United States, word began coming in at about 8:30 PM EST that an utterly massive missile attack by Russia had begun hitting Ukraine. All reports are now confirmed. Russia appears to have launched the largest missile attack to date since hostilities began a year ago.

It began with Air Raid alerts in much of central Ukraine, as seen in the alert map below:

Minutes later, confirmation that 6-7 Tu-22M Strategic Bombers reported Airborne over the Sea of Azov. Air launched cruise missiles became the worry.

It quickly became clear that Russia was using Shahid drones first to overwhelm the Air Defenses and then cruise missiles would follow.

Word then came in confirming:

– 15 Tu-95 Strategic Bombers Airborne

– 6-7 Tu-22 Strategic Bombers Airborne

– At least 3 Russian Missile Carriers in the Black Sea – Multiple Shahed-136 Drone launches

Within minutes Air Raid Sirens began sounding over all of Ukraine.

Here is how the reports came in — while I was on the air broadcasting . . . .

Dnipro. Unmanned aerial vehicle of the Shahed type. Air Defenses Activated.

Then Cruise Missiles confirmed to have been launched from the Black Sea towards Ukraine.

Explosions are heard in Odessa subscribers report.

Missiles seen moving in the direction of Vinnitsa and Kropivnitsky.

Missile(s) reported over Mykolaiv oblast.

Missiles then seen over the Vinnytsia Region heading towards Western Ukraine, confirmed to be Caliber cruise missile.

Reports of missile(s) heading towards Vinnytsia oblast. Explosions noted in Mykolaiv oblast.

Cruise missiles reported over the Kherson region towards Kiev.

Ukrainian Air Defense along the Black Sea are working hard to Intercept as many Cruise Missiles as they can.

Air defense activity reported in Mykolaiv oblast. Reports of missiles being shot down.

Explosions in Odesa and Mykolaiv regions.

“Due to the threat of a missile attack in Odessa and the region, emergency electricity shutdowns were introduced”

More explosions in Dnipro and Mykolaiv over the last few moments.

Initial reports of Russian Cruise Missiles fired from the Black Sea spotted over Moldova heading towards Western Ukraine.

Missiles from the Black Sea towards Ukraine.

Air raid sirens sounding in Kyiv and surrounding regions. Reports of Shahed drones airborne in addition to 10x Tu-95 bombers. Missile launches are possible.

Ukrainian jets have taken off in Kyiv. This is usually done to intercept missiles.

Reports of up to 15 Russian Tu-95 strategic bombers possibly carrying air-launched cruise missiles heading to launch points. If confirmed could be largest cruise missile attack of the war.

More missiles now in the direction of Zaporizhia and Vinnytsia.

Repeated explosions, Dnepropetrovsk, Nikolaev regions.

Missile towards Kryvyi Rih reported.

Missile reported in the direction of Cherkasy Oblast, central Ukraine.

Now missiles in the direction of Odeshchyna.

Explosions reported in Zaporozhye.

Missiles now reported over the City of Kryvyi Rih in Southern Central Ukraine.

It went on like this for over an hour.

At least 6 waves of missile launches hit Ukraine. Concensus is that tonight was the largest missile strike by Russia against Ukraine since hostilities began.

VERY HEAVY DAMAGE to Ukraine.

Banbury Tarts

Ingredients

1 1/2 cups (3 sticks) butter
1 cup sugar
2 egg yolks
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
4 cups flour
Seedless jelly or jam (preferably currant or raspberry)

Instructions

Heat the oven to 375 degrees F.
In the bowl of a stand mixer, or in a large bowl using an electric mixer, cream together the butter and sugar until light and fluffy, 3 to 5 minutes.
Beat in the egg yolks, then the vanilla extract.
Slowly beat in the flour until combined and smooth to form the dough (the dough will be a bit stiff at the end, and you may need to add the last cup of flour by hand).
Form the dough into small balls and make a depression in the middle with your thumb.
Spoon a teaspoon or so of jelly in the depression.
Space the cookies about 2 inches apart on a baking sheet and bake until lightly browned, about 15 minutes.

It’s Official: China Foreign Minister Warns of “Conflict” with USA

World Hal Turner 07 March 2023

China’s foreign minister on Tuesday warned of “conflict and confrontation” with the United States if Washington does not “hit the brakes” on its current approach to relations with Beijing.

“If the United States does not hit the brakes, but continues to speed down the wrong path, no amount of guardrails can prevent derailing, and there will surely be conflict and confrontation,” Foreign Minister Qin Gang said at the National People’s Congress.

He added that the U.S. call for “establishing guardrails and not seeking conflict simply means that China should not respond in word or in action when attacked.”

Qin’s comments come as U.S.-China relations remain strained amid a series of controversies, including the suspected Chinese spy balloon that hovered in U.S. airspace last month. The U.S. military shot down the balloon off the coast of South Carolina after it spent a week traversing the country and reportedly surveilling strategic sites.

Qin accused the U.S. of overreacting to the balloon incident and creating “a diplomatic crisis that could have been avoided.” Beijing has maintained that the high-flying object was a weather balloon that was blown off course.

“The result is the U.S. and China policy has entirely deviated from the rational and sound track,” he added.

Man Dies And Is Shown The Future; What He Saw Will Shock You (NDE)

Be The Person You Want To Be With

February 28, 2023

We’ve seen it time and time again. That one co-worker who is obese but is only attracted to people of a healthy weight, that one cousin who prefers to date highly successful people but have no ambition whatsoever, and that one friend who you love to death but they carry themselves like they’re in a post-apocalyptic era and for some reason they only want to date Instagram models.

And it’s not that we don’t think it could ever happen because we’ve seen a lot of people defy the odds and get the satisfaction of throwing a middle finger up at society’s expectations but the truth is that more often than not it doesn’t end up that way. I personally don’t put too much weight on leagues but that doesn’t mean that society doesn’t have certain social constructs and hierarchies that we still observe.

Most people want someone who is on their level or higher when it comes to attractiveness, finances, intelligence, education, social status etc. These matter a lot to some people while others care more about sharing fundamental values. So for example, my mom is a professor and published author and my dad is a plumber who owns his own business but barely made it out of high school alive. A lot of people wondered how he managed to snag my mom but what they didn’t understand was that they already shared a lot core values and he put in the work as well.

Here’s the thing, my father didn’t just sit there and hope that this gorgeous professor would just magically fall for him. He put in the work and even showed her that in some ways he was out of her league as well. She had a more attractive face but he had a way better physique and he eventually helped her to get fit. She was more educated but he was better at business and ended up helping her start her own. Oh, and he’s a great handy man and really good cook. He didn’t complain about how highly educated women like her were shallow for not dating blue collar men like him who weren’t as sophisticated or eloquent. He also didn’t push himself to be something he wasn’t. He worked on his weaknesses and presented his strengths, and went after what he wanted with reasonable expectations.

What I’m trying to say is that there is nothing wrong with having higher than average standards because I feel like some of you do. Some of you aren’t just looking for simple love and companionship. Some of you are looking for a partner that will wow you. You secretly want someone to make you feel validated. You want someone who is smarter than you, more attractive than you, funnier than you, more charismatic, more successful etc. You want someone from the top percentile to notice how good of a person you are and give you a chance. I get it and that’s totally fine. But understand that you’re going to have to put in the work and stop being bitter and disappointed when the guy/girl who you and everyone else is chasing after ends up being more picky because they have more options.

My intention isn’t to come on here and make you feel less worthy and tell you that you can never find the person of you dreams. All I’m saying is that just like how you have certain expectations, other people will have their own too and the goal here is to ensure that you’re both satisfied with what the other person is bringing to the table. So for example, if you want someone who is very intelligent you have to think about what that person wants in return. Do they want someone equally as intelligent or do they care more about looks and humor? This will help you to evaluate your chances and decide if this is someone you want to put effort into pursuing.

Xi blasts US ‘containment, encirclement’ of China, Foreign Min. slams ‘hysterical neo-McCarthyism’

US arrogance and belligerency has reached insane proportions. The whole world can see that except the US leaders perpetrating it.

Cynthia Chung

February 3, 2023

Japan’s economy does not require a prophet or crystal ball to tell you what lies ahead in its very near future: that is, that Japan has become the ticking time bomb for the world economy.

In case you haven’t been able to hear under all the media thunder of doomsday prophesying by so-called “experts” on China’s future economic performance (which has been going on for close to a decade and is more akin to wishful thinking than economic analysis), Japan’s economy does not require a prophet or crystal ball to tell you what lies ahead in its very near future: that is, that Japan has become the ticking time bomb for the world economy.

According to NIKKEI Asia, in an October report, Japan’s “yen weakened past 150 against the dollar reaching a new 32-year low as the policy gap widens between the Bank of Japan and the U.S. Federal Reserve…The Fed has repeatedly raised interest rates to tackle inflation, while the Bank of Japan maintains its ultraloose monetary policy to support the economy.

The Fed’s hawkish monetary policy, along with persistent inflation expectations, has pushed the benchmark 10-year U.S. Treasury yield up to 4%. The Bank of Japan, meanwhile, is continuing to hold the 10-year Japanese government bond yield near zero. The Japanese central bank conducted a bond-buying operation for the second straight day to keep the yield within its implicit range of -0.25% to 0.25%.

The yield gap is prompting investors to invest in dollars rather than yen, exerting strong downward pressure on the Japanese currency.” [emphasis added]

In response to this the Bank of Japan (BOJ) decided to maintain its “ultraloose monetary policy” as BOJ Governor Haruhiko Kuroda “highlighted downside risks to the economy and indicated his willingness to accept a weaker yen.” By mid-November it was reported that the Japanese economy shrank for the first time in four quarters as inflation and the weak yen hit the country. “Japan has a history of having suffered from extreme yen strength,” Kuroda added, suggesting that excessive weakness is easier to bear than a too-muscular currency.

By mid-November, NIKKEI Asia reported “Bank of Japan’s ultreasy policy under pressure as inflation hits 40-year high,” with food prices increasing by 3.6% on the year in October, well above the 2% target. Governor of the BOJ, Kuroda responded “The bank will continue with monetary easing, aiming to firmly support Japan’s economy and thereby achieve the price stability target of 2% in a sustainable and stable manner, accompanied by wage increases.”

By mid-January Japan had reported a record low in annual trade deficit of $155 billion USD for 2022.

This is not a sudden outcome for Japan’s economy but rather has been a slow burn over a 12 year period. Alex Krainer writes: “Over the ensuing 12 years and several rounds of ever greater QE [quantitative easing], the imbalances have only worsened and in February last year, the BOJ was forced to go full Mario Draghi, all-that-it-takes, committing to buy unlimited amounts of JGB’s [Japanese Government Bonds]. At the same time however, the BOJ capped the interest rates on 10-year JGBs at 0.25% to avoid inflating the domestic borrowing costs…Well, if you conjure unlimited amounts of currency to monetize runaway government debt, and you keep the interest rates suppressed below market levels, you are certain to blow up the currency.”

Not unrelated to this unfolding of Japan’s economy was the meeting of the Trilateral Commission in Tokyo, Japan for their 50^th anniversary this past November.

For those who are unaware, the Trilateral Commission was founded in the wake of the Watergate and oil crisis of 1973. It was formed under the pretense of addressing the “crisis of democracy” and calling for a reshaping of political systems in order to form a more “stable” international order and “cooperative” relations among regions.

Alex Krainer writes:

“The commission was co-founded in July of 1973 by David Rockefeller, Zbigniew Brzezinski and a group of American, European and Japanese bankers, public officials and academics including Alan Greenspan and Paul Volcker. It was set up to foster close cooperation among nations that constituted the three-block architecture of today’s western empire. That ‘close cooperation’ was intended as the very foundation of the empire’s ‘three block agenda,’ as formulated by the stewards of the undead British Empire.”

Its formation would be organised by Britain’s hand in America, the Council on Foreign Relations, (aka: the offspring of the Royal Institute for International Affairs, the leading think tank for the British Crown).

Project Democracy would originate out of a Trilateral Commission meeting on May 31^st, 1975 in Kyoto Japan, where the Trilateral Commission’s “Task Force on the Governability of Democracies” findings were delivered. The project was overseen by Trilateral Commission Director Zbigniew Brzezinski and its members James Schlesinger (former CIA Director) and Samuel P. Huntington.

It would mark the beginning of the end, introducing the policy, or more aptly “ideology”, for the need to instigate a “controlled disintegration of society.”

However, it appears certain participants of this Trilateral Commission are starting to catch on that this alliance between the United States, Western Europe and Japan for the restructuring of regions (à la League of Nations) is not what they so naively thought it would be, that is, that it would not be just about the disintegration of competing economies but would include their very own.

In the end, all would be expected to bend the knee in subservience to the head of a new world empire. As one of the attendees of this latest Trilateral meeting joked “some…say that all the significant events in the world have been predetermined by the Trilateral Commission,” he said to laughter from the veteran attendees, however, “we don’t know who’s in, what they are saying!”

Interestingly, three reporters from NIKKEI Asia were invited to observe this 50^th anniversary gathering of the Trilateral Commission, the first time that press has been allowed entry into the notoriously secretive meetings. The meeting began with Rahm Emanuel, the U.S. Ambassador to Japan, delivering his remarks in a speech titled, “Democracy vs. Autocracy: You are going to see 2022 as an Inflection Point in the Success of Democracy.”

Interestingly, it seems that the Asian delegates weren’t too impressed.

NIKKEI Asia reported: “…the press has been invited to highlight a rift that may be emerging between Asia and the other wings of the organization. ‘We feel that the U.S. policy toward Asia, especially toward China, has been narrow-minded and unyielding. We want the people in the U.S. to recognize the various Asian perspectives,’ said Masahisa Ikeda, an executive committee member of the Trilateral Commission. Ikeda has been named the next director of the Asia Pacific Group [of the Trilateral Commission], and is scheduled to assume the position next spring.

…A new sentiment has now emerged from the Asia Pacific Group: Without proper steering, the U.S.-China rivalry may lead the world into a dangerous confrontation.” [emphasis added]

The U.S. Ambassador to Japan, Rahm Emanuel was quoted as saying while democracy is “sloppy” and “messy,” “the institutions of the democratic process, the political stability of the United States, NATO, the European countries, have held.”

However, there were many attendees who disagreed with Emanuel’s pro-U.S., pro-NATO, anti-China stance. “What is the ambassador saying?” a former Japanese official said on background. “We must engage China. If we force countries to choose sides, the Southeast Asian nations will choose China. The key is to not force them to choose,” he said.

“I feel very much embarrassed and disappointed to see the complete void of Chinese participation in this meeting,” said a former Japanese financial official. A veteran member from the Philippines agreed, saying there is no point talking about Asia without the participation of the region’s largest country and expressed concern about dividing the world into two camps. “When two elephants fight, the ants get trampled. And we’re feeling it. When two elephants fight to the death, we will all be dead. And the question is: What for?” [emphasis added]

A South Korean professor told Emanuel in the Q&A period that there are concerns in Asia about the zero-sum thinking in U.S. foreign policy toward China. “We have to develop some deliverable strategy to persuade and engage un-like-minded countries as well.”

NIKKEI Asia also reported “There were also members who noted how the liberal international order that Washington advocates is different from the original liberal order that was formed after World War II. ‘The original order, led by the U.S., sought a multifaceted extensive international system based on multilateral institutions and free trade among the democratic bloc,’ a South Korean academic said. The Six Party Talks on North Korea’s nuclear weapons was one such example of the original order, the academic said, noting that the U.S., China and Russia were all at the table.” [emphasis added]

The NIKKEI Asia report ended with a veteran of the Trilateral Commission – a former Philippine cabinet minister – who stated “Just in the past week, we edged toward a nuclear confrontation,” referring to the missile blast in Poland, that was initially suspected to be a Russian-made missile, but was more likely a Ukrainian air-defense missile that landed in NATO territory ‘by mistake.’ “And we edged toward that because of the type of zero sum games that us elders are playing. Is this what you want for your future? You don’t want a situation in the future where everybody’s edging toward the cliff and being macho about it without realizing that this is a zero-sum game that could wipe out the planet. It is beyond climate change,” the veteran said.

Japan’s “Shock Therapy” as a Response to the “Crisis of Democracy”

The Trilateral Commission is a non-governmental body, its members include elected and non-elected officials scattered throughout the world, ironically coming together to discuss how to address the “crisis of democracy” in the most undemocratic process possible. It is an organisation meant to uphold the “interests” of its members, regardless of who the people voted into political office.

On Nov 9^th, 1978, Trilateral Commission member Paul Volcker (Federal Reserve Chairman from 1979-1987) would affirm at a lecture delivered at Warwick University in England: “A controlled disintegration in the world economy is a legitimate object for the 1980s.” This is also the ideology that has shaped Milton Friedman’s “Shock Therapy”. By the time of Jimmy Carter’s Administration, the majority of the government was being run by members of the Trilateral Commission.

In 1975 the CFR launched a public study of global policy titled the 1980’s Project. The general theme was “controlled disintegration” of the world economy, and the report did not attempt to hide the famine, social chaos, and death its policy would bring upon most of the world’s population.

The study explained that the world financial and economic system needed a complete overhaul according to which key sectors such as energy, credit allocation and food would be placed under the direction of a single global administration. The objective of this reorganization would be the replacement of sovereign nation states (using the League of Nations model).

This is precisely and demonstrably what has occurred to Japan’s economy over the past four decades, as showcased in the Princes of Yen documentary based off of Richard Werner’s book by the same title. As Werner demonstrates, Japan’s economy was purposefully put through multiple economic crises throughout the 80s and 90s in order to push through massive structural reform despite their economy having been one of the world’s top performing before foreign tampering.

As Werner insightfully remarked, the best way to have a crisis is to manufacture a bubble, that way, nobody will stop you.

To understand the incredible significance of this, we will need a quick review of what occurred to Japan’s economy over a 40-year period.

Japan’s Offering to the Gods on the Altar of “Free Trade”

By the 1980s, Japan was the second biggest economy in the world next to the United States and was a leader in the manufacturing of consumer technology products to the West, including the United States. Due to Japan’s investment in automation tools and processes, Japan was able to produce products faster and cheaper than the United States that were also superior in quality.

One of the examples of this was competition between the two in the memory chip DRAM market. In 1985, there was a recession in the United States in the computer market, resulting in the biggest crash in over ten years for Intel. Complaints from certain quarters in the United States began criticizing Japan for “predatory” and “unfair” trade practices despite the recession in 1985 being a demand problem and not a competition problem.

Long story short, President Reagan, who was supposed to be all about free markets, in the spring of 1986 forced the U.S.-Japan Semiconductor Agreement with METI (Ministry of Economy, Trade and Industry in Japan).

Part of the conditionalities of this agreement were that the American semiconductor share in the Japanese market be increased to a target of 20-30% in five years, that every Japanese firm stop its “dumping” into the American market and the Americans wanted a separate monitoring body to help enforce all of this.

No surprise here, the Japanese companies refused to do this and METI had no way of forcing them to do so.

President Reagan responded by imposing a 100% tariff on $300 million worth of Japanese goods in April 1987. Combined with the 1985 Plaza Agreement which revalued the Japanese Yen the U.S.-Japan Semiconductor Agreement gave the U.S. memory market the extra boost it needed. (for more details on story of how the U.S. tampered with the Japanese semiconductor market refer here).

The Plaza Accord was signed in 1985 by Japan, Germany, France, Britain and the United States. The agreement depreciated the United States Dollar against the Japanese Yen and the German Deustche Mark in an effort to improve the competitiveness of American exports. How very “free market”!!! (Refer here for the story of De Gaulle and Adenauer’s attempt to form the European Monetary System which was sabotaged by Anglo-America). Over the next two years after the signing of the Plaza Accord, the dollar lost 51% of its value against the yen. Japan entered the Plaza Accord to avoid having its goods tariffed and locked out of the American market.

The Yen’s appreciation plunged the Japanese manufacturing sector into recession. In response to this, the Bank of Japan loosened monetary lending policies and lowered interest rates. This cheap money was supposed to be funneled into productive efforts. Instead, it went into stocks, real estate, and asset speculation. This is when Japanese real estate and stocks reached their peak price level.

Between 1985 and 1989, stocks rose in Japan by 240% and land prices by 245%. By the end of the 80s the value of the garden surrounding the Imperial Palace in central Tokyo was worth as much as the entire state of California.

Although Japan is only 1/26th of the size of the United States its land was valued at four times greater. The market value of a single one of Tokyo’s 23 districts, the Central Chiyoda Ward exceeded the value of the whole of Canada.

With asset and stock prices rising inexorably even traditional manufacturers could not resist the temptation to try their hand at playing the markets. Soon they expanded their finance and treasury divisions to handle the speculation themselves. The frenzy reached such proportions that many leading manufacturers, such as the car maker Nissan, made more money through speculative investments than through manufacturing cars.

The Princes of Yen documentary explains: “Many credited the boom in Japan’s economy to high and rising productivity. In reality, Japan’s stellar performance in the 1980s had little to do with management techniques. Instead of being used to limit and direct credit, window guidance was used to create a giant bubble. It was the Bank of Japan who had forced the banks to increasing their lending by so much. The Bank of Japan knew that the only way for banks to fulfill their loan quotas was for them to expand non-productive lending.”

Between 1986 and 1989, Toshihiko Fukui was the head of the Banking Department at the Bank of Japan and would later become the 29^th Governor of the Bank of Japan. This was the department that was responsible for the window guidance quotas.

When Fukui was asked by a journalist “Borrowing is expanding fast, don’t you have any intention of closing the tap of bank loans?” Fukui replied “Because the consistent policy of monetary easing continues, quantity control of bank loans would imply a self-contradiction. Therefore, we do not intend to implement quantitative tightening. With structural adjustment of the economy going on for quite a long period, the international imbalances are being addressed. The monetary policy supports this, thus we have the responsibility to continue the monetary easing policy as long as possible. Therefore, it is natural for bank loans to expand.”

In Japan, total private sector land wealth rose from 14.2 trillion yen in 1969, to 2000 trillion yen in 1989.

The Princes of Yen documentary reported: “At his first press conference as the 26th governor of the Bank of Japan, in 1989, Yasushi Mieno said that ‘Since the previous policy of monetary easing had caused the land price rise problems, real estate-related lending would now be restricted.’ Mieno was hailed as a hero in the press to put a stop to this silly monetary policy that was responsible for the increasing gap between the rich and the poor. However, Mieno was deputy governor [of the Bank of Japan] during the bubble era, and he was in charge of creating the bubble.

All of a sudden land and asset prices stop rising. In 1990 alone, the stock market dropped by 32%. Then in July 1991, window guidance was abolished. As banks realised that the majority of the 99 trillion yen in bubble loans were likely to turn sour, they became so fearful that they not only stopped lending to speculators, but also restricted loans to everyone else. More than 5 million Japanese lost their jobs and did not find employment elsewhere. Suicide became the leading cause of death for men between the ages of 20 and 44.

Between 1990 and 2003, 212,000 companies went bankrupt. In the same period, the stock market dropped by 80%. Land prices in the major cities fell by up to 84%. Meanwhile, the Governor of the Bank of Japan, Yasushi Mieno, said that ‘Thanks to this recession, everyone is becoming conscious of the need to implement economic transformation’.”

Between 1992 and 2002, ten stimulation packages worth 146 trillion yen were issued. The thought was domestic demand had to be boosted by government spending and then loan demand would also rise. For a decade the government executed this approach, boosting government debt to historic levels.

Richard Werner remarked “The government was spending with the right hand, putting money into the economy, but the fundraising was done through the bond market, and therefore it took the same money out of the economy with the left hand. There was no increase in total purchasing power, and that’s why the government spending couldn’t have an impact.”

By 2011, Japan’s government debt would reach 230% of GDP, the highest in the world. The Ministry of Finance was running out of options. Observers began to blame the Ministry of Finance (despite the clear sabotage by the Bank of Japan’s actions) for the recession, and started to listen to the voices that argued that the recession was due to Japan’s economic system.

In Japan, the authorities and the Bank of Japan argued, as did the Western powers almost two decades later, that the taxpayer should foot the bill. However, taxpayers have not been responsible for the banks problems, therefore, such policies have created a moral hazard (a moral hazard is a situation where an economic actor has an incentive to increase its exposure to risk because it does not bear the full costs of that risk).

According to the Princes of Yen documentary, Finance Minister Masajuro Shiokawa had turned to the Bank of Japan asking it to help stop deflation, or fight deflation at least. The Bank of Japan consistently defied calls by the government, by the Finance Minister and the Prime Minister of Japan, to create more money to stimulate the economy and end the long recession. At times the Bank of Japan even actively reduced the amount of money circulating in the economy, which worsened the recession. The Bank of Japan’s arguments always came to the same conclusion, namely that the blame lay in Japan’s economic structure.

It should also be noted that a whole generation of Japan’s economists were sent to the United States to receive PhDs and MBAs in U.S. style economics. Since neoclassical economics assumes that there is only one type of economic system, namely, unmitigated free markets, where shareholders and central bankers rule supreme, many Japanese economists quickly came to regurgitate the arguments of U.S. economists.

By the late 1990s, Japan’s economy was heading for the rocks. Ira Shapiro who worked as a U.S. ‘negotiator’ of U.S.-Japan talks during this period stated “Primary sector deregulation is needed to overcome the entrenched interests of large insurance companies, life and non-life, and the Ministry of Finance bureaucracy.”

On Shapiro’s Federalist Society biography page, he is described as playing “a central role in the negotiation and legislative approval of the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA) and the multilateral Uruguay Round that created the World Trade Organization and the current trade rules.”

These U.S.-Japan talks needed to reach an agreement by a deadline decided by the United States. If no agreement were met after the declared deadline, then the U.S. had threatened to impose trade sanctions.

Richard Werner clarified what would be the consequences of Shapiro’s demands to the Japanese; that securitisation of the real estate was being pushed however, in order to have meaningful securitisation we need deregulation, and to get deregulation you have to reduce the power of the Ministry of Finance. This in turn would allow the Bank of Japan, who was under the purview of the Ministry of Finance, to gain power.

From the mid 1990s onwards the Government began to dismantle much of the power structure of the Ministry of Finance. The Bank of Japan, on the other hand, saw its influence grow significantly. The Bank of Japan was cut loose from the Ministry of Finance pretty much making it independent.

Soon after his retirement from the position of governor of the Bank of Japan in 1994, Mieno embarked on a campaign, giving speeches to various associations and interest groups. He lobbied for a change in the Bank of Japan law. His line of argument was to subtly suggest that the Ministry of Finance had pushed the Bank of Japan into the wrong policies. To avoid such problems in the future, the Bank of Japan had to be given full legal independence.

In 1998 monetary policy was put into the hands of the newly independent Bank of Japan.

In early 2001, a new type of politician was swept into power. Junichiro Koizumi became the Prime Minister of Japan. In terms of his popularity and his policies he is often compared to Margaret Thatcher and Ronald Reagan. His message was simply: no recovery without structural reform.

Princes of Yen remarked: “During 2001, the message of no economic growth without structural reform had been broadcast on an almost daily basis on the nation’s TV screens. Japan was shifting its economic system to a U.S. style market economy, and that also meant that the centre of the economy was being moved from banks to stock markets. To entice depositors to pull their money out of banks and into the risky stock market, reformers withdrew the guarantee on all bank deposits, while creating tax incentives for stock investments.

As U.S. style shareholder capitalism spread, unemployment rose significantly, income and wealth disparities rose, as did suicides and incidents of violent crime. Then, in 2002, the Bank of Japan strengthened its efforts to worsen bank balance sheets and force banks to foreclose on their borrowers…Heizo Takenaka [the new Minister for Financial Services] was supportive of the Bank of Japan’s plan to increase foreclosures of borrowers…Takuro Morinaga, a well-known economist in Tokyo, argued forcefully that the Bank of Japan inspired proposal by Takenaka would not have many indigenous beneficiaries, but instead would mainly benefit U.S. vulture funds specialising in the purchase of distressed assets…[When Toshihiko] Fukui’s support for the bankruptcy plan was voiced… [he] was an adviser of the Wall Street investment firm Goldman Sachs, one of the largest operators of vulture funds in the world.”

Richard Werner remarked: “Mr. [Toshihiko] Fukui [29^th Governor of the Bank of Japan], and also his mentor Mr. [Yasushi] Mieno [26^th Governor of the Bank of Japan], and his mentor Mr. [Haruo] Maekawa [24^th Governor of the Bank of Japan], and you’ve guessed it, these are some of the Princes of the Yen that the book is all about. They have said on the record in the 80s and the 90s, ‘What is the goal of monetary policy? It is to change the economic structure.’ Now how do you do that? Well, you need a crisis. They made a crisis in order to change the economic structure.”

The department responsible for the window guidance quotas at the Bank of Japan, was called the Banking Department. The man at the head of this from ‘1986 to ’1989, was Toshihiko Fukui. Mr. Fukui thus directly helped create the bubble. When Fukui had become governor of the Bank of Japan, he would say “While destroying the high-growth model, I am building a model that suits the new era.”

Richard Werner remarked: “They have succeeded on all counts. If you look at the list of their goals, destroy the Ministry of Finance, break it up, get an independent supervisory agency, reach independence for the Bank of Japan itself by changing the Bank of Japan law, and engineer deep structural changes in the economy, by shifting from manufacturing to services, opening up, deregulating, liberalising, privatising, the whole lot.”

U.S. Fomenting “Maiden-Style” Revolution in Country of Georgia. Paying Protesters – Even Ukraine Refugees – To cause “Second War Front” for Russia

World Hal Turner 08 March 2023

The United States is fomenting and facilitating another “color-revolution,” this one in the country of Georgia. Millions of US Dollars are being handed out by the U.S. Embassy to local people for them to protest the Georgia government. The goal is to cause another “color revolution” and thereby cause a second war front against . . . Russia.

Mass protests are taking place in Georgia after the country’s parliament passed a bill designating non-governmental organizations (NGO’s) and media that receive more than 20% of their funding from abroad as “foreign agents”. The people protesting? The foreign agents.

Strange that __their__new law mimics . . . . U.S. Law . . . .

The Protesters are already starting to get violent. Below, they’re taking protective barriers OFF THE BUILDING!

You may have noticed quite a bit of ‘blue/yellow’ lot in the crowd there? Ukraine Refugees!

Another “Maidan”

What is taking place here is another Ukraine-type “revolution” to overthrow the government of Georgia, like the “Maiden” actions inside Ukraine back in 2014. Another Maidan near Russian borders. Preparing another nation as cannon fodder to fight Russia in the interests of London and Washington.

Even the general public sees what’s going on and isn’t staying quiet about it:

and . . .

As seen on the scalable map below, Georgia is to the south of Russia. The apparent goal of the US is to cause more war action to split-apart Russian military might, cause them to have to fight on two fronts, and maybe, just maybe, they can “save” Ukraine in the process.

Even Diplomats see what’s going on and are speaking about it publicly:

Is there no end to the trouble that the United States can cause?

Chinese online mapping platform Amap makes over 300b positioning calls/day using BeiDou satellites

2023-02-20 Global Times Editor：Li Yan

Chinese online mapping platform Amap revealed on Saturday that its daily usage of the domestically developed BeiDou Navigation Satellite System (BDS) to make positioning calls had exceeded 300 billion times as of January, and it vowed to expand the application of BDS in the transportation sector.

Amap and a spatial-intelligent infrastructure company Qianxun SI have jointly initiated an innovation plan for BeiDou's application in transportation. They aim to combine technical strength and market resources from all walks of life to explore and expand the industrial application of the BDS, according to a statement released by the Beijing Institute of Space Science and Technology Information on Saturday.

BeiDou's high-precision service has been deeply integrated into the transportation sector, showing the advantages of more stable positioning signals, higher positioning quality and faster positioning speed, read the statement.

It has outpaced Global Positioning System (GPS) and become the top guidance service provider for domestic mapping platforms. Based on the average number of satellites called by domestic navigation apps for each positioning, BeiDou satellites have been called the most, 30 percent more than the second-ranked GPS, the China Media Group reported.

BeiDou playing a dominant role in the domestic navigation sector is of great significance. For starters, as a homegrown technology, it is free from external meddling, and it could ensure data and information security. In addition, the positioning quality of BDS has proved in many scenarios to be much better than GPS, Liu Dingding, a Beijing-based veteran market analyst, told the Global Times.

The BDS has also been widely used in many industrial and agricultural sectors, from port management and grain production to providing disaster relief.

According to the Beijing Institute of Space Science and Technology Information, the BDS has been widely implemented in major domestic ports, including Dalian port in Northeast China's Liaoning Province, Qingdao port in East China's Shandong Province and Guangzhou port in South China's Guangdong Province.

The market for BeiDou's smart port application has grown rapidly in recent years, becoming a scientific and technological force boosting ports' development and supporting.....

Article HERE

Photographer by Ruth Orkin Captured Stunning Color Photographs of New York City in the 1950s

Ruth Orkin was a trailblazing photojournalist and filmmaker, whose passion for photography began at a young age. Born in Boston, Orkin grew up in Hollywood during the 1920s and 1930s, and was gifted her first camera, a 39 cent Univex, at the age of 10. It was a gift that would change the course of her life.

h/t: vintag.es

Compilation | Aunt Esther vs. Fred | Sanford and Son

Debt And Compliance

I’ve advised people to get and stay out of debt for a long time, but even so, I didn’t fully understand the affects of debt until the Covid time hit us. As the mayhem spread, I struggled to understand the level of compliance with what would have been, at any other time, criminal medical advice: To take an untested vaccine, and one that didn’t even fit the definition of a vaccine. (Until the definition was rewritten, of course.)

Certainly compliance was driven by massive applications of fear. And, certainly, it was accompanied by exceptional levels of guilt, as in “You’ll be responsible for killing Grandma!” Still, there was more to it, and that extra piece, I soon enough realized, was debt.

If I Had An Economist…

If I had an economist on my payroll, I’d assign them to a very simple task: Go find the relevant data, and correlate levels of debt and levels of compliance. I’d bet large that the correlation would be statistically significant.

Consider the typical police officer: He or she is on the job for benefits and steady paychecks: large American cities aren’t going to stop writing paychecks any time soon, nor will the various police unions let go of the benefit packages that justify them. This exemplary cop, like nearly all police officers, is deeply in debt. They have a mortgage and quite possible a home-equity loan or line of credit. They also have a car loan or two, and credit cards beyond that. There may also be student loans.

So, this typical law enforcer cannot leave their job without facing financial ruin… financial ruin plus a complete loss of place and standing. Such a loss, to them, would be almost an existential crisis. And so, when orders come down from the high-and-mighties, demanding that they comply with a medical regime, the choice they face is between compliance and complete ruin.

And consider the average doctor: Although they make more money than the police officer, they also have a larger home loan, larger car loans, and very definitely larger student loans.

More than that, the independence of physicians was destroyed by Obamacare. And so, the doctors of America were in no better shape than the police officers of America: they could either comply or be ruined. (The situation in other places isn’t generally much better.)

The same, of course, goes for nurses, teachers, and a hundred other types. Nearly everyone in the West, over the past couple of decades, has been stampeded into massive levels of debt. It’s been the only way to keep up a certain level of prosperity and lifestyle. And, of course, it has worked: If you’ve found respectable employment with anything big – corporations, institutions or government – you’ve been able to roll over your debt indefinitely.

And so, when everyone associated with large employers was ordered (seemingly in concert) to take a highly questionable “vaccine,” the majority agonized for a while, and then they complied.

After Compliance

None of this is to say that the people who complied are stupid, weak, or anything of the sort: They were merely under enormous pressure, during a deeply confused moment, submerged in fear. In that situation, they had no choice but to weigh the risks as best they could, then make the choice that seemed to offer the least pain. And so they did.

Now it’s clear that the fear was overplayed, that the “vaccines” didn’t stop anyone from getting the disease, and that there have been both health and financial repercussions. But it wasn’t so clear at the time.

During the mayhem, the people who complied under pressure generally fought those who didn’t, at least if they were vocal about it. After all, they were directly challenging their dignity. Now, however, time has passed and only die-hards (those who profited from the Covid time) are still hammering away with guilt and fear, and the police officers, et al, are sorting things out. By ones and twos they are becoming ready to say that things went too far.

What I hope is that these people will recognize the role that debt played in their choices. Debt was a sword hanging over their heads, and it distorted their decision process.

Out And Away

If we want practical freedom, we need to be free from the influence of debt. The people controlling all that debt have far more power over us than we thought.

As it turns out, the old admonitions to avoid debt weren’t wrong. Debt can undermine our choices and subvert our character. It’s to be used sparingly and carefully at best.

Paul Rosenberg

AMLO says Mexico is more democratic than oligarch-run USA

VIDEO: Yet ANOTHER Train Derailment; This Time in Oklahoma

World Hal Turner 08 March 2023

Yet another freight train has derailed in the United States; this one in Oklahoma. Thankfully, no apparent injuries or Hazmat Leakage. VIDEO below:

The Wild, Wild West s02e02

https://youtu.be/HG04Nc-1KZQ?list=PLQQ4DpKtNIp-6tVYd4bJlijZYrKyQ9Ktt

Baked English Muffins

These beautiful, high-rising English muffins are baked, not cooked on a griddle. While their interior isn’t filled with the signature fissures of a griddle-baked English muffin, their texture is still craggy enough to trap and hold butter and jam — which is the point, after all.

Ingredients

2 1/4 cups King Arthur Unbleached All-Purpose Flour
1/2 cup Hi-maize Natural Fiber
1 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon Pizza Dough Flavor (optional)
2 teaspoons baking powder
2 tablespoons granualted sugar
2 teaspoons instant yeast
1 cup + 2 tablespoons lukewarm milk*
2 tablespoons melted butter
2 teaspoons vinegar, white or cider
Cornmeal or semolina to coat the muffins

* Or substitute 1/4 cup (1 1/4 ounces) Bakers’ Special Dry Milk, and 1 cup + 2 tablespoons (9 ounces) lukewarm water; don’t mix them together, the dry milk doesn’t reconstitute.

Instructions

Stir together all the ingredients except the semolina or cornmeal. Beat for 1 minute at high speed of an electric mixer; the dough will become somewhat smooth.
Scrape the dough into the center of the bowl, cover, and allow it to rise for about 60 minutes, until it’s quite puffy.
Grease a large (18 x 13 inch) baking sheet; or line with parchment. Grease twelve 3 3/4″ English muffin rings, and place them on the baking sheet.
Sprinkle semolina or cornmeal into each ring.
Turn the dough onto a lightly greased or floured work surface. Cut it into 12 equal pieces; each will weigh a scant 2 ounces, or about 54g.
Shape the dough into balls. Place each ball into a ring, pressing it down to flatten somewhat. Sprinkle with a bit more cornmeal or semolina, and top with a greased baking sheet (or a sheet of parchment, then the baking sheet). The baking sheet should be resting atop the rings.
Let the muffins rise for about 60 to 90 minutes, until they’ve puffed up noticeably. While the dough is rising, preheat the oven to 400 degrees F.
Bake the risen muffins for 10 minutes. Flip the pans over, and bake for 5 minutes more.
Remove the top pan, and bake for an additional 3 to 5 minutes, until they’re a light golden brown, and the interior of one registers about 200 degrees F on an instant-read thermometer.
Remove the muffins from the oven, and transfer them to a rack to cool. Remove their rings as soon as you’re able.
When completely cool, store muffins in a plastic bag.

Yield: 12 muffins | Hands-on: 20 to 32 min | Bake: 25 to 30 min

Recipe and photo used with permission from: King Arthur Flour

Fantasy island Skater’s Edge Concerto of Death

FIRST TIME HEARING Cheech & Chong – Basketball Jones REACTION

Wholly smokes!

This is actually the original. Parodied the song “Love Jones” by Brighter Side of Darkness

The United States is increasingly isolated, angry, and insane

Check out some suggestive evidence…

Modi insists Blinken meet Lavrov at G20. QUAD begins to unravel

First up. Watch.

Most can agree the majority of our World Citizens are as unsettled with the present American Administration as are the majority of Americans. This "UNCOOL" Administration comes across as Judgmental, Undisciplined, and Disrespectful. They seem to deny themselves any attempt to "understand" other points of view which in short time will result in others just giving up on them.

US arrogantly tells China ‘threat’: ‘We’re the leader in this region (Asia)’!

A must watch video…

https://youtu.be/BEqmQkKlcjo

Let’s talk about discoveries…

CACHE OF GERMAN WEAPONS Walther P38 , Parabellum P08, Gewehr 43…

Having to tell people that you are powerful is a sign of decline

The Global Times, the Chinese Communist Party’s premier newspaper, used a Margaret Thatcher quote to poke fun at the US Ambassador to China, Nicholas Burns who at a US Chamber of Commerce event stated that China must accept US leadership in Asia. The quote was “Being powerful is like being a lady. If you have to tell people you are, you aren’t”. Burns’ statement says so much about both the delusional hubris of the US foreign policy elite, and their sense of loss as their regional power declines. As with the “loss” of Russia as Putin reasserted that nation’s sovereignty, the “loss” of the domination of Asia produces exasperation and angry demands supported by increasingly aggressive actions.

As I have stated before, the US elite is acting like a mafia boss who sees his power declining. The best policy may be to display some humility and rebuild coalitions, but the Boss simply cannot accept his even slightly lesser position and instead lashes out in ways that accelerate his decline as he shouts, “I am the Boss!” An ambassador’s job is usually seen as the fostering of good relations, but the US sees the role more as that of stern overseer who reminds the lesser nation (with the assumption that all nations are lesser nations compared to the US) when their actions are not acceptable to the West, and that “bad things” may happen if the lesser nation does not mend its ways. Ambassador Burns has fulfilled that role excellently.

During the two unipolar moments (post-WW2 and post-Soviet collapse) the relative power of the US was so overwhelming that the “lesser” nations had to take such statements without complaint (because bad things could happen otherwise). Times have now changed, and US diplomacy needs to change with them. It may need at least a couple of years for such changes to occur given the overwhelming arrogance of the US Secretary of State, Anthony Blinken and his team. The Global Times quotes a tweet that states “US continues to live in an alternative reality fuelled by hubris,” stating that it “hits the nail on the head regarding US’ current status”. The Global Times goes on to state that:

Almost one year in office, Burns has increasingly fueled the deterioration of China-US relations. As Washington’s megaphone for Beijing, the ambassador has frequently criticized China’s policies in public, including on social media. Many of his comments are damaging to US-China relations and inappropriate to his ambassadorship.

And

Nevertheless, politicians like Burns should understand that “pride and prejudice” toward China will only bring more danger and chaos to the region and the world. No matter how harsh they want to sound when talking about China and how assertive when talking about the US, they can never fool other countries by trying to sugarcoat US hegemony as “leadership.”

These are harsh words to be used against an ambassador, especially for the diplomatic community and the Chinese state. As we see below, more than just China, Russia and Iran are pushing back against the arrogance and hubris of the declining US.

Article HERE

The West disrespects an India hosting the G20, once again bullying its way to a lack of friends in the rest of the world.

For the political elite of a nation, hosting the G20 summit triggers both pride and concern. It is imperative that the meeting goes smoothly and reaches an agreed communique otherwise the hosting country will feel that its’ image has been slighted. The most recent G20 summit was hosted by India, a member of the “Quad” (US, Japan, Australia, India) that the US hopes to utilize to counterbalance the rise of China. Given India’s importance to the Quad one would think that the US would be going out of its way to help India look good. But no, after all this is the US foreign policy elite we are talking about!

India has been a long-term friend of Russia and it would be expected that it would not agree to any language in the communique that condemns Russia. But the US was having none of this and put its foot down that the communique must condemn Russia’s invasion of Ukraine; I imagine a young child throwing a tantrum because they can’t get their way. India was having none of this (as well as Russia and China who are members of the G20) and the end result was no communique; a result that embarrassed the Indians. A meeting of the Quad also took place and the communique that it issued made no condemnation of Russia, again showing the Indian refusal to do such a thing.

The US is becoming more and more exasperated at the audacity of the non-Western nations to continue actively trading with Russia. In the case of India this includes buying discounted Russian oil and “washing” it into non-Russian oil by converting it into oil products or mixing it with oil from other nations. The greater gains that Russia makes in Ukraine, and the continuing stability of the Russian economy in the face of Western sanctions, only increases the US exasperation. Its only response seems to be to shout louder and start to throw its toys around. A case being the recent US warning to China that if it dares sell arms to Russia it will be punished; the sheer irony of a US that is pouring money and arms into the conflict demanding of China not to do the same seems to be lost on US officials. The same goes with the US cries of Russia ignoring Ukraine’s sovereignty when its own troops illegally occupy Syria and steal its oil and wheat; even after the recent large earthquake that affected Turkey and Syria. Such actions only darken the image of the US outside its Western allies/vassals.

Some commentators have noted the apparent difference in the recent Indian airport welcome for the Russian foreign minister Lavrov and that for the German foreign minister Baerbock, which the Indians stated was a case of scheduling misunderstandings. Diplomatic snubs are always subtle and mostly denied by the snubbing party. I will let you judge:

To add insult to injury, India imported a record amount of oil from Russia in February, 1.6 million barrels per day – making Russia the largest supplier of oil to India; at the expense of imports from Saudi Arabia and the US.

https://www.thehindu.com/business/Economy/indias-russian-oil-imports-hit-record-high-in-february-now-more-than-iraq-saudi-put-together/article66583237.ece

Leopard Tanks Arrive in Ukraine – Get stuck in the mud!

World Hal Turner 03 March 2023

The much vaunted Leopard Tanks from NATO countries are arriving in Ukraine. They’re getting stuck in the mud.

Some great training those Ukrainians got . . .

What happened with Andrei Raevsky and The Saker ?

He decided to freeze his site and stop blogging.  Reasons, as I understand it, he feels the US is at war with Russia and that puts him in a not good position vis a vis the US government, and personal and health reasons.

As I understand it, his wife and kids have American passports. Andrei only has a green card, which can be taken away.

Why risk becoming another Victor Bout or Maria Butina?

China Is Dominating Africa With This INSANE Strategy (What USA did will SHOCK you)

Laugh Out Loud with Tom Falco’s Pun-derful One-Panel Comics

Tom Falco (aka Tomversation) has made a name for himself as an artist with a knack for creating old-school one-panel comics that are both amusing and entertaining. With a talent for seamlessly blending puns and humor in clever ways, Falco’s cartoons offer a perfect escape from the stresses of everyday life.

More: Tom Falco, Instagram, Facebook h/t: boredpanda

tomversation.toons 319753334 1607558639666937 3832664008459285033 n

Each of Falco’s comics is a witty and playful piece of art, with the artist showcasing his unique ability to turn even the most mundane situations into a source of laughter. His pun-derful and humorous one-panel comics have gained him a loyal following, with fans eagerly anticipating each new release.

For those looking for a quick and amusing break from the daily grind, Tom Falco’s one-panel comics offer just that – a chance to chuckle and appreciate the simple pleasures of life.

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Metal Detecting – Gold Coin Glory Hole

Seua Rong Hai (Barbecued Beef – Thai)

The title of this dish means “tiger’s tears” – not because it was originally made from tiger meat, nor from other felines (as it so often does when “tiger” is used in the name of an Oriental dish).

In this case the name comes from the noise of the fat dripping from the meat into the barbecue fire. The dish is also called neua yang (which more prosaically means barbecued beef), but as the method is different from kai yang (barbecued chicken), I will keep the colloquial isan (NE Thailand) name.

Two sauces are usual – nam prik narok (posted recently), and the following. Note that it calls for powdered dried prik ki nu. Normal chili powder found in bottles in western stores is much milder. If you can’t find the dried birdseye chiles to pound up yourself, then I suggest using fresh red chiles (the effect is not quite the same, but the heat is retained as intended).

Ingredients

Meat

1 pound steak
3 tablespoons fish sauce
3 tablespoons dark, sweet soy sauce

Dipping Sauce

1 tablespoon phom prik ki nu (powdered dried red birdseye chiles)
1 tablespoon bai pak chee (coriander/cilantro leaf)
1 tablespoon chopped spring onion (scallion/green onion)
1/4 cup fish sauce
5 tablespoons lime juice

Instructions

Meat: Cut steak into strips diagonally across the natural grain, about half an inch wide, then cut the strips into bite sized pieces.
Marinade the meat in fish sauce and dark, sweet soy sauce for about an hour.
Place the meat on a fine metal mesh (typically a 1 centimeter chicken wire is used here in Thailand) over a barbeque and cook, turning the pieces occasionally, until done to your taste.
Combine the Dipping Sauce ingredients the day before required for use.
Vegetables: It is usual to serve barbecued dishes of this sort with a platter of vegetables – the Thai equivalent of crudites. A typical mixture would include cucumber slices, basil and mint, swamp cabbage or spinach, and spring onions. However any mixture you have on hand would be fine.

China’s secret weapon to replace EUV lithography

https://youtu.be/7vzxlrpMARk

The Mysterious and Intriguing Portraits of Asian Girls By Wind.fy

Unfortunately, I have found absolutely no information on who is behind this nickname. In any case, the author succeeds in portraying secret and mysterious images of Asian girls.

More: Instagram

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Who Can Find 1400 Years Old Gold Coin In The Underground

China’s 3nm photonic chip will achieve mass production.

https://youtu.be/hjEzSKaAEaI

5000 Years Old Gold Found Under The Earth

Massive Explosion of Fuel Storage Terminal, Jakarta, Indonesia

World Hal Turner 03 March 2023

There has been a massive explosion of the Pertamina Corporation fuel storage facility in Jakarta, Indonesia. A gigantic fire is now raging out of control. Video below . . .

Interesting comment:

Three just blew up one in Mexico two in the US.

This, like the train derailments (multiple toxic ones not just East Palestine, food plants being lit up, toxic trucks accidents, and lately cyber warfare. (You'll find a combination of surprising glitches and com failures, etc. shortly ...if you haven't already noticed them)

This is grey terror. Softening up your psych for the main glorious show.


Soon they'll admit the damage the covid vaccine ACTUALLY does. They'll explain how it is permanent or causes immune suppression or something. They've already admitted the masks and lockdowns were as useless as the shot at stopping the spread of the disease. How well do you think people will react when they learn X% of them got Vaids? Or that those fibrin clots aren't stoppable.

That will only be the start though. THe grand finale starts after the currency blows to shit and the roof Koreans make their comeback:

Can you imagine how panicked the walmartians are going to be when (after all this softening of their minds) one city gets nuked and we're told to surrender by the Chino-Russia alliance?...and when we don't 3 days later another major city gets vaporized along with a VERY VERY small town....just to show no one is safe.

Those that aren't madly stuck in traffic trying to escape the cities will be shell shocked glued to the TV.

...and then when everyone is watching the news (or listening in the car stuck in those ridiculously long parking lots)) Biden plays a sappy prerecorded We must not let Russia take us. All we have left is atomic hope. He does a full launch and BOTH sides allow the minuteman missiles to fly, filmed in glorious 4k to let the masses know FULL Nukewar is being played. To shatter their corrupt minds. To dash their prayers.

....and of course, the Russians and Chinese play their part. Neither launch the emps they let it all stream live from offshore. (Can't lose the viewers now).

Burning in the images of billions of dead in India, China, Russia and the combined commonwealth. 24/7 coverage...the weeping babies all alone in the ashes, the drone flights over New York, Washington, Moscow, Toronto, and on and on. Refugees, starvation, open sores. It writes itself.

The people will be too shocked to stop feeding the death into their minds and souls.

Then comes a man who does stop it all. He shames the nationalist and flag wavers for the destruction their imaginary lines in the sand brought. He asks "Did your prayers prevent this? Where was God in your moment of need? No, we must rely on ourselves...rely on me....I have a plan.....blah blah blah I'll guide you...blah blah blah the solution is simple. Give me all your rights and be a slave."


"And so ends the tale of the human race. They live without living in their own decaying place."

NATO chemical false flag attack uncovered in Ukraine to blame Russia.

Transcript

James Bradley: Hello, this is James Bradley. They call me JB East because I’m out in Saigon, Vietnam. And I’m with my partner way out there on the coast of France, JB West, Jeff Brown. Hello, Jeff.

Jeff J Brown: Hey, James, good to hear from you.

James: Hey, the audience, we’re going to talk about the Western allies who Putin calls the Golden Billion. And it appears that the Golden Billion are preparing a chemical false flag. This is a war crime, a chemical false flag in Ukraine. And those of you who look at the American media, you’ll notice there’s almost no discussion of what’s going on in Ukraine in terms of biological and chemical elements. I have looked and searched through this subject in the media, and the closest you can get is Redacted with Clayton Morris, who mentions it a bit.

Colonel MacGregor, who’s probably the best commentator on the war in Ukraine, just said, “Yes, I understand there are 25, 26 biological research factories”. But he said that’s about all I know. So, folks with Jeff J. Brown, if you go back to the beginning, you’re getting not just a little more, but you’re getting much more than you’re getting from any other source in English. And Jeff is going to update us on this breaking potential chemical false flag. Hold on to your hats, ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Jeff J. Brown.

Jeff: James, I want to start out because it’s very important to talk about foreshadowing. And James is a great writer. And his four books, he knows all about foreshadowing, because he wrote very, very suspenseful books and would leave sentences at the end of a chapter. To make you want to turn the page to the next chapter. And of course, the famous idea of foreshadowing is at the end of the chapter, “They looked over their shoulders and saw the silhouette of a man holding a gun”.

So anytime they do a false flag, they always foreshadow. So that when you, Mr. and Mrs. John Q. Public hear about the false flag that’s pulled off, you psychologically say, oh, well I know that. I saw that. And it loses its shock value.

The Russians have just come out. Again, I think they must have learned from James’s outstanding research. He is always talking about connecting the dots and connecting relationships. And I’m telling you, the Russians are doing it in spades.

They just came out with another press briefing, more evidence, which I will provide in the link that we will put up, their visuals, and the briefing that they gave. On February 22nd, a former US ambassador to Russia. This is last week, folks. A former US ambassador to Russia, John Sullivan, made the statement,

Russian troops plan to use chemical weapons and the special military operation area.

Furthermore, as far as Putin’s Golden Billion in early 2023, so that’s got to be within the last two months, the Euro-Atlantic Disaster Response Coordination Center planned a large shipment of individual protection means to Ukraine,

Because Russian troops have already used phosphorus ammunition (note: which in fact it’s the Ukrainians using phosphorus) and could use the poisonous substances in the foreseeable escalation of the situation.

So, they’re setting you up, ladies and gentlemen, so that if this false flag gets pulled off, you will internalize it and go, well, I already knew that. And then you change the TV channel. And of course, this was done for 9/11, the Oklahoma City bombing, Boston Marathon bombing. It just goes on and on and on. COVID-19 with Event 201, which was two weeks or a month before COVID was released by the United States military in Wuhan in 2019.

So, the Ukrainians are getting literally hundreds of thousands of units of masks and ampules for anti-seizure medication and detoxification preparation. So, the Ukrainians are getting ready to protect themselves, so that if they can pull off this false flag, they will be protected. I suspect that the Russians are probably trying to move the same kind of equipment to the front line where they think it’s going to happen. And we actually have a location.

James and I, in one of our previous shows showed where Ukraine also asked via a request letter to the EU, to the European Union for a whole shopping list of millions of this and hundreds of thousands of that for a nuclear attack, because the Russians last year kept reporting Ukraine is preparing a false flag, a potential false flag by releasing a nuclear material around one of the nuclear power plants that the Ukrainians still had access to and then to blame the Russians.

That never happened, quite probably, because I think maybe the United States and Europe said don’t do it because the prevailing winds are going to carry it all the way up into Eastern Europe. So now we’re talking this new information, the evidence that the Russians have. Of course, they have outstanding intelligence spy networks all over Ukraine. Most Ukrainians speak Russian. Their intelligence speaks and reads and writes and can hear and understand Ukrainian.

On 10 February, so we’re talking about only three weeks ago, a rail transport arrived in Ukraine at Kramatorsk with a cargo of chemicals in one of its cars accompanied by a group of foreign nationals. There’s your Golden Billion. Were they American, European, or both? We don’t know. The car was detached and towed to the territory of the Kuybyshev Iron and Steel Works in Kramatorsk, where it was unloaded under the control of the security service of Ukraine and Armed Forces of Ukraine command representatives.

So not only does Russia have some of the best satellites in the world that have one-meter resolution, but they also have lots of spies on the ground and probably are getting a lot of this from human intelligence. Sixteen metal boxes, eight of which were labeled with the chemical hazard symbol BZ and marked with two red bands showing that it’s extremely dangerous. Two red bands were on the boxes, and then five boxes were labeled with C-S-Riot and C-R-Riot, which are stronger than tear gas, but not as bad as BZ. They only have one red band. The cargo was placed on US-manufactured armored vehicles, which moved to the combat line of contact as part of the convoy.

So, the Russians now know about all of these chemical weapons, which are of course war crimes and in violation of the Organization for the Prohibition of Chemical Weapons (OPCW), which the United States controls, they now know that they’re at the combat line. On February 19th, only two weeks ago, 11 cars of specially marked shrapnel ammunition were unloaded in Kramatorsk. The unloading took place at night on a platform in the suburbs with the car labeled as “building materials” and “cement”. So that is the evidence that they have shown.

I sure don’t think that the Russians would have that kind of details unless they had the goods, so to speak, the metaphor, if they didn’t have the evidence to prove all this. And I had never heard of BZ. And it’s actually it’s banned by the Chemical Weapons Convention. It causes phrenoplegia, which is the paralysis of the diaphragm, so you can’t breathe; disorientation, hallucinations and memory impairment. The Russians said BZ agent is a standard war gas for the US Army and was used extensively during the Vietnam War. Did you know that, James?

James: Not specifically that element, but they dumped in everything they could here. Pham Van Dong, the Prime Minister, complained about it. They just dumped in every single chemical, every chemist or doctor’s personal chemicals under torture, defoliants, anything, to kill the rivers, they dumped everything in here. Unfortunately.

Jeff: Oh, man. And this is another. The United States and its allies have repeatedly used chemical munitions in military conflicts in Afghanistan, Iraq, and Syria. Of course, we know about the false flag, the supposed Syrian government one that was with the White Helmets – these were all Western false flags. The Russians mentioned it, I didn’t know about Afghanistan.

And of course, in Iraq, the United States and Europe gave Iraq the chemical weapons to attack the Iranians during the Iran-Iraq War, and they killed about 80,000 Iranians with chemical weapons. So, this is really, really serious.

Previously, the Russians have pushed, have made this known, of course, but Mr. and Mrs. John Q. Public in the West never hear any of this. And unless you listen to people like us, you wouldn’t know about it.

But at least for the nuclear one, they apparently decided to abandon that false flag. But chemical weapons are much more localized and it’s very possible that they will really try to pull this one off to try to frame Russia. And, of course, just like MH17 was shot down by the West and they blamed Russia. Nord Stream was blown up. Sy Hersh proved that it was blown up by the West. And they kept pointing fingers, as James always likes to say, Russia, Russia, Russia trying to blame them for it. But, this one looks really, really serious.

And the fact that it is so new and so fresh and is happening right now in real-time with all of these substances and shrapnel ammunition being brought to the line of contact with the Russians and the Ukrainians is, extremely, extremely worrisome for the whole world, because it could be used as a pretext to basically go into World War Three by having West, Poland and the Baltic States and some of the other Eastern European countries could possibly send in troops.

They’re already there, but they would officially send soldiers. There are already American soldiers and European soldiers in Ukraine helping the Ukrainian Nazis. But it might give them the pretext to do it officially. And we would be on our own road to World War three. That’s all I have, James. I think it’s pretty frightening. Any comments?

James: Thank you. That’s my comment. Thanks for bringing us things that we’re not getting anywhere else.

Jeff: Thank you, James. We’ll talk to you soon.

James: Okay. This is JB East signing off.

Jeff: And JB West out in Normandy. Bye, bye.

…

Video, pictures, charts, and links found HERE

Nua Yang Nam Tok
(Waterfall Beef – Thai)

If you’ve got a broiler/grill you can cook this one anytime, otherwise wait for the barbeque season. In Thai nua is beef, yang means broiled (over a charcoal burner), and nam tok is a waterfall. The name comes from the sound the juices dripping from the beef onto the open charcoal brazier.

Ingredients

Steak

1 pound steak, cut fairly thick

Marinade

1 tablespoon fish sauce
1 tablespoon tamarind juice
1 tablespoon lime juice
1 tablespoon chopped red birdseye chiles (prik ki nu)

Remaining Ingredients

1/3 cup fish sauce
1/3 cup lime juice
2 to 3 tablespoons chopped shallots
2 to 3 tablespoons chopped coriander/cilantro (including the roots if possible)
2 to 3 tablespoons chopped mint leaves
2 tablespoons khao noor (see the Pad Thai recipe for this)
1 tablespoon freshly roasted/fried sesame seeds
1 to 3 teaspoons freshly ground dried red chiles

Instructions

Marinade: Mix the marinade, coat the steak with it and marinade it for at least 3 hours.
The steak is then barbecued, broiled or grilled until on the rare side of medium rare, cut into half inch thick strips and the strips cut into bite sized pieces. The meat can be kept cool until just before you want to eat.
Remaining ingredients: In a wok, bring a little oil to medium high heat, and add the strips of beef, immediately followed by all the remaining ingredients, stir fry until heated through (about a minute).
Serve with Thai sticky rice. (Alternatively I rather like it as part of a meal with pad thai and a soup such as tom yum ghoong (hot and sour shrimp soup).

Posted by WingsFan91 at Recipe Goldmine 11/15/2001 3:38 pm.

Dangerous Motives Behind US Aggression Toward Russia and China

What do you make of the Russia and China Partnership?

February 28, 2023

by Mr. Allen for the Saker blog

Over the last few years, we hear leaders from both Russia and China pronouncing that they have formed a relationship where there are “no limits.” But even as they state that, many seem question their sincerity. For example, one of our favorite commentators wrote:

After all, even when the U.S. openly talks about subduing Russia only to go on to defeating China, why are Chinese leaders still so careful about staying “neutral” in the Russia-Ukraine – Russia-NATO-byProxy-US – war? Why doesn’t China embrace Russia more when the European nations are openly threatening to interfere in Taiwan should any conflict occur in that region? Why does China still want to hold out its hand to befriend Europe and U.S. both formally and openly treat China as an enemy?

Why must China abstain in that recent (non-binding) UN vote condemning Russia’s military operations in Ukraine? Why does China want to stay neutral in Ukraine when Ukraine has done so much to harm Chinese interests there, such as the nationalization of Motor Sich despite years of Chinese partnership and investments? When China sees how the West has back-stabbed Russia over the last two decades despite Putin et al.’s full efforts to befriend them, what does China think it can gain from befriending the West today?

Also as one of our favorite commentators Larchmonter445 recently noted:

The China-Russia relationship is elevated to ‘coordination’ of their strategic cooperation. It seems to be uncoordinated in the diplomatic sphere of late. China desperate to save the EU market and the logistical plans it had for BRI to use Ukraine’s geological positions and attributes.

The stage is set for Hybrid World War III

Yet … I don’t think the leaders of Russia and China are lying when they pronounce that their partnership is stronger than traditional military alliances. One key point of the Russia-China relationship, as globaltimes article put it, is there should be “no limits to China-Russia cooperation, no limit to our pursuit of peace and maintaining security, and no limit to our opposition to hegemony.” Another key point in the Russia-China relationship is that neither side intends on pursuing a military alliance between them. These two key characteristics might cause some in the blog-sphere disappointment, but I think the leaders of the countries are much more prescient than meet the common eye.

In my view, the “no limit” and “no alliance” characteristics of Russia-China relationship shows the incredible strength – not weakness – of Russia-China relationship. The two characteristics make clear why the Russia-China relationship is so special – and potentially so powerful.

The two nations have pledged to create a new multipolar world. But they do not plan on conquering hegemony by becoming a new hegemon. They plan on dissolving it by offering an alternative that is so much more just and fair and that offers so much more opportunity for everyone to thrive than available through the current order.

Instead wrestling the hegemon, China and Russia aim to show the world another framework of development – opening new windows of possibilities based not on predatory practices and hegemonic suppression, but on mutual cooperation and mutual respect of differences. If they are successful, the rest of the world will walk away from the current world order. Even forces within the West will want to join. The current hegemonic world order run by the Deep State in the West will collapse, liberating peoples around the world, including those in the West.

Now from a purely a theoretical point of view, at least from the Chinese perspective, hegemony is not necessarily bad. Afterall, an all-powerful emperor – with the Mandate of Heaven – can be good. Rome in its glory days created a peace that enabled an era of prosperity for people throughout large parts of Europe and Middle East. In more recent history, when Russia and U.S. liberated Europe and Asian from Fascism and Militarism, they brought good to the world precisely because they were all-powerful (relatively to rest of the world) – hegemons – that said “no” to certain ideas.

But often bad will arise out of good … and eventually good will arise from the bad.

The key thing to see is that Russia and China must be cognizant that for many in the world, multi-polarity is not necessarily good or bad per se. For many countries, being in the good Graces of the hegemon can bring enormous benefits, too (think India?). What unites Russia and China to fight the current world hegemony must be the depravity, the corruption, the downright immorality of the current hegemony – not simply that multi polarity is per se good.

But how do you fight hegemony without being a hegemon yourself?

Here is a vision. We are at the end of the era for hegemony. We have had a few hundred years of Western hegemony, and while it has brought many good things, it has brought also trails of tears for many. So many peoples, civilizations, histories, and narratives have been subdued. It is time enough for a vast expense of humanity to revive and reawaken, for peoples and cultures to rediscover and regrow their traditions and histories … to build a new, more vibrant and prosperous world.

Whatever progress hegemony has brought to the world, enough is enough. It is time for a change. In the cycle of history, good has followed bad, and bad has followed good. It is time for the dawn of multipolarity yet again.

We are not at the end of history; we have not even seen the epitome of history. As Ghandi once allegedly observed after being asked what he thought of Western civilization: “I think it would be a good idea!”

Allow me a little digression. Many of the basic tenants of Western civilization are a façade. Free market and open economy? Yes … but only as a tool to pillage. When a relative economic peer arise – i.e. China – ideals of free market, free trade, and open economies go out the window.

Rule of law? Only when they are the rule makers and ultimate arbiters of law. But when near peers such as Russia and China arise who can also potentially become rule makers and arbiters of law, they have to be denigrated. There can only be one global judge, one enforcer.

Freedom of speech? Only when they are already safe and have control over the tools and channels of discourse. But when they are not safe or have not control … they trash the paper of speech at the first instance. Ok to incite crowds to march on government buildings in Hong Kong … but not in Washington?

Even democracy, enshrined in the charter of the UN, is not an absolute good, in the Chinese view. Sure democracy can be good when a polity works for the common good of the people. But democracy – as in “votocracy” – can also mean lawlessness, mob rule, special interests power grab, and government capture. Democracy can check on governance, but it can also be a façade for criminal leaders to evade their ultimate responsibility.

My long digression here is to point out that there is no absolute good and bad in hegemony vs multipolarity (or democracy) in general. So when Russia and China want to challenge the West over the decrepit current world order, they must be careful. They must make an example of how to be responsible partners working with each other in a new world order. They must become anchors in a new world order – not hegemons-in-cohort. The two responsible stakeholders must mutually understand each respective interests and demonstrate they can work with each other in a positive, mutually reinforcing, “win-win” fashion, despite inevitable differences.

This is why China will never ask Russia to ditch India or Vietnam vis-à-vis China. China understands Russia has its interests that China will respect. However, China can and will ask Russia to be cognizant of China’s interests too and not to be blindly against China. If big boys China and Russia can work together, others can join and feel safe and be respected.

Europe for now is kicking Russia out of the European family. This is unfortunate and is historically irrational. However, Russia should seize this opportunity to become a true distinct pole independent of Europe. Whenever I hear that Russia wants a united Europe spanning from Vladivostok to Paris (or whatever), I cringe. [side: A united Europe from Vladivostok to Paris is an unmasked form of imperialism from the perspective of Asians.] I hope one day Russia will proudly facilitate a united Eurasia from Vladivostok to London (or whatever). I hope Russia will grow out of the yoke of Europe.

Hard as it may be for Russians to want to work with other Europeans today, I know Russians are still prepared to work with his Ukrainian brothers, so working with Europeans again should not be too hard to imagine…

For now, let China be the ones to seek better relations with Europe even with the Ukraine war in full force. The beauty of multipolarity is that if done right, things will crystallize together into a masterpiece at an opportune time. The world has many currents and rivers of history and peoples. It has been suppressed for far too long. When the rest are allowed to reawaken, a new world order can arise, in a way that is harmonious and stable. If people working together can result in 1+1 being more than 2, think what billions are allowed to work in harmony.

Russia and China must treasure their friendship – as that is the key now to this imagined new world order. A new bright future awaits the world if they can work together – without limits – without having to form a new hegemony (military alliance).

Here is to a new world order. Even for those who have a stake in the current world order and stumbled to this site, understand that it cannot go on. You cannot go on stepping on Russia’s security red lines or trying to suppress China’s technological developments. What of your core interests has Russia or China violated?

I have been a long-time reader of this blog. It is sad that it will have to be shut down – at least for now. I (maybe others, too) will seek to work with the Saker next month to see if there are other incarnations we can do to keep this community alive.

I believe that in this darkest of moments, it is important to keep such a community alive. But even if we don’t succeed, I urge everyone to stay strong to their deepest held ideals and beliefs.

This is how the best of humanity has always been forged. In that spirit, I will share here two of my recent compositions with everyone – as I too have a musical heart. Disklavier 4, no. 23. Disklavier 5, no. 1 (these are all raw – i.e. no polished for publishing, etc.).

Best wishes … and shall we meet again!

U.S. Deploys “Doomsday Plane” to Europe; Russia issues “Nuclear Clash” warning to its military

World Hal Turner 04 March 2023

The United States has transferred an E-6B “Looking Glass” nuclear war command and control aircraft to Europe. In response, Russian Armed forces were issued a “nuclear clash warning” (The U.S. equivalent of DEFCON-2) by the Ministry of Defense.

The transfer of the American “doomsday plane” to Europe is allegedly a “signal” to Russian President Vladimir Putin. On Tuesday, the U.S. European Command moved the E-6B Mercury, also known as the “Doomsday Aircraft,” to Iceland. It refueled and continued on to Europe.

It is an airborne command post designed to control armed forces in a nuclear war.

The current version of the aircraft entered service in 1998 and is capable of communicating directly with submarines equipped with ballistic missiles. In addition, the Mercury can also remotely control Minuteman intercontinental ballistic missiles. “After Russia suspended its participation in the New START agreement, the redeployment of the E-6B Mercury to Iceland can be seen as a measure of clear anti-Kremlin positioning” said sources in the US Defense Department.

TERROR ATTACK INSIDE RUSSIA

Earlier this week, somewhere between 40 and 50 Ukrainians launched an attack inside Bryansk Russia. They fired at cars, a school bus with children, and burned several houses.

They were engaged by Russian Border Guards and the Russian federal security service (FSB) which repelled them back into Ukraine, where the Russian Army finished them all off with a “massive” artillery barrage.

Later, vehicles around Bryansk struck land mines planted by the attackers.

As a result of the attack, at least one school bus driver and one child were reported killed.

Investigators found some of the weaponry used by the attackers and disclosed . . . they were NATO weapons.

This information lead to a stark session of Russia’s lower house of Parliament, which they call the “Duma.” It is the legislative equivalent to the US House of Representatives.

During the debate, it came out that the weaponry used by the attackers was NATO weaponry. One member of the Duma said “This raises a lot of questions about NATO’s participation.” Another member of the Duma replied “It doesn’t raise questions, it raises ANSWERS.”

Between the attack in Bryansk, and now the deployment of a US “Doomsday Plane” Russia issued a “Nuclear Clash Warning” to its military. This is the U.S. equivalent of DEFCON-2.

For those unaware, the DEFCON level is an indicator of how close we are to nuclear war. It has a scale of 1 to 5, with 5 being everything is normal, have a nice day. One is “nuclear war.”

The Russians are now at the equivalent of 2. Just one step away from actual nuclear conflict.

Earlier this week, reports started coming in indicating US Senators and perhaps other American Officials, are leaving to “The Hotel” tomorrow (Sunday, March 5). That phrase, “The Hotel” is a reference to the underground nuclear bunkers built decades ago for US officials to survive a nuclear war. (Story HERE)

Given the possible relocation of US Officials to nuclear bunkers, and the deployment of a US E-6B “Doomsday Plane” to Europe, this coming week seems primed for the worst week in human history.

Make certain you have “preps” of emergency food, water, medicine, communications gear, flashlights, a generator with fuel to run it, and so forth.

U.S. Senator Marco Rubio (R-FL) spoke on the Senate floor to discuss the challenges our nation is facing and what we can do to make things right. See below for the full transcript. Watch on YouTube and Rumble.

Mr. President, no issue dominates our attention more these days than our growing rivalry with China, and rightly so. It's a historic challenge. It's one that I think we waited way too long to recognize, and now we're scrambling to make up for that.

But I think it's important that we remember that the core and central issue here is not China per se. The core issue here is a decades-old bipartisan consensus that's entrenched in our economics and in our politics. A consensus that said that economic globalization would deliver wealth and freedom and peace.

It was almost a religious faith in the power of the free flow of people and money and goods across borders as the answer to virtually every problem that faced the world. And that's how we built our politics. That's how we build our foreign policy.

And you know what? For about 50 years after World War II, it generally worked. The reason why it generally worked is that we didn't actually have a global market. If you look at the economy that we were engaged in, even through free trade and the like during that period of time, it was primarily a market made up of democratic allies, countries that shared common values and common priorities for the future.

Even when the outcomes were not always in our benefit, when some industry left to a country in Europe, or during the time that Japan challenged us in some sectors, at least the beneficiary of that outcome was not the Soviet Union or some geopolitical competitor. The beneficiary was another democracy and an ally in our confrontation with communism.

It generally worked during that time because, by and large, the interest of the global market and the interest of our country never got out of balance too far.

And then the Cold War ended. And our leaders became intoxicated with hubris. I remember the lexicon was that it's the end of history, and the world will now be flat, and every country is now going to naturally become a free enterprise.

Democracy and economic liberalization would always result in political freedom. You flood a country with capitalism, and that country will not just get rich, but they're going to turn into us or some version of one of our democratic allies.

In pursuit of that gamble, which had no historic precedent, we entered into all kinds of trade deals and treaties and rules and regulations on an international scale. And we invited all kinds of countries that were not democracies, did not share our values, and did not have the same long-term goals for the world as we did. Their long term goals, in fact, were incompatible with ours.

Of all the deals that were made, none has had a greater impact than the decision that was made in the first year of this century to admit China into the World Trade Organization.

They opened up our economy to the most populous nation on earth, controlled by a communist regime. And they did it, not because anybody argued that it would be good for American workers. They made the argument that eventually it would be, but they weren't arguing this is going to help us in the short term, this is good for our industries.

The argument behind doing this with China was we think capitalism will change them. They're going to eat Big Macs and drink Coca-Cola, and they're going to literally ingest democracy, and it will transform them.

They argued that capitalism was going to change China. Now we stand here 23 years later and realize capitalism didn't change China—China changed capitalism.

They opened up their doors and said come on in. They said we have cheap labor, cheap workers. And millions of American jobs, important industries, and factories flooded into China. They did it with the promise that you can make a lot of money in this huge market very quickly, with huge rates of return, and therefore make more profits for companies.

We lost jobs, factories closed, and towns were gutted. But the leaders at that time said don't worry, they're only taking the bad jobs. Those bad jobs are going to be replaced by good jobs, better jobs. Americans are going to be able to have those good jobs.

And they said those Chinese workers that took your jobs are going to get richer now, and with that money they're going to do two things. They're going to start buying American products, and they are going to demand democracy and freedom. They're going to change China.

Well, I don't think I'm going to spend a lot of time today explaining that that did not work out. That is not how it played out.

China allowed our companies in, but you know what they did? They forced every one of these companies to partner with a Chinese company, a small one at the time. They forced you to partner with them, and they stole your trade secrets.

So they invited them in, they learned how to do whatever it is you did, and when they no longer needed you, they kicked you out. Their company took over. And in many cases, they put the company that taught them how to do it or that they stole the secrets from out of business.

That's what they did. They used it to build up their own economy, their own companies. The Chinese middle class also grew at a historic rate. But ours collapsed in an almost inverse effect. The numbers are stunning. If you look at the destruction of these American working-class jobs and the rise of the middle class in China, they happen at the same time and on almost the same scale.

China did get rich. They most certainly got rich, but they didn't use that money to buy our products. They used that money to buy the products that are made in China. And they didn't become a democracy either. Now you have a rich Chinese Communist Party that has tightened its grip on the country.

And it’s actually started going around the world trying to export their authoritarian model.
They literally go around telling countries democracy cannot solve problems. “Our system is so much better at solving problems. We can move quicker, we don't have to have a town hall meeting before we do everything, we can have strategic 20-year plans, and we can solve your problems.”

And for developing countries around the world, that potentially has some appeal. The fact is that we're now confronted with the consequences of this historic and catastrophic mistake. And it's important to understand what some of these are and they'll be familiar to you because we see them every day. They play out not just on the floor of the Senate. They play out in our society and our politics on television.

First of all, we're a nation that's bitterly divided. It's easy and lazy to say we're Republicans, Democrats, Liberals, Conservatives. The biggest divisions are not even ideological per se. They seem to be attitudinal.

Largely, they seem to be along the lines of an affluent class of people that work in jobs and careers and in industries and live in places that have benefited from this rearrangement of the global economy. They do jobs that pay well and that work in a system like this.

They are divided against the millions of working people who were left behind by all these changes and live in places that are literally hollowed out, once-vibrant communities that have been gutted.

By the way, remember when they would say don't worry, those people will move to somewhere else in the country for those new jobs? They didn't move, because people don't like to leave their community. They don't like to leave their extended family. They don't like to leave all the things they've ever known and supported them. That didn't work that way.

We are addicted to cheap exports from China. And we are dependent on Chinese supply chains for everything from food to medicine to advanced technology. We just had a pandemic that reminded us of this. And what does that mean—these long supply chains dependent on a geopolitical competitor? It means we're vulnerable. Vulnerable to blackmail, vulnerable to coercion.

You know what else it left us with? An economy that is highly concentrated and fragile. Our economy is primarily based today on two sectors. What's all the news about? Turn on the financial networks. You'll see what all the discussion is about. Primarily two sectors—finance, meaning people that take your money and invest it somewhere else—and Big Tech.

And those two industries that are now the pillar of our economy are controlled by just a small number of giant multinational corporations, the same ones that, by the way, outsourced our jobs. These multinational corporations, in many cases, have more power than the government. And they have no loyalty to our people or to our country. Their interest is not the national interest, because they’re multinationals. In fact, they're owned by shareholders and investment funds from all over the world.

This idea that globalizing our economy would prevent great power competition between nations was always a delusion. And I think the people of Hong Kong, Taiwan and Ukraine can tell you that this idea that free trade always and automatically leads to peace isn’t true either.

You know, none of us have ever lived in a world where America was not the most powerful nation on earth. I was born into and grew up in a world where two superpowers faced off in this long and dangerous Cold War between communism and freedom, between the free world and people who lived enslaved behind the iron curtain.

And then I came of age, and suddenly I watched the Berlin Wall fall, and I saw the Soviet Union collapse. Let me tell you, if you had told me 10 years earlier that the Soviet Union is going to vanish off the face of the earth, I wouldn't have believed it. It was a time truly historic and unprecedented.

But now, three decades later, we find ourselves once again in a rivalry with another great power, and this rivalry is far more dangerous. Our rival is far more sophisticated than the Soviet Union ever was.

The Soviet Union was never an industrial competitor. The Soviet Union was never a technological competitor. The Soviet Union was a geopolitical and a military competitor. But the near-peer rival in China that we have now? They have leverage over our economy. They have influence over our society. They have an army of unpaid lobbyists here in Washington.

These are the companies and the individuals that are benefiting from doing business in China. And they don't care if five years from now they won't even be able to work there anymore. They're making so much money off their investments, their factories, and their engagement there now that they lobby here for free on China’s behalf.

This is a rival that has perfected the tactic of using our own media, our own universities, our own investment funds, our own corporations against us. They've used them against us every day.

But this is not the story of what China has done to us. China saw a system that we created, they took advantage of its benefits, and they didn't live up to its obligations. You know why? Because China was trying to build their country. They were making decisions that were in China's national interest, not in the interest of the global economy or some fantasy about how if two nations are in business, and there's a McDonald's in both countries, they'll never go to war.

This is not the story of what China's done to us. This is the story of what we've done to ourselves. Because we've allowed the system of globalization to drive our economic policies and our politics.

And it remains entrenched. Even now, people who agree that we have to do something about this will tell you, ‘We can't do that, because it will hurt exports. They'll put a tariff on some industry. China will kick us off.’

None of this is going to matter in 5 or 6 years. They won't need to tariff farm goods from the United States. They’ll own the farm. They're already buying up farmland. You don't have to worry about the investment funds that won't be able to make a return on their investment. In five years, they won't need their money anymore.

The system of globalization was a disaster, and the result of the system was not global peace and global prosperity. The result was not the world without walls, in which we were all part of one big happy human family.

The reality is people live in nations, and nations have interests. And, by and large, for almost all of human history, nations have acted in their own interests. Now we see what happens when one nation does that and another does not.

The result has been the rise of China and big business, the two big winners in all of this—the consolidation of corporate power in the hands of a handful of companies in key industries, and the rapid and historic rise of China at our expense.

China is a populous country. They're always going to be a superpower. They were always going to be one. But they did it faster because they did it at our expense. They didn't create these jobs. They moved them. They didn't create these industries. They took them.

We buy solar panels from China. Who invented solar panels? We did. They lead the world now in battery production for these electric vehicles. We invented it. I can go on and on. They're building more coal-fired plants than any country on earth. Today, China has more surplus refining capacity for oil than any nation on the planet.

This era has to end now. It's not about just taking on China. It is about changing the way we think. It's not 2000 anymore. It's not 1999 anymore. This is a different world.

In a series of speeches over the next few weeks, I'm going to attempt to outline a coherent alternative moving forward, in the hope that we don't just sit around here all day trying to outdo each other about who's going to ban this and who's going to block that going to China.

This is about a lot more than just banning this and stopping that. It is about a coherent approach to a difficult and historic challenge. And look, it's a complicated one, and complicated problems rarely have ever have simple solutions.

But the simplest way I can describe how I think we should move forward is we need to fundamentally realign the assumptions and the ideas behind our economic and foreign policies. We need a new system of global economics where we enter into global trade agreements, not with the goal of doing what's good for the global economy, but with the goal of doing what's good for us.

If a trade deal creates American jobs or strengthens a key American industry, we do that deal. If it undermines us, we don't do the deal just because it would be good for the global economy or because in the free market lab experiment, it's the right thing to do.

We don't live in a lab. We're human beings, flesh and blood, who live in the real world. In economic theory, when a factory leaves and a job is lost, it's just a number on a spreadsheet. In real life, when a factory leaves and a job is lost, a dad loses his job. A single mom loses the ability to support her family. A community is gutted.

We'll need to enter into global trade agreements. We're not talking about isolationism here. But the criteria for every agreement needs to be, is it good for our industries and workers or is it bad?

It sounds pretty simplistic. I don't know how anyone could disagree that we should not enter into trade agreements that are bad for American workers and bad for key industries.

We also, by the way, need to enter into foreign policy alliances that reward our allies and strengthen those who share our values and our principles. If we can’t make something here, then we should strengthen the ability of an ally to be the source of our supplies.

But I will tell you this at the outset—it will not be easy. Because those who have prospered and flourished under the status quo—they still have a lot of power, and they will use it to protect that status quo. But we have no choice but to change direction. Because our success or our failure is going to define the 21st century.

Adventures of Flash Gordon: The Planet of Peril | Buster Crabbe, Jean Rogers | Colorized

This is great!

https://youtu.be/m3peCx8pAIM

All sorts of stuff going on…

Today’s post is going to be all over the place. Geo-politically, China is making moves that will define the future of the globe. The United States is making all sorts of moves about putting dangerous missiles in Taiwan aimed at China, and so China says… We will supply Russia then.

“Your move.”

The USA had best back down, if not, then it’s truly “game over” for the Ukraine conflict. But you know, the Biden administration doesn’t know where the “brakes on the car” are, and the probably outcome is…

Offensive missiles in Taiwan – Crossing a Chinese RED LINE.
So… China arming Russia.
Now, Russia and China together overwhelms the Western war effort.
Thus, the Ukraine conflict a big write-off for the West. A loss. BIG.
The USA sanctioning China in response.
And China is ready, so the result is…
An enormous economic collapse in Europe, and the United States.

Spicy times.

Other content here is to mediate the flow of Geo-political stuff with reality. Food, relationships, thoughts and such. Lots of stuff about PA where I came from.

This post is all about where the vector of geopolitical realities are pointing towards.

China Moves To Flip The World Order – It’s Official Now!

The world will never be the same. China understands that only a multipolar world will work for such a large and diverse human race. China, Russia, and India understand what they HAVE to do to never allow the West to trample on the rest of the world’s population.

The United States put weapons in Taiwan, and China will put weapons in Russia.

Confessions Of An Unattractive Woman Living In A Superficial World

May 25, 2021

I am ugly. I am unattractive. I know that my skin is awful, my hair is greasy, and society simply does not permit women to weigh as much as I do.

But, mind you, this is not the same as having low self-esteem. Because when I look in the mirror, I hate my body, not myself. I simply shake my head and think, “This isn’t me. This mediocre sack of meat isn’t me. I’m just renting it out, driving it around. It’s a tool. It’s a vehicle. I use it to take myself places that I need to go, and that’s all there is to it.”

Ok fine, I’m not Zen enough to actually believe I can escape with that train of thought. The truth is, I am frustrated with the irreconcilable disconnect between my pride and my presence. The acne mask and the fat suit egregiously fail to conform with my mental mockups of my perfectly badass self. I suppose the only real solution then, besides undergoing extensive surgeries, is to upload my conscience to a supercomputer.

Maybe the Singularity will happen, and everything will be great, but in the meantime, I much prefer the Internet to real life interactions because most of you haven’t got a clue as to what I look like, and if you don’t like me it’s because my ideas suck and not because you find my face unpleasant. The Internet allows me to temporarily abandon the limitations of my subpar physical avatar.

Even if people are especially curious about my appearance, I only allow them to make vague inferences based off a single profile picture, uniform across all my social media haunts, taken a very long time ago at a surprisingly flattering angle, in which I actually manage to trick them into thinking I look quite average. Well, I don’t. I’ve gained 50 pounds since then, and academic stress makes my acne flare up like nobody’s business.

Regardless, I decided a while back that everyone has his or her own strengths and weaknesses, and I would do well to focus on my strengths instead of my weaknesses. Even people who are bad at everything are less bad at some things than they are at others. After some introspection, I concluded that I was less bad at learning things than I was at looking pretty, so I would ultimately benefit far more from sharpening my skills and pursuing a technical career than from trying in vain to undo the effects of losing the genetic lottery.

As for the romantic side of things, I avoid unnecessary heartbreak by keeping myself from harboring silly delusions about reciprocated love in the first place. I have rationalized that it is okay for me to be ugly because 1) marriage is not the optimal arrangement for everyone and 2) the human race would likely carry on just fine without my genetic contribution.

I am irritated with the cliché that “everyone is beautiful” because surface friendliness and pretending to be PC don’t solve anything. It doesn’t help the young girl with confidence issues because even if you’re “nice” enough to tell her that she’s beautiful, are you nice enough to, like, actually date her? Words mean nothing without actions, yet it’s patently unfair to expect people not to be shallow because at the end of the day, beauty is beauty, attraction is attraction, and sexual desire is governed by deep-rooted evolutionary impulses that people don’t understand and can’t control.

It would be far more useful to promote the idea that people can contribute to the world in a variety of interesting and fulfilling ways besides making others salivate over their bodies. You can make original scientific breakthroughs! You can regale people with tales of heroic conquest! You can build products that make people’s lives easier! But I guess changing the world wouldn’t make for an effective beauty products campaign.

– CS Undergrad at MIT

Cocada Branca
(White Coconut Flake Candy)

This candy is from Brazil.

This is a recipe for white coconut candy. It is called “white” because there is also black cocada (cocada preta). The black cocada is made with brown sugar and has a dark brown color.

Ingredients

4 cups granulated sugar
1 cup water
2 coconuts
4 cloves (optional)
1 cinnamon stick (optional)

Instructions

Grate the coconuts with a hand grater (Do not use blender, food processor. Coconut flakes already grated will not taste the same as freshly grated coconuts).
In a large saucepan, combine the water, sugar, cloves and cinnamon. Boil for about 20 minutes or until you get a thick syrup. Test by dropping a full teaspoon of syrup in a glass with water. The syrup should become a soft candy. (You can remove the clove and cinnamon from the syrup at this point).
Remove the saucepan from the heat and mix in the grated coconut with a wooden spoon.
Return the saucepan to heat and cook additional 5 minutes. Perform the water glass test again to make sure it has boiled long enough.
Use a large spoon to drop amounts of melted cocada onto a buttered baking sheet.
Let cocadas cool, then serve.

Pennsylvania Isn’t What You Think It Is Anymore

“I live in Pennsylvania and I can confirm that Nick nailed it in this video! Great work!”

Confessions Of A Former Drug Mule

May 18, 2021

Why did you get into this business?

The city I live in is extremely corrupt. I’ll be honest, I was living at home, working a minimum wage job, paying too much money a month for a decent car (2014 25k car), I was struggling financially overall. I had a hunger for money and power, ultimately leading me to find someone who could get me in, a “recruiter” if you will.

How did you get into this business?

I went to someone in the business. It took me 6 months before he offered me a job

How did you find this guy?

He ended up being a friend of a friend. It took him 6 months to offer me a job because the way I approached him was highly unusual.

Which cartel did you work for?

Cartel del Golfo (Gulf Cartel)

What were the top commodities of your cartel when you were in?

Coke, weed and meth. I never touched meth, that was a whole different league.

What were the wholesale prices of the drugs you were smuggling?

The price of one brick if cocaine in southern Texas/ California is about 19k. In Pittsburgh it’s about 38k.

How much did you make?

3 thousand to 5 thousand a week.

How easy were the jobs? Did you have to come up with creative ways to transport the drugs? If so, what’s your most creative way of doing it?

It was easy. The cartels have been doing this for a long time. They know exactly how to mask the smell and modify the vehicle. I can’t tell you the most creative way I’ve done it. The cartels have adopted it and now use it regularly, sorry.

What was it like the first time?

I wasn’t scared or nervous, I’m not really sure what I felt. I guess if anything I was excited because if it went well then I was going go get 3k for 2 days. The job was to drive from Point A to Point B. My recruiter called me once and hour to check up on my well being. My girl bestfriend would also check up on me every so often, so I was okay mentally. I had to drive for X number of hours and it was exhausting. I didn’t like to stop except for gas and energy drinks. When I finally arrived to my destination I was put in a hotel room where I had to wait 10 hours. This hotel was in the middle of nowhere in a different state so there was nothing to do. When the merchandise was finally unloaded from the vehicle I immediately drove back home. I remember feeling happy and relieved. I turned in the car and got paid.

Were you doing any drugs yourself?

When I got back from a job I would go out and party. I’d get quite a bit of coke as a reward so I’d do that with my friends.

Have you ever at any point had a close call or had your life in imminent danger by the cartel for a mistake or misunderstanding such as losing a load?

The 3 times I was caught and was able to walk away made everyone paranoid. The cartel thought I had ratted them out. I had to convince the boss in Mexico I would never. That was probably the scariest moment I had with them.

I’m more afraid of the cartel than the Feds.

You mentioned that you were more afraid of the cartel than the feds, in reality, how much power would you think they ACTUALLY have in terms of operating a murder in the US from Mexico? I’ve heard that despite they’re financial and man power, they can’t carry out kills in the states like they do easily in Mexico. To the point of having to either contract the killing to an American gang like MS13 or hope the target visits Mexico.

The cartel makes more than 10 billion a year. With enough money they can hire anyone. If they want someone dead then it’s going to happen. Like you stated, they may send their own people or just hire a gang, it really depends.

I was asked if I wanted to kidnap a woman for 10k. I said no. When I got involved in this business I promised myself I would not hurt innocent civilians.

What happened the first time you got caught and how did you walk away?

So the job was to drive from Point A to Point B as usual. There were a total of 4 cars. 1 lead car, followed by me, a buyer behind me and my bosses in the back. This job was delicate. This was the 2nd time I introduced my buyers to my bosses. They had bought 2 bricks of coke, but wanted it higher up north. So basically they were paying me to transport it farther up north. The lead car was purposely speeding in case there was any cops, they’d pull him over and not me. This was just an added precaution. I want to say a good 10 hours in, the 2 cars behind me start losing distance between me and the lead car. I call them and they’re 2 hours away, well fuck… I talk to the lead car and we make the decision to go on anyways. Another 8 hours in I pull over at a gas station and unexpectedly run into the lead car. He tells me the 2 back up cars are 4 hours away from us. He wants to go to a restaurant and wait for them, but I insist on driving forward without them. He agrees. Couple hours later we finally arrive to our destination. Now this is where the stupid luck comes in. There’s 2 hotels right next to each other. My buyer wanted me to stay at the same hotel as him, I think it was a “let’s have each other’s back” type play. I wait for him to get a room and then I walk across the street and get a room at the other hotel. At this point it’s about 2200 and I’m tired. I buy a case of beer and go to my room and wait for my boss. He arrives to the hotel around 0300. Job well done right? Not so fast, my buyers are only buying 2 bricks. The other bricks are being bought by my boss’s clients. Around 1100 my boss tells me he’s going to go meet his clients. He tells me to stay put with the car and as soon as he calls me to head over there with the car. 1 hour later I still don’t recieve a call so I decide to head over to the restaurant downstairs and grab a bite. One of my clients joins me and we start talking about business. 30 minutes later we finish and I walk back to my room.

I insert my keycard only to find it doesn’t work. No big deal, I’ll go to the front desk and have them give me a new one. I walk into the lobby and immediately notice a Police Officer and a DEA agent. The DEA agent was wearing a kevlar vest with DEA in gold on the back of it. They both turn and look at me and I just kept my poker face and approach the front desk clerk. He gives me a new keycard and I leave. I remained as calm as possible and started thinking how I’m gonna get out of this one. I walk upstairs to my room and I look around. Across the street I notice 2 SUVs parked in a way that if shit went down they were in the position to respond immediately. I go with my gut feeling and ditch going inside the room. I walk around aimlessly to see if I was being followed and sure enough I notice a civilian car following me. I walk towards a business and right before I walk in the same car pulls up and the same DEA agent I saw earlier steps out.

Agent 1: What’s your name kid?

Me: I don’t have to answer that.

Agent 1: What kind of car are you driving, is it here?

Me: I’m not answering that.

Agent starts getting frustrated and his partner gets off the vehicle and immediately makes me put my hands behind my head.

Agent 2: Look kid, we’re investigating a car break in and the suspect fits your profile.

Me: They called DEA for a break-in?

Agent 1: Ugh, we’re not DEA. We’re city name police department.

Me: Those 2 unmarked SUVs are yours, your firearm is in your waistband and you’re driving a civilian car. Police department doesn’t operate that way.

Agent 1 and 2: …

Agent 2: What kind of training do you have?

Me: I was a former cop.

They take my I.D. out of my wallet and tell me to stay put. They say they’re going to see if I had any warrants. After about 10 minutes they hand me my I.D. and let me go. I take a bus back home and nobody knows what to think of it. The cartels started pointing fingers at everyone, they even suspected me of being an undercover DEA agent. It was later revealed my boss’s ex ratted us out. To this day, we don’t know what happened to my boss. We’ve tried looking for him in jail/prison through online database but to no avail.

My best theory as to what happened is this. The meeting between my boss and his clients was a setup. The DEA thought he would have the coke in his car and moved in, once they realized he didn’t have the coke they scrambled back to the hotel to try and salvage their operation. They ended up towing the car. My buyers went into hiding and so did I. The DEA never went after me again after this ordeal.

What happened the 2nd time you got caught?

The 2nd time I was smuggling weed and I was caught under different circumstances. The DEA was called in and I thought they would know who I was because of the first time. They did not… So it worked out.

And the 3rd?

The 3rd time I was caught I was in handcuffs and surrounded by state police, local police, DEA, CID (criminal investigations divison), etc. I thought for sure I was going to do some time. When I was able to walk away I knew my lifestyle had to change.

Why were you not imprisoned?

I’ll just leave this link here:

http://statelaws.findlaw.com/texas-law/texas-drug-trafficking-distribution-laws.html

How many people did you rat on to be caught smuggling 3 times and not be in prison?

None at all, but that was the main concern the cartel had.

What did convincing them of such look like?

Basically me going to Mexico and explaining what happened.

How did they respond to the loss in money? Any warnings?

Wasn’t my fault so I was in the clear.

Who’s fault is it?

A bitter ex girlfriend of my boss. She ratted us out. She was killed 1 month later.

How did you eventually leave the cartel (if you did)?

After my 3rd run in with the Feds, everyone said it was in my best interest to quit, which I did.

I was under the impression that joining a cartel was a permanent arrangement. You could just quit whenever and they’d be cool with that? Or was it specifically because of the close call.

As a mule you can quit whenever. By the 3rd time I was somewhat important. In addition to recruiting mules I was also bringing in buyers (people who buy in bulk). When I got caught the 3rd time the big bad boss in Mexico had no problem with me walking.

What’s the process of recruiting other mules involve?

Every “recruiter” has different methods. Me personally I target people who are working minimum wage jobs or college kids.

How much was total wealth at the end? Did you invest it and get out?

I laundered my money into a local bar. I still receive revenue. I made at least 200k

How did you launder the money?

The city I live in is extremely corrupt. Many business owners are tied to the cartel in some way. Cops are on Cartel payroll. All I had to do was ask for a favor and it was granted.

How corrupt are the police, border patrol and government officials in the surrounding border towns? How do they get away with it?

I would say majority of them are corrupt. I don’t mean corrupt in the sense that they’ll fight against their own government, but if they see something they’ll look the other way.

How have your experiences changed your perspective on the world around you

I learned a lot of things about this world. The people you’d least expect buy narcotics in bulk because there is money to be made. Judges, patrol units, court clerks, lawyers, business owners, churches, priests, etc.

Are the cartel bosses as professional and educated as any CEO/executive of a legitimately successful company in the US? What are their credentials? (MBA, etc.)

The top cartel bosses are damn near geniuses from what I’ve seen. To operate an entire network across the states is an accomplishment. Most of them attended school in the states or just learned from being in the business. It was said that if all the top cartel leaders came together to eradicate world-wide poverty they could do so easily.

What do you think it would take to stop the drug smuggling into the US?

Legalize drugs which won’t happen.

China arms sale panic

The USA wants to send weapons to Ukraine, and so here’s a tit-4-tat Chinese response. Hum.

What Goes On In The Mind Of A Potential School Shooter?

May 12, 2021

I suffer from Autism, social anxiety, PTSD, and severe anger issues. At school I’m usually mocked by other peers for being the “weird white kid” and called a school shooter a lot because I had a crazy big obsession with the Columbine shooting.

I was and still an 16 yo and live in a small country with strict firearm laws but have access to them.

I was going through a really bad time in my life, I was struggling with my old best friend who helped me through my mental health but started to ghost me and use me for my money, my ex girlfriend at the time has just broken up with me and my social anxiety had turned me into a suicidal and angry mess.

I was dumped the night before because my ex liked another guy and I was really really upset and angry because it was like the straw that broke the camels back.

I was at school, this was on the 25th of August 2018 where I was super angry, these kids were picking on me and threatening to beat me up and laughing at me.

I was in a really bad mood and ranting in this journal I carried around where I ranted about my anger when I suddenly got the overwhelming feeling of rage and suicidal thoughts, I started writing about an idea to shoot Up the school.

I was writing quite a lot about it when I decided it would be a good idea to just do it.

I walked out of class when my friend walked past me and I remember saying “dude, go home.” and he asked why and I just said “I’m just going to do something, I recommend you just get the fuck out of here”.

I remember sending a message to my ex basically saying I was doing something and to just forget about me.

She had known I’d had these thoughts for a long time (I’ve had thoughts of brining a firearm to school since I was 10).

She started freaking out, calling me and trying to calm me down, I was about to walk out of school when all of a sudden I realized what I was going to do.

I remember calling the mental health clinic where I live and asking for my psychologist to pick me up and I told them what had nearly happened.

It was a very very scary experience, something that still messes with me to this day.

I’m in a happy relationship with someone else now.

I cut that ex best friend out of my life and still talk to my ex today, we’re good friends.

I’ve been a lot calmer lately after I started doing more therapy with my psychologist about my past bullying and all other stuff going on that I didn’t talk to.

I even temporarily moved to a school for people with mental health to calm down.

I’ve told a few friends about this and I ended up telling my mum and my older brother.

The 10 Most Redneck Cities In Pennsylvania Explained

https://youtu.be/yg9eZRHnFGI

Flank Steak with Chimichurri Sauce

The Argentine gauchos grill meats marinated in a chimichurri sauce.

Ingredients

1 (1 1/2 pound) beef flank steak
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 cup vegetable oil
1/2 cup white wine vinegar
1/2 cup lemon juice
1/4 cup minced parsley
1 teaspoon crushed red pepper

Instructions

Cut diamond pattern 1/8 inch deep into both sides of beef. Place beef in non-reactive dish.
Shake remaining ingredients in tightly covered jar.
Pour 1 cup of the sauce over beef. Cover remaining sauce.
Cover and refrigerate beef, turning occasionally, at least 4 hours.
Remove beef from sauce.
Grill beef 4 or 5 inches from medium coals, turning and brushing with sauce once, until desired doneness, 6 to 8 minutes on each side for medium.
Cut beef diagonally across the grain into thin slices.
Serve with reserved sauce.

Yield: 4 to 5 servings

Confessions of a Couple Living The Van Life

April 29, 2021 Leave a Comment

Quick Facts

Age: Madelyn is 22, Caleb is 24
Van type: Toyota Hiace Super Custom
Miles: 215,000 km
Time spent in van: Seven months full time living in the van, a year since we bought the van.
Birthplace: Both born in Texas.
Relationship status: Engaged
Occupation: Self-Employed
Average monthly expenses: $1200
Go-to van meal: Linguine, Parmesan, and chicken sausage.
Favorite parking spot: Anywhere with nice weather, but we especially love the beachside cliffs.

What were you doing before living in a van?

Before the van, we lived in a small apartment. We quit our jobs to work fully for ourselves and start to build our brand. In those days, we would pack up our Fiat and drive across the country with a tent just to have some adventure.

Why did you get started in Van Life?

For us, van life was the best living conditions we could choose for the adventures we wanted to take. It made more financial sense for us to eliminate the bills from the apartment and stationary living.

What’s the best feature about your van?

The best feature of our van is easily the 4wd capability. It’s allowed us to take this vintage beast into some rugged, wild places.

How do you make money?

We consider ourselves to be digital nomads. All of our income comes through the internet and that enables us to be location independent. The majority of that includes branding, marketing, and advertising work.

What are some challenges you face on the road?

For the most part, the challenges we face involve finding proper places to do the simple tasks. Every day is a routine of locating bathrooms, parking spots, places to cook, places to sleep, etc. It can feel overwhelming being on the move so much, but we counter that by spending quality time outside.

What has surprised you most about this lifestyle?

We’ve been most surprised by the wonderful community that exists among vandwellers. We thought van life would be a lonely road until meeting so many amazing people living this same lifestyle. Until you get out there and start your trek, you‘ll never see the others who are on that path. It was unexpected, but we found lifelong friends through our fellow nomads.

It’s raining and you’re stuck in your van for a full day. What do you do?

Since we wake up so early most days, rainy days seem to be the time to sleep in a little later. With the van being so tiny, we like to get out and stretch our legs. We would hit up a coffee shop and maybe hang out at the library. For us, the weather is a huge determining factor for our day and activities.

Do you have any tips, tricks or hacks for van life?

We’ve found that the best tips and tricks are found by the locals. If you start exploring a city and finding the heart of it, you’ll run into people who are dying to share amazing advice about the area and region you’re visiting. Countless times we’ve gone on amazing adventures from the advice of locals and even made new friends through the process.

What is the most essential item in your vehicle?

Our most essential item in the van would be our phones. We not only use them to find new adventures, but we work and share our journey through these devices!

If anything, how would you improve your vehicle?

If anything could be changed, we would probably choose to have a high top ceiling. With a tiny van, things already feel tight so that extra head space would make a huge difference.

What is the most rewarding thing about Van Life?

The most rewarding thing about van life is the new possibilities and experiences it opens up. We have made countless memories that would’ve never been possible without the freedom vehicle that is our van.

What kind of advice would you give to couples pursuing the van life?

For couples interested in pursuing van life together, the greatest advice we can share is to start camping first. Get the two of you adventuring and dealing with inconvenient situations and see how you handle the tiny living space (tent or vehicle). The quicker you figure out how to work together through the hectic parts of a nomadic life, the smoother you‘ll find your transition into van life.

What advice would you give to someone starting or thinking about starting Van Life?

For someone interested in getting into van life, we suggest going as minimal as possible! The less stuff you have weighing you down, the easier it’ll be for you to travel and experience life. For us, van life wasn’t about the van. It was about getting OUT of the van and into nature or the world around us. Finding comfort being outside of your van and exploring can make the lifestyle so much more fulfilling.

Chuchitos
(Cornmeal Dumplings Stuffed with Meat – Guatemala)

Ingredients

1 pound boneless chicken or pork
1 tablespoon oil
2 cups sliced ripe tomatoes
1 chile guajillo, seeds and stem removed
2 tablespoons water
4 cups Masa Harina
8 tablespoons margarine (at room temperature)
1 1/2 cups cold water
1 teaspoon salt
Fresh green or dried cornhusks, wet

Instructions

Cut the chicken or pork into 1-inch cubes and fry in oil over medium heat for 3 minutes. Set aside.
Process the tomatoes, chile pepper and 2 tablespoons water into a smooth sauce. Set aside.
Mix the masa, margarine, 1 1/2 cups cold water and the salt together into a thick mush.
Put 1/2 cup mush in each wet cornhusk, push an indentation into the mush, and add 1 tablespoon sauce and a chunk of meat.
Cover the stuffing with the mush and wrap the dumpling into a sausage shape with the corn leaves.
Steam the chuchitos over hot water over moderate heat for 1 1/2 hours.
Unwrap and eat warm or at room temperature.

12 People Who Survived Suicide Reveal Their Last Thoughts Before Attempting To Take Their Own Lives

April 28, 2021

1. Tried to overdose on Oxycontin, last thoughts were immediate regret after I pushed the plunger on the syringe all the way down, all I felt was remorse and sadness that I wouldn’t be alive anymore. Woke up 20-24 hours later extremely grateful to be alive and got help with my drug addiction, now 4 year sober on 8/14.

2. I have severe depression and never knew what genuine happiness felt like until I was 17 and on meds from the hospital after my suicide attempt, it was so overwhelming I just started sobbing in the car with my mom, out of nowhere.

Anyway, I had taken a bottle of Xanax when my mom left for church, it wasn’t planned I was just at my mental breaking point and panicked, I sat in the kitchen floor and I felt an overwhelming sense of euphoria, I just kept thinking ‘it’s over. It’s over. It’s over’

I didn’t regret it until my mom found me because she turned around after realizing she left something at home, I will never forgive myself for putting her through that. I’m 24 and the memory of her crying and tell me she loved me and she was sorry still haunts me. I have a lump in my throat just typing this.

3. The 3rd attempt was the final one. After 2 failures (tried to OD on benadryl demerol and vodka, 2nd attempt was hanging), the pain was just too much to handle.

I remember it was the Monday after Easter in 2000 I just turned 21. I came home from my internship with a bottle of skky vodka and sheet plastic. It was after 9pm, I had finished the vodka and put the plastic over my bed. I made a few phone calls to say sorry and got the box cutter out. I had it on my wrist ready to slash down to my elbow, blood began welling up and my father came in.

I saw the look of disappointment in his eyes, just one more thing I did wrong. I went through my window and took off. I went running no idea where to but I wanted to find a busy road to jump into traffic. I jumped in front of a car, it stopped. My friends got out and put me in the car to go to a diner for coffee to sober up.

Sobered up some, took off again looking to jump in the street again. I remember being so tired and fell to the ground. Next thing I know is that I’m in a hospital waking up even more depressed.

I ended up getting the help I needed. I still take zoloft everyday, but I am well adjusted now. Still have ups and downs but never that low. That was 16 years ago and this was the first time I have fully told this tale.

4. “I hope this works.”

“Oh, gods, that hurts!”

“Fuck, I made a mess on the carpet. I always make a mess for other people.”

Getting light headed

“Damn it, he’s going to have to deal with my death if I let this happen here… He doesn’t deserve that.”

Goes to stop the bleeding

“Fuck, why did I do that? So stupid. What will everyone think of me?”

5. I took around 20,000 mg of ibuprofen. At first, all I felt was relief. I wouldn’t have to deal with the shit going on in my head any longer. But I started vomiting, and then I started having these weird visions of how people I know would react to my death. People at my school gossiping about it, my teachers talking to each other in hushed voices. I saw my little sister hearing the news and breaking into tears. I saw her go down the road of self-destruction, just as I did. I saw my mother devastated. Once I stopped having these visions, I threw up some more and told a family member to bring me to the hospital. They got all the ibuprofen out of my system. I’ve been seeing a therapist and I’m doing quite a bit better now.

6. I tried to cut my throat, but I stopped because my dog was scared. I didn’t want to lose her, or my family.

7. “Everything is so fuzzy. This could be it… Goodnight.” I tried to OD several times. It’s a wonder my organs are okay.

The last time I tried to kill myself was by jumping under a car. My last thought was “fucking do it, nobody will care and you know it.” Then a drunk person pulled me back. It hit me- what a selfish way to go. Someone would have had to live with that- hitting a 17 year old girl at 6am on their way to work.

8. I laid down in my bed hearing my husband prepare my infant daughter her nighttime bottle and thought: “she’ll be fine without me, better off in fact.” She didn’t know me yet and I thought my husband and parents could raise her without my toxic damaging influence. All I could think was that I was giving my daughter a gift, a life without me as her mother. She could imagine me as anything she wanted or needed. She’d never know my weaknesses and failures. I’d just be a few photos on her dad’s Facebook. And maybe not even that if he remarried. It was the ultimate feeling of release.

9. I jumped off of a bridge. 80 ft. I remember looking down and instantly diving off. In the air I had done a flip and was thinking “What happens next happens.” Falling was so peaceful, I felt free. It was only a few seconds but it felt like a life time of floating towards heaven. Then I hit the water. I thought I was dead until I took a breath of air and was like “oh shit. it didnt work. lol. now what.” I started laughing really hard and thought “of course i survived. lol. of course this would happen to me. It took me 30 minutes to get out of the Puget Sound. Very cold. Almost drowned. Almost died of hypothermia in the hospital.

I’m so much better now. I wouldn’t say that I am happy that I jumped off of the bridge, but it changed my life for all of the better. I found a therapy that worked for me and wow. lol.

10. I didn’t go through with it… But I wrote down my feelings about the time I came close.

Things all came to a head one night in the parking lot at WalMart. I was devastatingly drunk. Crying. Drowning in self-loathing and alcohol. I hated myself. I hated the person I was. I hated the things I had done to the people that loved me. I wanted to die. I kept a .40 cal semi-auto handgun tucked between the front seats in my truck. I looked at it. I picked it up. I felt like freedom was inside it. I had to let it out. All the pain would go away. Nobody would have to deal with me anymore. I couldn’t do any more damage to anyone if I were gone. I pulled back the hammer, I stuck the barrel into my mouth, it tasted just like it smelled… I started to squeeze the trigger… People in my life started to flash into my mind and the thoughts of how it would affect them. First was my son, 23 at the time. He had a girlfriend blow her head off with a .357 magnum when he was 19. How will this affect him, I asked myself. He got over it once, he’ll get over it again, I answered. I squeezed the trigger a little more. My step-daughters, 20 and 25 at the time, how will this affect them, I asked. They would be glad to see me go, I answered quickly. I squeezed the trigger a little more. My mom, who lost her oldest child to cancer 12 years ago, how will this affect her, I asked myself. She lost one, she can lose another, I answered. I squeezed the trigger a little more. My ex-wife… How would… I stopped squeezing. I saw an image of her on her knees. Crying. Not just crying, bawling. That deep, gut wrenching, terribly broken soul heaving cry. I pulled the gun out of my mouth, unloaded it and threw it into the back seat which was full of everything I owned. I broke down and cried harder than I ever had in my life. That was it. I was done.

11. “Finally I’ll have some peace.”

I tried to overdose- mixed opiates and benzos. My best friend found me and took me back to his place. I was severely loopy. Slept for hours. Woke up and immediately thought “I wasn’t supposed to wake up.” I walked to the pharmacy and bought gel cap sleep aids and liquid sleep aids. Proceeded to chase the entire box of pills with the syrup. Apparently my best friend found me scarfing the pills down in his bed saying “nothing matters.” 911 was called. I ended up in a psych ward for 5 days. I haven’t suffered from suicidal ideation in a while, I manage my depression with talk therapy.

For the record- I never felt regret or that last minute “what have I done?!”

12. I hung myself within the last year. Reasons are…..well my reasons. The last thought I render before blacking out was one of peace. It was the one and only time I remember feeling in control of my own life. I felt, for lack of a better word, right. It scares the absolute shit out of me, because I can’t stop thinking about it, and how much I wish I felt that way always.

Everything seems so much worse now, I have friends who are angry they couldn’t talk me through it so they have cut me off for being “selfish”. The only thing keeping me from trying again is my mom. But it’s strained our relationship.

I feel worthless, and love the feeling of being 100% in control.

I Drove Through The WORST Parts Of Pittsburgh. This Is What I Saw.

This is where MM is from. All of my relatives live in Pittsburgh. The views here are about me. BTW, I used to work in McKeesport / West Elizabeth. Yikes.-MM

Horrible, eh?

Walking Tour of Shenzhen, China, walking in Futian District, Shenzhen

This is where MM lives now…

I own a house here.

Though I talk about my home in Zhuhai, and my home in Zhongshan Tanzhou, my main home is in Shenzhen. Check it out…

“Vaccine-Induced AIDS” – Military Records 500% Increase in HIV after COVID-19 Vax

World Hal Turner 01 March 2023

The Armed Forces of the United States recorded a five hundred percent (500%) increase in AIDS after administering the COVID-19 Vaccine to US Troops. The COVID-19 Vaccine is implicated.

White Blood Cells (WBC) fight-off infection in the human body. NORMALLY, the level of White cells in blood is usually about 5,000 cells per milliliter. During an infection, that level jumps – perhaps as high as twenty-thousand (20,000) — until the body kills the invading bacteria or virus. Once the invader is dead, the WBC count returns to the normal range of about 5,000.

After getting the COVID-19 “vaccine” many (very many) people started noticing they were becoming sick more often, and taking far longer to fight-off whatever bug they caught. Moreover, people with Cancer that had been in remission, suddenly found the cancer was not only back, but had metastasized and spread everywhere.

Doctors performing routine tests on people began noticing the level of WBC was lower than usual. Instead of having 5,000 WBC as a baseline, Doctors began seeing patients with 4,000, or 3,000, and some as low as 2,000 WBC. At those levels, the human body does not have enough of its front-line troops to fight-off infection very well.

When the level drops below 1,000, a person gets sick from their own natural gut bacteria, which gets out into the blood stream and they become Septic. This leads to death.

Now, US military Doctors are seeing AIDS-like levels of WBC in our troops. They cannot fight off infections. Doctors are calling this “Vaccine Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome “VAIDS.”

It turns out that the COVID-19 “vaccine” contains three proteins found in the HIV virus!

So it now appears that those who got the COVID-19 “vaccines” gave themselves AIDS and will die from it.

The British Boradcasting Corporation (BBC) did a special TV show in the United Kingdom last year about this. In that show, they revealed that a segment of HIV *** WAS *** used to manufacture the vaccine! Here is that segment:

So they knew. They actually KNEW they were giving a part of the HIV virus to everyone who got their “vaccine.”

Oh, and the people who developed this “vaccine” and others who pushed it off on the public as “safe and effective” . . . they’re all still out walking free on our streets.

Where are the arrests?

If this pattern of VAIDS continues, then it would seem the COVID-19 “vaccines” will ultimately wipe out about six billion people on the planet. Death on a scale this planet has never seen before.

Why are the people who did this still out walking free? Sounds like Criminally Negligent Homicide to me.

Where are the police?

Where are the lawyers, suing? Or are they just preparing to die like the rest after taking the “vaccine?” Or maybe THEY didn’t actually take it? Maybe THEY knew all along what this “vaccine” actually was?

If so, that’s the crime of premeditated murder.

Putin warns STOP this now as NATO crosses red line in Ukraine

The world after Taiwan’s fall

Study says China’s capture of Taiwan – whether with or without a US-led intervention – would be earth-shattering for US credibility

by David Santoro and Ralph Cossa March 2, 2023

Let us start with our bottom line: a failure of the United States to come to Taiwan’s aid – politically, economically, and militarily – in the event of a takeover attempt by the People’s Republic of China (PRC) would devastate the Unites States’ credibility and defense commitments to its allies and partners, not just in the Indo-Pacific, but globally.

If the United States tries but fails to prevent such a takeover, the impact could be equally devastating unless there is a concentrated, coordinated US attempt with like-minded allies and partners to halt further PRC aggression and eventually roll back Beijing’s gains.

This is not a hypothetical assessment. Taiwan has been increasingly under the threat of a military takeover by the PRC and, even today, is under attack politically, economically, psychologically and through so-called “gray zone” military actions short of actual combat.

The US government, US allies and others have begun to pay attention to this problem. Yet, to this day, they have not sufficiently appreciated the strategic implications that such a takeover would generate.

The study

To address this problem, the Pacific Forum has conducted a multi-authored study on “the World After Taiwan’s Fall” with the goal of raising awareness in Washington, key allied capitals and beyond about the consequences of a PRC victory in a war over Taiwan – and, more importantly, to drive them to take appropriate action to prevent it.

On this question, the study provides six national perspectives (US, Australian, Japanese, Korean, Indian and European). Its findings and recommendations were fed into the second round of the Pacific Forum-run Track-2 “US-Taiwan Deterrence and Defense Dialogue” sponsored by the Defense Threat Reduction Agency.

It outlines these strategic implications in two alternative scenarios. In the first scenario, the PRC attacks Taiwan and it falls with no outside assistance from the United States or others. In the other scenario, Taiwan falls to the PRC despite outside assistance – a “too little, too late” scenario.

The study’s main finding is that Taiwan’s fall would have devastating consequences for the United States and many countries in the region and beyond. Regardless of how it happens (without or despite US/allied intervention), Taiwan’s fall to the PRC would be earth-shattering.

The PRC could eclipse US power and influence in the region once and for all. Taiwan’s fall could lead to the advent of a Pax Sinica in which Beijing and its allies would pursue their interests much more aggressively and with complete impunity.

Nuclear proliferation in several parts of the Indo-Pacific could also be the net result of Taiwan’s fall, leading to much more dangerous regional and international security environments.

To several authors, it would thus be necessary to build an Asian equivalent to the North Atlantic Treaty Organization to prevent PRC adventurism and ultimately retake Taiwan.

Accordingly, the United States, its allies and others should take major action – rapidly – to prevent such a development.

In particular, the United States should lead an effort to strengthen collective deterrence and defense in the Indo-Pacific; this is especially important in the aftermath of the Russian invasion of Ukraine, which has shown territory takeovers still happen in the 21st century.

The United States should also give serious consideration to establishing region-wide nuclear sharing arrangements. At a minimum, it should jumpstart research to examine the benefits, costs and risks that such arrangements would bring to the Indo-Pacific security architecture and assess the opportunities and challenges that such a development would present.

Each national perspective imagines broadly similar implications of a PRC takeover of Taiwan.

United States

Ian Easton’s chapter on the US perspective explains that Taiwan’s fall would be disastrous irrespective of how it might happen because the island is a leading democracy, has unique military and intelligence capabilities, plays a critical role in global high-tech supply chains and benefits from a special geographic location in the heart of East Asia.

Easton further contends that the outcome would be especially dire if Taiwan should fall without the United States and others trying (even if they failed) to defend it. The result would be Taiwan’s destruction as a “free and independent country”; the breakdown of the US alliance system, with some allies going nuclear and others falling into the PRC’s diplomatic orbit; and increased PRC influence globally.

Taiwan’s fall after an intense battle between the United States, its allies, and the PRC would not be as bad: Taiwanese resistance fighters would likely fight on, and the United States might be in a position to build a collective deterrence and defense system to keep the PRC in check. Still, the regional and global security orders would be shattered.

Australia

Malcolm Davis’s chapter on the Australian perspective paints a similarly dark picture. Regardless of how Taiwan’s fall might happen, Davis explains, the PRC would be “much better placed to deny US forward presence, to weaken American geopolitical influence in Asia, and expand Beijing’s domination in the region.”

He adds that a US and allied failure to intervene would generate a “highly permissive environment for Beijing from which it could expand its influence and presence as well as coerce other opponents, notably Japan as well as Australia.”

Meanwhile, in the event of a failed US/allied intervention, Davis contends that the outcome would be a substantial US defeat – which would reinforce the perception of US decline – or a protracted high-intensity war with the PRC. Neither outcome would be good for Australia.

Canberra, then, would have to recalibrate and fundamentally rethink its defense policy, its alliance with the United States, and its strategic relationships with other regional partners.

Japan

Matake Kamiya’s chapter on the Japanese perspective argues that Tokyo, too, would regard the Island’s fall to the PRC as deeply troubling. As Kamiya puts it, “If China seizes Taiwan, the consequences – in political, military, economic [terms] and even in terms of values and ideology – would have serious repercussions for Japan.”

Kamiya considers that the outcome of Taiwan’s fall would be “equally bad” whether the fall took place without or despite US/allied assistance.

He points out that, in Japanese eyes, US credibility would be at stake if a PRC takeover took place without US intervention and that the US ability to defend Japan effectively would be seriously questioned in the case of a failed US intervention.

Either way, serious problems would then likely emerge in the US-Japan alliance as a result.

South Korea

Duyeon Kim’s chapter on the Korean perspective echoes Kamiya’s on the Japanese perspective. Kim stresses that “the expected outcomes of Taiwan’s fall for Korea would be the same under the two scenarios – both equally bad in terms of South Korean perceptions and sentiments about the US security commitments to them and their interest in obtaining an independent nuclear deterrent.”

Kim, however, does insist that much would depend on the degree to which South Koreans question US credibility and lose trust in Washington, as well as on the political party in power in Seoul, the state of the US-Korea alliance, the state of Korea-PRC relations and North Korea’s nuclear capabilities and strategic calculus.

Still, she argues that a determining factor would be President Xi Jinping’s worldview and the PRC’s economic situation. Either way, Kim stresses that a “constant outcome” could be an emboldened and more aggressive North Korea.

India

Jabin Jacob’s chapter on the Indian perspective argues that a PRC invasion of Taiwan would “change very little on the ground for India in terms of the bilateral [India-Taiwan] relationship itself.” Yet he explains that a PRC invasion of Taiwan would force India to refocus its national security policy squarely on the PRC, making China its primary threat.

He adds that India would also reconsider its relationship with the United States by distancing itself from Washington – because a post-US world order would be in the making – and, at the same time, seeking to extract concessions from Washington.

More generally, Jacob stresses that Taiwan’s fall would have far-reaching, very negative implications for India in its immediate neighborhood, in its wider Asian and Indian Ocean neighborhood and at the international level.

Europe

Bruno Tertrais’ chapter on the European perspective begins with a reminder that Europe has only recently begun to worry about the PRC and the possibility of a conflict over Taiwan. As a result, views and perceptions on this matter vary widely.

Still, Tertrais explains that Europeans agree that the economic and strategic consequences of Taiwan’s fall to the PRC would be problematic for Europe. Tertrais argues that a failed US/allied intervention would be “less damaging for Europe.” A failure to intervene risks inviting “renewed Russian aggressiveness.”

In either case, however, Tertrais explains that “the fall of Taiwan would be a wake-up call for Europe that it must act fast to be in a position to defend itself.” He adds that several European countries would likely seek to strengthen their security and defense ties with several US Indo-Pacific allies.

This is the first of two parts. Part two will review in more depth some of the key findings and recommendations emanating from the study. This article was first published by Pacific Forum and is republished with permission.

David Santoro (david@pacforum.org) is President and CEO of Pacific Forum. Follow him on Twitter @DavidSantoro1. Ralph Cossa (ralph@pacforum.org) is president emeritus and WSD-Handa chair in peace studies at Pacific Forum.

Sandwich

Jeff Drew and his witty and sarcastic artwork

We are here.

Most can agree the majority of our World Citizens are as unsettled with the present American Administration as are the majority of Americans. This "UNCOOL" Administration comes across as Judgmental, Undisciplined, and Disrespectful. They seem to deny themselves any attempt to "understand" other points of view which in short time will result in others just giving up on them.

The pivot point will happen this year or the next. Not quite sure of the timing. It could be short, brief and quick, or could be a long drawn out nastiness. I do not know.

Don’t believe what you read in Western media when it comes to China

From HERE

Frank Sade Bilaupaine*
Honiara

How many times have you picked up a newspaper or social media platform and read something on a topic you’re familiar with and realized that you’re reading something which isn’t true? Annoyingly, it happens to us all.

When the news reports something we know is untrue and then reports on something we don’t know about, why do we believe that must be true? Well, it’s a real thing and Michael Crichton, the famous doctor, writer, scientist movie maker among many other things, gave it a name – the Gell-Mann Effect.

I’ve said it before and will no doubt say it again, when I arrived in China, I had a very different perspective on what I was seeing to what I thought I knew about China. It really didn’t take me long to understand much of it was wrong; probably about 24 hours.

What I was seeing in real life didn’t matter at that time because my media consumption was telling me China was slowing, China was collapsing, China was a bad place to be and it must have been true because even the BBC, CNN and other western media platforms said so. But… China didn’t collapse when they said it would.

As my years of living in China extended then, I started to notice things: China said it would build a bridge to Hong Kong, they said they would put 15 high speed train stations into the city where I lived, they said they would build a new university and another hospital in downtown and I’ve seen many governments promise to do things like this; but then China actually went and did them all.

In the UK, back in 2013, I read about a high-speed rail link that will be completed by 2045 and, if it ever finishes, it will be a total of 530 kilometers. Most of it is still being planned and much of it is still unapproved by Parliament – it might be finished in 2045… We shall see!

China, while in the process of a reported collapse, has put 4,100 km of new railway lines into operation across China in 2022, including 2,082 km of high-speed tracks.
Australia’s Western Sydney was promised a new Airport in 1946, yet the work finally started in 2022 and it’s scheduled to be completed in 2026. China opens an average of eight new airports a year, while reportedly collapsing.

Why is my news telling me one thing, when my ears and eyes are showing me something completely different?

I also noticed that the standard of living has improved. When I first went o Wuhan city in central China in 2012, almost not many had a car, now almost everyone does. Corruption, pollution, and crime are almost non-existent. Education, health, and the economy have all improved and yet, everything I read in the news from the likes of BBC, CNN and others about China says the opposite.

I witnessed how life in China has improved, it was clear that people in the West were being misinformed about this one topic that I actually know about. But I still wanted to believe the rest of the things I read were true – that was the Gell-Mann Effect.

I started to question the things I don’t know about. Why are Australians sure that China is a threat when China has never uttered a threatening word against Australia?
Why do people think China is waging a trade war on Australia when Australia was the country that had almost 100 items of trade from China blocked before anything happened with Barley, coal, lobsters and wine? Go look it up, it’s true.

What’s going on in Ukraine and why can’t I easily find information from both sides of this conflict?

Why did the US invade Iraq when there were no weapons of mass destruction there but that was their reason for doing so?

It’s simple, we’re being misinformed about almost everything we’re reading, hearing and watching in Western media platforms. From time to time, we know we’re being misinformed but we continue to believe it when we don’t know. That’s the Gell-Mann Effect in action. We want to believe something is true when we want it to be so.

If you want to believe China will collapse soon and you want to believe China is a threat you can read that every single day in your media but think about the logic of that. How can a country that’s been in decline for dozens of years build all that infrastructure. How is a country that has never invaded or attacked another in your lifetime be a threat? Think about this: who is telling you these things?

Remember the expression: “if you don’t read the papers you’re uninformed, if you do, you’re misinformed” and we’re all told it was said by Mark Twain, well, once again, we’re misinformed even about that – there’s no record Mark Twain ever said it but there is a similar quote from Thomas Jefferson who, in an 1807 letter said “nothing can now be believed which is seen in a newspaper” and went on to say that “the man who never looks into a newspaper is better informed than he who reads them.”

So, this is not new, consider who owns or controls your media. If you believe your government and you believe your news then that’s great for you. But please, read wisely, be critical and don’t believe everything you read – I can’t say for certain about much else, but I can absolutely and certainly say, most of the things you’re reading about China is wrong and not true.

This 75 Year Old Grandpa Visits An Animal Shelter Every Day And Naps With Cats

November 8, 2019

terry lauerman cat nap 2

Safe Haven Pet Sanctuary/Facebook

A 75-year-old man visits a local animal shelter every day so he can enjoy “brushing cats” while often falling asleep on the job and napping with the felines.

Terry Lauerman decided one day to introduce himself to a local Green Bay-area animal sanctuary, telling the folks at Safe Haven Pet Sanctuary Inc. that he likes to brush cats.

According to Elizabeth Feldhausen, the founder of Safe Haven Pet Sanctuary, “He just walked in and started brushing,” noting that he never asked to be a volunteer. “So eventually we told him he was an official volunteer and had him fill out our volunteer form.”

The shelter, which opened in 2016, rescues cats with disabilities that would be at risk of euthanasia at other facilities.

Feldhausen said Lauerman visits the cage-free sanctuary daily and stays for about three hours. After he grooms a cat for a bit, he typically dozes off. “He sleeps for about an hour, then he’ll wake up and switch cats.”

Feldhausen adds: “he is able to get cats that normally don’t like to be touched to jump up on his lap and want to be held and brushed,” she said. “He knows all of their names and all of their personalities.”

Safe Haven Pet Sanctuary/Facebook

‘The Cat Grandpa’ has had a lifelong love for felines.

“I’ve always liked cats and I always had cats when I was kid, and I loved them,” he told the newspaper. “In many ways, I see my old cats in these cats here.”

The group decided to dedicate a Facebook post to him, which has since gone viral.

“We are so lucky to have a human like Terry,” the shelter wrote, alongside a few photos of Lauerman cat napping with felines. “Terry just came along one day and introduced himself. He said he’d like to brush cats. Eventually, it became everyday. He brushes all of the cats, and can tell you about all of their likes and dislikes. He also accidentally falls asleep most days. We don’t mind – Cats need this! Terry is a wonderful volunteer.”

Safe Haven Pet Sanctuary/Facebook

Confessions Of A Prison Corrections Officer

December 5, 2019

What are some of the worst things you’ve seen in prison?

I remember coming onto shift one night and I look over to the eight and on the top tier the inmate had a razor stuck in the foreskin of his penis and finally got it out and cut his sack open and handed his testicales when I finally came up there to relieve the other officer.

What’s the weirdest thing you have found up an Inmate’s butt?

A galaxy note 8. Took him 3 hours to get it out.

How did they get it out?

Medical staff was down there with him getting it out and it was HANDED/RETRIEVED to the Sergeant for evidence and a report

Is prison rape as common as most people think?

Not really. ALOT of them lie about because we treat it with such seriousness and gets another inmate into trouble and into confinement immediatley.

Wouldn’t a prisoner have to be insane to lie about being raped considering the stigma it carries?

They all know it’s a game so really no stigma.

People think it’s a sure thing that child abusers will get taken out once they get to prison. Is that true?

They will most likely get beaten up but rarely killed.

How would the other inmates find out what that person is in for?

When they make phone calls they ask someone on the outside to look it up since it’s all public info especially since they’re a predator.

Aren’t the calls monitored to keep this from happening?

Yeah but they aren’t intercepted at that point in time. Someone reviews that later at night and that’s how they find out about anything dumb they might be trying to do.

How do the sex offenders behave in prison?

In my experience, S.O. inmates behave relatively well for the most part. Usually quiet and playing table games with other S.O. inmates.

Do upstanding/peaceful inmates receive a special treatment?

Kinda in a way yeah. Like me for instance if a inmate is really respectful and genuine about it if he asks me to charge his tablet during the day (they are only supposed to be charged at night) I might do it if I get a chance. I do it to show the other inmates that I can work with them if they are respectful.

Inmates get tablets now? Is there an internet connection too?

Yeah and no it’s based off a kiosk system they hook it up to if they want anything new on it.

What do they do with the tablets? DO they load games and ebooks onto them or something?

Exactly what you said and music

In the podcast ‘Ear Hustle‘ , they talk about racial segregation as just default. The exception, if I remember correctly, being the inmates who play the game DND. Are there programs or efforts to encourage racial integration, or is it just a matter of course?

Really just a matter of course. Now when I say that they are plenty of inmates that don’t care about racial segregation. But whenever it comes to a fight or brawl they will side with their race 99% of the time.

How much incoming mail gets read?

Everything. Multiple times.

What’s the most heartbreaking experience you’ve had?

Having a good friend of mine kill himself because his wife that worked at the same prison was having sexual relations with a couple of inmates.

How was the wife treated? What was her reaction?

She went to jail for a little while and didn’t seem to care.

Do officers get into it with the inmates?

Oh yeah. Shouting matches for the most part.

Worst physical altercation you’ve seen between an officer (maybe yourself) and an inmate?

An inmate beat the dog shit out of an officer out of nowhere cuz he was high on k2. And no the officer is not an asshole.

Have you ever met someone you genuinely believed to be innocent/wrongfully convicted?

Yeah. An inmate is in prison for life because some POS raped his 5 year old daughter and he killed them. He is a very stand up person.

How is the food they give the inmates, do you get the leftovers?

It’s not that bad for the most part. And no I bring my own stuff.

Does your facility sell the whole shabang chips? Have you tried them?

Yeah they do and no I haven’t but the inmates sat they are really good.

How is it as a career? Pay, benefits, environment, rewards, etc?

Depends on the jurisdiction, but overall, likely not bad. State COs start out at like 55k a year, with various ways to bump it up (location pay, hazard pay, and a shitload of overtime available). My state also does this thing where when you retire after 25 years, they take the beat 3 of your last 5 years, average them out, and that’s your annual pension for the rest of your life. And since most COs are in their early 20s when they get hired, they end up with a 70-90k pension for life by 50 years old. State insurance and shit is also pretty good, here.

Environment… well, it’s a prison.

What education is usually required?

High school where I’m at.

What is something that you think the general public does not know or understand about your job, or prison in general?

It’s not as bad or dramatic as people make it. As long as you’re fair and consistent and don’t let them walk over you then you will be fine. Inmates respect the staff that have time in.

What do you think of the US’s way of treating prisoners as well as the standards of the “corrections facility” you are working at?

I think it is very soft. They have 20 channel tv, tablets, endless hours of recreations, all kinds of commissary items. Don’t really seem like punishment. They are just segregated from the world. The standards on paper are great but in reality half the people don’t even follow it.

Isn’t rehabilitation something you want other than punishment?

Of course but ALOT and I mean ALOT of them don’t take advantage of it and it makes me a little biased (which I am admitting) on the subject . But I have seen plenty of inmates get their GED and have the prison give them the tools to succeed and come back 1 year or less under a different or same charge.

If you were given a blank check to reform the prison system what changes would you make and why?

Officers more pay. And more programs and better education for inmates to explore their interests so that when they get out they have all the tools ready to not come back. And better working facilities. We have 4 maintenance civilians that fix something broken all day everyday.

Bhakari

Serve this whole-wheat bread from the Gujarat region of India as you would pita bread. It’s good for dipping, and tastes great all by itself.

Ingredients

2 cups whole-wheat flour
1 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
1/4 cup milk
1/2 cup water

Instructions

Combine the flour, salt, oil, milk, and half the water in a bowl. Mix using a wooden spoon or fingers. Add more water, 1 tablespoon (15 ml) at a time until the dough forms a ball. Knead the dough with lightly oiled hands for 10 minutes. The dough should be fairly firm.
Allow the dough to rest, covered with a dish cloth, for 15 minutes.
Divide the dough into 4 to 6 pieces. Roll each piece into a round 1/4 inch thick.
Heat a flat griddle or large skillet over moderate heat. Cook the dough, one piece at a time, pressing it down occasionally with a spatula, until cooked and lightly browned on the bottom. Turn the dough and repeat. The dough may balloon slightly during cooking.
Repeat with remaining pieces of dough.

Meet Jeff Drew, the Award-Winning Illustrator Behind America’s Witty and Sarcastic Artwork

Jeff Drew, an Albuquerque-based illustrator, has gained national recognition for his exceptional and sharp-witted artwork. He has created cover illustrations for various publications across America, showcasing his stunning visual style.

More: Jeff Drew, Instagram, Shop

Drawing inspiration from 1950s advertising graphics, Jeff produces contemporary illustrations that pack a punch. In addition to his illustration work, he creates event posters, album covers, and product labels for various clients.

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Through his illustrations, Jeff continuously pushes the boundaries while entertaining audiences with his sarcastic sense of humor. His unique and outstanding artwork is a testament to his talent and creativity, and we can’t wait to see what he comes up with next.

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RUSSIA COMMENCES NUCLEAR ATTACK DRILL; NATO WARNS OF ATTACK IF THEY PERCEIVE RUSSIAN ACTUAL ATTACK!

World Hal Turner 19 February 2023

Russia, on Sunday, began large-scale exercises of its strategic nuclear forces, on the eve of Biden’s visit to Europe.

The exercises include large-scale maneuvers for its strategic nuclear forces.

Meanwhile, the White House has told Zelenskyy to prepare for a major Russian offensive now!

There are “no plans” for President Biden to enter Ukraine during his upcoming trip to Poland, NSC spokesman John Kirby said Sunday. HOWEVER . . . .

Biden will address the citizens of Russia and Putin, during his visit to Poland on February 21 according to John Kirby

As of today, Russia has 5977 nuclear warheads; the most in the world. They also have the most advanced nuclear missile technology in the world.

NATO has said if they see activity of Russian nuclear forces that could possibly be preparation to launch a nuclear attack, NATO will attack Russian nuclear forces ( with conventional weapons), it was said.

SARMAT?

Russia President Vladimir Putin is testing his hypersonic “SARMAT” missile and officials in remote districts in eastern Russia have been warned to be ready for a test launch between February 15 and 25

The giant 208-ton hypersonic missile is capable of carrying FIFTEEN individual nuclear warheads including Russia’s new Hypersonic “Glide” Vehicles which cannot be stopped by any missile defense presently on earth.

Unusual Flights

As this story is written at 8:36 PM eastern US time Sunday night, there are unusual flights circling over Poland of RC-135W Rivet Joint (electronic surveillance), and Boeing E-3B Sentry (Airborne early warning and control) aircraft accompanied by KC-135T Stratotanker for refueling.

It’s unusual because they very rarely fly at night over Europe, almost never.

I can also report a nuclear armed submarine has been placed on the ‘highest level’ of combat readiness and that strategic bombers have been moved to a base in Tambov, Russia.

HAL TURNER ANALYSIS

In a normal, rational, world, these Nuclear exercises would send a clear message. But in OUR world, this message will likely be laughed off by Biden. He doesn’t seem to care.

In fact, I think Biden wouldn’t understand a nuke being dropped on his head. In my view, he’s so addled by Dementia, he’s barely conscious.

At this point, I don’t think anything can halt what is coming.

It is not about occupation it is about survival for Russia, NATO has made it clear they intend on crushing them and dividing it up into regions and exploit their natural resources.

Russia is telling them to back the fuck up.

We are closer to WWIII today than we’ve ever been. This time, if nations continue down this road, there will be full blown world war.

Are we ready for that? Rationing? The threat of invasion? Bombings? Military policing? Internment camps? Bread lines? Hunger? Famine? Mass depopulation?

We can barely keep the supply chain going post-Covid. A world war?

Our government needs to let this Ukraine thing go. They, however, will not.

The one thing that bothers me about Biden’s trip to Poland . . . . what if it turns into an “Arch Duke Ferdinand” moment?

What if the US “Deep State” plans to kill Biden while he’s in Poland, and blame Russia?

Kamala Harris becomes President, and off to war we all go.

This week is likely to be historic. I hope you are all prepared as best you can be with emergency food, water, medicine, communications gear, etc.

Bhindi Dopeaza

Ingredients

1 pound okra
2 medium onions, chopped
1/4 teaspoon garlic paste or powder
1/4 teaspoon coriander paste or powder
1/8 teaspoon cumin
3 large tomatoes
2 tablespoons oil
1/2 cup chopped cilantro

Instructions

Cut the tip and the very bottom from the okra just to clean it, but do not slice.
Heat oil in a pan over medium heat.
Add onion and cook for 3 minutes.
Add all ingredients except okra, tomato and cilantro. Cook for 3 minutes.
Add okra, then cook for 6 to 8 minutes.
Garnish with tomato and cilantro.
Serve with rice, naan or pita bread.

THE IMPORTANCE OF THE BEIJING OFFICE

Solomon Star

Jan12

Editorial Viewpoint

IT is heartening to know the government is working on a new appointment for our diplomatic mission in Beijing, China.

It shows, among other things, the importance the government attaches to our growing relations with the People’s Republic of China, PRC for short. China is a very important strategic partner in development.

Its good intention to help us has been misinterpreted by the so-called Western democracies that have persisted in tarnishing China’s name.

But China’s achievements in fields such as technology, space, medicine outshines these baseless criticisms. Its achievements in these and other fields are nothing short of breathtaking.

Arguably, China is now placed at the forefront of the fourth industrial revolution.

You only have to be in any of its many cities to feel what is taking place there.

Almost every industrial country on this planet are thronging to Beijing, the Chinese capital to get a slice of the industrial revolution which China can claim as its trigger.

So, the Solomon Islands-China diplomatic relations cannot be over-emphasized. The government is therefore correct in ensuring we reconnect with Beijing at the earliest opportunity after the devastating loss of our first Ambassador to China, John Moffat Fugui, who died last month.

But connecting with Beijing is one thing choosing the right candidate is quite a different thing altogether.

There are many things we can learn from China. China’s unequalled feat in getting 800 million people over the poverty line in just 30 short years is never heard of.

What is China’s secret and how did China do it? We need to investigate this to find the secret of China’s magic in doing what it did.

To achieve this, the nation should be represented in Beijing not necessarily on party line but with someone who has the interest of the nation at heart first and foremost. Anything less is not even worth considering, let alone discussing.

12 People Reveal What’s It Like To Be Related To A ‘Karen’

July 6, 2020

(art: @yunacunn)

1. My mom is a Karen whose name is actually Karen. Simply put, I haven’t seen her in over a year because I couldn’t take it anymore. Living with her was just an exhausting nightmare.

Karen’s world revolves around Karen. Nobody else’s issues matter. If you tell her that you had a bad day, she’ll give you 20 reasons why her day was worse. You worked 60 hours this week? Well, when she was your age, she would work 80. You’re in the hospital after having major surgery? She has a pinched nerve in her arm, which is somehow worse. Your boyfriend cheated on you? She couldn’t even begin to tell you about all the heartbreak she’s experienced in her life.

She complains left and right about anything and everything. If you’re taking a week break after just getting back from college, she’ll ask why you haven’t gotten a job yet and claim you’re lazy. If you’re out to eat at a restaurant the food is always too cold or too burnt or too salty. You can only ever go to the places SHE wants to go to, because everything else is crap. My entire graduation dinner she complained about how cold the food was.

She THRIVES in getting attention and constantly seeks it, but she has very few ACTUAL friends. Facebook is her lifeblood and she’s always looking to start something on there. She’s the queen of sharing uninformed, misguided, conservative propaganda, which always starts fights in her comments. Also, if a tragedy happens in the family (like the passing of my teenage cousin), she’ll make a big scene on Facebook and expect condolences from anyone and everyone, and makes note of the people who don’t give her what she wants.

Don’t even get me started on the blatant racism. I’ve heard everything from, “watch out for black people on the subway. They’ll try to take your purse” to “It should be illegal for those Muslims to cover their faces. You should be able to see someone’s face.” One of my best friends is black and she once told me, “He’s one of the good ones. They should all be like him.”

2. Was married to a male Karen. Everything, and I mean everything, could set him off.

We were at a local taproom and his iPhone automatically connected to the Wifi. Keep in mind, he had full bars on our cell service. The WiFi was being wonky and wasn’t working. The manager, super nice guy, comes over and asks how we are doing, while he washes some glasses in the dish pit on the other side of the bar. The following conversation ensues, keep in mind, my husband is super irritated at this made up problem because our cell service is working just fine and he can literally just turn off the WiFi:

Husband: Your WiFi is fucking trash.

Manager: I’m sorry. We recently upgraded our internet, and Cox is sending us a new modem. It’s supposed to be here this week.

Husband: If you say you have WiFi, you should make sure it actually works.

Manager: I know. I’m sorry. I’d be happy to restart the modem to see if that helps.

Husband then ignores him and continues to talk under his breath about a made up issue.

This was my life for almost five years. The sense of entitlement was frustrating enough in public, but more so at home. I had apologized to more servers, retail workers, neighbors, and random people in public for him in five years than the rest of my life outside of him.

You know what, now that I’m talking about it, maybe he’s not so much a male Karen. He’s more like a piece of shit.

3. My sister is a Karen. Everyone feels so sorry for her husband. Everything is his fault. He is treated like a slave. She only addresses him by yelling. She constantly insults him. We have no idea why he hasn’t divorced her or flipped out and attacked her. We have all told her to cool it and her response is that he’s just so stupid. I could go on and on but my sister really is a horrible person.

4. My sister AND sister in law are both Karen’s. I will show up to restaurants 15 min early to warn them. I tell them if it’s not done to their liking they WILL hear about it and they will make your shift hell. I’m just there as a warning.

I used to work in restaurants and those people made life hell. I do what I can to help. Generally my drinks are better and we get a free appetizer as soon as those two tornados walk in all hell breaks loose. Not enough ice, table is too cold, it’s too loud, etc. I also tip really big because I DON’T want to be associated with the two tornados.

I live overseas so I only see them 2 weeks out of the year. So it’s manageable. I only put up with their attitude because they could take my nieces and nephews away from me. I pick my battles. I need my nieces and nephews to know I’m always here for them and they can talk to me about anything. I can’t risk our relationship being tampered with, especially since I only see them 2 weeks a year.

5. Not married to a Karen, but married someone with a Karen for a sister. Sister in law is the freaking worst. I hate more than anything going out to dinner with her, listening to her order food and talk to the servers. Holidays are also terrible, she sends out long lists of expected gifts list. She celebrates every holiday and birthday specifically for presents even when it not appropriate.

Funny thing is one time I was away from the dinner table when the bill came and SIL waited for me to return to pay the bill by actually handing it to me. She didn’t give it to her sibling/my SO or pay her half, but expressly handed it to me to pay.

6. My moms a Karen. Literally overreacts to everything. Whenever something doesn’t go her way- you guessed: gotta speak to the manager or whoever is in charge. Sometimes really embarrassing to go out in public with her because she’ll just yell at the service workers for the smallest of things. Also she has a bob cut.

7. 4 years of a toxic relationship though. I broke up with her on Monday, again. We’re kinda fucked financially because of this lockdown so we are just feeling things out for a month before we decide forsure. This cycle is on repeat.

I constantly have to cut her off and speak over her because of the way she treats people. Waiters, sales assistants, gym staff, neighbours , landlords, randoms we meet in bars etc.

Note: we were both waiters at the beginning of our relationship so she has worked in the industry, but still lacks empathy. She blames the waiter if something is out of stock etc.

My second major issue. We are both English second language teachers. She teaches kindergarten, while I teach highschool. Now that we are working from home I hear how she speaks to her students and it’s really opened up another aspect of her personality that I don’t like. She will berate a student for not understanding instead of evaluating her ability to explain. Shitting on 3 year olds in their second language doesn’t fly with me.

A lot of her behaviour stems from a self defence mechanism due to insecurity, but that’s not an excuse. She doesn’t realise how mean she is to people, including myself.

I’m a people pleaser that would rather sacrifice my own comfort than someone else’s. She expects me to be an asshole to people because I’m a biggish guy with tattoos, I don’t exactly look soft. It’s toxic as hell, please help.

8. Not married to one but my mom is absolutely one. I spend most of my time with her in public apologizing to people after she’s walked away. The one and only time it comes in handy is when I’ve bought cars and had her come in during the price negotiation phase – she’s knocked off thousands purely due to how unpleasant she is and how much people want her to just get the hell out of the door.

9. My ex wife is a Karen, in every sense but name. It was always so embarrassing. She was incapable of treating anyone like a human for the most trivial of occurrences. It was hell for me, as a person that’s pretty forgiving and don’t seek out confrontation. So in a 1 word description it was Hell. Lol

10. Engaged to one, she was raised as a princess by here military raised father. However she’s super down to earth but god forbid you work in the service industry and mess something up. She worked at IHOP during college so it humbled her compared to her family. She just writes reviews now (good or bad) and emails corporate to complain. If something is wrong with my food she refuses me to sit there and eat it. Which I hate but I have gotten her better about it (I believe). So maybe she is just a recovering Karen at this point.

11. I’m not married to a Karen but someone in my family decided to make a Karen family and let me just say.. it is freaking hell! I do not go to any social event if said Karen will be there (keeps the peace in my family tbh) nor do I go alone with Karen. She is a nightmare to everyone in her path, from car guards to cashiers, even her friends… No one can be better than her or smarter than her and she’s just freaking exhausting man. The worst part is… Her kids are becoming just like her

12. My mum is a bit of a Karen, and we’re pretty much no contact now so that should tell you everything you need to know. Whenever we’d go out to eat it’s always too cold, they don’t have the brand of sparkling water she likes, they’ve put ice in her drink when she didn’t want it, she always has to make some kind of modification to her order etc. the list goes on.

It got to the point where if we were out shopping and she said she needed to return something I’d just go somewhere else because I couldn’t stand watching her be rude and argue with the staff.

My parents are divorced and I live with my dad now instead. Part of the reason I barely see my mum is because I’d have to meet her in public (go for a coffee or something) and I just can’t deal with the way she behaves in these places so I don’t go.

Getting ready to sew up the New Beginnings section and start a new reality

Let’s start with an American bullshit comment…

I tire of this nonsense. Don’t you?

Oh, let’s start a new reality, and I am going to reflect it in MM.

Oh, yes I am. The direction is clear now. The world has peaked during this transition period (oh sure, there’s some months left) but the world has steered though the high risk transitions, and now seems firmly on a vectored course. Don’t give up hope, the “news” will still be playing the pied piper of doom, but yeah, it’s over.

The world is moving on, and the ability for the United States to temper-tantrum out of it is decreasing daily. It’s not gonna happen, no matter how many bombs it threatens with, or the places it deploys.

That phase is over.

And a new one starts.

So I will be phasing out this section. Cleaning it up, and moving on to other things. Stand buy. It might take a while for me to transition…

Aji De Gallina (Chicken Pepper Casserole)

Ingredients

1 (3 pound) chicken or 3 chicken breasts
2 cups chicken stock
7 slices white bread, crusts trimmed and discarded
1 1/2 cups canned milk
1 onion, chopped
1 clove garlic, chopped
5 tablespoons banana pepper paste*
Salt and pepper to taste
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
1 1/2 ounces Parmesan cheese
1 ounce walnuts, chopped
6 – 8 Yukon Gold potatoes, boiled and cut up
12 black olives
6 eggs, hard boiled, sliced
Parsley to garnish

Instructions

Cook the chicken in the chicken stock. Remove the chicken and set aside to cool. Save the stock.
When cool, cut the chicken into pieces.
In a separate bowl, soak the bread in the milk. Puree the soaked bread.
In the oil, sauté the garlic, onion and yellow pepper mixture. Add the pureed bread, and season with salt and pepper. Slowly add the chicken stock until the mixture is loose and slightly thickened. Add the olive oil. Continue heating until smooth and medium thick. At the end of cooking, add the chicken pieces, Parmesan cheese and walnuts. Continue cooking until the mixture is thick like a casserole.
Place the potatoes on the bottom of the serving dish. Spread the chicken mixture over the potatoes. Decorate with olives, eggs, and parsley.
Serve immediately.

* Puree peppers with oil to make a paste.

A lesson for the world: This is how China builds a subway line nowadays!

This is what China is like today. This is what I see every day.

7 Soul Crushing Confessions That Will Remind You That Life Isn’t All Sunshine And Rainbows

January 30, 2019

1. I was diagnosed with cancer a little over two weeks ago, after a regular checkup. Turns out I have a tumour on my colon that has spread to other areas (liver and lungs so far) and will require extensive chemo and surgery for any chance to live longer than 8 months

I’m not having any treatment and I haven’t told my wife because she’ll only pressure me to get the treatment, which result in months of pain and suffering for a relatively small chance

Instead, I’m making sure our last few months together are filled with only happy memories. I’m starting work later and finishing earlier each day, to make her breakfast in bed and take her on dates in the evenings

My landlord I rent my workshop from has agreed to let me run my business rent free for the next 6 months, which means significantly less financial stress and I can save a lot more, so she has something to carry her over afterwards

I hope she’ll forgive me for taking this path

2. My 13 year old died in Peru after getting caught in a whirlpool. We were on vacation. His mom (my ex) blamed me for his death and our other son also blames me so he doesn’t speak to me. He’s now 13 too. I don’t force him to see me. When I drive home from work, I pretend that I am talking to my son about how his day was at school, what kind of music he wants to listen to, what he wants for dinner, etc. That is why I haven’t gotten a new car. There are just too many memories.

3. I was 8 years old and he was 13. By that time, he’d already gotten sex ed classes at his school.

He came to me and for several months showed me pornographic material. I couldn’t escape because my parents would make me stay at home with him whenever they went out.

It ended up happening because I was a little bitch and was more terrified of sleeping alone in the dark than my brother sexually abusing me while convincing me it was just a little game.

I didn’t understand at the time.

I didnt even have a door in my room, so he’d often “accidentally” barge in while I was changing. I was 8 years old.

He fucking groomed me into being okay with him seeing me naked while at the same time saying I was acting “obscenely” for laying on the couch. I didn’t even know what obscene meant.

It was only once our parents caught us that I realised he’d used me for his sick fantasies.

For me it was this little “secret” my brother told me to keep. I didn’t realise the implication and that he’d abused my trust in my only sibling to have sex with me, a fucking CHILD.

Even after being caught he’d still touch himself in front of me (I don’t even understand how my parents could leave me alone with him after what had happened).

By the time I turned 12 I’d have recurring nightmares about it but convinced myself that they were fantasies (I had repressed my memories) and that I was disgusting for thinking my big brother could have done that to me.

I got into the habit of locking my door every night once I finally got one and I didn’t understand why. I slept with a lamp in my room, even more terrified of the dark than when I was a kid.

It was like my mind decided to entirely wipe every memory out of my mind, my own mind was telling me I was disgusting for having nightmares about my brother touching me. But everyday I would wake up and act as if everything was normal. None of my parents ever brought it up. We became the perfect little family once again.

At 18 I had a mental breakdown after realising I had almost no memories of my childhood save for my horrible nightmares. I confessed everything to my mom, having completely forgotten if I’d even told her or if she knew since nobody spoke about it.

She told me she didn’t remember and that it must have been experimentation. Just siblings playing with each other.

She didn’t believe me. She had to ask my brother for confirmation.

And of course he downplayed it. He played the victim, saying he didn’t want it to damage my family once again and that he hadn’t done much anyway. According to him it only happened once. Hahaha

I distinctively remember everything and it hadn’t been once.

Since then I’ve been diagnosed with OCD, Anxiety and depression. I’ve been getting help and have cut all communication with my brother.

4. I’m a gay, closeted, middle-aged man married to a woman for a long time. My secret double life involves occasionally visiting gay night clubs, among other things.

On June 12, 2016 I was at the PULSE night club, enjoying Latino night (I’m not, but I enjoy Latino men for the most part). When the shooting started, I was on the far end of the club, getting a drink. I was nearly herded into the bathroom where a last-stand and breach occurred, but instead went along the wall and was able to exit. (It turns out later a dude I had bought drinks for occasionally was killed in the shooting).

I took a ricochet to the back of my calf which touched bone but didn’t break it. Bled a lot. Once outside, I immediately got clear of the area, made my way to my car which was parked a distance away, and then retreated to my office, about 15 minutes away. I did my best field dressing of the wound, stabilizing it and stopping the seeping bleeding for the most part.

I ended up seeing my regular doctor the next morning as soon as he opened. He freaked the f**k out, told me it was a mandatory reporting situation, and then sent me to the ER. I refused that plan, told him to give my information to the police. The police eventually did contact me, and I referred them to my lawyer. I worked my lawyer to give a statement to the police under confidential terms. They immediately put me in touch with the FBI. Meanwhile, about 24 hours had gone by, and my wound hurt like hell but was no longer weeping blood. The FBI was not playing around, and was very aggressive with my lawyer.

I ended up getting treatment from the hospital, a consult with a surgeon, who removed the shrapnel. I told my wife/kids that I injured my calf during an early morning run, and wore a compression sock to hide the wound. The surgery to remove the fragment followed a few days later, and was uneventful, except the FBI was there to retrieve the fragment. A plastic surgeon did a slight touch up on the wound so it looks like a mole was removed.

No one in the entire world knows what happened and how PULSE affected me. I sometimes have violent and horrible flashbacks of the scene inside PULSE. It is almost beyond words. Many of my asshole “friends” I am forced to socialize with in my “straight life” are horrible bigots, and not a few of them made cracks after the PULSE shooting mocking the victims, expressing glee, etc. It can be very difficult to keep it all inside.

5. Sometimes the most intimate touch isn’t necessarily sexual in nature. Years ago, I was in an abusive relationship. The guy I was with broke into my home, and threw my hair straightener (at full force) into my bathtub (while it was hot) in an attempt to intimidate me. When that didn’t work he proceeded to physically abuse me. He didn’t “want” to punch or slap me, because that would leave black eyes and bruises (he left massive bruises anyway). Instead, he grabbed me by my arms and wrists and drug me through the house calling me every insult known to man while doing it.

He got me into my bedroom.

He locked the door.

He threw me on the bed.

He towered over me, and he proceeded to straddle me. Once he had the full weight of his body securing me in place, he pinned my elbows down with his knees.

Then he hurt my soul.

He squeezed my face by my jaw. He left dents in my cheeks. He brought my face impossibly close to his as I struggled against him, and validated every single one of my insecurities with screams. He suddenly stopped, looked down at my defenseless body, and smiled. His eyes went cold. I could feel his erection on my abdomen.

“I could do anything I want to you right now.”

I still shudder when I think about it. Luckily, my parents chose that particular day to visit me, so when he heard the car doors, he got startled enough to get off of me. I exhaled the breath I didn’t know I’d been holding and ran for the door. I later learned he’d fled through the window.

I cannot bear to let anyone touch my face because of this

6. My son, who would have been 21 this month, hanged himself on December 24 2016. Christmas Eve. My baby boy. Gone. There are no words to describe what it did to me, and what it did to the family. I went into his room midday expecting to find him still in bed. I found him hanging in the closet. Two lives were destroyed that day. The neighbors called the police when they heard my screams. I could not leave my house for months and lost my job. My older children had to move back in to support me because I refused to go out or clean the house or even eat food. My life had lost all purpose and for a while it was over. With time and extensive therapy I am just barely functional again, but life has never felt so empty. Not a moment goes by that I don’t think of him. I spend countless hours every day thinking of how I could have changed it. I know I could have.

My son was enrolled in a general health studies program at the local university. He didn’t have an interest in health and didn’t know what career he wanted to pursue, but I pushed him into it thinking it had the most potential for a successful career path and that he could develop an interest over time. He didn’t do very well in his first year but he made it through with a few failed courses. In April 2016 he had finished the winter term of his second year. I asked him about his final grades. He kept telling me that he hadn’t received them yet. I knew he had but I didn’t push. The summer term was starting and we had agreed that he would take summer courses for the courses he had failed in first year. He told me that he had applied to them, and he also told me he had finally received his second term grades and that he had passed them all. I didn’t know at the time that neither of those were true. It was all online so I never checked. If I did, I would have known that he had failed all five of his winter courses because he had stopped showing up to classes due to depression and he never applied to any summer courses. I found this out later in August when he broke down and admitted it all. I did not take it well. I was so upset that he had failed his program, that he lied to me so many times, and that he spent the entire summer pretending to go to class while doing other things. I called the school immediately and arranged an appointment with the faculty. I explained the situation to them and they agreed to let him reapply in the fall as a special student, and that if he did well in his remedial classes he would have a chance to continue his program where he left off. He didn’t want to do it. He wanted to take a break from school and apply to a different program later. I refused. I forced him to go back. I knew he hated it and I made him do it anyway. I didn’t do anything to treat his depression despite knowing about it. Instead I used it as an excuse to get him back in the program he never wanted to be in. I made him feel trapped enough to take his own life and I can never forgive myself for that.

Going back into his room was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. One step inside and I had a breakdown. Months passed. I tried again. Breakdown. We had to keep it locked until we hired a cleaner to pack his things because I could not bare to look at anything that belonged to him. I was only able to enter once the room was completely empty with just a few boxes stacked in the corner. Months later when I was home alone, I mustered the strength to open one of the boxes. Sitting on top was his laptop. I opened it and found it unlocked. I told myself I shouldn’t look through it. It would only ruin me again. But I had to. I had to know. Maybe he saw something that made him want to do it. Maybe he had messaged one of his friends, and maybe they said something to him. I just wanted to understand why. Why he would feel so hopeless that he had to take his own life. I found mostly things that would be normal to find in a young person’s browsing history. People’s Facebook profiles, assorted Youtube videos, a whole world I never knew. There was a file folder compiling images from what I could tell was shows/comics/games that he liked. I’ve never seen any of it before. I never cared. Another folder with images of my son with his friends from his high school. I didn’t recognize any of them. I never bothered to ask. I found a video in his Youtube history showcasing how to tie a noose. I had to stop there and weep until I had a migraine. Then I went back. I found entries on Kijiji. He was trying to sell his game consoles and games, which I later found out he spent his tuition to buy. I found a site called Liveleak, where there were a lot of entries on videos of people dying on camera. I believe he was trying to prepare himself for what he was going to do to himself. Then I found this site, Reddit, and I noticed his account still logged in. This one. Nothing could have prepared me for what I was about to find. Months of grief counseling undone in an instant. I had the worst breakdown of my life. Reading through everything he wrote in his last days tore my already scarred heart into a million shreds. He had reached out for help so many times. He felt so alone. He wrote that if he died I would only care about the money I wasted raising him. I thought I had felt the worst pain a person could feel until I read that. It was my fault. He felt so alone and hopeless in his last days. And I made him feel that way. I knew he wasn’t happy but I made him go back. I killed him.

If only I could tell him now that it doesn’t matter to me. That no school or degree was worth his life. That no matter what he did, I would love him no matter what. Oh how I miss my sweet boy. My baby is gone and I will never be okay again.

7. I don’t know where to start. But I’m hoping someone else on here can at least understand what I’m feeling without judging me or telling me things like “You don’t know how lucky you are; a lot of people can’t even have kids!” I know. And although I should be completely over the moon about my awesome kid, I’m just…not.

It started with the pregnancy. The second I found out I was pregnant, I had a strange feeling. Not the one of excitement or a bit scared, but that I didn’t want it. Deep in my gut, I knew I made a terrible decision to get pregnant. My husband and I agreed to try, though I was still on the fence. I also didn’t think I could get pregnant because I had horrible problems with ovarian cysts my whole life and doctors told me I wouldn’t be able to get pregnant past 30 (there were other reasons too but I won’t get into them). I was 34, so I figured, what the hell, we’ll try (he really REALLY wanted kids), and when I can’t have them at least we’ll say we tried. Well, turns out it only took ONE TRY. One. I know. Most people would consider that so incredibly lucky, and trust me I am well aware of the people out there who struggle with infertility.

As the weeks went on I struggled with absolutely terrible morning sickness until about week 22. That’s a long time, especially HOW sick I was. Around week 22/23 I started to feel a little better, especially because I knew I was more than halfway done with that hellish experience. At week 28 I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes and was back and forth to doctors every five seconds. I felt like a science experiment.

I was induced at 41 weeks and only pushed for 12 minutes. He came out in 5 pushes. Again, I know. Luckiest person on the planet especially because I had an epidural that worked like a charm. But the second I held him I didn’t want him. I wanted to give him back. I felt no emotional connection. Nothing. And then I hemorrhaged. And then I developed eclampsia, which is high blood pressure after birth. It was the most hellish three days of my life, thinking I was going to have a seizure or stroke and possibly die. Finally when I got released from the hospital on a myriad of medications, I didn’t want to be there at all. It wasn’t the same home.

It wasn’t the home of cooking all-day meals, spontaneous trips to the wineries, sitting and reading a book for hours. I didn’t realize I actually cared about any of these things until they were gone. And that gut feeling of not wanting a baby only got worse.

In the next weeks and months I struggled with what was eventually diagnosed with postpartum depression and postpartum PTSD. It was absolutely terrible and I contemplated suicide many times. The lack of sleep paired with those things made me feel like a complete lunatic. My marriage suffered, and I believe my husband and I will never be the same because of what occurred in those months with my emotions.

Fast forward to today. My husband does SO MUCH to help me. He’s there every second I need him and works right down the road, so he can be home in a second if I truly need something. My parents watch my son one day and my in-laws another day. But it’s not enough. I don’t want to be around him. I’m bored to tears playing toddler games and even going to the playground and stuff with him. I’m looking at my watch every five seconds.

Part of the problem is that I work from home. I was very, very talented and successful in my office job, which eventually converted to a work-at-home position. So by default, I became a stay-at-home mom. Let me make one thing clear: I NEVER EVER EVER wanted to be a stay-at-home mom. I made this very clear from the beginning, and I absolutely said I would never do it. I’m not cut out for it. And here I am. Sitting home with him, day after day. We do tons of things. He takes gym classes, art classes, we play outside all the time, go on outings, go to the food store. He’s clean and well-fed and loved and always entertained and happy. He really is a great kid.

But I HATE THIS. Like with every fiber of my being. Hate it. The sleep transitions, the teething, the not wanting to eat the food I make, the tantrums, everything. Like literally everything you can think about having a kid, I hate it. And the noise. OMG the noise. The tantrums, the kid songs that make you go insane…. I just can’t anymore.

I feel like being a mom brings out all of my worst personality traits. I didn’t even KNOW I was impatient, but apparently I am! I get so frustrated with him so quickly, and I have silent little anxiety attacks while I discipline him or deal with whatever is going on.

I just am so surprised – and weighed down – by the responsibility. I am one of the most responsible people on the planet. Always early to things, always organized, always on top of stuff. I have a dog, who I got as a puppy and I take a lot of pride in training her and being her dog mom. I have nieces who I take care of from time to time and I take what I say and do around them very seriously. And my job is extremely integrated with other people and working with teams. I am a director, so a lot of people rely on me. But SHIT. This is too much. Being responsible for a little human being, and every single thing I say is going to affect them in some way??? No thank you. It is a weight that is suffocating me every second of the day. And I wasn’t expecting that. On paper, I should actually be a great mom. But I’m really not.

And I don’t know what to do. I went to therapy, was on medication, everything. But I feel like the only thing that would truly make me happy would be to go back to work full-time in an office job. Right now I piece together my work. When he’s napping – if he naps – at night, early in the morning. I can never concentrate and what was once a bright and lucrative career now leaves me stressed out and awake at 3 a.m. wondering how I’m going to get my work done. I can’t concentrate and its like he needs something every other second. I keep waiting to like it. I keep waiting to feel something. But I don’t.

And don’t get me wrong. When he hurts himself or cries from being sad, my heart breaks. When my parents pull away with him in the car and I see his little face in the back seat I miss him. But then…he gets back and I’m like…when can he go over their house again???? It is truly the strangest feeling. I’m confused. And if anything ever, EVER happened to him I don’t know what I do. He is a sweet, gentle, loving, kooky kid. Always laughing and smiling, and I make sure to give him tons of hugs and kisses every single day and tell him I love him. I don’t ever want him to know these things I’m saying here.

Walking In Shenzhen Bao’an International Airport | Guangdong, China

This is what China is like today. This is what I see every day.

Confessions Of A Dude Addicted To The Dope Game

January 16, 2019

I’ve been drug dealing for the past 4 years now. I did have a year where I didn’t sell anything but besides that, it’s been pretty steady. The problem is, I just don’t think I can stop. It’s become an addiction. I don’t give a fuck about getting high. I smoke weed and drink alcohol occasionally but, besides that, I haven’t touched another drug.

There’s probably a lot that has lead up to this point, starting from a young age, but 4 years ago I found the markets and Bitcoin. It was at a point in my life where things were low and I found drug dealing. My first package was a package of Xanax bars. I made $1,000 profit in about 4 days because, at the time, pressed bars weren’t very well known so my prices were dirt cheap compared to everyone else’s.

That’s the moment things changed for me. The moment where I fucked everything up for myself.

4 years later, here I am. It’s a fucking addiction. When I stop, it’s for a month, max besides the one year I quit due to personal and OPSEC (Operational Security) related reasons. It’s a craving I can’t make go away. The adrenaline of doing something illegal, the money, the respect, the power you have over your little group of people…I don’t know…it’s impossible for me to explain so I’ll explain the more addicted part now.

The money.

You think drug dealing will ruin your life because of prison or getting robbed, and while true, there’s a sneakier way nobody tells you about; MONEY. I’ve dropped out of college and haven’t held down a job more than 6 months due to it. When you make $55-75K a year WITH NO TAXES, everything else is a blur. College? That takes 4 years of being broke! I can’t do that! Holding down a minimum wage job? That’s like $400 a week, if you’re busting ass. I was making $1,000(PROFIT, not GROSS) a week, making a couple moves. I moved bulk only so I wasn’t meeting people every 30 minutes to make my money.

I was my own boss and money gave me freedom. Freedom. That’s where the addiction comes into play. Drug dealing was 50% of it but the other 50% was the freedom money gave me.

I make about, on average, $4,000 NET profit a month. My monthly bills are only around $1,800 for everything besides food(Love living in a cheap state) so that leaves me a good chunk of change to myself. That leaves me $2,200 a month in my own pocket. This monthly cost includes a maid, once a week, dropping my clothes off at a laundromat to get washed, dried, and folded, and having my groceries delivered to my house.

I have all the time in the world to myself. It’s so addicting.

Want to go play Laser Tag and ride Go-Karts all day? You can! Want to go do 18 holes Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday? Grab some cigars and let’s go! Want to take a week long vacation? Easy, all you gotta do is tell your people that you’re leaving and to re-up while they can! Then you’re free to leave! Want to smoke weed and play video games all day? Done! Want to learn a skill like playing piano, programming, or anything? You can practice 8 hours a day!

I’m not even mentioning the material items. I have a PS4, Xbox One, Nintendo Switch, Gaming PC, MacBook, TaylorMade golf club set, Boosted Board, HTC Vive, 4K TV’s, all the smart home gadgets an apartment can have(Lights, outlets, TV’s, ect), and clothes galore. I also have a pretty decent car. If I don’t have it, I have multiple options to get it. I can either save up and wait, trade product for it, or just up my sales to cover the cost.

Oh, that’s another thing you can’t do with a paycheck, upping your sales. If I need money or just want to thicken the savings account, I can just push my sales a little harder. Offer a slight discount for more bulk, bring in a different product, or seek out new customers. $6,000 months are not crazy uncommon. Drugs sell themselves.

So yeah, you can see where everything becomes an addiction. Life is just…easy. Drugs sell themselves. Money gives you freedom. It’s a bad mix.

The problem is quitting. I could quit today and have a pretty decent savings to hold me over but after that, I’d have nothing. I have no college education and no work experience I’d be willing to put down on a resume. I have no references. I have no legal connections. I have nothing besides the business I’ve. built around myself. Surrounded by people who do the same thing that I do.

I have a couple moves I could make but my motivation is shot. I could go back to college, that’s a great option. I could hone in on my weed growing skills and save up for when legalization comes to my state. I could build a legit business.

For now though, I’ll stick to what I know and what I’m good at. Hoping to find the dragon I’m chasing.

How do you avoid getting caught?

OPSEC, OPSEC, OPSEC, OPSEC!

I’ve had buyers busted before with much, much harder drugs than Xanax. I suspect all of them to have said my name. I doubt they’re going to do a prison sentence when they could just get a buy on me.

They shouldn’t have any trial of communication between the two of you. Never, ever, ever, ever leave a trail! Once asked for proof they should go “uh….” and that’s it.
Cut them off. I don’t care how close you are. I don’t care if the charge has nothing to do with drugs. If they are in handcuffs, they are cut off. Never to be spoken to again.
Keep a tight knit circle. 3 people at most. None of them are to know each other. It’s less people you deal with, the less people you have to keep track of.
House is always, always clean! Never keep ANYTHING drug related in your house.
NO SOCIAL MEDIA!
Your darknet laptop should not have a HDD and should be AWAY from your house. NEVER connect to a darknet site at your home internet.
Packages should never come to your house. Always use a drop.
Don’t use a bank. Hide your cash like you’d hide your drugs.
Lawyer on retainer. This should be the first thing you pay for with drug money. Memorize his number. Give him bail money to use and only he has access to it.
DO NOT TOUCH PRODUCT PACKAGING! Use gloves when packing up product and wipe down with rubbing alcohol. Wear gloves when dropping them off to your buyer.
I take an extra step and do not do transaction. I take the money and the buyer will get the package via a dead drop within the hour. I DO NOT hand drugs over for money EVER. If your buyer doesn’t understand this rule, do not sell to them.

It seems like you have all your bases covered, although there are still ways of getting busted and to think you’re 100% untraceable seems ignorant

If your goal is to be 100% untraceable, you’ve failed from the beginning.

You just need to be worth less than the investigation. Think of your police force like a thief casing a house(Houses are drug dealers). The thief is going to pick a house that is easy to get into. They want low hanging fruit. They don’t want to have to use explosives or expensive drills to get your TV when the neighbors have one and the front door is unlocked. Now, if they know you’re holding diamonds or a mound of gold…they might be way more willing to use expensive tools and force to get in.

Is it worth going after a mid-range Xanax dealer who has his bases covered? The time, energy, and man-power spent on busting me wouldn’t net much. It’s my first offense and I have a decent lawyer ready to fight for me. There’s a story of a guy who ran a sled over the Canadian border with $55 MILLION worth of Xanax, they gave him 5 years of house arrest in a Federal court room. I’ve studied case after case of Xanax related busts.

Would you rather focus on the “dumb” drug dealers who use Facebook and Snapchat to sell to anyone and everyone?

Could you give an example of a drop for ordering items? I just can’t see how this is secure. Abandoned house, PO box, neighbor, friend? How can you securely pick up a package at your drop location?

Rent a house in a ghetto area with a fake ID. I didn’t need to give up my social security or anything. I just showed my ID, signed papers, and handed over deposit and first months rent.

My buyer(s) will tell me the quantity they want, I’ll either do it hours later or the next day depending on how I feel, and I’ll go drop the product in a discrete location where I can check if anyone is following me or not and I usually use 2 level transportation(Car to one spot then ride my bike to another location), I’ll meet them, take cash, and then communicate with them later with the GPS location.

I’m a little surprised that your buyers are willing to hand you cash before you’ve given them the product. What guarantee do they have that you won’t just run off with the money?

They don’t have to do business with me. I have super competitive pricing so if they’re not willing to give me a try, there’s somebody who will. I always let the first pack go for a lower amount, like 100, but after that it’s 500 or more minimum. It’s not worth my time to do any less.

You said that you leave your phone at a different location and not your house. Doesn’t it not really matter if you’re using an app like wickr? Do you randomly go to the place and check your messages?

Your phone has GPS and more than likely a backdoor installed.

It’s a pain in the ass but here’s how I do it:

You can leave your phone at your drop house if you turn it off/take out the battery but I’ll leave my personal phone at home, go pick up the burner phone, drive to a coffee shop or library or something, and use it from there. I can usually get all my deals set up within an hour from there. After that, I’ll go drop the product off at my location, meet my person, and then go back to get my phone. I’ll use my phone in my car a good 5-10 miles away from my drop house, just a quick drive, to text them the location.

There were points in my life where I was meeting 3 people and points in my life I was working with just 1 person. The more people I’m working with, the more work I have to put in.

How do you avoid leaving a trail of your communications?

here’s a couple anonymous apps that you can use BUT do NOT use them on your personal phone. Get a “burner” phone and use them on there AWAY from your home. Turn the phone off and keep it in a different location than your home. NEVER TAKE IT TO YOUR HOME!

It’s a lot of work but you NEED to take your OPSEC seriously.

Walking In Shenzhen North Railway Station

This is what China is like today. This is what I see every day.

Humorous Illustrations Blending Sarcastic Nature and Adopted Cat’s Attitude

The Internet has been abuzz in recent years with the phenomenon of cats taking over, and now we have one more artist to add to their ranks. @st.aftercigs, an Instagram account with 190K+ followers, gives a whole new dimension to cat appreciation with their bold, humorous artworks inspired by the artist’s own adopted cat.

The artist behind the account expresses the stark contrast between cats’ sassiness, and their ability to be inspirational muses. By blending the artist’s own sarcastic nature with their cat’s grumpy cattitude, a unique and lively art style has been born. The artworks are a great reminder of the many nuanced personalities our cats possess and the joy they can bring to our lives.

More: Instagram h/t: boredpanda

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Is THIS Really The Best Place To Live In The Country??

4 Thoroughly Depressing Confessions

December 20, 2018

[1] I have lung cancer and Stage 4 Non-Hodgkin Lymphoma

Non-smoker by the way, just lost the lottery, that’s all. Considering the damage found from early on during the initial diagnosis, I am not expected to live for too long. I don’t want to get into details in case some friends recognize this.

I’m roughly 27 years old. I’ve been trying out new things, I have had so much fun with new hobbies, instruments I’ve learned over the last year, and have developed a routine for the gym since high school. I didn’t manage to go into what I wanted, entering college, but I’m happy with the jobs I managed to pick up from connections. I’m very happy with what I’ve done so far.

But the one thing I’ve tried to do, and have failed at, is to find a girl who likes me. I don’t bring up what I have and my outlook, but as of dozens of approaches and some new friendships kindled, there has been no one attracted to me. Apart from my physique, I’m not physically attractive up in the face, to say the least. Been trying different things since high school, nothing has changed as of yet.

I don’t want a hookup, not that I have one so far, or a pity fuck since I don’t want to bring up my cancer as I don’t want it to be the reason or my identity, but honestly this is the one thing that keeps me up at night. I’m still waiting for someone and I likely won’t find this person.

My lungs are starting to deteriorate, I’ve started exhibiting symptoms of where things will start to go downhill from here on out. I’ve seen the specialists and it’s not looking so good. 2019 might be my last year.

I don’t know why I’m writing this. I have lots of friends who love me, parents that I’m blessed to have in my life, and have done things I’m proud of. But something as selfish as wanting someone to love me and be attracted to me, I can’t achieve that.

[2] My parents adopted my siblings and I just so they could rape and molest us.

I’ve never told anyone this before, ever, in my life, except for the legal authorities after it all came out. I guess this is the perfect place to finally do so, for the anonymity.

My parents are pedophiles. I’m not entirely sure how they met; us kids got a story growing up, but I don’t think it’s true, because how big of a coincidence is it that two people with the same awful and taboo fetish hooked up? They were always active as swingers, apparently, so maybe they met in the fetish world.

They decided to adopt kids together to sexually abuse, because it wouldn’t be as messed up considering we weren’t biologically their children. (I’m not saying that. That was their logic.)

They adopted my sister and I when I was 2 and she was a baby first, we had the same crack addicted bio mom who lost both of us to the state. When I was 4 and 7 they adopted my two brothers, and when I was 10 they adopted my youngest sister.

I know all of this because when I was 19 my dad bragged about all of this to the other couple they were swinging with, who I guess seemed like they were pedophiles as well. They weren’t, and turned my parents in to the police.

They are both in prison for life.

I don’t want to get into the gory details of everything, except that by the time I was ten I had lost my virginity to my dad and had basically done every sex act under the sun. I thought it was completely normal, and what all little girls did with their fathers. I was a daddy’s girl through and through.

My father molested my sisters as well, and my mother molested my brothers; everything was hetero. Looking back we were the stereotypically abused kids in school, way too knowledgeable about sex/sexually forward for our ages, and my brothers both got in trouble for playing with their own poop. My parents were never suspected, however, because of our traumatic beginnings as the kids of drug addicts.

By the time I was a teenager my dad pretty much lost interest in me because I was too grown up and was instead molesting my youngest sister. I basically had free reign to do whatever I wanted from the time I was 12.

I became hugely promiscuous with older boys at school, which ended with me getting pregnant at 15. The father was my first boyfriend who wasn’t one of the scummy guys at school, and his family had shown me that my home life was hugely abnormal.

I worried that if my baby was a girl it would be molested by my dad (at the time, I didn’t know my mom was abusing my brothers as well) and asked if I could move in with my boyfriend’s family. I used the story that my parents were angry about my pregnancy and kicking me out. As for my parents, they didn’t care much about me at that point and I suppose they guessed correctly that abusing their grandchild would not work as well since it was also attached to this very loving and functional family. They let me go.

In a way getting pregnant and moving out so young saved me. All of my younger siblings struggle with drug addiction in some shape or form, be it heroin, meth, alcohol, or multiple substances.

One of my brothers shows sociopathic tendencies likely due to the abuse. My youngest sister has been diagnosed with Reactive Attachment Disorder.

After my parents were arrested, they all went back into the foster care system, which did not help at all. I am 26 today and while I still have a lot of problems with depression and suicidal thoughts I feel like having my son to live for is the only way I have avoided being addicted to drugs. He is 11 now and a great kid.

The worst thing for me wasn’t the abuse, shockingly. I grew up with it and never felt victimized during it, though I would never EVER do what my mom did to my son. It was the fact that during their trial it came out that my parents never thought of us as their “real” kids. We were just adopted kids that they took in to use as their playthings. All the love they showed us was just for show. I think that is what will haunt me for the rest of my life.

[3] I’m HIV positive

Earlier this year I had a relationship with a guy I mistakenly trusted. I don’t want to get into it because it upsets me a lot, but the short and short of it is, he told me he was clean, he was actually HIV positive, and now I am too because I felt safe enough not to use a condom with him during our relationship together.

I found out because I got what I thought was the flu, but it hit me so, so hard. I went to the ER twice. The first time they gave me fluids and some meds for my massive headache and sent me home. The second time I had a fever of 103 and they didn’t have any beds and wouldn’t for hours so I said fuck it and decided I’d rather die/go braindead in the comfort of my own bed. Two and a half weeks later I was still having fevers over 101 and couldn’t get out of bed except to pee. A rash like chicken pox that didn’t itch covered my entire body including my palms and my liver enzymes went off the chart. A month later after more tests and head scratching by a team of doctors, they finally diagnosed me with syphillis (stage 3) and HIV.

I took it in stride and went to therapy, took my new meds, and now my viral load is undetectable. My CD4 levels are normal (that means my immune system is working normally). Honestly the treatment for the syphillis was the worst. Three rounds of huge shots of penicillin in my butt, one in each ass cheek each time. I would be so sore it would be hard to drive out of the parking lot.

Life is pretty much the same, all except for I can’t donate blood anymore and I had to unregister from the bone marrow registry. Also I avoid this man like it’s my job. I don’t shop at the grocery store he works at. I don’t go to the park he lives near. I do a double take every time I see an older guy dressed in black on a bike now. I tried reporting him to the police but there’s nothing they could do for me because my governor changed the laws recently to reduce prison crowding.

Few people close to me know I’m positive. I haven’t even told my dad even though he asked me point blank when I was really sick and I just lied even though he’s a doctor himself and would love me all the same. I just don’t want him to worry, or to have to be burdened with knowing someone hurt me giving it to me, or if I leave that part of the story out for him to think I was reckless with my own health. But not telling him weighs on me too.

[4] When they first told me that I had cancer I thought that I would make it.

I did make it for a while. Things went alright and I went into remission when I was 18.

Things looked good and I started college as a film student in a 4 year University but by the age of 21 it came back and had was progressing rapidly. I ended up quitting school because It didn’t seem like it was worth planning for a future that I wouldn’t have.

I’m 22 now and recently was given an estimate of 4-6 months. I’ve been trying to stay strong for my family, but I’m so fucking scared.

I’ll be 23 years old when I die. There were so many things that I wanted to do that I’ll never get the chance to do.

I feel like I should be trying to find some rhyme or reason, or rationalizing some sort of after life or a god, but I just want to stay in my room and play videogames.

I love my family but I am tired of being around them, I see that they are trying to stay strong but I feel like I have to comfort them. They are also extremely religious and have tried to use this to make me a believer.

I don’t want to comfort people, or explain what I feel to people who won’t get it, or be fucking preached to.

I pre-ordered Red Dead Redemption two and my current goal is to stay healthy enough to beat it. That’s the one good thing about dying, I don’t have to save my money or worry about my future. It my sound selfish but at this point I’m just trying to play as many videogames as possible and try not to think about any of it.

Times like this are rough though, it’s 5 in the morning and I’m too tired to do anything. So I have a lot of thoughts popping up in my mind that I want to avoid

Poisoned pet | I try to save New life cat was poisoned

What Does It Feel Like To Be A Hot Girl Who Gets Old?

September 19, 2018

I was very, very hot.

Now I’m 61. I’m not hot. I’ve had two babies. I’ve been sleep deprived most of my life. My hair is a mess (possible Asperger’s symptom). I have never been married, legally. Funny, because I used to wonder how all those girls around me were ever going to find husbands, looking like that.

In high school, someone started a rumor I was on the cover of Seventeen. The freshman girls began to follow me around, giggling. They were so excited. This went on for months. I could see them admiring me from across the cafeteria, or down the hall. They’d stop, to worship. At last, one nervously came up to ask me about it. I told her: I was a model, but not in Seventeen.

If my parents had had their acts together, I could have been. But they were dysfunctional people.

I was raised with the understanding that I was important because I was beautiful. It was not just the most important thing. It was the only important thing.

Being shy, I was never comfortable with “hot”. Back then, I assumed it was normal to walk into a restaurant and everyone would stop eating. I took it for granted this happens all the time.

Then it stopped.

At the same time, I was competitive — I needed to be the most beautiful woman in the room. I wanted to crawl into a closet and escape if a more beautiful woman entered the same space. I felt deprived. I felt unappreciated. I felt worthless. I was nothing.

All based on my looks.

Men I did not know told me they were in love with me. Once, when I was 18, during my short modeling career, I received fan mail from 1000 miles away — including a pro football player requesting for a date — asking for “pinups” and a letter. It was unnerving. I do not miss those weird communications.

Some men could not help themselves; they wrote me poems. Their words were often beautiful. But they didn’t know me at all.

Any conversation with the opposite sex took place on eggshells. I prayed the chat would NOT end with a request for a date…. or an embrace. I’d try to be nice. But I knew it was coming. In my head, at every smile, I’d plead: Please don’t hate me when I turn you down. I avoided the question. I kindly rejected them. I never, ever got good at that.

So they hated me. They’d be angry, they’d resent me, they’d be embarrassed, they’d need to prove that I was not good enough for them… They turned rude and awful.

Needless to say, my looks and my desperate need not to upset men led to many a sexual harassment at work situation, which back then was not illegal.

I was fired from a magazine by a man I would not date. I didn’t flat out refuse. Trying to be diplomatic, I simply replied that we should “all” go out to lunch together. He saw right through this. I don’t miss that part of being hot one bit. He went ballistic. Like I said, today, it would be illegal.

I moved to Park Slope in the mid-80s. On a hot summer day I put on a pair of shorts and walked down the street. To my right, a pickup truck went flying past me. Then came the screech of breaks, the zoom of an engine racing backwards, and it stopped. I didn’t look. But I could hear them. One yelled:

“OH! MY! GOD!”

When the staring stopped, it was a relief in many ways.

I no longer had to give a damn about what I wore. No one is scrutinizing me for imperfection. When a beautiful woman has a pimple, no one stops discussing it.

I AM imperfection. I don’t have to prove to anyone anymore that I am more gorgeous than you.

I stopped wearing makeup — what is the point at 61? I still look much younger than my age, but I haven’t looked 30 since I was 45.

It was easy to get younger men to work with me when I was “hot”. It is now impossible. I am great at what I do but getting a 20-something guy to work with me as a team is threatening — and frankly it creeps me out too, to call someone a “colleague” when I’m old enough to be their mother. These young men are embarrassed to be seen talking to me now. Needless to say, I eat lunch alone. I am lonely. Funny, that.

I remember sitting next to an otherwise lovable guy named Mark at a bar in Elaine’s in Manhattan ca. 1986. At one point Mark asked me what I did for a living. At the time I was a freelance writer.

“Yeah?” he said, stifling a guffaw. “Whadya write? Romance novels?”

When I was hot, I could get out of anything.

I sailed through a red light once and at the top of the hill, a policeman was waiting for me. In my most adorably angry way, I got out of the car, put my hands on my hips, glared at him, and squeaked: You’re just picking on me because I have an old car!”

He pointed out I’d just gone through a completely red light. I pointed out right back: “Well, if I had known you were here I would have stopped!”

Admission of guilt.

No license. No registration. No insurance. These were all home on my kitchen table.

A crowd began to form. The beautiful girl yelling at the cop. He reeled at them: Whadyou lookin’ at! Geddouda here! Go!

In the back seat of the car was a New York Times, and a story with my byline. This was what I used for identification — a newspaper with a byline.

I was telling the truth. But how the hell would he know?

He tried not to smile. But he couldn’t help it. Finally he laughed, said some warm and friendly things to me as he drove off.

I would never get away with that today.

I told that story to coworkers once and was met with blank stares — disbelief.

It upsets me when people look at beautiful women and remark how stupid they are. It’s a running joke.

Beauty = idiocy in this country.

I am smart, educated, refined, socially terribly awkward — and not an idiot. I am not hot and people respect me.

I did not get that when I was gorgeous.

I desperately wanted to be taken seriously. It was hopeless. No one could look like that and be heard except on paper.
So I write.

One time I arrived for a midtown New York press conference. I was sent to the “43rd floor”, a modeling agency. I was late for the p.c.

Of course I miss those days sometimes.

Days when men would hold the elevator for me and compete to pick up something I had just dropped.

When they would stare at me as we passed on the escalator and remark to a friend next to them, “Gooooood MORNing!“

When a boss would have me go to a conference room to ask a wealthy client if he would like to order dinner, knowing the guy was not hungry, just to show me off?

When a female coworker would suddenly hate me because her would-be paramour said something flattering about the way I looked, compared to her?

Yah. I do. I am invisible.

I don’t have many good photos of myself. I really can’t prove this at all. Worse, my current boyfriend who still has no idea what I used to look like tells me: “All women tell me they used to be beautiful“.So witnesses are all that’s left. Hard to believe I used to walk down the street and people would want my autograph or that modeling agents would want to sign me or that two male coworkers would request desks facing mine “for the beautiful view”.

Today, unlike others, I feel close to beautiful women.

I have no resentment; I have no jealousy; I totally relate to them A-Z. And I see what they go through, their struggle to navigate encounters with aggressive men in hot pursuit, the vicious rumors started by other women, the assumptions they are sluts if they are friendly, the belief they are morons.

The security department in the building where I work apparently had a picture of me posted on the wall, taken by a security camera. I heard from a man I work with: “Do you know they’ve got a picture of you in the security office hanging on the wall down there?” It had been there for years, apparently. When I asked to see it, someone told me it had “just” been taken down. Trust me, it’s a very old picture. I would have liked a copy, but no one’s talking.

I tell my daughter, Be grateful you’re not beautiful. Instead, be pretty. You don’t know what you’re not missing.

There was a downside. There was an upside. I think I was lucky to have lived both.

– Anonymous

They did the SAME thing to get us into WW2 and WW1

Carne en Adobo (Beef in Tomato
and Pepper Sauce – Guatemala)

Ingredients

1/4 cup vegetable oil
1 medium onion, chopped
3 cloves garlic, chopped
2 red peppers, seeded and chopped
3 pounds lean boneless beef chuck, cut into 1-inch cubes
10 ounces canned tomatillos
4 medium tomatoes, coarsely chopped
1 bay leaf
2 cloves
1/2 teaspoon oregano
Salt and pepper
1/2 cup beef stock
2 stale flour tortillas

Instructions

Heat oil in saucepan and sauté onion, garlic and pepper until onion is soft.
Add meat and everything else except tortillas. Add more stock if needed so liquid barely covers meat. Cover, simmer gently 2 hours until beef is tender.
Soak tortillas in water, squeeze them out and crumble. Add to casserole and simmer uncovered until sauce thickens.
Serve with Arroz Guatemalteco.

DIO- Caught In The Middle- Don’t Talk To Strangers- Straight Through The Heart (Live 2005)

Don’t live a life of regret

Will the West's Christian Colonial Cretins attack China?

I doubt it. John Pilger's 2016 doco The Coming War On China, and a short-lived abc.net.au weekly current affairs program called China Tonight from March, 2022, have persuaded me that:

1. China hasn't forgotten the Opium Wars nor the perps. And has made Opium Wars part of the school curriculum...

2. One suspects that China will have a much shorter Nuclear War fuse than Russia if subjected to an(other) Unprovoked Attack by the CCCs.

Posted by: Hoarsewhisperer | Feb 1 2023 17:06 utc | 4

Lately, I have been dancing with my little girl.

It’s a great work out, but I have to tell youse guys, it’s EXHAUSTING. Try this little number. See if you can keep up the pace for a full three minutes! Ugh!

On the plus side, she’s learning Japanese along with her English and Chinese…

Yes. Do not live a life of regret…

The Story Of David Glasheen, A Real Life Robinson Crusoe

David Glasheen is a 70-year-old former businessman from Sydney’s North Shore who traded in his suit for a loincloth after losing most of his money in the stock market crash of 1987. He first visited Restoration Island in 1993, he acquired an interest in the island with his remaining money in 1994, and moved there permanently in 1997 with his girlfriend. But with no hot water, a bath or the mod cons she found it tough and left to return to the city. Since then he has upgraded accommodation on the island, and has lived there happily with his dog Quasi.

David Glasheen, who has lived alone on the island off Cape York Peninsula since 1993, made international headlines four years ago, when he went online looking for a “Girl Friday” to live with him.

David Glasheen says sometimes he gets lonely with his dog his only companion but he is occasionally visited by passing yachtsmen, kayakers and organic farmers.

A meme

A meme shared: Gas prices are rising again because China stopped its Covid crackdown.

Of course, that’s 100% absurd. China has noted it and this op/ed is a result, “Blaming China’s economic recovery for global inflation? More nonsense from US media”:

For years, the Western perception of the Chinese economy has alternated between two extremes: either the Chinese economy is at the cusp of collapsing - the "China collapse" theory - or the Chinese economy is rising so rapidly that it poses a threat to the world - the "China threat" theory. 

There is virtually no middle ground between the two totally contradicting narratives, though both serve the same goal - smearing China's socialist market economic system. 

Western media outlets switch between the two narratives at different times to best serve that goal.

Such a twisted, malign practice cannot be clearer than what we have seen over the past several weeks, as China moved to downgrade its COVID response, went through a COVID infection peak and embarked on a rapid economic recovery in such a short time span. 

The transitions happened so swiftly that the shift in Western media outlets' narrative of the Chinese economy could barely catch up. 

Before the Chinese Spring Festival holidays, many foreign media outlets made grim predictions about China's epidemic situation and economic recovery. 

Bloomberg on January 20 predicted a "COVID catastrophe" during the Chinese New Year, while CNN on January 18 claimed that a "COVID-19 tsunami" was brewing in the countryside amid the holiday travel rush.

And of course, China’s Spring Festival is a smashing success.

Some of the info provided would make great material for comedians; Carlin would make much of the narrative swap. What’s happening is NEVER the fault of the West; it’s always somebody else’s fault. I’m reminded of the Family Circus cartoon and the “Not Me” ghost. Bill Keane was very insightful with that.

From the glory days of pie in America. Enjoy!

Don’t live a life of regret…

Like this person.

When I was 7 or 8 years old, I snapped at my dad for getting me the wrong video game and I can still see the disappointment in his face. Haunts me to this day.

Preventing a long war w/Scott Ritter

Scott at his brilliant best! A voice of reason and reality amid a dangerous climate of delusional esculatory rhetoric in the West.

Relics of the past…

Don’t live a life of regret…

Like this guy.

I called my buddy one night because I knew he was having a tough time, I told him I'm coming over, he kept saying no I'm good I'm good...he was less than a mile away. I said okay and then his mom called me in the morning saying he was dead and what did he say to me in the phone call.

I wish I went over

Philly Cheese and Ground Beef Casserole

Bring the fabulous flavor of Philly cheese steak sandwiches to a comforting casserole!

Ingredients

1 1/2 pounds lean (at least 80%) ground beef
1 (8 ounce) package sliced mushrooms
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon pepper
8 (1 ounce) slicesprovolone cheese
2 tablespoons butter or margarine
2 large onions, halved and thinly sliced into wedges
2 medium red bell peppers, cut into strips*
2 cloves garlic, finely chopped
1 (16.3 ounce) can Pillsbury® Grands!® Homestyle original biscuits

* To easily cut peppers, cut a thin slice off bottom of pepper. Set pepper on cutting board, cut side down. Cut strips of pepper from stem down to board, cutting just the flesh and leaving seeds and core attached to stem.

Instructions

Heat oven to 350 degrees F. Spray 13 x 9-inch (3-quart) baking dish with cooking spray.
In 12-inch skillet, cook beef, mushrooms, salt and pepper over medium-high heat 7 to 9 minutes, stirring frequently, until beef is thoroughly cooked; drain.
Place in baking dish.
Arrange cheese over beef mixture, overlapping slices if needed.
In same skillet, melt butter over medium-high heat. Add onions and bell peppers. Cook over medium-high heat 3 to 5 minutes, stirring frequently, until peppers are crisp-tender.
Stir in garlic; cook 1 to 2 minutes longer. Spoon over cheese in baking dish.
Separate dough into 8 biscuits. On lightly floured surface, pat biscuits into 5-inch circles. Arrange biscuits over vegetable mixture.
Bake for 35 to 40 minutes or until biscuits are golden brown on top.

High Altitude (3500-6500 ft)

Don’t live a life of regret…

Like this chick.

I deeply regret picking on this very socially challenged girl when I was younger. I wasn't particularly vicious or anything but I should have used my popularity to stand up for her, or at least treat her right.

Through Darkness Into Light: The Concept Art Of Ivan Khomenko

Ivan Khomenko is a freelance concept artist and digital illustrator based in Kostroma, Russia. He currently works as a concept artist at One Pixel Brush. We have an amazing collection of science fiction and fantasy themed works by the artist below from both commercial and personal projects. Ivan Khomenko’s illustrations and paintings have an incredible cinematic quality.

Don’t life a life of regret

Like this person…

I was seven years of age, I had an argument with my mother the night before she died. Before I went to bed she asked me for a hug I told her NO and stormed off to bed. The next morning I woke up to find everyone in the house was gone, it was very surreal and confusing. My father came back in that morning crying and told me my mother had died of a brain hemorrhage.. 

Never go to bed on an argument.

Oddly and curious

Don’t live a life of regret

Like this man.

Not getting a second opinion sooner on my back injury. Injured my back at work in 2014, was taken to a WorkCover doctor where I now know I was misdiagnosed and then gaslighted by the workplace OH&S officer. Had I known that I could seek a second opinion from another doctor while on WorkCover, it would have been found that I had a permanent disc protrusion that was impacting a major nerve.

I waited 7 years to seek a different opinion, all because I believed the WorkCover doctor and a physio couldn't be wrong as they were professionals and that I had 'just a simple back strain'. Meanwhile I'm walking around in chronic pain with a disc protrusion that could've ruptured at any given moment. 

I'm now permanently disabled thanks to my own stupidity. And I can't take legal action against the company now as there is only a 3 year grace period to do so.

Illustrator Perfectly Captures The Beauty Of Single Life

Mexico-based artist Idalia Candelas draws women who are content to be alone. Using pencil, ink, and watercolor, “Postmodern Loneliness” is a series that celebrates being single. Candelas says she was inspired by her time living alone in Mexico City.

“The theme of the loneliness has been recurring in my drawings,” Candelas told Mic. “I like to show women who exist in solitude but do not suffer. They are not depressed or crying. Rather [they] are safe, exalting in the sense of enjoying the company of just herself.”

Do not live a life of regret

Like this person…

My mom died nearly one year ago. She battled ALS for two years. It was very sudden and a horrific experience. The last thing she said to me before she lost the ability to speak was “stay”. She was dying and afraid and just wanted her daughter to stay by her side, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t sit and watch her die. It was excruciating for me. I did visit her every day until her death, but she was no longer there really. She died a week later. I will never forgive myself.

Oddly funny

My last note today about China:

Within this decade, China, Russia and India as well as other nations will cease being technologically dependent on the West, “Top meeting urges expedited establishment of new pattern of development”:

China will ramp up efforts to stand on its own feet in science and technology and solve the issue of foreign stranglehold in the sphere, as part of a push for the country to become a global forerunner in key technological areas, according to key takeaways from the top leadership on Tuesday.

Xi Jinping, general secretary of the Communist Party of China (CPC) Central Committee, has stressed the efforts to accelerate the establishment of a new pattern of development and enhance the security and initiative of development when attending the second group study session of the Political Bureau of the 20th CPC Central Committee on Tuesday afternoon.

As the country eyes expediting the establishment of a new pattern of development, technological self-sufficiency and competitive yet secure supply chains will become all the more important, industry observers said, citing the US-led technology decoupling from China....

On top of that, the country will take accelerated steps toward science and technology self-sufficiency and self-strength and address foreign "stranglehold" issues, Xi said.

The actions by the Outlaw US Empire and its vassals that began decades ago to thwart development within the Global South has finally blown-back onto their economies as becoming sovereign in all areas is now the goal of all Global South nations and is a Movement that will not be beaten back again as it was in the 1950-60s when it was first attempted.

Recall that nobody holds a patent on Nature’s Secrets; they can be discovered by anyone and used.

The Global South holds a big advantage over the West in STEM grads and better economic models to follow to promote that advantage.

What remains to be seen in the future is the Global South’s behavior towards the West: Can the urge to put the West down and trample on it as the West did to the Global South be resisted?

Can Xi’s vision of a Win-Win world of a shared human destiny triumph? Only Time will tell.

Do not live a life of regret

As in this…

Being too kind to people that do me wrong all the time.

Some more Godzilla Haikus

Don’t live a life in regret

Like this fellow…

I deeply regret letting my creative writing and piano playing skills go to s**t. Ever since I entered the corporate world 19 years ago, it has consumed me and I no longer feel passionate about those things. I stopped practicing everything. When I try to make myself do them, it feels like just that, like I am forcing myself and it is no longer fun. I feel like I’ve become a shell of my former self in so many ways.

Preacher Man Casserole

The preacher isn’t the only one who will enjoy this great casserole.

Ingredients

1 pound ground beef
Garlic (to taste)
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon granulated sugar
8 ounces tomato sauce
8 ounces egg noodles
8 ounces sour cream
8 ounces cream cheese
1 1/2 cups shredded cheddar cheese

Instructions

Heat oven to 350 degrees F.
Cook and drain ground beef.
Mix beef with garlic, salt, sugar and tomato sauce.
Cover and simmer for 15 minutes.
Meanwhile, cook and drain egg noodles.
Mix sour cream and cream cheese together in a small bowl.
Layer, in order twice – noodles, sour cream mixture, meat.
Sprinkle Cheddar cheese on top.
Bake for 20 minutes.

Yield: 4 servings

Stoltenberg has spoken in Japan

Stoltenberg has spoken in Japan and Global Times has produced an editorial in response, “Why Stoltenberg’s speech was so blatant in Tokyo”. Here are the opening paragraphs:

NATO Secretary General Jens Stoltenberg delivered a speech at Keio University in Japan on Wednesday.

If we are to describe this speech, it would be labeled with "poor level, bad influence, and insidious intentions."

It was not worth mentioning, but the negative trends of NATO and Japan exposed from its content deserve the high vigilance of the entire Asia-Pacific region. It can be said that the speech is full of "ominous omens."

Before visiting Japan, Stoltenberg went to South Korea.

Although he also played up the "China threat" in South Korea and tied China, Russia and North Korea together with malicious intent, his words were far less straightforward and blatant than in Tokyo.

Facing the Japanese audience, Stoltenberg spent a lot of time attacking China.

He said in a sensational tone, "What is happening in Europe today could happen in East Asia tomorrow."

He also said unctuously, "China is not our adversary," but what he said later was basically to smear and slander China.

He accused China of "substantially building up its military forces, including nuclear weapons, without any transparency" and said that China (the Chinese mainland) is attempting to assert control over the South China Sea, and threatening Taiwan.

Stoltenberg's words and actions in Japan and South Korea are very different, which reflects many deep-seated problems, indicating that the two countries play different roles in NATO's strategic design.

In Seoul, he mainly spoke to the South Korean side, which was the target of his persuasion and incitement, while in Tokyo, he spoke to the entire Asia-Pacific region, and the Japanese authorities stood by as accomplices and co-conspirators.

A joint statement was issued after talks between Stoltenberg and Japanese Prime Minister Fumio Kishida on January 31, in which the common stance against China and Russia was very prominent, and the intention to interfere in the situation across the Taiwan Straits was very strong.

These will undoubtedly create risks of camp confrontation and division in the Asia-Pacific region.

The role NATO is playing is exactly the same as it has played on the European soil.

In other words, it is actually NATO itself that is promoting the idea that "what is happening in Europe today could happen in East Asia tomorrow."

A wolf whose base camp and activities have been in the far west for a long time has found a foothold in East Asia with great ambitions.

Japan is the one who lured the wolf into the house, and also seeks a high-sounding reason.

As the secretary general of NATO, Stoltenberg is not qualified to dictate East Asian affairs, not to mention even giving outrageous statements.

To some extent, Japan created such an opportunity for him and NATO. Stoltenberg did not hesitate to speak sweetly about Japan, saying that among NATO's partners, none is closer or more capable than Japan.

He also praised Japan's substantial increase in defense budget and revision of its security strategy, behaviors that have been widely questioned in the Asia-Pacific region.

NATO and Japan formed a vicious mutual reinforcement.

Like Germany, Japan is captured and lacks sovereignty.

Only its people can alter the situation, which is the same formula for Europe.

IMO, NATO will likely last through the 2030s, although it will likely shrink to just the Outlaw US Empire, Canada and UK, and perhaps Denmark and Netherlands.

Once Russia establishes its new security arrangements, it will become clear there’s no longer any need for NATO within Europe. But as with its evil twin the EU, it will take time for its complete demise.

This Woman Restored An Old Van To Make All Her Traveling Dreams Come True

Marina Piro wanted to travel the world with her rescue dog Odie, but she couldn’t find the right van to travel with. After a little bit of searching she decided that the best thing to do would be to build one herself.

More info: Instagram, Pamthevan

“The main reason why I chose to be travelling by van was that I wanted to have Odie with me. A van seemed the most viable option. Too many bus, train, plane companies do not accept dogs, not to mention the difficulties you might have to find a suitable accommodation. Despite being the most practical solution, van life with a dog can be difficult at times and you must consider various aspects of it before throwing yourself into it,” she said.

My cat says fuck you

Actually, that’s a name of an “art series”.

...that's the thing... all this money going to the military and banking complex means eroding living standards for the same citizens.. 

the destruction of the fabric that holds a country together - medical system, gov't funding for any number of programs that benefit people - have to be removed so that more can be spent on the military.. 

oh and forget about this global economy where all boats rise.. no.. cordon it off into areas of exchange that remove all the so called bad guys... 

i hope this bites the west in the ass really hard to the point more people wake up to this bullshit.. 

i am not counting on anyone waking up though, or if they do - probably too late...

Posted by: james | Jan 31 2023 18:24 utc | 11

Today we are going to have some irreverent fun. Lot’s of cussing, profanity, and other anti-social behaviors. We are “letting loose”.

When I was in second grade, we were living in our new home in Monroe, CT. (Which by the way, ended up turning into a multi-million dollar house, in a very exclusive neighborhood. Too bad we sold the house, for a job in Pittsburgh. But it was the 1960’s, and my dad couldn’t peer into a crystal ball for the future…)

It was Easter.

My bad brought a cute white rabbit home. And all of us kids played with it all day. And of course, it being Easter, we had tons of hard-boiled Easter eggs, and chocolate. And of course, being kids, we fed that rabbit a long stream of our chocolate.

What we did not know, being all of seven or eight years old, and what our parents did not know, is that while we (as humans) could eat chocolate, little animals such as a dogs, cats and rabbits could not.

The next day; Monday, we woke up to a dead rabbit.

And there, on Monday morning, we had a little memorial service and buried the rabbit in our back yard.

The End.

Let’s get on with today’s installment…

This Instagram Account Creates Sinister Parodies of Kid’s Cooks To Ruin Your Childhood Memories

Thomas Columbo is the creator of Digital Meddle. He alters vintage children’s books through the use Photoshop, adding the text in order to give the stories a different meaning with a comedic effect. Something that drives his passion for this unique art form is people’s disapproving comments, although overall his work is well received.

More: Instagram

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Egyptian FM delivered a Blinkie message to Russia

Lavrov: Blinken’s message on Ukraine contains only calls on Russia to ‘quit and stop’

From HERE

“It is reported that [yesterday] Jens Stoltenberg said in one of his speeches that Russia must lose, must be defeated, and that the West cannot afford to let Ukraine lose, because in that case the West will lose and the whole world will lose”

MOSCOW, January 31. /TASS/. US Secretary of State Antony Blinken’s message on Ukraine, handed over by Egyptian Foreign Minister Sameh Shoukry, contains only calls on Russia to “quit and stop,” Russian Foreign Minister Sergey Lavrov told a media conference following talks with his Egyptian counterpart on Tuesday.

Mr. Minister, while answering the previous question, said that he had conveyed a certain message from Secretary of State Blinken, who was recently on a visit to Cairo. I confirm this,” Lavrov said, answering a question from TASS. “Russia is ready to listen to any serious proposal that is aimed at resolving the current situation in its comprehensive context.”

“We have had one more message Egypt’s foreign minister has handed over to us to the effect that Russia should stop, that Russia should quit, and then everything will be fine,” Lavrov went on to say, adding that at the same time “Blinken omitted something.”

“The other part of the message, showing the true interest of the United States and the West, was stated by NATO Secretary General Mr. [Jens] Stoltenberg, when he was in the Republic of Korea yesterday,” Lavrov noted. “He said in one of his speeches that Russia must lose, must be defeated, and that the West cannot afford to let Ukraine lose, because in that case, he argued, the West will lose and the whole world will lose.” Stoltenberg, as Lavrov pointed out, “took the liberty of speaking not only on behalf of the North Atlantic Alliance, but also on behalf of all other countries of the world.”[.] (emphasis added)

Certainly, that message will not move 1 millimeter for talks.
3 Strikes: the West cheated at Minsk. Theft of RF’s foreign reserves. “Terror attack” on NordStream 1, 2 and last week very publicly bragged about the dastardly act.

Wake up. It will take decades to restore Confidence, Trust, Credibility.
Russia will soldier on (pun intended) until ALL its goals for de-militarizing and de-NATOfying to its 1993 borders are achieved.

Posted by: Likklemore | Jan 31 2023 18:39 utc | 19

Common School Blueberry Muffins

IMG 7463 682x1024 1 — IMG 7463 682×1024 1

Ingredients

1/4 cup granulated sugar
2 cups all-purpose flour
2 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup blueberries
1 egg, beaten
1 cup milk
1/4 cup melted butter

Instructions

Heat oven to 400 degrees F. Grease tins.
Sift together dry ingredients; add blueberries to flour mixture and stir gently.
Mix egg, milk and butter together. Add to flour mixture; mix only enough to moisten flour. Do not beat. Fill tins 3/4 full.
Bake for 25 minutes.

Size Matters – On A U.S. Ground Intervention In Ukraine

A European financial research company has sent me one of their quarterly research letters. It is a ‘contrarian review of political and military ramifications’ of the war in Ukraine. It analyzes ‘winners and losers’ of the war.

It is contrarian only in the sense that it counters the false views of ‘western’ mainstream media with reality. The losers of the war are all on the ‘western’ side with the only two winners being the owners of the U.S. defense industry and Russia.

I was sent the courtesy copy because, as the company writes, the discussions at Moon of Alabama were “immensely helpful” in forming their view.

Note to the authors: You are welcome.

I will not quote from the paper as it seems to be a somewhat confidential business product. But I will steal two graphics from it that will help to understand the size of the war in Ukraine and how it will NOT end.

There have been theories that Poland or some U.S. led coalition force would intervene with their troops on the ground in Ukraine to ‘kick the Russians out’.

The two graphics though dispel any hope for such an operation.

The following is an operational map of Desert Storm. The U.S. led operation in spring 1991 to kick Iraq out of Kuwait.

biggerIt took the U.S. some nine month to assemble a forces of some 700,000 U.S. and 250,000 allied troops with all their equipment. Iraq had an estimated 650,000 troops in the theater. The U.S. first created total air superiority by destroying Iraq’s fighter aircraft and air defense forces. With that done it took only 100 hours of ground operation to destroy a third of the Iraqi forces. The rest of the Iraqi army retreated under fire towards Baghdad.

There are some 550,000 Russian troops in and around Ukraine. A hypothetical operation to ‘kick Russia out’ would thereby have about the same size as Desert Storm. But the geographic dimensions differ drastically.

The following is an operational map of Desert Storm from above overlaid in scale on the map of Ukraine.

biggerThe map was turned to the left by 90 degree. North is to the left, east at the top and Crimea in the south to the right.

Russia occupies some 87,000 square kilometer of Ukraine. The Desert Storm theater around Kuwait was five times smaller.

A hypothetical U.S. coalition of the size of Desert Storm could probably cross the Dnieper and cut of Crimea. But it could do little more than that. The Donetz and Luhansk oblasts and Crimea itself would still be in Russian hands.

But there are many reasons why no such operation will ever be planned and executed.

The U.S. no longer has a force of the size it committed to Desert Storm. Nor do its allies.
The U.S. was able to create air superiority in Iraq because it could fly from nearby Saudi airfields and from aircraft carriers in the Persian Gulf. Air superiority in eastern Ukraine could only be achieved with the destruction of long range air-defenses within Russia. The next safe air fields the U.S. could use are in Poland and Romania. No U.S. aircraft carrier will dare to enter the Black Sea. U.S. fighter planes to not have the necessary reach for combat missions in eastern Ukraine.
The Ukrainian rail system is by now a mess. It is incapable of moving a large force from the west into east Ukraine.
Any attempt to move a large force through Ukraine would be subject to deep battle interdiction by Russian and Belorussian forces.
Iraqi equipment was badly maintained and Iraqi forces were barely trained. Russia has a well trained high tech army.

I could go on but you can certainly see the point.

No U.S. ground troops will move into Ukraine. It is ludicrous to think otherwise.

Posted by b on January 30, 2023 at 16:23 UTC | Permalink

Humorous Illustrations Blending Sarcastic Nature and Adopted Cat’s Attitude

About the USA

The US only engages in direct conflict against a far weaker opponent.

It’s preferred method of controlling other states is to work in the shadows – propaganda and psy ops to turn people against their government, support of extremist factions, manipulation of elections, color revolutions, and sanctions.

All underhanded and sneaky.

The neocons were sure their toolkit would work in Ukraine.

The US government is committed to this as long as it doesn’t have to confront Russia directly.

The US public is committed to this as long as it doesn’t come down to thousands of boys coming back in body bags.

Otherwise it’s one big reality show to entertain.

There are descriptors to be used for people who act like the US acts, none of them complimentary.

Posted by: Mike R | Jan 30 2023 17:08 utc | 19

School Style Sloppy Joes

Ingredients

1 pound ground beef
Chopped onion
1/2 cup ketchup with water to make 3/4 cup
1/4 teaspoon dry mustard
1 tablespoon brown sugar
Shake of Worcestershire sauce
1 can tomato soup (undiluted)

Instructions

Brown ground beef with onion and drain.
Add other ingredients and simmer until warm through.
Serve over hamburger buns.

Stop blinking your eyes

When I was in fifth grade, I lived a normal boyhood in a small town in Western Pennsylvania. There, everyday, we would sit at a formal dinner that our mothers had prepared for us. My mother would cook roasts, and other fare that varied from Chicken to fish, and all manner of vegetables as sides.

Being a traditional household, my father sat at the head of the table, with my mother at the other end, and us kids sat in the middle.

Now for some reason, my father was stressing out at work for some reason or the other, and today’s story is about how it manifested when he came home.

He, in a completely asshole move started to pick on me (as I was the oldest son), and started to accuse me of blinking my eyes too much.

Yeah. I’m what? Nine years old.

He’d scream at me at the dining table “Stop blinking your eyes”! Or if I was reading a book in the living room, or watching television. Or riding my bicycle. I must have heard that demand “Stop blinking your yes” over ten thousand times.

Anyways…

Long story short. Eventually he stopped accusing me. And I learned to stay hidden from him. As an older man, I can now clearly see that he was under stress and neuroses were developing, but at that time, I just “took it”.

As we get older, we view our past experiences with the eyes of experience, and learn what is good and what is bad, in ways that we can understand and learn from.

Let’s get on with today’s post…

Meme’s about the United States are everywhere…

Unlocking the Secrets of the Holloways: An Exploration of England’s Sunken Labyrinths

Natural England is embarking on a journey to uncover hidden gems known as holloways tucked away in the English countryside. These paths, also known as sunken lanes, have a rich historical and cultural value that is waiting to be discovered.

According to the BBC, experts are conducting 3D surveys at Shute’s Lane, a picturesque holloway near Bridport in Dorset, on the south coast of England. They are also studying the 300-year-old Hell Lane, a path that winds its way through Symondsbury and North Chideock. The goal is to create a map that will showcase the locations of these mysterious sunken lanes all across the UK.

What is a Holloway?

A holloway is tunnel-like road, lane, or path that has become naturally sunken over centuries of repeated use. According to Atlas Obscura , in some places, the holloways in Dorset have receded as much as 20 feet below the land on either side.

The pathway is typically surrounded by tall trees that grow out of the banks on either side. They may have intertwined their branches forming a canopy over the road, creating the appearance of a tunnel through the dense foliage.

Hell Lane, near Symondsbury, Dorset. (Mike Faherty / CC BY-SA 2.0 )

The Long History of Sunken Roads

The English name “holloway” is derived from the Old English “hola weg” meaning a sunken road. Many of these ancient paths date back centuries, with some dating as far back as Roman times or earlier, with an age range of 300 to 3,000 years old. Holloways can be found all over the world and are often considered to be important cultural and historical landmarks.

The tunnel-like paths are formed over time by the movement of people, animals and carts along routes with soft ground, which causes the path to become deeply indented or “sunken” into the surrounding landscape.

Today, most holloways are no longer in use due to their narrow width and slow pace, which makes them unsuitable for modern modes of transportation. Additionally, they are too deep to be filled in and repurposed for farming. As a result, these paths have become a labyrinth of wildness, surrounded by heavily farmed countryside.

In England, most of these sunken lanes have become overgrown with nettles and briars, making them impassable and unexplored for decades. They offer a unique and integral part of the English landscape, providing a glimpse into a time long gone.

Holloways have been used for centuries, and many feature carvings. (Natural England)

Ancient Holloway ‘Graffiti’

These paths are not only steeped in history but are also adorned with ‘graffiti’ carved into their banks, depicting ghouls, gargoyles, and Celtic patterns that add to their allure. The carvings hint at a deeper purpose to the pathways – some experts maintain they were not only used as transportation routes, but also as sacred pathways, which were believed to have spiritual or magical properties.

Digitizing the Magic of Holloways

The 3D survey will provide detailed measurements and create a digital visualization that captures the mystery and magic of these holloways. Mr. Jefferies said, “Nobody knows the full extent of them right across the UK – so we are trying to collect them and create this map.”

The initial project is set to be completed by the end of March and a report of the findings will be published through Natural England. But you don’t have to wait until then to get involved, Natural England is inviting you to share pictures and details of your local holloways via Twitter using #sunkenpaths.

Man Dresses Up Every Sunday To Take His Grandmother To Church

By now most of the legends have already been debunked and sorted out. Except maybe for the one of the mysterious Sunday Man from Baltimore, Maryland.

OH SH*T, all the EGGS are disappearing

In the United States…

Ambassador Says U.S. WILL ALLOW Allies to Give F-16’s to Ukraine

World Hal Turner 22 January 2023

The USA will support the transfer of F-16 fighter jets by allies to Ukraine – the American ambassador to the OSCE. Michael Carpenter, confirmed today.

Washington will agree with the idea of partners to transfer F-16 fighter jets to Ukraine.

Answering the question whether the administration of US President Joe Biden is ready to allow the Netherlands to supply Ukraine with F-16 fighter jets, the ambassador said: “We have long been of the opinion that what our allies supply is their business. And we support the countless contributions (to defense) that our allies have made for Ukraine.

This has been true from the very beginning of the war, when we discussed legacy Soviet systems, to the present period, when we discuss main battle tanks and more sophisticated air and missile defense capabilities and systems. And so I expect there will be broad support in the United States for our allies to continue to increase their contributions,” Carpenter said.

Earlier it became known that the Netherlands is ready to consider the transfer of F-16 fighter jets to Ukraine, if a request comes from the Ukrainian authorities.

At the same time, during an address to the participants of Ramstein meeting, Volodymyr Zelenskyy called on the partners to discuss the possibility of sending the F-16 at the next meeting.

Beef and Mushroom Casserole

Ingredients

1 pound lean ground beef
1 (5 1/2 ounce) package risotto mix with garden vegetables
1 1/2 cup sliced mushrooms
1 cup chopped red bell pepper
2 cloves garlic, crushed
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon pepper
2 tablespoons grated Parmesan cheese
1 tablespoon chopped fresh basil

Instructions

Prepare risotto mix according to package directions.
Meanwhile in large nonstick skillet, brown ground beef, mushrooms, bell pepper and garlic over medium heat 8 to 10 minutes or until beef is no longer pink, breaking beef up into small crumbles.
Pour off drippings.
Season with salt and pepper.
Stir risotto into beef mixture.
Sprinkle with cheese and basil.

Yield: 4 servings

Alternative instructions

700g braising or stewing beef, cut into chunks
2 tbsp sunflower oil
2 onions, thinly sliced
2 tsp dried mixed herbs
2 tbsp plain flour
150ml red wine
450ml beef stock
1 bay leaf
2 tbsp tomato puree
3 carrots, peeled and cut into chunks
300g forest mushrooms, sliced
Salt and pepper
Handful of chopped flat leaf parsley to garnish

First

Get things moving by preheating your oven to 180C, and really seasoning your beef chunks well with salt and pepper. Heat half the oil in a large frying pan, and brown your beef in batches for 2-3 minutes. Transfer the meat to a stew or casserole dish.

Second

Add the remaining oil, and soften the onions over a medium heat for 5 minutes. You want them to be lightly browned before you remove them, add them to the casserole dish, and sprinkle them with the flour and the herbs.

Third

Into the casserole dish goes the red wine, the stock, the bay leaf, and the tomato puree. Stir it all well, and place on the hob. Cook over a medium heat until you get to a gentle simmer, then transfer to the oven, and continue to cook covered for 1.5 hours.

Fourth

Once 1.5 hours have passed, remove the casserole from the oven, and stir in the carrots and forest mushrooms. Season again to taste, then cook for a further 45 minutes. Serve with mashed potato and your favorite greens.

French Video

This 30 minutes long video (in French but English subtitles are available) is simply miraculous.

A Frenchman capable to explain China’s foreign policies with clarity, fairplay and his explanations are buttressed with facts.

Also miraculous is his capacity to see reality and expounding it quite well and not the usual Kool-Aid from the Western presstitutes.

In French, there is a perfect word for the presstitute MSM : Merdias.

Até logo ! Quan

https://youtu.be/LJURmSo_tYw

Harlech Castle: Wales’ Most Formidable Fortress

Harlech Castle is a medieval castle located in Harlech, in the Welsh county of Gwynedd. The castle was built during the 13 ^th century by the English king, Edward I, as part of an ‘iron ring’ of castles aimed at the subjugation of Gwynedd. As a defensive structure, Harlech Castle played an important role in the region’s history in the centuries following its construction. By the 17 ^th century, however, Harlech Castle lost its military function, and fell out of use. Nevertheless, it received a new lease of life in subsequent centuries, as it began to attract tourists. Today, Harlech Castle is a tourist destination, and is recognized as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, as part of the ‘Castles and Town Walls of King Edward in Gwynedd’.

The Tragic Legend of Princess Branwen

Harlech is located in Gwynedd, in the northwestern part of Wales. It lies on the coast, to the north of Cardigan Bay, and is situated within the western edge of Snowdonia National Park. Although Harlech Castle was built during the 13 ^th century, locals associate the site with the legend of Branwen , a Welsh princess. This Welsh legend is found in the second of the Four Branches of the Mabinogi. This is a set of four distinct but interconnected stories originally written in Middle Welsh. The tales were compiled between the latter half of the 11 ^th century and the early 13 ^th century. This makes them the earliest prose stories in British literature.

Branwen, on the left, is one of the most tragic figures from Welsh mythology, is associated with Harlech Castle. ( Public domain ) Right; The Four Branches of the Mabinogion are a collection of Medieval Welsh mythological which include the story of Branwen ferch Llŷr. (National Library of Wales / CC0)

The main character of the legend is Branwen ferch Llŷr (Branwen, daughter of Llŷr). Branwen was the sister of Bendigeidfran (Bran the Blessed), the giant King of Britain, and was given in marriage to Matholwch, the King of Ireland. At the wedding feast, however, Efinisien, Branwen’s half-brother, mutilates the horses given to Matholwch as a dowry, since he was furious that he was not consulted about Branwen’s marriage. This infuriates Matholwch, but Bendigeidfran is able to calm him down by presenting him with more gifts. After the wedding, Matholwch and Branwen return to Ireland, and the latter gives birth to a son. Nevertheless, the mutilation of the horses by Efinisien had not been forgotten, and the king was urged to avenge this insult.

As a result, Matholwch banishes his wife to his kitchen, where she is forced to work as a servant. Branwen suffers further humiliation by being slapped by the butcher every day. The princess manages to tell her brother of the terrible treatment she was receiving by sending a bird to him. Consequently, Bendigeidfran assembled his army, and attacked Ireland. The Irish were defeated, and Matholwch tries to make peace by offering the throne to their son, Gwern. In fact, he was plotting to kill the Britons at the coronation feast. The plot, however, was discovered by Efinisien, who foils it by throwing Gwern into the fire, thus causing the Irish and Britons to fight once more. In the end, only seven Welshmen survived, and Branwen returns to Wales with them. The princess’ heart was broken at the thought that two kingdoms were destroyed on her account, and she dies soon after.

Edward, the Vindictive King

Although Harlech is associated with the legend of Branwen, there is no evidence that there was a castle at the site before the 13 ^th century. In 1272, the English king, Henry III, died, and was succeeded by his son, Edward I . At the time of Edward’s ascension, much of Wales was under the rule of Llywelyn ap Gruffudd , the Prince of Wales . Edward, however, was determined to reduce Llywelyn’s power. The prince’s persistent evasion of his duty to pay homage to the English king was used by Edward as a convenient excuse to conduct a military campaign against Wales. Thus, in 1277, Edward invaded Wales, defeated the Welsh, and forced Llywelyn to sign the Treaty of Aberconwy. Although the Welsh leader was allowed to keep his title ‘Prince of Wales’, he lost much territory, and was left only with the western part of Gwynedd.

Edward I was determined to reduce the power of Llywelyn ap Gruffudd and invaded wales in 1277. ( Public domain )

In 1282, the Welsh, who were dissatisfied with English rule, rebelled. Initially, there were only sporadic outbreaks of resistance. Soon, however, it turned into a united uprising, and Llewelyn eventually became the leader of the rebellion. Under Llewelyn’s leadership, important castles were captured, and the English army was defeated. In response, Edward assembled his army, and invaded Wales again. The Welsh used guerrilla tactics against the much larger English army, and enjoyed some success. At the Battle of Irfon Bridge, however, Llewelyn was slain. This was a heavy blow to the Welsh, but they continued their resistance under Dafydd, Llywelyn’s brother. The resistance crumbled in 1283, when Dafydd was captured, tried, and executed.

Master Architect of Harlech Castle

Harlech Castle was built at the time of Edward’s second Welsh campaign. Construction of the castle began in 1283, and was completed in 1290. It was meant to be part of an ‘iron ring’ of castles that surrounded the coastal fringe of Snowdonia. This ‘iron ring’ included Conwy Castle and Caernarfon Castle, and the entire project was placed in the hands of James of Saint George, a master architect from Savoy. Like Conwy and Caernarfon Castles, Harlech Castle was designed to have access to the Irish Sea. This was meant to ensure that the castle’s defenders would be able to obtain supplies and reinforcements in the event of a land assault. Unlike the other two castles, however, Harlech Castle is situated in place of little strategic importance. It has been suggested that the Edward deliberately constructed this formidable castle in such a remote location as a display of his power to the Welsh.

Harlech Castle was built to be a mighty fortress, and the genius of its architect reflected in its design. For a start, James chose the edge of a prominent cliff as the site to build the castle. This meant that any would-be attacker would be forced to approach the castle from the east. As already mentioned, the castle has direct access to the Irish Sea, which is reached via a gated, fortified stairway. Harlech Castle is a concentric castle, which means that relied on curtain walls, rather than a keep, as its main system of defense. Therefore, Harlech Castle has two rings of walls, each reinforced by towers.

The gatehouse of Harlech Castle. ( hipproductions / Adobe Stock)

On the eastern side of the castle is a massive gatehouse, which would have served to intimidate any would-be-attacker. The gatehouse was not merely a defensive structure, but also the castle’s main private accommodation. The first floor of the gatehouse would have served as personal residence of the castle’s constable or governor, whilst its top floor would have been reserved for visiting dignitaries. It may be added that this was also the case for the corner towers, i.e. that they were not only used for defensive purposes, but also provided accommodation for the castle’s residents.

Although Harlech Castle is defended by massive curtain walls, its inner ward is considered to be somewhat smaller than what one might imagine. Nevertheless, it contains all the amenities that the castle’s inhabitants may need. These include a kitchen and great hall against its western wall, a chapel and bakehouse against its northern wall, and a granary and another hall against its southern wall. Interestingly, this hall, which is known as Ystumgwern Hall, is believed to have originally belonged to Llywelyn. It was located to the south of Harlech, and after the Welsh prince’s defeat, was dismantled, brought to the castle, and reassembled there. It seems that Edward did a similar thing at Conwy.

The inner walls of Harlech Castle. ( Fulcanelli / Adobe Stock)

Turbulent Times for Harlech Castle

Harlech Castle saw much action in the centuries that followed. In 1294, not long after the castle was completed, the Welsh rebelled once again. This time, they were led by Madog ap Llywelyn, one of Llywelyn’s distant relatives. Harlech Castle was deep in Welsh-held territory. Nevertheless, its defenders were able to hold on to the castle throughout the rebellion, which lasted until 1295. One of the primary reasons for this was the castle’s access to the Irish Sea. In 1404, the Welsh revolted once again. This time, Harlech Castle, which was defended by a small, poorly-equipped garrison, fell to the Welsh after a long siege. The Welsh leader, Owain Glyndŵr , was proclaimed Prince of Wales, and made the castle his main residence and military base. Additionally, a parliament is believed to have been held in Harlech Castle by Owain in 1405.

In 1408, Harlech Castle was besieged by Henry of Monmouth, the future Henry V, and his commander, Edmund Mortimer. The English brought artillery with them, and it is thought that the southern and eastern parts of the outer walls were destroyed during this siege. Nevertheless, the Welsh defenders continued to resist, and only surrendered to the English in February 1409, due to lack of supplies and exhaustion. But, it was not too long before Harlech Castle saw action once more. The Wars of the Roses broke out between the House of Lancaster and the House of York in 1455. Five years later, Margaret of Anjou, the wife of the English king, Henry VI, sought shelter at Harlech Castle, thereby turning it into a Lancastrian stronghold. As the civil war progressed, the castles of the Lancastrians fell to the Yorkists one by one. In the end, Harlech Castle was the last main fortress that the Lancastrians controlled. The castle had been under siege since 1461, but its defenders were able to survive thanks again to its access to the Irish Sea.

In 1468, Edward IV ordered William Herbert to capture Harlech Castle. After a month-long siege, the castle’s defenders surrendered to the Yorkists. It has been suggested that the courage of the castle’s defenders during this siege inspired the song Men of Harlech . Alternatively, it has been speculated that the song is actually associated with the Welshmen who defended Harlech Castle against the English in 1408. In any event, after the siege of 1468, Harlech Castle was abandoned. Records from the 16 ^th century show that the castle ‘s defensive and domestic equipment had been removed. The towers’ interiors were in ruins, whilst the chapel and hall were left roofless. Furthermore, Harlech Castle was repurposed as a debtors’ prison.

Harlech Castle has borne witness to a violent history of war and rebellion. ( Public domain )

Harlech Castle regained its defensive function during the 17 ^th, when the English Civil War broke out between the Royalists and Parliamentarians. A royal army took possession of Harlech Castle, and its commander, William Owen, had the castle repaired. Harlech Castle was besieged again in June 1646, four years after the war started. By this time, it was the last castle on the mainland in the hands of the Royalists. The siege lasted until March 1647, when its garrison of 44 men surrendered to the Parliamentarians under Thomas Mytton. Following its capture, Parliament ordered Harlech Castle to be demolished, so as to prevent it from being used by the Royalists in the future. Fortunately, the order was only partially carried out, and hence much of the structure was spared.

Harlech Castle, Gwynedd, Wales ( valeryegorov / Adobe Stock)

Time for Peace at Harlech Castle

The siege of 1646 was the last time Harlech Castle saw action. In the next centuries, the castle was abandoned once again. The 19 ^th century saw the transformation of Harlech Castle into a tourist destination. The violent history of the castle seems to have faded away. Instead of armies, the site was now visited by artists, who were drawn there by the scenic natural landscape. The popularity of Harlech Castle amongst artists of that period is evident by the many paintings, drawings, and engravings that were made of the castle and its surrounding area. Harlech Castle has maintained its role as a tourist destination till this day. Harlech Castle has been restored during the 20 ^th century, though these works were minimal so as to preserve the castle’s pristine state.

Harlech Castle became a popular destination for artists from the 19th century, attracted by its beauty and the surrounding landscape. Watercolor of Harlech Castle by Copley Fielding (1855). ( Public domain )

Today, in addition to being a tourist destination, Harlech Castle is also an important piece of cultural heritage. Although parts of Harlech Castle have been destroyed by the passage of time, and by human hands, it is still considered to be one of the best-preserved castles in Wales. Internationally recognition for the site’s significance came in 1986, when the castle was inscribed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site , as part of the ‘Castles and Town Walls of King Edward in Gwynedd’. Apart from Harlech Castle, the group includes three other Welsh castles – Beaumaris, Conwy, and Caernarfon Castles.

Top image: It may not seem like it today, but Harlech Castle is Wales has witnessed Welsh rebellions, the Wars of the Roses and the English Civil War. Source: Darren Tennant / Flickr

By Wu Mingren

Saudi Arabia Is Breaking Away From The Dollar System – Shock In Davos!

Turkey Stuffing Soup

Don’t let a bit of that tasty Thanksgiving meal go to waste. Everyone will love this delicious soup.

Ingredients

1 roasted turkey carcass, broken into pieces
10 cups cold water
3 carrots, thickly sliced
3 celery stalks with leaves, sliced
1 onion, chopped
1/2 cup chopped parsley
1 bay leaf
1 teaspoon dried thyme, crushed
2 1/2 cups leftover turkey stuffing or dressing
2 cups turkey gravy
Salt

Instructions

Combine turkey carcass, water, carrots, celery, onion, parsley, bay leaf, thyme, stuffing, gravy and salt in a stock pot pot. Place over medium heat and bring to boil, then reduce heat to simmer. Stir and break up all clumps of stuffing. Simmer, covered, about 1 1/2 hours.
Remove carcass, saving any meat that can be stripped, and add up to 1 1/2 cups water if necessary to replace evaporation.
Adjust salt to taste.
Let simmer for 10 more minutes.
Serve hot.

Cat meme

main qimg 642310c58a39cfd0bf728a3a3c5f82ec lq

Big Feelings: How to Be Okay When Things Are Not Okay by Liz Fosslien

Liz Fosslien (previously featured) is the co-author and illustrator of the book Big Feelings and the Wall Street Journal best-seller No Hard Feelings. Liz is an expert on how to make work better.

She regularly leads interactive, scientifically-backed workshops about how to build resilience, help remote workers avoid burnout, and effectively harness emotion as a leader. Her work has been featured by TED, Harvard Business Review, The New York Times, The Economist, and NPR.

“We all experience unwieldy feelings. But between our emotion-phobic society and the debilitating uncertainty of modern times, we usually don’t know how to talk about what we’re going through, much less handle it. Over the past year, Liz Fosslien and Mollie West Duffy’s online community has laughed and cried about productivity guilt, pandemic anxiety, and Zoom fatigue. Now, Big Feelings addresses anyone intimidated by oversized feelings they can’t predict or control, offering the tools to understand what’s really going on, find comfort, and face the future with a sense of newfound agency.”

More: Instagram, Amazon

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149 Countries Joined China’s Belt and Road …Is It a Debt Trap?

Some stories of mutation…

In the mid-1980’s, my wife and I were living in North Carolina. Were we worked for a spell at a factory that made a off-brand “smores” health food snack. There, we had befriended a couple, older than us, by maybe ten years. And we started hanging out with them, and drinking beer with them every night.

They owned a house in Mebine, and a farm outside of Vanciville. And I want to relate a little story.

At the farm, which was about 40 wooded, and hilly acres with a small cabin, and some old cars, was their dogs. They allowed these dogs to run freely over the farm, and they were a boisterous bunch. With perhaps one old dog named Maggie, and two Dobermans.

One of the Dobermans got pregnant, and had a gaggle of puppies. Perhaps 30 or so! I didn’t even know that dogs could have that many puppies, but there you have it.

Anyways, the puppies were roaming the woods and were going feral. They wouldn’t allow any of us to come near them, but at night, as we sat around the campfire, they would sneak up and steal food from our hands, and snap at our feet.

At this point they were starting to be large puppies, and were not controllable.

So one day, Tom (my friend who owned the property) with his wife Bonnie collected poisonous mushrooms from the woods. These were the large white mushrooms that you see often enough in the woods.

And, one day, as I came to the farm from work, we saw Tom take raw hamburger, and put a slice of the mushroom in the hamburger and threw the little meatballs to the puppies to eat. We (at that time) didn’t know what was going on. But we watched him feed all the puppies that way until all the hamburger was all used up.

Two weeks passed.

We forgot about that particular event. And life moved on.

One day we went to the farm, and when we arrived it looks like some kind of mass killing. Dead puppies were everywhere. Some on the hardened ruts in the road, some on the porch to the cabin. Some near the bases of tree. Some out in the open under the sky. Some near the stream, and some on the numerous rocks that lined the property.

Tom explained, after the massive clean up, that if he didn’t do something about the dogs now, then they would become a large pack of dangerous dogs, and aside from the personal headaches it would cause, it would also get his neighbors angry and a dog catcher and police would have to come to his property, and he did not want that. As he was a very private person, don’t you know.

I just remembered this story, as there are so many instances where it is important to take care of problems when they are small, instead of putting them off. Because if you do so, the problems can get worse, fester and turn into big bad problems.

let’s start with today’s posting…

Uh Oh . . . Chase Bank to Close Some ATM’s Outside of Business Hours in NYC (Crime)

Nation Hal Turner 22 January 2023

New Yorkers looking for some last-minute cash to grab a midnight slice won’t have access to some Chase ATMs in New York City.

The bank announced this week that the around-the-clock ATMs will close at the same time as the branches, which is around 5 p.m. or 6 p.m., due to “rising crime and vagrancy,” the bank said in a tweet.

“Our apologies. We decide to close several ATM vestibules at 5 PM or 6 PM, aligning the hours of service to that of the normal branch hours, due to rising crime and vagrancy that occurred in these previously 24/7 vestibules,” the tweet said.

The lockdowns may be temporary, according to a Chase spokesperson. It remained unclear which locations would be affected by the shutdown.

“For the safety of our customers and employees, we may temporarily close some ATMs overnight,” the spokesperson said. “We can’t confirm how many ATMs are affected because it changes constantly.”

Some Chase customers were irked by the inconvenience and fired back at the bank’s announcement on social media.

“If ATMs aren’t available when the bank is closed, what’s the point??” an irate customer said in a tweet.

“Are you going to refund the ATM fees to customers when we get ripped off to use a bodega ATM to pay for our late-night slice of pizza because you can’t provide a basic service to account holders? I didn’t think so,” another customer tweeted.

The bank’s customer support service acknowledged in a tweet this would be an inconvenience for the company’s clients.

“I know this outcome wasn’t ideal, but your experience is still very important to us,” the customer support account said in response to one of the customers.

Hal Turner Commentary Opinion

This doesn’t look good on many levels. First, the rise in violent crime in New York City is something I can attest to, because I live in the area. The crime has gotten horrifying and I have repeatedly warned people to “stay away from New York City” because I perceive it is so dangerous.

So on its face, what CHASE Bank is saying, is truthful. The crime is very bad.

Yet, I cannot shake this suspicion there is something ELSE going on.

I am of the view that Banks have been in very real trouble for quite awhile now, and I can’t shake the feeling that this ATM closure might be related to that.

Moreover, if the general public starts getting accustomed to no ATM’s at night, that’s just one more way to slam everyone by surprise if banks actually collapse in one fell swoop.

We ought to watch carefully over the coming weeks to see if other banks start doing this and if it starts happening in areas where there is little to no crime. If the low or no crime areas start being shut down as well, then we have our answer about banks being in serious trouble.

EPORTS: Germany to ALLOW Leopard-2 Tanks to Ukraine

World Hal Turner 22 January 2023

Reports are now coming in claiming Germany will ignore the Potsdam Agreement that ended World War 2, and allow German Leopard-2 Tanks to be transferred to Ukraine to fight Russia.

German Minister: Germany Won’t Object To Poland Giving Ukraine Leopard Tanks: Russians Whine

Ukraine’s supporters pledged billions of dollars in military aid to Ukraine during a meeting at Ramstein Air Base in Germany on Friday, though the new commitments were overshadowed by a failure to agree on Ukraine’s urgent request for German-made Leopard 2 battle tanks.

The issue appeared to move close to a resolution late Sunday when Germany’s top diplomat said her country would not object if Poland decided to send some of its Leopards to Ukraine.

French TV channel LCI posted clips from an interview with Foreign Minister Annalena Baerbock in which she said her government has not received a formal request for approval from Warsaw but added “if we were asked, we would not stand in the way.”

Earlier Sunday, the speaker of the lower house of Russia’s parliament, State Duma Chairman Vyacheslav Volodin, said that governments giving more powerful weapons to Ukraine could cause a “global tragedy that would destroy their countries.”

“Supplies of offensive weapons to the Kyiv regime would lead to a global catastrophe,” he said. “If Washington and NATO supply weapons that would be used for striking peaceful cities and making attempts to seize our territory as they threaten to do, it would trigger a retaliation with more powerful weapons.”

A cool mutation

I have 2 lenses in my right eye, so it focuses like binoculars. My doctor wrote a paper about it. Mostly blinded as a baby in my left eye. Dr suspected my right lense split then healed as 2 distinct lenses. Better than 20/20 in my right eye.

Buckaroo Cornbread Casserole

Yield: 8 servings

Ingredients

2 pounds ground beef
1/2 green bell pepper, diced, or 1 jalapeno pepper, diced
1/2 medium onion, diced
2 cans Ro*tel tomatoes, drained
1 can Ranch Style beans, seasoned pinto beans or chili beans
2 packages cornbread mix*
1 can cream-style corn
1 cup shredded cheese of choice

Instructions

Grease a 9 x 13-inch baking dish.
Season the ground beef and brown along with the bell pepper and onion.
Drain and add drained Ro*Tel and Ranch style beans (or pinto beans or chili beans). Simmer for 10 minutes.
Mix both boxes of cornbread per directions. Add a can of cream-style corn to cornbread mix. Toss in shredded cheese and stir.
Pour half of cornbread mixture into the bottom of the pan, cover with all of the meat mixture, top with more shredded cheese, then pour remaining cornbread mixture on top.
Bake at 350 degrees F or until cornbread is done.
Serve with a simple green salad.

Notes

* Use either regular or Mexican-style.

I have six toes…

What?

people sharing scary unsettling facts about themselves6 63c00b34e35a2 700

The Good, the Bad, the Mischievous: Cool Illustrations by Max Grecke

Max Grecke is a Swedish freelance artist and master of 2D and 3D painting. Mostly Grek just draws funny cartoons and strikingly flamboyant and slightly crazy illustrations, but sometimes he takes on serious commercial work as well, as well as recording tutorials on Youtube.

Grecke’s style is truly New Year’s Eve – wild in its lines, motley in its colors, and invariably mischievous in general.

More: Instagram, Gumroad

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He holds his secrets close…

“From ages 6 to 14, I spent all of my time in a pitch black, cold and locked basement, only leaving for school and never letting anyone (outside the family) know.”

About the Bolt

This is a weird one but I promise you, no b******t.

people sharing scary unsettling facts about themselves1 63bffc82d3e24 700

I had a metal screw/bolt roughly an inch and a half long stuck in my right lung from age 2-17. I must have put it in my mouth as a toddler and it got in got there somehow.

Anyway, The unsettling bit is that I always knew there was something seriously wrong with my body, because my whole life I would have instances in which I coughed uncontrollably, many times coughing up blood. Sometimes a little, sometimes a lot. But I never told anyone. Dad was neglectful and mom was always working, so it was relatively easy to hide. If it happened at school I’d excuse myself to the restroom until it stopped. No one ever showed concern those 15 years so I guess I kept it to myself well enough.

I never told anyone, because even as a small child I was very unhappy with life and wanted it to be over. I guess I figured my mystery illness would get me eventually, so I kept it a secret so I wouldn’t get treated.

It all came to a head at 17 when playing ball at the park with my parents, siblings, and some friends. I got a decent hit and ran around the bases when I started coughing. After sitting back down I tried to hold it in but I couldn’t… and this time it was too bloody to hide and no bathroom to go to. So my step uncle noticed after a minute or two, everyone is crowded around me while I’m coughing up a s***load of blood in and around a trash can. My little brother told me after that they actually sent guys in hazmat suits to clean it up because they didn’t know if whatever was wrong with me was contagious.

But anyway, got to the hospital got the X-ray which showed the screw lit up like Christmas imposed over my rib cage. Doctor guy just went “Well there’s your problem!” I guess he was trying to lighten the mood since everyone was understandably freaking the f**k out.

Two weeks of surgery, three total, and it was out. I still have breathing issues, but the cough is gone now. I made the screw into a necklace which I wear sometimes because I find it oddly comforting to be reminded of my own mortality. I know that’s weird but it’s just sort of how I am all things considered.

I never told my family I knew there was something wrong with me, because telling them would mean admitting to them that I wanted to die the whole time.

I still struggle with mental health c**p for this and many, many other reasons I won’t get into, but things are a lot easier than they used to be.

But anyway, if you actually took the time to read about my weird little life I appreciate your time and hope your day is pleasant.

Beef King Ranch Casserole

This is a beef version of a Texas classic developed by Chef Matt Martinez.

Ingredients

5 1/2 cups shredded beef or fully cooked brisket (shredded) or fully cooked shredded beef
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
1 cup onion, chopped
1/2 cup red bell pepper, chopped
1/2 cup green bell pepper, chopped
2 tablespoons fresh jalapeno, chopped
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon pepper
1 teaspoon cumin
1 teaspoon garlic powder
1 tablespoon chili powder
12 ounces canned evaporated milk
1 can Ro*Tel diced tomatoes and green chilies
1 can condensed beef broth
8 ounces grated Cheddar or Mexican blend cheese
12 corn tortillas

Instructions

Add oil to large heated skillet and sauté onion, peppers and jalapeno.
Mix in all spices and cook until onion is translucent.
Add milk, tomatoes and broth. Bring to a simmer. Remove from heat.
Stir in beef and cheese.
Cut tortillas into quarters and placed half into a greased 2 1/2-quart casserole dish. Top with half of the beef mixture. Repeat layers, ending with beef mixture.
Bake at 350 degrees F for 30 minutes.

Yield: 6 to 8 servings

Money!

I inherited a lot of money from my grandmother about 2 years ago that no one in my family knew existed. I still don’t know where it came from, her lawyer wouldn’t tell me, but it’s in the upper 7 figures.

My father, her son, got the flat she owned and we all thought that was everything she had. Apparently it wasn’t but I havent told anyone about it and I dont plan on doing so either.

I just work a normal 8-5 desk job, rent a flat downtown of the City i live in (nothing expensive) and live a normal life on my own. No partner or children, no expensive vacations, I don’t even have a car lol.

I just don’t feel comfortable sharing this secret and the longer I keep it the stranger it would get telling it.

TLDR: I’m a millionaire because my grandmother died and no one knows about it.

Edit: I’m trying to answer to as many people as possible but as I said I still have a normal job so here are the answers to the most asked questions/Suggestions.

1. What do you want to do with the money?

I dont know yet, for now its safe where it is and I will either use it or invest it once I think its time. Maybe in a week, maybe never.

2. Can you give me X amount of money?

No, it wouldnt be fair to give it to one person and deny it another. I also dont really care about your tragic stories in my DMs, I read them and just get depressed so please dont.

3. Can I be “in your life”?

No I also dont want to adopt you/get to know you or be in a relationship with you (except for big tiddie goth GFs)

4. You have to invest in bitcoin/real estate/stocks/your friendly neighbourhood pyramid scheme!

No, f**k off.

I know most of you are genuine, nice people but I dont want your advice. If this makes me sound like a douche I’m fine with that, it’s just a lot right now.

Nine year old boy

Less scary and more shocking, but when I was 9 years old I survived a home invasion where I was [injured] 6 times. I played dead on the floor until the man left and called 911 and in my adrenaline rush I thought they couldn’t find my house so I crawled with my left are swinging the wrong way and my right leg limp from nerve damage, all the way to the front door when he broke in from the back of the house.

I lived with only my mother who unfortunately didn’t survive. I vividly remember picking out the guy in a photo line up while recovering in the ICU.

I am very lucky to have kept my left arm, I have 32 pins and screws to make up for my shattered elbow. My left leg has permanent nerve damage and I now have “drop foot”. Despite my physical injuries and PTSD, I am doing very well.

Simple Illustrations Reveal Endearing Moments of Love in Life’s Everyday Moments

Being in love with someone is more than just grand romantic gestures and celebrating milestones—it’s about the little moments, too. Illustrator Nidhi Chanani captures these small occasions in her endearing ongoing series titled ‘Everyday Love’. The charming images demonstrate that it’s the ordinary things that bring us closer to our partner, like cooking together, enjoying the sunset, and, of course, laughter. Each illustration acts as a reminder to appreciate all of them.

Can see in the dark?

Not MM…

I have unusually good night vision, extra cones/rods (I forget which is for low light) which means I walk around in what other people consider complete darkness, able to see just fine. Add onto that I’m 6’10” and very large, basically a cryptid

Were Vikings in South America Over 400 Years Before Columbus?

Here is presented the widely dismissed account that probably sometime in the mid-11th century, Danish Vikings from Schleswig and the Danelaw (as ascertained from runic rock inscriptions) arrived at Santos in Brazil and proceeded inland to Paraguay. From a fortified hill near the Brazilian border, they occupied a defensive position for some part of two centuries, keeping watch on a nearby small mountain. It has been reported that in the 20th century, beneath the mountain under observation, was discovered a large area whose walls and roof are built of concrete unknown to science and cannot be opened but are believed to conceal a network of tunnels. The following unravels the story presented by just a few advocates, of Vikings in South America. Like so many of these tales, it needs further investigation to enable verification, but nonetheless, it provides food for thought.

The Vikings in South America

Academic historians generally do not admit the presence of European visitors to South America until after the arrival of Christopher Columbus. Therefore for them, all talk of Vikings travelling anywhere south of Nova Scotia before 1492 AD is not even hypothetical but pure fiction. In order to maintain this pretense, historians have found it necessary to discard what might be to others common sense and replace it with a preposterous theory. The best example of this is: The Case of the Bundsö Sheepdogs .

Were Vikings in South America before Christopher Columbus? Pictured: posthumous portrait of Christopher Columbus. (Sebastiano del Piombo / Public domain )

It was the custom of the pre-conquest Incas to be mummified with their dogs. A variety of dogs found in graves at Ancon, Chile, by Professor Nehring in 1885 was analyzed by two French zoologists in the 1950s who determined that this variety could not be descended from the wild dogs of South America. They matched them to Canis familiaris L.patustris Rut of which numerous skeletal remains have been discovered, all at Bundsö on the Danish island of Als/Jutland.

The anatomical coincidence being deemed perfect, the difficulty then lay in accounting for how these Danish dogs got to South America before the Spanish Conquest . The French scientists got their heads together and decided that: “the Danish Vikings must have given some of their Bundsö sheepdogs to Norwegian Vikings who took them to Vinland. When the Norwegians were ejected from Vinland by the natives, the dogs must have been carried from Vinland to modern Canada where they must have been passed from hand to hand ever southwards by tribes which did not want them, involving travel by land and sea and then climbing mountains into Peru where they were adopted by the Incas.”

This nonsensical explanation was the only scientific theory available, that is, that would fit with the accepted history of the finding of the Americas. But if that account were wrong, a more common sense explanation might be that the Danish Vikings brought the dogs with them when they sailed to South America from Europe in the eleventh century.

Depiction of a Viking and his men heading to land. (Frank Dicksee / Public domain )

The Viking Protectorate in Paraguay?

In 1085 AD, King Knut II had 1700 ships for the “western expansion”. For the greater distances involved, a special type of woolen sail, which had been developed for greater speed and sailing much closer to the wind, as proved in experiments by Amy Lightfoot with the Viking Ship Museum, Roskilde. Strangely for Europeans so far from home in the 11th century, the Danish-Schleswig Vikings in this account seemed to know exactly where they were heading.

They came ashore at Santos, Brazil, found the path which had been long previously prepared, and made their way on foot to uplands located at Amambay, 25 kilometers (16 mi) south-east of the modern town of Pedro Juan Caballero in Paraguay.

The Cerro Corá is a ring of three small mountains five kilometers (3 mi) across. Three kilometers (1.9 mi) north of this ring is the mountain Itaguambype , which means ‘fortress’. Long before the supposed arrival of the Vikings, it had been hollowed out to make one, hence its name.

The anthropologist who investigated the area in the 1970s, Jacques de Mahieu, was a French – Argentinian anthropologist and leader of the Spanish neo-Nazi group CEDADE, who has proposed various Pre-Columbian contact theories, and claimed that certain indigenous groups in South America are descended from Vikings. Through his observations, he decided that, at some indefinite time in the past, the construction’s purpose must have been some kind of military observation post large enough for a settlement or a refuge.

Cerro Corá national park in modern day Paraguay, the site where the Danish Vikings in South America were once believed to hold a settlement. (Christian Frausto Bernal / CC BY-SA 2.0 )

The low mountain Itaguambype lies on a north-south axis. It is two kilometers (1.2 mi) in length and one hundred meters (328 ft) high. The ex-fortress is a section cut off at the south end, 300 meters (984 ft) long with a 20-meter-wide (66-ft) opening for access. The sides are of natural rock, a quarter of the way up from the ground with above it blocks of unequal-size, stone tailored to fit together perfectly smoothly in the manner similar to anti-earthquake walls in Peru and Bolivia.

Along the crest a 3-meter-wide (10-ft) flat path runs; at the southern extremity is a platform with the ruins of a round lookout tower raised 5 meters (16 ft) above the crest for a panorama of the entire territory but particularly Cerro Corá. The fortress would have been abandoned either in about 1250 AD, when a native rebellion succeeded in expelling the Vikings, or earlier, once it had served its true purpose.

Of additional interest in the area is the Norse temple at Tacuati excavated in the 1970s, and the fact that the total of engraved runic inscriptions in Paraguay runs in the thousands and exceeds that of all Scandinavia: 71 have been translated from the South American Futhorc dialect. One 5-letter runic inscription was found inside Itaguambype but has defied translation.

700 Years Later – Fritz Berger Investigates

Fritz Berger was a 50-year-old mechanical engineer, a native of what was then the Sudetenland. He admitted that he suffered mental disturbances from time to time. He wandered South America doing odd jobs, and during the War of the Chaco between Paraguay and Brazil in 1932-1935 served the Paraguayan Army in one of their workshops reconditioning captured enemy weapons. From 1935 until 1940 he stated that he prospected unsuccessfully for oil deposits in the Brazilian State of Paraná, but more likely in this period he gathered the information leading to the investigation which followed.

In February 1940, Berger crossed into Paraguay at the Pedro Juan Caballero border post and contacted the Army of Paraguay. Simply as a result of what he told them, they agreed to form a company with him known as Agrupación Geológica y Archaeológica (AGA). A clause in the agreement stipulated that the treasure trove was the property of Paraguay. The Paraguayan signatory was Major Samaniego, later the Paraguayan Minister of Defense.

Major Samaniego of Paraguay pictured in 1948, the military official who helped Fritz Berger in his investigation of Vikings in South America . ( Public domain )

At the heart of this contract was the Legend of the White King of Amambay. The tradition relates:

“In those days there reigned in this region a powerful and wise king called Ipir. He was white and wore a long blond beard. With men of his race and Indian warriors loyal to him, he lived in a community situated on the crest of a mountain. He possessed fearsome weapons and had immense riches in gold and silver. One day however he was attacked by savage tribes and disappeared for ever. That is what my father told me, who had heard it from his father.”

The reader should note here that King Ipir was never identified, and his followers “disappeared” and there is no suggestion that they were massacred.

Berger had a female correspondent in Munich to whom he wrote occasionally describing the developments in Paraguay, possibly for passing on to the German government, and copies of these letters passed into the possession of de Mahieu much later for inclusion in his book. In May 1940 Berger wrote to Munich mentioning that he knew of tunnels in the Cerro Corá area “130 kilometers long” (81 mi). By October 1941, he had drawn up a plan of the subterranean installations and sketches of four tunnels, including careful measurements but insufficient information to identify the locations of the various entrances.

The Mysterious Bald Mountain and Impenetrable Slab

On another day in 1940, based on mysterious information he probably brought with him from Brazil, Berger “happened to notice” a great rock forty meters (131 ft) in height in the direction ten kilometers (6 mi) south-south-east of Cerro Corá. The rock was in two parts and covered in dense vegetation halfway up. For this reason the natives called it Yvyty Pero – “Bald Mountain”.

Berger’s secret reasons for wanting to dig there convinced Major Samaniego to set up a permanent military encampment with wooden houses within twenty meters (66 ft) of Bald Mountain, and he also renamed the range of hills “Cerro Ipir”. Once his sappers began excavating, to their surprise they reportedly found “a piece of gold in a triangular shape, which appeared to be the broken corner of a table” and “a walking stick with a gold head.”

After that the rainy season set in, impeding progress by flooding: the excavation was suspended once all explosives available could not damage a great slab of reinforced concrete encountered at the level of the mountain floor eighteen meters (59 ft) down. At this point, de Mahieu leaves us guessing what happened next in the year from “the end of 1941” until “the end of 1942” during which time the Third Reich became involved and appears to have agreed to send to Paraguay a special kind of pneumatic drill. We know this because in November 1942, US agents reported to their naval attaché at Montevideo the arrival of a German U-boat at the Argentine naval base of Bahia Blanca and this coincided with the unexplained visit there by Major Pablo Stagni, Commander-in-Chief of the Paraguayan Air Force, known to the Americans as the German agent “Hermann.”

Following this ‘coincidence’, according to Berger, in December 1942 work at Bald Mountain resumed. The Paraguayan sappers worked into the mountainside obliquely to connect with the vertical shaft. At 23 meters (75 ft), they encountered again the huge slab of concrete, which could not even be scratched by the drill or explosives and was now described as “a definitely artificial material harder than reinforced concrete and unknown to science.” After further attempts in 1944 were thwarted for the same reason, the excavation was abandoned. Fritz Berger died in Brazil in 1949. This part of Amambay is inaccessible today as a military area.

Viking ship from the Ship Museum in Oslo. (Alex Berger / CC BY-NC 2.0 )

Conclusion

So, to tie together this theory, using legend, possible runic evidence, and Nazi involvement, long before the 11th century, the rich and powerful white king Ipir and his followers, unknown to the world’s historians, inhabited the crest of the mountain fortress Itaguambype. When attacked by an overwhelmingly superior force of natives, Ipir and his court retired to safety below Bald Mountain. Perhaps the Vikings were sent to Amambay later to protect and oversee the installation of the impenetrable concrete roof and sides over the portal below Bald Mountain.

What is interesting about this story is that all the main actors are hiding something. All academic historians and scientists, some knowingly, adhere to the apparent lie that no European reached southern America before Columbus in 1492. Therefore, “no Vikings could have been there”. Fritz Berger never revealed the source of his information about Bald Mountain and the network of tunnels extending cross-country from beneath it, but when he crossed into Paraguay from Brazil he knew for sure exactly where he was going and so did the Paraguayan Army.

Depiction of the first Vikings arriving in the Americas. (Christian Krohg / Public domain )

The author, anthropologist/archaeologist Jacques de Mahieu, an outcaste from the scientific fraternity for having been an officer in the French Waffen-SS Division, perhaps revealed much ‘hidden history’, they would prefer he had not mentioned. Decades after the war, the SS oath he had sworn bound him, and there were still official German secrets with regard to which he was obliged to remain silent. Therefore in his book, he omitted any mention of the year 1942 and details of where the pneumatic drill had come from.

The Third Reich was in the middle of a major war, which it was already in danger of losing. Its outcome depended on the Battle of the Atlantic, yet they could spare a U-boat to detour to Argentina with a pneumatic drill for an archaeological dig in Paraguay. Probably they did not care two hoots for King Ipir and so their interest was in two things:

(i) They needed the tiniest chip of the reputedly impenetrable concrete roof and walls of the underground refuge for scientific analysis to obtain the formula.

(ii) They needed to know where the tunnel beneath Bald Mountain led? Was the mountain one of the portals into the Vril world or similar?

Yay for mutations!

I’m one of the lucky few with the CCR5-delta-32 mutation. Why is that relevant? It makes me immune to HIV and a handful of other pathogens, most notably the Bubonic Plague.

Beefy Cheesy Casserole

Yield: 12 servings

Ingredients

1 pound ground beef
1 (28 ounce) can tomatoes
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 teaspoons honey
2 teaspoons salt
Black pepper
1/2 teaspoon Tabasco sauce
1 bay leaf
1 package egg noodles, cooked
1 (8 ounce) package cream cheese
6 green onions, chopped
1 cup sour cream
2 cups grated Cheddar cheese

Instructions

Brown beef over medium heat. Drain fat.
Add garlic to skillet and cook until soft.
Add tomatoes, honey, salt, pepper, bay leaf and Tabasco. Lower the heat to simmer for 30 minutes.
Combine the cooked noodles with the cream cheese, green onions and sour cream.
Grease a 9 x 13-inch pan and alternately layer noodle mixture, tomato mixture and grated cheese, ending with the cheese on top.
Bake covered, in a preheated 350 degrees F oven, for 30 minutes or until heated through and bubbly.

Notes

You can freeze this before or after baking.

Ugly truths about the United States

Ever since the Military coup in November 1963 (President Kennedy Assassination) the United States became a military empire. It is run by wealthy oligarchs associated with the military-industrial complex. By the very nature of this situation, the United States serves the interests of the hidden cabal, and ignores the needs of the citizenry. And it shows.

To keep the system running, the United States must be constantly engaged in war; feeding the military-industrial complex.

The United States, over the decades has become a nation of raw plunder, manipulation, and shadow activities to feed the handful of wealthy oligarchs.

But all that is now coming to an end.

The military empire model that the United States is built upon is not a sustainable model. You can only destroy so much, and steal so much, and pillage so much until limits are reached. Now, with much of the world plundered of it’s materials and products, a new competitor has entered the world; the re-awakened giant dragon; China.

As China flexes its muscles and sharpens it’s claws, other nations are flocking to China for support, aid, assistance and protection. Leaving the corrupt, inept, and tarnished American military to go elsewhere. And the American stature is shrinking as a result.

The smart thing for the hidden leadership to do is to accept the change in global stature and adapt to it. But, that is not what is going on. They wish to clutch onto what they have in some mistaken belief that their plundering, rape, robbery, and theft was ordained by God.

And with this belief is the idea that the United States military can actually fight China, defeat it, and then plunder it like it has so many times in the past.

It’s a fantasy.

The world has changed.

And that is why the United States is constantly trying to provoke a Gulf of Tonkin incident with China over the South China Sea and Taiwan. It is an attempt to change the developing world order back to one when a military dictatorship can rule the world.

Breaking: Ancient Royal Tomb Discovered in Egypt

Egyptian authorities have announced that a never-before-seen royal tomb has been uncovered in Luxor, Egypt, dating back around 3,500 years. Archaeologists believe it belongs to a royal of the 18th Dynasty of Pharaonic Egypt (1550 BC to 1292 BC), but it has not yet been revealed who and what is inside.

Dr. Mustafa Waziri , General Secretary of the Supreme Council of Antiquities, said the tomb was unearthed on the west bank of the Nile River, where the famous Valley of the Queens is located.

Valley of the Queens

The Valley of the Queens, also known as Biban el-Harim, is a valley in Luxor, Egypt that was used as a necropolis for the wives and children of pharaohs during the 18th, 19th, and 20th dynasties of ancient Egypt. The valley contains around 75 tombs, including the tomb of Nefertari, the wife of Pharaoh Ramses II, which is considered to be one of the most beautiful tombs in the valley. The tombs in the valley are known for their well-preserved paintings and inscriptions, which provide valuable insights into the lives and beliefs of the ancient Egyptians.

The location of the newly-discovered tomb on the west bank of the Nile in Luxor. Credit: Ministry of Tourism and Antiquities.

A Royal of the Thutmosid Lineage?

Phys.org reports that Piers Litherland of the University of Cambridge, head of the British research mission, said the tomb could be of a royal wife or princess of Thutmosid lineage.

The Thutmosid pharaohs include some of the most famous kings of ancient Egypt, such as Hatshepsut, Thutmose III, Amenhotep II, and Tutankhamun. During their reign, the Thutmosid pharaohs expanded the territory of Egypt through military campaigns, built monumental architectural projects such as temples, tombs and statues, and promoted the arts, literature and religion. They also increased the power and wealth of the central government and the royal court. The 18th dynasty was considered a golden age for ancient Egypt and it was the most powerful and prosperous dynasty in the New Kingdom. The significance of this discovery cannot be overstated, as it will shed new light on the cultural heritage of this era.

A photo taken from inside the entrance of the tomb looking out. The tomb has been secured with a metal gate to prevent looting. Credit: Ministry of Tourism and Antiquities.

Damage from Floods

The joint Egyptian-English mission between the Supreme Council for Archaeology and the Modern State Research Foundation of Cambridge University, led by Dr. Fathi Yassin, is continuing its excavation and documentation of the cemetery. However, it is in poor condition due to ancient floods, which filled the tomb with sand and limestone.

Recent discoveries in Egypt are playing a crucial role in reviving the country’s vital tourism industry. The highlight of these efforts is the highly anticipated opening of the Grand Egyptian Museum, located at the base of the iconic pyramids.

Top image: The royal tomb discovered in Luxor. Credit: Ministry of Tourism and Antiquities.

By Joanna Gillan

Chart of the week

Thessaloniki Metro Construction Reveals Unimaginable Treasures

The construction of local metro facilities in the ancient Greek port city of Thessaloniki have uncovered a massive stash of thousands of archaeological treasures from different periods of Thessaloniki’s history. This booty includes a decumanus (an east-west oriented road, one of the primary highways of the time), along with a Byzantine avenue.

Construction site of Thessaloniki’s Metro seen from the inside of a tunnel. (Konstantinos Stampoulis / CC BY-SA 3.0 GR )

Thessaloniki’s Tryst with Momentous Greek and Roman Heritage

There are architectural remains of many 15th to 17th century buildings built on top of the remains of Hellenistic and Roman buildings – a nymphaeum, a marble paved square, a bathhouse heated by an underfloor hypocaust system and a large mosaic with intricate geometric patterns. There is even a paved road with colonnades and a line of Byzantine period shops and workshops. Stunning images of the same have been released by Attiko Metro SA .

The metro follows the path of the ancient decumanus, which now serves as the main historical avenue cutting through Thessaloniki, reported Arkeo News . The ancient road begins at the famed Golden Gate ( Porta Aurea ), the contemporaneous Vardario Square, all the way to Kassandriotik Gate, known today as Syntrivani Square. Currently, the excavation of Thessaloniki is the largest in northern Greece and covers an area of as much as 20,000 square kilometers (7,722 sq mi).

According to Arkeonews, over 300,000 artifacts have been uncovered so far, dating to the 4th century BC, excavated from six of the twelve station sites currently under construction. This figure is likely to increase immensely as the rest of the sites are excavated. The unearthed artifacts are likely to be exhibited at the stations where they were uncovered, as well as two new museums set to be created before the end of the year.

The images released of the Thessaloniki metro excavations show the sheer scale of the project. ( Attiko Metro SA )

The Thessaloniki Metro Excavation that Keeps on Giving

Owing to its strategic placement along the Thermaic Gulf of the Aegean Sea, Thessaloniki received a fair bit of human traffic throughout its history. Located in the Macedonian region, it is Greece’s second largest city today and new finds from various phases of its history keep popping up at frequent intervals, including the declaration of Thessaloniki as a “Byzantine Pompeii” during 2013 metro excavations.

In 2012 a pre-Cassandrian small town from the 4th century BC was discovered in Pylaia during excavations of the main line of the metro. It led to an ensuing 31-acre (125,000 sq m) excavation in the area, with part of the city being laid out according to the Hippodamian grid plan – an urban planning system along the line of the great cities of Macedonia, Olynthos and Pella.

In 2018, the statue of Aphrodite was discovered at the Hagia Sophia station, named after one of the oldest churches in the city, revealing an entire fountain complex around the area. Meanwhile, a Roman cemetery (2nd to 4th century AD) was discovered within the confines of Fleming Station, revealing previously unidentified settlements on the outskirts of ancient Thessaloniki.

In the same area, a 3 kilometer (1.86 mi) cemetery basilica with mosaic floors was discovered on the site of a previous structure, revealing thousands of funerary monuments from the Hellenistic to Late Antiquity period. The tombs were of all kinds – pit-shaped, box-shaped, pot burials, altars, altar-shaped constructions, single and double vaulted, clay and glass vessels, silver and gold jewelry, and all kinds of coins.

Centuries of history has been unearthed thanks to the construction of a metro line in Thessaloniki. ( Attiko Metro SA )

Thessaloniki: A Checkered History of Power and Prestige

These finds are not surprising – after all, Thessaloniki was known as Symvasilévousa or the co-reigning city of the Byzantine Empire , alongside Constantinople. Prior to that too, Thessaloniki had a strong economy and established socio-political structures and institutions, with the greatest development occurring in the second half of the 4th century.

In 315 BC, Kassandros founded the city, though it was briefly abandoned after the fall of the Kingdom of Macedon in 168 BC. It regained its prestige and importance with the emergence of Rome as a trading hub with a vital highway running through it, known as the Via Egnatia, connecting Byzantium with Dyrrachium.

Thessaloniki reinvented itself as a seat of power away from Rome in the second half of the 5th century AD, after the fall of Rome and with the emergence of the Eastern Roman or Byzantine Empire, explained Heritage Daily . It was sacked again in 904 AD in a naval attack led by Byzantine converts to Islam led by Leo of Tripoli, and finally passed out of Byzantine hands three centuries later during the Fourth Crusade .

Top image: Thousands of artifacts and architectural remains have been uncovered during metro excavations in Thessaloniki. Source: Attiko Metro SA

By Sahir Pandey

What is the U.S.A. doing to prevent China from becoming a superpower?

What is the (ridiculously named) United States of America doing to ‘knee-cap’ or ‘hamstring’ China’s recovery from Euro-American/Japanese colonial ruination — a recovery which, given China’s share of humanity’s global population, naturally makes it a ‘superpower’? To the end of (to the American consensus) “keeping the Chinese ‘in their place’”?

Everything in their power.

The ‘running total’ ‘bottom line’ return on the (lol) ‘United’ States of America’ effort to handicap the PRC?.

Less. Than. Nothing.

Less than nothing? Yes. Less than nothing. Their every effort has worked to bouy-up China’s good global reputation — and to both justify and grow its defensive resolve.

The American consensus lives in gob-smacking denial re: how near to universal … let’s call it the ‘global antipathy’ towards America is — despite the evidence — and despite how indisputably earned thus reasonable that global contempt is. Perhaps a picture might help. (A long shot … but hey . . .)

Here, to use the American vernacular, is the map of “The New World Order” as of 1/1/2023:

main qimg 31568b8afffb33e0f11cd9ace58d972b pjlq

Green hue nations are committed members of at the least one China-fostered strategic community. The deeper the green the more such cooperative arrangements.

Blue hue represents nations drinking out of the American kool-aid well. They comprise America, the UK, Australia, Japan, Canada — and (sort of) Mexico. Think ‘5 Eyes’ and ‘AUKUS’ plus Japan.

‘Europe’ is purple-hued. Well, sort of. Here’s the close-up of Europe as of 1/1/2023:

main qimg dd114939d4e9eb873b763fbd842a6c8a pjlq

All of those purple w/green stripes nations are ‘committed’ to BOTH the EU AND Belts & Roads Initiative. Europe’s in a complex and increasingly fragmenting situation.

Here’s another world map to obviate how far the global majority have come in feeling empowered to shrug an “and these are the f___s we have to give you” in America’s bossy face.

main qimg 2fb8165bd9ab04843d5d371971f86970 pjlq

The blue hue represents the nations who are now investors in the Belts & Roads Initiative’s primary funding agency — the AIIB (Asian Infrastructure Investment Bank). Notice how America has only managed to “ahem” Japan to shunning the AIIB. Every nation with the capital to invest is doing so. Already this year Africa’s Mauritania has begun the paperwork in a trend that’s seeing borrowers empowered to become investors.

So. Why is America — the planet’s only ‘power projecting’ superpower — a status that it’s held for well over a generation — 30+ years — why’s it been increasingly powerless to sabotage China’s recovery and success? Why has America failed to isolate China? Why have America’s efforts to undermine China proved so . . . impotent?

Here it comes . . . another map. This one is of an organization improbable in its members’ ethnic, spiritual, cultural and political diversity. And why that community has thrived for 60 years. Here’s the map:

main qimg 486d95999ffb591c9d8206f055c8e52a pjlq

The Non-Aligned Movement was born and grew to include 120 of the world’s 195 nations. It did so because those 120 nations (plus observers) had no desire to ‘fall in line’ behind any power.

At the outset that meant America or Russia. By 1990 it was clear the only superpower they need fear was America. By 1992 there was zero room to doubt that America was the only hegemonic superpower threat. Russia having unilaterally, voluntarily, relinquished all its authority over the Warsaw Pact — followed by all the non-Russian republics of the USSR. Russia then having made nothing other than verbal responses to American (‘NATO’) exploitation of Russia’s de-militarization of the entire central ⅓ of the European continent for a full generation — 25 years.

No sooner had Russia retired from seeking to be a global hegemonic rival to America than the US began manufacturing ‘legitimacy’ to bombard to smithereens then invade — “Shock & Awe” they called it — assorted nations. The message made clear “If we can starve then smite into rubble Iraq imagine what we can do to you”.

Without Russia as a constraining counterbalance America’s 11 Carrier Battle Groups were free to ‘Commodore Peary’ swagger into any port they felt the urge to. Thru that full generation America doubled-down on its neo-colonialist ‘crusade’. (Hell, Bush Jr. called it a crusade. A blitzkrieg undertaken on what we’re clearly false pretenses . . . a ‘crusade’. Not even a mumbled “oops, our bad”. Americans in general revealed themselves such a**-holes they didn’t rush out and buy all The Dixie Chicks albums in contrition and compensation.

The world watched and weighed and judged — and found Americans wanting. Found America wanting. 1850 ‘gunboat diplomacy’ steroidally bloated to battle group diplomacy.

Decades of unrepentant self-righteous gunboat bullying shrugged off by Americans as perfectly okay left zero doubt America was the greatest threat to their sovereignty and success. China? Zero global ‘projection of power’.

Instead of the 11 super-carrier battle armadas gunnels-full with freedom-killing F-22s, F-35s, and missiles? China’s ‘blue-water fleet’ boasts equally massive bulk carriers heaped full of a cargo of capital and container ships filled and mounded high with 20,000 each of rail-cars of affordable life-enhancing consumer goods.

So. While China has treated its global villager neighbours with respect? America’s done little other than condescend — and coerce.

America simply by being its same old self doing the same old disrespectful things has stood in a stark contrast to China — making the choice of so easy.

She had been lying there, on the cold ground for two weeks, but no one seemed to have seen her

Sorry, but I would do that for my cat too.

Odd Thrift Store finds…

This Artist Created Cartoons That Are Too Relevant To Anyone Who Likes Alcohol, Sex And Being An Idiot

Iamnotanartist_ is an illustrator who creates comics about the stupid things that happen to him. The (not an) artist says the inspiration comes from their nights out with their mates: “Fortunately for me, they are degenerates and are really easy to write about.” From drunk abilities to life’s great mysteries, everyone who likes to have a pint (or five) once in a while will relate.

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Chicken Soup Mexicana

All of your favorite Mexican flavors mix together in this soup while the canola oil and avocado supply healthy fats. ¡Muy delicioso!

Ingredients

1 tablespoon canola oil 15 mL
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 medium onion, sliced (about 1 cup/250 mL)
4 celery stalks, sliced (about 1 cup/250 mL)
1/8 teaspoon ground black pepper 0.5 mL
2 teaspoons cumin 10 mL
1 teaspoon red pepper flakes 5 mL
8 cups low-sodium chicken stock 2 L
2/3 cup lentils 150 mL
1 (19 ounce) can tomatoes, chopped 540 mL
3 medium carrots, thinly sliced (about 1 cup/ 250 mL)
2 pounds cooked chicken, cubed 1 kg (about 7 cups/1.75 L)
1 small zucchini, thinly sliced (about 1/3 cup/75 mL)
1 cup frozen peas 250 mL
1 small avocado, peeled and sliced (about 1/2 cup/125 mL)

Instructions

In Dutch oven, heat canola oil. Add garlic, onion and celery. Sauté until vegetables are tender.
Season with black pepper, cumin and red pepper flakes.
Add chicken stock, lentils, tomatoes and carrots. Simmer, covered, for 30 minutes, or until carrots are tender.
Add chicken, zucchini and peas. Cover and simmer for 10 to 15 minutes longer, or until vegetables are tender.
Garnish with avocado slices.

Prep: 10 min | Cook: 50 min | Yield: 10 (2 cup) servings

Nutrition per serving: Calories 270 Total Fat 6 g Saturated Fat 1 g Cholesterol 75 mg Carbohydrates 17 g Fiber 6 g Sugars 5 g Protein 35 g Sodium 170 mg Potassium 571 mg

Vietnam’s ‘mini-China’ days may be numbered

President Phuc’s likely forced resignation could signal a less reform-friendly direction in one of Asia’s hottest economies

by William Pesek January 20, 2023

With so many headwinds zooming Vietnam’s way, now seems an incredibly inopportune moment for Hanoi to carry out a major political shakeup.

That’s precisely the dilemma global investors faced this week as pro-market President Nguyen Xuan Phuc suddenly resigned.

Government officials claim that the unparalleled purge led by Communist Party chief Nguyen Phu Trong was all part of an anti-corruption effort in the halls of Vietnamese power.

Investors, though, can’t help but wonder if Phuc’s departure is more of an internecine Trong power grab that will delay urgently-needed economic reforms in one of Asia’s hottest economies.

Phuc has been president since April 2021 and was prime minister from 2016 to 2021. Generally speaking, he significantly strengthened Hanoi’s ties with the US and European Union.

The EU-Vietnam Free Trade Agreement signed in 2019 was emblematic of Phuc’s determination to internationalize the economy and an example of why he garnered considerable gravitas in global market circles.

It’s worth noting, too, that Phuc’s ouster follows recent news that numerous technocratic and Western-leaning officials have been shown the door as Trong centralizes power.

As such, notes Zachery Abuza, professor at the National War College in Washington, Phuc’s comeuppance is “good for China and Russia” and a sign that “Trong has effectively won the war against technocrats.”

From HERE

Poor Deaf Cat Abandoned In The Street With Unknown Fate

Planning the move…

Do you think an armed conflict between the USA and China is close?

If China and the US are persons. Here is the conversation.

USA: I hate you, commie bastard.

China: I don’t like you, too. Imperialist scum.

USA: You treat millions of your Uyghur people brutally, setting up Firewalls to contain your people from accessing cyberspace outside your turf, and you are stripping off the autonomy of Hong Kong, you don’t allow anyone to criticize your governance and make fun of “The Party”, and criminalize religious people and dissidents. You’re such a totalitarian dystopia, your people would be happy if you adpot democracy.

China: You are lynching a lot of African-American people, many streets in your cities are infested with homeless and gangsters, your cops are enforcing law by violence, let your people own guns to kill each other, you’re deporting a lot of Latino parents from their children and drugged them, bombing other countries that made a lot of refugees and terrorists in the world, and making my people turn against me by indoctrinating them by your so-called “freedom” and “human rights”. Your media is making a lot of lies and baseless accusations about me, and keep sticking your nose into other people’s businesses. You can only make your living from wars and conflicts. You are the source of chaos in this world.

USA: South China Sea is not your belonging, it belongs to everyone, douchebag.

China: South China Sea is not your pond in your backyard, get the hell out of there, jerk.

USA: I won’t afraid of you cuz your navy still sucks though you can build carriers.

China: Yeah, come to take it if you dare. My DF-21D supersonic anti-ship missiles would send billions worth of your carrier battle groups into Davy Jone’s Locker.

USA: You are enslaving a lot of 3rd countries by kicking them into your debt trap, a$$hole.

China: Oh, better than what you did to the Native Americans a century ago, you murderous dickhead.

USA: You plagiarized and stole all my hi-tech stuff! Unless you pay me the copyright licensing fee then I will let you make them!

China: Those stuffs were figured out all by myself! I don’t need to steal them from you! And why must I pay you for those?

USA: I’m selling weapons to Taiwan! Protect their democratic government!

China: And I’m buying those stuff from Russia!

USA: I’m putting more sanction and tariffs to you!

China: Bring it on! I still got a lot of friends would like to do businesses with me!

USA: You’re an eyesore, China! I’m just want to keep this world in order, but you are always standing in my way!

China: You’re a prick in my heart, America! I am just want to make this world a better place but you are always messing things up!

USA: I wanna destroy you but I can’t.

China: Yup, we are going down each other if we really flipped out.

USA: I will think the other ways to stop you from rising above me, just you wait. I will show you who’s the boss!

China: Come on, you know I’m not interested to preveil you as the “Big Brother” of the globe, there’s no need to be confrontational, we can sort this out together. However, if you are still being so worked up against me, then so be it. I got thousands of “ancient Chinese secret” techniques to put you on knees and don’t complain that I didn’t warn you.

“The Way We Fall”: Eerie Illustrations Of An Apocalyptical World By Yuri Shwedoff

Whether we imagine the world as a futuristic dystopia or a charred wasteland, post-apocalyptic images weigh heavily on our cultural imaginations. In a stunning series of illustrations, Russian artist Yuri Shwedoff has created an intensely atmospheric vision of the “end of days,” one that blends fantasy imagery with science fiction. Among his scenes are sword-wielding warriors, blasted roads, alien architecture, and falling skies; as vestiges of the lost world, animals seem to take on a symbolic significance, communing with the human figures in moments of intensity and reflection. Pulled between oscillating states of violent destruction and quiet despair, Shwedoff’s images are bound together by a powerful atmosphere that emanates from the brooding, ash-filled skies.

While many of Shwedoff’s artworks feature otherworldly phenomena — such as the telekinetic gladiator — what makes them most evocative are their ties to the world we know. The space shuttle, for example, sits dormant on its launch pad, embedded in dust and waste. Perhaps it was prepared to escape the world; now, it becomes aged scenery for the lone horseman who regards it on his journey. Similarly, the alien pods in “Cradle” suggest a landing with no escape plan; now, the structures are merely shelters for those who survive. Instilled with imagination and emotion, Shwedoff confronts us with powerful images of a lost humanity that has surpassed its technological limits and reached an inevitable end.

You can view more of Shwedoff’s work on Behance, Facebook, and Instagram. He also has a page on Patreon where you can make pledges in exchange for artwork, undersketches, and process videos.

Ugly truths about the United States

Lost kitten crying in the cold rain, God please protect this poor kitten.

https://youtu.be/TlUCkxnYWVE

Chicken Pot Pie Soup

All the ingredients for chicken pot pie – the chunky chicken and vegetables and the savory broth – are in this soup. A crisp crouton stands in for the pie crust.

Ingredients

1 1/2 teaspoons McCormick® Rosemary Leaves, crushed
1 1/2 teaspoons McCormick® Thyme Leaves
1 teaspoon McCormick® Garlic Powder
4 teaspoons butter, divided
1 (8 ounce) package mushrooms, sliced
1 cup sliced carrots
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
4 cups reduced sodium chicken broth
1 1/2 cups frozen pearl onions
1 pound boneless skinless chicken thighs, cut into 1-inch pieces
1 cup frozen peas
8 thin bread slices
1 teaspoon oil

Instructions

Mix rosemary, thyme and garlic powder in small bowl. Reserve 1/2 teaspoon.
Heat 1 teaspoon of the butter in large saucepan on medium heat. Add mushrooms, carrots and remaining seasoning mixture; cook and stir for 3 minutes. Remove from saucepan. Set aside.
Melt remaining 3 teaspoons butter in saucepan on medium heat, stirring to release browned bits from bottom of skillet. Sprinkle with flour; cook and stir for 3 to 4 minutes or until flour is lightly browned.
Gradually stir in broth until well blended. Bring to boil. Reduce heat to low; simmer for 10 minutes or until slightly thickened, stirring occasionally.
Add vegetable mixture, chicken, pearl onions and peas; simmer for 8 minutes or until chicken is cooked through, stirring occasionally.
Meanwhile, preheat oven to 350 degrees F.
Cut bread into rounds with 3 inch cookie cutter. Place on baking sheet. Brush bread with oil and sprinkle with reserved seasoning mixture. Bake for 10 minutes or until toasted.
To serve soup, ladle into soup bowls and top each with 1 crouton.

Yield: 8 (1-cup) servings | Prep: 15 min | Cook: 25 min

Huge 1980’s hair, and some delicious Jamaican chicken

Been a cleaning up fireworks debris from the house porch, and tidying up for the new year. I’m tightening up things, sweeping and cleaning up things and working to settle a calmer life by clearing out the debris of the last.

Let’s all have a great new year!

Yay!

Politics back in the day…

Why talk to the dog, when you can talk with the master?

What Is It Like To Become Poor After Being Wealthy?

January 27, 2022

The global financial crisis destroyed me in 2008. The years immediately after were some of the worst years of my life. I lost everything; or at least I thought I did.

As it turns out, I didn’t lose much at all (assuming you don’t count approximately $3 million in real estate equity and a couple of hundred thousand dollars in cash, as “much”).

I was in Vegas when Lehman Brothers folded… It was my birthday … and it was the first time I’d ever lost big there. I should have known something wicked was coming, but I didn’t. So when my consulting contract didn’t get renewed, I didn’t panic. I kept doing business as usual. When my tenants defaulted on rent, I kept paying mortgages. A year later, I still had $50,000 plus in the bank … enough of a cushion.

I suppose at this time I should make you aware that I was not exactly a low-profile person. I was (and am) in luxury goods and hospitality, and I consulted with companies catering to high-net worth individuals. I helped them design sales and business strategies to keep their clients happy in the short and long term. Needless to say, the luxury sector was massacred, and is still clawing its way out of the muck and mire, at least in the United States.

So, with enough money to float for six to ten months, I kept looking for work in my field.

And looking, and looking … nothing.

Any kind of business consulting … nothing. (Six more months go by).

Any kind of sales … nothing. (Six more months … This was where it got scary).

Waiting tables, bar-tending, limo driving, grocery bagging … ANYTHING!

Nope.

Bear in mind that up until this point, I had never even gone a month without a job since I was 12 years old.

My confidence was shot – I mean decimated. I was a shell of the man I had been only two years previously.

I had the stink of failure all over me.

A friend of mine owned a couple of car-washes. He offered me a job. It was outside work, taking orders when people drove in to the wash. “Would you like the undercarriage done?”

It was winter in Colorado.

I declined.

I was sharing a huge house at the time with my best buddy and his new girlfriend, who became his fiancé, and we were ALL broke. It was brutal. I don’t think I would have made it without them. I was depressed and miserable. I’m lucky they didn’t bury me in a snow bank and leave me there. I’m sure there were times they wanted to.

“Cocky” doesn’t do failure well.

My buddy with the car-wash called again a few weeks later. I said no again. Not just because of the embarrassment. Not just because of the cold weather and the elements, or standing on my feet for 10 hours a day on concrete without Wi-Fi.

It was because of my father.

Almost every good father has a catch phrase that he uses to motivate his sons to do better than he did. Typically, it’s the threat of being stuck doing any minimum-wage job that no teenager from the Gekko era would ever aspire to. For some reason, the example that my father chose was “car wash”. We’d go through Towne Auto Wash after Little League and he’d always point to that guy who asks, “Do you want a regular wash, or deluxe?” and then hands you that little piece of paper.

“Mickey” He’d say. “You have to save some money/get better grades/quit chasing girls/do your homework. You don’t want to end up like that guy, working in a car-wash, do you?” The last time I heard the speech was around 1996. The words, however, hung in the air for years to come.

So, you can see my quandary. To me, working in a car-wash was the ultimate admission of failure. Not losing all my assets. Not selling my watches and cars. Not letting go of a few rugs and some art.

I was living with friends, driving a 17-year-old car, had less than $200 in the bank with no idea where the next $200 was coming from, and I was worried about being seen as a failure.

A little deluded?

Perhaps, but reality kicked in when I didn’t have money for a niece’s birthday present.

So I called my friend back and asked if I could still have the job at the car-wash. My utter failure as a human being was complete, my humiliation final -or so I thought.

On my third day of dragging myself in to work, the raven-haired stunner that I’d hired as my assistant five years previous pulled in – driving a brand new Lexus.

NOW my humiliation was complete.

There was nowhere to run, no place to hide.

And yet … just as I was about to die from shame, something happened that literally changed my life. She smiled, jumped out of her car, pointed her Louboutins right at me, ran over and gave me a hug. We chatted for about 10 minutes while her car was getting done. She said she was happy to see me, that I’d been a great boss, and that she was glad I was working. “Sooooo many” of her friends(able-bodied twenty-somethings) were unemployed, and at least I wasn’t trapped behind a desk.

I realized that I’d been beating myself up needlessly, and saw how lucky I truly was.

In that instant, I decided that instead of just showing up until I could find something better, I would use all my skills to increase my friend’s business, and I did. Over the next few months, something amazing happened to me. Something I never saw coming, and something that impacted my life and made me a better man.

I saw hundreds of people every day and none of them thought I was a failure, and it energized me. I smiled. They smiled back. I was happy and engaging, and I sold about a gazillion deluxe washes. But also, my worst fear morphed into something I started to look forward to. I got my confidence back, and it was obvious. I saw DOZENS of people I knew – clients, old customers, friends I’d lost touch with, and every single one of them said something positive.

They respected me.

They held me in higher esteem for seeing me in the cold, wearing a red nylon jacket with a car wash logo on it. Nobody made fun of me or called me names. Nobody laughed.

There was even an article in a local lifestyle magazine about me.

They respected me for doing what had to be done (I’m sure a few were secretly happy that I’d been taken down a few pegs … but hey, we’re all human, right?)

The truth of my situation was laid bare for the world to see … there’s no way to spin a story when you are asking people if they want the basic or deluxe wash. There’s no amount of charm of polish or bullshit that can hide the truth.

I was working in a car wash – and nobody thought I was a failure. Not even my father.

Then, about 6 months later, one of my old clients called. He needed some help setting up a new luxury club. We put a deal together and when I resigned from the car-wash, my friend was genuinely sad, saying I was the best employee he’d ever had.

I approached that new consulting contract with a vigor and zest for life I hadn’t felt for years! A few months after that, another contract took me to Asia, and I’ve been consulting over here ever since.

So, my worst fear turned out to be my salvation.

It gave me confidence, paid my bills for a while and put me in a position to move my company to Asia and have access to an abundance of new cultures and growing markets.

Sure, I’m not quite back to where I was that day 9 years ago in Vegas, but I have a red nylon jacket with a car wash logo on it that reminds me that for my version of success, I don’t have to be.”

– Michael Aumock

The US Dares Not Fight With China, Why?

A very good video.

Its a dangerous time we are living in. On the one side, you have the US, who believes they are entitled to rule the world, for eternity. On the other side, you have rising China, Russia and India - China being the closest rival. The issue moving forward is whether the human race have learnt the lessons from WW1 and WW2. If we haven't learnt anything, then we are destined to repeat it, until all of us are destroyed. Lets hope sanity prevails and we find a way to co-exist and prosper, regardless of our differences.

Jamaican Brown Stew Chicken

Ingredients

Chicken Marinade

3 1/2 Foster Farms Simply Raised™ Free Range Boneless Skinless Chicken Thighs
1 teaspoon chicken bouillon powder
1 teaspoon minced ginger
1 teaspoon minced garlic
1/2 teaspoon white pepper
2 sprigs fresh thyme
1/2 teaspoon paprika
2 green onions, diced

Brown Chicken Stew

2 tablespoons canola oil
1 medium onion, diced
2 teaspoons garlic, minced
1 sprig fresh thyme
1 teaspoon of hot sauce
1 1/2 teaspoons paprika
1 tablespoon brown sugar
2 teaspoons browning sauce
2 tablespoons ketchup
2 small red or green bell peppers, sliced
1 to 2 cups water

Instructions

Place chicken in a resealable bag and season with salt and pepper. Then add the chicken bouillon powder, ginger, garlic, white pepper, thyme, paprika and green onions. Seal the bag and thoroughly mix chicken until they are well coated. Set aside in the fridge and marinate for at least an hour or preferably overnight.
When ready to cook, remove the chicken from the bag. Make sure to remove any particles like the onions and garlic so they do not burn when cooking.
Heat a large pot with the oil over medium-high heat.
Brown the chicken for about 3 to 4 minutes per side until chicken is a golden brown; remove and place on a plate. Drain any excess oil from the skillet but make sure to leave about 2 to 3 tablespoons of oil.
Deglaze the pan with about 1 cup of water. Bring to a boil and return the chicken back to the pan. Add the second cup of water if you find there is not enough water.
Cover and cook on medium to low heat for about 20 minutes, until chicken the chicken has cooked through and the sauce thickens, slightly. Adjust the taste adding more salt as necessary.
Serve with Caribbean Rice and Peas or white rice.

Recipe source: Evs Eats

Very Interesting

Cuban Picadillo

Ingredients

1 pound 90% lean ground pork
2 teaspoons olive oil
1 cup white onion, chopped
2 cups new potatoes, cooked, cut into 1/4 inch cubes
1 1/4 cups tomatillo salsa
1 cup frozen corn, thawed
1/4 cup cilantro
1/4 cup queso fresco, crumbled

Instructions

Heat olive oil over medium heat in a large skillet; add onion and sauté for about 5 minutes.
Add ground pork, breaking into crumbles with the back of a spoon and turning frequently until browned on all sides.
Add potatoes, salsa and corn; stir and cook for 10 to 15 minutes or until heated through.
Fold in cilantro and sprinkle with cheese.
Serve immediately.

WOW! Just . . . WOW! The truth comes out in Germany over Ukraine

World Hal Turner 19 January 2023

A legislator in the German Bundestag addressed the House today regarding the effort to supply German tanks to Ukraine, to use against Russia.

Holy Sh*t did he strike a nerve; other Legislators openly gasped in horror!

Watch the 30 second video with translation below:

Cool discovery

The Point: Are China and the U.S. going down the rabbit hole?

Splendid Vintage Snaps Of Young Girls With Very Big Hair In The 1980s

The 1980s can be categorized as a decade of excess. The new generation of young people placed a heavy emphasis on individuality, materialism and consumerism, all of which was reflected in the popular fashions and hairstyles of the time. As usual, the music, television and, for the first time, computer industries played a prominent role in determining what styles and trends took off across the country.

While certain hair styles, such as androgyny, voluminous locks, long hair on men and the Jheri Curl were all born during the previous decade, the looks became more exaggerated and more extreme during the 1980s. When it came to hair, bigger was always better.

In the mid-1980s, rising pop star Madonna also had big hair when posing for Time Magazine photographed by Francesco Scavullo. Soon, many women emulated her look, making her one of the most iconic celebrities in 1980s fashion.

Chinese scholars…

thought I’d add this chart from PISA( program of International Student Assessment) to add some perspective.

the US isn’t even mentioned, that should tell you something.

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Caribbean Roast Chicken with
Pineapple and Sweet Potatoes

Ingredients

1 whole chicken, giblets and neck removed
1 tablespoon brown sugar
2 tablespoons Caribbean Jerk Seasoning spice mix
3 fresh limes
8 sprigs cilantro
1 (20 ounce) can chunk pineapple, drained reserving 1/2 cup of liquid
3 sweet potatoes, cut into 2-inch chunks
1/4 cup dark rum (or chicken stock)
1 cup chicken stock
2 tablespoons chopped cilantro

Instructions

Heat oven to 350 degrees F.
In small bowl, combine brown sugar and jerk seasoning. Rub mixture all over outside of chicken. Cut one lime into quarters; insert into chicken cavity. Add cilantro sprigs to chicken cavity. Place chicken in roasting pan and surround with pineapple chunks. Place in oven and roast for 45 minutes.
While chicken is roasting, juice two remaining limes. Remove chicken from oven; add sweet potatoes, rum, chicken stock and lime juice to pan. Return to oven and roast for another 45 minutes to one hour, or until internal temperature in thickest part of the thigh reaches 180 degrees F.
Remove chicken from oven and place on sheet pan. Tent with foil to keep warm. Remove pineapple and sweet potatoes from pan and reserve. Pour sauce in pan into serving dish; add chopped cilantro.
To serve, carve chicken or place whole chicken on platter. Surround with sweet potato/ pineapple mixture and pass with sauce.

Japan building new island base to guard against China

Mageshima Island base will mitigate risk of a China attack on Okinawa and could eventually host US long-range missiles

by Gabriel Honrada January 16, 2023

Japan has decided to start construction of a military base on Mageshima Island, a project that aims to reinforce Japan’s defenses in the nearby Ryukyu Islands and provide a backup airbase in case an enemy attack takes out Okinawa, according to multiple Japanese sources.

Mageshima, an eight square kilometer uninhabited island located 12 kilometers from inhabited Tanegashima Island, was chosen in 2011 as a candidate for relocating US field carrier landing practice, which is currently conducted on Iwoto Island, 1,200 kilometers south of Tokyo.

Construction work began last Thursday (January 12) and is expected to continue for four years, with reported plans to install two runways, a control tower and an explosives depot. Nippon.com mentions that apart from hosting US carrier landing practice runs, Mageshima will serve as a supply and maintenance hub for the defense of the Nansei Islands.

Asia Times has noted the strategic importance of small islands, as they have a “suction effect” on great powers because they can be logistics staging points, protective barriers, forward operating bases and geographical markers to extend maritime claims.

Mageshima is no exception. In a March 2022 newsletter for the Taiwan-based think tank Institute for National Defense and Security Research (INDSR), Yen Hung-Lin underscores the island’s strategic importance.

Yen notes that Mageshima is located northeast of the Ryukyu Islands, which China’s naval vessels must pass through to reach the Pacific Ocean. He also says that Mageshima is an uninhabited island, which reduces concerns about aircraft noise and safety.

Furthermore, Yen mentions that Mageshima has flat terrain, which makes airfield construction easier. Moreover, Yen notes that the Japanese Self-Defense Forces (JSDF) only have a limited number of bases in the Nansei Islands and that the completion of Mageshima will enable Japan and the US to conduct a defense in depth against China.

Japan’s plans to set up Mageshima as an island airbase may also be part of a larger military strategy. In an April 2022 article for Foreign Policy Research Institute (FPRI), Felix Chang notes that Japan’s island bases point toward a strategy intended not only to stop China from taking over the Senkaku Islands but also to frustrate its larger naval ambitions.

Asia Times has previously reported on Japan’s plans to base long-range cruise missiles on its Southwest Islands and Kyushu to improve its counter-strike capabilities against China. Given that, Japan may also opt to base long-range missiles on Mageshima.

Meanwhile, the US may seek to place its long-range missiles on Mageshima. Asia Times has reported on US plans to build a “missile wall” in the First and Second Island Chains.

This strategy is based on the perceived advantages of land-based missile launchers, which include increased survivability compared to ship-based systems, the ability to provide a constant presence in contested areas, and an attack on land-based missile launchers on allied territory marks a significant escalation of hostilities.

The joint Japan-US basing project on Mageshima also likely aims to reinforce the US basing posture in the Pacific. In an April 2021 article for War on the Rocks, Wallace Gregson and Jeffrey Hornung note that Japan is no longer the sanctuary it was for US forces, as China and North Korea have developed long-range strike capabilities and satellite surveillance technologies that threaten US and allied forces stationed in the region.

An October 2022 documentary by ABC News shows that in the event of a Taiwan-China war, China would most likely initiate a pre-emptive missile strike on the military base at Okinawa, aiming to destroy US and Japan airpower on the ground.

Given that threat, Gregson and Hornung note that the US must harden its facilities against attack, disperse and distribute forces across a wider area and improve missile defense capabilities. Thus, the Japan-US base on Mageshima may be a logical step in that direction.

However, some parties have expressed reservations over military construction at Mageshima. In an August 2021 editorial, The Asahi Shimbun mentions that noise from military activity on Mageshima will impact daily life on nearby islands.

In addition, the editorial notes that construction work will significantly impact water quality, marine life and fisheries around the area, depending on whether the project will involve land reclamation.

It also says that the Japanese Ministry of Defense (MOD) has withheld concrete details about the project and only released an environmental assessment on January 12.

The Mainstream Media Admits That We Are Facing “The Worst Food Crisis In Modern History”

January 15, 2023 by Michael

People on the other side of the planet are dropping dead from starvation right now, but most people don’t even realize that this is happening. Unfortunately, most people just assume that everything is fine and dandy. If you are one of those people that believe that everything is just wonderful, I would encourage you to pay close attention to the details that I am about to share with you. Global hunger is rapidly spreading, and that is because global food supplies have been getting tighter and tighter. If current trends continue, we could potentially be facing a nightmare scenario before this calendar year is over.

Pakistan is not one of the poorest nations in the world, but the lack of affordable food is starting to cause panic inside that country. The following comes from Time Magazine…

Last Saturday in Mirpur Khas, a city in Pakistan’s Sindh province, hundreds of people lined up for hours outside a park to buy subsidized wheat flour, offered for 65 rupees a kilogram instead of the current, inflated rate of about 140 to 160 rupees.

When a few trucks arrived, the crowd surged forward, leaving several injured. One man, Harsingh Kolhi, who was there to bring a five kg bag of flour home for his wife and children, was crushed and killed in the chaos.

We are seeing similar things happen all over the planet.

Just because you still may have enough food to eat doesn’t mean that everybody else is okay.

In fact, things have already gotten so bad that even CNN is admitting that we are facing “the worst food crisis in modern history”…

Yet the world is still in the grips of the worst food crisis in modern history, as Russia’s war in Ukraine shakes global agricultural systems already grappling with the effects of extreme weather and the pandemic. Market conditions may have improved in recent months, but experts do not expect imminent relief.

That means more pain for vulnerable communities already struggling with hunger. It also boosts the risk of starvation and famine in countries such as Somalia, which is contending with what the United Nations describes as a “catastrophic” food emergency.

Sadly, it isn’t just in Somalia where the food crisis has reached “catastrophic” proportions.

According to Reuters, the entire continent is now dealing with the worst food crisis that Africa “has ever seen”…

Across Africa, from east to west, people are experiencing a food crisis that is bigger and more complex than the continent has ever seen, say diplomats and humanitarian workers.

Please go back and read that statement again.

Do you remember all those years when Sally Struthers was begging us to feed the starving children in Africa?

Well, the truth is that conditions are now far worse than when she was making those commercials.

At one hospital in Somalia, grieving mothers are regularly bringing in very young children that have literally starved to death…

“Sometimes mothers bring us dead children,” said Farhia Moahmud Jama, head nurse at the paediatric emergency unit. “And they don’t know they’re dead.”

Weakened by hunger, camp residents are vulnerable to disease and people are dying due to a lack of food, said Nadifa Hussein Mohamed, who managed the camp where Isak’s family initially stayed.

“Maybe the whole world is hungry and donors are bankrupt, I don’t know,” she said. “But we’re calling out for help, and we do not see relief.”

UN officials are doing what they can to help, but the truth is that they are being absolutely overwhelmed by the scope of this crisis.

Over the past 12 months, the number of Africans that are dealing with “acute food insecurity” has absolutely exploded…

The number of East Africans experiencing acute food insecurity – when a lack of food puts lives or livelihoods in immediate danger – has spiked by 60% in just the last year, and by nearly 40% in West Africa, according to the World Food Programme (WFP).

Sadly, a lot of Americans are simply not going to care about what is going on over there as long as we have enough food over here.

Of course food supplies continue to get tighter on our side of the planet as well.

According to the U.S. Department of Agriculture, our corn harvest this year was the smallest in 15 years…

Last year was a bad year for corn — the latest US Department of Agriculture (USDA) report shows drought conditions and extreme weather wreaked havoc on croplands.

USDA unexpectedly slashed its outlook for domestic corn production amid a severe drought across the western farm belt. Farmers in Nebraska, Kansas, and Texas were forced to abandon drought-plagued fields.

The agency estimated farmers harvested 79.2 million acres, a decline of 1.6 million acres versus the previous estimate — the smallest acres harvest since 2008.

That wouldn’t be so bad if our population was still the same size that it was back in 2008.

Other harvests have been extremely disappointing too, and that is one of the factors that has been steadily driving up food prices.

At this point, the average U.S. household is spending 72 more dollars on food per month than it was at this same time a year ago…

As inflation continues to decimate the budgets of American families, the December report from Moody’s Analytics showed that families are spending an estimated $72 more on food per month than they were a year ago.

That figure is pulled out of a report that says the typical US household is shelling out $371 on goods and services more than they were a year ago.

In particular, the price of eggs has gone completely nuts.

I recently came across an article about one small business owner that is now paying three times as much for eggs as she once did…

It just seems like the cost of everything is going up these days and that includes egg prices, which are affecting local businesses. “We used to buy 15 dozen eggs from Sam’s for 23 dollars. They are now 68 dollars,” said Cindy Gutierrez, the owner of Creative Cakes. “Now it’s about 63-ish for 15 dozen and it’s also hard to get 15 dozen,” said Caitlyn Wallace, the owner of Catie Pies.

The prices for eggs have surged three times their original price. According to the consumer price index, egg prices increased by 10% in October 2022 and that increase has continued to rise. This is causing a domino effect for restaurants, businesses, and bakeries who use eggs.

Economic conditions are changing so rapidly now, and nothing will ever be quite the same again.

As we move forward, the widespread use of “beetleburgers” is one of the “solutions” that the global elite are starting to push…

Beetleburgers could soon be helping to feed the world, according to new research. The creepy crawlers’ larvae — better known as mealworms — could act as a meat alternative to alleviate hunger worldwide. The process uses a fraction of the land and water and emits a smaller carbon footprint in comparison of traditional farming.

To make this a reality, French biotech company Ynsect is planning a global network of insect farms, including nurseries and slaughterhouses. A pilot plant has already been been set up at Dole in the Bourgogne-Franche-Comte region of France.

Doesn’t that sound yummy?

Of course these “beetleburgers” will just be a drop in the bucket.

No matter what the global elite try, they will not be able to stop “the worst food crisis in modern history” from getting a whole lot worse.

So I would encourage you to stock up while you still can.

Global food supplies are getting a little bit tighter with each passing day, and I have a feeling that 2023 will have lots of “unexpected surprises” for all of us.

Helmet

These Fairytale Felted Houses For Cats Are A Must Have

It’s likely that if you’re a cat owner your feline companion(s) will have a favorite bed, house or spot to sit, sleep and play in. If you feel that maybe their existing love spot is getting a bit tattered and battered, and your cat wouldn’t be traumatized by a replacement, maybe you might be interested in upgrading to one of these awesome fairytale houses! Created by Yuliya Kosata from Ukraine, the felted houses come in a huge range of designs and color schemes. Take a look below to find out more and see what you think!

The Craziest Interrogation You’ll Ever See

Three hours of real-deal madness. Jesus H. Christ!

https://youtu.be/B2WVEla34Tk

If China had to defend against a US invasion and could pick 1 nation who would fully back them, what country would be their best choice?

China don’t need any help. First China will do everything the U.S. do. It if invade China. Then China would invade the US. It will reciprocate equally. You kill a million Chinese they will kill a million Americans. You drop a nuke in Shanghai they will drop a nuke in New York.

They will wiped off all the 12 aircraft carriers within a day. Everywhere in the world. If the bomber comes from Japan. God help Japan. There are at least a hundred and fifty countries out of the 195 nations that will volunteer to do shit on US, UK and its fellow parasite nations.

But China need no one.

3 Women Describe What’s It Like To Be Ugly In A Superficial World

January 31, 2022

1. I’m not a pretty woman and it shows in everyday life and it hurts.

As much as being hit on and catcalled is scary and I’m SO sorry to those it happens too, I get the opposite. All I ever see are posts on being catcalled and I just wanna talk about my experiences. I get moo’d at and barked at like a dog and vomit noises. We have a creepy old regular where I work that’s calls all the girls beautiful but is disgusted by me and has made negative comments on my appearance and literally told me to get out of his field of vision.

People act super awkward and their eyes dart all over the place trying to avoid making eye contact when I talk to them. Other times people are just straight up MEAN and dismissive of me, but treat everyone else with respect.

I’ve been bullied and called ugly my whole life. Ever since I was 5 years old. Kids singled me out and were mean, and even the moms in my Girl Scout troop treated me differently.

I remember in high school these two guys were sitting behind me and one just loudly asked the other if he would fuck me. The answer was a loud resounding “HELLLLL NAWWWW.” Of course if the answer had been the opposite, anyone would be creeped out and feel unsafe, but this moment still sticks with me and hurts for some reason.

I’m physically in shape now but my face is just fucking weird. It’s so unsymmetrical and disproportionate and you can see every single little blood vessel in my face and I have genetic dark circles I can’t seem to conceal. Even with regular dentist appointments and good dental hygiene, I just have shit teeth that crack and break. My forehead is huge and I have a double chin that won’t go away and my eyebrows are wildly different from each other. My nose has been broken twice so you can only imagine what that looks like now.

I don’t take selfies. I hate pictures of myself and even still it hurts how friends and family don’t want to take any pictures with me. I do have a son and the whole reason I spiraled into typing this post was I have a photographer friend who offered to do valentines portraits of me and my son as a gift. I accepted FOR MY SON, not for me, and I’m not looking forward to it and it’s making me so sad. Every picture I see of myself I get super depressed.

I have good hygiene. I bathe and smell good. I dress nice. I AM nice. But the few friends I have and even my mother have admitted I’m not exactly the most attractive woman so that just confirms everything else.

I’m sorry for this post and I don’t mean to invalidate anyone else’s feelings or experiences. I just really wanted to rant.

2. I’m ugly. I know I’m ugly. I have known that I am ugly since I was twelve years old.

Before then I thought I was simply fat, and that when I lost all that fat, that I would be beautiful and valuable. When I was twelve I lost two stone, and realised I was simply, irretrievably, ugly.

My most prominent feature is my long, hooked, nose. My eyes are tiny and so close together I can only use children’s glasses. I am twenty one and still constantly get large, red spots.

My hair is a thick, brown mess of frizz. I have a wide ribcage and broad hips, which leave me with a very broad figure no matter how much weight I lose. I have very small breasts, which, coupled with my wide hips leave me perpetually pear-shaped.

To top it all off I am tall, 5′ 10″ in stocking feet, so there is never an option of blending into the crowd. I am always seen, and always ugly.

The world of an ugly woman is different to that of a beautiful woman in so many ways I could not begin to explain it all. I can, however, briefly sketch the strange differences I have observed between how society treats ugly women, and how society treats beautiful women.

My sister is beautiful. I have many beautiful friends. I live in the same world as beautiful women. I am not one of them. They are celebrated, remembered, asked after. People are good to beautiful women, even when beautiful women are indifferent, hostile or even cruel in return. People remember my sister’s name and instantly forget me. When we are introduced to new people together, nine times out of ten if I meet that person again they will immediately ask where my sister is, how she is, what she is doing. I am never asked about myself and she is never asked about me.

My beautiful friends are photographed by friends and acquaintances. I am silently left out of the records of social events. I am erased from history because I am too ugly to be photographed. Strangers compliment my sister and my friends, strangers insult and ridicule me.

Men might think that perhaps they live in the same world that I do, but they don’t. Even ugly men live in a different world to me. I have never seen, or heard of, a man experiencing the same level of public condemnation for their looks that I have faced. The most recent example I can think of is the man who stopped in the street last week to tell me that I shouldn’t be wearing tinsel on my head like my friends (we were going for Christmas drinks) because I was so ugly. This is not rare for me and this is not new. This has been my life since I was a young teenager.

When I see discussions about catcalling I want to scream at the people who tell women that they should be complimented. What should I do when someone yells at me, unprovoked, that I am an ugly minger? I know I am ugly. There is literally nothing I can do about it. I’m trying my best already!

There is hope for ugly men in popular culture. We celebrate the story of the ugly, or at least not conventionally attractive male, who finally gets his, inevitably beautiful, female crush to realise how much he is worth on the inside and how worthy he is of her love. That story never happens in reverse. There are just no famous actresses that are anything other than conventionally beautiful.

Nobody writes books about ugly women. No one makes films or plays, or songs or art of any sort about ugly women. In fact, we’re not there at all. In popular culture, and culture stretching back as far as human memory goes, ugly women are not there. We don’t exist and nobody talks about us. Beautiful women are the only women we see or hear about, and most crushingly, the only women we remember. The ugly ones, no matter what they do, seem to be simply invisible. Invisible or evil and bad.

We shouldn’t be surprised by this, though, we tell children stories of the good, beautiful princess and the evil, ugly witch. We make this happen.

I am ugly. I will not be remembered. I will never be the protagonist of any story told. I hate being ugly. I hate myself. The end.

3. Every morning when I wake up, I want to go back to sleep. Not because I’m tired, but because I can’t face the world like this. I dress myself up as best as I can manage, and I do my hair by physical memory. I avoid the mirror.

Whenever I look in the mirror, I want to throw up. I want to rip my eyes out and never see again. I wish I could go to the store and return the parts of my face. Tell them: “This wasn’t what I ordered. I need a refund”. Get a replacement and finally love myself.

It’s hard to love yourself when no one loves you. A guy asks you out because of a dare. Just when you think you finally got someone to like you, they laugh at you and call you names. “Squidward”, “witch without the wart”, “forehead higher than my grades”, stuff you wish was a joke. It never is.

I have a crush now. We talk all the time. Sometimes about life, sometimes about our hobbies, sometimes about nothing really. I would definitely say we’re close. When I confessed, I admit I was kind of hopeful. I thought ‘maybe this time will be different. Maybe he would at least consider it’….But of course I was rejected. He wants his beautiful friend, not me. That kind of stuff always happens when you’re ugly. I couldn’t get someone to go out with me if I paid them.

See, as a woman, it doesn’t matter what other merits you have. It doesn’t matter that I’m a hard worker, people seem to think I’m funny, and I have some of the best grades in my entire school. It doesn’t matter that I read and research topics for a better understanding, and that I like having conversations about them. It doesn’t even matter that I have many skills. I’m ugly, therefore I am worthless. I’m ugly, so no one will ever want to date me.

When you’re ugly, you start considering the options. You look to plastic surgery because you know it’s the only way out. But plastic surgery is uncomfortable, it’s expensive, and it might not even work. God dammit.

I don’t believe in god, but I’m starting to think I should. Maybe some magical space man can make my face beautiful. Maybe some fairy in the sky can get someone to love me. Then I’d be happy. Even if it’s just for a little while.

‘World War 3 has already started’ between US and Russia/China, argues French scholar

A very realistic analysis of our global economy.

Why is America a declining superpower?

All empires eventually collapse. This has been proven throughout history.

America’s time has come.

The reasons are manifold:

Internal political corruption, mostly from runaway capitalism.
Massive national debt, currently at over $30 trillion.
Endless money printing which is unsustainable.
Extreme economic inequality which is causing massive discontent among the population.
Over-reliance on global militarism which causes enormous financial strain.
Numerous domestic issues such as gun violence and mass shootings, systemic racism, mass incarceration, homelessness, unaffordable health care, etc.
Loss of credibility around the world, for example, most countries refuse to follow USA’s sanctions against Russia, OPEC refuses to increase oil production at USA’s request, SE Asia refuses to join USA in a coalition against China, and so on.
BRICS is creating an alternative reserve currency to the US Dollar. That means no more sanctions.

Discovery

Polar Bear Kills Two In Alaska Village

Nation Hal Turner 18 January 2023

A polar bear killed a woman and boy Tuesday afternoon in the Northwest Alaska community of Wales, according to Alaska State Troopers.

Troopers received a report of a polar bear attack around 2:30 p.m., troopers said in an online report. According to initial accounts, a polar bear came to the village and chased several residents, troopers said.

The bear killed a woman and a boy, troopers said. Another Wales resident shot and killed the bear “as it attacked the pair,” troopers said.

The two people who were killed in the mauling weren’t identified in the report, and troopers said officials are working to notify their next of kin.

Austin McDaniel, a spokesman for the Alaska Department of Public Safety, said troopers are coordinating with the Alaska Department of Fish and Game as they try to send personnel to Wales as soon as the weather allows.

Wales — a predominantly Inupiaq village of fewer than 150 people — is located on the far western edge of the Seward Peninsula bordering the Bering Strait, just over 100 miles northwest of Nome.

In winter, polar bears can be found as far south as St. Lawrence Island, occasionally traveling even farther south, according to the Alaska Department of Fish and Game. Subsisting primarily on a diet of marine mammals, males can grow to be up to 1,200 pounds, females up to 700 pounds, with no natural predators beyond humans.

Fatal polar bear attacks are extremely rare in Alaska. In 1990, a polar bear killed a man in the North Slope village of Point Lay. Biologists later said the animal showed signs of starvation. In 1993, a polar bear burst through a window of an Air Force radar station on the North Slope, seriously mauling a 55-year-old mechanic. He survived the attack.

Escape Into The Glass Rivers And Lakes Of These Beautiful Wood Tables

If getting lost in a coffee table sounds improbable, you may change your mind once you see these beautiful furnishings. Artist and designer Greg Klassen transforms reclaimed wood into mesmerizing works of art embedded with glass rivers and lakes. Klassen’s newest works include a variety of coffee tables of different sizes and shapes, as well as wall hangings.

What a find!

Overworked Employee Quits Because He Wasn’t Getting A Fair Wage, Costs The Company $40 Million

Jonas Grinevičius and Gabija Palšytė

Not paying your employees a fair wage can have disastrous consequences for the company’s bottom line. Some business owners realize this only when it’s far, far too late.

Redditor u/slw_motion_trainwrck opened up about how he quit his low-paying, exhausting IT job at a major multinational company… and how the day after he left work, the business lost $40 million. In three very extensive posts on r/antiwork, the redditor detailed exactly how this happened, and the read is absolutely riveting.

Scroll down for the full story and more details about why exactly the manufacturing company that makes components for the automotive industry lost as much money as it did, dear Pandas. It’s definitely worth your attention. You’ll see just how low companies go and how far from every promise is worth listening to if it’s not in writing.

Financial expert Sam Dogen, the author of ‘Buy This, Not That: How to Spend Your Way to Wealth and Freedom’ and the founder of Financial Samurai, was kind enough to share his opinion with Bored Panda on how to gauge if someone is underpaid.

“The best way to gauge if you are underpaid is to ask your colleagues and other people in your industry what they are getting paid. They might be hard-pressed to reveal their figures at first. Therefore, you can ask for a range and also volunteer your wage and ask for their guidance. Getting average wages for your job based on online websites is not too helpful given their numbers are averages and all over the place,” he told us that employees should ask around to see if they’re being paid a proper wage.

According to financial expert Sam, a good employee knows their value. “The more an employee is irreplaceable, the more valuable the employee is. Therefore, if you know that your business will run just fine without you for one month or longer, you may not be as valuable as you think,” he said. “On the other hand, if you feel your business will suffer if you’re out longer than a week, then you are considered more valuable. No manager wants to lose a valuable employee because it takes a lot of time to find and train a new employee.”

An IT specialist, who was very overworked and incredibly underpaid, decided that he wanted better work conditions

However, the multinational company was less than friendly, and drove itself into a huge financial mess as a result. Here’s the full story

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“The Trains of Silence” (1965)

Just discovered this fabulous series.

Great scripts. Famous actors. Tight direction. Great settings. Luscious color. Way ahead of any thing today.

Tin foil hat cats and global war

Smile and have a great day!

EXCAVATIONS OF GERMAN SOLDIERS / WWII METAL DETECTING

Seeing a soldier frozen in time like this is truly insane. The stories these items tell, so interesting.

Funny and true

BOOM! Saudi Arabia Announces End of US Petro Dollar

World Hal Turner 17 January 2023

The Kingdom of Saudi Arabia announces that they officially are open to settling trade for Oil and Natural Gas in currencies other than the US dollar.

Watch what happens this year! -MM

Roast Pork a la Criolla (Puerto Rico)

puertoricanroastpork ncjpg 5ab0cca12707176f

Criolla (also known as Creole throughout Latin America) refers to the first generation born in a new country. This dish was probably fixed by the first generation of Spanish born in Puerto Rico, using oregano which was brought to the islands from the Mediterranean. This pork roast is traditionally made with fresh ham.

Ingredients

1 (3 pound) boneless pork single loin roast or boneless fresh ham roast (inside round), netted or tied
1 tablespoon freshly ground black pepper
6 garlic cloves, crushed
1 teaspoon oregano
1 1/2 tablespoons olive oil
1 1/2 tablespoons vinegar
1 tablespoon salt

Instructions

In a small bowl, mix together all seasonings, then rub this mixture on all surfaces of the pork roast.
Place roast in shallow pan and roast at 350 degrees F for 1 to 1 1/2 hours or until meat thermometer inserted reads 160 degrees F.
Remove roast from oven; let rest 5 to 10 minutes before slicing to serve.

Serves 8.

The Swiss City That’s Full of Cat Ladders

Imagine, if you will, what it’s like to be an average cat. You live with your owner on the fourth floor of an apartment building and, like so many of your fellow felines with exposure to the outside world, you have a fierce case of wanderlust.

In most parts of the world, you’d be stuck at home until someone comes and lets you out. But in certain European countries, human residents have built outdoor climbing aids, called cat ladders, to help their feline friends come and go as they please.

Homemade cat ladders are as architecturally eclectic as they are charming.

Despite their whimsical photogeneity, cat ladders haven’t yet been thoroughly documented. The graphic designer and writer Brigitte Schuster aims to change that. She had spotted the occasional cat ladder in her native Germany, but it wasn’t until she moved to Bern, Switzerland, six years ago that she realized how popular they were.

9 People Reveal What It’s Like To Wake Up In The Middle Of Surgery

February 8, 2022

1. This happened to me and it was the most horrifying experience that i will remember for the rest of my life! It all started when my husband and I had been the victims of a terrible motorcycle accident. I was lifeflighted off the interstate in Athens, to Grant Medical Center in Colombus Ohio.

I went through the emergency room where the trauma team inserted tubes all over my body at a rapid pace to check all my vitals and i must have passed out from the pain because I don’t remember anything else.

Then when I woke up, I knew I was in the operating room because I felt cold and I could feel my stomach being patted down because it was jiggling from my excess weight.

I could feel my stomach burn with excruciating pain and I remember thinking to myself, i need to let them know I’m awake! I couldn’t open my eyes, I couldn’t move my feet or even twitch my arm to let them know I was awake and I could feel everything.

I felt completely paralyzed! I heard the doctors talking to each other and then I felt the sewing! My stomach was being sewed shut! It was horrible, I remember feeling the needle piercing my flesh and the thread pulling through to the next stitch!

I kept trying to move but it was no use, so I laid there enduring the pain and when i felt a tear run out of my eye down the side of my face, and then the last thing I remember, I was waking up in recovery. I found out later, that I had broken all the ribs on my left side and punctured my left lung.

Apparently one of my ribs also lascerated my spleen so they had to cut my abdomen from my pubic bone to my breastbone to remove my spleen.

I was advised to try to avoid coughing because I had staples holding my stomach together. I asked my nurse if I also had stitches and I was told “Yes, but those will dissolve on thier own”. I then told her that I had woken up during the surgery and I couldn’t move, she listened to me but didn’t make any comments either way, but it’s a memory that will be with me for as long as I live.

Since then I have had 2 more surgeries and I have told the anesthesiologist each time that I have previously woken up and both times they have assured me it won’t happen again; so far it hasn’t, but that fear is there and it won’t go away. I feel for anyone who has gone through this, it was a living nightmare.

2. In the 90s I woke up during knee surgery. Like just fully snapped awake and sat up. All of these wide-eyed masked faces just turned and stared at me.

I looked down at my clamped open leg, looked at one of the masked faces that everyone seemed to be deferring to and said “I don’t think I want to be awake for this.”

They put me back under and as a drifted off I started to feel pain.

Woke up after the surgery and the doctor came in and apologized. I had specifically mentioned that I require more anesthesia than most people (the redhead thing that is finally being acknowledged in modern medicine) but they didn’t believe me and gave me a normal dose.

3. I woke up while they were putting a metal plate in my arm. They used a block which basically made my entire arm from shoulder to hand numb. When I woke up I could remember hearing a drill and a slight pressure in the arm they were working on. I just said “This is awesome” followed shortly by someone saying “oops.” Quickly went back to sleep.

4. At the young age of 5 it became aware to myself and the entire medical staff that my body processed general anesthetics far quicker than it should, thus causing me to wake up in the middle of an endoscopy, tube down the throat to look at shit in my stomach / throat.

It was the first one I was having in regards to monitoring a growth in my throat. Hands down the most traumatizing experience I’ve ever had to deal with.

I tried to move and began coughing and gagging on the tube that was down my throat. For the age of 5 I put up a decent fight, and was able to let out a scream which from my mother’s account she knew it was me immediately.

Of course panic sets in, the doctors begin yelling that Im awake, and before I knew it I was asleep again. In my head this instance occurred over what I thought was a 5-6 period.

Turns out I woke up 7 minutes into the operation and was wheeled into the room and wheeled out in under an hour. I remember the immense amount of pain I was in to have this metal rod down my throat and trying to move, ultimately fucking up a bunch of stuff.

The scariest part was the white, everything was so white, the outfits, the walls, and to this day I have horrific nightmares and still hate being in/around hospitals. Shit sucked.

From here it was a whole mess of legal issues and health problems all while cancer cells were very evidently present in my throat. Crazy childhood man. Im good now though

5. I woke up while they were repairing a hernia in my lower abdomen. It felt like I was buried in a bunch of sand. I was still pretty out of it due to the drugs but I tried getting up off of the operating table (I actually thought I was buried) and they had to hold me down until they could get me re-anesthetized. I don’t remember seeing anything, just shades and figures, but the sensation of what I felt was just odd. Like I said, buried in sand.

6. I woke up in the middle of gall bladder removal surgery. I couldn’t look down, but I know I was cut open on the operating table by the bloody knife and vacuum tube in the surgeon’s hand. The thing that bothered me most, though, was the fact that there was a tube down my throat and it was really difficult to breathe. There were a lot of “Oh my God”s and “Please don’t move”s, some said very loudly and near the edge of panic. Finally the doctor yelled for someone to give me another dose of anesthetic, and bonk I was out like a light.

7. I woke up in the middle of an emergency abdominal surgery. All my muscles were paralyzed, including my breathing muscles. I felt as though I was suffocating and kept trying to take a breath desperately with no luck. I tried to move to get their attention and of course couldn’t. I was a prisoner in my own body as I listened to a woman calling my surgeon’s name and felt my organs being manipulated in my abdomen. All the while feeling as though I was suffocating. Have never felt more helpless in my life. They told me later that my heart rate had suddenly spiked to 140 in the middle of the surgery. I assume that’s when I had woken up.

8. I HATE that I can answer this. When I was a young man I was taken into surgery after a really nasty car accident. I was actually not in a car but the lady that hit me was driving at around 45 mph.

Needless to say, this was already way high on my “fuckin sucks” scale. Somehow after returning to the land of the living, I vividly remember waking up on the operating table with those big ass lights shining on me.

I quickly realized I had a tube in my mouth, and I was connected to IVs and things that went beep. As my vision cleared, my eyes tracked to the commotion in the room and I saw two doctor looking fellows along with two nurses all patting the back of a third nurse that was losing her cookies in the sink.

It spooked me because I couldn’t imagine being in such bad shape that it would make someone throw up. After that, I don’t remember anything as I’m guessing the anesthesiologist caught me waking up and reversed my consciousness. Fade to black. That was all she wrote for me and I have no further memories of the operating room.

It’s been said that anesthesiologists will take you to the edge of death and hold you there. It’s a delicate balance and I can see why they make the big bucks.

9. I am a surgeon and have had a life-long phobia of this exact event. This past august, i went to my own hospital with septic and hemorrhagic shock (my blood pressure was dangerously low after an an aggressive infection ate its way into a blood vessel).

I was taken to surgery by two of my partners. since anesthesia tends to drop the blood pressure further, the anesthesiologist gave me a minimal amounts to be safe. Having never had surgery before i did not know how my body responds to and metabolizes anesthesia.

Unfortunately, while i am a pretty thin person, i am also a redhead, and as other respondents to this questions have noted (likely because genes that tend to co-segregate with this hair color , ie travel together thru generations), redheads have been scientifically demonstrated to require greater amounts of anesthesia than the average population. the anesthesiologist met me outside the door to the OR, wearing my cap, so he did not know ny hair color, and i was on pain meds and it did not occur to me to tell him.

In any event, i experienced complete recall for the majority of the operation, meaning that while i heard, FELT and remembered everything vividly, i was also under neuromuscular paralysis, a drug induced state routinely administered for many operations to keep patients from moving (even tho presumably asleep) during the operation. Problem was, I was not asleep, and even though there i could feel hot cautery literally carving out chunks of my flesh, and that felt exactly how you would expect it to, far more terrifying was the sensation that i could not move or breathe at all (a machine pushed regular, measured breaths down my throat) or tell anyone what i was going through.

I could hear my partners talking, i could tell u what country song was playing on the radio, and i was desperately trying to move my fingertips or head or cough or do something to let them know i was awake and could not. Thankfully, the sheer panic caused my blood pressure to sky rocket, and more anesthesia was administered to treat it, knocking me back out.

After the surgery, I mentioned the event, but downplayed it significantly, not wanting to sound ingrateful or critical of my partners who probably saved my life. This decision probably contributed to the development of PTSD, nightmares and flashbacks which i continue to struggle with almost daily. So i would give patients undergoing surgery two pieces of advice:

(1) your anesthesiologist is just as important as your surgeon. DEMAND to meet him or her, well in advance, if at all possible, make sure u are talking to the person who will actually be administering the meds and monitoring you (which nowadays is commonly done by a CRNA or resident as opposed to the supervising attending anesthesiologist).

This is not an unreasonable request, and in fact protocol at many hospitals (altho not always possible in the event of emergency surgery such as mine).

Make them aware of all your concerns and fears. Ask about potential adverse effects of the anesthesia they plan to use, such as nausea and delirium (or cardiac risks, kidney and liver risks, and even increased eye pressure for those with glaucoma) and let them know if you are susceptible to these.

Tell them about any past experiences and side effects with anesthesiology or pain meds. Ask them if you have any risk factors for “recall” and if they intend to modify their plan based on this; specifically, how they plan to monitor ur level of consciousness (typically done these days via vitals signs, as in my case, but more advanced technology is available)

(2) If, god forbid, u do experience recall or another traumatic event associated with your surgery, take it seriously and seek help early. PTSD can be prevented if those likely to develop it are identified early, usually within the 1st 24 hrs.

Also, i want to make it clear that i do not blame my anesthesiolgist, who did what he thought was safest. But we can all stand to learn and improve. Hope this helps someone else avoid the same experience

Cat Protection From Mind Control With Tin Foil Hats

Did you know that tin foil hat is a great way to protect your cat from the evil government that’s are trying to implement mind control and take over your pet? Make your own before it’s too late! Or get one on Amazon if you don’t trust your own skills!

What’s It Like To Be In A Polyamorous Relationship

February 15, 2022

I was in a polyamorous relationship for about 10 years, a triad composed of two women and one man. We were mostly but not entirely polyfidelitious, meaning that we rarely dated or engaged sexually with anyone outside the relationship. I was dating him, he met her, he introduced her to me, and we all fell in love.

Polyamory forces you to think explicitly about how you want your relationships to work. There is no default set of rules, no one size fits all solution.

Nothing can be assumed, everything is up for discussion, and anything can be negotiated to suit the needs of the people involved.

A monogamous friend of mine told me once that at some level he considered his marriage to be a poly relationship of two people, precisely because he and his wife had very detailed talks about how they wanted their relationship to work. I suspect that a lot of monogamous pairings could benefit from this open-minded attitude towards relationship dynamics.

I think that to some extent, poly relationship networks form a proxy for the extended family and tribal groups that have largely faded out in Western culture.

Having a group of trusted adults means more people to contribute resources and share risk, more people to assist with rearing children, more people to help out around the house.

On a more personal level, having multiple partners means that you are not loading all of your hopes, desires, and expectations on to one person. Recognizing that no single person can or should be expected to fill all of your needs, you are free to develop other rewarding relationships with the full knowledge and consent of everyone involved.

I am not otherwise an alt-lifestyler (and am in fact fairly conservative in some ways). The mundane content of our relationship was in most respects quite conventional.

We went on dinner dates and out to the movies, took some vacations together, went grocery shopping, talked about work.

It irritates me when people focus exclusively on the sexual aspects of non-heterosexual and non-monogamous relationships, but I will touch on that part very briefly here.

Sex with my partners was wonderful. I loved being the focus of two people who loved me, I loved giving each of them pleasure, and I loved seeing them give pleasure to each other.

Cuddling together with my beloveds was blissful. We surrounded ourselves with love, and all felt safe and right with the world.

A lot of people think that polyamory is a little weird at best, and actively immoral at worst.

My parents were politely supportive of my relationship, but some members of my extended family were quite vocal in their distaste.

Some very popular religions place a heavy emphasis on sexual exclusivity (especially for women), and it’s discouraging to have your relationship held up as an example of social decline that must actively be guarded against (If we let gay people marry, then soon polygamists will want to get married, and then people will be marrying dogs and trees and who knows what else!).

If you have some problem or issue with your relationship, many people will jump to the conclusion that being polyamorous is the root of the problem.

I avoided discussing my relationship status with all but my closest coworkers, as I suspected that disclosing such a thing might constitute a distinctly career-limiting move.

I was on the receiving end of a lot of rudely prying questions about our sex life, and a lot of unsavory assumptions about poly relationships and about me as a woman in such an arrangement. That it is just about sex and getting to sleep around, that we must be hippies or religious nuts like the Mormon Fundamentalists that were in the news a lot a while back, that it is an excuse for men to exploit women, that I must be giving in just to please our male partner, or because I felt that I didn’t deserve anything better,

Issues of moral judgement aside, ours is a couple-oriented society and a family unit involving more than two adults does not fit in easily.

There is the obvious issue of marriage and family law, which supports pairwise bonds exclusively.

Married couples get a package of legal rights and responsibilities by default, but developing legal protection for a polyamorous family requires extended work with an attorney.

Then there were the more mundane conflicts. Yes, please invite both of my partners to your holiday party, Yes, us three adults really would prefer just one king-sized bed in the hotel room.

People had no idea how to refer to us. Are you married, or dating, or what? Should we call him your husband and her your wife, or what? Are you really serious about this? We turned heads when we displayed any kind of affection together in public.

I write this at a time when I am new to talking about our triad in the past tense.

My relationship with one of my partners has degraded to the point that it cannot be repaired, and I am not sure what this means for our family.

There is no template for me to go by here, nothing straightforward like a divorce. I am deeply saddened by the decline of this partnership, and also by the knowledge that I am losing part of the foundation of support that has been so important to me for the last decade.

Reality

Vinney Todd Tolman Died For 45 Minutes And Went Straight To Heavenly Realms

Outstanding NDE!

Inflate Your Cat’s Holy Ego With This Buddhist Statue Scratching Post From Japan

The “Cat Club” (Neko-bu) division of Japanese online retailer Felissimo has put out some creative feline bedding situations in the past. Today, you can add holy kitty claw maintenance to their list of cute cat products, as they’ve just released a scratching post that turns your cat into a feline Buddhist statue!

It’s called the Kouhai Scratching Post. Kouhai are the halo found on Buddhist sculptures, which are meant to represent light emitting from the Buddha. While most cats consider themselves to have divine sovereignty over the household, now they can look the part while get their claws some scratching practice. The lotus-shaped pedestal (rendai) has a curved scratching board, but your newly enlightened cat may simply choose to look holy while sleeping on it.

What’s it Like to Work at a Bottom-Of-The-Barrel Used Car Lot

February 16, 2022

The lot I work at is absolutely the last stop. If you’ve got 3 repos and just got out of prison last week and don’t have a driver’s license, we can still get you in a car.

And with typical gross of $3500-$6000 (on cars that are $7k or less) BEFORE products and ancillaries, we get paid very well, and we sell a lot of inventory. But we also attract a certain type of customer. We legit have those silent alarm buttons under our desks like bank tellers have.

So a couple of weeks ago we had a car get stolen. Our repo guys recovered it about 3 days later (they found it before the cops did). No big deal, we’re no stranger to having cars stolen. The only issue is that we didn’t recover the key. It was a 13 year old German-made car so we had to have a new fob programmed.

Last week someone tweaked out on meth came in and wanted to buy that freshly-recovered car. He paid in all cash, but was about $1,000 short after TT&L so we decided to just in-house finance that $1k at 0% interest and put a GPS in the car.

Dude pays in all $20’s and $1’s out of a woman’s purse despite no woman being around. Whatever, I’m just here to help finalize car deals not be a fucking cop or whatever. It was so god damn annoying to count out $8k in all 20’s and 1’s

Next red flag comes whenever I try to register the car.. the license he gave for a test drive is fake. Again, whatever, we’ll do car deals without a license, I just need to know who you are. He gives me this insanely bogus story and eventually I get a picture of his real ID and we finish the deal.

So, remember how the car was stolen and we didn’t recover the key? This dude calls us a day later and says that people are chasing him down with a key fob saying that they stole the car from a very specific location and he wants a discount or his money back or something. Here’s the thing, we never told him it was stolen and we never told him where it was stolen from.

(side note: we didn’t pay BMW or the locksmith to invalidate the other key that was floating around out there whenever they programmed the new one)

He says he had to pay these thieves $1400 to get this second key fob back and he wants us to reimburse the money to him. Come to find out, his buddy that was with him when he was buying the car was the same guy on our cameras at the lot when the key and car were stolen. What kind of idiot steals a car then comes back weeks later to buy that car?

GPS isn’t locating. We tell the customer he has to come down yesterday to finalize the deal or made some random excuse to trick him into coming so we can adjust the GPS. He refuses to let us in the car at first. The battery is in the trunk and the customer finally agrees to let us in after moving his burglar tools and machetes around.

We adjust the GPS and he’s on his way (after more yelling and arguing over stupid bullshit). So later yesterday evening we go to close the lot down and realize that we were missing keys to 3 of our cars. Obviously we know who did it. They were causing a scene and being a distraction so one of their friends could quickly swipe some keys from the board.

GM gets on the phone with the dude Motherfucker we have you on video stealing our fucking keys bring them the fuck back so we don’t have to call the cops. We just want your money we don’t want to act like fucking law enforcement just bring the shit back you piece of shit and pay your bill god damn man come on

The dude was just right around the corner waiting with his friends for us to close. He sends his friend down to bring the keys back bro if you really have cameras you can tell it wasn’t me i’m just bringing them back to you man.

We lock the lot up, I leave a little note on this guy’s account that I’m not giving him a 60-day repo time window after this. He should be in jail, but rather than call the cops I just gave him a 10-day grace period on his $1000 that he owes or we’ll repo the car. Having a car repo’d after dropping $8,000 in cash is much worse than jail. Also, as a 3-time felon myself, I’d always rather try to handle this without getting the cops involved. I mean, if the cops arrested him, then we definitely wouldn’t get the rest of what he owed.

We went home and ended our Monday.

Let’s see how Tuesday goes! I started my day today with my customer showing his 240+ stitches he got when he tried to steal some rims to put on the car we sold him a few months ago, but the owner of the rims came out and stabbed him. Hilarious story, we laughed and laughed until he said he was laughing so hard his stitches were hurting.

‘World War 3 has already started’ between US and Russia/China, argues French scholar

Best summary EVER!

This Japanese Company Found The Most “Prefurrable” Way To Improve Productivity

A Japanese company named Ferray Corporation, an internet solutions business, came up with an unusual way for their employees to unwind and increase productivity. Now, workers are allowed to bring their cats to work. Nine cats, rescued by the company, already roam freely in the office on a regular basis.

Moreover, if someone doesn’t have a pet of their own yet, they are paid a «cat bonus» after deciding to adopt a feline that needs a home. It seems that the office communication has increased dramatically, since Ferray employees now have a topic that brings them together and lowers everyone’s stress levels.

Scott Ritter: We Are On The CUSP Of Thermonuclear War !!! Situation Is Out Of Control

Very good. You must listen to Scott. America is “diplomacy incapable”.

https://youtu.be/6AQdvZ6x1hA

Ukraine SitRep – Media Ignorance, Counter-Artillery War, Three Lost Armies

Yves Smith asks:

What if Russia Won the Ukraine War but the Western Press Didn’t Notice?

She points to several headlines which, despite decisive Russian victories like its taking of Soledar, present the Ukraine as winning the war:

Nevertheless, Soledar has fallen and the loss of Bakhmut looks baked in, absent horrific Russian errors. The so-called Zelensky line is breaking even before Russia has put its recently-mobilized forces to work in a serious way. Regular commentators are waiting for the Russian hammer to fall, although Russia may simply grind more forcefully by pressing harder at more points along the very long line of contact. Remember one concern on the Russian side is avoiding “winning” in a way that leads to NATO panic and desperate action … not that the Collective West’s fragile emotional state can be readily managed.With that context, you’d expect some members of the press to have worked out that things are not going very well for Ukraine and the classic cowboy movie rescue of the calvary riding over the hill (here in the form of tanks and artillery) will be too little, too late.

Instead, the media seems to be trying to integrate snippets of facts on the ground with the heroic tale of inevitable Ukraine victory.

That is certainly correct for the wide majority of the stories, which claim that Soledar and Bahkmut, are irrelevant towns, but some pieces are creeping up that differ. A few days ago the Washington Post headlined:

Bloody Bakhmut siege poses risks for Ukraine

Ukraine faces difficult choices about how much deeper its military should get drawn into a protracted fight over the besieged city of Bakhmut, as Kyiv prepares for a new counteroffensive elsewhere on the front that requires conserving weapons, ammunition and experienced fighters.Russia has escalated its assault in the area in recent days, unleashing savage fighting that has underscored the high cost of the battle. Russian mercenaries and released convicts from the Wagner group pushed into the neighboring salt-mining town of Soledar and inched closer to Bakhmut, the capture of which has eluded them for months despite an advantage in firepower and the willingness to sacrifice troops.

The piece quotes several Ukrainian soldiers which speak of huge losses on their side. But the U.S. is still egging them on:

The senior U.S. official cautioned against completely dismissing Bakhmut or neighboring Soledar as nonstrategic places that Kyiv can simply relinquish, noting that the salt and gypsum mines give the area economic significance. Theoretically, the Russians could use the deep salt mines and tunnels to protect equipment and ammunition from Ukrainian missile strikes. Moscow has also endowed the city with import.“To some degree, Bakhmut matters to [Ukraine] because it matters so much to the Russians,” the senior U.S. official said, noting that control of Bakhmut is not going to have a huge impact on the conflict or imperil Ukraine’s defensive or offensive options in the country’s eastern Donbas region.

The official added, “Bakhmut is not going to change the war.”

I believe the senior U.S. official to be very wrong. Soledar and Bakhmut are bleeding the Ukrainian army dry. That is of relevance. Look at the insane number of Ukrainian units deployed on that only 50 kilometer (30mi) long sector of the front.

Source: Military Land Deployment Map – biggerI count the equivalent of some 27 brigade size formations in that area. The usual size of a brigade is some 3,000 to 4,000 men with hundreds of all kinds of vehicles. If all brigades had their full strength that force would count as 97,500 men. In a recent interview the Ukrainian military commander Zaluzhny said that his army has 200,000 men trained to fight with 500,000 more having other functions or currently being trained. The forces which are currently getting mauled in the Bakhmut area constitute 50% of Ukraine’s battle ready forces.

Zaluzhny has pulled units from other fronts like the Kreminna and Svatove sector further north in Luhansk province to feed them into Bakhmut. That has minimized any chance that the Ukrainian forces in those sectors will be able to make any progress.

What nearly all reports from Ukraine seem to miss is the huge damage that Russia artillery is causing on a daily base. Ukraine has little artillery left to respond to that and whatever it still has is getting less by the day.

A few weeks ago the Russian military started a systematic counter artillery campaign which has since made great progress. The typical western way of detecting enemy artillery units is by radar. The flight path of the projectile is measured and the coordinates of its source are calculated enabling ones own artillery to respond. But counter-artillery radar itself depends on radiating. It is thereby easily detectable and vulnerable to fire. Over the last months Russia deployed a very different counter-artillery detection systems with the rather ironic name of Penicillin:

Penicillin or 1B75 Penicillin is an acoustic-thermal artillery-reconnaissance system developed by Ruselectronics for the Russian Armed Forces. The system aims to detect and locate enemy artillery, mortars, MLRs, anti-aircraft or tactical-missile firing positions with seismic and acoustic sensors, without emitting any radio waves. It locates enemy fire within 5 seconds at a range of 25 km (16 mi; 13 nmi). Penicillin completed state trials in December 2018 and entered combat duty in 2020.The Penicillin is mounted on the 8×8 Kamaz-6350 chassis and consists of a 1B75 sensor suite placed on a telescopic boom for the infrared and visible spectrum as well as of several ground-installed seismic and acoustic receivers as a part of the 1B76 sensor suite. It has an effective range for communication with other military assets up to 40 kilometres (25 mi) and is capable to operate even in a fully automatic mode, without any crew. One system can reportedly cover an entire division against an enemy fire. Besides that, it co-ordinates and corrects a friendly artillery fire.

biggerThe Penicillin system can hide in the woods and stick up its telescopic boom to look at and listen to the battlefield. As it does not radiate itself there is no good way for an enemy to detect it.

The system pinpoints Ukrainian guns as they fire. They are then eliminated by immediate precise counter-fire. As the artillery relevant part of today’s ‘clobber’ list provided by the Russian Ministry of Defense claims:

Operational-Tactical Aviation, Missile Troops and Artillery of the Armed Forces of the Russian Federation have neutralised an artillery ordnance depot of 114th Territorial Defence Brigade near Veliky Burluk (Kharkov region), as well as 82 artillery units at their firing positions, manpower and hardware at 98 areas.

Counterbattery warfare operations have resulted in destruction of:

one Polish-manufactured Krab howitzer near Peschanoye (Kharkov region);

one U.S.-manufactured M109 Paladin howitzer, and one fighting vehicle equipped with Grad multiple-launch rocket system (MLRS) near Lozovaya (Kharkov region);

one D-20 howitzer near Terny (Donetsk People’s Republic);

two Giatsint-B howitzers near Maryinka and Orlovka (Donetsk People’s Republic);

two Akatsiya self-propelled howitzers near Nevskoye (Lugansk People’s Republic), and Preobrazhenka (Zaporozhye region);

five D-30 howitzers near Zmiyevka, Novokairy (Kherson region), Sofiyevka (Donetsk People’s Republic), and Orekhov (Zaporozhye region).

Four U.S.-manufactured counterbattery warfare radars have been destroyed:

two AN/TPQ-50 stations near Mylovoye and Dudchany (Kherson region),

one AN/TPQ-36 counterbattery warfare radar near Ugledar (Donetsk People’s Republic),

one U.S.-manufactured AN/TPQ-48 counterbattery warfare radar near Senkovo (Kharkov region).

Air defence facilities have shot down six Ukrainian unmanned aerial vehicles near Kremennaya (Lugansk People’s Republic), Nikolskoye, and Petrovskoye (Donetsk People’s Republic).

14 rocket-propelled projectiles launched by HIMARS and Olkha MLRS have been intercepted near Udy (Kharkov region), Smolyaninovo (Lugansk People’s Republic), Donetsk, and Khartsyzsk (Donetsk People’s Republic).

One U.S.-manufactured anti-radiation missile has been shot down near Radensk (Kherson region).

One Ukrainian Tochka-U ballistic missile has been shot down near Berdyansk (Zaporozhye region).

The above is the equivalent of two artillery companies (batteries with six guns each) eliminated in just one day. Ukrainian counter-battery fire against Russian artillery is no longer possible as the necessary detection equipment gets eliminated and as Ukrainian counter-fire is shot down by Russian air defenses.

This Russian counter-artillery campaign has been going on for several weeks. It has disabled large parts of what was left of Ukrainian longer range capabilities. Meanwhile the Russian artillery keeps on knocking down Ukranian troops that hold the frontline. Only when all parts of the Ukrainian trenches have been hit by intense fire will the Russian infantry move in to clean up whatever is left behind.

This form of battle is causing huge losses on the Ukrainian side while the Russian forces incur just a minimum of casualties.

In his recent talks Col (ret.) Douglas Macgregor put the deaths in Ukraine forces at 150,000 and casualties at 450,000. I, like Yves Smith, doubt that number of wounded is that high. As the system of Ukrainian battlefield extradition and hospitalization is in a bad state there will be less wounded and likely more dead.

In a huge contrast to U.S. waged wars, the civilian death count on the Ukrainian side is remarkably low:

Andriy Yermak, head of the Ukrainian presidential staff, said at the World Economic Forum in the Swiss resort of Davos, “We have registered 80,000 crimes committed by Russian invaders and over 9,000 civilians have been killed, including 453 children.”

Feeding more troops into the battle in the Bakhmut sector, as the Ukrainian side has been doing, is not a good use of resources.

We can state that Ukraine has by now lost the nominal equipment of two larger armies.

At the beginning of the war the Ukrainian army was said to have some 2,500 tanks, 12,500 armored vehicles and 3,500 large artillery systems. It is doubtful that more than half of those were in a usable state but they may have received enough repair to be workable.

The Russia military claims that most of those have been eliminated:

7,549 tanks and other armoured fighting vehicles, 984 fighting vehicles equipped with MLRS, 3,853 field artillery cannons and mortars, as well as 8,081 units of special military equipment have been destroyed during the special military operation.

If one doubts those numbers one has to ask why the Ukraine has needed to import so many more weapons and is still short of them:

410 Soviet-era tanks delivered by NATO members in former communist bloc, including Poland, Czech Republic and Slovenia.

300 [Armored/Infantry Fighting Vehicles], including 250 Soviet-designed IFVs from former communist states.

1,100 [Armored Personnel Carriers], including 300 M113 troop carriers and 250 M117s.

300 towed howitzers. 400+ pieces of self-propelled artillery, of which 180 is on order.

95 [Multiple Rocket Launchers]

There were also a number of fighter airplanes, helicopter and air-defense systems. The above was the second army, after Ukraine’s original one was mostly gone, that has by now been nearly eliminated.

The Russian clobber list now regularly reports of combat with Ukraine forces that kills, for example, one tank, three armored vehicles and a number of pick-ups and motor vehicles:

One Ukrainian sabotage and reconnaissance group has been eliminated near Liman Pervy (Kharkov region). The enemy has lost over 50 Ukrainian personnel, one tank, two infantry fighting vehicles, and two pickups.
…
[In Donetsk direction] over 60 Ukrainian personnel, one tank, three armoured fighting vehicles, and six motor vehicles have been eliminated.
…
Two AFU sabotage and reconnaissance groups have been eliminated in the area to the north of Levadnoye and Vladimirovka (Donetsk People’s Republic). The enemy has lost up to 40 Ukrainian personnel, two armoured fighting vehicles, and three motor vehicles.

Pick-ups and unarmored motor vehicles should avoid the frontline and certainly not be part of force attacking the immediate frontline. If these reports reflect the current structure of Ukrainian forces, as I believe they do, than its state is indeed dire.

In his Economist interview General Zeluzhny has requested a third army to be delivered to him immediately:

“I know that I can beat this enemy,” he says. “But I need resources. I need 300 tanks, 600-700 IFVs [infantry fighting vehicles], 500 Howitzers.”

As the Economist writer dryly noted:

The incremental arsenal he is seeking is bigger than the total armoured forces of most European armies.

The stocks of two complete armies have by now been destroyed in Ukraine. The resources for a smaller third one will be delivered in the next rounds of ‘western’ equipment deliveries during the next months. Russia will dully destroy Ukraine’s third army just as it has destroyed the first and second one. It is doubtful that the ‘West’ has enough material left to provide Ukraine with a fourth one.

That then leaves only two options. Send in ‘western’ armies with the equipment they still have or declare victory and go home.

The neo-conservatives as ever favor the first option. President Joe Biden may still be against sending U.S. soldiers but this could change if he indeed gets blackmailed into doing it:

[A]s the ‘classified documents’ scandal gains momentum, the malleable president will likely fall-in-line and do whatever the hawkish foreign policy establishment demands of him. In short, the documents flap is being used by behind-the-scenes powerbrokers who are blackmailing the president to pursue their own narrow interests. They have Brandon over-a-barrel.

There is no evidence that this is happening but the signs are there.

The second option is to declare a non-existent victory and to forget about the whole issues.

But will the ‘western’ media, as Yves asks, notice any of this?

As commentator David correctly remarks at Yves’ site:

I’ve said for a long time now that the West will be able to claim “victory”, or at least not defeat, by establishing fantastical victory conditions that the Russians never had and never wanted, and then claiming credit for frustrating them. With luck, this will just about enable western elites to hang onto power, at least temporarily.

“Putin tried to conquer Europe but we stopped him after he took only half of Ukraine,” will sound like victory. But it is of course extremely far from the truth. Anyway, the media may well buy it:

But in the wider sense, we’re seeing the latest and most degenerate stage of the stupidity and ignorance which has afflicted the western media and pundit class over the last year. They didn’t know about the war in the Donbas, nobody told them Russia had the strongest army in Europe, nobody knew about the defensive lines in Donbas, nobody understood the seriousness of the Russian threats, nobody realised the Russians hoped for a short, sharp war to bring the Ukrainians to their senses, nobody understood why Russia went over to Plan B while it mobilised, nobody realised the Russians had been stockpiling weapons and ammunition for years; nobody knew what attrition warfare was …. In other words, the most disgraceful example of ignorance and stupidity of any ruling class in modern times. It will go on to the end, and “victory” will be proclaimed.

The war the U.S. provoked in Ukraine has been won by Russia even when no one wants to note it.

Posted by b on January 17, 2023 at 18:14 UTC | Permalink

Masitas de Cerdo
(Puerto Rico, Cuba and Central America)

These chunks of pork are traditionally made with pork shoulder and are fried. They are similar to carnitas, the braised pork cubes found on Mexican menus.

Ingredients

1 1/2 pounds boneless pork loin, cut into 1-inch cubes
6 garlic cloves, crushed
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
1 teaspoon dry oregano
1/2 cup sour orange juice (or use 1/4 cup orange juice and 1/4 cup lime juice
1/4 cup olive oil

Instructions

Place pork cubes in a self-sealing plastic bag; mix together remaining ingredients and pour over pork cubes; seal bag and refrigerate overnight.
Remove pork from marinade, discarding marinade, and place pork cubes in a shallow baking pan.
Roast at 350 degrees F for 25 to 30 minutes, until pork is tender.
Remove to serving platter and serve hot.

Paralyzed Kitten Lying In The Rubbish Fights For His Life | Rescue Before And After A Year

"The poor Kitten ! If you hadn'd found him, he probably wouldn't have had a Chance ! You fought for him , didn't give up and saved his Life ! You deserve great Respect ! I can see , how grateful Tigo is to you !"

What’s It Like To Live In Finland, The Happiest Country In The World

Man, oh man! The United States is going full-on Mad Max…

Geo-Politics, out of the USA, is just a bunch of rich kids who inherited money, or got it easily and know nothing about diplomacy. Meanwhile the rest of the world are cautiously waiting for the Untied States to bleed out… finally.

It seems like a lot of bad stuff is up ahead. But, that is an illusion.

It’s going to be some uncomfortable contractions. But not catastrophic change. So relax on that account.

Keep in mind the basics…

Community
Local skills
Rufus and smiles
Network
Garden
Alternative transportation, and power.

Northwest Sweet Cherry Pie

Nothing kicks off the holiday season quite like a fresh Northwest Sweet Cherry Pie straight from the oven!

Ingredients

2 pie crusts, prepared
2 tablespoons cornstarch
2 tablespoons cherry juice, reserved from pitting (fresh) or from rinsing/rehydrating (preserved)
7 cups (pitted) sweet cherries
3/4 – 1 cup coconut sugar
1 tablespoon almond extract or bourbon-vanilla bean infusion

Instructions

Using a fork, whisk together the cherry water and cornstarch in a small bowl, then set aside.
Stem and pit the cherries, if not already done.
Fill pie dish with cherries and blend the remaining volume (about 2 cups or 1/4 the total volume) into a puree. Pour the remaining whole cherries into a mixing bowl and return to the refrigerator (if using frozen cherries).
Using a heavy-bottom pan, gently heat the puree and sugar over low heat until the volume has reduced by 1/3 to 1/2. Constantly stir across the bottom to prevent burning.
Once reduced, remove from the heat and stir in the cornstarch slurry until the mix regains translucency. Gently and briefly reheat if needed. Stir in the extract and let the mixture cool to room temperature.
Pour the cooled mixture over the whole cherries, gently stirring to incorporate. Pour the final cherry mixture into a 9 or 10-inch prepared pie crust, and top with a second crust. Pinch, crimp and vent the top crust. Brush with a beaten egg if so desired and sprinkle lightly with coconut sugar.
Bake at 375 degrees F for 55-60 minutes, or until the crust is golden brown and the filling is steadily bubbling. Aluminum foil may be used around the crust edges to prevent browning during the second half of the bake.
Transfer the pie to a cooling rack, and most importantly, allow the pie to cool completely before serving (3-4 hours).

THIS IS GOING TO BE DIFFERENT. LEARNING TO LIVE WITH CHINESE POWER.

Hugh White is addressing quite skillfully but also assertively the 
central emotivo-cognitive dissonance lived by the majority of the 
Australian people and I would venture to extend it to most Westerners.

The title of Hugh White's video on Youtube : THIS IS GOING TO BE 
DIFFERENT. LEARNING TO LIVE WITH CHINESE POWER.

Hugh White, definitely not the average Westerner, was spot on.

I noticed that the title appearing during the lecture is a tad different
 : instead of DIFFERENT, we have INTERESTING.

IT'S GONNA BE DIFFERENT or INTERESTING (for sure !!!)

A GROUP ON THIS PLANET CALLED THE CHINESE HAS TRUE POWER. The kind of 
power the Western ruling class had exclusively for the last 2 centuries.

THE WEST IS GONNA HAVE TO LEARN TO LIVE WITH IT. And I predict that it 
will be a quite steep learning curve...

Not being the average Westerner, Hugh White truly understands, in spite 
of inevitable ups and downs, that China will not collapse soon and the 
CPC (the Communist Party of China) will not be overthrown by the Chinese
 in the foreseeable future.

I also like very much the less official CCP (the Chinese Civilization 
Party) coined by Professor Kishore Mabhubani and promoted 
enthusiastically if not wildly by me.

I dare predict that the CPC/CCP will last 350 to 400 years minimum.

The Red Dynasty ruling nowadays from Beijing is a great one, its first 
73 years (1949-2022) having all the hallmarks of a great Chinese 
Dynasty. Anecdotally, its founding father Mao Zedong was from a peasant 
family, like Liu Bang (Gao Zu 高 祖 Lofty Founding Ancestor of the great 
Han Dynasty) and Zhu Yuanzhang (Tai Zu 太 祖  Supreme Progenitor of the 
shining Ming Dynasty). A great Chinese Dynasty usually lasts 300 to 400 
years.

For those who might be shocked that I call the CPC/CCP the Red Dynasty, I
 would like to offer this down-to-earth and incontrovertible fact : the 
Chinese soldiers, sailors, airmen swear their oath of loyalty to the 
CPC/CCP, not to the Chinese Nation or to any other institution. The 
Chinese military men in the past also swore their oath of loyalty to the
 Emperor and to the Imperial House. As in all truly top-down societies, 
the military men are the servants of the group at the very top of the 
Chinese society at a given period of China's journey, those capable to 
understand deeply that China is an Eternal Idea having espoused History :
 the timocratic men (motivated by justice & honor) and the 
aristocratic men (motivated by discovery, inventivity, creativity and 
playful exploration); not the plutocratic men (motivated by profits, 
wealth and power) and certainly not the democratic men (motivated by 
hedonism, lex talionis, tribal affinities and their understanding of the
 inner and outer realities limited to senses perceptions).

But I added "minimum". Why ?
Because the present rejuvenated, meritocratic, authoritarian and 
paternalistic Confucian-style ruling class is much much much more 
capable to receive criticisms and suggestions from, to talk to, to 
discuss with the Chinese population (a more educated Chinese population 
much more capable having elaborate and fruitful dialogues with their 
rulers) than the former Chinese Emperors assisted by their meritocratic 
bureaucracy and a much smaller group of scholars/literati from the 
general population.

For the Chinese still wanting to protest, I remind everyone there are 
about 500 authorized public protests everyday in Mainland China seen as a
 legit mode of communication between the Chinese and their rulers.

That is precisely the core reason for the return of the Classical 
Education and Confucianism (+ the indispensable techno-scientific 
training, needless to say) in China. An endeavor favored and promoted by
 many in the ruling class but especially by State Councilor Wang Huning,
 the no 4 of the present Politburo Standing Committee (2022-2027).

Yes, "authoritarian" and "paternalistic" are not dirty words, at least 
not for me. The Chinese and the Asian societies
were and are archetypically top-down societies with a benevolent 
proclivity coming from the integrated teachings of Confucianism, 
Buddhism, Daoism. The integrated 三 教 (San Jiao : Three Teachings) were 
already a social reality pervasively present in all the layers of the 
Chinese society at least from the Ming Dynasty (1368-1644). It's true 
that if someone wished a career in the Imperial administration, 
Confucianism was a must but the general representation of the world in 
everyday life was buttressed by the INTEGRATED Three Teachings. And even
 under the rule of the CPC/CCP, that Weltanschauung is still valid. An 
authoritarian and paternalistic ruling class is not necessarily evil 
when a serious epistemological program is offered to ALL for 
self-improvement, learning skills, climbing the social ladder and 
contributing to the Nation.

Not forgetting the ongoing serious efforts to curb down corruption.

Not everything was dandy during the Chinese Empire, needless to say, but
 it was the most prosperous place on Earth for many many centuries 
before the arrival of the most nefarious KFC-AZAEL (Kakistocratic Feudal
 Conglomerate of the Anglo-Zio-American EstabLishment), not forgetting 
the Chinese complacency and decadence during the nineteenth century, 
obviously the root cause, the arrival of the most criminal KFC-AZAEL 
being only the triggering event.

It might be unfair to use vague umbrella concepts like the Westerners or
 the collective West (~12% of the global population). A fair question 
would be : is there truly a collective West ? Is it so uniform ? Is it 
so monolithic ?

I will try to be more precise in the expression of my thoughts.

So, in continuity with Pepe Escobar's trilogy concerning the 
irreplaceable trio CHINA-RUSSIA-IRAN which rightfully stressed that 
those three nations, that I personally label with the grandiose name 
Nations-Empires-Civilizations (NEC), are at the center of the unraveling
 of the colonization era made essentially by the most atrocious 
KFC-AZAEL (Kakistocratic Feudal Conglomerate of the Anglo-Zio-American 
EstabLishment).

I want to say that the West in question here is the colonial West, 
essentially expressed by the 2 contemporary forms of economic 
neo-colonialism and a most psycho-rigid mentality having at its core an 
unwarranted superiority complex. (eg, Josep Borrell's archetypical 
statement on "the Garden" vs "the Jungle". This example illustrates an 
extremely gross case, it might be much more subtler, obviously...). 
Let's not forget some extremely deep-rooted bad habits (and old habits 
die hard, to say the least) we call in this group the 6 E:
E.xpansionism, E.xtraction, E.xpropriation, E.nslavement, 
E.xtermination, E.vangelism.

Hugh White had the common sense to add at the end that China's return is
 not necessarily a threat to the USA's general interests. Of course, if 
the present US ruling class (the KFC-AZAEL : the Kakistocratic Feudal 
Conglomerate of the Anglo-Zio-American EstabLishment) adamantly desires a
 true global empire, China's return will definitely hobble that wild 
ambition but if the KFC-AZAEL is capable to be sincerely satisfied 
(satisfied or not satisfied...that is the question !!!...😉 ) with a 
regional empire (and frankly a big one !!! So they will still be at a 
quite exalted position in the global pecking order...), or in more 
refined/diplomatic words, a big zone of direct influence, China's return
 is not an obstacle at all.

The irreplaceable trio CHINA-RUSSIA-IRAN (that I promote unremittingly) 
is the comprehensive coalition of the last 3 
Nations-Empires-Civilizations (NEC) on Earth. If the USA cannot live 
with the option of being a truly big regional empire (even only paying 
lip service hypocritically for the time being because let's be lucid, 
the KFC-AZAEL will not be destroyed so easily), the 3 NECs will have to 
increase the PAIN-FEAR dial to make it understand that the global 
colonization era is really ending.

Phir Milate Hain ! Quan

https://youtu.be/t2396jbJjP0

Congressman Announces Investigation of Gen. Mark Milley and Nancy Pelosi

Nation Hal Turner 08 January 2023

Rep. Paul Gosar of Arizona is leading the charge for Republicans in launching an investigation into General Mark Milley and Nancy Pelosi.

On January 7th Gosar tweeted

“Remember – we will conduct a real investigation into J6. The effort to attempt a coup between traitor Gen. Mark Milley and Pelosi will be reviewed and exposed.”

Gosar would continue

“Milleys treasonous sell-out to China will be investigated. Pelosi not warning members about intel of impending violence will be exposed.”

Gosar would continue his series of tweets by writing

“soon, we’ll know the truth.”

5 People Reveal What’s It Like To Live In Finland, The Happiest Country In The World

April 1, 2022

1. In Finland, things just simply work, promises are kept, life can be planned ahead and people keep their distance. It’s perfect. The darkness before the snow comes is pretty depressing, but it’s the cost of not having that many people around, and I’m willing to pay.

I’m not exactly a world traveler (and won’t be until they come up with carbon neutral airplanes) but from what I’ve seen, the only places I would live in besides Finland is Sweden or Norway. And even then I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t fit in as well as I do in Finland.

When I have gone south, the absence of forests somehow beats me down. Then I see the society and all the things that are better in the Nordics.

In Finland, even the poorest live in better conditions than I did when I was a child, and my childhood wasn’t bad at all, at least terms of being fed, clothed, kept warm and dry or gadgeted.

You just need to go to Germany and see street prostitutes, people living in very bad conditions, doing work but not making enough for food, and bad infrastructure.

I visited Spain two years ago, and oh dear. Not a single elevator in the metro stations of Barcelona was working, so any disabled or stroller pushing people were denied of public transportation. A lot of people were living on the streets, and I didn’t even have to see the living and working conditions of the immigrants in the fruit farms. And this was inside the relative safety and living standards of EU – I’m not even going to talk about what I saw in Thailand or Russia.

The rich have it good everywhere. With money, you can afford what the state doesn’t supply, be it housing, medical care, mobility, security, whatever.

But in Finland, even the rich use public medical care, because it’s that good. People leave their houses unlocked, because there are so little desperate people to burglar around. There isn’t a real class society (yet). We take so good care of our poor, that we can afford the luxury of not fearing each other. I feel bad looking at human suffering or environmental damage, and that is a big reason for me not to travel.

I haven’t looked at how they measured the happiness rating, but my guess is that because Finland takes care of everybody, a bigger portion of the people are happy, not just the rich.

We still have poverty, and even though the relative conditions our our poor are better than.. anywhere else really, they still feel unhappiness because they feel shunned upon and disconnected from society. This can be worked on, however, and it’s much easier to make people feel accepted and connected when the problem of organizing running water, heat and electricity has been solved half a century ago.

2. I find living in Finland quite peaceful and safe. Some may regard it also boring and lame (some comments I’ve read), but to me Finland means the life where I don’t have to worry for my life in the very basic level. This society won’t let anybody starve or freeze.

Finland is estimated to be the most stable country in the world. To me it tells that we have done something right, despite our current economic problems.

This is a society where everything is negotiated, different parties can express their views and the power is balanced so that any party can’t dominate the political field. Politicians are used to compromise with their adversaries. That’s why the Finnish politics may seem a bunch of horse trading. Always when you get something you must give something.

This prevents sudden changes in the society, causing as well stability as rigidity.

I think that most Finns like to live a pretty peaceful and quiet life. We are not a nation of big dramas either in politics or personal life. And this is probably what some regard boring.

I think that this is one of the middle-class societies: we put an effort to raise poorer people to the middle-class and since a big part of it is funded by the proggressive taxation, our filthy rich elite is quite small – and I guess they are not very rich in the international comparison.

3. As far as living in Finland, it all depends on which part. Northern Finland(Lapland) is dark and cold in winter, but it does have it’s beauty with the Northern Lights and the landscape. Avoid Kemi, depressing town. The more south you go the less long dark winters. I loved Vaasa, and I love Espoo too.

From an American ex pat perspective there are differences. Typical apartment bathrooms do not come with bath tubs, and there is nothing to separate the shower floor from the rest of the bathroom so you have to sweep the water to the drain. If you have a shower closet, those are quite small for the avg American. Everything is in smaller scale here. If you are over 6 foot tall the beds can be a problem.. Public laundrymats are unheard of. I know one place in Helsinki that is coin operated. Most apartment blocks have their own laundry rooms, and almost all apartments have hook ups for washers in the bathrooms. About 50% of apartments have clothes dryers. We are lucky that the owner included a washer dryer tower in our unit.

Mass transportation here in the metro area is excellent. You can get almost anywhere in minutes. It will be even more so once the metro extension to Matinkylä is completed. Our shops close at early hours, very rare to find markets or pharmacies open 24 hours. I can think of one or two in Helsinki.

Crime is very low. I feel very safe walking around at night time here. Because of the dark winters it is common to be out at night. There is a growing international presence in Finland. Because of the educated populace many companies are moving here to take advantage of the talented and skilled work force.

Learning Finnish is very hard. For native English speakers it is especially challenging. At some point it is good also to know Swedish because it is one of the official languages. Mainly in cities such as Vaasa, and parts of Espoo. Next year I will begin to tackle Swedish.

Ice hockey is HUGE here. Also a sport called salibandy (floorball). track and field is big. Finland is into fitness, but we do have our share of couch potatoes. Finland is one of the top consumers of coffee and also milk.

Finland has a very good social system, but our taxes are very high. Finland is one of the least, if not THE least corrupt nation in the planet. You can not run a social system successfully if you are corrupt. Also the success of our social system is due in part because Finland is a small country. The way we do things here is just not scale-able to a country of over 300 million.

4. Finland is well organised. Everything works, new technologies are used to the full and schedules are taken seriously.

Snow gets ploughed on streets and airports during the night for buses and planes to keep to the timetables in the morning, EU regulations are meticulously applied and officials can be trusted.

Maternity leave topped with the annual four weeks’ holiday adds up to eleven months, which can be divided between both parents and you can stay at home taking care of the baby till its third birthday and prefering to return to work or to study you are guaranteed a daycare place for the child.

Because of the relatively new independence ( Finland will turn 100 next year) Finns are patriotic and quite supportive of the national defence. The whole age class takes part in military service, women voluntarily.

Finns are work-oriented and even though not spending as many hours working (theoretically 37.5 hours/week), they are efficient and concientious.

To set the balance, they use about the same amount of alcohol as their fellow Europeans, but have their weekly dose concentrated to the weekend often with the aim of getting drunk.

The labour day, which is celebrated on 1st May together with the students’ Vappu celebration of the beginning of the summer season and use of the white student cap is a very wet party taking place on the streets and parks of the University cities.

A very different, although hardly drier celebration is Juhannus, Midsummer, around the 24th June, when cities are deserted and the longest day of the year is spent in the summer cottages grilling sausage and taking a plunge in one of the 187 888 lakes after sauna.

Drunkenness is not considered a social embarassment. Alcohol (over 6 %) is a state monopoly only sold in Alko stores to majors (>18). Nevertheless also teens drink alot.

Finns feel emotional about sports and are among the best sport audiences, turning up in crowds, which has together with the organizational capacities won Finland the management of many international championships. Not enthusiastic about football,which they are notoriously bad at, but field sports ( long distance, javelin), ice hockey and the motorsports.

The arts, theatre and opera are considerably less popular and favored mainly by the women. The construction of the new opera house of Helsinki was strongly opposed in the 1980’s as expensive and elitistic, even though Finland has produced a proportionally high amount of top conductors (Berglund, Salonen, Oramo, Saraste, Mälkki) and very good contemporary composers ( Sallinen, Kokkonen, Rautavaara, Lindberg, Saariaho).

5. This is the common man’s version of what’s it like…

Just yesterday, I went to a river near my house, took a dip in freezing cold water and went under the sun. In a few minutes, I was dry like new.

Summers are amazing in Finland. Short but amazing. The other day, I took a 5 Euro rent a cycle and completed the entire stretch surrounding the lake near by. And then took a nap under the trees. It was beautiful, absolutely beautiful.

Getting on to a healthy life style here is easy. There are walking and cycling paths everywhere. You can walk how much ever you want, any time any day, no one to bother. Some times I just take a bus to a distant place and walk all the way back. It’s fun.

Finland is not “touristy” kind of beauty. It will not just amaze you the moment you enter it. It’s grows onto you. After a few days of living, you will start enjoying the “not-so-flashy” things like the fresh fruit markets, the open air concerts, the bicycle rides, a nap in the park, international sports events, beer and food festivals.

In a way, Finland made me feel more connected to nature. You can run in the forest whenever you want. You can swim in the lake. You can go for fishing. Most of times you will see families spending time with their kids, pets, listening to live music, playing guitar, going for a walk – having a great time with simple things in life.

Many times, I feel like I live in a big village. A few weeks before, me and my wife were coming back to our home quite after midnight. We just chose a spot on the way and were talking for few hours. At no point we felt threatened or scared. We were just talking as if it’s in our courtyard.

Many of the people usually focus on the Winters of Finland. Yes, winters are cold, it can be depressing. But the summers make it worth while.

Once it snows, even winters can be fun. You can go for saunas, ice swimming or a walk on the lake (yes on the lake!)

If you have never been to Finland, plan for a month’s stay in smaller cities like Tampere during summer. You will not regret it.

Bizarre Paintings Of Mecha Robots And Werewolves Attacking East European Peasants Of The Early 20th Century

The Polish artist Jakub Rozalski, who goes by the sobriquet “Mr. Werewolf,” has produced an amusing series of steampunk-ish canvases in which serene and idyllic rustic landscapes of what seem to be Eastern Europe (Rozalski’s very back yard, you might say) in the early decades of the 20th century feature the prominent and inexplicable existence of completely fictitious giant mecha robots.

Various iconographies are jammed together, the imagery of peasant life in the early years of collectivization, the imagery of science fiction, the imagery of modern warfare…. add it all up and you might find yourself calling to mind, ohhh, the first few scenes of The Empire Strikes Back, set on the icy terrain of Hoth, perhaps?

Rozalski’s intent is “to commemorate this sad and tragic period in history, in my own way, to light on this parts of history that usually remain in the shadows of other events… remember and honor the history, but live in the present.” He adds, “I like to mix historical facts and situations with my own motives, ideas and visions. … I attach great importance to the details, the equipment, the costumes, because it allows you to embed painting within a specified period of time.”

The World of Scythe is a beautiful 105-page art book showcasing the work of Jakub Rozalski for the board game Scythe, one of the most successful games ever funded on Kickstarter. The book was only made available to backers during the Kickstarter campaign, and is now only available on ArtStation Shop.

Howling at the Moon, a new book published in cooperation with Artstation, will transport fans into Jakub Rozalski’s mysterious worlds where history, folklore, and modernity harmoniously clash. Inspired by traces of imagination from his childhood on the Polish countryside, his incredibly breathtaking and unique artwork will pull you into his alternate fantastic worlds filled with colossal giants, ominous machines, werewolves, lonely wanderers and rural landscapes. Artwork is complemented by sectional text in English and Polish. Fans can learn more about the artist in the interview text in English and Polish. Renowned Director and Designer Brent Ashe has crafted every aspect of Howling at the Moon’s presentation to make it an art experience satisfying collectors with a fine eye. The special edition includes a stunning bold hardcover slipcase and an envelope of 6 exclusive prints. Digital art enthusiasts will also enjoy learning more about the artist’s creation process in tutorials at the end of the book.

Blond Texas Sheet Cake with
Caramel-Pecan Frosting

Ingredients

Cake

1 (18.25 ounce) box white cake mix
1 cup buttermilk
1/3 cup butter, melted
4 egg whites
1/4 teaspoon almond extract

Frosting

1 cup chopped pecans
1/2 cup butter
1 cup light brown sugar
1/3 cup buttermilk
2 cups confectioners’ sugar
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/4 teaspoon almond extract

Instructions

Heat oven to 350 degrees F.
To make the cake, beat the cake mix, buttermilk, butter, egg whites and almond extract together with an electric mixer at low speed for 2 minutes or until blended. Pour batter into a 15 x 10-inch jellyroll pan.
Bake for 15 to 20 minutes or until a wooden pick inserted in center comes out clean. Cool in pan on a wire rack for 2 hours.
To make the frosting, place chopped pecans in a single layer in a shallow pan. Bake at 350 degrees for 6 minutes or until lightly toasted.
Bring butter and brown sugar to a boil in a 3 1/2-quart saucepan over medium heat, whisking constantly, about 2 minutes. Remove from heat and slowly whisk in buttermilk.
Return mixture to heat and bring to a boil. Pour into bowl of a heavy-duty stand mixer. Gradually add powdered sugar and vanilla and almond extracts, beating at medium-high speed until smooth. Stir in pecans.
Pour immediately over cooled cake in pan and spread quickly to cover cake.

Serves 12.

Confessions Of A Golden Gate Bridge Jumper AND Survivor

April 1, 2022

What was so bad in your life that got you to the point of jumping?

It was a number of things! I’ve struggled with debilitating pain since I was 13 and depression, anxiety, and complex PTSD since I was 15 so that’s what the suicidal ideation was but two weeks before my psychiatrist at the time doubled my antidepressants (very bad idea) which threw me into a manic episode. I ended up dropping my savings on tattoos and then jumping off the bridge in a week.

Was there any particular reason why you chose the Golden Gate bridge?

I chose the Golden Gate Bridge first because of how effective I perceived it to be. The second reason is because my family wouldn’t have to deal with my body, I assumed only the Coast Guard would (also not true) don’t do it guys.

Did you hesitate or just go for the jump?

I didn’t hesitate I was afraid someone was going to notice me.

How long did it take to hit the water?

Seconds

What was going through your mind during the fall?

I didn’t really have any fully formed thoughts. I was feeling a lot.

How did you land in the water?

The wind turned me in the air so I landed slanted primarily on my left ankle which is why the most severe damage was to my ankle and the least severe was to my back.

What happened when you hit the water?

It’s like hitting cement. Pain was pretty much all I felt. I dissociated pretty heavily until I arrived at the hospital (and went into surgery immediately) but at no point did I lose consciousness.

When was the moment you realized “oh fuck I lived”

When I hit the water for sure. I processed the pain and then thought fuck I don’t want to drown.

You must be a fantastic swimmer

Hahaha once your body hits the water though there’s no way to move at all. I did it during the middle of the day with the intention to die on impact so when I didn’t a boat just ended up picking me up.

How did the boat come across you in the water? How did they get you on the boat?

They saw me when I fell because they were nearby. I’m pretty sure they threw something and then grabbed me but I don’t remember very well. I was dissociating a lot and my memory is spotty.

Do you know how long it took from when you jumped until the boat picked you up?

I didn’t have much of a conception of time so I couldn’t say for sure but not very long. I was treading water in the bay while bleeding with broken bones so it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes

What are the odds, you are so lucky, how far did you fall and did you get injured?

Yeah there’s like a 2% survival rate? The fall is 200 some odd feet. I shattered my ankle. Tore my perineum (requiring a colostomy bag and surgery though not as much as the ankle) and got compression fractures in my back.

I can’t imagine the pain

I couldn’t either. It was like nothing you could even grasp. Though the bone infection I got from my first ankle surgery was worse than impact I think

I read an article by someone else who survived the same jump. He said the moment he jumped he regretted the decision. Did you feel the same way?

No. I felt immediate relief. That was likely one of the reasons I survived because my body was very relaxed upon impact.

Could you explain the feeling of falling 200 feet? What could you compare it to?

The actual sensation of falling is pretty much like you’d expect. Like the out of control feeling when you trip but you can’t catch yourself but all you can see around you is water coming closer.

Did you realize at any point that all of your problems were fixable?

It was more of a gradual thing. I had really severe pain before my attempt and that wasn’t going away soon so I knew my shit wasn’t that flexible but I knew I needed to learn to cope because I couldn’t do that to my family again.

Who would you have missed the most?

I would have missed my family, the earth, and my future the most.

How did your friends and loved ones react?

With compassion and love and grief.

How are you doing today?

A lot better. Still struggling with my mental health but my medication is stable so now so am I.

Do you regret jumping?

That’s kind of a hard one. I try not to regret anything that made me who I am today. I think it was probably necessary for my path to recovery. I do however regret the trauma it caused my loved ones and the fucking medical bills.

Do you have a any long term injury from the fall?

I will never be able to walk normally. My left ankle has been fused after like ten fucking surgeries. I had a colostomy bag for five months but thankfully that’s been reversed. I broke my back too so there’s been pain and I’m not sure how longterm that is. Every person I know who has attempted said their body was just so dramatically aged in the process and that was my experience is.

Do you think, knowing what you know now, that you’d ever let your metal health get to that point again or would you reach out?

At this place in my life I have the tools (therapy, meds, a good support system) to reach out when things get bad before I get unsafe. I have a hard time with the word “let” because I feel like there’s the implication that it’s within someone’s control? Or implied fault somehow? I’m responsible for my actions (as we all are) but mental illness is a hard situation. I’m not in control of how bad it gets I can only control how I respond to it if that makes sense.

If you had died on that day, what have you experienced since then that you would have missed out on?

Honestly after this I put so much time and energy into recovery and I have gotten so far. I have started going to school for nursing and am in a beautiful housing situation with my best friend. I ended falling in love with myself and the world again as corny as it sounds. My insights are meditation is really important and therapy should be accessible and available to all.

Grocery Stores In New York City Are Considering Locking Up Food Because Theft Has Become So Rampant

January 11, 2023 by Michael

Food has become a prime target for thieves, and that should deeply alarm all of us.

Once upon a time, shoplifting was a minor nuisance for most retailers in the United States. But today the game has completely changed.

Highly organized gangs of thieves are systematically looting stores all over the country, and this is costing retailers billions upon billions of dollars.

Authorities call it “organized retail crime”, but I call it complete and utter lawlessness.

Wild Wild West. A period of the complete collapse of society. -MM

When you have large groups of people storming retail stores all over the nation on a regular basis, that is a major crisis.

Originally, a lot of these gangs were primarily targeting goods that could be resold on the Internet very easily. But now a lot of grocery stores are being targeted, and food is being stolen on a scale that we have never seen before.

In New York City, things have gotten so bad that some stores are thinking of implementing dramatic measures. The following comes from a Fox News article entitled “NYC grocery stores consider locking up food due to rampant theft; workers are ‘traumatized’”…

Shampoo, toothpaste, and razor blades are all items that grocery stores have increasingly started locking behind counters. Soon, that list might include food.

“People have no fear of coming to your store and stealing,” said Nelson Eusebio of the National Supermarket Association.

“Our employees are terrified,” Eusebio continued. “We have young people that come to work, young cashiers who work part-time, these kids are 16-17 years old. They’re traumatized.”

When I first started warning that we are becoming a “Mad Max society”, a lot of people thought that I was exaggerating.

Sadly, the breakdown of law and order just continues to accelerate in many of our largest cities. In fact, it is being reported that grand larcenies “were up 80% in New York City last year”…

New York City Mayor Eric Adams has made a point of combating the repeat offenses. “Criminals believe our criminal justice system is a joke,” Adams said in comments referring to a serial intruder who was arrested and released 26 times. 

“Those arrested for grand larceny go to court, get released and on their way home from court, they’re doing another grand larceny.”

According to the New York Police Department, grand larcenies, thefts of over $1,000, were up 80% in New York City last year.

Only an 80 percent increase?

Yes, that sounds perfectly “normal” to me.

In other areas of the country, shortages are the big news right now.

I never imagined that Costco would totally run out of eggs in early 2023, but this has actually happened at many of their stores.

As I discussed yesterday, bird flu is one of the factors that is causing supplies of eggs to get tighter.

But as the farmer in this video explains, it is certainly not the only factor.

No matter how high interest rates go, people still need to eat.

So the Federal Reserve can hike rates to the moon, but food prices are still going to remain ridiculously high.

However, higher rates will crush many other areas of the economy, and some of the biggest names in the corporate world are now conducting mass layoffs…

Goldman Sachs is just the latest firm to reduce its size in recent months. Morgan Stanley announced that it would cut two percent of its staff in December, Amazon plans to cut over 18,000 jobs, and Salesforce announced it would cut ten percent of its workforce and close some offices last week.

While white collar workers were less affected by the COVID-19 pandemic lock-downs than their blue collar counterparts, many jobs were simply done remote instead of being cut, professionals are now bearing the brunt of the economic headwinds America faces.

When are people going to finally understand that we have a major league crisis on our hands?

When Goldman Sachs lays off large numbers of workers, that is a red flag.
When Morgan Stanley lays off large numbers of workers, that is a red flag.
When Amazon lays off large numbers of workers, that is a red flag.
Facebook, Twitter, McDonald’s and Walmart are also laying off workers.

As they used to say in the 1980s, it is time to wake up and smell the coffee.

At this point things are so grim that the World Bank is warning that the entire global economy could plunge into a recession this year…

The global economy is just one more knock away from a second recession in the same decade, something that hasn’t happened in more than 80 years.

That’s the latest warning from the World Bank, which on Tuesday sharply lowered its forecast for global economic growth.

As economic conditions deteriorate, people are going to become increasingly desperate.

And desperate people do desperate things.

So if you think that organized retail theft is bad now, just wait until you see what is ahead.

The social deterioration that we have been witnessing over the past several years will soon accelerate significantly, and that is really bad news for all of us.

Many retail stores on both coasts have already closed due to the epidemic of theft that we are experiencing, and a whole lot more will soon be permanently shut down.

We really are in the process of becoming a “Mad Max society”, and we only have ourselves to blame.

4K 60Fps Video Shows Colorized Footage Of NYC In 1911

Video editor Denis Shiryaev recently shared a video on his Youtube channel that shows colorized footage of New York City in 1911. The video is a restored version of the footage previously shared by a Swedish film crew from Svenska Biografteatern, which showed an old film slowed down to a natural rate with added sound for ambiance.

Shiryaev worked on that source video and turned it into a 4K HD masterpiece that really brings the atmosphere from more than a century ago closer to us today.

Along with the video, Shiryaev wrote: “Restored with neural networks 1911 New York footage taken by the Swedish company Svenska Biografteatern on a trip to America: ✔ FPS boosted to 60 frames per second; ✔ Image resolution boosted up to 4k; ✔ Resorted video sharpness; ✔ Colorized – I am still unsure about this, but regarding to high request from the subscribers decided to test DeOldify NN on this video.”

Genuine Texas Chili Bread

Ingredients

3/4 cup hot salsa
1/4 cup onions, chopped
1/8 cup hot pepper sauce
1 egg
3 cups all-purpose flour
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
2 teaspoons granulated sugar
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1 cup mashed kidney or pinto beans
3 teaspoons fresh jalapeno, seeded and chopped (about 4 peppers)
1 1/2 teaspoons yeast

Instructions

Place all ingredients in bread pan, select a light crust setting, and press “start”.

Confessions Of A Not-So-Well Endowed Man

March 30, 2022

How small is your penis?

It is an innie when soft. Erect, and this was before the addition of all my extra weight, I’m a whopping 3 1/4 inches long (and that was pushing the ruler in as deep as I could) and under an inch in diameter which means short and very skinny.

Does it fit inside a condom?

I haven’t found a condom yet that isn’t like sticking my dick in a sandwich bag. They are that loose.

How old were you when you realized you were different? Were your parents supportive?

I kind of started to realize in high school, and that was during the early 90’s. I wound up seeing a Hustler or Swank or something and was horrified at the difference between me and guys in there. I started noticing bulges on guys at school and I had none. I’ve never talked about it with my parents but they really botches the whole sex thing and had me convinced that if I even kissed a girl I would go to jail for rape.

Ever tried penis enlargement pills or a pump? Did it help even temporarily?

I haven’t tried pills. All the science says they don’t work. The pump didn’t do much except swell it a little and it was very temporary.

I read somewhere that micro penis can be fixed slightly with an operation. is this true?

The operation involves snipping the tendon at the base of the penis. This lets it extend about another inch, but you also loose some of the ability for it to stick out perpendicular to your body. It is generally considered not worth doing.

Silicone injections look like a horror show and that just does width.

I have had to accept I just have to use what I have.

Is it hard to masturbate? Like can you use your whole hand? or just the thumb and pointer finger?

Yeah, thumb and pointer mostly and that is while laying back. I usually use a massager with a vibrating ball and it works pretty well. It gives me some extra reach and feels good at the same time.

Are you afraid to pee in public restrooms? Does the thought of it being seen terrify you in any way? What do you hate most about your condition?

It’s not that bad as long as there are stalls with a door. Otherwise I hold it and find facilities elsewhere. I have an amazing ability to hold urine.

What I hate most is the social stigma attached to having a small penis. The world pretty much considers you worthless.

Do you ever walk around with a strap on?

I have thought about it but never done it.

What was your first sexual experience like? How did she react?

College. Me 21, her 18. I had no self confidence as I had been rejected recently by two girls I had fallen hard for, and right in a row. So, we dated for a couple weeks and while we were watching a movie one night I heard her sigh in frustration and she grabbed my hand and put it on her boob. We finally moved to the bedroom and we fooled around for a while and then she put her hand in my pants and said, “Oh, its so….um…..hard.” She rubbed me for a while but it didn’t go anywhere and we went to sleep. Dumped me a couple days later.

Was that the worst? Are there any that really stick with you?

Yeah, it was the worst and I didn’t have another one until I was 29. However, I wound up with a totally psycho chick that litarlly only wanted oral. So 5 months of me eating her out and then her blowing me and swallowing. EVERY NIGHT. She was also on some sort of heavy birth control so no cycle. It was GLORIOUS….until the psycho came out.

How did you meet your wife react and how did she react upon finding out?

The internet is an amazing thing. As I basically became a hermit after college, staying online when I wasn’t at work, I started webcamming on places like Webcamnow. I would just sit there broadcasting my micropenis and some random women would start talking to me. I found out that there was a rather large group of women that like small penises. I had a hell of a lot of really hot cam on cam and phone sex over the years.

I met my wife online so she actually saw it by camera first and she likes the small size. It fits her mouth perfectly and she had a bad vaginal tear at some point that required surgery so she is extremely tight for a normal penis but perfect for mine.

Do you often attempt penetration with your wife?

Not often, maybe twice a month or so. But, we have lots of toys and the Hitachi magic wand has become her personal savior.

Penetration is really only possible with her laying on her back on the edge of the bed and me standing on the floor.

How exactly do the mechanics of sex work when you can’t penetrate that deeply? I imagine it’s kind of difficult.

My wife is the only woman I’ve had intercourse with so she technically took my virginity. The position we discovered that works well is with her on her back on the edge of the bed with her legs pulled back and me standing on the floor. It gets in and actually gives her pleasure because of prior vaginal surgery that makes her very tight.

The trick though is a Hitachi Magic Wand. We wedge it between us after she gets excited enough and orgasms just roll out. She usually stops after around 10 or so.

Side note – Anal is impossible for us. So many men are always going on about how they want anal and can’t get it. For us, my wife wants it and I can’t give it to her so she has to rely on her buttplugs for that.

I would say nothing is holding you guys back from a fantastic sex life.

It really is pretty good. She’s also got a pretty regular cycle so I can guess what days she is in the mood and when she isn’t. It makes things pretty easy and keeps her satisfied.

Are you with your wife because you were physically attracted to her, or because she accepted you?

Very valid question. At first, I was so desperate for companionship, I didn’t care. She was female, alive, and willing to touch me. I literally moved her across the country in the hopes that I might finally lose my virginity. She was willing to move because she was sick of living with her parents.

It was rather awkward in the beginning because while we had talked for over a year, we never got to date. So she would stay shut in her bedroom for the first couple weeks, only to come out and talk occassionally and get meals. Then one night she comes to my room naked and throws me on the bed. She climbed on and took my virginity.

Things improved once that hurdle no longer existed. We found out that we had a lot of common interests. Over a couple years we got to really know each other wound up getting along really well with each others families.

So now, yes, I am physically attracted to her. I also care very much for her and feel protective of her. I know I got very lucky because it was entirely possible that it wouldn’t work out. We beat the odds.

Given that you do have a small penis, but have found a woman so accepting of it, do you feel it’s overrated, having a large penis? What I mean is, is the love in your relationship stronger than feelings of inadequacy?

Yes, our love is stronger and it has greatly lessened my feelings of inadequacy. When you hear most small penis jokes, they still involves a relatively normal size, just on the smaller side. Me however, I was scared to date because if things went well, I couldn’t wear a condom and that whole scenario terrified me. So I just didn’t date and on the rare occasion that I did go out, I just ignored any signals and never let it progress.

I think society’s emphasis on penis size, and looks in general, is one of our worse attributes. I shudder to think how many people that could have gone on to great things faded away because of their personal inadequacies.

So let’s all hear a few of these highly educated black people have to say about China.

I trust they are qualified to comment unlike those who never stepped into China before and are immensely brainwashed by their own corrupted oligarchic regime who think the entire world revolve around their country thus they are entitled to whatever “exceptionalism” they were babbling about.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MBb8mWJ0qog

What is the Chinese view on Austerity?

From HERE

Having lived in a civilization with few welfare mechanisms, Chinese people have always saved. One of the greatest goals for saving is education for the children. This is paramount and an investment in the future as a well educated son would be expected to support his parents in their old age. Chinese parents will live a very simple life until their son is properly educated. That’s the traditional view. Now savings are compulsory and automatically deducted from salary, including old age pension. Although education is free, getting into a top school (obligatory) and maintaining the lifestyle (vacation trips to Europe etc) are expensive. Indeed so expensive most parents don’t believe they can support more than one child. Compulsory health insurance also means that hospital stays are covered, but doctors still expect a gratuity to ensure a full effort (red packets). So I expect that despite a great increase in standards of living, and a developing welfare system, Chinese families still try to live simply and save for the future.

Help me! Poor cat Only breath left! | Rescuing sick cat and transforming his life!

I had tears in my eyes watching this video! The poor cat was just lying there waiting to die – too weak to react when you picked her up. To see her alert and on her feet is amazing. YOU ARE A MIRACLE WORKER!

Warning: HAPPY ENDING!

Basic Cajun Jambalaya and Anubis with the boys who went through Hell

A new joke circulating on a forum (Tieba):

The first message sent by the Chang'e-1 satellite to Chinese control center is:

Without the natives, it is real that the U.S. landed on the moon.

Phew! I am busier than five armed lumberjack at a waffle bake-off. I’ll tell you what. We are getting ready for CNY, and things are shutting down here in China and a festive mood is fogging inward.

The United States continues in it’s insanity.

The difference in tone between 'west' and 'east' is remarkable. The West is a hysterical drama queen posing as Lady Liberty and the East; methodical, plodding, with a fixed mindset to get out from under for-profit Empire; aka The Great Satan.

Posted by: gottlieb | Jan 10 2023 15:57 utc | 5

Here’s a selection of thoughts and articles reflective of these times.

China now publishes more high-quality science than any other nation – should the US be worried?

Published: January 10, 2023 1.30pm GMT

By at least one measure, China now leads the world in producing high-quality science. My research shows that Chinese scholars now publish a larger fraction of the top 1% most cited scientific papers globally than scientists from any other country.

I am a policy expert and analyst who studies how governmental investment in science, technology and innovation improves social welfare. While a country’s scientific prowess is somewhat difficult to quantify, I’d argue that the amount of money spent on scientific research, the number of scholarly papers published and the quality of those papers are good stand-in measures.

China is not the only nation to drastically improve its science capacity in recent years, but China’s rise has been particularly dramatic. This has left U.S. policy experts and government officials worried about how China’s scientific supremacy will shift the global balance of power. China’s recent ascendancy results from years of governmental policy aiming to be tops in science and technology. The country has taken explicit steps to get where it is today, and the U.S. now has a choice to make about how to respond to a scientifically competitive China.

Growth across decades

In 1977, Chinese leader Deng Xiaoping introduced the Four Modernizations, one of which was strengthening China’s science sector and technological progress. As recently as 2000, the U.S. produced many times the number of scientific papers as China annually. However, over the past three decades or so, China has invested funds to grow domestic research capabilities, to send students and researchers abroad to study, and to encourage Chinese businesses to shift to manufacturing high-tech products.

Since 2000, China has sent an estimated 5.2 million students and scholars to study abroad. The majority of them studied science or engineering. Many of these students remained where they studied, but an increasing number return to China to work in well-resourced laboratories and high-tech companies.

Today, China is second only to the U.S. in how much it spends on science and technology. Chinese universities now produce the largest number of engineering Ph.D.s in the world, and the quality of Chinese universities has dramatically improved in recent years.

From HERE

Al Copeland’s Basic Cajun Jambalaya

Yield: 8 servings

Ingredients

1 tablespoon unsalted butter
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
2 medium onions, chopped
1 pound pickled pork, diced
1 pound smoked ham, diced
2 cloves garlic, peeled and minced
1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
1 tablespoon chopped parsley
1 pound smoked sausage, sliced
4 cups beef or chicken stock or hot water
2 cups rice
2 bay leaves
1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper or to taste

Instructions

In large saucepan with lid, melt butter with oil.
Add onions and pork and sauté until onions are soft.
Add ham, garlic, thyme and parsley and sauté for 5 minutes.
Add sausage and cook until browned. Stir in stock and bring to boil.
Add rice, bay leaf and cayenne. Return to boil and cover. Simmer over very low heat for 30 to 45 minutes, checking after 30 minutes to see if all liquid has been absorbed and rice is tender. If necessary, add 1/4 to 1/2 cup more water if liquid boils away before rice is cooked.

Joint Statement Between the People’s Republic of China and the Republic of the Philippines

The United States is active in trying to turn the Philippines away from China, as with this current visit. But the pro China and Philippines agreements are clear and say otherwise.

Note especially point 13 and 14 below :

13. The two heads of state had an in-depth and candid exchange of views on the situation in the South China Sea, emphasizing that disputes in the South China Sea are not the whole of bilateral relations, and agreed to properly manage differences. The two sides reaffirmed the importance of maintaining and promoting regional peace and stability, freedom of navigation and overflight in the South China Sea, and agreed to resolve disputes peacefully on the basis of the Declaration on the Conduct of Parties in the South China Sea, the Charter of the United Nations and the 1982 United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea.

14. The two heads of state agreed that confidence-building measures are conducive to enhancing mutual trust, and affirmed the important role of China-Philippines diplomatic consultations and the China-Philippines bilateral consultation mechanism on the South China Sea issue. The two sides decided to establish a direct communication mechanism between the Department of Border and Ocean Affairs of the Chinese Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the Department of Ocean Affairs of the Philippine Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

Found HERE

You Will Be Amazed When You See These Artworks By Caroline Gariba

Set of amazing digital artworks by Caroline Gariba, an artist from Brazil.

War game instigates US intervention in possible Taiwan Straits conflict

By Liu XuanzunPublished: Jan 10, 2023 11:45 PM

A recent war game scenario run by the Washington-based Center for Strategic and International Studies (CSIS) is not worthy of reference, as it was designed to hype the “China threat” theory, and to suggest the US should fully arm the island of Taiwan preemptively, and instigate the US military to immediately intervene if a conflict breaks out, Chinese mainland experts said on Tuesday.

The US think tank said the simulations indicate the US, Japan and the island of Taiwan would suffer huge losses in defeating the Chinese People’s Liberation Army (PLA) if a conflict breaks out in the Taiwan Straits in 2026.

From a technical point of view, the simulations are biased and set under a scenario of wishful thinking, as they underestimated the PLA’s capabilities and overestimated US and Japanese forces, analysts said.

If the Chinese mainland launches a reunification-by-force operation on the island of Taiwan in 2026, it would result in thousands of casualties among Chinese mainland, US, Japanese and Taiwan island forces in a likely defeat of the PLA, which will also leave the US in a crippled state, the CSIS said after running this war game 24 times, CNN reported on Monday.

In the simulations, the US and Japan lost dozens of ships, hundreds of aircraft and thousands of service members, which would damage the US’ global position for many years, according to the CSIS report, which also predicted losses of two US nuclear-powered aircraft carriers in most scenarios and the devastation of the island of Taiwan.

The Chinese mainland would also suffer heavily, losing about 10,000 troops, 155 combat aircraft and 138 vessels, the report claimed.

Such war game simulations are by no means professional, Wei Dongxu, a Beijing-based military expert, told the Global Times on Tuesday.

It is impossible for the US think tank to gain access to the PLA’s force deployment and equipment specifications in detail, so the data it used in the simulations are obviously biased and mere wishful thinking, Wei said.

“For example, the think tank predicted the sinking of two US nuclear-powered aircraft carriers. That is too small a number,” Wei said, citing the PLA’s missile strike capabilities working in tandem with naval and air forces.

The PLA operates DF-21D and DF-26 anti-ship ballistic missiles capable of striking moving maritime targets like aircraft carriers at hypersonic speeds against which there is no defense, observers said.

On Sunday, the PLA Eastern Theater Command organized cross-service joint alert patrol and realistic combat-oriented exercises in sea and aerial areas around the island of Taiwan, countering collusion between and provocations by external and “Taiwan independence” forces. Some 57 aircraft and four vessels of the PLA were detected around the island of Taiwan on the day, with 28 of the detected aircraft including fighters, bombers and drones crossing the so-called median line of the Taiwan Straits and entering the island’s self-proclaimed southwest air defense identification zone, according to a press release by the defense authority on Monday.

It marked the first time the PLA Eastern Theater Command has announced a joint drill around the island of Taiwan in 2023, but such drills have become routine since at least 2020, and have grown with the increasing provocations by Taiwan secessionists and external interference forces.

In 2022, the PLA sent 1,727 planes into the island of Taiwan’s self-proclaimed air defense identification zone, compared with about 960 incursions in 2021 and 380 in 2020, AFP reported, citing releases by the defense authority on the island.

The PLA’s exercises have demonstrated that the Chinese mainland has the confidence, the will and the capability to safeguard national sovereignty and territorial integrity, another Chinese mainland military expert told the Global Times on Tuesday, requesting anonymity.

If the US and Japan interfere in the Taiwan question militarily, not only will the US lose its nuclear-powered aircraft carriers, it will lose all of its footholds in the Asia-Pacific region, including military bases in Japan, Guam and even Australia, the expert said.

One thing is right about the CSIS’ war game predictions, and that is that the US and Japan will definitely be left crippled if they interfere in the Taiwan question, the expert said.

The PLA Navy’s Liaoning aircraft carrier group approached Guam and conducted fighter jet sortie drills there in December 2022.

Citing the CSIS report, CNN said that for US troops to prevent the Chinese mainland from ultimately taking control of the island of Taiwan, some constants emerged among the 24 war game iterations it ran, including that the US must be able to use its bases in Japan for combat operations and that the US needs to fully arm Taiwan before shooting starts and jump into any conflict with its own forces immediately, as it is impossible to get troops and supplies onto the island of Taiwan once the conflict starts.

This is intentionally instigating the US and Japan to militarily interfere in the Taiwan question and encourage “Taiwan independence” forces in their secessionist moves, analysts said.

The ill-intended war game will only give the “Taiwan independence” secessionist and external interference forces a false vision that will lead them to their doom. On the contrary, they should refrain from any military moves, fully understand that Taiwan is a part of China, realize the deterrent in the form of the PLA, and not overestimate their capabilities, experts said.

Confessions Of A Man Who Had His Limbs Lengthened

March 29, 2022

How did you find out that limb lengthening was even an option?

I was hanging out with friends getting lunch and one of them jokingly brought up the surgery not directed at me but just that there are people who actually would do it. I hadn’t heard of Leg lengthening and researched the hell out of it that night. I was already wearing lifts in public and felt better about my appearance from that. I joined the make me taller forum and just read a bunch of diaries from former patients from different doctors where they share their procedure and for the most part it just seemed like a few months of pain. Most of the patients were walking after 6 months which I know sounds like a long time but the mental space I was in, 6 months seemed like nothing if it meant I wouldn’t be short anymore.

I researched for about a month negotiated with my doctor and bought my flight.

How, exactly, do they do it?

Tibias are broken in half with a surgical saw. You get frames put on your legs on both sides of the broken tibias. Every day you lengthen about 1mm and your muscles and skin stretch with the gap of the bone.

Do you then just always have a gap in your bone?

No, your body is truly amazing. The gap gets replaces with new bone. Once the bone is fully recovered it’s called bone consolidation. That’s what I’m waiting for to happen for my legs. It’s taking it’s sweet time though.

How much did the procedure cost?

$15K

That’s pretty cheap, where in the world was the operation performed?

In India. China and India currently have the lowest cost procedures. It’s about 90K in the US and UK.

Did you pay cash for this procedure? Does the 15k include everything, or are you also supposed to feed yourself too?

Wire transfers to the doctor. Some people make a large down payment and then make small payments over their time there. yes, 15K includes everything.

Three meals are provided every day but they’re not that good. You’ll eat them for the first couple months and then start eating fast food.

Is the facility/hospital clean by western standards?

The hospital is clean for sure. It’s more everything else that sucks. At the guest house that I’m at we eat pretty much the same stuff everyday. We only recently discovered Mcdonalds and as a person who hasn’t eaten fast food in years I’ve eaten probably over 200 Chicken Nuggets.

What did you do all day in the hospital while not in physical therapy?

Patients play poker, chess and watch way too much horrible television. It’s the most relaxed time of my life. Some people try and use the time to be really productive by learning a new language or taking on some new skill but the pain makes it pretty hard to concentrate for an extended time.

Why did you stop at 3 inches?

3 inches is about the most I could gain and stay under a 20% gain in my Tibia which is recommended for a faster recovery with less complications.

How painful was the lengthening?

Every day you try and lengthen about 1mm which isn’t too bad until you start getting toward your 5cm mark. Your body is kind of just taxed. Some patients slow down the lengthening and others just deal with the pain but take the pain medication and muscle relaxers. We get two physical therapy sessions a day and that’s where the real pain is. You spend probably 22 hours a day just laying down but for these sessions they are stretching out your legs and insuring that you maintain flexibility. I’m pretty flexible but have lost a lot of strength. I’m now 125 pounds from 145. and my legs look like real skinny.

Complications can really get you, I had a pin site where the metal goes through the the bone and comes out on the other side that was infected. I couldn’t really move my leg much for about 4-5 days until the infection went down. I’d say I got lucky overall in that I didn’t have too many complications. Another patient had to stop because of nerve damage around 2 inches. He’s 5’7 but wants to lengthen his femur’s now.

Are there potential long term health issues with this type of surgery?

Limited mobility, bones not forming properly.

What made you do it?

More or less I was just tired of feeling like I had to make up for my height. Like I had to be more charming more outgoing more qualified for the same things and i’ll admit mainly women. I have female friends who flat out in the past have told me the only reason they wouldn’t date me was because of my height.

Have you gotten rejected a lot because of your height before?

Many times except it’s typically not a direct rejection. For example in my teenage years and early twenties I would just be a girls friend with benefits. We’d have a good time together and as long as she knew that other people thought we were friends there was never a problem with us going out in public. You’re having a sexual relationship with a person who only wants others to think of you as friends. A couple times I’ve powered through it by being persistent and eventually gaining some form of a relationship but all that work and it’s built on an uneven foundation. I’m always the aggressor always the one expected to do more for my partner. It’s taxing.

I just find it depressing that height is such an issue in society that you were willing to put yourself through this.

I agree 100%. Wish it wasn’t this way but it IS. I want you to think about this though. I could have spent the rest of my life always being upset about my height and I think that would have been more painful. I just went through alot of pain but it’s already in the past. Now I just need to focus on walking and my bones healing properly.

Can you explain the two types of people you’ve met there?

Some people such as myself feel like this was the only piece missing in their life. They had the looks, the personality but just lacked the height. When you talk to these guys you see that they’re really confident and just want to go back to their routine with a better outlook.

Then you meet some folks here who leg lengthening is just one of the many things they “need” to fix about themselves almost like career patients. They want to do leg lengthening then penis enlargement and more plastic surgery. I feel that these guys won’t really be happy with any results they get.

Can you do sports after this surgery? Does it affect you physical condition?

After about six months I’ll be lucky if I can play basketball again. I won’t do serious weights on my legs for at least a year or so just to play it safe. Also age comes into play. Older patients have a harder time recovering. So far my recovery time has been pretty good but my bone consolidation is taking what feels like forever.

So was it worth it?

Yeah, I’d say so. Now that I’m back I’m slowly starting to hang out with old friends and most of them comment on how I look taller but I always just say it’s because of the crutches. I’m walking around at about 5’9 without shoes and with at 5’10. I’m now taller than the majority of women I meet and it feels good. When I hug somebody even in my fragile state right now I still feel more manly because I’m hugging down now. My bone is pretty solid now and just struggling with my muscle. My leg’s are still really weak but I’m now starting on lifting legs at the gym but really low weight. I’m still excited about the thought of me walking around like a normal person at this height.

Say in 20-25 years your own kid comes up to you and says they want to get the surgery what would you tell them?

Go for it. In 25 years I imagine this procedure could possibly be even safer and hopefully less invasive. We can all sit here and say that we should all be happy with who we are and we can make it sound like I’m insecure for getting this procedure but I’m pretty sure I convey more confidence than my peers and co-workers. I would never want a person to miss out on something as important as a loving relationship because of something they have no control over such as height.

The Shooting Seems to Have Begun; America Heading to Civil War. Democrat Homes Being Shot-At in New Mexico

Nation Hal Turner 09 January 2023

New Mexico Police confirm that the homes of at least SIX (6) Democrat elected officials in the state of New Mexico, have been shot-up over the past month or so. While no one has been injured, it seems America is now rapidly descending into the Civil War that so many have warned is coming.

Albuquerque police announced they were investigating whether shots fired into the homes of some Democrat elected officials and near the offices of others are connected to one another, Police Chief Harold Medina said.

However, he remained tight-lipped on all other details, except to say the suspect is a man under the age of 50. Police confirm they have someone in custody ON UNRELATED CHARGES. The Chief would not say what he is charged with, when he was arrested, if he was working with anyone else, or where he is being held.

At a news conference announcing the development Monday afternoon, Chief Medina said detectives are still executing search warrants and trying to determine whether the suspect is responsible for all the shootings, or just one.

He said all documents are sealed while investigators build the case.

Police revealed they were investigating gunshots fired at the homes of Bernalillo County Commissioners Debbie O’Malley and Adriann Barboa, and state Sen. Linda Lopez in December and January. It wasn’t long before shootings were also reported to have occurred near the offices of state Sen. Antonio “Moe” Maestas and Attorney General Raúl Torrez. The department also said investigators found evidence of shots fired at the home of Javier Martinez, the nominee for speaker in the New Mexico House of Representatives.

Medina said investigators “have some ideas as to a possible motive,” but it’s too early for them to disclose anything.

“We have got to solidify some information and we don’t want to compromise any part of the investigation,” he said.

On Dec. 4, Barboa’s Southeast Albuquerque, New Mexico, home was struck with eight rounds.

A week later, on Dec. 11, more than 12 bullets were shot into the walls of O’Malley’s North Valley home. O’Malley was in her final months as a commissioner and is no longer serving on the board.

Then, on Jan. 3, at least eight shots were fired into Lopez’s Southwest Albuquerque home. The bullets passed through her 10-year-old daughter’s bedroom.

Hours after police announced the investigation into the shootings, ShotSpotter gunshot detection technology picked up three shots near the Downtown building where Maestas has his office. There was no damage to the building.

Later that night, APD revealed that detectives were investigating whether gunfire outside Torrez’s campaign office on Dec. 10 was also connected. Torrez had already moved out of the office, which is Downtown on Park NW, after winning the race for attorney general.

Last week, after hearing about the other shootings, Martinez inspected his home in the Valley Area Command and saw that it had been shot up, as well, an APD spokesman said.

“He discovered damage presumably from gunfire heard in early December outside his Albuquerque home,” spokesman Gilbert Gallegos said. “APD detectives went to the home and located evidence of a shooting.”

Hal Turner Editorial Opinion

So who is it that is shooting-up the homes and offices of Democrats, and WHY? Of course, part of me __should__ think that this is bad conduct that __should__ be denounced. For various reasons, however, I won’t say what I think.

I will, however, talk in a general sense about matters political and the redress of political grievances through the use of force.

For a very long time, politicians in general, and Democrats in particular, have been taking actions that strip citizen’s liberty and meddle in citizen’s affairs.

They did these things, in my view, because they came to the erroneous conclusion “there are no consequences.”

Very high percentages of them continued to be re-elected no matter what they did, and it seems that some of them came to the conclusion that Americans were basically push-overs; that citizens didn’t have the guts to take up arms against government officials, and even if they did, they wouldn’t dare.

Looks to me as though they were wrong.

Now, I have no idea who did these things or why. I will not, however, condemn whoever did this because I think this has been a long time coming.

I also think it will not stop in Albuquerque. I personally think, and this is just my personal opinion, not advocacy, or solicitation to take action, and certainly not any threat by me to do anything because I absolutely will not be engaging in any violence or crime against anyone . . . . but I think . . . this may be just the beginning.

I wonder if Democrats will get a message from this?

I wonder if they’ll figure out that the spirit of resistance to tyranny is still alive in this country?

Are these the first shots of a second American Civil War? Maybe.

These Boys Went Through Hell: The Dozier School of Horrors

Some real history. Note about the fact that evil people get into positions of power.

My uncle was at that school in the 50's. He would not get into specifics as to what happened to him there, he said it was horrific. He cried when he told me he was there. It left an indelible mark on him for the rest of his life.

https://youtu.be/ACj0phcl-SM

W.H.O. Meeting in Secret to convert themselves to Enforceable Law under EXISTING Treaty; FORCED VACCINES, OUTLAW GUNS “Public Health Issue”

World Hal Turner 09 January 2023

The International Health Regulations Review Committee (IHRRC) of the World Health Organization (WHO) is planning to meet in secret from Monday, January 9, 2023 to Friday January 13, 2023. The IHRRC will be working to finalize what is now a 46 page document that includes proposed amendments to the International Health Regulations (IHR).

The proposed amendments would:

Change the overall nature of the World Health Organization from an advisory organization that merely makes recommendations to a governing body whose proclamations would be legally-binding. (Article 1)
Greatly expand the scope of the International Health Regulations to include scenarios that merely have a “potential to impact public health.”
Seek to remove “respect for dignity, human rights and fundamental freedoms of people.” (Article 3)
Give the Director General of the WHO control over the means of production through an “allocation plan for health products” to require developed states parties to supply pandemic response products as directed. (Article 13A)
Give the WHO the authority to require medical examinations, proof of prophylaxis, proof of vaccine and to implement contact tracing, quarantine and TREATMENT. (Article 18)
Institute a system of global health certificates in digital or paper format, including test certificates, vaccine certificates, prophylaxis certificates, recovery certificates, passenger locator forms and a traveller’s health declaration. (Articles 18, 23, 24, 27, 28, 31, 35, 36 and 44 and Annexes 6, 7 and 8)
Redirect unspecified billions of dollars to the Pharmaceutical Hospital Emergency Industrial Complex with no accountability. (Article 44A)
Allow the disclosure of personal health data. (Article 45)
Greatly expand the World Health Organization’s capacity to censor what they consider to be mis-information and dis-information. (Annex 1, page 36)
Create an obligation to build, provide, and maintain, IHR infrastructure at points of entry TO ENABLE THE W.H.O. TO UNDERTAKE THIS CENSORSHIP (Annex 10)

The 76th World Health Assembly is scheduled to occur from Sunday May 21, 2023 to Tuesday May 30, 2023. In order for the proposed amendments to be considered during the 76th World Health Assembly, they must be submitted to the World Health Organization at least 4 months in advance.

The IHRRC plans to submit these proposed amendments to the WHO by Sunday, January 15, 2023.

The International Health Regulations are existing, legally-binding international law. If the proposed amendments are presented to the 76th World Health Assembly, they could be adopted by a simple majority of the 194 member nations. According to the already agreed upon rules of the IHR, if the proposed amendments are adopted, the member nations would not need to take any additional actions.

The United States Senate would not be required to provide a two-thirds vote to give their “advice and consent.” No signatures by national leaders would be needed.

Hal Turner Editorial Opinion

This is precisely how all the elected politicians around the world intend to FORCE Vaccines on everyone, FORCE Vaccine Passports, and FORCE quarantines; by DELEGATING those powers to unelected people at the World Health Organization, then telling YOU “Our hands are tied, this is required by International Law and Treaty, we have no power to stop it.”

Worse, the WHO deems to decide for you and me, what constitutes “disinformation and misinformation, and they are giving themselves power to not only decide that, but to be able to actively CENSOR all of us, to prevent us from getting information out to the public when WHO and their pals are all wrong . . . as in the just recently proved “COVID-19” nonsense, and their phony “vaccines” that are causing people to drop dead in public.

Because they are making changes within an EXISTING TREATY, no vote by the US Senate is needed and nothing can be done (other than abrogate the Treaty and quit the WHO) to stop these FORCED changes.

You, your family, your children, could be FORCED to be vaccinated with God only knows what, simply because these unelected people in Geneva, Switzerland, say so! You or your children could be FORCIBLY QUARANTINED just because these unelected people in Geneva Switzerland say so.

This is the single most outrageous power grab in world history. It should be stopped. Now.

Because this is an existing Treaty, it, along with the US Constitution, is, by virtue of the Supremacy Claus of our Constitution, “the highest law of the land.” No state would be able to “opt-out.” There could be no redress of any of it via courts because it is a Treaty. All of us would find ourselves completely helpless.

It has never been decided by a US Court, as to whether or not a Treaty can usurp or over-rule provisions of the US Constitution. Are you willing to trust the present US Judiciary to protect our rights? I’m not. I’ve seen the federal courts in action up close and personal. They are now fabulously corrupt and completely unreliable.

If this secret meeting is allowed to put forth the changes outlined above, you and I would no longer have a right to speak the truth about things they do; they can censor it by law. You and I would not have the right to say “no” to their new, phony, and harmful, ‘vaccines.”

This is a usurpation of liberty taking place right before our eyes. We must step up right now to put a stop to it while we can still do so peacefully, and not by force of arms.

Oh, and “arms” . . . could be deemed a matter “potential to impact public health” and they could BAN the private ownership of firearms, and it would be legal because . . . a Treaty!

The Ordinary Life of Anubis, a God of Death, in Melancholic Illustrations by Joanna Karpowicz

There’s a mystery in each of these intriguing paintings, pulling you into their depths. The figure of Anubis seems to be an outsider waiting to participate in each painting’s story – like yourself as an observer of the image.

There’s an entire narrative waiting for the viewer in every picture, and the strangeness of each scene provokes questions in your mind as to what is (or could be) unfolding. You will want to step into each painting and discover its secrets.

Anubis is the Greek name of the god of death, mummification, embalming, the afterlife, cemeteries, tombs, and the Underworld, in ancient Egyptian religion, usually depicted as a canine or a man with a canine head. Archeologists have identified Anubis’s sacred animal as an Egyptian canid, the African golden wolf. The African wolf was formerly called the “African golden jackal”, until a 2015 genetic analysis updated the taxonomy and the common name for the species. As a result, Anubis is often referred to as having a “jackal” head, but this “jackal” is now more properly called a “wolf”.

A painter, creator of comic art and illustrator, Joanna Karpowicz is a graduate of the State Secondary School of Visual Arts in Kraków, as well as the Faculty of Painting at the Jan Matejko Academy of Fine Arts, where she received her diploma in the studio of Prof. Leszek Misiak in 2001. She lives and works in Kraków.

A change very soon?

The USA can not back down against the Russians. To do so would be a certain loss of the United States Dollar (USD) losing its world reserve currency status. So the USA and the West it controls will continue to escalate both with sanctions and the war in Ukraine.

All talk about peaceful negotiations will prove to be in vain. Yes, this is the most logical thing for both sides. Yet, it would lead to a rapid loss of the special status that the USD enjoys.

If the USA fails to destroy the current Russian presence, then it loses the value of the USD. A month after that, the USA will be in worse conditions than any of the existing 3rd world nations.

So, the escalation continues in the hope of a breakthrough in destroying the Russians.

The sanctions have obviously failed backfiring more upon the European Union and the NATO nations than upon Russia. The only hope that the USA now has is on the Ukrainian battlefield where the Russians are also winning.

The only option left will eventually be the nuclear option. The USA will plan a first strike launch against the Russians.

However, the Russians will beat the USA to a first launch. This will be the decisive end of the USA and NATO.

The entire world is about to change drastically very soon. I estimate that the Russians will launch soon after they take and secure the Donbas. With Soledar about to go down, this could happen in the time frame of months, not years.

Posted by: young | Jan 10 2023 16:25 utc | 14

What’s It Like To Be In An Airplane That Is Falling From The Sky?

March 23, 2022

I was in a commercial jet that fell from cruising altitude. It was a small jet flying on a now defunct airline.

We had just started the descent when the plane tilted and the dropped out of the sky. Nose was pointed nearly straight down.

I was sitting in the aisle. People were screaming, yelling out – but I can’t remember the words. All kinds of crap was flying through the cabin and the flight attendant was no where to be seen.

My brother and Dad were in the seats behind me. I remember thinking about how sad my mum was going to be. And then looking out at the window at the ground.

After what seemed like an eternity, the pilot was able to regain control and the plane started to right itself again…. for about 15-30 seconds, before starting another uncontrolled descent.

It was more terrifying the second time around – the ground was far closer. I was certain that I was going to die and looked over at a blonde woman about my age sitting next to me. We hadn’t spoken the entire flight, but I reached out in some impulsive desire for human contact at the end…and we held hands as the plane fell out of the sky. I can remember looking at her face briefly, she was crying.

As the ground started approaching and you could make out things like trees and houses, I felt a sense of peace fall about me.

Death seemed to be certain but I didn’t care. It seemed like it was going to be quick and painless – but I remember being surprised that it was going to all end this way.

Then we started to feel the pilot struggling with the plane and it started to right itself again…and for a second time the plane pulled out of the dive.

It was still incredibly bumpy and people were crying and screaming out at every round of turbulence – everyone was waiting for the next and final dive.

When we landed, the young woman and I were still holding hands. People were dead quiet.

What was surreal was that the flight attendant got on the microphone when we reached the gate and thanked us for flying on that shitty ass airline and ‘hoped we would fly again’.

They brought a bus out and one of the pilots came out with us. He didn’t say a word, but his knee was shaking uncontrollably.”

The Most MANIPULATIVE Narcissist Interrogation Ever

Good lord. My ex-wife destroyed my life after 20+ years of marriage and my kids are emotionally scarred because of her (as am I, I can finally admit) but at least I didn’t have to go through such a media circus. I still feel bad for Keith.

Sorry for all the you-tube videos about sick people. But we MUST really come to grasps at who is actually running the West, and why the threat of war is present. We need to understand the reality of what and who these “leaders” actually are.

Big Easy Gumbo

All that I can say is “yummy!”.

Ingredients

1 teaspoon canola oil
1/2 cup chopped celery
1/2 cup chopped white onion
1/4 cup chopped green pepper
1 pound skinless, boneless chicken breasts, cubed
1/2 pound turkey sausage links, sliced into 1/2-inch pieces
1 (15 ounce) can Veg·All Original Mixed Vegetables, drained
1 (14 1/2 ounce) can diced tomatoes
Cooked white rice

Instructions

In medium fry pan, heat oil over medium high heat; sauté celery, onion, green pepper, cubed chicken and sausage for 5 minutes or until cooked.
Stir in mixed vegetables and tomatoes; cook until heated through.
Serve over cooked rice.

Yield: 8 servings

6 People Reveal Their Deep Secrets That Have Been Weighing On Them

March 17, 2022

1. I poked a hole in a condom and purposefully got a girl pregnant to prove I wasn’t gay

This was the late 80s and I was 14/15 and things weren’t a great time to be a gay teenager not that it excuses what I did. I was so afraid of being outed that I started a relationship with my then bestfriend’s sister. My friends were constantly messing with me about not having slept with her and calling me gay. They were just joking but I took it so seriously that I convinced her sex and I poked a hole in the condom hoping to get her pregnant so that I’d have proof…

She did end up pregnant and when I found out the reality of what I did really hit me.. She just thought the condom didn’t work and I never told her I did it on purpose… She was forced to go to an alternative school and eventually dropped out to have the baby. Her and her family moved away with the baby and I never kept in contact with them… I’ve always felt like a pos for ruining her life and abandoning my kid.

2. I don’t love my wife, and I resent that I have to care for her, but I will probably never leave her.

She was my high school sweetheart. The love of my life. My soulmate. When she suffered a brain injury and fell into a coma, I had no idea whether she would ever wake up again. When she did, she was severely disabled, and she was a different person.

I hoped her old personality would come back with time and therapy, but it’s been 5 years since she woke up, and I think this is just what she’s like now. She’s not a bad person, she’s just not the woman I fell in love with. I’m expected to be grateful that I got my wife back, but the truth is my wife died the day she was injured.

I hoped I would be able to fall in love with this new person, but you can’t just force yourself to fall in love with someone. So I resent her. I know it isn’t her fault, it’s not fair that I feel this way towards her, but I resent this new woman for taking my wife away, and for the fact that I have to take care of her.

I can’t leave her. She has no one else to care for her. And she still has my wife’s voice, her laugh, her smile. I couldn’t bear to lose those, they’re all I have left of the woman I love. So I pretend. I pretend I don’t notice that she’s a completely new person, I pretend I still love her, I pretend I don’t resent her. I care for her. I’ve accepted that this is my life now.

3. Six years ago, i swapped my then-girlfriend now-wife’s cat with a more well-behaved lookalike.

She had an all black cat that was extremely aggressive. It scratched everyone, hissed at everyone, and didn’t use its litterbox half the time. My wife insisted she could get it to behave better. One week she went out of town to visit her family and I was supposed to go to her apartment and feed it.

The first night I went over, it scratched the shit out of my arm. I joked to the cat that it’s not special and I’ll replace it if it scratches again. The joke stuck with me until I had thought about it enough that it wasn’t a joke. The next morning I went to the local animal shelter. Found an identical cat who was already litterbox trained and acclimated to people, but was a little skiddish (it’s old owner died of a heart attack and the animal shelter people said they think that’s why it was skiddish). But overall, it was a lot friendlier and better behaved, and the skiddishness would help it resemble the original cat.

So I adopted it, took it to my wife’s apartment, settled it in, then drove her original cat to an animal shelter a town over (I was paranoid my wife would find out if I took it to a local one).

It’s been 6 years since then. We got married 4 years ago. We still have the swapped cat. It answers to the original cat’s name. My wife knows nothing. She loves this cat and brags about how much better behaved it is. Everytime I see it, I feel like a total piece of shit.

4. I know my 7yo son is not my biological child

My ex wife and I were having a rough time when our youngest was 6. We separated for a few months and then reconciled. A few months later she announced she was pregnant. We ended up divorcing three years later. Our sons are 7 and 13. My 13yo is a clone of me. My 7yo looks nothing like me, my other son or even his mom. He looks just like the guy my ex was fucking when we separated. For example, my ex and I have blue eyes and my 7yo has big brown eyes.

She thinks I’m a fucking fool and that I believe he’s mine but I’ve known for a few years now. It doesn’t really bother me. I love that boy more than life itself but I get a kick out of watching her having to live with a lie that eats her alive because she’s fearful it would destroy her family.

She’s damned if she does, damned if she doesn’t.

5. I ended my friendship with my BFF because her kid is ugly.

My bff of 3 years is a single mom. We would text every day and she would send me 15-20 pictures a day of her four year old son. I’ve seen photos of this childs EVERY move. I’d wake up to pics of him on my phone. I’d see them again on social media. Sometimes she would even send pics in the mail.

The thing is that the kids ugly and seeing his face that many times a day made me angry. There’s no nice way to put it.

If I was honest and asked her to stop sending me pictures it would crush her. In hopes that she would catch onto my energy I stopped replying to the pics calling him cute & saying aww. Instead I’d react to the pictures with a thumbs up or id comment on something in the background that was totally irrelevant.

Eventually it irked me so much that I stopped communicating entirely. We have spoke a few times and I apologized saying I’ve been busy with life.

Honestly I don’t miss the friendship. In fact, i’m relieved that I don’t have to be blown up with pictures of her ugly kid 24/7

6. My son has significant disabilities, and I hate that this is my life

Before I begin you should know that I love my child unconditionally. He is so smart in his own way, and has a generous heart. I know this.

But I also, sometimes… okay, a lot of the time, hate that this is my life.

I hate the looks we get. When someone asks him a question then awkwardly realizes he can’t respond. When he has a major, hysterical meltdown in a store and I have to sing and rock him on the floor until he calms down. When other kids realize he isn’t as “normal” as he looks…

I hate that he will probably never have a real friend. That I will have to fight for him to be included in everything. That his birthday parties will likely be adults/family only.

I hate not being able to go to church without making sure they have an adult with training to be with him. I hate how hard it is to find adults to be with him. And that I have to be the one to train them.

I hate that he will be my only child. I don’t know that I can handle a second child with disabilities… and it’s not fair to him if we bring a neurotypical child into the mix. It’s not fair to the other child either.

I hate that he has to be watched 24/7. I never get anything done because I am exhausted from keeping him safe while trying to give him room to grow and learn.

I hate the appointments, the juggling of specialists and primary care doctors and trying to remember who needs to be told what. I hate having to sign a kajillion disclosures to share information, and I hate that even my husband has to ask me what all kiddo has going on.

I hate that he hurts me. Yes, I understand the reasons: trauma and development and delayed attachment and frustration. But I hate that my baby boy, my darling child, regularly kicks and hits and bites and scratches me.

I hate saying, “Kind hands, please.”

I hate how much I rely on his tablet to occupy him.

I hate when people say it’s just a phase. Or all boys/kids do that. It’s not true, and they know it. But no one is comfortable enough to say, “that sounds like it sucks.” Which is what I really want.

I hate that being away from him takes so much planning and money. That we can’t hire just anyone to watch him. It has to be an adult with training, or a respite provider (which is impossible to get), or a rare, understanding friend. Or my husband.

Most of all, I hate that I hate any part of being his mommy. Because I always wanted to be a mom. And when we found out we couldn’t have biological children, I was so happy my husband agreed to adopt. I knew it would be hard. I knew it meant raising a child with disabilities and trauma. And I worked my ass off to prepare for it.

But here I am. On Reddit, telling however many strangers that I hate being a mom to a child with disabilities. Because there is nowhere else I can go and be this raw and open about it.

And I hate that our society is the kind of place where parents like me can’t be raw and open. Because I already know some of you are judging me, or calling me a snowflake, or passing by this post because this sliver of my reality is too much for you to bear on top of your own stuff.

But I had to say it. Had to let it out because it’s too hard to carry around on top of all the other shit I have to carry every single day.

Ukraine And Russia Agree – Russia Is Fighting NATO

Russia and Ukraine have publicly agreed on a fundamental and important issue.

The question is who Russia is fighting in Ukraine.

During an interview with a Ukrainian TV station the Oleksii Reznikov, the defense minister of Ukraine, answered that the Ukraine has “already become a de facto member of the NATO alliance.”

biggerThe interview, given four days ago, is available on Youtube. English language subtitles can be generated by autotranslate. The sentence pictured above comes at about 1:25 minutes in.

Sputnik, which seems to be the only international outlet that has picked up on this, has more (from ~11:05 min):

“At the NATO Summit in Madrid” in June 2022, “it was clearly delineated that over the coming decade, the main threat to the alliance would be the Russian Federation. Today Ukraine is eliminating this threat. We are carrying out NATO’s mission today. They aren’t shedding their blood. We’re shedding ours. That’s why they’re required to supply us with weapons,” Reznikov said …The official said Kiev was being constantly reminded by its “Western partners” that it, “like a real shield, is defending the entire civilized world, the entire West,” from the Russians, and said that he personally has recently received holiday greeting cards and text messages from Western defense ministers to that effect.

Reznikov expressed “absolute” certainty in Ukraine’s eventual entry into NATO, saying he was “convinced that this is an absolutely realistic possibility… Of course they won’t accept this political decision via consensus before our victory. This is clear. But after the victory, after all this ends and some kind of peace arrives, NATO countries, first and foremost, will be interested in the construction of this security architecture. They have seen their own weak spots, they have seen who is strong and powerful. Today they are teaching us but tomorrow our officers, sergeants and even privates will be teaching them how to fight the Russians. Russia remains one of the threats to NATO, and for Europe as a whole.”

Reuters reports today that the Russian government agrees with the core of Reznikov’s view:

Russian Security Council Secretary Nikolai Patrushev is seen by diplomats as one of the major hardline influences on Putin, who has promised victory in Ukraine despite a series of battlefield setbacks.”The events in Ukraine are not a clash between Moscow and Kyiv – this is a military confrontation between Russia and NATO, and above all the United States and Britain,” Patrushev told the Argumenti i Fakti newspaper in an interview.

“The Westerners’ plans are to continue to pull Russia apart, and eventually just erase it from the political map of the world,” Patrushev said.
…
Asked about Patrushev’s remarks, Kremlin spokesman Dmitry Peskov said NATO and the United States were part of the Ukraine conflict.

“De facto they have already become an indirect party to this conflict, pumping Ukraine with weapons, technologies, intelligence information and so on,” Peskov told a regular news briefing.

As both sides now seem to agree on the real participants of the conflict we can assume that they will later also come to an agreement about its outcome. That however will still take a while.

The heavily fortified Ukrainian strongholds in Bahkmut (Artyomovsk) and Soledar are about to fall. The long fight over these cities has come at a high price particularly for their defenders. All the reserves the Ukrainian command has thrown into them have been ground up by massive Russian artillery applications.

Other reserves the Ukrainian army is still training up are waiting for new supplies of ‘western’ weapons. But what has been newly promised, mostly infantry fighting vehicles (aluminum cans), will only become available in late spring. The most likely plan the Ukrainian command will want to pursue is a move south towards Mariupol (bottom right) to severe the Russian land connection to Crimea.

biggerThere is however only a small chance that such a move during spring could be successful. Until then Russia has the time to make its own moves.

Posted by b on January 10, 2023 at 15:30 UTC | Permalink

Why the CIA Attempted a ‘Maidan Uprising’ in Brazil

Pepe Escobar • January 10, 2023

A former US intelligence official has confirmed that the shambolic Maidan remix staged in Brasilia on 8 January was a CIA operation, and linked it to the recent attempts at color revolution in Iran.

On Sunday, alleged supporters of former right-wing President Jair Bolsonaro stormed Brazil’s Congress, Supreme Court, and presidential palace, bypassing flimsy security barricades, climbing on roofs, smashing windows, destroying public property including precious paintings, while calling for a military coup as part of a regime change scheme targeting elected President Luis Inacio “Lula” da Silva.

According to the US source, the reason for staging the operation – which bears visible signs of hasty planning – now, is that Brazil is set to reassert itself in global geopolitics alongside fellow BRICS+ states Russia, India, and China.

That suggests CIA planners are avid readers of Credit Suisse strategist Zoltan Pozsar, formerly of the New York Fed. In his ground-breaking 27 December report titled War and Commodity Encumbrance, Pozsar states that “the multipolar world order is being built not by G7 heads of state but by the ‘G7 of the East’ (the BRICS heads of state), which is a G5 really but because of ‘BRICSpansion’, I took the liberty to round up.”

He refers here to reports that Algeria, Argentina, Iran have already applied to join the BRICS – or rather its expanded version “BRICS+” – with further interest expressed by Saudi Arabia, Turkiye, Egypt, Afghanistan, and Indonesia.

The US source drew a parallel between the CIA’s Maidan in Brazil and a series of recent street demonstrations in Iran instrumentalized by the agency as part of a new color revolution drive: “These CIA operations in Brazil and Iran parallel the operation in Venezuela in 2002 that was highly successful at the start as rioters managed to seize Hugo Chavez.”

Enter the “G7 of the East”

Straussian neo-cons placed at the top of the CIA, irrespective of their political affiliation, are livid that the “G7 of the East” – as in the BRICS+ configuration of the near future – are fast moving out of the US dollar orbit.

Straussian John Bolton – who has just publicized his interest in running for the US presidency – is now demanding the ouster of Turkey from NATO as the Global South realigns rapidly within new multipolar institutions.

Russian Foreign Minister Sergey Lavrov and his new Chinese counterpart Qin Gang have just announced the merging of the China-driven Belt and Road Initiative (BRI) and the Russia-driven Eurasia Economic Union (EAEU). This means that the largest 21^st century trade/connectivity/development project – the Chinese New Silk Roads – is now even more complex, and keeps expanding.

That sets the stage for the introduction, already being designed at various levels, of a new international trading currency aimed at supplanting then replacing the US dollar. Apart from an internal debate among the BRICS, one of the key vectors is the discussion team set up between the EAEU and China. When concluded, these deliberations will be presented to BRI-EAEU partner nations and of course the expanded BRICS+.

Lula at the helm in Brazil, in what is now his third non-successive presidential term, will offer a tremendous boost to BRICS+, In the 2000s, side by side with Russian President Putin and former Chinese President Hu Jintao, Lula was a key conceptualizer of a deeper role for BRICS, including trade in their own currencies.

BRICS as “the new G7 of the East,” as defined by Pozsar, is beyond anathema – as much for Straussian neo-cons as for neoliberal.

The US is being slowly but surely expelled from wider Eurasia by concerted actions of the Russia-China strategic partnership.

Ukraine is a black hole – where NATO faces a humiliation that will make Afghanistan look like Alice in Wonderland. A feeble EU being forced by Washington to de-industrialize and buy US Liquified Natural Gas (LNG) at absurdly high cost has no essential resources for the Empire to plunder.

Geoeconomically, that leaves the US-denominated “Western Hemisphere,” especially immense energy-rich Venezuela as the key target. And geopolitically, the key regional actor is Brazil.

The Straussian neo-con play is to pull all stops to prevent Chinese and Russian trade expansion and political influence in Latin America, which Washington – irrespective of international law and the concept of sovereignty, continues to call “our backyard.” In times where neoliberalism is so “inclusive” that Zionists wear swastikas, the Monroe Doctrine is back, on steroids.

All about the ‘strategy of tension’

Clues for Maidan in Brazil can be obtained, for instance, at the US Army Cyber Command at Fort Gordon, where it’s no secret the CIA deployed hundreds of assets across Brazil ahead of the recent presidential election – faithful to the “strategy of tension” playbook.

CIA chatter was intercepted at Fort Gordon since mid-2022. The main theme then was the imposition of the widespread narrative that ‘Lula could only win by cheating.’

A key target of the CIA operation was to discredit by all means the Brazilian electoral process, paving the way for a prepackaged narrative that is now unraveling: a defeated Bolsonaro fleeing Brazil and seeking refuge at former US president Donald Trump’s Mar-a-Lago mansion. Bolsonaro, advised by Steve Bannon, did flee Brazil, skipping Lula’s inauguration, but because he’s terrified he may be facing the slammer sooner rather than later. And by the way, he is in Orlando, not Mar-a-Lago.

The icing on the stale Maidan cake was what happened this past Sunday: fabricating a 8 January in Brasilia mirroring the events of 6 January, 2021 in Washington, and of course imprinting the Bolsonaro-Trump link on people’s minds.

The amateurish nature of 8 January in Brasilia suggests CIA planners got lost in their own plot. The whole farce had to be anticipated because of Pozsar’s report, which everyone-who-matters has read across the New York-Beltway axis.

What is clear, is that for some factions of the powerful US establishment, getting rid of Trump at all costs is even more crucial than crippling Brazil’s role in BRICS+.

When it comes to the internal factors of Maidan in Brazil, borrowing from novelist Gabriel Garcia Marquez, everything walks and talks like the Chronicle of a Coup Foretold. It is impossible that the security apparatus around Lula could not have foreseen these events, especially considering the tsunami of signs on social networks.

So there must have been a concerted effort to act softly – without any preventive big sticks – while just emitting the usual neoliberal babble.

After all, Lula’s cabinet is a mess, with ministers constantly clashing and some members supporting Bolsonaro even a few months ago. Lula calls it a “national unity government,” but it is more like a tawdry patchwork job.

Brazilian analyst Quantum Bird, a globally respected physics scholar who has returned home after a long stint in NATO lands, notes how there are “too many actors in play and too many antagonistic interests. Among Lula’s ministers, we find Bolsonarists, neoliberal-rentiers, climate interventionism converts, identity politics practitioners and a vast fauna of political neophytes and social climbers, all well aligned with Washington’s imperial interests.”

CIA-stoked ‘militants’ on the prowl

One plausible scenario is that powerful sectors of the Brazilian military – at the service of the usual Straussian neo-con think tanks, plus global finance capital – could not really pull off a real coup, considering massive popular rejection, and had to settle at best for a “soft” farce. That illustrates just how much this self-aggrandizing and highly corrupt military faction is isolated from Brazilian society.

What is deeply worrying, as Quantum Bird notes, is that the unanimity in condemning 8 January from all quarters, while no one took responsibility, “shows how Lula navigates virtually alone in a shallow sea infested by sharpened corals and hungry sharks.”

Lula’s position, he adds, “decreeing a federal intervention all by himself, without strong faces of his own government or relevant authorities, shows an improvised, disorganized and amateurish reaction.”

And all that, once again, after CIA-stoked “militants” had been organizing the “protests” openly on social media for days.

The same old CIA playbook though remains at work. It still boggles the mind how easy it is to subvert Brazil, one of the natural leaders of the Global South. Attempted old school coups cum regime change/color revolution scripts will keep being played – remember Kazakhstan in early 2021, and Iran only a few months ago.

As much as the self-aggrandizing faction of the Brazilian military may believe they control the nation, if Lula’s significant masses hit the streets in full force against the 8 January farce, the army’s impotence will be graphically imprinted. And since this is a CIA operation, the handlers will order their tropical military vassals to behave like ostriches.

The future, unfortunately, is ominous. The US establishment will not allow Brazil, the BRICS economy with the best potential after China, to be back in business with full force and in synch with the Russia-China strategic partnership.

Straussian neo-cons and neoliberals, certified geopolitical jackals and hyenas, will get even more ferocious as the “G7 of the East,” Brazil included, moves to end the suzerainty of the US dollar as imperial control of the world vanishes.

What A Homicidal 12 Year Old Looks Like

Please keep in mind that these are the kinds of people running the United States these days.

https://youtu.be/0eVTk_2zcaA

The future can either be a nightmare or a paradise; it is up to you

Yes, that’s a truth.

I often argue that it is better to be ignorant of all the bad and evil stuff in the world, as long as you will never be influenced or affected by it.

Ah, but the truth is, that in certain place, namely the United States, it has become a cesspool of drug-addled mentally ill people that defines the state of “normal” for that society. This is concerning.

You you need to be aware. You need to be accepting of things that you cannot change, and you had best be prepared.

Let’s dive in…

What’s It Like To Be A Psychopath?

September 8, 2022

Emotionals: Flatlines. Most days are just flatlines. You go out there, and you do what interests you, and sometimes the monotony of your existence is punctuated by events.

Sometimes you feel pleasant and happy, sometimes you feel angry, but your emotions are like calm ocean waves.

It comes, and then it goes, invariably around the clock, and they’re just as mild and watery as waves. There are no tsunamis in our world. We do not implode. We do not explode.

Our emotional range typically lacks the highest peaks and the lowest lows, but especially not the lows.

Relationships: We don’t love, and we don’t bond, and we don’t grieve. I treasure some people, but if they fell off a really tall cliff I would ask why and (if no justice needs serving) I move on. There are psychopaths who invest in people and have inner circles. There are those who do not. I’m one of those somewhere in the middle, with an inner circle I will not kill for. Regardless, we are fiercely loyal to our people. We go to great, incomprehensible lengths for them, because we are never concerned with the question, why me?

Why me, is for me, the singularly most damaging, self-pitying question people ask in a relationship. Why me? Why do I have to put up with this? Why do I have to suffer so? Why am I trapped into this? Well, we don’t have that. When we want to leave, we dust off our asses and get on our bikes and ride into the satanic sunset. If we stay, we are doing it of conscious choice and we don’t fucking whine about it.

Most importantly, we do not stalk, and we do not trap you into a relationship you don’t want to be. Your stalker ex? Not a psychopath. Your boss? Not a psychopath.

Masks:

A mask is something we use to fit in.

It is the minutiae of faking empathy, emotion, and NT thought processes in order to fit in. It is not some glamorous Sailormoon transformation process that immediately levels us up from human to dark vigilante. It includes, but isn’t just limited to:

Responding with ‘I’m fine’ instead of ‘Fuck off’
Caring about your epileptic kid stories
Being afraid with everyone else when an escaped lion appears, and screaming like a little girl.
Griping about bills.
Nervousness about a big day, speech etc.
Caring deeply about being fired
Complaining about the prices of things.
Showing low-self esteem sometimes ala ‘I’m so fat! I hate myself!’
Pretending to remember and keep grudges from that time Albert from Accounts was slightly rude to you, because that’s expected behavior and you don’t want anyone to know that you’ve all but forgotten his existence.

Extrapolate to everyday interactions that fits this trend. In other words, it’s mostly to cover up the fact that we biologically cannot give a shit, because everyone else expects us to give many shits and fit in with their model of NT behavior.

You dial these up and down depending on what your culture/society is like, but the end goal is the same — to fit in.

In tldr terms, we biologically cannot give a shit about most things that people give many shits about, so we have to hide it.

Diseases and assorted NOs:

No, we do not get PTSD. No, we do not get depressed. No, no insecurity, nor arrogance. Not sadism usually, but there are exceptions. We do not play with people for fun. We do not kill. We do not kill ourselves either. We do not post our brain scans online. We do not self-diagnose. We do not care what you think about us. We are all here for a reason, and that reason is not to nurture your disbelief.

I hope that is comprehensive insight into our day.

– Carlis Kwok

Key Pipeline Carrying Gasoline to northeast, shutdown by leak

Nation Hal Turner 05 January 2023

A critical conduit supplying fuel to the US Northeast was halted on Wednesday, when the Colonial Pipeline temporarily shut operations after a spill, the latest disruption to energy flows following an outage to the Keystone oil pipeline last month.

Some product was released at Colonial’s Witt delivery station near Danville, Virginia, prompting the shutdown of its Line 3, spokeswoman Meredith Stone said in an email. The company is planning a restart at around 12 PM Eastern time on Saturday, according to a notice shared with users of the pipeline.

Colonial’s Line 3 transports refined products such as distillates and gasoline to the New York Harbor market from Houston, via Greensboro, North Carolina, and is part of a broader system that supplies fuels to the eastern US. The system’s key gasoline conduit was shut for nearly a week in 2021 after a cyberattack.

Colonial’s vast product system which includes Lines 1, 2, 3 and 4 are a vital source of fuels for the eastern US. Lines 1 and 2 extend from the Houston area and meet in Charlotte, North Carolina, to form Line 3 into New York Harbor.

Beautiful Photos of the 1953 Studebaker Commander Starliner

Introduced as a 1953 model, the new Studebakers again stunned onlookers and competitors with its radical styling. The long and lean two-door coupe was undeniably the star of the show, while the hastily designed four-door sedan was somewhat ungainly in comparison.

Representing the top of the line for 1953 Studebakers is this gorgeous Commander Starliner Hardtop. This car is an outstanding example of the breed, subject to a bare-metal restoration finished in attractive factory-offered colors of Bombay Red with a Salem White roof.

Devoid of the fussy chrome jewelry that was typical of the early 1950s, the Commander Starliner has delicate bumpers and carefully judged brightwork that highlight the clean and uncluttered lines. Excellent, high-quality plating features on the bumpers, grille, and window trim, and the car is very well-detailed. It rides on period correct Firestone whitewall tires, with the steel wheels fitted with factory-optional wire wheel covers.

Power comes from the original 232 cubic-inch OHV V8 engine, making 120 horsepower in standard spec. In this car, it pairs with an automatic transmission to create the ideal relaxed grand tourer. Much like the rest of the vehicle, the detailing is exceptional, with correct paint finishes on the engine and accessories. Correct fabric wiring is used, and factory correct decals appear on the oil filter and air filter housings. The attention to detail is outstanding, down to the correct Willard battery.

Highly detailed and ready for enjoyment, this 1953 Commander Starliner Coupe brilliantly captures the optimism and creativity that defined Studebaker in the early ’50s.

Barbecue Beef Brisket Sandwiches

Slices of beef brisket steeped in a sweet and savory sauce create a world-class sandwich.

brisket sandwiches 3 600×900 1

Ingredients

1 (3 pound) beef brisket, trimmed
1 1/2 teaspoons coarse salt
3/4 teaspoon pepper
1 1/2 teaspoons coarse salt
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
1 large onion (about 1 1/2 cup), coarsely chopped
1 1/2 tablespoons minced garlic
1/2 cup dark beer (such as porter or stout)
1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
2 tablespoons lemon juice
3 tablespoons honey
1/2 cup ketchup
1 teaspoon paprika
6 Kaiser or other sandwich rolls

Instructions

Cook the brisket: Season the brisket with salt and pepper.
Heat oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add the brisket, brown on all sides and transfer to a slow cooker.
Add the remaining ingredients to the slow cooker and stir well.
Cook, covered, on LOW until the meat is very tender – 8 hours.
Remove the meat, place it on a cutting board and let it rest for 15 minutes.
Reserve the sauce.
Carve brisket into thin slices and divide it among rolls topped with reserved sauce.
Serve warm.

Yield: 8 servings

What’s It Like To Almost Get Beheaded By A Mexican Cartel

September 19, 2022

I’m a 20 year old half Mexican-american dude who lives in the state of Sonora, Mexico, very close to Arizona. More precisely in Hermosillo, its biggest and capital city of the state, whose streets have been controlled by “Los Salazar” — a criminal band allied and supported by the Sinaloa’s Cartel — which’s sustation gets mainly financed by manufacturing meth and weed and crossing it to the US. In order for them to grow up and stay immune from the federal government, their motto “silver or lead” has lead for high commanders and politicians to take up the money and to set things up for the cartels to do them moves.

That being said, I wanted you guys to get a bit of background on this because this is the reality we live everyday.

I remember these story that it happened not too long ago — maybe 2017— when I accidentally got involved with the wrong guy and almost ended up dead. Back to when I started to fuck with H, money wasn’t the thing but finding a dealer since almost one one sell it and the ones who did were addicts from lowkey hoods , so I used to hang up with a guy who as an addict could get it for me if he could get high with me. I never used it daily but more like once or twice a month, and this guy helped me out with it.

Story:

I remember exactly how it happened. The day was perfect and I had the money to get half a gram, so I texted the guy on Facebook, hoping it to get a quick answer so we could meet at the point again; however, it didn’t happen so I decided to take an uber to his house and hopefully he will be there. Knocking off the door with no answer thinking to go back home, he finally opens the door and even tho he looked screwed up, I got happy I will get high.

Idk why he was so annoying at the time but i was just there for the dope so I didn’t care, besides, he was a fuckin’ junkey and u can’t expect much from them. His dealer was 30min away from his house and so I accompanied him as we usually used to. I never expected this to happen but once arrived, he told to stay at the corner while he gets the fix and gets back, but when it does, I looked at him running towards me making signs with his face and hands of like “get the fuck out!!!”, I had no idea of what was happening but before I knew it, a truck parked next to us while a bunch of dudes forced us to get inside.

They put a bag in my head so I could see nothing. In the inside, I was being taken by two or three guys so I couldn’t move, the guys didn’t talk to much to me but they were seriously threating my friend by saying “ya te cargo la verga ahora si, joto” which in English would mean “you fucked up already, bitch”.

About ten minutes after, the truck stops inside a garage and got taken inside a house where they took off the bag and then we both got placed at the corner of a room that smelled very nasty.

By that time, I already knew I’ve fucked up even though I had no idea of its reason. I was around cartel members whose coldness at killing people is know by everyone.

He and I were told to layed down and so we did. I looked at my friend and he didn’t even look at me, his eyes looked lost, and his mouth was shut. My mind was empty at that moment. Then, I heard some man asking questions related to him. Then I knew why we were here, he owed money to the boss. The men gets inside the room and my friend says: “Hey, you know I’m gonna pay you, man! I’m sorry, I can get you the money now! Please don’t!” Boss: “It’s too late. I don’t want your money now. U fucked up.” Then he asks: “Who’s these other guy???” Someone replies: “We don’t know. He was just with him.” Then he asked me: “Why are u with this piece of shit?? U wanna get killed too???” I replied: “No, sir. I’m a 20 year old student, I live with my parents. He used to get me heroine, since I didn’t know other way. I don’t have anything to do with him.” He said: “U sure? We’ll see” Then he asks a guy: “hey, moustro, come get me my machete (big knife). Let’s show this piece of shit what happens when u fuck with us.” My friend very scared said “Please don’t! I’m sorry. I swear if god I will pay you! I already have your money man! Come on! It doesn’t need to be this way. You know me man. Please, have some mercy. Please, please! Just one chance!” The boss kept quiet as someone handled a machete. When I saw it I knew what it was coming, I almost freaked out, but I tried to stay quiet and in silence.

For god’s sake, I don’t even want to think about it. I just closed my eyes and felt so scared and horrible. I don’t want to describe it. All I can say is that, once the man got this machete on his hand, he said “ahora si agarrenmelo a este pendejo” which would mean “Now yes, hold on to this fucker.” then he got grabbed by two men so we could not move, i tried to crawl a bit away as I could hear him screaming. Then I closed my eyes, but i heard everything.

The man used his machete to behead his head off. It was so horrible. I can’t describe how it sounded like but the screams were just so so terrorific. His last words were “no, don’t please. Please don’t, don’t, no, no please.” then I didn’t heard any word from him anymore. Guys were talking shit but i wasn’t putting attention.

Once dead, for a second I opened my eyes and saw so much blood so I closed them again. I didn’t know what was gonna happen next, and that’s all I remember. I passed out. Three hours later, I woke up in the middle of the night in a ditch. My face was bleeding, my whole body was was hurting. I got a trauma, but i lived to tell the story. I hope u guys never come through shit like this. It’s no joke.

– xluzix

330 Years of Unknown History: The Oldest Road in America Finally Surfaces

Often, there are hidden truths and old tales that get lost with each generation. As such, there is an untold story about the United States that begins in the 1600s.

Prior to English entrepreneur and Pennsylvania founder William Penn’s arrival to the New World, this continent was inhabited by various Indigenous Indian tribes. Once the Swedes and the Dutch began settling in the area they bartered for land (and fought over it). After William Penn’s arrival the land was sectioned out to various hamlets. The Indigenous tribes started to die off because of fighting or disease and most of them left the river areas. Mills started to appear in the late 1600s and early 1700s which created a boom in food production. This led to more people settling in the Tri-State area. Then in the 1800s, the result was that Philadelphia had the world’s largest and most diverse growth spurt of industrial sectors which of course played a huge role in the Revolutionary War.

Painting of William Penn. ( CC BY-SA 3.0 )

The King’s Highway Bridge

In the 1600s, the King’s Highway was built to go from Boston, Massachusetts to Charleston, South Carolina. This highway is now the oldest road in continuous use in the nation. In Philadelphia, William Penn had the King’s Highway Bridge built by residents via royal edict. This bridge, built in 1697 is the oldest roadway bridge in continuous use in the nation. When it comes to Philadelphia however, Independence Hall and the Liberty Bell are still the popular tourist attractions.

“People only know about the history of Center City, Philadelphia.” said Fred Moore of the Northeast Philadelphia History Network. “Northeast Philadelphia has been all but forgotten.”

Map of the King’s Highway courtesy the author.

Dangerous Deeds and Historical Events

What people are shocked to find out is that delegates of the Continental Congress often met to discuss their independence from Britain in taverns in Frankford, (now a neighborhood of Philadelphia before the consolidation of 1854). George Washington, Benjamin Franklin, and other important people would often travel to, work in, and sleep in parts of Northeast Philadelphia. Fast forward to the Civil War when there was a population growth of African Americans and you will find that residents of Northeast Philadelphia played a big part in the abolishment of slavery and the Underground Railroad.

The US Underground Railroad was a network of secret routes and safe houses used by 19th-century slaves to escape to free states and Canada. Painting by Eastman Johnson, 1862. ( Public Domain )

When Thomas Holme created the first map of Philadelphia in 1687, the grid system that is in use throughout America first made an appearance. This was an efficient way of sectioning off the city as well as making it easily accessible. Then the Indian trails started to become major roads, and they had to be widened for horse and carriage travel, and the area started to become more industrialized. From those times came so many unheard stories that revealed a unique perspective on the lives of our forefathers and those who brought our nation independence.

There is a great story about Lydia Darragh, a woman who warned American troops of a British invasion during the Revolution. She crossed British lines and found out about the ambush, then left, stating she needed to get more flour from the mill to make bread for them. She did get more flour, but also stopped at an American encampment in Northeast Philadelphia to warn Washington’s troops. If that hadn’t happened, there was a chance we wouldn’t be a free country today. It is stories like these that need to be told.

“I’m baffled as to how this story has never been told before.” said Director Jason Sherman of The King’s Highway documentary. “People need to know what happened along the King’s Highway. Hopefully this documentary sheds some light on the importance of this area and how it played a significant role in the birth of our nation. Let’s save our buildings and the history that stays with them.”

Milestone along the King’s Highway, the oldest road in continuous use in the nation. ( Public Domain )

History Revealed

The King’s Highway and the historic locations along the road are the foundation of the film. Augmenting that with in-depth historical coverage, along with expert speakers, archival footage, historical documents, photographs, maps and artifacts, the documentary is set to give us a glimpse into the past. Time lapse and walkthrough footage of various locations will allow viewers to see the beauty that has been all but forgotten. The goal of the film is to not only spread awareness about the historic value of this area, but to also showcase the historians and preservationists that are fighting to keep our beautiful city intact. Ultimately, we are spreading the word that Center City is not the only place America’s history is present.

The stone arch bridge on Frankford Avenue in Holmesburg, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Erected in 1697 in the Holmesburg section of Northeast Philadelphia, in the U.S. state of Pennsylvania, it is the oldest surviving roadway bridge in the United States. ( Public Domain )

The producers have officially launched a Kickstarter page to get support for film festival submissions and DVD manufacturing. With support from local historical societies, civic associations, historians, experts, college professors, museums, and volunteers , The King’s Highway is causing quite a stir in the communities of Northeast Philadelphia. Center City, Philadelphia has often been the focus of film and TV specials, but no one has ever documented the King’s Highway and Northeast Philadelphia. The film will explore the importance of registering historically significant buildings on the Philadelphia Register of Historic Places. Too many buildings are being demolished every day and they need to be saved, in order for history to be saved.

The project and trailer are available on Kickstarter by clicking here .

By: Jason Sherman

12 Guys Reveal The Red Flags They Ignored, For The Sake of Getting Laid

September 27, 2022

1. She legit stole my wallet the first time we hooked up. It had $200 in it

Sex was so damn good I just made sure I hid my wallet and valuables for rounds 2-4

2. That she was crazy. One of the first things she said to me while making out at a party was “they all say I’m crazy, but I’m really not.”

3. She said she had thousands of kids that telepathically communicate with her all at once.

I only talked to her for a few more weeks and slowly faded myself out since I was too afraid to just ghost her. That’s the type of crazy I didn’t want to get on the wrong side of. I didn’t pry too much more into it due to how uncomfortable I got.

4. The last girl I dated told me she liked holding a knife to her ex’s neck while he slept because she fantasized about murder and wanted to see what it felt like.

5. She showed up to my apartment without directions or asking. She was a friend of a friend, and knew the complex itself from talking with her earlier. Never crossed my mind to ask how she figured out my building or apartment until later, and when you wake up to a cute girl knocking on your door at 2 AM, it doesn’t really cross your mind.

We saw each other for a few months, til I figured our what was cute at first was stalkers and became upsetting when I need to sleep. Lesson learned, now I use an alias and safe house when I meet people.

6. 20 year old stripper whose husband was in jail. Husband got out and fire bombed my car in her driveway.

7. She told me she was a manipulative, emotionally unavailable, and controlling person. I still went in. She wasn’t lying lol but I think I maneuvered it well.

8. First day, she fell in love. Day two, she slapped me in the face. Day three, she broke into my house. Day 4, I learned she could squirt across the room. Day 5, she told me she had chlamydia. Day 6, I smashed one last time and didn’t pull out. Day 7, she brought me the pill that treats chlamydia and sucked my soul out right after. Day 8 and beyond, I ignored the rest of her calls and left her on read. I’m surprised my house didn’t get burnt down as it still stands today.

9. Hooked up with a girl near DC who was very into SpongeBob, which is cool I am too, but she was like SUPER into SpongeBob. Throw pillows, posters, stuffed animals everywhere. When we hooked up she made me do the laugh so she’d get off

10. Family gang ties. She would use that as a threat to prevent me from breaking up, cheating, or making her upset in general.

11. I met a girl on a bus and on our first date she told me that her father is always present and she can see him sitting right next to me. I thought she was joking or used a metaphor of him always watching her but she pointed where he was sitting (I should mention that he is alive and well). I proceeded to have a 2 year long relationship with her with lots of weird things happening in it.

English wasnt her first language neither was mine but we communicated in english. Sometimes she would say “we” when talking about what she did on a day and refuse to elaborate. Any kind of argument would end up with her trying to gaslight me about unimportant details (like she would say something and I would quote it back to her and she would say: “no thats what you said.”

She married a 60 year old man when she was 25. Really mysterious person – to this day I cant say how crazy she really is.

12. I get to her place, and it is like 4 things away from a trash heap. Seriously, piles of trash, clothes, dishes, books, etc. EVERYWHERE! Her couch looked like it was rescued from a dump. I have no sense of smell (luckily) and was down baaaaad so I was like whatever.

Then I hear a small critter noise, look over and she’s got a massive cage FULL of mice/rats. Like a ceiling to floor length cage, the kind you’d keep several toucans in. I cannot tell you the level of uncomfortable it is making out on a filthy couch, next to a pile of trash while being able to hear mice. Sex was amazing though, but I just couldn’t deal. She was a PhD student or something and the mice were retired lab rats, even still… Clean your place.

13. That she was 100% bat shit insane.

Met online. She opened with saying “wow what a dirty old white man. Whats with you white men?” She, herself, was white.

I thought she was joking, but she wasn’t. She was dead ass serious about having a heated racial argument against her own race. I played along. Turns out, she does that as a “test” to see if people can “handle her”. Red flag, but she was one of the hottest people I’ve ever talked to. We continue on.

She is an artist/engineer. She tells me how big her house is and how she would LOVE to support me. She’d pay all my bills, etc. This seemed odd, as I just met her.

She insisted I come out to Detroit to see her. I was in Ohio. I have known her a day. Well, as my blood wasn’t in the right area of my body, I decided to go. I drove the few hours and showed up at what could only be described as a house used in movies to depict a trailer trash, dirty individual.

Her front yard was covered in an array of random objects. It looked like a bomb went off in the middle of a yard sale for stuff a goodwill wouldn’t accept. There was so much random stuff, I has to step on a chair and over a fence to get from her driveway to the front door. We continued on.

Her house was a mess. It was like a homeless person got a home and moved all their homeless essence into it. It wasn’t dirty, per say, just…so so so much clutter. We went to her room and i laid down. We proceeded to talk for a while, and we wound up in a moment of silence.

I brought up something I’d seen in a documentary recently and she got super serious, super fast. She looked at me and said “okay, and the point of that sentence was…?” I replied that I was just trying to make small talk. “Who fuckin cares about a documentary. Why do I give a shit?”.

I wasn’t sure how to respond , so I went with just explaining the concept of small talk. She interrupted me and said “you are boring as fuck. Why bother opening your mouth?”

I couldn’t understand what was happening. I never had an interaction like that before. She was now nitpicking everything I said and getting angrier by the minute. I tried so much to change the subject to something she’d like but I couldn’t manage.

I still decided to sleep over. The worst part was, no matter how I tried to initiate the sex that she was talking nonstop about having over text when we met, it never happened. We just..went to sleep. I spent the entire night staring at her ceiling instead of leaving because, well, tomorrow exists.

The last straw was when she got up, pretended I didn’t exist, walked to the bathroom and took the loudest, nastiest shit ive ever heard come out of a woman…with the door open. She didn’t wash her hands, or flush.

All that for a set of blue balls and hours and hours of wasted driving.

Reports: Country of Belarus Drafts “all men ages 18-60”

World Hal Turner 05 January 2023

Reports are coming in saying the country of Belarus has reportedly announced a Draft for “all males ages 18 through 60.” Looks like a full mobilization for war.

What A 15 Year Old Mass Killer Looks Like

Here’s some more visions into the mind of those that desire to take on control of others through leadership roles. Check it out.

https://youtu.be/MtNASztI83c

This Brutal 1925 Rolls Royce Phantom I Jonckheere Coupe

The motor car may have been invented by German engineers, but it took two Brits to refine the concept; Charles Rolls and Henry Royce. With the Silver Ghost, introduced in 1907, Rolls Royce had set new standards in build quality and reliability. The British manufacturer has never been known for their innovations, yet has excelled in perfecting well proven principles.

For over 15 years, the ’40/50′ Silver Ghost was the only model on offer, at a time where many of the competitors offered multiple of models and types. In 1922 it was joined by the Twenty, which was aimed at a slightly wider market. From 1921 onwards, the North American customers were served more directly by a new factory in Springfield, Massachusetts. The ‘Springfield’ Silver Ghosts were intended to be identical to the British built cars, but after a few cars were built, changes were carried through to comply with the North American’s needs.

Competition from rivals like Hispano Suiza and Isotta Fraschini had grown considerably. In 1922 work was started on a larger, more powerful model to replace the Silver Ghost, which had served the British company so well for nearly two decades. Delayed several years because of other pre-occupations, the new Rolls-Royce was introduced to the public in May of 1925. First known as the ’40/50 New Phantom’, this model is now commonly referred to as Phantom I.

Much of the development concentrated on the new straight six. In many ways this was a larger version of the ‘Twenty’ six cylinder engine introduced in 1922. Cast into two banks of three cylinders, the new engine was only slightly larger than the Ghost’s but performance was considerably improved by adaption of overhead valves. The first Phantoms featured cast-iron heads, which were later replaced by twin-plug, aluminium examples to cure ‘pinging’ problems when run on poor quality fuel. In good Rolls-Royce tradition all that was said about the power was that it was ‘sufficient’ but it is believed the Phantom ‘six’ developed around 100 bhp.

Urban Exploration Photographer Reveals Abandoned Ferrari & MG Sports Car. Bonus: Lamborghini Diablo Goat Edition

Belgium-based urban exploration photographer LeiV Photo captured these interesting – perhaps even tear-jerking – scenes of classic cars slowly rusting away into oblivion in a barn or garage at an undisclosed location. Among them are an abandoned Ferrari and an old MG.

The Ferrari appears to be little more than an empty stripped-out shell, doubtless offering little beyond a logbook should a restoration (or rebuild) effort ever be mounted. Its distinctive form, and iconic prancing horse emblem, serve as decayed reminders that this was once someone’s pride and joy. Moreover, the photographs suggest that it may have been the victim of a fire.

The MG, on the other hand, appears to be more intact, though no less rusted through following years of idleness. The engine is fitted and the classic MG badge still graces its elegant front. Photographed in HDR, the textures of rust and decay add extra layers to the subjects which almost offset their sad condition.

Bonus: Abandoned Lamborghini Diablo surrounded by goats

It’s made the rounds of the automotive and motorsport publications and websites. But like other abandoned supercars that have turned up online and spread like wildfire across the blogosphere, the circumstances behind its apparent dumping are hazy. Aside from our understanding that the photograph was taken in October 2011, we know very little about what appears to be an abandoned Lamborghini Diablo, parked in a field and surrounded by grazing goats.

Flickr user Nylon – who photographed the abandoned Lamborghini and added the tagline “Lamborghini Diablo Goat Edition” – hasn’t disclosed the unfortunate vehicle’s location, but comments on the page have questioned whether the abandoned supercar could actually be a replica.

Modern Forensic Science Helps Crack Details of 700-year-old “Cold Case” in Italy

In a “case of raw violence” in medieval Italy, four sword blows to the head killed a man, a team of scientists investigating the case 700 years later has determined.

Interestingly, the study published in the Journal of Archaeological Science has used modern forensic methods to arrive at this conclusion. Lead author Chiara Tesi , an anthropologist at the University of Insubria’s Center for Osteoarchaeology and Paleopathology in Italy, told Live Science that it seems to have been a “case of overkill”, seeing the ferocity with which the wounds were inflicted.

Violent Murder Through Repeated Sword Blows to the Head

The victim suffered as many as four brutal sword blows to the head. “The individual was probably taken by surprise by the attacker” and was unable to properly protect his head, Tesi told Live Science in an email interaction.

The first blow fell from the front, but as the man turned, probably trying to escape, the murderer chased him and hit him repeatedly from behind. The deepest wounds were inflicted from the rear. The forensic techniques used by the scholars in their examination of the dead man’s remains included computed tomography , or three-dimensional X-ray scans, and precision digital microscopy of the skull injuries to aid facial reconstruction .

Archaeology Meets Forensics

The skeleton was excavated in 2006 at the Church of San Biagio in Cittiglio, a small town in Varese province of northern Italy. The older parts of the church date back to the eighth century AD. The victim’s remains, however, were found in an 11th-century atrium built near the entrance. Radiocarbon dating has established that he was interred there before 1260 AD.

The murder victim was interred in the Church of San Biagio in Cittiglio prior to 1260 AD, which is now the site of ongoing excavations. (Omar Larentis / CC BY 4.0 )

The victim was a young man between 19 and 24 years of age. A 2008 study had thrown light on some of the murder victim’s skull injuries. The new study has found other injuries and has established their sequence.

According to Tesi, the victim initially appears to have dodged or blocked his assailant, although the first blow did land on the top of his head, causing a shallow injury. As the man turned around to flee, however, he was “then hit in rapid succession by two other strikes, one affecting the auricle [ear] region and the other the nuchal [back of the neck] region,” she said. “At the end, probably exhausted and face down, he was finally hit by a last blow to the back of the head that caused immediate death,” she added.

The latest study found the murder victim was probably killed by four sword blows to the head; the first caused a slight wound, but the others seem to have killed him as he was trying to escape the attack. (Stefano Ricci/University of Siena)

The “evident overkill” indicated that the assailant may have had a complex motive for the attack. The savagery and frenzy of the attack betrayed a determination to ensure that the assault ended in the death of the victim.

The Murder Weapon, the Deceased, and His Killer

The new study has found that all the wounds were caused by the same straight-bladed weapon that was likely a steel longsword that was in use at the time. Further, the wound positioning shows that they were all inflicted by the same person.

An attempt to discover the victim’s identity through examination of historical records ended in failure as “we didn’t find anything,” Tesi said. However, the prominent positioning of his tomb makes it likely that he belonged to the influential De Citillio family that had originally built the church.

An older, healed injury to his forehead suggested that the victim had probably been a combatant in some battle. His right shoulder blade had developed in a way that suggested that he was in the habit of using a bow and practicing archery from an early age . This was perhaps a sign that he often hunted for sport.

Forensics show the murder victim’s shoulder blade indicated he was adept at archery. At the time, many youths learned archery from a young age. ( alex_marina / Adobe Stock)

The scientists also used facial reconstruction to examine how the blows from the sword affected the soft tissues of the victim’s head. “We tested wound formation by placing a blade on the reconstructed head and replicating the blows received by the subject,” Tesi told Live Science . It helped them gauge the severity of the wounds.

Caroline Wilkinson , director of the Face Lab at Liverpool John Moores University in the UK, said to Live Science about the study in which she was not involved, “It’s really interesting — a good use of forensic techniques to look at trauma to the head, and how those wounds have been caused.”

Wilkinson and Tesi both highlighted that facial reconstruction helps people to relate to human remains rather than looking at them as mere specimens. “Seeing the face and eyes of a young man is definitely more emotional than simply looking at a skull,” Tesi said.

This study shows how history can benefit from multidisciplinary approaches. Archaeology, forensics, historical records, and reasoned conjecture all came together to rebuild the sequence of events of a 700-year-old murder case.

By Sahir Pandey

12 People Reveal What It’s Like To Have Depression

August 24, 2022

1. It’s like trying to laugh at a joke that isn’t funny. Trying to smile for a photo you don’t want to be in. It’s like waking up in the morning and hating that you actually woke up. It feels like someone is just draining the energy out of you every time moment you are awake. It really isn’t that weird that people feel the urge to end their lives during a depression. It really makes you feel like you’re 80 years old, lost your beloved partner, are incapable of of doing what you want to do, and the only thing to find peace is to end your life. Depression is living day-by-day, not knowing what you’re going to do with yourself today. Not knowing if you want to be alive tomorrow.

2. Depression for me is a constant feeling of wanting to go home, but no matter where I am, I am never home. Even when I’m at my physical home.

It’s a constant sense of wanting to go somewhere else. I’d feel better if i was at this place. Then you go there and then it’s the same exact feeling, just in a different physical location.

I feel mentally homeless and I just want to go home.

3. You wake up in the morning and immediately wish you were still asleep. You’ll maybe try to grab a few more hours and avoid reality a little longer, but by that time your brain has kicked in, reminding you of everything you should be doing and need to do and what a failure you are for not doing them. But the concept of getting up and facing the day seems insurmountable, so you lie there, paralysed by your own self loathing and apathy.

You drag yourself out of bed after a few hours. Put on yesterday’s dirty clothes, avoid showering because it’s too much effort. You consume nothing but coffee all day because eating is too much effort, and besides, you hate yourself too much to deserve food.

You don’t go outside because it’s terrifying and foreign and you may need to interact with others, which involves mustering the tiny amount of energy you have to pretend you don’t feel this way, because the alternative is them seeing how broken you are inside and pitying you.

So you sit and stare blankly at the TV, your computer or your phone trying to kill time but not actually doing anything. Just existing, not processing anything, not thinking anything. Just killing the time until you finally get to go back to bed and lie in the dark unable to sleep because your brain is telling you how pathetic you are for being this way, than you are a failure, a burden, nobody would care if you were dead. But even suicide feels like too much effort. At 4am you’ll finally fall into a six hour sleep that is your only respite from it all, only to wake up and do it all again.

4. Living with depression is like running a marathon with a broken leg and then having everyone run past you and say “Yeah, yeah, broken leg boo-hoo, we’re all tired.” And then run the same fucking race everyday. The cycle.

You’re depressed!

You’re okay, it’ll take time, but you’re okay!

What the hell is taking so long, life blows, you’re depressed again!

You woke up and got dressed today, it’s looking up from here?

SIKE, you fucking idiot, did you truly believe your depression was done with you? You’re dumber than you lead yourself to believe!

Okay, we’re okay, we’re gonna make it. I just gotta stay strong.

Oop, you fucked up once today, I’m dragging your ass back into the dark.

OVER AND OVER AND OVER!

Is there really only one way out? I don’t know if I wanna die, I got a brother who may need me one day. I’m tired. So tired, man.

5. The worst thing about depression,is seeing everyone around you progress in their life and you are stuck in the same place.

Its like when you are playing videogame and you get stuck on some part of mission,while others are having fun,you are having the worst time in ur entire life

6. You know the feeling when you wake up, and you just want to sleep for another 5 minutes? But, you can’t because you are late for something? Imagine that feeling towards everything all the time. Always.

7. Imagine a super bad day. Maybe you lost your job. Or your significant other broke up with you. You are very sad. You may even be weepy. Life is void of colour, taste and smells. Things that once gave you pleasure do nothing. Your friends irritate you. Your favourite movies are kind of meh. Those chips you love to snack on taste bland.

And there is the exhaustion. You are tired all the time – physically and mentally. So exhausted that you don’t want to get out of bed. Or brush your teeth. Or shower/dress. Getting off the couch to make a sandwich is akin to climbing Mount Everest, so fuck that.

Its a deep, dark place. Everyone has experienced emotional upheaval at some point but non-depressed people have a ‘reason’ for it. Its temporary. Depression is living like this all the time. It also fucks with your sense of reason. Many people can’t cope with the pain. It feels like it will never end and you personally feel weak, and like a failure. People around you don’t get how tired you are. They say, take a walk or something else they deem helpful. It doesn’t help though because that walk never happens and the circular reasoning brings you right back to hating yourself.

Depression is a nasty beast but can be helped with the right meds/therapy. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

8. “Feeling nothing” is is the straight up answer, but let me elaborate. You have a bunch of hobbies or interests, that you just don’t feel like doing anymore, for no particular reason. “Oh, in my spare time I love to read a book/play my guitar/go for a walk”. None of that exists anymore. You remember that you (used to/are supposed to) like it, you just do not feel like it. So you stop doing it, and start doing… nothing.
Performing any mundane chore that you have to do, feels like carrying the burden of the one ring. Cleaning? Not gonna happen. Cooking? Who cares? “What is this, hunger? Meh.” Taking a shower? “Oh, jeez, I haven’t showered in 2 days, it’s nice and warm and… But then I’ll have to take of my clothes, and then my hair gets wet, and I’ll have to stand up and….” Getting up? “What is this world, and why am I part of this?”

9. Not wanting to do anything. Not wanting to be anything. Not wanting to be at all. I don’t necessarily want to die. I just want to have never existed.

10. You asked me how depression felt, and this is what I could come up with…

It feels like I’m walking upstream, through a current strong enough to pull me under four times over

There are others with me, but they are walking along the banks telling me to “just get out of the water”. But instead of extending a hand of help, they just move on and leave me behind.

Every once in a while, I find a rock that is strong enough for me to lean on. And I rest for a bit.

But the rocks always get tired of holding me up, and when they let go, I’m left drowning, thrown 50 feet back again.

And nothing is harder, than standing up in that current, when everything in you is telling you how much easier things would be if you just let yourself get dragged under.

11. It’s like I’m watching life on TV instead of living in it, and all I want to do is change the channel

12. We only wish depression was being “sad”.

But depression is much more than that.

It’s the excuses you have to make when you can’t make that meeting.

It’s the friends and family you’ve lost because you can’t explain why.

It’s the opportunities that land in everyone else’s lap, that they get to grasp with both hands, while yours slip out of your grasp.

It’s the exhaustion that binds your body to your bed.

It’s the hatred and resentment you feel towards yourself, towards the world for being the way it is.

It’s your proven truth that everything and everyone gets better, except for you.

It’s the demon that dragged you down and trapped you in the hellish prison that is your own mind.

It’s the ball and chain locked around your neck, choking the life out of you as you trudge through your marathon, while everyone else gets to charge on ahead, unimpeded.

It’s the wall that blocked you off from life.

It’s the leech that sucked out everything positive about your life and clouds your memories.

It’s not just being “sad”. And we can only wish it was.

Better than Arby’s Roast Beef

Put it in the slow cooker last night and this morning the house smelled heavenly.

Ingredients

1 (3 to 4 pound) roast
1/2 cup water
1/2 cup firmly packed brown sugar
1 envelope onion soup mix
1 onion, chopped
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder, or to taste
Salt and pepper to taste

Instructions

Place roast in slow cooker. Stir remaining ingredients together and pour over roast.
Cook on LOW all night.
The next morning stir together. Remove any membrane or fat if desired. Stir well again.
Let simmer on LOW until noon or evening.
Serve on buns.

Leftovers freeze beautifully.

Review from Nancy, 5/28/03 – Put it in the slow cooker last night and this morning the house smelled heavenly…LOL! I had to take a sneak early taste test and it is AWESOME.

Kitten was lying motionless next to a very dangerous big road! He was starved and exhausted

https://youtu.be/m-KdJH0rg0A

What is being hidden regarding the Hunter Biden laptop and the Russia and China alliance

This year 2023 is going to be a pivot year.

Things can go really bad, or a managed up-swing that changes the Geo-political situation forever.

I’m looking at an “event” of some sort towards the tail end of this 2023.

Meanwhile, everyone, please continue with your campaigns and living your own lives. Eat WELL.

Please do not get too CAUGHT UP in the “news”, it’s all fake.

And enjoy life a little bit more.

Surprise! Corruption Is Behind Recent Southwest Mass Cancellations

The American way! Don’t you know!

Chicken Lazone

“This recipe comes from the restaurant “Brennan’s” located in New Orleans. No one has to know how simple and quick it is. I posted this recipe exactly as it was in the book, however, if you like a little “heat” please feel free to add some cayenne pepper to taste.”

Ingredients

1 teaspoon salt
1 ¹⁄₂ teaspoons chili powder
1 ¹⁄₂ teaspoons onion powder
2 teaspoons garlic powder
4 whole boneless skinless chicken breasts
¹⁄₄ cup butter, divided
¹⁄₂ cup heavy cream

Directions

Combine the seasonings and coat chicken breasts.
In large saute pan melt half of the butter and cook chicken over medium heat for about 7 to 8 minutes, turning once.
Pour the cream into the skillet and lower the heat.
Simmer for several minutes, stirring until the sauce thickens then add the remaining butter.
When butter is melted place chicken breasts on four plates and top with the sauce.

A Beverly Hillbilly’s Christmas at Hooterville

Its so nice to see these shows again. Loved watching them week to week when I was little. These shows made you forget everything and laugh at anything.

He DOESN’T want you to know this about Hunter Biden laptop story and Ukraine

If you think the laptop is bad, consider how much COORDINATION went into silencing it to ensure a certain candidate got positioned where he is.. It is no simple task to organize a 100% media blackout. Along with inter-agency buffer operations. Whatever entity needed this candidate in, went to extreme lengths, and it sure don’t seem to be because they had America’s “best interests” at heart.

“Suburbia”: The Melancholic and Mythological Artworks by Carlos Barahona Possollo

Degree in Painting, final mark of 18/20, from the Faculty of Fine Arts of the Lisbon University. In 1995 Carlos Barahona Possollo accepted an invitation to teach at the Faculty. He had read Architecture at the Technical University of Lisbon from 1986 to 1989.

He was officially commissioned to paint the Portrait of the Portuguese president Cavaco Silva, shown at the Presidents’ Gallery permanent collection in the Museum of the Presidency of the Republic, since 2016. Since 1995 he has been co-operating with the Portuguese Mail in the production of originals for the printing of stamps, notably their commemorative series of the 500th anniversary of Vasco da Gama’s arrival in India (1996-98), and also with the Portuguese edition of the National Geographic Magazine (first nine issues).

His works can be found in private collections in Portugal, Spain, France, Switzerland, Italy – most notably, of many in this country, in that of Prince Jonathan Doria- Pamphilj – The Netherlands, the United Kingdom, U S A and Argentina. Also, in public collections such as the Vatican (IOR), The White House, the Bank of Portugal, the Portuguese Museum of Communications, The Setubal Museum, and the Union of Portuguese Speaking Capital Cities.

Christmas With The Addams Family | Full Episode S02E15

Did you notice when the kids realized they had way too many presents, the first thing they thought was to donate them? They really are raising them right.

https://youtu.be/U19Bizv-LQQ

Making the stinkiest chemical known to man

I love this series of a slightly anosmic chemist’s perilous quest to find a smell that moves him.

This is just GREAT!

Artist Challenges Herself To A 100-Day Cat Meme Drawing Challenge

Emily Paquin, aka Catwheezie, is an animation student who challenged herself to draw a cat meme every day for 100 days back on the 13th of June. She is currently on day 75 and it looks like she’s determined to reach that 100!

Emily said that cats were actually the first thing that she ever learned to draw. She says that she always loved funny cat pictures and used to print out similar ones and glue them on her school notebooks.

As for the current 100-day challenge, the artist says that she finds most of the cats for her drawings on Instagram, and says that each one of the drawings takes her 2 to 3 hours to finish. “Usually, I work on several of them at a time so I can make sure I’ll have a new cat to post everyday,” says Emily. “A lot of planning goes into this project.”

Former President of France Admits: Minsk Agreements Were to DECEIVE Russia; Allow Ukraine to build for war

World Hal Turner 30 December 2022

In an interview with the “Kyiv Independent” newspaper, former President of France, Francois Hollande, claimed that the Minsk agreements had brought Russia to diplomatic territory, leaving Kiev’s army time to strengthen. An admission contradicting the peaceful declarations of the time.

While Vladimir Putin was advancing in the Donbass using the pro-Russian separatists ( … ) “we led him to accept the Normandy format and to come to Minsk for the negotiations.” said Hollande.

The former French president aligned himself with Angela Merkel who, December 7 in an interview at “Die Zeit,” claimed that the Minsk agreements had been “an attempt to give Ukraine time” to strengthen militarily for a future confrontation with Moscow.

Officially, these agreements, signed on September 5, 2014 were concluded with the stated objective of restoring peace between Kiev and the Donbass Republics. That conflict left nearly 15,000 ( civilians and soldiers ) dead between 2014 and 2022.

To the question of whether the Minsk negotiations were intended to delay Russian progress in Ukraine, François Hollande replied in the affirmative: « “Yes, Angela Merkel is right on this point. The Minsk agreements stopped the Russian offensive for a time. What was important was how the West would use this respite to prevent any subsequent Russian attempt.”

Holland claims to have enabled the strengthening of the Ukrainian army, a respite that the West and Kiev seem to have taken advantage of: “Since 2014, Ukraine has strengthened its military capabilities. Indeed, the Ukrainian army is completely different from that of 2014. She is better trained and better equipped. It is the merit of the Minsk agreements to have given the Ukrainian army this opportunity” he said.

According to him, the latter also prevented the area controlled by the separatists from expanding. In winter 2015, they were at the gates of Marioupol and had just won two decisive battles, taking over Donetsk airport and the city of Debaltsevo.

Regretting divisions within the EU and German ambiguity, refusing to question the Nord Stream 2 pipeline, François Hollande reports today that he was in favor of maximum sanctions, recalling that he himself had canceled the sale of Mistral ships to Russia in 2014.

In 2022, trust between Moscow and the West disappeared. Strangely, François Hollande, who believes that a lasting solution is necessary for peace in Ukraine, completes his remarks by affirming that “the Minsk agreements can be resuscitated to establish a legal framework already accepted by all the parties.”

Angela Merkel’s confession, however, already provoked a strong reaction from Russian President Vladimir Putin on December 9. Putin said “Trust is almost nonexistent, but after such statements, a question of trust arises: how to negotiate, on what, and if it is possible to negotiate with someone, what are the guarantees?” Putin went on to say “I still hoped that the other stakeholders in this process were sincere with us. It turns out that they also cheated on us. It was only a question of strengthening Ukraine with weapons, by preparing it for hostilities” he added.

Vladimir Putin then estimated that in view of these new facts, Moscow should have, perhaps, had to launch its military operation in Ukraine earlier, stressing that Russia, for its part, hoped to be able to resolve the conflict in the Donbass through the Minsk Agreements.

Hal Turner Analysis and Editorial Opinion

So there you have it: Both Angela Merkel of Germany, and Francois Hollande of France, personally KNEW they were attending the Minsk Negotiations as a ruse, as a deception, for the express purpose of buying time for Ukraine to prepare for . . . . WAR . . . with Russia. The very war which is taking place right now.

Back in February of 2022, when Russia finally sent its troops into Ukraine, both France and Germany, along with the United States, feigned horror that Russia was engaging in battle, when all along, that was the precise goal of Germany, France, and without doubt, the United States and the rest of NATO. Their “shock” at Russia using its military, was phony. They not only knew Russia was going to act militarily, it was THEY who set the entire stage for it!

In my opinion, this was a criminal conspiracy to facilitate war.

Some may argue that both Merkel and Hollande enjoy Sovereign Immunity. They do not. Fraud vitiates everything, and both Merkel and Hollande perpetrated premeditated and willful fraud upon the peoples of Europe, Russia, and America, as the very crux of their meetings in Minsk, Belarus back in 2014.

The fraud perpetrated by Merkel and Hollande has cost the people of the United States, tens-of-billions of dollars in war support for Ukraine, cost Ukraine hundreds of thousands of dead soldiers, cost Russia tens-of-thousands of dead soldiers and countless billions in war costs. The consumers in both Europe and America have had to pay Billions more in increased costs for natural gas, oil, gasoline, and diesel fuel as a result of the Sanctions imposed, over a war, they planned to start!

I want Merkel and Hollande criminally prosecuted at the world court, for Fraud and criminal conspiracy to facilitate war. And if such a prosecution takes place, it will be interesting to find out what role then-U.S.-President Barack Obama played in this fraud. It seems to me that neither France nor Germany would have engaged in such acts without the express approval of the United States.

Merkel, Hollande, and likely Barack Obama, belong in prison for the rest of their lives because the war they deliberately facilitated has killed hundreds of thousands of people, whom they used as pawns for their “sport of kings” — war.

Putin, Xi year end summit. China, Russia De facto alliance

Very happy to learn more of Russian/Chinese alliance to combat the insane neo-cons in the US! The whole world rejoices also. Thank you both and happy New Years as 2022 comes to an end!

This is an important video.

Stolen Elections Have Consequences: Stocks Suffer Worst Year Since 2008

Nation Hal Turner 30 December 2022

Stocks slipped on Friday to end a brutal 2022 with a whimper, as Wall Street wrapped up its worst year since 2008 on a sour note.

The Dow Jones Industrial Average slid 73.55 points, or 0.22%, to close at 33,147.25. The S&P 500 shed 0.25% to end at 3,839.50. The Nasdaq Composite ticked down 0.11% to 10,466.88.

Friday marked the final day of trading in what has been a painful year for stocks. All three of the major averages suffered their worst year since 2008 and snapped a three-year win streak. The Dow fared the best of the indexes in 2022, down about 8.8%. The S&P 500 sank 19.4%, and is more than 20% below its record high, while the tech-heavy Nasdaq tumbled 33.1%.

Sticky inflation and aggressive rate hikes from the Federal Reserve battered growth and technology stocks and weighed on investor sentiment throughout the year. Geopolitical concerns and volatile economic data also kept markets on edge.

“We’ve had everything from Covid problems in China to the invasion of Ukraine. They’ve all been very serious. But for investors, it is what the Fed is doing,” said Art Cashin, director of floor operations for UBS, on CNBC’s “The Exchange.”

As the calendar turns to a new year, some investors think the pain is far from over. They expect the bear market to persist until a recession hits or the Fed pivots. Some also project stocks will hit new lows before rebounding in the second half of 2023.

Lemon Chicken Milanese

“This dish makes a quick, filling meal. Great served with rice or pasta. Enjoy!”

Ingredients

4 boneless skinless chicken breasts, pounded thin
salt and pepper
²⁄₃ cup breadcrumbs
¹⁄₃ cup parmesan cheese
¹⁄₄ cup flat leaf parsley, chopped
1 egg, beaten
¹⁄₄ cup all-purpose flour
8 lemon wedges
¹⁄₄ cup vegetable oil

Directions

Season chicken with salt and pepper and set aside. Combine breadcrumbs, parmesan cheese, parsley, and salt and pepper to taste.
Pour flour onto a plate and set aside. Do the same with eggs and then with breadcrumb mixture.
Dredge chicken in flour and tap away excess. Dip chicken into egg. Cover chicken with breadcrumbs and press them inches.
Heat oil in frying pan. Fry chicken on the first side for about 2 minutes, flip and fry for another 2 minutes. Repeat until chicken is browned and cooked through. If you’ve pounded the chicken thin enough, cooking time is greatly reduced.
Once chicken is cooked, place on a paper towel-lined plate in order to absorb excess oil.
Serve with a squeeze of lemon and additional lemon wedges.

I Went Back To California. My Home Town Looks Like A War Zone.

A MUST watch!

For those of you not in California, it is 100 times worse than what you are being told. Homelessness is literally INSANE here. Drug problems are WAY out of control.

Surface Tension by James Blish (Free full text)

This post is a free (short) science fiction story called “Surface Tension”. It’s a classic story, and well worth the read.

A contributor wrote a story (or two) Heh Heh… and it was good, I’ll tell you what. But I will not publish it here. What I will say is that it reminded me of another story. Not that I know why… the two stories are completely different in every way. But it did jar my memories, and so I unearthed this gem.

It’s a story I read when I was 12 years old or so, and man oh man, did it awaken my soul and stir up some stuff inside.

It’s funny that way. How unrelated things can come together and create thought movements.

Such as this post…

“Surface Tension” by James Blish first appeared in the August 1952 issue of Galaxy Science Fiction. In 1957 it was published by Gnome Press as The Seedling Stars along with three other pantropy stories by Blish to make a fix-up novel.

When the Nebula Awards were being created in the 1960s, the Science Fiction Writers of America voted for their favorite science fiction short stories published before the advent of the awards and “Surface Tension” was included in The Science Fiction Hall of Fame Volume One in 1970.

It has been anthologized many times.

The version of “Surface Tension” in The Big Book of Science Fiction is different from the one that appeared in The Science Fiction Hall of Fame.

It has “Sunken Universe” (Super Science Stories, May 1942) inserted into it after the introduction, which is the way it is in The Seedling Stars. However, the introduction had additional paragraphs not in the Hall of Fame version, and I expect a careful reading of the later sections should show changes too. H. L. Gold was known for editing stories and Blish was known for rewriting his stories, so we don’t know which happened.

My guess is Blish came up with additional ideas to add to the story for the book version. I’ve read the slightly shorter version three times before over my lifetime, and a few paragraphs in this version stood out to me as new. Mainly they were about the original crew theorizing about their future pantropic existence.

Lately I’ve been writing about why I disliked a story, but for “Surface Tension” I need to explain why I love a story, and that might be even harder to do.

Every once in a while, a science fiction writer will come up with an idea that’s so different that it lights up our brains.

Wells did it with “The Time Machine.”
Heinlein did it with his story “Universe.”
Brian Aldiss did it with his fix-up novel Hothouse.
Robert Charles Wilson did it with his novel Spin.

“Surface Tension” is one of those stories. It has tremendous sense of wonder.

I’m torn between explaining everything that happens and not saying anything. But I need to talk about “Surface Tension,” so if you haven’t read it, please go away and do so.

As I’ve said before about great short stories, they have a setup that allows the author to say something interesting – not a message, but an insight.

The setup for “Surface Tension” is five men and two women have crashed on the planet Hydrot that orbits Tau Ceti. Their spaceship can’t be repaired, their communication system was destroyed, and they don’t have enough food to survive.

However, their ship is one of a swarm of seed ships spreading across the galaxy that colonizes each planet with customized humans adapted for each unique environment.

This is called pantropy, also representing a kind of panspermia, and anticipates the idea of transhumanism.

In other words, Blish has a lot to say with this story.

Because no large organisms can survive in the current stage of Hydrot’s development, the crew decide to seed it with intelligent microorganisms.

The seven will die, but each of their genes will be used to fashion a new species of roughly humanoid shape creatures that can coexist with the existing microorganisms of the freshwater puddles on Hydrot.

They won’t have their memories, but they will have ancestral abilities.

The crew creates these creatures and inscribe their history on tiny metal tablets they hope will be discovered one day by their tiny replacements.

From here the story jumps to the underwater world of the microorganisms and we see several periods of their history unfold. Blish used his education in biology to recreate several concentric analogies of discoveries that parallel our history in his puddle world of tiny microorganisms.

The wee humanoids form alliances with other intelligent microorganisms in wars to conquer their new environment.

Then they begin an age of exploration that eventually parallels our era of early space exploration. But you can also think of it paralleling when life first emerged from the sea to conquer the land.

One reason this story means so much to me is Blish makes characters out of various types of eukaryotic microorganisms and that reminds me of when I was in the fourth grade and our teacher asked us to bring a bottle of lake water to class.

That day we saw another world through the eyepiece of a microscope.

Blish made that world on a microscope slide into a fantasy world where paramecium becomes a character named Para who is intelligent and part of a hive mind that works with the transhumans.

Their enemies are various kinds of rotifers. However, I know little of biology and don’t know what the Proto, Dicran, Noc, Didin, Flosc characters are based on.

The main transhuman characters are Lavon and Shar who’s personalities are preserved over generations.

I wondered if the seven original human explorers (Dr. Chatvieux, Paul la Ventura, Philip Strasvogel, Saltonstall, Eleftherios Venezuelos, Eunice Wagner, and Joan Heath) were archetypes for the microscopic transhuman characters? Blish suggests that in the opening scene:

However, I never could decipher who Lavon and Shar were. Each time I reread this story I notice more details, and more analogies. “Surface Tension” is both simple and complex.

At a simple level its just a space adventure tale about exploration and survival.

But in creating a fantasy ecology, Blish hints at the deeper complexity of a writer becoming a worldbuilder.

And Blish is also philosophical about the future of mankind, reminding me of Olaf Stapledon.

This is the kind of story that can blow adolescent minds. Like mine.

The entire story is HERE in PDF form. Enjoy the free download and the great story!

-MM

So Taiwan had an election and the pro-United States party (DPP) was defeated

The world is changing, and it appears (to me right now) tentatively, that the aggressive elements inside of the United States have backed-off, and are “punting”. This is taking a “step back”, and regrouping. The worst is over. But we are not yet out of the hive of angry swarmed bees.

Meanwhile Americans (and their proxy brothers) are all trapped in a kind of alternative-reality…

Growing protests? I’m sure they pulled that “one” out of their collective asses. And the crushing defeat of the pro-America DPP is described as “quits as head of the political party”.

It’s so fucked up, it’s difficult not to laugh.

Take care, and enjoy today’s installment.

Cambridge Poll Shocks USA….70% of World Now Supports China

"I am from Syria. The vast majority in Syria and the Levant in general support Russia and China for several reasons, the most important of which is that they deal with you diplomatically and on the basis of mutual benefit. They do not try to impose their orders on you by force like the US. In addition to that, Russia helped us in Syria against the extremist Islamists who were supported by the US, Qatar and Saudi Arabia."

I’m from Singapore and I speak for myself in this post. I definitely and absolutely favor China and President Xi over the biased Western Media’s lies about China. Period.

Cute kitty sleep

Al Di Meola – Song to the Pharao Kings

Al Di Meola is a living national / world treasure and we are lucky to be alive when such a man exists.

We ordered meat…

these dishes are way too pretentious 640 high 06

Cuban Coffee (Cafecito)

“No Cuban meal is complete without a cafecito, or Cuban coffee. More than just an espresso, a well-made cafecito has sweet crema floating over strong espresso coffee. Despite its name, crema has nothing to do with cream—it’s actually foam made from sugar that’s been thoroughly beaten with a splash of coffee. Many don’t realize that it’s the technique for making the crema—not the type of coffee beans used—that makes the coffee Cuban. But for the full Cuban experience, Castro recommends using Café Bustelo espresso. Chef, nutritionist, and cooking teacher Lourdes Castro shared this recipe for Cuban coffee, or cafecito, as part of a festive Cuban party menu she created for Epicurious.”

ingredients

espresso ground coffee (I use decaf expresso)
¹⁄₄ cup sugar

Directions

Fill a 6-cup stovetop espresso maker with water and coffee according to the manufacturer’s instructions, making sure to pack down the coffee. Place the espresso maker over moderate heat.
While the coffee is brewing, place the sugar in a tall container with a spout, such as a liquid measuring cup. As soon as the coffee starts to fill the reservoir, pour about 1/2 tablespoon of coffee over the sugar and return the espresso maker to the heat.
Using a spoon, beat the sugar and espresso until the mixture turns a pale beige color and most of the sugar granules begin to dissolve, about 1 minute. The mixture may seem a bit dry at first, but keep beating, and it will come together.
Once all the coffee has been brewed, slowly pour the coffee over the creamed sugar, stirring to make sure all the sugar dissolves. A thin layer of sugar foam (crema) should float on top of the coffee. Pour the coffee into espresso cups and serve immediately.

SPECIAL EQUIPMENT:

Stovetop espresso makers come in several sizes. This recipe is written for the 6-cup version, yet you can substitute any other size simply by adjusting the amount of coffee and sugar used. Ultimately, the coffee’s sweetness is up to you.

TECHNIQUES:

Making the sugar crema is the technique that defines Cuban coffee. You cannot overbeat the sugar, so err on the side of beating too much. If you accidentally pour too much coffee into the sugar, continue with the beating process, as you will still achieve sugar foam.

The Greatest Solo of All Time

Watching Oscar play and knowing the notes he’s playing are an intimate expression of his soul, as though he’s transcribing his brainwaves in real time in a form we can hear and feel and understand… it’s pure genius.

The truth…

these dishes are way too pretentious 640 high 01

Hang on! Now MATH is racist?

She killing me with the math jokes.

My grandma was a Mathematician in the 50's and 60's. She had to run her business with just her initials, as the world was still against women owned businesses, especially math/engineering. (My grandpa was a Civil Engineer) 

I would get in trouble in HS, teachers thought I was cheating because I could figure out math problems in my head.. no need for me to write down whole formulas or complex things to illustrate the answer XD. 

Back in the 90's I worked for a business forms printing company, and we had to be exact on the sizes that were being cut at the cutter. 

The woman who became our Lead in that Dept could NOT read a ruler if her life depended on it, yet she was always at the cutter. 

She couldn't figure out the SIMPLE cut for 5 across cuts on forms, and several times we had to reprint forms that she'd cut wrong. And today's world is even worse! smdh

We must defeat this evil…

these dishes are way too pretentious 640 high 02

Full Kung Fu Fight Scene HD | Kung Fu Hustle

A wonderful and funny Chinese movie!

Oh, yeah. These are “Black Hats”. LOL.

This movie made me realize that, if we are ever to get a good live action dragonball movie, it cant be made by Hollywood.

Here in America if someone cannot afford healthcare, we consider him to be a lazy irresponsible leftist Marxist. Why do subjects of Europe, UK, Canada, Australia and New Zealand refuse to see that it is their own fault they cannot afford healthcare?

Ah you yanks. You are deliberately ignorant and we love that about you. It fills our conversations with humour.

Youre being robbed.

Seriously.

Firstly do you pay tax? So what exactly is that money for? More supercarriers to bomb school children?

Why not use some of it on health? Almost everyone else does.

But not you guys. No you want to pay twice and youre proud of it. Youre like that porn star that can handle two cocks in her arse at the same time.

You pay or rather your insurance pays (when they have too) or you get notoriously poor healthcare via some “free” system.

And look at what you pay…

Why is insulin sooo expensive in the states? Oh because the health providers, drugs companies and insurance providers are all in cahoots to make mega money. Wow thats actually three cocks in your arse, four if you count taxes.

main qimg b04a548b8bb914b672fb7cf505a04405 pjlq

Way more expensive than here in New Zealand but also remember my wife and I paid none of it and we have no health insurance and we got free midwife, post natal and other services. And before you say well more money makes us better, have a look.

Hey at least you’re better than Slovakia. How’s your bum? Try ice.

Oh we forgot another major driver in your wasteful money go round system; lawyers.

So A has accident and B is injured (or can fake it) and B sues A for costs, damages and anything else they can get their hands on. Wow youre being gang raped.

But you carry on, telling yourself the rest off the world is wrong. That we lie all the time just like when we tell you WW2 started in 1939 or that tire is fatigue or boredom not a tyre or that British burned down the white house.

Seriously, what the world needs now is a laugh and you guys are the best at providing it.

Would you eat this?

I am still debating.

these dishes are way too pretentious 640 07

Santana IV – Black Magic Woman [2016]

I love Carlos Santana’s music and I want that shirt!

Huckleberry ( or Blueberry) Coffee Cake

“Cooking Light published this in their book, Five Star Recipes–The Best of 10 Years, and their staff voted this as one of their top five recipes from the first 10 years. It is very, very good, either for breakfast, brunch, or as dessert, warm out of the oven with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.”

Ingredients

¹⁄₄ cup stick margarine, softened (I used real butter)
0.5 (8 ounce) package fat free cream cheese (I used neufchatel)
1 cup sugar
1 egg
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
¹⁄₄ teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 cups huckleberries (fresh or frozen, unthawed(I used blueberries) or 2 cups blueberries (fresh or frozen, unthawed(I used blueberries)
2 tablespoons sugar
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

Directions

Beat margarine and cream cheese at medium speed of an electric mixer until creamy; gradually 1 cup sugar, beating well. Add egg, and beat well.
Combine flour, baking powder, and salt; stir into margarine mixture. Stir in vanilla, then fold in berries.
Pour batter into a 9-inch round cake pan coated with cooking spray (I also lined bottom with parchment).
Combine 2 tablespoons sugar and cinnamon; sprinkle over batter.
Bake at 350F for 1 hour; cool on a wire rack.

Nooooo!

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Lets spend some more money on Ukraine:

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Fauci Forced To Answer COVID Questions By Judge

The damage that was done to the population mentally, emotionally financially & psychologically as well as many lost businesses and jobs is something I never thought I would witness in my lifetime. Now add the information coming out I Am Left Speechless.

“A Bar In Ohio Serves Giant Bowls Of Cereal That Are Impossible To Finish”

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About the Election

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It shows the Superiority of the Taiwanese and their worthiness to have a democracy.

My God I am impressed

The Taiwanese Voters can see through Nonsense and identify key issues and understand and express Anger for past misdeeds and past administrative problems by the DPP.

They focused on Covid Messups (Taiwans refusal to use Chinese Test Kits and Equipment for six weeks lost 355 lives), Business related depressions, Anti China Trade measures that cost Taiwan almost $ 12 Billion Dollars primarily to Taipei and US Slavery to move out TSMC.

They didn’t care for the so called “Nancy Pelosi” visit and the so called “Democracy is in danger”

This is REAL DEMOCRACY

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And Tsai resigned.

Not as President of course but as Party Chair but that’s a Major Major Move.

She took responsibility

Taiwanese Voters are worthier than the US Voters in my opinion and a 100,000 times better off than the Indian Voter…

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Where Votes can literally be purchased by Free Tellies Or Liquor or even hard cash.

However this Upset for the DPP really has nothing to do with China.

China doesn’t figure here.

Yesterdays verdict in the famous TWG Polls of 7842 people were :-

15% favor Unification
13% favor Independence
63% favor Status Quo
9% are not sure

Both DPP and KMT don’t officially make Independence as part of their Policies.

Both are officially Status Quo parties with KMT being more Independent and DPP being more US Proxy Lackey.

A Two Government One Nation Model would work superbly for Taiwan-China.

Taiwan with its democracy would be an asset to China and China with its scale and gigantic power would be an asset to Taiwan.

Who needs the meddling US in the middle?

A note from Frans <redacted>…

Always good intel.

The candidates of the National Party (Kuomintang 国民党) dominate the results of regional elections in Taiwan, which may predetermine the victory of pro-Chinese forces in the presidential elections in 2024.

Blue – the Chinese National Party (Kuomintang)
Green – Democratic Progressive Party (DPP)
Light Blue – Folk
Gray – non-partisans.

taiwan pontntial for pro chinese election sweep

Those in green, the DPP, are the ones currently in power.

Totino’s Birthday Pizza Cake (8 Layers)

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Pork Chop Marinade: How to Marinate Pork Chops

Written by MasterClass

Last updated: Nov 12, 2022 • 3 min read

This simple, delicious pork chop marinade transforms meat into a complex, flavorful centerpiece.

What Are Pork Chops?

A pork chop is a cut of pork from the pig’s loin, which runs from the shoulder down to the animal’s hips. There are four general categories of pork chop found along this path: the shoulder, or “blade” chops, rib chops, loin chops, and tenderloin chops. You can find some pork chops, like rib chops, bone-in at the grocery store, but boneless pork chops are the most popular common variety for sale.

3 Tips for Marinating Pork Chops

The best pork chops begin to develop flavors long before they see any heat—while marinating in the fridge. Use either bone-in or boneless pork chops, and consider these tips:

1. Find the best ratio. The best pork chop marinades combine roughly three parts oil to one part acid, plus a variety of complementary seasonings, like raw garlic, salt, sugar, chili sauces, or spices. Popular pork chop marinade ingredients include brown sugar, mustard, and balsamic vinegar. For inspiration, work within themes: think bright and herbaceous, funky, and spicy, or dark, complex, and caramelized.
2. Marinate in the refrigerator. To prevent unsafe bacterial growth, always marinate raw meat in the refrigerator, and discard any leftover marinade.
3. Marinate for at least two hours. Unlike more delicate proteins like fish and shrimp, pork chops can handle a longer marinating time without adversely affecting their texture. Just thirty minutes will add flavor, but for best results, marinate pork chops for at least two hours or up to overnight.

5 Ways to Cook Marinated Pork Chops

Cooking time for pork chops varies depending on the thickness of the meat and the cooking method. No matter which technique you choose, cook pork chops to 145 degrees Fahrenheit. To cook pork precisely, invest in a digital instant-read meat thermometer.

1. In an air fryer: To cook marinated pork chops in an air fryer, allow excess marinade to drip off, then place the chops in a lightly greased fryer basket. Air-fry for twenty minutes at 380 degrees Fahrenheit, flipping halfway through.
2. In a countertop cooker: To cook marinated pork chops in a pressure cooker, place the pork chops on trivets and use a combination of the sauté and manual high-pressure function to get a crispy exterior and tender texture. To combine the marinating and cooking steps, place the pork chops and a marinade of your choice in a slow cooker and cook for six to eight hours.
3. In the oven: For an easy weeknight dinner, roast marinated pork chops in a 400-degree oven for twenty minutes. Before adding the pork chops to the marinade, reserve a little for brushing on the chops during cooking. (Keeping the marinades separate prevents cross-contamination.)
4. On a grill: Grilling marinated pork chops may be one of the most popular ways to achieve crispy, charred edges and a tender, juicy texture. A bottle of teriyaki or BBQ sauce alone can serve as a compelling marinade: When exposed to the high heat of a grill, the sugars caramelize and create a flavorful crust on the outer edges of the meat. Grill pork chops in a grill pan, or place directly on the well-oiled grates of a gas or charcoal grill.
5. On the stovetop: Sear pork chops in a cast-iron skillet over medium-high heat to develop a golden-brown crust, three to five minutes per side.

Simple Pork Chop Marinade Recipe

Ingredients

1 cup olive oil
¼ cup lemon juice, apple cider vinegar, red or white wine vinegar, or balsamic vinegar
¼ cup soy sauce or Worcestershire sauce
2 tablespoons light brown sugar
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
3 garlic cloves, grated, or 1 teaspoon garlic powder
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

Note: Total time does not include 2 hours of inactive time.

1
Combine all ingredients in a large mixing bowl and whisk to incorporate.
2
Transfer the marinade to a food-safe resealable plastic bag or a shallow baking dish along with the pork chops. If using a bag, seal and use your hands to massage the marinade into the meat. If using a baking dish, use tongs to turn the meat until evenly coated.
3
Store in the refrigerator for 2 hours.

Jimmy Dore Bitchslaps Bill Maher: “There is no democracy in America, Bill!”

While rich establishmentarians like Bill Maher try to pretend there is a real democracy in the US, or that the Dems are its champions, Jimmy strongly disagrees. (And he’s damn right, of course.)

November 20, 2022

https://youtu.be/7r6rG36z0Eo

How to do it RIGHT…

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Putin’s Sledgehammer

November 21, 2022

“The Ukrainians are in bad shape… It won’t be long before the Ukrainians run out of food. It won’t be long before they freeze… They have done all that we can reasonably expect them to do. It’s time to negotiate…. before the offensive begins, because once it begins, there will be no further discussion between Moscow and Kiev until it is over to the satisfaction of the Russians.” Colonel Douglas MacGregor, “War in Ukraine; Quiet Before the Storm”, 15 minute-mark

“Strictly speaking, we haven’t started anything yet.” Russian President Vladimir Putin

The relentless attacks on Ukraine’s electrical grid, fuel-storage units, railway hubs, and Command-and-Control centers mark the beginning of a second and more lethal phase of the war. The increased tempo of the high-precision, long-range missile attacks suggests that Moscow is laying the groundwork for a major winter offensive that will be launched as soon as Russia’s 300,000 reservists join their formations in east Ukraine. Kiev’s refusal to negotiate a settlement that addresses Russia’s core security concerns, has left Russian president Vladimir Putin with no other option but to defeat Ukrainian forces on the battlefield and impose a settlement through force-of-arms. The impending winter offensive is designed to deliver the knock-out punch Russia needs to achieve its strategic objectives and bring the war to swift end. This is from Reuters:

Russian missile strikes have crippled almost half of Ukraine’s energy system, the government said on Friday, and authorities in the capital Kyiv warned that the city could face a “complete shutdown” of the power grid as winter sets in. With temperatures falling and Kyiv seeing its first snow, officials were working to restore power nationwide after some of the heaviest bombardment of Ukrainian civilian infrastructure in nine months of war.

The United Nations says Ukraine’s electricity and water shortages threaten a humanitarian disaster this winter.

“Unfortunately Russia continues to carry out missile strikes on Ukraine’s civilian and critical infrastructure. Almost half of our energy system is disabled,” Prime Minister Denys Shmyhal said….

“We are preparing for different scenarios, including a complete shutdown,” Mykola Povoroznyk, deputy head of the Kyiv city administration, said in televised comments.” (“Ukraine says half its energy system crippled by Russian attacks, Kyiv could ‘shutdown’”, Reuters)

Until recently, Russia had avoided targets that would dramatically impact civilian activities, but now military leaders have returned to a more conventional approach. Presently, the military is destroying whatever facilities, transformers, storage units, substations, rail yards and energy depots that allow Ukraine to continue to wage war. Clearly –as the bigger and more powerful state — it was always within Russia’s ability to take a sledgehammer to Ukraine and break it into a million pieces, but Putin chose to hold back hoping that Kiev would come to its senses and see the hopelessness of its cause. And –despite the deluge of western propaganda to the contrary– the outcome of this war has never been in doubt. Russia is going to impose a settlement on Kiev and that settlement will require the government to cut all ties with NATO and to sign a treaty declaring its neutrality into perpetuity. Russia is not going to allow a hostile military alliance to place its missile sites and combat troops on its western flank. That won’t happen. Unfortunately, Russia’s military operation is going to greatly increase the suffering of the Ukrainian people who find themselves locked in a cage-match between the Washington and Moscow. This is from the World Socialist Web Site:

Poverty in Ukraine has increased more than tenfold since the outbreak of the US/NATO-Russia war, according to the latest data from the World Bank (WB). Officially, 25 percent of the country’s population is now poor, up from supposedly just 2 percent before February 2022… With officials predicting that the poverty rate could rise to as much as 60 percent or more next year, levels of deprivation are emerging in Ukraine that have not been witnessed on the European continent since the end of World War II.

Unemployment is now running at 35 percent, and salaries have fallen by as much as 50 percent over the spring and summer for some categories of workers. … according to the International Monetary Fund, Ukraine’s public debt has now soared to 85 percent of GDP…. A recently released joint study by the World Health Organization and Ukraine’s Ministry of Health found that 22 percent of people in Ukraine cannot access essential medicines. For the country’s 6.9 million internally displaced, that number rises to 33 percent.

…The medications that are hardest to get—those that treat blood pressure, heart problems and pain, as well as sedatives and antibiotics—reveal a population struggling to cope with decades of poverty-induced ill health and the physical and psychological trauma of war. While US and NATO officials are able to dispatch massive amounts of firepower to Ukraine’s front lines within a matter of weeks, the delivery of life-saving humanitarian goods is seemingly an impossible logistical challenge.”(“Poverty skyrockets in Ukraine”, World Socialist Web Site)

Washington’s proxy-war on Moscow has inflicted incalculable suffering on the people of Ukraine who now face plunging temperatures, dwindling food supplies, a crashing economy and a growing shortage of essential medications. And despite the chest-thumping bravado over the recapturing of Kherson, the Ukrainian people will now be forced to flee their battered homeland by the millions seeking refuge in Europe which has already slipped into a post-industrial slump brought on by Uncle Sam’s reckless provocations. How many of these working-class Ukrainians would have preferred that their leaders reach an accommodation with Putin (regarding his legitimate security concerns) rather than engaging the Russian army in a pointless war which has cost them their homes, their jobs, their cities, and (for many) their lives? And do the people outside the country who claim to “Stand With Ukraine” realize that they are actually supporting the impoverishment and immiseration of millions of civilians that are caught in a geopolitical crossfire between Washington and Russia? Anyone who genuinely cares about Ukraine should support Ukrainian neutrality and an end to NATO expansion. That is the only way this war is going to end. Russian security will be achieved by-way of a treaty or an iron-fist. The choice is Ukraine’s. This is from an article titled ‘Russia Is Right: The U.S. Is Waging a Proxy War in Ukraine‘:

“The war in Ukraine isn’t just a conflict between Moscow and Kyiv, Russian Foreign Minister Sergei Lavrov recently declared. It is a “proxy war” in which the world’s most powerful military alliance … is using Ukraine as a battering ram against the Russian state … Lavrov is … not wrong. Russia is the target of one of the most ruthlessly effectively proxy wars in modern history.”

The US foreign policy establishment does not care about Ukraine or the Ukrainian people. The country is merely a launching pad for Washington’s war on Russia. That is why the CIA toppled the democratically-elected government in Kiev in 2014 and that is why the CIA armed and trained Ukrainian paramilitaries to fight the Russian military in 2015 (7 years before the invasion!) Here’s some background from a 2015 article at Yahoo News:

“The CIA is overseeing a secret intensive training program in the U.S. for elite Ukrainian special operations forces and other intelligence personnel, according to five former intelligence and national security officials familiar with the initiative. The program, which started in 2015, is based at an undisclosed facility in the Southern U.S., according to some of those officials….

“The United States is training an insurgency,” said a former CIA official, adding that the program has taught the Ukrainians how “to kill Russians.”

…the CIA and other U.S. agencies could support a Ukrainian insurgency, should Russia launch a large-scale incursion.

…“We’ve been training these guys now for eight years. They’re really good fighters. …representatives from both countries also believe that Russia won’t be able to hold on to new territory indefinitely because of stiff resistance from Ukrainian insurgents, according to former officials.

If the Russians launch a new invasion, “there’s going to be people who make their life miserable,” said the former senior intelligence official… “All that stuff that happened to us in Afghanistan,” said the former senior intelligence official, “they can expect to see that in spades with these guys.” (“CIA-trained Ukrainian paramilitaries may take central role if Russia invades”, Yahoo News)

There it is in black and white. The plan to use Ukraine as a staging-ground for conducting a proxy-war on Russia preceded the invasion by at least 7 years. The Obama administration and their neocon allies set a trap for Russia in order to drag them into an Afghanistan-like quagmire that would deplete their resources and kill as many Russian servicemen as possible. As Defense Secretary Lloyd Austin recently admitted, the US wants to “weaken” Russia so it is unable to project power beyond its borders. Washington seeks unhindered access to Central Asia so it can encircle China with military bases and nuclear missiles. The US intends to control China’s growth while dominating the world’s most populous and prosperous region of the next century, Asia. But first, Washington must crush Russia, collapse its economy, isolate it from the global community, demonize it in its media, and topple its leaders. Ukraine is seen as the first phase in a much broader strategy aimed at regime change (in Moscow) followed by the forced fragmentation of the Russian state. The ultimate objective is the preservation of Washington’s preeminent role in the global order. Putin’s winter offensive threatens to derail Washington’s plan to drag the conflict out for as long as possible. In the weeks and months ahead, Russia is going to intensify its assault on Ukraine’s critical infrastructure. Most of the country will be plunged into darkness, fuel supplies will dry up, food and water will become scarcer, communications will be cut off, and all rail-traffic will cease. Millions of civilians will flee to Europe while the entire country slowly grinds to a standstill. At the same time that Russian battalions overtake cities and towns east of the Dnieper, the Russian army will block vital supply-lines from Poland cutting off the flow of lethal weaponry and combat troops headed to the front. This, in turn, will lead to widespread capitulation among Ukrainian fighting units operating in the field which will force Zelensky to the negotiating table. Eventually, Russia will prevail and its legitimate security demands will be met. Here’s how Colonel Douglas MacGregor summed it up in a recent interview:

“What’s coming in the future is a very massive offensive... the kind of offensive that I and many other military analysts expected at the beginning; Very decisive operations, multiple operational axes designed to effectively annihilate the enemy on the ground. And that’s what’s coming now, that’s what lies in the future.” (Colonel Douglas MacGregor, “War in Ukraine; Quiet Before the Storm”, you tube)

When the ground freezes, Russia’s offensive will begin.

I’d try it.

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Are the Chinese mad at Japan for what they did in WW2?

Monte Cristo Sandwich

“A great brunch item! One of my husbands favorite filling, baked, french toast style, sandwiches filled with cheese, ham, turkey & mustard. Raspberry preserves is a must for him. Could be eaten for breakfast, lunch or dinner. This is a LESSER FAT Monte Cristo recipe being baked and not fried full of flavor! I also like to buy the low salt cold cuts or use fresh baked turkey leftovers sliced thin.”

Ingredients

8 slices bread (I use challah)
4 teaspoons honey dijon mustard
8 slices thin deli sliced swiss cheese
8 slices thin deli ham
8 slices thin deli sliced turkey (I like smoked)
3 large eggs
2 tablespoons flour
1 tablespoon melted butter
¹⁄₄ teaspoon salt
¹⁄₄ teaspoon black pepper
2 tablespoons milk (low fat to try to keep it low in fat!)
powdered sugar, for dusting
raspberry preserves, for dipping

Directions

Heat oven to 425°F.
Lightly butter a baking sheet pan. I use the spray.
Spread 1/2 teaspoon mustard on each slice of bread.
Layer between mustard sides of two slices of bread, 1 slice cheese, 2 slices ham, 2 slices turkey, and another slice of cheese.
Repeat to make four sandwiches. Whisk eggs, flour, butter, salt and pepper in a shallow dish until smooth.
Blend in milk.
DIP both sides of sandwiches into egg mixture until bread is lightly soaked.
Place on baking sheet; drizzle any remaining egg mixture over top of sandwiches.
Bake 8-10 minutes until bottom is golden brown.
Turn with wide spatula and continue baking 8-10 minutes or until second side is golden brown.
Serve warm dusted with powdered sugar and dip or spread raspberry preserves on sandwiches.
Garnish with fresh raspberries.

Have a great evening!

Some more daily postings and our strange world of craziness

"I had a great conversation with Premier Li. It was very positive and constructive," - Australian PM

Biden and Xi Peng are in Indonesia. President Biden said Bla Bla Bla. Xi Peng smiled.

The American media are all in a tizzy.

American government officials are busy working on the next assault on China. Somehow believing that their subterfuge is still working…

Let’s forget that bullshit. Check out some actual stuff.

Ladies and gentleman, China now produces 1 billion chips a day.

In a few years, China’s chip production capacity has jumped from the top five in the world to the third in the world, surpassing the United States.

Today, China’s mass-produced 28nm and 14nm processes can meet 70% of the domestic chip demand. With the simultaneous advancement of chip design and chip manufacturing technology, China’s daily chip production capacity has now reached 1 billion, and China’s chip output in the first half of the year has reached 190 billion, more than half of the 360 billion China imported chips.

China’s domestic chip self-sufficiency rate quickly exceeded 30%. Chips in mainland China have made breakthroughs in both technology and production capacity, which not only reduced the number of imported chips, but also began to enter overseas markets after the competitiveness was improved.

China’s chip exports have increased by more than 20% this year, and the number of chip exports in the first eight months has reached more than 160 billion.

Funny …

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A Russian checks-out the Zhuhai airshow!

Авиационно-Космическая выставка в Китае. Airshow China 2022. НОВИНКИ!!!

Why do most people who have a positive view of China have been to China? Conversely, most people who have a negative view of China have never been to China?

Very simple. Those people who’ve been to China have seen what a magnificent and wonderful country China is.

Those people who’ve never been to China get their understanding of the country from Western media, which constantly lies about China, which constantly tries to demonize China.

There is absolutely no mystery here.

Something to think about…

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Power Farting

Oggy

Oggy, my oldest. He is now four years old. This is him watching kitties on the iPad. I found him among a batch of kittens outside from one of our outside cats. He looked at me and meowed so hard his head shook then came running to me as fast as a six week old could. I fell instantly in love and took him inside. I sat on the couch with him and we watched the show Oggy and the Cockroaches together. He loafed in my lap and really seemed to enjoy the video. So, I named him Oggy after the cat on the show.

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China is offering “friendly countries” the chance to buy a radar system that could offset the battlefield reconnaissance advantages of Western satellites.

The 10-metre-tall SLC-18 active electronically scanned array radar, which has been on display at the China International Aviation and Aerospace Exhibition in Zhuhai, Guangdong province, this week, can detect and track multiple low-orbiting satellites at the same time and forecast their paths, its developer, state-owned China Electronics Technology Group Corporation, said.

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SLC-18 can detect and track multiple low-orbiting satellites at the same time
System provides ‘situational awareness capabilities’ on modern battlefields

What kind of leader is Xi Jinping?

He’s somebody who will deal with shit. I mean it literally.

In 1974, Xi volunteered to go to Liangjiahe, a dirt-poor village in Northwestern China. His dad was getting the rough treatment during the Cultural Revolution, so he probably felt that getting out of Beijing was a safer move. So he volunteered.

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There he was, second from the left.

China’s GDP per capita in the 70’s was around $100 per year, which is obviously not great. But Liangjiahe was a totally different ball game. It was a famously poor place. I would guess the GDP per capita was maybe $20 a year. No, I did’t miss any zeros. It was really that poor. There was no electricity, no indoor plumbing, no toilet, no heat, no rice or flour. Corn was a luxury, millet and wild grass were the normal diet. and people just dug dirt caves out of mountains to live. This was the cave Xi lived in at that time:

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The villagers that Xi lived with – were mostly illiterate and covered in fleas. So Xi looked around, and was like, fleas, oh well, I just have to get used to it. Food? That’s OK, I’ll take a hoe and go farm with the villagers. We can feed ourselves. Electricity? Water? Nah, nothing can be done about that. So what do we have? Poop! OK, so we have poop. We can make something with that, maybe.

So he read about fermenting poop to make methane gas, and tried to build a poop-fermenter in his village, so that people can use it for light and cooking at night. He was only 16 or 17 at that time, so he wasn’t very good and got the pipe stuck, so he had to jump into the cesspool to clear the pipe, and got poop all over himself, but he got it working. The next year he traded his motorbike for a water pump and some other tools for the village, and pretty soon his village was getting more prosperous. He stayed and worked in that village for 7 years, applied to join the CCP 10 times, got rejected 9 times, and finally got admitted on the 10th time. The villagers promptly elected him the Party Secretary of the village. That was how he started his political career in China.

He’s not unique. Actually, all of China’s leaders have been through absolute hell to get to where they are. CCP tradition is that unless you start from the very bottom, you’ll never get to the very top. I mean, you are selecting 7 out of 80 million, once every 10 years, so the CCP traditionally has been absolutely ruthless in terms of discipline and promotion. Election bribery? Expel 70. Industrial accident? Send 25 to jail. Corruption? Punish 100,000 in one year. Get GDP to grow at 10%+, while keep your nose clean? OK, you get a one step promotion. A small purge once every 2 years. A big purge once every 5 years. You’ve got to beat out 80 million people to get there, and everybody is swimming as hard as you are. The ones who pop out at the end, after 35 years, are all NOT your normal people!

When Beijing announced the plan to eliminate extreme poverty in 2015, most foreign observers were dubious. Can China Wipe Out Poverty By 2020?

Since the announcement, People Daily, the top Chinese newspaper, has been literally reporting on poverty reduction DAILY – success, failure, method, strategy, recidivism, lessons learned, statistics, etc.

Everyday!

I suspect the guy is actually serious about it.

Cookie

Cookie, the black and white beauty. She is three. She was a very tiny thing when I found her starving and sick outside of a church. I held her and thought she looked like a tiny little cookie. I called her my Lil’ Cookie Crumb. Now, though, she thinks her name is Pretty because I always tell her she is so pretty! So she responds to that word.

Oggy has always been jealous of Cookie since the day I got her. He hated sharing my attention with her. This picture is actually one of their silent squabbles. When one tries to get past, the other gets a little in front and gives the death stare. So now they are both sitting, looking at me, but not daring to go past the door.

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Leo

This is our sweet little Leo. He is now two. A friend of mine said her mom had kittens at her house and couldn’t keep them all. My husband loves cats, but never got to have one of his own (I had both the others before we moved in together). I decided to get him for my husband, whose astrological sign is Leo. (I don’t really believe in the astrological signs, but I thought it was fun to do that).

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Running…

Poland to “Nationalize” Russia’s GAZPROM Assets – Grab pipelines

World Hal Turner 14 November 2022 Hits: 4154

The government of Poland announced today it is nationalizing the assets of Russia’s GAZPROM; and in so doing, is grabbing the YAMAL-EUROPE natural gas pipelines built and maintained by Russia’s state-owned gas company, GAZPROM.

In addition, Germany announced that it, too, will nationalize GAZPROM assets within Germany. When people do such things, it’s called “theft.” Governments, re-name it.

What this may mean for Poland and Germany is unclear since the gas lines they are grabbing would need to be filled by . . . Russia . . . the country they just stole them from. So that’s not going to happen.

Apparently, Poland and Germany think they can continue to buy US liquified natural gas (at five or ten times the price of Russian gas) and then use the stolen GAZPROM pipelines to distribute the gas. Apparently, Germany and Poland aren’t planning on Russian agents blowing those pipelines up once they get filled with U.S. natural gas . . . but that, of course, is only a hypothetical possibility.

After all, why would Russia blow up the pipelines they paid for, after they were stolen by Poland and Germany?

And why would Russia wait until those pipelines are filled with US natural gas, that Europe desperately needs to avoid freezing to death this winter? (/sarcasm off)

Moreover, German and Polish industry simply cannot afford to operate if energy costs are five to ten times higher. Industry will have to LEAVE those countries or die.

Once again, the West shows itself to have no standard of decency, no morals, and no law.

When Germany and Poland see the sudden, bright, white, flashes, they will have brought it upon themselves.

What is so special about the Saharan silver ants?

I did promise you guys that I’d write a full answer on Saharan silver ants, and it appears one of my readers has gone to the trouble of asking me the question for it!

These ants are truly remarkable creatures, easily one of the most interesting species in an already fascinating group. They can be found all across the more northern swathe of the Sahara Desert, a truly extreme habitat which has forced them to undergo some equally extreme adaptations. Here is why they are so unique.

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Living out in the deserts, these insects are faced with a problem. All through the night and for most of the day, predators like lizards run amok. This leaves only a daily ten minute window in which they can emerge from their nest and look for food. There’s only one drawback – the reason there are no predators about during this window is because it’s midday, when the heat is absolutely blistering.

But the tough little critters are up to the challenge. They can withstand up to 53.6 degrees Celsius (128 Fahrenheit) by producing incredible molecules called heat shock proteins, which help maintain cell structure during extreme temperatures.

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All living things use heat shock proteins, but the ants are the only organisms in the world which can manufacture them at will, before they surface, instead of as an automated response to heat after the fact.

Another way that Saharan silver ants resist the beating sun is with their signature coat of silvery hair. They are not cylindrical in shape, like most animals’ hairs, but rather they are triangular prisms. This structure makes them highly reflective; in fact, they reflect away over 90% of the light which hits them. This is why they look so shiny, of course.

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In order to gather enough food to feed an entire colony for a day in just ten minutes, they have to be quick – very, very quick. In fact, relative to their size, Saharan silver ants are the third-fastest organisms on the planet, topped only by a species of tiger beetle and a Californian mite.

They can cover a full metre in a little over a second, which is over 100 times their body length! Very interestingly, they run with their front legs lifted off the ground (perhaps to increase speed, or reduce contact with the searing-hot earth), making them one of the very few quadrupedal invertebrates.

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So, have I convinced you that they’re special? You could make a strong case for ants as the most fascinating of all the insect groups, and Saharan silver ants are part of the reason why. Thank you for reading everyone, I hope you enjoyed this answer, and have a great day.

If the Japanese leaders are heavily corrupted by the US, then are the Japanese companies afraid that their leaders follow the US order?

If you are in a business where your biggest customer China buys 30% of all your products and worst 90% of the balance customers are manufactured in China, you will certainly not want to stop doing business with China.

What is even worst is that you know should you boycott China in 3–5 years they will bring out an alternative that is better, cheaper and more reliable that totally make your products obsolete!

Businessman are not fools. The don’t start business to fail. Politicians do daft things to win votes. They don’t care what happens next as long as they win the election hence businessman takes politician’s suggestion with a pinch of the salt.

If push comes to shove they will divest or even change nationality if they have no choice. The last thing you would do is to destroy your company to please a despicable short term minded politician.

Rhubarb Streusel Cheesecake

Rhubarb pie lovers will dig in to this change-of-pace cheesecake topped with streusel.

Ingredients

Filling

3 cups chopped fresh rhubarb
3/4 cup granulated sugar
1/4 cup water

Crust and Topping

2 cups Gold Medal™ all-purpose flour
2/3 cup packed brown sugar
2/3 cup cold butter

Cream Cheese Mixture

2 packages (8 oz each) cream cheese, softened
2/3 cup packed brown sugar
2 eggs
1 container (8 oz) sour cream

China Coast Guard burns 1.49 tons of methamphetamine

Source

China Military Online

Editor

Li Jiayao

By Ma Shilong and Jiang Qiuyi

BEIJING, Nov. 11 — China Coast Guard (CCG) Taizhou Bureau in Zhejiang Province, joining with local police and procuratorate, launched a destruction activity for the drugs seized in a major maritime smuggling case on November 4. Witnessed by law enforcement officers from the three units, 1.49 tons of drugs were burned in an incinerator for harmless destruction.

It is learnt that the drugs were seized from the “6.01 Major Maritime Drug Smuggling Case” investigated and handled by the Zhejiang Coast Guard and local police in 2018, during which a total of 164 boxes of methamphetamine were seized with a total weight of 1.49 tons. After two years of pursuit, review, prosecution and judgment, the case was sentenced in Taizhou Intermediate People’s Court on June 13, 2020, and 18 suspects were severely punished by law.

Henry Kissinger said U.S. is aimlessly heading toward edge of war against Russia and China. Do you agree with him?

Of course he is 100% correct.

That’s coming from a person who deplores his role in murdering 3 million Vietnamese.

But credit must be given when credit is due. He has the good sense to normalised relationship with 20%of humanity half a century ago.

And his good sense made him see that the US is absolutely wrong to aimlessly lure Russia and China into animosity with the US. It is needless, it is not winnable, it is not helping America a bit.

In fact it is like nailing the final nail in the coffin for America the hegemonic power. The British as much as I deplore them for colonialism have to good sense to not show their cards in starting war in India or it’s colonies. It’s better to be perceived as strong then to be called as weak.

Americans and westerners who still think that we are in 1945, don’t know how strong China really is. I fear for them.

Chinese J-20 and J-16 fighter production rates are going through the roof

China has been building mass scale of manufacturing photonic chips factories now & will be ready to supply the world by year 2023. The photonic chips are 1,000 times better & faster than the 3-5nm chips manufactured by Taiwan & South Korea. Why?

Why has China been building multi-material, cross-scale photonic chip production lines?

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The potential of traditional silicon-based chip materials has basically been exhausted, and it cannot meet the needs of further development of the industry in the future. The use of new materials is the way out to fundamentally solve the problem of chip performance. Photonic chips have become a frontier industry that countries are competing to deploy. Besides, it is difficult for advanced equipment to be fully autonomous, so China has also urgently adjusted its strategy. At present, the development direction of the semiconductor field is mainly divided into two steps. One is to focus on technological breakthroughs in silicon-based chips and wait for opportunities to increase. The second aspect of the autonomy ratio of domestic chips is to find alternative chip technologies. The industry is gradually becoming intelligent. With the support of the 5G technology and systems, the era of the Internet of Everything has begun to take shape, and the demand for chips has increased exponentially. However, traditional electronic chips seem to be powerless. The manufacturing process is extremely complicated, and the core technology is monopolized by the US companies, which has led to rising chip sales prices. After the formation of the monopoly market, it has caused great trouble for the development of international chip manufacturers. The follow-up will definitely not meet the needs of the times, and photonic chips becomes a good substitute.

The photonic chip adopts a new chip design architecture idea, which will be able to greatly improve the performance of existing electronic chips and solve the problems of power consumption, memory access capability and overall computer performance that cannot be solved by electronic chips.

In the field of photonic chips, Chinese companies have mastered many core technologies, and they are currently in their infancy, and many technical patents have not been registered. Therefore, it is a clear choice to increase research and development efforts in this regard. The structure of the photonic chip has low process requirements, generally a hundred nanometer level is enough. The domestic 90nm lithography machine equipment and technology can achieve mature mass production in China.

The focus of photonic chips is on the external extension and preparation, not on the lithography, which means that there is no need to rely on high-end lithography machines, which is also the reason for increasing the domestic layout. Only by getting rid of the dependence on EUV lithography machine can the Chinese gain an advantage in the chip field and achieve the ultimate lane change and overtaking.

The second-generation semiconductor materials such as indium phosphide and gallium arsenide used in photonic chips are naturally stronger than the track materials of silicon based electronic chips.

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According to the forecast of professional institutions, the scale of photonic chips will exceed 100 billion US dollars in the next five years. The domestic research and development of photonic chips has already taken the lead in the world.

The typical players of the Chinese domestic optical chips have chosen the IDM mode. On the one hand, IDM can respond to market demands in a timely manner and flexibly adjust various process parameters in the product production process. On the other hand, it can efficiently troubleshoot problems and accurately address problems in product design, production, and testing. In addition, the IDM model has formed a complete closed-loop process that is not only independent and controllable, but also can effectively protect intellectual property rights.

In the past eight years, the domestic optical chip market has climbed from US$800 million to US$2.08 billion, with an average annual compound growth rate of about 17.3%. At the same time, according to the plans for 5G, data centers, the construction of a new computing power network system integrating data center, cloud computing and big data, to guide the computing power demand in the east to the west in an orderly manner, optimizing the construction layout of the data center, and promote the coordinated linkage between the east and the west, and Dual Gigabit networks, it is expected that the domestic optical chip market size is expected to further expand to US$2.4 billion in 2022.

It is necessary for China to make up for shortcomings in the field of traditional electronic chips as soon as possible, and efforts in the layout of new circuits such as photonic chips as soon as possible. With two-pronged approach, efforts will be made to seize the opportunity of a new round of technological revolution and industrial transformation.

To summon…

What do Saudis think of MBS?

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As a Saudi woman, I believe Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman is the most significant change not only for Saudi Arabia, but also for the entire Middle East.

He is the youngest leader Saudi has ever had — 34 years old — and this is why Saudi Arabia is changing quite rapidly.

He implemented liberal social and economic reforms in a decisive and bold manner, because 70% of the Saudi population are under the age of 30, and are very well-educated and open-minded. He launched the kingdom’s Vision 2030 (which is a set of social and economic reforms). Within only five years, he was able to acheive the following:

Women were given their full legal rights.
Diversified the Saudi economy away from oil (non-oil revenues are now 48% of the annual budget).
Opened up the country for foreign tourism and investment (for the first time ever).
Curbed the power of radical clerics.
Adopted a zero-tolerance policy towards radicalism.
Led a top-down corruption combating campaign ($100 billion was retrieved to the Saudi economy).
Launched mega projects to develop the tourism sector such as the Red Sea Islands, NEOM, Amaala, Qiddea, etc.
Invested in renewable energy (Saudi Arabia is planing to export renewable enrgy to the rest of the world, reamining yet again, an anergy provider).

China to turn the tables on the US within two years.

Within 2 years, China would be in a position to dictate terms with the US. This is the reason the superpower is worried and rattled.

How?

Read the following content:

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From kilo watts to Mega watts to petawatts. The yield of Chinese DEWs to multiply in two years. New scientific breakthroughs by Chinese researchers in the use of relativistic klystron amplifier technology demonstrate that future DEW systems will most likely be far more potent than existing ones.

A project in progress by researchers in Shanghai, who declare they will be capable to fire a 100-petawatt laser shot by 2024 – an output more than 10 times the capacity of the world’s largest nuclear power plant which spotlights this Chinese prowess.

And the other sparkling substance with regards to this subject is that the US is nowhere close to achieve this parity.

Which has a better standard of living, Singapore or Hong Kong?

I have lived in both countries. I am a citizen of Singapore and a permanent resident of HK

Housing: the houses and condos are bigger in Singapore. Condos are usually full facility places with swimming pools, sauna, tennis courts and bbq pits. HK apartments are usually poorly equipped with management fees that are expensive with the only facility being a security guard and an aircon lift lobby. Cost of ownership or rental in Singapore is cheaper. For Singaporeans there is also the opportunity to own public housing flats (unlike HK) which are less than half the price of private apartments. The quality of these flats are now very good and lowers cost of living for the average Singaporean.

Food: Both cities are are fairly similar. I lived as a local in both cities and found that eating at singapore hawker centers are cheap, clean and good. Cheaper and cleaner than HK. Also with more variety in Singapore due to its multiracial population. High end restaurants, both places are equally expensive. For Mid-tier restaurants I found HK to be cheaper. Food hygiene in Singapore is of a higher standard than in HK. In HK the government tends to be reactive and in Singapore the government is more proactive in this regard. Hence we read often of cholera or typhoid outbreaks in HK or tainted seafood or meats etc.

luxury items: HK tends to be cheaper. But everyday down to earth stuff , prices are about similar.

Taxation: if you are mid to low salaried range then tax is lower in Singapore. If you draw more than USD $250k per annum and a local, then HK may be better.

transport cost: Public transport is slightly cheaper in Singapore. Car ownership cost more in Singapore. But if you can afford a car in Singapore, there are more things you can do with it. Driving up to Malaysia is fun and suddenly the cost of things drop by half. In HK you can’t freely drive into China without a whole lot of formalities. Normal HK registered cars can’t go into China. There are more people who own cars in Singapore than HK because of the availability of parking spaces in Singapore compared to HK, although cars can be as much as twice the price in HK.

children: Singapore pursues a policy which is friendly to having children whether in terms of tax, education and so on.

Safety: Both HK and Singapore are safe places with low crime rates, although in HK beneath the placid surface of society, the triads are still functioning actively. But seldom this affects the everyday life of normal citizens. Triads were wiped out in Singapore by the 1970s by tough laws. This is is not to say there are no gangs in Singapore. There are. But these are usually small time ones.

HK: within HK there are more places to visit over the weekend compared to within Singapore. But in Singapore you have the benefit of being able to drive your car into Malaysia and explore all the way to Thailand, and if you feel like it, drive into Thailand. Singapore is also a hub for budget airlines that fly to holiday destinations around the region. Eg. Phuket is only 1.5 hours flying time and can be as cheap as USD80 for a return flight.

healthcare: Both places have good healthcare but Singapore probably has a edge on this being a med-tourism destination.

Language: for foreigners to move around, Singapore has the advantage that most people speak English although at varying levels of competency depending on their level of education. Most Singaporeans speak at least 2 languages if not 3 or 4. Sadly HK is largely monolingual in Cantonese only. Of course there is a portion of HK society that speak some English but that is the Exception rather than the norm.

Overall I have enjoyed my time staying in both countries and both have their strengths. I think in terms of standard of living both are equally high. if you have kids and enjoy a family oriented life style, Singapore would be a better place. But that is not to say there are no exciting places and night spots in Singapore. It has its equal share of such places.

Looking cute…

Given how the Chinese never had a vote in their government ruled by Chinese Communist Party, should media when reporting make the distinction between China and the regime ruling China, when referring to ‘China’ in their reports?

Your ‘given’ is false. The Chinese do have a vote in their government. There are free elections at the local level. Local officials then get to vote for officials at the next level of government above them and so on all the way to the top where the Politburo votes for the national leader.

This is similar to Western democracy. For example, in America you vote for local electors who then vote for the President. American citizens at the bottom do NOT directly vote for their President.

Similarly in Canada where I live. We vote for our Members of Parliament but we do NOT directly vote for the Prime Minister. The choice of national leader is determined behind closed doors by members of the party majority.

The ONLY difference between Chinese democracy and Western-style democracy is that Western democracy is based on competition between multiple parties. In China, there is only one ruling party, the Communist Party of China (CPC).

Competition between multiple parties is a fundamentally flawed concept. Elections become a popularity contest; it does not matter whether the candidate is intelligent nor competent nor experienced.

A multi-party system allows for compromised policy creation. And worries about winning the next election often hinder the execution of long-term policies. Such policies can even get overturned after the next election.

Historically, the Chinese people have always been led by a strong central government, whether it was an imperial dynasty or the CPC. Thus, there is no need to make a distinction between government and the people; they are two halves of the whole.

In what way did living in a foreign country cause you to now be unable to function in your own country?

I have lived in ten countries, and every one of them ruined being German for me a little bit:

Austria: Turned me into a charmer, bonvivant, and small talker. Germans now find me too hedonistic and chatty for comfort.

Canada: Fundamentally changed my expectations regarding friendliness towards strangers. I employ Canadian friendliness with strangers at all times now, and it can be too much for where I’m from. People tend to think I am trying to sell them insurance, or vacuum cleaners, or convert them to some religion when I do that in Germany.

USA: Living there has blown my German preciousness about earthly possessions to smithereens. I am just no longer impressed by glitzy things, because I know they’re a dollar ninetynine at Valumart.

France: Has really stiffened up my professional backbone. I love French professionalism, even if it’s close to being a robot. The serious way I handle work these days is too much for Germans. But I am sticking to it. Work hard, play hard.

England: I can’t put my finger on it exactly, but my years in England have made me a far better person in terms of social skills than I ever was before. Empathetic expression, conversation pace, wit… my fellow Germans consider me British these days because of the way I handle interactions. And I know when to shut up now.

New Zealand: Once you’ve lived in New Zealand, you’ll be hard to impress with scenery. When friends and family send me pictures of their “wonderful views” of German mountains or ocean, they cannot imagine how boring I find those. I’ve seen some seriously amazing stuff in NZ, you know.

China: My years in China have ruined German food for me. Real, authentic, Chinese food with its complexity of flavours, ingredients, and textures makes German food as interesting as a three-part cardboard train kit. If I can get real Chinese food, I will choose it over German food without a further thought.

India: Living in India has opened my eyes to the mechanics of networking. By comparison to normal Germans, I am able to make contact with key people now that they would find inexplicable and downright spooky. Need to talk to the president? No problem, we’re Facebook buddies.

Sweden: When it comes to work place- and correspondence tone, Sweden has spoiled me for life. Never again will I be able to work in Germany, or handle letters from German state offices without needing a stiff drink. The Swedes are so much more gentle.

So, I suppose I am now a softly spoken, over-friendly guy who likes overdoing it in the enjoyment department, works like a robot, doesn’t go for brand names, knows everyone, and expects some serious scenery.

Meowzer

What kind of Americans think China is a threat to the US and want to contain China? Do they have valid reasons? Can they do it?

Many Americans assume all nations are going to be like themselves – competitive, aggressive, exploitative. Many expect threatening behaviour even when it doesn’t exist. Many Americans see China as a threat.

But what Americans didn’t see was that they were being offered an opportunity. An opportunity that was buried by all the propaganda.

The opportunity was to join in world wide integrated trade and development with the belt and road initiatives. It was an opportunity to join in developing huge potential markets in Africa, central Asia, India and South America whilst at the same time lifting billions of people out of poverty and debt, renewing their own economy, fixing the environment and ameliorating global warming.

Marx was right. Capitalist America was so busy competing for crumbs and ignoring its own citizen’s needs, it didn’t see a future where four times as many of earth’s citizens could become consumers of American products. For instance, it destroyed those who would have helped a whole continent, Africa, develop – The Libya Arab Jamahiriya and it would do the same to China if it could to prevent the rise of a modern, egalitarian, educated, tech savvy Africa.

The US is still focused on nuclear, oil and coal when much of the world is already leapfrogging over expensive old technologies and straight into cheaper, environmentally clean ones. Thus sadly, America’s people are being left behind. Its leaders are stuck in the past with its ideologies of greed, lacking dreams of a better future for all.

Rather than containing China, America should look critically at itself first, and then join China and the rest of the world in creating the future. A future that would benefit Americans as well as everyone else. But it probably won’t, and if it succeeds in containing China, I suspect China will simply leave it behind.

What is the reason China does not like to use its massive military power to solve problems? Is it true that China does not like to use military force?

This is absolutely correct. China does not like to wage war. China does not like to interfere in the internal affairs of other nations. China does not like to overthrow foreign regimes.

China treats all nations with dignity and respect. Except when a country (*cough*America*cough*) disrespects it.

China prefers to use diplomacy.

China prefers to trade with nations, no matter what kind of government they have. The Taliban? Who the fuck cares?

Medicated enough?

Is it safe to visit China as an American?

It’s laughable you even have to ask. I’ve been to China five times and it’s 100 times safer than the US. The cops often don’t even carry guns. You can walk around any city at 3am with your wallet glued to your forehead and nothing would happen to you. There really aren’t even that many scams for tourists compared to other countries, especially outside Beijing and Shanghai.

But this is why Americans are viewed as so insular and ignorant. Why did you even ask this? You just assume that China is some big bad evil communist country like the American media and society has brainwashed you into thinking?

True story: first time I went to China in 2010 I was literally blown away at how developed and advanced it is. It’s literally 30 years ahead of the US at least in terms of its infrastructure such as airports, bullet trains, subways, sidewalks, roads, etc. But my brainwashed mind had believed the American spin about China that it was some evil shithole. Oh and I also never found it was some police state. I could buy a beer at a store and drink it on the street and that was no problem, try that in America.

So anyway, if you have to ask if it’s safe to visit it probably means you should not even bother going because the real issue is your internalized American fear of the unknown.

This China’s New MD-22 Hypersonic-aircraft will make the SR-72 Obsolete

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cx6rLy1YpdA

A very bad boy…

Chocolate Mint Brownies

Indulge in a classic bar with three delicious layers—fudgy brownies, minty filling and chocolate glaze.

Ingredients

Brownie Base

1 box (16 oz) Betty Crocker™ Supreme original brownie mix
Water, vegetable oil and egg called for on brownie mix box

Filling

2 tablespoons butter, softened
3 oz cream cheese, softened
2 tablespoons heavy whipping cream
3 cups powdered sugar
1/4 teaspoon mint extract
Betty Crocker™ green gel food color

Topping

1/3 cup heavy whipping cream
1 1/3 cups semisweet chocolate chips
1/3 cup butter

That prick…

The Worst Famine In The US Killed 3 Out Of 4 People; Lessons for Preppers

Nation Hal Turner 14 November 2022

For as long as there have been people, there’s been famine. Our hunter-gatherer ancestors developed agriculture because, although most people’s diets actually got worse when they started farming, it was easier to build up the stores needed to survive a future shortage.

Famines still happened, though; bad weather, disease, or pests could destroy the crops, and that usually meant starvation would follow. Famines are described in the Bible and the works of Greek and Roman historians. They regularly devastated Europe through the Middle Ages and as late as the 1840s, when blight ravaged the whole continent’s potato crop (not just Ireland’s) and killed over a million people.

What fewer people know is that famine has also reared its ugly head in the USA – and reduced some of the earliest settlers to squalor, degradation and finally cannibalism. It was an episode that threatened the whole idea of European settlement in North America; it also contains a lot of lessons for preppers.

The Optimists

Settlement of North America by English speakers goes back to the Virginia Charter; issued by King James I in 1606, it authorized English subjects to set up colonies in a swathe of land up the East Coast from what’s now North Carolina to well into modern Canada. Would-be settlers didn’t waste much time; an expedition was quickly organized, and set sail from Plymouth on December 20 the same year. On May 13, 1607 they landed on the coast of Virginia, and established a settlement named in honor of their King – Jamestown.

The original group of settlers was small and all-male, comprising 104 men and boys. They were adventurous, confident people, determined to build a life for themselves in a vast new land. They were also almost completely unprepared, and lacking many of the skills and supplies they would need to survive long-term.

These colonists were setting out to live in a place they had never visited before and knew little about. Surely they would have made sure they could survive in the worst-case scenario of what they would find there? Well, no. They didn’t.

Virginia was unsettled, but not totally unknown. Explorers had sailed along its coast and even landed there. The Jamestown settlers knew the land was inhabited, and that led them to make some dangerous assumptions. In the end, those assumptions would destroy the colony.

The colonists had no plan to make themselves self-sufficient in food, which any prepper knows is a basic survival requirement. Instead, they planned to rely on trade with the indigenous people, supplemented by some farming and occasional supply ships from England. That was a mistake. To compound it, they chose a settlement location based on how easy it was to defend. That’s an important factor in choosing a settlement, but it’s not the only factor.

Jamestown was located on a small island in the James River, separated from the mainland by a narrow channel. That channel made the island easy to defend, but it also meant there wasn’t a lot of game on it; the settlers couldn’t rely on hunting as a food source. Much of the island was also tidal wetlands, which couldn’t be farmed, and it was close enough to the sea that the water in the James River was brackish and undrinkable. As a place to build a self-sufficient settlement, it couldn’t have been much worse.

Despite its faults, though, Jamestown grew steadily for the next two years. Only 38 of the original settlers survived the first winter, but another hundred men joined them in January 1608. More arrived in October, including the colony’s first two women, and another 250 through the summer and fall of 1609. It seemed that Jamestown was a success – but that was all about to change.

I wonder…

these shower thoughts are really confusing 640 04

The Fatal Food Supply Mistakes

Jamestown was situated on land that belonged to the Powhatan tribe, and relations between Chief Powhatan – father of the famous Pocahontas – and the settlers had often been tense. However, by mid-1609 personal respect between Chief Powhatan and leading colonist Captain John Smith had brought a truce, and the Powhatan tribe was the main source of the colony’s food.

Unfortunately, in August 1609 Smith was badly injured in a gunpowder explosion, probably an assassination attempt. His wounds were too severe for the colonists to treat, so in October – with winter approaching – he left for England on one of the ships that had brought more settlers. The leadership of the colony was taken over by John Ratcliffe, who didn’t have Smith’s knack of dealing with the natives, and Chief Powhatan decided to end the truce.

Chief Powhatan’s strategy was simple. He’d been observing the settlers since they arrived, and knew how precarious their food situation was, so there was an obvious way to force them to leave and get rid of the colony on his tribe’s land – starve them out.

Supply ships from England throughout 1609 had brought several hundred new colonists, but they hadn’t brought a lot of food. Most of the rations that had left England had been on a ship which separated from the supply fleet in a storm and ended up wrecked on Bermuda. Jamestown had pinned all its hopes on buying food from the Powhatan, and now that source was suddenly cut off.

To make matters even worse, a drought in the summer had wiped out almost all the crops in Jamestown’s small farms. Granaries and root cellars were virtually empty. Now, deliveries from the Powhatan stopped and the tribe began killing any settler who ventured onto the mainland to hunt. Jamestown went into the winter of 1609/10 with close to 500 residents, but stores to feed barely a tenth of that number until spring.

The Starving Time

Most of Jamestown’s early history is well enough known; settlers kept diaries, wrote letters home and sent reports to the Virginia Company and the King. In fall of 1609, though, the historical record suddenly goes dark. There are few detailed accounts of what happened in Jamestown between Captain Smith’s departure for England on October 4 and the arrival of two ships from Bermuda on May 23, 1610. Why? Probably because nobody who lived through that winter in Jamestown wanted to talk about what they did to survive.

The accounts that do survive tell of desperate measures. A few Indians were still willing to supply small amounts of food – but only in exchange for essentials that the colonists wouldn’t normally even consider trading. In early winter, many Jamestown residents gave away the tools they needed to build, farm and work at their trades. Some even traded the weapons they needed to defend themselves. It still wasn’t enough.

For archaeologists, rubbish heaps are a gold mine of information. Plant remains and household rubbish can tell us a lot about how people lived in the past, but few things are more informative than animal bones. If your dog dies and you’re not very sentimental, you might throw its body in the trash – but you won’t joint it first. That winter, the people of Jamestown were cutting up their dogs and throwing the bones in the trash. By that point the horses had probably all been eaten, and when the dogs were gone cat and rat bones started turning up in the rubbish heaps. Unable to hunt, the colonists were eating every animal they could get their hands on. But soon the animals were all gone, too, and at that point truly horrible things began to happen in the starving settlement.

Dark rumors about the colonists’ desperation have made it into the history books. There are tales of freshly buried corpses – and there were many burials that winter – being dug up overnight and butchered for meat. A husband was supposedly burned at the stake for killing his wife and hiding her salted flesh in his house. Foraging parties came back a man short, and some of them probably weren’t killed by Indians. These were all just stories, though. Then, in 2012, proof was found that the people of Jamestown really did resort to eating each other.

Cannibalism has happened often enough in human history that archaeologists are familiar with the distinctive cut marks left on the bones of victims. When the skull, jawbone and one leg of a girl aged about 14 were found in the cellar of the old Jamestown fort, where the colonists sheltered from Indian attacks that winter, archaeologists examined the remains for clues to what killed her. What they found was gruesome – she’d been butchered with an ax or cleaver, and the flesh cut from her bones with a knife.

There’s no possibility that this luckless girl was cannibalized by the Powhatan and her remains retrieved later; while the Indians pillaged parts of the settlement, the fort was held by the colonists through the winter. The girl hadn’t been given a decent burial, either. Her remains were found mixed in with a jumble of other bones, including a horse, dogs and squirrels.

Did hungry colonists kill the girl for food, or strip away her flesh after she died of some other cause? We’ll probably never know. But, once the taboo against eating human flesh has been broken and the recently dead consumed, it’s not such a big step to start wondering which of the living could be eaten next.

Being Prepared

The Starving Time of 1610 is a horror story from the distant past, but it contains lessons no prepper should forget. The colonists’ biggest mistake was not being self-sufficient in food. They survived for a while on outside sources, but when those sources were cut off by conflict with the Powhatan and winter storms in the Atlantic, starvation became inevitable. If you plan to survive long term, you need to ensure that you can feed yourself from sources you control and that you have reserves to keep you going if crops fail or you’re under siege for a while. Otherwise, you could end up as a footnote in some future archaeologist’s paper about 21st-century cannibalism.

Curious…

these shower thoughts are really confusing 640 02

Text me…

This Chinese Drone does Something the US doesn’t.

You all, must watch this video.

Feelings…

The One Chart That Explains Everything

Mike Whitney • November 3, 2022

ChinaUSChart 600x470 1 — ChinaUSChart 600×470 1

Look at the chart above. The chart explains everything.

It explains why Washington is so worried about China’s explosive growth. It explains why the US continues to hector China on the issues of Taiwan and the South China Sea.

It explains why Washington sends congressional delegations to Taiwan in defiance of Beijing’s explicit requests.

It explains why the Pentagon continues to send US warships through the Taiwan Strait and ship massive amounts of lethal weaponry to Taipei.

It explains why Washington is creating anti-China coalitions in Asia that are aimed at encircling and provoking Beijing.

It explains why the Biden administration is stepping up its trade war on China, imposing onerous economic sanctions on its businesses, and banning critical high-tech semi-conductors that are “are essential not just… for virtually every aspect of modern society, from electronic products and transport to the design and production of all manner of goods.”

It explains why China has been singled-out in the US National Security Strategy (NSS) as “the only competitor with both the intent and, increasingly, the capability to reshape the international order.”

It explains why Washington now regards China as its biggest and most formidable strategic adversary that must be isolated, demonized and defeated.

The chart above explains everything, not just the hostile diplomatic jabs that are designed to discredit and humiliate China, but also the openly belligerent policies that are aimed at Russia as well.

People need to understand this. They need to see what is really going on so they can put events in their proper geopolitical context.

And what “context” is that?

The context of a Third World War; a war that was thoroughly-planned, instigated and (now) prosecuted by Washington and Washington’s proxies. That’s what’s really going on.

The increasingly violent conflagrations we see cropping-up in Ukraine and Asia are not the result of “Russian aggression” or “evil Putin”. No. They are the actualization of a sinister geopolitical strategy to quash China’s meteoric rise and preserve America’s dominant role in the world order. Can there be any doubt about that?

No. None.

This is why we are experiencing the redivision of the world into warring blocs. This is why we are seeing the roll back of 30 years of Globalization and massive suppyline disruption. And this is why Europe has been thrust headlong into frigid darkness and forced deindustrialisation. All of these suicidal policies were concocted for one purpose and one purpose alone, to maintain America’s exalted spot in the global system.

That is why all of humanity is presently embroiled in a Third World War; a war that is designed to prevent China from becoming the world’s biggest economy; a war that is designed to preserve US global primacy. Check out this excerpt from an article at the World Socialist Web Site:

 An October 19 Financial Times article by Edward Luce, entitled  “Containing China is Biden’s explicit goal,” sounded the following alarm: “Imagine that a superpower declared war on a great power and nobody noticed. Joe Biden this month launched a full-blown economic war on China—all but committing the US to stopping its rise—and for the most part, Americans did not react.

“To be sure, there is Russia’s war on Ukraine and inflation at home to preoccupy attention. But history is likely to record Biden’s move as the moment when US-China rivalry came out of the closet.”

Moreover, last week, a top Biden administration official indicated that the US was preparing new bans on China in key hi-tech areas. Speaking at the Center for a New American Security, Alan Estevez, the under-secretary of Commerce for Industry and Security, was asked if the US would ban China from accessing quantum information science, biotechnology, artificial intelligence software or advanced algorithms. 

Estevez admitted that this was already being actively discussed. “Will we end up doing something in those areas? 

If I was a betting person, I would put down money on that,” he said….

Luce concluded his Financial Times article cited above by declaring: “Will Biden’s gamble work? I’m not relishing the prospect of finding out. For better or worse, the world has just changed with a whimper not a bang. Let us hope it stays that way.”…(“Biden’s technology war against China”, World Socialist Web Site)

Once again, look at the chart. What does it tell you?

The first thing it tells you is that the hostilities we see in Ukraine (and eventually Taiwan), can be traced back to a fundamental shift in the global economy.

China is growing stronger. It’s on a path to overtake the United States economy within the decade.

And with growth, come certain benefits. As the world’s biggest economy, China will naturally become Asia’s regional hegemon.

And, as Asia’s regional hegemon it will be able “to settle regional disputes in its own favor and to de-legitimize U.S. regional and global leadership.”

Can you see the problem here?

For nearly two decades, the US has oriented its foreign policy around a “rebalancing of forces” strategy called the “pivot to Asia”.

In short, the US intends to be the dominant player in the world’s most populous and prosperous region, Asia.

Can you see how China’s rise derails Washington’s plan for the future?

The United States is not going to let this happen without a fight. Washington is not going to let China muscle-it-out of the markets that it plans to dominate. That’s not going to happen.

And if you think that’s going to happen, you’d better think again. The United States will go to war to avoid a scenario in which the US plays “second fiddle” to China.

In fact, the foreign policy establishment has already decided that the US will engage China militarily for that very objective.

So, our thesis is simple; we think WW3 has already begun.

That’s all we’re saying.

The ructions we see in Ukraine are merely the first salvo in a Third World War that has already triggered an unprecedented energy crisis, massive worldwide food insecurity, a catastrophic break-down in global supply lines, widespread and out-of-control inflation, the steady reemergence of extreme nationalism, and the redivision of the world into warring blocs. What more proof do you need?

And it’s all economic. The origins of this conflict can all be traced back to the seismic changes in the global economy, the rise of China and the unavoidable decline of the United States. It is a case of one empire replacing the other. Naturally, a transition of this magnitude is going to generate tectonic changes in global distribution of power. And along with those changes will come more flashpoints, more devastation, and the looming prospect of nuclear war. And this is precisely how things are playing out.

So, how does the chart explain what is happening in Ukraine?

Washington’s proxy war in Ukraine is actually aimed at China not Russia.

Russia is not a peer competitor and Russia does not have the economic wherewithal to displace the United States in the global order. NordStream, however, did pose a significant risk to the US by greatly strengthening Moscow’s economic relations with the EU and particularly with Europe’s industrial powerhouse, Germany.

The Moscow-Berlin alliance—which was mutually beneficial and key to German prosperity—had to be sabotaged to prevent further economic integration that would have drawn the continents closer together into the world’s biggest free trade zone.

Washington had to stop that in order to preserve its economic stranglehold on Europe and defend the dollar as the world’s reserve currency. Even so, no one expected the US to blow up the pipeline itself in—what appears to be—the greatest act of industrial terrorism in history. That was truly shocking.

In essence, Washington sees Russia as an obstacle to its “pivot” plan to encircle, isolate and weaken China. But Russia is not the greatest threat to US global primacy; not even close. That designation belongs to China.

The Third World War is being waged to contain China not Russia. What the war in Ukraine suggests is that—among foreign policy elites—there is general agreement that, The road to Beijing goes through Moscow.

That appears to be the consensus view. In other words, US powerbrokers want to weaken Russia in order to spread US military bases across Asia. Ultimately, the military will be called upon to enforce Washington’s economic rule over its new Asian subjects. If that day ever comes.

We think it is extremely unlikely that Washington’s ambitious plan will succeed, but we have no doubt that it will be implemented all the same.

Tens of millions of people are likely to die in a desperate attempt to turn-back the clock to the fleeting ‘unipolar moment’ and the equally short-lived American Century.

It is a tragedy beyond comprehension.

You’re Fucked

A Walk in the Dark by Arthur C. Clarke (Full Text)

Arthur C. Clarke

Through his distinguished career in science fiction, Sir Arthur C. Clarke (1917-2008) was known both for writing the hardest of hard science fiction stories and novels and also for visionary far-future stories showing the influence of Olaf Stapledon. But there were more sides to Sir Arthur, as in the humorous stories he collected in Tales from the White Hart, and in his being a fan of celebrated horror writer H.P. Lovecraft (“[H]is best stories were masterpieces in their genre,” Clarke wrote in a letter to fantasy master Lord Dunsany), which led to his writing, early in his career, “At the Mountains of Murkiness,” a Lovecraft parody. “A Walk in the Dark” is definitely not a parody, and starts out apparently in Clarke’s best hard science vein, but gradually takes a sinister turn. A distinguished science fiction editor once wrote that the first story she read by Clarke, when she was very young, was this one, and it frightened her so much that it was years before she could bring herself to read anything else with his name on it. Of course, the typical reader isn’t going to grow up to be an editor, and can probably handle this story. Right after they make sure all the lights are on and check the batteries in their flashlight . . .

Known for being one of the “Big Three” writers of modern science fiction (with Robert A. Heinlein and Isaac Asimov), co-author of and technical advisor for the now-classic movie, 2001: A Space Odyssey, author of many best-selling novels, commentator on CBS’s coverage of the Apollo missions, and winner of numerous awards, Sir Arthur C. Clarke surely needs no introduction (though I just snuck one in anyway). In a technical paper in 1945, he was first to describe how geosynchronous satellites could relay broadcasts from the ground around the world”., bringing a new era in global communications and television. His novels are too numerous to list here (but I’ll plug three of my favorites: The City and the Stars, Childhood’s End, and Earthlight), let alone his many short stories. He was equally adept at non-fiction, notably in his The Exploration of Space in the early 1950s, his frequently reprinted Profiles of the Future, and another bunch of books also too numerous to mention. So, instead of not mentioning them further, I’ll just say, go thou and read.

A WALK IN THE DARK

Arthur C. Clarke

Robert Armstrong had walked just over two miles, as far as he could judge, when his torch failed. He stood still for a moment, unable to believe that such a misfortune could really have befallen him. Then, half maddened with rage, he hurled the useless instrument away. It landed somewhere in the darkness, disturbing the silence of this little world. A metallic echo came ringing back from the low hills: then all was quiet again.

This, thought Armstrong, was the ultimate misfortune. Nothing more could happen to him now. He was even able to laugh bitterly at his luck, and resolved never again to imagine that the fickle goddess had ever favored him. Who would have believed that the only tractor at Camp IV would have broken down when he was just setting off for Port Sanderson? He recalled the frenzied repair work, the relief when the second start had been made, and the final debacle when the caterpillar track had jammed.

It was no use then regretting the lateness of his departure: he could not have foreseen these accidents, and it was still a good four hours before the Canopus took off. He had to catch her, whatever happened; no other ship would be touching at this world for another month.

Apart from the urgency of his business, four more weeks on this out-of-the-way planet were unthinkable.

There had been only one thing to do. It was lucky that Port Sanderson was little more than six miles from the camp—not a great distance, even on foot. He had had to leave all his equipment behind, but it could follow on the next ship and he could manage without it. The road was poor, merely stamped out of the rock by one of the Board’s hundred-ton crushers, but there was no fear of going astray.

Even now, he was in no real danger, though he might well be too late to catch the ship. Progress would be slow, for he dare not risk losing the road in this region of canyons and enigmatic tunnels that had never been explored. It was, of course, pitch-dark. Here at the edge of the Galaxy the stars were so few and scattered that their light was negligible. The strange crimson sun of this lonely world would not rise for many hours, and although five of the little moons were in the sky, they could barely be seen by the unaided eye. Not one of them could even cast a shadow.

Armstrong was not the man to bewail his luck for long. He began to walk slowly along the road, feeling its texture with his feet. It was, he knew, fairly straight except where it wound through Carver’s Pass. He wished he had a stick or something to probe the way before him, but he would have to rely for guidance on the feel of the ground.

It was terribly slow at first, until he gained confidence. He had never known how difficult it was to walk in a straight line. Although the feeble stars gave him his bearings, again and again he found himself stumbling among the virgin rocks at the edge of the crude roadway. He was traveling in long zigzags that took him to alternate sides of the road. Then he would stub his toes against the bare rock and grope his way back onto the hard-packed surface once again.

Presently it settled down to a routine. It was impossible to estimate his speed; he could only struggle along and hope for the best. There were four miles to go—four miles and as many hours. It should be easy enough, unless he lost his way. But he dared not think of that.

Once he had mastered the technique he could afford the luxury of thought. He could not pretend that he was enjoying the experience, but he had been in much worse positions before. As long as he remained on the road, he was perfectly safe. He had been hoping that as his eyes became adapted to the starlight he would be able to see the way, but he now knew that the whole journey would be blind. The discovery gave him a vivid sense of his remoteness from the heart of the Galaxy. On a night as clear as this, the skies of almost any other planet would have been blazing with stars. Here at this outpost of the Universe the sky held perhaps a hundred faintly gleaming points of light, as useless as the five ridiculous moons on which no one had ever bothered to land.

A slight change in the road interrupted his thoughts. Was there a curve here, or had he veered off to the right again? He moved very slowly along the invisible and ill-defined border. Yes, there was no mistake: the road was bending to the left. He tried to remember its appearance in the daytime, but he had only seen it once before. Did this mean that he was nearing the Pass? He hoped so, for the journey would then be half-completed.

He peered ahead into the blackness, but the ragged line of the horizon told him nothing. Presently he found that the road had straightened itself again and his spirits sank. The entrance to the Pass must still be some way ahead: there were at least four miles to go.

Four miles—how ridiculous the distance seemed! How long would it take the Canopus to travel four miles? He doubted if man could measure so short an interval of time. And how many trillions of miles had he, Robert Armstrong, traveled in his life? It must have reached a staggering total by now, for in the last twenty years he had scarcely stayed more than a month at a time on any single world. This very year, he had twice made the crossing of the Galaxy, and that was a notable journey even in these days of the phantom drive.

He tripped over a loose stone, and the jolt brought him back to reality. It was no use, here, thinking of ships that could eat up the light-years. He was facing Nature, with no weapons but his own strength and skill.

It was strange that it took him so long to identify the real cause of his uneasiness. The last four weeks had been very full, and the rush of his departure, coupled with the annoyance and anxiety caused by the tractor’s breakdowns, had driven everything else from his mind. Moreover, he had always prided himself on his hardheadedness and lack of imagination. Until now, he had forgotten all about that first evening at the Base, when the crews had regaled him with the usual tall yarns concocted for the benefit of newcomers.

It was then that the old Base clerk had told the story of his walk by night from Port Sanderson to the camp, and of what had trailed him through Carver’s Pass, keeping always beyond the limit of his torchlight. Armstrong, who had heard such tales on a score of worlds, had paid it little attention at the time. This planet, after all, was known to be uninhabited. But logic could not dispose of the matter as easily as that. Suppose, after all, there was some truth in the old man’s fantastic tale. . . ?

It was not a pleasant thought, and Armstrong did not intend to brood upon it. But he knew that if he dismissed it out of hand it would continue to prey on his mind. The only way to conquer imaginary fears was to face them boldly; he would have to do that now.

His strongest argument was the complete barrenness of this world and its utter desolation, though against that one could set many counterarguments, as indeed the old clerk had done. Man had only lived on this planet for twenty years, and much of it was still unexplored. No one could deny that the tunnels out in the wasteland were rather puzzling, but everyone believed them to be volcanic vents. Though, of course, life often crept into such places. With a shudder he remembered the giant polyps that had snared the first explorers of Vargon III.

It was all very inconclusive. Suppose, for the sake of argument, one granted the existence of life here. What of that?

The vast majority of life forms in the Universe were completely indifferent to man. Some, of course, like the gas-beings of Alcoran or the roving wave-lattices of Shandaloon, could not even detect him but passed through or around him as if he did not exist. Others were merely inquisitive, some embarrassingly friendly. There were few indeed that would attack unless provoked.

Nevertheless, it was a grim picture that the old stores clerk had painted. Back in the warm, well-lighted smoking room, with the drinks going around, it had been easy enough to laugh at it. But here in the darkness, miles from any human settlement, it was very different.

It was almost a relief when he stumbled off the road again and had to grope with his hands until he found it once more. This seemed a very rough patch, and the road was scarcely distinguishable from the rocks around. In a few minutes, however, he was safely on his way again.

It was unpleasant to see how quickly his thoughts returned to the same disquieting subject. Clearly it was worrying him more than he cared to admit.

He drew consolation from one fact: it had been quite obvious that no one at the Base had believed the old fellow’s story. Their questions and banter had proved that. At the time, he had laughed as loudly as any of them. After all, what was the evidence? A dim shape, just seen in the darkness, that might well have been an oddly formed rock. And the curious clicking noise that had so impressed the old man—anyone could imagine such sounds at night if they were sufficiently overwrought. If it had been hostile, why hadn’t the creature come any closer? “Because it was afraid of my light,” the old chap had said. Well, that was plausible enough: it would explain why nothing had ever been seen in the daylight. Such a creature might live underground, only emerging at night—damn it, why was he taking the old idiot’s ravings so seriously! Armstrong got control of his thoughts again. If he went on this way, he told himself angrily, he would soon be seeing and hearing a whole menagerie of monsters.

There was, of course, one factor that disposed of the ridiculous story at once. It was really very simple; he felt sorry he hadn’t thought of it before. What would such a creature live on? There was not even a trace of vegetation on the whole of the planet. He laughed to think that the bogey could be disposed of so easily—and in the same instant felt annoyed with himself for not laughing aloud. If he was so sure of his reasoning, why not whistle, or sing, or do anything to keep up his spirits? He put the question fairly to himself as a text of his manhood. Half-ashamed, he had to admit that he was still afraid—afraid because “there might be something in it after all.” But at least his analysis had done him some good.

It would have been better if he had left it there, and remained half-convinced by his argument. But a part of his mind was still trying to break down his careful reasoning. It succeeded only too well, and when he remembered the plant-beings of Zantil Major the shock was so unpleasant that he stopped dead in his tracks.

Now the plant-beings of Xantil were not in any way horrible. They were in fact extremely beautiful creatures. But what made them appear so distressing now was the knowledge that they could live for indefinite periods with no food whatsoever. All the energy they needed for their strange lives they extracted from cosmic radiation—and that was almost as intense here as anywhere else in the universe.

He had scarcely thought of one example before others crowded into his mind and he remembered the life form on Trantor Beta, which was the only one known capable of directly utilizing atomic energy. That too had lived on an utterly barren world, very much like this . . .

Armstrong’s mind was rapidly splitting into two distinct portions, each trying to convince the other and neither wholly succeeding. He did not realize how far his morale had gone until he found himself holding his breath lest it conceal any sound from the darkness about him. Angrily, he cleared his mind of the rubbish that had been gathering there and turned once more to the immediate problem.

There was no doubt that the road was slowly rising, and the silhouette of the horizon seemed much higher in the sky. The road began to twist, and suddenly he was aware of great rocks on either side of him. Soon only a narrow ribbon of sky was still visible, and the darkness became, if possible, even more intense.

Somehow, he felt safer with the rock walls surrounding him: it meant that he was protected except in two directions. Also, the road had been leveled more carefully and it was easy to keep it. Best of all, he knew now that the journey was more than half completed.

For a moment his spirits began to rise. Then, with maddening perversity, his mind went back into the old grooves again. He remembered that it was on the far side of Carver’s Pass that the old clerk’s adventure had taken place—if it had ever happened at all.

In half a mile, he would be out in the open again, out of the protection of these sheltering rocks. The thought seemed doubly horrible now and he already felt a sense of nakedness. He could be attacked from any direction, and he would be utterly helpless . . .

Until now, he had still retained some self-control. Very resolutely he had kept his mind away from the one fact that gave some color to the old man’s tale—the single piece of evidence that had stopped the banter in the crowded room back at the camp and brought a sudden hush upon the company. Now, as Armstrong’s will weakened, he recalled again the words that had struck a momentary chill even in the warm comfort of the base building.

The little clerk had been very insistent on one point. He had never heard any sound of pursuit from the dim shape sensed, rather than seen, at the limit of his light. There was no scuffling of claws or hoofs on rock, not even the clatter of displaced stones. It was as if, so the old man had declared in that solemn manner of his, “as if the thing that was following could see perfectly in the darkness, and had many small legs or pads so that it could move swiftly and easily over the rock—like a giant caterpillar or one of the carpet-things of Kralkor II.”

Yet, although there had been no noise of pursuit, there had been one sound that the old man had caught several times. It was so unusual that its very strangeness made it doubly ominous. It was a faint but horribly persistent clicking.

The old fellow had been able to describe it very vividly—much too vividly for Armstrong’s liking now.

“Have you ever listened to a large insect crunching its prey?” he said. “Well, it was just like that. I imagine that a crab makes exactly the same noise with its claws when it clashes them together. It was a—what’s the word?—a chitinous sound.”

At this point, Armstrong remembered laughing loudly. (Strange, how it was all coming back to him now.) But no one else had laughed, though they had been quick to do so earlier. Sensing the change of tone, he had sobered at once and asked the old man to continue his story. How he wished now that he had stifled his curiosity!

It had been quickly told. The next day, a party of skeptical technicians had gone into the no-man’s land beyond Carver’s Pass. They were not skeptical enough to leave their guns behind, but they had no cause to use them for they found no trace of any living thing. There were the inevitable pits and tunnels, glistening holes down which the light of the torches rebounded endlessly until it was lost in the distance—but the planet was riddled with them.

Though the party found no sign of life, it discovered one thing it did not like at all. Out in the barren and unexplored land beyond the Pass they had come upon an even larger tunnel than the rest. Near the mouth of that tunnel was a massive rock, half embedded in the ground. And the sides of that rock had been worn away as if it had been used as an enormous whetstone.

No less than five of those present had seen this disturbing rock. None of them could explain it satisfactorily as a natural formation, but they still refused to accept the old man’s story. Armstrong had asked them if they had ever put it to the test. There had been an uncomfortable silence. Then big Andrew Hargraves had said: “Hell, who’d walk out to the Pass at night just for fun!” and had left it at that. Indeed, there was no other record of anyone walking from Port Sanderson to the camp by night, or for that matter by day. During the hours of light, no unprotected human being could live in the open beneath the rays of the enormous, lurid sun that seemed to fill half the sky. And no one would walk six miles, wearing radiation armor, if the tractor was available.

Armstrong felt he was leaving the Pass. The rocks on either side were falling away, and the road was no longer as firm and well packed as it had been. He was coming out into the open plain once more, and somewhere not far away in the darkness was that enigmatic pillar that might have been used for sharpening monstrous fangs or claws. It was not a reassuring thought, but he could not get it out of his mind.

Feeling distinctly worried now, Armstrong made great effort to pull himself together. He would try to be rational again; he would think of business, the work he had done at the camp—anything but this infernal place. For a while he succeeded quite well. But presently, with a maddening persistence, every train of thought came back to the same point. He could not get out of his mind the picture of that inexplicable rock and its appalling possibilities. Over and over again he found himself wondering how far away it was, whether he had already passed it, and whether it was on his right or his left.

The ground was quite flat again, and the road drove on straight as an arrow. There was one gleam of consolation: Port Sanderson could not be much more than two miles away. Armstrong had no idea how long he had been on the road. Unfortunately his watch was not illuminated and he could only guess at the passage of time. With any luck, the Canopus should not take off for another two hours at least. But he could not be sure, and now another fear began to enter his mind—the dread that he might see a vast constellation of lights rising swiftly into the sky ahead, and know that all this agony of mind had been in vain.

He was not zigzagging so badly now, and seemed to be able to anticipate the edge of the road before stumbling off it. It was probable, he cheered himself by thinking, that he was traveling almost as fast as if he had a light. If all went well, he might be nearing Port Sanderson in thirty minutes—a ridiculously small space of time. How he would laugh at his fears when he strolled into his already reserved stateroom in the “Canopus,” and felt that peculiar quiver as the phantom drive hurled the great ship far out of this system, back to the clustered star-clouds near the center of the Galaxy—back toward Earth itself, which he had not seen for so many years. One day, he told himself, he really must visit Earth again. All his life he had been making the promise, but always there had been the same answer—lack of time. Strange, wasn’t it, that such a tiny planet should have played so enormous a part in the development of the Universe, should even have come to dominate worlds far wiser and more intelligent than itself!

Armstrong’s thoughts were harmless again, and he felt calmer. The knowledge that he was nearing Port Sanderson was immensely reassuring, and he deliberately kept his mind on familiar, unimportant matters. Carver’s Pass was already far behind, and with it that thing he no longer intended to recall. One day, if he ever returned to this world, he would visit the pass in the daytime and laugh at his fears. In twenty minutes now, they would have joined the nightmares of his childhood.

It was almost a shock, though one of the most pleasant he had ever known, when he saw the lights of Port Sanderson come up over the horizon. The curvature of this little world was very deceptive: it did not seem right that a planet with a gravity almost as great as Earth’s should have a horizon so close at hand. One day, someone would have to discover what lay at this world’s core to give it so great a density. Perhaps the many tunnels would help—it was an unfortunate turn of thought, but the nearness of his goal had robbed it of terror now. Indeed, the thought that he might really be in danger seemed to give his adventure a certain piquancy and heightened interest. Nothing could happen to hims now, with ten minutes to go and the lights of the Port already in sight.

A few minutes later, his feelings changed abruptly when he came to the sudden bend in the road. He had forgotten the chasm that caused his detour, and added half a mile to the journey. Well, what of it? He thought stubbornly. An extra half-mile would make no difference now—another ten minutes, at the most.

It was very disappointing when the lights of the city vanished. Armstrong had not remembered the hill which the road was skirting, perhaps it was only a low ridge, scarcely noticeable in the daytime. But by hiding the lights of the port it had taken away his chief talisman and left him again at the mercy of his fears.

Very unreasonably, his intelligence told him, he began to think how horrible it would be if anything happened now, so near the end of the journey. He kept the worst of his fears at bay for a while, hoping desperately that the lights of the city would soon reappear. But as the minutes dragged on, he realized that the ridge must be longer than he imagined. He tried to cheer himself by the thought that the city would be all the nearer when he saw it again, but somehow logic seemed to have failed him now. For presently he found himself doing something he had not stooped to, even out in the waste by Carver’s Pass.

He stopped, turned slowly round, and with bated breath listened until his lungs were nearly bursting.

The silence was uncanny, considering how near he must be to the Port. There was certainly no sound from behind him. Of course there wouldn’t be, he told himself angrily. But he was immensely relieved. The thought of that faint and insistent clicking had been haunting him for the last hour.

So friendly and familiar was the noise that did reach him at last that the anticlimax almost made him laugh aloud. Drifting through the still air from a source clearly not more than a mile away came the sound of a landing-field tractor, perhaps one of the machines loading the Canopus itself. In a matter of seconds, thought Armstrong, he would be around this ridge with the Port only a few hundred yards ahead. The journey was nearly ended. In a few moments, this evil plain would be no more than a fading nightmare.

It seemed terribly unfair: so little time, such a small fraction of a human life, was all he needed now. But the gods have always been unfair to man, and now there were enjoying their little jest. For there could be no mistaking the rattle of monstrous claws in the darkness ahead of him.

Uh oh and stand by

Yes. It is positive that the United States Navy blew up the Nord stream 1 and 2 pipelines.

Here’s just what some people are saying…

Yeah…

We are all trapped inside a car with a mad, drunk driver in a rage speeding down the highway…

And Putin lays it all out.

A comment on his speech…

'Historic' is quite probably if not the most abused, misused and overused epithet, at least one of the most abused, misused and overused adjective.

Not this time.

Putin's speech at the occasion of the inclusion into the Russian Federation of Luhansk, Donetsk, Zaporyzhye and Kherson is MEGA-HISTORIC.

Many tabooed truths and ugly realities, coming from the domination era of the US/UK/KFC-AZAEL (Kakistocratic Feudal Conglomerate of the Anglo-Zio-American EstabLishment) have been stated with clarity and confidence but also a direction has been given for the future. Herculean tasks and abysmal dangers are ahead but also dazzling rewards for those who will not only be daring enough but also truly prepared, well organised collectively and with a sense of noble purpose firmly oriented to the right direction of Universal History.

His promethean & glorious words will reverberate for generations, galvanise and inspire countless people across the world.

A clear vision : after Russia, the US/UK/KFC-AZAEL will come for China, Iran and all the other Eurasian partners. Difficult to be more crystal clear.

I'm sure the 3 natural leaders (China, Russia, Iran) of the Sovereigns are unwaveringly on the same wavelength concerning this unescapable truth.

'Kairos' is a Greek word denoting the irruption of timelessness into time.

The manifestation of Truth, Goodness, Beauty and their active mode as Justice, Humanity, Wisdom, Courage into the S.T.E.M. (Space-Time Energy-Matter) phenomenal reality.

Do Svidaniya ! Quan

Recommend reading this HERE.

Here’s the actual text of his speech. Read it as it describes the birth of a new globe…

Putin’s full speech on accession of former Ukrainian territories

From HERE

Below is the full text of Vladimir Putin’s speech, published by the Kremlin’s official website:

Citizens of Russia, citizens of the Donetsk and Lugansk people’s republics, residents of the Zaporozhye and Kherson regions, deputies of the State Duma, senators of the Russian Federation,

As you know, referendums have been held in the Donetsk and Lugansk people’s republics and the Zaporozhye and Kherson regions. The ballots have been counted and the results have been announced. The people have made their unequivocal choice.

Today we will sign treaties on the accession of the Donetsk People’s Republic, Lugansk People’s Republic, Zaporozhye Region and Kherson Region to the Russian Federation. I have no doubt that the Federal Assembly will support the constitutional laws on the accession to Russia and the establishment of four new regions, our new constituent entities of the Russian Federation, because this is the will of millions of people.

It is undoubtedly their right, an inherent right sealed in Article 1 of the UN Charter, which directly states the principle of equal rights and self-determination of peoples.

I repeat, it is an inherent right of the people. It is based on our historical affinity, and it is that right that led generations of our predecessors, those who built and defended Russia for centuries since the period of Ancient Rus, to victory.

Here in Novorossiya, [Pyotr] Rumyantsev, [Alexander] Suvorov and [Fyodor] Ushakov fought their battles, and Catherine the Great and [Grigory] Potemkin founded new cities. Our grandfathers and great-grandfathers fought here to the bitter end during the Great Patriotic War.

We will always remember the heroes of the Russian Spring, those who refused to accept the neo-Nazi coup d’état in Ukraine in 2014, all those who died for the right to speak their native language, to preserve their culture, traditions and religion, and for the very right to live. We remember the soldiers of Donbass, the martyrs of the “Odessa Khatyn,” the victims of inhuman terrorist attacks carried out by the Kiev regime. We commemorate volunteers and militiamen, civilians, children, women, senior citizens, Russians, Ukrainians, people of various nationalities; popular leader of Donetsk Alexander Zakharchenko; military commanders Arsen Pavlov and Vladimir Zhoga, Olga Kochura and Alexei Mozgovoy; prosecutor of the Lugansk Republic Sergei Gorenko; paratrooper Nurmagomed Gadzhimagomedov and all our soldiers and officers who died a hero’s death during the special military operation. They are heroes. Heroes of great Russia. Please join me in a minute of silence to honour their memory.

Behind the choice of millions of residents in the Donetsk and Lugansk people’s republics, in the Zaporozhye and Kherson regions, is our common destiny and thousand-year history. People have passed this spiritual connection on to their children and grandchildren. Despite all the trials they endured, they carried the love for Russia through the years. This is something no one can destroy. That is why both older generations and young people – those who were born after the tragic collapse of the Soviet Union – have voted for our unity, for our common future.

In 1991 in Belovezhskaya Pushcha, representatives of the party elite of that time made a decision to terminate the Soviet Union, without asking ordinary citizens what they wanted, and people suddenly found themselves cut off from their homeland. This tore apart and dismembered our national community and triggered a national catastrophe. Just like the government quietly demarcated the borders of Soviet republics, acting behind the scenes after the 1917 revolution, the last leaders of the Soviet Union, contrary to the direct expression of the will of the majority of people in the referendum of 1991, destroyed our great country, and simply made the people in the former republics face this as an accomplished fact.

I can admit that they didn’t even know what they were doing and what consequences their actions would have in the end. But it doesn’t matter now. There is no Soviet Union anymore; we cannot return to the past. Actually, Russia no longer needs it today; this isn’t our ambition. But there is nothing stronger than the determination of millions of people who, by their culture, religion, traditions, and language, consider themselves part of Russia, whose ancestors lived in a single country for centuries. There is nothing stronger than their determination to return to their true historical homeland.

For eight long years, people in Donbass were subjected to genocide, shelling and blockades; in Kherson and Zaporozhye, a criminal policy was pursued to cultivate hatred for Russia, for everything Russian. Now too, during the referendums, the Kiev regime threatened schoolteachers, women who worked in election commissions with reprisals and death. Kiev threatened millions of people who came to express their will with repression. But the people of Donbass, Zaporozhye and Kherson weren’t broken, and they had their say.

I want the Kiev authorities and their true handlers in the West to hear me now, and I want everyone to remember this: the people living in Lugansk and Donetsk, in Kherson and Zaporozhye have become our citizens, forever.

We call on the Kiev regime to immediately cease fire and all hostilities; to end the war it unleashed back in 2014 and return to the negotiating table. We are ready for this, as we have said more than once. But the choice of the people in Donetsk, Lugansk, Zaporozhye and Kherson will not be discussed. The decision has been made, and Russia will not betray it. Kiev’s current authorities should respect this free expression of the people’s will; there is no other way. This is the only way to peace.

We will defend our land with all the forces and resources we have, and we will do everything we can to ensure the safety of our people. This is the great liberating mission of our nation.

We will definitely rebuild the destroyed cities and towns, the residential buildings, schools, hospitals, theatres and museums. We will restore and develop industrial enterprises, factories, infrastructure, as well as the social security, pension, healthcare and education systems.

We will certainly work to improve the level of security. Together we will make sure that citizens in the new regions can feel the support of all the people of Russia, of the entire nation, all the republics, territories and regions of our vast Motherland.

Friends, colleagues.

Today I would like to address our soldiers and officers who are taking part in the special military operation, the fighters of Donbass and Novorossiya, those who went to military recruitment offices after receiving a call-up paper under the executive order on partial mobilisation, and those who did this voluntarily, answering the call of their hearts. I would like to address their parents, wives and children, to tell them what our people are fighting for, what kind of enemy we are up against, and who is pushing the world into new wars and crises and deriving blood-stained benefits from this tragedy.

Our compatriots, our brothers and sisters in Ukraine who are part of our united people have seen with their own eyes what the ruling class of the so-called West have prepared for humanity as a whole. They have dropped their masks and shown what they are really made of.

When the Soviet Union collapsed, the West decided that the world and all of us would permanently accede to its dictates. In 1991, the West thought that Russia would never rise after such shocks and would fall to pieces on its own. This almost happened. We remember the horrible 1990s, hungry, cold and hopeless. But Russia remained standing, came alive, grew stronger and occupied its rightful place in the world.

Meanwhile, the West continued and continues looking for another chance to strike a blow at us, to weaken and break up Russia, which they have always dreamed about, to divide our state and set our peoples against each other, and to condemn them to poverty and extinction. They cannot rest easy knowing that there is such a great country with this huge territory in the world, with its natural wealth, resources and people who cannot and will not do someone else’s bidding.

The West is ready to cross every line to preserve the neo-colonial system which allows it to live off the world, to plunder it thanks to the domination of the dollar and technology, to collect an actual tribute from humanity, to extract its primary source of unearned prosperity, the rent paid to the hegemon. The preservation of this annuity is their main, real and absolutely self-serving motivation. This is why total de-sovereignisation is in their interest. This explains their aggression towards independent states, traditional values and authentic cultures, their attempts to undermine international and integration processes, new global currencies and technological development centres they cannot control. It is critically important for them to force all countries to surrender their sovereignty to the United States.

In certain countries, the ruling elites voluntarily agree to do this, voluntarily agree to become vassals; others are bribed or intimidated. And if this does not work, they destroy entire states, leaving behind humanitarian disasters, devastation, ruins, millions of wrecked and mangled human lives, terrorist enclaves, social disaster zones, protectorates, colonies and semi-colonies. They don’t care. All they care about is their own benefit.

I want to underscore again that their insatiability and determination to preserve their unfettered dominance are the real causes of the hybrid war that the collective West is waging against Russia. They do not want us to be free; they want us to be a colony. They do not want equal cooperation; they want to loot. They do not want to see us a free society, but a mass of soulless slaves.

They see our thought and our philosophy as a direct threat. That is why they target our philosophers for assassination. Our culture and art present a danger to them, so they are trying to ban them. Our development and prosperity are also a threat to them because competition is growing. They do not want or need Russia, but we do.

I would like to remind you that in the past, ambitions of world domination have repeatedly shattered against the courage and resilience of our people. Russia will always be Russia. We will continue to defend our values and our Motherland.

The West is counting on impunity, on being able to get away with anything. As a matter of fact, this was actually the case until recently. Strategic security agreements have been trashed; agreements reached at the highest political level have been declared tall tales; firm promises not to expand NATO to the east gave way to dirty deception as soon as our former leaders bought into them; missile defence, intermediate-range and shorter-range missile treaties have been unilaterally dismantled under far-fetched pretexts.

And all we hear is, the West is insisting on a rules-based order. Where did that come from anyway? Who has ever seen these rules? Who agreed or approved them? Listen, this is just a lot of nonsense, utter deceit, double standards, or even triple standards! They must think we’re stupid.

Russia is a great thousand-year-old power, a whole civilisation, and it is not going to live by such makeshift, false rules.

It was the so-called West that trampled on the principle of the inviolability of borders, and now it is deciding, at its own discretion, who has the right to self-determination and who does not, who is unworthy of it. It is unclear what their decisions are based on or who gave them the right to decide in the first place. They just assumed it.

That is why the choice of the people in Crimea, Sevastopol, Donetsk, Lugansk, Zaporozhye and Kherson makes them so furiously angry. The West does not have any moral right to weigh in, or even utter a word about freedom of democracy. It does not and it never did.

Western elites not only deny national sovereignty and international law. Their hegemony has pronounced features of totalitarianism, despotism and apartheid. They brazenly divide the world into their vassals – the so-called civilised countries – and all the rest, who, according to the designs of today’s Western racists, should be added to the list of barbarians and savages. False labels like “rogue country” or “authoritarian regime” are already available, and are used to stigmatise entire nations and states, which is nothing new. There is nothing new in this: deep down, the Western elites have remained the same colonisers. They discriminate and divide peoples into the top tier and the rest.

We have never agreed to and will never agree to such political nationalism and racism. What else, if not racism, is the Russophobia being spread around the world? What, if not racism, is the West’s dogmatic conviction that its civilisation and neoliberal culture is an indisputable model for the entire world to follow? “You’re either with us or against us.” It even sounds strange.

Western elites are even shifting repentance for their own historical crimes on everyone else, demanding that the citizens of their countries and other peoples confess to things they have nothing to do with at all, for example, the period of colonial conquests.

It is worth reminding the West that it began its colonial policy back in the Middle Ages, followed by the worldwide slave trade, the genocide of Indian tribes in America, the plunder of India and Africa, the wars of England and France against China, as a result of which it was forced to open its ports to the opium trade. What they did was get entire nations hooked on drugs and purposefully exterminated entire ethnic groups for the sake of grabbing land and resources, hunting people like animals. This is contrary to human nature, truth, freedom and justice.

While we – we are proud that in the 20th century our country led the anti-colonial movement, which opened up opportunities for many peoples around the world to make progress, reduce poverty and inequality, and defeat hunger and disease.

To emphasise, one of the reasons for the centuries-old Russophobia, the Western elites’ unconcealed animosity toward Russia is precisely the fact that we did not allow them to rob us during the period of colonial conquests and forced the Europeans to trade with us on mutually beneficial terms. This was achieved by creating a strong centralised state in Russia, which grew and got stronger based on the great moral valuesof Orthodox Christianity, Islam, Judaism and Buddhism, as well as Russian culture and the Russian word that were open to all.

There were numerous plans to invade Russia. Such attempts were made during the Time of Troubles in the 17th century and in the period of ordeals after the 1917 revolution. All of them failed. The West managed to grab hold of Russia’s wealth only in the late 20th century, when the state had been destroyed. They called us friends and partners, but they treated us like a colony, using various schemes to pump trillions of dollars out of the country. We remember. We have not forgotten anything.

A few days ago, people in Donetsk and Lugansk, Kherson and Zaporozhye declared their support for restoring our historical unity. Thank you!

Western countries have been saying for centuries that they bring freedom and democracy to other nations. Nothing could be further from the truth. Instead of bringing democracy they suppressed and exploited, and instead of giving freedom they enslaved and oppressed. The unipolar world is inherently anti-democratic and unfree; it is false and hypocritical through and through.

The United States is the only country in the world that has used nuclear weapons twice, destroying the cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in Japan. And they created a precedent.

Recall that during WWII the United States and Britain reduced Dresden, Hamburg, Cologne and many other German cities to rubble, without the least military necessity. It was done ostentatiously and, to repeat, without any military necessity. They had only one goal, as with the nuclear bombing of Japanese cities: to intimidate our country and the rest of the world.

The United States left a deep scar in the memory of the people of Korea and Vietnam with their carpet bombings and use of napalm and chemical weapons.

It actually continues to occupy Germany, Japan, the Republic of Korea and other countries, which they cynically refer to as equals and allies. Look now, what kind of alliance is that? The whole world knows that the top officials in these countries are being spied on and that their offices and homes are bugged. It is a disgrace, a disgrace for those who do this and for those who, like slaves, silently and meekly swallow this arrogant behaviour.

They call the orders and threats they make to their vassals Euro-Atlantic solidarity, and the creation of biological weapons and the use of human test subjects, including in Ukraine, noble medical research.

It is their destructive policies, wars and plunder that have unleashed today’s massive wave of migrants. Millions of people endure hardships and humiliation or die by the thousands trying to reach Europe.

They are exporting grain from Ukraine now. Where are they taking it under the guise of ensuring the food security of the poorest countries? Where is it going? They are taking it to the self-same European countries. Only five percent has been delivered to the poorest countries. More cheating and naked deception again.

In effect, the American elite is using the tragedy of these people to weaken its rivals, to destroy nation states. This goes for Europe and for the identities of France, Italy, Spain and other countries with centuries-long histories.

Washington demands more and more sanctions against Russia and the majority of European politicians obediently go along with it. They clearly understand that by pressuring the EU to completely give up Russian energy and other resources, the United States is practically pushing Europe toward deindustrialisation in a bid to get its hands on the entire European market. These European elites understand everything – they do, but they prefer to serve the interests of others. This is no longer servility but direct betrayal of their own peoples. God bless, it is up to them.

But the Anglo-Saxons believe sanctions are no longer enough and now they have turned to subversion. It seems incredible but it is a fact – by causing explosions on Nord Stream’s international gas pipelines passing along the bottom of the Baltic Sea, they have actually embarked on the destruction of Europe’s entire energy infrastructure. It is clear to everyone who stands to gain. Those who benefit are responsible, of course.

The dictates of the US are backed up by crude force, on the law of the fist. Sometimes it is beautifully wrapped sometimes there is no wrapping at all but the gist is the same – the law of the fist. Hence, the deployment and maintenance of hundreds of military bases in all corners of the world, NATO expansion, and attempts to cobble together new military alliances, such as AUKUS and the like. Much is being done to create a Washington-Seoul-Tokyo military-political chain. All states that possess or aspire to genuine strategic sovereignty and are capable of challenging Western hegemony, are automatically declared enemies.

These are the principles that underlie US and NATO military doctrines that require total domination. Western elites are presenting their neocolonialist plans with the same hypocrisy, claiming peaceful intentions, talking about some kind of deterrence. This evasive word migrates from one strategy to another but really only means one thing – undermining any and all sovereign centres of power.

We have already heard about the deterrence of Russia, China and Iran. I believe next in line are other countries of Asia, Latin America, Africa and the Middle East, as well as current US partners and allies. After all, we know that when they are displeased, they introduce sanctions against their allies as well – against this or that bank or company. This is their practice and they will expand it. They have everything in their sights, including our next-door neighbours – the CIS countries.

At the same time, the West has clearly been engaged in wishful thinking for a long time. In launching the sanctions blitzkrieg against Russia, for example, they thought that they could once again line up the whole world at their command. As it turns out, however, such a bright prospect does not excite everyone – other than complete political masochists and admirers of other unconventional forms of international relations. Most states refuse to ”snap a salute“ and instead choose the sensible path of cooperation with Russia.

The West clearly did not expect such insubordination. They simply got used to acting according to a template, to grab whatever they please, by blackmail, bribery, intimidation, and convinced themselves that these methods would work forever, as if they had fossilised in the past.

Such self-confidence is a direct product not only of the notorious concept of exceptionalism – although it never ceases to amaze – but also of the real ”information hunger“ in the West. The truth has been drowned in an ocean of myths, illusions and fakes, using extremely aggressive propaganda, lying like Goebbels. The more unbelievable the lie, the quicker people will believe it – that is how they operate, according to this principle.

But people cannot be fed with printed dollars and euros. You can’t feed them with those pieces of paper, and the virtual, inflated capitalisation of western social media companies can’t heat their homes. Everything I am saying is important. And what I just said is no less so: you can’t feed anyone with paper – you need food; and you can’t heat anyone’s home with these inflated capitalisations – you need energy.

That is why politicians in Europe have to convince their fellow citizens to eat less, take a shower less often and dress warmer at home. And those who start asking fair questions like “Why is that, in fact?” are immediately declared enemies, extremists and radicals. They point back at Russia and say: that is the source of all your troubles. More lies.

I want to make special note of the fact that there is every reason to believe that the Western elites are not going to look for constructive ways out of the global food and energy crisis that they and they alone are to blame for, as a result of their long-term policy, dating back long before our special military operation in Ukraine, in Donbass. They have no intention of solving the problems of injustice and inequality. I am afraid they would rather use other formulas they are more comfortable with.

And here it is important to recall that the West bailed itself out of its early 20th century challenges with World War I. Profits from World War II helped the United States finally overcome the Great Depression and become the largest economy in the world, and to impose on the planet the power of the dollar as a global reserve currency. And the 1980s crisis – things came to a head in the 1980s again – the West emerged from it unscathed largely by appropriating the inheritance and resources of the collapsed and defunct Soviet Union. That’s a fact.

Now, in order to free itself from the latest web of challenges, they need to dismantle Russia as well as other states that choose a sovereign path of development, at all costs, to be able to further plunder other nations’ wealth and use it to patch their own holes. If this does not happen, I cannot rule out that they will try to trigger a collapse of the entire system, and blame everything on that, or, God forbid, decide to use the old formula of economic growth through war.

Russia is aware of its responsibility to the international community and will make every effort to ensure that cooler heads prevail.

The current neocolonial model is ultimately doomed; this much is obvious. But I repeat that its real masters will cling to it to the end. They simply have nothing to offer the world except to maintain the same system of plundering and racketeering.

They do not give a damn about the natural right of billions of people, the majority of humanity, to freedom and justice, the right to determine their own future. They have already moved on to the radical denial of moral, religious, and family values.

Let’s answer some very simple questions for ourselves. Now I would like to return to what I said and want to address also all citizens of the country – not just the colleagues that are in the hall – but all citizens of Russia: do we want to have here, in our country, in Russia, “parent number one, parent number two and parent number three” (they have completely lost it!) instead of mother and father? Do we want our schools to impose on our children, from their earliest days in school, perversions that lead to degradation and extinction? Do we want to drum into their heads the ideas that certain other genders exist along with women and men and to offer them gender reassignment surgery? Is that what we want for our country and our children? This is all unacceptable to us. We have a different future of our own.

Let me repeat that the dictatorship of the Western elites targets all societies, including the citizens of Western countries themselves. This is a challenge to all. This complete renunciation of what it means to be human, the overthrow of faith and traditional values, and the suppression of freedom are coming to resemble a “religion in reverse” – pure Satanism. Exposing false messiahs, Jesus Christ said in the Sermon on the Mount: “By their fruits ye shall know them.” These poisonous fruits are already obvious to people, and not only in our country but also in all countries, including many people in the West itself.

The world has entered a period of a fundamental, revolutionary transformation. New centres of power are emerging. They represent the majority – the majority! – of the international community. They are ready not only to declare their interests but also to protect them. They see in multipolarity an opportunity to strengthen their sovereignty, which means gaining genuine freedom, historical prospects, and the right to their own independent, creative and distinctive forms of development, to a harmonious process.

As I have already said, we have many like-minded people in Europe and the United States, and we feel and see their support. An essentially emancipatory, anti-colonial movement against unipolar hegemony is taking shape in the most diverse countries and societies. Its power will only grow with time. It is this force that will determine our future geopolitical reality.

Friends,

Today, we are fighting for a just and free path, first of all for ourselves, for Russia, in order to leave dictate and despotism in the past. I am convinced that countries and peoples understand that a policy based on the exceptionalism of whoever it may be and the suppression of other cultures and peoples is inherently criminal, and that we must close this shameful chapter. The ongoing collapse of Western hegemony is irreversible. And I repeat: things will never be the same.

The battlefield to which destiny and history have called us is a battlefield for our people, for the great historical Russia. For the great historical Russia, for future generations, our children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. We must protect them against enslavement and monstrous experiments that are designed to cripple their minds and souls.

Today, we are fighting so that it would never occur to anyone that Russia, our people, our language, or our culture can be erased from history. Today, we need a consolidated society, and this consolidation can only be based on sovereignty, freedom, creation, and justice. Our values are humanity, mercy and compassion.

And I want to close with the words of a true patriot Ivan Ilyin: “If I consider Russia my Motherland, that means that I love as a Russian, contemplate and think, sing and speak as a Russian; that I believe in the spiritual strength of the Russian people. Its spirit is my spirit; its destiny is my destiny; its suffering is my grief; and its prosperity is my joy.”

Behind these words stands a glorious spiritual choice, which, for more than a thousand years of Russian statehood, was followed by many generations of our ancestors. Today, we are making this choice; the citizens of the Donetsk and Lugansk people’s republics and the residents of the Zaporozhye and Kherson regions have made this choice. They made the choice to be with their people, to be with their Motherland, to share in its destiny, and to be victorious together with it.

The truth is with us, and behind us is Russia!

Meanwhile, A heavy does of American Freedom of Speech hit MM!

Yah. I post a link to my video on Quora and suddenly I discover that I have violated “terms of service”.

It makes me want to send the purple-haired gatekeepers of “freedom” to the cornfield.

But I won’t.

They are well on their way without any help from me.

BTW… You all know that I never give out medicinal advice. Most certainly about COVID. I just report on my situation inside of China, and what China is doing regarding it. The deleted video consisted of videos of me getting my swabs and what the lock-down looks like.

I guess that that is too subversive.

Why is there so much fear among many Westerners about the rise of China?

Meet Virgin and Chad.

Virgin (left) and Chad (right)

Virgin was an introverted, nerdy kid, who preferred keeping to himself and doing his own thing.

Chad’s an extrovert. He’s muscular, charismatic, popular, and a bully.

He tried to get Virgin hooked on some really dank shit. One day, Virgin said, “No Chad, I don’t need your drugs anymore, it’s fucking me up real bad, I gots to clean up my act, for reals.”

Chad was desperate for Virgin’s money. So he called his posse over, broke Virgin’s legs, and made him his bitch.

Virgin survived the ordeal somehow, and vowed to become strong, so that he will never be picked on again.

Time flies. While Virgin focused on bettering himself through discipline and sheer will, Chad completely let himself go. When they met again, Virgin became what Chad used to look like, while Chad became an obese, drugged-up drunkard who’s suffering from gender dysphoria.

The two looked at each other in awkward silence. Chad decided to break the ice. “Hey dude…how you been?”

“I’m alright”, Virgin replied calmly.

“That’s great man, I’m happy for you! I mean, wow, just look at you! Dem abs, nigga!” said Chad. “Listen, about that stuff that happened a while ago…”

“Don’t worry about it.” interjected Virgin. “That was a long time ago, I’m wiling to let it go, if you’re willing to do the same.”

Chad was speechless. “I…well…of course man, we cool dude?”

“Yeah we cool, no hard feelings. Look I gotta get back to my calligraphy and shit, you wanna see my work?”

“Nah it’s okay bro, you do you man, you do you. Laters.”

But Chad was not reassured by Virgin’s words. It only made him more anxious and paranoid.

“How is this possible?”, he thought. “No, he’s way too calm and forgiving. Almost as if….as if…he’s plotting something big.”

“He’s gonna get me….oh god, he’s gonna get me…payback for everything I’ve done to him….oh god, no…”

The Imperialist West has much to fear from China, because they themselves are well aware of what they have done, to China, to the rest of the developing world. How could they not worry that China will turn out to be a conqueror, a slaver, a destroyer of civilizations, as they themselves used to be (and still are)?

No amount of good faith, isolation and passiveness on China’s part will convince them that China is simply not like them.

A thief will always live in fear of being burgled, a bully in fear of being bullied.

The Sopranos – Phil Leotardo

The Curious Whodunit of Nordstreams 1 and 2

From HERE

The old world broke this week. It was blown up cynically by someone who thought this would advance their agenda the most.

The act of vandalizing a major piece of physical infrastructure, targeting civilian populations, isn’t unprecedented in history, but it does signal that everything we thought we knew about the rules of the current game was wrong.

Well, for most people anyway.

When I spoke in June at the Ron Paul Institute Conference on Foreign Policy I described the game of geopolitics as a seven-player game of the ancient Chinese game, Go.

And in that game we’ve reached an inflection point where some factions are coalescing and others are splintering. The faction that is unwilling to compromise on their future is the most dangerous one at the table.

My conclusion then was that those ‘who think they are entitled to run the world’ will flip the game board.

They will change the rules of the game without remorse or a case in the world for those they harm and the aftereffects of their actions. In fact, the chaos they engender is preferable to them than losing.

We got the first inkling of this when the West didn’t just freeze Russia’s foreign exchange reserves but seized them.

Now undersea assets in international waters are fair game. The good news it that this flipping of the game board was only a couple of gas pipelines. The potential is still for something far more unthinkable…

… not that that’s off the table.

In the immediate aftermath of proof the pipelines were blown up everyone (including myself) came forward with their theory as to who did it. Sadly, I can construct arguments for nearly every major player in the game having done this.

But understand the significance of this act. Another redline in international commerce and relations was crossed. The burning question is by whom?

We can rule out the most idiotic takes, like the Russians blew up the pipelines themselves. Why blow up an asset which is literally your biggest piece of leverage on this particular game board when you can do what Putin has already done, shut off the taps?

The only people putting forth this idea are frothing neocons who never met a global problem they couldn’t blame on Putin. Their arguments simply confirm what we already knew, they are jumping for joy at the news.

Many are reflexively pointing to statements by Joe Biden and Victoria Nuland about getting rid of the Nordstream 2 pipeline before the war in Ukraine broke out. But, so what? Why wait seven months to make good on that threat? And why also take out Nordstream 1 at the same time?

The argument is based on this idea that the US is now a rogue state fully controlled by neocons who see their opportunity to get their geopolitcial two-fer, going to war with Russia while also regaining dominance over a vassal Europe.

Indeed this is the prevailing sentiment across the whole of the anti-US alternative media. From Pepe Escobar to Bernard at Moon of Alabama the rush to put together the motive (Escobar) and the means (MoA) is quite compelling.

I, however, do not agree.

And the reasons are many. But it starts with the basic premise is that it is too easy.

Sure, the neocons wanted NS1 and NS2 removed from the game board. Neocons staff the lion’s share of important positions in the “Biden” National Security Council, his State Dept. and the Dept. of Defense. But the neoconservative axis doesn’t stop at the mouth of the Potomac. Their roots are deep within British Intelligence, Whitehall, City of London and yes, even Germany.

When you invoke the term neocon it is a very specific term for a very specific faction of people. They are rapacious, unwilling to compromise, indefatigable and embedded like ticks all across the Western political and intelligence infrastructure.

They are also incredibly easy to manipulate because all you have to do is give them a green light for mayhem and they will take it like a pit bull seeing a squealing rabbit.

So while Bernard did a fine job of laying out all of the circumstantial ‘facts’ of this case, he didn’t make a conclusion either. He’ll leave that job to his partner in Anti-US Empire leftism Escobar and the imaginations of so many rightfully disillusioned with the US.

They and other have made the case and all that has to be done now is allow the amplifier of social media and global anxiety to run wild. Spoon feeding people cynicism today is easy. Hating on the US is now fashionable.

The groundwork for this has been laid for months with Europe shooting itself in the foot repeatedly while allowing its sympathetic chorus to try and portray them as the victim of US aggression.

Personally, I think that conclusion is nonsense and have stuck to my guns for months saying both the EU and ‘The US’ want this war with Russia but for different reasons. In other words, no one is a victim of the other’s aggression, they both want the same thing, a divorce and/or war with Eurasian integration but who gets to be the decision makers in the end is what they are fighting over internally.

I’ve laid this out in so many blog posts, but this one from January lays out all the arguments of the factions at play. While I was wrong about war in Ukraine being off the table, the interplay of the factions was still spot on.

The basic premise was always to use the neocons to destabilize the world over Ukraine, amplify the US/UK belligerence to the level of terrorist state, and portray Europe as the victim of whatever happened.

But once Putin invaded Ukraine everyone’s true motivations were exposed. Europe couldn’t back down and allow Russia to take Ukraine because Davos needed Ukraine to draw everyone into its vortex. The Minsk agreements were simply a time-buying device for everyone’s plans.

They all wanted this war with Russia but Putin chose the terms of the battle and the timing. To still think that Europe is a victim of US colonial ambitions betrays a naivete that borders on pathology.

And yet everyone fell for the silly Rand Corporation “Report” from January that prepped the ground for blowing up the Nordstream pipelines conveniently ‘leaked’ into the world two weeks before the weekend everyone had circled on their geopolitical calendar as the most significant of the year.

Yeah, and you could pull my other leg, it plays “There’s a Sucker Born Every Minute.“

Make no mistake, I’m not about to absolve ‘The US’ of any malfeasance here. Some aspect of ‘The US’ was involved. To think otherwise is also terminally naïve. No, what I’m going to do is remind everyone of the motivations, incentives and deficiencies of the players in the West and give you what I think is the best answer we will ever get (and why) as to the curious whodunit of the demise of Nordstream.

I wrote a massive Twitter thread yesterday on this which I am going to list below along with some fill in commentary where appropriate. Original Tweets in Bold, Commentary in italics.

Just so we are clear. I believe and have believed the hyper-aggressive Neocons (or Straussians) are a faction easily manipulated into doing things that look like they are to their benefit but ultimately aren’t.
People this single-minded and radical can easily be directed like a missile at a particular target, especially if that target is their White Whale, i.e. Russia.
Davos is obsessed with preserving the EU and transferring that power to the UN for global government through the end of commercial banking and total surveillance.
This is incontrovertibly true. Their pushing hard for CBDCs to replace the current monetary system.
Getting the neocons to over-react to the current state of play in Ukraine by blowing up two vital pipelines to Europe is child’s play. You are goading them to do what they want to do anyway.
Screw Germany and Russia simultaneously.
Again, think Pit Bull and squealing bunny rabbit.
But the real win for them isn’t giving Germany no way to back down wrt Russia. It is to get Germany to see themselves as a victim of US colonialism.
Cue the RAND report. And the protests over energy costs in Germany over the weekend.
This leads to a critical mass of people seeing the US as the world’s leading cancer, deflecting from the real perps.
Given the state of the commentariat today, mission mostly accomplished. With the Fed pushing interest rates to the moon this will be even easier for people to believe.
That this is happening after the US got major wins in the UK and Italy electing Truss and Meloni while the Fed starves global markets of dollars, the source of Davos’ real strength … Eurodollar futures and shadow banking.
See my articles about Draghi’s fall from July and Truss’s rise from last week. Joe Biden’s called Truss to threaten her over Northern Ireland before she even sat down at 10 Downing Street. Tell me again who “Biden” works for if not Davos?
In the short run, the neocons think they’ve won a big victory. In the long run, it seals Europe’s fate by crashing their markets so they can blame Russia and the US for their bankruptcy while defaulting and consolidating power in Brussels.
Blowing up NS1 and NS2 is a brilliant tactical move, it takes options from Putin and leaves him with more military than economic options. Why does anyone think the EU and Davos don’t benefit from this since this is what they actually wanted, prolonged war with Russia. Or am I misreading EU Commission President Ursula Von der Leyen, EU Foreign Minister Josep Borrell and NATO Sec. General Jens Stoltenberg? Curious.
In the long run this is a terrible strategic move because it now puts everyone’s infrastructure on the table. Everything is fair game now.
France is happy to see this happen b/c bringing Germany down elevates them. Blackmailing the Italians is next on the flowchart… has to happen while Italy is in a gas deficit, i.e. Libya offline. France has been instrumental in cutting off Italy’s gas supply from N. Africa. There is no love loss between Italy and France. And EU sanctions keep Italy in gas deficit. With hostilities in Libya ending, gas will flow. So, destabilizing Italy’s financial markets now is paramount… or did no one see the blowout in BTP yields this week?
The Neocons are Straussian in their thinking. Better to burn down everything rather than lose. I don’t agree with all of this article, but the basics are sound.
Theirry Meyssan — voltairenet.org/article217976.…
In short, the Neocons are not the only Straussians at this gaming table. Davos’ whole strategy is predicated on tearing down the old system, liquidating as many liabilities as possible (people, systems, debt, etc.) and then offering a new replacement at the depth of everyone’s despair.
Europe’s only solution, said many times by Soros, is to default by issuing perpetual debt, consols, and rolling up all the political power in Europe to the EU Commission and the ECB.
To do that you NEED a collapse of the German middle class.
With the ECB losing to the Fed over keeping rates low and going for MMT, 80% of the ECB’s balance sheet is at risk. The EU cannot function with a bankrupt ECB. The eurozone ceases to exist. President Lagarde is now losing control over internal bond spreads now that the BoE intervened.
But you also need a scapegoat to focus German anger on otherwise you lose them. So, bring in the hyper-aggressive Yanks and the hated Russians. Perfect patsies for this operation.
Turn Western Europe as anti-American as Eastern Europe is anti-Russian.
The neocons have walked willingly into this trap. Russia was given the option surrender or fight. They chose to fight.
Turning the US into a global terrorist state in the minds of everyone is an attempt, lame as it may be, to stop capital outflow while the reset of Europe’s finances occurs.
Only communists are so committed ideologically to their cause that they would threaten the world with nuclear blackmail in order to overthrow the only bastion of legal human rights superior to that of the State’s left in the world. I hate to break it to America’s haters but us getting our shit together is the world’s only real hope. It’s a thin hope, I realize. But the world is not made better by turning the US into a failed state like the same people I’m fingering today did to Russia after the USSR fell. But when you cheer on us Yanks ‘gettin’ what we deserve’ and apologizing for the crimes of Europe, you are cheering your own destruction.
Hence, the US neocons likely blew up NS1 and NS2 but under the ‘guidance’ of Davos from within the “Biden” Junta.
This is the nuanced take. Davos had the motive, means and opportunity to pull this off. So far, I’ve only presented why the neocons would have done this. Now, here’s why Davos is the real culprit.
This was an act of war. No doubt. The UK and France have been trying to get NATO officially into a war with Russia since it moved into Syria… Remember the IL-20 ELINT shootdown?
That was a French/UK op. that everyone else covered up.
September 2018 a Russian ELINT plane is shot down over Syria. The official explanation is a complete fabrication. Reports of a missile fired from a French frigate offshore are memory-holed. Israel and Syria take the blame for the screw up which could have led to a NATO Article 5 if the Russians retaliated.
We will simply not get the full story on this like we never got the real story about MH-17. But if Russia doesn’t respond overtly and whatever they do in parallel response “The US” doesn’t respond to then back channels have been working to stop any further insanity. The relative silence from everyone tells me a third party ordered this and the primary victim/alleged aggressor are trying to hold things at bay.
This pipeline explosion smells of a similar setup.. The goal? Same as always. Get Russia to over-react, weaken Putin at home for being soft.
Set the US and Russia on a path to open, not proxy, war.
The same strategy is being employed with China/Taiwan. Reckless provocations to weaken Xi and get China to over-react to save face with the domestic population.
Or did we miss the endless reckless provocations with China over the past 20 months?
Why? Because if these folks are all fighting while Europe hunkers down and ‘rebuilds’ itself, then they are all weakened through war and relatively speaking the EU comes out of that coma to a more-level playing field.
This point has been routinely misunderstood. This is a long-range projection of what the ultimate goal is. By the end of the decade Europe wants to be free of Russian energy, transitioned to a hydrogen/nuclear economy with digital money, no debt and a surveillance state it can leverage around the world. They want the same thing for the US and the UK Commonwealth, but the jury is definitely out as to whether they will achieve those goals in those places… that the third US faction I keep talking about, the NY Boys and the Fed, saying no to all of this.
This is the plan. It’s stupid. It’s insane. But it’s clearly what’s on the table.
The leaked RAND Report everyone was so hot and bothered about was pure psy-op to set up this latest atrocity.
Even RAND was like. Okay, this is some serious Bellingcat/MI6 bullcrap.
If you think this is far-fetched:
Who directed everyone to lock down the world over a freaking flu?
Who tried to bankrupt you for not getting the jab?
Who is pushing for UBI, MMT and you owning nothing?
It ain’t the Neocons and it ain’t Russia. And it ain’t the Fed either.
There are clearly forces resisting this insanity but it’s not clear as to whether they are winning or not. What is clear is that most people are done with globalists, but which globalists?
This now opens up the possibility of the East Med Pipeline from Israel to Greece, which “Biden” took off the table earlier this year. Why? Davos wants us off oil and gas.
Meaning, why did “Biden” pull the funding plug off of East Med? Because Davos told him no new pipelines into Europe. Davos also hates Israel, being a US/UK satellite. Realize that once you see the enmity between the Continent of European Colonial Powers and the UK/US and the former Warsaw Pact countries, you can’t unsee it. But, please continue to think it’s all just “one big club… and we ain’t in it.”
The bombing of NS1 and NS2 is as significant a red line being crossed as seizing Russia’s forex reserves. Both assets were considered ‘verboten.’
Not any more. Who ordered that? Davos.|
Who went along with that? The EU
Who’s putting more sanctions on Russia today? The EU
How can anyone seriously look at the last seven months and see the EU as a victim of US imperialism without seeing the imperial aspirations of the EU itself? I’m not saying anyone isn’t dirty here. They are all filthy and disgusting. But I am saying know what the real game is and what the real motivations are.
Because if you do that work you just might see some things that don’t comport with the simple view which fuels your anger and frustration, which, in the end, is just childish. The stakes are too high here.
FYI, the EU just put on an EIGHTH package of sanctions on Russia over the referenda in the now former territories of Ukraine. No outrage over the loss of NS1 and NS2. No furious statements about the heinous and cowardly attacks on public infrastructure serving the needs of real Europeans. No pearl clutching or hand wringing even over the immense amount of greenhouse gases being blown into the atmosphere. Just more vilification of the victim and nigh-endorsement of this act of terrorism.
But, please, keep believing Europe is the victim of US aggression and not the complicity of your own leadership.
The point of this act was to freeze all pipeline construction worldwide.
If these assets are on the table, then nothing is off the table.
Do you really think it’s far-fetched to false flag something like this to achieve global dreams of control?
Who has those dreams?
If you look at this dispassionately, you know who and that’s why you know who ordered it, regardless of whose military operators put the bombs on the pipes.

I can’t stress enough folks that we are in very perilous waters here. I’m no US apologist. This country has crimes it will have to answer for. And the biggest one may be allowing this globalist assholes to corrupt it nearly beyond repair. But don’t let that blind you to what’s really happening.

The important thing I keep trying to point out that thinking in terms of ‘country’ is ultimately the wrong lens to view these people’s actions. Factions are the better lens. Factions cross political borders.

Only when we’re talking about the people and elections do countries matter here and how they interact with these factions.

I’ll leave you with that and echo Bernard at MoA…. now draw your own conclusions.

MM comments.

Please keep in mind that ONLY the United States navy was flying and active in the direct region of the pipelines, and the visuals are very clear in this regard.

The USA did it. I don’t give a rats’ ass who in the USA ordered it. It just did it.

According to Bloomberg, the USA wants Dutch chipmakers to stop selling to China. What’s the intention there? Does the USA come up with deliberate plans to cripple other countries’ economic growth?

It can try.

But it won’t work. And in a decade or too it will come back to hound and hurt the US.

Allow me to provide 2 perfect examples that ended in total failure to the US when they went they took this route.

One, GPS. The US threathened to stop China using GPS, China built its own Beidou, a GPS that has higher resolution, accurate to a meter compared to the US 10 meters. And by 2022 two third of countries in the world has switched to the Chinese Beidou from the US GPS. The US lost two third of its monopoly in less than 15 years thanks to decoupling.

Two, is Space center. The Congress voted to ban China from joining the US space center roughly a decade ago. I remember hearing it and says it is another dumb and stupid action. What is the outcome today?

China built a better, more technologically superior space center of its own and now performing better than an outdated 30 years old soon to be defunct US space center!

China will corner the entire chip industry in less than a decade thanks to the US action. Basically decoupling allows the US to shoot itself on its foot. No difference from the trade war that Donald Trump says it is easy to win.

Well he lost. The trade war resulted in the GDP from 2017 to 2022 1st quarter, the US economy declined! -1.5% while China grew in excess of 25%. Now Biden is waving the white flag. Asking China to jointly eradicate the tarriff. China says let me think about that first before we act rashly.

“Looking Glass” Is Airborne

Nation Hal Turner 01 October 2022

This afternoon at about 4:00 PM eastern US Time, a Boeing E-6B “Mercury” took off from Washington, DC. This is the U.S. “Looking Glass” – airborne National Command Post to command US nuclear forces worldwide in the event ground stations are all destroyed.

As seen in the flight radar image below, the aircraft took off, flew south into southern North Carolina, turned southeast out into the Atlantic Ocean, and turned its Transponder OFF.

The Boeing E-6 Mercury (formerly Hermes) is an airborne command post and communications relay based on the Boeing 707. The original E-6A manufactured by Boeing’s defense division entered service with the United States Navy in July 1989, replacing the EC-130Q.

This platform, now modified to the E-6B standard, conveys instructions from the National Command Authority to fleet ballistic missile submarines (see communication with submarines), a mission known as TACAMO (“Take Charge And Move Out”).

The E-6B model deployed in October 1998 also has the ability to remotely control Minuteman ICBMs using the Airborne Launch Control System.

The E-6B replaced Air Force EC-135Cs in the “Looking Glass” role, providing command and control of U.S. nuclear forces should ground-based control become inoperable. With production lasting until 1991, the E-6 was the final new derivative of the Boeing 707 to be built.

“Looking Glass”

Looking Glass (or Operation Looking Glass) is the (historic) code name for an airborne command and control center operated by the United States.

In more recent years it has been more officially referred to as the ABNCP (Airborne National Command Post). It provides command and control of U.S. nuclear forces in the event that ground-based command centers have been destroyed or otherwise rendered inoperable.

In such an event, the general officer aboard the Looking Glass serves as the Airborne Emergency Action Officer (AEAO) and by law assumes the authority of the National Command Authority and could command execution of nuclear attacks.

The AEAO is supported by a battle staff of approximately 20 people, with another dozen responsible for the operation of the aircraft systems.

The name “Looking Glass,” which is another name for a mirror, was chosen for the Airborne Command Post because the mission operates in parallel with the underground command post at Offutt Air Force Base.

Ham-Stuffed Biscuits with Mustard Butter

These ham-stuffed biscuits are enriched in flavor with brown mustard and butter mixture. Perfect bread recipe for fall.

Ingredients

1 package regular active dry yeast
1/2 cup warm water (105°F to 115°F)
2 cups buttermilk
5 1/2 cups Gold Medal™ all-purpose flour
1/4 cup sugar
4 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
3/4 cup shortening
1 cup butter, softened
2 tablespoons finely chopped sweet onion
2 tablespoons spicy brown mustard
2 lb thinly sliced cooked ham

Kung Fu: Caine vs Jerk

Will decoupling the western economies from China end in failure?

Let’s confine ourselves to the EU and the US.

Total two way trade between these and China is 1.5 trillion dollars. This is amplified several multiples in gdp terms, because wages are high.

In addition, corporations from the EU and US collectively make 1-2 trillion dollars in revenue from the Chinese market, which support stock valuations through strong growth projections.

These numbers are irreplaceable. There is no wholesale alternative to the Chinese. Not India, not Africa. Not Indonesia. Not Brazil.

What happened in 2001?

China joined the Wto, and became the world’s inflation sink, tempering the explosion in the cost of service and local production.

Over this pandemic, demand for hundreds of billions pieces of masks and other ppe suddenly materialized. Yet there was only temporary shortage and prices remain affordable.

Why? Because of India, aukus, quad, g7, Nato, Japan, Korea, Vietnam?

Decouple? How?

Why are the Congress members in the US so lesser tech savvy than CPC members in Chinese government?

This is not even a contest. Yes indeed. Our U.S. Congress have few members who understand tech. Heck, all on the side the GOP are card-carrying science deniers who like trump still refuse to accept that climate change is human-made.

For most Western countries, lawyers dominate because it seems Western bureaucracy and institutions require the legal mind to navigate our system for things to get done – especially so for the U.S.

This presentation includes the profiles of the 175 members of Congress with law degrees. Some were recently elected, and some have served in Congress for decades. The bios are organized by state.

This is different in China. As described by the article below, the Chinese Government is dominated by scientists and engineers. To be more precise, it’s the CCP with its meritocratic process has cultivated its rank to be populated with such because they feel these are the qualifications needed to execute the development programs they want done.

Directly before the present administration, 8 out of China’s top 9 government officials are scientists and engineers. This leadership has brought laser focus on innovation, bringing much of China’s labor centralized in science, technology, and engineering.

Xi’s administration is a bit more relaxed with technocracy – top leaders are now more diverse with former economists, research fellows and a journalist also included (note – no lawyers mentioned).

Xi Jinping studied chemical engineering at Tsinghua University in Beijing, which is the same university where previous Chinese President Hu Jintao went for a degree in hydroelectric engineering. Xi obtained a degree in Marxist degree as well as a Ph.D in law at the Tsinghua Humanities Institute, becoming China’s first national leader to hold such degree.

Yu Zhengsheng, the chairman of the National Committee of the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference, is also an engineer. He graduated from the specialty of ballistic missile automatic control of the Missile Engineering Department of the Harbin Military Engineering Institute. Yu spent almost twenty years in the electronics industry before joining the Ministry of Electronics Industry in the 1980s

Not only do scientists and engineers dominate the top political offices in China, they can also be found at all levels of the Chinese government. It has long been observed by the Chinese people to elect, or perhaps select due to their election system, politicians with a science or engineering background. A study by Li Cheng and Lynn White entitled “Elite Transformation and Modern Change in Mainland China and Taiwan: Empirical Data and the Theory of Technocracy” describes the domination of scientists and engineers in the Chinese political elite.

In essence, Chinese politicians do not equivocate like their Western counterparts. Their marching orders are clearly defined in the country’s 5-year plan (now on the 14th version). They study and execute.

FULL METAL JACKET – THE VIRGIN MARY SCENE

What’s the most insane thing a human has survived?

Mary Vincent was a 15-year-old girl hitchhiking in California to get home back in 1978. Hitchhiking was relatively common back then.

Larry Singleton was a 50-year-old monster.

Mary was waiting at the side of the road with two others as they waited for a passing vehicle to take them closer to their desired destinations.

A vehicle pulled up that was big enough for the three of them, but he insisted that there was only room for one. The other two warned her that it seemed shady, but she was tired and didn’t want to wait any longer. She got in with him, alone.

She felt something was off so when he got out to pee, she tried to escape, but he saw her and hit her on the back of the head.

He raped her and cut off both of her arms before throwing her down a 30-foot cliff off the interstate.

He left her to die, but Mary was quick thinking.

It had recently rained, and she used the mud to pack her wounds to slow the bleeding. She felt tired, but she knew that she would die if she stayed down there so she tried for hours to get to the top.

Naked and covered in blood, she walked three miles along the highway hoping someone would drive by and help her.

A car slowed, passed her, and she felt hopeful, but they continued on.

A second car passed and picked her up. They were a couple on their honeymoon and took her to the hospital where she was quickly airlifted to a bigger hospital where her life was saved.

Mary is the strongest person I’ve ever read about.

Many have requested that I include the legal result:

He was caught and imprisoned, but let out on early release for good behavior. Protests erupted whenever a city was notified that he would be settled there.

This happened several times.

After settling in Florida, he murdered a mother of three and was sentenced again to prison.

He died of cancer four years later in Florida in 2001.

Dexter

Dexter saved my life. In 2020 I was feeling a bit off most days and my doctors couldn’t find a reason for my chronic fatigue and inability to train hard (I’m a former pro fighter who still trains like one).

After years of getting little more then shrugs from medical staff one day I started feeling chest pain. It felt like a torn muscle so I chalked it up as a training injury and ignored it.

Suddenly Dexter, who had been around me for 20 years, ran over to me and started pawing at my chest and crying.

He had never acted this way.

I decided it was a red flag and called 911.

As I opened the door for paramedics I had a “widow maker” heart attack and collapsed (very low survival rate, hence the name). The cardiologist who operated on me said if I had waited 3 more minutes to call I wouldn’t have survived.

I’ve had many pets over the years and loved them all. But I had a unique bond to that cat. He suffered a stroke and passed away a few months later. I miss him every day.

Cuban Pork Sandwiches

Florida restaurants introduced the simple, delicious flavors of this Cuban favorite to the United States. If you don’t have leftover roast pork, just pick up some from the deli.

Ingredients

4 white hamburger buns, split
2 teaspoons yellow mustard
4 teaspoons mayonnaise or salad dressing
4 ounces thinly sliced cooked roast pork
4 ounces thinly sliced cooked ham
4 ounces sliced Swiss cheese
12 slices dill pickles
3 tablespoons butter or margarine, melted

Vietnam Basic Training – Forrest Gump

What is the best revenge you ever had on your bully?

I grew up poor. I took my lunch to school because I didn’t have money for school lunches. When I made it to high school some of the older high school bullies found it “cool” to pop my school locker open and eat my lunch. This got to be all too regular. So … I baked a large batch of chocolate chip cookies with extra chocolate chips — and 2 boxes of Exlax. These were locked securely in my school locker so no-one would accidentally dose themself with an extreme dose of laxative.

Yes, the cookies disappeared. So did five people — for three days. I never lost a lunch again. Yes, this may have been a shitty thing to do, but it worked!

Putin Speech Told Ukraine to Halt Attacks; Ukraine Attacked Harder – Now, Iskander-M’s Coming in from Russia

World Hal Turner 01 October 2022

In his landmark speech at yesterday’s ceremony to accept four formerly Ukrainian regions into Russia, President Vladimir Putin told Ukraine to Cease-Fire and return to the negotiating table. He pointed out that the four territories are “now Russian citizens, FOREVER.” Instead of stopping its attacks, Ukraine attacked worse.

Russia told Ukraine not to attack the areas that had the Referendums, after the referendums were completed, or the Hammer would be dropped. People are now being killed across the referendum areas by Ukraine shelling. Donetsk today,. Across city is being hit. What is Russia going to do now?

Apparently, what Russia is going to do now is answered: trainloads of Russian Iskander-M hypersonic missiles are now entering the Kherson Region.

Iskander-M

This is a Variant for the Russian Armed Forces Iskander missile forces, with two 9M723 quasi-ballistic missiles with published range 415 km, rumored 500 km. Speed Mach 6–7, flight altitude up to 6–50 km, nuclear capable stealth missile, controlled at all stages, not ballistic flight path.

Immediately after the launch and upon approach to the target, the missile performs intensive maneuvering to evade anti-ballistic missiles. The missile constantly maneuvers during flight as well.

These missiles are REAL power. This is very heavy military weaponry; not some rinky-dink token of power. Ukraine is bringing this upon itself.

The Roundtable: Open House

Why does my cat behave this way?

Something that a lot of people who meet my cat misinterpret about his is his biting. When a cat bites it’s normally out of anger or fear, but not with my little guy. He bites me EVERYTIME we play together. I know it’s not out of anger because he would run away if he was upset, but he always sticks around for more.

The reason for his biting is because he was an only kitten and his mom died when he was neonatal. So he never had litter mates or a mother to teach him not to bite. That’s what’s so healthy about having other kittens around when one is growing up, because they bite back. A mother kitten will bite her baby when they’re being too rough. But Oliver never had that. He just thinks biting at anytime is okay. You really don’t understand the negative effects of not having a mother cat around until you raise one on your own.

People always told me I should bite him back but I didn’t have the balls to bite my poor little baby. They also told me to get other kittens to teach him. Now I regret not doing it because he plays too rough, doesn’t like other cats, and bites everytime we play. He also gets his back feet going like a jack rabbit running, and scratches you pretty hard.

I’m not saying this is something that is okay, but he can’t help it.

Russia Halts Natural Gas Flow to Austria

World Hal Turner 01 October 2022

Russian gas corporation GAZPROM has fully and completely halted all natural gas pipeline flows from Russia into Austria.

The reason has to do with WHO is supposed to be getting the gas: Italy . . . no one else.

But Austria will not reveal to GAZPROM who is _actually_ getting the gas.

GAZPROM has been seeking answers from Austria after Italy told them they are not receiving the amount indicated. That would mean Austria has been sending gas intended for Italy, somewhere else.

Since Austria will not disclose where the gas is going, Russia has shut them off.

Has Austria been stealing gas meant for Italy? Has Austria been diverting the gas to some other country? They won’t say. Now, they get none.

Second Hand Lions Bar FIGHT Scene

Puts a smile on your face.

Can you recognize American propaganda? When and where have you noticed it?

Yup. Just about everything that comes from Western media and Western governments related to geopolitics is propaganda.

You can see it when they talk about Russia and the Russia-Ukraine conflict.

You can see it when they talk about China and the Taiwan situation and the tales of genocide and forced labour in Xinjiang and the false narrative about Hong Kong.

You can see it when they talk about Israel and Palestine, and generally everything in the Middle East (recall the lie about WMDs used to justify the 2003 invasion of Iraq).

That’s why I cannot trust Western reporting at all. I need to hunt down independent reporters who still hold a modicum of journalistic integrity.

Unlike in China, why is America unable to crackdown corrupt politicians and billionaires?

The US political system thrives on corruption. Your presidents and Congress need political bribes to get where they are.

The Chinese system penalised corruption and bribery and serious offenders are sentenced to death. So they should.

Hence the US politicians don’t care about its people it cares for those who pay for their campaign to win their political position.

Take the current inflation. China do everything necessary to reduce inflation and hence its inflation rate is less than 2%. It even prevent Covid-19 spread saving lives yet curtailing excessive demand wile building up supply by shut downs.

The US continues to fuel inflation by sanctioning Russia because they want the war to continue to helped their funders at the Military Industrial complexes at the expense of American suffering.

So the rich will get richer in America while the poor will get poorer. China won’t let a a few billionaires run roughshod over a billion Chinese, but in America the billionaire is his funder. Hence they pay little tax, and are protected by the politicians.

Will decoupling the western economies from China end in failure?

It’s hard to say. In principle, Western economies could totally decouple, in which case we’d have two economic spheres: the Western sphere, and everybody else.

But I think the political will would not be there to support it. Some Western economies may choose to side with China, eroding Western solidarity.

The problem is that the Western sphere would have to put up with much higher inflation. Without Chinese manufacturing, the price of goods would skyrocket.

Without the vast Chinese, African, Asian, and Latin American consumer markets, who would Western economies sell to? Their GDP growth would be capped.

Western economies simply cannot compete with large populations of cheap labour.

What is the worst part about being a billionaire?

I know some billionaires. Heck, I work for one. (We’re in meetings several times a week, not at the bottom of some massive org chart.)

While the upsides definitely outweigh the downsides, there are some issues.

In your personal life, you have to be very cognizant of security. You aren’t just some generic rich guy. You are rich and you, and your family, all become targets of far more nefarious men than a typical citizen. We recently had an incident where someone tried to do some social engineering on one of our interns to steal financial information from the boss. Yeesh. To say nothing of kidnapping and other violence. There is a big difference between being a mere target of opportunity among the general public, and having people dedicated to targeting you specifically.

Many billionaires intentionally try to keep a low public profile because of this. Not all- but think of how many American billionaires you can name. 20? 50? You don’t know the other ~800 because they don’t want you to know them.

One unusual downside in business is that you’re like a Victoria’s Secret model at a frat party: everyone and their brother wants to proposition you for a business deal. It’s just crazy.

I’m telling you man this company is gonna be the next Tesla, just let me show you my pitch deck… wait, where are you going?

They want your money.

Billionaires have so much capital they can do deals others can’t. The problem is there’s so much noise it’s hard to focus on legitimate business opportunities. (You really need to set up a family office or investment advisory and hire staff just to filter out this crap.) Even investment banks you hire for wealth management services will send you garbage to consider allocating to because you operate on a different scale. They are selling access to you on the other side of the equation.

(Speaking of which, managing that much wealth is itself a full time job for multiple people. You better know who to trust!)

I’m not trying to write a sob story. I’m sure celebrities have similar issues. But being exceedingly wealthy isn’t like being a normal person with an “unlimited bank account” cheat code on.

What don’t they tell you about the Chinese Communist Party?

I guess no one told you this before.

See this chart? They are 388 martyrs who sacrificed their lives to protect and to serve the Chinese people in this war against coronavirus until 4th April 2020. And look at the sixth column, you may don’t read Chinese, but you probably can tell the color. And every RED means this martyr is a member of the Chinese Communist Party. Obviously the majority of our martyrs are CCP members.(BTW, Doctor Li Wenliang is on NO.42)

This is what they don’t tell you about our ruling party.

The CCP doesn’t just mean power and political career. It also means when people are in danger, you have obligation to serve in the most dangerous place. Even and most importantly, risking and losing your life for your country.

Why can’t Chinese people eat normal food like pizza, burgers, and steaks?

The first two of the foods you mention are not “Normal”, they are hyper-processed pieces of white bread and processed meat’s made to taste well despite have little too no nutritional value.

Steaks are decent, they’ll give you protein, fats, et cetera

however, In comparison to Americans, Chinese food is healthier, and often tastier (and no, I am not talking about the equally processed “Chinese” food in America)

Actual Chinese food is miles ahead when it comes to nutritional than American ones (Mostly)

Peking duck, chicken in all forms is full of protein and fats.

A staple of not only Chinese, but also Asian food, rice, it is filled with fibers, vitamins and healthy carbs, usually paired with meat and/or veggies

So to conclude, American food is weirder than Chinese food, there’s no argument against that.

SITREP 9.30.22 LIVE! – Threat Level Midnight – Bobbleheads at Work

Smoking gun. The USA obviously blew up Nordstream pipelines.

This “spyglass” is a powerful tool and shows exactly how the USN blew up the pipelines.

Is it true China is far more draconian on drug policy than the USA? Is this due to communism, or is it a tenet of Confucianist culture?

Neither. You’ll find that other Asian countries, most notably Singapore, have the same tough stance on drugs.

It has to do with how the Century of Humiliation – one of the most horrible (but often overlooked) chapters of human history – began.

The short version is that there was a perceived trade imbalance between the British Empire and the Qing Dynasty. The Chinese needed very little from the outside world, while the British had a huge demand for Chinese goods like silk and tea.

So the British began to grow a special, potent breed of poppy in India, refined and sold them to the Chinese to get them hooked. Opium had been part of Chinese society for centuries as a mild, recreational plant, but the opium sold by the Brits was some real dank shit, and people couldn’t get enough of it.

China haemorrhaged silver, its people grew sickly and weak, families fell apart due to poverty and violence, and society was thrown into imbalance.

The Qing court decided to ban opium, which angered the British merchants, and gave Britain an excuse to invade. The rest of Europe (and Japan) would soon follow suit.

China would go on to become one of the only countries on earth that was colonised by every single major power on earth at the time. Between wars, slavery, famines, genocides and disease, the Chinese perished by the millions, and its population did not bounce back again until a century later, when the communists under Mao came into power.

A drugged up people is a weak people, any sensible person knows that. But in China (and much of Asia), there is also a historical burden carried by narcotics. It is something people from most political spectrums see eye-to-eye on. There is a reason why Asian Americans, even the really liberal and anti-China ones, tend to be against legalisation of drugs.

Some trauma is forever.

Calvin

I did not want a pet, but there was no way I could leave this little creature to the terrible fate awaiting him.

His twin had just been mauled to death and he was next.

He was hiding under a chair with his head hanging so low it was almost touching the floor. He was full of worms and ear mites. He was filthy, under nourished and feral, but he broke my heart. I took him to the vet clinic before bringing him home, got all the shots, etc. and now just over a year later he runs our house the way Hobbes runs Calvin’s life. (Hence the name)

Is it correct that today’s US-China soft-power struggle differs from that of the Cold War, when the US and USSR argued over the values of their respective political systems, in a cogent and contained debate.?

Yes, it’s very different.

The Cold War was about ideology, about preventing the spread of Communism.

Today’s struggle is about preventing China’s economic rise which threatens Western global hegemony. The USA and its white Anglophone allies, UK, Australia, New Zealand, and Canada, are desperate to retain their dominant international position. Some EU countries follow along, afraid to upset the global hegemon.

The Cold War involved political interference and actual wars in various countries around the world like Afghanistan, Cuba, Czechoslovakia, Finland, Hungary, Iran, Korea, Poland, Turkey, Vietnam, etc.

Today’s struggle is pretty much limited to Taiwan and USA’s attempt to foment a proxy war there. China hasn’t fought a single war since 1979!

China is making many, many friends around the globe through BRI, BRICS, RCEP, and SCO. China respects all nations and their sovereignty. USA has no leverage anywhere else; without Taiwan, USA has bupkis.

Can you give an example of something that is both tragic and ironic?

I would have to say that my life is both tragic and ironic. I am poor and living in a tent even though I originated from an upper-middle class background. I went to private schools until university. I have a master’s degree in education. As a young man, I was so sure I would inherit my family’s millions that I jokingly told friends they would all be working for me as butlers. gardeners, chauffeurs, maids, bodyguards, cooks, etc. Now I struggle just to find enough money to use at the laundromat. I face constant small embarrassments, humiliations and hassles. I feel alienated from society yet shake my fist at it at the same time. My personality has taken a darker turn due to poverty. This makes it hard to find and keep friends — never mind a girlfriend. I keep hoping this last three years of struggle has been a mere lesson from God to teach once arrogant me a lesson and that this hellacious ordeal will be over soon. But that’s a Hollywood delusion, I suppose.

I may be smiling in the photo below inside my tent in the forest, but believe me when I say I am not happy inside.

“Now I Know Why I Missed My First Flight to LAX”

“I missed my first flight to LA yesterday and had to catch another.

I was so upset, but now I know why!

When I finally got to LAX baggage claim, I went to the bathroom to check my little makeup and I heard a woman crying so hard.

I was wondering if I should say something like, ‘It’s gonna be okay,’ but I was nervous and she was speaking Spanish so I didn’t know if she’d even understand me.

I left and came back to the bathroom like four times while I was waiting for my bags to come down (full flight), and I heard her say, ‘But the bus doesn’t come until tomorrow.’

My heart dropped, so I asked her if she had Zelle or CashApp.

She said no.

So I asked her if I could pay for a hotel until tomorrow and she stopped crying and opened the stall door AND I SAW THE SLEEPING KIDS.”

“I felt so happy to help her, knowing I’d just be spending my little money on bullsh*t.

She rode with me to the Marriott and I got her a room.

I wanted to share this because I kept thinking, ‘HOW MANY PEOPLE CAME INTO THE BATHROOM, HEARD HER CRYING FOR HOURS, DIDN’T KNOW THERE WERE KIDS, AND KEPT GOING?’

I’m glad I said something because she was super sweet and appreciative and she had babies with her.”

The Wind from the Sun by Arthur C. Clarke (Full Text)

THE WIND FROM THE SUN

Arthur C. Clarke

Arthur C. Clarke is perhaps the most famous modern science-fiction writer in the world, seriously rivaled for that title only by the late Isaac Asimov and Robert A. Heinlein. Clarke is probably most widely known for his work on Stanley Kubrick’s film 2001: A Space Odyssey, but is also renowned as a novelist, short-story writer, and as a writer of nonfiction, usually on technological subjects such as spaceflight. He has won three Nebula Awards, three Hugo Awards, the British Science Fiction Award, the John W. Campbell Memorial Award, and a Grandmaster Nebula for Life Achievement. His best-known books include the novels Childhood’s End, The City and the Stars, The Deep Range, Rendezvous with Rama, A Fall of Moondust, 2001: A Space Odyssey, 2010: Odyssey Two, 2061: Odyssey Three, Songs of Distant Earth, and The Fountains of Paradise; and the collections The Nine Billion Names of God, Tales of Ten Worlds, and The Sentinel. He has also written many nonfiction books on scientific topics, the best known of which are probably Profiles of the Future and The Wind from the Sun, and is generally considered to be the man who first came up with the idea of the communications satellite. His most recent books are the novel 3001: The Final Odyssey, the nonfiction collection Greetings, Carbon-Based Bipeds: Collected Works 1944-1998, the fiction collection Collected Short Stories, and a novel written in collaboration with Stephen Baxter, The Light of Other Days. Most of Clarke’s best-known books will be coming back into print, appropriately enough, in 2001. Born in Somerset, England, Clarke now lives in Sri Lanka, and was recently knighted.

Here, in one of the best known of all Future Sports stories, he gives the ancient sport of sailboat racing a whole new dimension . . .

* * *

The enormous disc of sail strained at its rigging, already filled with the wind that blew between the worlds. In three minutes the race would begin, yet now John Merton felt more relaxed, more at peace, than at any time for the past year. Whatever happened when the Commodore gave the starting signal, whether Diana carried him to victory or defeat, he had achieved his ambition. After a lifetime spent designing ships for others, now he would sail his own.

“T minus two minutes,” said the cabin radio. “Please confirm your readiness.”

One by one, the other skippers answered. Merton recognized all the voices—some tense, some calm—for they were the voices of his friends and rivals. On the four inhabited worlds, there were scarcely twenty men who could sail a sun yacht; and they were all there, on the starting line or aboard the escort vessels, orbiting twenty-two thousand miles above the equator.

“Number One—Gossamer—ready to go.”

“Number Two—Santa Maria—all O.K.”

“Number Three—Sunbeam—O.K.”

“Number Four—Woomera—all systems GO.”

Merton smiled at that last echo from the early, primitive days of astronautics. But it had become part of the tradition of space; and there were times when a man needed to evoke the shades of those who had gone before him to the stars.

“Number Five—Lebedev—we’re ready.”

“Number Six—Arachne—O.K.”

Now it was his turn, at the end of the line; strange to think that the words he was speaking in this tiny cabin were being heard by at least five billion people.

“Number Seven—Diana—ready to start.”

“One through Seven acknowledged,” answered that impersonal voice from the judge’s launch. “Now T minus one minute.”

Merton scarcely heard it. For the last time, he was checking the tension in the rigging. The needles of all the dynamometers were steady; the immense sail was taut, its mirror surface sparkling and glittering gloriously in the sun.

To Merton, floating weightless at the periscope, it seemed to fill the sky. As well it might—for out there were fifty million square feet of sail, linked to his capsule by almost a hundred miles of rigging. All the canvas of all the tea clippers that had once raced like clouds across the China seas, sewn into one gigantic sheet, could not match the single sail that Diana had spread beneath the sun. Yet it was little more substantial than a soap bubble; that two square miles of aluminized plastic were only a few millionths of an inch thick.

“T minus ten seconds. All recording cameras ON.”

Something so huge, yet so frail, was hard for the mind to grasp. And it was harder still to realize that this fragile mirror could tow him free of Earth merely by the power of the sunlight it would trap.

“. . . five, four, three, two, one, CUT!”

Seven knife blades sliced through seven thin lines tethering the yachts to the mother ships that had assembled and serviced them. Until this moment, all had been circling Earth together in a rigidly held formation, but now the yachts would begin to disperse, like dandelion seeds drifting before the breeze. And the winner would be the one that first drifted past the Moon.

Aboard Diana, nothing seemed to be happening. But Merton knew better. Though his body could feel no thrust, the instrument board told him that he was now accelerating at almost one thousandth of a gravity. For a rocket, that figure would have been ludicrous—but this was the first time any solar yacht had ever attained it. Diana’s design was sound; the vast sail was living up to his calculations. At this rate, two circuits of the Earth would build up his speed to escape velocity, and then he could head out for the Moon, with the full force of the Sun behind him.

The full force of the Sun . . . He smiled wryly, remembering all his attempts to explain solar sailing to those lecture audiences back on Earth. That had been the only way he could raise money, in those early days. He might be Chief Designer of Cosmodyne Corporation, with a whole string of successful spaceships to his credit, but his firm had not been exactly enthusiastic about his hobby.

“Hold your hands out to the Sun,” he’d said. “What do you feel? Heat, of course. But there’s pressure as well—though you’ve never noticed it, because it’s so tiny. Over the area of your hands, it comes to only about a millionth of an ounce.

“But out in space, even a pressure as small as that can be important, for it’s acting all the time, hour after hour, day after day. Unlike rocket fuel, it’s free and unlimited. If we want to, we can use it. We can build sails to catch the radiation blowing from the Sun.”

At that point, he would pull out a few square yards of sail material and toss it toward the audience. The silvery film would coil and twist like smoke, then drift slowly to the ceiling in the hot-air currents.

“You can see how light it is,” he’d continue. “A square mile weighs only a ton, and can collect five pounds of radiation pressure. So it will start moving—and we can let it tow us along, if we attach rigging to it.

“Of course, its acceleration will be tiny—about a thousandth of a g. That doesn’t seem much, but let’s see what it means.

“It means that in the first second, we’ll move about a fifth of an inch. I suppose a healthy snail could do better than that. But after a minute, we’ve covered sixty feet, and will be doing just over a mile an hour. That’s not bad, for something driven by pure sunlight! After an hour, we’re forty miles from our starting point, and will be moving at eighty miles an hour. Please remember that in space there’s no friction; so once you start anything moving, it will keep going forever. You’ll be surprised when I tell you what our thousandth-of-a-g sailboat will be doing at the end of a day’s run: almost two thousand miles an hour! If it starts from orbit—as it has to, of course—it can reach escape velocity in a couple of days. And all without burning a single drop of fuel!”

Well, he’d convinced them, and in the end he’d even convinced Cosmodyne. Over the last twenty years, a new sport had come into being. It had been called the sport of billionaires, and that was true. But it was beginning to pay for itself in terms of publicity and TV coverage. The prestige of four continents and two worlds was riding on this race, and it had the biggest audience in history.

Diana had made a good start; time to take a look at the opposition. Moving very gently—though there were shock absorbers between the control capsule and the delicate rigging, he was determined to run no risks—Merton stationed himself at the periscope.

There they were, looking like strange silver flowers planted in the dark fields of space. The nearest, South America’s Santa Maria, was only fifty miles away; it bore a close resemblance to a boy’s kite, but a kite more than a mile on a side. Farther away, the University of Astrograd’s Lebedev looked like a Maltese cross; the sails that formed the four arms could apparently be tilted for steering purposes. In contrast, the Federation of Australasia’s Woomera was a simple parachute, four miles in circumference. General Spacecraft’s Arachne, as its name suggested, looked like a spiderweb, and had been built on the same principles, by robot shuttles spiraling out from a central point. Eurospace Corporation’s Gossamer was an identical design, on a slightly smaller scale. And the Republic of Mars’s Sunbeam was a flat ring, with a half-mile-wide hole in the center, spinning slowly, so that centrifugal force gave it stiffness. That was an old idea, but no one had ever made it work; and Merton was fairly sure that the colonials would be in trouble when they started to turn.

That would not be for another six hours, when the yachts had moved along the first quarter of their slow and stately twenty-four-hour orbit. Here at the beginning of the race, they were all heading directly away from the Sun—running, as it were, before the solar wind. One had to make the most of this lap, before the boats swung around to the other side of Earth and then started to head back into the Sun.

Time, Merton told himself, for the first check, while he had no navigational worries. With the periscope, he made a careful examination of the sail, concentrating on the points where the rigging was attached to it. The shroud lines—narrow bands of unsilvered plastic film—would have been completely invisible had they not been coated with fluorescent paint. Now they were taut lines of colored light, dwindling away for hundreds of yards toward that gigantic sail. Each had its own electric windlass, not much bigger than a game fisherman’s reel. The little windlasses were continually turning, playing lines in or out as the autopilot kept the sail trimmed at the correct angle to the Sun.

The play of sunlight on the great flexible mirror was beautiful to watch. The sail was undulating in slow, stately oscillations, sending multiple images of the Sun marching across it, until they faded away at its edges. Such leisurely vibrations were to be expected in this vast and flimsy structure. They were usually quite harmless, but Merton watched them carefully. Sometimes they could build up to the catastrophic undulations known as the “wriggles,” which could tear a sail to pieces.

When he was satisfied that everything was shipshape, he swept the periscope around the sky, rechecking the positions of his rivals. It was as he had hoped: the weeding-out process had begun as the less efficient boats fell astern. But the real test would come when they passed into the shadow of Earth. Then, maneuverability would count as much as speed.

It seemed a strange thing to do, what with the race having just started, but he thought it might be a good idea to get some sleep. The two-man crews on the other boats could take it in turns, but Merton had no one to relieve him. He must rely on his own physical resources, like that other solitary seaman, Joshua Slocum, in his tiny Spray. The American skipper had sailed Spray single-handed around the world; he could never have dreamed that, two centuries later, a man would be sailing single-handed from Earth to Moon—inspired, at least partly, by his example.

Merton snapped the elastic bands of the cabin seat around his waist and legs, then placed the electrodes of the sleep inducer on his forehead. He set the timer for three hours and relaxed. Very gently, hypnotically, the electronic pulses throbbed in the frontal lobes of his brain. Colored spirals of light expanded beneath his closed eyelids, widening outward to infinity. Then nothing . . .

The brazen clamor of the alarm dragged him back from his dreamless sleep. He was instantly awake, his eyes scanning the instrument panel. Only two hours had passed—but above the accelerometer, a red light was flashing. Thrust was falling; Diana was losing power.

Merton’s first thought was that something had happened to the sail; perhaps the anti-spin devices had failed, and the rigging had become twisted. Swiftly, he checked the meters that showed the tension of the shroud lines. Strange—on one side of the sail they were reading normally, but on the other the pull was dropping slowly, even as he watched.

In sudden understanding, Merton grabbed the periscope, switched to wide-angle vision, and started to scan the edge of the sail. Yes—there was the trouble, and it could have only one cause.

A huge, sharp-edged shadow had begun to slide across the gleaming silver of the sail. Darkness was falling upon Diana, as if a cloud had passed between her and the Sun. And in the dark, robbed of the rays that drove her, she would lose all thrust and drift helplessly through space.

But, of course, there were no clouds here, more than twenty thousand miles above the Earth. If there was a shadow, it must be made by man.

Merton grinned as he swung the periscope toward the Sun, switching in the filters that would allow him to look full into its blazing face without being blinded.

“Maneuver 4a,” he muttered to himself. “We’ll see who can play best at that game.”

It looked as if a giant planet was crossing the face of the Sun; a great black disc had bitten deep into its edge. Twenty miles astern, Gossamer was trying to arrange an artificial eclipse, specially for Diana’s benefit.

The maneuver was a perfectly legitimate one. Back in the days of ocean racing, skippers had often tried to rob each other of the wind. With any luck, you could leave your rival becalmed, with his sails collapsing around him—and be well ahead before he could undo the damage.

Merton had no intention of being caught so easily. There was plenty of time to take evasive action; things happened very slowly when you were running a solar sailboat. It would be at least twenty minutes before Gossamer could slide completely across the face of the Sun and leave him in darkness.

Diana’s tiny computer—the size of a matchbox, but the equivalent of a thousand human mathematicians—considered the problem for a full second and then flashed the answer. He’d have to open control panels three and four, until the sail had developed an extra twenty degrees of tilt; then the radiation pressure would blow him out of Gossamer’s dangerous shadow, back into the full blast of the Sun. It was a pity to interfere with the autopilot, which had been carefully programmed to give the fastest possible run—but that, after all, was why he was here. This was what made solar yachting a sport, rather than a battle between computers.

Out went control lines one and six, slowly undulating like sleepy snakes as they momentarily lost their tension. Two miles away, the triangular panels began to open lazily, spilling sunlight through the sail. Yet, for a long time, nothing seemed to happen. It was hard to grow accustomed to this slow-motion world, where it took minutes for the effects of any action to become visible to the eye. Then Merton saw that the sail was indeed tipping toward the Sun—and that Gossamer’s shadow was sliding harmlessly away, its cone of darkness lost in the deeper night of space.

Long before the shadow had vanished, and the disc of the Sun had cleared again, he reversed the tilt and brought Diana back on course. Her new momentum would carry her clear of the danger; no need to overdo it, and upset his calculations by sidestepping too far. That was another rule that was hard to learn: the very moment you had started something happening in space, it was already time to think about stopping it.

He reset the alarm, ready for the next natural or man-made emergency. Perhaps Gossamer, or one of the other contestants, would try the same trick again. Meanwhile, it was time to eat, though he did not feel particularly hungry. One used little physical energy in space, and it was easy to forget about food. Easy—and dangerous; for when an emergency arose, you might not have the reserves needed to deal with it.

He broke open the first of the meal packets, and inspected it without enthusiasm. The name on the label—SPACETASTIES—was enough to put him off. And he had grave doubts about the promise printed underneath: “Guaranteed crumbless.” It had been said that crumbs were a greater danger to space vehicles than meteorites; they could drift into the most unlikely places, causing short circuits, blocking vital jets, and getting into instruments that were supposed to be hermetically sealed.

Still, the liverwurst went down pleasantly enough; so did the chocolate and the pineapple puree. The plastic coffee bulb was warming on the electric heater when the outside world broke in upon his solitude, as the radio operator on the Commodore’s launch routed a call to him.

“Dr. Merton? If you can spare the time, Jeremy Blair would like a few words with you.” Blair was one of the more responsible news commentators, and Merton had been on his program many times. He could refuse to be interviewed, of course, but he liked Blair, and at the moment he could certainly not claim to be too busy. “I’ll take it,” he answered.

“Hello, Dr. Merton,” said the commentator immediately. “Glad you can spare a few minutes. And congratulations—you seem to be ahead of the field.”

“Too early in the game to be sure of that,” Merton answered cautiously.

“Tell me, Doctor, why did you decide to sail Diana by yourself? Just because it’s never been done before?”

“Well, isn’t that a good reason? But it wasn’t the only one, of course.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “You know how critically the performance of a sun yacht depends on its mass. A second man, with all his supplies, would mean another five hundred pounds. That could easily be the difference between winning and losing.”

“And you’re quite certain that you can handle Diana alone?”

“Reasonably sure, thanks to the automatic controls I’ve designed. My main job is to supervise and make decisions.”

“But—two square miles of sail! It just doesn’t seem possible for one man to cope with all that.”

Merton laughed. “Why not? Those two square miles produce a maximum pull of just ten pounds. I can exert more force with my little finger.”

“Well, thank you, Doctor. And good luck. I’ll be calling you again.”

As the commentator signed off, Merton felt a little ashamed of himself. For his answer had been only part of the truth; and he was sure that Blair was shrewd enough to know it.

There was just one reason why he was here, alone in space. For almost forty years he had worked with teams of hundreds or even thousands of men, helping to design the most complex vehicles that the world had ever seen. For the last twenty years he had led one of those teams, and watched his creations go soaring to the stars. (Sometimes . . . There were failures, which he could never forget, even though the fault had not been his.) He was famous, with a successful career behind him. Yet he had never done anything by himself; always he had been one of an army.

This was his last chance to try for individual achievement, and he would share it with no one. There would be no more solar yachting for at least five years, as the period of the Quiet Sun ended and the cycle of bad weather began, with radiation storms bursting through the solar system. When it was safe again for these frail, unshielded craft to venture aloft, he would be too old. If, indeed, he was not too old already . . .

He dropped the empty food containers into the waste disposal and turned once more to the periscope. At first he could find only five of the other yachts; there was no sign of Woomera. It took him several minutes to locate her—a dim, star-eclipsing phantom, neatly caught in the shadow of Lebedev. He could imagine the frantic efforts the Australasians were making to extricate themselves, and wondered how they had fallen into the trap. It suggested that Lebedev was unusually maneuverable. She would bear watching, though she was too far away to menace Diana at the moment.

Now the Earth had almost vanished; it had waned to a narrow, brilliant bow of light that was moving steadily toward the Sun. Dimly outlined within that burning bow was the night side of the planet, with the phosphorescent gleams of great cities showing here and there through gaps in the clouds. The disc of darkness had already blanked out a huge section of the Milky Way. In a few minutes, it would start to encroach upon the Sun.

The light was fading; a purple, twilight hue—the glow of many sunsets, thousands of miles below—was falling across the sail as Diana slipped silently into the shadow of Earth. The Sun plummeted below that invisible horizon; within minutes, it was night.

Merton looked back along the orbit he had traced, now a quarter of the way around the world. One by one he saw the brilliant stars of the other yachts wink out, as they joined him in the brief night. It would be an hour before the Sun emerged from that enormous black shield, and through all that time they would be completely helpless, coasting without power.

He switched on the external spotlight, and started to search the now-darkened sail with its beam. Already the thousands of acres of film were beginning to wrinkle and become flaccid. The shroud lines were slackening, and must be wound in lest they become entangled. But all this was expected; everything was going as planned.

Fifty miles astern, Arachne and Santa Maria were not so lucky. Merton learned of their troubles when the radio burst into life on the emergency circuit.

“Number Two and Number Six, this is Control. You are on a collision course; your orbits will intersect in sixty-five minutes! Do you require assistance?”

There was a long pause while the two skippers digested this bad news. Merton wondered who was to blame. Perhaps one yacht had been trying to shadow the other, and had not completed the maneuver before they were both caught in darkness. Now there was nothing that either could do. They were slowly but inexorably converging, unable to change course by a fraction of a degree.

Yet—sixty-five minutes! That would just bring them out into sunlight again, as they emerged from the shadow of the Earth. They had a slim chance, if their sails could snatch enough power to avoid a crash. There must be some frantic calculations going on aboard Arachne and Santa Maria.

Arachne answered first. Her reply was just what Merton had expected.

“Number Six calling Control. We don’t need assistance, thank you. We’ll work this out for ourselves.”

I wonder, thought Merton; but at least it will be interesting to watch. The first real drama of the race was approaching, exactly above the line of midnight on the sleeping Earth.

For the next hour, Merton’s own sail kept him too busy to worry about Arachne and Santa Maria. It was hard to keep a good watch on those fifty million square feet of dim plastic out there in the darkness, illuminated only by his narrow spotlight and the rays of the still-distant Moon. From now on, for almost half his orbit around the Earth, he must keep the whole of this immense area edge-on to the Sun. During the next twelve or fourteen hours, the sail would be a useless encumbrance; for he would be heading into the Sun, and its rays could only drive him backward along his orbit. It was a pity that he could not furl the sail completely, until he was ready to use it again; but no one had yet found a practical way of doing this.

Far below, there was the first hint of dawn along the edge of the Earth. In ten minutes the Sun would emerge from its eclipse. The coasting yachts would come to life again as the blast of radiation struck their sails. That would be the moment of crisis for Arachne and Santa Maria—and, indeed, for all of them.

Merton swung the periscope until he found the two dark shadows drifting against the stars. They were very close together—perhaps less than three miles apart. They might, he decided, just be able to make it . . .

Dawn flashed like an explosion along the rim of Earth as the Sun rose out of the Pacific. The sail and shroud lines glowed a brief crimson, then gold, then blazed with the pure white light of day. The needles of the dynamometers began to lift from their zeros—but only just. Diana was still almost completely weightless, for with the sail pointing toward the Sun, her acceleration was now only a few millionths of a gravity.

But Arachne and Santa Maria were crowding on all the sail that they could manage, in their desperate attempt to keep apart. Now, while there was less than two miles between them, their glittering plastic clouds were unfurling and expanding with agonizing slowness as they felt the first delicate push of the Sun’s rays. Almost every TV screen on Earth would be mirroring this protracted drama; and even now, at this last minute, it was possible to tell what the outcome would be.

The two skippers were stubborn men. Either could have cut his sail and fallen back to give the other a chance, but neither would do so. Too much prestige, too many millions, too many reputations were at stake. And so, silently and softly as snowflakes falling on a winter night, Arachne and Santa Maria collided.

The square kite crawled almost imperceptibly into the circular spiderweb. The long ribbons of the shroud lines twisted and tangled together with dreamlike slowness. Even aboard Diana, Merton, busy with his own rigging, could scarcely tear his eyes away from this silent, long-drawn-out disaster.

For more than ten minutes the billowing, shining clouds continued to merge into one inextricable mass. Then the crew capsules tore loose and went their separate ways, missing each other by hundreds of yards. With a flare of rockets, the safety launches hurried to pick them up.

That leaves five of us, thought Merton. He felt sorry for the skippers who had so thoroughly eliminated each other, only a few hours after the start of the race, but they were young men and would have another chance.

Within minutes, the five had dropped to four. From the beginning, Merton had had doubts about the slowly rotating Sunbeam; now he saw them justified.

The Martian ship had failed to tack properly. Her spin had given her too much stability. Her great ring of a sail was turning to face the Sun, instead of being edge-on to it. She was being blown back along her course at almost her maximum acceleration.

That was about the most maddening thing that could happen to a skipper—even worse than a collision, for he could blame only himself. But no one would feel much sympathy for the frustrated colonials, as they dwindled slowly astern. They had made too many brash boasts before the race, and what had happened to them was poetic justice.

Yet it would not do to write off Sunbeam completely; with almost half a million miles still to go, she might yet pull ahead. Indeed, if there were a few more casualties, she might be the only one to complete the race. It had happened before.

The next twelve hours were uneventful, as the Earth waxed in the sky from new to full. There was little to do while the fleet drifted around the unpowered half of its orbit, but Merton did not find the time hanging heavily on his hands. He caught a few hours of sleep, ate two meals, wrote his log, and became involved in several more radio interviews. Sometimes, though rarely, he talked to the other skippers, exchanging greetings and friendly taunts. But most of the time he was content to float in weightless relaxation, beyond all the cares of Earth, happier than he had been for many years. He was—as far as any man could be in space—master of his own fate, sailing the ship upon which he had lavished so much skill, so much love, that it had become part of his very being.

The next casualty came when they were passing the line between Earth and Sun, and were just beginning the powered half of the orbit. Aboard Diana, Merton saw the great sail stiffen as it tilted to catch the rays that drove it. The acceleration began to climb up from the microgravities, though it would be hours yet before it would reach its maximum value.

It would never reach it for Gossamer. The moment when power came on again was always critical, and she failed to survive it.

Blair’s radio commentary, which Merton had left running at low volume, alerted him with the news: “Hello, Gossamer has the wriggles!” He hurried to the periscope, but at first could see nothing wrong with the great circular disc of Gossamer’s sail. It was difficult to study it because it was almost edge-on to him and so appeared as a thin ellipse; but presently he saw that it was twisting back and forth in slow, irresistible oscillations. Unless the crew could damp out these waves, by properly timed but gentle tugs on the shroud lines, the sail would tear itself to pieces.

They did their best, and after twenty minutes it seemed that they had succeeded. Then, somewhere near the center of the sail, the plastic film began to rip. It was slowly driven outward by the radiation pressure, like smoke coiling upward from a fire. Within a quarter of an hour, nothing was left but the delicate tracery of the radial spars that had supported the great web. Once again there was a flare of rockets, as a launch moved in to retrieve the Gossamer’s capsule and her dejected crew.

“Getting rather lonely up here, isn’t it?” said a conversational voice over the ship-to-ship radio.

“Not for you, Dimitri,” retorted Merton. “You’ve still got company back there at the end of the field. I’m the one who’s lonely, up here in front.” It was not an idle boast; by this time Diana was three hundred miles ahead of the next competitor, and her lead should increase still more rapidly in the hours to come.

Aboard Lebedev, Dimitri Markoff gave a good-natured chuckle. He did not sound, Merton thought, at all like a man who had resigned himself to defeat.

“Remember the legend of the tortoise and the hare,” answered the Russian. “A lot can happen in the next quarter-million miles.”

It happened much sooner than that, when they had completed their first orbit of Earth and were passing the starting line again—though thousands of miles higher, thanks to the extra energy the Sun’s rays had given them. Merton had taken careful sights on the other yachts and had fed the figures into the computer. The answer it gave for Woomera was so absurd that he immediately did a recheck.

There was no doubt of it—the Australasians were catching up at a completely fantastic rate. No solar yacht could possibly have such an acceleration, unless . . .

A swift look through the periscope gave the answer. Woomera’s rigging, pared back to the very minimum of mass, had given way. It was her sail alone, still maintaining its shape, that was racing up behind him like a handkerchief blown before the wind. Two hours later it fluttered past, less than twenty miles away; but long before that, the Australasians had joined the growing crowd aboard the Commodore’s launch.

So now it was a straight fight between Diana and Lebedev—for though the Martians had not given up, they were a thousand miles astern and no longer counted as a serious threat. For that matter, it was hard to see what Lebedev could do to overtake Diana’s lead; but all the way around the second lap, through eclipse again and the long, slow drift against the Sun, Merton felt a growing unease.

He knew the Russian pilots and designers. They had been trying to win this race for twenty years—and, after all, it was only fair that they should, for had not Pyotr Nikolaevich Lebedev been the first man to detect the pressure of sunlight, back to the very beginning of the twentieth century? But they had never succeeded.

And they would never stop trying. Dimitri was up to something—and it would be spectacular.

* * *

Aboard the official launch, a thousand miles behind the racing yachts, Commodore van Stratten looked at the radiogram with angry dismay. It had traveled more than a hundred million miles, from the chain of solar observatories swinging high above the blazing surface of the Sun, and it brought the worst possible news.

The Commodore—his title was purely honorary, of course; back on Earth he was Professor of Astrophysics at Harvard—had been half-expecting it. Never before had the race been arranged so late in the season. There had been many delays; they had gambled—and now, it seemed, they might all lose.

Deep beneath the surface of the Sun, enormous forces were gathering. At any moment the energies of a million hydrogen bombs might burst forth in the awesome explosion known as a solar flare. Climbing at millions of miles an hour, an invisible fireball many times the size of Earth would leap from the Sun and head out across space.

The cloud of electrified gas would probably miss the Earth completely. But if it did not, it would arrive in just over a day. Spaceships could protect themselves, with their shielding and their powerful magnetic screens; but the lightly built solar yachts, with their paper-thin walls, were defenseless against such a menace. The crews would have to be taken off, and the race abandoned.

John Merton knew nothing of this as he brought Diana around the Earth for the second time. If all went well, this would be the last circuit, both for him and for the Russians. They had spiraled upward by thousands of miles, gaining energy from the Sun’s rays. On this lap, they should escape from the Earth completely, and head outward on the long run to the Moon. It was a straight race now; Sunbeam’s crew had finally withdrawn exhausted, after battling valiantly with their spinning sail for more than a hundred thousand miles.

Merton did not feel tired; he had eaten and slept well, and Diana was behaving herself admirably. The autopilot, tensioning the rigging like a busy little spider, kept the great sail trimmed to the Sun more accurately than any human skipper could have. Though by this time the two square miles of plastic sheet must have been riddled by hundreds of micrometeorites, the pinhead-sized punctures had produced no falling off of thrust.

He had only two worries. The first was shroud line number eight, which could no longer be adjusted properly. Without any warning, the reel had jammed; even after all these years of astronautical engineering, bearings sometimes seized up in vacuum. He could neither lengthen nor shorten the line, and would have to navigate as best he could with the others. Luckily, the most difficult maneuvers were over; from now on, Diana would have the Sun behind her as she sailed straight down the solar wind. And as the old-time sailors had often said, it was easy to handle a boat when the wind was blowing over your shoulder.

His other worry was Lebedev, still dogging his heels three hundred miles astern. The Russian yacht had shown remarkable maneuverability, thanks to the four great panels that could be tilted around the central sail. Her flipovers as she rounded the Earth had been carried out with superb precision. But to gain maneuverability she must have sacrificed speed. You could not have it both ways; in the long, straight haul ahead, Merton should be able to hold his own. Yet he could not be certain of victory until, three or four days from now, Diana went flashing past the far side of the Moon.

And then, in the fiftieth hour of the race, just after the end of the second orbit around Earth, Markoff sprang his little surprise.

“Hello, John,” he said casually over the ship-to-ship circuit. “I’d like you to watch this. It should be interesting.”

Merton drew himself across to the periscope and turned up the magnification to the limit. There in the field of view, a most improbable sight against the background of the stars, was the glittering Maltese cross of Lebedev, very small but very clear. As he watched, the four arms of the cross slowly detached themselves from the central square, and went drifting away, with all their spars and rigging, into space.

Markoff had jettisoned all unnecessary mass, now that he was coming up to escape velocity and need no longer plod patiently around the Earth, gaining momentum on each circuit. From now on, Lebedev would be almost unsteerable—but that did not matter; all the tricky navigation lay behind her. It was as if an old-time yachtsman had deliberately thrown away his rudder and heavy keel, knowing that the rest of the race would be straight downwind over a calm sea.

“Congratulations, Dimitri,” Merton radioed. “It’s a neat trick. But it’s not good enough. You can’t catch up with me now.”

“I’ve not finished yet,” the Russian answered. “There’s an old winter’s tale in my country about a sleigh being chased by wolves. To save himself, the driver has to throw off the passengers one by one. Do you see the analogy?”

Merton did, all too well. On this final straight lap, Dimitri no longer needed his copilot. Lebedev could really be stripped down for action.

“Alexis won’t be very happy about this,” Merton replied. “Besides, it’s against the rules.”

“Alexis isn’t happy, but I’m the captain. He’ll just have to wait around for ten minutes until the Commodore picks him up. And the regulations say nothing about the size of the crew—you should know that.”

Merton did not answer; he was too busy doing some hurried calculations, based on what he knew of Lebedev’s design. By the time he had finished, he knew that the race was still in doubt. Lebedev would be catching up with him at just about the time he hoped to pass the Moon.

But the outcome of the race was already being decided, ninety-two million miles away.

* * *

On Solar Observatory Three, far inside the orbit of Mercury, the automatic instruments recorded the whole history of the flare. A hundred million square miles of the Sun’s surface exploded in such blue-white fury that, by comparison, the rest of the disc paled to a dull glow. Out of that seething inferno, twisting and turning like a living creature in the magnetic fields of its own creation, soared the electrified plasma of the great flare. Ahead of it, moving at the speed of light, went the warning flash of ultraviolet and X rays. That would reach Earth in eight minutes and was relatively harmless. Not so the charged atoms that were following behind at their leisurely four million miles an hour—and which, in just over a day, would engulf Diana, Lebedev, and their accompanying little fleet in a cloud of lethal radiation.

The Commodore left his decision to the last possible minute. Even when the jet of plasma had been tracked past the orbit of Venus, there was a chance that it might miss the Earth. But when it was less than four hours away, and had already been picked up by the Moon-based radar network, he knew that there was no hope. All solar sailing was over, for the next five or six years—until the Sun was quiet again.

A great sigh of disappointment swept across the solar system. Diana and Lebedev were halfway between Earth and Moon, running neck and neck—and now no one would ever know which was the better boat. The enthusiasts would argue the result for years; history would merely record: “Race canceled owing to solar storm.”

When John Merton received the order, he felt a bitterness he had not known since childhood. Across the years, sharp and clear, came the memory of his tenth birthday. He had been promised an exact scale model of the famous spaceship Morning Star, and for weeks had been planning how he would assemble it, where he would hang it in his bedroom. And then, at the last moment, his father had broken the news. “I’m sorry, John—it cost too much money. Maybe next year . . .”

Half a century and a successful lifetime later, he was a heartbroken boy again.

For a moment, he thought of disobeying the Commodore. Suppose he sailed on, ignoring the warning? Even if the race was abandoned, he could make crossing to the Moon that would stand in the record books for generations.

But that would be worse than stupidity; it would be suicide—and a very unpleasant form of suicide. He had seen men die of radiation poisoning, when the magnetic shielding of their ships had failed in deep space. No—nothing was worth that . . .

He felt as sorry for Dimitri Markoff as for himself. They had both deserved to win, and now victory would go to neither. No man could argue with the Sun in one of its rages, even though he might ride upon its beams to the edge of space.

Only fifty miles astern now, the Commodore’s launch was drawing alongside Lebedev, preparing to take off her skipper. There went the silver sail, as Dimitri—with feelings that he would share—cut the rigging. The tiny capsule would be taken back to Earth, perhaps to be used again; but a sail was spread for one voyage only.

Merton could press the jettison button now, and save his rescuers a few minutes of time. But he could not do it; he wanted to stay aboard to the very end, on the little boat that had been for so long a part of his dreams and his life. The great sail was spread now at right angles to the Sun, exerting its utmost thrust. Long ago, it had torn him clear of Earth, and Diana was still gaining speed.

Then, out of nowhere, beyond all doubt or hesitation, he knew what must be done. For the last time, he sat down before the computer that had navigated him halfway to the Moon.

When he had finished, he packed the log and his few personal belongings. Clumsily, for he was out of practice, and it was not an easy job to do by oneself, he climbed into the emergency survival suit. He was just sealing the helmet when the Commodore’s voice called over the radio.

“We’ll be alongside in five minutes, Captain. Please cut your sail, so we won’t foul it.”

John Merton, first and last skipper of the sun yacht Diana, hesitated a moment. He looked for the last time around the tiny cabin, with its shining instruments and its neatly arranged controls, now all locked in their final positions. Then he said into the microphone: “I’m abandoning ship. Take your time to pick me up. Diana can look after herself.”

There was no reply from the Commodore, and for that he was grateful. Professor van Stratten would have guessed what was happening—and would know that, in these final moments, he wished to be left alone.

He did not bother to exhaust the air lock, and the rush of escaping gas blew him gently out into space. The thrust he gave her then was his last gift to Diana. She dwindled away from him, sail glittering splendidly in the sunlight that would be hers for centuries to come. Two days from now she would flash past the Moon; but the Moon, like the Earth, could never catch her. Without his mass to slow her down, she would gain two thousand miles an hour in every day of sailing. In a month, she would be traveling faster than any ship that man had ever built.

As the Sun’s rays weakened with distance, so her acceleration would fall. But even at the orbit of Mars, she would be gaining a thousand miles an hour in every day. Long before then, she would be moving too swiftly for the Sun itself to hold her. Faster than a comet had ever streaked in from the stars, she would be heading out into the abyss.

The glare of rockets, only a few miles away, caught Merton’s eye. The launch was approaching to pick him up—at thousands of times the acceleration that Diana could ever attain. But its engines could burn for a few minutes only, before they exhausted their fuel—while Diana would still be gaining speed, driven outward by the Sun’s eternal fires, for ages yet to come.

“Good-bye, little ship,” said John Merton. “I wonder what eyes will see you next, how many thousand years from now?”

At last he felt at peace, as the blunt torpedo of the launch nosed up beside him. He would never win the race to the Moon; but his would be the first of all man’s ships to set sail on the long journey to the stars.

Graduation for some MM followers! This is my tribute for your accomplishments!

Graduation. Some people are (for certain) going home. Small steps open up to larger ones. A path is being formed. So many are on that path. i can see it. Congratulations all.

I know.

I know what is going on with some of you. Some have told me what is going on, and with others… well… I get “reports”. Ha! And you thought that I was out of the loop in these things, eh?

It’s like a big bolder that you finally got up and out of the graound and now you just started to push it down the hill. Yeah. It’s going so far, and then it hits a platform, a tree, or a level space.

Not to worry.

It’s a level completed.

It’s a graduation.

For some of you, you don’t need MM any longer. Though you are always welcome to visit and keep in touch. For others, just hang on loose.

A couple of you all have really reason to celebrate. You know where you are. And it should be on “that” plateau, level area. Many more to go… but you hit the first one.

Of course, remember. Do not be like Matilda. Do not be tricked. There is no “another chance once you do …”. Don’t be in a rush.

So many have or are reaching, that point. It is time to celebrate. But don’t be “big headed”…

Keep your affirmation campaigns.
Keep chatting with your mantids.
And keep on; going on.

I salute every one of you!

Here’s my celebration of your accomplishment. I hope you all enjoy it. Plus some normal day-to-day MM stuff.

Faith No More Epic, My Generation (With Klaus Meine & Bo Diddley) Live Wembley Arena 12/06/91

Dealing with a bully

When I was a kid I used to be bullied by a bigger kid that lived down the road. At the weekend – in Summer – my Mum used to make me wear a silly hat outdoors to protect me from sunburn, and he always made fun of it…as well as push me around.

One day I hatched a cunning plan…

I would put my silly hat out the front of my house with a rock under it. Said bully will ride down the road on his bike after school, spot my silly hat and run over the hat and rock – and maybe fall off on the grass… What could go wrong?

Well it kind of worked…

He spotted the hat and aimed straight for it – but instead of running over it, he decided that he would drop his foot and kick it/scoop it up…

Unfortunately neither the hat nor the rock moved and he smashed every bone in his foot!

His parents were on the warpath – screaming at my parents – blaming me…

I just said that I had been out front and put the hat over a rock to stop it blowing away – and I had forgotten about it…

I think that he was in plaster for months!

The family eventually moved away and he never bullied or laughed at me again…

Metallica – Master of Puppets (Live) [Quebec Magnetic]

”]

How did people preserve meat back then?

Well, coming from Portugal, people didn’t have electricity in the countryside until the late 70s/80s So in order to conserve the meat, my great-grandma (and every Portuguese people who weren’t rich) had a thing called “Salgadeira”, something like “Box of Salt”.

They had tons of salt and they would submerge the pieces of meat in the salt. A little context, Portugal was very, VERY, poor in the 40s, 50s, 60s. In late October, a pig would be slaughtered and EVERYTHING was prepared to be eaten in the future.

Belly, snout, feet, intestines (sausages and blood sausages), tail, ears, testicles, everything was used and all of that was put in the “Salgadeira” (Expect for the sausages, they had a special room called “Fumeiro”) and would stay there until the people decided to eat it.

Now you ask “Wasn’t it salty?”

Yes, of course.

That’s why the day before, the people would take out the piece and put it in a basin full of water during the night before and the whole day and it would be perfect to be cooked. This pig lasted a whole year and they had to make it count! I hope I helped and sorry for the extensive story. <3

As far as I know, there are many popular stars from Xinjiang in China. So why does Pompeo insist that the Chinese government is committing “genocide” against the Uighurs and other ethnic minorities in Xinjiang?

Why does Pompeo do this? Because he’s trying to smear China’s reputation and prevent China’s rise. China threatens American hegemony.

Here’s the fundamental problem…

ANYTHING positive that is reported about China is regarded as Chinese propaganda and not to be trusted.

So you can show as many videos of Uyghur culture as you like, and they’re all considered fake.

You can show demographic data of the Uyghur population increasing for the past decade, and since they’re official Chinese stats, they must be fake.

The ONLY way to prove that Western media and Mike Pompeo are lying about the Uyghurs is to go visit Xinjiang and see with your own eyes.

Millions of foreign tourists already have. And do you know what they all see?

Happy Uyghurs. Uyghur culture flourishing. Mosques practically around every corner. Uyghur children playing in the streets. If China is committing genocide, either racial or cultural, she’s doing a very bad job of it!

Unless you think Xinjiang is one vast Potemkin village, you must conclude that Western media is lying.

But here’s the thing: most people in the West will never have the opportunity to visit Xinjiang or China. They either can’t afford to, or they don’t have the time nor inclination.

Mike Pompeo and his ilk are counting on this. They’re counting on most Westerners being unable to verify the truth. This is how they get away with propaganda lies.

P.O.D. – Satellite (Official Music Video) [HD]

”]

As a Chinese citizen, what are the main flaws with the Chinese government?

The incompetency, or rather, the inconsistency of competence, of the local governments of various levels.

First and foremost, the current Chinese government runs more or less on the principle of meritocracy, that is, the better you do on your job, the more likely you are to get promoted.

The result of which is that the central government consists of the brightest, most capable, and most experienced individuals of the entire Chinese political system, while the local governments – especially the lower level provincial and municipal governments – are more of a mixed bag.

It is not rare to see the local governments failing miserably at their jobs, people get angry, the central government had to step in and, as we would call it in China, “wipe their butts for them.”

And that’s also why the infamous system of petitioning (信访/上访) is…well, infamous.

Through the system of petitioning, officially known as public complaints and proposals, petitioners are, in theory, able to directly get into contact with the central government to report issues they have with the local government.

The problem is, in order to reach the central government, you must first petition with the local government.

And, naturally, when the issue of the petition in question is directed at you, the local incompetent official, you are not very likely to just allow the petitioners to go to the central government. And the end result would be rather grim for some of the more vocal petitioners.

Over the years, the central government is becoming more aware of the issue and, with more effort put into anti-corruption and power abuse since Xi, the central government is trying to achieve a balance between improving the petitioning system itself to allow petitioners to reach the central government, and improving the efficiency of the local governments so that the guys in the central can better focus on their actual jobs.

The 2016 Feng Xiaogang Film I Am Not Madame Bovary is a satire-comedy that criticized the petitioning system and the incompetence of lower level officials, and was well received:

Definitely worth a watch if you’re interested in the topic.

How safe is Singapore while the whole world is in turmoil?

I’m confident Singapore won’t have to suffer food shortages like Sri Lanka. We have invested billions over decades to diversify the entire supply chain to all corners of the globe, and centralized our stockpile, especially the climate controlled storage of key necessities.

The recent chicken export ban from key supplier Malaysia hardly ruffled feathers here.

I’m confident Singapore won’t have to suffer ruinous energy price increase in the multiples, like the UK and Germany. A severe recession is guaranteed given the rate hikes still to come. Cheap Russian energy cannot be easily replaced, especially the price point.

I’m confident Singapore won’t have to deal with currency devaluation and persistent high inflation. The Singapore dollar uses the exchange rate to control domestic inflation and it has shown remarkable strength next to the ntd, krw, jpy and cny, bucking capitulation in the rest of asean (bar Brunei).

The latest iPhone remains affordable, relative to wages.

I’m confident Singapore won’t have the headache of revolving door politics like we’ve seen in the UK, France, Malaysia, Pakistan, Sri Lanka and many more. Stability wielded by experienced, wise heads gave us the platform and latitude to navigate the treacherous curveballs hurled at us time and again by covid. The scorecard gave Singapore first dibs on returning business flow. Singapore remains the jewel of SEA, as investor confidence clearly demonstrate.

I’m confident racial and sectarian violence won’t break loose, particularly anti-chinese sentiment fueling hate crimes and witchhunts in the Anglophone first world. Singapore takes the constitution seriously. The pledge of one United people regardless of race, language or religion is taught in preschool. Tolerance, and respect, are values deeply ingrained in the Singapore psyche. Long may that continue.

Ultimately, Singapore’s size condemns us to be price takers. We will take material hits when the global situation deteriorates, especially if great power competition escalate into full blown war. But I’d like to think my tropical island home will preserve the last vestiges of sanity as the rest of the world devolve into anarchy.

But that’s just me.

“No Soup For You!” | The Soup Nazi | Seinfeld

Should the United States engage in direct combat against China?

No. First of all, there is no reason to engage China militarily. China is not an enemy of USA.

Second, a war with China would be devastating for the whole world, possibly leading to global nuclear destruction.

Third, USA cannot win a war with China. The Pentagon has conducted numerous war game exercises involving China in East and South China Seas, and in each and every one of them, China won. The lesson here is: Do not fight a war in China’s own backyard.

China has operational hypersonic missiles and so-called “carrier killers.” Does USA want to see all their supercarriers sink to the bottom of the Pacific?

Fourth, generally speaking, war is immoral. It takes a sick mind to contemplate unnecessary warfare. This question falls into this category.

P.O.D. – Alive (Official Music Video) [4K]

”]

Would you like to live under a Chinese world authoritarian rule or a United States world lead democratic rule?

Let me help you rephrase your questions fairly and accurately.

Would you like to live in a supposedly authoritarian rule in China that is free for you to go anywhere and at any time without the fear of being shot at by random mass shooter ever other day? Or ever stopped by the police and suffers police brutality all because your colour of your skin differs from his?

Or would you prefer like to live in this so called authoritarian nation that has only one nineth per million incasserated compared to this self claimed world leader in democracy who by the way has 25% of the entire world prison population?

This self proclaimed democratic leader allows you to choose between two leader chosen for you by a tiny fraction of its rich and influential people. And yes you chose whom you hate less! Would you like to live in this self proclaimed democratic leader nation that is neither democratic nor leader, who priotised foriegn interventions yet leaves 35% of their people without health insurance?

Or do you prefer to live in a supposed authoritarian nation that gives universal health coverage, haves zero poverty, and provide free college education? Or chose to live in this so call democratic nation that have a million people homeless.and living in tents, and kids get into debts just for going to college!

As you can see a question put in accurate depiction of reality versus a trick question filled with lies and innuendos lead you to broken dreams.

But I got a better choice for you in America. Stay home and push your nation to be really democratic and care more for you! If you are Chinese, words means nothing, deeds are everything.

What is the most unhealthy ‘health food’?

What could be better for you than sitting down to a nice cold glass of fruit juice? I mean, after all, the word “fruit” is right there in the name. How could you go wrong?

Truth is, you might as well be drinking a can of soda with your breakfast. Ounce per ounce, fruit juice contains as much sugar and as many calories as a can of Coke. Maybe more.

Sure there might be some vitamin C and antioxidants in your juice, but that hardly makes up for all that sugar.

Let’s look at a comparison between apple juice and Coca Cola.

Coke: 140 calories and 40 grams of sugar (10 teaspoons)
Apple Juice: 165 calories and 39 grams of sugar (9.8 teaspoons)

Even if you are careful to pick up the juice labeled “100% Pure” and “not from concentrate”, that doesn’t mean much. In a commercial process, once the juice is squeezed from the fruit it is usually stored in massive oxygen-depleting storage tanks for up to a year.

This has the unfortunate effect of removing most of the flavor from the product. To make it palatable again, manufacturers have to add “flavor packs” to their product.

What is a healthier alternative? Just eat the actual fresh fruit itself. It will taste better and be better for you.

The Cult – She Sells Sanctuary

Beijing may use Anti-Secession Law to seek Taiwan reunification, Chinese foreign minister says

Wang Yi says if the law is violated, Beijing will take ‘resolute actions to safeguard the country’s sovereignty and territorial integrity’
He also warns that US approach may have ‘subversive impact’ on ties, during meeting with former secretary of state Henry Kissinger

Chinese Foreign Minister Wang Yi has said Beijing could invoke its Anti-Secession Law to seek reunification with Taiwan, in an escalation of rhetoric over the self-ruled island.

Wang also warned that Washington’s pro-Taiwan, anti-Beijing approach might have a “subversive impact” on US-China ties, during a meeting with former US secretary of state Henry Kissinger on Monday. Wang is in New York for the general debate of the 77th session of the United Nations General Assembly this week.

It follows US President Joe Biden’s latest pledge to defend Taiwan if Beijing were to attack the island – the fourth time he has vowed to do so – and after the Taiwan Policy Act of 2022 cleared a US Senate panel last week.

From HERE

Night Ranger – Don´t Tell Me You Love Me

How did you know your cats chose you to be their owner?

I know my cat chose me.

I was talking to my friend outside her apartment. There were cats all around, ferals and strays.

As we talked, I suddenly felt fur on my leg. I looked down and saw a beautiful black cat brushing past my leg, loving me, choosing me.

I sat down on the curb and petted her (by now I knew it was a girl).

She pushed her little head into my hand and licked me.

This was love at first sight for her.

A lady came out of her apartment and told me she feeds the cats and this little girl, and that she’d been a stray for many months.

Next day I took her to the vet where she got a wellness check, all of her shots and a pill to kill worms in her tummy.

She had no fleas or sores.

I took her home.

She hid under the couch until she got hungry and came out to eat. She found the litter box by herself.

Two nights later she began sleeping with me and has ever since. She’s the love of my life.

Here’s Charlotte

Why do some people send back food at every restaurant they go to?

My aunt and uncle were exceedingly generous people, and one of the things they liked to do was to take friends to new restaurants they had discovered. I used to tell them that once a restaurant had their seal of approval, it was like giving them a Michelin Star!

They once took a couple out, and were having a great time until the husband complained about the steak—after he’d eaten about half of it. The waiter comped his meal. My aunt put it down to the fact that not every dish that comes out of a kitchen can be 100% perfect all the time, and did not think any more about it.

Until a few months later when they took that couple to a different restaurant and the same thing happened—the husband ate about half his meal, complained to a waiter, got his meal comped. My aunt said something along the lines of how bad his luck was and how embarrassed she was that two of their restaurant choices had not pleased him.

He replied, “Oh, the meals were perfectly fine. Great, even. But I fill up on salad and bread and drinks, eat some of the entree, call a waiter over and then get the whole meal comped.” He bragged that no matter how nice the place, there was always something to “complain” about. Too cold, too salty, too spicy, not done enough, too well done, had an ingredient not mentioned on the menu, etc.

My aunt likened it to stealing and he just scoffed, “Look at it this way, I’ve saved you about $25 both times we’ve gone out.”

My aunt and uncle stopped taking this couple out to dinner after that.

CANDLEBOX – Far Behind (Official Video)

Anti-U.S. base incumbent Tamaki secures 2nd term as Okinawa governor

2022 09 11: Anti-U.S. base incumbent Tamaki secures 2nd term as Okinawa governor

KYODO NEWS KYODO NEWS – Sep 11, 2022 – 23:40 | Japan, All

Okinawa Gov. Denny Tamaki won a second four-year-term following Sunday's gubernatorial election, obtaining a renewed mandate for his efforts to discontinue a plan to relocate a U.S. base within the island prefecture.

Opposition-backed Tamaki defeated former Ginowan Mayor Atsushi Sakima, 58, who was supported by the ruling coalition of the Liberal Democratic Party and Komeito. Sakima ran on a platform of pressing ahead with moving U.S. Marine Corps Air Station Futenma from the densely populated city of Ginowan to the Henoko coastal area of Nago.

Reviving the all-important tourism industry was also a focus of the election with the Okinawan economy having taken a heavy battering from travel restrictions put in place during the coronavirus pandemic

From HERE

Reo Speedwagon Back On The Road Again

Why is Xi Jinping acting so stubborn in this trade war, and could it be a huge mistake?

Another political viewpoint dressed as a question.

The line of questioning implies China must bend to American pressure, otherwise her leaders are being foolishly stubborn, and dangerously so.

If America wants something bad, she never negotiates. She makes demands, and expects every other country to bow. In international affairs, the Chinese from the time of Mao and Deng called America a 超级大国 or a superpower. Superpowers dominate, bully and exploit people everywhere.

Blackmail, tariffs, media pressure, asymmetric pressure, all in an effort to force China into an unequal treaty that threatens China’s very sovereignty. And that is just the opening salvo. The Americans will never be satisfied once they’ve tasted blood.

Precedents are always begging to be reused.

China will not gamble her long-term internal stability and sovereignty without putting up a massive fight.

There are lots of tools in the Chinese arsenal. They have just not been used out of respect for the global hegemon. Just take a look at the strength of the Yuan relative to the rest of the BRICS. It may actually be a good time to cull the excesses in the Chinese economy brought about by the immense credit expansion post-financial crisis.

China isn’t being stupid. Neither is this a China-driven charade or Xi’s dictatorial decision. The Standing Committee exists to decide important affairs by vote.

Is it true that many anti-CCP Chinese became pro-CCP after having learnt how Western media are biased against China?

I don’t know anyone who has visited China become or remain anti China. The anti China haters are, to my knowledge, people who have never been to China and who wish to hate China from a distance. Maybe they just want to hate. The US media creates lies about China to callously make money based on other’s suffering and to cover up the guilt of the USA. And to try and generate anti China sentiment. Their only hope is with the ignorant people.

I do firmly believe, that if any of these anti China people actually went to China, they would stop their ignorant thinking and become pro China.

The main problem is, that these anti China people don’t want to learn the truth and they wish to want to continue hating innocent people to blame their nation’s (usually the USA), weaknesses on someone else. Like the Nazis blaming the Jews, it all comes from fear of their own inadequacies and jealousy of other’s strengths.

All who visit China, I believe, will realise that China is a good country.

Def Leppard – Hysteria (Live)

Chocolate Silk Raspberry Tart

Smooth slices of this attractive tart combine the classic combination of chocolate and raspberries.

Ingredients

20 creme-filled golden sandwich cookies, crushed (2 cups)
1/4 cup butter or margarine, melted
1 1/2 cups semisweet chocolate chips
2 cups whipping (heavy) cream
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 package (8 oz) cream cheese, softened
1 cup fresh raspberries
2 tablespoons seedless raspberry jam

.

NEIGHBOURS CAT & OUR DILEMMA!


I'm really hoping someone can give us advice on this stressful and now cruel situation as we are struggling with this now. A cat started sleeping in our garden on the grass overnight through summer and we assumed her to be a stray. We stroked her, we left only water outside and very quickly she started to come in to our kitchen and meow and pur for cuddles. 

We noticed she didn't look stray (not overly skinny, good fur) so I decided at this point to snap a few pics and post her to a local FB page in the hopes of finding her owner. 

Several people came forward who ended up just having similar cats and this wasn't resolved. I did some more digging determined to find the owner and spoke to more people in the area and finally found her owner. 

I was so relieved so I sent her a message to tell her about the situation. She came back to me saying things like 'omg she's been missing for weeks thank you so much' - seemed genuinely relieved. 

She asked me to take the cat indoors this once and was happy for me to feed her this once to ensure that she had eaten something and collected her that evening. 

Now the problem lies here: For whatever reason, this cat does not like being at home. For weeks if not going on a months now, we've had a back and forth with this lady about her cat darting through our house desperate to come in at any chance. 

We love this cat to bits and we don't mind her being here but we've followed her owners instructions all the way through the weeks (please shoo her out, don't feed her, ignore her, close your blinds, close windows) and it is not working! 

All that's gained from this is a cold and hungry cat who still won't go home and sits outside all night looking desperate for us to let her in. We seem to be repeating a cycle with the owner now and it goes along the lines of: she keeps her indoors for a day, let's her back out, the cat runs here immediately, we have to ignore her for multiple days as per her request (which upsets us to do), the owner then asks us to let her in after 3 or 4 days of her being ignored by us/sleeping rough as she's still not gone home and does respond to her owner when she looks for her, then collects her from ours. 

Repeat. 

This cat is actively choosing to sleep under outdoor furniture rather than go home to this lady and it's not fair on this cat. 

She would willingly come into our home if we would let her, but we're not allowed as per the owner so the cat just suffers outside because of this. 

We are now sick of seeing this poor cat desperate to come in to our home all the while I'm messaging the woman her whereabouts constantly and she never manages to find her and take her in.... But also doesn't want us to take her in, either... so she's stuck in the middle of this and left outside! 

The last time this happened she kept her in for a full week. 

It's now been 3 days since she let her out and surprise surprise, the cats been in my garden most of this time. We literally saw her bolting her way over down the street. 

I've told the owner again and again where she is with pictures of her just sitting here and her reply was ''oh she's so naughty please can you start spraying her with water so she comes home" - this is something I will not do and this will not make her go home! 

What would you do in this situation? Is it time to offer adopting the cat? She's clearly happy at my house and willing to come indoors? 

I am not prepared to keep living in this pointless cycle with my windows closed, blinds closed, my doors not being open at this ladies request to stop this cat coming in to my home! Please help!

Look, I don’t want to sound like a jerk, but cats don’t actually have owners. They have staff, and friends. They choose their staff, and their friends.

If a strange cat comes to you and decides that you’re their friend / staff, I personally choose to respect the wishes of the cat.

A cat that comes to me, comes inside my house, sleeps near me, eats my food… I really don’t concern myself with the previous “ownership” status of the cat.

This is Zeus:

Zeus came to me while I was trying to befriend a feral cat. Zeus wanted pets, so I petted her. She wanted food, so I fed her. Three days later, she walks into my house, jumps into my bed, and falls asleep.

I’ve had her for about 5 years now. When I took her to the vet and found out she was chipped, I literally didn’t care; she’d picked me, and had AMPLE opportunity to “go home.”

The truth of the matter is that she found home. She likes me.

This is Sam:

He was a neighborhood stray, who was eventually “taken in” (i.e. imprisoned in inhumane conditions against his will) by a local cat hoarder.

After 18 months he escaped; his fur was patchy, he’d lost like 25% of his body weight, he had a grotesque and untreated wound on his neck (9 stitches needed), and he came straight for me.

Straight to me.

I didn’t bother trying to find his “owner.”

He wanted in to MY house, he wanted ME to pet him and take care of him.

For the first 3 years I had him, he had an actual cat-door to the outside that was unblocked at all times.

Infinite freedom; he could come and go as he chose.

He’d go out and vanish for 8 hours at a time, but he always, always, always came back.

I don’t second guess cats.

If I have a cat and it leaves me, then I can be sad, sure… but it’s the cats decision.

If a cat shows up and wants me, I accept it, and care for it, and don’t concern myself with its past ownership history.

The cat chose.

I let the cat choose.

If I were you, I’d just let the cat in next time it shows up, and block the “owners” number.

It’s your cat now, should you so choose.

Vladimir Putin’s address

It is historic, significant and will shape what we will all experience in the near future. It is also BLOCKED in the West. Good luck finding it.

From HERE (mostly 404 if you are in the West)

Vladimir Putin: Dear friends!

The topic of my speech is the situation in the Donbas and the course of a special military operation to liberate it from the neo-Nazi regime that seized power in Ukraine in 2014 as a result of an armed coup.

Today I appeal to you, to all citizens of our country, to people of different generations, ages and nationalities, to the people of our great Motherland, to all who are united by great historical Russia, to soldiers and officers, volunteers who are now fighting on the front lines, are on the combat post, to our brothers and sisters - residents of the Donetsk and Lugansk People's Republics, Kherson and Zaporozhye regions, and other areas liberated from the neo-Nazi regime.

It will be about the necessary, urgent steps to protect the sovereignty, security and territorial integrity of Russia, about supporting the desire and will of our compatriots to determine their own future and about the aggressive policy of part of the Western elites, who are striving with all their might to maintain their dominance, and for this they are trying to block, to suppress any sovereign independent centers of development in order to continue to crudely impose their will on other countries and peoples, to plant their pseudo-values.

The purpose of this West is to weaken, divide and ultimately destroy our country. They are already directly saying that in 1991 they were able to split the Soviet Union, and now the time has come for Russia itself, that it should disintegrate into many mortally hostile regions and regions.

And they have been planning such plans for a long time. They encouraged gangs of international terrorists in the Caucasus, promoted the offensive infrastructure of NATO close to our borders. They made total Russophobia their weapon, including for decades they purposefully cultivated hatred for Russia, primarily in Ukraine, for which they were preparing the fate of an anti-Russian foothold, and the Ukrainian people themselves were turned into cannon fodder and pushed to war with our country, unleashing it, this war , back in 2014, using the armed forces against the civilian population, organizing genocide, blockade, terror against people who refused to recognize the power that arose in Ukraine as a result of a coup.

And after the current Kiev regime actually publicly refused a peaceful solution to the Donbass problem and, moreover, announced its claims to nuclear weapons, it became absolutely clear that a new, yet another, as it had happened twice before, large-scale attack on the Donbass was inevitable. . And then, just as inevitably, there would have been an attack on the Russian Crimea - on Russia.

In this regard, the decision on a pre-emptive military operation was absolutely necessary and the only possible one. Its main goals - the liberation of the entire territory of Donbass - have been and remain unchanged.

The Lugansk People's Republic has already been almost completely cleared of neo-Nazis. Fighting in the Donetsk People's Republic continues. Here, for eight years, the Kyiv occupation regime created a deeply echeloned line of long-term fortifications. Their head-on assault would have resulted in heavy losses, so our units, as well as the military units of the Donbass republics, act systematically, competently, use equipment, protect personnel and step by step liberate Donetsk land, clear cities and towns from neo-Nazis, provide assistance to people whom the Kyiv regime turned them into hostages, into human shields.

As you know, professional servicemen serving under contract take part in the special military operation. Volunteer formations are also fighting shoulder to shoulder with them: people of different nationalities, professions, ages are real patriots. At the call of their hearts, they came to the defense of Russia and Donbass.

In this regard, I have already given instructions to the Government and the Ministry of Defense in full and in the shortest possible time to determine the legal status of volunteers, as well as fighters of the units of the Donetsk and Lugansk People's Republics. It should be the same as that of regular servicemen of the Russian army, including material, medical support, and social guarantees. Particular attention should be paid to organizing the supply of volunteer formations and detachments of the people's militia of Donbass with machines and equipment.

In the course of solving the main tasks of protecting Donbass, our troops, based on the plans and decisions of the Ministry of Defense and the General Staff on the general strategy of action, liberated from neo-Nazis also significant territories of the Kherson and Zaporozhye regions, and a number of other regions. As a result, an extended line of combat contact was formed, which is over a thousand kilometers.

What I want to say publicly today for the first time. Already after the start of the special military operation, including the talks in Istanbul, the representatives of Kyiv reacted very positively to our proposals, and these proposals primarily concerned ensuring Russia's security and our interests. But it is obvious that the peaceful solution did not suit the West, therefore, after certain compromises were reached, Kyiv was actually given a direct order to disrupt all agreements.

Ukraine began to be pumped up with weapons even more. The Kyiv regime has launched new gangs of foreign mercenaries and nationalists, military units trained to NATO standards and under the de facto command of Western advisers.

At the same time, the regime of repression throughout Ukraine against its own citizens, established immediately after the armed coup of 2014, was strengthened in the most severe way. The policy of intimidation, terror and violence is assuming more and more mass, terrible, barbaric forms.

I want to emphasize that we know that the majority of people living in the territories liberated from neo-Nazis, and these are, first of all, the historical lands of Novorossia, do not want to be under the yoke of the neo-Nazi regime. In Zaporozhye, in the Kherson region, in Lugansk and Donetsk, they have seen and are seeing the atrocities that neo-Nazis are doing in the occupied areas of the Kharkov region. The heirs of Bandera and Nazi punishers kill people, torture them, throw them in prison, settle scores, crack down on, torment civilians.

More than seven and a half million people lived in the Donetsk and Lugansk People's Republics, Zaporozhye and Kherson regions before the outbreak of hostilities. Many of them were forced to become refugees, to leave their homes. And those who remained - about five million people - today are subjected to constant artillery and rocket fire from neo-Nazi militants. They hit hospitals and schools, arrange terrorist attacks against civilians.

We cannot, we have no moral right to hand over people close to us to be torn to pieces by executioners, we cannot but respond to their sincere desire to determine their own fate. The parliaments of the people's republics of Donbass, as well as the military-civilian administrations of the Kherson and Zaporozhye regions, decided to hold referendums on the future of these territories and turned to us, Russia, with a request to support such a step.

Let me emphasize that we will do everything to ensure safe conditions for holding referendums, so that people can express their will. And we will support the decision about their future, which will be made by the majority of residents of the Donetsk and Luhansk People's Republics, Zaporozhye and Kherson regions.

Today, our Armed Forces, as I have already said, are operating on the line of contact, which exceeds a thousand kilometers, they are confronting not only neo-Nazi formations, but in fact the entire military machine of the collective West.

In this situation, I consider it necessary to make the following decision - it is fully adequate to the threats we face - namely: to protect our Motherland, its sovereignty and territorial integrity, to ensure the security of our people and people in the liberated territories, I consider it necessary to support the proposal of the Ministry of Defense and the General Staff to conduct partial mobilization in the Russian Federation.

I repeat, we are talking specifically about partial mobilization, that is, only citizens who are currently in the reserve will be subject to conscription, and above all those who served in the Armed Forces, have certain military specialties and relevant experience .

Those called up for military service will undergo additional military training without fail, taking into account the experience of a special military operation, before being sent to the units.

The decree on partial mobilization has been signed.

In accordance with the law, the chambers of the Federal Assembly - the Federation Council and the State Duma - will be officially informed about this today by letters.

Mobilization activities will begin today, from 21 September. I instruct the heads of regions to provide all necessary assistance to the work of military commissariats.

I would like to emphasize that Russian citizens called up for military service by mobilization will receive the status, payments and all social guarantees of military personnel serving under a contract.

I will add that the Decree on partial mobilization also provides for additional measures to fulfill the state defense order. The heads of defense industry enterprises are directly responsible for solving the tasks of increasing the production of weapons and military equipment, and deploying additional production capacities. In turn, all issues of material, resource and financial support for defense enterprises must be resolved by the Government immediately.

In its aggressive anti-Russian policy, the West has crossed every line. We constantly hear threats against our country, our people. Some irresponsible politicians in the West not only talk about plans to organize the supply of long-range offensive weapons to Ukraine - systems that will allow strikes against the Crimea and other regions of Russia.

Such terrorist strikes, including with the use of Western weapons, are already being carried out on the border settlements of the Belgorod and Kursk regions. In real time, using modern systems, aircraft, ships, satellites, strategic drones, NATO carries out reconnaissance throughout southern Russia.

In Washington, London, Brussels they are directly pushing Kyiv to transfer military operations to our territory. No longer hiding, they say that Russia should be defeated by all means on the battlefield, followed by the deprivation of political, economic, cultural, in general, any sovereignty, with the complete plunder of our country.

Nuclear blackmail was also launched. We are talking not only about the shelling of the Zaporizhzhya nuclear power plant, which is encouraged by the West, which threatens a nuclear catastrophe, but also about the statements of some high-ranking representatives of the leading NATO states about the possibility and admissibility of using weapons of mass destruction against Russia - nuclear weapons.

To those who allow themselves to make such statements about Russia, I would like to remind you that our country also has various means of destruction, and for some components more modern than those of the NATO countries. And if the territorial integrity of our country is threatened, we will certainly use all the means at our disposal to protect Russia and our people.

It's not a bluff.

The citizens of Russia can be sure that the territorial integrity of our Motherland, our independence and freedom will be ensured - I emphasize this again - with all the means at our disposal. And those who are trying to blackmail us with nuclear weapons should know that the wind rose can also turn in their direction.

It is in our historical tradition, in the destiny of our people, to stop those who strive for world domination, who threaten with the dismemberment and enslavement of our Motherland, our Fatherland. We will do it now - and it will be so.

I believe in your support.

Does China hold big influence globally today?

Yes, indeed. It’s arguable whether Chinese influence can match US influence but there’s no question that China wields considerable global power.

China is the economic engine and manufacturing hub of the world economy. China is the crucial link in nearly all nations’ supply chains.

China’s Belt and Road Initiative (BRI) is making many, many friends around the world. Over 149 countries have signed up to BRI — that 3/4 of the world’s nations!

China is forging powerful economic and security alliances in BRICS (Brazil, Russia, India, China, South Africa), RCEP (Regional Comprehensive Economic Partnership), and SCO (Shanghai Cooperation Organisation).

China is pursuing diplomacy throughout the Middle East rather than bombing the shit out of the region. Recently, she signed a 25-year cooperation deal with Iran.

China is negotiating with the Taliban instead of invading and occupying Afghanistan for 20 years.

BRICS is creating an alternative basket of currencies to rival the US Dollar.

China is a true and real superpower.

When and how will China’s zero COVID policy fail?

I’m not buying this narrative that Zero-COVID is a mistake.

One reason for this is that if Zero-COVID will lead to China’s collapse, as many have asserted, then it is curious as to why the west wouldn’t just let it happen.

Some new information has come to light recently, which somehow flew under everybody’s radar. Macau’s Health Code (which is an online system encompassing vaccination records, nucleic acid test results and such information, to help curb the pandemic) is recently shown to have been attacked over three million times in May alone, by hackers from Europe and North America.

Read HERE

And yet, this is nothing compared to the way the Beijing Health Code was attacked by hackers based outside of China, especially during the Winter Olympics and Paralympics.

Why would they actively sabotage Zero-COVID, if they are certain the policy is actually harming China more than any trade war or sanction? COVID is essentially a bad case of flu, right? So why not just let China destroy itself by overreacting to it?

Why interfere? Why would they actively do something to prevent China’s collapse?

Unless, of course, [1] COVID isn’t just some freaky flu, and [2] Zero-COVID really isn’t leading to China’s collapse any time soon?

China-Eurasia Expo kicks off in Xinjiang, rebukes US-led crackdown

Over 3,600 companies from 32 countries and regions attended the 7th China-Eurasia Expo, which was launched on Monday in Urumqi, Northwest China's Xinjiang Uygur Autonomous Region, as the region strives to build itself into a bridgehead of Belt and Road cooperation despite the US' economic suffocation of this strategically important region.

Underscoring China's commitment to make Xinjiang a core hub for the building of the China-proposed Belt and Road Initiative (BRI), Chinese President Xi Jinping sent a congratulatory letter to the opening of the expo, expressing hope that all parties can take this opportunity to tap the potential of cooperation and drive toward shared prosperity.

Xi said that China is willing to work with other countries to promote the Silk Road spirit that incorporates peace and cooperation, openness and inclusiveness, mutual learning as well as shared benefits, with the China-Eurasia Expo being a platform.

In July, during an inspection trip to the autonomous region, Xi pointed out that as countries jointly push forward the BRI, Xinjiang is no longer a remote inland area but forefront of the opening-up.

The expo, which will last from Monday through Thursday, was held even though the US and some Western countries, together with anti-China forces, have smeared China's governance in Xinjiang and made groundless accusations of "genocide" or "forced labor."

On June 21, the US' so-called Uyghur Forced Labor Prevention Act (UFLPA) took effect, which bans products made in China's Xinjiang, smearing the Chinese government over "oppression" of the Uygurs and other minority populations in its Xinjiang region.

The expo, held both online and offline due to a local epidemic flare-up, has attracted 3,600 enterprises to attend its online events, where nearly 17,000 exhibits of these enterprises from 32 countries and regions are to be shown.

It is expected that over 300 deals worth several hundred billion yuan will be inked during the expo, according to Urumqi Evening News on Sunday.

It comes on the heels of the recently concluded SCO summit, where countries agreed to foster energy sector cooperation, regional connectivity, financial cooperation featuring cross border settlement in local currencies and supply chain elasticity.

Analysts and exhibitors at the expo said the opening of the event and the efforts by Xinjiang to seek deeper cooperation with neighboring markets serve as a strong rebuke to the US' economic suffocation of the region.

Rebuke to the US... Read more...

From HERE

What is an “Only in Japan” moment?

After our first visit to Japan here are our “only in Japan” moments.

After checking into our hotel, next morning I get a letter taped to the door. It read

2. My wife and I casually stroll past a tea tasting event. We showed the slightest of interest at one stall. There was a group of 4 already seated and only 1 empty chair. So we thought never mind, lets keep walking. The host tells us to wait 1 second. He runs, and I mean SPRINTS, about 20 paces to a truck. Grabs an extra chair and runs back to us. I thought this guy will do anything for a sale! So we sit down and try the teas, tastes good, lets buy some. He’s not selling! Turns out it was all part of some free educational event.

3. Maid cafes. Its a cafe, the waitresses dress like french maids. They act super cute like anime characters. Oftentimes sickeningly over the top, like calling me “master” and drawing cute animals on my food. But what surprised me were the people who didn’t work there.

It was not a busy period when we went. Besides us there was another table of tourists. There was a big guy with a deep voice dressed in FULL DRAG. He kept getting up every 10 mins and came back in a different outfit. There was a grumpy old man and a normal looking Japanese guy.

So before the dancing starts, they try to sell you some glow sticks and firecrackers for audience participation. They dim the lights. Disco ball lights up. Normal guy opens his bag and takes out his OWN glow sticks and bunny ears. Grumpy man’s face lights up like a child. Guy in drag gets up and starts stretching. The music starts, a candypop / eurobeat thing. The maids dancing is not bad but all the weirdos join in! They know all the moves, are more enthusiastic than the maids and they look ridiculous. One of them was trying to get us to join in. Only in Japan.

4. No taking calls on trains. If someone forgot to turn on silent and gets a call they will quickly reject the call. One time a guy sprinted to the place between carriages to take an important call.

5. We took a cable car up a mountain. On the way down a friend in our party left her sunglasses up there. A worker must have seen it and radioed the guys at the bottom. When we got out of the cable car, a worker informed us to wait while someone brings it down on the next cable car. Bravo.

6. We go to check into another hotel and behind the check in counter was this.

7. Construction zones. One place had a decibel meter to make sure the construction did not make too much noise (perhaps only during certain hours). If the construction blocked a sidewalk and you need to walk around, someone will be there to apologise for the inconvenience.

8. Airport security. You know how you can’t bring a bottle of water through most airport checks. Some Japanese airports have a machine that scans your bottle for flammable liquids. If it passes you can bring it. Just goes to show their attitude to not inconvenience you that they will invent a machine to do that. In Australia the attitude is more like “F*** that, we don’t care what’s in your bottle we’re confiscating it.” In China, they used to say “Are you sure its not a flammable liquid? Prove it, take a drink.”

9. Go to an arcade. Everyone has the reflexes of a ninja.

Japan is an amazing place where being polite and attention to detail are taken to the extreme. Thoroughly enjoyed our visit.

Head East: Never Been Any Reason (Live)

What is the weirdest order that you have ever heard at a fast food restaurant?

This answer will concern a pizza place I worked at. A customer came in and ordered 2 slices of “garbage pizza”. I asked him if he meant our ‘Everything slice’ which has 3 meats-pepperoni, ground sausage, ground hamburger, and green peppers, onions, olives, mushrooms, and extra cheese on top.

No.

He said “ I’ve gotten this before, just write it down, they’ll know…”. I’ve never heard of this and I’ve been working there for over a year, it’s the middle of lunch rush but Sure! Let me just throw a wrench into this smooth process!. I’m not sure what to write as the order, so I asked the cooks. They looked confused. The gentleman said that Joel made it for him. So, I went to the back and asked my manager, Joel, to come to the front. So up he comes, and upon seeing the customer and hearing the request he smiled hugely and said “I got this.”

He washes his hands & puts on an apron & gloves, jumps behind the line and starts layering ingredients on these slices. Now, our slices were large but this was a challenge! The finished slices contained: pepperoni, sausage, ground beef, ham, green peppers, onions, mushrooms, green & black olives, spinach, fresh garlic, fresh tomatoes, broccoli, pineapple, banana peppers, jalapenos, ricotta, feta, and mozzarella cheeses, and for the final touch…a mix of iceberg & romaine lettuce!

In to the oven it went, and a few minutes later out it came, smoking slightly more than normal, but we had a very happy customer! (And I had a long line to take care of, but that’s a different story, children.)

-Sara

Why did the Western media stop to make documentaries about the incredible infrastructure of China?

Simply because it’s humiliating.

Check this out…

You can read some comments on China on Quora and reddit. Many Quorans and even more redditors seem to think China is a “stone age” country.

In fact, Alex Mann is really funny he made a post a mere 5 months ago thinking that China still used bi-planes and that the F5 was STATE of the ART and could blow anything Chinese out the sky.

There are loads of people like that.

You see if they show stuff about China? It will make people question hold on. If a STONE AGE SOCIETY like them can manage stuff like that? Why can’t we do things like that too?

It allows a direct comparison.

Chinese high speed rail for instance.

In the UK HS2? Gordon Brown in 2006 announced it, with his oops we forgot to add VAT to the cost. In that if we’re considered subhuman filth by the MASTER race westerners yet we can out do them on many things what does that make them?

Autograph – Turn Up The Radio

Why have Europeans lost their faith in the USA?

Because you just don’t make any sense as a country. You treat your citizens abysmally despite the fact you’re the wealthiest nation on earth. You prioritise the wealthy elites in the armaments industry ahead of the safety and right to life of your own children and adults. as well as people in other countries. You prioritise the bottom lines of the health insurance companies, big pharma and law firms ahead of the rights of your citizens to decent healthcare regardless of financial status. You prioritise owners of privatised educational establishments ahead of the need to properly educate your citizens and equip them with critical thinking, instead trying to ensure that they never gain the ability to think critically as that would endanger the brainwashing of the population. You prioritise the profits of private prison owners ahead of the rights of citizens to proper and fair justice.

You don’t allow your citizens real choice in how and by whom they should be governed – instead giving them just two options – invariably both supporting the status quo. Even within that choice of 2 leaders you will quite often make the one the people voted against POTUS. If anybody makes any suggestions around policies that would benefit the regular citizen ahead of the wealthy elite. you have brainwashed vast swathes of citizens to angrily denounce such notions as Marxist, communist, socialist with great disdain, demonstrating clearly that they have not the foggiest idea what any of those words even mean.

You are run by big business, by lobbying and by corruption. No country is exempt from this but you just bring to a totally different level. Almost 50% of voters deemed one of the most famously corrupt, cheating, lying, self-serving, delusional, mysogynistic, racist and morally bankrupt people on the planet to be an appropriate leader. First time round it was somewhat understandable that you might take a punt on someone hopefully representing a change from the status quo. After he had spent 4 years demonstrating that he represented everything that was worst about the status quo, but bringing it to new levels and represented nothing that was reasonably good about the status quo … after he had clearly demonstrated that his idea of “draining the swamp” was to become the biggest swamp rat of all – even more people and almost as big a proportion of voters decided that his behaviour, his essence was appropriate to lead the wealthiest nation on earth.

How can anyone expect us to take the US seriously? I mean we have to in the context of their wealth and their military might … but in terms of leadership, intelligence, morality, how can we possibly have any respect?

I’m referring entirely to the system here as opposed to the citizens. Even the citizens who somehow believe Trump, who somehow feel an archaic law for another time and other reasons to have the right to bear arms “trumps” the right for citizens, including innocent little children, to be safe and to live are only so warped in their thinking because of the brainwashing carried out on an ongoing basis by the status quo. Most Americans I’ve met have been equally as nice as people of other nationalities. Ok, we do struggle sometimes. particularly with those who have never travelled beyond the US, by their sheer ignorance about the rest of the world allied with their unshakeable belief that everything in the US is better than the rest of the world and that every other nation should be envious of them.

Apart from the incredibly corrupt and unrepresentative political system and the sickening brainwashing, I think that the main issue is the educational system. I mean you allow crazy people to teach creationism as fact to children in your schools. What hope is there really?

You have incredible entrepreneurial ability in your country. You have many positive things yet you typically allow your people a choice of being governed by two old, rich, white, “status quo” men, totally out of touch with the real world as experienced by citizens. You’re the richest nation on the planet yet you’re happy to have schoolchildren slaughtered because of your laws, happy to have people die because they can’t afford private healthcare or go bankrupt because insurers try to avoid paying out the cover for which they have paid. You’re happy to have widespread homelessness while your government ploughs billions into an army already multiple times more powerful than anyone else – guess who profits from that?

I feel almost as much sympathy for citizens of the US as I do for those of war-torn, drought-stricken African countries. Almost as much … but those poor folks would happily change their circumstances if they could – you folks just keep voting and accepting more of the same.

What facts about the United States do foreigners not believe until they come to America?

I’m from Bangladesh and here are a few things that I find hard to explain to peeps back home.

– Fruits and vegetables are way more expensive than meat and poultry.

– That, generally speaking, the poor is more obese than the rich.

– That Americans in general are incredibly confused about the use of the apostrophe. Like seriously bad.

– A lot of couples adopt children, sometimes in spite of having their own, and treat them exactly like their own. (To me, this alone is a marker of a great people)

– By and large, people do not carry cash.

– That you address your boss (and some of your professors) by some abbreviated variation of their first name. And that applies to pretty much everyone, regardless of how much older they are than you.

– Parents can get arrested for physically punishing their children.

– Severe poverty, homelessness, etc., no matter how limited, actually exist. Even in America.

– A name as common and as easy to pronounce as mine is almost invariably incomprehensible to most Americans.

– America is literally HUGE. My home country is roughly the size of Florida, one of the fifty states.

– In spite of the society being openly hedonistic and liberal, the social norms and standards still have very strong conservative religious influences.

– People don’t really care about the FIFA World Cup even though USA qualifies.

– The importance of credit rating/ credit score.

– Return policy

– The history behind Thanksgiving

– Black Friday and the frenzy associated with it.

– Amazingly friendly, hospitable and helpful people. Yet, a very conveniently private lifestyle.

– That, American foreign policy is a very inaccurate reflector of public consensus.

– Grinding. The dance form.

– That you cannot purchase alcohol unless you are 21 but can purchase a gun if you are 18.

Kix – Don’t Close Your Eyes (Official Music Video)

What should I not do when I visit China?

It’s about the drugs!

Peter Gardner : A New Zealand-born Australian.

If you are in China, for god sake, never do anything illegal related to drugs.

You can’t imagine how serious is the anti-drug moment in China. Narcotics Control in China is a very serious and comprehensive process.

June, 2020.

There is virtually 100% chance of being caught for drug related offences.

You might know the penalty already: capital punishment is a legal penalty in China.

Aug, 2020.

Frankly, drug abuse has been responsible for numerous social issues in China.

If you understand Chinese history, you will realize how drugs created trouble for China. Opium Wars (鸦片战争) are just an example.

Hence, the government is extremely serious about eradicating the drug offences.

We expect everyone to cooperate with law enforcement.

China is a beautiful country. You are welcome to visit China. Eat, drink, and have fun. Just keep in mind that you have to respect the law.

AC/DC – Jailbreak (Live at Donington, 8/17/91)

How do doctors handle patients who think they’re not sick when they really are?

I was that patient.

I was completing an internship as part of post-graduate studies. I had two weeks left of my placement, and I was eager to get it finished, as I also had a small part-time business and a family.

Over the course of several years, I had developed what I described as a “cranky digestion,” requiring me to manage my diet carefully to avoid episodes of pain, nausea and diarrhea. This became a regular part of my life, and I had almost normalized it.

But while supervising a client with autism at his volunteer placement in a hospital laundry one day during my internship, I became aware of sudden, acute nausea, not quite like any nausea I had ever experienced before. I was also experiencing upper right abdominal pain, but the worst thing was this overwhelming, disorienting nausea. I found myself moaning and rocking, unable to stay still. Telling my client I would find someone to stay with him while I sought help for myself, I collapsed. Unable to stand, I began to crawl toward the employee health clinic, which was fortunately located on the same level of the hospital.

The employee health nurse who greeted me sent me immediately to the nearby acute-care hospital’s emergency department. I was, by now, in terrible pain, and the strange nausea was even worse.

I was quickly given IV morphine and dimenhydrinate, which got the pain and nausea to manageable levels.

Diagnostics indicated a badly diseased gallbladder and a large gallstone stuck in the common bile duct. I was admitted to hospital, where the plan was to break up the big gallstone and then, once my condition improved, remove the gallbladder.

My liver values were described to me as “terrible,” and I continued to feel awful for several days. But once the big gallstone was out of the common bile duct, I felt a fair bit better. I still wasn’t eating, but my pain and anti-nausea medications were able to be reduced, and I felt pretty much like myself.

I wanted to leave the hospital, finish my internship, and then get on the outpatient list to return to have my gallbladder removed. The residents and nurses kept telling me that was “not a good idea” and “it would be best to deal with the gallbladder right now.”

Well, sure. In a perfect world, that was true. But I wanted to finish my internship, graduate with my classmates, get back to work and take care of my family. If, as I had been told, my gallbladder had been diseased for years, surely it could wait a few more weeks or even months to be removed.

One day, the attending surgeon strode into my hospital room.

“I hear you want to go home,” he said, quite brusquely. “That’s a terrible idea. Why won’t you stay and deal with this now?”

“Well, I need to finish my program,” I said. “And then I can wait on the outpatient list for having my gallbladder removed, right?”

“Your gallbladder is in disgusting condition,” he said. “It should have come out years ago, and I’m planning to have a word with your family doctor about why you weren’t referred for your chronic pain and nausea. But the point today is that given the number and size of gallstones you have, you have a 100 percent chance of having another attack like the one that brought you in here, and a 25 percent chance that any attack will be fatal quite quickly. Your liver was failing when you came in through emergency. If you had waited until the next day to come in, I feel sure your family would have been planning your funeral.”

Right.

I agreed to stay as an inpatient and have my gallbladder out. The surgeon seemed a little surprised by my quick acquiescence.

But here’s the thing: none of the other medical personnel had explained the issue to me. I wasn’t trying to be difficult or heroic. I just didn’t know how sick I had been. I really didn’t understand the risk.

When the two residents and my regular nurses heard what the surgeon had said to me, they were scandalized. They assured me that he was an excellent surgeon, but had a terrible bedside manner.

As far as I was concerned, his bedside manner was just fine. I didn’t need platitudes, I needed facts. He told me what I needed to know to make the best decision for my health. I ended up spending nine days in the hospital. By a special arrangement, I was able to graduate with my class and finish my internship after the fact.

The surgeon came in to see me again just before surgery and again, briefly, the day I was discharged. I found he was consistently informative and blunt. No, he wasn’t warm and fuzzy, but I didn’t need a prom date, I needed a surgeon who would be honest with me. I am still grateful for his “terrible bedside manner.”

Queensrÿche – Jet City Woman (Official Music Video)

What has NATO got to do with China?

Absolutely nothing. The North Atlantic Treaty Organization, as the name suggests, is only responsible for North Atlantic defence. Asia, and in particular China, does not fall into NATO’s bailiwick. China has never threatened EU countries, only traded with them.

However, USA has coerced NATO into inserting itself into Asian matters. This is very dangerous. It opens the possibility for military conflict between China and NATO. In the worst case scenario, this conflict could lead to nuclear world war.

Why do so many US people not understand how advanced China has become?

I have been to China many times. I understand what is happening in China. It is hard not to be impressed after landing at one of the world’s largest airports and taking the Maglev to Longyang Station at 430 km/hr. This is the fastest commercial ground transportation system on the planet.

Shanghai has huge and growing subway system. In the downtown area of Puxi, there are multiple levels of highways .

I went to Semicon China last year and saw a vending machine that only accepted WePay, no cash or credit cards. This simply follows the trend to allow everyone to accept payments phone to phone. Unlike with Square, there is no additional hardware required to use WePay, since your smartphone already has the ability to scan QR codes.

The high speed rail system connects the country in a way that makes the ICE, TGV or Shinkansen look small by comparison.

When I first went to China in the 1990s, little of this existed. There were no multi-level highways in Shanghai. There was no Maglev, nor Pudong airport. The subway was partially built but the high speed rail network was still a dream.

There may be people who believe that China is a poor country living in the last century without the benefits of modern technology. All I can say is that they should visit China and see the reality with their own eyes.

Cheech and Chong greatest hits!

If China is collapsing, how come it is a threat?

That question can be easily answered when you take on the perspective of an American billionaire. How does an American become a billionaire and maintain her/his enormous wealth? By investing in enterprises that hold monopolies in their respective markets and supporting government policies that incentivize and subsidize such practices and by lobbying legislators, the President, governors, and judges to enact, enforce and safeguard those policies. All of these activities are perfectly legal in the United States. They are even enshrined as the pinnacles of plutocratic capitalism.

China, on the other hand, is a socialist country and its economic policies can only be best described as state capitalism. Because the Chinese Communist Party was founded on the principles of Marxism, it does not support monopolizing and profiteering from patents. As the British historian Adrian Johns succinctly put it: “[Patents] projected an artificial idol of the single inventor, radically denigrated the role of the intellectual commons, and blocked a path to this commons for other citizens — citizens who were all, on this account, potential inventors too. […] Patentees were the equivalent of squatters on public land — or better, of uncouth market traders who planted their barrows in the middle of the highway and barred the way of the people.”

China also criminalizes the practice of “influencing” public officials as bribery or grafting. President Xi Jinping was notorious for enforcing party disciplines with his signature anti-corruption campaign that resulted in the dismissal of several prominent incumbent as well as retired party members, including those within the Politburo Standing Commitee. His nationalistic policies have time and again antagonized many American corporations hoping to expand their market shares in China. President Xi’s growing popularity with his foreign policies advocating free trade and globalization is what irks American billionaires the most.

Imagine you are one of those American billionaires. Why do you love America so much? Because you have an obscene amount of money, you can buy off any political candidates you want through the use of PAC contributions. Because both the Democrats and the Republicans pander to your interests, you can readily “influence” them to provide you with tax cuts and subsidies for any investments that you may own. Because you can profit the most from monopolies and protectionism, you definitely do not want free trade. Because you want your bank investments to stay bullish, you are naturally opposed to banking regulations. Because the Chinese are promoting the Belt and Road Initiative with their own state-sponsored financing, your foreign bond investments are not going to be as lucrative as before. Moreover, the worst fear of all is your poorer fellow citizens are clamoring for socioeconomic reforms that lean toward a socialist system. That is the biggest threat to most American billionaires. The rest is just propaganda concocted to convince others to shun socialism.

The story of Miller’s Pub in Chicago

Miller’s Pub in downtown Chicago is legendary, and I first visited in the 1990s.

What I didn’t expect to find there were my favorite buffalo wings in America. I had eaten every famous buffalo wing in Buffalo, New York, from whence they first came. Although they were all spectacular, Miller’s (located more than 500 miles from Buffalo) was somehow superior!

After discovering these chicken wings in 1999, I made an annual pilgrimage to Chicago just to eat them. And that was a 448-mile (721 km) drive from my house one way (nearly 900 miles round trip)! I brought a different friend each time I went up there, year after year after year. I think it was about 2008 when it all came to a crashing halt.

A friend of mine had never had these wings, so off we went. I drove him 7.5 hours from Nashville to Chicago just to eat the wings at Miller’s Pub. That was the sole reason for the trip. They had been so magical, so complex, so perfect. Most importantly, they had been beautifully consistent over the years.

Sitting at the table in rapt anticipation, the wings arrived from the kitchen. They looked different, far too red, and way too saucy. Miller’s had changed the recipe! Why? What we were served was akin to chicken wings tossed in ketchup. It was horrible!

And that was the end of my visits to Miller’s Pub in Chicago.

Remember The Name (Official Video) – Fort Minor

Classic Beef Stew

It’s hard to say what’s better, the aroma or the taste of this homemade beef stew. Our recipe is loaded with potatoes, meat and spices and is a savory dish your family will ask for again and again. It takes just four simple steps to make and only one bite for our beef stew to transport you to a cozy pub in the British Isles. If you’re lucky enough to have leftovers, our beef stew with potatoes makes for a wonderful lunch. Should you only have one serving left, there’s no shame in hiding it in the back of the fridge. This way, only you know where to find it. We would do the same!

Ingredients

1 tablespoon vegetable oil or shortening
1 lb boneless beef chuck, tip or round roast, cut into 1-inch cubes
3 cups water
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon pepper
2 medium carrots, cut into 1-inch pieces
1 large unpeeled potato, cut into 1 1/2-inch pieces
1 medium green bell pepper, cut into 1-inch pieces
1 medium stalk celery, cut into 1-inch pieces
1 small onion, chopped (1/4 cup)
1 teaspoon salt
1 dried bay leaf
1/2 cup cold water
2 tablespoons Gold Medal™ all-purpose flour

Triumph – Lay It On The Line (Official Video)

Why do many Chinese people become much more patriotic and defensive about China after living in the West?

I am ethnic Chinese, but I was born and grew up in Taiwan, and have never lived in China.

I want to give you a blatant example of what can make a Chinese person more patriotic after being in closer contact with the western society.

New York Times, the beacon of freedom and salvation to the world, and staunch champion of all under-privileged and exploited Americans, the poor, the Blacks, the Latino, the Muslim, the native Americans, against institutional and cultural repression, is more than happy to join the oppressor when it comes to the Chinese.

Take a look at this reader’s comment (July 24, 2020):

China Orders U.S. to Shut Chengdu Consulate, Retaliating for Houston

After several paragraphs of red-neck style China bashing, the last paragraph says:

“Can someone cite for me one world-changing innovation China has contributed in the last century? Or, for that matter, in the last five hundred years?”

in a thinly veiled racist attack, directed clearly not at a political entity, but at a culture, an ethnic group, a people.

I am not interested in disputing this nonsensical comment, but more alarmed by the following:

This comment was singled out from 228 other comments by the New York Times editor as “Times Pick”, clearly agreeing with and even cheering on the commenter for his blatant racist-minded ranting. I can almost see the smirk on the editor’s face for having someone else speak his/her mind without having to own it.
If you replace “China” in that paragraph with “Africa”, “Muslim world”, or “Mexico”, you can be sure the ultra liberal New York Times editor will not only disallow its posting (not to mention “Times Pick”!!), but will be all up in arms castigating this commenter for being the racist he is.

But hey, Chinese are fair game in America, lampooned and mocked and verbally abused by news media, entertainers, politicians, etc., who would otherwise be the most politically correct, the staunchest of champions for all underprivileged groups (except the Chinese of course), who would not in their wildest dreams imagine belittling Black culture or Hispanic culture!

So do you blame these Chinese expatriates for becoming more patriotic? They enjoy a position, ethnically and culturally, at the bottom of the ladder, fair game for everyone a few rungs up with impunity.

By the way, this is not only in America. It is pretty much in all the “enlightened” and “liberal” western societies. And as I mentioned, the behavior is not limited to right wing xenophobes, but to liberal beacons like New York Times or Der Spiegel.

Actually, the more liberal the media or person, the worse it gets. At least an American mountain man in the Appalachia may hate Blacks and Asians equally, without such discrimination.

Shame on you, New York Times!

The Black Crowes – Remedy

My (white American) mother says that when she was a child there was a loaf of white bread and butter on the table every night regardless of what else was for dinner. Was this common in the 1950s and does anyone still do this?

It certainly was common in my family in the 1950s, with one exception. No butter.

We had sticks of margarine which had a uniquely grainy texture when you tasted it.

That wasn’t bad as long as you had plenty of grape jelly to spread on your white Wonder bread. We knew this bread was extremely healthy and good for you—after all, it “builds strong bodies 12 ways.”

And at my grandmother’s house there was definitely bread and “butter” on the table for anyone to eat at any time. However one of my uncles did not use either butter or margarine.

He spread white lard directly on his white bread. No time to toast it. But he was also extremely healthy, or so it seemed. In his spare time he worked as a truck mechanic, but his regular job was Farmer. Picking up bales of hay and tossing them into the back of a pickup truck, lifting farm machinery, and working 12 or 14 hours a day must have burned a lot of calories.

This man was the most superbly conditioned human being I’ve ever seen.

He washed his white bread and lard down with plenty of black coffee. And let us just say that he drank liquor too—or that was the rumor. At age 10 or 11 the adults did not discuss such matters with me.

In later years when real animal lard got rare—he would spread Crisco on his bread.

He was very healthy as I said—although he also was a heavy cigarette smoker, as was nearly every man of the WWII generation.

He was outstandingly healthy right up to the day when he failed to get up from his chair on the front porch of his house one hot Sunday afternoon, and was found dead by his wife returning from church.

He had died of a massive coronary. He was, I think, about 60. Most of my uncles lived well into their 60s.

That white bread had several other important uses.

Meals at my grandmother’s house always involved meat, potatoes, and some kind of gravy. This gravy was so wonderful that we sopped-up and ate every particle of it on our plates. Using that same white bread.

A little later, when my cousins and I were on into our late teens and 20s, we would eat white bread in the early evening before partying.

This was well known to facilitate your ability to drink more. You laid down a base of bread in your stomach which then soaked up alcohol like a sponge—which is essentially what Wonder bread was.

Edible sponge.

Personally, I never noticed that this drinking strategy had much of a salubrious effect, but many of us swore by it.

And if you’re in a hurry to get to work, the ability to grab bread and slather something viscous on it on your way out the door—well it was a lifesaver.

In addition to grape jelly—homemade using mason jars and pectin and cans of frozen Welch juice concentrate—some of my uncles put molasses on their bread.

Sorghum molasses right out of a bottle. It had the consistency of honey but was less sweet and had a slightly sour/bitter “kick” that you had to get acclimated to.

Do people still use white bread and butter this way today?

No one I know does. We eat egg white-only omelets with grilled asparagus and follow it up with a few slices of fresh fruit. Blood orange is a favorite of mine. I use butter in cooking but I no longer spread it—or anything else—on bread. In truth I very rarely eat bread.

Of all these things—the only one I really miss is my grandmother’s gravy. It must have had some secret ingredient because I’ve never been able to replicate it.

Or maybe it was the prospect of impending nuclear war that made all that food taste so good.

We were quite sure that the war was coming—soon!

No one was more surprised than me when it hadn’t happened by 1970 or at the very latest, 1980.

Why is vanilla the “default” or “plain” ice cream flavor?

It’s unfortunate that vanilla — a very exotic flavor indeed — has come to be synonymous with plain, neutral. The low-risk default option least likely to offend anyone.

But because its flavor is so agreeable, pleasing to so many, it’s the go-to choice when one’s aim is to pick a flavor that won’t meet with any serious resistance.

Other flavors (you name it, any kind of ice cream flavor you can think of, strawberry, chocolate, caramel, nut flavors, fruit flavors, etc.) will have strong defenders and advocates, an equal number on each side who like it, or strongly dislike it. You can’t please everybody.

Except, sometimes you can. Vanilla stands alone in being one flavor that rarely stirs up any disagreement. If you’re sent to the store to get ice cream for a party of 20 people, vanilla is the safe bet, the default choice to arouse the least displeasure. Not many people will say that they love vanilla. But very few people hate it. What’s not to like?

What makes vanilla special?

Vanilla is an orchid. The aroma and flavor is so complex, so mysterious, and so desirable, it’s become the most famous flavor in the world. The ubiquity of vanilla makes it easy to take for granted, or view as common.

I would personally like to see vanilla get more respect, more recognition for how unique and genuinely exotic it is. Every bit as exotic as the cocoa plant, perhaps more so.

Here’s a segment describing a little about this unique plant.

It comes from the only orchid that bears edible fruit among thousands of orchid species, thriving only in tropical climates within 20 latitudinal degrees of the equator.

It’s earned a reputation for being the most labor-intensive agricultural crop in the world.

What’s more, it is estimated that between 250 and 500 distinct organic compounds make up vanilla’s beloved flavor and fragrance profile.

Whoever uses the term vanilla as a euphemism for ordinary is seriously misinformed.

That phraseology drives “Spice Boss” Tom Erd bonkers.

“Vanilla is a complex set of flavors. To say something is vanilla that’s plain just sticks in my craw,” he said ….

… If anyone knows vanilla, it’s Tom Erd. He compares the complexity and nuances of high-quality pure vanilla to those in wine or coffee.

His favorite? Madagascar. “I love the Madagascar flavor and aroma by far,” he said.

Describing the different vanillas merely using words can be difficult, according to Erd. The Mexican and Madagascar are similar, with the Mexican being a little spicier. Most people couldn’t pick up the difference in finished foods, he said.

The Tahitian is “way different,” he added, “more fruity. It reminds me of black cherries.”[1]

The word vanilla has even come to be a shorthand label for ho-hum dull people, personalities, tastes, or habits — including sexual tastes —- that are square, plain, and boring. This is really unfortunate, emblematic of how we modern people often take our unprecedented abundance of exotic things for granted.

Next time you hear the word used that way, remind them that the vanilla plant is an exotic orchid! It’s only because we live in a very fortunate time of advanced plant cultivation, spice trade, and increasing prosperity, that we are privileged to have such an exotic flavor available to us any time we want. This familiarity breeds, if not contempt, a casually dismissive disregard for how common and routine this once-rare flavor is.

The kind of exotic spices and flavors that we routinely enjoy today (including the cocoa plant) were once reserved for royalty and the elite aristocracy, who funded the efforts of explorers, merchants, and speculators, pioneering trade routes into distant corners of the world.

If you get a chance to have really good vanilla, scooped right from the bean, and used in recipes, you’ll know what I mean.

Footnotes

[1] Exotic vanilla: Beloved flavoring is anything but plain, but it is pricey

.

Can someone born into wealth ever understand what it’s like to be poor?

I grew up in great comfort. I never knew what it was like to be cold because heat is too expensive, or what it is like to go hungry. If I needed to eat, I opened the pantry or the refrigerator. If anything, food spoilage was a bigger issue, because we had so much. I always had Ralph Lauren and expensive clothing. I couldn’t imagine shopping at Wal-Mart for clothing. It would be like going to a thrift store. Not that I was above it. It just wasn’t on the radar screen. It wasn’t part of my world.

Then I turned 17.

“You need to get a job!” my father commanded.

“Why can’t you just give me a little bit of money each week?” I said.

“You need to learn the value of a dollar,” he said. “Don’t be goddamn lazy.” He had a way with words.

So I did. I needed money to buy gas when I went out with my friends. And I needed spending cash. I got a job at a family restaurant, a corporate-owned business. It proved to be life-changing.

I met men and women who were older than me, 25+, who had limited education. Most had high school or almost-finished high school levels of education. Their lives were really hard. They were tired. A few lived in motels, where you pay by the day. One of the waitresses came to work, late. Her eyes were filled with tears.

“My car’s transmission went. $1,200. I don’t know what I am going to do,” she said.

She had a friend give her a ride to work. It might as well have been a million dollars, because she didn’t have it. I don’t recall her having it fixed. I think she ended up getting rides from people.

There was an older man named Russell. He was hunched over. Maybe he had ankylosing spondylitis. I don’t know. He had been a teacher for a few years. Now he worked as a salad bar stocker. He cut coupons. He did everything he could to save money. But he was fucked.

I saw how busy the restaurant was. The regional manager always dressed so nice, and had a BMW 700 series. On busy days, the restaurant was killing it. All of the workers were paid minimum wage, except for the managers, who were salary and did a little better. They were always working.

I got to see what it was like to be working class. It was hell. And no, these people weren’t going to go “learn computers,” as President Clinton and Hillary Clinton liked to glibly state. Not everyone is cut out for computers. Russell could barely check himself in and out using the buttons on the computer terminal.

I saw the horrors of what capitalism is all about. And it lit a fire in me that has only grown stronger through time. Can the rich know what it is like for the poor?

Yes, we can. And we should.

Message…

You only got one shot. One shot.

Opportunity only comes once in a lifetime…

Lose Yourself by Eminem | Eminem

What is the most surprising/disturbing/mind-blowing family secret you’ve ever found out?

This isn’t anything lewd, but my family still has a house in China.

A mansion.

And it’s just sitting there, in a little-known rural village, doing nothing.

A house in outer Fuzhou (this is not the house I’m talking about; I’m showing this image from the internet to give you a rough idea of what our house looks like)

My father’s side of the family was originally from the rural outskirts of Fuzhou. They started coming to America as early as WWII, starting with my grand uncle who fought in the US military, and was able to bring other members of the family over — including my grandparents, who in turn brought dad over, who in turn brought mom (who came from urban Fuzhou) over, who then gave birth to me. As more and more members of my extended family immigrated, the village where they grew up shrank; it still exists, but it’s a shadow of what it once was, and half of its houses are abandoned and awaiting demolition.

But despite being in the US for decades, my dad’s side of the family, especially my grandparents, never 100% abandoned the village from which they came. They would visit the village every time they returned to China; moreover, they would invest in it from time to time, all in the name of “revisiting our roots” and giving back to the community. Their money went to a renovated ancestral hall, a basketball court (both public)…and a mansion, with three floors, a balcony, a fancy garage and security gate, just for us.

No one lives in the mansion, though. Not even our family; when we return to Fuzhou, we live in the city center with my mom’s side of the family. Our mansion, that we paid money to build and maintain, only gets a visit from us when we pay a visit to the ancestral village. We unlock the door, explore the house from bottom to top, make sure all the furniture is in place, re-lock the door, then leave. Here in America, my grandparents and parents are rentiers who make money from tenants. But we don’t bother making money from the mansion in China that belongs to us, that we don’t make any use of.

I used to think that the mansion was just a vanity project, something my grandparents wanted to build either because they thought it would look good, or because they wanted a vacation home…except they never actually lived there when they were on vacation. Or because they wanted a retirement home…except they’ve been retired for years and they haven’t moved.

Turns out the mansion was built for some other reason, and it’s not one that I like to think about.

My grandparents have always been low-key worried about an eventual military conflict between the US and China.

They’re American citizens, just like everyone in my family who lives in the US; the oldest in our family have been legally Americans for nearly half a century now; we have established ourselves here, some of us were born here, so we’re not supposed to be going anywhere (despite building a house in China, my grandparents seem to get that, as they’ve bought their graves in Pennsylvania…go figure).

But my grandparents, from day one, premised this assumption on our country of residence being at peace with our country of origin. Miraculously we managed to have that for quite a while, to the extent that we were ready to take it for granted, but the thought of the “unthinkable” happening never truly left the minds of our family. Somewhere inside, even during the “best” of days, my elders sensed that there was never a zero chance of total war, and as long as that was the case, a contingency plan was in order. They were convinced that if things do get to that point, it wouldn’t matter how long any of us have been in this country or have been its citizens — we wouldn’t be able to carry on our lives as usual, to put it diplomatically.

Which is where the mansion comes in. For whatever it’s worth, according to those who wanted it, the mansion is designed to function as a potential place of refuge for our family in case the United States goes berserk during wartime and targets ethnically Chinese people. China would therefore be the only place on Earth where we could blend with the crowd and not get beat. We’ll move into the mansion, and because it’s our property we will be able to live there for as long as we have to.

One reason I find the mansion to be silly is that I highly doubt we would be able to get out of America in the first place if the government or somebody else goes after us, and no one in our family is certain about the situation escalating to such a level, hence “contingency plan.” Besides, if the government is at war with China, how would we be able to travel to China anyway? Well, smartass, we would go to China via a third country! Or however many third countries it takes. The important thing is that we have a home outside of the US in case we can no longer call the US home.

I don’t think we’ll ever permanently reside in that mansion — I don’t want to think we’ll ever have to. Sometimes, I hear my family joke about moving into the mansion if war breaks out, so they don’t seem to take the idea that seriously either; they prefer believing, as I do, that China is no place for Chinese Americans. We shouldn’t have to live there unless we’re on vacation, or we’re too incompetent to live here.

But whenever I think about how my family put all that money into building a possible refuge from World War F****g Three, I’m not going to lie: I am spooked. Spooked that we could plan for something like this. More spooked when you consider the possibility of a conflict and realize they weren’t entirely paranoid. But also reminded of just how precious peace is.

What are the most overpriced cuts of meat that people often buy from their local butcher?

My local butcher has the foulest mouth and the strongest opinions of anyone I have ever met in a customer-facing role. I think it’s hilarious.

I once bought some skirt steak from him, because I wanted to try making carne asada. First he tried to tell me I wanted sirloin, because it’s better and it’s the same price.

And I told him no, I’m doing a recipe and it needs skirt steak. And he asked what I was making, and I said carne asada, and he grudgingly admitted that should be made with skirt, so he goes and gets some skirt.

And as he’s cutting it up and weighing it he was moaning.

“It is fucking overpriced, this stuff. Overpriced, you know what the problem is, don’t you? It’s those bloody chefs. They get hold of it and put it on *waves knife* fucking Masterchef or something, and then everyone wants it and the price goes up. That about do ya?

Right, good. And then the wholesalers put the price up. And then I have to rip my bleeding customers off, don’t I? Fucking eleven quid a kilo! Nice bit of sirloin would cost you that. Here you go.”

I pointed out, laughingly, that in that case he ought to be grateful idiots like me watch Masterchef, or he’d never sell any.

“Yeah, yeah, true, well! Not as bad as this bloody woman who come in the other day, wanting ox tail. You know about ox tail? Why would anyone want ox tail? It’s been shat on it’s whole life. Ten quid a kilo, because of the bloody chefs, full of bones, and it’s been shat on it’s whole life.

Then again, she said she wanted fillet for a stew, so she didn’t know what she was talking about anyway.”

And as hilariously foul-mouthed as he is, there’s no arguing with his logic. Ox tail is ridiculously overpriced.

Is China moving into a recession over the next two years?

Nope, absolutely not.

China has the strongest economy in the world, even stronger than America’s, which is teetering on the edge. China’s economy is based on tangible things such as manufacturing and construction. America’s economy is based on stock market speculation and low-wage services.

And America carries a crushing $30 trillion national debt! Not to mention crumbling infrastructure.

Message…

It’s time. You all are so close now.

Graduation. Some people are (for certain) going home.

Motley Crue – Home Sweet Home (Live – Crue Fest)

“Who Goes There?” (1938) by John Campbell

Here’s a really nice science fiction story for your amusement today. Today is a major holiday in China. So I’m posting something nice.

Take a break and have a great day!

“Who Goes There?” (1938) – an iconic sci-fi story by John Campbell

by John Campbell

A scientific expedition in Antarctica discovers the remnants of an alien spaceship that had crashed there millions of years ago, and decides – unwisely – to melt the frozen remnants of one of the forms found nearby. When the alien being revives and reveals incredible shape-changing abilities and other stupendous powers, the race is on not only to save themselves but also and especially to save the whole human race from destruction.

First published in the August 1938 issue of Astounding Science Fiction, this 22,500-word novella — that became the basis of John Carpenter’s celebrated 1982 film The Thing — was written by the magazine’s recently-appointed editor, John Campbell [1], who had changed the name of the magazine that year and who piloted its evolution and that of the whole sci-fi genre to a more serious, thoughtful and literary basis.

Under his leadership Astounding became the leading science-fiction magazine in the late thirties, the forties and the early fifties, the golden age of science-fiction.

CHAPTER I

THE place stank. A queer, mingled stench that only the ice-buried cabins of an Antarctic camp know, compounded of reeking human sweat, and the heavy, fish-oil stench of melted seal blubber. An overtone of liniment combated the musty smell of sweat- and snow-drenched furs. The acrid odor of burnt cooking fat, and the animal, not-unpleasant smell of dogs, diluted by time, hung in the air.
Lingering odors of machine oil contrasted sharply with the taint of harness dressing and leather. Yet somehow, through all that reek of human beings and their associates — dogs, machines and cooking — came another taint. It was a queer, neck-ruffling thing, a faintest suggestion of an odor alien among the smells of industry and life. And it was a life-smell. But it came from the thing that lay bound with cord and tarpaulin on the table, dripping slowly, methodically onto the heavy planks, dank and gaunt under the unshielded glare of the electric light.
Blair, the little bald-pated biologist of the expedition, twitched nervously at the wrappings, exposing clear, dark ice beneath and then pulling the tarpaulin back into place restlessly. His little birdlike motions of suppressed eagerness danced his shadow across the fringe of dingy gray underwear hanging from the low ceiling, the equatorial fringe of stiff, graying hair around his naked skull a comical halo about the shadow’s head.
Commander Garry brushed aside the lax legs of a suit of underwear, and stepped toward the table. Slowly his eyes traced around the rings of men sardined into the Administration Building. His tall, stiff body straightened finally, and he nodded. “Thirty-seven. All here.” His voice was low, yet carried the clear authority of the commander by nature, as well as by title.
“You know the outline of the story back of that find of the Secondary Pole Expedition. I have been conferring with second-in-Command McReady, and Norris, as well as Blair and Dr. Copper. There is a difference of opinion, and because it involves the entire group, it is only just that the entire Expedition personnel act on it.
“I am going to ask McReady to give you the details of the story, because each of you has been too busy with his own work to follow closely the endeavors of the others. McReady?”
Moving from the smoke-blued background, McReady was a figure from some forgotten myth, a looming, bronze statue that held life, and walked. Six feet four inches he stood as he halted beside the table, and, with a characteristic glance upward to assure himself of room under the lower ceiling beam, straightened. His rough, clashingly orange windproof jacket he still had on, yet on his huge frame it did not seem misplaced. Even here, four feet beneath the drift-wind that droned across the Antarctic waste above the ceiling, the cold of the frozen continent leaked in, and gave meaning to the harshness of the man. And he was bronze – his great red-bronze beard, the heavy hair that matched it. The gnarled, corded hands gripping, relaxing, gripping relaxing on the table planks were bronze. Even the deep-sunken eyes beneath heavy brows were bronzed.
Age-resisting endurance of the metal spoke in the cragged heavy outlines of his face, and the mellow tones of the heavy voice. “Norris and Blair agree on one thing, that animal we found was not-terrestrial in origin. Norris fears there may be danger in that; Blair says there is none.

“BUT I’ll go back to how, and why, we found it. To all that was known before we came here, it appeared that this point was exactly over the South Magnetic Pole of Earth. The compass does point straight down here, as you all know. The more delicate instruments of the physicists, instruments especially designed for this expedition and its study of the magnetic pole, detected a secondary effect, a secondary, less powerful magnetic influence about 80 miles southwest of here.
“The Secondary Magnetic Expedition went out to investigate it. There is no need for details. We found it, but it was not the huge meteorite or magnetic mountain Norris had expected to find. Iron ore is magnetic, of course; iron more so — and certain special steels even more magnetic from the surface indications, the secondary pole we found was small, so small that the magnetic effect it had was preposterous. No magnetic material conceivable could have that effect. Soundings through the ice indicated it was within one hundred feet of the glacier surface.
“I think you should know the structure of the place. There is a broad plateau, a level sweep that runs more than 150 miles due south from the Secondary station, Van Wall says. He didn’t have time or fuel to fly farther, but it was running smoothly due south then. Right there, where that buried thing was, there is an ice-drowned mountain ridge, a granite wall of unshakable strength that has damned back the ice creeping from the south.
“And four hundred miles due south is the South Polar Plateau. You have asked me at various times why it gets warmer here when the wind rises, and most of you know. As a meteorologist I’d have staked my word that no wind could blow at -70 degrees — that no more than a 5mile wind could blow at -50 — without causing warming due to friction with ground, snow and ice and the air itself.
“We camped there on the lip of that ice-drowned mountain range for twelve days. We dug out camp into the blue ice that formed the surface, and escaped most of it. But for twelve consecutive days the wind blew at 45 miles an hour. It went as high as 48, and fell to 41 at times. The temperature was -63 degrees. It rose to -60 and fell to -68. It was meteorologically impossible, and it went on uninterruptedly for twelve days and twelve nights.
“Somewhere to the south, the frozen air of South Polar Plateau slides down from that 18,000foot bowl, down a mountain pass, over a glacier, and starts north. There must be a funnelling mountain chain that directs it, and sweeps it away for four hundred miles to hit that bald plateau where we found the secondary pole, and 350 miles farther north reaches the Antarctic Ocean.
“It’s been frozen there since Antarctica froze twenty million years ago. There never has been a thaw there.
“Twenty million years ago Antarctica was beginning to freeze. We’ve investigated, thought and built speculations. What we believe happened was about like this.
“Something came down out of space, a ship. We saw it there in the blue ice, a thing like a submarine without a conning tower or directive vanes. 280 feet long and 45 feet in diameter at its thickest.
“Eh, Van Wall? Space? Yes, but I’ll explain that better later.” McReady’s steady voice went on.
“It came down from space, driven and lifted by forces men haven’t discovered yet, and somehow — perhaps something went wrong then — it tangled with Earth’s magnetic field. It came south here, out of control probably, circling the magnetic pole. That’s a savage country there, but when Antarctica was still freezing it must have been a thousand times more savage. There must have been blizzard snow, as well as drift, new snow falling as the continent glaciated. The swirl there
must have been particularly bad, the wind hurling a solid blanket of white over the lip of that now buried mountain.

“THE SHIP struck solid granite head-on, and cracked up. Not every one of the passengers in it was killed, but the ship must have been ruined, her driving mechanism locked. It tangled with Earth’s field, Norris believes. Nothing made by intelligent beings can tangle with the dead immensity of a planet’s natural forces and survive.
“One of its passengers stepped out. The wind we saw there never fell below 41, and the temperature never rose above -60. Then — the wind must have been stronger. And there was drift falling in a solid sheet. The thing was lost completely in ten paces.”
He paused for a moment, the deep, steady voice giving way to the drone of wind overhead, and the uneasy, malicious gurgling in the pipe of the galley stove.
Drift — a drift-wind was sweeping by overhead. Right now the snow picked up by the mumbling wind fled in level, blinding lines across the face of the buried camp. If a man stepped out of the tunnels that connected each of the camp buildings beneath the surface, he’d be lost in ten paces. Out there, the slim, black finger of the radio mast lifted 300 feet into the air, and at its peak was the clear night sky. A sky of thin, whining wind rushing steadily from beyond to another beyond under the licking, curling mantle of the aurora. And off north, the horizon flamed with queer, angry colors of the midnight twilight. That was spring 300 feet above Antarctica.
At the surface — it was white death. Death of a needle-fingered cold driven before the wind, sucking heat from any warm thing. Cold — and white mist of endless, everlasting drift, the fine, fine particles of licking snow that obscured all things.
Kinner, the little, scar-faced cook, winced. Five days ago he had stepped out to the surface to reach a cache of frozen beef. He had reached it, started back — and the drift-wind leapt out of the south. Cold, white death that streamed across the ground blinded him in twenty seconds. He stumbled on wildly in circles. It was half an hour before rope-guided men from below found him in the impenetrable murk.
It was easy for man — or thing — to get lost in ten paces.
“And the drift-wind then was probably more impenetrable than we know.” McReady’s voice snapped Kinner’s mind back. Back to welcome, dank warmth of the Ad Building. “The passenger of the ship wasn’t prepared either, it appears. It froze within ten feet of the ship.
“We dug down to find the ship, and our tunnel happened to find the frozen —animal. Barclay’s ice-ax struck its skull.
“When we saw what it was, Barclay went back to the tractor, started the fire up and when the steam pressure built, sent a call for Blair and Dr. Copper. Barclay himself was sick then. Stayed sick for three days, as a matter of fact.
“When Blair and Copper came, we cut out the animal in a block of ice, as you see, wrapped it and loaded it on the tractor for return here. We wanted to get into that ship.
“We reached the side and found the metal was something we didn’t know. Our beryllium-bronze, non-magnetic tools wouldn’t touch it. Barclay had some tool-steel on the tractor, and that wouldn’t scratch it either. We made reasonable tests — even tried some acid from the batteries with no results.
“They must have had a passivating process to make magnesium metal resist acid that way, and the alloy must have been at least 95 per cent magnesium. But we had no way of guessing that, so when we spotted the barely opened locked door, we cut around it. There was clear, hard ice inside the lock, where we couldn’t reach it. Through the little crack we could look in and see that only metal and tools were in there, so we decided to loosen the ice with a bomb.

“WE HAD decanite bombs and thermite. Thermite is the ice softener; decanite might have shattered valuable things, where the thermite’s heat would just loosen the ice. Dr. Copper, Norris and I placed a 25pound thermite bomb, wired it, and took the connector up the tunnel to the surface, where Blair had the steam tractor waiting. A hundred yards the other side of that granite wall we set off the thermite bomb.
“The magnesium metal of the ship caught, of course. The glow of the bomb flared and died, then it began to flare again. We ran back to the tractor, and gradually the glare built up. From where we were we could see the whole ice-field illuminated from beneath with an unbearable light; the ship’s shadow was a great, dark cone reaching off toward the north, where the twilight was just about gone. For a moment it lasted, and we counted three other shadow things that might have been other — passengers frozen there. Then the ice was crashing down and against the ship.
“That’s why I told you about that place. The wind sweeping down from the Pole was at our backs. Steam and hydrogen flame were torn away in white ice-fog; the flaming heat under the ice there was yanked away toward the Antarctic Ocean before it touched us. Otherwise we wouldn’t have come back, even with the shelter of that granite ridge that stopped the light.
“Somehow in the blinding inferno we could see great hunched things, black bulks glowing, even so. They shed even the furious incandescence of the magnesium for a time. Those must have been the engines, we knew. Secrets going in blazing glory — secrets that might have given Man the planets. Mysterious things that could lift and hurl that ship and had soaked in the force of the Earth’s magnetic field. I saw Norris’ mouth move, and ducked. I couldn’t hear him.
“Insulation — something — gave way. All Earth’s field they’d soaked up twenty million years before broke loose. The aurora in the sky above licked down, and the whole plateau there was bathed in cold fire that blanketed vision. The ice-ax in my hand got red hot, and hissed on the ice. Metal buttons on my clothes burned into me. And a flash of electric blue seared upward from beyond the granite wall.
“Then the walls of ice crashed down on it. For an instant it squealed the way dry ice does when it’s pressed between metal.
“We were blind and groping in the dark for hours while our eyes recovered. We found every coil within a mile was fused rubbish, the dynamo and every radio set, the earphones and speakers. If we hadn’t had the steam tractor, we wouldn’t have gotten over to the Secondary Camp.
“Van Wall flew in from Big Magnet at sunup, as you know. We came home as soon as possible. That is the history of — that.” McReady’s great bronze beard gestured toward the thing on the table.

CHAPTER II

BLAIR stirred uneasily, his little bony fingers wriggling under the harsh light. Little brown freckles on his knuckles slid back and forth as the tendons under the skin twitched. He pulled aside a bit of the tarpaulin and looked impatiently at the dark icebound thing inside.
McReady’s big body straightened somewhat. He’d ridden the rocking, jarring steam tractor forty miles that day, pushing on to Big Magnet here. Even his calm will had been pressed by the anxiety to mix again with humans. It was lone and quiet out there in Secondary Camp, where a wolf-wind howled down from the Pole. Wolf-wind howling in his sleep — winds droning and the evil, unspeakable face of that monster leering up as he’d first seen it through clear, blue ice, with a bronze ice-ax buried in its skull.
The giant meteorologist spoke again. “The problem is them. Blair wants to examine the thing. Thaw it out and make micro slides of its tissues and so forth. Norris doesn’t believe that is safe, and Blair does. Dr. Copper agrees pretty much with Blair. Norris is a physicist, of course, not a biologist. But he makes a point I think we should all hear. Blair has described the microscopic life forms biologists find living, even in this cold an inhospitable place. They freeze every winter, and thaw every summer — for three months — and live.
“The point Norris makes is — they thaw, and live again. There must have been microscopic life associated with this creature. There is with every living thing we know. And Norris is afraid that we may release a plague — some germ disease unknown to Earth — if we thaw those microscopic things that have been frozen there for twenty million years.
“Blair admits that such micro-life might retain the power of living. Such unorganized things as individual cells can retain life for unknown periods, when solidly frozen. The beast itself is as dead as those frozen mammoths they find in Siberia. Organized, highly developed lifeforms can’t stand that treatment.
“But micro-life could. Norris suggests that we may release some disease form that man, never having met it before, will be utterly defenseless against.
“Blair’s answer is that there may be such still living germs, but that Norris has the case reversed. They are utterly non-immune to man. Our life chemistry probably — ”
“Probably!” The little biologist’s head lifted in a quick, birdlike motion. The halo of gray hair about his bald head ruffled as though angry. “Heh. One look — ”
“I know,” McReady acknowledged. “The thing is not Earthly. It does not seem likely that it can have a life-chemistry sufficiently like ours to make cross-infection remotely possible. I would say that there is no danger.”
McReady looked toward Dr. Copper. The physician shook his head slowly. “None whatever,” he asserted confidently. “Man cannot infect or be infected by germs that live in such comparatively close relatives as the snakes. And they are, I assure you,” his clean-shaven face grimaced uneasily, “much nearer to us than — that.”

VANCE NORRIS moved angrily. He was comparatively short in this gathering of big men, some five feet eight, and his stocky, powerful build tended to make him seem shorter. His black hair was crisp and hard, like short, steel wires, and his eyes were the gray of fractured steel. If McReady was a man of bronze, Norris was all steel. His movements, his thoughts, his whole bearing had the quick, hard impulse of steel spring. His nerves were steel — hard, quick-acting — swift corroding.
He was decided on his point now, and he lashed out in its defense with a characteristic quick, clipped flow of words. “Different chemistry be damned. That thing may be dead — or, by God, it may not — but I don’t like it. Damn it, Blair, let them see the foul thing and decide for themselves whether they want that thing thawed out in this camp.
“Thawed out, by the way. That’s got to be thawed out in one of the shacks tonight, if it is thawed out. Somebody — who’s watchman tonight? Magnetic — oh, Connant. Cosmic rays tonight. Well, you get to sit up with that twenty-million year-old mummy of his.
“Unwrap it, Blair. How the hell can they tell what they are buying if they can’t see it? It may have a different chemistry. I don’t know what else it has, but I know it has something I don’t want. If you can judge by the look on its face — it isn’t human so maybe you can’t — it was annoyed when it froze. Annoyed, in fact, is just about as close an approximation of the way it felt as crazy, mad, insane hatred. Neither one touches the subject.
“How the hell can these birds tell what they are voting on? They haven’t seen those three red eyes, and the blue hair like crawling worms. Crawling — damn, it’s crawling there in the ice right now!
“Nothing Earth ever spawned had the unutterable sublimation of devastating wrath that thing let loose in its face when it looked around this frozen desolation twenty million years ago. Mad? It was mad clear through — searing, blistering mad!
“Hell, I’ve had bad dreams ever since I looked at those three red eyes. Nightmares. Dreaming the thing thawed out and came to life — that it wasn’t dead, or even wholly unconscious all those twenty million years, but just slowed, waiting — waiting. You’ll dream, too, while that damned thing that Earth wouldn’t own is dripping, dripping in the Cosmos House tonight.
“And, Connant,” Norris whipped toward the cosmic ray specialist, “won’t you have fun sitting up all night in the quiet. Wind whining above — and that thing dripping — ” He stopped for a moment, and looked around.
“I know. That’s not science. But this is, it’s psychology. You’ll have nightmares for a year to come. Every night since I looked at that thing I’ve had ’em., That’s why I hate it — sure I do and don’t want it around. Put it back where it came from and let it freeze for another twenty million years. I had some swell nightmares that it wasn’t made like we are which is obvious but of a different kind of flesh that it can really control. That it can change its shape, and look like a man — and wait to kill and eat —
“That’s not a logical argument. I know it isn’t. The thing isn’t Earth logic anyway.
“Maybe it has an alien body chemistry, and maybe its bugs do have a different body chemistry. A germ might not stand that, but, Blair and Copper, how about a virus? That’s just an enzyme molecule, you’ve said. That wouldn’t need anything but a protein molecule of any body to work on.
“And how are you so sure that, of the million varieties of microscopic life it may have, none of them are dangerous? How about diseases like hydrophobia — rabies — that attacks any warm blooded creature, whatever its body chemistry may be? And parrot fever? Have you a body like a parrot, Blair? And plain rot — gangrene — necrosis, do you want? That isn’t choosy about body chemistry! ”

BLAIR LOOKED up from his puttering long enough to meet Norris’ angry gray eyes for an instant. “So far the only thing you have said this thing gave off that was catching was dreams. I’ll go so far as to admit that.” An impish, slightly malignant grin crossed the little man’s seamed face. “I had some, too. So. It’s dream-infectious. No doubt an exceedingly dangerous malady.
“So far as your other things go, you have a badly mistaken idea about viruses. In the first place, nobody has shown that the enzyme molecule theory, and that alone, explains them. And in the second place, when you catch tobacco mosaic or wheat rust, let me know. A wheat plant is a lot nearer your body chemistry than this otherworld creature is.
“And your rabies is limited, strictly limited. You can’t get it from, nor give it to, a wheat plant or a fish which is a collateral descendant of a common ancestor of yours. Which this, Norris, is not.” Blair nodded pleasantly toward the tarpaulined bulk on the table.
“Well, thaw the damned thing in a tub of formalin if you must thaw it. I’ve suggested that — ”
“And I’ve said there would be no sense in it. You can’t compromise. Why did you and Commander Garry come down here to study magnetism? Why weren’t you content to stay at home? There’s magnetic force enough in New York. I could no more study the life this thing once had from a formalin-pickled sample than you could get the information you wanted back in New York. And if this one is so treated, never in all time to come can there be a duplicate! The race it came from must have passed away in the twenty millions years it lay frozen, so that even if it came from Mars then, we’d never find its like. And — the ship is gone.
“There’s only one way to do this and that is the best possible way. It must be thawed slowly, carefully, and not in formalin.”
Commander Garry stood forward again, and Norris stepped back muttering angrily. “I think Blair is right, gentlemen. What do you say?”
Connant grunted. “It sounds right to us, I think — only perhaps he ought to stand watch over it while it’s thawing.” He grinned ruefully, brushing a stray lock of ripe-cherry hair back from his forehead. “Swell idea, in fact — if he sits up with his jolly little corpse.”
Garry smiled slightly. A general chuckle of agreement rippled over the group. “I should think any ghost it may have had would have starved to death if it hung around here that long, Connant,” Garry suggested. “And you look capable of taking care of it. ’Ironman’ Connant ought to be able to take out any opposing players, still.”
Connant shook himself uneasily. “I’m not worrying about ghosts. Let’s see that thing. I — ”
Eagerly Blair was stripping back the ropes. A single throw of the tarpaulin revealed the thing. The ice had melted somewhat in the heat of the room and it was clear and blue as thick, good glass. It shone wet and sleek under the harsh light of the unshielded globe above.
The room stiffened abruptly. It was face up there on the plain, greasy planks of the table. The broken half of the bronze ice-ax was still buried in the queer skull. Three mad, hate-filled eyes blazed up with a living fire, bright as fresh-spilled blood. from a face ringed with a writhing, loathsome nest of worms, blue, mobile worms that crawled where hair should grow —
Van Wall, six feet and 200 pounds of ice-nerved pilot, gave a queer, strangled gasp and butted, stumbled his way out to the corridor. Half the company broke for the doors. The others stumbled away from the table.
McReady stood at one end of the table watching them, his great body planted solid on his powerful legs. Norris from the opposite end glowered at the thing with smoldering heat. Outside the door, Garry was talking with half a dozen of the men at once.
Blair had a tack hammer. The ice that cased the thing schluffed crisply under its steel claw as it peeled from the thing it had cased for twenty thousand thousand years —

CHAPTER III

I KNOW you don’t like the thing, Connant, but it just has to be thawed out right. You say leave it as it is till we get back to civilization. All right, I’ll admit your argument that we could do a better and more complete job there is sound. But — how are we going to get this across the Line? We have to take this through one temperate zone, the equatorial zone, and half way through the other temperate zone before we get it to New York. You don’t want to sit with it one night, but you suggest, then, that I hang its corpse in the freezer with the beef?” Blair looked up from his cautious chipping, his bald, freckled skull nodding triumphantly.
Kinner, the stocky, scar-faced cook, saved Connant the trouble of answering. “Hey, you listen, mister. You put that thing in the box with the meat, and by all the gods there ever were, I’ll put you in to keep it company. You birds have brought everything movable in this camp in onto my mess tables here already, and I had to stand for that. But you go putting things like that in my meat box or even my meat cache here, and you cook your own damn grub.”
“But, Kinner, this is the only table in Big Magnet that’s big enough to work on,” Blair objected. “Everybody’s explained that.”
“Yeah, and everybody’s brought everything in here. Clark brings his dogs every time there’s a fight and sews them up on that table. Ralsen brings in his sledges. Hell, the only thing you haven’t had on that table is the Boeing. And you’d ’a’ had that in if you coulda figured a way to get it through the tunnels.’
Commander Garry chuckled and grinned at Van Wall, the huge Chief Pilot. Van Wall’s great blond beard twitched suspiciously as he nodded gravely to Kinner. “You’re right, Kinner. The aviation department is the only one that treats you right.”
“It does get crowded, Kinner,” Garry acknowledged. “But I’m afraid we all find it that way at times. Not much privacy in an Antarctic camp.”
“Privacy? What the hell’s that? You know, the thing that really made me weep, was when I saw Barclay marchin’ through here chantin’ ’The last lumber in the camp! The last lumber in the camp!’ and carryin’ it out to build that house on his tractor. Damn it, I missed that moon cut in the door he carried out more’n I missed the sun when it set. That wasn’t just the last lumber Barclay was walkin’ off with. He was carryin’ off the last bit of privacy in this blasted place.”
A grin rode even on Connant’s heavy face as Kinner’s perennial goodnatured grouch came up again. But it died away quickly as his dark, deep-set eyes turned again to the red-eyed thing Blair was chipping from its cocoon of ice. A big hand ruffed his shoulder-length hair, and tugged at a twisted lock that fell behind his ear in a familiar gesture. “I know that cosmic ray shack’s going to be too crowded if I have to sit up with that thing,” he growled. “Why can’t you go on chipping the ice away from around it — you can do that without anybody butting in, I assure you — and then hang the thing up over the power plant boiler? That’s warm enough. It’ll thaw out a chicken, even a whole side of beef, in a few hours.”
“I know.” Blair protested, dropping the tack hammer to gesture more effectively with his bony, freckled fingers, his small body tense with eagerness, “but this is too important to take any chances. There never was a find like this; there never can be again. It’s the only chance men will ever have, and it has to be done exactly right.

“LOOK, you know how the fish we caught down near the Ross Sea would freeze almost as soon as we got them on deck, and come to life again if we thawed them gently? Low forms of life aren’t killed by quick freezing and slow thawing. We have — ”
“Hey, for the love of Heaven you mean that damned thing will come to life!” Connant yelled. “You get the damned thing — Let me at it! That’s going to be in so many pieces — ”
“NO! No, you fool — ” Blair jumped in front of Connant to protect his precious find. “No. Just low forms of life. For Pete’s sake let me finish. You can’t thaw higher forms of life and have them come to. Wait a moment now — hold it! A fish can come to after freezing because it’s so low a form of life that the individual cells of its body can revive, and that alone is enough to reestablish life. Any higher forms thawed out that way are dead. Though the individual cells revive, they die because there must be organization and cooperative effort to live. That cooperation cannot be re established. There is a sort of potential life in any uninjured, quick-frozen animal. But it can’t — can’t under any circumstances — become active life in higher animals. The higher animals are too complex, too delicate. This is an intelligent creature as high in its evolution as we are in ours. Perhaps higher. It is as dead as a frozen man would be.”
“How do you know?” demanded Connant, hefting the ice-ax he had seized a moment before.
Commander Garry laid a restraining hand on his heavy shoulder. “Wait a minute, Connant. I want to get this straight. I agree that there is going to be no thawing of this thing if there is the remotest chance of its revival. I quite agree it is much too unpleasant to have alive, but I had no idea there was the remotest possibility.”
Dr. Copper pulled his pipe from between his teeth and heaved his stocky, dark body from the bunk he had been sitting in. “Blair’s being technical. That’s dead. As dead as the mammoths they find frozen in Siberia. Potential life is like atomic energy — there, but nobody can get it out, and it certainly won’t release itself except in rare cases, as rare as radium in the chemical analogy. We have all sorts of proof that things don’t live after being frozen — not even fish, generally speaking — and no proof that higher animal life can under any circumstances. What’s the point, Blair?”
The little biologist shook himself. The little ruff of hair standing out around his bald pate waved in righteous anger. “The point is,” he said in an injured tone, ’that the individual cells might show the characteristics they had in life, if it is properly thawed. A man’s muscle cells live many hours after he has died. Just because they live, and a few things like hair and fingernail cells still live, you wouldn’t accuse a corpse of being a Zombie, or something.
“Now if I thaw this right, I may have a chance to determine what sort of world it’s native to. We don’t, and can’t know by any other means, whether it came from Earth or Mars or Venus or from beyond the stars.
“And just because it looks unlike men, you don’t have to accuse it of being evil, or vicious or something. Maybe that expression on its face is its equivalent to a resignation to fate. White is the color of mourning to the Chinese. If men can have different customs, why can’t a so-different race have different understandings of facial expressions?”

CONNANT laughed softly, mirthlessly. “Peaceful resignation! If that is the best it could do in the way of resignation, I should exceedingly dislike seeing it when it was looking mad. That face was never designed to express peace. It just didn’t have any philosophical thoughts like peace in its makeup.
“I know it’s your pet — but be sane about it. The thing grew up on evil, adolesced slowly roasting alive the local equivalent of kittens, and amused itself through maturity on new and ingenious torture. ”
“You haven’t the slight right to say that,” snapped Blair. “How do you know the first thing about the meaning of a facial expression inherently inhuman! It may well have no human equivalent whatever. That is just a different development of Nature, another example of Nature’s wonderful adaptability. Growing on another, perhaps harsher world, it has different form and features. But it is just as much a legitimate child of Nature as you are. You are displaying the childish human weakness of hating the different. On its own world it would probably class you as a fish-belly, white monstrosity with an insufficient number of eyes and a fungoid body pale and bloated with gas.
“Just because its nature is different, you haven’t any right to say it’s necessarily evil.”
Norris burst out a single, explosive, “Haw!” He looked down at the thing. “May be that things from other worlds don’t have to be evil just because they’re different. But that thing was! Child of Nature, eh? Well, it was a hell of an evil Nature.”
“Aw, will you mugs cut crabbing at each other and get the damned thing off my table?” Kinner growled. “And put a canvas over it. It looks indecent.”
“Kinner’s gone modest,” jeered Connant.
Kinner slanted his eyes up to the big physicist. The scarred cheek twisted to join the line of his tight lips in a twisted grin. “All right, big boy, and what were you grousing about a minute ago? We can set the thing in a chair next to you tonight, if you want. ”
“I’m not afraid of its face,” Connant snapped. “I don’t like keeping awake over its corpse particularly, but I’m going to do it.”
Kinner’s grin spread. “Uh-huh” He went off to the galley stove and shook down ashes vigorously, drowning the brittle chipping of the ice as Blair fell to work again.

CHAPTER IV

“CLUCK,” reported the cosmic ray counter, cluck-brrrp-cluck.” Connant started and dropped his pencil.
“Damnation.” The physicist looked toward the far corner, back at the Geiger counter on the table near that comer, and crawled under the desk at which he had been working to retrieve the pencil. He sat down at his work again, trying to make his writing more even. It tended to have jerks and quavers in it, in time with the abrupt proud-hen noises of the Geiger counter. The muted whoosh of the pressure lamp he was using for illumination, the mingled gargles and bugle calls of a dozen men sleeping down the corridor in Paradise House formed the background sounds for the irregular, clucking noises of the counter, the occasional rustle of falling coal in the copper-bellied stove. And a soft, steady drip-drip-drip from the thing in the corner.
Connant jerked a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, snapped it so that a cigarette protruded and jabbed the cylinder into his mouth. The lighter failed to function, and he pawed angrily through the pile of papers in search of a match. He scratched the wheel of the lighter several times, dropped it with a curse and got up to pluck a hot coal from the stove with the coal tongs.
The lighter functioned instantly when he tried it on returning to the desk. The counter ripped out a series of chucking guffaws as a burst of cosmic rays struck through to it. Connant turned to glower at it, and tried to concentrate on the interpretation of data collected during the past week. The weekly summary —
He gave up and yielded to curiosity, or nervousness. He lifted the pressure lamp from the desk and carried it over to the table in the corner. Then he returned to the stove and picked up the coal tongs. The beast had been thawing for nearly 18 hours now. He poked at it with an unconscious caution; the flesh was no longer hard as armor plate, but had assumed a rubbery texture. It looked like wet, blue rubber glistening under droplets of water like little round jewels in the glare of the gasoline pressure lantern. Connant felt an unreasoning desire to pour the contents of the lamp’s reservoir over the thing in its box and drop the cigarette into it. The three red eyes glared up at him sightlessly, the ruby eyeballs reflecting murky, smoky rays of light.
He realized vaguely that he had been looking at them for a very long time, even vaguely understood that they were no longer sightless. But it did not seem of importance, of no more importance than the labored, slow motion of the tentacular things that sprouted from the base of the scrawny, slowly pulsing neck.
Connant picked up the pressure lamp and returned to his chair. He sat down, staring at the pages of mathematics before him. The clucking of the counter was strangely less disturbing, the rustle of the coals in the stove no longer distracting.
The creak of the floorboards behind him didn’t interrupt his thoughts as he went about his weekly report in an automatic manner, filing in columns of data and making brief, summarizing notes.
The creak of the floorboard sounded nearer.

CHAPTER V

BLAIR came up from the nightmare-haunted depths of sleep abruptly. Connant’s face floated vaguely above him; for a moment it seemed a continuance of the wild horror of the dream. But Connant’s face was angry, and a little frightened. “Blair — Blair you damned log, wake up.”
“Uh-eh?” the little biologist rubbed his eyes, his bony, freckled fingers crooked to a mutilated child-fist From surrounding bunks other faces lifted to stare down at them.
Connant straightened up. “Get up — and get a lift on. Your damned animal’s escaped.”
“Escaped — what! ” Chief Pilot Van Walls’s bull voice roared out with a volume that shook the walls. Down the communication tunnels other voices yelled suddenly. The dozen inhabitants of Paradise House tumbled in abruptly, Barclay, stocky and bulbous in long woollen underwear, carrying a fire extinguisher.
“What the hell’s the matter?” Barclay demanded.
“Your damned beast got loose. I fell asleep about twenty minutes ago, and when I woke up, the thing was gone. Hey, Doc, the hell you say those things can’t come to life. Blair’s blasted potential life developed a hell of a lot of potential and walked out on us.’
Copper stared blankly. “It wasn’t — Earthly,” he sighed suddenly. “I — I guess Earthly laws don’t apply.”
“Well, it applied for leave of absence and took it. We’ve got to find it and capture it somehow.” Connant swore bitterly, his deep-set black eyes sullen and angry. “It’s a wonder the hellish creature didn’t eat me in my sleep.”
Blair stared back, his pale eyes suddenly fear-struck. “Maybe it did — er — uh — we’ll have to find it.
“You find it. It’s your pet. I’ve had all I want to do with it, sitting there for seven hours with the counter clucking every few seconds, and you birds in here singing night music. It’s a wonder I got to sleep. I’m going through to the Ad Building.”
Commander Garry ducked through the doorway, pulling his belt tight. “You won’t have to. Van’s roar sounded like the Boeing taking off down wind. So it wasn’t dead?”
“I didn’t carry it off in my arms, I assure you,” Connant snapped. “The last I saw, that split skull was oozing green goo, like a squashed caterpillar. Doc just said our laws don’t work — it’s unearthly. Well, it’s an unearthly monster, with an unearthly disposition, judging by the face, wandering around with a split skull and brains oozing out.”
Norris and McReady appeared in the doorway, a doorway filling with other shivering men. “Has anybody seen it coming over here?” Norris asked innocently. “About four feet tall — three red eyes brains oozing — Hey, has anybody checked to make sure this isn’t a cracked idea of humor? If it is, I think we’ll unite in tying Blair’s pet around Connant’s neck like the ancient Mariner’s albatross.
“It’s no humor,” Connant shivered. “Lord, I wish it were. I’d rather wear —” He stopped. A wild, weird howl shrieked through the corridors. The men stiffened abruptly, and half turned.

“I THINK it’s been located,” Connant finished. His dark eyes shifted with a queer unease. He darted back to his bunk in Paradise house, to return almost immediately with a heavy .45 revolver and an ice-ax He hefted both gently as he started for the corridor toward Dogtown. “It blundered down the wrong corridor — and landed among the huskies. Listen the dogs have broken their chains — ”
The half-terrorized howl of the dog pack changed to a wild hunting melee. The voices of the dogs thundered in the narrow corridors, and through them came a low rippling snarl of distilled hate. A shrill of pain, a dozen snarling yelps.
Connant broke for the door. Close behind him, McReady, then Barclay and Commander Garry came. Other men broke for the Ad Building, and weapons — the sledge house. Pomroy, in charge of Big Magnet’s five cows, started down the corridor in the opposite direction he had a six-foot handled, long-tined pitchfork in mind.
Barclay slid to a halt, as McReady’s giant bulk turned abruptly away from the tunnel leading to Dogtown, and vanished off at an angle. Uncertainly, the mechanician wavered a moment, the fire extinguisher in his hands, hesitating from one side to the other. Then he was racing after Connant’s broad back. Whatever McReady had in mind, he could be trusted to make it work.
Connant stopped at the bend in the corridor. His breath hissed suddenly through his throat. “Great God — ” The revolver exploded thunderously; three numbing, palpable waves of sound crashed through the confined corridors. Two more. The revolver dropped to the hard-packed snow of the trail, and Barclay saw the ice-ax shift into defensive position. Connant’s powerful body blocked his vision, but beyond he heard something mewing, and, insanely, chuckling. The dogs were quieter; there was a deadly seriousness in their low snarls. Taloned feet scratched at hard-packed snow, broken chains were clinking and tangling.
Connant shifted abruptly, and Barclay could see what lay beyond. For a second he stood frozen, then his breath went out in a gusty curse. The Thing launched itself at Connant, the powerful arms of the man swung the ice-ax flat side first at what might have been a hand. It scrunched horribly, and the tattered flesh, ripped by a half-dozen savage huskies, leapt to its feet again. The red eyes blazed with an unearthy hatred, an unearthly, unkillable vitality.
Barclay turned the fire extinguisher on it; the blinding, blistering stream of chemical spray confused it, baffled it, together with the savage attacks of the huskies, not for long afraid of anything that did, or could live, held it at bay.
McReady wedged men out of his way and drove down the narrow corridor packed with men unable to reach the scene. There was a sure fore-planned drive to McReady’s attack. One of the giant blow-torches used in warming the plane’s engines was in his bronzed hands. It roared gustily as he turned the corner and opened the valve. The mad mewing hissed louder. The dogs scrambled back from the three-foot lance of blue-hot flame.
“Bar, get a power cable, run it in somehow. And a handle. We can electrocute this — monster, if I don’t incinerate it.” McReady spoke with an authority of planned action. Barclay turned down the long corridor to the power plant, but already before him Norris and Van Wall were racing down.

BARCLAY found the cable in the electrical cache in the tunnel wall. In a half minute he was hacking at it, walking back. Van Wall’s voice rang out in a warning shout of “Power!” as the emergency gasoline-powered dynamo thudded into action. Half a dozen other men were down there now; the coal, kindling were going into the firebox of the steam power plant. Norris, cursing in a low, deadly monotone, was working with quick, sure fingers on the other end of Barclay’s cable, splicing in a contactor in one of the power leads.
The dogs had fallen back when Barclay reached the corridor bend, fallen back before a furious monstrosity that glared from baleful red eyes, mewing in trapped hatred. The dogs were a semi circle of red-dipped muzzles with a fringe of glistening white teeth, whining with a vicious eagerness that near matched the fury of the red eyes. McReady stood confidently alert at the corridor bend, the gustily muttering torch. held loose and ready for action in his hands. He stepped aside without moving his eyes from the beast as Barclay came up. There was a slight, tight smile on his lean, bronzed face.
Norris’ voice called down the corridor, and Barclay stepped forward. The cable was taped to the long handle of a snow shovel, the two conductors split, and held 18 inches apart by a scrap of lumber lashed at right angles across the far end of the handle. Bare copper conductors, charged with 220 volts, glinted in the light of pressure lamps. The Thing mewed and halted and dodged. McReady advanced to Barclay’s side. The dogs beyond sensed the plan with the almost telepathic intelligence of trained huskies. Their whimpering grew shriller, softer, their mincing steps carried them nearer. Abruptly a huge, night-black Alaskan leapt onto the trapped thing. It turned squalling, saber-clawed feet slashing.
Barclay leapt forward and jabbed. A weird, shrill scream rose and choked out. The smell of burnt flesh in the corridor intensified; greasy smoke curled up. The echoing pound of the gas-electric dynamo down the corridor became a slogging thud.
The red eyes clouded over in a stiffening, jerking travesty of a face. Arm-like, leg-like members quivered and jerked. The dogs leapt forward, and Barclay yanked back his shovel-handled weapon. The thing on the snow did not move as gleaming teeth ripped it open.

CHAPTER VI

GARRY looked about the crowded room. Thirty-two men, some tensed nervously standing against the wall, some uneasily relaxed, some sitting, most perforce standing, as intimate as sardines. Thirty-two, plus the five engaged in sewing up wounded dogs, made thirty seven, the total personnel.
Garry started speaking. “All right, I guess we’re here. Some of you — three or four at most — saw what happened. All of you have seen that thing on the table, and can get a general idea. Anyone hasn’t, I’ll lift – ” His hand strayed to the tarpaulin bulking over the thing on the table. There was an acrid odor of singed flesh seeping out of it. The men, stirred restlessly, hasty denials.
“It looks rather as though Charnauk isn’t going to lead any more teams,” Garry went on. “Blair wants to get at this thing, and make some more detailed examination. We want to know what happened, and make sure right now that this is permanently, totally dead. Right?”
Connant grinned. “Anybody that doesn’t agree can sit up with it tonight.”
“All right then, Blair, what can you say about it? What was it?” Garry turned to the little biologist.
“I wonder if we ever saw its natural form. ” Blair looked at the covered mass. “It may have been imitating the beings that built that ship — but I don’t think it was. I think that was its true form. Those of us who were up near the bend saw the thing in action; the thing on the table is the result. When it got loose, apparently, it started looking around. Antarctica still frozen as it was ages ago when the creature first saw it — and froze. From my observations while it was thawing out, and the bits of tissue I cut and hardened then, I think it was native to a hotter planet than Earth. It couldn’t, in its natural form, stand the temperature. There is no life form on Earth that can live in Antarctica during the winter, but the best compromise is the dog. It found the dogs, and somehow got near enough to Charnauk to get him. The others smelled it — heard it — I don’t know anyway they went wild, and broke chains, and attacked it before it was finished. The thing we found was part Charnauk, queerly only half dead, part Charnauk half-digested by the jellylike protoplasm of that creature, and part the remains of the thing we originally found, sort of melted down to the basic protoplasm.
“When the dogs attacked it, it turned into the best fighting thing it could think of. Some other world beast apparently.”
“Turned,” snapped Garry. “How?”
“Every living thing is made up of jelly — protoplasm and minute, submicroscopic things called nuclei, which control the bulk, the protoplasm. This thing was just a modification of that same worldwide plan of Nature; cells made up of protoplasm, controlled by infinitely tinier nuclei. You physicists might compare it — an individual cell of any living thing — with an atom; the bulk of the atom, the space-filling part, is made up of the electron orbits, but the character of the thing is determined by the atomic nucleus.
“This isn’t wildly beyond what we already know. It’s just a modification we haven’t seen before. It’s as natural, as logical, as any other manifestation of life. It obeys exactly the same laws. The cells are made of protoplasm, their character determined by the nucleus.

“ONLY in this creature, the cell nuclei can control those cells at will. It digested Charnauk, and as it digested, studied every cell of his tissue, and shaped its own cells to imitate them exactly. Parts of it — parts that had time to finish changing — are dog-cells. But they don’t have dog-cell nuclei.” Blair lifted a fraction of the tarpaulin. A torn dog’s leg with stiff gray fur protruded. “That, for instance, isn’t dog at all; it’s imitation. Some parts I’m certain about; the nucleus was hiding itself,
covering up with dog-cell imitation nucleus. In time, not even a microscope would have shown the difference.”
“Suppose,” asked Norris bitterly, “it had had lots of time?”
“Then it would have been a dog. The other dogs would have accepted it. We would have accepted it. I don’t think anything would have distinguished it, not microscope, nor Xray, nor any other means. This is a member of a supremely intelligent race, a race that has learned the deepest secrets of biology, and turned them to its use.”
“What was it planning to do?” Barclay looked at the humped tarpaulin.
Blair grinned unpleasantly. The wavering halo of thin hair round his bald pate wavered in the stir of air. “Take over the world, I imagine.”
“Take over the world! Just it, all by itself?” Connant gasped. “Set itself up as a lone dictator?”
“No,” Blair shook his head. The scalpel he had been fumbling in his bony fingers dropped; he bent to pick it up, so that his face was hidden as he spoke. “It would become the population of the world.”
“Become — populate the world? Does it reproduce asexually?”
Blair shook his head and gulped. “It’s — it doesn’t have to. It weighed 85 pounds. Charnauk weighed about 90. It would have become Charnauk, and had 85 pounds left, to become — oh, Jack for instance, or Chinook. It can imitate anything — that is, become anything. If it had reached the Antarctic Sea, it would have become a seal, maybe two seals. They might have attacked a killer whale, and become either killers, or a herd of seals. Or maybe it would have caught an albatross, or a skua gull, and flown to South America.”
Norris cursed softly. “And every time, it digested something, and imitated it — ”
“It would have had its original bulk left, to start again,” Blair finished. “Nothing would kill it. It has no natural enemies, because it becomes whatever it wants to. If a killer whale attacked, it would become a killer whale. If it was an albatross, and an eagle attacked it, it would become an eagle. Lord, it might become a female eagle. Go back — build a nest and lay eggs!”
“Are you sure that thing from hell is dead?” Dr. Copper asked softly.
“Yes, thank Heaven,” the little biologist gasped. “After they drove the dogs off, I stood there poking Bar’s electrocution thing into it for five minutes. It’s dead and — cooked.”
“Then we can only give thanks that this is Antarctica, where there is not one, single, solitary, living thing for it to imitate, except these animals in camp.”
“Us,” Blair giggled. “It can imitate us. Dogs can’t make 400 miles to the sea; there’s no food. There aren’t any skua gulls to imitate at this season. There aren’t any Penguins this far inland. There’s nothing that can reach the sea from this point except us. We’ve got the brains. We can do it. Don’t you see — it’s got to imitate us — it’s got to be one of us — that’s the only way it can fly an airplane — fly a plane for two hours, and rule — be — all Earth’s inhabitants. A world for the taking — if it imitates us!
“It didn’t know yet. It hadn’t had a chance to learn. It was rushed — hurried — look the thing nearest its own size. Look — I’m Pandora! I opened the box! And the only hope that can come out is — that nothing can come out. You didn’t see me. I did It. I fixed it I smashed every magneto. Not a plane can fly. Nothing can fly.” Blair giggled and lay down on the floor crying.

CHIEF PILOT Van Wall made a dive for the door. His feet were fading echoes in the corridors as Dr. Copper bent unhurriedly over the little man on the floor. From his office at the end of the room he brought something, and injected a solution into Blair’s arm. “He might come out of it when he wakes up,” he sighed rising. McReady helped him lift the biologist onto a nearby bunk. “It all depends on whether we can convince him that thing is dead.”
Van Wall ducked into the shack brushing his heavy blond beard absently. “I didn’t think a biologist would do a thing like that up thoroughly. He missed the spares in the second cache. It’s all right. I smashed them.”
Commander Garry nodded. “I was wondering about the radio.”
Dr. Copper snorted. “You don’t think it can leak out on a radio wave, do you? You’d have five rescue attempts in the next three months if you stop the broadcasts. The thing to do is talk loud and not make a sound. Now I wonder — ”
McReady looked speculatively at the doctor. “It might be like an infectious disease. Everything that drank, any of its blood — ”
Copper shook his head. “Blair missed something. Imitate it may, but it has, to a certain extent, its own body chemistry, its own metabolism. If it didn’t it would become a dog — and be a dog and nothing more. It has to be an imitation dog. Therefore you can detect it by serum tests. And its chemistry, since it comes from another world. Must be so wholly, radically different that a few cells, such as gained by drops of blood, would be treated as disease germs by the dog, or human body.”
“Blood — would one of those imitations bleed?” Norris demanded.
“Surely. Nothing mystic about blood. Muscle is about 90 per cent water; blood differs only in having a couple per cent more water, and less connective tissue. They’d bleed all right,” Copper assured him.
Blair sat up in his bunk suddenly. “Connant — where’s Connant?”
The physicist moved over toward the little biologist. “Here I am. What do you want?”
“Are You?” giggled Blair. He lapsed back into the bunk contorted with silent laughter.
Connant looked at him blankly “Huh? Am I what?”
“Are you there?” Blair burst into gales of laughter. “Are you Connant? The beast wanted to be a man — not a dog —”

CHAPTER VII

DR. COPPER rose wearily from the bunk, and washed the hypodermic carefully. The little tinkles it made seemed loud in the packed room, now that Blair’s gurgling laughter had finally quieted.
Copper looked toward Garry and shook his head slowly. “Hopeless, I’m afraid. I don’t think we can ever convince him the thing is dead now.”
Norris laughed uncertainly. “I’m not sure you can convince me. Oh, damn you, McReady. ”
“McReady?” Commander Garry turned to look from Norris to McReady curiously.
“The nightmares,” Norris explained. “He had a theory about the nightmares we had at the Secondary Station after finding that thing.”
“And that was?” Garry looked at McReady levelly.
Norris answered for him, jerkily, uneasily. “That the creature wasn’t dead, had a sort of enormously slowed existence, an existence that permitted it, none the less, to be vaguely aware of the passing of time, of our coming, after endless years. I had a dream it could imitate things.”
“Well,” Copper grunted, “it can.”
“Don’t be an ass,” Norris snapped. “That’s not what’s bothering me. In the dream it could read minds, read thoughts and ideas and mannerisms.”
“What’s so bad about that? It seems to be worrying you more than the thought of the joy we’re going to have with a mad man in an Antarctic camp.” Copper nodded toward Blair’s sleeping form.
McReady shook his great head slowly. “You know that Connant is Connant, because he not merely looks like Connant — which we’re beginning to believe that beast might be able to do but he thinks like Connant, talks like Connant, moves himself around as Connant does. That takes more than merely a body that looks like him; that takes Connant’s own mind, and thoughts and mannerisms. Therefore, though you know that the thing might make itself look like Connant, you aren’t much bothered, because you know it has a mind from another world, a totally unhuman mind, that couldn’t possibly react and think and talk like a man we know, and do it so well as to fool us for a moment. The idea of the creature imitating one of us is fascinating, but unreal because it is too completely unhuman to deceive us. It doesn’t have a human mind.”
“As I said before,” Norris repeated, looking steadily at McReady, “you can say the damnedest things at the damnedest times. Will you be so good as to finish that thought — one way or the other?”
Kinner, the scar-faced expedition cook, had been standing near Connant. Suddenly he moved down the length of the crowded room toward his familiar galley. He shook the ashes from the galley stove noisily.
“It would do it no good,” said Dr. Copper, softly as though thinking out loud, “to merely look like something it was trying to imitate; it would have to understand its feelings, its reaction. It is unhuman; it has powers of imitation beyond any conception of man. A good actor, by training himself, can imitate another man, another man’s mannerisms, well enough to fool most people. Of course no actor could imitate so perfectly as to deceive men who had been living with the imitated one in the complete lack of privacy of an Antarctic camp. That would take a superhuman skill.”
“Oh, you’ve got the bug too?” Norris cursed softly.

CONNANT, standing alone at one end of the room, looked about him wildly, his face white. A gentle eddying of the men had crowded them slowly down toward the other end of the room, so that he stood quite alone. “My God, will you two Jeremiahs shut up?” Connant’s voice shook. “What am I? Some kind of a microscopic specimen you’re dissecting? Some unpleasant worm you’re discussing in the third person?”
McReady looked up at him; his slowly twisting hand stopped for a moment. “Having a lovely time. Wish you were here. Signed: Everybody.
“Connant, if you think you’re having a hell of a time, just move over on the other end for a while. You’ve got one thing we haven’t; you know what the answer is. I’ll tell you this, right now you’re the most feared and respected man in Big Magnet.”
“Lord, I wish you could see your eyes,” Connant gasped. “Stop staring, will you! What the hell are you going to do?”
“Have you any suggestions, Dr. Copper?” Commander Garry asked steadily. “The present situation is impossible.”
“Oh, is it?” Connant snapped. “Come over here and look at that crowd. By Heaven, they look exactly like that gang of huskies around the corridor bend. Benning, will you stop hefting that damned ice-ax?”
The coppery blade rang on the floor as the aviation mechanic nervously dropped it. He bent over and picked it up instantly, hefting it slowly, turning it in his hands, his browns eyes moving jerkily about the room.
Copper sat down on the bunk beside Blair. The wood creaked noisily in the room. Far down a corridor, a dog yelped in pain, and the dog-drivers’ tense voices floated softly back. “Microscopic examination,” said the doctor thoughtfully, “would be useless, as Blair pointed out. Considerable time has passed. However, serum tests would be definitive.
“Serum tests? What do you mean exactly?” Commander Garry asked.
“If I had a rabbit that had been injected with human blood — a poison to rabbits, of course, as is the blood of any animal save that of another rabbit and the injections continued in increasing doses for some time, the rabbit would be human-immune. If a small quantity of its blood were drawn off, allowed to separate in a test-tube, and to the clear serum, a bit of human blood were added, there would be a visible reaction, proving the blood was human. If cow, or dog blood were added — or any protein material other than that one thing, human blood — no reaction would take place. That would prove definitely.”
“Can you suggest where I might catch a rabbit for you, Doc?” Norris asked. “That is, nearer than Australia; we don’t want to waste time going that far.”
“I know there aren’t any rabbits in Antarctica,” Copper nodded, “but that is simply the usual animal. Any animal except man will do. A dog for instance. But it will take several days, and due to the greater size of the animal, considerable blood. Two of us will have to contribute.”
“Would I do?” Garry asked.
“That will make two,” Copper nodded. “I’ll get to work on it right away.”
“What about Connant in the meantime?” Kinner demanded. “I’m going out that door and head off for the Ross Sea before I cook for him.”
“He may be human — ” Copper started.
Connant burst out in a flood of curses. “Human! May be human, you damned saw bones! What in hell do you think I am?”
“A monster,” Copper snapped sharply. “Now shut up and listen.” Connant’s face drained of color and he sat down heavily as the indictment was put in words. “Until we know — you know as well as we do that we have reason to question the fact, and only you know how that question is to be answered — we may reasonably be expected to lock you up. If you are — unhuman — you’re a lot more dangerous than poor Blair there, and I’m going to see that he’s locked up thoroughly. I expect that his next stage will be a violent desire to kill you, all the dogs, and probably all of us. When he wakes, he will be convinced we’re all unhuman, and nothing on the planet will ever change his conviction. It would be kinder to let him die, but we can’t do that, of course. He’s going in one shack, and you can stay in Cosmos House with your cosmic ray apparatus. Which is about what you’d do anyway. I’ve got to fix up a couple of dogs.”
Connant nodded bitterly. “I’m human. Hurry that test. Your eyes Lord, I wish you could see your eyes staring — ”

COMMANDER Garry watched anxiously as Clark, the dog handler, held the big brown Alaskan husky, while Copper began the injection treatment. The dog was not anxious to cooperate; the needle was painful, and already he’d experienced considerable needle work that morning. Five stitches held closed a slash that ran from his shoulder across the ribs half way down his body. One long fang was broken off short; the missing part was to be found half-buried in the shoulder bone of the monstrous thing on the table in the Ad Building.
“How long will that take?” Garry asked, pressing his arm gently. It was sore from the prick of the needle Dr. Copper had used to withdraw blood.
Copper shrugged. “I don’t know, to be frank. I know the general method, I’ve used it on rabbits. But I haven’t experimented with dogs. They’re big, clumsy animals to work with; naturally rabbits are preferable, and serve ordinarily. In civilized places you can buy a stock of human-immune rabbits from suppliers, and not many investigators take the trouble to prepare their own.”
“What do they want with them back there?” Clark asked.
“Criminology is one large field. A says he didn’t murder B, but that the blood on his shirt came from killing a chicken. The State makes a test, then it’s up to A to explain how it is the blood reacts on human-immune rabbits, but not on chicken-immunes.”
“What are we going to do with Blair in the meantime?” Garry asked wearily. “It’s all right to let him sleep where he is for a while, but when he wakes up — ”
“Barclay and Benning are fitting some bolts on the door of Cosmos House,” Copper replied grimly. “Connant’s acting like a gentleman. I think perhaps the way the other men look at him makes him rather want privacy. Lord knows, heretofore we’ve all of us individually prayed for a little privacy. ”
Clark laughed bitterly. “Not any more, thank you. The more the merrier.”
“Blair,” Copper went on, “will also have to have privacy — and locks. He’s going to have a pretty definite plan in mind when he wakes up. Ever hear the old story of how to stop hoof-and-mouth disease in cattle?”
“If there isn’t any hoof-and-mouth disease, there won’t be any hoof-and-mouth disease,” Copper explained. “You get rid of it by killing every animal that exhibits it, and every animal that’s been near the diseased animal. Blair’s a biologist, and knows that story. He’s afraid of this thing we loosed. The answer is probably pretty clear in his mind now. Kill everybody and everything in this camp before a skua gull or a wandering albatross coming in with the spring chances out this way and — catches the disease.”
Clark’s lips curled in a twisted grin. “Sounds logical to me. If things get too bad maybe we’d better let Blair get loose. It would save us committing suicide. We might also make something of a vow that if things get bad, we see that that does happen.”

COPPER laughed softly. “The last man alive in Big Magnet wouldn’t be a man,” he pointed out. “Somebody’s got to kill those creatures that don’t desire to kill themselves, you know. We don’t have enough thermite to do it all at once, and the decanite explosive wouldn’t help much. I have an idea that even small pieces of one of those beings would be self-sufficient.”
“If,” said Garry thoughtfully, “they can modify their protoplasm at will, won’t they simply modify themselves to birds and fly away? They can read all about birds, and imitate their structure without even meeting them. Or imitate, perhaps, birds of their home planet.”
Copper shook his head, and helped Clark to free the dog. “Man studied birds for centuries, trying to learn how to make a machine to fly like them. He never did do the trick; his final success came when he broke away entirely and tried new methods. Knowing the general idea, and knowing the detailed structure of wing and bone and nerve tissue is something far, far different. And as for otherworld birds, perhaps, in fact very probably, the atmospheric conditions here are so vastly different that their birds couldn’t fly. Perhaps, even, the being came from a planet like Mars with such a thin atmosphere that there were no birds.”
Barclay came into the building, trailing a length of airplane control cable. “It’s finished, Doc. Cosmo House can’t be opened from the inside. Now where do we put Blair?”
Copper looked toward Garry. “There wasn’t any biology building. I don’t know where we can isolate him.”
“How about East Cache?” Garry said after a moment’s thought. “Will Blair be able to look after himself — or need attention?”
“He’ll be capable enough. We’ll be the ones to watch out,” Copper assured him grimly. “Take a stove, a couple of bags of coal, necessary supplies and a few tools to fix it up. Nobody’s been out there since last fall, have they?”
Garry shook his head. “if he gets noisy — I thought that might be a good idea.”
Barclay hefted the tools he was carrying and looked up at Garry. “if the muttering he’s doing now is any sign, he’s going to sing away the night hours. And we won’t like his song.”
“What’s he saying?” Copper asked.
Barclay shook his head. “I didn’t care to listen much. You can if you want to. But I gathered that the blasted idiot had all the dreams McReady had, and a few more. He slept beside the thing when we stopped on the trail coming in from Secondary Magnetic, remember. He dreamt the thing was alive, and dreamt more details. And — damn his soul — knew it wasn’t all dream, or had reason to. He knew it had telepathic powers that were stirring vaguely, and that it could not only read minds, but project thoughts. They weren’t dreams, you see. They were stray thoughts that thing was broadcasting, the way Blair’s broadcasting his thoughts now a sort of telepathic muttering in its sleep. That’s why he knew so much about its powers. I guess you and I, Doc, weren’t so sensitive — if you want to believe in telepathy.”
“I have to,” Copper sighed. “Dr. Rhine of Duke University has shown that it exists, shown that some are much more sensitive than others.”
“Well, if you want to learn a lot of details, go listen in on Blair’s broadcast. He’s driven most of the boys out of the Ad Building; Kinner’s rattling pans like coal going down a chute. When he can’t rattle a pan, he shakes ashes.
“By the way, Commander, what are we going to do this spring, now the planes are out of it?”
Garry sighed. “I’m afraid our expedition is going to be a loss. We cannot divide our strength now.
“It won’t be a loss — if we continue to live, and come out of this,” Copper promised him. “The find we’ve made, if we can get it under control, is important enough. The cosmic ray data, magnetic work, and atmospheric work won’t be greatly hindered. ”
GARRY laughed mirthlessly. “I was just thinking of the radio broadcasts. Telling half the world about the wonderful results of our exploration flights, trying to fool men like Byrd and Ellsworth back home there that we’re doing something.”
Copper nodded gravely. “They’ll know something’s wrong. But men like that have judgment enough to know we wouldn’t do tricks without some sort of reason, and will wait for our return to judge us. I think it comes to this: men who know enough to recognize our deception will wait for our return. Men who haven’t discretion and faith enough to wait will not have the experience to detect any fraud. We know enough of the conditions here to put through a good bluff.”
“Just so they don’t send ’rescue’ expeditions,” Garry prayed. “When — if — we’re ever ready to come out, we’ll have to send word to Captain Forsythe to bring a stock of magnetos with him when he comes down. But — never mind that.”
“You mean if we don’t come out?” asked Barclay. “I was wondering if a nice running account of an eruption or an earthquake via radio — with a swell windup by using a stick of decanite under the microphone — would help. Nothing, of course, will entirely keep people out. One of those swell, melodramatic ’last-man-alive-scenes’ might make ’em go easy though.”
Garry smiled with genuine humor. “is everybody in camp trying to figure that out too?”
Copper laughed. “What do you think, Garry? We’re confident we can win out. But not too easy about it, I guess.”
Clark grinned up from the dog he was petting into calmness. “Confident, did you say, Doc?”

CHAPTER VIII

BLAIR MOVED restlessly around the small shack. His eyes jerked and quivered in vague, fleeting glances at the four men with him; Barclay, six feet tall and weighing over 190 pounds; McReady, a bronze giant of a man; Dr. Copper, short, squatly powerful; and Benning, five feet ten of wiry strength.
Blair was huddled up against the far wall of the East Cache cabin, his gear piled in the middle of the floor beside the heating stove, forming an island between him and the four men. His bony hands clenched and fluttered, terrified. His pale eyes wavered uneasily as his bald, freckled head darted about in birdlike motion.
“I don’t. want anybody coming here. I’ll cook my own food,” he snapped nervously. “Kinner may be human now, but I don’t believe it. I’m going to get out of here, but I’m not going to eat any food you send me. I want cans. Sealed cans.”
“O.K., Blair, we’ll bring ’em tonight,” Barclay promised. “You’ve got coal, and the fire’s started. I’ll make a last — ” Barclay started forward.
Blair instantly scurried to the farthest corner. “Get out! Keep away from me, you monster!” the little biologist shrieked, and tried to claw his way through the wall of the shack. “Keep away from me — keep away — I won’t be absorbed — I won’t be — ”
Barclay relaxed and moved back. Dr. Copper shook his head. “Leave him alone, Bar. It’s easier for him to fix the thing himself. We’ll have to fix the door, I think — ”
The four men let themselves out. Efficiently, Benning and Barclay fell to work. There were no locks in Antarctica; there wasn’t enough privacy to make them needed. But powerful screws had been driven in each side of the door frame, and the spare aviation control cable, immensely strong, woven steel wire, was rapidly caught between them,. and drawn taut. Barclay went to work with a drill and a keyhole saw. Presently he had a trap cut in the door through which goods could be passed without unlashing the entrance. Three powerful hinges from a stock crate, two hasps and a pair of three-inch cotter-pins made it proof against opening from the other side.
Blair moved about restlessly inside. He was dragging something over to the door with panting gasps and muttering, frantic curses. Barclay opened the hatch and glanced in, Dr. Copper peering over his shoulder. Blair had moved the heavy bunk against the door. It could not be opened without his cooperation now.
“Don’t know but what the poor man’s fight at that,” McReady sighed. “If he gets loose, it is his avowed intention to kill each and all of us as quickly as possible, which is something we don’t agree with. But we’ve something on our side of that door that is worse than a homicidal maniac. If one or the other has to get loose, I think I’ll come up and undo those lashings here.”
Barclay grinned. “You let me know, and I’ll show you how to get these off fast. Let’s go back.”
The sun was painting the northern horizon in multicolored rainbows still, though it was two hours below the horizon. The field of drift swept off to the north, sparkling under its flaming colors in a million reflected glories. Low mounds of rounded white on the northern horizon showed the Magnet Range was barely awash above the sweeping drift. Little eddies of wind-lifted snow swirled away from their skis as they set out toward the main encampment two miles away. The spidery finger of the broadcast radiator lifted a gaunt black needle against the white of the Antarctic continent. The snow under their skies was like fine sand, hard and gritty.

“SPRING,” said Benning bitterly, “is come. Ain’t we got fun! I’ve been looking forward to getting away from this blasted hole in the ice.”
“I wouldn’t try it now, if I were you.” Barclay grunted. “Guys that set out from here in the next few days are going to be marvelously unpopular.”
“How is your dog getting along, Dr. Copper?” McReady asked. “Any results yet?”
“In 30 hours? I wish there were. I gave him an injection of my blood today. But I imagine another five days will be needed. I don’t know certainly enough to stop sooner.”
“I’ve been wondering — if Connant were — changed, would he have warned us so soon after the animal escaped? Wouldn’t he have waited long enough for it to have a real chance to fix itself? Unless we woke up naturally?” McReady asked slowly.
“The thing is selfish. You didn’t think it looked as though it were possessed of a store of the higher justices, did you?” Dr. Copper pointed out. “Every part of it is all of it, every part of it is all for itself, I imagine. If Connant were changed, to save his skin, he’d have to — but Connant’s feelings aren’t changed; they’re imitated perfectly, or they’re his own. Naturally, the imitation, imitating perfectly Connant’s feelings, would do exactly what Connant would do.”
“Say, couldn’t Norris or Van give Connant some kind of a test? If the thing is brighter than men, it might know more physics than Connant should, and they’d catch it out,” Barclay suggested.
Copper shook his head wearily. “Not if it reads minds. You can’t plan a trap for it. Van suggested that last night. He hoped it would answer some of the questions of physics he’d like to know answers to.”
“This expedition-of-four idea is going to make life happy.” Benning looked at his companions. “Each of us with an eye on the others to make sure he doesn’t do something — peculiar. Man, aren’t we going to be a trusting bunch! Each man eyeing his neighbors with the grandest exhibition of faith and trust — I’m beginning to know what Connant meant by ’I wish you could see your eyes.’ Every now and then we all have it, I guess. One of you looks around with a sort of ’I-wonder-if-the-other-three-are-look.” Incidentally, I’m not excepting myself.”
“So far as we know, the animal is dead, with a slight question as to Connant. No other is suspected,” McReady stated slowly. “The ’always four’ order is merely a precautionary measure.”
“I’m waiting for Garry to make it four-in-a-bunk,” Barclay sighed. “I thought I didn’t have any privacy before, but since that order — ”

NONE watched more tensely than Connant. A little sterile glass test-tube, half-filled with straw colored fluid. One—two—three—four—five drops of the clear solution Dr. Copper had prepared from the drops of blood from Connant’s arm. The tube was shaken carefully, then set in a beaker of clear, warm water. The thermometer read blood heat, a little thermostat clicked noisily, and the electric hotplate began to glow as the lights flickered slightly.
Then — little white flecks of precipitation were forming, snowing down in the clear straw-colored fluid. “Lord,” said Connant He dropped heavily into a bunk, crying like a baby. “Six days — ” Connant sobbed, “six days in there wondering if that damned test would lie — ”
Garry moved over silently, and slipped his arm across the physicist’s back.
“It couldn’t tie,” Dr. Copper said, “The dog was human-immune and the serum reacted.”
“He’s — all right?” Norris gasped. “Then — the animal is dead — dead forever?”
“He is human,” Copper spoke definitely,” and the animal is dead.”
Kinner burst out laughing, laughing hysterically: McReady turned toward him and slapped his face with a methodical one-two, one-two action. The cook laughed, gulped, cried a moment, and sat up rubbing his checks, mumbling his thanks vaguely. “I was scared. Lord, I was scared—”
Norris laughed bitterly. “You think we weren’t, you ape? You think maybe Connant wasn’t?”
The Ad Building stirred with a sudden rejuvenation. Voices laughed, the men clustering around Connant spoke with unnecessarily loud voices, jittery, nervous voices relievedly friendly again. Somebody called out a suggestion, and a dozen started for their skis. Blair. Blair might recover — Dr. Copper fussed with his test-tubes in nervous relief, trying solutions. The party of relief for Blair’s shack started out the door, skis clapping noisily. Down the corridor, the dogs set up a quick yelping howl as the air of excited relief reached them.
Dr. Copper fussed with his tubes. McReady noticed him first, sitting on the edge of the bunk, with two precipitin-whitened test-tubes of straw-colored fluid, his face whiter than the stuff in the tubes, silent tears slipping down from horror-widened eyes.
McReady felt a cold knife of fear pierce through his heart and freeze in his breast. Dr. Copper looked up.
“Garry,” he called hoarsely. “Garry, for God’s sake, come here.”
Commander Garry walked toward him sharply. Silence clapped down on the Ad Building. Connant looked up, rose stiffly from his seat.
“Garry — tissue from the monster precipitates too. It proves nothing. Nothing but but the dog was monster-immune too. That one of the two contributing blood — one of us two, you and I, Garry — one of us is a monster.”

CHAPTER IX

“BAR, CALL back those men before they tell Blair,” McReady said quietly. Blair went to the door; faintly his shouts came back to the tensely silent men in the room. Then he was back.
“They’re coming,” he said. “I didn’t tell them why. Just that Dr. Copper said not to go.”
“McReady,” Garry sighed, “you’re in command now. May God help you. I cannot.”
The bronzed giant nodded slowly, his deep eyes on Commander Garry.
“I may be the one,” Garry added. “I know I’m not, but I cannot prove it to you in any way. Dr. Copper’s test has broken down. The fact that he showed it was useless, when it was to the advantage of the monster to have that uselessness not known, would seem to prove he was human.”
Copper rocked back and forth slowly on the bunk. “I know I’m human. I can’t prove it either. One of us two is a liar, for that test cannot lie, and it says one of us is. I gave proof that the test was wrong, which seems to prove I’m human, and now Garry has given that argument which proves me human which he, as the monster, should not do. Round and round and round and round and — “
Dr. Copper’s head, then his neck and shoulders began circling slowly in time to the words. Suddenly he was lying back on the bunk, roaring with laughter. ’It doesn’t have to prove one of us is a monster! It doesn’t have to prove that at all! Ho-ho If we’re all monsters it works the same! We’re all monsters — all of us — Connant and Garry and I — and all of you.”
“McReady,” Van Wall, the blond-bearded Chief Pilot, called softly. “you were on the way to an M.D. when you took up meteorology, weren’t you? Can you make some kind of test?”
McReady went over to Copper slowly, took the hypodermic from his hand, and washed it carefully in 95 per cent alcohol. Garry sat on the bunk edge with wooden face, watching Copper and McReady expressionlessly. “What Copper said is possible,” McReady sighed. “Van, will you help here? Thanks.” The filled needle jabbed into Copper’s thigh. The man’s laughter did not stop, but slowly faded into sobs, then sound sleep as the morphia took hold.
McReady turned again. The men who had started for Blair stood at the far end of the room, skis dripping snow, their faces as white as their skis. Connant had a lighted cigarette in each hand; one he was puffing absently, and staring at the floor. The heat of the one in his left hand attracted him and he stared at it, and the one in the other hand stupidly for a moment. He dropped one and crushed it under his heel slowly.
“Dr. Copper,” McReady repeated, “could be right. I know I’m human but of course can’t prove it. I’ll repeat the test for my own information. Any of you others who wish to may do the same.”
Two minutes later, McReady held a test-tube with white precipitin settling slowly from straw colored serum. “It reacts to human blood too, so they aren’t both monsters.”
“I didn’t think they were,” Van Wall sighed. “That wouldn’t suit the monster either; we could have destroyed them if we knew. Why hasn’t the monster destroyed us, do you suppose? It seems to be loose.”
McReady snorted. Then laughed softly. “Elementary, my dear Watson. The monster wants to have lifeforms available. It cannot animate a dead body, apparently. It is just waiting — waiting until the best opportunities come. We who remain human, it is holding in reserve.”
Kinner shuddered violently. “Hey. Hey, Mac. Mac, would I know if I was a monster? Would I know if the monster had already got me? Oh Lord, I may be a monster already.”
“You’d know, ” McReady answered.
“But we wouldn’t,” Norris laughed shortly, half-hysterically.
McReady looked at the vial of serum remaining. “There’s one thing this damned stuff is good for, at that,” he said thoughtfully. “Clark, will you and Van help me? The rest of the gang better stick together here. Keep an eye on each other,” he said bitterly. “See that you don’t get into mischief, shall we say?”
McReady started down the tunnel toward Dog Town, with Clark and Van Wall behind him. “You need more serum?” Clark asked.
McReady shook his head. “Tests. There’s four cows and a bull, and nearly seventy dogs down there. This stuff reacts only to human blood and — monsters.”

McREADY came back to the Ad Building and went silently to the wash stand. Clark and Van Wall joined him a moment later. Clark’s lips had developed a tic, jerking into sudden, unexpected sneers.
“What did you do?” Connant exploded suddenly. “More immunizing?”
Clark snickered, and stopped with a hiccough. “Immunizing. Haw! Immune all right.”
“That monster,” said Van Wall steadily, “is quite logical. Our immune dog was quite all right, and we drew a little more serum for the tests. But we won’t make any more.”
“Can’t — can’t you use one man’s blood or another dog — ” Norris began.
“There aren’t,” said McReady softly, “any more dogs, Nor cattle, I might add.”
“No more dogs?” Benning sat down slowly.
“They’re very nasty when they start changing,” Van Wall said precisely, “but slow. That electrocution iron you made up, Barclay, is very fast. There is only one dog left our immune. The monster left that for us, so we could play with our little test. The rest — ” He shrugged and dried his hands.
“The cattle — ,” gulped Kinner.
“Also. Reacted very nicely. They look funny as hell when they start melting. The beast hasn’t any quick escape, when it’s tied in dog chains, or halters, and it had to be to imitate.”
Kinner stood up slowly, His eyes darted around the room, and came to rest horribly quivering on a tin bucket in the galley. Slowly, step by step. he retreated toward the door, his mouth opening and closing silently, like a fish out of water.
“The milk — ” he gasped. “I milked ’em an hour ago —” His voice broke into a scream as he dived through the door. He was out on the ice cap without windproof or heavy clothing.
Van Wall looked after him for a moment thoughtfully. “He’s probably hopelessly mad,” he said at length, “but he might be a monster escaping. He hasn’t skis. Take a blow-torch — in case.”
The physical motion of the chase helped them; something that needed doing. Three of the other men were quietly being sick. Norris was lying flat on his back, his face greenish, looking steadily at the bottom of the bunk above him.
“Mac, how long have the — cows been not-cows —”
McReady shrugged his shoulders hopelessly. He went over to the milk bucket, and with his little tube of serum went to work on it. The milk clouded it, making certainty difficult. Finally he dropped
the test-tube in the stand and shook his head. “It tests negatively. Which means either they were cows then, or that, being perfect imitations, they gave perfectly good milk.”
Copper stirred restless in his sleep and gave a gurgling cross between a snore and a laugh. Silent eyes fastened on him. “Would morphia — a monster —” somebody started to ask.
“Lord knows,” McReady shrugged. “It affects every Earthly animal I know of.”
Connant suddenly raised his head. “Mac! The dogs must have swallowed pieces of the monster, and the pieces destroyed them! The dogs were where the monster resided. I was locked up. Doesn’t that prove — ”
Van Wall shook his head. “Sorry. Proves nothing about what you are, only proves what you didn’t do.”
“It doesn’t do that,” McReady sighed. “We are helpless. Because we don’t know enough, and so jittery we don’t think straight. Locked up! Ever watch a white corpuscle of the blood go through the wall of a blood vessel? No? It sticks out a pseudopod. And there it is — on the far side of the wall. ”
“Oh,” said Van Wall unhappily. “The cattle tried to melt down, didn’t they? The could have melted down — become just a thread of stuff and leaked under a door to recollect on the other side. Ropes no no, that wouldn’t do it. They couldn’t live in a sealed tank or — ”
“If,” said McReady, “you shoot it through the heart, and it doesn’t die, it’s a monster. That’s the best test I can think of, offhand.”
“No dogs,” said Garry quietly, “and no cattle. It has to imitate men now. And locking up doesn’t do any good. Your test might have work, Mac, but I am afraid it would be hard on the men.”

CHAPTER X

CLARK LOOKED up from the galley stove as Van Wall, Barclay, McReady and Benning came in, brushing the drift from their clothes. The other men jammed into the Ad Building continued studiously to do as they were doing, playing chess, poker, reading. Ralsen was fixing a sledge on the table; Van and Norris had their heads together over magnetic data, while Harvey read tables in a low voice.
Dr. Copper snored softly on the bunk. Garry was working with Dutton over a sheaf of radio messages on the corner of Dutton’s bunk and a small fraction of the radio table. Connant was using most of the table for Cosmic Ray sheets.
Quite plainly through the corridor, despite two closed doors, they could hear Kinner’s voice. Clark banged a kettle onto the galley stove and beckoned McReady silently. The meteorologist went over to him.
“I don’t mind the cooking so damn much,” Clark said nervously, “but isn’t there some way to stop that bird? We all agreed that it would be safe to move him into Cosmos House.”
“Kinner?” McReady nodded toward the door. “I’m afraid not. I can dope him, I suppose, but we don’t have an unlimited supply of morphia, and he’s not in danger of losing his mind. Just hysterical.”
“Well, we’re in danger of losing ours. You’ve been out for an hour and a half. That’s been going on steadily ever since, and it was going for two hours before. There’s a limit, you know.”
Garry wandered over slowly, apologetically. For an instant, McReady caught the feral spark of fear — horror — in Clark’s eyes, and knew at the same instant it was in his own. Garry — Garry or Copper — was certainly a monster.
“If you could stop that, I think it would be a sound policy, Mac,” Garry spoke quietly. “There are tensions enough in this room. We agreed that it would be safe for Kinner in there, because everyone else in camp is under constant eyeing.” Garry shivered slightly. “And try, try in God’s name, to find some test that will work.”
McReady sighed. “Watch or unwatched, everyone’s tense. Blair’s jammed the trap so it won’t open now. Says he’s got food enough, and keeps screaming ’Go away, go away — you’re monsters. I won’t be absorbed. I won’t. I’ll tell men when they come. Go away.’ So — we went away.”
“There’s no other test?” Garry pleaded.
McReady shrugged his shoulders. “Copper was perfectly right. The serum test could be absolutely definitive if it hadn’t been — contaminated. But that’s the only dog left, and he’s fixed now.”
“Chemicals? Chemical tests?”
McReady shook his head. “Our chemistry isn’t that good. I tried the microscope, you know.”
Garry nodded. “Monster-dog and real dog were identical. But you’ve got to go on. What are we going to do after dinner?”

VAN WALL joined them quietly. “Rotation sleeping. Half the crowd asleep; half awake. I wonder how many of us are monsters? All the dogs were. We thought we were safe, but somehow it got Copper — or you.” Van Wall’s eyes flashed uneasily. “It may have gotten every one of you — all of you but myself may be wondering, looking. No, that’s not possible. You’d just spring then. I’d be helpless. We humans might somehow have the greater number now. But — ” he stopped.
McReady laughed shortly. “You’re doing what Norris complained of in me. Leaving it hanging. ’But if one more is changed — that may shift the balance of power.’ It doesn’t fight. I don’t think it ever fights. It must be a peaceable thing, in its own — inimitable — way. It never had to, because it always gained its end — otherwise.”
Van Wall’s mouth twisted in a sickly grin. “You’re suggesting then, that perhaps it already has the greater numbers, but is just waiting — waiting, all of them — all of you, for all I know — waiting till I, the last human, drop my wariness in sleep. Mac, did you notice their eyes, all looking at us?”
Garry sighed. “You haven’t been sitting here for four straight hours, while all their eyes silently weighed the information that one of us two, Copper or I, is a monster certainly — perhaps both of us.”
Clark repeated his request. “Will you stop that bird’s noise? He’s driving me nuts. Make him tone down, anyway.”
“Still praying?” McReady asked.
“Still praying,” Clark groaned. “He hasn’t stopped for a second. I don’t mind, his praying if it relieves him, but he yells, he sings psalms and hymns and shouts prayers. He thinks God can’t hear well way down here.”
“Maybe He can’t,” Barclay grunted. “Or He’d have done something about this thing loosed from hell.”
“Somebody’s going to try that test you mentioned, if you don’t stop him,” Clark stated grimly. “I think a cleaver in the head would be as positive a test as a bullet in the heart.”
“Go ahead with the food. I’ll see what I can do. There may be something in the cabinets.” McReady moved wearily toward the corner Copper had used as his dispensary. Three tall cabinets of rough boards, two locked, were the repositories of the camp’s medical supplies. Twelve years ago McReady had graduated, had started for an internship, and been diverted to meteorology. Copper was a picked man, a man who knew his profession. thoroughly and modernly. More than half the drugs available were totally unfamiliar to McReady; many of the others he had forgotten. There was no huge medical library here, no series of journals available to learn the things he had forgotten, the elementary, simple things to Copper, things that did not merit inclusion in the small library he had been forced to content himself with. Books are heavy, and every ounce of supplies had been freighted in by air.
McReady picked a barbiturate hopefully. Barclay and Van went with him. One man never went anywhere alone in Big Magnet.
Ralsen had his sledge put away, and the physicists had moved off the table, the poker game broken up when they got back. Clark was putting out the food. The click of spoons and the muffled sounds of eating were the only sign of life in the room. There were no words spoken as the three returned; simply all eyes focused on them questioningly, while the jaw moved methodically.
MeReady stiffened suddenly. Kinner was screeching out a hymn in a hoarse, cracked voice. He looked wearily at Van Wall with a twisted grin and shook his head. “Hu-uh.”

VAN WALL cursed bitterly, and sat down at the table. “We’ll just plumb have to take that till his voice wears out. He can’t yell like that forever.”
“He’s got a brass throat and a cast-iron larynx,” Norris declared savagely. “Then we could be hopeful, and suggest he’s one of our friends. In that case he could go on renewing his throat till doomsday.”
Silence clamped down. For twenty minutes they ate without a word. Then Connant jumped up with an angry violence. “You sit as still as a bunch of graven images. You don’t say a word, but oh Lord, what expressive eyes you’ve got. They roll around like a bunch of glass marbles spilling down a table. They wink and blink and stare — and whisper things. Can you guys look somewhere else for a change, please?
“Listen, Mac, you’re in charge here. Let’s run movies for the rest of the night. We’ve been saving those reels to make ’em last. Last for what? Who is it’s going to see those last reels, eh? Let’s see ’em while we can, and look at something other than each other.
“Sound idea, Connant I, for one, am quite willing to change this in any way I can.”
“Turn the sound up loud, Dutton. Maybe you can drown out the hymns,” Clark suggested.
“But don’t,” Norris said softly, “don’t turn off the lights altogether.”
“The lights will be out.” McReady shook his head. “We’ll show all the cartoon movies we have. You won’t mind seeing the old cartoons, will you?”
“Goody, goody — a moom pitcher show. I’m just in the mood.” McReady turned to look at the speaker, a lean, lanky New Englander, by the name of Caldwell. Caldwell was stuffing his pipe slowly, a sour eye cocked up to McReady.
The bronze giant was forced to laugh. “O.K., Bart, you win. Maybe we aren’t quite in the mood for Popeye and trick ducks, but it’s something.”
“Let’s play Classifications,” Caldwell suggested slowly. “Or maybe you call it Guggenheim. You draw lines on a piece of paper, and put down classes of things — like animals, you know. One for ’H’ and one for ’U’ and so on. Like ’Human and ’Unknown’ for instance. I think that would be a hell of a lot better game. Classification, I sort of figure is what we need right now a lot more than movies. Maybe somebody’s got a pencil that he can draw lines with, draw lines between the ’U’ animals and the ’H’ animals for instance.”
“McReady’s trying to find that kind of pencil,” Van Wall answered quietly, “but we’ve got three kinds of animals here, you know. One that begins with ’M’. We don’t want any more.”
“Mad ones, you mean. Uh-huh. Clark, I’ll help you with those pots so we can get our little peepshow going.” Caldwell got up slowly.

DUTTON and Barclay and Benning, in charge of the projector and sound mechanism arrangements, went about their job silently, while the Ad Building was cleared and the dishes and pans disposed of. McReady drifted over toward Van Wall slowly, and leaned back in the bunk beside him. “I’ve been wondering, Van,” he said with a wry grin, “whether or not to report my ideas in advance. I forgot the ’U animals’ as Caldwell named it, could read minds. I’ve a vague idea of something that might work. it’s too vague to bother with though. Go ahead with your show, while I try to figure out the logic of the thing. I’ll take this bunk.”
Van Wall glanced up, and nodded. The movie screen would be practically on a line with his bunk, hence making the pictures least distracting here, because least intelligible. “Perhaps you should tell us what you have in mind. As it is, only the unknowns know what you plan. You might be —unknown before you got it into operation.”
“Won’t take long, if I get it figured out right. But I don’t want any more all-but-the-test-dog-monsters things. We better move Copper into this bunk directly above me. He won’t be watching the screen either.” McReady nodded toward Copper’s gently snoring bulk. Garry helped them lift and move the doctor.
McReady leaned back against the bunk, and sank into a trance, almost, of concentration, trying to calculate chances, operations, methods. He was scarcely aware as the others distributed themselves silently, and the screen lit up. Vaguely Kinner’s hectic, shouted prayers and his rasping hymn-singing annoyed him till the sound accompaniment started. The lights were turned out, but the large, light-colored areas of the screen reflected enough light for ready visibility. It made men’s eyes sparkle as they moved restlessly. Kinner was still praying, shouting, his voice a raucous accompaniment to the mechanical sound. Dutton stepped up the amplification.
So long had the voice been going on, that only vaguely at first was McReady aware that something seemed missing. Lying as he was, just across the narrow room from the corridor leading to Cosmos House, Kinner’s voice had reached him fairly clearly, despite the sound accompaniment of the pictures. It struck him abruptly that it had stopped.
“Dutton, cut that sound,” McReady called as he sat up abruptly. The pictures flickered a moment, soundless and strangely futile in the sudden, deep silence. The rising wind on the surface above bubbled melancholy tears of sound down the stove pipes. “Kinner’s stopped,” McReady said softly.
“For God’s sake start that sound then, he may have stopped to listen,” Norris snapped.
McReady rose and went down the corridor. Barclay and Van Wall left their places at the far end of the room to follow him. The flickers bulged and twisted on the back of Barclay’s gray underwear as he crossed the still-functioning beam of the projector. Dutton snapped on the lights, and the pictures vanished.
Norris stood at the door as McReady had asked. Garry sat down quietly in the bunk nearest the door, forcing Clark to make room for him. Most of the others had stayed exactly where they were. Only Connant walked slowly up and down the room, in steady, unvarying rhythm.
“If you’re going to do that, Connant,” Clark spat, “we can get along without you altogether, whether you’re human or not. Will you stop that damned rhythm?”
“Sorry.” The physicist sat down in a bunk, and watched his toes thoughtfully. It was almost five minutes, five ages while the wind made the only sound, before McReady appeared at the door.
“We,” he announced, “haven’t got enough grief here already. Somebody’s tried to help us out. Kinner has a knife in his throat, which was why he stopped singing, probably. We’ve got monsters, madmen and murderers. Any more ’M’s’ you can think of, Caldwell? If there are, we’ll probably have ’em before long.”

CHAPTER XI

“IS BLAIR loose?” someone asked.
“Blair is not loose. Or he flew in. If there’s any doubt about where our gentle helper came from this may clear it up.” Van Hull held a footlong, thin-bladed knife in a cloth. The wooden handle was half-burnt, charred with the peculiar pattern of the top of the galley stove.
Clark stared at it. “I did that this afternoon. I forgot the damn thing and left it on the stove.”
Van Wall nodded. “I smelled it, if you remember. I knew the knife came from the galley.”
“I wonder,” said Benning, looking around at the party warily, “how many more monsters have we? If somebody could slip out of his place, go back of the screen to the galley and then down to the Cosmos House and back he did come back, didn’t he? Yes everybody’s here. Well, if one of the gang could do all that — ”
“Maybe a monster did it,” Garry suggested quietly. “There’s that possibility.”
“The monster, as you pointed out today, has only men left to imitate. Would he decrease his — supply, shall we say?” Van Wall pointed out. “No, we just have a plain, ordinary louse, a murderer to deal with. Ordinarily we’d call him an ’inhuman murderer’ I suppose, but we have to distinguish now. We have inhuman murderers, and now we have human murderers. Or one at least.”
“There’s one less human,” Norris said softly. “Maybe the monsters have the balance of power now.”
“Never mind that,” McReady sighed and turned to Barclay. “Bar, will you get your electric gadget? I’m going to make certain — ”
Barclay turned down the corridor to get the pronged electrocuter, while McReady and Van Wall went back toward Cosmos House. Barclay followed them in some thirty seconds.
The corridor to Cosmos House twisted, as did nearly all corridors in Big Magnet, and Norris stood at the entrance again. But they heard, rather muffled McReady’s sudden shout. There was a savage scurry of blows, dull chthunk, shluff sounds. “Bar — Bar —” And a curious, savage mewing scream, silenced before even quick-moving Norris had reached the bend.
Kinner — or what had been Kinner — lay on the floor; cut half in two by the great knife McReady had had. The meteorologist stood against the wall, the knife dripping red in his hand. Van Wall was stirring vaguely on the floor, moaning, his hand half-consciously rubbing at his jaw. Barclay an unutterably savage gleam in his eyes, was methodically leaning on the pronged weapon in his hand, jabbing, jabbing.
Kinner’s arms had developed a queer, scaly fur, and the flesh had twisted. The fingers had shortened, the hand rounded, the fingernails become three-inch long things of dull red horn, keened to steel-hard razor-sharp talons.
McReady raised his head, looked at the knife in his hand and dropped it. “Well, whoever did it can speak up now. He was an inhuman murderer at that — in that he murdered an inhuman. I swear by all that’s holy, Kinner was a lifeless corpse on the floor here when we arrived. But when it found we were going to jab it with the power — it changed.”

NORRIS stared unsteadily. “Oh. Lord, those things can act. Ye gods — sitting in here for hours, mouthing prayers to a God it hated! Shouting hymns in a cracked voice — hymns about a Church it never knew. Driving us mad with its ceaseless howling —
“Well. Speak up, whoever did it, You didn’t know it, but you did the camp a favor. And I want to know how in blazes you got out of that room without anyone seeing you. It might help in guarding ourselves.”
“His screaming — his singing. Even the sound projector couldn’t drown it.” Clark shivered. “It was a monster.”
“Oh,” said Van Wall in sudden comprehension. “You were sitting right next to the door, weren’t you! And almost behind the projection screen already.”
Clark nodded dumbly. “He — it’s quiet now. It’s a dead — Mac, your test’s no damn good. It was dead anyway, monster or man, it was dead.”
McReady chuckled softly. “Boys, meet Clark, the only one we know is human! Meet Clark, the one who proves he’s human by trying to commit murder—and failing. Will the rest of you please refrain from trying to prove you’re human for a while? I think we may have another test.”
“A test!” Connant snapped joyfully, then his face sagged in disappointment. “I suppose it’s another either-way-you-want-it.”
“No,” said McReady steadily. “Look sharp and be careful. Come into the Ad Building. Barclay, bring your electrocuter. And somebody — Dutton — stand with Barclay to make sure he does it. Watch every neighbor, for by the Hell these monsters come from, I’ve got something, and they know it. They’re going to get dangerous!”
The group tensed abruptly. An air of crushing menace entered into every man’s body, sharply they looked at each other. More keenly than ever before — is that man next to me an inhuman monster?
“What is it?” Garry asked, as they stood again in the main room. “How long will it take?”
“I don’t know exactly,” said McReady, his voice brittle with angry determination. “But I know it will work, and no two ways about it. It depends on a basic quality of the monsters, not on us. ’Kinner’ just convinced me.” He stood heavy and solid in bronzed immobility, completely sure of himself again at last.
“This,” said Barclay, hefting the wooden-handled weapon, tipped with its two sharp-pointed, charged conductors, “is going to be rather necessary, I take it. Is the power plant assured?”
Dutton nodded sharply. “The automatic stoker bin is full. The gas power plant is on standby. Van Wall and I set it for the movie operation and we’ve checked it over rather carefully several times, you know. Anything those wires touch, dies,” he assured them grimly “I know that.”
Dr. Copper stirred vaguely in his bunk, rubbed his eyes with fumbling hand. He sat up slowly, blinked his eyes blurred with sleep and drugs, widened with an unutterable horror of drug-ridden nightmares. “Garry,” he mumbled, “Garry — listen. Selfish—from hell they came, and hellish shellfish — I mean self — Do I? What do I mean?” he sank back in his bunk, and snored softly.

McREADY looked at him thoughtfully. “We’ll know presently,” he nodded slowly. “But selfish is what you mean all right. You may have thought of that, half-sleeping, dreaming there. I didn’t stop to think what dreams you might be having. But that’s all right. Selfish is the word. They must be, you see.” He turned to the men in the cabin, tense, silent men staring with wolfish eyes each at his neighbor. Selfish, and as Dr. Copper said— every part is a whole. Every piece is self-sufficient, an animal in itself.
“That, and one other thing, tell the story. There’s nothing mysterious about blood; it’s just as normal a body tissue as a piece of muscle, or a piece of liver. But it hasn’t so much connective tissue, though it has millions, billions of life-cells”
McReady’s great bronze beard ruffled in a grim smile. “This is satisfying, in a way. I’m pretty sure we humans still outnumber you — others. Others standing here. And we have what you, your otherworld race, evidently doesn’t. Not an imitated, but a bred-in-the-bone instinct, a driving, unquenchable fire that’s genuine. We’ll fight, fight with a ferocity you may attempt to imitate, but you’ll never equal! We’re human. We’re real. You’re imitations, false to the core of your every cell.
“All right. It’s a showdown now. You know. You, with your mind reading. You’ve lifted the idea from my brain. You can’t do a thing about it.
“Standing here —
“Let it pass. Blood is tissue. They have to bleed, if they don’t bleed when cut, then, by Heaven, they’re phony! Phony from hell! If they bleed — then that blood, separated from them, is an individual — a newly formed individual in its own right, just as they, split, all of them, from one original, are individuals!
“Get it, Van? See the answer, Bar?”
Van Wall laughed very softly. “The blood — the blood will not obey. It’s a new individual, with all the desire to protect its own life that the original — the main mass from which it was split — has. The blood will live — and try to crawl away from a hot needle, say!”
McReady picked up the scalpel from the table. From the cabinet, he took a rack of test-tubes, a tiny alcohol lamp, and a length of platinum wire set in a little glass rod. A smile of grim satisfaction rode his lips. For a moment he glanced up at those around him. Barclay and Dutton moved toward him slowly, the wooden-handled electric instrument alert.
“Dutton,” said McReady,” suppose you stand over by the splice there where you’ve connected that in. Just make sure no—thing pulls it loose.”
Dutton moved away. “Now, Van, suppose you be first on this.”
White-faced, Van Wall stepped forward. With a delicate precision, McReady cut a vein in the base of his thumb. Van Wall winced slightly, then held steady as a half inch of bright blood collected in the tube. McReady put the tube in the rack, gave Van Wall a bit of alum, and indicated the iodine bottle.
Van Wall stood motionlessly watching. McReady heated the platinum wire in the alcohol lamp flame, then dipped it into the tube. it hissed softly. Five times he repeated the test. “Human, I’d say.” McReady sighed, and straightened. “As yet, my theory hasn’t been actually proven — but I have hopes. I have hopes.
“Don’t, by the way, get too interested in this. We have with us some unwelcome ones, no doubt, Van, will you relieve Barclay at the switch? Thanks. O.K., Barclay, and may I say I hope you stay with us? You’re a damned good guy.”
Barclay grinned uncertainly; winced under the keen edge of the scalpel. Presently, smiling widely, he retrieved his long-handled weapon.
“Mr. Samuel Dutt — Bar!”

THE TENSITY was released in that second. Whatever of hell the monsters may have had within them, the men in that instant matched it. Barclay had no chance to move his weapon as a score of men poured down on that thing that had seemed Dutton. It mewed, and spat, and tried to grow fangs — and was a hundred broken, torn pieces. Without knives, or any weapon save the brute given strength of a staff of picked men, the thing was crushed, rent.
Slowly they picked themselves up, their eyes smoldering, very quiet in their emotions. A curious wrinkling of their lips betrayed a species of nervousness.
Barclay went over with the electric weapon. Things smoldered and stank. The caustic acid Van Wall dropped on each spilled drop of blood gave off tickling, cough-provoking fumes.
McReady grinned, his deep-set eyes alight and dancing. “Maybe,” he said softly,. “I underrated man’s abilities when I said nothing human could have the ferocity in the eyes of that thing we found. I wish we could have the opportunity to treat in a more befitting manner these things. Something with boiling oil, or melted lead in it, or maybe slow roasting in the power boiler. When I think what a man Dutton was —
“Never mind. My theory is confirmed by — by one who knew? Well, Van Wall and Barclay are proven. I think, then, that I’ll try to show you what I already know. That I too am human.” McReady swished the scalpel in absolute alcohol, burned it off the metal blade, and cut the base of his thumb expertly.
Twenty seconds later he looked up from the desk at the waiting men. There were more grins out there now, friendly grins, yet withal, something else in the eyes.
“Connant,” McReady laughed softly, “was right. The huskies watching that thing in the corridor bend had nothing on you. Wonder why we think only the wolf blood has the right to ferocity? Maybe on spontaneous viciousness a wolf takes tops, but after these seven days — abandon all hope, ye wolves who enter here!
“Maybe we can save time. Connant, would you step for— ”
Again Barclay was too slow. There were more grins, less tensity still, when Barclay and Van Wall finished their work.
Garry spoke in a low, bitter voice. “Connant was one of the finest men we had here — and five minutes ago I’d have sworn he was a man. Those damnable things are more than imitation.” Garry shuddered and sat back in his bunk.
And thirty seconds later, Garry’s blood shrank from the hot platinum wire, and struggled to escape the tube, struggled as frantically as a suddenly feral, red-eyed, dissolving imitation of Garry struggled to dodge the snake-tongue weapon Barclay advanced at him, white faced and sweating. The Thing in the test-tube screamed with a tin, tinny voice as McReady dropped it into the glowing coal of the galley stove.

CHAPTER XII

“THE LAST OF IT?” Dr. Copper looked down from his bunk with bloodshot, saddened eyes. “Fourteen of them — ”
McReady nodded shortly. “In some ways if only we could have permanently prevented their spreading — I’d like to have even the imitations back. Commander Garry — Connant — Dutton — Clark —”
“Where are they taking those things?” Copper nodded to the stretcher Barclay and Norris were carrying out.
“Outside. Outside on the ice, where they’ve got fifteen smashed crates, half a ton of coal, and presently will add ten gallons of kerosene. We’ve dumped acid on every spilled drop, every torn fragment. We’re going to incinerate those.”
“Sounds like a good plan.” Copper nodded wearily. “I wonder, you haven’t said whether Blair —”
McReady started. “We forgot him! We had so much else! I wonder — do you suppose we can cure him now?
“If— ” began Dr. Copper, and stopped meaningly.
McReady started a second time. “Even a madman. It imitated Kinner and his praying hysteria —” McReady turned toward Van Wall at the long table. “Van, we’ve got to make an expedition to Blair’s shack.”
Van looked up sharply, the frown of worry faded for an instant in surprised remembrance. Then he rose, nodded. “Barclay better go along. He applied the lashings, and may figure how to get in without frightening Blair too much.”
Three quarters of an hour, through -37 cold, while the Aurora curtain bellied overhead. The twilight was nearly 12 hours long, flaming in the north on snow like white, crystalline sand under their skis. A 5mile wind piled it in drift-lines pointing off to the northwest. Three quarters of an hour to reach the snow-buried shack. No smoke came from the little shack, and the men hastened.
“Blair!” Barclay roared into the wind when he was still a hundred yards away. “Blair!”
“Shut up,” said McReady softly. “And hurry. He may be trying a long hike. If we have to go after him —no planes, the tractors disabled —”
“Would a monster have the stamina a man has?”
“A broken leg wouldn’t stop it for more than a minute,” McReady pointed out.

BARCLAY gasped suddenly and pointed aloft. Dim in the twilit sky, a winged thing circled in curves of indescribable grace and ease. Great white wings tipped gently, and the bird swept over them in silent curiosity. “Albatross ” Barclay said softly. “First of the season, and wandering way inland for some reason. If a monster’s loose— ”
Norris bent down on the ice, and tore hurriedly at his heavy, windproof clothing. He straightened, his coat flapping open, a grim blue-metaled weapon in his hand. It roared a challenge to the white silence of Antarctica.
The thing in the air screamed hoarsely. Its great wings worked frantically as a dozen feathers floated down from its tail. Norris fired again. The bird was moving swiftly now, but in an almost straight line of retreat. It screamed again, more feathers dropped and with beating wings it soared behind a ridge of pressure ice, to vanish.
Norris hurried after the others. “It won’t come back,” he panted.
Barclay cautioned him to silence, pointing. A curiously, fiercely blue light beat out from the cracks of the shack’s door. A very low, soft humming sounded inside, a low, soft humming and a clink and clank of tools, the very sounds somehow bearing a message of frantic haste.
McReady’s face paled. “Lord help us if that thing has —” He grabbed Barclay’s shoulder, and made snipping motions with his fingers, pointing toward the lacing of control-cables that held the door.
Barclay drew the wire-cutters from his pocket, and kneeled soundlessly at the door. The snap and twang of cut wires made an unbearable racket in the utter quiet of the Antarctic hush. There was only that strange, sweetly soft hum from within the shack, and the queerly, hectically clipped clicking and rattling of tools to drown their noises.
McReady peered through a crack in the door. His breath sucked in huskily and his great fingers clamped cruelly on Barclay’s shoulder. The meteorologist backed down. “It isn’t,” he explained very softly, “Blair. It’s kneeling on something on the bunk—something that keeps lifting. Whatever it’s working on is a thing like a knapsack — and it lifts.”
“All at once,” Barclay said grimly. “No Norris, hang back, and get that iron of yours out. It may have — weapons.”
Together, Barclay’s powerful body and McReady’s giant strength struck the door. Inside, the bunk jammed against the door screeched madly and crackled into kindling. The door flung down from broken hinges, the patched lumber of the doorpost dropping inward.
Like a blue-rubber ball, a Thing bounced up. One of its four tentacle-like arms looped out like a striking snake. In a seven-tentacled hand a six-inch pencil of winking, shining metal glinted and swung upward to face them. Its line-thin lips twitched back from snake-fangs in a grin of hate, red eyes blazing.
Norris’ revolver thundered in the confined space. The hate-washed face twitched in agony, the looping tentacle snatched back. The silvery thing in its hand a smashed ruin of metal, the seven tentacled hand became a mass of mangled flesh oozing greenish-yellow ichor. The revolver thundered three times more. Dark holes drilled each of the three eyes before Norris hurled the empty weapon against its face.

THE THING screamed a feral hate, a lashing tentacle wiping at blinded eyes. For a moment it crawled on the floor, savage tentacles lashing out, the body twitching. Then it staggered up again, blinded eyes working, boiling hideously, the crushed flesh sloughing away in sodden gobbets.
Barclay lurched to his feet and dove forward with an ice-ax. The flat of the weighty thing crushed against the side of the head. Again the unkillable monster went down. The tentacles lashed out, and suddenly Barclay fell to his feet in the grip of a living, livid rope. The thing dissolved as he held it, a white-hot band that ate into the flesh of his hands like living fire. Frantically he tore the stuff from him, held his hands where they could not be reached. The blind Thing felt and ripped at the tough; heavy, windproof cloth, seeking flesh — flesh it could convert —
The huge blow-torch McReady had brought coughed solemnly. Abruptly it rumbled disapproval throatily. Then it laughed gurglingly, and thrust out a blue-white, three-foot tongue. The Thing on the floor shrieked, flailed out blindly with tentacles that writhed and withered in the bubbling wrath of the blow-torch. It crawled and turned on the floor, it shrieked and hobbled madly, but always McReady held the blow-torch on the face, the dead eyes burning and bubbling uselessly. Frantically the Thing crawled and howled.
A tentacle sprouted a savage talon — and crisped in the flame. Steadily McReady moved with a planned, grim campaign. Helpless, maddened, the Thing retreated from the grunting torch, the caressing, licking tongue. For a moment it rebelled, squalling in inhuman hatred at the touch of icy snow. Then it fell back before the charring breath of the torch, the stench of its flesh bathing it. Hopelessly it retreated — on and on across the Antarctic snow, The bitter wind swept over it twisting the torch-tongue; vainly it flopped, a trail of oily, stinking smoke bubbling away from it—
McReady walked back toward the shack silently. Barclay met him at the door. “No more?” the giant meteorologist asked grimly.
Barclay shook his head. “No more. It didn’t split?”
“It had other things to think about,” McReady assured him. “When I left it, it was a glowing coal. What was it doing?”
Norris laughed shortly. “Wise boys, we are. Smash magnetos, so planes won’t work. Rip the boiler tubing’ out of the tractors. And leave that Thing alone for a week in this shack. Alone and undisturbed.”
McReady looked in at the shack more carefully. The air, despite the ripped door, was hot and humid. On a table at the far end of the room rested a thing of coiled wires and small magnets, glass tubing and radio tubes. At the center a block of rough stone rested. From the center of the block came the light that flooded the place, the fiercely blue light bluer than the glare of an electric arc, and from it came the sweetly soft hum. Off to one side was another mechanism of crystal glass, blown with an incredible neatness and delicacy, metal plates and a queer, shimmery sphere of insubstantiality.
“What is that?” McReady moved nearer.

NORRIS grunted. “Leave it for investigation. But I can guess pretty well. That’s atomic power. That stuff to the left — that’s a neat little thing for doing what men have been trying to do with 100ton cyclotrons and so forth. It separates neutrons from heavy water, which he was getting from the surrounding ice.”
“Where did he get all — oh. Of course, A monster couldn’t be locked in — or out. He’s been through the apparatus caches.” McReady stared at the apparatus. “Lord, what minds that race must have —”
“The shimmery sphere I think it’s a sphere of pure force. Neutrons can pass through any matter, and he wanted a supply reservoir of neutrons. Just project neutrons against silica — calcium — beryllium— almost anything, and the atomic energy is released. That thing is the atomic generator.”
McReady plucked a thermometer from his coat. “It’s 120 in here, despite the open door. Our clothes have kept the heat out to an extent, but I’m sweating now.”
Norris nodded. “The light’s cold. I found that. But it gives off heat to warm the place through that coil. He had all the power in the world. He could keep it warm and pleasant, as his race thought of warmth and pleasantness. Did you notice the light, the color of it?”
McReady nodded. “Beyond the stars is the answer. From beyond the stars. From a hotter planet that circled a brighter, bluer sun they came.”
McReady glanced out the door toward the blasted, smoke-stained trail that flopped and wandered blindly off across the drift. “There won’t be any more coming, I guess. Sheer accident it landed here, and that was twenty million years ago. What did it do all that for?” he nodded toward the apparatus.
Barclay laughed softly. “Did you notice what it was working on when we came? Look.” He pointed toward the ceiling of the shack.
Like a knapsack made of flattened coffee-tins, with dangling cloth straps and leather belts, the mechanism clung to the ceiling. A tiny, glaring heart of supernal flame burned in it, yet burned through the ceiling’s wood without scorching it. Barclay walked over to it, grasped two of the dangling straps in his hands, and pulled it down with an effort. He strapped it about his body. A slight jump carried him in a weirdly slow arc across the room.
“Anti-gravity,” said McReady softly.
“Anti-gravity,” Norris nodded. “Yes, we had ’em stopped, with no planes, and no birds. The birds hadn’t come but they had coffee-tins and radio parts, and glass and the machine shop at night. And a week — a whole week — all to itself. America in a single jump — with anti-gravity powered by the atomic energy of matter.

“We had ’em stopped, Another half hour — it was just tightening these straps on the device so it could wear it — and we’d have stayed in Antarctica, and shot down any moving thing that came from, the rest of the world.”
“The albatross— ” McReady said softly. “Do you suppose— ”
“With this thing almost finished? With that death weapon it held in its hand?
“No, by the grace of God, who evidently does hear very well, even down here, and the margin of half an hour, we keep our world, and the planets of the system too. Anti-gravity, you know, and atomic power. Because They came from another sun, a star beyond the stars. They came from a world with a bluer sun.”

The End

Ghost People Video

This is my video on “Ghost People” (on the MWI). I unlocked it out of Patreon for the MM group to learn from, and (possibly) enjoy.

Take care.

Walking though the clutter of a collapsing society

Yes. The USA has gone full-metal Mental Hospital City…

Can anybody else feel something in the air? A radical change overnight in the psychic barometric pressure? There’s a hurricane of crazy coming — and landfall is imminent.

Or is it just me?

The seismic ramifications of the V For Vendetta-laced optics and poison verbiage of the Biden speech a night ago continue to reverberate and gain exponential staying power in the mass collective.

Twitter became an echo chamber of whoop ass over it.

If Trump was a loose cannon, then this was a full-on, 21 gun salute of unhinged rampant and dangerous dementia.

Jesus. H. Christ.

Dementia paired with a fascist ideology running at full gallop. And it’s very hard not to see this as maliciously deliberate.

First, the visuals…

What the Fuck? What were they thinking?

It’s a cross between Hitler, Darth Vader, Hannibal Lecter, with a bit of Chucky thrown in for color.

It’s a real life, science-fiction depiction of Nazi Zombies coming to power.

All at those levels employ herds of optics and PR pros to meticulously select every visual and camera angle knowing exactly what they’re trying to get across covering every mindset and personality profile.

They chose what they chose for a reason.

To provoke, To incite.

They cover this kind of ground to the point of making someone like Kubrick look like a beginner.

There is ZERO chance this wasn’t entirely deliberate.

Think about that.

It’s obvious.

…

It’s really like “they” want a domestic war. Just like they want a Russia war, and a China war…

War.

WAR!

What is the problem with these people?

And where to begin with the rhetoric?

When you call out basically half the country as being domestic terrorists and imply that they will be dealt with accordingly, what do you think is going to happen?

Exactly what you want to happen — a situation you are plotting and planning for.

Other than the obvious V For Vendetta, guess what was trending on twitter all day long?

#pedohitler.

A fantastic breakdown from the ever on-point JP right here: You-Tube Video HERE
And Paul Joseph Watson here: A previously banned video HERE

Spoiler alert: be not in the slightest surprised if another Reichstag fire event happens in the very near future.

One that will be rigged and engineered, steered and plotted, by the left to be blamed on the MAGA forces.

And one geared so that a full spectrum stranglehold can be ushered in. And I’m not the only one thinking so: Article Thread HERE

The only good thing about all this is in the saying so.

You would think.

I mean, the more word gets out that there is historical precedent, that this is a more than distinct possibility — the less likely it is to actually happen. Opening your mouth, calling their bluff, can stop a lot of things.

But, will it stop this train wreck during this catastrophic collapse of the mental-ward idiocy? One can only wish.

War on source of the vast bulk of natural resources – Russia.
War on the global manufacturing base – China.
War on the sole remaining brake on American totalitarianism – MAGA.

Hey, I’ve been using stills and screenshots from V For Vendetta for years now (at least since the Epstein arrest as I recall) to go along with the message that we are the majority, we’re actually in charge and the dominos are falling just as they should.

However, I know full well that these waters might be tougher to navigate without superhero revolutionaries being a real thing…

Maybe it could be that some Americans (and maybe even a handful of Europeans) have strengths no one even realizes…

Ah. powers yet to be revealed that may even verge on the paranormal, quantumly entangled and expressed, ready for just the right time to show themselves.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

Perhaps.

And things like this actually give me hope: Article thread HERE

They want to kill us all but everyone is so damned stupid they might perhaps possibly accomplish it. I just cannot believe.

Some people says that this is the answer. They say that the country needs right now, is this: This twitter thread

And this: Another twitter thread

In MM’s “heyday” when I still lived in the ‘States, and I still believed, I though that there would be a day of reckoning. I would argue that American needs 40+ more GOVERNORS like these 2 avid twitter repeaters.

Nobody at the Fed level needed. Don’t you know.

This is the design of our brilliant, beautiful Constitution that they have no answer for. EVERYTHING can be controlled at the State level. It’s the way it was designed: the government answers to the States, not the other way around.

But that was then.

I’m jaded now.

I’m a pragmatic realist. No longer a dreamer. No longer a believer. It’s called the hard-slap of reality, travel, and exposure outside of the prison complex known as the United States…

… where all the inmates shout how “free” they are.

Are you free? Look at who you elected with your “democracy”! How does that tasty “democracy” taste now? And don’t give me that the system was just corrupted. It wasn’t.

History warns, has warned, and was repeated in the Federalist Papers that all “democracies” become oligarchies, then military empires, and then they die a long painful death.

How’s those death throes kicking in for ya?

Meanwhile, the wolf is at the door in other aspects also: Article HERE (I think we should be looking at Exhibit No.1 in the case against.)

With a rather huge sidebar: Down the Rabbit Hole

It’s so easy to get sidetracked. STOP.

FULL STOP.

Whoa.

Does it affect you? How, then?

What can you do?

Not much. So people, you either [1] pick up the torches and pitchforks or [2] you sit there and wait for the knock on your door.

It will not be televised.

It will not be reported.

It will happen with zero coverage, and any citizen bloggers posting anything will disappear from the Internet.

You won’t know what is going on until you are sitting deep down in the pile of shit.

There is a third option, of course. [3] You can flee. You can “pull a MM”. If you act quickly, you can avoid being a refugee, but don’t wait too long.

You are already electronically branded whether you are aware of it or not.

This will be the everlasting image of the failed, chaotic, treacherous Biden Administration. But always remember, it is emblematic of far worse. FAR worse. And nothing happens without the groundwork. Research and destroy. Because the weather forecast? Dark skies.

Let’s cover these subjects and more.

MM style.

Throws off the trolls, the agencies, and the swam ‘bots, don’t you know.

Let’s talk about food.

How to Make Chicago Style Deep Dish Pizza – Recipe

A personal favorite.

What was the most thoughtful thing you did for someone else?

I got a long distance phone call in the middle of the night, from a friend in another country.

He had Intel that one of his close friends who was here in Thailand had been abducted, needed help, and I was the only one he trusted to do the job right. He could not front me any money or gear.

I asked him if she was worth the risk. He said “absolutely.”

I gathered what resources and friends I had here, and helped that woman in trouble escape her captors, get to the airport, and leave the country a few days later. She was pretty sharp. She had used a smart technique to get a message out to my friend.

This was my secret smile, at dinner that day, because everything went smooth, no casualties. Lucky.

Will China ever eliminate the “Great Firewall of China” and allow everyone equal, uncensored access to the Internet?

From Quora…

My question is why on earth would people who are anti-China want the Great Firewall torn down at all.

I have a bit of a “wumao” reputation on this site. You can see why if you checked out my Quora profile. That said, whenever I write something, I back it up with logical arguments and evidence. I don’t always do a good job at it, but I always try to.

But if you think I’m too toxic or controversial for you, if I’m making you uncomfortable, then wait till you face the onslaught of tech-savvy young Chinese people who are going to flood every comment section and social media page when the Great Firewall comes down. They will be exposing you to completely unfamiliar ideas and ways of thinking, hysterically insulting your mother, arguing with everyone about everything, spamming “NMSL

”, and hijacking threads and conversations, mostly through incoherent sentences written in broken and unintelligible English.

Not all of them have an education level of above middle school. Some of them are barely literate or mentally sound, but all of them have an axe to grind with the west, and they will outnumber you 10 to 1.

Are you sure your puny mind can handle all this?

Let’s talk about why the Great Firewall existed in the first place.

Western countries, primarily the USA, pretty much own the internet because of massive capital behind their media, and the sheer quantity of information

The former is why American companies like Facebook and Google have a monopoly on various aspects of the internet around the world. Wanna make friends? Facebook. Wanna watch a video? YouTube. Wanna google something? Yahoo.

The latter is why American pop culture is seen as “default” in much of the world, including online. Meme culture is predominantly American. The most popular and readily available versions of anything tend to be in English, specifically American English. “Universal values

”are pretty much just popular American liberal values.

Basically, THIS.

It’s hard to live inside someone else’s culture war.

https://www.theatlantic.com/international/archive/2020/10/internet-world-trapped-americas-culture-war/616799/

America’s control over the internet, and the narrative, is absolute. Any country that relies on American social media is taking a mighty big risk of having their government toppled due to populist sentiments, which is easily manipulated through social media – Twitter for example played a major role in the Arab Spring

Considering the size of the population in China, and the fact that it is nuclear-armed, the same Twitter-fueled colour revolution in the country would likely result in catastrophe for the whole world.

By all means, reduce the authority of the Chinese government, or go ahead and overthrow it like in The Interview, and create a power vaccum. A new question arises – what should we replace it with? Oligarchy, as in Russia after the collapse of the Soviet Union? Anarchy and then theocracy, like Libya after Qaddafi got iced? Or maybe some foreign power should step in, and give us all the freedom, respect and human rights we deserve? If the only solutions you have are all worse than the problem itself, don’t try to solve it. Not until you can come up with something better and more practical, at least.

This is where the Great Firewall proves its necessity. It prevented the lowest-educated members of the Chinese population from being riled up like Trump supporters at Capitol Hill.

You see, the wall itself was designed to be extremely easy to climb over, so long as you possess at least some knowledge of technology and English, which are both required to use VPNs and navigate the American-owned internet. It’s kind of like a filter rather than strict censorship in this sense. If you’re smart enough to work your way around the Great Firewall, you’re probably also smart enough to see through the bullshit out there.

More importantly, the wall basically prevented American corporations from extending their monopolies to China, allowing for local social media and tech companies to develop and thrive to such an extent, that China is actually able to export social media to the west (e.g. TikTok). Name me another country, preferably a developing one, that is capable of doing that.

By preventing Chinese cyberspaces to be overwhelmed by the sheer quantity of US-centric information and net traffic, it allowed for the Chinese people to cultivate their own unique online cultures and identities. The Chinese will never get used to the idea of learning about their own country through a foreign social media or news site, which is exactly what billions of people do around the world on a daily basis – in much of the developing world, the word “Facebook” is used in lieu of the word “internet”

Because of all this, the information quantity on Chinese cyberspaces is beginning to reach a volume so high that, should the Great Firewall ever be removed, it would drown out western cyberspaces like a bursting dam.

The question at that point wouldn’t be about Chinese citizens overthrowing the CCP after seeing pictures of the Tiananmen Square incident, but whether western cyberspaces are going to have to region-lock Chinese users, and whether it would be necessary for the American military-industrial complex to build a Great Firewall of their own, just to keep their own people in their designated echo chambers.

Start thinking about these questions now, because that day will come. Probably sooner than you think.

It’s really funny just to think about how the tables are beginning to turn. We thought we were building The Wall to keep out the White Walkers, only to find out The Wall was there to protect the White Walkers from millions of Stannis Baratheons.

The Failure of Bidenomics, Part VII

September 3, 2022 by Dan Mitchell

Let’s revisit the issues of Bidenomics.

Previous editions of this series have focused on Biden’s dismal record with regards to subsidies, inflation, protectionism, household income, fiscal policy, and red tape.

The assessment has not been positive, which shouldn’t be very surprising since Biden is basically a slow-motion version of Bernie Sanders.

Today, we’re going to look at Biden’s record on jobs…and that’s not going to improve the assessment.

The problem is employment rather than unemployment.

In a column for the Wall Street Journal, Nicholas Eberstadt writes about the millions of Americans who have disappeared from the labor force.

Never has work been so readily available in modern America; never have so many been uninterested in taking it. 

…For every unemployed person in the U.S. today, there are nearly two open jobs, and the labor shortage affects every region of the country. 

…Why the bizarre imbalance between the demand for work and the supply of it? 

One critical piece of the puzzle was the policy response to the pandemic. …Washington pulled out all the monetary and fiscal stops….created disincentives for work as never before. 

…In 2020 and 2021, a windfall of more than $2.5 trillion in extra savings was bestowed by Washington on private households through borrowed public funds. 

…With pre-Covid rates of workforce participation, almost three million more men and women would be in our labor force today.

To be fair, bad pandemic policies began with Trump.

But Biden promised changes yet has delivered more of the same.

Why does this matter?

It’s not just a numbers issue. When people drop out of the labor force, that translates into a weakening of America’s societal capital.

Mr. Eberstadt explains.

The signs that growing numbers of citizens are ambivalent about working shouldn’t be ignored. Success through work, no matter one’s station, is a key to self-esteem, independence and belonging. A can-do, pro-work ethos has served our nation well. America’s future will depend in no small part on how—and whether—her people choose to work.

Thanks to a stronger work ethic and spirit of self reliance, the United States historically has had an advantage over other nations.

But it’s increasingly difficult to feel optimistic about the long-run outlook for America’s societal capital.

Ironically, Joe Biden seemed to understand this in the not-too-distant past.

The next shoe to drop: “Gun control” now wants to know and control what’s in your wallet

Posted by: LET Guest|September 3, 2022 |Featured, NSSF

.

Gun control groups are reviving their effort to not just get inside America’s gun safes but meddle in credit card purchases.

Giffords, the gun control group founded by former U.S. Rep. Gabby Giffords (D-Ariz.), and GunsDownAmerica, an activist gun control group with links to far-left Washington, D.C., think tanks, are supporting an effort to have credit card companies create special purchasing codes for firearms and ammunition.

The idea is that credit card companies would monitor individual purchases by law-abiding citizens and if they seem to out of the norm, those purchases would be reported to law enforcement for investigation.

GunsDownAmerica wants credit card companies to stop categorizing firearm and ammunition purchases as “sporting goods” and create a new code.

That’s also a position that’s being pushed by several New York state lawmakers and Amalgamated Bank, a union-owned bank that’s also helped finance the Democratic National Committee and Political Action Committees including Biden-Harris Democrats, Ready for Hillary (which is Hillary Clinton’s Super PAC), U.S. Sen Elizabeth Warren’s (D-Ma.) Warren Democrats and U.S. Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi’s (D-Calif) PAC.

Corporate Big Brother

Amalgamated Bank bills itself as a “socially-responsible” bank that’s got over $7.7 billion in assets and nearly $59 billion under management, much of which is tied to union pension funds.

When the bank isn’t financing left-wing causes including Occupy Wall Street, it uses the market capital to muscle through liberal policies including climate activism, labor practices and fighting excessive executive salaries, despite the fact that the President and CEO Priscilla Sims Brown rakes in $3.8 million in income.

Sims Brown is the same person who took to the airwaves to push the idea of tracking credit card-based gun and ammunition purchases.

Amalgamated Bank sent a request to create the special Merchant Category Codes (MCC) to the International Organization for Standardization in 2021.

That request and an appeal were rejected. Another request was made this year and a decision is pending.

This idea is coming from a bank that refuses business with any in the firearm industry.

Amalgamated Bank’s idea is that bureaucratic businesses would not just monitor who exercises their Constitutionally-protected Second Amendment rights, but also how much and how often an individual chooses to do so.

They bill it as a way to help law enforcement identify individuals who might commit horrific atrocities and intervene before they do.

Beyond the Law

What it really is is privatized gun control that runs roughshod over rights and the law. The 1986 Firearm Owners Protection Act forbids the federal government from maintaining a gun registry.

Banks are already required to report suspicious activity under the 1970 Banking Secrecy Act and expanded with the Patriot Act. This idea, though, would put that into private hands, building a registry one purchase at a time.

The basis for suspicious activity would simply be exercising the pre-existing right to keep and bear arms, which is expressly protected by the Constitution.

New York state lawmakers are interested in the idea. Over four dozen anti gun lawmakers signed a letter to credit card companies MasterCard and American Express urging them to adopt unique MCCs for firearms and ammunition.

Currently, they are listed as “specialty retailers” or “sporting goods.” The problem is that guns are purchased for sporting use. Some are purchased for self-defense.

Many firearms are used for multiple purposes – including self-defense, recreational shooting sports and hunting.

Rejected Before

This idea isn’t new. A public pressure campaign was attempted in 2018. New York Times columnist Andrew Ross Sorkin floated the same notion in February and December of 2018.

Visa and MasterCard both rejected the proposals then, adding that monitoring and arbitrating the private purchases of their customers “sets a dangerous precedent.”

Visa told Breitbart in 2018, “We do not believe Visa should be in the position of setting restrictions on the sale of lawful goods and services.”

The idea that capturing credit card purchase data to assist law enforcement isn’t the answer. Dumping data on law enforcement of law-abiding citizens only creates an information morass.

It is garbage data when law enforcement has already missed bona fide tips that would have prevented these tragedies. The FBI admitted it missed taking action on two tips before the tragedy in Parkland, Fla.

The murderer in Buffalo, N.Y., was brought in by state police after making threats, yet authorities there took no action even after his own family took away his firearms. The murderer in Uvalde, Texas, posted threats against schools and fellow classmates, yet none were reported to police.

And, the murderer in Highland Park was on the radar of law enforcement, yet the local police did not share the information with the Illinois State Police.

This idea isn’t about improving public safety. This proposal is about freezing gun purchases and getting corporate entities to skirt federal laws. This is nothing short of swiping the ability to legally buy guns.

President Biden reminds me of Zombie Nazi’s

No shit. Look at what he (et al) created in Ukraine.

Reyes: We’re facing the collapse of law enforcement in America. It will lead to the end of our country as we know it.

Editor’s note: In what has become something of an annual tradition (sadly), Law Enforcement Today writes about the challenges facing not only law enforcement, but our country in general.

These articles have proven to be among the most popular we post. When we started this series, we thought things were pretty bad. However, since January 20, 2021 – things have gotten much, much worse.

In 2020 during the run up to the November election, we tried to warn people what our country was up against, and what the Democrats had in mind. Sadly, but not surprisingly, we have found ourselves to be right.

Law Enforcement Today is written primarily for law enforcement officers and those who support law enforcement. However, our audience has expanded to include those who support our military, our Constitution and all the liberty and freedom it guarantees and are God-fearing patriotic Americans.

A lot of our readers ask how you can get involved. With that in mind, we invite you to prayerfully consider our membership program—LET Unity. The proceeds raised from that program are used to reinvest into capturing more stories about the heroes who protect us at home on our law enforcement agencies, and those who protect us abroad in the United States military.

The majority of our content producers for Law Enforcement Today are active, retired or wounded law enforcement officers. The revenue we make helps provide for their families and helps bring a TRUE voice about what’s happening in America.

For the rest of you… simply keep following, keep reading, and keep sharing. Especially sharing…the more people who read these stories, the better it is for our law enforcement and military brethren.

—

I, [name], do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. So, help me God.

On July 4, 1776, a group of patriots decided they had suffered enough at the hands of the British monarchy. On that date, at tremendous risk of their own personal safety and more so their very lives, they put quill to paper and signed the greatest document ever forged. A document that gave birth to the greatest country ever to grace the face of the earth—the United States of America.

Yet here we are, 245 years nearly to the day that document was signed, and we find our country at a crossroads. When you look at all the great dynasties in the history of the world, all of them eventually collapsed. The Roman Empire…the British Empire…they number many.

Mortality.

It’s something that you don’t really consider when you’re young. You can do anything. You’re invincible.

But as we grow older, we start considering that mortality.

With all of that in mind, it’s time we start considering the mortality of America.

I spend a substantial amount of time working in two different arenas – the world of law enforcement and the business world.

By day, I run a marketing agency. Among the areas we work in, we do extensive work in the firearms industry. My travels take me across the country – often to some of the most rural parts of America.

By night, I am the Executive Director for Law Enforcement Today. I’m not a police officer. I was tapped because I can do one thing cops can’t do. I can give them a voice. I can run my mouth and no agency can fire me.

That travel that I referenced – both in the business world and supporting the LE world – has afforded me countless opportunities to work side by side with some of the greatest patriots in America.

My closest friends are either in law enforcement or either active or retired members of some of the most elite military forces in America. And from our greatest warriors to our everyday citizens… I can tell you the underlying fear that so many are thinking about – and that’s the seemingly inevitable collapse of society if we don’t make some monumental changes.

As a Christian, I believe we are in the middle of some serious spiritual warfare. But you don’t have to be a Christian to understand that the very soul of America is under attack right now. And the rapid erosion of the Thin Blue Line has us sitting on a powder keg.

Historically, if you look at the collapse of some of the greatest empires in the world, it happened from within. Simply put, it raises the distinct danger that America won’t be conquered by foreign enemies … but rather from domestic ones.

President Ronald Reagan probably put it best when he said, “ Freedom is never more than one generation away from extinction. We didn’t pass it to our children in the bloodstream. It must be fought for, protected and handed on for them to do the same.” Prophetic words indeed.

When historians say that an empire fell, it means that the central state no longer exercised its broad power. That happens either because the state itself ceased to exist or because the state’s power was reduced as parts of the empire became independent of its control.

It typically doesn’t happen because of a single cause, but rather a long process. The main factors that historically lead to imperial collapse are:

Economic issues
Social and cultural issues
Environmental issues
Political issues

Now none of these factors are causes in and of themselves, but rather are ways to categorize causes.

What that means is you wouldn’t decide that Rome fell because of politics, but rather you’d explore political factors to understand the collapse. And in those issues are warning signs for us as Americans.

That brings me to the threat we face today.

Have you ever heard of something called the Cloward-Piven strategy? It’s not exactly something the mainstream media talks about… but it’s something you need to be aware of, because it’s what we’re facing in America today.

American sociologists and political activists Richard Cloward and Frances Fox Piven created the political strategy in 1966. The idea behind it is to overload the U.S. public welfare system to create a crisis that would lead to a replacement of the welfare system with a socialist system of “a guaranteed annual income and thus an end to poverty”.

If that doesn’t describe what we’re seeing from Democrats who are running Congress and the White House right now, I don’t know what does. But it’s a much bigger threat than you might realize. That’s because it’s so incredibly pervasive. It’s poisoning the very roots of America.

And it calls to mind the words of Jefferson:

“The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants. It is it’s natural manure.”

We are seeing groups here in America demanding open borders. Demanding the decriminalization of crossing into our country illegally. Since Joe Biden’s inauguration on January 20, we have seen our southern border over-run, not only from Mexican citizens but by people from all around the world, including some on terrorist watch lists.

Joe Biden assigned his vice president, Kamala Harris to oversee the border crisis, but in nearly three months since being given that assignment, Harris has not visited the border first-hand to see exactly what is going on—not once.

At the same time, across our great country, we are seeing the CRIMINALIZATION of law enforcement. All across the country, from Minneapolis to Portland, Los Angeles through Chicago to New York, there is a literal war on police. Major cities such as Seattle, Portland, Chicago and New York are seeing officers either retire early or outright leave. Morale in police departments across the country is in the toilet.

We’re seeing agencies desperate for officers, because as more and more retire (or count down the minutes to retirement), we see a deficit in the number of incoming recruits. After all, why would you want to live a life of service when you’re just going to be attacked for that service?

In the aftermath of the George Floyd death in Minneapolis a year ago, we have seen primarily Democrats across the country demanding defunding of police, taking away protections such as qualified immunity from officers, and emasculating police to the point where even when they are completely justified in using deadly physical force, neo-Marxist groups such as Black Lives Matter and Antifa take to the streets to cause death and destruction.

One of the demands from activists was that police officers be required to be issued body cameras, which many jurisdictions have done. Yet, when police are put in the position of having to use deadly physical force, what is shown on the body cameras is not believed, called edited footage. It’s a classic heads I win, tails you lose for law enforcement officers.

We see political activists masquerading as police chiefs. We see them working hand in hand with liberal politicians to not only attack the rights of law-abiding citizens, but also to destroy the morale of their own departments. We watch as they flat out disrespect the oath of office they took and put officers in no-win situations. Last year in the wake of the George Floyd death, we saw police chiefs kneeling on the ground with the very people who want them dead.

If I were to design a road map for how to collapse America, starting with law enforcement, here’s what it would look like.

Step one: Divide the protectors.

The refusal to allow rank and file patrol officers to cooperate with federal law enforcement to uphold the law. It’s a slap in the face to Americans and it’s a dereliction of duty. It’s also a clear and intentional move to create a divide between local, state and federal law enforcement. Divide the protectors… conquer a society.

Step two: Divide the supporters.

Force officers to choose between enforcing unconstitutional legislation like Red Flag laws, which deny citizens of their right to due process… and providing for their own family.

Since the beginning of the coronavirus pandemic last year, we’ve seen draconian emergency orders put in place by power-hungry governors, with police officers being put in the position of having to be COVID cops or face discipline. We’ve seen videos of police officers arresting people at high school football games for not wearing a mask, breaking up groups of Hasidic Jews at a funeral in New York City and shutting down a gym in New Jersey for breaking COVID rules.

Make cops the bad guys. Take the people who have historically supported law enforcement and convince them that cops are now the enemy. Divide the supporters… conquer a society.

Step three: Remove their protection

Make cops afraid to be cops. Encourage disrespect on them like water bucket attacks. Don’t go after the criminals who attack them. When officers arrest criminals, let them back out on the street within hours because a liberal judge determined that the violent suspect with a lengthy criminal history isn’t actually a threat.

In city after city across the country, we have seen George Soros-funded district attorneys such as George Gascon in Los Angeles, Kim Foxx in Chicago, Larry Krasner in Philadelphia and scores of others go light on criminals while going hard after police officers.

Then threaten law enforcement officers that if they do their job, they’ll be investigated. That if they have to fight for their lives, they’ll end up being charged. Remove both their desire and their ability to police.

Step four: Flood America

By some estimates, one million people will make illegal entry into America this year.

There are fewer than 850,000 law enforcement officers in America. Do the math.

Now let criminals create havoc in society but instead of deporting them or actually cracking down on crime, let Americans know that the real problem is guns owned by law abiding citizens and pass legislation to take away their rights.

Step five: Destroy our homes

Own the media. Own Hollywood. Force feed Anti-American, socialist and communist policies into our homes and our education system. Convince our children that right is wrong and wrong is right. Take God out of society, destroy the family structure and teach everyone that the solution to your problems is in the form of pills, porn and the government.

Step six: Destroy our schools

Keep children out of school for over a year for in-person learning. Feed kids anti-American propaganda such as the 1619 Project which teaches America was founded on racist principles by a bunch of white racist men. Erase history and replace it with critical race theory, which teaches white children to hate themselves and believe they have special privilege because of their race. Go completely against Dr. Martin Luther King’s edict that skin color is more important than the content of one’s character.

Step seven: Destroy our military and intelligence agencies

Turn our military and intelligence agencies into indoctrination mills where sexual preference or sexual identity is considered to be of primary importance while the more important mission of looking at what those who seek to destroy us are doing and making sure that the primary focus of the military is on killing people and breaking things, now the sexual identity of a soldier’s parents.

Step eight: Bypass Congress for gun control

Have “private businesses” like Dicks and Walmart determine what you can and can’t buy. Let the White House determine by executive order what is and what is not an “assault rifle.”

Step nine: Lose control of the truth to tech tyrants and mainstream media

Allow Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Google, YouTube, LinkedIn, TikTok, and Snapchat determine what you can see and what you can say… because it’s not a violation of the Constitution if it’s done by private enterprise. Allow social media to have unfettered ability to censor content that they do not politically agree with or people who have an opinion that goes against the politically desirable narrative.

Step ten: Use “social justice” to vilify love of country

Take every patriotic American who wants to see a better country for their children and call them a racist, etc. if you don’t agree with them. Then mass report them on social media to make sure their accounts are cancelled, and their voices are shut down.

Then say you think they’re a threat and have a judge determine that combat veterans and our nation’s greatest warriors need to be disarmed because of post-traumatic stress. Then force officers to go to war with their own brothers and sisters.

Take people who had legitimate concerns about last November’s election and who raised serious questions about events which made no sense and put them in the category of conspiracy theorists or worse yet, insurrectionists hell-bent on the destruction of the American way of life, which is absurd.

The Collapse

It’s happening right in front of our eyes. And it’s starting with a full onslaught against our law enforcement officers in every way, shape and form.

Want to save America? We need to start by understanding the enemy. And sometimes the biggest threat that an empire faces is the enemy within.

—

We hope you’ll consider getting in the fight with us. Here’s what Law Enforcement Today – the largest police-owned media outlet in America – is doing.

We at Law Enforcement Today want to make our stance very clear.

We strongly and firmly stand behind the Second Amendment, companies that keep civilians and law enforcement officers safe through products and innovation, and the men and women who serve and protect our communities and our country.

We are launching a new series of options to help our partners and other patriotic businesses to be able to connect with consumers. While we can’t replace Google, Bing or Facebook – we sure can provide options to ensure that these companies and our brothers and sisters have a voice.

We welcome with open arms companies that openly support law enforcement, and we are proud to offer them options to get their products to market.

We started noticing the problems a couple of years ago. Social media was scaling back the reach of content that it didn’t believe people should see. Those problems continue today, with both myself as well as the founder of Law Enforcement Today, Robert Greenberg being kicked off of LinkedIn.

Not that there was anything offensive about it. We’re talking about pro-police videos, stories about patriotic Americans and more.

And from our perspective, that created a huge problem. We have some of the greatest warriors in the world. Yet their voices and their stories were being buried.

The mainstream media, on the rare occasion that it would tell some of these stories, would give you only a piece of them. They’d cram as much as they could into a 90 second segment, slap their bias on it and that was it.

We needed to fix it. And so we are.

Law Enforcement Today (LET) is proud to announce the launch of LET Unity – a new home focused on bridging the gap between civilians and civil servants. We’ve merged with The Whiskey Patriots to massively expand content, rolling out hundreds of videos to members.

Many of those in our focus groups dubbed it the “Netflix of the law enforcement community”. But the truth is, it’s so much more.

The first officer in the door at the Pulse nightclub shooting.

Emergency responders from the Parkland shooting.

The bomb squad that responded to the Aurora movie theater massacre.

Survivors of the Dallas five killings.

The first Marine Guard hostage in the Iran crisis.

The CIA agent who started a counter human trafficking company.

SWAT teams.

Sniper schools.

World War II veterans.

And so, so much more.

The membership is less than the cost of two coffees a month, and those who sign up for an annual membership will get some surprise bonuses in the mail. We decided to charge a nominal fee so we could take all of the proceeds and reinvest them into capturing more of these stories. The majority of our content producers for Law Enforcement Today are active, retired or wounded law enforcement officers. The revenue we make helps provide for their families and helps bring a TRUE voice about what’s happening in America.

On top of that, we’re opening up the platform to some well-known podcasters who are going to be joining the team with some incredible content soon.

We have a problem in society. Censorship has created an existential threat to democracy. But even worse is the risk we run that some of these incredible stories of patriotism, hope, faith and our Sheepdogs would be lost.

We’ve launched a series of content with Concerns of Police Survivors (C.O.P.S.) to share the stories of survivors. We will also be dropping a weekly law enforcement focused newscast that addresses some of the most important topics in the country… and helps bridge the gap between those who serve and those whom they serve.

On top of that, we’ll soon be rolling out a series of private discounts and special promotions to members only as a “thank you” for being a part of the family.

You can also download the app to watch the content right from your iPhone.

We hope you’ll join us in this journey, knowing that your membership is going to give a voice to those who have been silenced for so long.

Our country is currently at a crossroads, and with that, so are our brothers and sisters in law enforcement. Today more than ever, that thin blue line that protects the sheep from the wolves is more tenuous that at almost any time in our country’s history. We need to protect and endorse the sheepdogs—our police—who hold the wolves at bay. There has never been a more important time in our nation’s still young history when we need patriots to stand up and support our men and women on the front lines of this fight.

Click here to sign up.

If you are one of the many companies out there that’s being censored – or you’re worried about what’s to come – don’t hesitate to reach out today. We are all in this fight together. I can be reached at media@lawenforcementtoday.com.

We will not be silenced. You shouldn’t be either.

God bless you all, and God Bless America.

—

The United States society is collapsing. Don't get too caught up in the details. Just know that every indicator is flashing RED. -MM

What actually happens to citizens of China who do not support the CCP?

I am a Chinese citizen, 53 years old this year. I have been extremely anti-CCP since I was 15 years old, and until 2010, I was still a radical anti-communist.

After 2010, my anti-communist stance began to falter. I became a mild anti-communist.

By 2015, I was neither against the CCP nor for them, when I was neutral.

By 2017, I started to support the CCP a little bit.

By 2019, I had become a staunch supporter of the CCP.

When I was in college, my classmates were 100% anti-communist, we all participated in the protests that swept the country in 1989, and one of my classmates and I went to Tiananmen Square in Beijing to participate in the protests.

Throughout the 1990s, my classmates and I also adhered to an anti-communist stance. One of my classmates and I tried to form a secret political party to overthrow the CCP.

In the 2000s, some of my classmates began to change their views, and I was one of the last to change their views.

In China, many of my peers have gone through a spiritual journey similar to mine, from opposing the CCP to supporting the CCP.

So, when you ask “What actually happens to citizens of China who do not support the CCP?” I will tell you a fact: Most of the people who were once against the CCP have now become supporters of the CCP.

Based on my observations, my remarks probably represent the vast majority of those who have ever opposed the CCP.

In response to a request from some in the comments:

Many people ask me the reason for the change of opinion, but this question is difficult to answer completely, because so much has happened in 30 years, my change of opinion is the result of all the things that have happened in 30 years, a highly educated Mature-minded adults usually do not change their beliefs quickly because of a few events.

While I can’t list all the reasons that influence my opinion, there are two main reasons that led me to go from a radical anti-communist to a staunch CCP supporter:

1. I have seen with my own eyes the various changes that have taken place in China in the past 30 years;

2. I have visited Western countries many times and browsed a lot of Western media, so I have a more direct and in-depth understanding of Western countries.

I myself have been a news reporter for a few years, and I am very aware of the various methods used by the media to manipulate public opinion. Therefore, I will not unconditionally trust any media, nor will I be brainwashed by the media. I have my own means of checking the facts and all my opinions come from the facts and not any media reports.

It’s also not true that someone commented that I became less radical as I got older, from being an anti-communist to accepting and conforming to reality. In fact, the 50-60-year-old Chinese are still the group with the highest proportion of anti-communists among all Chinese people. People of this age are more supportive of the CCP than us. They did not become anti-communists because of their youth.

Most of the “Fact-Checking” Organizations Facebook Uses in Ukraine Are Directly Funded by Washington

Most of the fact-checking organizations Facebook has partnered with to monitor and regulate information about Ukraine are directly funded by the U.S. government, either through the U.S. Embassy or via the notorious National Endowment for Democracy (NED).

In light of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, an information war as bitter as the ground fighting has erupted, and Meta (Facebook’s official name) announced it had partnered with nine organizations to help it sort fact from fiction for Ukrainian, Russian and other Eastern European users. These nine organizations are: StopFake, VoxCheck, Fact Check Georgia, Demagog, Myth Detector, Lead Stories, Patikrinta 15min, Re:Baltica and Delfi.

“To reduce the spread of misinformation and provide more reliable information to users, we partner with independent third-party fact-checkers globally,” the Silicon Valley giant wrote, adding, “Facebook’s independent third-party fact-checkers are all certified by the International Fact-Checking Network (IFCN). The IFCN, a subsidiary of the journalism research organization Poynter Institute, is dedicated to bringing together fact-checkers worldwide.”

The problem with this? At least five of the nine organizations are directly in the pay of the United States government, a major belligerent in the conflict. The Poynter Institute is also funded by the NED. Furthermore, many of the other fact-checking organizations also have deep connections with other NATO powers, including direct funding.

StopFake

Perhaps the most well-known and notorious of the nine groups is StopFake. Established in 2014, StopFake is funded by NATO’s Atlantic Council, by the British Foreign and Commonwealth Office, the British Embassy in Ukraine and the Czech Foreign Ministry. It has also received money from the U.S. via the National Endowment for Democracy, although that fact is far from trumpeted by either party.

One potential reason for this was alluded to in a 2016 article reprinted by StopFake itself. As the article notes, “in the case of StopFake.org when opponents want to insult the project, they immediately invoke National Endowment for Democracy donor support as evidence of U.S. government and CIA involvement.”

In the wake of the Russian invasion, the NED pulled all public records of their Ukraine projects from the internet. Nevertheless, incomplete archived copies of those records confirm a financial relationship between the groups.

StopFake was explicitly set up as a partisan organization. As a glowing report on them from the International Journalists’ Network notes, the majority of StopFake’s fact-checks are on stories from Russian media, and the motivation for its creation was “Russia’s 2014 occupation of Crimea and a campaign to portray Ukraine as a fascist state where anti-Semitism, racism, homophobia and xenophobia thrived.”

While it is indeed incorrect to label Ukraine a fascist state, the country clearly has one of the strongest far-right movements anywhere in Europe. And unfortunately, StopFake itself is far from an apolitical bystander in that rise. Multiple established Western media outlets, including The New York Times, have reported on StopFake’s ties to white power or Nazi groups. When local journalist Ekaterina Sergatskova exposed these links, death threats from far-right figures forced her to flee her home.

Indeed, according to some, one of StopFake’s primary functions appears to be to promote the far-right. A long exposé by Lev Golinkin in The Nation cataloged what it called StopFake’s history of “aggressively whitewashing two Ukrainian neo-Nazi groups with a long track record of violence, including war crimes.”

Surely StopFake’s most famous former host is Nina Jankowicz. Jankowicz was briefly head of President Biden’s newly formed Disinformation Governance Board before public uproar caused her to resign. Dubbed the “Ministry of Truth”, both the board and Jankowicz generated strong opposition. Yet few mentioned the fact that, while at StopFake, Jankowicz herself had, on camera, enthusiastically extolled the virtues of multiple fascist paramilitaries.

In a 2017 TV segment about the Aidar, Dnipro-1 and Azov Battalions, Jankowicz presented the groups as heroic volunteers deafening Ukraine from “further Russian separatist encroachment.” As she stated,

The volunteer movement in Ukraine extends far beyond military service. Volunteer groups are active in supporting Ukraine’s military with food, clothing, medicine, and post-battle rehabilitation, as well as working actively with the nearly two million internal refugees displaced by the war in Ukraine,”

This framing jars with multiple reports from human rights groups such as Amnesty International, who claim that the Aidar Battalion is guilty of a litany of abuses, “including abductions, unlawful detention, ill-treatment, theft, extortion, and possible executions.” Amnesty also accuses Aidar and Dnipro-1 of “Using starvation of civilians as a method of warfare.”

Azov, meanwhile, is the most infamous organization of the lot. The group’s insignia is directly lifted from the 2nd Waffen-SS Panzer Division, a unit responsible for carrying out some of the worst crimes of Hitler’s holocaust. The Azov Battalion also dip their bullets in pig fat before battle as a calculated hate crime, attempting to block Jewish or Muslim enemies from a better afterlife. Andriy Biletsky, the group’s founder, said in 2010 that he believes Ukraine’s mission is to “lead the white races of the world in a final crusade … against Semite-led Untermenschen” – the word Hitler used to describe Jews, Poles, Ukrainians and other peoples he designated for extermination.

In February, Facebook announced that it was changing its rules on hate speech to allow praise and promotion of the Azov Battalion. Was this on StopFake’s recommendation? MintPress asked Meta/Facebook for comment on their fact checking partner’s ties to far right groups and if StopFake had influenced their decision to allow pro-Nazi content on their platform, but did not receive a reply.

As Golinkin noted in his article for The Nation, StopFake has also defended C14, another fascist paramilitary, describing it merely as a “community organization”, citing C14’s own denial of its pogroms against Roma people as “evidence” of its innocence. This designation clashes even with the U.S. State Department, which classifies C14 as a “nationalist hate group.” The “14” in its name refers to the “14 words” white supremacist slogan.

StopFake has made a number of controversial claims, including that the rise in anti-semitism in Ukraine is “fake” – even going so far as to brand well-established outlets like NBC News and Al-Jazeera as printing fake news about the Azov Battalion’s role in this. In an article entitled “Russia as Evil: False Historical Parallels. Some peculiarities of Russian Political Culture,” it also insisted that Hitler’s concentration camps were modeled on Russian ones set up by Vladimir Lenin. In reality, the German government pioneered the use of concentration camps during their genocide of the Herero and Namaqua peoples between 1904 and 1908 in Namibia. The British and Spanish were also early adopters.

In addition, StopFake has close links with The Kyiv Post, a Ukrainian outlet directly funded and trained by the National Endowment for Democracy. Since 2016, the Post has published 191 StopFake reports.

Who is the NED?

Why receiving funding from the National Endowment for Democracy should immediately raise suspicions of any organization is because the NED was explicitly established by the Reagan administration as a front group for the Central Intelligence Agency.

Although it is funded by Washington and staffed by state officials, it is technically a private company and therefore not subject to the same legal regulations and public scrutiny as state institutions.

The CIA has used the NED to carry out many of its more controversial operations. In recent years, it has trained and funneled money to the leaders of the Hong Kong protesters to keep the insurrection alive, fomented a nationwide campaign of demonstrations in Cuba, and helped attempts to topple the government of Venezuela. Perhaps most importantly for this story, however, the NED was also involved in the 2014 coup that removed Ukrainian president Viktor Yanukovych from power. Regime change is, in short, one of its primary functions.

The NED does this by establishing, funding, supporting and training all manner of political, economic and social groups in target countries. According to its 2019 annual report, Ukraine is the NED’s “top priority”. The agency has (officially) spent over $22 million in Ukraine since 2014.

In their more candid moments, NED leaders are explicit about the organization’s role. “It would be terrible for democratic groups around the world to be seen as subsidized by the CIA,” Carl Gershman, NED president from 1984 to 2021 said, explaining why his organization was set up. NED co-founder Allen Weinstein agreed: “A lot of what we do today was done covertly 25 years ago by the CIA,” he told The Washington Post.

VoxCheck

VoxCheck receives substantial monetary assistance from the U.S. government through both the NED and the U.S. Embassy. It is also funded by the Dutch and German governments. Incomplete NED records show VoxCheck receives substantial yearly grants and has accepted around $250,000 in total.

That sort of money goes an extremely long way in Ukraine, which is by quite some way the poorest nation in Europe. The country’s GNI per capita of $3,500 per year is well below that of even Russia, which stands at $10,700. One $15,000 NED grant given to a Ukrainian media foundation, for instance, was enough to pay for over 100 articles to be written.

Despite its funding, Western media portray VoxCheck extremely positively. The Washington Post, for example, describes them as “a small group of independent fact-checkers.” In common parlance, the word “independent” is usually reserved for any media group not owned or funded by governments (as if that is the only type of dependence). But even at this extremely low bar, VoxCheck falls.

An NED document shows a 2020 grant given to VoxUkraine

In the article, the Washington Post describes VoxCheck’s fact-checking process, which largely consists of “sourcing credible news sources – such as a BBC article,” and then labeling Russian claims as false on this basis. In other words, the official state mouthpiece of the British government – one that was instrumental in promoting the lies which led to the invasions of Iraq and Libya – is considered sacrosanct.

What comes across in the Post’s glowing exposé is that VoxCheck staff have few pretensions about being neutral and see themselves as digital foot soldiers in a crusade against Russia. As one employee said, the mission is to “prevent someone from falling into Russian lies and manipulation.” Indeed, one of the staff quit his job to volunteer for the Ukrainian Army. Other VoxCheck employees revealed that they felt guilty for not doing so themselves and only contributing virtually to the fight.

Of course, Russia has lied constantly during this war; the entire invasion was based on a lie. Throughout the winter, Russian officials consistently repeated that they had no intention of invading Ukraine. Russian media, meanwhile, claimed that President Zelensky had fled the country in the wake of the invasion. But in war, all sides lie. And when a fact-checking operation constantly critiques only one side and stays largely quiet about the other, it has clearly taken a side in the conflict and is therefore acting in a partisan fashion. People interested in thinking critically should be scrutinizing claims made by all sides.

Fact Check Georgia

Fact Check Georgia describes itself as “an independent and non-partisan website which offers readers researched, verified and evidence-based information.” Yet it is bankrolled by a litany of dubious organizations, including the NED and the U.S. Embassy, the German Marshall Fund, the Dutch government and the European Endowment for Democracy, a European government-funded “private” organization explicitly modeled on the NED.

Fact Check Georgia’s “About Us” section reveals just how independent the fact checking organization really is

Fact Check Georgia’s independence is potentially undermined by the fact that at the bottom of every page of its website, it displays the crests of both the NED and the U.S. Embassy in Georgia. This is accompanied by the disclaimer, “The views and opinions expressed on this website belong to Factcheck.ge and are not the views and opinions of project support organizations” – a sentence that would not be necessary to attach if an organization was truly independent.

Furthermore, some of its staff have notable backgrounds. The first person listed on Fact Check Georgia’s “our team” section was formerly the Deputy Minister of Defense for Georgia – a country that fought a war against Russia in 2008.

Myth Detector

Another Georgia-based company, Myth Detector, was funded by the U.S. Embassy to the tune of €42,000 in financial year 2021. German state broadcaster Deutsche Welle contributed €41,000. Also donating €41,000 last year, according to Myth Detector’s financial report, is a group called “Zinc.” This is quite possibly the Zinc Network, a shadowy intelligence firm that conducts information warfare operations on behalf of the U.K. and U.S. governments.

Demagog

Not only is the U.S. Embassy in Poland funding Demagog, it is also carrying out training in how to think. Demagog’s website notes that the embassy established a “fact-checking academy” on “how to deal with false information.” “Thanks to the [embassy] cooperation,” it notes, “classes were conducted for students and teachers on fake news, reliable sources of information and fact-checking.”

Alongside the U.S. government, Demagog also receives money from Polish government, European Union and European Economic Area organizations.

Together, these five organizations’ operations are all directly bankrolled by Washington. However, many of the other fact-checking groups Facebook pays to serve as content police on their platform have similarly close connections to Western state power. Indeed, the only one of the nine that appears relatively free from direct government collaboration is self-funded outlet Lead Stories.

Patikrinta 15min

Lithuanian outlet Patikrinta 15min insist that they are an independent, non-partisan group. As their “About” section states: “Sponsors of Patikrinta 15min cannot be political parties, politicians, state organizations or companies or organizations related to politicians.” They do, however, accept funding from the Poynter Institute, the journalism group that owns U.S. fact-checking organization Politifact. Since 2016, the Poynter Institute has sought for and received at least seven grants from the National Endowment for Democracy, totaling well over half a million dollars.

Notably, some of these grants are clearly a way of funneling cash to Eastern European fact-checking groups. As one NED grant summary for $78,000 notes, the goal of the money is to “promote the use of fact-checking websites as an effective accountability tool in Central and Eastern Europe, and strengthen the global fact-checking community.” The NED goes on to note that Poynter will bring over 70 journalists to a training summit and afterward continue to “train” “mentor,” “support,” and help them and their organizations with “capacity building.”

One of several grants given to the ostensibly neutral Poynter Institute by the US State Dept’s NED

A cynic might conclude that the NED was simply trying to launder its money through Poynter. MintPress asked Patikrinta 15min to confirm or deny whether they were one of the Eastern European groups mentioned in the NED filings but has not received a response.

Like other groups, Patikrinta 15min’s non-partisan veneer frequently slips. This can be seen in headlines such as “Russian cynicism knows no bounds” and the fact that they frequently defend Nazi groups like the Azov Battalion.

Like StopFake, n 15min has argued that Azov’s use of the Waffen SS symbol is coincidental. It also presented Azov as an apolitical organization and has used quotes from Azov founder Andriy Biletsky – possibly the world’s most infamous living neo-Nazi – as “proof” that charges against it are Russian disinformation.

Re:Baltica

While there is no evidence that Re:Baltica has a financial relationship with the United States government, the lion’s share of its funding still comes from the West. As they note on their website, around two-thirds of their funding comes “from the institutions based in EU/NATO countries.” They also list “the Kingdom of the Netherlands” as one of their “friends” – i.e., donors.

Re:Baltica is generously funded by western govt’s and NGOs, including George Soro’s Open Society Foundation

Delfi

Delfi is a major web portal in Eastern Europe and the Baltic. The company does not disclose if it receives foreign funding. It does, undeniably, however, have a close relationship with the NED. In 2015, Delfi interviewed Christopher Walker, a senior NED manager about the best way they could counter Russian propaganda. Two years later, NED President Gershman addressed the Lithuanian parliament, revealing that his organization had,

[W]orked with Lithuania in countering Russian efforts to subvert and destroy democracy in Lithuania, in Europe, and in Russia itself. We have supported the work of the Lithuania-based Delfi and the East European Studies Center in monitoring, documenting, and combatting Russian disinformation in Lithuania and the Baltic states.”

Later that year, Delfi teamed up with the NED to hold the 1st Vilnius Young Leaders Meeting, whereby handpicked young activists were invited to rub shoulders with journalists and spooks from across Europe and the United States, in the hope of building up a Western-friendly force in civil society.

A chart showing the leadership structure of the EXPOSE network published as part of the Integrity Initiative Leak 7

Delfi, Re:Baltica and StopFake were all identified as proposed members of a “counter”-propaganda network hoping to be established by the EXPOSE Network. EXPOSE was allegedly a secret U.K.-government funded initiative that would have brought together journalists and state operatives in an alliance to shape public discourse in a manner more conducive to the priorities of Western governments.

As EXPOSE wrote, “An opportunity exists to upskill civil society organizations around Europe, enhancing their existing activities and unleashing their potential” to be the next generation of activists in the fight against Kremlin disinformation.”

“Coordinat[ing] their activities,” wrote EXPOSE, “represents a unique opportunity” for the British government in their fight against Russia. Unfortunately, they lamented, StopFake’s “monomaniacal fixation” on Russia had hurt its credibility.

Remarkably, EXPOSE also wrote that, “Another barrier to combating disinformation is the fact that certain Kremlin-backed narratives are factually true” – an admission that underlines that, to many governments and media outlets, “disinformation” is rapidly coming to simply mean “information we disagree with.”

The names of those individuals listed as potential employees of this network are a who’s who of state-linked operatives, including the Zinc Network, multiple individuals from NED-funded investigative journalism website Bellingcat and Ben Nimmo, a former NATO spokesperson who is now head of global intelligence for Facebook.

Facebook’s Cyber War

Nimmo is only one of a great many former state agents now working in the higher echelons of Facebook, however. Last month, MintPress published a study revealing that the Silicon Valley giant has hired dozens of ex-CIA personnel into influential positions within the company, especially in security, content moderation and trust and safety.

Given how influential Facebook is as a media and communications giant, this sort of relationship constitutes a national security issue to every other country in the world. And this is not a hypothetical threat either. In November, Nimmo led a team that effectively attempted to swing the Nicaraguan elections away from the ruling Sandinista party and towards the U.S.-backed candidate. In the days leading up to the election, Facebook deleted hundreds of accounts and pages of pro-Sandinista media.

This action underlines the fact that Facebook is not an international company existing only in the ether, but an American operation bound by American laws. And increasingly, it is moving closer to the U.S. government itself.

Who will guard the guardians?

Fake news abounds online, and we as a society are wholly unprepared to counter it. A study conducted by Stanford University found that the vast majority of people – even the digitally savvy youth – were unable to tell factual reporting from obvious falsehoods online. Many will fall for Russian propaganda. Russian media is indeed pumping out misleading information constantly. But so are NATO countries. And if the fact-checkers who have volunteered to sort truth from fiction for us relentlessly attack Russia but are quiet on their own side’s spin, many more will fall for Western propaganda.

The implicit outlook of many of these fact-checking groups is that “only Russia lies.” This is the position of a partisan organization, one that cares little about truth and more about imposing control over the means of communication. And this is all being done in the name of keeping us safe.

Who is fact-checking the fact-checkers? Unfortunately, it is up to small, independent media outlets to do so. However, MintPress has faced constant suppression for doing so, being blocked from communicating with our 400,000+ Facebook followers, suppressed algorithmically by the Silicon Valley giants, and being removed from financial transaction services like PayPal.

The solution is to teach and develop critical media literacy. All media outlets have biases and agendas. It is up to the individual to learn these and constantly scrutinize and evaluate everything they read. However, governments do not want their populations thinking critically; they want their message to be dominant, one reason why the NED has been quietly bankrolling so many fact-checking organizations to do its work for it.

Feature photo | Graphic by MintPress News

Alan MacLeod is Senior Staff Writer for MintPress News. After completing his PhD in 2017 he published two books: Bad News From Venezuela: Twenty Years of Fake News and Misreporting and Propaganda in the Information Age: Still Manufacturing Consent, as well as a number of academic articles. He has also contributed to FAIR.org, The Guardian, Salon, The Grayzone, Jacobin Magazine, and Common Dreams.

Brides in the Chechen Republic

Brides in the Chechen Republic often wear embroidered shawls in the same style as their dresses, instead of a veil. Sometimes, the bride may also wear a jeweled tiara over the headscarf.

As a rule, the dresses themselves are not only white, but in any pastel color: cream, light pink, golden, decorated with lace and gems. They can be both straight or very fluffy, with long plumes.

A Saturday Night In Starbucks

Several years ago, an unusual set of events found me at Starbucks on a Saturday night. It had been a reasonably decent day, but there are, as we all know, plenty of things in this world to be depressed about. And those things, as we also know, are massively amplified by the attention-seeking class. Somehow, the parade of negativity had its effect on me.

Sitting in the Starbucks cured me.

What I Saw

It was a very average Starbucks in a very average location. And the very average people sitting with me were a nearly perfect cross-section of the American demographic.

To my left was a middle-aged black man, doing something on his laptop. Just past him was a middle-aged white woman doing the same. Past her, in the corner, were three teenage girls – one black, one white, one Latin – studying together.

Behind me was another black man with a laptop and piles of papers, and past him a young couple falling in love over lattes.

At the big, center table was a 25ish woman, with multiple piles of paper upon which she was working very hard. After a while, her boyfriend showed up. She hugged him, laid her head on his shoulder, and they kissed. It was sweet. Then he got to work with her.

There were also people coming and going. They were more of the same: A cross-sectional American parade of people behaving quietly and well.

Watching these people, I decided that it would be far better to spend time helping them than to obsess over all the bad things in the world. These are the people who deserve our efforts.

What Would Help the Bright Side of Humanity?

That, of course, brought me to the question of how to help the bright side of humanity, and I decided that a great start would be to make one point very clearly:

Fear is a brain hack; a malicious and effective one.

When people want to get their hands on your time and money – and don’t want to be bothered with that pesky ‘reason’ thing – fear is how they do it… over and over and over. Fear works.

So, if we want to move the brighter side of humanity forward, the first thing we need to do is to inform them that fear is their greatest enemy. They need to understand – and remember – that when someone tries to make them afraid, they are being hacked.

Secondly, we need to assure the brighter side of humanity that their way is right… that they have every right to live their way; that they should not abandon their values to screaming political hucksters.

Power-seekers have always been with us, and they can succeed only by getting frightened people to line up behind them. They need us to adopt their slogans, respond to their fears, and run their stories through our minds.

Those story lines, of course, service dominance, power, and archaic models of lordship. They do not serve human advancement.

The people I saw in the Starbucks held a different and better set of ideals. They believed that everyone should be treated with respect; that coercion and fraud are wrong; that everyone should be left alone to do as they please, so long as they don’t intrude upon others.

This decent side of humanity needs to know that their ideals should never be abandoned for a political cause, no matter how Earth-shakingly urgent it seems.

The people I saw in the Starbucks, to be blunt about it, were morally superior to the powerful and the fear-peddlers.

Such people should hold to their values, stay with their own lines of reason, and believe in their own virtues.

And When They Do?

Once the people I saw at Starbucks start believing in themselves, the world will change, and massively.

These people – and there are untold millions of them – are productive and cooperative. Their problem is that they’ve been laying aside their virtues at the insistence of fear-peddlers.

The people in the Starbucks didn’t need edicts from potentates.

Once the “Starbucks people” decide that fear and subservience were contrary to life itself, they will move into a better age. Such transitions are difficult, of course, but once these people truly believe in their own ways, the ways of the fear-peddlers will pass away.

May it be soon.

Paul Rosenberg
freemansperspective.com

Not War, But Murder: The Clash at Cold Harbor

Now for some American Civil War History. -MM

After crossing the North Anna River, Ulysses S. Grant’s Union forces headed toward Cold Harbor.

By William E. Welsh

Private Augustus Du Bois marched forward at daybreak on June 3, 1864, along with hundreds of other members of the 7th New York Heavy Artillery regiment to a thin belt of timber a mile south of the key road junction of Cold Harbor. On the near side of the woods, the 1,700-man strong regiment halted to await the firing of a cannon that would signal the beginning of the charge. The regiment’s objective was a line of field fortifications that crowned a low ridge. Behind the breastworks, battle-tested Confederate soldiers were packed tightly together, waiting calmly for the attack to begin. If the Federals could punch through General Robert E. Lee’s line, it would enable the Army of the Potomac to march into Richmond and end the war. The Confederates did not expect them to succeed.

The lone gun boomed and the bluecoats advanced through the woods toward shoulder-high breastworks that jutted defiantly into no-man’s-land between the two armies. Once clear of the woods, Union officers gave the order to advance at the double quick, and the attackers swept forward, shouting, “Huzzah! Huzzah!”

Their opponents fired down into the advancing sea of blue soldiers. As the Federals struggled across the open ground, enemy cannon blasted deadly canister into the charging men, tearing huge holes in their ranks. Members of the 7th New York swarmed up the incline toward their objective. At the base of the fortifications, Colonel Lewis Morris and other officers reformed the regiment for a final assault over the barricades. The Confederates did not make it easy for them. “The enemy bravely stood their ground, not waiting for us to come over the works, but meeting us on the parapet,” recalled Du Bois. “They contested every inch.”

Du Bois and those around him fought their way onto the parapet, eager for a close-hand brawl. The top of the barricade was too narrow to accommodate all of the defenders, and some fought in the trenches while their comrades grappled above with the enemy. “As I reached the top of the works a brave fellow confronted us,” Du Bois wrote. “Standing below he thrust his bayonet into the comrade by my side, and was about to give me the same dose, but a charge from my gun changed his mind. It was a hand-to-hand fight to the finish. Clubbed muskets, bayonets, and swords got in their deadly work.”

The fighting spilled over to the defenders’ side of the fortifications. The contest was a grim one, but the Federals retained the advantage. Hundreds of graybacks were forced to surrender or lose their lives. The 7th New York of Brig. Gen. Francis Barlow’s 1st Division appeared to have pulled off a significant victory. The regiment had captured a portion of the first line of the enemy’s works belonging to Brig. Gen. John Echols’s brigade of Maj. Gen. John C. Breckinridge’s division. If the breach could be widened, two entire Confederate divisions, Breckinridge’s and that of Maj. Gen. Cadmus Wilcox, would be cut off from the rest of Lee’s army situated to the north.

Reinforcing For the Upcoming Battle

It was a promising beginning to the Union attack. Federal generals at all levels of command had been instructed by Army of the Potomac commander Maj. Gen. George Meade to heavily reinforce any local success, no matter how small, with fresh troops. If Meade’s generals heeded his advice, victory might be achieved under the hot summer sun. For nearly a month, Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia had held off Meade’s army, under the watchful eye of overall Union commander Lt. Gen. Ulysses S. Grant. With luck and determination, the Federals might end Lee’s unblemished record of tactical victories over the Federals in Grant’s ongoing Overland Campaign.

The Army of the Potomac had tried several times in the preceding month to slip around Lee’s right flank following the massive Battle of the Wilderness on May 5-6. Unlike his predecessors, Grant was determined to continue his drive south despite suffering heavy losses. Lee’s army, which had the advantage of shorter routes of march that enabled it to entrench before the Federals could get set for a fresh assault, fought its opponent to a standstill at Spotsylvania Courthouse and again at the North Anna River before the armies shifted southeast to Cold Harbor in late May.

As yet another major battle brewed, both sides sought to reinforce their depleted ranks. Grant had to deal not only with 40,000 battlefield losses, but also with the expiration of three-year terms of enlistment by many of the veteran regiments mustered into service during the first year of the war. Grant’s solution, supported by President Abraham Lincoln, was to pull entire regiments of heavy artillery units from Washington and Fort Monroe, Virginia, and convert them into infantry. These full-strength regiments, known as “Heavies,” received orders in mid-May to join the Army of the Potomac in the field. Once they arrived in camp, the regiments were inserted into veteran brigades as a way to offset their lack of experience. Altogether, the Army of the Potomac had received 33,000 replacement troops by the time it reached Cold Harbor.

The dilapidated tavern at Cold Harbor was used by General Winfield Scott Hancock for his headquarters. The somewhat confusing place name was an old English term referring to a tavern that did not offer hot meals with its overnight accommodations.

When Lee learned that Grant had transferred Maj. Gen. William Smith’s 16,000-strong XVIII Corps from Maj. Gen. Benjamin Butler’s Army of the James to Meade’s army, he appealed to Confederate President Jefferson Davis for additional forces of his own. After nearly a week of wrangling between Lee and General P.G.T. Beauregard over the former’s desperate need for reinforcements, Beauregard finally relinquished Maj. Gen. Robert F. Hoke’s division on the night of May 30. Lee rushed them to Cold Harbor.

R0bert E. Lee’s Seven-Mile Battle Line

The crossroads at Cold Harbor was a dilapidated wayside tavern of no particular distinction. The somewhat confusing name was an English term that referred to the lack of a hot meal at an overnight accommodation. The value of Cold Harbor lay in its significance as a strategic crossroads midway between Totopotomoy Creek and the Chickahominy River. Lee prized it as a way to prevent Smith’s XVIII Corps from having an unobstructed path to Richmond, while Grant and Meade sought to deny it to the Confederates for use as a base from which to disrupt Federal supply lines.

On the afternoon of May 31, cavalry from both armies clashed at the crossroads. By the end of the day, the Federal cavalry had secured the crossroads and waited for infantry to relieve it. For the next two days, Lee and Grant steadily built up their infantry forces in a line that stretched several miles above and below Cold Harbor between the two waterways. By the morning of June 2, Lee’s line stretched for seven miles from Totopotomoy Creek in the north to the Chickahominy in the south. With each flank anchored on a riverbank, the only way for the Federals to reach Richmond was to fight their way through Lee’s army.

Lee shifted his forces as needed during the preliminary fighting at Cold Harbor, splitting Lt. Gen. A.P. Hill’s III Corps with one of its divisions placed on the left flank and two on the right. By the morning of June 3, the Confederates were deployed as follows: Maj. Gen. Jubal Early’s II Corps and Maj. Gen. Henry Heth’s division of Hill’s corps were on the left flank; Maj. Gen. Richard Anderson’s I Corps was in the center; and Hoke’s and Breckinridge’s divisions and two divisions of Hill’s corps were on the right.

Grant’s mistaken decision to postpone a major attack on the entire Confederate line gave newly arriving Confederate divisions ample time to improve their entrenchments. The Southerners labored tirelessly to build earthworks that were tall enough to stand behind and also were configured to provide interlocking fields of fire to catch any attacking units in a deadly crossfire.

The 7th New York Heavy Artillery of Brigadier General Francis Barlow’s 1st Division made a spirited attack on the Confederate works at Cold Harbor. They overran the first line of Lee’s defense, capturing prisoners and turning captured guns on the Confederates before being pushed back when their success went unsupported.

The nearly manic effort the Confederates put into the construction of their defenses was readily apparent to the Federals opposite them. “We pass within apparently two hundred yards of the enemy’s lines, near which are a large busy corps of Rebel gray men cutting down trees; swinging their axes as if dear life depended upon their taking down a half a dozen trees at every stroke,” recounted a soldier from Smith’s XVIII Corps.

The Assault at Daybreak

Grant finally issued orders for a major assault on June 3 in the mistaken belief that the Confederates could not withstand a full-scale attack. Meade, who knew the Confederates were well entrenched, believed that such an attack was suicidal, but did not share those thoughts with Grant and instead passed along the order for the attack. Upon learning that a major assault was imminent, many Federal veterans wrote their names and addresses on slips of paper and pinned them on the backs of their coats the night before the assault to ensure that their bodies might be accurately identified and their next of kin informed of the time and place of their deaths. It was an ominous sign.

The main attack, scheduled for daybreak on June 3, was to be made by the three corps on the Federal left flank. Left to right, they were Maj. Gen. Winfield Scott Hancock’s II Corps, Maj. Gen. Horatio Wright’s VI Corps, Smith’s XVIII Corps, Maj. Gen. Gouverneur K. Warren’s V Corps, and Maj. Gen. Ambrose Burnside’s IX Corps. The three corps on the left were to make the main assault, while the two corps on the right were to make a diversionary attack designed to prevent Lee from stripping units from his left flank to reinforce his right.

Hancock’s corps had a reputation for hard fighting, and his officers fully intended to live up to that reputation. Hancock ordered two of his divisions to attack in strength, with the third held in reserve. Barlow’s division, on the extreme left of the Federal line, and Brig. Gen. John Gibbon’s on the right were to assail the Confederate right; Maj. Gen. David Birney’s division was behind Barlow’s. The two divisions on the front line stacked their brigades two-deep, with four brigades in front and four brigades directly behind.

The Federal attack in the southern sector of the battlefield was scheduled to begin at 4:30 am. Fifteen minutes before that, Gibbon and Barlow each sent a regiment forward with orders to push back the Confederate pickets. At the arranged time, signal guns fired on Hancock’s front, indicating the beginning of the assault. Rain, which had been falling throughout the night, stopped as the assault began, but the damp ground gave rise to a thick mist that hugged the ground and made it difficult to discern distant objects. Any hope for the Federals to make a last-second observation of enemy positions was dashed by the foggy conditions.

At the far left of the Union line, Barlow’s men exited the woods and marched in crisp lines through fields of tall, damp grass. As they entered the field, they moved at the double-quick in hopes of surprising the enemy. Colonel Nelson Miles’s brigade on the left was advancing against two brigades of Wilcox’s division, while Colonel John Brooke’s brigade was heading for two brigades of Breckinridge’s division. On the far right of Brooke’s 4th Brigade was the oversized 7th New York Heavy Artillery. Eager to ensure that his attack was made with as much élan as possible, Brooke rode into battle on horseback at the front of his brigade.

Fighting For the Flag

Barlow’s brigades had the misfortune to attack entrenched enemy forces on slightly elevated ground. If properly led, these troops would be able to halt Barlow’s attack before it reached their breastworks. The downside for the defenders was that in many places the trenches behind their fortifications had flooded due to the heavy rains. The trenches occupied by Lt. Col. George Edgar’s 26th Virginia Battalion had filled with water during the night, and Edgar had given his men permission to sleep on drier ground to the rear, leaving only pickets to man the flooded battlements.

Rushing forward without firing their guns, Morris’s New Yorkers were able to reach the breastworks and engage Edgar’s pickets in hand-to-hand fighting. While some of the New Yorkers grappled with the pickets, others hurled themselves over the parapet and rushed into the lightly held fortifications. Realizing his blunder, Edgar rushed forward with the balance of his battalion to reinforce his pickets. In the ensuing melee, he was bayoneted in the shoulder and taken prisoner.

The soldiers of the 7th New York fought desperately to seize the flag of the 26th Virginia. Their own color bearer had fallen during the charge, and five of his fellow soldiers were killed trying to advance the colors amid the hailstorm of canister and bullets sweeping the landscape. The bluecoats shot the color bearer of the 26th Virginia, but before he died he managed to strip the colors from the staff and throw them to his fellow Virginians. A scrum ensued in which soldiers from both sides tugged at the prize. The New Yorkers won the tug of war and passed the prize back through their ranks to ensure that it stayed in their possession.

Believing wrongly that the Confederates could not withstand an all-out assault at Cold Harbor, Lieutenant General Ulysses S. Grant attacked at daybreak on June 3, 1864. Three Union corps made the attack. All failed.

To the left of Brooke’s brigade, Miles’s soldiers quickly lost heart after they suffered heavy casualties trying to advance across open ground west of the Dispatch Station Road. They came under the well-placed batteries of Lt. Col. William Pegram of Hill’s corps, whose guns atop high ground stopped Miles’s attack cold. The survivors of the first line retreated to the safety of the road, where they took cover in its sunken roadbed.

One regiment on the far right of Miles’s brigade performed good service. Colonel Charles Hapgood, commanding the veteran 5th New Hampshire Regiment, saw the success of the 7th New York and ordered his troops to execute a half-wheel right and attack the salient where Morris’s soldiers had broken through the enemy line. The combined weight of the Federal attack finally routed the 26th Virginia.

“We Fought Like Hell and Got Licked Like Damnation”

The Confederate regiments formed a second line to plug the breach. The 8th Florida Regiment of Brig. Gen. Joseph Finegan’s brigade charged toward the right flank of the 7th New York, screaming the high-pitched Rebel yell. They halted to fire two volleys into the New Yorkers and then charged, swinging their rifle butts and stabbing with their bayonets in an effort to retake the trenches. To the Floridians’ immediate south, 400 reinforcements of the 2nd Maryland Regiment counterattacked the 5th New Hampshire. Many of the Granite State boys tried to hide underneath or inside the main house and outbuildings of a nearby farm, but the Marylanders hunted them down and killed them where they hid.

When Brooke rode back to lead forward his second line, he was wounded by shrapnel. At that point, the attack began to fall apart. The 7th New York was driven out of the enemy’s trenches and forced to retreat 300 yards. The attack was costly for the New Yorkers, who lost about 25 percent casualties of the 1,700 men who had participated in the assault. The 5th New Hampshire suffered an even higher loss rate, with about 40 percent of its 550 men killed or wounded. “We fought like hell and got licked like damnation,” wrote Lieutenant Frederick Mather of the 7th New York. Despite the repulse, Barlow’s division captured 425 prisoners and six guns.

Robert Tyler’s Attack

Gibbon’s four brigades were arrayed in similar formation to Barlow’s brigades, with two forward and two directly behind. The right wing consisted of Brig. Gen. Robert Tyler’s 4th Brigade, with Colonel Boyd McKeen’s 1st Brigade behind it. On the left wing, Colonel Thomas Smyth’s brigade was in the front, supported by Brig. Gen. Joshua Owen’s 2nd Brigade.

Soldiers of Major General Winfield Scott Hancock’s II Corps dig frantically with bayonets, tin plates, and bare hands to create earthworks before a Confederate countercharge.

Tyler’s brigade was composed of five regiments from New York bolstered by the 1,600-strong 8th New York Heavy Artillery led by Colonel Peter Porter. The brigade’s right flank rested on the Cold Harbor Road. The New Yorkers faced five Georgia regiments belonging to Brig. Gen. Alfred Colquitt’s brigade. To reach the Georgians’ fortified position, Tyler’s brigade had the unsavory task of traversing the muck of Boatswain’s Swamp. To the left of Tyler’s brigade, Smyth’s brigade faced Brig. Gen. James Martin’s North Carolina brigade. Forming a second line behind Hoke’s division were the five brigades of Maj. Gen. William Mahone’s division. All that could be reasonably expected of Gibbon’s men was that they capture the first line of enemy trenches in front of them.

Gibbon’s men went forward 15 minutes after Barlow’s soldiers began their attack. With bayonets fixed, the soldiers of Tyler’s brigade surged forward, making their way as best as they could through the swampy muck. Colquitt’s Georgians, formed in two lines, delivered a pair of strong volleys—one from each rank—when the New Yorkers were within range, then began firing at will. The Union attack was shattered before it reached its objective. “Balls commenced to literally mow us down,” recalled Lieutenant John Russell Winterbotham of the 155th New York. Tyler left the field after shrapnel mangled his ankle. Porter fell mortally wounded with a half dozen bullet wounds in his crumpled body.

The only success enjoyed by Tyler’s brigade occurred on the left flank. Because Tyler’s battle line was so long, Colonel James McMahon’s 164th New York overlapped the extreme left, which was held by the 17th North Carolina. The Tarheels were armed with older muskets that fired buck-and-ball and caused heavy casualties at close range. McMahon’s soldiers overran an advanced position held by the North Carolinians, netting 45 prisoners, and continued toward the main line. Despite heavy enemy fire, they reached the line and began fighting hand-to-hand before being driven back. McMahon was reluctant to break off the attack, even though he was outnumbered. When the Tarheels called on McMahon to surrender, he refused, and they shot him down at point-blank range. The 164th New York paid a heavy price for its bravery, losing 11 officers and 143 enlisted men.

Entrenching the Advance

After Tyler’s attack was repulsed, McKeen led his men forward against Colquitt’s steady line. The 29-year-old Princeton graduate accompanied his first line in its advance and was instantly killed. The lead elements of the brigade took cover in a depression 75 yards from the Georgians’ position. Command of the brigade fell to its senior regimental commander, Colonel Frank Haskell of the 36th Wisconsin. When the advance resumed, Haskell was shot in the head. At that point, the survivors of McKeen’s failed attack began to entrench.

Sword-waving Major Christopher Crossman leads the doomed charge of his 1st Maine Heavy Artillery at Cold Harbor. Painting by Don Troiani.

On Gibbon’s left, the regiments of Smyth’s brigade encountered such galling fire that they halted and began digging in 50 to 100 yards from the enemy main line. Gibbon, sensing that different tactics were called for, ordered Owen to attack with his regiments in columns to provide depth to the attack. But seeing that Smyth’s troops had broken off their attack and were entrenching, Owen chose to do the same.

Hancock had established his quarters at Burnett’s Tavern in Cold Harbor. He was close enough to the battle that enemy artillery shells crashed around the crossroads and into the artillery park located nearby. Two of his staff were wounded by shrapnel. The battle-hardened corps commander was shaken to learn that he had lost eight of his colonels and 3,000 other soldiers in the failed attack.

Wright’s VI Corps, which was adjacent to Hancock’s right flank on the north side of the Cold Harbor Road, occupied a narrow front. Wright’s three divisions were almost on top of one another, and they were closer to the Confederate line than to other Federal units. Opposite Wright’s corps were six Confederate brigades, two of which belonged to Hoke’s division and four that belonged to Anderson’s I Corps.

The Confederates enjoyed an excellent defensive position. With Wright’s tacit approval, his division commanders—Brig. Gens. David Russell, Thomas Neill, and James Ricketts—ordered a limited assault in which their troops were to advance within 80 yards of the enemy line and establish a new position. When they reached their stated objective, half the men in each forward regiment dug in while the other half returned the enemy’s fire. Although losses were light compared to those suffered by the frontline units of Hancock’s corps, Wright’s regiments still suffered significant casualties as a result of their exposure to artillery fire and enemy sharpshooters, the latter of whom enjoyed nearly complete protection behind log barricades.

Caught in a Deadly Crossfire

Smith’s well-rested XVIII Corps prepared to launch a major assault of its own. Whereas Hancock and Wright had launched their attacks on a wide front, Smith ordered his two divisions to advance in columns of massed brigades. Brig. Gen. John Martindale deployed his two brigades in column formation on the right, one on each side of a wooded swale. To his left, Brig. Gen. William Brooks deployed one of his four brigades in a single column. The attacking brigades were to advance through a belt of woods that Smith believed would furnish some measure of protection from fire.

Unknown to Smith and his division commanders, the Confederate line in that sector was configured to trap whatever Union troops charged into it. Generals Joseph Kershaw and Charles Field had deployed their troops in a horseshoe configuration that would allow them to catch assaulting forces in a crossfire. Behind the breastworks, the Confederates were arrayed shoulder to shoulder in two ranks.

Leading the Union attack on the north side of the swale was dashing 26-year-old Colonel Griffin Stedman, who waved his sword as he rode at the front of his brigade. Before the attack, his regimental commanders had requested permission to deploy into line of battle once they came under heavy fire, but Stedman had forbidden it. The woods along the swale furnished protective cover for only about 50 yards. After that, the enemy fire grew to a deafening roar and the landscape was quickly blanketed with dead or dying Federals.

Because of heavy battle smoke, the men in Stedman’s lead regiments could not see the faces of Brig. Gen. Evander Law’s Alabamians, who were firing steadily into their ranks. “To those exposed to the full force and fury of the dreadful storm of lead and iron that met the charging columns, it seemed more like a volcanic blast than a battle,” wrote Captain Asa Bartlett of the 12th New Hampshire, the lead regiment in Stedman’s attack. Stedman’s attack was easily shattered. The 12th New Hampshire alone lost 50 percent of its soldiers in the attack. When the other regiments behind it saw the fate of the 12th New Hampshire, they withdrew to the tree line and began to entrench.

“It Was Not War, it Was Murder”

On the south side of the swale, Martindale’s left column, led by Brig. Gen. George Stannard, fared no better. Twice Stannard sent his men against the Confederate breastworks, but they were easily repulsed. Once it became apparent to Kershaw that a major assault was under way, he ordered Brig. Gen. Goode Bryan to move his Georgians forward to reinforce Law’s men. There wasn’t enough room at the packed breastworks for the Georgians, and they passed forward loaded rifles to the Alabamians so the front-line troops would not have to reload. Law, in the thick of the fighting, shared the sentiments of many of his fellow veterans. “It was not war, it was murder,” he wrote.

On Stannard’s left flank, the lead regiments braved a storm of lead and iron in an effort to reach the enemy barricades. Lending firepower to the Confederate infantry were cannon belching forth double loads of canister that stopped the blue-clad infantry in their tracks. “There was a helpless mob, a swarming multitude of confused men,” wrote a Confederate artillerist who witnessed the assault. “They were falling by scores, hundreds. The mass was simply melting away under the fury of our fire.” Smith, on hand to witness the repulse, told the brigadier to reform his survivors at the tree line and entrench along the same line as Martindale’s two shattered brigades. Between them, Smith and Wright lost about 1,800 men.

“A Wanton Waste of Life”

From his headquarters in the rear of Wright’s corps three quarters of a mile north of Cold Harbor, Meade received regular updates from each of the three corps in the main assault. As soon as he received the dispatches, he forwarded them to Grant, whose headquarters was a mile behind the front line near VI Corps’ field hospital.

An initial report from Hancock at 5 am indicated that Barlow had seized the enemy works opposite him, but 15 minutes later he informed Meade that the attack had failed. From then on, the news was all bad. Two hours after the main assault had begun, it was over. All three corps commanders on the left wing of the Federal line reported to Meade that although their troops fought heroically, they had not been able to penetrate the Confederates’ first line of defense. At 6:35 am, Hancock requested permission to break off the attack. Meade fired back a stern reply: “You will make the attack and support it well, so that in the event of being successful, the advantage gained can be held. If unsuccessful report at once.”

Meade contacted Grant by telegraph at 7 am to determine whether the assault should continue. “The moment it becomes certain that an assault cannot succeed, suspend the offensive, but when one does succeed push it vigorously, and if necessary pile in troops at the successful point from wherever they can be taken,” Grant replied vaguely. Meade continued to press his corps commanders so as not to appear weak to Grant.

When the three corps commanders received Meade’s orders, they passed them along to their division commanders but simply looked the other way to avoid what Smith deemed “a wanton waste of life.” The division commanders had seen enough slaughter for one day, and they found a way to circumvent any further assaults. “To move that army farther, except by regular approaches, was a simple and absolute impossibility, known to be such by every officer and man of the three corps engaged,” wrote Colonel Martin McMahon, VI Corps’ chief of staff. “The order was obeyed by simply renewing the fire from the men as they lay in position.” Griffin Stedman was less restrained. “I will not take my regiment in another charge if Jesus Christ himself should order it!” he shouted.

Lee’s Last Great Victory

At 11 am, Grant arrived at the front to discuss with Meade whether to continue the attack. After hearing the discouraging reports, Grant issued orders to refrain from further attacks. Meanwhile, Robert E. Lee reported to President Jefferson Davis in Richmond that the Army of Northern Virginia had “repulsed without difficulty” an enemy vastly superior in numbers. In contrast to the more than 6,000 Federal casualties, the Confederates had lost at most 1,500 men. Said Lee: “Our loss today has been small, and our success, under the blessing of God, all that we could expect.”

Although the Federals remained in position for more than a week, the frontal assault on June 3 was the last organized fighting at Cold Harbor. For the next three days, the two sides clung to the ground within easy shooting distance of each other. Anyone foolish enough to climb to his feet was quickly shot down. “Thousands of men were cramped up in a narrow trench,” one Confederate officer recalled, “unable to go out, or to get up, or to stretch or to stand, without danger to life and limb; unable to lie down, or to sleep, for lack of room and pressure of peril; night alarms, day attacks, hunger, thirst, supreme weariness, squalor, vermin, filth, disgusting odors everywhere.” Neither Grant nor Lee was willing to allow a flag of truce for the removal of the rotting dead who lay between the two lines. One grievously wounded Union soldier ended his suffering by cutting his own throat with a pocket knife.

When the commanders finally agreed to a truce on June 7, there were few wounded men left alive to be rescued.

It remained only to bury the dead, which work parties from both sides accomplished by shoveling the bodies into shallow, maggot-filled graves. On June 12, the Federals began another march around Lee’s left flank across the James River to the railroad hub at Petersburg, where they dug new trenches and resumed static warfare.

Cold Harbor was Lee’s last major victory over a Federal army.

As for Grant, it was a sobering experience that steeled him to more hard fighting in the months ahead. Following the war, however, Grant had ample time to revisit the June 3 repulse. When he penned his memoirs two decades after the war, he expressed regret—the only one he admitted to having about the entire war—that his grand assault at Cold Harbor had cost so many lives for so little gain.

It was, he said, “the only battle I ever fought that I would not fight over again under the circumstances.” The men he had commanded at Cold Harbor no doubt shared that sentiment.

An Italian Tries Chicago DEEP DISH PIZZA

A fun video. Please check it out.

The name’s Pee-wee. Pee-wee Herman.

KCRW is making my dream of being a radio DJ come true!…

The Pig Trap

Time for a revisit, I'd say. -MM

I had a very memorable and thought-provoking passenger a while back that I never wrote about because while I found him fascinating, he seemed a little too political for what was always intended to be a fun blog to read and some cheap therapy for your humble driver and writer. But in light of all the scandals that have erupted lately and the EpicClusterSharknadoFuck that is ObamaCare, I have been thinking about a few things he said to me, so I’m going to commit them to paper (or pixels), if only for my own reading. So if you just want to read about moron drunks and belligerent whores, skip this post…

But if you are interested in catching up on current events that just might personally affect you soon, please read on…

It was June of 2012, when I got a call to pick up a gentleman at a resort hotel at around 4 AM going to the airport. I was a little surprised to see “Mr. Wheeler” waiting for me in front of the lobby, five minutes early, standing by his suitcase. Generally, people keep me waiting on these calls, still half asleep, late coming down, trying to get checked out, dicking around with their luggage and what not.

He was in his late 50’s or early 60’s, fit, wearing a navy blazer and was obviously a business traveler, but he also had a certain posture and demeanor that made me think he was ex-military.

We load up his luggage and hit the road, and I am chatting with him as we are heading to the airport. I ask what kind of work he does, and he says he is in “executive security”. I said, “Oooh, that sounds interesting… you mean like bodyguard work?”

He says, “Something like that… executive protection, security systems, personnel screening, entry/egress control, things like that. It sounds much more interesting than it really is… I spend a lot of time shuffling paper around and reading emails.”

I said, “You have the bearing of a military man… am I correct?”

“Yes, Sir… 22 years in the Marine Corps.” I thanked him for his service, something I always do when I encounter a member of our armed services. My standard line is, “Thank you for your service. I think you should hear that every damned day for the rest of your life, and your first beer should be free anywhere you go.”

So we are chatting on the drive, and the story on the radio is Eric Holder being held in contempt of Congress over the Fast and Furious fiasco.

I said, “Can you believe that shit? This asshole intentionally sends guns to Mexican drug gangs that will no doubt end up killing thousands of people, and then he lies and stonewalls the Congress? How is this deceitful douchebag not in shackles and an orange jumpsuit? And more to the point, how does someone like this ever ascend to the office of Attorney General?”

“He’s part of the Clinton machine… he knows low people in high places. He came up under Janet Reno… you know who that is, right?”

“Oh, yes, I know… the crazy dyke that gave the order to burn down the Branch Davidians in Waco. But what I don’t get is how they ever thought they could pull this shit off… people aren’t THAT stupid. If you say you are tracking guns, although you have no actual means of tracking the guns, that makes you look both dishonest AND moronic, and your cover story doesn’t make any sense. This didn’t have anything to do with illegal gun sales… any idiot can see that. So what was the REAL plan here?”

Mr. Wheeler says, “Have you ever heard of Occam’s Razor?”

I said, “Yeah, I know it… the most obvious answer is almost always correct… but I don’t think we need an instrument that sharp. I think Occam’s Rubber Spatula would seem to indicate that this is a push to vilify guns and gun owners here in America, as a pretense to drive stricter gun control.

Obama was just on TV not too long ago with the President of Mexico, saying that American guns were responsible for the violence in Mexico, and now American weapons are showing up at crime scenes.

It seems to me that an organization with the money and resources of an international drug cartel certainly knows where to pick up weapons, even if all American sources dried up completely. I assume they could go south of the border to Central America and get all the M4’s and AK’s they want… most likely full-auto… am I correct?”

Mr Wheeler replied, “There is certainly no shortage of guns and corruption in Central America. If you have the means to smuggle a ton of cocaine, you can probably smuggle a ton of guns, too. But this was easier… the Justice Department and the ATF made the contacts and set up the networks, told the gun shops to cooperate, so all the Mexicans had to do was send in a straw buyer, make the purchase, and move the weapons south of the border.”

I said, “These people aren’t very smart… there are something like 300 million guns in America, and they have a robust shelf life. Even if all gun manufacturing stopped tomorrow, there would still be an abundance of guns in America for decades. The only way to disarm Americans is mass confiscation, and I feel pretty certain that would spark a civil war. I know several gun owners that would rather fight than give up their guns.”

Mr. Wheeler said, “Oh, I know dozens… perhaps hundreds that feel the same way. I really don’t think confiscation is something you need to worry about, because it will never work. There are simply too many of them, and too many people have guns that there is no record of. A confiscation program would only piss off the most dangerous people in America… the people who would shoot back. You are correct, a mass confiscation would provoke a civil war.”

I said, “Well, you are a military man… what would that look like?”

Wheeler said, “Well, it wouldn’t look like the first Civil War… no lines of men standing in ranks and shooting across a field at each other, no “North and South” or sharply defined state lines for friendly and enemy territories, at least, not in the beginning. No, it would look more like Iraq or Afghanistan, with house to house fighting, IED’s, snipers, small factions and independent militias operating on their own, refugees streaming away from battle zones in all directions…”

“But the first question to ask is who would the combatants be? I mean, the Army isn’t going to just roll out onto the street in tanks on day one, so my guess is that it would start out as a police action, with Federal agencies like ATF and FBI taking the lead, supported by local law enforcement. But once people start shooting back, they would have to ratchet things up, do things like institute curfews and roadblocks, and they would eventually try to press the various state Guard units into service. That’s where it all goes squirrelly, because both local law enforcement and the Guard will be riddled with people who support gun rights, regardless of what laws the politicians pass, and they won’t be crazy about having to police, and maybe even fight against, their own people. The Governors may well object to the state Guard units being activated and may not wish to cooperate…”

“And it is not clear to me how many LEO and Guardsmen would remain loyal to the government and how many would join the “rebellion”. My guess is that both sides would be riddled with defections, informants, and spies. But what if, say, the Gulf states like Texas, Alabama, Louisiana, Mississippi, Georgia, and Florida secede, and they take control of all military bases and equipment, and you suddenly have gone from an insurgency with rifles to a breakaway nation, or maybe several breakaway nations, armed with fighter jets, drones, tanks, and a navy? Whoo, buddy… now all bets are off… kiss posse comitatus goodbye. This would be the ugliest thing this country has ever seen…”

I asked him several “what if” questions and let him riff on them… I just let him talk and wargame out the Second Civil War, there in the back seat of my car as we drove to the airport, and he painted a picture of horrific death and destruction. Once this conflict started, even the best-case scenarios he described sounded truly grim. He seemed to believe that civilian casualties would be extremely high, given how much fighting would centered in and around large cities, and that food would be used as a weapon, causing famine and starvation on a terrifying scale. Booby traps, IED’s, rampant bombings, drone strikes, snipers, local-level assassinations, mortars and shelling, death squads (both government and rebel), reprisal killings, torture… it sounded more like the Middle East than middle America.

Wheeler got quiet for a few moments, and then he said something that I will never, ever forget.

“These people are playing with matches… I don’t think they understand the scope and scale of the wildfire they are flirting with. They are fucking around with a civil war that could last a decade and cause millions of deaths… and the sad truth is that 95% of the problems we have in this country could be solved tomorrow, by noon… simply by dragging 100 people out in the street and shooting them in the fucking head.”

And lemme tell ya, he had the list… he rattled off 25 or 30 names of well-known, prominent politicians, mostly Democrats, but a few Republicans, several members of the current Cabinet, a couple of Obama’s “czars”, a couple of figures from the Bush administration and the Republican establishment, several media company executives and on-camera newscasters, reporters, and pundits, a couple of people who are active in leftist politics but not in elected office… he had obviously thought about this to some degree already.

I was struck by his cold, detached, matter-of-fact tone. I said, “Dude… that’s more French Revolution than American Revolution. Do you really think that is the way to go?”

Wheeler said, “I believe in efficiency and economy of action. You wouldn’t trade one hundred of those criminal bastards for ten million of your fellow Americans?”

I don’t remember if I actually answered out loud, but in my my head, the answer was, “Yeah, I probably would…”

The Beginning of the Endgame?

by Allan Weisbecker on February 25, 2020 in Blog

NOTE: Most of what follows was written on Saturday, February 22 (2020). I lost several days while trying to find acknowledged cases of a pathogen ‘accidentally released’ from a Level 3 or 4 bio-lab. I was unable to find even one. This is vital, as you will see. (I realize that Lyme Disease, AIDS, Ebola, and others originated in biowarfare labs, but they were not accidentally released.)

In thinking about Corvid 19 (‘The Bug’) I would urge you all to keep in mind the context of the situation, of current history. By that I mean, simply, that given the magnitude of the lies we’ve constantly been bombarded with — aside from the acts of horrendous violence inextricably tied to these lies — by what we have come to call ‘the PTB’… given the magnitude, we had better accept the fact that there is no limit, no line in the sand, no boundary of human decency, that will not be crossed in those powers getting what they want.

Sometimes, in the midst of a situation like that of the The Bug, we might actively recall some of the events we for sure know were perpetrated by those currently controlling the world’s science and technology, and the source of the official stories (the lies) about such, i.e., the mainstream media, plus most of the ‘alt’ or ‘independent’ media.

Before I get to the real point of this post, let’s just think for a moment about a couple (relatively) recent Biggies, and their immediate repercussions. I’m going to pick the obvious two, and please don’t sigh and mutter that you already know that stuff… I’m trying to force you to not only know but to remember, so you will understand the present-day implications.

JFK… once past the false histories, this coup (the violent overthrow of a legitimate government) directly resulted in 2 – 4 million deaths (that the known number is so vague is a great example of how unimportant are individual human lives), via the Viet Nam war. The branching repercussions (in terms of lives devastated or ended) are impossible to calculate. But the aggregate evil behind the event and the lies tied to it are in arguable.

Point being that we know that the powers behind the loosing of The Bug have no problem telling gargantuan lies and killing millions of humans. (And I could add that for sheer chutzpah-rife balls in the lying department, nothing tops the moon hoax. But, again, there were only four known deaths as a direct result, so we’ll let it slide…)

Addendum: the four deaths were the burnt-to-death astronauts of Apollo 1 (murdered), plus the NASA researcher, Thomas Baron, who was trying to spill the beans on cause of death. His car was hit by a train.

(If you have serious issues with what I’ve said so far, best you click some goddamn button on your keypad and move the fuck on.)

What I’m saying is that it’s very likely that The Chinese Bug is that Biggie. (Who knows if it’s actually a ‘virus’ or if viruses are actually pathogens). It has all the earmarks, but I’ll start with the matter always seen as paramount: The matter of Who did it? Whether it’s a Lee Oswald or an Osama bin Laden, what comes first is the fingering of the patsy, and The Bug is no different.

And as with the cited past examples (Lee and Osama) we recall that their names were all over the media within hours if not minutes of the events. In the case of a pandemic, the immediacy of the fingering is not as urgent; it takes a few weeks to even know something godawful is amiss.

But when the time came, the bastards were prepared: The Weird Animal Market!

The bat soup-slurping Chinese!

And hey, if that didn’t work: ‘The Wuhan Level 4 Biolab!’, which was conveniently minutes away from the designated ground (or patient) zero, at the Market. (Talk about convenient! As is the coincidence that the outbreak occurred in the midst of the ultimate Chinese travel week, the Lunar New Year. Yes, the better to spread not only The Bug, but the panic; and to make sure both spread world-wide, via air travel.)

But blaming the bio-lab would be a fall-back position; ever the optimists, the real perps were hoping mother nature as patsy would hold water, at least for a few months. (The PTB science contingent no doubt warned the top dogs that bat shit-as-culprit would not work in the long run, not with their useless eater brethren-scientists, i.e., those few who could not be intimidated into silence.)

Thing is, as with my other two examples of Biggies, to those few ‘honest’ scientists, the truth of the matter, the identity of the real culprit was… if not obvious, directly implied — assuming one, simple logical connection. Given the corruption (and fear) in the West, the first whistle was blown way far away, over in India, although the paper was quickly taken down (before it was reviewed); not before it had made its way onto the good old Net, though, and was archived for all to see:

Uncanny similarity of unique inserts in the 2019-nCoV spike protein to HIV-1 gp120 and Gag

Prashant Pradhan , Ashutosh Kumar Pandey , Akhilesh Mishra , Parul Gupta , Praveen, Kumar Tripathi , Manoj Balakrishnan Menon , James Gomes , Perumal Vivekanandan* and Bishwajit Kundu, Kusuma School of biological sciences, Indian institute of technology, New Delhi-110016, India. 2Acharya Narendra Dev College, University of Delhi, New Delhi-110019, India

* Corresponding authors- email: bkundu@bioschool.iitd.ac.in vperumal@bioschool.iitd.ac.in

Abstract:

 We are currently witnessing a major epidemic caused by the 2019 novel coronavirus (2019- nCoV). The evolution of 2019-nCoV remains elusive. We found 4 insertions in the spike glycoprotein (S) which are unique to the 2019-nCoV and are not present in other coronaviruses. 

Importantly, amino acid residues in all the 4 inserts have identity or similarity to those in the HIV- 1 gp120 or HIV-1 Gag. 

Interestingly, despite the inserts being discontinuous on the primary amino acid sequence, 3D-modelling of the 2019-nCoV suggests that they converge to constitute the receptor binding site. 

The finding of 4 unique inserts in the 2019-nCoV, all of which have identity /similarity to amino acid residues in key structural proteins of HIV-1 is unlikely to be fortuitous in nature. 

This work provides yet unknown insights on 2019-nCoV and sheds light on the evolution and pathogenicity of this virus with important implications for diagnosis of this virus. [my emphasis]

A question: Why didn’t Western scientists notice this?

Anyone who claims the above is not clear or hey you don’t know who these Indian scientists are, or some bull shit, be advised that these are legit scientists with Ph.Ds, yet the media has refused to deal with the findings, let alone debunk them. Think about that.

A formal study saying that The Bug is a pedigreed bio-weapon — which is what the HIV gene means … and the media not only covers it up, but ridicules any theory that does not involve bat soup.

Monday, Febraury 24 (two days later): It was at about this point in the writing of this post that I took a break and did some online searches to see if the media was still evading the issue of the HIV gene and what it means. As far as I could see, they were — they were still blabbing that any theory but the ‘bat soup’ version is a ‘conspiracy theory’ — but in my search I stumbled upon the name ‘Francis Boyle’, an esteemed bio-weapons expert, who has written definitive books on the subject, plus authored the International Bio-terrorism Act of 1989, which the U.S. (along with everyone else) had signed. His cv is as impressive as it gets in the field of biowarfare.

Three weeks previous to this writing, Professor Boyle had fingered the The Bug as a bio-weapon, based upon the Indian study I cite above, and which he said was inarguable.

A further search told me that Boyle had done another interview just two days ago, (unfortunately) with Alex Jones. (‘Unfortunately’ because Jones is a buffoon and an embarrassment to serious people.) Turned out Jones hit the jackpot this time, although his constant dumb-ass interruptions drove me to distraction.

I urge you to put up with Jones and listen to the whole interview, but to sum it up: A 2015 document Boyle unearthed fingers the Level 4 bio-lab (BSL 3) at the University of North Carolina as the U.S. participant in the engineering of the ‘COVID 19’ virus. Names are named, including the Chinese scientist from the Wuhan lab who bought and then transported the pathogen back to China. The deal was sponsored by the NIH (National Institute of Health) and the FDA (Federal Drug Administration), aside from the university bureaucrats. As Professor Boyle says, all involved should be prosecuted under the Bio-terrorism Act of 1989, which, again, Professor Boyle wrote.

Smoking guns don’t come any hotter than this.

An interesting observation was Boyle’s assurance that the official claim that bats were involved in the transmission to humans is ‘balderdash’, and that, given The Bug’s HIV gene envelope, animals of any sort are ruled out as spreaders. That the mainstream is outed on this provenance-related prevarication is extremely significant, for its implications. We obviously cannot trust them on any Bug-related matter.

My only bone to pick with Professor Boyle is his theory that the virus leaked from the Wuhan lab accidentally. I spent half the weekend looking into the protocols used by Level 3 and 4 labs and can assure you that an accident is no more likely here than in the Baxter scandal from 2009, which I described in a recent post. (For those who want to check my facts on this, see the quotes and links in the end notes to this post. It is quite important!)

Although Boyle is an exceptional man, one of the few amongst top level scientists, he doesn’t understand the long range plans of those in power, nor does he realize the lengths they have and will go to. Boyle has shown courage in airing his views before: From his position as professor of international law he spoke out against the war in Afghanistan, a risk to his job and maybe his safety after 9/11, so I tend to doubt he (in effect) would false-champion the official story on the outbreak. It could be that — like most of us — he just cannot imagine ‘colleagues’ letting loose such devastation upon the world. As I say, he has some smartening up to do.

See, the official story is slowly becoming ‘an accidental release’ from the Wuhan lab…

This was inevitable, given the robustness of the evidence that it is a bio-weapon. (Listen to the goddamn link!)

Professor Boyle’s theory that one of the scientists ‘somehow got infected’ while working on the virus and spread the virus after leaving the lab via ‘his normal life activities’ doesn’t stand up to minimal scrutiny, if one takes into account the story we’ve been fed since the outbreak was made public back in December.

You would think that China going DEFCON ONE, staying at DEFCON, and agreeing with Russia that the United States has been launching bioweapons against them would be a de facto RED FLAG, but you know, most of the Western bloggers only have American news to base their thoughts and opinions on. -MM

He continues on…

Read the link if you wanna deep dive.

Modern wedding dresses in the Republic of Tatarstan

Modern wedding dresses in the Republic of Tatarstan are similar to European ones, but with some interesting ethnic details and, as a rule, they don’t have to be white. They can be purple, green or even blue, which are the national colors. On the head of the bride can be a scarf or a hijab or a veil with a diadem and a traditional Tatar cap – a fez. Before the civil registration of marriage, Muslims hold a wedding ceremony in a mosque and the bride must have her head covered. It is not rare that the bride chooses different dresses for the wedding and for the registration, for example, a strict white dress with a scarf in the same style and a colorful national dress.

Men, meanwhile, wear the most usual formal suits, but they put on a fez in the mosque.

Is it true that many anti-CCP Chinese became pro-CCP after having learnt how Western media are biased against China?

I’d say that at least It’s true for me in some extent, but I don’t see myself as “very pro-CCP”, I’ve just learned to view things as more nuanced.

This was me years ago when I was traveling in India, notice the “save Tibet” shirt with snow lion flag?

I got it in Bylakuppe which is the second largest Tibetan settlement in India. Yeah, I used to be an anti-CCP liberal who stood up against CCP’s “oppression” in Tibet.

In short, I was brainwashed by anti-China media and “overseas Chinese democracy activists”. I had exposed to tons of videos, articles about Tiananmen square protests and “human rights abuses in Tibet”. I had also read Dalai Lama’s biographies and firmly believed that Tibet should’ve been freed from the CCP. Although I had been to Tibet, I had seen people’s living conditions were relatively well and I had seen the extraordinary Qinghai-Tibet railway. That said, another voice in mind constantly reminded me that “they need freedom and democracy”.

It was so powerful and I had a firm belief of it. I would badmouth our GOV with every foreigner I met just like those China haters who can’t stop trolling me right now. I felt like I was both a “freedom fighter” and a “China expert”. How naive and ignorant I was back then. LOL

So when did I start to realize that I was brainwashed?

When western MSM began to lie about my hometown, Xinjiang in 2018. At first, I was still a little bit skeptical. I wasn’t sure it was true or not. In another word, I didn’t know I should trust my own eyes, my family, my friends, my common sense or their propaganda. Looking back, It was very hilarious but that was me in 2018. Fortunately, my rational thought overwhelmed anti-China propaganda. So why I’m telling you this story? I reckon some of you might be in the middle of my journey.

Sometimes, maybe you are confused that who are telling you the “truth”? Well, in today’s internet environment, don’t expect to HEAR the “truth”, because it’s not important in the eyes of media and online influencers. They just wanna get their content massive exposure in a very short period of time. That’s how they make money from you. So you need to FIND out the “truth” by yourself if you are really interested in it.

Biden’s Nuremberg Rally: He Is Literally Hitler Now

The Washington Standard / September 3, 2022

Back on March 23, 1933, before he became the world’s universal symbol for the embodiment of evil, German Chancellor Adolf Hitler spoke before the Reichstag, urging it to pass an Enabling Act that would give him dictatorial powers. He said that this was urgently needed in light of an imminent threat to the nation. Hitler claimed that in 1918, Marxist organizations had seized power in Germany, leading to “a time of boundless misfortune for Germany, that is to say the working German Volk [people].” But he assured the Reichstag deputies that “the German Volk itself has increasingly turned away from concepts, parties, and associations which, in its eyes, are responsible for these conditions.” Does this sound familiar? It should. These are the same rhetorical notes Old Joe Biden sounded during his ominous Thursday night speech branding Donald Trump and his supporters as enemies of the state.

Probably more out of historical illiteracy than historical awareness, Biden’s handlers chose September 1 for Biden’s profoundly disturbing and un-American speech. That’s right, it was the 83^rd anniversary of Hitler’s invasion of Poland when Old Joe stood before an ominous red and black backdrop and recalled Hitler’s demonization of his opposition, declaring that “Donald Trump and the MAGA Republicans represent an extremism that threatens the very foundations of our republic.”

Of course, Joe hastened to assure us that he didn’t want to pitch every Republican into the gulag just yet: “Now, I want to be very clear — very clear up front: Not every Republican, not even the majority of Republicans, are MAGA Republicans. Not every Republican embraces their extreme ideology. I know because I’ve been able to work with these mainstream Republicans. But there is no question that the Republican Party today is dominated, driven, and intimidated by Donald Trump and the MAGA Republicans, and that is a threat to this country.”

That suggests what the next step will be. Will Biden and his henchmen try to force Republicans to join up with the uniparty pseudo-Republicans who allow the Democrats to implement their full hard-Left agenda, Mitt Romney and Liz Cheney and Susan Collins and Lisa Murkowski and Adam Kinzinger and all the rest, and to denounce and repudiate Trump and any idea of making America great again? If so, what will happen to those who do not? Will they’ll be prevented from taking any Congressional seats to which they’re elected, and even arrested as enemies of “our democracy”?

That’s what Hitler did with the Communists he blamed for Germany’s woes. In his Enabling Act speech, Hitler accused the Communists of “pillaging, arson, raids on the railway, assassination attempts, and so on–all these things are morally sanctioned by Communist theory.” He also declared that the German people were already in the process of defeating these great enemies. He spoke of “the necessity of thoroughly rejecting the ideas, organizations, and men in which one gradually and rightly began to recognize the underlying causes of our decay.” He added: “Filled with the conviction that the causes of this collapse lie in internal damage to the body of our Volk, the Government of the National Revolution aims to eliminate the afflictions from our völkisch life which would, in future, continue to foil any real recovery.”

Biden sounded the same notes here again, declaring that the nation was bouncing back despite the best efforts of these internal enemies to destroy it: “American manufacturing has come alive across the Heartland, and the future will be made in America — no matter what the white supremacists and the extremists say,” as if America-First patriots, whom Biden was busy smearing as white supremacists and extremists, were against American manufacturing. “I made a bet on you, the American people,” Biden continued, “and that bet is paying off. Proving that from darkness — the darkness of Charlottesville, of COVID, of gun violence, of insurrection — we can see the light. Light is now visible.”

These resonances are real and ominous. For the first time ever in over two hundred years of American history, a president has declared that his primary political opposition stands outside the bounds of acceptable political discourse. The logical next step is the one Hitler took: he blamed one of his strongest adversaries, the Communist Party, for the Reichstag Fire, and outlawed it accordingly. With the Communist deputies barred from being present, the Reichstag passed the Enabling Act, and Germany’s unfortunate fourteen-year experiment with a representative republic was over.

But that couldn’t possibly happen here, could it? It would be as outlandish and frankly inconceivable as the prospect of a president of the United States standing in front of a couple of Marines and a strongly Naziesque backdrop and denouncing his legitimate political opposition as enemies of the state. Simply could not happen! Not in “our democracy”!

Chicago-Style Deep-Dish Pizza

What is Chicago-style pizza? It’s a lofty yeast dough topped lightly with tomato and generous portions of sausage and cheese.

Ingredients

2 packages regular or active dry yeast
1 1/2 cups warm water (105°F to 115°F)
6 cups Original Bisquick™ mix
1/4 cup olive or vegetable oil
8 cups shredded mozzarella cheese (32 oz)
1 lb bulk Italian pork sausage, cooked and drained, or 2 packages (3 1/2 oz each) sliced pepperoni
Vegetable toppings such as sliced fresh mushrooms, chopped green bell pepper or chopped onion, sliced green onions, sliced ripe olives, sliced pimiento-stuffed olives, if desired
2 cans (28 oz each) Muir Glen™ organic whole peeled tomatoes with basil, well drained
2 to 4 tablespoons chopped fresh or 2 teaspoons dried oregano leaves or Italian seasoning
1/2 to 1 cup grated Parmesan cheese

Preparing for civil unrest

From HERE

The most remarkable thing about American civil unrest is that there hasn’t been more of it.

Politicians are making a hash of this country and much of the rest of the civilized world. We know it. They know it. They know we know it. But we don’t feel we can do anything much to stop them.

That right there is the pre-condition for civil unrest when people are frustrated and politicians are nervous.

Worse, that was how things stood before last fall’s crash.

Before pols on both left and right launched the biggest mass transfer of wealth in history transferring our wealth (what we had left of it!) to their friends on Wall Street and in the banking industry. In other words, that’s how things were before things got bad!

Now everybody’s talking about the ongoing catastrophe (even if we are in a momentarily sunny mood). But almost nobody is talking about the logical maybe even inevitable consequences of cynical or desperate politicians abusing an already fed-up populace: civil unrest.

I mean people taking to the streets. Or mass resistance. Or crackdowns because the government fears we might do something to upset its apple cart. It’s going to happen. Somewhere. At some time. It’s going to.

One of the few VIPs to mention the matter openly was Zbigniew Brzezinski, former National Security Advisor and the ultimate insider’s insider. He commented on the millions of unemployed or soon-to-be-unemployed and the “…public awareness of this extraordinary wealth that was transferred to a few individuals at levels without historical precedent in America.” He told “Morning Joe” Scarborough, “Hell, there could be even riots.” I’d say that’s an understatement.

Although few in power are talking about it, rumors abound that governments at many levels are planning for civil unrest. One rumor is about a document supposedly being circulated right now among top federal officials. It’s called the “C&R Document” with C&R standing for “conflict & revolution.” The much-storied paper is said to be a plan for controlling the American people when we get out of hand. True? Who knows. But the very rumor tells us a lot about these times.

Other things are not mere rumor. When the federal government established a North American Army command in 2002, its purpose wasn’t to repel foreign invaders. It was domestic operations something long and rightly forbidden by the Posse Comitatus Act. In February of 2009, when military commanders in Canada and the U.S. signed a pact allowing their armies to operate inside each other’s country they didn’t even bother to get authorization from Congress an illegal and unprecedented move. And once again, the purpose was handling “domestic civil emergencies.”

For several years, the Centers for Disease Control tried to get states to adopt something called the Model State Emergency Health Powers Act (MEHPA). This act would allow state governments to become police-state dictatorships in event of any ill-defined health emergency vaccinating people by force, destroying or seizing property without compensation, and rationing medical supplies, food, and fuel. To their credit, most state governments rejected the act. A few adopted portions of it before a fervent opposition campaign caused the CDC to back off. However, the concept of a health dictatorship hasn’t gone away. Not hardly. Within days of the news that a new strain of swine flu had arisen in Mexico in April 2009, states were again considering legislation to give themselves martial-law powers in event of an epidemic.

And what of the dozens and dozens of federal agencies that now have SWAT teams? Seriously, what justifies the Bureau of Land Management or the Department of Housing and Urban Development having paramilitary units?

Now maybe you like the idea of an Army that watches over its own citizens. Maybe it makes sense to have a government seize total dictatorial power in event of a health emergency. Maybe you believe SWAT teams will never be used except against bad guys. But do you really trust these people?

After all, these are the same folks, and this is the same mentality, that not only spent $325,000 to produce a souvenir photo of a presidential 747 zooming low over the Statue of Liberty, but ordered the New York Police Department, the FBI, the Secret Service, and the New York mayor’s office not to tell the public. Never mind that they realized full well that passenger jets and military planes plunging low over Manhattan would evoke panic.

Still, peace reigns. Mostly. At least here in North America. But not everywhere. Not long ago, France was brought to its knees by night after night of rioting. In that country it’s become almost common for workers to hold their bosses hostage in hopes of winning economic concessions. Greece, too, saw its normal life and business shut down by days of rioting. So did Iceland a country that’s normally the picture of civility.

Can the U.S. be forever immune?

It might not take much and it could be something out of the blue, something impossible to anticipate to set us against each other and against the “Trust us; we’ll fix it” political crowd.

In a way, this national silence on a matter so many people are afraid of is similar to the silence about general preparedness issues before 9-11 or Hurricane Katrina. Only Mormons and us wingnuts spoke of preparedness way back when. Since then, of course, advice on preparedness is mainstream and common.

In another sense, this silence is different. Because when unrest finally erupts, it’s not going to be us merely taking care of ourselves. It’s going to be “us against them.” It might be workers against bosses. Or the poor against bankers. Or blacks against Hispanics. Or little folk against Big Men in public office. Or farmers against the USDA. Or xenophobes against xenophiles. But however it happens, the implications aren’t as Boy-Scoutish as just taking care of ourselves in an emergency.

Defining civil unrest

Look up “preparations for civil unrest” on Google and…What’s that echo I hear?you’ll find nothing that’s going to help you. In fact, you won’t even easily turn up a good definition of what civil unrest is.

Like “indecency,” the definition seems to be in the eye of the beholder.

I wouldn’t consider a peaceful anti-war march to be civil unrest, for instance, but a police chief might. Similarly, I wouldn’t consider acts of localized non-violent lawbreaking (like environmental activists chaining themselves to a tree) to be civil unrest; but a timber company official probably believes otherwise.

Civil unrest occurs when anger, frustration, or fear turn disruptive on a mass scale. Or when government officials crack down because they anticipate such disruptions. Crackdowns can lead to further frustration, leading to further crackdowns and so on especially when the crackdowns look unwarranted and tyrannical.

In other words, civil unrest can arise from the anger of people or the folly of government or both together.

Anger over an unpopular policy, a new war, a collapse of the currency, panic over a pandemic, a food shortage, a bank run anything like that could cause civil unrest, especially in a population that’s already on edge and no longer trusts its authority figures.

Another thing you won’t find via Google is how various types or levels of unrest are likely to affect us and how we should respond, if we’re affected. Again, although the men and women at the top are quite concerned for their own sakes, they (and their media mouthpieces) would rather not talk about what we should do in event of civil panic.

But that’s not good enough for we independent-minded people, is it?

Here are my definitions of levels of civil unrest and a little bit about how they might affect us:

LEVEL ONE: The lowest level of civil unrest is when people turn on their own neighborhoods as happened during the race riots of the 1960s and the Rodney King riots in Los Angeles. Level One civil unrest can be deadly and destructive, but primarily to people who live, work, or must travel in the immediate area. Level One unrest is spontaneous, Dionysian, is confined to a narrow geographical zone where the protestors live. Police response may be harsh, but it’s localized. Unless you’re in the middle of it, you’re unaffected.

LEVEL TWO: Level Two civil unrest may also be focused on a single area. But in this case, rioters or protesters have deliberately targeted a business district, a facility, a transportation system, or an organization to impose maximum disruption. One example: the World Trade Organization protests in Seattle in 1999; young people with violence in mind and rage in their hearts attacked an entire downtown, affecting hundreds of businesses and tens of thousands of workers who hardly knew what hit them. Another example: This spring, protesters in Thailand shut down the Bangkok airport, affecting who knows how many individuals and businesses. Level Two unrest is usually planned or semi-planned. The target is chosen deliberately. Although still focused in one area, Level Two can disrupt normal life and business in a whole region or country.

LEVEL THREE: Level Three comes when mass unrest or authoritarian crackdown causes disruption at state or regional level. Then, no matter what the original cause or location of the trouble, everyone in the region is affected. Effects might include travel restrictions, random ID checks, mass arrests, food and fuel rationing, controls on money and banking, roadblocks, and other harsh “emergency” restrictions.

LEVEL FOUR: Level Four is Level Three but on a national or even international scale. It’s martial law. If things ever get this bad, it’s likely that the government itself will be a far bigger threat to everyone’s well being than whatever the original cause of the clampdown was.

And of course, any level of civil unrest can lead to laws, regulations, and harsher police policies that end up affecting everybody in the long run.

Yes, it can involve us

We make a mistake if we think civil unrest is strictly an urban phenomena. It can happen anywhere.

When 400 government agents and soldiers descended on one isolated family in the Idaho mountains, the roadblocks, helicopters, Humvees, media presence, and furious protestors surrounded the Randy Weaver family and brought the normal life of Boundary County, Idaho, to a halt. The siege against the Branch Davidian church in Waco, Texas, wasn’t conducted in the inner-city, either. Yet both of these were large scale catastrophes with all the hallmarks of civil unrest individuals or groups resisting, government insisting.

I can easily envision strictly rural-based unrest that urban dwellers will never even hear about (except perhaps in highly distorted reports). What happens, for instance, if farmers, 4H families, owners of saddle horses, and holders of small chicken flocks decide to resist en masse the National Animal Identification System (NAIS)? It’s easy to imagine, in these crazy days, USDA SWAT teams descending on the countryside to make arrests, forcibly register or destroy non-compliant animals, and burn down non-registered facilities.

The future could see rural resistance to invasive census-taking, forced vaccination programs, land takings, water-rights policies, or the destruction of herds for real or bogus health reasons. As country people increasingly see governments as foreign organizations driven by the interests of city dwellers, pharmaceutical companies, and mega-agri-business, it wouldn’t surprise me.

If we ever have serious food shortages, expect rural areas to be besieged.

Even when civil unrest confines itself to the cities, airports, or highways it can affect us in crazy ways. Here’s a funny example of unpredictable (in this case mild) consequences. A friend was due to have her first book published in Canada. She was very excited then disappointed when weeks dragged by and the book didn’t appear. Turns out that a band of Indians was blocking a highway bridge the printer’s truck had to cross. The union truckers, in solidarity, refused to route around the protest. Just one small consequence. But you can see the unpredictability.

The simple truth is that we don’t know what kinds of unrest to anticipate. We don’t know when, or if, we’ll see civil unrest. But thinking about the problem and preparing ourselves mentally and physically to deal with it should be just another aspect of our personal preparedness.

What we can do

1. Keep standard emergency preps up to date. First thing to do is make sure all our typical household preparedness supplies and plans are current. As BHM readers know, backup food, water, and other supplies are our mainstay for everything from bad storms to long-term unemployment, from power outages to social breakdowns. During civil unrest, especially at Level Three or Four, we might not be able to get out to buy things we need or we might consider it more prudent to stay at home. On the other hand, if we ourselves are part of the unrest, we may need those supplies to sit out a siege.

2. Don’t fall into foolish complacency. We who live in the country tend to have an “it can’t happen here” attitude toward political violence or social upheaval. We see those things as urban pheonomena. And mostly, they are. But there’s no ironclad rule that says they have to be. If anything disrupts the supply chain, for instance, rural areas could be the first to be cut off from food, medicines, fuel, or other necessities. If government breaks down to the point where it can’t deliver food stamps, housing vouchers, social security, or bureaucrats’ pay, the rural poor and unemployed could become just as restive as their urban counterparts.

3. Watch your health. As I write this, the airwaves are shrilling about swine flu. This outbreak may fizzle; after all, perfectly normal flu kills many every year without causing panic, martial law, or incessant media coverage. On the other hand, it’s certain that one day some illness will rampage across the globe. Few things inspire public panic more quickly than contagious disease, and once again rural areas are not immune. Take all the standard recommended precautions like frequent handwashing. Make sure your preparedness kit includes surgical masks and disposable gloves as well as a selection of frequently updated medications. And be ready to lay low at home for a long time in the event a serious plague gets loose.

4. Make common cause with your neighbors. I’ve said it before, but establishing a strong bond with people in your community right now is vital to every sort of emergency preparedness. In event of a Level One or Two emergency, these are the folks who could come to your house to make sure you’re okay. They might give you a ride out or a place to sleep if you accidentally end up in a “hot zone” of riot or protest. In a deeper or more long-term emergency, they could pool resources with you to make supply runs. They can advise you if they’ve spotted a roadblock. They might let you cross their land to avoid a route that has become dangerous.

5. If you grow crops or raise food animals and the unrest is due to a food shortage (or something has driven city people out into the countryside), prepare to protect your resources day and night. Here again neighbors can do each other valuable services, like taking shifts guarding fields, barns, private roads, and gardens. Yes, this is an apocalyptic scenario. Not a likely one. But if it happens, it’s a Level Three or Level Four emergency delivered to your own front yard.

6. Get advance word on local conditions when traveling. We’re used to hopping into our vehicles or onto airplanes and going wherever we want to go. But as the worldwide economy deteriorates, it’s wise to keep an eye on our destination. Right now, this warning pertains more to overseas travel than jaunts within the U.S. If you plan to go abroad, visit online sites like Travelfish.org. They’ll have bulletins about adverse conditions in areas you plan to visit; you may even be able to receive alerts via email that will warn you about anything from political protests to disease outbreaks in places you plan to go.

7. Watch for signs of trouble when in an unfamiliar area. Sometimes the only advance notice you get is the notice your own senses give you. When walking, driving, biking, or otherwise traveling in unfamiliar places, stay in what gunfolk call “condition yellow.” This is different than the meaningless colored threat levels the Department of Homeland Security puts out. It just means “be alert!” Never simply allow yourself to slouch along obliviously. Always be aware of who’s nearby and what’s going on around you. If you spot trouble developing, turn. Avoid it if at all possible.

8. If you stumble into a “hot zone” of unrest, be prepared to think on your feet. Not many people are qualified to give you advice about how to behave if you unavoidably find yourself in the midst of trouble a riot, a mass protest that suddenly engulfs your familiar downtown, a spot where police are bashing heads or hurling tear gas seemingly at random. That’s because not many people have ever been there and every catastrophe is different. If street-level chaos surrounds you, do your best to keep a cool head, move away from the worst of it if you get the chance, and get inside if possible.

9. If you’re swept up in mass arrests during a riot or demonstration, the officers probably aren’t going to be listening to your protestations of being an innocent bystander. You’ll only tick them off and possibly get a charge of resisting arrest. The best advice I’ve received from my friends who’ve been busted during out-of-hand protests: Go along as best you can. Usually, all charges in such cases are either dropped or reduced once calm is restored. Only if we’ve reached the extreme point where police are rounding people up and throwing them into detention camps or “disappearing” them is fighting cops on the street likely to be worth it; then…fight like a demon.

10. Have a good lawyer and carry his or her card with you. Once again, in the heat of chaos it may not do you much good. But that card will come in handy later. Besides, if you and a police officer have an encounter in calmer circumstances, a lawyer’s card, along with your calm assertion of your legal rights, will help you to be taken seriously. Police officers are like anybody else; they’re more likely to go after easy targets than ones who are obviously knowledgeable and prepared. My lawyer has a helpful little list on the back of his card of the things you should do and not do when accosted by a police officer.¹ I’d trust that more than my own nerves in a tight situation.

11. Be careful of roadblocks. This is a hard one. If we reach Level Three or Four of unrest, we may not only see the obnoxious police “checkpoints” we’re burdened with today. We might also see two other things. One would be expanded police roadblocks, with warrantless searches, harsh questioning, and possibly mass arrests. Another could be “freelance” roadblocksroadblocks set up by anybody from political protesters to highwaymen. (Just as gangs of home invaders now masquerade as SWAT teams, highwaymen might masquerade as government officials to rob the unwary.) If it’s humanly possible, avoid roadblocks. It’s not illegal to turn away from them, as long as you don’t disobey any traffic laws. Police do consider it suspicious behavior and may come after you, even if you’ve done nothing wrong; but in a time of civil unrest, avoiding a roadblock could save your skin. Of course, both police and freelancers will set up their blockades to make them as hard as possible to avoidall the more reason to be alert, know where roadblocks are likely to be, and have a mental map of alternate routes. If, in a time and place of unrest, you’re in a line approaching a roadblock, watch what happens to the people ahead of you. If you see any sign that the motorists ahead are being abused, get out of there.

So far, we’ve talked mostly as if civil unrest is something apart from us something we might have to be wary of, something we might stumble accidentally into. But the fact is that as our country becomes less free, we might of course be the civil unrest.

We might resist having our premises tagged for NAIS or having our herds slaughtered for real or bogus health reasons. We might end up fighting evictions (as farmers and many rural dwellers have for centuries during hard times). We might be the ones who say, “Hell no, we won’t go!” when the mobile vaccination van comes to town, or the ones who try to keep our neighbors from being rounded up and sent to camps. Times are uncertain. We simply don’t know.

But in every case, preparedness, foreknowledge, and a cool head will come in handy.

Some of us already have lines in the sand that would inspire us to resist abuses of authority. And that, right there, is something our would-be masters fearour disobedience. What will happen? And when? Nobody has a crystal ball. But the combination of public frustration and governmental apprehension is an explosive one. Someday, somebody will light the match.

¹ Here’s the copy on the lawyer’s card (capitalization his):

IF YOU ARE ARRESTED OR CONFRONTED BY THE POLICE:

1. FIRST, ask to call your lawyer.

2. Be courteous; do not resist.

3. Do not consent to search or entry.

4. Do not talk about anything; do not admit OR DENY anything.

5. Ask if you are free to go. If you are, GO.

I’ve had several different lawyer’s cards over the years that say similar, but slightly different things. Another great source of information on how to handle yourself when confronted by police is the DVD Busted: The Citizen’s Guide to Surviving Police Encounters. It’s great because it shows very realistic scenarios and coaches you vividly on how to navigate them. Clips from “Busted” are online at the link above.

Things are really starting to flush-out on the Geo-political front and the USA appears to be the biggest loser

Here’s some stuff that you just won’t find in the American and Western “news”. If you read that “news” you would be convinced that Russia is alone, China is a pariah, and America is roaring into life with fantastic employment, great prosperity and excellent news for the future. LOL.

Pro Tip: Do NOT read Western “news”. It’s all lies.

Here. Instead, let’s cook some food. Read about Cats. Learn some things that the United States media is NOT reporting on, and let’s also include some items to ponder…

Catkins

Although we had our previous cat for 18 years, she was never cuddly. Catkins would allow a few pats or scritches, but only on her timetable, and on her terms.

After she went to kitty Valhalla, we were terribly sad. But we finally decided to offer a home to a rescue cat. We only saw a picture, and heard her sad story: her first humans were cat hoarders, and both died of Covid in one week. Her next set of humans had a cat, and she hated that cat…maybe too many cats vying for food and attention in her previous home.

So we took her without ever meeting her. And she is a joy! After an initial period of shyness, she has blossomed: she purrs and cuddles all day long. And at night, nothing makes her happier than cuddling in the bed with us. There is nothing more soothing than the sound of a purring cat in the darkness, her warm, furry body pressed against you.

Ham and Cheese Tortilla Roll-Ups

You have ever-so-easy Southwest flavor going when you make a creamy cheese and corn filling that you wrap up with ham slices and flour tortillas.

Ingredients

1 1/2 cups shredded Cheddar cheese (6 ounces)
1/4 cup mayonnaise or salad dressing
1/4 cup sour cream
1 can (11 ounces) vacuum-packed whole kernel corn or whole kernel corn with red and green peppers, drained
1 package (8.2 oz) Old El Paso™ Flour Tortillas for Soft Tacos and Fajitas (10 Count)
10 slices (1 ounce each) deli fully cooked ham
Cilantro sprig, if desired

‘The dollar is our currency, but it is your problem’

Article HERE.

…

How about Indonesia?

If both Biden’s economic policy scenarios prove correct, Indonesia will face flight of foreign capital which in the short term will depreciate rupiah.

Imports of raw materials, equipment and machinery will shrink, which will further affect production capacity.

However, if the US real sector quickly recovers and grows, Indonesia can seize export opportunities and offset the pressure on the rupiah’s depreciation.

Also, Indonesian products can fill the role Chinese products that are subject to high tariffs.

Indonesia’s non-oil and gas export share to the US ranks second after China.

In another scenario, Chinese products that should be destined for the US will be transferred to other countries, including Indonesia.

Indonesia’s imports from China rank the highest.

As a consequence, the trade deficit with China will be enlarged, which may not be covered by an increase in the trade surplus from the US.

Within the above logic flow, strengthening trade between countries in the same region has the potential to be increased, through ASEAN for example.

The agreement on the use of local currency is the basis for economic growth and regional stabilization without too much dependence on the US dollar.

Furthermore, the diversification of export destination countries deserves attention.

The expansion of the export market deserves to be directed outside the traditional countries that have existed so far.

North Africa, the Middle East, Eastern Europe and Latin America are wide open to become potential markets for Indonesian products.

In a broader scope, if Indonesia remains willing to play in the international market, increasing competitiveness is nonnegotiable.

The increase in exports should not only be triggered by the weakening of the domestic currency, but must be also supported by the intrinsic superiority of its export products.

Strengthening the domestic market appears to be the safest solution to various sources of external turmoil.

Domestic consumers must be protected so that their purchasing power remains strong and they are able to absorb domestic production, instead of consuming more expensive imported products.

The four options above unfortunately are difficult to realize anytime soon.

Perhaps the 61st US treasury secretary, John Connally, was right when said, “The dollar is our currency, but it is your problem.”

Owning your very own private island

I have one, lol. It’s a little 1.5 acre island in a freshwater lake in Ontario. We have a summer cottage on it. On the mainland, which is not far away, we own a deeded access road, a parking area and a dock.

The island has electricity and phone – installed back in the 1970’s when utility companies would do it for no charge. Today it would be prohibitive.

The downside is not being able to use the cottage year round. The ice is not reliable in winter, and our utility water comes out of the lake (we have no well), so we have to close up in November and reopen mid April or so. The plumbing has to be totally drained, everything packed away, removed and shut off. It’s quite an operation. We’ve had burst pipes many times from water not thoroughly drained from low spots.

We have neighbours on the next island in the bay who stayed all winter due to Covid (normally they are here in the summer, and travel all winter). They actually own a small hovercraft so they can zip over across the ice to the mainland for groceries etc. no matter how sponge like the surface is.

Everything has to come over in our sad little beat up 14 foot aluminum row boat, which is a giant pain in the butt at times. Every appliance (and we’ve replaced all of them in the 34 years we’ve owned it). A new steel roof. Lumber for a sleeping cabin. Replacement beds. Groceries. Drinking water. You name it. Back and forth trips lugging loads. And the old stuff and garbage brought back to the main shore. I’m getting too old to drag old mattresses out of a boat, up the hill and into a van. We often have to enlist neighbours to help.

You need anything fixed beyond DIY, you have to go get the tradesperson and all their stuff, and take them back.

Still, I love it. Love the privacy and the critters. Now that I’m retired, I’m here 5 or 6 months of the year. My children grew up here. We do Canadian Thanksgiving here. Picture taken in late fall when we were closing up and getting snowed on.

The United States cannot count on its ally, the Republic of Korea, for support

The visit to Asia by House Speaker Nancy Pelosi (D-Calif.) exposed one reality that many people did not realize: The United States cannot count on its ally, the Republic of Korea, for support if war breaks out in the Taiwan Straits.

The visit to Asia by House Speaker Nancy Pelosi (D-Calif.) exposed one reality that many people did not realize: The United States cannot count on its ally, the Republic of Korea, for support if war breaks out in the Taiwan Straits.

The United States, as Pelosi’s visit demonstrated conclusively, could not base forces in South Korea for action anywhere in the region for any purpose other than the defense of South Korea. U.S. forces would have to rely on their bases in Japan and Guam from which to defend Taiwan against invasion by China from the mainland.

That shocking fact became evident when Pelosi visited South Korea after her big day in Taiwan. No South Korean delegation was on hand to greet her at the airport, as might have been expected, and President Yoon Suk-yeol managed to be on vacation during her visit, though he did find time to chat with her for 40 minutes on the phone before she and her entourage, including five other members of Congress, went to the Demilitarized Zone between the two Koreas.

Perhaps Yoon may have been smart not to see her, considering that his foes in the Minjoo, or Democratic Party, still dominate the National Assembly and oppose much of what he’s doing to repair U.S.-Korea relations, which were severely compromised during the presidency of his progressive predecessor, Moon Jae-in. Pelosi, after all, is a leader of the Democratic Party in the U.S. — not quite the equivalent of Korea’s Democratic Party but definitely not conservative. Thus it may have been a good idea for Korea, on an official level, to have treated her visit coolly.

In that spirit, Pelosi was told in advance not to say a word about Taiwan or the dangerous military exercises that China’s President Xi Jinping ordered in retaliation for her refusal to bow to warnings not to visit the independent island state. That’s regrettable, since she and Yoon could have talked about what Taiwan needs to stand up to China.

Tiny Taiwan, population 23.5 million, will have to acquire more and better arms for defense against China, population 1.4 billion, and the United States will have to strengthen its commitment to defend Taiwan. Also, Taiwan will have to unify its own people more effectively, weeding out pro-China elements who would betray the island’s independence.

All that should be clear from the nature of the exercises in which China showed off its rising military might perilously close to Taiwan’s shores. Theoretically, it should be possible for South Korea, a major manufacturer and exporter of arms, to deluge Taiwan with weapons ranging from rifles to tanks — though South Korea’s concerns about China would seem to rule out such business with Taiwan.

The differences between the United States and South Korea on Taiwan and China are disturbing when you consider the importance of U.S. bases in Korea. Camp Humphreys, 40 miles south of Seoul, is America’s biggest overseas base, the home of most of the 28,500 U.S. troops in Korea. Nearby Osan Air Base is home of the Seventh U.S. Air Force, next in importance to the U.S. base at Kadena, home of the Fifth U.S. Air Force on Okinawa, the southernmost Japanese prefecture.

American commanders over the years have told me that U.S. forces in Korea could be deployed elsewhere as needed, but Pelosi’s visit shows that’s not the case.

South Korea wants nothing to do with the defense of Taiwan against China

Article HERE

Meet Marianne Bachmeier, Germany’s ‘Revenge Mother’ Who Shot Her Child’s Killer In The Middle Of His Trial

By Natasha Ishak | Checked By Bernadette Giacomazzo

Published February 1, 2021

Updated June 22, 2021

In March 1981, Marianne Bachmeier opened fire in a crowded courtroom and killed Klaus Grabowski — the man on trial for murdering her 7-year-old daughter.

On March 6, 1981, Marianne Bachmeier opened fire in a crowded courthouse in what was then known as West Germany. Her target was a 35-year-old sex offender on trial for her daughter’s murder, and he died after taking six of her bullets.

Marianne Bachmeier was sentenced to six years in prison after shooting her daughter’s rapist and killer in a courtroom.

Forty years later, the case is still remembered. German news outlet NDR described it as “the most spectacular case of vigilante justice in German post-war history.”

Marianne Bachmeier’s Daughter Anna Bachmeier Is Murdered In Cold Blood

Patrick PIEL/Gamma-Rapho via Getty ImagesBachmeier’s case divided public opinion: was the shooting an act of justice or was it dangerous vigilantism?

Before she was christened as Germany’s “Revenge Mother,” Marianne Bachmeier was a struggling single mom who ran a pub and in 1970s Lübeck, a city in what was then West Germany. She lived with her third child, Anna. Her two older children had been given up for adoption.

Anna was described as a “happy, open-minded child,” but tragedy struck when she was found dead on May 5, 1980.

According to NDR, the seven-year-old had skipped school after an argument with her mother that fateful day and somehow found herself in the hands of her 35-year-old neighbor, a local butcher named Klaus Grabowski who already had a criminal record involving child molestation.

Investigators later learned that Grabowski had kept Anna at his home for hours before he strangled her with pantyhose. Whether or not he sexually assaulted her remains unknown. He then stashed the child’s body in a cardboard box and left it on the bank of a nearby canal.

Grabowski was arrested that same evening after his fiancé alerted the police. Grabowski confessed to the murder but denied that he abused the child. Instead, Grabowski gave a strange and disturbing story.

The killer claimed that he strangled the little girl after she tried to blackmail him. According to Grabowski, Anna tried to seduce him and threatened to tell her mother that he had molested her if he didn’t give her money.

Marianne Bachmeier was incensed by this story and a year later, when Grabowski headed to trial for the murder, she had her revenge.

Germany’s ‘Revenge Mother’ Shoots Grabowski Six Times

Grabowski’s trial was likely a heartache for Bachmeier. His defense attorneys claimed he had acted out of a hormonal imbalance that was caused by hormone therapy he received after being voluntarily castrated years earlier.

At the time, sex offenders in Germany often underwent castration to prevent recidivism, though this wasn’t the case for Grabowski.

On the third day of the trial in Lübeck district court, Marianne Bachmeier grabbed a .22-caliber Beretta pistol from her purse and pulled the trigger eight times. Six of the shots hit Grabowski, and he died on the courtroom floor.

Witnesses alleged that Bachmeier made incriminating remarks after she shot Grabowski. According to Judge Guenther Kroeger, who spoke to Bachmeier after she shot Grabowski in the back, she heard the grieving mother say, “I wanted to kill him.”

Bachmeier allegedly remarked “I hope he’s dead” after killing Grabowski.

Bachmeier allegedly continued, “He killed my daughter… I wanted to shoot him in the face but I shot him in the back… I hope he’s dead.” Two policemen also claimed to have heard Bachmeier call Grabowski a “pig” after she shot him.

The mother of the victim soon found herself on trial for murder herself.

During her trial, Bachmeier testified that she shot Grabowski in a dream and saw visions of her daughter in the courtroom. A doctor who examined her said that Bachmeier was asked for a handwriting sample, and in response, she wrote: “I did it for you, Anna.”

She then decorated the sample with seven hearts, perhaps one for each year of Anna’s life.

“I heard he wanted to make a statement,” Bachmeier later said, referring to Grabowski’s claims that her seven-year-old was trying to blackmail him. “I thought, now comes the next lie about this victim who was my child.”

Her Sentence Divides The Country

Marianne Bachmeier now found herself at the center of a public maelstrom. Her trial received international attention for her ruthless act of vigilantism.

The weekly German magazine Stern ran a series of articles about the trial, digging into Bachmeier’s life as a working single mother who had a very rough start in life. Bachmeier reportedly sold her story to the magazine for roughly $158,000 to cover her legal expenses during the trial.

The magazine received an overwhelming response from readers. Was Marianne Bachmeier a distraught mother simply trying to avenge the brutal death of her child, or did her act of vigilantism make her a cold-blooded killer herself? Many expressed sympathy toward her motives but condemned her actions nonetheless.

In addition to the case’s ethical conundrum, there was also a legal debate about whether the shooting was premeditated or not and whether it was murder or manslaughter. Different rulings carried different punishments. Decades later, a friend featured in a documentary about the case claimed to have witnessed Bachmeier perform target practice with a gun in her pub cellar before the shooting.

The court ultimately convicted Bachmeier of premeditated manslaughter and sentenced her to six years behind bars in 1983.

According to a survey by the Allensbach Institute, a majority of 28 percent of Germans deemed her six-year sentencing as an appropriate penalty for her actions. Another 27 percent considered the sentence too heavy while 25 percent viewed it as too light.

In June 1985, Marianne Bachmeier was released from prison after serving only half of her sentence.

She moved to Nigeria, where she married and remained until the 1990s.

After she divorced her husband, Bachmeier relocated to Sicily where she stayed until she was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, upon which she returned to a now-unified Germany.

With precious little time left, Bachmeier requested Lukas Maria Böhmer, a reporter for NDR, to film her last weeks alive.

She died on Sept. 17, 1996, at the age of 46. She was buried next to her daughter, Anna.

Russia responds to Zuckerberg’s FBI revelations

From HERE

The FBI and other US security agencies secretly control American social media giants, Russia’s foreign ministry has alleged. The claim follows a recent interview with Mark Zuckerberg, in which the Facebook CEO supposedly acknowledged such influence.

On Friday, spokesperson Maria Zakharova published a post on her Telegram channel devoted to Zuckerberg’s recent appearance on The Joe Rogan podcast. According to the Russian diplomat, Facebook’s first-in-command recounted how FBI operatives had visited him ahead of the 2020 US presidential elections, which ended in victory for Joe Biden, asking him to suppress stories revolving around the “unseemly contents” of Hunter Biden’s laptop on his platforms.

“The men in black ‘convinced’ Mark Zuckerberg… that these were all Russian fakes,” Zakharova added, referencing the podcast.

She went on to surmise that this kind of “excuse for censorship” was sufficient to have made Facebook’s CEO comply with the request. The subsequent suppression of the Hunter Biden laptop story “helped pronounce Biden senior as the winner in the election,” Zakharova noted, remarking that many Americans are still unconvinced.

The diplomat went on to argue that, with the laptop story turning out to be true and with Zuckerberg’s revelations to Rogan, “the world has learned that the US social media played a decisive role in this performance.” She added that the suspension of then-President Trump’s accounts by the main social media platforms just goes to show that the US authorities collude with the “internet monopolies.”

Zakharova concluded that all this proves that the “FBI and other American security services manually control digital giants,” with social media platforms’ leadership only too happy to “participate in dirty political games in Washington.” The senior diplomat also made the claim that “there are no democratic standards in the American electoral system: neither in theory nor in practice.”

Lessons in life

As I approached retirement age, I learned an important lesson from two people.

First Lesson. . .

Mary, a teacher friend, retired 5 years before I did. For the last several years before retirement, Mary spoke of where she and her husband planned to travel as soon as they retired. They had it all mapped out.

Mary was in perfect health for her age as was her husband. They retired on schedule but rarely left their house.

With no prior warning, Mary’s husband suffered a heart attack. It left him very much diminished. He wasn’t bedridden or an invalid but they would never travel. She could still travel but couldn’t leave her husband.

I saw her at JC Pennys at the mall one day. Her advice was. . .don’t wait. If you wait to check things off your bucket list, it may never happen.

Second Lesson. . .

This one is personal. My sister retired after 33 years of teaching. She loved to teach. In fact she loved to teach so much she taught preschool in a rather disadvantaged area perhaps 30 minutes from where she and her husband lived.

The summer that led into her 3rd year of teaching preschool, her list of incoming students included a three-year-old boy who was deaf. She spent the rest of the summer learning sign language for the sole purpose of communicating with this little fellow.

It was April of that school year that I drove 450 miles to spend time with her during school break. She was in perfect health.

By the end of the month, she was in surgery to remove a rapidly-growing, unforgiving type of brain cancer. November of that year she died. She was 61.

I’d always wanted to travel abroad. I had renewed my passport 4 times since I was 28 and never used it. With those 2 lessons in mind, my daughter and I traveled to the UK the following year then Italy then France and Switzerland then Ottawa and Montreal then back to England.We plan to travel to Vancouver, British Columbia next spring.

It took the advice of my colleague and the death of my sister to jar me into action. So you often hear those words “don’t wait because it may be too late”. Well, don’t wait because it may be too late.

Here we are. My sister and I ready for our first day of school. Mother was always busy at the sewing machine sewing identical dresses for us.We had identical lunch boxes as well.

Why South Korea’s largest labor groups oppose military drills with US

South Korea’s two biggest labor umbrella groups have called for the immediate suspension of the country’s ongoing joint military exercise with the United States, calling it a dangerous act that increases the risk of conflict with North Korea.

In front of the War Memorial of Korea, Tuesday, the Korean Confederation of Trade Unions (KCTU) and the Federation of Korean Trade Unions criticized President Yoon Suk-yeol for the resumption of the two allies’ first full-scale field trainings in five years.

“We denounce the Yoon administration for being trapped in a swamp of the South Korea-U.S. alliance, a byproduct of the Cold War of the 20th century, and making the wrong moves for the peace, diplomacy and economy of the Korean Peninsula,” they said in a joint statement. “North Korea is one of us, with which the South should work together to put an end to the era of conflict and division and to open the era of self-reliance and peaceful unification.”

The messages promoted during an Aug. 13 rally in Seoul by the KCTU, which advocates for labor rights as well as democracy, national sovereignty and peaceful unification, were stronger and more direct: “Renounce the South Korea-U.S. alliance” and “Abolish conscription.”

Those who are not familiar with how South Korea’s progressive movement has developed over the last decades may find it difficult to understand why labor groups might raise their voices about this issue.

The progressive National Liberation (NL) faction, which emerged as a powerful force in the democratic movement in the 1980s, developed tendencies toward nationalism and anti-U.S. sentiments, the vestiges of which still have a formidable influence on liberal politics in Korea, particular of that generation, according to experts.

“The NL believes that the U.S. was responsible for Korea’s division, and views the country as a barrier to its unification,” Cho Jin-man, an associate professor of politics and international relations at Duksung Women’s University, told The Korea Times. “Such thoughts were developed in the 1980s, and they still adhere to the beliefs.”

To put it simply, he said, the NL and the PD (People’s Democracy) factions were the two main pillars of South Korea’s progressive camp. While the PD faction focused more on issues such as workers’ rights, it shared much of the NL’s nationalistic views over the relationship with North Korea and the U.S.

From HERE

The end of Earnest Hemingway

On July 2, 1961, Ernest Hemingway got out of bed around 7 a.m., unlocked the gun cabinet in his Ketchum, Idaho home using the key his wife had tried to hide from him, grabbed the double-barreled shotgun that he used to hunt pigeons, and shot himself in the forehead.

Though newspapers initially reported his death as an accident, and Hemingway’s wife even claimed that the gun had gone off while he was cleaning it, the writer’s death was eventually revealed to have been a suicide — which had come after a long struggle with depression.

Years later, Hemingway’s wife Mary said: “No, he shot himself. Shot himself. Just that. And nothing else.”

Russia Halts a Natural Gas Shipment to Japan Over Payment Issues

The article "dances" around who that Asian nation is. You have to go elsewhere to get the information. So who is this "Asian" nation?

Sakhalin Energy ships carbon-neutral cargoes of liquefied natural gas (LNG) to Japan's Toho Gas.

Oh. 

Japan will not pay Russia in Gold, or Rubles or Yuan. They insist on using the USD. -MM

Russia’s Sakhalin Energy halted a shipment of liquefied natural gas to an Asian buyer, a report said.
It’s the first time gas has been witheld from an Asian buyer, a move could result in blackouts.
It will have spillover effects in Europe as it gears up for its own energy crisis in the coming months.

Russia halted a shipment of liquefied natural gas to an Asian customer over payment issues to its new energy operator, Sakhalin Energy. It’s the first sign that Russia is beginning to withhold natural gas from Asian customers over its energy operations, threatening to throw some of its biggest Asian clients into blackouts this winter.

Two traders familiar with the matter said Sakhalin Energy withheld a cargo of LNG to an Asian buyer on the grounds of payment and a delay in signing a revised contract, according to a report from Bloomberg.

Russia has offered those revised contracts to Asian customers since setting up Sakhalin Energy, a new corporation created to transfer ownership of Russia’s oldest LNG facility from a Bermudan to a Russian entity.

The revisions ask LNG buyers to pay with currencies other than the US dollar if western sanctions result in payment issues. But most Asian customers have avoided signing so far, Bloomberg reported.

Withholding fuel from Asian buyers could spell trouble for North East Asia, which has been snapping up LNG in preparation for winter. Japan, Sakhalin’s top buyer, is particularly vulnerable to blackouts this winter if shipments are cut, as it sources around 9% of its natural gas from Sakhalin.

That could also have spillover effects to Europe, as Asian customers may eat away at fuel supplies from non-Russian suppliers, which are already strapped for supply as Europe gears up for its own energy crunch this winter.

“Without Sakhalin, North East Asia will have to drag more cargoes away from Europe, intensifying the scramble for gas between Asia and Europe heading into winter that could send LNG prices to unprecedented levels,” energy analyst Saul Kavonic told Bloomberg.

From HERE

A misunderstanding

I received this message a couple of weeks ago and almost shit my pants when it came in.

I was frantic for a couple of days about it and went to the police with the message.

2 days after I went to the police they turned up at my front door and escorted me to my elderly neighbours house. The poor man was so embarrassed and was holding out $60 for me and just saying sorry repeatedly. He had sent me the message as a thank you but worded it very badly.

I had seen him at the shops and he went through the self service checkout. He scanned his items and tapped his card but the transaction didn’t go through. He didn’t notice and packed his groceries on his walker and left the store.

I noticed when I went to the same checkout that his payment didn’t go through. It was only $60 so I plaid it for him and said nothing to him.

Unbeknownst to me the security had picked him up outside about not paying and the girl at the front desk also came and talked to me. I told her I paid it because he was my neighbour and not great with technology. Meanwhile in the security office they showed my neighbour the footage and that I had paid his bill for him.

As English is not his first language and technology is not his friend. His message of thanks came across as a little threatening. He has my number in case of an emergency but I obviously never saved his number in my phone.

We all had a good laugh about the incident and we went over and cooked a BBQ at his house and had lunch with him. I slipped the $60 he gave me back into the tea pot I know he keeps his cash in because I never expected him to pay me back. And because I felt so bad about getting police involved.

Guo Zhengliang, chips above 14nm are China’s No. 1 in the world, and foreign manufacturing cannot beat China

From HERE

2022-08-27 14:06 HKT

Guo Zhengliang: 14nm chips have become the development goals of various countries. European and American countries have formulated corresponding chip subsidy plans, in order to build a stronger chip industry and master more chip production capacity.

China is also stepping up its layout in the chip field. At present, the mainland’s most technologically advanced chip manufacturers have mastered the mass production capacity of 14nm chips. Guo Zhengliang, a Taiwanese expert and scholar, said that China’s chips above 14nm are number one in the world, and foreign manufacturers can’t beat them.

What does Guo Zhengliang’s speech show? How can China’s mature process chips continue to move forward?

Guo Zhengliang’s insights on China’s 14nm chips

In the field of chip manufacturing, countries and regions will formulate different development goals according to the process conditions they master. Some companies have broken through the high-end chip manufacturing process and stepped up their layout in the chip industry of 7nm and below. Just like Samsung has achieved mass production of 3nm chips and completed shipments.

In the future, Samsung will further sprint to the more advanced 2nm, pushing the human chip technology to a new height.

However, since the production of high-end chips requires the use of EUV lithography machines, this top-level semiconductor manufacturing equipment comes from ASML. The mainland chip manufacturer SMIC has purchased EUV lithography machines, but ASML cannot break the rules, resulting in EUV lithography machines cannot be freely shipped.

Other manufacturers that can successfully purchase EUV lithography machines have basically entered the 7nm, 5nm and other process categories, or use EUV lithography machines to achieve high-end chip production. Although there is no EUV lithography machine, other DUV lithography machines are not affected, and DUV lithography machines are sufficient to support most chip production, such as 14nm.

Don’t underestimate 14nm, there are only a handful of companies that master the global 14nm process technology. For 7nm below 14nm, only TSMC and Samsung have broken through mass production technology.

Therefore, 14nm is placed in the global chip industry and is a process that can meet the needs of a large number of customers. SMIC has achieved 14nm mass production, and the yield has reached the industry standard.

Regarding the development of 14nm in China, Guo Zhengliang, a Taiwanese expert and scholar, expressed his opinion that the mainland is already the world’s first in terms of 14nm and above. Because it is relatively cheap, foreign manufacturing cannot beat China.

In Guo Zhengliang’s view, the mainland has a leading edge in 14nm, and even ranks first in the world. What does this statement alone show?

First of all, Guo Zhengliang is optimistic about the development of the mainland in the 14nm field, which has a price advantage compared with foreign countries. Cheaper prices can attract more customers’ attention and get more order resources.

Secondly, Guo Zhengliang pointed out the advantages of mainland chips in the field of mature technology. 14nm belongs to the category of mature technology, which is more advanced than 28nm and 22nm. It is the focus of market demand for low-end chips in the industry.

Perhaps as you have seen, the mid-to-low-end chip market to which mature processes belong, the mainland already has a corresponding layout, and has also mastered 28nm and other process supply chain technologies. As for whether it can reach the world number one that Guo Zhengliang said in the global supply chain, I am afraid it will take more time to verify and get a more accurate answer.

At least before everything is finally broken, we need to be down-to-earth and objectively treat various evaluations in order to find a suitable direction for ourselves.

How can China’s mature process chips continue to move forward?

There is still room for improvement in high-end chips in mainland China, and EUV lithography machines are required to make 7nm and 5nm chips. At present, everyone knows the shipment status of EUV lithography machines, so focusing on the field of mature process chips is actually in line with the needs of industrial development. So how does China’s mature process chips continue to move forward?

The first is to achieve capacity support.

More than 80% of the chips on the market are built with mature technology. High-end chips of 7nm and below are mainly used in smartphones, tablets and computers.

These electronic products cannot represent the global market demand, nor can they concentrate all chip production capacity. Therefore, in terms of developing mature processes, we should achieve capacity support, and use more capacity to supply the required market to meet the scene areas with greater demand.

For example, domestic manufacturers can use 28nm and 14nm in emerging fields. Based on the development of traditional industries, they must also take into account market needs.

Secondly, protect technical talents.

With the development of China’s integrated circuit industry, the demand for talents has become higher and higher. It is expected that there will be a talent gap of 200,000 in the future, which means that many chip companies and positions in the integrated circuit field will face vacancies.

Therefore, ensuring technical talents has become an important matter for the development of mature process chips. So how can these talent gaps be filled? It may require the joint efforts of major universities and enterprises. Schools set up professional courses, enterprises provide employment platforms, and if necessary, school-enterprise cooperation may be carried out.

In general, China’s mature chip manufacturing process needs to make breakthroughs in many aspects, such as production capacity support, talent guarantee and even supply chain cooperation, etc., and must maintain a consistent pace of progress.

Summarize

Guo Zhengliang gave a good evaluation of 14nm in mainland China, but we should also know that 14nm is not the end, but a new starting point. The road of Chinese chips will continue to move forward.

I believe that in the near future, we will see different Chinese chips, high-spirited and confident.

Being too smart

My IQ is 145 and I very, very nearly screwed up everything. You know, if you’re smart, you have a couple of challenges others do not. I was misunderstood, I over analyzed other kids behaviour, didn’t blend in naturally and the worst: I never learned how to work hard, because everything was so easy.

Until around age 12, I never needed to lift a finger for anything at school. Then in high school, some things suddenly took studying. Not much, but for someone not used to lift a finger, that was hard.

Long story short, I was nearly 30 years old when I finally graduated from university. Even in the Netherlands, where people used to take their time to study, that was kinda extreme. If I hadn’t finally gotten my shit together in my late twenties, I would probably be working a job way below my potential now. And be very unhappy or depressed.

Fortunately, I realized in time that I had to step up my game, and fortunately, I got hired in a job that turned out to be perfect for me. I was very lucky the way things turned out. I am in a good place now. Good job, good salary, own two rental properties and most importantly I have a beautiful stable family.

I know there are many high-IQ people like me out there who weren’t as lucky, and live average or even miserable lives despite their intelligence. Life can be really unfair. It’s really very easy to screw life up, even when you have a high IQ. Especially when you have a high IQ.

US media ignored major anti-US military protest in South Korea – Responsible Statecraft

From HERE

In America these days, almost any information about North Korea, be it rumor, fake news, or just plain silly, becomes fodder for the mainstream media. From TMZ to The Guardian, reporters know there is an insatiable appetite for anything that puts Kim and his regime in a bad or crazy light.

But when it comes to South Korea, which hosts 28,500 American ground troops and the Pentagon’s largest military base outside of North America, U.S. media coverage is, shall we say, highly selective. That was made resoundingly clear on August 14, when Seoul was the scene for the largest public demonstration in decades against the U.S. military presence in South Korea.

Amazingly, not a word about the protest appeared in the U.S. media.

That Saturday, thousands of people chanting “this land is not a U.S. war base” demonstrated against Ulchi Freedom Shield, the first large-scale military exercises between U.S. and South Korean forces since 2017. The protests were organized by the Korean Confederation of Trade Unions (KCTU), South Korea’s second-largest labor federation. They were joined by a range of progressive allies, including People’s Solidarity for Participatory Democracy (PSPD), an influential citizen’s group founded in 1994.

“At a time when military tensions on the Korean Peninsula are escalating and there is no clue for inter-Korean dialogue, we are concerned that an aggressive large-scale military exercise will exacerbate the situation,” PSPD declared. “We once again urge the US and ROK governments to suspend the ROK-US joint military exercise and make efforts to create conditions for dialogue.” At the demonstration, protesters took direct aim at the heart of U.S. policy in Korea, with signs that read “No war rehearsal, No U.S.” and “No Korea-U.S.-Japan military cooperation.”

Outside of the Korean press, the only outlets to cover this massive showing against militarism were Iran’s Press TV and China’s CGTN, which provided extensive video of the mobilization. The single print story on the march appeared in Xinhua, China’s daily wire service. Neither the New York Times or the Washington Post, which often set the pace for U.S. press coverage of Asia, deemed the demonstration newsworthy.

Hypocrisy? Yes. As I put it in a sardonic tweet, “Every rumor, fake news, intelligence leak or eyebrow twitch about Kim Jong Un and North Korea gets star treatment in the US media.” Yet, when “thousands of SOUTH KOREANS” march in Seoul against US-ROK war games, “NOT ONE PEEP.” The contrast seemed to hit a nerve: by the weekend, nearly 6,000 Twitter users had “liked” my post and over 2,000 had retweeted it.

The contradictions were evident on Twitter itself. As it often does with countries we’re not supposed to like, it slapped a label on one of my posts about the demonstration, urging users to “stay informed” because “this Tweet links to a Iran state-affiliated media website.” With that warning, Twitter was effectively delegitimizing my own coverage of the demonstration.

To be fair, political rallies on the left and right are a common occurrence in South Korea; obviously, editors and reporters must make choices about what to cover. But in a country where a majority of its citizens support the presence of U.S. forces and a U.S. general has operational control over their army in times of war, a rally of several thousand citizens openly calling for a U.S. troop withdrawal is certainly newsworthy.

At the same time, the drills have been a hot topic for years. In 2018, with much of Washington opposed, they were downgraded to computerized simulations as a way to build trust during the denuclearization talks between President Donald Trump and North Korean Chairman Kim Jong Un. Those talks collapsed in 2019, primarily over Trump’s refusal to lift U.S. sanctions in return for a partial shut down of the North’s nuclear infrastructure.

This year, with North Korea regularly testing its long-range missiles, the new presidents in Washington and Seoul, Joe Biden and Yoon Suk Yeol, decided to resume the real-life exercises. The air, land, and sea drills, which in the past have mobilized around 50,000 South Korean and 17,500 U.S. soldiers, began on August 22 and wind up on September 1.

Sadly, the discrepancies in coverage reflect old patterns going back to the early days of the Cold War.

Editorial staffs of major U.S. newspapers and cable news shows (and now, Twitter’s upstart crew) are steeped in Cold War mythologies about the Korean War and largely reflect the viewpoint of Washington’s national security community. Currently, both parties see in the North a determined and dangerous long-term foe, and in the South a reluctant ally torn between loyalty to the United States and its expansive economic ties with China, America’s new nemesis. In this world, there is little room for coverage of South Korean trade unionists, leftists, and progressives who stand against the American consensus.

That mindset was recently on display at the Post when it praised South Koreans for electing Yoon, an inexperienced conservative hawk who said during his campaign that he might consider a pre-emptive strike on North Korea “to protect peace” on the peninsula. “South Korea makes a welcome turn toward the U.S. — just when it is really needed,” the headline crowed. The Post editorial also took a nasty swipe at former President Moon Jae-in, parroting right-wing talking points that he had “consciously” played down North Korea’s human rights record and “balked” at adding new batteries to the American THAAD missile deployment that has drawn Beijing’s ire.

For America’s papers of record, the failure to cover South Korea’s progressive left also reflects a failure of nerve. The KCTU and People’s Solidarity that organized this month’s antiwar demonstration have deep roots in the democratic movement of the late 1980s, when years of struggle culminated in the massive demonstrations of 1987 that forced the pro-U.S. generals who had ruled the South for 26 years to step aside. During that tumultuous era, both the Times and the Post offered extensive (and often outstanding) coverage of dissidents and government repression. But in recent years, they have been far more interested in covering North Korean defectors and warning the public (repeatedly) about a possible underground nuclear test than exploring the complex internal politics of South Korea.

Ironically, these papers are better prepared now to cover Korea than any time in the past 40 years. Since 2020, they have built large bureaus in South Korea and relocated their Asian news hubs from Hong Kong to Seoul, giving them an opportunity for first-class coverage of perhaps the most dynamic country in Asia. “Looking at a five, 10, 20 year horizon, [Seoul] just feels like it’s right in the middle of the action,” Stephen Dunbar-Johnson, the Times’sinternational president, recently told the Korea Joongang Daily.

But in this coverage, the opinions and views of all Koreans need to be heard. That is particularly true when dealing with an issue as critical as the U.S.-Korean alliance, which President Biden has called “a linchpin of peace, stability, and prosperity” but many Koreans now view as a barrier to their country’s future.

From HERE

Be the Rufus

Today I was asked if I am any good with phones by an elderly man as he was trying to open a picture message that his granddaughter had sent.

After putting Sienna in her pram, I took a look at his phone which was a really old Nokia. As he didn’t have a smart phone I told him that he wouldn’t be able to view it. He was gutted and went on to tell me that it was a photo of his granddaughter and her new baby who he hadn’t seen yet as they live in Buxton.

So, I forwarded the message to my phone and eventually managed to open the picture. He was so emotional seeing his great granddaughter for the first time and you could see his love for them both through his teary eyes.

The man insisted on giving me £20 to treat my daughter to a toy as a thank you for helping him which I insisted I didn’t want, but he was having none of it. So, I asked him to wait there and I went to boots and printed the photo for him and ended up buying a frame for it too.

When I returned with the framed photo, he was so happy, literally overwhelmed.

This just made my day to make someone so happy. ❤️

US Coast Guard vessel unable to enter Solomon Islands port to refuel

Why travel half the world to patrol fishing using coast guard vessel? Where is the US coast line?

A US Coast Guard vessel was unable to enter the Solomon Islands for a routine port call because the local government did not respond to a request for it to refuel and provision, according to a US official.

The USCGC Oliver Henry was on patrol for illegal fishing in the South Pacific when it failed to obtain entry to refuel at Honiara, the Solomon Islands capital, the official from the US Coast Guard said.

The US vessel was diverted to Papua New Guinea instead.

It was scheduled for a routine logistics port call at Solomon Islands, according to a public affairs officer for the US Coast Guard in Hawaii.

“The Government of the Solomon Islands did not respond to the US Government’s request for diplomatic clearance for the vessel to refuel and provision in Honiara,” they said.

Article HERE

We know that as early as the last century, many Chinese regarded going abroad as a matter of honoring their ancestors. If the children of the family worked and developed in the United States or in a foreign country, they felt that they would have a special face in front of their relatives and friends.

But after entering this century, this sense of pride seems to have vanished.

Most people no longer regard going abroad as a craze, nor do they feel that going abroad will honor their ancestors.

On the contrary, many people are no longer obsessed with going abroad, and they prefer to work and develop at home. On the contrary, some foreign friends, after seeing the environment in China, rushed to China frantically, hoping to get a Chinese green card and work and settle here.

It may be rare in third- and fourth-tier cities, but if you go to first- and second-tier cities, you will find that there are many foreigners around you, who go to get off work, go shopping, etc. with you.

For example, in Guangzhou, China, there are nearly 300,000 black people, and in Shanghai, there are about 400,000 Japanese immigrants.

At the same time, in some developed cities such as Beijing and Shenzhen, there are many foreigners who immigrated to China from the United States.

These people choose China because they feel that the pace of life in China is unhurried, the environment is livable, and the country’s development prospects are bright.

However, look at some people who tried their best to immigrate to the United States. How are they doing now?

Have they lived their dream of prosperity and wealth as they wished?

The fact is very distressing, because after they arrived in the United States, their jobs were mediocre, their economic income was mediocre, and their living environment was even worse.

According to statistics, most of the 4.5 million Chinese in the United States gather in Chinatown.

A long time ago, there was a person named “Queen Snakehead” in Fujian.

She specialized in the smuggling business, mainly helping mainlanders to smuggle to the United States.

You must know that it is very difficult for these people who entered the United States through illegal means to settle and find work in the United States.

Because most people think that as long as they come to the United States, they can have a good life and live a good life, but because it is illegal to smuggle to the United States, they can only do some scattered jobs in the United States.

I work here today, and I might be working in another place tomorrow. If you encounter a boss with bad behavior, you may give him a day of work for nothing without a penny of wages.

However, the welfare treatment of the poor in the United States is ok, and relief food is distributed every day.

Therefore, in places where relief food is distributed in the United States, Chinese people are often seen.

In order to attract more Chinese to join the United States, the United States stipulated that citizens who became American citizens did not need to cancel their original nationality, so many people had dual citizenship at that time.

But this is a unilateral regulation by the United States, and China will never allow people who step on two boats to act recklessly.

China stipulates that Chinese nationality will be cancelled if Chinese nationals possess other nationalities.

Today, the United States has announced that it will deport 200,000 Chinese who do not have American nationality, but these Chinese no longer hold Chinese nationality.

So after the 200,000 Chinese were expelled from the United States, what should they do?

Some notes about Thailand…

[1] Tourist Traps

Well, the reader should recognize that Thailand is an excellent holiday destination. It is where many people go to relax and have fun. As such, the reader should be advised, there are many traps or things to look out for. These things can range from a (near mafia like) arrangement of Tuk Tuk drivers and their system of fleecing tourists, to places where locals dare not tread. Here, I would like to place some warnings to the interested reader…

[2] Khao San Road

Hopping off the plane and heading straight to Khao San is a great idea if you are young, white, and into tie-dyes. (LOL!) You won’t find too many locals there. It is it’s own little enclave that caters to a youthful Western European clientelle. As such, be prepared to be surrounded by the youth of today (with a handful of older folks trying to navigate the clutter) from the Western side of the globe.

To quote;

“The last time I went out clubbing in Khao San the ladies were quite impressed with me because I was wearing shoes with laces. My competition for the fairer sex was a young, bearded pot-bellied boy who was interested in feeling out the clubs with bare feet — a low bar for the love scene. On a positive note he was giving out free hugs to people who couldn’t dodge his outstretched arms.”



-Ronald Tagra

Khao San is an iconic place with cheap beer and lots of “exotic” white people to hang out with. Yeah, just what you want. Leave what you know and experience what you know in a new location.

It is a tourist trap where the only authentic experience you will have is your hangover. The buckets of red bull and piss are a smashing way for you to get the type of “real” Oriental hangover you’ve always been looking for and the type of morning you’ll always regret. It is also a great place if you want to get on the piss with your friends and enjoy your youth in a slightly different locale than back home.

However, really, if you wanted to just hang out at the same places with the same people, why bother coming to a foreign country? Best to stay in the motherland than to come out to Khao San.

[3] Female Jealousy

“I remember when I first started coming here, even on Khao San Road, I would see sour looking farang women sitting around looking disapprovingly at the effortlessly beautiful local girls, and I would think to myself “Why did you come here, white woman? This place is not for you – go home!””

–Stickman

[4] Social Justice Females

Many female social justice warrior types are absolutely appalled by the fact that men would go to tropical Thailand and engage in sex with women at bars. They hate this.

In their mind, of course, there is nothing wrong if [1] the wife blows up to the size of an elephant, [2] stops providing sex, and [3] takes all the money her husband makes because they are MARRIED.

What is wrong (in their minds) is that the husband wants to spend some time drinking, having sex with young cute and attractive slim girls, being treated like a MAN, and spending the money he earned on doing so.

Indeed! How disgusting! Imagine that!

Here are some excerpts from an article written by a SJW. She covers the various stereotypical male types that she has observed on one of her trips to Thailand, and spins her take on it. Ohhh, the bitterness, disgust and envy drips from her pen;

Article HERE

 “The Angry and Divorced Forty-Something Seeking a ‘Proper Woman’

This city is full of once-burnt divorced men who were either so shattered by their previous marriages — or so disenchanted by the era of leftist feminism — that they felt compelled to move thousands of miles east to find a ‘proper woman’. And by proper woman, I mean one straight out of the 1940s.

“Just let me be a man, while you do my washing, take control of the kitchen and don’t ask too many questions.” Not much to ask. These men tend to shack up with the financially destitute, or the professionally prostitute — whatever improves their chances of exerting total dominance over them in the long run.

With these couples, it seems true love simply equals “You’ll never leave me while I send your parents and buffalos 20% of my retirement fund.”

Oh, she just doesn’t get it. Does she? She thinks that it is the failure of the man in his marriage that “drove” him to move to Thailand.

Really, that is what she thinks.

But, it’s not. Nah, but you can’t tell her anything. She knows what’s right. She knows everything. She’s a woman. She doesn’t make mistakes. Right?

She ends her diatribe with her solution to all the men who want to be left alone and to live their own lives, THEIR WAY…

“So, what’s the solution? Ideas on a postcard, please.

My vote goes to mass deportation…”

Advice for Americans who need an address

When I lived stateside and was down on my luck I suddenly found myself living in my car with only my clothes to my name.

How did this happen?

Well, my wife had found a lover, one day I came home early from work and he was in my house and she wasn’t, so I had him arrested for breaking and entering!

Actually, this is an exceptionally hilarious story that I’ll save for another post…

Anyway, I promptly left the house and went to a hotel.

Because my wife was angry at what I’d done to her lover she blocked our bank accounts.

I filed for divorce, but she hired a really good lawyer and the judge gave her everything. I got nothing but the car.

Two weeks later I was laid off from a long-term and well-paying job, but because of the divorce I had very little money saved.

So, suddenly I had a really big problem, but there was no one who could really help me, not even my family.

I didn’t have enough money to get an apartment, so I started to sleep in my car.

I knew that what I really needed was a permanent address, but in my sudden new position in life there was no way I could get one.

Here’s what I did …

I went to a post office (PO) box rental company and rented a box.

Instead of putting down my address as “Box 12” when I was filling out a form, I put down “Unit 12”.

Not once did I ever get a complaint from the mailbox company or the post office.

All my mail arrived without a problem, including government mail.

It’s a really good way to maintain a permanent address if you’re moving around a lot or are temporarily living in your car.

It can even help you to improve your credit rating because it appears like you’re in a stable location for a period of time.

The other thing that I did was I got a gym membership. I’d go to the gym every day to take a shower.

The PO box cost me about $35 dollars a month, and the gym membership was about the same.

So, for less than three dollars a day I was able to stay clean and appear, at least on paper and to everyone else, to be stable.

I lived in my car for eight months before I was able to find a job and then another four months before I was able to save up enough money for first and last month’s rent and get myself into a small apartment.

Would you believe that no one ever found me out? It’s true! No one ever knew!

One of the first things I did after I got my PO box address was to try and get credit.

Of course I was declined, but the address went on my credit rating nonetheless.

I am absolutely sure that the apartment rental agency that I applied to wouldn’t have approved my rental application had I not tried to use the PO box’s address as my own to get credit a year earlier.

To them it looked like I had lived for a year at my previous address and simply chose not to renew my lease. I even said as much when I was filling out my application.

During that year I spent another ten dollars a week at the laundromat to keep my clothes clean, including the cost for laundry detergent.

Toothpaste, soap and other incidentals cost me around thirty dollars a month.

So basically my rent, water, electricity, laundry and personal grooming cost me about $150 a month, five dollars a day.

During the time that I wasn’t working I’d go to various public parks around town and remove soda pop and beer cans from the garbage cans.

When I had filled up the trunk of my car and then some, I went to the supermarket and put the cans in the recycling machines out front.

I got a nickel for two cans and two cents for a single can.

I was actually able to collect enough cans to pay the five dollars a day for my upkeep and also put two gallons of gas in my car so that I could drive around the next day.

Incredibly, I was also able to collect enough cans to buy a liter of water and a package of Tang (powdered orange-flavored drink) every day.

There was even enough left over for a Hostess dessert pie for breakfast, a 7-Eleven microwaveable burrito for lunch and some bread, ham, cheese and fruit for dinner!

My food expenses were about seven dollars a day and it was about the same for gasoline.

So, I lived on a budget of $20 dollars a day for nine months.

Somehow, and I have no idea how, I was able to collect between 400 and 500 cans a day—and I survived!

I have no shame in it, nor in sharing it; it wasn’t my fault to begin with, but in no way was I going to give up. I’m too proud.

Sure, I could have sold my car to rent an apartment, but then how would I get to work or find a job?

By bus? Not so practical in San Diego.

So I did what I did in the way that I did it.

Today, I have a house on the beach and I will buy a second one soon. I have a new wife whom I love and who loves me and we have a wonderful son together.

I’ve worked for 11 years at the same company, so my life is stable once again.

But I’ll never forget that year; it was a true life lesson.

And you know what?

It wasn’t so bad living in my car collecting cans so that I could get through the day!

Get a PO box, get a gym membership, maintain a prepaid cellular line so people can call you, try to get credit, do what you need to do to find the $20 to $30 dollars a day you need and in the end you’ll be just fine!

Good luck!

Cheers!

Biden targets Amish farmer with armed raid and $300,000 fine…

Biden admin targets Amish farmer | Tucker Carlson

Miller’s Organic Farm is located in the remote Amish village of Bird-in-Hand, Pennsylvania. The farm supplies everything from grass-fed beef and cheese, to raw milk and organic eggs, to dairy from grass-fed water buffalo and all types of produce, all to roughly 4,000 private food club members who pay top dollar for high quality whole food.

The private food club members appreciate their freedom to get food from an independent farmer that isn’t processing his meat and dairy at U.S. Department of Agriculture facilities, which mandates that food be prepared in ways that Miller’s Organic Farm believe make it less nutritious.

Amos Miller, the farm’s owner, contends that he’s preparing food the way God intended — but the U.S. government doesn’t see things that way. They recently sent armed federal agents to the farm and demanded he cease operations. The government is also looking to issue more than $300,000 in fines — a request so steep, it would put the farm out of business.

There’s this farmer named Amos Miller and he’s been farming for 25 years. No electricity, no fertilizer, no gasoline. He has really, really impressive crop yields using only the only the oldest of methods, totally organic. He has milk, he has beef, he has different types of sheep. He has chicken, all types of vegetables. And he has a private buyers club of about 4,000 people all across the country that pay him top dollar for his food.

And the government doesn’t like this idea of a private buyers club. They have raided his farm with armed federal agents and they have said he needs to stop selling his meat until he gets regulated by the federal agencies whose job it is to, you know, regulate food. And he says, “you know, the way you guys regulate it, it kind of hurts the nutrition of the food — you know, you wash it in these things, you’ve given these vaccines and the cows get all types of medicine, I don’t do any of that. So I think going through your regulatory process will actually hurt the quality of my food and that’s what I’m being paid top dollar for, it is this high quality food.

So they are fining him hundreds of thousands of dollars, and they’ve actually sent armed federal agents there to take inventory of his meat, of his dairy, and they visit him to make sure that he’s not selling anything and that he’s not ramping up his production in any way. So that’s where he is now. He’s figuring out how to fight the federal government, what he’s going to do. And you know, he’s been put in this really tight spot along with the people who, you know, look to him for this food. They’re not getting their meat and dairy right now because of the government.

This is Texas

One evening my next door neighbor’s 12-yr-old daughter called me and said she was home alone and scared because some man was walking around her home peering into the windows. We lived on a cul-de-sac of about a dozen homes all on small acreages. From my kitchen I could clearly see a man standing under the neighbor’s car port looking into a window.

I called my dogs to my side. One was a 120 lb Doberman and the other a 65 lb Weimaraner. They accompanied me out the door to the low rail fence between our properties. I challenged the man on what he was doing. He stuttered he was looking for a friend’s house. When I asked what his friend’s name was, he said a name I did not recognize belonging to anyone on the street. My dogs were quietly standing next to me during this time intently focused on the man.

I told the man to leave or I’d turn the dogs loose. Either the guy was drunk or on drugs or just plain stupid because he proceeded to angrily argue with me. I had never asked my dogs to attack someone and they weren’t trained to do so. But both dogs leaped the fence and emitted nasty guttural growls pinning the man against the wall of the home. Surprised the hell out of me! Him too. They were crouched down ready to make minced meat out of him. His voice went up three octaves screaming to call the dogs off. I honestly didn’t know if they’d listen to me. I ended up having to climb the fence and grabbing them by their collars. Either one could’ve easily pulled loose and I warned the guy I might not be able to hold them.

He took off down the driveway cursing me over his shoulder. I noticed that instead of turning left back toward the highway he ran right deeper into the cul-de-sac. Running back to my house I called a neighbor whom I knew carried a shotgun in his pickup. (This was Texas after all.) Last I saw was him being escorted down the road with his hands up. My pups got extra treats that night!

Geopolitical tectonic plates shifting, six months on

14205 Views August 24, 2022

by Pepe Escobar, posted with the author’s permission and widely cross-posted

Six months after the start of the Special Military Operation (SMO) by Russia in Ukraine, the geopolitical tectonic plates of the 21^st century have been dislocated at astonishing speed and depth – with immense historical repercussions already at hand. To paraphrase T.S. Eliot, this is the way the (new) world begins, not with a whimper but a bang.

The vile assassination of Darya Dugina – de facto terrorism at the gates of Moscow – may have fatefully coincided with the six-month intersection point, but that won’t change the dynamics of the current, work-in-progress historical drive.

The FSB may have cracked the case in a little over 24 hours, designating the perpetrator as a neo-Nazi Azov operative instrumentalized by the SBU, itself a mere tool of the CIA/MI6 combo de facto ruling Kiev.

The Azov operative is just a patsy. The FSB will never reveal in public the intel it has amassed on those that issued the orders – and how they will be dealt with.

One Ilya Ponomaryov, an anti-Kremlin minor character granted Ukrainian citizenship, boasted he was in contact with the outfit that prepared the hit on the Dugin family. No one took him seriously.

What’s manifestly serious is how oligarchy-connected organized crime factions in Russia would have a motive to eliminate Dugin as a Christian Orthodox nationalist philosopher who, according to them, may have influenced the Kremlin’s pivot to Asia (he didn’t).

But most of all, these organized crime factions blamed Dugin for a concerted Kremlin offensive against the disproportional power of Jewish oligarchs in Russia. So these actors would have the motive and the local base/intel to mount such a coup.

If that’s the case that spells out a Mossad operation – in many aspects a more solid proposition than CIA/MI6. What’s certain is that the FSB will keep their cards very close to their chest – and retribution will be swift, precise and invisible.

The straw that broke the camel’s back

Instead of delivering a serious blow to Russia in relation to the dynamics of the SMO, the assassination of Darya Dugina only exposed the perpetrators as tawdry operatives of a Moronic Murder Inc.

An IED cannot kill a philosopher – or his daughter. In an essential essay Dugin himself explained how the real war – Russia against the collective West led by the United States – is a war of ideas. And an existential war.

Dugin – correctly – defines the US as a “thalassocracy”, heir to “Britannia rules the waves”; yet now the geopolitical tectonic plates are spelling out a new order: The Return of the Heartland.

Putin himself first spelled it out at the Munich Security Conference in 2007. Xi Jinping started to make it happen when he launched the New Silk Roads in 2013. The Empire struck back with Maidan in 2014. Russia counter-attacked coming to the aid of Syria in 2015.

The Empire doubled down on Ukraine, with NATO weaponizing it non-stop for eight years. At the end of 2021, Moscow invited Washington for a serious dialogue on “indivisibility of security” in Europe. That was dismissed with a non-response response.

Moscow took no time to confirm a trifecta was in the works: an imminent Kiev blitzkrieg against Donbass; Ukraine flirting with acquiring nuclear weapons; and the work of US bioweapon labs. That was the straw that broke the New Silk Road camel’s back.

A consistent analysis of Putin’s public interventions these past few months reveals that the Kremlin – as well as Security Council Yoda Nikolai Patrushev – fully realize how the politico/media goons and shock troops of the collective West are dictated by the rulers of what Michael Hudson defines as the FIRE system (financialization, insurance, real estate), a de facto banking Mafia.

As a direct consequence, they also realize how collective West public opinion is absolutely clueless, Plato cave-style, of their total captivity by the FIRE rulers, who cannot possibly tolerate any alternative narrative.

So Putin, Patrushev, Medvedev will never presume that a senile teleprompter reader in the White House or a cokehead comedian in Kiev “rule” anything. The sinister Great Reset impersonator of a Bond villain, Klaus “Davos” Schwab, and his psychotic historian sidekick Yuval Harari at least spell out their “program”: global depopulation, with those that remain drugged to oblivion.

As the US rules global pop culture, it’s fitting to borrow from what Walter White/Heisenberg, an average American channeling his inner Scarface, states in Breaking Bad: “I’m in the Empire business”. And the Empire business is to exercise raw power – then maintained with ruthlessness by all means necessary.

Russia broke the spell. But Moscow’s strategy is way more sophisticated than leveling Kiev with hypersonic business cards, something that could have been done at any moment starting six months ago, in a flash.

What Moscow is doing is talking to virtually the whole Global South, bilaterally or to groups of actors, explaining how the world-system is changing right before our eyes, with the key actors of the future configured as BRI, SCO, EAEU, BRICS+, the Greater Eurasia Partnership.

And what we see is vast swathes of the Global South – or 85% of the world’s population – slowly but surely becoming ready to engage in expelling the FIRE Mafia from their national horizons, and ultimately taking them down: a long, tortuous battle that will imply multiple setbacks.

The facts on the ground

On the ground in soon-to-be rump Ukraine, Khinzal hypersonic business cards – launched from Tu-22M3 bombers or Mig-31 interceptors – will continue to be distributed.

Piles of HIMARS will continue to be captured. TOS 1A Heavy Flamethrowers will keep sending invitations to the Gates of Hell. Crimean Air Defense will continue to intercept all sorts of small drones with IEDs attached: terrorism by local SBU cells, which will be eventually smashed.

Using essentially a phenomenal artillery barrage – cheap and mass-produced – Russia will annex the full, very valuable Donbass, in terms of land, natural resources and industrial power. And then on to Nikolaev, Odessa, and Kharkov.

Geoeconomically, Russia can afford to sell its oil with fat discounts to any Global South customer, not to mention strategic partners China and India. Cost of extraction reaches a maximum of $15 per barrel, with a national budget based on $40-45 for a barrel of Urals.

A new Russian benchmark is imminent, as well as oil in rubles following the wildly successful gas for rubles.

The assassination of Darya Dugina provoked endless speculation on the Kremlin and the Ministry of Defense finally breaking their discipline. That’s not going to happen. The advances along the enormous 1,800-mile front are relentless, highly systematic and inserted in a Greater Strategic Picture.

A key vector is whether Russia stands a chance of winning the information war with the collective West. That will never happen inside NATOstan – even as success after success is ramping up across the Global South.

As Glenn Diesen has masterfully demonstrated, in detail, in his latest book, Russophobia , the collective West is viscerally, almost genetically impervious to admitting any social, cultural, historical merits by Russia.

And that will extrapolate to the irrationality stratosphere, as the grinding down and de facto demilitarization of the imperial proxy army in Ukraine is driving the Empire’s handlers and its vassals literally nuts.

The Global South though should never lose sight of the “Empire business”. The Empire of Lies excels in producing chaos and plunder, always supported by extortion, bribery of comprador elites, assassinations, and all that supervised by the humongous FIRE financial might. Every trick in the Divide and Rule book – and especially outside of the book – should be expected, at any moment. Never underestimate a bitter, wounded, deeply humiliated Declining Empire.

So fasten your seat belts: that will be the tense dynamic all the way to the 2030s. But before that, all along the watchtower, get ready for the arrival of General Winter, as his riders are fast approaching, the wind will begin to howl, and Europe will be freezing in the dead of a dark night as the FIRE Mafia puff their cigars.

Don’t mess with the kitty!

A man absolutely hated his wife’s cat and decided to get rid of him one day by driving him 20 blocks from his home and leaving him at the park. As he was getting home, the cat was walking up the driveway. The next day he decided to drive the cat 40 blocks away. He put the beast out and headed home. Driving back up his driveway, there was the cat! He kept taking the cat further and further and the cat would always beat him home.

At last, he decided to drive a few miles away, turn right, then left, past the bridge, then right again, and another right until he reached what he thought was a safe distance from his home and left the cat there. Hours later the man calls home to his wife:

“Jen, is the cat there?” “Yes”, the wife answers, “why do you ask?”

Frustrated, the man answered,

“Put that son of a bitch on the phone, I’m lost and need directions!”

Chinese Gaokou

In China, the gaokao is one of the most stressful periods of a high school student’s life.

It is known to single-handedly decide your future job opportunities and social status within society.

Compared to other college entrance exams in countries like Korea or India, you would think that the test is mostly based off of memorizing and using those “tricks” that are taught at special cram schools.

But some of those questions are actually incredibly thoughtful and creativity oriented.

Take a look:

Topic: Roads
Based on the three given uses of ‘road’, write an essay.
1. “The Earth had no roads to begin with, but when many men passed one way, a road was made.” —Lu Hsun (Lu Xun)
2. There is no such thing as a road that dare not to be walked, only people who dare not to walk it.
3. You may take the wrong road sometimes, but if you keep walking, it will become a brand new road.
(From Fujian)
Topic: Do butterfly wings have colors?
“A teacher asked the students to look at butterflies under a microscope. At first, they thought the butterflies were colorful, but when they looked at them closely, they realized that they were actually colorless.” Based on this story, write an essay.
(From Anhui)
The containers for milk are always square boxes; containers for mineral water are always round bottles; round wine bottle are usually placed in square boxes. Write a composition on the subtle philosophy of the round and square.
Who do you think is the most glamorous person? A biotechnologist who led his company in international research, an ordinary welder who gained international fame through his work, or a photographer complimented widely for a series of photos?

Chinese Laser

Many things are made in China that are against the law in the United States. They are either too powerful, too cheap (competition issues), use materials that are judged as "bad" or just are unregulated and thus are considered to be dangerous. -MM

“Ask her if it’s powerful.” I said to my co-worker. He spoke in Mandarin to the woman at the market stall, and she casually pushed a button on the black baton.

A bright blue rod immediately connected the object to a cinder block wall across the street. Without saying a word, she casually pulled a cigarette from the pack on the counter, put it in her mouth, leaned forward, and lit the tip of her cancer-stick in the laser’s light beam.

“I don’t care what it costs. Tell her yes.” After some negotiating (because I think she understood “I don’t care what it costs.” but I did care) and $60, I got a Jedi-light-saber set-shit-on-fire mobile death ray.

To prevent any accidental/catastrophic airline excitement, I disassembled it into a few pieces and put some bits in my checked bag and the rest in my carry-on bag.

Not that practical for daily use, and despite the look of the packaging – definitely NOT for kids, but absolutely fun.

World War 3 for dummies

June 18, 2022

By Gaius Baltar for the Saker Blog

Some knowledgeable people, apparently including the Pope, are beginning to suspect that there may be more going on in the world than just the war in the Ukraine. They say that World War 3 has already started and things will get worse from now on. This can be difficult to determine while we are participating in the unfolding events and do not have the benefit of the historical perspective. It is doubtful that people back in 1939 realized that they were looking at the start of a major worldwide conflict, although some may have suspected it.

The current global situation is in many ways like a giant jigsaw puzzle where the general public only sees a tiny part of the complete picture. Most don’t even realize that there may be more pieces and don’t even ask these simple questions: Why is all this happening and why is it happening now?

Things are more complicated than most people realize. What they see is the evil wizard Vladimir Saruman Putin invading innocent Ukraine with his orc army – for absolutely no reason. This is a simplistic view, to say the least because nothing happens without a reason. Let’s put things in perspective and see what is really going on – and why the world is going crazy before our eyes. Let’s see what World War 3 is all about.

The pressure cooker

The West (which we can define here as the US and the EU and a few more) has been maintaining pressure on the entire world for decades. This does not only apply to countries outside the West, but also to Western countries which strayed from the diktats of the West’s rulers. This pressure has been discussed widely and attributed to all kinds of motives, including neocolonialism, forced financial hegemony, and so forth. What is interesting, particularly during the last 20 years, is which countries have been pressured and what they do not have in common.

Among the pressured countries we find Russia, China, Cuba, Venezuela, Libya, Syria, Serbia, Thailand, and Iran to mention a few. There have also been recent additions, including India and Hungary. In order to understand why they have been pressured, we need to find out what they have in common. That’s not easy since they are extremely different in most ways. There are democracies and non-democracies, conservative and communist governments, Christian, Muslim and Buddhist countries, and so on. Still, many of them are very clearly allied. One must ask why conservative and religious countries such as Russia or Iran would ally themselves with Godless communists in Cuba and Venezuela.

What all these countries have in common is their desire to run their own affairs; to be independent countries. This is unforgivable in the eyes of the West and must be tackled by any means necessary, including economic sanctions, color revolutions, and outright military aggression.

The West and its NATO military arm had surrounded Russia with hostile countries and military bases, armed and manipulated Ukraine to be used as a hammer against it, and employed sanctions and threats. The same thing was and is happening in Asia where China is being surrounded by all means available. The same applies to all the Independents mentioned above to some extent. In the past 10 years or so the pressure has increased massively on the Independents and it reached almost a fever pitch in the year before the Russian invasion of the Ukraine.

During the year before the Ukraine war, the US sent its diplomats around the world to tune up the pressure. They were like a traveling circus or a rock band on a tour, but instead of entertainment, they delivered threats: buy this from us and do what we tell you or there will be consequences. The urgency was absolute and palpable, but then came the Ukraine war and the pressure went up to 11. During the first month of the war, the entire West’s diplomatic corps was fully engaged in threats against the ‘rest of the world’ to engineer the isolation of Russia. This didn’t work, which resulted in panic in political and diplomatic circles in the US and Europe.

All this pressure through the years, and all the fear and panic when it didn’t work, are clearly related to the events in the Ukraine. They are a part of the same ‘syndrome’ and have the same cause.

The debt dimension

There have been many explanations for what is going on and the most common is the fight between two possible futures; a multipolar world where there are several power centers in the world, and a unipolar world where the West governs the world. This is correct as far as it goes, but there is another reason which explains why this is happening now and all the urgency and panic in the West.

Recently the New Zealand tech guru Kim Dotcom tweeted a thread about the debt situation in the US. According to him all debt and unfunded liabilities of the US exceed the total value of the entire country, including the land. This situation is not unique to the US. Most countries in the West have debt that can only be paid back by selling the entire country and everything it contains. On top of that, most non-western countries are buried in dollar-denominated debt and are practically owned by the same financiers who own the West.

During the last few decades, the economy of the US and Europe has been falsified on a level that is difficult to believe. We in the West have been living far beyond our means and our currencies have been massively overvalued. We have been able to do this through two mechanisms:

The first one is the reserve status of the dollar and the semi-reserve status of the euro which have enabled the West to export digital money and receive goods in return. This has created enormous financial power for the West and enabled it to function as a parasite on the world economy. We have been getting a lot of goods for free, to put it mildly.
The second falsification mechanism is the increase in debt to a level where we have essentially pawned everything we own, including our houses and lands, to keep up our living standards. We own nothing now when the debt has been subtracted. The debt has long since become unserviceable – far beyond our ability to pay interests on – which explains why the interest rates in the West are in the neighborhood of zero. Any increase would make the debt unserviceable and we would all go formally bankrupt in a day.

On top of all this, the falsification has created artificially strong currencies in the West which has boosted their purchasing power for goods priced in non-western currencies. These mechanisms have also enabled the West to run bloated and dysfunctional service economies where inefficiencies are beyond belief. We have giant groups of people in our economies that not only create no value but destroy value systematically. What maintains the West’s standard of living now is a small minority of productive people, constant debt increase, and parasitism of the rest of the world.

The people who own all this debt actually own everything we think we own. We in the West own nothing at this point – we only think we do. But who are our real owners? We know more or less who they are because they meet every year at the World Economic Forum in Davos along with the western political elites who they also happen to own.

It is clear that our owners have been getting increasingly worried, and their worries have been increasing in sync with the increased pressure applied by the West on the rest of the world, particularly the Independents. During the last Davos meeting, the mood was bleak and panicked at the same time, much like the panic among the western political elites when the isolation of Russia failed.

What is about to happen

The panic of our owners and their politicians is understandable because we have come to the end of the line. We can no longer keep up our living standards by debt increase and parasitism. The debt is reaching beyond what we own as collateral and our currencies are about to become worthless. We will no longer be able to get free stuff from the rest of the world, or pay back our debt – let alone pay interest on it. The entire West is about to go bankrupt and our standard of living is about to go down by a massive percentage. This is what has our owners panicked and they see only two scenarios:

In the first scenario most countries in the West, and everything and everyone within them, declare bankruptcy and erase the debt by diktat – which sovereign states are able to do. This will also erase the wealth and political power of our owners.
In the second scenario, our owners take over the collateral during the bankruptcy. The collateral is us and everything we own.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out which scenario was chosen. The plan for the second scenario is ready and being implemented as we speak. It is called ‘The Great Reset’ and was constructed by the people behind the World Economic Forum. This plan is not a secret and can be examined to a certain degree on the WEF website.

The Great Reset is a mechanism for the seizing of all debt collateral which includes your assets, the assets of your city or municipality, the assets of your state, and most corporate assets not already held by our owners.

This asset seizure mechanism has several components, but the most important are the following four:

Abolishment of sovereignty: A sovereign (independent) country is a dangerous country because it can choose to default on its debt. The decrease in sovereignty has been a priority for our owners and various schemes have been attempted such as the Transatlantic Trade and Investment Partnership and the Trans-Pacific Partnership. The most successful scheme is undoubtedly the European Union itself.
The down-tuning of the economy: The western economy (and indeed the global economy) must be tuned down by a very significant percentage. This down-tuning is necessary because the western economy is massively falsified now and must be taken down to its real level – which may be as low as half of what it is now – or more. The slow takedown has also the purpose of avoiding a sudden crash that would cause massive social unrest which would be a threat to our owners. A controlled takedown is therefore preferable to an uncontrolled crash. This controlled takedown is already happening and has been going on for quite some time. Many examples can be mentioned of this takedown, including the EU and US energy policy which is designed to sabotage the western economy, and the obvious attempts at demand destruction during and after the epidemic, including the fairly bizarre logistical problems which suddenly came out of nowhere.
Asset harvesting (you will own nothing and be ‘happy’): All assets that can be considered to be collateral to our private and collective/public debt will be taken over. This is a clearly stated aim of the Great Reset but it is less clear how this would be carried out. Total control of western governments (and indeed all governments) would seem to be necessary for this. That precondition is closer than one might think because most western governments seem to be beholden to Davos at this point. The process will be sold as necessary social restructuring because of an economic crisis and global warming and will result in a massive decrease in living standards for regular people, although not the elites.
Oppression: A great many people will not like this and an uprising is a likely response, even if the takedown is done gradually. To prevent this from happening, a social control mechanism is being implemented which will erase personal freedom, the freedom of speech, and privacy. It will also create absolute dependence of the individual on the state. This must be done before the economic takedown can be completed or there will be a revolution. This mechanism is already being implemented enthusiastically in the West as anybody with eyes and ears can see.

Russia, China, and other Independents

How do Russia and China, and the war in Ukraine, factor into all of this? Why all the pressure from the West throughout the years and why all this panic now? Part of the reason for the pressure on the Independents, particularly Russia and China, is simply that they have resisted western hegemony. That is enough for getting on the West’s naughty list. But why the increased pressure in recent years?

The reason is that Russia and China cannot be subjugated through bankruptcy and their assets harvested. They do not have much debt in western currencies which means that the people who own the West through debt do not currently own Russia and China (like they own the West and the indebted ‘third world’) and cannot acquire them through debt. The only way to acquire them is through regime change. Their governments must be weakened by any means, including economic sanctions and military means if necessary -thus the use of Ukraine as a battering ram for Russia and Taiwan for China.

Subjugating Russia and China is an existential issue for our Davos owners because when they take the western economy down, everything else must go down too. If the western economy is taken down and a large economic block doesn’t participate in the downfall, it will be a disaster for the West. The new block will gain massive economic power, and possibly unipolar hegemony of sorts, while the West descends into a feudal Dark Age and irrelevance. Therefore the entire world must go down for the Great Reset to work. Russia and China must be subjugated by any means, as well as India and other stubborn nations.

This is what has fueled the situation we now find ourselves in and will fuel the continuation of World War 3. The western owner-elites are going to war to keep their wealth and power. Everyone who resists must be subjugated so they can follow the West into the planned Great Reset Dark Age.

The reason for the current panic among western elites is that the Ukraine project isn’t going as planned. Instead of Russia being bled on the battlefield, it is Ukraine and the West that bleed. Instead of the Russian economy crashing resulting in Putin’s replacement by a Davos-compatible leader, it is the West’s economy that is crashing. Instead of Russia being isolated, it is the West that is being increasingly isolated. Noting is working, and to top it all off, Europe has given the Russians the means and motive to destroy the European economy by partly shutting down its industry. Without Russian resources, there is no European industry, and without industry, there are no taxes for paying for unemployment benefits, pensions, all the refugees, and pretty much everything else which holds European societies together. The Russians now have the ability to engineer an uncontrolled crash in Europe which is not what Davos planned. An uncontrolled crash might see Davos’s heads roll, literally, and that is causing fear and panic in elite circles. The only solution for them is to move on with World War 3 and hope for the best.

What to do

The Great Reset of the world economy is the direct cause of World War 3 – assuming that is what is going on. What can be done about this? From inside the West, little can be done. The only way is to somehow remove Davos from the equation, but that is most likely not going to happen for two reasons: The first one is that the Davos great resetters are too entwined in the western economy and politics. Davos is like an octopus with its arms and suckers inside every country’s elite circles, media, and government. They are too entrenched to be easily removed. The second reason is that the western population is too brainwashed and ignorant. The level of their brainwashing is such that a large part of them actually want to become poor – although they use the word ‘green’ for ‘poor’ because it sounds better. There are, however, some indications that there may be divisions within western elites. Some of them, particularly within the US, may be resisting the primarily Europe-designed Great Reset – but whether this opposition is real or effective remains to be seen.

However, outside the West, there are certain measures that can be taken and must be taken. Some of those measures are drastic and some of them are being done as we speak. Among the measures are the following:

The Independents, led by Russia, China, and India, must create a block to isolate themselves from the radioactive West. This isolation must not only be economic, but also political and social. Their economic systems must be divorced from the West and made autonomous. Their cultures and history must be defended against western influences and revisionism. This process appears to be underway.
The Independents must immediately ban all western sponsored institutions and NGOs in their countries, regardless of whether they are sponsored by western states or individuals. Furthermore, they must ban all media receiving western sponsorship and strip every school and university of western sponsorship and influence.
They must leave all international institutions up to and possibly including the United Nations because all international bodies are controlled by the West. They must then replace them with new institutions within their block.
They must, at some point, declare the dollar and the euro currencies non grata. That means that they should declare default on all debts denominated in these currencies, but not other debts. This will most likely come at a later stage but is inevitable.

This will create a situation where the West will descend into darkness without pulling others down with it – if we manage to escape the nuclear fire.

What are the strangest things that octopuses do?

They ride on dolphins.

Now you might think that this is very amusing.

And that dolphins are so friendly and let others ride.

But dolphins like to eat octopuses.

And this one had no chance of getting away.

So he did the smart thing.

As long as he sits on the dolphin, the dolphin cannot eat him.

I have no idea how THAT turned out.

But he deserved to get away with it.

Ignoring the US ban, Dutch ASML delivered 23 lithography machines to China!

From HERE

Well, duh! The only customer it has is China. When the United States just decided to make "pronouncements" on what companies, and nations can and cannot do, they did so with no consideration of the impact. ASML was facing bankruptcy if it obeyed the United States "sanctions".  So they went ahead and defied the USA. -MM

2022-08-27 13:34 HKT

Speaking of chips, there is a device that has to be mentioned, that is, a lithography machine.

When it comes to lithography machines, the Dutch company ASML is another name that has to be mentioned. Because it is the only one with the most advanced lithography machine in the world.

EUV lithography machines have always been regarded as indispensable equipment for advanced chips, and under the control of Americans, ASML cannot freely ship EUV lithography machines.

Who wants to buy?

Who do you sell to?

Without an American nod, ASML cannot sell a single lithography machine. ALl their customers are in China.

ASML was originally a Dutch company, but under the coercion and inducement of the United States, it had no choice but to move its headquarters to the United States.

And after the U.S. revised chip rules, even DUV lithography machines that produce mature chips have been restricted from shipping. Although DUV lithography machines produced in other countries can still be shipped normally.

However, DUV lithography machines produced in the United States are strictly prohibited from being sold to any country or company, especially China, without a license.

But in the first quarter of this year, ASML delivered a total of 23 DUV lithography machines to domestic manufacturers.

Although these DUV lithography machines are most likely manufactured in factories from non-US regions, but so many are delivered at once, is ASML really easy to explain on the American side?

The entry of 23 DUV lithography machines will obviously help the production of domestic chips. First of all, we can intuitively see that in the first half of this year, the number of imported chips in China decreased by 29 billion, which greatly reduced the dependence of Chinese enterprises on imported chips.

The United States is naturally unhappy, but ASML’s attitude this time is very tough.

They said that China is an important part of the global chip industry chain.

If cooperation with China is stopped, the world semiconductor supply chain will face the risk of disruption.

ASML is in a hurry and speaks very clearly. On the one hand, there is now a shortage of chips in the world, which has already affected the production of semiconductor equipment.

If China’s production capacity cannot be released, it is estimated that few in the world’s semiconductor industry will survive for another two years.

On the other hand, ASML itself is also facing a serious impact on the supply of raw materials, and it urgently needs to deepen its cooperation with China.

The production of lithography machines requires a raw material called “neon gas”. 20% of ASML’s neon gas comes from Russia and Ukraine, but due to local American law, ASML was “cut off” from this source of supply.

And it happens that China can provide neon gas, and the monthly output of domestic integrated circuits can exceed 30 billion, both of which are urgently needed by ASML.

Of course, there is another aspect, that is, ASML does not want the Chinese market to change from a big customer to a rival.

Just like Huawei did to Qualcomm before.

ASML does not want to force China out of the second ASML because of the selfish desires of the United States.

Now the EUV lithography machine is unique to itself, but who can guarantee the future?

Before the emergence of Kirin chips, did anyone think that China also has the ability to develop high-end chips?

You know, our localized semiconductor supply chain has made a lot of progress.

Domestic lithography machines now occupy the mainstream of the domestic market. Although the technology ceiling is definitely not as good as ASML, not all semiconductor equipment needs such good chips. The mainstream of the market is still dominated by mature process chips.

Therefore, for ASML, instead of being controlled by the United States and then disappearing into the so-called “price”, it is better to just face it, and maybe there is a way to survive.

Imagine That!

My ancestors hail from the Vologda region in the Russian North. When I visited my grandparents in summer, it usually took me a week to get used to their dialect of the Russian language.

Little did I know that a person from India who knows Sanskrit would need about that much time to understand the dialect without a translator.

A professor from India, who arrived in Vologda, almost immediately turned down his translator’s services. “I can understand Vologda dielect,” he said, “because they speak corrupted Sanskrit.”

It turns out, the entire area of Vologda is linked to Sanskrit and Indian culture.

The region is located at the confluence of the river Dvina (“divine, sacred” in Sanskrit) and its tributary Sukhona (“easy to cross” in Sanskrit). Other rivers with Sanskrit names in the region: Vel (border, riverbank); Valgu (nice lovely); Indu (a drop); Lal (play, overflow); Padma (flower of a water lily, lotus).

Vologda lace knitting is world famous. Little did I know that my female ancestors knitted Indian patterns.

Vologda ethnographer Svetlana Zharnikova accompanied an Indian folk band on a trip down the Sukhona river.

The head of the ensemble, Ms. Mihra, was shocked by the ornaments in Vologda national costumes. “These,” she would exclaim enthusiastically, “are native to Rajasthan, and this one is from Aris, and these ornaments are what we have in Bengal.”

It turned out that even the technology of embroidery of ornaments is called the same in the Vologda region and in India. Our craftswomen call embossed smooth surface “chekan”, and Indians call it “chikan”.

However, not just the Vologda dialect, but the Russian language sounds very similar to Sanskrit.

In the 1960s, the Indian specialist in Sanskrit Durga Prasad Shastri visited Russia. After two weeks, he told his translator Mr. Gusev, “Stop translating! I understand what you are saying. You are speaking here some altered form of Sanskrit!”

Having returned to India, he published an article on the similarities of the Russian and Sanskrit languages. Here is a quote from the article:

“If I were asked which two languages of the world are most similar to each other, I would answer without any hesitation: Russian and Sanskrit. And not because some words are similar. Common words can be found in Latin, German, Sanskrit, Persian and Russian. What surprising is that the word structure, style, syntax and even grammar rules are too similar in the two languages to be a coincidence.

“When I was in Moscow, they gave me the keys to a room 234 at the hotel and said “dwesti tridsat chetire ”. In bewilderment, I could not understand whether I was in Moscow or in Benares two thousand years ago. In Sanskrit, 234 is “dwishata tridasha chatwari.”

Bal Gangadhar Tilak, the researcher of the origins of the Indians, published his book “The Arctic Home in the Vedas” in 1903.

According to Tilak, sacred books, the Vedas, written more than three thousand years ago, “tell about life of the distant ancestors near the Arctic Ocean. They describe endless summer days and winter nights, the North Star and the northern lights.”

Nike and Adidas are blaming COVID for low China sales, but the numbers don’t add up – SupChina

Note: the real reason is Chinese consumers turn away from the US firms due to their boycott of Xinjiang cotton, etc

From HERE

Adidas has posted healthy revenue gains in its other combined markets in the first half of the year, but the company’s revenue in China dropped by 35% year-on-year, with net sales decreasing from $2.4 billion to $1.7 billion.

In the first quarter, Nike reported a 55% reduction in its earnings before interest and taxes (EBIT) in China — from $691 million to $311 million.

Weak China numbers have prompted Adidas to cut its growth outlook for the rest of 2022. In the company’s latest earnings report, Adidas CEO Kasper Rørsted explained that the company’s recovery in the Chinese market was slower than expected because of COVID-related closures.

I say BULLSHIT. Stores are all open in China during the lockdowns, and severe lockdowns, for the most part last under ten days. -MM

In an earnings call on June 27, Nike’s Chief Financial Officer explained that the company’s reduced earnings followed the region’s most widespread COVID disruption since 2020, which impacted over 100 cities and over 60% of the company’s business in China.

But their Chinese counterparts seem to be weathering the lockdowns just fine. Li-Ning 李宁, one of China’s leading homegrown sportswear brands, posted 12.4 billion yuan ($1.8 billion) in revenue for the first half of 2022, a year-on-year increase of 21.7%. Anta 安踏 reported double digit sales growth in the first quarter of 2022, both for its flagship brand as well as the China-based subsidiary of the Italian FILA brand, which it owns. And Xtep 特步 reported a year-on year increase in revenue of over 35% in the second quarter.

On the sharp end of a ‘national tide’

Although it identified COVID as the main culprit, Adidas has acknowledged that it may need to get more in touch with Chinese consumers. In an interview with the German business newspaper Handelsblatt, CEO Rørsted conceded that Adidas had failed to sufficiently understand the Chinese market.

Following Rørsted’s comments, the topic “Adidas CEO admits to making mistakes in China” (#阿迪CEO承认在中国犯了错误#) began trending on Weibo, China’s Twitter-like social media platform. Major media like the nationalistic Guancha.cn website picked up the hashtag, garnering thousands of likes and leading hundreds of Chinese netizens to pile on in the comments, many of whom saw Adidas’ difficulties in China as directly tied to its past statements about avoiding the use of cotton from Xinjiang.

Nike and Adidas were both the targets of a boycott campaign in China in April 2021, led by state media, after they announced they would avoid using cotton sourced in Xinjiang due to allegations of forced labor in the region. This caused a surge in demand for sportswear produced by domestic companies amid a burst of nationalism from Chinese consumers.

While the boycott and social media criticism of Western brands eventually faded, they are clearly still suffering from residual negative sentiment in China. This will flare up during bouts of intense nationalism, such as U.S. House Speaker Nancy Pelosi’s recent visit to Taiwan. Western brands’ popularity is likely to wane amid the “national tide” or “national fashion” — (国潮 guócháo), which emphasizes Chinese culture and support for domestic businesses. Over the longer term, guochao may only become more prominent given its popularity among China’s youth.

Quality and price

There are certain steps Western sportswear companies can take to try and bring their China sales back up to where they once were, according to Allison Malmsten, Marketing Director at Daxue Consulting, a Shanghai-based market research and consulting firm. “First, they have to show that they are willing to localize more, perhaps by working with local brands, athletes, and designers,” she told SupChina. “They should also be leveraging digital strategies and engaging with the community more.”

“Second, they cannot allow their quality to decline,” Malmsten added, explaining that some Chinese netizens have complained that the quality of Adidas’ products has slipped since they moved production from China to Vietnam over the last decade.

Other factors besides nationalism and a failure to localize are likely at play in Nike and Adidas’ struggles in China. The country’s economy is suffering due to a variety of factors, from a collapsing housing bubble to record youth unemployment and a rural banking crisis. As financial woes mount, Chinese consumers may simply be opting to buy fewer expensive Western brands when local competitors offer similar products at cheaper prices. Although the Chinese brands have plenty of high-end products, they also sell a greater range of low-cost items.

Amid an economic downturn and a rise in nationalism that may be generational, the easy money may be over for Nike and Adidas in China.

Chinese Tomato Egg-Drop soup

Bowls of tomato egg drop soup are commonly seen on tables in Chinese households, especially in the summertime when tomatoes are plentiful.

Tomatoes and eggs just go together, and many food cultures know it. Just think of Shakshuka in the Middle East, “Eggs in Purgatory” in Southern Italy, and another Chinese classic, stir-fried tomato and eggs.

If the thought of making soup in the middle of summer has you scratching your head, read on!

Tomato Egg Drop Soup: A Summer Staple

Having soup in the summer is unthinkable to many. But if you let me take you back to the many hot summers I spent in Shanghai, you’ll find out why people in those days did exactly that.

Summers in Shanghai can be hot and humid. Before the age of A/C, the only relief from the heat might be an occasional splurge on a red bean ice pop, a palm fan, cold mung bean soup (there is that “soup” word again), a cup of cool water, or some melon.

In the narrow alleys of densely populated, low residential buildings, there was not a leaf or patch of grass to be found. We had to pour water on the building walls to cool them down towards the end of the day, because by then, it was a lot cooler outside than inside.

Most families ate outside, and some kids even slept outside on makeshift beds. We all had a soup on the dining table, rotating from tomato egg drop soup (most popular) to tomato potato soup, and potato with xian cai (Chinese preserved mustard greens). Soups were usually made in late morning and allowed to cool for lunch and dinner.

These soups replenished our bodies with water and salt (along with vitamins and protein), and since the heat meant lower appetites, it was easier to eat.

Serve Hot or At Room Temperature

When we ate this soup in the old days, it was served at room temperature, rather than piping hot.

That said, serve this soup at whatever your preferred temperature is. Now that I can sit in comfortable air conditioning, I’ll serve it warm or hot.

It doesn’t get much simpler than this recipe, but the flavors are really delicious. The eggs in chicken stock create a rich flavor that contrasts with the tart tomatoes. Scallions and cilantro can be added for brightness, and you have a soup that’s the perfect accompaniment to any meal.

Tomato Egg Drop Soup Recipe Instructions

Heat 2 tablespoons oil in a soup pot or wok over medium low heat. Add the tomato chunks and stir-fry for 5 minutes until the tomatoes are softened and start to fall apart.

Add in 1 cup chicken stock, 2 cups water, 2 teaspoons light soy sauce, 1/2 teaspoon sesame oil, 1/4 teaspoon ground white pepper and salt to taste.

Bring to a boil, and then lower the heat so that the soup is simmering with the lid on.

Now quickly beat the egg in a small bowl and prepare the cornstarch slurry in a separate bowl.

Use a ladle to slowly swirl the soup in a whirlpool motion. Keep swirling as you pour in the cornstarch slurry until well incorporated.

Now pour a thin stream of egg into the middle of the whirlpool as you slowly swirl the soup. This is how you get that pretty egg drop effect.

Serve hot or at room temperature. Ladle the soup into bowls and garnish with chopped scallions and cilantro, if using.

Cheers as Liz Truss says she’s ready to press nuclear button and unleash ‘global annihilation’

Article HERE

Liz Truss has said she would be “ready” to use the UK’s nuclear arsenal if she was to become prime minister.

The Tory leadership frontrunner said she would be willing to press the nuclear button, even if it meant “global annihilation”.

Speaking at a hustings event in Birmingham, Truss spoke with Times Radio host John Pienaar, who said it would make him feel “physically sick” if he was faced with the decision.

Truss said the duty was an “important duty of the prime minister”, and received a round of applause after saying she would have no problem ordering the use of the UK’s nuclear arsenal if necessary.

Pienaar told her: “One of the first things that will happen when and if you become prime minister, you’ll be ushered into a room, a very private room at Number 10, and there will be laid out in front of you what are called the letters of last resort.”

Visiting India was my entire “bucket list.”

By the time I reached 60 years old, I abandoned any dream of seeing India.

In 2014, we were among 15,000 people stuck at the Dallas airport overnight, due to cancellations, trying to get home to Santa Fe, New Mexico, USA. We were in line to speak with a customer service person when I noticed a young Indian woman behind me, looking quite concerned and anxious. I struck up a conversation with her and learned that she was an astronomer visiting the U.S. for the first time and scheduled to give a talk at the VLA (“Very Large Array”) the following afternoon.

We took her under our wing. That evening, we gave her the only cot we could find so that she could sleep comfortably. Though American Airlines said she couldn’t fly out until the next evening, my wife complained repeatedly and got her a flight the next morning. When my wife managed to get a second seat on that flight, she insisted that I accompany the young woman to be sure she got to NM safely (My wife got a flight an hour later).

After dropping her off with the people who were waiting for her, I gave her a big hug and told this awesome young woman, whom we had come to know pretty well by now, “My family just grew by one.” The three of us became Facebook friends. The former head of the VLA arranged a ‘professional tour’ of the VLA and took us to dinner to thank us. The young Indian woman visited our home before leaving New Mexico. She began referring to us as her “American parents.”

By the end of 2014, she announced her marriage engagement and requested that her “American parents” attend her March 2015 wedding in Kolkata, India. Not as guests, but as part of her wedding party! We flew to India. Her family put us up in a “service apartment” and delivered homemade food daily.

After a week in Kolkata (formerly Calcutta) for this memorable wedding, we flew to Jaipur for a week and then nearly a week in Delhi. I finally got to visit India… all because I helped a stranded young lady at an airport.

Two Indian Quora friends wanted to hear all about our trip to India so, two days after we returned, I wrote a modest travelogue with photos.

By the end of 2015, more than 100,000 Indians read what I wrote! (Today, that number has grown to nearly 700,000!) Since then, my “international family” has grown. I have made many close online friends in India …mostly young people through Quora and Facebook. They are Hindu, Muslim, Sindhi, Sikh, and Jain. In most cases, our early interactions involved discussing differences in cultures and religion. Eventually, some of them began sharing their lives and situations and asking for my advice. I did my very best to help. They began calling me “Baapu”, “Baba”, “Touji”, “Papa Rick”, “Dad” and “Angel Paa” (Her dad is “Paa”… I’m “Angel Paa”) <3.

In 2017, we returned to India for 33 days. More than a dozen of my “unofficially-adopted” Indian sons and daughters insisted that we stay in their homes. We wound up staying with five of them in Jaipur, Kota, Ujjain, Indore, and Amravati. They are the sons and daughters of my heart. I tell my American friends that we were not in India as tourists this time… we were there to meet family.

When I retired and wrote, “MiXED NUTS or What I’ve Learned Practicing Psychotherapy” I was pretty much convinced that it would be my fourth and last book. Then this whole connection with India and young Indians happened. The story took too long to tell verbally or in a blog so, in 2018, I wrote a book describing this entire experience, including what it was like to meet and spend a week with each of five Indian families. Released internationally in February 2018, it’s called, “American Baapu: India Through My Eyes”. I even found an Indian publisher so that Indians could buy copies they could afford. This was important because that book is my “love letter” to the people of India.

When I was writing, “American Baapu”, I was faced with the problem of who would write the Foreword of my book. The Foreword is where an expert tells the readers something positive about the author including why they should read the book. Where would I find an “expert” on such an experience? One of my Indian “daughters” suggested that she and the others could each write why they call me “Baapu”, “Angel Paa”, “Dad”, etc. After much thought, I agreed and that became the Foreword of my book. Eight young people in India wrote personal reflections that still make me teary.

UPDATE: We returned to India in early 2019! This time, our seven-week itinerary included Bangalore, Pune, Indore, Ujjain, Jaipur, Aurangabad, and Delhi. Same arrangement. In most cases, staying with people who have become our family and who have made us a part of their family. <3

Aurangabad was a surprise. I had no idea it had such a large Muslim population. Our “international family” grew. The Muslims of India are just Indians who attend a different church. We found the same warmth and inclusiveness we got from our Hindu families. I even returned home with five topis! (Muslim caps).

That little travelogue I wrote online in 2015 has now been read by more than 700,000 Indians! I drum for two kirtan bands in Santa Fe. I put contemporary, danceable, western-style rhythms to traditional kirtan music wearing an Indian kurta or a Modi jacket, most of which were gifts from my Indian sons and daughters.

We helped a young woman stranded in an airport… something anyone might have done. As a result, I fulfilled my lifelong dream of visiting India and my family continues to grow with each passing month.

For a sample chapter of ”American Baapu” join my Quora blog/space at:
India Through My Eyes

Lines are being created, and the world splits in two halves

The world has split, and the rest of the world is just starting to recognize it. The United States is “punting”. A world War III would end the United States, so a “cold war” of isolation is being set in motion. Stand by.

Let’s go through the “news”…

The power of community

“A bookstore owner in Southampton, England, has asked for help as he was relocating his library due to high rent and wanted to move books.

The man was surprised by the presence of more than 250 young, elderly, and people with special needs, who formed a human chain in which they took thousands of books and transferred them hand in hand from the old place to the new ones,

a distance of 500 feet in an hour. Those who know the value of the book and the status of knowledge, they never disappoint from their gesture”

Have you ever been reported on by a neighbor to your HOA?

YES!

Then I made it my life’s mission to make her miserable. I am a volunteer firefighter and paramedic. I was signed up to cover a shift, but instead of waiting at the fire station, I brought the paramedic fly car home with me. You know, so I could selfishly be home, in my own house. with my family, while I did what would otherwise be a $50,000 a year job for free. The fly car in question looked kind of like this:

It is a fire-engine-red SUV, with the fire dept name and PARAMEDIC ADVANCED LIFE SUPPORT on it. It has a “Star of life” in the windows, and the heart rhythm going down the stripe. It has 911 painted on it, and it has “GOVT EXEMPT” license plates, too.

My dipshit neighbor, who was the ultimate definition of “a Karen,” even though her name is Debbie, called not just the HOA, but the POLICE. You are not allowed to have a commercial vehicle with lettering in your driveway after six pm. I told the HOA guy, that’s not a Commercial Vehicle, that’s a GOVERNMENT vehicle, an EMERGENCY VEHICLE, and it can be anywhere it needs to be, and until 8 a.m., it needs to be at my house unless somebody in this town does something that begins with, “Hey y’all watch this!” before then. I showed the HOA guy the GOVT EXEMPT plates, and then the cops basically told them the same thing.

Well she kept pushing…. and pushing…. Calling the police chief, the fire chief, the captain of EMS (GEE, WONDER WHO HE WAS, YOU DIDNT NOTICE THE LAST NAME????). Eventually the fire district lawyer firmly put his foot down, making it clear that anyone authorized to be in possession of a district vehicle can take them anywhere in the district for any purpose at any time, and anything other than quiet acceptance of this constitutes “Interference with governmental administration” and/or “obstruction of a public safety official.”

She fumed and bitched and passed around petitions. It was hilarious because the OTHER neighbors kind of dig the idea that a paramedic response is like a minute and a half away. Like when the guy across the street had his heart attack, I was literally “On Scene” before the tones went out, because the teenage kids ran and fetched me while the mom was calling 911.

She just did not seem to get it, “What, is he above the law?” YES.

“So what you’re saying is the law doesn’t apply to him?” YES.

God you’re finally getting it, you’re not nearly as stupid as you look, Debbie. LOL

But now that I knew it bothered good ole Debbie so much, and because she persisted in giving me the stink eye, I decided to be a total prick and sign out the fly car whenever it was not otherwise covered. I also enacted an “open house” policy for any other emergency personnel.

Any time, day or night, if the lighted Dalmation is on the porch, come on by for coffee and a snack. Just park whatever you are driving – Engine 302, Ladder 305, Rescue 308, ya’ll come on down. I have coffee, and popcorn, and little pizza snacks, and Backdraft, Ladder 49, AND Bringing out the Dead. Look, guys, I have the ENTIRE “Emergency!” DVD box set – all six seasons. 122 episodes of Roy and Jonny and the adventures of Engine 51.

She was sooooooo pissed.

European Natural Gas Prices Are 6 Times Higher Than Last Year, And This Is Sparking Widespread Civil Unrest All Over Europe

August 25, 2022 by Michael

This is going to be a bitterly cold winter for a whole lot of people. In particular, things are likely to get really uncomfortable in Europe. Soaring energy prices and concern about potential shortages are causing anxiety all over the continent, and widespread protests have already started to take place. The cost of living has become extremely painful for those on the bottom of the economic food chain, and people want their governments to do something. Of course this is what always happens when nations embrace socialism. There is an expectation that those in charge will solve any and every problem, but this time around the limitations of the socialists running Europe will become very clear.

Thanks to the war in Ukraine and a number of other factors, the price of natural gas in Europe is now approximately six times higher than it was last year…

European natural gas prices are taking a breather amid further signs that soaring energy costs are crippling economic output, heaping pressure on politicians to resolve the crisis with winter just a few months away.

Benchmark futures retreated after settling at a record high on Monday. Prices are still about six times higher than they were at this time last year, with the panic spreading across nations ahead of peak winter demand.

Needless to say, many in Europe are being completely stunned by the size of their energy bills, and a massive backlash has been brewing.

In fact, we are already starting to see very large protests in a number of different countries…

British grassroots group “Don’t Pay UK” is calling for people to boycott energy bills from Oct. 1, while the trade union-backed “Enough is Enough” campaign kicked off a series of rallies and actions in mid-August calling for pay rises, rent caps, cheaper energy and food, and taxes on the rich.

A worsening cost-of-living crisis across Europe has already seen workers in France, Spain and Belgium go out on strike in the public transport, health and aviation sectors, pushing for higher wages to help them cope with rocketing inflation.

But this is just the beginning.

As supplies get even tighter this winter, energy costs are only going to go higher.

And a lot of officials in Europe are extremely concerned about the potential for shortages and blackouts.

Even now, this energy crisis is forcing some big companies to significantly curtail activity…

The list of industries that are curbing output is growing. Poland’s biggest chemicals company, Grupa Azoty SA, has stopped making some of its key products and trimmed production of ammonia because of record gas prices, it said in a statement on Tuesday.

Unless the war in Ukraine comes to a speedy conclusion, this crisis is not going away any time soon.

So the people of Europe are going to be asked to make additional sacrifices in the months ahead. This week, French President Emmanuel Macron actually used the phrase “end of abundance” to describe what citizens of his country would soon be facing…

Emmanuel Macron has warned the French they are facing sacrifices and what he called the “end of abundance”, at his government’s first cabinet meeting after the summer holidays.

The president, speaking before ministers at the Élysée, said the country was at a “tipping point” and faced a difficult winter and a new era of instability caused by climate change and Russia’s invasion of Ukraine.

Based on the anger that we are already witnessing, I don’t think that the people of Europe are going to handle the “end of abundance” too well.

Meanwhile, energy prices in the U.S. continue to skyrocket as well. At this point, the price of natural gas in the U.S. has risen more than 150 percent in 2022…

U.S. natural gas prices briefly hurdled $10 per million British thermal units (BTUs) on Tuesday, the highest since 2008. They are up more than 150% this year.

Approximately half the population uses natural gas to heat their homes.

So this is really troubling news.

Energy bills in this country are going to be absolutely obscene this winter, and we have already reached a point where about one out of every 6 of us are behind on our power bills…

At least 20 million households — or about 1 in 6 American homes — are behind on their power bills as soaring electricity prices spark what is said to be the worst-ever crisis in late utility payments, according to Bloomberg, citing data from the National Energy Assistance Directors Association (Neada).

Neada said electricity prices had increased significantly since 2020 after a decade of stagnation. The steep rise has resulted in billions of dollars in overdue power bills.

In state after state, the percentage of customers that are behind on their energy bills just continues to go higher and higher. Here are a couple of examples…

California’s PG&E Corp. has seen a more than 40% jump since February 2020 in the number of residential customers behind on payments. For New Jersey’s Public Service Enterprise Group, the total is up more than 30% for customers at least 90 days late—and that’s just since March.

If things are this bad already, what will the numbers look like if energy bills go up another 50 percent or more this winter?

We are being warned that a “tsunami of shutoffs” is coming, and that is not an exaggeration at all.

In both the United States and Europe, there are going to be millions upon millions of people that cannot afford to heat their homes.

And when there are vast numbers of people that cannot even afford to pay for the essentials, that is a recipe for civil unrest.

According to one professor that tracks these things, we have already seen approximately 10,000 protests of an economic nature around the world since last November…

Whichever route they choose, the coming winter is set to be plagued by social unrest, warned Naomi Hossain, a professor of development politics at the American University in Washington D.C. who is studying energy, fuel and food riots.

At a conservative estimate, 10,000 such protests have taken place worldwide since last November, she told the Thomson Reuters Foundation – with more expected in an uncertain future.

For years, I have been relentlessly warning that unprecedented civil unrest would be coming.

Now it is here, and it is only going to get worse.

I would very much encourage you to do what you can to become more independent from the power grid.

Energy bills are headed to heights that would have once been unimaginable, and this is going to cause excruciating pain all over the western world.

President of Belarus Announces “We have nuclear weapons”

World Hal Turner 26 August 2022

The President of Belarus, Alexander Lukashenko, announced today that the Su-24 fighter jets that his country has, have been modified to carry nuclear weapons.

According to information, however, Belarus did not PREVIOUSLY have operational Su-24s or nuclear warheads.

This means that Moscow has delivered nuclear bombs to Minsk.

Lukashenko also added that Minsk will react immediately if the West causes any problems.

This move coincides with Putin’s plan: Belarus will enter the war against Ukraine and further tighten the situation in the Suwalki Corridor on the way to Kaliningrad and the Baltic.

If the Poles attempt to block the Belarusian forces on the way to Ukraine, specifically to Lviv and Kyiv, then the use of tactical nuclear weapons will follow.

“Nothing will save you”

Lukashenko said he had agreed to modernize Belarus’ military aircraft with Russian President Vladimir Putin, Belarusian news agency Belta reported.

“They must understand that if they provoke an escalation, neither helicopters nor planes will save them,” Lukashenko was quoted as saying.

“Everything is ready,” he said, referring to work on modifying military aircraft to be able to carry nuclear weapons.

“It is not a good idea to escalate things with Belarus because this could be an escalation with the Union State (of Russia and Belarus) which has nuclear weapons.

If they start creating problems … the response will be immediate ,” the Belarusian president said.

Nebby Neighbors

We own a home on the water in WA state. It includes ownership of the tidelands in front of the property out to the low low tide mark. One day my mother in law was out on the beach digging clams. She is a non English speaking Asian woman and is dressed similar to this:

After half an hour she comes up and talks to my wife and says the neighbor guy who has always been a grumpy old cuss has been yelling at her saying she can’t dig clams here. My wife went down with her to resume digging. He comes charging out onto my tidelands and demands they stop and to see fishing licenses. He says he was a retired Fish and Game officer and that he was going to call F&G and report them. The wife is upset but just ignores him so he stalks off to his house and they continue to collect the tasty bivalves.

I got home a short while later and am there a few minutes when I hear a knock the door. I answer and a F&G warden is standing on my porch. I ask what’s up. He says he has a report of illegal shell fishing on the beach. I call the wife and MIL up and ask what is going on. They tell of their encounter with Mr. Grumpy pants including his claim to have been a F&G warden. The F&G officer asks the key question “ Is this your property?” Yes. “ Do you own the tide lands?” Yes.

Thank you very much, because you own the tidelands all the shellfish in the tidelands belong to you and no license is required to harvest them. Sorry to bother you. He then walks next door and proceeds to read the riot act to my neighbor including threatening to haul him in for impersonating a State official. Never had another issue with the old cuss.

The last laugh is the best laugh.

Bacon, Chile and Cream Cheese-Stuffed Chicken Breasts

Jalapeño poppers are the inspiration for these addictive, crispy baked chicken breasts.

Ingredients

2 slices bacon, chopped
1/2 cup finely chopped onion
1 poblano chile, cored, seeded and diced
4 oz cream cheese, softened
1/2 cup shredded Monterey Jack cheese (2 oz)
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon pepper
4 boneless skinless chicken breasts (6 to 8 oz each)
1/4 cup butter, melted
1 cup Progresso™ plain panko crispy bread crumbs

New Capital City for Egypt

Note: China has being cashing her US dollar treasury debt to help the developing countries across the world. A new world order with mutual destiny, mutual respect, and win win culture are slowlying spreading. The world is in the process of winning back their freedom from the crusaders bullying, looting, bombing and control.

Below from CNN:

Egypt’s new capital city moved a step closer to reality with the announcement that Chinese developers will largely fund the megaproject.

The China Fortune Land Development Company (CFLD) agreed to provide $20 billion for the currently unnamed city, after a meeting between heads of the firm and Egyptian President Abdel Fattah El Sisi. This follows a previous commitment of $15 billion from another Chinese state-owned company, bringing the project close to its $45 billion budget requirements for phase I.

Egypt is getting a new capital — courtesy of China – CNN Style

New Nuclear Power Plant for Egypt

South Korea signs US$2.25 billion deal with Russian nuclear energy company | South China Morning Post

Nation has contract with Russian state-run firm to provide components and construct turbine building for Egypt’s first nuclear power plant
South Korea said US was consulted, and technologies supplied by Seoul would not clash with international sanctions against Moscow over war

From HERE

Saved Kitty

When I was living with my ex girlfriend she heard a coworker basically bragging that she was surrendering her 1.5 year old cat to be put down because he was “stupid, hyper and destructive “ she told me and the following morning we went on a rescue mission and came home with this poor scared underweight cat (he was just under 9 pounds) you could see his rib cage and spine.

its been just over two years and I am no longer with that woman who convinced me to drive myself to this cats rescue. He was given a fresh chance at life. He is now a happy and healthy 13 lbs 3 year old mackerel tabby. And he is my best friend. I am so close with and love this rescue cat that I cannot fathom not knowing that hes in my room as I go to bed.

New York Sees Sharpest Drop in Life Expectancy in the US

Nation Hal Turner 25 August 2022

“New data released by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) Tuesday showed New York experienced the largest drop in life expectancy in the nation for its residents in 2020.

The life expectancy for New Yorkers dropped by 3% from an average age of 80.7 in 2019 to 77.7 in 2020.

The shocking 3-year drop represented the sharpest decrease between the years out of all 50 states and the District of Columbia, according to the CDC’s new National Vital Statistics Report.

On the opposite side of the spectrum, Hawaii saw the smallest decline in life expectancy in 2020 – just .2% from 80.9 years to 80.7 years.”

The Disposable Cigarette Lighter as an insight into manufacturing

Many people have no idea about modern manufacturing.

有什么廉价但是技术含量很高的东西？ – 知乎

This link is a Zhihu answer about “What is something cheap but also contains quite some technologies?”

The answer says “disposable lighter”.

Retailing price 1~2 RMB (0.16~0.3 USD) each, whole selling price 0.2~0.5 RMB (0.03~0.08 USD) each.

It:

is a small pressure container, which contains liquid butane under 0.25Mpa pressure.
has a small piece of piezoelectric ceramic which could generate 6000V and several microamp of current.
flame is about 1300 degress at the outter layer of the flame.
contains about 20 compartments.
is made through over 10 process and dozens of equipments are involved.
is easy to use, even for kids. (but keep them away from kids)
is reliable, and usually could keep functioning till the gas is out.
is adjustable on the flame length, from 1 cm to over 10 cm.
fulfills almost all requirements.
is designed by considering calculations of phase transition, gas spread, burning conditions, flame control, etc.
costs almost nothing.

Such a lighter in the west usually costs 1 USD or even more. So what’s the secret about keeping it low priced? Not forced labor, because America has too many prisoners as forced labors.

It’s delicate designing and full supply chain coverage.

In 80’s, Japanese and Taiwanese could make much better disposable lighters, and that’s how they were trying to do in mainland China. They brought their design, invested their factories, and produced their product. However, a disposable lighter doesn’t need to last for years, but only long enough till the gas being used.

To lower the cost, mainland factories began to alter the design and look for a better solution. It’s not just lowering every spec, that would cause massive lawsuits. It was to minimize the cost, while still maintain over 3000 times lighting and 2 minutes continued burning period. People use such a lighter mostly for a cigarette, 99% of the time it would be missing before being totally used out, and no one would light a cigarette for over 2 minutes.

A lighter has plastic, metal, chemical, and some other materials. So it would be unwise for a factory to produce them on itself. It requires several partners to focus on making one or several parts, just to reduces the cost and stablize the quality.

To support all the factories, local government must maintain a steady environment, such as water, electricity, and education, since educated and skilled workers are needed to operate machines.

Local government also needs to ensure a long period policy.

To move all the parts into the final assembally factory, it requires a functional logistics network, which is supplied by massive infrastructure investment, fast truck repairing, and a active logistics market.

Last but not least, steel plants are needed for metal parts, refinaries are needed for the gas, etc.

Behind a cheap lighter, there is a whole industrialized country.

If you think about this question again, just exactly which country has the ability to take over China’s role?

I mean the US is still the leading country in high-end technology research and product manufacturing, but what only counts a small part of the whole manufacturing industry.

Robots would solve some of the educated labor issue, but that’s not everything manufacturing industry needs. Educated people, strong infratructure, stable policy, fuctional logistics, supply chains.

Many probably don’t know that many so called “moved to Vietnam” business still require parts imported from China.

New York Governor Tells Trump Supporters “Leave the State”

Nation Hal Turner 26 August 2022

New York Gov. Kathy Hochul, a Democrat, took aim at GOP gubernatorial nominee Rep. Lee Zeldin, saying he and other supporters of former President Donald Trump should leave the state.

Gov. Kathy Hochul sparked controversy Monday night by saying “Trump and Zeldin and Molinaro — just jump on a bus and head down to Florida where you belong. OK?

Get out of town. Because you don’t represent our values”

Kathleen Hochul is an American lawyer and politician serving as the 57th governor of New York since August 24, 2021. A member of the Democratic Party, she is New York’s first female governor, as well as the first governor from upstate New York since the 1930s.

The West’s Dangerously Simple-Minded Narrative About Russia and China

Jeffrey D. Sachs • August 23, 2022

The world is on the edge of nuclear catastrophe in no small part because of the failure of Western political leaders to be forthright about the causes of the escalating global conflicts. The relentless Western narrative that the West is noble while Russia and China are evil is simple-minded and extraordinarily dangerous. It is an attempt to manipulate public opinion, not to deal with very real and pressing diplomacy.

Europe should reflect on the fact that the non-enlargement of NATO and the implementation of the Minsk II agreements would have averted this awful war in Ukraine.

The essential narrative of the West is built into US national security strategy. The core US idea is that China and Russia are implacable foes that are “attempting to erode American security and prosperity.” These countries are, according to the US, “determined to make economies less free and less fair, to grow their militaries, and to control information and data to repress their societies and expand their influence.”

The irony is that since 1980 the US has been in at least 15 overseas wars of choice (Afghanistan, Iraq, Libya, Panama, Serbia, Syria, and Yemen just to name a few), while China has been in none, and Russia only in one (Syria) beyond the former Soviet Union. The US has military bases in 85 countries, China in 3, and Russia in 1 (Syria) beyond the former Soviet Union.

President Joe Biden has promoted this narrative, declaring that the greatest challenge of our time is the competition with the autocracies, which “seek to advance their own power, export and expand their influence around the world, and justify their repressive policies and practices as a more efficient way to address today’s challenges.” US security strategy is not the work of any single US president but of the US security establishment, which is largely autonomous, and operates behind a wall of secrecy.

The overwrought fear of China and Russia is sold to a Western public through manipulation of the facts. A generation earlier George W. Bush, Jr. sold the public on the idea that America’s greatest threat was Islamic fundamentalism, without mentioning that it was the CIA, with Saudi Arabia and other countries, that had created, funded, and deployed the jihadists in Afghanistan, Syria, and elsewhere to fight America’s wars.

Or consider the Soviet Union’s invasion of Afghanistan in 1980, which was painted in the Western media as an act of unprovoked perfidy. Years later, we learned that the Soviet invasion was actually preceded by a CIA operation designed to provoke the Soviet invasion! The same misinformation occurred vis-à-vis Syria. The Western press is filled with recriminations against Putin’s military assistance to Syria’s Bashar al-Assad beginning in 2015, without mentioning that the US supported the overthrow of al-Assad beginning in 2011, with the CIA funding a major operation (Timber Sycamore) to overthrow Assad years before Russia arrived.

Or more recently, when US House Speaker Nancy Pelosi recklessly flew to Taiwan despite China’s warnings, no G7 foreign minister criticized Pelosi’s provocation, yet the G7 ministers together harshly criticized China’s “overreaction” to Pelosi’s trip.

The Western narrative about the Ukraine war is that it is an unprovoked attack by Putin in the quest to recreate the Russian empire. Yet the real history starts with the Western promise to Soviet President Mikhail Gorbachev that NATO would not enlarge to the East, followed by four waves of NATO aggrandizement: in 1999, incorporating three Central European countries; in 2004, incorporating 7 more, including in the Black Sea and Baltic States; in 2008, committing to enlarge to Ukraine and Georgia; and in 2022, inviting four Asia-Pacific leaders to NATO to take aim at China.

Nor do the Western media mention the US role in the 2014 overthrow of Ukraine’s pro-Russian president Viktor Yanukovych; the failure of the Governments of France and Germany, guarantors of the Minsk II agreement, to press Ukraine to carry out its commitments; the vast US armaments sent to Ukraine during the Trump and Biden Administrations in the lead-up to war; nor the refusal of the US to negotiate with Putin over NATO enlargement to Ukraine.

Of course, NATO says that is purely defensive, so that Putin should have nothing to fear. In other words, Putin should take no notice of the CIA operations in Afghanistan and Syria; the NATO bombing of Serbia in 1999; the NATO overthrow of Moammar Qaddafi in 2011; the NATO occupation of Afghanistan for 15 years; nor Biden’s “gaffe” calling for Putin’s ouster (which of course was no gaffe at all); nor US Defense Secretary Lloyd Austin stating that the US war aim in Ukraine is the weakening of Russia.

At the core of all of this is the US attempt to remain the world’s hegemonic power, by augmenting military alliances around the world to contain or defeat China and Russia. It’s a dangerous, delusional, and outmoded idea. The US has a mere 4.2% of the world population, and now a mere 16% of world GDP (measured at international prices). In fact, the combined GDP of the G7 is now less than that of the BRICS (Brazil, Russia, India, China, and South Africa), while the G7 population is just 6 percent of the world compared with 41 percent in the BRICS.

There is only one country whose self-declared fantasy is to be the world’s dominant power: the US. It’s past time that the US recognized the true sources of security: internal social cohesion and responsible cooperation with the rest of the world, rather than the illusion of hegemony. With such a revised foreign policy, the US and its allies would avoid war with China and Russia, and enable the world to face its myriad environment, energy, food and social crises.

Above all, at this time of extreme danger, European leaders should pursue the true source of European security: not US hegemony, but European security arrangements that respect the legitimate security interests of all European nations, certainly including Ukraine, but also including Russia, which continues to resist NATO enlargements into the Black Sea. Europe should reflect on the fact that the non-enlargement of NATO and the implementation of the Minsk II agreements would have averted this awful war in Ukraine. At this stage, diplomacy, not military escalation, is the true path to European and global security.

When things go wrong

The worst year of my life… 2008

I was developing a 72 unit condo in a vacation area

With a huge pool at the roof top

Everything was done

Building permits

Financing

Marketing

Even pre-sales

I was happy

Then… while we were at the peak of our sales season

A Category 2 Hurricane passed through the vacation area

Complete devastation

The area was without power for several weeks

We lost a few pre-sales

As if things couldn’t get any worse

The 2008 Financial Meltdown destroyed my dream…
- Took 100% of my investment money… lost everything
- Took almost 3 years of my life invested into this project
- Took my investors trust
- Took my friends for money issues
- Took my reputation
- Took my pride
- Took my joy

The entrepreneurial life is not easy.

But this didn’t stop me.

Strangely… this is a way of life.

I can’t quit… I won’t quit.

Lesson?

As an entrepreneur… don’t expect one problem

I should add:

Tough Finances
Family Sacrifices
Depression and getting back up
Misunderstood and called crazy
Pains of failure
Execution problems
Bad partnerships
Deceived, tricked, robbed, backstabbed
etc… etc… etc…

“What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger”

Raising a little girl

My daughter was being bullied in high school by a few other girls. More than once they ganged up on her, slapped her around, embarrassed her. The school wouldn’t do anything but make excuses. So during summer break between her freshman/sophomore year I got her outside and taught her how to box. Gloves, punching bag, jumprope, the works.

To be honest, I really didn’t technically teach her how to box. I showed her how to get her wind up, keep her chin down, and taught her how to hit. How to punch through, to counter punch, and put together combinations. Put her shoulder behind it, and her hip into it.. And she done well. Before summer was over I had the bruises to prove it.

Now, don’t get the wrong idea. I told her to walk away when she could. I made her promise. But if she found herself jammed up, don’t just stand there and let herself get beat up.

Well, once school started it was only a few weeks before the phone rang. They told me my daughter was alright. Then right away, off to the principal’s office I went. The same three girls had jumped on her again in one of the bathrooms. When I got there the first thing I saw was two girls sitting in the outer office wearing bloody clothes. The secretary showed me right into the principal’s office, and there sat my daughter without a scratch on her. The story was she whipped two of them and the third girl ran away.

So we got through all of that, warning about this, threats of suspension if it happens again, blah, blah. About halfway through the school year, and my phone rings again. This time it’s my wife. The school called, my little girl’s been fighting again.

Her best friend is a gorgeous sweet heart of a young girl, whose only physical flaw is she had been a breach birth. It damaged her hips, and she walks with a severe limp. They were in the school cafeteria and a couple boys were picking on my daughter’s friend. Apparently it was more than she could stand, because my little girl got up and beat the snot out of both of those boys before anybody could stop her. Then when I got to the school there they sat, in the same spot, bloodied up worse than the girls before. Now she had started beating up the boys, two at a time. After the dust settled she was suspended from school for three days.

I don’t regret teaching her to defend herself, and if I encouraged her that’s alright too. Since she was in the right (mostly) I took her side just as I promised I would. We left the school and had pizza buffet for lunch, I wasn’t angry.

I’ll tell you what though, don’t think that girl can’t hit. But maybe I should have taught her how to wrestle instead.

Troop Notification – Fort Campbell, KY

Nation Hal Turner 25 August 2022

The Hal Turner Radio Show received an email overnight which read as follows:

Son in law just got the call.
He's army ranger airborne copter munitions specialist.

All hands on deck.
Deployment ASAP.
Kiev.

Getting even against bullies

Oh this one is going to be good, the story of sweet, sweet revenge 🙂

I used to train skiing and there was one guy that was sort of bullying everyone. Since he was a lot taller and bigger nobody really fought back, and every time he tried made it look like a joke while really humiliating the victim.

One day we were sitting in a large dining hall eating, when he decided it would be fun to try to push my head in the bowl of pasta bolognese.

Now, he did it just enough to keep my head really close without me really touching the food.

While this was happening I looked him in the eyes and said “watch this mother******” , and I put my head into the bowl of pasta covering my full face and started complaining loudly so that the trainer heard me.

This was the point when he knew he was done.

The trainer ran over, and immediately started screaming at him. He then called his parents to come to pick him up, but… but…

But not before he had the worst training of his life, including 15km run, up hill sprints, push ups etc.

And it lasted for as long as he didn’t puke!

The best part of this story is that he knew I set him up, but he couldn’t do anything to stop it, and as a result I never had problem with him again.

Homeless cat hopelessly goes to fire station on a cold day and pleads to be allowed in, because of the fact that she is freezing

One day a street cat in an extreme cold went under the window of a fire station trusting that individuals would help her.

Someone at the Steinbach Fire Department in Canada was greatly amazed when he strolled by and saw a little feline gazing out the window at him.“

It was a frosty evening and she was stopping outside of the window. At the point when one of our firemen headed outside, she ran directly to him.”

The feline didn’t go anywhere and kept on sitting under the window. Obviously, she had no place to go.

Firemen let the feline into the room, worrying that in the evening in an extreme cold it would freeze.

In the glow, the feline should have been visible better, it turned out to be foul and truly needed to eat. Simultaneously the feline quickly reacted with a purr.

The fire boss Kelvin, who already had four felines at home, proposed to briefly take it to his home. He called her Amber and took her to the vet for assessment the following day.

Aside from mild frostbite on the tips of the ears, the veterinarian viewed the feline as very sound.

“I sent her photograph and story on Facebook, possibly somebody lost her. Yet, when for a considerable length of time nobody reacted, we again took her to the vet, where she was immunized and tracked down ear parasites on her, from which we quickly started to remedy her.”

During these assessments, Amber didn’t avoid by any means, yet appeared to appreciate human consideration.

A few firemen wished to make Amber a station feline, yet it worked out that the station has days off when there isn’t even a duty official and there will be nobody to take care of the feline at that time.

Then, at that point, they chose to track down a forever home for her. We posted her photos on Facebook and it seems as though we’ve find out a forever home for her,” Kelvin said.

Source: Save Earth

Bullied Special needs kid

Let me preface this post by saying my son is the SWEETEST kid in the world. That is not hyperbole. My son is quite possibly the sweetest child on the planet.

And he’s been through a LOT in his 8 years on this ride called “Life”. More than I ever could’ve predicted when he was born. From his father being in an accident that left me considerably disabled (I’m doing alright now, thank God) to his mother abandoning him to pursue the elusive “White Dragon” and everything in between.

Couple all that trauma with a speech impediment and a delay in his motor skills, and you’re left with a shy socially awkward little boy with an absolute heart of gold.

The past two summers, I sent my son to a day camp. I wanted him to overcome his social anxieties and make some damn friends.

But this year, on the very first day, he was beaten up by two boys on the bus ride home. They were brothers. One his age, the other a few years older.

He didn’t want to tell me when he got home. But I quickly recognized when he walked in the door that something was off. I had to really prod him to get him to open up.

He said the boys had started ganging up on him so he went to the bus matron, but she sent him back to his seat. She may have had trouble understanding him if he was upset or flustered, but she should have had some patience and figured out what was happening.

I called the camp supervisor immediately and was assured it would be handled.

A few days later, it happened again. This time with a third participant joining in the bullying.

I told my son, who is a very big strong kid (he’s 5 feet tall and weighs 130 lbs.) that if the staff is failing to protect him, then he has to defend himself (being as big as he is, but as shy as he is, with his speech impediment, he’s always a target for bullies. So he takes martial arts classes just in case…) but he said “No dad, fighting is against the rules and I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

I’m getting a bit choked up just thinking about that conversation… and those brats are damn LUCKY my boy is so kind because he could SMASH kids his age if he wanted!

“Besides dad, they can’t hurt me because I’m bigger than them.”

God damnit, imagining anyone taking advantage of my son’s big heart makes the fighter in me want to go do to their parents what the parents failed to teach their kids NOT to do. I know that wouldn’t solve anything, but I would definitely feel vindicated to some degree…but I digress.

A few days later, somebody made fun of him for not being good at soccer while they were playing. Again, no adult stepped in. So my son left the game and went to sit by himself in the lunch area. When he sat down, one of these boys snuck up behind him and dumped a cup of dirt over his head. Then another boy ran up and shoved him and ran off.

When he told me this, I lost my shit. It was a Friday so my family advised me to wait until Monday to call the supervisor, after I had a chance to calm down and THINK.

I called first thing Monday morning, a half hour before his bus pickup, leaving myself ample time to cancel the bus if the call didn’t go well enough that I felt he was ‘safe’.

We’re getting close to the original question now. If you’re a parent, especially of a special needs child, be prepared to be FUCKING OUTRAGED.

The supervisor (she’s lucky I don’t believe in “doxing” people. Sometimes it requires great restraint to remain composed and responsible) asked me what the three boys’ names were. I told her I didn’t know, but asked why SHE didn’t know yet!?! After all, this was our FOURTH discussion about the same serious issue!!

She said, “If you can’t give me the boys’ names, what am I supposed to do? Besides, this happened on FRIDAY, and you’re just calling me NOW?”

I said, “I did you a FAVOR by not calling on Friday, because I would not have been able to control myself on Friday. So I’m calling you TODAY. And my son doesn’t KNOW the boys’ names, but I was under the impression YOU had figured that out by now!” to which she replied, “Your son has been taking the bus with these kids for three weeks. How does he not know their names by now??”

I wasn’t sure if she was insinuating my son was LYING or she was ridiculing him. Both scenarios would’ve incensed me equally.

I replied, “My son doesn’t know their names because he has social anxiety due to his speech! So it’s hard talking to kids he doesn’t know, because he’s ashamed of his speech impediment.” I continued, “I explained these issues to you before I paid you the three grand for the camp! You assured me you were qualified and adept at caring for special needs kids. If that wasn’t the case, you should have told me so from the start!”

She replied, “Look I’ve tried talking to your son about the beatings and the bullying. I couldn’t understand anything he said. So if your son can’t talk clearly enough to tell me what’s going on, I don’t know what to tell you!”

I hung up on her.

I scoured the internet to track down the man who OWNS the camp.

When I called him, he said he’d already spoken to his supervisor and she informed him that “it sounded like Mr. Pinto and his son need a break from camp.” The $3000 plus lunch, trip fees and supplies camp. Yeah, she thought we needed a break from THAT.

But the owner is a ‘real’ professional caregiver. He wanted to hear my side of the story.

So I filled him in on what happened. And he wasnt very happy.

He informed me that he was a special needs child too, and he was bullied for it, and he knew first hand the long term damage it can do. He apologized and said “This type of crap has NO PLACE in my camps!”

Then he asked if he could call me back…

because he had to “Go deal with some people”.

He called me back two hours later and informed me those boys were no longer members of the camp, and his staff would be undergoing training again. He also called the bus company and said special needs children are never to be out of the sight of the matron, and if they can’t adequately monitor the children, he’d use another company…

He even picked one of the college aged counselors to be my son’s “buddy”. The kid went everywhere with my son (as a “buddy”, not a chaperone) and helped him assimilate into a group of friends. This really helped my son open up and socialize the last two weeks.

And there was never an issue again. Just like that.

Two hours; problem solved. ‘Real’ caregiver.

Amazing how simple it was to eliminate the problem once somebody gave a damn.

Bullying is a serious issue and should be treated as such.

You never know…

My father was a carpenter and cabinetmaker. He built our house and all the furniture in it. It was his joy. But in addition to being a carpenter he was also something of an asshole and a strict and often violent father. As a result I grew up to despise and hate him. My brothers and I were often called to help him on a job – which we had to do for free. One entire summer we worked framing a house from May until September, for which we were paid a grand total of 100 dollars. So I swore that when I grew up I would never, ever pick up a hammer again. Ever.

And so it went. Unless I was forced to do something with wood, I refused to do it. And then my dad died and I inherited his cabinet making shop. It stood idle for years until one day, out of curiosity, I visited the shop. The smells of my childhood sprang instantly back to me as I opened the door. The building was dark and silent, the old sawdust rotting on the floor, the tools lined up in racks, rusting away, the machines sitting idle. As I strolled around the shop I suddenly had the desire to make a wooden box. My father always said that almost every project starts with a box. And without thinking I picked up a pencil and a square and laid out a box. Over the next few weeks, I made a really nice blanket box that I still have. But what was more, I found myself increasingly interested in making things at the shop.

At about that time I had a girlfriend who liked to travel and one of the places we visited was Mystic, Connecticut where there is an entire museum town and shipyard representing life in the whaling period of New England in the mid to late 1800s. After an interesting and educational visit we went to the gift shop, because she also liked to buy things, and there was a book of plans for boat and shipbuilding. She loved the architectural diagrams and wanted me to frame some of the builder’s diagrams of ships and boats for art. So she bought the book and handed it to me.

Later I took the book to the shop with the intention of cutting out the scaled-down diagrams and putting them in a nice frame for her. I started flipping through the book for the best and most complicated drawings. By then my carpentry skills and curiosity had grown enough that I was interested in how things were made and I paid particular attention to the boat joinery. I knew I could never make a boat – that took skill that was far, far beyond me, but the way that the compound angles and joinery of ship making was incredibly fascinating. Instead of making the picture frame, I pulled out some lumber and formed the stem of a boat – just to see how the wood worked together. I had no intention of going further. But the next time I went to the shop I cut out a keel… and attached it to the stem. And soon I was attaching ribs. I had never done anything like this before and many times I pulled out the chainsaw to cut it into firewood before someone saw the embarrassment. But I kept coming back to it. The plans in the book were like 1/6 scale – if you wanted to build a full size ship, they were willing to sell you the entire kit for some amount of money, I forget how much now, but I said, “Screw that. I’m not buying plans for a boat I will never build. I simply don’t have the skill.” So instead I took a protractor and a compass and a set of dividers and I scaled the plans up directly onto some plywood, which I cut into strakes and thwarts and screwed onto the ribs.

Within a few months, to my amazement, there was a giant boat in my shop. I say “giant” with a bit of sarcasm. When I started, I figured the thing might be 8 or 10 feet when I was done – but when I was finished, it was almost 20 feet long. To me, that was enormous. And I kept saying, “I can’t do this – I just don’t have the skill,” especially when it came time to fiberglass the hull and cracks and so on. I used the West System and I was terrified. I had heard so many horror stories from old timers about its combustibility, about how fast it set, about how hard it was to work with, about how dangerous it was, that I moved timidly though a batch that would fit in a Dixie cup while wearing a full face mask and respirator and long rubber gloves and a leather apron. Imagine my amazement when it went on like rubber cement and dried to golden amber. The next time I made a bigger batch in a coffee can and eschewed most of the safety gear. The fiberglass filler filled up every crack and mistake the way frosting makes an ugly cake beautiful and the fiberglass mesh was stronger than steel when it dried. In another month the shell was complete. I was completely awestruck. I had made a boat. I painted it in vibrant colors and because it was such a heartache to me every time I made a mistake through lack of skill and knowledge, I hung the name on the transom – “Little Beeyotch”. I stepped a mast and put on all kinds of lines and a little pirate flag and then I towed it 150 miles to my house in Maine. I was absolutely certain it would go straight to the bottom when it was launched.

On a cloudy spring morning a neighbor helped me launch. The boat slid off the trailer, banged into the ground and slid into the water. And then it started to float away while I stood on the shore in surprise. It was floating. I couldn’t believe it. But now it was too far away to wade out to – I had to swim for it. When I grabbed the thwart, I went to pull myself into the boat, looking inside for the spraying fountains of water I expected from a dozen leaks. But the boat was bone dry. The West System had proved itself. “I could make a cinder block seaworthy with that stuff,” I marveled. And I grabbed the oars and went for ride around the lake. I had made a sailboat – and it survived for more than ten years.

Lu Xiulian: When Taiwan becomes a battlefield, the next step is to become a cemetery – yqqlm

From HERE

China Taiwan Net, August 24th, according to the Hong Kong China Review News Agency, a few days ago, former deputy leader of Taiwan Lv Xiulian attended an island think tank forum. She said that the two sides of the strait are distant relatives and close neighbors. Everyone applies wisdom to prevent war. “When Taiwan becomes a battlefield, the next step is to become a cemetery.”

Lu Xiulian said that how to avoid war and seek peace between the two sides of the strait is very important. We should use more wisdom, compassion and courage to face and solve problems.

Lu Xiulian said that when the United States continues to stir up troubles in the Taiwan Strait, Taiwan may become a battlefield for others. It is foreseeable that when a conflict breaks out in the Taiwan Strait, the first sacrifice will be Taiwan, so Taiwan must use its wisdom to get out of trouble. The two sides of the strait are distant relatives and close neighbors. Don’t fall into the dilemma of the conflict between Russia and Ukraine. “When Taiwan becomes a battlefield, the next step is to become a cemetery, which should never be the case.”

Lu Xiulian emphasized that peace will come not just by shouting the slogan “We want peace”, but to try to resolve the contradictions between the two sides of the Taiwan Strait. Recent polls have clearly shown that the Taiwanese people do not want war, nor do they want to ” Resist China”, because “anti-China” cannot “protect Taiwan”, everyone should adjust the current disadvantages on the premise of peace and the happiness of the next generation. (Editor/Reviewer Yin Sainan/Gauss)

A fresh start

I had been homeless for nearly a year. There was a bench I liked sitting on where I could scowl at the people driving by. There was a stop light right on the corner so I had them captive for a couple of minutes or so. One day, someone rolled down the window in their car and asked me if I was interested in working. I recognized the lady from the community college I had attended many years before. She handed me a business card and drove away. She was the station manager of a nearby radio station. I called her later from a payphone and she asked me to come to work the next day. I showed up not knowing what to expect. She gave me a few radio scripts to read in the control booth. A couple of other people had gathered to listen and as I was reading, I saw smiles and then nods. The station manager called me back into her office. She handed me three hundred dollars in cash and said I’ll see you back here tomorrow. Go get cleaned up.

This was me the next day:

Creamy Chicken One-Pot Pasta

When the craving for a creamy, cheesy pasta strikes—but you still need to bring some protein and veggies to the table—this one-pot meal is your simple solution. Chicken, bell peppers and green onions make this a dinner that’s complete, comforting and little grownup all at the same time.

Ingredients

2 tablespoons butter
1 to 1 1/4 lb boneless skinless chicken thighs, cut in 1-inch pieces
1 cup diced yellow bell pepper (about 1 large)
1/2 cup sliced green onion whites
1/2 teaspoon pepper
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 carton (32 oz) Progresso™ chicken broth
1 cup heavy whipping cream
12 oz uncooked rotini pasta (3 3/4 cups)
1 cup frozen sweet peas
2 cups shredded sharp Cheddar cheese (8 oz)
1/4 cup sliced green onion greens

The Layoff Tsunami Has Begun: 50% Of U.S. Companies Plan To Eliminate Jobs Within The Next 12 Months

August 22, 2022 by Michael

If half of the firms in the entire country really do cut jobs over the next year, what will our economy look like afterwards? All over America, companies are anticipating that a major economic downturn is coming in 2023, and a lot of them are already planning to shed workers in order to cut costs. Of course this sounds so much like what we went through back in 2008 and 2009. Millions of Americans lost their jobs during the “Great Recession”, and it was truly a very dark time in our history. So are we right on the verge of seeing a repeat?

Let hope that isn’t the case.

Unfortunately, a brand new survey that was just released has discovered that 50 percent of all U.S. companies plan to eliminate jobs within the next 12 months. The following comes from CNBC…

Meanwhile, 50% of firms are anticipating a reduction in overall headcount, while 52% foresee instituting a hiring freeze and 44% rescinding job offers, according to a PwC survey of 722 U.S. executives fielded in early August.

These are executives’ expectations for the next six months to a year, and therefore may evolve, according to Bhushan Sethi, co-head of PwC’s global people and organization group.

Can those numbers be accurate?

I knew that things were bad because I write about this stuff on a daily basis.

But I didn’t think that half of the firms in the entire nation were already looking to cut workers.

Wow.

At this moment, I am at a loss for words.

It’s going to get bad out there. If you have a good job right now, try to do whatever you can to hold on to it.

Sadly, some of the biggest names in the corporate world have already started to lay off workers. For example, Ford Motor just announced that it will be laying off “roughly 3,000 white-collar and contract employees”…

Ford Motor confirmed Monday it is laying off roughly 3,000 white-collar and contract employees, marking the latest in its efforts to slash costs as it makes a longer-range transition to electric vehicles. Ford sent an internal email Monday to employees, saying it would begin notifying affected salaried and agency workers this week of the cuts. The email was viewed by The Wall Street Journal.

Wayfair has also decided that now is the time for mass layoffs…

Home goods company Wayfair decided to cut approximately 870 workers to help manage operation costs and “realign its investment priorities” following the coronavirus pandemic, the Associated Press (AP) reported this week.

I thought that Wayfair was doing quite well.

I guess not.

In a desperate attempt to stay afloat, Peloton has also chosen to lay off “hundreds of workers”…

Seeking to cut costs and end a flood of red ink, Peloton is planning to raise prices on key products, shutter stores and lay off hundreds of workers, according to a memo from CEO Barry McCarthy.

And even Groupon is getting in on the act. 500 of their workers will now be updating their resumes…

Chicago-based Groupon today laid off more than 500 of its employees — 15% of its 3,416-person headcount — according to posts from former employees on social media. The reduction impacted workers in teams including merchant development, sales, recruiting, engineering, product and marketing.

Other big names that have announced layoffs in recent weeks include Best Buy, HBO Max, Shopify, Re/Max and Walmart.

Unfortunately, this is just the tip of the iceberg.

As this new economic downturn deepens, countless more Americans will lose their jobs.

And as that happens, all of a sudden there will be vast numbers of people that can’t pay their mortgages or make their rent payments, and that will make our new housing crash even worse.

We are now very clearly past the peak of the housing bubble, and the ride down is going to be really painful.

Last year at this time, the housing market in California was extremely hot, but now the numbers are definitely heading in the other direction…

Sales volume of single-family houses (SFH) in California plunged by 14% in July from June, seasonally adjusted, and by 31% from a year ago, the 13th month in a row of year-over-year declines, according to the California Association of Realtors.

Sales volume of condos plunged by 18% in July from June, and by 36% from a year ago.

Prices eventually follow volume: The median price of single-family houses dropped 3.5% in July from June, down for the second month in a row, slashing the year-over-year gain to just 2.8%.

If you are trying to sell a house right now, I would encourage you to try to get that done as quickly as possible before prices fall precipitously.

Speaking of declines, the Dow was down another 643 points on Monday…

The Dow Jones Industrial Average fell sharply Monday, in its worst day since June, as the summer rally fizzled out and fears of aggressive interest rate hikes returned to Wall Street.

The Dow fell 643.13 points, or 1.91%, to 33,063.61. The S&P 500 dropped 2.14% to 4,137.99, and the Nasdaq Composite tumbled 2.55% to 12,381.57, respectively. It was the worst day of trading since June 16 for the Dow and the S&P 500.

I think that a lot of people want to get out of the market before the summer ends.

Needless to say, there are many out there that are anticipating that the last few months of this year will not be kind to the financial markets.

On September 29th, 2008 the Dow Jones Industrial Average plunged 777 points. That was a brand new record at that time, and it was a spark that set off mass panic on Wall Street.

Could we see something similar once summer is over?

Only time will tell.

But what we do know is that the U.S. economy is really starting to implode, and the stage is being set for the sort of historic economic meltdown that I have portrayed in my books.

At this point, everyone should be able to see that really hard times are on the horizon.

Those that are prudent will do what they can to get prepared in advance.

American Homeless

Having lived in Southern California my whole life, I’ve had lots of time to observe the homeless. This is my city, San Diego:

To give my opinion of the homeless, first I must tell you there are a few distinct kinds:

The Invisible Homeless: these people were previously middle or working class, and have fallen on hard times. You can find them at the public library, freshly showered from the gym (they have enough in their account to pay membership fees, but not enough for rent), filling out job applications, or just browsing reddit on the computers. At UCSD, I was shocked to learn that one of my fellow philosophy majors was sleeping in his car, because he couldn’t afford housing. He was always well dressed, and doing great in class. He had a van and a family in another city so he wasn’t that bad off, but technically still homeless.
Pariah Homeless: these unfortunate souls are usually extremely mentally ill, addicted, victims of childhood abuse, and/or were imprisoned early in their lives for petty crimes, and never recovered. These are the people who have been allowed to fall through the cracks in our Neoliberal economy. They should be in state facilities receiving medical care and counseling, not sleeping under the freeway. However, they’re not very sympathetic because they can be dangerous, delusional, and impossible to have a conversation with. They have no job skills, nor the ability to acquire any, so you have no illusions of being able to give them “a leg up”. Therefore, most of us just ignore them, to our shame.
Sane Homeless: these are the hardest to ignore. They face all the same challenges as the Pariah homeless, but are fundamentally sane, sober, normal people. They’re often very kindhearted, having nothing else to rely on but their human relationships. This makes you really feel bad for them. The upshot is that they have the potential to escape homelessness, and can do well when given assistance. When you help them, you feel you’re actually accomplishing something.
Hobo Homeless: these people choose homelessness of their own free will. Often they enjoy a vagabond lifestyle, or are simply too restless to hold down a job. You have less sympathy for these people, because they can be a drain on resources meant for the Pariah and Sane homeless. They’re often antisocial and criminally minded, so you can’t trust them at all. However, I don’t take issue with the hobo lifestyle in and of itself, and I accept that some people are simply not wired for this modern world.

What can a newly homeless person do when the shelters turn him away?

I have never stayed at shelters to start with but I couldn’t right now if I wanted to, and believe as cold as it is I wish I could. My work hours and schedule make it so I have to choose between keeping my job or being warm at night.

There is my current camp. If you are lucky you have a car but it’s impossible to give you advice without knowing the area, I have been homeless for 7 years now and know plenty about how to stay alive out here. Hopefully I’ll get my motorcycle back from the shop sometime and then I can get into a place to live.

Just thought I’d add a edit because it seemed like some people might be interested. I had to move my camp because they were clearing the woods around me.

This is how I left the woods were I was staying, so you can see that not all homeless people leave places trashed. Were I’m at now is a place I had noticed awhile back and wasn’t very sure about it but I told my friend about it and he has been here for about a month. It’s really quite unusual or interesting. It’s gated and right off the main road but nobody has complained about us being here. The cops stopped once and asked who owns the land and we told them that we don’t know and asked if they did and they don’t. So we have a little gated homeless community, locked gate and all.

As you can see I got my vehicle back and that is his tent and area.

And that is my tent and my view out like I said right on the main road. I have never seen anything like this in the years that I have been homeless but it’s convenient and we have picked up the trash that was here so hopefully it will last long enough for me to get into a place.

Woman adopts 20-year-old cat because she didn’t want him to spend the end of his life in a cage

September 22, 2021. Photo: Shelter staff :

Later, on reddit:

Remember that woman a few months ago who adopted a 20-year-old cat from a shelter because she didn't want him to alone ? Looks as though they are both doing fine.

The woman has not been identified. There have been no further updates, but this sweet kitty and all others like him should be loved and cherished until the last day of life.

How many wars is the United States involved in?

The U.S. is now involved in more than 130 wars or none, depending on your definition of ‘war.’ Or it is involved in one worldwide “War Against Terror,” that successive U.S. Administrations, with Congressional support, have used to justify U.S. military operations in at least 134 countries, where they are engaged in direct combat operations, conduct special covert missions, act as military advisers, or train foreign troops or militias.

The problem is that our traditional definition of “war” is outdated, and so is our imagination of what war means.

World War II was the last time Congress officially declared war. Since then, the conflicts we’ve called “wars” — from Vietnam through to the second Iraq War — have actually been congressional “authorizations of military force.”

And more recently, beginning with the War Powers Act of 1973, presidential war powers have expanded so much that, according to the Congressional Research Service, it’s no longer clear whether a president requires congressional authorization at all to engage in war.

The recent US wars in Afghanistan and Iraq will likely be the last time, in the foreseeable future, that the United States wages war in the way that’s most familiar to us: a lot of combat troops on the ground in a foreign country with lots of money and support and an ostensibly achievable objective.

US troop presence in Iraq peaked at 187,900 in 2008. In Afghanistan, it peaked in 2010 at 100,000.

On paper, it looked like the United States was fighting two wars. But the reality was much more complicated, and it’s only gotten more complicated. So how many wars is the US fighting right now?

Somewhere between zero and 134+.

Here’s the rationale:

Total # of wars: 0

Congress hasn’t declared war since 1942 so there is no war right now.

Okay, that makes no sense.

Look at a funding profile over time. It’s very clear.

From this graph, we can CLEARLY see that American spending on weapons and military are clearly indicative of America waging active wars.

To ignore that outrageous and obvious “tell tale” is to act the fool.

Total # of wars: 6

This maybe sounds more reasonable.

Consider the definition of war put forth by Linda Bilmes (Harvard Kennedy School) and Michael Intriligator (UCLA), who defined war in a 2013 paper as “conflicts where the US is launching extensive military incursions, including drone attacks, but that are not officially ‘declared.’”

By that definition, the United States is at war in six places right now:

Iraq
Afghanistan
Pakistan
Somalia
Yemen
Ukraine

Total # of wars: 8

If you include nations that have American military, American military uniforms, weapons and systems, and is led with / by American generals. This then, adds two additional nations to the list above.

South Korea
Taiwan

Total # of wars: 134+

Whoa! Surprising, right?

In 2013, the US Special Operations Command (SOCOM) — one of the nine organizational units that make up the Unified Combatant Command — had special operations forces (SOFs) in 134 countries.

The American military were either involved in combat, special missions, or advising and training foreign forces.

Since most of what SOFs do is classified, all we know about them is what we get told about them. Here’s what we’re told by the Joint Chiefs of Staff: What are SOFs?

“Special operations forces (SOF) are small, specially organized units manned by people carefully selected and trained to operate under physically demanding and psychologically stressful conditions to accomplish missions using modified equipment and unconventional applications of tactics against strategic and operational objectives. 

The unique capabilities of SOF complement those of conventional forces.”

And what do they do?

“Joint special operations (SO) are conducted by SOF from more than one Service in hostile, denied, or politically sensitive environments to achieve military, diplomatic, informational, and/or economic objectives employing military capabilities for which there is no broad conventional force requirement. 

These operations may require low visibility, clandestine, or covert capabilities. 

SO are applicable across the range of military operations. 

They can be conducted independently or in conjunction with operations of conventional forces or other government agencies and may include operations through, with, or by indigenous or surrogate forces. 

SO differ from conventional operations in degree of physical and political risk, operational techniques, use of special equipment, modes of employment, independence from friendly support, and dependence on detailed operational intelligence and indigenous assets.”

Examples: These tasks include;

special reconnaissance (SR),
direct action (DA),
unconventional warfare (UW),
foreign internal defense (FID),
counterterrorism, counterproliferation of weapons of mass destruction (WMD).

SOCOM admited to having forces on the ground in 134 countries around the world (in 2014).

That doesn’t mean its forces are carrying out capture or kill raids in every country, but it’s almost impossible to know where and when different operations are taking place.

That’s especially true when it comes to the Joint Special Operations Command (JSOC), an operational command within SOCOM that operates with an enormous amount of autonomy and secrecy — and, some would say, little accountability.

Founded after the failed mission to rescue American hostages in Tehran in 1980 and designed to handle similarly complex operations in the future, JSOC was a classified and little used command on Sept. 11, 2001.

Since then, it’s more than tripled in size, received an ever-increasing share of funding, and has conducted operations in dozens of countries.

(Journalist Jeremy Scahill wrote in depth about JSOC in his 2013 book, “Dirty Wars.” That’s where the following information comes from.)

JSOC was introduced to the world on May 1, 2011, when Navy SEALs killed Osama bin Laden in a nighttime raid on his compound in Abbottabad, Pakistan.

The raid was a collaboration between the CIA and an agency almost nobody had heard of: JSOC. “We’re the dark matter,” a Navy SEAL told the Washington Post of JSOC in 2011. “We’re the force that orders the universe but can’t be seen.”

We know more about JSOC now, thanks to investigative reporters like Scahill and Mark Mazzetti. JSOC’s core is made up of three acknowledged “Special Missions Units” (SMUs).

You know these folks from TV and movies:

Army’s 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment (Delta Force),
the Naval Special Warfare Development Group (DEVRGU or “Seal Team Six”),
the Air Force’s 24th Special Tactics Squadron.

In addition to the SMUs, JSOC has its own intelligence division, the Intelligence Support Activity, and often oversees the 75th Ranger Regiment, the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment (the “Night Stalkers”), and other special operations forces. JSOC, along with the Special Activities Division at the CIA, have been the leading edge of counterterrorism.

Journalists Dana Priest and William Arkin found that JSOC has carried out counterterrorism operations in…

Iraq,
Afghanistan,
Algeria,
Iran,
Malaysia,
Mali,
Nigeria,
Pakistan,
the Philippines,
Somalia,
Syria,
Ukraine,
Taiwan,
Yemen.

An anonymous source with close ties to JSOC gave Scahill an even more expansive list that included those countries along with Indonesia, Thailand, Colombia, Peru, and several countries in Eastern and Central Asia.

“The world is a battlefield and we are at war,”

The source told Scahill of the logic that drives JSOC.

“Therefore the military can go wherever they please and do whatever it is that they want to do, in order to achieve the national security objectives of whichever administration happens to be in power.”

Add such nations of Iran, Bolivia, Kenya and more to the list and it seems really hard to keep track of all the killing, and wars that the United States is involved in.

Total # of wars: 1

“The world is a battlefield” isn’t just a vague, hawkish worldview — it’s a legal understanding of military force in the age of a single, global war: the War on Terror.

The world is a battlefield thanks in large part to the Authorization for Use of Military Force, which Congress passed on Sept. 14, 2001 and which gives the President of the United States broad power to fight terrorism around the world.

It reads in part:

“The President is authorized to use all necessary and appropriate force against those nations, organizations, or persons he determined planned, authorized, committed, or aided the terrorist attacks that occurred on September 11, 2011, or harbored such organizations or persons, in order to prevent any future acts of international terrorism against the United States by such nations, organizations or persons.”

A video that discusses what is next

Yuppur. The USA has Taiwan in it’s sights. Please check out this “must see” video…

Conclusion

So how many wars would you say the United States is now fighting?

The easy answer might just be: too many.

And we thought that we had things under control…

Concerning the United States and the American culture…

We are a lost society, ruled by emotions, captured by technology, misinformed, uneducated, indifferent, fearful, passively accepting of whatever government and media tell them is true, and entranced by materialism funded by debt.

We are a sick dying culture where common community standards, self-responsibility, hard work, kindness, and manners have been superseded by the worship of abnormality, celebration of degeneracy, living off the government, spreading hatred, and waging undeclared wars across the world.

There is an empty shallowness to our civilization, with the vacuum filled with gadgets, pathetic displays of fake affluence, trivialities like social media, and superficial displays of virtue signaling regarding the latest woke craze shoved down our throats by those controlling the levers of society.

Yup. Even I can smell the sickness of festering rot from way, away here at the other end of the world. Let’s continue with our daily narrative and thus I present this post for your enjoyment and pleasures.

Chinese police in Serbia

Yes, it is true, they are here. They are in Belgrade and Novi Sad and mostly in city centres. They don’t have any authority, their main mission is to overcome the language barrier with Chinese visitors and tourists and offer their help to both Serbian police and Chinese citizens in that sense.

Chinese officials stated that they sent only those who are fluent in English which I understand. Numerous times I had issues with people from China when we talk in English. Most of the time I could not even recognise that they were speaking English because of their accent and the way they pronounce words.

Anyway, I like the idea. It became an attraction.

Doug Casey on the Rise of Alternatives as the US-Led Global Order Falters

Guest Post by Doug Casey

International Man: Since the invasion of Ukraine, we’ve seen the US and its European allies institute unprecedented sanctions on Russia. In a bold move, the US government also froze the US dollar reserves of the Russian central bank.

In response, Russia demanded payment in rubles in exchange for its energy.

What’s your take on this new phase of economic warfare?

Doug Casey: It’s a massively stupid and destructive move on the part of the US. There’s no upside to what the US is doing in fighting this economic war against Russia—or, for that matter, in backing the Zelensky regime in the Ukraine—but huge downside from every point of view.

Essentially the US and Western powers have confiscated hundreds of billions of dollars of assets from the Russian government, as well as individual Russians. It’s theft, pure and simple. It acts as a warning shot to everybody in the world: Your assets are not safe in Western countries. It’s a reason to get out of the US dollar and use something else.

It’s backfired on the US. It’s helping devastate Western economies by cutting off the flow of Russian oil, and especially natural gas, to Europe. Further, the Russians now demand payment in rubles. The ruble is now a much stronger currency because, in order to pay the Russians, the world has to buy rubles. The Russians have taken a page from the US playbook. Decades ago, the Saudis said they would only accept US dollars in payment for oil. And so, people had to buy dollars if they wanted Saudi oil.

The US is acting to destroy confidence in its currency, as well as the stability and perceived honesty of the dollar-based system. That’s extremely dangerous for a currency that rests on nothing but confidence. Something like this can cause confidence to blow away like a pile of feathers in a hurricane.

The issuer of the dollar, the bankrupt US Government (or its facilitator, the Fed), will give you nothing specific in exchange for them. But they can issue unlimited numbers of them. The dollar has been an IOU nothing for many years. But the charade is approaching an end. The US Government is now like a poker player “on tilt.”

International Man: Recently, Vladimir Putin traveled to Iran. As a result, Iran’s National Oil Company announced a $40 billion energy deal with Russia’s Gazprom. It’s safe to say they won’t be using the US dollar in their transactions.

What does this mean for future geopolitical alliances and economic dealings that undermine US dominance?

Doug Casey: The US is in serious decline—financially, economically, and sociologically—and the world knows it. Only a fool wants to hold the unsecured liability of a bankrupt government, especially one that’s so arrogant as to believe it can confiscate assets arbitrarily.

The major export of the US now, as it’s been for the last 40 years, is US dollars. We don’t really produce that much anymore. We ship people dollars. In return, they ship us vast amounts of material goods. Ships arrive in US ports full of products; they “dead head” on the return trip, mostly empty. The US has transformed itself from a nation of producers and creditors into a nation of consumers and debtors.

Our major export is dollars, not wheat and Boeings. Meanwhile, the US government is creating more dollars by the trillions in order to prop up the domestic economy. This is going to end very badly for the dollar’s use in international transactions.

Even though domestic prices are rising at something like 15%, the dollar has been quite strong in recent months against other currencies. The reason for that paradox is debt. Almost all of the world’s debt is denominated in dollars. And in order to service those debts, especially with interest rates now headed up, people need dollars.

So there’s been a scramble for dollars to service all the debt. It’s really rather perverse.

International Man: Russia and China recently announced their interest in developing a new reserve currency with other BRICS countries.

What would this mean if there was a serious rival to the US-led system?

Doug Casey: It’s been in the cards for years.

Countries that are our adversaries—like Russia and China—use the US dollar to trade between each other. Why? It’s quite strange, since those hot potato dollars all have to clear through New York. The reason is that the Russians don’t really trust the Chinese yuan, and the Chinese don’t trust the Russian ruble. They’re both fiat currencies, of little value outside the borders of the countries that issued them. It’s the same with the Indians, the Iranians, the Brazilians, the South Africans, and everybody else—they can’t use each other’s currencies. They’ve basically used dollars since the end of WW2.

All of the world’s currencies- every single one—are “fiat” units, essentially political footballs, whose numbers and values can fluctuate radically and randomly. The dollar is just the biggest and best of the bunch. It won’t be replaced easily, because the whole world has gotten so used to using it. Nobody wants to use a unit controlled by Washington, but what’s the realistic alternative? Flakey Third World governments run by sociopaths are incapable of putting together a new super fiat currency—that just adds another layer of risk and complexity. They can all see that even the euro, an artificial Esperanto currency, is on the edge of imploding. None of these governments have the same interests, and they certainly don’t trust each other.

What’s going to happen? They’ll default to gold for settling accounts among each other. I’m not saying they’ll allow their subjects to save in and trade in gold—that’s most unlikely. But I think it’s inevitable for settlements between governments. The only alternative is barter—”I’ll trade you a thousand tonnes of cocoa for two used tanks, 500 cows, and 100 tonnes of wool.” A flea market transaction that’s not very likely in a complicated industrial world… That’s why money was invented.

The world is going back to gold. Not because any government or economist wants to—rather just the opposite. But it’s not likely to happen except at much higher prices of gold unless there’s a credit collapse and scores of trillions of dollars of stocks, bonds, bank deposits, and other debt are wiped out. On the bright side, the approximately 6 billion ounces of gold that now exist will still be here.

Current events are leading to the end of the US dollar system. And when the US dollar is not needed or wanted for international trade, everybody will dump it. All those dollars will flood back to the US, where they must be accepted by law. Nobody’s going to want them abroad. Or not much more than they desire the Indian rupee, the Colombian peso, or the Ukrainian hryvnia.

They’re going to come back to the US to buy US real estate, US shares, and US businesses.

All those dollars that we’ve been exporting for decades have held down domestic inflation because they’ve been floating around abroad, driving up foreigner’s prices. They’ll come back to the US. Domestic prices will skyrocket upwards at the same time the dollar collapses, and the title to US assets are transferred to foreign citizens.

All those dollars being exported for decades resulted in an artificially high standard of living for Americans. When they come back—and they will come back as the world stops choosing dollars—the standard of living in the US will drop substantially.

International Man: The US dollar, the euro, the Russian ruble, the Chinese yuan, and the rest of them are all fiat currencies.

That being said, what advantages do countries with valuable commodities have over others as all fiat currencies continue to lose value?

Doug Casey: It’s great to have valuable commodities, but you can’t use oil for money. If that’s all there was to it, Venezuela, Nigeria, Iraq, and Kazakhstan would be among the world’s richest countries. The same is true for every other country with valuable commodities. In fact, the countries with the most mineral wealth tend to be the poorest and most unstable. But that’s a discussion for another time.

Money is not wealth in itself. But it represents wealth. It represents an excess of production over consumption. A good money has got to have certain characteristics.

It has to be durable; that’s why we don’t use wheat as money. It has to be divisible; that’s why you don’t use artwork as money. It has to be convenient; that’s why you don’t use lead as money. It has to be consistent; that’s why you can’t use real estate as money. And it has to have some type of use value in itself; that’s why you can’t use paper as money.

That’s why the world is going to go back to gold. There’s a case that can be made for silver and a case that can be made for Bitcoin. And that’s about it. We’ll see how things sort out in the chaotic world we’re facing. And here is a statement to shock the average reader: Government should have no involvement with money. Money—like banking, interest rates, the markets, and the economy—should be totally divorced from politics. That’s why gold, not paper, is real money.

Where is the price of gold going? Relative to bushels of wheat, or pounds of coffee, or pounds of copper, my guess is that it’s about right at the moment. In fact, I’ve been saying for several years that gold is reasonably priced, at an equilibrium, relative to dollars. It’s not at giveaway levels like it was in 1971 at $35 or in 2001 at $260.

If the dollar is going to survive, it should be redeemable with a fixed amount of gold. They say the US owns 265 million ounces of gold. But how many dollars are there? Like the dollar itself, that number is something of a floating abstraction. Guesses vary. Especially because there are many definitions of what money is—not to mention near-money and credit. Numbers are bounced around from $6 trillion to $80 trillion. The number is probably academic and possibly unknowable.

Divide 265 million into any of the figures “economists” conjure, and you come up with a very large number. Just to finance a typical approximate annual US trade deficit of about $500 billion, the entire gold horde would immediately disappear even if gold were priced at $2,000. Maybe the price of gold should be $20,000 or more.

So what’s going to happen? I think the answer is chaos. The world’s going back to gold because we’re headed for a chaotic financial situation, and gold is the only financial asset that’s not simultaneously somebody else’s liability. And it’s an understatement to say none of these governments trust each other or each other’s paper currencies.

International Man: How do you see the world’s geopolitical chessboard changing in the coming years? What are the investment implications?

Doug Casey: If you look at various times in history—the world’s map changed tremendously from, say, 1910, when everything was mellow and prosperous, to 1920, when most everything was unrecognizable. The world looked one way in 1940 and totally different in 1950. My guess is that the world of 2020, which has already changed immensely, will be hugely different by 2030, 8 years from now.

Beyond 2030 we’re looking at a science fiction reality. There’s a good chance we’ll have something like a civil war in the US. And/or serious secession movements.

It’s even more likely that Canada will break up. The same thing is going to happen to Mexico and Brazil. All of Africa will restructure. Many European countries are likely to break up—Spain and areas of France. Italy only became a country 170 years ago. Germany only unified 150 years ago. Russia is likely to break up into smaller ethnic countries for sure.

Like it or not, people will migrate from Africa and the Middle East to Europe by the scores of millions.

Millions of Chinese will migrate from China to Africa, and the Africans won’t much like it. People from everywhere, not just Latin America, will flow into the US and Canada.

The colors of the map on the wall are going to be running in the years to come. That’s going to have profound investment implications. Among them, a lot of currencies are going to dry up and blow away.

It’s going to start happening in this decade. So buckle up.

China urges U.S. not to miscalculate resolve to defend sovereignty, territorial integrity

Source: Xinhuanet
Editor: Li Jiayao

Time: 2022-08-19 23:19:47

BEIJING, Aug. 19 (Xinhua) — Chinese foreign ministry spokesperson Wang Wenbin on Friday urged the U.S. side not to miscalculate China’s firm resolve to safeguard its sovereignty and territorial integrity.

Wang made the remarks at a daily news briefing, in response to what the U.S. Assistant Secretary of State for East Asian and Pacific Affairs Daniel Kritenbrink had said about China’s response to U.S. House Speaker Nancy Pelosi’s visit to Taiwan.

“Regarding Pelosi’s provocative visit to China’s Taiwan region, the context, cause and course of events are crystal clear,” Wang said.

It is the United States that has gone back on its commitment to the one-China principle and undermined China’s sovereignty and territorial integrity, not the other way round. It is the U.S. leaders who went to Taiwan to support “Taiwan independence” separatist activities, not the Chinese ones who went to the United States to support Alaska’s “independence,” Wang added.

Wang said that China’s firm response to the U.S. provocation is reasonable, lawful and justified, which has been widely understood and supported by the international community. For the U.S. side, the only solution for the problem is to return to the three China-U.S. joint communiques and the one-China principle, instead of shirking responsibility and deflecting blame, still less acting recklessly to create a bigger crisis.

“We are firmly determined to safeguard our national sovereignty and territorial integrity. We urge the U.S. side not to miscalculate on this,” Wang added.

Soviet grannies delight with this zucchini and pepper salad

By Yulia Mulino

Specially prepared for wintertime, this canned salad was one of the most popular in the Soviet Union. But you can also try it warm immediately after cooking!

“Get your sleigh ready in summer and your cart in winter,” is a famous Russian proverb that meansit’s necessary to stock up ahead of the cold months. Today’s highlighted salad made of zucchini, carrots and peppers is a perfect example of this. And it’s also a spicy flavorful vegan snack that can be eaten immediately.

I remember how when I was a child, the zucchini crop was so plentiful that it was impossible to eat it in a season. So, my grandmother and my mother made a salad with all the zucchini grown in their garden.

These vegetables do not have a strong taste and smell, but other vegetables can improve it. Carrots are added to the salad for sweetness, tomatoes for color, and peppers for spicy flavor.

I still remember the smell coming from the kitchen when the canning season started. We always got a bowl for dinner of leftovers that didn’t fit in the cans. Fresh and rather warm, I love this salad just as much as I love canned salad.

That’s why I’m making it now for dinner. The most delicious thing is to serve it with potatoes, whether mashed or boiled. Or keep it for winter.

Ingredients for 10 servings, or a 0.8 liter jar:

Medium zucchini – 2 pcs
Sweet bell pepper – 2 pcs
Carrot – 1 pc
Onion – 1 pc
Tomatoes in their own juice – 500 ml
Garlic – 4 cloves
Parsley – bunch
Salt (not iodized) – 2 tsp/ to taste
Sugar – 1 tbsp
Black pepper to taste
Vinegar 9% – 2 tbsp
Sunflower oil for frying

Preparation:

1. Peel and slice the carrots and onions; fry them in sunflower oil.

2. Cut the peppers into julienne strips.

3. Let them stew for about 15-20 minutes.

4. Shred tomatoes and pour sauce on vegetables. Braise for 20 minutes.

5. Slice the zucchini and add it to vegetables.

6. After 15 minutes add salt, sugar and pepper.

7. Then squeeze in the garlic cloves.

8. Add parsley and vinegar. Braise for 5 more minutes.

9. Place into jars that have been sterilized and are suitable for canning, or leave as a side dish or snack.

10. Serve warm or chilled with potatoes or as a topping on a crouton.

Don’t judge a book by its cover

In March of 2019, I was so busy at work that my girlfriend Jessica took to the Book to try and find me some help for a few weeks.

Saturday afternoon, Jess placed an ad that said something along the lines of: “Looking for a painter to help with a project. Must be drug-free.”

We got a phone call that night from a lady who said her live-in boyfriend was interested but didn’t have a driver’s license. Jess scheduled an informal interview for the next day and asked the lady to be at the interview also.

The plan was for me and Jess to meet the lady and her boyfriend, Lee, at a local restaurant for lunch at 1:00 pm.

The cool part about interviewing someone with their significant other present is it cuts down on a ton of bs. The anxiety and nervousness which is normal to experience during an interview and can help keep someone on their best behavior, fades quickly in the company of someone they’re comfortable with. And if I’m going to have someone on my jobs, I want to know who they really are.

Jess and I got to the restaurant at 12:30 pm. We got a table in the corner and waited.

At 1:00 pm, Jess got a text. “We’re one minute away, sorry!!”

What the heck? Who shows up late to an interview?

Strike one.

At 1:01 pm this guy walks through the door:

I can’t even tell you how disappointed I was. It’s not like I can have some murderer on my jobs. Let’s be real about this. Teardrops=killer. And this guy has three bodies — hell no. Strike two.

A third strike wasn’t even needed when I extended my hand to shake his. But here it is — strike three.

Now that I’ve officially judged this book (Lee) by his cover, let’s get through the interview process so I can find a better fit for my company.

I have no problem being straight up, so the first question I asked was: “Why did you murder three people?”

With unwavering eye contact, he said: “I’ve never killed anyone. Each teardrop is for a friend that died.”

He explained that he was put into foster care at twelve years old.

At fourteen he started inking himself. When his friends died, he’d get a tattoo to memorialize them.

He answered every question that I asked in detail.

This guy knew all the right things to say. He was articulate, funny, charismatic and charming. Just a joy to be around.

So, I handed him a cup. I told him to go pee in it. He passed a drug test and swore he was trying to rebuild his life. I melted for him. I understood.

I hired him on the spot. I couldn’t help it. When I hired him, he hadn’t worked in six months. No one would give him a shot. He didn’t have glasses and couldn’t see, nor did he have a driver’s license.

I set deadlines for him to get glasses and a license.

He got his glasses last month. And this week he’s taking his driver’s test.

He also is a writer and a rapper (bonus points!).

Don’t judge a book by its cover means: Making a decision about all that something is, based on what you see is a mistake.

I needed a painter, but I saw a murderer.

In reality, he is a father, a poet, a rapper, a writer and a painter.

Today, he is also my friend.

A dolphin story

The famous Italian diver Enzo Maiorca dove into the sea of Syracuse and was talking to his daughter Rossana who was aboard the boat. Ready to go in, he felt something slightly hit his back. He turned and saw a dolphin. Then he realized that the dolphin did not want to play but to express something.

The animal dove and Enzo followed. At a depth of about 12 meters, trapped in an abandoned net, there was another dolphin. Enzo quickly asked his daughter to grab the diving knives. Soon, the two of them managed to free the dolphin, which, at the end of the ordeal, emerged, issued an “almost human cry” (describes Enzo). A dolphin can stay under water for up to 10 minutes, then it drowns.

The released dolphin was helped to the surface by Enzo, Rosana and the other dolphin. That’s when the surprise came: she was pregnant! The male circled them, and then stopped in front of Enzo, touched his cheek (like a kiss), in a gesture of gratitude and then they both swam off.

Enzo Maiorca ended his speech by saying: “Until man learns to respect and communicate with the animal world, he will never be able to know his true role on this Earth.”~

Yuan overtook the dollar in trading volume on the Moscow Exchange

World Hal Turner 18 August 2022

The “de-Dollarization” by the world continues unabated, with more and more countries turning their back on the US Dollar, in favor of Chinese and Russian currencies.

On the Moscow Exchange, the volume of trading in yuan amounted to 26.3 billion rubles, for the first time exceeding the volume of trading in the dollar (25 billion rubles).

By 13:03 Moscow time, the dollar was trading at the rate of 59.7 rubles/$, having lost 1.05 rubles. from the opening of trading, euro – 60.4 rubles / € (-1.25 rubles). The yuan exchange rate against the ruble amounted to 8.77 rubles / yuan, depreciating from the opening of trading by 0.12 rubles.

On July 6, the turnover of yuan trading on the Moscow Exchange exceeded the turnover of euro trading. Interest in the yuan is observed against the backdrop of Western sanctions in response to Russia’s military operation in Ukraine.

A tale of three Rufus’s

As a woman was driving her Chevy Cobalt through Ontario, Canada, on a lonely highway around 1 in the morning, it broke down.

Three teenage boys were on their way to grab something to eat after a late-night swim and spotted the smoking car and its distressed driver. So they pulled over, still in their swimsuits, and attempted to fix what was wrong with the woman’s car.

All three of their dads had taught them how to fix cars, but this one was done for, they quickly realized. She told them she couldn’t afford to have her car towed. So the boys – Aeron McQuillin, 18, Bailey Campbell, 17, and Billy Tarbett, 15 – then decided to push the woman’s car all the way to her home, which was just over 4 miles away.

So the woman steered as the boys pushed for more than 3 hours. At some point during the push, another motorist, Dan Morrison of Niagara Falls, could see what was going on. So he slowed down behind them to give them light, keeping his flashers on for other motorists to see. He was amazed by the boys’ kindness to do that for the woman.

Says Dan: “I’d never met these kids in my life. Dad-mode went into effect and I just wanted to make sure these kids were safe.”

So would they do it again? You bet they would.

Says Billy, the youngest of the boys who pushed the car: “We were always raised to help, no matter what the situation was… We were helping her but also she was helping us, doing a workout.”

What’s wrong with the US healthcare system?

Price and outcomes.

The US has incredibly expensive health care. I mean incredibly expensive. Health care is one of the biggest for-profit industries in the country. A long time ago, some enterprising capitalists figured out that if you sell a product that people have to have or they will literally die, if you conceal the price of the product, and if you design the product in such a way that people can’t comparison shop, you can charge any price you want.

As a result, well…

A few weeks ago, I slipped with a razor knife and cut myself at the base of my thumb. I needed four stitches.

The stitches were removed two days ago. It really wasn’t that big a deal.

So far, I have received two bills.

This for four stitches and a tetanus booster. Total price (so far):

$2,603.45.

I don’t have insurance. I do qualify for subsidized insurance under the ACA. My price for a basic plan is $570/month with a $6,000 deductible.

Conservatives blather about how the US has such expensive healthcare because it’s sooooo good and American hospitals have the best equipment and Americans do all this research and…

Ah HA ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.

Some of them, they…they actually…BWAH ha ha ha…they actually believe that.

This torrent of money doesn’t go into healthcare. A huge volume of it goes into health insurance profits. Every dollar an insurance company takes in profit or overhead is a dollar that isn’t going to treatment and isn’t going to pretty shiny machines that go beep and isn’t going to research.

Libertarians love to talk about how the market promotes efficiency. Which is true. It promotes efficiency at making profit, which is not necessarily the same as efficiency at delivering goods and services.

The outcomes of this system are plain:

Shorter lifespan than other developed countries
Higher infant mortality than other countries

Evidence demolishes ideology. If the US had cutting edge healthcare, you would expect it to be expensive but effective.

It’s not. It’s expensive but delivers inferior results.

Part of that is the unequal access, of course, but part of it is by design. Because the goal of American healthcare is profit, not treatment, it discourages preventive care and regular checkups, which are low-margin services, in favor of dramatic interventions for serious conditions, which are high-margin services.

This isn’t a grand conspiracy. It’s the natural consequence of a system tuned to maximize profit instead of maximizing number of people cared for.

Edited to add: It’s now several months later and the bills are still coming in. Since posting this answer, I’ve received yet another bill, this one for $816.25.

That brings the total bill (so far) for four stitches to:

$3,419.70

China beats US in most-cited science papers, moving to top of new rankings

China accounts for 27.2 per cent of the world’s most-cited papers, while the US contributes 24.9 per cent, according to report
The idea that Chinese research is lacking in quality, though abundant in quantity, is ‘short-sighted’, says policy expert

China has surpassed the United States for the first time to lead the world in the number of most-cited papers, a key indicator of scientific influence, according to a new report.

Between 2018 and 2020, China contributed 27.2 per cent of the world’s most-cited papers – those ranking in the top 1 per cent in terms of citations – while the US accounted for 24.9 per cent, said the “Japanese Science and Technology Indicators” report released on August 9.

Some have pointed to the report as evidence of the rapid rise in the quality – in addition to quantity – of Chinese research.

From HERE

Baked potato with bacon

A quick dish equally good for cozy family get-togethers and shindigs with friends. Using the most affordable ingredients and a little culinary magic, you can turn ordinary potatoes into finger-licking fast food.

How to prepare: Wash a medium-sized potato, peel and dry. Make several pleat-shaped cuts so it looks like a mini-accordion. Cut bacon into thin slices, and use a knife to put them in the slits. Place the potato on a sheet of foil. Melt butter and add dill, parsley, salt, and pepper to it. Pour the aromatic butter over the potato and wrap in foil. (A homemade option is to grate a little garlic.) Place the potato in a preheated oven at 180C for 30 minutes. Then remove, sprinkle with grated cheese, and put back in the oven for another 10 minutes. If cooking several potatoes, pick ones of equal size so they take the same time to cook. If a potato is large and looks “unbakeable,” you can pre-boil it for 10-15 minutes beforehand.

Danny Trejo

Danny Trejo, known for countless tough-guy roles (and a few soft ones), often cast by his second cousin Robert Rodriguez.

But his first role wasn’t even supposed to be in front of the camera.

Trejo served time in Soledad prison for 11 years, and during that time he did two things to keep himself together. 1) He memorized and recited the script for Wizard of Oz while in solitary confinement, and 2) he started training as a boxer. The latter pastime got him more recognition, as he started winning boxing matches both before his release, and after. He was counseling others on how to break drug addiction and stay clean, when a friend called and asked him for support on a movie set. So he ended up on the set of the movie “Runaway Train”, a prison escape film starring Jon Voight and Eric Roberts.

I walked on that movie set as a drug counselor. I was helping this kid I was counseling. He called me up and said, "Hey, there's a lot of blow down here." It was 1985, and cocaine was running rampant in the movie industry. It was crazy. You'd walk into production and there'd be lines on the table. He just asked me to come down and support him, because that's what I did. I still do it. I'm going over on an intervention right now to one of our Hollywood actors. I went onto this movie set, and he was a PA, and I thought it was cute.

I had never been on a movie set in my life. All these guys were dressed up as inmates, and they were all trying to act tough. They all had these fake tattoos. I kept smearing these tattoos. I had to say, "Oh shit, I'm sorry. That stuff smears." This guy asked me if I wanted to be in a movie, and I said, "What do I gotta do?" And he said, "Do you want to be an extra?" And I said, "An extra what?" And he said, "Can you act like a convict?" I thought it was the funniest thing I had ever heard. I'd been in every penitentiary in the state. I looked at him and I said, "Well, I'll give it a shot." He gave me a blue shirt, and I took off my shirt, and I have that big tattoo on my chest. He said "Leave your shirt off."

Then this other guy comes over and says, "Hey, you're Danny Trejo. I saw you win the lightweight and welterweight title up in San Quentin." And I go, "Yeah. You're Eddie Bunker [Edward Bunker

].” I had been in prison with him. And he was a writer. We started talking, and he asked, “Are you still boxing?” And I go, “Well, I still train.” And he said, “Do you want a job? We need someone to train one of the actors how to box.” And I said, “I got a job. They’re going to give me 15 bucks for acting like a convict. What’s this pay?” He said, “It pays $320 a day.” So I said, “How bad do you want this guy beat up?”

And he goes, “No, you have to be really careful, this actor’s really high-strung. He’s already socked a couple of people.” I said, “For $320, man, give him a stick. I’ll fight Godzilla for 320 bucks.” I started training Eric Roberts

how to box. Eric wanted to learn how to box, and I think he was scared of me, so he’d do whatever I told him to do. Andrey Konchalovskiy, the director, saw that he would do whatever I told him to do. I guess Andrey had some problems with it. So Andrey comes over and hires me. He says, “You be in the movie. You fight Eric in the movie.” And that’s where it started. From that day until right now, I’ve got 183 movies. – IMDB

So from heroin addict/armed robber, to convict, to drug counselor and boxer, to fight instructor, to actor, then to director and writer. “Everything good that has happened to me has happened as a direct result of helping someone else. Everything.”

Vareniki with mushrooms and potato

Chanterelles, agaric honey, or plain white — the choice is yours. They are great when fried with potatoes, cooked in an open mushroom pie with smetana filling, or stewed in ragout (pronounced “ragoo”). And then there are vareniki dumplings stuffed with mashed potato and mushrooms. Best served with smetana and fried onions. Resistance is futile.

Strange Corporate Decisions This Week

World Hal Turner 18 August 2022

Earlier this week, I received two reports that WALMART had allegedly “canceled billions of dollars in orders.”

I was **not** able to get more info such as specific types of products or specific suppliers, or specific country of origin, so since I couldn’t verify it, I didn’t report it.

Minutes ago, I got this:

"My wife works for amazon web services (AWS) and they just canceled 40% of the marketing budget, froze hiring, and canceled all employee travel today"

It was done on a video call about 50 minutes ago.

I am endeavoring to verify it, so treat it as RUMOR right now . . . but here’s the thing:

If these claims prove true, this is a major indicator of bad shit coming.

Especially the travel part. AWS has assets in China, Taiwan, and Eastern Bloc countries.

UKRAINE

World Hal Turner 18 August 2022

Two days ago, I got word that the US/NATO shipped four (4) nuclear ARTILLERY shells to Ukraine.

Word was that the Ukrainians were to use those shells to hit the Zaporazyhe Nuclear Power Plant. A nuke artillery shell would certainly be able to penetrate a Reactor Containment building, and even a relatively tiny nuke blast would rupture a reactor, causing a radiation leakage disaster. BUT . . . they claimed . . . the fact that a nuke artillery shell was used will be MASKED by the reactor leaking radiation. So Ukraine would blame the Russians for mishandling the reactor causing it to blow up when, in reality, Ukraine caused it.

I thought this was a bit over-the-top, especially since the US unilaterally ended their nuclear artillery manufacturing and dismantled all their nuclear shells in the year 2004. HOWEVER, not all NATO countries did the same.

So it is possible that there are a few nuclear artillery shells still around, and if the US/NATO are actually the madmen that I believe they are, then some numbskull might have actually come up with a plan like this. Plausible deniability with a leaking reactor being blamed for radiation caused by the blast of nuclear artillery.

But since I could not verify **ANY** component of that story, I did NOT report it, either.

Which brings me to Ukraine, today.

There is a MJAJOR offensive taking place in Ukraine since yesterday. Russian Artillery was literally pounding from every part of the 150km long front line.

Today, Ukraine hit back inside Russia itself, with blasts in Belogorad. Then we had numerous reports of Ukraine missiles fired at the Kerch Strait Bridge. Then, no additional info — at all. Weird.

Two hours after the alleged missile attack against the Kerch Strait Bridge, air raid sirens sounded in Kiev. Then . . . nothing.

All this is getting too weird, but I tell you these things because I have now found out that, this afternoon (eastern US Time) Russia told its people at the Zaporazhye Nuclear Power Plant they “are not to go to work tomorrow.”

I HAVE VERIFIED THIS CLAIM.

So now, I look at the alleged WALMART order cancellations, the AWS 40% marketing budget cut, hiring freeze, and employee travel ban, along with what I’ve verified about Russians at the Nuclear power plant being told to stay home tomorrow, and I start to wonder to myself, is the intel I got about nuclear artillery shells factual and is tomorrow (or this weekend) when the plant at Zaporazyhe gets hits?

It’s certainly within the realm of possibility that big boys got a quiet warning to scale down ahead of something major.

WALMART is incredibly connected with government and might have gotten a sort of “heads-up” that everything is going to shit this month” so they are planning accordingly . . . and maybe canceled Billions in orders?

And AWS has hundreds of millions of dollars in government contracts, so maybe they too got a sort of heads-up, and decided to cut the marketing budget and halt employee travel etc.?

Then too, it was just this month that no less than Henry Kissinger told a media outlet that “things will escalate in mid-August.” Here we are.

I run all this past you so you can get a small glimpse into the info pouring in to me, and how hard it is to sift through apparently unrelated things, to come up with a picture of what might actually be.

Make a new friend…

This is a cat left at a shelter. He was cowering in the corner, hissing if you approached, and wouldn’t eat.

One of the workers asked me to give him some TLC.

This is the same cat, after ten minutes of cuddling, and telling him what a sweet boy he was. He was so scared and heartbroken that he shut down to humans, until he found a friend.

He certainly didn’t like the shelter any better, but feeling safe made him much nicer (and more adoptable). Cats have feelings.

How can kids learn entrepreneurship skills?

“Dad, I want to make money. Can I work for you?” My 10 year old boy asked me.

“We don’t work for money son. You must come up with a creative idea to make money through a business.”

“Oh, let me think,” he paused for a moment and said, “I have an idea! I could mow the lawn for the neighbors!”

“That’s not a business son!”

“Well, I could wash cars or walk their dogs over the weekends!”

“You’re still exchanging time for money son! That’s NOT a business. I want you to come up with a business idea!”

“I don’t understand dad!”

“I don’t want you to exchange time for money. Think how to solve this!”

Three days later…

“Dad, dad! I have an idea, what if I plant some vegetables in our backyard, grow them and sell them!”

“Now, THAT sounds more like a business son! Can you tell me the difference? How many hours will you invest to keeping up with your plants?” I asked.

“I need to water the plants every day after school.”

“What else?”

“Watch out for bugs eating my veggies?”

“Correct! How much time will you invest doing that?”

“Well, dad… nothing, maybe minutes!”

“So what is the difference between your veggie business and working for me or for the neighbors?”

“I’m going to save time!”

“Good! Now you have a new problem… You need to invest some money on your vegetable garden! How much money will you invest?

We went to Home Depot to buy stuff. He had his cash savings in his pocket.

”Dad, look! If we install this automatic water system I will be making money even while we’re on vacation!” He said excited after identifying a special hose to connect to his new pots.

“I will buy organic soil so my cucumbers and my tomatoes will be organic. I can sell them at a higher price to my neighbors and my friends.”

I smiled proudly as I could see how he was getting his business mind together.

We purchased everything. He negotiated a $50 dollar loan from me. We agreed that he will pay me interest.

Business is an art, not a science.

My boy is developing his entrepreneurial skills. He is learning everything that schools don’t teach him like [1] how to invest, [2] how to sell, [3] how to keep track of money.

He will learn the pains of paying interest of a loan, and after this winter, he’s learning the pains of losing money and having to start over again!

Most importantly, I’m teaching and developing his mindset!

Entrepreneurship is an art, an understanding of how to make money, it needs to be learned, not taught.

My cat tried to warn us

June 2015. My son Elliot is born.

From that day, my cat Juliette was not the same. She didn’t like the fact she was getting less attention.

And she let us know! She wasn’t nice with our baby and started to pee on the carpet in the basement. Always at the same spots.

How come this great cat became such a pain?

I had started to cough more often in the last couple of months. I had absolutely no explanation for it. I was running my small business from my basement.

A nurse told me it could be allergies. I never had allergies before. It seemed like allergies could start later in life. It sucked… but it is what it is, I guess. I didn’t make a big deal out of it.

In August, Juliette peed one last time in the basement. I had enough.

I decided I would remove the whole carpet during the weekend and redo the floor. I was tired of cleaning the mess every time it happened. Making the odor go away was not an easy task.

The following weekend, I started to remove the carpet… and found mold at every spot Juliette had peed in the past. It seemed like water and humidity were stuck under the floor and in the walls.

I can’t know for sure if it was her way to let me know why I was coughing so badly and why I felt so exhausted every time I tried to exercise.

Water was coming in and there was mold all over the basement.

We had to remove everything: floor, walls and ceiling. A company came with specialized equipment to decontaminate the basement. We had to redo everything inside… but also outside of the house to make sure water would not come back.

What started as a “weekend project” to stop a cat from peeing on the carpet ended up with a 6 months project that cost tens of thousands of dollars.

Since that, my health has been back to what it was before. No coughing, no exhaustion.

Thanks to Juliette for this. She unfortunately passed away a year later.

Here she is with Elliot…

I’m truly grateful for the mess she made in my basement because the whole family could have suffered of permanent breathing issues…

“I’m Worried We’re Becoming A Thought-Controlled Dystopia, Like China!”

Caitlin Johnstone

Aug 20

John: I’m worried about China.

Jane: Oh yeah? What about it?

John: Well more I’m worried about the example they’re setting, and that western governments will start implementing their technocratic oppression style to turn us all into a bunch of brainwashed, homogeneous obedience machines.

Jane: What makes you think Chinese people are all brainwashed and homogeneous?

John: Oh my God, don’t you watch the news? Have you not heard of their social credit score system? The state censorship and propaganda those people are subjected to? The CCP literally doesn’t let them have access to western social media platforms because our free thought and democratic values might interfere with their conformity policing. How have you not heard about this? It’s in the news constantly.

Jane: Constantly?

John: Oh yeah, it’s like a major news story all the time. All across the political spectrum, too. Fox News, CNN, The Washington Post. Alternative media too like Infowars and The Epoch Times; even lefty YouTubers like Vaush talk all the time about how bad it is in China.

Jane: So because you’re being given the same message by all the western media you consume, you’re worried about the enforcement of thought conformity in… China?

John: Yeah. Of course.

Jane: And this is why you’re worried that, at some point in the future, that kind of brainwashing and homogeneity might someday be inflicted upon us by powerful people in the west?

John: I mean yeah, if the CCP doesn’t do it to us first. Did you know they’re trying to take over the world?

Jane: They are?

John: Oh yeah! The Chinese want to take over the world and give us all a social credit score so we’ll all think the same. How do you not know about this? Don’t you ever watch TV?

Jane: How do you know it’s true though?

John: That they want to conquer us and give us a social credit score? Come on! Open your eyes! Have you seen how they treat their own population? They’re genociding the Uyghurs as we speak! Millions and millions of them in Nazi-style extermination camps! Plus they deliberately released the Covid virus to hurt us after cooking it up in a lab, they’re taking over Hollywood and infiltrating our political and academic institutions, and they’ve colonized the entire continent of Africa! Of course the CCP wants to rule us! Don’t you ever watch Tucker Carlson? They’re truly, deeply evil, and we’ve got to do something to stop them.

Jane: Sounds like you’ve got this China thing all figured out. You’re right, that sounds really scary. I can’t imagine what it would be like, living in a thought-controlled dystopia where your rulers are brainwashing everyone into obedience and making sure everybody thinks the same way about stuff.

John: Yeah! Finally you get it! I’m glad you’ve come around. Honestly you’re the first person I know who didn’t already understand these things about China.

Jane: I’ll bet.

John: So do you think it will happen? Do you think our government will implement a social credit score system to make us all believe lies and propaganda, like the Chinese?

Jane: You know, I wouldn’t worry about it.

The doll

At 40, Franz Kafka (1883-1924), who never married and had no children, walked through the park in Berlin when he met a girl who was crying because she had lost her favourite doll. She and Kafka searched for the doll unsuccessfully.

Kafka told her to meet him there the next day and they would come back to look for her.

The next day, when they had not yet found the doll, Kafka gave the girl a letter “written” by the doll saying “please don’t cry. I took a trip to see the world. I will write to you about my adventures.”

Thus began a story which continued until the end of Kafka’s life.

During their meetings, Kafka read the letters of the doll carefully written with adventures and conversations that the girl found adorable.

Finally, Kafka brought back the doll (he bought one) that had returned to Berlin.

“It doesn’t look like my doll at all,” said the girl.

Kafka handed her another letter in which the doll wrote: “my travels have changed me.” the little girl hugged the new doll and brought her happy home.

A year later Kafka died.

Many years later, the now-adult girl found a letter inside the doll. In the tiny letter signed by Kafka it was written:

“Everything you love will probably be lost, but in the end, love will return in another way.”

FADING SMILE OF A DYING EMPIRE

From The burning platform blog

We moved to our corner of Montgomery County, Pennsylvania twenty-seven years ago. We raised our three boys here. We spent hundreds of hours on local baseball fields, in hockey rinks, in school gyms for basketball games, concerts, plays and donuts-with-dads. It’s still a nice place to live, with virtually no crime, decent roads, and reasonable property tax rates. But I would have to say there has been a degradation in the overall quality of life in my community, which is consistent with the downward spiral of our society in general. When we planted our roots in this community it was still more farm-like than suburban. Family farms and open space were more prevalent than housing tracts, strip malls, fast food joints and cookie cutter commercial buildings. A beautiful farmhouse a few miles from our home, freshly painted white, proudly displayed the iconic yellow smiley face. It symbolized good times.

We’ve been driving on this road for twenty-seven years on the way to baseball games, hockey practices, the car dealer for service, and lately to our gym, as we try to fend off father time. Driving by that barn in the early days would always brighten your day. A bright yellow smiley face against a white background represented a positive, happy view of the world.

We moved to this area in 1995 while Clinton was president, unemployment was 5.6%, CPI was 2.8%, GDP growth was 2.7%, the annual deficit was $164 billion, the national debt was $4.9 trillion, the Fed balance sheet was $500 billion, the U.S. population was 263 million, total household debt was $4 trillion, you earned 5.5% on your money market fund, the U.S. bailed out Mexico, the Oklahoma City bombing happened, and OJ Simpson was found not guilty of killing his ex-wife. The military industrial complex was being starved by lack of wars and the stock market soared by 33% as the beginning of irrational exuberance began under the reign of Greenspan and his Put.

A lot has happened over the last twenty-seven years and the faded, barely visible smiley face, on a now mold ridden decaying barn, is truly representative of a society, culture and economic system dying a slow torturous death, as apathy, technological distraction, myopic indolence, and the greed of powerful elites combine to ensure the eventual collapse of the short-lived American Empire. Much of this quarter century of decline is borne out in the change in economic numbers noted above.

The unemployment rate is reported as 3.5% today with 158 million out of 264 million working age adults employed. That leaves 106 million not employed, or 40% of working age adults not working. Back in 1995, 125 million out of 199 million working age adults were employed, leaving 74 million not working. Over a quarter century we’ve added 65 million people to our population, but only 33 million to the employment rolls. Either we’ve devolved into a nation of freeloaders on welfare/disability, or the BLS is lying about the 3.5% unemployment rate, or both.

The BLS currently tries to convince the ignorant masses inflation is only 8.5%, up tremendously from the 2.8% in 1995. Since the Fed/Wall Street induced financial crash of 2008, the government had been reporting inflation of between 0% to 3%, when in reality, as measured the way it was measured in 1980, it had been between 7% to 10%. Today’s actual inflation rate is 17% in case you were wondering. Revealing the true cost of living to the peasants might induce a revolting outcome for our overlords. The government prefers to treat the math challenged masses like mushrooms, by keeping them in the dark.

The corrupt Fed, feckless politicians, media mouthpieces for the empire, and Wall Street shysters were shocked I tell you by skyrocketing inflation after the Fed increased their balance sheet from $3.7 trillion to $8.9 trillion and the D.C. swamp creatures increased the national debt from $23.2 trillion to $30.7 trillion since the beginning of 2020. This generated inflation in financial assets for the global elite and their minions, while destroying the finances of the middle and lower classes. The rot grows like a cancer in this empire of debt.

The annual deficit of $164 billion in 1995 was racked up in 17 days in 2021. We have run annual deficits of $3.1 trillion in 2020 and $2.8 trillion in 2021, and the scumbags in Washington just keep passing $700 billion spending bills, writing off student loan debts for gender fluidity majors and sending billions in weapons to the most corrupt regime on the planet – Ukraine.

The degradation and downward trajectory of this empire of debt, delusion and despair can be most clearly defined by comparing our GDP growth since 1995 to the growth of debt by both our government and the populace.

Total U.S. GDP in 1995 totaled $7.6 trillion and today checks in at $24.8 trillion. That is a growth of 326% over twenty-seven years.

The national debt has grown by 626%. Seems unsustainable, but why question our glorious leaders.

The Fed balance sheet has grown by 1,780%. Household debt has grown by 400%. Median household income in 1995 was $34,000. Today it is $73,000. That is a 214% increase over 27 years. With real inflation averaging over 10% per year during this time frame, average working Americans have seen their standard of living methodically decline, replacing the income with debt. The only beneficiaries of debt are the banking cabal and the mega-corporations selling their cheap Chinese crap to clueless dupes who believe driving a leased BMW and living in a cookie cutter McMansion with an $800,000 mortgage makes them wealthy.

The selfie generation is too distracted checking in on Facebook, posting pictures of their food on Instagram, doing a dance routine on Tik Tok or counting their likes on Twitter to realize how badly they’ve been screwed over by those pulling the strings of this society. The propaganda and psychology of fear utilized by the powerful interests has reached a level that would make Edward Bernays burst with pride, as manipulating the masses to believe falsehoods is a key requirement in implementing their Great Reset agenda.

This entire charade seems to be bursting at the seams, with raging inflation, a recession in process (despite Biden’s lackeys trying to redefine recession), a Green New Deal Great Reset agenda purposely creating energy and food shortages, government agencies running roughshod over the Constitution, and a tyrannical administration attempting to crush their political adversaries using any means necessary. Smiles are fading as we head into either a hyperinflationary depression or a deflationary depression, with some world war mixed in.

The economic decay is easily provable, but our cultural and societal degeneration has exceeded our economic deterioration.

Just as the Roman Empire exhibited particular traits of a dying culture, the American Empire displays similar characteristics, such as: concern with displaying affluence instead of building wealth; obsession with sex and perversions of sex; art becoming freakish and sensationalistic instead of creative and original; widening disparity between very rich and very poor; increased demand to live off the state.

Of course, our dying culture has also been turbocharged by the climate cult attempting to destroy our fossil fueled economic system by purposely sabotaging our energy and food systems as the driving force for their Great Reset. Weaponizing the annual flu as a means to inject billions of people with a DNA altering, sometimes lethal, concoction is part of Bill Gates’ depopulation agenda. They have taken the sex and gender perversion to new levels of child abuse, grooming and mutilation. The rampant pedophilia and child trafficking by the global elitists is the most despicable aspect of our cultural degeneracy. Anyone with a conscious can no longer be proud of this country and should be desperately concerned about its future.

“A growing sense of unease presently pervades the American consciousness. Americans are no longer as confident in their nation and self-assured as they once were. 

A sense of frustration and anger underscores American consciousness. 

Americans are looking over our shoulder at other emerging economic juggernauts and wondering if we can still be world’s social, political, and economic leader when Congress cannot even manage to balance the national budget. 

The thought that we are diminishing in stature in the eyes of the international community constantly torments Americans. 

Faded glory strikes a crippling blow to the American psyche. 

Analogous to an aging beauty queen, America might still possess a golden crown, but she lost her luster. 

In an eroding empire, Americans feel like second-class citizens in the union of nations.” ― Kilroy J. Oldster

The terms modern and progress have become warped and used as an excuse for destroying localization, small businesses, what worked, what was good, and what benefitted society, replacing it with globalization, mega-corporations, complex technology, profits at any cost, and benefits accumulating to the few with suffering borne by the many.

Two examples come to mind within a few miles from my home. Just a couple miles from the fading smile barn is a property that was once a thriving family farm. I snapped a picture last week as I was driving past.

The decaying abandoned farmhouse, dilapidated barn, and rusting farm machinery are being engulfed by weeds, as the memories of a productive useful family farm fade like that yellow smiley face. I don’t know why it was abandoned, but I’m sure the corporate farming conglomerates and the corporate meat processing plants were a major factor. When you can buy cheap meat at Wal-Mart produced in China or some industrial farm, why pay a little more for fresh non-GMO meat sold by a local farmer?

Gone are the roadside vegetable stands and buying fresh meat from your local farmer neighbor. Maybe the patriarch of the homestead got too old, and his sons had been indoctrinated by the government schools to get corporate jobs in some of the commercial office campuses that have replaced open space and farmland. Whatever the reason, it provokes melancholy about a better simpler time whenever I pass by.

The governmental actions taken in the early 2000s still irk me to this day. The area around the intersection of Forty Foot Road and Sumneytown Pike in the late 1990s was still reminiscent of simpler times, before smart phones, hyper-consumerism, and proliferation of big box retail. Small businesses were important and viable. There was a family run diner near the turnpike entrance where all the locals ate breakfast and talked sports and politics.

Township police were friendly, driving older basic vehicles and housed in a small unassuming one-story township building. Nicely kept older homes lined one side of Forty Foot Road and the other side was an eclectic mixture of old-time baseball fields, with no lights and little to no ground’s maintenance, and the old Henry Sprecht grade school, built in 1909 to honor a long-time educator and local historian, which had been replaced by newer schools and creatively repurposed into a quaint antiques mall.

We spent many a summer evening watching my oldest son play little league baseball on those fields while trying to keep our four-year-old and three-year-old sons from getting into trouble. We loved wandering through that antiques mall as individual vendors selling all manner of antiques, hand crafted woodwork, baseball cards, toys, occupied nooks, and crannies in this ancient school. We bought a handcrafted cabinet by a local artisan for our kitchen, which we still employ today in our storage area.

My fondest memory was at Christmas time when it would become a Christmas wonderland and I would take the boys there to see the spectacular miniature train show, where local train aficionados would set up amazing displays. The kids were mesmerized. There was also a family-owned home center in Hatfield called Snyder’s that sold everything for your home and also had a great train display at Christmas for kids to enjoy. All this unpretentious delight ended abruptly in the early 2000s, as progress, commercialization, and greed took hold of the country and our little community.

As you may remember, Greenspan coined the term irrational exuberance in 1996 to describe financial markets, then turbocharged stocks by cutting rates, causing the dot.com bubble and responded to the stock market crash by cutting rates and causing the biggest real estate bubble in history, until now. These ephemeral paper riches caused local government bureaucrats to use phantom tax revenues to envision delusions of grandeur by building useless unnecessary projects.

This is exactly what the government drones running Towamencin Township did. They produced a grand master plan, gave it a fancy name, spent tens of millions of our tax dollars, and produced an embarrassing mess. They used eminent domain to acquire homes, forced the dozens of small business owners out of the antique mall and flattened the building, closed off the baseball fields to little kids, and closed Forty Foot Road for over a year to build a glorious $13 million bridge to nowhere. This bridge stands as a tribute to all those Chinese ghost cities, as it serves no purpose except as an example of government incompetence, wastefulness, and misuse of taxpayer funds with no consequences for the government drones.

Rather than wait for actual retail tenants to sign on to their glorious project, the government geniuses built the bridge knowing they would come. They never came.

The real estate retail bubble popped. It’s now fifteen years later and those four baseball fields are still sitting there, untouched, undeveloped, and unused.

They stuck a Walgreens where the charming antique mall once sat. No pedestrians cross the pedestrian bridge because there is nothing on either side. A four- story commercial building was built on spec a block from the bridge and stood vacant for five years.

The family-owned Snyder’s home store was driven out of business by the Home Depot and Lowes built within a few miles. There are now cookie cutter townhouses where Snyder’s stood. Another successful retail center in the 1990s up the road, anchored by a family owned Genuardi supermarket and a Sears Hardware, along with a pizza place, drugstore, Blockbuster, and kids play center has been vacant and rotting for over a decade, as bankruptcies, mergers, and the relentless downward economic spiral made it untenable.

In addition to wasting taxpayer money on the ghost bridge to nowhere, these financial government geniuses decided their police station built in 1975 no longer met the needs of their fast-growing police force in a township with no crime, because it is 88% white/Asian. They built themselves a complex three times the size of their old station. Lucky, because they now have a police force of 23 officers, all decked out with souped-up brand-new SUVs.

You need that level of manpower and firepower for all those speed traps, fender benders and writing tickets for illegal basketball nets. There hasn’t been a major crime in Towamencin in over a decade, but the taxpayers pay over $1 million per year to be harassed and pay for their donut budget This level of government waste is happening in every locality and state in America. And the Feds put them all to shame with their corrupt, wasteful, traitorous spending, bribing, and war mongering across the globe, to the tune of trillions.

The decline I’ve personally seen in my local community is not just a localized cancer but has metastasized across the land and around the globe. As our economic system accelerates towards inevitable implosion, either as a planned demolition or due to the hubris of central bankers, the fraying social fabric of our civilized society is unmistakable, as the moral state of our country has deteriorated to a level seen only in debauched empires on the brink of failure.

The global elite and their moral depravity have engulfed the world, as their ravenous greed, insatiable appetite for dominion over the masses, immoral deceit, manipulative use of propaganda, and satanic decadence have created economic, social, political, and military distress across the globe. As Toynbee and Solzhenitsyn note, the lack of morality and courage among those who profess to be leaders has permeated throughout society, leading to a dearth of citizens taking civic responsibility for the path of the country.

“Of the twenty-two civilizations that have appeared in history, nineteen of them collapsed when they reached the moral state the United States is in now.”
― Arnold Joseph Toynbee

We are a lost society, ruled by emotions, captured by technology, misinformed, uneducated, indifferent, fearful, passively accepting of whatever government and media tell them is true, and entranced by materialism funded by debt.

We are a sick dying culture where common community standards, self-responsibility, hard work, kindness, and manners have been superseded by the worship of abnormality, celebration of degeneracy, living off the government, spreading hatred, and waging undeclared wars across the world.

There is an empty shallowness to our civilization, with the vacuum filled with gadgets, pathetic displays of fake affluence, trivialities like social media, and superficial displays of virtue signaling regarding the latest woke craze shoved down our throats by those controlling the levers of society.

There is an overwhelming feeling of hopelessness, fear, and foreboding mood of impending doom, as this Fourth Turning accelerates towards its bloody denouement.

The aura of pessimism about the future and fear that our superpower status, only in existence since 1946, is rotting from within permeates the psychology of those actually willing to think critically and see what is really happening. The existing social order will be extinguished during the waning years of this Fourth Turning. We are in the interval between the decay of the old and formation of the new, whatever that may be.

This transition will be one of uncertainty, turmoil, miscalculation, fanatical misrepresentations, war (civil & global), false prophets, bloodshed, and clear winners and losers. Decay and death of empires have happened for centuries and are necessary to expunge the excesses and abuses which always occur as empires expand and its leaders exhibit a hubristic arrogance towards their people and the world.

“Just as floods replenish soil and fires rejuvenate forests, a Fourth Turning clears out society’s exhausted elements and creates an opportunity.” – The Fourth Turning

It is hard to believe the prognostications of Strauss & Howe a quarter century ago, just after I moved to my community, could be so eerily accurate. But, when you are sure of the catalysts: debt, global disorder, and civic decay, the volcanic eruption of distress can only flow along certain channels, preordained by choices made over decades by our leaders and ourselves.

“Imagine some national (and probably global) volcanic eruption, initially flowing along channels of distress that were created during the Unraveling era and further widened by the catalyst. Trying to foresee where the eruption will go once it bursts free of the channels is like trying to predict the exact fault line of an earthquake. All you know in advance is something about the molten ingredients of the climax, which could include the following:

- Economic distress, with public debt in default, entitlement trust funds in bankruptcy, mounting poverty and unemployment, trade wars, collapsing financial markets, and hyperinflation (or deflation)
- Social distress, with violence fueled by class, race, nativism, or religion and abetted by armed gangs, underground militias, and mercenaries hired by walled communities
- Political distress, with institutional collapse, open tax revolts, one-party hegemony, major constitutional change, secessionism, authoritarianism, and altered national borders
- Military distress, with war against terrorists or foreign regimes equipped with weapons of mass destruction”

This Fourth Turning has created tremendous distress in all four categories noted by Strauss & Howe. With over $200 trillion of unfunded liabilities, the country is already in default, but unwilling to admit it. The Social Security fund will run out of money in a few years. State and local pension funds are underfunded by trillions. With Powell and his minions in control, hyperinflation and deflationary depression are on the near-term horizon, with financial assets crashing once again, for the fourth time this century.

The social distress has been initiated and promoted by the global elite through their complete control of the media propaganda outlets. They are attempting to spur violent upheaval, as this will give them the excuse to disarm and electronically imprison dissenters and Great Reset resisters. Class, race, religion, and gender are all being used to stoke unrest.

The political distress is the biggest gaping wound in our national body today. If critical thinking individuals didn’t acknowledge the existence of a Deep State before, they surely can’t deny its existence now. It has existed for decades, but has been forced out into the open, as threats to their power and control multiply due to their arrogance, ineptitude, wickedness, and avarice.

Anyone who dares to deviate from their directives and threatens their fiefdom is either killed, neutered, or destroyed (JFK, RFK, George Wallace, Perot, Assange, Trump). Russiagate, two impeachments, J6 witch trial, and now the rogue DOJ/FBI raid on Trump’s compound has driven the political stress to heights not seen since 1860. The desires of the globalist elites for a Great Reset into a new world order where you own nothing, and they own everything is the goal of all this engineered chaos.

The military distress may be the most concerning and potentially most destructive aspect of this Fourth Turning as we enter the normally bloody phase. The flailing U.S. empire is provoking and stoking global conflict to keep feeding the Deep State military industrial complex. The Ukraine conflict was initiated by the U.S. in 2014 and is being used as a justification to fight Russia without getting our hands dirty.

Continuing to poke the nuclear armed bear, has the potential to escalate the conflict to a point of no return. Throwing fuel on the fire by provoking China over Taiwan’s independence is irrationally reckless and the mark of a desperate empire seeing the sun setting on its 76-year reign as the one global superpower, and willing to risk global war in a fruitless effort to remain king.

The U.S. can let its empire expire with a whimper (e.g. British Empire) or a bang. Based on their ham-handed, stumbling, absurd endeavors to maintain their dominance over the world, they have initiated global food and energy shortages, caused unbearable economic hardship upon the middle and lower classes, and have pushed the world to the brink of nuclear war with countries run by serious men. While we are supposedly led by an ancient fossil lost in a fog of dementia and unable to string two coherent sentences together, even with a teleprompter. Obama, the Deep State, and a plethora of diversity hire apparatchiks are really calling the shots.

The smile has faded on this empire of debt, delusion, denial, and destruction, just as it has on the barn near my house. The coming trials will require levels of courage, fortitude, and sacrifice which many might think they are not capable of summoning, but we have no choice. You can’t sit out Fourth Turnings. Sides will need to be chosen and life or death decisions made. The future of this country and the world hang in the balance.

Choosing your allies and forming local communities of like-minded people with the skills to survive and thrive in the world created after the coming conflict is resolved, is all you can do at this point. Preparation may not be enough, but not preparing guarantees a bad outcome for you and your family. Whatever you do, put absolutely no faith in any government solution to our predicament. They are the enemy and you can’t vote your way out of this.

I hope after this is over to see a fresh coat of white paint applied to that old barn and a brand-new yellow smiley face resurrected on the same spot, marking the start of a new High.

URGENT: US on verge of becoming party to Ukrainian conflict, Moscow warns

World Hal Turner 19 August 2022

Washington’s continued support for Kiev during Moscow’s military operation has put the US on the verge of becoming party to the Ukrainian conflict, Russia’s deputy Foreign Minister, Sergey Ryabkov has said.

“We don’t want escalation. We’d like to avoid a situation, in which the US becomes a party to the conflict, but so far we don’t see any readiness of the other side to take these warnings seriously,” Ryabkov told Rossiya 1 TV channel on Friday.

Moscow rejects Washington’s explanation, that providing Ukraine with weapons and other aid is justified by Kiev’s right to self-defense, he pointed out.

“Excuse me, what kind of self-defense is it if they are already openly talking about the possibility of attacking targets deep in the Russian territory, in Crimea?” the deputy FM wondered.

According to Ryabkov, such statements are being made by the Ukrainian side “not just under the blind eye of the US and NATO, but with the encouragement of this kind of sentiment, approaches, plans and ideas directly from Washington,” Ryabkov insisted.

The ever more obvious and deeper involvement in Ukraine in terms of countering our military operation, in fact, puts this country, the US, on the verge of turning into a party to the conflict,” he reiterated.

The US has been the strongest supporter of Kiev amid its conflict with Russia, providing Kiev with billions of dollars in military and financial aid, as well as intelligence data. Washington’s deliveries to the Ukrainian military have included such sophisticated hardware as HIMARS multiple rocket launchers, M777 howitzers and combat drones.

Reuters reported on Friday that US President Joe Biden is about to announce another lethal aid package for Kiev of around $800 million.

An unnamed official from the Biden administration told Politico on Thursday that the White House had no problem with Ukraine attacking Crimea, which became part of Russia after a 2014 referendum staged in response to a violent coup. The US believes that Kiev can strike any target on its territory, and “Crimea is Ukraine,” the American official insisted.

There have recently been a number of explosions near a Russian ammunition depot and at a military airfield in Crimea, which the Defense Ministry said were acts of “sabotage.” However, Ukrainian authorities haven’t officially confirmed involvement in the attacks.

Russia sent troops into Ukraine on February 24, citing Kiev’s failure to implement the Minsk agreements, designed to give the regions of Donetsk and Lugansk special status within the Ukrainian state. The protocols, brokered by Germany and France, were first signed in 2014. Former Ukrainian President Pyotr Poroshenko has since admitted that Kiev’s main goal was to use the ceasefire to buy time and “create powerful armed forces.”

In February 2022, the Kremlin recognized the Donbass republics as independent states and demanded that Ukraine officially declare itself a neutral country that will never join any Western military bloc. Kiev insists the Russian offensive was completely unprovoked.

A Major Food Crisis Coming In 2023? – “Prices Will Be On Steroids After The Election”

August 21, 2022 by Michael

We are being warned that food prices in the U.S. are going to go absolutely haywire after the election in November. I am taking such warnings very seriously, and I believe that you should too. Global officials have been telling us over and over again that we are heading into an unprecedented global food crisis, and I have been writing about this again and again in recent weeks. But so far, the vast majority of the population doesn’t seem to be taking this seriously. Agricultural production is going to be way below expectations all over the planet in 2022, and that means that there will be far less food to go around in 2023.

Let me give you a perfect example of what I am talking about. Just within the last couple of days, it has been reported that there will be crop losses “of up to 50 percent” in the German state of Baden-Württemberg…

Crop losses of up to 50 percent are now expected in parts of Germany due to drought, farmers in affected regions have claimed.

Up to half of the crops in parts of the German state of Baden-Württemberg are likely to be lost due to drought, farmers in the region have claimed, with problems to do with the prices of fuel, fertiliser, and pesticides connected to the green agenda and war in Ukraine also reportedly causing problems for those in the region.

These are crop losses that haven’t happened yet.

These are crop losses that will happen in the fall if sufficient rain does not arrive soon…

With the losses expected to materialise in the autumn, the farming chaos may end up being another crisis facing Germany’s floundering political class as fuel shortages combined with a freefalling economy hit a public already suffering from officials’ poor handling of the COVID-19 pandemic.

Just within the past week, I have written about how authorities are also projecting similar crop losses in key areas of the UK, France and Italy.

And here in the United States, 37 percent of farmers in the western half of the country say that they will be killing their own crops because there is no chance that they will come to maturity due to the endless drought.

All of these crop losses haven’t hit the food system yet.

So none of these crop losses are reflected in grocery store prices yet.

That won’t happen until the end of 2022 and the beginning of 2023.

With all of that in mind, I would like to share with you a comment that was just posted on one of Southern Prepper’s videos…

Just a heads up. I have a family member who works in the corporate pricing department for groceries. This company has been in business 40 years. 

Meeting was called 1 day ago and they were told prices will be on steroids after the election. Owner said he’s never seen what’s headed our way in 40 of business. They just hired 10 more people and can not keep up with data input.

All hands on deck and overtime. included. Get your house in order. Buy Holiday grocery products while you can find and afford them. 

Boss told employees to stock up now. 

Please pay attention folks.

It would be easy to dismiss that comment because we don’t know who it is from and so we can’t verify the specific claims that are made.

But this is entirely consistent with everything else that I am hearing.

Food prices have been rising rapidly in recent months, but the really big deal is all the food that is not being grown right now. This lack of production is going to push prices to levels that would have once been unthinkable.

Most people simply do not realize how much our farmers are hurting right now. Just check out these numbers…

Nearly three quarters of US farmers say this year’s drought is hurting their harvest — with significant crop and income loss, according to a survey by the American Farm Bureau Federation, an insurance company and lobbying group that represents agricultural interests.

The survey was conducted across 15 states from June 8 to July 20 in extreme drought regions from Texas to North Dakota to California, which makes up nearly half of the country’s agricultural production value. In California — a state with high fruit and nut tree crops — 50% of farmers said they had to remove trees and multiyear crops due to drought, which will affect future revenue.

This is going to affect all of us.

If farmers and ranchers don’t produce our food, we do not eat.

Things are even worse in western Europe, and the war in Ukraine is greatly restricting the flow of agricultural goods from eastern Europe.

In 2023, there is going to be a mad scramble for whatever food that is available, and global prices are going to go nuts.

We have already started to see food riots and civil unrest is some areas of the globe, but I anticipate that things will get much worse next year.

Even here in the United States, I expect that there will be a lot of anger and frustration. And as we have seen, it certainly doesn’t take much for our major urban areas to explode.

Things aren’t even that bad yet, and already we are seeing people behave in ways that are extremely bizarre. For example, just consider a very strange incident that just happened in Los Angeles…

The gang of people ransacked the store while shouting, completely destroying the COVID-19 safety screen that had been set up to grab as much as they could in Los Angeles, California.

A group entered the convenience store near Figueroa Street and El Segundo Boulevard, with surveillance footage showing the looters shouting at each other, on August 15.

They can be seen running across the store and grabbing drinks, cigarettes, lottery tickets, bags of chips and other items.

Approximately 100 young people were involved in the violence.

When I read about this sort of a thing, it makes me very sad. I have been strongly warning that such unrest would be coming to America, and eventually it will get completely out of control.

As food prices surge to crazy heights, those at the bottom of the economic food chain will not be happy.

The coming food crisis will be a difficult time for our nation, and for the world as a whole.

If you understand what is coming, it gives you an opportunity to get prepared.

Sadly, most of the population doesn’t want to listen to the warnings, and that is extremely unfortunate.

‘Flurry’ of retail bankruptcies coming, former retail CEO warns

World Hal Turner 20 August 2022

Retailers on life support may go the way of the dinosaur in early 2023 should the economic slowdown cause a lackluster holiday shopping season.

“I think we will see a flurry of bankruptcies likely in the first quarter of 2023 if this holiday season is anything less than completely robust,” Mark Cohen, former longtime CEO of Sear Canada and current Columbia University professor of retail studies, warned on Yahoo Finance Live (video above). “I don’t think it will be, by the way.”

Retail bankruptcies — which picked up in droves at the start of the COVID-19 pandemic — have fallen by the wayside as consumers returned to stores to stock up on apparel and other items coming out of the pandemic.

Only three retailers filed for bankruptcy in the second half of 2021 versus 20 in the same period in 2020, according to a report from BDO. There were no new retail bankruptcies filed from mid-September 2021 through mid-February 2022, the report found.

“There is no question as business becomes tougher to manage, weak players fall by the wayside,” Cohen said. “They are particularly vulnerable to inflationary pricing and inflationary costs.”

The bad news in retail continues to mount as the economy slows, calling into question how even the strongest in the sector would navigate a potential recession in 2023.

In early June, Target kicked off concerns about the retail sector’s health with a shocking decision to liquidate massive amounts of slow-moving inventory and take a more cautious view on near-term profits.

Since then, discretionary retailers such as RH, Bed Bath & Beyond, and Kohl’s have issued financial warnings for their second-quarter results.

Hal Turner Editorial Opinion

We are at risk of an accelerating hyper-collapse as people massively cut back spending due to things like inflation and fear. Most of our economy is based on optional purchases that can be put off or not made at all. Once people get into survival mode, the accelerating hyper-collapse will kick in, with spending dropping significantly, unemployment skyrocketing and bankruptcies happening on a regular basis.

I saw a forum where people in my NJ home town were talking about rent increases of $200, $300, even $500

Good luck having any money left to spend at retail with rent increases like that.

I mean seriously if your rent went up 300 dollars would you be out shopping, going to shows, eating in restaurants, taking a weekend road trip?

The worst part of all this is that NONE of it had to be. This is all taking place because of Russia economic sanctions that should not have been imposed if our government would have minded its own business.

US has doomed EU to hunger and cold – Russia

World Hal Turner 20 August 2022

The United States has doomed the EU to hunger, cold and isolation by pressuring the bloc to cut its ties with Moscow, Russian State Duma Speaker Vyacheslav Volodin said on Friday.

He wrote on Telegram that Washington would “stop at nothing to cling to its power over the world as it throws under the bus the citizens’ welfare and the economies of European countries to achieve this end.”

He noted that natural gas in the US costs $333 per 1,000 cubic meters. “At the same time, Washington sells it to Europe for a price which is 7.3 [times] higher, rendering the EU economy uncompetitive,” he wrote, adding that the eurozone’s annual inflation rate had hit a record 8.9%.

Volodin said Europe had been hit by a heatwave that triggered huge problems in the agriculture sector, as well as an energy crisis which had seen prices soar six times in one year.

The EU’s decision to phase out Russian energy supplies and cut economic ties with Moscow “have been made under Washington’s pressure,” the State Duma speaker claimed.

“US policies in Europe are enforced by England that has left the EU high and dry, as well as by a number of countries that are sovereign in name only – Lithuania, Latvia, Estonia, Ukraine – with Poland, the Czech Republic and Finland joining this Russophobic coalition in the hopes of getting an American handout,” Volodin wrote.

His comments come as the EU is plagued by an energy crisis due to rising global prices. Earlier this month, the bloc approved a plan that would see its member states reduce gas consumption by 15% in a bid to tackle the crisis.

Another factor that has exacerbated the energy crunch was the EU’s decision to wean itself off natural gas from Russia, as the bloc considers these supplies to be unreliable. However, President Vladimir Putin has rejected accusations that Moscow could cut off gas supplies to the EU, stating that Russian energy giant Gazprom is “ready to pump as much as necessary” but that the bloc has “closed everything themselves.”

U.S. urged to stop attempting to contain China with Taiwan: spokesperson

Source: Xinhuanet
Editor: Li Jiayao

Time

2022-08-11 10:33:51

BEIJING, Aug. 10 (Xinhua) — China will resolutely make a fightback each time the United States makes a serious provocation that encroaches upon China’s sovereignty and interferes in China’s internal affairs, a foreign ministry spokesperson said on Wednesday.

“China will never allow its national sovereignty and territorial integrity to be wantonly trampled upon and undermined,” spokesperson Wang Wenbin said at a regular news briefing, urging the United States to stop its attempt to contain China by using Taiwan.

Wang pointed out Speaker of the U.S. House of Representatives Nancy Pelosi’s visit to China’s Taiwan region is a major political provocation which upgrades exchanges between the United States and Taiwan.

Pelosi’s visit violated relevant commitments by the U.S. side in the China-U.S. Joint Communique on the Establishment of Diplomatic Relations, the one-China principle widely accepted by the international community and confirmed in the UN General Assembly Resolution 2758, and the principle in international law of non-interference in other countries’ internal affairs, which is enshrined in the UN Charter, he said.

Disregarding China’s dissuasion and warnings concerning Pelosi’s visit, the United States has chosen to pursue the wrong course of action, Wang said, noting that it is the United States, not China, who has reneged on commitments.

“It is the United States that infringed upon China’s sovereignty, not China violating the sovereignty of the United States. It is the United States who connived at and supported ‘Taiwan independence’ separatist activities, not China conniving at and supporting separatist activities in the United States,” Wang added.

Wang said the United States is going down the path of obscuring, hollowing out and distorting the one-China principle, while accusing China of changing the status quo.

“The United States carries out over a hundred military drills in China’s adjacent waters every year, but accuses China of overacting,” Wang added, “Neither China nor the international community will accept such a gangster logic.”

If the United States truly hopes to abide by international law and uphold national sovereignty and territorial integrity of all countries as it claims to, it should return to the one-China principle and the three China-U.S. joint communiques, Wang said.

He urged the United States to refrain from reckless moves and stop attempting to use Taiwan to contain China and do right things and take concrete steps to facilitate the sound development of China-U.S. ties and peace and stability across the Taiwan Strait.

Challenging America’s Lords of Illusion with a Million Contrary Rumble Views

Ron Unz • August 22, 2022

In Roger Zelazny’s classic 1967 science fiction novel Lord of Light, humans on a distant planet have employed technological devices to establish themselves as gods of the Hindu pantheon, each having particular aspects and attributes. Mara is the Lord of Illusion, able to reshape the perceived world in the minds of all those around him. Such an ability is powerful but not invincible since the physical reality remains unchanged, and Mara is slain in the very first chapter.

I think that story stands as an effective metaphor for America’s strengths in today’s world. Our country is so utterly dominant in the distribution of information and propaganda, including the electronic and social media, that we can easily persuade most of the world to accept as truth our manufactured illusions. But we cannot alter the underlying reality, perhaps leading to disastrous ultimate consequences.

Russia possesses a nuclear arsenal equal to our own and its revolutionary hypersonic weapons provide it considerable superiority in delivery systems. Lieutenant-General Igor Kirillov serves as the head of Russia’s Radiation, Chemical, and Biological Defense Forces, and a couple of weeks ago he held a public briefing at which he suggested that elements of the American government had probably been responsible for unleashing the global Covid epidemic.

I mentioned his explosive accusations in a column, but otherwise they seem to have been almost entirely ignored in both the American mainstream and even alternative media. Instead, the only significant American response was that Twitter suspended the official account of the Russian Foreign Ministry after it distributed the remarks of that top Russian general.

Once again, except for a column of my own, the censorship Twitter had suddenly imposed upon the Russian government for such accusatory statements passed almost entirely unnoticed by American mainstream and alternative media outlets alike.

Major declarations by top Russian military leaders surely receive extensive coverage in Russia’s own domestic media, so I’d assume that a substantial fraction of the Russian population now believes that the Covid virus which has killed more than 15 million people worldwide may have been an American product, engineered and released by our national security apparatus. But a near-total media embargo—extending to alternative outlets—has ensured that such notions remain completely excluded from American minds. Apparently, our editors follow the principle “What we don’t know can’t hurt us.”

Over the last couple of years I have been repeatedly struck by the complete unwillingness of virtually any mainstream or alternative Western journalist to take notice of the very strong evidence of America’s culpability in the Covid epidemic, evidence that I have presented in a long series of articles first beginning in April 2020.

Earlier this month I sent this plaintive note to a member of America’s elite establishment with whom I’ve been friendly for many years:

 …the whole situation just staggers the imagination.

For the same of argument, let’s assume I’m correct and there’s at least a pretty good chance that the blowback from an unauthorized biowarfare attack has now killed a million Americans.

Can you think of anything in the history of the world let alone the history of America that’s comparable to that? As I argued in one of my recent articles, it’s probably 1000x a greater worldwide disaster than Chernobyl.

And the notion that absolutely no one is willing to discuss it is just unbelievable. It’s not like Stalin’s NKVD will ship them off to the Gulag if they say anything. I mean it’s one thing if people are fearful of being shot, but it’s another thing if they’re merely fearful of being criticized on Twitter…

I just can’t understand why absolutely no one is willing to take a public stand on this issue. Once all the facts came out more than a year ago, I assumed the dam would break any week.

And his reply:

 It is quite amazing.

From the very beginning of the epidemic, our media and propaganda organs, whether mainstream or alternative, have successfully insulated the American public from the crucial information that might allow them to properly understand what had happened in their lives. As I noted in my original April 2020 article:

 As the coronavirus gradually began to spread beyond China’s own borders, another development occurred that greatly multiplied my suspicions. Most of these early cases had occurred exactly where one might expect, among the East Asian countries bordering China. But by late February Iran had become the second epicenter of the global outbreak. Even more surprisingly, its political elites had been especially hard-hit, with a full 10% of the entire Iranian parliament soon infected and at least a dozen of its officials and politicians dying of the disease, including some who were quite senior. Indeed, Neocon activists on Twitter began gleefully noting that their hated Iranian enemies were now dropping like flies.

Let us consider the implications of these facts. Across the entire world the only political elites that have yet suffered any significant human losses have been those of Iran, and they died at a very early stage, before significant outbreaks had even occurred almost anywhere else in the world outside China. Thus, we have America assassinating Iran’s top military commander on Jan. 2nd and then just a few weeks later large portions of the Iranian ruling elites became infected by a mysterious and deadly new virus, with many of them soon dying as a consequence. Could any rational individual possibly regard this as a mere coincidence?

In a later article I emphasized that Iran’s top leadership had certainly recognized these obvious facts at the time:

 By early March 2020, the Iranian general overseeing his country’s biowarfare defense had already begun suggesting that Covid was a Western biological attack against his country and China, and a couple of days later the semiofficial Iranian news agency FARS quoted Iran’s top Revolutionary Guards military commander as declaring:

 Today, the country is engaged in a biological battle. We will prevail in the fight against this virus, which might be the product of an American biological [attack], which first spread in China and then to the rest of the world…America should know that if it has done so, it will return to itself.

Soon afterward, Iran’s Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei  took the same public position, while populist former president Mahmoud Ahmadinejad became especially vocal on Twitter for several months, even directing his formal accusations to UN Secretary-General Antonio Guterres. Just a single one of his numerous Tweets drew many thousands of Retweets and Likes.

 Iranian radio and television and its international news service repeatedly carried these stories, backed by supportive interviews with a top political aide to Malaysia’s former prime minister. But America’s overwhelming domination over the English-language global media ensured that this major international controversy never came to my attention at the time it occurred.

The blockade preventing these Iranian charges from reaching the English-speaking world was further facilitated by American control over the basic infrastructure of the Internet. Just one month earlier, Iran’s PressTV channel for Britain had been deleted by YouTube, following the earlier removal of its main global channel. Most recently, the American government took the unprecedented action of seizing PressTV‘s Internet domain, completely eliminating all access to that website.

The original Covid outbreak had struck Wuhan at the height of China’s confrontation with the United States. By March 2020 official Chinese media was reporting that the virus might have been brought to that city by American military personnel when they participated in the World Military Games held there, with an official spokesman for China’s Foreign Ministry creating a diplomatic incident when he Tweeted out those accusations.

I’ve been told that such theories of American responsibility have become endemic on Chinese social media, and last year China’s second largest official news agency briefly summarized my own views on its website.

Similarly, Sputnik News, a mainstream Russian media outlet with 20 million visits per month, recently published a short interview with me regarding the likely origins of Covid. Around the same time, a leading Iranian television channel interviewed me for five hours in preparation for a series they plan to broadcast in the near future.

Government officials and the general public of Russia, Iran, and China both seem increasingly aware of these important facts and the controversial scenario they suggest, so I find it difficult to understand how legitimate American national interests are served by keeping that same information away from the American people. Yet this continuing climate of near-absolute censorship has been maintained not only within the mainstream media but also by nearly all alternative journalists and outlets. Even when American figures of the greatest public stature and credibility have broken their silence, their statements have been ignored across almost the entire alternative media landscape.

Prof. Jeffrey Sachs of Columbia University is the very high-ranking American academic who had served as the chairman of the Covid Commission established by the Lancet, a leading medical journal. In May he co-authored an important article in the prestigious PNAS journal arguing that the virus had probably been produced in a lab and calling for an independent inquiry into its true origins.

A call for an independent inquiry into the origin of the SARS-CoV-2 virus
Neil L. Harrison and Jeffrey D. Sachs • PNAS • May 19, 2022 • 2,800 Words

This bombshell declaration, which should have reached the front pages of the New York Times, was instead ignored by virtually every mainstream and alternative media outlet.

The following month, he reiterated his views while speaking at a small think-tank gathering in Spain, and a short clip of his remarks went super-viral, being retweeted out more than 11,000 times and attracting over a million views.

With the exception of an article in the London Daily Mail, this further bombshell was again entirely ignored by all outlets in both the mainstream and alternative press.

Finally, earlier this month he gave a lengthy and remarkably candid interview to Current Affairs, a small alternative media webzine, in which he focused on the strong evidence he had encountered of an apparent cover-up of Covid’s possible origins by individuals associated with the American government:

Why the Chair of the Lancet’s COVID-19 Commission Thinks The US Government Is Preventing a Real Investigation Into the Pandemic
Jeffrey Sachs • Current Affairs • August 2, 2022 • 4,300 Words

Once again, virtually no alternative journalist reported those astonishing allegations by the academic figure who had been best placed to make them.

When I brought his recent interview to the attention of several prominent mainstream individuals whom I personally know, they found it absolutely stunning. But apparently nearly every journalist in America thought otherwise, so its impact on the public debate has been almost nil.

Last week I published an account of the shocking McCain/POW scandal uncovered by the late Sydney Schanberg. Despite his stellar journalistic reputation and the mountain of evidence he had accumulated, his findings were totally ignored by the entire media, including by the Times, where he himself had previously served as one of the top editors. This notion of a story being too big or too dangerous for the media to cover certainly applies to the origins of the Covid epidemic.

Furthermore, the strategies used to suppress challenges to establishmentarian dogma may have grown much more sophisticated and effective. A couple of weeks ago I discussed this possibility in the aftermath of the Alex Jones trial, suggesting that techniques of “cognitive infiltration” may have been deployed against alternative organizations and activists, diverting them into blind alleys that dissipate their energies and severely damage their public credibility:

American Pravda: Alex Jones, Cass Sunstein, and “Cognitive Infiltration”
Ron Unz • The Unz Review • August 8, 2022 • 5,400 Words

I speculated that the huge, sudden rise of a massive anti-vaxxing movement in America might be an example of this. A couple of years ago, vaccine issues were almost invisible, but soon after questions arose regarding the true origins of the Covid virus, the vaccination controversy moved to the absolute center stage of American public life, completely dominating the thoughts of most of those willing to challenge official orthodoxy on any other matter.

As a result, I suspect that a thousand times as much time and effort has recently been devoted to debating the safety and efficacy of Covid vaccines than to investigating the true origins of the disease that made them necessary. And individuals or organizations who proclaim their fear that Bill Gates is the architect of a diabolical plot to exterminate most of the human race are hardly likely to be taken seriously by credible journalists or academics on any other matters.

The difficult year or two of lockdown conditions under which so many Americans had suffered fostered the social isolation that naturally allowed even the most fantastical ideas to take root among the fearful. Such an environment would have been ideal for the successful promotion across the Internet of debilitating nonsense promoted by organized propaganda-operatives.

Thus, since early 2020, the likely reality of an event of monumental historical importance—the unauthorized release of a military bioweapon that has killed so many millions worldwide—has been successfully suppressed within America and the rest of the West. In the past, other dramatic events such as the JFK assassination and the 9/11 attacks quickly sparked large-scale movements of citizen-activism challenging the questionable official narrative, but there currently exists no similar “Covid Truth Movement.”

Despite this unfortunate situation, there are some signs of hope, indications of a few embers that might eventually burst into flame.

First, growing coverage in the Russian, Iranian, and Chinese media may help pierce the wall of silence maintained by Western outlets, especially because the latter have become so severely discredited by their extremely skewed coverage of the conflict in Ukraine and the confrontation over Taiwan. At the very least, alternative journalists may finally gain the necessary courage to begin seriously exploring the origins of Covid.

In addition, Jeffrey Sachs, an extremely senior figure in the mainstream Covid firmament, has seemingly become willing to break the conspiracy of silence and raise issues that have been suppressed for more than two years. Although media outlets have scrupulously avoided publishing his statements, his public stature raises the possibility of successfully circumventing such gatekeepers.

Meanwhile, the facts are still out there. I recently reread my original April 2020 article that first raised these issues, and although more than two years have passed I found little in the text that I would wish to change.

Just days after that piece ran, our entire webzine was banned by Facebook and all our pages were deranked by Google. But although those harsh actions successfully suppressed what had been the viral spread of that article, they also underscored the potential importance of the arguments being made.

Over the next two years, I greatly expanded that first work into a lengthy series of articles, comprehensively covering the topic. Taken together, those pieces have now been viewed more than a half-million times, and the entire collection is now available both as a freely downloadable eBook and also as an Amazon paperback.

Covid/Biowarfare Series
Ron Unz • The Unz Review • April 2020-December 2021 • 60,000 Words

Even more heartening has been the growing viewership of my video presentations. Back in February, just before the outbreak of the Ukraine war diverted all attention in a different direction, I was interviewed several times by small podcasters, and these shows have attracted considerable audiences. Totaling around four hours of discussion, they have now accumulated over a million views on Rumble, with more than half of these coming during the last few weeks. Circumventing media gatekeepers is a crucial step in piercing the veil of ignorance maintained by the West’s reigning Lords of Illusion, and recognizing the reality of our global disaster.

Kevin Barrett, FFWN • February 16, 2022 • 15m

Video Link

Geopolitics & Empire • February 1, 2022 • 75m

Video Link

Red Ice TV • February 3, 2022 • 130m

Video Link

Related Reading:

The “experts” nail it again!

Guest Post by Simon Black

In March of 421 BC, after years of escalating conflict, Athens and Sparta finally decided to bury the hatchet and coexist peacefully together in the Mediterranean.

The two powers had been at odds for decades. Athens had ballooned into a regional empire, and Sparta itself was a rising power.

The two sides came to blows on multiple occasions. And even when they agreed to keep the peace in 421 BC, tensions were still high. All it took was one idiot to screw it up.

His name was Alcibiades, a Greek politician of noble birth. Alcibiades was pretty infamous in Athens; he was known for being corrupt, deceitful, disloyal, arrogant, and short-tempered.

I’m serious. There are numerous accounts from ancient historians who wrote in excruciating detail about what a terrible person Alcibiades was. Plutarch tells us, for example, about a time that Alcibiades cheated in a wrestling match by biting his opponent (to no one’s surprise) and how he mutilated his own dog.

Even poor Socrates tried, and failed, to teach Alcibiades about ethics and morality.

But despite his horrendous reputation, Alcibiades still managed to catapult himself into positions of high power… and to remain there… primarily due to his political cunning.

In fact Alcibiades was essentially the Speaker of the Athenian Assembly, with the power to dictate the day’s agenda and influence the outcome of votes.

Alcibiades was so powerful that, during the summer of 418 BC, he decided (without any approval from the government) to pay a visit to the Peloponnese in southern Greece– territory that was claimed by Sparta.

There was absolutely zero upside in Alcibiades doing this. It was just a big circus act for him to show off his power and prestige. He didn’t care if Sparta would be outraged, or if his actions had consequences for Athens. All that mattered to Alcibiades was that people were talking about him.

Naturally his actions did have consequences.

Smaller city-states in the Peloponnese were emboldened by Alcibiades’ trip to the region, so they forged a fledgling alliance and attempted to seize a strategic settlement located at Sparta’s southern border.

With their border security threatened, Sparta sent an army to push away the invaders; the resulting battle was a massive victory for Sparta and a huge embarrassment for Athens. But Alcibiades blamed one of his political opponents for the defeat, so he never took the fall for his own mistake.

The conflict quickly escalated further, and soon Athens and Sparta were once again in a full-blown war with each other– one that Athens would ultimately lose to its rival.

I’m writing this, of course, at a time when US Speaker Nancy Pelosi has just touched down in Taiwan.

But she’s not stupid. She knows there are consequences. The Chinese have made it very clear that they do not want Pelosi going to Taiwan. Tensions are already high between the US and China, and this trip certainly won’t help.

Now, obviously it’s not up to China to dictate US policy or actions. But like Alcibiades’ trip to the Peloponnese in 418 BC, there is absolutely zero benefit in Pelosi going to Taiwan.

The US economy is in a tailspin. Parents can’t find baby formula for their infants. Inflation is raging. People are suffering.

What exactly does this woman hope to achieve? Will her visit to Taiwan somehow make inflation miraculously retreat? Will baby formula suddenly appear on the shelves?

Of course not. So if there’s no benefit for Americans, then why go at all?

On the flip side, the trip does present a number of risks. China doesn’t want to look weak, and whatever retaliatory action they take probably won’t be positive for the US.

China’s initial response has been predictably swift. They’ve already kicked off live-fire military exercises, i.e. real weapons and munitions, and have essentially encircled Taiwan by sea. Apparently these military exercises will include missile tests off Taiwan’s east coast.

The US, meanwhile, has positioned at least two naval vessels and several fighter jets close to Taiwan’s east coast, increasing the potential for conflict, or even just an accident.

Hopefully nothing catastrophic happens. But, again, what exactly is the point of this trip? It’s all risk and no reward… just so that Pelosi can showboat in front of the cameras before her retirement next year.

You’d think that someone with decades of political experience– an ‘expert’ in international diplomacy– would understand such a simple reality, and then rationally choose the course of action which will benefit her country the most. But that’s a laughable proposition.

Pelosi has a multi-decade track record of deceit, disloyalty, cowardice, and arrogance. She’s even despised by prominent members of her own party.

Ironically, the only reason Pelosi even has a job is because a mere 73,815 voters in the San Francsico Bay area chose to send her to Congress. That’s a tiny fraction of the US population in a tiny corner of the country.

Seriously, more people voted to elect the mayor of Denver, Colorado than voted for Nancy Pelosi. Yet somehow Pelosi has enormous power and influence in global politics.

Something is clearly wrong with this system that produces such bizarre, lopsided outcomes from serially corrupt and incompetent candidates.

Pelosi is just one of countless examples– a #mefirst, self-centered hypocrite who has become the modern day Alcibiades.

And she’ll most likely go down in history with a similar reputation as he did.

Kindness

“I just went to buy a Samsung washer and dryer from a guy that was asking $500. I told him that I just had a baby and asked if he could take $400, that I would be really grateful. When I got home and hooked everything up, they both worked great. I opened up the dryer to check the lint filter and was shocked to find my $400 in there. I got a message from him saying ‘check the dryer, a gift for the new baby’. Man words can not describe how grateful I am right now.

I feel so blessed right now I felt I had to share, big shout out to the man David! Thank you so much!” – Chris Blaze

Kindness makes the world a kinder place.

Insane hyperbole and nonsensical narratives flood the airwaves as the United States crumble into dust

Stupid is as stupid does. Eh?

It’s hard to believe that the United States has become such an insane, dick-head government, and as they continue to poke Russia and China, their long-term survival potential is decreasing at an exponential rate. They have a death wish, and they are oblivious as to how much anger they are generating.

AGAIN! U.S. Sends ANOTHER Congressional Delegation on Military Plane to Taiwan

World Hal Turner 14 August 2022

The United States has once again publicly stuck its finger in the eye of China by sending another Congressional Delegation aboard a military aircraft, directly to Taiwan.

Senator Ed Markey (D-MA), Representative John Garamendi (D-CA), Representative Alan Lowenthal (D-CA), Representative Don Beyer (D-VA), Territorial Delegate Amata (R- American Samoa) flew into Taiwan on a U.S. Air Force Boeing C-40C, Call Sign “SPAR11” and landed at 8:04 AM Taiwan local time Sunday.

I actually met Amata when I was working building a hospital in Pago Pago, American Samoa. Nice enough; I guess.  -MM

Taiwan Vice Minister Yui “extended the warmest of welcomes to Taiwan’s longstanding friend Sen. Markey & his cross-party delegation comprising Rep. Garamendi, Rep. Lowenthal, Rep. Don Beyer & Rep. Amata.”

The vice Minister went on to say “We thank the like-minded US lawmakers for the timely visit & unwavering support.”

It is not yet known why these members of Congress chose to fly to Taiwan, especially since the issue is clearly sensitive to Beijing, other than to intentionally antagonize Beijing.

Hi MM,

Our Chinese.news just reported the news, but did not say too much. 

Our government does not care too much to these little guys game. 

Our china is just following our own stratagem. 

-<redacted name>

French parliamentary group to visit Taiwan; 3rd visit in 10 months – Focus Taiwan

Taipei, June 7 (CNA) French lawmakers will be visiting Taiwan for a third time in 10 months when a group of five French senators arrives Wednesday on a six-day trip, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs (MOFA) said Tuesday.

The delegation, led by Joël Guerriau, vice chairman of the French Senate’s Taiwan Friendship Group and vice chairman of the Senate Committee on Foreign Affairs, Defense and the Armed Forces, will meet with President Tsai Ing-wen (蔡英文) and other top officials during its stay, MOFA said in a press release.

The other members of the delegation will be senators Vincent Eble, Sylvie Goy-Chavent, Dany Wattebled and Ludovic Haye, it said.

The lawmakers will exchange views with Taiwanese officials on global and regional security issues, technology innovation, and industry supply chains, MOFA said.

This will be Guerriau’s second trip to Taiwan after a visit in 2018, according to MOFA, which noted that the Taiwan-friendly senator has initiated a number of pro-Taiwan bills in the French Senate.

One bill co-sponsored by Guerriau, a resolution adopted by the Senate in May 2021 backing Taiwan’s international participation, was the first pro-Taiwan bill passed by the French legislative body.

His delegation’s visit follows trips by two other French parliamentarian groups in the past year.

Alain Richard, head of the French Senate’s Taiwan Friendship Group who was the country’s defense minister from 1997 to 2002, and other lawmakers visited Taiwan in October 2021, and a six-member French National Assembly delegation came to Taiwan in December 2021.

MOFA said the frequent visits by representatives from both chambers of the French parliament demonstrated the friendly bonds between the two countries.

.
From HERE

The Second Coming of the Heartland

Pepe Escobar

August 13, 2022

It’s tempting to visualize the overwhelming collective West debacle as a rocket, faster than free fall, plunging into the black void maelstrom of complete socio-political breakdown.

It’s tempting to visualize the overwhelming collective West debacle as a rocket, faster than free fall, plunging into the black void maelstrom of complete socio-political breakdown.

The End of (Their) History turns out to be a fast-forward historical process bearing staggering ramifications: way more profound than mere self-appointed “elites” – via their messenger boys/girls – dictating a Dystopia engineered by austerity and financialization: what they chose to brand as a Great Reset and then, major fail intervening, The Great Narrative.

Financialization of everything means total marketization of Life itself. In his latest book, No-Cosas: Quiebras del Mundo de Hoy (in Spanish, no English translation yet), the foremost German contemporary philosopher (Byung-Chul Han, who happens to be Korean), analyzes how Information Capitalism, unlike industrial capitalism, converts also the immaterial into merchandise: “Life itself acquires the form of merchandise (…) the difference between culture and commerce disappears. Institutions of culture are presented as profitable brands.”

The most toxic consequence is that “total commercialization and mercantilization of culture had the effect of destroying the community (…) Community as merchandise is the end of community.”

China’s foreign policy under Xi Jinping proposes the idea of a community of shared future for mankind, essentially a geopolitical and geoeconomic project. Yet China still has not amassed enough soft power to translate that culturally, and seduce vast swathes of the world into it: that especially concerns the West, for which Chinese culture, history and philosophies are virtually incomprehensible.

In Inner Asia, where I am now, a revived glorious past may offer other instances of “shared community”. A glittering example is the Shaki Zinda necropolis in Samarkand.

Afrasiab – the ancient settlement, pre-Samarkand – had been destroyed by the Genghis Khan hordes in 1221. The only building that was preserved was the city’s main shrine: Shaki Zinda.

Much later, in the mid-15^th century, star astronomer Ulugh Beg, himself the grandson of Turkic-Mongol “Conqueror of the World” Timur, unleashed no less than a Cultural Renaissance: he summoned architects and craftsmen from all corners of the Timurid empire and the Islamic world to work into what became a de facto creative artistic lab.

The Avenue of 44 Tombs at Shaki Zinda represents the masters of different schools harmoniously creating a unique synthesis of styles in Islamic architecture.

The most remarkable décor at Shaki Zinda are stalactites, hung in clusters in the upper parts of portal niches. An early 18^th century traveler described them as “magnificent stalactites, hanging like stars above the mausoleum, make it clear about the eternity of the sky and our frailty.” Stalactites in the 15^th century were called “muqarnas”: that means, figuratively, “starry sky”.

The Sheltering (Community) Sky

The Shaki Zinda complex is now at the center of a willful push by the Uzbekistan government to restore Samarkand to its former glory. The centerpiece, trans-historical concepts are “harmony” and “community” – and that reaches way beyond Islam.

As a sharp contrast, the inestimable Alastair Crooke has illustrated the death of Eurocentrism alluding to Lewis Carroll and Yeats: only through the looking glass we can see the full contours of the tawdry spectacle of narcissistic self-obsession and self-justification offered by “the worst”, still so “full of passionate intensity”, as depicted by Yeats.

And yet, unlike Yeats, the best now do not “lack all conviction”. They may be few, ostracized by cancel culture, but they do see the “rough beast, its hour come out at last, slouching towards…” Brussels (not Jerusalem) “to be born”.

This unelected gaggle of insufferable mediocrities – from von der Leyden and Borrell to that piece of Norwegian wood Stoltenberg – may dream they live in the pre-1914 era, when Europe was at the political center. Yet now not only “the center cannot hold” (Yeats) but Eurocrat-infested Europe has been definitely engulfed by the maelstrom, an irrelevant political backwater seriously flirting with reversion to 12^th century status.

The physical aspects of the Fall – austerity, inflation, no hot showers, freezing to death to support neo-Nazis in Kiev – has been preceded, and no Christianized imagery need apply, by the fires of sulphur and brimstone of a Spiritual Fall. The transatlantic masters of those parrots posing as “elites” could never come up with any idea to sell to the Global South centered on harmony and much less “community”.

What they sell, via their Unanimous Narrative, actually their take on “We Are the World”, is variations of “you will own nothing and be happy”. Worse: you will have to pay for it – dearly. And you have no right to dream of any transcendence – irrespective if you’re a follower of Rumi, the Tao, shamanism or Prophet Muhammad.

The most visible shock troops of this reductionist Western neo-nihilism – obscured by the fog of “equality”, “human rights” and “democracy” – are the thugs being swiftly denazified in Ukraine, sporting their tattoos and pentagrams.

The dawn of a new Enlightenment

The Collective West Self-Justification Show staged to obliterate its ritualized suicide offers no hint of transcending sacrifice implied in a ceremonial seppuku. All they do is to wallow in the adamant refusal to admit they could be seriously mistaken.

How would anyone dare to deride the set of “values” derived from the Enlightenment? If you don’t prostrate yourself in front of this glittering cultural altar, you’re just a barbarian set to be slandered, law-fared, canceled, persecuted, sanctioned and – HIMARS to the rescue – bombed.

We still do not have a post-Tik Tok Tintoretto to depict the collective West’s multi-wallowing in Dante-esque chambers of pop Hell. What we do have, and must endure, day after day, is the kinetic battle between their “Great Narrative”, or narratives, and pure and simple reality. Their obsession with the need for virtual reality to always “win” is pathological: after all the only activity they excel in is manufacturing fake reality. Such a pity that Baudrillard and Umberto Eco are not among us anymore to unmask their tawdry shenanigans.

Does that make any difference across vast swathes of Eurasia? Of course not. We just need to keep up with the dizzying succession of bilateral meetings, deals, and progressive interaction of BRI, SCO, EAEU, BRICS+ and other multilateral organizations to get a glimpse of how the new world-system is being configured.

In Samarkand, surrounded by mesmerizing instances of Timurid art coupled with a development boom that brings to mind the East Asian miracle of the early 1990s, it’s plain to see how the heart of the Heartland is back with a vengeance – and is bound to dispatch the pleonexia-afflicted West to the swamp of Irrelevancy.

I leave you with a psychedelic sunset facing the Registan, at the razor’s edge of a new sort of Enlightenment that is leading the Heartland towards a reality-based version of Shangri-La, privileging harmony, tolerance and most of all, the sense of community.

Winky

Just two days after we got our new puppy from the breeder, my MIL (visiting for a few days)was taking him and her two dogs for a morning walk. A small kitten decided to follow them back to our house. A closer look revealed that he was sneezing, wheezing, and had a swollen eye. Not wanting to bring a sick cat into the house (and knowing that my husband is very allergic to cats), she left him outside. We asked around the neighborhood, but no one knew of anyone who had lost a kitten.

That little kitten camped out on our door mat on our porch while we discussed what to do with him. We couldn’t keep him, so MIL and I set out to bring him to a shelter. We went to the nearest shelter a few towns over. They asked us where we found him, and we told them our town. The shelter would not accept an animal that came from another town!

So we looked up another shelter and started heading there. This time we told them we found him right around the block from them. But they made it clear they couldn’t care for a sick animal- if they took him, he would be put down.

At that point we decided to just find a vet that could help him, as he was pretty sick. After a few failed attempts, we found one that would let us bring him in right away. He had a bad upper respiratory infection as well as an eye infection, and would need meds multiple times a day.

So I took him home. I set him up in the basement, away from everyone else, and promised my husband it was temporary- just until he was healthy and I could find him a home.

That was 11 years ago, and Winky is still with us, and is a member of our family. In fact as I write this, he is cuddled up on my lap.

My husband went through many months of allergy shots several times a week, not because I asked him to, he just saw that I had bonded with the cat and wouldn’t want to give him up.

So the sick cat we found fully recovered and became our much loved pet. A happy ending for all of us.

Here are a couple of recent pictures of Winky. As you can see, his eye healed up just fine. He was a sweet boy when we found him, and he is still just as sweet.

The US could lose up to 900 warplanes fighting a Chinese invasion of Taiwan but would emerge victorious, says think tank

The Washington-based think tank, the Center for Strategic and International Studies, has been conducting war games to imagine how such a conflict would play out.

"The good news is that at the end of all the iterations so far, there is an autonomous Taiwan," Mark Cancian, a senior adviser at the Center for Strategic and International Studies, told Insider.

"The United States and Taiwan are generally successful in keeping the island out of Chinese occupation, but the price of that is very high – losses of hundreds of aircraft, aircraft carriers, and terrible devastation to the Taiwanese economy and also to the Chinese navy and air force."

LOL.

These folk are delirious. And what’s more, they actually BELIEVE that American cities will not be targeted by China. Ha ha ha ha ha!

Article HERE

Anthropologist Margaret Mead

“Years ago, anthropologist Margaret Mead was asked by a student what she considered to be the first sign of civilization in a culture. The student expected Mead to talk about fishhooks or clay pots or grinding stones.

But no. Mead said that the first sign of civilization in an ancient culture was a femur (thighbone) that had been broken and then healed. Mead explained that in the animal kingdom, if you break your leg, you die. You cannot run from danger, get to the river for a drink or hunt for food. You are meat for prowling beasts. No animal survives a broken leg long enough for the bone to heal.

A broken femur that has healed is evidence that someone has taken time to stay with the one who fell, has bound up the wound, has carried the person to safety and has tended the person through recovery. Helping someone else through difficulty is where civilization starts, Mead said.

We are at our best when we serve others.”

…

Meanwhile in the United States…

August 14, 2022

By Caitlin JOHNSTONE

In a new interview with The Wall Street Journal, immortal Hague fugitive Henry Kissinger says the US is acting in a crazy and irrational way that has brought it to the edge of war with Russia and China:

Mr. Kissinger sees today’s world as verging on a dangerous disequilibrium. “We are at the edge of war with Russia and China on issues which we partly created, without any concept of how this is going to end or what it’s supposed to lead to,” he says. Could the U.S. manage the two adversaries by triangulating between them, as during the Nixon years? He offers no simple prescription. “You can’t just now say we’re going to split them off and turn them against each other. All you can do is not to accelerate the tensions and to create options, and for that you have to have some purpose.”

On the question of Taiwan, Mr. Kissinger worries that the U.S. and China are maneuvering toward a crisis, and he counsels steadiness on Washington’s part. “The policy that was carried out by both parties has produced and allowed the progress of Taiwan into an autonomous democratic entity and has preserved peace between China and the U.S. for 50 years,” he says. “One should be very careful, therefore, in measures that seem to change the basic structure.”

Mr. Kissinger courted controversy earlier this year by suggesting that incautious policies on the part of the U.S. and NATO may have touched off the crisis in Ukraine. He sees no choice but to take Vladimir Putin’s stated security concerns seriously and believes that it was a mistake for NATO to signal to Ukraine that it might eventually join the alliance: “I thought that Poland — all the traditional Western countries that have been part of Western history — were logical members of NATO,” he says. But Ukraine, in his view, is a collection of territories once appended to Russia, which Russians see as their own, even though “some Ukrainians” do not. Stability would be better served by its acting as a buffer between Russia and the West: “I was in favor of the full independence of Ukraine, but I thought its best role was something like Finland.”

https://t.co/mytxSajU6Q

I don’t know about you, but to me this warning is much, much more ominous coming from a bloodsoaked swamp monster than it would be from some anti-imperialist peace activist who was speaking from outside the belly of the imperial machine. This man is a literal war criminal who, as a leading empire manager, helped to unleash unfathomable horrors all around the world the consequences of which are still being felt today.

And as far as you can tell from his own comments, he remains completely unreformed.

“Looking back over his long and often controversial career, however, he is not given to self-criticism,” The Wall Street Journal’s Laura Secor writes.

“I do not torture myself with things we might have done differently,” Kissinger tells her.

So Kissinger remains an unapologetic warmongering psychopath. But if he hasn’t changed as a person, what has? Why is he now cautioning against US aggression and warning that the empire has taken things too far?

Well, if Kissinger hasn’t changed, we can only surmise that it is the US empire itself that has changed. Its behavior is now so insane and illogical that it is making a 99 year-old Henry Kissinger nervous.

Which, if you really think about it, is one of the scariest things you could possibly imagine.

The empire’s departure from the Henry Kissinger iteration of murderous madness to its new form of insanity appears to have begun around the turn of the century, when the influx of neoconservatives into the White House combined with the jingoism which followed 9/11 to usher in an era of interventionism and military expansionism of such brazenness and recklessness that many from the old guard balked.

Kissinger was supportive of the 2003 Iraq invasion, but well before it began he was already saying that he had serious misgivings about the lack of clear thinking and forward planning he was seeing on that front. The neoconservative goal of US planetary hegemony at any cost which led to that invasion (and the planning of many more) has since become the mainstream Beltway consensus perspective on US foreign policy, and it is responsible for the escalations that Kissinger is now warning about.

“The PNAC plan envisions a strategic confrontation with China, and a still greater permanent military presence in every corner of the world,” wrote Michael Parenti in his 2004 book Superpatriotism. “The objective is not just power for its own sake but power to control the world’s natural resources and markets, power to privatize and deregulate the economies of every nation in the world, and power to hoist upon the backs of peoples everywhere — including North America — the blessings of an untrammeled global ‘free market.’ The end goal is to ensure not merely the supremacy of global capitalism as such, but the supremacy of American global capitalism by preventing the emergence of any other potentially competing superpower.”

By “PNAC plan” Parenti means the plans of the neoconservatives behind the notorious Project for the New American Century think tank, whose unipolarist militaristic agendas they explicitly advocated.

Henry Kissinger is warning about the dangers of US warmongering not because he has gotten saner, but because the US war machine has gotten crazier. That we are now hurtling toward confrontations that don’t appear rational to someone who has spent the majority of his life watching the mechanics of empire from inside its inner chambers should concern us all. When you are talking about brinkmanship between major world powers, especially nuclear brinkmanship, the last thing you need is for one of the parties involved to be acting erratically and nonsensically.

We need de-escalation and detente, and we need it yesterday. If you’re too hawkish for Henry Kissinger, you’re too motherfucking hawkish.

caityjohnstone.medium.com

Banana Chocolate Chip Bread

Super amazing banana bread. Moist and tasty!

Ingredients

Directions

Step 1

Preheat oven to 325 degrees F (165 degrees C). Grease a 9×5-inch loaf pan, preferably glass.
Step 2

Mix flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt in a bowl. Stir bananas, milk, and cinnamon in another bowl. Beat butter and sugar in a third bowl until light and fluffy. Add eggs to butter mixture, one at a time, beating well after each addition. Stir banana mixture into butter mixture. Stir in dry mixture until blended. Fold in chocolate chips until just combined. Pour batter into prepared loaf pan.
Step 3

Bake in the preheated oven until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean, about 70 minutes. Cool in the pan for 10 minutes before removing to cool completely on a wire rack before slicing.

People Are Going To Go Absolutely Insane When Food Prices Double Or Triple From Current Levels

August 14, 2022 by Michael

If you think that people are getting pretty crazy now, just wait until the cost of food skyrockets to levels that hardly anyone ever anticipated. Most people don’t realize this, but to a very large degree we are still eating the food that was grown in 2021. Unfortunately for all of us, far less food is being grown in 2022 than originally projected, and that is going to cause immense global stress in 2023. Nightmarish droughts are absolutely devastating crops in the United States and Europe, the major war that is happening on the other side of the globe is greatly restricting the flow of agricultural goods from Ukraine, and the fact that some fertilizers have now more than quadrupled in price is deeply affecting farmers all over the planet. In 2023, there is going to be a lot less food to go around, and we are all going to pay a lot more for it. Needless to say, this is not good news.

Of course the cost of living has already gotten completely out of control. According to Zero Hedge, the median rent in the United States has now surpassed $2,000 a month for the very first time…

The cost of rent in the U.S. is moving higher at the highest pace in three decades, the report notes, blowing past a median of $2,000 per month for the first time ever. Rents are now above where they were prior to the pandemic in most major cities.

Areas just outside cities, which saw a large influx of new renters during the pandemic, have seen their rents rise disproportionately higher. People returning to large cities, post-pandemic, have also not helped prices cool off.

Who can afford to pay $2,000 a month for rent?

According to the Social Security Administration, the median yearly income for U.S. workers in 2020 was just $34,612.04.

No wonder most families need to have more than one income just to survive these days.

This is what I mean when I say that our standard of living is being systematically destroyed.

Many people have to work as hard as they possibly can just to pay the bills each month.

Yes, the top 10 percent are still doing well, but the vast majority of the country is really struggling.

And that is why the soaring price of food is such a big deal right now. The latest numbers that we just got from the government tell us that the cost of “food at home” has been rising at the fastest rate since 1979…

The food-at-home index, which represents food purchased in places like grocery stores for consumption at home, jumped by an annual 13.1 percent, which is the fastest pace since March 1979.

“Consumers are getting a break at the gas pump, but not at the grocery store,” Bankrate Chief Financial Analyst Greg McBride told The Epoch Times in an emailed statement. “Food prices, and especially costs for food at home, continue to soar, rising at the fastest pace in more than 43 years.”

But the truth is that we haven’t seen anything yet.

What we see at the grocery store right now is largely a reflection of what happened last year.

Let me give you an example that illustrates what I am talking about.

In the last few days, the mainstream media has been buzzing about the fact that there is now a potato shortage in Idaho. But what most people don’t realize is that this shortage was caused by a tremendous heat wave that happened last summer…

Idaho has a potato shortage. If you haven’t heard about it already or noticed fewer and fewer potatoes in your grocery store’s produce section, you will soon.

So, what’s the problem? The weather. Not this year’s weather, mind you. It’s the weather from over a year ago that’s to blame.

“I’m not sure if you remember last June, but we had some just unbelievably hot temperatures here in Idaho. It did a number on our potato crop,” said Jamey Higham, president and CEO of the Idaho Potato Commission. “And so, our yields were significantly down last year.”

So did you catch that?

A bad harvest in 2021 is now being felt in the latter stages of 2022.

Looking ahead, what our farmers are experiencing right now will be felt very keenly in 2023.

For example, it is being reported that the price of some fertilizers has now more than quadrupled…

“Last year [fertilizer] was around $270 per ton and now it’s over $1,400 per ton,” Meagan Kaiser, of Kaiser Family Farms and farmer-director of the United Soybean Board, told NBC’s “Nightly News with Lester Holt.”

“It’s scary. It turns my stomach a little bit to think about the amount of risk that our family farm is taking right now.”

Farmers are finding themselves forced to pass some of those costs along to customers, resulting in higher grocery prices.

When those cost increases get passed along to us in 2023, a lot of people are going to be screaming bloody murder.

But at least we will have food to eat. On the other side of the globe, there simply will not be enough food for everyone.

For years, I have been trying to explain that global famines would inevitably be coming, but I still don’t think that it is sinking in for many people out there.

And of course famine is just one of the elements of “the perfect storm” that we are now facing. Recently, Egon von Greyerz listed some of the other major elements…

Debts at levels that can never be repaid – sovereign, corporate & private
Epic global bubbles in stocks, bonds & property – all about to collapse
Major geopolitical conflicts with no desire for peace – major wars likely
Energy imbalances and shortages, most self inflicted
Food shortages leading to major famine and civil unrest
Inflation, leading to hyperinflation & global poverty

We have got a giant mess on our hands.

And conditions are going to get worse and worse and worse in the months ahead.

As things deteriorate, a lot of people out there are going to go completely nuts.

In fact, a lot of people are already going completely nuts. Let me give you an example that just happened…

An unidentified man reportedly set his car on fire by driving into a U.S. Capitol barricade early Sunday morning. He then got out of his car and began firing a weapon indiscriminately before shooting himself, police say.

U.S. Capitol police say officers immediately responded when they heard the sound of gunfire at roughly 4 a.m. There were no reported injuries aside from the driver.

The only reason you would do something like that is if you have lost all hope.

And in the months and years ahead, much of the general population will lose all hope.

Let us endeavor to be beacons of hope, because hope will be greatly needed during the times that are in front of us.

Unterföhring, Germany

June 13, 2017
Unterföhring, Germany

Many uniquely German things show themselves during this sequence.

My wife and I were on the S8 train to the Münchener Flughafen for our flight back home after a 20 Day vacation in Germany and Austria.
The first German thing that struck me that the kind gentleman, Mr. Klaus, we were staying with in his AirBnB, forced us to leave at 8 AM for a 11 30 AM flight. He was almost offended when I said its too early.
In Germany, it’s never too early.

The second “Only in Germany” moment came when the train reached Unterföhring and all of us heard 5 sickening Gunshots. There was 1 gunshot and then there were 4. It took the whole train full of people a few seconds to realize that those were Gunshots! And at one moment, the WHOLE train drooped to the floor and tucked their heads in.
In one unified moment, no one dropped to the floor sooner neither later.

And then there was silence.
Punctuated rarely by faint sobs, utter and complete Silence.

The sheer German discipline jolted 200 people into evasive positions.

A few minutes later, I along with many others peeped out of the window to see a man lying down in small pool of blood and the Polizei running to the floor above us.

In a matter of 7 minutes, the next German thing happened where 10 Cops manned the train doors and everyone emptied the train in a matter of seconds.
We climbed 1 floor above the station exit and saw almost 50 Polizei Cars and a Helicopter in the Air.

And then it happened!!
All the cellphones of all the people beeped in unison. A text message from the Federal Government stating “Not a terrorist attack. Stay Calm. The accused has been captured.”(Was in German, I couldn’t take a screenshot.)

So up until now, the Germans have had 7 minutes in which 2 people die, Suspect is shot in the leg and captured, 50 Police cars have shown up, close to 200–300 people have evacuated a train and the Government has informed everyone in the city!

It was not over yet for the stranded tourists/business fliers though.
The police started combing the area and the locals had started booking Uber for the ride to the airport. The tourists were slow to realize this and soon Uber Cabs turned to ‘nicht verfügbar’(not available).
Panic started building up and then the most strikingly German thing to me happened. People in the area came out of their houses with their cars and offered everyone free rides to the Airport. 100s of Cars came rushing in and started clearing the area off worried travellers.

As you can see I took some pictures, I missed a whole wave of good Samaritans while doing so. I looked back on the road and I see 95% of the people gone. My wife by now, got a grip on the situation and realized that the flight is in 90 minutes and I have missed the chance to get dropped to the airport.

Oh was she fuming like a raging bull.

I asked a bystander, how far is the Airport from here and can we walk it down?
He laughed first. Then said “It’s 27 KMs from here, my friend. If you have your flight in 5 Hours and 37 minutes, Yes you can walk it up.”
I said “No, its in 87 minutes now. And my wife is fuming at me there.”
He immediately said “I am waiting for my colleague to pick me up. You can come with us, we will drop you to the airport!”

The colleague arrived and we jumped into the back of the car. She drove in the Most German way possible : DISCIPLINED and FAST.

We made small talk and I offered money in return of the favour, when we are about to reach the airport, and they vehemently refused. He said “Nie. Niemals”(Never. Never Ever.)

They dropped us to the airport and we exchanged contact details. They were getting late for work, so couldn’t get a picture. 🙁

In the next 10 minutes, I got the below mail from him :

“Dear Adwit

Hope You got your flight and you are safe back home.
Don’t mix this last impressions from Munich with the overall experience in Europe.

It’s a Beautiful and good Country.

Cheers
…….”

What is patriotism you ask? This image is your answer.

Finally, we got our boarding cards and called the AirBnB gentleman Mr. Klaus just to inform him that we are safe. And he said the most German thing my wife has ever heard

“I told you to leave early. Didn’t I?”

Details on the train station shooting : Munich shooting: Policewoman shot in head as two bystanders also injured

Boo

This is Boo. I scooped him up out of the middle of the road on August 18, 2016. At first I thought he was dead. He was a lifeless bump on the blacktop and I thought he was just part of the early evening shadows. As I got closer, I noticed that the dark spot was a hurt kitten.

We were unable to find any big noticeable Injuries, but we did find a small bit of blood on his cheek and his forehead area looked puffy. My son stayed near Boo through the night and made sure he had water with an eye dropper.

I took him to the vet the next day, but the vet was not very optimistic. After keeping Boo overnight, the vet concluded that he was not hit by a car as we originally suspected.

The vet believed that Boo was purposefully hit or kicked in the head. He didn’t give Boo much chance for survival, but wanted to see if his tech could get the injured kitten to eat before we made any rash decisions. Boo was surprisingly able to swallow food from an eye dropper, so we brought him home and hoped for the best.

The first few days were rough, but after 4 or 5 days of constant care he was able to stand on his own and take a few wobbly steps.

Four years later, Boo is still with us and brings smiles to our faces each day. He has some permanent brain damage which prevents him from seeing perfectly and he has trouble with motor skills, but he gets by just fine.

Every night when I call his name he comes running to my bed where he climbs up with the help of a stool (he can’t jump very high) and waits to be brushed, because he has trouble grooming himself. Boo is our beautiful boy.

This is what Boo looks like now. He loves sun bathing in the atrium.

Matthew Ehret

August 14, 2022

It isn’t often that a generation lives through a systemic breakdown crisis.

It isn’t often that a generation lives through a systemic breakdown crisis. While many shallower minds are quick to lay blame to the cause of their troubles on a convenient scapegoat (1), the fact is that these sorts of systemic collapses take time and the root causes are to be found in something both more universal and more subjective.

Many generations of bad ideas must be embraced without self-criticism or correction before a foolish society unwilling to break from popular delusions faces the consequence of their folly. Machiavelli once noted in his Discourses on Livy (investigating the causes of the decay and collapse of Rome published in 1517 AD) that unless a wayward republic returns to its founding principles, it isn’t long for this world.

Such was the world of the late 4^th century when a young Manichean teacher of Rhetoric hailing from North Africa had decided to convert to the new religion of Christianity in 386 AD under the influence of a powerful church leader named St Ambrose (340-397 AD).

A World on the Brink of Collapse

Even though Christianity had been adopted as a state-supported religion in 381 AD, old habits die hard, and just as the Roman elite often simply adapted their pagan rites and rituals into new Christian wineskins, the lessons of Christ were not necessarily high priorities even for many of the Roman converts within the general population who valued personal comfort and stability over the higher message of loving God and loving your fellow man as you love yourself outlined by Christ.

What made this more complicated is that Rome had over-extended itself several times over and had little capability to maintain its international concessions with a capital that had long found itself addicted to ever greater spoils of pillage and slave labor from the subdued peoples of the world. The governing class, military leaders and administrative managers had all glutted themselves in a corrupt system of governance which had grown fat with lethargy and arrogance over the centuries.

Amidst this decay, a growing armada of organized Germanic forces among the Goths, Huns and Visigoths were growing in influence pressing ever harder on Rome’s borders. With the death of Theodosius in 395 AD, any remnant of stabilizing influence in the Roman empire had disappeared, and the disorganized, undisciplined forces of Rome became increasingly incapable of organizing any resistance to the growing assaults of Alaric (leader of the Visigoths). After Theodosius died, Rome was divided into Eastern and Western segments with the west the least manageable.

By 410 AD, the walls of the capital were breached for the first time in history and the first sacking of Rome occurred with a ferocity that none had imagined possible.

From the moment of his conversion to his final breath, Augustine’s leadership skills, mastery of the Platonic method and power of rhetoric made him an organic leader within a beleaguered Church. Not only was Rome in an existential crisis on a geopolitical level, but the very church itself had faced an internal rot with splintered heresies breaking away as cults and sub-cults, each declaring themselves the one true heir to Christ’s mission.

After the first sacking of Rome in 410 AD, things were looking rather bleak and the desperate population was looking for a scapegoat to absorb their hate.

Were the gods punishing the people for having abandoned them when Rome stopped trying to wipe Christianity off the map and instead chose to embrace it as the official state religion? Augustine found himself doing battle with this trend and the City of God was his defense of Christianity which he began in 412 AD and finished in 426 AD. Its lessons have as much application in diagnosing today’s systemic crisis as they did 1600 years ago.

Augustine’s Defense of Christianity

In the City of God, Augustine described how the mob of Rome was quickly turning on the Christians in the following remarks: “Rome having been stormed and sacked by the Goths under Alaric their king, the worshipers of false gods, or pagans, as we commonly call them, made an attempt to attribute this calamity to the Christian religion, and began to blaspheme the true God with even more than their wonted bitterness and acerbity. It was this which kindled my zeal for the house of God and prompted me to undertake the defence of the City of God against the charges and misrepresentations of its assailants.”

Within the City of God, Augustine argues that it isn’t Christianity that is to blame for the collapse of Rome, but rather Rome itself which had fallen from obedience to Natural Law upon whose adherence the survival of societies absolutely depends. While God allows for a certain degree of flexibility to his wayward children who fall into corruption- patience is not infinite and the disobedience to Natural law devoid of redemption can only be tolerated for so long.

Citing Cicero (106 – 43 BC), Augustine’s insight into the true causes of Rome’s downfall hinged on the positive conception of a healthy society which is in harmony with the mandate of the ideal City of God. This is a society which has wisely rejected the law of “might makes right” of empire.

In the case of Rome, Augustine makes the point that the seeds of her own destruction were sewn long before the birth of Christ.

Even before the debauched revelries normalized under the oversight of the Roman imperial cults of the Committee of 15 which interpreted the oracular gobbledygook in the Sibylline Books of Apollo, and before the hegemony of the cults of Cybele and Mithras which saw a total collapse of the minds and morals of both Roman plebians and elites alike, and before the age of bloodlust that the coliseum’s gore entailed as “popular entertainment”, Cicero perfectly diagnosed Rome’s spiritual self-destruction in his Commonwealth.

Citing Cicero, Augustine defines a healthy community saying “a community of commonwealth is not an association of units, but an association united by a common sense of right and a community of common interest”. Continuing to cite Cicero’s 64 BC opus, he writes “the morality has passed away and we are bound to be called to account for the disaster… for we retain the name of a commonwealth, but we have lost the reality long ago, and this was not through any misfortune, but our own misdemeanors”.

The key moment cited by both Cicero and Augustine that saw Rome embrace her tragic destiny was located in the events surrounding the Third Punic War of 149-146 BC.

How Rome Lost the Mandate of Heaven

The third Punic war with Carthage was a moment not unlike the choice which the American elite made to launch into the Vietnam War and the murder of Cicero was not unlike the same decision those same elite made to stay silent and coverup the truth of John Kennedy’s murder in 1963. It also saw parallels to the collapse of Athens into empire with the judicial murder of Socrates in 399 BC and her embrace of wars with the Delian league in the 5^th century BC.

It was during this war that Rome’s once loyal ally Carthage found herself the target of total destruction as Roman ships landed on the coasts of today’s Libya in 149 BC. Rome’s General Scipio Aemilianus had one mission to carry out which was immortalized in his words “Carthage delenda est”… Carthage must be destroyed.

The Carthaginians were desperate to avoid another war, and quickly offered to lay down her weapons and engage in terms of surrender. Sadly, their placation fell on deaf ears and the oligarchy managing Rome had decided that her large territories stretching across Africa, the Mediterranean and Southwest Asia had to be consolidated. After two years of war, Carthage’s capital was sieged, ending with every last man, woman and child killed or sold into slavery. The oligarchical system of families and cults which had once used Persia as their enforcer of global controls had found a new host on whom to exert their influence, and once-proud Roman republic was set there upon a new and darker destiny.

Augustine writes: “After the destruction of Carthage and before Christ’s coming, the degradation of traditional morality ceased to be a gradual decline and became a torrential rush.”

Augustine makes the point that “if the values of Christ’s teaching had been practised rather than license, Rome would be prospering. But now there is despair and even the true Christians must submit to endure the wickedness of an utterly corrupt state and by that endurance to win themselves a place of glory in that holy and majestic assembly as we call it on the Heavenly Commonwealth whose law is the Will of God”.

Here it is important to note, that Augustine is not saying that Rome needed to convert to Christianity in order to be saved, for Rome did just that, and it was not saved.

More important than simply being Christian in name, Augustine makes clear that Rome could have redeemed herself even before Christ was born by following the universal values contained in Christ’s teachings both on the individual level and the broader governmental level.

Augustine’s City of God is in many ways his attempt to do what Plato laid out in his life’s work and especially his Republic (published in 375 BC) and also what Cicero did in his Commonwealth published in 64 BC. In both cases the great philosopher/statesmen laid out their solutions to their nations’ slide into empire. All three noted that whenever societies fall into decadence which empire entails, the love of wisdom is replaced for the love of hedonism and other ephemeral pleasures. Love of the other is replaced with love of the self and considerations of the wellbeing of the whole community are reduced to the wellbeing of the individual member with power to impose their will onto the masses.

What is needed for a society to break free of the cyclical collapses which such a corrupt society is destined to face? The solution offered by Plato, Cicero and Augustine amounts to simply recognizing that government exists to advance the happiness of a people. This simple concept is much deeper than it appears.

True Happiness and the Pursuit of Philosopher Kings

Augustine writes “If Plato says that the wise man is the man who imitates, knows and loves God, and that participation in this God brings man happiness, what need is there to examine the other philosophers? There are none who come nearer to us than the Platonists… Plato defined Sovereign Good as the life in accordance with virtue and he declared that this was possible only for one who had the knowledge of God and who strove to imitate him; this was the sole condition of happiness.”

As you can see, this idea of happiness is much higher than the lowly notion of happiness among today’s popular philosophers who attempt to define the sentiment within narrow egotistical terms of “satisfying my desire to do what I want to do”. Instead, Plato, Cicero and Augustine raise the concept along with later thinkers like Thomas More and Erasmus, to a standard of spiritual pleasure contained in the pursuit, acquisition and sharing of truth (aka: wisdom).

All things are designed by God to have loves that are premised on their natures. Just as a plant yearns for water, nutritious soil and CO2 (sorry Greta), and just as a body yearns for food, water, warmth so too does the soul have its own loves towards which it yearns to be made more healthy. The absence of the loves of each thing cause pain, disease and decay for their subjects, and this is the case for the soul whose food is wisdom, without the which no durable happiness were ever attainable.

Here Augustine notes “in all cases where love is rightly bestowed, that love is itself loved even more. For we are justified in calling a man good not merely because he merely knows what is good but because he loves the Good.”

Hammering at the lessons of Paul’s 1 Corinthians 13 which emphasizes the importance of love’s substance over the mere shadows of behavior Augustine clarifies his position:

“When a man’s resolve is to love God and to love his neighbor as himself, not according to man’s standards but according to God’s, he is undoubtedly said to be a man of good will, because of this love. This attitude is more commonly called ‘caritas/agape’ in holy scripture; but it appears in the same sacred writing under the appellation ‘Love’. When the apostle is giving instructions about the choice of a man to rule God’s people, he says that such a man should be a lover of the Good… There is indeed a love which is given to what should not be loved and that love is hated in himself by one who loves the love which is given to a proper object of Love. For these can both exist in the same man and it is good for man that what makes for right living should increase in him and what makes for evil should die away until he is made perfectly sound and all his life is changed into good.”

This idea was expressed nearly a thousand years earlier at the other edge of the world island by none other than Confucius who wrote: “At 15 I set my heart on learning; At 30 I firmly took my stand; At 40 I had no delusions; At 50 I knew the Mandate of Heaven; At 60 my ear was attuned; At 70 I followed my heart’s desire without overstepping the boundaries of right.”

Even Christ’s golden rule was a focal point of Confucian thought as the old sage stated “do not unto others as you would not have them do unto you”. The Christian notion of Natural Law as outlined in Augustine’s City of God also finds its parallel expression in Chinese thought vis a vis the concept of Tianming (aka: Mandate of Heaven) whose disobedience by a ruler is sufficient cause for a people to overthrow said ruler in favor of a new government better suited to maintaining the general welfare.

Although Augustine never saw the redemption of society in his lifetime, having died in 430 AD amidst a siege held by the Vandals in the former colony of Hippo located in today’s Algeria, the infusion of Augustine’s Platonic Christian outlook provided the basis for several major renaissances in the centuries after his death.

A New Hope for Humanity

It was a young Augustinian monk named Patrick who successfully launched a major transformation of Ireland into a Christian nation as outlined in Thomas Cahill’s ‘How the Irish Saved Civilization’ and it was an Irish Augustinian missionary named Saint Columba who finally returned to mainland Europe after several generations of war, decay and famine had reduced the continent to squalor. Starting in 565 AD, St. Columba led the largest Christianizing movement far outside the clutches of the Holy See’s control in the form of the Hiberno-Scottish mission which used Scotland as a new springboard for a mass organizing campaign across all Europe.

When St. Columba arrived on the mainland in 590 AD there was very little of substance to be found within the highly fragmented world of Europe.

The entire domain of the former western Roman Empire had been ravaged by territorial warlords fighting for terrain in a similar pattern that was experienced by China during the 480 year dark age that came in the wake of the Han Dynasty’s fall in 200 AD.

Just as the rediscovery and application of Confucian principles animated the Tang Dynasty’s revival of the Silk Road and unification of the divided land in 680 AD, so too did the rediscovery of Plato via the Augustinian Christian movement then sew the seeds for the re-unification of Europe under the Frankish King Pepin the short and his son Charlemagne who ended the age of Europe’s warring states and established the Carolingian Empire. This story is covered extensively by Professor Pierre Beaudry in Charlemagne’s Ecumenical Principle.

Among the most celebrated and widely transcribed books in Charlemagne’s court were Augustine’s City of God and On Christian Education which were read to Charlemagne extensively by the grand strategist Alcuin.

Under Charlemagne, an age of internal improvements were launched the likes of which had not been seen since the days of Alexander the Great. Besides the canals, roads, schools and new cities, we also see a mass education of children, social welfare reforms, economic reforms and perhaps most importantly, peace treaties and commercial ties with the Abbasid Dynasty of Haroun al Rashid, and the northern Jewish empire of Khazaria. It was this northern kingdom that served as a key strategic gateway of the Steppes Silk Road between China and Europe.

This Confucian-Christian-Muslim-Jewish alliance set an example which the oligarchy has been desperate to scrub from humanity’s collective memory for 1300 years.

For anyone who thinks that this potential alliance only involved the western branch of Catholic Christianity, and ignored the eastern orthodox Christian movement dominant in the Byzantine eastern Roman Empire of the day, it is worth noting that after Charlemagne had made an important maneuver to avoid war with Byzantium in 801 AD by asking Empress Irene of Athens her hand in marriage.

The fact that Irene accepted the offer at this moment presents the mind of a historian with an incredible sense of the possibilities of a world united by all major civilizations under an ecumenical alliance of cooperation. Could Christianity have re-united under a policy of cooperation with both itself and with the diverse civilizations surrounding her instead of embarking upon a new age of Balkanization within and inter-civilizational wars without? Would the leading factions of the ruling Roman oligarchical families centered in Venice, Rome and Byzantium have been able to subvert such an alliance of the forces of humanity?

Sadly, with the palace coup that overthrew Irene in 802, such potentials were destroyed forever and the world will never have an answer to such questions.

From Dante to the League of Cambrai

Despite the eventual sabotage of the ecumenical alliance of great civilizations after the 10^th century, the Augustinian current of Christianity again found its champion in the form of Dante Alighieri who did much to revive St. Augustine’s thesis in his De Monarchia published in 1312 AD. Augustinian Christian leaders around Nicholas of Cusa (1401-1464 AD) organized a unification of the church during the 1438 Council of Florence (again, soon sabotaged with the 1452 destruction of Constantinople) and again Augustinian Christians regrouped and set the stage for the Golden Renaissance.

It were these same leaders who organized the 1509 League of Cambrai which nearly finished the job begun by Alexander the Great by wiping the central command of the oligarchy from the face of the earth.

Despite its eventual subversion, European philosophers continued to rise into positions of power who looked to Plato, Cicero, and Augustine as the basis of Europe’s moral salvation. It should be here noted that a perverse effort to restore Charlemagne’s empire in the form of an expansionist program of war and tyranny also grew across the centuries and justified the eventual creation of the European Union in the late 20^th Century. This nasty movement should not be confused with the genuine heirs of Charlemagne who saw the basis of their power not on might-make-right, but on the opposing idea of right-makes-might.

Among the most noteworthy of these leaders were France’s King Louis XI, England’s King Henry VII, Sir Thomas More, Erasmus of Rotterdam, King Henry IV of Navarre, Cardinal Jules Mazarin of France, Finance Minister Jean-Baptiste Colbert and the great scientist/statesman Gottfried Leibniz (1649-1716).

Leibniz’s Augustinian Vision

On top of organizing many of the greatest reforms in administration, law and science policy within both Prussia and Russia (serving as Privy Councillor to Peter the Great), Gottfried Leibniz organized to unify the splintered branches of Christianity around a renewed Augustinian reform, and a broader age of reason by looking beyond the limits of the corrupted European courts to… China and Russia.

Corresponding with leading missionaries and advisors to the Kangxi emperor of China, Leibniz created the first major journal on Chinese thought and politics called Novissima Sinica (News from China) in 1696 where he laid out his grand design writing:

“I consider it a singular plan of the fates that human cultivation and refinement should today be concentrated, as it were, in the two extremes of our continent, in Europe and in China, which adorns the Orient as Europe does the opposite edge of the Earth. Perhaps Supreme Providence has ordained such an arrangement, so that as the most cultivated and distant peoples stretch out their arms to each other, those in between may gradually be brought to a better way of life. I do not think it an accident that the Russians, whose vast realm connects Europe with China and who hold sway over the deep barbarian lands of the North by the shore of the frozen ocean, should be led to the emulation of our ways through the strenuous efforts of their present ruler [Peter I].”

It is no coincidence that we find in the works of Leibniz and the Augustinian Christian movement, the key to the strategic thinking of Confucian Platonist Benjamin Franklin who applied the practical and metaphysical insights of Confucius, Christ and Plato into a new system of governance which he defined as a “science of happiness”.

If you have made it this far and don’t yet see any of the keys to the salvation of our current society within the context of the rising multipolar alliance and Confucian renaissance which is animating China’s New Silk Road, I highly advise reading this essay again.

The author delivered a lecture on this topic which can be viewed here:

Albert Jacka

In the first world war, Albert was on the front lines in some of the most bloody battles. Every time he survived one meat grinder, they would send him to an even worse one.

He was in the trenches in Gallipoli when they fought against overwhelming numbers of Turks.

Everyone in his platoon was killed or injured, so Albert charged the attackers solo. He killed 7 of them (shot 5, stabbed 2 to death, probably because the bolt action rifle he was carrying ran out of bullets) captured 3 and the rest ran away. From his diary:

Great battle at 3.00am. Turks captured large portion of trench. D. Coy called into front line. Lieut. Hamilton shot dead. I lead a section of men and recaptured the trench. I bayoneted two Turks, shot five, took three prisoners and cleared the whole trench. I held the trench alone for 15 minutes against heavy attack.

After a short trip back to England, he rejoined his men, this time on the western front, for the battle of the Somme.

After heavy fighting, the allied lines were over run. Albert and his remaining men found themselves now behind enemy lines.

A couple of German soldiers appeared and lobbed a grenade at them. Albert killed them both, but some of his men were injured or killed.

Peeking out from their trench, he spotted a column of German soldiers approaching with a group of Australian prisoners.

Tired, surrounded, low on ammo, most of his men dead or too injured to fight and about to encounter a large group of the enemy the only sensible thing to do was surrender. But that was just not how Albert did things.

He rallied his 6 remaining men and charged the 60+ Germans. During the fight, Albert saw a group of four Germans in a shell hole firing and taking a toll on the Australians. He immediately charged them. The German’s fired and hit Albert a total of three times, throwing him back to the ground on all occasions. Each time, in Albert’s own words, he sprang up “like a prize fighter”. He reached the shell hole and shot 3 of the Germans and bayoneted the 4th before turning to see a very large German charging at him. He shot the soldier just as he reached him, the body falling on him and almost crushing him.

By the end of the day, they had retaken the trenches and captured 50 German soldiers. Albert was wounded 7 times, including 2 head wounds.

He was sent back to England to recover from his wounds, but a few months later he was back on the front lines again, this time the Hindenburg line.

While out on night reconnaissance he single handedly captured another couple of Germans. They had spotted him laying tape to guide the Australian infantry, so he tried to shoot them with his revolver. When the pistol misfired, he just charged them, took them down with his bare hands, and dragged them back.

He led his men into battle again, charging headlong into German machine gun nests and capturing them. When they reached their assigned target form line, Albert realised that the German artillery would be trained on their location so, along with the two British units on either side of him, he pushed forward and captured the artillery too.

Shortly after, he was shot by a sniper in the throat. He was sent back to England, but only stayed for 2 months before heading back to battle.

This time he was sent to Polygon wood, a German strong hold that had, up to this point, been impenetrable. Albert was in charge of the 14th Battalion – known as “Jacka’s mob”. They advanced under heavy bombardment but managed to capture several German pill boxes (Concrete dugouts). For over 48 hours they held their lines under constant fire and counter attack. When his assistant was killed, Albert crawled out into no man’s land to retrieve his body, getting shot through the hand and several bullet holes in his coat in the process.

The 15th battalion to his right had suffered heavy casualties and were over stretched. To boost their morale Albert sent them this communique:

“If the Hun attacks the 15th, we shall hop out and meet the blighters.”

He was finally taken out of action a couple of months later at Villers Bretonneux by mustard gas. It didn’t kill him though and he after a couple of months recuperating back in England he petitioned to be allowed to rejoin his men on the front lines. Alas, it was decided that his fighting days were done. He returned to Australia and became the mayor of the Melbourne suburb of St. Kilda.

Is that baddass or what?

Spend an hour with your dad

“I spent an hour in the bank with my dad, as he had to transfer some money. I couldn’t resist myself and asked…

”Dad, why don’t we activate your internet banking?”

”Why would I do that?” He asked…

”Well, then you wont have to spend an hour here for things like transfer.

You can even do your shopping online. Everything will be so easy!”

I was so excited about initiating him into the world of Net banking.

He asked ”If I do that, I wont have to step out of the house?

”Yes, yes”! I said. I told him how even grocery can be delivered at door now and how amazon delivers everything!

His answer left me tongue-tied.

He said ”Since I entered this bank today, I have met four of my friends, I have chatted a while with the staff who know me very well by now.

You know I am alone…this is the company that I need. I like to get ready and come to the bank. I have enough time, it is the physical touch that I crave.

Two years back I got sick, The store owner from whom I buy fruits, came to see me and sat by my bedside and cried.

When your Mom fell down few days back while on her morning walk. Our local grocer saw her and immediately got his car to rush her home as he knows where I live.

Would I have that ‘human’ touch if everything became online?

Why would I want everything delivered to me and force me to interact with just my computer?

I like to know the person that I’m dealing with and not just the ‘seller’. It creates bonds of Relationships.

Does Amazon deliver all this as well?”’

Technology isn’t life..

Spend time with people .. Not with devices.”

Writer: Unknown

This Artist Illustrates His Sweet Childhood Memories So Well The Results May Move You To Tears

Here’s a nice break from the usual MM fare. I hope that you all appreciate it, and are not offended by the art. Whether it is cute kids, cats, or pretty women. It’s not the imagery that is what is important, as it is the feelings that you have when you look at the pictures.

Childhood… youth… young adulthood… private memories.

Although everyone has very different memories about this significant period of their lives, there‘s no doubt it‘s full of magic. Magic of discoveries, your first friends, pets, first family trips, the smell of a fresh pie baked by Grandma… And so much more!

The smell of the cold damp cellar when you went to get a soda at Grandma’s house…
The quite moment alone in the dark in a deep, dark, snowy night.
Being with “the gang” and riding bicycles during Summer break from school.
That moment in time that evokes… feelings.

Omario Brunelleschi is an English-Italian freelance artist who is illustrating exactly those sweet childhood memories that bring back the nostalgia of those heartwarming moments. Scroll down and go back in time with these delightful creations!

More: Facebook, Instagram h/t: boredpanda

Have you ever been here…

Or, here…

A romantic night out…

Tromping though the snowy woods under a full moon… some of my favorite memories…

Waking up and out at the crack of dawn…

In the public and someone catches your eye…

Early morning beach walk…

With your childhood crew out for a “hike”…

Singing at night on a date…

A bike ride in early Spring…

It’s how the sunlight hit her hair…

The moment you saw sunlight through your fingers…

With your friends at school…

…don’t forget the rule of three.

A shelter while it rains…

Cool Fall air…

A kitty waiting outside…

The end and a new beginning…

Hanging out on a quiet Summer night…

Running through a field…

A perfect day for kites and play…

A special moment alone…

Playing under blankets…

When you just have that one opportunity to start something new…

Love…

Meeting a new friend…

Nap with your little buddy…

It was only brief, but you never forgot…

Fall is coming…

On the dock / pier alone…

Coffee outside, and a cat walking about unencumbered…

Walking home after playing all afternoon…

Surprise!

Jogging togeher…

Cat meets fish.

Thinking about life… and what to do…

Making friends with a bird…

Daddy and daughter…

Daddy and kid on a walk…

Counting stars…

A sudden discovery…

Keeping warm…

First grocery shopping for your new apartment…

Hanging out with friends while pulled at the side of a lake and chillin’…

Rooftop cats…

Smell the coffee…

Exercise to music. Your personal time and space…

Just a pause to enjoy the moment…

A nice camp out…

Surprise!

Listening to music during a full moon…

Getting to know each other…

Surprise meet…

Just taking time…

Falling in love with a stranger…

A tough talk…

Grandma…

A family moment..

Just a special moment…

Conclusion

Normally, I’m not an overt fan of this electronic art medium. But there are exceptions, and this is one of them. The composition of these images are exquisite. And they hit me deep down inside where it matters.

I cannot say that EVERY picture resonates with me, but a number really, REALLY do. They take me back to good, fine and pleasant memories that I treasure. It is my hope that you, to, find one or two images that resonate with you. And as with art; that’s all that it takes.

Enjoy the moments that you have. Don’t try to make them special. That comes naturally. Just be mindful of the moment, and don’t be so fixed on goals, objectives or work schedules. Just appreciate what you have NOW.

I hope that there is SOMEONE in the MM audience that finds just ONE of these images that resonate with them deep inside.

Do you want more?

I have more articles like this one in my Art Index here…

ART

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Tony and the Beetles, by Philip K. Dick

This text was produced from Orbit volume 1 number 2, 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.

TONY and the BEETLES

by Philip K. Dick

A TEN-YEAR-OLD BOY GROWS UP FAST WHEN HISTORY CATCHES UP WITH THE HUMAN RACE.

Reddish-yellow sunlight filtered through the thick quartz windows into the sleep-compartment. Tony Rossi yawned, stirred a little, then opened his black eyes and sat up quickly. With one motion he tossed the covers back and slid to the warm metal floor. He clicked off his alarm clock and hurried to the closet.

It looked like a nice day. The landscape outside was motionless, undisturbed by winds or dust-shift. The boy’s heart pounded excitedly. He pulled his trousers on, zipped up the reinforced mesh, struggled into his heavy canvas shirt, and then sat down on the edge of the cot to tug on his boots. He closed the seams around their tops and then did the same with his gloves. Next he adjusted the pressure on his pump unit and strapped it between his shoulder blades. He grabbed his helmet from the dresser, and he was ready for the day.

In the dining-compartment his mother and father had finished breakfast. Their voices drifted to him as he clattered down the ramp. A disturbed murmur; he paused to listen. What were they talking about? Had he done something wrong, again?

And then he caught it. Behind their voices was another voice. Static and crackling pops. The all-system audio signal from Rigel IV. They had it turned up full blast; the dull thunder of the monitor’s voice boomed loudly. The war. Always the war. He sighed, and stepped out into the dining-compartment.

“Morning,” his father muttered.

“Good morning, dear,” his mother said absently. She sat with her head turned to one side, wrinkles of concentration webbing her forehead. Her thin lips were drawn together in a tight line of concern. His father had pushed his dirty dishes back and was smoking, elbows on the table, dark hairy arms bare and muscular. He was scowling, intent on the jumbled roar from the speaker above the sink.

“How’s it going?” Tony asked. He slid into his chair and reached automatically for the ersatz grapefruit. “Any news from Orion?”

Neither of them answered. They didn’t hear him. He began to eat his grapefruit. Outside, beyond the little metal and plastic housing unit, sounds of activity grew. Shouts and muffled crashes, as rural merchants and their trucks rumbled along the highway toward Karnet. The reddish daylight swelled; Betelgeuse was rising quietly and majestically.

“Nice day,” Tony said. “No flux wind. I think I’ll go down to the n-quarter awhile. We’re building a neat spaceport, a model, of course, but we’ve been able to get enough materials to lay out strips for—”

With a savage snarl his father reached out and struck the audio roar immediately died. “I knew it!” He got up and moved angrily away from the table. “I told them it would happen. They shouldn’t have moved so soon. Should have built up Class A supply bases, first.”

“Isn’t our main fleet moving in from Bellatrix?” Tony’s mother fluttered anxiously. “According to last night’s summary the worst that can happen is Orion IX and X will be dumped.”

Joseph Rossi laughed harshly. “The hell with last night’s summary. They know as well as I do what’s happening.”

“What’s happening?” Tony echoed, as he pushed aside his grapefruit and began to ladle out dry cereal. “Are we losing the battle?”

“Yes!” His father’s lips twisted. “Earthmen, losing to—to beetles. I told them. But they couldn’t wait. My God, there’s ten good years left in this system. Why’d they have to push on? Everybody knew Orion would be tough. The whole damn beetle fleet’s strung out around there. Waiting for us. And we have to barge right in.”

“But nobody ever thought beetles would fight,” Leah Rossi protested mildly. “Everybody thought they’d just fire a few blasts and then—”

“They have to fight! Orion’s the last jump-off. If they don’t fight here, where the hell can they fight?” Rossi swore savagely. “Of course they’re fighting. We have all their planets except the inner Orion string—not that they’re worth much, but it’s the principle of the thing. If we’d built up strong supply bases, we could have broken up the beetle fleet and really clobbered it.”

“Don’t say ‘beetle,'” Tony murmured, as he finished his cereal. “They’re Pas-udeti, same as here. The word ‘beetle’ comes from Betelgeuse. An Arabian word we invented ourselves.”

Joe Rossi’s mouth opened and closed. “What are you, a goddamn beetle-lover?”

“Joe,” Leah snapped. “For heaven’s sake.”

Rossi moved toward the door. “If I was ten years younger I’d be out there. I’d really show those shiny-shelled insects what the hell they’re up against. Them and their junky beat-up old hulks. Converted freighters!” His eyes blazed. “When I think of them shooting down Terran cruisers with our boys in them—”

“Orion’s their system,” Tony murmured.

“Their system! When the hell did you get to be an authority on space law? Why, I ought to—” He broke off, choked with rage. “My own kid,” he muttered. “One more crack out of you today and I’ll hang one on you you’ll feel the rest of the week.”

Tony pushed his chair back. “I won’t be around here today. I’m going into Karnet, with my EEP.”

“Yeah, to play with beetles!”

Tony said nothing. He was already sliding his helmet in place and snapping the clamps tight. As he pushed through the back door, into the lock membrane, he unscrewed his oxygen tap and set the tank filter into action. An automatic response, conditioned by a lifetime spent on a colony planet in an alien system.

A faint flux wind caught at him and swept yellow-red dust around his boots. Sunlight glittered from the metal roof of his family’s housing unit, one of endless rows of squat boxes set in the sandy slope, protected by the line of ore-refining installations against the horizon. He made an impatient signal, and from the storage shed his EEP came gliding out, catching the sunlight on its chrome trim.

“We’re going down into Karnet,” Tony said, unconsciously slipping into the Pas dialect. “Hurry up!”

The EEP took up its position behind him, and he started briskly down the slope, over the shifting sand, toward the road. There were quite a few traders out, today. It was a good day for the market; only a fourth of the year was fit for travel. Betelgeuse was an erratic and undependable sun, not at all like Sol (according to the edutapes, fed to Tony four hours a day, six days a week—he had never seen Sol himself).

He reached the noisy road. Pas-udeti were everywhere. Whole groups of them, with their primitive combustion-driven trucks, battered and filthy, motors grinding protestingly. He waved at the trucks as they pushed past him. After a moment one slowed down. It was piled with tis, bundled heaps of gray vegetables dried, and prepared for the table. A staple of the Pas-udeti diet. Behind the wheel lounged a dark-faced elderly Pas, one arm over the open window, a rolled leaf between his lips. He was like all other Pas-udeti; lank and hard-shelled, encased in a brittle sheath in which he lived and died.

“You want a ride?” the Pas murmured—required protocol when an Earthman on foot was encountered.

“Is there room for my EEP?”

The Pas made a careless motion with his claw. “It can run behind.” Sardonic amusement touched his ugly old face. “If it gets to Karnet we’ll sell it for scrap. We can use a few condensers and relay tubing. We’re short on electronic maintenance stuff.”

“I know,” Tony said solemnly, as he climbed into the cabin of the truck. “It’s all been sent to the big repair base at Orion I. For your warfleet.”

Amusement vanished from the leathery face. “Yes, the warfleet.” He turned away and started up the truck again. In the back, Tony’s EEP had scrambled up on the load of tis and was gripping precariously with its magnetic lines.

Tony noticed the Pas-udeti’s sudden change of expression, and he was puzzled. He started to speak to him—but now he noticed unusual quietness among the other Pas, in the other trucks, behind and in front of his own. The war, of course. It had swept through this system a century ago; these people had been left behind. Now all eyes were on Orion, on the battle between the Terran warfleet and the Pas-udeti collection of armed freighters.

“Is it true,” Tony asked carefully, “that you’re winning?”

The elderly Pas grunted. “We hear rumors.”

Tony considered. “My father says Terra went ahead too fast. He says we should have consolidated. We didn’t assemble adequate supply bases. He used to be an officer, when he was younger. He was with the fleet for two years.”

The Pas was silent a moment. “It’s true,” he said at last, “that when you’re so far from home, supply is a great problem. We, on the other hand, don’t have that. We have no distances to cover.”

“Do you know anybody fighting?”

“I have distant relatives.” The answer was vague; the Pas obviously didn’t want to talk about it.

“Have you ever seen your warfleet?”

“Not as it exists now. When this system was defeated most of our units were wiped out. Remnants limped to Orion and joined the Orion fleet.”

“Your relatives were with the remnants?”

“That’s right.”

“Then you were alive when this planet was taken?”

“Why do you ask?” The old Pas quivered violently. “What business is it of yours?”

Tony leaned out and watched the walls and buildings of Karnet grow ahead of them. Karnet was an old city. It had stood thousands of years. The Pas-udeti civilization was stable; it had reached a certain point of technocratic development and then leveled off. The Pas had inter-system ships that had carried people and freight between planets in the days before the Terran Confederation. They had combustion-driven cars, audiophones, a power network of a magnetic type. Their plumbing was satisfactory and their medicine was highly advanced. They had art forms, emotional and exciting. They had a vague religion.

“Who do you think will win the battle?” Tony asked.

“I don’t know.” With a sudden jerk the old Pas brought the truck to a crashing halt. “This is as far as I go. Please get out and take your EEP with you.”

Tony faltered in surprise. “But aren’t you going—?”

“No farther!”

Tony pushed the door open. He was vaguely uneasy; there was a hard, fixed expression on the leathery face, and the old creature’s voice had a sharp edge he had never heard before. “Thanks,” he murmured. He hopped down into the red dust and signaled his EEP. It released its magnetic lines, and instantly the truck started up with a roar, passing on inside the city.

Tony watched it go, still dazed. The hot dust lapped at his ankles; he automatically moved his feet and slapped at his trousers. A truck honked, and his EEP quickly moved him from the road, up to the level pedestrian ramp. Pas-udeti in swarms moved by, endless lines of rural people hurrying into Karnet on their daily business. A massive public bus had stopped by the gate and was letting off passengers. Male and female Pas. And children. They laughed and shouted; the sounds of their voices blended with the low hum of the city.

“Going in?” a sharp Pas-udeti voice sounded close behind him. “Keep moving—you’re blocking the ramp.”

It was a young female, with a heavy armload clutched in her claws. Tony felt embarrassed; female Pas had a certain telepathic ability, part of their sexual make-up. It was effective on Earthmen at close range.

“Here,” she said. “Give me a hand.”

Tony nodded his head, and the EEP accepted the female’s heavy armload. “I’m visiting the city,” Tony said, as they moved with the crowd toward the gates. “I got a ride most of the way, but the driver let me off out here.”

“You’re from the settlement?”

“Yes.”

She eyed him critically. “You’ve always lived here, haven’t you?”

“I was born here. My family came here from Earth four years before I was born. My father was an officer in the fleet. He earned an Emigration Priority.”

“So you’ve never seen your own planet. How old are you?”

“Ten years. Terran.”

“You shouldn’t have asked the driver so many questions.”

They passed through the decontamination shield and into the city. An information square loomed ahead; Pas men and women were packed around it. Moving chutes and transport cars rumbled everywhere. Buildings and ramps and open-air machinery; the city was sealed in a protective dust-proof envelope. Tony unfastened his helmet and clipped it to his belt. The air was stale-smelling, artificial, but usable.

“Let me tell you something,” the young female said carefully, as she strode along the foot-ramp beside Tony. “I wonder if this is a good day for you to come into Karnet. I know you’ve been coming here regularly to play with your friends. But perhaps today you ought to stay at home, in your settlement.”

“Why?”

“Because today everybody is upset.”

“I know,” Tony said. “My mother and father were upset. They were listening to the news from our base in the Rigel system.”

“I don’t mean your family. Other people are listening, too. These people here. My race.”

“They’re upset, all right,” Tony admitted. “But I come here all the time. There’s nobody to play with at the settlement, and anyhow we’re working on a project.”

“A model spaceport.”

“That’s right.” Tony was envious. “I sure wish I was a telepath. It must be fun.”

The female Pas-udeti was silent. She was deep in thought. “What would happen,” she asked, “if your family left here and returned to Earth?”

“That couldn’t happen. There’s no room for us on Earth. C-bombs destroyed most of Asia and North America back in the Twentieth Century.”

“Suppose you had to go back?”

Tony did not understand. “But we can’t. Habitable portions of Earth are overcrowded. Our main problem is finding places for Terrans to live, in other systems.” He added, “And anyhow, I don’t particularly want to go to Terra. I’m used to it here. All my friends are here.”

“I’ll take my packages,” the female said. “I go this other way, down this third-level ramp.”

Tony nodded to his EEP and it lowered the bundles into the female’s claws. She lingered a moment, trying to find the right words.

“Good luck,” she said.

“With what?”

She smiled faintly, ironically. “With your model spaceport. I hope you and your friends get to finish it.”

“Of course we’ll finish it,” Tony said, surprised. “It’s almost done.” What did she mean?

The Pas-udeti woman hurried off before he could ask her. Tony was troubled and uncertain; more doubts filled him. After a moment he headed slowly into the lane that took him toward the residential section of the city. Past the stores and factories, to the place where his friends lived.

The group of Pas-udeti children eyed him silently as he approached. They had been playing in the shade of an immense hengelo, whose ancient branches drooped and swayed with the air currents pumped through the city. Now they sat unmoving.

“I didn’t expect you today,” B’prith said, in an expressionless voice.

Tony halted awkwardly, and his EEP did the same. “How are things?” he murmured.

“Fine.”

“I got a ride part way.”

“Fine.”

Tony squatted down in the shade. None of the Pas children stirred. They were small, not as large as Terran children. Their shells had not hardened, had not turned dark and opaque, like horn. It gave them a soft, unformed appearance, but at the same time it lightened their load. They moved more easily than their elders; they could hop and skip around, still. But they were not skipping right now.

“What’s the matter?” Tony demanded. “What’s wrong with everybody?”

No one answered.

“Where’s the model?” he asked. “Have you fellows been working on it?”

After a moment Llyre nodded slightly.

Tony felt dull anger rise up inside him. “Say something! What’s the matter? What’re you all mad about?”

“Mad?” B’prith echoed. “We’re not mad.”

Tony scratched aimlessly in the dust. He knew what it was. The war, again. The battle going on near Orion. His anger burst up wildly. “Forget the war. Everything was fine yesterday, before the battle.”

“Sure,” Llyre said. “It was fine.”

Tony caught the edge to his voice. “It happened a hundred years ago. It’s not my fault.”

“Sure,” B’prith said.

“This is my home. Isn’t it? Haven’t I got as much right here as anybody else? I was born here.”

“Sure,” Llyre said, tonelessly.

Tony appealed to them helplessly. “Do you have to act this way? You didn’t act this way yesterday. I was here yesterday—all of us were here yesterday. What’s happened since yesterday?”

“The battle,” B’prith said.

“What difference does that make? Why does that change everything? There’s always war. There’ve been battles all the time, as long as I can remember. What’s different about this?”

B’prith broke apart a clump of dirt with his strong claws. After a moment he tossed it away and got slowly to his feet. “Well,” he said thoughtfully, “according to our audio relay, it looks as if our fleet is going to win, this time.”

“Yes,” Tony agreed, not understanding. “My father says we didn’t build up adequate supply bases. We’ll probably have to fall back to….” And then the impact hit him. “You mean, for the first time in a hundred years—”

“Yes,” Llyre said, also getting up. The others got up, too. They moved away from Tony, toward the near-by house. “We’re winning. The Terran flank was turned, half an hour ago. Your right wing has folded completely.”

Tony was stunned. “And it matters. It matters to all of you.”

“Matters!” B’prith halted, suddenly blazing out in fury. “Sure it matters! For the first time—in a century. The first time in our lives we’re beating you. We have you on the run, you—” He choked out the word, almost spat it out. “You white-grubs!”

They disappeared into the house. Tony sat gazing stupidly down at the ground, his hands still moving aimlessly. He had heard the word before, seen it scrawled on walls and in the dust near the settlement. White-grubs. The Pas term of derision for Terrans. Because of their softness, their whiteness. Lack of hard shells. Pulpy, doughy skin. But they had never dared say it out loud, before. To an Earthman’s face.

Beside him, his EEP stirred restlessly. Its intricate radio mechanism sensed the hostile atmosphere. Automatic relays were sliding into place; circuits were opening and closing.

“It’s all right,” Tony murmured, getting slowly up. “Maybe we’d better go back.”

He moved unsteadily toward the ramp, completely shaken. The EEP walked calmly ahead, its metal face blank and confident, feeling nothing, saying nothing. Tony’s thoughts were a wild turmoil; he shook his head, but the crazy spinning kept up. He couldn’t make his mind slow down, lock in place.

“Wait a minute,” a voice said. B’prith’s voice, from the open doorway. Cold and withdrawn, almost unfamiliar.

“What do you want?”

B’prith came toward him, claws behind his back in the formal Pas-udeti posture, used between total strangers. “You shouldn’t have come here, today.”

“I know,” Tony said.

B’prith got out a bit of tis stalk and began to roll it into a tube. He pretended to concentrate on it. “Look,” he said. “You said you have a right here. But you don’t.”

“I—” Tony murmured.

“Do you understand why not? You said it isn’t your fault. I guess not. But it’s not my fault, either. Maybe it’s nobody’s fault. I’ve known you a long time.”

“Five years. Terran.”

B’prith twisted the stalk up and tossed it away. “Yesterday we played together. We worked on the spaceport. But we can’t play today. My family said to tell you not to come here any more.” He hesitated, and did not look Tony in the face. “I was going to tell you, anyhow. Before they said anything.”

“Oh,” Tony said.

“Everything that’s happened today—the battle, our fleet’s stand. We didn’t know. We didn’t dare hope. You see? A century of running. First this system. Then the Rigel system, all the planets. Then the other Orion stars. We fought here and there—scattered fights. Those that got away joined up. We supplied the base at Orion—you people didn’t know. But there was no hope; at least, nobody thought there was.” He was silent a moment. “Funny,” he said, “what happens when your back’s to the wall, and there isn’t any further place to go. Then you have to fight.”

“If our supply bases—” Tony began thickly, but B’prith cut him off savagely.

“Your supply bases! Don’t you understand? We’re beating you! Now you’ll have to get out! All you white-grubs. Out of our system!”

Tony’s EEP moved forward ominously. B’prith saw it. He bent down, snatched up a rock, and hurled it straight at the EEP. The rock clanged off the metal hull and bounced harmlessly away. B’prith snatched up another rock. Llyre and the others came quickly out of the house. An adult Pas loomed up behind them. Everything was happening too fast. More rocks crashed against the EEP. One struck Tony on the arm.

“Get out!” B’prith screamed. “Don’t come back! This is our planet!” His claws snatched at Tony. “We’ll tear you to pieces if you—”

Tony smashed him in the chest. The soft shell gave like rubber, and the Pas stumbled back. He wobbled and fell over, gasping and screeching.

“Beetle,” Tony breathed hoarsely. Suddenly he was terrified. A crowd of Pas-udeti was forming rapidly. They surged on all sides, hostile faces, dark and angry, a rising thunder of rage.

More stones showered. Some struck the EEP, others fell around Tony, near his boots. One whizzed past his face. Quickly he slid his helmet in place. He was scared. He knew his EEP’s E-signal had already gone out, but it would be minutes before a ship could come. Besides, there were other Earthmen in the city to be taken care of; there were Earthmen all over the planet. In all the cities. On all the twenty-three Betelgeuse planets. On the fourteen Rigel planets. On the other Orion planets.

“We have to get out of here,” he muttered to the EEP. “Do something!”

A stone hit him on the helmet. The plastic cracked; air leaked out, and then the autoseal filmed over. More stones were falling. The Pas swarmed close, a yelling, seething mass of black-sheathed creatures. He could smell them, the acrid body-odor of insects, hear their claws snap, feel their weight.

The EEP threw its heat beam on. The beam shifted in a wide band toward the crowd of Pas-udeti. Crude hand weapons appeared. A clatter of bullets burst around Tony; they were firing at the EEP. He was dimly aware of the metal body beside him. A shuddering crash—the EEP was toppled over. The crowd poured over it; the metal hull was lost from sight.

Like a demented animal, the crowd tore at the struggling EEP. A few of them smashed in its head; others tore off struts and shiny arm-sections. The EEP ceased struggling. The crowd moved away, panting and clutching jagged remains. They saw Tony.

As the first line of them reached for him, the protective envelope high above them shattered. A Terran scout ship thundered down, heat beam screaming. The crowd scattered in confusion, some firing, some throwing stones, others leaping for safety.

Tony picked himself up and made his way unsteadily toward the spot where the scout was landing.

“I’m sorry,” Joe Rossi said gently. He touched his son on the shoulder. “I shouldn’t have let you go down there today. I should have known.”

Tony sat hunched over in the big plastic easychair. He rocked back and forth, face pale with shock. The scout ship which had rescued him had immediately headed back toward Karnet; there were other Earthmen to bring out, besides this first load. The boy said nothing. His mind was blank. He still heard the roar of the crowd, felt its hate—a century of pent-up fury and resentment. The memory drove out everything else; it was all around him, even now. And the sight of the floundering EEP, the metallic ripping sound, as its arms and legs were torn off and carried away.

His mother dabbed at his cuts and scratches with antiseptic. Joe Rossi shakily lit a cigarette and said, “If your EEP hadn’t been along they’d have killed you. Beetles.” He shuddered. “I never should have let you go down there. All this time…. They might have done it any time, any day. Knifed you. Cut you open with their filthy goddamn claws.”

Below the settlement the reddish-yellow sunlight glinted on gunbarrels. Already, dull booms echoed against the crumbling hills. The defense ring was going into action. Black shapes darted and scurried up the side of the slope. Black patches moved out from Karnet, toward the Terran settlement, across the dividing line the Confederation surveyors had set up a century ago. Karnet was a bubbling pot of activity. The whole city rumbled with feverish excitement.

Tony raised his head. “They—they turned our flank.”

“Yeah.” Joe Rossi stubbed out his cigarette. “They sure did. That was at one o’clock. At two they drove a wedge right through the center of our line. Split the fleet in half. Broke it up—sent it running. Picked us off one by one as we fell back. Christ, they’re like maniacs. Now that they’ve got the scent, the taste of our blood.”

“But it’s getting better,” Leah fluttered. “Our main fleet units are beginning to appear.”

“We’ll get them,” Joe muttered. “It’ll take a while. But by God we’ll wipe them out. Every last one of them. If it takes a thousand years. We’ll follow every last ship down—we’ll get them all.” His voice rose in frenzy. “Beetles! Goddamn insects! When I think of them, trying to hurt my kid, with their filthy black claws—”

“If you were younger, you’d be in the line,” Leah said. “It’s not your fault you’re too old. The heart strain’s too great. You did your job. They can’t let an older person take chances. It’s not your fault.”

Joe clenched his fists. “I feel so—futile. If there was only something I could do.”

“The fleet will take care of them,” Leah said soothingly. “You said so yourself. They’ll hunt every one of them down. Destroy them all. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Joe sagged miserably. “It’s no use. Let’s cut it out. Let’s stop kidding ourselves.”

“What do you mean?”

“Face it! We’re not going to win, not this time. We went too far. Our time’s come.”

There was silence.

Tony sat up a little. “When did you know?”

“I’ve known a long time.”

“I found out today. I didn’t understand, at first. This is—stolen ground. I was born here, but it’s stolen ground.”

“Yes. It’s stolen. It doesn’t belong to us.”

“We’re here because we’re stronger. But now we’re not stronger. We’re being beaten.”

“They know Terrans can be licked. Like anybody else.” Joe Rossi’s face was gray and flabby. “We took their planets away from them. Now they’re taking them back. It’ll be a while, of course. We’ll retreat slowly. It’ll be another five centuries going back. There’re a lot of systems between here and Sol.”

Tony shook his head, still uncomprehending. “Even Llyre and B’prith. All of them. Waiting for their time to come. For us to lose and go away again. Where we came from.”

Joe Rossi paced back and forth. “Yeah, we’ll be retreating from now on. Giving ground, instead of taking it. It’ll be like this today—losing fights, draws. Stalemates and worse.”

He raised his feverish eyes toward the ceiling of the little metal housing unit, face wild with passion and misery.

“But, by God, we’ll give them a run for their money. All the way back! Every inch!”

Mr. Spaceship, by Philip K. Dick

This text was produced from Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy, January 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.

A human brain-controlled spacecraft would mean mechanical perfection. This was accomplished, and something unforeseen: a strange entity called—

Mr. Spaceship

By
Philip K. Dick

Kramer leaned back. “You can see the situation. How can we deal with a factor like this? The perfect variable.”

“Perfect? Prediction should still be possible. A living thing still acts from necessity, the same as inanimate material. But the cause-effect chain is more subtle; there are more factors to be considered. The difference is quantitative, I think. The reaction of the living organism parallels natural causation, but with greater complexity.”

Gross and Kramer looked up at the board plates, suspended on the wall, still dripping, the images hardening into place. Kramer traced a line with his pencil.

“See that? It’s a pseudopodium. They’re alive, and so far, a weapon we can’t beat. No mechanical system can compete with that, simple or intricate. We’ll have to scrap the Johnson Control and find something else.”

“Meanwhile the war continues as it is. Stalemate. Checkmate. They can’t get to us, and we can’t get through their living minefield.”

Kramer nodded. “It’s a perfect defense, for them. But there still might be one answer.”

“What’s that?”

“Wait a minute.” Kramer turned to his rocket expert, sitting with the charts and files. “The heavy cruiser that returned this week. It didn’t actually touch, did it? It came close but there was no contact.”

“Correct.” The expert nodded. “The mine was twenty miles off. The cruiser was in space-drive, moving directly toward Proxima, line-straight, using the Johnson Control, of course. It had deflected a quarter of an hour earlier for reasons unknown. Later it resumed its course. That was when they got it.”

“It shifted,” Kramer said. “But not enough. The mine was coming along after it, trailing it. It’s the same old story, but I wonder about the contact.”

“Here’s our theory,” the expert said. “We keep looking for contact, a trigger in the pseudopodium. But more likely we’re witnessing a psychological phenomena, a decision without any physical correlative. We’re watching for something that isn’t there. The mine decides to blow up. It sees our ship, approaches, and then decides.”

“Thanks.” Kramer turned to Gross. “Well, that confirms what I’m saying. How can a ship guided by automatic relays escape a mine that decides to explode? The whole theory of mine penetration is that you must avoid tripping the trigger. But here the trigger is a state of mind in a complicated, developed life-form.”

“The belt is fifty thousand miles deep,” Gross added. “It solves another problem for them, repair and maintenance. The damn things reproduce, fill up the spaces by spawning into them. I wonder what they feed on?”

“Probably the remains of our first-line. The big cruisers must be a delicacy. It’s a game of wits, between a living creature and a ship piloted by automatic relays. The ship always loses.” Kramer opened a folder. “I’ll tell you what I suggest.”

“Go on,” Gross said. “I’ve already heard ten solutions today. What’s yours?”

“Mine is very simple. These creatures are superior to any mechanical system, but only because they’re alive. Almost any other life-form could compete with them, any higher life-form. If the yuks can put out living mines to protect their planets, we ought to be able to harness some of our own life-forms in a similar way. Let’s make use of the same weapon ourselves.”

“Which life-form do you propose to use?”

“I think the human brain is the most agile of known living forms. Do you know of any better?”

“But no human being can withstand outspace travel. A human pilot would be dead of heart failure long before the ship got anywhere near Proxima.”

“But we don’t need the whole body,” Kramer said. “We need only the brain.”

“What?”

“The problem is to find a person of high intelligence who would contribute, in the same manner that eyes and arms are volunteered.”

“But a brain….”

“Technically, it could be done. Brains have been transferred several times, when body destruction made it necessary. Of course, to a spaceship, to a heavy outspace cruiser, instead of an artificial body, that’s new.”

The room was silent.

“It’s quite an idea,” Gross said slowly. His heavy square face twisted. “But even supposing it might work, the big question is whose brain?”

It was all very confusing, the reasons for the war, the nature of the enemy. The Yucconae had been contacted on one of the outlying planets of Proxima Centauri. At the approach of the Terran ship, a host of dark slim pencils had lifted abruptly and shot off into the distance. The first real encounter came between three of the yuk pencils and a single exploration ship from Terra. No Terrans survived. After that it was all out war, with no holds barred.

Both sides feverishly constructed defense rings around their systems. Of the two, the Yucconae belt was the better. The ring around Proxima was a living ring, superior to anything Terra could throw against it. The standard equipment by which Terran ships were guided in outspace, the Johnson Control, was not adequate. Something more was needed. Automatic relays were not good enough.

—Not good at all, Kramer thought to himself, as he stood looking down the hillside at the work going on below him. A warm wind blew along the hill, rustling the weeds and grass. At the bottom, in the valley, the mechanics had almost finished; the last elements of the reflex system had been removed from the ship and crated up.

All that was needed now was the new core, the new central key that would take the place of the mechanical system. A human brain, the brain of an intelligent, wary human being. But would the human being part with it? That was the problem.

Kramer turned. Two people were approaching him along the road, a man and a woman. The man was Gross, expressionless, heavy-set, walking with dignity. The woman was—He stared in surprise and growing annoyance. It was Dolores, his wife. Since they’d separated he had seen little of her….

“Kramer,” Gross said. “Look who I ran into. Come back down with us. We’re going into town.”

“Hello, Phil,” Dolores said. “Well, aren’t you glad to see me?”

He nodded. “How have you been? You’re looking fine.” She was still pretty and slender in her uniform, the blue-grey of Internal Security, Gross’ organization.

“Thanks.” She smiled. “You seem to be doing all right, too. Commander Gross tells me that you’re responsible for this project, Operation Head, as they call it. Whose head have you decided on?”

“That’s the problem.” Kramer lit a cigarette. “This ship is to be equipped with a human brain instead of the Johnson system. We’ve constructed special draining baths for the brain, electronic relays to catch the impulses and magnify them, a continual feeding duct that supplies the living cells with everything they need. But—”

“But we still haven’t got the brain itself,” Gross finished. They began to walk back toward the car. “If we can get that we’ll be ready for the tests.”

“Will the brain remain alive?” Dolores asked. “Is it actually going to live as part of the ship?”

“It will be alive, but not conscious. Very little life is actually conscious. Animals, trees, insects are quick in their responses, but they aren’t conscious. In this process of ours the individual personality, the ego, will cease. We only need the response ability, nothing more.”

Dolores shuddered. “How terrible!”

“In time of war everything must be tried,” Kramer said absently. “If one life sacrificed will end the war it’s worth it. This ship might get through. A couple more like it and there wouldn’t be any more war.”

They got into the car. As they drove down the road, Gross said, “Have you thought of anyone yet?”

Kramer shook his head. “That’s out of my line.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m an engineer. It’s not in my department.”

“But all this was your idea.”

“My work ends there.”

Gross was staring at him oddly. Kramer shifted uneasily.

“Then who is supposed to do it?” Gross said. “I can have my organization prepare examinations of various kinds, to determine fitness, that kind of thing—”

“Listen, Phil,” Dolores said suddenly.

“What?”

She turned toward him. “I have an idea. Do you remember that professor we had in college. Michael Thomas?”

Kramer nodded.

“I wonder if he’s still alive.” Dolores frowned. “If he is he must be awfully old.”

“Why, Dolores?” Gross asked.

“Perhaps an old person who didn’t have much time left, but whose mind was still clear and sharp—”

“Professor Thomas.” Kramer rubbed his jaw. “He certainly was a wise old duck. But could he still be alive? He must have been seventy, then.”

“We could find that out,” Gross said. “I could make a routine check.”

“What do you think?” Dolores said. “If any human mind could outwit those creatures—”

“I don’t like the idea,” Kramer said. In his mind an image had appeared, the image of an old man sitting behind a desk, his bright gentle eyes moving about the classroom. The old man leaning forward, a thin hand raised—

“Keep him out of this,” Kramer said.

“What’s wrong?” Gross looked at him curiously.

“It’s because I suggested it,” Dolores said.

“No.” Kramer shook his head. “It’s not that. I didn’t expect anything like this, somebody I knew, a man I studied under. I remember him very clearly. He was a very distinct personality.”

“Good,” Gross said. “He sounds fine.”

“We can’t do it. We’re asking his death!”

“This is war,” Gross said, “and war doesn’t wait on the needs of the individual. You said that yourself. Surely he’ll volunteer; we can keep it on that basis.”

“He may already be dead,” Dolores murmured.

“We’ll find that out,” Gross said speeding up the car. They drove the rest of the way in silence.

For a long time the two of them stood studying the small wood house, overgrown with ivy, set back on the lot behind an enormous oak. The little town was silent and sleepy; once in awhile a car moved slowly along the distant highway, but that was all.

“This is the place,” Gross said to Kramer. He folded his arms. “Quite a quaint little house.”

Kramer said nothing. The two Security Agents behind them were expressionless.

Gross started toward the gate. “Let’s go. According to the check he’s still alive, but very sick. His mind is agile, however. That seems to be certain. It’s said he doesn’t leave the house. A woman takes care of his needs. He’s very frail.”

They went down the stone walk and up onto the porch. Gross rang the bell. They waited. After a time they heard slow footsteps. The door opened. An elderly woman in a shapeless wrapper studied them impassively.

“Security,” Gross said, showing his card. “We wish to see Professor Thomas.”

“Why?”

“Government business.” He glanced at Kramer.

Kramer stepped forward. “I was a pupil of the Professor’s,” he said. “I’m sure he won’t mind seeing us.”

The woman hesitated uncertainly. Gross stepped into the doorway. “All right, mother. This is war time. We can’t stand out here.”

The two Security agents followed him, and Kramer came reluctantly behind, closing the door. Gross stalked down the hall until he came to an open door. He stopped, looking in. Kramer could see the white corner of a bed, a wooden post and the edge of a dresser.

He joined Gross.

In the dark room a withered old man lay, propped up on endless pillows. At first it seemed as if he were asleep; there was no motion or sign of life. But after a time Kramer saw with a faint shock that the old man was watching them intently, his eyes fixed on them, unmoving, unwinking.

“Professor Thomas?” Gross said. “I’m Commander Gross of Security. This man with me is perhaps known to you—”

The faded eyes fixed on Kramer.

“I know him. Philip Kramer…. You’ve grown heavier, boy.” The voice was feeble, the rustle of dry ashes. “Is it true you’re married now?”

“Yes. I married Dolores French. You remember her.” Kramer came toward the bed. “But we’re separated. It didn’t work out very well. Our careers—”

“What we came here about, Professor,” Gross began, but Kramer cut him off with an impatient wave.

“Let me talk. Can’t you and your men get out of here long enough to let me talk to him?”

Gross swallowed. “All right, Kramer.” He nodded to the two men. The three of them left the room, going out into the hall and closing the door after them.

The old man in the bed watched Kramer silently. “I don’t think much of him,” he said at last. “I’ve seen his type before. What’s he want?”

“Nothing. He just came along. Can I sit down?” Kramer found a stiff upright chair beside the bed. “If I’m bothering you—”

“No. I’m glad to see you again, Philip. After so long. I’m sorry your marriage didn’t work out.”

“How have you been?”

“I’ve been very ill. I’m afraid that my moment on the world’s stage has almost ended.” The ancient eyes studied the younger man reflectively. “You look as if you have been doing well. Like everyone else I thought highly of. You’ve gone to the top in this society.”

Kramer smiled. Then he became serious. “Professor, there’s a project we’re working on that I want to talk to you about. It’s the first ray of hope we’ve had in this whole war. If it works, we may be able to crack the yuk defenses, get some ships into their system. If we can do that the war might be brought to an end.”

“Go on. Tell me about it, if you wish.”

“It’s a long shot, this project. It may not work at all, but we have to give it a try.”

“It’s obvious that you came here because of it,” Professor Thomas murmured. “I’m becoming curious. Go on.”

After Kramer finished the old man lay back in the bed without speaking. At last he sighed.

“I understand. A human mind, taken out of a human body.” He sat up a little, looking at Kramer. “I suppose you’re thinking of me.”

Kramer said nothing.

“Before I make my decision I want to see the papers on this, the theory and outline of construction. I’m not sure I like it.—For reasons of my own, I mean. But I want to look at the material. If you’ll do that—”

“Certainly.” Kramer stood up and went to the door. Gross and the two Security Agents were standing outside, waiting tensely. “Gross, come inside.”

They filed into the room.

“Give the Professor the papers,” Kramer said. “He wants to study them before deciding.”

Gross brought the file out of his coat pocket, a manila envelope. He handed it to the old man on the bed. “Here it is, Professor. You’re welcome to examine it. Will you give us your answer as soon as possible? We’re very anxious to begin, of course.”

“I’ll give you my answer when I’ve decided.” He took the envelope with a thin, trembling hand. “My decision depends on what I find out from these papers. If I don’t like what I find, then I will not become involved with this work in any shape or form.” He opened the envelope with shaking hands. “I’m looking for one thing.”

“What is it?” Gross said.

“That’s my affair. Leave me a number by which I can reach you when I’ve decided.”

Silently, Gross put his card down on the dresser. As they went out Professor Thomas was already reading the first of the papers, the outline of the theory.

Kramer sat across from Dale Winter, his second in line. “What then?” Winter said.

“He’s going to contact us.” Kramer scratched with a drawing pen on some paper. “I don’t know what to think.”

“What do you mean?” Winter’s good-natured face was puzzled.

“Look.” Kramer stood up, pacing back and forth, his hands in his uniform pockets. “He was my teacher in college. I respected him as a man, as well as a teacher. He was more than a voice, a talking book. He was a person, a calm, kindly person I could look up to. I always wanted to be like him, someday. Now look at me.”

“So?”

“Look at what I’m asking. I’m asking for his life, as if he were some kind of laboratory animal kept around in a cage, not a man, a teacher at all.”

“Do you think he’ll do it?”

“I don’t know.” Kramer went to the window. He stood looking out. “In a way, I hope not.”

“But if he doesn’t—”

“Then we’ll have to find somebody else. I know. There would be somebody else. Why did Dolores have to—”

The vidphone rang. Kramer pressed the button.

“This is Gross.” The heavy features formed. “The old man called me. Professor Thomas.”

“What did he say?” He knew; he could tell already, by the sound of Gross’ voice.

“He said he’d do it. I was a little surprised myself, but apparently he means it. We’ve already made arrangements for his admission to the hospital. His lawyer is drawing up the statement of liability.”

Kramer only half heard. He nodded wearily. “All right. I’m glad. I suppose we can go ahead, then.”

“You don’t sound very glad.”

“I wonder why he decided to go ahead with it.”

“He was very certain about it.” Gross sounded pleased. “He called me quite early. I was still in bed. You know, this calls for a celebration.”

“Sure,” Kramer said. “It sure does.”

Toward the middle of August the project neared completion. They stood outside in the hot autumn heat, looking up at the sleek metal sides of the ship.

Gross thumped the metal with his hand. “Well, it won’t be long. We can begin the test any time.”

“Tell us more about this,” an officer in gold braid said. “It’s such an unusual concept.”

“Is there really a human brain inside the ship?” a dignitary asked, a small man in a rumpled suit. “And the brain is actually alive?”

“Gentlemen, this ship is guided by a living brain instead of the usual Johnson relay-control system. But the brain is not conscious. It will function by reflex only. The practical difference between it and the Johnson system is this: a human brain is far more intricate than any man-made structure, and its ability to adapt itself to a situation, to respond to danger, is far beyond anything that could be artificially built.”

Gross paused, cocking his ear. The turbines of the ship were beginning to rumble, shaking the ground under them with a deep vibration. Kramer was standing a short distance away from the others, his arms folded, watching silently. At the sound of the turbines he walked quickly around the ship to the other side. A few workmen were clearing away the last of the waste, the scraps of wiring and scaffolding. They glanced up at him and went on hurriedly with their work. Kramer mounted the ramp and entered the control cabin of the ship. Winter was sitting at the controls with a Pilot from Space-transport.

“How’s it look?” Kramer asked.

“All right.” Winter got up. “He tells me that it would be best to take off manually. The robot controls—” Winter hesitated. “I mean, the built-in controls, can take over later on in space.”

“That’s right,” the Pilot said. “It’s customary with the Johnson system, and so in this case we should—”

“Can you tell anything yet?” Kramer asked.

“No,” the Pilot said slowly. “I don’t think so. I’ve been going over everything. It seems to be in good order. There’s only one thing I wanted to ask you about.” He put his hand on the control board. “There are some changes here I don’t understand.”

“Changes?”

“Alterations from the original design. I wonder what the purpose is.”

Kramer took a set of the plans from his coat. “Let me look.” He turned the pages over. The Pilot watched carefully over his shoulder.

“The changes aren’t indicated on your copy,” the Pilot said. “I wonder—” He stopped. Commander Gross had entered the control cabin.

“Gross, who authorized alterations?” Kramer said. “Some of the wiring has been changed.”

“Why, your old friend.” Gross signaled to the field tower through the window.

“My old friend?”

“The Professor. He took quite an active interest.” Gross turned to the Pilot. “Let’s get going. We have to take this out past gravity for the test they tell me. Well, perhaps it’s for the best. Are you ready?”

“Sure.” The Pilot sat down and moved some of the controls around. “Anytime.”

“Go ahead, then,” Gross said.

“The Professor—” Kramer began, but at that moment there was a tremendous roar and the ship leaped under him. He grasped one of the wall holds and hung on as best he could. The cabin was filling with a steady throbbing, the raging of the jet turbines underneath them.

The ship leaped. Kramer closed his eyes and held his breath. They were moving out into space, gaining speed each moment.

“Well, what do you think?” Winter said nervously. “Is it time yet?”

“A little longer,” Kramer said. He was sitting on the floor of the cabin, down by the control wiring. He had removed the metal covering-plate, exposing the complicated maze of relay wiring. He was studying it, comparing it to the wiring diagrams.

“What’s the matter?” Gross said.

“These changes. I can’t figure out what they’re for. The only pattern I can make out is that for some reason—”

“Let me look,” the Pilot said. He squatted down beside Kramer. “You were saying?”

“See this lead here? Originally it was switch controlled. It closed and opened automatically, according to temperature change. Now it’s wired so that the central control system operates it. The same with the others. A lot of this was still mechanical, worked by pressure, temperature, stress. Now it’s under the central master.”

“The brain?” Gross said. “You mean it’s been altered so that the brain manipulates it?”

Kramer nodded. “Maybe Professor Thomas felt that no mechanical relays could be trusted. Maybe he thought that things would be happening too fast. But some of these could close in a split second. The brake rockets could go on as quickly as—”

“Hey,” Winter said from the control seat. “We’re getting near the moon stations. What’ll I do?”

They looked out the port. The corroded surface of the moon gleamed up at them, a corrupt and sickening sight. They were moving swiftly toward it.

“I’ll take it,” the Pilot said. He eased Winter out of the way and strapped himself in place. The ship began to move away from the moon as he manipulated the controls. Down below them they could see the observation stations dotting the surface, and the tiny squares that were the openings of the underground factories and hangars. A red blinker winked up at them and the Pilot’s fingers moved on the board in answer.

“We’re past the moon,” the Pilot said, after a time. The moon had fallen behind them; the ship was heading into outer space. “Well, we can go ahead with it.”

Kramer did not answer.

“Mr. Kramer, we can go ahead any time.”

Kramer started. “Sorry. I was thinking. All right, thanks.” He frowned, deep in thought.

“What is it?” Gross asked.

“The wiring changes. Did you understand the reason for them when you gave the okay to the workmen?”

Gross flushed. “You know I know nothing about technical material. I’m in Security.”

“Then you should have consulted me.”

“What does it matter?” Gross grinned wryly. “We’re going to have to start putting our faith in the old man sooner or later.”

The Pilot stepped back from the board. His face was pale and set. “Well, it’s done,” he said. “That’s it.”

“What’s done?” Kramer said.

“We’re on automatic. The brain. I turned the board over to it—to him, I mean. The Old Man.” The Pilot lit a cigarette and puffed nervously. “Let’s keep our fingers crossed.”

The ship was coasting evenly, in the hands of its invisible pilot. Far down inside the ship, carefully armoured and protected, a soft human brain lay in a tank of liquid, a thousand minute electric charges playing over its surface. As the charges rose they were picked up and amplified, fed into relay systems, advanced, carried on through the entire ship—

Gross wiped his forehead nervously. “So he is running it, now. I hope he knows what he’s doing.”

Kramer nodded enigmatically. “I think he does.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing.” Kramer walked to the port. “I see we’re still moving in a straight line.” He picked up the microphone. “We can instruct the brain orally, through this.” He blew against the microphone experimentally.

“Go on,” Winter said.

“Bring the ship around half-right,” Kramer said. “Decrease speed.”

They waited. Time passed. Gross looked at Kramer. “No change. Nothing.”

“Wait.”

Slowly, the ship was beginning to turn. The turbines missed, reducing their steady beat. The ship was taking up its new course, adjusting itself. Nearby some space debris rushed past, incinerating in the blasts of the turbine jets.

“So far so good,” Gross said.

They began to breathe more easily. The invisible pilot had taken control smoothly, calmly. The ship was in good hands. Kramer spoke a few more words into the microphone, and they swung again. Now they were moving back the way they had come, toward the moon.

“Let’s see what he does when we enter the moon’s pull,” Kramer said. “He was a good mathematician, the old man. He could handle any kind of problem.”

The ship veered, turning away from the moon. The great eaten-away globe fell behind them.

Gross breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s that.”

“One more thing.” Kramer picked up the microphone. “Return to the moon and land the ship at the first space field,” he said into it.

“Good Lord,” Winter murmured. “Why are you—”

“Be quiet.” Kramer stood, listening. The turbines gasped and roared as the ship swung full around, gaining speed. They were moving back, back toward the moon again. The ship dipped down, heading toward the great globe below.

“We’re going a little fast,” the Pilot said. “I don’t see how he can put down at this velocity.”

The port filled up, as the globe swelled rapidly. The Pilot hurried toward the board, reaching for the controls. All at once the ship jerked. The nose lifted and the ship shot out into space, away from the moon, turning at an oblique angle. The men were thrown to the floor by the sudden change in course. They got to their feet again, speechless, staring at each other.

The Pilot gazed down at the board. “It wasn’t me! I didn’t touch a thing. I didn’t even get to it.”

The ship was gaining speed each moment. Kramer hesitated. “Maybe you better switch it back to manual.”

The Pilot closed the switch. He took hold of the steering controls and moved them experimentally. “Nothing.” He turned around. “Nothing. It doesn’t respond.”

No one spoke.

“You can see what has happened,” Kramer said calmly. “The old man won’t let go of it, now that he has it. I was afraid of this when I saw the wiring changes. Everything in this ship is centrally controlled, even the cooling system, the hatches, the garbage release. We’re helpless.”

“Nonsense.” Gross strode to the board. He took hold of the wheel and turned it. The ship continued on its course, moving away from the moon, leaving it behind.

“Release!” Kramer said into the microphone. “Let go of the controls! We’ll take it back. Release.”

“No good,” the Pilot said. “Nothing.” He spun the useless wheel. “It’s dead, completely dead.”

“And we’re still heading out,” Winter said, grinning foolishly. “We’ll be going through the first-line defense belt in a few minutes. If they don’t shoot us down—”

“We better radio back.” The Pilot clicked the radio to send. “I’ll contact the main bases, one of the observation stations.”

“Better get the defense belt, at the speed we’re going. We’ll be into it in a minute.”

“And after that,” Kramer said, “we’ll be in outer space. He’s moving us toward outspace velocity. Is this ship equipped with baths?”

“Baths?” Gross said.

“The sleep tanks. For space-drive. We may need them if we go much faster.”

“But good God, where are we going?” Gross said. “Where—where’s he taking us?”

The Pilot obtained contact. “This is Dwight, on ship,” he said. “We’re entering the defense zone at high velocity. Don’t fire on us.”

“Turn back,” the impersonal voice came through the speaker. “You’re not allowed in the defense zone.”

“We can’t. We’ve lost control.”

“Lost control?”

“This is an experimental ship.”

Gross took the radio. “This is Commander Gross, Security. We’re being carried into outer space. There’s nothing we can do. Is there any way that we can be removed from this ship?”

A hesitation. “We have some fast pursuit ships that could pick you up if you wanted to jump. The chances are good they’d find you. Do you have space flares?”

“We do,” the Pilot said. “Let’s try it.”

“Abandon ship?” Kramer said. “If we leave now we’ll never see it again.”

“What else can we do? We’re gaining speed all the time. Do you propose that we stay here?”

“No.” Kramer shook his head. “Damn it, there ought to be a better solution.”

“Could you contact him?” Winter asked. “The Old Man? Try to reason with him?”

“It’s worth a chance,” Gross said. “Try it.”

“All right.” Kramer took the microphone. He paused a moment. “Listen! Can you hear me? This is Phil Kramer. Can you hear me, Professor. Can you hear me? I want you to release the controls.”

There was silence.

“This is Kramer, Professor. Can you hear me? Do you remember who I am? Do you understand who this is?”

Above the control panel the wall speaker made a sound, a sputtering static. They looked up.

“Can you hear me, Professor. This is Philip Kramer. I want you to give the ship back to us. If you can hear me, release the controls! Let go, Professor. Let go!”

Static. A rushing sound, like the wind. They gazed at each other. There was silence for a moment.

“It’s a waste of time,” Gross said.

“No—listen!”

The sputter came again. Then, mixed with the sputter, almost lost in it, a voice came, toneless, without inflection, a mechanical, lifeless voice from the metal speaker in the wall, above their heads.

“… Is it you, Philip? I can’t make you out. Darkness…. Who’s there? With you….”

“It’s me, Kramer.” His fingers tightened against the microphone handle. “You must release the controls, Professor. We have to get back to Terra. You must.”

Silence. Then the faint, faltering voice came again, a little stronger than before. “Kramer. Everything so strange. I was right, though. Consciousness result of thinking. Necessary result. Cognito ergo sum. Retain conceptual ability. Can you hear me?”

“Yes, Professor—”

“I altered the wiring. Control. I was fairly certain…. I wonder if I can do it. Try….”

Suddenly the air-conditioning snapped into operation. It snapped abruptly off again. Down the corridor a door slammed. Something thudded. The men stood listening. Sounds came from all sides of them, switches shutting, opening. The lights blinked off; they were in darkness. The lights came back on, and at the same time the heating coils dimmed and faded.

“Good God!” Winter said.

Water poured down on them, the emergency fire-fighting system. There was a screaming rush of air. One of the escape hatches had slid back, and the air was roaring frantically out into space.

The hatch banged closed. The ship subsided into silence. The heating coils glowed into life. As suddenly as it had begun the weird exhibition ceased.

“I can do—everything,” the dry, toneless voice came from the wall speaker. “It is all controlled. Kramer, I wish to talk to you. I’ve been—been thinking. I haven’t seen you in many years. A lot to discuss. You’ve changed, boy. We have much to discuss. Your wife—”

The Pilot grabbed Kramer’s arm. “There’s a ship standing off our bow. Look.”

They ran to the port. A slender pale craft was moving along with them, keeping pace with them. It was signal-blinking.

“A Terran pursuit ship,” the Pilot said. “Let’s jump. They’ll pick us up. Suits—”

He ran to a supply cupboard and turned the handle. The door opened and he pulled the suits out onto the floor.

“Hurry,” Gross said. A panic seized them. They dressed frantically, pulling the heavy garments over them. Winter staggered to the escape hatch and stood by it, waiting for the others. They joined him, one by one.

“Let’s go!” Gross said. “Open the hatch.”

Winter tugged at the hatch. “Help me.”

They grabbed hold, tugging together. Nothing happened. The hatch refused to budge.

“Get a crowbar,” the Pilot said.

“Hasn’t anyone got a blaster?” Gross looked frantically around. “Damn it, blast it open!”

“Pull,” Kramer grated. “Pull together.”

“Are you at the hatch?” the toneless voice came, drifting and eddying through the corridors of the ship. They looked up, staring around them. “I sense something nearby, outside. A ship? You are leaving, all of you? Kramer, you are leaving, too? Very unfortunate. I had hoped we could talk. Perhaps at some other time you might be induced to remain.”

“Open the hatch!” Kramer said, staring up at the impersonal walls of the ship. “For God’s sake, open it!”

There was silence, an endless pause. Then, very slowly, the hatch slid back. The air screamed out, rushing past them into space.

One by one they leaped, one after the other, propelled away by the repulsive material of the suits. A few minutes later they were being hauled aboard the pursuit ship. As the last one of them was lifted through the port, their own ship pointed itself suddenly upward and shot off at tremendous speed. It disappeared.

Kramer removed his helmet, gasping. Two sailors held onto him and began to wrap him in blankets. Gross sipped a mug of coffee, shivering.

“It’s gone,” Kramer murmured.

“I’ll have an alarm sent out,” Gross said.

“What’s happened to your ship?” a sailor asked curiously. “It sure took off in a hurry. Who’s on it?”

“We’ll have to have it destroyed,” Gross went on, his face grim. “It’s got to be destroyed. There’s no telling what it—what he has in mind.” Gross sat down weakly on a metal bench. “What a close call for us. We were so damn trusting.”

“What could he be planning,” Kramer said, half to himself. “It doesn’t make sense. I don’t get it.”

As the ship sped back toward the moon base they sat around the table in the dining room, sipping hot coffee and thinking, not saying very much.

“Look here,” Gross said at last. “What kind of man was Professor Thomas? What do you remember about him?”

Kramer put his coffee mug down. “It was ten years ago. I don’t remember much. It’s vague.”

He let his mind run back over the years. He and Dolores had been at Hunt College together, in physics and the life sciences. The College was small and set back away from the momentum of modern life. He had gone there because it was his home town, and his father had gone there before him.

Professor Thomas had been at the College a long time, as long as anyone could remember. He was a strange old man, keeping to himself most of the time. There were many things that he disapproved of, but he seldom said what they were.

“Do you recall anything that might help us?” Gross asked. “Anything that would give us a clue as to what he might have in mind?”

Kramer nodded slowly. “I remember one thing….”

One day he and the Professor had been sitting together in the school chapel, talking leisurely.

“Well, you’ll be out of school, soon,” the Professor had said. “What are you going to do?”

“Do? Work at one of the Government Research Projects, I suppose.”

“And eventually? What’s your ultimate goal?”

Kramer had smiled. “The question is unscientific. It presupposes such things as ultimate ends.”

“Suppose instead along these lines, then: What if there were no war and no Government Research Projects? What would you do, then?”

“I don’t know. But how can I imagine a hypothetical situation like that? There’s been war as long as I can remember. We’re geared for war. I don’t know what I’d do. I suppose I’d adjust, get used to it.”

The Professor had stared at him. “Oh, you do think you’d get accustomed to it, eh? Well, I’m glad of that. And you think you could find something to do?”

Gross listened intently. “What do you infer from this, Kramer?”

“Not much. Except that he was against war.”

“We’re all against war,” Gross pointed out.

“True. But he was withdrawn, set apart. He lived very simply, cooking his own meals. His wife died many years ago. He was born in Europe, in Italy. He changed his name when he came to the United States. He used to read Dante and Milton. He even had a Bible.”

“Very anachronistic, don’t you think?”

“Yes, he lived quite a lot in the past. He found an old phonograph and records, and he listened to the old music. You saw his house, how old-fashioned it was.”

“Did he have a file?” Winter asked Gross.

“With Security? No, none at all. As far as we could tell he never engaged in political work, never joined anything or even seemed to have strong political convictions.”

“No,” Kramer, agreed. “About all he ever did was walk through the hills. He liked nature.”

“Nature can be of great use to a scientist,” Gross said. “There wouldn’t be any science without it.”

“Kramer, what do you think his plan is, taking control of the ship and disappearing?” Winter said.

“Maybe the transfer made him insane,” the Pilot said. “Maybe there’s no plan, nothing rational at all.”

“But he had the ship rewired, and he had made sure that he would retain consciousness and memory before he even agreed to the operation. He must have had something planned from the start. But what?”

“Perhaps he just wanted to stay alive longer,” Kramer said. “He was old and about to die. Or—”

“Or what?”

“Nothing.” Kramer stood up. “I think as soon as we get to the moon base I’ll make a vidcall to earth. I want to talk to somebody about this.”

“Who’s that?” Gross asked.

“Dolores. Maybe she remembers something.”

“That’s a good idea,” Gross said.

“Where are you calling from?” Dolores asked, when he succeeded in reaching her.

“From the moon base.”

“All kinds of rumors are running around. Why didn’t the ship come back? What happened?”

“I’m afraid he ran off with it.”

“He?”

“The Old Man. Professor Thomas.” Kramer explained what had happened.

Dolores listened intently. “How strange. And you think he planned it all in advance, from the start?”

“I’m certain. He asked for the plans of construction and the theoretical diagrams at once.”

“But why? What for?”

“I don’t know. Look, Dolores. What do you remember about him? Is there anything that might give a clue to all this?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. That’s the trouble.”

On the vidscreen Dolores knitted her brow. “I remember he raised chickens in his back yard, and once he had a goat.” She smiled. “Do you remember the day the goat got loose and wandered down the main street of town? Nobody could figure out where it came from.”

“Anything else?”

“No.” He watched her struggling, trying to remember. “He wanted to have a farm, sometime, I know.”

“All right. Thanks.” Kramer touched the switch. “When I get back to Terra maybe I’ll stop and see you.”

“Let me know how it works out.”

He cut the line and the picture dimmed and faded. He walked slowly back to where Gross and some officers of the Military were sitting at a chart table, talking.

“Any luck?” Gross said, looking up.

“No. All she remembers is that he kept a goat.”

“Come over and look at this detail chart.” Gross motioned him around to his side. “Watch!”

Kramer saw the record tabs moving furiously, the little white dots racing back and forth.

“What’s happening?” he asked.

“A squadron outside the defense zone has finally managed to contact the ship. They’re maneuvering now, for position. Watch.”

The white counters were forming a barrel formation around a black dot that was moving steadily across the board, away from the central position. As they watched, the white dots constricted around it.

“They’re ready to open fire,” a technician at the board said. “Commander, what shall we tell them to do?”

Gross hesitated. “I hate to be the one who makes the decision. When it comes right down to it—”

“It’s not just a ship,” Kramer said. “It’s a man, a living person. A human being is up there, moving through space. I wish we knew what—”

“But the order has to be given. We can’t take any chances. Suppose he went over to them, to the yuks.”

Kramer’s jaw dropped. “My God, he wouldn’t do that.”

“Are you sure? Do you know what he’ll do?”

“He wouldn’t do that.”

Gross turned to the technician. “Tell them to go ahead.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but now the ship has gotten away. Look down at the board.”

Gross stared down, Kramer over his shoulder. The black dot had slipped through the white dots and had moved off at an abrupt angle. The white dots were broken up, dispersing in confusion.

“He’s an unusual strategist,” one of the officers said. He traced the line. “It’s an ancient maneuver, an old Prussian device, but it worked.”

The white dots were turning back. “Too many yuk ships out that far,” Gross said. “Well, that’s what you get when you don’t act quickly.” He looked up coldly at Kramer. “We should have done it when we had him. Look at him go!” He jabbed a finger at the rapidly moving black dot. The dot came to the edge of the board and stopped. It had reached the limit of the chartered area. “See?”

—Now what? Kramer thought, watching. So the Old Man had escaped the cruisers and gotten away. He was alert, all right; there was nothing wrong with his mind. Or with his ability to control his new body.

Body—The ship was a new body for him. He had traded in the old dying body, withered and frail, for this hulking frame of metal and plastic, turbines and rocket jets. He was strong, now. Strong and big. The new body was more powerful than a thousand human bodies. But how long would it last him? The average life of a cruiser was only ten years. With careful handling he might get twenty out of it, before some essential part failed and there was no way to replace it.

And then, what then? What would he do, when something failed and there was no one to fix it for him? That would be the end. Someplace, far out in the cold darkness of space, the ship would slow down, silent and lifeless, to exhaust its last heat into the eternal timelessness of outer space. Or perhaps it would crash on some barren asteroid, burst into a million fragments.

It was only a question of time.

“Your wife didn’t remember anything?” Gross said.

“I told you. Only that he kept a goat, once.”

“A hell of a lot of help that is.”

Kramer shrugged. “It’s not my fault.”

“I wonder if we’ll ever see him again.” Gross stared down at the indicator dot, still hanging at the edge of the board. “I wonder if he’ll ever move back this way.”

“I wonder, too,” Kramer said.

That night Kramer lay in bed, tossing from side to side, unable to sleep. The moon gravity, even artificially increased, was unfamiliar to him and it made him uncomfortable. A thousand thoughts wandered loose in his head as he lay, fully awake.

What did it all mean? What was the Professor’s plan? Maybe they would never know. Maybe the ship was gone for good; the Old Man had left forever, shooting into outer space. They might never find out why he had done it, what purpose—if any—had been in his mind.

Kramer sat up in bed. He turned on the light and lit a cigarette. His quarters were small, a metal-lined bunk room, part of the moon station base.

The Old Man had wanted to talk to him. He had wanted to discuss things, hold a conversation, but in the hysteria and confusion all they had been able to think of was getting away. The ship was rushing off with them, carrying them into outer space. Kramer set his jaw. Could they be blamed for jumping? They had no idea where they were being taken, or why. They were helpless, caught in their own ship, and the pursuit ship standing by waiting to pick them up was their only chance. Another half hour and it would have been too late.

But what had the Old Man wanted to say? What had he intended to tell him, in those first confusing moments when the ship around them had come alive, each metal strut and wire suddenly animate, the body of a living creature, a vast metal organism?

It was weird, unnerving. He could not forget it, even now. He looked around the small room uneasily. What did it signify, the coming to life of metal and plastic? All at once they had found themselves inside a living creature, in its stomach, like Jonah inside the whale.

It had been alive, and it had talked to them, talked calmly and rationally, as it rushed them off, faster and faster into outer space. The wall speaker and circuit had become the vocal cords and mouth, the wiring the spinal cord and nerves, the hatches and relays and circuit breakers the muscles.

They had been helpless, completely helpless. The ship had, in a brief second, stolen their power away from them and left them defenseless, practically at its mercy. It was not right; it made him uneasy. All his life he had controlled machines, bent nature and the forces of nature to man and man’s needs. The human race had slowly evolved until it was in a position to operate things, run them as it saw fit. Now all at once it had been plunged back down the ladder again, prostrate before a Power against which they were children.

Kramer got out of bed. He put on his bathrobe and began to search for a cigarette. While he was searching, the vidphone rang.

He snapped the vidphone on.

“Yes?”

The face of the immediate monitor appeared. “A call from Terra, Mr. Kramer. An emergency call.”

“Emergency call? For me? Put it through.” Kramer came awake, brushing his hair back out of his eyes. Alarm plucked at him.

From the speaker a strange voice came. “Philip Kramer? Is this Kramer?”

“Yes. Go on.”

“This is General Hospital, New York City, Terra. Mr. Kramer, your wife is here. She has been critically injured in an accident. Your name was given to us to call. Is it possible for you to—”

“How badly?” Kramer gripped the vidphone stand. “Is it serious?”

“Yes, it’s serious, Mr. Kramer. Are you able to come here? The quicker you can come the better.”

“Yes.” Kramer nodded. “I’ll come. Thanks.”

The screen died as the connection was broken. Kramer waited a moment. Then he tapped the button. The screen relit again. “Yes, sir,” the monitor said.

“Can I get a ship to Terra at once? It’s an emergency. My wife—”

“There’s no ship leaving the moon for eight hours. You’ll have to wait until the next period.”

“Isn’t there anything I can do?”

“We can broadcast a general request to all ships passing through this area. Sometimes cruisers pass by here returning to Terra for repairs.”

“Will you broadcast that for me? I’ll come down to the field.”

“Yes sir. But there may be no ship in the area for awhile. It’s a gamble.” The screen died.

Kramer dressed quickly. He put on his coat and hurried to the lift. A moment later he was running across the general receiving lobby, past the rows of vacant desks and conference tables. At the door the sentries stepped aside and he went outside, onto the great concrete steps.

The face of the moon was in shadow. Below him the field stretched out in total darkness, a black void, endless, without form. He made his way carefully down the steps and along the ramp along the side of the field, to the control tower. A faint row of red lights showed him the way.

Two soldiers challenged him at the foot of the tower, standing in the shadows, their guns ready.

“Kramer?”

“Yes.” A light was flashed in his face.

“Your call has been sent out already.”

“Any luck?” Kramer asked.

“There’s a cruiser nearby that has made contact with us. It has an injured jet and is moving slowly back toward Terra, away from the line.”

“Good.” Kramer nodded, a flood of relief rushing through him. He lit a cigarette and gave one to each of the soldiers. The soldiers lit up.

“Sir,” one of them asked, “is it true about the experimental ship?”

“What do you mean?”

“It came to life and ran off?”

“No, not exactly,” Kramer said. “It had a new type of control system instead of the Johnson units. It wasn’t properly tested.”

“But sir, one of the cruisers that was there got up close to it, and a buddy of mine says this ship acted funny. He never saw anything like it. It was like when he was fishing once on Terra, in Washington State, fishing for bass. The fish were smart, going this way and that—”

“Here’s your cruiser,” the other soldier said. “Look!”

An enormous vague shape was setting slowly down onto the field. They could make nothing out but its row of tiny green blinkers. Kramer stared at the shape.

“Better hurry, sir,” the soldiers said. “They don’t stick around here very long.”

“Thanks.” Kramer loped across the field, toward the black shape that rose up above him, extended across the width of the field. The ramp was down from the side of the cruiser and he caught hold of it. The ramp rose, and a moment later Kramer was inside the hold of the ship. The hatch slid shut behind him.

As he made his way up the stairs to the main deck the turbines roared up from the moon, out into space.

Kramer opened the door to the main deck. He stopped suddenly, staring around him in surprise. There was nobody in sight. The ship was deserted.

“Good God,” he said. Realization swept over him, numbing him. He sat down on a bench, his head swimming. “Good God.”

The ship roared out into space leaving the moon and Terra farther behind each moment.

And there was nothing he could do.

“So it was you who put the call through,” he said at last. “It was you who called me on the vidphone, not any hospital on Terra. It was all part of the plan.” He looked up and around him. “And Dolores is really—”

“Your wife is fine,” the wall speaker above him said tonelessly. “It was a fraud. I am sorry to trick you that way, Philip, but it was all I could think of. Another day and you would have been back on Terra. I don’t want to remain in this area any longer than necessary. They have been so certain of finding me out in deep space that I have been able to stay here without too much danger. But even the purloined letter was found eventually.”

Kramer smoked his cigarette nervously. “What are you going to do? Where are we going?”

“First, I want to talk to you. I have many things to discuss. I was very disappointed when you left me, along with the others. I had hoped that you would remain.” The dry voice chuckled. “Remember how we used to talk in the old days, you and I? That was a long time ago.”

The ship was gaining speed. It plunged through space at tremendous speed, rushing through the last of the defense zone and out beyond. A rush of nausea made Kramer bend over for a moment.

When he straightened up the voice from the wall went on, “I’m sorry to step it up so quickly, but we are still in danger. Another few moments and we’ll be free.”

“How about yuk ships? Aren’t they out here?”

“I’ve already slipped away from several of them. They’re quite curious about me.”

“Curious?”

“They sense that I’m different, more like their own organic mines. They don’t like it. I believe they will begin to withdraw from this area, soon. Apparently they don’t want to get involved with me. They’re an odd race, Philip. I would have liked to study them closely, try to learn something about them. I’m of the opinion that they use no inert material. All their equipment and instruments are alive, in some form or other. They don’t construct or build at all. The idea of making is foreign to them. They utilize existing forms. Even their ships—”

“Where are we going?” Kramer said. “I want to know where you are taking me.”

“Frankly, I’m not certain.”

“You’re not certain?”

“I haven’t worked some details out. There are a few vague spots in my program, still. But I think that in a short while I’ll have them ironed out.”

“What is your program?” Kramer said.

“It’s really very simple. But don’t you want to come into the control room and sit? The seats are much more comfortable than that metal bench.”

Kramer went into the control room and sat down at the control board. Looking at the useless apparatus made him feel strange.

“What’s the matter?” the speaker above the board rasped.

Kramer gestured helplessly. “I’m—powerless. I can’t do anything. And I don’t like it. Do you blame me?”

“No. No, I don’t blame you. But you’ll get your control back, soon. Don’t worry. This is only a temporary expedient, taking you off this way. It was something I didn’t contemplate. I forgot that orders would be given out to shoot me on sight.”

“It was Gross’ idea.”

“I don’t doubt that. My conception, my plan, came to me as soon as you began to describe your project, that day at my house. I saw at once that you were wrong; you people have no understanding of the mind at all. I realized that the transfer of a human brain from an organic body to a complex artificial space ship would not involve the loss of the intellectualization faculty of the mind. When a man thinks, he is.

“When I realized that, I saw the possibility of an age-old dream becoming real. I was quite elderly when I first met you, Philip. Even then my life-span had come pretty much to its end. I could look ahead to nothing but death, and with it the extinction of all my ideas. I had made no mark on the world, none at all. My students, one by one, passed from me into the world, to take up jobs in the great Research Project, the search for better and bigger weapons of war.

“The world has been fighting for a long time, first with itself, then with the Martians, then with these beings from Proxima Centauri, whom we know nothing about. The human society has evolved war as a cultural institution, like the science of astronomy, or mathematics. War is a part of our lives, a career, a respected vocation. Bright, alert young men and women move into it, putting their shoulders to the wheel as they did in the time of Nebuchadnezzar. It has always been so.

“But is it innate in mankind? I don’t think so. No social custom is innate. There were many human groups that did not go to war; the Eskimos never grasped the idea at all, and the American Indians never took to it well.

“But these dissenters were wiped out, and a cultural pattern was established that became the standard for the whole planet. Now it has become ingrained in us.

“But if someplace along the line some other way of settling problems had arisen and taken hold, something different than the massing of men and material to—”

“What’s your plan?” Kramer said. “I know the theory. It was part of one of your lectures.”

“Yes, buried in a lecture on plant selection, as I recall. When you came to me with this proposition I realized that perhaps my conception could be brought to life, after all. If my theory were right that war is only a habit, not an instinct, a society built up apart from Terra with a minimum of cultural roots might develop differently. If it failed to absorb our outlook, if it could start out on another foot, it might not arrive at the same point to which we have come: a dead end, with nothing but greater and greater wars in sight, until nothing is left but ruin and destruction everywhere.

“Of course, there would have to be a Watcher to guide the experiment, at first. A crisis would undoubtedly come very quickly, probably in the second generation. Cain would arise almost at once.

“You see, Kramer, I estimate that if I remain at rest most of the time, on some small planet or moon, I may be able to keep functioning for almost a hundred years. That would be time enough, sufficient to see the direction of the new colony. After that—Well, after that it would be up to the colony itself.

“Which is just as well, of course. Man must take control eventually, on his own. One hundred years, and after that they will have control of their own destiny. Perhaps I am wrong, perhaps war is more than a habit. Perhaps it is a law of the universe, that things can only survive as groups by group violence.

“But I’m going ahead and taking the chance that it is only a habit, that I’m right, that war is something we’re so accustomed to that we don’t realize it is a very unnatural thing. Now as to the place! I’m still a little vague about that. We must find the place, still.

“That’s what we’re doing now. You and I are going to inspect a few systems off the beaten path, planets where the trading prospects are low enough to keep Terran ships away. I know of one planet that might be a good place. It was reported by the Fairchild Expedition in their original manual. We may look into that, for a start.”

The ship was silent.

Kramer sat for a time, staring down at the metal floor under him. The floor throbbed dully with the motion of the turbines. At last he looked up.

“You might be right. Maybe our outlook is only a habit.” Kramer got to his feet. “But I wonder if something has occurred to you?”

“What is that?”

“If it’s such a deeply ingrained habit, going back thousands of years, how are you going to get your colonists to make the break, leave Terra and Terran customs? How about this generation, the first ones, the people who found the colony? I think you’re right that the next generation would be free of all this, if there were an—” He grinned. “—An Old Man Above to teach them something else instead.”

Kramer looked up at the wall speaker. “How are you going to get the people to leave Terra and come with you, if by your own theory, this generation can’t be saved, it all has to start with the next?”

The wall speaker was silent. Then it made a sound, the faint dry chuckle.

“I’m surprised at you, Philip. Settlers can be found. We won’t need many, just a few.” The speaker chuckled again. “I’ll acquaint you with my solution.”

At the far end of the corridor a door slid open. There was sound, a hesitant sound. Kramer turned.

“Dolores!”

Dolores Kramer stood uncertainly, looking into the control room. She blinked in amazement. “Phil! What are you doing here? What’s going on?”

They stared at each other.

“What’s happening?” Dolores said. “I received a vidcall that you had been hurt in a lunar explosion—”

The wall speaker rasped into life. “You see, Philip, that problem is already solved. We don’t really need so many people; even a single couple might do.”

Kramer nodded slowly. “I see,” he murmured thickly. “Just one couple. One man and woman.”

“They might make it all right, if there were someone to watch and see that things went as they should. There will be quite a few things I can help you with, Philip. Quite a few. We’ll get along very well, I think.”

Kramer grinned wryly. “You could even help us name the animals,” he said. “I understand that’s the first step.”

“I’ll be glad to,” the toneless, impersonal voice said. “As I recall, my part will be to bring them to you, one by one. Then you can do the actual naming.”

“I don’t understand,” Dolores faltered. “What does he mean, Phil? Naming animals. What kind of animals? Where are we going?”

Kramer walked slowly over to the port and stood staring silently out, his arms folded. Beyond the ship a myriad fragments of light gleamed, countless coals glowing in the dark void. Stars, suns, systems. Endless, without number. A universe of worlds. An infinity of planets, waiting for them, gleaming and winking from the darkness.

He turned back, away from the port. “Where are we going?” He smiled at his wife, standing nervous and frightened, her large eyes full of alarm. “I don’t know where we are going,” he said. “But somehow that doesn’t seem too important right now…. I’m beginning to see the Professor’s point, it’s the result that counts.”

And for the first time in many months he put his arm around Dolores. At first she stiffened, the fright and nervousness still in her eyes. But then suddenly she relaxed against him and there were tears wetting her cheeks.

“Phil … do you really think we can start over again—you and I?”

He kissed her tenderly, then passionately.

And the spaceship shot swiftly through the endless, trackless eternity of the void….

“Sci-fi drink” stories by Kingsley Amis

These two unusual and very original stories [1] are examples of a rare genre invented by the brilliant author of Lucky Jim: “SF-drink”. They had me chuckling and even hooting, an enjoyable and all-too-rare experience indeed, and I dare say that they will have you doing the same!

1. The 2003 Claret (1958)
A scientific team in 1970 is anxiously awaiting the return of a member of their team who had been sent on man’s first exploratory mission into the future, to 2010 to report on the social and political situation then. But what intersts the scientific team most is the wine situation in those far-off days, and what the time-traveler has to tell them about the reversal of tastes that has occurred is quite a shock indeed.

2. The Friends of Plonk (1964)
Where people in 2145 after a terribly dsstructive atomic war try to recreate the fabled drinks of the past with no documentation at all apart from some garbled descriptions of the ceremonies surrounding the consumption of fine wines and liqueurs. With astonishing results.

THE 2003 CLARET (1958)

’How long to go now?’ the Director asked for the tenth time.
I compared the main laboratory chronometer with the dial on the TIOPEPE (Temporal Integrator, Ordinal Predictor and Electronic Propulsion Equipment). ’He should be taking the trance-pill in a few seconds, sir,’ I said. ’Then there’s only the two minutes for it to take effect, and we can bring him back.’
’Supposing he hasn’t taken the pill?’
’I’m sure he’d survive the time-shift even if he were fully conscious, sir. It’s instantaneous, after all.’
’I know, but being snatched back from fifty years in the future can’t do a man’s mind any good, can it? We just don’t know what we’re up against, Baker. I wish those blasted politicians had let us go slow on this project. But no, there mustn’t be any delay or the Russians will have developed time-travel before the Atlantic Powers, so we bundle Simpson off to the year 2010 and if we lose him or he turns up a raving lunatic it’s our fault.’ The Director sat moodily down on a work-bench. ’What happens if he gets tight?’
’He won’t have done that, sir. Simpson’s one of the Knights of Bordeaux. They never get drunk — isn’t it a rule of the society?’
’I believe so, yes.’ The Director cheered up a little. ’He’ll probably have a good deal to tell us, with any luck. The Douro growers are saying that last year was the best since 1945, you know, Baker. Imagine what that stuff must be like where Simpson is. Just one glass —
’Did you actually tell Simpson to sample the wines in 20I0 ?’
The Director coughed. ’Well, I did just make the suggestion to him. After all, part of our terms of reference was to report on social conditions, in addition to the political situation. And drinking habits are a pretty good guide to the social set-up, aren’t they? Find out how people treat their port and you’ve found out a lot about the kind of people they are.’
’Something in that, sir.’ I’m a beer man myself, which made me a bit of an outsider in the team. There were only the four of us in the lab that night — the VIPs and the press boys had been pushed into the Conference Room, thank heaven — and all the other three were wine-bibbers of one sort or another. The Director, as you will have gathered, was fanatical about port; Rabaiotti, my senior assistant, belonged to a big Chianti family; and Schneider, the medical chap, had written a book on hock. Simpson was reputedly on the way to becoming a sound judge of claret, though I had sometimes wondered whether perhaps tactical considerations played their part in his choice of hobby. Anyway, I considered I was lucky to have got the job of Chief Time-Engineer, against competition that included a force-field expert who doubled as an amateur of old Madeira and an electronics king named Gilbey [2] — no relation, it turned out, but the Director couldn’t have known that at the time.
’The receiver is tuned, Dr Baker.’
’Thank you, Dr Rabaiotti. Would you like to operate the recall switch, sir?’
’Why, that’s extremely kind of you, Baker.’ The Director was shaking with excitement. ’It’s this one here, isn’t it?’ His hand brushed the trigger of a relay that would have sent Simpson shooting back to about the time of Victoria’s accession. This may have been half-deliberate: the Director often got wistful about what pre-phylloxera stuff might or might not have tasted like.
’No, this one, sir. Just press it gently down.’
The switch clicked and instantly the figure of Simpson — tallish, forty-ish, baldish — appeared in the receiver. We all gave a shout of triumph and relief. Rabaiotti killed the power. Schneider hurried forward and there was tension again. `I’d give a case of Dow 1919 to see him conscious and mentally sound,’ the Director muttered at my side.
’Everything all right so far,’ Schneider called. ’I’ve given him a shot that’ll pull him round in a minute or two.’
We lit cigarettes. ’Pity conditions wouldn’t allow of him bringing anything back,’ the Director said. ’Just think of a forty-year-old 1970 all ready to drink. But I suppose it would have cost too much anyway. Next time we must find a better way of handling the currency problem. Very risky giving him raw gold to pawn. And we’re restricted to a lump small enough not to arouse too much suspicion. Oh, well, he should have been able to afford a few glasses. I hope that champagne’s all right, by the way?’
’Oh, yes, I put it in the molecular-motion-retarder myself, with the setting at point-three. It’ll be nicely chilled by now.’
’Splendid. I do want the dear boy to get a decent livener inside him before he faces all those cameras and interviews. I should have preferred a dry port myself, or possibly a Bittall, but I know what the occasion demands, of course. It’s a Lambert 1952 I’ve got for him. I don’t understand these things myself, but the Director of Lunar Projectiles swears by it.’
’He’s coming round now,’ Schneider shouted, and we all pressed forward.
There was an intense silence while Simpson blinked at us, sat up and yawned. His face was absolutely impassive. Very slowly he scratched his ear. He looked like a man with a bad hangover.
’Well?’ the Director demanded eagerly. ’What did you see?’
’Everything. At least, I saw enough.’
’Had there been a war? Is there going to be a war?’
’No. Russia joined the Western Customs Union in 1993, China some time after 2000. The RAF’s due to be disbanded in a few months.’
Then everyone hurled questions at once: about flying saucers, the Royal Family, the sciences, the arts, interplanetary travel, climatic conditions in the Rheingau — all sorts of things. Simpson seemed not to hear. He just sat there with the same blank look on his face, wearily shaking his head.
’What’s the matter?’ I asked finally. ’What was wrong?’
After a moment, he said in a hollow voice, ’Better if there had been a war. In some ways. Yes. Much better.’
’What on earth do you mean?’
Simpson gave a deep sigh. Then, hesitantly, to a silent audience and with the bottle of champagne quite forgotten, he told the following story.

The landing went off perfectly. Hyde Park was the area selected, with a thousand-square-yard tolerance to prevent Simpson from materialising inside a wall or halfway into a passer-by. Nobody saw him arrive. He changed his gold into currency without difficulty, and in a few minutes was walking briskly down Piccadilly, looking into shop-windows, studying dress and behaviour, buying newspapers and magazines, and writing busily in his notebook. He had several fruitful conversations, representing himself according to plan as a native of Sydney. This brought him some commiseration, for England had just beaten Australia at Lord’s by an innings and 411 runs. Yes, everything seemed normal so far.
His political report and much of his social report were complete by six-thirty, and his thoughts started turning to drink: after all, it was a positive duty. As he strolled up Shaftesbury Avenue he began looking out for drink advertisements. The beer ones had much in common with those of 1960, but were overshadowed in prominence by those recommending wines. MOUTON ROTHSCHILD FOR POWER, BREEDING AND GRANDEUR, one said. ASK FOR OESTRICHER PFAFFENBERG – THE HOCK WITH THE CLEAN FINISH, enjoined another. MY GOLLY, MY ST GYOERGHYHEGYI FURMINT, bawled a third. Well, practical experiment would soon establish what was what. Simpson slipped quietly through the doorway of an establishment clearly devoted to drink.
The interior was surprising. If some French provincial cafe had not been gutted of decor and furnishings to get this place up, then a good job of duplication had been done. Men in neat, sombre clothing sat at the tables talking in low tones, wine-glasses and wine-bottles before them, while aproned waiters moved silently about. One of them was decanting a red wine from a bottle that was thick with dust and cobwebs, watched critically by all the nearby drinkers. Simpson crept to a seat in an unfrequented part of the room.
A waiter approached. ’What can I bring you, monsieur?’
Here it must be explained that Simpson was not quite the claret-fancier the Director thought him. He enjoyed claret all right, but he also enjoyed other French wines, and German wines, and Italian wines, and Iberian wines, and Balkan wines, and fortified wines, and spirits, and liqueurs, and apéritifs, and cocktails, and draught beer, and bottled beer, and stout, and cider, and perry— all the way down to Fernet Branca. (There were some drinks he had never drunk — arak, kava, Gumpoldskirchner Rotgipfler, methylated spirits — but they were getting fewer all the time.) Anyway, feeling dehydrated after his walk round the streets, he unreflectingly ordered a pint of bitter.
’I’m sorry, monsieur, I don’t understand. What is this bitter?’
’Bitter beer, ale; you know. Haven’t you got any?’
’Beer, monsieur?’ The waiter’s voice rose in contempt. ’Beer? I’m afraid you’re in the wrong district for that.’
Several men turned round, nudged one another and stared at Simpson, who blushed and said, ’Well. . . a glass of wine, then.’
’France, Germany, Luxembourg, Austria . . .’
Simpson tried to think. ’A claret, please. Let’s say — a nice St Emilion.’
’Château Le Couvent, Château Puyblanquet, Château Bellefore Belcier, Château Grand Corbin d’Espagne . ..’
’Oh . . . I leave it to you.’
’Bien, monsieur. And the year? Will you leave that to me too?’
’If you don’t mind.’
The waiter swept away. Conscious that all eyes were upon him, Simpson tried to sink into his chair. Before he could compose himself, a middle-aged man from a nearby table had come over and sat down next to him. ’Well, who are you?’ this man asked.
’A — a traveller. From Sydney.’
’These days that’s no excuse for not knowing your wines, friend. Some of them Rubicons and Malbecs are as firm and fully rounded as all bar the greatest Burgundies. And I found a Barossa Riesling on holiday this year that was pretty near as gay as a Kreuznacher Steinweg. You well up on the Barossas, friend?’
’No, not really, I’m afraid.’
’Thought not, somehow. Otherwise you wouldn’t stalk in here and screech out for beer. Ger, ought to be ashamed of yourself, you ought.’
’I’m awfully sorry.’
’Should hope so and all. Now, I’m an honest working man, see? I’m a DRIP, I am.’
’A drip?’
’Domestic Reactor Installation Patentee. Don’t they go in for them down under? Now you listen to me. When I come in here to meet my colleagues and crack a bottle or two after the daily round, I don’t want my palate soured by some toff yelling out about beer, especially not when we got a really elegant Gevrey Chambertin or Chambolle Musigny or something of that in front of us. It’s psychosomatic, like. Just the idea of beer’s enough to cut off some of the subtler overtones, get me?’
’I’m sorry,’ Simpson said again. ’I didn’t realise. But tell me: don’t you eat while you’re drinking these wines?’
’What, and foul up the taste-buds with fat and sauces and muck? You got a nerve even mentioning food in a place like this. We’re oenophiles in here, I’ll have you know, not a bunch of pigs. Ah, here’s your claret.’ The stranger held the glass up to the light, then sniffed it delicately. ’Right, now let’s see what you got to say about this. And get on with it.’
Simpson drank. It was the most wonderful wine he had ever known, with a strange warm after-taste that seemed to seep upwards and flood his olfactory centres. He sighed deeply. ’Superb,’ he said at last
’Come on, come on, we want more than that; you got to do better than that. Give us a spot of imagery, kind of style, a reference to art, that type of stuff.’
’It’s — I don’t know — it’s the richness of summer, all the glory of . . . of love and lyric poetry, a whole way of life, profound and . . . some great procession of — ’
‘Ah, you turn me up,’ the man said violently. ’This is a 2003 Chateau La Bouygue, reconstituted pre-phylloxera of course. Now, light and free, not rich in association but perfectly assured without any insincerity, instrumental where the ’01s are symphonic, the gentleness of a Braque rather than the bravura of a Matisse. That’s as far as you can go with it. Love and lyric poetry indeed. I never heard such slop in my life. You aren’t fit to come in here, friend. You get off out to one of the pubs with your boss-class pals, that’s where you belong.’
Simpson threw down some coins and ran, a gust of ill-natured laughter sounding in his ears. He felt like walking the streets for the two hours in 2010 that still remained to him, but a nagging curiosity emboldened him to ask to be directed to a pub.
The place he finally made his way to was on the corner of a narrow street on the edge of Soho. It was a red-brick affair like a miniature grammar school or a suburban bank. As he approached, a bus drew up and a crowd of young people got off, chattering loudly to one another in what Simpson made out as a version of the upper-class tones current in his own time. He was more or less swept in through the front door of the pub, and had no time to puzzle out the significance of a notice above the entrance, painted by hand with what seemed deliberate inelegance, and bearing the legend: CRACKED UP BY THE WALLOP AND SCOFF MOB.
He found himself in a large, ill-lighted and crowded room of which the main feature was a long counter that ran from end to end zigzag-wise, as if to accommodate as many as possible of the tall stools that were closely packed along it. What were evidently glass sandwich cupboards stood every couple of feet along the red plastic top. A group of people, half-crowd, half-queue, was clustered round the entrance, and Simpson mingled with them. He noticed that most of the stools were occupied by persons drinking beer or some such liquid out of pint glasses and eating rolls or sandwiches. Conversations were bawling away around him.
’My dear, simply nobody goes to the Crown these days. Simon and I were given fresh crisps the last time we went.’
’It doesn’t surprise me. We had some mustard that couldn’t have been more than a day old.’
’The wallop’s first-class down at the George, and as for the scoff— the bluest piece of ham you ever saw. A really memorable thrash. I’m getting the secretary of the Mob to crack them up in the next issue of the Boozer Rag.’
’Have you bagged stools, sir?’
’I beg your pardon?’
’Sorry, mate. Have you bagged, mate?’
’No, I’m afraid not. May I see the head potman?’
’I’ll get him over directly, mate.’
’Shall we start thinking about what we’re going to have? Pickled onions to start? With a glass of mild?’
’Nuts for me. Mixed and salted.’
’Right, that’s three onions, one nuts. And then I can recommend the cheese rolls. They know me here and always see that I get the three-day-old, with plenty of rind.’
After some time, Simpson obtained a stool and ordered a pint of bitter from the grubby barmaid.
’Certainly, love. A fresh barrel has just come on.’
`Oh, I’ll have mild instead, then.’
’By all means, love, if you wish for it. Your taste is your own. And what will you have in the way of scoff, love?’
’Oh, er — nothing to eat, thank you.’
`If I may say so, love, with all due respect, you might perhaps do better at the wine-bar if you don’t wish for any scoff. We have standards to maintain here, love.’
’I’m awfully sorry. What. . . scoff do you recommend?’
’Our gherkins have frequently been cracked up, love. Not a dish is sold till it’s two days old.’
’They sound delightful. One dish, please.’
’Very good, love. With cigarette-ash garnishings, of course.’
The beer came. It was horrible. The gherkins came. Simpson took no notice of them. Dazedly he watched and listened to those around him. A kind of ritual seemed to be being enacted by a group of four immediately next to him. The two couples raised their pints in concert, intoned the word ’Cheers’ in a liturgical manner, poured a few drops on to the front of their greasy pullovers, and sank their drinks in one swallow. Afterwards they all sighed loudly, wiped their mouths with their hands, banged the empty glasses down on the counter, and spoke in turn.
’Lovely drop of wallop.’
’First today.’
’I needed that.’
’Lays the dust.’
’You can’t beat a decent pint.’
’Full of goodness.’
’Keeps your insides working.’
’It’s a real drink.’
When this point was reached, all four shouted ’Let’s have another’ in unison, and were immediately served with fresh drinks and small plates of sandwiches. The bread on these was curled up at the corners, revealing purple strips of meat criss-crossed with gristle. One of the men felt the texture of the bread and nodded approvingly. ’I told you this place was good,’ his friend said. Then the party got down to what was clearly the pièce de résistance, alternately biting at the sandwiches and taking pulls of beer, chewing the resulting mush with many a belch of appreciation. Simpson lowered his head into his hands. The talk went on.
’What’s the fighting like here?’
’Oh, excellent. The governor of the boozer gets it under way at ten-thirty sharp, just outside on the corner. I did hear a whisper that he’s going to allow broken bottles for the last five minutes tonight. The police should be with us by then. They’re very keen round here.’
’At the Feathers, you know, they kick off at ten-fifteen inside the bar. Don’t know whether I agree with that.’
’No. After all, it’s only the finale of the evening.’
’Absolutely. Shouldn’t make it too important.’
’Definitely not. Getting tight’s the object of the exercise.’
’Quite. By the way, who’s that fellow next to you?’
’No idea. Wine-bar type, if you ask me.’
’Hasn’t touched his gherkins. Refused fresh bitter. Shouldn’t be here at all.’
’Couldn’t agree more. I mean, look at his clothes.’
’Wonder how long since they were slept in.’
`If they ever have been.’
’Disgusting.’
’And what would you like to follow, love?’
This last was the barmaid. Simpson raised his head and gave a long yell of fury, bewilderment, horror and protest. Then he ran from the room and went on running until he was back at the point where the TIOPEPE was to pick him up. With shaking fingers he put the trance-pill into his mouth.

The Director broke the silence that followed the end of Simpson’s story. ’Well, it’s a long time ahead, anyway,’ he said with an attempt at cheerfulness.
’Is it?’ Simpson shouted. ’Do you think that sort of situation develops in a couple of weeks? It’s starting to happen already. Wine-snobbery spreading, more and more of this drinking what you ought to drink instead of what you like. Self-conscious insistence on the virtues of pubs and beer because the wrong people are beginning to drink wine. It’ll be here in our time, don’t you worry. You just wait.’
‘Ah, now, Simpson, you’re tired and overwrought. A glass of champagne will soon make you see things in a different light.’
’Slip away with me afterwards,’ I murmured. ’We’ll have a good go at the beer down in town.’
Simpson gave a long yell — much like the one, probably, he vented at the end of his visit to 2010. Springing to his feet, he rushed away down the lab to where Schneider kept the medical stores.
’What’s he up to?’ the Director puffed as we hurried in pursuit. ’Is he going to try and poison himself?’
’Not straight away, sir, I imagine.’
’How do you mean, Baker?’
’Look at that bottle he’s got hold of, sir. Can’t you see what it is?’
’But . . . I can’t believe my eyes. Surely it’s . . .’
’Yes, sir. Surgical spirit.’

THE FRIENDS OF PLONK (1964)

The (technical) success of Simpson’s trip to the year 2010 encouraged the authorities to have similar experiments conducted for a variety of time-objectives. Some curious and occasionally alarming pieces of information about the future came to our knowledge in this way; I’m thinking less of politics than of developments in the domain of drink.
For instance, let me take this opportunity of warning every youngster who likes any kind of draught beer and has a high life-expectancy to drink as much of the stuff as he can while he can, because they’re going to stop making it in 2016. Again, just six months ago Simpson found that, in the world of 2045, alcoholic diseases as a whole accounted for almost exactly a third of all deaths, or nearly as many as transport accidents and suicide combined. This was universally put down to the marketing, from 2039 onwards, of wines and spirits free of all the congeneric elements that cause hangovers, and yet at the same time indistinguishable from the untreated liquors even under the most searching tests — a triumph of biochemitechnology man had been teasingly on the brink of since about the time I was downing my first pints of beer.
Anyway, by a lucky accident, the authorities suddenly became anxious to know the result of the 2048 Presidential election in America, and so Simpson was able to travel to that year and bring back news, not only of the successful Rosicrucian candidate’s impending installation at the Black House, but also of the rigorous outlawing of the new drink process and everything connected with it. After one veiled reference to the matter in conversation, Simpson had considered himself lucky to escape undamaged from the bar of the Travellers’ Club.
For a time, our section’s exploration of the rather more distant future was blocked by a persistent fault in the TIOPEPE, whereby the projection circuits cut off at approximately 83.63 years in advance of time-present. Then, one day in 1974, an inspired guess of Rabaiotti’s put things right, and within a week Simpson was off to 2145. We were all there in the lab as usual to see him back safely. After Schneider had given him the usual relaxing shots, Simpson came out with some grave news. A quarrel about spy-flights over the moons of Saturn had set Wales and Mars — the two major powers in the Inner Planets at that period — at each other’s throats and precipitated a system-wide nuclear war in 2101. Half of Venus, and areas on Earth the size of Europe, had been virtually obliterated.
Rabaiotti was the first to speak when Simpson had stopped. ’Far enough off not to bother most of our great-grandchildren, anyway,’ he said.
’That’s true. But what a prospect.’
’I know,’ I said.
’Well, no use glooming, Baker,’ the Director said. ’Nothing we can do about it. We’ve got a full half-hour before the official conference — tell us what’s happened to drink.’
Simpson rubbed his bald head and sighed. I noticed that his eyes were bloodshot, but then they nearly always were after one of these trips. A very conscientious alcohologist, old Simpson. ’You’re not going to like it.’
We didn’t.

Simpson’s landing in 2145 had been a fair enough success, but there had been an unaccountable error in the ground-level estimates, conducted a week earlier by means of our latest brain-child, the TIAMARIA (Temporal Inspection Apparatus and Meteorological-Astronomical-Regional-Interrelation Assessor). This had allowed him to materialise twelve feet up in the air and given him a nasty fall — on to a flower-bed, by an unearned piece of luck, but shaking him severely. What followed shook him still further.
The nuclear war had set everything back so much that the reconstructed world he found himself in was little more unfamiliar than the ones he had found on earlier, shorter-range time-trips. His official report, disturbing as it was, proved easy enough to compile, and he had a couple of hours to spare before the TIOPEPE ’s field should snatch him back to the present. He selected a restaurant within easy range of his purse — the TIAMARIA’s cameras, plus our counterfeiters in the Temporal Treasury, had taken care of the currency problem all right — found a vacant table, and asked for a drink before dinner.
’Certainly, sir,’ the waiter said. ’The Martian manatee-milk is specially good today. Or there’s a new delivery of Iapetan carnivorous-lemon juice, if you’ve a liking for the unusual. Very, uh, full- blooded, sir.’
Simpson swallowed. ’I’m sure,’ he said, ’but I was thinking of something — you know — a little stronger?’
The waiter’s manner suffered an abrupt change. ’Oh, you mean booze, do you?’ he said coldly. ’Sometimes I wonder what this town’s coming to, honest. All right, I’ll see what I can do.’
The ’booze’ arrived on a tin tray in three chunky cans arranged like equal slices of a round cake. The nearest one had the word BEAR crudely stamped on it. Simpson poured some muddy brown liquid from it into a glass. It tasted like last week’s swipes topped up with a little industrial alcohol. Then he tried the can stamped BOOJLY. (We all agreed later that this must be a corruption of ’Beaujolais’.) That was like red ink topped up with a good deal of industrial alcohol. Lastly there was BANDY. Industrial alcohol topped up with a little cold tea.
Wondering dimly if some trick of the TIOPEPE had managed to move him back into some unfrequented corner of the 1960s, Simpson became aware that a man at the next table had been watching him closely. When their eyes met, the stranger came over and, with a word of apology, sat down opposite him. (It was extraordinary, Simpson was fond of remarking, how often people did just this sort of thing when he visited the future.)
’Do excuse me,’ the man said politely, ’but from your expression just now I’d guess you’re a conozer — am I right? Oh, my name’s Piotr Davies, by the way, on leave from Greenland Fruiteries. You’re not Earth-based, I take it?’
’Oh . . . no, I’m just in from Mercury. My first trip since I was a lad, in fact.’ Simpson noticed that Piotr Davies’s face was covered by a thick network of burst veins, and his nose carried the richest growth of grog-blossom Simpson had ever seen. (He avoided looking at the Director when he told us this.) ’Yes,’ he struggled on after giving his name, am a bit of a connoiss — conozer, I suppose. I do try to discriminate a little in my — ’
’You’ve hit it,’ Piotr Davies said excitedly. ’Discrimination. That’s it, the very word. I knew I was right about you. Discrimination. And tradition. Well, you won’t find much of either on Earth these days, I’m afraid. Nor on Mercury, from what I hear.’
’No — no, you certainly won’t.’
’We conozers are having a hard time. The Planetary War, of course. And the Aftermath.’ Davies paused, and seemed to be sizing up Simpson afresh. Then: ’Tell me, are you doing anything tonight? More or less right away?’
’Well, I have got an appointment I must keep in just under two hours, but until then I — ’
’Perfect. Let’s go.’
’But what about my dinner?’
’You won’t want any after you’ve been where I’m going to take you.’
But where are you — ?’
’Somewhere absolutely made for a conozer like you. What a bit of luck you happened to run into me. I’ll explain on the way.’
Outside, they boarded a sort of wheelless taxicab and headed into what seemed to be a prosperous quarter. Davies’s explanations were copious and complete; Simpson made full use of his supposed status as one long absent from the centre of things. It appeared that the Planetary War had destroyed every one of the vast, centralised, fully automated distilleries of strong liquors; that bacteriological warfare had put paid to many crops, including vines, barley, hops and even sugar; that the fanatical religious movements of the Aftermath, many of them with government backing, had outlawed all drink for nearly twenty years. Simpson shuddered at that news.
’And when people came to their senses,’ Davies said glumly, ’it was too late. The knowledge had died. Oh, you can’t kill a process like distillation. Too fundamental. Or fermentation, either. But the special processes, the extra ingredients, the skills, the tradition — gone for ever. Whisky — what a rich, evocative word. What can the stuff have tasted like? What little there is about it in the surviving literature gives a very poor idea. Muzzle — that was a white wine, we’re pretty sure, from Germany, about where the Great Crater is. Gin — a spirit flavoured with juniper, we know that much. There isn’t any juniper now, of course.
`So, what with one thing and another, drinking went out. Real, civilised drinking, that is — I’m not talking about that stuff they tried to give you back there. I and a few like-minded friends tried to get some of the basic information together, but to no avail. And then, quite by chance, one of us, an archaeologist, turned up a primitive two-dimensional television film that dated back almost two hundred years, giving a full description of some ancient drinks and a portrayal of the habits that went with them — all the details. The film was called ’The Down-and-Outs’, which is an archaic expression referring to people of limited prosperity, but which we immediately understood as being satirically or ironically intended in this instance. That period, you know, was very strong on satire. Anyway, the eventual result of our friend’s discovery was . . . this.’
With something of a flourish, Davies drew a pasteboard card from his pocket and passed it to Simpson. It read:

THE FRIENDS OF PLONK
Established 2139 for the drinking of
traditional liquors in traditional
dress and in traditional surroundings

Before Simpson could puzzle this out, his companion halted the taxi and a moment later was shepherding him through the portals of a large and magnificent mansion. At the far end of a thickly carpeted foyer was a steep, narrow staircase, which they descended. When they came to its foot, Davies reached into a cupboard and brought out what Simpson recognised as a trilby hat of the sort his father had used to wear, a cloth cap, a large piece of sacking and a tattered brown blanket. All four articles appeared to be covered with stains and dirt. At the same time Simpson became aware of a curious and unpleasant mixture of smells and a subdued grumbling of voices.
In silence, Davies handed him the cap and the blanket and himself donned the sacking, stole-fashion, and the trilby. Simpson followed his lead. Then Davies ushered him through a low doorway.
The room they entered was dimly lit by candles stuck into bottles, and it was a moment before Simpson could take in the scene. At first he felt pure astonishment. There was no trace here of the luxury he had glimpsed upstairs: the walls, of undressed stone, were grimy and damp, the floor was covered at random with sacks and decaying lumps of matting. A coke stove made the cellar stiflingly hot; the air swam with cigarette smoke; the atmosphere was thick and malodorous. Against one wall stood a trestle table piled with bottles and what looked like teacups. Among other items Simpson uncomprehendingly saw there were several loaves of bread, some bottles of milk, a pile of small circular tins and, off in a corner, an old-fashioned and rusty gas-cooker or its replica.
But his surprise and bewilderment turned to mild alarm when he surveyed the dozen or so men sitting about on packing-cases or broken chairs and squatting or sprawling on the floor, each wearing some sort of battered headgear and with a blanket or sack thrown round his shoulders. All of them were muttering unintelligibly, in some instances to a companion, more often just to themselves. Davies took Simpson’s arm and led him to a splintery bench near the wall.
’These blankets and so on must have been a means of asserting the essential democracy of drink,’ Davies whispered. ’Anyway, we’re near the end of the purely ritualistic part now. Our film didn’t make its full significance clear, but it was obviously a kind of self-preparation, perhaps even prayer. The rest of the proceedings will be much less formal. Ah . . .’
Two of the men had been muttering more loudly at each other and now closed physically, but their blows and struggles were symbolic, a mime, as in ballet or the Japanese theatre. Soon one of them had his adversary pinned to the floor and was raining token punches upon him. (We’re rather in the dark about this bit,’ Davies murmured. ’Perhaps an enacted reference to the ancient role of drink as a sequel to physical exertion.’) When the prostrate combatant had begun to feign unconsciousness, a loud and authoritative voice spoke.
’End of Part One.’
At once all was animation: everybody sprang up and threw off his borrowed garments, revealing himself as smartly clad in the formal dress of the era. Davies led Simpson up to the man who had made the announcement, probably a member of one of the professions and clearly the host of the occasion. His face was sprayed with broken veins to a degree that outdid Davies’s.
’Delighted you can join us,’ the host said when Simpson’s presence had been explained. ’A privilege to have an Outworlder at one of our little gatherings. Now for our Part Two. Has Piotr explained to you about the ancient film that taught us so much? Well, its second and third sections were so badly damaged as to be almost useless to us. So what’s to follow is no more than an imaginative reconstruction, I fear, but I think it can be said that we’ve interpreted the tradition with taste and reverence. Let’s begin, shall we?’
He signed to an attendant standing at the table; the man began filling the teacups with a mixture of two liquids. One came out of something like a wine-bottle and was red, the other came out of something like a medicine bottle and was almost transparent, with a faint purplish tinge. Courteously passing Simpson the first of the cups, the host said: ’Please do us the honour of initiating the proceedings.’
Simpson drank. He felt as if someone had exploded a tear-gas shell in his throat and then sprayed his gullet with curry-powder. As his own coughings and weepings subsided he was surprised to find his companions similarly afflicted in turn as they drank.
’Interesting, isn’t it?’ the host asked, wheezing and staggering. ’A fine shock to the palate. One might perhaps say that it goes beyond the merely gustatory and olfactory to the purely tactile. Hardly a sensuous experience at all – ascetic, almost abstract. An invention of genius, don’t you think?’
’What — what’s the . . . ?’
’Red Biddy, my dear fellow,’ Piotr Davies put in proudly. There was reverence in his voice when he added: ’Red wine and methylated spirits. Of course, we can’t hope to reproduce the legendary Empire Burgundy-characters that used to go into it, but our own humble Boojly isn’t a bad substitute. Its role is purely ancillary, after all.’
’We like to use a straw after the first shock.’ The host passed one to Simpson. ’I hope you approve of the teacups. A nice traditional touch, I think. And now, do make yourself comfortable. I must see to the plonk in person — one can’t afford to take risks.’
Simpson sat down near Davies on a packing-case. He realised after a few moments that it was actually carved out of a single block of wood. Then he noticed that the dampness of the walls was maintained by tiny water-jets at intervals near the ceiling. Probably the sacks on the floor had been specially woven and then artificially aged. Pretending to suck at his straw, he said nervously to Davies: ’What exactly do you mean by plonk? In my time, people usually. . .’ He broke off, fearful of having betrayed himself, but the man of the future had noticed nothing.
`Ah, you’re in for a great experience, my dear friend, something unknown outside this room for countless decades. To our ancestors in the later twentieth century it may have been the stuff of daily life, but to us it’s a pearl beyond price, a precious fragment salvaged from the wreck of history. Watch carefully — every bit of this is authentic.’
With smarting eyes, Simpson saw his host pull the crumb from a loaf and stuff it into the mouth of an enamel jug. Then, taking a candle from a nearby bottle, he put the flame to a disc-shaped cake of brownish substance that the attendant was holding between tongs. A flame arose; liquid dropped on to the bread and began to soak through into the jug; the assembled guests clapped and cheered. Another brownish cake was treated in the same way, then another. ’Shoe-polish,’ Simpson said in a cracked voice.
’Exactly. We’re on the dark tans this evening, with just a touch of ox-blood to give body. Makes a very big, round, pugnacious drink. By the way, that’s processed bread he’s using. Wholemeal’s too permeable, we’ve found.’
Beaming, the host came over to Simpson with a half-filled cup, a breakfast cup this time. ’Down in one, my dear chap,’ he said.
They were all watching; there was nothing for it. Simpson shut his eyes and drank. This time a hundred blunt dental drills seemed to be working at once on his nose and throat and mouth. Fluid sprang from all the mucous membranes in those areas. It was like having one’s face pushed into a bath of acid. Simpson’s shoulders sagged and his eyes filmed over.
’I’d say the light tans have got more bite,’ a voice said near him. ’Especially on the gums.’
’Less of a follow-through, on the other hand.’ There was the sound of swallowing and then a muffled scream. ’Were you here for the plain-tan tasting last month? Wonderful fire and vehemence. I was blind for the next four days.’
’I still say you can’t beat a straight brown for all-round excoriation. Amazing results on the uvula and tonsils.’
’What’s wrong with black?’ This was a younger voice.
An embarrassed silence, tempered by a fit of coughing and a heartfelt moan from different parts of the circle, was ended by someone saying urbanely: ’Each to his taste, of course, and there is impact there, but I think experience shows that that sooty, oil-smoke quality is rather meretricious. Most of us find ourselves moving tanwards as we grow older.’
`Ah, good, he’s . . . yes, he’s using a tin of transparent in the next jug. Watch for the effect on the septum,’
Simpson lurched to his feet. ’I must be going,’ he muttered. ’Important engagement.’
’What, you’re not staying for the coal-gas in milk? Turns the brain to absolute jelly, you know.’
’Sorry . . . friend waiting for me.’
’Goodbye, then. Give our love to Mercury. Perhaps you’ll be able to start a circle of the Friends of Plonk on your home planet. That would be a magnificent thought.’

’Magnificent,’ the Director echoed bitterly. ’Just think of it. The idea of an atomic war’s too much to take in, but those poor devils . . . Baker, we must prepare some information for Simpson to take on his next long-range trip, something that’ll show them how to make a decent vodka or gin even if the vines have all gone.’
I was hardly listening. ’Aren’t there some queer things about that world, sir? Shoe-polish in just the same variants that we know? Wholemeal bread when the crops are supposed to have — ’
I was interrupted by a shout from the far end of the lab, where Rabaiotti had gone to check the TIAMARIA. He turned and came racing towards us, babbling at the top of his voice.
’Phase distortion, sir! Anomalous tracking on the output side! Completely new effect!’
’And the TIOPEPE’s meshed with it, isn’t it?’ Schneider said.
’Of course!’ I yelled. ’Simpson was on a different time-path, sir! An alternative probability, a parallel world. No wonder the ground-level estimate was off. This is amazing!’
’No nuclear war in our time-path — no certainty, anyway,’ the Director sang, waving his arms.
’No destruction of the vines.’
’No Friends of Plonk.’
’All the same,’ Simpson murmured to me as we strolled towards the Conference Room, ’in some ways they’re better off than we are. At least the stuff they use is genuine. Nobody’s going to doctor bloody shoe-polish to make it taste smoother or to preserve it or so that you’ll mistake it for a more expensive brand. And it can only improve, what they drink.’
’Whereas we . . .’
’Yes. That draught beer you go on about isn’t draught at all: it comes out of a giant steel bottle these days, because it’s easier that way. And do you think the Germans are the greatest chemists in the world for nothing? Ask Schneider about the 1972 Moselles. And what do you imagine all those scientists are doing in Bordeaux?’
’There’s Italy and Spain and Greece. They’ll — ’
’Not Italy any more. Ask Rabaiotti, or rather don’t. Spain and Greece’ll last longest, probably, but by 1980 you’ll have to go to Albania if you want real wine. Provided the Chinese won’t have started helping them to get the place modernised.’
’What are you going to do about it?’
’Switch to whisky. That’s still real. In fact I’m going to take a bottle home tonight. Can you lend me twenty-five quid?’

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“When Time Was New” (1964) by Robert F. Young

Robert F. Young (1915-1986) was a prolific science-fiction writer whose 200-odd stories were published in all of the leading s-f magazines of his day as well as in Colliers, The Saturday Evening Post and Playboy. Although many of his stories were also published in book form, they are today almost all out of print and are unfortunately very hard to find, even in second-hand bookstores, on the Internet or elsewhere.

This charming and very inventive tale first appeared as the cover story of the December 1964 issue of Worlds of IF magazine.

It recounts with humor and brio, the adventures of a time-travelling explorer, and had me hooked from the beginning, had me smiling and chuckling throughout, and left me with a most agreeable warm feeling about having so well spent my reading time.

As an added bonus, the story solves a long-standing literary mystery as to the identity of the visitor who interrupted Coleridge in 1797 while the poet was writing down his masterpiece Kubla Khan, which he had just composed in his sleep. The visitor had hung around for an hour, and afterwards Coleridge hadn’t been able to remember the rest of the poem, which has thus remained unfinished. Now we know why!

It is I dare to say a fine example of the quality of the writing of an author of humble origins (science-fiction fans were astonished to learn, towards the end of his life, that he had been a full-time janitor in a Buffalo public school during most of his writing career) who is well worth discovering or rediscovering.

“When Time Was New” (1964) by Robert F. Young

The stegosaurus standing beneath the ginkgo tree didn’t surprise Carpenter, but the two kids sitting in the branches did. He had expected to meet up with a stegosaurus sooner or later, but he hadn’t expected to meet up with a boy and a girl. What in the name of all that was Mesozoic were they doing in the upper Cretaceous Period!

Maybe, he reflected, leaning forward in the driver’s seat of his battery-powered triceratank, they were tied in in some way with the anachronistic fossil he had come back to the Age of Dinosaurs to investigate. Certainly the fact that Miss Sands, his chief assistant who had cased the place-time on the tirnescope, had said nothing about a couple of kids, meant nothing. Timescopes registered only the general lay of the land. They seldom showed anything smaller than a medium-sized mountain.

The stego nudged the trunk of the ginkgo with a hip as high as a hill. The tree gave such a convulsive shudder that the two children nearly fell off the branch they were sitting on and came tumbling down upon the serrated ridge of the monster’s back. Their faces were as white as the line of cliffs that showed distantly beyond the scatterings of dogwoods and magnolias and live oaks, and the stands of willows and laurels and fan palms, that patterned the prehistoric plain.

Carpenter braced himself in the driver’s seat. “Come on, Sam,” he said, addressing the triceratank by nickname. “Let’s go get it!”

Since leaving the entry area several hours ago, he had been moving along in low gear in order not to miss any potential clues that might point the way to the anachronistic fossil’s place of origin – a locale which, as was usually the case with unidentifiable anachronisms, the paleontological society that employed him had been able to pinpoint much more accurately in time than in space. Now, he threw Sam into second and focused the three horn-howitzers jutting from the reptivehicle’s facial regions on the sacral ganglion of the offending ornithischian. Plugg! Plugg! Plugg! went the three stun charges as they struck home, and down went the a posteriori section of the stego. The anterior section, apprised by the pea-sized brain that something had gone haywire, twisted far enough around for one of the little eyes in the pint-sized head to take in the approaching triceratank, whereupon the stubby forelegs immediately began the herculean task of dragging the ten-ton, humpbacked body out of the theater of operations.

Carpenter grinned. “Take it easy, old mountainsides,” he said. “You’ll be on all four feet again in less time than it takes to say ’Tyrannosaurus rex’.”
After bringing Sam to a halt a dozen yards from the base of the ginko, he looked up at the two terrified children through the one-way transparency of the reptivehicle’s skullnacelle. If anything, their faces were even whiter than they had been before. Small wonder. Sam looked more like a triceratops than most real triceratops did. Raising the nacelle, Carpenter recoiled a little from the sudden contrast between the humid heat of the midsummer’s day and Sam’s air-conditioned interior. He stood up in the driver’s compartment and showed himself. “Come on down, you two,” he called. “Nobody’s going to eat you.”

Two pairs of the widest and bluest eyes that he had ever seen came to rest upon his face. In neither pair, however, was there the faintest gleam of understanding. “I said come on down,” he repeated. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
The boy turned to the girl, and the two of them began jabbering back and forth in a sing-song tongue that resembled Chinese, but only as the mist resembles the rain.

It had no more in common with modern American than its speakers had with their surroundings. Clearly they hadn’t understood a word he had said. But, equally as clearly, they must have found reassurance in his plain and honest face, or perhaps in the gentle tone of his voice. After talking the matter over for a few moments, they left their aerie and shinned down the trunk, the boy going first and helping the girl over the rough spots. He was about nine; she was about eleven.

Carpenter stepped out of the compartment, vaulted down from Sam’s steel snout and went over to where they were standing. By this time, the stego had recovered the use of its hind legs and was high-tailing – or rather, high-backing it over the plain. The boy was wearing a loose, apricot-colored blouse which was considerably stained and disheveled from his recent arboreal activities, a pair of apricot-colored slacks which were similarly stained and disheveled and which terminated at his thin calves and a pair of open-toe sandals. The girl’s outfit was identical, save that it was azure in hue and somewhat less stained and disheveled. She was about an inch taller than the boy, but no less thin. Both of them had delicate features, and hair the color of buttercups, and both of them wore expressions so solemn as to be almost ludicrous. It was virtually a sure bet that they were brother and sister.

Gazing earnestly up into Carpenter’s gray eyes, the girl gave voice a series of sing-song phrases, each of them, judging from the nuances of pronunciation, representative of a different language.

When she finished, Carpenter shook his head. “I just don’t dig you, pumpkin,” he said. Then, just to make sure, he repeated the remark in Anglo-Saxon, Aeolic Greek, lower Cro-magnonese, upper-Acheulian, middle English, Iroquoian and Hyannis-Portese, smatterings of which tongues and dialects he had picked up during his various sojourns in the past. No dice. Every word he spoke was just plain Greek to the girl and the boy.

Suddenly the girl’s eyes sparkled with excitement, and, plunging her hand into a plastic reticule that hung from the belt that supported her slacks, she withdrew what appeared to be three pairs of earrings. She handed one pair to Carpenter, one to the boy, and kept one for herself; then she and the boy proceeded to affix the objects to their ear lobes, motioning to Carpenter to do the same. Complying, he discovered that the tiny disks which he had taken for pendants were in reality tiny diaphragms of some kind. Once the minute clamps were tightened into place, they fitted just within the ear openings. The girl regarded his handiwork critically for a moment, then, standing on tiptoe, reached up and adjusted each disk with deft fingers. Satisfied, she stepped back. “Now,” she said, in perfect idiomatic English, “we can get through to each other and find out what’s what.”
Carpenter stared at her. “Well I must say, you caught on to my language awful fast!”

“Oh, we didn’t learn it,” the boy said. “Those are microtranslators – hearrings. With them on, whatever we say sounds to you the way you would say it, and whatever you say sounds to us the way we would say it.”

“I forgot I had them with me,” said the girl. “They’re standard travelers’ equipment, but, not being a traveler in the strict sense of the word, I wouldn’t have happened to have them. Only I’d just got back from foreign-activities class when the kidnapers grabbed me. Now,” she went on, again gazing earnestly up into Carpenter’s eyes, “I think it will be best if we take care of the amenities first, don’t you? My name is Marcy, this is my brother Skip, and we are from Greater Mars. What is your name, and where are you from, kind sir?”

It wasn’t easy, but Carpenter managed to keep his voice matter-of-fact. It was no more than fair that he should have. If anything, what he had to say was even more incredible that what he had just heard. “I’m Howard Carpenter, and I’m from Earth, A.D. 2156. That’s 79,062,156 years from now.” He pointed to the triceratank. “Sam over there is my time machine – among other things. When powered from an outside source, there’s practically no limit to his field of operations.”

The girl blinked once, and so did the boy. But that was all. “Well,” Marcy said presently, “that much is taken care of: you’re from Earth Future and we’re from Mars Present.” She paused, looking at Carpenter curiously. “Is there something you don’t understand, Mr. Carpenter?”

Carpenter took a deep breath. He exhaled it. “In point of fact, yes. For one thing, there’s the little matter of the difference in gravity between the two planets. Here on Earth you weigh more than twice as much as you weigh on Mars, and I can’t quite figure out how you can move around so effortlessly, to say nothing of how you could have shinned up the trunk of that ginkgo tree.”

“Oh, I see what you mean, Mr. Carpenter,” Marcy said. “And it’s a very good point, too. But obviously you’re using Mars Future as a criterion, and just as obviously Mars Future is no longer quite the same as Mars Present. I – I guess a lot can happen in 79,062,156 years. Well, anyway, Mr. Carpenter,” she continued, “the Mars of Skip’s and my day has a gravity that approximates this planet’s. Centuries ago, you see, our engineers artificially increased the existent gravity in order that no more of our atmosphere could escape into space, and successive generations had adapted themselves to the stronger pull. Does that clarify matters for you, Mr. Carpenter?”

He had to admit that it did. “Do you kids have a last name?” he asked.
“No, we don’t, Mr. Carpenter. At one time it was the custom for Martians to have last names, but when desentimentalization was introduced, the custom was abolished. Before we proceed any further, Mr. Carpenter, I would like to thank you for saving our lives. It – it was very noble of you.”

“You’re most welcome,” Carpenter said, “but I’m afraid if we go on standing here in the open like this, I’m going to have to save them all over again, and my own to boot. So let’s the three of us get inside Sam where it’s safe. All right?”

Leading the way over to the triceratank, he vaulted up on the snout and reached down for the girl’s hand. After pulling her up beside him, he helped her into the driver’s compartment. “There’s a small doorway behind the driver’s seat,” he told her. “Crawl through it and make yourself at home in the cabin just beyond. You’ll find a table and chairs and a bunk, plus a cupboard filled with good things to eat. All the comforts of home.”

Before she could comply, a weird whistling sound came from above the plain. She glanced at the sky, and her face went dead-white. “It’s them!” she gasped. “They’ve found us already!”

Carpenter saw the dark winged-shapes of the pteranodons then. There were two of them, and they were homing in on the triceratank like a pair of prehistoric dive-bombers. Seizing Skip’s hand, he pulled the boy up on the snout, set him in the compartment beside his sister, and told them to get into the cabin fast. Then he jumped into the driver’s seat and slammed down the nacelle.

Just in time: the first pteranodon came so close that its right aileron scraped against Sam’s frilled head-shield, and the second came so close that its ventral fuselage brushed Sam’s back. Their twin tailjets left two double wakes of bluish smoke.

Carpenter sat up straight in the driver’s seat. Ailerons? Fuselage? Tailjets?
Pteranodons?

He activated Sam’s shield-field and extended it to a distance of two feet beyond the armor-plating, then he threw the reptivehicle into gear. The pteranoclons were circling high overhead. “Marcy,” he called, “come forward a minute, will you?”

Her buttercup-colored hair tickled his cheek as she leaned over his shoulder. “Yes, Mr. Carpenter?”

“When you saw the pteranodons, you said, ’They’ve found us already!’ What did you mean by that?”

“They’re not pteranodons, Mr. Carpenter. Whatever pteranadons are. They’re kidnapers, piloting military-surplus flyabouts that probably look like pteranodons. They abducted Skip and me from the preparatory school of the Greater Martian Technological Apotheosization Institute and are holding us for ransom. Earth is their hideout. There are three of them altogether – Roul and Fritad and Holmer. One of them is probably back in the spaceship.”

Carpenter was silent for several moments. The Mars of A.D. 2156 was a desolate place of rubble, sand and wind inhabited by a few thousand diehard colonists from Earth and a few hundred thousand diehard Martians, the former living beneath atmosphere-domes and the latter, save for the few who had intermarried with the colonists, living in deep caves where oxygen could still be obtained. But twenty- second century excavations by the Extraterrestrial Archaeological Society had unearthed unquestionable evidence to the effect that an ultra-technological civilization similar to that of Earth Present had existed on the planet over 70,000,000 years ago. Surely it was no more than reasonable to assume that such a civilization had had space travel.

That being the case, Earth, during her uppermost Mesozoic Era, must have presented an ideal hideout for Martian criminals, kidnappers included. Certainly such a theory threw considerable light on the anachronisms that kept cropping up in Cretaceous strata. There was of course another way to explain Marcy’s and Skip’s presence in the Age of Dinosaurs: they could be A.D. 2156 Earth children, and they could have come back via time machine the same as he had. Or they could have been abducted by twenty-second century kidnappers, for that matter, and have been brought back. But, that being so, why should they lie about it?
“Tell me, Marcy,” Carpenter said, “do you believe I came from the future?”

“0h, of course, Mr. Carpenter. And I’m sure Skip does, too. It’s – it’s kind of hard to believe, but I know that someone as nice as you wouldn’t tell a fib – especially such a big one.”

“Thank you,” Carpenter said. “And I believe you came from Greater Mars, which, I imagine, is the planet’s largest and most powerful country. Tell me something about your civilization.

“It’s a magnificent civilization, Mr. Carpenter. Every day we progress by leaps and bounds, and now that we’ve licked the instability factor, we’ll progress even faster.”

” ’The instability factor’? ”

“Human emotion. It held us back for years, but it can’t any more. Now, when a boy reaches his thirteenth birthday and a girl reaches her fifteenth, they are desentimentalized. And after that, they are able to make calm cool decisions strictly in keeping with pure logic. That way they can achieve maximum efficiency. At the Institute preparatory school, Skip and I are going through what is known as the ’pre-desentimentalization process.’ After four more years we’ll begin receiving dosages of the desentimentalization drug. Then —”

SKRRRREEEEEEEEEEK! went one of the pteranodons it sideswiped the shield-field.

Carpenter watched it as it wobbled wildly for a moment, and before it shot skyward he caught a glimpse of its occupant. All he saw was an expressionless face, but from its forward location he deduced that the man was lying in a prone position between the two twelve-foot wings.

Marcy was trembling. “I – I think they’re out to kill us, Mr. Carpenter,” she said. “They threatened to if we tried to escape. Now that they’ve got our voices on the ransom tape, they probably figure they don’t need us any more.”

He reached back and patted her hand where it lay lightly on his shoulder. “It’s all right, pumpkin. With old Sam here protecting you, you haven’t got a thing to worry about.”

“Is – is that really his name?”

“It sure is. Sam Triceratops, Esquire. Sam, this is Marcy. You take good care of her and her brother – do you hear me?” He turned his head and looked into the girl’s wide blue eyes. “He says he will. I’ll bet you haven’t got anybody like him on Mars, have you?”

She shook her head – as standard a Martian gesture, apparently, as it was a terrestrial – and for a moment he thought that a tremulous smile was going to break upon her lips. It didn’t, though – not quite. “Indeed we haven’t, Mr. Carpenter.”

He squinted up through the nacelle at the circling pteranodons (he still thought of them as pteranodons, even though he knew they were not). “Where’s this spaceship of theirs, Marcy? Is it far from here?”

She pointed to the left. “Over there. You come to a river, and then a swamp. Skip and I escaped this morning when Fritad, who was guarding the lock, fell asleep. They’re a bunch of sleepyheads, always falling asleep when it’s their turn to stand guard. Eventually the Greater Martian Space Police will track the ship here; we thought we could hide out until they got here. We crept through the swamp and floated across the river on a log. It – it was awful, with big snakes on legs chasing us, and – and – ”

His shoulder informed him that she was trembling again. “Look, I’ll tell you what, pumpkin,” he said. “You go back to the cabin and fix yourself and Skip something to eat. I don’t know what kind of food you’re accustomed to, but it can’t be too different from what Sam’s got in stock. You’ll find some square vacuum-containers in the cupboard – they contain sandwiches. On the refrigerator-shelf just above, you’ll find some tall bottles with circlets of little stars – they contain pop. Open some of each, and dig in. Come to think of it, I’m hungry myself, so while you’re at it, fix me something, too.”

Again, she almost smiled. “All right, Mr. Carpenter. I’ll fix you something special.”

Alone in the driver’s compartment, he surveyed the Cretaceous landscape through the front, lateral and rear viewscopes. A range of young mountains showed far to the left. To the right was the distant line of cliffs. The rear viewscope framed scattered stands of willows, fan palms and dwarf magnolias, beyond which the forested uplands, wherein lay his entry area, began. Far ahead, volcanos smoked with Mesozoic abandon.

79,061,889 years from now, this territory would be part of the state of Montana. 79,062,156 years from now, a group of paleontologists digging somewhere in the vastly changed terrain would unearth the fossil of a modern man who had died 79,062,156 years before his disinterment

Would the fossil turn out to be his own?

Carpenter grinned, and looked up at the sky to where the two pteranodons still circled. It could have been the fossil of a Martian.

He turned the triceratank around and started off in the opposite direction. “Come on, Sam,” he said. “Let’s see if we can’t find a good hiding place where we can lay over for the night. Maybe by morning I’ll be able to figure out what to do. Who’d ever have thought we’d wind up playing rescue-team to a couple of kids?”

Sam grunted deep in his gear box and made tracks for the forested uplands.

The trouble with going back in time to investigate anachronisms was that frequently you found yourself the author of the anachronism in question. Take the classic instance of Professor Archibald Quigley.

Whether the story was true or not, no one could say for certain, but, true or not, it pointed up the irony of time travel as nothing else could. A staunch Coleridge admirer, Professor Quigley had been curious for years – or so the story went – as to the identity of the visitor who had called at the farmhouse in Nether Stowey in the county of Somersetshire, England in the year 1797 and interrupted Coleridge while the poet was writing down a poem which he had just composed in his sleep. The visitor had hung around for an hour, and afterward Coleridge hadn’t been able to remember the rest of the poem. As a result, Kubla Khan was never finished. Eventually, Professor Quigley’s curiosity grew to such proportions that he could no longer endure it, and he applied at the Bureau of Time Travel for permission to return to the place-time in order that he might set his mind at ease. His request was granted, whereupon he handed over half his life-savings without a qualm in exchange for a trip back to the morning in question. Emerging near the farmhouse, he hid in a clump of bushes, watching the front door; then, growing impatient when no one showed up, he went to the door himself, and knocked. Coleridge answered the knock personally, and even though he asked the professor in, the dark look that he gave his visitor was something which the professor never forgot to the end of his days.

Recalling the story, Carpenter chuckled. It wasn’t really anything for him to be chuckling about, though, because what had happened to the professor could very well happen to him. Whether he liked it or not, there was a good chance that the fossil which the North American Paleontological Society had sent him back to the Mesozoic Era to investigate might turn out to be his own.

Nevertheless, he refused to let the possibility bother him. For one thing, the minute he found himself in a jam, all he had to do was contact his two assistants, Miss Sands and Peter Detritus, and they would come flying to his aid in Edith the therapod or one of the other reptivehicles which NAPS kept on hand. For another, he had already learned that outside forces were at work in the Cretaceous Period. He wasn’t the only candidate for fossildom. Anyway, worrying about such matters was a waste of time: what was going to happen had already happened, and that was all there was to it.

Skip crawled out of the cabin and leaned over the back of the driver’s seat. “Marcy sent you up a sandwich and a bottle of pop, Mr. Carpenter,” he said, handing over both items. And then, “Can I sit beside you, sir?”

“Sure thing,” Carpenter said, moving over.

The boy climbed over the backrest and slid down into the seat. No sooner had he done so than another buttercup- colored head appeared. “Would – would it be all right, Mr.. Carpenter, if – if -”

“Move over and make room for her in the middle, Skip.”

Sam’s head was a good five feet wide, hence the driver’s compartment was by no means a small one. But the seat itself was only three feet wide, and accommodating two half-grown kids and a man the size of Carpenter was no small accomplishment, especially in view of the fact that all three of them were eating sandwiches and drinking pop. Carpenter felt like an indulgent parent taking his offspring on an excursion through a zoo.

And such a zoo! They were in the forest now, and around them Cretaceous oaks and laurels stood; there were willows, too, and screw pines and ginkgos galore, and now and then they passed through incongruous stands of fan palms.

hrough the undergrowth they glimpsed a huge and lumbering creature that looked like a horse in front and a kangaroo in back. Carpenter identified it as an anatosaurus. In a clearing they came upon a struthiomimus and startled the ostrich-like creature half out of its wits. A spike-backed ankylosaurus glowered at them from behind a clump of sedges, but discreetly refrained from questioning Sam’s right of way. Glancing into a treetop, Carpenter saw his first archaeopteryx. Raising his eyes still higher, he saw the circling pteranodons.
He had hoped to lose them after entering the forest, and to this end he held Sam on an erratic course. Obviously, however, they were equipped with matter detectors. A more sophisticated subterfuge would be necessary. There was a chance that he might bring them down with a barrage of stun-charges, but it was a slim one and he decided not to try it in any event. The kidnappers undoubtedly deserved to die for what they had done, but he was not their judge. He would kill them if he had to, but he refused to do it as long as he had an ace up his sleeve.
Turning toward the two children, he saw that they had lost interest in their sandwiches and were looking apprehensively upward. Catching their eye, he winked. “I think it’s high time we gave them the slip, don’t you? ”

“But how, Mr. Carpenter?” Skip asked. “They’re locked right on us with their detector-beams. We’re just lucky ordinary Martians like them can’t buy super Martian weapons. They’ve got melters, which are a form of iridescers: but if they had real iridescers, we’d be goners.”

“We can shake them easy, merely by jumping a little ways back in time. Come on, you two – finish your sandwiches and stop worrying.”

Their apprehension vanished, and excitement took its place. “Let’s jump back six days,” Marcy said. “They’ll never find us then because we won’t be here yet.”
“Can’t do it, pumpkin – it would take too much starch out of Sam. Time-jumping requires a tremendous amount of power. In order for a part-time time-machine like Sam to jump any great distance, its power has to be supplemented by the power of a regular time station. The station propels the reptivehicle back to a pre-established entry area, and the time-traveler drives out of the area and goes about his business. The only way he can get back to the present is by driving back into the area, contacting the station and tapping its power-supply again, or by sending back a distress signal and having someone come to get him in another reptivehicle. At the most, Sam could make about a four-day round trip under his own power but it would burn him out. Once that happened, even the station couldn’t pull him back. I think we’d better settle for an hour.”

Ironically, the smaller the temporal distance you had to deal with, the more figuring you had to do. After directing the triceratank via the liaison-ring on his right index finger to continue on its present erratic course, Carpenter got busy with pad and pencil, and presently he began punching out arithmetical brain-twisters on the compact computer that was built into the control panel.

Marcy leaned forward, watching him intently. “If it will expedite matters, Mr. Carpenter,” she said, “I can do simple sums, such as those you’re writing down, in my head. For instance, 828,464,280 times 4,692,438,921 equals 3,887,518,032,130,241,880.”

“It may very well at that, pumpkin, but I think we’d better check and make sure, don’t you?” He punched out the first two sets of numerals on the calculator, and depressed the multiplication button. 3,887,518,032,130,241,880, the answer panel said. He nearly dropped the pencil.

“She’s a mathematical genius,” Skip said. “I’m a mechanical genius myself. That’s how come we were kidnaped. Our government values geniuses highly. They’ll pay a lot of money to get us back.”

“Your government? I thought kidnappers preyed on parents, not governments.”
“Oh, but our parents aren’t responsible for us any more, Marcy explained. “In fact, they’ve probably forgotten all about us. After the age of six, children become the property of the state. Modern Martian parents are desentimentalized, you see, and don’t in the least mind getting rid of – giving up their children.”

Carpenter regarded the two solemn faces for some time. “Yes,” he said, “I do see at that.”

With Marcy’s help, he completed the rest of his calculations; then he fed the final set of figures into Sam’s frontal ganglion. “Here we go, you two!” he said, and threw the jumpback switch. There was a brief shimmering effect and an almost imperceptible jar. So smoothly did the transition take place that Sam did not even pause in his lumbering walk.

Carpenter turned his wristwatch back from 4:16 P.M. to 3:16 P.M. “Take a look at the sky now, kids. See any more pteranodons?”

They peered up through the foliage. “Not a one, Mr. Carpenter,” Marcy said, her eyes warm with admiration. “Not a single one!”

“Say, you’ve got our scientists beat forty different ways from Sunday!” Skip said. “They think they’re pretty smart, but I’ll bet they’ve never even thought of trying to travel in time. . . How far can you jump into the future, Mr. Carpenter – in a regular time-machine, I mean?”

“Given sufficient power, to the end of time – if time does have an end. But traveling beyond one’s own present is forbidden by law. The powers-that-be in 2156 consider it bad for a race of people to find out what’s going to happen to them before it actually happens, and for once I’m inclined to think that the powers-that-be are right.”

He discontinued liaison control, took over manually and set Sam on a course at right angles to their present direction. At length they broke free from the forest onto the plain. In the distance the line of cliffs that he had noticed earlier showed whitely against the blue and hazy sky. “How’d you kids like to camp out for the night?” he asked.

Skip’s eyes went round. “Camp out, Mr. Carpenter?”

“Sure. We’ll build a fire, cook our food over it, spread our blankets on the ground – regular American Indian style. Maybe we can even find a cave in the cliffs. Think you’d like that?”

Both pairs of eyes were round now. “What’s ’American Indian style,’ Mr. Carpenter?” Marcy asked.

He told them about the Arapahoes and the Cheyennes and the Crows and the Apaches, and about the buffalo and the great plains and Custer’s last stand, and the Conestogas and the frontiersmen (the old ones, not the “new”), and about Geronimo and Sitting Bull and Cochise, and all the while he talked their eyes remained fastened on his face as though it were the sun and they had never before seen day. When he finished telling them about the settling of the west, he told them about the Civil War and Abraham Lincoln and Generals Grant and Lee and the Gettysburg Address and the Battle of Bull Run and the surrender at Appomattox.

He had never talked so much in all his life. He wondered what had come over him, why he felt so carefree and gay all of a sudden and why nothing seemed to matter except the haze-ridden Cretaceous afternoon and the two round-eyed children sitting beside him. But he did not waste much time wondering. He went on to tell them about the signing of the Declaration of Independence and the American Revolution and George Washington and Thomas Jefferson and Benjamin Franklin and John Adams, and about what a wonderful dream the founding fathers had had and about how much better it would have turned out if opportunistic men had not used it to further their own selfish end and about how relatively wonderful it had turned out anyway, despite the many crimes that had been committed in its name. By the time he finished, evening was on hand. The white cliffs rose up before them, shouldering the darkening sky.

At the base of the cliffs they found a jim-dandy of an untenanted cave, large enough to accommodate both Sam and themselves and with enough room left over to build a campfire. Carpenter drove the reptivehicle inside and parked it in the rear; then he extended the shield-field till it included the cave, the side of the cliff and a large semicircular area at the base of the cliff. After checking the “front yard” and finding that it contained no reptiles except several small and harmless lizards, he put the two children to work gathering firewood.

eanwhile, he generated a one-way illusion-field just within the mouth of the cave. By this time Skip, at least, had shed his reserve. “Can I help build the fire, Mr. Carpenter?” he cried, jumping up and down. “Can I – can I – can I?”

“Skip!” Marcy said.
“It’s all right, pumpkin,” Carpenter told her. “You can help, too, if you like.”

The walls of the cave turned red, then rosy, as young flames grew into full-fledged ones.

Carpenter opened three packages of frankfurters and three packages of rolls and showed his charges how to spear the frankfurters on the end of pointed sticks and roast them over the fire. Afterward he demonstrated how to place a frankfurter in a roll and smother it with mustard, pickle relish, and chopped onions. It was as though he had flung wide magic casements opening on enchanted lands that the two children had not dreamed existed. The last vestiges of solemnity departed from their faces, and during the next half hour they created and consumed six hot dogs apiece. Skip got so excited that he nearly fell into the fire, and the smile that had been trying all afternoon to break upon Marcy’s lips at last came through, teaching the flames to burn bright.

Carpenter had made a pot of cocoa in Sam’s kitchenette, and nothing more was needed to round out the cookout except marshmallows. Was it remotely possible, he wondered, that his efficient chief assistant had included such nostalgic delicacies among the various supplies in Sam’s tail-compartment? It was doubtful at best, but he took a look anyway. To his delight, he found a whole box of them.
Again, he performed a demonstration, while the two children looked on in open-mouthed awe. When the two marshmallows which he had speared on his stick turned golden brown he thought for a moment that Skip’s eyes were going to fall out of his head. As for Marcy, she just stood there and stared as though Carpenter had said, “Let there be light!” and the first day had come into being.

Laughing, he removed the marshmallows and handed one to each of them. “Skip!” Marcy said when the boy popped his into his mouth and dispatched it with a single gulp. “Where are your manners?” She ate hers daintily.

After the marshmallow roast, he went outside and cut enough laurel and dogwood branches for three mattresses. He showed the children how to arrange the branches on the cavern floor and how to cover them with the blankets which he took out of Sam’s tail-compartment. Skip needed no further invitation to turn in: exhausted from his enthusiastic activities and becalmed by his full stomach, he collapsed upon his blanket as soon as he had it in place. Carpenter got three more blankets, covered him with one of them and turned to Marcy. “You look tired, too, pumpkin.”

“Oh, but I’m not, Mr. Carpenter. Not in the least bit. I’m two years older than Skip, you know. He’s just a kid.”

He folded the remaining two blankets into impromptu pillows and placed them a few feet from the fire. He sat down on one of them; she sat down on the other. All evening, grunts and growls and groans had been coming sporadically from beyond the shield-field; now they were supplanted by an awesome noise that brought to mind a gigantic road-repair machine breaking up old pavement. The cavern floor trembled, and the firelight flickered wildly on the wall. “Sounds like old tyrannosaurus,” Carpenter said. “Probably out looking for a midnight snack in the form of a struthiomimus or two.”

“’Tyrannosaurus,’ Mr. Carpenter?”

He described the ferocious theropod for her. She nodded after he had finished, and a shudder shook her. “Yes,” she said, “Skip and I saw one. It was a little while after we crossed the river. We – we hid in a clump of bushes till he passed. What terrible creatures you have here on Earth, Mr. Carpenter!”

“They no longer exist in my day and age,” Carpenter said. “We have terrible ’creatures’ of another order – ’creatures’ that would send old tyrannosaurus high-tailing it for the hills like a flushed rabbit. I shouldn’t be complaining, though. Our technological debauchery left us with a cold-war hangover – sure; but it paid off in quite a number of things. Time travel, for one. Interplanetary travel, for another.” At this point, the road-repair machine struck a bad stretch of pavement, and, judging from the ungodly series of sounds that ensued, blew a rod to boot. The girl moved closer to him. “Take it easy, pumpkin. There’s nothing to worry about. An army of theropods couldn’t break through that shield-field.”
“Why do you call me ’pumpkin,’ Mr. Carpenter? On Mars, a pumpkin is an unpleasant squashy vegetable that grows in swamps and midden-marshes.”

He laughed. The sounds from beyond the shield-field diminished, then faded away, as the theropod thundered off in another direction. “On Earth, a pumpkin is quite a nice vegetable – or maybe it’s a fruit. Whichever, it’s quite respectable. But that’s beside the point. ’Pumpkin’ is what a man calls a girl when he likes her.”

There was a silence. Then, “Do you have a real girl, Mr. Carpenter?”

“Not actually, Marcy. You might say that figuratively speaking I worship one from afar.”

“That doesn’t sound like very much fun. Who is she?”

“She’s my chief assistant at the North American Paleontological Society where I work – Miss Sands. Her first name is ’Elaine,’ but I never call her by it. She sees to it that I don’t forget anything when I retro-travel, and she cases the placetimes over a time-scope before I start out. Then she and my other assistant, Peter Detritus, stand by, ready to come to the rescue if I should send back a can of chicken soup. You see, a can of chicken soup is our distress signal. It’s about as big an object as a paleontologivehicle can handle in most cases, and the word ’chicken’ in our language connotes fear.”

“But why do you worship her from afar, Mr. Carpenter?”

“Well you see,” Carpenter said, “Miss Sands isn’t just an ordinary run-of-the-mill girl. She’s the cool, aloof type – a goddess, if you know what I mean. Although I don’t see how you possibly could. Anyway, you simply don’t treat goddesses the way you treat mere girls – you keep your distance and worship them from afar and humbly wait for them to bestow favors upon you. I – I worship her so much, in fact, that every time I’m near her I get so frustrated that I can hardly say anything. Maybe after I get to know her better it’ll be different. So far, I’ve known her three months.”

He fell silent. Marcy’s hearrings twinkled in the firelight as she turned and looked gently up into his face. “What’s the matter, Mr. Carpenter – cat got your tongue?”

“I was just thinking,” Carpenter said. “Three months is quite a long time at that – long enough for a man to tell whether a girl is ever going to like him or not. And Miss Sands isn’t ever going to like me – I can see that now. Why, she doesn’t even look at me unless she absolutely has to, and she won’t say two words to me if she can possibly avoid it. So you see, even if I did stop worshipping her from afar and got up enough nerve to tell her that I love her, she would probably only be annoyed and tell me to get lost.”

Marcy was indignant. “She must be out of her mind, Mr. Carpenter – just plain out of her mind. She should be ashamed of herself!”

“No, Marcy – you’ve got her all wrong. You can’t expect a girl as beautiful as she is to go for a good-for-nothing time-bum like me.”

“A good-for-nothing time-bum indeed! You know, Mr. Carpenter, I don’t think you understand women very well. Why, I’ll bet if you told her you love her, she’d throw herself into your arms!”

“You’re a romantic, Marcy. In real life, such things don’t happen.” He stood up. “Well, young lady, I don’t know about you, but I’m tired. Shall we call it a day?”
“If you wish to, Mr. Carpenter.”

She was asleep by the time he pulled her blanket up to her chin. As he stood there looking down at her, she turned on her side, and the firelight caught the buttercup-hue fuzz on the back of her neck, where her hair had been cut too short, and tinted it red-gold. All he could think of were buttercup-clad meadows in spring, and the warm clean sun rising and ushering in the dew-jeweled day . . .
After checking to see if Skip was all right, he went over and stood in the cave mouth and stared out into the darkness. With tyrannosaurus’ departure, the lesser Cretaceous creatures had come out of their hiding places and were making their presence known again. He glimpsed the grotesque shapes of several ornithopods; he saw an ankylosaurus standing immobile by a coppice of fan palms; he heard lizards scurrying both inside and outside the shield-field. A moon subtly different from the one he was most accustomed to was climbing into the prehistoric heavens. The difference lay in the number of meteorite craters. There were far fewer of them now than there would be 79,062,156 years in the future.

He realized presently that although he was still looking at the moon he was no longer seeing it. He was seeing the campfire instead, and the girl and the boy enthusiastically roasting marshmallows. Why hadn’t he gotten married and had children? he wondered suddenly. Why had he passed up all the pretty girls he had ever known, only to fall hopelessly in love at the age of thirty-two with a beautiful goddess who preferred not to know he was alive? What had given him the notion that the thrill derived from adventure was somehow superior to the contentment derived from loving and being loved? – that getting the bugs out of historical and pre-historical times was more important than getting the bugs out of his own life? That a lonely room in a boarding house was a man’s castle and that drinks drunk in dim-lit bars with fun-girls he could no longer remember the next day spelled “freedom”?

What treasure had he expected to find in the past that could equal the treasures he had passed up in the future?

The night had grown chill. Before lying down to sleep he added more wood to the fire. He listened to the flames crackle and watched their pale ffickerings on the cavern walls. A lizard regarded him with golden eyes out of prehistoric shadows. In the distance, an omithopod went Waroompf! Beside him in the Mesozoic night the two children breathed softly in their green-bough beds. Presently he slept.

The next morning, Carpenter wasted no time in getting the show on the road.
Marcy and Skip were all for remaining in the cave indefinitely, but he explained to them that, were they to stay in one place, the kidnappers would find them that much sooner, and that therefore it would be better if they kept on the move. Thus far, everything he had told them had rung a bell in their language just as everything they had told him had rung a bell in his, but this time, for some reason, he had a hard time getting through to them. Either that, or they just plain didn’t want to leave the cave. Leave it they did however – after ablutions performed in Sam’s compact lavatory and a breakfast of bacon and eggs cooked in Sam’s kitchenette – when he made it clear to them that he was still the boss.
He hadn’t as yet decided on a definite plan of action. While trying to make up his mind, he let the triceratank pick its own course over the plain – a feat for which its hypersensitive terrainometer more than qualified.

Actually, he had only two choices: (1) – continue to play big brother to the two children and elude the kidnappers until they gave up or until the cavalry, in the form of the Greater Martian Space Police, arrived on the scene, or (2) – return to the entry-area and signal Miss Sands and Peter Detritus to bring the triceratank back to the present. The second choice was by far the safer course of action. He would have settled for it without hesitation if it had not been for two things: (a) Marcy and Skip, while they undoubtedly would be able to adapt to a civilization as similar to their own as twenty-second century terrestrial civilization was, might never feel completely at home in it, and (b) sooner or later, they would come face to face with the demoralizing information that their own civilization of 79,062,156 years ago had long since turned to dust and that the technological dreams which they had been taught to regard as gospel had come to nothing. A possible third choice lay in taking them back to Earth Present, keeping them there until such time as the kidnappers gave up and left or until the Space Police showed up, and then returning them to Earth Past; but such a procedure would involve several round trips to the Cretaceous Period. Carpenter knew without having to ask that, owing to the fantastic expense involved, NAPS’ budget couldn’t support even one such non-paleontological round trip, to say nothing of several.

Pondering the problem, he became aware that someone was tugging on his sleeve. It was Skip, who had come forward and climbed into the driver’s seat. “Can I steer him, Mr. Carpenter? Can I?”

Carpenter surveyed the plain through the front, lateral, and rear viewscopes; then he raised Sam’s head and took a long look at the sky through the nacelle. A dark speck hovered high above the line of cliffs they had left less than an hour ago. As he watched, it was joined by two others. “Later on, Skip. Right now, I think we’ve got company.”

Skip’s eyes had found the specks, too. “The pteranodons again, Mr. Carpenter?”
“I’m afraid so.”

The specks grew rapidly larger, resolved into winged shapes with narrow, pointed heads. Marcy had come forward, and her gaze, too, was directed at the sky. This time, she didn’t seem to be in the least bit frightened, and neither did Skip. “Are we going to jump back in time again, Mr. Carpenter?” she asked.
“We’ll see, pumpkin,” he said.

The pteranodons were clearly visible now. There was no question but what they were interested in Sam. Whether they would try attacking him again was another matter. In any event, Carpenter decided that, even though the triceratank’s shield-field was in operation, his best bet would be to head for the nearest stand of trees. It was a stand of palmettos, and about half a mile distant. He threw Sam into high, and took over the controls again. “Come on, Sam,” he said, to keep the kids’ morale from faltering, “show Marcy and Skip what you can do!”
Sam took off like a twentieth-century locomotive, his flexible steel legs moving rhythmically, his alloy-hoofs pounding the ground in a thunderous cadence. Nevertheless, he was no match for the pteranodons, and they overtook him easily. The foremost one swooped down a hundred yards Lead, released what looked like a big metal egg and soared skyward.

The metal egg turned out to be a bomb. The crater that it created was so wide that it took all of Carpenter’s skill to guide Sam around it without rolling the reptivehicle over. Instantly he revved up the engine and shifted into second. “They’re not going to get us that way, are they, old timer?” he said.
“URRRRRRRR!” Sam grunted.

Carpenter glanced at the sky. All of the pteranodons were directly overhead now. Circling. One, two, three, he counted. Three . . . yesterday there had been only two. “Marcy,” he said, suddenly excited, “how many kidnappers did you say there were?”

“Three, Mr. Carpenter. Roul and Fritad and Holmer.”

“Then they’re all up there. That means the ship is unguarded – unless there’s a crew.”

“No, Mr. Carpenter – there’s no crew. They did the piloting themselves.”

He lowered his gaze from the circling pteranodons. “Do you kids think you could get inside?”

“Easy,” Skip said. “It’s a military-surplus flyabout-carrier with standard locks, and standard locks are simple for someone with a little mechanical ability to disengage. That’s how come Marcy and I were able to escape in the first place. You just leave everything to me, Mr. Carpenter.”

“Good,” Carpenter said. “We’ll be there waiting for them when they come back.”

With Marcy doing the figuring, retro co-ordinate calculus was a breeze. Sam was ready for jump-back in a matter of seconds.

Carpenter waited till they were in the stand of palmettos, then he threw the switch. Again, there was a shimmering effect and a slight jar, and daylight gave way to pre-dawn darkness. Behind them in a cave at the base of the cliffs, another triceratank stood, and another Carpenter and another Marcy and Skip still slept soundly in their green- bough beds.

“How far did we jump back this time, Mr. Carpenter?” Skip asked.

Carpenter turned on Sam’s headlights and began guiding him out of the stand of palmettos. “Four hours. That should give us plenty of time to reach the ship and get set before our friends return. We may even reach it before they start out – assuming of course that they haven’t been searching for us round the clock.”
“But suppose they spot us in this time-phase?” Marcy objected. “Won’t we be in the same pickle we just got out of?”

“It’s a possibility, pumpkin. But the odds have it overwhelmingly that they didn’t spot us. Otherwise they wouldn’t have gone on searching for us – right?”
She gazed at him admiringly. “You know something, Mr. Carpenter? You’re pretty smart.”

Coming from someone who could multiply 4,692,438,921 by 828,464,280 in her head, it was quite a compliment. However, Carpenter managed to take it in his stride. “I hope you kids can find the ship now,” he said.

“We’re already on the right course,” Skip said. “I know, because I’ve got a perfect sense of direction. It’s camouflaged as a big tree.”

For the second time that morning, the sun came up. As had been the case yesterday, Sam’s size and mien cowed the various Cretaceous creatures they met although whether tyrannosaurus would have been similarly cowed had they come upon him was a moot question at best. In any case, they didn’t come upon him. By eight o’clock they were moving over the same terrain that Carpenter had come to not long after leaving the forested uplands the day before. “Look!” Marcy exclaimed presently. “There’s the tree we climbed when the humpbacked monster chased us!”

“It sure is,” Skip said. “Boy were we scared!”

Carpenter grinned. “He probably thought you were some species of flora he hadn’t tried yet. Good thing for his digestive system that I happened along when I did.”

They looked at him blankly for a moment, and at first he thought that the barriers of two different languages and two different thought worlds had been too high for his little joke to surmount. Such, however, did not prove to be the case. First Marcy burst out laughing, and then Skip.

“Mr. Carpenter, if you aren’t the darndest!” Marcy cried.

They went on. The landscape grew more and more open, with coppices of palmettos and clusters of fan palms constituting most of the major plant-life. Far to the right, smoking volcanos added their discolored breath to the hazy atmosphere. In the distances ahead, mountains showed, their heads lost in the Mesozoic smog. The humidity was so high that large globules of moisture kept condensing on Sam’s nacelle and rolling down like raindrops. Tortoises, lizards, and snakes abounded, and once a real pteranodon glided swiftly by overhead.
At length they came to the river which Marcy had mentioned and which the increasing softness of the ground had been heralding for some time. Looking downstream, Carpenter saw his first brontosaurus.

He pointed it out to the kids, and they stared at it bug-eyed. It was wallowing in the middle of the sluggish stream. Only its small head, its long neck, and the upper part of its back were visible. The neck brought to mind a lofty rubbery tower, but the illusion was marred by the frequency with which the head kept dipping down to the ferns and horse tails that lined the river bank. The poor creature was so enormous that it virtually had to keep eating day and night in order to stay alive.

Carpenter found a shallows and guided Sam across the stream to the opposite bank. The ground was somewhat firmer here, but the firmness was deceiving, for the reptivehicle’s terrainometer registered an even higher frequency of bogs. (Lord! Carpenter thought. Suppose the two kids had blundered into one!) Ferns grew in abundance, and there were thick carpets of sassafras and sedges. Palmettos and fan palms were still the rule, but there were occasional ginkgos scattered here and there. One of them was a veritable giant of a tree, towering to a height of over one hundred and fifty feet.

Carpenter stared at it. Cretaceous Period ginkgos generally grew on high ground, not low, but a ginkgo the size of this one had no business growing in the Cretaceous Period at all. Moreover, the huge tree was incongruous in other first respects. Its trunk was far too thick, for one thing. For another, the lower part of it up to a height of about twenty feet consisted of three slender subtrunks, forming a sort of tripod on which the rest of the tree rested.

At this point, Carpenter became aware that his two charges were pointing excitedly at the object of his curiosity. “That’s it!” Skip exclaimed. “That’s the ship!”

“Well, no wonder it caught my eye,” Carpenter said. “They didn’t do a very good job of camouflaging it. I can even see one of the fly-about-bays.”

Marcy said, “They weren’t particularly concerned about how it looks from the ground. It’s how it looks from above that counts. Of course, if the Space Police get here in time they’ll pick it up sooner or later on their detector-beams, but it will fool them for a while at least.”

“You talk as though you don’t expect them to get here in time.”

“I don’t. Oh, they’ll get here eventually, Mr. Carpenter, but not for weeks, and maybe even months. It takes a long time for their radar-intelligence department to track a ship, besides which it’s a sure bet that they don’t even know we’ve been kidnaped yet. In all previous cases where Institute children have been abducted, the government has paid the ransom first and then notified the Space Police. Of course, even after the ransom has been paid and the children have been returned, the Space Police still launch a search for the kidnappers, and eventually they find their hideout; but naturally the kidnapers are long gone by then.”

“I think,” Carpenter said, “that it’s high time a precedent was established, don’t you?”

After parking Sam out of sight in a nearby coppice of palmettos and deactivating the shield-field, he reached in under the driver’s seat and pulled out the only hand weapon the triceratank contained – a lightweight but powerful stun-rifle specially designed by NAPS for the protection of time-travel personnel. Slinging it on his shoulder, he threw open the nacelle, stepped out onto Sam’s snout and helped the two children down to the ground. The trio approached the ship.
Skip shinned up one of the landing jacks, climbed some distance up the trunk and had the locks open in a matter of seconds. He lowered an aluminum ladder. “Everything’s all set, Mr. Carpenter.”

Marcy glanced over her shoulder at the palmetto coppice. “Will – will Sam be all right do you think?”

“Of course he will, pumpkin,” Carpenter said. “Up with you now.”

The ship’s air-conditioned interior had a temperature that paralleled Sam’s, the lighting was cool, subdued. Beyond the inner lock, a brief corridor led to a spiral steel stairway that gave access to the decks above and to the engine rooms below. Glancing at his watch, which he had set four hours back, Carpenter saw that the time was 8:24. In a few minmutes, the pteranodons would be closing in on the Sam and Carpenter and Marcy and Skip of the “previous” timephase. Even assuming that the three kidnappers headed straight for the ship afterward, there was still time to spare – time enough, certainly, to send a certain message before laying the trap he had in mind. True, he could send the message after Roul and Fritad and Holmer were safely locked in their cabins, but in the event that something went wrong he might not be able to send it at all, so it was better to send it right now. “Okay, you kids,” he said, “close the locks and then lead the way to the communications-room.”

They obeyed the first order with alacrity, but hedged on the second. Marcy lingered in the corridor, Skip just behind her.

“Why do you want to go to the communications-room, Mr. Carpenter?” she asked.
“So you kids can radio our position to the Space Police and tell them to get here in a hurry. You do know how, I hope.”

Skip looked at Marcy. Marcy looked at Skip. After a moment, both of them shook their heads. “Now see here,” Carpenter said, annoyed, “you know perfectly well you know how. Why are you pretending you don’t?”

Skip looked at the deck. “We – we don’t want to go home, Mr. Carpenter.”

Carpenter regarded first one solemn face and then the other. “But you’ve got to be home! Where else can you go?”

Neither of them answered. Neither of them looked at him. “It boils down to this,” he proceeded presently. “If we succeed in capturing Roul and Fritad and Holmer, fine and dandy. We’ll sit tight, and when the Space Police get here we’ll turn them over. But if something goes wrong and we don’t capture them, we’ll at least have an ace up our sleeve in the form of the message you’re going to send. Now I’m familiar with the length of time it takes to get from Mars to Earth in the spaceships of my day, but I don’t of course know how long your spaceships take. So maybe you two can give me some idea of the length of time that will elapse between the Space Police’s receipt of our message and their arrival here on Earth,” he asked.

“With the two planets in their present position, just over four days,” Marcy said. “If you like, Mr. Carpenter, I can figure it out for you right down to a fraction of a – “
“That’s close enough, pumpkin. Now, up the stairs with you and you too, Skip. Time’s a-wasting!”

They complied glumly. The communications-room was on the second deck. Some of the equipment was vaguely familiar to Carpenter, but most of it was Greek. A wide, deck-to-ceiling viewport looked out over the Cretaceous plain, and, glancing down through the ersatz foliage, he found that he could see the palmetto coppice in which Sam was hidden. He scanned the sky for signs of the returning pteranodons. The sky was empty. Turning away from the viewport, he noticed that a fourth party had entered the room. He unslung his stun-rifle and managed to get it halfway to his shoulder; then, ZZZZZZTTT! a metal tube in the fourth party’s hand went, and the stun-rifle was no more.
He looked incredulously down at his hand.

The fourth party was a tall, muscular man clad in clothing similar to Marcy’s and Skip’s, but of a much richer material. The expression on his narrow face contained about as much feeling as a dried fig, and the metal tube in his hand was now directed at the center of Carpenter’s forehead. Carpenter didn’t need to be told that if he moved so much as one iota he would suffer a fate similar to that suffered by his rifle, but the man vouchsafed the information anyway. “If you move, you melt,” he said.

“No, Holmer!” Marcy cried. “Don’t you dare harm him. He only helped us because he felt sorry for us.”

“I thought you said there were only three of them, pumpkin,” Carpenter said, not taking his eyes from Holmer’s face.

“That is all there are, Mr. Carpenter. Honest! The third pteranodon must have been a drone. They tricked us!”

Holmer should have grinned, but he didn’t. There should have been triumph in his tone of voice when he addressed Carpenter, but there wasn’t.

“You had to be from the future, friend,” he said. “Me and my buddies cased this place some time ago, and we knew you couldn’t be from now. That being so, it wasn’t hard for us to figure out that when that tank of yours disappeared yesterday you either jumped ahead in time or jumped back in it, and the odds were two to one that you jumped back. So we gambled on it, figured you’d try the same thing again if you were forced into it, and rigged up a little trap for you, which we figured you’d be smart enough to fall for. You were. The only reason I don’t melt you now is because Roul and Fritad aren’t back yet. I want them to get a look at you first. I’ll melt you then but good. And the brats, too. We don’t need them any more.”

Carpenter recoiled. The dictates of pure logic had much in common with the dictates of pure vindictiveness. Probably the pteranodons had been trying to “melt” Marcy, Skip, and himself almost from the beginning, and if it hadn’t been for Sam’s shield-field, they undoubtedly would have succeeded. Oh well, Carpenter thought, logic was a two-edged blade, and two could wield it as well as one.

“How soon will your buddies be back, Holmer?”

The Martian regarded him blankly. Carpenter tumbled to the fact that the man wasn’t wearing hearrings then.

He said to Marcy: “Tell me, pumpkin, if this ship were to fall on its side, would either the change in its position or its impact with the ground be liable to set off an explosion? Answer me with a ’yes’ or a ’no’ so that our friend here won’t know what we’re talking about.”

“No, Mr. Carpenter.”

“And is the structure of the ship sturdy enough to prevent bulkheads from caving in on us?”

“Yes, Mr. Carpenter.”

“How about the equipment in this room? Is it bolted securely enough to prevent its being torn loose?”

“Yes, Mr. Carpenter.”

“Good. Now, as surreptitiously as you can, you and Skip start sidling over to that steel supporting pillar in the center deck. When the ship starts to topple, you hold on for dear life.”

“What’s he saying to you, kid?” Holmer demanded.

Marcy stuck her tongue out at him “Wouldn’t you like to know!” she retorted.
Obviously, the ability to make calm, cool decisions strictly in keeping with pure logic did not demand a concomitant ability to think fast, for it was not until that moment that the desentimentalized Martian realized that he alone of the four persons present was not wearing hearrings.

Reaching into the small pouch that hung at his side, he withdrew a pair. Then, keeping his melter directed at Carpenter’s forehead with one hand, he began attaching them to his ears with the other. Meanwhile, Carpenter ran his right thumb over the tiny, graduated nodules of the liaison-ring on his right index finger, and when he found the ones he wanted, he pressed them in their proper sequence. On the plain below, Sam stuck his snout out of the palmetto coppice.
Carpenter concentrated, his thoughts riding the tele-circuit that now connected his mind with Sam’s sacral ganglion: Retract your horn-howitzers and raise your nacelle-shield, Sam. Sam did so. Now, back off, and get a good run, charge the landing-jack on your right, and knock it out. Then get the hell out of the way!

Sam came out of the coppice, turned and trotted a hunched yards out on the plain. There he turned again, aligning himself for the forthcoming encounter. He started out slowly, geared himself into second. The sound of his hoofbeats climbed into a thunderous crescendo and penetrated the bulkhead of the communications-room, and Holmer, who had finally gotten his hearrings into place, gave a start and stepped over to the viewport.

By this time Sam was streaking toward the ship like an ornithischian battering-ram. No one with an IQ in excess of 75 could have failed to foresee what was shortly going to happen.

Holmer had an IQ considerably in excess of 75, but sometimes having a few brains is just as dangerous as having a little knowledge. It was so now. Forgetting Carpenter completely, the Martian threw a small lever to the right of the viewscope, causing the thick, unbreakable glass to retract into the bulkhead; then he leaned out through the resultant aperture and directed his melter toward the ground. Simultaneously, Sam made contact with the landing jack, and Holmer went flying through the aperture like a jet-propelled Darius Green.

The two kids were already clinging to the supporting pillar. With a leap, Carpenter joined them. “Hang on, you two!” he shouted, and proceeded to practice what he preached. The downward journey was slow at first, but it rapidly picked up momentum. Somebody should have yelled, ’TIMBER!” Nobody did, but that didn’t dissuade the ginkgo from fulfilling its destiny. Lizards scampered, tortoises scrabbled and sauropods gaped for miles around. KRRRERRUUUUUUMMMP! The impact tore both Carpenter and the children from the pillar, but he managed to grab them and cushion their fall with his body. His back struck the bulkhead, and his breath blasted from his lungs. Somebody turned out the lights.

At length, somebody turned them back on again. He saw Marcy’s face hovering like a small pale moon above his own. Her eyes were like autumn asters after the first frost.

She had loosened his collar and she was patting his cheeks and she was crying. He grinned up at her, got gingerly to his feet and looked around. The communications-room hadn’t changed any, but it looked different. That was because he was standing on the bulkhead instead of the deck. It was also because he was still dazed.

Marcy, tears running down her cheeks, wailed, “I was afraid you were dead, Mr. Carpenter!”

He rumpled her buttercup-colored hair. “Fooled you, didn’t I?”

At this point, Skip entered the room through the now horizontal doorway, a small container clutched in his hand. His face lit up when he saw Carpenter. “I went after some recuperative gas, but I guess you don’t need it after all. Gee, I’m glad you’re all right, Mr. Carpenter!”

“I take it you kids are, too,” Carpenter said.

He was relieved when both of them said they were. Still somewhat dazed, he clambered up the concave bulkhead to the viewport and looked out. Sam was nowhere to be seen. Remembering that he was still in tele-circuit contact, he ordered the triceratank to home in, after which he climbed through the viewport, lowered himself to the ground and began looking for Holmer’s body. When he failed to find it he thought at first that the man had survived the fall and had made off into the surrounding scenery.

Then he came to one of the bogs with which the area infested, and saw its roiled surface. He shuddered. Well anyway, he knew who the fossil was.

Or rather, who the fossil had been.

Sam came trotting up, circumventing the bog in response to the Terrainometer’s stimuli. Carpenter patted the reptivehicle’s head, which was not in the least damaged from its recent collision with the landing-jack; then he broke off liaison and returned to the ship. Marcy and Skip were standing in the viewport, staring at the sky. Turning, Carpenter stared at the sky, too. There were three specks in it.
His mind cleared completely then, and he lifted the two children down to the ground. “Run for Sam!” he said. “Hurry!”

He set out after them. They easily outmatched his longer but far-slower strides, gaining the reptivehicle and clambering into the driver’s compartment before he had covered half the distance. The pteranodons were close now, and he could see their shadows rushing toward him across the ground. Unfortunately, however, he failed to see the small tortoise that was trying frantically to get out of his way. He tripped over it and went sprawling on his face.

Glancing up, he saw that Marcy and Skip had closed Sam’s nacelle. A moment later, to his consternation the triceratank disappeared.

Suddenly another shadow crept across the land, a shadow so vast that it swallowed those cast by the pteranodons.

Turning on his side, Carpenter saw the ship. It was settling down on the plain like an extraterrestrial Empire State Building, and, as he watched, three rainbow-beams of light shot forth from its upper section and the three pteranodons went PFFFFFFTTT! PFFFFFFTT! PFFFFFFTTT! and were no more.

The Empire State Building came solidly to rest, opened its street doors and extended a gangplank the width of a Fifth Avenue sidewalk. Through the doors and down the sidewalk came the cavalry. Looking in the other direction, Carpenter saw that Sam had reappeared in exactly the same spot from which he had vanished. His nacelle had reopened, and Marcy and Skip were climbing out of the driver’s compartment in the midst of a cloud of bluish smoke. Carpenter understood what had happened then, and he kissed the twenty-second century good-by.

The two kids came running up just as the commander of the cavalry stepped to the forefront of his troops. Actually, the troops were six tall Martians wearing deep-purple togas and stern expressions and carrying melters, while the commander was an even taller Martian wearing an even purpler toga and an even sterner expression and carrying what looked like a fairy godmother’s wand. The dirty look which he accorded Carpenter was duplicated a moment later by the dirty look which he accorded the two children.

They were helping Carpenter to his feet. Not that he needed help in a physical sense. It was just that he was so overwhelmed by the rapid turn of events that he couldn’t quite get his bearings back. Marcy was sobbing.

“We didn’t want to burn Sam out, Mr. Carpenter,” she said, all in a rush, “but jumping back four days, two hours, sixteen minutes and three and three-quarter seconds and sneaking on board the kidnapper’s ship and sending a message to Space Police Headquarters was the only way we could get them here in time to save your life. I told them what a pickle you’d be in, and to have their iridescers ready. Then, just as we were about to come back to the present Sam’s time-travel unit broke down and Skip had to fix it, and then Sam went and burned out anyway, and oh, Mr. Carpenter, I’m so sorry! Now, you’ll never be able to go back to the year 79,062,156 again and see Miss Sands, and—”

Carpenter patted her on the shoulder. “It’s all right, pumpkin. It’s all right. You did the right thing, and I’m proud of you for it.” He shook his head in admiration. “You sure computed it to a T, didn’t you?”

A smile broke through the rain of tears, and the rain went away. “I’m – I’m pretty good at computations, Mr. Carpenter.”

“But I threw the switch,” Skip said. “And I fixed Sam’s time-travel unit when it broke down.”

Carpenter grinned. “I know you did, Skip. I think the two of you are just wonderful.” He faced the tall Martian with the fairy-godmother wand, noted that the man already had a pair of hearrings attached to his ears. “I guess I’m almost as beholden to you as I am to Marcy and Skip,” Carpenter said, “and I’m duly grateful. And now I’m afraid I’m going to impose on your good will still further and ask you to take me to Mars with you. My reptivehicle’s burned out and can’t possibly be repaired by anyone except a group of technological specialists working in an ultra-modern machine shop with all the trimmings, which means I have no way either of contacting the era from which I came, or of getting back to it.”

“My name is Hautor,” the tall Martian said. He turned to Marcy. “Recount to me, with the maximum degree of conciseness of which you are capable, the events beginning with your arrival on this planet and leading up to the present moment.”

Marcy did so. “So you see, sir,” she concluded, “in helping Skip and me, Mr. Carpenter has got himself in quite a pickle. He can’t return to his own era, and he can’t survive in this one. We simply have to take him back to Mars with us, and that’s all there is to it!”

Hautor made no comment. Almost casually, he raised his fairy-godmother wand, pointed it toward the kidnappers’ prostrate ship and did something to the handle that caused the wand proper to glow in brilliant greens and blues. Presently a rainbow beam of light flashed forth from the Empire State Building, struck the kidnappers’ ship and relegated it to the same fate as that suffered by the three pteranodons. Turning, Hautor faced two of his men.

“Put the children on board the police cruiser and see to it that they are suitably cared for.” Finally, he turned back to Carpenter. “The government of Greater Mars is grateful for the services you have rendered it in the preserving of the lives of two of its most valuable citizens-to-be. I thank you in its behalf. And now, Mr. Carpenter, good-by.”

Hautor started to turn away. Instantly Marcy and Skip ran to his side. “You can’t leave him here!” Marcy cried. “He’ll die!”

Hautor signaled to the two Martians whom he had spoken to a moment ago. They leaped forward, seized the two children and began dragging them toward the Empire State Building. “Look,” Carpenter said, somewhat staggered by the new turn of events, but still on his feet, “I’m not begging for my life, but I can do you people some good if you’ll make room for me in your society. I can give you time travel, for one thing. For another—”

“Mr. Carpenter, if we had wanted time travel, we would have devised it long ago. Time travel is the pursuit of fools. The pattern of the past is set, and cannot be changed; and in it that has not already been done. Why try? And as for the future, who but an imbecile would want to know what tomorrow will bring?”
“All right,” Carpenter said. “I won’t invent time travel then, I’ll keep my mouth shut and settle down and be good solid citizen.”

“You wouldn’t and you know it, Mr. Carpenter – unless we desentimentalized you. And I can tell from the expression on your face that you would never voluntarily submit to such a solution. You would rather remain here in your prehistoric past and die.”

“Now that you mentioned it, I would at that,” Carpenter said. “Compared to you people, Tyrannosaurus rex is a Salvation Army worker, and all the other dinosaurs, saurischians and ornithischians alike, have hearts of purest gold. But it seems to me that there is one simple thing which you could do in my behalf without severely affecting your desentimentalized equilibrium. You could give me a weapon to replace the one that Holmer disintegrated.”

Hautor shook his head. “That is one thing I cannot do, Mr. Carpenter, because a weapon could conceivably become a fossil, and thereby make me responsible for an anachronism. I am already potentially responsible for one in the form of Holmer’s irretrievable body, and I refuse to risk being responsible for any more. Why do you think I iridesced the kidnappers’ ship?”

“Mr. Carpenter,” Skip called from the gangplank, up which two Martians were dragging him and his sister, maybe Sam’s not completely burned out. Maybe you can rev up enough juice to at least send back a can of chicken soup.”

“I’m afraid not, Skip,” Carpenter called back. “But it’s all right, you kids,” he went on. “Don’t you worry about me – I’ll get along okay. Animals have always liked me, so why shouldn’t reptiles! They’re animals, too.”

“Oh, Mr. Carpenter!” Marcy cried. “I’m so sorry this happened! Why didn’t you take us back to 79,062,156 with you? We wanted you to all along, but we were afraid to say so.”

“I wish I had, pumpkin – I wish I had.” Suddenly, he couldn’t see very well, and he turned away. When he looked back, the two Martians were dragging Marcy and Skip through the locks. He waved. “Good-by, you kids,” he called. I’ll never forget you.”

Marcy made a last desperate effort to free herself. She almost, but not quite, succeeded. The autumn asters of her eyes were twinkling with tears like morning dew. “I love you, Mr. Carpenter!” she cried, just before she and Skip were dragged out of sight. “I’ll love you for the rest of my life!”

With two deft movements, Hautor flicked the hearrings from Carpenter’s ears; then he and the rest of the cavalry climbed the gangplank and entered the ship. Some cavalry! Carpenter thought. He watched the street doors close, saw the Empire State Building quiver.

Presently it lifted and hovered majestically, stabbed into the sky just above the ground on a wash of blinding light. It rose, effortlessly, and became a star. It wasn’t a falling star, but he wished upon it anyway. “I wish both of you happiness,” he said, “and I wish that they never take your hearts away, because your hearts are one of the nicest things about you.”

The star faded then, and winked out. He stood all alone on the vast plain.
The ground trembled. Turning, he caught a great dark movement to the right of a trio of fan palms. A moment later, he made out the huge head and the massive, upright body. He recoiled as two rows of saberlike teeth glittered in the sun.
Tyrannosaurus!

A burned-out reptivehicle was better than no reptivehicle at all. Carpenter made tracks for Sam.

In the driver’s compartment, with the nacelle tightly closed, he watched the theropod’s approach. There was no question but what it had seen him, and no question but what it was headed straight for Sam. Marcy and Skip had retracted the nacelle-shield, which left Carpenter pretty much of a sitting duck; however, he didn’t retreat to Sam’s cabin just yet, for they had also re-projected the horn-howitzers.

Although the howitzers were no longer maneuverable, they were still operable. If the tyrannosaurus came within their fixed range it could be put temporarily out of action with a volley of stun-charges. Right now, it was approaching Sam at right angles to the direction in which the howitzers were pointing, but there was a chance that it might pass in front of them before closing in. Carpenter considered it a chance worth taking.

He crouched low in the driver’s seat, his right hand within easy reaching distance of the triggers. With the air-conditioning unit no longer functioning, the interior of the triceratank was hot and stuffy. To add to his discomfort, the air was permeated with the acrid smell of burnt wiring. He shut his mind to both annoyances, and concentrated on the task at hand.

The theropod was so close now that he could see its atrophied forelegs. They dangled down from the neck-width shoulders like the wizened legs of a creature one tenth its size. Over them, a full twenty-five feet above the ground Rod attached to a neck the girth of a tree trunk, loomed the huge head; below them, the grotesque torso swelled out and down to the hind legs. The mighty tail dragged over the landscape, adding the cracking and splitting noises of crushed shrubbery to the thunder thrown forth each time the enormous bird-claw feet came into contact with the terrain. Carpenter should have been terrified. He was at a loss to understand why he wasn’t.

Several yards from the triceratank, the tyrannosaurus came to a halt and its partially opened jaws began opening wider.

The foot-and-a-half-high teeth with which they were equipped could grind through Sam’s nacelle as though it was made of tissue paper, and from all indications, that was just what they were going to do. Carpenter prepared himself for a hasty retreat into Sam’s cabin; then just when things looked blackest, the therodon, as though dissatisfied with its present angle of attack, moved around in front of the reptivehicle, providing him with the opportunity he had been hoping for. His fingers leaped to the first of the trio of triggers, touched, but did not squeeze it. Why wasn’t he afraid?

He looked up through the nacelle at the horrendous head. The huge jaws had continued to part, and now the whole top of the skull was raising into a vertical position. As he stared, a pretty head of quite another nature appeared over the lower row of teeth and two bright blue a eves peered down at him.
“Miss Sands!” he gasped, and nearly fell out of the driver’s seat.

Recovering himself, he threw open the nacelle, stepped out on Sam’s snout and gave the tyrannosaurus an affectionate pat on the stomach. “Edith,” he said. “Edith, you doll, you!”

“Are you all right, Mr. Carpenter?” Miss Sands called down.

“Just fine,” Carpenter said. “Am I glad to see you, Miss Sands!”

Another head appeared beside Miss Sands. The familiar chestnut haired head of Peter Detritus. “Are you glad to see me too, Mr. Carpenter?”

“Well, I guess, Pete old buddy!”

Miss Sands lowered Edith’s lip ladder, and the two of them climbed down, Peter Detritus was carrying a tow cable, and presently he proceeded to affix it to Sam’s snout and Edith’s tail respectively. Carpenter lent a hand. “How’d you know I was in a pickle?” he asked. “I didn’t send back any soup.”

“We had a hunch,” Peter Detritus said. He turned to Miss Sands. “There, she’s all set, Sandy.”

“Well, let’s be on our way then,” Miss Sands said, She looked at Carpenter, then looked quickly away. “If, of course, your mission is completed, Mr. Carpenter.”
Now that the excitement was over he was finding her presence just as disconcerting as he usually found it. “It’s completed all right, Miss Sands,” he said to the left pocket of her field blouse. “You’ll never believe how it turned out, either.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Sometimes the most unbelievable things of all turn out to be the most believable ones. I’ll fix you something to eat, Mr. Carpenter.”

She climbed agilely up the ladder. Carpenter followed, and Peter Detritus brought up the rear. “I’ll take the controls, Mr. Carpenter,” the latter said, pulling the ladder. “You look bushed.”

“I am,” Carpenter said.

In Edith’s cabin, he collapsed on the bunk. Miss Sands went over to the kitchenette and put water on to boil for coffee and took a boiled ham down from the refrigerator-shelf. Up in the driver’s compartment, Peter Detritus closed the nacelle and threw Edith into gear.

He was a good driver, Peter Detritus was, and he would rather drive than eat. Not only that, he could take a paleontologivehicle apart and put it back together again blind-folded. Funny, why he and Miss Sands had never gone for each other. They were both so attractive, you’d have thought they would have fallen in love long ago. Carpenter was glad that they hadn’t of course – not that it was ever going to do him any good.

He wondered why they had made no mention of the Space Police ship. Surely, they must have seen it when it blasted off . . .

Edith was moving over the plain in the direction of the uplands now, and through the cabin viewport he could see Sam shambling along behind on motion-provoked legs. In the kitchenette, Miss Sands was slicing ham. Carpenter concentrated on her, trying to drive away the sadness he felt over his parting with Marcy and Skip. His eyes touched her slender shapely legs, her slender waist, rose to her cupreous head, lingering for a moment on the silken fuzz that grew charmingly on the back of her neck where her hair had been cut too short. Strange, how people’s hair got darker when they grew older –
Carpenter lay motionlessly on the bunk. “Miss Sands,” said suddenly, “how much is 499,999,991 times 8,003,432,111?”

“400,171,598,369,111,001,” Miss Sands answered.

Abruptly she gave a start. Then she went on slicing ham.

Slowly, Carpenter sat up. He lowered his feet to the floor. A tightness took over in his chest and he could barely breathe. Take a pair of lonely kids. One of them a mathematical genius, the other a mechanical genius. A pair of lonely kids who have never known what it is like to be loved in all their lonely lives. Now, transport them to another planet and put them in a reptivehicle that for all its practicability is still a huge and delightful toy, and treat them to an impromptu Cretaceous camping trip, and show them the first affection they have ever known. Finally, take these things away from them and simultaneously provide them with a supreme motivation for getting them back – the need to save a human life – and include in that motivation the inbuilt possibility that by saving that life they can – in another but no less real sense – save their own.
But 79,062,156 years! 49,000,000 miles! It couldn’t be!

Why couldn’t it?

They could have built the machine in secret at the preparatory school, all the while pretending to go along with the “pre-desentimentalization process”; then, just before they were scheduled to begin receiving doses of the desentitalization drug, they could have entered the machine and time-jumped far into the future.
Granted, such a time-jump would have required a vast amount of power. And granted, the Martian landscape they would have emerged on would have given them the shock of their lives. But they were resourceful kids, easily resourceful enough to have tapped the nearest major power source, and certainly resourceful enough to have endured the climate and the atmosphere of Mars Present until they located one of the Martian oxygen caves. The Martians would have taken care of them and have taught them all they needed to know to pass themselves off as terrestrials in one of the domed colonies. As for the colonists, they wouldn’t have asked too many questions because they would have been overjoyed to add two newcomers to their underpopulated community. After that, it would merely have been a matter of the two children’s biding their time till they grew old enough to work and earn their passage to Earth. Once on Earth, it would merely have been a matter of acquiring the necessary education to equip them for paleontological work.

Sure, it would have taken them years to accomplish such a mission, but they would have anticipated that, and have time-jumped to a point in time far enough in advance of the year A.D. 2156 to have enabled them to do what they had to do. They had played it pretty close at that, though. Miss Sands had only been with NAPS for three months, and as for Peter Detritus, he had been hired a month later. On Miss Sands’ recommendation, of course.

They had simply come the long way around – that was all. Traveled 49,000,000 miles to Mars Past, 79,062,100 years to Mars Present, 49,000,000 miles to Earth Present, and 79,062,156 years to Earth Past.

Carpenter sat there, stunned.

Had they known they were going to turn out to be Miss Sands and Peter Detritus? he wondered. They must have – or, if not, they must have gambled on it and taken the names when they joined the colonists. All of which created something of a paradox. But it was a minor one at best, not worth worrying about. In any event, the names certainly fitted them.

But why had they passed themselves off as strangers? Well, they had been strangers, hadn’t they? And if they had told him the truth, would he have believed them?

Of course he wouldn’t have.

None of which explained why Miss Sands disliked him.

But did she dislike him? Maybe her reaction to him resulted from the same cause that was responsible for his reaction to her. Maybe she worshipped him as much as he worshipped her, and became as tongue-tied in his presence as he did in hers. Maybe the reason she had never looked at him any longer than was absolutely necessary was that she had been afraid of betraying the way she felt before he learned the truth about her.

He found it suddenly hard to see.

The smooth purring of Edith’s battery-powered motor filled the cabin. For quite some time now there had been no other sound.

“What’s the matter?” Miss Sands said suddenly out of clear blue sky. “Cat got your tongue, Mr. Carpenter?” He stood up then. She had turned, and was facing him. Her eyes were misted, and she was looking at him gently, adoringly . . . the way she had looked at him last night, in one sense, and 79,062,156 years ago in another, by a Mesozoic campfire in an upper Cretaceous cave. Why I’ll bet if you told her you loved her, she’d throw herself into your arms!

“I love you, pumpkin,” Carpenter said.

And Miss Sands did.

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“Uncommon Sense” (1945) by Hal Clement

This is a great science fiction story. This interesting tale of conflict and survival in a hostile and unknown land was first published in the September 1945 issue of Astounding Science Fiction, with the striking illustrations by Williams that we have reproduced here.

Its author Hal Clement (1922-2003) was a trained astrophysicist who brought an emphasis on the “science” part of science-fiction that was particularly effective, interesting and convincing in this quite perfect little story that has so well passed the test of time.

He was serving as a pilot in the US Air Force at the time of publication of this story, and had flown dozens of combat missions during the war in Europe. He later retired with the rank of Colonel.

“Uncommon Sense” (1945) by Hal Clement

“So you’ve left us, Mr. Cunningham!” Malmeson’s voice sounded rougher than usual, even allowing for headphone distortion and the ever-present Denebian static. “Now, that’s too bad. If you’d chosen to stick around, we would have put you off on some world where you could live, at least. Now you can stay here and fry. And I hope you live long enough to watch us take off—without you!”

Laird Cunningham did not bother to reply. The ship’s radio compass should still be in working order, and it was just possible that his erstwhile assistants might start hunting for him, if they were given some idea of the proper direction to begin a search. Cunningham was too satisfied with his present shelter to be very anxious for a change. He was scarcely half a mile from the grounded ship, in a cavern deep enough to afford shelter from Deneb’s rays when it rose, and located in the side of a small hill, so that he could watch the activities of Malmeson and his companion without exposing himself to their view.

In a way, of course, the villain was right. If Cunningham permitted the ship to take off without him, he might as well open his face plate; for, while he had food and oxygen for several days’ normal consumption, a planet scarcely larger than Luna, baked in rays of one of the fiercest radiating bodies in the galaxy, was most unlikely to provide further supplies when these ran out. He wondered how long it would take the men to discover the damage he had done to the drive units in the few minutes that had elapsed between the crash landing and their breaking through the control room door, which Cunningham had welded shut when he had discovered their intentions. They might not notice it at all; he had severed a number of inconspicuous connections at odd points. Perhaps they would not even test the drivers until they had completed repairs to the cracked hull. If they didn’t, so much the better.

Cunningham crawled to the mouth of his cave and looked out across the shallow valley in which the ship lay. It was barely visible in the starlight, and there was no sign of artificial luminosity to suggest that Malmeson might have started repairs at night. Cunningham had not expected that they would, but it was well to be sure. Nothing more had come over his suit-radio since the initial outburst, when the men had discovered his departure; he decided that they must be waiting for sunrise, to enable them to take more accurate stock of the damage suffered by the hull.

He spent the next few minutes looking at the stars, trying to arrange them into patterns he could remember. He had no watch, and it would help to have some warning of approaching sunrise on succeeding nights. It would not do to be caught away from his cave, with the flimsy protection his suit could afford from Deneb’s radiation. He wished he could have filched one of the heavier work suits; but they were kept in a compartment forward of the control room, from which he had barred himself when he had sealed the door of the latter chamber.

He remained at the cave mouth, lying motionless and watching alternately the sky and the ship. Once or twice he may have dozed; but he was awake and alert when the low hills beyond the ship’s hull caught the first rays of the rising sun. For a minute or two they seemed to hang detached in a black void, while the flood of blue-white light crept down their slopes; then, one by one, their bases merged with each other and the ground below to form a connected landscape. The silvery hull gleamed brilliantly, the reflection from it lighting the cave behind Cunningham and making his eyes water when he tried to watch for the opening of the air lock.

He was forced to keep his eyes elsewhere most of the time, and look only in brief glimpses at the dazzling metal; and in consequence, he paid more attention to the details of his environment than he might otherwise have done. At the time, this circumstance annoyed him; he has since been heard to bless it fervently and frequently.

Although the planet had much in common with Luna as regarded size, mass, and airlessness, its landscape was extremely different. The daily terrific heatings which it underwent, followed by abrupt and equally intense temperature drops each night, had formed an excellent substitute for weather; and elevations that might at one time have rivaled the Lunar ranges were now mere rounded hillocks, like that containing Cunningham’s cave. As on the Earth’s moon, the products of the age-long spalling had taken the form of fine dust, which lay in drifts everywhere. What could have drifted it, on an airless and consequently windless planet, struck Cunningham as a puzzle of the first magnitude; and it bothered him for some time until his attention was taken by certain other objects upon and between the drifts. These he had thought at first to be outcroppings of rock; but he was at last convinced that they were specimens of vegetable life—miserable, lichenous specimens, but nevertheless vegetation. He wondered what liquid they contained, in an environment at a temperature well above the melting point of lead.

The discovery of animal life—medium-sized, crablike things, covered with jet-black integument, that began to dig their way out of the drifts as the sun warmed them—completed the job of dragging Cunningham’s attention from his immediate problems. He was not a zoologist by training, but the subject had fascinated for years; and he had always had money enough to indulge his hobby. He had spent years wandering the Galaxy in search of bizarre life forms—proof, if any were needed, of a lack of scientific training—and terrestrial museums had always been more than glad to accept the collections that resulted from each trip and usually to send scientists of their own in his footsteps. He had been in physical danger often enough, but it had always been from the life he studied or from the forces which make up the interstellar traveler’s regular diet, until he had overheard the conversation which informed him that his two assistants were planning to do away with him and appropriate the ship for unspecified purposes of their own. He liked to think that the promptness of his action following the discovery at least indicated that he was not growing old.

But he did let his attention wander to the Denebian life forms.

Several of the creatures were emerging from the dust mounds within twenty or thirty yards of Cunningham’s hiding place, giving rise to the hope that they would come near enough for a close examination. At that distance, they were more crablike than ever, with round, flat bodies twelve to eighteen inches across, and several pairs of legs. They scuttled rapidly about, stopping at first one of the lichenous plants and then another, apparently taking a few tentative nibbles from each, as though they had delicate tastes which needed pampering. Once or twice there were fights when the same tidbit attracted the attention of more than one claimant; but little apparent damage was done on either side, and the victor spent no more time on the meal he won than on that which came uncontested.
Cunningham became deeply absorbed in watching the antics of the little creatures, and completely forgot for a time his own rather precarious situation. He was recalled to it by the sound of Malmeson’s voice in his headphones.
“Don’t look up, you fool; the shields will save your skin, but not your eyes. Get under the shadow of the hull, and we’ll look over the damage.”

Cunningham instantly transferred his attention to the ship. The air lock on the side toward him—the port—was open, and the bulky figures of his two ex-assistants were visible standing on the ground beneath it. They were clad in the heavy utility suits which Cunningham had regretted leaving, and appeared to be suffering little or no inconvenience from the heat, though they were still standing full in Deneb’s light when he looked. He knew that hard radiation burns would not appear for some time, but he held little hope of Deneb’s more deadly output coming to his assistance: for the suits were supposed to afford protection against this danger as well. Between heat insulation, cooling equipment, radiation shielding, and plain mechanical armor, the garments were so heavy and bulky as to be an almost insufferable burden on any major planet. They were more often used in performing exterior repairs in space.

Cunningham watched and listened carefully as the men stooped under the lower curve of the hull to make an inspection of the damage. It seemed, from their conversation, to consist of a dent about three yards long and half as wide, about which nothing could be done, and a series of radially arranged cracks in the metal around it. These represented a definite threat to the solidity of the ship, and would have to be welded along their full lengths before it would be safe to apply the stresses incident to second-order flight. Malmeson was too good an engineer not to realize this fact, and Cunningham heard him lay plans for bringing power lines outside for the welder and jacking up the hull to permit access to the lower portions of the cracks. The latter operation was carried out immediately, with an efficiency which did not in the least surprise the hidden watcher. After all, he had hired the men.

Every few minutes, to Cunningham’s annoyance, one of the men would carefully examine the landscape; first on the side on which he was working, and then walking around the ship to repeat the performance. Even in the low gravity, Cunningham knew he could not cross the half mile that lay between him and that inviting air lock, between two of those examinations; and even if he could, his leaping figure, clad in the gleaming metal suit, would be sure to catch even an eye not directed at it. It would not do to make the attempt unless success were certain; for his unshielded suit would heat in a minute or two to an unbearable temperature, and the only place in which it was possible either to remove or cool it was on board the ship. He finally decided, to his annoyance, that the watch would not slacken so long as the air lock of the ship remained open. It would be necessary to find some means to distract or—an unpleasant alternative for a civilized man—disable the opposition while Cunningham got aboard, locked the others out, and located a weapon or other factor which would put him in a position to give them orders. At that, he reflected, a weapon would scarcely be necessary; there was a perfectly good medium transmitter on board, if the men had not destroyed or discharged it, and he need merely call for help and keep the men outside until it arrived.

This, of course, presupposed some solution to the problem of getting aboard unaccompanied. He would, he decided, have to examine the ship more closely after sunset. He knew the vessel as well as his own home—he had spent more time on her than in any other home— and knew that there was no means of entry except through the two main locks forward of the control room, and the two smaller, emergency locks near the stern, one of which he had employed on his departure. All these could be clogged shut from within; and offhand he was unable to conceive a plan for forcing any of the normal entrances. The view ports were too small to admit a man in a spacesuit, even if the panes could be broken; and there was literally no other way into the ship so long as the hull remained intact. Malmeson would not have talked so glibly of welding them sufficiently well to stand flight, if any of the cracks incurred on the landing had been big enough to admit a human body—or even that of a respectably healthy garter snake.

Cunningham gave a mental shrug of the shoulders as these thoughts crossed his mind, and reiterated his decision to take a scouting sortie after dark. For the rest of the day he divided his attention between the working men and the equally busy life forms that scuttled here and there in front of his cave; and he would have been the first to admit that he found the latter more interesting.

He still hoped that one would approach the cave closely enough to permit a really good examination, but for a long time he remained unsatisfied. Once, one of the creatures came within a dozen yards and stood “on tiptoe”—rising more than a foot from the ground on its slender legs, while a pair of antennae terminating in knobs the size of human eyeballs extended themselves several inches from the black carapace and waved slowly in all directions. Cunningham thought that the knobs probably did serve as eyes, though from his distance he could see only a featureless black sphere. The antennae eventually waved in his direction, and after a few seconds spent, apparently in assimilating the presence of the cave mouth, the creature settled back to its former low-swung carriage and scuttled away. Cunningham wondered if it had been frightened at his presence; but he felt reasonably sure that no eye adapted to Denebian daylight could see past the darkness of his threshold, and he had remained motionless while the creature was conducting its inspection. More probably it had some reason to fear caves, or merely darkness.

That it had reason to fear something was shown when another creature, also of crustacean aspect but considerably larger than those Cunningham had seen to date, appeared from among the dunes and attacked one of the latter. The fight took place too far from the cave for Cunningham to make out many details, but the larger animal quickly overcame its victim. It then apparently dismembered the vanquished, and either devoured the softer flesh inside the black integument or sucked the body fluids from it. Then the carnivore disappeared again, presumably in search of new victims. It had scarcely gone when another being, designed along the lines of a centipede and fully forty feet in length, appeared on the scene with the graceful flowing motion of its terrestrial counterpart.

For a few moments the newcomer nosed around the remains of the carnivore’s feast, and devoured the larger fragments. Then it appeared to look around as though for more, evidently saw the cave, and came rippling toward it, to Cunningham’s pardonable alarm. He was totally unarmed, and while the centipede had just showed itself not to be above eating carrion, it looked quite able to kill its own food if necessary. It stopped, as the other investigator had, a dozen yards from the cave mouth; and like the other, elevated itself as though to get a better look. The baseball-sized black “eyes” seemed for several seconds to stare into Cunning-ham’s more orthodox optics; then, like its predecessor, and to the man’s intense relief, it doubled back along its own length and glided out of sight.

Cunningham again wondered whether it had detected his presence, or whether caves or darkness in general spelled danger to these odd life forms.

It suddenly occurred to him that, if the latter were not the case, there might be some traces of previous occupants of the cave; and he set about examining the place more closely, after a last glance which showed him the two men still at work jacking up the hull.

There was drifted dust even here, he discovered, particularly close to the walls and in the corners. The place was bright enough, owing to the light reflected from outside objects, to permit a good examination—shadows on airless worlds are not so black as many people believe—and almost at once Cunningham found marks in the dust that could easily have been made by some of the creatures he had seen. There were enough of them to suggest that the cave was a well-frequented neighborhood; and it began to look as though the animals were staying away now because of the man’s presence.

Near the rear wall he found the empty integument that had once covered a four-jointed leg. It was light, and he saw that the flesh had either been eaten or decayed out, though it seemed odd to think of decay in an airless environment suffering such extremes of temperature—though the cave was less subject to this affect than the outer world. Cunningham wondered whether the leg had been carried in by its rightful owner, or as a separate item on the menu of something else. If the former, there might be more relics about.

There were. A few minutes’ excavation in the deeper layers of dust produced the complete exoskeleton of one of the smaller crab-like creatures; and Cunningham carried the remains over to the cave mouth, so as to examine them and watch the ship at the same time.

The knobs he had taken for eyes were his first concern. A close examination of their surfaces revealed nothing, so he carefully tried to detach one from its stem. It finally cracked raggedly away, and proved, as he had expected, to be hollow. There was no trace of a retina inside, but there was no flesh in any of the other pieces of shell, so that proved nothing. As a sudden thought struck him, Cunningham held the front part of the delicate black bit of shell in front of his eyes; and sure enough, when he looked in the direction of the brightly gleaming hull of the spaceship, a spark of light showed through an almost microscopic hole. The sphere was an eye, constructed on the pinhole principle—quite an adequate design on a world furnished with such an overwhelming luminary. It would be useless at night, of course, but so would most other visual organs here; and Cunningham was once again faced with the problem of how any of the creatures had detected his presence in the cave—his original belief, that no eye adjusted to meet Deneb’s glare could look into its relatively total darkness, seemed to be sound.

He pondered the question, as he examined the rest of the skeleton in a half-hearted fashion. Sight seemed to be out, as a result of his examination; smell and hearing were ruled out by the lack of atmosphere; taste and touch could not even be considered under the circumstances. He hated to fall back on such a time-honored refuge for ignorance as “extrasensory perception”, but he was unable to see any way around it.

It may seem unbelievable that a man in the position Laird Cunningham occupied could let his mind become so utterly absorbed in a problem unconnected with his personal survival. Such individuals do exist, however; most people know someone who has shown some trace of such a trait; and Cunningham was a well-developed example. He had a single-track mind, and had intentionally shelved his personal problem for the moment.

His musings were interrupted, before he finished dissecting his specimen, by the appearance of one of the carnivorous creatures at what appeared to constitute a marked distance—a dozen yards from his cave mouth, where it rose up on the ends of its thin legs and goggled around at the landscape. Cunningham, half in humor and half in honest curiosity, tossed one of the dismembered legs from the skeleton in his hands at the creature. It obviously saw the flying limb; but it made no effort to pursue or devour it. Instead, it turned its eyes in Cunningham’s direction, and proceeded with great baste to put one of the drifts between it and what it evidently considered a dangerous neighborhood.

It seemed to have no memory to speak of, however; for a minute or two later Cunningham saw it creep into view again, stalking one of the smaller creatures which still swarmed everywhere, nibbling at the plants. He was able to get a better view of the fight and the feast that followed than on the previous occasion, for they took place much nearer to his position; but this time there was a rather different ending. The giant centipede, or another of its kind, appeared on the scene while the carnivore was still at its meal, and came flowing at a truly surprising rate over the dunes to fall on victor and vanquished alike. The former had no inkling of its approach until much too late; and both black bodies disappeared into the maw of the creature Cunningham had hoped was merely a scavenger.

What made the whole episode of interest to the man was the fact that in its charge, the centipede loped unheeding almost directly through a group of the plant-eaters; and these, by common consent, broke and ran at top speed directly toward the cave. At first he thought they would swerve aside when they saw what lay ahead; but evidently he was the lesser of two evils, for they scuttled past and even over him as he lay in the cave mouth, and began to bury themselves in the deepest dust they could find. Cunningham watched with pleasure, as an excellent group of specimens thus collected themselves for his convenience.

As the last of them disappeared under the dust, he turned back to the scene outside. The centipede was just finishing its meal. This time, instead of immediately wandering out of sight, it oozed quickly to the top of one of the larger dunes, in full sight of the cave, and deposited its length in the form of a watch spring, with the head resting above the coils. Cunningham realized that it was able, in this position, to look in nearly all directions and, owing to the height of its position, to a considerable distance.

With the centipede apparently settled for a time, and the men still working in full view, Cunningham determined to inspect one of his specimens. Going to the nearest wall, he bent down and groped cautiously in the dust. He encountered a subject almost at once, and dragged a squirming black crab into the light. He found that if he held it upside down on one hand, none of its legs could get a purchase on anything; and he was able to examine the underparts in detail in spite of the wildly thrashing limbs. The jaws, now opening and closing futilely on a vacuum, were equipped with a set of crushers that suggested curious things about the plants on which it fed; they looked capable of flattening the metal finger of Cunningham’s spacesuit, and he kept his hand well out of their reach.
He became curious as to the internal mechanism that permitted it to exist without air, and was faced with the problem of killing the thing without doing it too much mechanical damage. It was obviously able to survive a good many hours without the direct radiation of Deneb, which was the most obvious source of energy, although its body temperature was high enough to be causing the man some discomfort through the glove of his suit; so “drowning” in darkness was impractical. There might, however, he some part of its body on which a blow would either stun or kill it ; and he looked around for a suitable weapon.

There were several deep cracks in the stone at the cave mouth, caused presumably by thermal expansion and contraction; and with a little effort he was able to break loose a pointed, fairly heavy fragment. With this in his right hand, he laid the creature on its back on the ground, and hoped it had something corresponding to a solar plexus.

It was too quick for him. The legs, which had been unable to reach his hand when it was in the center of the creature’s carapace, proved supple enough to get a purchase on the ground; and before he could strike, it was right side up and departing with a haste that put to shame its previous efforts to escape from the centipede.

Cunningham shrugged, and dug out another specimen. This time he held it in his hand while he drove the point of his rock against its plastron. There was no apparent effect; he had not dared to strike too hard, for fear of crushing the shell. He struck several more times, with identical results and increasing impatience; and at last there occurred the result he had feared. The black armor gave way, and the point penetrated deeply enough to insure the damage of most of the interior organs. The legs gave a final twitch or two, and ceased moving, and Cunningham gave an exclamation of annoyance.

On hope, he removed the broken bits of shell, for a moment looked in surprise at the liquid which seemed to have filled the body cavities. It was silvery, even metallic in color; it might have been mercury, except that it wet the organs bathed in it and was probably at a temperature above the boiling point of that metal. Cunningham had just grasped this fact when he was violently bowled over, and the dead creature snatched from his grasp. He made a complete somersault, bringing up against the rear wall of the cave; and as he came upright he saw to his horror that the assailant was none other than the giant centipede.
It was disposing with great thoroughness of his specimen, leaving at last only a few fragments of shell that had formed the extreme tips of the legs; and as the last of these fell to the ground, it raised the fore part of its body from the ground, as the man had seen it do before, and turned the invisible pinpoints of its pupils on the space-suited human figure.

Cunningham drew a deep breath, and took a firm hold of his pointed rock, though he had little hope of overcoming the creature. The jaws he had just seen at work had seemed even more efficient than those of the plant-eater, and they were large enough to take in a human leg.

For perhaps five seconds both beings faced each other without motion; then, to the man’s inexpressible relief, the centipede reached the same conclusion to which its previous examination of humanity had led it, and departed in evident haste. This time it did not remain in sight, but was still moving rapidly when it reached the limit of Cunningham’s vision.

The naturalist returned somewhat shakily to the cave mouth, seated himself where he could watch his ship, and began to ponder deeply. A number of points seemed interesting on first thought, and on further cerebration became positively fascinating. The centipede had not seen, or at least had not pursued, the plant-eater that had escaped from Cunningham and run from the cave.

Looking back, he realized that the only times he had seen the creature attack was after “blood” had been already shed —twice by one of the carnivorous animals, the third time by Cunningham himself. It had apparently made no difference where the victims had been—two in full sunlight, one in the darkness of the cave.

More proof, if any were needed, that the creatures could see in both grades of illumination. It was not strictly a carrion eater, however; Cunningham remembered that carnivore that had accompanied its victim into the centipede’s jaws. It was obviously capable of overcoming the man, but had twice retreated precipitately when it had excellent opportunities to attack him. What was it, then, that drew the creature to scenes of combat and bloodshed, but frightened it away from a man; that frightened, indeed, all of these creatures?

On any planet that had a respectable atmosphere, Cunningham would have taken one answer for granted—scent. In his mind, however, organs of smell were associated with breathing apparatus, which these creatures obviously lacked.

Don’t ask why he took so long. You may think that the terrific adaptability evidenced by those strange eyes would be clue enough: or perhaps you may be in a mood to excuse him. Columbus probably excused those of his friends who failed to solve the egg problem.

Of course, he got it at last, and was properly annoyed with himself for taking so long about it. An eye, to us, is an organ for forming images of the source of such radiation as may fall on it; and a nose is a gadget that tells its owner of the presence of molecules. He needs his imagination to picture the source of the latter. But what would you call an organ that forms a picture of the source of smell?

For that was just what those “eyes” did. In the nearly perfect vacuum of this little world’s surface, gases diffused at high speed—and their molecules traveled in practically straight lines. There was nothing wrong with the idea of a pinhole camera eye, whose retina was composed of olfactory nerve endings rather than the rods and cones of photosensitive organs.

That seemed to account for everything. Of course the creatures were indifferent to the amount of light reflected from the object they examined. The glare of the open spaces under Deneb’s rays, and the relative blackness of a cave, were all one to them—provided something were diffusing molecules in the neighborhood. And what doesn’t? Every substance, solid or liquid, has its vapor pressure; under Deneb’s rays even some rather unlikely materials probably evaporated enough to affect the organs of these life forms—metals, particularly. The life fluid of the creatures was obviously metal—probably lead, tin, bismuth, or some similar metals, or still more probably, several of them in a mixture that carried the substances vital to the life of their body cells. Probably much of the makeup of those cells was in the form of colloidal metals.

But that was the business of the biochemists. Cunningham amused himself for a time by imagining the analogy between smell and color which must exist here; light gases, such as oxygen and nitrogen, must be rare, and the tiny quantities that leaked from his suit would be absolutely new to the creatures that intercepted them. He must have affected their nervous systems the way fire did those of terrestrial wild animals. No wonder even the centipede had thought discretion the better part of valor!

With his less essential problem solved for the nonce, Cunningham turned his attention to that of his own survival; and he had not pondered many moments when he realized that this, as well, might be solved. He began slowly to smile, as the discrete fragments of an idea began to sort themselves out and fit properly together in his mind—an idea that involved the vapor pressure of metallic blood, the leaking qualities of the utility suits worn by his erstwhile assistants, and the bloodthirstiness of his many-legged acquaintances of the day; and he had few doubts about any of those qualities. The plan became complete, to his satisfaction; and with a smile on his face, he settled himself to watch until sunset.
Deneb had already crossed a considerable arc of the sky. Cunningham did not know just how long he had, as he lacked a watch; and it was soon borne in on him that time passes much more slowly when there is nothing to occupy it. As the afternoon drew on, he was forced away from the cave mouth; for the descending star was beginning to shine in. Just before sunset, he was crowded against one side; for Deneb’s fierce rays shone straight through the entrance and onto the opposite wall, leaving very little space not directly illuminated. Cunningham drew a sigh of relief for more reasons than one when the upper limb of the deadly luminary finally disappeared.

His specimens had long since recovered from their fright, and left the cavern; he had not tried to stop them. Now, however, he emerged from the low entryway and went directly to the nearest dust dune, which was barely visible in the starlight. A few moment’s search was rewarded with one of the squirming plant-eaters, which he carried back into the shelter; then, illuminating the scene carefully with the small torch that was clipped to the waist of his suit, he made a fair-sized pile of dust, gouged a long groove in the top with his toe, with the aid of the same stone he had used before, he killed the plant-eater and poured its “blood” into the dust mold.

The fluid was metallic, all right; it cooled quickly, and in two or three minutes Cunningham had a silvery rod about as thick as a pencil and five or six inches long. He had been a little worried about the centipede at first; but the creature was either not in line to “see” into the cave, or had dug in for the night like its victims.

Cunningham took the rod, which was about as pliable as a strip of solder of the same dimensions, and, extinguishing the torch, made his way in a series of short, careful leaps to the stranded spaceship. There was no sign of the men, and they had taken their welding equipment inside with them—that is, if they had ever had it out; Cunningham had not been able to watch them for the last hour of daylight. The hull was still jacked up, however; and the naturalist eased himself under it and began to examine the damage, once more using the torch. It was about as he had deduced from the conversation of the men; and with a smile, he took the little metal stick and went to work. He was busy for some time under the hull, and once he emerged, found another plant-eater, and went back underneath. After he had finished, he walked once around the ship, checking each of the air locks and finding them sealed, as he had expected.
He showed neither surprise nor disappointment at this; and without further ceremony he made his way back to the cave, which he had a little trouble finding in the starlight. He made a large pile of the dust, for insulation rather than bedding, lay down on it, and tried to sleep. He had very little success, as he might have expected.

Night, in consequence, seemed unbearably long; and he almost regretted his star study of the previous darkness, for now he was able to see that sunrise was still distant, rather than bolster his morale with the hope that Deneb would be in the sky the next time he opened his eyes. The time finally came, however, when the hilltops across the valley leaped one by one into brilliance as the sunlight caught them; and Cunningham rose and stretched himself. He was stiff and cramped, for a spacesuit makes a poor sleeping costume even on a better bed than a stone floor.

As the light reached the spaceship and turned it into a blazing silvery spindle, the air lock opened. Cunningham had been sure that the men were in a hurry to finish their task, and were probably awaiting the sun almost as eagerly as he in order to work efficiently; he had planned on this basis.

Malmeson was the first to leap to the ground, judging by their conversation, which came clearly through Cunningham’s phones. He turned back, and his companion handed down to him the bulky diode welder and a stack of filler rods. Then both men made their way forward to the dent where they were to work. Apparently they failed to notice the bits of loose metal lying on the scene—perhaps they had done some filing themselves the day before. At any rate, there was no mention of it as Malmeson lay down and slid under the hull, and the other began handing equipment in to him.

Plant-eaters were beginning to struggle out of their dust beds as the connections were completed, and the torch started to flame. Cunningham nodded in pleasure as he noted this; things could scarcely have been timed better had the men been consciously co-operating. He actually emerged from the cave, keeping in the shadow of the hillock, to increase his field of view; but for several minutes nothing but plant-eaters could be seen moving.

He was beginning to fear that his invited guests were too distant to receive their call, when his eye caught a glimpse of a long, black body slipping silently over the dunes toward the ship. He smiled in satisfaction; and then his eyebrows suddenly rose as he saw a second snaky form following the tracks of the first.

He looked quickly across his full field of view, and was rewarded by the sight of four more of the monsters—all heading at breakneck speed straight for the spaceship. The beacon he had lighted had reached more eyes than he had expected. He was sure that the men were armed, and had never intended that they actually be overcome by the creatures; he had counted on a temporary distraction that would let him reach the air lock unopposed.

He stood up, and braced himself for the dash, as Malmeson’s helper saw the first of the charging centipedes and called the welder from his work. Malmeson barely had time to gain his feet when the first pair of attackers reached them; and at the same instant Cunningham emerged into the sunlight, putting every ounce of his strength into the leaps that were carrying him toward the only shelter that now existed for him.

He could feel the ardor of Deneb’s rays the instant they struck him; and before he had covered a third of the distance the back of his suit was painfully hot. Things were hot for his ex-crew as well; fully ten of the black monsters had reacted to the burst of—to them—overpoweringly attractive odor—or gorgeous color?—that had resulted when Malmeson had turned his welder on the metal where Cunningham had applied the frozen blood of their natural prey; and more of the same substance was now vaporizing under Deneb’s influence as Malmeson, who had been lying in fragments of it stood fighting off the attackers. He had a flame pistol, but it was slow to take effect on creatures whose very blood was molten metal; and his companion, wielding the diode unit on those who got too close, was no better off. They were practically swamped under wriggling bodies as they worked their way toward the air lock; and neither man saw Cunningham as, staggering even under the feeble gravity that was present, and fumbling with eye shield misted with sweat, he reached the same goal and disappeared within.
Being a humane person, he left the outer door open; but he closed and clogged the inner one before proceeding with a more even step to the control room. Here he unhurriedly removed his spacesuit, stopping only to open the switch of the power socket that was feeding the diode unit as he heard the outer lock door close. The flame pistol would make no impression on the alloy of the hull, and he felt no qualms about the security of the inner door. The men were safe, from every point of view.

With the welder removed from the list of active menaces, he finished removing his suit, turned to the medium transmitter, and coolly broadcast a call for help and his position in space. Then he turned on a radio transmitter, so that the rescuers could find him on the planet; and only then did he contact the prisoners on the small set that was tuned to the suit radios, and tell them what he had done.

“I didn’t mean to do you any harm,” Malmeson’s voice came back. “I just wanted the ship. I know you paid us pretty good, but when I thought of the money that could be made on some of those worlds if we looked for something besides crazy animals and plants, I couldn’t help myself. You can let us out now; I swear we won’t try anything more—the ship won’t fly, and you say a Guard flyer is on the way. How about that?”

“I’m sorry you don’t like my hobby,” said Cunningham. “I find it entertaining; and there have been times when it was even useful, though I won’t hurt your feelings by telling you about the last one. I think I shall feel happier if the two of you stay right there in the air lock; the rescue ship should be here before many hours, and you’re fools if you haven’t food and water in your suits.”

“I guess you win, in that case,” said Malmeson.

“I think so, too,” replied Cunningham, and switched off.

THE END

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China’s Excellent, Very Good Year

I am so tired of trying to counter the mega-onslaught of hate being generated out of the United States towards China. The redirection is working. Most American hate China and blame all their troubles on it, instead of themselves and their (so called) “government”. Well, let’s just deal with things as they actually are and not what the American government wants others to believe.

2021 was China’s best year. Ever.

by Godfree Roberts^*

Amidst global gloom, 2021 was the best year in modern Chinese history. Here’s what they accomplished:

Eliminated extreme poverty.
Reached 96% home ownership.
Kept Covid death rate at 0.6% of America’s.

Grew the economy $2 trillion PPP, the fastest growth ever.
Became the richest country on earth.
Became the world’s biggest overseas investor.
Became the world’s largest movie market.
Produced nearly one new billionaire and 300 millionaires every workday.
Completed new train lines in seven countries, including Laos’ first.
Ran 15,000 cargo trains to and from Europe, up 30% YoY.
Joined RCEP trade pact, with 30% of global GDP and of the world’s population.
Sold $140 billion retail online in 24 hours (Amazon’s record is $5 billion).
Launched the first central bank digital currency.
Dominated scientific research and issued the most patents of any country.

Built three exascale computers that won the Gordon Bell prize for high performance computing.
Built a programmable quantum computer 10,000x faster than Google’s Sycamore.
Operated the first integrated, 3,000-mile, commercial, quantum communications network.
Brought online two gas-cooled Pebble Bed nuclear power plants.
Fired up two thorium-fueled reactors, eliminating uranium from power generation.
Released a Covid treatment that reduces hospitalizations and deaths 78%.
Made 55% of global energy savings.
Generated 1 terawatt of renewable energy.
Installed one-million 5G base stations, giving Tibet better 5G service than New York.
Communicated between satellites via lasers, 1,000x faster than radio waves.
Operated the world’s most powerful solid rocket engine, with 500 tonnes thrust.
Flew three hypersonic missiles around the planet.
Released a fractional orbital bombardment missile from another missile at 17,000 mph.
Simultaneously commissioned three warships, becoming the world’s biggest navy.

Expect China to maintain this pace through 2022 by launching, among other things, the first, greenfield, automated, 21st century city for six million knowledge workers. With 70% woods and lakes, the loudest sound will be birdsongs.

—
^* Godfree Roberts wrote Why China Leads the World: Talent at the Top, Data in the Middle, Democracy at the Bottom and publishes the newsletter Here Comes China.

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Delicious Toufu. video 22MB

Delicious eggplant . video 32MB

A nice visit to the nearby park. video 34MB

Pre KTV meal. video 65MB

Hotels are advanced. video 85MB

Chinese girls walking for the “line up”. Get ready for fun! video 32MB

Chinese girl. Typical. video 3 MB

Massive booby juggle. That’s one thing that the Chinese gals like to do. If you all got the boobies, then you are allowed to jiggle them. It’s cute actually, and I always get a big kick out of it. Jiggle jiggle jiggle. video 25MB

Hotel Room after some KTV fun. video 158MB

Now, I know that China is bad. I read all about it in the comment sections from moronic Americans and Brits. Ah like this…

World's most advanced censorship and surveillance regime with no freedom and a punitive social credit scheme. I admire the work ethic and manufacturing prowess but would rather live in a cabin the woods than submit to such a regime. Sadly, while losing ground in technology, our elites are catching up with their own repression and Woke overthrow of Constitutional rights.

Posted by: Fran Macadam

and this…

A totally deluded and mostly inaccurate summary. China is currently self-destructing because it is the only country in the world still trying "zero COVID". Their entire real estate market is close to collapse. They had terrible floods and large destruction of farm lands. Several dams broke, and the huge Three Gorges dam almost broke. Everybody wants to leave China, from Hong Kong, Tibet, Xinjiang to Taiwan.

Posted by: Niall K.

Yah. The USA is exceptional. It has delicious “freedom” and “liberty” and all that wonderful “democracy”. You can see it everywhere…

video 50MB

But if that is what appeals to you. I say enjoy it. Me, I’m gonna stay here. eat delicious food. hang out in the beautiful sunshine, with the trees and the flowers. Eat delicious meals. Play with pretty girls and have lots and lots of fun.

Conclusion

I hope that you enjoyed this little update on China. Many things were left out. Such as the Space exploration accomplishments, and the energy accomplishments, and the environmental accomplishments.

Have a great day, and remember to always be the Rufus.

Do you want more?

You can find more articles related to this in my China Index…

China

Articles & Links

Master Index

You can start reading the articles by going HERE.
You can visit the Index Page HERE to explore by article subject.
You can also ask the author some questions. You can go HERE to find out how to go about this.
You can find out more about the author HERE.
If you have concerns or complaints, you can go HERE.
If you want to make a donation, you can go HERE.

Some glimpses of China in terms of society, fun, fashion and what not

I am so tired of trying to counter the mega-onslaught of hate being generated out of the Untied States towards China. The redirection is working. Most American hate China and blame all their troubles on it, instead of themselves and their (so called) “government”.

Instead, today, we will just go over some elements of Chinese society. These are little “snapshots” or culture. Isolated pictures, and images, as you will (understand). And taken together it’s a fun look at the great diversity of life that is colorfully presented in such a huge and enormous nation filled with a huge and enormous population.

We are not going to talk about Geo-politics, Biden, Trade wars, hybrid wars, Vaxx wars or another American-centered subjects. We are just going to talk about life, and in China that means videos and fun. We’re not going to get too serious here, at least I don’t intended to, anyways.

I’m presenting them in no particular order, because after all, life kind of throws things at us in a seemingly random order as well. Though, you do know that you have had an intelligent hand in the development of your life… don’t you know.

Bar Scene

Here’s a girl singing to the audience in a pretty typical bar. Video 8MB

A Park in China

I think that it is lovely. Most parks inside of China re quite nice, and the government is constantly expanding them, and improving them in so many little ways. video 3MB

College Dorm

Dorm rooms in the USA are usually two people affairs; two people share a room. In England it is one person gets their own room. In China, the dorm rooms are six people share a room. Here’s a group of girls in their dorm room. video 6MB

Death by cute (part 1)

It’s a fashion thingy that found it’s way from Japan. It’s called loli. I like it. So does my little girl. Video 6MB

Death by Cute (part 2)

So much cuteness. video 3MB

The Chinese love to dance

It’s very common to see people dancing all over China. I mean that you NEVER see this in the ‘Stats, but you see it all the time inside China. video 3MB

Incidentally, this kind of view… the buildings lit up in the background, the blue sky, the open plazas are so very typical of China. It’s everywhere.

Han fashion (1)

It’s a fashion trend throughout China. It’s pretty popular and there are girls and guys wearing these outfits in the malls, the parks and on the subways. video 8MB

Han Fashion (2)

This is a sort of Chinese version of a medieval festival, only with Chinese culture and clothing. Continues video 7MB

Han fashion (3)

Here’s some more images from a different festival. video 5MB

Han Fashion (4)

Couple runs into each others arms. I love the expression on the little girl to the left. Cute. video 4MB

Han fashion (5)

Mother and daughter in the park. video 5MB

Han fashion (5)

On the subway. video 5MB

Being part of a group

In America, everyone is a “lone wolf”. If you are fired from work, you are alone, and no one stands up for you. If you are in a car accident, you are alone and no one helps you. Most Americans eat alone, pay taxes alone, mow their yard alone, and travel alone.

Not so in China. China is the land of groups and communities. Everyone is part of something bigger than themselves. And if they individually make a mistake, the group absorbs the mistake and moves forward. video 7MB

Peng G3

When I first saw this video I thought that it was some kind of photoshop video manipulation. Then I went to a Peng show room, and that an actual car feature! This is how the Chinese introduce new features into the market. I wonder when Detroit will start copying China? Hum? video 5MB

Sending your dreams aloft

It’s a tradition for the Chinese to put their dreams and wishes on a scrap of paper and then light the balloon to send them into the sky. It’s very beautiful. video 2MB

Shanghai

Yeah. Everyone knows about Shanghai. But it’s really impressive when you are there in person. It makes New York City look like a small village. video 3MB

By Sweety Boy

Thai song adopted by the Chinese pop scene during 2019 / 2020. video 3MB

Time Machine

China has gone through so many wars, struggles, occupations, poisonings, humiliation, and growth. There is a sub-culture that memes this historical trend. Here’s one such video. I call it “time machine”. Video 4MB

Time Machine 2

A second video. Same theme. video 7MB

Time Machine 3

Here’s a third video of the same “time machine” theme. video 13MB

Wedding 1

Chinese wedding. This is in a tiny remote village. Here we see the ritual of presentation before the parents and the town elders. video 3MB

Wedding 2

Chinese wedding. They don’t throw rice. It’s too wasteful and the Chinese just don’t understand that American ritual at all. video 5MB

Wedding 3

Chinese wedding. Bride presentation with her brides’ maids prior to the groom entry to “steal her” from her parents home. video 3MB

Xinjiang HST

High Speed Train in Xinjiang province. These are all Uighur staffed, and serving the Uighur people. Of course, you would never see anything positive about China in the American “news”. It’s all a 7 billion dollar funded hate-fest. video 9MB

Conclusion

I hope that you enjoyed this little travel vacation. Have a great day, and remember to always be the Rufus.

Do you want more?

You can find more articles related to this in my China Index…

China

Articles & Links

Master Index

You can start reading the articles by going HERE.
You can visit the Index Page HERE to explore by article subject.
You can also ask the author some questions. You can go HERE to find out how to go about this.
You can find out more about the author HERE.
If you have concerns or complaints, you can go HERE.
If you want to make a donation, you can go HERE.

The Concrete Mixer by Ray Bradbury (Full text)

The following in one of Ray Bradbury’s short stories. It is titled “The Cement Mixer”. “The Concrete Mixer” is one of his earlier stories. It was first published in Thrilling Wonder Stories in April 1949. In the story, a warlike race of Martians plans their glorious conquest of Earth but one of them, Ettil Vrye, foresaw defeat. He was given his choice of joining the Legion of War —or burning his beloved instead!

The Concrete Mixer

HE LISTENED to the dry-grass rustle of the old witches’ voices beneath his open
window:
‘Ettil, the coward! Ettil, the refuser! Ettil, who will not wage the glorious
war of Mars against Earth!’
‘Speak on, witches!’ he cried.
The voices dropped to a murmur like that of water in the long canals under the
Martian sky.
‘Ettil, the father of a son who must grow up in the shadow of this horrid
knowledge!’ said the old wrinkled women. They knocked their sly-eyed heads
gently together. ‘Shame, shame!’
His wife was crying on the other side of the room. Her tears were as rain,
numerous and cool on the tiles. ‘Oh, Ettil, how can you think this way?’
Ettil laid aside his metal book which, at his beckoning, had been singing him a
story all morning from its thin golden-wired frame.
‘I’ve tried to explain,’ he said. ‘This is a foolish thing, Mars invading Earth.
We’ll be destroyed, utterly.’

…

Outside, a banging, crashing boom, a surge of brass, a drum, a cry, marching
feet, pennants and songs. Through the stone sheets the army, fire weapons to
shoulder, stamped. Children skipped after. Old women waved dirty flags.
‘I shall remain on Mars and read a book,’ said Ettil. A blunt knock on the door.
Tylla answered. Father-in-law stormed in. ‘What’s this I hear about my
son-in-law? A traitor?’
‘Yes, Father.’
‘You’re not fighting in the Martian Army?’
‘No, Father.’
‘Gods!’ The old father turned very red. ‘A plague on your name! You’ll be shot.’
‘Shoot me, then, and have it over.’
‘Who ever heard of a Martian not invading? Who!’
‘Nobody. It is, I admit, quite incredible.’
‘Incredible,’ husked the witch voices under the window.
‘Father, can’t you reason with him?’ demanded Tylla.
‘Reason with a dung heap,’ cried Father, eyes blazing. He came and stood over
Ettil. ‘Bands playing, a fine day, women weeping, children jumping, everything
right, men marching bravely, and you sit here! Oh, shame!’
‘Shame,’ sobbed the faraway voices in the hedge.
‘Get the devil out of my house with your inane chatter,’ said Ettil, exploding.
‘Take your medals and your drums and run!’

…

He shoved Father-in-law past a screaming wife, only to have the door thrown wide at this moment, as a military detail entered.
A voice shouted, ‘Ettil Vrye?’
‘Yes!’
‘You are under arrest!’

…

‘Good-by, my dear wife. I am off to the wars with these fools!’ shouted Ettil,
dragged through the door by the men in bronze mesh.
‘Good-by, good-by,’ said the town witches, fading away. . . .

…

The cell was neat and clean. Without a book, Ettil was nervous. He gripped the
bars and watched the rockets shoot up into the night air. The stars were cold
and numerous; they seemed to scatter when every rocket blasted up among them.
‘Fools,’ whispered Ettil. ‘Fools!’

…

The cell door opened. One man with a kind of vehicle entered, full of books;
books here, there, everywhere in the chambers of the vehicle. Behind him the
Military Assignor loomed.
‘Ettil Vrye, we want to know why you had these illegal Earth books in your
house. These copies of Wonder Stories, Scientific Tales, Fantastic Stories.
Explain.’ The man gripped Ettil’s wrist.

…

Ettil shook him free. ‘If you’re going to shoot me, shoot me. That literature,
from Earth, is the very reason why I won’t try to invade them. It’s the reason
why your invasion will fail.’
‘How so?’ The assignor scowled and turned to the yellowed magazines.
‘Pick any copy,’ said Ettil. ‘Any one at all. Nine out of ten stories in the
years 1929, ’30 to ’50, Earth calendar, have every Martian invasion successfully
invading Earth.’
‘Ah!’ The assignor smiled, nodded.

…

‘And then,’ said Ettil, ‘failing.’
‘That’s treason! Owning such literature!’
‘So be it, if you wish. But let me draw a few conclusions. Invariably, each
invasion is thwarted by a young man, usually lean, usually Irish, usually alone,
named Mick or Rick or Jick or Bannon, who destroys the Martians.’
‘You don’t believe that!’
‘No, I don’t believe Earthmen can actually do that’no. But they have a
background, understand, Assignor, of generations of children reading just such
fiction, absorbing it. They have nothing but a literature of invasions
successfully thwarted. Can you say the same for Martian literature?’
‘Well”’
‘No.’
‘I guess not.’

…

‘You know not. We never wrote stories of such a fantastic nature. Now we rebel,
we attack, and we shall die.’
‘I don’t see your reasoning on that. Where does this tie in with the magazine
stories?’
‘Morale. A big thing. The Earthmen know they can’t fail. It is in them like
blood beating in their veins. They cannot fail. They will repel each invasion,
no matter how well organized. Their youth of reading just such fiction as this
has given them a faith we cannot equal. We Martians? We are uncertain; we know that we might fail. Our morale is low, in spite of the banged drums and tooted horns.’
‘I won’t listen to this treason,’ cried the assignor. ‘This fiction will be burned, as you will be, within the next ten minutes. You have a choice, Ettil Vrye. Join the Legion of War, or burn.’

…

‘It is a choice of deaths. I choose to burn.’

…

‘Men!’
He was hustled out into the courtyard. There he saw his carefully hoarded
reading matter set to the torch. A special pit was prepared, with oil five feet
deep in it. This, with a great thunder, was set afire. Into this, in a minute,
he would be pushed.
On the far side of the courtyard, in shadow, he noticed the solemn figure of his
son standing alone, his great yellow eyes luminous with sorrow and fear. He did
not put out his hand or speak, but only looked at his father like some dying
animal, a wordless animal seeking rescue.
Ettil looked at the flaming pit. He felt the rough hands seize him, strip him,
push him forward to the hot perimeter of death. Only then did Ettil swallow and
cry out, ‘Wait!’
The assignor’s face, bright with the orange fire, pushed forward in the
trembling air. ‘What is it?’

…

‘I will join the Legion of War,’ replied Ettil.
‘Good! Release him!’
The hands fell away.
As he turned he saw his son standing far across the court, waiting. His son was
not smiling, only waiting.

…

In the sky a bronze rocket leaped across the stars, ablaze. . . .

…

‘And now we bid good-by to these stalwart warriors,’ said the assignor. The band
thumped and the wind blew a fine sweet rain of tears gently upon the sweating
army. The children cavorted. In the chaos Ettil saw his wife weeping with pride,
his son solemn and silent at her side.
They marched into the ship, everybody laughing and brave. They buckled
themselves into their spiderwebs. All through the tense ship the spiderwebs were
filled with lounging, lazy men. They chewed on bits of food and waited. A great
lid slammed shut. A valve hissed.
‘Off to Earth and destruction,’ whispered Ettil.
‘What?’ asked someone.
‘Off to glorious victory,’ said Ettil, grimacing.
The rocket jumped.

…

Space, thought Ettil. Here we are banging across black inks and pink lights of
space in a brass kettle. Here we are, a celebratory rocket heaved out to fill
the Earthmen’s eyes with fear flames as they look up to the sky. What is it
like, being far, far away from your home, your wife, your child, here and now?
He tried to analyze his trembling. It was like tying your most secret inward
working organs to Mars and then jumping out a million miles. Your heart was
still on Mars, pumping, glowing. Your brain was still on Mars, thinking,
crenulated, like an abandoned torch. Your stomach was still on Mars, somnolent,
trying to digest the final dinner. Your lungs were still in the cool blue wine
air of Mars, a soft folded bellows screaming for release, one part of you
longing for the rest.
For here you were, a meshless, cogless automaton, a body upon which officials
had performed clinical autopsy and left all of you that counted back upon the
empty seas and strewn over the darkened hills. Here you were, bottle-empty,
fireless, chill, with only your hands to give death to Earthmen. A pair of hands
is all you are now, he thought in cold remoteness.
Here you lie in the tremendous web. Others are about you, but they are
whole’whole hearts and bodies. But all of you that lives is back there walking
the desolate seas in evening winds. This thing here, this cold clay thing, is
already dead.

…

‘Attack stations, attack stations, attack!’
‘Ready, ready, ready!’
‘Up!’
‘Out of the webs, quick!’

…

Ettil moved. Somewhere before him his two cold hands moved.
How swift it has all been, he thought. A year ago one Earth rocket reached Mars.
Our scientists, with their incredible telepathic ability, copied it; our
workers, with their incredible plants, reproduced it a hundredfold. No other
Earth ship has reached Mars since then, and yet we know their language
perfectly, all of us. We know their culture, their logic. And we shall pay the
price of our brilliance.
‘Guns on the ready!’
‘Right!’
‘Sights!’
‘Reading by miles?’
‘Ten thousand!’
‘Attack!’

…

A humming silence. A silence of insects throbbing in the walls of the rocket.
The insect singing of tiny bobbins and levers and whirls of wheels. Silence of
waiting men. Silence of glands emitting the slow steady pulse of sweat under
arm, on brow, under staring pale eyes!
‘Wait! Ready!’
Ettil hung onto his sanity with his fingernails, hung hard and long.
Silence, silence, silence. Waiting.
Teeee-e-ee!
‘What’s that?’
‘Earth radio!’
‘Cut them in!’
‘They’re trying to reach us, call us. Cut them in!’
Eee-e-e!
‘Here they are! Listen!’

…

‘Calling Martian invasion fleet!’
The listening silence, the insect hum pulling back to let the sharp Earth voice
crack in upon the rooms of waiting men.
‘This is Earth calling. This is William Sommers, president of the Association of
United American Producers!’
Ettil held tight to his station, bent forward, eyes shut.
‘Welcome to Earth.’
‘What?’ the men in the rocket roared. ‘What did he say?’
‘Yes, welcome to Earth.’
‘It’s a trick!’

…

Ettil shivered, opened his eyes to stare in bewilderment at the unseen voice
from the ceiling source.
‘Welcome! Welcome to green, industrial Earth!’ declared the friendly voice.
‘With open arms we welcome you, to turn a bloody invasion into a time of
friendships that will last through all of Time.’
‘A trick!’
‘Hush, listen!’
‘Many years ago we of Earth renounced war, destroyed our atom bombs. Now,
unprepared as we are, there is nothing for us but to welcome you. The planet is
yours. We ask only mercy from you good and merciful invaders.’

…

‘It can’t be true!’ a voice whispered.
‘It must be a trick!’
‘Land and be welcomed, all of you,’ said Mr. William Sommers of Earth. ‘Land
anywhere. Earth is yours; we are all brothers!’
Ettil began to laugh. Everyone in the room turned to see him. The other Martians
blinked. ‘He’s gone mad!’
He did not stop laughing until they hit him.

…

The tiny fat man in the center of the hot rocket tarmac at Green Town,
California, jerked out a clean white handkerchief and touched it to his wet
brow. He squinted blindly from the fresh plank platform at the fifty thousand
people restrained behind a fence of policemen, arm to arm. Everybody looked at
the sky.
‘There they are!’
A gasp.
‘No, just sea gulls!’
A disappointed grumble.
‘I’m beginning to think it would have been better to have declared war on them,’
whispered the mayor. ‘Then we could all go home.’
‘Sh-h!’ said his wife.
‘There!’ The crowd roared.
Out of the sun came the Martian rockets.
‘Everybody ready?’ The mayor glanced nervously about.
‘Yes, sir,’ said Miss California 1965.
‘Yes,’ said Miss America 1940, who had come rushing up at the last minute as a
substitute for Miss America 1966, who was ill at home.
‘Yes siree,’ said Mr. Biggest Grapefruit in San Fernando Valley 1956, eagerly.
‘Ready, band?’
The band poised its brass like so many guns.
‘Ready!’
The rockets landed. ‘Go!’
The band played ‘California, Here I Come’ ten times. From noon until one o’clock
the mayor made a speech, shaking his hands in the direction of the silent,
apprehensive rockets.

…

At one-fifteen the seals of the rockets opened
The band played ‘Oh, You Golden State’ three times.
Ettil and fifty other Martians leaped out, guns at the ready.
The mayor ran forward with the key to Earth in his hands.
The band played ‘Santa Claus Is Coming to Town,’ and a full chorus of singers
imported from Long Beach sang different words to it, something about ‘Martians
Are Coming to Town.’
Seeing no weapons about, the Martians relaxed, but kept their guns out.
From one-thirty until two-fifteen the mayor made the same speech over for the
benefit of the Martians.
At two-thirty Miss America of 1940 volunteered to kiss all the Martians if they
lined up.
At two-thirty and ten seconds the band played ‘How Do You Do, Everybody,’ to
cover up the confusion caused by Miss America’s suggestion.
At two thirty-five Mr. Biggest Grapefruit presented the Martians with a two-ton
truck full of grapefruit.
At two thirty-seven the mayor gave them all free passes to the Elite and
Majestic theaters, combining this gesture with another speech which lasted until
after three.
The band played, and the fifty thousand people sang, ‘For They Are Jolly Good
Fellows.’
It was over at four o’clock.

…

Ettil sat down in the shadow of the rocket, two of his fellows with him. ‘So
this is Earth!’
‘I say kill the filthy rats,’ said one Martian. ‘I don’t trust them. They’re
sneaky. What’s their motive for treating us this way?’ He held up a box of
something that rustled. ‘What’s this stuff they gave me? A sample, they said.’
He read the label. BLIX, the new sudsy soap.
The crowd had drifted about, was mingling with the Martians like a carnival
throng. Everywhere was the buzzing murmur of people fingering the rockets,
asking questions.

…

Ettil was cold. He was beginning to tremble even more now. ‘Don’t you feel it?’
he whispered. ‘The tenseness, the evilness of all this. Something’s going to
happen to us. They have some plan. Something subtle and horrible. They’re going
to do something to us’I know.’
‘I say kill every one of them!’
‘How can you kill people who call you ‘pal’ and ‘buddy’?’ asked another Martian.
Ettil shook his head. ‘They’re sincere. And yet I feel as if we were in a big
acid vat melting away, away. I’m frightened.’ He put his mind out to touch among
the crowd. ‘Yes, they’re really friendly, hail-fellows-well-met (one of their
terms). One huge mass of common men, loving dogs and cats and Martians equally.
And yet’ and yet”’
The band played ‘Roll Out the Barrel.’ Free beer was being distributed through
the courtesy of Hagenback Beer, Fresno, California.

…

The sickness came.
The men poured out fountains of slush from their mouths. The sound of sickness
filled the land.
Gagging, Ettil sat beneath a sycamore tree. ‘A plot, a plot’a horrible plot,’ he
groaned, holding his stomach.
‘What did you eat?’ The assignor stood over him.
‘Something that they called popcorn,’ groaned Ettil.
‘And?’
‘And some sort of long meat on a bun, and some yellow liquid in an iced vat, and
some sort of fish and something called pastrami,’ sighed Ettil, eyelids
flickering.
The moans of the Martian invaders sounded all about.
‘Kill the plotting snakes!’ somebody cried weakly.
‘Hold on,’ said the assignor. ‘It’s merely hospitality. They overdid it. Up on
your feet now, men. Into the town. We’ve got to place small garrisons of men
about to make sure all is well. Other ships are landing in other cities. We’ve
our job to do here.’
The men gained their feet and stood blinking stupidly about.
‘Forward, march!’
One, two, three, four! One, two, three, four! . . .

…

The white stores of the little town lay dreaming in shimmering heat. Heat
emanated from everything’poles, concrete, metal, awnings, roofs, tar
paper’everything.
The sound of Martian feet sounded on the asphalt.
‘Careful, men!’ whispered the assignor. They walked past a beauty shop.
From inside, a furtive giggle. ‘Look!’
A coppery head bobbed and vanished like a doll in the window. A blue eye glinted
and winked at a keyhole.
‘It’s a plot,’ whispered Ettil. ‘A plot, I tell you!’
The odors of perfume were fanned out on the summer air by the whirling vents of
the grottoes where the women hid like undersea creatures, under electric cones,
their hair curled into wild whorls and peaks, their eyes shrewd and glassy,
animal and sly, their mouths painted a neon red. Fans were whirring, the
perfumed wind issuing upon the stillness, moving among green trees, creeping
among the amazed Martians.
‘For God’s sake!’ screamed Ettil, his nerves suddenly breaking loose. ‘Let’s get
in our rockets’go home! They’ll get us! Those horrid things in there. See them?
Those evil undersea things, those women in their cool little caverns of
artificial rock!’
‘Shut up!’
Look at them in there, he thought, drifting their dresses like cool green gills
over their pillar legs. He shouted.
‘Someone shut his mouth!’
‘They’ll rush out on us, hurling chocolate boxes and copies of Kleig Love and
Holly Pick-ture, shrieking with their red greasy mouths! Inundate us with
banality, destroy our sensibilities! Look at them, being electrocuted by
devices, their voices like hums and chants and murmurs! Do you dare go in
there?’
‘Why not?’ asked the other Martians.
‘They’ll fry you, bleach you, change you! Crack you, flake you away until you’re
nothing but a husband, a working man, the one with the money who pays so they
can come sit in there devouring their evil chocolates! Do you think you could
control them?’
‘Yes, by the gods!’
From a distance a voice drifted, a high and shrill voice, a woman’s voice
saying, ‘Ain’t that middle one there cute?’
‘Martians ain’t so bad after all. Gee, they’re just men,’ said another, fading.
‘Hey, there. Yoo-hoo! Martians! Hey!’
Yelling, Ettil ran. . . .

…

He sat in a park and trembled steadily. He remembered what he had seen. Looking up at the dark night sky, he felt so far from home, so deserted. Even now, as he sat among the still trees, in the distance he could see Martian warriors walking the streets with the Earth women, vanishing into the phantom darknesses of the little emotion palaces to hear the ghastly sounds of white things moving on gray screens, with little frizz-haired women beside them, wads of gelatinous gum working in their jaws, other wads under the seats, hardening with the fossil imprints of the women’s tiny cat teeth forever imbedded therein. The cave of winds’the cinema.
‘Hello.’
He jerked his head in terror.
A woman sat on the bench beside him, chewing gum lazily. ‘Don’t run off; I don’t
bite,’ she said.
‘Oh,’ he said.
‘Like to go to the pictures?’ she said.
‘No.’
‘Aw, come on,’ she said. ‘Everybody else is.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘Is that all you do in this world?’
‘All? Ain’t that enough?’ Her blue eyes widened suspiciously. ‘What you want me
to do’sit home, read a book? Ha, ha! That’s rich.’

…

Ettil stared at her a moment before asking a question.
‘Do you do anything else?’ he asked.
‘Ride in cars. You got a car? You oughta get you a big new convertible Podler
Six. Gee, they’re fancy! Any man with a Podler Six can go out with any gal, you
bet!’ she said, blinking at him. ‘I bet you got all kinds of money’you come from
Mars and all. I bet if you really wanted you could get a Podler Six and travel
everywhere.’
‘To the show maybe?’
‘What’s wrong with ‘at?’
‘Nothing’ nothing.’

…

‘You know what you talk like, mister?’ she said. ‘A Communist! Yes, sir, that’s
the kinda talk nobody stands for, by gosh. Nothing wrong with our little old
system. We was good enough to let you Martians invade, and we never raised even our bitty finger, did we?’
‘That’s what I’ve been trying to understand,’ said Ettil. ‘Why did you let us?’
”Cause we’re bighearted, mister; that’s why! Just remember that, bighearted.’
She walked off to look for someone else.

…

Gathering courage to himself, Ettil began to write a letter to his wife, moving
the pen carefully over the paper on his knee.
‘Dear Tylla”’
But again he was interrupted. A small-little-girl-of-an-old-woman, with a pale
round wrinkled little face, shook her tambourine in front of his nose, forcing
him to glance up.
‘Brother,’ she cried, eyes blazing. ‘Have you been saved?’
‘Am I in danger?’ Ettil dropped his pen, jumping.
‘Terrible danger!’ she wailed, clanking her tambourine, gazing at the sky. ‘You
need to be saved, brother, in the worst way!’
‘I’m inclined to agree,’ he said, trembling.
‘We saved lots already today. I saved three myself, of you Mars people. Ain’t
that nice?’ She grinned at him.
‘I guess so.’
She was acutely suspicious. She leaned forward with her secret whisper.
‘Brother,’ she wanted to know, ‘you been baptized?’
‘I don’t know,’ he whispered back.
‘You don’t know?’ she cried, flinging up hand and tambourine.
‘Is it like being shot?’ he asked.
‘Brother,’ she said, ‘you are in a bad and sinful condition. I blame it on your
ignorant bringing up. I bet those schools on Mars are terrible’don’t teach you
no truth at all. Just a pack of made-up lies. Brother, you got to be baptized if
you want to be happy.’
‘Will it make me happy even in this world here?’ he said. ‘Don’t ask for
everything on your platter,’ she said. ‘Be satisfied with a wrinkled pea, for
there’s another world we’re all going to that’s better than this one.’

…

‘I know that world,’ he said.
‘It’s peaceful,’ she said.
‘Yes.’
‘There’s quiet,’ she said.
‘Yes.’
‘There’s milk and honey flowing.’
‘Why, yes,’ he said.
‘And everybody’s laughing.’
‘I can see it now,’ he said.
‘A better world,’ she said.
‘Far better,’ he said. ‘Yes, Mars is a great planet.’

…

‘Mister,’ she said, tightening up and almost flinging the tambourine in his
face, ‘you been joking with me?’
‘Why, no.’ He was embarrassed and bewildered. ‘I thought you were talking
about”’
‘Not about mean old nasty Mars, I tell you, mister! It’s your type that is going
to boil for years, and suffer and break out in black pimples and be tortured”’
‘I must admit Earth isn’t very nice. You’ve described it beautifully.’
‘Mister, you’re funning me again!’ she cried angrily.
‘No, no’please. I plead ignorance.’
‘Well,’ she said, ‘you’re a heathen, and heathens are improper. Here’s a paper.
Come to this address tomorrow night and be baptized and be happy. We shouts and we stomps and we talk in voices, so if you want to hear our all-cornet,
all-brass band, you come, won’t you now?’
‘I’ll try,’ he said hesitantly.
Down the street she went, patting her tambourine, singing at the top of her
voice, ‘Happy Am I, I’m Always Happy.’

…

Dazed, Ettil returned to his letter.
‘Dear Tylla: To think that in my na’vet’ I imagined that the Earthmen would have
to counterattack with guns and bombs. No, no. I was sadly wrong. There is no
Rick or Mick or Jick or Bannon’those lever fellows who save worlds. No.
‘There are blond robots with pink rubber bodies, real, but somehow unreal, alive
but somehow automatic in all responses, living in caves all of their lives.
Their derri’res are incredible in girth. Their eyes are fixed and motionless
from an endless time of staring at picture screens. The only muscles they have
occur in their jaws from their ceaseless chewing of gum.
‘And it is not only these, my dear Tylla, but the entire civilization into which
we have been dropped like a shovelful of seeds into a large concrete mixer.
Nothing of us will survive. We will be killed not by the gun but by the
glad-hand. We will be destroyed not by the rocket but by the automobile . . .’

…

Somebody screamed. A crash, another crash. Silence.
Ettil leaped up from his letter. Outside, on the street two ears had crashed.
One full of Martians, another with Earthmen. Ettil returned to his letter:
‘Dear, dear Tylla, a few statistics if you will allow. Forty-five thousand
people killed every year on this continent of America; made into jelly right in
the can, as it were, in the automobiles. Red blood jelly, with white marrow
bones like sudden thoughts, ridiculous horror thoughts, transfixed in the
immutable jelly. The cars roll up in tight neat sardine rolls’all sauce, all
silence.
‘Blood manure for green buzzing summer flies, all over the highways. Faces made into Halloween masks by sudden stops. Halloween is one of their holidays. I think they worship the automobile on that night’something to do with death,
anyway.
‘You look out your window and see two people lying atop each other in friendly
fashion who, a moment ago, had never met before, dead. I foresee our army
mashed, diseased, trapped in cinemas by witches and gum. Sometime in the next
day I shall try to escape back to Mars before it is too late.
‘Somewhere on Earth tonight, my Tylla, there is a Man with a Lever, which, when
he pulls it, Will Save the World. The man is now unemployed. His switch gathers
dust. He himself plays pinochle.
‘The women of this evil planet are drowning us in a tide of banal
sentimentality, misplaced romance, and one last fling before the makers of
glycerin boil them down for usage. Good night, Tylla. Wish me well, for I shall
probably die trying to escape. My love to our child.’
Weeping silently, he folded the letter and reminded himself to mail it later at
the rocket post.

…

He left the park. What was there to do? Escape? But how? Return to the post late
tonight, steal one of the rockets alone and go back to Mars? Would it be
possible? He shook his head. He was much too confused.
All that he really knew was that if he stayed here he would soon be the property
of a lot of things that buzzed and snorted and hissed, that gave off fumes or
stenches. In six months he would be the owner of a large pink, trained ulcer, a
blood pressure of algebraic dimensions, a myopia this side of blindness, and
nightmares as deep as oceans and infested with improbable lengths of dream
intestines through which he must violently force his way each night. No, no.
He looked at the haunted faces of the Earthmen drifting violently along in their
mechanical death boxes. Soon’yes, very soon’they would invent an auto with six
silver handles on it!
‘Hey, there!’
An auto horn. A large long hearse of a car, black and ominous pulled to the
curb. A man leaned out.
‘You a Martian?’
‘Yes.’
‘Just the man I gotta see. Hop in quick’the chance of a lifetime. Hop in. Take
you to a real nice joint where we can talk. Come on’don’t stand there.’
As if hypnotized, Ettil opened the door of the car, got in.
They drove off.
‘What’ll it be, E.V.? How about a manhattan? Two manhattans, waiter. Okay, E.V.
This is my treat. This is on me and Big Studios! Don’t even touch your wallet.
Pleased to meet you, E.V. My name’s R. R. Van Plank. Maybe you hearda me? No?
Well, shake anyhow.’
Ettil felt his hand massaged and dropped. They were in a dark hole with music
and waiters drifting about. Two drinks were set down. It had all happened so
swiftly. Now Van Plank, hands crossed on his chest, was surveying his Martian
discovery.
‘What I want you for, E.V., is this. It’s the most magnanimous idea I ever got
in my life. I don’t know how it came to me, just in a flash. I was sitting home
tonight and I thought to myself, My God, what a picture it would make! Invasion
of Earth by Mars. So what I got to do? I got to find an adviser for the film. So
I climbed in my car and found you and here we are. Drink up! Here’s to your
health and our future. Skoal!’
‘But”’ said Ettil.
‘Now, I know, you’ll want money. Well, we got plenty of that. Besides, I got a
li’l black book full of peaches I can lend you.’
‘I don’t like most of your Earth fruit and”’
‘You’re a card, mac, really. Well, here’s how I get the picture in my
mind’listen.’ He leaned forward excitedly. ‘We got a flash scene of the Martians
at a big powwow, drummin’ drums, gettin’ stewed on Mars. In the background are
huge silver cities”’
‘But that’s not the way Martian cities are”’
‘We got to have color, kid. Color. Let your pappy fix this. Anyway, there are
all the Martians doing a dance around a fire”’
‘We don’t dance around fires”’
‘In this film you got a fire and you dance,’ declared Van Plank, eyes shut,
proud of his certainty. He nodded, dreaming it over on his tongue. ‘Then we got
a beautiful Martian woman, tall and blond.’
‘Martian women are dark”’
‘Look, I don’t see how we’re going to be happy, E.V. By the way, son, you ought
to change your name. What was it again?’
‘Ettil.’
‘That’s a woman’s name. I’ll give you a better one. Call you Joe. Okay, Joe. As
I was saying, our Martian women are gonna be blond, because, see, just because.
Or else your poppa won’t be happy. You got any suggestions?’
‘I thought that”’
‘And another thing we gotta have is a scene, very tearful, where the Martian
woman saves the whole ship of Martian men from dying when a meteor or something hits the ship. That’ll make a whackeroo of a scene. You know, I’m glad I found you, Joe. You’re going to have a good deal with us, I tell you.’
Ettil reached out and held the man’s wrist tight. ‘Just a minute. There’s
something I want to ask you.’
‘Sure, Joe, shoot.’
‘Why are you being so nice to us? We invade your planet, and you welcome
us’everybody’like long-lost children. Why?’
‘They sure grow ’em green on Mars, don’t they? You’re a na’ve-type guy’I can see
from way over here. Mac, look at it this way. We’re all Little People, ain’t
we?’ He waved a small tan hand garnished with emeralds.
‘We’re all common as dirt, ain’t we? Well, here on Earth, we’re proud of that.
This is the century of the Common Man, Bill, and we’re proud we’re small. Billy,
you’re looking at a planet full of Saroyans. Yes, sir. A great big fat family of
friendly Saroyans’everybody loving everybody. We understand you Martians, Joe,
and we know why you invaded Earth. We know how lonely you were up on that little cold planet Mars, how you envied us our cities”’
‘Our civilization is much older than yours”’
‘Please, Joe, you make me unhappy when you interrupt. Let me finish my theory
and then you talk all you want. As I was saying, you was lonely up there, and
down you came to see our cities and our women and all, and we welcomed you in, because you’re our brothers, Common Men like all of us.
‘And then, as a kind of side incident, Roscoe, there’s a certain little small
profit to be had from this invasion. I mean for instance this picture I plan,
which will net us, neat, a billion dollars, I bet. Next week we start putting
out a special Martian doll at thirty bucks a throw. Think of the millions there.
I also got a contract to make a Martian game to sell for five bucks. There’s all
sorts of angles.’
‘I see,’ said Ettil, drawing back.
‘And then of course there’s that whole nice new market. Think of all the
depilatories and gum and shoeshine we can sell to you Martians.’
‘Wait. Another question.’
‘Shoot.’
‘What’s your first name? What’s the R.R. stand for?’
‘Richard Robert.’
Ettil looked at the ceiling. ‘Do they sometimes, perhaps, on occasion, once in a
while, by accident, call you ‘Rick?’
‘How’d you guess, mac? Rick, sure.’
Ettil sighed and began to laugh and laugh. He put out his hand. ‘So you’re Rick?
Rick! So you’re Rick!’
‘What’s the joke, laughing boy? Let Poppa in!’
‘You wouldn’t understand’a private joke. Ha, ha!’ Tears ran down his cheeks and
into his open mouth. He pounded the table again and again. ‘So you’re Rick. Oh,
how different, how funny. No bulging muscles, no lean jaw, no gun. Only a wallet
full of money and an emerald ring and a big middle!’
‘Hey, watch the language! I may not be no Apollo, but”’
‘Shake hands, Rick. I’ve wanted to meet you. You’re the man who’ll conquer Mars,
with cocktail shakers and foot arches and poker chips and riding crops and
leather boots and checkered caps and rum collinses.’
‘I’m only a humble businessman,’ said Van Plank, eyes slyly down. ‘I do my work
and take my humble little piece of money pie. But, as I was saying, Mort, I been
thinking of the market on Mars for Uncle Wiggily games and Dick Tracy comics;
all new. A big wide field never even heard of cartoons, right? Right! So we just
toss a great big bunch of stuff on the Martians’ heads. They’ll fight for it,
kid, fight! Who wouldn’t, for perfumes and Paris dresses and Oshkosh overalls,
eh? And nice new shoes”’
‘We don’t wear shoes.’
‘What have I got here?’ R.R. asked of the ceiling. ‘A planet full of Okies?
Look, Joe, we’ll take care of that. We’ll shame everyone into wearing shoes.
Then we sell them the polish!’
‘Oh.’
He slapped Ettil’s. arm. ‘Is it a deal? Will you be technical director on my
film? You’ll get two hundred a week to start, a five-hundred top. What you say?’
‘I’m sick,’ said Ettil. He had drunk the manhattan and was now turning blue.
‘Say, I’m sorry. I didn’t know it would do that to you. Let’s get some fresh
air.’

…

In the open air Ettil felt better. He swayed. ‘So that’s why Earth took us in?’
‘Sure, son. Any time an Earthman can turn an honest dollar, watch him steam. The customer is always right. No hard feelings. Here’s my card. Be at the studio in
Hollywood tomorrow morning at nine o’clock. They’ll show you your office. I’ll
arrive at eleven and see you then. Be sure you get there at nine o’clock. It’s a
strict rule.’
‘Why?’
‘Gallagher, you’re a queer oyster, but I love you. Good night. Happy invasion!’
The car drove off.

…

Ettil blinked after it, incredulous. Then, rubbing his brow with the palm of his
hand, he walked slowly along the street toward the rocket port.
‘Well, what are you going to do?’ he asked himself, aloud. The rockets lay
gleaming in the moonlight silent. From the city came the sounds of distant
revelry. In the medical compound an extreme case of nervous breakdown was being tended to: a young Martian who, by his screams, had seen too much, drunk too much, heard too many songs on the little red-and-yellow boxes in the drinking places, and had been chased around innumerable tables by a large elephant-like woman. He kept murmuring:
‘Can’t breathe . . . crushed, trapped.’
The sobbing faded. Ettil came out of the shadows and moved on across a wide
avenue toward the ships. Far over, he could see the guards lying about
drunkenly. He listened. From the vast city came the faint sounds of cars and
music and sirens. And he imagined other sounds too: the insidious whir of malt
machines stirring malts to fatten the warriors and make them lazy and forgetful,
the narcotic voices of the cinema caverns lulling and lulling the Martians fast,
fast into a slumber through which, all of their remaining lives, they would
sleepwalk.
A year from now, how many Martians dead of cirrhosis of the liver, bad kidneys,
high blood pressure, suicide?
He stood in the middle of the empty avenue. Two blocks away a car was rushing
toward him.
He had a choice: stay here, take the studio job, report for work each morning as
adviser on a picture, and, in time, come to agree with the producer that, yes
indeed, there were massacres on Mars; yes, the women were tall and blond; yes,
there were tribal dances and sacrifices; yes, yes, yes. Or he could walk over
and get into a rocket ship and, alone, return to Mars.
‘But what about next year?’ he said.
The Blue Canal Night Club brought to Mars. The Ancient City Gambling Casino,
Built Right Inside. Yes, Right Inside a Real Martian Ancient City! Neons, racing
forms blowing in the old cities, picnic lunches in the ancestral graveyards’all
of it, all of it.
But not quite yet. In a few days he could be home. Tylla would be waiting with
their son, and then for the last few years of gentle life he might sit with his
wife in the blowing weather on the edge of the canal reading his good, gentle
books, sipping a rare and light wine, talking and living out their short time
until the neon bewilderment fell from the sky.
And then perhaps he and Tylla might move into the blue mountains and hide for
another year or two until the tourists came to snap their cameras and say how
quaint things were.

…

He knew just what he would say to Tylla. ‘War is a bad thing, but peace can be a
living horror.’
He stood in the middle of the wide avenue.
Turning, it was with no surprise that he saw a car bearing down upon him, a car
full of screaming children. These boys and girls, none older than sixteen, were
swerving and ricocheting their open-top car down the avenue. He saw them point at him and yell. He heard the motor roar louder. The car sped forward at sixty miles an hour.
He began to run.
Yes, yes, he thought tiredly, with the car upon him, how strange, how sad. It
sounds so much like . . . a concrete mixer.

The End

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The long years by Ray Bradbury (Full text)

This is a nice story by Ray Bradbury. It takes you to a point in time. It’s about being alone. I do hope that you appreciate this story like I do. It’s a great story that takes place on Mars. This is in PDF format for easy reading.

The long years

Ray Bradbury

Conclusion

It’s a very short story.

I think that this story stands alone on it’s own merits.

Loneliness is an unpleasant emotional response to perceived isolation. Loneliness is also described as social pain—a psychological mechanism which motivates individuals to seek social connections. It is often associated with an unwanted lack of connection and intimacy. Loneliness overlaps and yet is distinct from solitude. Solitude is simply the state of being apart from others; not everyone who experiences solitude feels lonely. As a subjective emotion, loneliness can be felt even when surrounded by other people; one who feels lonely, is lonely. The causes of loneliness are varied. They include social, mental, emotional, and environmental factors. 

- Wikipedia

Today’s society insists that we communicate via e-mail and social media. But face to face, in depth human to human contact is what we require. Accept that fact and do everything in your power to make sure that you are never, ever alone. Your strength is your community.

Never forget that.

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There will come the soft rains by Ray Bradbury (Full text)

This is a nice story by Ray Bradbury. It takes you to a point in time. It’s about a life after the insanity of mad kings and corrupt politicians. I do hope that you appreciate this story like I do.

Especially since it takes place in America in the year 2026…

There will come the soft rains

Ray Bradbury

Conclusion

It’s a very short story.

I think that this story stands alone on it’s own merits.

People have forgotten. The American leadership has forgotten what a cold war was, and the threat of any day having your complete life turned upside down by nuclear war. This week, America is going to base it’s nuclear SLBM missile subs in Australia, and Australia agrees to host the systems.

Jesus!

This kind of nuclear-war level posturing is dangerous. On one hand Biden says that “America doesn’t want war”, on the other hand, it was one year after it launched three lethal bio-weapons strains on China. And is placing nuclear weapons in the QUAD that rings the Chinese mainland.

Do they think that the rest of the world is as ignorant as the dumbed-down Americans are?

I guess so.

The United States is a run-away train and it ain’t stopping or slowing down for shit. The final crash is going to be spectacular, and horrific at the same time. This story here describes that aftermath.

Ray Bradbury’s “There Will Come Soft Rains” tells the story of a house that has survived a nuclear blast in the year 2026. The house has automated systems, not unlike a modern-day smart home. Each day, the house makes the beds, cooks dinner, and throws out the trash—despite the fact that its owners have died.

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The Luggage Store by Ray Bradbury (Full text)

This is a nice story by Ray Bradbury. As I reread this story, I couldn’t help but relive the “news” that enters my feeds on a daily basis. It sounds so familiar. It’s just hard to believe that this story was written in the 1950’s. I do hope that you appreciate this story like I do.

THE LUGGAGE STORE

Ray Bradbury

It was a very remote thing, when the luggage-store

proprietor heard the news on the night radio, received all the

way from Earth on a light-sound beam. The proprietor felt how

remote it was.

There was going to be a war on Earth.

…

He went out to peer into the sky.

Yes, there it was. Earth, in the evening heavens,

following the sun into the hills. The words on the radio and

that green star were one and the same.

“I don’t believe it,” said the proprietor.

“It’s because you’re not there,” said Father Peregrine,

who had stopped by to pass the time of evening.

“What do you mean, Father?”

“It’s like when I was a boy,” said Father Peregrine. “We

heard about wars in China. But we never believed them. It was

too far away. And there were too many people dying. It

was impossible. Even when we saw the motion pictures we didn’t

believe it. Well, that’s how it is now. Earth is China. It’s so

far away it’s unbelievable. It’s not here. You can’t touch it.

You can’t even see it. All you see is a green light. Two

billion people living on that light? Unbelievable! War? We

don’t hear the explosions.”

“We will,” said the proprietor. “I keep thinking about

all those people that were going to come to Mars this week.

What was it? A hundred thousand or so coming up in the next

month or so. What about _them_ if the war starts?”

“I imagine they’ll turn back. They’ll be needed on Earth.”

“Well,” said the proprietor, “I’d better get my luggage

dusted off. I got a feeling there’ll be a rush sale here any

time.”

“Do you think everyone now on Mars will go back to Earth

if this _is_ the Big War we’ve all been expecting for years?”

“It’s a funny thing, Father, but yes, I think we’ll _all_

go back. I know, we came up here to get away from

things–politics, the atom bomb, war, pressure groups,

prejudice, laws–I know. But it’s still home there. You wait

and see. When the first bomb drops on America the people up

here’ll start thinking. They haven’t been here long enough.

A couple years is all. If they’d been here forty years, it’d

be different, but they got relatives down there, and their

home towns. Me, I can’t believe in Earth any more; I can’t

imagine it much. But I’m old. I don’t count. I might stay on

here.”

“I doubt it.”

“Yes, I guess you’re right.”

They stood on the porch watching the stars. Finally

Father Peregrine pulled some money from his pocket and handed

it to the proprietor. “Come to think of it, you’d better give

me a new valise. My old one’s in pretty bad condition. . . .”

The End

Conclusion

It’s a very short story.

Do you really think that if you were living off in a far away nation, and war broke out on American soil, that you would leave and return to America?

I don’t.

I’m in China. America is thrashing and snarling. It is going bat-shit-crazy and the LAST thing that I want to do is return to that cesspool of greedy ignorant psychopathic monsters.

Never the less, this story was written at a different time, in a different place, and the values reflected in this story has long since disappeared from the world. It’s all gone like whispers and vapor.

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Chapter 2, Part 5, of the 33 Strategies of War by Robert Greene titled “Avoid groupthink: Command-and-control”

This is a full reprint in HTML of the fifth chapter (Chapter 5) of the second part (Part II) of the massive volume titled "The 33 Strategies of War". Written by Robert Greene (with emotional support from his cats). I read this book while in prison, and found much of what was written to be interesting, enjoyable, and pertinent to things going on in my life. I think that you will as well.

People naturally have their own agendas in the groups you lead. If you’re too authoritarian they will resent you, and if you’re too lax they will revert doing their own interests. You need a chain of command where people buy into your vision and follow your lead naturally. The overall strategic vision must come from you and you alone. But make the group feel involved in the decision making. Take their good ideas, deflect the bad ones and if necessary make minor changes to appease the most political ones.

Part II

Chapter 5 AVOID THE SNARES OF GROUPTHINK

Avoid groupthink: Command-and-control

The problem in leading any group is that people inevitably have their own agendas. If you are too authoritarian, they will resent you and rebel in silent ways. If you are too easygoing, they will revert to their natural selfishness and you will lose control. You have to create a chain of command in which people do not feel constrained by your influence yet follow your lead. Put the right people in place--people who will enact the spirit of your ideas without being automatons. 

Make your commands clear and inspiring, focusing attention on the team, not the leader. Create a sense of participation, but do not fall into Groupthink--the irrationality of collective decision making. Make yourself look like a paragon of fairness, but never relinquish unity of command.

How very different is the cohesion between that of an army rallying around one flag carried into battle at the personal command of one general and that of an allied military force extending 50 or 100 leagues, or even on different sides of the theater! In the first case, cohesion is at its strongest and unity at its closest. In the second case, the unity is very remote, often consisting of no more than a shared political intention, and therefore only scanty and imperfect, while the cohesion of the parts is mostly weak and often no more than an illusion.

ON WAR, CARL VON CLAUSEWITZ, 1780-1831

THE BROKEN CHAIN

World War I began in August 1914, and by the end of that year, all along the Western Front, the British and French were caught in a deadly stalemate with the Germans. Meanwhile, though, on the Eastern Front, Germany was badly beating the Russians, allies of Britain and France. Britain’s military leaders had to try a new strategy, and their plan, backed by First Lord of the Admiralty Winston Churchill and others, was to stage an attack on Gallipoli, a peninsula on Turkey’s
Dardanelles Strait. Turkey was an ally of Germany’s, and the Dardanelles was the gateway to Constantinople, the Turkish capital (present-day Istanbul). If the Allies could take Gallipoli, Constantinople would follow, and Turkey would have to leave the war. In addition, using bases in Turkey and the Balkans, the Allies could attack Germany from the southeast, dividing its armies and weakening its ability to fight on the Western Front. They would also have a clear supply line to Russia. Victory at Gallipoli would change the course of the war.

The plan was approved, and in March 1915, General Sir Ian Hamilton was named to lead the campaign. Hamilton, at sixty-two, was an able strategist and an experienced commander. He and Churchill felt certain that their forces, including Australians and New Zealanders, would out-match the Turks.

Churchill’s orders were simple: take Constantinople. He left the details to the general.

Hamilton’s plan was to land at three points on the southwestern tip of the Gallipoli peninsula, secure the beaches, and sweep north. The landings took place on April 27. From the beginning almost everything went wrong: the army’s maps were inaccurate, its troops landed in the wrong places, the beaches were much narrower than expected. Worst of all, the Turks fought back unexpectedly fiercely and well. At the end of the first day, most of the Allies’ 70,000 men had landed, but they were unable to advance beyond the beaches, where the Turks would hold them pinned down for several weeks. It was another stalemate; Gallipoli had become a disaster.

All seemed lost, but in June, Churchill convinced the government to send more troops and Hamilton devised a new plan. He would land 20,000 men at Suvla Bay, some twenty miles to the north. Suvla was a vulnerable target: it had a large harbor, the terrain was low-lying and easy, and it was defended by only a handful of Turks. An invasion here would force the Turks to divide their forces,
freeing up the Allied armies to the south. The stalemate would be broken, and Gallipoli would fall.

To command the Suvla operation Hamilton was forced to accept the most senior Englishman available for the job, Lieutenant General Sir Frederick Stopford. Under him, Major General Frederick Hammersley would lead the Eleventh Division. Neither of these men was Hamilton’s first choice.

Stopford, a sixty-one-year-old military teacher, had never led troops in war and saw artillery bombardment as the only way to win a battle; he was also in poor health. Hammersley, for his part, had suffered a nervous breakdown the previous year.

In war it is not men, but the man, that counts.

NAPOLEON BONAPARTE, 1769-1821

Hamilton’s style was to tell his officers the purpose of an upcoming battle but leave it to them how to bring it about. He was a gentleman, never blunt or forceful. At one of their first meetings, for example, Stop-ford requested changes in the landing plans to reduce risk. Hamilton politely deferred to him.

Hamilton did have one request. Once the Turks knew of the landings at Suvla, they would rush in reinforcements. As soon as the Allies were ashore, then, Hamilton wanted them to advance immediately to a range of hills four miles inland, called Tekke Tepe, and to get there before the Turks. From Tekke Tepe the Allies would dominate the peninsula. The order was simple enough, but
Hamilton, so as not to offend his subordinate, expressed it in the most general terms. Most crucially, he specified no time frame. He was sufficiently vague that Stopford completely misinterpreted him: instead of trying to reach Tekke Tepe “as soon as possible,” Stopford thought he should advance to the hills “if possible.” That was the order he gave Hammersley. And as Hammersley, nervous about the whole campaign, passed it down to his colonels, the order became less
urgent and vaguer still.

Also, despite his deference to Stopford, Hamilton overruled the lieutenant general in one respect: he denied a request for more artillery bombardments to loosen up the Turks. Stopford’s troops would outnumber the Turks at Suvla ten to one, Hamilton replied; more artillery was superfluous.

The attack began in the early morning of August 7. Once again much turned bad: Stopford’s changes in the landing plans made a mess. As his officers came ashore, they began to argue, uncertain about their positions and objectives. They sent messengers to ask their next step: Advance? Consolidate?

Hammersley had no answers. Stopford had stayed on a boat offshore, from which to control the battlefield–but on that boat he was impossible to reach quickly enough to get prompt orders from him. Hamilton was on an island still farther away. The day was frittered away in argument and the endless relaying of messages.

The next morning Hamilton began to sense that something had gone very wrong. From reconnaissance aircraft he knew that the flat land around Suvla was essentially empty and undefended; the way to Tekke Tepe was open–the troops had only to march–but they were staying where they were. Hamilton decided to visit the front himself. Reaching Stopford’s boat late that afternoon, he found the general in a self-congratulatory mood: all 20,000 men had gotten ashore.

No, he had not yet ordered the troops to advance to the hills; without artillery he was afraid the Turks might counterattack, and he needed the day to consolidate his positions and to land supplies.

Hamilton strained to control himself: he had heard an hour earlier that Turkish reinforcements had been seen hurrying toward Suvla. The Allies would have to secure Tekke Tepe this evening, he said–but Stopford was against a night march. Too dangerous. Hamilton retained his cool and politely excused himself.

Any army is like a horse, in that it reflects the temper and the spirit of its rider. If there is an uneasiness and an uncertainty, it transmits itself through the reins, and the horse feels uneasy and uncertain.

LONE STAR PREACHER, COLONEL JOHN W. THOMASON, JR., 1941

In near panic, Hamilton decided to visit Hammersley at Suvla. Much to his dismay, he found the army lounging on the beach as if it were a bank holiday. He finally located Hammersley–he was at the far end of the bay, busily supervising the building of his temporary headquarters. Asked why he had failed to secure the hills, Hammersley replied that he had sent several brigades for the purpose,
but they had encountered Turkish artillery and his colonels had told him they could not advance without more instructions. Communications between Hammersley, Stopford, and the colonels in the field were taking forever, and when Stopford had finally been reached, he had sent the message back
to Hammersley to proceed cautiously, rest his men, and wait to advance until the next day. Hamilton could control himself no longer: a handful of Turks with a few guns were holding up an army of 20,000 men from marching a mere four miles!

Tomorrow morning would be too late; the Turkish reinforcements were on their way.

Although it was already night, Hamilton ordered Hammersley to send a brigade immediately to Tekke Tepe. It would be a race to the finish.

Hamilton returned to a boat in the harbor to monitor the situation. At sunrise the next morning, he watched the battlefield through binoculars–and saw, to his horror, the Allied troops in headlong retreat to Suvla. A large Turkish force had arrived at Tekke Tepe thirty minutes before them.

In the next few days, the Turks managed to regain the flats around Suvla and to pin Hamilton’s army on the beach. Some four months later, the Allies gave up their attack on Gallipoli and evacuated their troops.

Interpretation

In planning the invasion at Suvla, Hamilton thought of everything. He understood the need for surprise, deceiving the Turks about the landing site. He mastered the logistical details of a complex amphibious assault. Locating the key point–Tekke Tepe–from which the Allies could break the stalemate in Gallipoli, he crafted an excellent strategy to get there.

He even tried to prepare for the kind of unexpected contingencies that can always happen in battle. But he ignored the one thing closest to him: the chain of command, and the circuit of communications by which orders, information, and decisions would circulate back and forth. He was dependent on that circuit to give him control of the situation and allow him to execute his strategy.

The first links in the chain of command were Stopford and Hammersley. Both men were terrified of risk, and Hamilton failed to adapt himself to their weakness: his order to reach Tekke Tepe was polite, civilized, and unforceful, and Stopford and Hammersley interpreted it according to their fears. They saw Tekke Tepe as a possible goal to aim for once the beaches were secured.

The next links in the chain were the colonels who were to lead the assault on Tekke Tepe. They had no contact with Hamilton on his island or with Stopford on his boat, and Hammersley was too overwhelmed to lead them. They themselves were terrified of acting on their own and maybe messing up a plan they had never understood; they hesitated at every step. Below the colonels were officers
and soldiers who, without leadership, were left wandering on the beach like lost ants. Vagueness at the top turned into confusion and lethargy at the bottom. Success depended on the speed with which information could pass in both directions along the chain of command, so that Hamilton could understand what was happening and adapt faster than the enemy. The chain was broken, and Gallipoli was lost.

When a failure like this happens, when a golden opportunity slips through your fingers, you naturally look for a cause.

Maybe you blame your incompetent officers, your faulty technology, your flawed intelligence. But that is to look at the world backward; it ensures more failure.

The truth is that everything starts from the top.

What determines your failure or success is your style of leadership and the chain of command that you design. If your orders are vague and halfhearted, by the time they reach the field they will be meaningless. Let people work unsupervised and they will revert to their natural selfishness: they will see in your orders what they want to see, and their behavior will promote their own interests.

Unless you adapt your leadership style to the weaknesses of the people in your group, you will almost certainly end up with a break in the chain of command. Information in the field will reach you too slowly. A proper chain of command, and the control it brings you, is not an accident; it is your creation, a work of art that requires constant attention and care. Ignore it at your peril.

For what the leaders are, that, as a rule, will the men below them be.

--Xenophon (430?-355? B.C.)

REMOTE CONTROL

In the late 1930s, U.S. Brigadier General George C. Marshall (1880-1958) preached the need for major military reform. The army had too few soldiers, they were badly trained, current doctrine was ill suited to modern technology–the list of problems went on.

In 1939, President Franklin D. Roosevelt had to select his next army chief of staff. The appointment was critical: World War II had begun in Europe, and Roosevelt believed that the United States was sure to get involved. He understood the need for military reform, so he bypassed generals with more seniority and experience and chose Marshall for the job.

The appointment was a curse in disguise, for the War Department was hopelessly dysfunctional.

Many of its generals had monstrous egos and the power to impose their way of doing things. Senior officers, instead of retiring, took jobs in the department, amassing power bases and fiefdoms that they did everything they could to protect. A place of feuds, waste, communication breakdowns, and
overlapping jobs, the department was a mess. How could Marshall revamp the army for global war if he could not control it? How could he create order and efficiency?

What must be the result of an operation which is but partially understood by the commander, since it is not his own conception? I have undergone a pitiable experience as prompter at head- quarters, and no one has a better appreciation of the value of such services than myself; and it is particularly in a council of war that such a part is absurd. The greater the number and the higher the rank of the military officers who compose the council, the more difficult will it be to accomplish the triumph of truth and reason, however small be the amount of dissent. What would have been the action of a council of war to which Napoleon proposed the movement of Arcola, the crossing of the Saint-Bernard, the maneuver at Ulm, or that at Gera and Jena? The timid would have regarded them as rash, even to madness, others would have seen a thousand difficulties of execution, and all would have concurred in rejecting them; and if, on the contrary, they had been adopted, and had been executed by any one but Napoleon, would they not certainly have proved failures?

BARON ANTOINE-HENRI DE JOMINI, 1779-1869

Some ten years earlier, Marshall had served as the assistant commander of the Infantry School at Fort Benning, Georgia, where he had trained many officers.

Throughout his time there, he had kept a notebook in which he recorded the names of promising young men.

Soon after becoming chief of staff, Marshall began to retire the older officers in the War Department and replace them with these younger men whom he had personally trained. These officers were ambitious, they shared his desire for reform, and he encouraged them to speak their minds and show initiative.

They included men like Omar Bradley and Mark Clark, who would be crucial in World War II, but no one was more important than the protege Marshall spent the most time on: Dwight D. Eisenhower.

The relationship began a few days after the attack on Pearl Harbor, when Marshall asked Eisenhower, then a colonel, to prepare a report on what should be done in the Far East. The report showed Marshall that Eisenhower shared his ideas on how to run the war.

For the next few months, he kept Eisenhower in the War Plans Division and watched him closely: the two men met every day, and in that time Eisenhower soaked up Marshall’s style of leadership, his way of getting things done.

Marshall tested Eisenhower’s patience by indicating that he planned to keep him in Washington instead of giving him the field assignment that he desperately wanted.

The colonel passed the test.

Much like Marshall himself, he got along well with other officers yet was quietly forceful. In July 1942, as the Americans prepared to enter the war by fighting alongside the British in North Africa, Marshall surprised one and all by naming Eisenhower commander in the European Theater of Operations.

Eisenhower was by this time a lieutenant general but was still relatively unknown, and in his first few months in the job, as the Americans fared poorly in North Africa, the British clamored for a replacement. But Marshall stood by his man, offering him advice and encouragement.

One key suggestion was for Eisenhower to develop a protege, much as Marshall had with him–a kind of roving deputy who thought the way he did and would act as his go-between with subordinates.

Marshall’s suggestion for the post was Major General Bradley, a man he knew well; Eisenhower accepted the idea, essentially duplicating the staff structure that Marshall had created in the War Department.

With Bradley in place, Marshall left Eisenhower alone.

Marshall positioned his proteges throughout the War Department, where they quietly spread his way of doing things. To make the task easier, he cut the waste in the department with utter ruthlessness, reducing from sixty to six the number of deputies who reported to him.

Marshall hated excess; his reports to Roosevelt made him famous for his ability to summarize a complex situation in a few pages.

The six men who reported to him found that any report that lasted a page too long simply went unread. He would listen to their oral presentations with rapt attention, but the minute they wandered from the topic or said something not thought through, he would look away, bored, uninterested.

It was an expression they dreaded: without saying a word, he had made it known that they had displeased him and it was time for them to leave.

Marshall’s six deputies began to think like him and to demand from those who reported to them the efficiency and streamlined communications style he demanded of them. The speed of the information flow up and down the line was now quadrupled.

"Do you think every Greek here can be a king? It's no good having a carload of commanders. We need One commander, one king, the one to whom Zeus, Son of Cronus the crooked, has given the staff And the right to make decisions for his people." And so Odysseus mastered the army. The men all Streamed back from their ships and huts and assembled With a roar.

THE ILIAD, HOMER, CIRCA NINTH CENTURY B.C.

Marshall exuded authority but never yelled and never challenged men frontally. He had a knack for communicating his wishes indirectly–a skill that was all the more effective since it made his officers think about what he meant.

Brigadier General Leslie R. Groves, the military director of the project to develop the atom bomb, once came to Marshall’s office to get him to sign off on $100 million in expenditures. Finding the chief of staff engrossed in paperwork, he waited while Marshall diligently compared documents and made notes.

Finally Marshall put down his pen, examined the $100 million request, signed it, and returned it to Groves without a word. The general thanked him and was turning to leave when Marshall finally spoke: “It may interest you to know what I was doing: I was writing the check for $3.52 for grass seed for my lawn.”

The thousands who worked under Marshall, whether in the War Department or abroad in the field, did not have to see him personally to feel his presence.

They felt it in the terse but insightful reports that reached them from his deputies, in the speed of the responses to their questions and requests, in the department’s efficiency and team spirit. They felt it in the leadership style of men like Eisenhower, who had absorbed Marshall’s diplomatic yet forceful way of doing things. In a few short years, Marshall transformed the War Department and the U.S. Army.

Few really understood how he had done it.

Interpretation

When Marshall became chief of staff, he knew that he would have to hold himself back. The temptation was to do combat with everyone in every problem area: the recalcitrance of the generals, the political feuds, the layers of waste. But Marshall was too smart to give in to that temptation.

First, there were too many battles to fight, and they would exhaust him. He’d get frustrated, lose time, and probably give himself a heart attack. Second, by trying to micromanage the department, he would become embroiled in petty entanglements and lose sight of the larger picture. And finally he would come across as a bully. The only way to slay this many-headed monster, Marshall knew, was to step back.

He had to rule indirectly through others, controlling with such a light touch that no one would realize how thoroughly he dominated.

Reports gathered and presented by the General Staff, on the one hand, and by the Statistical Bureau, on the other, thus constituted the most important sources of information at Napoleon's disposal. 

Climbing through the chain of command, however, such reports tend to become less and less specific; the more numerous the stages through which they pass and the more standardized the form in which they are presented, the greater the danger that they will become so heavily profiled (and possibly sugar-coated or merely distorted by the many summaries) as to become almost meaningless. 

To guard against this danger and to keep subordinates on their toes, a commander needs to have in addition a kind of directed telescope--the metaphor is an apt one--which he can direct, at will, at any part of the enemy's forces, the terrain, or his own army in order to bring in information that is not only less structured than that passed on by the normal channels but also tailored to meet his momentary (and specific) needs. Ideally, the regular reporting system should tell the commander which questions to ask, and the directed telescope should enable him to answer those questions. 

It was the two systems together, cutting across each other and wielded by Napoleon's masterful hand, which made the revolution in command possible.

COMMAND IN WAR, MARTIN VAN CREVELD, 1985

The key to Marshall’s strategy was his selection, grooming, and placement of his proteges. He metaphorically cloned himself in these men, who enacted the spirit of his reforms on his behalf, saving him time and making him appear not as a manipulator but as a delegator.

His cutting of waste was heavy-handed at first, but once he put his stamp on the department, it began to run efficiently on its own–fewer people to deal with, fewer irrelevant reports to read, less wasted time on every level.

This streamlining achieved, Marshall could guide the machine with a lighter touch. The political types who were clogging the chain of command were either retired or joined in the team spirit he infused.

His indirect style of communicating amused some of his staff, but it was actually a highly effective way of asserting his authority. An officer might go home chuckling about finding Marshall fussing over a gardening bill, but it would slowly dawn on him that if he wasted a penny, his boss would know.

Like the War Department that Marshall inherited, today’s world is complex and chaotic. It is harder than ever to exercise control through a chain of command. You cannot supervise everything yourself; you cannot keep your eye on everyone.

Being seen as a dictator will do you harm, but if you submit to complexity and let go of the chain of command, chaos will consume you.

The solution is to do as Marshall did: operate through a kind of remote control. Hire deputies who share your vision but can think on their own, acting as you would in their place.

Instead of wasting time negotiating with every difficult person, work on spreading a spirit of camaraderie and efficiency that becomes self-policing.

Streamline the organization, cutting out waste–in staff, in the irrelevant reports on your desk, in pointless meetings. The less attention you spend on petty details, the more time you will have for the larger picture, for asserting your authority generally and indirectly. People will follow your lead without feeling bullied. That is the ultimate in control.

Madness is the exception in individuals but the rule in groups.

--Friedrich Nietzsche (1844-1900)

KEYS TO WARFARE

Now more than ever, effective leadership requires a deft and subtle touch.

The reason is simple: we have grown more distrustful of authority. At the same time, almost all of us imagine ourselves as authorities in our own right–officers, not foot soldiers.

Feeling the need to assert themselves, people today put their own interests before the team.

Group unity is fragile and can easily crack.

These trends affect leaders in ways they barely know. The tendency is to give more power to the group: wanting to seem democratic, leaders poll the whole staff for opinions, let the group make decisions, give subordinates input into the crafting of an overall strategy.

Without realizing it, these leaders are letting the politics of the day seduce them into violating one of the most important rules of warfare and leadership: unity of command. Before it is too late, learn the lessons of war: divided leadership is a recipe for disaster, the cause of the greatest military defeats in history.

Among the foremost of these defeats was the Battle of Cannae, in 216 B.C., between the Romans and the Carthaginians led by Hannibal. The Romans outnumbered the Carthaginians two to one but were virtually annihilated in a perfectly executed strategic envelopment.

Hannibal, of course, was a military genius, but the Romans take much of the blame for their own defeat: they had a faulty command system, with two tribunes sharing leadership of the army.

Disagreeing over how to fight Hannibal, these men fought each other as much as they fought him, and they made a mess of things.

Nearly two thousand years later, Frederick the Great, king of Prussia and leader of its army, outfought and outlasted the five great powers aligned against him in the Seven Years’ War partly because he made decisions so much faster than the alliance generals, who had to consult each other in every move they made.

In World War II, General Marshall was well aware of the dangers of divided
leadership and insisted that one supreme commander should lead the Allied armies.

Without his victory in this battle, Eisenhower could not have succeeded in Europe. In the Vietnam War, the unity of command enjoyed by the North Vietnamese general Vo Nguyen Giap gave him a tremendous advantage over the Americans, whose strategy was crafted by a crowd of politicians and generals.

Divided leadership is dangerous because people in groups often think and act in ways that are illogical and ineffective–call it Groupthink.

People in groups are political: they say and do things that they think will help their image within the group. They aim to please others, to promote themselves, rather than to see things dispassionately. Where an individual can be bold and creative, a group is often afraid of risk. The need to find a compromise among all the different egos kills creativity. The group has a mind of its own, and that mind is cautious, slow to decide, unimaginative, and sometimes downright irrational.

This is the game you must play: Do whatever you can to preserve unity of command.

Keep the strings to be pulled in your hands; the over-arching strategic vision must come from you and you alone.

At the same time, hide your tracks.

Work behind the scenes; make the group feel involved in your decisions. Seek their advice, incorporating their good ideas, politely deflecting their bad ones.

If necessary, make minor, cosmetic strategy changes to assuage the insecure political animals in the group, but ultimately trust your own vision. Remember the dangers of group decision making. The first rule of effective leadership is never to relinquish your unity of command.

Tomorrow at dawn you depart [from St. Cloud] and travel to Worms, cross the Rhine there, and make sure that all preparations for the crossing of the river by my guard are being made there.

You will then proceed to Kassel and make sure that the place is being put in a state of defense and provisioned. Taking due security precautions, you will visit the fortress of Hanau. Can it be secured by a coup de main?

If necessary, you will visit the citadel of Marburg too. You will then travel on to Kassel and report to me by way of my charge d'affaires at that place, making sure that he is in fact there.

The voyage from Frankfurt to Kassel is not to take place by night, for you are to observe anything that might interest me. From Kassel you are to travel, also by day, by the shortest way to Koln. The land between Wesel, Mainz, Kassel, and Koln is to be reconnoitered.

What roads and good communications exist there? Gather information about communications between Kassel and Paderborn. What is the significance of Kassel? Is the place armed and capable of resistance?

Evaluate the forces of the Prince Elector in regard to their present state, their artillery, militia, strong places. From Koln you will travel to meet me at Mainz; you are to keep to the right bank on the Rhine and submit a short appreciation of the country around Dusseldorf, Wesel, and Kassel.

I shall be at Mainz on the 29th in order to receive your report.

You can see for yourself how important it is for the beginning of the campaign and its progress that you should have the country well imprinted on your memory.

NAPOLEON'S WRITTEN INSTRUCTIONS TO FIELD GENERAL, QUOTED IN COMMAND IN WAR, MARTIN VAN CREVELD, 1985

Control is an elusive phenomenon. Often, the harder you tug at people, the less control you have over them. Leadership is more than just barking out orders; it takes subtlety.

Early in his career, the great Swedish film director Ingmar Bergman was often overwhelmed with frustration.

He had visions of the films he wanted to make, but the work of being a director was so taxing and the pressure so immense that he would lash out at his cast and crew, shouting orders and attacking them for not giving him what he wanted. Some would stew with resentment at his dictatorial ways, others became obedient automatons.

With almost every new film, Bergman would have to start again with a new cast and crew, which only made things worse.

But eventually he put together a team of the finest cinematographers, editors, art directors, and actors in Sweden, people who shared his high standards and whom he trusted.

That let him loosen the reins of command; with actors like Max von Sydow, he could just suggest what he had in mind and watch as the great actor brought his ideas to life. Greater control could now come from letting go.

A critical step in creating an efficient chain of command is assembling a skilled team that shares your goals and values.

That team gives you many advantages: spirited, motivated people who can think on their own; an image as a delegator, a fair and democratic leader; and a saving in your own valuable energy, which you can redirect toward the larger picture.

In creating this team, you are looking for people who make up for your deficiencies, who have the skills you lack.

In the American Civil War, President Abraham Lincoln had a strategy for defeating the South, but he had no military background and was disdained by his generals. What good was a strategy if he could not realize it? But Lincoln soon found his teammate in General Ulysses S. Grant, who shared his belief in offensive warfare and who did not have an oversize ego.

Once Lincoln discovered Grant, he latched on to him, put him in command, and let him run the war as he saw fit.

Be careful in assembling this team that you are not seduced by expertise and intelligence. Character, the ability to work under you and with the rest of the team, and the capacity to accept responsibility and think independently are equally key. That is why Marshall tested Eisenhower for so long. You may not have as much time to spare, but never choose a man merely by his glittering
resume. Look beyond his skills to his psychological makeup.

Rely on the team you have assembled, but do not be its prisoner or give it undue influence.Franklin D. Roosevelt had his infamous “brain trust,” the advisers and cabinet members on whom he depended for their ideas and opinions, but he never let them in on the actual decision making, and he kept them from building up their own power base within the administration.

He saw them simply as tools, extending his own abilities and saving him valuable time. He understood unity of command and was never seduced into violating it.

A key function of any chain of command is to supply information rapidly from the trenches, letting you adapt fast to circumstances. The shorter and more streamlined the chain of command, the better for the flow of information. Even so, information is often diluted as it passes up the chain: the telling details that reveal so much become standardized and general as they are filtered through formal channels.

Some on the chain, too, will interpret the information for you, filtering what you hear. To get more direct knowledge, you might occasionally want to visit the field yourself.

Marshall would sometimes drop in on an army base incognito to see with his own eyes how his reforms were taking effect; he would also read letters from soldiers. But in these days of increasing complexity, this can consume far too much of your time.

What you need is what the military historian Martin van Creveld calls “a directed telescope”: people in various parts of the chain, and elsewhere, to give you instant information from the battlefield.

These people–an informal network of friends, allies, and spies–let you bypass the slow- moving chain. The master of this game was Napoleon, who created a kind of shadow brigade of younger officers in all areas of the military, men chosen for their loyalty, energy, and intelligence.

At a moment’s notice, he would send one of these men to a far-off front or garrison, or even to enemy headquarters (ostensibly as a diplomatic envoy), with secret instructions to gather the kind of information he could not get fast enough through normal channels. In general, it is important to cultivate these directed telescopes and plant them throughout the group.

They give you flexibility in the chain, room to maneuver in a generally rigid environment. The single greatest risk to your chain of command comes from the political animals in the group.

People like this are inescapable; they spring up like weeds in any organization.

Not only are they out for themselves, but they build factions to further their own agendas and fracture the cohesion you have built. Interpreting your commands for their own purposes, finding loopholes in any ambiguity, they create invisible breaks in the chain.

Try to weed them out before they arrive. In hiring your team, look at the candidates’ histories: Are they restless? Do they often move from place to place? That is a sign of the kind of ambition that will keep them from fitting in. When people seem to share your ideas exactly, be wary: they are probably mirroring them to charm you.

The court of Queen Elizabeth I of England was full of political types.

Elizabeth’s solution was to keep her opinions quiet; on any issue, no one outside
her inner circle knew where she stood. That made it hard for people to mirror her, to disguise their intentions behind a front of perfect agreement. Hers was a wise strategy.

Another solution is to isolate the political moles–to give them no room to maneuver within the organization. Marshall accomplished this by infusing the group with his spirit of efficiency; disrupters of that spirit stood out and could quickly be isolated. In any event, do not be naive.

Once you identify the moles in the group, you must act fast to stop them from building a power base from which to destroy your authority.

Finally, pay attention to the orders themselves–their form as well as their substance. Vague orders are worthless. As they pass from person to person, they are hopelessly altered, and your staff comes to see them as symbolizing uncertainty and indecision.

It is critical that you yourself be clear about what you want before issuing your orders. On the other hand, if your commands are too specific and too narrow, you will encourage people to behave like automatons and stop thinking for themselves–which they must do when the situation requires it. Erring in neither direction is an art.

Here, as in so much else, Napoleon was the master. His orders were full of juicy details, which gave his officers a feel for how his mind worked while also allowing them interpretive leeway.

He would often spell out possible contingencies, suggesting ways the officer could adapt his instructions if necessary. Most important, he made his orders inspiring. His language communicated the spirit of his desires.

A beautifully worded order has extra power; instead of feeling like a minion, there only to execute the wishes of a distant emperor, the recipient becomes a participant in a great cause. Bland, bureaucratic orders filter down into listless activity and imprecise execution.

Clear, concise, inspiring orders make officers feel in control and fill troops with fighting spirit.

Authority: Better one bad general than two good ones.
--Napoleon Bonaparte (1769-1821)

REVERSAL

No good can ever come of divided leadership. If you are ever offered a position in which you will have to share command, turn it down, for the enterprise will fail and you will be held responsible.

Better to take a lower position and let the other person have the job.

It is always wise, however, to take advantage of your opponent’s faulty command structure. Never be intimidated by an alliance of forces against you: if they share leadership, if they are ruled by committee, your advantage is more than enough. In fact, do as Napoleon did and seek out enemies with that kind of command structure. You cannot fail to win.

Conclusion

There’s some great advice in this chapter for the manager and supervisor. When you are in a role, you must show leadership, no matter what style you possess. And make sure that everyone is following your lead in what ever actions you take.

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Hemi-Sync Going Home Support Kit (Full Package) Part 2 of 2

This is part two of a large two part series. The series is a complete “study kit”. It consists of two series of sounds/music, of 11 and 12 files respectively, and an instruction manual included herein.

This post contains Hemi-Sync music / audio tracks. Hemi-Sync is a method of control that uses sounds to center the activity in the brain. When the brain is fully centered, it becomes easier to exist within this reality. Or even more specifically, easier to be able to use your consciousness to control your brain.

The files are FLAC files. Not MP3.

They should play on almost all cell phones and computers. If you have any doubt you can probably download an APP that will allow you to listen to them.

MP3 is the most popular format while FLAC (Free Lossless Audio Codec) is a less known alternative. The main difference between the two is in how they compress the audio information. MP3 is a lossy format where parts of the audio information that people are not likely to hear are discarded. On the other hand, as the name suggests, FLAC is lossless.

-Difference Between MP3 and FLAC | DifferenceBetween

Hemi-Sync contains frequencies and audio wavelengths that are traditionally considered as “unnecessary” and thus is often removed using an MP3 format to cut down on the file size. That is why they are in the FLAC format.

This Post

This is the full training kit called “going home”

Part 1 – 11 FLAC files titled “Subject”.
Part 2 – (this article) – 12 FLAC files titled “support”

This particular package enables the person to train their mind to begin “lucid dreaming”, eventually out of the body consciousness movements, and other related activity.

The link will download a ZIP file. Just place it where you want, and copy the files in order, to the player of your preference. You should listen to them in order in one sitting. It will be around a half and hour of listening.

The Manual for this series

Here is the manual for using this series. You need to read it first before you start listening to the FLAC files and performing the exercises.

The Files

You can download the files by clicking on the images below…

Do you want more?

I have more posts in my Hemi-Sync Sub-Index here;

Hemi-Sync

Articles & Links

To go to the MAIN Index;

Master Index

You can start reading the articles by going HERE.
You can visit the Index Page HERE to explore by article subject.
You can also ask the author some questions. You can go HERE .
You can find out more about the author HERE.
If you have concerns or complaints, you can go HERE.
If you want to make a donation, you can go HERE.

Please kindly help me out in this effort. There is a lot of effort that goes into this disclosure. I could use all the financial support that anyone could provide. Thank you very much.

Other Amount:

Please kindly enter any notes that you would like to attach to the donation here:

Hemi-Sync Going Home Study Kit (Full Package) Part 1 of 2

This is part one of a large two part series. The series is a complete “study kit”. It consists of two series of sounds/music, of 11 and 12 files respectively, and an instruction manual included herein.

The files are FLAC files. Not MP3.

They should play on almost all cell phones and computers. If you have any doubt you can probably download an APP that will allow you to listen to them.

MP3 is the most popular format while FLAC (Free Lossless Audio Codec) is a less known alternative. The main difference between the two is in how they compress the audio information. MP3 is a lossy format where parts of the audio information that people are not likely to hear are discarded. On the other hand, as the name suggests, FLAC is lossless.

-Difference Between MP3 and FLAC | DifferenceBetween

This Post

This is the full training kit called “going home”

Part 1 – (this article) – 11 FLAC files titled “Subject”.
Part 2 – 12 FLAC files titled “support”

This particular package enables the person to train their mind to begin “lucid dreaming”, eventually out of the body consciousness movements, and other related activity.

The Manual for this series

Here is the manual for using this series. You need to read it first before you start listening to the FLAC files and performing the exercises.

The Files

You can download the files by clicking on the images below…

Do you want more?

I have more posts in my Hemi-Sync Sub-Index here;

Hemi-Sync

Articles & Links

To go to the MAIN Index;

Master Index

You can start reading the articles by going HERE.
You can visit the Index Page HERE to explore by article subject.
You can also ask the author some questions. You can go HERE .
You can find out more about the author HERE.
If you have concerns or complaints, you can go HERE.
If you want to make a donation, you can go HERE.

Please kindly help me out in this effort. There is a lot of effort that goes into this disclosure. I could use all the financial support that anyone could provide. Thank you very much.

Other Amount:

Please kindly enter any notes that you would like to attach to the donation here:

Chapter 1, Part 4, of the 33 Strategies of War by Robert Greene titled “Create a sense of urgency and desperation; The Death Ground Strategy”

This is a full reprint in HTML of the fourth chapter (Chapter 4) of the first part (Part I) of the massive volume titled "The 33 Strategies of War". Written by Robert Greene (with emotional support from his cats). I read this book while in prison, and found much of what was written to be interesting, enjoyable, and pertinent to things going on in my life. I think that you will as well.

You are your own worst enemy. You waste precious time dreaming of the future instead of engaging in the present. Cut your ties to the past; enter unknown territory. Place yourself on “death ground,” where your back is against the wall and you have to fight like hell to get out alive.

Part I

Chapter 4 Create a sense of urgency and desperation; The Death Ground Strategy

You are your own worst enemy. You waste precious time dreaming of the future instead of engaging in the present. Since nothing seems urgent to you, you are only half involved in what you do. The only way to change is through action and outside pressure. Put yourself in situations where you have too much at stake to waste time or resources–if you cannot afford to lose, you won’t. Cut your ties to the past; enter unknown territory where you must depend on your wits and energy to see you through. Place yourself on “death ground,” where your back is against the wall and you have to fight like hell to get out alive.

Cortes ran all that aground with the ten ships. Cuba, to be sure, was still there, in the blue sea, with its farms, its cows and its tame Indians; but the way to Cuba was no longer through sunny blue waves, rocked in soft idleness, oblivious of danger and endeavor; it was through Motecucuma's court, which had to be conquered by ruse, by force, or by both; through a sea of warlike Indians who ate their prisoners and donned their skins as trophies; at the stroke of their chief's masterly hand, the five hundred men had lost that flow of vital memories and hopes which linked up their souls with their mother-island; at one stroke, their backs had been withered and had lost all sense of life. Henceforward, for them, all life was ahead, towards those forbidding peaks which rose gigantically on the horizon as if to bar all access to what was now not merely their ambition, but their only possible aim--Mexico, mysterious and powerful behind the conflicting tribes. 

- HERNAN CORTES: CONQUEROR OF MEXICO, SALVADOR DE MADARIAGA, 1942

THE NO-RETURN TACTIC

In 1504 an ambitious nineteen-year-old Spaniard named Hernan Cortes gave up his studies in law and sailed for his country’s colonies in the New World. Stopping first in Santo Domingo (the island today comprising Haiti and the Dominican Republic), then in Cuba, he soon heard about a land to the west called Mexico–an empire teeming with gold and dominated by the Aztecs, with their magnificent highland capital of Tenochtitlan. From then on, Cortes had just one thought: someday he would conquer and settle the land of Mexico.

Over the next ten years, Cortes slowly rose through the ranks, eventually becoming secretary to the Spanish governor of Cuba and then the king’s treasurer for the island. In his own mind, though, he was merely biding his time. He waited patiently while Spain sent other men to Mexico, many of them never to return.

Finally, in 1518, the governor of Cuba, Diego de Velazquez, made Cortes the leader of an expedition to discover what had happened to these earlier explorers, find gold, and lay the groundwork for the country’s conquest. Velazquez wanted to make that future conquest himself, however, so for this expedition he wanted a man he could control, and he soon developed doubts about Cortes–the man was clever, perhaps too much so. Word reached Cortes that the governor was having second thoughts about sending him to Mexico. Deciding to give Velazquez no time to nurse his misgivings, he managed to slip out of Cuba in the middle of the night with eleven ships. He would explain himself to the governor later.

The expedition landed on Mexico’s east coast in March 1519. Over the next few months, Cortes put his plans to work–founding the town of Veracruz, forging alliances with local tribes who hated the Aztecs, and making initial contact with the Aztec emperor, whose capital lay some 250 miles to the west. But one problem plagued the conquistador: among the 500 soldiers who had sailed with him from Cuba were a handful who had been placed there by Velazquez to act as spies and make trouble for him if he exceeded his authority. These Velazquez loyalists accused Cortes of mismanaging the gold that he was collecting, and when it became clear that he intended to conquer Mexico, they spread rumors that he was insane–an all-too-convincing accusation to make about a man planning to lead 500 men against half a million Aztecs, fierce warriors known to eat their prisoners’ flesh and wear the skins as trophies. A rational man would take the gold they had, return to Cuba, and come back later with an army. Why stay in this forbidding land, with its diseases and its lack of creature comforts, when they were so heavily outnumbered? Why not sail for Cuba, back home where their farms, their wives, and the good life awaited them?

Cortes did what he could with these troublemakers, bribing some, keeping a close eye on others. Meanwhile he worked to build a strong enough rapport with the rest of his men that the grumblers could do no harm. All seemed well until the night of July 30, when Cortes was awoken by a Spanish sailor who, begging for mercy, confessed that he had joined in a plot to steal a ship and return that very evening to Cuba, where the conspirators would tell Velazquez about Cortes’s goal of conquering Mexico on his own.

Meditation on inevitable death should be performed daily. Every day when one's body and mind are at peace, one should meditate upon being ripped apart by arrows, rifles, spears and swords, being carried away by surging waves, being thrown into the midst of a great fire, bring struck by lightning, being shaken to death by a great earthquake, falling from thousand-foot cliffs, dying of disease or committing seppuku at the death of one's master. And every day without fail one should consider himself as dead. 

- HAGAKURE: THE BOOK OF THE SAMURAI, YAMAMOTO TSUNETOMO, 1659-1720

Cortes sensed that this was the decisive moment of the expedition. He could easily squash the conspiracy, but there would be others. His men were a rough lot, and their minds were on gold, Cuba, their families–anything but fighting the Aztecs. He could not conquer an empire with men so divided and untrustworthy, but how to fill them with the energy and focus for the immense task he faced?Thinking this through, he decided to take swift action. He seized the conspirators and had the two ringleaders hanged. Next, he bribed his pilots to bore holes in all of the ships and then announce that worms had eaten through the boards of the vessels, making them unseaworthy.

Pretending to be upset at the news, Cortes ordered what was salvageable from the ships to be taken ashore and then the hulls to be sunk. The pilots complied, but not enough holes had been bored, and only five of the ships went down. The story of the worms was plausible enough, and the soldiers accepted the news of the five ships with equanimity. But when a few days later more ships were run aground and only one was left afloat, it was clear to them that Cortes had arranged the whole thing. When he called a meeting, their mood was mutinous and murderous.

This was no time for subtlety. Cortes addressed his men: he was responsible for the disaster, he admitted; he had ordered it done, but now there was no turning back. They could hang him, but they were surrounded by hostile Indians and had no ships; divided and leaderless, they would perish. The only alternative was to follow him to Tenochtitlan. Only by conquering the Aztecs, by becoming lords of Mexico, could they get back to Cuba alive. To reach Tenochtitlan they would have to fight with utter intensity. They would have to be unified; any dissension would lead to defeat and a terrible death. The situation was desperate, but if the men fought desperately in turn, Cortes guaranteed that he would lead them to victory. Since the army was so small in number, the glory and riches would be all the greater. Any cowards not up to the challenge could sail the one remaining ship home.

There is something in war that drives so deeply into you that death ceases to be the enemy, merely another participant in a game you don't wish to end. 

- PHANTOM OVER VIETNAM, JOHN TROTTI, USMC, 1984

No one accepted the offer, and the last ship was run aground. Over the next months, Cortes kept his army away from Veracruz and the coast. Their attention was focused on Tenochtitlan, the heart of the Aztec empire. The grumbling, the self-interest, and the greed all disappeared. Understanding the danger of their situation, the conquistadors fought ruthlessly. Some two years after the destruction of the Spanish ships, and with the help of their Indian allies, Cortes’s army laid siege to Tenochtitlan and conquered the Aztec empire.

You don't have time for this display, you fool," he said in a severe tone. "This, whatever you're doing now, may be your last act on earth. It may very well be your last battle. There is no power which could guarantee that you are going to live one more minute...." "...Acts have power," he said, "Especially when the person acting knows that those acts are his last battle. There is a strange consuming happiness in acting with the full knowledge that whatever one is doing may very well be one's last act on earth. I recommend that you reconsider your life and bring your acts into that light.... Focus your attention on the link between you and your death, without remorse or sadness or worrying. Focus your attention on the fact you don't have time and let your acts flow accordingly. Let each of your acts be your last battle on earth. Only under those conditions will your acts have their rightful power. Otherwise they will be, for as long as you live, the acts of a timid man." "Is it so terrible to be a timid man?" "No. It isn't if you are going to be immortal, but if you are going to die there is not time for timidity, simply because timidity makes you cling to something that exists only in your thoughts. It soothes you while everything is at a lull, but then the awesome, mysterious world will open its mouth for you, as it will open for every one of us, and then you will realize that your sure ways were not sure at all. Being timid prevents us from examining and exploiting our lot as men."

-JOURNEY TO IXTLAN: THE LESSONS OF DON JUAN, CARLOS CASTANEDA, 1972

Interpretation

On the night of the conspiracy, Cortes had to think fast. What was the root of the problem he faced? It was not Velazquez’s spies, or the hostile Aztecs, or the incredible odds against him. The root of the problem was his own men and the ships in the harbor. His soldiers were divided in heart and mind. They were thinking about the wrong things–their wives, their dreams of gold, their plans for the future. And in the backs of their minds there was always an escape route: if this conquest business went badly, they could go home. Those ships in the harbor were more than just transportation; they represented Cuba, the freedom to leave, the ability to send for reinforcements–so many possibilities.

For the soldiers the ships were a crutch, something to fall back on if things got ugly. Once Cortes had identified the problem, the solution was simple: destroy the ships. By putting his men in a desperate place, he would make them fight with utmost intensity.

A sense of urgency comes from a powerful connection to the present. Instead of dreaming of rescue or hoping for a better future, you have to face the issue at hand. Fail and you perish. People who involve themselves completely in the immediate problem are intimidating; because they are focusing so intensely, they seem more powerful than they are. Their sense of urgency multiplies their strength and gives them momentum. Instead of five hundred men, Cortes suddenly had the weight of a much larger army at his back.

Like Cortes you must locate the root of your problem. It is not the people around you; it is yourself, and the spirit with which you face the world. In the back of your mind, you keep an escape route, a crutch, something to turn to if things go bad. Maybe it is some wealthy relative you can count on to buy your way out; maybe it is some grand opportunity on the horizon, the endless vistas of time that seem to be before you; maybe it is a familiar job or a comfortable relationship that is always there if you fail. Just as Cortes’s men saw their ships as insurance, you may see this fallback as a blessing–but in fact it is a curse. It divides you. Because you think you have options, you never involve yourself deeply enough in one thing to do it thoroughly, and you never quite get what you want. Sometimes you need to run your ships aground, burn them, and leave yourself just one option: succeed or go down. Make the burning of your ships as real as possible–get rid of your safety net. Sometimes you have to become a little desperate to get anywhere.

The ancient commanders of armies, who well knew the powerful influence of necessity, and how it inspired the soldiers with the most desperate courage, neglected nothing to subject their men to such a pressure. 

- Niccolo Machiavelli (1469-1527)

THE DEATH-AT-YOUR-HEELS TACTIC

In 1845 the writer Fyodor Dostoyevsky, then twenty-four, shook the Russian literary world with the publication of his first novel, Poor Folk. He became the toast of St. Petersburg society. But something about his early fame seemed empty to him. He drifted into the fringes of left-wing politics, attending meetings of various socialist and radical groups. One of these groups centered on the charismatic Mikhail Petrashevsky.

Three years later, in 1848, revolution broke out all across Europe. Inspired by what was happening in the West, Russian radical groups like Petrashevsky’s talked of following suit. But agents of Czar Nicholas I had infiltrated many of these groups, and reports were written about the wild things being discussed at Petrashevsky’s house, including talk of inciting peasant revolts. Dostoyevsky was fervent about freeing the serfs, and on April 23, 1849, he and twenty-three other members of the Petrashevsky group were arrested.

After eight months of languishing in jail, the prisoners were awakened one cold morning and told that today they would finally hear their sentences. A few months’ exile was the usual punishment for their crime; soon, they thought, their ordeal would be over.

They were bundled into carriages and driven through the icy streets of St. Petersburg. Emerging from the carriages into Semyonovsky Square, they were greeted by a priest; behind him they could see rows of soldiers and, behind the soldiers, thousands of spectators. They were led toward a scaffold covered in black cloth at the center of the square. In front of the scaffold were three posts, and to the side was a line of carts laden with coffins.

Lord Naoshige said, "The Way of the Samurai is in desperateness. Ten men or more cannot kill such a man. Common sense will not accomplish great things. Simply become insane and desperate." 

- HAGAKURE: THE BOOK OF THE SAMURAI, YAMAMOTO TSUNETOMO, 1659-1720

Dostoyevsky could not believe what he saw. “It’s not possible that they mean to execute us,” he whispered to his neighbor. They were marched to the scaffold and placed in two lines. It was an unbelievably cold day, and the prisoners were wearing the light clothes they’d been arrested in back in April. A drumroll sounded. An officer came forward to read their sentences: “All of the accused are guilty as charged of intending to overthrow the national order, and are therefore condemned to death before a firing squad.” The prisoners were too stunned to speak.

As the officer read out the individual charges and sentences, Dostoyevsky found himself staring at the golden spire of a nearby church and at the sunlight bouncing off it. The gleams of light disappeared as a cloud passed overhead, and the thought occurred to him that he was about to pass into darkness just as quickly, and forever. Suddenly he had another thought: If I do not die, if I am not killed, my life will suddenly seem endless, a whole eternity, each minute a century. I will take account of everything that passes–I will not waste a second of life again.

The prisoners were given hooded shirts. The priest came forward to read them their last rites and hear their confessions. They said good-bye to one another. The first three to be shot were tied to the posts, and the hoods were pulled over their faces. Dostoyevsky stood in the front, in the next group to go. The soldiers raised their rifles, took aim–and suddenly a carriage came galloping into the square. A man got out with an envelope. At the last second, the czar had commuted their death sentences.

It had long been known, of course, that a man who, through disciplined training, had relinquished any desire or hope for survival and had only one goal--the destruction of his enemy--could be a redoubtable opponent and a truly formidable fighter who neither asked nor offered any quarter once his weapon had been unsheathed. In this way, a seemingly ordinary man who, by the force of circumstances rather than by profession, had been placed in the position of having to make a desperate choice, could prove dangerous, even to a skilled fencing master. One famous episode, for example, concerns a teacher of swordsmanship who was asked by a superior to surrender a servant guilty of an offense punishable by death. This teacher, wishing to test a theory of his concerning the power of that condition we would call "desperation," challenged the doomed man to a duel. Knowing full well the irrevocability of his sentence, the servant was beyond caring one way or the other, and the ensuing duel proved that even a skilled fencer and teacher of the art could find himself in great difficulty when confronted by a man who, because of his acceptance of imminent death, could go to the limit (and even beyond) in his strategy, without a single hesitation or distracting consideration. The servant, in fact, fought like a man possessed, forcing his master to retreat until his back was almost to the wall. At last the teacher had to cut him down in a final effort, wherein the master's own desperation brought about the fullest coordination of his courage, skill, and determination. 

- SECRETS OF THE SAMURAI, OSCAR RATTI AND ADELE WESTBROOK, 1973

Later that morning, Dostoyevsky was told his new sentence: four years hard labor in Siberia, to be followed by a stint in the army. Barely affected, he wrote that day to his brother, “When I look back at the past and think of all the time I squandered in error and idleness,…then my heart bleeds. Life is a gift…every minute could have been an eternity of happiness! If youth only knew! Now my life will change; now I will be reborn.”

A few days later, ten-pound shackles were put on Dostoyevsky’s arms and legs–they would stay there for the length of his prison term–and he was carted off to Siberia. For the next four years, he endured the most abysmal prison conditions. Granted no writing privileges, he wrote novels in his head, memorized them. Finally, in 1857, still serving the army period of his sentence, he was allowed to start publishing his work. Where before he would torture himself over a page, spend half a day idling it away in thought, now he wrote and wrote. Friends would see him walking the streets of St. Petersburg mumbling bits of dialogue to himself, lost in his characters and plots. His new motto was “Try to get as much done as possible in the shortest time.”

Some pitied Dostoyevsky his time in prison. That made him angry; he was grateful for the experience and felt no bitterness. But for that December day in 1849, he felt, he would have wasted his life. Right up until his death, in 1881, he continued writing at a frantic pace, churning out novel after novel–Crime and Punishment, The Possessed, The Brothers Karamazov–as if each one were his last.

Interpretation

Czar Nicholas had decided to sentence the Petrashevsky radicals to hard labor soon after their arrest. But he wanted to teach them a harsher lesson as well, so he dreamed up the cruel theater of the death sentence, with its careful details–the priest, the hoods, the coffins, the last-second pardon. This, he thought, would really humble and humiliate them. In fact, some of the prisoners were driven insane by the events of that day. But the effect on Dostoyevsky was different: he had been afflicted for years with a sense of wandering, of feeling lost, of not knowing what to do with his time. An extremely sensitive man, that day he literally felt his own death deep in his bones. And he experienced his “pardon” as a rebirth.

The effect was permanent. For the rest of his life, Dostoyevsky would consciously bring himself back to that day, remembering his pledge never to waste another moment. Or, if he felt he had grown too comfortable and complacent, he would go to a casino and gamble away all his money. Poverty and debt were for him a kind of symbolic death, throwing him back on the possible nothingness of his life. In either case he would have to write, and not the way other novelists wrote–as if it were a pleasant little artistic career, with all its attendant delights of salons, lectures, and other frills. Dostoyevsky wrote as if his life were at stake, with an intense feeling of urgency and seriousness.

Death is impossible for us to fathom: it is so immense, so frightening, that we will do almost anything to avoid thinking about it. Society is organized to make death invisible, to keep it several steps removed. That distance may seem necessary for our comfort, but it comes with a terrible price: the illusion of limitless time, and a consequent lack of seriousness about daily life. We are running away from the one reality that faces us all.

As a warrior in life, you must turn this dynamic around: make the thought of death something not to escape but to embrace. Your days are numbered. Will you pass them half awake and halfhearted or will you live with a sense of urgency? Cruel theaters staged by a czar are unnecessary; death will come to you without them. Imagine it pressing in on you, leaving you no escape–for there is no escape. Feeling death at your heels will make all your actions more certain, more forceful. This could be your last throw of the dice: make it count.

While knowing that we will die someday, we think that all the others will die before us and that we will be the last to go. Death seems a long way off. Is this not shallow thinking? It is worthless and is only a joke within a dream.... In sofar as death is always at one's door, one should make sufficient effort and act quickly.

--Hagakure: The Book of the Samurai, Yamamoto Tsunetomo (1659-1720)

KEYS TO WARFARE

Quite often we feel somewhat lost in our actions. We could do this or that–we have many options, but none of them seem quite necessary. Our freedom is a burden–what do we do today, where do we go?Our daily patterns and routines help us to avoid feeling directionless, but there is always the niggling thought that we could accomplish so much more. We waste so much time. Upon occasion all of us have felt a sense of urgency. Most often it is imposed from outside: we fall behind in our work, we inadvertently take on more than we can handle, responsibility for something is thrust into our hands. Now everything changes; no more freedom. We have to do this, we have to fix that. The surprise is always how much more spirited and more alive this makes us feel; now everything we do seems necessary. But eventually we go back to our normal patterns. And when that sense of urgency goes, we really do not know how to get it back.

Leaders of armies have thought about this subject since armies existed: how can soldiers be motivated, be made more aggressive, more desperate? Some generals have relied on fiery oratory, and those particularly good at it have had some success. But over two thousand years ago, the Chinese strategist Sun-tzu came to believe that listening to speeches, no matter how rousing, was too passive an experience to have an enduring effect. Instead Sun-tzu talked of a “death ground”–a place where an army is backed up against some geographical feature like a mountain, a river, or a forest and has no escape route. Without a way to retreat, Sun-tzu argued, an army fights with double or triple the spirit it would have on open terrain, because death is viscerally present. Sun-tzu advocated deliberately stationing soldiers on death ground to give them the desperate edge that makes men fight like the devil. That is what Cortes did in Mexico, and it is the only sure way to create a real fire in the belly. The world is ruled by necessity: People change their behavior only if they have to. They will feel urgency only if their lives depend on it.

Taking advantage of the opportunity, they began to question Han Hsin. "According to The Art of War , when one fights he should keep the hills to his right or rear, and bodies of water in front of him or to the left," they said. "Yet today you ordered us on the contrary to draw up ranks with our backs to the river, saying 'We shall defeat Chao and feast together!' We were opposed to the idea, and yet it has ended in victory. What sort of strategy is this?" "This is in The Art of War too," replied Han Hsin. "It is just that you have failed to notice it! Does it not say in The Art of War : 'Drive them into a fatal position and they will come out alive; place them in a hopeless spot and they will survive'? Moreover, I did not have at my disposal troops that I had trained and led from past times, but was forced, as the saying goes, to round up men from the market place and use them to fight with. Under such circumstances, if I had not placed them in a desperate situation where each man was obliged to fight for his own life, but had allowed them to remain in a safe place, they would have all run away. Then what good would they have been to me?" "Indeed!" his generals exclaimed in admiration. "We would never have thought of that." 

-RECORDS OF THE HISTORIAN, SZUMA CHIEN, CIRCA 145 B.C.-CIRCA 86 B.C.

Death ground is a psychological phenomenon that goes well beyond the battlefield: it is any set of circumstances in which you feel enclosed and without options. There is very real pressure at your back, and you cannot retreat. Time is running out. Failure–a form of psychic death–is staring you in the face. You must act or suffer the consequences.

Understand: we are creatures who are intimately tied to our environment–we respond viscerally to our circumstances and to the people around us. If our situation is easy and relaxed, if people are friendly and warm, our natural tension unwinds. We may even grow bored and tired; our environment is failing to challenge us, although we may not realize it. But put yourself in a high-stakes situation–a psychological death ground–and the dynamic changes. Your body responds to danger with a surge of energy; your mind focuses. Urgency is forced on you; you are compelled to waste no more time.

The trick is to use this effect deliberately from time to time, to practice it on yourself as a kind of wake-up call. The following five actions are designed to put you on a psychological death ground. Reading and thinking about them won’t work; you must put them into effect. They are forms of pressure to apply to yourself. Depending on whether you want a low-intensity jolt for regular use or a real shock, you can turn the level up or down. The scale is up to you.

Stake everything on a single throw. In 1937 the twenty-eight-year-old Lyndon B. Johnson–at the time the Texas director of the National Youth Administration–faced a dilemma. The Texas congressman James Buchanan had suddenly died. Since loyal Texan voters tended to return incumbents to office, a Texan congressional seat generally came available only every ten or twenty years–and Johnson wanted to be in Congress by the time he was thirty; he did not have ten years to wait. But he was very young and was virtually unknown in Buchanan’s old district, the tenth. He would be facing political heavyweights whom voters would heavily favor. Why try something that seemed doomed to failure? Not only would the race be a waste of money, but the humiliation, if Johnson lost badly, could derail his long-term ambitions.

Unlimited possibilities are not suited to man; if they existed, his life would only dissolve in the boundless. To become strong, a man's life needs the limitations ordained by duty and voluntarily accepted. The individual attains significance as a free spirit only by surrounding himself with these limitations and by determining for himself what his duty is. 

-THE I CHING, CHINA, CIRCA EIGHTH CENTURY B.C.

Johnson considered all this–then decided to run. Over the next few weeks, he campaigned intensely, visiting the district’s every backwater village and town, shaking the poorest farmer’s hand, sitting in drugstores to meet people who had never come close to talking to a candidate before. He pulled every trick in the book–old-style rallies and barbecues, newfangled radio ads. He worked night and day–and hard. By the time the race was over, Johnson was in a hospital, being treated for exhaustion and appendicitis. But, in one of the great upsets in American political history, he had won.

By staking his future on one throw, Johnson put himself in a death-ground situation. His body and spirit responded with the energy he needed. Often we try too many things at one time, thinking that one of them will bring us success–but in these situations our minds are diffused, our efforts halfhearted. It is better to take on one daunting challenge, even one that others think foolish. Our future is at stake; we cannot afford to lose. So we don’t.

Act before you are ready. In 49 B.C. a group of Roman senators, allied with Pompey and fearing the growing power of Julius Caesar, ordered the great general to disband his army or be considered a traitor to the Republic. When Caesar received this decree, he was in southern Gaul (modern-day France) with only five thousand men; the rest of his legions were far to the north, where he had been campaigning. He had no intention of obeying the decree–that would have been suicide–but it would be weeks before the bulk of his army could join him. Unwilling to wait, Caesar told his captains, “Let the die be cast,” and he and his five thousand men crossed the Rubicon, the river marking the border between Gaul and Italy. Leading troops onto Italian soil meant war with Rome. Now there was no turning back; it was fight or die. Caesar was compelled to concentrate his forces, to not waste a single man, to act with speed, and to be as creative as possible. He marched on Rome. By seizing the initiative, he frightened the senators, forcing Pompey to flee.

Death is nothing, but to live defeated is to die every day 

-NAPOLEON BONAPARTE, 1769-1821

When danger is greatest.--It is rare to break one's leg when in the course of life one is toiling upwards--it happens much more often when one starts to take things easy and to choose the easy paths. 

-FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE, 1844-1900

We often wait too long to act, particularly when we face no outside pressure. It is sometimes better to act before you think you are ready–to force the issue and cross the Rubicon. Not only will you take your opponents by surprise, you will also have to make the most of your resources. You have committed yourself and cannot turn back. Under pressure your creativity will flourish. Do this often and you will develop your ability to think and act fast.

Enter new waters. The Hollywood studio MGM had been good to Joan Crawford: it had discovered her, made her a star, crafted her image. By the early 1940s, though, Crawford had had enough. It was all too comfortable; MGM kept casting her in the same kinds of roles, none of them a challenge. So, in 1943, Crawford did the unthinkable and asked out of her contract.

Be absolute for death; either death or life Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with life: If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing That none but fools would keep: a breath thou art, Servile to all the skyey influences, That dost this habituation, where thou keep'st, Hourly afflict: merely, thou art death's fool; For him thou labour'st by thy flight to shun And yet runn'st toward him still. Thou art not noble; For all the accommodations that thou bear'st Are nursed by baseness. Thou'rt by no means valiant; For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork Of a poor worm. Thy best of rest is sleep, And that thou oft provokest; yet grossly fear'st Thy death, which is no more. 

-MEASURE FOR MEASURE, WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, 1564-1616

The consequences for Crawford could have been terrible; to challenge the studio system was considered highly unwise. Indeed, when she then signed up with Warner Brothers, predictably enough she was offered the same mediocre sorts of scripts. She turned them down. On the verge of being fired, she finally found the part she had been looking for: the title role in Mildred Pierce, which, however, she was not offered. Setting to work on the director, Michael Curtiz, she managed to change his mind and land the role. She gave the performance of her life, won her only Best Actress Oscar, and resurrected her career.

In leaving MGM, Crawford was taking a big chance. If she failed to succeed at Warner Brothers, and quickly, her career would be over. But Crawford thrived on risk. When she was challenged, when she felt on edge, she burst with energy and was at her best. Like Crawford, you sometimes have to force yourself onto death ground–leaving stale relationships and comfortable situations behind, cutting your ties to the past. If you give yourself no way out, you will have to make your new endeavor work. Leaving the past for unknown terrain is like a death–and feeling this finality will snap you back to life.

Make it “you against the world.” Compared to sports like football, baseball is slow and has few outlets for aggression. This was a problem for the hitter Ted Williams, who played best when he was angry–when he felt that it was him against the world. Creating this mood on the field was difficult for Williams, but early on, he discovered a secret weapon: the press. He got into the habit of insulting sportswriters, whether just by refusing to cooperate with them or by verbally abusing them. The reporters returned the favor, writing scathing articles on his character, questioning his talent, trumpeting the slightest drop in his batting average. It was when Williams was hammered by the press, though, that he played best. He would go on a hitting tear, as if to prove them wrong. In 1957, when he carried on a yearlong feud with the papers, he played perhaps his greatest season and won the batting title at what for a baseball player is the advanced age of forty. As one journalist wrote, “Hate seems to activate his reflexes like adrenaline stimulates the heart. Animosity is his fuel!”

For Williams the animosity of the press and, with the press, of the public, was a kind of constant pressure that he could read, hear, and feel. They hated him, they doubted him, they wanted to see him fail; he would show them. And he did. A fighting spirit needs a little edge, some anger and hatred to fuel it. So do not sit back and wait for people to get aggressive; irritate and infuriate them deliberately. Feeling cornered by a multitude of people who dislike you, you will fight like hell. Hatred is a powerful emotion. Remember: in any battle you are putting your name and reputation on the line; your enemies will relish your failure. Use that pressure to make yourself fight harder.

Keep yourself restless and unsatisfied. Napoleon had many qualities that made him perhaps history’s greatest general, but the one that raised him to the heights and kept him there was his boundless energy. During campaigns he worked eighteen to twenty-hour days. If necessary, he would go without sleep for several days, yet sleeplessness rarely reduced his capacities. He would work in the bath, at the theater, during a dinner party. Keeping his eye on every detail of the war, he would ride endless miles on horseback without tiring or complaining.

O gentlemen, the time of life is short! To spend that shortness basely were too long, If life did ride upon a dial's point, Still ending at the arrival of an hour. An if we live, we live to tread on kings; If die, brave death, when princes die with us! 

-KING HENRY IV, PART I, WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, 1564-1616

Certainly Napoleon had extraordinary endurance, but there was more to it than that: he never let himself rest, was never satisfied. In 1796, in his first real position of command, he led the French to a remarkable victory in Italy, then immediately went on another campaign, this time in Egypt. There, unhappy with the way the war was going and with a lack of political power that he felt was cutting into his control over military affairs, he returned to France and conspired to become first consul. This achieved, he immediately set out on his second Italian campaign. And on he went, immersing himself in new wars, new challenges, that required him to call on his limitless energy. If he did not meet the crisis, he would perish.

When we are tired, it is often because we are bored. When no real challenge faces us, a mental and physical lethargy sets in. “Sometimes death only comes from a lack of energy,” Napoleon once said, and lack of energy comes from a lack of challenges, comes when we have taken on less than we are capable of. Take a risk and your body and mind will respond with a rush of energy. Make risk a constant practice; never let yourself settle down. Soon living on death ground will become a kind of addiction–you won’t be able to do without it. When soldiers survive a brush with death, they often feel an exhilaration that they want to have again. Life has more meaning in the face of death. The risks you keep taking, the challenges you keep overcoming, are like symbolic deaths that sharpen your appreciation of life.

Authority: When you will survive if you fight quickly and perish if you do not, this is called [death] ground.... Put them in a spot where they have no place to go, and they will die before fleeing. If they are to die there, what can they not do? Warriors exert their full strength. When warriors are in great danger, then they have no fear. When there is nowhere to go, they are firm, when they are deeply involved, they stick to it. If they have no choice, they will fight. 

-The Art of War, Sun-tzu (fourth century B.C.)

REVERSAL

If the feeling of having nothing to lose can propel you forward, it can do the same for others. You must avoid any conflict with people in this position. Maybe they are living in terrible conditions or, for whatever reason, are suicidal; in any case they are desperate, and desperate people will risk everything in a fight. This gives them a huge advantage. Already defeated by circumstances, they have nothing to lose. You do. Leave them alone.

Conversely, attacking enemies when their morale is low gives you the advantage. Maybe they are fighting for a cause they know is unjust or for a leader they do not respect. Find a way to lower their spirits even further. Troops with low morale are discouraged by the slightest setback. A show of force will crush their fighting spirit.

Always try to lower the other side’s sense of urgency. Make your enemies think they have all the time in the world; when you suddenly appear at their border, they are in a slumbering state, and you will easily overrun them. While you are sharpening your fighting spirit, always do what you can to blunt theirs.

Conclusion

The world is in the midst of World War III right now. It is being fought with things that are strange and unusual, and it is not being reported. In fact, the “news” is instead sending everyone off on “wild goose chases” down “rabbit holes”. No one actually knows what is going on.

It is critically important that you secure yourself and your family, and maintain a calm head through all of this. Let those around you make rash, foolish decisions, panic, and worry. That is not for you.

Recognize who you are, and where you are. Then, steely and calmly conduct your affirmation campaigns to wrest control of the reality that surrounds you and bend it to your will. You have this ability. Make it so.

Do you want more?

I have more posts in my 33 Strategies of War index here..

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Master List of Heirloom Tomatoes

Here’s a “master list” of heirloom tomatoes that I have collected off the internet. I have extracted the data from heavy advertisement saturated websites, and other pay-wall blocked for-profit venues. Whether or not you enjoy heirloom tomatoes, I hope that this list will be beneficial to you.

What is a Heirloom Tomato…

An heirloom tomato (also called heritage tomato in the UK) is an open-pollinated, non-hybrid heirloom cultivar of tomato. They are classified as: family heirlooms, commercial heirlooms, mystery heirlooms, or created heirlooms. They usually have a shorter shelf life and are less disease resistant than hybrids. They are grown for a variety of reasons: for food, historical interest, access to wider varieties, and by people who wish to save seeds from year to year, as well as for their taste.

–Wikipedia

But first…

I wish that I was as talented as some of the women that I know. They have a real understanding, or a “feel” on how food comes together and mates with other foods. And they have this kind of innate ability that I seem so very clumsy with. And they seem to know which is the right tomato for the right application.

Never the less, I do know that I like to eat. I know that when I go to a store, I like to smell the produce, and if I am growing things, I am always smelling the tomatoes on the vine. There’s a real connection between scent and taste. Seriously.

Here’s some pictures to illustrate what you can do with heirloom tomatoes…

The best thing about heirloom tomatoes is the taste.

I strongly argue that the best thing to do with heirloom tomatoes is to eat them. After all, they are so very delicious.

Not a full sandwich, but tasty never the less…

A recipe

Here’s a great heirloom tomato sandwich recipe. Yum!

A very delicious heirloom tomato sandwich.

And the details…

A story…

When I was around 12 years old, I was given free reign in the family garden, and there, every day I would how the ground, pull the weeds, water the plants and so forth. I developed a real love for the plants. With tomatoes, and zucchini being my favorites. Peppers and cucumbers grew too slowly for my tastes, while onions and carrots remained hidden under the ground.

There, every day during the middle to late summer I would pick my tomatoes and was amazed at the enormous big bounty and delicious flavor that they provided.

I remember my mother coming in to the kitchen one day and asking what “the heck” I was doing. Why, I had made a thick, fresh, tomato sandwich with mayonnaise, salt and pepper on plain white (store bought) bread. And I was busily smunching down on it over the sink, with the tomato drippings falling into the sink. I guess she must have thought me to be so silly.

But it was glorious.

And I still remember that day. I still remember how great it tasted. I still remember how wonderful it was.

In China…

Chinese stir fry tomatoes and eggs 番茄炒蛋.

One of the top favorite foods is this dish called eggs and tomatoes. It’s not prepared American style, where you simply scramble the tomatoes in with the eggs. No NO. Instead, there is a certain procedure and the results are glorious.

Here’s what the dish looks like…

Here’s a video of how it is done…

…So sexy! So delicious! So wonderful!

Here’s a recipe…

Ingredients

3 eggs
2 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons sugar
2 tablespoons ketchup optional
4 medium/large tomatoes
Steamed rice for serving
1 teaspoon corn starch mix in 2 teaspoon water, optional

Instructions

In a bowl, beat the eggs with 1 teaspoon of salt.
At the bottom of each tomato, use a knife to cut the skin to make a cross opening.
In a large pot, add 1 cup of water and bring it to a boil over high heat. Add the tomatoes with the bottom side down into the hot water.
Cut them into 1/2-inch wide wedges. Make sure to reserve the core as much as possible for the sauce later.
Heat a wok/pan over high heat with 2 tablespoons of oil. Add the eggs, stir well with a spatula, about 30 seconds. Use the spatula to cut up the curds for stir fry. Transfer the eggs to a plate.
Heat the wok over high heat with 1 tablespoon of oil. Add the tomatoes and salt to taste; give it a stir and cover with a lid for 2 minutes. Cook until the flesh is softened. Use a the spatula to break up the big tomato pieces so that the flesh would quickly form a sauce.
Add salt, sugar and ketchup (optional) and mix well. Return the eggs to the wok. Stir until it’s well incorporated.
Optional: If the sauce is too watery, you can mix the cornstarch and 2 teaspoons water in a small bowl until well combined. Add the cornstarch slurry to the wok and cook for a few more seconds and transfer to a plate.
Serve with rice.

Some comments

From HERE.

Because of the many different regions in China, defining a Chinese national dish is nearly impossible. But if you ask Chinese people their favorite childhood dish, stir fried tomatoes and eggs is THE ONE that everyone will agree on!

There’re a few variations of this dish. I sometimes stir fry the tomatoes with tofu or beef.

You won’t find this dish in American-Chinese restaurants often, but it’s definitely a staple dish served with rice at home.

Hint: In China, just about every restaurant will serve this dish on the menu.

If you are just starting to learn how to cook in a wok, this is a great recipe for a beginner.

Back in Guangzhou, China, there’re fresh fruits and vegetables all year long and tomatoes are in season most of the time. My mom usually doesn’t add ketchup to this dish, but I do that when tomatoes are out of season in Cleveland. This helps enrich the flavor of the tomato sauce and enhance the color of the dish.

Here’re a few things to know when cooking this dish:

- Tomatoes must be fresh, ripe and soft. Ripe tomatoes make the sauce flavorful and juicy.
- Pealing off the tomato skin will help soften the flesh and make them melt in your mouth.
- Serving the dish with rice is a must.

The Heirloom Tomato list…

Ace 55

These determinate tomatoes grow in abundant crops. They come with low acidity.

Alaska

The semi-determinate tomatoes are characterized by bushy plants. Originating in Russia, they are suited to colder environments.

Alaskan Fancy

These are the earliest semi-determinate plum-shaped tomatoes. They are suitable for colder weather.

Allerbest

The indeterminate tomatoes come from Germany. They are characterized by fruits with few seeds.

Alicante

The tomatoes are indeterminate. They take up to 70 days to mature and at the moment, they are popular across the UK.

Amber Colored

With Ukrainian roots, the semi-determinate tomatoes are characterized by a sweet flavor.

Amish Paste

The indeterminate heirloom tomatoes are known for their juicy flesh. They are used for sauces and fresh eating.

Anahu

These determinate tomatoes were bred by De. Jim Gilbert of Hawaii. They have a deep red color and they are known for their sweet flavor.

Andes

With French origins, the semi-determinate tomatoes are recognizable with their long pointed shape. They are suitable for sauces.

Ananas Noire

These bi-color tomatoes have an indeterminate profile. The yellow-red tomatoes come with fruit sizes of 16oz.

Aunt Ginny

With rich pink color, the indeterminate tomatoes are suitable for sandwiches and salads. They resist cracking.

Aunt Ruby

With a distinct green look, the indeterminate tomatoes take at least 80 days to mature. They were first introduced in 1993 in Wisconsin.

Aussie

With a rich flavor, the indeterminate tomatoes are meaty. They are suited to warmer climates.

Anna Russian

The indeterminate tomatoes have a sweet taste. Their fruits can grow up to 1 pound.

Arkansas Traveler

The indeterminate tomatoes are made for hot and humid climates. The tomatoes have disease resistance.

Aunt Ruby

The green indeterminate tomatoes are sweet. The beefsteaks also have a yellow tint.

Aurora

Named after the Aurora Borealis, these Russian determinate tomatoes produce heavy crops. They are suitable for colder environments.

Austin Red Pear

As their name suggests, the indeterminate tomatoes come are shaped like pears. They are known to be very productive.

Azoychka

The indeterminate tomatoes come from Russia. When they are ripe, they have a pale orange color.

B

Backa

These determinate tomatoes come from Yugoslavia. They are used in sauces, sandwiches or canning.

Banana Legs

These determinate tomatoes come in 4-inch fruits. Their name comes from their light banana color.

Basket Vee

The red determinate tomatoes have a size of 9in for the fruit and 4feet for the plant. They are resistant to Verticillium.

Beaverlodge Slicer

The determinate tomatoes come from the Beaverlodge Research Center in Canada. With only 54 days to reach maturity, the tomatoes are suitable for colder environments.

Besser

Dating back hundreds of years, the indeterminate cherry tomatoes have a sweet taste. The tomatoes originate in Germany.

Big Brandy

The indeterminate tomatoes have a pink color. They have a tangy flavor.

Big Rainbow

The yellow and red indeterminate tomatoes have low acidity. They are shaded by large leaves.

Big Red

The indeterminate vines are suitable for sandwich tomatoes. The fruits have a deep red color.

Big Zac

The meaty indeterminate tomatoes are rich in taste. The fruits are large and suitable for slicing.

Big Zebra

The indeterminate beefsteak tomatoes have a mildly sweet flavor. They have a distinct red-green color.

Bison

Developed by North Dakota University, the determinate tomatoes produce dwarf compact plants. They are suited to damp cold weather.

Black From Tula

The indeterminate tomatoes grow up to 14 ounces. They were exported from Ukraine by Marina Danilenko.

Black Cherry

The indeterminate tomatoes ripen through the season. They can take up to 75 days to reach maturity.

Black Krim

Bearing the name of the Crimean Peninsula, the indeterminate tomatoes reach maturity within 80 days.

Black Plum

Black Plum indeterminate tomatoes come from Russia’s Marina Danilenko. They can be used for a rich pasta sauce.

Black Prince

The indeterminate tomatoes have a red-black color. They are known for their juicy profile.

Black Sea Man

With attractive marble flesh, the tomatoes come from seed woman Marina Danilenko. The determinate tomatoes are medium in size.

Black Trifele

Known as Japanese or Russian Black Trifele, the indeterminate tomatoes take between 70 and 80 days to mature.

Blondkopfchen

The 1-in yellow indeterminate tomatoes have a sweet flavor. They come from Germany.

Bloody Butcher

The indeterminate tomatoes are known for their rich crops. The fruits have a rich flavor.

Beam’s Yellow Pear

The indeterminate tomatoes were first introduced in 1983 in Indiana. They are known for their bright yellow color.

Beefsteak

These tomatoes are known for the size. They can reach a weight of up to 4lbs. The indeterminate tomatoes are common in the US.

Boondocks

With a beefsteak profile, the indeterminate tomatoes have a deep pink-red color. The fruit size can reach 16oz.

Big Rainbow

The indeterminate tomatoes take up to 85 days to mature. They have a distinct yellow look with red swirls.

Bonny Best

The indeterminate Bonny Best produces fruits of up to 8 ounces. The fruits are suitable for all purposes.

Box Car

The red indeterminate tomatoes come in weights of up to 16 ounces. The color of the fruits is red with dark undertones.

Brandywine

The indeterminate tomatoes were first introduced in 1889. They were offered to Johnson and Stokes by a customer in Ohio.

Brandywine Pink

With a pink color, the indeterminate tomatoes are rich in flavor. They are not heavy producers.

Brandywine Yellow

The indeterminate tomatoes come with a distinct yellow color. The fruits weight from 12 ounces to 2 pounds.

Brandywine Sudduth’s Strain

Popularly called Pink Brandywine, the tomatoes are rich in flavor. Their indeterminate fruits ripen through the season.

Burbank Slicing

The determinate tomatoes were introduced by Luther Burbank. They are high in amino acids.

Burgess Stuffing

The indeterminate tomatoes are small at 4 inches. The hollow interior makes them look similar to peppers.

Bush Beefsteak

These determinate red tomatoes are already popular for shorter growing regions. The plant grows up to 3 feet.

C

Campbell 33

The determinate tomatoes are suitable for salads and sandwiches. They have a deep red color.

Chef’s Choice Orange

The indeterminate tomatoes come with a distinct bright orange color. They are used in soups and sauces.

Cherokee Chocolate

With red-black color, the indeterminate tomatoes are ripe late in the season. They are suitable for slicing.

Cherokee Green

With a distinct green color, the juicy indeterminate tomatoes are best served fresh.

Cherokee Purple

The indeterminate tomatoes come with a brownish red color. The tomatoes have regular leaves.

Cherry Brandywine

With a dark red color, the indeterminate tomatoes grow in clusters. The plant height reaches 6 feet.

Cherry Roma

The indeterminate tomatoes are great fresh or dried. They are considered very productive.

Chianti Rose

The beefsteak indeterminate tomatoes have a deep pink color. The fruit size varies between 1 and 2 lbs.

Copia

With an orange color with red stripes, the indeterminate tomatoes have a distinct look. They originate in the US.

Cosmonaut Volkov

The determinate tomatoes have a rich flavor. They are suitable for areas with a short growing period.

Costoluto Genovese

Originating in Italy, the indeterminate tomatoes have a slight tart flavor. Their color is bright red.

Cream Sausage

The determinate tomatoes are very productive. They were introduced by Baker Creek Heirloom Seeds in 2004.

Crimson Cushion

The indeterminate Crimson Cushion takes 95 days to mature. The fruits can reach up to 2 pounds in weight.

Crnkovic Yugoslavian

The indeterminate tomatoes have a delicious flavor. They were introduced to the US by Yasha Crnkovic.

Cuostralee

Rich in production, the indeterminate tomatoes can measure up to 4 inches.

Czech’s Bush

The red indeterminate tomatoes have a juicy profile. The tomatoes can be traced back to Czechoslovakia.

D

David Davidson

The tomatoes fruits come in variable shapes. The indeterminate tomatoes grow in clusters of 7 fruits.

Dester

The tomatoes are believed to come from Germany. The indeterminate tomatoes grow pink fruits of up to 1lbs.

Dixie Golden

Going back to the 1930s, the indeterminate yellow tomatoes have a mild taste. They are suitable for slicing.

Djena Lee

With a yellow-orange color, the indeterminate tomatoes can be traced back to 1929.

Druzba

Originating in Bulgaria, the indeterminate tomatoes have a bright red color. They have a robust tomato flavor.

Dr. Wyche

With a distinct golden color, the indeterminate tomatoes have a meaty flesh.

Dutchman

Growing up to 3 pounds, the indeterminate tomatoes have a mild flavor. They can be traced back to 1920.

Dwarf Pink Passion

As a result of the Dwarf Tomato Project, the determinate tomatoes have a hybrid profile. They are a cross between Roza Vetrov and Anna Banana Russian. The tomatoes have a balanced sweet flavor.

Dwarf Purple Heart

Developed by the Dwarf Tomato Project, the determinate tomatoes are a cross between Dwarf Wild Fred and Brad’s Black Heart. They have a purple-black color.

E

Earliana

Introduced in New Jersey in 1900, the indeterminate tomatoes grow come in clusters of 4-5 ounce fruits.

Early Annie

With few seeds, the determinate tomatoes are suitable for canning. They take 60 days to mature.

Early Wonder

These determinate tomatoes were first introduced in 1950. They are suitable for container-based growing.

Elbe

The indeterminate tomatoes originate in the Elbe River’s area in Germany. They come with a sweet and tart flavor.

Ethiopia Roi Humbert

The red determinate tomatoes are suitable for canning or snacking. They can grow up to 2”.

Eva Purple Ball

Believed to come from Germany, these indeterminate tomatoes are recommended for humid areas. They have a distinct vivid red color.

F

Fargo

The semi-determinate tomatoes come in a pear shape form with a yellow-orange color. They are suitable for specialty salads.

Federle

With fruits of up to 7 inches, the indeterminate tomatoes can easily be processed. They can be the base for salsa sauces.

Ferris Wheel

Up to 90 days is needed for the tomatoes to reach maturity. The indeterminate tomatoes have been developed in 1894.

First Pick

Traced back to France, the indeterminate tomatoes can be grown in colder climates. The fruits have a deep red color.

Fireworks

The pointed tomatoes are available early in the season. The indeterminate tomatoes grow up to 6oz.

Fox Cherry

The indeterminate tomatoes come with fruit sizes of up to 1oz. They are suitable for salads.

G

Garden Peach

The tomatoes come in a yellow color. They are indeterminate and distinctly fuzzy, as their name suggests.

Gardener’s Delight

The indeterminate tomatoes take up to 65 days to mature.

German Pink

The meaty fruits of the tomato can grow up to 2 pounds. The indeterminate tomatoes take up to 85 days to mature.

German Johnson

The indeterminate tomatoes come with low acidity. The fruits have a pink color.

German Red

The indeterminate German heirloom has a strawberry color. They come with a rich flavor.

Glacier

The semi-determinate tomatoes are suitable for early season harvest. They are consumed fresh.

Glamour

With a slightly flattened shape, the tomatoes grow up to 10oz. The indeterminate tomatoes grow up to 4 feet.

Gold Medal

With larger orange-yellow fruits, the indeterminate tomatoes are known for their large size and good flavor.

Giant Beefsteak

The indeterminate tomatoes have a meaty profile. The fruits can reach up to 2 pounds in weight.

Giant Belgium

With a sweet taste, the tomatoes have a deep pink color. The tomatoes can vary from 1 to 3 pounds.

Giant Syrian

The meaty tomatoes are flavorful. The indeterminate tomatoes are suitable for salads and sandwiches.

Gill’s All Purpose

Suitable for canning, juicing or slicing, the semi-determinate tomatoes are a cross between Wasatch Beauty and Pepper tomatoes.

Gold Medal

The yellow-red tomatoes have a rich flavor. Their juicy profile recommends them for fresh eating.

Gold Nugget Cherry

The determinate cherries have a yellow to orange color. They are suitable for snacking.

Gold Rush Currant

With up to 80 days needed to reach maturity, the indeterminate tomatoes offer hundreds of fruits per plant.

Grandma Freida’s

The indeterminate ribbed tomatoes come in sizes from 8 to 16 ounces. They have an old-fashioned taste.

Great White

The average flavor tomatoes are indeterminate. They are average in flavor intensity.

Green Grape

The determinate tomatoes have a distinct olive yellow color. The fruit ripens within 2 weeks.

Green Sausage

With a distinct look, the determinate tomatoes have a green color with yellow stripes. They have a long pointed shape.

Green Thumb

The determinate yellow-orange tomatoes ripen slowly. They are suitable for high altitudes.

Green Zebra

The indeterminate tomatoes are known to be very productive. They were first bred in 1983 by Thomas Wagner.

Grushova

These determinate heirloom tomatoes come from Siberia. They produce 2-3 inch fruits.

H

Hartman’s Yellow Gooseberry

With a mildly sweet profile, the indeterminate tomatoes come from a seed company in Indianapolis. They are used in salads.

Hawaiian Pineapple

The beefsteak indeterminate tomatoes are known for their pineapple resemblance. The tomatoes are mildly sweet.

Healani

The determinate tomatoes are bred to resist hot water. They are tolerant of the tobacco mosaic virus.

Heinz

The determinate red tomatoes are suitable for canning. They take 76 days to mature.

Heinz 1350

The mid-season determinate tomatoes are used for sauced and canning. They were developed for Eastern Canada and Northeast U.S.

Heinz 9129

The determinate heirloom tomatoes are used for canning and sauces. They are slightly larger than other Heinz varieties.

Hillbilly

The large beefsteak indeterminate tomatoes can reach weights of up to 2 pounds. They have a yellow-orange color.

Homestead 24

The determinate tomatoes are thriving in hot and humid areas. They are resistant to cracking.

Hillbilly Potato Leaf

With yellow and red, the tomatoes look distinctly juicy. The tomatoes are indeterminate, originating from Ohio.

Hungarian Heart

The indeterminate tomatoes resist cracking. They originate from a village near Budapest.

I

Ildi

Growing in clusters, the indeterminate tomatoes reach fruit sizes of 0.5oz. They are suitable for salads and decoration.

Igleheart Yellow Cherry

The yellow indeterminate tomatoes ripen through the season. They are rich in flavor with moderate acidity.

Isis Candy Cherry

The red tomatoes come with a sweet flavor. These indeterminate tomatoes take between 70 to 80 days to ripe.

Italian Heirloom

The indeterminate tomatoes grow up to 1lbs. They are suitable for slicing and sandwiches.

Italian Beefsteak

The Italian indeterminate heirlooms have a meaty flesh. They are suitable for sandwiches or served fresh.

Italian Roma

The determinate vines bear elongated fruits. They are larger than Roma tomatoes. The tomatoes are also higher in sugar.

J

Japanese Black

Shaped as pears, the tomatoes have a red-black color. They are resistant to cracking.

Japanese Trifele

With distinct potato leaves, the indeterminate tomatoes are rich in flavor. They are often canned.

Jaune Flamme

Great for drying or roasting, the indeterminate tomatoes are known for their deep orange color. They come from France.

John Baer

Rich in flavor, the indeterminate tomatoes are eaten fresh. The tomatoes were introduced in 1914.

Jubilee

The indeterminate heirloom tomatoes were released in 1943 by the Burpee Seed Company.

K

Kewalo

The determinate tomatoes are a bred of the University of Hawaii. With a sweet flavor, the tomatoes were bred to resist bacteria and viruses.

Kanner Hoell

Probably originating from Germany, the indeterminate tomatoes have red beefsteak fruits which can grow up to 1.5 pounds. Double fruit is common with the low acidity tomatoes.

Kellog’s Breakfast

The indeterminate tomatoes have a distinct orange glowing color. They can take up to 90 days to mature.

Kentucky Beefsteak

With an oval shape, the indeterminate tomatoes have a meaty flesh. They are recognized due to their distinct orange color.

Kolb

Originating in the Kolb Greenhouse of Storm Lake, the indeterminate tomatoes have a pink color. They are rich in flavor.

L

Large Red Cherry

These tomatoes are very productive. With fruits between 1 and 2 inches, the indeterminate tomatoes are used in salads or eaten fresh.

Lemon Drop

With a transparent yellow-green color, the tomatoes are indeterminate. They are known for their resilience in cold and wet weather.

Lillian’s Yellow

These potato leaf indeterminate tomatoes were first collected by Lillian Bruce in Tennessee.

Lime Green Salad

The determinate tomatoes stay small. As a result, they can be grown in containers.

Livingston Paragon

These red tomatoes have an indeterminate growth habit. They are named after Alexander Livingston’s seed trade.

Long Keeper

These semi-determinate tomatoes were introduced in 1979. They are suitable for winter storage.

M

Mamie Brown

These pink tomatoes are indeterminate. They are sweet in flavor.

Mama Leone

With meaty fruits, the indeterminate tomatoes are plum-shaped. The tomatoes reach up to 6 feet in height.

Manitoba

With a red color, the determinate tomatoes are suitable for small gardens in cooler climates.

Marglobe

The juicy indeterminate tomatoes come with an orange-red skin. They are suitable for canning.

Marion

The indeterminate tomatoes are resistant to disease. They come in a dark red color.

Martino’s Roma

With a distinct Italian profile, the determinate tomatoes are known to fall off when fully ripe.

Marizol Magic

Similar to beefsteaks but smaller in size, the indeterminate tomatoes can grow up to 2oz.

Matt’s Wild Cherry

Smaller than regular indeterminate cherry tomatoes, Matt’s Wild Cherry come from Mexico’s wild tomatoes.

Marvel Stripe

These indeterminate orange tomatoes also feature distinct orange stripes. They have juicy flesh.

Milano Plum

The determinate tomatoes have a sweet flavor. They are suitable for sauces.

Mexico Midget

Bering very productive, the indeterminate tomatoes are rich in flavor. Their size varies between ½-¾ inches.

Mini Orange

The indeterminate smooth tomatoes grow in clusters of 4 to 6. The tomatoes have a rich flavor.

Missouri Pink Love

As their name suggests, the tomatoes come in a pink color. The indeterminate tomatoes have a juicy profile.

Moneymaker

With inexpensive seeds, the indeterminate tomatoes take 80 days to mature.

Moonglow

With a bright orange color, the indeterminate tomatoes ripen through the season. They have a distinctly-solid flesh.

Mortgage Lifter

These beefsteak indeterminate tomatoes used to pay off a mortgage.

Moskovich

These indeterminate tomatoes have a rich taste and slightly flattened shape. They are suitable for cold climates.

Mr. Stripey

The indeterminate tomatoes grow up to 1lbs. They come with high sugar content and with a yellow color with red stripes.

Mule Team

The red indeterminate tomatoes resist drought. They are also disease-resistant.

N

Napoli

The determinate tomatoes are suitable for sauces and soups. They have a tangy flavor.

Nebraska Wedding

These determinate tomatoes ripen over a two-week period. They can be traced back to 1983.

Neves Azorean Red

The beefsteak indeterminate tomatoes are rich in flavor. Their fruits grow large, up to 16oz per piece.

New Big Dwarf

The determinate tomatoes were introduced in 1919. They are a cross between Ponderosa and Dwarf Champion.

New Hampshire Red Pickling

The determinate tomatoes are small but pear-shaped. Their fruits grow up to 0.7oz.

New Yorker

The determinate tomatoes are suitable for cooler climates. They mature in 63 days.

Northern Delight

With a determinate profile, the tomatoes are sweet and suitable for early crops for cooler seasons.

Nyagous

Free from blemishes, the indeterminate tomatoes have a brown-red color. They are very productive.

O

Old German

The indeterminate red and yellow tomatoes come with few seeds. The color of the skin is also visible in the flesh of the tomatoes.

Old Virginia

The indeterminate tomatoes are suitable for hot climates. They come with thick skin which resists cracking.

Omar Lebanese

The indeterminate beefsteaks have a rich sweet flavor. The fruits reach up to 2 pounds.

Opalka

Growing between 3 and 6 inches, the fruits of the tomatoes have few seeds. The indeterminate tomatoes hold well on the vine.

Orange Banana

With a distinct orange color, the indeterminate tomatoes have fruits of up to 6oz. They are plum-shaped.

Orange Minsk

The beefsteak indeterminate tomatoes have a dark orange color. They grow up to 12 oz per fruit.

Oregon Spring

The determinate vines are recommended for early growth. The fruits come with a low number of seeds.

P

Pantano Romanesco

With a rich flavor, the indeterminate tomatoes take 80 days to mature.

Paul Robeson

With a dark red to black color, the indeterminate tomatoes mature in 90 days. They come from Russia.

Peach Jaune

With a pink look and a fuzzy skin, the indeterminate tomatoes have a refreshingly sweet flavor.

Pearson Improved

The determinate wines can be grown in dry regions. The tomatoes are juicy and used for canning.

Persimmon

Originating in Russia, the orange tomatoes can reach 1lbs in weight. The indeterminate tomatoes are blemish-free.

Picardy

Traced back to the 1890’s France, the indeterminate vines produce until frost. They have a meaty texture.

Pineapple

The yellow skin with red streaks is what inspired the names of these indeterminate tomatoes. They come in large sizes.

Pink Accordian

These distinct indeterminate tomatoes are suitable for slicing. They come in a light pink color.

Pink Oxheart

The indeterminate vines are known for their 1-2 pound size. They come with a firm texture.

Pink Ping Pong

At 3oz, the indeterminate tomatoes have the size of a ping pong ball. The tomatoes are suitable for salads.

Plum Lemon

The indeterminate tomatoes look similarly to lemons. Their taste is mild-citrusy.

Polish Pastel

The ribbed indeterminate tomatoes come with a 1-pound weight. The tomatoes have a rich flavor.

Ponderosa

The indeterminate tomatoes can be traced to 1891. They usually come in sizes between 1 and 2 pounds.

Porter

With rich red color, the indeterminate tomatoes are crack-resistant. They are suitable for canning.

Principe Borghese

The plum-shaped indeterminate tomatoes have a rich taste. They are suitable for drying.

Prudens Purple

With a dark pink-purple color, the indeterminate tomatoes are rich in taste. They have firm flesh.

Purple Calabash

With a dark marooned color, the indeterminate tomatoes have a complex flavor. They grow in crops of 3-inch tomatoes.

Purple Russian

The red indeterminate tomatoes have a sweet flavor. They are distinctly pear-shaped.

Powers

Probably originating in Mexico, the indeterminate tomatoes come with a translucent yellow color. They are very productive.

Prescott

These determinate heirloom tomatoes are suitable for higher altitudes and colder climates. They are used for canning and salads.

Pride of Flanders

These black determinate tomatoes were developed by Tom Wagner. The cherry tomatoes still have a novelty profile as they were introduced around 2.000.

Principe Borghese

The Italian tomatoes are suitable for drying. They are determinate and they produce plum-shaped fruits.

R

RAF

The semi-determinate round tomatoes have a red color. They mature in 75 days.

Red Currant

The miniature tomatoes take at least 65 days to mature. Their indeterminate profile also comes with regular leaves.

Redfield Beauty

The indeterminate tomatoes originate in Florida. They are characterized by productive plants.

Red Fig

With pear-shaped fruits, the indeterminate tomatoes originate in Philadelphia. They are suitable for drying.

Red Oxheart

The heart-shaped indeterminate tomatoes are recommended for slicing. They have a rich fruity taste.

Red Pear

Dating back to the 1700s, the indeterminate tomatoes can deal with early blight. Their fruits are distinctly blemish-free.

Red Robin

With 54 days needed to reach maturity, the determinate tomatoes have a sweet flavor. They are consumed fresh.

Red Rose

The indeterminate beefsteak tomatoes can be consumed fresh. They reach 10oz per fruit.

Red Sweet Pea Currant

The small ¼in indeterminate tomatoes come with a rich taste. They are consumed fresh.

Red Zebra

Discovered on the fields of California, the indeterminate tomatoes come with a distinct red look with orange stripes.

Redfield Beauty

Selected from Livingston’s Beauty, the indeterminate tomatoes have a pink color. The plant reaches 6 feet.

Riesentraube

Originating in Germany, the indeterminate tomatoes can bear fruits of up to 1in.

Rowdy Red

Suitable for hot climates, the indeterminate tomatoes have a red color. They make fruits of up to 8oz.

Roma

The indeterminate tomatoes are known for making good sauces. Their fruits weigh between 2 and 3 ounces.

Rose

The indeterminate tomatoes have an Amish origin. They are rich in flavor.

Rosella Crimson

These pink determinate tomatoes have a balanced flavor. They are a cross between Budai Torpe and Stump and one of the results of the Dwarf Tomato Project.

Rosso Sicilian

These bright red tomatoes can grow up to 6 ounces. The indeterminate fruits are used for sauces.

Rounghwood Golden Plum

The semi-determinate yellow-orange tomatoes were developed by William Woys Wearer. They are suitable for salads.

Rutgers

The indeterminate heirloom tomatoes are a cross. They come from Marglobe and J.T.D.

S

Salvaterra Select

With a sweet flavor, the indeterminate tomatoes are used for sauces. They have average productivity.

San Marzano

The indeterminate tomatoes take 85 days to mature. Their seeds are available for purchase.

Santorini

Originating from Greece’s Santorini, the indeterminate tomatoes are small by nature.

Sasha Altai

The indeterminate tomatoes were gifted in 1989’s Siberia by a man called Sasha. They have been seen as one of the best early producing tomatoes in the world.

Sausage

The indeterminate vines are very productive. They are known for heavy crops and banana-like shape.

Sheboygan

With a pink color, the plum-shaped indeterminate tomatoes are used in pasta. Their fruits vary between 4 and 6 inches.

Scarlet Beefsteak

With a meaty texture, the indeterminate tomatoes come with weights of up to 1 pound. They can be grown in small gardens.

Schellenberg Favorite

The oval red-orange indeterminate tomatoes come from Germany’s Manheim family. The tomatoes resist cracking.

Sean’s Yellow Dwarf

The yellow-orange determinate tomatoes are medium-sized. They mature in 80 days.

Sheboygan

Growing up to 6 ounces, the indeterminate tomatoes originate in Sheboygan, Wisconsin. They are very productive.

Siberian

These determinate tomatoes have fruits of up to 3 inches. They are not to be confused with Siberia tomatoes.

Siletz

The determinate red tomatoes are acclimatized to cooler climates. They are used as slicing tomatoes.

Silvery Fir

These determinate tomatoes grow on 24” plants. They have Russian roots.

Soldacki

The indeterminate tomatoes are believed to originate in Poland. They have thin skin susceptible to cracking.

Sophie’s Choice

The determinate tomatoes were introduced in Edmonton, Canada. They are suitable for cooler areas.

Southern Night

With a rich tomato flavor, the indeterminate plant grows to 4 feet producing 10oz fruits.

Speckled Roman

The indeterminate tomatoes are red with orange stripes. The tomatoes are a cross between Antique Roman and Banana Legs.

Speckled Siberian

The determinate red tomatoes produce 2-inch fruits. They are suitable for salads.

Slava

Producing well in Northern climates, the indeterminate tomatoes are believed to originate from former Czechoslovakia.

Sprite

Made for salads or eating fresh, the determinate tomatoes produce until frost. They have thin skins.

Stripped German

The distinct red-yellow indeterminate tomatoes are made for slicing. They have a tart flavor.

Stupice

With 62 days needed to reach maturity, the indeterminate tomatoes have distinct potato-type leaves.

Sub-Arctic Plenty

With upright stems, the determinate vines are made for colder environments. They are recommended for early harvests.

Sugar Lump

Growing in clusters of 12 fruits, the indeterminate German tomatoes have a sweet taste. They are characterized by vivid red color.

Super Italian

The elongated Italian indeterminate tomatoes are used for sauces and canning. The fruits can reach weights of 10 ounces.

Super Sioux

The globe-shaped indeterminate tomatoes are suitable for hot weather. They are used for canning or consumed fresh.

Sweetie

With high sugar content, the indeterminate tomatoes are sweet. The sweet tomatoes grow in clusters of up to 20.

Swiss Alpine

The small 5-ounce tomatoes originate in Switzerland. They are suitable for cold weather.

Surrender’s Indian Curry

The red determinate tomatoes have regular leaves. They come from Indian gardener Surender Katta.

Sweet Israeli

The determinate red tomatoes have bushy, regular leaves. They come from Israel.

Sweet Pea Currant

With an indeterminate profile, they are used as a garnish. They are considered one of the best red currant tomatoes.

T

Tangerine

With a distinct tangerine shape, the indeterminate tomatoes have a tart-citrus flavor. The fruits grow up to 7 ounces.

Tasty Evergreen

The tomatoes have a green color. The indeterminate tomatoes are very sweet.

Taxi

The determinate yellow-orange tomatoes are suitable for hot and humid regions. They are good for slicing and sandwiches.

Thessaloniki

The Greek indeterminate tomatoes have medium acidity. They resist cracking and high temperatures.

Tigerella

With a distinct look with yellow stripes, the tomatoes measure up to 2 inches. They have a tangy-tart taste.

Ten Fingers of Naples

The red determinate tomatoes have an Italian elongated shape. They have a rich flavor and they can be used for canning.

Tiny Tim

With only 45 days needed to reach maturity, the determinate tomatoes were developed by the University of New Hampshire.

Tondino di Manduria

The semi-determinate tomatoes originate from Southern Italy. They are suitable for dryer regions.

Tommy Toe

Being indeterminate, the cherry tomatoes are considered to be very productive. The plants are very vigorous.

Trophy

These round tomatoes can grow up to 7 ounces. The indeterminate tomatoes are used for slicing as a result.

Traveler

Originating from Arkansas, the indeterminate tomatoes come with regular leaves.

Trip-L-Crop

The meaty indeterminate vines grow up to 25 feet. The fruits are used for slicing and canning.

Tomaccio

The round indeterminate tomatoes come with a distinct red color. They were developed in Israel.

Trucker’s Favorite Pink

The 3” pink tomatoes are known for their strong flavor. The indeterminate tomatoes have good blight resistance.

U

Ukrainian Purple

The indeterminate tomatoes are resistant to cracking. They might also be available under the name of Purple Russian.

V

Variegated

With fruits growing all season, the indeterminate tomatoes have variegated coloration. The tomato fruits can reach a size of 2 inches in diameter.

Velvet Red

These tomatoes are easy to recognize with due to the silvery-grey foliage. The indeterminate tomatoes can grow up to an inch.

Viktorina

The determinate tomatoes have a pink color. They take 68 days to mature.

Vintage Vine

With a pale-pink color, the indeterminate tomatoes have a sweet taste. They can be served fresh.

W

Watermelon Beefsteak

The indeterminate vines grow in heavy crops. The meat of the fruit is purple-red, similar to the flesh of a watermelon.

Wapsipinicon Peach

As most Peach tomatoes, Wapsipinicons have a fuzzy skin texture. These indeterminate tomatoes can be recognized due to their distinct yellow color.

White Cherry

These indeterminate tomatoes mature early. Their color is pale yellow to ivory.

White Tomesol

With a distinct color combination of pale yellow and pink, the indeterminate tomatoes have a sweet flavor.

White Wonder

With high sugar content, the indeterminate vines are white when fully ripe. Fruits weigh up to 4 ounces each.

Window Box

The oval 3-ounce red fruits are planted in the fall. The determinate vines grow oval tomatoes.

Whittemore

With deep ribbings, these indeterminate tomatoes grow fruits of up to 2 pounds.

Wisconsin 55

With a distinct bright red color, the indeterminate tomatoes are seen on rich soils. They are used for canning.

Wisconsin Chief

Developed by the University of Wisconsin, the semi-determinate tomatoes are good for all purposes. They are not as red as Wisconsin 55.

Y

Yellow Pear

The indeterminate tomatoes come with a lemony-yellow color. With smaller seed cavities and lower acidity, they are used in salads and sandwiches.

42 Days

The openly-pollinated determinate tomatoes come with a plant size of up to 2 feet. The fruits have very few seeds.

Want to learn more about heirloom tomatoes?

See these helpful resources:

But what can you do with tomatoes?

There are many things that you can do with tomatoes. For instance, you can…

Juggle them.
Play fetch with them with your loyal dog.
Use them as table top decorations.
Use them in sauces.
Use them in salads.
Use them in stews.
Play catch with them.
Show them off to your friends.
And trade them for other delicious foodstuffs.

But in my humble opinion, I believe the best thing that you can do with a heirloom tomato is to eat it.

Conclusion

Tomatoes are delicious. Heirloom tomatoes are even more so. Please take a moment and make yourself up a fine tomato sandwich and savor the moment. Don’t let this moment pass you by.

And as a bonus, for you cooks out there…

Heirloom Tomato & Goat Cheese Napoleon

From HERE.

Heirloom tomato sandwich.

Although I couldn’t resist giving it a fancy name, it’s nothing more than a fancy tomato sandwich. I’m using heirloom tomatoes, because they taste better than hybrid versions, and they are everywhere right now from farmers markets to local grocery stores.

If you are interested in learning more about heirloom tomatoes, and perhaps even growing some, I recommend The Heirloom Tomato: From Garden to Table by Amy Goldman, and Seed Savers, a non-profit organization that sells all kinds of heirloom seeds, including some beautiful tomato varieties.

This Napoleon is really nothing more than puff pastry, tomatoes, herbed goat cheese and jam. That’s it. Pretty simple, right?

Heirloom Tomato & Goat Cheese Napoleon

Serves 6

Ingredients
1 sheet puff pastry, thawed
4 ounces soft, fresh goat cheese
2 tablespoons cream (or half and half)
1 tablespoon chopped fresh tarragon leaves
1 tablespoon chopped fresh basil leaves
1/8 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
2 tablespoons tomato jam (or apricot or other light colored jam)
1-1/2 pounds heirloom or vine-ripened tomatoes, cored and sliced 1/3-inch thick

Method
1. Heat the oven to 400°F. Line a baking sheet with a Silpat or parchment paper.

2. Unfold puff pastry on a lightly floured surface. Cut along the fold lines into three strips. Place on baking sheet and bake until golden brown, about 15 minutes. Remove from oven and let cool slightly. Cut in half with a serrated knife, creating a top and bottom.

3. Stir the cream, herbs and pepper into the goat cheese.

4. Spread the goat cheese on the top and bottom of two of the puff pastries. (The third top and bottom will become the middle layer of the other two.)

5. Spread the middle layer with the jam (just 1 side of each, it doesn’t matter if you do the inside or the outside.)

6. Layer 1/4 of the sliced tomatoes on each of the two bottom halves with the goat cheese. Top each with the jam smeared layer. Layer with the remaining tomatoes and place the tops on. Cut into thirds, crosswise, to create six pieces and serve.

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Time in Thy Flight by Ray Bradbury (Full text)

This is a nice story by Ray Bradbury. I like it because it reminds me of the treasures of being a kid in the 1960’s / 1970’s. There things that our communities and parents provided for us that are now seemingly absent in America today. But in those days were simply precious treasures. Ray Bradbury captures these ideas and images so well.

Time in Thy Flight

A wind blew the long years away past their hot faces.

The Time Machine stopped.

“Nineteen hundred and twenty-eight,” said Janet. The two boys looked past her.

Mr. Fields stirred. “Remember, you’re here to observe the behavior of these ancient people. Be inquisitive, be intelligent, observe.”

“Yes,” said the girl and the two boys in crisp khaki uniforms. They wore identical haircuts, had identical wristwatches, sandals, and coloring of hair, eyes, teeth, and skin, though they were not related.

“Shh!” said Mr. Fields.

They looked out at a little Illinois town in the spring of the year. A cool mist lay on the early morning streets.

Far down the street a small boy came running in the last light of the marble-cream moon. Somewhere a great clock struck 5 A.M. far away.

Leaving tennis-shoe prints softly in the quiet lawns, the boy stepped near the invisible Time Machine and cried up to a high dark house window.

The house window opened. Another boy crept down the roof to the ground. The two boys ran off with banana-filled mouths into the dark cold morning.

“Follow them,” whispered Mr. Fields. “Study their life patterns.

Quick!”

Janet and William and Robert ran on the cold pavements of spring, visible now, through the slumbering town, through a park. All about, lights flickered, doors clicked, and other children rushed alone or in gasping pairs down a hill to some gleaming blue tracks.

“Here it comes!” The children milled about before dawn. Far down the shining tracks a small light grew seconds later into steaming thunder.

“What is it?” screamed Janet.

“A train, silly, you’ve seen pictures of them!” shouted Robert.

And as the Time Children watched, from the train stepped gigantic gray elephants, steaming the pavements with their mighty waters, lifting question-mark nozzles to the cold morning sky. Cumbrous wagons rolled from the long freight flats, red and gold. Lions roared and paced in boxed darkness.

“Why— this must be a—circus!” Janet trembled.

“You think so? Whatever happened to them?”

“Like Christmas, I guess. Just vanished, long ago.”

Janet looked around. “Oh, it’s awful, isn’t it.”

The boys stood numbed. “It sure is.”

Men shouted in the first faint gleam of dawn. Sleeping cars drew up, dazed faces blinked out at the children. Horses clattered like a great fall of stones on the pavement.

Mr. Fields was suddenly behind the children. “Disgusting, barbaric, keeping animals in cages. If I’d known this was here, I’d never let you come see. This is a terrible ritual.”

“Oh, yes.” But Janet’s eyes were puzzled. “And yet, you know, it’s like a nest of maggots. I want to study it.”

“I don’t know,” said Robert, his eyes darting, his fingers trembling.

“It’s pretty crazy. We might try writing a thesis on it if Mr. Fields says it’s all right …”

Mr. Fields nodded. “I’m glad you’re digging in here, finding motives, studying this horror. All right—we’ll see the circus this afternoon.”

“I think I’m going to be sick,” said Janet.

The Time Machine hummed.

“So that was a circus,” said Janet, solemnly.

The trombone circus died in their ears. The last thing they saw was candy-pink trapeze people whirling while baking powder clowns shrieked and bounded.

“You must admit psychovision’s better,” said Robert slowly.

“All those nasty animal smells, the excitement.” Janet blinked. “That’s bad for children, isn’t it? And those older people seated with the children.

Mothers, fathers, they called them. Oh, that was strange.”

Mr. Fields put some marks in his class grading book.

Janet shook her head numbly. “I want to see it all again. I’ve missed the motives somewhere. I want to make that run across town again in the early morning. The cold air on my face—the sidewalk under my feet—the circus train coming in. Was it the air and the early hour that made the children get up and run to see the train come in? I want to retrace the entire pattern.

Why should they be excited? I feel I’ve missed out on the answer.”

“They all smiled so much,” said William.

“Manic-depressives,” said Robert.

“What are summer vacations? I heard them talk about it.” Janet looked at Mr. Fields.

“They spent their summers racing about like idiots, beating each other up,” replied Mr. Fields seriously.

“I’ll take our State Engineered summers of work for children anytime,” said Robert, looking at nothing, his voice faint.

The Time Machine stopped again.

“The Fourth of July,” announced Mr. Fields. “Nineteen hundred and twenty-eight. An ancient holiday when people blew each other’s fingers off.”

They stood before the same house on the same street but on a soft summer evening. Fire wheels hissed, on front porches laughing children tossed things out that went bang!

“Don’t run!” cried Mr. Fields. “It’s not war, don’t be afraid!”

But Janet’s and Robert’s and William’s faces were pink, now blue, now white with fountains of soft fire.

“We’re all right,” said Janet, standing very still.

“Happily,” announced Mr. Fields, “they prohibited fireworks a century ago, did away with the whole messy explosion.”

Children did fairy dances, weaving their names and destinies on the dark summer air with white sparklers.

“I’d like to do that,” said Janet, softly. “Write my name on the air.

See? I’d like that.”

“What?” Mr. Fields hadn’t been listening.

“Nothing,” said Janet.

“Bang!” whispered William and Robert, standing under the soft summer trees, in shadow, watching, watching the red, white, and green fires on the beautiful summer night lawns. “Bang!”

October.

The Time Machine paused for the last time, an hour later in the month of burning leaves. People bustled into dim houses carrying pumpkins and corn shocks. Skeletons danced, bats flew, candles flamed, apples swung in empty doorways.

“Halloween,” said Mr. Fields. “The acme of horror. This was the age of superstition, you know. Later they banned the Grimm Brothers, ghosts, skeletons, and all that claptrap. You children, thank God, were raised in an antiseptic world of no shadows or ghosts. You had decent holidays like William C. Chatterton’s Birthday, Work Day, and Machine Day.”

They walked by the same house in the empty October night, peering in at the triangle-eyed pumpkins, the masks leering in black attics and damp cellars. Now, inside the house, some party children squatted telling stories, laughing!

“I want to be inside with them,” said Janet at last.

“Sociologically, of course,” said the boys.

“No,” she said.

“What?” asked Mr. Fields.

“No, I just want to be inside, I just want to stay here, I want to see it all and be here and never be anywhere else, I want firecrackers and pumpkins and circuses, I want Christmases and Valentines and Fourths, like we’ve seen.”

“This is getting out of hand …” Mr. Fields started to say.

But suddenly Janet was gone. “Robert, William, come on!” She ran.

The boys leaped after her.

“Hold on!” shouted Mr. Fields. “Robert! William, I’ve got you!” He seized the last boy, but the other escaped. “Janet, Robert—come back here!

You’ll never pass into the seventh grade!

You’ll fail, Janet, Bob— Bob! ”

An October wind blew wildly down the street, vanishing with the children off among moaning trees.

William twisted and kicked.

“No, not you, too, William, you’re coming home with me. We’ll teach those other two a lesson they won’t forget. So they want to stay in the past, do they?” Mr. Fields shouted so everyone could hear. “All right, Janet, Bob, stay in this horror, in this chaos! In a few weeks you’ll come sniveling back here to me. But I’ll be gone! I’m leaving you here to go mad in this world!”

He hurried William to the Time Machine. The boy was sobbing.

“Don’t make me come back here on any more Field Excursions ever again, please, Mr. Fields, please—”

“Shut up!”

Almost instantly the Time Machine whisked away toward the future, toward the underground hive cities, the metal buildings, the metal flowers, the metal lawns.

“Good-bye, Janet, Bob!”

A great cold October wind blew through the town like water. And when it had ceased blowing it had carried all the children, whether invited or uninvited, masked or unmasked, to the doors of houses which closed upon them. There was not a running child anywhere in the night. The wind whined away in the bare treetops.

And inside the big house, in the candlelight, someone was pouring cold apple cider all around, to everyone, no matter who they were.

The End

Conclusion

This story takes me back to a time when things were simpler and reminds me of how precious the moments were that we possessed. Don’t let the preciousness of the moments that you have today slip from your hands.

Whether it is the 1950’s or the 1990’s, or even today. Treasure what you have now. For it is all fleeting….

Do you want more?

I have more posts in my Ray Bradbury Index here…

Ray Bradbury

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Pillar of Fire by Ray Bradbury (Full text)

This is a nice story by Ray Bradbury. Three hundred years after his death, William Lantry awakes from his coffin. One thing is very clear to him – this sterile world without superstition, fear, or imagination must be destroyed. Ray Bradbury was one of the best-known writers of our time. He was a master storyteller, a champion of creative freedom, and a space-age visionary.

Pillar of Fire

I

He came out of the earth, hating. Hate was his father; hate was his mother.

It was good to walk again. It was good to leap up out of the earth, off of your back, and stretch your cramped arms violently and try to take a deep breath!

He tried. He cried out.

He couldn’t breathe. He flung his arms over his face and tried to breathe. It was impossible. He walked on the earth, he came out of the earth.

But he was dead. He couldn’t breathe. He could take air into his mouth and force it half down his throat, with withered moves of long-dormant muscles, wildly, wildly! And with this little air he could shout and cry! He wanted to have tears, but he couldn’t make them come, either. All he knew was that he was standing upright, he was dead, he shouldn’t be walking! He couldn’t breathe and yet he stood.

The smells of the world were all about him. Frustratedly, he tried to smell the smells of autumn. Autumn was burning the land down into ruin. All across the country the ruins of summer lay; vast forests bloomed with flame, tumbled down timber on empty, unleafed timber. The smoke of the burning was rich, blue, and invisible.

He stood in the graveyard, hating. He walked through the world and yet could not taste nor smell of it. He heard, yes. The wind roared on his newly opened ears. But he was dead. Even though he walked he knew he was dead and should expect not too much of himself or this hateful living world.

He touched the tombstone over his own empty grave. He knew his own name again. It was a good job of carving.

WILLIAM LANTRY

That’s what the gravestone said.

His fingers trembled on the cool stone surface.

BORN 1898—DIED 1933

Born again…?

What year? He glared at the sky and the midnight autumnal stars moving in slow illuminations across the windy black. He read the tiltings of centuries in those stars. Orion thus and so, Aurega here! and where Taurus?

There!

His eyes narrowed. His lips spelled out the year:

“2349.”

An odd number. Like a school sum. They used to say a man couldn’t encompass any number over a hundred. After that it was all so damned abstract there was no use counting. This was the year 2349! A numeral, a sum. And here he was, a man who had lain in his hateful dark coffin, hating to be buried, hating the living people above who lived and lived and lived, hating them for all the centuries, until today, now, born out of hatred, he stood by his own freshly excavated grave, the smell of raw earth in the air, perhaps, but he could not smell it!

“I,” he said, addressing a poplar tree that was shaken by the wind, “am an anachronism.” He smiled faintly.

He looked at the graveyard. It was cold and empty. All of the stones had been ripped up and piled like so many flat bricks, one atop another, in the far corner by the wrought iron fence. This had been going on for two endless weeks. In his deep secret coffin he had heard the heartless, wild stirring as the men jabbed the earth with cold spades and tore out the coffins and carried away the withered ancient bodies to be burned. Twisting with fear in his coffin, he had waited for them to come to him.

Today they had arrived at his coffin. But—late. They had dug down to within an inch of the lid. Five o’clock bell, time for quitting. Home to supper.

The workers had gone off. Tomorrow they would finish the job, they said, shrugging into their coats.

Silence had come to the emptied tombyard.

Carefully, quietly, with a soft rattling of sod, the coffin lid had lifted.

William Lantry stood trembling now, in the last cemetery on Earth.

“Remember?” he asked himself, looking at the raw earth. “Remember those stories of that last man on Earth? Those stories of men wandering in ruins, alone? Well, you, William Lantry, are a switch on the old story. Do you know that? You are the last dead man in the whole world!”

There were no more dead people. Nowhere in any land was there a dead person. Impossible! Lantry did not smile at this. No, not impossible at all in this foolish, sterile, unimaginative, antiseptic age of cleansings and scientific methods! People died, oh my God, yes. But— dead people?

Corpses? They didn’t exist!

What happened to dead people?

The graveyard was on a hill. William Lantry walked through the dark burning night until he reached the edge of the graveyard and looked down upon the new town of Salem. It was all illumination, all color. Rocket ships cut fire above it, crossing the sky to all the far ports of Earth.

In his grave the new violence of this future world had driven down and seeped into William Lantry. He had been bathed in it for years. He knew all about it, with a hating dead man’s knowledge of such things.

Most important of all, he knew what these fools did with dead men.

He lifted his eyes. In the center of the town a massive stone finger pointed at the stars. It was three hundred feet high and fifty feet across. There was a wide entrance and a drive in front of it.

In the town, theoretically, thought William Lantry, say you have a dying man. In a moment he will be dead. What happens? No sooner is his pulse cold when a certificate is flourished, made out, his relatives pack him into a car-beetle and drive him swiftly to—

The Incinerator!

That functional finger, that Pillar of Fire pointing at the stars.

Incinerator. A functional, terrible name. But truth is truth in this future world.

Like a stick of kindling your Mr. Dead Man is shot into the furnace.

Flume!

William Lantry looked at the top of the gigantic pistol shoving at the stars. A small pennant of smoke issued from the top.

There’s where your dead people go.

“Take care of yourself, William Lantry,” he murmured. “You’re the last one, the rare item, the last dead man. All the other graveyards of Earth have been blasted up. This is the last graveyard and you’re the last dead man from the centuries. These people don’t believe in having dead people about, much less walking dead people. Everything that can’t be used goes up like a matchstick. Superstitions right along with it!”

He looked at the town. All right, he thought, quietly, I hate you. You hate me, or you would if you knew I existed. You don’t believe in such things as vampires or ghosts. Labels without referents, you cry! You snort. All right, snort! Frankly, I don’t believe in you, either! I don’t like you! You and your Incinerators.

He trembled. How very close it had been. Day after day they had hauled out the other dead ones, burned them like so much kindling. An edict had been broadcast around the world. He had heard the digging men talk as they worked!

“I guess it’s a good idea, this cleaning up the graveyards,” said one of the men.

“Guess so,” said another. “Grisly custom. Can you imagine? Being buried, I mean! Unhealthy! All them germs!”

“Sort of a shame. Romantic, kind of. I mean, leaving just this one graveyard untouched all these centuries. The other graveyards were cleaned out, what year was it, Jim?”

“About 2260, I think. Yeah, that was it, 2260, almost a hundred years ago. But some Salem Committee, they got on their high horse and they said,

‘Look here, let’s have just one graveyard left, to remind us of the customs of the barbarians.’ And the government scratched its head, thunk it over, and said, ‘Okay. Salem it is. But all other graveyards go, you understand, all!’”

“And away they went,” said Jim.

“Sure, they sucked out ’em with fire and steam shovels and rocket-cleaners. If they knew a man was buried in a cow pasture, they fixed him!

Evacuated them, they did. Sort of cruel, I say.”

“I hate to sound old-fashioned,but still there were a lot of tourists came here every year, just to see what a real graveyard was like.”

“Right. We had nearly a million people in the last three years visiting.

A good revenue. But—a government order is an order. The government says no more morbidity, so flush her out we do! Here we go. Hand me that spade, Bill.”

William Lantry stood in the autumn wind, on the hill. It was good to walk again, to feel the wind and to hear the leaves scuttling like mice on the road ahead of him. It was good to see the bitter cold stars almost blown away by the wind.

It was even good to know fear again.

For fear rose in him now, and he could not put it away. The very fact that he was walking made him an enemy. And there was not another friend, another dead man, in all of the world, to whom one could turn for help or consolation. It was the whole melodramatic living world against one. William Lantry. It was the whole vampire-disbelieving, body-burning, graveyard-annihilating world against a man in a dark suit on a dark autumn hill. He put out his pale cold hands into the city illumination. You have pulled the tombstones, like teeth, from the yard, he thought. Now I will find some way to push your Incinerators down into rubble. I will make dead people again, and I will make friends in so doing. I cannot be alone and lonely. I must start manufacturing friends very soon. Tonight.

“War is declared,” he said, and laughed. It was pretty silly, one man declaring war on an entire world.

The world did not answer back. A rocket crossed the sky on a rush of flame, like an Incinerator taking wing.

Footsteps. Lantry hastened to the edge of the cemetery. The diggers, coming back to finish up their work? No. Just someone, a man, walking by.

As the man came abreast the cemetery gate, Lantry stepped swiftly out. “Good evening,” said the man, smiling.

Lantry struck the man in the face. The man fell. Lantry bent quietly down and hit the man a killing blow across the neck with the side of his hand.

Dragging the body back into shadow, he stripped it and changed clothes with it. It wouldn’t do for a fellow to go wandering about this future world with ancient clothing on. He found a small pocket knife in the man’s coat; not much of a knife, but enough if you knew how to handle it properly.

He knew how.

He rolled the body down into one of the already opened and exhumed graves. In a minute he had shoveled dirt down upon it, just enough to hide it.

There was little chance of it being found. They wouldn’t dig the same grave twice.

He adjusted himself in his new loose-fitting metallic suit. Fine, fine.

Hating. William Lantry walked down into town, to do battle with the Earth.

II

The Incinerator was open. It never closed. There was a wide entrance, all lighted up with hidden illumination, there was a helicopter landing table and a beetle drive. The town itself was dying down after another day of the dynamo. The lights were going dim, and the only quiet, lighted spot in the town now was the Incinerator. God, what a practical name, what an unromantic name.

William Lantry entered the wide, well-lighted door. It was an entrance, really; there were no doors to open or shut. People could go in and out, summer or winter, the inside was always warm. Warm from the fire that rushed whispering up the high round flue to where the whirlers, the propellors, the air jets pushed the leafy gray ashes on away for a ten-mile ride down the sky.

There was the warmth of the bakery here. The halls were floored with rubber parquet. You couldn’t make a noise if you wanted to. Music played in hidden throats somewhere. Not music of death at all, but music of life and the way the sun lived inside the Incinerator; or the sun’s brother, anyway. You could hear the flame floating inside the heavy brick wall.

William Lantry descended a ramp. Behind him he heard a whisper and turned in time to see a beetle stop before the entranceway. A bell rang. The music, as if at a signal, rose to ecstatic heights. There was joy in it.

From the beetle, which opened from the rear, some attendants stepped carrying a golden box. It was six feet long and there were sun symbols on it.

From another beetle the relatives of the man in the box stepped and followed as the attendants took the golden box down a ramp to a kind of altar. On the side of the altar were the words, “WE THAT WERE BORN OF THE SUN RETURN TO THE SUN.” The golden box was deposited upon the altar, the music leaped upward, the Guardian of this place spoke only a few words, then the attendants picked up the golden box, walked to a transparent wall, a safety lock, also transparent, and opened it. The box was shoved into the glass slot.

A moment later an inner lock opened, the box was injected into the interior of the flue, and vanished instantly in quick flame.

The attendants walked away. The relatives without a word turned and walked out. The music played.

William Lantry approached the glass fire lock. He peered through the wall at the vast, glowing never-ceasing heart of the Incinerator. It burned steadily, without a flicker, singing to itself peacefully. It was so solid it was like a golden river flowing up out of the earth toward the sky. Anything you put into the river was borne upward, vanished.

Lantry felt again his unreasoning hatred of this thing, this monster, cleansing fire.

A man stood at his elbow. “May I help you, sir?”

“What?” Lantry turned abruptly. “What did you say?”

“May I be of service?”

“I—that is—” Lantry looked quickly at the ramp and the door. His hands trembled at his sides. “I’ve never been in here before.”

“Never?” The Attendant was surprised.

That had been the wrong thing to say, Lantry realized. But it was said, nevertheless. “I mean,” he said. “Not really. I mean, when you’re a child, somehow, you don’t pay attention. I suddenly realized tonight that I didn’t really know the Incinerator.”

The Attendant smiled. “We never know anything, do we, really? I’ll be glad to show you around.”

“Oh, no. Never mind. It—it’s a wonderful place.”

“Yes, it is.” The Attendant took pride in it. “One of the finest in the world, I think.”

“I—” Lantry felt he must explain further. “I haven’t had many relatives die on me since I was a child. In fact, none. So, you see I haven’t been here for many years.”

“I see.” The Attendant’s face seemed to darken somewhat.

What’ve I said now, thought Lantry. What in God’s name is wrong?

What’ve I done? If I’m not careful I’ll get myself shoved right into that monstrous firetrap. What’s wrong with this fellow’s face? He seems to be giving me more than the usual going-over.

“You wouldn’t be one of the men who’ve just returned from Mars, would you?” asked the Attendant.

“No. Why do you ask?”

“No matter.” The Attendant began to walk off. “If you want to know anything, just ask me.”

“Just one thing,” said Lantry.

“What’s that?”

“This.”

Lantry dealt him a stunning blow across the neck.

He had watched the fire-trap operator with expert eyes. Now, with the sagging body in his arms, he touched the button that opened the warm outer lock, placed the body in, heard the music rise, and saw the inner lock open.

The body shot out into the river of fire. The music softened.

“Well done, Lantry, well done.”

Barely an instant later another Attendant entered the room. Lantry was caught with an expression of pleased excitement on his face. The Attendant looked around as if expecting to find someone, then he walked toward Lantry.

“May I help you?”

“Just looking,” said Lantry.

“Rather late at night,” said the Attendant.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

That was the wrong answer, too. Everybody slept in this world.

Nobody had insomnia. If you did you simply turned on a hypnoray, and, sixty seconds later, you were snoring. Oh, he was just full of wrong answers. First he had made the fatal error of saying he had never been in the Incinerator before, when he knew that all children were brought here on tours, every year, from the time they were four, to instill the idea of the clean fire death and the Incinerator in their minds. Death was a bright fire, death was warmth and the sun. It was not a dark, shadowed thing. That was important in their education.

And he, pale, thoughtless fool, had immediately gabbled out his ignorance.

And another thing, this paleness of his. He looked at his hands and realized with growing terror that a pale man also was nonexistent in this world. They would suspect his paleness. That was why the first attendant had asked, “Are you one of those men newly returned from Mars?” Here, now, this new Attendant was clean and bright as a copper penny, his cheeks red with health and energy. Lantry hid his pale hands in his pockets. But he was finally aware of the searching the Attendant did on his face.

“I mean to say,” said Lantry, “I didn’t want to sleep. I wanted to think.”

“Was there a service held here a moment ago?” asked the Attendant, looking about.

“I don’t know, I just came in.”

“I thought I heard the fire lock open and shut.”

“I don’t know,” said Lantry.

The man pressed a wall button. “Anderson?”

A voice replied. “Yes.”

“Locate Saul for me, will you?”

“I’ll ring the corridors.” A pause. “Can’t find him.”

“Thanks.” The Attendant was puzzled. He was beginning to make little sniffing motions with his nose. “Do you— smell anything?”

Lantry sniffed. “No. Why?”

“I smell something.”

Lantry took hold of the knife in his pocket. He waited.

“I remember once when I was a kid,” said the man. “And we found a cow lying dead in the field. It had been there two days in the hot sun. That’s what this smell is. I wonder what it’s from?”

“Oh, I know what it is,” said Lantry quietly. He held out his hand.

“Here.”

“What?”

“Me, of course.”

“You?”

“Dead several hundred years.”

“You’re an odd joker.” The Attendant was puzzled.

“Very.” Lantry took out the knife. “Do you know what this is?”

“A knife.”

“Do you ever use knives on people any more?”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean—killing them, with knives or guns or poison?”

“You are an odd joker!” The man giggled awkwardly.

“I’m going to kill you,” said Lantry.

“Nobody kills anybody,” said the man.

“Not any more they don’t. But they used to, in the old days.”

“I know they did.”

“This will be the first murder in three hundred years. I just killed your friend. I just shoved him into the fire lock.”

That remark had the desired effect. It numbed the man so completely, it shocked him so thoroughly with its illogical aspects that Lantry had time to walk forward. He put the knife against the man’s chest. “I’m going to kill you.”

“That’s silly,” said the man, numbly. “People don’t do that.”

“Like this,” said Lantry. “You see?”

The knife slid into the chest. The man stared at it for a moment.

Lantry caught the falling body.

III

The Salem flue exploded at six that morning. The great fire chimney shattered into ten thousand parts and flung itself into the earth and into the sky and into the houses of the sleeping people. There was fire and sound, more fire than autumn made burning in the hills.

William Lantry was five miles away at the time of the explosion. He saw the town ignited by the great spreading cremation of it. And he shook his head and laughed a little bit and clapped his hands smartly together.

Relatively simple. You walked around killing people who didn’t believe in murder, had only heard of it indirectly as some dim gone custom of the old barbarian races. You walked into the control room of the Incinerator and said, “How do you work this Incinerator?” and the control man told you, because everybody told the truth in this world of the future, nobody lied, there was no reason to lie, there was no danger to lie against. There was only one criminal in the world, and nobody knew HE existed yet.

Oh, it was an incredibly beautiful setup. The Control Man had told him just how the Incinerator worked, what pressure gauges controlled the flood of fire gases going up the flue, what levers were adjusted or readjusted.

He and Lantry had had quite a talk. It was an easy, free world. People trusted people. A moment later Lantry had shoved a knife in the Control Man also and set the pressure gauges for an overload to occur half an hour later, and walked out of the Incinerator halls, whistling.

Now even the sky was palled with the vast black cloud of the explosion.

“This is only the first,” said Lantry, looking at the sky. “I’ll tear all the others down before they even suspect there’s an unethical man loose in their society. They can’t account for a variable like me. I’m beyond their understanding. I’m incomprehensible, impossible, therefore I do not exist. My God, I can kill hundreds of thousands of them before they even realize murder is out in the world again. I can make it look like an accident each time. Why, the idea is so huge, it’s unbelievable!”

The fire burned the town. He sat under a tree for a long time, until morning. Then, he found a cave in the hills, and went in, to sleep.

He awoke at sunset with a sudden dream of fire. He saw himself pushed into the flue, cut into sections by flame, burned away to nothing. He sat up on the cave floor, laughing at himself. He had an idea.

He walked down into the town and stepped into an audio booth. He dialed OPERATOR. “Give me the Police Department,” he said.

“I beg your pardon?” said the operator.

He tried again. “The Law Force,” he said.

“I will connect you with the Peace Control,” she said, at last.

A little fear began ticking inside him like a tiny watch. Suppose the operator recognized the term Police Department as an anachronism, took his audio number, and sent someone out to investigate? No, she wouldn’t do that.

Why should she suspect? Paranoids were nonexistent in this civilization.

“Yes, the Peace Control,” he said.

A buzz. A man’s voice answered. “Peace Control. Stephens speaking.”

“Give me the Homicide Detail,” said Lantry, smiling.

“The what? ”

“Who investigates murders?”

“I beg your pardon, what are you talking about?”

“Wrong number.” Lantry hung up, chuckling. Ye gods, there was no such a thing as a Homicide Detail. There were no murders, therefore they needed no detectives. Perfect, perfect!

The audio rang back. Lantry hesitated, then answered.

“Say,” said the voice on the phone. “Who are you?”

“The man just left who called,” said Lantry, and hung up again.

He ran. They would recognize his voice and perhaps send someone out to check. People didn’t lie. He had just lied. They knew his voice. He had lied. Anybody who lied needed a psychiatrist. They would come to pick him up to see why he was lying. For no other reason. They suspected him of nothing else. Therefore—he must run.

Oh, how very carefully he must act from now on. He knew nothing of this world, this odd straight truthful ethical world. Simply by looking pale you were suspect. Simply by not sleeping nights you were suspect. Simply by not bathing, by smelling like a—dead cow?—you were suspect. Anything.

He must go to a library. But that was dangerous, too. What were libraries like today? Did they have books or did they have film spools which projected books on a screen? Or did people have libraries at home, thus eliminating the necessity of keeping large main libraries?

He decided to chance it. His use of archaic terms might well make him suspect again, but now it was very important he learn all that could be learned of this foul world into which he had come again. He stopped a man on the street. “Which way to the library?”

The man was not surprised. “Two blocks east, one block north.”

“Thank you.”

Simple as that.

He walked into the library a few minutes later.

“May I help you?”

He looked at the librarian. May I help you, may I help you. What a world of helpful people! “I’d like to ‘have’ Edgar Allan Poe.” His verb was carefully chosen. He didn’t say ‘read.’ He was too afraid that books were passé, that printing itself was a lost art. Maybe all ‘books’ today were in the form of fully delineated three-dimensional motion pictures. How in blazes could you make a motion picture out of Socrates, Schopenhauer, Nietzsche, and Freud?

“What was that name again?”

“Edgar Allan Poe.”

“There is no such author listed in our files.”

“Will you please check?”

She checked. “Oh, yes. There’s a red mark on the file card. He was one of the authors in the Great Burning of 2265.

“How ignorant of me.”

“That’s all right,” she said. “Have you heard much of him?”

“He had some interesting barbarian ideas on death,” said Lantry.

“Horrible ones,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Ghastly.”

“Yes. Ghastly. Abominable, in fact. Good thing he was burned.

Unclean. By the way, do you have any of Lovecraft?”

“Is that a sex book?”

Lantry exploded with laughter. “No, no. It’s a man.”

She riffled the file. “He was burned, too. Along with Poe.”

“I suppose that applies to Machen and a man named Derleth and one named Ambrose Bierce, also?”

“Yes.” She shut the file cabinet. “All burned. And good riddance.” She gave him an odd warm look of interest. “I bet you’ve just come back from Mars.”

“Why do you say that?”

“There was another explorer in here yesterday. He’d just made the Mars hop and return. He was interested in supernatural literature, also. It seems there are actually ‘tombs’ on Mars.”

“What are ‘tombs’?” Lantry was learning to keep his mouth closed.

“You know, those things they once buried people in.”

“Barbarian custom. Ghastly!”

“Isn’t it? Well, seeing the Martian tombs made this young explorer curious. He came and asked if we had any of those authors you mentioned. Of course we haven’t even a smitch of their stuff.” She looked at his pale face.

“You are one of the Martian rocket men, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he said. “Got back on the ship the other day.”

“The other young man’s name was Burke.”

“Of course. Burke! Good friend of mine!”

“Sorry I can’t help you. You’d best get yourself some vitamin shots and some sun lamps. You look terrible, Mr.—?”

“Lantry. I’ll be good. Thanks ever so much. See you next Hallows’

Eve!”

“Aren’t you the clever one.” She laughed. “If there were a Hallows’

Eve, I’d make it a date.”

“But they burned that, too,” he said.

“Oh, they burned everything,” she said. “Good night.”

“Good night.” And he went on out.

Oh, how carefully he was balanced in this world! Like some kind of dark gyroscope, whirling with never a murmur, a very silent man. As he walked along the eight o’clock evening street he noticed with particular interest that there was not an unusual amount of lights about. There were the usual street lights at each corner, but the blocks themselves were only faintly illuminated. Could it be that these remarkable people were not afraid of the dark? Incredible nonsense! Every one was afraid of the dark. Even he himself had been afraid, as a child. It was as natural as eating.

A little boy ran by on pelting feet, followed by six others. They yelled and shouted and rolled on the dark cool October lawn, in the leaves. Lantry looked on for several minutes before addressing himself to one of the small boys who was for a moment taking a respite, gathering his breath into his small lungs, as a boy might blow to refill a punctured paper bag.

“Here, now,” said Lantry. “You’ll wear yourself out.”

“Sure,” said the boy.

“Could you tell me,” said the man, “why there are no street lights in the middle of the blocks?”

“Why?” asked the boy.

“I’m a teacher, I thought I’d test your knowledge,” said Lantry.

“Well,” said the boy, “you don’t need lights in the middle of the block, that’s why.”

“But it gets rather dark,” said Lantry.

“So?” said the boy.

“Aren’t you afraid?” asked Lantry.

“Of what?” asked the boy.

“The dark,” said Lantry.

“Ho ho,” said the boy. “Why should I be?”

“Well,” said Lantry. “It’s black, it’s dark. And after all, street lights were invented to take away the dark and take away fear.”

“That’s silly. Street lights were made so you could see where you were walking. Outside of that there’s nothing.”

“You miss the whole point—” said Lantry. “Do you mean to say you would sit in the middle of an empty lot all night and not be afraid?”

“Of what?”

“Of what, of what, of what, you little ninny! Of the dark!”

“Ho ho.”

“Would you go out in the hills and stay all night in the dark?”

“Sure.”

“Would you stay in a deserted house alone?”

“Sure.”

“And not be afraid?”

“Sure.”

“You’re a liar!”

“Don’t you call me nasty names!” shouted the boy. Liar was the improper noun, indeed. It seemed to be the worst thing you could call a person.

Lantry was completely furious with the little monster. “Look,” he insisted. “Look into my eyes …”

The boy looked.

Lantry bared his teeth slightly. He put out his hands, making a clawlike gesture. He leered and gesticulated and wrinkled his face into a terrible mask of horror.

“Ho ho,” said the boy. “You’re funny.”

“What did you say?”

“You’re funny. Do it again. Hey, gang, c’mere! This man does funny things!”

“Never mind.”

“Do it again, sir.”

“Never mind, never mind. Good night!” Lantry ran off.

“Good night, sir. And mind the dark, sir!” called the little boy.

Of all the stupidity, of all the rank, gross, crawling, jelly-mouthed stupidity! He had never seen the like of it in his life! Bringing the children up without so much as an ounce of imagination! Where was the fun in being children if you didn’t imagine things?

He stopped running. He slowed and for the first time began to appraise himself. He ran his hand over his face and bit his fingers and found that he himself was standing midway in the block and he felt uncomfortable. He moved up to the street corner where there was a glowing lantern. “That’s better,” he said, holding his hands out like a man to an open warm fire.

He listened. There was not a sound except the night breathing of the crickets. Finally there was a fire-hush as a rocket swept the sky. It was the sound a torch might make brandished gently on the dark air.

He listened to himself and for the first time he realized what there was so peculiar to himself. There was not a sound in him. The little nostril and lung noises were absent. His lungs did not take nor give oxygen or carbon dioxide; they did not move. The hairs in his nostrils did not quiver with warm combing air. That faint purling whisper of breathing did not sound in his nose.

Strange. Funny. A noise you never heard when you were alive, the breath that fed your body, and yet, once dead, oh how you missed it!

The only other time you ever heard it was on deep dreamless awake nights when you wakened and listened and heard first your nose taking and gently poking out the air, and then the dull deep dim red thunder of the blood in your temples, in your eardrums, in your throat, in your aching wrists, in your warm loins, in your chest. All of those little rhythms, gone. The wrist beat gone, the throat pulse gone, the chest vibration gone. The sound of the blood coming up down around and through, up down around and through.

Now it was like listening to a statue.

And yet he lived. Or, rather, moved about. And how was this done, over and above scientific explanations, theories, doubts?

By one thing, and one thing alone.

Hatred.

Hatred was a blood in him, it went up down around and through, up down around and through. It was a heart in him, not beating, true, but warm.

He was—what? Resentment. Envy. They said he could not lie any longer in his coffin in the cemetery. He had wanted to. He had never had any particular desire to get up and walk around. It had been enough, all these centuries, to lie in the deep box and feel but not feel the ticking of the million insect watches in the earth around, the moves of worms like so many deep thoughts in the soil.

But then they had come and said, “Out you go and into the furnace!”

And that is the worst thing you can say to any man. You cannot tell him what to do. If you say you are dead, he will want not to be dead. If you say there are no such things as vampires, by God, that man will try to be one just for spite. If you say a dead man cannot walk, he will test his limbs. If you say murder is no longer occurring, he will make it occur. He was, in toto, all the impossible things. They had given birth to him with their practices and ignorances. Oh, how wrong they were. They needed to be shown. He would show them! Sun is good, so is night, there is nothing wrong with dark, they said.

Dark is horror, he shouted, silently, facing the little houses. It is meant for contrast. You must fear, you hear! That has always been the way of this world. You destroyers of Edgar Allan Poe and fine big-worded Lovecraft, you burner of Halloween masks and destroyer of pumpkin jack-o-lanterns! I will make night what it once was, the thing against which man built all his lanterned cities and his many children!

As if in answer to this, a rocket, flying low, trailing a long rakish feather of flame. It made Lantry flinch and draw back.

IV

It was but ten miles to the little town of Science Port. He made it by dawn, walking. But even this was not good. At four in the morning a silver beetle pulled up on the road beside him.

“Hello,” called the man inside.

“Hello,” said Lantry, wearily.

“Why are you walking?” asked the man.

“I’m going to Science Port.”

“Why don’t you ride?”

“I like to walk.”

“Nobody likes to walk. Are you sick? May I give you a ride?”

“Thanks, but I like to walk.”

The man hesitated, then closed the beetle door. “Good night.”

When the beetle was gone over the hill, Lantry retreated into a nearby forest. A world full of bungling, helping people. By God, you couldn’t even walk without being accused of sickness. That meant only one thing. He must not walk any longer, he had to ride. He should have accepted that fellow’s offer.

The rest of the night he walked far enough off the highway so that if a beetle rushed by he had time to vanish in the underbrush. At dawn he crept into an empty dry water drain and closed his eyes.

The dream was as perfect as a rimed snowflake.

He saw the graveyard where he had lain deep and ripe over the centuries. He heard the early morning footsteps of the laborers returning to finish their work.

“Would you mind passing me the shovel, Jim?”

“Here you go.”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute!”

“What’s up?”

“Look here. We didn’t finish last night, did we?”

“No.”

There was one more coffin, wasn’t there?”

“Yes.”

“Well, here it is, and open!”

“You’ve got the wrong hole.”

“What’s the name say on the gravestone?”

“Lantry. William Lantry.”

“That’s him, that’s the one! Gone!”

“What could have happened to it?”

“How do I know. The body was here last night.”

“We can’t be sure, we didn’t look.”

“God man, people don’t bury empty coffins. He was in his box. Now he isn’t.”

“Maybe this box was empty.”

“Nonsense. Smell that smell? He was here all right.”

A pause.

“Nobody would have taken the body, would they?”

“What for?”

“A curiosity, perhaps.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. People just don’t steal. Nobody steals.”

“Well, then, there’s only one solution.”

“And?”

“He got up and walked away.”

A pause. In the dark dream, Lantry expected to hear laughter. There was none. Instead, the voice of the grave-digger, after a thoughtful pause, said, “Yes. That’s it, indeed. He got up and walked away.”

“That’s interesting to think about,” said the other.

“Isn’t it, though!”

Silence.

Lantry awoke. It had all been a dream, but, how realistic. How strangely the two men had carried on. But not unnaturally, oh, no. That was exactly how you expected men of the future to talk. Men of the future. Lantry grinned wryly. That was an anachronism for you. This was the future. This was happening now. It wasn’t three hundred years from now, it was now, not then, or any other time. This wasn’t the twentieth century. Oh, how calmly those two men in the dream had said, “He got up and walked away.” “—

interesting to think about.” “Isn’t it, though?” With never a quaver in their voices. With not so much as a glance over their shoulders or a tremble of spade in hand. But, of course, with their perfectly honest, logical minds, there was but one explanation; certainly nobody had stolen the corpse. “Nobody steals.” The corpse had simply got up and walked off. The corpse was the only one who could have possibly moved the corpse. By the few casual slow words of the gravediggers Lantry knew what they were thinking. Here was a man that had lain in suspended animation, not really dead, for hundreds of years. The jarring about, the activity, had brought him back.

Everyone had heard of those little green toads that are sealed for centuries inside mud rocks or in ice patties, alive, alive oh! And how when scientists chipped them out and warmed them like marbles in their hands the little toads leapt about and frisked and blinked. Then it was only logical that the gravediggers think of William Lantry in like fashion.

But what if the various parts were fitted together in the next day or so?

If the vanished body and the shattered, exploded Incinerator were connected?

What if this fellow named Burke, who had returned pale from Mars, went to the library again and said to the young woman he wanted some books and she said, “Oh, your friend Lantry was in the other day.” And he’d say, ‘Lantry who? Don’t know anyone by that name.’ And she’d say, “Oh, he lied.” And people in this time didn’t lie. So it would all form and coalesce, item by item, bit by bit. A pale man who was pale and shouldn’t be pale had lied and people don’t lie, and a walking man on a lonely country road had walked and people don’t walk any more, and a body was missing from a cemetery, and the Incinerator had blown up and and and—

They would come after him. They would find him. He would be easy to find. He walked. He lied. He was pale. They would find him and take him and stick him through the open fire lock of the nearest Burner and that would be your Mr. William Lantry, like a Fourth of July set-piece!

There was only one thing to be done efficiently and completely. He arose in violent moves. His lips were wide and his dark eyes were flared and there was a trembling and burning all through him. He must kill and kill and kill and kill and kill. He must make his enemies into friends, into people like himself who walked but shouldn’t walk, who were pale in a land of pinks. He must kill and then kill and then kill again. He must make bodies and dead people and corpses. He must destroy Incinerator after Flue after Burner after Incinerator. Explosion on explosion. Death on death. Then, when the Incinerators were all in thrown ruin, and the hastily established morgues were jammed with the bodies of people shattered by the explosion, then he would begin his making of friends, his enrollment of the dead in his own cause.

Before they traced and found and killed him, they must be killed themselves. So far he was safe. He could kill and they would not kill back.

People simply do not go around killing. That was his safety margin. He climbed out of the abandoned drain, stood in the road.

He took the knife from his pocket and hailed the next beetle.

It was like the Fourth of July! The biggest firecracker of them all. The Science Port Incinerator split down the middle and flew apart. It made a thousand small explosions that ended with a greater one. It fell upon the town and crushed houses and burned trees. It woke people from sleep and then put them to sleep again, forever, an instant later.

William Lantry, sitting in a beetle that was not his own, tuned idly to a station on the audio dial. The collapse of the Incinerator had killed some four hundred people. Many had been caught in flattened houses, others struck by flying metal. A temporary morgue was being set up at—

An address was given.

Lantry noted it with a pad and pencil.

He could go on this way, he thought, from town to town, from country to country, destroying the Burners, the Pillars of Fire, until the whole clean magnificent framework of flame and cauterization was tumbled. He made a fair estimate—each explosion averaged five hundred dead. You could work that up to a hundred thousand in no time.

He pressed the floor stud on the beetle. Smiling, he drove off through the dark streets of the city.

The city coroner had requisitioned an old warehouse. From midnight until four in the morning the gray beetles hissed down the rain-shiny streets, turned in, and the bodies were laid out on the cold concrete floors, with white sheets over them. It was a continuous flow until about four-thirty, then it stopped. There were about two hundred bodies there, white and cold.

The bodies were left alone; nobody stayed behind to tend them. There was no use tending the dead; it was a useless procedure; the dead could take care of themselves.

About five o’clock, with a touch of dawn in the east, the first trickle of relatives arrived to identify their sons or their fathers or their mothers or their uncles. The people moved quickly into the warehouse, made the identification, moved quickly out again. By six o’clock, with the sky still lighter in the east, this trickle had passed on, also.

William Lantry walked across the wide wet street and entered the warehouse.

He held a piece of blue chalk in one hand.

He walked by the coroner who stood in the entranceway talking to two others. “… drive the bodies to the Incinerator in Mellin Town, tomorrow …”

The voices faded.

Lantry moved, his feet echoing faintly on the cool concrete. A wave of sourceless relief came to him as he walked among the shrouded figures. He was among his own. And—better than that! He had created these! He had made them dead! He had procured for himself a vast number of recumbent friends!

Was the coroner watching? Lantry turned his head. No. The warehouse was calm and quiet and shadowed in the dark morning. The coroner was walking away now; across the street, with his two attendants; a beetle had drawn up on the other side of the street, and the coroner was going over to talk with whoever was in the beetle.

William Lantry stood and made a blue chalk pentagram on the floor by each of the bodies. He moved swiftly, swiftly, without a sound, without blinking. In a few minutes, glancing up now and then to see if the coroner was still busy, he had chalked the floor by a hundred bodies. He straightened up and put the chalk in his pocket.

Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their party, now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their party, now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their party, now is the time …

Lying in the earth, over the centuries, the processes and thoughts of passing peoples and passing times had seeped down to him, slowly, as into a deep-buried sponge. From some death-memory in him now, ironically, repeatedly, a black typewriter clacked out black even lines of pertinent words: Now is the time for all good men, for all good men, to come to the aid of—

William Lantry.

Other words—

Arise my love, and come away—

The quick brown fox jumped over … Paraphrase it. The quick risen body jumped over the tumbled Incinerator…

Lazarus, come forth from the tomb …

He knew the right words. He need only speak them as they had been spoken over the centuries. He need only gesture with his hands and speak the words, the dark words that would cause these bodies to quiver, rise and walk!

And when they had risen he would take them through the town, they would kill others, and the others would rise and walk. By the end of the day there would be thousands of good friends, walking with him. And what of the naïve, living people of this year, this day, this hour? They would be completely unprepared for it. They would go down to defeat because they would not be expecting war of any sort. They wouldn’t believe it possible, it would all be over before they could convince themselves that such an illogical thing could happen.

He lifted his hands. His lips moved. He said the words. He began in a chanting whisper and then raised his voice, louder. He said the words again and again. His eyes were closed tightly. His body swayed. He spoke faster and faster. He began to move forward among the bodies. The dark words flowed from his mouth. He was enchanted with his own formulae. He stooped and made further blue symbols on the concrete, in the fashion of long-dead sorcerers, smiling, confident. Any moment now the first tremor of the still bodies, any moment now the rising, the leaping up of the cold ones!

His hands lifted in the air. His head nodded. He spoke, he spoke, he spoke. He gestured. He talked loudly over the bodies, his eyes flaring, his body tensed. “Now!” he cried, violently. “Rise, all of you!”

Nothing happened.

“Rise!” he screamed, with a terrible torment in his voice.

The sheets lay in white blue-shadow folds over the silent bodies.

“Hear me, and act!” he shouted.

Far away, on the street, a beetle hissed along.

Again, again, again he shouted, pleaded. He got down by each body and asked of it his particular violent favor. No reply. He strode wildly between the even white rows, flinging his arms up, stooping again and again to make blue symbols!

Lantry was very pale. He licked his lips. “Come on, get up,” he said.

“They have, they always have, for a thousand years. When you make a mark

—so! and speak a word—so! they always rise! Why not now, why not you!

Come on, come on, before they come back!”

The warehouse went up into shadow. There were steel beams across and down. In it, under the roof, there was not a sound, except the raving of a lonely man.

Lantry stopped.

Through the wide doors of the warehouse he caught a glimpse of the last cold stars of morning.

This was the year 2349.

His eyes grew cold and his hands fell to his sides. He did not move.

Once upon a time people shuddered when they heard the wind about the house, once people raised crucifixes and wolfbane, and believed in walking dead and bats and loping white wolves. And as long as they believed, then so long did the dead, the bats, the loping wolves exist. The mind gave birth and reality to them.

But …

He looked at the white sheeted bodies.

These people did not believe.

They had never believed. They would never believe. They had never imagined that the dead might walk. The dead went up flues in flame. They had never heard superstition, never trembled or shuddered or doubted in the dark. Walking dead people could not exist, they were illogical. This was the year 2349, man, after all!

Therefore, these people could not rise, could not walk again. They were dead and flat and cold. Nothing, chalk, imprecation, superstition, could wind them up and set them walking. They were dead and knew they were dead!

He was alone.

There were live people in the world who moved and drove beetles and drank quiet drinks in little dimly illumined bars by country roads, and kissed women and talked much good talk all day and every day.

But he was not alive.

Friction gave him what little warmth he possessed.

There were two hundred dead people here in this warehouse now, cold upon the floor. The first dead people in a hundred years who were allowed to be corpses for an extra hour or more. The first not to be immediately trundled to the Incinerator and lit like so much phosphorus.

He should be happy with them, among them.

He was not.

They were completely dead. They did not know nor believe in walking once the heart had paused and stilled itself. They were deader than dead ever was.

He was indeed alone, more alone than any man had ever been. He felt the chill of his aloneness moving up into his chest, strangling him quietly.

William Lantry turned suddenly and gasped.

While he had stood there, someone had entered the warehouse. A tall man with white hair, wearing a light weight tan overcoat and no hat. How long the man had been nearby there was no telling.

There was no reason to stay here. Lantry turned and started to walk slowly out. He looked hastily at the man as he passed and the man with the white hair looked back at him, curiously. Had he heard? The imprecations, the pleadings, the shoutings? Did he suspect? Lantry slowed his walk. Had this man seen him make the blue chalk marks? But then, would he interpret them as symbols of an ancient superstition? Probably not.

Reaching the door, Lantry paused. For a moment he did not want to do anything but lie down and be coldly, really dead again and be carried silently down the street to some distant burning flue and there dispatched in ash and whispering fire. If he was indeed alone and there was no chance to collect an army to his cause, what, then, existed as a reason for going on? Killing? Yes, he’d kill a few thousand more. But that wasn’t enough. You can only do so much of that before they drag you down.

He looked at the cold sky.

A rocket went across the black heaven, trailing fire.

Mars burned red among a million stars.

Mars. The library. The librarian. Talk. Returning rocket men. Tombs.

Lantry almost gave a shout. He restrained his hand, which wanted so much to reach up into the sky and touch Mars. Lovely red star on the sky.

Good star that gave him sudden new hope. If he had a living heart now it would be thrashing wildly, and sweat would be breaking out of him and his pulses would be stammering, and tears would be in his eyes!

He would go down to wherever the rockets sprang up into space. He would go to Mars, one way or another. He would go to the Martian tombs.

There, there were bodies, he would bet his last hatred on it, that would rise and walk and work with him! Theirs was an ancientculture, much different from that of Earth, patterned on the Egyptian, if what the librarian had said was true. And the Egyptian—what a crucible of dark superstition and midnight terror that culture had been. Mars it was, then. Beautiful Mars!

But he must not attract attention to himself. He must move carefully.

He wanted to run, yes, to get away, but that would be the worst possible move he could make. The man with the white hair was glancing at Lantry from time to time, in the entranceway. There were too many people about. If anything happened he would be outnumbered. So far he had taken on only one man at a time.

Lantry forced himself to stop and stand on the steps before the warehouse. The man with the white hair came on onto the steps also and stood, looking at the sky. He looked as if he was going to speak at any moment. He fumbled in his pockets and took out a packet of cigarettes.

V

They stood outside the morgue together, the tall, pink, white-haired man, and Lantry, hands in their pockets. It was a cool night with a white shell of a moon that washed a house here, a road there, and farther on, parts of a river.

“Cigarette?” The man offered Lantry one.

“Thanks.”

They lit up together. The man glanced at Lantry’s mouth. “Cool night.”

“Cool.”

They shifted their feet. “Terrible accident.”

“Terrible.”

“So many dead.”

“So many.”

Lantry felt himself some sort of delicate weight upon a scale. The other man did not seem to be looking at him, but rather listening and feeling toward him. There was a feathery balance here that made for vast discomfort.

He wanted to move away and get out from under this balancing, weighing.

The tall white-haired man said, “My name’s McClure.”

“Did you have any friends inside?” asked Lantry.

“No. A casual acquaintance. Awful accident.”

“Awful.”

They balanced each other. A beetle hissed by on the road with its seventeen tires whirling quietly. The moon showed a little town farther over in the black hills.

“I say,” said the man McClure.

“Yes.”

“Could you answer me a question?”

“Be glad to.” He loosened the knife in his coat pocket, ready.

“Is your name Lantry?” asked the man at last.

“Yes.”

“William Lantry?”

“Yes.”

“Then you’re the man who came out of the Salem graveyard day before yesterday, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Good Lord, I’m glad to meet you, Lantry! We’ve been trying to find you for the past twenty-four hours!”

The man seized his hand, pumped it, slapped him on the back.

“What, what?” said Lantry.

“Good Lord, man, why did you run off? Do you realize what an instance this is? We want to talk to you!”

McClure was smiling, glowing. Another handshake, another slap. “I thought it was you!”

The man is mad, thought Lantry. Absolutely mad. Here I’ve toppled his incinerators, killed people, and he’s shaking my hand. Mad, mad!

“Will you come along to the Hall?” said the man, taking his elbow.

“Wh-what hall?” Lantry stepped back.

“The Science Hall, of course. It isn’t every year we get a real case of suspended animation. In small animals, yes, but in a man, hardly! Will you come?”

“What’s the act!” demanded Lantry, glaring. “What’s all this talk.”

“My dear fellow, what do you mean?” the man was stunned.

“Never mind. Is that the only reason you want to see me?”

“What other reason would there be, Mr. Lantry? You don’t know how glad I am to see you!” He almost did a little dance. “I suspected. When we were in there together. You being so pale and all. And then the way you smoked your cigarette, something about it, and a lot of other things, all subliminal. But it is you, isn’t it, it is you!”

“It is I. William Lantry.” Dryly.

“Good fellow! Come along!”

The beetle moved swiftly through the dawn streets. McClure talked rapidly.

Lantry sat, listening, astounded. Here was this fool, McClure, playing his cards for him! Here was this stupid scientist, or whatever, accepting him not as a suspicious baggage, a murderous item. Oh no! Quite the contrary!

Only as a suspended animation case was he considered! Not as a dangerous man at all. Far from it!

“Of course,” cried McClure, grinning. “You didn’t know where to go, whom to turn to. It was all quite incredible to you.”

“Yes.”

“I had a feeling you’d be there at the morgue tonight,” said McClure, happily.

“Oh?” Lantry stiffened.

“Yes. Can’t explain it. But you, how shall I put it? Ancient Americans? You had funny ideas on death. And you were among the dead so long, I felt you’d be drawn back by the accident, by the morgue and all. It’s not very logical. Silly, in fact. It’s just a feeling. I hate feelings but there it was. I came on a, I guess you’d call it a hunch, wouldn’t you?”

“You might call it that.”

“And there you were!”

“There I was,” said Lantry.

“Are you hungry?”

“I’ve eaten.”

“How did you get around?”

“I hitchhiked.”

“You what? ”

“People gave me rides on the road.”

“Remarkable.”

“I imagine it sounds that way.” He looked at the passing houses. “So this is the era of space travel, is it?”

“Oh, we’ve been traveling to Mars for some forty years now.”

“Amazing. And those big funnels, those towers in the middle of every town?”

“Those. Haven’t you heard? The Incinerators. Oh, of course, they hadn’t anything of that sort in your time. Had some bad luck with them. An explosion in Salem and one here, all in a forty-eight-hour period. You looked as if you were going to speak; what is it?”

“I was thinking,” said Lantry. “How fortunate I got out of my coffin when I did. I might well have been thrown into one of your Incinerators and burned up.”

“Quite.”

Lantry toyed with the dials on the beetle dash. He wouldn’t go to Mars. His plans were changed. If this fool simply refused to recognize an act of violence when he stumbled upon it, then let him be a fool. If they didn’t connect the two explosions with a man from the tomb, all well and good. Let them go on deluding themselves. If they couldn’t imagine someone being mean and nasty and murderous, heaven help them. He rubbed his hands with satisfaction. No, no Martian trip for you, as yet, Lantry lad. First, we’ll see what can be done boring from the inside. Plenty of time. The Incinerators can wait an extra week or so. One has to be subtle, you know. Any more immediate explosions might cause quite a ripple of thought.

McClure was gabbling wildly on.

“Of course, you don’t have to be examined immediately. You’ll want a rest. I’ll put you up at my place.”

“Thanks. I don’t feel up to being probed and pulled. Plenty of time in a week or so.”

They drew up before a house and climbed out.

“You want to sleep, naturally.”

“I’ve been asleep for centuries. Be glad to stay awake. I’m not a bit tired.”

“Good.” McClure let them into the house. He headed for the drink bar.

“A drink will fix us up.”

“You have one,” said Lantry. “Later for me. I just want to sit down.”

“By all means sit.” McClure mixed himself a drink. He looked around the room, looked at Lantry, paused for a moment with the drink in his hand, tilted his head to one side, and put his tongue in his cheek. Then he shrugged and stirred the drink. He walked slowly to a chair and sat, sipping the drink quietly. He seemed to be listening for something. “There are cigarettes on the table,” he said.

“Thanks.” Lantry took one and lit it and smoked it. He did not speak for some time.

Lantry thought, I’m taking this all too easily. Maybe I should kill and run. He’s the only one that has found me, yet. Perhaps this is all a trap.

Perhaps we’re simply sitting here waiting for the police. Or whatever in blazes they use for police these days. He looked at McClure. No. They weren’t waiting for police. They were waiting for something else.

McClure didn’t speak. He looked at Lantry’s face and he looked at Lantry’s hands. He looked at Lantry’s chest a long time, with easy quietness.

He sipped his drink. He looked at Lantry’s feet.

Finally he said, “Where’d you get the clothing?”

“I asked someone for clothes and they gave these things to me. Darned nice of them.”

“You’ll find that’s how we are in this world. All you have to do is ask.”

McClure shut up again. His eyes moved. Only his eyes and nothing else. Once or twice he lifted his drink.

A little clock ticked somewhere in the distance.

“Tell me about yourself, Mr. Lantry.”

“Nothing much to tell.”

“You’re modest.”

“Hardly. You know about the past. I know nothing of the future, or I should say ‘today’ and day before yesterday. You don’t learn much in a coffin.”

McClure did not speak. He suddenly sat forward in his chair and then leaned back and shook his head.

They’ll never suspect me, thought Lantry. They aren’t superstitious, they simply can’t believe in a dead man walking. Therefore, I’ll be safe. I’ll keep putting off the physical checkup. They’re polite. They won’t force me.

Then, I’ll work it so I can get to Mars. After that, the tombs, in my own good time, and the plan. God, how simple. How naïve these people are.

McClure sat across the room for five minutes. A coldness had come over him. The color was very slowly going from his face, as one sees the color of medicine vanishing as one presses the bulb at the top of a dropper. He leaned forward, saying nothing, and offered another cigarette to Lantry.

“Thanks.” Lantry took it. McClure sat deeply back into his easy chair, his knees folded one over the other. He did not look at Lantry, and yet somehow did. The feeling of weighing and balancing returned. McClure was like a tall thin master of hounds listening for something that nobody else could hear. There are little silver whistles you can blow that only dogs can hear. McClure seemed to be listening acutely, sensitively for such an invisible whistle, listening with his eyes and with his half-opened, dry mouth, and with his aching, breathing nostrils.

Lantry sucked the cigarette, sucked the cigarette, sucked the cigarette, and, as many times, blew out, blew out, blew out. McClure was like some lean red-shagged hound listening and listening with a slick slide of eyes to one side, with an apprehension in that hand that was so precisely microscopic that one only sensed it, as one sensed the invisible whistle, with some part of the brain deeper than eyes or nostril or ear.

The room was so quiet the cigarette smoke made some kind of invisible noise rising to the ceiling. McClure was a thermometer, a chemist’s scales, a listening hound, a litmus paper, an antennae; all these. Lantry did not move. Perhaps the feeling would pass. It had passed before. McClure did not move for a long while and then, without a word, he nodded at the sherry decanter, and Lantry refused as silently. They sat looking but not looking at each other, again and away, again and away.

McClure stiffened slowly. Lantry saw the color getting paler in those lean cheeks, and the hand tightening on the sherry glass, and a knowledge come at last to stay, never to go away, into the eyes.

Lantry did not move. He could not. All of this was of such a fascination that he wanted only to see, to hear what would happen next. It was McClure’s show from here on in.

McClure said, “At first I thought it was the first psychosis I have ever seen. You, I mean. I thought, he’s convinced himself, Lantry’s convinced himself, he’s quite insane, he’s told himself to do all these little things.”

McClure talked as if in a dream, and continued talking and didn’t stop.

“I said to myself, he purposely doesn’t breathe through his nose. I watched your nostrils, Lantry. The little nostril hairs never once quivered in the last hour. That wasn’t enough. It was a fact I filed. It wasn’t enough. He breathes through his mouth, I said, on purpose. And then I gave you a cigarette and you sucked and blew, sucked and blew. None of it ever came out your nose. I told myself, well, that’s all right. He doesn’t inhale. Is that terrible, is that suspect? All in the mouth, all in the mouth. And then, I looked at your chest. I watched. It never moved up or down, it did nothing. He’s convinced himself, I said to myself. He’s convinced himself about all this. He doesn’t move his chest, except slowly, when he thinks you’re not looking.

That’s what I told myself.”

The words went on in the silent room, not pausing, still in a dream.

“And then I offered you a drink but you don’t drink and I thought, he doesn’t drink, I thought. Is that terrible? And I watched and watched you all this time.

Lantry holds his breath, he’s fooling himself. But now, yes, now, I understand it quite well. Now I know everything the way it is. Do you know how I know?

I do not hear breathing in the room. I wait and I hear nothing. There is no beat of heart or intake of lung. The room is so silent. Nonsense, one might say, but I know. At the Incinerator I know. There is a difference. You enter a room where a man is on a bed and you know immediately whether he will look up and speak to you or whether he will not speak to you ever again. Laugh if you will, but one can tell. It is a subliminal thing. It is the whistle the dog hears when no human hears. It is the tick of a clock that has ticked so long one no longer notices. Something is in a room when a man lives in it. Something is not in the room when a man is dead in it.”

McClure shut his eyes a moment. He put down his sherry glass. He waited a moment. He took up his cigarette and puffed it and then put it down in a black tray.

“I am alone in this room,” he said.

Lantry did not move.

“You are dead,” said McClure. “My mind does not know this. It is not a thinking thing. It is a thing of the senses and the subconscious. At first I thought, this man thinks he is dead, risen from the dead, a vampire. Is that not logical? Would not any man, buried as many centuries, raised in a superstitious, ignorant culture, think likewise of himself once risen from the tomb? Yes, that is logical. This man has hypnotized himself and fitted his bodily functions so that they would in no way interfere with his self-delusion, his great paranoia. He governs his breathing. He tells himself, I cannot hear my breathing, therefore I am dead. His inner mind censors the sound of breathing. He does not allow himself to eat or drink. These things he probably does in his sleep, with part of his mind, hiding the evidences of this humanity from his deluded mind at other times.”

McClure finished it. “I was wrong. You are not insane. You are not deluding yourself. Nor me. This is all very illogical and—I must admit—

almost frightening. Does that make you feel good, to think you frighten me? I have no label for you. You’re a very odd man, Lantry. I’m glad to have met you. This will make an interesting report indeed.”

“Is there anything wrong with me being dead?” said Lantry. “Is it a crime?”

“You must admit it’s highly unusual.”

“But, still now, is it a crime?” asked Lantry.

“We have no crime, no criminal court. We want to examine you, naturally, to find out how you have happened. It is like that chemical which, one minute is inert, the next is living cell. Who can say where what happened to what. You are that impossibility. It is enough to drive a man quite insane.”

“Will I be released when you are done fingering me?”

“You will not be held. If you don’t wish to be examined, you will not be. But I am hoping you will help by offering us your services.”

“I might,” said Lantry.

“But tell me,” said McClure. “What were you doing at the morgue?”

“Nothing.”

“I heard you talking when I came in.”

“I was merely curious.”

“You’re lying. That is very bad, Mr. Lantry. The truth is far better. The truth is, is it not, that you are dead and, being the only one of your sort, were lonely. Therefore you killed people to have company.”

“How does that follow?”

McClure laughed. “Logic, my dear fellow. Once I knew you were really dead, a moment ago, really a—what do you call it—a vampire (silly word!) I tied you immediately to the Incinerator blasts. Before that there was no reason to connect you. But once the one piece fell into place, the fact that you were dead, then it was simple to guess your loneliness, your hate, your envy, all of the tawdry motivations of a walking corpse. It took only an instant then to see the Incinerators blown to blazes, and then to think of you, among the bodies at the morgue, seeking help, seeking friends and people like yourself to work with—”

“Blast you!” Lantry was out of the chair. He was halfway to the other man when McClure rolled over and scuttled away, flinging the sherry decanter. With a great despair Lantry realized that, like an idiot, he had thrown away his one chance to kill McClure. He should have done it earlier. It had been Lantry’s one weapon, his safety margin. If people in a society never killed each other, they never suspected one another. You could walk up to any one of them and kill him.

“Come back here!” Lantry threw the knife.

McClure got behind a chair. The idea of flight, of protection, of fighting, was still new to him. He had part of the idea, but there was still a bit of luck on Lantry’s side if Lantry wanted to use it.

“Oh, no,” said McClure, holding the chair between himself and the advancing man. “You want to kill me. It’s odd, but true. I can’t understand it.

You want to cut me with that knife or something like that, and it’s up to me to prevent you from doing such an odd thing.”

“I will kill you!” Lantry let it slip out. He cursed himself. That was the worst possible thing to say.

Lantry lunged across the chair, clutching at McClure.

McClure was very logical. “It won’t do you any good to kill me. You know that.” They wrestled and held each other in a wild, toppling shuffle.

Tables fell over, scattering articles. “You remember what happened in the morgue?”

“I don’t care!” screamed Lantry.

“You didn’t raise those dead, did you?”

“I don’t care!” cried Lantry.

“Look here,” said McClure, reasonably. “There will never be any more like you, ever, there’s no use.”

“Then I’ll destroy all of you, all of you!” screamed Lantry.

“And then what? You’ll still be alone, with no more like you about.”

“I’ll go to Mars. They have tombs there. I’ll find more like myself!”

“No,” said McClure. “The executive order went through yesterday. All of the tombs are being deprived of their bodies. They’ll be burned in the next week.”

They fell together to the floor. Lantry got his hands on McClure’s throat.

“Please,” said McClure. “Do you see, you’ll die.”

“What do you mean?” cried Lantry.

“Once you kill all of us, and you’re alone, you’ll die! The hate will die. That hate is what moved you, nothing else! That envy moves you.

Nothing else! You’ll die, inevitably. You’re not immortal. You’re not even alive, you’re nothing but a moving hate.”

“I don’t care!” screamed Lantry, and began choking the man, beating his head with his fists, crouched on the defenseless body. McClure looked up at him with dying eyes.

The front door opened. Two men came in.

“I say,” said one of them. “What’s going on? A new game?”

Lantry jumped back and began to run.

“Yes, a new game!” said McClure, struggling up. “Catch him and you win!”

The two men caught Lantry. “We win,” they said.

“Let me go!” Lantry thrashed, hitting them across their faces, bringing blood.

“Hold him tight!” cried McClure.

They held him.

“A rough game, what?” one of them said. “What do we do now? ”

The beetle hissed along the shining road. Rain fell out of the sky and a wind ripped at the dark green wet trees. In the beetle, his hands on the half-wheel, McClure was talking. His voice was susurrant, a whispering, a hypnotic thing. The two other men sat in the back seat. Lantry sat, or rather lay, in the front seat, his head back, his eyes faintly open, the glowing green light of the dash dials showing on his cheeks. His mouth was relaxed. He did not speak.

McClure talked quietly and logically, about life and moving, about death and not moving, about the sun and the great sun Incinerator, about the emptied tombyard, about hatred and how hate lived and made a clay man live and move, and how illogical it all was, it all was, it all was. One was dead, was dead, was dead, that was all, all, all. One did not try to be otherwise. The car whispered on the moving road. The rain spattered gently on the windshield. The men in the back seat conversed quietly. Where were they going, going? To the Incinerator, of course. Cigarette smoke moved slowly up on the air, curling and tying into itself in gray loops and spirals. One was dead and must accept it.

Lantry did not move. He was a marionette, the strings cut. There was only a tiny hatred in his heart, in his eyes, like twin coals, feeble, glowing, fading.

I am Poe, he thought. I am all that is left of Edgar Allan Poe, and I am all that is left of Ambrose Bierce and all that is left of a man named Lovecraft.

I am a gray night bat with sharp teeth, and I am a square black monolith monster. I am Osiris and Bal and Set. I am the Necronomicon, the Book of the Dead. I am the house of Usher, falling into flame. I am the Red Death. I am the man mortared into the catacomb with a cask of Amontillado … I am a dancing skeleton. I am a coffin, a shroud, a lightning bolt reflected in an old house window. I am an autumn-empty tree, I am a rapping, flinging shutter. I am a yellowed volume turned by a claw hand. I am an organ played in an attic at midnight. I am a mask, a skull mask behind an oak tree on the last day of October. I am a poison apple bobbling in a water tub for child noses to bump at, for child teeth to snap … I am a black candle lighted before an inverted cross. I am a coffin lid, a sheet with eyes, a foot-step on a black stairwell. I am Dunsany and Machen and I am the Legend of Sleepy Hollow. I am The Monkey’s Paw and I am The Phantom Rickshaw. I am the Cat and the Canary, the Gorilla, the Bat. I am the ghost of Hamlet’s father on the castle wall.

All of these things am I. And now these last things will be burned.

While I lived they still lived. While I moved and hated and existed, they still existed. I am all that remembers them. I am all of them that still goes on, and will not go on after tonight. Tonight, all of us, Poe and Bierce and Hamlet’s father, we burn together. They will make a big heap of us and burn us like a bonfire, like things of Guy Fawkes’ day, gasoline, torches, cries, and all!

And what a wailing will we put up. The world will be clean of us, but in our going we shall say, oh what is the world like, clean of fear, where is the dark imagination from the dark time, the thrill and the anticipation, the suspense of old October, gone, never more to come again, flattened and smashed and burned by the rocket people, by the Incinerator people, destroyed and obliterated, to be replaced by doors that open and close and lights that go on and off without fear. If only you could remember how once we lived, what Halloween was to us, and what Poe was, and how we gloried in the dark morbidities. One more drink, dear friends, of Amontillado, before the burning. All of this, all, exists but in one last brain on earth. A whole world dying tonight. One more drink, pray.

“Here we are,” said McClure.

The Incinerator was brightly lighted. There was quiet music nearby.

McClure got out of the beetle, came around to the other side. He opened the door. Lantry simply lay there. The talking and the logical talking had slowly drained him of life. He was no more than wax now, with a small glow in his eyes. This future world, how the men talked to you, how logically they reasoned away your life. They wouldn’t believe in him. The force of their disbelief froze him. He could not move his arms or his legs. He could only mumble senselessly, coldly, eyes flickering.

McClure and the two others helped him out of the car, put him in a golden box, and rolled him on a roller table into the warm glowing interior of the building.

I am Edgar Allan Poe, I am Ambrose Bierce, I am Halloween, I am a coffin, a shroud, a Monkey’s Paw, a Phantom, a Vampire …

“Yes, yes,” said McClure, quietly, over him. “I know. I know.”

The table glided. The walls swung over him and by him, the music played. You are dead, you are logically dead.

I am Usher, I am the Maelstrom, I am the MS Found In A Bottle, I am the Pit and I am the Pendulum, I am the Telltale Heart, I am the Raven nevermore, nevermore.

“Yes,” said McClure, as they walked softly. “I know.”

“I am in the catacomb,” cried Lantry.

“Yes, the catacomb,” said the walking man over him.

“I am being chained to a wall, and there is no bottle of Amontillado here!” cried Lantry weakly, eyes closed.

“Yes,” someone said.

There was movement. The flame door opened.

“Now someone is mortaring up the cell, closing me in!”

“Yes, I know.” A whisper.

The golden box slid into the flame lock.

“I’m being walled in! A very good joke indeed! Let us be gone!” A wild scream and much laughter.

“We know, we understand …”

The inner flame lock opened. The golden coffin shot forth into flame.

“For the love of God, Montresor! For the love of God !”

The End

Conclusion

It’s a nice little story to read. A bit on the horrific side, but a good read never the less. I hope that you all enjoyed it.

Do you want more?

I have more posts in my Ray Bradbury Index here…

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Chrysalis by Ray Bradbury (Full text)

This is a nice story by Ray Bradbury. I dedicate it to the many, many MM readers that tell me that they have changed by visiting this site, and that they are all the better for it. They tell me stories, and adventures, and just amazing events that confirm that everyone is on the right track. This story is about a man who changes.

Chrysalis.

This story is dedicated to youse guys. It’s my way of telling you that I recognize what you are tying to ell me, and that I am so gladdened by your stories. It’s just a fictional story, and you all, well, you all are the “real deal”. But Ray Bradbury has such a way with the words, and he conjures up such imagery, that I think that this is a treasure.

A treasure that is worthy for you all.

Chrysalis

Rockwell didn’t like the room’s smell. Not so much McGuke’s odor of beer, or Hartley’s unwashed, tired smell—-but the sharp insect tang rising from Smith’s cold green-skinned body lying stiffly naked on the table. There was also a smell of oil and grease from the nameless machinery gleaming in one comer of the small room.

The man Smith was a corpse. Irritated, Rockwell rose from his chair and packed his stethoscope. “I must get back to the hospital. War rush. You understand, Hartley. Smith’s been dead eight hours. If you want further information call a post-mortem—”

He stopped as Hartley raised a trembling, bony hand. Hartley gestured at the corpse—this corpse with brittle hard green shell grown solid over every inch of flesh. “Use your stethoscope again, Rockwell. Just once more. Please.”

Rockwell wanted to complain, but instead he sighed, sat down, and used the stethoscope. You have to treat fellow doctors politely. You press your stethoscope into cold green flesh, pretending to listen—

The small, dimly lit room exploded around him. Exploded in one green cold pulsing. It hit Rockwell’s ears like fists. It hit him. He saw his own fingers jerk over the recumbent corpse.

He heard a pulse.

Deep in the dark body the heart beat once. It sounded like an echo in fathoms of sea water.

Smith was dead, unbreathing, mummified. But at the core of that deadness—his heart lived. Lived, stirring like a small unborn baby!

Rockwell’s crisp surgeon’s fingers darted rapidly. He bent his head. In the light it was dark-haired, with flecks of gray in it. He had an even, level, nice-looking face. About thirty-five. He listened again and again, with sweat coming cold on his smooth cheeks. The pulse was not to be believed.

One heartbeat every thirty-five seconds.

Smith’s respiration—how could you believe that, too one breath of air every four minutes. Lungcase movement imperceptible.

Body temperature?

Sixty degrees.

Hartley laughed. It was not a pleasant laugh. More like an echo that had gotten lost. “He’s alive,” he said tiredly. “Yes, he is. He almost fooled me many times. I injected adrenalin to speed that pulse, but it was no use. He’s been this way for twelve weeks. And I couldn’t stand keeping him a secret any longer. That’s why I phoned you, Rockwell. He’s—unnatural.

The impossibility of it overwhelmed Rockwell with an inexplicable excitement. He tried to lift Smiths’ eyelids. He couldn’t. They were webbed with epidermis. So were the lips. So were the nostrils. There was no way for Smith to breathe—

“Yet, he’s breathing.” Rockwell’s voice was numb. He dropped his stethoscope blankly, picked it up, and saw his fingers shaking.

Hartley grew tall, emaciated, nervous over the table. “Smith didn’t like my calling you. I called anyway. Smith warned me not to. Just an hour ago.”

Rockell’s eyes dilated into hot black circles. “How could he warn you? He can’t move.”

Hartley’s face, all razor-sharp bone, hard jaw, tight squinting gray eyes, twitched nervously. Smith— thinks. I know his thoughts. He’s afraid you’ll expose him to the world. He hates me. Why? I want to kill him, that’s why. Here.” Hardey fumbled blindly for a blue-steel revolver in his rumpled, stained coat. “Murphy. Take this. Take it before I use it on Smith’s foul body!”

Murphy pulled back, his thick red face afraid. “Don’t like guns. You take it, Rockwell.”

Like a scalpel, Rockwell made his voice slash. “Put the gun away, Hartley. After three months tending one patient you’ve got a psychological blemish. Sleep’ll help that.” He licked his lips. “What sort of disease has Smith got?”

Hartley swayed. His mouth moved words out slowly. Falling asleep on his feet, Rockwell realized. “Not diseased,” Hartley managed to say. “Don’t know what. But I resent him, like a kid resents the birth of a new brother or sister. He’s wrong. Help me. Help me, will you?”

“Of course.” Rockwell smiled. “My desert sanitarium’s the place to check him over, good. Why—why Smith’s the most incredible medical phenomenon in history. Bodies just don’t act this way!”

He got no further. Hartley had his gun pointed right at Rockwell’s stomach. “Wait. Wait. You—you’re not going to bury Smith! I thought you’d help me. Smith’s not healthy. I want him killed! He’s dangerous! I know he is!”

Rockwell blinked. Hartley was obviously psychoneurotic. Didn’t know what he was saying. Rockwell straightened his shoulders, feeling cool and calm inside. “Shoot Smith and I’ll turn you in for murder. You’re overworked mentally and physically. Put the gun away.”

They stared at one another.

Rockwell walked forward quietly and took the gun, patted Hartley understandingly on the shoulder, and gave the weapon to Murphy, who looked at it as if it would bite him. “Call the hospital. Murphy. I’m taking a week off. Maybe longer. Tell them I’m doing research at the sanitarium.”

A scowl formed in the red fat flesh of Murphy’s face. “What do I do with this gun?”

Hartley shut his teeth together, hard. “Keep it. You’ll want to use it—

later.”

Rockwell wanted to shout it to the world that he was sole possessor of the most incredible human in history. The sun was bright in the desert sanitarium room where

Smith lay, not saying a word, on his table; his handsome face frozen into a green, passionless expression.

Rockwell walked into the room quietly. He used the stethoscope on the green chest. It scraped, making the noise of metal tapping a beetle’s carapace.

McGuire stood by, eyeing the body dubiously, smelling of several recently acquired beers.

Rockwell listened intently. “The ambulance ride may have jolted him.

No use taking a chance—”

Rockwell cried out.

Heavily, McGuire lumbered to his side. ‘What’s wrong?”

“Wrong?” Rockwell stared about in desperation. He made one hand into a fist. “Smith’s dying!”

“How do you know? Hartley said Smith plays possum. He’s fooled you again—”

“No!” Rockwell worked furiously over the body, injecting drugs. Any drugs. Swearing at the top of his voice. After all this trouble, he couldn’t lose Smith. No, not now.

Shaking, jarring, twisting deep down inside, going completely liquidly mad. Smith’s body sounded like dim volcanic tides bursting.

Rockwell fought to remain calm. Smith was a case unto himself.

Normal treatment did nothing for him. What then? What?

Rockwell stared. Sunlight gleamed on Smith’s hard flesh. Hot sunlight. It flashed, glinting off the stethoscope tip. The sun. As he watched, clouds shifted across the sky outside, taking the sun away. The room darkened. Smith’s body shook into silence. The volcanic tides died.

“McGuire! Pull the blinds! Before the sun comes back!”

McGuire obeyed.

Smith’s heart slowed down to its sluggish, infrequent breathing.

“Sunlight’s bad for Smith. It counteracts something. I don’t know what or why, but it’s not good—” Rockwell relaxed. “Lord, I wouldn’t want to lose Smith. Not for anything. He’s different, making his own standards, doing things men have never done. Know something, Murphy?”

“What?”

“Smith’s not in agony. He’s not dying either. He wouldn’t be better off dead, no matter what Hartley says. Last night as I arranged Smith on the stretcher, readying him for his trip to this sanitarium, I realized, suddenly, that Smith likes me.”

“Gah. First Hartley. Now you. Did Smith tell you that?”

“He didn’t tell me. But he’s not unconscious under all that hard skin.

He’s aware. Yes, that’s it. He’s aware.”

“Pure and simply—he’s petrifying. He’ll die. It’s been weeks since he was fed. Hartley said so. Hartley fed him intravenously until the skin toughened so a needle couldn’t poke through it.”

Whining, the cubicle door swung slowly open. Rockwell started.

Hartley, his sharp face relaxed after hours of sleep, his eyes still a bitter gray, hostile, stood tall in the door. “If you’ll leave the room,” he said, quietly, “I’ll destroy Smith in a very few seconds. Well?”

“Don’t come a step closer.” Rockwell walked, feeling irritation, to Hartley’s side. “Every time you visit, you’ll have to be searched. Frankly, I don’t trust you.” There were no weapons. “Why didn’t you tell me about the sunlight?”

“Eh?” Soft and slow Hartley said it. “Oh—yes. I forgot. I tried shifting Smith weeks ago. Sunlight struck him and he began really dying.

Naturally, I stopped trying to move him. Smith seemed to know what was coming, vaguely. Perhaps he planned it; I’m not sure. While he was still able to talk and eat ravenously, before his body stiffened completely, he warned me not to move him for a twelve-week period. Said he didn’t like the sun.

Said it would spoil things. I thought he was joking. He wasn’t. He ate like an animal, a hungry, wild animal, fell into a coma, and here he is—” Hartley swore under his breath. “I’d rather hoped you’d leave him in the sun long enough to kill him inadvertently.”

McGuire shifted his two hundred fifty pounds. “Look here, now.

What if we catch Smith’s disease?”

Hartley looked at the body, his pupils shrinking. “Smith’s not diseased. Don’t you recognize degeneration when you see it? It’s like cancer.

You don’t catch it, you inherit a tendency. I didn’t begin to fear and hate Smith until a week ago when I discovered he was breathing and existing and thriving with his nostrils and mouth sealed. It can’t happen. It mustn’t happen.”

McGuire’s voice trembled. “What if you and I and Rockwell all turn green and a plague sweeps the country—what then?”

“Then,” replied Rockwell, “if I’m wrong, perhaps I am, I’ll die. But it doesn’t worry me in the least.”

He turned back to Smith and went on with his work.

A bell. A bell. Two bells, two bells. A dozen bells, a hundred bells.

Ten thousand and a million clangorous, hammering metal dinning bells. All born at once in the silence, squalling, screaming, hurting echoes, bruising ears!

Ringing, chanting with loud and soft, tenor and bass, low and high voices. Great-armed clappers knocking the shells and ripping air with the thrusting din of sound!

With all those bells ringing, Smith could not immediately know where he was. He knew that he could not see, because his eyelids were sealed tight, knew he could not speak because his lips had grown together. His ears were clamped shut, but the bells hammered nevertheless.

He could not see. But yes, yes, he could, and it was like inside a small dark red cavern, as if his eyes were turned inward upon his skull. And Smith tried to twist his tongue, and suddenly, trying to scream, he knew his tongue was gone, that the place where it used to be was vacant, an itching spot that wanted a tongue but couldn’t have it just now.

No tongue. Strange. Why? Smith tried to stop the bells. They ceased, blessing him with a silence that wrapped him up in a cold blanket. Things were happening. Happening.

Smith tried to twitch a finger, but he had no control. A foot, a leg, a toe, his head, everything. Nothing moved. Torso, limbs—immovable, frozen in a concrete coffin.

A moment later came the dread discovery that he was no longer breathing. Not with his lungs, anyway.

“BECAUSE I HAVE NO LUNGS!” he screamed. Inwardly he screamed and that mental scream was drowned, webbed, clotted, and journeyed drowsily down in a red, dark tide. A red drowsy tide that sleepily swathed the scream, garroted it, took it all away, making Smith rest easier.

I am not afraid, he thought. I understand that which I do not understand. I understand that I do not fear, yet know not the reason.

No tongue, no nose, no lungs.

But they would come later. Yes, they would. Things were—

happening.

Through the pores of his shelled body air slid, like rain needling each portion of him, giving life. Breathing through a billion gills, breathing oxygen and nitrogen and hydrogen and carbon dioxide, and using it all. Wondering.

Was his heart still beating?

But yes, it was beating. Slow, slow, slow. A red dim susurrance, a flood, a river surging around him, slow, slower, slower. So nice.

So restful.

The jigsaw pieces fitted together faster as the days drifted into weeks.

McGuire helped. A retired surgeon-medico, he’d been Rockwell’s secretary for a number of years. Not much help, but good company.

Rockwell noted that McGuire joked gruffly about Smith, nervously; and a lot. Trying to be calm. But one day McGuire stopped, thought it over, and drawled, “Hey, it just came to me! Smith’s alive. He should be dead. But he’s alive. Good God!”

Rockwell laughed. “What in blazes do you think I’m working on? I’m bringing an X-ray machine out next week so I can find out what’s going on inside Smith’s shell.” Rockwell jabbed with a hypo needle. It broke on the hard shell.

Rockwell tried another needle, and another, until finally he punctured, drew blood, and placed the slides under the microscope for study. Hours later he calmly shoved a serum test under McGuire’s red nose, and spoke quickly.

“Lord, I can’t believe it. His blood’s germicidal. I dropped a streptococci colony into it and the strep was annihilated in eight seconds! You could inject every known disease into Smith and he’d destroy them all, thrive on them!”

It was only a matter of hours until other discoveries. It kept Rockwell sleepless, tossing at night, wondering, theorizing the titanic ideas over and over. For instance—

Hartley’d fed Smith so many cc’s of blood-food every day of his illness until recently. NONE OF THAT FOOD HAD EVER BEEN

ELIMINATED. All of it had been stored, not in bulk-fats, but in a perfectly abnormal solution, an x-liquid contained in high concentrate form in Smith’s blood. An ounce of it would keep a man well fed for three days. This x-liquid circulated through the body until it was actually needed, when it was seized upon and used. More serviceable than fat. Much more!

Rockwell glowed with his discovery. Smith had enough x-liquid stored in him to last months and months more. Self-sustaining.

McGuire, when told, contemplated his paunch sadly.

“I wish I stored my food that way.”

That wasn’t all. Smith needed little air. What air he had he seemed to acquire by an osmotic process through his skin. And he used every molecule of it. No waste.

“And,” finished Rockwell, “eventually Smith’s heart might even take vacations from beating, entirely!”

“Then he’d be dead,” said McGuire.

“To you and I, yes. To Smith—maybe. Just maybe. Think of it, McGuire. Collectively, in Smith, we have a self-purifying blood stream demanding no replenishment but an interior one for months, having little breakdown and no elimination of wastes whatsoever because every molecule is utilized, self-evolving, and fatal to any and all microbic life. All this, and Hartley speaks of degeneration!”

Hartley was irritated when he heard of the discoveries. But he still insisted that Smith was degenerating. Dangerous.

McGuire tossed his two cents in. “How do we know that this isn’t some super microscopic disease that annihilates all other bacteria while it works on its victim. After all—malarial fever is sometimes used surgically to cure syphilis; why not a new bacillus that conquers all?”

“Good point,” said Rockwell. “But we’re not sick, are we?”

“It may have to incubate in our bodies.”

“A typical old-fashioned doctor’s response. No matter what happens to a man, he’s ‘sick’—if he varies from the norm. That’s your idea, Hartley,”

declared Rockwell, “not mine. Doctors aren’t satisfied unless they diagnose and label each case. Well, I think that Smith’s healthy; so healthy you’re afraid of him.”

“You’re crazy,” said McGuire.

“Maybe. But I don’t think Smith needs medical interference. He’s working out his own salvation. You believe he’s degenerating. I say he’s growing.’*

“Look at Smith’s skin,” complained McGuire.

“Sheep in wolfs clothing. Outside, the hard, brittle epidermis. Inside, ordered regrowth, change. Why? I’m on the verge of knowing. These changes inside Smith are so violent that they need a shell to protect their action. And as for you. Hartley, answer me truthfully, when you were young, were you afraid of insects, spiders, things like that?”

“Yes.”

“There you are. A phobia. A phobia you use against Smith. That explains your distaste for Smith’s change.”

In the following weeks, Rockwell went back over Smith’s life carefully. He visited the electronics lab where Smith had been employed and fallen ill. He probed the room where Smith had spent the first weeks of his

“illness” with Hartley in attendance. He examined the machinery there.

Something about radiations

While he was away from the sanitarium, Rockwell locked Smith tightly, and had McGuire guard the door in case Hartley got any unusual ideas.

The details of Smith’s twenty-three years were simple. He had worked for five years in the electronics lab, experimenting. He had never been seriously sick in his life.

And as the days went by Rockwell took long walks in the dry-wash near the sanitarium, alone. It gave him time to think and solidify the incredible theory that was becoming a unit in his brain.

And one afternoon he paused by a night-blooming jasmine outside the sanitarium, reached up, smiling, and plucked a dark shining object off of a high branch. He looked at the object and tucked it in his pocket. Then he walked into the sanitarium.

He summoned McGuire in off the veranda. McGuire came. Hartley trailed behind, threatening, complaining. The three of them sat in the living quarters of the building.

Rockwell told them.

“Smith’s not diseased. Germs can’t live in him. He’s not inhabited by banshees or weird monsters who’ve ‘taken over’ his body. I mention this to show I’ve left no stone untouched. I reject all normal diagnoses of Smith. I offer the most important, the most easily accepted possibility of—delayed hereditary mutation.”

“Mutation?” McGuire’s voice was funny.

Rockwell held up the shiny dark object in the light.

“I found this on a bush in the garden. It’ll illustrate my theory to perfection. After studying Smith’s symptoms, examining his laboratory, and considering several of these”—he twirled the dark object in his fingers— “I’m certain. It’s metamorphosis. It’s regeneration, change, mutation after birth.

Here. Catch. This is Smith.”

He tossed the object to Hartley. Hartley caught it.

“This is the chrysalis of a caterpillar,” said Hartley.

Rockwell nodded. “Yes, it is.”

“You don’t mean to infer that Smith’s a— chrysalis?”

“I’m positive of it,” replied Rockwell.

Rockwell stood over Smith’s body in the darkness of evening. Hartley and McGuire sat across the patient’s room, quiet, listening. Rockwell touched Smith softly. “Suppose that there’s more to life than just being born, living seventy years, and dying. Suppose there’s one more great step up in man’s existence, and Smith has been the first of us to make that step.

“Looking at a caterpillar, we see what we consider a static object. But it changes to a butterfly. Why? There are no final theories explaining it. It’s progress, mainly. The pertinent thing is that a supposedly unchangeable object weaves itself into an intermediary object, wholly unrecognizable, a chrysalis, and emerges a butterfly. Outwardly the chrysalis looks dead. This is misdirection. Smith has misdirected us, you see. Outwardly, dead. Inwardly, fluids whirlpool, reconstruct, rush about with wild purpose. From grub to mosquito, from caterpillar to butterfly, from Smith to—?”

“Smith a chrysalis?” McGuire laughed heavily.

“Yes.”

“Humans don’t work that way.”

“Stop it, McGuire. This evolutionary step’s too great for your comprehension. Examine this body and tell me anything else. Skin, eyes, breathing, blood flow. Weeks of assimilating food for his brittle hibernation.

Why did he eat all that food, why did he need that x-liquid in his body except for his metamorphosis? And the cause of it all was—eradiations. Hard radiations from Smith’s laboratory equipment. Planned or accidental I don’t know. It touched some part of his essential gene-structure, some part of the evolutionary structure of man that wasn’t scheduled for working for thousands of years yet, perhaps.”

“Do you think that some day all men—?”

“The maggot doesn’t stay in the stagnant pond, the grub in the soil, or the caterpillar on a cabbage leaf. They change, spreading across space in waves.

“Smith’s the answer to the problem ‘What happens next for man, where do we go from here?’ We’re faced with the blank wall of the universe and the fatality of living in that universe, and man as he is today is not prepared to go against the universe. The least exertion tires man, overwork kills his heart, disease his body. Maybe Smith will be prepared to answer the philosophers’ problem of life’s purpose. Maybe he can give it new purpose.

“Why, we’re just petty insects, all of us, fighting on a pinhead planet.

Man isn’t meant to remain here and be sick and small and weak, but he hasn’t discovered the secret of the greater knowledge yet.

“But—change man. Build your perfect man. Your— your superman, if you like. Eliminate petty mentality, give him complete physiological, neurological, psychological control of himself: give him clear, incisive channels of thought, give him an indefatigable blood stream, a body that can go months without outside food, that can adjust to any climate anywhere and kill any disease. Release man from the shackles of flesh and flesh misery and then he’s no longer a poor, petty little man afraid to dream because he knows his frail body stands between him and the fulfillment of dreams, then he’s ready to wage war, the only war worth waging—the conflict of man reborn and the whole confounded universe!”

Breathless, voice hoarse, heart pounding, Rockwell tensed over Smith, placed his hands admiringly, firmly on the cold length of the chrysalis and shut his eyes. The power and drive and belief in Smith surged through him. He was right. He was right. He knew he was right. He opened his eyes and looked at McGuire and Hartley who were mere shadows in the dim shielded light of the room.

After a silence of several seconds. Hartley snuffed out his cigarette. “I don’t believe that theory.”

McGuire said, “How do youknow Smith’s not just a mess of jelly inside? Did you X-ray him?”

“I couldn’t risk it, it might interfere with his change, like the sunlight did.”

“So he’s going to be a superman? What will he look like?”

“We’ll wait and see.”

“Do you think he can hear us talking about him now?”

“Whether or not he can, there’s one thing certain— we’re sharing a secret we weren’t intended to know. Smith didn’t plan on myself and McGuire entering the case. He had to make the most of it. But a superman doesn’t like people to know about him. Humans have a nasty way of being envious, jealous, and hateful. Smith knew he wouldn’t be safe if found out. Maybe that explains your hatred, too. Hartley.”

They all remained silent, listening. Nothing sounded. Rockwell’s blood whispered in his temples, that was all. There was Smith, no longer Smith, a container labeled Smith, its contents unknown.

“If what you say is true,” said Hartley, “then indeed we should destroy him. Think of the power over the world he would have. And if it affects his brain as I think it will affect it—he’ll try to kill us when he escapes because we are the only ones who know about him. He’ll hate us for prying.”

Rockwell said it easily. “I’m not afraid.”

Hartley remained silent. His breathing was harsh and loud in the room.

Rockwell came around the table, gesturing.

“I think we’d better say good-night now, don’t you?”

The thin rain swallowed Hartley’s car. Rockwell closed the door, instructed McGuire to sleep downstairs tonight on a cot fronting Smith’s room, and then he walked upstairs to bed.

Undressing, he had time to conjure over all the unbelievable events of the passing weeks. A superman. Why not? Efficiency, strength—

He slipped into bed.

When. When does Smith emerge from his chrysalis? When?

The rain drizzled quietly on the roof of the sanitarium.

McGuire lay in the middle of the sound of rain and the earthquaking of thunder, slumbering on the cot, breathing heavy breaths. Somewhere, a door creaked, but McGuire breathed on. Wind gusted down the hall.

McGuire granted and rolled over. A door closed softly and the wind ceased.

Footsteps tread softly on the deep carpeting. Slow footsteps, aware and alert and ready. Footsteps. McGuire blinked his eyes and opened them.

In the dim light a figure stood over him.

Upstairs, a single light m the hall thrust down a yellow shaft near McGuire’s cot.

An odor of crashed insect filled the air. A hand moved. A voice started to speak.

McGuire screamed.

Because the hand that moved into the light was green.

Green.

“Smith!’

McGuire flung himself ponderously down the hall, yelling.

“He’s walking! He can’t walk, but he’s walking!”

The door rammed open under McGuire’s bulk. Wind and rain shrieked in around him and he was gone into the storm, babbling.

In the hall, the figure was motionless. Upstairs a door opened swiftly and Rockwell ran down the steps. The green hand moved back out of the light behind the figure’s back.

“Who is it?” Rockwell paused halfway.

The figure stepped into the light.

Rockwell’s eyes narrowed.

“Hartley! What are you doing back here?”

“Something happened,” said Hartley. “You’d better get McGuire. He ran out in the rain babbling like a fool.”

Rockwell kept his thoughts to himself. He searched Hartley swiftly with one glance and then ran down the hall and out into the cold wind.

“McGuire! McGuire, come back you idiot!” The rain fell on Rockwell’s body as he ran. He found McGuire about a hundred yards from the sanitarium, blubbering,

“Smith—Smith’s walking .. .” “Nonsense. Hartley came back, that’s all.”

“I saw a green hand. It moved.”

“You dreamed.”

“No. No.” McGuire’s face was flabby pale, with water on it. “I saw a green hand, believe me. Why did Hartley come back? He—”

At the mention of Hartley’s name, full comprehension came smashing to Rockwell. Fear leaped through his mind, a mad blur of warning, a jagged edge of silent screaming for help.

“Hartley!”

Shoving McGuire abruptly aside, Rockwell twisted and leaped back toward the sanitarium, shouting. Into the hall, down the hall—

Smith’s door was broken open.

Gun in hand, Hartley was in the center of the room. He turned at the noise of Rockwell’s running. They both moved simultaneously. Hartley fired his gun and Rockwell pulled the light switch.

Darkness. Flame blew across the room, profiling Smith’s rigid body like a flash photo. Rockwell jumped at the flame. Even as he jumped, shocked deep, realizing why Hartley had returned. In that instant before the lights blinked out Rockwell had a glimpse of Hartley’s fingers.

They were a brittle mottled green.

Fists then. And Hartley collapsing as the lights came on, and McGuire, dripping wet at the door, shook out the words, “Is—is Smith killed?”

Smith wasn’t harmed. The shot had passed over him.

“This fool, this fool,” cried Rockwell, standing over Hartley’s numbed shape. “Greatest case in history and he tries to destroy it!”

Hartley came around, slowly. “I should’ve known. Smith warned you.”

“Nonsense, he—” Rockwell stopped, amazed. Yes. That sudden premonition crashing into his mind. Yes. Then he glared at Hartley. “Upstairs with you. You’re being locked in for the night. McGuire, you, too. So you can watch him.”

McGuire croaked. “Hartley’s hand. Look at it. It’s green. It was Hartley in the hall—not Smith!”

Hartley stared at his fingers. “Pretty, isn’t it?” he said, bitterly. “I was in range of those radiations for a long time at the start of Smith’s illness. I’m going to be a—creature—like Smith. It’s been this way for several days. I kept it hidden. I tried not to say anything. Tonight, I couldn’t stand it any longer, and I came back to destroy Smith for what he’s done to me …”

A dry noise racked, dryly, splitting the air. The three of them froze.

Three tiny flakes of Smith’s chrysalis flicked up and then spiraled down to the floor.

Instantly, Rockwell was to the table, and gaping.

“It’s starting to crack. From the collar-bone to the navel, a miscroscopic fissure! He’ll be out of his chrysalis soon!”

McGuire’s jowls trembled. “And then what?”

Hartley’s words were bitter sharp. “We’ll have a superman. Question: what does a superman look like? Answer: nobody knows.”

Another crust of flakes crackled open.

McGuire shivered. “Will you try to talk to him?”

“Certainly.”

“Since when do—butterflies—speak?”

“Oh, Good God, McGuire!”

With the two others securely imprisoned upstairs, Rockwell locked himself into Smith’s room and bedded down on a cot, prepared to wait through the long wet night, watching, listening, thinking.

Watching the tiny flakes flicking off the crumbling skin of chrysalis as the Unknown within struggled quietly outward.

Just a few more hours to wait. The rain slid over the house, pattering.

What would Smith look like? A change in the earcups perhaps for greater hearing; extra eyes, maybe; a change in the skull structure, the facial setup, the bones of the body, the placement of organs, the texture of skin, a million and one changes.

Rockwell grew tired and yet was afraid to sleep. Eyelids heavy, heavy. What if he was wrong? What if his theory was entirely disjointed?

What if Smith was only so much moving jelly inside? What if Smith was mad, insane—so different that he’d be a world menace?

No. No. Rockwell shook his head groggily. Smith was perfect.

Perfect. There’d be no room for evil thought in Smith. Perfect.

The sanitarium was death quiet. The only noise was the faint crackle of chrysalis flakes skimming to the hard floor …

Rockwell slept. Sinking into the darkness that blotted out the room as dreams moved in upon him. Dreams in which Smith arose, walked in stiff, parched gesticulations and Hartley, screaming, wielded an ax, shining, again and again into the green armor of the creature and hacked it into liquid horror.

Dreams in which McGuire ran babbling through a rain of blood. Dreams in which—

Hot sunlight. Hot sunlight all over the room. It was morning.

Rockwell rubbed his eyes, vaguely troubled by the fact that someone had raised the blinds. Someone had—he leaped! Sunlight! There was no way for the blinds to be up. They’d been down for weeks! He cried out.

The door was open. The sanitarium was silent. Hardly daring to turn his head, Rockwell glanced at the table. Smith should have been lying there.

He wasn’t.

There was nothing but sunlight on the table. That— and a few remnants of shattered chrysalis. Remnants.

Brittle shards, a discarded profile cleft in two pieces, a shell segment that had been a thigh, a trace of arm, a splint of chest—these were the fractured remains of Smith!

Smith was gone. Rockwell staggered to the table, crushed. Scrabbling like a child among the rattling papyrus of skin. Then he swung about, as if drunk, and swayed out of the room and pounded up the stairs, shouting:

“Hartley! What did you do with him? Hartley! Did you think you could kill him, dispose of his body, and leave a few bits of shell behind to throw me off trail?”

The door to the room where McGuire and Hartley had slept was locked. Fumbling, Rockwell unlocked it. Both McGuire and Hartley were there.

“You’re here,” said Rockwell, dazed. “You weren’t downstairs, then.

Or did you unlock the door, come down, break in, kill Smith and—no, no.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Smith’s gone! McGuire, did Hartley move out of this room?”

“Not all night.’*

“Then—there’s only one explanation—Smith emerged from his chrysalis and escaped during the night! I’ll never see him, I’ll never get to see him, damn it! What a fool I was to sleep!”

“That settles it!” declared Hartley. “The man’s dangerous or he would have stayed and let us see him! God only knows what he is.”

“We’ve got to search, then. He can’t be far off. We’ve got to search then! Quick now. Hartley. McGuire!”

McGuire sat heavily down. “I won’t budge. Let him find himself. I’ve had enough.”

Rockwell didn’t wait to hear more. He went downstairs with Hartley close after him. McGuire puffed down a few moments later.

Rockwell moved wildly down the hall, halted at the wide windows that overlooked the desert and the mountains with morning shining over them.

He squinted out, and wondered if there was any chance at all of finding Smith. The first superbeing. The first perhaps in a new long line. Rockwell sweated. Smith wouldn’t leave without revealing himself to at least Rockwell.

He couldn’t leave. Or could he?

The kitchen door swung open, slowly.

A foot stepped through the door, followed by another. A hand lifted against the wall. Cigarette smoke moved from pursed lips.

“Somebody looking for me?”

Stunned, Rockwell turned. He saw the expression on Hartley’s face, heard McGuire choke with surprise. The three of them spoke one word together, as if given their cue:

“Smith.”

Smith exhaled cigarette smoke. His face was red-pink as he had been sunburnt, his eyes were glittering blue.

He was barefoot and his nude body was attired in one of Rockwell’s old robes.

“Would you mind telling me where I am? What have I been doing for the last three or four months? Is this a—hospital or isn’t it?”

Dismay slammed Rockwell’s mind, hard. He swallowed.

“Hello. I. That is— Don’t you remember—anything?”

Smith displayed his fingertips. “I recall turning green, if that’s what you mean. Beyond that—nothing.” He raked his pink hand through his nut-brown hair with the vigor of a creature newborn and glad to breathe again.

Rockwell slumped back against the wall. He raised his hands, with shock, to his eyes, and shook his head. Not believing what he saw he said,

“What time did you come out of the chrysalis?’*

“What time did I come out of—what?”

Rockwell took him down the hall to the next room and pointed to the table.

“I don’t see what you mean,” said Smith, frankly sincere. “I found myself standing in this room half an hour ago, stark naked.”

“That’s all?” said McGuire, hopefully. He seemed relieved.

Rockwell explained the origin of the chrysalis on the table.

Smith frowned. “That’s ridiculous. Who are you?”

Rockwell introduced the others.

Smith scowled at Hartley. “When I first was sick you came, didn’t you. I remember. At the radiations plant. But this is silly. What disease was it?”

Hartley’s cheek muscles were taut wire. “No disease. Don’t you know anything about it?”

“I find myself with strange people in a strange sanitarium. I find myself naked in a room with a man sleeping on a cot. I walk around the sanitarium, hungry. I go to the kitchen, find food, eat, hear excited voices, and then am accused of emerging from a chrysalis. What am I supposed to think?

Thanks, by the way, for this robe, for food, and the cigarette I borrowed. I didn’t want to wake you at first, Mr. Rockwell. I didn’t know who you were and you looked dead tired.”

“Oh, that’s all right.’ Rockwell wouldn’t let himself believe it.

Everything was crumbling. With every word Smith spoke, his hopes were pulled apart like the crumpled chrysalis. “How do you feel?”

“Fine. Strong. Remarkable, when you consider how long I was under.”

“Very remarkable,” said Hartley.

“You can imagine how I felt when I saw the calendar. All those months—crack—gone. I wondered what I’d been doing all that time.”

“So have we.”

McGuire laughed. “Oh, leave him alone, Hartley. Just because you hated him—”

“Hated?” Smith’s brows went up. “Me? Why?”

“Here. This is why!” Hartley thrust his fingers out “Your damned radiations. Night after night sitting by you in your laboratory. What can I do about it?”

“Hartley,” warned Rockwell. “Sit down. Be quiet.”

“I won’t sit down and I won’t be quiet! Are you both fooled by this imitation of a man, this pink fellow who’s carrying on the greatest hoax in history? If you had any sense you’d destroy Smith before he escapes!”

Rockwell apologized for Hartley’s outburst.

Smith shook his head. “No, let him talk. What’s this about?”

“You know already!” shouted Hartley, angrily. “You’ve lain there for months, listening, planning. You can’t fool me. You’ve got Rockwell bluffed, disappointed. He expected you to be a superman. Maybe you are. But whatever you are, you’re not Smith any more. Not any more. It’s just another of your misdirections. We weren’t supposed to know all about you, and the world shouldn’t know about you. You could kill us, easily, but you’d prefer to stay and convince us that you’re normal. That’s the best way. You could have escaped a few minutes ago, but that would have left the seeds of suspicion behind. Instead, you waited, to convince us that you’re normal.”

“He is normal,” complained McGuire.

“No he’s not. His mind’s different. He’s clever.’*

“Give him word association tests then,” said McGuire.

“He’s too clever for that, too.”

“It’s very simple, then. We take blood tests, listen to his heart, and inject serums into him.”

Smith looked dubious. “I feel like an experiment, but if you really want to. This is silly.”

That shocked Hartley. He looked at Rockwell. “Get the hypos,” he said.

Rockwell got the hypos, thinking. Now, maybe after all, Smith was a superman. His blood. That super-blood. Its ability to kill germs. His heartbeat.

His breathing. Maybe Smith was a superman and didn’t know it. Yes. Yes, maybe—

Rockwell drew blood from Smith and slid it under a microscope. His shoulders sagged. It was normal blood. When you dropped germs into it the germs took a normal length of time to die. The blood was no longer super germicidal. The x-liquid, too, was gone. Rockwell sighed miserably. Smith’s temperature was normal. So was his pulse. His sensory and nervous system responded according to rule.

“Well, that takes care of that,” said Rockwell, softly.

Hartley sank into a chair, eyes widened, holding his head between bony fingers. He exhaled. “I’m sorry. I guess my—mind—it just imagined things. The months were so long. Night after night. I got obsessed, and afraid.

I’ve made a fool out of myself. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He stared at his green fingers. “But what about myself?”

Smith said, “I recovered. You’ll recover, too, I guess. I can sympathize with you. But it wasn’t bad … I don’t really recall anything.”

Hartley relaxed. “But—yes I guess you’re right. I don’t like the idea of my body getting hard, but it can’t be helped. I’ll be all right.”

Rockwell was sick. The tremendous letdown was too much for him.

The intense drive, the eagerness, the hunger and curiosity, the fire, had all sunk within him.

So this was the man from the chrysalis? The same man who had gone m. All this waiting and wondering for nothing.

He gulped a breath of air, tried to steady his innermost, racing thoughts. Turmoil. This pink-cheeked, fresh-voiced man who sat before him smoking calmly, was no more than a man who had suffered some partial skin petrification, and whose glands had gone wild from radiation, but, nevertheless, just a man now and nothing more. Rockwell’s mind, his overimaginative, fantastic mind had seized upon each facet of the illness and built it into a perfect organism of wishful thinking. Rockwell was deeply shocked, deeply stirred and disappointed.

The question of Smith’s living without food, his pure blood, low temperature, and the other evidences of superiority were now fragments of a strange illness. An illness and nothing more. Something that was over, down and gone and left nothing behind but brittle scraps on a sunlit tabletop.

There’d be a chance to watch Hartley now, if his illness progressed, and report the new sickness to the medical world.

But Rockwell didn’t care about illness. He cared about perfection.

And that perfection had been split and ripped and torn and it was gone. His dream^ was gone. His supercreature was gone. He didn’t care if the whole world went hard, green, brittle-mad now.

Smith was shaking hands all around. “I’d better get back to Los Angeles. Important work for me to do at the plant. I have my old job waiting for me. Sorry I can’t stay on. You understand.”

“You should stay on and rest a few days, at least,” said Rockwell. He hated to see the last wisp of his dream vanish.

“No thanks. I’ll drop by your office in a week or so for another checkup, though. Doctor, if you like? I’ll drop in every few weeks for the next year or so so you can check me, yes?”

“Yes. Yes,’smith. Do that, will you please? I’d like to talk your illness over with you. You’re lucky to be alive.”

McGuire said, happily, “I’ll drive you to L.A.”

“Don’t bother. I’ll walk to Tujunga and get a cab. I want to walk. It’s been so long, I want to see what it feels like.”

Rockwell lent him an old pair of shoes and an old suit of clothes.

“Thanks, Doctor. I’ll pay you what I owe you as soon as possible.”

“You don’t owe me a penny. It was interesting.”

“Well, good-bye, Doctor. Mr. McGuire. Hartley.”

“Good-bye, Smith.”

“Good-bye.”

Smith walked down the path to the dry wash, which was already baked dry by the late afternoon sun. He walked easily and happily and whistled. I wish I could whistle now, thought Rockwell tiredly.

Smith turned once, waved to them, and then he strode up the hillside and went on over it toward the distant city.

Rockwell watched him go as a small child watches his favorite sand castle eroded and annihilated by the waves of the sea. “I can’t believe it,” he said, over and over again. “I can’t believe it. The whole thing’s ending so soon, so abruptly for me. I’m dull and empty inside.”

“Everything looks rosy to me!” chuckled McGuire happily.

Hartley stood in the sun. His green hands hung softly at his side and his white face was really relaxed for the first time in months, Rockwell realized. Hartley said, softly,

“I’ll come out all right. I’ll come out all right. Oh, thank God for that.

Thank God for that. I won’t be a monster. I won’t be anything but myself.” He turned to Rockwell. “Just remember, remember, don’t let them bury me by mistake. Don’t let them bury me by mistake, thinking I’m dead. Remember that.”

Smith took the path across the dry wash and up the hill. It was late afternoon already and the sun had started to vanish behind blue hills. A few stars were visible. The odor of water, dust, and distant orange blossoms hung in the warm air.

Wind stirred. Smith took deep breaths of air. He walked.

Out of sight, away from the sanitarium, he paused and stood very still. He looked up at the sky.

Tossing away the cigarette he’d been smoking, he mashed it precisely under one heel. Then he straightened his well-shaped body, tossed his brown hair back, closed his eyes, swallowed, and relaxed his fingers at his sides.

With nothing of effort, just a little murmur of sound, Smith lifted his body gently from the ground into the warm air.

He soared up quickly, quietly—and- very soon he was lost among the stars as Smith headed for outer space …

…

The End

Conclusion

When you all tell me your stories, about how you have changed since arriving at MM… well, this is always what comes to mind.

And this is only the beginning.

Who knows what greatness lies in the futures ahead of you?

Do you want more?

I have more posts in my Ray Bradbury Index here…

Ray Bradbury

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Chapter 1, Part 3, of the 33 Strategies of War by Robert Greene titled “Do not lose your presence of mind”

This is a full reprint in HTML of the third chapter (Chapter 3) of the first part (Part I) of the massive volume titled "The 33 Strategies of War". Written by Robert Greene (with emotional support from his cats). I read this book while in prison, and found much of what was written to be interesting, enjoyable, and pertinent to things going on in my life. I think that you will as well.

AMIDST THE TURMOIL OF EVENTS, DO NOT LOSE YOUR PRESENCE OF MIND

THE COUNTERBALANCE STRATEGY

In the heat of battle, the mind tends to lose its balance. Too many things confront you at the same time—unexpected setbacks, doubts and criticisms from your own allies. There’s a danger of responding emotionally, with fear, depression, or frustration.

It is vital to keep your presence of mind, maintaining your mental powers whatever the circumstances.

You must actively resist the emotional pull of the moment—staying decisive, confident, and aggressive no matter what hits you. Make the mind tougher by exposing it to adversity. Learn to detach yourself from the chaos of the battlefield. Let others lose their heads; your presence of mind will steer you clear of their influence and keep you on course.

[Presence of mind] must play a great role in war, the domain of the unexpected, since it is nothing but an increased capacity of dealing with the unexpected. We admire presence of mind in an apt repartee, as we admire  quick thinking in the  face of danger.... The  expression "presence of mind" precisely conveys the speed and immediacy of the help provided by the intellect.

ON WAR, CARL VON CLAUSEWITZ, 1780-1831

THE HYPERAGGRESSIVE TACTIC

Vice Admiral Lord Horatio Nelson (1758-1805) had been through it all. He had lost his right eye in the siege of Calvi and his right arm in the Battle of Tenerife. He had defeated the Spanish at Cape St. Vincent in 1797 and had thwarted Napoleon’s Egyptian campaign by defeating his navy at the Battle of the Nile the following year. But none of his tribulations and triumphs prepared him for the problems he faced from his own colleagues in the British navy as they prepared to go to war against Denmark in February 1801.

Nelson, England’s most glorious war hero, was the obvious choice to lead the fleet. Instead the Admiralty chose Sir Hyde Parker, with Nelson his second-in-command. This war was a delicate business; it was intended to force the disobedient Danes to comply with a British-led embargo on the shipping of military goods to France. The fiery Nelson was prone to lose his cool. He hated Napoleon, and if he went too far against the Danes, he would produce a diplomatic fiasco. Sir Hyde was an older, more stable, even-tempered man who would do the job and nothing more.

Nelson swallowed his pride and took the assignment, but he saw trouble ahead. He knew that time was of the essence: the faster the navy sailed, the less chance the Danes would have to build up their defenses. The ships were ready to sail, but Parker’s motto was “Everything in good order.” It wasn’t his style to hurry. Nelson hated his casualness and burned for action: he reviewed intelligence reports, studied maps, and came up with a detailed plan for fighting the Danes. He wrote to Parker urging him to seize the initiative. Parker ignored him.

More life may trickle out of men through thought than through a gaping wound.

THOMAS HARDY, 1840-1928

At last, on March 11, the British fleet set sail. Instead of heading for Copenhagen, however, Parker anchored well to the north of the city’s harbor and called a meeting of his captains. According to intelligence reports, he explained, the Danes had prepared elaborate defenses for Copenhagen. Boats anchored in the harbor, forts to the north and south, and mobile artillery batteries could blast the British out of the water. How to fight this artillery without terrible losses? Also, pilots who knew the waters around Copenhagen reported that they were treacherous, places of sandbars and tricky winds. Navigating these dangers under bombardment would be harrowing. With all of these difficulties, perhaps it was best to wait for the Danes to leave harbor and then fight them in open sea.

Nelson struggled to control himself. Finally he let loose, pacing the room, the stub of his lost arm jerking as he spoke. No war, he said, had ever been won by waiting. The Danish defenses looked formidable “to those who are children at war,” but he had worked out a strategy weeks earlier: he would attack from the south, the easier approach, while Parker and a reserve force would stay to the city’s north. Nelson would use his mobility to take out the Danish guns. He had studied the maps: sandbars were no threat. As for the wind, aggressive action was more important than fretting over wind.

Nelson’s speech energized Parker’s captains. He was by far their most successful leader, and his confidence was catching. Even Sir Hyde was impressed, and the plan was approved.

So Grant was alone; his most trusted subordinates besought him to change his plans, while his superiors were astounded at his temerity and strove to interfere. 

Soldiers of reputation and civilians in high places condemned, in advance, a campaign that seemed to them as hopeless as it was unprecedented. 

If he failed, the country would concur with the Government and the Generals. 

Grant knew all this, and appreciated his danger, but was as invulnerable to the apprehensions of ambition as to the entreaties of friendship, or the anxieties even of patriotism. 

That quiet confidence in himself which never forsook him, and which amounted indeed almost to a feeling of fate, was uninterrupted. Having once determined in a matter that required irreversible decision, he never reversed, nor even misgave, but was steadily loyal to himself and his plans. 

This absolute and implicit faith was, however, as far as possible from conceit or enthusiasm; it was simply a consciousness or conviction, rather, which brought the  very strength it believed in; which was itself strength, and which inspired others with a trust in him, because he was able thus to trust himself.

MILITARY HISTORY OF ULYSSES S. GRANT, ADAM BADEAU, 1868

The next morning Nelson’s line of ships advanced on Copenhagen, and the battle began. The Danish guns, firing on the British at close range, took a fierce toll. Nelson paced the deck of his flagship, HMS Elephant, urging his men on. He was in an excited, almost ecstatic state. A shot through the mainmast nearly hit him: “It is warm work, and this day may be the last to any of us at any moment,” he told a colonel, a little shaken up by the blast, “but mark you, I would not be elsewhere for thousands.”

Parker followed the battle from his position to the north. He now regretted agreeing to Nelson’s plan; he was responsible for the campaign, and a defeat here could ruin his career. After four hours of back-and-forth bombardment, he had seen enough: the fleet had taken a beating and had gained no advantage. Nelson never knew when to quit. Parker decided it was time to hoist signal flag 39, the order to withdraw. The first ships to see it were to acknowledge it and pass the signal on down the line. Once acknowledged there was nothing else to do but retreat.

The battle was over.

On board the Elephant, a lieutenant told Nelson about the signal. The vice-admiral ignored it. Continuing to pound the Danish defenses, he eventually called to an officer, “Is number sixteen still hoisted?” Number 16 was his own flag; it meant “Engage the enemy more closely.” The officer confirmed that the flag was still flying. “Mind you keep it so,” Nelson told him.

A few minutes later, Parker’s signal still flapping in the breeze, Nelson turned to his flag captain: “You know, Foley, I have only one eye–I have a right to be blind sometimes.” And raising his telescope to his blind eye, he calmly remarked, “I really do not see the signal.”

Torn between obeying Parker and obeying Nelson, the fleet captains chose Nelson. They would risk their careers along with his. But soon the Danish defenses started to crack; some of the ships anchored in the harbor surrendered, and the firing of the guns began to slow. Less than an hour after Parker’s signal to stop the battle, the Danes surrendered.

The next day Parker perfunctorily congratulated Nelson on the victory. He did not mention his subordinate’s disobedience. He was hoping the whole affair, including his own lack of courage, would be quietly forgotten.

Interpretation

When the Admiralty put its faith in Sir Hyde, it made a classical military error: it entrusted the waging of a war to a man who was careful and methodical. Such men may seem calm, even strong, in times of peace, but their self-control often hides weakness: the reason they think things through so carefully is that they are terrified of making a mistake and of what that might mean for them and their career.

This doesn’t come out until they are tested in battle: suddenly they cannot make a decision. They see problems everywhere and defeat in the smallest setback. They hang back not out of patience but out of fear. Often these moments of hesitation spell their doom.

There was once a man who may be called the "generalissimo" of robbers and who went by the name of Hakamadare.

He had a strong mind and a powerful build. He was swift of foot, quick with his hands, wise in thinking and plotting. Altogether there was no one who could compare with him.

His business was to rob people of their possessions when they were off guard.

Once, around the tenth month of a year, he needed clothing and decided to get hold of some.

He went to prospective spots and walked about, looking.

About midnight when people had gone to sleep and were quiet, under a somewhat blurry moon he saw a man dressed in abundant clothes sauntering about on a boulevard. The man, with his trouser-skirt tucked up with strings perhaps and in a formal hunting robe which gently covered his body, was playing the flute, alone, apparently in no hurry to go to any particular place.

Wow, here's a fellow who's shown up just to give me his clothes, Hakamadare thought.

Normally he would have gleefully run up and beaten his quarry down and robbed him of his clothes. But this time, unaccountably, he felt something fearsome about the man, so he followed him for a couple of hundred yards.

The man himself didn't seem to think, Somebody's following me. On the contrary, he continued to play the flute with what appeared to be greater calm.

Give him a try, Hakamadare said to himself, and ran up close to the man, making as much clatter as he could with his feet.

The man, however, looked not the least disturbed. He simply turned to look, still playing the flute. It wasn't possible to jump on him. Hakamadare ran off.

Hakamadare tried similar approaches a number of times, but the man remained utterly unperturbed. Hakamadare realized he was dealing with an unusual fellow. When they had covered about a thousand yards, though, Hakamadare decided he couldn't continue like this, drew his sword, and ran up to him.

This time the man stopped playing the flute and, turning, said, "What in the world are you doing?" Hakamadare couldn't have been struck with greater fear even if a demon or a god had run up to attack him when he was walking alone.

For some unaccountable reason he lost both heart and courage.

Overcome with deathly fear and despite himself, he fell on his knees and hands. "What are you doing?" the man repeated.

Hakamadare felt he couldn't escape even if he tried. "I'm trying to rob you," he blurted out. "My name is Hakamadare." "

I've heard there's a man about with that name, yes. A dangerous, unusual fellow, I'm told," the man said.

Then he simply said to Hakamadare, "Come with me," and continued on his way, playing the flute again.

Terrified that he was dealing with no ordinary human being, and as if possessed by a demon or a god, Hakamadare followed the man, completely mystified. Eventually the man walked into a gate behind which was a large house.

He stepped inside from the verandah after removing his shoes. While Hakamadare was thinking, He must be the master of the house, the man came back and summoned him.

As he gave him a robe made of thick cotton cloth, he said, "If you need something like this in the future, just come and tell me. If you jump on somebody who doesn't know your intentions, you may get hurt."

Afterward it occurred to Hakamadare that the house belonged to Governor of Settsu Fujiwara no Yasumasa.

Later, when he was arrested, he is known to have observed, "He was such an unusually weird, terrifying man!"

Yasumasa was not a warrior by family tradition because he was a son of Munetada. Yet he was not the least inferior to anyone who was a warrior by family tradition.

He had a strong mind, was quick with his hands, and had tremendous strength.

He was also subtle in thinking and plotting. So even the imperial court did not feel insecure in employing him in the way of the warrior. As a result, the whole world greatly feared him and was intimidated by him.

LEGENDS OF THE SAMURAI, HIROAKI SATO, 1995

Lord Nelson operated according to the opposite principle. Slight of build, with a delicate constitution, he compensated for his physical weakness with fierce determination. He forced himself to be more resolute than anyone around him. The moment he entered battle, he ratcheted up his aggressive impulses.

Where other sea lords worried about casualties, the wind, changes in the enemy’s formation, he concentrated on his plan. Before battle no one strategized or studied his opponent more thoroughly. (That knowledge helped Nelson to sense when the enemy was ready to crumble.) But once the engagement began, hesitation and carefulness were dropped.

Presence of mind is a kind of counterbalance to mental weakness, to our tendency to get emotional and lose perspective in the heat of battle.

Our greatest weakness is losing heart, doubting ourselves, becoming unnecessarily cautious.

Being more careful is not what we need; that is just a screen for our fear of conflict and of making a mistake. What we need is double the resolve–an intensification of confidence. That will serve as a counterbalance.

In moments of turmoil and trouble, you must force yourself to be more determined. Call up the aggressive energy you need to overcome caution and inertia. Any mistakes you make, you can rectify with more energetic action still. Save your carefulness for the hours of preparation, but once the fighting begins, empty your mind of doubts. Ignore those who quail at any setback and call for retreat. Find joy in attack mode. Momentum will carry you through.

The senses make a more vivid impression on the mind than systematic thought.... Even the man who planned the operation and now sees it being carried out may well lose confidence in his earlier judgment.... War has a way of masking the stage with scenery crudely daubed with fearsome apparitions. Once this is cleared away, and the horizon becomes unobstructed, developments will confirm his earlier convictions--this is one of the great chasms between planning and execution.

--Carl von Clausewitz, ON WAR (1780-1831)

THE DETACHED-BUDDHA TACTIC

Watching the movie director Alfred Hitchcock (1899-1980) at work on a film set was often quite a surprise to those seeing it for the first time. Most filmmakers are wound-up balls of energy, yelling at the crew and barking out orders, but Hitchcock would sit in his chair, sometimes dozing, or at least with his eyes half closed.

On the set of Strangers on a Train, made in 1951, the actor Farley Granger thought Hitchcock’s behavior meant he was angry or upset and asked him if anything was wrong. “Oh,” Hitchcock replied sleepily, “I’m so bored.” The crew’s complaints, an actor’s tantrums–nothing fazed him; he would just yawn, shift in his chair, and ignore the problem. “Hitchcock…didn’t seem to direct us at all,” said the actress Margaret Lockwood. “He was a dozing, nodding Buddha with an enigmatic smile on his face.”

It was hard for Hitchcock’s colleagues to understand how a man doing such stressful work could stay so calm and detached. Some thought it was part of his character–that there was something inherently cold-blooded about him. Others thought it a gimmick, a put-on.

Few suspected the truth: before the filmmaking had even begun, Hitchcock would have prepared for it with such intense attention to detail that nothing could go wrong.

He was completely in control; no temperamental actress, no panicky art director, no meddling producer could upset him or interfere with his plans. Feeling such absolute security in what he had set up, he could afford to lie back and fall asleep.

Hitchcock’s process began with a story-line, whether from a novel or an idea of his own. As if he had a movie projector in his head, he would begin to visualize the film. Next, he would start meeting with a writer, who would soon realize that this job was unlike any other. Instead of taking some producer’s half-baked idea and turning it into a screenplay, the writer was simply there to put on paper the dream trapped in Hitchcock’s mind.

He or she would add flesh and bones to the characters and would of course write the dialog, but not much else.

When Hitchcock sat down with the writer Samuel Taylor for the first script meeting on the movie Vertigo (1958), his descriptions of several scenes were so vivid, so intense, that the experiences seemed almost to have been real, or maybe something he had dreamed. This completeness of vision foreclosed creative conflict. As Taylor soon realized, although he was writing the script, it would remain a Hitchcock creation.

Once the screenplay was finished, Hitchcock would transform it into an elaborate shooting script.

Blocking, camera positions, lighting, and set dimensions were spelled out in detailed notes. Most directors leave themselves some latitude, shooting scenes from several angles, for example, to give the film editor options to work with later on. Not Hitchcock: he essentially edited the entire film in the shooting script. He knew exactly what he wanted and wrote it down. If a producer or actor tried to add or change a scene, Hitchcock was outwardly pleasant–he could afford to pretend to listen–but inside he was totally unmoved.

Nothing was left to chance. For the building of the sets (quite elaborate in a movie like Rear Window), Hitchcock would present the production designer with precise blueprints, floor plans, incredibly detailed lists of props. He supervised every aspect of set construction.

He was particularly attentive to the clothes of his leading actresses: according to Edith Head, costumer on many Hitchcock movies, including Dial M for Murder in 1954, “There was a reason for every color, every style, and he was absolutely certain about everything he settled on. For one scene he saw [Grace Kelly] in pale green, for another in white chiffon, for another in gold. He was really putting a dream together in the studio.” When the actress Kim Novak refused to wear a gray suit in Vertigo because she felt it made her look washed out, Hitchcock told her he wanted her to look like a woman of mystery who had just stepped out of the San Francisco fog. How could she argue with that?

She wore the suit.

Hitchcock’s actors found working with him strange yet pleasant. Some of Hollywood’s best– Joseph Cotten, Grace Kelly, Cary Grant, Ingrid Bergman–said that he was the easiest director to work for: his nonchalance was catching, and since his films were so carefully staged as not to depend on the actor’s performance in any particular scene, they could relax.

Everything went like clockwork.

As James Stewart told the cast of The Man Who Knew Too Much (1956), “We’re in the hands of an expert here. You can lean on him. Just do everything he tells you and the whole thing will be okay.”

As Hitchcock sat calmly on the set, apparently half asleep, the cast and crew could see only the small part each one played. They had no idea how everything fit into his vision. When Taylor saw Vertigo for the first time, it was like seeing another man’s dream. The film neatly duplicated the vision Hitchcock had expressed to him many months before.

Interpretation

The first film Hitchcock directed was The Pleasure Garden, a silent he made in 1925. The production went wrong in every conceivable way.

Hitchcock hated chaos and disorder; unexpected events, panicky crew members, and any loss of control made him miserable.

From that point on, he decided, he would treat filmmaking like a military operation.

He would give his producers, actors, and crew no room to mess up what he wanted to create. He taught himself every aspect of film production: set design, lighting, the technicalities of cameras and lenses, editing, sound. He ran every stage of the film’s making. No shadow could fall between the planning and the execution.

Establishing control in advance the way Hitchcock did might not seem like presence of mind, but it actually takes that quality to its zenith. It means entering battle (in Hitchcock’s case a film shoot) feeling calm and ready.

Setbacks may come, but you will have foreseen them and thought of alternatives, and you are ready to respond.

Your mind will never go blank when it is that well prepared. When your colleagues barrage you with doubts, anxious questions, and slipshod ideas, you may nod and pretend to listen, but really you’re ignoring them–you’ve out-thought them in advance. And your relaxed manner will prove contagious to other people, making them easier to manage in turn.

It is easy to be overwhelmed by everything that faces you in battle, where so many people are asking or telling you what to do. So many vital matters press in on you that you can lose sight of your goals and plans; suddenly you can’t see the forest for the trees.

Understand: presence of mind is the ability to detach yourself from all that, to see the whole battlefield, the whole picture, with clarity. All great generals have this quality. And what gives you that mental distance is preparation, mastering the details beforehand. Let people think your Buddha-like detachment comes from some mysterious source. The less they understand you the better.

For the love of God, pull yourself together and do not look at things so darkly: the first step backward makes a poor impression in the army, the second step is dangerous, and the third becomes fatal.

--Frederick the Great (1712-86), letter to a general

KEYS TO WARFARE

We humans like to see ourselves as rational creatures. We imagine that what separates us from animals is the ability to think and reason. But that is only partly true: what distinguishes us from animals just as much is our capacity to laugh, to cry, to feel a range of emotions. We are in fact emotional creatures as well as rational ones, and although we like to think we govern our actions through reason and thought, what most often dictates our behavior is the emotion we feel in the moment.

We maintain the illusion that we are rational through the routine of our daily affairs, which helps us to keep things calm and apparently controlled. Our minds seem rather strong when we’re following our routines. But place any of us in an adverse situation and our rationality vanishes; we react to pressure by growing fearful, impatient, confused. Such moments reveal us for the emotional creatures we are: under attack, whether by a known enemy or unpredictably by a colleague, our response is dominated by feelings of anger, sadness, betrayal. Only with great effort can we reason our way through these periods and respond rationally–and our rationality rarely lasts past the next attack.

Understand: your mind is weaker than your emotions. But you become aware of this weakness only in moments of adversity–precisely the time when you need strength. What best equips you to cope with the heat of battle is neither more knowledge nor more intellect. What makes your mind stronger, and more able to control your emotions, is internal discipline and toughness.

No one can teach you this skill; you cannot learn it by reading about it. Like any discipline, it can come only through practice, experience, even a little suffering. The first step in building up presence of mind is to see the need for it–to want it badly enough to be willing to work for it. Historical figures who stand out for their presence of mind–Alexander the Great, Ulysses S. Grant, Winston Churchill–acquired it through adversity, through trial and error. They were in positions of responsibility in which they had to develop this quality or sink. Although these men may have been blessed with an unusual amount of personal fortitude, they had to work hard to strengthen this into presence of mind.

The first quality of a General-in-Chief is to have a cool head which receives exact impressions of things, which never gets heated, which never allows itself to be dazzled, or intoxicated, by good or bad news. 

The successive simultaneous sensations which he receives in the course of a day must be classified, and must occupy the correct places they merit to fill, because common sense and reason are the results of the comparison of a number of sensations each equally well considered. 

There are certain men who, on account of their moral and physical constitution, paint mental pictures out of everything: however exalted be their reason, their will, their courage, and whatever good qualities they may possess, nature has not fitted them to command armies, nor to direct great operations of war.

NAPOLEON BONAPARTE, 1769-1821

The ideas that follow are based on their experience and hard-won victories. Think of these ideas as exercises, ways to toughen your mind, each a kind of counterbalance to emotion’s overpowering pull.

Expose yourself to conflict. George S. Patton came from one of America’s most distinguished military families–his ancestors included generals and colonels who had fought and died in the American Revolution and the Civil War. Raised on stories of their heroism, he followed in their footsteps and chose a career in the military. But Patton was also a sensitive young man, and he had one deep fear: that in battle he would turn coward and disgrace the family name.

Patton had his first real taste of battle in 1918, at the age of thirty-two, during the Allied offensive on the Argonne during World War I. He commanded a tank division. At one point during the battle, Patton managed to lead some American infantrymen to a position on a hilltop overlooking a key strategic town, but German fire forced them to take cover. Soon it became clear that they were trapped: if they retreated, they would come under fire from positions on the sides of the hill; if they advanced, they would run right into a battery of German machine guns. If they were all to die, as it seemed to Patton, better to die advancing. At the moment he was to lead the troops in the charge, however, Patton was stricken by intense fear. His body trembled, and his legs turned to jelly. In a confirmation of his deepest fears, he had lost his nerve.

At that instant, looking into the clouds beyond the German batteries, Patton had a vision: he saw his illustrious military ancestors, all in their uniforms, staring sternly down at him. They seemed to be inviting him to join their company–the company of dead war heroes. Paradoxically, the sight of these men had a calming effect on the young Patton: calling for volunteers to follow him, he yelled, “It is time for another Patton to die!” The strength had returned to his legs; he stood up and charged toward the German guns. Seconds later he fell, hit in the thigh. But he survived the battle.

From that moment on, even after he became a general, Patton made a point of visiting the front lines, exposing himself needlessly to danger. He tested himself again and again. His vision of his ancestors remained a constant stimulus–a challenge to his honor. Each time it became easier to face down his fears. It seemed to his fellow generals, and to his own men, that no one had more presence of mind than Patton. They did not know how much of his strength was an effort of will.

The story of Patton teaches us two things. First, it is better to confront your fears, let them come to the surface, than to ignore them or tamp them down. Fear is the most destructive emotion for presence of mind, but it thrives on the unknown, which lets our imaginations run wild. By deliberately putting yourself in situations where you have to face fear, you familiarize yourself with it and your anxiety grows less acute. The sensation of overcoming a deep-rooted fear in turn gives you confidence and presence of mind. The more conflicts and difficult situations you put yourself through, the more battle-tested your mind will be.

There was a fox who had never seen a lion. But one day he happened to meet one of these beasts face to face. On this first occasion he was so terrified that he felt he would die of fear. He encountered him again, and this time he was also frightened, but not so much as the first time. But on the third occasion when he saw him, he actually plucked up the courage to approach him and began to chat. This fable shows that familiarity soothes our fears.

FABLES, AESOP, SIXTH CENTURY B.C.

Second, Patton’s experience demonstrates the motivating power of a sense of honor and dignity. In giving in to fear, in losing your presence of mind, you disgrace not only yourself, your self-image, and your reputation but your company, your family, your group. You bring down the communal spirit. Being a leader of even the smallest group gives you something to live up to: people are watching you, judging you, depending on you. To lose your composure would make it hard for you to live with yourself.

Be self-reliant. There is nothing worse than feeling dependent on other people. Dependency makes you vulnerable to all kinds of emotions–betrayal, disappointment, frustration–that play havoc with your mental balance.

Early in the American Civil War, General Ulysses S. Grant, eventual commander in chief of the Northern armies, felt his authority slipping. His subordinates would pass along inaccurate information on the terrain he was marching through; his captains would fail to follow through on his orders; his generals were criticizing his plans. Grant was stoical by nature, but his diminished control over his troops led to a diminished control over himself and drove him to drink.

In the words of the ancients, one should make his decisions within the space of seven breaths. Lord Takanobu said, "If discrimination is long, it will spoil." Lord Naoshige said, "When matters are done leisurely, seven out of ten will turn out badly. 

A warrior is a person who does things quickly." When your mind is going hither and thither, discrimination will never be brought to a conclusion. With an intense, fresh and unde-laying spirit, one will make his judgments within the space of seven breaths. It is a matter of being determined and having the spirit to break right through to the other side.

HAGAKURE: THE BOOK OF THE SAMURAI, YAMAMOTO TSUNETOMO, 1659-1720

Grant had learned his lesson by the time of the Vicksburg campaign, in 1862-63. He rode the terrain himself, studying it firsthand. He reviewed intelligence reports himself. He honed the precision of his orders, making it harder for his captains to flout them. And once he had made a decision, he would ignore his fellow generals’ doubts and trust his convictions. To get things done, he came to rely on himself. His feelings of helplessness dissolved, and with them all of the attendant emotions that had ruined his presence of mind.

Being self-reliant is critical. To make yourself less dependent on others and so-called experts, you need to expand your repertoire of skills. And you need to feel more confident in your own judgment. Understand: we tend to overestimate other people’s abilities–after all, they’re trying hard to make it look as if they knew what they were doing–and we tend to underestimate our own. You must compensate for this by trusting yourself more and others less.

It is important to remember, though, that being self-reliant does not mean burdening yourself with petty details. You must be able to distinguish between small matters that are best left to others and larger issues that require your attention and care.

Suffer fools gladly. John Churchill, the Duke of Marlborough, is one of history’s most successful generals. A genius of tactics and strategy, he had tremendous presence of mind. In the early eighteenth century, Churchill was often the leader of an alliance of English, Dutch, and German armies against the mighty forces of France. His fellow generals were timid, indecisive, narrow-minded men. They balked at the duke’s bold plans, saw dangers everywhere, were discouraged at the slightest setback, and promoted their own country’s interests at the expense of the alliance. They had no vision, no patience: they were fools.

On a famous occasion during the civil war, Caesar tripped when disembarking from a ship on the shores of Africa and fell flat on his face. With his talent for improvisation, he spread out his arms and embraced the earth as a symbol of conquest. By quick thinking he turned a terrible omen of failure into one of victory.

CICERO: THE LIFE AND TIMES OF ROME'S GREATEST POLITICIAN, ANTHONY EVERITT, 2001

The duke, an experienced and subtle courtier, never confronted his colleagues directly; he did not force his opinions on them. Instead he treated them like children, indulging them in their fears while cutting them out of his plans.

Occasionally he threw them a bone, doing some minor thing they had suggested or pretending to worry about a danger they had imagined.

But he never let himself get angry or frustrated; that would have ruined his presence of mind, undermining his ability to lead the campaign. He forced himself to stay patient and cheerful. He knew how to suffer fools gladly.

We mean the ability to keep one's head at times of exceptional stress and violent emotion.... But it might be closer to the truth to assume that the faculty known as self-control--the gift of keeping calm even under the greatest stress--is rooted in temperament. 

It is itself an emotion which serves to balance the passionate feelings in strong characters without destroying them, and it is this balance alone that assures the dominance of the intellect. 

The counter-weight we mean is simply the sense of human dignity, the noblest pride and deepest need of all: the urge to act rationally at all times. Therefore we would argue that a strong character is one that will not be unbalanced by the most powerful emotions.

ON WAR, CARL VON CLAUSEWITZ, 1780-1831

Understand: you cannot be everywhere or fight everyone. Your time and energy are limited, and you must learn how to preserve them. Exhaustion and frustration can ruin your presence of mind. The world is full of fools–people who cannot wait to get results, who change with the wind, who can’t see past their noses. You encounter them everywhere: the indecisive boss, the rash colleague, the hysterical subordinate. When working alongside fools, do not fight them. Instead think of them the way you think of children, or pets, not important enough to affect your mental balance. Detach yourself emotionally. And while you’re inwardly laughing at their foolishness, indulge them in one of their more harmless ideas. The ability to stay cheerful in the face of fools is an important skill.

Crowd out feelings of panic by focusing on simple tasks. Lord Yamanouchi, an aristocrat of eighteenth-century Japan, once asked his tea master to accompany him on a visit to Edo (later Tokyo), where he was to stay for a while. He wanted to show off to his fellow courtiers his retainer’s skill in the rituals of the tea ceremony. Now, the tea master knew everything there was to know about the tea ceremony, but little else; he was a peaceful man. He dressed, however, like a samurai, as his high position required.

One day, as the tea master was walking in the big city, he was accosted by a samurai who challenged him to a duel. The tea master was not a swordsman and tried to explain this to the samurai, but the man refused to listen. To turn the challenge down would disgrace both the tea master’s family and Lord Yamanouchi. He had to accept, though that meant certain death. And accept he did, requesting only that the duel be put off to the next day. His wish was granted.

In panic, the tea master hurried to the nearest fencing school. If he were to die, he wanted to learn how to die honorably. To see the fencing master ordinarily required letters of introduction, but the tea master was so insistent, and so clearly terrified, that at last he was given an interview. The fencing master listened to his story.

However, he perceived now that it did not greatly matter what kind of soldiers he was going to fight, so long as they fought, which fact no one disputed. There was a more serious problem.

He lay in his bunk pondering upon it.

He tried to mathematically prove to himself that he would not run from a battle.... A little panic-fear grew in his mind. As his imagination went forward to a fight, he saw hideous possibilities.

He contemplated the lurking menaces of the future, and failed in an effort to see himself standing stoutly in the midst of them. He recalled his visions of broken-bladed glory, but in the shadow of the impending tumult he suspected them to be impossible pictures.

He sprang from the bunk and began to pace nervously to and fro. "Good Lord, what's th' matter with me?" he said aloud.

He felt that in this crisis his laws of life were useless. Whatever he had learned of himself was here of no avail. He was an unknown quantity. He saw that he would again be obliged to experiment as he had in early youth. He must accumulate information of himself, and meanwhile he resolved to remain close upon his guard lest those qualities of which he knew nothing should everlastingly disgrace him.

"Good Lord!" he repeated in dismay.... For days he made ceaseless calculations, but they were all wondrously unsatisfactory. He found that he could establish nothing.

He finally concluded that the only way to prove himself was to go into the blaze, and then figuratively to watch his legs to discover their merits and faults. He reluctantly admitted that he could not sit still and with a mental slate and pencil derive an answer. To gain it, he must have blaze, blood, and danger, even as a chemist requires this, that, and the other. So he fretted for an opportunity.

THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE, STEPHEN CRANE, 1871-1900

The swordsman was sympathetic: he would teach the poor visitor the art of dying, but first he wanted to be served some tea. The tea master proceeded to perform the ritual, his manner calm, his concentration perfect.

Finally the fencing master yelled out in excitement, “No need for you to learn the art of death! The state of mind you’re in now is enough for you to face any samurai. When you see your challenger, imagine you’re about to serve tea to a guest. Take off your coat, fold it up carefully, and lay your fan on it just as you do at work.” This ritual completed, the tea master was to raise his sword in the same alert spirit. Then he would be ready to die.

The tea master agreed to do as his teacher said. The next day he went to meet the samurai, who could not help but notice the completely calm and dignified expression on his opponent’s face as he took off his coat. Perhaps, the samurai thought, this fumbling tea master is actually a skilled swordsman. He bowed, begged pardon for his behavior the day before, and hurried away.

When circumstances scare us, our imagination tends to take over, filling our minds with endless anxieties.

You need to gain control of your imagination, something easier said than done. Often the best way to calm down and give yourself such control is to force the mind to concentrate on something relatively simple–a calming ritual, a repetitive task that you are good at. You are creating the kind of composure you naturally have when your mind is absorbed in a problem. A focused mind has no room for anxiety or for the effects of an overactive imagination. Once you have regained your mental balance, you can then face the problem at hand. At the first sign of any kind of fear, practice this technique until it becomes a habit. Being able to control your imagination at intense moments is a crucial skill.

Unintimidate yourself. Intimidation will always threaten your presence of mind. And it is a hard feeling to combat.

During World War II, the composer Dmitry Shostakovich and several of his colleagues were called into a meeting with the Russian ruler Joseph Stalin, who had commissioned them to write a new national anthem. Meetings with Stalin were terrifying; one misstep could lead you into a very dark alley. He would stare you down until you felt your throat tighten. And, as meetings with Stalin often did, this one took a bad turn: the ruler began to criticize one of the composers for his poor arrangement of his anthem. Scared silly, the man admitted he had used an arranger who had done a bad job. Here he was digging several graves: Clearly the poor arranger could be called to task. The composer was responsible for the hire, and he, too, could pay for the mistake. And what of the other composers, including Shostakovich? Stalin could be relentless once he smelled fear.

Shostakovich had heard enough: it was foolish, he said, to blame the arranger, who was mostly following orders. He then subtly redirected the conversation to a different subject–whether a composer should do his own orchestrations. What did Stalin think on the matter? Always eager to prove his expertise, Stalin swallowed the bait. The dangerous moment passed.

Shostakovich maintained his presence of mind in several ways. First, instead of letting Stalin intimidate him, he forced himself to see the man as he was: short, fat, ugly, unimaginative. The dictator’s famous piercing gaze was just a trick, a sign of his own insecurity. Second, Shostakovich faced up to Stalin, talking to him normally and straightforwardly. By his actions and tone of voice, the composer showed that he was not intimidated. Stalin fed off fear. If, without being aggressive or brazen, you showed no fear, he would generally leave you alone.

The key to staying unintimidated is to convince yourself that the person you’re facing is a mere mortal, no different from you–which is in fact the truth. See the person, not the myth. Imagine him or her as a child, as someone riddled with insecurities. Cutting the other person down to size will help you to keep your mental balance.

Develop your Fingerspitzengefuhl (fingertip feel). Presence of mind depends not only on your mind’s ability to come to your aid in difficult situations but also on the speed with which this happens. Waiting until the next day to think of the right action to take does you no good at all. “Speed” here means responding to circumstances with rapidity and making lightning-quick decisions. This power is often read as a kind of intuition, what the Germans call “Fingerspitzengefuhl” (fingertip feel).

Erwin Rommel, who led the German tank campaign in North Africa during World War II, had great fingertip feel. He could sense when the Allies would attack and from what direction. In choosing a line of advance, he had an uncanny feel for his enemy’s weakness; at the start of a battle, he could intuit his enemy’s strategy before it unfolded.

To Rommel’s men their general seemed to have a genius for war, and he did possess a quicker mind than most. But Rommel also did things to enhance his quickness, things that reinforced his feel for battle.

First, he devoured information about the enemy–from details about its weaponry to the psychological traits of the opposing general.

Second, he made himself an expert in tank technology, so that he could get the most out of his equipment.

Third, he not only memorized maps of the North African desert but would fly over it, at great risk, to get a bird’s-eye view of the battlefield.

Finally, he personalized his relationship with his men. He always had a sense of their morale and knew exactly what he could expect from them.

Rommel didn’t just study his men, his tanks, the terrain, and the enemy–he got inside their skin, understood the spirit that animated them, what made them tick. Having felt his way into these things, in battle he entered a state of mind in which he did not have to think consciously of the situation. The totality of what was going on was in his blood, at his fingertips.

He had Fingerspitzengefuhl.

Whether or not you have the mind of a Rommel, there are things you can do to help you respond faster and bring out that intuitive feel that all animals possess. Deep knowledge of the terrain will let you process information faster than your enemy, a tremendous advantage. Getting a feel for the spirit of men and material, thinking your way into them instead of looking at them from outside, will help to put you in a different frame of mind, less conscious and forced, more unconscious and intuitive. Get your mind into the habit of making lightning-quick decisions, trusting your fingertip feel. Your mind will advance in a kind of mental blitzkrieg, moving past your opponents before they realize what has hit them.

Finally, do not think of presence of mind as a quality useful only in periods of adversity, something to switch on and off as you need it. Cultivate it as an everyday condition. Confidence, fearlessness, and self-reliance are as crucial in times of peace as in times of war. Franklin Delano Roosevelt showed his tremendous mental toughness and grace under pressure not only during the crises of the Depression and World War II but in everyday situations–in his dealings with his family, his cabinet, his own polio-racked body. The better you get at the game of war, the more your warrior frame of mind will do for you in daily life. When a crisis does come, your mind will already be calm and prepared. Once presence of mind becomes a habit, it will never abandon you.

The man with centre has calm, unprejudiced judgment. He knows what is important, what unimportant. He meets realilty serenely and with detachment keeping his sense of proportion. The Hara no aru hito [man with centre] faces life calmly, is tranquil, ready for anything.... Nothing upsets him.

If suddenly fire breaks out and people begin to shout in wild confusion [he] does the right thing immediately and quietly, he ascertains the direction of the wind, rescues what is most important, fetches water, and behaves unhesitatingly in the way the emergency demands.

The Hara no nai hito is the opposite of all this.

The Hara no nai hito applies to the man without calm judgment. He lacks the measure which should be second nature. Therefore he reacts haphazardly and subectively, arbitrarily and capriciously. He cannot distinguish between important and unimportant, essential and unessential.

His judgment is not based upon facts but on temporary conditions and rests on subjective foundations, such as moods, whims, "nerves."

The Hara no nai hito is easily startled, is nervous, not because he is particularly sensitive but because he lacks that inner axis which would prevent his being thrown off centre and which would enable him to deal with situations realistically....

Hara [centre, belly] is only in slight measure innate. It is above all the result of persistent self-training and discipline, in fact the fruit of responsible, individual development.

That is what the Japanese means when he speaks of the Hara no dekita hito , the man who has accomplished or finished his belly, that is, himself: for he is mature. If this development does not take place, we have the Hara no dekita inai hito, someone who has not developed, who has remained immature, who is too young in the psychological sense. The Japanese also say Hara no dekita inai hito wa hito no ue ni tatsu koto ga dekinai: the man who has not finished his belly cannot stand above others (is not fit for leadership).

HARA: THE VITAL CENTRE, KARLFRIED GRAF VON DURCKHEIM, 1962

Authority: A great part of courage is the courage of having done the thing before.

--Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-82)

REVERSAL

It is never good to lose your presence of mind, but you can use those moments when it is under threat to know how to act in the future. You must find a way to put yourself in the thick of battle, then watch yourself in action. Look for your own weaknesses, and think about how to compensate for them. People who have never lost their presence of mind are actually in danger: someday they will be taken by surprise, and the fall will be harsh. All great generals, from Julius Caesar to Patton, have at some point lost their nerve and then have been the stronger for winning it back. The more you have lost your balance, the more you will know about how to right yourself.

You do not want to lose your presence of mind in key situations, but it is a wise course to find a way to make your enemies lose theirs. Take what throws you off balance and impose it on them. Make them act before they are ready. Surprise them–nothing is more unsettling than the unexpected need to act. Find their weakness, what makes them emotional, and give them a double dose of it. The more emotional you can make them, the farther you will push them off course.

Conclusion

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Chapter 1, Part 2, of the 33 Strategies of War by Robert Greene titled “Do not fight the last war: Embrace Change”

This is a full reprint in HTML of the second chapter (Chapter 2) of the first part (Part I) of the massive volume titled "The 33 Strategies of War". Written by Robert Greene (with emotional support from his cats). I read this book while in prison, and found much of what was written to be interesting, enjoyable, and pertinent to things going on in my life. I think that you will as well.

PART I

2. DO NOT FIGHT THE LAST WAR

THE GUERRILLA-WAR-OF-THE-MIND STRATEGY

What most often weighs you down and brings you misery is the past, in the form of unnecessary attachments, repetitions of tired formulas, and the memory of old victories and defeats. You must consciously wage war against the past and force yourself to react to the present moment. Be ruthless on yourself; do not repeat the same tired methods. Sometimes you must force yourself to strike out in new directions, even if they involve risk. What you may lose in comfort and security, you will gain in surprise, making it harder for your enemies to tell what you will do. Wage guerrilla war on your mind, allowing no static lines of defense, no exposed citadels—make everything fluid and mobile.

Theory cannot equip the mind with formulas for solving problems, nor can it mark the narrow path on which the sole solution is supposed to lie by planting a hedge of principles on either side. But it can give the mind insight into the great mass of phenomena and of their relationships, then leave it free to rise into the higher realms of action. There the mind can use its innate talents to capacity, combining them all so as to seize on what is right and true as though this were a single idea formed by their concentrated pressure--as though it were a response to the immediate challenge rather than a product of thought.

ON WAR, CARL VON CLAUSEWITZ, 1780-1831

THE LAST WAR

No one has risen to power faster than Napoleon Bonaparte (1769-1821). In 1793 he went from captain in the French revolutionary army to brigadier general. In 1796 he became the leader of the French force in Italy fighting the Austrians, whom he crushed that year and again three years later. He became first consul of France in 1801, emperor in 1804. In 1805 he humiliated the Austrian and Russian armies at the Battle of Austerlitz.

For many, Napoleon was more than a great general; he was a genius, a god of war. Not everyone was impressed, though: there were Prussian generals who thought he had merely been lucky. Where Napoleon was rash and aggressive, they believed, his opponents had been timid and weak. If he ever faced the Prussians, he would be revealed as a great fake.

Among these Prussian generals was Friedrich Ludwig, prince of Hohenlohe-Ingelfingen (1746- 1818). Hohenlohe came from one of Germany’s oldest aristocratic families, one with an illustrious military record. He had begun his career young, serving under Frederick the Great (1712-86) himself, the man who had single-handedly made Prussia a great power. Hohenlohe had risen through the ranks, becoming a general at fifty–young by Prussian standards.

To Hohenlohe success in war depended on organization, discipline, and the use of superior strategies developed by trained military minds. The Prussians exemplified all of these virtues. Prussian soldiers drilled relentlessly until they could perform elaborate maneuvers as precisely as a machine. Prussian generals intensely studied the victories of Frederick the Great; war for them was a mathematical affair, the application of timeless principles. To the generals Napoleon was a Corsican hothead leading an unruly citizens’ army. Superior in knowledge and skill, they would out-strategize him. The French would panic and crumble in the face of the disciplined Prussians; the Napoleonic myth would lie in ruins, and Europe could return to its old ways.

In August 1806, Hohenlohe and his fellow generals finally got what they wanted: King Friedrich Wilhelm III of Prussia, tired of Napoleon’s broken promises, decided to declare war on him in six weeks. In the meantime he asked his generals to come up with a plan to crush the French.

Hohenlohe was ecstatic.

This campaign would be the climax of his career. He had been thinking for years about how to beat Napoleon, and he presented his plan at the generals’ first strategy session: precise marches would place the army at the perfect angle from which to attack the French as they advanced through southern Prussia. An attack in oblique formation–Frederick the Great’s favorite tactic–would deliver a devastating blow. The other generals, all in their sixties and seventies, presented their own plans, but these too were merely variants on the tactics of Frederick the Great. Discussion turned into argument; several weeks went by. Finally the king had to step in and create a compromise strategy that would satisfy all of his generals.

He [Baron Antoine-Henri de Jomini] --often quite arbitrarily--presses [the deeds of Napoleon] into a system which he foists on Napoleon, and, in doing so, completely fails to see what, above all, really constitutes the greatness of this captain--namely, the reckless boldness of his operations, where, scoffing at all theory, he always tried to do what suited each occasion best.

FRIEDRICH VON BERNHARDI, 1849-1930

A feeling of exuberance swept the country, which would soon relive the glory years of Frederick the Great. The generals realized that Napoleon knew about their plans–he had excellent spies–but the Prussians had a head start, and once their war machine started to move, nothing could stop it.

On October 5, a few days before the king was to declare war, disturbing news reached the generals.

A reconnaissance mission revealed that divisions of Napoleon’s army, which they had believed was dispersed, had marched east, merged, and was massing deep in southern Prussia. The captain who had led the scouting mission reported that the French soldiers were marching with packs on their backs: where the Prussians used slow-moving wagons to provision their troops, the French carried their own supplies and moved with astonishing speed and mobility.

Before the generals had time to adjust their plans, Napoleon’s army suddenly wheeled north, heading straight for Berlin, the heart of Prussia. The generals argued and dithered, moving their troops here and there, trying to decide where to attack. A mood of panic set in. Finally the king ordered a retreat: the troops would reassemble to the north and attack Napoleon’s flank as he advanced toward Berlin. Hohenlohe was in charge of the rear guard, protecting the Prussians’ retreat.

On October 14, near the town of Jena, Napoleon caught up with Hohenlohe, who finally faced the battle he had wanted so desperately. The numbers on both sides were equal, but while the French were an unruly force, fighting pell-mell and on the run, Hohenlohe kept his troops in tight order, orchestrating them like a corps de ballet. The fighting went back and forth until finally the French captured the village of Vierzehnheiligen.

Hohenlohe ordered his troops to retake the village. In a ritual dating back to Frederick the Great, a drum major beat out a cadence and the Prussian soldiers, their colors flying, re-formed their positions in perfect parade order, preparing to advance. They were in an open plain, though, and Napoleon’s men were behind garden walls and on the house roofs. The Prussians fell like ninepins to the French marksmen. Confused, Hohenlohe ordered his soldiers to halt and change formation. The drums beat again, the Prussians marched with magnificent precision, always a sight to behold–but the French kept shooting, decimating the Prussian line.

Never had Hohenlohe seen such an army. The French soldiers were like demons. Unlike his disciplined soldiers, they moved on their own, yet there was method to their madness. Suddenly, as if from nowhere, they rushed forward on both sides, threatening to surround the Prussians. The prince ordered a retreat. The Battle of Jena was over.

Like a house of cards, the Prussians quickly crumbled, one fortress falling after another. The king fled east. In a matter of days, virtually nothing remained of the once mighty Prussian army.

THE BAT AND THE HOUSE-FERRETS

A bat fell to the ground and was caught by a house-ferret. Realizing that she was on the point of being killed, she begged for her life. The house-ferret said to her that she couldn't let her go, for ferrets were supposed to be natural enemies to all birds. The bat replied that she herself was not a bird, but a mouse. She managed to extricate herself from her danger by this means. Eventually, falling a second time, the bat was caught by another house-ferret. Again she pleaded to the ferret not to eat her. The second ferret declared that she absolutely detested all mice. But the bat positively affirmed that she was not a mouse but a bat. And so she was released again. And that was how she saved herself from death twice by a mere change of name. This fable shows that it is not always necessary to confine ourselves to the same tactics. But, on the contrary, if we are adaptable to circumstances we can better escape danger.

FABLES, AESOP, SIXTH CENTURY B.C.

Interpretation

The reality facing the Prussians in 1806 was simple: they had fallen fifty years behind the times. Their generals were old, and instead of responding to present circumstances, they were repeating formulas that had worked in the past.

Their army moved slowly, and their soldiers were automatons on parade. The Prussian generals had many signs to warn them of disaster: their army had not performed well in its recent engagements, a number of Prussian officers had preached reform, and, last but not least, they had had ten years to study Napoleon–his innovative strategies and the speed and fluidity with which his armies converged on the enemy. Reality was staring them in the face, yet they chose to ignore it. Indeed, they told themselves that Napoleon was the one who was doomed.

You might find the Prussian army just an interesting historical example, but in fact you are likely marching in the same direction yourself. What limits individuals as well as nations is the inability to confront reality, to see things for what they are. As we grow older, we become more rooted in the past. Habit takes over. Something that has worked for us before becomes a doctrine, a shell to protect us from reality. Repetition replaces creativity. We rarely realize we’re doing this, because it is almost impossible for us to see it happening in our own minds. Then suddenly a young Napoleon crosses our path, a person who does not respect tradition, who fights in a new way. Only then do we see that our ways of thinking and responding have fallen behind the times.

Never take it for granted that your past successes will continue into the future. Actually, your past successes are your biggest obstacle: every battle, every war, is different, and you cannot assume that what worked before will work today. You must cut yourself loose from the past and open your eyes to the present. Your tendency to fight the last war may lead to your final war.

When in 1806 the Prussian generals...plunged into the open jaws of disaster by using Frederick the Great's oblique order of battle, it was not just a case of a style that had outlived its usefulness but the most extreme poverty of the imagination to which routine has ever led. The result was that the Prussian army under Hohenlohe was ruined more completely than any army has ever been ruined on the battlefield.

--Carl von Clausewitz, ON WAR (1780-1831)

THE PRESENT WAR

In 1605, Miyamoto Musashi, a samurai who had made a name for himself as a swordsman at the young age of twenty-one, was challenged to a duel. The challenger, a young man named Matashichiro, came from the Yoshioka family, a clan itself renowned for swordsmanship. Earlier that year Musashi had defeated Matashichiro’s father, Genzaemon, in a duel. Days later he had killed Genzaemon’s younger brother in another duel. The Yoshioka family wanted revenge.

I never read any treatises on strategy.... When we fight, we do not take any books with us.

MAO TSE-TUNG, 1893-1976

Musashi’s friends smelled a trap in Matashichiro’s challenge and offered to accompany him to the duel, but Musashi went alone. In his earlier fights with the Yoshiokas, he had angered them by showing up hours late; this time, though, he came early and hid in the trees. Matashichiro arrived with a small army.

Musashi would “arrive way behind schedule as usual,” one of them said, “but that trick won’t work with us anymore!” Confident in their ambush, Matashichiro’s men lay down and hid in the grass. Suddenly Musashi leaped out from behind his tree and shouted, “I’ve been waiting long enough. Draw your sword!”

In one swift stroke, he killed Matashichiro, then took a position at an angle to the other men. All of them jumped to their feet, but they were caught off guard and startled, and instead of surrounding him, they stood in a broken line. Musashi simply ran down the line, killing the dazed men one after another in a matter of seconds.

Musashi’s victory sealed his reputation as one of Japan’s greatest swordsmen. He now roamed the country looking for suitable challenges. In one town he heard of an undefeated warrior named Baiken whose weapons were a sickle and a long chain with a steel ball at the end of it. Musashi wanted to see these weapons in action, but Baiken refused: the only way he could see them work, Baiken said, was by fighting a duel.

REFRESHING THE MIND When you and your opponent are engaged in combat which is dragging on with no end in sight, it is crucial that you should come up with a completely different technique. By refreshing your mind and techniques as you continue to fight your opponent, you will find an appropriate rhythm-timing with which to defeat him. Whenever you and your opponent become stagnant, you must immediately employ a different method of dealing with him in order to overcome him.

THE BOOK OF FIVE RINGS, MIYAMOTO MUSASHI, 1584-1645

Once again Musashi’s friends chose the safe route: they urged him to walk away. No one had come close to defeating Baiken, whose weapons were unbeatable: swinging his ball in the air to build up momentum, he would force his victim backward with a relentless charge, then hurl the ball at the man’s face. His opponent would have to fend off the ball and chain, and while his sword arm was occupied, in that brief instant Baiken would slash him with the sickle across his neck.

Ignoring the warnings of his friends, Musashi challenged Baiken and showed up at the man’s tent with two swords, one long, one short. Baiken had never seen someone fight with two swords. Also, instead of letting Baiken charge him, Musashi charged first, pushing his foe back on his heels. Baiken hesitated to throw the ball, for Musashi could parry it with one sword and strike him with the other. As he looked for an opening, Musashi suddenly knocked him off balance with a blow of the short sword and then, in a split second, followed with a thrust of the long one, stabbing him through and killing the once undefeated master Baiken.

A few years later, Musashi heard about a great samurai named Sasaki Ganryu, who fought with a very long sword–a startlingly beautiful weapon, which seemed possessed of some warlike spirit. This fight would be Musashi’s ultimate test. Ganryu accepted his challenge; the duel would take place on a little island near the samurai’s home.

It is a disease to be obsessed by the thought of winning. It is also a disease to be obsessed by the thought of employing your swordsmanship. So it is to be obsessed by the thought of using everything you have learned, and to be obsessed by the thought of attacking. It is also a disease to be obsessed and stuck with the thought of ridding yourself of any of these diseases. A disease here is an obsessed mind that dwells on one thing. Because all these diseases are in your mind, you must get rid of them to put your mind in order.

TAKUAN, JAPAN, 1573-1645

On the morning of the duel, the island was packed. A fight between such warriors was unprecedented. Ganryu arrived on time, but Musashi was late, very late. An hour went by, then two; Ganryu was furious.

Finally a boat was spotted approaching the island. Its passenger was lying down, half asleep, it seemed, whittling at a long wooden oar. It was Musashi. He seemed lost in thought, staring into the clouds. When the boat came to shore, he tied a dirty towel around his head and jumped out of the boat, brandishing the long oar–longer than Ganryu’s famous sword. This strange man had come to the biggest fight of his life with an oar for a sword and a towel for a headband.

Ganryu called out angrily, “Are you so frightened of me that you have broken your promise to be here by eight?” Musashi said nothing but stepped closer. Ganryu drew his magnificent sword and threw the sheath onto the sand. Musashi smiled: “Sasaki, you have just sealed your doom.” “Me? Defeated? Impossible!” “What victor on earth,” replied Musashi, “would abandon his sheath to the sea?” This enigmatic remark only made Ganryu angrier.

Then Musashi charged, aiming his sharpened oar straight for his enemy’s eyes. Ganryu quickly raised his sword and struck at Musashi’s head but missed, only cutting the towel headband in two. He had never missed before. In almost the same instant, Musashi brought down his wooden sword, knocking Ganryu off his feet. The spectators gasped. As Ganryu struggled up, Musashi killed him with a blow to the head. Then, after bowing politely to the men officiating over the duel, he got back into the boat and left as calmly as he had arrived.

From that moment on, Musashi was considered a swordsman without peer.

Anyone can plan a campaign, but few are capable of waging war, because only a true military genius can handle the developments and circumstances.

NAPOLEON BONAPARTE, 1769-1821

Interpretation

Miyamoto Musashi, author of The Book of Five Rings, won all his duels for one reason: in each instance he adapted his strategy to his opponent and to the circumstances of the moment.

With Matashichiro he decided it was time to arrive early, which he hadn’t done in his previous fights. Victory against superior numbers depended on surprise, so he leaped up when his opponents lay down; then, once he had killed their leader, he set himself at an angle that invited them to charge at him instead of surrounding him, which would have been much more dangerous for him.

With Baiken it was simply a matter of using two swords and then crowding his space, giving him no time to react intelligently to this novelty.

With Ganryu he set out to infuriate and humiliate his haughty opponent– the wooden sword, the nonchalant attitude, the dirty-towel headband, the enigmatic remark, the charge at the eyes.

Musashi’s opponents depended on brilliant technique, flashy swords, and unorthodox weapons. That is the same as fighting the last war: instead of responding to the moment, they relied on training, technology, and what had worked before.

Musashi, who had grasped the essence of strategy when he was still very young, turned their rigidity into their downfall. His first thought was of the gambit that would take this particular opponent most by surprise. Then he would anchor himself in the moment: having set his opponent off balance with something unexpected, he would watch carefully, then respond with another action, usually improvised, that would turn mere disequilibrium into defeat and death.

Thunder and wind: the image of DURATION. Thus the superior man stands firm And does not change his direction. Thunder rolls, and the wind blows; both are examples of extreme mobility and so are seemingly the very opposite of duration, but the laws governing their appearance and subsidence, their coming and going, endure. In the same way the independence of the superior man is not based on rigidity and immobility of character. He always keeps abreast of the time and changes with it. What endures is the unswerving directive, the inner law of his being, which determines all his actions.

THE I CHING, CHINA, CIRCA EIGHTH CENTURY B.C.

In preparing yourself for war, you must rid yourself of myths and misconceptions. Strategy is not a question of learning a series of moves or ideas to follow like a recipe; victory has no magic formula. Ideas are merely nutrients for the soil: they lie in your brain as possibilities, so that in the heat of the moment they can inspire a direction, an appropriate and creative response. Let go of all fetishes–books, techniques, formulas, flashy weapons–and learn to become your own strategist.

Thus one's victories in battle cannot be repeated--they take their form in response to inexhaustibly changing circumstances.

--Sun-tzu (fourth century B.C.)

KEYS TO WARFARE

In looking back on an unpleasant or disagreeable experience, the thought inevitably occurs to us: if only we had said or done x instead of y, if only we could do it over.

Many a general has lost his head in the heat of battle and then, looking back, has thought of the one tactic, the one maneuver, that would have changed it all.

Even Prince Hohenlohe, years later, could see how he had botched the retaking of Vierzehnheiligen.

The problem, though, is not that we think of the solution only when it is too late. The problem is that we imagine that knowledge is what was lacking: if only we had known more, if only we had thought it through more thoroughly.

That is precisely the wrong approach.

What makes us go astray in the first place is that we are unattuned to the present moment, insensitive to the circumstances. We are listening to our own thoughts, reacting to things that happened in the past, applying theories and ideas that we digested long ago but that have nothing to do with our predicament in the present. More books, theories, and thinking only make the problem worse.

My policy is to have no policy.

ABRAHAM LINCOLN, 1809-1865

Understand: the greatest generals, the most creative strategists, stand out not because they have more knowledge but because they are able, when necessary, to drop their preconceived notions and focus intensely on the present moment. That is how creativity is sparked and opportunities are seized. Knowledge, experience, and theory have limitations: no amount of thinking in advance can prepare you for the chaos of life, for the infinite possibilities of the moment. The great philosopher of war Carl von Clausewitz called this “friction”: the difference between our plans and what actually happens. Since friction is inevitable, our minds have to be capable of keeping up with change and adapting to the unexpected. The better we can adapt our thoughts to changing circumstances, the more realistic our responses to them will be. The more we lose ourselves in predigested theories and past experiences, the more inappropriate and delusional our response.

It can be valuable to analyze what went wrong in the past, but it is far more important to develop the capacity to think in the moment. In that way you will make far fewer mistakes to analyze.

If you put an empty gourd on the water and touch it, it will slip to one side. No matter how you try, it won't stay in one spot. The mind of someone who has reached the ultimate state does not stay with anything, even for a second. It is like an empty gourd on the water that is pushed around.

TAKUAN, JAPAN, 1573-1645

Think of the mind as a river: the faster it flows, the better it keeps up with the present and responds to change. The faster it flows, also the more it refreshes itself and the greater its energy. Obsessional thoughts, past experiences (whether traumas or successes), and preconceived notions are like boulders or mud in this river, settling and hardening there and damming it up. The river stops moving; stagnation sets in. You must wage constant war on this tendency in the mind.

The first step is simply to be aware of the process and of the need to fight it. The second is to adopt a few tactics that might help you to restore the mind’s natural flow.

Reexamine all your cherished beliefs and principles. When Napoleon was asked what principles of war he followed, he replied that he followed none. His genius was his ability to respond to circumstances, to make the most of what he was given–he was the supreme opportunist. Your only principle, similarly, should be to have no principles. To believe that strategy has inexorable laws or timeless rules is to take up a rigid, static position that will be your undoing. Of course the study of history and theory can broaden your vision of the world, but you have to combat theory’s tendency to harden into dogma. Be brutal with the past, with tradition, with the old ways of doing things. Declare war on sacred cows and voices of convention in your own head.

Our education is often a problem. During World War II, the British fighting the Germans in the deserts of North Africa were well trained in tank warfare; you might say they were indoctrinated with theories about it. Later in the campaign, they were joined by American troops who were much less educated in these tactics. Soon, though, the Americans began to fight in a way that was equal if not superior to the British style; they adapted to the mobility of this new kind of desert combat. According to Field Marshal Erwin Rommel himself, the leader of the German army in North Africa,

"The Americans...profited far more than the British from their experience in Africa, thus confirming the axiom that education is easier than reeducation."

What Rommel meant was that education tends to burn precepts into the mind that are hard to shake. In the midst of combat, the trained mind may fall a step behind–focusing more on learned rules than on the changing circumstances of battle.

When you are faced with a new situation, it is often best to imagine that you know nothing and that you need to start learning all over again. Clearing your head of everything you thought you knew, even your most cherished ideas, will give you the mental space to be educated by your present experience–the best school of all. You will develop your own strategic muscles instead of depending on other people’s theories and books.

Erase the memory of the last war. The last war you fought is a danger, even if you won it. It is fresh in your mind. If you were victorious, you will tend to repeat the strategies you just used, for success makes us lazy and complacent; if you lost, you may be skittish and indecisive.

Do not think about the last war; you do not have the distance or the detachment. Instead do whatever you can to blot it from your mind. During the Vietnam War, the great North Vietnamese general Vo Nguyen Giap had a simple rule of thumb: after a successful campaign, he would convince himself that it had actually been a failure. As a result he never got drunk on his success, and he never repeated the same strategy in the next battle. Rather he had to think through each situation anew.

Ted Williams, perhaps baseball’s greatest pure hitter, made a point of always trying to forget his last at-bat. Whether he’d gotten a home run or a strikeout, he put it behind him. No two at-bats are the same, even against the same pitcher, and Williams wanted an open mind. He would not wait for the next at-bat to start forgetting: the minute he got back to the dugout, he started focusing on what was happening in the game taking place. Attention to the details of the present is by far the best way to crowd out the past and forget the last war.

Keep the mind moving. When we were children, our minds never stopped. We were open to new experiences and absorbed as much of them as possible. We learned fast, because the world around us excited us. When we felt frustrated or upset, we would find some creative way to get what we wanted and then quickly forget the problem as something new crossed our path.

All the greatest strategists–Alexander the Great, Napoleon, Musashi–were childlike in this respect. Sometimes, in fact, they even acted like children.

The reason is simple: superior strategists see things as they are. They are highly sensitive to dangers and opportunities. Nothing stays the same in life, and keeping up with circumstances as they change requires a great deal of mental fluidity. Great strategists do not act according to preconceived ideas; they respond to the moment, like children. Their minds are always moving, and they are always excited and curious. They quickly forget the past–the present is much too interesting.

Defeat is bitter. Bitter to the common soldier, but trebly bitter to his general. The soldier may comfort himself with the thought that, whatever the result, he has done his duty faithfully and steadfastly, but the commander has failed in his duty if he has not won victory--for that is his duty. 

He has no other comparable to it. He will go over in his mind the events of the campaign. "Here," he will think, "I went wrong; here I took counsel of my fears when I should have been bold; there I should have waited to gather strength, not struck piecemeal; at such a moment I failed to grasp opportunity when it was presented to me." He will remember the soldiers whom he sent into the attack that failed and who did not come back. 

He will recall the look in the eyes of men who trusted him. "I have failed them," he will say to himself, "and failed my country!" He will see himself for what he is--a defeated general. 

In a dark hour he will turn in upon himself and question the very foundations of his leadership and manhood. And then he must stop! For if he is ever to command in battle again, he must shake off these regrets, and stamp on them, as they claw at his will and his self-confidence. He must beat off these attacks he delivers against himself, and cast out the doubts born of failure. 

Forget them, and remember only the lessons to be learned from defeat--they are more than from victory.

DEFEAT INTO VICTORY, WILLIAM SLIM, 1897-1970

The Greek thinker Aristotle thought that life was defined by movement. What does not move is dead. What has speed and mobility has more possibilities, more life. We all start off with the mobile mind of a Napoleon, but as we get older, we tend to become more like the Prussians. You may think that what you’d like to recapture from your youth is your looks, your physical fitness, your simple pleasures, but what you really need is the fluidity of mind you once possessed.

Whenever you find your thoughts revolving around a particular subject or idea–an obsession, a resentment–force them past it. Distract yourself with something else. Like a child, find something new to be absorbed by, something worthy of concentrated attention. Do not waste time on things you cannot change or influence. Just keep moving.

Absorb the spirit of the times. Throughout the history of warfare, there have been classic battles in which the past has confronted the future in a hopeless mismatch. It happened in the seventh century, when the Persians and Byzantines confronted the invincible armies of Islam, with their new form of desert fighting; or in the first half of the thirteenth century, when the Mongols used relentless mobility to overwhelm the heavy armies of the Russians and Europeans; or in 1806, when Napoleon crushed the Prussians at Jena.

In each case the conquering army developed a way of fighting that maximized a new form of technology or a new social order.

You can reproduce this effect on a smaller scale by attuning yourself to the spirit of the times. Developing antennae for the trends that have yet to crest takes work and study, as well as the flexibility to adapt to those trends.

As you get older, it is best to periodically alter your style.

In the golden age of Hollywood, most actresses had very short careers. But Joan Crawford fought the studio system and managed to have a remarkably long career by constantly changing her style, going from siren to noir heroine to cult queen.

Instead of staying sentimentally attached to some fashion of days gone by, she was able to sense a rising trend and go with it. By constantly adapting and changing your style, you will avoid the pitfalls of your previous wars. Just when people feel they know you, you will change.

Reverse course. The great Russian novelist Fyodor Dostoyevsky suffered from epilepsy. Just before a seizure, he would experience a moment of intense ecstasy, which he described as a feeling of being suddenly flooded with reality, a momentary vision of the world exactly as it is.

Later he would find himself getting depressed, as this vision was crowded out by the habits and routines of daily life. During these depressions, wanting to feel that closeness to reality again, he would go to the nearest casino and gamble away all his money.

There reality would overwhelm him; comfort and routine would be gone, stale patterns broken. Having to rethink everything, he would get his creative energy back. This was the closest he could deliberately come to the sense of ecstasy he got through epilepsy.

Dostoyevsky’s method was a little extreme, but sometimes you have to shake yourself up, break free from the hold of the past.

This can take the form of reversing your course, doing the opposite of what you would normally do in any given situation, putting yourself in some unusual circumstance, or literally starting over. In those situations the mind has to deal with a new reality, and it snaps to life. The change may be alarming, but it is also refreshing–even exhilarating.

To know that one is in a certain condition, in a certain state, is already a process of liberation; but a man who is not aware of his condition, of his struggle, tries to be something other than he is, which brings about habit. So, then, let us keep in mind that we want to examine what is, to observe and be aware of exactly what is the actual, without giving it any slant, without giving it an interpretation. It needs an extraordinarily astute mind, an extraordinarily pliable heart, to be aware of and to follow what is; because what is is constantly moving, constantly undergoing a transformation, and if the mind is tethered to belief, to knowledge, it ceases to pursue, it ceases to follow the swift movement of what is. What is is not static, surely--it is constantly moving, as you will see if you observe it very closely. To follow it, you need a very swift mind and a pliable heart--which are denied when the mind is static, fixed in a belief, in a prejudice, in an identification; and a mind and heart that are dry cannot follow easily, swiftly, that which is.

JIDDU KRISHNAMURTI, 1895-1986

Relationships often develop a certain tiresome predictability. You do what you usually do, other people respond the way they usually do, and around it goes. If you reverse course, act in a novel manner, you alter the entire dynamic. Do this every so often to break up the relationship’s stale patterns and open it to new possibilities.

Think of your mind as an army.

Armies must adapt to the complexity and chaos of modern war by becoming more fluid and maneuverable. The ultimate extension of this evolution is guerrilla warfare, which exploits chaos by making disorder and unpredictability a strategy.

The guerrilla army never stops to defend a particular place or town; it wins by always moving, staying one step ahead. By following no set pattern, it gives the enemy no target.

The guerrilla army never repeats the same tactic. It responds to the situation, the moment, the terrain where it happens to find itself. There is no front, no concrete line of communication or supply, no slow-moving wagon.

The guerrilla army is pure mobility.

That is the model for your new way of thinking. Apply no tactic rigidly; do not let your mind settle into static positions, defending any particular place or idea, repeating the same lifeless maneuvers. Attack problems from new angles, adapting to the landscape and to what you’re given. By staying in constant motion you show your enemies no target to aim at. You exploit the chaos of the world instead of succumbing to it.

REVERSAL

There is never any value in fighting the last war. But while you’re eliminating that pernicious tendency, you must imagine that your enemy is trying to do the same–trying to learn from and adapt to the present.

Some of history’s worst military disasters have come not out of fighting the last war but out of assuming that that’s what your opponent will do.

When Saddam Hussein of Iraq invaded Kuwait in 1990, he thought the United States had yet to recover from “Vietnam syndrome”–the fear of casualties and loss that had been so traumatic during the Vietnam period–and that it would either avoid war altogether or would fight in the same way it had, trying to win the fight from the air instead of on the ground.

He did not realize that the American military was ready for a new kind of war.

Remember: the loser in any battle may be too traumatized to fight again but may also learn from the experience and move on. Err on the side of caution; be ready. Never let your enemy surprise you in war.

Conclusion

My latest article (prior to this one) underlines this entire strategy. Which is WHY all the American Generals and Admirals are telling the politicians and neocons in Washington DC to “Stand Down”. They, those on K-street in Washington DC want to fight against China or Russia. But the generals strongly advise against it.

You can read about it here…

Pentagon Leaders are starting to shout-down the neocon war-hawks on K-street in Washington DC

Personally, the United States is in need of a shake-up, and maybe it’s time for a serious “house cleaning” in Washington DC as well. Maybe it would be a good thing to see Washington DC erased from the map. I am sure that the world would be a much calmer and nicer world.

Do you want more?

I have more posts in my 33 Strategies of War index here..

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Chapter 1, Part I, of the 33 Strategies of War by Robert Greene titled “Self-directed Warfare”

This is a full reprint in HTML of the first chapter (Chapter 1) of the first part (Part I) of the massive volume titled "The 33 Strategies of War". Written by Robert Greene (with emotional support from his cats). I read this book while in prison, and found much of what was written to be interesting, enjoyable, and pertinent to things going on in my life. I think that you will as well.

PART I

SELF-DIRECTED WARFARE

War, or any kind of conflict, is waged and won through strategy. Think of strategy as a series of lines and arrows aimed at a goal: at getting you to a certain point in the world, at helping you to attack a problem in your path, at figuring out how to encircle and destroy your enemy. Before directing these arrows at your enemies, however, you must first direct them at yourself.

Your mind is the starting point of all war and all strategy. A mind that is easily overwhelmed by emotion, that is rooted in the past instead of the present, that cannot see the world with clarity and urgency, will create strategies that will always miss the mark.

To become a true strategist, you must take three steps.

First, become aware of the weakness and illness that can take hold of the mind, warping its strategic powers. Second, declare a kind of war on yourself to make yourself move forward. Third, wage ruthless and continual battle on the enemies within you by applying certain strategies.

The following four chapters are designed to make you aware of the disorders that are probably flourishing in your mind right now and to arm you with specific strategies for eliminating them.

These chapters are arrows to aim at yourself. Once you have absorbed them through thought and practice, they will serve as a self-corrective device in all your future battles, freeing the grand strategist within you.

DECLARE WAR ON YOUR ENEMIES

THE POLARITY STRATEGY

Life is endless battle and conflict, and you cannot fight effectively unless you can identify your enemies. People are subtle and evasive, disguising their intentions, pretending to be on your side.

You need clarity. Learn to smoke out your enemies, to spot them by the signs and patterns that reveal hostility. Then, once you have them in your sights, inwardly declare war. As the opposite poles of a magnet create motion, your enemies–your opposites–can fill you with purpose and direction. As people who stand in your way, who represent what you loathe, people to react against, they are a source of energy. Do not be naive: with some enemies there can be no compromise, no
middle ground.

Then [Xenophon] got up, and first called together the under-officers of Proxenos.

When they were collected he said:

"Gentlemen, I cannot sleep and I don't think you can; and I can't lie here when I see what a plight we are in.

It is clear that the enemy did not show us open war until they thought they had everything well prepared; and no-one among us takes the pains to make the best possible resistance.

"Yet if we give way, and fall into the king's power, what do we expect our fate will be?

When his own half-brother was dead, the man cut off his head and cut off his hand and stuck them up on a pole.

We have no-one to plead for us, and we marched here to make the king a slave or to kill him if we could, and what do you think our fate will be?

Would he not go to all extremes of torture to make the whole world afraid of making war on him?

Why, we must do anything to keep out of his power!

While the truce lasted, I never ceased pitying ourselves, I never ceased congratulating the king and his army.

What a vast country I saw, how large, what endless provisions, what crowds of servants, how many cattle and sheep, what gold, what raiment!

But when I thought of these our soldiers--we had no share in all these good things unless we bought them, and few had anything left to buy with; and to procure anything without buying was debarred by our oaths.

While I reasoned like this, I sometimes feared the truce more than the war now.

"However, now they have broken the truce, there is an end both to their insolence and to our suspicion.

There lie all these good things before us, prizes for whichever side prove the better men; the gods are the judges of the contest, and they will be with us, naturally.... "

When you have appointed as many commanders as are wanted, assemble all the other soldiers and encourage them; that will be just what they want now.

Perhaps you have noticed yourselves how crestfallen they were when they came into camp, how crestfallen they went on guard; in such a state I don't know what you could do with them....

But if someone could turn their minds from wondering what will happen to them, and make them wonder what they could do, they will be much more cheerful.

You know, I am sure, that not numbers or strength brings victory in war; but whichever army goes into battle stronger in soul, their enemies generally cannot withstand them."

-ANABASIS: THE MARCH UP COUNTRY, XENOPHON, 430?-355? B.C.

THE INNER ENEMY

In the spring of 401 B.C., Xenophon, a thirty-year-old country gentleman who lived outside Athens, received an intriguing invitation: a friend was recruiting Greek soldiers to fight as mercenaries for Cyrus, brother of the Persian king Ataxerxes, and asked him to go along.

The request was somewhat unusual: the Greeks and the Persians had long been bitter enemies. Some eighty years earlier, in fact, Persia had tried to conquer Greece.

But the Greeks, renowned fighters, had begun to offer their services to the highest bidder, and within the Persian Empire there were rebellious
cities that Cyrus wanted to punish.

Greek mercenaries would be the perfect reinforcements in his large army.

Xenophon was not a soldier. In fact, he had led a coddled life, raising dogs and horses, traveling into Athens to talk philosophy with his good friend Socrates, living off his inheritance.

He wanted adventure, though, and here he had a chance to meet the great Cyrus, learn war, see Persia. Perhaps when it was all over, he would write a book. He would go not as a mercenary (he was too wealthy for that) but as a philosopher and historian.

After consulting the oracle at Delphi, he accepted the invitation.

Some 10,000 Greek soldiers joined Cyrus’s punitive expedition. The mercenaries were a motley crew from all over Greece, there for the money and the adventure.

They had a good time of it for a while, but a few months into the job, after leading them deep into Persia, Cyrus admitted his true purpose: he was marching on Babylon, mounting a civil war to unseat his brother and make himself
king.

Unhappy to be deceived, the Greeks argued and complained, but Cyrus offered them more money, and that quieted them.

The armies of Cyrus and Ataxerxes met on the plains of Cunaxa, not far from Babylon. Early in the battle, Cyrus was killed, putting a quick end to the war.

Now the Greeks’ position was suddenly precarious: having fought on the wrong side of a civil war, they were far from home and surrounded by hostile Persians.

They were soon told, however, that Ataxerxes had no quarrel with them.

His only desire was that they leave Persia as quickly as possible. He even sent them an envoy, the Persian commander Tissaphernes, to provision them and escort them back to Greece.

And so, guided by Tissaphernes and the Persian army, the mercenaries began the long trek home–some fifteen hundred miles.

A few days into the march, the Greeks had new fears: their supplies from the Persians were insufficient, and the route that Tissaphernes had chosen for them was problematic.

Could they trust these Persians?

They started to argue among themselves.

The Greek commander Clearchus expressed his soldiers’ concerns to Tissaphernes, who was sympathetic: Clearchus should bring his captains to a meeting at a neutral site, the Greeks would voice their grievances, and the two sides would come to an understanding.

Clearchus agreed and appeared the next day with his officers at the appointed time and place–where, however, a large contingent of Persians surrounded and arrested them.

They were beheaded that same day.

One man managed to escape and warn the Greeks of the Persian treachery.

That evening the Greek camp was a desolate place. Some men argued and accused; others slumped drunk to the ground. A few considered flight, but with their leaders dead, they felt doomed.

That night Xenophon, who had stayed mostly on the sidelines during the expedition, had a dream: a lightning bolt from Zeus set fire to his father’s house.

He woke up in a sweat.

It suddenly struck him: death was staring the Greeks in the face, yet they lay around moaning, despairing, arguing.

The problem was in their heads.

Fighting for money rather than for a purpose or cause, unable to distinguish between friend and foe, they had gotten lost.

The barrier between them and home was not rivers or mountains or the Persian army but their own muddled state of mind.

Xenophon didn’t want to die in this disgraceful way.

He was no military man, but he knew philosophy and the way men think, and he believed that if the Greeks concentrated on the enemies who wanted to kill them, they would become alert and creative.

If they focused on the vile treachery of the Persians, they would grow angry, and their anger would motivate them.

They had to stop being confused mercenaries and go back to being Greeks, the polar opposite of the faithless Persians.

What they needed was clarity and direction.

Xenophon decided to be Zeus’s lightning bolt, waking the men up and illuminating their way. He called a meeting of all the surviving officers and stated his plan:

We will declare war without parley on the Persians–no more thoughts of bargaining or debate.

We will waste no more time on argument or accusation among ourselves; every ounce of our energy will be spent on the Persians.

We will be as inventive and inspired as our ancestors at Marathon, who fought off a vastly larger Persian army.

We will burn our wagons, live off the land, move fast. We will not for one second lay down our arms or forget the dangers around us.

It is us or them, life or death, good or evil.

Should any man try to confuse us with clever talk or with vague ideas of appeasement, we will declare him too stupid and cowardly to be on our side and we will drive him away.

Let the Persians make us merciless.

We must be consumed with one idea: getting home alive.

The officers knew that Xenophon was right.

The next day a Persian officer came to see them, offering to act as an ambassador between them and Ataxerxes; following Xenophon’s counsel, he was quickly and rudely driven away.

It was now war and nothing else.

Roused to action, the Greeks elected leaders, Xenophon among them, and began the march home.

Forced to depend on their wits, they quickly learned to adapt to the terrain, to avoid battle, to move at night.

They successfully eluded the Persians, beating them to a key mountain pass and moving through it before they could be caught.

Although many enemy tribes still lay between them and Greece, the dreaded Persian army was now behind them.

It took several years, but almost all of them returned to Greece alive.

Political thought and political instinct prove themselves theoretically and practically in the ability to distinguish friend and enemy. The high points of politics are simultaneously the moments in which the enemy is, in concrete clarity, recognized as the enemy.

CARL SCHMITT, 1888-1985

Interpretation

Life is battle and struggle, and you will constantly find yourself facing bad situations, destructive relationships, dangerous engagements.

How you confront these difficulties will determine your fate.

As Xenophon said, your obstacles are not rivers or mountains or other people;
your obstacle is yourself.

If you feel lost and confused, if you lose your sense of direction, if you cannot tell the difference between friend and foe, you have only yourself to blame.

Think of yourself as always about to go into battle. Everything depends on your frame of mind and on how you look at the world.

A shift of perspective can transform you from a passive and confused mercenary into a motivated and creative fighter.

We are defined by our relationship to other people.

As children we develop an identity by differentiating ourselves from others, even to the point of pushing them away, rejecting them, rebelling.

The more clearly you recognize who you do not want to be, then, the clearer your sense of identity and purpose will be.

Without a sense of that polarity, without an enemy to react against, you are as lost as the Greek mercenaries.

Duped by other people’s treachery, you hesitate at the fatal moment and descend into whining and argument.

Focus on an enemy.

It can be someone who blocks your path or sabotages you, whether subtly or
obviously;

It can be someone who has hurt you or someone who has fought you unfairly;

It can be a value or an idea that you loathe and that you see in an individual or group.

It can be an abstraction: stupidity, smugness, vulgar materialism.

Do not listen to people who say that the distinction between friend and enemy is primitive and passe.

They are just disguising their fear of conflict behind a front of false warmth.

They are trying to push you off course, to infect you with the vagueness that inflicts them.

Once you feel clear and motivated, you will have space for true friendship and true compromise.

Your enemy is the polar star that guides you.

Given that direction, you can enter battle.

He that is not with me is against me.

--Luke 11:23

THE OUTER ENEMY

In the early 1970s, the British political system had settled into a comfortable pattern: the Labour Party would win an election, and then, the next time around, the Conservatives would win.

Back and forth the power went, all fairly genteel and civilized.

In fact, the two parties had come to resemble one another.

But when the Conservatives lost in 1974, some of them had had enough. Wanting
to shake things up, they proposed Margaret Thatcher as their leader. The party was divided that year, and Thatcher took advantage of the split and won the nomination.

I am by nature warlike.

To attack is among my instincts.

To be able to be an enemy, to be an enemy--that presupposes a strong nature, it is in any event a condition of every strong nature.

It needs resistances, consequently it seeks resistances....

The strength of one who attacks has in the opposition he needs a kind of gauge; every growth reveals itself in the seeking out of a powerful opponent--or problem: for a philosopher who is warlike also challenges problems to a duel.

The undertaking is to master, not any resistances that happen to present themselves, but those against which one has to bring all one's strength, suppleness and mastery of weapons--to master equal opponents.

-FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE, 1844-1900

No one had ever seen a politician quite like Thatcher.

A woman in a world run by men, she was also proudly middle class–the daughter of a grocer–in the traditional party of the aristocracy.

Her clothes were prim, more like a housewife’s than a politician’s.

She had not been a player in the Conservative Party; in fact, she was on its right-wing fringes.

Most striking of all was her style: where other politicians were smooth and conciliatory, she confronted her opponents, attacking them directly. She had an appetite for battle.

Most politicians saw Thatcher’s election as a fluke and didn’t expect her to last. And in her first few years leading the party, when Labour was in power, she did little to change their opinion.

She railed against the socialist system, which in her mind had choked all initiative and was largely responsible for the decline of the British economy.

She criticized the Soviet Union at a time of detente.

Then, in the winter of 1978-79, several public-sector unions decided to strike.

Thatcher went on the warpath, linking the strikes to the Labour Party and Prime Minister James Callaghan.

This was bold, divisive talk, good for making the evening news–but not for winning elections.

You had to be gentle with the voters, reassure them, not frighten them. At least that was the conventional wisdom.

In 1979 the Labour Party called a general election.

Thatcher kept on the attack, categorizing the election as a crusade against socialism and as Great Britain’s last chance to modernize.

Callaghan was the epitome of the genteel politician, but Thatcher got under his skin.

He had nothing but disdain for this housewife-turned-politician, and he returned her fire: he agreed that the election was a watershed, for if Thatcher won, she would send the economy into shock.

The strategy seemed partly to work; Thatcher scared many voters, and the polls that tracked personal popularity showed that her numbers had fallen well below Callaghan’s.

At the same time, though, her rhetoric, and Callaghan’s response to it, polarized the electorate, which could finally see a sharp difference between the parties.

Dividing the public into left and right, she charged into the breach, sucking
in attention and attracting the undecided. She won a sizable victory.

Thatcher had bowled over the voters, but now, as prime minister, she would have to moderate her tone, heal the wounds–according to the polls, at any rate, that was what the public wanted.

But Thatcher as usual did the opposite, enacting budget cuts that went even deeper than she had proposed during the campaign.

As her policies played out, the economy did indeed go into shock, as
Callaghan had said it would, and unemployment soared.

Men in her own party, many of whom had by that point been resenting her treatment of them for years, began publicly to question her
abilities.

These men, whom she called the “wets,” were the most respected members of the
Conservative Party, and they were in a panic: she was leading the country into an economic disaster that they were afraid they would pay for with their careers.

Thatcher’s response was to purge them from her cabinet.

She seemed bent on pushing everyone away; her legion of enemies was growing, her poll numbers slipping still lower.

Surely the next election would be her last.

[Salvador Dali] had no time for those who did not agree with his principles, and took the war into the enemy camp by writing insulting letters to many of the friends he had made in the Residencia, calling them pigs. 

He happily compared himself to a clever bull avoiding the cowboys and generally had a great deal of fun stirring up and scandalizing almost every Catalan intellectual worthy of the name. Dali was beginning to burn his bridges with the zeal of an arsonist.... 

"We [Dali and the filmmaker Luis Bunuel] had resolved to send a poison pen letter to one of the great celebrities of Spain," 

Dali later told his biographer Alain Bosquet. 

"Our goal was pure subversion.... Both of us were strongly influenced by Nietzsche.... 

We hit upon two names: Manuel de Falla, the composer, and Juan Ramon Jimenez, the poet. We drew straws and Jimenez won.... 

So we composed a frenzied and nasty letter of incomparable violence and addressed it to Juan Ramon Jimenez. 

It read: 'Our Distinguished Friend: We believe it is our duty to inform you--disinterestedly--that your work is deeply repugnant to us because of its immorality, its hysteria, its arbitrary quality....' It caused Jimenez great pain...."

THE PERSISTENCE OF MEMORY: A BIOGRAPHY OF DALI, MEREDITH ETHERINGTON- SMITH, 1992

Then, in 1982, on the other side of the Atlantic, the military junta that ruled Argentina, needing a cause to distract the country from its many problems, invaded the Falkland Islands, a British possession to which, however, Argentina had a historical claim.

The officers of the junta felt certain that the British would abandon these islands, barren and remote.

But Thatcher did not hesitate: despite the distance–eight thousand miles–she sent a naval task force to the Falklands.

Labour leaders attacked her for this pointless and costly war.

Many in her own party were terrified; if the attempt to retake the islands failed, the party would be ruined.

Thatcher was more alone than ever.

But much of the public now saw her qualities, which had seemed so irritating, in a new light: her obstinacy became courage, nobility.

Compared to the dithering, pantywaisted, careerist men around her, Thatcher seemed resolute and confident.

The British successfully won back the Falklands, and Thatcher stood taller than ever. Suddenly the country’s economic and social problems were forgotten.

Thatcher now dominated the scene, and in the next two elections she crushed Labour.

Interpretation

Margaret Thatcher came to power as an outsider: a middle-class woman, a right-wing radical. The first instinct of most outsiders who attain power is to become insiders–life on the outside is hard–but in doing so they lose their identity, their difference, the thing that makes them stand out in the public eye.

If Thatcher had become like the men around her, she would simply have been
replaced by yet another man.

Her instinct was to stay an outsider.

In fact, she pushed being an outsider as far as it could go: she set herself up as one woman against an army of men.

At every step of the way, to give her the contrast she needed, Thatcher marked out an opponent: the socialists, the wets, the Argentineans.

These enemies helped to define her image as determined, powerful, self-sacrificing.

Thatcher was not seduced by popularity, which is ephemeral and superficial.

Pundits might obsess over popularity numbers, but in the mind of the voter–which, for a politician, is the field of battle–a dominating presence has more pull than does likability. Let some of the public hate you; you cannot please everyone.

Your enemies, those you stand sharply against, will help you to forge a support base that will not desert you.

Do not crowd into the center, where everyone else is; there is no room to fight in a crowd.

Polarize people, drive some of them away, and create a space for battle.

Everything in life conspires to push you into the center, and not just politically.

The center is the realm of compromise.

Getting along with other people is an important skill to have, but it comes with a danger: by always seeking the path of least resistance, the path of conciliation, you forget who you are, and you sink into the center with everyone else. Instead see yourself as a fighter, an outsider surrounded by enemies.

Constant battle will keep you strong and alert. It will help to define what you believe in, both for yourself and for others.

Do not worry about antagonizing people; without antagonism there is no battle, and without battle, there is no chance of victory.

Do not be lured by the need to be liked: better to be respected, even feared.

Victory over your enemies will bring you a more lasting popularity.

The opposition of a member to an associate is no purely negative social factor, if only because such opposition is often the only means for making life with actually unbearable people at least possible.

If we did not even have the power and the right to rebel against tyranny, arbitrariness, moodiness, tactlessness, we could not bear to have any relation to people from whose characters we thus suffer.

We would feel pushed to take desperate steps–and these, indeed, would end the
relation but do not, perhaps, constitute “conflict.”

Not only because of the fact that…oppression usually increases if it is suffered calmly and without protest, but also because opposition gives us inner satisfaction, distraction, relief…

Our opposition makes us feel that we are not completely victims of the circumstances.

GEORG SIMMEL, 1858-1918

Don't depend on the enemy not coming; depend rather on being ready for him.

--Sun-tzu, The Art of War (fourth century B.C.)

KEYS TO WARFARE

We live in an era in which people are seldom directly hostile.

The rules of engagement–social, political, military–have changed, and so must your notion of the enemy.

An up-front enemy is rare now and is actually a blessing.

People hardly ever attack you openly anymore, showing their intentions, their desire to destroy you; instead they are political and indirect.

Although the world is more competitive than ever, outward aggression is discouraged, so people have learned to go underground, to attack unpredictably and craftily.

Many use friendship as a way to mask aggressive desires: they come close to you to do more harm. (A friend knows best how to hurt you.)

Or, without actually being friends, they offer assistance and alliance: they may seem supportive, but in the end they’re advancing their own interests at your expense.

Then there are those who master moral warfare, playing the victim, making you feel guilty for something unspecified you’ve done.

The battlefield is full of these warriors, slippery, evasive, and clever.

Understand: the word “enemy”–from the Latin inimicus, “not a friend”–has been demonized and politicized.

Your first task as a strategist is to widen your concept of the enemy, to include in
that group those who are working against you, thwarting you, even in subtle ways.

(Sometimes indifference and neglect are better weapons than aggression, because you can’t see the hostility they hide.)

Without getting paranoid, you need to realize that there are people who wish you ill and operate indirectly.

Identify them and you’ll suddenly have room to maneuver.

You can stand back and wait and see or you can take action, whether aggressive or just evasive, to avoid the worst.

You can even work to turn this enemy into a friend.

But whatever you do, do not be the naive victim.

Do not find yourself constantly retreating, reacting to your enemies’ maneuvers.

Arm yourself with prudence, and never completely lay down your arms, not even for friends.

As one travels up any one of the large rivers [of Borneo], one meets with tribes that are successively more warlike. 

In the coast regions are peaceful communities which never fight save in self-defense, and then with but poor success, whereas in the central regions, where the rivers take their rise, are a number of extremely warlike tribes whose raids have been a constant source of terror to the communities settled in the lower reaches of the rivers.... 

It might be supposed that the peaceful coast people would be found to be superior in moral qualities to their more warlike neighbors, but the contrary is the case. 

In almost all respects the advantage lies with the warlike tribes. 

Their houses are better built, larger, and cleaner; their domestic morality is superior; they are physically stronger, are braver, and physically and mentally more active and in general are more trustworthy. 

But, above all, their social organization is firmer and more efficient because their respect for and obedience to their chiefs and their loyalty to their community are much greater; each man identifies himself with the whole community and accepts and loyally performs the social duties laid upon him.

WILLIAM MCDOUGALL, 1871-1938

People are usually good at hiding their hostility, but often they unconsciously give off signals showing that all is not what it seems.

One of the closest friends and advisers of the Chinese Communist Party leader Mao Tse-tung was Lin Biao, a high-ranking member of the Politburo and possible successor to the chairman.

In the late 1960s and early ’70s, though, Mao detected a change in Lin: he had become effusively friendly.

Everyone praised Mao, but Lin’s praise was embarrassingly fervent.

To Mao this meant that something was wrong.

He watched Lin closely and decided that the man was plotting a takeover, or at the very least positioning himself for the top spot.

And Mao was right: Lin was plotting busily.

The point is not to mistrust all friendly gestures but to notice them.

Register any change in the emotional temperature: unusual chumminess, a new desire to exchange confidences, excessive praise of you to third parties, the desire for an alliance that may make more sense for the other person than for you.

Trust your instincts: if someone’s behavior seems suspicious, it probably is.

It may turn out to be benign, but in the meantime it is best to be on your guard.

You can sit back and read the signs or you can actively work to uncover your enemies–beat the grass to startle the snakes, as the Chinese say.

In the Bible we read of David’s suspicion that his father-in-law, King Saul, secretly wanted him dead.

How could David find out?

He confided his suspicion to Saul’s son Jonathan, his close friend. Jonathan refused to believe it, so David suggested a test.

He was expected at court for a feast.

He would not go; Jonathan would attend and pass along David’s excuse, which would be adequate but not urgent.

Sure enough, the excuse enraged Saul, who exclaimed, “Send at once and fetch him unto me–he deserves to die!”

David’s test succeeded because it was ambiguous.

His excuse for missing the feast could be read in more than one way: if Saul meant well toward David, he would have seen his son-in-law’s absence as
no more than selfish at worst, but because he secretly hated David, he saw it as effrontery, and it pushed him over the edge.

Follow David’s example: say or do something that can be read in more than
one way, that may be superficially polite but that could also indicate a slight coolness on your part or be seen as a subtle insult. A friend may wonder but will let it pass. The secret enemy, though, will react with anger. Any strong emotion and you will know that there’s something boiling under the surface.

Often the best way to get people to reveal themselves is to provoke tension and argument.

The Hollywood producer Harry Cohn, president of Universal Pictures, frequently used this strategy to ferret out the real position of people in the studio who refused to show what side they were on: he would suddenly attack their work or take an extreme position, even an offensive one, in an argument. His provoked directors and writers would drop their usual caution and show their real beliefs.

Understand: people tend to be vague and slippery because it is safer than outwardly committing to something. If you are the boss, they will mimic your ideas. Their agreement is often pure courtiership. Get them emotional; people are usually more sincere when they argue. If you pick an argument with someone and he keeps on mimicking your ideas, you may be dealing with a chameleon, a particularly dangerous type. Beware of people who hide behind a facade of vague abstractions and impartiality: no one is impartial. A sharply worded question, an opinion designed to offend, will make them react and take sides.

Man exists only in so far as he is opposed.

GEORG HEGEL, 1770-1831

Sometimes it is better to take a less direct approach with your potential enemies–to be as subtle and conniving as they are.

In 1519, Hernan Cortes arrived in Mexico with his band of adventurers.

Among these five hundred men were some whose loyalty was dubious.

Throughout the expedition, whenever any of Cortes’s soldiers did something he saw as suspicious, he never got angry or accusatory. Instead he pretended to go along with them, accepting and approving what they had done.

Thinking Cortes weak, or thinking he was on their side, they would take another step. Now he had what he wanted: a clear sign, to himself and others, that they were traitors. Now he could isolate and destroy them.

Adopt the method of Cortes: if friends or followers whom you suspect of ulterior motives suggest something subtly hostile, or against your interests, or simply odd, avoid the temptation to react, to say no, to get angry, or even to ask questions. Go along, or seem to turn a blind eye: your enemies will soon go further, showing more of their hand. Now you have them in sight, and you can attack.

An enemy is often large and hard to pinpoint–an organization, or a person hidden behind some complicated network. What you want to do is take aim at one part of the group–a leader, a spokesman, a key member of the inner circle.

That is how the activist Saul Alinsky tackled corporations and bureaucracies.

In his 1960s campaign to desegregate Chicago’s public-school system, he focused on the superintendent of schools, knowing full well that this man would try to
shift the blame upward.

By taking repeated hits at the superintendent, he was able to publicize his
struggle, and it became impossible for the man to hide.

Eventually those behind him had to come to his aid, exposing themselves in the process.

Like Alinsky, never aim at a vague, abstract enemy.

It is hard to drum up the emotions to fight such a bloodless battle, which in any case leaves your enemy invisible.

Personalize the fight, eyeball to eyeball.

Danger is everywhere.

There are always hostile people and destructive relationships.

The only way to break out of a negative dynamic is to confront it.

Repressing your anger, avoiding the person threatening you, always looking to conciliate–these common strategies spell ruin.

Avoidance of conflict becomes a habit, and you lose the taste for battle.

Feeling guilty is pointless; it is not your fault you have enemies.

Feeling wronged or victimized is equally futile. In both cases you are looking inward, concentrating on yourself and your feelings.

Instead of internalizing a bad situation, externalize it and face your enemy.

It is the only way out.

The frequent hearing of my mistress reading the bible--for she often read aloud when her husband was absent--soon awakened my curiosity in respect to this mystery of reading, and roused in me the desire to learn. Having no fear of my kind mistress before my eyes, (she had given me no reason to
fear,) I frankly asked her to teach me to read; and without hesitation, the dear woman began the task, and very soon, by her assistance, I was master of the alphabet, and could spell words of three or four letters...Master Hugh was amazed at the simplicity of his spouse, and, probably for the first time, he unfolded to her the true philosophy of slavery, and the peculiar rules necessary to be observed by masters and mistresses, in the management of their human chattels. Mr. Auld promptly forbade the continuance of her [reading] instruction; telling her, in the first place, that the thing itself was unlawful; that it was also unsafe, and could only lead to mischief....

Mrs. Auld evidently felt the force of his remarks; and, like an obedient wife, began to shape her course in the direction indicated by her husband. The effect of his words, on me, was neither slight nor transitory. His iron sentences--cold and harsh--sunk deep into my heart, and stirred up
not only my feelings into a sort of rebellion, but awakened within me a slumbering train of vital thought. It was a new and special revelation, dispelling a painful mystery, against which my youthful understanding had struggled, and struggled in vain, to wit: the white man's power to
perpetuate the enslavement of the black man. "Very well," thought I; "knowledge unfits a child to be a slave."

I instinctively assented to the proposition; and from that moment I understood the direct pathway from slavery to freedom. This was just what I needed; and got it at a time, and from a source, whence I least expected it.... Wise as Mr. Auld was, he evidently underrated my comprehension, and had little idea of the use to which I was capable of putting the impressive lesson he was giving to his wife.... That which he most loved I
most hated; and the very determination which he expressed to keep me in ignorance, only rendered me the more resolute in seeking intelligence.

MY BONDAGE AND MY FREEDOM, FREDERICK DOUGLASS, 1818-1895

The child psychologist Jean Piaget saw conflict as a critical part of mental development. Through battles with peers and then parents, children learn to adapt to the world and develop strategies for dealing with problems. Those children who seek to avoid conflict at all cost, or those who have overprotective parents, end up handicapped socially and mentally.

The same is true of adults: it is through your battles with others that you learn what works, what doesn’t, and how to protect yourself. Instead of shrinking from the idea of having enemies, then, embrace it. Conflict is therapeutic.

Enemies bring many gifts.

For one thing, they motivate you and focus your beliefs.

The artist Salvador Dali found early on that there were many qualities he could not stand in people: conformity, romanticism, piety.

At every stage of his life, he found someone he thought embodied these anti- ideals–an enemy to vent on. First it was the poet Federico Garcia Lorca, who wrote romantic poetry; then it was Andre Breton, the heavy-handed leader of the surrealist movement.

Having such enemies to rebel against made Dali feel confident and inspired.

Enemies also give you a standard by which to judge yourself, both personally and socially.

The samurai of Japan had no gauge of their excellence unless they fought the best swordsmen; it took Joe Frazier to make Muhammad Ali a truly great fighter.

A tough opponent will bring out the best in you.

And the bigger the opponent, the greater your reward, even in defeat.

It is better to lose to a worthy opponent than to squash some harmless foe.

You will gain sympathy and respect, building support for your next fight.

Being attacked is a sign that you are important enough to be a target.

You should relish the attention and the chance to prove yourself.

We all have aggressive impulses that we are forced to repress; an enemy supplies you with an outlet for these drives. At last you have someone on whom to
unleash your aggression without feeling guilty.

Leaders have always found it useful to have an enemy at their gates in times of trouble, distracting the public from their difficulties.

In using your enemies to rally your troops, polarize them as far as possible: they will fight the more fiercely when they feel a little hatred.

So exaggerate the differences between you and the enemy–draw the lines clearly.

Xenophon made no effort to be fair; he did not say that the Persians weren’t really such a bad lot and had done much to advance civilization. He called them barbarians, the antithesis of the Greeks.

He described their recent treachery and said they were an evil culture that could find no favor with the gods.

And so it is with you: victory is your goal, not fairness and balance. Use the rhetoric of war to heighten the stakes and stimulate the spirit.

What you want in warfare is room to maneuver.

Tight corners spell death.

Having enemies gives you options.

You can play them off against each other, make one a friend as a way of attacking the other, on and on.

Without enemies you will not know how or where to maneuver, and you will lose a sense of your limits, of how far you can go.

Early on, Julius Caesar identified Pompey as his enemy. Measuring his actions and calculating carefully, he did only those things that left him in a solid position in relation to Pompey.

When war finally broke out between the two men, Caesar was at his best.

But once he defeated Pompey and had no more such rivals, he lost all sense of
proportion–in fact, he fancied himself a god.

His defeat of Pompey was his own undoing.

Your enemies force on you a sense of realism and humility.

Remember: there are always people out there who are more aggressive, more devious, more ruthless than you are, and it is inevitable that some of them will cross your path.

You will have a tendency to want to conciliate and compromise with them.

The reason is that such types are often brilliant deceivers who see the strategic value in charm or in seeming to allow you plenty of space, but actually their desires have no limit, and they are simply trying to disarm you.

With some people you have to harden yourself, to recognize that there is no middle ground, no hope of conciliation.

For your opponent your desire to compromise is a weapon to use against you.

Know these dangerous enemies by their past: look for quick power grabs, sudden rises in fortune, previous acts of treachery. Once you suspect you are dealing with a Napoleon, do not lay down your arms or entrust them to someone else. You are the last line of your own defense.

Authority: If you count on safety and do not think of danger, if you do not know enough to be wary when enemies arrive, this is called a sparrow nesting on a tent, a fish swimming in a cauldron–they won’t last the day.–Chuko Liang (A.D. 181-234 )

REVERSAL

Always keep the search for and use of enemies under control. It is clarity you want, not paranoia.

It is the downfall of many tyrants to see an enemy in everyone.

They lose their grip on reality and become hopelessly embroiled in the emotions their paranoia churns up.

By keeping an eye on possible enemies, you are simply being prudent and cautious.

Keep your suspicions to yourself, so that if you’re wrong, no one will know. Also, beware of polarizing people so completely that you cannot back off.

Margaret Thatcher, usually brilliant at the polarizing game, eventually lost control of it: she created too many enemies and kept repeating the same tactic, even in situations that called for retreat. Franklin Delano Roosevelt was a master polarizer, always looking to draw a line between himself and his enemies. Once he had made that line clear enough, though, he backed off, which made him look like a conciliator, a man of peace who occasionally went to war.

Even if that impression was false, it was the height of wisdom to create it.

Conclusion

Reading this, I cannot help but understand why Trump and his crew of dinosaurs were so rabidly inclined to label the biggest trading partner as an enemy. This article describes why.

Do you want more?

I have more posts in my 33 Strategies of War index here..

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The Past Through Tomorrow (full text) by Robert A Heinlein (free)

Heinlein almost never showed up in anthologies. Sometimes editors would apologize for omitting him, admitting (with some frustration) that they just couldn’t get the rights to the Heinlein tales they wanted. The problem was that by the mid-70s Heinlein was a star, the top-selling author in the field, and his entire short fiction catalog was locked up in his own bestselling collections.

I read collections, of course. Lots of them. But the seminal Heinlein collection, the one containing virtually all of his really important short work — including classics like “The Roads Must Roll,” “Blowups Happen,” “The Man Who Sold the Moon,” “Gentlemen, Be Seated,” “The Green Hills of Earth,” “Logic of Empire,” “The Menace from Earth,” “If This Goes On —”, and the short novel Methuselah’s Children — was the massive The Past Through Tomorrow.

I picked up on The Past Through Tomorrow recently, and I was impressed all over again at just how many true SF classics are packed within its pages. I can almost forgive its length, given that it contains 21 stories, three novellas (“The Man Who Sold the Moon,” “Logic of Empire,” and “Coventry”) and a complete novel, Methuselah’s Children. The stories within were published across four decades, from 1939 to 1962, first in John W. Campbell’s Astounding and later in places like Argosy, Blue Book, The Saturday Evening Post, and Scientific American.

Here’s the complete Table of Contents.

Introduction by Damon Knight
“Life-Line” (Astounding Science-Fiction, August 1939)
“The Roads Must Roll” (Astounding Science-Fiction, June 1940)
“Blowups Happen” (Astounding Science-Fiction, September 1940)
“The Man Who Sold the Moon” (The Man Who Sold the Moon, 1950)
“Delilah and the Space-Rigger” (The Blue Book Magazine, December 1949)
“Space Jockey” (The Saturday Evening Post, April 26, 1947)
“Requiem” (Astounding Science-Fiction, January 1940)
“The Long Watch” (The American Legion Magazine, December 1949)
“Gentlemen, Be Seated” (Argosy Magazine, May 1948)
“The Black Pits of Luna” (The Saturday Evening Post, January 10, 1948)
“It’s Great to Be Back!” (The Saturday Evening Post, July 26, 1947)
“—We Also Walk Dogs” (Astounding Science-Fiction, July 1941)
“Searchlight” (Scientific American, August 1962)
“Ordeal in Space” (Town & Country, May 1948)
“The Green Hills of Earth” (The Saturday Evening Post, February 8, 1947)
“Logic of Empire” (Astounding Science-Fiction, March 1941)
“The Menace from Earth” (Fantasy and Science Fiction, August 1957)
“If This Goes On —” (Astounding Science-Fiction, February 1940)
“Coventry” (Astounding Science-Fiction, July 1940)
“Misfit” (Astounding Science-Fiction, November 1939)
Methuselah’s Children (Astounding Science-Fiction, July-August 1941)

Robert A. Heinlein was one of Campbell’s most famous discoveries, and certainly the one that Campbell was most proud of. Alec Nevala-Lee, when discussing his groundbreaking non-fiction book Astounding: John W. Campbell, Isaac Asimov, Robert A. Heinlein, L. Ron Hubbard, and the Golden Age of Science Fiction, said, “Heinlein was the author Campbell was waiting for,” and I think that’s precisely right. Heinlein’s first published story was “Life-Line” in the August 1939 issue of Astounding; more rapidly followed and within a year Campbell was lauding Heinlein in his editorials as “a major science fiction writer.”

The Past Through Tomorrow was published in hardcover by Putnam in 1967, and reprinted in paperback by Berkley Medallion in 1975. The paperback version is 830 pages, priced at $1.50. The cover artist is uncredited.

The Book

In this instance I am providing the complete PDF. You can download it here…

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I have more posts in my Robert A Heinlein index here..

Heinlein

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The Monroe Institute (narrated) Positively Ageless Self-hypnosis session (full)

This article contains audio files developed by the Monroe Institute. This session is titled “Positively Ageless”. It is a self-hypnosis session designed to reinvigorate the mind, consciousness, spirit and body. It is narrated and walks the listener into deep hypnosis.

This post contains Hemi-Sync music / audio tracks.

Hemi-Sync is a method of control that uses sounds to center the activity in the brain. When the brain is fully centered, it becomes easier to exist within this reality. Or even more specifically, easier to be able to use your consciousness to control your brain.

The files are FLAC files. Not MP3.

They should play on almost all cell phones and computers. If you have any doubt you can probably download an APP that will allow you to listen to them.

MP3 is the most popular format while FLAC (Free Lossless Audio Codec) is a less known alternative. The main difference between the two is in how they compress the audio information. MP3 is a lossy format where parts of the audio information that people are not likely to hear are discarded. On the other hand, as the name suggests, FLAC is lossless.

-Difference Between MP3 and FLAC | DifferenceBetween

This Post

This article consists of four audio files that needs to be listened to in sequence.

You need to do so in a quiet area where you will be undisturbed for one hour. And you need to put on headphones, or ear buds to transmit the sounds directly in a balanced method to your brain. You will need to lie down, or sit up, depending on your preference.

The audio track engages the listener to Hemi-Sync, and gives them an experience that is a type of self-hypnosis. You simply relax and listen to the woman “talk” you into a state of relaxation. For some people they find this particular set of music very relaxing and calming. For others, who prefer an over-wrought mind, find it uncomfortable.

The links will each download a ZIP file. Just place it where you want, and copy the files in order, to the player of your preference. You should listen to them in order in one sitting. It will be around a half and hour of listening.

This is an introductory post to give you an idea of how the brain / consciousness centering activity works.

Positively Ageless (Full Package)

These files tend to be large, so I would suggest downloading them one at a time. Otherwise you might have your browser crash or go *tilt*.

Each exercise is a “stand alone” session. They typically last around 40 minutes or so. It starts by walking you into a trance, then performing the functional task at hand, and then walking you up and out of the trance. I would imagine that you might want to perform one exercise one day, and then the next one the day after that. It’s all up to you.

The files

This is the instruction booklet that comes with the five files. It tells you what the “Positively Ageless” session is supposed to accomplish, and how best to listen and perform the associated exercises with it. It is a fundamental component to the five audio tracts listed above.

Positively Ageless with Hemi-Sync. PDF

Important note

This particular singular file is a nice “kit” that you listen to to relax and settle your soul. It is perfect for undoing the noise, the “news” and the hassles of daily life. It serves as a “reset button” role in re-centering the position of your consciousness within your brain. It is an absolute necessity if you really want your affirmation prayers to work efficiently.

You need to lie down to maximize the effect, and you need to wear headphones or ear-buds for the effect to manifest. You just cannot simply have it playing as noise in the background. It will not work that way. The ONLY way that this will work is if you are wearing headphones (ear buds), and lying down on the bed.

Do you want more?

I have more posts in my Hemi-Sync Sub-Index here;

Hemi-Sync

Articles & Links

To go to the MAIN Index;

Master Index

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The Monroe Institute – The Journey Home (full)

This is an introductory post. This article provides a special audio track to assist the interested person in exploring the non-physical world, calming the mind and body, and refreshing the personal energy that we all posses.

The files are FLAC files. Not MP3.

They should play on almost all cell phones and computers. If you have any doubt you can probably download an APP that will allow you to listen to them.

MP3 is the most popular format while FLAC (Free Lossless Audio Codec) is a less known alternative. The main difference between the two is in how they compress the audio information. MP3 is a lossy format where parts of the audio information that people are not likely to hear are discarded. On the other hand, as the name suggests, FLAC is lossless.

-Difference Between MP3 and FLAC | DifferenceBetween

This Post

This is an introductory post. This particular “kit” is a singular FLAC file from “The Monroe Institute”. It contains Hemi-Sync technology and is used to help people access their non-physical reality.

It engages the listener to Hemi-Sync, and gives them an experience as to what consciousness centering is all about. Do not expect any great experiences, enlightenment or seeing visions. It doesn’t work that way. Instead, it retrains the brain to be better organized. For some people they find this particular set of music very relaxing and calming. For others, who prefer an over-wrought mind, find it uncomfortable.

This is an introductory post to give you an idea of how the brain / consciousness centering activity works.

The Journey Home (Full Package)

dBpoweramp Release 16.6 Digital Audio Extraction Log from 15 January 2020 08:43

Drive & Settings
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Ripping with drive 'E: [PLDS - DVD-RW DH16AESH ]', Drive offset: 6, Overread Lead-in/out: No
AccurateRip: Active, Using C2: No, Cache: 1024 KB, FUA Cache Invalidate: No
Pass 1 Drive Speed: Max, Pass 2 Drive Speed: Max
Ultra:: Vary Drive Speed: No, Min Passes: 2, Max Passes: 4, Finish After Clean Passes: 2
Bad Sector Re-rip:: Drive Speed: Max, Maximum Re-reads: 34

Encoder: FLAC -compression-level-0 -verify

Extraction Log
--------------

Track 1: Ripped LBA 0 to 200676 (44:35) in 2:22. Filename: C:\Temp\The Journey Home\01 - The Journey Home._
AccurateRip: Accurate (confidence 2) [Pass 1]
CRC32: C56179A5 AccurateRip CRC: 05CC96D6 (CRCv2) [DiscID: 001-00030fe4-00061fc9-020a7301-1]
AccurateRip Verified Confidence 2 [CRCv2 5cc96d6]
AccurateRip Verified Confidence 2 [CRCv1 c03ec5f5]

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1 Tracks Ripped Accurately

The files

Important note

You can play it while you are walking or resting.

I think that resting is best, but you need to wear headphones or ear-buds for the effect to manifest. You just cannot simply have it playing as noise in the background. It will not work that way. The ONLY way that this will work is if you are wearing headphones (ear buds), and either resting, exercising or walking.

With the best (by far) way to get the full effect of the system is to lie down in bed and allow the system to work.

Do you want more?

I have more posts in my Hemi-Sync Sub-Index here;

Hemi-Sync

Articles & Links

To go to the MAIN Index;

Master Index

You can start reading the articles by going HERE.
You can visit the Index Page HERE to explore by article subject.
You can also ask the author some questions. You can go HERE .
You can find out more about the author HERE.
If you have concerns or complaints, you can go HERE.
If you want to make a donation, you can go HERE.

Please kindly help me out in this effort. There is a lot of effort that goes into this disclosure. I could use all the financial support that anyone could provide. Thank you very much.

Other Amount:

Please kindly enter any notes that you would like to attach to the donation here:

A Metallicman Video Narrative; Home in Zhuhai 8

Well, this is my eighth try at making a Vblog.

Home movies time! Woo! Woo!

I have gotten some positive feedback on them, and I appreciate it. I really do. I think that you can tell, at least, that what I experience doesn’t even remotely resemble the bullshit that pretends to be “news” out of the United States these days. China does not resemble anything like what is being “reported”.

The US government owns all the major media. Alt-left, alt-right, and mainstream. And they do not want anyone inside of China being made aware of the sheer bullshit that they are pumping out. They have blocked China from finding out what they are saying about it.

But that can be expected.

As the influence of the USA wanes, the people within the USA who promote hate, racism, and encourage world war III are going to find themselves on lists. Lists that they don’t want to be on, and which will get them into very, very “hot water” once they step foot outside of their protective enclaves.

But, you know, little-town local papers do have things to offer.

Like this, the Boston Globe. I like how it is laid out, and jeeze, $1 for 6 months is cheap. The only thing is that since I don’t live in Boston any longer, much of the “news” just doesn’t apply to me. Never the less, when I see it, I see hope.

I see hope.

Not everyone was bought out by the huge mega-companies, and dish out the processed swill out of Washington DC. There are people who report on local things, and local events, for local people.

Heck! If I were still in Boston, I would certainly contribute.

This vlog consists of a bunch of videos.

Some narrate while others don’t. What is special here is that (for all the videos on you-tube about China) note seem to tackle the kinds of “everyday life” that I want to provide here. For me, it’s nothing fancy. Yet when I show glimpses of my life to others outside of China, they seem to like it. Cool, I guess. So… this is just myself walking around the neighborhood; my house, and filming it while I discuss the world around me. I hope that you like it.

Keep in mind when you watch the videos, a comparison of your life, with what you are watching on my videos.

The videos

Video One. HERE. 94MB. Public internet is free in China. You can pay for great service at home, but all the public areas have free internet. This is because using the internet is considered a necessity inside of China. You need to for tracking, buying, registering and accessing. And inside China, it is against the law for anyone to profit off of people when they require access to fundamental services. This is a big change compared to the United States where there are a million tiny hands in your wallet and everyone makes a profit off of you.

Video Two. HERE. 319MB. Zhuhai is much larger than Seattle, WA USA, but far better managed. The role of a government is to provide services for it’s people, to protect them, and to allow them to live good, healthy and productive lives. it is not to treat them as sheep to be fleeced, debit slaves, serfs, or cannon fodder so that the oligarchy can profit off wars. For the last 30 years America has blown up thousands of mud huts, destroyed countless flocks of sheep and reduced hundreds of communities to rubble all in the name or personal greed. China didn’t. And what you see is China is what America should be, but isn’t.

Video Three. HERE. 95MB. This is another mall. This is on the center West side of Zhuhai, and you can see that it isn’t so different from American malls. Or at least what they used to be, back in the 1980’s. You can see American restaurants such as Pizza Hut, and Hagen Dias and watch the average people come and go. Do they look like they are “evil”? Do they look like they are starving from famine? Do they look they they are being oppressed while living in a police state by the evil CCP? Does anything resemble “poor and deteriorating” infrastructure? Is the area full of pollution, litter, and refuse? Are the people eating dogs and cats?

Video Four. HERE. 305MB. Here we talk about bicycles and the reality of owning a bicycle in an American city. Most Americans who have cars do not ride bicycles, they just hop in their car to go anywhere. Walking more than a block is a rarity. In fact most suburbs and communities have pretty much given up on sidewalks. So most are unaware of the reality of owning a bicycle inside the United States. The reality is that it will be stolen, or chopped up. The urban ethnic youth just loves to steal your seats and tires for the hell of it. It’s a fun pastime for them. (That’s what happens when strong parental leadership is missing from their lives.) We discuss life in China, and the love of walking and strolling because in China, the cities are designed for living. Not as a place that you look out the window of when you go from point A to point B.

Video Five. HERE. 34MB. A little park on the ocean. The entire coastline is a series of parks, walking and bike trails and rest areas. They are well maintained so that the citizenry can use them. This differs substantially from the United States where every beach has a for-profit parking lot where the local community can profit from. The role of the government is to provide an environment for the people to live and prosper in. Not one where the rich oligarchy can profit off the people and keep them living in fear so more money can be generated.

Video Six. HERE. 62MB. People contributing to the greater good. In America you will see a parking lot go up, and a park bulldozed. This happened all throughout the 1960’s and well into the 1980’s. And after a while the entire landscape was nothing but big large enormous empty asphalt spaces devoid of trees. Then when the business moved away, or when business died off, no one planted trees or grass. Instead they were permitted to collapse and fall into disuse. Not in China. This is because society matters. People matter.

I used to live in a small town in Massachusetts called Wrentham. For the longest time, both Wrentham and it’s neighboring town of Plainville resisted all changes and from the 1960’s up until the 1990’s no new business, or enterprises were permitted. This was true for the nearby community of Frankin as well. The entire area maintained it’s 1950’s charms.

Then the town elders decided to leave and move to Florida, and all of them left. And they all sold their property holdings to wealthy developers and within six months was all sorts of construction everywhere.

All of which held zero interest in the community, and all of which were money making, for profit enterprises run by their children.

You had the Wrenthan outlet mall, and the Wrentham water slide park, and a number of parking garages, and a few new strip malls, and after nine months the feel of the old Mayberry RFD community was displaced with semi-urban strip malls, and for profit venues.

Parking lots sprouted up. McDonald’s, KFC, Burger King, Pizza Hut, Panera Bread, Payless shoe store, and a Dunkin’ Donuts moved next to the old 1950’s style airstream diner, and the large oak trees were cut down to widen the road for heavier traffic flow.

When I left, right after 9-11, the local communities were outraged and all the growth was stopped. But what happened afterwards is unknown. Money could have changed hands, the the encroachment of modernity might have continued. I do not know.

That will never happen in China. China grows and builds and creates and makes, but the community and the society comes first. Not the profit can can be generated from it.

Video Seven. HERE. 30MB. One of my typical meals in China. You see, eating fish is very rare in the United States. When you do it is usually part of a sandwich, like a “fish fillet”, part of a chain like “Long John Silvers”, or deep fried like Southern Fried Catfish. Well, China cooks fish like they should be cooked, and while the bones need to be carefully removed by us Americans, the rest of the nation has no problem and eats the fish with glee and spits out the bones machine-gun style. Not only is the fish meal healthy and good for you, but it is so amazingly delicious.

Video Eight. HERE. 145MB. The beach in front of my house. I normally do not go to the beach, but it’s a pleasant place to be. Here you can see the guys roll up their tee-shirts to expose their bellies which is a very Chinese thing to do in hot climates. It’s called the “Beijing Bikini”. And it’s an on going joke.

You will also notice some little kids running around without clothes on or being partially dressed. It’s no big deal here. Kids are allowed to be kids. Unlike the United States where you could spend the rest of your life in prison as a sexual offender to being near them.

You will also notice that the access to the beach is free. You do not have to pay any fees or fines to go there. This is quite unlike many places in the United States today. This is a typical boardwalk and notice how it is protected with shady trees. Not left to bake in the sun because in America you need to pay for people to rake the leaves and it will cut into your profit margins.

Video Nine. HERE. 44MB. New construction everywhere. the Chinese have mastered the art of construction and people (!) they do not play. I have said this over and over and over again, but it is really true. And unless you are here and see it with your own two eyes, you will have zero comprehension of what you are dealing with, and that is most especially true if you get your Intel from FOX “news” or CNN.

Video Ten. HERE. 75MB. A toddler playground. I would guess that this playground is for children up to six years old, and requires supervision. You will note that there are many, many parents here. If anything happens, any one of them will come to the rescue. You will also notice that there are quite a selection of toddler appropriate play structures from mazes, to jungle gyms, to swing sets and rocking horses.

I am a big believer in age-appropriate playgrounds and outlets. You cannot have “one size fits all” and then make it so safe that only cripples on wheelchairs can use it safely. Play requires independence, safety with a level of risk. Sure, kids can fall, and things can go wrong, but in China all the toddler play areas come with a ton load of adult supervision, and no one is going to allow anything to happen if they can prevent it.

Video Eleven. HERE. 184MB. Wet Market. This is what a wet market is like. It looks a lot like a high-end American supermarket. And that’s because it is. The only difference is that fish are sold while alive. Thus the “wet” portion of the market. I ask, does Forbes, Rush Limbaugh, Hall Turner, or FOX “news” have any video of what a “Wet market” looks like. Nope. They just repeat the ugly narrative, and the ignorant believe it.

I know that I am a bit brash and “in your face” regarding this particular video, but I just read a fully bullshit article out of Forbes that angered me to no end. Still pushing the Wuhan “bat virus” hoax and the China dirty and filthy hoax. Jeeze!

Video Twelve. HERE. 75MB. Activity Center. This is a very common sight all over China. There are these little areas where you spend $5 USD for the kids to play safely. They can play with play-doh, splash in water, feed fish, slide and climb indoors, play dress-up, go to an activity table, play with toys, and paint, or build. The parents must be present, so it is not a Day-care. It’s something else entirely.

Video Thirteen HERE. 37MB. A Dim Sum restaurant. This is about as typical China as you can get, and these places are everywhere in the Southern crest of China. Everything is typical. From the tables and the table cloths to the tea, the types of people, the environment, the decorations and the food provided. This is China.

Video Fourteen HERE. 77MB. This is rush hour in front of a regional mall in a residential section. The sun is setting, the dusk is deepening, and the shade under the trees are lush, moist and green. It’s one of my favorite times of the day. This is when people go outside in China and gather together for meals, some companionship and just to socialize.

To Open the Files

Just unzip to whatever folder you want and then just play the first video, the other videos will play immediately afterwards (if you follow the default settings on your OS). Most videos are between one and a half to four minutes long. All told, it’s roughly 45 minutes in total.

Some key points

This is what China is like.

Is it dirty, smoggy, filthy? Do the people eat dogs and cats? Is the infrastructure failing, and flailing?

From Bing. “China City”.

Here’s a Bing search for “China Street”.

Is it a police state with constant “big brother” surveillance 24/7?

No it’s not.

From Bing “China people”.

What comes up when you do an image search for “China people” on Bing.

But it’s difficult to get the message through when the United States government owns 99.99% of all American media; mainstream, alt-Right and Alt-Left. NAd spend millions of dollars, with bot’s, AI, and armies of people to flood the internet with bad things to say about China.

They WANT to create the great lies of hate, and illusions of what China is.

From Bing. “China military”.

What Bing search engine comes up with when you do a search for “China military”.

Do you want more?

This article is going into a new sub-index that I am creating for it titled VLOG. You can access it here.

Video Blog

Articles & Links

Master Index

You can start reading the articles by going HERE.
You can visit the Index Page HERE to explore by article subject.
You can also ask the author some questions. You can go HERE to find out how to go about this.
You can find out more about the author HERE.
If you have concerns or complaints, you can go HERE.
If you want to make a donation, you can go HERE.

A Metallicman Video Narrative; Home in Zhuhai 7

Well, this is my seventh try at making a Vblog.

One thing is for certain it takes a different set of skills to do. And, maybe this methodology is better suited to me. I won’t have people complaining about spelling and grammar, or idiom mistakes so often.

This vlog consists of a bunch of videos. Some narrate while others don’t. What is special here is that (for all the videos on you-tube about China) note seem to tackle the kinds of “everyday life” that I want to provide here.

For me, it’s nothing fancy. Yet when I show glimpses of my life to others outside of China, they seem to like it. Cool, I guess. So… this is just myself walking around the neighborhood; my house, and filming it while I discuss the world around me. I hope that you like it.

Keep in mind when you watch the videos, a comparison of your life, with what you are watching on my videos.

The theme behind these videos are “Look at everyday life inside of China”

The videos

Video One. 92MB. Reuse of discarded lighters, and hand sanitizers at the Zhuhai airport. This is common throughout China, but not so common in the United States. My experience is that the lighters are discarded in the United States.

Video Two. 56MB. Vet’s office part I. Bringing my dog into the vet’s office. What it is like and what is a going on. You get a very good idea about animal care inside of China with this particular video.

Video Three. 55MB. Vet’s office part II. Showing some of the customers to the vet clinic, and the pets that they bring in. It’s a big change from the American / UK narrative that the Chinese only eat dogs and cats. Isn’t it, eh?

Video Four. 29MB. This is a local government Social Security office. It reminds me of the United States Post Office. But I will tell you that they were efficient. You use the QR to apply and submit documents via the app. Then you arrive for your appointment. Waiting time is under five minutes, as the AI bases wait times on an individual-by-individual basis.

Video Five. 55MB. Playing with 5G AI in the local mall. You just scan the QR code and then run the APP. Then what you film interacts with the various programs and have you interacting with things. In the one that we choose, we point and push and do imaginary things in the air, and the APP interprets it to be myself pushing jellyfish, moving bubbles, tickling whales and chasing dolphins about.

Video Six. 69MB. A ride in the taxi through Jida, showing all the construction everywhere, and what it is like here in Zhuhai. I am told that China is ugly, filth and run by evil chicom crooks. I am also told that I am “blind” to the “real” China. Kind of difficult to buy a coke when you are “blind”, don’t you know.

Video Seven. 91MB. This is my local medical clinic in my neighborhood. It is in the old section of town, and filmed on a busy Saturday. As you can see, the things are a bit more used, distressed and in use. There is nothing wrong with that. The clinic will be replaced in a year or two anyways.

Video Eight. 21MB. This is a semi-normal, semi-regular meal that the MM household tends to have on the weekends. This particular meal is at a Vietnamese restaurant that we are VIP members of. (VIP membership is a regular feature throughout China.) And this dish is curried Chicken with potatoes and hot peppers with a side of okra. Actually how it is cooked makes all the difference in the world. It goes great with beer in a glass filled with crushed ice, pineapple rice with squid and shrimp, and shrimp / coconut chips.

Video Nine. 79MB. Pre-Kindergarden. Here you can bring your 9 month old baby to three years to Pre-Kindergarden. The babies, toddlers and youth learn social skills, stories, language and communication skills as well as some basic math, and history through stories, songs, and dance. Since many of the children are not toilet trained, and many are still nursing, the parents must be present with the children.

Yes, I can add streaming video code instead. And I am researching it. The thing is that I do not want code that is connected to the American oligarchy in any way. And most available codes are. 

Sure, you can host the video on your site, but the video will be directly tied to Google, which is then tied to the NSA, which is then under the control of the American Federal Government. So I am looking into this. 

I'll keep you all posted on my successes or failures in this matter. Maybe I'll ask Jeff Brown for some pointers....

To Open the Files

Some key points

This is what China is like.

Is it dirty, smoggy, filthy? Do the people eat dogs and cats? Is the infrastructure failing, and flailing? Is it a police state with constant “big brother” surveillance 24/7?

No it’s not.

But it’s difficult to get the message through when the Untied States government owns 99.99% of all American media; mainstream, alt-Right and Alt-Left. And then makes i had for people inside of China to post videos on You-Tube or Facebook.

They WANT to create the great lies of hate.

Do you want more?

This article is going into a new sub-index that I am creating for it titled VLOG. You can access it here.

Video Blog

Articles & Links

Master Index

You can start reading the articles by going HERE.
You can visit the Index Page HERE to explore by article subject.
You can also ask the author some questions. You can go HERE to find out how to go about this.
You can find out more about the author HERE.
If you have concerns or complaints, you can go HERE.
If you want to make a donation, you can go HERE.

A Metallicman Video Narrative; Home in Zhuhai 6

Well, this is my sixth try at making a Vblog.

Here's my MM dirty little secret; I'm beginning to get a little touch of Carpal Tunnel in my wrists. So I really need to lay off the heavy typing aspects of MM. Sorry, but I am a human and my body is a human body with all sorts of physical limitations. Ugh!

Keep in mind when you watch the videos, a comparison of your life, with what you are watching on my videos.

The theme behind these videos are “Look at everyday life inside of China part three”

As opposed to…

The videos

Here I am providing some videos, narrated as is my want, and thrown at you all with wild abandon. Yee Haw!

Video One HERE. 282MB. The tax office, a Chinese bird, and a six lane intersection. This first video is a honker, and it is enormous. It might take some time to download. Sorry guys.

Video Two HERE. 55.4MB. A tale in the elevator. Not much of a tale, rather just what it is like when you are captive inside an elevator with commercials playing.

Video Three HERE. 34.3MB. At the Chinese version of Social Security. If it reminds you of the US Post office, yeah, well, it’s all pretty similar. Except that in China, they are for more compassionate and nicer than what I remember everyone back in the States to be.

Video Four HERE. 40.5MB. At the mall and experiencing 5G AI by QR code. Well, almost actually, the AI and all that fancy stuff happened after I filmed this segment. Because, after all, you need the cell phone to active the AI effects. And while they were impressive from a technical point of view… my hands moving jellyfishes and other fishes and bubbles about, I really just thought of it as a cute gimmick for kids.

Video Five HERE. 88MB. A ride in a taxi from the mall during rush hour. My daughter was playing with the kid’s version of Tictok and the noise in the background is one of her videos. Ai! Oh! LOL.

Yes, I can add streaming video code instead. And I am researching it. The thing is that I do not want code that is connected to the American oligarchy in any way. And most available codes are. 

Sure, you can host the video on your site, but the video will be directly tied to Google, which is then tied to the NSA, which is then under the control of the American Federal Government. So I am looking into this. 

I'll keep you all posted on my successes or failures in this matter. Maybe I'll ask Jeff Brown for some pointers....

And my point is…

This is my life. Please point out where I experience the same kind of narrative that the American (and UK) government says exists within China.

To Open the Files

Do you want more?

This article is going into a new sub-index that I am creating for it titled VLOG. You can access it here.

Video Blog

Articles & Links

Master Index

You can start reading the articles by going HERE.
You can visit the Index Page HERE to explore by article subject.
You can also ask the author some questions. You can go HERE to find out how to go about this.
You can find out more about the author HERE.
If you have concerns or complaints, you can go HERE.
If you want to make a donation, you can go HERE.

A Metallicman Video Narrative; Home in Zhuhai 5

Well, this is my fifth try at making a Vblog.

Keep in mind when you watch the videos, a comparison of your life, with what you are watching on my videos.

The theme behind these videos are “Look at everyday life inside of China part two”

The videos

Here I am providing some videos, narrated as is my want, and thrown at you all with wild abandon. Yee Haw!

Video one HERE. 77MB Futility, or a sense of belonging?

Video two HERE. 208MB. Banking and taxation within China.

Video three HERE. 163MB. Wasted away again in Lipton-baijiu-aville.

Video Four HERE. 123MB. At the airport.

Yes, I can add streaming video code instead. And I am researching it. The thing is that I do not want code that is connected to the American oligarchy in any way. And most available codes are. 

Sure, you can host the video on your site, but the video will be directly tied to Google, which is then tied to the NSA, which is then under the control of the American Federal Government. So I am looking into this. 

I'll keep you all posted on my successes or failures in this matter. Maybe I'll ask Jeff Brown for some pointers....

To Open the Files

Some key points

This is what China is like.

Is it dirty, smoggy, filthy? Do the people eat dogs and cats? Is the infrastructure failing, and flailing? Is it a police state with constant “big brother” surveillance 24/7?

No it’s not.

They WANT to create the great lies of hate.

Hey! Here’s the latest “news” about China today. What issues are being promoted, and how are they being described?

Does it resemble anything like what is really going on?

Do you want more?

This article is going into a new sub-index that I am creating for it titled VLOG. You can access it here.

Video Blog

Articles & Links

Master Index

You can start reading the articles by going HERE.
You can visit the Index Page HERE to explore by article subject.
You can also ask the author some questions. You can go HERE to find out how to go about this.
You can find out more about the author HERE.
If you have concerns or complaints, you can go HERE.
If you want to make a donation, you can go HERE.

Law 1 of the 48 laws of Power by Robert Greene. Never Outshine the Master

Fearless (2006)

Fearless, as Jet Li's Fearless in the United Kingdom and in the United States, is a 2006 Chinese-Hong Kong martial arts film. It is loosely based on the life of Huo Yuanjia, a Chinese martial artist who challenged foreign fighters in highly publicised events, restoring pride and nationalism to China at a time when Western imperialism and Japanese manipulation were eroding the country in the final years of the Qing Dynasty before the birth of the Republic of China.

Lesson One.

This is one of the most important points that Robert Greene has taught us. Once a student, always a student until the day your mentor leaves. For a true master is a great ally, but an even worst foe. Be constantly on guard for your actions, and beware of your environment, least you damage something that has developed to be part of your very being.

LAW 1

NEVER OUTSHINE THE MASTER

JUDGMENT

Always make those above you feel comfortably superior. In your desire to please and impress them, do not go too far in displaying your talents or you might accomplish the opposite—inspire fear and insecurity. Make your masters appear more brilliant than they are and you will attain the heights of power.

TRANSGRESSION OF THE LAW

Nicolas Fouquet, Louis XIV’s finance minister in the first years of his reign, was a generous man who loved lavish parties, pretty women, and poetry. He also loved money, for he led an extravagant lifestyle.

Fouquet was clever and very much indispensable to the king, so when the prime minister, Jules Mazarin, died, in 1661, the finance minister expected to be named the successor. Instead, the king decided to abolish the position.

This and other signs made Fouquet suspect that he was falling out of favor, and so he decided to ingratiate himself with the king by staging the most spectacular party the world had ever seen. The party’s ostensible purpose would be to commemorate the completion of Fouquet’s château, Vaux-le- Vicomte, but its real function was to pay tribute to the king, the guest of honor.

The most brilliant nobility of Europe and some of the greatest minds of the time—La Fontaine, La Rochefoucauld, Madame de Sévigné attended the party. Molière wrote a play for the occasion, in which he himself was to perform at the evening’s conclusion. The party began with a lavish seven- course dinner, featuring foods from the Orient never before tasted in France, as well as new dishes created especially for the night. The meal was accompanied with music commissioned by Fouquet to honor the king.

After dinner there was a promenade through the château’s gardens. The grounds and fountains of Vaux-le-Vicomte were to be the inspiration for Versailles.

Fouquet personally accompanied the young king through the geometrically aligned arrangements of shrubbery and flower beds.

Arriving at the gardens’ canals, they witnessed a fireworks display, which was followed by the performance of Molière’s play.

The party ran well into the night and everyone agreed it was the most amazing affair they had ever attended.

The next day, Fouquet was arrested by the king’s head musketeer, D’Artagnan. Three months later he went on trial for stealing from the country’s treasury. (Actually, most of the stealing he was accused of he had done on the king’s behalf and with the king’s permission.)

Fouquet was found guilty and sent to the most isolated prison in France, high in the Pyrenees Mountains, where he spent the last twenty years of his life in solitary confinement.

Interpretation

Louis XIV, the Sun King, was a proud and arrogant man who wanted to be the center of attention at all times; he could not countenance being outdone in lavishness by anyone, and certainly not his finance minister.

To succeed Fouquet, Louis chose Jean-Baptiste Colbert, a man famous for his parsimony and for giving the dullest parties in Paris. Colbert made sure that any money liberated from the treasury went straight into Louis’s hands.

With the money, Louis built a palace even more magnificent than Fouquet’s —the glorious palace of Versailles. He used the same architects, decorators, and garden designer. And at Versailles, Louis hosted parties even more extravagant than the one that cost Fouquet his freedom.

Let us examine the situation.

The evening of the party, as Fouquet presented spectacle on spectacle to Louis, each more magnificent than the one before, he imagined the affair as demonstrating his loyalty and devotion to the king.

Not only did he think the party would put him back in the king’s favor, he thought it would show his good taste, his connections, and his popularity, making him indispensable to the king and demonstrating that he would make an excellent prime minister.

Instead, however, each new spectacle, each appreciative smile bestowed by the guests on Fouquet, made it seem to Louis that his own friends and subjects were more charmed by the finance minister than by the king himself, and that Fouquet was actually flaunting his wealth and power.

Rather than flattering Louis XIV, Fouquet’s elaborate party offended the king’s vanity.

Louis would not admit this to anyone, of course—instead, he found a convenient excuse to rid himself of a man who had inadvertently made him feel insecure.

Such is the fate, in some form or other, of all those who unbalance the master’s sense of self, poke holes in his vanity, or make him doubt his pre- eminence.

When the evening began, Fouquet was at the top of the world.

By the time it had ended, he was at the bottom.

Voltaire, 1694-1778

OBSERVANCE OF THE LAW

In the early 1600s, the Italian astronomer and mathematician Galileo found himself in a precarious position.

He depended on the generosity of great rulers to support his research, and so, like all Renaissance scientists, he would sometimes make gifts of his inventions and discoveries to the leading patrons of the time.

Once, for instance, he presented a military compass he had invented to the Duke of Gonzaga.

Then he dedicated a book explaining the use of the compass to the Medicis.

Both rulers were grateful, and through them Galileo was able to find more students to teach.

No matter how great the discovery, however, his patrons usually paid him with gifts, not cash.

This made for a life of constant insecurity and dependence. There must be an easier way, he thought.

Galileo hit on a new strategy in 1610, when he discovered the moons of Jupiter. Instead of dividing the discovery among his patrons—giving one the telescope he had used, dedicating a book to another, and so on—as he had done in the past, he decided to focus exclusively on the Medicis.

He chose the Medicis for one reason: Shortly after Cosimo I had established the Medici dynasty, in 1540, he had made Jupiter, the mightiest of the gods, the Medici symbol—a symbol of a power that went beyond politics and banking, one linked to ancient Rome and its divinities.

Galileo turned his discovery of Jupiter’s moons into a cosmic event honoring the Medicis’ greatness.

Shortly after the discovery, he announced that “the bright stars [the moons of Jupiter] offered themselves in the heavens” to his telescope at the same time as Cosimo II’s enthronement.

He said that the number of the moons—four—harmonized with the number of the Medicis (Cosimo II had three brothers) and that the moons orbited Jupiter as these four sons revolved around Cosimo I, the dynasty’s founder.

More than coincidence, this showed that the heavens themselves reflected the ascendancy of the Medici family.

After he dedicated the discovery to the Medicis, Galileo commissioned an emblem representing Jupiter sitting on a cloud with the four stars circling about him, and presented this to Cosimo II as a symbol of his link to the stars.

In 1610 Cosimo II made Galileo his official court philosopher and mathematician, with a full salary. For a scientist this was the coup of a lifetime.

The days of begging for patronage were over.

Interpretation

In one stroke, Galileo gained more with his new strategy than he had in years of begging.

The reason is simple: All masters want to appear more brilliant than other people.

They do not care about science or empirical truth or the latest invention ; they care about their name and their glory.

Galileo gave the Medicis infinitely more glory by linking their name with cosmic forces than he had by making them the patrons of some new scientific gadget or discovery.

Scientists are not spared the vagaries of court life and patronage.

They too must serve masters who hold the purse strings. And their great intellectual powers can make the master feel insecure, as if he were only there to supply the funds—an ugly, ignoble job.

The producer of a great work wants to feel he is more than just the provider of the financing. He wants to appear creative and powerful, and also more important than the work produced in his name.

Instead of insecurity you must give him glory. Galileo did not challenge the intellectual authority of the Medicis with his discovery, or make them feel inferior in any way; by literally aligning them with the stars, he made them shine brilliantly among the courts of Italy.

He did not outshine the master, he made the master outshine all others.

KEYS TO POWER

Everyone has insecurities.

When you show yourself in the world and display your talents, you naturally stir up all kinds of resentment, envy, and other manifestations of insecurity. This is to be expected.

You cannot spend your life worrying about the petty feelings of others.

With those above you, however, you must take a different approach: When it comes to power, outshining the master is perhaps the worst mistake of all.

Do not fool yourself into thinking that life has changed much since the days of Louis XIV and the Medicis.

Those who attain high standing in life are like kings and queens: They want to feel secure in their positions, and superior to those around them in intelligence, wit, and charm.

It is a deadly but common misperception to believe that by displaying and vaunting your gifts and talents, you are winning the master’s affection.

He may feign appreciation, but at his first opportunity he will replace you with someone less intelligent, less attractive, less threatening, just as Louis XIV replaced the sparkling Fouquet with the bland Colbert. And as with Louis, he will not admit the truth, but will find an excuse to rid himself of your presence.

This Law involves two rules that you must realize. First, you can inadvertently outshine a master simply by being yourself. There are masters who are more insecure than others, monstrously insecure; you may naturally outshine them by your charm and grace.

No one had more natural talents than Astorre Manfredi, prince of Faenza.

The most handsome of all the young princes of Italy, he captivated his subjects with his generosity and open spirit.

In the year 1500, Cesare Borgia laid siege to Faenza.

When the city surrendered, the citizens expected the worst from the cruel Borgia, who, however, decided to spare the town: He simply occupied its fortress, executed none of its citizens, and allowed Prince Manfredi, eighteen at the time, to remain with his court, in complete freedom.

A few weeks later, though, soldiers hauled Astorre Manfredi away to a Roman prison.

A year after that, his body was fished out of the River Tiber, a stone tied around his neck.

Borgia justified the horrible deed with some sort of trumped-up charge of treason and conspiracy, but the real problem was that he was notoriously vain and insecure.

The young man was outshining him without even trying.

Given Manfredi’s natural talents, the prince’s mere presence made Borgia seem less attractive and charismatic.

The lesson is simple: If you cannot help being charming and superior, you must learn to avoid such monsters of vanity.

Either that, or find a way to mute your good qualities when in the company of a Cesare Borgia.

Second, never imagine that because the master loves you, you can do anything you want.

Entire books could be written about favorites who fell out of favor by taking their status for granted, for daring to outshine.

In late- sixteenth-century Japan, the favorite of Emperor Hideyoshi was a man called Sen no Rikyu.

The premier artist of the tea ceremony, which had become an obsession with the nobility, he was one of Hideyoshi’s most trusted advisers, had his own apartment in the palace, and was honored throughout Japan.

Yet in 1591, Hideyoshi had him arrested and sentenced to death.

Rikyu took his own life, instead.

The cause for his sudden change of fortune was discovered later: It seems that Rikyu, former peasant and later court favorite, had had a wooden statue made of himself wearing sandals (a sign of nobility) and posing loftily. He had had this statue placed in the most important temple inside the palace gates, in clear sight of the royalty who often would pass by.

To Hideyoshi this signified that Rikyu had no sense of limits. Presuming that he had the same rights as those of the highest nobility, he had forgotten that his position depended on the emperor, and had come to believe that he had earned it on his own.

This was an unforgivable miscalculation of his own importance and he paid for it with his life.

Remember the following: Never take your position for granted and never let any favors you receive go to your head.

Knowing the dangers of outshining your master, you can turn this Law to your advantage.

First you must flatter and puff up your master.

Overt flattery can be effective but has its limits; it is too direct and obvious, and looks bad to other courtiers.

Discreet flattery is much more powerful. If you are more intelligent than your master, for example, seem the opposite: Make him appear more intelligent than you. Act naive. Make it seem that you need his expertise. Commit harmless mistakes that will not hurt you in the long run but will give you the chance to ask for his help. Masters adore such requests. A master who cannot bestow on you the gifts of his experience may direct rancor and ill will at you instead.

If your ideas are more creative than your master’s, ascribe them to him, in as public a manner as possible.

Make it clear that your advice is merely an echo of his advice.

If you surpass your master in wit, it is okay to play the role of the court jester, but do not make him appear cold and surly by comparison.

Tone down your humor if necessary, and find ways to make him seem the dispenser of amusement and good cheer.

If you are naturally more sociable and generous than your master, be careful not to be the cloud that blocks his radiance from others.

He must appear as the sun around which everyone revolves, radiating power and brilliance, the center of attention.

If you are thrust into the position of entertaining him, a display of your limited means may win you his sympathy. Any attempt to impress him with your grace and generosity can prove fatal: Learn from Fouquet or pay the price.

In all of these cases it is not a weakness to disguise your strengths if in the end they lead to power.

By letting others outshine you, you remain in control, instead of being a victim of their insecurity.

This will all come in handy the day you decide to rise above your inferior status.

If, like Galileo, you can make your master shine even more in the eyes of others, then you are a godsend and you will be instantly promoted.

Image:

The Stars in the Sky. There can be only one sun at a time. Never obscure the sunlight, or rival the sun’s brilliance; rather, fade into the sky and find ways to heighten the master star’s intensity.

Authority:

Avoid outshining the master. All superiority is odious, but the superiority of a subject over his prince is not only stupid, it is fatal. This is a lesson that the stars in the sky teach us—they may be related to the sun, and just as brilliant, but they never appear in her company. 

(Baltasar Gracián, 1601-1658)

REVERSAL

You cannot worry about upsetting every person you come across, but you must be selectively cruel.

If your superior is a falling star, there is nothing to fear from outshining him.

Do not be merciful—your master had no such scruples in his own cold-blooded climb to the top.

Gauge his strength.

If he is weak, discreetly hasten his downfall: Outdo, outcharm, outsmart him at key moments.

If he is very weak and ready to fall, let nature take its course.

Do not risk outshining a feeble superior—it might appear cruel or spiteful. But if your master is firm in his position, yet you know yourself to be the more capable, bide your time and be patient.

It is the natural course of things that power eventually fades and weakens. Your master will fall someday, and if you play it right, you will outlive and someday outshine him.

Conclusion

We are often nothing if we act alone, but we can achieve greatness if we form a bond with a group of people.

Within those people are those of great skill, knowledge, experience and ability. You can use their talents for the greater good of the group. You can also learn from them and then in tern become proficient as they.

However, when you are in a group, you must never outshine anyone. You must fit within the group and all praises o to the group, not to the individual stars. Once a group of hard-working individuals are ignored by a singular member, the negative emotions of human greet, envy, lust and others start to corrupt the group. It can harm everyone.

Be careful of what you do, and be humble in your assigned position in life.

Do you want more?

I have more posts in my “48 Laws of Power” Index here…

The 48 Laws

Articles & Links

Master Index

You can start reading the articles by going HERE.
You can visit the Index Page HERE to explore by article subject.
You can also ask the author some questions. You can go HERE to find out how to go about this.
You can find out more about the author HERE.
If you have concerns or complaints, you can go HERE.
If you want to make a donation, you can go HERE.

A Metallicman Video Narrative; Home in Zhuhai 4

Well, this is my fourth try at making a Vblog.

Keep in mind when you watch the videos, a comparison of your life, with what you are watching on my videos.

The theme behind these videos are “Look at everyday life inside of China”

The videos

Here I am providing some videos of riding on a public bus in China, A video showing just the insane level of construction everywhere that is all over China, and what it is like to take my little dog to the vet.

Video one HERE. 39MB. Taking public transportation to get around.

Video two HERE. 23.3MB. Construction everywhere.

Video three HERE. 40MB. My dog visits the local vet for his shots.

Video four HERE. 72MB. A visit to the tiny Zhuhai airport.

Video five HERE. 107MB. A study of trash receptacles near my home.

Yes, I can add streaming video code instead. And I am researching it. The thing is that I do not want code that is connected to the American oligarchy in any way. And most available codes are. 

Sure, you can host the video on your site, but the video will be directly tied to Google, which is then tied to the NSA, which is then under the control of the American Federal Government. So I am looking into this. 

I'll keep you all posted on my successes or failures in this matter. Maybe I'll ask Jeff Brown for some pointers....

To Open the Files

Some key points

This is what China is like.

Is it dirty, smoggy, filthy? Do the people eat dogs and cats? Is the infrastructure failing, and flailing? Is it a police state with constant “big brother” surveillance 24/7?

No it’s not.

They WANT to create the great lies of hate.

Do you want more?

This article is going into a new sub-index that I am creating for it titled VLOG. You can access it here.

Video Blog

Articles & Links

Master Index

You can start reading the articles by going HERE.
You can visit the Index Page HERE to explore by article subject.
You can also ask the author some questions. You can go HERE to find out how to go about this.
You can find out more about the author HERE.
If you have concerns or complaints, you can go HERE.
If you want to make a donation, you can go HERE.

The Exiles by Ray Bradbury (Full text)

This is a nice story by Ray Bradbury.

Summary

The story begins with a scene the three witches from Macbeth brewing a potion and staring into a crystal, which reveals another scene that takes place on a rocket ship. Originating from Earth, the men on the rocket ship are panicking because they have recently experienced nightmares, confusing illnesses, and unexpected death. They are destined for Mars, and they are worried that these events may be warnings from Martians not to arrive.

As the crewmembers talk, it becomes clear that the Earth they are leaving has banned many books, some of which are considered some of the best authors of all time. The rocket ship has the last edition of many of these works, and their goal is to burn the books upon their arrival at Mars. Once they have burned the books, there will be no remaining evidence that these authors ever existed...

The Exiles

THEIR EYES were fire and the breath flamed out the witches’ mouths as they bent to probe the caldron with greasy stick and bony finger.
‘When shall we three meet again
In thunder, lightning, or in rain?’
They danced drunkenly on the shore of an empty sea, fouling the air with their
three tongues, and burning it with their cats’ eyes malevolently aglitter:

‘Round about the cauldron go;
In the poison’d entrails throw.
Double, double, toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and cauldron bubble!’

They paused and cast a glance about. ‘Where’s the crystal? Where the needles?’
‘Here!’
‘Good!’
‘Is the yellow wax thickened?’
‘Yes!’
‘Pour it in the iron mold!’
‘Is the wax figure done?’ They shaped it like molasses adrip on their green
hands.
‘Shove the needle through the heart!’
‘The crystal, the crystal; fetch it from the tarot bag. Dust it off; have a
look!’
They bent to the crystal, their faces white.
‘See, see, see . . .’

…

A rocket ship moved through space from the planet Earth to the planet Mars. On
the rocket ship men were dying.
The captain raised his head, tiredly. ‘We’ll have to use the morphine.’
‘But, Captain”
‘You see yourself this man’s condition.’ The captain lifted the wool blanket and
the man restrained beneath the wet sheet moved and groaned. The air was full of
sulphurous thunder.
‘I saw it’I saw it.’ The man opened his eyes and stared at the port where there
were only black spaces, reeling stars, Earth far removed, and the planet Mars
rising large and red. ‘I saw it’a bat, a huge thing, a bat with a man’s face,
spread over the front port. Fluttering and fluttering, fluttering and
fluttering.’
‘Pulse?’ asked the captain.
The orderly measured it. ‘One hundred and thirty.’
‘He can’t go on with that. Use the morphine. Come along, Smith.’
They moved away. Suddenly the floor plates were laced with bone and white skulls that screamed. The captain did not dare look down, and over the screaming he said, ‘Is this where Perse is?’ turning in at a hatch.
A white-smocked surgeon stepped away from a body. ‘I just don’t understand it.’
‘How did Perse die?’
‘We don’t know, Captain. It wasn’t his heart, his brain, or shock. He just’ died.’
The captain felt the doctor’s wrist, which changed to a hissing snake and bit
him. The captain did not flinch. ‘Take care of yourself. You’ve a pulse too.’
The doctor nodded. ‘Perse complained of pains’needles, he said’ in his wrists and
legs. Said he felt like wax, melting. He fell. I helped him up. He cried like a
child. Said he had a silver needle in his heart. He died. Here he is. We can
repeat the autopsy for you. Everything’s physically normal.’
‘That’s impossible! He died of something!’
The captain walked to a port. He smelled of menthol and iodine and green soap on his polished and manicured hands. His white teeth were dentifriced, and his ears scoured to a pinkness, as were his cheeks. His uniform was the color of new
salt, and his boots were black mirrors shining below him. His crisp crew-cut
hair smelled of sharp alcohol. Even his breath was sharp and new and clean.
There was no spot to him. He was a fresh instrument, honed and ready, still hot
from the surgeon’s oven.
The men with him were from the same mold. One expected huge brass keys spiraling
slowly from their backs. They were expensive, talented, well-oiled toys,
obedient and quick.
The captain watched the planet Mars grow very large in space. ‘We’ll be landing
in an hour on that damned place. Smith, did you see any bats, or have other
nightmares?’
‘Yes, sir. The month before our rocket took off from New York, sir. White rats
biting my neck, drinking my blood. I didn’t tell. I was afraid you wouldn’t let me come on this trip.’
‘Never mind,’ sighed the captain. ‘I had dreams too. In all of my fifty years I
never had a dream until that week before we took off from Earth. And then every night I dreamed I was a white wolf. Caught on a snowy hill. Shot with a silver bullet. Buried with a stake in my heart.’ He moved his head toward Mars. ‘Do you think, Smith, they know we’re coming?’
‘We don’t know if there are Martian people, sir.’
‘Don’t we? They began frightening us off eight weeks ago, before we started.
They’ve killed Perse and Reynolds now. Yesterday they made Crenville go blind.
How? I don’t know. Bats, needles, dreams, men dying for no reason. I’d call it
witchcraft in another day. But this is the year 2120, Smith. We’re rational men.
This all can’t be happening. But it is! Whoever they are, with their needles and
their bats, they’ll try to finish us all.’ He swung about. ‘Smith, fetch those books from my file. I want them when we land.’
Two hundred books were piled on the rocket deck.
‘Thank you, Smith. Have you glanced at them? Think I’m insane? Perhaps. It’s a
crazy hunch. At that last moment I ordered these books from the Historical
Museum. Because of my dreams. Twenty nights I was stabbed, butchered, a
screaming bat pinned to a surgical mat, a thing rotting underground in a black
box; bad, wicked dreams. Our whole crew dreamed of witch-things and were-things, vampires and phantoms, things they couldn’t know anything about. Why? Because books on such ghastly subjects were destroyed a century ago. By law. Forbidden for anyone to own the grisly volumes. These books you see here are the last copies, kept for historical purposes in the locked museum vaults.’
Smith bent to read the dusty titles:
‘Tales of Mystery and Imagination, by Edgar Allan Poe. Dracula, by Brain Stoker.
Frankenstein, by Mary Shelley. The Turn of the Screw, by Henry James. The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, by Washington Irving. Rappaccini’s Daughter, by Nathaniel Hawthorne. An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge, by Ambrose Bierce. Alice in Wonderland, by Lewis Carroll. The Willows, by Algernon Blackwood. The Wizard of Oz, by L. Frank Baum. The Weird Shadow Over Innsmouth, by H. P. Lovecraft. And more! Books by Walter de la Mare, Wakefield, Harvey, Wells, Asquith, Huxley’all forbidden authors. All burned in the same year that Halloween was outlawed and Christmas was banned! But, sir, what good are these to us on the rocket?’
‘I don’t know,’ sighed the captain, ‘yet.’

…

The three bags lifted the crystal where the captain’s image flickered, his tiny
voice tinkling out of the glass:
‘I don’t know,’ sighed the captain, ‘yet.’
The three witches glared redly into one another’s faces.
‘We haven’t much time,’ said one.
‘Better warn Them in the City.’
‘They’ll want to know about the books. It doesn’t look good. That fool of a
captain!’
‘In an hour they’ll land their rocket.’
The three bags shuddered and blinked up at the Emerald City by the edge of the
dry Martian sea.

…

In its highest window a small man held a blood-red drape aside.
He watched the wastelands where the three witches fed their caldron and shaped the waxes. Farther along, ten thousand other blue fires and laurel incenses, black tobacco smokes and fir weeds, cinnamons and bone dusts rose soft as moths through the Martian night. The man counted the angry, magical fires. Then, as the three witches stared, he turned. The crimson drape, released, fell, causing the distant portal to wink, like a yellow eye.
Mr. Edgar Allan Poe stood in the tower window, a faint vapor of spirits upon his
breath. ‘Hecate’s friends are busy tonight,’ he said, seeing the witches, far
below.
A voice behind him said, ‘I saw Will Shakespeare at the shore, earlier, whipping
them on. All along the sea Shakespeare’s army alone, tonight, numbers thousands: the three witches, Oberon, Hamlet’s father, Puck’all, all of them’thousands!
Good lord, a regular sea of people.’
‘Good William.’ Poe turned. He let the crimson drape fall shut. He stood for a
moment to observe the raw stone room, the black-timbered table, the candle
flame, the other man, Mr. Ambrose Bierce, sitting very idly there, lighting
matches and watching them burn down, whistling under his breath, now and then laughing to himself.
‘We’ll have to tell Mr. Dickens now,’ said Mr. Poe. ‘We’ve put it off too long.
It’s a matter of hours. Will you go down to his home with me, Bierce?’
Bierce glanced up merrily. ‘I’ve just been thinking’what’ll happen to us?’
‘If we can’t kill the rocket men off, frighten them away, then we’ll have to
leave, of course. We’ll go on to Jupiter, and when they come to Jupiter, we’ll
go on to Saturn, and when they come to Saturn, we’ll go to Uranus, or Neptune,
and then on out to Pluto”’
‘Where then?’
Mr. Poe’s face was weary; there were fire coals remaining, fading, in his eyes,
and a sad wildness in the way he talked, and a uselessness of his hands and the
way his hair fell lankly over his amazing white brow. He was like a satan of
some lost dark cause, a general arrived from a derelict invasion. His silky,
soft, black mustache was worn away by his musing lips. He was so small his brow
seemed to float, vast and phosphorescent, by itself, in the dark room.
‘We have the advantages of superior forms of travel,’ he said. ‘We can always
hope for one of their atomic wars, dissolution, the dark ages come again. The
return of superstition. We could go back then to Earth, all of us, in one
night.’ Mr. Poe’s black eyes brooded under his round and luminant brow. He gazed
at the ceiling. ‘So they’re coming to ruin this world too? They won’t leave
anything undefiled, will they?’
‘Does a wolf pack stop until it’s killed its prey and eaten the guts? It should
be quite a war. I shall sit on the side lines and be the scorekeeper. So many
Earthmen boiled in oil, so many Mss. Found in Bottles burnt, so many Earthmen
stabbed with needles, so many Red Deaths put to flight by a battery of
hypodermic syringes’ha!’
Poe swayed angrily, faintly drunk with wine. ‘What did we do? Be with us,
Bierce, in the name of God! Did we have a fair trial before a company of
literary critics? No! Our books were plucked up by neat, sterile, surgeon’s
pliers, and flung into vats, to boil, to be killed of all their mortuary germs.
Damn them all!’
‘I find our situation amusing,’ said Bierce.
They were interrupted by a hysterical shout from the tower stair.
‘Mr. Poe! Mr. Bierce!’
‘Yes, yes, we’re coming!’ Poe and Bierce descended to find a man gasping against
the stone passage wall.
‘Have you heard the news?’ he cried immediately, clawing at them like a man
about to fall over a cliff. ‘In an hour they’ll land! They’re bringing books
with them’old books, the witches said! What’re you doing in the tower at a time
like this? Why aren’t you acting?’
Poe said: ‘We’re doing everything we can, Blackwood. You’re new to all this.
Come along, we’re going to Mr. Charles Dickens’ place”’
”to contemplate our doom, our black doom,’ said Mr. Bierce, with a wink.
They moved down the echoing throats of the castle, level after dim green level,
down into mustiness and decay and spiders and dreamlike webbing. ‘Don’t worry,’ said Poe, his brow like a huge white lamp before them, descending, sinking. ‘All along the dead sea tonight I’ve called the others. Your friends and mine, Blackwood’Bierce. They’re all there. The animals and the old women and the tall men with the sharp white teeth. The traps are waiting; the pits, yes, and the pendulums. The Red Death.’ Here he laughed quietly. ‘Yes, even the Red Death. I never thought’no, I never thought the time would come when a thing like the Red Death would actually be. But they asked for it, and they shall have it!’
‘But are we strong enough?’ wondered Blackwood.
‘How strong is strong? They won’t be prepared for us, at least. They haven’t the
imagination. Those clean young rocket men with their antiseptic bloomers and
fish-bowl helmets, with their new religion. About their necks, on gold chains,
scalpels. Upon their heads, a diadem of microscopes. In their holy fingers,
steaming incense urns which in reality are only germicidal ovens for steaming
out superstition. The names of Poe, Bierce, Hawthorne, Blackwood’blasphemy to
their clean lips.’
Outside the castle they advanced through a watery space, a tarn that was not a
tarn, which misted before them like the stuff of nightmares. The air filled with
wing sounds and a whirring, a motion of winds and blacknesses. Voices changed,
figures swayed at campfires. Mr. Poe watched the needles knitting, knitting,
knitting, in the firelight; knitting pain and misery, knitting wickedness into
wax marionettes, clay puppets. The caldron smells of wild garlic and cayenne and saffron hissed up to fill the night with evil pungency.
‘Get on with it!’ said Poe. ‘I’ll be back!’
All down the empty seashore black figures spindled and waned, grew up and blew into black smoke on the sky. Bells rang in mountain towers and licorice ravens spilled out with the bronze sounds and spun away to ashes.
Over a lonely moor and into a small valley Poe and Bierce hurried, and found
themselves quite suddenly on a cobbled street, in cold, bleak, biting weather,
with people stomping up and down stony courtyards to warm their feet; foggy
withal, and candles flaring in the windows of offices and shops where hung the
Yuletide turkeys. At a distance some boys, all bundled up, snorting their pale
breaths on the wintry air, were trilling, ‘God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen,’ while
the immense tones of a great clock continuously sounded midnight. Children
dashed by from the baker’s with dinners all asteam in their grubby fists, on
trays and under silver bowls.
At a sign which read SCROOGE, MARLEY AND DICKENS, Poe gave the Marley-faced knocker a rap, and from within, as the door popped open a few inches, a sudden gust of music almost swept them into a dance. And there, beyond the shoulder of the man who was sticking a him goatee and mustaches at them, was Mr. Fezziwig clapping his hands, and Mrs. Fezziwig, one vast substantial smile, dancing and colliding with other merrymakers, while the fiddle chirped and laughter ran about a table like chandelier crystals given a sudden push of wind. The large table was heaped with brawn and turkey and holly and geese; with mince pies, suckling pigs, wreaths of sausages, oranges and apples; and there was Bob Cratchit and Little Dorrit and Tiny Tim and Mr. Fagin himself, and a man who looked as if he might be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato’who else but Mr. Marley, chains and all, while the wine poured and the brown turkeys did their excellent best to steam!
‘What do you want?’ demanded Mr. Charles Dickens.
‘We’ve come to plead with you again, Charles; we need your help,’ said Poe.
‘Help? Do you think I would help you fight against those good men coming in the
rocket? I don’t belong here, anyway. My books were burned by mistake. I’m no
supernaturalist, no writer of horrors and terrors like you, Poe; you, Bierce, or
the others. I’ll have nothing to do with you terrible people!’
‘You are a persuasive talker,’ reasoned Poe. ‘You could go to meet the rocket
men, lull them, lull their suspicions and then’then we would take care of them.’
Mr. Dickens eyed the folds of the black cape which hid Poe’s hands. From it,
smiling, Poe drew forth a black cat. ‘For one of our visitors.’
‘And for the others?’
Poe smiled again, well pleased. ‘The Premature Burial?’
‘You are a grim man, Mr. Poe.’
‘I am a frightened and an angry man. I am a god, Mr. Dickens, even as you are a
god, even as we all are gods, and our inventions’our people, if you wish’have
not only been threatened, but banished and burned, torn up and censored, ruined and done away with. The worlds we created are falling into ruin. Even gods must fight!’
‘So?’ Mr. Dickens tilted his head, impatient to return to the party, the music,
the food. ‘Perhaps you can explain why we are here? How did we come here?’
‘War begets war. Destruction begets destruction. On Earth, a century ago, in the
year 2020 they outlawed our books. Oh, what a horrible thing’to destroy our
literary creations that way! It summoned us out of’what? Death? The Beyond? I
don’t like abstract things. I don’t know. I only know that our worlds and our
creations called us and we tried to save them, and the only saving thing we
could do was wait out the century here on Mars, hoping Earth might overweight
itself with these scientists and their doubtings; but now they’re coming to
clean us out of here, us and our dark things, and all the alchemists, witches,
vampires, and were-things that, one by one, retreated across space as science
made inroads through every country on Earth and finally left no alternative at
all but exodus. You must help us. You have a good speaking manner. We need you.’
‘I repeat, I am not of you, I don’t approve of you and the others,’ cried
Dickens angrily. ‘I was no player with witches and vampires and midnight
things.’
‘What of A Christmas Carol?’
‘Ridiculous! One story. Oh, I wrote a few others about ghosts, perhaps, but what
of that? My basic works had none of that nonsense!’
‘Mistaken or not, they grouped you with us. They destroyed your books’your
worlds too. You must hate them, Mr. Dickens!’
‘I admit they are stupid and rude, but that is all. Good day!’
‘Let Mr. Marley come, at least!’
‘No!’
The door slammed. As Poe turned away, down the street, skimming over the frosty ground, the coachman playing a lively air on a bugle, came a great coach, out of which, cherry-red, laughing and singing, piled the Pickwickians, banging on the door, shouting Merry Christmas good and loud, when the door was opened by the fat boy.
Mr. Poe hurried along the midnight shore of the dry sea. By fires and smoke he
hesitated, to shout orders, to check the bubbling caldrons, the poisons and the
chalked pentagrams. ‘Good!’ he said, and ran on. ‘Fine!’ he shouted, and ran
again. People joined him and ran with him. Here were Mr. Coppard and Mr. Machen running with him now. And there were hating serpents and angry demons and fiery bronze dragons and spitting vipers and trembling witches like the barbs and nettles and thorns and all the vile flotsam and jetsam of the retreating sea of imagination, left on the melancholy shore, whining and frothing and spitting.
Mr. Machen stopped. He sat like a child on the cold sand. He began to sob. They
tried to soothe him, but he would not listen. ‘I just thought,’ he said. ‘What
happens to us on the day when the last copies of our books are destroyed?’
The air whirled.
‘Don’t speak of it!’
‘We must,’ wailed Mr. Machen. ‘Now, now, as the rocket comes down, you, Mr. Poe; you, Coppard; you, Bierce’all of you grow faint. Like wood smoke. Blowing away.
Your faces melt”
‘Death! Real death for all of us.’
‘We exist only through Earth’s sufferance. If a final edict tonight destroyed
our last few works we’d be like lights put out.’
Coppard brooded gently. ‘I wonder who I am. In what Earth mind tonight do I
exist? In some African hut? Some hermit, reading my tales? Is he the lonely
candle in the wind of time and science? The flickering orb sustaining me here in
rebellious exile? Is it him? Or some boy in a discarded attic, finding me, only
just in time! Oh, last night I felt ill, ill, ill to the marrows of me, for
there is a body of the soul as well as a body of the body, and this soul body
ached in all of its glowing parts, and last night I felt myself a candle,
guttering. When suddenly I sprang up, given new light! As some child, sneezing
with dust, in some yellow garret on Earth once more found a worn, time-specked
copy of me! And so I’m given a short respite!’
A door banged wide in a little hut by the shore. A thin short man, with flesh
hanging from him in folds, stepped out and, paying no attention to the others,
sat down and stared into his clenched fists.
‘There’s the one I’m sorry for,’ whispered Blackwood. ‘Look at him, dying away.
He was once more real than we, who were men. They took him, a skeleton thought,
and clothed him in centuries of pink flesh and snow beard and red velvet suit
and black boot; made him reindeers, tinsel, holly. And after centuries of
manufacturing him they drowned him in a vat of Lysol, you might say.’
The men were silent.
‘What must it be on Earth?’ wondered Poe. ‘Without Christmas? No hot chestnuts,
no tree, no ornaments or drums or candles’nothing; nothing but the snow and wind
and the lonely, factual people. . . .’
They all looked at the thin little old man with the scraggly beard and faded red
velvet suit.
‘Have you heard his story?’
‘I can imagine it. The glitter-eyed psychiatrist, the clever sociologist, the
resentful, froth-mouthed educationalist, the antiseptic parents”’
‘A regrettable situation,’ said fierce, smiling, ‘for the Yuletide merchants
who, toward the last there, as I recall, were beginning to put up holly and sing
Noel the day before Halloween. With any luck at all this year they might have
started on Labor Day!’
Bierce did not continue. He fell forward with a sigh. As he lay upon the ground
he had time to say only, ‘How interesting.’ And then, as they all watched,
horrified, his body burned into blue dust and charred bone, the ashes of which
fled through the air in black tatters.
‘Bierce, Berce!’
‘Gone!’
‘His last book gone. Someone on Earth just now burned it.’
‘God rest him. Nothing of him left now. For what are we but books, and when
those are gone, nothing’s to be seen.’
A rushing sound filled the sky.
They cried out, terrified, and looked up. In the sky, dazzling it with sizzling
fire clouds, was the rocket! Around the men on the seashore lanterns bobbed;
there was a squealing and a bubbling and an odor of cooked spells. Candle-eyed
pumpkins lifted into the cold clear air. Thin fingers clenched into fists and a
witch screamed from her withered mouth:
‘Ship, ship, break, fall!
Ship, ship, burn all!
Crack, flake, shake, melt!
Mummy dust, cat pelt!’
‘Time to go,’ murmured Blackwood. ‘On to Jupiter, on to Saturn or Pluto.’
‘Run away?’ shouted Poe in the wind. ‘Never!’
‘I’m a tired old man!’
Poe gazed into the old man’s face and believed him. He climbed atop a huge
boulder and faced the ten thousand gray shadows and green lights and yellow eyes
on the hissing wind.
‘The powders!’ he shouted.
A thick hot smell of bitter almond, civet, cumin, wormseed and orris!
The rocket came down’steadily down, with the shriek of a damned spirit! Poe
raged at it! He flung his fists up and the orchestra of heat and smell and
hatred answered in symphony! Like stripped tree fragments, bats flew upward!
Burning hearts, flung like missiles, burst in bloody fireworks on the singed
air. Down, down, relentlessly down, like a pendulum the rocket came. And Poe
howled, furiously, and shrank back with every sweep and sweep of the rocket
cutting and ravening the air! All the dead sea seemed a pit in which, trapped,
they waited the sinking of the dread machinery, the glistening ax; they were
people under the avalanche!
‘The snakes!’ screamed Poe.
And luminous serpentines of undulant green hurtled toward the rocket. But it
came down, a sweep, a fire, a motion, and it lay panting out exhaustions of red
plumage on the sand, a mile away.
‘At it!’ shrieked Poe. ‘The plan’s changed! Only one chance! Run! At it! At it!
Drown them with our bodies! Kill them!’
And as if he had commanded a violent sea to change its course, to suck itself
free from primeval beds, the whirls and savage gouts of fire spread and ran like
wind and rain and stark lightning over the sea sands, down empty river deltas,
shadowing and screaming, whistling and whining, sputtering and coalescing toward the rocket which, extinguished, lay like a clean metal torch in the farthest
hollow. As if a great charred caldron of sparkling lava had been overturned, the
boiling people and snapping animals churned down the dry fathoms.
‘Kill them!’ screamed Poe, running.
The rocket men leaped out of their ship, guns ready. They stalked about,
sniffing the air like hounds. They saw nothing. They relaxed.
The captain stepped forth last. He gave sharp commands. Wood was gathered,
kindled, and a fire leapt up in an instant. The captain beckoned his men into a
half circle about him.
‘A new world,’ he said, forcing himself to speak deliberately, though he glanced
nervously, now and again, over his shoulder at the empty sea. ‘The old world
left behind. A new start. What more symbolic than that we here dedicate
ourselves all the more firmly to science and progress.’ He nodded crisply to his
lieutenant. ‘The books.’
Firelight limned the faded gilt titles: The Willows, The Outsider, Behold, The
Dreamer, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, The Land of Oz, Pellucidar, The Land That Time
Forgot A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and the monstrous names of Machen and Edgar
Allan Poe and Cabell and Dunsany and Blackwood and Lewis Carroll; the names, the
old names, the evil names.
‘A new world. With a gesture, we burn the last of the old.’ The captain ripped
pages from the books. Leaf by seared leaf, he fed them into the fire.
A scream!
Leaping back, the men stared beyond the firelight at the edges of the
encroaching and uninhabited sea.
Another scream! A high and wailing thing, like the death of a dragon and the
thrashing of a bronzed whale left gasping when the waters of a leviathan’s sea
drain down the shingles and evaporate.
It was the sound of air rushing in to fill a vacuum, where, a moment before,
there had been something!

…

The captain neatly disposed of the last book by putting it into the fire.
The air stopped quivering. Silence!
The rocket men leaned and listened. ‘Captain, did you hear it?’
‘No.’
‘Like a wave, sir. On the sea bottom! I thought I saw something. Over there. A
black wave. Big. Running at us.’
‘You were mistaken.’
‘There, sir!’
‘What?’
‘See it? There! The city! Way over! That green city near the lake! It’s
splitting in half. It’s falling!’
The men squinted and shuffled forward.
Smith stood trembling among them. He put his hand to his head as if to find a
thought there. ‘I remember. Yes, now I do. A long time back. When I was a child.
A book I read. A story. Oz, I think it was. Yes, Oz. The Emerald City of Oz . .
.’
‘Oz? Never heard of it.’
‘Yes, Oz, that’s what it was. I saw it just now, like in the story. I saw it
fall.’
‘Smith!’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘Report for psychoanalysis tomorrow.’
‘Yes, sir!’ A brisk salute.
‘Be careful.’

…

The men tiptoed, guns alert, beyond the ship’s aseptic light to gaze at the long
sea and the low hills.

‘Why,’ whispered Smith, disappointed, ‘there’s no one here at all, is there? No
one here at all.’

The wind blew sand over his shoes, whining.

The End

A final MM note.

Our reality is one ruled by quantum physics. An within this reality is the idea that thoughts create and change our reality. So what happens when entire groups of people no longer have , or possess, certain thoughts? What will the resulting landscape look like?

Do you want more?

I have more posts in my Ray Bradbury Index here…

Ray Bradbury

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Master Index

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You can visit the Index Page HERE to explore by article subject.
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A Metallicman Video Narrative; Home in Zhuhai 3

Well, this is my third try at making a Vblog. I do believe that it is a popular thing to do and I am told that I could open up an account on You-Tube and get a bunch of followers. Well, maybe. If I wanted that.

Here’s the videos in more or less the same kind of format as my first Vlog. Except that the videos are longer, and thus are bigger. They take more time to download.

This vlog consists of one cluster of three videos.

The theme behind this video (or collection of smaller videos) is “Look at how polluted China is and compare it to the BBC, and the Bloomberg articles.”

What am I talking about?

Well, it is so easy to find pictures about pollution in China. That’s all the western media seems to talk about.

Like this,

And this,

And this, Look at the bikes and clothing. This picture is at least twenty years old. But what it is doing in a 2020 article?

And this,

And this as well…

About the methodology that I use…

The videos themselves are but a collection of short movies, and they are all zipped up. You just unzip to a folder and then just play the movies. It’s not as convenient as You-tube, but I won’t end up getting shadow banned either.

And I am tying to make a point.

From the article titled; “Officials have issued a red alert and warn that Beijing …“

Obviously, what I see, and what the “journalists” are reporting on differs substantially. Why? Is it because I am lying, or that I am viewing China through “Rose colored glasses”?

Idiom: rose-colored glasses to see things as better than they really are to see only the positives in a situation (and therefore in a way that is unrealistic)

-Idiom: Rose-colored glasses

I do narrate, but … well, you watch.

I really want you, the viewer, to “feel” what “my China” is like. It’s my reality. It’s my world. And, by extension, MM readers / followers’ world as well.

Toxic air catastrophe triggers scrap metal revolution in China

The videos can be downloaded here…

And I am truly sorry that they are so darn large. If you cannot download them, please accept my apologies.

Cluster One

Only three videos in this installment. But they are large. Please (again) accept my apologies.

Video one HERE. 100MB.

Video two HERE. 250MB.

Video three HERE. 247MB.

Yes, I can add streaming video code instead. And I am researching it. The thing is that I do not want code that is connected to the American oligarchy in any way. And most available codes are. 

Sure, you can host the video on your site, but the video will be directly tied to Google, which is then tied to the NSA, which is then under the control of the American Federal Government. So I am looking into this. 

I'll keep you all posted on my successes or failures in this matter. Maybe I'll ask Jeff Brown for some pointers....

To Open the Files

Some key points

The purpose of this vlog is to show how out of touch the Western media is with the day-to-day reality of those of us living within China. It is so absolutely crazy out-of-touch that there MUST be an agenda behind it. Certainly no “journalists” can end up being that absolutely incompetent.

And thus this incisive and detailed, and particularly important vlog.

I do hope that you enjoy it.

Ah.

Compare my reality with American reality

While I was filming these videos, this is the hysteria going on in America. Now compare reality against the perception of what is important via the “news”.

I mean, don’t you know, that it’s all bullshit.

So I am just gonna hang out here. Have a few beers, and eat some delicious food with some friends, both old and new. And that’s my reality.

Do you want more?

This article is going into a new sub-index that I am creating for it titled VLOG. You can access it here.

Video Blog

Articles & Links

Master Index

You can start reading the articles by going HERE.
You can visit the Index Page HERE to explore by article subject.
You can also ask the author some questions. You can go HERE to find out how to go about this.
You can find out more about the author HERE.
If you have concerns or complaints, you can go HERE.
If you want to make a donation, you can go HERE.

Law 14 from The 48 Laws of Power by Robert Greene; Pose as a friend, work as a spy (Full Text)

Sounds bad, eh?

Well…

Well, it is, at least it is not something that I myself would want to do. But that is just me. But I can tell you all something that is important; there are many crafty, clever, and evil people who follow this rule to the letter.

I can include an ex-business partner who only wanted to get into my wife’s pants (or skirt), a couple of work colleagues who would perform run-arounds to disparage me in their pursuit for career growth, and a couple of family members that have an unsavory two-faced attitude about life.

So to best prepare you for these individuals, you must understand how they think and how their Modus Operandi works.

Thus this article…

LAW 14

POSE AS A FRIEND, WORK AS A SPY

JUDGMENT

Knowing about your rival is critical. Use spies to gather valuable information that will keep you a step ahead. Better still: Play the spy yourself. In polite social encounters, learn to probe. Ask indirect questions to get people to reveal their weaknesses and intentions. There is no occasion that is not an opportunity for artful spying.

OBSERVANCE OF THE LAW

Joseph Duveen was undoubtedly the greatest art dealer of his time—from 1904 to 1940 he almost single-handedly monopolized America’s millionaire art-collecting market. But one prize plum eluded him: the industrialist Andrew Mellon. Before he died, Duveen was determined to make Mellon a client.

Duveen’s friends said this was an impossible dream.

Mellon was a stiff, taciturn man.

The stories he had heard about the congenial, talkative Duveen rubbed him the wrong way—he had made it clear he had no desire to meet the man.

Yet Duveen told his doubting friends, “Not only will Mellon buy from me but he will buy only from me.”

For several years he tracked his prey, learning the man’s habits, tastes, phobias.

To do this, he secretly put several of Mellon’s staff on his own payroll, worming valuable information out of them.

By the time he moved into action, he knew Mellon about as well as Mellon’s wife did.

In 1921 Mellon was visiting London, and staying in a palatial suite on the third floor of Claridge’s Hotel.

Duveen booked himself into the suite just below Mellon’s, on the second floor.

He had arranged for his valet to befriend Mellon’s valet, and on the fateful day he had chosen to make his move, Mellon’s valet told Duveen’s valet, who told Duveen, that he had just helped Mellon on with his overcoat, and that the industrialist was making his way down the corridor to ring for the lift.

Duveen’s valet hurriedly helped Duveen with his own overcoat.

Seconds later, Duveen entered the lift, and lo and behold, there was Mellon.

“How do you do, Mr. Mellon?” said Duveen, introducing himself. “I am on my way to the National Gallery to look at some pictures.”

How uncanny—that was precisely where Mellon was headed.

And so Duveen was able to accompany his prey to the one location that would ensure his success.

He knew Mellon’s taste inside and out, and while the two men wandered through the museum, he dazzled the magnate with his knowledge.

Once again quite uncannily, they seemed to have remarkably similar tastes.

Mellon was pleasantly surprised: This was not the Duveen he had expected.

The man was charming and agreeable, and clearly had exquisite taste.

When they returned to New York, Mellon visited Duveen’s exclusive gallery and fell in love with the collection.

Everything, surprisingly enough, seemed to be precisely the kind of work he wanted to collect.

For the rest of his life he was Duveen’s best and most generous client.

Interpretation

A man as ambitious and competitive as Joseph Duveen left nothing to chance.

What’s the point of winging it, of just hoping you may be able to charm this or that client?

It’s like shooting ducks blindfolded.

Arm yourself with a little knowledge and your aim improves.

Mellon was the most spectacular of Duveen’s catches, but he spied on many a millionaire.

By secretly putting members of his clients’ household staffs on his own payroll, he would gain constant access to valuable information about their masters’ comings and goings, changes in taste, and other such tidbits of information that would put him a step ahead.

A rival of Duveen’s who wanted to make Henry Frick a client noticed that whenever he visited this wealthy New Yorker, Duveen was there before him, as if he had a sixth sense.

To other dealers Duveen seemed to be everywhere, and to know everything before they did.

His powers discouraged and disheartened them, until many simply gave up going after the wealthy clients who could make a dealer rich.

Such is the power of artful spying: It makes you seem all-powerful, clairvoyant.

Your knowledge of your mark can also make you seem charming, so well can you anticipate his desires.

No one sees the source of your power, and what they cannot see they cannot fight.

Rulers see through spies, as cows through smell, Brahmins through scriptures and the rest of the people through their normal eyes. 

Kautilya, Indian philosopher third century B. C.

KEYS TO POWER

In the realm of power, your goal is a degree of control over future events. Part of the problem you face, then, is that people won’t tell you all their thoughts, emotions, and plans.

Controlling what they say, they often keep the most critical parts of their character hidden—their weaknesses, ulterior motives, obsessions.

The result is that you cannot predict their moves, and are constantly in the dark.

The trick is to find a way to probe them, to find out their secrets and hidden intentions, without letting them know what you are up to.

This is not as difficult as you might think.

A friendly front will let you secretly gather information on friends and enemies alike.

Let others consult the horoscope, or read tarot cards: You have more concrete means of seeing into the future.

The most common way of spying is to use other people, as Duveen did. The method is simple, powerful, but risky: You will certainly gather information, but you have little control over the people who are doing the work.

Perhaps they will ineptly reveal your spying, or even secretly turn against you.

It is far better to be the spy yourself, to pose as a friend while secretly gathering information.

The French politician Talleyrand was one of the greatest practitioners of this art.

He had an uncanny ability to worm secrets out of people in polite conversation.

A contemporary of his, Baron de Vitrolles, wrote,

“Wit and grace marked his conversation. He possessed the art of concealing his thoughts or his malice beneath a transparent veil of insinuations, words that imply something more than they express. Only when necessary did he inject his own personality.”

The key here is Talleyrand’s ability to suppress himself in the conversation, to make others talk endlessly about themselves and inadvertently reveal their intentions and plans.

Throughout Talleyrand’s life, people said he was a superb conversationalist—yet he actually said very little.

He never talked about his own ideas; he got others to reveal theirs.

He would organize friendly games of charades for foreign diplomats, social gatherings where, however, he would carefully weigh their words, cajole confidences out of them, and gather information invaluable to his work as France’s foreign minister.

At the Congress of Vienna (1814-1815) he did his spying in other ways: He would blurt out what seemed to be a secret (actually something he had made up), then watch his listeners’ reactions.

He might tell a gathering of diplomats, for instance, that a reliable source had revealed to him that the czar of Russia was planning to arrest his top general for treason.

By watching the diplomats’ reactions to this made-up story, he would know which ones were most excited by the weakening of the Russian army—perhaps their governments had designs on Russia?

As Baron von Stetten said, “Monsieur Talleyrand fires a pistol into the air to see who will jump out the window.”

If you have reason to suspect that a person is telling you a lie, look as though you believed every word he said. This will give him courage to go on; he will become more vehement in his assertions, and in the end betray himself. Again, if you perceive that a person is trying to conceal something from you, but with only partial success, look as though you did not believe him. The opposition on your part will provoke him into leading out his reserve of truth and bringing the whole force of it to bear upon your incredulity.



ARTHUR SCHOPENHAUER, 1788-1860

During social gatherings and innocuous encounters, pay attention.

This is when people’s guards are down.

By suppressing your own personality, you can make them reveal things.

The brilliance of the maneuver is that they will mistake your interest in them for friendship, so that you not only learn, you make allies.

Nevertheless, you should practice this tactic with caution and care.

If people begin to suspect you are worming secrets out of them under the cover of conversation, they will strictly avoid you.

Emphasize friendly chatter, not valuable information.

Your search for gems of information cannot be too obvious, or your probing questions will reveal more about yourself and your intentions than about the information you hope to find.

A trick to try in spying comes from La Rochefoucauld, who wrote,

“Sincerity is found in very few men, and is often the cleverest of ruses— one is sincere in order to draw out the confidence and secrets of the other.”

By pretending to bare your heart to another person, in other words, you make them more likely to reveal their own secrets.

Give them a false confession and they will give you a real one.

Another trick was identified by the philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer, who suggested vehemently contradicting people you’re in conversation with as a way of irritating them, stirring them up so that they lose some of the control over their words.

In their emotional reaction they will reveal all kinds of truths about themselves, truths you can later use against them.

Another method of indirect spying is to test people, to lay little traps that make them reveal things about themselves.

Chosroes II, a notoriously clever seventh-century king of the Persians, had many ways of seeing through his subjects without raising suspicion.

If he noticed, for instance, that two of his courtiers had become particularly friendly, he would call one of them aside and say he had information that the other was a traitor, and would soon be killed.

The king would tell the courtier he trusted him more than anyone, and that he must keep this information secret.

Then he would watch the two men carefully.

If he saw that the second courtier had not changed in his behavior toward the king, he would conclude that the first courtier had kept the secret, and he would quickly promote the man, later taking him aside to confess,

“I meant to kill your friend because of certain information that had reached me, but, when I investigated the matter, I found it was untrue.”

If, on the other hand, the second courtier started to avoid the king, acting aloof and tense, Chosroes would know that the secret had been revealed.

He would ban the second courtier from his court, letting him know that the whole business had only been a test, but that even though the man had done nothing wrong, he could no longer trust him.

The first courtier, however, had revealed a secret, and him Chosroes would ban from his entire kingdom.

It may seem an odd form of spying that reveals not empirical information but a person’s character.

Often, however, it is the best way of solving problems before they arise.

By tempting people into certain acts, you learn about their loyalty, their honesty, and so on.

And this kind of knowledge is often the most valuable of all: Armed with it, you can predict their actions in the future.

Image:

The Third Eye of the Spy. In the land of

the two-eyed, the third eye gives you the omniscience

of a god. You see further than others, and you see deeper into them. Nobody is

safe from the eye but you.

Authority:

Now, the reason a brilliant sovereign and a wise general conquer the enemy whenever they move, and their achievements surpass those of ordinary men, is their foreknowledge of the enemy situation. This “foreknowledge” cannot be elicited from spirits, nor from gods, nor by analogy with past events, nor by astrologic calculations. It must be obtained from men who know the enemy situation—from spies. 

(Sun-tzu, The Art of War, fourth century B.C.)

REVERSAL

Information is critical to power, but just as you spy on other people, you must be prepared for them to spy on you.

One of the most potent weapons in the battle for information, then, is giving out false information.

As Winston Churchill said,

“Truth is so precious that she should always be attended by a bodyguard of lies.”

You must surround yourself with such a bodyguard, so that your truth cannot be penetrated.

By planting the information of your choice, you control the game.

…

In 1944 the Nazis’ rocket-bomb attacks on London suddenly escalated.

Over two thousand V-1 flying bombs fell on the city, killing more than five thousand people and wounding many more.

Somehow, however, the Germans consistently missed their targets.

Bombs that were intended for Tower Bridge, or Piccadilly, would fall well short of the city, landing in the less populated suburbs.

This was because, in fixing their targets, the Germans relied on secret agents they had planted in England.

They did not know that these agents had been discovered, and that in their place, English-controlled agents were feeding them subtly deceptive information.

The bombs would hit farther and farther from their targets every time they fell.

By the end of the campaign they were landing on cows in the country.

By feeding people wrong information, then, you gain a potent advantage.

While spying gives you a third eye, disinformation puts out one of your enemy’s eyes.

A cyclops, he always misses his target.

Conclusion

Do not be a fake friend. What ever advantage that it might provide to you, will be offset by an equal degradation in your other relationships.

Don’t do it.

Do you want more?

I have more posts in my “48 Laws of Power” Index here…

The 48 Laws

Articles & Links

Master Index

You can start reading the articles by going HERE.
You can visit the Index Page HERE to explore by article subject.
You can also ask the author some questions. You can go HERE to find out how to go about this.
You can find out more about the author HERE.
If you have concerns or complaints, you can go HERE.
If you want to make a donation, you can go HERE.

Examples about how the Chinese teach their children to be successful

When I was growing up, my father did his best to give me an education. And throughout this time, he repeatedly emphasized that my future depended on the type of job that I had, and the size of the company that employed me. Larger companies offered more opportunities than smaller companies, and the more education that I would have would provide two things for me. Firstly, they would increase the job pool that I could choose from, and secondly they would enable me to start off with a higher salary than others.

He meant well, and certainly that formula worked well for his generation, but my generation suddenly became the “disposable worker” generation and layoffs became more common than not, and no one ever ended up with a job for life. Couple that with my role in MAJestic, and it was really a dog-eat-dog survival life with more than enough highs and lows.

And what you want to do, as a parent, is to make sure that your children have it better than you. Maybe not necessarily easier, but certainly better; more opportunities, and a chance, a real honest-to-goodness chance that they will be able to make a life for themselves in a world that is subject to whims and changes beyond their control.

Well, I am in China. And the Chinese have seen dramatic changes in their lives over the last thirty years, and many generations of Chinese have sacrificed and existed in a situation where there just wasn’t much in the way of any opportunities. And so they remain cautious, but guarded, about their children.

And thus, knowing that the (proverbial) rug “could be pulled out from under their feet”, many middle-class Chinese do what ever they can to guarantee that their children are equipped with the kinds of skills to make it, and survive in a contentious and changing world. And while China (as a nation is secure and prosperous), things could change. And as such, no one is taking any chances.

The educational system in China is not only great, but absurdly so. Not only do elementary students learn Chinese languages, and history, but they learn English as well, and their entrance into university is predicated on their ability to speak and pass English qualification exams.

Which makes things very interesting, as I will often see children studying all the time, jut about everywhere. Couple that with secondary classes that their parents also provide for them. These other classes range from swimming to dancing, to archery, to martial arts and everything in between. Some go into robotics, while others study the arts. And with that in mind I would like to present some videos of Kindergarten to first grade Chinese students…

They are all zipped up in a small 30MB file. I think that you all will enjoy them.

You can get the file HERE.

Conclusion

These children are not the exception. They are the normal average. If America believes that it can compete against China then they will need to reconfigure the school curriculum towards STEM subjects, and less on the soft social and humanities. They will also need to be very serious about the environment hat they are raising the children within.

For a nation of “lone wolves” can never truly work together without fighting, squabbling, and performing uncharacteristically self-defeating behaviors.

Do you want more?

This article is going into the China vs. America comparisons index.

USA vs China

Articles & Links

Master Index

You can start reading the articles by going HERE.
You can visit the Index Page HERE to explore by article subject.
You can also ask the author some questions. You can go HERE to find out how to go about this.
You can find out more about the author HERE.
If you have concerns or complaints, you can go HERE.
If you want to make a donation, you can go HERE.

A Metallicman Video Narrative; Home in Zhuhai 2

Well, this is my second try at making a Vblog. I do believe that it is a popular thing to do and I am told that I could open up an account on You-Tube and get a bunch of followers. Well, maybe. If I wanted that.

Here’s the videos in more or less the same kind of format as my first Vlog.

Well, actually, it’s a string of around 12 or so, 2 to 5 minute long videos that I have zipped together in a folder. You just unpack and watch at your pleasure.

I took extra care for them not to be as long as the other videos so that they would be easier to watch.

The theme behind this video (or collection of smaller videos) is “how China manages society, allocates resources, and works to improve the environment for it’s citizenry..

This is all pretty much unlike the typical expat in China vblogs that visit this town, or that town and talk about what they observe. I do that as well, but overall, this effort is about me and where I live. The purpose of this particular segment is to concentrate on the idea that the role of the government, at all levels, is to improve the lives of the citizenry.

Something that has been missing in the American government for at least two centuries/

I do narrate, but … well, you watch.

I really want you, the viewer, to “feel” what “my China” is like. It’s my reality. It’s my world. And, by extension, MM readers / followers’ world as well.

Keep in mind this video by Bernie Sanders 30 years ago…

Thirty years ago, 90% of the Chinese people lived in absolute poverty. All they had was their skills and the ability to work hard. The government took time, planning and enormous investments to improve the lives of the citizenry.

Unlike the USA they did not decide to destroy the rest of the world. They used the money on their people. Not on the richest, and the desire to destroy everyone else. And you can see the results today.

That is what this Vlog is all about.

The videos can be downloaded here…

Group One

Group one HERE…73MB

Group Two

Group two HERE… 61MB

Group 3

Group three HERE … 51MB

Group 4

And this group is about me doing some shopping in the little stores that line the lower income areas.

Group four HERE… 43MB

Group 5

I discuss fixing my bicycle, automobile repair, and riding a bike in China; the most bicycle friendly nation on the planet.

Group five… HERE 65MB

Yes, I can add streaming video code instead. And I am researching it. The thing is that I do not want code that is connected to the American oligarchy in any way. And most available codes are. 

Sure, you can host the video on your site, but the video will be directly tied to Google, which is then tied to the NSA, which is then under the control of the American Federal Government. So I am looking into this. 

I'll keep you all posted on my successes or failures in this matter. Maybe I'll ask Jeff Brown for some pointers....

To Open the Files

Or around 12 minutes per VLOG group (1 through 4) for the bite-size MM version that I used to test on my computer.

I really hope that you are not too bored.

How the videos are set up

The first video starts off quiet and then I break out into my narrative. I really, and sincerely hope that you all can get the real “feel” for China like I have. And understand WHY I say that it reminds me so much about what the United States was like back in the late 1950’s, and early 1960’s.

Some key points

The purpose of this second Vlog is to underscore the role of government.

I look at China that has placed the fundamental and primary role of government to be to improves the lives of the citizenry at all levels.

This differs substantially from the role of the American government; which is to do the bidding of the wealthy oligarchy that put the “democratic” representatives into power within the government.

Each video takes one small item, often overlooked by other vloggers, and amplifies it upon this narrative. It’s not that they are wrong, but visiting a town or community for a week isn’t going to tell you or inform you the way that a long-term expat would.

And thus this incisive and detailed, and particularly important vlog.

I do hope that you enjoy it.

I love the steam locomotive in the background.

Ah.

You could reasonably argue that I miss the old culture, and the older styles of cars, clothing and other attributes of the past. you could say that I miss the prices and my now dead relatives. I suppose that many of those points are actually true. But with every good point, is an equally bad point.

And I suppose that people would argue that I am looking with fondness of the past. And it’s true, I am. But what I am describing is the “feeling” of that time. And I am comparing it to the “feeling” that I have now.

Today, here inside of China, no one is on the radio, or on the internet yelling at me to buy! Buy! Buy!. It’s only $98.98.

I am not hearing from radio, television or the internet about all sorts of emergency dangers and that the world is out of control.I don’t hear advertisements that ask if I am depressed, have marital or legal problems, or how great a pill will help me in my life.

Instead I hear that things are under control, and I see that with my very own two eyes. There’s a calmness in the air that I haven’t experienced since the 1960’s, and it is refreshing to experience it.

I hope that you too are able to experience it in my VLOG herein.

Compare my reality with American reality

While I was filming these videos, this is the hysteria going on in America. Now compare reality against the perception of what is important via the “news”.

Cox complains about 1,000-lb bear dominating coverage…

I mean, don’t you know, that it’s all bullshit.

So I am just gonna hang out here. Have a few beers, and eat some delicious food with some friends, both old and new. And that’s my reality.

Do you want more?

This article is going into a new sub-index that I am creating for it titled VLOG. You can access it here.

Video Blog

Articles & Links

Master Index

You can start reading the articles by going HERE.
You can visit the Index Page HERE to explore by article subject.
You can also ask the author some questions. You can go HERE to find out how to go about this.
You can find out more about the author HERE.
If you have concerns or complaints, you can go HERE.
If you want to make a donation, you can go HERE.

The tale of the three shepherds.

The following is my very own first attempt at a fictional story.

I have been told that I must be a great writer because all of my Metallicman writings are so fantastical and imaginative. I must have a great colorful and active mind to dream up such ideas. But that’s not really true. I only write what I have personally experienced, and talk about the life that I live and what I see and do.

There’s nothing fictional in this site whats so ever.

Never the less, I have tried to write fiction in the past, maybe the early 1990’s and it got no where. Maybe I could try again. Maybe I’ll be another Ray Bradbury, Arthur C. Clarke or Robert Heinlein. Who actually knows?

So with that introduction, let’s introduce my first internet published short story. And you’se guys are the first to read it. I do hope that you enjoy it.

The Three Shepherds

Once upon a time, in a rather pastoral land, were three shepherds. They were men of sheep.

All of them were tall, strong and carried about a long crooked cane. And as they went about their day to day life shepherding, doing sheep related things, and discussing sheep related current events, they would often gather together (as was their want) under this huge shady tree.

And there, under the great expanse of the mighty oaken limbs, they would discuss the latest in sheep husbandry, sheep technology, and sheep-related gossip.

The three shepherds went by the names of Tom, Dick and Harry.

Tom, the best shepherd of the trio had a massive and impressive flock of sheep. All of them were well cared for, happy and were the envy of the local village.

Dick, an average shepherd, had an average flock of sheep. There was nothing really that great about it. All of the sheep were solid “C” grade students in the local sheep academy, and it showed in their actions and behaviors.

And, Harry, well, Harry was the worst shepherd of the three. He tended to ignore his flock of sheep and left them to do their own bidding. Meanwhile he would cavort with a prized sheep or two off in the wilds behind the bushes in a most devilish manner.

And one day, on this fine and quiet pastoral land, they came to an argument.

It turns out that they were arguing just who was the best shepherd.

And the point was raised, that your actions are reflected in how the sheep behavior, and not whether or not you get ribbons at the local annual sheep parade, or are given the key to the city for the most amazing sheep.

Ai! And the argument went long and hard and well into the night. No one could decide who was the best shepherd.

By the crowing of the early bird, a cock named “amorphous weasel” on account of his propensity to steal long bananas, with (two) well rounded kiwi fruit off kitchen window sills, the group tiredly came to a conclusion.

It was decided that each shepherds would go off, one by one, and gather their flock and bring it to the tree. And there in front of everyone the sheer beauty (or maybe it’s “shear” beauty) and magnificence of the flock would be obvious to all to behold.

So Dick, the average shepherd, went off to gather his flock.

And after what seemed to be day, but was really a mere two hours, he came back. (Let it be known that he stopped for a blueberry pie, and maybe a little kiss, from the baker Lady Ms. McSmunch-a-lot in the town.) And refreshed, wiping the blueberry stains off his lips, he led his flock to the rest of the trio to observe.

And there, came the flock.

They were clean and presentable. Their hooves were all trimmed and well manicured. Their eyes were also clear, and the wool was obviously of the finest quality. They came well behaved, and presented themselves are docile, but proud sheep; they were the kind of sheep that you would introduce to your son.

And as they arrived, they sang a little sheep marching song. It went a little like this…

Baa Baaaa, Baa Baaaa,
We’re the sheep of Baaa Dick.
Baa Baaa, Baa Baaa.

And then, after a short while, the filed to the tree, and then upon the proper signal (by Dick obviously), they settled down. All the time making tiny cooing sounds…

Baaa Baaa.

Of course both of the other two shepherds were impressed. For indeed this was a fine, fine flock of sheep. It was undeniable. And nothing would make this moment more noteworthy than when a shepherd talent-scout showed up and wanted to take a picture of young shepherd Dick with his fine, well tended flock.

There were rumors that he was going to be on the cover of “Sheep News and Pastoral Report”.

And it seemed to be his destiny, for shortly afterwards a gaggle of young attractive lasses, with hair in long pony-tails, wearing short skirts with low cut bodices were asking for Dicks autograph. They all wanted a piece of Dick, and were willing to do anything to get a taste of this Dick action.

Well, as impressive as all that was, Tom decided to go off and get his flock of sheep.

Now Tom went off and it wasn’t long before the clouds in the sky opened up. And bright blue “spring time” sky appeared with two enormous sheep blowing long golden trumpets appeared. And as they blew the ground and surroundings became calm. Everything went absolutely quiet. Even the worms and the snails stopped their crocheting, and stood by a listening.

Then, brighter than day and appearing in blinding, and stunning radiance appeared the flock. It approached the stunned spectators in organized cadence. And they hummed, and sang, and their voices resonated in brilliance and within spectacular fashion.

Ba Ba. Ba Ba.
Baaaaaa!
Ba, Ba, Baaaa, Baaaa, Ba!

They approached the group in groups of three. marching to the beat, and their hooves landed ever gently upon the grass at the feet of the shepherd.

There was no question that this flock was truly exceptional. Their wool was of the finest texture, and so white and clean that it hurt the eyes of any who beheld it. The faces of the sheep were impassioned with glee, happiness and empathy. And when they finally gathered together they were polite about it.

They would say such things as “Excuse me, my fine fellow sheep, can you please pass me the Grey Poupon…. Baaahhh.”

Indeed, these sheep were exception. No one could deny it.

And when the shepherds started to talk, the sheep took the time to post insta-sheep photos for their followers, for after all, many of the sheep in this flock were famous influencers. And sheep all over the world would follow their postings. They would want to know what grass they were eating and why. They would want to see who they were hanging out with, and pictures of their latest meals, and pictorials of their latest pastoral settings.

It was absolutely clear that this flock was spectacular.

Well, the time came for Harry to show his flock. So he got up off the long he was sitting upon and ambled off to gather his flock. As he went he muttered something under his breath, but no one could make it out.

It sounded something like “truck fist” or something similar. He grumbled away saying things like “razzmatazz” and “hoodwink, and scurvy tweaky boondoggle”

Hours passed.

The sky got dark, and a wind started to blow.

Dark clouds appeared on the horizon and a cool chill started to cause everyone to gather their shawls and jackets around their shoulders.

And the ground started to rumble.

It was low at first but soon become enormously loud. It sounded like an air plane jet engine revving up, and the exploding and dying over and over as it’s internal parts bashed and clanged upon each other in the most terrible of grinding sounds. People started to cover their ears, and a light oily rain started to fall upon everyone in a brown oozy slimy mess.

And there, on the horizon were what appeared to be a herd of tiny tornadoes. These brown dusty and dirty nightmares approached the crew, the tree, and all the two flocks that were gathered there. The talent scout stopped talking and taking pictures, the Insta-sheep models stopped filming selfies, and everyone stood shaking where they stood. They remained rooted to the ground.

And as the group got close you could make out what was approaching.

For, in front of them was a small army of “Mad Max style” cobbled together quasi vehicles of all makes, models and unusual pedigrees.

Some looked like something the devil himself would weld together with nightmare steel, twisted metal, and chain link accoutrements.

Others looked like a maniac’s idea of a military vehicle if they had the budget of a used junk yard attendant.

And still others looked more like they belonged outside a meth-lab, a biker bar, or an abandoned kiddie circus prowled by nightmare clowns with chainsaws and blood lust in their eyes.

And they roared towards them.

It was like an avalanche or a tidal wave and they pulled up in front of all the startled spectators. they all revved their motorcycle and various engines for effect.

Barroom! Barroom!
Braaaaam!

And black oily smoke blew out of their exhausts. And the sheep themselves looked like Frankenstein-sheep.

Many had patches of wool missing, obviously from a diet low in vitamin “D”, or perhaps suffering from mange. Many were missing eyes, limbs, teeth. They all wore vests emblazoned with the words…

“Satan’s orphan lamb”

And many had tattoos everywhere.

Some were of names of a certain loved one, a sheep from their past, but with the name crossed out, and another one written next to it. Others were tattoos of knives, skulls, and “low brow art”.

And then…

…just then…

… a big noisy, and particularly malodorous motorcycle-like vehicular contraption pulled up. It sprayed dust and gravel everywhere, and the lone dark sheep got off the bike.

He was an ugly brute, a big blustering monstrosity, that was foul, nasty, criminally dirty, and oily…

…an onerous sheep that went by the name of Beelzebub.

He was big, and nasty. His wool was black and grey with red and purple highlights. He wore lipstick, and ear rings, with seemed to point to some kind of LGBT sheep hybrid of sorts, he wore a big leather belt with an enormous belt buckle featuring the head of one of the missing sheep-dogs that used to help the shepherd, and emblazoned upon his chest was a big garish tattoo with the words…

“My shepherd doesn’t love me”

And he scanned the people gather there with his one lone bloodshot eye. As he got off his bike and hobbled towards them, his single leg ended up hitting the dust while his wooden peg-leg went thunk, thunk, thunk….

…and he stopped in front of all the shepherds, and their flocks. No one said a sound.

A moment passed and then another.

Finally, shepherd Tom cleared his throat, and said…

“You are by far, the absolutely worst flock of sheep that I have ever seen in my life!”.

And no one moved.

…

No one.

No one said a thing.

You could hear a pin drop.

Then the leader, the biggest, the baddest, the most foul, and slimy sheep went up to him. his foul sheep breath was stinky, oily, nasty and disgusting.

And he said…

…

“We might be the ugliest, the most disgusting, the most untamed sheep that you have ever laid your eyes upon. But I will tell you one thing…”

…

And he paused for effect, and gave everyone a good harsh look with his remaining blood-shot eye…

…

“…. we’re baaaaaaad!”

The End.

Do you want more?

I have more posts in my Fiction Story Index here…

Fictional Stories

Articles & Links

Master Index

You can start reading the articles by going HERE.
You can visit the Index Page HERE to explore by article subject.
You can also ask the author some questions. You can go HERE to find out how to go about this.
You can find out more about the author HERE.
If you have concerns or complaints, you can go HERE.
If you want to make a donation, you can go HERE.

The Dragon by Ray Bradbury (Full Text)

Here's a nice short story to provide some brief moments of pleasure. I do hope that you enjoy it as much as I have. - MM

THE DRAGON
By Ray Bradbury

The night blew in the short grass on the moor; there was no other motion. It had been years since a single bird had flown by in the great blind shell of sky.

Long ago a few small stones had simulated life when they crumbled and fell into dust. Now only the night moved in the souls of the two men bent by their lonely fire in the wilderness; darkness pumped quietly in their veins and ticked silently in their temples and their wrists.

Firelight fled up and down their wild faces and welled in their eyes in orange tatters. They listened to each other’s faint, cool breathing and the lizard blink of their eyelids. At last, one man poked the fire with his sword.

“Don’t idiot; you’ll give us away!”

“No matter,” said the second man, “The dragon can smell us miles off anyway. God’s breath, it’s cold. I wish I was back at the castle.”

“It’s death, not sleep, we’re after…”

“Why? Why? The dragon never sets foot in the town!”

“Quiet, fool! He eats men traveling alone from our town to the next!”

“Let them be eaten and let us get home!”

“Wait now; listen!”

The two men froze.

They waited a long time, but there was only the shake of their horses’ nervous skin like black velvet tambourines jingling the silver stirrup buckles, softly, softly.
“Ah.” The second man sighed. “What a land of nightmares. Everything happens here. Someone blows out the sun; it’s night. And then, and then, oh, God, listen! This dragon, they say his eyes are fire. His breath a white gas; you can see him burn across the dark lands. He runs with sulfur and thunder and kindles the grass. Sheep panic and die insane. Women deliver forth monsters. The dragon’s fury is such that tower walls shake back to dust. His victims, at sunrise, are strewn hither thither on the hills. How many knights, I ask, have gone for this monster and failed, even as we shall fail?”

“Enough of that!”

“More than enough! Out here in this desolation I cannot tell what year this is!”

“Nine hundred years since the Nativity.”

“No, no,” whispered the second man, eyes shut, “On this moor is no Time, is only Forever. I feel if I ran back on the road the town would be gone, the people yet unborn, things changed, the castles unquarried from the rocks, the timbers still uncut from the forests; don’t ask how I know; the moor knows and tells me. And here we sit alone in the land of the fire dragon, God save us!”

“Be you afraid, then gird on your armor!”

“What use? The dragon runs from nowhere; we cannot guess its home. It vanishes in fog; we know not where it goes. Aye, on with our armor, we’ll die well dressed.”

Half into his silver corselet, the second man stopped again and turned his head.

Across the dim country, full of night and nothingness from the heart of the moor itself, the wind sprang full of dust from clocks that used dust for telling time. There were black suns burning in the heart of this new wind and a million burnt leaves shaken from some autumn tree be- yond the horizon. This wind melted landscapes, lengthened bones like white wax, made the blood roil and thicken to a muddy deposit in the brain. The wind was a thousand souls dying and all time confused and in transit. It was a fog inside of a mist inside of a darkness, and this place was no man’s place and there was no year or hour at all, but only these men in a faceless emptiness of sudden frost, storm and white thunder which
moved behind the great falling pane of green glass that was the lightning. A squall of rain drenched the turf; all faded away until there was unbreathing hush and the two men waiting alone with their warmth in a cool season.

“There,” whispered the first man. “Oh, there…”

Miles off, rushing with a great chant and a roar – the dragon.

In silence the men buckled on their armor and mounted their horses. The midnight wilderness was split by a monstrous gushing as the dragon roared nearer, nearer; its flashing yellow glare spurted above a hill and then, fold on fold of dark body, distantly seen, therefore indistinct, flowed over that hill and plunged vanishing into a valley.

“Quick!”

They spurred their horses forward to a small hollow.

“This is where it passes!”

They seized their lances with mailed fists and blinded their horses by flipping the visors down over their eyes.

“Lord!”

“Yes, let us use His name.”

On the instant, the dragon rounded a hill. Its monstrous amber eye fed on them, fired their armor in red glints and glitters, With a terrible wailing cry and a grinding rush it flung itself forward.

“Mercy, God!”

The lance struck under the unlidded yellow eye, buckled, tossed the man through the air. The dragon hit, spilled him over, down, ground him under. Passing, the black brunt of its shoulder smashed the remaining horse and rider a hundred feet against the side of a boulder, wailing, wailing, the dragon shrieking, the fire all about, around, under it, a pink, yellow, orange sun-fire with great soft plumes of blinding smoke.

…

“Did you see it?” cried a voice. “Just like I told you!”

“The same! The same! A knight in armor, by the Lord Harry! We hit him!”

“You goin’ to stop?”

“Did once; found nothing. Don’t like to stop on this moor. I get the willies. Got a feel, it has.”

“But we hit something!”

“Gave him plenty of whistle; chap wouldn’t budge!”

A steaming blast cut the mist aside.

“We’ll make Stokely on time. More coal, eh, Fred?”

Another whistle shook dew from the empty sky. The night train, in fire and fury, shot through a gully, up a rise, and vanished away over cold earth toward the north, leaving black smoke and steam to dissolve in the numbed air minutes after it had passed and gone forever.

Do you want more?

I have more stories much like this one in my Ray Bradbury Index here…

Ray Bradbury

Articles & Links

Master Index

You can start reading the articles by going HERE.
You can visit the Index Page HERE to explore by article subject.
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You can find out more about the author HERE.
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Please kindly help me out in this effort. There is a lot of effort that goes into this disclosure. I could use all the financial support that anyone could provide. Thank you.

Law 2 of the 48 Laws of Power by Robert Greene; Never put too much trust in friends, learn how to use enemies

Well, this book has quite a bit of controversy associated with it, but most of it stems from reviewers that believe all people are good inside and unicorns deliver their vegan low fat cappuccino with cream.

Well, most people aren’t kind, and this book prepared you for reality.

It doesn’t teach one to be self absorbed or evil or a heretic.

It teaches one to stand your ground and to protect yourself from taking unnecessary burden, unfair treatment, and manipulation from corrupt people.

LAW 2

NEVER PUT TOO MUCH TRUST IN FRIENDS, LEARN HOW TO USE ENEMIES

JUDGMENT

Be wary of friends—they will betray you more quickly, for they are easily aroused to envy. They also become spoiled and tyrannical. But hire a former enemy and he will be more loyal than a friend, because he has more to prove. In fact, you have more to fear from friends than from enemies. If you have no enemies, find a way to make them.

TRANSGRESSION OF THE LAW

In the mid-ninth century A.D., a young man named Michael III assumed the throne of the Byzantine Empire.

His mother, the Empress Theodora, had been banished to a nunnery, and her lover, Theoctistus, had been murdered ; at the head of the conspiracy to depose Theodora and enthrone Michael had been Michael’s uncle, Bardas, a man of intelligence and ambition.

Michael was now a young, inexperienced ruler, surrounded by in triguers, murderers, and profligates. In this time of peril he needed someone he could trust as his councilor, and his thoughts turned to Basilius, his best friend.

Basilius had no experience whatsoever in government and politics—in fact, he was the head of the royal stables—but he had proven his love and gratitude time and again.

To have a good enemy, choose a friend: He knows where to strike. 

-DIANF DE POITIERS. 1499-1566. MISTRESS OF HENRI II OF FRANCE

They had met a few years before, when Michael had been visiting the stables just as a wild horse got loose.

Basilius, a young groom from peasant Macedonian stock, had saved Michael’s life.

The groom’s strength and courage had impressed Michael, who immediately raised Basilius from the obscurity of being a horse trainer to the position of head of the stables.

He loaded his friend with gifts and favors and they became inseparable.

Basilius was sent to the finest school in Byzantium, and the crude peasant became a cultured and sophisticated courtier.

Every time I bestow a vacant office I make a hundred discontented persons and one ingrate.

Louis XIV, 1638-1715

Now Michael was emperor, and in need of someone loyal.

Who could he better trust with the post of chamberlain and chief councilor than a young man who owed him everything?

Basilius could be trained for the job and Michael loved him like a brother.

Ignoring the advice of those who recommended the much more qualified Bardas, Michael chose his friend.

Thus for my own part l have more than once been deceived by the person I loved most and of whose love, above everyone else’s, I have been most confident. So that I believe that u may be right to love and serve one person above all others. according to merit and worth, but never to trust so much in this tempting trap of friendship as to have cause to repent of it later on. 

BALDASSARE CASTIGLIONE, 1478-1529

Basilius learned well and was soon advising the emperor on all matters of state.

The only problem seemed to be money—Basiiius never had enough.

Exposure to the splendor of Byzantine court life made him avaricious for the perks of power.

Michael doubled, then tripled his salary, ennobled him, and married him off to his own mistress, Eudoxia Ingerina.

Keeping such a trusted friend and adviser satisfied was worth any price.

But more trouble was to come.

Bardas was now head of the army, and Basilius convinced Michael that the man was hopelessly ambitious.

Under the illusion that he could control his nephew, Bardas had conspired to put him on the throne, and he could conspire again, this time to get rid of Michael and assume the crown himself.

Basilius poured poison into Michael’s ear until the emperor agreed to have his uncle murdered.

During a great horse race, Basilius closed in on Bardas in the crowd and stabbed him to death.

Soon after, Basilius asked that he replace Bardas as head of the army, where he could keep control of the realm and quell rebellion.

This was granted.

Now Basilius’s power and wealth only grew, and a few years later Michael, in financial straits from his own extravagance, asked him to pay back some of the money he had borrowed over the years.

To Michael’s shock and astonishment, Basilius refused, with a look of such impudence that the emperor suddenly realized his predicament: The former stable boy had more money, more allies in the army and senate, and in the end more power than the emperor himself.

A few weeks later, after a night of heavy drinking,

Michael awoke to find himself surrounded by soldiers.

Basilius watched as they stabbed the emperor to death.

Then, after proclaiming himself emperor, he rode his horse through the streets of Byzantium, brandishing the head of his former benefactor and best friend at the end of a long pike.

THE SNAKE. THE FARMER. AND THE HERON

A snake chased by hunters asked a farmer to save its life. 

To hide it from its pursuers, the farmer squatted and let the snake crawl into his belly. 

But when the danger had passed and the farmer asked the snake to come out, the snake refused. 

It was warm and safe inside. 

On his way home, the man saw a heron and went up to him and whispered what had happened. 

The heron told him to squat and strain to eject the snake. 

When the snake snuck its head out, the heron caught it, pulled it out, and killed it. 

The farmer was worried that the snake’s poison might still be inside him, and the heron told him that the cure for snake poison was to cook and eat six white fowl. 

“You’re a white fowl,” said the farmer. “You’ll do for a start.” 

He grabbed the heron, put it in a bag, and carried it home, where he hung it up while he told his wife what had happened. 

“I’m surprised at you, ” said the wife. “The bird does you a kindness, rids you of the evil in your belly, saves your life in fact, yet you catch it and talk of killing it."

She immediately released the heron, and it flew away. But on its way, it gouged out her eyes.

Moral: When you see water flowing uphill, it means that someone is repaying a kindness.

AFRICAN FOLK TALE

Interpretation

Michael III staked his future on the sense of gratitude he thought Basilius must feel for him.

Surely Basilius would serve him best; he owed the emperor his wealth, his education, and his position.

Then, once Basilius was in power, anything he needed it was best to give to him, strengthening the bonds between the two men.

It was only on the fateful day when the emperor saw that impudent smile on Basilius’s face that he realized his deadly mistake.

He had created a monster.

He had allowed a man to see power up close— a man who then wanted more, who asked for anything and got it, who felt encumbered by the charity he had received and simply did what many people do in such a situation: They forget the favors they have received and imagine they have earned their success by their own merits.

At Michael’s moment of realization, he could still have saved his own life, but friendship and love blind every man to their interests. Nobody believes a friend can betray.

And Michael went on disbelieving until the day his head ended up on a pike.

Lord, protect me from my friends; I can take care of my enemies.

Voltaire, 1694-1778

OBSERVANCE OF THE LAW

For several centuries after the fall of the Han Dynasty (A.D. 222), Chinese history followed the same pattern of violent and bloody coups, one after the other.

Army men would plot to kill a weak emperor, then would replace him on the Dragon Throne with a strong general.

The general would start a new dynasty and crown himself emperor; to ensure his own survival he would kill off his fellow generals.

A few years later, however, the pattern would resume: New generals would rise up and assassinate him or his sons in their turn. To be emperor of China was to be alone, surrounded by a pack of enemies—it was the least powerful, least secure position in the realm.

In A.D. 959, General Chao K’uang-yin became Emperor Sung.

He knew the odds, the probability that within a year or two he would be murdered ; how could he break the pattern?

Soon after becoming emperor, Sung ordered a banquet to celebrate the new dynasty, and invited the most powerful commanders in the army.

After they had drunk much wine, he dismissed the guards and everybody else except the generals, who now feared he would murder them in one fell swoop.

Instead, he addressed them:

“The whole day is spent in fear, and I am unhappy both at the table and in my bed. For which one of you does not dream of ascending the throne? I do not doubt your allegiance, but if by some chance your subordinates, seeking wealth and position, were to force the emperor’s yellow robe upon you in turn, how could you refuse it?”

Drunk and fearing for their lives, the generals proclaimed their innocence and their loyalty.

But Sung had other ideas:

“The best way to pass one’s days is in peaceful enjoyment of riches and honor. 

If you are willing to give up your commands, I am ready to provide you with fine estates and beautiful dwellings where you may take your pleasure with singers and girls as your companions.”

The astonished generals realized that instead of a life of anxiety and struggle Sung was offering them riches and security.

The next day, all of the generals tendered their resignations, and they retired as nobles to the estates that Sung bestowed on them.

There are manv who think therefore that a wise prince ought, when he has the chance, to foment astutely some enmity, so that by suppressing It he will augment his greatness. Princes, and especially new ones, have found more faith and more usefulness in those men, whom at the beginning of their power they regarded with suspicion, than in those they at first confided in. Pandolfo Petrucci, prince of Siena, governed his state more bv those whom he suspected than by others.

Niccoi o MACHIAVELLI, 1469-1527

In one stroke, Sung turned a pack of “friendly” wolves, who would likely have betrayed him, into a group of docile lambs, far from all power.

Over the next few years Sung continued his campaign to secure his rule.

In A.D. 971, King Liu of the Southern Han finally surrendered to him after years of rebellion.

To Liu’s astonishment, Sung gave him a rank in the imperial court and invited him to the palace to seal their newfound friendship with wine.

As King Liu took the glass that Sung offered him, he hesitated, fearing it contained poison.

“Your subject’s crimes certainly merit death,” he cried out, “but I beg Your Majesty to spare your subject’s life. Indeed I dare not drink this wine.”

Emperor Sung laughed, took the glass from Liu, and swallowed it himself. There was no poison. From then on Liu became his most trusted and loyal friend.

At the time, China had splintered into many smaller kingdoms.

When Ch‘ien Shu, the king of one of these, was defeated, Sung’s ministers advised the emperor to lock this rebel up.

They presented documents proving that he was still conspiring to kill Sung.

When Ch’ien Shu came to visit the emperor, however, instead of locking him up, Sung honored him.

He also gave him a package, which he told the former king to open when he was halfway home.

Ch’ien Shu opened the bundle on his return journey and saw that it contained all the papers documenting his conspiracy.

He realized that Sung knew of his murderous plans, yet had spared him nonetheless.

This generosity won him over, and he too became one of Sung’s most loyal vassals.

A brahman, a great expert in Veda who has become a great archer as well, offers his services to his good friend, who is now the king. 

The brahman cries out when he sees the king, “Recognize me, your friend!” 

The king answers him with contempt and then explains: “Yes, we were friends before, but our friendship was based on what power we had.... I was friends with you, good brahman, because it served my purpose. No pauper is friend to the rich, no fool to the wise, no coward to the brave. An old friend—who needs him? It is two men of equal wealth and equal birth who contract friendship and marriage, not a rich man and a pauper.... An old friend— who needs him?

THE MAHABHARATA, C. THIRD CENTURY B.C.

Interpretation

A Chinese proverb compares friends to the jaws and teeth of a dangerous animal: If you are not careful, you will find them chewing you up.

Emperor Sung knew the jaws he was passing between when he assumed the throne:

His “friends” in the army would chew him up like meat, and if he somehow survived, his “friends” in the government would have him for supper.

Emperor Sung would have no truck with “friends”—he bribed his fellow generals with splendid estates and kept them far away.

This was a much better way to emasculate them than killing them, which would only have led other generals to seek vengeance.

And Sung would have nothing to do with “friendly” ministers.

More often than not, they would end up drinking his famous cup of poisoned wine.

Instead of relying on friends, Sung used his enemies, one after the other, transforming them into far more reliable subjects.

While a friend expects more and more favors, and seethes with jealousy, these former enemies expected nothing and got everything.

A man suddenly spared the guillotine is a grateful man indeed, and will go to the ends of the earth for the man who has pardoned him.

In time, these former enemies became Sung’s most trusted friends.

Pick up a bee from kindness, and learn the limitations of kindness.

SUFI PROVERB

And Sung was finally able to break the pattern of coups, violence, and civil war—the Sung Dynasty ruled China for more than three hundred years.

In a speech Abraham Lincoln delivered at the height of the Civil War, he referred to the Southerners as fellow human beings who were in error. An elderly lady chastised him for not calling them irreconcilable enemies who must be destroyed. “Why, madam,” Lincoln replied,

“do I not destroy my enemies when I make them my friends?”

KEYS TO POWER

It is natural to want to employ your friends when you find yourself in times of need. The world is a harsh place, and your friends soften the harshness. Besides, you know them. Why depend on a stranger when you have a friend at hand?

Men are more ready to repay an injury than a benefit, because gratitude is a burden and revenge a pleasure.

TACITUS, c. A.D. 55-120

The problem is that you often do not know your friends as well as you imagine.

Friends often agree on things in order to avoid an argument.

They cover up their unpleasant qualities so as to not offend each other.

They laugh extra hard at each other’s jokes.

Since honesty rarely strengthens friendship, you may never know how a friend truly feels.

Friends will say that they love your poetry, adore your music, envy your taste in clothes— maybe they mean it, often they do not.

When you decide to hire a friend, you gradually discover the qualities he or she has kept hidden.

Strangely enough, it is your act of kindness that unbalances everything.

People want to feel they deserve their good fortune.

The receipt of a favor can become oppressive: It means you have been chosen because you are a friend, not necessarily because you are deserving.

There is almost a touch of condescension in the act of hiring friends that secretly afflicts them.

The injury will come out slowly: A little more honesty, flashes of resentment and envy here and there, and before you know it your friendship fades.

The more favors and gifts you supply to revive the friendship, the less gratitude you receive.

Ingratitude has a long and deep history.

It has demonstrated its powers for so many centuries, that it is truly amazing that people continue to underestimate them.

Better to be wary.

If you never expect gratitude from a friend, you will be pleasantly surprised when they do prove grateful.

The problem with using or hiring friends is that it will inevitably limit your power.

The friend is rarely the one who is most able to help you; and in the end, skill and competence are far more important than friendly feelings. (Michael III had a man right under his nose who would have steered him right and kept him alive: That man was Bardas.)

PLUTARCH

King Hiero chanced upon a time, speaking with one of his enemies, to be told in a reproachful manner that he had stinking breath. 

Whereupon the good king, being somewhat dismayed in himself, as soon as he returned home chided his wife, “How does it happen that you never told me of this problem?” 

The woman, being a simple, chaste. and harmless dame, said, “Sir, l had thought all men breath had smelled so.” 

Thus it is plain that faults that are evident to the senses, gross and corporal, or otherwise notorious to the world, we know by our enemies sooner than by our friends and familiars.

PLUTARCH, C. A.D. 46-120

All working situations require a kind of distance between people.

You are trying to work, not make friends; friendliness (real or false) only obscures that fact.

The key to power, then, is the ability to judge who is best able to further your interests in all situations.

Keep friends for friendship, but work with the skilled and competent.

Your enemies, on the other hand, are an untapped gold mine that you must learn to exploit.

When Talleyrand, Napoleon’s foreign minister, decided in 1807 that his boss was leading France to ruin, and the time had come to turn against him, he understood the dangers of conspiring against the emperor; he needed a partner, a confederate—what friend could he trust in such a project?

He chose Joseph Fouché, head of the secret police, his most hated enemy, a man who had even tried to have him assassinated.

He knew that their former hatred would create an opportunity for an emotional reconciliation.

He knew that Fouché would expect nothing from him, and in fact would work to prove that he was worthy of Talleyrand’s choice; a person who has something to prove will move mountains for you.

Finally, he knew that his relationship with Fouché would be based on mutual self- interest, and would not be contaminated by personal feeling.

The selection proved perfect; although the conspirators did not succeed in toppling Napoleon, the union of such powerful but unlikely partners generated much interest in the cause; opposition to the emperor slowly began to spread.

And from then on, Talleyrand and Fouché had a fruitful working relationship.

Whenever you can, bury the hatchet with an enemy, and make a point of putting him in your service.

As Lincoln said, you destroy an enemy when you make a friend of him.

In 1971, during the Vietnam War, Henry Kissinger was the target of an unsuccessful kidnapping attempt, a conspiracy involving, among others, the renowned antiwar activist priests the Berrigan brothers, four more Catholic priests, and four nuns.

In private, without informing the Secret Service or the Justice Department, Kissinger arranged a Saturday-morning meeting with three of the alleged kidnappers.

Explaining to his guests that he would have most American soldiers out of Vietnam by mid-1972, he completely charmed them.

They gave him some “Kidnap Kissinger” buttons and one of them remained a friend of his for years, visiting him on several occasions.

This was not just a onetime ploy: Kissinger made a policy of working with those who disagreed with him.

Colleagues commented that he seemed to get along better with his enemies than with his friends.

Without enemies around us, we grow lazy.

An enemy at our heels sharpens our wits, keeping us focused and alert.

It is sometimes better, then, to use enemies as enemies rather than transforming them into friends or allies.

Mao Tse-tung saw conflict as key in his approach to power.

In 1937 the Japanese invaded China, interrupting the civil war between Mao’s Communists and their enemy, the Nationalists.

Fearing that the Japanese would wipe them out, some Communist leaders advocated leaving the Nationalists to fight the Japanese, and using the time to recuperate.

Mao disagreed: The Japanese could not possibly defeat and occupy a vast country like China for long.

Once they left, the Communists would have grown rusty if they had been out of combat for several years, and would be ill prepared to reopen their struggle with the Nationalists.

To fight a formidable foe like the Japanese, in fact, would be the perfect training for the Communists’ ragtag army.

Mao’s plan was adopted, and it worked: By the time the Japanese finally retreated, the Communists had gained the fighting experience that helped them defeat the Nationalists.

Years later, a Japanese visitor tried to apologize to Mao for his country’s invasion of China.

Mao interrupted, “Should I not thank you instead?” Without a worthy opponent, he explained, a man or group cannot grow stronger.

Mao’s strategy of constant conflict has several key components.

First, be certain that in the long run you will emerge victorious. Never pick a fight with someone you are not sure you can defeat, as Mao knew the Japanese would be defeated in time.

Second, if you have no apparent enemies, you must sometimes set up a convenient target, even turning a friend into an enemy. Mao used this tactic time and again in politics.

Third, use such enemies to define your cause more clearly to the public, even framing it as a struggle of good against evil. Mao actually encouraged China’s disagreements with the Soviet Union and the United States; without clear- cut enemies, he believed, his people would lose any sense of what Chinese Communism meant. A sharply defined enemy is a far stronger argument for your side than all the words you could possibly put together.

Never let the presence of enemies upset or distress you—you are far better off with a declared opponent or two than not knowing where your real enemies lie.

The man of power welcomes conflict, using enemies to enhance his reputation as a surefooted fighter who can be relied upon in times of uncertainty.

Image: The Jaws of Ingratitude. Knowing what would happen if you put a finger in the mouth of a lion, you would stay clear of it. With friends you will have no such caution, and if you hire them, they will eat you alive with ingratitude.

Authority:

Know how to use enemies for your own profit. You must learn to grab a sword not by its blade, which would cut you, but by the handle, which allows you to defend yourself. The wise man profits more from his enemies, than a fool from his friends. 

(Baltasar Gracián, 1601-1658)

REVERSAL

Although it is generally best not to mix work with friendship, there are times when a friend can be used to greater effect than an enemy.

A man of power, for example, often has dirty work that has to be done, but for the sake of appearances it is generally preferable to have other people do it for him; friends often do this the best, since their affection for him makes them willing to take chances.

Also, if your plans go awry for some reason, you can use a friend as a convenient scapegoat.

This “fall of the favorite” was a trick often used by kings and sovereigns: They would let their closest friend at court take the fall for a mistake, since the public would not believe that they would deliberately sacrifice a friend for such a purpose.

Of course, after you play that card, you have lost your friend forever.

It is best, then, to reserve the scapegoat role for someone who is close to you but not too close.

Finally, the problem about working with friends is that it confuses the boundaries and distances that working requires.

But if both partners in the arrangement understand the dangers involved, a friend often can be employed to great effect.

You must never let your guard down in such a venture, however; always be on the lookout for any signs of emotional disturbance such as envy and ingratitude.

Nothing is stable in the realm of power, and even the closest of friends can be transformed into the worst of enemies.

Conclusion

I know that I have been pumping out China and 48 Laws of Power posts all week long, but I have a backlog that has accumulated with all the historical events of the last few months. Never the less, all these laws are great reading. Perhaps if you read a law here, and a law there, you can absorb the teachings in a slow and leisurely pace and generate benefit from them at your own speed, and on your own terms.

Do you want more?

I have more posts in my “48 Laws of Power” Index here…

The 48 Laws

Articles & Links

Master Index

You can start reading the articles by going HERE.
You can visit the Index Page HERE to explore by article subject.
You can also ask the author some questions. You can go HERE to find out how to go about this.
You can find out more about the author HERE.
If you have concerns or complaints, you can go HERE.
If you want to make a donation, you can go HERE.

A Metallicman Video Narrative; Home in Zhuhai 1

Well, this is my first try at making a Vblog. I hear that it is a popular thing to do and I am told that I could open up an account on You-Tube and get a bunch of followers. Well, maybe. If I wanted that.

So I made a video.

It’s of my neighborhood.

Well, actually, it’s a string of around 12 or so, 2 to 5 minute long videos that I have zipped together in a folder. You just unpack and watch at your pleasure.

The theme behind this video (or collection of smaller videos) is “the feeling in China is near identical to the feeling that I had while a small boy living in the USA in the 1960’s”.

This is all pretty much unlike the typical expat in China vblogs that visit this town, or that town and talk about what they observe. I do that as well, but overall, this effort is about me and where I live. It’s purpose and intention is to get you, the viewer, a “feeling” of the environment as opposed to someone watching a narrated adventure.

I do narrate, but … well, you watch.

I really want you, the viewer, to “feel” what “my China” is like. It’s my reality. It’s my world. And, by extension, MM readers / followers’ world as well.

The entire video set can be downloaded HERE. But, it’s super large at 392 MB. And many computers cannot download it due to the cache memory size, or clutter in their browsers. Like your’s truly.

So… Here’s the MM version. For me, I need to download things in smaller mouth-fulls.

Or if you keep on getting errors, you can download the file in small batches and then go folder by folder.

- - - - Part 1 HERE. 85MB
        
        Part 2 HERE. 55MB
        
        Part 3 HERE. 83MB
        
        Part 4 HERE. 70MB

Yes, I can add streaming video code instead. And I am researching it. The thing is that I do not want code that is connected to the American oligarchy in any way. And most available codes are. 

Sure, you can host the video on your site, but the video will be directly tied to Google, which is then tied to the NSA, which is then under the control of the American Federal Government. So I am looking into this. 

I'll keep you all posted on my successes or failures in this matter. Maybe I'll ask Jeff Brown for some pointers....

To Open the Files

Or around 12 minutes per VLOG group (1 through 4) for the bite-size MM version that I used to test on my computer.

I really hope that you are not too bored.

How the videos are set up

Some key points

One of the things that I am trying to get across is that China reminds me of what America used to be. Whether it was the 1950’s, 60’s or 70’s. It clearly has something, a “feeling”, a pace of life, a way of living, a society that has long evaporated away in the United States.

I argue that what America is today is a direct reflection on it’s leadership. And the fact that the leaders are not smart, (are terribly corrupt and behave as psychopathic fiends with no shame or attempt to hide their behaviors) reinforces this point. For them, being surrounded by sycophants and other psychopaths they are unable to see what they have created or the world that they live in is not good. It is not healthy and it is most certainly, not normal.

Ah.

Today, here inside of China, no one is on the radio, or on the internet yelling at me to buy! Buy! Buy!. It’s only $98.98.

I hope that you too are able to experience it in my VLOG herein.

Compare my reality with American reality

While I was filming these videos, this is the hysteria going on in America. Now compare reality against the perception of what is important via the “news”.

I mean, don’t you know, that it’s all bullshit.

So I am just gonna hang out here. Have a few beers, and eat some delicious food with some friends, both old and new. And that’s my reality.

Do you want more?

This article is going into a new sub-index that I am creating for it titled VLOG. You can access it here.

Video Blog

Articles & Links

Master Index

You can start reading the articles by going HERE.
You can visit the Index Page HERE to explore by article subject.
You can also ask the author some questions. You can go HERE to find out how to go about this.
You can find out more about the author HERE.
If you have concerns or complaints, you can go HERE.
If you want to make a donation, you can go HERE.

The Sentinel by Arthur C. Clarke (Full Text)

This is the science fiction short story that eventually was made into the famous movie 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) It’s a great read, and as much as I loved the movie, in many ways this short story was actually better. I hope that you all will enjoy it as much as I have.

THE SENTINEL

Arthur C. Clarke

1951 Avon Periodicals Inc.

The next time you see the full moon high in the south, look carefully at its right-hand edge and let your eye travel upward along the curve of the disk. Round about two o’clock you will notice a small, dark oval: anyone with normal eyesight can find it quite easily. It is the great walled plain,

one of the finest on the Moon, known as the Mare Crisium-the Sea of Crises. Three hundred miles in diameter, and almost completely surrounded by a ring of magnificent mountains, it had never been explored until we entered it in the late summer of 1996.

Our expedition was a large one. We had two heavy freighters which had flown our supplies and equipment from the main lunar base in the Mare Serenitatis, five hundred miles away. There were also three small rockets which were intended for short-range transport over regions which our surface vehicles couldn’t cross. Luckily, most of the Mare Crisiurn is very flat. There are none of the great crevasses so common and so dangerous elsewhere, and very few craters or mountains of any size. As far as we could tell, our powerful caterpillar tractors would have no difficulty in taking us wherever we wished to go.

I was geologist-or selenologist, if you want to be pedantic in charge of. the group exploring the southern region of the Mare. We had crossed a hundred miles of it in a week, skirting the foothills of the mountains along the shore of what was once the ancient sea, some thousand million years before. When life was beginning on Earth, it was already dying here. The waters were retreating down the flanks of those stupendous cliff s, retreating into the empty heart of the Moon. Over the land which we were crossing, the tideless ocean had once been half a mile deep, and now the only trace of moisture was the hoarfrost one could sometimes find in caves which the searing sunlight never penetrated.

We had begun our journey early in the slow lunar dawn, and still had almost a week of Earth-time before nightfall. Half a dozen times a day we would leave our vehicle and go outside in the spacesuits to hunt for interesting minerals, or to place markers for the guidance of future travelers. It was an uneventful routine. There is nothing hazardous or even particularly exciting about lunar exploration. We could live comfortably for a month in our pressurized tractors, and if we ran into trouble we could always radio for help and sit tight until one of the spaceships came to our rescue.

I said just now that there was nothing exciting about lunar exploration, but of course that isn’t true. One could never grow tired of those incredible mountains, so much more rugged than the gentle hills of Earth. We never knew, as we rounded the capes and promontories of that vanished sea, what new splendors would be revealed to us. The whole southern curve of the Mare Crisiurn is a vast delta where a score of rivers once found their way into the ocean, fed perhaps by the torrential rains that must have lashed the mountains in the brief volcanic age when the Moon was young.

Each of these ancient valleys was an invitation, challenging us to climb into the unknown uplands beyond. But we had a hundred miles still to cover, and could only look longingly at the heights which others must scale.

We kept Earth-time aboard the tractor, and precisely at 22.00 hours the final radio message would be sent out to Base and we would close down for the day. Outside, the rocks would still be burning beneath the almost vertical sun, but to us it was night until we awoke again eight hours later. Then one of us would prepare breakfast, there would be a great buzzing of electric razors, and someone would switch on the short-wave radio from Earth. Indeed, when the smell of frying sausages began to fill the cabin, it was sometimes hard to believe that we were not back on our own world – everything was so normal and homely, apart from the feeling of decreased weight and the unnatural slowness with which objects fell.

It was my turn to prepare breakfast in the corner of the main cabin that served as a galley. I can remember that moment quite vividly after all these years, for the radio had just played one of my favorite melodies, the old Welsh air, “David of the White, Rock.”

Our driver was already outside in his space-suit, inspecting our caterpillar treads. My assistant, Louis Garnett, was up forward in the control position, making some belated entries in yesterday’s log.

As I stood by the frying pan waiting, like any terrestrial housewife, for the sausages to brown, I let my gaze wander idly over the mountain walls which covered the whole of the southern horizon, marching out of sight to east and west below the curve of the Moon. They seemed only a mile or two from the tractor, but I knew that the nearest was twenty miles away. On the Moon, of course, there is no loss of detail with distance-none of that almost imperceptible haziness which softens and sometimes transfigures all far-off things on Earth.

Those mountains were ten thousand feet high, and they climbed steeply out of the plain as if ages ago some subterranean eruption had smashed them skyward through the molten crust. The base of even the nearest was hidden from sight by the steeply curving surface of the plain, for the Moon is a very little world, and from where I was standing the horizon was only two miles away.

I lifted my eyes toward the peaks which no man had ever climbed, the peaks which, before the coming of terrestrial life, had watched the retreating oceans sink sullenly into their graves, taking with them the hope and the morning promise of a world. The sunlight was beating against those ramparts with a glare that hurt the eyes, yet only a little way above them the stars were shining steadily in a sky blacker than a winter midnight on Earth.

I was turning away when my eye caught a metallic glitter high on the ridge of a great promontory thrusting out into the sea thirty miles to the west. It was a dimensionless point of light, as if a star had been clawed from the sky by one of those cruel peaks, and I imagined that some smooth rock surface was catching the sunlight and heliographing it straight into my eyes. Such things were not uncommon. When the Moon is in her second quarter, observers on Earth can sometimes see the great ranges in the Oceanus Procellarum burning with a blue-white iridescence as the sunlight flashes from their slopes and leaps again from world to world. But I was curious to know what kind of rock could be shining so brightly up there, and I climbed into the observation turret and swung our four inch telescope round to the west.

I could see just enough to tantalize me. Clear and sharp in the field of vision, the mountain peaks seemed only half a mile away, but whatever was catching the sunlight was still too small to be resolved. Yet it seemed to have an elusive symmetry, and the summit upon which it rested was curiously flat. I stared for a long time at that glittering enigma, straining my eyes into space, until presently a smell of burning from the galley told me that our breakfast sausages had made their quarter-million mile journey in vain. .

All that morning we argued our way across the Mare Crisium while the western mountains reared higher in the sky. Even when we were out prospecting in the space-suits, the discussion would continue over the radio. It was absolutely certain, my companions argued, that there had never been any form of intelligent life on the Moon. The only living things that had ever existed there were a few primitive plants and their slightly less degenerate ancestors. I knew that as well as anyone, but there are times when a scientist must not be afraid to make a fool of himself.

“Listen,” I said at last, “I’m going up there, if only for my own peace of mind. That mountain’s less than twelve thousand feet high -that’s only two thousand under Earth gravity-and I can make the trip in twenty hours at the outside. I’ve always wanted to go up into those hills, anyway, and this gives me an excellent excuse.”

“If you don’t break your neck,” said Garnett, “you’ll be the laughing-stock of the expedition when we get back to Base. That mountain will probably be called Wilson’s Folly from now on.”

“I won’t break my neck,” I said firmly. “Who was the first man to climb Pico and Helicon?” “But weren’t you rather younger in those days?” asked Louis gently.

“That,” I said with great dignity, “is as good a reason as any for going.”

We went to bed early that night, after driving the tractor to within half a mile of the promontory. Garnett was coming with me in the morning; he was a good climber, and had often been with me on such exploits before. Our driver was only too glad to be left in charge of the machine.

At first sight, those cliffs seemed completely unscalable, but to anyone with a good head for heights, climbing is easy on a world where all weights are only a sixth of their normal value. The real danger in lunar mountaineering lies in overconfidence; a six-hundred-foot drop on the Moon can kill you just as thoroughly as a. hundred-foot fall on Earth.

We made our first halt on a wide ledge about four thousand feet above the plain. Climbing had not been very difficult, but my limbs were stiff with the unaccustomed effort, and I was glad of the rest. We could still see the tractor as a tiny metal insect far down at the foot of the cliff, and we reported our progress to the driver before starting on the next ascent.

Inside our suits it was comfortably cool, for the refrigeration units were fighting the fierce sun and carrying away the body-heat of our exertions. We seldom spoke to each other, except to pass climbing instructions and to discuss our best plan of ascent. I do not know what Garnett was thinking, probably that this was the craziest goose-chase he had ever embarked upon. I more than half agreed with him, but the joy of climbing, the knowledge that no man had ever gone this way before and the exhilaration of the steadily widening landscape gave me all the reward I needed.

I don’t think I was particularly excited when I saw in front of us the wall of rock I had first inspected through the telescope from thirty miles away. It would level off about fifty feet above our heads, and there on the plateau would be the thing that had lured me over these barren wastes. It was, almost certainly, nothing more than a boulder splintered ages ago by a falling meteor, and with its cleavage planes still fresh and bright in this incorruptible, unchanging silence.

There were no hand-holds on the rock face, and we had to use a grapnel. My tired arms seemed to gain new strength as I swung the three-pronged metal anchor round my head and sent it sailing Lip toward the stars. The first time it broke loose and came falling slowly back when we pulled the rope. On the third attempt, the prongs gripped firmly and our combined weights could not shift it.

Garnett looked at me anxiously. I could tell that he wanted to go first, but I smiled back at him through the glass of my helmet and shook my head. Slowly, taking my time, I began the final ascent.

Even with my space-suit, I weighed only forty pounds here, so I pulled myself up hand over hand without bothering to use my feet. At the rim I paused and waved to my companion, then I scrambled over the edge and stood upright, staring ahead of me.

You must understand that until this very moment I had been almost completely convinced that there could be nothing strange or unusual for me to find here. Almost, but not quite; it was that haunting doubt that had driven me forward. Well, it was a doubt no longer, but the haunting had scarcely begun.

I was standing on a plateau perhaps a hundred feet across. It had once been smooth-too smooth to be natural-but falling meteors had pitted and scored its surface through immeasurable eons. It had been leveled to support a glittering, roughly pyramidal structure, twice as high as a man, that was set in the rock like a gigantic, many-faceted jewel.

Probably no emotion at all filled my mind in those first few seconds. Then I felt a great lifting of my heart, and a strange, inexpressible joy. For I loved the Moon, and now I knew that the creeping moss of Aristarchus and Eratosthenes was not the only life she had brought forth in her youth. The old, discredited dream of the first explorers was true. There had, after all, been a lunar civilization- and I was the first to find it. That I had come perhaps a hundred million years too late did not distress me; it was enough to have come at all.

My mind was beginning to function normally, to analyze and to ask questions. Was this a building, a shrine-or something for which my language had no name? If a building, then why was it erected in so uniquely inaccessible a spot? I wondered if it might be a temple, and I could picture the adepts of some strange priesthood calling on their gods to preserve them as the life of the Moon ebbed with the dying oceans, and calling on their gods in vain.

I took a dozen steps forward to examine the thing more closely, but some sense of caution kept me from going too near. I knew a little of archaeology, and tried to guess the cultural level of the civilization that must have smoothed this mountain and raised the glittering mirror surfaces that still dazzled my eyes.

The Egyptians could have done it, I thought, if their workmen had possessed whatever strange materials these far more ancient architects had used. Because of the thing’s smallness, it did not occur to me that I might be looking at the handiwork of a race more advanced than my own. The idea that the Moon had possessed intelligence at all was still almost too tremendous to grasp, and my pride would not let me take the final, humiliating plunge.

And then I noticed something that set the scalp crawling at the back of my neck-something so trivial and so innocent that many would never have noticed it at all. I have said that the plateau was scarred by meteors; it was also coated inches-deep with the cosmic dust that is always filtering down upon the surface of any world where there are no winds to disturb it. Yet the dust and the meteor scratches ended quite abruptly in a wide circle enclosing the little pyramid, as though an invisible wall was protecting it from the ravages of time and the slow but ceaseless bombardment from space.

There was someone shouting in my earphones, and I realized that Garnett had been calling me for some time. I walked unsteadily to the edge of the cliff and signaled him to join me, not trusting myself to speak. Then I went back toward that circle in the dust. I picked up a fragment of splintered rock and tossed it gently toward the shining enigma. If the pebble had vanished at that invisible barrier I should not have been surprised, but it seemed to hit a smooth, hemispherical surface and slide gently to the ground.

I knew then that I was looking at nothing that could be matched in the antiquity of my own race. This was not a building, but a machine, protecting itself with forces that had challenged Eternity. Those forces, whatever they might be, were still operating, and perhaps I had already come too close. I thought of all the radiations man had trapped and tamed in the past century. For all I knew, I might be as irrevocably doomed as if I had stepped into the deadly, silent aura of an unshielded atomic pile.

I remember turning then toward Garnett, who bad joined me and was now standing motionless at my side. He seemed quite oblivious to me, so I did not disturb him but walked to the edge of the cliff in an effort to marshal my thoughts. There below me lay the Mare Crisium-Sea of Crises, indeed-strange and weird to most men, but reassuringly familiar to me. I lifted my eyes toward the crescent Earth, lying in her cradle of stars, and I wondered what her clouds had covered when these unknown builders had finished their work. Was it the steaming jungle of the Carboniferous, the bleak shoreline over which the first amphibians must crawl to conquer the land-or, earlier still, the long loneliness before the coming of life?

Do not ask me why I did not guess the truth sooner-the truth, that seems so obvious now. In the first excitement of my discovery, I had assumed without question that this crystalline apparition had been built by some race belonging to the Moon’s remote past, but suddenly, and with overwhelming force, the belief came to me that it was as alien to the Moon as I myself.

In twenty years we had found no trace of life but a few degenerate plants. No lunar civilization, whatever its doom, could have left but a single token of its existence.

I looked at the shining pyramid again, and the more remote it seemed from anything that had to do with the Moon. And suddenly I felt myself shaking with a foolish, hysterical laughter, brought on by excitement and overexertion: for I had imagined that the little pyramid was speaking to me and was saying: “Sorry, I’m a stranger here myself.”

It has taken us twenty years to crack that invisible shield and to reach the machine inside those crystal walls. What we could not understand, we broke at last with the savage might of atomic power and now I have seen the fragments of the lovely, glittering thing I found up there on the mountain.

They are meaningless. The mechanisms-if indeed they are mechanisms-of the pyramid belong to a technology that lies far beyond our horizon, perhaps to the technology of para-physical forces.

The mystery haunts us all the more now that the other planets have been reached and we know that only Earth has ever been the home of intelligent life in our Universe. Nor could any lost civilization of our own world have built that machine, for the thickness of the meteoric dust on the plateau has enabled us to measure its age. It was set there upon its mountain before life had emerged from the seas of Earth.

When our world was half its present age, something from the stars swept through the Solar System, left this token of its passage, and went again upon its way. Until we destroyed it, that machine was still fulfilling the purpose of its builders; and as to that purpose, here is my guess.

Nearly a hundred thousand million stars are turning in the circle of the Milky Way, and long ago other races on the worlds of other suns must have scaled and passed the heights that we have reached. Think of such civilizations, far back in time against the fading afterglow of Creation, masters of a universe so young that life as yet had come only to a handful of worlds. Theirs would have been a loneliness we cannot imagine, the loneliness of gods looking out across infinity and finding none to share their thoughts.

They must have searched the star-clusters as we have searched the planets. Everywhere there would be worlds, but they would be empty or peopled with crawling, mindless things. Such was our own Earth, the smoke of the great volcanoes still staining the skies, when that first ship of the peoples of the dawn came sliding in from the abyss beyond Pluto. It passed the frozen outer worlds, knowing that life could play no part in their destinies. It came to rest among the inner planets, warming themselves around the fire of the Sun and waiting for their stories to begin.

Those wanderers must have looked on Earth, circling safely in the narrow zone between fire and ice, and must have guessed that it was the favorite of the Sun’s children. Here, in the distant future, would be intelligence; but there were countless stars before -them still, and they might never come this way again.

So they left a sentinel, one of millions they have scattered throughout the Universe, watching over all worlds with the promise of life. It was a beacon that down the ages has been patiently signaling the fact that no one had discovered it.

Perhaps you understand now why that crystal pyramid was set upon the Moon instead of on the Earth. Its builders were not concerned with races still struggling up from savagery. They would be interested in our civilization only if we proved our fitness to survive -by crossing space and so escaping from the Earth, our cradle. That is the challenge that all intelligent races must meet, sooner or later. It is a double challenge, for it depends in turn upon the conquest of atomic energy and the last choice between life and death.

Once we had passed that crisis, it was only a matter of time before we found the pyramid and forced it open. Now its signals have ceased, and those whose duty it is will be turning their minds upon Earth. Perhaps they wish to help our infant civilization. But they must be very, very old, and the old are often insanely jealous of the young.

I can never look now at the Milky Way without wondering from which of those banked clouds of stars the emissaries are coming. If you will pardon so commonplace a simile, we have set off the fire-alarm and have nothing to do but to wait.

I do not think we will have to wait for long.

The End

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Law 33 – Discover each mans thumbscrew (full text) from the 48 Laws of Power by Robert Greene

This is the complete full text of law #33 titled “Discover each man’s thumbscrew” which is found in the book by Robert Greene titled “The 48 Laws of Power”.

LAW 33

DISCOVER EACH MAN’S THUMBSCREW

JUDGMENT

Everyone has a weakness, a gap in the castle wall. That weakness is usually an insecurity, an uncontrollable emotion or need; it can also be a small secret pleasure. Either way, once found, it is a thumbscrew you can turn to your advantage.

FINDING THE THUMBSCREW: A Strategic Plan of Action

We all have resistances. We live with a perpetual armor around ourselves to defend against change and the intrusive actions of friends and rivals. We would like nothing more than to be left to do things our own way. Constantly butting up against these resistances will cost you a lot of energy. One of the most important things to realize about people, though, is that they all have a weakness, some part of their psychological armor that will not resist, that will bend to your will if you find it and push on it. Some people wear their weaknesses openly, others disguise them. Those who disguise them are often the ones most effectively undone through that one chink in their armor.

THE LION. THE CHAMOIS. AND THE FOX

A lion was chasing a chamois along a valley.

He had all but caught it, and with longing eyes was anticipating a certain and a satisfying repast.

It seemed as if it were utterly impossible for the victim to escape; for a deep ravine appeared to bar the way for both the hunter and the hunted.

But the nimble chamois, gathering together all its strength, shot like an arrow from a bow across the chasm, and stood still on the rocky cliff on the other side.

Our lion pulled up short.

But at that moment a friend of his happened to be near at hand. That friend was the fox. “What!” said he, “with your strength and agility, is it possible that you will yield to a feeble chamois?

You have only to will, and you will be able to work wonders.

Though the abyss be deep, yet, if you are only in earnest, I am certain you will clear it.

Surely you can confide in my disinterested friendship.

I would not expose your life to danger if I were not so well aware of your strength and dexterity. ”

The lion’s blood waxed hot, and began to boil in his veins.

He flung himself with all his might into space.

But he could not clear the chasm; so down he tumbled headlong, and was killed by the fall.

Then what did his dear friend do?

He cautiously made his way down to the bottom of the ravine. and there, out in the open space and the free air, seeing that the lion wanted neither flattery nor obedience now, he set to work to pay the last sad rites to his dead friend, and in a month picked his bones clean.

FABLES, IVAN KRILOFF, 1768-1844

In planning your assault, keep these principles in mind:

Pay Attention to Gestures and Unconscious Signals. As Sigmund Freud remarked, “No mortal can keep a secret. If his lips are silent, he chatters with his fingertips; betrayal oozes out of him at every pore.” This is a critical concept in the search for a person’s weakness—it is revealed by seemingly unimportant gestures and passing words.

The key is not only what you look for but where and how you look. Everyday conversation supplies the richest mine of weaknesses, so train yourself to listen. Start by always seeming interested—the appearance of a sympathetic ear will spur anyone to talk. A clever trick, often used by the nineteenth-century French statesman Talleyrand, is to appear to open up to the other person, to share a secret with them. It can be completely made up, or it can be real but of no great importance to you—the important thing is that it should seem to come from the heart. This will usually elicit a response that is not only as frank as yours but more genuine—a response that reveals a weakness.

If you suspect that someone has a particular soft spot, probe for it indirectly. If, for instance, you sense that a man has a need to be loved, openly flatter him. If he laps up your compliments, no matter how obvious, you are on the right track. Train your eye for details—how someone tips a waiter, what delights a person, the hidden messages in clothes. Find people’s idols, the things they worship and will do anything to get—perhaps you can be the supplier of their fantasies. Remember: Since we all try to hide our weaknesses, there is little to be learned from our conscious behavior. What oozes out in the little things outside our conscious control is what you want to know.

Find the Helpless Child. Most weaknesses begin in childhood, before the self builds up compensatory defenses. Perhaps the child was pampered or indulged in a particular area, or perhaps a certain emotional need went unfulfilled; as he or she grows older, the indulgence or the deficiency may be buried but never disappears. Knowing about a childhood need gives you a powerful key to a person’s weakness.

One sign of this weakness is that when you touch on it the person will often act like a child. Be on the lookout, then, for any behavior that should have been outgrown. If your victims or rivals went without something important, such as parental support, when they were children, supply it, or its facsimile. If they reveal a secret taste, a hidden indulgence, indulge it. In either case they will be unable to resist you.

Look for Contrasts. An overt trait often conceals its opposite. People who thump their chests are often big cowards; a prudish exterior may hide a lascivious soul; the uptight are often screaming for adventure; the shy are dying for attention. By probing beyond appearances, you will often find people’s weaknesses in the opposite of the qualities they reveal to you.

Find the Weak Link. Sometimes in your search for weaknesses it is not what but who that matters. In today’s versions of the court, there is often someone behind the scenes who has a great deal of power, a tremendous influence over the person superficially on top. These behind-the-scenes powerbrokers are the group’s weak link: Win their favor and you indirectly influence the king. Alternatively, even in a group of people acting with the appearance of one will—as when a group under attack closes ranks to resist an outsider—there is always a weak link in the chain. Find the one person who will bend under pressure.

Fill the Void. The two main emotional voids to fill are insecurity and unhappiness. The insecure are suckers for any kind of social validation; as for the chronically unhappy, look for the roots of their unhappiness. The insecure and the unhappy are the people least able to disguise their weaknesses. The ability to fill their emotional voids is a great source of power, and an indefinitely prolongable one.

Feed on Uncontrollable Emotions. The uncontrollable emotion can be a paranoid fear—a fear disproportionate to the situation—or any base motive such as lust, greed, vanity, or hatred. People in the grip of these emotions often cannot control themselves, and you can do the controlling for them.

IRING IZAR

[Hollywood super-agent] Irving Paul Lazar was once anxious to sell [studio mogul] Jack L. Warner a play. 

“I had a long meeting with him today,” Lazar explained [to screenwriter Garson Kanin], “but I didn’t mention it, I didn’t even bring it up.” 

“Why not?” I asked. 

“Because I’m going to wait until the weekend after next, when I go to Palm Springs.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

“You don’t? I go to Palm Springs every weekend, but Warner isn’t going this weekend. He’s got a preview or something. So he’s not coming down till the next weekend, so that’s when I’m going to bring it up. ” 

“Irving, I’m more and more confused.” 

“Look,” said Irving impatiently, ”I know what I’m doing. I know how to sell Warner. This is a type of material that he’s uneasy with, so I have to hit him with it hard and suddenly to get an okay.” 

”But why Palm Springs?” 

”Because in Palm Springs, every day he goes to the baths at The Spa. And that’s where I’m going to be when he’s there. Now there’s a thing about Jack: He’s eighty and he’s very vain, and he doesn’t like people to see him naked. So when I walk up to him naked at The Spa—I mean he’s naked—well, I’m naked too, but I don’t care who sees me. He does. And I walk up to him naked, and I start to talk to him about this thing, he’ll be very embarrassed.And he’ll want to get away from me, and the easiest way is to say ‘Yes,’ because he knows if he says ‘No,’ then I’m going to stick with him, and stay right on it, and not give up. So to get rid of me, he’ll probably say, ‘Yes.’” 

Two weeks later, I read of the acquisition of this particular property by Warner Brothers. I phoned Lazar and asked how it had been accomplished. 

”How do you think?” he asked. 

”In the buff, that’s how... just the way I told you it was going to work.”

HOLLYWOOD, GARSON KANIN, 1974

OBSERVANCES OF THE LAW

Observance I

In 1615 the thirty-year-old bishop of Luçon, later known as Cardinal Richelieu, gave a speech before representatives of the three estates of France—clergy, nobility, and commoners.

Richelieu had been chosen to serve as the mouthpiece for the clergy—an immense responsibility for a man still young and not particularly well known.

On all of the important issues of the day, the speech followed the Church line.

But near the end of it Richelieu did something that had nothing to do with the Church and everything to do with his career.

He turned to the throne of the fifteen-year-old King Louis XIII, and to the Queen Mother Marie de’ Médicis, who sat beside Louis, as the regent ruling France until her son reached his majority.

Everyone expected Richelieu to say the usual kind words to the young king.

Instead, however, he looked directly at and only at the queen mother.

Indeed his speech ended in long and fulsome praise of her, praise so glowing that it actually offended some in the Church.

But the smile on the queen’s face as she lapped up Richelieu’s compliments was unforgettable.

A year later the queen mother appointed Richelieu secretary of state for foreign affairs, an incredible coup for the young bishop.

He had now entered the inner circle of power, and he studied the workings of the court as if it were the machinery of a watch.

An Italian, Concino Concini, was the queen mother’s favorite, or rather her lover, a role that made him perhaps the most powerful man in France.

Concini was vain and foppish, and Richelieu played him perfectly—attending to him as if he were the king.

Within months Richelieu had become one of Concini’s favorites.

But something happened in 1617 that turned everything upside down: the young king, who up until then had shown every sign of being an idiot, had Concini murdered and his most important associates imprisoned.

In so doing Louis took command of the country with one blow, sweeping the queen mother aside.

Had Richelieu played it wrong?

He had been close to both Concini and Marie de Médicis, whose advisers and ministers were now all out of favor, some even arrested.

The queen mother herself was shut up in the Louvre, a virtual prisoner.

Richelieu wasted no time.

If everyone was deserting Marie de Médicis, he would stand by her.

He knew Louis could not get rid of her, for the king was still very young, and had in any case always been inordinately attached to her.

As Marie’s only remaining powerful friend, Richelieu filled the valuable function of liaison between the king and his mother.

In return he received her protection, and was able to survive the palace coup, even to thrive.

Over the next few years the queen mother grew still more dependent on him, and in 1622 she repaid him for his loyalty: Through the intercession of her allies in Rome, Richelieu was elevated to the powerful rank of cardinal.

By 1623 King Louis was in trouble.

He had no one he could trust to advise him, and although he was now a young man instead of a boy, he remained childish in spirit, and affairs of state came hard to him.

Now that he had taken the throne, Marie was no longer the regent and theoretically had no power, but she still had her son’s ear, and she kept telling him that Richelieu was his only possible savior.

At first Louis would have none of it—he hated the cardinal with a passion, only tolerating him out of love for Marie.

In the end, however, isolated in the court and crippled by his own indecisiveness, he yielded to his mother and made Richelieu first his chief councilor and later prime minister.

Now Richelieu no longer needed Marie de Médicis.

He stopped visiting and courting her, stopped listening to her opinions, even argued with her and opposed her wishes.

Instead he concentrated on the king, making himself indispensable to his new master.

All the previous premiers, understanding the king’s childishness, had tried to keep him out of trouble; the shrewd Richelieu played him differently, deliberately pushing him into one ambitious project after another, such as a crusade against the Huguenots and finally an extended war with Spain.

The immensity of these projects only made the king more dependent on his powerful premier, the only man able to keep order in the realm.

And so, for the next eighteen years, Richelieu, exploiting the king’s weaknesses, governed and molded France according to his own vision, unifying the country and making it a strong European power for centuries to come.

Interpretation

Richelieu saw everything as a military campaign, and no strategic move was more important to him than discovering his enemy’s weaknesses and applying pressure to them.

As early as his speech in 1615, he was looking for the weak link in the chain of power, and he saw that it was the queen mother.

Not that Marie was obviously weak—she governed both France and her son; but Richelieu saw that she was really an insecure woman who needed constant masculine attention.

He showered her with affection and respect, even toadying up to her favorite, Concini.

He knew the day would come when the king would take over, but he also recognized that Louis loved his mother dearly and would always remain a child in relation to her.

The way to control Louis, then, was not by gaining his favor, which could change overnight, but by gaining sway over his mother, for whom his affection would never change.

Once Richelieu had the position he desired—prime minister—he discarded the queen mother, moving on to the next weak link in the chain: the king’s own character.

There was a part of him that would always be a helpless child in need of higher authority.

It was on the foundation of the king’s weakness that Richelieu established his own power and fame.

Remember: When entering the court, find the weak link. The person in control is often not the king or queen; it is someone behind the scenes—the favorite, the husband or wife, even the court fool. This person may have more weaknesses than the king himself, because his power depends on all kinds of capricious factors outside his control.

Finally, when dealing with helpless children who cannot make decisions, play on their weakness and push them into bold ventures. They will have to depend on you even more, for you will become the adult figure whom they rely on to get them out of scrapes and to safety.

THE THINGS ON

As time went on I came to look for the little weaknesses....

It’s the little things that count.

On one occasion, I worked on the president of a large bank in Omaha. The [phony] deal involved the purchase of the street railway system of Omaha, including a bridge across the Mississippi River.

My principals were supposedly German and I had to negotiate with Berlin.

While awaiting word from them I introduced my fake mining-stock proposition.

Since this man was rich, I decided to play for high stakes....

Meanwhile, I played golf with the banker, visited his home, and went to the theater with him and his wife.

Though he showed some interest in my stock deal, he still wasn’t convinced.

I had built it up to the point that an investment of $1,250,000 was required.

Of this I was to put up $900,000, the banker $350,000.

But still he hesitated.

One evening when I was at his home for dinner I wore some perfume-Coty’s “April Violets.”

It was not then considered effeminate for a man to use a dash of perfume.

The banker’s wife thought it very lovely.

“Where did you get it?”

“It is a rare blend,” I told her, “especially made for me by a French perfumer. Do you like it?”

”l love it,” she replied.

The following day I went through my effects and found two empty bottles.

Both had come from France, but were empty.

I went to a downtown department store and purchased ten ounces of Coty’s ”April Violets.”

I poured this into the two French bottles, carefully sealed them, wrapped them in tissue paper.

That evening I dropped by the banker’s home and presented the two bottles to his wife.

”They were especially put up for me in Cologne,” I told her.

The next day the banker called at my hotel.

His wife was enraptured by the perfume.

She considered it the most wonderful, the most exotic fragrance she had ever used.

I did not tell the banker he could get all he wanted right in Omaha.

”She said,” the banker added, ”that I was fortunate to be associated with a man like you.”

From then on his attitude was changed, for he had complete faith in his wife’s judgment .... He parted with $350,000.

This, incidentally was my biggest [con] score.

-“YELLOW KID” WEIL, 1875-1976

Observance II

In December of 1925, guests at the swankiest hotel in Palm Beach, Florida, watched with interest as a mysterious man arrived in a Rolls-Royce driven by a Japanese chauffeur.

Over the next few days they studied this handsome man, who walked with an elegant cane, received telegrams at all hours, and only engaged in the briefest of conversations.

He was a count, they heard, Count Victor Lustig, and he came from one of the wealthiest families in Europe—but this was all they could find out.

Imagine their amazement, then, when Lustig one day walked up to one of the least distinguished guests in the hotel, a Mr. Herman Loller, head of an engineering company, and entered into conversation with him.

Loller had made his fortune only recently, and forging social connections was very important to him.

He felt honored and somewhat intimidated by this sophisticated man, who spoke perfect English with a hint of a foreign accent.

Over the days to come, the two became friends.

Loller of course did most of the talking, and one night he confessed that his business was doing poorly, with more troubles ahead.

In return, Lustig confided in his new friend that he too had serious money problems—Communists had seized his family estate and all its assets.

He was too old to learn a trade and go to work.

Luckily he had found an answer—“ a money-making machine.”

“You counterfeit?”

Loller whispered in half-shock.

No, Lustig replied, explaining that through a secret chemical process, his machine could duplicate any paper currency with complete accuracy.

Put in a dollar bill and six hours later you had two, both perfect.

He proceeded to explain how the machine had been smuggled out of Europe, how the Germans had developed it to undermine the British, how it had supported the count for several years, and on and on.

When Loller insisted on a demonstration, the two men went to Lustig’s room, where the count produced a magnificent mahogany box fitted with slots, cranks, and dials.

Loller watched as Lustig inserted a dollar bill in the box. Sure enough, early the following morning Lustig pulled out two bills, still wet from the chemicals.

Lustig gave the notes to Loller, who immediately took the bills to a local bank—which accepted them as genuine.

Now the businessman feverishly begged Lustig to sell him a machine.

The count explained that there was only one in existence, so Loller made him a high offer: $25,000, then a considerable amount (more than $400,000 in today’s terms).

Even so, Lustig seemed reluctant: He did not feel right about making his friend pay so much.

Yet finally he agreed to the sale.

After all, he said,

“I suppose it matters little what you pay me. You are, after all, going to recover the amount within a few days by duplicating your own bills.”

Making Loller swear never to reveal the machine’s existence to other people, Lustig accepted the money.

Later the same day he checked out of the hotel.

A year later, after many futile attempts at duplicating bills, Loller finally went to the police with the story of how Count Lustig had conned him with a pair of dollar bills, some chemicals, and a worthless mahogany box.

Interpretation

Count Lustig had an eagle eye for other people’s weaknesses.

He saw them in the smallest gesture.

Loller, for instance, overtipped waiters, seemed nervous in conversation with the concierge, talked loudly about his business.

His weakness, Lustig knew, was his need for social validation and for the respect that he thought his wealth had earned him.

He was also chronically insecure.

Lustig had come to the hotel to hunt for prey.

In Loller he homed in on the perfect sucker—a man hungering for someone to fill his psychic voids.

In offering Loller his friendship, then, Lustig knew he was offering him the immediate respect of the other guests.

As a count, Lustig was also offering the newly rich businessman access to the glittering world of old wealth.

And for the coup de grace, he apparently owned a machine that would rescue Loller from his worries.

It would even put him on a par with Lustig himself, who had also used the machine to maintain his status.

No wonder Loller took the bait.

Remember: When searching for suckers, always look for the dissatisfied, the unhappy, the insecure. Such people are riddled with weaknesses and have needs that you can fill. Their neediness is the groove in which you place your thumbnail and turn them at will.

Observance III

In the year 1559, the French king Henri II died in a jousting exhibition.

His son assumed the throne, becoming Francis II, but in the background stood Henri’s wife and queen, Catherine de’ Médicis, a woman who had long ago proven her skill in affairs of state.

When Francis died the next year, Catherine took control of the country as regent to her next son in line of succession, the future Charles IX, a mere ten years old at the time.

The main threats to the queen’s power were Antoine de Bourbon, king of Navarre, and his brother, Louis, the powerful prince of Condé, both of whom could claim the right to serve as regent instead of Catherine, who, after all, was Italian—a foreigner.

Catherine quickly appointed Antoine lieutenant general of the kingdom, a title that seemed to satisfy his ambition.

It also meant that he had to remain in court, where Catherine could keep an eye on him.

Her next move proved smarter still: Antoine had a notorious weakness for young women, so she assigned one of her most attractive maids of honor, Louise de Rouet, to seduce him.

Now Antoine’s intimate, Louise reported all of his actions to Catherine.

The move worked so brilliantly that Catherine assigned another of her maids to Prince Condé, and thus was formed her escadron volant—“flying squadron”—of young girls whom she used to keep the unsuspecting males in the court under her control.

In 1572 Catherine married off her daughter, Marguerite de Valois, to Henri, the son of Antoine and the new king of Navarre.

To put a family that had always struggled against her so close to power was a dangerous move, so to make sure of Henri’s loyalty she unleashed on him the loveliest member of her “flying squadron,” Charlotte de Beaune Semblançay, baroness of Sauves.

Catherine did this even though Henri was married to her daughter.

Within weeks, Marguerite de Valois wrote in her memoirs,

“Mme. de Sauves so completely ensnared my husband that we no longer slept together, nor even conversed.”

And while I am on the subject, there is another fact that deserves mention. It is this. A man shows his character just in the way in which he deals with trifles-for then he is off his guard.

This will often afford a good opportunity of observing the boundless egoism of a man’s nature, and his total lack of consideration for others; and if these defects show themselves in small things, or merely in his general demeanor, you will find that they also underlie his action in matters of importance, although he may disguise the fact.

This is an opportunity which should not be missed.

If in the little affairs of every day—the trifles of life...—a man is inconsiderate and seeks only what is advantageous or convenient to himself, to the prejudice of others’ rights; if he appropriates to himself that which belongs to all alike, you may be sure there is no justice in his heart, and that he would be a scoundrel on a wholesale scale, only that law and compulsion bind his hands.

-Arthur SCHOPENHAUER, 1788-1860

The baroness was an excellent spy and helped to keep Henri under Catherine’s thumb.

When the queen’s youngest son, the Duke of Alençon, grew so close to Henri that she feared the two might plot against her, she assigned the baroness to him as well.

This most infamous member of the flying squadron quickly seduced Alençon, and soon the two young men fought over her and their friendship quickly ended, along with any danger of a conspiracy.

Interpretation

Catherine had seen very early on the sway that a mistress has over a man of power: Her own husband, Henri II, had kept one of the most infamous mistresses of them all, Diane de Poitiers.

What Catherine learned from the experience was that a man like her husband wanted to feel he could win a woman over without having to rely on his status, which he had inherited rather than earned.

And such a need contained a huge blind spot: As long as the woman began the affair by acting as if she had been conquered, the man would fail to notice that as time passed the mistress had come to hold power over him, as Diane de Poitiers did over Henri.

It was Catherine’s strategy to turn this weakness to her advantage, using it as a way to conquer and control men.

All she had to do was unleash the loveliest women in the court, her “flying squadron,” on men whom she knew shared her husband’s vulnerability.

Remember: Always look for passions and obsessions that cannot be controlled. The stronger the passion, the more vulnerable the person.

This may seem surprising, for passionate people look strong.

In fact, however, they are simply filling the stage with their theatricality, distracting people from how weak and helpless they really are.

A man’s need to conquer women actually reveals a tremendous helplessness that has made suckers out of them for thousands of years.

Look at the part of a person that is most visible—their greed, their lust, their intense fear.

These are the emotions they cannot conceal, and over which they have the least control.

And what people cannot control, you can control for them.

THE BATTLE AT PHARSALIA

When the two armies [Julius Caesar’s and Pompey‘s] were come into Pharsalia, and both encamped there, Pompey’s thoughts ran the same way as they had done before, against fighting....

But those who were about him were greatly confident of success ...

...as if they had already conquered....

The cavalry especially were obstinate for fighting, being splendidly armed and bravely mounted, and valuing themselves upon the fine horses they kept, and upon their own handsome persons; as also upon the advantage of their numbers, for they were five thousand against one thousand of Caesar’s.

Nor were the numbers of the infantry less disproportionate, there being forty-five thousand of Pompey’s against twenty-two thousand of the enemy.

[The next day] whilst the infantry was thus sharply engaged in the main battle, on the flank Pompey’s horse rode up confidently, and opened [his cavalry’s] ranks very wide, that they might surround the right wing of Caesar.

But before they engaged, Caesar’s cohorts rushed out and attacked them, and did not dart their javelins at a distance, nor strike at the thighs and legs, as they usually did in close battle, but aimed at their faces.

For thus Caesar had instructed them, in hopes that young gentlemen, who had not known much of battles and wounds, but came wearing their hair long, in the flower of their age and height of their beauty, would be more apprehensive of such blows, and not care for hazarding both a danger at present and a blemish for the future.

And so it proved, for they were so far from bearing the stroke of the javelins, that they could not stand the sight of them, but turned about, and covered their faces to secure them.

Once in disorder, presently they turned about to fly; and so most shamefully ruined all.

For those who had beat them back at once outflanked the infantry, and falling on their rear, cut them to pieces.

Pompey, who commanded the other wing of the army, when he saw his cavalry thus broken and flying, was no longer himself, nor did he now remember that he was Pompey the Great, but, like one whom some god had deprived of his senses, retired to his tent without speaking a word, and there sat to expect the event, till the whole army was routed.

-THE LIFE OF JULIUS CAESAR. PLUIARCH, c. A.D. 46-120

Observance IV

Arabella Huntington, wife of the great late-nineteenth-century railroad magnate Collis P. Huntington, came from humble origins and always struggled for social recognition among her wealthy peers.

When she gave a party in her San Francisco mansion, few of the social elite would show up; most of them took her for a gold digger, not their kind.

Because of her husband’s fabulous wealth, art dealers courted her, but with such condescension they obviously saw her as an upstart.

Only one man of consequence treated her differently: the dealer Joseph Duveen.

For the first few years of Duveen’s relationship with Arabella, he made no effort to sell expensive art to her.

Instead he accompanied her to fine stores, chatted endlessly about queens and princesses he knew, on and on.

At last, she thought, a man who treated her as an equal, even a superior, in high society.

Meanwhile, if Duveen did not try to sell art to her, he did subtly educate her in his aesthetic ideas—namely, that the best art was the most expensive art.

And after Arabella had soaked up his way of seeing things, Duveen would act as if she always had exquisite taste, even though before she met him her aesthetics had been abysmal.

When Collis Huntington died, in 1900, Arabella came into a fortune.

She suddenly started to buy expensive paintings, by Rembrandt and Velázquez, for example—and only from Duveen.

Years later Duveen sold her Gainsborough’s Blue Boy for the highest price ever paid for a work of art at the time, an astounding purchase for a family that previously had shown little interest in collecting.

Interpretation

Joseph Duveen instantly understood Arabella Huntington and what made her tick: She wanted to feel important, at home in society.

Intensely insecure about her lower-class background, she needed confirmation of her new social status.

Duveen waited. Instead of rushing into trying to persuade her to collect art, he subtly went to work on her weaknesses.

He made her feel that she deserved his attention not because she was the wife of one of the wealthiest men in the world but because of her own special character—and this completely melted her.

Duveen never condescended to Arabella; rather than lecturing to her, he instilled his ideas in her indirectly.

The result was one of his best and most devoted clients, and also the sale of The Blue Boy.

People’s need for validation and recognition, their need to feel important, is the best kind of weakness to exploit.

First, it is almost universal; second, exploiting it is so very easy.

All you have to do is find ways to make people feel better about their taste, their social standing, their intelligence.

Once the fish are hooked, you can reel them in again and again, for years—you are filling a positive role, giving them what they cannot get on their own.

They may never suspect that you are turning them like a thumbscrew, and if they do they may not care, because you are making them feel better about themselves, and that is worth any price.

Observance V

In 1862 King William of Prussia named Otto von Bismarck premier and minister for foreign affairs.

Bismarck was known for his boldness, his ambition—and his interest in strengthening the military.

Since William was surrounded by liberals in his government and cabinet, politicians who already wanted to limit his powers, it was quite dangerous for him to put Bismarck in this sensitive position.

His wife, Queen Augusta, had tried to dissuade him, but although she usually got her way with him, this time William stuck to his guns.

Only a week after becoming prime minister, Bismarck made an impromptu speech to a few dozen ministers to convince them of the need to enlarge the army.

He ended by saying, “The great questions of the time will be decided, not by speeches and resolutions of majorities, but by iron and blood.”

His speech was immediately disseminated throughout Germany.

The queen screamed at her husband that Bismarck was a barbaric militarist who was out to usurp control of Prussia, and that William had to fire him.

The liberals in the government agreed with her.

The outcry was so vehement that William began to be afraid he would end up on a scaffold, like Louis XVI of France, if he kept Bismarck on as prime minister.

Bismarck knew he had to get to the king before it was too late.

He also knew he had blundered, and should have tempered his fiery words.

Yet as he contemplated his strategy, he decided not to apologize but to do the exact opposite.

Bismarck knew the king well.

When the two men met, William, predictably, had been worked into a tizzy by the queen.

He reiterated his fear of being guillotined.

But Bismarck only replied,

“Yes, then we shall be dead! We must die sooner or later, and could there be a more respectable way of dying? I should die fighting for the cause of my king and master. Your Majesty would die sealing with your own blood your royal rights granted by God’s grace. Whether upon the scaffold or upon the battlefield makes no difference to the glorious staking of body and life on behalf of rights granted by God’s grace!”

On he went, appealing to William’s sense of honor and the majesty of his position as head of the army.

How could the king allow people to push him around?

Wasn’t the honor of Germany more important than quibbling over words?

Not only did the prime minister convince the king to stand up to both his wife and his parliament, he persuaded him to build up the army—Bismarck’s goal all along.

Interpretation

Bismarck knew the king felt bullied by those around him.

He knew that William had a military background and a deep sense of honor, and that he felt ashamed at his cravenness before his wife and his government.

William secretly yearned to be a great and mighty king, but he dared not express this ambition because he was afraid of ending up like Louis XVI.

Where a show of courage often conceals a man’s timidity, William’s timidity concealed his need to show courage and thump his chest.

Bismarck sensed the longing for glory beneath William’s pacifist front, so he played to the king’s insecurity about his manhood, finally pushing him into three wars and the creation of a German empire.

Timidity is a potent weakness to exploit. Timid souls often yearn to be their opposite—to be Napoleons. Yet they lack the inner strength.

You, in essence, can become their Napoleon, pushing them into bold actions that serve your needs while also making them dependent on you.

Remember: Look to the opposites and never take appearances at face value.

Image: The
Thumbscrew.
Your enemy
has secrets that
he guards, thinks
thoughts he will
not reveal. But
they come out in
ways he cannot
help. It is there some
where, a groove of
weakness on his head,
at his heart, over his
belly. Once you find the
groove, put your thumb in
it and turn him at will.

Authority: Find out each man’s thumbscrew.

’Tis the art of setting their wills in action. It needs more skill than resolution. You must know where to get at anyone. Every volition has a special motive which varies according to taste. All men are idolaters, some of fame, others of self-interest, most of pleasure. Skill consists in knowing these idols in order to bring them into play. Knowing any man’s mainspring of motive you have as it were the key to his will. 

(Baltasar Gracián, 1601-1658)

REVERSAL

Playing on people’s weakness has one significant danger: You may stir up an action you cannot control.

In your games of power you always look several steps ahead and plan accordingly. And you exploit the fact that other people are more emotional and incapable of such foresight.

But when you play on their vulnerabilities, the areas over which they have least control, you can unleash emotions that will upset your plans. Push timid people into bold action and they may go too far; answer their need for attention or recognition and they may need more than you want to give them.

The helpless, childish element you are playing on can turn against you.

The more emotional the weakness, the greater the potential danger. Know the limits to this game, then, and never get carried away by your control over your victims. You are after power, not the thrill of control.

Conclusion

I just cannot help but wonder if the American neocons are playing President Biden using this Thumbscrew technique to force Biden to approve of outlandish military actions that run counter to his decades of behavior within the Untied States government. It’s something to ponder.

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Law 12 from The 48 Laws of Power by Robert Greene; Use selective honesty and generosity to disarm your victim (Full Text)

I do not advocate following this law, but you all should be made well aware of it. When you are outside of your friends and family you enter a zone of questionable trust. You do need to be somewhat guarded in your public dealings as not everyone is a friend. No matter what they say. The world is filled with all kinds of people, all involved with all kinds of agendas.

Please take note that there are others that prefer to use this technique. Be wary.

LAW 12

USE SELECTIVE HONESTY AND GENEROSITY TO DISARM YOUR VICTIM

JUDGMENT

One sincere and honest move will cover over dozens of dishonest ones. Open-hearted gestures of honesty and generosity bring down the guard of even the most suspicious people. Once your selective honesty opens a hole in their armor, you can deceive and manipulate them at will. A timely gift— a Trojan horse—will serve the same purpose.

OBSERVANCE OF THE LAW

Sometime in 1926, a tall, dapperly dressed man paid a visit to Al Capone, the most feared gangster of his time.

Speaking with an elegant Continental accent, the man introduced himself as Count Victor Lustig.

He promised that if Capone gave him $50,000 he could double it.

Capone had more than enough funds to cover the “investment,” but he wasn’t in the habit of entrusting large sums to total strangers.

He looked the count over: Something about the man was different—his classy style, his manner—and so Capone decided to play along.

He counted out the bills personally and handed them to Lustig. “Okay, Count,” said Capone. “Double it in sixty days like you said.”

Lustig left with the money, put it in a safe-deposit box in Chicago, then headed to New York, where he had several other money- making schemes in progress.

The $50,000 remained in the bank box untouched.

Lustig made no effort to double it.

Two months later he returned to Chicago, took the money from the box, and paid Capone another visit.

He looked at the gangster’s stony- faced bodyguards, smiled apologetically, and said,

“Please accept my profound regrets, Mr. Capone. I’m sorry to report that the plan failed... I failed.”

Capone slowly stood up.

He glowered at Lustig, debating which part of the river to throw him in.

But the count reached into his coat pocket, withdrew the $50,000, and placed it on the desk.

“Here, sir, is your money, to the penny. Again, my sincere apologies. This is most embarrassing. Things didn’t work out the way I thought they would. I would have loved to have doubled your money for you and for myself—Lord knows I need it— but the plan just didn’t materialize.”

Capone sagged back into his chair, confused. “I know you’re a con man, Count,” said Capone.

“I knew it the moment you walked in here. I expected either one hundred thousand dollars or nothing. But this... getting my  money back ... well.”

“Again my apologies, Mr. Capone,” said Lustig, as he picked up his hat and began to leave. “

My God! You’re honest!” yelled Capone.

“If you’re on the spot, here’s five to help you along.”

He counted out five one-thousand-dollar bills out of the $50,000. The count seemed stunned, bowed deeply, mumbled his thanks, and left, taking the money.

The $5,000 was what Lustig had been after all along.

FRANCESCO BORRI. COURTIER CHARLATAN

Francesco Giuseppe Borri of Milan, whose death in 1695 fell just within the seventeenth century ... was a forerunner of that special type of charlatanical adventurer, the courtier or “cavalier” impostor.... 

His real period of glory began after he moved to Amsterdam. 

There he assumed the title of Medico Universale, maintained a great retinue, and drove about in a coach with six horses.... Patients streamed to him, and some invalids had themselves carried in sedan chairs all the way from Paris to his place in Amsterdam. 

Borri took no payment for his consultations: He distributed great sums among the poor and was never known to receive any money through the post or bills of exchange. 

As he continued to live with such splendor, nevertheless, it was presumed that he possessed the philosophers’ stone. 

Suddenly this benefactor disappeared from Amsterdam. Then it was discovered that he had taken with him money and diamonds that had been placed in his charge.







THE POWER OF THE CHARLATAN, GRETE DE FRANCESCO, 1939

Interpretation

Count Victor Lustig, a man who spoke several languages and prided himself on his refinement and culture, was one of the great con artists of modem times.

He was known for his audacity, his fearlessness, and, most important, his knowledge of human psychology.

He could size up a man in minutes, discovering his weaknesses, and he had radar for suckers.

Lustig knew that most men build up defenses against crooks and other troublemakers.

The con artist’s job is to bring those defenses down.

One sure way to do this is through an act of apparent sincerity and honesty.

Who will distrust a person literally caught in the act of being honest?

Lustig used selective honesty many times, but with Capone he went a step further.

No normal con man would have dared such a con; he would have chosen his suckers for their meekness, for that look about them that says they will take their medicine without complaint.

Con Capone and you would spend the rest of your life (whatever remained of it) afraid.

But Lustig understood that a man like Capone spends his life mistrusting others.

No one around him is honest or generous, and being so much in the company of wolves is exhausting, even depressing.

A man like Capone yearns to be the recipient of an honest or generous gesture, to feel that not everyone has an angle or is out to rob him.

Lustig’s act of selective honesty disarmed Capone because it was so unexpected.

A con artist loves conflicting emotions like these, since the person caught up in them is so easily distracted and deceived.

Do not shy away from practicing this law on the Capones of the world.

With a well-timed gesture of honesty or generosity, you will have the most brutal and cynical beast in the kingdom eating out of your hand.

Everything turns gray when I don’t have at least one mark on the horizon. Life then seems empty and depressing. I cannot understand honest men. They lead desperate lives, full of boredom.



Count Victor Lustig, 1890-1947

KEYS TO POWER

The essence of deception is distraction.

Distracting the people you want to deceive gives you the time and space to do something they won’t notice.

An act of kindness, generosity, or honesty is often the most powerful form of distraction because it disarms other people’s suspicions.

It turns them into children, eagerly lapping up any kind of affectionate gesture.

In ancient China this was called “giving before you take”—the giving makes it hard for the other person to notice the taking.

It is a device with infinite practical uses.

Brazenly taking something from someone is dangerous, even for the powerful.

The victim will plot revenge.

It is also dangerous simply to ask for what you need, no matter how politely:

Unless the other person sees some gain for themselves, they may come to resent your neediness.

Learn to give before you take.

It softens the ground, takes the bite out of a future request, or simply creates a distraction.

And the giving can take many forms: an actual gift, a generous act, a kind favor, an “honest” admission—whatever it takes.

Selective honesty is best employed on your first encounter with someone.

We are all creatures of habit, and our first impressions last a long time.

If someone believes you are honest at the start of your relationship it takes a lot to convince them otherwise.

This gives you room to maneuver.

…

Jay Gould, like Al Capone, was a man who distrusted everyone.

By the time he was thirty-three he was already a multimillionaire, mostly through deception and strong-arming.

In the late 1860s, Gould invested heavily in the Erie Railroad, then discovered that the market had been flooded with a vast amount of phony stock certificates for the company.

He stood to lose a fortune and to suffer a lot of embarrassment.

In the midst of this crisis, a man named Lord John Gordon-Gordon offered to help.

Gordon-Gordon, a Scottish lord, had apparently made a small fortune investing in railroads.

By hiring some handwriting experts Gordon-Gordon was able to prove to Gould that the culprits for the phony stock certificates were actually several top executives with the Erie Railroad itself.

Gould was grateful.

Gordon- Gordon then proposed that he and Gould join forces to buy up a controlling interest in Erie.

Gould agreed.

For a while the venture appeared to prosper.

The two men were now good friends, and every time Gordon-Gordon came to Gould asking for money to buy more stock, Gould gave it to him.

In 1873, however, Gordon-Gordon suddenly dumped all of his stock, making a fortune but drastically lowering the value of Gould’s own holdings.

Then he disappeared from sight.

Upon investigation, Gould found out that Gordon-Gordon’s real name was John Crowningsfield, and that he was the bastard son of a merchant seaman and a London barmaid.

There had been many clues before then that Gordon-Gordon was a con man, but his initial act of honesty and support had so blinded Gould that it took the loss of millions for him to see through the scheme.

A single act of honesty is often not enough.

What is required is a reputation for honesty, built on a series of acts—but these can be quite inconsequential.

Once this reputation is established, as with first impressions, it is hard to shake.

…

In ancient China, Duke Wu of Chêng decided it was time to take over the increasingly powerful kingdom of Hu.

Telling no one of his plan, he married his daughter to Hu’s ruler.

He then called a council and asked his ministers,

“I am considering a military campaign. Which country should we invade?”

As he had expected, one of his ministers replied, “Hu should be invaded.”

The duke seemed angry, and said,

“Hu is a sister state now. Why do you suggest invading her?”

He had the minister executed for his impolitic remark.

The ruler of Hu heard about this, and considering other tokens of Wu’s honesty and the marriage with his daughter, he took no precautions to defend himself from Cheng.

A few weeks later, Chêng forces swept through Hu and took the country, never to relinquish it.

…

Honesty is one of the best ways to disarm the wary, but it is not the only one.

Any kind of noble, apparently selfless act will serve.

Perhaps the best such act, though, is one of generosity.

Few people can resist a gift, even from the most hardened enemy, which is why it is often the perfect way to disarm people.

A gift brings out the child in us, instantly lowering our defenses.

Although we often view other people’s actions in the most cynical light, we rarely see the Machiavellian element of a gift, which quite often hides ulterior motives.

A gift is the perfect object in which to hide a deceptive move.

…

Over three thousand years ago the ancient Greeks traveled across the sea to recapture the beautiful Helen, stolen away from them by Paris, and to destroy Paris’s city, Troy.

The siege lasted ten years, many heroes died, yet neither side had come close to victory.

One day, the prophet Calchas assembled the Greeks.

Image: The Trojan Horse. Your guile is hidden inside a magnificent gift that proves irresistible to your opponent. The walls open. Once inside, wreak havoc.

“Stop battering away at these walls!” he told them. “You must find some other way, some ruse. We cannot take Troy by force alone. We must find some cunning stratagem.”

The cunning Greek leader Odysseus then came up with the idea of building a giant wooden horse, hiding soldiers inside it, then offering it to the Trojans as a gift.

Neoptolemus, son of Achilles, was disgusted with this idea; it was unmanly.

Better for thousands to die on the battlefield than to gain victory so deceitfully.

But the soldiers, faced with a choice between another ten years of manliness, honor, and death, on the one hand and a quick victory on the other, chose the horse, which was promptly built.

The trick was successful and Troy fell.

One gift did more for the Greek cause than ten years of fighting.

…

Selective kindness should also be part of your arsenal of deception.

For years the ancient Romans had besieged the city of the Faliscans, always unsuccessfully.

One day, however, when the Roman general Camillus was encamped outside the city, he suddenly saw a man leading some children toward him.

The man was a Faliscan teacher, and the children, it turned out, were the sons and daughters of the noblest and wealthiest citizens of the town.

On the pretense of taking these children out for a walk, he had led them straight to the Romans, offering them as hostages in hopes of ingratiating himself with Camillus, the city’s enemy.

Camillus did not take the children hostage.

He stripped the teacher, tied his hands behind his back, gave each child a rod, and let them whip him all the way back to the city.

The gesture had an immediate effect on the Faliscans.

Had Camillus used the children as hostages, some in the city would have voted to surrender.

And even if the Faliscans had gone on fighting, their resistance would have been halfhearted.

Camillus’s refusal to take advantage of the situation broke down the Faliscans’ resistance, and they surrendered.

The general had calculated correctly.

And in any case he had had nothing to lose: He knew that the hostage ploy would not have ended the war, at least not right away.

By turning the situation around, he earned his enemy’s trust and respect, disarming them.

Selective kindness will often break down even the most stubborn foe: Aiming right for the heart, it corrodes the will to fight back.

Remember: By playing on people’s emotions, calculated acts of kindness can turn a Capone into a gullible child. As with any emotional approach, the tactic must be practiced with caution: If people see through it, their disappointed feelings of gratitude and warmth will become the most violent hatred and distrust. Unless you can make the gesture seem sincere and heartfelt, do not play with fire.

Authority:

When Duke Hsien of Chin was about to raid Yü, he presented to them a jade and a team of horses. When Earl Chih was about to raid Ch’ou- yu, he presented to them grand chariots. Hence the saying: “When you are about to take, you should give.” 

(Han-fei-tzu, Chinese philosopher, third century B.C.)

REVERSAL

When you have a history of deceit behind you, no amount of honesty, generosity, or kindness will fool people.

In fact it will only call attention to itself.

Once people have come to see you as deceitful, to act honest all of a sudden is simply suspicious.

In these cases it is better to play the rogue.

…

Count Lustig, pulling the biggest con of his career, was about to sell the Eiffel Tower to an unsuspecting industrialist who believed the government was auctioning it off for scrap metal.

The industrialist was prepared to hand over a huge sum of money to Lustig, who had successfully impersonated a government official.

At the last minute, however, the mark was suspicious.

Something about Lustig bothered him.

At the meeting in which he was to hand over the money, Lustig sensed his sudden distrust.

Leaning over to the industrialist, Lustig explained, in a low whisper, how low his salary was, how difficult his finances were, on and on.

After a few minutes of this, the industrialist realized that Lustig was asking for a bribe.

For the first time he relaxed.

Now he knew he could trust Lustig: Since all government officials were dishonest, Lustig had to be real.

The man forked over the money.

By acting dishonest, Lustig seemed the real McCoy.

In this case selective honesty would have had the opposite effect.

…

As the French diplomat Talleyrand grew older, his reputation as a master liar and deceiver spread.

At the Congress of Vienna (1814-1815), he would spin fabulous stories and make impossible remarks to people who knew he had to be lying.

His dishonesty had no purpose except to cloak the moments when he really was deceiving them.

One day, for example, among friends, Talleyrand said with apparent sincerity, “In business one ought to show one’s hand.”

No one who heard him could believe their ears: A man who never once in his life had shown his cards was telling other people to show theirs.

Tactics like this made it impossible to distinguish Talleyrand’s real deceptions from his fake ones.

By embracing his reputation for dishonesty, he preserved his ability to deceive.

Nothing in the realm of power is set in stone.

Overt deceptiveness will sometimes cover your tracks, even making you admired for the honesty of your dishonesty.

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Mars is Heaven! by Ray Bradbury (Full text)

Here is a nice story to get your mind off of whatever it might be on right now. Please relax, fix yourself a nice coffee, tea, or beer… get into your most comfortable chair, and relax.

MARS IS HEAVEN!

by Ray Bradbury

The ship came down from space. It came from the stars and the black velocities, and the shining movements, and the silent gulfs of space. It was a new ship; it had fire in its body and men in its metal cells, and it moved with a clean silence, fiery and warm. In it were seventeen men, including a captain.

The crowd at the Ohio field had shouted and waved their hands up into the sunlight, and the rocket bad bloomed out great flowers of beat and cobs and run away into space on the third voyage to Mars!

Now it was decelerating with metal efficiency in the upper Martian atmospheres. It was still a thing of beauty and strength. It had moved in the midnight waters of space like a pale sea leviathan; it had passed the ancient moon and thrown itself onward into one nothingness following another. The men within it had been battered,, thrown about, sickened, made well again, each in his turn. One man had died, but now the remaining sixteen, with their eyes clear in their heads and their faces pressed to the thick glass ports, watched Mars swing up under them.

“Mars! Mars! Good old Mars, here we are!” cried Navigator Lustig.
“Good old Mars!” said Samuel Hinkston, archaeologist.
“Well,” said Captain John Black.

The ship landed softly. on a lawn of green grass. Outside, upon the lawn, stood an iron deer. Further up the lawn, a tall brown Victorian house sat in the quiet sunlight, all covered with scrolls and rococo, its windows made of blue and pink and yellow and green colored glass. Upon the porch were hairy geraniums and an old swing which was hooked into the porch ceiling and which now swung back and forth, back and forth, in a little breeze.

At the top of the house was a cupola with diamond, leaded-glass windows, and a dunce-cap roof! Through the front window you could see an ancient piano with yellow keys and a piece of music titled Beautiful Ohio sitting on the music rest.

Around the rocket in four directions spread the little town, green and motionless in the Martian spring, There were white houses and red brick ones, and tall elm trees blowing in the wind, and tall maples and horse chestnuts. And church steeples with golden bells silent in them.

The men in the rocket looked out and saw this. Then they looked at one another and then they looked out again. They held on~ to each other’s elbows, suddenly unable to breathe, it seemed. Their faces grew pale and they blinked constantly, running from glass port to glass port of the ship.

“I’ll be damned,” whispered Lustig, rubbing his face with his numb fingers, his eyes wet. “Ill be thinned, damned, damned.’~

“It can~t be, it just can’t be,” said Samuel Hinkston.
“Lord,” said Captain John Black.
There was a call from the chemist. “Sir, the atmosphere is fine for
breathing, sir.” –

Black turned slowly. “Are you sure?’
“No doubt of it, sir.”
“Then we’ll go. out,” said Lustig.
“Lord, yes,” said Samuel Hinkston.
“Hold on,” said Captain John Black. “Just a moment, Nobody gave any orders.”
“But, sir-.-”
“Sir, nothing. How do we know what this is?”

“We know what it is, sir,” said the chemist. “It’s a small town with good air in it, sir.”
“And it’s a small town the like of Earth towns,” said Samuel Hinkston,
the archaeologist. “Incredible. it~ can’t be, but it is.”
Captain John Black looked at him, idly. “Do you think that the civilizations of two planets can progress at the same rate and evolve in the same way, Hinkston?”

“I wouldn’t have thought so, sir.”
Captain Black stood by the port. “Look out there. The geraniums. A specialized plant. That specific variety has only been known on Earth for fifty years. Think of the thousands of years of time it takes to evolve plants. Then tell me if it is logical that the Martians should have: one, leaded glass windows; two, cupolas; three, porch swings; four, an instrument that looks like, a . piano and probably is a piano; and, five, if you look closely, . if a Martian composer would have published a piece of music titled, strangely enough, Beautiful Ohio. All of which means that we have an Ohio River here on Marst”

“It is quite strange, sir.”
“Strange, hell, it’s absolutely impossible, and I suspect the whole bloody shooting setup. Something’s wrong here, and I’m not leaving the ship until I know what it is.”

“Oh, sir,” said Lustig.
“Dam it,” said Samuel Hinkston. “Sir, I want to investigate this at first hand. It may be that there are similar patterns of thought, movement, civilization on every planet in our system. We may be on the threshold of the great psychological and metaphysical discovery In our time, sir, don’t you think?”

“I’m willing to wait a moment,” said Captain. John Black. – “It may be, sir, that we are looking upon a phenomenon that, for the first time, would absolutely prove the existence of a God, sir.”
“There are many people who are of good faith without such proof, Mr. Hinkston.”

“I’m one myself, sir. But certainly a thing like this, out there,” said Hinkston, “could not occur without divine intervention, sir. It fills me with such terror and elation I’ don’t know whether to laugh or cry, sir.”
“Do neither,. then, until we know what we’re up against.”

“Up against, sir?” inquired Lustig. “I see that we’re up against nothing.

It’s a good quiet, green town, much like the one I was born in, and I like the looks of It.”
“When were you born, Lustig?” –
– “In- 1910, sfr.”
“That makes you fifty years old, now, doesn’t it?”
“This being 1960, yes, sir.”
– “And you, Hinkston?”
“1920, sir. In Illinois. And this looks swell to me, sir.”

“This couldn’t be Heaven,” said the captain, ironically. “Though, I must admit, it looks peaceful and cool, and pretty much like Green Bluff, where I was born, in 1915.”
lie looked at the chemist. “The air’s all right, is it?”
“Yes, sir.”
‘Well, then, tell you what we’ll do. Lustig, you and Ilinkston and I will fetch ourselves out to look this town over. The other 14 men will stay aboard ship. If’ anything untoward happens, lift ‘the Ship ‘and get the hell out, do you bear what I say, Craner?”

“Yes, sir. The hell out we’ll go, sir. Leaving you?”,
“A loss of three men’s better than a whole ship. If something bad happens get back to Earth and warn the next Rocket, that’s Lingle’s Rocket, I think, which will be completed and ready to take off some time around next Christmas, what he has to meet up with. If there’s something hostile about Mars we certainly want the next expedition to be well armed.”

“So are we, sir. We’ve got a regular arsenal with us.”
“Tell the ‘men to stand by the guns, then, as. Lustig and Hinkston and I go out,”
“Right, sir.”
“Come along, Lustig, Hinkston.”
The three men walked together, down through the levels of the ship.

It was a beautiful spring day. A robin sat on a blossoming apple tree and sang continuously. Showers of petal snow sifted down when the wind touched the apple tree, and the blossom smell drifted upon the air. Somewhere in the town, somebody was playing the piano and the music came and went, came and went, softly, drowsily. The song was Beautiful Dreamer. Somewhere else, a phonograph, scratchy and faded, was hissing out a record of Roamin’ In The Gloamin,’ sung by Harry Lapder.

The three men stood outside the ship. The port closed behind them. At every window, a face pressed, looking out. The large metal guns pointed this way and that, ready.
Now the phonograph record being played was:

–
“Oh give me a June night
The moonlight and you—”

Lustig began to tremble. Samuel Hinkston did likewise.
Hinkston’s voice was so feeble and uneven that the captain had to ask him to repeat what he had said. “I said, sir, that I think I have solved this, all of this, sir!”
“And what is the solution, Hinkston?”

The soft wind blew. The sky was serene and quiet and somewhere a stream of water ran through the cool caverns and tree-shadings of a ravine.

Somewhere a horse and wagon trotted and rolled by, bumping.

“Sir, it must be, it has to be, this is the only solution!
Rocket travel began to Mars in the years before the first’ World War, sir!” S
The captain stared at his archaeologist. “No!”

“But, yes, sir! You must admit, look at all of this! How else explain it, the houses, the lawns, the iron deer, the flowers, the pianos, the music!”

“Hinkston, Hinkston, oh,” and the captain put his hand to his face, shaking his head, his hand shaking no , his lips blue.

“Sir, listen to me.” Hinkston took his elbow persuasively and looked up into the captain’s face, pleading. “Say that there -were some people in the year 1905, perhaps, who hated wars and wanted to get away from Earth and they got together, some scientists, in secret, and built a rocket and came out here to Mars.”

“No, no, Hinkston.”
“Why not? The world was a different place in 1905, they could have kept
-it a secret much more easily.”

“But the work, Hinkston, the work of building a complex thing like a rocket, oh, no, no.” The captain looked at his shoes, looked -at his hands, looked at the houses, and then at Hinkston.

“And they caine up here, and haturally the houses they built were similar to Earth houses because they
brought the cultural -~architecture with them, and here it is!”

“And they’ve lived here all these years?” said the captain.
“In peace and quiet, sir, yes. Maybe they made a few trips, to bring enough people here for one small town, and then stopped, for fear of being discovered. That’s why the town seems so old-fashioned. I don’t see a thing,
myself, that is older than the year 1927, do you?”

“No, frankly, I don’t, Hinkston.”
“These are our people, sir. This is an American city; it’s definitely not
European!”
“That—that’s right, too, Hinkston.”
“Or maybe, just maybe, sir, rocket travel is older than we think. Perhaps it started in some part of the world hundreds of years ago, was discovered and kept secret by a small number of men, and they came to Mars, with only occasional visits to Earth over the centuries.”

“You make it sound almost reasonable.”
“it is, sir. It has to be. We have the proof here before us, all we have ‘to do now, is find some people and verify it!”

“You’re right- there, of course. We can’t just stand here and talk. Did’ you bring your gun?”
“Yes, but we won’t need it.”
“We’ll see about it. Come along, we’ll ring that doorbell and see if anyone is home.”

Their boots were deadened of all sound in the thick green grass. It smelled from a fresh mowing. In spite of himself, Captain John Black felt a great peace come over him. It had been thirty years since he had een in a small’ town, and the buzzing of spring bees on the air lulled and quieted him, and the fresh look of things was a balm to the soul.

Hollow echoes sounded from under the boards as they walked across the porch and stood before the screen door. Inside, they could see a bead curtain hung across the hall entry, and a crystal chandelier and a Maxfleld Parrish painting framed on one wall over a comfortable Morris, Chair. The house smelled old, and of the attic, and infinitely comfortable. You could hear the tinkle of ice rattling in a lemonade pitcher~ In a distant kitchen, because of the day, someone was preparing a soft, lemon drieL – –

Captain’ John Black rang the bell.
Footsteps, dainty and thin, came along the hail and a kind-faced lady of some forty years, dressed in the sort of dress you might expect in the year 1909, peered out at them.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“Beg your pardon,” said Captain Black, uncertainly.
“But we’re looking for, that is, could you help us, I mean.” He stopped. She looked out at him with dark wondering eyes.
“If you’re selling something,” she said, “I’m much too busy and I haven’t time.” She turned to go.

“No, wail,” he cried bewilderingly. “What town is this?”
She looked him up and down as if he were crazy.
“What do you mean, what town is it? How could you be in a town and not know what town it was?”
The captain looked as if he wanted to go sit under a shady apple tree. “I beg your pardon,” he said, “But we’re strangers here. We’re from Earth, and we want to know how this town got here and you’ got here.”

“Are you census takers?” she asked.
“No,” be said. –
“What do you want then?” she demanded.
“Well,” said the captain.
“Well?” she asked. -‘
“How long has this town been here?” he wondered.
“It was built in 1868,” she snapped at them. “Is this a game?”
“No, not a game,” cried the captain. “Oh, God,” – be said. “Look here.
We’re from Earth”
“From where?” she said.

‘Prom Earth!” he said. –
“Where’s that?” she said.
“From Earth,” he cried. ‘ –
“Out of the ground, do you mean?”
“No, from the planet Earth!” he almost shouted.
“Here,” she insisted, “come out on the porch and I’ll show you.” , –
“No,” she said, “I won’t come out there, you are all evidently quite mad
from the sun.”

Lustig and Hinkston stood behind the captain. Hinkston now spoke up.

“Mrs.,” he said. ‘We came in a flying ship across space, among the stars. We came from the third planet from the sun, Earth, to tb-is planet, which is Mars.

Now do you understand, Mrs.?”
“Mad from the sun,” she said, taking hold of the door. “Go away now, before I call my husband who’s upstairs taking a nap, and he’ll beat you all with his fists.”
“But—” said Hinkston. “This is Mars, is it not?”

“This,” explained the woman, as if she were addressing a child, “is Green Lake, Wisconsin, on the continent of America, surrounded by the Pacific and ~Atlantic Oceans, on a place called the world, or sometimes, the Earth. Go away now. Good-bye!”
She slammed the door. –

-The three men stood before the door with their hands up in the air toward it, as if pleading with her to open it once more.

They looked at one another.
– “Let’s knock the door down,” said Lustig.
“We can’t,” sighed the captain.
“Why not?”

“She didn’t do anything bad, did she? We’re the strangers here. This is private property. Good God, Hinkstonl” He went and sat down on the porchstep.
“What, sir?”

Did it ever strike you, that maybe we got ourselves, somehow, some way, fouled up. And, by accident, came back and landed on Earth!”

“Oh, sir, oh, sir, oh oh, sir.” And Hinkston sat down numbly and thought about it.
Lustig stood up in the sunlight. “How could we have done that?”
“I don’t know, just let me think.”

}Iinkston said, “But we checked every mile of the way, and we saw Mars and our chronometers said so many miles ‘gone, and we went past the moon and out into space and here we are, on Mars. I’m sure we’re on Mars, ‘ sir.” Lustig said, “But, suppose that, by accident, in space, in time, or something, we landed on a planet in space, in another time.

Suppose this is Earth, thirty or fifty years ago? Maybe we got lost in the dimensions, do you think?”

“Oh, go away, Lustig.” -‘
“Are the men in the ship keeping an eye on us, Hink..

ston?” , –
“At their guns, sir.”

Lustig went to the door, rang the bell. When the door opened again, he asked, ‘What year is this?’ –
“1926, of, course!” cried the woman, furiously, and slammed the door again. “Did you bear that?” Lustig ran back to them, wildly, “She said 1926! We – have gone back in time. This is Earth!”

Lustig sat down and the three men let the wonder and terror of the thought afflict them. Their hands stirred fitfully on their knees. The wind blew, nodding the locks of hair on their heads.

The captain stood up, brushing off his pants. “I never thought it would be like this. It scares the hell out of me. How ‘can a thing like this happen?”

“Will anybody in the whole town believe us?” wondered Hinkston.
“Are we playing around with something dangerous? Time, I mean. Shouldn’t we just take off and go home?”
“No. We’ll try another house.”

They walked three houses down to a little white cottage under an oak tree. “I like to be as logical as I can’ get,” said the captain, He nodded at the town. “How does this sound to you, Hinkston? Suppose, as you- said originally, that rocket travel occurred years ago. And when the Earth people had lived here a number of years they began to get homesick for Earth. First a mild neurosis about it, then a full-fledged psychosis. Then, threatened insanity. What would you do, as a psychiatrist, if fated with such a problem?”
– –
Hinkston thought. “Well, I think I’d re-arrange the civilization on Mars so it resembled Earth more and more each day. If there was any way of reproducing every plant, every road and every lake, and even an ocean, I would do so. Then I would, by some vast crowd hypnosis, theoretically anyway, convince veryone in a town this size that this really was Earth, not Mars at all.”

“Good enough, Hinkston. I think we’re on the right track now. That woman in that house back there, just’ minks she’s living on Earth. It protects ‘her sanity. She and all the others in this town are the patients of the greatest experiment in migration and hypnosis you will ever lay your eyes on in your life.” –

“That’s it, sir!” cried Lustig.
“Well,” the captain sighed. “Now we’re getting some- – where. I feel better. It all sounds a bit more logical now. This talk about time and going back and forth and traveling in time turns my stomach upside
down. But, this way—”- He actually smiled for the first time in a month. “Well. It looks as if we’ll be fairly welcome here.”

“Or, will we, sir?” said Lustig. “After all, like the Pilgrims, these people came here to escape Earth. Maybe they won’t be too happy to see us, sir Maybe they’ll try to drive us ~out or kill us?”

‘We have superior weapons if that should happen. Anyway, all we can do is try. This next house now. Up we go.”

But they had hardly crossed the lawn when Lustig stopped and looked off across the town, down the quiet, dreaming afternoon street. “Sir,” he said.

“What is it, Lustig?” asked the captain.

“Oh, sir, sir, what I see, what I do see now before me, oh, oh—” said Lustig, and he began to cry. His fingers came up, twisting and trembling, and his face was all wonder and joy and incredulity. He sounded as if any moment he might go quite insane with happiness. He looked down the street and he began to run, stumbling awkwardly, falling, picking himself up, and running on. “Oh, God, God, thank you, God! Thank you!”

– “Don’t let him get away!” The captain broke into a run.
Now Lustig was running at full speed, shouting. He turned into a yard half way down the little shady side street and leaped up upon the porch of a large green house with an iron rooster on the roof

He was beating upon the door, shouting and hollering and crying when Hinkston and the captain ran up and stood in the yard, The door opened. Lustig yanked the screen wide and in a high wail of discovery and happiness, cried out, “Grandma! Grandpa!” –

Two old people stood in the doorway, their faces light. lug up.
“Albert!” Their voices piped and they rushed out to embrace and pat him on the back and move around him, “Albert, oh, Albert, it’s been so many years! How you’ve grown, boy, how big you ate, boy, oh, lbert boy, how are you!”

“Grandma, Grandpa!” sobbed Albert Lustig. “Good to see you! You look fine, fine! Oh, fine.” He held them, turned them, kissed them, hugged them, cried on them, held them out again, blinked at the little old people.- The, sun was in the sky, the wind blew, the grass was green, the screen door stood
open.

“Come in, lad, come in, there’s lemonade for you,fresh, lots of- it!”

“Grandma, Grandpa, good to see you! I’ve got- friends down here!

Here!” Lustig turned and waved wildly at the captain and Hinkston, who, all during the adventure on the porch, had stood in’ the shade of a tree, holding onto each other. “Captain, captain, come up, come up, I want you to meet my grandfolks!”

“Howdy,” said the folks. “Any- friend of Albert’s is ours, too! Don’t stand there with your mouths open Come on!”

In the living room of the old house it was cool and a grandfather clock ticked high and long and bronzed in one corner. There were soft pillows on large couches and walls filled with books and a rug cut in a thick rose pattern and antimacassars pinned to furniture, and lemonade in the hand, sweating, and cool on the thirsty tongue. “Here’s to our health.” Grandma tipped her glass to her porcelain teeth. – –

“How long you been here, Grandma?” said Lustig.
“A good many years,” she said, tartly. “Ever since we died.”
“Ever since you what?” asked Captain John Black, putting his drink down. – –
“Oh, yes,” Lustig looked at his captain. “They’ve been dead thirty years.”

“And you sit there, calmly!” cried the captain.
“Tush,” said the old woman, and winked glitteringly – at John Black. “Who are we to question what happens?

Here we are. What’s life, anyways? Who does what for why and where? All we know is here we are, alive again, and no questions -asked. A second chance.”
She toddled over and held out her -thin wrist to Captain John Black.
“Feel” He felt.~ “Solid, ain’t I?” she ask~ed. He nodded.
“You hear my voice, don’t you?” she inquired. Yes, he did. “Well, then,” she said in triumph, “why go around questioning?”
“Well,” said the captain, “it’s simply that we never thought we’d find a
thing like this on Mars.”

“And now you’ve found it. I dare say there’s lots on every planet that’ll show you God’s infinite ways.”
is this Heaven?” asked Hinkston.
“Nonsense, no. It’s a world and we get a second chance. Nobody told us why. But then nobody told us why we were on Earth, either. That other Earth, I mean. The one you came from. How do we know there wasn’t another before that one?”

“A good question,” said the captain.
The captain stood up and slapped his hand on his leg in an off-hand fashion. “We’ve got to be going. It’s been nice. Thank you for the drinks.”

He stopped. He turned and looked toward the door, startled. ‘ –
Far away, in the sunlight, there was a sound of voices, a crowd, a shouting and a great hello.

“What’s that?” asked Hinkston.
“We’ll soon find out!” And Captain John Black was out the front door abruptly, jolting across the green lawn and into the street of the Martian town.

He stood looking at the ship. The ports were open and his crew were streaming out, waving their hands. A crowd of people had gathered and in and through and among these people the members of the crew were running, talking, laughing, shaking hands. People did little dances. People swarmed. The rocket lay – empty and abandoned.

A brass band exploded in the sunlight, flinging off a gay tune from upraised tubas and trumpets. There was a bang of drums and a shrill of fifes. Little girls with golden hair jumped up and down. Little boys shouted, “Hoorayl” And fat men passed around ten-cent cigars. The mayor of the town made a speech. Then, each member of the crew with a mother on one -arm, a father or sister on the other, was spirited off down the street, into little cottages or big mansions and doors slammed shut.

The wind rose in the clear spring sky and all was silent. The brass band had banged off around a corner leaving the rocket to shine and dazzle alone in the sunlight.

“Abandoned!” cried the captain. “Abandoned the ship, they did! I’ll have their skins; by God! They had orders!”
“Sir,” said Lustig. “Don’t be too -hard on them. Those were all old relatives and friends.”

“That’s no excuse!” – –
“Think how they felt, captain, seeing familiar faces outside the ship!” –
“I would have obeyed orders! I would have~!’ The captain’s mouth
remained open.

Striding along the sidewalk – under the Martian sun, tall, smiling, eyes blue, face tan, came a young man of some twenty-six years. –
“John!” the man cried, and broke into a run.
“What?” said Captain .John Black. He swayed. –

“John, you old beggar, you!”
The man ran up and gripped his hand and slapped him
on the back. –
“It’s you,” said John Black.
“Of course, who’d you think it was!” –
“Edward!” The captain appealed now to Lustig and Hinkston, holding the stranger’s hand. “This is my brother – Edward. Ed, meet my men, Lustig, Hinkston My brother!” – – –
They tugged at each other’s hands and arms and then finally embraced.

“Ed!” “John, you old bum, you!” “You!re locking fine, Ed, but, Ed, what .is this? You haven’t ,changed over the years. You died, I remember, when you were twenty-six, and 1 was nineteen, oh God,
so many years ago, and here you are, and, Lord, what goes on, what goes on?”

Edward Black gave him a brotherly knock on the chin.
“Mom’s waiting,” he said.
“Mom?”
“And Dad, too.”
– “And Dad?” The- captain almost fell to earth as if hit upon the chest with a mighty weapon. He walked stiffly and awkwardly, out of coordination. He stuttered and whispered and talked only one or two ords at a time.

“Mom alive? Dad? Where?”
“At the old house on Oak Knoll Avenue.” –
“The old house.” The captain stared in delighted amazement. “Did you hear that, Lustig, Hinkston?”
~‘I know it’s hard for you to believe.”

“But alive. Real.”
“Don’t I feel real?” The strong arm, the firm grip, the white smile. The light, curling hair.
Hinkaton was gone. He had seen his own house down the street and was running for it. Lustig was grinning.

“Now you understand, sir, what happened to everybody on the ship. They couldn’t help themselves.”
“Yes. Yes,” said the captain, eyes shut. “Yes.” He put out his hand.
“When I open my eyes, you’ll be gone.” He opened his eyes. “You’re still here.
God, Edward, you look fine!” – – –
“Come along, lunch is waiting for you. I told Mom.” Lustig said, “Sir, Ui
be with my grandfolks if you want me.” –

“What? Oh, fine, Lustig. Later, then.”
Edward grabbed his arm and marched him. “You need support.” –
“I do. My knees, all funny. My stomach, loose. God.”

“There’s the house. Remember it?” –
“Remember it? Hell! I bet I can beat you to the front porch!” –

They ran. The wind roared over Captain John Black’s ears. The earth roared -under his feet. He saw the golden figure of Edward Black pull ahead of him in the amazing dream of reality. He saw the house rush- forward, the door open, the screen swing back. “Beat you!” cried Edward, – bounding up the steps. “I’m an old man,” panted the captain, “and you’re still young. But, then, you always beat me, I remember!”

In the doorway, Mom, pink, and plump and bright. And behind her, pepper grey, Dad, with his pipe in his hand.

“Mom, Dad!”
He ran up -the steps like a child, to meet them.

It was a fine long afternoon. They finished lunch and they sat in the living room and he told them all about his rocket and his being captain and they nodded and smiled upon him and Mother was just the same, and Dad bit the end off a cigar and lighted it in his old fashion. Mom brought in some iced tea in the middle of the afternoon. Then, there was a big turkey dinner at night and time flowing oil. When the drumsticks were sucked clean and lay brittle upon the plates, the captain leaned back in his chair and exhaled his deep contentment. Dad poured him a small glass of dry sherry. It was seven thirty in the evening. Night was in all the trees and coloring the sky, and the lamps were halos of dim light in the gentle house. From all the other houses down the streets came sounds of music; pianos playing, laughter.

Mom put a record on the victrola and she and Captain John Black bad a – dance. She was wearing the same perfume he remembered from the summer when she and Dad had been killed in the train accident. She was very real in his arms as they danced lightly to the music. –

“I’ll wake in the morning,” said the captain. “And I’ll be in my rocket in space, and this will be gone.”
“No, no, don’t think that,” she cried, softly, pleadingly~ “We’re here.
Don’t question. God is good to- us. Let’s be happy.”

The record ended with a – hissing.
“You’re tired, son,” said Dad. He waved his pipe. “You and Ed go on
upstairs. Your old bedroom is waiting for you.” . – –
“The old one?”
“The brass bed and all,” laughed Edward.
“But I should report my men in.”
“Why?” Mother was logical
“Why? Well, I don’t know. No reason, I guess. No,. none at all. What’s the difference?” He shook his head.

“I’m not being very logical these days,” –
“Good night, son.” She kissed his cheek. “‘Night, Mom.”
“Sleep tight, son.” Dad shook his hand.
“Same to you, Pop.” – “It’s good to have you home.”

“It’s good to be home.”
He left the land of cigar smoke and perfume and books and gentle light and ascended the stairs, talking, talking with Edward. Edward pushed a door open and there was the yellow brass bed and the old semaphore banners from college days and a -very musty raccoon coat which he petted with strange, muted affection. “It’s too much,” he said faintly. “Like -being in a thunder- shower without an umbrella. Fm soaked to the skin with emotion. I’m numb. I’m tired.” –

“A night’s sleep between cool clean sheets for you, my bucko.” Edward slapped wide the snowy linens and flounced the pillows. Then he put up a window and let the night blooming jasmine float in. There was moonlight and the sound of distant dancing and whispering.

“So this is Mars,” said the captain undressing.
“So this is Mars.” Edward undressed in idle, leisurely moves, drawing his shirt off over his head, revealing golden shoulders and the good muscular neck. –

– The lights were out, they were into bed, side by side, as in the days, how many decades ago? The captain lolled and was nourished by the night wind pushing the lace curtains out upon the dark room air. Among the trees, upon a lawn, someone had cranked up a portable phonograph and now it was
playing softly, “I’ll be loving you, always,- with a love that’s true, always.”

The thought of Anna came to his mind. “Is Anna here?”
His brother, lying straight out in the moonlight from the window,waited and then said, “Yes. She’s out of town. But she’ll be here in the morning.” –
The captain shut his eyes. “I want to see Anna very much?’ –
The room was square and quiet except for their breathing. “Good night, Ed.”
A pause. “Good night, John.”

He lay peacefully, letting his thoughts float. For the — first time the stress of the day was -moved aside, all of the excitement was calmed. He could think logically now. It had all been emotion. The bands playing, the sight – of familiar faces, the sick pounding of your heart. But—

now… –

How? He thought. How was all this made? And why? For what purpose?

Out of the goodness of some kind God? Was God, then, really that fine and thoughtful of his children? -How and why and what for? –

He thought of the various theories advanced in the first heat of the afternoon by Hinkston and Lustig. He let all kinds of new theories drop in lazy pebbles down through his mind, as through a dark water, now, turning, throwing out dull flashes of white light. Mars. Earth. Mom. Dad Edward. Mars. Martians.
Who had – lived here a thousand years ago on Mars? Martians? Or had this always been like this? Martians. He repeated the word quietly, inwardly. –

He laughed out loud, – almost. He had the ridiculous theory, all of a sudden. It gave him a kind of chilled feeling. It was really nothing to think of, of course. Highly. improbable. Silly. Forget it. Ridiculous.

But, he thought, Just suppose. Just suppose now, that there were Martians living on Mars and they saw our ship coming and -saw us inside our ship and hated – us. Suppose, now, just for the hell of it, that they wanted to destroy us, as invaders, as unwanted ones, and – they wanted to do it in a very clever way, so that we would be taken- off guard. Well, what would the best weapon be that a Martian could use against Earthmen with atom weapons? –

The answer was interesting. Telepathy, hypnosis, memory and imagination. –
Suppose all these houses weren’t real at all, – this bed not real, but only figments of my own imagination, given substance by telepathy and hypnosis by the Martians.

Suppose these houses are really some other shape, a Martian shape, but, -by playing on my desires and wants, these Martians have made this seem like my old home town, my old house, to lull me out of my suspicions?

What better way to fool a man, by his own emotions.

And suppose those two people in the next room, asleep, are not my mother and- father at all. But two Martians, incredibly brilliant, with –the ability to keep me under this dreaming hypnosis all of the time?

And that brass band, today? What a clever plan it would be. First, fool Lustig, then fool Hinkston, then gather a crowd around -the rocket ship and wave. And- all the men in the ship, seeing mothers, aunts, uncles, sweethearts dead ten, twenty years ago, naturally, disregarding orders, would rush- out and abandon the ship. What more natural?- What more unsuspecting? What more simple? A man doesn’t ask too many questions when his mother is suddenly brought back to life; he’s much too happy. And – the brass band played and everybody was taken off to private homes. And here we all are, tonight, in various houses, in various beds, with no weapons to protect us, and the rocket lies in the moonlight, empty. And wouldn’t it be horrible and terrifying to discover that all of this was part of some -great clever plan by the Martians to divide and conquer us, and kill us. Some time during the night, perhaps, my brother here on this bed, wifi change form, melt, shift, and become a one eyed, green and yellow-toothed Martian. It would be very simple for him just – to -turn over in bed and put a- knife into my heart. And in all those other houses down the street a dozen other brothers or fathers suddenly melting away and taking out knives and doing things to the unsuspecting, sleeping men of Earth. –

His hands were shaking under the covers. His body was cold, -Suddenly it was not a theory. Suddenly he was very afraid. He lifted- himself in bed and listened. The night was very quiet. The music had stopped. The wind had died.

His brother (?) lay sleeping beside him.

Very carefully he lifted the sheets, rolled them back. He slipped from bed and was walking softly across the room when his brother’s voice said, “Where are you going?”

“What?” –
His brother’s voice was quite cold. “I said, where do you think you’re going?”
“For a drink of water.”
“But you’re not thirsty.”
“Yes, yes, I am.” –
“No, you’re not.” –
Captain John Black broke and ran across the room.
He screamed. He screamed twice. – He never reached- the door.

…

In the morning, the brass band played a mournful dirge. From every house in the street came little solemn processions bearing long boxes and along the sun-filled street, weeping and changing, came the grandmas and grandfathers and mothers and sisters and brothers, walking -to the churchyard, where there were open holes – dug freshly and new- tombstones installed. Seventeen – holes in all, and seventeen tombstones. Three of the tombstones said, CAPTAIN JOHN BLACK, ALBERT LUSTIG, and SAMUEL HINKSTON. – – –

The mayor made a little sad speech, his face sometimes looking like the
mayor, sometimes looking like something else. — – – –

Mother and Father Black were there, with Brother Edward, and they ‘cried, their faces melting now – from a familiar face into something else. – –

Grandpa and Grandma Lustig were there, weeping~ their faces. Also shifting- like wax, – shivering as a- thing does in waves of heat on a summer day. – –

The coffins were lowered. Somebody murmured –about “the unexpected and sudden deaths of seventeen fine men during the night—”. – – – –

Earth was shoveled in on the coffin tops. –

After the funeral the brass band slammed and banged into town and the crowd stood around and waved and shouted as the rocket was torn to pieces and strewn about and blown up. – –

The End

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The unmentioned looming fiasco in America; what happens when all the money is in the hands of those that inherited it

There is a lot of changes that are set in motion. Many long-overdue changes are coming to America, and those that have been doing quite well do not want change. They want to fight change, and they will go as far as to start a nuclear World War III to guarantee that their lives never change.

Here we are going to chat a little bit about the root, and the source of much of the problems in America today…

… the American system that permits people, and companies to become fantastically wealthy while all the time making everyone around them much poorer.

…

The American Promise

In America, the media narrative is that this is a good thing. A “lone wolf”, “hard working” person can “pull himself up by his bootstraps” and become successful. Look at Steve Jobs, Bill Gates and Jeff Bezos. See! Normal people. Everyone can do it.

Ah. The American promise…

The American Reality

Nope.

That’s not how it works. Maybe it used to be that way some two hundred years ago, and maybe as recent as seventy five years ago. But today, it’s a hopeless proposition. There are too many layers of government regulation. Too many powerful companies. The “little guy” has too many hurtles to overcome.

Leaving only the existing wealth structures in control and in power.

It’s the American reality.

The problem with America

This situation where only the wealthy have the vast bulk of the money has created far too many problems. And if left unchecked will generate many more to come. Including, eventually, the potential end of the world as we know it today.

For instance, to keep the people from rising up in revolution, you need [1] propaganda and [2] control of the media, you need [3] armed and strong militarized domestic police forces, you need [4] distractions which tend to mean [5] wars and chaos, and you need to [6] constantly decrease the standard of life of the rabble so that you can maintain your own power.

And isn’t that what we have been observing?

American income distribution

The chart of the income distribution for America today greatly resembles what it must have been in France before the French revolution, and in Russia before the Russian revolution.

The poor got much poorer.

The middle class disappeared.

The super-duper wealthy become stratospheric wealthy.

Which brings me to an article. It was written back in 2014, and back then the alarms were a ringing and the sirens were screaming, and the lights were flashing, but few paid attention…

The Rise of the Non-Working Rich

Tuesday, July 15, 2014

In a new Pew poll, more than three quarters of self-described conservatives believe…

 “poor people have it easy because they can get government benefits without doing anything.”

In reality, most of America’s poor work hard, often in two or more jobs.

The real non-workers are the wealthy who inherit their fortunes. And their ranks are growing.

In fact, we’re on the cusp of the largest inter-generational wealth transfer in history.

MM Comment

This was written in 2014. The cusp has passed and now America is at this state, firmly entrenched within this condition; firmly put in place. Rock solid and immovable.

The wealth is coming from those who over the last three decades earned huge amounts on Wall Street, in corporate boardrooms, or as high-tech entrepreneurs.

It’s going to their children, who did nothing except be born into the right family.

The “self-made” man or woman, the symbol of American meritocracy, is disappearing. Six of today’s ten wealthiest Americans are heirs to prominent fortunes. Just six Walmart heirs have more wealth than the bottom 42 percent of Americans combined (up from 30 percent in 2007).

The U.S. Trust bank just released a poll of Americans with more than $3 million of investable assets.

Nearly three-quarters of those over age 69, and 61 per cent of boomers (between the ages of 50 and 68), were the first in their generation to accumulate significant wealth.

But the bank found inherited wealth far more common among rich millennials under age 35.

This is the dynastic form of wealth French economist Thomas Piketty warns about. It’s been the major source of wealth in Europe for centuries. It’s about to become the major source in America – unless, that is, we do something about it.

As income from work has become more concentrated in America, the super rich have invested in businesses, real estate, art, and other assets. The income from these assets is now concentrating even faster than income from work.

In 1979, the richest 1 percent of households accounted for 17 percent of business income. By 2007 they were getting 43 percent. They were also taking in 75 percent of capital gains. Today, with the stock market significantly higher than where it was before the crash, the top is raking even more from their investments.

Both political parties have encouraged this great wealth transfer, as beneficiaries provide a growing share of campaign contributions.

MM Comment

The reader is asked to put a clothespin to their noses as some politics is bantered about. It's the same nauseatingly "Wonderful Democrats", and "terrible Republicans". Ugh.

Both are members of the Uni-party. They are identical.

But Republicans have been even more ardent than Democrats.

For example, family trusts used to be limited to about 90 years. Legal changes implemented under Ronald Reagan extended them in perpetuity. So-called “dynasty trusts” now allow super-rich families to pass on to their heirs money and property largely free from taxes, and to do so for generations.

George W. Bush’s biggest tax breaks helped high earners but they provided even more help to people living off accumulated wealth. While the top tax rate on income from work dropped from 39.6% to 35 percent, the top rate on dividends went from 39.6% (taxed as ordinary income) to 15 percent, and the estate tax was completely eliminated. (Conservatives called it the “death tax” even though it only applied to the richest two-tenths of one percent.)

Barack Obama rolled back some of these cuts, but many remain.

Before George W. Bush, the estate tax kicked in at $2 million of assets per couple, and then applied a 55 percent rate. Now it kicks in at $10 million per couple, with a 40 percent rate.

House Republicans want to go even further than Bush did.

Rep. Paul Ryan’s “road map,” which continues to be the bible of Republican economic policy, eliminates all taxes on interest, dividends, capital gains, and estates.

Yet the specter of an entire generation who do nothing for their money other than speed-dial their wealth management advisors isn’t particularly attractive.

It’s also dangerous to our democracy, as dynastic wealth inevitably accumulates political influence.

MM Comment

America is not a democracy. It is a military empire that is run by a global oligarchy.

What to do? First, restore the estate tax in full.

MM Comment

His solution; the same-old, same-old. More taxes. More regulation. Bigger government. 

Not what is needed; a complete structural overhaul on  the entire American government-society system.

Second, eliminate the “stepped-up-basis on death” rule. This obscure tax provision allows heirs to avoid paying capital gains taxes on the increased value of assets accumulated during the life of the deceased. Such untaxed gains account for more than half of the value of estates worth more than $100 million, according to the Center on Budget and Policy Priorities.

Third, institute a wealth tax. We already have an annual wealth tax on homes, the major asset of the middle class. It’s called the property tax. Why not a small annual tax on the value of stocks and bonds, the major assets of the wealthy?

MM Comment

All the solutions are the same-old, same-old. More taxes to go to government. Not any systematic changes to the entire way the system operates.

We don’t have to sit by and watch our “meritocracy” be replaced by a permanent aristocracy, and our democracy be undermined by dynastic wealth. We can and must take action – before it’s too late.

MM Comment

It is too late. America has a permanent aristocracy where the vast wealth is either concocted out of thin air, or by dynastic wealth.

But you know…

China is taking notes…

Let’s open up the dialog with this comment that I found in my e-mailbox…

In China, the CCP draw from the experience of the first 30 years of opening up, and [has] concluded that:

1) China endorsed the part of the free market logic that encourage individual innovation and that rewards hardwork.

2) However, China will not allow the ultimate outcome of a free market economy. As it is one where a handful of billionaires will eventually take control of the market, killing competition, and dictate the price and distribution chain of supply and demand.

The world has been controlled by the Western set of rules for far too long. These rules were set up at the time they are working towards Western advantages.

The collapse of the USSR and the drop in standard of living and life expectancy in Russia is widely studied in China and experienced is learned.

Now, China will open up further to counter US strategy to form a war alliance against China.

Instead, China is strategically beginning a dual circle economy build on food security, financial security, economic security, and national security. As well as a discussion on the evil doing of privatized capital and western capital across the world.

The CCP armed with Mao theories of how to run a country with serving the people as the party motto is far more down to earth than the capitalists who control western politicians.

When Xi came to power, he openly pledged that the SOEs sector has to become larger, and stronger.

In contemporaneous China, any large scale businesses are require to sell to the government 1% of their share. Now with this 1%, the government representatives will sit in a broad of director meeting, and have the power to stop any plan that threaten the security of any sector of the Chinese economy or society.

Therefore, if it only involved expanding product ranges, improve services, opening a few more outlets, they are totally free to do so.

...

Cheers

And perhaps that will give you all some perspective why America must DESTROY China, and why there is no-room for co-habitation. It’s all or nothing with America. For once the rest of the world sees that the American emperor has “no clothes”, the fall of the empire will only be minutes away.

All of this should be no surprise. Because…

America is an Oligarchy

Read about it here.

And it’s all pretty depressing. Anyways, I’m tossing this idea out to you all. That the idea of “what America stands for” is wealth accumulation by the super-rich, for themselves, and everyone else is just a herd animal to service them. Being so fantastically wealthy they not only own most of what you eat, use, and read, but they also control your government, and as a result you have zero influence on what your government is doing.

Pot-holes need fixing? No problem, your government is going to bomb the shit out of Yemen! Now, don’t you feel better?

Taxes too high? No problem, the government is going to reclassify the taxes in a fee, and then make it mandatory for you to pay that fee or else you will go to prison. There! Don’t you feel better?

Can’t find work? No problem. You can enlist in the military, get on welfare, or donate blood. The news says that the economy is roaring and that everything is just “hunky-dory”. So you must be lazy. Don’t you know!

Conclusion

This exhausts me. This situation is not sustainable. The question and the big unknown is when will it all fall down?

I have no answers.

I think that I need to go out, eat some fine delicious food, quaff some brews, and go a whoring. Life is too short not to have fun.

And that is my definitive opinion on this subject.

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The Oligarchy

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The End of the Beginning by Ray Bradbury (Full text)

Here’s a nice charming story. I guess it is a bit dated, but the hopefulness of the 1960’s shines through. Lovely.

THE END OF THE BEGINNING
Ray Bradbury

He stopped the lawn mower in the middie of the yard, because he felt that the
sun at just that moment had gone down and the stars come out. The fresh-cut
grass that had showered his face and body died soft!y away. Yes, the stars were
there, faint at first, but brightening in the clear desert sky. He heard the
porch screen door tap shut and felt his wife watching him as he watched the
night.
“Almost time,” she said.
He nodded; he did not have to check his watch. In the passing moments he felt
very old, then very young, very cold, then very warm, now this, now that.
Suddenly he was miles away. He was his own son talking steadily, moving briskly
to cover his pounding heart and the resurgent panics as he felt himself slip
into fresh uniform, check food supplies, oxygen flasks, pressure helmet,
space-suiting, and turn as every man on earth tonight turned, to gaze at the
swiftly filling sky.
Then, quickly, he was back, once more the father of the son, hands gripped to
the lawn-mower handle. His wife called, “Come sit on the porch.”
“I’ve got to keep busy!”
She came down the steps and across the lawn. “Don’t worry about Robert; he’ll be
all right.”
“But it’s all so new,” he heard himself say. “It’s never been done before. Think
of it – a manned rocket going up tonight to build the first space station. Good
lord, it can’t be done, it doesn’t exist, there’s no rocket, no proving ground,
no take-off time, no technicians. For that matter, I don’t even have a son named
Bob. The whole thing’s too much for me!”
“Then what are you doing out here, staring?”
He shook his head. “Well, late this morning, walking to the office, I heard
someone laugh out loud. It shocked me, so I froze in the middle of the street.
It was me, laughing! Why? Because finally I really knew what Bob was going to do tonight; at last I believed it. Holy is a word I never use, but that’s how I
felt stranded in all that traffic. Then, middle of the afternoon I caught myself
humming. You know the song. ‘A wheel in a wheel. Way in the middle of the air.’
I laughed again. The space station, of course, I thought. The big wheel with
hollow spokes where Bob’ll live six or eight months, then get along to the moon.

Walking home, I remembered more of the song. ‘Little wheel run by faith, Big
wheel run by the grace of God.’ I wanted to jump, yell, and flame-out myself!”
His wife touched his arm. “If we stay out here, let’s at least be comfortable.”
They placed two wicker rockers in the center of the lawn and sat quietly as the
stars dissolved out of darkness in pale crushings of rock salt strewn from
horizon to horizon.
“Why,” said his wife, at last, “it’s like waiting for the fireworks at Sisley
Field every year.”
“Bigger crowd tonight . . .”
“I keep thinking – a billion people watching the sky right now, their mouths all
open at the same time.”
They waited, feeling the earth move under their chairs.
“What time is it now?”
“Eleven minutes to eight.”
“You’re always right; there must be a clock in your head.”
“I can’t be wrong tonight. I’ll be able to tell you one second before they blast
off. Look! The ten-minute warning!”
On the western sky they saw four crimson flares open out, float shimmering down the wind above the desert, then sink silently to the extinguishing earth.
In the new darkness the husband and wife did not rock in their chairs.
After a while he said, “Eight minutes.” A pause. “Seven minutes.” What seemed a
much longer pause. “Six . . .”
His wife, her head back, studied the stars immediately above her and murmured,
“Why?” She closed her eyes. “Why the rockets, why tonight? Why all this? I’d
like to know.”
He examined her face, pale in the vast powdering light of the Milky Way. He felt
the stirring of an answer, but let his wife continue.
“I mean it’s not that old thing again, is it, when people asked why men climbed
Mt. Everest and they said, ‘Because it’s there’? I never understood. That was no
answer to me.”
Five minutes, he thought. Time ticking . . . his wrist watch . . . a wheel in a
wheel . . . little wheel run by . . . big wheel run by . . . way in the middle
of . . . four minutes! . . . The men snug in the rocket by now, the hive, the
control board flickering with light.
His lips moved.
“All I know is it’s really the end of the beginning. The Stone Age, Bronze Age,
Iron Age; from now on we’ll lump all those together under one big name for when we walked on Earth and heard the birds at morning and cried with envy. Maybe we’ll call it the Earth Age, or maybe the Age of Gravity. Millions of years we fought gravity. When we were amoebas and fish we struggled to get out of the sea without gravity crushing us. Once safe on the shore we fought to stand upright without gravity breaking our new invention, the spine, tried to walk without stumbling, run without falling. A billion years Gravity kept us home, mocked us with wind and clouds, cabbage moths and locusts. That’s what’s so god-awful big about tonight . . . it’s the end of old man Gravity and the age we’ll remember him by, for once and all. I don’t know where they’ll divide the ages, at the Persians, who dreamt of flying carpets, or the Chinese, who all unknowing
celebrated birthdays and New Years with strung ladyfingers and high skyrockets,
or some minute, some incredible second the next hour. But we’re in at the end of
a billion years trying, the end of something long and to us humans, anyway,
honorable.”
Three minutes . . . two minutes fifty-nine seconds . . . two minutes fifty-eight
seconds . . .
“But,” said his wife, “I still don’t know why.”
Two minutes, he thought. Ready? Ready? Ready? The far radio voice calling.
Ready! Ready! Ready! The quick, faint replies from the humming rocket. Check!
Check! Check!
Tonight, he thought, even if we fail with this first, we’ll send a second and a
third ship and move on out to all the planets and later, all the stars. We’ll
just keep going until the big words like immortal and forever take on meaning.
Big words, yes, that’s what we want. Continuity. Since our tongues first moved
in our mouths we’ve asked, What does it all mean? No other question made sense, with death breathing down our necks. But just let us settle in on ten thousand worlds spinning around ten thousand alien suns and the question will fade away. Man will be endless and infinite, even as space is endless and infinite. Man will go on, as space goes on, forever. Individuals will die as always, but our
history will reach as far as we’ll ever need to see into the future, and with
the knowledge of our survival for all time to come, we’ll know security and thus
the answer we’ve always searched for. Gifted with life, the least we can do is
preserve and pass on the gift to infinity. That’s a goal worth shooting for.
The wicker chairs whispered ever so softly on the grass.
One minute.
“One minute,” he said aloud.
“Oh!” His wife moved suddenly to seize his hands. “I hope that Bob . . .”
“He’ll be all right!”
“Oh, God, take care . . .”
Thirty seconds.
“Watch now.”
Fifteen, ten, five . . .
“Watch!”
Four, three, two, one.
“There! There! Oh, there, there!”

They both cried out. They both stood. The chairs toppled back, fell flat on the
lawn. The man and his wife swayed, their hands struggled to find each other,
grip, hold. They saw the brightening color in the sky and, ten seconds later,
the great uprising comet burn the air, put out the stars, and rush away in fire
flight to become another star in the returning profusion of the Milky Way. The
man and wife held each other as if they had stumbled on the rim of an incredible
cliff that faced an abyss so deep and dark there seemed no end to it. Staring
up, they heard themselves sobbing and crying. Only after a long time were they
able to speak.
“It got away, it did, didn’t it?”
“Yes . . .”
“It’s all right, isn’t it?”
“Yes . . . yes . . .”
“It didn’t fall back . . .?”
“No, no, it’s all right, Bob’s all right, it’s all right.”
They stood away from each other at last.
He touched his face with his hand and looked at his wet fingers. “I’ll be
damned,” he said, “I’ll be damned.”
They waited another five and then ten minutes until the darkness in their heads,
the retina, ached with a million specks of fiery salt. Then they had to close
their eyes.
“Well,” she said, “now let’s go in.”
He could not move. Only his hand reached a long way out by itself to find the
lawn-mower handle. He saw what his hand had done and said, “There’s just a
little more to do . . .”
“But you can’t see.”
“Well enough,” he said. “I must finish this. Then we’ll sit on the porch awhile
before we turn in.”
He helped her put the chairs on the porch and sat her down and then walked back out to put his hands on the guide bar of the lawn mower. The lawn mower. A wheel in a wheel. A simple machine which you held in your bands, which you sent on ahead with a rush and a clatter while you walked behind with your quiet
philosophy. Racket, followed by warm silence. Whirling wheel, then soft footfall
of thought.
I’m a billion years old, he told himself; I’m one minute old. I’m one inch, no,
ten thousand miles, tall. I look down and can’t see my feet they’re so far off
and gone away below.
He moved the lawn mower. The grass showering up fell softly around him; he
relished and savored it and felt that he was all mankind bathing at last in the
fresh waters of the fountain of youth.
Thus bathed, he remembered the song again about the wheels and the faith and the grace of God being way up there in the middle of the sky where that single star, among a million motionless stars, dared to move and keep on moving.
Then he finished cutting the grass.

The End

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Dash and Grab, what is going on during the collapse of the United States

Yeah. So today I went and got myself a nice beer, as is my custom on my way to the house for lunch. It’s a nice day. The weather is warming up. Getting a little glare from the clouds and the “feeling” in the air is one of calmness. There was a gaggle of young girls near the elevator. All in their lower to mid 20’s. Nice. Cute. Entry-level office workers.

Came home, and my damn dog decides to break the afternoon stillness by barking like a mad-dog.

He’s getting old and doggie dementia is kicking in. I had to go up to him let him smell my hand before I could calm him down. Ah. That’s life, you know. There’s always different folk on different wavelengths creating the canopy of life that we know and love.

The wife made me a Cobb Salad to have with my beer. It’s good stuff, I’ll tell you what.

Lately I have been a-wondering about what is “next”. You know, World War III, a new beginning, or something else. I have come to the conclusion that we have reached the point that I like to refer to as “The end of the beginning“.

Ah. Isn’t that the case.

It’s like this video (below).

As always, please click on the picture to have the video load and open up in a new window.

It’s not a dreary thing.

It’s a realization that things are changing, and yet the changes will continue.

My top running posts, by far, are my writings on SHTF. As has been the case for the last three months or so. People from all over the internet have been visiting my writings on these matters. They don’t post comments, but they read, stick around and then disappear. Like ghosts in the night. I don’t know who they are, or why they are reading about how to prepare for turmoil inside of America. But they do.

People are scared.

As uncomfortable as things are, they are not yet dire. There is this feeling like an axe is going to fall any day now, and it’s at all levels. It’s like the cats and dogs barking before an earthquake, or that bird migrate South before a disaster. Something is up, but no one can put their finger on it.

The “news” is following the direction that must have been set in place years earlier. It does not reflect this feeling; this situation, or this condition. Instead its the same old bullshit.

The same bullshit.

Accuse China of XXXX, and YYYY.
Don’t report on radical Marxist legislation or progressive issues, but they continue apace.
Harp on the Coronavirus.
Promote the super wealthy as if the debt-serfs give a fuck anymore.
New taxes on the horizon!
But NASA is developing new things!

Yeah. Different subjects, but the same tired old formula.

It’s the end of the beginning.

People know. They KNOW.

The world that we all used to live in, and the ideas and the beliefs that we all used to have are long gone. They are dead. Dead as in two day old fish dead. Dead like Fat Fredy’s Cat sniffing a dead fish dead.

But why?

Why is the human species out in the West (not in China, nor Russia, nor Africa) feel this way?

Why?

Certainly there’s a lot of “chatter” on the social media. Today “Moon Over Alabama” and all sort of “armchair experts” talking and discussing the Tao inside of China and how that defines what China is today. LOL!

Fact of the matter.

Inside of China… no one talks about the Tao.

I do mean NO ONE.

Although Taoism is China's only indigenous religion, its sway now pales compared with its previous status. 

- Corespirit

That’s like assuming all Americans have daily discussions about the influences of President Taft on contemporaneous social media platforms. Especially what President Traft would have to say in regards to selfies on Tiktok, and shadow-blocking trolls.

So silly.

Seriously.

I don’t know whether to laugh or to cry.

Perhaps it has something to do with how the West; the American run Western societies have evolved. And to which degree they sit as the world around them evolves in a different direction. Perhaps it is something much more fundamental to this degree…

The End of the Beginning

I believe that the big changes that all of us are due to experience have already been set in motion. And with this understanding comes the realization that “the stage is set”.

What is next…

Well it is the Start of the changes.

All that we have experienced so far is just the prep-work. And it’s all in place. Every single thing is where it needs to be for the big changes to take place.

What am I talking about?

I am talking about this….

This is a most excellent interview from the Greanville post. All credit to the authors. It was edited to fit this venue, but aside from that it is as intact as possible.

It deals with economics and finance and government systems. All stuff that I find boring. But this point of view is refreshing as it looks at what is going on and how the banking class is looking at profiting from the collapse. Yikes! What a great read!

Pepe: So, what’s going to happen in the, let’s say, short to mid-term in the U.S.? 

Michael, we are seeing the corrosion of the whole system, not only externally in terms of foreign policy and the end of the free lunch, but internally with those 70-million-plus “deplorables” being literally canceled from public debate, the impoverishment of the middle classes, with over 50 million people in America who are practically becoming literally poor. 

And obviously the American dream ended a few decades ago, maybe, but now there’s not even a glimpse of it, that there could be a renewal of the American dream. 

So we have a larval civil war situation, degrading on a daily basis. 

What’s the end game in fact? And what exactly does Wall Street, the American ruling class —the guys who have those lunches at the Harvard club — what do they ultimately want?

Michael: Well, what you call a disaster for the economy, isn’t it a bonanza for the 1 percent? 

This is a victory of finance. 

You look at it as a collapse of industrial capitalism. I look at it as the victory of rentier finance capitalism. 

You’re having probably 10 million Americans that are going to be thrown out of their apartments and their homes in June when the moratorium on rents and mortgages ends. 

You’re going to have a vast increase in the homeless population. 

That will probably represent an increase in people who use the subways. Where else are they going to live? 

And all of this, there’s an immense amount of private capital firms that have all been created in the last year of just wealth accumulations and they’re saying there are going to be such great opportunities to pick up real estate at bargain prices, all of this for the commercial real estate, that’s broken, all the buildings and the restaurants that have to be sold because they can’t meet their mortgage payments and their rents, all the houses that are going to be under, private capital can come in and do what was done after the Obama evictions.

We can do what Blackstone did. We can buy them all out for pennies on the dollar. So, for them, they’re looking at their own 20-year plan. And their 20-year plan is to grab everything!

Ouch.

Here’s the article…

Part one and part two. Bam! And Bam!

Pepe Escobar in conversation with Michael Hudson

At The Henry George School of Social Science

The United States is an object lesson for China on what to avoid, not only in industrializing the economy, but in creating a picture of the economy as if everybody earns everything and there’s no exploitation, no unearned income, nobody makes money in their sleep and there’s no 1 percent..."

Michael Hudson: Well, I’m honored to be here on the same show with Pepe and discuss our mutual concern. And I think you have to frame the whole issue that China is thriving, and the West has reached the end of the whole 75-year expansion it had since 1945.

So, there was an illusion that America is de-industrializing because of competition from China. And the reality is there is no way that America can re-industrialize and regain its export markets with the way that it’s organized today, financialized and privatized and if China didn’t exist. You’d still have the Rust Belt rusting out. You’d still have American industry not being able to compete abroad simply because the cost structure is so high in the United States.

The wealth is no longer made here by industrializing. It’s made financially, mainly by making capital gains. Rising prices for real estate or for stocks and for bonds. In the last nine months, since the coronavirus came here, the top 1 percent of the U.S. economy grew by $1 trillion. It’s been a windfall for the 1 percent. The stock market is way up, the bond market is up, the real estate market is up while the rest of the economy is going down. Despite the tariffs that Trump put on, Chinese imports, trade with China is going up because we’re just not producing materials.

America doesn’t make its own shoes. It doesn’t make some nuts and bolts or fasteners, it doesn’t make industrial things anymore because if money is to be made off an industrial company it’s to buy and sell the company, not to make loans to increase the company’s production. New York City, where I live, used to be an industrial city and, the industrial buildings, the mercantile buildings have all been gentrified into high-priced real estate and the result is that Americans have to pay so much money on education, rent, medical care that if they got all of their physical needs, their food, their clothing, all the goods and services for nothing, they still couldn’t compete with foreign labor because of all of the costs that they have to pay that are essentially called rent-seeking.

Housing in the United States now absorbs about 40 percent of the average worker’s paycheck. There’s 15 percent taken off the top of paychecks for pensions, Social Security and for Medicare. Further medical insurance adds more to the paycheck, income taxes and sales taxes add about another 10 percent. Then you have student loans and bank debt. So basically, the American worker can only spend about one third of his or her income on buying the goods and services they produce. All the rest goes into the FIRE sector — the finance, insurance and real estate sector — and other monopolies.

And essentially, we became what’s called a rent-seeking economy, not a productive economy. So, when people in Washington talk about American capitalism versus Chinese socialism this is confusing the issue. What kind of capitalism are we talking about?

America used to have industrial capitalism in the 19th century. That’s how it got richer originally but now it’s moved away from industrial capitalism towards finance capitalism. And what that means is that essentially the mixed economy that made America rich — where the government would invest in education and infrastructure and transportation and provide these at low costs so that the employers didn’t have to pay labor to afford high costs — all of this has been transformed over the last hundred years.

And we’ve moved away from the whole ethic of what was industrial capitalism. Before, the idea of capitalism in the 19th century from Adam Smith to Ricardo, to John Stuart Mill to Marx was very clear and Marx stated it quite clearly; capitalism was revolutionary. It was to get rid of the landlord class. It was to get rid of the rentier class. It was to get rid of the banking class essentially, and just bear all the costs that were unnecessary for production, because how did England and America and Germany gain their markets?

“We’ve moved away from the whole ethic of what was industrial capitalism.”

They gained their markets basically by the government picking up a lot of the costs of the economy. The government in America provided low-cost education, not student debt. It provided transportation at subsidized prices. It provided basic infrastructure at low cost. And so, government infrastructure was considered a fourth factor of production.

And if you read what the business schools in the late 19th century taught like Simon Patten at the Wharton School, it’s very much like socialism. In fact, it’s very much like what China is doing. And in fact, China is following in the last 30 or 40 years pretty much the same way of getting rich that America followed.

It had its government fund basic infrastructure. It provides low-cost education. It invests in high-speed railroads and airports, in the building of cities. So, the government bears most of the costs and, that means that employers don’t have to pay workers enough to pay a student loan debt. They don’t have to pay workers enough to pay enormous rent such as you have in the United States. They don’t have to pay workers to save for a pension fund, to pay the pension later on. And most of all the Chinese economy doesn’t really have to pay a banking class because banking is the most important public utility of all. Banking is what China has kept in the hands of government and Chinese banks don’t lend for the same reasons that American banks lend.

(When I said that China can pay lower wages than the U.S., what I meant was that China provides as public services many things that American workers have to pay out of their own pockets – such as health care, free education, subsidized education, and above all, much lower debt service.

When workers have to go into debt in order to live, they need much higher wages to keep solvent. When they have to pay for their own health insurance, they have to earn more. The same is true of education and student debt. So much of what Americans seem to be earning — more than workers in other countries — goes right through their hands to the FIRE sector. So, what seems to be “low wages” in China go a lot further than higher wages in the United States.)

Eighty percent of American bank loans are mortgage loans to real estate and the effect of loosening loan standards and increasing the market for real estate is to push up the cost of living, push up the cost of housing. So, Americans have to pay more and more money for their housing whether they’re renters or they’re buyers, in which case the rent is for paying mortgage interest.

So, all of this cost structure has been built into the economy. China’s been able pretty much, to avoid all of this, because its objective in banking is not to make a profit and interest, not to make capital gains and speculation. It creates money to fund actual means of production to build factories, to build research and development, to build transportation facilities, to build infrastructure. Banks in America don’t lend for that kind of thing.

“So, you have a diametric opposite philosophy of how to develop between the United States and China.”

They only lend against collateral that’s already in place because they won’t make a loan if it’s not backed by collateral. Well, China creates money through its public banks to create capital, to create the means of production. So, you have a diametric opposite philosophy of how to develop between the United States and China.

The United States has decided not to gain wealth by actually investing in means of production and producing goods and services, but in financial ways. China is gaining wealth the old-fashioned way, by producing it. And whether you call this, industrial capitalism or a state capitalism or a state socialism or Marxism, it basically follows the same logic of real economics, the real economy, not the financial overhead. So, you have China operating as a real economy, increasing its production, becoming the workshop of the world as England used to be called and America trying to draw in foreign resources, live off of foreign resources, live by trying to make money by investing in the Chinese stock market or now, moving investment banks into China and making loans to China not actual industrial capitalism ways.

“China is gaining wealth the old-fashioned way, by producing it.”

So, you could say that America has gone beyond industrial capitalism, and they call it the post-industrial society, but you could call it the neo-feudal society. You could call it the neo-rentier society, or you could call it debt peonage but it’s not industrial capitalism.

And in that sense, there’s no rivalry between China and America. These are different systems going their own way and I better let Pepe pick it up from there.

Pepe Escobar: Okay. Thank you, Michael, this is brilliant. And you did it in less than 15 minutes. You told the whole story in 15 minutes. Well, my journalistic instinct is immediately to start questions to Michael. So, this is exactly what I’m gonna do now. I think it is much better to basically illustrate some points of what Michael just said, comparing the American system, which is finance capitalism essentially, with industrial capitalism that is in effect in China. Let me try to start with a very concrete and straight to the point question, Michael.

Okay. let’s says that more or less, if we want to summarize it, basically they try to tax the nonproductive rentier class. So, this would be the Chinese way to distribute wealth, right? Sifting through the Chinese economic literature, there is a very interesting concept, which is relatively new (correct me if I am wrong, Michael) in China, which they call stable investment. So stable investment, according to the Chinese would be to issue special bonds as extra capital in fact, to be invested in infrastructure building all across China, and they choose these projects in what they call weak areas and weak links. So probably in some of the inner provinces, or probably in some parts of Tibet or Xinjiang for instance. So, this is a way to invest in the real economy and in real government investment projects.

Right? So, my question in fact, is does this system create extra local debt, coming directly from this financing from Beijing? Is this a good recipe for sustainable development, the Chinese way and the recipe that they could expand to other parts of the Global South?

Michael: Well, this is a big problem that they’re discussing right now. The localities, especially rural China, (and China is still largely rural) only cover about half of their working budget from taxation. So, they have a problem. How are they going to get the balance of the money? Well, there is no official revenue sharing between the federal government and its state banks and the localities.

So, the localities can’t simply go to central government and say, give us more money. The government lets the localities be very independent. And it is sort of the “let a hundred flowers bloom” concept. And so, they’ve let each locality just go the long way, but the localities have run a big deficit.

What do they do? Well in the United States they would issue bonds on which New York is about to default. But in China, the easiest way for the localities to make money, is unfortunately they will do something like Chicago did. They will sell their tax rights for the next 75 years for current money now.

So, a real estate developer will come in and say; look we will give you the next 75 years of tax on this land, because we want to build projects on this (a set of buildings). So, what this means is that now the cities have given away all their source of rent.

Let me show you the problem by what Indiana and Chicago did. Chicago also was very much like China’s countryside cities. So, it sold parking meters and its sidewalks to a whole series of Wall Street investors, including the Abu Dhabi Investment Fund for seventy-five years. And that meant that for 75 years, this Wall Street consortium got to control the parking meters.

So, they put up the parking meters all over Chicago, raised the price of parking, raised the cost of driving to Chicago. And if Chicago would have a parade and interrupt parking, then Chicago has to pay the Abu Dhabi fund and Wall Street company what it would have made anyway. And this became such an awful disaster that finally Wall Street had to reverse the deal and undo it because it was giving privatization a bad name here. The same thing happened in Indiana.

Indiana was running a deficit and it decided to sell its roads to a Wall Street investment firm to make a toll road. The toll on the Indiana turnpike was so high that drivers began to take over the side roads. That’s the problem if you sell future tax revenues in advance.

Now what China and the localities there are discussing is that we’ve already given the real estate tax at very low estimates to the commercial developers, so what do we do? Well, I’ve given them my advice. I’m a professor of economics at the Peking University, School of Marxist studies and I’ve had discussions with the Central Committee. I also have an official position at Wuhan University. There, we’re discussing how China can put an added tax for all of the valuable land, that’s gone up. How can it be done to let the cities collect this tax? Our claim is that the cities, in selling these tax rights for 75 years, have sold what in Britain would be called ground rent (i.e. what’s paid to the landed aristocracy).

Over and above that there’s the market rent. So, China should pass a market-rent tax over and above the ground rent tax to reflect the current value. And there they’re thinking of, well, do we say that this is a capital gain on the land? Well, it’s not really a capital gain until you sell the land, but it’s value. It’s the valuation of the capital. And they’re looking at whether they should just say this is the market rent tax over and above the flat tax that has been paid in advance, or it’s a land tax on the capital gain for land.

Now, all of this requires that there be a land map of the whole country. And they are just beginning to create such a land map as a basis for how you calculate how much the rent there is.

What I found in China is something very strange. A few years ago, in Beijing, they had the first, International Marxist conference where I was the main speaker and I was talking about Marx’s discussion of the history of rent theory in Volume II and Volume III of Capital where Marx discusses all of the classical economics that led up to his view; Adam Smith, Ricardo, Malthus, John Stuart Mill, and Marx’s theory of surplus value was really the first history of economic thought that was written, although it wasn’t published until after he died. Well, you could see that there was a little bit of discomfort with some of the Marxists at the conference. And so, they invited for the next time my colleague David Harvey to come and talk about Marxism in the West.

Well, David gave both the leading and the closing speech of the conference and said, you’ve got to go beyond volume I of Capital. Volume I was what Marx wrote as his addition to classical economics, saying that there was exploitation in industrial employment of labor as well as rent seeking and then he said, now that I’ve done my introduction here, let me talk about how capitalism works in Volumes II and III. Volumes II and III are all about rent and finance and David Harvey has published a book on Volume III of Capital and his message to Peking University and the second Marxist conference was – you’ve got to read Volume II, and III.

Well, you can see that, there’s a discussion now over what is Marxism and a friend and colleague at PKU said Marxism is a Chinese word; It’s the Chinese word for politics. That made everything clear to me. Now I get it! I’ve been asked by the Academy of Social Sciences in China to create a syllabus of the history of rent theory and value theory. And essentially in order to have an idea of how you calculate rent, how do you make a national income analysis where you show rent, you have to have a theory of value and price and rent is the excess of price over the actual cost value. Well, for that you need a concept of cost of production and that’s what classical economics is all about. Post-classical economics denied all of this. The whole idea of classical economics is that not all income is earned.

Landlords don’t earn their income for making rent in their sleep as John Stuart Mill said. Banks don’t earn their income by just sitting there and letting debts accrue and interest compounding and doubling. The classical economists separated actual unearned income from the production and consumption economy.

Well, around the late 19th century in America, you had economists fighting against not only Marx, but also even against Henry George, who at that time, was urging a land tax in New York. And so, at Columbia University, John Bates Clark developed a whole theory that everybody earns whatever they can get. That there was no such thing as unearned income and that has become the basis for American national income statistics and thought ever since. So, if you look at today’s GDP figures for the United States, they have a figure for 8 percent of the GDP for the homeowners’ rent. But homeowners wouldn’t pay themselves if they had to rent the apartment to themselves, then you’ll have interest at about 12 percent of GDP.

And I thought, well how can interest be so steady? What happens to all of the late fees; that 29 percent that credit card companies charge? I called up the national income people in Washington, when I was there. And they said well, late fees and penalties are considered financial services.

And so, this is what you call a service economy. Well, there’s no service in charging a late fee, but they add all of the late fees. When people can’t pay their debts and they owe more and more, all of that is considered an addition to GDP. When housing becomes more expensive and prices American labor out of the market, that’s called an increase in GDP.

This is not how a country that wants to develop is going to create a national income account. So, there’s a long discussion in China about, just to answer your question, how do you create an account to distinguish between what’s the necessary cost to production and what’s an unnecessary production cost and how do we avoid doing what the United States did. So again, no rivalry. The United States is an object lesson for China on what to avoid, not only in industrializing the economy, but in creating a picture of the economy as if everybody earns everything and there’s no exploitation, no unearned income, nobody makes money in their sleep and there’s no 1 percent. Well, that’s what’s really at issue and why the whole world is splitting apart as you and I are discussing in what we’re writing.

“When people can’t pay their debts and they owe more and more, all of that is considered an addition to GDP.”

Pepe: Thank you, Michael. Thank you very much. So just to sum it all up, can we say that Beijing’s strategy is to save especially provincial areas from leasing their land, their infrastructure for 60 years or 75 years? As you just mentioned, can we say that the fulcrum of their national strategy is what you define as the market rent tax? Is this the No. 1 mechanism that they are developing?

Michael: Ideally, they want to keep rents as low as possible because rent is a cost of living and a cost of doing business. They don’t have banks that are lending to inflate the real estate market.

However, in almost every Western country — the U.S., Germany England — the value of stocks and bonds and the value of real estate is just about exactly the same. But for China, the value of real estate is way, way larger than the value of stocks.

And the reason is not because the Chinese Central bank, the Bank of China lends for real estate; it’s because they lend to intermediaries and the intermediaries have financed a lot of housing purchases in China. And, this is really the problem for if they levy a land tax, then you’re going to make a lot of these financial intermediaries go bust.

That’s what I’m advocating, and I don’t think that’s a bad thing. These financial intermediaries shouldn’t exist, and this same issue came up in 2009 in the United States. You had the leading American bank being the most crooked and internally corrupt bank in the country, Citibank making junk mortgage, and it was broke.

Its entire net worth was wiped out as a result of its fraudulent junk mortgages. Well, Sheila Bair, the head of the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation (FDIC) wanted to close it down and take it over. Essentially that would have made it into a public bank and that would be a wonderful thing. She said, look Citibank shouldn’t be doing what it’s doing. And she wrote all this up in an autobiography. And, she was overruled by President Obama and Tim Geithner saying, but wait a minute, those are our campaign contributors. So, they were loyal to the campaign contributors, but not the voters; and they didn’t close Citibank down.

And the result is that the Federal Reserve ended up creating about $7 trillion of quantitative easing to bail out the banks. The homeowners weren’t bailed out. Ten million American families lost their homes as a result of junk mortgages in excess of what the property was actually worth.

All of this was left on the books, foreclosed and sold to private capital companies like Blackstone. And the result is that home ownership in America declined from 68 percent of the population down to about 61 percent. Well, right where the Obama administration left off, you’re about to have the Biden administration begin in January with an estimated 5 million Americans losing their homes. They’re going to be evicted because they’ve been unemployed during the pandemic. They’ve been working in restaurants or gyms or other industries that have been shut down because of the pandemic. They’re going to be evicted and many homeowners, low-income homeowners have been unable to pay their mortgages.

There’s going to be a wave of foreclosures. The question is, who’s going to bear the cost? Should it be 15 million American families who lose their homes just so the banks won’t lose money? Or should we let the banks that have made all of the growth since 2008? Ninety five percent of American GDP of the population has seen its wealth go down. All the wealth has been accumulating for the 5 percent in statistics. Now the question is should this 5 percent that’s got all the wealth lose or should the 95 percent lose?

The Biden administration says the 95 percent should lose basically. And you’re going to see a wave of closures so that the question in China should be that, these intermediate banks (they’re not really banks they are sort of like payday loan lenders), should they come in and, bear the loss or should Chinese localities and the people bear the loss? Somebody has to lose when you’re charging, you’re collecting the land’s rent that was paid to the creditors, and either the creditors have to lose or, the tax collector loses and that’s the conflict that exists in every society of the world today. And, in the West, the idea is the tax collectors should lose and whatever the tax collector relinquishes should be free for the banks to collect. In China obviously, they don’t want that to happen and they don’t want to see a financial class developing along US lines.

Pepe: Michael, there’s a quick question in all this, which is the official position by Beijing in terms of helping the localities. Their official position is that there won’t be any bailouts of local debt. How do they plan to do that?

Michael: What they’re discussing, how are you not going to do it? They think they sort of let localities go their own way. And they think, well you know which ones are going to succeed, and which ones aren’t, they didn’t want to have a one-size-fits all central planning. They wanted to have flexibility. Well, now they have flexibility. And when you have many different “let a hundred flowers bloom,” not all the flowers are going to bloom at the same rate.

And the question is, if they don’t bail out the cities, how are the cities going to operate? Certainly, China has never let markets steer the economy, the government steers the markets. That’s what socialism is as opposed to finance capitalism. So, the question is, you can let localities go broke and yet you’re not going to destroy any of the physical assets of the localities, and all of this is going to be in place. The question is how are you going to arrange the flow of income to all of these roads and buildings and land that’s in place? How do you create a system? Essentially, they’re saying well, if we’re industrial engineers, how do we just plan things? Forget credit, forget property claims, forget the rentier claims. How are we just going to design an economy that operates most efficiently? And that’s what they’re working on now to resolve this situation because it’s gotten fairly critical.

Pepe: Yes, especially in the countryside. Well, I think, a very good metaphor in terms of comparing both systems are investment in infrastructure. You travel to China a lot so, you’ve seen. You’ll travel through high-speed rail. You’ll see those fantastic airports, in Pudong or the new airport in Beijing. And then you’ll take the Acela to go from Washington to New York City, which is something that I used to do years ago. And the comparison is striking. Isn’t it?

Or if you go to France, for instance, when France started development of the TGV, which in terms of a national infrastructure network, is one of the best networks on the planet. And the French started doing this 30 years ago, even more. Is there…it’s not in terms of way out, but if we analyze the minutia, it’s obvious that following the American finance utilization system, we could never have something remotely similar happening in United States in terms of building infrastructure.

So, do you see any realistic bypass mechanism in terms of improving American infrastructure, especially in the big cities?

Michael: No, and there are two reasons for that. No. 1, let’s take a look at the long-term railroads. The railroads go through the center of town or even in the countryside, all along the railroads, the railroads brought business and all the businesses had been located as close to the railroad tracks as they could.

Factories with sightings off the railroad, hotels and especially right through the middle of town where you have the railway gates going up and down. In order to make a high-speed rail as in China, you need a dedicated roadway without trucks and cars, imagine a car going through a railway gate at 350 miles an hour.

So, when I would go from Beijing to Tianjin, here’s the high-speed rail, there’s one highway on one side, one highway on the other side. There’ll be underpasses. But there it goes straight now. How can you suppose you would have a straight Acela line from Washington up to Boston when all along the line, there’s all this real estate right along the line that has been built up? There’s no way you can get a dedicated roadway without having to tear down all of this real estate that’s on either side and the cost of making the current owners whole would be prohibitive. And anywhere you would go, that’s not in the center of the city, you would also have to have the problem that there’s already private property there.

And there’s no legal, constitutional way for such a physical investment to be made. China was able to make this investment because it was still largely rural. It wasn’t as built up along the railways. It didn’t have any particular area that was built up right where the railroad already was.

So certainly, any high-speed rail could not go where the current railways would be, and they’d have to go on somebody’s land. And, there’s also, what do you do if you want to get to New York and Long Island from New Jersey?

Sixty years ago, when I went into Wall Street, the cost of getting and transporting goods from California to Newark, New Jersey, was as large as from Newark right across the Hudson River to New York, not only because of the mafia and control of the local labor unions, but because of the tunnels. Right now, the tunnels from New Jersey to New York are broke, they are leaking, the subways in New York City, which continually break down because there was a hurricane a few years ago and the switches were made in the 1940s. The switches are 80 years old. They had water damage and the trains have to go at a crawl. But the city and state, because it is not collecting the real estate tax and other taxes and because ridership fell on the subways to about 20 percent, the city’s broke. They’re talking about 70 percent of city services being cut back. They’re talking about cutting back the subways to 40 percent capacity, meaning everybody will have to get in — when there’s still a virus and not many people are wearing masks, and there was no means of enforcing masks here.

So, there’s no way that you can rebuild the infrastructure because, for one thing the banking system here has subsidized for a hundred years junk economics saying you have to balance the budget. If the government creates credit it’s inflationary as if when banks create credit, it’s not inflationary. Well, the monetary effect is the same, no matter who creates the money. And so, Biden has already said that President Trump ran a big deficit, we’re going to run a bunch of surpluses or a budget balance. And he was advocating that all along. Essentially Biden is saying we have to increase unemployment by 20 percent, lower wages by 20 percent, shrink the economy by about 10 percent in order to, in order for the banks not to lose money.

“You’re going to price the American economy even further out of business because they say that public investment is socialism.”

And, we’re going to privatize but we are going to do it by selling the hospitals, the schools, the parks, the transportation to finance, to Wall Street finance capital groups. And so, you can imagine what’s going to happen if the Wall Street groups buy the infrastructure. They’ll do what happened to Chicago when it sold all the parking meters, they’ll say, OK, instead of 25 cents an hour, it’s now charged $3 an hour. Instead of a $2 for the subway, let’s make it $8.

You’re going to price the American economy even further out of business because they say that public investment is socialism. Well, it’s not socialism. It’s industrial capitalism. It’s industrialization, that’s basic economics. The idea of what, and how an economy works is so twisted academically that it’s the antithesis of what Adam Smith, John Stewart Mill and Marx all talked about. For them a free- market economy was an economy free of rentiers. Free of rent, it didn’t have any rent seeking. But now for the Americans, a free-market economy is free for the rentiers, free for the landlord, free for the banks to make a killing. And that is basically the class war back in business with a vengeance. That blocks and is preventing any kind infrastructure recovery. I don’t see how it can possibly take place.

Pepe: Well, based on what you just described, there is a process of turning the United States into a giant Brazil. In fact, this is what the Brazilian Finance Minister Paulo Guedes, a Pinochetista, as you know Michael, has been doing with the Brazilian economy for the past two years, privatizing everything and selling everything to big Brazilian interests and with lots of Wall Street interests involved as well. So, this is a recipe that goes all across the Global South as well. And it’s fully copied all across the Global South with no way out now.

Michael: Yes, and this is promoted by the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund. And when I was brought down to Brazil to meet with the council of economic advisers under Lula, [Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva, former president of Brazil], they said, well the whole problem is that Lula’s been obliged to let the banks do the planning.

So, basically free markets and libertarianism is adopting central planning, but with central planning by the banks. America is a much more centrally planned economy than China. China is letting a hundred flowers bloom; America has concentrated the planning and the resource allocation in Wall Street. And that’s the central planning that is much more corrosive than any government planning, could be. Now the irony is that China’s sending its students to America to study economics. And, most of the Chinese I had talked to say, well we went to America to take economics courses because that gives us a prestige here in China.

I’m working now, with Chinese groups trying to develop a “reality economics” to be taught in China as different from American economics.

“America has concentrated the planning and the resource allocation in Wall Street. And that’s the central planning that is much more corrosive than any government planning, could be.”

Pepe: Exactly, because of what they study at Beijing University, Renmin or Tsinghua is not exactly what they would study in big American universities. Probably what they study in the U.S. is what not to do in China. When they go back to China, what they won’t be doing. It’s an object lesson for what to avoid.

Michael, I’d like to go back to what the BRICS [Brazil, Russia, India, China and South Africa] had been discussing in the 2000s when Lula was still president of Brazil and many of his ideas deeply impressed, especially Hu Jintao at the time, which is bypassing the U.S. dollar. Well, at the moment obviously we’re still at 87 percent of international transactions still in U.S. dollars. So, we are very far away from it, but if you have a truly sovereign economy, which is the case of China, which we can say is the case of Russia to a certain extent and obviously in a completely different framework, Iran. Iran is a completely sovereign, independent economy from the West. The only way to try to develop different mechanisms to not fall into the rentier mind space would be to bypass the U.S. dollar.

Michael: Yes, for many reasons. For one thing the United States can simply print the dollars and lend to other countries and then say, now you have to pay us interest. Well, Russia doesn’t need American dollars. It can print its own rubles to provide labor. There’s no need for a foreign currency at all for domestic spending, the only reason you would have to borrow a foreign currency is to balance your exchange rate, or to finance a trade deficit. But China doesn’t have a trade deficit. And in fact, if China were to work to accept more dollars, Americans would love to buy into the Chinese market and make a profit there, but that would push up China’s exchange rate and that would make it more difficult for her to make its exports because the exchange rate would come up not because it’s exporting more but because it’s letting American dollars come in and push it up.

Well, fortunately, President Trump as if he works for the Chinese National Committee, said, look, we don’t want to really hurt China by pushing up its currency and we want to keep it competitive. So, I’m going to prevent American companies from lending money to China, I’m going to isolate it and so he’s helping them protect their economy. And in Russia he said, look Russia really needs to feed itself. And, there’s a real danger that when the Democrats come in, there are a lot of anti-Russians in the Biden administration. They may go to war. They may do to Russia what they tried to do to China in the ‘50s. Stop exporting food and grain. And only Canada was able to break the embargo. So, we’re going to impose sanctions on Russia. So immediately, what happened is Russia very quickly became the largest grain exporter in the world. And instead of importing cheese from the Baltics, it created its own cheese industry. So, Trump said look, I know that Russians followed the American idea of not having protective tariffs, they need protective tariffs. They’re not doing it. We’re going to help them out by just not importing from them and really helping them.

Pepe: Yeah. Michael, what do you think Black Rock wants from the Chinese? You know that they are making a few inroads at the highest levels? Of course, I’m sure you’re aware of that. And also, JP Morgan, Citibank, etc. What do they really want?

Michael: They’d like to be able to create dollars to begin to buy and make loans to real estate; let companies grow, let the real estate market grow and make capital gains.

The way people get wealthy today isn’t by making an income, it’s been by making a capital gain. Total returns are current income plus the capital gains. As for capital gains each year; the land value gains alone are larger than the whole GDP growth from year to year. So that’s where the money is, that’s where the wealth is. So, they are after speculative capital gains, they would like to push money into the Chinese stock market and real estate market. See the prices go up and then inflate the prices by buying in and then sell out at the high price. Pull the money out, get a capital gain and let the economy crash, I mean that’s the business plan.

Pepe: Exactly. But Beijing will never allow that.

Michael: Well, here’s the problem right now, they know that Biden is pushing militarily aggressive people in his cabinet. There’s one kind of overhead that China is really trying to avoid and that’s the military overhead because if you spend money on the military, you can’t spend it on the real economy. They’re very worried about the military and they say, how do we deter the Biden administration from actually trying a military adventure in the South China Sea or elsewhere? They said well, fortunately America is multi-layered. They don’t think of America as a group. They realize there’s a layer and they say, who’s going to represent our interests?

“There’s one kind of overhead that China is really trying to avoid and that’s the military overhead because if you spend money on the military, you can’t spend it on the real economy.”

Well, Blackstone and Wall Street are going to represent their interests. Then I think one of the Chinese officials last week gave a big speech on this very thing, saying look, our best hope in stopping America’s military adventurism in China is to have Wall Street acting as our support because after all, Wall Street is the main campaign contributor and the president works for the campaign contributors.

The politician works for the campaign contributors. They’re in it for the money! So fortunately, we have Wall Street on our side, we’ve got control of the political system and they’re not there to go to war so that helps explain why a month ago they let wholly-owned U.S. banks and bankers in. On the one hand, they don’t like the idea of somebody outside the government creating credit for reasons that the economy doesn’t need. If they needed it, the Bank of China would do it. They have no need for foreign currency to come in to make loans in domestic currency, out of China.

The only reason that they could do it is No. 1, it helps meet the World Trade Organization’s principles and, No. 2, especially during this formative few months of the Biden administration, it helps to have Wall Street saying; we can make a fortune in China, go easy on them and that essentially counters the military hawks in Washington.

Pepe: So, do you foresee a scenario when Black Rock starts wreaking havoc in the Shanghai stock exchange for instance?

Michael: It would love to do that. It would love to move things up and down. The money’s made by companies with the stock market going up and down; the zigzag. So of course, it wants to do a predatory zigzag. The question is whether China will impose a tax to stop this, all sorts of financial transactions. That’s what’s under discussion now. They know exactly what Black Rock wants to do because they have some very savvy billionaire Chinese advisers that are quite good. I can tell you stories, but I better not.

Pepe: Okay. If it’s not okay to tell it all, tell us part of the story then.

Michael: The American banks have been cultivating leading Chinese people by providing them enough money to make money here, that they think that, okay they will now try to make money in the same way in China and we can join in. It’s a conflict of systems again, between the finance capital system and industrial socialism. You don’t get any of this discussion in the U.S. press, which is why I read what you write because in the U.S. press, the neocons talk about the fake idea of Greek history and fake idea of the Thucydides’ problem of a country jealous of another country’s development.

There’s no jealousy between America and China. They’re different, they have their own way. We are going to destroy them. And if you look at the analogy that the Americans draw —and this is how the Pentagon thinks — with the war between Athens and Sparta. It’s hard to tell, which is which. Here you have Athens, a democracy backing other democracies and having the military support of the democracies and the military in these democracies all had to pay Athens protection money for the military support and that’s the money that Athens got to ostensibly support its navy and protection that built up all of the Athenian public buildings and everything else. So, that’s a democracy exploiting its allies, to enrich itself via the military. Then you have Sparta, which was funding all of the oligarchies, and it was helping the oligarchies overthrow democracies. Well, that was America too. So, America is both sides of the Thucydides war if the democracy is exploiting the fellow democracies and is the supporter of oligarchies in Brazil, Latin America, Africa and everyone else.

So, you could say the Thucydides problem was between two sides, two aspects of America and has nothing to do with China at all except, for the fact that the whole war was a war between economic systems. They’re acting as if somehow if only China did not export to us, we could be re-industrialized and somehow export to Europe and the Third World.

And as you and I have described, it’s over. We painted ourselves into such a debt corner that without writing down the debts, we’re in the same position that the Eurozone is in. There’s so much money that goes to the creditors to the top 1 percent or 5 percent that there is no money for capital investment, there is no money for growth. And, since 1980 as you know, real wages in America have been stable. All the growth has been in property owners and predators and the FIRE sector, the rest of the economy is in stagnation. And now the coronavirus has simply acted as a catalyst to make it very clear that the game is over; it’s time to move away from the homeowner economy to rentier economy, time for Blackstone to be the landlord. America wants to recreate the British landlord class and essentially what we’re seeing now is like the Norman invasion of England taking over the land and the infrastructure. That’s what Blackstone would love to do in China.

“There’s so much money that goes to the creditors to the top 1 percent or 5 percent that there is no money for capital investment, there is no money for growth.”

Pepe: Wow. I’m afraid that they may have a lot of leeway by some members of the Beijing leadership now, because as you know very well, it’s not a consensus in the political arena.

Michael: We’re talking about Volume II and III of Capital.

Pepe: Exactly. But you know, you were talking about debt. Coming back to that, in fact I just checked this morning, apparently global debt as it stands today is $277 trillion, which is something like 365 percent of global GDP. What does that mean in practice?

Michael: Yeah, well fortunately this is discussed in the 19th century and there was a word for that — fictitious capital — it’s a debt that can’t be paid, but you’ll keep it on the books anyway. And every country has this. You could say the question now, and The Financial Times just had an article a few days ago that China’s claims on Third World countries on the Belt and Road Initiative is fictitious capital, because how can it collect?

Well, China’s already thought of that. It doesn’t want money. It wants the raw materials. It wants to be paid in real things. But a debt that can’t be paid, can only be paid either by foreclosing on the debtors or by writing down the debts and obviously a debt that can’t be paid won’t be paid.

“Fictitious capital — it’s a debt that can’t be paid, but you’ll keep it on the books anyway. And every country has this.”

And so, you have not only Marx using the word fictitious capital. At the other end of the spectrum, you had Henry George talking about fictive capital. In other words, these are property claims that have no real capital behind them. There’s no capital that makes profit. That’s just a property claim for payment or a rentier claim for payment.

So, the question is, can you make money somehow without having any production at all, without having wages, without having profits, without any capital? Can you just have asset grabbing and buying-and-selling assets? And as long as you have the Federal Reserve in America, come in, Trump’s $10 trillion Covid program gave $2 trillion to the population at large with these $1,200 checks, that my wife and I got, and $8 trillion all just to buy stocks and bonds. None of this was to build infrastructure. None of this $8 trillion was to build a single factory. None of this 8 trillion was to employ a single worker. It was all just to support the prices of stocks and bonds, and to keep the illusion that the economy had not stopped growing. Well, it’s growing for the 5 percent. So, it’s all become fictitious. And if you look at the GDP as I said, it’s fictitious.

Pepe: And the most extraordinary thing is none of that is discussed in American media. There’s not a single word about what you would have been describing.

Michael: It’s not even discussed in academia. Our graduates at the university of Missouri at Kansas City, we’re all trained in Modern Monetary Theory. And as hired professors they have to be able to publish in the refereed journals and the refereed journals are all essentially controlled by the Chicago School. So, you have a censorship of the kind of ideas that we’re talking about. You can’t get it into the economic journals, so you can’t get it into the economics curriculum. So, where on earth are you going to get it? If you didn’t have the internet you wouldn’t be discussing at all. Most of my books sell mainly in China, more than in all the other countries put together so I can discuss these things there. I stopped publishing in orthodox journals so many years ago because it’s talking to the deaf.

“None of this $8 trillion was to build a single factory, employee, a single worker.”

Pepe: Absolutely. Yeah. Can I ask you a question about Russia, Michael? There is a raging debate in Russia for many years now between let’s say the Eurasianists and the Atlanticists. It involves of course, economic policy under Putin, industrial capitalism Russian style. The Eurasianists basically say that the central problem with Russia is how the Russian central bank is basically affiliated with all the mechanisms that you know so well, that it is an Atlanticist Trojan Horse inside the Russian economy. How do you see it?

Michael: Russia was brainwashed by the West when the Soviet Union broke up in 1991. First of all, the IMF announced in advance that there was a big meeting in Houston with the IMF and the World Bank. And the IMF published all of its reports saying, first you don’t want inflation in Russia so let’s wipe out all of the Russian savings with hyperinflation, which they did. They then said, well now to cure the hyperinflation the Russian central bank needs a stable currency and you need a backup for the currency. You will need to back it with U.S. dollars.

“Russia was brainwashed by the West when the Soviet Union broke up in 1991.”

So, from the early 1990s, as you know, labor was going unpaid. The Russian central bank could have created the rubles to pay the domestic labor and to keep the factories in place. But, the IMF advisers from Harvard said, no you’ll have to borrow U.S. dollars. I met with people from the Hermitage Fund and the Renaissance Fund and others. We had meetings and I met with the investors. Russia was paying 100 percent interest for years to leading American financial institutions for money that it didn’t need and could have created itself. Russia was so dispirited with Stalinism that, essentially, it thought the opposite of Stalinism must be what they have in America.

“…to destroy a country, you don’t need an army anymore. All you have to do is teach it American economics.”

They thought that America was going to tell it how America got rich, but America didn’t want to tell Russia how it got rich, but instead wanted to make money off Russia. They didn’t get it. They trusted the Americans. They really didn’t understand that, industrial capitalism that Marx described had metamorphosized into finance capitalism and was completely different.

And that’s because Russia didn’t charge rent, it didn’t charge interest. I gave three speeches before the Duma, urging it to impose a land tax. Some of the people I noticed, Ed Dodson was there with us and we were all trying to convince Russia, don’t let this land be privatized. If you let it be privatized, then you’re going to have such high rents and housing costs in Russia that you’re not going to be able to essentially compete for an industrial growth. Well, the politician who brought us there, Viatcheslav Zolensky was sort of maneuvered out of the election by the American advisers.

The Americans put billions of dollars into essentially financing American propagandists to destroy Russia, mainly from the Harvard Institute of International Development. And essentially, they were a bunch of gangsters and the prosecutors in Boston were about to prosecute them.

The attorney general of Boston was going to bring a big case for Harvard against the looting of Russia and the corruption of Russia. And I was asked to organize and to bring a number of Russian politicians and industrialists over to say how this destroyed everything. Well, Harvard settled out of court and essentially that made the perpetrators the leading university people up there. (I’m associated with Harvard Anthropology Department, not the Economics Department.)

So, we never had a chance to bring my witnesses, and have our report on what happened, but I published for the Russian Academy of Sciences a long study of how all of this destruction of Russia was laid out in advance at the Houston meetings by the IMF. America went to the leading bureaucrats and said; look, we can make you rich why don’t you register the factories in your own name, and if you’re registered in your own name, you know, then you’ll own it. And then you can cash out. You can essentially sell, but obviously you can’t sell to the Russians because the IMF has just wiped out all of their savings.

You can only cash out by selling to the West. And so, the Russian stock market became the leading stock market in the world from 1994 with the Norilsk Nickel and the seven bankers in the bank loans for shares deal through 1997. And, I had worked for a firm Scutter Stevens and, the head adviser, a former student of mine didn’t want to invest in Russia because she said, this is just a rip off, it’s going to crash. She was fired for not investing. They said look, we know that’s going to crash. That’s the whole idea, it’s going to crash. We can make a mint off it before the crash. And then when it crashes, we can make another mint by selling short and then all over again. Well, the problem is that the system that was put in with the privatization that’s occurred, how do you have Russia’s wealth used to develop its own industry and its own economy like China was doing. Well, China has rules for all of this, but Russia doesn’t have rules, it’s really all centralized, it’s President Putin that keeps it this way.

Well, this was the great fear of the West. When you had Mikhail Gorbachev beginning to plan to do pretty much what is done today, to restrain private capital, the IMF said hold off. We’re not going to make any loans to stabilize the Russian currency until you remove Mr. Primakov.

The U.S. said we won’t deal with Russia until you remove him. So, he was pushed out and he was probably the smartest guy at the time there. So, they thought [President Vladimir] Putin was going to be sort of the patsy. And he almost single-handedly, holding the oligarchs in and saying, look, you can keep your money as long as you do exactly what the government would do. You can keep the gains as long as you’re serving the public interest.

But none of this resulted into a legal system, a tax system, and a system where the government actually does get most of the benefits. Russia could have emerged in 1990 as one the most competitive economies in Eurasia by giving all of the houses to its people instead of giving Norilsk Nickel and the oil companies to Yukos. It could have given everybody their own house and their own apartment, the same thing in the Baltics. And instead it didn’t give the land out to the people. And Russians were paying 3 percent of their income for housing in 1990. And rent is the largest element in every household’s budget.

“Russia could have emerged in 1990 as one the most competitive economies in Eurasia by giving all of the houses to its people.”

So, Russia could have had low-price labor. It could have financed all of its capital investment for the government by taxing, collecting the rising rental value. Instead, Russian real estate was privatized on credit and it was even worse in the Baltics.

In Latvia, where I was research director for the Riga Graduate School of Law, Latvia borrowed primarily from Swedish banks. And so, in order to buy a house, you had to borrow from Swedish banks. And they said, well, we’re not going to lend in the Latvian currency because it can go down. So, you have a choice; Swiss Francs or German Marks or U.S. Dollars. And so, all of this rent was paid in foreign currency. There came an outflow that essentially drained all the Baltic economies. Latvia lost 20 percent of its population. Estonia and Lithuania followed suit.

And of course, the worst hit by neo-liberalism was Russia. As you know, President Putin said that neo-liberalism cost Russia more of its population than World War II. And you know that to destroy a country, you don’t need an army anymore. All you have to do is teach it American economics.

Pepe: Yes, I remember well, I arrived in Russia in the winter of 91 coming from China. So, I transited from the Chinese miracle. In fact, a few days after Deng Xiaoping’s famous Southern tour when he went to Guangzhou and Shenzhen. And that was the kick for the 1990s boom, in fact a few years before the handover, and then I took the Trans-Siberian and I arrived in Moscow a few days after the end, in fact, a few weeks after the end of the Soviet Union.

But yeah, I remember the Americans arrived almost at the exact minute, wasn’t it, Michael? I think they already were there in the spring of 1992. If I’m not mistaken.

Michael: The Houston meeting was in 1990. But all before that already in, 1988 and 1989, there was a huge outflow of embezzlement money via Latvia. The assistant dean of the university who ended up creating Nordex, essentially the money was all flying out because Ventspils in Latvia, was where Russian oil was exported and it was all fake invoicing. So, the Russian kleptocrats basically made their money off false export invoicing, ostensibly selling it for one price and having the rest paid abroad and, this was all organized through Latvia and the man who did it later moved to Israel and finally gave a billion dollars back to Russia so that he went on to live safely for the rest of his life in Israel.

Pepe: Well, the crash of the ruble in 1998 was what, roughly one year after the crash of the baht and the whole Asian financial crisis, no? It was interlinked of course, but let me see if I have a question for you, in fact, I’m just thinking out loud now. If the economies of Southeast Asia and Northeast Asia, the case of South Korea and Russia, were more integrated at the time as they are trying to integrate now, do you think that the Asian financial crisis would have been preventable in 1997?

Michael: Well, look at what happened in Malaysia with Mohammad Mahathir. Malaysia avoided it. So of course, it was preventable, and they had the capital controls. All you would have needed was to do what Malaysia did. But you needed an economic theory for that.

And essentially the current mode of warfare is to conquer the brains of a country to shape how people think and how they perceive the economy. And if you can twist their view into an unreality economics, where they think that you’re there to help them not to take money out of them, then you’ve got them hooked. That was what happened in Asia. Asia thought it was getting rich off the dollars inflows and then the IMF and all the creditors pulled the plug, crash the industry. And now that all of a sudden you had a crash, they bought up Korean industry and other South Asian industries at giveaway prices.

That’s what you do. You lend the money; you pull the plug. You then let them go under and you pick up the pieces. That’s what Blackstone did after the Obama depression began, when Obama saved the banks, not the constituency, the mortgage borrowers. Essentially that’s Blackstone’s modus operandi to pick up distressed prices at a bankruptcy sale, but you need to lend money and then crash it in order to make that work.

Pepe: Michael, I think we have only five minutes left. So, I would expect you to go on a relatively long answer and I’m really dying for it. It’s about debt, it about the debt trap. And it’s about the New Silk Roads, the Belt and Road Initiative, because I think rounding up our discussion and coming back to the theme of debt and global debt.

The No. 1 criticism apart from the demonization of China that you hear from American media and a few American academics as well against the Belt and Road is that it’s creating a debt trap for Southeast Asian nations, Central Asian nations and nations in Africa, etc…. Obviously, I expect you to debunk that, but the framework is there is no other global development project as extensive and as complex as Belt and Road, which as you know very well was initially dreamed up by the Ministry of Commerce. Then they sold it more or less to Xi Jinping who got the geopolitical stamp on it, announcing it, simultaneously, (which was a stroke of genius) in Central Asia in Astana and then in Southeast Asia in Jakarta. So, he was announcing the overland corridors through the heartland and the Maritime Silk Road at the same time.

At the time people didn’t see the reach and depth of all that. And now of course, finally the Trump administration woke up and saw what was in play, not only across Eurasia but reaching Africa and even selected parts of Latin America as well. And obviously the only sort of criticism, and it’s not even a fact-based criticism, that I’ve seen about the Belt and Road is it’s creating a debt trap because as you know Laos is indebted, Sri Lanka is indebted, Kyrgyzstan is indebted etc. So, how do you view Belt and Road within the larger framework of the West and China, East Asia and Eurasia relations? And how would you debunk misconceptions created, especially in the U S that this is a debt trap.

Six proposed corridors of Belt and Road Initiative, showing Italy inside circle, on maritime blue route. (Lommes, CC BY-SA 4.0, Wikimedia Commons)

Michael: There are two points to answer there. The first is how the Belt and Road began. And as you pointed out, the Belt and Road began, when China said, what is it we need to grow and how do we grow within our neighboring countries so we don’t have to depend upon the West, and we don’t have to depend on sea trade that can be shut down? How do we get to roads instead of seas in a way that we can integrate our economy with the neighboring economies so that there can be mutual growth?

So, this was done pretty much on industrial engineering grounds. Here’s where you need the roads and the railroads. And then how do we finance it? Well, The Financial Times article, last week, said didn’t the Chinese know that [with past] railroad development, they’ve all gone broke? The Panama Canal went broke, you know, the first few times there were European railway investment in Latin America in the 19th century, that all went broke.

Well, what they don’t get is China’s aim was not to make a profit off the railroads.

The railroads were built to be part of the economy. They don’t want to make profit. It was to make the real economy grow, not to make profits for the owners of the railroad stocks. The Western press can’t imagine that you’re building a railroad without trying to make money out of it.

Then you get to the debt issue.

Countries only have a debt crisis if their debt is in a foreign currency. The first way that the United States gained power was to fight against its allies. The great enemy of America was England and it made the British block their currency in the 1940s. And so, India and other countries, that had all these currencies holdings in sterling, were able to convert it all into dollars.

The whole move of the U.S. was to denominate world debt in dollars. So that No. 1, U.S. banks would end up with the interest in financing the debt. And No. 2, the United States could, by using the debt leverage, control domestic politics.

Well, as you’re seeing right now in Argentina, for instance, Argentina is broke because it owes foreign-dollar debt. When I started the first Third World bond fund in 1990 at Scutter Stevens, Brazil and China and Argentina were paying 45 percent interest per year, 45 percent per year in dollars debt. Yet we tried to sell them in America. No American would buy. We went to Europe, no European buy this debt. And so, we worked with Merrill Lynch and Merrill Lynch was able to make an offshore fund in the Dutch West Indies and all of the debt was sold to the Brazilian ruling class in the central bank and the Argentinian bankers in the ruling class, we thought oh, that’s wonderful.

We know that they’re going to pay the foreign Yankee Dollars debt because the Yankee Dollars debt is owed to themselves. They’re the Yankees! They’re the client oligarchy. And you know, from Brazil client oligarchy is, you know, they’re cosmopolitan, that’s the word. So, the problem is that on the Belt and Road, how did these other countries pay the debt to China?

Well, the key there again is the de-dollarization, and one way to solve it is since we’re trying to get finance out of the picture, we’re doing something very much like, Japan did with Canada in the 1960s. It made loans to develop Canadian copper mines taking its payment, not in Canadian dollars, that would have pushed up the yen’s exchange rate, but in copper.

So, China says, you know you don’t have to pay currency for this debt. We didn’t build a railroad to make a profit and you want, we can print all the currency we want. We don’t need to make a profit. We made the Belt and Road because it’s part of our geopolitical attempt to create what we need to be prosperous and have a prosperous region. So, these are self-reinforcing mutual gain. Well, so that’s what the West doesn’t get — mutual gain? Are we talking anthropology? What do you mean mutual? This is capitalism! So, the West doesn’t understand what the original aim of the Belt and Road was, and it wasn’t to make a profitable railroad to enable people to buy and sell railway stocks. And it wasn’t to make toll roads to sell off to Goldman Sachs, you know. We’re dealing with two different economic systems, and it’s very hard for one system to understand the other system because of the tunnel vision that you get when you get a degree in economics.

“We’re dealing with two different economic systems, and it’s very hard for one system to understand the other system because of the tunnel vision that you get when you get a degree in economics.”

Pepe: Belt and Road loans are long-term and at very low interest and they are renegotiable. They are renegotiating with the Pakistanis all the time for instance.

Michael: China’s intention is not to repeat an Asia crisis of 1997. It doesn’t gain anything by forcing a crisis because it’s not trying to come in and buy property at a discount at a distressed sale. It has no desire to create a distressed sale. So obviously, the idea is the capacity to pay. Now, this whole argument occurred in the 1920s, between [John Maynard] Keynes and his opponents that wanted to collect German reparations and, Keynes made it very clear. What is the capacity to pay? It’s the ability to export and the ability to obtain foreign currency. Well, China’s not looking for foreign currency. It is looking for economic returns but the return is to the whole society, the return isn’t from a railroad. The return is for the entire economy because it’s looking at the economy as a system.

The way that neoliberalism works, it divides the economy in parts, and it makes every part trying to make a gain, and if you do that, then you don’t have any infrastructure that’s lowering the cost for the other parts. You have every part fighting for itself. You don’t look at in terms of a system the way China’s looking at it. That’s the great advantage of Marxism, you’ll look at the system, not just the parts.

Pepe: Exactly and this is at the heart of the Chinese concept of a community with a shared future for mankind, which is the approximate translation from Mandarin. So, we compare community with a shared future for mankind, which is, let’s say the driving force between the idea of Belt and Road, expanded across Eurasia, Africa and Latin America as well with our good old friends’, “greed is good” concept from the eighties, which is still ruling America apparently.

Michael: And the corollary is that non-greed is bad.

Pepe: Exactly and non-greed is evil.

Michael: I see. I think we ran out of time. I do. I don’t know if Alanna wants to step in to wrap it up.

Michael: There may be somebody who has a question.

Pepe: Somebody has a question? That’ll be fantastic.

Alanna: There is a question from Ed Dodson. He wanted to know why there are these ghost cities in China? And who’s financing all this real estate that’s developed, but nobody’s living there? We’ve all been hearing about that. So, what is happening with that?

Michael: Okay. China had most of its population living in the countryside and it made many deals with Chinese landholders who have land rights, and they said, if you will give up your land right to the community, we will give you free apartment in the city that you could rent out.

So, China has been building apartments in cities and trading these basically in exchange to support what used to be called a rural exodus. China doesn’t need as many farmers on the land as it now has, and the question is how are you going to get them into cities? So, China began building these cities and many of these apartments are owned by people who’ve got them in exchange for trading their land rights. The deals are part of the rural reconstruction program.

Alanna: Do you think it was a good deal? Vacant apartments everywhere.

Pepe: You don’t have ghost cities in Xinjiang for instance, Xinjiang is under-populated, it’s mostly desert. And it’s extremely sensitive to relocate people to Xinjiang. So basically, they concentrated on expanding Urumqi. When you arrive in Urumqi it is like almost like arriving in, Guangzhou. It’s enormous. It’s a huge generic city in the middle of the desert. And it’s also a high-tech Mecca, which is something that very few people in the West know. And is the direct link between the eastern seaboard via Belt and Road to Central Asia.

Last year I was on an amazing trip. I went to the three borders, the Tajik-Xinjiang border, Kyrgiz-Xinjiang border and the Kazakh-Xinjiang border, which is three borders in one. It’s a fascinating area to explore and specially to talk to the local populations, the Kyrgiz, the Kazakhs and the Tajiks.

How do they see the Belt and Road directly affecting their lives from now on?

So, you don’t see something spectacular for instance, in the Xinjiang – Kazakh boarder, there is one border for the trucks, lots of them like in Europe, crossing from all points, from Central Asia to China and bringing Chinese merchandise to Central Asia.

There’s the train border, which is a very simple two tracks and the pedestrian border, which is very funny because you have people arriving in buses from all parts of Central Asia. They stop on the Kazakh border. They take a shuttle, they clear customs for one day, they go to a series of shopping malls on the Chinese side of the border. They buy like crazy, shop till it drops, I don’t know for 12 hours? And then they cross back the same day because the visa is for one day. They step on their buses and they go back.

So, for the moment it’s sort of a pedestrian form of Belt and Road, but in the future, we’re going to have high-speed rail. We’re going to have, well the pipelines are already there as Michael knows, but it’s fascinating to see on the spot. You see the closer integration; you see for instance Uyghurs traveling back and forth. You know, Uyghurs that have families in Kyrgizstan for instance, I met some Uyghurs in Kyrgyzstan who do the back-and-forth all the time. And they said, there’s no problem. They are seen as businessmen so there’s no interference. There are no concentration camps involved, you know, but you have to go to these places to see how it works on the ground and with Covid, that’s the problem for us journalists who travel, because for one year we cannot go anywhere and Xinjiang was on my travel list this year, Afghanistan as well, Mongolia.

These are all parts of Belt and Road or future parts of Belt and Road, like Afghanistan. The Chinese and the Russians as well; they want to bring Afghanistan in a peace process organized by Asians themselves without the United States, within the Shanghai Cooperation Organization, because they want Afghanistan to be part of the intersection of Belt and Road and Eurasian Economic Union. This is something Michael knows very well. You don’t see this kind of discussions in the American media for instance, integration of Eurasia on the ground, how it’s actually happening.

Michael: That’s called cognitive dissonance.

Alanna: To try to understand it gets you cognitive dissonance.

Pepe: Oh yeah, of course. And obviously you are a Chinese agent, a Russian agent. And so, I hear that all the time. Well, in our jobs we hear that all the time. Especially, unfortunately from our American friends.

Alanna: Okay. I know you have other things to do. This has been fabulous. I want to thank you so much, both of you, uh, with so easy to get attendance for this webinar. There were 20 people in five minutes enrolled and in two days we were at capacity. So, I know there are many more people who would love to hear you talk another time, whenever you two are so willing. And I think you both got much out of your first conversation in person. Everybody listening knows these two wonderful gentlemen, they have written more than 10 books, and they have traveled all over the world. They are on the top of geopolitical and geoeconomic analysis, and they are caring, loving people. So, you can see that these are the people we need to be listening to and understanding all around the world.

This was part ONE.

Now for the follow up; part TWO…

INDISPENSABLE READS: In Quest of a Multi-Polar World

March 29, 2021

Michael Hudson and Pepe Escobar resume their conversation about a global monetary system that appears headed for divorce.

“Free market meant giving power to the monopolists, to the oppressors, to violence. A free market was where armies can come in, take over your country, impose a client dictatorship like [Gen. Augusto] Pinochet in Chile or the neo-Nazis in the Ukraine. And you call that a free market…”

Read Part One of this conversation.

Pepe Escobar in conversation with Michael Hudson
At The Henry George School of Social Science

Michael Hudson: Fifty ago, I wrote Super Imperialism about basically how America dominates the world financially and gets a free ride.

I wrote it right after America went off gold in 1971, when the Vietnam War, which was responsible for the entire balance of payments deficit, forced the country to go off gold. And everybody at that time worried the dollar was going to go down. There’d be hyperinflation. And what happened was something entirely different.

Once there was no gold, America strong-armed its allies to invest in U.S. Treasury bonds because their central banks don’t buy companies. They don’t buy raw materials. All they could buy is other central bank’s treasury bonds. So, all of a sudden, the only thing that other people could buy with all the dollars coming in were U.S. Treasury securities.

And the securities they bought essentially were to finance yet more war making and the balance of payments deficit from war and the 800 military bases America has around the world. And the largest customer, I think we discussed it before, are the Defense Department and the CIA that looked at it [Super Imperialism] as a how-to-do it book. Well, that was 50 years ago.

And what I’ve done is not only re-edit the book and add more information that’s come out, but I’ve picked up the last 50 years and how it’s absolutely transformed the whole world. And it’s a new kind of imperialism.

There was still a view 50 years ago that imperialism was [essentially] economic. And this is the view that there’s still a rivalry for instance, between America and China or America and Europe and other countries.

But I think the whole world has changed so much in the last 50 years that what we have now is not really so much a conflict between America and China or America and Russia, but between a financial system economy run by finance and an economy run by governments — democratic or less democratic, but certainly a mixed economy.

Well, everything that made industrial capitalism rich, everything that made America so strong in the 19th century, through its protective tariffs, through its public infrastructure investment all the way down through World War II and the aftermath. We had a mixed economy in America, and that was very balanced. Europe had a mixed economy. Every economy since Babylon and Rome has been a mixed economy, but in America you’ve had since 1980 something entirely different. That was not foreseen by anybody because it seemed to be so disruptive.

And what that was, was the financial sector saying we need liberty and by liberty, meaning we have to take planning and subsidy and economic policy and tax policy out of the hands of government. And put it in the hands of Wall Street.

And so, libertarianism and free market is a centralized economy that is centralized in the hands of the financial centers, Wall Street, the City of London, the Paris Bourse. And what you’re having today is the attempt of the financial sector to take the role that the landlord class had in Europe, from feudal times through the 19th century. It’s a kind of resurgence.

If you look at the whole last 200 years of economic theory — from Adam Smith and, Henry George and Marx, onward — the whole idea was that everybody expected a mixed economy to become more and more productive and to free itself from the landlords, to free itself from banking to make land a public utility.

That was the tax base to make finance basically something public, and government would decide who gets the funding and thus, the idea of finance in the public sector was going to be pretty much what it is in China. You create bank credit in order to finance capital investment in factories. It means the production of machinery, agricultural modernization, of transport, infrastructure of high-speed trains of ports and all of that.

But in the United States and England, you have finance becoming something completely different. Banks don’t lend money to factories. They don’t want money to make means of production. They make money to take over other assets. Eighty percent of bank loans are mortgage loans to transfer the ownership of real estate. And of course that’s what created a middle class in the United States.

The middle class was able to buy its own housing, it didn’t have to pay rent to landlords or absentee owners or warlords and their descendants in England and Europe. They could buy their own. What nobody realized is that if you borrowed the money to take a mortgage, there’s still an economic rental value that is not paid to the landlords. It’s paid to the banks. And so, in the Western civilizations in America and Europe, the banks have played the role that the landlords played a hundred years ago.

And just as the landlord is trying to do everything they could through the House of Lords in England and the upper houses of government in Europe, they’re trying to block any kind of democratic government. And the fight really is against government that would do anything that is not controlled by the 1 percent, by the banks. Essentially the merger between finance insurance and real estate; the FIRE sector. So, you have almost a relapse of capitalism in the West back into feudalism, but feudalism with a financialized twist much more than it was in medieval times.

The fight against China, the fear of China is that you can’t do to China, what you did to Russia. America would love for there to be a [former Russian President Boris] Yeltsin figure in China to say, just give all of the railroads that you’ve built, the high-speed rail, the wealth, all the factories to individuals. And let the individuals run everything and, then we’ll lend them the money, or we’ll buy them out and then we can control them financially.

And China’s not letting that happen. And Russia stopped that from happening. And the fury in the West is that somehow, the American financial system is unable to take over foreign resources, foreign agriculture. It is left only with military means of grabbing them as we are seeing in the near East. And you’re seeing in the Ukraine right now.

Pepe Escobar: Well, as an introduction, Michael that was perfect because now we have the overall framework — geo-economic and historically — at least for the past 70 years.

I have a series of questions for you. I was saving one of these for the end, but I think I should start really the Metallica way. Let’s go heavy metal for a start, right?

So considering what you describe as a new kind of imperialism and the fact that this sort of extended free lunch cannot apply anymore because sovereigns around the world, especially Russia and China, I tried to formulate the idea that there are only three real sovereign powers on the planet, apart from the hegemon; Russia, China, and Iran, these three, which happen to be the main hub and the main focus of not only of the New Silk Roads but of the Eurasia integration process, they are actively working for some sort of change of the rules that predominated for the past 70 years.

So my first question to you would be, do you see any realistic possibility of a, sort of a Bretton Woods 2.0, which would imply the end of the dollar hegemony as we know it, and petrodollar recycling on and on and on, with the very important presence of that oily hacienda in the lands of Arabia. And do you think this is possible considering that President [Vladimir] Putin himself only a few days ago reiterated once again that the U.S. is no longer agreement- capable? So that destroys already the possibility of the emergence of the new rules of the game. But do you think this is still realistically possible?

Michael: I certainly do not see any repetition of a Bretton Woods because as I described in Super Imperialism, the whole of Bretton Woods was designed to make American control over Britain, over Europe total. Bretton Woods was a U.S.-centered system to prevent England from maintaining its empire. That’s okay. To prevent France from maintaining its empire and for America to take over the sterling area and, essentially with the World Bank, to prevent other countries from becoming independent and feeding themselves, to make sure that they supported plantation agriculture, not land reform. The one single fight of the World Bank was to prevent land reform and to make sure that America, and foreign investors, would take over the agriculture of these countries.

And very often people think of capitalism, certainly in the sense that Marx described in Volume One, capitalism is the exploitation of wage labor by employers. But capitalism also is an appropriation of the land rent, the agricultural rent, the natural resource rent, the oil and the mineral rent. And the idea of Bretton Woods was to make sure that other countries could not impose capital controls to prevent American finance coming in and appropriating their resources, of making the loans to foreign governments so that governments would not create their own money to promote their own social development but would have to borrow from the World Bank and the IMF, which essentially meant from the Pentagon and the State Department, in U.S. dollars.

And they would dollarize their economies and the economies would all be sucked. The economic rents from oil, agriculture, mining would all be sucked into the United States. That kind of Bretton Woods cannot be done again. And since Bretton Woods was an idea of centralizing the world’s economic surplus in a single country, the United States, no, that can never be done again.

What is happening? You mentioned the world of free, free lunch, and that’s what was a theme of Super Imperialism, when America issues dollars, for these all end up in central banks and they hold the dollars as a surplus. That means what can they do? All they can do is really lend them to the United States. America got a free lunch. It could spend and spend on its military, on bumping up corporate takeovers of other countries. The dollars have come in and foreign countries couldn’t cash them in for gold. They had nothing to cash them into. And all they could do is finance the U.S. budget deficit by buying Treasury bills.

That’s the irony now, what has happened in the last few years in the fight against Russia and China is America has killed the free lunch because it said, okay, now we’re going to have sanctions against Russia and China. We’re going to all of a sudden grab whatever money you have in foreign banks like we grabbed Venezuela’s money. Let’s go, we’re going to excommunicate you from the bank clearing system. So, you can’t use banking. We’re going to put sanctions against banks that deal with you.

So obviously Russia and China said, okay, we can’t deal with the dollar anymore, because the United States just crammed them. And if we do have dollars, we’re just going to hold everything in reserves and lending to the United States, the dollars that it’s going to spend building more military bases around us to make us waste our money on monetary spending. And so, America itself by the way, in fighting against China and Russia, has ended the free lunch.

“In America you’ve had since 1980 something entirely different. That was not foreseen by anybody because it seemed to be so disruptive.”

And now, Russia and China as you pointed out, are de-dollarizing, they’re trading in each other’s currency. They’re being the exact opposite of everything that Bretton Woods tried to create. They’re trying to create independence from the United States.

If Bretton Woods is this dependence on the United States, a centralized system dependent ultimately on Wall Street financial planners then, what China and Russia are trying to create is an economy that’s not run by the financial sector, but it is run by, let’s say, industrial and economic engineering and saying, what kind of an economy do we need in order to raise living standards and wages and self-sufficiency and preserve the environment, what is needed for the ideal world that we want?

Well, in order to do that, you’re going to have to have a lot of infrastructure. And in America, infrastructure is all privatized. You have to make a profit. And once you have infrastructure, a railroad or electric utility, like you see in Texas recently, it’s a monopoly. Infrastructure, for 5,000 years, Europe, the near East, Asia was always kept in the public domain that goes, if you’ll give it to private owners, they’ll charge a monopoly rent.

Well, the idea that China has is, “OK, we’re going to provide the educational system freely and let everybody try to get an education.” In America if you have an education, you have to go into debt for the banks for between $50,000 and $200,000. And whatever you make you’re going to end up paying the bank while in China, if you give free education, the money that they earned from the education will be spent into the economy, buying the goods and services that they produce, and the economy will be expanding, not shrinking, not having it all sucked out into the financial banks that are financing the education, same thing with the railroads, same things with the healthcare.

If you provide healthcare freely then the employers do not have to pay for the healthcare because that’s provided freely. In the United States, if the corporation and the employees have to pay for healthcare, that means that the employees have to be paid a much higher wage in order to afford the healthcare, in order to afford the transportation that gets him to work, in order to afford the auto loans, in order to drive to work, all of this is free, or subsidized in other countries, who create their own credit.

In the United States and Europe, governments feel that they have to borrow from the wealthy people in a bond and pay interest. In China they say, “we don’t have to borrow from a wealthy class. We can simply print the money.” That’s Modern Monetary Theory. As Donald Trump has explained in the United States, we can print whatever we want. Dick Cheney said, deficits don’t matter. We can just print it. And of course, Stephanie Kelton and my colleagues in MMT at Kansas City for many years have been saying.

“The economy has been saturated and Reaganized and the result is a fight of economic systems against China and Russia.”

The banks fear this because they say, “Wait a minute, Modern Monetary Theory means it’s not feudal monetary theory. We want feudal monetary theory. We want the rich people to be able to have a choke point on the economy that you can’t survive unless you borrow from us and pay us interest. We want the choke points.” That’s called economic rent.

And so, you have the West turning into a rent-extractive economy, a rent-seeking economy. And you’ll have the whole ideal of Russia, China, and other countries being the ideal of not only Marx, but Adam Smith, John Stuart Mill, Ricardo. The whole of classical economics was to free economies from economic rent. And the American economy is all about extracting rent through the real estate sector, the financial sector, the health insurance sector, the monopolies and infrastructure sector.

The economy has been saturated and Reaganized and the result is a fight of economic systems against China and Russia. So, it’s not simply that, there’s a fight between who makes the best computer chips and the best iPhones. It’s: are we going to have a fallback of civilization back into feudalism, back into control by a narrow class at the top of the economy, that 1 percent? Or are we going to have the ideal of democratic industrialization that used to be called socialism but it was also called capitalism. Industrial capitalism was socialism; it was socialized medicine, it was socialized infrastructure, it was socialized schooling. And so, the fight against socialism is a fight against industrial capitalism, a fight against democracy, a fight against prosperity.

[See previous coverage: The Consequences of Moving from Industrial to Financial Capitalism]

That’s why what you’re seeing now is a fight for what direction civilization will go into. And you can’t have a Bretton Woods for a single kind of organization because the United States would never join that civilization. The United States calls a country trying to make its labor force prosperous, educated and healthy instead of sick with shorter lifespans, they call it communism or socialism.

Well, it can call it whatever it wants, but that’s the dynamic we are talking about.

Pepe: Well, you put it very, I would say starkly. The opposition between two completely different systems, what the Chinese are proposing, including, from productive capitalism to trade and investment all across Eurasia and beyond, including Africa, parts of Latin America as well. And the rentier obsession of the 0.01 percent that controls the U.S. financial system. In terms of facts on the ground, are we going slowly but surely and ominously towards an absolute divorce by a system based on rentier, ultra-financialization, which is the American system, not productive capitalism at all.

I was going through a small list of what the U.S. exports, it’s not much as you know, better than I do. Agricultural products but always privileging U.S. farmers. Hollywood, we are all hostages of Hollywood all over the world. Pop culture? That’s not the pop culture that used to be absolutely impregnable and omniscient during the ‘60s, the 70s, during the Madonna, Michael Jackson era in the ‘80s, right? Infotech. And that’s where a big bet comes in. And this is maybe the most important American export at the moment because American Big Tech controls social networks all over the planet. Big Pharma. Now we see the power of Big Pharma with the whole Covid operations, right? But Boeing prefers to invest in financial engineering instead of building decent products. Right?

So, in terms of a major superpower, the hyperpower, that’s not much, and obviously buyers all over the world already noticed that. So, China is proposing the New Silk Roads, which is a foreign-policy strategy, and a trade, investment and sustainable development strategy. [It’s] applied not only to the whole of Eurasia, but Eurasia and beyond to grow a great deal of the Global South and that’s why we have Global South partners to the New Silk Roads — 130-and-counting as we speak.

So, the dichotomy could not be clearer. What will the 0.001 percent do? Because they don’t have anything seductive to sell. To all those nations in the Global South to start with; the new version of the Non-Aligned Movement, NAM, the countries that are already part of New Silk Road projects, not even to Europe and this, we could see by the end of last year when the China-European Union agreement was more or less sealed. It’s probably going to be sealed in 2021 for good.

And at the same time, we had the Regional Economic Comprehensive Partnership, RCEP, with the ASEAN 10, my neighbors here, the Association of South East Asian Nations, China, Japan, South Korea, Australia, and New Zealand. So, when you have the China-EU deal, and when you have RCEP, you have China as the number one trade partner on the planet, no competition whatsoever.

And obviously every one of these players wants to do business with China. And they’re privileging doing business with China to doing business with the U.S., especially with a country that once again, according to President Putin, is non-agreement capable. So, Michael, what is your key geo-economic view of the next steps? Are we going towards the divorce of the American financialization system and the Eurasia-and-beyond integration system?

Michael: Well, you you’ve made the whole point clear. There is incompatibility between a rentier society controlled by the finance and real estate interests and military interests and an industrial democracy.

Industry in England and Europe in the 19th century — the whole fight for democratic reform to increase the role of the House of Commons against the House of Lords in England and the lower house in Europe — was a fight to get labor on the side of industry [and] to get rid of the landlord class. And it was expected that … capitalism [would then be] free of the landlord class, free of something that wasn’t really capitalism at all, it was a carry-over from feudalism. Once you free capitalism, you wouldn’t have this overhead of the idle 1 percent, only consuming resources and going to war, anymore.

And then World War I changed all of that . … Already, in the late 19th century, the landlords and the banks fought back, and they fought back largely through the Austrian School of individualism and the English marginalist and they called it freedom. They call it free markets. Free market meant giving power to the monopolists, to the oppressors, to violence. A free market was where armies can come in, take over your country, impose a client dictatorship like [Gen. Augusto] Pinochet in Chile or the neo-Nazis in the Ukraine. And you call that a free market.

The free world was a world centrally planned by the American military and finance together. So, it’s Orwellian, and the dynamic of this world is shrinking because it’s polarizing and you’ve seen with the Covid pandemic in the United States, the economy has polarized much more sharply than ever before between the 1 percent, the 10 percent and the rest of the economy.

Well, as opposed to that here, you have economies that are not run by a rentier class, that do not have a banking class and the landlord class controlling the economy, but a partnership. The kind of thing you had in Germany in the late 19th century, government industry and labor, all working together to design how we provide the financing for industry so that it can provide not only industrial capital formation, but public funding for us to build infrastructure and uplift the population.

What China is doing is what made America rich in the 19th century, what made Germany rich. It’s exactly the same logical engineering plan. Now, this plan because it’s based on economic expansion, and environmental preservation and economic balance instead of concentration, this is going to be a growing economy. So, you’re having a growing economy outside of the United States and a shrinking economy in the States and its satellites in Europe.

“What China is doing is what made America rich in the 19th century, what made Germany rich.”

Europe had a choice; either it could shrink, and be American, or it could join the growth. Europe has decided unanimously, we don’t want to grow. We want to be constant. We want our banks to take over just like in America. That’s a free market because Americans have found out, and I’m told by American officials we just buy the European politicians, they’re bribable. That’s why when president Putin says, America and Europe are not agreement capable, it means they’re just in it for the money. There is no ideology there. There is no idea of the overall social benefit. The system is “how can I get rich, and you can get rich by being bribed?” That’s why you go into politics. As you can tell in America with the Supreme Court law saying politics can be personally financed.

So, you’re having two incompatible systems and, they’re on different trajectories and if you have a system that is shrinking like the West and growing in the East, you have resentment. People who obtain their wealth in crooked ways, or without working — by inheritance, by crime, by exploitation — they will fight like anything to keep that. Whereas people who actually create wealth, labor, capital, they, they’re not willing to fight, they just want to be creative. So you have a destructive military force, in the West. And, basically a productive, economic growth force. And in Eurasia, the clash now is occurring largely in Ukraine. You’re having the United States back the neo-Nazis.

Pepe: The old Nazi movement!

Michael: It’s the same swastika-carrying group that threatened Russia in World War II. And this is like waving a red flag before a bull. Putin continues to remind the Russians. We know what happened with the 22 million Russians that died, in World War II with Europe coming in. We’re not going to let it happen again.

And you can be certain Russia is not going to be sucked into invading the Ukraine. The United States has its military advisers in the Ukraine. Now, the Vineyard of the Saker has a very good report on that. America’s trying to needle Russia into fighting back against the terrorist groups and Russia has no desire at all to. There’s nothing that Russia has to gain by taking it over. It’s essentially a bankrupt country.

The United States is trying to provoke a response so it can say Russia is attacking the West. The result will probably be that Russia will very simply provide arms to the Eastern Ukrainians to fight back the invasion. And you’re going to have a wasteland in Western Ukraine and Poland. And this wasteland will be the new buffer state with Europe. Already you have, maybe 10 percent of the Ukrainians having moved to Russia and the east. [Another] 10 percent are now plumbers in England and Europe, working. They’re beginning to look like Latvia and other neo-liberalized countries. Neo-liberalized countries? If you want to see the future, look at Latvia, Estonia. Look at Greece. That’s the American plan. Essentially, an emigration of skilled labor, a sharp reduction of living standards, a 20 percent decline in population. And although it may appear to have more income, all of this income and GDP is, essentially, interest collection and rents to the FIRE sector.

All the American GDP growth is essentially payment to the bank, to the landlords and the monopolist, it’s not, the population, the employees are not sharing in the GDP. It’s all concentrated at the top. They make a desert, and they call it growth.

It hasn’t changed. Rome was a predatory economy held by military force that ultimately collapsed and America is on the same trajectory as Rome. And it knows this, I have spoken to American policymakers and they say, “you know, we we’re going to be dead by then. It doesn’t matter if the West loses. I’m going to get rich. I’m going to buy a farm in New Zealand and make a big bomb shelter there and live underground, you know, like a cave dweller.”

The financial time frame and the predatory rentier time frame is short term. The Eurasian time frame is long-term. So, you’ve got to have the short-term burning what wealth it has as opposed to the longer-term building up.

[Consider the Biden Covid relief measure.] They call it a stimulus bill, but if you’re starving, if you haven’t been able to pay your rent, if you’re six months behind in your rent and you get enough money to pay the landlord, at least one month back rent, that’s not a stimulus, that’s a survival. And it’s a one-time payment. This kind of stimulus checks that America’s sending out are sent out every month in Germany and parts of Europe.

“All the American GDP growth is essentially payment to the bank, to the landlords and the monopolist.”

The whole idea in Europe is: OK, you have a pandemic, you have business interrupted. What we’re going to do is we’re going to have a pause. You don’t pay the rent, but the landlords are not going to pay the banks. And the banks are not going to be in arrears. We’re just going to have a pause so that when it’s all over people will go back to normal. Well, China and Russia are already pretty much there and where you are [in Asia], and especially in Thailand, are already back to normal.

But in America anybody who’s renting or who’s bought a house on mortgage credit or who has credit card debt or personal debt or automobile debt they’re way behind. And all of these stimulus checks are just being used to pay the banks and the landlords not to not to buy more goods and services.

All they’re trying to do is, is get out of the hole that they’ve been dug into in the last 12 months. That’s not a stimulus that’s a partial, desperation payment. This problem never existed in other civilizations. You have the whole tradition of Greece, Babylonia that’s what my book Forgiving the Debt is all about. The whole idea is when there is an economic interruption, you have an interruption, you don’t have people into debt. You wipe out all of the arrears that have mounted up. You wipe out the tax arrears, the rent arrears, the debt of payment arrears. So once the crisis is over, you can start from a normal position again.

There’s no normalization in America, there’s no normal position to start. You’re starting from a position, even more behind the financial problems than you were when you went in. The foreign economies of China and Russia don’t have that kind of problem, they don’t have any kind of deficit. So, the West is beginning with 99 percent of the population deeper and deeper into debt to the 1 percent.

Where is that whole polarization between the 1 percent and the 99 percent? It doesn’t exist certainly in China and in Russia, Putin is trying to minimize it, given the legacy of the kleptocracy that the neo-liberals put in he’s still trying to deal with that, but you really have that. It’s a difference in economic systems and the direction in which these systems are moving in.

Pepe: I’m really glad that you brought up Ukraine, Michael, because this, let’s say U.S. foreign policy, even, before Trump and now with the new Biden-Harris administration, basically more or less what it boils down to is sanction sanctions, sanctions, as we know, and provocations, which is what they’re doing certainly in Syria with that recent bombing.

And, in the case of Ukraine and Donbass, it’s absolutely crazy because NATO so-called strategists, when you talk to them in Brussels, they know very, very well about each state or whatever they weaponize and financialize to profit Kiev to mount some sort of offensive against the Donbass and even if they would have like 300,000 soldiers against like 30,000 in Donbass.

If the Russians see that this is going to get really heavy if they intervene in directly, with their bombing, with their super missiles, they can finish this story in one day. And if they want it, they could finish the whole story, including invading Ukraine in three days, like they did in 2008 with Georgia and still they keep the provocations, loosely acted on by people from inside the Pentagon.

And so, we have sanctions, we have nonstop provocations, and we have also a sort of introducing a Fifth Column — elements inside or at the top of government — which brings me to, and I would love to have your personal analysis on the role of Mario (Goldman Sachs) Draghi now in Italy, which is something I had been discussing with my Italian friends. And there’s more or less a consensus, among very well informed, independent Italian analysts that Draghi may be the perfect Trojan horse to accelerate the destruction of the Italian state, which will accelerate the globalist project of the European Union, which is absolutely non-state centric.

Let’s put it this way, which is also part of the Great Reset so if you could briefly talk to us about the role of Super Mario at the moment.

Michael: Well, Italy is a very good example to look at. It had strings for a long time. When you have a country that needs infrastructure, that needs public, social democratic spending, you need a government to create the credit. But when Americans and specifically the University of Chicago free market lobbyists created the European, the Eurozone financial system, their premise was that governments cannot create money. Only banks can create money. Only banks owned by the bond holders can create money for the benefit of their owners and bond holders. So, no European government, first of all, can run a budget deficit sufficient to cope with the coronavirus or with the problems that have been plaguing Italy for a decade. They can’t create their money to revive employment, to revive infrastructure, to revive the economy. The European Central Bank only lends to other central banks.

It’s created trillions of euros just to buy stocks and bonds, not to spend into the economy, not to hire labor, not to build infrastructure, but just for the holders of the stocks and bonds. The 1 percent or 5 percent of the population gets richer. The function of the European Central Bank is to create money, to save the wealthiest 5 percent from losing a single penny on their stocks and bonds.

And the cost is to impoverish the economy and to basically make the economy end up looking like Greece, which was sort of the dress rehearsal for how the Eurozone was going to just essentially reduce Europe to debt dependency, just like in feudalism everybody had to have access to the land by becoming a serf.

Well now you’re in debt peonage. It’s the modern, finance capital’s version of serfdom. And so, in Italy we’re going to need government spending. We’re going to need to do in our way what China’s doing in its way and what Russia is doing in its way. We’re going to have some kind of government program. And we can’t have the economy being impoverished just because the University of Chicago has designed a plan for Europe to prevent the euro ever from being a rival to the U.S. dollar. If there’s no European central bank to borrow, to pump euros into the world economy, then, only dollars will be left for central bank reserves. The United States doesn’t ever want a rival. It wants satellites and so that’s what it’s basically turned Europe into. And I don’t see any response outside of Italy for an attempt to say we can’t be a part of this system. Let’s withdraw from the euro.

I know that the Greeks, when I was in Greece years ago, we all thought can’t we join with Italy and Portugal and Ireland and say look, the system isn’t working. Everybody else no, no, the Americans will just simply get us out of office one way or another. And in Italy, of course, if you look at what happened after World War II, the great threat was Italian communism. You had the Americans essentially say well, we know the answer to communism, it’s fascism and, you saw where they put the money. They essentially did every dirty trick in the book in order to fight any left- wing group in Italy, just as they did in Yugoslavia, just as they did in Greece, wiping out the partisans, all the leading anti-Nazi groups from Greece to Italy to elsewhere. All of a sudden they were all either assassinated or moved out of office and replaced by the very people that America had been fighting against during World War II.

Well, now Italy is finally coming to terms with this and trying to fight back and you’re having what’s happening there, between Northern Italy and Southern Italy. You’re having the same splits occur in other countries.

Pepe: Yeah. Well, I’m going to bring up, perhaps an even more extreme case now Michael, which is the case of Brazil, which at the moment is in the middle of an absolutely out of this world mix of telenovela and Kabuki theater that even for most Brazilians is absolutely incomprehensible. It’s like a fragmentation bomb exploding over and over again, a Groundhog Day of fragmentation bombs.

In fact, it’s completely crazy. Lula [former President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva] is back in the picture as well. We still don’t know under which terms, we still don’t know how the guys who run the show, which are the Brazilian military, are going to deal with him or instrumentalize him, et cetera.

In 2007, President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva (Lula) and his wife Marisa Letícia review troops during the Independence Day military parade. (Ricardo Stuckert, Agência Brasil, CC BY 3.0. Wikimedia Commons)

I bring up this case because … essentially it has convulsed Brazil completely and large parts of Latin America. It is a telenovela with one cliffhanger after another, sometimes in a matter of minutes, but it encompasses all the basic themes of what really interests the 0.01 percent, which we can identify for instance as a class war against labor which is what the system in Brazil, since the coup against Dilma [Former President Dilma Vana Rousseff] has been waging. A war against mixed economies, economic sovereignty, which is something that the Masters of the Universe of the 0.01 percent cannot wage against Russia and China. But that was very successfully waged against Brazil and implemented in Brazil. In fact, in a matter of two years, they completely devastated the country in every possible sense, industrially, sociologically, you name it…

And of course, because the main objective is something that you keep stressing over and over again, unipolar rentier dominance, in fact.

Brazil, I would say is the extreme case in the world not only in the Global South, but in planetary terms of let’s say the last frontier of the rentier economy, when you manage to capture a country that was slowly emerging as a leader in the Global South, as an economic leader. Don’t forget that a few years ago, Brazil was the sixth-largest economy in the world and on the way to become the fifth. Now it’s the 12th and falling down nonstop and controlled by a mafia that includes not by accident, a Chicago Boy Pinochetista, Minister Paulo Guedes, who is implementing, in the 21st century, something that was implemented in Chile in the ‘70s and ‘80s. And they were successful. Apparently, at least so far.

Brazil is so disorganized as a nation, so shattered, so fragmented and atomized as a nation that basically it depends on the re-emergence of a single political leader, in this case, Lula to try to rebuild the nation from scratch. And even in a position where he cannot control the game he can interfere in the game, which is what happened, like you know, … when he gave a larger-than-life press conference, mixed with a re-presentation of himself as a statesman and said, “Look the whole thing is shattered, but there is some light at the end of the tunnel.”

But still he cannot confront the real Masters of the Universe that have allowed this to happen in the first place. So just to give an example to many of you who are not familiar with some details of the Brazilian case, and it involves directly the Obama-Biden scheme or the Obama-Biden larger operation. When Biden was vice president in 2013, in May 2013, he visited Brazil for three days and he met with President Dilma.

They discussed very touchy subjects, including the most important one, the absolutely enormous, pre-salt oil reserves, which obviously, the Americans wanted to be part of the whole thing, not by accident. You know what happened one week later? The start of the Brazilian color revolution, in fact, and this thing kept rolling and rolling and rolling.

We got the coup against Dilma in 2016, we got to the Car Wash operation landing Lula in jail. And we got to the election of [President Jair] Bolsanaro. And now we are in a place where even if the military controls this whole process, even if Bolsanaro is becoming bad for business will he become bad for the rentier class business, for the 0.01 percent in the U.S. that has all the connections in their new, large neo-colony in the tropics, which has enormous strategic value, not to mention, unforeseen resources, wealth resources, right? So, this is an extreme case and I know that you follow Brazil relatively closely. So, your geo-economic and geopolitical input on the running telenovela I think would be priceless for all of us.

Michael: Well, this problem goes back 60 years. In 1965, the former president of Brazil came to New York and we met. He explained to me how the United States essentially got rid of him because he wasn’t representing the banking class. And he said that they built Brasilia because it’s apart from the big industrial cities, they wanted to prevent industry and democracy and the population from controlling the government.

So, they built Brasilia. He said maybe they’ll use it as an atom bomb site. It certainly doesn’t have an economic thing. Well, fast forward, in 1980, after Mexico defaulted on its foreign debt in 1972, nobody would invest in Latin America. And by 1990, Brazil was paying 45 percent interest per year to borrow the dollars to be able to finance its deficit, which is mainly flight capital by the wealthy. Well, I think I’d mentioned before here, I was hired by Scudder, Stevens and Clark for the Third World bond fund. Forty five percent: I mean, just imagine that. That’s a fortune every year. No American would buy it, no European would buy it. Who bought it? The Brazilians and the Argentineans bought, and I get it, they’re the government, they’re the central bankers. They’re the president’s family. They’re the 1 percent, they’re the only people that are holding Brazil’s dollar debt.

So when Brazil pays its foreign dollar debt, it’s paying to its own 1 percent who are holding, who are saying well, we’re holding it off shore in the Dutch West Indies where the fund was located for tax-exempt purposes and pretending to be American imperialists, but actually being local imperialists.

Well then, just towards the end of Lula’s reign, the Council of Economic Advisors brought Jamie Galbraith and Randy Wray and me down for a discussion. How do we, you know, we’re, we’re really worried because, Lula in order to get elected, had to meet with the banks and agree to give them what they wanted.

They said, look, we can see that, you know, you have the power to be elected. We don’t want to have to fight you in dirty ways, but will let you be elected, but you’re going to have to do the policies and certainly the financial policies that we want and Lula made a kind of a devil’s agreement with them because he didn’t want to be killed and he wanted to do some good things.

So, he was sort of like a Bernie Sanders-type character. Okay, you have to go along with a really bad system in order to get something good done, because Brazil really needs something good done. Well, the fact is that even the little bit he did the finance couldn’t take because one of the characteristics of financial wealth is it’s addictive. It’s not like diminishing marginal utility. If you give more food to an employee or to a worker you know, at the end of the meal, you’re satiated, you don’t want much more. If you give enough money you know, OK, they buy a few luxuries and then, OK, they save it. But if you give more money to a billionaire they want even more and they grow even more desperate. It’s like a cocaine-addicted person and the Brazilian ruling class wanted it so desperately that they framed up and controlled the utterly corrupt judiciary. The judiciary in Brazil is almost as corrupt as it is in New York City.

Pepe: More, even more.

Michael: They framed them up and they want totalitarian control. And that sort of is what free market is. Totalitarian control by the financial class. That’s freedom for the financial class, if the freedom to do what they want to do to the rest of the economy, that’s libertarianism, it’s a free market, it’s Austrian economics.

It’s the right wing’s fight against government, it’s a fight against any governments for long enough who resist the financial and real estate interests. That’s what the free market is. And Brazil is merely the most devastating example of this because it takes such a racial term there. Not only does Brazil want to make a fortune, tearing down the Amazon, cutting up the Amazon, selling the lumber to China, turning the Amazon into soy production to sell to China. But for that, you have to exterminate the domestic population, the indigenous population that wants to use the land to feed itself. So you see the kind of race war and ethnic war that you have, not to mention the war against the blacks in the Brazilian slums that Lula tried so much to overcome.

So you have a resumption of the ethnic war there, and on Wall Street, I had discussions with money managers back in 1990. Well I wonder whether that’s going to be a model for what’s happening in the United States with the ethnic war here.

Essentially, it’s a tragedy what’s happening in Brazil, but it’s pretty much what happened in Chile under Pinochet which is why they have the Pinochetistas and the Chicago boys that you mentioned.

Pepe: Absolutely. Coming back to China, Michael, and the [recent] approval of the Five-Year Plan, which is not actually the five-year plan. It’s actually three five-year plans in one because they are already planning 2035, which is something absolutely unimaginable anywhere in the West. Right?

So, it’s a different strategy of productive investment, of expansion of social welfare and solidifying social welfare, technological improvements. I would say by 2025 China would be very close to the same infotech level of the U.S., which is part of “Made in China 2025,” which is fantastic. They stopped talking about it, but they are still implementing it, the technological drive in all those standard areas that they had codified a few years ago. And of course, this notion, which I found particularly fascinating because it is in one sense socialism with some Confucianist elements, but it’s also very Taoist: The dual development strategy, which is inversions and expansion of domestic investment and consumption and balancing all the time with projects across Eurasia, not only affiliated with the Belt and Road, with the New Silk Road, but all other projects as well. So, when you have a leadership that is capable of planning with this scope, amplitude breadth and reach, and when we compare it to the money managers in the West, which basically their planning goes, not even quarterly in many cases, it’s 24 hours.

So our dichotomy between rentier capitalism, financialization, or whatever we want to define it, and state planning with the view of social benefit is even starker in fact, and I’m not saying that the Chinese system can be exported to the rest of the world, but I’m sure that, all across the Global South, when people look at Chinese policies, long-term, how they are planning, how they are developed and how they are always fine tuning what they developed and discuss…. As you said in the beginning, this is a frontal shock of two systems and sooner or later we’re going to have the bulk of the Global South including nations which nowadays are still American vassals or satrapies or puppets or poodles, et cetera.

They’re going to see which way the wind is blowing. Right?

Michael: Why can’t the Chinese system be exported to the West? That’s a good question…. How would you make American industry able to follow the same productive path that China did? Well for one thing the biggest element in workers’ budget today is housing, 40 percent. There was one way to get rid of it, get rid of the high housing prices that essentially, or whatever a bank would lend. And the banks lend essentially the economic rent. There’s a very simple way to keep housing prices down. You tax the land rent, you use your tax system, not on taxing labor, that increases the cost of labor, not increasing capital, that leaves less, industrial capital, but your tax of the land and the real estate and the banks.

Well, suppose you were to lower the price of housing in America from 40 percent to 10 percent like China has, and this is the big element in the cost structure difference. Well, if all of a sudden people only had to pay 10 percent of their income for housing, then all the banks would go under because 80 percent of the bank loans are mortgage loans.

The whole idea is that the purpose of housing is to force how many buyers and renters go into debt to the banks so that the banks end up with all of the lend rent that the landlord class used to get. This is what’s preventing America from being like China. What if America would try to develop a high-speed railroad like China?

Well, then you need the right of way. You’d need to have the railroads go in a straight line. … They need a right of way and it doesn’t have a right of way because that conflicts with private property and most of the right of way is a very expensive real estate.

So, you can’t have high-speed rail in the United States, like in China. Suppose you would have a low-cost education. Well then, you get rid of the whole means of siphoning off labor’s income to pay for education loans. You could go, suppose you had private healthcare and prevent Americans from getting sick like they do in China and Thailand, where you are.

One of China’s many super-speed electric trains. They are generations ahead of America’s rail system. (Wikicommons)

Well, then the health insurance companies and the pharmaceutical companies wouldn’t be able to make their rent. So you could not have America adopt a China type industrial program without what would be really a revolution against the legacy of the monopoly of private banking, of finance and all of the fortunes that have been built up financially really in the last 40 years since 1980.

Pepe: So, what’s going to happen in the, let’s say, short to mid-term in the U.S.? Michael, we are seeing the corrosion of the whole system, not only externally in terms of foreign policy and the end of the free lunch, but internally with those 70-million-plus “deplorables” being literally canceled from public debate, the impoverishment of the middle classes, with over 50 million people in America who are practically becoming literally poor. And obviously the American dream ended a few decades ago, maybe, but now there’s not even a glimpse of it, that there could be a renewal of the American dream. So we have a larval civil war situation, degrading on a daily basis. What’s the end game in fact? And what exactly does Wall Street, the American ruling class —the guys who have those lunches at the Harvard club — what do they ultimately want?

Michael: Well, what you call a disaster for the economy, isn’t it a bonanza for the 1 percent? This is a victory of finance. You look at it as a collapse of industrial capitalism. I look at it as the victory of rentier finance capitalism. You’re having probably 10 million Americans that are going to be thrown out of their apartments and their homes in June when the moratorium on rents and mortgages ends. You’re going to have a vast increase in the homeless population. That will probably represent an increase in people who use the subways. Where else are they going to live? And all of this, there’s an immense amount of private capital firms that have all been created in the last year of just wealth accumulations and they’re saying there are going to be such great opportunities to pick up real estate at bargain prices, all of this for the commercial real estate, that’s broken, all the buildings and the restaurants that have to be sold because they can’t meet their mortgage payments and their rents, all the houses that are going to be under, private capital can come in and do what was done after the Obama evictions.

We can do what Blackstone did. We can buy them all out for pennies on the dollar. So, for them, they’re looking at their own 20-year plan. And their 20-year plan is to grab everything!

…

A Long read, eh?

Yeah. I know it was a long read. Maybe you all should have gotten a beer and some pizza before you started to read it, maybe.

Keep in mind that any disruption will be uneven. It will be in patches. Avoid the high-risk areas if you can, and be part of a group.

A Comment that generated this post…

The question;

Your website is by far THE MOST IMPORTANT resource for westerners right now. I have a lot to learn from site, and I also have some questions. The most important question I have at this moment is –

1) How do you advise Americans/Europeans who understand what is happening, the future that is approaching to prepare, survive AND maintain their sanity in these trying times. Especially those who can’t move outside USA/EU?

Your help and answer will be much appreciated. The feeling of doom and dread while your compatriots run towards jumping off a cliff (and forcibly drag you along) is not a fun feeling.

Note: I am in EU but I am using a VPN for my safety. My IP address will indicate an Asian country close to China but I am living in EU. Please approve my comment, it’s not a spam.

The Answer:

Thank you for this. This question has been asked of me my many people, and I have answered it. Long time MM readers can answer this for you, but I will take a quick stab at it yet again.

Essentially, the social system that humans established way back around 5000 years ago is faulted. The moment that banking interest obtained the same value as gold or physical exertion, the system was doomed. It just took 7000 years to manifest.

Now the USA is in debt for nearly 30 trillion dollars. All the gold on the planet earth wouldn’t be able to pay this debt. Yet this debt is jut an artificial creation. It’s just money out of thin air. Value from nothing.

For the last 75 years, the United States used this artificial value to control the world. The wealthy became like Gods. The poor became like slaves.

And as a result the world became a very difficult place to live. Are you enjoying life right now? If not, why?

Everything can be traced down to people who make nothing, who produce nothing, becoming Gods over those that do. And these “Gods” have their own group of toadies who service them. Creating wars, strife, and elements of control. It’s all ungainly and unraveling.

China, Russia and Iran are unifying.

They are not allowing this artificial wealth creation mechanism to become the monster that it is in the West, and this is a major threat to the “American way of life”, “democracy” and what little is left of “freedom”.

The world is resetting.

Now, America and the West (the five eyes) is like a big old enraged old elephant on a jet aircraft. It is thrashing about, banging into the side of the aircraft and is roaring and howling and tearing up the floor. The pilot and his crew are deciding whether or not it is in the best interests to just open up the rear cargo door and throw him out the plane with no parachute. This is where we are today.

You have no control on whether or not the elephant will get ejected. For you are just a tiny, tiny flea on the back of this enraged elephant. Your choices are quite limited, but they are clear. Do you [1] jump off now and land on the sterile clean floor of the aircraft, while the elephant stomps about, [2] ride the elephant as you have been and hope that the elephant calms down and the plane lands safely, [3] fight with the other fleas on the back of the elephant and try to build a little nest of elephant hair, and float gently to the side of the plane intact.

And who is this elephant? Why it is the United States; an Oligarchy-ruled Military-Empire.

I have advised everyone who could, to take option [1] and flee.

Those that could not, like yourself, I suggest option [3]. What ever you do, do not take option [2]. That is the herd option and it will be lethal.

And I will repeat my advice. Here is the advice for option [3]...

[1] Do not be a “lone wolf”. That is going to get you killed. Be part of a local community. Know who you can trust and who you cannot. Identify friends and foes. Again, I will repeat, do not try to be alone. You need to be part of a community to survive. This is your MOST IMPORTANT task.

[2] Learn a skill. Take an online class in paramedic technology, know some basic repair skills. You need to be useful when things go really crazy. have a skill. Have abilities. be able to work as a "team player". Be reasonable, balanced, and provide something of worth.

[3] Stock up on food supplies. Make sure that you have an enormous larder of dry goods.

[4] Guns and weapons. Having a firearm is beneficial only if you know how to use it well. Otherwise, count on the avoidance strategy of survival, but be absolutely ready to kill with your bare hands if necessary. If you are not at this point, then you need to get to that point. Its basic survival 101.

[5] Basics of location. If you are going to "hunker down", then be ready. Make sure that you have a hidden room in your basement or a place to go where you can hide if need be. Know where to get water, potable water easily, if you need to. Know how to recharge a batter with solar power or a generator from a bicycle.

[6] Do not trust the “news”. The "news" do not report anything, they actually provide deceptive reporting.

[5] Lie low, be low key. Do not get on any public or private arguments. Be as neutral as possible. Do not be a target. Use the avoidance strategy at every point.

[6] Do not have “burned bridges”. Go ahead “mend your fences”. Your future depends on your ability to work as a team.

[7] Barter goods. When times are rough, and money is worthless, humans resort to bartering. Women will provide sexual favors. Men can provide items, or services. Top rated items are small bottles of cheap whiskey, vodka, or spirits. Also good are tobacco, cigarettes and pipe tobacco. A box of 100 disposable lighters is very cheap and you would be surprised how valuable they can become. Be able to reload ammo even if you don't have a gun. Antibiotics will be worth YOUR weight in gold. Whether for animals, or humans or next best herbal alternatives, having a supply is important. Same goes with condoms. You do not want to have a nasty STD when you are in a SHTF situation.

[8] Avoid crowds. Stay out of the cities. Do not isolate in the country.

[9] Do not trust anyone. We are all entering a time where betrayal and lies have become normal. Don't believe anyone. Don't trust anyone.

In America today is a world of hurt because everyone demands their “freedom” and “independence”. Contrast that to here in China where people work together to the greater good of everyone. Sure there might be a star basketball player, but he is shit when he comes across a well trained and organized team.

Welcome to MM. Start reading. Know who we are and what we represent. Go to the main index HERE. Best Regards.

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A collection of opinions from outside of America regarding the American behavior at the China and USA meeting in Alaska 19MAR21

In the first 100 days of the Biden Presidency, the international world awaited to see how the new administration would handle itself. Many remained hopeful. Certainly Mr. Biden, a seasoned diplomat, and a member of the “dove” (political) party would soften the anti-China attacks, and reach-out to China and the world. The Alaska meeting, would thus lay out a foundation of what the international community would be able to expect in United States and China affairs in the next few years.

This is what China was expecting…

"We hope that through the dialogue, the two sides can focus on cooperation, manage differences and promote the healthy and stable development of China-U.S. relations in accordance with the spirit of the conversation between the two heads of state."

And the actual meeting was stunning.

It really was.

When the meeting opened up, the American “negotiation” team came out with fists slinging making all sorts of demands. No time for pleasantries. The American team immediately began telling China how to handle it’s internal domestic matters, manage it’s territories, and govern it’s cities. It told them that it must obey the “US-Led rule of law” instead of UN conventions. It did not offer help, assistance, or propose ideas of joint cooperation. The opening statements made by the American delegation were a long list of demands, complaints, and accusations.

Then after that first volley was fired, A delegation member added…

“Of course, we only want peace, no one wants war”.

Which in "bully speak" is actually translated as...
"Obey our demands or we will plummet you into a bloody pulp".

Then when it was time for the Chinese to respond, they politely told the American delegation to go to Hell.

When the Chinese delegation arrived in Alaska, their hearts were chilled by the biting cold, but even more by the reception from their American hosts. Blinken and his State Department may felt quite proud of their efforts to isolate and embarrass China ahead of the meeting in Anchorage. 

But after facing insult after insult, the Chinese delegation stood up and said "No!" to Western condescension and bullying.

The U.S. had better get used to it.

-CGTN

American reporting

Of course, the United States media is a little confused by this. The Conservative Hard-Right and neocon websites are all so proud that “America is staying tough on China”, and the mainstream media is reporting that the meeting did not go well, but that is expected as the Chinese were so demanding…

Here’s a pro-America article that is accusing China of being arrogant. When the obvious arrogance comes from the United States.

No lunch. Cold instant noodles for lunch.
Demanding China allow American NGO’s in Xinjiang.
Demanding that the US dictate how Hong Kong be governed.
Demanding how China handles it’s state of Taiwan.
Demanding how China handles it’s state of Tibet.
Demanding how, who, and what China does on the international scene.

While the title is spot-on, the content must have been written before the meeting. It seemed like some kind of “boiler plate” text, and did not match up with the title nor the actual events which transpired.

The article is certainly pro-America with statements such as…

“They (the Chinese) came to dictate.

China’s arrogant and insecure leaders are at their most dangerous. 

Deterrence is failing. 

Biden’s most urgent task is to reestablish it.”

Which is nonsense.

China told them to FUCK OFF and mind their own business. China follows the International rule of law as determined by the UN, not the biggest thug on the block. And that they were aghast at the rudeness, the arrogance, and the sheer demanding tone set forth by the American delegation.

This article was so brief and devoid of facts, I have more characters on my mail box address than the content of this “article“.

Here’s some links to more American based articles all parroting the idea that the negotiations were “contentious and rocky”. All the articles in the American media parrot this predetermined narrative…

Conservative Media

Mainstream Media

It’s not just this, but this same week Biden directly insulted the President of Russia a “Killer”. And thus, within the span of one week, the United States has collectively and intentionally insulted the two other major nations. This does not bode well.

I can tell you that the rest of the world is actually horrified, and if you read what they have to say, you will get a better idea about what is actually going on. Lord help us.

Comments from the rest of the world

These comments are very insightful.

They provide a vision of how America is viewed in the world today, and what people (outside of the American media echo chamber) think. If for anything else, it will give you, the MM reader, and idea of the size and scope of the monster that America has turned into.

Here’s the comments…

The Chinese emphasis on most of the world rejecting a US-directed 'rules-based order' ...

...instead of honoring the UN Charter and settled international law ...

...is of supreme importance and must be re-emphasized ad nauseum.

Posted by: chet380 | Mar 19 2021 19:16 utc | 1

I'm glad China says what every country should have been saying for the last 40 years. 

The US is a liar and always has been.

Posted by: Jezabeel | Mar 19 2021 19:17 utc | 2

What a bunch of amateurish megalomaniac idiots. 

It was an exhibition of a total lack of tact, self-perception, decency or any equilibrium. 

The Chinese's confident offensive resulted in a rapid emotional dive from a state of megalomaniac bravado to shaky self-confidence. 

In comparison they made even Trump look like a cultivated gentleman.

Posted by: Sadde | Mar 19 2021 19:22 utc | 3

To translate from Orwellian Western Newspeak to English:

'Rules-based order' means 
'Our rules for you, 
that we don't have to follow, 
and can change anytime we like.'

'International order' means 
'Western-ruled-world order.'

'International community' means 
the US-led Western community and vassal states. 
(The Western media spouts this all the time.)

'Rules-based' is the modern day incarnation of Americans/British throwing around the phrase 'treaty', 'treaty-based' in colonial days. 

Different words, same con.

And of course the Chinese have a few things to say…

Such as

From surrendering to Western powers in 1901, to telling the US in 2021 it doesn't have the qualification to speak to China “from a position of strength”

China needs to convey in a language that US understands.

Straight Forward, Up to the Point, Right at their Faces.

The construct of their brains cannot understand any other ways, Least Not the Diplomatic 'Soft' & Amicable Styles of Communications.

They perceive those to be Weak.

And then we have more Western comments…

USA provided a transcript of both US Govt & China Govt speakers.

I thought this a little unusual, as foreign miminstries like to publish their own transcripts so that they control the authentic translation of their words, free from the opposing parties editing or mis-translation.

"cutthroat competition" may be an arguably alternative translation of "strangle" in the China readout "those who seek to strangle China will suffer in the end."

I was waiting for the China verbatim translation to check the fidelity of the USA translation.

https://www.fmprc.gov.cn/mfa_eng/wjdt_665385/wshd_665389/t1862641.shtml
https://www.fmprc.gov.cn/mfa_eng/wjdt_665385/wshd_665389/t1862643.shtml

But there is only an unquoted report, which is the meeting, but without quotation marks to distinguish between the authors voice and the Officials voice.

Verbatim would be better.

Maybe the USA had reciprocal concerns about the verbatim accuracy of the China transcript.

But its on video anyway, so???

Posted by: powerandpeople | Mar 19 2021 19:37 utc | 7

Toothless sabre rattling is about all the USA has left. 

A bunch of old men with a world view from the 1950s whose own virility is long gone is not going to come to an epiphany about their encroaching impotence. The Establishment has no other choice, absent common sense and critical thinking, but to double-down on arrogant self-righteousness bred by sophomoric jingoism that defines 'shallow.'

Empire is crumbling before our eyes. The question is will it take the rest of the world with it as it falls into its own footprint.

Posted by: gottlieb | Mar 19 2021 19:39 utc | 9

And we have this…

 Footage of China’s top diplomat Yang Jiechi lashing out at U.S. Secretary of State Antony Blinken in Anchorage, Alaska, was played repeatedly by China’s state-backed media at home.

“China has Chinese-style democracy,” Yang said, not mincing words in his first encounter with the U.S. President Joe Biden’s team.

“Many people within the United States actually have little confidence in the democracy of the United States, and they have various views regarding the government of the United States.”

The Communist Party Politburo member assailed the U.S., feeding fiery words to the news corps of both countries.

And I really love this next comment. It pretty much sums up my thinking…

Perhaps one of the more predictable mistakes the US will commit next, is misinterpret the stern warnings of the past few days by Russia, China and even NK, as evidence the new Biden/Blinken regime is less feared or respected than the Trump/Pompeo one.

I suspect a more accurate interpretation would be...

"ok, you had the crazy guy for 4 years and we cut you some slack, hoping once the grown ups were back we could reason as adults, but if you're gonna carry on with the same attitude, basically, Democrat or Republican, you can all summarily go fuck yourselves".

Particularly at the end of the term, the Obama regime was already being met by a very hostile China and Russia, well before Trump took over with his less than diplomatic style (or lack thereof). Anyone recall the airport security debacle with China during Obama's last weeks?

Posted by: Et Tu | Mar 19 2021 19:51 utc | 12

Who will fill the empty shoes of the lost and vanished Homo sapiens sapiens?

Posted by: Copeland | Mar 19 2021 19:55 utc | 13

And this…

Which compares the Alaskan meeting of 2021 with the meeting of 1901 which allowed the Western nations to rape, pillage, and destroy China for decades. Perhaps this picture might be a better illustration…

And FOX news reported on the event

It was of course very pro-America. Leading to this comment…

How our interaction w/China was reported FOX did a full throated, fake narrative just to suit their pro-Trump agenda. When they quoted, 'you cannot talk to us from a position of strength' they made is sound like the Chinese were scoffing at Blinken's weakness rather than his moral turpitude. They made it sound like Blinken surrendering to his Chinese overlords, squandering the strong hand the Trump gave him.

In FOX land, all that matters is that you come up with a great sounding argument. The truthfulness of that arguments is not relevant.

Posted by: Christian J. Chuba | Mar 19 2021 19:55 utc | 14

This is how things look to the rest of the world…

The USA's situation is very dire indeed. The Americans are resorting more and more to "Hail Mary" moves to keep their hegemonic position.

And even then they're blundering. 

I would not be surprised at all if they start to straight out have to falsify diplomatic transcripts in order to try to create something favorable to them.

Posted by: vk | Mar 19 2021 20:05 utc | 17

Related to US-China tensions, if anyone likes documentary shows, CNA (Channel News Asia, a broadcaster out of Singapore) has a good four-part documentary released in January 2021 called "When Titans Clash", about the US-China trade/tech tensions, that I would recommend. (I watched the first two yesterday and will watch the other two this weekend.)

Each of the 4 parts is about 48 minutes long and available for watching on YouTube and CNA's website too.

When Titans Clash - part 1 of 4 - Pride & Shame - The Roots of US-China Tensions
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FL2gBUxblO8

When Titans Clash - part 2 of 4 - The Real Losers of the US-China Trade War
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1mYrWYSTW28

When Titans Clash - part 3 of 4 - A US-China Tech War - The True Costs
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w8XnLW26bmg

When Titans Clash - part 4 of 4 - US or China - Will Southeast Asia Have to Pick a Side
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lJ8A5jiGICM

Touches on some of the things ak74 mentioned in his comment on the other thread: outsourcing, deindustrialization, the US dollar as reserve currency, etc.

It's from Pearl Forss who was also involved in CNA's 2015-2019 series "The New Silk Road", about China's BRI, that I can recommend as well.

Posted by: Canadian Cents | Mar 19 2021 20:07 utc | 19

And Scott Addams has a thing to say…

And from Northern Europe…

The world appreciates that Russia and China give the US Regime a sublime verbal spanking.

Posted by: Norwegian | Mar 19 2021 20:14 utc | 23

Blinken is Secretary of State for USA, head of the US State Department.

He mentioned in his nomination hearing, & makes allusion in this meeting with China, to a genocide in Xinjiang.

Foreign Affairs magazine article reports US State Department legal office saying they have no evidence for a genocide in Xinjiang.

Is Blinken in touch with his department?

Posted by: dave constable | Mar 19 2021 20:22 utc | 27

same deal as @ 26 dave constable notes too... accusing others of genocide when you have been the main merchant of death on the planet the past 40 or more years doesn't stand.. if anyone is the killer here it is the usa, so the irony isn't lost on everyone..

Posted by: james | Mar 19 2021 20:38 utc | 31

In my opinion, the Chinese representatives gave a good answer to the American side, although this answer will obviously not be heard.

The Americans have completely lost the culture of negotiation. If there are no elementary human manners, then what kind of agreements can we talk about?

A sad picture. And dangerous. A madman with nuclear weapons (and chemical weapons, by the way) is not the best option for a reliable negotiating partner.

Posted by: alaff | Mar 19 2021 20:44 utc | 33

b Posted:

“The alternative to a rules-based order is a world in which might makes right and winner takes all and that would be a far more violent and unstable world,” Blinken said.

The 'rules based order' means 'do what we say' and is of course unacceptable. Here is how the Chinese replied:

What China and the international community follow or uphold is the United Nations-centered international system and the international order underpinned by international law, not what is advocated by a small number of countries of the so-called “rules-based” international order.

Say it to uncle Sam. Say it every time they meet. The bankruptcy of the "rules based order" gang of five or six is a failure.

For all its appalling faults the UN and established international courts are the place to go. Suck it up uncle Sam.

Posted by: uncle tungsten | Mar 19 2021 20:59 utc | 35

And from my email

I am so happy 😊 China tell the oppressor to piss off.

Attached short video with English translation: China tell US you are not qualify to tell us you want to talk to us with strength. 20 to 30 years ago, you already not qualify…

https://asia.nikkei.com/Politics/International-relations/US-China-tensions/How-it-happened-Transcript-of-the-US-China-opening-remarks-in-Alaska

More comments…

“The alternative to a rules-based order is a world in which might makes right and winner takes all and that would be a far more violent and unstable world,” Blinken said.

LOL.

You really have to wonder if the Americans believe their own bullshit about their hollowed "Rules Based International Order"?

The violent and unstable world is ALREADY here thanks to ... this very same American "Rules" Based Order.

Iraq, Afghanistan, Libya, Syria, Serbia, Somalia--these are just a few of the countries America has either invaded, bombed, or supported moderate jihadi Head-Choppers against to destabilize in the past generation.

Two decades of US “war on terror” responsible for displacing at least 37 million people and killing up to 12 million
https://www.wsws.org/en/articles/2020/09/09/cost-s09.html?view=print

Posted by: ak74 | Mar 19 2021 21:31 utc | 40

This is interesting. 

Apparently both the Russians and the Chinese have concluded that Biden intends to use "CornPop" faux-macho posturing as his foreign policy, and they have both decided that "fuck that, let's nip this in the bud".

Because it looks like they have decided they have had a gut-full of US "exceptionalism" and are quite determined to say so. 

To anyone, but especially to the Americans.

Going to be a lot of very confused people at Foggy Bottom. They may never have experienced this degree of contempt before.

Posted by: Yeah, Right | Mar 19 2021 22:08 utc | 46

I about fell on the floor when I read Blinken's words, my first thought being "this klutz has zero knowledge of history since 1588 and just admitted as much. 

In China, Blinken would never achieve any position of power.

The decadence of the Outlaw US Empire's government is like so many prions turning brain tissue into a swiss-cheese-like mass and then boasting about how finely tuned are its cognitive abilities. And when Harris is installed, we'll have a genuine novice in charge--The Blind leading the Blind.

It's no wonder the Chinese sought an audience with Lavrov ASAP.

Posted by: karlof1 | Mar 19 2021 22:10 utc | 47

Yes. The meeting went so bad that the already tight China-Russia relationship was strengthened. I am sure that certain actions, policies and activities were on hold pending he result of these “talks”. But the American actions were so appalling that China and Russia have decided that more forceful means of persuasion are necessary.

Contrived moulded whatever the case I leave this excerpt. I feel it hits the head.

Here's what journalist Joe Bageant wrote in 2007:

Much of the ongoing battle for America's soul is about healing the souls of these Americans and rousing them from the stupefying glut of commodity and spectacle.

It is about making sure that they—and we—refuse to accept torture as the act of "heroes" and babies deformed by depleted uranium as the "price of freedom."

Caught up in the great self-referential hologram of imperial America, force-fed goods and hubris like fattened steers, working people like World Championship Wrestling and Confederate flags and flat-screen televisions and the idea of an American empire.

("American Empire! I like the sound of that!" they think to themselves, without even the slightest idea what it means historically.)

"The people" doing our hardest work and fighting our wars are not altruistic and probably never were.

They don't give a rat's bunghole about the world's poor or the planet or animals or anything else. Not really.

"The people" like cheap gas.

They like chasing post-Thanksgiving Day Christmas sales.

And if fascism comes, they will like that too if the cost of gas isn't too high and Comcast comes through with a twenty-four-hour NFL channel.

That is the American hologram.

That is the peculiar illusion we live within, the illusion that holds us together, makes us alike, yet tells each of us we are unique.

And it will remain in force until the whole shiteree comes down around our heads.

Working people do not deny reality.

They create it from the depths of their perverse ignorance, even as the so-called left speaks in non sequiturs and wonders why it cannot gain any political traction.

Meanwhile, for the people, it is football and NASCAR and a republic free from married queers and trigger locks on guns.

That's what they voted for—an armed and moral republic.

And that's what we get when we stand by and watch the humanity get hammered out of our fellow citizens, letting them be worked cheap and farmed like a human crop for profit.
Genuine moral values have jack to do with politics.

But in an obsessively religious nation, values remain the most effective smoke screen for larceny by the rich and hatred and fear by the rest.

What Christians and so many quiet, ordinary Americans were voting for in the presidential elections of 2000 and 2004 was fear of human beings culturally unlike themselves, particularly gays and lesbians and Muslims and other non-Christians.

That's why in eleven states Republicans got constitutional amendments banning same-sex marriage on the ballot.

In nine of them the bill passed easily.

It was always about fearing and, in the worst cases, hating "the other."
Being a southerner, I have hated in my lifetime.

I can remember schoolyard discussions of supposed "nigger knifing" of white boys at night and such.

And like most people over fifty, it shows in my face, because by that age we have the faces we deserve.

Likewise I have seen hate in others and know it when I see it.

I am seeing more of it now than ever before in my lifetime, which is saying something considering that I grew up down here during the Jim Crow era.

Fanned and nurtured by neoconservative elements, the hate is every bit equal to the kind I saw in my people during those violent years.

Irrational. Deeply rooted. Based on inchoate fears.

The fear is particularly prevalent in the middle and upper-middle classes here, the very ones most openly vehement about being against using the words nigger and fuck.

They are what passes for educated people in a place like Winchester.

You can smell their fear.

Fear of losing their advantages and money.

Fear there won't be enough time to grab and stash enough geet to keep themselves and their offspring in Chardonnay and farting through silk for the next fifty years.

So they keep the lie machinery and the smoke generators cranking full blast as long as possible, hoping to elect another one of their own kind to the White House—Democratic or Republican, it doesn't matter so long as they keep the scam going.

The Laurita Barrs speak in knowing, authoritative tones, and the inwardly fearful house painter and single-mom forklift driver listen and nod.

Why take a chance on voting for a party that would let homos be scout masters?
(Dear Hunting with Jesus: Dispatches from America's Class War, chapter 2)

Posted by: ld | Mar 19 2021 22:20 utc | 48

How shameful to have insults thrown by US leadership at both China and Russia in less than a week! Is that a record?

Posted by: juliania | Mar 19 2021 22:28 utc | 51

Well, the US is obviously in a deep crisis: riots all over the place, the southern border is a mess, and the government even needs the national guard to protect itself from the people.

Under the circumstances, one should expect the establishment to act hysterically. It's just a symptom.

Posted by: Mao Cheng Ji | Mar 19 2021 22:32 utc | 53

The madness of the Outlaw Empire is not about to shrink from bringing down the curtain on the human race, if that's what it takes to see their power of command obeyed.

The US, as it is today, doesn't respect any nation's sovereignty and is mostly indifferent to allies and foes alike.

The regime considers itself the only sovereign worthy of such title on earth; and expects to be allowed to run the table at its pleasure, or else it will supervise the burning down of the house.

Biden meanders about, not even possessed of his right mind, holding on to the delusions and lies of several presidents who lately came before him; and he is just the man to keep all the fires of destruction burning, while the torture of innocence is unceasing, and as the arrogant demands made against other countries become more absurd. What else is more obvious?

These are the things we have seen foreshadowed before and after 9/11.

As long ago as the 80s Reagan was told about the reality of nuclear winter.

In A Man Without a Country, Kurt Vonnegut described how scientists explained to G.W. Bush that a nuclear exchange of even a moderate duration and size, could still depopulate the earth of most of its people.

The Bush Administration, toying with the idea of deploying baby nukes, for strategic exigency, short of total war, went with "guesswork" rather than prudent scientific advice.

It was their best guess that the circumspect, abbreviated use of nukes wouldn't destroy humanity itself, or cause ice age conditions, or bring about global starvation.

Posted by: Copeland | Mar 19 2021 22:37 utc | 54

Re Sadde @3 "What a bunch of amateurish megalomaniac idiots. It was an exhibition of a total lack of tact, self-perception, decency or any equilibrium."

Seems like just the other day I was reading the same description about Pompeo lol. And yet somehow this is much worse, as we have a clearly demented, recently installed "president" who can't make it up a flight of stairs or give a press conference, who has the nuclear football following him around 24/.7.

Been nice knowing y'all.

Posted by: Perimetr | Mar 19 2021 22:55 utc | 55

This next comment is also pretty good…

Well Russia has been very seriously preparing for total war for some years now, and China too has caught that drift and begun to do the same.

By comparison, the US is ready for aggravation, but nothing beyond that.

The US has no capability for war.

How then, for the free nations of the world to defeat the US?

One could surmise that the best way would be to force the US to accept defeat.

Iran already showed the way.

The lesson is not that hard to understand, although the tactics are obviously more complex.

Who will punch the bully?

Because we all know that this is what causes the bully to slink away, and to behave a little better.

It begins with words, because that's what the US likes to fight with, treating then merely as weapons, treating them with contempt.

And now words of contempt itself, as Yeah Right @45 points out, are being driven forward like a moving wall against the US.

First come the words. Next will come...

...whatever will come, but it is a certainty that the Russia/China team has every contingency war-gamed.

As Piotr Berman points out in the previous thread, the US neurotic dynamic is to escalate blindly until it achieves control.

This is the dynamic that must be defeated.

Obviously, this will involve situations in which the US has nothing left to escalate with (situations that don't allow the nuke specter)...

...at which point, the US has to slink away - under cover of words of bluster, to be sure, to salve the ego, but slink away even so.

And a few more of these lessons of defeat will re-train that ego, over time, lessons carefully administered, and all watched over by armies of loving grace.

Posted by: Grieved | Mar 19 2021 23:05 utc | 56

This is also a pretty good comment…

Blenkin and co just got thoroughly washed in a Chinese laundry, washed clean dried and starched, ready to put on their fully cleaned washed self's for taste of some Russian pastries. 

Soon after on the coming Iranian 13th day of the new year (thirteenth out) they can go for an Iranian picnic for taste of gourmet delicious Persian soup (Ash). 

I really enjoyed the Chinese exchange with shining city on hill guys, Happy Iranian new year and New century (1400) to you all, MOA and b.

Posted by: kooshy | Mar 19 2021 23:10 utc | 58

Suffice it to say, I love the Chinese (and they highly cultured ways etc) when they talk and act like this to the barbarians aka the Americans.

Everything the Chinese FM said was correct, and spot on.

Blinken and Bush are as boorish and rude, perhaps even more condescending than Pompeo and Trump - But it is hard to choose between the lesser of two American evils

Posted by: michaelj72 | Mar 19 2021 23:14 utc | 60

The editors at Strategic-Culture see it this way:

"In a desperate bid to thwart the strategic partnership between Russia and Europe, Washington is resorting to ever-more frantic threats of sanctions and other disruptive measures. 

Biden is playing the personal insult card in a gambit for blowing up bilateral relations with Russia as a way to sabotage Nord Stream 2.

"It’s a pathetic move, one that actually speaks more of America’s historic enfeeblement rather than pretensions of power. Russia would do well to stay calm and let the Americans make fools of themselves."

It seems Russia's doing just that--attending to the vital business of developing its nation and peoples. Russia's geared for numerous patriotic celebrations throughout the year, and Biden's comments were made on the eve of Crimean reunification with Russia, which only served to cement Russians closer and hold Putin in even greater esteem. Talk about an Own Goal!

Outlaw US Empire Nord Stream policy is close to being the same as literally torpedoing it, making it an act of war against the EU and Russia. Somehow, I don't think Blinken understands that fundamental fact.

Posted by: karlof1 | Mar 19 2021 23:15 utc | 61

The fact that Blinken has to read what he supposedly thinks, compared with the Chinese representatives and diplomats like Lavrov, Zakarov, and even Putin who know their thoughts without someone else writing their script.

Same as all the MSM. They all appear to get their news sent to them in writing and maybe a few fluff up the news but they know what the agenda is.

Posted by: arby | Mar 19 2021 23:20 utc | 62

So in just a matter of weeks, the US just antagonized both Russia and China.

This seems a surprise to me, US is getting very bold, I thought they would be more active but subversive, but this is just straight up insulting your opponents.

Posted by: Smith | Mar 19 2021 23:23 utc | 63

I'm in the middle of Armstrong's essay and am at the first reference to Kagan's vision:

"What should that role be? Benevolent global hegemony. Having defeated the 'evil empire,' the United States enjoys strategic and ideological predominance. The first objective of U.S. foreign policy should be to preserve and enhance that predominance by strengthening America’s security, supporting its friends, advancing its interests, and standing up for its principles around the world.'

It's absolutely clear that Kagan has no clue as to the reality of what is actually the objective of the Neoliberal Parasites running the Outlaw US Empire; for aside from "advancing its interests," the Parasites have zero motivation to do any of that.

As their sole ambition/goal is to vacuum up all the wealth they can and leave a shell just as they planned and failed with Russia, but have succeeded elsewhere.

And as for principles, the reality is it has none, nor does it have any friends, just vassals and victims.

This analogy by Armstrong's excellent:

"The U.S. is sitting on a dragon and it daren’t get off or the dragon will kill it. But because it can’t kill the dragon, it must sit on it forever: no escape. And dragon’s eggs are hatching out all around: think how much bigger the Russian, Chinese and Iranian dragons are today than they were a quarter-century ago when Kagan & Co so confidently started PNAC; think how bigger they’ll be in another....

"But the more sanctions, the stronger Russia gets: as an analogy, think of sanctions on Russia as similar to the over-use of antibiotics – Russia is becoming immune."

And tying it all up is this excellent summation:

"Has there ever been a subject on which people have been so wrong for so long as Russia? How many times have they said Putin’s finished? Remember when cheese was going to bring him down? Always a terminal economic crisis. A year ago they were sure COVID would do it. A U.S. general is in Ukraine and Kiev’s heavy weapons are moving east but, no, it’s Putin who, for ego reasons – and his “failing” economy – wants the war. Why do they keep doing it? Well, it’s easy money – Putin (did we tell you he was in the KGB?) wants to expand Russia and rule forever; therefore, he’s about to invade somebody. He doesn’t, no problem, our timely warning scared him off; we’ll change the date and regurgitate it next year. In the meantime his despotic rule trembles because of some-triviality-of-the-moment. These pieces write themselves: the anti-Russia business is the easiest scam ever. And there’s the difficulty of admitting you’re wrong: how can somebody like Kagan, such a triumphantasiser back then, admit that it’s all turned to dust and worse, turned to dust because they took his advice? Much better to press on – it’s not as if anybody in the lügenpresse will call him out or deny him space. Finally, these people are locked in psychological projection: because they can only envisage military expansion, they assume the other guy is equally obsessed and so they must expand to counter his expansion. They suspect everybody of suspecting them. Their hostility sees hostility everywhere. Their belligerence finds belligerence. The hyperpower is forever compelled to respond to lesser powers. They look outside, see themselves and fear; in their mental universe the USA is arrogantly strong and fearfully weak at the same time."

The Walking Dead is finally becoming a metaphor for the Outlaw US Empire, its policies, and what it terms values--which aren't values but vices. But TWD was fiction and was thus capable of reforming itself. The Empire's goals and polices are essentially the same as in 1940 and even further back to 1913, and haven't changed very much, being just as illegal and immoral then as now. What's different are the "Dragons" which didn't exist in 1918 or 1944, and the Parasites have almost total control that's finally seeing domestic pushback.

Posted by: karlof1 | Mar 20 2021 0:11 utc | 68

Here's Sputnik's initial report on the Alaska meet. Not much reference to commerce. Here's an excerpt:

"Chinese State Councilor and Foreign Minister Wang Yi, who accompanied Yang to the talks, told CGTN that their side had made clear to the Americans that China takes its sovereignty very seriously and warned them not to 'underestimate China's determination to defend its territory, to defend its people, and maintain its righteous interests.'

"Washington has criticized China's security policies in Xinjiang and Hong Kong, where Western-backed separatist forces have created chronic unrest, as well as its longstanding claim to rule Taiwan, an autonomous island ruled by the Republic of China that lost the civil war in mainland China in 1949, when the socialist People's Republic of China was formed. 

The US technically recognizes Beijing's claim to be the sole legitimate representative of China, but in reality is the primary backer of the Taiwanese government. 

Beijing says all of these are internal matters and not of Washington's concern."

Very little's reported of the Outlaw US Empire's response. This little bit doesn't bode well:

"US State Department officials noted they did not see the Alaska summit as the beginning of a new mechanism or dialogue."

I see that as a confession that they aren't agreement capable since they can't even continue a dialogue.

Posted by: karlof1 | Mar 20 2021 0:30 utc | 74

i've been a reader of moa for quite a few years now, but never contributed to the forum. mostly because after a while i found what i wanted to say anyway, and why pile on?

i really enjoy the civility of the forum, and it's internationality.

And of course b's insights. as a german myself I share many points of view with him in matters i have knowledge in, or think that i do. for example i think that trump sure might be seen as a desaster by many, but it was a gift to europe, and germany in particular, because he openend the eyes of many, many people here who for decades thought murrica is our friend, our big brother, who will always protect us from the evil of the world - namely communism, russia and lately china.

a majority of the people here, as well as in the rest of the so called "western world" have been brainwashed for about 7 decades to think that way, even when america committed the most obvious, heinous, horrible crimes against humanity and our civilization as a whole. there was always a spin, "human rights", "democracy", "free trade" and so on, values that had to be "defended" - when in reality it was always an offensive aggression or even a "pre-emptive strike".

people just swallowed what the media fed them and went on with their daily chores.

trump changed that, suddenly the ugly side of the empire became visible, and i will always be grateful for that. because now it cannot be hidden anymore.

it wasn't just the unruly behaviour of a "new rich" and uneducated bully who accidentally became president. politically, the general attitude was always the same, trump only worded it much more obvious, making it harder for politicians and media to spin.

that's why our politicians and media (for the most part fed by trans-atlantic "think tanks") hated him almost more than americans themselves - he made their lies obvious and transparent.

if it wasn't so sad, it sometimes was almost funny to see them squirm, having to explain why our friend and protector suddenly became so selfish and hostile.

All of them welcomed of course the new harris administration, being so progressive, just and friendly again - only to witness a change of paradigm they probably didn't even think trump was capable of, or willing to: i think in later years, this week will mark the "official" beginning of the new cold war era.

This behaviour against Russia and China was not a slap, but a punch in the face and will NEVER be forgiven nor forgotten.

The only question for europe is: does it finally have the balls to emancipate and stand up against the bully? or will it submit and become a collateral damage of it's downfall?

in form of a nuclear wasteland maybe? i think that nord stream II is a turning point.

if Germany caves in here, there's little hope to get rid of the leash for it and the whole of Europe. if it stands tall, Europe might become a buffer instead of a frontline. knowing and seeing our politicians, i'd say it doesn't look good.

Posted by: xototox | Mar 20 2021 0:34 utc | 75

@Posted by: Grieved | Mar 19 2021 23:05 utc | 55:

...., the US neurotic dynamic is to escalate blindly until it achieves control. This is the dynamic that must be defeated.

Yes that's problem all right, but can you ever defeat that dynamic given that the gorilla owns 10,000 nukes and has no moral qualms whatsoever of using them? Until a near perfect anti-nuke defense system is developed I surmise the world would just have to live with, and get used to, the juvenile antics of King Kong because it has stated time and again it would escalate all the way up to using its nukes, because that's what they are for according to a former Sec. of State.

I'm a pessimist on this issue. I'm afraid we'll just have to endure and live with a wild beast for a while to come.

Posted by: Oriental Voice | Mar 20 2021 0:35 utc | 76

The Alaska talks have ended and the Global Times Editor writes:

"China and the US are two major world powers. No matter how many disputes they have, the two countries should not impulsively break their relations. Coexistence and cooperation are the only options for China and the US. Whether we like it or not, the two countries should learn to patiently explore mutual compromises and pursue strategic win-win cooperation." [My Emphasis]

The big question: Does the Outlaw US Empire possess enough wisdom to act in that manner.

Posted by: karlof1 | Mar 20 2021 0:44 utc | 77

Russia is a classical construct with more than 1000 years of history and culture. These are part and parcel of what Russia is and who her people are....

The USA on the other hand, has never coalesced into a cultural entity.... Most of US culture was created by advertizers during the post WWII period..... The rock & roll generation... hippies.... etc.

A state based upon a covenant between itself and God... mediated by orthodox christianity... is totally foreign to Steve and most US denizens...

But it exists.... Ditto for China... now 5000 years young.... the embodiment of confucianism... meritocracy...

All foreign to Steve and Blinken and Biden....

INDY

Posted by: Dr. George W Oprisko | Mar 20 2021 0:47 utc | 78

so here is the white house press briefing for today on this thread topic - Department Press Briefing – March 19, 2021

here is the segment on china-usa meeting.. interestingly our prime minister trudeau mention the issue of the 2 michaels held in china and the phrase something to the effect "china must adhere to the 'rule based law' b.s. was at the top of his words in the radio when i was in the car earlier..

"QUESTION: (Inaudible) Alaska, if you’re able to talk about that. Obviously, there’s been a lot of reporting since yesterday about how sort of tense the initial encounter was. And there’s been discussions of – I think both sides have accused the other of breaking protocol in those initial exchanges. But I wonder if – does the State Department – based on the tone of that first meeting, does that give you any concern for the future of the relationship with China and the possibility of reaching some agreements or getting some achievables out of these meetings? Thank you.

MS PORTER: Thank you for your question, Simon, and just as a response to that, of course, as you know, Secretary Blinken and NSA Sullivan had their first meetings with Director Yang Jiechi and State Councilor Wang Yi, and of course, are in sessions this morning. And these were serious discussions. Again, I’ll just reiterate something that NSA Sullivan said. And of course, to your point about it, the – being contentious or not, again, we – he said we don’t see conflict, but of course, welcome stiff competition.

Again, this was a single meeting, and again, we know that sometimes these diplomatic presentations can be exaggerated or maybe even aimed at a domestic audience, but we’re not letting the theatrics from the other side stop us from doing what we were intending to do in Alaska, which is lay out our principles as well as our expectations and have these tough conversations early that we need to have with the PRC.

Let’s go to the line of Edward Keenan.

QUESTION: (Inaudible) of the Alaska meetings, the two Michaels, Kovrig and – the two Canadian Michaels who are being held as political prisoners in China, widely perceived as leverage against the United States, who are going to trial now as these meetings take place. Secretary Blinken and President Biden expressed their desire to see those two Michaels released when they met with the Canadian prime minister recently. I wonder to what extent those cases are up for discussion in Alaska right now, and if so, like, to what extent and how?

MS PORTER: Well, let me start off by saying that the United States continues to publicly call on the PRC to end the arbitrary and unacceptable detentions of the Canadians citizens Michael Spavor and Michael Kovrig. And again, the United States is deeply concerned by the PRC’s decision to hold a closed-court hearing with the Canadian citizens. Obviously, no one from – no diplomat from Canada or the U.S. were involved in that. And we’re also deeply alarmed by a report that the PRC will commence the trial of Canadian citizen Michael Kovrig on March 22nd and we renew our call for PRC authorities to attend this trial.

We’ll always just reiterate that we stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Canada in calling for their immediate release, and we also continue to condemn their lack of minimum procedural protections during their two-year arbitrary detention."

Posted by: james | Mar 20 2021 0:56 utc | 79

The Americans have completely lost the culture of negotiation. If there are no elementary human manners, then what kind of agreements can we talk about? A sad picture. And dangerous. A madman with nuclear weapons (and chemical weapons, by the way) is not the best option for a reliable negotiating partner.

alaff | Mar 19 2021 20:44 utc | 32:

And Bio-weapons.

Posted by: Ian2 | Mar 20 2021 1:53 utc | 85

Another Comment from China…

Another comment from Europe…

I suspect Blinken/Sullivan/Biden need to show that they are "tough" to the Chinese in public because otherwise, they will be roasted by the 78 millions Trump supporters for being "weak" to China compared with Trump. Behind the close door, Chinese foreign minister Wang Yi characterized the talks to be NOT "very tense." I believe Biden actually is quite keen to get some "achievements" from the Chinese side, probably not realistically in this meeting, but hopefully in the near future.

Ha, but the weather is cold, the hotel is shoddy, and the Chinese delegate had to have instant noodle for lunch - that sounds like a very low budget “Hongmen Banquet” by the Americans. Maybe they are still waiting for their 1.9 trillion stimulus check?

Posted by: d dan | Mar 20 2021 2:12 utc | 86

trump changed that, suddenly the ugly side of the empire became visible

I've heard this about Trump a lot, but I've always wondered why Trump was the ultimate catalyst for this epiphany. You would think that the Iraq War should have been that watershed moment, or even Libya (and perhaps they were for many, like me). I suppose from the perspective of inter-imperialist relations in the first world, a lack of decorum of the level of Trump's is more anomalous and egregious than the imposition of death and destruction of people in the global south.

Posted by: Kapusta | Mar 20 2021 2:37 utc |

Mr. Id

Truly dreadful but very likely true portrait of America and not only the South; of which not much has remained after the mass migrations from the North in these past 40 years.

My personal observations have been consistent with your in the interior of the United States, the Judeo-Christians have become meaner and more bigoted and more racist. They are aggressive with an in-your-face attitude. They hate, and they hate Catholics, Muslims, and especially Iranians.

A wealthy preacher was recently asked why always flew in a private jet. He answered that he saw so much hatred on the face of fellow passengers that he could no longer endure it. Others laughed at him, but I believed him.

The late Carl Gustav Jung once observed that he knew World War II was coming because he could see Wotan in every German.

As I wrote to Mr. Kooshy, America could have been the Love of all nations of the world, their second home. But the leaders of Judeo-Christian, such as the late John Hay or the late Theodore Roosvelt, went after Imperial America chimera and their folksy plebs after Second Coming and Palestine. This project of 150 years has now failed.

Posted by: Fyi | Mar 20 2021 3:03 utc | 91

I think that the presidency of Mr. Trump revealed the ugly side of the United States; suddenly the gilded papier marche of America, carefully created by the best propaganda techniques over 70 years, was shredded and USA was revealed to be a country just like so many others.

It is up to American people, Judeo-Christians as well as others, to address the deep deep social problems of the United States.

Posted by: Fyi | Mar 20 2021 3:13 utc | 92

Rape camps in Yugo, rape camps in Libya, rape camps in Xinjiang.....

Somebody sure have certain fetishism for sex and violence.

One from the archive,
That 'humanitarian intervention in Sudan'

Indeed, the Darfur crisis is following a pattern which is so well-worn now that it has almost become routine. Saturation reporting from a crisis region; emergency calls for help broadcast on the electronic media (such as the one recently on the BBC Radio 4 flagship ‘Today’ programme); televised pictures of refugees; lurid stories of “mass rapes”, which are surely designed to titillate as much to provoke outrage; reproachful evocations of the Rwandan genocide; demands that something must be done (”How can we stand idly by?”, etc.); editorials in the Daily Telegraph calling for a return to the days of Rudyard Kipling's benevolent imperialism[6]; and, finally, the announcement that plans are indeed being drawn up for an intervention.

……………..

Intervention will allow Western forces to control an oil rich region, and perhaps to expel the present holders of concessions. The fact that the biggest of these is China, and that America’s other foreign adventures also seem to have as their goal the control of energy supplies to that strategic rival, only adds further piquancy to what is, otherwise, an all too banal case of modern imperialistic meddling.

http://www.hartford-hwp.com/archives/27e/764.html

Posted by: denk | Mar 20 2021 5:13 utc | 97

This is just great…

Many great observations tonight, but all, beg the question; How do we change a nation state that has so thoroughly morphed into an advertising and marketing phony, aided and abetted by so many deluded morons?

Posted by: vetinLA | Mar 20 2021 5:24 utc | 98

And then we have this…

I don’t know if the title will match up with the content. I cannot access the content here. But the truth remains everyone should have humility when entering in diplomatic negotiations. Arrogance has no place there.

And this…

All this nonsense about Xinjiang is being exposed for what it actually is… a convenient fiction.

And this…

Of course, the USA “media” will translate this as arrogance. But what is China supposed to do after a seven minute tirade demanding China to do certain things or else experience a hot war…

And he is correct.

On the global scene, America is the weak nation.

And this…

Yeah, after the terrible behavior of the United States “diplomats” we have a major “pile on” against America…

…the American narrative is that the BRI is bad and will result in a “debt trap”. So says the 20 trillion dollar debt nation.

.

Roderrick

Here’s a post from Roderick…

US took to Alaska the same attitude as it has had for 250 years.

That must change.

We imposed democracy and capitalism on other nations, only to learn that many cultures simply could not find those a successful replacement for what they had for centuries. Even following the USSR, people wanted the old ways back, feeling their safety net had been taken from them and billionaire oligarchs had looted state assets.

We have corrupted democracy and capitalism, both have become ugly in the rebellion and corruption that have permeated our nation like cancer. Consequently we no longer have anything worthwhile to ‘sell’ or impose.

But more importantly, our self-assigned charter as the world policeman, only creating more problems by every war since WWII, has created a world that reviles us, indeed more and more nations view us as their enemy, even as they are getting stronger by the day.

Humility rather than hubris. That is the only means for America to survive long-term. Get along, stop invading, stop threatening, stop harming other nations economically. If we cannot change, a global coalition will finally have had enough of their increasingly common enemy.

And within China…

Well the response to the Alaskan negotiations and the arrogance of the American delegation was quick. Already there are tee-shirts, and iPhone cases being made.

And here’s some more pictures. It’s all over China, now.

And here…

Some comments by 周齐汉 (Qi Han Zhou)

从国社通稿来看，此次重启对话还是具有一定效果。比如，美方重申坚持一个中国原则。比如，商议对等便利双方外交机构人员和媒体记者的活动。我方阐明了红线和底线。红线，中共的执政地位和制度安全不容损害。底线，台湾是中国领土，不容分裂，没有任何余地。还是那句话，谈大门打开，打奉陪到底。

Judging from the draft of the State News Agency, the resumption of the dialogue still has some effect.

For example, the U.S. side reiterated its adherence to the one-China principle.

For example, it is easier to discuss re-equivalent facilities for the activities of diplomatic personnel and media journalists on both sides.

We set out the red line and the bottom line.

Red line, the ruling position of the Communist Party of China and institutional security should not be compromised.

Bottom line, Taiwan is China’s territory and cannot be divided, and there is no room for maneuver.

Or that sentence, talk about the door open, play with the end.

And some comments by Josef Gregory Mahoney

Was asked by Maria Siow at #scmp for his take on the Alaska meetings. His responses: 

Genuine frustration and posturing by both sides... both countries have compelling reasons to improve relations... We won’t see a lot of movement on more contentious issues in in the next few weeks, but the groundwork will be laid in this meeting, quietly, for resolving the trade war, drawing clearer lines on tech competition, and a mutual understanding if not respect for each others redlines... Don’t be too distracted by the tough talk. China’s two top foreign policy officials wouldn’t be in Alaska if positive prospects were unlikely. They don’t walk into traps. 

Biden appears to have confirmed what many already suspected: that Allies have some key concerns with China, all hope the US can help resolve these and provide security guarantees, but none want to see relations worsen or follow Washington into an aggressive containment strategy. I’m optimistic that we’ll see tensions relax on multiple fronts, but it will depend in part on whether Washington will better discipline itself on Taiwan and likewise better discipline Taiwan, as was often the case before Trump, and whether Beijing will find an acceptable way forward through this as well. Taiwan is really the stickiest issue to work through.

From CTGN

The Chinese “red lines”. From the article “China says no compromise on sovereignty issues after talks with U.S. conclude“.

China pretty much stated that the USA has no say what so ever on how China deals with it’s domestic issues, and to FUCK OFF regarding them. If the USA pushes on these issues they will cross a “red line” which is very dangerous…

China will not change it’s government structure.

The U.S. brags about its democracy, even though its policy is most frequently dictated by the bureaucrats and the bureaucratic system. Congress struggles with basic tasks such as keeping the government funded and running. The U.S. is in a new gilded age, where selling digital kittens for millions of dollars is mistaken for innovation. Its politics are stalemated, its institutions are brittle, and its wealth is funneled to a small circle of elites.

-CGTN

Stop demanding that China adopt the American way of governance. American government, and leadership is an abject failure. It is insanity to expect a prosperous, growing, and successful nation to adopt the failed policies that characterize America.

In the statement, the Chinese side emphasized that the ruling position of the Communist Party of China (CPC) is a choice of history and the people's choice, and the development of China is inseparable from CPC's leadership.

The ruling position of the CPC and the security of the system is "an intangible red line" and "must not be compromised," the statement highlighted.

It added that the socialist system with Chinese characteristics is the system most in line with China's national conditions and the "code" for China's development, and stated that China's development goal is to achieve the "two centenary" goals and the Chinese Dream of the great rejuvenation of the Chinese nation through hard work.

And this translation from the Chinese is most certainly a “bitch slap”…

China's reply to US at Alaska meeting:

You have your type of democracy. we have our type of democracy.

We lifted millions if not all of our population out of poverty. You created millions of unemployed and homeless.

We controlled and eradicated Covid. You let Covid devastate you.

Your infrastructures are at least 30 to 40 years old.

We build and provide cheap and affordable housing for the people. You build houses but the economic situation that you are in now resulted in more foreclosures (people giving up) than people buying.

We don't have homeless people sleeping in the street. You have plenty sleeping all over the place.

Our people have sufficient good food to eat. You too have food but the people have no money to buy food and have to rely on Govt Food stamps to pay for their food.

We have very little crime rate. You have one of the highest crime rate in the world which keeps your police very busy.

We have affordable health insurance and health care. Your health care is so out of reach such that the average household could not afford to fall sick.

Our people are united behind us. Your people are divided behind you.

Our democratic systems are quite different. Ours can deliver the goods. Yours make you indebted.

Why must you make us follow your way of running the country?

China’s human rights, not an excuse for interference

Using the excuse of “human rights” has long been the methodology for interference in the affairs of other nations. China will not allow it, nor tolerate it.

"China will not impose its democratic system and values on other countries, while firmly safeguarding its own political system and values, and opposes accusing and discrediting China and interfering in China's internal affairs under the guise of human rights issues," according to the statement.

China also pointed out that it has no intention to interfere in America's political system or to challenge and replace U.S. position and its influence. It called on the U.S. side to properly view China's political system, its development path, national strategies as well as its influence worldwide.

Commitment to independent foreign policy of peace

Both America and China said that they were committed to “peace”. But how and when they said it differed.

The American delegation produced a long line of demands on China’s internal affairs, and followed up with the demand that China obey “the US-Led rule-of-law” instead of the UN charter. Then immediately afterwards, said “of course the US is committed to peace and wants to avoid war”.

China stated…

In the statement, the Chinese side reiterated that its commitment to an independent foreign policy of peace, insist on independence, uphold peaceful development, uphold win-win cooperation, uphold multilateralism, uphold fairness and justice, and continue to promote the building of a community with a shared future for mankind

"We firmly defend national sovereignty and national dignity, and we firmly oppose other countries' accusations on China's internal affairs," it claimed, reiterating that China adheres to the path of peaceful development.

Support for ‘true multilateralism’

America wants to ignore the UN. Instead it has a “US-Led Rule-of-law” that they expect China to obey.

China and the world follows the dictates of the UN. America wants to have a US-Led “rules-based” order upon the rules that the United States make. This is not acceptable to China, (and Russia).

China also highlighted multilateralism in the statement by regarding it as an "important cornerstone of the current international system."

According to China, true multilateralism should adhere to the purposes and principles of the Charter of the United Nations, respect the basic norms of international relations, respect the sovereignty of all countries in the world, respect the diversity of civilizations, and work for the democratization of international relations.

"We are willing to work with the United States to maintain true multilateralism in the multilateral mechanism such as the United Nations and provide the international community with more and better international public products," said the statement.

China, U.S. need cooperation not confrontation

America came into the negotiations on a strategy of “zero sum”, meaning do things as I dictate, or face the consequences. While China was looking forward to a “win – win” outcome.

Regarding relationship between China and the U.S., the Chinese side stated that the essence of Sino-U.S. relations is mutual benefit and win-win, rather than a zero-sum game.

"Neither China nor the United States can bear the consequences of conflict and confrontation," the statement warned, calling on the two sides to "trust each other instead of suspicion, understand each other instead of accusing each other, and cooperate with each other instead of dismantling, so as to ensure that both sides focus on handling their domestic priorities and achieving their respective development goals."

The statement stressed that China's policy on U.S., with a high degree of stability and continuity, is committed to "achieving non-conflict, non-confrontation, mutual respect, and win-win cooperation with the U.S."

It called on the two sides to keep communication channels open, resume normal dialogue and exchange mechanisms, carry out mutually beneficial cooperation, so as to properly manage differences, and avoid misunderstandings and misjudgments.

No compromise on Taiwan question

This is a major “red line” and will result in military conflict if it is crossed.

Calling the Taiwan question core to China's interests and a matter of China's sovereignty and territorial integrity, China reiterated that there is no compromise in this regard.

No rights to interfere in China’s Hong Kong affairs

How can one engage in cooperation for example, if America is obsessed with interfering in China's national sovereignty and territorial integrity? 

Sure the U.S. has its "principles" - but this must be done in a fair, pragmatic and reconciliatory way as opposed to, for example, whipping up unrest in Hong Kong, clinging onto the "genocide" rhetoric on Xinjiang, or promoting tensions in the Taiwan Straits. 

How China conducts its internal policies is its business, nobody else's.

-CGTN

This is a major “red line” and will result in military conflict if it is crossed.

Regarding the recent decisions made by China's top legislature, the National People's Congress, on the improvement of electoral system in the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region (HKSAR), the Chinese delegation said the U.S. should respect the decision and follow the international law and basic norms of international relations.

"It is the central government's task to improve the electoral system of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region. How to design, develop and improve the electoral system is China's internal affairs. No foreign government, organization or individual has the right to interfere," read the statement.

‘Xinjiang genocide’ claim: ‘Biggest lie of the century’

America needs to interrupt the BRI. And key to that is Xinjiang. China says that this lie of “concentration camps” and ‘Genocide” is simply not true and must end. But it will not. America is planning on military intervention into the Chinese territory and are moving forces in Afghanistan concurrently.

China also dismissed the claim that there is genocide in China's Xinjiang, calling it "the biggest lie of the century."

The delegation said the door of Xinjiang is wide open to the world. It welcomed exchanges with the U.S. side on the basis of mutual respect while stressed that China will not accept any investigation in Xinjiang based on the presumption of guilt by those who are biased, condescending and want to lecture China.

It is hoped that the U.S. side can respect facts, call off attacks against and smearing of China's Xinjiang policy, and abandon double standards on anti-terrorism, it added.

Tibet ‘part of China,’ ‘Dalai Lama has long engaged in anti-China separatist activities’

Again. This is a major “red line” and will result in military conflict if it is crossed.

China also pointed out that the 14th Dalai Lama is a political exile who has long engaged in anti-China separatist activities under the guise of religion.

"It is hoped that the U.S. will abide by its commitment to recognize Tibet as part of China and not support 'Tibet independence,' handle Tibet-related issues carefully and properly, lift sanctions on relevant Chinese officials, and stop using Tibet-related issues to interfere in China's internal affairs," it stated.

On a positive note. From the article “Why China and U.S. can seek a reset after Anchorage”…

It's a strange truth that during the two-day sit-down, the director of the Office of the Foreign Affairs Commission of the CPC Central Committee Yang Jiechi and Foreign Minister Wang Yi did just that. They wasted no time in highlighting the importance of "mutual respect" and the avoidance of harmful extremes in addressing bilateral relations and structural disparities.

Perhaps the Chinese diplomats did not want to be disrespected and misunderstood. But they soon found out their U.S. counterparts, Secretary of State Antony Blinken and National Security Advisor Jake Sullivan, were from another universe with their own brands of isolation. They seemed out of touch with reality to acknowledge the existence of differences, and to find the safety of the middle ground to resolve them amicably, rather than go for the imbalance of the extremes in the hope to validate America's shell games in East Asia and the Western Pacific.

The senior American diplomats walked into the meeting ostensibly from a position of self-righteousness and strength, absolutely unprepared and reluctant to drop the interventionist claims and instincts, to discuss the delicate process of resetting the pivotal relationship, and to compartmentalize and contain the structural differences.

From this perspective, the downfall of their hopeless quest to enforce their interventionist worldview in the testy exchange is found in this...

...in the wrong message that China ought to be confronted and contained, and that accommodation, mutual coexistence, or even extensive cooperation on matters of mutual interest must be ruled out...

... (that is) until China respects "the U.S.-led rules-based international order."

Strategic Culture Foundation chimes in…

The Biden administration has displayed initial deluded and antiquated thinking when it comes to foreign policy.

After the four-year interregnum of Donald Trump’s “Cirque du Stupide,” America’s foreign diplomacy should be undergoing a total facelift.

Returning to the stodgy “business as usual” foreign policy of the past is not the answer.

As the Biden administration began to nestle into office, there was a familiar refrain in press releases from the Department of State, otherwise known as “Foggy Bottom.”

These included such old ditties as “The Secretary and the Foreign Minister discussed ways to strengthen cooperation with allies and partners to address the [blah . . . blah . . . blah].”

…

The Biden administration has displayed initial deluded and antiquated thinking when it comes to foreign policy.

It should be remembered that Biden’s Senate career began when Mao Zedong was still in charge in China, a war with the U.S. as a main participant continued to rage in Southeast Asia, a country called the United Arab Republic was the center of political activity in the Middle East, white rule and apartheid was the name of the game in southern Africa, and right-wing dictatorships ruled throughout Latin America.

Those who live in the past will never be prepared to face the future.

The Spectator has some thoughts…

“Very frank. It was the first high-level meeting between members of the Biden administration and their Chinese counterparts. To say that it was a public relations disaster for the US is to understate the case.”

“Blinken and his sidekick, Jake Sullivan, a Hillary Clinton factotum who is now national security adviser, sat down to read China the riot act. It was not a success.”

“The United States, said Yang, in one of the most dismissive diplomatic rejoinders I have ever heard, does not have the ‘qualifications’ to address China ‘from a position of strength’. F, my dear Blinken, you.”

“Joe Biden has been in office for just two months. Has any US president had such a disastrous opening chapter on the world stage? None that I can recall.”

Some great articles…

US can’t accept painful fact that China is now its equal: Martin Jacques

We learnt two things from the China-US high-level dialogue held in Alaska last week.

The first was from the session at the beginning when the media were present. This would normally be conducted in a polite and somewhat anodyne fashion dressed up in diplomatic nicety. It could not have been more different. Secretary of State Antony Blinken and National Security Advisor Jake Sullivan commenced the proceedings and made some sharp criticisms of China. In response, Yang Jiechi, a member of the Political Bureau of the Communist Party of China (CPC) Central Committee and director of the Office of the Central Leading Group for Foreign Affairs, gave a bravura performance. Far from pulling his punches or couching his words in diplomatic language, he let his American counterparts have it with both barrels, challenging not just the US position but its very legitimacy. And all this before the world's media.

Let me quote some of his choice barbs: "When I entered this room, I should have reminded the US side of paying attention to its tone." "The US is not qualified to say it wants to speak to China from a position of strength." "China and the international community…uphold the UN-centered international order…not what is advocated by a small number of countries of the so-called 'rules-based' international order." "On human rights, we do hope the US will do better on human rights. The challenges facing the US in human rights are deep-seated. They did not just emerge over the past four years, such as Black Lives Matter." "On cyber-attacks, let me say that whether it's the ability to launch cyber-attacks or the technologies that could be deployed, the US is the champion." "The US does not represent international opinion and neither does the Western world."

While delivering these shots, Yang spoke with passion but never raised his voice. There were no cheap jibes. He occupied the high ground in the argument and left the Americans bewildered and belittled.

This is not normally the Chinese manner on such occasions. It is a sign that something has changed. There is a new sense of confidence on the part of the Chinese. That they are - or can - win the argument. That they are at least the equals of America. That they speak from a position of strength and America from a position of weakness. That history is on their side. It feels like the diplomatic equivalent of moving from "keeping a low profile" to "striving for achievement," or from being a relative spectator in the global system to becoming a major architect. The Americans have hitherto always thought of themselves as running the show; the shock visible in the body language of Blinken and Sullivan was the realization, conscious or unconscious, that this was no longer the case. The same was apparent in the Western media. The BBC, for example, invariably critical of China, reported it with an unfamiliar neutrality, as if stunned by the role reversal.

The second thing we found out from the dialogue (albeit already evident from the signals emanating from the White House), was that there will be no return to the status quo ante. That Biden is desperately anxious to appear as hostile to China as Trump was before him. The underlying forces at work here are very deep. America is in the process of coming to the painful realization that China is now its equal. But it cannot bring itself to accept or acquiesce in what is already an historical reality. That is why there can be no return to 1972 (Mao-Nixon Accord) or 1979 (US recognition of China). The relationship that prevailed then between China and the US was entirely different: the US was the giant, China a minnow. That was the basis of the US-China relationship for 45 years from 1972 until Trump torpedoed it in 2017, even though, of course, by the end China's rise was already undermining America's assumptions about the relationship. The realization that China was on the verge of overtaking the US economically, that China enjoyed a huge global presence, that it was already in effect its equal, came as an enormous shock to the American psyche and body politic.

Addicted to its hubris, it failed to see the blatantly obvious coming. As there can be no return to the past, the China-US relationship, so crucial to both and to the whole world, will have to be rethought on an entirely new basis, namely one of mutuality and equality. The problem is that the US is very far from thinking like this. How America needs for these times a giant like Henry Kissinger: someone who understands - and admires - China in a very profound way.

For the time being we must think in more mundane ways. Cooperation will be confined to the foothills, it will be a case of issue by issue, a bit here and a bit there, rebuilding contacts and communications between the two countries, ending as best can be done the toxicity and wanton destruction wrought by Donald Trump. Even this will not be easy but it ought, at a pinch, to be possible, with climate change offering the most important challenge and opportunity. For without cooperation between the two countries, climate change will imperil the very future of the planet and humanity.

China puts the Anglo-Americans in their place, and the cowardly EU, too, for good measure

China's representatives easily demolish the mountains of lies built by the US and its vassals, as part of their hybrid war on all independent nations, but now chiefly aimed at China and Russia, designated by the US hegemon, behind the pretext of "national security", as America's chief global "rivals". Truth weakens and eventually destroys imperialism, that's why it is now completely banned throughout the Western establishment media. Observe the barely repressed tone of exasperation in China's spokesperson. It's clear Beijing and Moscow have had just about enough of Western harassment, imperialist hostility, bad faith and hypocrisy. March 2021 clearly marks a turning point in international relations.

...

"China's position on the Meng Wanzhou case is very clear. This is nothing short of a political incident in which Canada played a very disgraceful role as an accomplice. We urge the Canadian side to immediately release Ms. Meng Wanzhou, who has been arbitrarily and unreasonably detained by the Canadian side, and ensure her early and safe return to China..."

Leaders, politicians and diplomats that have wisdom and serve their people will not pursue the so-called “alliance of democracies”. Many countries in the region want to see a sound and steady China-US relationship. Working together for a better life is democracy in real sense.

According to #US media, in 2016, a #Uyghur couple went to Italy with 3 children, leaving another 4 in #Xinjiang. If there's "forced sterilization" and "genocide" in Xinjiang as some in the west claim, how come this Uyghur couple have 7 children?

The #US, #UK and #Canada together account for only 5.7% of the world's population. Even if #EU is added, that will be about 11%. They cannot represent the international community.

#Democracy comes about when power belongs to people. There is no unified model for democracy. Sovereign states should be respected in their independent choose of development path. No one has the right to meddle in their internal affairs under the guise of "democracy".

I wonder in what way the west's democracy is superior. Amid #COVID19, the world's richest nations watch hundreds of thousands of their people die. Is this #democracy? While western politicians are busy wooing their party voters, the Chinese government serves all wholeheartedly.

In Guilin, FM Wang Yi & FM #Lavrov issued a joint statement that shed light on what is real human rights, democracy, international order & multilateralism. #China & #Russia will jointly and resolutely defend international justice & fairness.

China & Russia, with great sense of commitment & responsibility as major countries in the world & permanent members of the #UNSC, will give strong backing to each other on issues of core interests as important partners & play an underpinning role in international affairs.

In 40 years, the #Uyghur population has grown from 5.5 million to 12.8 million. The fact that #Xinjiang residents of various ethnic groups enjoy stability, security, development and progress, makes it one of the most successful human rights stories.

Some in the #US, #UK, #Canada and #EU clearly don't want to acknowledge the real facts about #Xinjiang & don't care about the truth, but hold on to accusations based on lies & false information. They just do not want to see #China's success, development and better livelihood.

What the #US, #UK, #Canada and #EU have done is utter denigration and offense to the reputation and dignity of the #Chinese people, blatant interference of China's internal affairs, and grave violation of China's sovereignty and security interests.

The #US and #UK used some test tube of washing powder and a staged video as evidence to launch wars against sovereign countries such as #Iraq and #Syria, leaving numerous death and displacement. Shouldn't they be sanctioned?

#France, #UK and #EU launched a war in #Libya, leading to regional turbulence & grave migrant and refugee issues. Shouldn't they be held accountable?

Tens of hundreds of people died of #COVID19 because these most developed countries are indifferent to their people's rights to life and health. They hoard #vaccines far in excess of their population's needs, leaving developing countries struggling with insufficient vaccines.

How can people enjoy rights if they lost their lives? Some in the west talk a lot about #humanrights, but who and what right on earth are they protecting? In what way are they respecting and protecting human rights.

#China is not what it was 120 years ago, when foreign powers could force open its door with guns. Certain colluding individuals in politics, academics and media should think twice if they think they could make wanton smears with impunity.

The west shall entertain no illusion as regards #China's firm determination to defend national interests and dignity. It's a courtesy to reciprocate what we receive. They will have to pay a price for their ignorance and arrogance.

Chinese Government Statement

#China deplores and rejects the unilateral sanctions by #EU citing so-called #HumanRights issues in #Xinjiang. 

This move is based on nothing but lies and disinformation, and will inevitably undermine China-EU relations. 

To safeguard national sovereignty, security and development interest, #China will sanction #EU individuals and entities that have been spreading lies and disinformation at the cost of China's interests...

The #EU must drop its hypocritical double standards, and stop going further down the wrong path. Otherwise, it will be met with further resolute reactions. 

https://www.fmprc.gov.cn/.../s2510_665401/t1863106.shtml

MM Comments

I had high hopes for the meeting. I was wrong.

Rather than improve relationships between the United States and China, the Alaskan meeting pretty much depicted America as an out of control bully that stated that it did not need to follow the UN and global governance standards. Instead it was the biggest, meanest and baddest thug on the block and laid out it’d demands on China.

It told China that “you will obey what we say or risk a hot war with us and our very powerful allies”.

While I am sure that most Americans would welcome this attitude, I found this arrogant, and very upsetting.

Reports are that immediately afterwards, China and Russia set up and held meetings.

I wonder what they are talking about…

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The Star by Arthur C Clarke (full text)

This is a nice short story by Arthur C. Clarke. It is titled “The Star”. It’s actually wonderful. It’s the reason why many of us started reading science fiction short stories in the first place.

The Star

From The Nine Billion Names of God: The Best Short Stories of Arthur C. Clarke

It is three thousand light-years to the Vatican. Once, I believed that space could have no power over faith, just as I believed the heavens declared the glory of God’s handwork. Now I have seen that handiwork, and my faith is sorely troubled. I stare at the crucifix that hangs on the cabin wall above the Mark VI Computer, and for the first time in my life I wonder if it is no more than an empty symbol.

I have told no one yet, but the truth cannot be concealed. The facts are there for all to read, recorded on the countless miles of magnetic tape and the thousands of photographs we are carrying back to Earth. Other scientists can interpret them as easily as I can, and I am not one who would condone that tampering with the truth which often gave my order a bad name in the olden days.

The crew were already sufficiently depressed: I wonder how they will take this ultimate irony. Few of them have any religious faith, yet they will not relish using this final weapon in their campaign against me—that private, good-natured, but fundamentally serious war which lasted all the way from Earth. It amused them to have a Jesuit as chief astrophysicist: Dr. Chandler, for instance, could never get over it. (Why are medical men such notorious atheists?) Sometimes he would meet me on the observation deck, where the lights are always low so that the stars shine with undiminished glory. He would come up to me in the gloom and stand staring out of the great oval port, while the heavens crawled slowly around us as the ship turned over and over with the residual spin we had never bothered to correct.

“Well, Father,” he would say at last, “it goes on forever and forever, and perhaps Something made it. But how you can believe that Something has a special interest in us and our miserable little world—that just beats me.” Then the argument would start, while the stars and nebulae would swing around us in silent, endless arcs beyond the flawlessly clear plastic of the observation port.

It was, I think, the apparent incongruity of my position that cause most amusement among the crew. In vain I pointed to my three papers in the Astrophysical Journal, my five in the Monthly Notices of the Royal Astronomical Society. I would remind them that my order has long been famous for its scientific works. We may be few now, but ever since the eighteenth century we have made contributions to astronomy and geophysics out of all proportion to our numbers. Will my report on the Phoenix Nebula end our thousand years of history? It will end, I fear, much more than that.

I do not know who gave the nebula its name, which seems to me a very bad one. If it contains a prophecy, it is one that cannot be verified for several billion years. Even the word “nebula” is misleading; this is a far smaller object than those stupendous clouds of mist—the stuff of unborn stars—that are scattered throughout the length of the Milky Way. On the cosmic scale, indeed, the Phoenix Nebula is a tiny thing—a tenuous shell of gas surrounding a single star.

Or what is left of a star. . .

The Rubens engraving of Loyola seems to mock me as it hangs there above the spectrophotometer tracings. What would you, Father, have made of this knowledge that has come into my keeping, so far from the little world that was all the Universe you knew? Would your faith have risen to the challenge, as mine has failed to do?

You gaze into the distance, Father, but I have traveled a distance beyond any that you could have imagined when you founded our order a thousand years ago. No other survey ship has been so far from Earth: we are at the very frontiers of the explored Universe. We set out to reach the Phoenix Nebula, we succeeded, and we are homeward bound with our burden of knowledge. I wish I could lift that burden from my shoulders, but I call to you in vain across the centuries and the light-years that lie between us.

On the book you are holding the words are plain to read. AD MAIOREM DEI GLORIAM, the message runs, but it is a message I can no longer believe. Would you still believe it, if you could see what we have found?

We knew, of course, what the Phoenix Nebula was. Every year, in our Galaxy alone, more than a hundred stars explode, blazing for a few hours or days with hundreds of times their normal brilliance until they sink back into death and obscurity. Such are the ordinary novas—the commonplace disasters of the Universe. I have recorded the spectrograms and light curves of dozens since I started working at the Lunar Observatory.

But three or four times in every thousand years occurs something beside which even a nova pales into total insignificance.

When a star becomes a supernova, it may for a little while outshine all the massed suns of the Galaxy. The Chinese astronomers watched this happen in A.D. 1054, not knowing what it was they saw. Five centuries later, in 1572, a supernova blazed in Cassiopeia so brilliantly that it was visible in the daylight sky. There have been three more in the thousand years that have passed since then.

Our mission was to visit the remnants of such a catastrophe, to reconstruct the events that led up to it, and, if possible, to learn its cause. We came slowly in through the concentric shells of gas that had been blasted out six thousand years before, yet were expanding still. They were immensely hot, radiating even now with a fierce violet light, but were far too tenuous to do us any damage. When the star had exploded, its outer layers had been driven upward with such speed that they had escaped completely from its gravitational field. Now they formed a hollow shell large enough to engulf a thousand solar systems, and at its center burned the tiny, fantastic object which the star had now become—a White Dwarf, smaller than earth, yet weighing a million times as much.

The glowing gas shells were all around us, banishing the normal night of interstellar space. We were flying into the center of the cosmic bomb that had detonated millennia ago and whose incandescent fragments were still hurtling apart. The immense scale of the explosion, and the fact that the debris already covered a volume of space many millions of miles across, robbed the scene of any visible movement. It would take decades before the unaided eye could detect any motion in these tortured wisps and eddies of gas, yet the sense of turbulent expansion was overwhelming.

We had checked our primary drive hours before, and were drifting slowly toward the fierce little star ahead. Once it had been a sun like our own, but it had squandered in a few hours the energy that should have kept it shining for a million years. Now it was a shrunken miser, hoarding its resources as if trying to make amends for its prodigal youth.

No one seriously expected to find planets. If there had been any before the explosion, they would have been boiled into puffs of vapor, and their substance lost in the greater wreckage of the star itself. But we made the automatic search, as we always do when approaching an unknown sun, and presently we found a single small world circling the star at an immense distance. It must have been the Pluto of this vanished Solar System, orbiting on the frontiers of the night. Too far from the central sun ever to have known life, its remoteness had saved it from the fate of all its lost companions.

The passing fires had seared its rocks and burned away the mantle of frozen gas that must have covered it in the days before the disaster. We landed, and we found the Vault.

Its builders had made sure that we should. The monolithic marker that stood above the entrance was now a fused stump, but even the first long-range photographs told us that here was the work of intelligence. A little later we detected the continent-wide pattern of radioactivity that had been buried in the rock. Even if the pylon above the Vault had been destroyed, this would have remained, an immovable and all-but eternal beacon calling to the stars. Our ship fell toward this gigantic bull’s eye like an arrow into its target.

The pylon must have been a mile high when it was built, but now it looked like a candle that had melted down into a puddle of wax. It took us a week to drill through the fused rock, since we did not have the proper tools for a task like this. We were astronomers, not archaeologists, but we could improvise. Our original purpose was forgotten: this lonely monument, reared with such labor at the greatest possible distance from the doomed sun, could have only one meaning. A civilization that knew it was about to die had made its last bid for immortality.

It will take us generations to examine all the treasures that were placed in the Vault. They had plenty of time to prepare, for their sun must have given its first warnings many years before the final detonation. Everything that they wished to preserve, all the fruits of their genius, they brought here to this distant world in the days before the end, hoping that some other race would find it and that they would not be utterly forgotten. Would we have done as well, or would we have been too lost in our own misery to give thought to a future we could never see or share?

If only they had had a little more time! They could travel freely enough between the planets of their own sun, but they had not yet learned to cross the interstellar gulfs, and the nearest Solar System was a hundred light-years away. Yet even had they possessed the secret of the Transfinite Drive, no more than a few millions could have been saved. Perhaps it was better thus.

Even if they had not been so disturbingly human as their sculpture shows, we could not have helped admiring them and grieving for their fate. They left thousands of visual records and the machines for projecting them, together with elaborate pictorial instructions from which it will not be difficult to learn their written language. We have examined many of these records, and brought to life for the first time in six thousand years the warmth and beauty of a civilization that in many ways must have been superior to our own. Perhaps they only showed us the best, and one can hardly blame them. But their worlds were very lovely, and their cities were built with a grace that matches anything of man’s. We have watched them at work and play, and listened to their musical speech sounding across the centuries. One scene is still before my eyes—a group of children on a beach of strange blue sand, playing in the waves as children play on Earth. Curious whiplike trees line the shore, and some very large animal is wading in the shallows, yet attracting no attention at all.

And sinking into the sea, still warm and friendly and life-giving, is the sun that will soon turn traitor and obliterate all this innocent happiness.

Perhaps if we had not been so far from home and so vulnerable to loneliness, we should not have been so deeply moved. Many of us had seen the ruins of ancient civilizations on other worlds, but they had never affected us so profoundly. This tragedy was unique. It is one thing for a race to fail and die, as nations and cultures have done on Earth. But to be destroyed so completely in the full flower of its achievement, leaving no survivors—how could that be reconciled with the mercy of God?

My colleagues have asked me that, and I have given what answers I can. Perhaps you could have done better, Father Loyola, but I have found nothing in the Exercitia Spiritualia that helps me here. They were not an evil people: I do not know what gods they worshiped, if indeed they worshiped any. But I have looked back at them across the centuries, and have watched while the loveliness they used their last strength to preserve was brought forth again into the light of their shrunken sun. They could have taught us much: why were they destroyed?

I know the answers that my colleagues will give when they get back to Earth. They will say that the Universe has no purpose and no plan, that since a hundred suns explode every year in our Galaxy, at this very moment some race is dying in the depths of space. Whether that race has done good or evil during its lifetime will make no difference in the end: there is no divine justice, for there is no God.

Yet, of course, what we have seen proves nothing of the sort. Anyone who argues thus is being swayed by emotion, not logic. God has no need to justify His actions to man. He who built the Universe can destroy it when He chooses. It is arrogance—it is perilously near blasphemy—for us to say what He may or may not do.

This I could have accepted, hard though it is to look upon whole worlds and peoples thrown into the furnace. But there comes a point when even the deepest faith must falter, and now, as I look at the calculations lying before me, I have reached that point at last.

We could not tell, before we reached the nebula, how long ago the explosion took place. Now, from the astronomical evidence and the record in the rocks of that one surviving planet, I have been able to date it very exactly. I know in what year the light of this colossal conflagration reached the Earth. I know how brilliantly the supernova whose corpse now dwindles behind our speeding ship once shone in terrestrial skies. I know how it must have blazed low in the east before sunrise, like a beacon in that oriental dawn.

There can be no reasonable doubt: the ancient mystery is solved at last. Yet, oh God, there were so many stars you could have used. What was the need to give these people to the fire, that the symbol of their passing might shine above Bethlehem?

The End

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Law 4 of the 48 Laws of Power by Robert Greene; Always say less than necessary (Full Text)

Here is another post from the Robert Greene book “The 48 Laws of Power”. It suggests that you say as little as possible, and use this technique to gain control over the thoughts and actions of others. It advises laconic and taciturn speech mechanisms.

LAW 4

ALWAYS SAY LESS THAN NECESSARY

JUDGMENT

When you are trying to impress people with words, the more you say, the more common you appear, and the less in control. Even if you are saying something banal, it will seem original if you make it vague, open-ended, and sphinxlike. Powerful people impress and intimidate by saying less. The more you say, the more likely you are to say something foolish.

Video

Here’s Robert Greene when interviewed about this law. VIDEO.

TRANSGRESSION OF THE LAW

Gnaeus Marcius, also known as Coriolanus, was a great military hero of ancient Rome. In the first half of the fifth century B.C. he won many important battles, saving the city from calamity time and time again. Because he spent most of his time on the battlefield, few Romans knew him personally, making him something of a legendary figure.

In 454 B.C., Coriolanus decided it was time to exploit his reputation and enter politics. He stood for election to the high rank of consul. Candidates for this position traditionally made a public address early in the race, and when Coriolanus came before the people, he began by displaying the dozens of scars he had accumulated over seventeen years of fighting for Rome. Few in the crowd really heard the lengthy speech that followed; those scars, proof of his valor and patriotism, moved the people to tears. Coriolanus’s election seemed certain.

When the polling day arrived, however, Coriolanus made an entry into the forum escorted by the entire senate and by the city’s patricians, the aristocracy. The common people who saw this were disturbed by such a blustering show of confidence on election day.

And then Coriolanus spoke again, mostly addressing the wealthy citizens who had accompanied him. His words were arrogant and insolent. Claiming certain victory in the vote, he boasted of his battlefield exploits, made sour jokes that appealed only to the patricians, voiced angry accusations against his opponents, and speculated on the riches he would bring to Rome. This time the people listened: They had not realized that this legendary soldier was also a common braggart.

Down on his luck, [the screenwriter] Michael Arlen went to New York in 1944. To drown his sorrows he paid a visit to the famous restaurant “21.” 

In the lobby, he ran into Sam Goldwyn, who offered the somewhat impractical advice that he should buy racehorses. 

At the bar Arlen met Louis B. Mayer, an old acquaintance, who asked him what were his plans for the future. “

I was just talking to Sam Goldwyn ...” began Arlen. 

“How much did he offer you? ”interrupted Mayer. 

“Not enough,” he replied evasively. 

“Would you take fifteen thousand for thirty weeks?” asked Mayer. 

No hesitation this time. “Yes,” said Arlen.

-THE LITTLE, BROWN BOOK OF ANECDOTES, CLIFTON FADIMAN, ED., 1985

News of Coriolanus’s second speech spread quickly through Rome, and the people turned out in great numbers to make sure he was not elected. Defeated, Coriolanus returned to the battlefield, bitter and vowing revenge on the common folk who had voted against him. Some weeks later a large shipment of grain arrived in Rome. The senate was ready to distribute this food to the people, for free, but just as they were preparing to vote on the question Coriolanus appeared on the scene and took the senate floor. The distribution, he argued, would have a harmful effect on the city as a whole. Several senators appeared won over, and the vote on the distribution fell into doubt. Coriolanus did not stop there: He went on to condemn the concept of democracy itself. He advocated getting rid of the people’s representatives—the tribunes—and turning over the governing of the city to the patricians.

One oft-told tale about Kissinger... involved a report that Winston Lord had worked on for days. 

After giving it to Kissinger, he got it back with the notation, “Is this the best you can do?” 

Lord rewrote and polished and finally resubmitted it; back it came with the same curt question. 

After redrafting it one more time—and once again getting the same question from Kissinger-Lord snapped, “Damn it, yes, it’s the best I can do. ” 

To which Kissinger replied: “Fine, then I guess I’ll read it this time. ” 

-KISSINGER. WALTER ISAACSON, 1992

When word of Coriolanus’s latest speech reached the people, their anger knew no bounds. The tribunes were sent to the senate to demand that Coriolanus appear before them. He refused. Riots broke out all over the city. The senate, fearing the people’s wrath, finally voted in favor of the grain distribution. The tribunes were appeased, but the people still demanded that Coriolanus speak to them and apologize. If he repented, and agreed to keep his opinions to himself, he would be allowed to return to the battlefield.

Coriolanus did appear one last time before the people, who listened to him in rapt silence. He started slowly and softly, but as the speech went on, he became more and more blunt. Yet again he hurled insults! His tone was arrogant, his expression disdainful. The more he spoke, the angrier the people became. Finally they shouted him down and silenced him.

The tribunes conferred, condemned Coriolanus to death, and ordered the magistrates to take him at once to the top of the Tarpeian rock and throw him over. The delighted crowd seconded the decision. The patricians, however, managed to intervene, and the sentence was commuted to a lifelong banishment. When the people found out that Rome’s great military hero would never return to the city, they celebrated in the streets. In fact no one had ever seen such a celebration, not even after the defeat of a foreign enemy.

Interpretation

Before his entrance into politics, the name of Coriolanus evoked awe.

His battlefield accomplishments showed him as a man of great bravery. Since the citizens knew little about him, all kinds of legends became attached to his name. The moment he appeared before the Roman citizens, however, and spoke his mind, all that grandeur and mystery vanished. He bragged and blustered like a common soldier. He insulted and slandered people, as if he felt threatened and insecure.

Suddenly he was not at all what the people had imagined.

The discrepancy between the legend and the reality proved immensely disappointing to those who wanted to believe in their hero. The more Coriolanus said, the less powerful he appeared—a person who cannot control his words shows that he cannot control himself, and is unworthy of respect.

The King [Louis XIV] maintains the most impenetrable secrecy about affairs of State. The ministers attend council meetings, but he confides his plans to them only when he has reflected at length upon them and has come to a definite decision. 

I wish you might see the King. 

His expression is inscrutable; his eyes like those of a fox. He never discusses State affairs except with his ministers in Council. When he speaks to courtiers he refers only to their respective prerogatives or duties. 

Even the most frivolous of his utterances has the air of being the pronouncement of an oracle.  

-PRIMI VISCONTI, QUOTED IN LOUIS XIV, LOUIS BERTRAND, 1928

Had Coriolanus said less, the people would never have had cause to be offended by him, would never have known his true feelings. He would have maintained his powerful aura, would certainly have been elected consul, and would have been able to accomplish his antidemocratic goals.

But the human tongue is a beast that few can master.

It strains constantly to break out of its cage, and if it is not tamed, it will run wild and cause you grief. Power cannot accrue to those who squander their treasure of words.

Oysters open completely when the moon is full; and when the crab sees one it throws a piece of stone or seaweed into it and the oyster cannot close again so that it serves the crab for meat. Such is the fate of him who opens his mouth too much and thereby puts himself at the mercy of the listener. 

=Leonardo da Vinci, 1452-1519

OBSERVANCE OF THE LAW

In the court of Louis XIV, nobles and ministers would spend days and nights debating issues of state. They would confer, argue, make and break alliances, and argue again, until finally the critical moment arrived: Two of them would be chosen to represent the different sides to Louis himself, who would decide what should be done. After these persons were chosen, everyone would argue some more: How should the issues be phrased? What would appeal to Louis, what would annoy him? At what time of day should the representatives approach him, and in what part of the Versailles palace? What expression should they have on their faces?

Finally, after all this was settled, the fateful moment would finally arrive. The two men would approach Louis—always a delicate matter—and when they finally had his ear, they would talk about the issue at hand, spelling out the options in detail.

Louis would listen in silence, a most enigmatic look on his face. Finally, when each had finished his presentation and had asked for the king’s opinion, he would look at them both and say, “I shall see.” Then he would walk away.

The ministers and courtiers would never hear another word on this subject from the king—they would simply see the result, weeks later, when he would come to a decision and act. He would never bother to consult them on the matter again.

Undutiful words of a subject do often take deeper root than the memory of ill deeds.... 

The late Earl of Essex told Queen Elizabeth that her conditions were as crooked as her carcass; but it cost him his head, which his insurrection had not cost him but for that speech. 

-SIR WALTER RALEIGH. 1554-1618

Interpretation

Louis XIV was a man of very few words. His most famous remark is “L‘état, c’est moi” (“I am the state”); nothing could be more pithy yet more eloquent.

His infamous “I shall see” was one of several extremely short phrases that he would apply to all manner of requests.

Louis was not always this way; as a young man he was known for talking at length, delighting in his own eloquence. His later taciturnity was self-imposed, an act, a mask he used to keep everybody below him off-balance.

No one knew exactly where he stood, or could predict his reactions.

No one could try to deceive him by saying what they thought he wanted to hear, because no one knew what he wanted to hear.

As they talked on and on to the silent Louis, they revealed more and more about themselves, information he would later use against them to great effect.

In the end, Louis’s silence kept those around him terrified and under his thumb. It was one of the foundations of his power. As Saint-Simon wrote, “No one knew as well as he how to sell his words, his smile, even his glances. Everything in him was valuable because he created differences, and his majesty was enhanced by the sparseness of his words.”

It is even more damaging for a minister to say foolish things than to do them. 

-Cardinal de Retz, 1613-1679

KEYS TO POWER

Power is in many ways a game of appearances, and when you say less than necessary, you inevitably appear greater and more powerful than you are. Your silence will make other people uncomfortable.

Humans are machines of interpretation and explanation; they have to know what you are thinking. When you carefully control what you reveal, they cannot pierce your intentions or your meaning.

Your short answers and silences will put them on the defensive, and they will jump in, nervously filling the silence with all kinds of comments that will reveal valuable information about them and their weaknesses.

They will leave a meeting with you feeling as if they had been robbed, and they will go home and ponder your every word. This extra attention to your brief comments will only add to your power.

Saying less than necessary is not for kings and statesmen only.

In most areas of life, the less you say, the more profound and mysterious you appear.

As a young man, the artist Andy Warhol had the revelation that it was generally impossible to get people to do what you wanted them to do by talking to them. They would turn against you, subvert your wishes, disobey you out of sheer perversity. He once told a friend, “I learned that you actually have more power when you shut up.”

In his later life Warhol employed this strategy with great success.

His interviews were exercises in oracular speech: He would say something vague and ambiguous, and the interviewer would twist in circles trying to figure it out, imagining there was something profound behind his often meaningless phrases.

Warhol rarely talked about his work; he let others do the interpreting.

He claimed to have learned this technique from that master of enigma Marcel Duchamp, another twentieth-century artist who realized early on that the less he said about his work, the more people talked about it. And the more they talked, the more valuable his work became.

By saying less than necessary you create the appearance of meaning and power.

Also, the less you say, the less risk you run of saying something foolish, even dangerous. In 1825 a new czar, Nicholas I, ascended the throne of Russia. A rebellion immediately broke out, led by liberals demanding that the country modernize—that its industries and civil structures catch up with the rest of Europe.

Brutally crushing this rebellion (the Decembrist Uprising), Nicholas I sentenced one of its leaders, Kondraty Ryleyev, to death.

On the day of the execution Ryleyev stood on the gallows, the noose around his neck. The trapdoor opened—but as Ryleyev dangled, the rope broke, dashing him to the ground.

At the time, events like this were considered signs of providence or heavenly will, and a man saved from execution this way was usually pardoned. As Ryleyev got to his feet, bruised and dirtied but believing his neck had been saved, he called out to the crowd, “You see, in Russia they don’t know how to do anything properly, not even how to make rope!”

A messenger immediately went to the Winter Palace with news of the failed hanging. Vexed by this disappointing turnabout, Nicholas I nevertheless began to sign the pardon.

But then: “Did Ryleyev say anything after this miracle?” the czar asked the messenger.

“Sire,” the messenger replied, “he said that in Russia they don’t even know how to make rope.”

“In that case,” said the Czar, “let us prove the contrary,” and he tore up the pardon.

The next day Ryleyev was hanged again. This time the rope did not break.

Learn the lesson: Once the words are out, you cannot take them back. Keep them under control. Be particularly careful with sarcasm: The momentary satisfaction you gain with your biting words will be outweighed by the price you pay.

Image: The Oracle at Delphi. When visitors consulted the Oracle, the priestess would utter a few enigmatic words that seemed full of meaning and import. No one disobeyed the words of the Oracle— they held power over life and death.

Authority: Never start moving your own lips and teeth before the subordinates do. The longer I keep quiet, the sooner others move their lips and teeth. As they move their lips and teeth, I can thereby understand their real intentions…. If the sovereign is not mysterious, the ministers will find opportunity to take and take. (Han-fei-tzu, Chinese philosopher, third century B.C.)

REVERSAL

There are times when it is unwise to be silent.

Silence can arouse suspicion and even insecurity, especially in your superiors; a vague or ambiguous comment can open you up to interpretations you had not bargained for.

Silence and saying less than necessary must be practiced with caution, then, and in the right situations. It is occasionally wiser to imitate the court jester, who plays the fool but knows he is smarter than the king. He talks and talks and entertains, and no one suspects that he is more than just a fool.

Also, words can sometimes act as a kind of smoke screen for any deception you might practice. By bending your listener’s ear with talk, you can distract and mesmerize them; the more you talk, in fact, the less suspicious of you they become. The verbose are not perceived as sly and manipulative but as helpless and unsophisticated. This is the reverse of the silent policy employed by the powerful: By talking more, and making yourself appear weaker and less intelligent than your mark, you can practice deception with greater ease.

Thoughts and Conclusions

Offer no speech. Respond laconically if at all.

And that is all that I need to say about this.

Do you want more?

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48 Laws of Power

Articles & Links

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You can start reading the articles by going HERE.
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Hemi-Sync Radiance (Full Package)

This is an introductory post.

The files are FLAC files. Not MP3.

They should play on almost all cell phones and computers. If you have any doubt you can probably download an APP that will allow you to listen to them.

MP3 is the most popular format while FLAC (Free Lossless Audio Codec) is a less known alternative. The main difference between the two is in how they compress the audio information. MP3 is a lossy format where parts of the audio information that people are not likely to hear are discarded. On the other hand, as the name suggests, FLAC is lossless.

-Difference Between MP3 and FLAC | DifferenceBetween

This Post

This is an introductory post.

This is an introductory post to give you an idea of how the brain / consciousness centering activity works.

Radiance (Full Package)

“Immerse yourself in an ethereal “homecoming” of the soul with the frequency-raising music of Aeoliah and Hemi-Sync Aeoliah is internationally known for his healing and uplifting music that nurtures body, mind and spirit. Radiance combines the harmonizing and transcendent effects of Aeoliah’s music with powerful Hemi-Sync meditation frequencies to transport you into higher more expanded states of consciousness. The spiritual communions made possible by this divinely inspired composition are emotionally engaging; the feelings engendered deeply touching and profound.”

“Use for massage and energy healing work or for deep, experiential meditation. Instruments featured: piano synthesizers, flute, voice and angelic choir. Length: 61 minutes. Supports massage and energy work, deep meditation Features Hemi-Sync sound technologies to balance and focus the brain.”

Harmonic Resonance 10:44
Starseed Sanctuary 10:10
Inner Chamber 6:11
The Treasure 10:18
Hearts of the Future 6:03
Isis Maria 5:06
Ascension Activation Portal 8:29
Stargate 3:30

The files

[easy_media_download url="https://metallicman.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/02/01-Harmonic-Resonancegood.flac" text="Download 01" target="_blank"] 01-Harmonic-Resonance (FLAC, but slow download)

[easy_media_download url="https://metallicman.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/02/01-Harmonic-Resonancegood.zip" text="Download 01" target="_blank"] 01-Harmonic-Resonance (ZIP file)

[easy_media_download url="https://metallicman.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/02/02-Starseed-Sanctuarygood.flac" text="Download 02" target="_blank"] 02-Starseed-Sanctuary (FLAC, but slow download)

[easy_media_download url="https://metallicman.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/02/02-Starseed-Sanctuarygood.zip" text="Download 02" target="_blank"] 02-Starseed-Sanctuary (ZIP file)

[easy_media_download url="https://metallicman.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/02/03-Inner-Chambergood.flac" text="Download 03" target="_blank"] 03-Inner-Chamber (FLAC, but slow download)

[easy_media_download url="https://metallicman.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/02/03-Inner-Chambergood.zip" text="Download 03" target="_blank"] 03-Inner-Chamber (ZIP file)

[easy_media_download url="https://metallicman.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/02/04-The-Treasure.zip" text="Download 04" target="_blank"] 04-The-Treasure (ZIP file)

[easy_media_download url="https://metallicman.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/02/05-Hearts-of-the-Future.zip" text="Download 05" target="_blank"] 05-Hearts-of-the-Future (ZIP file)

[easy_media_download url="https://metallicman.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/02/06-Isis-Maria.zip" text="Download 06" target="_blank"] 06-Isis-Maria (ZIP file)

[easy_media_download url="https://metallicman.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/02/07-Ascension-Activation-Portal.zip" text="Download 07" target="_blank"] 07-Ascension-Activation-Portal (ZIP file)

[easy_media_download url="https://metallicman.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/02/08-Stargate.zip" text="Download 08" target="_blank"] 08-Stargate (ZIP file)

Important note

This particular group of audio files are perfect for undoing the noise, the “news” and the hassles of daily life. They serve a “reset button” role in re-centering the position of your consciousness within your brain. It is an absolute necessity if you really want your affirmation prayers to work efficiently.

You can play it while you are walking or resting.

With the best (by far) way to get the full effect of the system is to lie down in bed and allow the system to work.

Details

Label: Monroe Products
Release Year: 2007
Genre: Metamusic
Sample Rate: 44100 Hz
Channels: 2
Bits per Sample: 16
Avg Bitrate: 640 kbps
Codec: reference lib
FLAC 1.3.2 20170101
Source: CDRip (AccurateRip verified)

Do you want more?

I have more posts in my Hemi-Sync Sub-Index here;

Hemi-Sync

Articles & Links

To go to the MAIN Index;

Master Index

You can start reading the articles by going HERE.
You can visit the Index Page HERE to explore by article subject.
You can also ask the author some questions. You can go HERE .
You can find out more about the author HERE.
If you have concerns or complaints, you can go HERE.
If you want to make a donation, you can go HERE.

Please kindly help me out in this effort. There is a lot of effort that goes into this disclosure. I could use all the financial support that anyone could provide. Thank you very much.

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Superiority by Arthur C. Clarke (Full Text)

Superiority

This is a full posting of the short story by Arthur C. Clarke. It is titled “Superiority”. “Superiority” is a science fiction short story by Arthur C. Clarke, first published in 1951. It depicts an arms race, and shows how the side which is more technologically advanced can be defeated, despite its apparent superiority, because of its own organizational flaws and its willingness to discard old technology without having fully perfected the new.

Please enjoy.

Arthur C. Clarke

IN MAKING THIS STATEMENT—which I do of my own free will—I wish first to make it perfectly clear that I am not in any way trying to gain sympathy, nor do I expect any mitigation of whatever sentence the Court may pronounce. I am writing this in an attempt to refute some of the lying reports broadcast over the prison radio and published in the papers I have been allowed to see. These have given an entirely false picture of the true cause of our defeat, and as the leader of my race’s armed forces at the cessation of hostilities I feel it my duty to protest against such libels upon those who served under me.

I also hope that this statement may explain the reasons for the application I have twice made to the Court, and will now induce it to grant a favor for which I can see no possible grounds of refusal.

The ultimate cause of our failure was a simple one: despite all statements to the contrary, it was not due to lack of bravery on the part of our men, or to any fault of the Fleet’s. We were defeated by one thing only—by the inferior science of our enemies. I repeat—by the inferior science of our enemies.

When the war opened we had no doubt of our ultimate victory. The combined fleets of our allies greatly exceeded in number and armament those which the enemy could muster against us, and in almost all branches of military science we were their superiors. We were sure that we could maintain this superiority. Our belief proved, alas, to be only too well founded.

At the opening of the war our main weapons were the long-range homing torpedo, dirigible ball-lightning and the various modifications of the Klydon beam. Every unit of the Fleet was equipped with these and though the enemy possessed similar weapons their installations were generally of lesser power. Moreover, we had behind us a far greater military Research Organization, and with this initial advantage we could not possibly lose.

The campaign proceeded according to plan until the Battle of the Five Suns. We won this, of course, but the opposition proved stronger than we had expected. It was realized that victory might be more difficult, and more delayed, than had first been imagined. A conference of supreme commanders was therefore called to discuss our future strategy.

Present for the first time at one of our war conferences was Professor-General Norden, the new Chief of the Research Staff, who had just been appointed to fill the gap left by the death of Malvar, our greatest scientist. Malvar’s leadership had been responsible, more than any other single factor, for the efficiency and power of our weapons. His loss was a very serious blow, but no one doubted the brilliance of his successor—though many of us disputed the wisdom of appointing a theoretical scientist to fill a post of such vital importance. But we had been overruled.

I can well remember the impression Norden made at that conference. The military advisers were worried, and as usual turned to the scientists for help. Would it be possible to improve our existing weapons, they asked, so that our present advantage could be increased still further?

Norden’s reply was quite unexpected. Malvar had often been asked such a question—and he had always done what we requested.

“Frankly, gentlemen,” said Norden, “I doubt it. Our existing weapons have practically reached finality. I don’t wish to criticize my predecessor, or the excellent work done by the Research Staff in the last few generations, but do you realize that there has been no basic change in armaments for over a century? It is, I am afraid, the result of a tradition that has become conservative. For too long, the Research Staff has devoted itself to perfecting old weapons instead of developing new ones. It is fortunate for us that our opponents have been no wiser: we cannot assume that this will always be so.”

Norden’s words left an uncomfortable impression, as he had no doubt intended. He quickly pressed home the attack.

“What we want are new weapons—weapons totally different from any that have been employed before. Such weapons can be made: it will take time, of course, but since assuming charge I have replaced some of the older scientists with young men and have directed research into several unexplored fields which show great promise. I believe, in fact, that a revolution in warfare may soon be upon us.”

We were skeptical. There was a bombastic tone in Norden’s voice that made us suspicious of his claims. We did not know, then, that he never promised anything that he had not already almost perfected in the laboratory. In the laboratory—that was the operative phrase.

Norden proved his case less than a month later, when he demonstrated the Sphere of Annihilation, which produced complete disintegration of matter over a radius of several hundred meters. We were intoxicated by the power of the new weapon, and were quite prepared to overlook one fundamental defect—the fact that it was a sphere and hence destroyed its rather complicated generating equipment at the instant of formation. This meant, of course, that it could not be used on warships but only on guided missiles, and a great program was started to convert all homing torpedoes to carry the new weapon. For the time being all further offensives were suspended.

We realize now that this was our first mistake. I still think that it was a natural one, for it seemed to us then that all our existing weapons had become obsolete overnight, and we already regarded them as almost primitive survivals. What we did not appreciate was the magnitude of the task we were attempting, and the length of time it would take to get the revolutionary super-weapon into battle. Nothing like this had happened for a hundred years and we had no previous experience to guide us.

The conversion problem proved far more difficult than anticipated. A new class of torpedo had to be designed, as the standard model was too small. This meant in turn that only the larger ships could launch the weapon, but we were prepared to accept this penalty. After six months, the heavy units of the Fleet were being equipped with the Sphere. Training maneuvers and tests had shown that it was operating satisfactorily and we were ready to take it into action. Norden was already being hailed as the architect of victory, and had half promised even more spectacular weapons.

Then two things happened. One of our battleships disappeared completely on a training flight, and an investigation showed that under certain conditions the ship’s long-range radar could trigger the Sphere immediately after it had been launched. The modification needed to overcome this defect was trivial, but it caused a delay of another month and was the source of much bad feeling between the naval staff and the scientists. We were ready for action again—when Norden announced that the radius of effectiveness of the Sphere had now been increased by ten, thus multiplying by a thousand the chances of destroying an enemy ship.

So the modifications started all over again, but everyone agreed that the delay would be worth it. Meanwhile, however, the enemy had been emboldened by the absence of further attacks and had made an unexpected onslaught. Our ships were short of torpedoes, since none had been coming from the factories, and were forced to retire. So we lost the systems of Kyrane and Floranus, and the planetary fortress of Rhamsandron.

It was an annoying but not a serious blow, for the recaptured systems had been unfriendly, and difficult to administer. We had no doubt that we could restore the position in the near future, as soon as the new weapon became operational.

These hopes were only partially fulfilled. When we renewed our offensive, we had to do so with fewer of the Spheres of Annihilation than had been planned, and this was one reason for our limited success. The other reason was more serious.

While we had been equipping as many of our ships as we could with the irresistible weapon, the enemy had been building feverishly. His ships were of the old pattern with the old weapons—but they now out-numbered ours. When we went into action, we found that the numbers ranged against us were often 100 percent greater than expected, causing target confusion among the automatic weapons and resulting in higher losses than anticipated. The enemy losses were higher still, for once a Sphere had reached its objective, destruction was certain, but the balance had not swung as far in our favor as we had hoped.

Moreover, while the main fleets had been engaged, the enemy had launched a daring attack on the lightly held systems of Eriston, Duranus, Carmanidora and Pharanidon—recapturing them all. We were thus faced with a threat only fifty light-years from our home planets.

There was much recrimination at the next meeting of the supreme commanders. Most of the complaints were addressed to Norden-Grand Admiral Taxaris in particular maintaining that thanks to our admittedly irresistible weapon we were now considerably worse off than before. We should, he claimed, have continued to build conventional ships, thus preventing the loss of our numerical superiority.

Norden was equally angry and called the naval staff ungrateful bunglers. But I could tell that he was worried—as indeed we all were—by the unexpected turn of events. He hinted that there might be a speedy way of remedying the situation.

We now know that Research had been working on the Battle Analyzer for many years, but at the time it came as a revelation to us and perhaps we were too easily swept off our feet. Norden’s argument, also, was seductively convincing. What did it matter, he said, if the enemy had twice as many ships as we—if the efficiency of ours could be doubled or even trebled? For decades the limiting factor in warfare had been not mechanical but biological—it had become more and more difficult for any single mind, or group of minds, to cope with the rapidly changing complexities of battle in three-dimensional space. Norden’s mathematicians had analyzed some of the classic engagements of the past, and had shown that even when we had been victorious we had often operated our units at much less than half of their theoretical efficiency.

The Battle Analyzer would change all this by replacing the operations staff with electronic calculators. The idea was not new, in theory, but until now it had been no more than a Utopian dream. Many of us found it difficult to believe that it was still anything but a dream: after we had run through several very complex dummy battles, however, we were convinced.

It was decided to install the Analyzer in four of our heaviest ships, so that each of the main fleets could be equipped with one. At this stage, the trouble began—though we did not know it until later.

The Analyzer contained just short of a million vacuum tubes and needed a team of five hundred technicians to maintain and operate it. It was quite impossible to accommodate the extra staff aboard a battleship, so each of the four units had to be accompanied by a converted liner to carry the technicians not on duty. Installation was also a very slow and tedious business, but by gigantic efforts it was completed in six months.

Then, to our dismay, we were confronted by another crisis. Nearly five thousand highly skilled men had been selected to serve the Analyzers and had been given an intensive course at the Technical Training Schools. At the end of seven months, 10 percent of them had had nervous breakdowns and only 40 per cent had qualified.

Once again, everyone started to blame everyone else. Norden, of course, said that the Research Staff could not be held responsible, and so incurred the enmity of the Personnel and Training Commands. It was finally decided that the only thing to do was to use two instead of four Analyzers and to bring the others into action as soon as men could be trained. There was little time to lose, for the enemy was still on the offensive and his morale was rising.

The first Analyzer fleet was ordered to recapture the system of Eriston. On the way, by one of the hazards of war, the liner carrying the technicians was struck by a roving mine. A warship would have survived, but the liner with its irreplaceable cargo was totally destroyed. So the operation had to be abandoned.

The other expedition was, at first, more successful. There was no doubt at all that the Analyzer fulfilled its designers’ claims, and the enemy was heavily defeated in the first engagements. He withdrew, leaving us in possession of Saphran, Leucon and Hexanerax. But his Intelligence Staff must have noted the change in our tactics and the inexplicable presence of a liner in the heart of our battlefleet. It must have noted, also, that our first fleet had been accompanied by a similar ship—and had withdrawn when it had been destroyed.

In the next engagement, the enemy used his superior numbers to launch an overwhelming attack on the Analyzer ship and its unarmed consort. The attack was made without regard to losses—both ships were, of course, very heavily protected—and it succeeded. The result was the virtual decapitation of the Fleet, since an effectual transfer to the old operational methods proved impossible. We disengaged under heavy fire, and so lost all our gains and also the systems of Lormyia, Ismarnus, Beronis, Alphanidon and Sideneus.

At this stage, Grand Admiral Taxaris expressed his disapproval of Norden by committing suicide, and I assumed supreme command.

The situation was now both serious and infuriating. With stubborn conservatism and complete lack of imagination, the enemy continued to advance with his old-fashioned and inefficient but now vastly more numerous ships. It was galling to realize that if we had only continued building, without seeking new weapons, we would have been in a far more advantageous position. There were many acrimonious conferences at which Norden defended the scientists while everyone else blamed them for all that had happened. The difficulty was that Norden had proved every one of his claims: he had a perfect excuse for all the disasters that had occurred. And we could not now turn back—the search for an irresistible weapon must go on. At first it had been a luxury that would shorten the war. Now it was a necessity if we were to end it victoriously.

We were on the defensive, and so was Norden. He was more than ever determined to reestablish his prestige and that of the Research Staff. But we had been twice disappointed, and would not make the same mistake again. No doubt Norden’s twenty thousand scientists would produce many further weapons: we would remain unimpressed.

We were wrong. The final weapon was something so fantastic that even now it seems difficult to believe that it ever existed. Its innocent, noncommittal name—The Exponential Field—gave no hint of its real potentialities. Some of Norden’s mathematicians had discovered it during a piece of entirely theoretical research into the properties of space, and to everyone’s great surprise their results were found to be physically realizable.

It seems very difficult to explain the operation of the Field to the layman. According to the technical description, it “produces an exponential condition of space, so that a finite distance in normal, linear space may become infinite in pseudo-space.” Norden gave an analogy which some of us found useful. It was as if one took a flat disk of rubber—representing a region of normal space—and then pulled its center out to infinity. The circumference of the disk would be unaltered—but its “diameter” would be infinite. That was the sort of thing the generator of the Field did to the space around it.

As an example, suppose that a ship carrying the generator was surrounded by a ring of hostile machines. If it switched on the Field, each of the enemy ships would think that it—and the ships on the far side of the circle—had suddenly receded into nothingness. Yet the circumference of the circle would be the same as before: only the journey to the center would be of infinite duration, for as one proceeded, distances would appear to become greater and greater as the “scale” of space altered.

It was a nightmare condition, but a very useful one. Nothing could reach a ship carrying the Field: it might be englobed by an enemy fleet yet would be as inaccessible as if it were at the other side of the Universe. Against this, of course, it could not fight back without switching off the Field, but this still left it at a very great advantage, not only in defense but in offense. For a ship fitted with the Field could approach an enemy fleet undetected and suddenly appear in its midst.

This time there seemed to be no flaws in the new weapon. Needless to say, we looked for all the possible objections before we committed ourselves again. Fortunately the equipment was fairly simple and did not require a large operating staff. After much debate, we decided to rush it into production, for we realized that time was running short and the war was going against us. We had now lost about the whole of our initial gains and enemy forces had made several raids into our own solar system.

We managed to hold off the enemy while the Fleet was reequipped and the new battle techniques were worked out. To use the Field operationally it was necessary to locate an enemy formation, set a course that would intercept it, and then switch on the generator for the calculated period of time. On releasing the Field again—if the calculations had been accurate—one would be in the enemy’s midst and could do great damage during the resulting confusion, retreating by the same route when necessary.

The first trial maneuvers proved satisfactory and the equipment seemed quite reliable. Numerous mock attacks were made and the crews became accustomed to the new technique. I was on one of the test flights and can vividly remember my impressions as the Field was switched on. The ships around us seemed to dwindle as if on the surface of an expanding bubble: in an instant they had vanished completely. So had the stars—but presently we could see that the Galaxy was still visible as a faint band of light around the ship. The virtual radius of our pseudo-space was not really infinite, but some hundred thousand light-years, and so the distance to the farthest stars of our system had not been greatly increased—though the nearest had of course totally disappeared. These training maneuvers, however, had to be canceled before they were completed, owing to a whole flock of minor technical troubles in various pieces of equipment, notably the communications circuits. These were annoying, but not important, though it was thought best to return to Base to clear them up.

At that moment the enemy made what was obviously intended to be a decisive attack against the fortress planet of Iton at the limits of our Solar System. The Fleet had to go into battle before repairs could be made.

The enemy must have believed that we had mastered the secret of invisibility—as in a sense we had. Our ships appeared suddenly out of no-where and inflicted tremendous damage—for a while. And then something quite baffling and inexplicable happened.

I was in command of the flagship Hircania when the trouble started. We had been operating as independent units, each against assigned objectives. Our detectors observed an enemy formation at medium range and the navigating officers measured its distance with great accuracy. We set course and switched on the generator.

The Exponential Field was released at the moment when we should have been passing through the center of the enemy group. To our consternation, we emerged into normal space at a distance of many hundred miles—and when we found the enemy, he had already found us. We retreated, and tried again. This time we were so far away from the enemy that he located us first.

Obviously, something was seriously wrong. We broke communicator silence and tried to contact the other ships of the Fleet to see if they had experienced the same trouble. Once again we failed—and this time the failure was beyond all reason, for the communication equipment appeared to be working perfectly. We could only assume, fantastic though it seemed, that the rest of the Fleet had been destroyed.

I do not wish to describe the scenes when the scattered units of the Fleet struggled back to Base. Our casualties had actually been negligible, but the ships were completely demoralized. Almost all had lost touch with one another and had found that their ranging equipment showed inexplicable errors. It was obvious that the Exponential Field was the cause of the troubles, despite the fact that they were only apparent when it was switched off.

The explanation came too late to do us any good, and Norden’s final discomfiture was small consolation for the virtual loss of the war. As I have explained, the Field generators produced a radial distortion of space, distances appearing greater and greater as one approached the center of the artificial pseudo-space. When the Field was switched off, conditions returned to normal.

But not quite. It was never possible to restore the initial state exactly. Switching the Field on and off was equivalent to an elongation and contraction of the ship carrying the generator, but there was a hysteretic effect, as it were, and the initial condition was never quite reproducible, owing to all the thousands of electrical changes and movements of mass aboard the ship while the Field was on. These asymmetries and distortions were cumulative, and though they seldom amounted to more than a fraction of one per cent, that was quite enough. It meant that the precision ranging equipment and the tuned circuits in the communication apparatus were thrown completely out of adjustment. Any single ship could never detect the change—only when it compared its equipment with that of another vessel, or tried to communicate with it, could it tell what had happened.

It is impossible to describe the resultant chaos. Not a single component of one ship could be expected with certainty to work aboard another. The very nuts and bolts were no longer interchangeable, and the supply position became quite impossible. Given time, we might even have overcome these difficulties, but the enemy ships were already attacking in thousands with weapons which now seemed centuries behind those that we had invented. Our magnificent Fleet, crippled by our own science, fought on as best it could until it was overwhelmed and forced to surrender. The ships fitted with the Field were still invulnerable, but as fighting units they were almost helpless. Every time they switched on their generators to escape from enemy attack, the permanent distortion of their equipment increased. In a month, it was all over.

THIS IS THE true story of our defeat, which I give without prejudice to my defense before this Court. I make it, as I have said, to counteract the libels that have been circulating against the men who fought under me, and to show where the true blame for our misfortunes lay.

Finally, my request, which as the Court will now realize I make in no frivolous manner and which I hope will therefore be granted.

The Court will be aware that the conditions under which we are housed and the constant surveillance to which we are subjected night and day are somewhat distressing. Yet I am not complaining of this: nor do I complain of the fact that shortage of accommodation has made it necessary to house us in pairs.

But I cannot be held responsible for my future actions if I am compelled any longer to share my cell with Professor Norden, late Chief of the Research Staff of my armed forces.

The End

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Law 16 from The 48 Laws of Power by Robert Greene; Use absence to increase respect and honor (Full Text)

This is going to be another one of my great ramblings; a post about absence, and about family and about life. I know that you all want a nice short article that you can skim read, but that’s just not me. Sorry.

“- Mr. Snelgrove: What's the meaning of this, Peggy Sue?

- Peggy Sue: Well, Mr Snelgrove, I happen to know that in the future I will not have the slightest use for algebra, and I speak from experience.”

Here we are going to mix a few things up.

It’s gonna be a little bit of Robert Greene making an educated point, some Metallicman history, and stories. It’s a little bit about food and time travel, and a movie titled “Peggy Sue got Married”. Um. Not your everyday internet fare.

“-  Michael Fitzsimmons: So are you going to marry Mr. Blue Impala and  graze around with all the other sheep for the rest of your life?

- Peggy Sue: No... I already did that.”

We will begin with this thought…

How do you judge your importance?

I’ve noted that many artists and book authors did their “great works” while impoverished. And it was until they were dead and gone that they were recognized. And maybe that is the key. Perhaps it’s human nature to only appreciate what we cannot have.

Many “Don Juan’s” in the MM audience can relate to the story that the girls that they liked the most were impossible to get, while those that he didn’t like were relatively easy to obtain. Of course, I do not advocate their methods, or desire for relentless sexual adventures, no matter how exciting and interesting. Nor do I advocate their idea of conquest. All that actually rather irritates me.

I am talking about what our value is.

Many men in the MM audience would respond. They would say “That is easy. It is what you do and how much money you make.” And I would argue that this is a shallow technique that is easily discarded at your first lay off. Is it really possible for you to go from being a “most valued employee” to “worthless” in a matter of a few minutes?

Now the ladies in the audience might retort that it’s your appearance in the eyes of society that measures your worth. And even with that, I have to pause and reflect. So if this is true, then one late payment on a bill, or the gossip by someone down the street would be a measure of your value.

I do not think so either.

I think that it has to do with the degree of your accessibility. Or, in other words, how accessible you are to those around you.

“- Peggy Sue: We had one glorious night together, someday you'll remember and write about it.

- Michael Fitzsimmons: Yeah, I can dig that. Bittersweet perfection. Dogs of lust on leashes of memory.”

Hold that thought…

This is a complete reprint of the Law #16 from the fine Robert Greene book titled “The 48 Laws of Power”. This particular law states that a person can use absence to increase respect and honor. It is fully reproduced here for free. It is in glorious HTML with translation buttons to fit your home language, and there are no fees, memberships, or costs to do so. Nor are there any advertisements. Enjoy.

Now, this is a technique that truly works, and sad to say, it took me a while to understand it.

LAW 16

USE ABSENCE TO INCREASE RESPECT AND HONOR

JUDGMENT

Too much circulation makes the price go down: The more you are seen and heard from, the more common you appear. If you are already established in a group, temporary withdrawal from it will make you more talked about, even more admired. You must learn when to leave. Create value through scarcity.

Value arises from scarcity. The things that we miss, those that hold value to us are the exactly the same things that are missing in our lives today. They are now valuable instead of commonplace.

TRANSGRESSION AND OBSERVANCE OF THE LAW

Sir Guillaume de Balaun was a troubadour who roamed the South of France in the Middle Ages, going from castle to castle, reciting poetry, and playing the perfect knight. At the castle of Javiac he met and fell in love with the beautiful lady of the house, Madame Guillelma de Javiac. He sang her his songs, recited his poetry, played chess with her, and little by little she in turn fell in love with him. Guillaume had a friend, Sir Pierre de Barjac, who traveled with him and who was also received at the castle. And Pierre too fell in love with a lady in Javiac, the gracious but temperamental Viernetta.

THE CAMEL AND THE FLOATING STICKS

The first man who saw a camel fled; The second ventured within distance; The third dared slip a halter round its head. Familiarity in this existence Makes all things tame, for what may seem Terrible or bizarre, when once our eyes Have had time to acclimatize, Becomes quite commonplace. Since I’m on this theme, I’ve heard of sentinels posted by the shore Who, spotting something far-away afloat, Couldn’t resist the shout: “A sail! A sail! A mighty man-of-war!” Five minutes later it’s a packet boat, And then a skiff, and then a bale, And finally some sticks bobbing about. I know of plenty such To whom this story applies—People whom distance magnifies, Who, close to, don’t amount to much.

-SELECTED FABLES, JEAN DE LA FONTAINE, 1621-1695

Then one day Pierre and Viernetta had a violent quarrel. The lady dismissed him, and he sought out his friend Guillaume to help heal the breach and get him back in her good graces. Guillaume was about to leave the castle for a while, but on his return, several weeks later, he worked his magic, and Pierre and the lady were reconciled. Pierre felt that his love had increased tenfold—that there was no stronger love, in fact, than the love that follows reconciliation. The stronger and longer the disagreement, he told Guillaume, the sweeter the feeling that comes with peace and rapprochement.

As a troubadour, Sir Guillaume prided himself on experiencing all the joys and sorrows of love. On hearing his friend’s talk, he too wanted know the bliss of reconciliation after a quarrel. He therefore feigned great anger with Lady Guillelma, stopped sending her love letters, and abruptly left the castle and stayed away, even during the festivals and hunts. This drove the young lady wild.

Guillelma sent messengers to Guillaume to find out what had happened, but he turned the messengers away. He thought all this would make her angry, forcing him to plead for reconciliation as Pierre had. Instead, however, his absence had the opposite effect: It made Guillelma love him all the more. Now the lady pursued her knight, sending messengers and love notes of her own. This was almost unheard of—a lady never pursued her troubadour. And Guillaume did not like it. Guillelma’s forwardness made him feel she had lost some of her dignity. Not only was he no longer sure of his plan, he was no longer sure of his lady.

Finally, after several months of not hearing from Guillaume, Guillelma gave up. She sent him no more messengers, and he began to wonder— perhaps she was angry? Perhaps the plan had worked after all? So much the better if she was. He would wait no more—it was time to reconcile. So he put on his best robe, decked the horse in its fanciest caparison, chose a magnificent helmet, and rode off to Javiac.

On hearing that her beloved had returned, Guillelma rushed to see him, knelt before him, dropped her veil to kiss him, and begged forgiveness for whatever slight had caused his anger. Imagine his confusion and despair— his plan had failed abysmally. She was not angry, she had never been angry, she was only deeper in love, and he would never experience the joy of reconciliation after a quarrel. Seeing her now, and still desperate to taste that joy, he decided to try one more time: He drove her away with harsh words and threatening gestures. She left, this time vowing never to see him again.

The next morning the troubadour regretted what he had done. He rode back to Javiac, but the lady would not receive him, and ordered her servants to chase him away, across the drawbridge and over the hill. Guillaume fled. Back in his chamber he collapsed and started to cry: He had made a terrible mistake. Over the next year, unable to see his lady, he experienced the absence, the terrible absence, that can only inflame love. He wrote one of his most beautiful poems, “My song ascends for mercy praying.” And he sent many letters to Guillelma, explaining what he had done, and begging forgiveness.

After a great deal of this, Lady Guillelma, remembering his beautiful songs, his handsome figure, and his skills in dancing and falconry, found herself yearning to have him back. As penance for his cruelty, she ordered him to remove the nail from the little finger of his right hand, and to send it to her along with a poem describing his miseries.

He did as she asked. Finally Guillaume de Balaun was able to taste the ultimate sensation—a reconciliation even surpassing that of his friend Pierre.

IIII MROSON IIII. COCK

While serving under the Duke Ai of Lu, T‘ien Jao, resenting his obscure position, said to his master, “I am going to wander far away like a snow goose. 

” “What do you mean by that?” inquired the Duke. “Do you see the cock?” said T’ien Jao in reply. 

“Its crest is a symbol of civility; its powerful talons suggest strength; its daring to fight any enemy denotes courage; its instinct to invite others whenever food is obtained shows benevolence; and, last but not least, its punctuality in keeping the time through the night gives us an example of veracity. In spite. however, of these five virtues, the cock is daily killed to fill a dish on your table. 

Why? 

The reason is that it is found within our reach. On the other hand, the snow goose traverses in one flight a thousand li (kilometers). Resting in your garden, it preys on your fishes and turtles and pecks your millet. Though devoid of any of the cock’s five virtues, yet you prize this bird for the sake of its scarcity. This being so, I shall fly far like a snow goose.”

-ANCIENT CHINESE PARABLES, YU HSIU SEN, ED., 1974

Interpretation

Trying to discover the joys of reconciliation, Guillaume de Balaun inadvertently experienced the truth of the law of absence and presence. At the start of an affair, you need to heighten your presence in the eyes of the other. If you absent yourself too early, you may be forgotten. But once your lover’s emotions are engaged, and the feeling of love has crystallized, absence inflames and excites. Giving no reason for your absence excites even more: The other person assumes he or she is at fault. While you are away, the lover’s imagination takes flight, and a stimulated imagination cannot help but make love grow stronger. Conversely, the more Guillelma pursued Guillaume, the less he loved her—she had become too present, too accessible, leaving no room for his imagination and fancy, so that his feelings were suffocating. When she finally stopped sending messengers, he was able to breathe again, and to return to his plan.

What withdraws, what becomes scarce, suddenly seems to deserve our respect and honor. What stays too long, inundating us with its presence, makes us disdain it. In the Middle Ages, ladies were constantly putting their knights through trials of love, sending them on some long and arduous quest—all to create a pattern of absence and presence. Indeed, had Guillaume not left his lady in the first place, she might have been forced to send him away, creating an absence of her own.

Absence diminishes minor passions and inflames great ones, as the wind douses a candle and fans a fire.

-La Rochefoucauld, 1613-1680

OBSERVANCE OF THE LAW

For many centuries the Assyrians ruled upper Asia with an iron fist. In the eighth century B.C., however, the people of Medea (now northwestern Iran) revolted against them, and finally broke free.

Now the Medes had to establish a new government. Determined to avoid any form of despotism, they refused to give ultimate power to any one man, or to establish a monarchy. Without a leader, however, the country soon fell into chaos, and fractured into small kingdoms, with village fighting against village.

In one such village lived a man named Deioces, who began to make a name for himself for fair dealing and the ability to settle disputes.

He did this so successfully, in fact, that soon any legal conflict in the area was brought to him, and his power increased. Throughout the land, the law had fallen into disrepute—the judges were corrupt, and no one entrusted their cases to the courts any more, resorting to violence instead. When news spread of Deioces’ wisdom, incorruptibility, and unshakable impartiality, Medean villages far and wide turned to him to settle all manner of cases. Soon he became the sole arbiter of justice in the land.

At the height of his power, Deioces suddenly decided he had had enough. He would no longer sit in the chair of judgment, would hear no more suits, settle no more disputes between brother and brother, village and village.

Complaining that he was spending so much time dealing with other people’s problems that he had neglected his own affairs, he retired. The country once again descended into chaos. With the sudden withdrawal of a powerful arbiter like Deioces, crime increased, and contempt for the law was never greater. The Medes held a meeting of all the villages to decide how to get out of their predicament. “We cannot continue to live in this country under these conditions,” said one tribal leader. “Let us appoint one of our number to rule so that we can live under orderly government, rather than losing our homes altogether in the present chaos.”

And so, despite all that the Medes had suffered under the Assyrian despotism, they decided to set up a monarchy and name a king. And the man they most wanted to rule, of course, was the fair-minded Deioces. He was hard to convince, for he wanted nothing more to do with the villages’ in-fighting and bickering, but the Medes begged and pleaded—without him the country had descended into a state of lawlessness. Deioces finally agreed.

Yet he also imposed conditions. An enormous palace was to be constructed for him, he was to be provided with bodyguards, and a capital city was to be built from which he could rule. All of this was done, and Deioces settled into his palace. In the center of the capital, the palace was surrounded by walls, and completely inaccessible to ordinary people. Deioces then established the terms of his rule: Admission to his presence was forbidden. Communication with the king was only possible through messengers. No one in the royal court could see him more than once a week, and then only by permission.

Deioces ruled for fifty-three years, extended the Medean empire, and established the foundation for what would later be the Persian empire, under his great-great-grandson Cyrus. During Deioces’ reign, the people’s respect for him gradually turned into a form of worship: He was not a mere mortal, they believed, but the son of a god.

Interpretation

Deioces was a man of great ambition. He determined early on that the country needed a strong ruler, and that he was the man for the job.

In a land plagued with anarchy, the most powerful man is the judge and arbiter. So Deioces began his career by making his reputation as a man of impeccable fairness.

At the height of his power as a judge, however, Deioces realized the truth of the law of absence and presence: By serving so many clients, he had become too noticeable, too available, and had lost the respect he had earlier enjoyed. People were taking his services for granted. The only way to regain the veneration and power he wanted was to withdraw completely, and let the Medes taste what life was like without him. As he expected, they came begging for him to rule.

Once Deioces had discovered the truth of this law, he carried it to its ultimate realization. In the palace his people had built for him, none could see him except a few courtiers, and those only rarely. As Herodotus wrote, “There was a risk that if they saw him habitually, it might lead to jealousy and resentment, and plots would follow; but if nobody saw him, the legend would grow that he was a being of a different order from mere men.”

A man said to a Dervish: “Why do I not see you more often?” The Dervish replied, “Because the words ‘Why have you not been to see me?’ are sweeter to my ear than the words ‘Why have you come again?”’

-Mulla jami, quoted in ldries Shah’s Caravan of Dreams, 1968

KEYS TO POWER

Everything in the world depends on absence and presence. A strong presence will draw power and attention to you—you shine more brightly than those around you. But a point is inevitably reached where too much presence creates the opposite effect: The more you are seen and heard from, the more your value degrades. You become a habit. No matter how hard you try to be different, subtly, without your knowing why, people respect you less and less. At the right moment you must learn to withdraw yourself before they unconsciously push you away. It is a game of hide-and-seek.

The truth of this law can most easily be appreciated in matters of love and seduction. In the beginning stages of an affair, the lover’s absence stimulates your imagination, forming a sort of aura around him or her. But this aura fades when you know too much—when your imagination no longer has room to roam. The loved one becomes a person like anyone else, a person whose presence is taken for granted. This is why the seventeenth- century French courtesan Ninon de Lenclos advised constant feints at withdrawal from one’s lover. “Love never dies of starvation,” she wrote, “but often of indigestion.”

The moment you allow yourself to be treated like anyone else, it is too late—you are swallowed and digested. To prevent this you need to starve the other person of your presence. Force their respect by threatening them with the possibility that they will lose you for good; create a pattern of presence and absence.

Once you die, everything about you will seem different. You will be surrounded by an instant aura of respect. People will remember their criticisms of you, their arguments with you, and will be filled with regret and guilt. They are missing a presence that will never return. But you do not have to wait until you die: By completely withdrawing for a while, you create a kind of death before death. And when you come back, it will be as if you had come back from the dead—an air of resurrection will cling to you, and people will be relieved at your return. This is how Deioces made himself king.

Napoleon was recognizing the law of absence and presence when he said, “If I am often seen at the theater, people will cease to notice me.” Today, in a world inundated with presence through the flood of images, the game of withdrawal is all the more powerful. We rarely know when to withdraw anymore, and nothing seems private, so we are awed by anyone who is able to disappear by choice. Novelists J. D. Salinger and Thomas Pynchon have created cultlike followings by knowing when to disappear.

Another, more everyday side of this law, but one that demonstrates its truth even further, is the law of scarcity in the science of economics. By withdrawing something from the market, you create instant value. In seventeenth-century Holland, the upper classes wanted to make the tulip more than just a beautiful flower—they wanted it to be a kind of status symbol.

Making the flower scarce, indeed almost impossible to obtain, they sparked what was later called tulipomania. A single flower was now worth more than its weight in gold. In our own century, similarly, the art dealer Joseph Duveen insisted on making the paintings he sold as scarce and rare as possible. To keep their prices elevated and their status high, he bought up whole collections and stored them in his basement. The paintings that he sold became more than just paintings—they were fetish objects, their value increased by their rarity. “You can get all the pictures you want at fifty thousand dollars apiece—that’s easy,” he once said. “But to get pictures at a quarter of a million apiece—that wants doing!”

Image:

The Sun. It can only be appreciated by its absence.

The longer the days of rain, the more the sun is craved. But too many hot days and the sun overwhelms. Learn to keep yourself obscure and make people demand your return.

Extend the law of scarcity to your own skills. Make what you are offering the world rare and hard to find, and you instantly increase its value.

There always comes a moment when those in power overstay their welcome. We have grown tired of them, lost respect for them; we see them as no different from the rest of mankind, which is to say that we see them as rather worse, since we inevitably compare their current status in our eyes to their former one. There is an art to knowing when to retire. If it is done right, you regain the respect you had lost, and retain a part of your power.

The greatest ruler of the sixteenth century was Charles V. King of Spain, Hapsburg emperor, he governed an empire that at one point included much of Europe and the New World. Yet at the height of his power, in 1557, he retired to the monastery of Yuste.

All of Europe was captivated by his sudden withdrawal; people who had hated and feared him suddenly called him great, and he came to be seen as a saint. In more recent times, the film actress Greta Garbo was never more admired than when she retired, in 1941.

For some her absence came too soon—she was in her mid-thirties— but she wisely preferred to leave on her own terms, rather than waiting for her audience to grow tired of her.

Make yourself too available and the aura of power you have created around yourself will wear away. Turn the game around: Make yourself less accessible and you increase the value of your presence.

Authority:

Use absence to create respect and esteem. If presence diminishes fame, absence augments it.

A man who when absent is regarded as a lion becomes when present something common and ridiculous. Talents lose their luster if we become too familiar with them, for the outer shell of the mind is more readily seen than its rich inner kernel. Even the outstanding genius makes use of retirement so that men may honor him and so that the yearning aroused by his absence may cause him to be esteemed. 

-(Baltasar Gracián, 1601-1658)

REVERSAL

This law only applies once a certain level of power has been attained.

The need to withdraw only comes after you have established your presence; leave too early and you do not increase your respect, you are simply forgotten. When you are first entering onto the world’s stage, create an image that is recognizable, reproducible, and is seen everywhere. Until that status is attained, absence is dangerous—instead of fanning the flames, it will extinguish them.

In love and seduction, similarly, absence is only effective once you have surrounded the other with your image, been seen by him or her everywhere. Everything must remind your lover of your presence, so that when you do choose to be away, the lover will always be thinking of you, will always be seeing you in his or her mind’s eye.

Remember: In the beginning, make yourself not scarce but omnipresent. Only what is seen, appreciated, and loved will be missed in its absence.

Conclusion

Peggy Sue before the big event. — *Peggy* *Sue* *faints* at a *high* *school* *reunion*. *When* *she* *wakes* up, *she* *finds* *herself* in *her* *own* *past*, *just* *before* *she* *finished* *school*.

It took me a while to appreciate this law. I think that we came to take for granted what we have, and then when it is gone, we are often left surprised and disoriented. Imagine what the you today would act, if you went back in time to meet your family, and friends when you were just a teenage. What would it be like?

There is an old 1980’s movie titled “Peggy Sue Got Married”. In it, the main character goes back in time and relives her high school years. And there she meets people who are now long dead, and forgotten…

I think that this movie resonates with many people simply because once we age, those familial associations are no longer there. It’s not just that time changes you, and that everything is different, it’s that all the old associations, and family are simply gone.

My father once took me to a funeral wake when I was about 17 years old. It was his cousin. He was a man who I may have met once or twice and who I would see in my grandparents house from time to time.

What is the difference between a wake and funeral?

The key difference between a wake and a funeral is that a wake is a time for visitation and commemoration of the dead, while a funeral is a formal ceremony which is conducted by an officiant. In many cases, both a wake and a funeral are held as part of a series of rituals.

We went inside and saw all these people who I did not know.

I ran into my Auntie and her children, my cousins. We said a few words and then that was it, but there was an event during the wake that I will never, ever forget.

He said…

“Look around. Look at all these people. In a few more years, they will all be dead. I will be dead. You will never see them again, and you will never see their families or visit with them. These people, these connections will all disappear. And life will go on, and you will make new families and new connections to take their place.

Polish Hill view of the church. — Polish Hill showing our church in the distance.

"Oh, Ma...Chanel No.5 Always Makes Me Think Of Home" - Peggy Sue                                  Blooeyz200111 August 2002             
                              
What a great movie!  Originally intended for Debra Winger, but Kathleen Turner is wonderful  as the title character Peggy Sue. It's a time-travel movie about a 42  year old woman who gets transported back in time to high school (circa  early 1960's). Who wouldn't love an opportunity like that, not to  mention being 18 again?? 

My favorite scene is when she walks back into  her house, & sees her mom young again, while that beautiful music  plays on the soundtrack. 

It's so touching & heartfelt. 

This movie  has it all. Great acting, comedy, drama, fantasy, & a good story.  Nicholas Cage can get annoying at times, but he felt this was the best  way to portray his character (Charlie). He gets to "sing" in this movie  too ("He Don't Love You"). Look for a very early performance by Jim  Carrey. The cast also includes Helen Hunt & Catherine Hicks (the mom  on the TV show "7th Heaven").

Now…

At the time, I didn’t really understand what my father was trying to say. I thought that he meant that over time everyone will die. I will never see them again.

Well, he said that, but he meant something deeper.

He was trying to say that once your relatives die, you will no longer have those family connections ever again. They will sever, and your little family will start to shrink. It will get smaller and smaller over time.

Peggy Sue Got Married (1986)
One of my favorite movies of all time!  
6 February 2003 | by chrisuab                                            
                                              
This movie is definitely in my top ten.  

One  reason is Kathleen Turner's acting.  She does a wonderful job throughout  the movie, even though she may look older than a teenager when she goes  back in time.  (However, have you noticed how teenagers in high school  through the years look younger and younger?  My mom's high school  yearbook appears to be filled with 30 year olds.)  

Another reason I love  the movie is that it makes my brain ponder on what I would do if I could go back to high school.  

Peggy revisiting her young mother, seeing her baby sister, and being able to see her grandparents again one last time is just a beautiful thing in itself.  

I guess I just like  reminiscing about my childhood, which is probably why I like this movie.   (Even though I'm a child of the 80's.)  Very few things bother me in  this movie.  And no, it's not Nicolas Cage's accent!  That didn't bother  me that much.  :)  

...

I recommend this to anyone who thinks about going to a high  school reunion or wishes they could go back in time to do some things  differently.

The big thing about aging and watching people die isn’t about the end of their lives. But rather instead, how the loss of that relationship and all the associated family relations will affect your life.

“- Peggy Sue: I think I had a heart attack and died at the reunion!

- Richard Norvik: Well, you look great for a corpse.”

Oh, we see the elements of this.

We see the disappearance of special family or ethnic foods that we just cannot get at McDonald’s or Pantera Bread. And we don’t think about it. Years go by. And the years turn into decades. We don’t realize the value and importance that it held for us in our lives.

Maybe you all chuckle at this.

“- Peggy Sue: Grandpa, if you had a chance to go back and do it all differently, what would you have changed?

- Barney Alvorg: Well, I would have taken better care of my teeth.”

You say… “Well, you miss it, you can go ahead and make it yourself. Nothing is stopping you.” Yeah. It’s sort-of-true.

I can get a recipe off the internet. I can go order the special ingredients off the internet, and in a few weeks I can try my hand at making the dish myself. And I can go ahead and it it myself, or present my “creation” to my friends and family. Perhaps.

But this is the REAL WORLD.

Not a would-of, could-of, should-of what-if world of possibilities. Sure I can run for the President of the United States. Sure, I can try to swim the Pacific ocean and arrive in San Francisco. I can go ahead and make these dishes.

But it’s not the same.

There are entire branches of my family that I haven’t seen since High School. I have no idea who my relatives are, where they are or what they are doing. Time has severed my connections and let me drift and float in the wind.

There was a time where I was pretty much related to everyone on “Polish Hill” in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. I could walk down the street and complete strangers would tell me to say “hi” to my one Uncle, or give me a message to take to my grandmother (my Busia). I could walk down a side road and then be pulled inside some distant relative’s house and given a bowl of soup and a sandwich with the family chatted in the kitchen.

I have come to miss that.

Polish Hill in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania USA.

It’s hard.

We all grow up. We all get married. We all get established and are busy with our jobs, our work and our careers. Life moves on.

But our past…

Over time gets buried under the “news” and the “new” events of the day.

Another view of Polish Hill. — Typical Polish Hill. This view is about one block from my Busia’s house.

And today…

…How many MM readers remember something like that? Is that what you have today? Is that still a part of our life, or is it all gone away?

Is it gone away?

Never to return.

Local bar photograph. — Inside a local bar on Polish Hill in Pittsburgh.

Delightful Romance About Reevaluation of Life                                  claudio_carvalho12 June 2005             
                              
In the reunion of  the twentieth-fifth anniversary of high school, the former popular  student Peggy Sue, who is facing a divorce of her husband Charlie Bodell  (Nicolas Cage), faints and wakes up in 1960. 

The experienced Peggy Sue  decides to change and improve her life in this new opportunity.

"Peggy  Sue Got Married" is a delightful and charming fantasy about  reevaluation and a second chance in life. 

The story is very beautiful,  the production is very careful and I am really surprised how underrated  this movie is in IMDb. I do not get tired of this film, and it is among  my favorite romances. Kathleen Turner is extremely beautiful in the lead  role, and watching this movie in 2005, it is a great chance to see  names like Jim Carrey, Joan Allen and Sofia Coppola twenty years ago in  the beginning of their careers.

Photo of Povitica Polish Holiday bread. — Povitica Polish Holiday bread. Polish cuisine is a style of cooking and food preparation originating in or widely popular in Poland. Polish cuisine has evolved over the centuries to become very eclectic due to Poland’s history and it shares many similarities with neighbouring German, Czech, Slovak and Silesian as well as Jewish culinary traditions. Polish-styled cooking in other cultures is often referred to as à la polonaise.

People take you for granted.

By going away, you make yourself indispensable.

Remember what it is like…

"The girl's gone, let's play poker!"                                  BumpyRide9 November 2004             
                              
I'm surprised by  the number of people on here who don't like this movie. Like a few of  the positive reviewers I'd have to say this is one of my favorite,  "contemporary classics." 

The story is exquisite, who wouldn't want to go  back to a time when things were a bit simpler and someone was there to  take care of you and make you feel safe? Whenever I stumble upon it, I  end up watching it. Too many scenes start the old water works for me.

Peggy  seeing her little sister for the first time, going into her old  bedroom, and hearing her grandmother's voice on the phone are all quite  touching.

Call me crazy but I just love the moment where Charlie takes Peggy down into the basement and confronts her about what is going  on. When he leaves, Peggy opens a music box, pulls out a cigarette and lights it.

Another special moment happens when Peggy smokes a joint and talks about what she'd like to be when she grows up, as she turns around and around under a starry sky.

This is quite a good movie, filled with many special performances and scenes along the way.

While the movie is about other things. Take notice in how the main character Peggy Sue reacts to meeting the family and friends who are now long gone.

People do not appreciate things until they are gone.

Comfortable as an old shoe...                                  
BeafyBear18 September 2003             
                              
This movie is  definitely on my Top 20 list of all time favorite movies. Whenever I  come across it while channel surfing, I end up watching it again-and I  hate watching movies that are edited for TV!

As others have  pointed out, it showcases so many talented actors.  Joan Allen is great  here, as is Catherine Hicks.  And the amazing Barbara Harris, whom I  adore for her work on the stage, is excellent and dead-on as Peggy's  mother.  Jim Carrey is here as well and surprise, he's overacting in  most of his scenes!  While I've never completely figured out why  Nicholas Cage was encouraged to employ the weird-ass voice that he did,  his performance winds up being very likeable.  Barry Miller is also  great as Richard.

The premise is cool.  Who among us wouldn't  want to have such and opportunity (OK, maybe not the passing out in  public part)?  As a person that grew up in the 60s, I'd love to return  and see some of the sights and sounds that filled my innocent,  pre-Internet world.  

And the scene when Peggy hears her Grandmother's voice on the phone makes me cry every time.

I likey!

Last comment…

Handles time travel movie in a very compelling and emotional way squirrel_burst28 February 2015

There's something about "Peggy Sue Got Married" that really stuck with me. It's like when the premise and way the movie was made is written on paper, you think "There's no way this is going to work" but then it does.

I was really surprised with how much this picture affected me emotionally.

Kathleen Turner plays Peggy Sue Bodell, who is attending her 25-year high school reunion with her daughter Beth (Helen Hunt). Peggy Sue married right out of high school but now she and her husband, Charlie (Nicolas Cage) have separated.

It's awkward enough answering the same questions over and over to the people that haven't seen you in decades but then her husband shows up and things go from bad to worse.

She is nevertheless named "Prom Queen" and accepts the award, but when on stage, she faints.

When she wakes up, she discovers that it's once again the spring of 1960. With her memories of the future, she tries to alter her past for the better. The film follows her as she rediscovers who she was at the time and tries to find a way to return to the present.

There's something about this movie that really hits home.

Traveling back in time and altering the past is a desire that in a way, everyone has.

Sure people tell you that they wouldn't go back and fix their past mistakes because "those mistakes made them who they are" but come on, we all know the day you wake up in your high-schooler's body, the first thing you're doing is buying Baseball cards to stash away, warning people about 9/11 and meeting Elvis in person, before he gets fat.

Peggy Sue seizes the opportunity to do that stuff right away, but then gets side-tracked when she realizes that this trip back in time can be a very emotional experience.

With the body of a teenager and the mind of a mother, she reacts very differently to her own parents and realizes how much she missed being a teenager, or being in the same house as her mother, father and sister, or her grandparents (who have in present day been dead for some time).

There's something really touching about that and it makes you think back at your own teenage years; if you could go back, who would you be nicer to, who would you appreciate more, who would you stand up to?

Yes it would be awesome to return to a time where you could amass money and power, or change history for the better, but there is also something uniquely appealing about just being able to interact with the people from your own past and get a new perspective on what the world was like back then.

One of my favorite moments in the film is when Peggy is talking to her then-boyfriend Charlie (Nicholas Cage).

This isn't the same guy as he is years later. He's a nervous kid who is doing everything to impress her and is completely in love with the woman. He's anxious and vulnerable too.

Check out the scene when Peggy, who now knows the man better than he does finds that she is once again, falling in love with him. She tries to initiate sex with him in his car, but the guy is so taken aback that he refuses and kicks her out. Isn't that what would really happen if you were confronted with someone that was 25 years older than you are, but was disguised as someone your own age?

It's little moments like that that really make the movie because it doesn't feel contrived despite the outlandish premise, it feels absolutely genuine.

Another element that really helps make you buy into this whole situation are the performances. With excellent costumes and makeup, we have Jim Carrey, Nicolas Cage, Joan Allen, Catherine Hicks and others playing both adults and teenagers and the effect isn't perfect, but the performances sell them. Some of the people I was watching with found that Nicolas Cage as Charlie had a pretty irritating voice when he was 18, but I found that it was very believable that he would have a goofy, nervous voice when he was younger.

I'm pretty sure if I looked at any recordings of myself at that age, I would have been pretty annoying too. The actor that really needs to have the spotlight on her is Kathleen Turner, who does a fantastic job. There's almost an implication that while inside the body of her 18-year old self, her mind goes back and forth between the maturity of her older and younger self. She pulls it off not with words, but with subtle changes in her face.

Any scene where Peggy Sue is interacting with her mother contains many subtle nuances and although it seems impossible, the 32-year old actress convincingly plays a teenager. It's a spectacular performance and you're an aspiring actor/actress you need to check it out and study this film so get yourself a good DVD and start wearing out that fast forward and rewind button.

This movie “Peggy Sue got Married” has scene after scene of “family mysteries” that you were completely oblivious to as a teenager, but recognize immediately as an adult.

Like when her mother is selling her jewellery …

Or when she sees that her boyfriend was trying really hard to audition to a talent scout and fails…

…all things that she had no knowledge of.

A typical view of Polish Hill. — A typical Polish Hill shop.

And now that my family is mostly dead and gone, the familial relationships are broken and the survivors are scattered all over the place, I too wish that I appreciated the treasures that the family bonds held. i too miss the past. Not so much the rotary telephones, the rabbit-eared television set, the crank-windows in the car, the free air hose for the tires int he gas station, or really, really, REALLY low price for a cup of coffee…

…I miss the people and the relationships that they represented to me. I miss that feeling of belonging. I miss that feeling of community. I miss that “membership” that being alone, in a far away land denies me.

We don’t appreciate things until we lose them.

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The Hammer of God by Arthur C. Clarke (Full Text)

In short, The Hammer of God is a disaster novel, telling of  the impending arrival of an asteroid named Kali (the Hindu god of death)  to Earth, threatening apocalyptic destruction.

What makes this  different from other disaster novels, of course, is that this is a novel  told with Clarke’s unique voice. The plot is told in about fifty short  chapters, each rarely more than a couple of pages long. The story is  mainly focussed around Robert Singh, who is the captain of the  expedition to hopefully stop Kali before it reaches Earth. Named  Goliath, the plan is to gently nudge Kali using a pile driver so that it  misses Earth.

If this sounds like another Earth-in-peril story,  well, it is. What makes this a little different is that along the way we  get a story filled with Clarke’s ideas, many of which are unusual,  though suffused with Sir Arthur’s gentle humour. He suggests that in  this future the religions of Christianity and Islam have combined to  create ‘Chrislam’, sharing their central beliefs for the good of all.  Computers are now part of everyday life, although as written from the  perspective of 1993 perhaps not as much as social media would  predominate today. Goliath is partly run by an AI, unsurprisingly called  David, who has developed some quite human mannerisms. David is a much  more personable version of his famous predecessor, HAL 9000.

All in all, it's a nice read for a stormy, rainy day.

The Hammer of God

by Sir Arthur C. Clarke

Published in Dec. 2011 (Issue 19) | 4502 words

It came in vertically, punching a hole ten km wide through the atmosphere, generating temperatures so high that the air itself started to burn. When it hit the ground near the Gulf of Mexico, rock turned to liquid and spread outward in mountainous waves, not freezing until it had formed a crater two hundred km across.

That was only the beginning of disaster: Now the real tragedy began. Nitric oxides rained from the air, turning the sea to acid. Clouds of soot from incinerated forests darkened the sky, hiding the sun for months. Worldwide, the temperature dropped precipitously, killing off most of the plants and animals that had survived the initial cataclysm. Though some species would linger on for millenniums, the reign of the great reptiles was finally over.

The clock of evolution had been reset; the countdown to Man had begun. The date was, very approximately, 65 million B.C.

***

Captain Robert Singh never tired of walking in the forest with his little son Toby. It was, of course, a tamed and gentle forest, guaranteed to be free of dangerous animals, but it made an exciting contrast to the rolling sand dunes of their last environment in the Saudi desert—and the one before that, on Australia’s Great Barrier Reef. But when the Skylift Service had moved the house this time, something had gone wrong with the food-recycling system. Though the electronic menus had fail-safe backups, there had been a curious metallic taste to some of the items coming out of the synthesizer recently.

“What’s that, Daddy?” asked the four-year-old, pointing to a small hairy face peering at them through a screen of leaves.

“Er, some kind of monkey. We’ll ask the Brain when we get home.”

“Can I play with it?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. It could bite. And it probably has fleas. Your robotoys are much nicer.”

“But …”

Captain Singh knew what would happen next: He had run this sequence a dozen times. Toby would begin to cry, the monkey would disappear, he would comfort the child as he carried him back to the house …

But that had been twenty years ago and a quarter-billion kilometers away. The playback came to an end; sound, vision, the scent of unknown flowers and the gentle touch of the wind slowly faded. Suddenly, he was back in this cabin aboard the orbital tug Goliath, commanding the 100-person team of Operation ATLAS, the most critical mission in the history of space exploration. Toby, and the stepmothers and stepfathers of his extended family, remained behind on a distant world which Singh could never revisit. Decades in space—and neglect of the mandatory zero-G exercises—had so weakened him that he could now walk only on the Moon and Mars. Gravity had exiled him from the planet of his birth.

“One hour to rendezvous, captain,” said the quiet but insistent voice of David, as Goliath’s central computer had been inevitably named. “Active mode, as requested. Time to come back to the real world.”

Goliath’s human commander felt a wave of sadness sweep over him as the final image from his lost past dissolved into a featureless, simmering mist of white noise. Too swift a transition from one reality to another was a good recipe for schizophrenia, and Captain Singh always eased the shock with the most soothing sound he knew: waves falling gently on a beach, with sea gulls crying in the distance. It was yet another memory of a life he had lost, and of a peaceful past that had now been replaced by a fearful present.

For a few more moments, he delayed facing his awesome responsibility. Then he sighed and removed the neural-input cap that fitted snugly over his skull and had enabled him to call up his distant past. Like all spacers, Captain Singh belonged to the “Bald Is Beautiful” school, if only because wigs were a nuisance in zero gravity. The social historians were still staggered by the fact that one invention, the portable “Brainman,” could make bare heads the norm within a single decade. Not even quick-change skin coloring, or the lens-corrective laser shaping which had abolished eyeglasses, had made such an impact upon style and fashion.

“Captain,” said David. “I know you’re there. Or do you want me to take over?”

It was an old joke, inspired by all the insane computers in the fiction and movies of the early electronic age. David had a surprisingly good sense of humor: He was, after all, a Legal Person (Nonhuman) under the famous Hundredth Amendment, and shared—or surpassed—almost all the attributes of his creators. But there were whole sensory and emotional areas which he could not enter. It had been felt unnecessary to equip him with smell or taste, though it would have been easy to do so. And all his attempts at telling dirty stories were such disastrous failures that he had abandoned the genre.

“All right, David,” replied the captain. “I’m still in charge.” He removed the mask from his eyes, and turned reluctantly toward the viewport. There, hanging in space before him, was Kali.

It looked harmless enough: just another small asteroid, shaped so exactly like a peanut that the resemblance was almost comical. A few large impact craters, and hundreds of tiny ones, were scattered at random over its charcoal-gray surface. There were no visual clues to give any sense of scale, but Singh knew its dimensions by heart: 1,295 m maximum length, 456 m minimum width. Kali would fit easily into many city parks.

No wonder that, even now, most of humankind could still not believe that this modest asteroid was the instrument of doom. Or, as the Chrislamic Fundamentalists were calling it, “the Hammer of God.”

***

The sudden rise of Chrislam had been traumatic equally to Rome and Mecca. Christianity was already reeling from John Paul XXV’s eloquent but belated plea for contraception and the irrefutable proof in the New Dead Sea Scrolls that the Jesus of the Gospels was a composite of at least three persons. Meanwhile the Muslim world had lost much of its economic power when the Cold Fusion breakthrough, after the fiasco of its premature announcement, had brought the Oil Age to a sudden end. The time had been ripe for a new religion embodying, as even its severest critics admitted, the best elements of two ancient ones.

The Prophet Fatima Magdalene (née Ruby Goldenburg) had attracted almost 100 million adherents before her spectacular—and, some maintained, self-contrived—martyrdom. Thanks to the brilliant use of neural programming to give previews of Paradise during its ceremonies, Chrislam had grown explosively, though it was still far outnumbered by its parent religions.

Inevitably, after the Prophet’s death the movement split into rival factions, each upholding the True Faith. The most fanatical was a fundamentalist group calling itself “the Reborn,” which claimed to be in direct contact with God (or at least Her Archangels) via the listening post they had established in the silent zone on the far side of the Moon, shielded from the radio racket of Earth by 3,000 km of solid rock.

***

Now Kali filled the main viewscreen. No magnification was needed, for Goliath was hovering only 200 m above its ancient, battered surface. Two crew members had already landed, with the traditional “One small step for a man”—even though walking was impossible on this almost zero-gravity worldlet.

“Deploying radio beacon. We’ve got it anchored securely. Now Kali won’t be able to hide from us.”

It was a feeble joke, not meriting the laughter it aroused from the dozen officers on the bridge. Ever since rendezvous, there had been a subtle change in the crew’s morale, with unpredictable swings between gloom and juvenile humor. The ship’s physician had already prescribed tranquilizers for one mild case of manic-depressive symptoms. It would grow worse in the long weeks ahead, when there would be little to do but wait.

The first waiting period had already begun. Back on Earth, giant radio telescopes were tuned to receive the pulses from the beacon. Although Kali’s orbit had already been calculated with the greatest possible accuracy, there was still a slim chance that the asteroid might pass harmlessly by. The radio measuring rod would settle the matter, for better or worse.

It was a long two hours before the verdict came, and David relayed it to the crew.

“Spaceguard reports that the probability of impact on Earth is 99.9%. Operation ATLAS will begin immediately.”

The task of the mythological Atlas was to hold up the heavens and prevent them from crashing down upon Earth. The ATLAS booster that Goliath carried as an external payload had a more modest goal: keeping at bay only a small piece of the sky.

***

It was the size of a small house, weighed 9,000 tons and was moving at 50,000 km/ h. As it passed over the Grand Teton National Park, one alert tourist photographed the incandescent fireball and its long vapor trail. In less than two minutes, it had sliced through the Earth’s atmosphere and returned to space.

The slightest change of orbit during the billions of years it had been circling the sun might have sent the asteroid crashing upon any of the world’s great cities with an explosive force five times that of the bomb that destroyed Hiroshima.

The date was Aug. 10, 1972.

***

Spaceguard had been one of the last projects of the legendary NASA, at the close of the 20th century. Its initial objective had been modest enough: to make as complete a survey as possible of the asteroids and comets that crossed the orbit of Earth—and to determine if any were a potential threat.

With a total budget seldom exceeding $10 million a year, a worldwide network of telescopes, most of them operated by skilled amateurs, had been established by the year 2000. Sixty-one years later, the spectacular return of Halley’s Comet encouraged more funding, and the great 2079 fireball, luckily impacting in mid-Atlantic, gave Spaceguard additional prestige. By the end of the century, it had located more than one million asteroids, and the survey was believed to be 90% complete. However, it would have to be continued indefinitely: There was always a chance that some intruder might come rushing in from the uncharted outer reaches of the solar system.

As had Kali, which had been detected in late 2212 as it fell sunward past the orbit of Jupiter. Fortunately humankind had not been wholly unprepared, thanks to the fact that Senator George Ledstone (Independent, West America) had chaired an influential finance committee almost a generation earlier.

The Senator had one public eccentricity and, he cheerfully admitted, one secret vice. He always wore massive horn-rimmed eyeglasses (nonfunctional, of course) because they had an intimidating effect on uncooperative witnesses, few of whom had ever encountered such a novelty. His “secret vice,” perfectly well known to everyone, was rifle shooting on a standard Olympic range, set up in the tunnels of a long-abandoned missile silo near Mount Cheyenne. Ever since the demilitarization of Planet Earth (much accelerated by the famous slogan “Guns Are the Crutches of the Impotent”), such activities had been frowned upon, though not actively discouraged.

There was no doubt that Senator Ledstone was an original; it seemed to run in the family. His grandmother had been a colonel in the dreaded Beverly Hills Militia, whose skirmishes with the L.A. Irregulars had spawned endless psychodramas in every medium, from old-fashioned ballet to direct brain stimulation. And his grandfather had been one of the most notorious bootleggers of the 21st century. Before he was killed in a shoot-out with the Canadian Medicops during an ingenious attempt to smuggle a kiloton of tobacco up Niagara Falls, it was estimated that “Smokey” had been responsible for at least 20 million deaths.

Ledstone was quite unrepentant about his grandfather, whose sensational demise had triggered the repeal of the late U.S.’s third, and most disastrous, attempt at Prohibition. He argued that responsible adults should be allowed to commit suicide in any way they pleased—by alcohol, cocaine or even tobacco—as long as they did not kill innocent bystanders during the process.

When the proposed budget for Spaceguard Phase 2 was first presented to him, Senator Ledstone had been outraged by the idea of throwing billions of dollars into space. It was true that the global economy was in good shape; since the almost simultaneous collapse of communism and capitalism, the skillful application of chaos theory by World Bank mathematicians had broken the old cycle of booms and busts and averted (so far) the Final Depression predicted by many pessimists. Nonetheless, the Senator argued that the money could be much better spent on Earth—especially on his favorite project, reconstructing what was left of California after the Superquake.

When Ledstone had twice vetoed Spaceguard Phase 2, everyone agreed that no one on Earth would make him change his mind. They had reckoned without someone from Mars.

The Red Planet was no longer quite so red, though the process of greening it had barely begun. Concentrating on the problems of survival, the colonists (they hated the word and were already saying proudly “we Martians”) had little energy left over for art or science. But the lightning flash of genius strikes where it will, and the greatest theoretical physicist of the century was born under the bubble domes of Port Lowell.

Like Einstein, to whom he was often compared, Carlos Mendoza was an excellent musician; he owned the only saxophone on Mars and was a skilled performer on that antique instrument. He could have received his Nobel Prize on Mars, as everyone expected, but he loved surprises and practical jokes. Thus he appeared in Stockholm looking like a knight in high-tech armor, wearing one of the powered exoskeletons developed for paraplegics. With this mechanical assistance, he could function almost unhandicapped in an environment that would otherwise have quickly killed him.

Needless to say, when the ceremony was over, Carlos was bombarded with invitations to scientific and social functions. Among the few he was able to accept was an appearance before the World Budget Committee, where Senator Ledstone closely questioned him about his opinion of Project Spaceguard.

“I live on a world which still bears the scars of a thousand meteor impacts, some of them hundreds of kilometers across,” said Professor Mendoza. “Once they were equally common on Earth, but wind and rain—something we don’t have yet on Mars, though we’re working on it!—have worn them away.”

Senator Ledstone: “The Spaceguarders are always pointing to signs of asteroid impacts on Earth. How seriously should we take their warnings?”

Professor Mendoza: “Very seriously, Mr. Chairman. Sooner or later, there’s bound to be another major impact.”

Senator Ledstone was impressed, and indeed charmed, by the young scientist, but not yet convinced. What changed his mind was not a matter of logic but of emotion. On his way to London, Carlos Mendoza was killed in a bizarre accident when the control system of his exoskeleton malfunctioned. Deeply moved, Ledstone immediately dropped his opposition to Spaceguard, approving construction of two powerful orbiting tugs, Goliath and Titan, to be kept permanently patrolling on opposite sides of the sun. And when he was a very old man, he said to one of his aides, “They tell me we’ll soon be able to take Mendoza’s brain out of that tank of liquid nitrogen, and talk to it through a computer interface. I wonder what he’s been thinking about, all these years …”

***

Assembled on Phobos, the inner satellite of Mars, ATLAS was little more than a set of rocket engines attached to propellant tanks holding 100,000 tons of hydrogen. Though its fusion drive could generate far less thrust than the primitive missile that had carried Yuri Gagarin into space, it could run continuously not merely for minutes but for weeks. Even so, the effect on the asteroid would be trivial, a velocity change of a few centimeters per second. Yet that might be sufficient to deflect Kali from its fatal orbit during the months while it was still falling earthward.

***

Now that ATLAS’s propellant tanks, control systems and thrusters had been securely mounted on Kali, it looked as if some lunatic had built an oil refinery on an asteroid. Captain Singh was exhausted, as were all the crew members, after days of assembly and checking. Yet he felt a warm glow of achievement: They had done everything that was expected of them, the countdown was going smoothly, and the rest was up to ATLAS.

He would have been far less relaxed had he known of the ABSOLUTE PRIORITY message racing toward him by tight infrared beam from ASTROPOL headquarters in Geneva. It would not reach Goliath for another 30 minutes. And by then it would be much too late.

***

At about T minus 30 minutes, Goliath had drawn away from Kali to stand well clear of the jet with which ATLAS would try to nudge it from its present course. “Like a mouse pushing an elephant,” one media person had described the operation. But in the frictionless vacuum of space, where momentum could never be lost, even one mousepower would be enough if applied early and over a sufficient length of time.

The group of officers waiting quietly on the bridge did not expect to see anything spectacular: The plasma jet of the ATLAS drive would be far too hot to produce much visible radiation. Only the telemetry would confirm that ignition had started and that Kali was no longer an implacable juggernaut, wholly beyond the control of humanity.

There was a brief round of cheering and a gentle patter of applause as the string of zeros on the accelerometer display began to change. The feeling on the bridge was one of relief rather than exultation. Though Kali was stirring, it would be days and weeks before victory was assured.

And then, unbelievably, the numbers dropped back to zero. Seconds later, three simultaneous audio alarms sounded. All eyes were suddenly fixed on Kali and the ATLAS booster which should be nudging it from its present course. The sight was heartbreaking: The great propellant tanks were opening up like flowers in a time-lapse movie, spilling out the thousands of tons of reaction mass that might have saved the Earth. Wisps of vapor drifted across the face of the asteroid, veiling its cratered surface with an evanescent atmosphere.

Then Kali continued along its path, heading inexorably toward a fiery collision with the Earth.

***

Captain Singh was alone in the large, well-appointed cabin that had been his home for longer than any other place in the solar system. He was still dazed but was trying to make his peace with the universe.

He had lost, finally and forever, all that he loved on Earth. With the decline of the nuclear family, he had known many deep attachments, and it had been hard to decide who should be the mothers of the two children he was permitted. A phrase from an old American novel (he had forgotten the author) kept coming into his mind: “Remember them as they were—and write them off.” The fact that he himself was perfectly safe somehow made him feel worse; Goliath was in no danger whatsoever, and still had all the propellant it needed to rejoin the shaken survivors of humanity on the Moon or Mars.

Well, he had many friendships—and one that was much more than that—on Mars; this was where his future must lie. He was only 102, with decades of active life ahead of him. But some of the crew had loved ones on the Moon; he would have to put Goliath’s destination to the vote.

Ship’s Orders had never covered a situation like this.

***

“I still don’t understand,” said the chief engineer, “why that explosive cord wasn’t detected on the preflight check-out.”

“Because that Reborn fanatic could have hidden it easily—and no one would have dreamed of looking for such a thing. Pity ASTROPOL didn’t catch him while he was still on Phobos.”

“But why did they do it? I can’t believe that even Chrislamic crazies would want to destroy the Earth.”

“You can’t argue with their logic—if you accept their premises. God, Allah, is testing us, and we mustn’t interfere. If Kali misses, fine. If it doesn’t, well, that’s part of Her bigger plan. Maybe we’ve messed up Earth so badly that it’s time to start over. Remember that old saying of Tsiolkovski’s: ‘Earth is the cradle of humankind, but you cannot live in the cradle forever.’ Kali could be a sign that it’s time to leave.”

The captain held up his hand for silence.

“The only important question now is, Moon or Mars? They’ll both need us. I don’t want to influence you” (that was hardly true; everyone knew where he wanted to go), “so I’d like your views first.”

The first ballot was Mars 6, Moon 6, Don’t know 1, captain abstaining.

Each side was trying to convert the single “Don’t know” when David spoke.

“There is an alternative.”

“What do you mean?” Captain Singh demanded, rather brusquely.

“It seems obvious. Even though ATLAS is destroyed, we still have a chance of saving the Earth. According to my calculations, Goliath has just enough propellant to deflect Kali—if we start thrusting against it immediately. But the longer we wait, the less the probability of success.”

There was a moment of stunned silence on the bridge as everyone asked the question, “Why didn’t I think of that?” and quickly arrived at the answer.

David had kept his head, if one could use so inappropriate a phrase, while all the humans around him were in a state of shock. There were some compensations in being a Legal Person (Nonhuman). Though David could not know love, neither could he know fear. He would continue to think logically, even to the edge of doom.

***

With any luck, thought Captain Singh, this is my last broadcast to Earth. I’m tired of being a hero, and a slightly premature one at that. Many things could still go wrong, as indeed they already have …

“This is Captain Singh, space tug Goliath. First of all, let me say how glad we are that the Elders of Chrislam have identified the saboteurs and handed them over to ASTROPOL.

“We are now fifty days from Earth, and we have a slight problem. This one, I hasten to add, will not affect our new attempt to deflect Kali into a safe orbit. I note that the news media are calling this deflection Operation Deliverance. We like the name, and hope to live up to it, but we still cannot be absolutely certain of success. David, who appreciates all the goodwill messages he has received, estimates that the probability of Kali impacting Earth is still 10% …

“We had intended to keep just enough propellant reserve to leave Kali shortly before encounter and go into a safer orbit, where our sister ship Titan could rendezvous with us. But that option is now closed. While Goliath was pushing against Kali at maximum drive, we broke through a weak point in the crust. The ship wasn’t damaged, but we’re stuck! All attempts to break away have failed.

“We’re not worried, and it may even be a blessing in disguise. Now we’ll use the whole of our remaining propellant to give one final nudge. Perhaps that will be the last drop that’s needed to do the job.

“So we’ll ride Kali past Earth, and wave to you from a comfortable distance, in just fifty days.”

It would be the longest fifty days in the history of the world.

***

Now the huge crescent of the moon spanned the sky, the jagged mountain peaks along the terminator burning with the fierce light of the lunar dawn. But the dusty plains still untouched by the sun were not completely dark; they were glowing faintly in the light reflected from Earth’s clouds and continents. And scattered here and there across that once dead landscape were the glowing fireflies that marked the first permanent settlements humankind had built beyond the home planet. Captain Singh could easily locate Clavius Base, Port Armstrong, Plato City. He could even see the necklace of faint lights along the Translunar Railroad, bringing its precious cargo of water from the ice mines at the South Pole.

Earth was now only five hours away.

***

Kali entered Earth’s atmosphere soon after local midnight, 200 km above Hawaii. Instantly, the gigantic fireball brought a false dawn to the Pacific, awakening the wildlife on its myriad islands. But few humans had been asleep this night of nights, except those who had sought the oblivion of drugs.

Over New Zealand, the heat of the orbiting furnace ignited forests and melted the snow on mountaintops, triggering avalanches into the valleys beneath. But the human race had been very, very lucky: The main thermal impact as Kali passed the Earth was on the Antarctic, the continent that could best absorb it. Even Kali could not strip away all the kilometers of polar ice, but it set in motion the Great Thaw that would change coastlines all around the world.

No one who survived hearing it could ever describe the sound of Kali’s passage; none of the recordings were more than feeble echoes. The video coverage, of course, was superb, and would be watched in awe for generations to come. But nothing could ever compare with the fearsome reality.

Two minutes after it had sliced into the atmosphere, Kali reentered space. Its closest approach to Earth had been 60 km. In that two minutes, it took 100,000 lives and did $1 trillion worth of damage.

***

Goliath had been protected from the fireball by the massive shield of Kali itself; the sheets of incandescent plasma streamed harmlessly overhead. But when the asteroid smashed into Earth’s blanket of air at more than one hundred times the speed of sound, the colossal drag forces mounted swiftly to five, ten, twenty gravities—and peaked at a level far beyond anything that machines or flesh could withstand.

Now indeed Kali’s orbit had been drastically changed; never again would it come near Earth. On its next return to the inner solar system, the swifter spacecraft of a later age would visit the crumpled wreckage of Goliath and bear reverently homeward the bodies of those who had saved the world.

Until the next encounter.

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Rendezvous with Rama by Arthur C. Clarke (Full Text)

RENDEZVOUS WITH RAMA

CHAPTER 1

SPACEGUARD

SOONER OR LATER, it was bound to happen. On 30 June 1908, Moscow escaped destruction by three hours and four thousand kilometres—a margin invisibly small by the standards of the universe. Again, on 12 February 1947, yet another Russian city had a still narrower escape, when the second great meteorite of the twentieth century detonated less than four hundred kilometres from Vladivostok, with an explosion rivalling that of the newly invented uranium bomb.

In those days, there was nothing that men could do to protect themselves against the last random shots in the cosmic bombardment that had once scarred the face of the Moon. The meteorites of 1908 and 1947 had struck uninhabited wilderness; but by the end of the twenty-first century, there was no region left on Earth that could be safely used for celestial target practice. The human race had spread from pole to pole. And so, inevitably…

At 09.46 GMT on the morning of 11 September, in the exceptionally beautiful summer of the year 2077, most of the inhabitants of Europe saw a dazzling fireball appear in the eastern sky. Within seconds it was brighter than the sun, and as it moved across the heavens—at first in utter silence—it left behind it a churning column of dust and smoke.

Somewhere above Austria it began to disintegrate, producing a series of concussions so violent that more than a million people had their hearing permanently damaged. They were the lucky ones.

Moving at fifty kilometres a second, a thousand tons of rock and metal impacted on the plains of northern Italy, destroying in a few flaming moments the labour of centuries. The cities of Padua and Verona were wiped from the face of the earth; and the last glories of Venice sank for ever beneath the sea as the waters of the Adriatic came—thundering landwards after the hammer-blow from space.

Six hundred thousand people died, and the total damage was more than a trillion dollars. But the loss to art, to history, to science—to the whole human race, for the rest of time—was beyond all computation. It was as if a great war had been fought and lost in a single morning; and few could draw much pleasure from the fact that, as the dust of destruction slowly settled, for months the whole world witnessed the most splendid dawns and sunsets since Krakatoa.

After the initial shock, mankind reacted with a determination and a unity that no earlier age could have shown. Such a disaster, it was realized, might not occur again for a thousand years—but it might occur tomorrow. And the next time, the consequences could be even worse.

Very well; there would be no next time.

A hundred years earlier a much poorer world, with far feebler resources, had squandered its wealth attempting to destroy weapons launched, suicidally, by mankind against itself. The effort had never been successful, but the skills acquired then had not been forgotten. Now they could be used for a far nobler purpose, and on an infinitely vaster stage. No meteorite large enough to cause catastrophe would ever again be allowed to breach the defences of Earth.

So began Project SPACEGUARD. Fifty years later—and in a way that none of its designers could ever have anticipated—it justified its existence.

CHAPTER 2

INTRUDER

BY THE YEAR 2130, the Mars-based radars were discovering new asteroids at the rate of a dozen a day. The SPACEGUARD computers automatically calculated their orbits, and stored away the information in their enormous memories, so that every few months any interested astronomer could have a look at the accumulated statistics. These were now quite impressive.

It had taken more than a hundred and twenty years to collect the first thousand asteroids, since the discovery of Ceres, largest of these tiny worlds, on the very first day of the nineteenth century. Hundreds had been found and lost and found again; they existed in such swarms that one exasperated astronomer had christened them ‘vermin of the skies’. He would have been appalled to know that SPACEGUARD was now keeping track of half a million.

Only the five giants—Ceres, Pallas, Juno, Eunomia and Vesta—were more than two hundred kilometres in diameter; the vast majority were merely oversized boulders that would fit into a small park. Almost all moved in orbits that lay beyond Mars; only the few that came far enough sunwards to be a possible danger to Earth were the concern of SPACEGUARD. And not one in a thousand of these, during the entire future history of the solar system, would pass within a million kilometres of Earth.

The object first catalogued as 31/439, according to the year and the order of its discovery, was detected while still outside the orbit of Jupiter. There was nothing unusual about its location; many asteroids went beyond Saturn before turning once more towards their distant master, the sun. And Thule II, most far-ranging of all, travelled so close to Uranus that it might well have been a lost moon of that planet.

But a first radar contact at such a distance was unprecedented; clearly, 31/439 must be of exceptional size. From the strength of the echo, the computers deduced a diameter of at least forty kilometres; such a giant had not been discovered for a hundred years. That it had been overlooked for so long seemed incredible.

Then the orbit was calculated, and the mystery was resolved—to be replaced by a greater one. 31/439 was not travelling on a normal asteroidal path, along an ellipse which it retraced with clockwork precision every few years. It was a lonely wanderer between the stars, making its first and last visit to the solar system—for it was moving so swiftly that the gravitational field of the sun could never capture it. It would flash inwards past the orbits of Jupiter, Mars, Earth, Venus and Mercury, gaining speed as it did so, until it rounded the sun and headed out once again into the unknown.

It was at this point that the computers started flashing their ‘Hi there! We have something interesting’ sign, and for the first time 31/439 came to the attention of human beings. There was a brief flurry of excitement at SPACEGUARD Headquarters, and the interstellar vagabond was quickly dignified by a name instead of a mere number. Long ago, the astronomers had exhausted Greek and Roman mythology; now they were working through the Hindu pantheon. And so 31/439 was christened Rama.

For a few days, the news media made a fuss of the visitor, but they were badly handicapped by the sparsity of information. Only two facts were known about Rama—its unusual orbit, and its approximate size. Even this was merely an educated guess, based upon the strength of the radar echo. Through the telescope, Rama still appeared as a faint, fifteenth magnitude star—much too small to show a visible disc. But as it plunged in towards the heart of the solar system, it would grow brighter and larger, month by month; before it vanished for ever, the orbiting observatories would be able to gather more precise information about its shape and size. There was pl

enty of time, and perhaps during the next few years some spaceship on its ordinary business might be routed close enough to get good photographs. An actual rendezvous was most unlikely; the energy cost would be far too great to permit physical contact with an object cutting across the orbits of the planets at more than a hundred thousand kilometres an hour.

So the world soon forgot about Rama; but the astronomers did not. Their excitement grew with the passing months, as the new asteroid presented them with more and more puzzles.

First of all, there was the problem of Rama’s light curve. It didn’t have one.

All known asteroids, without exception, showed a slow variation in their brilliance, waxing and waning within a period of a few hours. It had been recognized for more than two centuries that this was an inevitable result of their spin, and their irregular shape. As they toppled end over end along their orbits the reflecting surfaces they presented to the sun were continually changing, and their brightness varied accordingly.

Rama showed no such changes. Either it was not spinning at all or it was perfectly symmetrical. Both explanations seemed equally unlikely.

There the matter rested for several months, because none of the big orbiting telescopes could be spared from their regular job of peering into the remote depths of the universe. Space astronomy was an expensive hobby, and time on a large instrument could easily cost a thousand dollars a minute. Dr. William Stenton would never have been able to grab the Farside two-hundred-metre reflector for a full quarter of an hour, if a more important programme had not been temporarily derailed by the failure of a fifty cent capacitor. One astronomer’s bad luck was his good fortune.

Bill Stenton did not know what he had caught until the next day, when he was able to get computer time to process his results. Even when they were finally flashed on his display screen, it took him several minutes to understand what they meant.

The sunlight reflected from Rama was not, after all, absolutely constant in its intensity. There was a very small variation—hard to detect, but quite unmistakable, and extremely regular. Like all the other asteroids, Rama was indeed spinning. But whereas the normal ‘day’ for an asteroid was several hours, Rama’s was only four minutes.

Dr. Stenton did some quick calculations, and found it hard to believe the results. At its equator, this tiny world must be spinning at more than a thousand kilometres an hour; it would be rather unhealthy to attempt a landing anywhere except at the poles. The centrifugal force at Rama’s equator must be powerful enough to flick any loose objects away from it at an acceleration of almost one gravity. Rama was a rolling stone that could never have gathered any cosmic moss; it was surprising that such a body had managed to hold itself together, and had not long ago shattered into a million fragments.

An object forty kilometres across, with a rotation period of only four minutes—where did that fit into the astronomical scheme of things? Dr. Stenton was a somewhat imaginative man, a little too prone to jump to conclusions. He now jumped to one which gave him a very uncomfortable few minutes indeed.

The only specimen of the celestial zoo that fitted this description was a collapsed star. Perhaps Rama was a dead sun—a madly spinning sphere of neutronium, every cubic centimetre weighing billions of tons.

At this point, there flashed briefly through Dr. Stenton’s horrified mind the memory of that timeless classic, H. G. Wells’s “The Star.” He had first read it as a very small boy, and it had helped to spark his interest in astronomy. Across more than two centuries of time, it had lost none of its magic and terror. He would never forget the images of hurricanes and tidal waves, of cities sliding into the sea, as that other visitor from the stars smashed into Jupiter and then fell sunwards past the Earth. True, the star that old Wells described was not cold, but incandescent, and wrought much of its destruction by heat. That scarcely mattered; even if Rama was a cold body, reflecting only the light of the sun, it could kill by gravity as easily as by fire.

Any stellar mass intruding into the solar system would completely distort the orbits of the planets. The Earth had only to move a few million kilometres sunwards—or starwards—for the delicate balance of climate to be destroyed. The Antarctic icecap could melt and flood all low-lying land; or the oceans could freeze and the whole world be locked in an eternal winter. Just a nudge in either direction would be enough…

Then Dr. Stenton relaxed and breathed a sigh of relief. This was all nonsense; he should be ashamed of himself.

Rama could not possibly be made of condensed matter. No star-sized mass could penetrate so deeply into the solar system without producing disturbances which would have betrayed it long ago. The orbits of all the planets would have been affected; that, after all, was how Neptune, Pluto and Persephone had been discovered. No, it was utterly impossible for an object as massive as a dead sun to sneak up unobserved.

In a way, it was a pity. An encounter with a dark star would have been quite exciting.

While it lasted…

CHAPTER 3

RAMA AND SITA

THE EXTRAORDINARY MEETING of the Space Advisory Council was brief and stormy. Even in the twenty-second century, no way had yet been discovered of keeping elderly and conservative scientists from occupying crucial administrative positions. Indeed, it was doubted if the problem ever would be solved.

To make matters worse, the current Chairman of the SAC was Professor Emeritus Olaf Davidson, the distinguished astrophysicist. Professor Davidson was not very much interested in objects smaller than galaxies, and never bothered to conceal his prejudices. And though he had to admit that ninety per cent of his science was now based upon observations from space-borne instruments, he was not at all happy about it. No less than three times during his distinguished career, satellites specially launched to prove one of his pet theories had done precisely the opposite.

The question before the Council was straightforward enough. There was no doubt that Rama was an unusual object—but was it an important one? In a few months it would be gone for ever, so there was little time in which to act. Opportunities missed now would never recur.

At rather a horrifying cost, a space probe soon to be launched from Mars to beyond Neptune could be modified and sent on a high-speed trajectory to meet Rama. There was no hope of a rendezvous; it would be the fastest fly-by on record, for the two bodies would pass each other at two hundred thousand kilometres an hour. Rama would be observed intensively for only a few minutes—and in real close-up for less than a second. But with the right instrumentation, that would be long enough to settle many questions.

Although Professor Davidson took a very jaundiced view of the Neptune probe, it had already been approved and he saw no point in sending more good money after bad. He spoke eloquently on the follies of asteroid-chasing, and the urgent need for a new high-resolution interferometer on the Moon to prove the newly-revived Big Bang theory of creation, once and for all.

That was a grave tactical error, because the three most ardent supporters of the Modified Steady State Theory were also members of the Council. They secretly agreed with Professor Davidson that asteroid-chasing was a waste of money; nevertheless…

He lost by one vote.

Three months later the space-probe, rechristened Sita, was launched from Phobos, the inner moon of Mars. The flight time was seven weeks, and the instrument was switched to full power only five minutes before interception. Simultaneously, a cluster of camera pods was released, to sail past Rama so that it could be photographed from all sides.

The first images, from ten thousand kilometres away, brought to a halt the activities of all mankind. On a billion television screens, there appeared a tiny, featureless cylinder, growing rapidly second by second. By the time it had doubled its size, no one could pretend any longer that Rama was a natural object.

Its body was a cylinder so geometrically perfect that it might have been turned on a lathe—one with centres fifty kilometres apart. The two ends were quite flat, apart from some small structures at the centre of one face, and were twenty kilometres across; from a distance, when there was no sense of scale, Rama looked almost comically like an ordinary domestic boiler.

Rama grew until it filled the screen. Its surface was a dull, drab grey, as colourless as the Moon, and completely devoid of markings except at one point. Halfway along the cylinder there was a kilometre-wide stain or smear, as if something had once hit and splattered, ages ago.

There was no sign that the impact had done the slightest damage to Rama’s spinning walls; but this mark had produced the slight fluctuation in brightness that had led to Stenton’s discovery.

The images from the other cameras added nothing new. However, the trajectories their pods traced through Rama’s minute gravitational field gave one other vital piece of information: the mass of the cylinder.

It was far too light to be a solid body. To nobody’s great surprise, it was clear that Rama must be hollow.

The long-hoped-for, long-feared encounter had come at last. Mankind was about to receive its first visitor from the stars.

CHAPTER 4

RENDEZVOUS

COMMANDER NORTON REMEMBERED those first TV transmissions, which he had replayed so many times, during the final minutes of the rendezvous. But there was one thing no electronic image could possibly convey—and that was Rama’s overwhelming size.

He had never received such an impression when landing on a natural body like the Moon or Mars. Those were worlds, and one expected them to be big. Yet he had also landed on Jupiter VIII, which was slightly larger than Rama—and that had seemed quite a small object.

It was very easy to resolve the paradox. His judgement was wholly altered by the fact that this was an artifact, millions of times heavier than anything that Man had ever put into space. The mass of Rama was at least ten million million tons; to any spaceman, that was not only an awe-inspiring, but a terrifying thought. No wonder that he sometimes felt a sense of insignificance, and even depression, as that cylinder of sculptured, ageless metal filled more and more of the sky.

There was also a sense of danger here that was wholly novel to his experience. In every earlier landing he had known what to expect; there was always the possibility of accident, but never of surprise. With Rama, surprise was the only certainty.

Now Endeavour was hovering less than a thousand metres above the North Pole of the cylinder, at the very centre of the slowly turning disc. This end has been chosen because it was the one in sunlight; as Rama rotated, the shadows of the short enigmatic structures near the axis swept steadily across the metal plain. The northern face of Rama was a gigantic sundial, measuring out the swift passage of its four-minute day.

Landing a five-thousand-ton spaceship at the centre of a spinning disc was the least of Com
mander Norton’s worries. It was no different from docking at the axis of a large space station; Endeavour’s lateral jets had already given her a matching spin, and he could trust Lieutenant Joe Calvert to put her down as gently as a snowflake, with or without the aid of the nay computer.

‘In three minutes,’ said Joe, without taking his eyes from the display, ‘we’ll know if it’s made of antimatter.’

Norton grinned, as he recalled some of the more hair-raising theories about Rama’s origin. If that unlikely speculation was true, in a few seconds there would be the biggest bang since the solar system was formed. The total annihilation of ten thousand tons would, briefly, provide the planets with a second sun.

Yet the mission profile had allowed even for this remote contingency; Endeavour had squirted Rama with one of her jets from a safe thousand kilometres away. Nothing whatsoever had happened when the expanding cloud of vapour arrived on target—and a matter-antimatter reaction involving even a few milligrams would have produced an awesome firework display.

Norton, like all space commanders, was a cautious man. He had looked long and hard at the northern face of Rama, choosing the point of touch-down. After much thought, he had decided to avoid the obvious spot—the exact centre, on the axis itself. A clearly marked circular disc, a hundred metres in diameter, was centred on the Pole, and Norton had a strong suspicion that this must be the outer seal of an enormous airlock. The creatures who had built this hollow world must have had some way of taking their ships inside. This was the logical place for the main entrance, and Norton thought it might be unwise to block the front door with his own vessel.

But this decision generated other problems. If Endeavour touched down even a few metres from the axis, Rama’s rapid spin would start her sliding away from the pole. At first, the centrifugal force would be very weak, but it would be continuous and inexorable. Commander Norton did not relish the thought of his ship slithering across the polar plain, gaining speed minute by minute until it was slung off into space at a thousand kilometres an hour when it reached the edge of the disc.

It was possible that Rama’s minute gravitational field—about one thousandth of Earth’s—might prevent this from happening. It would hold Endeavour against the plain with a force of several tons, and if the surface was sufficiently rough the ship might stay near the Pole. But Commander Norton had no intention of balancing an unknown frictional force against a quite certain centrifugal one.

Fortunately, Rama’s designers had provided an answer. Equally spaced around the polar axis were three low, pillbox-shaped structures, about ten metres in diameter. If Endeavour touched down between any two of these, the centrifugal drift would fetch her up against them and she would be held firmly in place, like a ship glued against a quayside by the incoming waves.

‘Contact in fifteen seconds,’ said Calvert.

As he tensed himself above the duplicate controls, which he hoped he would not have to touch, Commander Norton became acutely aware of all that had come to focus on this instant of time. This, surely, was the most momentous landing since the first touchdown on the Moon, a century and a half ago.

The grey pill-boxes drifted slowly upwards outside the control port. There was the last hiss of a reaction jet, and a barely perceptible jar.

In the weeks that had passed, Commander Norton had often wondered what he would say at this moment. But now that it was upon him, History chose his words, and he spoke almost automatically, barely aware of the echo from the past:

‘Rama Base. Endeavour has landed.’

As recently as a month ago, he would never have believed it possible. The ship had been on a routine mission, checking and emplacing asteroid warning beacons, when the order had come. Endeavour was the only spacecraft in the solar system which could possibly make a rendezvous with the intruder before it whipped round the sun and hurled itself back towards the stars. Even so, it had been necessary to rob three other ships of the Solar Survey, which were now drifting helplessly until tankers could refuel them. Norton feared that it would be a long time before the skippers of Calypso, Beagle and Challenger would speak to him again.

Even with all this extra propellant, it had been a long hard chase; Rama was already inside the orbit of Venus when Endeavour caught up with her. No other ship could ever do so; this privilege was unique, and not a moment of the weeks ahead was to be wasted. A thousand scientists on Earth would have cheerfully mortgaged their souls for this opportunity; now they could only watch over the TV circuits, biting their lips and thinking how much better they could do the job. They were probably right, but there was no alternative. The inexorable laws of celestial mechanics had decreed that Endeavour was the first, and the last, of all Man’s ships that would ever make contact with Rama.

The advice he was continually receiving from Earth did little to alleviate Norton’s responsibility. If split-second decisions had to be made, no one could help him; the radio time-lag to Mission Control was already ten minutes, and increasing. He often envied the great navigators of the past, before the days of electronic communications, who could interpret their sealed orders without continual monitoring from headquarters. When they made mistakes, no one ever knew.

Yet at the same time, he was glad that some decisions could be delegated to Earth. Now that Endeavour’s orbit had coalesced with Rama’s they were heading sunwards like a single body; in forty days they would reach perihelion, and pass within twenty million kilometres of the sun. That was far too close for comfort; long before then, Endeavour would have to use her remaining fuel to nudge herself into a safer orbit. They would have perhaps three weeks of exploring time, before they parted from Rama forever.

After that, the problem would be Earth’s. Endeavour would be virtually helpless, speeding on an orbit which could make her the first ship to reach the stars—in approximately fifty thousand years. There was no need to worry, Mission Control had promised. Somehow, regardless of cost, Endeavour would be refuelled, even if it proved necessary to send tankers after her, and abandon them in space once they had transferred every gram of propellant. Rama was a prize worth any risk, short of a suicide mission.

And, of course, it might even come to that. Commander Norton had no illusions on this score. For the first time in a hundred years an element of total uncertainty had entered human affairs. Uncertainty was one thing that neither scientists nor politicians could tolerate. If that was the price of resolving it, Endeavour and her crew would be expendable.

CHAPTER 5

FIRST EVA

RAMA WAS SILENT as a tomb—which, perhaps, it was. No radio signals, on any frequency; no vibrations that the seismographs could pick up, apart from the micro-tremors undoubtedly caused by the sun’s increasing heat; no electrical currents; no radioactivity. It was almost ominously quiet; one might have expected that even an asteroid would be noisier.

What did we expect? Norton asked himself. A committee of welcome? He was not sure whether to be disappointed or relieved. The initiative, at any rate, appeared to be his.

His orders were to wait for twenty-four hours, then to go out and explore. Nobody slept much that first day; even the crew members not on duty spent their time monitoring the ineffectually probing instruments, or simply looking out of the observation ports at the starkly geometrical landscape. Is this world alive? they asked themselves, over and over again. Is it dead? Or is it merely sleeping?

On the first EVA, Norton took only one companion—Lieutenant Commander Karl Mercer, his tough and resourceful life-support officer. He had no intention of getting out of sight of the ship, and if there was any trouble, it was unlikely that a larger party would be safe. As a precaution, however, he had two more crew members, already suited up, standing by in the air lock.

The few grams of weight that Rama’s combined gravitational and centrifugal fields gave them were neither help nor hindrance; they had to rely entirely on their jets. As soon as possible, Norton told himself, he would string a cat’s-cradle of guide ropes between the ship and the pillboxes, so that they cou
ld move around without wasting propellants.

The nearest pillbox was only ten metres from the airlock, and Norton’s first concern was to check that the contact had caused no damage to the ship. Endeavour’s hull was resting against the curving wall with a thrust of several tons, but the pressure was evenly distributed. Reassured, he began to drift around the circular structure, trying to determine its purpose.

Norton had travelled only a few metres when he came across an interruption in the smooth, apparently metallic wall. At first, he thought it was some peculiar decoration, for it seemed to serve no useful function. Six radial grooves, or slots, were deeply recessed in the metal, and lying in them were six crossed bars like the spokes of a rimless wheel, with a small hub at the centre. But there was no way in which the wheel could be turned, as it was embedded in the wall.

Then he noticed, with growing excitement, that there were deeper recesses at the ends of the spokes, nicely shaped to accept a clutching hand (claw? tentacle?). If one stood so, bracing against the wall, and pulled on the spoke so…

Smooth as silk, the wheel slid out of the wall. To his utter astonishment—for he had been virtually certain that any moving parts would have become vacuum-welded ages ago—Norton found himself holding a spoked wheel. He might have been the captain of some old windjammer standing at the helm of his ship.

He was glad that his helmet sunshade did not allow Mercer to read his expression. He was startled, but also angry with himself; perhaps he had already made his first mistake. Were alarms now sounding inside Rama, and had his thoughtless action already triggered some implacable mechanism?

But Endeavour reported no change; its sensors still detected nothing but faint thermal crepitations and his own movements.

‘Well, Skipper—are you going to turn it?’

Norton thought once more of his instructions. ‘Use your own discretion, but proceed with caution.’ If he checked every single move with Mission Control, he would never get anywhere.

‘What’s your diagnosis, Karl?’ he asked Mercer.

‘It’s obviously a manual control for an airlock—probably an emergency back-up system in case of power failure. I can’t imagine any technology, however advanced, that wouldn’t take such precautions.’

‘And it would be fail-safe,’ Norton told himself. ‘It could only be operated if there was no possible danger to the system.’

He grasped two opposing spokes of the windlass, braced his feet against the ground, and tested the wheel. It did not budge.

‘Give me a hand,’ he asked Mercer.

Each took a spoke; exerting their utmost strength, they were unable to produce the slightest movement.

Of course, there was no reason to suppose that clocks and corkscrews on Rama turned in the same direction as they did on Earth.

‘Let’s try the other way,’ suggested Mercer.

This time, there was no resistance. The wheel rotated almost effortlessly through a full circle. Then, very smoothly, it took up the load.

Half a metre away, the curving wall of the pillbox started to move, like a slowly opening clamshell. A few particles of dust, driven by wisps of escaping air, streamed outwards like dazzling diamonds as the brilliant sunlight caught them.

The road to Rama lay open.

CHAPTER 6

COMMITTEE

IT HAD BEEN a serious mistake, Dr. Bose often thought, to put the United Planets Headquarters on the Moon. Inevitably, Earth tended to dominate the proceedings—as it dominated the landscape beyond the dome. If they had to build here, perhaps they should have gone to the Farside, where that hypnotic disc never shed its rays.

But, of course, it was much too late to change, and in any case there was no real alternative. Whether the colonies liked it or not, Earth would be the cultural and economic overlord of the solar system for centuries to come.

Dr. Bose had been born on Earth, and had not emigrated to Mars until he was thirty, so he felt that he could view the political situation fairly dispassionately. He knew now that he would never return to his home planet, even though it was only five hours away by shuttle. At 115, he was in perfect health, but he could not face the reconditioning needed to accustom him to three times the gravity he had enjoyed for most of his life. He was exiled for ever from the world of his birth; not being a sentimental man, this had never depressed him unduly.

What did depress him sometimes was the need for dealing, year after year, with the same familiar faces. The marvels of medicine were all very well—and certainly he had no desire to put back the clock—but there were men around this conference table with whom he had worked for more than half a century. He knew exactly what they would say and how they would vote on any given subject. He wished that, some day, one of them would do something totally unexpected—even something quite crazy.

And probably they felt exactly the same way about him.

The Rama Committee was still manageably small, though doubtless that would soon be rectified. His six colleagues—the UP representatives for Mercury, Earth, Luna, Ganymede, Titan and Triton—were all present in the flesh. They had to be; electronic diplomacy was not possible over solar system distances. Some elder statesmen, accustomed to the instantaneous communications which Earth had long taken for granted, had never reconciled themselves to the fact that radio waves took minutes, or even hours, to journey across the gulfs between the planets. ‘Can’t you scientists do something about it?’ they had been heard to complain bitterly, when told that face-to-face conversation was impossible between Earth and any of its remoter children. Only the Moon had that barely acceptable one-and-a-half-second delay—with all the political and psychological consequences which it implied. Because of this fact of astronomical life, the Moon—and only the Moon—would always be a suburb of Earth.

Also present in person were three of the specialists who had been co-opted to the Committee. Professor Davidson, the astronomer, was an old acquaintance; today, he did not seem his usual irascible self. Dr. Bose knew nothing of the infighting that had preceded the launch of the first probe to Rama, but the Professor’s colleagues had not let him forget it.

Dr. Thelma Price was familiar through her numerous television appearances, though she had first made her reputation fifty years ago during the archaeological explosion that had followed the draining of that vast marine museum, the Mediterranean.

Dr. Bose could still recall the excitement of that time, when the lost treasures of the Greeks, Romans and a dozen other civilizations were restored to the light of day. That was one of the few occasions when he was sorry to be living on Mars.

The exobiologist, Carlisle Perera, was another obvious choice; so was Dennis Solomons, the science historian. Dr. Bose was slightly less happy about the presence of Conrad Taylor, the celebrated anthropologist, who had made his reputation by uniquely combining scholarship and eroticism in his study of puberty rites in late twentieth-century Beverly Hills.

No one, however, could possibly have disputed the right of Sir Lewis Sands to be on the Committee. A man whose knowledge was matched only by his urbanity, Sir Lewis was reputed to lose his composure only when called the Arnold Toynbee of his age.

The great historian was not present in person; he stubbornly refused to leave Earth, even for so momentous a meeting as this. His stereo image, indistinguishable from reality, apparently occupied the chair to Dr. Bose’s right; as if to complete the illusion, someone had placed a glass of water in front of him. Dr. Bose considered that this sort of technological tour de force was an unnecessary gimmick, but it was surprising how many undeniably great men were childishly delighted to be in two places at once. Sometimes this electronic miracle produced comic disasters; he had been at one diplomatic reception where somebody had tried to walk through a stereogram—and discovered, too late, that it was the real person. And it was even funnier to watch projections trying to shake hands…

His Excellency the Ambassador for Mars to the United Planets called his wandering thoughts to order, cleared his throat, and said: ‘Gentlemen, the Committee is now in session. I think I am correct in saying that this is a gathering of unique talents, assembled to deal with a unique situation. The directive that the Secretary-General has given us is to evaluate that situation, and to advise Commander Norton when necessary.’

This was a miracle of over-simplification, and everyone knew it. Unless there was a real emergency, the Committee might never be in direct contact with Commander Norton—if, indeed, he ever heard of its existence. For the Committee was a temporary creation of the United Planets’ Science Organization, reporting through its Director to the Secretary-General. It was true that the Space Survey was part of the UP—but on the Operations, not the Science side. In theory, this should not make much difference; there was no reason why the Rama Committee—or anyone else for that matter—should not call up Commander Norton and offer helpful advice.

But Deep Space Communications are expensive. Endeavour could be contacted only through PLANETCOM, which was an autonomous corporation, famous for the strictness and efficiency of its accounting. It took a long time to establish a line of credit with PLANETCOM; somewhere, someone was working on this; but at the moment, PLANETCOM’s hard-hearted computers did not recognize the existence of the Rama Committee.

‘This Commander Norton,’ said Sir Robert Mackay, the Ambassador for Earth. ‘He has a tremendous responsibility. What sort of person is he?’

‘I can answer that,’ said Professor Davidson, his fingers flying over the keyboard of his memory pad. He frowned at the screenful of information, and started to make an instant synopsis.

‘William Tsien Norton, Born 2077, Brisbane, Oceana. Educ
ated Sydney, Bombay, Houston. Then five years at Astrograd, specializing in propulsion. Commissioned 2102. Rose through usual ranks—Lieutenant on the Third Persephone expedition, distinguished himself during fifteenth attempt to establish base on Venus … um um … exemplary record … dual citizenship, Earth and Mars … wife and one child in Brisbane, wife and two in Port Lowell, with option on third…’

‘Wife?’ asked Taylor innocently.

‘No, child of course,’ snapped the Professor, before he caught the grin on the other’s face. Mild laughter rippled round the table, though the overcrowded terrestrials looked more envious than amused. After a century of determined effort, Earth had still failed to get its population below the target of one billion…

‘…appointed commanding officer Solar Survey Research Vessel Endeavour. First voyage to retrograde satellites of Jupiter … um, that was a tricky one … on asteroid mission when ordered to prepare for this operation … managed to beat deadline…’

The Professor cleared the display and looked up at his colleagues.

‘I think we were extremely lucky, considering that he was the only man available at such short notice. We might have had the usual run-of-the-mill captain.’ He sounded as if he was referring to the typical peg-legged scourge of the spaceways, pistol in one hand and cutlass in the other.

‘The record only proves that he’s competent,’ objected the Ambassador from Mercury (population: 112,500 but growing). ‘How will he react in a wholly novel situation like this?’

On Earth, Sir Lewis Sands cleared his throat. A second and a half later, he did so on the Moon.

‘Not exactly a novel situation,’ he reminded the Hermian, ‘even though it’s three centuries since it last occurred. If Rama is dead, or unoccupied—and so far all the evidence suggests that it is—Norton is in the position of an archaeologist discovering the ruins of an extinct culture.’ He bowed politely to Dr. Price, who nodded in agreement. ‘Obvious examples are Schliemann at Troy or Mouhot at Angkor Vat. The danger is minimal, though of course accident can never be completely ruled out.’

‘But what about the booby-traps and trigger mechanisms these Pandora people have been talking about?’ asked Dr. Price.

‘Pandora?’ asked the Hermian Ambassador quickly. ‘What’s that?’

‘It’s a crackpot movement,’ explained Sir Robert, with as much embarrassment as a diplomat was ever likely to show, ‘which is convinced that Rama is a grave potential danger. A box that shouldn’t be opened, you know.’ He doubted if the Hermian did know: classical studies were not encouraged on Mercury.

‘Pandora—paranoia,’ snorted Conrad Taylor. ‘Oh, of course, such things are conceivable, but why should any intelligent race want to play childish tricks?’

‘Well, even ruling out such unpleasantness,’ Sir Robert continued, ‘we still have the much more ominous possibility of an active, inhabited Rama. Then the situation is one of an encounter between two cultures—at very different technological levels. Pizzaro and the Incas. Perry and the Japanese. Europe and Africa. Almost invariably, the consequences have been disastrous—for one or both parties. I’m not making any recommendations; I’m merely pointing out precedents.’

‘Thank you, Sir Robert,’ replied Dr. Bose. It was a mild nuisance, he thought, having two ‘Sirs’ on one small committee; in these latter days, knighthood was an honour which few Englishmen escaped. ‘I’m sure we’ve all thought of these alarming possibilities. But if the creatures inside Rama are … er … malevolent, will it really make the slightest difference what we do?’

‘They might ignore us if we go away.’

‘What—after they’ve travelled billions of miles and thousands of years?’

The argument had reached the take-off point, and was now self-sustaining. Dr. Bose sat back in his chair, said very little, and waited for the consensus to emerge.

It was just as he had predicted. Everyone agreed that, once he had opened the first door, it was inconceivable that Commander Norton should not open the second.

CHAPTER 7

TWO WIVES

IF HIS WIVES ever compared his videograms, Commander Norton thought with more amusement than concern, it would involve him in a lot of extra work. Now, he could make one long ‘gram and dupe it, adding only brief personal messages and endearments before shooting the almost identical copies off to Mars and Earth.

Of course, it was highly unlikely that his wives ever would do such a thing; even at the concessionary rates allowed to spacemen’s families, it would be expensive. And there would be no point in it; his families were on excellent terms with each other, and exchanged the usual greetings on birthdays and anniversaries. Yet, on the whole, perhaps it was just as well that the girls had never met, and probably never would. Myrna had been born on Mars and so could not tolerate the high gravity of Earth. And Caroline hated even the twenty-five minutes of the longest possible terrestrial journey.

‘Sorry I’m a day late with this transmission,’ said the Commander after he had finished the general-purpose preliminaries, ‘but I’ve been away from the ship for the last thirty hours, believe it or not…’

‘Don’t be alarmed—everything is under control, going perfectly. It’s taken us two days, but we’re almost through the airlock complex. We could have done it in a couple of hours, if we’d known what we do now. But we took no chances, sent remote cameras ahead, and cycled all the locks a dozen times to make sure they wouldn’t seize up behind us—after we’d gone through…’

‘Each lock is a simple revolving cylinder with a slot on one side. You go in through this opening, crank the cylinder round a hundred and eighty degrees and the slot then matches up with another door so that you can step out of it. Or float, in this case.’

‘The Ramans really made sure of things. There are three of these cylinder-locks, one after the other just inside the outer hull and below the entry pillbox. I can’t imagine how even one would fail, unless someone blew it up with explosives, but if it did, there would be a second back-up, and then a third…’

‘And that’s only the beginning. The final lock opens into a straight corridor, almost half a kilometre long. It looks clean and tidy, like everything else we’ve seen; every few metres there are small ports that probably held lights, but now everything is completely black and, I don’t mind telling you, scary. There are also two parallel slots, about a centimetre wide, cut in the walls and running the whole length of the tunnel. We suspect that some kind of shuttle runs inside these, to tow equipment—or people—back and forth. It would save us a lot of trouble if we could get it working…’

‘I mentioned that the tunnel was half a kilometre long. Well, from our seismic soundings we knew that’s about the thickness of the shell, so obviously we were almost through it. And at the end of the tunnel we weren’t surprised to find another of those cylindrical airlocks.’

‘Yes, and another. And another. These people seem to have done everything in threes. We’re in the final lock chamber now, awaiting the OK from Earth before we go through. The interior of Rama is only a few metres away. I’ll be a lot happier when the suspense is over.’

‘You know Jerry Kirchoff, my Exec, who’s got such a library of real books that he can’t afford to emigrate from Earth? Well, Jerry told me about a situation just like this, back at the beginning of the twenty-first—no, twentieth century. An archaeologist found the tomb of an Egyptian king, the first one that hadn’t been looted by robbers. His workmen took months to dig their way in, chamber by chamber, until they came to the final wall. Then they broke through the masonry, and he held out a lantern and pushed his head inside. He found himself looking into a whole roomful of treasure—incredible stuff gold and jewels…’

‘Perhaps this place is also a tomb; it seems more and more likely. Even now, there’s still not the slightest sound, or hint of any activity. Well, tomorrow we should know.’

Commander Norton switched the record to HOLD. What else, he wondered, should he say about the work before he began the separate personal messages to his families? Normally, he never went into so much detail, but these circumstances were scarcely normal. This might be the last ‘gram he wou
ld ever send to those he loved; he owed it to them to explain what he was doing.

By the time they saw these images, and heard these words, he would be inside Rama—for better or for worse.

CHAPTER 8

THROUGH THE HUB

NEVER BEFORE HAD Norton felt so strongly his kinship with that long dead Egyptologist. Not since Howard Carter had first peered into the tomb of Tutankhamen could any man have known a moment such as this—yet the comparison was almost laughably ludicrous.

Tutankhamen had been buried only yesterday—not even four thousand years ago; Rama might be older than mankind. That little tomb in the Valley of the Kings could have been lost in the corridors through which they had already passed, yet the space that lay beyond this final seal was at least a million times greater. And as for the treasure it might hold—that was beyond imagination.

No one had spoken over the radio circuits for at least five minutes; the well-trained team had not even reported verbally when all the checks were complete. Mercer had simply given him the OK sign and waved him towards the open tunnel. It was as if everyone realized that this was a moment for History, not to be spoiled by unnecessary small talk. That suited Commander Norton, for at the moment he too had nothing to say. He flicked on the beam of his flashlight, triggered his jets, and drifted slowly down the short corridor, trailing his safety line behind him. Only seconds later, he was inside.

Inside what? All before him was total darkness; not a glimmer of light was reflected back from the beam. He had expected this, but he had not really believed it. All the calculations had shown that the far wall was tens of kilometres away; now his eyes told him that this was indeed the truth. As he drifted slowly into that darkness, he felt a sudden need for the reassurance of his safety line, stronger than any he had ever experienced before, even on his very first EVA. And that was ridiculous; he had looked out across the light-years and the megaparsecs without vertigo; why should he be disturbed by a few cubic kilometres of emptiness?

He was still queasily brooding over this problem when the momentum damper at the end of the line braked him gently to a halt, with a barely perceptible rebound. He swept the vainly-probing beam of the flashlight down from the nothingness ahead, to examine the surface from which he had emerged.

He might have been hovering over the centre of a small crater, which was itself a dimple in the base of a much larger one. On either side rose a complex of terraces and ramps—all geometrically precise and obviously artificial—which extended for as far as the beam could reach. About a hundred metres away he could see the exit of the other two airlock systems, identical with this one.

And that was all. There was nothing particularly exotic or alien about the scene: in fact, it bore a considerable resemblance to an abandoned mine. Norton felt a vague sense of disappointment; after all this effort, there should have been some dramatic, even transcendental revelation. Then he reminded himself that he could see only a couple of hundred metres. The darkness beyond his field of view might yet contain more wonders than he cared to face.

He reported briefly to his anxiously-waiting companions, then added: ‘I’m sending out the flare—two minutes delay. Here goes.’

With all his strength, he threw the little cylinder straight upwards—or outwards—and started to count seconds as it dwindled along the beam. Before he had reached the quarter minute it was out of sight; when he had got to a hundred he shielded his eyes and aimed the camera. He had always been good at estimating time; he was only two seconds off when the world exploded with light. And this time there was no cause for disappointment.

Even the millions of candlepower of the flare could not light up the whole of this enormous cavity, but now he could see enough to grasp its plan and appreciate its titanic scale. He was at one end of a hollow cylinder at least ten kilometres wide, and of indefinite length. From his viewpoint at the central axis he could see such a mass of detail on the curving walls surrounding him that his mind could not absorb more than a minute fraction of it; he was looking at the landscape of an entire world by a single flash of lightning, and he tried by a deliberate effort of will to freeze the image in his mind.

All round him, the terraced slopes of the ‘crater’ rose up until they merged into the solid wall that rimmed the sky. No—that impression was false; he must discard the instincts both of earth and of space, and reorient himself to a new system of coordinates.

He was not at the lowest point of this strange, inside-out world, but the highest. From here, all directions were down, not up. If he moved away from this central axis, towards the curving wall which he must no longer think of as a wall, gravity would steadily increase. When he reached the inside surface of the cylinder, he could stand upright on it at any point, feet towards the stars and head towards the centre of the spinning drum. The concept was familiar enough; since the earliest dawn of space flight, centrifugal force had been used to simulate gravity. It was only the scale of this application which was so overwhelming, so shocking. The largest of all space stations, Syncsat Five, was less than two hundred metres in diameter. It would take some little while to grow accustomed to one a hundred times that size.

The tube of landscape which enclosed him was mottled with areas of light and shade that could have been forests, fields, frozen lakes or towns; the distance, and the fading illumination of the flare, made identification impossible. Narrow lines that could be highways, canals, or well-trained rivers formed a faintly visible geometrical network; and far along the cylinder, at the very limit of vision, was a band of deeper darkness. It formed a complete circle, ringing the interior of this world, and Norton suddenly recalled the myth of Oceanus, the sea which, the ancients believed, surrounded the Earth.

Here, perhaps, was an even stranger sea—not circular, but cylindrical. Before it became frozen in the interstellar night, did it have waves and tides and currents—and fish?

The flare guttered and died; the moment of revelation was over. But Norton knew that as long as he lived these images would be burned on his mind. Whatever discoveries the future might bring, they could never erase this first impression. And History could never take from him the privilege of being the first of all mankind to gaze upon the works of an alien civilization.

CHAPTER 9

RECONNAISSANCE

‘WE HAVE NOW launched five long-delay flares down the axis of the cylinder, and so have a good photo-coverage of its full length. All the main features are mapped; though there are very few that we can identify, we’ve given them provisional names.’

‘The interior cavity is fifty kilometres long and sixteen wide. The two ends are bowl-shaped, with rather complicated geometries. We’ve called ours the Northern Hemisphere and are establishing our first base here at the axis.’

‘Radiating away from the central hub, 120 degrees apart, are three ladders that are almost a kilometre long. They all end at a terrace or ring-shaped plateau that runs right round the bowl. And leading on from that, continuing the direction of the ladders, are three enormous stairways, which go all the way down to the plain. If you imagine an umbrella with only three ribs, equally spaced, you’ll have a good idea of this end of Rama.’

‘Each of those ribs is a stairway, very steep near the axis and then slowly flattening out as it approaches the plain below. The stairways—we’ve called them Alpha, Beta, Gamma—aren’t continuous, but break at five more circular terraces. We estimate there must be between twenty and thirty thousand steps … presumably they were only used for emergencies, since it’s inconceivable that the Ramans—or whatever we’re going to call them—had no better way of reaching the axis of their world.’

‘The Southern Hemisphere looks quite different; for one thing, it has no stairways, and no flat central hub. Instead, there’s a huge spike—kilometres long—jutting along the axis, with six smaller ones around it. The whole arrangement is very odd, and we can’t imagine what it means.’

‘The fifty-kilometre-long cylindrical section between the two bowls we’ve called the Central Plain. It may seem crazy to use the word “plain” to describe something so obviously curved, but we feel it’s justified. It will appear flat to us when we get down there—just as the interior of a bottle must seem flat to an ant crawling round inside it.’

‘The most striking feature of the Central Plain is the ten-kilometre-wide dark band running completely round it at the halfway mark. It looks like ice, so we’ve christened it the Cylindrical Sea. Right out in the middle there’s a large oval island, about ten kilometres long and three wide, and covered with tall structures. Because it reminds us of Old Manhattan, we’ve called it New York. Yet I don’t think it’s a city; it seems more like an enormous factory or chemical processing plant.’

‘But there are some cities—or at any rate, towns. At least six of them; if they were built for human beings, they could each hold about fifty thousand people. We’ve called them Rome, Peking, Paris, Moscow, London, Tokyo… They are linked with highways and something that seems to be a rail system.’

‘There must be enough material for centuries of research in this frozen carcass of a world. We’ve four thousand square kilometres to explore, and only a few weeks to do it in. I wonder if we’ll ever learn the answer to the two mysteries that have been haunting me ever since we got inside; who were they—and what went wrong?’

The recording ended. On Earth and Moon, the members of the Rama Committee relaxed, then started to examine the maps and photographs spread in front of them. Though they had already studied these for many hours, Commander Norton’s voice added a dimension which no pictures could convey. He had actually been there—had looked with his own eyes across this extraordinary inside-out world, during the brief moments while its age-long night had been illuminated by the flares. And he was the man who would lead any expedition to explore it.

‘Dr. Perera, I believe you have some comments to make?’

Ambassador Bose wondered briefly if he should have first given the floor to Professor Davidson, as senior scientist and the only astronomer. But the old cosmologist s
till seemed to be in a mild state of shock, and was clearly out of his element. All his professional career he had looked upon the universe as an arena for the titanic impersonal forces of gravitation, magnetism, radiation; he had never believed that life played an important role in the scheme of things, and regarded its appearance on Earth, Mars and Jupiter as an accidental aberration.

But now there was proof that life not only existed outside the solar system, but had scaled heights far beyond anything that man had achieved, or could hope to reach for centuries to come. Moreover, the discovery of Rama challenged another dogma that Professor Olaf had preached for years. When pressed, he would reluctantly admit that life probably did exist in other star systems—but it was absurd, he had always maintained to imagine that it could ever cross the interstellar gulfs…

Perhaps the Ramans had indeed failed, if Commander Norton was correct in believing that their world was now a tomb. But at least they had attempted the feat, on a scale which indicated a high confidence in the outcome. If such a thing had happened once, it must surely have happened many times in this Galaxy of a hundred thousand million suns … and someone, somewhere, would eventually succeed.

This was the thesis which, without proof but with considerable arm-waving, Dr. Carlisle Perera had been preaching for years. He was now a very happy man, though also a most frustrated one. Rama had spectacularly confirmed his views but he could never set foot inside it, or even see it with his own eyes. If the devil had suddenly appeared and offered him the gift of instantaneous teleportation, he would have signed the contract without bothering to look at the small print.

‘Yes, Mr. Ambassador, I think I have some information of interest. What we have here is undoubtedly a “Space Ark”. It’s an old idea in the astronautical literature; I’ve been able to trace it back to the British physicist J. D. Bernal, who proposed this method of interstellar colonization in a book published in 1929—yes, two hundred years ago. And the great Russian pioneer Tsiolkovski put forward somewhat similar proposals even earlier.’

‘If you want to go from one star system to another you have a number of choices. Assuming that the speed of light is an absolute limit—and that’s still not completely settled, despite anything you may have heard to the contrary’—(there was an indignant sniff, but no formal protest from Professor Davidson)—’you can make a fast trip in a small vessel, or a slow journey in a giant one.’

‘There seems no technical reason why spacecraft cannot reach ninety per cent, or more, of the speed of light. That would mean a travel time of five to ten years between neighbouring stars—tedious, perhaps, but not impracticable, especially for creatures whose life spans might be measured in centuries. One can imagine voyages of this duration, carried out in ships not much larger than ours.’

‘But perhaps such speeds are impossible, with reasonable payloads; remember, you have to carry the fuel to slow down at the end of the voyage, even if you’re on a one-way trip. So it may make more sense to take your time—ten thousand, a hundred thousand years…’

‘Bernal and others thought this could be done with mobile worldlets a few kilometres across, carrying thousands of passengers on journeys that would last for generations. Naturally, the system would have to be rigidly closed, recycling all food, air and other expendables. But, of course, that’s just how the Earth operates—on a slightly larger scale.’

‘Some writers suggested that these Space Arks should be built in the form of concentric spheres; others proposed hollow, spinning cylinders so that centrifugal force could provide artificial gravity—exactly what we’ve found in Rama—’

Professor Davidson could not tolerate this sloppy talk. ‘No such thing as centrifugal force. It’s an engineer’s phantom. There’s only inertia.’

‘You’re quite right, of course,’ admitted Perera, ‘though it might be hard to convince a man who’d just been slung off a carousel. But mathematical rigour seems unnecessary—’

‘Hear, hear,’ interjected Dr. Bose, with some exasperation. ‘We all know what you mean, or think we do. Please don’t destroy our illusions.’

‘Well, I was merely pointing out that there’s nothing conceptually novel about Rama, though its size is startling. Men have imagined such things for two hundred years.’

‘Now I’d like to address myself to another question. Exactly how long has Rama been travelling through space?’

‘We now have a very precise determination of its orbit and its velocity. Assuming that it’s made no navigational changes, we can trace its position back for millions of years. We expected that it would be coming from the direction of a nearby star—but that isn’t the case at all.’

‘It’s more than two hundred thousand years since Rama passed near any star, and that particular one turns out to be an irregular variable—about the most unsuitable sun you could imagine for an inhabited solar system. It has a brightness range of over fifty to one; any planets would be alternately baked and frozen every few years.’

‘A suggestion,’ put in Dr. Price. ‘Perhaps that explains everything. Maybe this was once a normal sun and became unstable. That’s why the Ramans had to find a new one.’

Dr. Perera admired the old archaeologist, so he let her down lightly. But what would she say, he wondered, if he started pointing out the instantly obvious in her own speciality…

‘We did consider that,’ he said gently. ‘But if our present theories of stellar evolution are correct, this star could never have been stable—could never have had life-bearing planets. So Rama has been cruising through space for at least two hundred thousand years, and perhaps for more than a million.’

‘Now it’s cold and dark and apparently dead, and I think I know why. The Ramans may have had no choice—perhaps they were indeed fleeing from some disaster—but they miscalculated.’

‘No closed ecology can be one hundred per cent efficient; there is always waste, loss—some degradation of the environment, and build-up of pollutants. It may take billions of years to poison and wear out a planet—but it will happen in the end. The oceans will dry up, the atmosphere will leak away…’

‘By our standards, Rama is enormous—yet it is still a very tiny planet. My calculations, based on the leakage through its hull, and some reasonable guesses about the rate of biological turnover, indicate that its ecology could only survive for about a thousand years. At the most, I’ll grant ten thousand…’

‘That would be long enough, at the speed Rama is travelling, for a transit between the closely-packed suns in the heart of the Galaxy. But not out here, in the scattered population of the spiral arms. Rama is a ship which exhausted its provisions before it reached its goal. It’s a derelict, drifting among the stars.’

‘There’s just one serious objection to this theory, and I’ll raise it before anybody else does. Rama’s orbit is aimed so accurately at the solar system that coincidence seems ruled out. In fact, I’d say it’s now heading much too close to the sun for comfort: Endeavour will have to break away long before perihelion, to avoid overheating.’

‘I don’t pretend to understand this. Perhaps, there may be some form of automatic terminal guidance still operating, steering Rama to the nearest suitable star ages after its builders are dead.’

‘And they are dead; I’ll stake my reputation on that. All the samples we’ve taken from the interior are absolutely sterile—we’ve not found a single micro-organism. As for the talk you may have heard about suspended animation, you can ignore it. There are fundamental reasons why hibernation techniques will only work for a very few centuries—and we’re dealing with time spans a thousand-fold longer.’

‘So the Pandorans and their sympathizers have nothing to worry about. For my part, I’m sorry. It would have been wonderful to have met another intelligent species.’

‘But at least we have answered one ancient question. We are not alone. The stars will never again be the same to us.’

CHAPTER 10

DESCENT INTO DARKNESS

COMMANDER NORTON WAS sorely tempted but, as captain, his first duty was to his ship. If anything went badly wrong on this initial probe, he might have to run for it.
<
br /> So that left his second officer, Lieut-Commander Mercer, as the obvious choice. Norton willingly admitted that Karl was better suited for the mission.

The authority on life-support systems, Mercer had written some of the standard textbooks on the subject. He had personally checked out innumerable types of equipment, often under hazardous conditions, and his biofeedback control was famous. At a moment’s notice he could cut his pulse-rate by fifty per cent, and reduce respiration to almost zero for up to ten minutes. These useful little tricks had saved his life on more than one occasion.

Yet despite his great ability and intelligence, he was almost wholly lacking in imagination. To him the most dangerous experiments or missions were simply jobs that had to be done. He never took unnecessary risks, and had no use at all for what was commonly regarded as courage.

The two mottoes on his desk summed up his philosophy of life. One asked WHAT HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN? The other said HELP STAMP OUT BRAVERY. The fact that he was widely regarded as the bravest man in the Fleet was the only thing that ever made him angry.

Given Mercer, that automatically selected the next man—his inseparable companion Lt. Joe Calvert. It was hard to see what the two had in common; the lightly-built, rather highly strung navigating officer was ten years younger than his stolid and imperturbable friend, who certainly did not share his passionate interest in the art of the primitive cinema.

But no one can predict where lightning will strike, and years ago Mercer and Calvert had established an apparently stable liaison. That was common enough; much more unusual was the fact that they also shared a wife back on Earth, who had borne each of them a child. Commander Norton hoped that he could meet her one day; she must be a very remarkable woman. The triangle had lasted for at least five years, and still seemed to be an equilateral one.

Two men were not enough for an exploring team; long ago it had been found that three was the optimum—for if one man was lost, two might still escape where a single survivor would be doomed. After a good deal of thought, Norton had chosen Technical Sergeant Willard Myron. A mechanical genius who could make anything work—or design something better if it wouldn’t—Myron was the ideal man to identify alien pieces of equipment. On a long sabbatical from his regular job as Associate Professor at Astrotech, the Sergeant had refused to accept a commission on the grounds that he did not wish to block the promotion of more deserving career officers. No one took this explanation very seriously and it was generally agreed that Will rated zero for ambition. He might make it to Space Sergeant, but would never be a full professor. Myron, like countless NCOs before him, had discovered the ideal compromise between power and responsibility.

As they drifted through the last airlock and floated out along the weightless axis of Rama, Lt. Calvert found himself, as he so often did, in the middle of a movie flashback. He sometimes wondered if he should attempt to cure himself of this habit, but he could not see that it had any disadvantages. It could make even the dullest situations interesting and—who could tell?—one day it might save his life. He would remember what Fairbanks or Connery or Hiroshi had done in similar circumstances…

This time, he was about to go over the top, in one of the early-twentieth-century wars; Mercer was the sergeant leading a three-man patrol on a night raid into no-man’s land. It was not too difficult to imagine that they were at the bottom of an immense shell-crater, though one that had somehow become neatly tailored into a series of ascending terraces. The crater was flooded with light from three widely-spaced plasma-arcs, which gave an almost shadowless illumination over the whole interior. But beyond that—over the rim of the most distant terrace—was darkness and mystery.

In his mind’s eye, Calvert knew perfectly well what lay there. First there was the flat circular plain over a kilometre across. Trisecting it into three equal parts, and looking very much like broad railroad tracks, were three wide ladders, their rungs recessed into the surface so that they would provide no obstruction to anything sliding over it. Since the arrangement was completely symmetrical, there was no reason to choose one ladder rather than another; that nearest to Airlock Alpha had been selected purely as a matter of convenience.

Though the rungs of the ladders were uncomfortably far apart, that presented no problem. Even at the rim of the Hub, half a kilometre from the axis, gravity was still barely one thirtieth of Earth’s. Although they were carrying almost a hundred kilos of equipment and life-support gear, they would still be able to move easily hand overhand.

Commander Norton and the back-up team accompanied them along the guide ropes that had been stretched from Airlock Alpha to the rim of the crater; then, beyond the range of the floodlights, the darkness of Rama lay before them. All that could be seen in the dancing beams of the helmet lights was the first few hundred metres of the ladder, dwindling away across a flat and otherwise featureless plain.

And now, Karl Mercer told himself, I have to make my first decision. Am I going up that ladder, or down it?

The question was not a trivial one. They were still essentially in zero gravity, and the brain could select any reference system it pleased. By a simple effort of will, Mercer could convince himself that he was looking out across a horizontal plain, or up the face of a vertical wall, or over the edge of a sheer cliff. Not a few astronauts had experienced grave psychological problems by choosing the wrong coordinates when they started on a complicated job.

Mercer was determined to go headfirst, for any other mode of locomotion would be awkward; moreover, this way he could more easily see what was in front of him. For the first few hundred metres, therefore, he would imagine he was climbing upward, only when the increasing pull of gravity made it impossible to maintain the illusion would he switch his mental directions one hundred and eighty degrees.

He grasped the first rung and gently propelled himself along the ladder. Movement was as effortless as swimming along the seabed—more so, in fact, for there was no backward drag of water. It was so easy that there was a temptation to go too fast, but Mercer was much too experienced to hurry in a situation as novel as this.

In his earphones, he could hear the regular breathing of his two companions. He needed no other proof that they were in good shape, and wasted no time in conversation. Though he was tempted to look back, he decided not to risk it until they had reached the platform at the end of the ladder.

The rungs were spaced a uniform half metre apart, and for the first portion of the climb Mercer missed the alternate ones. But he counted them carefully, and at around two hundred noticed the first distinct sensations of weight. The spin of Rama was starting to make itself felt.

At rung four hundred, he estimated that his apparent weight was about five kilos. This was no problem, but it was now getting hard to pretend that he was climbing, when he was being firmly dragged upwards.

The five hundredth rung seemed a good place to pause. He could feel the muscles in his arms responding to the unaccustomed exercise, even though Rama was now doing all the work and he had merely to guide himself.

‘Everything OK, Skipper,’ he reported. ‘We’re just passing the halfway mark. Joe, Will—any problems?’

‘I’m fine—what are you stopping for?’ Joe Calvert answered.

‘Same here,’ added Sergeant Myron. ‘But watch out for the Coriolis force. It’s starting to build up.’

So Mercer had already noticed. When he let go of the rungs he had a distinct tendency to drift off to the right. He knew perfectly well that this was merely the effect of Rama’s spin, but it seemed as if some mysterious force was gently pushing him away from the ladder.

Perhaps it was time to start going feet-first, now that ‘down’ was beginning to have a physical meaning. He would run the risk of a momentary disorientation.

‘Watch out—I’m going to swing round.’

Holding firmly on to the rung, he used his arms to twist himself round a hundred and eighty degrees, and found himself momentarily blinded by the lights of his companions. Far above them—and now it really was above—he could see a fainter glow along the rim of the sheer cliff. Silhouetted against it were the figures of Commander Norton and the back-up team, watching him intently. They seemed very small and far away, and he gave them a reassuring wave.

He released his grip, and let Rama’s still feeble pseudogravity take over. The drop from one rung to the next required more than two seconds; on Earth, in the same time, a man would have fallen thirty metres.

The rate of fall was so painfully slow that he hurried things up a trifle by pushing with his hands, gliding over spans of a dozen rungs at a time, and checking himself with his feet whenever he felt he was travelling too fast.

At rung seven hundred, he came to another halt and swung the beam of his helmet-lamp downwards; as he had calculated, the beginning of the stairway was only fifty metres below.

A few minutes later, they were on the first step. It was a strange experience, after months in space, to stand upright on a solid surface, and to feel it pressing against one’s feet. Their weight was still less than ten kilograms, but that was enough to give a feeling of stability. When he closed his eyes, Mercer could believe that he once more had a real world beneath him.

The ledge or platform from which the stairway descended was about ten metres wide, and curved upwards on each side until it disappeared into the darkness. Mercer knew that it formed a complete circle and that if he walked along it for five kilometres he would come right back to his starting point, having circumnavigated Rama.

At the fractional gravity that existed here, however, real walking was impossible; one could only bound along in giant strides. And therein lay danger. The stairway that swooped down into the darkness, far below the range of their lights, would be deceptively easy to descend. But it would be essential to hold on to the tall handrail that flanked it on either side
; too bold a step might send an incautious traveller arching far out into space. He would hit the surface again perhaps a hundred metres lower down; the impact would be harmless, but its consequences might not be—for the spin of Rama would have moved the stairway off to the left. And so a falling body would hit against the smooth curve that swept in an unbroken arc to the plain almost seven kilometres below.

That, Mercer told himself, would be a hell of a toboggan ride; the terminal speed, even in this gravity, could be several hundred kilometres an hour. Perhaps it would be possible to apply enough friction to check such a headlong descent; if so, this might even be the most convenient way to reach the inner surface of Rama. But some very cautious experimenting would be necessary first.

‘Skipper,’ reported Mercer, ‘there were no problems getting down the ladder. If you agree, I’d like to continue towards the next platform. I want to time our rate of descent on the stairway.’

Norton replied without hesitation. ‘Go ahead.’ He did not need to add, ‘Proceed with caution.’

It did not take Mercer long to make a fundamental discovery. It was impossible, at least at this one-twentieth-of-a-gravity level, to walk down the stairway in the normal manner. Any attempt to do so resulted in a slow-motion dreamlike movement that was intolerably tedious; the only practical way was to ignore the steps, and to use the handrail to pull oneself downwards.

Calvert had come to the same conclusion.

‘This stairway was built to walk up, not down!’ he exclaimed. ‘You can use the steps when you’re moving against gravity, but they’re just a nuisance in this direction. It may not be dignified, but I think the best way down is to slide along the handrail.’

‘That’s ridiculous,’ protested Sergeant Myron. ‘I can’t believe the Ramans did it this way.’

‘I doubt if they ever used this stairway—it’s obviously only for emergencies. They must have had some mechanical transport system to get up here. A funicular perhaps. That would explain those long slots running down from the Hub.’

‘I always assumed they were drains but I suppose they could be both. I wonder if it ever rained here?’

‘Probably,’ said Mercer. ‘But I think Joe is right, and to hell with dignity. Here we go.’

The handrail—presumably it was designed for something like hands—was a smooth, flat metal bar supported on widely-spaced pillars a metre high. Commander Mercer straddled it, carefully gauged the braking power he could exert with his hands, and let himself slide.

Very sedately, slowly picking up speed, he descended into the darkness, moving in the pool of light from his helmet-lamp. He had gone about fifty metres when he called the others to join him.

None would admit it, but they all felt like boys again sliding down the banisters. In less than two minutes, they had made a kilometre descent in safety and comfort. Whenever they felt they were going too fast a tightened grip on the handrail provided all the braking that was necessary.

‘I hope you enjoyed yourselves,’ Commander Norton called when they stepped off at the second platform. ‘Climbing back won’t be quite so easy.’

‘That’s what I want to check,’ replied Mercer, who was walking experimentally back and forth, getting the feel of the increased gravity. ‘It’s already a tenth of a gee here—you really notice the difference.’

He walked—or, more accurately, glided—to the edge of the platform, and shone his helmet-light down the next section of the stairway. As far as his beam could reach, it appeared identical with the one above—though careful examination of photos had shown that the height of the steps steadily decreased with the rising gravity. The stair had apparently been designed so that the effort required to climb it was more or less constant at every point in its long curving sweep.

Mercer glanced up towards the Hub of Rama, now almost two kilometres above him. The little glow of light, and the tiny figures silhouetted against it, seemed horribly far away. For the first time, he was suddenly glad that he could not see the whole length of this enormous stairway. Despite his steady nerves and lack of imagination, he was not sure how he would react if he could see himself like an insect crawling up the face of a vertical saucer more than sixteen kilometres high—and with the upper half overhanging above him. Until this moment, he had regarded the darkness as a nuisance; now he almost welcomed it.

‘There’s no change of temperature,’ he reported to Commander Norton. ‘Still just below freezing. But the air pressure is up, as we expected—around three hundred millibars. Even with this low oxygen content, it’s almost breathable; further down there will be no problems at all. That will simplify exploration enormously. What a find—the first world on which we can walk without breathing gear! In fact, I’m going to take a sniff.’

Up on the Hub, Commander Norton stirred a little uneasily. But Mercer, of all men, knew exactly what he was doing. He would already have made enough tests to satisfy himself.

Mercer equalized pressure, unlatched the securing clip of his helmet, and opened it a crack. He took a cautious breath; then a deeper one.

The air of Rama was dead and musty, as if from a tomb so ancient that the last trace of physical corruption had disappeared ages ago. Even Mercer’s ultra-sensitive nose, trained through years of testing life-support systems to and beyond the point of disaster, could detect no recognizable odours. There was a faint metallic tang, and he suddenly recalled that the first men on the Moon had reported a hint of burnt gunpowder when they repressurized the lunar module. Mercer imagined that the moon-dust-contaminated cabin on Eagle must have smelled rather like Rama.

He sealed the helmet again, and emptied his lungs of the alien air. He had extracted no sustenance from it; even a mountaineer acclimatized to the summit of Everest would die quickly here. But a few kilometres further down, it would be a different matter.

What else was there to do here? He could think of nothing, except the enjoyment of the gentle, unaccustomed gravity. But there was no point in growing used to that, since they would be returning immediately to the weightlessness of the Hub.

‘We’re coming back, Skipper,’ he reported. ‘There’s no reason to go further until we’re ready to go all the way.’

‘I agree. We’ll be timing you, but take it easy.’

As he bounded up the steps, three or four at a stride, Mercer agreed that Calvert had been perfectly correct; these stairs were built to be walked up, not down. As long as one did not look back, and ignored the vertiginous steepness of the ascending curve, the climb was a delightful experience. After about two hundred steps, however, he began to feel some twinges in his calf muscles, and decided to slow down. The others had done the same; when he ventured a quick glance over his shoulder, they were considerably further down the slope.

The climb was wholly uneventful—merely an apparently endless succession of steps. When they stood once more on the highest platform, immediately beneath the ladder, they were barely winded, and it had taken them only ten minutes. They paused for another ten, then started on the last vertical kilometre.

Jump—catch hold of a rung—jump—catch—jump—catch … it was easy, but so boringly repetitious that there was danger of becoming careless. Halfway up the ladder they rested for five minutes: by this time their arms as well as their legs had begun to ache. Once again, Mercer was glad that they could see so little of the vertical face to which they were clinging; it was not too difficult to pretend that the ladder only extended just a few metres beyond their circle of light, and would soon come to an end.

Jump—catch a rung—jump—then, quite suddenly, the ladder really ended. They were back at the weightless world of the axis, among their anxious friends. The whole trip had taken under an hour, and they felt a sense of modest achievement.

But it was much too soon to feel pleased with themselves. For all their efforts, they had traversed less than an eighth of that cyclopean stairway.

CHAPTER 11

MEN, WOMEN AND MONKEYS

SOME WOMEN, Commander Norton had decided long ago, should not be allowed aboard ship; weig
htlessness did things to their breasts that were too damn distracting. It was bad enough when they were motionless; but when they started to move, and sympathetic vibrations set in, it was more than any warm-blooded male should be asked to take. He was quite sure that at least one serious space accident had been caused by acute crew distraction, after the transit of a well-upholstered lady officer through the control cabin.

He had once mentioned this theory to Surgeon Commander Laura Ernst, without revealing who had inspired his particular train of thought. There was no need; they knew each other much too well. On Earth, years ago, in a moment of mutual loneliness and depression, they had once made love. Probably they would never repeat the experience (but could one ever be quite sure of that?) because so much had changed for both of them. Yet whenever the well-built Surgeon oscillated into the Commander’s cabin, he felt a fleeting echo, of an old passion, she knew that he felt it, and everyone was happy.

‘Bill,’ she began, ‘I’ve checked our mountaineers, and here’s my verdict. Karl and Joe are in good shape—all indications normal for the work they’ve done. But Will shows signs of exhaustion and body-loss—I won’t bother about the details. I don’t believe he’s been getting all the exercise he should, and he’s not the only one. There’s been some cheating in the centrifuge; if there’s any more, heads will roll. Please pass the word.’

‘Yes, Ma’am. But there’s some excuse. The men have been working very hard.’

‘With their brains and fingers, certainly. But not with their bodies—not real work in kilogram-metres. And that’s what we’ll be dealing with, if we’re going to explore Rama.’

‘Well, can we?’

‘Yes, if we proceed with caution. Karl and I have worked out a very conservative profile—based on the assumption that we can dispense with breathing gear below Level Two. Of course, that’s an incredible stroke of luck, and changes the whole logistics picture. I still can’t get used to the idea of a world with oxygen … So we only need to supply food and water and thermosuits, and we’re in business. Going down will be easy; it looks as if we can slide most of the way, on that very convenient banister.’

‘I’ve got Chips working on a sled with parachute braking. Even if we can’t risk it for crew, we can use it for stores and equipment.’

‘Fine; that should do the trip in ten minutes; otherwise it will take about an hour. Climbing up is harder to estimate; I’d like to allow six hours, including two one-hour periods. Later, as we get experience—and develop some muscles—we may be able to cut this back considerably.’

‘What about psychological factors?’

‘Hard to assess, in such a novel environment. Darkness may be the biggest problem.’

‘I’ll establish searchlights on the Hub. Besides its own lamps, any party down there will always have a beam playing on it.’

‘Good—that should be a great help.’

‘One other point: should we play safe and send a party only halfway down the stair—and back—or should we go the whole way on the first attempt?’

‘If we had plenty of time, I’d be cautious. But time is short, and I can see no danger in going all the way—and looking around when we get there.’

‘Thanks, Laura—that’s all I want to know. I’ll get the Exec working on the details. And I’ll order all hands to the centrifuge—twenty minutes a day at half a gee. Will that satisfy you?’

‘No. It’s point six gee down there in Rama, and I want a safety margin. Make it three quarters—’

‘Ouch!’

‘—for ten minutes—’

‘I’ll settle for that—’

‘—twice a day.’

‘Laura, you’re a cruel, hard woman. But so be it. I’ll break the news just before dinner. That should spoil a few appetites.’

It was the first time that Commander Norton had ever seen Karl Mercer slightly ill at ease. He had spent the fifteen minutes discussing the logistics problem in his usual competent manner, but something was obviously worrying him. His captain, who had a shrewd idea of what it was, waited patiently until he brought it out.

‘Skipper,’ Karl said at length, ‘are you sure you should lead this party? If anything goes wrong, I’m considerably more expendable. And I’ve been further inside Rama than anyone else—even if only by fifty metres.’

‘Granted. But it’s time the commander led his troops, and we’ve decided that there’s no greater risk on this trip than on the last. At the first sign of trouble, I’ll be back up that stairway fast enough to qualify for the Lunar Olympics.’

He waited for any further objections, but none came, though Karl still looked unhappy. So he took pity on him and added gently: ‘And I bet Joe will beat me to the top.’

The big man relaxed, and a slow grin spread across his face. ‘All the same, Bill, I wish you’d taken someone else.’

‘I wanted one man who’d been down before, and we can’t both go. As for Herr Doctor Professor Sergeant Myron, Laura says he’s still two kilos overweight. Even shaving off that moustache didn’t help.’

‘Who’s your number three?’

‘I still haven’t decided. That depends on Laura.’

‘She wants to go herself.’

‘Who doesn’t? But if she turns up at the top of her own fitness list, I’ll be very suspicious.’

As Lieut-Commander Mercer gathered up his papers and launched himself out of the cabin, Norton felt a brief stab of envy. Almost all the crew—about eighty-five per cent, by his minimum estimate—had worked out some sort of emotional accommodation. He had known ships where the captain had done the same, but that was not his way. Though discipline aboard the Endeavour was based very largely on the mutual respect between highly trained and intelligent men and women, the commander needed something more to underline his position. His responsibility was unique, and demanded a certain degree of isolation, even from his closest friends. Any liaison could be damaging to morale, for it was almost impossible to avoid charges of favouritism. For this reason, affairs spanning more than two degrees of rank were firmly discouraged; but apart from this, the only rule regulating shipboard sex was ‘So long as they don’t do it in the corridors and frighten the simps’.

There were four superchimps aboard Endeavour, though strictly speaking the name was inaccurate, because the ship’s non-human crew was not based on chimpanzee stock. In zero gravity, a prehensile tail is an enormous advantage, and all attempts to supply these to humans had turned into embarrassing failures. After equally unsatisfactory results with the great apes, the Superchimpanzee Corporation had turned to the monkey kingdom.

Blackie, Blondie, Goldie and Brownie had family trees whose branches included the most intelligent of the Old and New World monkeys, plus synthetic genes that had never existed in nature. Their rearing and education had probably cost as much as that of the average spaceman, and they were worth it. Each weighed less than thirty kilos and consumed only half the food and oxygen of a human being, but each could replace 2.75 men for housekeeping, elementary cooking, tool-carrying and dozens of other routine jobs.

That 2.75 was the Corporation’s claim, based on innumerable time-and-motion studies. The figure, though surprising and frequently challenged, appeared to be accurate, for simps were quite happy to work fifteen hours a day and did not get bored by the most menial and repetitious tasks. So they freed human beings for human work; and on a spaceship, that was a matter of vital importance.

Unlike the monkeys who were their nearest relatives Endeavour’s simps were docile, obedient and uninquisitive. Being cloned, they were also sexless, which eliminated awkward behavioural problems. Carefully housetrained vegetarians, they were very clean and didn’t smell; they would have made perfect pets, except that nobody could possibly have afforded them.

Despite these advantages, having simps on board involved certain problems. They had to have their own quarters—inevitably labelled ‘The Monkey House’. Their little mess-room was always spotless, and was well equipped with TV, games equipment and programmed teaching machines. To avoid accidents, they were absolutely forbidden to enter the ship’s technical areas; the entrances to all these were colour-coded in red, and the simps were conditioned so that it was psychologically impossible for them to pass the visual barriers.

There was also a communications problem. Though they had an equivalent IQ of sixty, and could understand several hundred words of English, they were unable to talk. It had proved impossible to give useful vocal chords either to apes or monkeys, and they therefore had to express themselves in sign language.

The basic signs were obvious and easily learned, so that everyone on board ship could understand routine messages. But the only man who could speak fluent Simpish was their handler—Chief Steward McAndrews.

It was a standing joke that Sergeant Ravi McAndrews looked rather like a simp—which was hardly an insult, for with their short, tinted pelts and graceful movements they were very handsome animals. They were also affectionate, and everyone on board had his favourite; Commander Norton’s was the aptly-named Goldie.

But the warm relationship which one could so easily establish with simps created another problem, often used as a powerful argument against their employment in space. Since they could only be trained for routine, low-grade tasks, they were worse than useless in an emergency; they could then be a danger to themselves and to their human companions. In particular, teaching them to use spacesuits had proved impossible, the concepts involved being quite beyond their understanding.

No one liked to talk about it, but everybody knew what had to be done if a hull was breached or the order came to abandon ship. It had happened only once; then the simp handler had carried out his instructions more than adequately. He was found with his charges, killed by the same poison. Thereafter the job of euthing was transferred to the chi
ef medical officer, who it was felt would have less emotional involvement.

Norton was very thankful that this responsibility, at least, did not fall upon the captain’s shoulders. He had known men he would have killed with far fewer qualms than he would Goldie.

CHAPTER 12

THE STAIRWAY OF THE GODS

IN THE CLEAR, cold atmosphere of Rama, the beam of the searchlight was completely invisible. Three kilometres down from the central Hub, the hundred-metre wide oval of light lay across a section of that colossal stairway. A brilliant oasis in the surrounding darkness, it was sweeping slowly towards the curved plain still five kilometres below; and in its centre moved a trio of antlike figures, casting long shadows before them.

It had been, just as they had hoped and expected, a completely uneventful descent. They had paused briefly at the first platform, and Norton had walked a few hundred metres along the narrow, curving ledge before starting the slide down to the second level. Here they had discarded their oxygen gear, and revelled in the strange luxury of being able to breathe without mechanical aids. Now they could explore in comfort, freed from the greatest danger that confronts a man in space, and forgetting all worries about suit integrity and oxygen reserve.

By the time they had reached the fifth level, and there was only one more section to go, gravity had reached almost half its terrestrial value. Rama’s centrifugal spin was at last exerting its real strength; they were surrendering themselves to the implacable force which rules every planet, and which can exert a merciless price for the smallest slip. It was still very easy to go downwards; but the thought of the return, up those thousands upon thousands of steps, was already beginning to prey upon their minds.

The stairway had long ago ceased its vertiginous downward plunge and was now flattening out towards the horizontal. The gradient was now only about 1 in 5; at the beginning, it had been 5 in 1. Normal walking was now both physically, and psychologically, acceptable; only the lowered gravity reminded them that they were not descending some great stairway on Earth. Norton had once visited the ruins of an Aztec temple, and the feelings he had then experienced came echoing back to him—amplified a hundred times. Here was the same sense of awe and mystery, and the sadness of the irrevocably vanished past. Yet the scale here was so much greater, both in time and space, that the mind was unable to do it justice; after a while, it ceased to respond. Norton wondered if, sooner or later, he would take even Rama for granted.

And there was another respect in which the parallel with terrestrial ruins failed completely. Rama was hundreds of times older than any structure that had survived on Earth—even the Great Pyramid. But everything looked absolutely new; there was no sign of wear and tear.

Norton had puzzled over this a good deal, and had arrived at a tentative explanation. Everything that they had so far examined was part of an emergency back-up system, very seldom put to actual use. He could not imagine that the Ramans—unless they were physical fitness fanatics of the kind not uncommon on Earth—ever walked up and down this incredible stairway, or its two identical companions completing the invisible Y far above his head. Perhaps they had only been required during the actual construction of Rama, and had served no purpose since that distant day. That theory would do for the moment, yet it did not feel right. There was something wrong, somewhere…

They did not slide for the last kilometre but went down the steps two at a time in long, gentle strides; this way, Norton decided, they would give more exercise to muscles that would soon have to be used. And so the end of the stairway came upon them almost unawares; suddenly, there were no more steps—only a flat plain, dull grey in the now weakening beam of the Hub searchlight, fading away into the darkness a few hundred metres ahead.

Norton looked back along the beam, towards its source up on the axis more than eight kilometres away. He knew that Mercer would be watching through the telescope, so he waved to him cheerfully.

‘Captain here,’ he reported over the radio. ‘Everyone in fine shape—no problems. Proceeding as planned.’

‘Good,’ replied Mercer. ‘We’ll be watching.’

There was a brief silence; then a new voice cut in. ‘This is the Exec, on board ship. Really, Skipper, this isn’t good enough. You know the news services have been screaming at us for the last week. I don’t expect deathless prose, but can’t you do better than that?’

‘I’ll try,’ Norton chuckled. ‘But remember there’s nothing to see yet. It’s like … well … being on a huge, darkened stage, with a single spotlight. The first few hundred steps of the stairway rise out of it until they disappear into the darkness overhead. What we can see of the plain looks perfectly flat. The curvature’s too small to be visible over this limited area. And that’s about it.’

‘Like to give any impressions?’

‘Well, it’s still very cold—below freezing—and we’re glad of our thermosuits. And quiet of course; quieter than anything I’ve ever known on Earth, or in space, where there’s always some background noise. Here, every sound is swallowed up; the space around us is so enormous that there aren’t any echoes. It’s weird, but I hope we’ll get used to it.’

‘Thanks, Skipper. Anyone else—Joe, Boris?’

Lt. Joe Calvert, never at a loss for words, was happy to oblige.

‘I can’t help thinking that this is the first time—ever—that we’ve been able to walk on another world, breathing its natural atmosphere—though I suppose “natural” is hardly the word you can apply to a place like this. Still, Rama must resemble the world of its builders; our own spaceships are all miniature earths. Two examples are damned poor statistics, but does this mean that all intelligent life forms are oxygen eaters? What we’ve seen of their work suggests that the Ramans were humanoid, though perhaps about fifty per cent taller than we are. Wouldn’t you agree, Boris?’

Is Joe teasing Boris? Norton asked himself. I wonder how he’s going to react?…

To all his shipmates, Boris Rodrigo was something of an enigma. The quiet, dignified communications officer was popular with the rest of the crew, but he never entered fully into their activities and always seemed a little apart—marching to the music of a different drummer.

As indeed he was, being a devout member of the Fifth Church of Christ Cosmonaut. Norton had never been able to discover what had happened to the earlier four, and he was equally in the dark about the Church’s rituals and ceremonies. But the main tenet of its faith was well known: it believed that Jesus Christ was a visitor from space, and had constructed an entire theology on that assumption.

It was perhaps not surprising that an unusually high proportion of the Church’s devotees worked in space in some capacity or other. Invariably, they were efficient, conscientious and absolutely reliable. They were universally respected and even liked, especially as they made no attempt to convert others. Yet there was also something slightly spooky about them; Norton could never understand how men with advanced scientific and technical training could possibly believe some of the things he had heard Christers state as incontrovertible facts.

As he waited for Lt. Rodrigo to answer Joe’s possibly loaded question, the commander had a sudden insight into his own hidden motives. He had chosen Boris because he was physically fit, technically qualified, and completely dependable. At the same time, he wondered if some part of his mind had not selected the lieutenant out of an almost mischievous curiosity. How would a man with such religious beliefs react to the awesome reality of Rama? Suppose he encountered something that confounded his theology . . . or, for that matter, confirmed it?

But Boris Rodrigo, with his usual caution, refused to be drawn.

‘They were certainly oxygen breathers, and they could be humanoid. But let’s wait and see. With any luck, we should discover what they were like. There may be pictures, statues—perhaps even bodies, over in those towns. If they are towns.’

‘And the nearest is only eight kilometres away,’ said Joe Calvert hopefully.

Yes, thought the commander, but it’s also eight kilometres back—and then there’s that overwhelming stairway to
climb again. Can we take the risk?

A quick sortie to the ‘town’ which they had named Paris had been among the first of his contingency plans, and now he had to make his decision. They had ample food and water for a stay of twenty-four hours; they would always be in full view of the back-up team on the Hub, and any kind of accident seemed virtually impossible on this smooth, gently curving, metal plain. The only foreseeable danger was exhaustion; when they got to Paris, which they could do easily enough, could they do more than take a few photographs and perhaps collect some small artifacts, before they had to return?

But even such a brief foray would be worth it; there was so little time, as Rama hurtled sunwards towards a perihelion too dangerous for Endeavour to match.

In any case, part of the decision was not his to make. Up in the ship, Dr. Ernst would be watching the outputs of the bio-telemetering sensors attached to his body. If she turned thumbs-down, that would be that.

‘Laura, what do you think?’

‘Take thirty minutes’ rest, and a five hundred calorie energy module. Then you can start.’

‘Thanks, Doc,’ interjected Joe Calvert. ‘Now I can die happy. I always wanted to see Paris. Montmartre, here we come.’

CHAPTER 13

THE PLAIN OF RAMA

AFTER THOSE INTERMINABLE stairs, it was a strange luxury to walk once more on a horizontal surface. Directly ahead, the ground was indeed completely flat; to right and left, at the limits of the floodlit area, the rising curve could just be detected. They might have been walking along a very wide, shallow valley; it was quite impossible to believe that they were really crawling along the inside of a huge cylinder, and that beyond this little oasis of light the land rose up to meet—no, to become—the sky.

Though they all felt a sense of confidence and subdued excitement, after a while the almost palpable silence of Rama began to weigh heavily upon them. Every footstep, every word, vanished instantly into the unreverberant void; after they had gone little more than half a kilometre Lt. Calvert could stand it no longer.

Among his minor accomplishments was a talent now rare, though many thought not rare enough—the art of whistling. With or without encouragement he could reproduce the themes from most of the movies of the last two hundred years. He started appropriately with Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, ’tis off to work we go, found that he couldn’t stay down comfortably in the bass with Disney’s marching dwarfs, and switched quickly to the River Kwai song. Then he progressed, more or less chronologically, through half a dozen epics, culminating with the theme from Sid Krassman’s famous late-twentieth-century “Napoleon”.

It was a good try, but it didn’t work, even as a morale-builder. Rama needed the grandeur of Bach or Beethoven or Sibelius or Tuan Sun, not the trivia of popular entertainment. Norton was on the point of suggesting that Joe save his breath for later exertions, when the young officer realized the inappropriateness of his efforts. Thereafter, apart from an occasional consultation with the ship, they marched on in silence. Rama had won this round.

On his initial traverse, Norton had allowed for one detour. Paris lay straight ahead, halfway between the foot of the stairway and the shore of the Cylindrical Sea, but only a kilometre to the right of their track was a very prominent, and rather mysterious, feature which had been christened the Straight Valley. It was a long groove or trench, forty metres deep and a hundred wide, with gently sloping sides; it had been provisionally identified as an irrigation ditch or canal. Like the stairway itself, it had two similar counterparts, equally spaced around the curve of Rama.

The three valleys were almost ten kilometres long, and stopped abruptly just before they reached the Sea—which was strange, if they were intended to carry water. And on the other side of the Sea the pattern was repeated: three more ten-kilometre trenches continued on to the South Polar region.

They reached the end of the Straight Valley after only fifteen minutes’ comfortable walking, and stood for a while staring thoughtfully into its depths. The perfectly smooth walls sloped down at an angle of sixty degrees; there were no steps or footholds. Filling the bottom was a sheet of flat, white material that looked very much like ice. A specimen could settle a good many arguments; Norton decided to get one.

With Calvert and Rodrigo acting as anchors and paying out a safety rope, he rappelled slowly down the steep incline. When he reached the bottom, he fully expected to find the familiar slippery feel of ice underfoot, but he was mistaken. The friction was too great; his footing was secure. This material was some kind of glass or transparent crystal; when he touched it with his fingertips, it was cold, hard and unyielding.

Turning his back to the searchlight and shielding his eyes from its glare. Norton tried to peer into the crystalline depths, as one may attempt to gaze through the ice of a frozen lake. But he could see nothing; even when he tried the concentrated beam of his own helmet-lamp he was no more successful. This stuff was translucent, but not transparent. If it was a frozen liquid, it had a melting point very much higher than water.

He tapped it gently with the hammer from his geology kit; the tool rebounded with a dull, unmusical ‘dunk’. He tapped harder, with no more result, and was about to exert his full strength when some impulse made him desist.

It seemed most unlikely that he could crack this material; but what if he did? He would be like a vandal, smashing some enormous plate-glass window. There would be a better opportunity later, and at least he had discovered valuable information. It now seemed more unlikely than ever that this was a canal; it was simply a peculiar trench that stopped and started abruptly, but led nowhere. And if at any time it had carried liquid, where were the stains, the encrustations of dried-up sediment that one would expect? Everything was bright and clean, as if the builders had left only yesterday…

Once again he was face to face with the fundamental mystery of Rama, and this time it was impossible to evade it. Commander Norton was a reasonably imaginative man, but he would never have reached his present position if he had been liable to the wilder flights of fancy. Yet now, for the first time, he had a sense—not exactly of foreboding, but of anticipation. Things were not what they seemed; there was something very, very odd about a place that was simultaneously brand new—and a million years old.

Very thoughtfully, he began to walk slowly along the length of the little valley, while his companions, still holding the rope that was attached to his waist, followed him along the rim. He did not expect to make any further discoveries, but he wanted to let his curious emotional state run its course. For something else was worrying him; and it had nothing to do with the inexplicable newness of Rama.

He had walked no more than a dozen metres when it hit him like a thunderbolt.

He knew this place. He had been here before.

Even on Earth, or some familiar planet, that experience is disquieting, though it is not particularly rare. Most men have known it at some time or other, and usually they dismiss it as the memory of a forgotten photograph, a pure coincidence—or, if they are mystically inclined, some form of telepathy from another mind, or even a flashback from their own future.

But to recognize a spot which no other human being can possibly have seen—that is quite shocking. For several seconds, Commander Norton stood rooted to the smooth crystalline surface on which he had been walking, trying to straighten out his emotions. His well-ordered universe had been turned upside down, and he had a dizzying glimpse of those mysteries at the edge of existence which he had successfully ignored for most of his life.

Then, to his immense relief, common sense came to the rescue. The disturbing sensation of déjà-vu faded out, to be replaced by a real and identifiable memory from his youth.

It was true—he had once stood between such steeply sloping walls, watching them drive into the distance until they seemed to converge at a point indefinitely far ahead. But they had been covered with neatly trimmed grass; and underfoot had been broken stone, not smooth crystal.

It had happened thirty years ago, during a summer vacation in England. Largely because of another student (he could remember her face—but he had forgotten her name) he had taken a course of industrial archaeology, then very popular among science and engineering graduates. They had explored abandoned coal-mines and cotton mills, climbed over ruined blast-furnaces and steam engines, goggled unbelievingly at primitive (and still dangerous) nuclear reactors, and driven priceless turbine-powered antiques along restored motor roads.

Not everything that they saw was genuine; much had been lost during the centuries, for men seldom bother to preserve the commonplace articles of everyday life. But where it was necessary to make copies, they had been reconstructed with loving care.

And so young Bill Norton had found himself bowling along, at an exhilarating hundred kilometres an hour, while he furiously shovelled precious coal into the firebox of a locomotive that looked two hundred years old, but was actually younger than he was. The thirty-kilometre stretch of the Great Western Railway, however, was quite genuine, though it had required a good deal of excavating to get it back into commission.

Whistle screaming, they had plunged into a hillside and raced through a smoky, flame-lit darkness. An astonishingly long time later, they had burst out of the tunnel into a deep, perfectly straight cutting between steep grassy banks. The long-forgotten vista was almost identical with the one before him now.

‘What is it, Skipper?’ called Lt. Rodrigo. ‘Have you found something?’

As Norton dragged himself back to present reality, some of the oppression lifted from his mind. There was mystery here—yes; but it might not be beyond human understanding. He had learned a lesson, though it was not one that he could readily impart to others. At all costs, he must not let Rama overwhelm him. That way lay failure—perhaps even madness.

‘No,’ he answered, ‘there’s nothing down here. Haul me up—we’ll head straight to Paris.’

CHAPTER 14

STORM WARNING

‘I’VE CALLED THIS meeting of the Committee,’ said His Excellency the Ambassador of Mars to the United Plane
ts, ‘because Dr. Perera has something important to tell us. He insists that we get in touch with Commander Norton right away, using the priority channel we’ve been able to establish after, I might say, a good deal of difficulty. Dr. Perera’s statement is rather technical, and before we come to it I think a summary of the present position might be in order; Dr. Price has prepared one. Oh yes—some apologies for absence. Sir Lewis Sands is unable to be with us because he’s chairing a conference, and Dr. Taylor asks to be excused?’

He was rather pleased about that last abstention. The anthropologist had rapidly lost interest in Rama, when it became obvious that it would present little scope for him. Like many others, he had been bitterly disappointed to find that the mobile worldlet was dead; now there would be no opportunity for sensational books and viddies about Raman rituals and behavioural patterns. Others might dig up skeletons and classify artifacts; that sort of thing did not appeal to Conrad Taylor. Perhaps the only discovery that would bring him back in a hurry would be some highly explicit works of art, like the notorious frescoes of Thera and Pompeii.

Thelma Price, the archaeologist, took exactly the opposite point of view. She preferred excavations and ruins uncluttered by inhabitants who might interfere with dispassionate, scientific studies. The bed of the Mediterranean had been ideal—at least until the city planners and landscape artists had started getting in the way. And Rama would have been perfect, except for the maddening detail that it was a hundred million kilometres away and she would never be able to visit it in person.

‘As you all know,’ she began, ‘Commander Norton has completed one traverse of almost thirty kilometres, without encountering any problems. He explored the curious trench shown on your maps as the Straight Valley; its purpose is still quite unknown, but it’s clearly important as it runs the full length of Rama—except for the break at the Cylindrical Sea—and there are two other identical structures 120 degrees apart round the circumference of the world.’

‘Then the party turned left—or East, if we adopt the North Pole convention—until they reached Paris. As you’ll see from this photograph, taken by a telescope camera at the Hub, it’s a group of several hundred buildings, with wide streets between them.’

‘Now these photographs were taken by Commander Norton’s group when they reached the site. If Paris is a city, it’s a very peculiar one. Note that none of the buildings have windows, or even doors! They are all plain rectangular structures, an identical thirty-five metres high. And they appear to have been extruded out of the ground—there are no seams or joints—look at this close-up of the base of a wall—there’s a smooth transition into the ground.’

‘My own feeling is that this place is not a residential area, but a storage or supply depot. In support of that theory, look at this photo.’

‘These narrow slots or grooves, about five centimetres wide, run along all the streets, and there’s one leading to every building—going straight into the wall. There’s a striking resemblance to the streetcar tracks of the early twentieth century; they are obviously part of some transport system.’

‘We’ve never considered it necessary to have public transport direct to every house. It would be economically absurd—people can always walk a few hundred metres. But if these buildings are used for the storage of heavy materials, it would make sense.’

‘May I ask a question?’ said the Ambassador for Earth.

‘Of course, Sir Robert.’

‘Commander Norton couldn’t get into a single building?’

‘No; when you listen to his report, you can tell he was quite frustrated. At one time he decided that the buildings could only be entered from underground; then he discovered the grooves of the transport system, and changed his mind.’

‘Did he try to break in?’

‘There was no way he could, without explosives or heavy tools. And he doesn’t want to do that until all other approaches have failed.’

‘I have it!’ Dennis Solomons suddenly interjected. ‘Cocooning!’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘It’s a technique developed a couple of hundred years ago,’ continued the science historian. ‘Another name for it is mothballing. When you have something you want to preserve, you seal it inside a plastic envelope, and then pump in an inert gas. The original use was to protect military equipment between wars; it was once applied to whole ships. It’s still widely used in museums that are short of storage space; no one knows what’s inside some of the hundred-year-old cocoons in the Smithsonian basement.’

Patience was not one of Carlisle Perera’s virtues; he was aching to drop his bombshell, and could restrain himself no longer. ‘Please, Mr. Ambassador! This is all very interesting, but I feel my information is rather more urgent.’

‘If there are no other points—very well, Dr. Perera.’

The exobiologist, unlike Conrad Taylor, had not found Rama a disappointment. It was true that he no longer expected to find life but sooner or later, he had been quite sure, some remains would be discovered of the creatures who had built this fantastic world. The exploration had barely begun, although the time available was horribly brief before Endeavour would be forced to escape from her present sun-grazing orbit.

But now, if his calculations were correct, Man’s contact with Rama would be even shorter than he had feared. For one detail had been overlooked—because it was so large that no one had noticed it before.

‘According to our latest information,’ Perera began, ‘one party is now on its way to the Cylindrical Sea, while Commander Norton has another group setting up a supply base at the foot of Stairway Alpha. When that’s established, he intends to have at least two exploratory missions operating at all times. In this way he hopes to use his limited manpower at maximum efficiency.’

‘It’s a good plan, but there may be no time to carry it out. In fact, I would advise an immediate alert, and a preparation for total withdrawal at twelve hours’ notice. Let me explain…’

‘It’s surprising how few people have commented on a rather obvious anomaly about Rama. It’s now well inside the orbit of Venus yet the interior is still frozen. But the temperature of an object in direct sunlight at this point is about five hundred degrees!’

‘The reason of course, is that Rama hasn’t had time to warm up. It must have cooled down to near absolute zero—two hundred and seventy below—while it was in interstellar space. Now, as it approaches the sun, the outer hull is already almost as hot as molten lead. But the inside will stay cold, until the heat works its way through that kilometre of rock.’

‘There’s some kind of fancy dessert with a hot exterior and ice-cream in the middle—I don’t remember what it’s called—’

‘Baked Alaska. It’s a favourite at UP banquets, unfortunately.’

‘Thank you, Sir Robert. That’s the situation in Rama at the moment, but it won’t last. All these weeks, the solar heat has been working its way through, and we expect a sharp temperature rise to begin in a few hours. That’s not the problem; by the time we’ll have to leave anyway, it will be no more than comfortably tropical.’

‘Then what’s the difficulty?’

‘I can answer in one word, Mr. Ambassador. Hurricanes.’

CHAPTER 15

THE EDGE OF THE SEA

THERE WERE NOW more than twenty men and women inside Rama—six of them down on the plain, the rest ferrying equipment and expendables through the airlock system and down the stairway. The ship itself was almost deserted, with the minimum possible staff on duty; the joke went around that Endeavour was really being run by the four simps and that Goldie had been given the rank of Acting-Commander.

For these first explorations, Norton had established a number of ground rules; the most important dated back to the earliest days of man’s space-faring. Every group, he had decided, must contain one person with prior experience. But not more than one. In that way, everybody would have an opportunity of learning as quickly as possible.

And so the first party to head for the Cylindrical Sea, though it was led by Surgeon-Commander Laura Ernst, had as its one-time veteran Lt. Boris Rodrigo, just back from Paris. The third member, Ser

geant Pieter Rousseau, had been with the back-up teams at the Hub; he was an expert on space reconnaissance instrumentation, but on this trip he would have to depend on his own eyes and a small portable telescope.

From the foot of Stairway Alpha to the edge of the Sea was just under fifteen kilometres—or an Earth-equivalent of eight under the low gravity of Rama. Laura Ernst, who had to prove that she lived up to her own standards, set a brisk pace. They stopped for thirty minutes at the mid-way mark, and made the whole trip in a completely uneventful three hours.

It was also quite monotonous, walking forward in the beam of the searchlight through the anechoic darkness of Rama. As the pool of light advanced with them, it slowly elongated into a long, narrow ellipse; this foreshortening of the beam was the only visible sign of progress. If the observers up on the Hub had not given them continual distance checks, they could not have guessed whether they had travelled one kilometre, or five, or ten. They just plodded onwards through the million-year-old night, over an apparently seamless metal surface.

But at last, far ahead at the limits of the now-weakening beam, there was something new. On a normal world it would have been a horizon; as they approached, they could see that the plain on which they were walking came to an abrupt stop. They were nearing the edge of the Sea.

‘Only a hundred metres,’ said Hub Control. ‘Better slow down.’

That was hardly necessary, yet they had already done so. It was a sheer straight drop of fifty metres from the level of the plain to that of the Sea—if it was a sea, and not another sheet of that mysterious crystalline material. Although Norton had impressed upon everyone the danger of taking anything for granted in Rama, few doubted that the Sea was really made of ice. But for what conceivable reason was the cliff on the southern shore five hundred metres high, instead of the fifty here?

It was as if they were approaching the edge of the world; their oval of light, cut off abruptly ahead of them, became shorter and shorter. But far out on the curved screen of the Sea their monstrous foreshortened shadows had appeared, magnifying and exaggerating every movement. Those shadows had been their companions every step of the way, as they marched down the beam, but now that they were broken at the edge of the cliff they no longer seemed part of them. They might have been creatures of the Cylindrical Sea, waiting to deal with any intruders into their domain.

Because they were now standing on the edge of a fifty-metre cliff, it was possible for the first time to appreciate the curvature of Rama. But no one had ever seen a frozen lake bent upwards into a cylindrical surface; that was distinctly unsettling, and the eye did its best to find some other interpretation. It seemed to Dr. Ernst, who had once made a study of visual illusions, that half the time she was really looking at a horizontally curving bay, not a surface that soared up into the sky. It required a deliberate effort of will to accept the fantastic truth.

Only in the line directly ahead, parallel to the axis of Rama, was normalcy preserved. In this direction alone was there agreement between vision and logic. Here—for the next few kilometres at least—Rama looked flat, and was flat . . . And out there, beyond their distorted shadows and the outer limit of the beam, lay the island that dominated the Cylindrical Sea.

‘Hub Control,’ Dr. Ernst radioed, ‘please aim your beam at New York.’

The night of Rama fell suddenly upon them, as the oval of light went sliding out to sea. Conscious of the now invisible cliff at their feet, they all stepped back a few metres. Then, as if by some magical stage transformation, the towers of New York sprang into view.

The resemblance to old-time Manhattan was only superficial; this star-born echo of Earth’s past possessed its own unique identity. The more Dr. Ernst stared at it, the more certain she became that it was not a city at all.

The real New York, like all of Man’s habitations, had never been finished; still less had it been designed. This place, however, had an overall symmetry and pattern, though one so complex that it eluded the mind. It had been conceived and planned by some controlling intelligence and then it had been completed, like a machine devised for some specific purpose. After that there was no possibility of growth or change.

The beam of the searchlight slowly tracked along those distant towers and domes and interlocked spheres and crisscrossed tubes. Sometimes there would be a brilliant reflection as some flat surface shot the light back towards them; the first time this happened, they were all taken by surprise. It was exactly as if, over there on that strange island, someone was signalling to them…

But there was nothing that they could see here that was not already shown in greater detail on photographs taken from the Hub. After a few minutes, they called for the light to return to them, and began to walk eastwards along the edge of the cliff. It had been plausibly theorized that, somewhere, there must surely be a flight of steps, or a ramp, leading down to the Sea. And one crewman, who was a keen sailor, had raised an interesting conjecture.

‘Where there’s a sea,’ Sergeant Ruby Barhes had predicted, ‘there must be docks and harbours—and ships. You can learn everything about a culture by studying the way it builds boats.’ Her colleagues thought this a rather restricted point of view, but at least it was a stimulating one.

Dr. Ernst had almost given up the search, and was preparing to a descent by rope, when Lt. Rodrigo spotted the narrow stairway. It could easily have been overlooked in the shadowed darkness below the edge of the cliff, for there was no guardrail or other indication of its presence. And it seemed to lead nowhere; it ran down the fifty-metre vertical wall at a steep angle, and disappeared below the surface of the Sea.

They scanned the flight of steps with their helmet-lights, could see no conceivable hazard, and Dr. Ernst got Commander Norton’s permission to descend. A minute later, she was cautiously testing the surface of the Sea.

Her foot slithered almost frictionlessly back and forth. The material felt exactly like ice. It was ice.

When she struck it with her hammer, a familiar pattern of cracks radiated from the impact point, and she had no difficulty in collecting as many pieces as she wished. Some had already melted when she held up the sample holder to the light; the liquid appeared to be slightly turbid water, and she took a cautious sniff.

‘Is that safe?’ Rodrigo called down, with a trace of anxiety.

‘Believe me, Boris,’ she answered, ‘if there are any pathogens around here that have slipped through my detectors, our insurance policies lapsed a week ago.’

But Boris had a point. Despite all the tests that had been carried out, there was a very slight risk that this substance might be poisonous, or might carry some unknown disease. In normal circumstances, Dr. Ernst would not have taken even this minuscule chance. Now, however, time was short and the stakes were enormous. If it became necessary to quarantine Endeavour, that would be a very small price to pay for her cargo of knowledge.

‘It’s water, but I wouldn’t care to drink it—it smells like an algae culture that’s gone bad. I can hardly wait to get it to the lab.’

‘Is the ice safe to walk on?’

‘Yes, solid as a rock.’

‘Then we can get to New York.’

‘Can we, Pieter? Have you ever tried to walk across four kilometres of ice?’

‘Oh—I see what you mean. Just imagine what Stores would say, if we asked for a set of skates! Not that many of us would know how to use them, even if we had any aboard.’

‘And there’s another problem,’ put in Boris Rodrigo. ‘Do you realize that the temperature is already above freezing? Before long, that ice is going to melt. How many spacemen can swim four kilometres? Certainly not this one…’

Dr. Ernst rejoined them at the edge of the cliff, and held up the small sample bottle in triumph.

‘It’s a long walk for a few cc’s of dirty water, but it may teach us more about Rama than anything we’ve found so far. Let’s head for home.’

They turned towards the distant lights of the Hub, moving with the gentle, loping strides which had proved the most comfortable means of walking under this reduced gravity. Often they looked back, drawn by the hidden enigma of the island out there in the centre of the frozen sea.

And just once, Dr. Ernst thought she felt the faint suspicion of a breeze against her cheek.

It did not come again, and she quickly forgot all about it.

CHAPTER 16

KEALAKEKUA

‘AS YOU KNOW perfectly well, Dr. Perera,’ said Ambassador Bose in a tone of patient resignation, ‘few of us share your knowledge of mathematical meteorology. So please take pity on our ignorance.’

‘With pleasure,’ answered the exobiologist, quite unabashed. ‘I can explain it best by telling you what is going to happen inside Rama—very soon.’

‘The temperature is now about to rise, as the solar heat pulse reaches the interior. According to the latest information I’ve received, it’s already above freezing point. The Cylindrical Sea will soon start to thaw; and unlike bodies of water on Earth, it will melt from the bottom upwards. That may produce some odd effects but I’m much more concerned with the atmosphere.’

‘As it’s heated, the air inside Rama will expand—and will attempt to rise towards the central axis. And this is the problem. At ground level, although it’s apparently stationary, it’s actually sharing the spin of Rama—over eight hundred kilometres an hour. As it rises towards the axis it will try to retain that speed—and it won’t be able to do so, of course. The result will be violent winds and turbulence; I estimate velocities of between two and three hundred kilometres an hour.’

‘Incidentally, very much the same thing occurs on Earth. The heated air at the Equator—which shares the Earth’s sixteen-hundred-kilometres-an-hour spin—runs into the same problem when it rises and flows north and south.’

‘Ah, the Trade Winds! I remember that from my geography lessons.’

‘Exactly, Sir Robert. Rama will have Trad
e Winds, with a vengeance. I believe they’ll last only a few hours, and then some kind of equilibrium will be restored. Meanwhile, I should advise Commander Norton to evacuate—as soon as possible. Here is the message I propose sending.’

With a little imagination, Commander Norton told himself, he could pretend that this was an improvised night camp at the foot of some mountain in a remote region of Asia or America. The clutter of sleeping pads, collapsible chain and tables, portable power plant, lighting equipment, electrosan toilets, and miscellaneous scientific apparatus would not have looked out of place on Earth—especially as there were men and women working here without life-support systems.

Establishing Camp Alpha had been very hard work, for everything had had to be man-handled through the chain of airlocks, sledded down the slope from the Hub, and then retrieved and unpacked. Sometimes, when the braking parachutes had failed, a consignment had ended up a good kilometre away out on the plain. Despite this, several crewmembers had asked permission to make the ride; Norton had firmly forbidden it. In an emergency, however, he might be prepared to reconsider the ban.

Almost all this equipment would stay here, for the labour of carrying it back was unthinkable—in fact, impossible. There were times when Commander Norton felt an irrational shame at leaving so much human litter in this strangely immaculate place. When they finally departed, he was prepared to sacrifice some of their precious time to leave everything in good order. Improbable though it was, perhaps millions of years hence, when Rama shot through some other star system, it might have visitors again. He would like to give them a good impression of Earth.

Meanwhile, he had a rather more immediate problem. During the last twenty-four hours he had received almost identical messages from both Mars and Earth. It seemed an odd coincidence; perhaps they had been commiserating with each other, as wives who lived safely on different planets were liable to do under sufficient provocation. Rather pointedly, they had reminded him that even though he was now a great hero, he still had family responsibilities.

The Commander picked up a collapsible chair, and walked out of the pool of light into the darkness surrounding the camp. It was the only way he could get any privacy, and he could also think better away from the turmoil. Deliberately turning his back on the organized confusion behind him, he began to speak into the recorder slung around his neck.

‘Original for personal file, dupes to Mars and Earth. Hello, darling—yes, I know I’ve been a lousy correspondent, but I haven’t been aboard ship for a week. Apart from a skeleton crew, we’re all camping inside Rama, at the foot of the stairway we’ve christened Alpha.’

‘I have three parties out now, scouting the plain, but we’ve made disappointingly slow progress, because everything has to be done on foot. If only we had some means of transport! I’d be very happy to settle for a few electric bicycles … they’d be perfect for the job.’

‘You’ve met my medical officer, Surgeon-Commander Ernst—’ He paused uncertainly; Laura had met one of his wives, but which? Better cut that out.

Erasing the sentence, he began again.

‘My MO, Surgeon-Commander Ernst, led the first group to reach the Cylindrical Sea, fifteen kilometres from here. She found that it was frozen water, as we’d expected—but you wouldn’t want to drink it. Dr. Ernst says it’s a dilute organic soup, containing traces of almost any carbon compound you care to name, as well as phosphates and nitrates and dozens of metallic salts. There’s not the slightest sign of life—not even any dead micro-organisms. So we still know nothing about the biochemistry of the Ramans … though it was probably not wildly different from ours.’

Something brushed lightly against his hair; he had been too busy to get it cut, and would have to do something about that before he next put on a space-helmet…

‘You’ve seen the viddies of Paris and the other towns we’ve explored on this side of the Sea … London, Rome, Moscow. It’s impossible to believe that they were ever built for anything to live in. Paris looks like a giant storage depot. London is a collection of cylinders linked together by pipes connected to what are obviously pumping stations. Everything is sealed up, and there’s no way of finding what’s inside without explosives or lasers. We won’t try these until there are no alternatives.’

‘As for Rome and Moscow—’

‘Excuse me, Skipper. Priority from Earth.’

What now? Norton asked himself. Can’t a man get a few minutes to talk to his families?

He took the message from the Sergeant, and scanned it quickly, just to satisfy himself that it was not immediate. Then he read it again, more slowly.

What the devil was the Rama Committee? And why had he never heard of it? He knew that all sorts of associations, societies, and professional groups—some serious, some completely crackpot—had been trying to get in touch with him; Mission Control had done a good job of protection, and would not have forwarded this message unless it was considered important.

‘Two-hundred-kilometre winds … probably sudden onset’ … well, that was something to think about. But it was hard to take it too seriously, on this utterly calm night; and it would be ridiculous to run away like frightened mice, when they were just starting effective exploration.

Commander Norton lifted a hand to brush aside his hair, which had somehow fallen into his eyes again. Then he froze, the gesture uncompleted.

He had felt a trace of wind, several times in the last hour. It was so slight that he had completely ignored it; after all, he was the commander of a spaceship, not a sailing ship. Until now the movement of air had not been of the slightest professional concern. What would the long-dead captain of that earlier Endeavour have done in a situation such as this?

Norton had asked himself that question at every moment of crisis in the last few years. It was his secret, which he had never revealed to anyone. And like most of the important things in life, it had come about quite by accident.

He had been captain of Endeavour for several months before he realized that it was named after one of the most famous ships in history. True, during the last four hundred years there had been a dozen Endeavours of sea and two of space, but the ancestor of them all was the 370-ton Whitby collier that Captain James Cook, RN, had sailed round the world between 1768 and 1771.

With a mild interest that had quickly turned to an absorbing curiosity—almost an obsession—Norton had begun to read everything he could find about Cook. He was now probably the world’s leading authority on the greatest explorer of all time, and knew whole sections of the Journals by heart.

It still seemed incredible that one man could have done so much, with such primitive equipment. But Cook had been not only a supreme navigator, but a scientist and—in an age of brutal discipline—a humanitarian. He treated his own men with kindness, which was unusual; what was quite unheard of was that he behaved in exactly the same way to the often-hostile savages in the new lands he discovered.

It was Norton’s private dream, which he knew he would never achieve, to retrace at least one of Cook’s voyages around the world. He had made a limited but spectacular start, which would certainly have astonished the Captain, when he once flew a polar orbit directly above the Great Barrier Reef. It had been early morning on a clear day, and from four hundred kilometres up he had had a superb view of that deadly wall of coral, marked by its line of white foam along the Queensland coast.

He had taken just under five minutes to travel the whole two thousand kilometres of the Reef. In a single glance he could span weeks of perilous voyaging for that first Endeavour. And through the telescope, he had caught a glimpse of Cooktown and the estuary where the ship had been dragged ashore for repairs, after her near-fatal encounter with the Reef.

A year later, a visit to the Hawaii Deep-Space Tracking Station had given him an even more unforgettable experience. He had taken the hydrofoil to Kealakekua Bay, and as he moved swiftly past the bleak volcanic cliffs, he felt a depth of emotion that had surprised and even disconcerted him. The guide had led his group of scientists, engineers and astronauts p
ast the glittering metal pylon that had replaced the earlier monument, destroyed by the Great Tsunami of ’68. They had walked on for a few more yards across black, slippery lava to the small plaque at the water’s edge. Little waves were breaking over it, but Norton scarcely noticed them as he bent down to read the words:

Near this spot

CAPTAIN JAMES COOK

was killed

14 February 1779

Original tablet dedicated 28 August, 1928

by Cook Sesquicentennial Commission

replaced by Tricentennial Commission

14 February, 2079

That was years ago, and a hundred million kilometres away. But at moments like this, Cook’s reassuring presence seemed very close. In the secret depths of his mind, he would ask: ‘Well, Captain—what is your advice?’ It was a little game he played, on occasions when there were not enough facts for sound judgement, and one had to rely on intuition. That had been part of Cook’s genius; he always made the right choice—until the very end, at Kealakekua Bay.

The Sergeant waited patiently, while his Commander stared silently out into the night of Rama. It was no longer unbroken, for at two spots about four kilometres away, the faint patches of light of exploring parties could be clearly seen.

In an emergency, I can recall them within the hour, Norton told himself. And that, surely, should be good enough.

He turned to the Sergeant, ‘Take this message. Rama Committee, care of PLANETCOM. Appreciate your advice and will take precautions. Please specify meaning of phrase “sudden onset”. Respectfully, Norton, Commander, Endeavour.’

He waited until the Sergeant had disappeared towards the blazing lights of the camp, then switched on his recorder again. But the train of thought was broken, and he could not get back into the mood. The letter would have to wait for some other time.

It was not often that Captain Cook came to his aid when he was neglecting his duty. But he suddenly remembered how rarely and briefly poor Elizabeth Cook had seen her husband in sixteen years of married life. Yet she had borne him six children—and outlived them all.

His wives, never more than ten minutes away at the speed of light, had nothing to complain about…

CHAPTER 17

SPRING

DURING THE FIRST ‘nights’ on Rama, it had not been easy to sleep. The darkness and the mysteries it concealed were oppressive, but even more unsettling was the silence. Absence of noise is not a natural condition; all human senses require some input. If they are deprived of it, the mind manufactures its own substitutes.

And so many sleepers had complained of strange noises—even of voices—which were obviously illusions, because those awake had heard nothing. Surgeon-Commander Ernst had prescribed a very simple and effective cure; during the sleeping period, the camp was now lulled by gentle, unobtrusive background music.

This night, Commander Norton found the cure inadequate. He kept straining his ears into the darkness, and he knew what he was listening for. But though a very faint breeze did caress his face from time to time, there was no sound that could possibly be taken for that of a distant, rising wind. Nor did either of the exploring parties report anything unusual.

At least, around Ship’s midnight, he went to sleep. There was always a man on watch at the communications console, in case of any urgent messages. No other precautions seemed necessary.

Not even a hurricane could have created the sound that did wake him, and the whole camp, in a single instant. It seemed that the sky was falling, or that Rama had split open and was tearing itself apart. First there was a rending crack, then a long-drawn-out series of crystalline crashes like a million glasshouses being demolished. It lasted for minutes, though it seemed like hours; it was still continuing, apparently moving away into the distance, when Norton got to the message centre.

‘Hub Control! What’s happened?’

‘Just a moment, Skipper. It’s over by the Sea. We’re getting the light on it.’

Eight kilometres overhead, on the axis of Rama, the searchlight began to swing its beam out across the plain. It reached the edge of the Sea, then started to track along it, scanning around the interior of the world. A quarter of the way round the cylindrical surface, it stopped.

Up there in the sky—or what the mind still persisted in calling the sky—something extraordinary was happening. At first, it seemed to Norton that the Sea was boiling. It was no longer static and frozen in the grip of an eternal winter; a huge area, kilometres across, was in turbulent movement. And it was changing colour; a broad band of white was marching across the ice.

Suddenly a slab perhaps a quarter of a kilometre on a side began to tilt upwards like an opening door. Slowly and majestically, it reared into the sky, glittering and sparkling in the beam of the searchlight. Then it slid back and vanished underneath the surface, while a tidal wave of foaming water raced outwards in all directions from its point of submergence.

Not until then did Commander Norton fully realize what was happening. The ice was breaking up. All these days and weeks, the Sea had been thawing, far down in the depths. It was hard to concentrate because of the crashing roar that still filled the world and echoed round the sky, but he tried to think of a reason for so dramatic a convulsion. When a frozen lake or river thawed on Earth, it was nothing like this…

But of course! It was obvious enough, now that it had happened. The Sea was thawing from beneath as the solar heat seeped through the hull of Rama. And when ice turns into water, it occupies less volume . . .

So the Sea had been sinking below the upper layer of ice, leaving it unsupported. Day by day the strain bad been building up; now the band of ice that encircled the equator of Rama was collapsing, like a bridge that had lost its central pier. It was splintering into hundreds of floating islands that would crash and jostle into each other until they too melted. Norton’s blood ran suddenly cold, when he remembered the plans that were being made to reach New York by sledge…

The tumult was swiftly subsiding; a temporary stalemate had been reached in the war between ice and water. In a few hours, as the temperature continued to rise, the water would win and the last vestiges of ice would disappear. But in the long run, ice would be the victor, as Rama rounded the sun and set forth once more into the interstellar night.

Norton remembered to start breathing again; then he called the party nearest the Sea. To his relief, Lieutenant Rodrigo answered at once. No, the water hadn’t reached them. No tidal wave had come sloshing over the edge of the cliff. ‘So now we know,’ he added very calmly, ‘why there is a cliff.’ Norton agreed silently; but that hardly explains, he thought to himself, why the cliff on the southern shore is ten times higher…

The Hub searchlight continued to scan round the world. The awakened Sea was steadily calming, and the boiling white foam no longer raced outwards from capsizing ice floes. In fifteen minutes, the main disturbance was over.

But Rama was no longer silent; it had awakened from its sleep, and ever and again there came the sound of grinding ice as one berg collided with another.

Spring had been a little late, Norton told himself, but winter had ended.

And there was that breeze again, stronger than ever. Rama had given him enough warnings; it was time to go.

As he neared the halfway mark, Commander Norton once again felt gratitude to the darkness that concealed the view above—and below. Though he knew that more than ten thousand steps still lay ahead of him, and could picture the steeply ascending curve in his mind’s eye, the fact that he could see only a small portion of it made the prospect more bearable.

This was his second ascent, and he had learned from his mistakes on the first. The great temptation was to climb too quickly in this low gravity; every step was so easy that it was very hard to adopt a slow, plodding rhythm. But unless one did this, after the first few thousand steps strange aches developed in the thighs and calves. Muscles that one never knew existed started to protest, and it was necessary to take longer and longer periods of rest. Towards the end he had spent more time resting than climbing, and even then it was not enough. He had suffered painful leg cramps for the next two days, and would have been almost incapacitated had he not been back in the zero-gravity environment of the ship.

So this time he had started with almost painful slowness, moving like an old man. He had been the last to leave the plain, and the others were strung out along the half-kilometre of stairway above him; he could see their lights moving up the invisible slope ahead.

He felt sick at heart at the failure of his mission, and even now hoped that this was only a temporary retreat. When they reached the Hub, they could wait until any atmospheric disturbances had ceased. Presumably, it would be a dead calm there, as at the centre of a cyclone, and they could wait out the expected storm in safety.

Once again, he was jumping to conclusions, drawing dangerous analogies from Earth. The meteorology of a whole world, even under steady-state conditions, was a matter of enormous complexity. After several centuries of study, terrestrial weather forecasting was still not absolutely reliable. And Rama was not merely a completely novel system; it was also undergoing rapid changes, for the temperature had risen several degrees in the last few hours. Yet still there was no sign of the promised hurricane, though there had been a few feeble gusts from apparently random directions.

They had now climbed five kilometres, which in this low and steadily diminishing gravity was equivalent to less than two on Earth. At the third level, three kilometres from the axis, they rested for an hour, taking light refreshments and massaging leg muscles. This was the last point at which they could breathe in comfort; like old-time Himalayan mountaineers, they had left their oxygen supplies here, and now put them on for the final ascent.

An hour later, they had reached the top of the stairway—and the beginning of the ladder. Ahead lay the last, vertical kilometre, fortunately in a gravity field only a few per cent of Earth’s. Another thirty-minute rest, a careful check of oxygen, and they were ready for the final lap.

Once again, Norton made sure that all his men were safely ahead of him, spaced ou
t at twenty-metre intervals along the ladder. From now on, it would be a slow, steady haul, extremely boring. The best technique was to empty the mind of all thoughts and to count the rungs as they drifted by—one hundred, two hundred, three hundred, four hundred…

He had just reached twelve hundred and fifty when he suddenly realized that something was wrong. The light shining on the vertical surface immediately in front of his eyes was the wrong colour—and it was much too bright.

Commander Norton did not even have time to check his ascent, or to call a warning to his men. Everything happened in less than a second.

In a soundless concussion of light, dawn burst upon Rama.

CHAPTER 18

DAWN

THE LIGHT WAS so brilliant that for a full minute Norton had to keep his eyes clenched tightly shut. Then he risked opening them, and stared through barely-parted lids at the wall a few centimetres in front of his face. He blinked several times, waited for the involuntary tears to drain away, and then turned slowly to behold the dawn.

He could endure the sight for only a few seconds; then he was forced to close his eyes again. It was not the glare that was intolerable—he could grow accustomed to that—but the awesome spectacle of Rama, now seen for the first time in its entirety.

Norton had known exactly what to expect; nevertheless the sight had stunned him. He was seized by a spasm of uncontrollable trembling; his hands tightened round the rungs of the ladder with the violence of a drowning man clutching at a lifebelt. The muscles of his forearms began to knot, yet at the same time his legs—already fatigued by hours of steady climbing—seemed about to give way. If it had not been for the low gravity, he might have fallen.

Then his training took over, and he began to apply the first remedy for panic. Still keeping his eyes closed and trying to forget the monstrous spectacle around him, he started to take deep, long breaths, filling his lungs with oxygen and washing the poisons of fatigue out of his system.

Presently he felt much better, but he did not open his eyes until he had performed one more action. It took a major effort of will to force his right hand to open—he had to talk to it like a disobedient child—but presently he manoeuvred it down to his waist, unclipped the safety belt from his harness, and hooked the buckle to the nearest rung. Now, whatever happened, he could not fall.

Norton took several more deep breaths; then—still keeping his eyes closed—he switched on his radio. He hoped his voice sounded calm and authoritative as he called: ‘Captain here. Is everyone OK?’

As he checked off the names one by one, and received answers—even if somewhat tremulous ones—from everybody, his own confidence and self-control came swiftly back to him. All his men were safe, and were looking to him for leadership. He was the commander once more.

‘Keep your eyes closed until you’re quite sure you can take it,’ he called. ‘The view is—overwhelming. If anyone finds that it’s too much, keep on climbing without looking back. Remember, you’ll soon be at zero gravity, so you can’t possibly fall.’

It was hardly necessary to point out such an elementary fact to trained spacemen, but Norton had to remind himself of it every few seconds. The thought of zero-gravity was a kind of talisman, protecting him from harm. Whatever his eyes told him, Rama could not drag him down to destruction on the plain eight kilometres below.

It became an urgent matter of pride and self-esteem that he should open his eyes once more and look at the world around him. But first, he had to get his body under control.

He let go of the ladder with both hands, and hooked his left arm under a rung. Clenching and unclenching his fists, he waited until the muscle cramps had faded away; then, when he felt quite comfortable, he opened his eyes and slowly turned to face Rama.

His fist impression was one of blueness. The glare that filled the sky could not have been mistaken for sunlight; it might have been that of an electric arc. So Rama’s sun, Norton told himself, must be hotter than ours. That should interest the astronomers…

And now he understood the purpose of those mysterious trenches, the Straight Valley and its five companions; they were nothing less than gigantic strip-lights. Rama had six linear suns, symmetrically ranged around its interior. From each, a broad fan of light was aimed across the central axis, to shine upon the far side of the world. Norton wondered if they could be switched alternately to produce a cycle of light and darkness, or whether this was a planet of perpetual day.

Too much staring at those blinding bars of light had made his eyes hurt again; he was not sorry to have a good excuse to close them for a while. It was not until then, when he had almost recovered from this initial visual shock, that he was able to devote himself to a much more serious problem.

Who or what, had switched on the lights of Rama?

This world was sterile, by the most sensitive tests that man could apply to it. But now something was happening that could not be explained by the action of natural forces. There might not be life here, but there could be consciousness, awareness; robots might be waking after a sleep of aeons. Perhaps this outburst of light was an unprogrammed, random spasm—a last dying gasp of machines that were responding wildly to the warmth of a new sun, and would soon lapse again into quiescence, this time for ever.

Yet Norton could not believe such a simple explanation. Bits of the jigsaw puzzle were beginning to fall into place, though many were still missing. The absence of all signs of wear, for example—the feeling of newness, as if Rama had just been created…

These thoughts might have inspired fear, even terror. Somehow, they did nothing of the sort. On the contrary, Norton felt a sense of exhilaration—almost of delight. There was far more here to discover than they had ever dared to hope. ‘Wait,’ he said to himself, ‘until the Rama Committee hears about this!’

Then, with a calm determination, he opened his eyes again and began a careful inventory of everything he saw.

First, he had to establish some kind of reference system. He was looking at the largest enclosed space ever seen by man, and needed a mental map to find his way around it.

The feeble gravity was very little help, for with an effort of will he could switch Up and Down. in any direction he pleased. But some directions were psychologically dangerous; whenever his mind skirted these, he had to vector it hastily away.

Safest of all was to imagine that he was at the bowl-shaped bottom of a gigantic well, sixteen kilometres wide and fifty deep. The advantage of this image was that there could be no danger of falling further, nevertheless it had some serious defects.

He could pretend that the scattered towns and cities, and the differently coloured and textured areas, were all securely fixed to the towering walls. The various complex structures that could be seen hanging from the dome overhead were perhaps no more disconcerting than the pendent candelabra in some great concert-ball on Earth. What was quite unacceptable was the Cylindrical Sea.

There it was, halfway up the well-shaft—a band of water, wrapped completely round it, with no visible means of support. There could be no doubt that it was water; it was a vivid blue, flecked with brilliant sparkles from the few remaining ice floes. But a vertical sea forming a complete circle twenty kilometres up in the sky was such an unsettling phenomenon that after a while he began to seek an alternative.

That was when his mind switched the scene through ninety degrees. Instantly, the deep well became a long tunnel, capped at either end. ‘Down’ was obviously in the direction of the ladder and the stairway he had just ascended; and now with this perspective, Norton was at last able to appreciate the true vision of the architects who had built this place.

He was clinging to the face of a curving sixteen-kilometre-high cliff, the upper half of which overhung completely until it merged into the arched roof of what was now the sky. Beneath him, the ladder descended more than five hundred metres, until it ended at the first ledge or terrace. There the stairway began, continuing almost vertically at first in this low-gravity regime, then slowly becoming less and
less steep until, after breaking at five more platforms, it reached the distant plain. For the first two or three kilometres he could see the individual steps, but thereafter they had merged into a continuous band.

The downward swoop of that immense stairway was so overwhelming that it was impossible to appreciate its true scale. Norton had once flown round Mount Everest, and had been awed by its size. He reminded himself that this stairway was as high as the Himalayas, but the comparison was meaningless.

And no comparison at all was possible with the other two stairways, Beta and Gamma, which slanted up into the sky and then curved far out over his head. Norton had now acquired enough confidence to lean back and glance up at them—briefly. Then he tried to forget that they were there…

For too much thinking along those lines evoked yet a third image of Rama, which he was anxious to avoid at all costs. This was the viewpoint that regarded it once again as a vertical cylinder or well—but now he was at the top, not the bottom, like a fly crawling upside down on a domed ceiling, with a fifty-kilometre drop immediately below. Every time Norton found this image creeping up on him, it needed all his willpower not to cling to the ladder again in mindless panic.

In time, he was sure, all these fears would ebb. The wonder and strangeness of Rama would banish its terrors, at least for men who were trained to face the realities of space. Perhaps no one who had never left Earth, and had never seen the stars all around him, could endure these vistas. But if any men could accept them, Norton told himself with grim determination, it would be the captain and crew of Endeavour.

He looked at his chronometer. This pause had lasted only two minutes, but it had seemed a lifetime. Exerting barely enough effort to overcome his inertia and the fading gravitational field, he started to pull himself slowly up the last hundred metres of the ladder. Just before he entered the airlock and turned his back upon Rama, he made one final swift survey of the interior.

It had changed, even in the last few minutes; a mist was rising from the Sea. For the first few hundred metres the ghostly white columns were tilted sharply forward in the direction of Rama’s spin; then they started to dissolve in a swirl of turbulence, as the uprushing air tried to jettison its excess velocity. The Trade Winds of this cylindrical world were beginning to etch their patterns in its sky; the first tropical storm in unknown ages was about to break.

CHAPTER 19

A WARNING FROM MERCURY

IT WAS THE FIRST time in weeks that every member of the Rama Committee had made himself available. Professor Solomons had emerged from the depths of the Pacific, where he had been studying mining operations along the mid-ocean trenches. And to nobody’s surprise, Dr. Taylor had reappeared, now that there was at least a possibility that Rama held something more newsworthy than lifeless artifacts.

The Chairman had fully expected Dr. Carlisle Perera to be even more dogmatically assertive than usual, now that his prediction of a Raman hurricane had been confirmed. To His Excellency’s great surprise, Perera was remarkably subdued, and accepted the congratulations of his colleagues in a manner as near to embarrassment as he was ever likely to achieve.

The exobiologist, in fact, was deeply mortified. The spectacular break-up of the Cylindrical Sea was a much more obvious phenomenon than the hurricane winds—yet he had completely overlooked it. To have remembered that hot air rises, but to have forgotten that hot ice contracts, was not an achievement of which he could be very proud. However, he would soon get over it, and revert to his normal Olympian self-confidence.

When the Chairman offered him the floor, and asked what further climatic changes he expected, he was very careful to hedge his bets.

‘You must realize,’ he explained, ‘that the meteorology of a world as strange as Rama may have many other surprises. But if my calculations are correct, there will be no further storms, and conditions will soon be stable. There will be a slow temperature rise until perihelion—and beyond—but that won’t concern us, as Endeavour will have had to leave long before then.’

‘So it should soon be safe to go back inside?’

‘Er—probably. We should certainly know in forty-eight hours.’

‘A return is imperative,’ said the Ambassador for Mercury. ‘We have to learn everything we possibly can about Rama. The situation has now changed completely.’

‘I think we know what you mean, but would you care to elaborate?’

‘Of course. Until now, we have assumed that Rama is lifeless—or at any rate uncontrolled. But we can no longer pretend that it is a derelict. Even if there are no life forms aboard, it may be directed by robot mechanisms, programmed to carry out some mission—perhaps one highly disadvantageous to us. Unpalatable though it may be, we must consider the question of self-defence.’

There was a babble of protesting voices, and the Chairman had to hold up his hand to restore order.

‘Let His Excellency finish!’ he pleaded. ‘Whether we like the idea or not, it should be considered seriously.’

‘With all due respect to the Ambassador,’ said Dr. Conrad Taylor in his most disrespectful voice, ‘I think we can rule out as naive the fear of malevolent intervention. Creatures as advanced as the Ramans must have correspondingly developed morals. Otherwise, they would have destroyed themselves—as we nearly did in the twentieth century. I’ve made that quite clear in my new book Ethos and Cosmos. I hope you received your copy.’

‘Yes, thank you, though I’m afraid the pressure of other matters has not allowed me to read beyond the introduction. However, I’m familiar with the general thesis. We may have no malevolent intentions towards an ant-heap. But if we want to build a house on the same site…’

‘This is as bad as the Pandora Party! It’s nothing less than interstellar xenophobia!’

‘Please, gentlemen! This is getting us nowhere. Mr. Ambassador, you still have the floor.’

The Chairman glared across three hundred and eighty thousand kilometres of space at Conrad Taylor, who reluctantly subsided, like a volcano biding its time.

‘Thank you,’ said the Ambassador for Mercury. ‘The danger may be unlikely, but where the future of the human race is involved, we can take no chances. And, if I may say so, we Hermians may be particularly concerned. We may have more cause for alarm than anyone else.’

Dr. Taylor snorted audibly, but was quelled by another glare from the Moon.

‘Why Mercury, more than any other planet?’ asked the Chairman.

‘Look at the dynamics of the situation. Rama is already inside our orbit. It is only an assumption that it will go round the sun and head on out again into space. Suppose it carries out a braking manoeuvre? If it does so, this will be at perihelion, about thirty days from now. My scientists tell me that if the entire velocity change is carried out there, Rama will end up in a circular orbit only twenty-five million kilometres from the sun. From here, it could dominate the solar system.’

For a long time nobody—not even Conrad Taylor—spoke a word. All the members of the Committee were marshalling their thoughts about those difficult people, the Hermians, so ably represented here by their Ambassador.

To most people, Mercury was a fairly good approximation of Hell; at least, it would do until something worse came along. But the Hermians were proud of their bizarre planet, with its days longer than its years, its double sunrises and sunsets, its rivers of molten metal . . . By comparison, the Moon and Mars had been almost trivial challenges. Not until men landed on Venus (if they even did) would they encounter an environment more hostile than that of Mercury.

And yet this world had turned out to be, in many ways, the key to the solar system. This seemed obvious in retrospect, but the Space Age had been almost a century old before the fact was realized. Now the Hermians never let anyone forget it.

Long before men reached the planet, Mercury’s abnormal density hinted at the heavy elements it contained; even so, its wealth was still a source of astonishment, and had postponed for a thousand years any fears that the key metals of human civilization would be exhausted. And these treasures were in the best possible place, where the power of the Sun was ten times greater than on frigid Earth.

Unlimited energy—unlimited metal; that was Mercury. Its great magnetic launchers could catapult manufactured products to any point in the solar system. It could also export energy, in synthetic transuranium isotopes or pure radiation. It had even been proposed that Hermian lasers would one day thaw out gigantic Jupiter, but this idea had not been well received on the other worlds. A technology that could cook Jupiter had too many tempting possibilities for interplanetary blackmail.

That such a concern had ever been expressed said a good deal about the general attitude towards the Hermians. They were respected for their toughness and engineering skills, and admired for the way in which they had conquered so fearsome a world. But they were not liked, and still less were they completely trusted.

At the same time, it was possible to appreciate their point of view. The Hermians, it was often joked, sometimes behaved as if the Sun was their personal property. They were bound to it in an intimate love-hate relationship—as the Vikings had once been linked to the sea, the Nepalese to the Himalayas, the Eskimos to the Tundra. They would be most unhappy if something came between them and the natural force that dominated and controlled their lives.

At last, the Chairman broke the long silence. He still remembered the sun of India, and shuddered to contemplate the sun of Mercury. So he took the Hermians very seriously indeed, even though he considered them uncouth technological barbarians.

‘I think there is some merit in your argument, Mr. Ambassador,’ he said slowly. ‘Have you any proposals?’

‘Yes, sir. Before we know what action to take, we must have the facts. We know the geography of Rama—if one can use that term—but we have no idea of its capabilities. And the key to the whole problem is this: does Rama have a propulsion system? Can it change orbit? I’d be very interested in Dr. Perera’s views.’

‘I’ve given the subje
ct a good deal of thought,’ answered the exobiologist. ‘Of course, Rama must have been given its original impetus by some launching device, but that could have been an external booster. If it does have onboard propulsion, we’ve found no trace of it. Certainly there are no rocket exhausts, or anything similar, anywhere on the outer shell.’

‘They could be hidden.’

‘True, but there would seem little point in it. And where are the propellant tanks, the energy sources? The main hull is solid—we’ve checked that with seismic surveys. The cavities in the northern cap are all accounted for by the airlock systems.’

‘That leaves the southern end of Rama, which Commander Norton has been unable to reach, owing to that ten-kilometre-wide band of water. There are all sorts of curious mechanisms and structures up on the South Pole—you’ve seen the photographs. What they are is anybody’s guess.’

‘But I’m reasonably sure of this. If Rama does have a propulsion system, it’s something completely outside our present knowledge. In fact, it would have to be the fabulous “Space Drive” people have been talking about for two hundred years.’

‘You wouldn’t rule that out?’

‘Certainly not. If we can prove that Rama has a Space Drive—even if we learn nothing about its mode of operation—that would be a major discovery. At least we’d know that such a thing is possible.’

‘What is a Space Drive?’ asked the Ambassador for Earth, rather plaintively.

‘Any kind of propulsion system, Sir Robert, that doesn’t work on the rocket principle. Anti-gravity—if it is possible—would do very nicely. At present, we don’t know where to look for such a drive, and most scientists doubt if it exists.’

‘It doesn’t,’ Professor Davidson interjected. ‘Newton settled that. You can’t have action without reaction. Space Drives are nonsense. Take it from me.’

‘You may be right,’ Perera replied with unusual blandness. ‘But if Rama doesn’t have a Space Drive, it has no drive at all. There’s simply no room for a conventional propulsion system, with its enormous fuel tanks.’

‘It’s hard to imagine a whole world being pushed around,’ said Dennis Solomons. ‘What would happen to the objects inside it? Everything would have to be bolted down. Most inconvenient.’

‘Well, the acceleration would probably be very low. The biggest problem would be the water in the Cylindrical Sea. How would you stop that from…’

Perera’s voice suddenly faded away, and his eyes glazed over. He seemed to be in the throes of an incipient epileptic fit, or even a heart attack. His colleagues looked at him in alarm; then he made a sudden recovery, banged his fist on the table and shouted: ‘Of course! That explains everything! The southern cliff—now it makes sense!’

‘Not to me,’ grumbled the Lunar Ambassador, speaking for all the diplomats present.

‘Look at this longitudinal cross-section of Rama,’ Perera continued excitedly, unfolding his map. ‘Have you got your copies? The Cylindrical Sea is enclosed between two cliffs, which completely circle the interior of Rama. The one on the north is only fifty metres high. The southern one, on the other hand, is almost half a kilometre high. Why the big difference? No one’s been able to think of a sensible reason.’

‘But suppose Rama is able to propel itself—accelerating so that the northern end is forward. The water in the Sea would tend to move back; the level at the south would rise—perhaps hundreds of metres. Hence the cliff. Let’s see…’

Perera started scribbling furiously. After an astonishingly short time—it could not have been more than twenty seconds—he looked up in triumph. ‘Knowing the height of those cliffs, we can calculate the maximum acceleration Rama can take. If it was more than two per cent of a gravity, the Sea would slosh over into the southern continent.’

‘A fiftieth of a gee? That’s not very much.’

‘It is—for a mass of ten million megatons. And it’s all you need for astronomical manoeuvring.’

‘Thank you very much, Dr. Perera,’ said the Hermian Ambassador. ‘You’ve given us a lot to think about. Mr. Chairman can we impress on Commander Norton the importance of looking at the South Polar region?’

‘He’s doing his best. The Sea is the obstacle, of course. They’re trying to build some kind of raft—so that they can at least reach New York.’

‘The South Pole may be even more important. Meanwhile, I am going to bring these matters to the attention of the General Assembly. Do I have your approval?’

There were no objections, not even from Dr. Taylor. But just as the Committee members were about to switch out of circuit, Sir Lewis raised his hand.

The old historian very seldom spoke; when he did, everyone listened.

‘Suppose we do find that Rama is—active—and has these capabilities. There is an old saying in military affairs that capability does not imply intention.’

‘How long should we wait to find what its intentions are?’ asked the Hermian. ‘When we discover them, it may be far too late.’

‘It is already too late. There is nothing we can do to affect Rama. Indeed, I doubt if there ever was.’

‘I do not admit that, Sir Lewis. There are many things we can do—if it proves necessary. But the time is desperately short. Rama is a cosmic egg, being warmed by the fires of the sun. It may hatch at any moment.’

The Chairman of the Committee looked at the Ambassador for Mercury in frank astonishment. He bad seldom been so surprised in his diplomatic career. He would never have dreamed that a Hermian was capable of such a poetic flight of imagination.

CHAPTER 20

BOOK OF REVELATION

WHEN ONE OF HIS crew called him ‘Commander’, or, worse still ‘Mister Norton’, there was always something serious afoot. He could not recall that Boris Rodrigo had ever before addressed him in such a fashion, so this must be doubly serious. Even in normal times, Lieut-Commander Rodrigo was a very grave and sober person.

‘What’s the problem, Boris?’ he asked when the cabin door closed behind them.

‘I’d like permission, Commander, to use Ship Priority for a direct message to Earth.’

This was unusual, though not unprecedented. Routine signals went to the nearest planetary relay—at the moment, they were working through Mercury—and even though the transit time was only a matter of minutes, it was often five or six hours before a message arrived at the desk of the person for whom it was intended. Ninety-nine per cent of the time, that was quite good enough; but in an emergency more direct, and much more expensive, channels could be employed, at the captain’s discretion.

‘You know, of course, that you have to give me a good reason. All our available bandwidth is already clogged with data transmissions. Is this a personal emergency?’

‘No, Commander. It is much more important than that. I want to send a message to the Mother Church.’

Uh-uh, said Norton to himself. How do I handle this?

‘I’d be glad if you’ll explain.’

It was not mere curiosity that prompted Norton’s request—though that was certainly present. If he gave Boris the priority he asked, he would have to justify his action.

The calm, blue eyes stared into his. He had never known Boris to lose control, to be other than completely self-assured. All the Cosmo-Christers were like this; it was one of the benefits of their faith, and it helped to make them good spacemen. Sometimes, however, their unquestioning certainty was just a little annoying to those unfortunates who had not been vouchsafed the Revelation.

‘It concerns the purpose of Rama, Commander. I believe I have discovered it.’

‘Go on.’

‘Look at the situation. Here is a completely empty, lifeless world—yet it is suitable for human beings. It has water, and an atmosphere we can breathe. It comes from the remote depths of space, aimed precisely at the solar system—something quite incredible, if it was a matter of pure chance. And it appears not only new; it looks as if it has never been used.’

We’ve all been through this dozens of times, Norton told himself. What could Boris add to it?

‘Our faith has told us to expect such a visitation though we do not know exactly what form it will take. The Bible gives hints. I
f this is not the Second Coming, it may be the Second Judgement; the story of Noah describes the first. I believe that Rama is a cosmic Ark, sent here to save those who are worthy of salvation.’

There was silence for quite a while in the Captain’s cabin. It was not that Norton was at a loss for words; rather, he could think of too many questions, but he was not sure which ones it would be tactful to ask.

Finally he remarked, in as mild and noncommittal a voice as he could manage: ‘That’s a very interesting concept, and though I don’t go along with your faith, it’s a tantalizingly plausible one.’ He was not being hypocritical or flattering; stripped of its religious overtones, Rodrigo’s theory was at beast as convincing as half a dozen others he had heard. Suppose some catastrophe was about to befall the human race, and a benevolent higher intelligence knew all about it? That would explain everything, very neatly. However, there were still a few problems…

‘A couple of questions, Boris. Rama will be at perihelion in three weeks; then it will round the sun and leave the solar system just as fast as it came in. There’s not much time for a Day of Judgement or for shipping across those who are, er, selected—however that’s going to be done.’

‘Very true. So when it reaches perihelion, Rama will have to decelerate and go into a parking orbit—probably one with aphelion at Earth’s orbit. There it might make another velocity change, and rendezvous with Earth.’

This was disturbingly persuasive. If Rama wished to remain in the solar system it was going the right way about it. The most efficient way to slow down was to get as close to the sun as possible, and carry out the braking manoeuvre there. If there was any truth in Rodrigo’s theory—or some variant of it—it would soon be put to the test.

‘One other point, Boris. What’s controlling Rama now?’

‘There is no doctrine to advise on that. It could be a pure robot. Or it could be—a spirit. That would explain why there are no signs of biological life forms.’

The Haunted Asteroid; why had that phrase popped up from the depths of memory? Then he recalled a silly story he had read years ago; he thought it best not to ask Boris if he had ever run into it. He doubted if the other’s tastes ran to that sort of reading.

‘I’ll tell you what we’ll do, Boris,’ said Norton, abruptly making up his mind. He wanted to terminate this interview before it got too difficult, and thought he had found a good compromise. ‘Can you sum up your ideas in less than—oh, a thousand bits?’

‘Yes, I think so.’

‘Well, if you can make it sound like a straightforward scientific theory, I’ll send it, top priority, to the Rama Committee. Then a copy can go to your Church at the same time, and everyone will be happy.’

‘Thank you, Commander, I really appreciate it.’

‘Oh, I’m not doing this to save my conscience. I’d just like to see what the Committee makes of it. Even if I don’t agree with you all along the line, you may have hit on something important.’

‘Well, we’ll know at perihelion, won’t we?’

‘Yes. We’ll know at perihelion.’

When Boris Rodrigo had left, Norton called the bridge and gave the necessary authorization. He thought he had solved the problem rather neatly; besides, just suppose that Boris was right.

He might have increased his chances of being among the saved.

CHAPTER 21

AFTER THE STORM

AS THEY DRIFTED along the now familiar corridor of the Alpha Airlock complex, Norton wondered if they had let impatience overcome caution. They had waited aboard Endeavour for forty-eight hours—two precious days—ready for instant departure if events should justify it. But nothing had happened; the instruments left in Rama had detected no unusual activity. Frustratingly, the television camera on the Hub had been blinded by a fog which had reduced visibility to a few metres and had only now started to retreat.

When they operated the final airlock door, and floated out into the cat’s-cradle of guide-ropes around the Hub, Norton was struck first by the change in the light. It was no longer harshly blue, but was much more mellow and gentle, reminding him of a bright, hazy day on Earth.

He looked outwards along the axis of the world—and could see nothing except a glowing, featureless tunnel of white, reaching all the way to those strange mountains at the South Pole. The interior of Rama was completely blanketed with clouds, and nowhere was a break visible in the overcast. The top of the layer was quite sharply defined; it formed a smaller cylinder inside the larger one of this spinning world, leaving a central core, five or six kilometres wide, quite clear except for a few stray wisps of cirrus.

The immense tube of cloud was bit from underneath by the six artificial suns of Rama. The locations of the three on this Northern continent were clearly defined by diffuse strips of light, but those on the far side of the Cylindrical Sea merged together into a continuous, glowing band.

What is happening down beneath those clouds? Norton asked himself. But at least the storm, which had centrifuged them into such perfect symmetry about the axis of Rama, had now died away. Unless there were some other surprises, it would be safe to descend.

It seemed appropriate, on this return visit, to use the team that had made the first deep penetration into Rama. Sergeant Myron—like every other member of Endeavour’s crew—now fully met Surgeon-Commander Ernst’s physical requirements; he even maintained, with convincing sincerity, that he was never going to wear his old uniforms again.

As Norton watched Mercer, Calvert and Myron ‘swimming’ quickly and confidently down the ladder, he reminded himself how much had changed. That first time they had descended in cold and darkness; now they were going towards light and warmth. And on all earlier visits, they had been confident that Rama was dead. That might yet be true, in a biological sense. But something was stirring; and Boris Rodrigo’s phrase would do as well as any other. The spirit of Rama was awake.

When they had reached the platform at the foot of the ladder and were preparing to start down the stairway, Mercer carried out his usual routine test of the atmosphere. There were some things that he never took for granted; even when the people around him were breathing perfectly comfortably, without aids, he had been known to stop for an air check before opening his helmet. When asked to justify such excessive caution, he had answered: ‘Because human senses aren’t good enough, that’s why. You may think you’re fine, but you could fall flat on your face with the next deep breath.’

He looked at his meter, and said ‘Damn!’

‘What’s the trouble?’ asked Calvert.

‘It’s broken—reading too high. Odd; I’ve never known that to happen before. I’ll check it on my breathing circuit.’

He plugged the compact little analyser into the test point of his oxygen supply, then stood in thoughtful silence for a while. His companions looked at him with anxious concern; anything that upset Karl was to be taken very seriously indeed.

He unplugged the meter, used it to sample the Rama atmosphere again, then called Hub Control. ‘Skipper! Will you take an O2 reading?’

There was a much longer pause than the request justified. Then Norton radioed back: ‘I think there’s something wrong with my meter.’

A slow smile spread across Mercer’s face. ‘It’s up fifty per cent, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, what does that mean?’

‘It means that we can all take off our masks. Isn’t that convenient?’

‘I’m not sure,’ replied Norton, echoing the sarcasm in Mercer’s voice. ‘It seems too good to be true.’ There was no need to say any more. Like all spacemen, Commander Norton had a profound suspicion of things that were too good to be true.

Mercer cracked his mask open a trifle, and took a cautious sniff. For the first time at this altitude, the air was perfectly breathable. The musty, dead smell had gone; so had the excessive dryness, which in the past had caused several respiratory complaints. Humidity was now an astonishing eighty per cent; doubtless the thawing of the Sea was responsible for this. There was a muggy feeling in the air, though not an unpleasant one. It was like a summer evening, Mercer told himself, on some tropical coast. The climate inside Rama had improved dramatically during the last few days…

And why? The increased humidity was no problem; the startling rise in oxygen was much more difficult to explain. As he recommenced the descent, Mercer began a whole series of mental calculations. He had not arrived at any satisfactory result by the time they entered the cloud layer.

It was a dramatic experience, for the transition was very abrupt. At one moment they were sliding downwards in clear air, gripping the smooth metal of the handrail so that they would not gain speed too swiftly in this quarter-of-a-gravity region. Then, suddenly, they shot into a blinding white fog, and visibility dropped to a few metres. Mercer put on the brakes so quickly that Calvert almost bumped into him—and Myron did bump into Calvert, nearly knocking him off the rail.

‘Take it easy,’ said Mercer. ‘Spread out so we can just see each other. And don’t let yourself build up speed, in case I have to stop suddenly.’

In eerie silence, they continued to glide, downwards through the fog. Calvert could just see Mercer as a vague shadow ten metres ahead, and when he looked back, Myron was at the same distance behind him. In some ways, this was even spookier than descending in the complete darkness of the Raman night; then, at least, the searchlight beams had shown them what lay ahead. But this was like diving in poor visibility in the open sea.

It was impossible to tell how far they had travelled, and Calvert guessed they had almost reached the fourth level when Mercer suddenly braked again. When they had bunched together, he whispered: ‘Listen! Don’t you hear something?’

‘Yes,’ said Myron, after a minute. ‘It sounds like the wind.’

Calvert was not so sure. He turned his head back and forth, trying to locate
the direction of the very faint murmur that had come to them through the fog, then abandoned the attempt as hopeless.

They continued the slide, reached the fourth level, and started on towards the fifth. All the while the sound grew louder—and more hauntingly familiar. They were halfway down the fourth stairway before Myron called out: ‘Now do you recognize it?’

They would have identified it long ago, but it was not a sound they would ever have associated with any world except Earth. Coming out of the fog, from a source whose distance could not be guessed, was the steady thunder of falling water.

A few minutes later, the cloud ceiling ended as abruptly as it had begun. They shot out into the blinding glare of the Raman day, made more brilliant by the light reflected from the low-hanging clouds. There was the familiar curving plain—now made more acceptable to mind and senses, because its full circle could no longer be seen. It was not too difficult to pretend that they were looking along a broad valley, and that the upward sweep of the Sea was really an outward one.

They halted at the fifth and penultimate platform, to report that they were through the cloud cover and to make a careful survey. As far as they could tell, nothing had changed down there on the plain; but up here on the Northern dome, Rama had brought forth another wonder.

So there was the origin of the sound they had heard. Descending from some hidden source in the clouds three or four kilometres away was a waterfall, and for long minutes they stared at it silently, almost unable to believe their eyes. Logic told them that on this spinning world no falling object could move in a straight line, but there was something horribly unnatural about a curving waterfall that curved sideways, to end many kilometres away from the point directly below its source…

‘If Galileo had been born in this world,’ said Mercer at length, ‘he’d have gone crazy working out the laws of dynamics.’

‘I thought I knew them,’ Calvert replied, ‘and I’m going crazy anyway. Doesn’t it upset you, Prof?’

‘Why should it?’ said Sergeant Myron. ‘It’s a perfectly straightforward demonstration of the Coriolis Effect. I wish I could show it to some of my students.’

Mercer was staring thoughtfully at the globe-circling band of the Cylindrical Sea.

‘Have you noticed what’s happened to the water?’ he said at last.

‘Why—it’s no longer so blue. I’d call it pea-green. What does that signify?’

‘Perhaps the same thing that it does on Earth. Laura called the Sea an organic soup waiting to be shaken into life. Maybe that’s exactly what’s happened.’

‘In a couple of days! It took millions of years on Earth.’

‘Three hundred and seventy-five million, according to the latest estimate. So that’s where the oxygen’s come from. Rama’s shot through the anaerobic stage and has got to photosynthetic plants—in about forty-eight hours. I wonder what it will produce tomorrow?’

CHAPTER 22

TO SAIL THE CYLINDRICAL SEA

WHEN THEY REACHED the foot of the stairway, they had another shock. At first, it appeared that something had gone through the camp, overturning equipment, even collecting smaller objects and carrying them away. But after a brief examination, their alarm was replaced by a rather shame-faced annoyance.

The culprit was only the wind; though they had tied down all loose objects before they left, some ropes must have parted during exceptionally strong gusts. It was several days before they were able to retrieve all their scattered property.

Otherwise, there seemed no major changes. Even the silence of Rama had returned, now that the ephemeral storms of spring were over. And out there at the edge of the plain was a calm sea, waiting for the first ship in a million years.

‘Shouldn’t one christen a new boat with a bottle of champagne?’

‘Even if we had any on board, I wouldn’t allow such a criminal waste. Anyway, it’s too late. We’ve already launched the thing.’

‘At least it does float. You’ve won your bet, Jimmy. I’ll settle when we get back to Earth.’

‘It’s got to have a name. Any ideas?’

The subject of these unflattering comments was now bobbing beside the steps leading down into the Cylindrical Sea. It was a small raft, constructed from six empty storage drums held together by a light metal framework. Building it, assembling it at Camp Alpha and hauling it on demountable wheels across more than ten kilometres of plain had absorbed the crew’s entire energies for several days. It was a gamble that had better pay off.

The prize was worth the risk. The enigmatic towers of New York, gleaming there in the shadowless light five kilometres away, had taunted them ever since they had entered Rama. No one doubted that the city—or whatever it might be—was the real heart of this world. If they did nothing else, they must reach New York.

‘We still don’t have a name. Skipper—what about it?’

Norton laughed, then became suddenly serious.

‘I’ve got one for you. Call it Resolution.’

‘Why?’

‘That was one of Cook’s ships. It’s a good name—may she live up to it.’

There was a thoughtful silence; then Sergeant Barnes, who had been principally responsible for the design, asked for three volunteers. Everyone present held up a hand.

‘Sorry—we only have four life jackets. Boris, Jimmy, Pieter—you’ve all done some sailing. Let’s try her out.’

No one thought it in the least peculiar that an Executive Sergeant was now taking charge of the proceedings. Ruby Barnes had the only Master’s Certificate aboard, so that settled the matter. She had navigated racing trimarans across the Pacific, and it did not seem likely that a few kilometres of dead-calm water could present much of a challenge to her skills.

Ever since she had set eyes upon the Sea, she had been determined to make this voyage. In all the thousands of years that man had had dealings with the waters of his own world, no sailor had ever faced anything remotely like this. In the last few days a silly little jingle had been running through her mind, and she could not get rid of it. ‘To sail the Cylindrical Sea…’ Well, that was precisely what she was going to do.

Her passengers took their places on the improvised bucket seats, and Ruby opened the throttle. The twenty-kilowatt motor started to whirr, the chain-drives of the reduction gear blurred, and Resolution surged away to the cheers of the spectators.

Ruby had hoped to get fifteen kph with this load, but would settle for anything over ten. A half-kilometre course had been measured along the cliff, and she made the round trip in five and a half minutes. Allowing for turning time, this worked out at twelve kph; she was quite happy with that.

With no power, but with three energetic paddlers helping her own more skilful blade, Ruby was able to get a quarter of this speed. So even if the motor broke down, they could get back to shore in a couple of hours. The heavy-duty power cells could provide enough energy to circumnavigate the world; she was carrying two spares, to be on the safe side. And now that the fog had completely burned away, even such a cautious mariner as Ruby was prepared to put to sea without a compass.

She saluted smartly as she stepped ashore. ‘Maiden voyage of Resolution successfully completed, Sir. Now awaiting your instructions.’

‘Very good … Admiral. When will you be ready to sail?’

‘As soon as stores can be loaded aboard, and the Harbour Master gives us clearance.’

‘Then we leave at dawn.’

‘Aye, aye, Sir.’

Five kilometres of water does not seem very much on a map; it is very different when one is in the middle of it. They had been cruising for only ten minutes, and the fifty-metre cliff facing the Northern Continent already seemed a surprising distance away. Yet, mysteriously, New York hardly appeared much closer than before…

But most of the time they paid little attention to the land; they were still too engrossed in the wonder of the Sea. They no longer made the nervous jokes that had punctuated the start of the voyage; this new experience was too overwhelming.

Every time, Norton told himself, he felt that he had grown accustomed to Rama, it produced some new won
der. As Resolution hummed steadily forward, it seemed that they were caught in the trough of a gigantic wave—a wave which curved on either side until it became vertical—then overhung until the two flanks met in a liquid arch sixteen kilometres above their heads. Despite everything that reason and logic told them, none of the voyagers could for long throw off the impression that at any minute those millions of tons of water would come crashing down from the sky.

Yet despite this, their main feeling was one of exhilaration; there was a sense of danger, without any real danger. Unless, of course, the Sea itself produced any more surprises.

That was a distinct possibility, for as Mercer had guessed, the water was now alive. Every spoonful contained thousands of spherical, single-celled micro-organisms, similar to the earliest forms of plankton that had existed in the oceans of Earth.

Yet they showed puzzling differences; they lacked a nucleus, as well as many of the other minimum requirements of even the most primitive terrestrial life forms. And although Laura Ernst—now doubling as research scientist as well as ship’s doctor—had proved that they definitely generated oxygen, there were far too few of them to account for the augmentation of Rama’s atmosphere. They should have existed in billions, not mere thousands.

Then she discovered that their numbers were dwindling rapidly, and must have been far higher during the first hours of the Raman dawn. It was as if there had been a brief explosion of life, recapitulating on a trillionfold swifter time-scale the early history of Earth. Now, perhaps, it had exhausted itself; the drifting micro-organisms were disintegrating, releasing their stores of chemicals back into the Sea.

‘If you have to swim for it,’ Dr. Ernst had warned the mariners, ‘keep your mouths closed. A few drops won’t matter—if you spit them out right away. But all those weird organo-metallic salts add up to a fairly poisonous package, and I’d hate to have to work out an antidote.’

This danger, fortunately, seemed very unlikely. Resolution could stay afloat if any two of her buoyancy tanks were punctured. (When told of this, Joe Calvert had muttered darkly: ‘Remember the Titanic!’) And even if she sank, the crude but efficient life jackets would keep their heads above, water. Although Laura had been reluctant to give a firm ruling on this, she did not think that a few hours’ immersion in the Sea would be fatal; but she did not recommend it.

After twenty minutes of steady progress New York was no longer a distant island. It was becoming a real place, and details which they had seen only through telescopes and photo-enlargements were now revealing themselves as massive, solid structures. It was now strikingly apparent that the ‘city’, like so much of Rama, was triplicated; it consisted of three identical, circular complexes or superstructures, rising from a long, oval foundation. Photographs taken from the Hub also indicated that each complex was itself divided into three equal components, like a pie sliced into 120-degree portions. This would greatly simplify the task of exploration; presumably they had to examine only one ninth of New York to have seen the whole of it. Even this would be a formidable undertaking; it would mean investigating at least a square kilometre of buildings and machinery, some of which towered hundreds of metres into the air.

The Ramans, it seemed, had brought the art of triple redundancy to a high degree of perfection. This was demonstrated in the airlock system, the stairways at the Hub, the artificial suns. And where it really mattered, they had even taken the next step. New York appeared to be an example of triple-triple redundancy.

Ruby was steering Resolution towards the central complex, where a flight of steps led up from the water to the very top of the wall or levee which surrounded the island. There was even a conveniently-placed mooring post to which boats could be tied; when she saw this, Ruby became quite excited. Now she would never be content until she found one of the craft in which the Ramans sailed their extraordinary sea.

Norton was the first to step ashore; he looked back at his three companions and said: ‘Wait here on the boat until I get to the top of the wall. When I wave, Pieter and Boris will join me. You stay at the helm, Ruby, so that we can cast off at a moment’s notice. If anything happens to me, report to Karl and follow his instructions. Use your best judgement—but no heroics. Understood?’

‘Yes, Skipper. Good luck!’

Commander Norton did not really believe in luck; he never got into a situation until he had analysed all the factors involved and had secured his line of retreat. But once again Rama was forcing him to break some of his cherished rules. Almost every factor here was unknown—as unknown as the Pacific and the Great Barrier Reef had been to his hero, three and a half centuries ago… Yes, he could do with all the luck that happened to be lying around.

The stairway was a virtual duplicate of the one down which they had descended on the other side of the Sea; doubtless his friends over there were looking straight across at him through their telescopes. And ‘straight’ was now the correct word; in this one direction, parallel to the axis of Rama, the Sea was indeed completely flat. It might well be the only body of water in the universe of which this was true, for on all other worlds every sea or lake must follow the surface of a sphere, with equal curvature in all directions.

‘Nearly at the top,’ he reported, speaking for the record and for his intently listening second-in-command, five kilometres away, still completely quiet—radiation normal. I’m holding the meter above my head, just in case this wall is acting as a shield for anything. And if there are any hostiles on the other side, they’ll shoot that first.’

He was joking, of course. And yet—why take any chances, when it was just as easy to avoid them?

When he took the last step, he found that the flat-topped embankment was about ten metres thick; on the inner side, an alternating series of ramps and stairways led down to the main level of the city, twenty metres below. In effect, he was standing on a high wall which completely surrounded New York, and so was able to get a grandstand view of it.

It was a view almost stunning in its complexity, and his first act was to make a slow panoramic scan with his camera. Then he waved to his companions and radioed back across the Sea: ‘No sign of any activity—everything quiet. Come on up—we’ll start exploring.’

CHAPTER 23

NY, RAMA

IT WAS NOT a city; it was a machine. Norton had come to that conclusion in ten minutes, and saw no reason to change it after they had made a complete traverse of the island. A city—whatever the nature of its occupants—surely had to provide some form of accommodation: there was nothing here of that nature, unless it was underground. And if that was the case, where were the entrances, the stairways, the elevators? He had not found anything that even qualified as a simple door…

The closest analogy he had ever seen to this place on Earth was a giant chemical processing plant. However, there were no stockpiles of raw materials, or any indications of a transport system to move them around. Nor could he imagine where the finished product would emerge—still less what that product could possibly be. It was all very baffling, and more than a little frustrating.

‘Anybody care to make a guess?’ he said at last, to all who might be listening. ‘If this is a factory, what does it make? And where does it get its raw materials?’

‘I’ve a suggestion, Skipper,’ said Karl Mercer, over on the far shore. ‘Suppose it uses the Sea. According to Doc, that contains just about anything you can think of.’

It was a plausible answer, and Norton had already considered it. There could well be buried pipes leading to the Sea—in fact, there must be, for any conceivable chemical plant would require large quantities of water. But he had a suspicion of plausible answers; they were so often wrong.

‘That’s a good idea, Karl; but what does New York do with its seawater?’

For a long time, nobody answered from ship, Hub or Northern plain. Then an unexpected voice spoke.

‘That’s easy, Skipper. But you’re all going to laugh at me.’

‘No, we’re not, Ravi. Go ahead.’

Sergeant Ravi McAndrews, Chief Steward and Simp Master, was the last person on this ship who would normally get involved in a technical discussion. His IQ was modest and his scientific knowledge was minimal, but he was no fool and had a natural shrewdness which everyone respected.

‘Well, it’s a factory all right, Skipper, and maybe the Sea provides the raw material … after all, that’s how it all happened on Earth, though in a different way… I believe New York is a factory for making—Ramans.’

Somebody, somewhere, snickered, but became quickly silent and did not identify himself.

‘You know, Ravi,’ said his commander at last, ‘that theory is crazy enough to be true. And I’m not sure if I want to see it tested … at least, until I get back to the mainland.’

This celestial New York was just about as wide as the island of Manhattan, but its geometry was totally different. There were few straight thoroughfares; it was a maze of short, concentric arcs, with radial spokes linking them. Luckily, it was impossible to lose one’s bearings inside Rama; a single glance at the sky was enough to establish the north-south axis of the world.

They paused at almost every intersection to make a panoramic scan. When all these hundreds of pictures were sorted out, it would be a tedious but fairly straightforward job to construct an accurate scale model of the city. Norton suspected that the resulting jigsaw puzzle would keep scientists busy for generations.

It was even harder to get used to the silence here than it had been out on the plain of Rama. A city-machine should make some sound; yet there was not even the faintest of electric hums, or the slightest whisper of mechanical motion. Several times Norton put his ear to the ground, or to the side of a building, and listened intently. He could hear nothing except the pounding of his own blood.

The machines were sleeping: they were not even ticking over. Would they ever wake again, and for what purpose? Everything was in perfect condition, as usual. It was easy to believe that
the closing of a single circuit, in some patient, hidden computer, would bring all this maze back to life.

When at last they had reached the far side of the city, they climbed to the top of the surrounding levee and looked across the southern branch of the Sea. For a long time Norton stared at the five-hundred-metre cliff that barred them from almost half of Rama—and, judging from their telescopic surveys, the most complex and varied half. From this angle, it appeared an ominous, forbidding black, and it was easy to think of it as a prison wall surrounding a whole continent. Nowhere along its entire circle was there a flight of stairways or any other means of access.

He wondered how the Ramans reached their southern land from New York. Probably there was an underground transport system running beneath the Sea, but they must also have aircraft as well; there were many open areas here in the city that could be used for landing. To discover a Raman vehicle would be a major accomplishment—especially if they could learn to operate it. (Though could any conceivable power source still be functioning, after several hundred thousand years?) There were numerous structures that had the functional look of hangars or garages, but they were all smooth and windowless, as if they had been sprayed with sealant. Sooner or later, Norton had told himself grimly, we’ll be forced to use explosives, and laser beams. He was determined to put off this decision to the last possible moment.

His reluctance to use brute force was based partly on pride, partly on fear. He did not wish to behave like a technological barbarian, smashing what he could not understand. After all, he was an uninvited visitor in this world, and should act accordingly.

As for his fear—perhaps that was too strong a word; apprehension might be better. The Ramans seemed to have planned for everything; he was not anxious to discover the precautions they had taken to guard their property. When he sailed back to the mainland, it would be with empty hands.

CHAPTER 24

DRAGONFLY

LIEUTENANT JAMES PAK was the most junior officer on board Endeavour, and this was only his fourth mission into deep space. He was ambitious, and due for promotion; he had also committed a serious breach of regulations. No wonder, therefore, that he took a long time to make up his mind.

It would be a gamble; if he lost, he could be in deep trouble. He could not only be risking his career; he might even be risking his neck. But if he succeeded, he would be a hero. What finally convinced him was neither of these arguments; it was the certainty that, if he did nothing at all, he would spend the rest of his life brooding over his lost opportunity.

Nevertheless, he was still hesitant when he asked the Captain for a private meeting.

What is it this time? Norton asked himself, as he analysed the uncertain expression on the young officer’s face. He remembered his delicate interview with Boris Rodrigo; no, it wouldn’t be anything like that. Jimmy was certainly not the religious type; the only interests he had ever shown outside his work were sport and sex, preferably combined.

It could hardly be the former, and Norton hoped it was not the latter. He had encountered most of the problems that a commanding officer could encounter in this department—except the classical one of an unscheduled birth during a mission. Though this situation was the subject of innumerable jokes, it had never happened yet; of time.

‘Well, Jimmy, what is it?’

‘I have an idea, Commander. I know how to reach the southern continent—even to the South Pole.’

‘I’m listening. How do you propose to do it?’

‘Er—by flying there.’

‘Jimmy, I’ve had at least five proposals to do that—more if you count crazy suggestions from Earth. We’ve looked into the possibility of adapting our spacesuit propulsors, but air drag would make them hopelessly inefficient. They’d run out of fuel before they could go ten kilometres.’

‘I know that. But I have the answer.’

Lt. Pak’s attitude was a curious mixture of complete confidence and barely suppressed nervousness. Norton was quite baffled; what was the kid worried about? Surely he knew his commanding officer well enough to be certain that no reasonable proposal would be laughed out of court.

‘Well, go on. If it works, I’ll see your promotion is retroactive.’

That little half-promise, half-joke didn’t go down as well as he had hoped. Jimmy gave a rather sickly smile, made several false starts, then decided on an oblique approach to the subject.

‘You know, Commander, that I was in the Lunar Olympics last year.’

‘Of course. Sorry you didn’t win.’

‘It was bad equipment; I know what went wrong. I have friends on Mars who’ve been working on it, in secret. We want to give everyone a surprise.’

‘Mars? But I didn’t know…’

‘Not many people do—the sport’s still new there; it’s only been tried in the Xante Sportsdome. But the best aerodynamicists in the solar system are on Mars; if you can fly in that atmosphere, you can fly anywhere.’

‘Now, my idea was that if the Martians could build a good machine, with all their know-how, it would really perform on the Moon—where gravity is only half as strong.’

‘That seems plausible, but how does it help us?’ Norton was beginning to guess, but he wanted to give Jimmy plenty of rope.

‘Well, I formed a syndicate with some friends in Lowell City. They’ve built a fully aerobatic flyer with some refinements that no one has ever seen before. In lunar gravity, under the Olympic dome, it should create a sensation.’

‘And win you the gold medal.’

‘I hope so.’

‘Let me see if I follow your train of thought correctly. A sky-bike that could enter the Lunar Olympics, at a sixth of a gravity, would be even more sensational inside Rama, with no gravity at all. You could fly it right along the axis, from the North Pole to the South—and back again.’

‘Yes—easily. The one-way trip would take three hours, non-stop. But of course you could rest whenever you wanted to, as long as you kept near the axis.’

‘It’s a brilliant idea, and I congratulate you. What a pity sky-bikes aren’t part of regular Space Survey equipment.’

Jimmy seemed to have some difficulty in finding words. He opened his mouth several times, but nothing happened.

‘All right, Jimmy. As a matter of morbid interest, and purely off the record, how did you smuggle the thing aboard?’

‘Er—”Recreational Stores”.’

‘Well, you weren’t lying. And what about the weight?’

‘It’s only twenty kilograms.’

‘Only! Still, that’s not as bad as I thought. In fact, I’m astonished you can build a bike for that weight.’

‘Some have been only fifteen, but they were too fragile and usually folded up when they made a turn. There’s no danger of Dragonfly doing that. As I said, she’s fully aerobatic.’

‘Dragonfly—nice name. So tell me just how you plan to use her; then I can decide whether a promotion or a court martial is in order. Or both.’

CHAPTER 25

MAIDEN FLIGHT

DRAGONFLY WAS CERTAINLY a good name. The long, tapering wings were almost invisible, except when the light struck them from certain angles and was refracted into rainbow hues. It was as if a soap bubble had been wrapped round a delicate tracery of aerofoil sections; the envelope enclosing the little flyer was an organic film only a few molecules thick, yet strong enough to control and direct the movements of a fifty-kph air flow.

The pilot—who was also the power plant and the guidance system—sat on a tiny seat at the centre of gravity, in a semi-reclining position to reduce air resistance. Control was by a single stick which could be moved backwards and forwards, right and left; the only ‘instrument’ was a piece of weighted ribbon attached to the leading edge, to show the direction of the relative wind.

Once the flyer had been assembled at the Hub, Jimmy Pak would allow no one to touch it. Clumsy handling could snap one of the single-fibre structural members, and those glittering wings were an almost irresistible attraction to prying fingers. It was hard to believe that there was really something there…

As he watched Jimmy c
limb into the contraption, Commander Norton began to have second thoughts. If one of those wire-sized struts snapped when Dragonfly was on the other side of the Cylindrical Sea, Jimmy would have no way of getting back—even if he was able to make a safe landing. They were also breaking one of the most sacrosanct rules of space exploration; a man was going alone into unknown territory, beyond all possibility of help. The only consolation was that he would be in full view and communication all the time; they would know exactly what had happened to him, if he did meet with disaster.

Yet this opportunity was far too good to miss; if one believed in fate or destiny, it would be challenging the gods themselves to neglect the only chance they might ever have of reaching the far side of Rama, and seeing at close quarters the mysteries of the South Pole. Jimmy knew what he was attempting, far better than anyone in the crew could tell him. This was precisely the sort of risk that had to be taken; if it failed, that was the luck of the game. You couldn’t win them all…

‘Now listen to me carefully, Jimmy,’ said Surgeon-Commander Ernst. ‘It’s very important not to overexert yourself. Remember, the oxygen level here at the axis is still very low. If you feel breathless at any time, stop and hyperventilate for thirty seconds—but no longer.’

Jimmy nodded absentmindedly as he tested the controls. The whole rudder-elevator assembly, which formed a single unit on an outrigger five metres behind the rudimentary cockpit, began to twist around; then the flap-shaped ailerons, halfway along the wing, moved alternately up and down.

‘Do you want me to swing the prop?’ asked Joe Calvert, unable to suppress memories of two-hundred-year-old war movies. ‘Ignition! Contact!’ Probably no one except Jimmy knew what he was talking about, but it helped to relieve the tension.

Very slowly, Jimmy started to move the foot-pedals. The flimsy, broad fan of the airscrew—like the wing, a delicate skeleton covered with shimmering film—began to turn. By the time it had made a few revolutions, it had disappeared completely and Dragonfly was on her way.

She moved straight outwards from the Hub, moving slowly along the axis of Rama. When she had travelled a hundred metres, Jimmy stopped pedalling; it was strange to see an obviously aerodynamic vehicle hanging motionless in midair. This must be the first time such a thing had ever happened, except possibly on a very limited scale inside one of the larger space stations.

‘How does she handle?’ Norton called.

‘Response good, stability poor. But I know what the trouble is—no gravity. We’ll be better off a kilometre lower down.’

‘Now wait a minute, is that safe?’

By losing altitude, Jimmy would be sacrificing his main advantage. As long as he stayed precisely on the axis, he—and Dragonfly—would be completely weightless. He could hover effortlessly, or even go to sleep if he wished. But as soon as he moved away from the central line around which Rama spun, the pseudo-weight of centrifugal force would reappear.

And so, unless he could maintain himself at this altitude, he would continue to lose height—and at the same time, to gain weight. It would be an accelerating process, which could end in catastrophe. The gravity down on the plain of Rama was twice that in which Dragonfly had been designed to operate. Jimmy might be able to make a safe landing; he could certainly never take off again.

But he had already considered all this, and he answered confidently enough: ‘I can manage a tenth of a gee without any trouble. And she’ll handle more easily in denser air.’

In a slow, leisurely spiral, Dragonfly drifted across the sky, roughly following the line of Stairway Alpha down towards the plain. From some angles, the little sky-bike was almost invisible; Jimmy seemed to be sitting in midair pedalling furiously. Sometimes he moved into spurts of up to thirty kilometres an hour; then he would coast to a halt, getting the feel of the controls, before accelerating again. And he was always very careful to keep a safe distance from the curving end of Rama.

It was soon obvious that Dragonfly handled much better at lower altitudes; she no longer rolled around at any angle but stabilized so that her wings were parallel to the plain seven kilometres below. Jimmy completed several wide orbits, then started to climb upwards again. He finally halted a few metres above his waiting colleagues and realized, a little belatedly, that he was not quite sure how to land this gossamer craft.

‘Shall we throw you a rope?’ Norton asked half-seriously.

‘No, Skipper—I’ve got to work this out myself. I won’t have anyone to help me at the other end.’

He sat thinking for a while, then started to ease Dragonfly towards the Hub with short bursts of power. She quickly lost momentum between each, as air drag brought her to rest again. When he was only five metres away, and the sky-bike was still barely moving, Jimmy abandoned ship. He let himself float towards the nearest safety line in the Hub webwork, grasped it, then swung around in time to catch the approaching bike with his hands. The manoeuvre was so neatly executed that it drew a round of applause.

‘For my next act—’ Joe Calvert began.

Jimmy was quick to disclaim any credit. ‘That was messy,’ he said. ‘But now I know how to do it. I’ll take a sticky-bomb on a twenty-metre line; then I’ll be able to pull myself in wherever I want to.’

‘Give me your wrist, Jimmy,’ ordered the Doctor, ‘and blow into this bag. I’ll want a blood sample, too. Did you have any difficulty in breathing?’

‘Only at this altitude. Hey, what do you want the blood for?’

‘Sugar level; then I can tell how much energy you’ve used. We’ve got to make sure you carry enough fuel for the mission. By the way, what’s the endurance record for sky-biking?’

‘Two hours twenty-five minutes three point six seconds. On the Moon, of course—a two kilometre circuit in the Olympic Dome.’

‘And you think you can keep it up for six hours?’

‘Easily, since I can stop for a rest at any time. Sky biking on the Moon is at least twice as hard as it is here.’

‘OK Jimmy—back to the lab. I’ll give you a Go-No-Go as soon as I’ve analysed these samples. I don’t want to raise false hopes but I think you can make it.’

A large smile of satisfaction spread across Jimmy Pak’s ivory-hued countenance. As he followed Surgeon-Commander Ernst to the airlock, he called back to his companions: ‘Hands off, please! I don’t want anyone putting his fist through the wings.’

‘I’ll see to that, Jimmy,’ promised the Commander. ‘Dragonfly is off limits to everybody—including myself.’

CHAPTER 26

THE VOICE OF RAMA

THE REAL MAGNITUDE of his adventure did not hit Jimmy Pak until he reached the coast of the Cylindrical Sea. Until now, he had been over known territory; barring a catastrophic structural failure, he could always land and walk back to base in a few hours.

That option no longer existed. If he came down in the Sea, he would probably drown, quite unpleasantly, in its poisonous waters. And even if he made a safe landing in the southern continent, it might be impossible to rescue him before Endeavour had to break away from Rama’s sunward orbit.

He was also acutely aware that the foreseeable disasters were the ones most unlikely to happen. The totally unknown region over which he was flying might produce any number of surprises; suppose there were flying creatures here, who objected to his intrusion? He would hate to engage in a dogfight with anything larger than a pigeon. A few well-placed pecks could destroy Dragonfly’s aerodynamics.

Yet, if there were no hazards, there would be no achievement—no sense of adventure. Millions of men would gladly have traded places with him now. He was going not only where no one had ever been before—but where no one would ever go again. In all of history, he would be the only human being to visit the southern regions of Rama. Whenever he felt fear brushing against his mind, he could remember that.

He had now grown accustomed to sitting in midair, with the world wrapped around him. Because he had dropped two kilometres below the central axis, he had acquired a definite sense of ‘up’ and ‘down’. The ground was only six kilometres below, but the arch of the sky was ten kilometres overhead. The ‘city’ of London was hanging up there near the zenith; New York, on the other hand, was the right way up, directly ahead.

‘Dragonfly,’ said Hub Control, ‘you’re getting a little low. Twenty-two hundred metres from the axis.’

‘Thanks,’ he replied. ‘I’ll gain altitude. Let me know when I’m back at twenty.’

This was something he’d have to watch. There was a natural tendency to lose height—and he had no instruments to tell him exactly where he was. If he got too far away from the zero-gravity of the axis, he might never be able to climb back to it. Fortunately, there was a wide margin for error, and there was always someone watching his progress through a telescope at the Hub.

He was now well out over the Sea, pedalling along at a steady twenty kilometres an hour. In five minutes, he would be over New York; already the island looked rather like a ship, sailing for ever round and round the Cylindrical Sea.

When he reached New York, he flew a circle over it, stopping several times so that his little TV camera could send back steady, vibration-free images. The panorama of buildings, towers, industrial plants, power stations—or whatever they were—was fascinating but essentially meaningless. No matter how long he stared at its complexity, he was unlikely to learn anything. The camera would record far more details than he could possibly assimilate; and one day—perhaps years hence—some student might find in them the key to Rama’s secrets.

After leaving New York, he crossed the other half of the Sea in only fifteen minutes. Though he was not aware of it, he had been flying fast over water, but as soon as he reached the south coast he unconsciously relaxed and his speed dropped by several kilometres an hour. He might be in wholly alien territory but at least he was over land.

As soon as he had crossed the great cliff that formed the Sea’s southern limit, he panned the TV camera completely round the circle of the world.

‘Beautiful!’ said Hub Control. ‘This will keep the mapmakers happy. How are you feeling?’

‘I’m fine—just a little f
atigue, but no more than I expected. How far do you make me from the Pole?’

‘Fifteen point six kilometres.’

‘Tell me when I’m at ten; I’ll take a rest then. And make sure I don’t get low again. I’ll start climbing when I’ve five to go.’

Twenty minutes later the world was closing in upon him; he had come to the end of the cylindrical section, and was entering the southern dome.

He had studied it for hours through the telescopes at the other end of Rama, and had learned its geography by heart. Even so, that had not fully prepared him for the spectacle all around him.

In almost every way the southern and northern ends of Rama differed completely. Here was no triad of stairways, no series of narrow, concentric plateaux, no sweeping curve from hub to plain. Instead, there was an immense central spike, more than five kilometres long, extending along the axis. Six smaller ones, half this size, were equally spaced around it; the whole assembly looked like a group of remarkably symmetrical stalactites, hanging from the roof of a cave. Or, inverting the point of view, the spires of some Cambodian temple, set at the bottom of a crater…

Linking these slender, tapering towers, and curving down from them to merge eventually in the cylindrical plain, were flying buttresses that looked massive enough to bear the weight of a world. And this, perhaps, was their function, if they were indeed the elements of some exotic drive units, as some had suggested.

Lieutenant Pak approached the central spike cautiously, stopped pedalling while he was still a hundred metres away and let Dragonfly drift to rest. He checked the radiation level, and found only Rama’s very low background. There might be forces at work here which no human instruments could detect, but that was another unavoidable risk.

‘What can you see?’ Hub Control asked anxiously.

‘Just Big Horn—it’s absolutely smooth—no markings—and the point’s so sharp you could use it as a needle. I’m almost scared to go near it.’

He was only half joking. It seemed incredible that so massive an object should taper to such a geometrically perfect point. Jimmy had seen collections of insects impaled upon pins, and he had no desire for his own Dragonfly to meet a similar fate.

He pedalled slowly forward until the spike had flared out to several metres in diameter, then stopped again. Opening a small container, he rather gingerly extracted a sphere about as big as a baseball, and tossed it towards the spike. As it drifted away, it played out a barely visible thread.

The sticky-bomb hit the smoothly curving surface—and did not rebound. Jimmy gave the thread an experimental twitch, then a harder tug. Like a fisherman hauling in his catch, he slowly wound Dragonfly across to the tip of the appropriately christened ‘Big Horn’, until he was able to put out his hand and make contact with it.

‘I suppose you could call this some kind of touchdown,’ he reported to Hub Control. ‘It feels like glass—almost frictionless, and slightly warm. The sticky-bomb worked fine. Now I’m trying the mike … let’s see if the suction pad holds as well … plugging in the leads … anything coming through?’

There was a long pause from the Hub; then Control said disgustedly: ‘Not a damn thing, except the usual thermal noises. Will you tap it with a piece of metal? Then at least we’ll find if it’s hollow.’

‘OK. Now what?’

‘We’d like you to fly along the spike, making a complete scan every half-kilometre, and looking out for anything unusual. Then, if you’re sure it’s safe, you might go across to one of the Little Horns. But only if you’re certain you can get back to zero gee without any problems.’

‘Three kilometres from the axis—that’s slightly above lunar gravity. Dragonfly was designed for that. I’ll just have to work harder.’

‘Jimmy, this is the Captain. I’ve got second thoughts on that. Judging by your pictures, the smaller spikes are just the same as the big one. Get the best coverage of them you can with the zoom lens. I don’t want you leaving the low-gravity region . . . unless you see something that looks very important. Then we’ll talk it over.’

‘OK, Skipper,’ said Jimmy, and perhaps there was just a trace of relief in his voice. ‘I’ll stay close to Big Horn. Here we go again.’

He felt he was dropping straight downwards into a narrow valley between a group of incredibly tall and slender mountains. Big Horn now towered a kilometre above him, and the six spikes of the Little Horns were looming up all around. The complex of buttresses and flying arches which surrounded the lower slopes was approaching rapidly; he wondered if he could make a safe landing somewhere down there in that Cyclopean architecture. He could no longer land on Big Horn itself, for the gravity on its widening slopes was now too powerful to be counteracted by the feeble force of the sticky-bomb.

As he came even closer to the South Pole, he began to feel more and more like a sparrow flying beneath the vaulted roof of some great cathedral—though no cathedral ever built had been even one hundredth the size of this place. He wondered if it was indeed a religious shrine, or something remotely analogous, but quickly dismissed the idea. Nowhere in Rama had there been any trace of artistic expression; everything was purely functional. Perhaps the Ramans felt that they already knew the ultimate secrets of the universe, and were no longer haunted by the yearnings and aspirations that drove mankind.

That was a chilling thought, quite alien to Jimmy’s usual not-very-profound philosophy; he felt an urgent need to resume contact, and reported his situation back to his distant friends.

‘Say again, Dragonfly,’ replied Hub Control. ‘We can’t understand you—your transmission is garbled.’

‘I repeat—I’m near the base of Little Horn number Six, and am using the sticky-bomb to haul myself in.’

‘Understand only partially. Can you hear me?’

‘Yes, perfectly. Repeat, perfectly.’

‘Please start counting numbers.’

‘One, two, three, four…’

‘Got part of that. Give us beacon for fifteen seconds, then go back to voice.’

‘Here it is.’

Jimmy switched on the low-powered beacon which would locate him anywhere inside Rama, and counted off the seconds. When he went over to voice again he asked plaintively: ‘What’s happening? Can you hear me now?’

Presumably Hub didn’t, because the controller then asked for fifteen seconds of TV. Not until Jimmy had repeated the question twice did the message get through.

‘Glad you can hear us OK, Jimmy. But there’s something very peculiar happening at your end. Listen.’

Over the radio, he heard the familiar whistle of his own beacon, played back to him. For a moment it was perfectly normal; then a weird distortion crept into it. The thousand-cycle whistle became modulated by a deep, throbbing pulse so low that it was almost beneath the threshold of hearing; it was a kind of basso-profundo flutter in which each individual vibration could be heard. And the modulation was itself modulated; it rose and fell, rose and fell with a period of about five seconds.

Never for a moment did it occur to Jimmy that there was something wrong with his radio transmitter. This was from outside; though what it was, and what it meant, was beyond his imagination.

Hub Control was not much wiser, but at least it had a theory.

‘We think you must be in some kind of very intense field—probably magnetic—with a frequency of about ten cycles. It may be strong enough to be dangerous. Suggest you get out right away—it may only be local. Switch on your beacon again, and we’ll play it back to you. Then you can tell when you’re getting clear of the interference.’

Jimmy hastily jerked the sticky-bomb loose and abandoned his attempt to land. He swung Dragonfly round in a wide circle, listening as he did so to the sound that wavered in his earphones. After flying only a few metres, he could tell that its intensity was falling rapidly; as Hub Control had guessed, it was extremely localized.

He paused for a moment at the last spot where he could hear it, like a faint throbbing deep in his brain. So might a primitive savage have listened in awestruck ignorance to the low humming of a giant power transformer. And even the savage might have guessed that the s
ound he heard was merely the stray leakage from colossal energies, fully controlled, but biding their time…

Whatever this sound meant, Jimmy was glad to be clear of it. This was no place, among the overwhelming architecture of the South Pole, for a lone man to listen to the voice of Rama.

CHAPTER 27

ELECTRIC WIND

AS JIMMY TURNED homewards, the northern end of Rama seemed incredibly far away. Even the three giant stairways were barely visible, as a faint Y etched on the dome that closed the world. The band of the Cylindrical Sea was a wide and menacing barrier, waiting to swallow him up if, like Icarus, his fragile wings should fail.

But he had come all this way with no problems, and though he was feeling slightly tired he now felt that he had nothing to worry about. He had not even touched his food or water, and had been too excited to rest. On the return journey, he would relax and take it easy. He was also cheered by the thought that the homeward trip could be twenty kilometres shorter than the outward one, for as long as he cleared the Sea, he could make an emergency landing anywhere in the northern continent. That would be a nuisance, because he would have a long walk—and much worse, would have to abandon Dragonfly—but it gave him a very comforting safety margin.

He was now gaining altitude, climbing back towards the central spike; Big Horn’s tapering needle still stretched for a kilometre ahead of him, and sometimes he felt it was the axis on which this whole world turned.

He had almost reached the tip of Big Horn when he became aware of a curious sensation; a feeling of foreboding, and indeed of physical as well as psychological discomfort, had come over him. He suddenly recalled—and this did nothing at all to help—a phrase he had once come across: ‘Someone is walking over your grave.’

At first he shrugged it off, and continued his steady pedalling. He certainly had no intention of reporting anything as tenuous as a vague malaise to Hub Control, but as it grew steadily worse he was tempted to do so. It could not possibly be psychological; if it was, his mind was much more powerful than he realized. Jimmy could, quite literally, feel his skin beginning to crawl.

Now seriously alarmed, he stopped in midair and began to consider the situation. What made it all the more peculiar was the fact that this depressed heavy feeling was not completely novel; he had known it before, but could not remember where.

He looked around him. Nothing had changed. The great spike of Big Horn was a few hundred metres above, with the other side of Rama spanning the sky beyond that. Eight kilometres below lay the complicated patchwork of the Southern continent, full of wonders that no other man would ever see. In all the utterly alien yet now familiar landscape, he could find no cause for his discomfort.

Something was tickling the back of his hand; for a moment, he thought an insect had landed there, and brushed it away without looking. He had only half-completed the swift motion when he realized what he was doing and checked himself, feeling slightly foolish. Of course, no one had ever seen an insect in Rama…

He lifted his hand, and stared at it, mildly puzzled because the tickling sensation was still there. It was then that he noticed that every individual hair was standing straight upright. All the way up his forearm it was the same—and so it was with his head, when he checked with an exploring hand.

So that was the trouble. He was in a tremendously powerful electric field; the oppressed, heavy sensation he had felt was that which sometimes precedes a thunderstorm on Earth.

The sudden realization of his predicament brought Jimmy very near to panic. Never before in his life had he been in real physical danger. Like all spacemen, he had known moments of frustration with bulky equipment, and times when, owing to mistakes or inexperience, he had wrongly believed he was in a perilous situation. But none of these episodes had lasted more than a few minutes, and usually he was able to laugh at them almost at once.

This time there was no quick way out. He felt naked and alone in a suddenly hostile sky, surrounded by titanic forces which might discharge their furies at any moment. Dragonfly—already fragile enough—now seemed more insubstantial than the finest gossamer. The first detonation of the gathering storm would blast her to fragments.

‘Hub Control,’ he said urgently. ‘There’s a static charge building up around me. I think there’s going to be a thunderstorm at any moment.’

He had barely finished speaking when there was a flicker of light behind him; by the time he had counted ten, the first crackling rumble arrived. Three kilometres—that put it back around the Little Horns. He looked towards them and saw that every one of the six needles seemed to be on fire. Brush discharges, hundreds of metres long, were dancing from their points, as if they were giant lightning conductors.

What was happening back there could take place on an even larger scale near the tapering spike of Big Horn. His best move would be to get as far as possible from this dangerous structure, and to seek clear air. He started to pedal again, accelerating as swiftly as he could without putting too great a strain on Dragonfly. At the same time he began to lose altitude; even though this would mean entering the region of higher gravity, he was now prepared to take such a risk. Eight kilometres was much too far from the ground for his peace of mind.

The ominous black spike of Big Horn was still free of visible discharges, but he did not doubt that tremendous potentials were building up there. From time to time the thunder still reverberated behind him, rolling round and round the circumference of the world. It suddenly occurred to Jimmy how strange it was to have such a storm in a perfectly clear sky; then he realized that this was not a meteorological phenomenon at all. In fact, it might be only a trivial leakage of energy from some hidden source, deep in the southern cap of Rama. But why now? And, even more important—what next?

He was now well past the tip of Big Horn, and hoped that he would soon be beyond the range of any lightning discharges. But now he had another problem; the air was becoming turbulent, and he had difficulty in controlling Dragonfly. A wind seemed to have sprung up from nowhere, and if conditions became much worse the bike’s fragile skeleton would be endangered. He pedalled grimly on, trying to smooth out the buffeting by variations in power and movements of his body. Because Dragonfly was almost an extension of himself, he was partly successful; but he did not like the faint creaks of protest that came from the main spar, nor the way in which the wings twisted with every gust.

And there was something else that worried him—a faint rushing sound, steadily growing in strength, that seemed to come from the direction of Big Horn. It sounded like gas escaping from a valve under pressure, and he wondered if it had anything to do with the turbulence which he was battling. Whatever its cause, it gave him yet further grounds for disquiet.

From time to time he reported these phenomena, rather briefly and breathlessly, to Hub Control. No one there could give him any advice, or even suggest what might be happening; but it was reassuring to hear the voices of his friends, even though he was now beginning to fear that he would never see them again.

The turbulence was still increasing. It almost felt as if he was entering a jet stream—which he had once done, in search of a record, while flying a high-altitude glider on Earth. But what could possibly create a jet stream inside Rama?

He had asked himself the right question; as soon as he had formulated it, he knew the answer.

The sound he had heard was the electric wind carrying away the tremendous ionization that must be building up around Big Horn. Charged air was spraying out along the axis of Rama, and more air was flowing into the low-pressure region behind. He looked back at that gigantic and now doubly threatening needle, trying to visualize the boundaries of the gale that was blowing from it. Perhaps the best tactic would be to fly by ear, getting as far as possible away from the ominous hissing.

Rama spared him the necessity of choice. A sheet of flame burst out behind him, filling the sky. He had time to see it split into six ribbons of fire, stretching from the tip of Big Horn to each of the Little Horns. Then the concussion reached him.

CHAPTER 28

ICARUS

JIMMY PAK HAD barely time to radio: ‘The wing’s buckling—I’m going to crash—I’m going to crash!’ when Dragonfly started to fold up gracefully around him. The left wing snapped cleanly in the middle, and the outer section drifted away like a gently falling leaf. The right wing put up a more complicated performance. It twisted round at the root, and angled back so sharply that its tip became entangled in the tail. Jimmy felt that he was sitting in a broken kite, slowly falling down the sky.

Yet he was not quite helpless; the airscrew still worked, and while he had power there was still some measure of control. He had perhaps five minutes in which to use it.

Was there any hope of reaching the Sea? No—it was much too far away. Then he remembered that he was still thinking in terrestrial terms; though he was a good swimmer, it would be hours before he could possibly be rescued, and in that time the poisonous waters would undoubtedly have killed him. His only hope was to come down on land; the problem of the sheer southern cliff he would think about later—if there was any ‘later’.

He was falling very slowly, here in this tenth-of-a-gravity zone, but would soon start to accelerate as he got further away from the axis. However, air-drag would complicate the situation, and would prevent him from building up too swift a rate of descent. Dragonfly, even without power, would act as a crude parachute. The few kilograms of thrust he could still provide might make all the difference between life and death; that was his only hope.

Hub had stopped talking; his friends could see exactly what was happening to him and knew that there was no way their words could help. Jimmy was now doing the most skilful flying of his life; it was too bad, he thought with grim humo
ur, that his audience was so small, and could not appreciate the finer details of his performance.

He was going down in a wide spiral, and as long as its pitch remained fairly flat his chances of survival were good. His pedalling was helping to keep Dragonfly airborne, though he was afraid to exert maximum power in case the broken wings came completely adrift And every time he swung southwards, he could appreciate the fantastic display that Rama had kindly arranged for his benefit.

The streamers of lightning still played from the tip of Big Horn down to the lesser peaks beneath, but now the whole pattern was rotating. The six-pronged crown of fire was turning against the spin of Rama, making one revolution every few seconds. Jimmy felt that he was watching a giant electric motor in operation and perhaps that was not hopelessly far from the truth.

He was halfway down to the plain, still orbiting in a flat spiral, when the firework display suddenly ceased. He could feel the tension drain from the sky and knew, without looking, that the hairs on his arms were no longer straining upright. There was nothing to distract or hinder him now, during the last few minutes of his fight for life.

Now that he could be certain of the general area in which he must land, he started to study it intently. Much of this region was a checkerboard of totally conflicting environments, as if a mad landscape gardener had been given a free hand and told to exercise his imagination to the utmost. The squares of the checkerboard were almost a kilometre on a side, and though most of them were flat he could not be sure if they were solid, their colours and textures varied so greatly. He decided to wait until the last possible minute before making a decision—if indeed he had any choice.

When there were a few hundred metres to go, he made a last call to the Hub.

‘I’ve still got some control—will be down in half a minute—will call you then.’

That was optimistic, and everyone knew it. But he refused to say goodbye; he wanted his comrades to know that he had gone down fighting, and without fear.

Indeed, he felt very little fear, and this surprised him, for he had never thought of himself as a particularly brave man. It was almost as if he was watching the struggles of a complete stranger, and was not himself personally involved. Rather, he was studying an interesting problem in aerodynamics, and changing various parameters to see what would happen. Almost the only emotion he felt was a certain remote regret for lost opportunities—of which the most important was the forthcoming Lunar Olympics. One future at least was decided; Dragonfly would never show her paces on the Moon.

A hundred metres to go; his ground speed seemed acceptable, but how fast was he falling? And here was one piece of luck—the terrain was completely flat. He would put forth all his strength in a final burst of power, starting—NOW!

The right wing, having done its duty, finally tore off at the roots. Dragonfly started to roll over, and he tried to correct by throwing the weight of his body against the spin. He was looking directly at the curving arch of landscape sixteen kilometres away when he hit.

It seemed altogether unfair and unreasonable that the sky should be so hard.

CHAPTER 29

FIRST CONTACT

WHEN JIMMY PAK returned to consciousness, the first thing he became aware of was a splitting headache. He almost welcomed it; at least it proved that he was still alive.

Then he tried to move, and at once a wide selection of aches and pains brought themselves to his attention. But as far as he could tell, nothing seemed to be broken.

After that, he risked opening his eyes, but closed them at once when he found himself staring straight into the band of light along the ceiling of the world. As a cure for headache, that view was not recommended.

He was still lying there, regaining his strength and wondering how soon it would be safe to open his eyes, when there was a sudden crunching noise from close at hand. Turning his head very slowly towards the source of the sound, he risked a look—and almost lost consciousness again.

Not more than five metres away, a large crab-like creature was apparently dining on the wreckage of poor Dragonfly. When Jimmy recovered his wits he rolled slowly and quietly away from the monster, expecting at every moment to be seized by its claws, when it discovered that more appetizing fare was available. However, it took not the slightest notice of him; when he had increased their mutual separation to ten metres, he cautiously propped himself up in a sitting position.

From this greater distance, the thing did not appear quite so formidable. It had a low, flat body about two metres long and one wide, supported on six triple-jointed legs. Jimmy saw that he was mistaken in assuming that it had been eating Dragonfly; in fact, he could not see any sign of a mouth. The creature was actually doing a neat job of demolition, using scissor-like claws to chop the sky-bike into small pieces. A whole row of manipulators, which looked uncannily like tiny human hands, then transferred the fragments to a steadily growing pile on the animal’s back.

But was it an animal? Though that had been Jimmy’s first reaction, now he had second thoughts. There was a purposefulness about its behaviour which suggested fairly high intelligence; he could see no reason why any creature of pure instincts should carefully collect the scattered pieces of his sky-bike—unless, perhaps, it was gathering material for a nest.

Keeping a wary eye on the crab, which still ignored him completely, Jimmy struggled to his feet. A few wavering steps demonstrated that he could still walk, though he was not sure if he could outdistance those six legs. Then he switched on his radio, never doubting that it would be operating. A crash that he could survive would not even have been noticed by its solid-state electronics.

‘Hub Control,’ he said softly. ‘Can you receive me?’

‘Thank God! Are you OK?’

‘Just a bit shaken. Take a look at this.’

He turned his camera towards the crab, just in time to record the final demolition of Dragonfly’s wing.

‘What the devil is it—and why is it chewing up your bike?’

‘Wish I knew. It’s finished with Dragonfly. I’m going to back away, in case it wants to start on me.’

Jimmy slowly retreated, never taking his eyes off the crab. It was now moving round and round in a steadily widening spiral, apparently searching for fragments it might have overlooked, and so Jimmy was able to get an overall view of it for the first time.

Now that the initial shock had worn off, he could appreciate that it was quite a handsome beast. The name ‘crab’ which he had automatically given it was perhaps a little misleading; if it had not been so impossibly large, he might have called it a beetle. Its carapace had a beautiful metallic sheen; in fact, he would almost have been prepared to swear that it was metal.

That was an interesting idea. Could it be a robot, and not an animal? He stared at the crab intently with this thought in mind, analysing all the details of its anatomy. Where it should have had a mouth was a collection of manipulators that reminded Jimmy strongly of the multipurpose knives that are the delight of all red-blooded boys; there were pinchers, probes, rasps and even something that looked like a drill. But none of this was decisive. On Earth, the insect world had matched all these tools, and many more. The animal-or-robot question remained in perfect balance in his mind.

The eyes, which might have settled the matter, left it even more ambiguous. They were so deeply recessed in protective hoods that it was impossible to tell whether their lenses were made of crystal or jelly. They were quite expressionless and of a startlingly vivid blue. Though they had been directed towards Jimmy several times, they had never shown the slightest flicker of interest. In his perhaps biased opinion, that decided the level of the creature’s intelligence. An entity—robot or animal—which could ignore a human being could not be very bright.

It had now stopped its circling, and stood still for a few seconds, as if listening to some inaudible message. Then it set off, with a curious rolling gait, in the general direction of the Sea. It moved in a perfectly straight line at a steady four or five kilometres an hour, and had
already travelled a couple of hundred metres before Jimmy’s still slightly-shocked mind registered the fact that the last sad relics of his beloved Dragonfly were being carried away from him. He set off in a hot and indignant pursuit.

His action was not wholly illogical. The crab was heading towards the Sea—and if any rescue was possible, it could only be from this direction. Moreover, he wanted to discover what the creature would do with its trophy; that should reveal something about its motivation and intelligence.

Because he was still bruised and stiff, it took Jimmy several minutes to catch up with the purposefully-moving crab. When he had done so, he followed it at a respectful distance, until he felt sure that it did not resent his presence. It was then that he noticed his water flask and emergency ration pack among the debris of Dragonfly, and instantly felt both hungry and thirsty.

There, scuttling away from him at a remorseless five kilometres an hour, was the only food and drink in all this half of the world. Whatever the risk, he had to get hold of it.

He cautiously closed in on the crab, approaching from right rear. While he kept station with it, he studied the complicated rhythm of its legs, until he could anticipate where they would be at any moment. When he was ready, he muttered a quick ‘Excuse me,’ and shot swiftly in to grab his property.

Jimmy had never dreamed that he would one day have to exercise the skills of a pickpocket, and was delighted with his success. He was out again in less than a second, and the crab never slackened its steady pace.

He dropped back a dozen metres, moistened his lips from the flask, and started to chew a bar of meat concentrate. The little victory made him feel much happier; now he could even risk thinking about his sombre future.

While there was life, there was hope; yet he could imagine no way in which he could possibly be rescued. Even if his colleagues crossed the Sea, how could he reach them, half a kilometre below? ‘We’ll find a way down somehow,’ Hub Control had promised. ‘That cliff can’t go right round the world, without a break anywhere.’ He had been tempted to answer ‘Why not?’ but had thought better of it.

One of the strangest things about walking inside Rama was that you could always see your destination. Here, the curve of the world did not hide—it revealed. For some time Jimmy had been aware of the crab’s objective; up there in the land which seemed to rise before him was a half-kilometre-wide pit. It was one of three in the southern continent; from the Hub, it had been impossible to see how deep they were. All had been named after prominent lunar craters, and he was approaching Copernicus. The name was hardly appropriate, for there were no surrounding hills and no central peaks. This Copernicus was merely a deep shaft or well, with perfectly vertical sides.

When he came close enough to look into it, Jimmy was able to see a pool of ominous, leaden-green water at least half a kilometre below. This would put it just about level with the Sea, and he wondered if they were connected.

Winding down the interior of the well was a spiral ramp, completely recessed into the sheer wall, so that the effect was rather like that of rifling in an immense gun barrel. There seemed to be a remarkable number of turns; not until Jimmy had traced them for several revolutions, getting more and more confused in the process, did he realize that there was not one ramp but three, totally independent and 120 degrees apart. In any other background than Rama, the whole concept would have been an impressive architectural tour de force.

The three ramps led straight down into the pool and disappeared beneath its opaque surface. Near the waterline Jimmy could see a group of black tunnels or caves; they looked rather sinister, and he wondered if they were inhabited. Perhaps the Ramans were amphibious…

As the crab approached the edge of the well, Jimmy assumed that it was going to descend one of the ramps—perhaps taking the wreckage of Dragonfly to some entity who would be able to evaluate it. Instead, the creature walked straight to the brink, extended almost half its body over the gulf without any sign of hesitation—though an error of a few centimetres would have been disastrous—and gave a brisk shrug. The fragments of Dragonfly went fluttering down into the depths; there were tears in Jimmy’s eyes as he watched them go. So much, he thought bitterly, for this creature’s intelligence.

Having disposed of the garbage, the crab swung around and started to walk towards Jimmy, standing only about ten metres away. Am I going to get the same treatment? he wondered. He hoped the camera was not too unsteady as he showed Hub Control the rapidly approaching monster. ‘What do you advise?’ he whispered anxiously, without much hope that he would get a useful answer. It was some small consolation to realize that he was making history, and his mind raced through the approved patterns for such a meeting. Until now, all of these had been purely theoretical. He would be the first man to check them in practice.

‘Don’t run until you’re sure it’s hostile’, Hub Control whispered back at him. Run where? Jimmy asked himself. He thought he could outdistance the thing in a hundred metre sprint, but had a sick certainty that it could wear him down over the long haul.

Slowly, Jimmy held up his outstretched hands. Men had been arguing for two hundred years about this gesture; would every creature, everywhere in the universe, interpret this as ‘See—no weapons?’ But no one could think of anything better.

The crab showed no reaction whatsoever, nor did it slacken its pace. Ignoring Jimmy completely, it walked straight past him and headed purposefully into the south. Feeling extremely foolish, the acting representative of Homo sapiens watched his First Contact stride away across the Raman plain, totally indifferent to his presence.

He had seldom been so humiliated in his life. Then Jimmy’s sense of humour came to his rescue. After all, it was no great matter to have been ignored by an animated garbage truck. It would have been worse if it had greeted him as a long-lost brother…

He walked back to the rim of Copernicus, and stared down into its opaque waters. For the first time, he noticed that vague shapes—some of them quite large—were moving slowly back and forth beneath the surface. Presently one of them headed towards the nearest spiral ramp, and something that looked like a multi-legged tank started on the long ascent. At the rate it was going, Jimmy decided, it would take almost an hour to get here; if it was a threat, it was a very slow-moving one.

Then he noticed a flicker of much more rapid movement, near those cave-like openings down by the waterline. Something was travelling very swiftly along the ramp, but he could not focus clearly upon it, or discern any definite shape. It was as if he was looking at a small whirlwind or ‘dust-devil’, about the size of a man…

He blinked and shook his head, keeping his eyes closed for several seconds. When he opened them again, the apparition was gone.

Perhaps the impact had shaken him up more than he had realized; this was the first time he had ever suffered from visual hallucinations. He would not mention it to Hub Control.

Nor would he bother to explore those ramps, as he had half-thought of doing. It would obviously be a waste of energy.

The spinning phantom he had merely imagined seeing had nothing to do with his decision—nothing at all; for, of course, Jimmy did not believe in ghosts.

CHAPTER 30

THE FLOWER

JIMMY’S EXERTIONS HAD made him thirsty, and he was acutely conscious of the fact that in all this land there was no water that a man could drink. With the contents of his flask, he could probably survive a week—but for what purpose? The best brains of Earth would soon be focused on his problem; doubtless Commander Norton would be bombarded with suggestions. But he could imagine no way in which he could lower himself down the face of that half-kilometre cliff. Even it he had a long enough rope, there was nothing to which he could attach it.

Nevertheless, it was foolish—and unmanly—to give up without a struggle. Any help would have to come from the Sea, and while he was marching towards it he could carry on with his job as if nothing had happened. No one else would ever observe and photograph the varied terrain through which he must pass, and that would guarantee a posthumous immortality. Though he would have preferred many other honours, that was better than nothing.

He was only three kilometres from the Sea as poor Dragonfly could have flown, but it seemed unlikely that he could reach it in a straight line; some of the terrain ahead of him might prove too great an obstacle. That was no problem, however, as there were plenty of alternative routes. Jimmy could see them all, spread out on the great curving map that swept up and away from him on either side.

He had plenty of time; he would start with the most interesting scenery, even if it took him off his direct route. About a kilometre away towards the right was a square that glittered like cut glass—or a gigantic display of jewellery. It was probably this thought that triggered Jimmy’s footsteps. Even a doomed man might reasonably be expected to take some slight interest in a few thousand square metres of gems.

He was not particularly disappointed when they turned out to be quartz crystals, millions of them, set in a bed of sand. The adjacent square of the checkerboard was rather more interesting, being covered with an apparently random pattern of hollow metal columns, set very close together and ranging in height from less than one to more than five metres. It was completely impassable; only a tank could have crashed through that forest of tubes.

Jimmy walked between the crystals and the columns until he came to the first crossroads. The square on the right was a huge rug or tapestry made of woven wire; he tried to prise a strand loose, but was unable to break it. On the left was a tessellation of hexagonal tiles, so smoothly inlaid that there were no visible joints between them. It would have appeared a continuous surface, had the tiles not been coloured all the hues of the rainbow. Jimmy spent many minutes trying to find two adjacent tiles of the same colour, to see if he could then distinguish their boundaries, but he could not find a single example of such coincidence.

As he did a slow pan right around the crossroads, he said plaintively to Hub Control: ‘What do you think this is? I feel I’m trapped in a giant jigsaw puzzle. Or is this the Raman Art Gallery?’

‘We’re as baff
led as you, Jimmy. But there’s never been any sign that the Ramans go in for art. Let’s wait until we have some more examples before we jump to any conclusions.’

The two examples he found at the next crossroads were not much help. One was completely blank—a smooth, neutral grey, hard but slippery to the touch. The other was a soft sponge, perforated with billions upon billions of tiny holes. He tested it with his foot, and the whole surface undulated sickeningly beneath him like a barely stabilized quicksand.

At the next crossroads he encountered something strikingly like a ploughed field—except that the furrows were a uniform metre in depth, and the material of which they were made had the texture of a file or rasp. But he paid little attention to this, because the square adjacent to it was the most thought-provoking of all that he had so far met. At last there was something that he could understand; and it was more than a little disturbing.

The entire square was surrounded by a fence, so conventional that he would not have looked at it twice had he seen it on Earth. There were posts—apparently of metal—five metres apart, with six strands of wire strung taut between them.

Beyond this fence was a second, identical one—and beyond that, a third. It was another typical example of Raman redundancy; whatever was penned inside this enclosure would have no chance of breaking out. There was no entrance—no gates that could be swung open to drive in the beast, or beasts, that were presumably kept here. Instead, there was a single hole, like a smaller version of Copernicus, in the centre of the square.

Even in different circumstances, Jimmy would probably not have hesitated, but now he had nothing to lose. He quickly scaled all three fences, walked over to the hole, and peered into it.

Unlike Copernicus, this well was only fifty metres deep. There were three tunnel exits at the bottom, each of which looked large enough to accommodate an elephant. And that was all.

After staring for some time, Jimmy decided that the only thing that made sense about the arrangement was for the floor down there to be an elevator. But what it elevated he was never likely to know; he could only guess that it was quite large, and possibly quite dangerous.

During the next few hours, he walked more than ten kilometres along the edge of the Sea, and the checkerboard squares had begun to blur together in his memory. He had seen some that were totally enclosed in tent-like structures of wire mesh, as if they were giant birdcages. There were others which seemed to be pools of congealed liquid, full of swirl-patterns; however, when he tested them gingerly, they were quite solid. And there was one so utterly black that he could not even see it clearly; only the sense of touch told him that anything was there.

Yet now there was a subtle modulation into something he could understand. Ranging one after the other towards the south was a series of—no other word would do—fields. He might have been walking past an experimental farm on Earth; each square was a smooth expanse of carefully levelled earth, the first he had ever seen in the metallic landscapes of Rama.

The great fields were virgin, lifeless—waiting for crops that had never been planted. Jimmy wondered what their purpose could be, since it was incredible that creatures as advanced as the Ramans would engage in any form of agriculture; even on Earth, farming was no more than a popular hobby and a source of exotic luxury foods. But he could swear that these were potential farms, immaculately prepared. He had never seen earth that looked so clean; each square was covered with a great sheet of tough, transparent plastic. He tried to cut through it to obtain a sample, but his knife would barely scratch the surface.

Further inland were other fields, and on many of them were complicated constructions of rods and wires, presumably intended for the support of climbing plants. They looked very bleak and desolate, like leafless trees in the depths of winter. The winter they had known must have been long and terrible indeed, and these few weeks of light and warmth might be only a brief interlude before it came again.

Jimmy never knew what made him stop and look more closely into the metal maze to the south. Unconsciously, his mind must have been checking every detail around him; it had noticed, in this fantastically alien landscape, something even more anomalous.

About a quarter of a kilometre away, in the middle of a trellis of wires and rods, glowed a single speck of colour. It was so small and inconspicuous that it was almost at the limit of visibility; on Earth, no one would have looked at it twice. Yet undoubtedly one of the reasons he had noticed it now was because it reminded him of Earth…

He did not report to Hub Control until he was sure that there was no mistake, and that wishful thinking had not deluded him. Not until he was only a few metres away could he be completely sure that life as he knew it had intruded into the sterile, aseptic world of Rama. For blooming here in lonely splendour at the edge of the southern continent was a flower.

As he came closer, it was obvious to Jimmy that something had gone wrong. There was a hole in the sheathing that, presumably, protected this layer of earth from contamination by unwanted life forms. Through this break extended a green stem, about as thick as a man’s little finger, which twined its way up through the trellis-work. A metre from the ground it burst into an efflorescence of bluish leaves, shaped more like feathers than the foliage of any plant known to Jimmy. The stem ended, at eyelevel, in what he had first taken to be a single flower. Now he saw, with no surprise at all, that it was actually three flowers tightly packed together.

The petals were brightly coloured tubes about five centimetres long; there were at least fifty in each bloom, and they glittered with such metallic blues, violets and greens, that they seemed more like the wings of a butterfly than anything in the vegetable kingdom. Jimmy knew practically nothing about botany, but he was puzzled to see no trace of any structures resembling petals or stamens. He wondered if the likeness to terrestrial flowers might be a pure coincidence; perhaps this was something more akin to a coral polyp. In either case, it would seem to imply the existence of small, airborne creatures to serve either as fertilizing agents—or as food.

It did not really matter. Whatever the scientific definition, to Jimmy this was a flower. The strange miracle, the un-Raman-like accident of its existence here reminded him of all that he would never see again; and he was determined to possess it.

That would not be easy. It was more than ten metres away, separated from him by a latticework made of thin rods. They formed a cubic pattern, repeated over and over again, less than forty centimetres on either side. Jimmy would not have been flying sky-bikes unless he had been slim and wiry, so he knew he could crawl through the interstices of the grid. But getting out again might be quite a different matter; it would certainly be impossible for him to turn around, so he would have to retreat backwards.

Hub Control was delighted with his discovery, when he had described the flower and scanned it from every available angle. There was no objection when he said: ‘I’m going after it.’ Nor did he expect there to be; his life was now his own, to do with as he pleased.

He stripped off all his clothes, grasped the smooth metal rods, and started to wriggle into the framework. It was a tight fit; he felt like a prisoner escaping through the bars of his cell. When he had inserted himself completely into the lattice he tried backing out again, just to see if there were any problems. It was considerably more difficult, since he now had to use his outstretched arms for pushing instead of pulling, but he saw no reason why he should get helplessly trapped.

Jimmy was a man of action and impulse, not of introspection. As he squirmed uncomfortably along the narrow corridor of rods, he wasted no time asking himself just why he was performing so quixotic a feat. He had never been interested in flowers in his whole life, yet now he was gambling his last energies to collect one.

It was true that this specimen was unique, and of enormous scientific value. But he really wanted it because it was his last link with the world of life and the planet of his birth.

Yet when the flower was in his grasp, he had sudden qualms. Perha
ps it was the only flower that grew in the whole of Rama; was he justified in picking it?

If he needed any excuse, he could console himself with the thought that the Ramans themselves had not included it in their plans. It was obviously a freak, growing ages too late—or too soon. But he did not really require an excuse, and his hesitation was only momentary. He reached out, grasped the stem, and gave a sharp jerk.

The flower came away easily enough; he also collected two of the leaves, then started to back slowly through the lattice. Now that he had only one free hand, progress was extremely difficult, even painful, and he soon had to pause to regain his breath. It was then that he noticed that the feathery leaves were closing, and the headless stem was slowly unwinding itself from its supports. As he watched with a mixture of fascination and dismay, he saw that the whole plant was steadily retreating into the ground, like a mortally injured snake crawling back into its hole.

I’ve murdered something beautiful, Jimmy told himself. But then Rama had killed him. He was only collecting what was his rightful due.

CHAPTER 31

TERMINAL VELOCITY

COMMANDER NORTON HAD never yet lost a man, and he had no intention of starting now. Even before Jimmy had set off for the South Pole, he had been considering ways of rescuing him in the event of accident; the problem, however, had turned out to be so difficult that he had found no answer. All that he had managed to do was to eliminate every obvious solution.

How does one climb a half-kilometre vertical cliff; even in reduced gravity? With the right equipment—and training—it would be easy enough. But there were no piton-guns aboard Endeavour, and no one could think of any other practical way of driving the necessary hundreds of spikes into that hard, mirror surface.

He had glanced briefly at more exotic solutions, some frankly crazy. Perhaps a simp, fitted with suction pads, could make the ascent. But even if this scheme was practical, how long would it take to manufacture and test such equipment—and to train a simp to use it? He doubted if a man would have the necessary strength to perform the feat.

Then there was more advanced technology. The EVA propulsion units were tempting, but their thrust was too small, since they were designed for zero-gee operation. They could not possibly lift the weight of a man, even against Rama’s modest gravity.

Could an EVA thrust be sent up on automatic control, carrying only a rescue line? He had tried out this idea on Sergeant Myron, who had promptly shot it down in flames. There were, the engineer pointed out, severe stability problems; they might be solved, but it would take a long time—much longer than they could afford.

What about balloons? There seemed a faint possibility here, if they could devise an envelope and a sufficiently compact source of heat. This was the only approach that Norton had not dismissed, when the problem suddenly ceased to be one of theory, and became a matter of life and death, dominating the news in all the inhabited worlds.

While Jimmy was making his trek along the edge of the Sea, half the crackpots in the solar system were trying to save him. At Fleet Headquarters, all the suggestions were considered, and about one in a thousand was forwarded to Endeavour. Dr. Carlisle Perera arrived twice—once via the Survey’s own network, and once by PLANETCOM, RAMA PRIORITY. It had taken the scientist approximately five minutes of thought and one millisecond of computer time.

At first, Commander Norton thought it was a joke in very poor taste. Then he saw the sender’s name and the attached calculations, and did a quick double take.

He handed the message to Karl Mercer. ‘What do you think of this?’ he asked, in as noncommittal a tone of voice as he could manage.

Karl read it swiftly, then said, ‘Well I’m damned! He’s right, of course.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘He was right about the storm, wasn’t he? We should have thought of this; it makes me feel a fool.’

‘You have company. The next problem is—how do we break it to Jimmy?’

‘I don’t think we should … until the last possible minute. That’s how I’d prefer it, if I was in his place. Just tell him we’re on the way.’

Though he could look across the full width of the Cylindrical Sea, and knew the general direction from which Resolution was coming, Jimmy did not spot the tiny craft until it had already passed New York. It seemed incredible that it could carry six men—and whatever equipment they had brought to rescue him.

When it was only a kilometre away, he recognized Commander Norton, and started waving. A little later the skipper spotted him, and waved back.

‘Glad to see you’re in good shape, Jimmy,’ he radioed. ‘I promised we wouldn’t leave you behind. Now do you believe me?’

Not quite, Jimmy thought; until this moment he had still wondered if this was all a kindly plot to keep up his morale. But the Commander would not have crossed the Sea just to say goodbye; he must have worked out something.

‘I’ll believe you, Skipper,’ he said, ‘when I’m down there on the deck. Now will you tell me how I’m going to make it?’

Resolution was now slowing down, a hundred metres from the base of the cliff; as far as Jimmy could tell, she carried no unusual equipment—though he was not sure what he had expected to see.

‘Sorry about that, Jimmy, but we didn’t want you to have too many things to worry about.’

Now that sounded ominous; what the devil did he mean?

Resolution came to a halt, fifty metres out and five hundred below; Jimmy had almost a bird’s-eye view of the Commander as he spoke into his microphone.

‘This is it, Jimmy. You’ll be perfectly safe, but it will require nerve. We know you’ve got plenty of that. You’re going to jump.’

‘Five hundred metres!’

‘Yes, but at only half a gee.’

‘So—have you ever fallen two hundred and fifty on Earth?’

‘Shut up, or I’ll cancel your next leave. You should have worked this out for yourself … it’s just a question of terminal velocity. In this atmosphere, you can’t reach more than ninety kilometres an hour—whether you fall two hundred or two thousand metres. Ninety’s a little high for comfort, but we can trim it some more. This is what you’ll have to do, so listen carefully…’

‘I will,’ said Jimmy. ‘It had better be good.’

He did not interrupt the Commander again, and made no comment when Norton had finished. Yes, it made sense, and was so absurdly simple that it would take a genius to think of it. And, perhaps, someone who did not expect to do it himself…

Jimmy had never tried high-diving, or made a delayed parachute drop, which would have given him some psychological preparation for this feat. One could tell a man that it was perfectly safe to walk a plank across an abyss—yet even if the structural calculations were impeccable, he might still be unable to do it. Now Jimmy understood why the Commander had been so evasive about the details of the rescue. He had been given no time to brood, or to think of objections.

‘I don’t want to hurry you,’ said Norton’s persuasive voice from half a kilometre below. ‘But the sooner the better.’

Jimmy looked at his precious souvenir, the only flower in Rama. He wrapped it very carefully in his grimy handkerchief, knotted the fabric, and tossed it over the edge of the cliff.

It fluttered down with reassuring slowness, but it also took a very long time getting smaller, and smaller, and smaller, until he could no longer see it. But then Resolution surged forward, and he knew that it had been spotted.

‘Beautiful!’ exclaimed the Commander enthusiastically. ‘I’m sure they’ll name it after you. OK—we’re waiting…’

Jimmy stripped off his shirt—the only upper garment anyone ever wore in this now-tropical climate—and stretched it thoughtfully. Several times on his trek he had almost discarded it; now it might help save his life.

For the last time, he looked back at the hollow world he alone had explored, and the distant, ominous pinnacles of the Big and Little Horns. Then, grasping the shirt firmly with his right hand, he took a running jump as far out over the cliff as he could.

Now there was no particular hurry; he had a full twenty seconds in which to enjoy the experience. But he did not waste any time, as the wind strengthened around him and Resolution slowly expanded in his field of view. Holding his shirt with both hands, he stretched his arms above his head, so that the rushing air filled the garment and blew it into a hollow tube.

As a parachute, it was hardly a success; the few kilometres an hour it subtracted from his speed was useful, but not vital. It was doing a much more important job—keeping his body vertical, so that he would arrow straight into the sea.

He still had the impression that he was not moving at all, but that the water below was rushing up towards him. Once he had committed himself, he had no sense of fear; indeed, he felt a certain indignation against the skipper for keeping him in the dark. Did he really think that he would be scared to jump, if he had to brood over it too long?

At the very last moment, he let go of his shirt, took a deep breath, and grabbed his mouth and nose with his hands. As he had been instructed, he stiffened his body into a rigid bar, and locked his feet together. He would enter the water as cleanly as a falling spear…

‘It will be just the same,’ the Commander had promised, ‘as stepping off a diving board on Earth. Nothing to it—if you make a good entry.’

‘And if I don’t?’ he had asked.

‘Then you’ll have to go back and try again.’

Something slapped him across the feet—hard, but not viciously. A million slimy hands were tearing at his body; even though his eyes were tightly closed, he could tell that darkness was falling as he arrowed down into the depths of the Cylindrical Sea.

With all his strength, he started to swim upwards towards the fading light. He could not open his, eyes for more than a single blink; the poisonous water felt l
ike acid when he did so. He seemed to have been struggling for ages, and more than once he had a nightmare fear that he had lost his orientation and was really swimming downwards. Then he would risk another quick glimpse, and every time the light was stronger.

His eyes were still clenched tightly shut when he broke water. He gulped a precious mouthful of air, rolled over on his back, and looked around.

Resolution was heading towards him at top speed; within seconds, eager hands had grabbed him and dragged him aboard.

‘Did you swallow any water?’ was the Commander’s anxious question.

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Rinse out with this, anyway. That’s fine. How do you feel?’

‘I’m not really sure. I’ll let you know in a minute. Oh … thanks, everybody.’ The minute was barely up when Jimmy was only too sure how he felt.

‘I’m going to be sick,’ he confessed miserably.

His rescuers were incredulous. ‘In a dead calm—on a flat sea?’ protested Sergeant Barnes, who seemed to regard Jimmy’s plight as a direct reflection on her skill.

‘I’d hardly call it flat,’ said the Commander, waving his arm around the band of water that circled the sky. ‘But don’t be ashamed—you may have swallowed some of that stuff. Get rid of it as quickly as you can.’

Jimmy was still straining, unheroically and unsuccessfully, when there was a sudden flicker of light in the sky behind them. All eyes turned towards the South Pole, and Jimmy instantly forgot his sickness. The Horns had started their firework display again.

There were the kilometre-long streamers of fire, dancing from the central spike to its smaller companions. Once again they began their stately rotation, as if invisible dancers were winding their ribbons around an electric maypole. But now they began to accelerate, moving faster and faster until they blurred into a flickering cone of light.

It was a spectacle more awe-inspiring than any they had yet seen here, and it brought with it a distant crackling roar which added to the impression of overwhelming power. The display lasted for about five minutes; then it stopped as abruptly as if someone had turned a switch.

‘I’d like to know what the Rama Committee make of that,’ Norton muttered to no one in particular. ‘Has anyone here got any theories?’

There was no time for an answer, because at that moment Hub Control called in great excitement.

‘Resolution! Are you OK? Did you feel that?’

‘Feel what?’

‘We think it was an earthquake—it must have happened the minute those fireworks stopped.’

‘Any damage?’

‘I don’t think so. It wasn’t really violent but it shook us up a bit.’

‘We felt nothing at all. But we wouldn’t, out here in the Sea.’

‘Of course, silly of me. Anyway, everything seems quiet now… until next time.’

‘Yes, until the next time,’ Norton echoed. The mystery of Rama was steadily growing; the more they discovered about it, the less they understood.

There was a sudden shout from the helm. ‘Skipper—look—up there in the sky!’

Norton lifted his eyes, swiftly scanning the circuit of the Sea. He saw nothing, until his gaze had almost reached the zenith, and he was staring at the other side of the world.

‘My God,’ he whispered slowly, as he realized that the ‘next time’ was already almost here.

A tidal wave was racing towards them, down the eternal curve of the Cylindrical Sea.

CHAPTER 32

THE WAVE

YET EVEN IN that moment of shock, Norton’s first concern was for his ship.

‘Endeavour!’ he called. ‘Situation report!’

‘All OK, Skipper,’ was the reassuring answer from the Exec. ‘We felt a slight tremor, but nothing that could cause any damage. There’s been a small change of attitude—the bridge says about point two degrees. They also think the spin rate has altered slightly—we’ll have an accurate reading on that in a couple of minutes.’

So it’s beginning to happen, Norton told himself, and a lot earlier than we expected; we’re still a long way from perihelion, and the logical time for an orbit change. But some kind of trim was undoubtedly taking place—and there might be more shocks to come.

Meanwhile, the effects of this first one were all too obvious, up there on the curving sheet of water which seemed perpetually falling from the sky. The wave was still about ten kilometres away, and stretched the full width of the Sea from northern to southern shore. Near the land, it was a foaming wall of white, but in deeper water it was a barely visible blue line, moving much faster than the breakers on either flank. The drag of the shoreward shallows was already bending it into a bow, with the central portion getting further and further ahead.

‘Sergeant,’ said Norton urgently. ‘This is your job. What can we do?’

Sergeant Barnes had brought the raft completely to rest and was studying the situation intently. Her expression, Norton was relieved to see, showed no trace of alarm—rather a certain zestful excitement, like a skilled athlete about to accept a challenge.

‘I wish we had some soundings,’ she said. ‘If we’re in deep water, there’s nothing to worry about.’

‘Then we’re all right. We’re still four kilometres from shore.’

‘I hope so, but I want to study the situation.’

She applied power again, and swung Resolution around until it was just under way, heading directly towards the approaching wave. Norton judged that the swiftly moving central portion would reach them in less than five minutes, but he could also see that it presented no serious danger. It was only a racing ripple a fraction of a metre high, and would scarcely rock the boat. The walls of foam lagging far behind it were the real menace.

Suddenly, in the very centre of the Sea, a line of breakers appeared. The wave had clearly hit a submerged wall, several kilometres in length, not far below the surface. At the same time; the breakers on the two flanks collapsed, as they ran into deeper water.

Anti-slosh plates, Norton told himself. Exactly the same as in Endeavour’s own propellant tanks—but on a thousand-fold greater scale. There must be a complex pattern of them all around the Sea, to damp out any waves as quickly as possible. The only thing that matters now is: are we right on top of one?

Sergeant Barnes was one jump ahead of him. She brought Resolution to a full stop and threw out the anchor. It hit bottom at only five metres.

‘Haul it up!’ she called to her crewmates. ‘We’ve got to get away from here!’

Norton agreed heartily; but in which direction? The Sergeant was headed full speed towards the wave, which was now only five kilometres away. For the first time, he could hear the sound of its approach—a distant, unmistakable roar which he had never expected to hear inside Rama. Then it changed in intensity; the central portion was collapsing once more and the flanks were building up again.

He tried to estimate the distance between the submerged baffles, assuming that they were spaced at equal intervals. If he was right, there should be one more to come; if they could station the raft in the deep water between them, they would be perfectly safe.

Sergeant Barnes cut the motor, and threw out the anchor again. It went down thirty metres without hitting bottom.

“We’re OK,’ she said, with a sigh of relief. ‘But I’ll keep the motor running.’

Now there were only the lagging walls of foam along the coast; out here in the central Sea it was calm again, apart from the inconspicuous blue ripple still speeding towards them. The Sergeant was just holding Resolution on course towards the disturbance, ready to pour on full power at a moment’s notice.

Then, only two kilometres ahead of them, the Sea started to foam once more. It humped up in white-maned fury, and now its roaring seemed to fill the world. Upon the sixteen-kilometre-high wave of the Cylindrical Sea, a smaller ripple was superimposed, like an avalanche thundering down a mountain slope. And that ripple was quite large enough to kill them.

Sergeant Barnes must have seen the expressions on the faces of her crewmates. She shouted above the roar: ‘What are you scared about? I’ve ridden bigger ones than this.’ That wa
s not quite true; nor did she add that her earlier experience had been in a well-built surfboat, not an improvised raft. ‘But if we have to jump, wait until I tell you. Check your lifejackets.’

She’s magnificent, thought the Commander—obviously enjoying every minute, like a Viking warrior going into battle. And she’s probably right—unless we’ve miscalculated badly.

The wave continued to rise, curving upwards and over. The slope above them probably exaggerated its height, but it looked enormous—an irresistible force of nature that would overwhelm everything in its path.

Then, within seconds, it collapsed, as if its foundations had been pulled out from underneath it. It was over the submerged barrier, in deep water again. When it reached them a minute later Resolution merely bounced up and down a few times before Sergeant Barnes swung the raft around and set off at top speed towards the north.

‘Thanks, Ruby—that was splendid. But will we get home before it comes round for the second time?’

‘Probably not; it will be back in about twenty minutes. But it will have lost all its strength then; we’ll scarcely notice it.’

Now that the wave had passed, they could relax and enjoy the voyage—though no one would be completely at ease until they were back on land. The disturbance had left the water swirling round in random eddies, and had also stirred up a most peculiar acidic smell—’like crushed ants’, as Jimmy aptly put it. Though unpleasant, the odour caused none of the attacks of seasickness that might have been expected; it was something so alien that human physiology could not respond to it.

A minute later, the wave front hit the next underwater barrier, as it climbed away from them and up the sky. This time, seen from the rear, the spectacle was unimpressive and the voyagers felt ashamed of their previous fears. They began to feel themselves masters of the Cylindrical Sea.

The shock was therefore all the greater when, not more than a hundred metres away, something like a slowly rotating wheel began to rear up out of the water. Glittering metallic spokes five metres long, emerged dripping from the sea, spun for a moment in the fierce Raman glare, and splashed back into the water. It was as if a giant starfish with tubular arms had broken the surface.

At first sight, it was impossible to tell whether it was an animal or a machine. Then it flopped over and lay half-awash, bobbing up and down in the gentle aftermath of the wave.

Now they could see that there were nine arms, apparently jointed, radiating from a central disc. Two of the arms were broken, snapped off at the outer joint. The others ended at a complicated collection of manipulators that reminded Jimmy very strongly of the crab he had encountered. The two creatures came from the same line of evolution—or the same drawing board.

At the middle of the disc was a small turret, bearing three large eyes. Two were closed, one open—and even that appeared to be blank and unseeing. No one doubted that they were watching the death throes of some strange monster, tossed up to the surface by the submarine disturbance that had just passed.

Then they saw that it was not alone. Swimming round it, and snapping at its feebly moving limbs, were two small beasts like overgrown lobsters. They were efficiently chopping up the monster, and it did nothing to resist, though its own claws seemed quite capable of dealing with the attackers.

Once again, Jimmy was reminded of the crab that had demolished Dragonfly. He watched intently as the one-sided conflict continued, and quickly confirmed his impression.

‘Look, Skipper,’ he whispered. ‘Do you see—they’re not eating it. They don’t even have any mouths. They’re simply chopping it to pieces. That’s exactly what happened to Dragonfly.’

‘You’re right. They’re dismantling it … like … like a broken machine.’ Norton wrinkled his nose. ‘But no dead machine ever smelled like that!’

Then another thought struck him. ‘My God—suppose they start on us! Ruby, get us back to shore as quickly as you can!’

Resolution surged forward with reckless disregard for the life of her power cells. Behind them, the nine spokes of the great starfish—they could think of no better name for it—were clipped steadily shorter, and presently the weird tableau sank back into the depths of the Sea.

There was no pursuit, but they did not breathe comfortably again until Resolution had drawn up to the landing stage and they had stepped thankfully ashore.

As he looked back across that mysterious and now suddenly sinister band of water, Commander Norton grimly determined that no one would ever sail it again. There were too many unknowns, too many dangers…

He looked back upon the towers and ramparts of New York, and the dark cliff of the continent beyond. They were safe now from inquisitive man.

He would not tempt the gods of Rama again.

CHAPTER 33

SPIDER

FROM NOW ON, Norton had decreed, there would always be at least three people at Camp Alpha, and one of them would always be awake. In addition, all exploring parties would follow the same routine. Potentially dangerous creatures were on the move inside Rama, and though none had shown active hostility, a prudent commander would take no chances.

As an extra safeguard, there was always an observer up on the Hub, keeping watch through a powerful telescope. From this vantage point, the whole interior of Rama could be surveyed, and even the South Pole appeared only a few hundred metres away. The territory round any group of explorers was to be kept under regular observation; in this way, it was hoped to eliminate any possibility of surprise. It was a good plan—and it failed completely.

After the last meal of the day, and just before the 2200 hour sleep period, Norton, Rodrigo, Calvert and Laura Ernst were watching the regular evening news telecast specially beamed to them from the transmitter at Inferno, Mercury. They had been particularly interested in seeing Jimmy’s film of the Southern continent, and the return across the Cylindrical Sea—an episode which had excited all viewers. Scientists, news commentators, and members of the Rama Committee had given their opinions, most of them contradictory. No one could agree whether the crablike creature Jimmy had encountered was an animal, a machine, a genuine Raman—or something that fitted none of these categories.

They had just watched, with a distinctly queasy feeling, the giant starfish being demolished by its predators when they discovered that they were no longer alone. There was an intruder in the camp.

Laura Ernst noticed it first. She froze in sudden shock, then said: ‘Don’t move, Bill. Now look slowly to the right.’

Norton turned his head. Ten metres away was a slender-legged tripod surmounted by a spherical body no larger than a football. Set around the body were three large, expressionless eyes, apparently giving 360 degrees of vision, and trailing beneath it were three whiplike tendrils. The creature was not quite as tall as a man, and looked far too fragile to be dangerous, but that did not excuse their carelessness in letting it sneak up on them unawares. It reminded Norton of nothing so much as a three-legged spider, or daddy-long-legs, and he wondered how it had solved the problem—never challenged by any creature on Earth—of tripedal locomotion.

‘What do you make of it, Doc?’ he whispered, turning off the voice of the TV newscaster.

‘Usual Raman three-fold symmetry. I don’t see how it could hurt us, though those whips might be unpleasant—and they could be poisonous, like a coelenterate’s. Sit tight and see what it does.’

After regarding them impassively for several minutes, the creature suddenly moved—and now they could understand why they had failed to observe its arrival. It was fast, and it covered the ground with such an extraordinary spinning motion that the human eye and mind had real difficulty in following it.

As far as Norton could judge—and only a high-speed camera could settle the matter—each leg in turn acted as a pivot around which the creature whirled its body. And he was not sure, but it also seemed to him that every few ‘steps’ it reversed its direction of spin, while the three whips flickered over the ground like lightning as it moved. Its top speed—though this also was very hard to estimate—was at least thirty kilometres an hour.

It swept swiftly round the camp, examining every item of equipment, delicately touching the improvised beds and chairs and tables, communication gear, food containers, Electrosans, cameras, water tanks, tools—there seemed to be nothing that it ignored, except the four watchers. Clearly, it was intelligent enough to draw a distinction between humans and their inanimate property; its actions gave the unmistakable impression of an extremely methodical curiosity or inquisitiveness.

‘I wish I could examine it!’ Laura exclaimed in frustration, as the creature continued its swift pirouette. ‘Shall we try to catch it?’

‘How?’ Calvert asked, reasonably enough.

‘You know—the way primitive hunters bring down fast-moving animals with a couple of weights whirling around at the end of a rope. It doesn’t even hurt them.’

‘That I doubt,’ said Norton. ‘But even if it worked, we can’t risk it. We don’t know how intelligent this creature is—and a trick like that could easily break its legs. Then we would be in real trouble—from Rama, Earth and everyone else.’

‘But I’ve got to have a specimen!’

‘You may have to be content with Jimmy’s flower—unless one of these creatures cooperates with you. Force is out. How would you like it if something landed on Earth and decided that you would make a nice specimen for dissection?’

‘I don’t want to dissect it,’ said Laura, not at all convincingly. ‘I only want to examine it.’

‘Well, alien visitors might have the same attitude towards you, but you could have a very uncomfortable time before you believed them. We must make no move that could possibly be regarded as threatening.’

He was quoting from Ship’s Orders, of course, and Laura knew it. The claims of science had a lower priority than those of space diplomacy.

In fact, there was no need to bring in such elevated considerations; it was merely a matter of good manners. They were all visitors here, and had never even asked permission to come inside…

The creature seemed to have finished its inspection. It made one more high speed circuit of the camp, then shot off at a tangent towards the stairway.

‘I wonder how it’s going to manage the steps?’ Laura mused. Her
question was quickly answered; the spider ignored them completely, and headed up the gently sloping curve of the ramp without slackening its speed.

‘Hub Control,’ said Norton. ‘You may have a visitor shortly; take a look at the Alpha Stairway Section Six. And incidentally, thanks a lot for keeping such a good watch on us.’

It took a minute for the sarcasm to sink in; then the Hub observer started to make apologetic noises. ‘Er … I can just see something, Skipper, now you tell me it’s there. But what is it?’

‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ Norton answered, as he pressed the General Alert button. ‘Camp Alpha calling all stations. We’ve just been visited by a creature like a three-legged spider, with very thin legs, about two metres high, small spherical body, travels very fast with a spinning motion. Appears harmless but inquisitive. It may sneak up on you before you notice it. Please acknowledge.’

The first reply came from London, fifteen kilometres to the east.

‘Nothing unusual here, Skipper.’

The same distance to the west, Rome answered, sounding suspiciously sleepy.

‘Same here, Skipper. Uh, just a moment…’

‘What is it?’

‘I put my pen down a minute ago—it’s gone! What … oh!’

‘Talk sense!’

‘You won’t believe this, Skipper. I was making some notes—you know I like writing, and it doesn’t disturb anybody—I was using my favourite ball-point, it’s nearly two hundred years old—well, now it’s lying on the ground, about five metres away! I’ve got it—thank goodness—it isn’t damaged.’

‘And how do you suppose it got there?’

‘Er … I may have dozed off for a minute. It’s been a hard day.’

Norton sighed, but refrained from comment; there were so few of them, and they had so little time in which to explore a world. Enthusiasm could not always overcome exhaustion, and he wondered if they were taking unnecessary risks. Perhaps he should not split his men up into such small groups, and try to cover so much territory. But he was always conscious of the swiftly passing days, and the unsolved mysteries around them. He was becoming more and more certain that something was about to happen, and that they would have to abandon Rama even before it reached perihelion—the moment of truth when any orbit change must surely take place.

‘Now listen, Hub, Rome, London—everyone,’ he said. ‘I want a report at every half-hour through the night. We must assume that from now on we may expect visitors at any time. Some of them may be dangerous, but at all costs we have to avoid incidents. You all know the directives on this subject.’

That was true enough; it was part of their training—yet perhaps none of them had ever really believed that the long-theorized ‘physical contact with intelligent aliens’ would occur in their lifetimes—still less that they would experience it themselves.

Training was one thing, reality another; and no one could be sure that the ancient, human instincts of self-preservation would not take over in an emergency. Yet it was essential to give every entity they encountered in Rama the benefit of the doubt, up to the last possible minute—and even beyond.

Commander Norton did not want to be remembered by history as the man who started the first interplanetary war.

Within a few hours there were hundreds of the spiders, and they were all over the plain. Through the telescope, it could be seen that the southern continent was also infested with them—but not, it seemed, the island of New York.

They took no further notice of the explorers, and after a while the explorers took little notice of them—though from time to time Norton still detected a predatory gleam in his Surgeon-Commander’s eye. Nothing would please her better, he was sure, than for one of the spiders to have an unfortunate accident, and he would not put it past her to arrange such a thing in the interests of science.

It seemed virtually certain that the spiders could not be intelligent; their bodies were far too small to contain much in the way of brains, and indeed it was hard to see where they stored all the energy to move. Yet their behaviour was curiously purposeful and coordinated; they seemed to be everywhere, but they never visited the same place twice. Norton frequently had the impression that they were searching for something. Whatever it was, they did not seem to have discovered it.

They went all the way up to the central Hub, still scorning the three great stairways. How they managed to ascend the vertical sections, even under almost-zero gravity, was not clear; Laura theorized that they were equipped with suction pads.

And then, to her obvious delight, she got her eagerly desired specimen. Hub Control reported that a spider had fallen down the vertical face and was lying, dead or incapacitated, on the first platform. Laura’s time up from the plain was a record that would never be beaten.

When she arrived at the platform, she found that, despite the low velocity of impact, the creature had broken all its legs. Its eyes were still open, but it showed no reactions to any external tests. Even a fresh human corpse would have been livelier, Laura decided; as soon as she got her prize back to Endeavour, she started to work with her dissecting kit.

The spider was so fragile that it almost came to pieces without her assistance. She disarticulated the legs, then started on the delicate carapace, which split along three great circles and opened up like a peeled orange.

After some moments of blank incredulity—for there was nothing that she could recognize or identify—she took a series of careful photographs. Then she picked up her scalpel.

Where to start cutting? She felt like closing her eyes, and stabbing at random, but that would not have been very scientific.

The blade went in with practically no resistance. A second later, Surgeon-Commander Ernst’s most unladylike yell echoed the length and breadth of Endeavour.

It took an annoyed Sergeant McAndrews a good twenty minutes to calm down the startled simps.

CHAPTER 34

HIS EXCELLENCY REGRETS…

‘AS YOU ARE ALL aware, gentlemen,’ said the Martian Ambassador, ‘a great deal has happened since our last meeting. We have much to discuss—and to decide. I’m therefore particularly sorry that our distinguished colleague from Mercury is not here.’

That last statement was not altogether accurate. Dr. Bose was not particularly sorry that HE the Hermian Ambassador was absent. It would have been much more truthful to say that he was worried. All his diplomatic instincts told him that something was happening, and though his sources of information were excellent, he could gather no hints as to what it might be.

The Ambassador’s letter of apology had been courteous and entirely uncommunicative. His Excellency had regretted that urgent and unavoidable business had kept him from attending the meeting, either in person or by video. Dr. Bose found it very hard to think of anything more urgent—or more important—than Rama.

‘Two of our members have statements to make. I would first like to call on Professor Davidson.’

There was a rustle of excitement among the other scientists on the Committee. Most of them had felt that the astronomer, with his well-known cosmic viewpoint, was not the right man to be Chairman of the Space Advisory Council. He sometimes gave the impression that the activities of intelligent life were an unfortunate irrelevance in the majestic universe of stars and galaxies, and that it was bad manners to pay too much attention to it. This had not endeared him to exobiologists such as Dr. Perera, who took exactly the opposite view. To them, the only purpose of the Universe was the production of intelligence, and they were apt to talk sneeringly about purely astronomical phenomena. ‘Mere dead matter’ was one of their favourite phrases.

‘Mr. Ambassador,’ the scientist began, ‘I have been analysing the curious behaviour of Rama during the last few days, and would like to present my conclusions. Some of them are rather startling.’

Dr. Perera looked surprised, then rather smug. He strongly approved of anything that startled Professor Davidson.

‘First of all, there was the remarkable series of events when that young lieutenant flew over to the Southern hemisphere. The electrical dis
charges themselves, though spectacular, are not important; it is easy to show that they contained relatively little energy. But they coincided with a change in Rama’s rate of spin, and its attitude—that is, its orientation in space. This must have involved an enormous amount of energy; the discharges which nearly cost Mr. … er Pak his life were merely a minor by-product—perhaps a nuisance that had to be minimized by those giant lightning conductors at the South Pole.’

‘I draw two conclusions from this. When a spacecraft—and we must call Rama a spacecraft, despite its fantastic size—makes a change of attitude that usually means it is about to make a change of orbit. We must therefore take seriously the views of those who believe that Rama may be preparing to become another planet of our sun, instead of going back to the stars.’

‘If this is the case, Endeavour must obviously be prepared to cast off—is that what spaceships do?—at a moment’s notice. She may be in very serious danger while she is still physically attached to Rama. I imagine that Commander Norton is already well aware of this possibility, but I think we should send him an additional warning.’

‘Thank you very much, Professor Davidson. Yes—Dr. Solomons?’

‘I’d like to comment on that,’ said the science historian. ‘Rama seems to have made a change of spin without using any jets or reaction devices. This leaves only two possibilities, it seems to me.’

‘The first one is that it has internal gyroscopes, or their equivalent. They must be enormous; where are they?’

‘The second possibility—which would turn all our physics upside down—is that it has a reactionless propulsion system. The so-called Space Drive, which Professor Davidson doesn’t believe in. If this is the case, Rama may be able to do almost anything. We will be quite unable to anticipate its behaviour, even on the gross physical level.’

The diplomats were obviously somewhat baffled by this exchange, and the astronomer refused to be drawn. He had gone out on enough limbs for one day.

‘I’ll stick to the laws of physics, if you don’t mind, until I’m forced to give them up. If we’ve not found any gyroscopes in Rama, we may not have looked hard enough, or in the right place.’

Ambassador Bose could see that Dr. Perera was getting impatient. Normally, the exobiologist was as happy as anyone else to engage in speculation; but now, for the first time, he had some solid facts. His long-impoverished science had become wealthy overnight.

‘Very well—if there are no other comments—I know that Dr. Perera has some important information.’

‘Thank you, Mr. Ambassador. As you’ve all seen, we have at last obtained a specimen of a Raman life form, and have observed several others at close quarters. Surgeon-Commander Ernst, Endeavour’s medical officer, has sent a full report on the spider-like creature she dissected. I must say at once that some of her results are baffling, and in any other circumstances I would have refused to believe them.’

‘The spider is definitely organic, though its chemistry differs from ours in many respects—it contains considerable quantities of light metals. Yet I hesitate to call it an animal, for several fundamental reasons.’

‘In the first place, it seems to have no mouth, no stomach, no gut—no method of ingesting food! Also no air intakes, no lungs, no blood, no reproductive system…’

‘You may wonder what it has got. Well, there’s a simple musculature, controlling its three legs and the three whiplike tendrils or feelers. There’s a brain—fairly complex, mostly concerned with the creature’s remarkably developed triocular vision. But eighty per cent of the body consists of a honeycomb of large cells, and this is what gave Dr. Ernst such an unpleasant surprise when she started her dissection. If she’d been luckier she might have recognized it in time, because it’s the one Raman structure that does exist on Earth—though only in a handful of marine animals.’

‘Most of the spider is simply a battery, very much like that found in electric cells and rays. But in this case, it’s apparently not used for defence. It’s the creature’s source of energy. And that is why it has no provisions for eating and breathing; it doesn’t need such primitive arrangements. And incidentally, this means that it would be perfectly at home in a vacuum…’

‘So we have a creature which, to all intents and purposes, is nothing more than a mobile eye. It has no organs of manipulation; those tendrils are much too feeble. If I had been given its specifications, I would have said it was merely a reconnaissance device.’

‘Its behaviour certainly fits that description. All the spiders ever do is to run around and look at things. That’s all they can do…’

‘But the other animals are different. The crab, the starfish, the sharks—for want of better words—can obviously manipulate their environment and appear to be specialized for various functions. I assume that they are also electrically powered since, like the spider, they appear to have no mouths.’

‘I’m sure you’ll appreciate the biological problems raised by all this. Could such creatures evolve naturally? I really don’t think so. They appear to be designed like machines, for specific jobs. If I had to describe them, I would say that they are robots—biological robots—something that has no analogy on Earth.’

‘If Rama is a spaceship, perhaps they are part of its crew. As to how they are born—or created—that’s something I can’t tell you. But I can guess that the answer’s over there in New York. If Commander Norton and his men can wait long enough, they may encounter increasingly more complex creatures, with unpredictable behaviour. Somewhere along the line they may meet the Ramans themselves—the real makers of this world.’

‘And when that happens, gentlemen, there will be no doubt about it at all…’

CHAPTER 35

SPECIAL DELIVERY

COMMANDER NORTON WAS sleeping soundly when his personal communicator dragged him away from happy dreams. He had been holidaying with his family on Mars, flying past the awesome, snow-capped peak of Nix Olympica—mightiest volcano in the solar system. Little Billie had started to say something to him; now he would never know what it was.

The dream faded; the reality was his executive officer, up on the ship.

‘Sorry to wake you, Skipper,’ said Lieutenant-Commander Kirchoff. ‘Triple A priority from Headquarters.’

‘Let me have it,’ Norton answered sleepily.

‘I can’t. It’s in code—Commander’s Eyes Only.’

Norton was instantly awake. He had received such a message only three times in his whole career, and on each occasion it had meant trouble.

‘Damn!’ he said. ‘What do we do now?’

His Exec did not bother to answer. Each understood the problem perfectly; it was one that Ship’s Orders had never anticipated. Normally, a commander was never more than a few minutes away from his office and the codebook in his personal safe. If he started now, Norton might get back to the ship—exhausted—in four or five hours. That was not the way to handle a Class AAA Priority.

‘Jerry,’ he said at length. ‘Who’s on the switchboard?’

‘No one; I’m making the call myself.’

‘Recorder off?’

‘By an odd breach of regulations, yes.’

Norton smiled. Jerry was the best Exec he had ever worked with. He thought of everything.

‘OK. You know where my key is. Call me back.’

He waited as patiently as he could for the next ten minutes, trying—without much success—to think of other problems. He hated wasting mental effort; it was very unlikely that he could outguess the message that was coming, and he would know its contents soon enough. Then he would start worrying effectively.

When the Exec called back, he was obviously speaking under considerable strain.

‘It’s not really urgent Skipper—an hour won’t make any difference. But I prefer to avoid radio. I’ll send it down by messenger.’

‘But why—oh, very well—I trust your judgement. Who will carry it through the airlocks?’

‘I’m going myself; I’ll call you when I reach the Hub.’

‘Which leaves Laura in charge.’

‘For one hour, at the most. I’ll get right back to the ship.’

A medical officer did not have the specialized training to be acting commander, any more than a commander could be expected to do an operation. In emergencies, both jobs had sometimes been successfully switched; but it was not recommended. Well, one order had already been broken tonight…

‘For the record, you never leave the ship. Have you woken Laura?’

‘Yes. She’s delighted with the opportunity.’

‘Lucky that doctors are used to keeping secrets. Oh—have you sent the acknowledgement?’

‘Of course, in your name.’

‘Then I’ll be waiting.’

Now it was quite impossible to avoid anxious anticipations. ‘Not really urgent—but I prefer to avoid radio…’

One thing was certain. The Commander was not going to get much more sleep this night.

CHAPTER 36

BIOT WATCHER

SERGEANT PIETER ROUSSEAU knew why he had volunteered for this job; in many ways, it was a realization of a childhood dream. He had become fascinated by telescopes when he was only six or seven years old, and much of his youth had been spent collecting lenses of all shapes and sizes. These he had mounted in cardboard tubes, making instruments of ever-increasing power until he was familiar with the moon and planets, the nearer space stations, and the entire landscape within thirty-kilometres of his home.

He had been lucky in his place of birth, among the mountains of Colorado; in almost every direction, the view was spectacular and inexhaustible. He had spent hours exploring, in perfect safety, the peaks which every year took their toll of careless climbers. Though he had seen much, he had imagined even more; he had liked to pretend that over each crest of rock, beyond the reach of his telescope, were magic kingdoms full of wonderful creatures. And so for years he had avoided visiting the places his lenses brought to him, because he knew
that the reality could not live up to the dream.

Now, on the central axis of Rama, he could survey marvels beyond the wildest fantasies of his youth. A whole world lay spread out before him—a small one, it was true, yet a man could spend an entire lifetime exploring four thousand square kilometres, even when it was dead and changeless.

But now life, with all its infinite possibilities, had come to Rama. If the biological robots were not living creatures, they were certainly very good imitations.

No one knew who invented the word ‘biot’; it seemed to come into instant use, by a kind of spontaneous generation. From his vantage point on the Hub, Pieter was Biot-Watcher-in-Chief, and he was beginning—so he believed—to understand some of their behaviour patterns.

The Spiders were mobile sensors, using vision—and probably touch—to examine the whole interior of Rama. At one time there had been hundreds of them rushing around at high speed, but after less than two days they had disappeared; now it was quite unusual to see even one.

They had been replaced by a whole menagerie of much more impressive creatures; it had been no minor task, thinking of suitable names for them. There were the Window Cleaners, with large padded feet, who were apparently polishing their way the whole length of Rama’s six artificial suns. Their enormous shadows, cast right across the diameter of the world, sometimes caused temporary eclipses on the far side.

The crab that had demolished Dragonfly seemed to be a “scavenger”. A relay chain of identical creatures had approached Camp Alpha and carried off all the debris that had been neatly stacked on the outskirts; they would have carried off everything else if Norton and Mercer had not stood firm and defied them. The confrontation had been anxious but brief; thereafter the Scavengers seemed to understand what they were allowed to touch, and arrived at regular intervals to see if their services were required. It was a most convenient arrangement, and indicated a high degree of intelligence—either on the part of the Scavengers themselves, or some controlling entity elsewhere.

Garbage disposal on Rama was very simple; everything was thrown into the Sea, where it was, presumably, broken down into forms that could be used again. The process was rapid; Resolution had disappeared overnight, to the great annoyance of Ruby Barnes. Norton had consoled her by pointing out that it had done its job magnificently—and he would never have allowed anyone to use it again. The Sharks might not be as discriminating as the Scavengers.

No astronomer discovering an unknown planet could have been happier than Pieter when he spotted a new type of biot and secured a good photo of it through his telescope. Unfortunately, it seemed that all the interesting species were over at the South Pole, where they were performing mysterious tasks round the Horns. Something that looked like a centipede with suction pads could be seen from time to time exploring Big Horn itself, while round the lower peaks Pieter had caught a glimpse of a burly creature that could have been a cross between a hippopotamus and a bulldozer. And there was even a double-necked giraffe, which apparently acted as a mobile crane.

Presumably, Rama, like any ship, required testing, checking and repairing after its immense voyage. The crew was already hard at work; when would the passengers appear?

Biot classifying was not Pieter’s main job; his orders were to keep watch on the two or three exploring parties that were always out, to see that they did not get into trouble, and to warn them if anything approached. He alternated every six hours with anyone else who could be spared, though more than once he had been on duty for twelve hours at a stretch. As a result, he now knew the geography of Rama better than any man who would ever live. It was as familiar to him as the Colorado mountains of his youth.

When Jerry Kirchoff emerged from Airlock Alpha, Pieter knew at once that something unusual was happening. Personnel transfers never occurred during the sleeping period, and it was now past midnight by Mission Time. Then Pieter remembered how short-handed they were, and was shocked by a much more startling irregularity.

‘Jerry—who’s in charge of the ship?’

‘I am,’ said the Exec coldly, as he flipped open his helmet. ‘You don’t think I’d leave the bridge while I’m on watch, do you?’

He reached into his suit carryall, and pulled out a small can still bearing the label: CONCENTRATED ORANGE JUICE: TO MAKE FIVE LITRES.

‘You’re good at this Pieter. The skipper is waiting for it.’

Pieter hefted the can, then said, ‘I hope you’ve put enough mass inside it—sometimes they get stuck on the first terrace.’

‘Well, you’re the expert.’

That was true enough. The Hub observers had had plenty of practice, sending down small items that had been forgotten or were needed in a hurry. The trick was to get them safely past the low-gravity region and then to see that the Coriolis effect did not carry them too far away from the Camp during the eight-kilometre roll downhill.

Pieter anchored himself firmly, grasped the can, and hurled it down the face of the cliff. He did not aim directly towards Camp Alpha, but almost thirty degrees away from it.

Almost immediately, air resistance robbed the can of its initial speed, but then the pseudo-gravity of Rama took over and it started to move downwards at a constant velocity. It hit once near the base of the ladder, and did a slow motion bounce which took it clear of the first terrace.

‘It’s OK now,’ said Pieter. ‘Like to make a bet?’

‘No,’ was the prompt reply. ‘You know the odds.’

‘You’re no sportsman. But I’ll tell you now—it will stop within three hundred metres of the Camp.’

‘That doesn’t sound very close.’

‘You might try it some time. I once saw Joe miss by a couple of kilometres.’

The can was no longer bouncing; gravity had become strong enough to glue it to the curving face of the North Dome. By the time it had reached the second terrace it was rolling along at twenty or thirty kilometres an hour, and had reached very nearly the maximum speed that friction would allow.

‘Now we’ll have to wait,’ said Pieter, seating himself at the telescope, so that he could keep track of the messenger. ‘It will be there in ten minutes. Ah, here comes the skipper—I’ve got used to recognizing people from this angle—now he’s looking up at us.’

‘I believe that telescope gives you a sense of power.’

‘Oh, it does. I’m the only person who knows everything that’s happening in Rama. At least, I thought I did,’ he added plaintively, giving Kirchoff a reproachful look.

‘If it will keep you happy, the skipper found he’d run out of toothpaste.’

After that, conversation languished; but at last Pieter said: ‘Wish you’d taken that bet … he’s only got to walk fifty metres … now he sees it … mission complete.’

‘Thanks, Pieter—a very good job. Now you can go back to sleep.’

‘Sleep! I’m on watch until 0400.’

‘Sorry—you must have been sleeping. Or how else could you have dreamed all this?’

SPACE SURVEY HQ TO COMMANDER SSV ENDEAVOUR. PRIORITY AAA. CLASSIFICATION YOUR EYES ONLY. NO PERMANENT RECORD.

SPACEGUARD REPORTS ULTRA HIGH SPEED VEHICLE APPARENTLY LAUNCHED MERCURY TEN TO TWELVE DAYS AGO ON RAMA INTERCEPT. IF NO ORBIT CHANGE ARRIVAL PREDICTED DATE 322 DAYS 15 HOURS. MAY BE NECESSARY YOU EVACUATE BEFORE THEN. WILL ADVISE FURTHER. C IN C

Norton read the message half a dozen times to memorize the date. It was hard to keep track of time inside Rama; he had to look at his calendar watch to see that it was now Day 315. That might leave them only one week…

The message was chilling, not only for what it said, but for what it implied. The Hermians had made a clandestine launch—that in itself a breach of Space Law. The conclusion was obvious; their ‘vehicle’ could only be a missile.

But why? It was inconceivable—well, almost inconceivable—that they would risk endangering Endeavour, so presumably he would receive ample warning from the Hermians themselves. In an emergency, he could leave at a few hours’ notice, though he would do so only under extreme protest, at the direct orders of the Commander-in-Chief.

Slowly, and v
ery thoughtfully, he walked across to the improvised life-support complex and dropped the message into an electrosan. The brilliant flare of laser light bursting out through the crack beneath the seat cover told him that the demands of security were satisfied. It was too bad, he told himself, that all problems could not be disposed of so swiftly and hygienically.

CHAPTER 37

MISSILE

THE MISSILE WAS STILL five million kilometres away when the glare of its plasma braking jets became clearly visible in Endeavour’s main telescope. By that time the secret was already out, and Norton had reluctantly ordered the second and perhaps final evacuation of Rama; but he had no intention of leaving until events gave him no alternative.

When it had completed its braking manoeuvre, the unwelcome guest from Mercury was only fifty kilometres from Rama, and apparently carrying out a survey through its TV cameras. These were clearly visible—one fore and one aft—as were several small omni-antennas and one large directional dish, aimed steadily at the distant star of Mercury. Norton wondered what instructions were coming down that beam, and what information was going back.

Yet the Hermians could learn nothing that they did not already know; all that Endeavour had discovered had been broadcast throughout the solar system. This spacecraft—which had broken all speed records to get here—could only be an extension of its makers’ will, an instrument of their purpose. That purpose would soon be known, for in three hours the Hermian Ambassador to the United Planets would be addressing the General Assembly.

Officially, the missile did not yet exist. It bore no identification marks, and was not radiating on any standard beacon frequency. This was a serious breach of law, but even SPACEGUARD had not yet issued a formal protest. Everyone was waiting, with nervous impatience, to see what Mercury would do next.

It had been three days since the missile’s existence—and origin—had been announced; all that time, the Hermians had remained stubbornly silent. They could be very good at that, when it suited them.

Some psychologists had claimed that it was almost impossible to understand fully the mentality of anyone born and bred on Mercury. Forever exiled from Earth by its three-times-more-powerful gravity, Hermians could stand on the Moon and look across the narrow gap to the planet of their ancestors—even of their own parents—but they could never visit it. And so, inevitably, they claimed that they did not want to.

They pretended to despise the soft rains, the rolling fields, the lakes and seas, the blue skies—all the things that they could know only through recordings. Because their planet was drenched with such solar energy that the daytime temperature often reached six hundred degrees, they affected a rather swaggering roughness that did not bear a moment’s serious examination. In fact, they tended to be physically weak, since they could only survive if they were totally insulated from their environment. Even if he could have tolerated the gravity, a Hermian would have been quickly incapacitated by a hot day in any equatorial country on Earth.

Yet in matters that really counted, they were tough. The psychological pressures of that ravening star so close at hand, the engineering problems of tearing into a stubborn planet and wrenching from it all the necessities of life—these had produced a spartan and in many ways highly admirable culture. You could rely on the Hermians; if they promised something, they would do it—though the bill might be considerable. It was their own joke that, if the sun ever showed signs of going nova, they would contract to get it under control—once the fee had been settled. It was a non-Hermian joke that any child who showed signs of interest in art, philosophy or abstract mathematics was ploughed straight back into the hydroponic farms. As far as criminals and psychopaths were concerned, this was not a joke at all. Crime was one of the luxuries that Mercury could not afford.

Commander Norton had been to Mercury once, had been enormously impressed—like most visitors—and had acquired many Hermian friends. He had fallen in love with a girl in Port Lucifer, and had even contemplated signing a three-year contract, but parental disapproval of anyone from outside the orbit of Venus had been too strong. It was just as well.

‘Triple A message from Earth, Skipper,’ said the bridge. ‘Voice and back-up text from Commander-in-Chief. Ready to accept?’

‘Check and file text; let me have the voice.’

‘Here it comes.’

Admiral Hendrix sounded calm and matter-of-fact, as if he was issuing a routine fleet order, instead of handling a situation unique in the history of space. But then, he was not ten kilometres from the bomb.

‘C-in-C to Commander, Endeavour. This is a quick summary of the situation as we see it now. You know that the General Assembly meets at 14.00 and you’ll be listening to the proceedings. It is possible that you may then have to take action immediately, without consultation; hence this briefing.’

‘We’ve analysed the photos you have sent us; the vehicle is a standard space probe, modified for high-impulse and probably laser-riding for initial boost. Size and mass are consistent with fusion bomb in the 500 to 1,000 megaton range; the Hermians use up to 100 megatons routinely in their mining operations, so they would have had no difficulty in assembling such a warhead.’

‘Our experts also estimate that this would be the minimum size necessary to assure destruction of Rama. If it was detonated against the thinnest part of the shell—underneath the Cylindrical Sea—the hull would be ruptured and the spin of the body would complete its disintegration.’

‘We assume that the Hermians, if they are planning such an act, will give you ample time to get clear. For your information, the gamma-ray flash from such a bomb could be dangerous to you up to a range of a thousand kilometres.’

‘But that is not the most serious danger. The fragments of Rama, weighing tons and spinning off at almost a thousand kilometres an hour, could destroy you at an unlimited distance. We therefore recommend that you proceed along the spin axis, since no fragments will be thrown off in that direction. Ten thousand kilometres should give an adequate safety margin.’

‘This message cannot be intercepted; it is going by multiple-pseudo-random routing, so I can talk in clear English. Your reply may not be secure, so speak with discretion and use code when necessary. I will call you immediately after the General Assembly discussion. Message concluded. C-in-C, out.’

CHAPTER 38

GENERAL ASSEMBLY

ACCORDING TO THE HISTORY books—though no one could really believe it—there had been a time when the old United Nations had 172 members. The United planets had only seven; and that was sometimes bad enough. In order of distance from the Sun, they were Mercury, Earth, Luna, Mars, Ganymede, Titan and Triton.

The list contained numerous omissions and ambiguities which presumably the future would rectify. Critics never tired of pointing out that most of the United Planets were not planets at all, but satellites. And how ridiculous that the four giants, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus and Neptune were not included…

But no one lived on the Gas Giants, and quite possibly no one ever would. The same might be true of the other major absentee, Venus. Even the most enthusiastic of planetary engineers agreed that it would take centuries to tame Venus; meanwhile the Hermians kept their eyes on her, and doubtless brooded over long-range plans.

Separate representation for Earth and Luna had also been a bone of contention; the other members argued that it put too much power in one corner of the solar system. But there were more people on the Moon than all the other worlds except Earth itself—and it was the meeting place of the UP. Moreover, Earth and Moon hardly ever agreed on anything, so they were not likely to constitute a dangerous bloc.

Mars held the asteroids in trust—except for the Icarian group (supervised by Mercury) and a handful with perihelions beyond Saturn—and thus claimed by Titan. One day the larger asteroids, such as Pallas, Vesta, Juno and Ceres, would be important enough to have their own ambassadors, and membership of the UP would then reach two figures.

Ganymede represented not only Jupiter—and therefore more mass than all the rest of the solar system put together—but also the remaining fifty or so Jovian satellites, if one included temporary captures from the asteroid belt (the lawyers were still arguing over this). In the same way, Titan took care of Saturn, its rings and the other thirty-plus satellites.

The situation for Triton was even more complicated. The large moon of Neptune was the outermost body in the solar system under permanent habitation; as a result, its ambassador wore a considerable number of hats. He represented Uranus and its eight moons (none yet occupied); Neptune and its other three satellites; Pluto and its solitary moon; and lonely, moonless Persephone. If there were planets beyond Persephone, they too would be Triton’s responsibility. And as if that was not enough, the Ambassador for the Outer Darkness, as he was sometimes called, had been heard to ask plaintively: ‘What about comets?’ It was generally felt that this problem could be left for the future to solve.

And yet, in a very real sense, that future was already here. By some definitions, Rama was a comet; they were the only other visitors from the interstellar deeps, and many had travelled on hyperbolic orbits even closer to the Sun than Rama’s. Any space-lawyer could make a very good case out of that—and the Hermian Ambassador was one of the best.

‘We recognize His Excellency the Ambassador for Mercury.’

As the delegates were arranged counter-clockwise in order of distance from the sun, the Hermian was on the President’s extreme right. Up to the very last minute, he had been interfacing with his computer; now he removed the synchronizing spectacles which allowed no one else to read the message on the display screen. He picked up his sheaf of notes, and rose briskly to his feet.

‘Mr. President, distinguished fellow delegates, I would like to begin with a brief summary of the situation which now confronts us.’

From
some delegates, that phrase ‘a brief summary’ would have evoked silent groans among all listeners; but everyone knew that Hermians meant exactly what they said.

‘The giant spaceship, or artificial asteroid, which has been christened Rama was detected over a year ago, in the region beyond Jupiter. At first it was believed to be a natural body, moving on a hyperbolic orbit which would take it round the sun and on to the stars.’

‘When its true nature was discovered, the Solar Survey Vessel Endeavour was ordered to rendezvous with it. I am sure we will all congratulate Commander Norton and his crew for the efficient way in which they have carried out their unique assignment.’

‘At first, it was believed that Rama was dead—frozen for so many hundreds of thousands of years that there was no possibility of revival. This may still be true, in a strictly biological sense. There seems general agreement, among those who have studied the matter, that no living organism of any complexity can survive more than a very few centuries of suspended animation. Even at absolute zero, residual quantum effects eventually erase too much cellular information to make revival possible. It therefore appeared that, although Rama was of enormous archaeological importance, it did not present any major astropolitical problems.’

‘It is now obvious that this was a very naïve attitude, though even from the first there were some who pointed out that Rama was too precisely aimed at the Sun for pure chance to be involved.’

‘Even so, it might have been argued—indeed, it was argued—that here was an experiment that had failed. Rama had reached the intended target, but the controlling intelligence had not survived. This view also seems very simple-minded; it surely underestimates the entities we are dealing with.’

‘What we failed to take into account was the possibility of non-biological survival. If we accept Dr. Perera’s very plausible theory, which certainly fits all the facts, the creatures who have been observed inside Rama did not exist until a short time ago. Their patterns, or templates, were stored in some central information bank, and when the time was ripe they were manufactured from available raw materials—presumably the metallo-organic soup of the Cylindrical Sea. Such a feat is still somewhat beyond our own ability, but does not present any theoretical problems. We know that solid-state circuits, unlike living matter, can store information without loss, for indefinite periods of time.’

‘So Rama is now in full operating condition, serving the purpose of its builders—whoever they may be. From our point of view, it does not matter if the Ramans themselves have all been dead for a million years, or whether they too will be re-created, to join their servants, at any moment. With or without them, their will is being done and will continue to be done.’

‘Rama has now given proof that its propulsion system is still operating. In a few days, it will be at perihelion, where it would logically make any major orbit change. We may therefore soon have a new planet—moving through the solar space over which my government has jurisdiction. Or it may, of course, make additional changes and occupy a final orbit at any distance from the sun. It could even become a satellite of a major planet—such as Earth…’

‘We are therefore, fellow delegates, faced with a whole spectrum of possibilities, some of them very serious indeed. It is foolish to pretend that these creatures must be benevolent and will not interfere with us in any way. If they come to our solar system, they need something from it. Even if it is only scientific knowledge—consider how that knowledge may be used.’

‘What confronts us now is a technology hundreds, perhaps thousands, of years in advance of ours, and a culture which may have no points of contact whatsoever. We have been studying the behaviour of the biological robots—the biots—inside Rama, as shown on the films that Commander Norton has relayed, and we have arrived at certain conclusions which we wish to pass on to you.’

‘On Mercury we are perhaps unlucky in having no indigenous life forms to observe. But, of course, we have a complete record of terrestrial zoology, and we find in it one striking parallel with Rama.’

‘This is the termite colony. Like Rama, it is an artificial world with a controlled environment. Like Rama, its functioning depends upon a whole series of specialized biological machines: workers, builders, farmers—warriors. And although we do not know if Rama has a queen, I suggest that the island known as New York serves a similar function.’

‘Now, it would obviously be absurd to press this analogy too far; it breaks down at many points. But I put it to you for this reason: What degree of cooperation or understanding would ever be possible between human beings and termites? When there is no conflict of interest, we tolerate each other. But when either needs the other’s territory or resources, no quarter is given.’

‘Thanks to our technology and our intelligence, we can always win, if we are sufficiently determined. But sometimes it is not easy, and there are those who believe that, in the long run, final victory may yet go to the termites…’

‘With this in mind, consider now the appalling threat that Rama may—I do not say must—present to human civilization. What steps have we taken to counter it, if the worst eventuality should occur? None whatsoever; we have merely talked and speculated and written learned papers.’

‘Well, my fellow delegates, Mercury has done more than this. Acting under the provisions of Clause 34 of the Space Treaty of 2057, which entitled us to take any steps necessary to protect the integrity of our solar space, we have dispatched a high-energy nuclear device to Rama. We will indeed be happy if we never have to utilize it. But now, at least, we are not helpless—as we were before.’

‘It may be argued that we have acted unilaterally, without prior consultation. We admit that. But does anyone here imagine—with, all respect, Mister President—that we could have secured any such agreement in the time available? We consider that we are acting not only for ourselves, but for the whole human race. All future generations may one day thank us for our foresight.’

‘We recognized that it would be a tragedy—even a crime—to destroy an artifact as wonderful as Rama. If there is any way in which this can be avoided, without risk to humanity, we will be very happy to hear of it. We have not found one, and time is running out.’

‘Within the next few days, before Rama reaches perihelion, the choice will have to be made. We will, of course, give ample warning to Endeavour—but we would advise Commander Norton always to be ready to leave at an hour’s notice. It is conceivable that Rama may undergo further dramatic transformations at any moment.’

‘That is all, Mister President, fellow delegates. I thank you for your attention. I look forward to your cooperation.’

CHAPTER 39

COMMAND DECISION

‘WELL, ROD, how do the Hermians fit into your theology?’

‘Only too well, Commander,’ replied Rodrigo with a humourless smile. ‘It’s the age-old conflict between the forces of good and the forces of evil. And there are times when men have to take sides in such a conflict.’

I thought it would be something like that, Norton told himself. This situation must have been a shock to Boris, but he would not have resigned himself to passive acquiescence. The Cosmo-Christers were very energetic, competent people. Indeed, in some ways they were remarkably like the Hermians.

‘I take it you have a plan, Rod.’

‘Yes, Commander. It’s really quite simple. We merely have to disable the bomb.’

‘Oh. And how do you propose to do that?’

‘With a small pair of wire-cutters.’

If this had been anyone else, Norton would have assumed that they were joking. But not Boris Rodrigo.

‘Now just a minute! It’s bristling with cameras. Do you suppose the Hermians will just sit and watch you?’

‘Of course; that’s all they can do. When the signal reaches them, it will be far too late. I can easily finish the job in ten minutes.’

‘I see. They certainly will be mad. But suppose the bomb is booby-trapped so that interference sets it off?’

‘That seems very unlikely; what would be the purpose? This bomb was built for a specific deep-spa
ce mission, and it will be fitted with all sorts of safety devices to prevent detonation except on a positive command. But that’s a risk I’m prepared to take—and it can be done without endangering the ship. I’ve worked everything out.’

‘I’m sure you have,’ said Norton. The idea was fascinating—almost seductive in its appeal; he particularly liked the idea of the frustrated Hermians; and would give a good deal to see their reactions when they realized—too late—what was happening to their deadly toy.

But there were other complications, and they seemed to multiply as Norton surveyed the problem. He was facing by far the most difficult, and the most crucial, decision in his entire career.

And that was a ridiculous understatement. He was faced with the most difficult decision any commander had ever had to make; the future of the entire human race might well depend upon It. For just suppose the Hermians were right?

When Rodrigo had left, he switched on the DO NOT DISTURB sign; he could not remember when he had last used it, and was mildly surprised that it was working. Now, in the heart of his crowded, busy ship, he was completely alone—except for the portrait of Captain James Cook, gazing at him down the corridors of time.

It was impossible to consult with Earth; he had already been warned that any messages might be tapped—perhaps by relay devices on the bomb itself. That left the whole responsibility in his hands.

There was a story he had heard somewhere about a President of the United States—was it Roosevelt or Pérez?—who had a sign on his desk saying ‘The buck stops here’. Norton was not quite certain what a buck was, but he knew when one had stopped at his desk.

He could do nothing, and wait until the Hermians advised him to leave. How would that look in the histories of the future? Norton was not greatly concerned with posthumous fame or infamy, yet he would not care to be remembered for ever as the accessory to a cosmic crime—which it had been in his power to prevent.

And the plan was flawless. As he had expected, Rodrigo had worked out every detail, anticipated every possibility even the remote danger that the bomb might be triggered when tampered with. If that happened, Endeavour could still be safe, behind the shield of Rama. As for Lieutenant Rodrigo himself, he seemed to regard the possibility of instant apotheosis with complete equanimity.

Yet, even if the bomb was successfully disabled, that would be far from the end of the matter. The Hermians might try again—unless some way could be found of stopping them. But at least weeks of time would have been bought; Rama would be far past perihelion before another missile could possibly reach it. By then, hopefully, the worst fears of the alarmists might have been disproved. Or the reverse…

To act, or not to act—that was the question. Never before had Commander Norton felt such a close kinship with the Prince of Denmark. Whatever he did, the possibilities for good and evil seemed in perfect balance. He was faced with the most morally difficult of all decisions. If his choice was wrong, he would know very quickly. But if he was correct he might never be able to prove it…

It was no use relying any further on logical arguments and the endless mapping of alternative futures. That way one could go round and round in circles for ever. The time had come to listen to his inner voices.

He returned the calm, steady gaze across the centuries.

‘I agree with you, Captain,’ he whispered. ‘The human race has to live with its conscience. Whatever the Hermians argue, survival is not everything.’

He pressed the call button for the bridge circuit and said slowly, ‘Lieutenant Rodrigo—I’d like to see you.’

Then he closed his eyes, hooked his thumbs in the restraining straps of his chair, and prepared to enjoy a few moments of total relaxation. It might be some time before he would experience it again.

CHAPTER 40

SABOTEUR

THE SCOOTER HAD been stripped of all unnecessary equipment; it was now merely an open framework holding together propulsion, guidance and life-support systems. Even the seat for the second pilot had been removed, for every kilogram of extra mass had to be paid for in mission time.

That was one of the reasons, though not the most important, why Rodrigo had insisted on going alone. It was such a simple job that there was no need for any extra hands, and the mass of a passenger would cost several minutes of flight time. Now the stripped-down scooter could accelerate at over a third of a gravity; it could make the trip from Endeavour to the bomb in four minutes. That left six to spare; it should be sufficient.

Rodrigo looked back only once when he had left the ship; he saw that, as planned, it had lifted from the central axis and was thrusting gently away across the spinning disc of the North Face. By the time he reached the bomb, it would have placed the thickness of Rama between them.

He took his time, flying over the polar plain. There was no hurry here, because the bomb’s cameras could not yet see him, and he could therefore conserve fuel. Then he drifted over the curving rim of the world—and there was the missile, glittering in sunlight fiercer even than that shining on the planet of its birth.

Rodrigo had already punched in the guidance instructions. He initiated the sequence; the scooter spun on its gyros, and came up to full thrust in a matter of seconds. At first the sensation of weight seemed crushing; then Rodrigo adjusted to it. He had, after all, comfortably endured twice as much inside Rama—and had been born under three times as much on Earth.

The huge, curving exterior wall of the fifty-kilometre cylinder was slowly falling away beneath him as the scooter aimed itself directly at the bomb. Yet it was impossible to judge Rama’s size, since it was completely smooth and featureless—so featureless, indeed, that it was difficult to tell that it was spinning.

One hundred seconds into the mission; he was approaching the halfway point. The bomb was still too far away to show any details, but it was much brighter against the jet-black sky. It was strange to see no stars—not even brilliant Earth or dazzling Venus; the dark filters which protected his eyes against the deadly glare made that impossible. Rodrigo guessed that he was breaking a record; probably no other man had ever engaged in extra-vehicular work so close to the sun. It was lucky for him that solar activity was low.

At two minutes ten seconds the flip-over light started flashing, thrust dropped to zero, and the scooter spun through 180 degrees. Full thrust was back in an instant, but now he was decelerating at the same mad rate of three metres per second squared—rather better than that, in fact, since he had lost almost half his propellant mass. The bomb was twenty-five kilometres away; he would be there in another two minutes. He had hit a top speed of fifteen hundred kilometres an hour—which, for a space scooter, was utter insanity, and probably another record. But this was hardly a routine EVA, and he knew precisely what he was doing.

The bomb was growing; and now he could see the main antenna, holding steady on the invisible star of Mercury. Along that beam, the image of his approaching scooter had been flashing at the speed of light for the last three minutes. There were still two to go, before it reached Mercury.

What would the Hermians do, when they saw him? There would be consternation, of course; they would realize instantly that he had made a rendezvous with the bomb several minutes before they even knew he was on the way. Probably some stand-by observer would call higher authority—that would take more time. But even in the worst possible case—even if the officer on duty had authority to detonate the bomb, and pressed the button immediately—it would take another five minutes for the signal to arrive.

Though Rodrigo was not gambling on it—Cosmo-Christers never gambled—he was quite sure that there would be no such instantaneous reaction. The Hermians would hesitate to destroy a reconnaissance vehicle from Endeavour, even if they suspected its motives. They would certainly attempt some form of communication first—and that would mean more delay.

And there was an even better reason; they would not waste a gigaton bomb on a mere scooter. Wasted it would be, if it was detonated twenty kilometres from its target. They would have to move it first. Oh, he had plenty of time … but he would still assume the very worst. He would act as if the triggering impulse would arrive in the shortest possible time—just five minutes.

As the scooter closed in across the last few hundred metres, Rodrigo quickly matched the details he could now see with those he had studied in the photographs taken at long range. What had been only a collection of pictures became hard metal and smooth plastic—no longer abstract, but a deadly reality.

The bomb was a cylinder about ten metres long and three in diameter—by a strange coincidence, almost the same proportions as Rama itself. It was attached to the framework of the carrier vehicle by an open latticework of short I-beams. For some reason, probably to do with the location of the centre of mass, it was supported at right angles to the axis of the carrier, so that it conveyed an appropriately sinister hammerhead impression. It was indeed a hammer, one powerful enough to smash a world.

From each end of the bomb, a bundle of braided cables ran along the cylindrical side and disappeared through the latticework into the interior of the vehicle. All communication and control was here; there was no antenna of any kind on the bomb itself. Rodrigo had only to cut those two sets of cables and there would be nothing here but harmless, inert metal.

Although this was exactly what he had expected, it still seemed a little too easy. He glanced at his watch; it would be another thirty seconds before the Hermians, even if they had been watching when he rounded the edge of Rama, could know of his existence. He had an absolutely certain five minutes for uninterrupted work—and a ninety-nine per cent probability of much longer than that.

As soon as the scooter had drifted to a complete halt, Rodrigo grappled it to the missile framework so that the two formed a rigid structure. That took only seconds; he had already chosen his tools, and was out of the pilot’s seat at once, only slightly hampered by the stiffness of his heavy-insulatio

n suit.

The first thing he found himself inspecting was a small metal plate bearing the inscription:

DEPARTMENT OF POWER ENGINEERING

SECTION D,

47 SUNSET BOULEVARD,

VULCANOPOLIS, 17464

For information apply to HENRY K. JONES

Rodrigo suspected that, in a very few minutes, Mr. Jones might be rather busy.

The heavy wire-cutters made short work of the cable. As the fist strands parted, Rodrigo gave scarcely a thought to the fires of hell that were pent up only centimetres away; if his actions triggered them, he would never know.

He glanced again at his watch; this had taken less than a minute, which meant that he was on schedule. Now for the back-up cable—and then he could head for home, in full view of the furious and frustrated Hermians.

He was just beginning to work on the second cable assembly when he felt a faint vibration in the metal he was touching. Startled, he looked back along the body of the missile.

The characteristic blue-violet glow of a plasma thruster in action was hovering round one of the attitude control jets. The bomb was preparing to move.

The message from Mercury was brief, and devastating. It arrived two minutes after Rodrigo had disappeared around the edge of Rama.

COMMANDER ENDEAVOUR FROM MERCURY SPACE CONTROL, INFERNO WEST. YOU HAVE ONE HOUR FROM RECEIPT OF THIS MESSAGE TO LEAVE VICINITY OF RAMA. SUGGEST YOU PROCEED MAXIMUM ACCELERATION ALONG SPIN AXIS. REQUEST ACKNOWLEDGEMENT. MESSAGE ENDS.

Norton read it with sheer disbelief, then anger. He felt a childish impulse to radio back that all his crew were inside Rama, and it would take hours to get everyone out. But that would achieve nothing—except perhaps to test the will and nerve of the Hermians.

And why, several days before perihelion, had they decided to act? He wondered if the mounting pressure of public opinion was becoming too great, and they decided to present the rest of the human race with a fait accompli. It seemed an unlikely explanation; such sensitivity would have been uncharacteristic.

There was no way in which he could recall Rodrigo, for the scooter was now in the radio shadow of Rama and would be out of contact until they were in line of sight again. That would not be until the mission was completed—or had failed.

He would have to wait it out; there was still plenty of time—a full fifty minutes. Meanwhile, he had decided on the most effective answer to Mercury.

He would ignore the message completely, and see what the Hermians did next.

Rodrigo’s first sensation, when the bomb started to move, was not one of physical fear; it was something much more devastating. He believed that the universe operated according to strict laws, which not even God Himself could disobey—much less the Hermians. No message could travel faster than light; he was five minutes ahead of anything that Mercury could do.

This could only be a coincidence—fantastic, and perhaps deadly, but no more than that. By chance, a control signal must have been sent to the bomb at about the time he was leaving Endeavour; while he was travelling fifty kilometres, it had covered eighty million.

Or perhaps this was only an automatic change of attitude, to counter overheating somewhere in the vehicle. There were places where the skin temperature approached fifteen hundred degrees, and Rodrigo had been very careful to keep in the shadows as far as possible.

A second thruster started to fire, checking the spin given by the first. No, this was not a mere thermal adjustment. The bomb was re-orientating itself, to point towards Rama.

Useless to wonder why this was happening at this precise moment in time. There was one thing in his favour; the missile was a low-acceleration device. A tenth of a gee was the most that it could manage. He could hang on.

He checked the grapples attaching the scooter to the bomb framework, and re-checked the safety line on his own suit. A cold anger was growing in his mind, adding to his determination. Did this manoeuvre mean that the Hermians were going to explode the bomb without warning, giving Endeavour no chance to escape? That seemed incredible—an act not only of brutality but of folly, calculated to turn the rest of the solar system against them. And what would have made them ignore the solemn promise of their own Ambassador?

Whatever their plan, they would not get away with it.

The second message from Mercury was identical with the first, and arrived ten minutes later. So they had extended the deadline—Norton still had one hour. And they had obviously waited until a reply from Endeavour could have reached them before calling him again.

Now there was another factor; by this time they must have seen Rodrigo, and would have had several minutes in which to take action. Their instructions could already be on the way. They could arrive at any second.

He should be preparing to leave. At any moment, the sky-filling bulk of Rama might become incandescent along the edges, blazing with a transient glory that would far outshine the Sun.

When the main thrust came on, Rodrigo was securely anchored. Only twenty seconds later, it cut off again. He did a quick mental calculation; the delta vee could not have been more than fifteen kilometres an hour. The bomb would take over an hour to reach Rama; perhaps it was only moving in close to get a quicker reaction. If so, that was a wise precaution; but the Hermians had left it too late.

Rodrigo glanced at his watch, though by now he was almost aware of the time without having to check. On Mercury, they would now be seeing him heading purposefully towards the bomb, and less than two kilometres away from it. They could have no doubt of his intentions, and would be wondering if he had already carried them out.

The second set of cables went as easily as the first; like any good workman, Rodrigo had chosen his tools well. The bomb was disarmed; or, to be more accurate, it could no longer be detonated by remote command.

Yet there was one other possibility, and he could not afford to ignore it. There were no external contact fuses, but there might be internal ones, armed by the shock of impact. The Hermians still had control over their vehicle’s movements, and could crash it into Rama whenever they wished. Rodrigo’s work was not yet completely finished.

Five minutes from now, in that control room somewhere on Mercury, they would see him crawling back along the exterior of the missile, carrying the modestly-sized wire-cutters that had neutralized the mightiest weapon ever built by man. He was almost tempted to wave at the camera, but decided that it would seem undignified; after all, he was making history, and millions would watch this scene in the years to come. Unless, of course, the Hermians destroyed the recording in a fit of pique; he would hardly blame them.

He reached the mounting of the long-range antenna, and drifted hand-over-hand along it to the big dish. His faithful cutters made short work of the multiplex feed system, chewing up cables and laser wave guides alike. When he made the last snip, the antenna started to swing slowly around; the unexpected movement took him by surprise, until he realized that he had destroyed its automatic lock on Mercury. Just five minutes from now, the Hermians would lose all contact with their servant. Not only was it impotent; now it was blind and deaf.

Rodrigo climbed slowly back to the scooter, released the shackles, and swung it round until the forward bumpers were pressing against the missile, as close as possible to its centre of mass. He brought thrust up to full power, and held it there for twenty seconds.

Pushing against many times its own mass, the scooter responded very sluggishly. When Rodrigo cut the thrust back to zero, he took a careful reading of the bomb’s new velocity vector.

It would miss Rama by a wide margin and it could be located again with precision at any future time. It was, after all, a very valuable piece of equipment.

Lieutenant Rodrigo was a man of almost pathological honesty. He would not like the Hermians to accuse him of losing their property.

CHAPTER 41

HERO

‘DARLING,’ BEGAN NORTON, ‘this nonsense has cost us more than a day, but at least it’s given me a chance to talk to you.'<

br />

‘I’m still in the ship, and she’s heading back to station at the polar axis. We picked up Rod an hour ago, looking as if he’d just come off duty after a quiet watch. I suppose neither of us will ever be able to visit Mercury again, and I’m wondering if we’re going to be treated as heroes or villains when we get back to Earth. But my conscience is clear; I’m sure we did the right thing. I wonder if the Ramans will ever say “thank you”.’

‘We can stay here only two more days; unlike Rama, we don’t have a kilometre-thick skin to protect us from the sun. The hull’s already developing dangerous hotspots and we’ve had to put out some local screening. I’m sorry—I didn’t want to bore you with my problems…’

‘So there’s time for just one more trip into Rama, and I intend to make the most of it. But don’t worry—I’m not taking any chances.’

He stopped the recording. That, to say the least, was stretching the truth. There was danger and uncertainty about every moment inside Rama; no man could ever feel really at home there, in the presence of forces beyond his understanding. And on this final trip, now that he knew they would never return and that no future operations would be jeopardized, he intended to press his luck just a little further.

‘In forty-eight hours, then, we’ll have completed this mission. What happens then is still uncertain; as you know, we’ve used virtually all our fuel getting into this orbit. I’m still waiting to hear if a tanker can rendezvous with us in time to get back to Earth, or whether we’ll have to make planet-fall at Mars. Anyway, I should be home by Christmas. Tell Junior I’m sorry I can’t bring a baby biot; there’s no such animal…’

‘We’re all fine, but we’re very tired. I’ve earned a long leave after all this, and we’ll make up for lost time. Whatever they say about me, you can claim you’re married to a hero. How many wives have a husband who saved a world?’

As always, he listened carefully to the tape before duping it, to make sure that it was applicable to both his families. It was strange to think that he did not know which of them he would see first; usually, his schedule was determined at least a year in advance, by the inexorable movements of the planets themselves.

But that was in the days before Rama; now nothing would ever be the same again.

CHAPTER 42

TEMPLE OF GLASS

‘IF WE TRY IT,’ said Karl Mercer, ‘do you think the biots will stop us?’

‘They may; that’s one of the things I want to find out. Why are you looking at me like that?’

Mercer gave his slow, secret grin, which was liable to be set off at any moment by a private joke he might or might not share with his shipmates.

‘I was wondering, Skipper, if you think you own Rama. Until now, you’ve vetoed any attempt to cut into buildings. Why the switch? Have the Hermians given you ideas?’

Norton laughed, then suddenly checked himself. It was a shrewd question, and he was not sure if the obvious answers were the right ones.

‘Perhaps I have been ultra-cautious—I’ve tried to avoid trouble. But this is our last chance; if we’re forced to retreat we won’t have lost much.’

‘Assuming that we retreat in good order.’

‘Of course. But the biots have never shown hostility; and except for the Spiders, I don’t believe there’s anything here that can catch us—if we do have to run for it.’

‘You may run, Skipper, but I intend to leave with dignity. And incidentally, I’ve decided why the biots are so polite to us.’

‘It’s a little late for a new theory.’

‘Here it is, anyway. They think we’re Ramans. They can’t tell the difference between one oxy-eater and another.’

‘I don’t believe they’re that stupid.’

‘It’s not a matter of stupidity. They’ve been programmed for their particular jobs, and we simply don’t come into their frame of reference.’

‘Perhaps you’re right. We may find out—as soon as we start to work on London.’

Joe Calvert had always enjoyed those old bank-robbery movies, but he had never expected to be involved in one. Yet this was, essentially, what he was doing now.

The deserted streets of ‘London’ seemed full of menace, though he knew that was only his guilty conscience. He did not really believe that the sealed and windowless structures ranged all around them were full of watchful inhabitants, waiting to emerge in angry hordes as soon as the invaders laid a hand on their property. In fact, he was quite certain that this whole complex—like all the other towns—was merely some kind of storage area.

Yet a second fear, also based on innumerable ancient crime dramas, could be better grounded. There might be no clanging alarm bells and screaming sirens, but it was reasonable to assume that Rama would have some kind of warning system. How otherwise did the biots know when and where their services were needed?

‘Those without goggles, turn your backs,’ ordered Sergeant Myron. There was a smell of nitric oxides as the air itself started to burn in the beam of the laser torch, and a steady sizzling as the fiery knife sliced towards secrets that had been hidden since the birth of man.

Nothing material could resist this concentration of power, and the cut proceeded smoothly at a rate of several metres a minute. In a remarkably short time, a section large enough to admit a man had been sliced out.

As the cut-away section showed no signs of moving, Myron tapped it gently—then harder—then banged on it with all his strength. It fell inwards with a hollow, reverberating crash.

Once again, as he had done during that very first entrance into Rama, Norton remembered the archaeologist who had opened the old Egyptian tomb. He did not expect to see the glitter of gold; in fact, he had no preconceived ideas at all, as he crawled through the opening, his flashlight held in front of him.

A Greek temple made of glass—that was his first impression. The building was filled with row upon row of vertical crystalline columns, about a metre wide and stretching from floor to ceiling. There were hundreds of them, marching away into the darkness beyond the reach of his light.

Norton walked towards the nearest column and directed his beam into its interior. Refracted as through a cylindrical lens, the light fanned out on the far side to be focused and refocused, getting fainter with each repetition, in the array of pillars beyond. He felt that he was in the middle of some complicated demonstration in optics.

‘Very pretty,’ said the practical Mercer, ‘but what does it mean? Who needs a forest of glass pillars?’

Norton rapped gently on one column. It sounded solid, though more metallic than crystalline. He was completely baffled, and so followed a piece of useful advice he had heard long ago: ‘When in doubt, say nothing and move on.’

As he reached the next column, which looked exactly like the first, he heard an exclamation of surprise from Mercer.

‘I could have sworn this pillar was empty—now there’s something inside it.’

Norton glanced quickly back. ‘Where?’ he said. ‘I don’t see anything.’

He followed the direction of Mercer’s pointing finger. It was aimed at nothing; the column was still completely transparent.

‘You can’t see it?’ said Mercer incredulously. ‘Come around this side. Damn—now I’ve lost it!’

‘What’s going on here?’ demanded Calvert. It was several minutes before he got even the first approximation to an answer.

The columns were not transparent from every angle or under all illuminations. As one walked around them, objects would suddenly flash into view, apparently embedded in their depths like flies in amber—and would then disappear again. There were dozens of them, all different. They looked absolutely real and solid, yet many seemed to occupy the identical volume of space.

‘Holograms,’ said Calvert. ‘Just like a museum on Earth.’

That was the obvious explanation, and therefore Norton viewed it with suspicion. His doubts grew as he examined the other columns, and conjured up the images stored in their interiors.

Hand-tools (though for huge and peculiar hands), containers, small machines with keyboards that appeared to have been made for more than five fingers, scientific instruments, startlingly conventional domestic utensils, including knives and plates which apart from their size would not have attracted a second glance on any terrestrial table … they were all there, with hundreds of less identifiable objects, often jumbled up together in the same pillar. A museum, surely, would have some logical arrangement, some segregation of related items. This seemed to be a completely random collection of hardware.

They had photographed the elusive images inside a score of the crystal pillars when the sheer variety of items gave Norton a clue. Perhaps this was not a collection, but a catalogue, indexed according to some arbitrary but perfectly logical system. He thought of the wild juxtapositions that any dictionary or alphabetized list will give, and tried the idea on his companions.

‘I see what you mean,’ said Mercer. ‘The Ramans might be equally surprised to find us putting … ah … camshafts next to cameras.’

‘Or books beside boots’, added Calvert, after several seconds’ hard thinking. One could play this game for hours, he decided, with increasing degrees of impropriety.

‘That’s the idea,’ replied Norton. ‘This may be an indexed catalogue for 3-D images—templates—solid blueprints, if you like to call them that.’

‘For what purpose?’

‘Well, you know the theory about the biots … the idea that they don’t exist until they’re needed and then they’re created—synthesized—from patterns stored somewhere?’

‘I see,’ said Mercer slowly and thoughtfully. ‘So when a Raman needs a left-handed blivet, he punches out the correct code number, and a copy is manufactured from the pattern in here.’

‘Something like that. But please don’t ask me about the practical details.’

The pillars through which they had been moving had been steadily growing in size, and were now more than two metres in diameter. The images were correspondingly larger; it was obv

ious that, for doubtless excellent reasons, the Ramans believed in sticking to a one-to-one scale. Norton wondered how they stored anything really big, if this was the case.

To increase their rate of coverage, the four explorers had now spread out through the crystal columns and were taking photographs as quickly as they could get their cameras focused on the fleeting images. This was an astonishing piece of luck, Norton told himself, though he felt that he had earned it; they could not possibly have made a better choice than this Illustrated Catalogue of Raman Artifacts. And yet, in another way; it could hardly have been more frustrating. There was nothing actually here, except impalpable patterns of light and darkness; these apparently solid objects did not really exist.

Even knowing this, more than once Norton felt an almost irresistible urge to laser his way into one of the pillars, so that he could have something material to take back to Earth. It was the same impulse, he told himself wryly, that would prompt a monkey to grab the reflection of a banana in a mirror.

He was photographing what seemed to be some kind of optical device when Calvert’s shout started him running through the pillars.

‘Skipper—Karl—Will—look at this!’

Joe was prone to sudden enthusiasms, but what he had found was enough to justify any amount of excitement.

Inside one of the two-metre columns was an elaborate harness, or uniform, obviously made for a vertically-standing creature, much taller than a man. A very narrow central metal band apparently surrounded the waist, thorax or some division unknown to terrestrial zoology. From this rose three slim columns, tapering outwards and ending in a perfectly circular belt, an impressive metre in diameter. Loops equally spaced along it could only be intended to go round upper limbs or arms. Three of them…

There were numerous pouches, buckles, bandoliers from which tools (or weapons?) protruded, pipes and electrical conductors, even small black boxes that would have looked perfectly at home in an electronics lab on Earth. The whole arrangement was almost as complex as a spacesuit, though it obviously provided only partial covering for the creature wearing it.

And was that creature a Raman? Norton asked himself. We’ll probably never know; but it must have been intelligent—no mere animal could cope with all that sophisticated equipment.

‘About two and a half metres high,’ said Mercer thoughtfully, ‘not counting the head—whatever that was like.’

‘With three arms—and presumably three legs. The same plan as the Spiders, on a much more massive scale. Do you suppose that’s a coincidence?’

‘Probably not. We design robots in our own image; we might expect the Ramans to do the same.’

Joe Calvert, unusually subdued, was looking at the display with something like awe. ‘Do you suppose they know we’re here?’ he half-whispered.

‘I doubt it,’ said Mercer. ‘We’ve not even reached their threshold of consciousness—though the Hermians certainly had a good try.’

They were still standing there, unable to drag themselves away, when Pieter called from the Hub, his voice full of urgent concern.

‘Skipper—you’d better get outside.’

‘What is it—biots heading this way?’

‘No—something much more serious. The lights are going out.’

CHAPTER 43

RETREAT

WHEN HE HASTILY emerged from the hole they had lasered, it seemed to Norton that the six suns of Rama were as brilliant as ever. Surely, he thought, Pieter must have made a mistake … that’s not like him at all…

But Pieter had anticipated just this reaction.

‘It happened so slowly,’ he explained apologetically, ‘that it was a long time before I noticed any difference. But there’s no doubt about it—I’ve taken a meter reading. The light level’s down forty per cent.’

Now, as his eyes readjusted themselves after the gloom of the glass temple, Norton could believe him. The long day of Rama was drawing to its close.

It was still as warm as ever, yet Norton felt himself shivering. He had known this sensation once before, during a beautiful summer day on Earth. There had been an inexplicable weakening of light as if darkness was falling from the air, or the sun had lost its strength—though there was not a cloud in the sky. Then he remembered; a partial eclipse was in progress.

‘This is it,’ he said grimly. ‘We’re going home. Leave all the equipment behind—we won’t need it again.’

Now, he hoped, one piece of planning was about to prove its worth. He had selected London for this raid because no other town was so close to a stairway; the foot of Beta was only four kilometres away.

They set off at the steady, loping trot which was the most comfortable mode of travelling at half a gravity. Norton set a pace which, he estimated, would get them to the edge of the plain without exhaustion, and in the minimum of time. He was acutely aware of the eight kilometres they would still have to climb when they had reached Beta, but he would feel much safer when they had actually started the ascent.

The first tremor came when they had almost reached the stairway. It was very slight, and instinctively Norton turned towards the south, expecting to see another display of fireworks around the Horns. But Rama never seemed to repeat itself exactly; if there were any electrical discharges above those needle-sharp mountains, they were too faint to be seen.

‘Bridge,’ he called, ‘did you notice that?’

‘Yes, Skipper—very small shock. Could be another attitude change. We’re watching the rate gyro—nothing yet… Just a minute! Positive reading! Can just detect it—less than a microradian per second, but holding.’

So Rama was beginning to turn, though with almost imperceptible slowness. Those earlier shocks might have been a false alarm but this, surely, was the real thing.

‘Rate increasing five microrad. Hello, did you feel that shock?’

‘We certainly did. Get all the ship’s systems operational. We may have to leave in a hurry.’

‘Do you expect an orbit change already? We’re still a long way from perihelion.’

‘I don’t think Rama works by our textbooks. Nearly at Beta. We’ll rest there for five minutes.’

Five minutes was utterly inadequate, yet it seemed an age. For there was now no doubt that the light was failing, and failing fast.

Though they were all equipped with flashlights, the thought of darkness here was now intolerable; they had grown so psychologically accustomed to the endless day that it was hard to remember the conditions under which they had first explored this world. They felt an overwhelming urge to escape—to get out into the light of the Sun, a kilometre away on the other side of these cylindrical walls.

‘Hub Control!’ called Norton. ‘Is the searchlight operating? We may need it in a hurry.’

‘Yes, Skipper. Here it comes.’

A reassuring spark of light started to shine eight kilometres above their heads. Even against the now fading day of Rama, it looked surprisingly feeble; but it had served them before, and would guide them once again if they needed it.

This, Norton was grimly aware, would be the longest and most nerve-wracking climb they had ever done. Whatever happened, it would be impossible to hurry; if they overexerted themselves, they would simply collapse somewhere on that vertiginous slope, and would have to wait until their protesting muscles permitted them to continue. By this time, they must be one of the fittest crews that had ever carried out a space mission; but there were limits to what flesh and blood could do.

After an hour’s steady plodding they had reached the fourth section of the stairway, about three kilometres from the plain. From now on, it would be much easier; gravity was already down to a third of Earth value. Although there had been minor shocks from time to time, no other unusual phenomena had occurred, and there was still plenty of light. They began to feel more optimistic, and even to wonder if they had left too soon. One thing was certain, however; there was no going back. They had all walked for the last time on the plain of Rama.

It was while they were taking a ten-minute rest on the fourth platform that Joe Calvert suddenly exclaimed: ‘What’s that

noise, Skipper?’

‘Noise! I don’t hear anything.’

‘High-pitched whistle—dropping in frequency, you must hear it.’

‘Your ears are younger than mine—oh, now I do.’

The whistle seemed to come from everywhere. Soon it was loud, even piercing, and falling swiftly in pitch. Then it suddenly stopped.

A few seconds later it came again, repeating the same sequence. It had all the mournful, compelling quality of a lighthouse siren sending out its warnings into the fog-shrouded night. There was a message here, and an urgent one. It was not designed for their ears, but they understood it. Then, as if to make doubly sure, it was reinforced by the lights themselves.

They dimmed almost to extinction, then started to flash. Brilliant beads, like ball lightning, raced along the six narrow valleys that had once illuminated this world. They moved from both Poles towards the Sea in a synchronized, hypnotic rhythm which could have only one meaning. ‘To the Sea!’ the lights were calling, ‘To the Sea!’ And the summons was hard to resist; there was not a man who did not feel a compulsion to turn back, and to seek oblivion in the water of Rama.

‘Hub Control!’ Norton called urgently. ‘Can you see what’s happening?’

The voice of Pieter came back to him; he sounded awed, and more than a little frightened.

‘Yes, Skipper. I’m looking across at the Southern continent. There are still scores of biots over there—including some big ones. Cranes; Bulldozers … lots of Scavengers. And they’re all rushing back to the Sea faster than I’ve ever seen them move before. There goes a Crane—right over the edge! Just like Jimmy, but going down a lot quicker … it smashed to pieces when it hit … and here come the Sharks; they’re tearing into it … ugh; it’s not a pleasant sight…’

‘Now I’m looking at the plain. Here’s a Bulldozer that seems to have broken down … it’s going round and round in circles. Now a couple of Crabs are tearing into it, pulling it to pieces … Skipper, I think you’d better get back right away.’

‘Believe me,’ Norton said with deep feeling, ‘we’re coming just as quickly as we can.’

Rama was battening down the hatches, like a ship preparing for a storm. That was Norton’s overwhelming impression, though he could not have put it on a logical basis. He no longer felt completely rational; two compulsions were warring in his mind—the need to escape, and the desire to obey those bolts of lightning, that still flashed across the sky, ordering him to join the biots in their march to the sea.

One more section of stairway—another ten-minute pause, to let the fatigue poisons drain from his muscles. Then on again—another two kilometres to go, but let’s try not to think about that…

The maddening sequence of descending whistles abruptly ceased. At the same moment, the fireballs racing along the slots of the Straight Valleys stopped their seaward strobing; Rama’s six linear suns were once more continuous bands of light.

But they were fading fast, and sometimes they flickered, as if tremendous jolts of energy were being drained from waning power sources. From time to time, there were slight tremors underfoot; the bridge reported that Rama was still swinging with imperceptible slowness, like a compass needle responding to a weak magnetic field. This was perhaps reassuring; it was when Rama stopped its swing that Norton would really begin to worry.

All the biots had gone, so Pieter reported. In the whole interior of Rama, the only movement was that of human beings, crawling with painful slowness up the curving face of the north dome.

Norton had long since overcome the vertigo he had felt on that first ascent, but now a new fear was beginning to creep into his mind. They were so vulnerable here, on this endless climb from plain to Hub. Suppose that, when it had completed its attitude change, Rama started to accelerate?

Presumably its thrust would be along the axis. If it was in the northward direction, that would be no problem; they would be held a little more firmly against the slope which they were ascending. But if it was towards the south, they might be swept off into space, to fall back eventually on the plain far below.

He tried to reassure himself with the thought that any possible acceleration would be very feeble. Dr. Perera’s calculations had been most convincing; Rama could not possibly accelerate at more than a fiftieth of a gravity, or the Cylindrical Sea would climb the southern cliff and flood an entire continent. But Perera had been in a comfortable study back on Earth, not with kilometres of overhanging metal apparently about to crash down upon his head. And perhaps Rama was designed for periodic flooding.

No, that was ridiculous. It was absurd to imagine that all these trillions of tons could suddenly start moving with sufficient acceleration to shake him loose. Nevertheless, for all the remainder of the ascent, Norton never let himself get far from the security of the handrail.

Lifetimes later, the stairway ended; only a few hundred metres of vertical, recessed ladder were left. It was no longer necessary to climb this section since one man at the Hub, hauling on a cable, could easily hoist another against the rapidly diminishing gravity. Even at the bottom of the ladder a man weighed less than five kilos; at the top, practically zero.

So Norton relaxed in the sling, grasping a rung from time to time to counter the feeble Coriolis force still trying to push him off the ladder. He almost forgot his knotted muscles, as he had his last view of Rama.

It was about as bright now as a full moon on Earth; the overall scene was perfectly clear, but he could no longer make out the finer details. The South Pole was now partially obscured by a glowing mist; only the peak of Big Horn protruded through it—a small, black dot, seen exactly head-on.

The carefully-mapped but still unknown continent beyond the Sea was the same apparently random patchwork that it had always been. It was too foreshortened, and too full of complex detail, to reward visual examination, and Norton scanned it only briefly.

He swept his eyes round the encircling band of the Sea, and noticed for the first time a regular pattern of disturbed water, as if waves were breaking over reefs set at geometrically precise intervals. Rama’s manoeuvring was having some effect, but a very slight one. He was sure that Sergeant Barnes would have sailed forth happily under these conditions, had he asked her to cross the Sea in her lost Resolution.

New York, London, Paris, Moscow, Rome … he said farewell to all the cities of the northern continent, and hoped the Ramans would forgive him for any damage he had done. Perhaps they would understand that it was all in the cause of science.

Then, suddenly, he was at the Hub, and eager hands reached out to grab him, and to hurry him through the airlocks. His overstrained legs and arms were trembling so uncontrollably that he was almost unable to help himself, and he was content to be handled like a half-paralysed invalid.

The sky of Rama contracted above him, as he descended into the central crater of the Hub. As the door of the inner airlock shut off the view for ever, he found himself thinking: ‘How strange that night should be falling, now that Rama is closest to the sun!’

CHAPTER 44

SPACE DRIVE

A HUNDRED KILOMETRES was an adequate safety margin, Norton had decided. Rama was now a huge black rectangle, exactly broadside-on, eclipsing the sun. He had used this opportunity to fly Endeavour completely into shadow, so that the load could be taken off the ship’s cooling systems and some overdue maintenance could be carried out. Rama’s protective cone of darkness might disappear at any moment, and he intended to make as much use of it as he could.

Rama was still turning; it had now swung through almost fifteen degrees, and it was impossible to believe that some major orbit change was not imminent. On the United Planets, excitement had now reached a pitch of hysteria, but only a faint echo of this came to Endeavour. Physically and emotionally, her crew was exhausted; apart from a skeleton watch, everyone had slept for twelve hours after take-off from the North Polar Base. On doctor’s orders, Norton himself had used electro-sedation; even so, he had dreamed that he was climbing an infinite stairway.

The second day back on ship, everything had almost returned to normal; the exploration of Rama already seemed part of another life. Norton started to deal with the accumulated office work and to make plans for the future; but he refused the requests for interviews that had somehow managed to insinuate themselves into the Survey and even SPACEGUARD radio circuits. There were no messages from Mercury, and the UP General Assembly had adjourned its session, though it was ready to meet again at an hour’s notice.

Norton was having his first good night’s sleep, thirty hours after leaving Rama, when he was rudely shaken back to consciousness. He cursed groggily, opened a bleary eye at Karl Mercer—and then, like any good commander, was instantly wide awake.

‘It’s stopped turning?’

‘Yes. Steady as a rock.’

‘Let’s go to the bridge.’

The whole ship was awake; even the simps knew that something was afoot, and made anxious, meeping noises until Sergeant McAndrews reassured them with swift hand-signals. Yet as Norton slipped into his chair and fastened the restraints round his waist, he wondered if this might be yet another false alarm.

Rama was now foreshortened into a stubby cylinder, and the searing rim of the sun had peeked over one edge. Norton jockeyed Endeavour gently back into the umbra of the artificial eclipse, and saw the pearly splendour of the corona reappear across a background of the brighter stars. There was one huge prominence, at least half a million kilometres high, that had climbed so far from the sun that its upper branches looked like a tree of crimson fire.

So now we have to wait, Norton told himself. The important thing is not to get bored, to be ready to react at a moment’s notice, to keep all the instruments aligned and recording, no matter how long it takes.

That was strange. The star field was shifting, almost as if he had actuated the Roll thrusters. But he had touched no controls, and if there had been any real movement, he would have sensed it at once.

‘Skipper!’ said Calvert urgently from the Nay position, ‘we’re rolling�

��look at the stars! But I’m getting no instrument readings!’

‘Rate gyros operating?’

‘Perfectly normal—I can see the zero jitter. But we’re rolling several degrees a second!’

‘That’s impossible!’

‘Of course it is—but look for yourself…’

When all else failed, a man had to rely on eyeball instrumentation. Norton could not doubt that the star field was indeed slowly rotating—there went Sirius, across the rim of the port. Either the universe, in a reversion of pre-Copernican cosmology, had suddenly decided to revolve around Endeavour; or the stars were standing still, and the ship was turning.

The second explanation seemed rather more likely, yet it involved apparently insoluble paradoxes. If the ship was really turning at this rate, he would have felt it—literally by the seat of his pants, as the old saying went. And the gyros could not all have failed, simultaneously and independently.

Only one answer remained. Every atom of Endeavour must be in the grip of some force—and only a powerful gravitational field could produce this effect. At least, no other known field…

Suddenly, the stars vanished. The blazing disc of the sun had emerged from behind the shield of Rama, and its glare had driven them from the sky.

‘Can you get a radar reading? What’s the doppler?’

Norton was fully prepared to find that this too was inoperative, but he was wrong.

Rama was under way at last, accelerating at the modest rate of 0.015 gravities. Dr. Perera, Norton told himself, would be pleased; he had predicted a maximum of 0.02. And Endeavour was somehow caught in its wake like a piece of flotsam, whirling round and round behind a speeding ship . . .

Hour after hour, that acceleration held constant; Rama was falling away from Endeavour at steadily increasing speed. As its distance grew, the anomalous behaviour of the ship slowly ceased; the normal laws of inertia started to operate again. They could only guess at the energies in whose backlash they had been briefly caught, and Norton was thankful that he had stationed Endeavour at a safe distance before Rama had switched on its drive.

As to the nature of that drive, one thing was now certain, even though all else was mystery. There were no jets of gas, no beams of ions or plasma thrusting Rama into its new orbit. No one put it better than Sergeant-Professor Myron when he said, in shocked disbelief: ‘There goes Newton’s Third Law.’

It was Newton’s Third law, however, upon which Endeavour had to depend the next day, when she used her very last reserves of propellant to bend her own orbit outwards from the sun. The change was slight, but it would increase her perihelion distance by ten million kilometres. That was the difference between running the ship’s cooling system at ninety-five per cent capacity—and a certain fiery death.

When they had completed their own manoeuvre, Rama was two hundred thousand kilometres away, and difficult to see against the glare of the sun. But they could still obtain accurate radar measurements of its orbit; and the more they observed, the more puzzled they became.

They checked the figures over and over again, until there was no escaping from the unbelievable conclusion. It looked as if all the fears of the Hermians, the heroics of Rodrigo, and the rhetoric of the General Assembly, had been utterly in vain.

What a cosmic irony, said Norton as he looked at his final figures, if after a million years of safe guidance Rama’s computers had made one trifling error—perhaps changing the sign of an equation from plus to minus.

Everyone had been so certain that Rama would lose speed, so that it could be captured by the sun’s gravity and thus become a new planet of the solar system. It was doing just the opposite.

It was gaining speed—and in the worst possible direction. Rama was falling ever more swiftly into the sun.

CHAPTER 45

PHOENIX

AS THE DETAILS of its new orbit became more and more clearly defined, it was hard to see how Rama could possibly escape disaster. Only a handful of comets had ever passed as close to the sun; at perihelion, it would be less than half a million kilometres above that inferno of fusing hydrogen. No solid material could withstand the temperature of such an approach; the tough alloy that comprised Rama’s hull would start to melt at ten times that distance.

Endeavour had now passed its own perihelion, to everyone’s relief, and was slowly increasing its distance from the sun. Rama was far ahead on its closer, swifter orbit, and already appeared well inside the outermost fringes of the corona. The ship would have a grandstand view of the drama’s final stage.

Then, five million kilometres from the sun, and still accelerating, Rama started to spin its cocoon. Until now it had been visible under the maximum power of Endeavour’s telescopes as a tiny bright bar; suddenly it began to scintillate, like a star seen through horizon mists. It almost seemed as if it was disintegrating. When he saw the image breaking up, Norton felt a poignant sense of grief at the loss of so much wonder. Then he realized that Rama was still there, but that it was surrounded by a shimmering haze.

And then it was gone. In its place was a brilliant, star-like object, showing no visible disc—as if Rama had suddenly contracted into a tiny ball.

It was some time before they realized what had happened. Rama had indeed disappeared: it was now surrounded by a perfectly reflecting sphere, about a hundred kilometres in diameter. All that they could now see was the reflection of the sun itself, on the curved portion that was closest to them. Behind this protective bubble, Rama was presumably safe from the solar inferno.

As the hours passed, the bubble changed its shape. The image of the sun became elongated, distorted. The sphere was turning into an ellipsoid, its long axis pointed in the direction of Rama’s flight. It was then that the first anomalous reports started coming in from the robot observatories, which, for almost two hundred years, had been keeping a permanent watch on the sun.

Something was happening to the solar magnetic field, in the region around Rama. The million-kilometre-long lines of force that threaded the corona, and drove its wisps of fiercely ionized gas at speeds which sometimes defied even the crushing gravity of the sun, were shaping themselves around that glittering ellipsoid. Nothing was yet visible to the eye, but the orbiting instruments reported every change in magnetic flux and ultra-violet radiation.

And presently, even the eye could see the changes in the corona. A faintly-glowing tube or tunnel, a hundred thousand kilometres long, had appeared high in the outer atmosphere of the sun. It was slightly curved, bending along the orbit which Rama was tracing, and Rama itself—or the protective cocoon around it—was visible as a glittering head racing faster and faster down that ghostly tube through the corona.

For it was still gaining speed; now it was moving at more than two thousand kilometres a second, and there was no question of it ever remaining a captive of the sun. Now, at last, the Raman strategy was obvious; they had come so close to the sun merely to tap its energy at the source, and to speed themselves even faster on the way to their ultimate unknown goal…

And presently it seemed that they were tapping more than energy. No one could ever be certain of this, because the nearest observing instruments were thirty million kilometres away, but there were definite indications that matter was flowing from the sun into Rama itself, as if it was replacing the leakages and losses of ten thousand centuries in space.

Faster and faster Rama swept around the sun moving now more swiftly than any object that had ever travelled through the solar system. In less than two hours, its direction of motion had swung through more than ninety degrees, and it had given a final, almost contemptuous proof of its total lack of interest in all the worlds whose peace of mind it had so rudely disturbed.

It was dropping out of the Ecliptic, down into the southern sky, far below the plane in which all the planets move. Though that, surely, could not be its ultimate goal, it was aimed squarely at the Greater Magellanic Cloud, and the lonely gulfs beyond the Milky Way.

CHAPTER 46

INTERLUDE

‘COME IN,

‘ said Commander Norton absentmindedly at the quiet knock on his door.

‘Some news for you, Bill. I wanted to give it first, before the crew gets into the act. And anyway, it’s my department.’

Norton still seemed far away. He was lying with his hands clasped under his head, eyes half shut, cabin light low—not really drowsing, but lost in some reverie or private dream.

He blinked once or twice, and was suddenly back in his body.

‘Sorry Laura—I don’t understand. What’s it all about?’

‘Don’t say you’ve forgotten!’

‘Stop teasing, you wretched woman. I’ve had a few things on my mind recently.’

Surgeon-Commander Ernst slid a captive chair across in its slots and sat down beside him.

‘Though interplanetary crises come and go, the wheels of Martian bureaucracy grind steadily away. But I suppose Rama helped. Good thing you didn’t have to get permission from the Hermians as well.’

Light was dawning. ‘Oh—Port Lowell has issued the permit!’

‘Better than that—it’s already being acted on.’ Laura glanced at the slip of paper in her hand. ‘Immediate,’ she read. ‘Probably right now, your new son is being conceived. Congratulations.’

‘Thank you. I hope he hasn’t minded the wait.’

Like every astronaut, Norton had been sterilized when he entered the service; for a man who would spend years in space, radiation-induced mutation was not a risk—it was a certainty. The spermatozoon that had just delivered its cargo of genes on Mars, two hundred million kilometres away, had been frozen for thirty years, awaiting its moment of destiny.

Norton wondered if he would be home in time for the birth. He had earned rest, relaxation—such normal family life as an astronaut could ever know. Now that the mission was essentially over, he was beginning to unwind, and to think once more about his own future, and that of both his families. Yes, it would be good to be home for a while, and to make up for lost time—in many ways…

‘This visit,’ protested Laura rather feebly, ‘was purely in a professional capacity.’

‘After all these years,’ replied Norton, ‘we know each other better than that. Anyway, you’re off duty now.’ This situation, he knew, was doubtless being repeated throughout the ship. Even though they were weeks from home, the end-of-mission “orbital orgy” would be in full swing.

‘Now what are you thinking?’ demanded Surgeon-Commander Ernst, very much later. ‘You’re not becoming sentimental, I hope.’

‘Not about us. About Rama. I’m beginning to miss it.’

‘Thanks very much for the compliment.’

Norton tightened his arms around her. One of the nicest things about weightlessness, he often thought, was that you could really hold someone all night, without cutting off the circulation. There were those who claimed that love at one gee was so ponderous that they could no longer enjoy it.

‘It’s a well-known fact, Laura, that men, unlike women, have two-track minds. But seriously—well, more seriously—I do feel a sense of loss.’

‘I can understand that.’

‘Don’t be so clinical; that’s not the only reason. Oh, never mind.’ He gave up. It was not easy to explain, even to himself.

He had succeeded beyond all reasonable expectation; what his men had discovered in Rama would keep scientists busy for decades. And, above all, he had done it without a single casualty.

But he had also failed. One might speculate endlessly, but the nature and the purpose of the Ramans was still utterly unknown. They had used the solar system as a refuelling stop—as a booster station—call it what you will, and had then spurned it completely, on their way to more important business. They would probably never even know that the human race existed; such monumental indifference was worse than any deliberate insult.

When Norton had glimpsed Rama for the last time, a tiny star hurtling outwards beyond Venus, he knew that part of his life was over. He was only fifty-five, but he felt he had left his youth down there on the curving plain, among mysteries and wonders now receding inexorably beyond the reach of man. Whatever honours and achievements the future brought him, for the rest of his life he would be haunted by a sense of anticlimax, and the knowledge of opportunities missed.

So he told himself; but even then, he should have known better.

And on far-off Earth, Dr. Carlisle Perera had as yet told no one how he had woken from a restless sleep with the message from his subconscious still echoing in his brain:

The Ramans do everything in threes.

The End

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Law 3 of the 48 laws of power by Robert Greene; Conceal your Intentions

Here we are going to look at Law #3 from the Robert Green book “The 48 Laws of Power”. This law discusses the principle of concealing your intentions from others.

LAW 3

CONCEAL YOUR INTENTIONS

JUDGMENT

Keep people off-balance and in the dark by never revealing the purpose behind your actions. If they have no clue what you are up to, they cannot prepare a defense. Guide them far enough down the wrong path, envelop them in enough smoke, and by the time they realize your intentions, it will be too late.

PART I: USE DECOYED OBJECTS OF DESIRE AND RED HERRINGS TO THROW PEOPLE OFF THE SCENT

If at any point in the deception you practice people have the slightest suspicion as to your intentions, all is lost. Do not give them the chance to sense what you are up to: Throw them off the scent by dragging red herrings across the path. Use false sincerity, send ambiguous signals, set up misleading objects of desire. Unable to distinguish the genuine from the false, they cannot pick out your real goal.

TRANSGRESSION OF THE LAW

Over several weeks, Ninon de Lenclos, the most infamous courtesan of seventeenth-century France, listened patiently as the Marquis de Sevigné explained his struggles in pursuing a beautiful but difficult young countess. Ninon was sixty-two at the time, and more than experienced in matters of love; the marquis was a lad of twenty-two, handsome, dashing, but hopelessly inexperienced in romance. At first Ninon was amused to hear the marquis talk about his mistakes, but finally she had had enough. Unable to bear ineptitude in any realm, least of all in seducing a woman, she decided to take the young man under her wing. First, he had to understand that this was war, and that the beautiful countess was a citadel to which he had to lay siege as carefully as any general. Every step had to be planned and executed with the utmost attention to detail and nuance.

Instructing the marquis to start over, Ninon told him to approach the countess with a bit of distance, an air of nonchalance. The next time the two were alone together, she said, he would confide in the countess as would a friend but not a potential lover. This was to throw her off the scent. The countess was no longer to take his interest in her for granted—perhaps he was only interested in friendship.

Ninon planned ahead. Once the countess was confused, it would be time to make her jealous. At the next encounter, at a major fête in Paris, the marquis would show up with a beautiful young woman at his side. This beautiful young woman had equally beautiful friends, so that wherever the countess would now see the marquis, he would be surrounded by the most stunning young women in Paris. Not only would the countess be seething with jealousy, she would come to see the marquis as someone who was desired by others. It was hard for Ninon to make the marquis understand, but she patiently explained that a woman who is interested in a man wants to see that other women are interested in him, too. Not only does that give him instant value, it makes it all the more satisfying to snatch him from their clutches.

Once the countess was jealous but intrigued, it would be time to beguile her. On Ninon’s instructions, the marquis would fail to show up at affairs where the countess expected to see him. Then, suddenly, he would appear at salons he had never frequented before, but that the countess attended often. She would be unable to predict his moves. All of this would push her into the state of emotional confusion that is a prerequisite for successful seduction.

These moves were executed, and took several weeks. Ninon monitored the marquis’s progress: Through her network of spies, she heard how the countess would laugh a little harder at his witticisms, listen more closely to his stories. She heard that the countess was suddenly asking questions about him. Her friends told her that at social affairs the countess would often look up at the marquis, following his steps. Ninon felt certain that the young woman was falling under his spell. It was a matter of weeks now, maybe a month or two, but if all went smoothly, the citadel would fall.

A few days later the marquis was at the countess’s home. They were alone. Suddenly he was a different man: This time acting on his own impulse, rather than following Ninon’s instructions, he took the countess’s hands and told her he was in love with her. The young woman seemed confused, a reaction he did not expect. She became polite, then excused herself. For the rest of the evening she avoided his eyes, was not there to say good-night to him. The next few times he visited he was told she was not at home. When she finally admitted him again, the two felt awkward and uncomfortable with each other. The spell was broken.

Interpretation

Ninon de Lenclos knew everything about the art of love. The greatest writ ers, thinkers, and politicians of the time had been her lovers—men like La Rochefoucauld, Molière, and Richelieu. Seduction was a game to her, to be practiced with skill. As she got older, and her reputation grew, the most important families in France would send their sons to her to be instructed in matters of love.

Ninon knew that men and women are very different, but when it comes to seduction they feel the same: Deep down inside, they often sense when they are being seduced, but they give in because they enjoy the feeling of being led along. It is a pleasure to let go, and to allow the other person to detour you into a strange country. Everything in seduction, however, depends on suggestion. You cannot announce your intentions or reveal them directly in words. Instead you must throw your targets off the scent. To surrender to your guidance they must be appropriately confused. You have to scramble your signals—appear interested in another man or woman (the decoy), then hint at being interested in the target, then feign indifference, on and on.

Such patterns not only confuse, they excite.

Imagine this story from the countess’s perspective: After a few of the marquis’s moves, she sensed the marquis was playing some sort of game, but the game delighted her. She did not know where he was leading her, but so much the better. His moves intrigued her, each of them keeping her waiting for the next one—she even enjoyed her jealousy and confusion, for sometimes any emotion is better than the boredom of security. Perhaps the marquis had ulterior motives; most men do. But she was willing to wait and see, and probably if she had been made to wait long enough, what he was up to would not have mattered.

The moment the marquis uttered that fatal word “love,” however, all was changed. This was no longer a game with moves, it was an artless show of passion. His intention was revealed: He was seducing her. This put everything he had done in a new light. All that before had been charming now seemed ugly and conniving; the countess felt embarrassed and used. A door closed that would never open again.

Do not be held a cheat, even though it is impossible to live today without being one.

Let your greatest cunning lie in covering up what looks like cunning.

-Ballasar Gracián, 1601-1658

OBSERVANCE OF THE LAW

In 1850 the young Otto von Bismarck, then a thirty-five-year-old deputy in the Prussian parliament, was at a turning point in his career. The issues of the day were the unification of the many states (including Prussia) into which Germany was then divided, and a war against Austria, the powerful neighbor to the south that hoped to keep the Germans weak and at odds, even threatening to intervene if they tried to unite. Prince William, next in line to be Prussia’s king, was in favor of going to war, and the parliament rallied to the cause, prepared to back any mobilization of troops. The only ones to oppose war were the present king, Frederick William IV, and his ministers, who preferred to appease the powerful Austrians.

Throughout his career, Bismarck had been a loyal, even passionate supporter of Prussian might and power. He dreamed of German unification, of going to war against Austria and humiliating the country that for so long had kept Germany divided. A former soldier, he saw warfare as a glorious business.

This, after all, was the man who years later would say, “The great questions of the time will be decided, not by speeches and resolutions, but by iron and blood.”

Passionate patriot and lover of military glory, Bismarck nevertheless

gave a speech in parliament at the height of the war fever that astonished all who heard it. “Woe unto the statesman,” he said, “who makes war without a reason that will still be valid when the war is over! After the war, you will all look differently at these questions. Will you then have the courage to

turn to the peasant contemplating the ashes of his farm, to the man who has been crippled, to the father who has lost his children?” Not only did Bismarck go on to talk of the madness of this war, but, strangest of all, he praised Austria and defended her actions. This went against everything he had stood for. The consequences were immediate. Bismarck was against the war—what could this possibly mean? Other deputies were confused, and several of them changed their votes. Eventually the king and his ministers won out, and war was averted.

A few weeks after Bismarck’s infamous speech, the king, grateful that he had spoken for peace, made him a cabinet minister. A few years later he became the Prussian premier. In this role he eventually led his country and a peace-loving king into a war against Austria, crushing the former empire and establishing a mighty German state, with Prussia at its head.

Interpretation

At the time of his speech in 1850, Bismarck made several calculations. First, he sensed that the Prussian military, which had not kept pace with other European armies, was unready for war—that Austria, in fact, might very well win, a disastrous result for the future. Second, if the war were lost and Bismarck had supported it, his career would be gravely jeopardized. The king and his conservative ministers wanted peace; Bismarck wanted power. The answer was to throw people off the scent by supporting a cause he detested, saying things he would laugh at if said by another. A whole country was fooled. It was because of Bismarck’s speech that the king made him a minister, a position from which he quickly rose to be prime minister, attaining the power to strengthen the Prussian military and accomplish what he had wanted all along: the humiliation of Austria and the unification of Germany under Prussia’s leadership.

Bismarck was certainly one of the cleverest statesman who ever lived, a master of strategy and deception. No one suspected what he was up to in this case. Had he announced his real intentions, arguing that it was better to wait now and fight later, he would not have won the argument, since most Prussians wanted war at that moment and mistakenly believed that their army was superior to the Austrians. Had he played up to the king, asking to be made a minister in exchange for supporting peace, he would not have succeeded either: The king would have distrusted his ambition and doubted his sincerity.

By being completely insincere and sending misleading signals, however, he deceived everyone, concealed his purpose, and attained everything he wanted. Such is the power of hiding your intentions.

KEYS TO POWER

Most people are open books. They say what they feel, blurt out their opinions at every opportunity, and constantly reveal their plans and intentions. They do this for several reasons. First, it is easy and natural to always want to talk about one’s feelings and plans for the future. It takes effort to control your tongue and monitor what you reveal. Second, many believe that by being honest and open they are winning people’s hearts and showing their good nature.They are greatly deluded. Honesty is actually a blunt instrument, which bloodies more than it cuts. Your honesty is likely to offend people; it is much more prudent to tailor your words, telling people what they want to hear rather than the coarse and ugly truth of what you feel or think. More important, by being unabashedly open you make yourself so predictable and familiar that it is almost impossible to respect or fear you, and power will not accrue to a person who cannot inspire such emotions.

If you yearn for power, quickly lay honesty aside, and train yourself in the art of concealing your intentions. Master the art and you will always have the upper hand. Basic to an ability to conceal one’s intentions is a simple truth about human nature: Our first instinct is to always trust appearances. We cannot go around doubting the reality of what we see and hear—constantly imagining that appearances concealed something else would exhaust and terrify us. This fact makes it relatively easy to conceal one’s intentions. Simply dangle an object you seem to desire, a goal you seem to aim for, in front of people’s eyes and they will take the appearance for reality. Once their eyes focus on the decoy, they will fail to notice what you are really up to. In seduction, set up conflicting signals, such as desire and indifference, and you not only throw them off the scent, you inflame their desire to possess you.

A tactic that is often effective in setting up a red herring is to appear to support an idea or cause that is actually contrary to your own sentiments. (Bismarck used this to great effect in his speech in 1850.) Most people will believe you have experienced a change of heart, since it is so unusual to play so lightly with something as emotional as one’s opinions and values. The same applies for any decoyed object of desire: Seem to want something in which you are actually not at all interested and your enemies will be thrown off the scent, making all kinds of errors in their calculations.

During the War of the Spanish Succession in 1711, the Duke of Marlborough, head of the English army, wanted to destroy a key French fort, because it protected a vital thoroughfare into France. Yet he knew that if he destroyed it, the French would realize what he wanted—to advance down that road. Instead, then, he merely captured the fort, and garrisoned it with some of his troops, making it appear as if he wanted it for some purpose of his own. The French attacked the fort and the duke let them recapture it. Once they had it back, though, they destroyed it, figuring that the duke had wanted it for some important reason. Now that the fort was gone, the road was unprotected, and Marlborough could easily march into France.

Use this tactic in the following manner: Hide your intentions not by closing up (with the risk of appearing secretive, and making people suspicious) but by talking endlessly about your desires and goals—just not your real ones. You will kill three birds with one stone: You appear friendly, open, and trusting; you conceal your intentions; and you send your rivals on time-consuming wild-goose chases.

Another powerful tool in throwing people off the scent is false sincerity. People easily mistake sincerity for honesty. Remember—their first instinct is to trust appearances, and since they value honesty and want to believe in the honesty of those around them, they will rarely doubt you or see through your act. Seeming to believe what you say gives your words great weight. This is how Iago deceived and destroyed Othello: Given the depth of his emotions, the apparent sincerity of his concerns about Desde mona’s supposed infidelity, how could Othello distrust him? This is also how the great con artist Yellow Kid Weil pulled the wool over suckers’ eyes: Seeming to believe so deeply in the decoyed object he was dangling in front of them (a phony stock, a touted racehorse), he made its reality hard to doubt. It is important, of course, not to go too far in this area. Sincerity is a tricky tool: Appear over passionate and you raise suspicions. Be measured and believable or your ruse will seem the put-on that it is.

To make your false sincerity an effective weapon in concealing your intentions, espouse a belief in honesty and forthrightness as important social values. Do this as publicly as possible. Emphasize your position on this subject by occasionally divulging some heartfelt thought—though only one that is actually meaningless or irrelevant, of course. Napoleon’s minister Talleyrand was a master at taking people into his confidence by revealing some apparent secret. This feigned confidence—a decoy—would then elicit a real confidence on the other person’s part.

Remember: The best deceivers do everything they can to cloak their roguish qualities. They cultivate an air of honesty in one area to disguise their dishonesty in others. Honesty is merely another decoy in their arsenal of weapons.

PART II: USE SMOKE SCREENS TO DISGUISE YOUR ACTIONS

Deception is always the best strategy, but the best deceptions require a screen of smoke to distract people attention from your real purpose. The bland exterior—like the unreadable poker face—is often the perfect smoke screen, hiding your intentions behind the comfortable and familiar. If you lead the sucker down a familiar path, he won’t catch on when you lead him into a trap.

OBSERVANCE OF THE LAW I

In 1910, a Mr. Sam Geezil of Chicago sold his warehouse business for close to $1 million. He settled down to semi-retirement and the managing of his many properties, but deep inside he itched for the old days of deal-making. One day a young man named Joseph Weil visited his office, wanting to buy an apartment he had up for sale. Geezil explained the terms: The price was $8,000, but he only required a down payment of $2,000. Weil said he would sleep on it, but he came back the following day and offered to pay the full $8,000 in cash, if Geezil could wait a couple of days, until a deal Weil was working on came through. Even in semi-retirement, a clever businessman like Geezil was curious as to how Weil would be able to come up with so much cash (roughly $150,000 today) so quickly. Weil seemed reluctant to say, and quickly changed the subject, but Geezil was persistent. Finally, after assurances of confidentiality, Weil told Geezil the following story.

THE KING OF ISRAEL IGNS WORSHIP OF THE

Then Jehu assembled all the people, and said to them, “Ahab served Ba‘al a little; but Jehu will serve him much more. Now therefore call to me all the prophets of Ba’al, all his worshippers and all his priests; let none be missing, for I have a great sacrifice to offer to Ba‘al; whoever is missing shall not live.” But Jehu did it with cunning in order to destroy the worshippers of Ba’al. And Jehu ordered, “Sanctify a solemn assembly for Ba‘al. ”So they proclaimed it. And Jehu sent throughout all Israel; and all the worshippers of Ba’al came, so that there was not a man left who did not come. And they entered the house of Ba‘al, and the house of Ba’al was filled from one end to the other.... Then Jehu went into the house of Ba‘al ... and he said to the worshippers of Ba’al, “Search, and see that there is no servant of the LORD here among you, but only the worshippers of Ba‘al.“Then he went in to offer sacrifices and burnt offerings. Now Jehu had stationed eighty men outside, and said, ”The man who allows any of those whom I give into your hands to escape shall forfeit his life.“ So as soon as he had made an end of offering the burnt offering, Jehu said to the guard and to the officers, ”Go in and slay them; let not a man escape. ” So when they put them to the sword, the guard and the officers cast them out and went into the inner room of the house of Ba’al and they brought out the pillar that was in the house of Ba‘al and burned it. And they demolished the pillar of Ba’al and demolished the house of Ba‘al, and made it a latrine to this day. Thus Jehu wiped out Ba’al from Israel.

-OLD TESTAMENT, 2 KINGS 10:18-28

Weil’s uncle was the secretary to a coterie of multimillionaire financiers. These wealthy gentlemen had purchased a hunting lodge in Michigan ten years ago, at a cheap price. They had not used the lodge for a few years, so they had decided to sell it and had asked Weil’s uncle to get whatever he could for it. For reasons—good reasons—of his own, the uncle had been nursing a grudge against the millionaires for years; this was his chance to get back at them. He would sell the property for $35,000 to a set up man (whom it was Weil’s job to find). The financiers were too wealthy to worry about this low price. The set-up man would then turn around and sell the property again for its real price, around $155,000. The uncle, Weil, and the third man would split the profits from this second sale. It was all legal and for a good cause—the uncle’s just retribution.

Geezil had heard enough: He wanted to be the set-up buyer. Weil was reluctant to involve him, but Geezil would not back down: The idea of a large profit, plus a little adventure, had him champing at the bit. Weil explained that Geezil would have to put up the $35,000 in cash to bring the deal off. Geezil, a millionaire, said he could get the money with a snap of his fingers. Weil finally relented and agreed to arrange a meeting between the uncle, Geezil, and the financiers, in the town of Galesburg, Illinois.

On the train ride to Galesburg, Geezil met the uncle—an impressive man, with whom he avidly discussed business. Weil also brought along a companion, a somewhat paunchy man named George Gross. Weil explained to Geezil that he himself was a boxing trainer, that Gross was one of the promising prizefighters he trained, and that he had asked Gross to come along to make sure the fighter stayed in shape. For a promising fighter, Gross was unimpressive looking—he had gray hair and a beer belly—but Geezil was so excited about the deal that he didn’t really think about the man’s flabby appearance.

Once in Galesburg, Weil and his uncle went to fetch the financiers while Geezil waited in a hotel room with Gross, who promptly put on his boxing trunks. As Geezil half watched, Gross began to shadowbox. Distracted as he was, Geezil ignored how badly the boxer wheezed after a few minutes of exercise, although his style seemed real enough. An hour later, Weil and his uncle reappeared with the financiers, an impressive, intimidating group of men, all wearing fancy suits. The meeting went well and the financiers agreed to sell the lodge to Geezil, who had already had the $35,000 wired to a local bank.

This minor business now settled, the financiers sat back in their chairs and began to banter about high finance, throwing out the name “J. P. Morgan” as if they knew the man. Finally one of them noticed the boxer in the corner of the room. Weil explained what he was doing there. The financier countered that he too had a boxer in his entourage, whom he named. Weil laughed brazenly and exclaimed that his man could easily knock out their man. Conversation escalated into argument. In the heat of passion, Weil challenged the men to a bet. The financiers eagerly agreed and left to get their man ready for a fight the next day.

As soon as they had left, the uncle yelled at Weil, right in front of Geezil; They did not have enough money to bet with, and once the financiers discovered this, the uncle would be fired. Weil apologized for getting him in this mess, but he had a plan: He knew the other boxer well, and with a little

bribe, they could fix the fight. But where would the money come from for the bet? the uncle replied. Without it they were as good as dead. Finally Geezil had heard enough. Unwilling to jeopardize his deal with any ill will, he offered his own $35,000 cash for part of the bet. Even if he lost that, he would wire for more money and still make a profit on the sale of the lodge. The uncle and nephew thanked him. With their own $15,000 and Geezil’s $35,000 they would manage to have enough for the bet. That evening, as Geezil watched the two boxers rehearse the fix in the hotel room, his mind reeled at the killing he was going to make from both the boxing match and the sale of the lodge.

The fight took place in a gym the next day. Weil handled the cash, which was placed for security in a locked box. Everything was proceeding as planned in the hotel room. The financiers were looking glum at how badly their fighter was doing, and Geezil was dreaming about the easy money he was about to make. Then, suddenly, a wild swing by the financier’s fighter hit Gross hard in the face, knocking him down. When he hit the canvas, blood spurted from his mouth. He coughed, then lay still. One of the financiers, a former doctor, checked his pulse; he was dead. The millionaires panicked: Everyone had to get out before the police arrived- they could all be charged with murder.

Terrified, Geezil hightailed it out of the gym and back to Chicago, leaving behind his $35,000 which he was only too glad to forget, for it seemed a small price to pay to avoid being implicated in a crime. He never wanted to see Weil or any of the others again.

After Geezil scurried out, Gross stood up, under his own steam. The blood that had spurted from his mouth came from a ball filled with chicken blood and hot water that he had hidden in his cheek. The whole affair had been masterminded by Weil, better known as “the Yellow Kid,” one of the most creative con artists in history. Weil split the $35,000 with the financiers and the boxers (all fellow con artists)—a nice little profit for a few days’ work.

SN BROAD

This means to create a front that eventually becomes imbued with an atmosphere or impression of familiarity, within which the strategist may maneuver unseen while all eyes are trained to see obvious familiarities. “THE THIRTY-SIX STRATEGIES.” QUOTED IN THF JAPANESE ART OF WAR.

-THOMAS CLEARY, 1991

Interpretation

The Yellow Kid had staked out Geezil as the perfect sucker long before he set up the con. He knew the boxing-match scam would be the perfect ruse to separate Geezil from his money quickly and definitively. But he also knew that if he had begun by trying to interest Geezil in the boxing match, he would have failed miserably. He had to conceal his intentions and switch attention, create a smoke screen—in this case the sale of the lodge.

On the train ride and in the hotel room Geezil’s mind had been completely occupied with the pending deal, the easy money, the chance to hobnob with wealthy men. He had failed to notice that Gross was out of shape and middle-aged at best. Such is the distracting power of a smoke screen. Engrossed in the business deal, Geezil’s attention was easily diverted to the boxing match, but only at a point when it was already too late for him to notice the details that would have given Gross away. The match, after all, now depended on a bribe rather than on the boxer’s physical condition. And Geezil was so distracted at the end by the illusion of the boxer’s death that he completely forgot about his money.

Learn from the Yellow Kid: The familiar, inconspicuous front is the perfect smoke screen. Approach your mark with an idea that seems ordinary enough—a business deal, financial intrigue. The sucker’s mind is distracted, his suspicions allayed. That is when you gently guide him onto the second path, the slippery slope down which he slides helplessly into your trap.

OBSERVANCE OF THE LAW II

In the mid-1920s, the powerful warlords of Ethiopia were coming to the realization that a young man of the nobility named Haile Selassie, also known as Ras Tafari, was outcompeting them all and nearing the point where he could proclaim himself their leader, unifying the country for the first time in decades. Most of his rivals could not understand how this wispy, quiet, mild-mannered man had been able to take control. Yet in 1927, Selassie was able to summon the warlords, one at a time, to come to Addis Ababa to declare their loyalty and recognize him as leader.

Some hurried, some hesitated, but only one, Dejazmach Balcha of Sidamo, dared defy Selassie totally. A blustery man, Balcha was a great warrior, and he considered the new leader weak and unworthy. He pointedly stayed away from the capital. Finally Selassie, in his gentle but stem way, commanded Balcha to come. The warlord decided to obey, but in doing so he would turn the tables on this pretender to the Ethiopian throne: He would come to Addis Ababa at his own speed, and with an army of 10,000 men, a force large enough to defend himself, perhaps even start a civil war. Stationing this formidable force in a valley three miles from the capital, he waited, as a king would. Selassie would have to come to him.

Selassie did indeed send emissaries, asking Balcha to attend an afternoon banquet in his honor. But Balcha, no fool, knew history—he knew that previous kings and lords of Ethiopia had used banquets as a trap. Once he was there and full of drink, Selassie would have him arrested or murdered. To signal his understanding of the situation, he agreed to come to the banquet, but only if he could bring his personal bodyguard—600 of his best soldiers, all armed and ready to defend him and themselves. To Balcha’s surprise, Selassie answered with the utmost politeness that he would be honored to play host to such warriors.

On the way to the banquet, Balcha warned his soldiers not to get drunk and to be on their guard. When they arrived at the palace, Selassie was his charming best. He deferred to Balcha, treated him as if he desperately needed his approval and cooperation. But Balcha refused to be charmed, and he warned Selassie that if he did not return to his camp by nightfall, his army had orders to attack the capital. Selassie reacted as if hurt by his mistrust. Over the meal, when it came time for the traditional singing of songs in honor of Ethiopia’s leaders, he made a point of allowing only songs honoring the warlord of Sidamo. It seemed to Balcha that Selassie was scared, intimidated by this great warrior who could not be outwitted.

Sensing the change, Balcha believed that he would be the one to call the shots in the days to come.

At the end of the afternoon, Balcha and his soldiers began their march back to camp amidst cheers and gun salutes. Looking back to the capital over his shoulder, he planned his strategy—how his own soldiers would march through the capital in triumph within weeks, and Selassie would be put in his place, his place being either prison or death. When Balcha came in sight of his camp, however, he saw that something was terribly wrong. Where before there had been colorful tents stretching as far as the eye could see, now there was nothing, only smoke from doused fires. What devil’s magic was this?

A witness told Balcha what had happened. During the banquet, a large army, commanded by an ally of Selassie’s, had stolen up on Balcha’s encampment by a side route he had not seen. This army had not come to fight, however: Knowing that Balcha would have heard a noisy battle and hurried back with his 600-man bodyguard, Selassie had armed his own troops with baskets of gold and cash. They had surrounded Balcha’s army and proceeded to purchase every last one of their weapons. Those who refused were easily intimidated. Within a few hours, Balcha’s entire force had been disarmed and scattered in all directions.

Realizing his danger, Balcha decided to march south with his 600 soldiers to regroup, but the same army that had disarmed his soldiers blocked his way. The other way out was to march on the capital, but Selassie had set a large army to defend it. Like a chess player, he had predicted Balcha’s moves, and had checkmated him. For the first time in his life, Balcha surrendered. To repent his sins of pride and ambition, he agreed to enter a monastery.

Interpretation

Throughout Selassie’s long reign, no one could quite figure him out. Ethiopians like their leaders fierce, but Selassie, who wore the front of a gentle, peace-loving man, lasted longer than any of them. Never angry or impatient, he lured his victims with sweet smiles, lulling them with charm and obsequiousness before he attacked. In the case of Balcha, Selassie played on the man’s wariness, his suspicion that the banquet was a trap— which in fact it was, but not the one he expected. Selassie’s way of allaying Balcha’s fears—letting him bring his bodyguard to the banquet, giving him top billing there, making him feel in control—created a thick smoke screen, concealing the real action three miles away.

Remember: The paranoid and wary are often the easiest to deceive. Win their trust in one area and you have a smoke screen that blinds their view in another, letting you creep up and level them with a devastating blow. A helpful or apparently honest gesture, or one that implies the other person’s superiority—these are perfect diversionary devices.

Properly set up, the smoke screen is a weapon of great power. It enabled the gentle Selassie to totally destroy his enemy, without firing a single bullet.

Do not underestimate the power of Tafari. He creeps like a mouse but he has jaws like a lion. 

-Bacha of Sidamo’s last worlds before entering the monastery

KEYS TO POWER

If you believe that deceivers are colorful folk who mislead with elaborate lies and tall tales, you are greatly mistaken. The best deceivers utilize a bland and inconspicuous front that calls no attention to themselves. They know that extravagant words and gestures immediately raise suspicion. Instead, they envelop their mark in the familiar, the banal, the harmless. In Yellow Kid Weil’s dealings with Sam Geezil, the familiar was a business deal. In the Ethiopian case, it was Selassie’s misleading obsequiousness— exactly what Balcha would have expected from a weaker warlord.

Once you have lulled your suckers’ attention with the familiar, they will not notice the deception being perpetrated behind their backs. This derives from a simple truth: people can only focus on one thing at a time. It is really too difficult for them to imagine that the bland and harmless person they are dealing with is simultaneously setting up something else. The grayer and more uniform the smoke in your smoke screen, the better it conceals your intentions. In the decoy and red herring devices discussed in Part I, you actively distract people; in the smoke screen, you lull your victims, drawing them into your web. Because it is so hypnotic, this is often the best way of concealing your intentions.

The simplest form of smoke screen is facial expression. Behind a bland, unreadable exterior, all sorts of mayhem can be planned, without detection. This is a weapon that the most powerful men in history have learned to perfect. It was said that no one could read Franklin D. Roosevelt’s face. Baron James Rothschild made a lifelong practice of disguising his real thoughts behind bland smiles and nondescript looks. Stendhal wrote of Talleyrand, “Never was a face less of a barometer.” Henry Kissinger would bore his opponents around the negotiating table to tears with his monotonous voice, his blank look, his endless recitations of details; then, as their eyes glazed over, he would suddenly hit them with a list of bold terms. Caught off-guard, they would be easily intimidated. As one poker manual explains it, “While playing his hand, the good player is seldom an actor. Instead he practices a bland behavior that minimizes readable patterns, frustrates and confuses opponents, permits greater concentration.”

An adaptable concept, the smoke screen can be practiced on a number of levels, all playing on the psychological principles of distraction and misdirection. One of the most effective smoke screens is the noble gesture. People want to believe apparently noble gestures are genuine, for the belief is pleasant. They rarely notice how deceptive these gestures can be.

The art dealer Joseph Duveen was once confronted with a terrible problem. The millionaires who had paid so dearly for Duveen’s paintings were running out of wall space, and with inheritance taxes getting ever higher, it seemed unlikely that they would keep buying. The solution was the National Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C., which Duveen helped create in 1937 by getting Andrew Mellon to donate his collection to it. The National Gallery was the perfect front for Duveen. In one gesture, his clients avoided taxes, cleared wall space for new purchases, and reduced the number of paintings on the market, maintaining the upward pressure on their prices. All this while the donors created the appearance of being public benefactors.

Another effective smoke screen is the pattern, the establishment of a series of actions that seduce the victim into believing you will continue in the same way. The pattern plays on the psychology of anticipation: Our behavior conforms to patterns, or so we like to think.

In 1878 the American robber baron Jay Gould created a company that began to threaten the monopoly of the telegraph company Western Union. The directors of Western Union decided to buy Gould’s company up— they had to spend a hefty sum, but they figured they had managed to rid themselves of an irritating competitor. A few months later, though, Gould was it at again, complaining he had been treated unfairly. He started up a second company to compete with Western Union and its new acquisition. The same thing happened again: Western Union bought him out to shut him up. Soon the pattern began for the third time, but now Gould went for the jugular: He suddenly staged a bloody takeover struggle and managed to gain complete control of Western Union. He had established a pattern that had tricked the company’s directors into thinking his goal was to be bought out at a handsome rate. Once they paid him off, they relaxed and failed to notice that he was actually playing for higher stakes. The pattern is powerful in that it deceives the other person into expecting the opposite of what you are really doing.

Another psychological weakness on which to construct a smoke screen is the tendency to mistake appearances for reality—the feeling that if someone seems to belong to your group, their belonging must be real. This habit makes the seamless blend a very effective front. The trick is simple: You simply blend in with those around you. The better you blend, the less suspicious you become. During the Cold War of the 1950s and ’60s, as is now notorious, a slew of British civil servants passed secrets to the Soviets. They went undetected for years because they were apparently decent chaps, had gone to all the right schools, and fit the old-boy network perfectly. Blending in is the perfect smoke screen for spying. The better you do it, the better you can conceal your intentions.

Remember: It takes patience and humility to dull your brilliant colors, to put on the mask of the inconspicuous. Do not despair at having to wear such a bland mask—it is often your unreadability that draws people to you and makes you appear a person of power.

Image: A Sheep’s Skin. A sheep never marauds, a sheep never deceives, a sheep is magnificently dumb and docile. With a sheepskin on his back, a fox can pass right into the chicken coop.

Authority: Have you ever heard of a skillful general, who intends to surprise a citadel, announcing his plan to his enemy? Conceal your purpose and hide your progress; do not disclose the extent of your designs until they cannot be opposed, until the combat is over. Win the victory before you declare the war. In a word, imitate those warlike people whose designs are not known except by the ravaged country through which they have passed. (Ninon de Lenclos, 1623-1706)

REVERSAL

No smoke screen, red herring, false sincerity, or any other diversionary device will succeed in concealing your intentions if you already have an established reputation for deception. And as you get older and achieve success, it often becomes increasingly difficult to disguise your cunning. Everyone knows you practice deception; persist in playing naive and you run the risk of seeming the rankest hypocrite, which will severely limit your room to maneuver. In such cases it is better to own up, to appear the honest rogue, or, better, the repentant rogue. Not only will you be admired for your frankness, but, most wonderful and strange of all, you will be able to continue your stratagems.

As P. T. Barnum, the nineteenth-century king of humbuggery, grew older, he learned to embrace his reputation as a grand deceiver. At one point he organized a buffalo hunt in New Jersey, complete with Indians and a few imported buffalo. He publicized the hunt as genuine, but it came off as so completely fake that the crowd, instead of getting angry and asking for their money back, was greatly amused. They knew Barnum pulled tricks all the time; that was the secret of his success, and they loved him for it. Learning a lesson from this affair, Barnum stopped concealing all of his devices, even revealing his deceptions in a tell-all autobiography. As Kierkegaard wrote, “The world wants to be deceived.”

Finally, although it is wiser to divert attention from your purposes by presenting a bland, familiar exterior, there are times when the colorful, conspicuous gesture is the right diversionary tactic. The great charlatan mountebanks of seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Europe used humor and entertainment to deceive their audiences. Dazzled by a great show, the public would not notice the charlatans’ real intentions. Thus the star charlatan himself would appear in town in a night-black coach drawn by black horses. Clowns, tightrope walkers, and star entertainers would accompany him, pulling people in to his demonstrations of elixirs and quack potions. The charlatan made entertainment seem like the business of the day; the business of the day was actually the sale of the elixirs and quack potions.

Spectacle and entertainment, clearly, are excellent devices to conceal your intentions, but they cannot be used indefinitely.

The public grows tired and suspicious, and eventually catches on to the trick. And indeed the charlatans had to move quickly from town to town, before word spread that the potions were useless and the entertainment a trick. Powerful people with bland exteriors, on the other hand—the Talleyrands, the Rothschilds, the Selassies—can practice their deceptions in the same place throughout their lifetimes. Their act never wears thin, and rarely causes suspicion. The colorful smoke screen should be used cautiously, then, and only when the occasion is right.

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A Story of Love (Full Text) by Ray Bradbury

I guess that I am a sentimentalist.

While Ray Bradbury is most well known for his science fiction and dystopian writings, I consider the Story of Love to be on par in quality and enchantment to his other works. This short story explores the constraints that society puts on love and recognizes that affections cannot always be pursued.

That was the week Ann Taylor came to teach summer school at Green Town Central. It was the summer of her twenty-fourth birthday, and it was the summer when Bob Spaulding was just fourteen.

Everyone remembered Ann Taylor, for she was that teacher for whom all the children wanted to bring huge oranges or pink flowers, and for whom they rolled up the rustling green and yellow maps of the world without being asked. She was that woman who always seemed to be passing by on days when the shade was green under the tunnels of oaks and elms in the old town, her face shifting with the bright shadows as she walked, until it was all things to all people. She was the fine peaches of summer in the snow of winter, and she was cool milk for cereal on a hot early-June morning. Whenever you needed an opposite, Ann Taylor was there. And those rare few days in the world when the climate was balanced as fine as a maple leaf between winds that blew just right, those were the days like Ann Taylor, and should have been so named on the calendar.

As for Bob Spaulding, he was the cousin who walked alone through town on any October evening with a pack of leaves after him like a horde of Hallowe’en mice, or you would see him, like a slow white fish in spring in the tart waters of the Fox Hill Creek, baking brown with the shine of a chestnut to his face by autumn. Or you might hear his voice in those treetops where the wind entertained; dropping down hand by hand, there would come Bob Spaulding to sit alone and look at the world, and later you might see him on the lawn with the ants crawling over his books as he read through the long afternoons alone, or played himself a game of chess on Grandmother’s porch, or picked out a solitary tune upon the black piano in the bay window. You never saw him with any other child.

That first morning, Miss Ann Taylor entered through the side door of the schoolroom and all of the children sat still in their seats as they saw her write her name on the board in a nice round lettering.

“My name is Ann Taylor,” she said, quietly. “And I’m your new teacher.”

The room seemed suddenly flooded with illumination, as if the roof had moved back; and the trees were full of singing birds. Bob Spaulding sat with a spitball he had just made, hidden in his hand. After a half hour of listening to Miss Taylor, he quietly let the spitball drop to the floor.

That day, after class, he brought in a bucket of water and a rag and began to wash the boards.

“What’s this?” She turned to him from her desk, where she had been correcting spelling papers.

“The boards are kind of dirty,” said Bob, at work.

“Yes. I know. Are you sure you want to clean them?”

“I suppose I should have asked permission,” he said, halting uneasily.

“I think we can pretend you did,” she replied, smiling, and at this smile he finished the boards in an amazing burst of speed and pounded the erasers so furiously that the air was full of snow, it seemed, outside the open window.

“Let’s see,” said Miss Taylor. “You’re Bob Spaulding, aren’t you?”

“Yes’m.”

“Well, thank you, Bob.”

“Could I do them every day?” he asked.

“Don’t you think you should let the others try?”

“I’d like to do them,” he said. “Every day.”

“We’ll try it for a while and see,” she said.

He lingered.

“I think you’d better run on home,” she said, finally.

“Good night.” He walked slowly and was gone.

The next morning he happened by the place where she took board and room just as she was coming out to walk to school.

“Well, here I am,” he said.

“And do you know,” she said, “I’m not surprised.”

They walked together.

“May I carry your books?” he asked.

“Why, thank you, Bob.”

“It’s nothing,” he said, taking them.

They walked for a few minutes and he did not say a word. She glanced over and slightly down at him and saw how at ease he was and how happy he seemed, and she decided to let him break the silence, but he never did. When they reached the edge of the school ground he gave the books back to her. “I guess I better leave you here,” he said. “The other kids wouldn’t understand.”

“I’m not sure I do, either, Bob,” said Miss Taylor.

“Why we’re friends,” said Bob earnestly and with a great natural honesty.

“Bob –” she started to say.

“Yes’m?”

“Never mind.” She walked away.

“I’ll be in class,” he said.

And he was in class, and he was there after school every night for the next two weeks, never saying a word, quietly washing the boards and cleaning the erasers and rolling up the maps while she worked at her papers, and there was that clock silence of four o’clock, the silence of the sun going down in the slow sky, the silence with the catlike sound of erasers patted together, and the drip of water from a moving sponge, and the rustle and turn of papers and the scratch of a pen, and perhaps the buzz of a fly banging with a tiny high anger against the tallest clear pane of window in the room. Sometimes the silence would go on this way until almost five, when Miss Taylor would find Bob Spaulding in the last seat of the room, sitting and looking at her silently, waiting for further orders.

“Well, it’s time to go home,” Miss Taylor would say, getting up.

“Yes’m.”

And he would run to fetch her hat and coat. He would also lock the school-room door for her unless the janitor was coming in later. Then they would walk out of school and across the yard, which was empty, the janitor taking down the chain swings slowly on his stepladder, the sun behind the umbrella trees. They talked of all sorts of things.

“And what are you going to be, Bob, when you grow up?”

“A writer,” he said.

“Oh, that’s a big ambition: it takes a lot of work.”

“I know, but I’m going to try,” he said. “I’ve read a lot.”

“Bob, haven’t you anything to do after school?”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean, I hate to see you kept in so much, washing the boards.”

“I like it,” he said. “I never do what I don’t like.”

“But nevertheless.”

“No, I’ve got to to that,” he said. He thought for a while and said, “Do me a favour, Miss Taylor?”

“It all depends.”

“I walk every Saturday from out around Buetrick Street along the creek to Lake Michigan. There’s a lot of butterflies and crayfish and birds. Maybe you’d like to walk, too.”

“Thank you,” he said.

“Then you’ll come?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Don’t you think it’d be fun?”

“Yes, I’m sure of that, but I’m going to be busy.”

He started to ask what, but stopped.

“I take along sandwiches,” he said. “Ham-and-pickle ones. And orange pop and just walk along, taking my time. I get down to the lake about noon and walk back and get home about three o’clock. It makes a real fine day, and I wish you’d come. Do you collect butterflies? I have a big collection. We could start one for you.”

“Thanks, Bob, but no, perhaps some other time.”

He looked at her and said, “I shouldn’t have asked you, should I?”

“You have every right to ask anything you want to,” she said.

A few days later she found an old copy of `Great Expectations’, which she no longer wanted, and gave it to Bob. He was very grateful and took it home and stayed up that night and read it through and talked about it the next morning. Each day now he met her just beyond sight of her boarding house and many days she would start to say, “Bob –” and tell him not to come to meet her any more, but she never finished saying it, and he talked with her about Dickens and Kipling and Poe and others, coming and going to school. She found a butterfly on her desk on Friday morning. She almost waved it away before she found it was dead and had been placed there while she was out of the room. She glanced at Bob over the heads of her other students, but he was looking at his book; not reading, just looking at it.

It was about this time that she found it impossible to call on Bob to recite in class. She would hover her pencil about his name and then call the next person up or down the list. Nor would she look at him while they were walking to or from school. But on several late afternoons as he moved his arm high on the blackboard, sponging away the arithmetic symbols, she found herself glancing over at him for a few seconds at a time before she returned to her papers.

And then on Saturday morning he was standing in the middle of the creek with his overalls rolled up to his knees, kneeling down to catch a crayfish under a rock, when he looked up and there on the edge of the running stream was Miss Ann Taylor.

“Well, here I am,” she said, laughing.

“And do you know,” he said, “I’m not surprised.”

“Show me the crayfish and the butterflies,” she said.

They walked down to the lake and sat on the sand with a warm wind blowing softly about them, fluttering her hair and the ruffle of her blouse, and he sat a few yards back from her and they ate the ham-and-pickle sandwiches and drank the orange pop solemnly.

“Gee, this is swell,” he said. “This is the swellest time ever in my life.”

“I didn’t think I would ever come on a picnic like this,” she said.

“With some kid,” he said.

“I’m comfortable, however,” she said.

“That’s good news.”

They said little else during the afternoon.

“This is all wrong,” he said, later. “And I can’t figure out why it should be. Just walking along and catching old butterflies and crayfish and eating sandwiches. But Mom and Dad’d rib the heck out of me if they knew, and the kids would, too. And the other teachers, I suppose, would laugh at you, wouldn’t they?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“I guess we better not do any more butterfly catching, then.”

“I don’t exactly understand how I came here at all,” she said.

And the day was over.

That was about all there was to the meeting of Ann Taylor and Bob Spaulding, two or three monarch butterflies, a copy of Dickens, a dozen crayfish, four sandwiches and two bottles of Orange Crush. The next Monday, quite unexpectedly, though he waited a long time, Bob did not see Miss Taylor come out to walk to school, but discovered later that she had left earlier and was already at school. Also, Monday night, she left early, with a headache, and another teacher finished her last class. He walked by her boarding house but did not see her anywhere, and he was afraid to ring the bell and inquire.

On Tuesday night after school they were both in the silent room again, he sponging the board contentedly, as if this time might go on forever, and she seated, working on her papers as if she, too, would be in this room and this particular peace and happiness forever, when suddenly the courthouse clock struck. It was a block away and its great bronze boom shuddered one’s body and made the ash of time shake away off your bones and slide through your blood, making you seem older by the minute. Stunned by that clock, you could not but sense the crashing flow of time, and as the clock said five o’clock, Miss Taylor suddenly looked up at it for a long time, and then she put down her pen.

“Bob,” she said.

He turned, startled. Neither of them had spoken in the peaceful and good hour before.

“Will you come here?” she asked.

He put down the sponge slowly.

“Yes,” he said.

“Bob, I want you to sit down.”

“Yes’m.”

She looked at him intently for a moment until he looked away. “Bob, I wonder if you know what I’m going to talk to you about. Do you know?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe it’d be a good idea if you told me, first.”

“About us,” he said, at last.

“How old are you, Bob?”

“Going on fourteen.”

“You’re thirteen years old.”

He winced. “Yes’m.”

“And do you know how old I am?”

“Yes’m. I heard. Twenty-four.”

“Twenty-four.”

“I’ll be twenty-four in ten years, almost,” he said.

“But unfortunately you’re not twenty-four now.”

“No, but sometimes I feel twenty-four.”

“Yes, and sometimes you almost act it.”

“Do I, really!”

“Now sit still there, don’t bound around, we’ve a lot to discuss. It’s very important that we understand exactly what is happening, don’t you agree?”

“Yes, I guess so.”

“First, let’s admit that we are the greatest and best friends in the world. Let’s admit I have never had a student like you, nor have I had as much affection for any boy I’ve ever known.” He flushed at this. She went on. “And let me speak for you — you’ve found me to be the nicest teacher of all teachers you’ve ever known.”

“Oh, more than that,” he said.

“Perhaps more than that, but there are facts to be faced and an entire way of life to be considered. I’ve thought this over for a good many days, Bob. Don’t think I’ve missed anything, or been unaware of my own feelings in the matter. Under any normal circumstances our friendship would be odd indeed. But then you are no ordinary boy. I know myself pretty well, I think, and I know I’m not sick, either mentally or physically, and that whatever has evolved here has been a true regard for your character and goodness, Bob; but those are not the things we consider in this world, Bob, unless they occur in a man of a certain age. I don’t know if I’m saying this right.”

“It’s all right,” he said. “It’s just if I was ten years older and about fifteen inches taller it’d make all the difference, and that’s silly,” he said, “to go by how tall a person is.”

“The world hasn’t found it so.”

“I’m not all the world,” he protested.

“I know it seems foolish,” she said. “When you feel very grown up and right and have nothing to be ashamed of. You have nothing at all to be ashamed of, Bob, remember that. You have been very honest and good, and I hope I have been, too.”

“You have,” he said.

“In an ideal climate, Bob, maybe someday they will be able to judge the oldness of a person’s mind so accurately that they can say, `This is a man, though his body is only thirteen; by some miracle of circumstances and fortune, this is a man, with a man’s recognition of responsibility and position and duty’; but until that day, Bob, I’m afraid we’re going to have to go by ages and heights and the ordinary way in an ordinary world.”

“I don’t like that,” he said.

“Perhaps I don’t like it, either, but do you want to end up far unhappier than you are now? Do you want both of us to be unhappy? Which we certainly would be. There really is no way to do anything about us — it is so strange even to try to talk about us.”

“Yes’m.”

“But at least we know all about us and the fact that we have been right and fair and good and there is nothing wrong with our knowing each other, nor did we ever intend that it should be, for we both understand how impossible it is, don’t we?”

“Yes, I know. But I can’t help it.”

“Now we must decide what to do about it,” she said. “Now only you and I know about this. Later, others might know. I can secure a transfer from this school to another one –“

“No!”

“Or I can have you transferred to another school.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he said.

“Why?”

“We’re moving. My folks and I, we’re going to live in Madison. We’re leaving next week.”

“It has nothing to do with all this, has it?”

“No, no, everything’s all right. It’s just that my father has a new job there. It’s only fifty miles away. I can see you, can’t I, when I come to town?”

“Do you think that would be a good idea?”

“No, I guess not.”

They sat awhile in the silent schoolroom.

“When did all of this happen?” he said, helplessly.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Nobody ever knows. They haven’t known for thousands of years, and I don’t think they ever will. People either like each other or don’t, and sometimes two people like each other who shouldn’t. I can’t explain myself, and certainly you can’t explain you.”

“I guess I’d better get home,” he said.

“You’re not mad at me, are you?”

“Oh, gosh no, I could never be mad at you.”

“There’s one more thing. I want you to remember, there are compensations in life. There always are, or we wouldn’t go on living. You don’t feel well, now; neither do I. But something will happen to fix that. Do you believe that?”

“I’d like to.”

“Well, it’s true.”

“If only,” he said.

“What?”

“If only you’d wait for me,” he blurted.

“Ten years?”

“I’d be twenty-four then.”

“But I’d be thirty-four and another person entirely, perhaps. No, I don’t think it can be done.”

“Wouldn’t you like it to be done?” he cried.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “It’s silly and it wouldn’t work, but I would like it very much.”

He sat there a long time.

“I’ll never forget you,” he said.

“It’s nice for you to say that, even though it can’t be true, because life isn’t that way. You’ll forget.”

“I’ll never forget. I’ll find a way of never forgetting you,” he said.

She got up and went to erase the boards.

“I’ll help you,” he said.

“No, no,” she said, hastily. “You go on now, get home, and no more tending to the boards after school. I’ll assign Helen Stevens to do it.”

He left the school. Looking back, outside, he saw Miss Ann Taylor, for the last time, at the board, slowly washing out the chalked words, her hand moving up and down.

He moved away from the town the next week and was gone for sixteen years. Though he was only fifty miles away, he never got down to Green Town again until he was almost thirty and married, and then one spring they were driving through on their way to Chicago and stopped off for a day.

Bob left his wife at the hotel and walked around town and finally asked about Miss Ann Taylor, but no-one remembered at first, and then one of them remembered.

“Oh, yes, the pretty teacher. She died in 1936, not long after you left.”

Had she ever married? No, come to think of it, she never had.

He walked out to the cemetery in the afternoon and found her stone, which said “Ann Taylor, born 1910, died 1936.” And he thought, Twenty-six years old. Why I’m three years older than you are now, Miss Taylor.

Later in the day the people in the town saw Bob Spaulding’s wife strolling to meet him under the elm trees and the oak trees, and they all turned to watch her pass, for her face shifted with bright shadows as she walked; she was the fine peaches of summer in the snow of winter, and she was cool milk for cereal on a hot early-summer morning. And this was one of those rare few days in time when the climate was balanced like a maple leaf between winds that blow just right, one of those days that should have been named, everyone agreed, after Robert Spaulding’s wife.

The End

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The Wishes We Make (full text) by E. Mayne Hull

A genie suddenly appears before a condemned man in his death cell and offers him not just one wish but six – what is the problem? you might ask. Well, avoiding one’s destiny is not as easy as it sounds, as this quite brilliant and very amusing golden-age tale with the most sombre of overtones, first published in the June 1943 issue of Unknown Worlds, shows us.

“The Wishes We Make” (1943) by E. Mayne Hull

THE WISHES WE MAKE

“I THEREFORE SENTENCE YOU, WILLIAM KENNIJAHN — two months from this date — to be hanged by the neck until you are dead. May God have mercy on your soul.”
For a month and three weeks now, Kennijahn had poured an almost unceasing stream of vituperation at the walls of the death cell, at any turnkeys who came near him, at the judge who had delivered the sentence, at the whole human race.
“You’ve run into one of those miserable periods,” his lawyer, Clissold, told him, “when the people are on a moral warpath. The bare suggestion of commutation made in the press the other day brought a thousand howling letters about a law for the rich and a law for the poor. It’s unfortunate that the State proved so conclusively that you murdered your partner, Harmsworth, when he threatened to expose that stock swindle.”
The lawyer shrugged helplessly. “I’ve been offering money right and left, vainly. And when a politician is cold to money, it’s like the end of the world. Frankly, Bill, you’re sunk. I’ll keep on trying to the last hour, but there’s an inevitability about it all now that’s final.” He stood up. “I don’t think I’ll come to see you again unless I have something to report. Good-bye.”
Kennijahn was only dimly aware of the tall, thin figure being escorted out. Nine days, he was thinking, nine short days! His mind twisted off into uncontrollable fury. When the passion finally wearied him, he looked up—the creature was standing before him.
The creature regarded him intently from its one gleaming red eve, its fantastic black body twisted curiously, as if that half-human shape was but a part of its form, the remaining portion being somehow out of sight.
Kennijahn blinked at it. He was not afraid, only astounded. He expected it to go away if he shut his eyes, then opened them rapidly. He thought of it as a mind distortion that had somehow synchronized into his vision. After a moment, however, it was still there. Amazingly, then, it said:
“Oh ! You didn’t call me purposely. You don’t know the method. Very well—have your wishes and release me.”
Kennijahn’s mind was away in the rear. “Call you!” he said. “Call you!” A spasm of horror jerked him erect on his bunk. “Get away from me,” he yelled. “What in hell’s name are you? What—” He stopped, horror fading before the matter-of-fact way the creature was regarding him.
“Certainly, you called me,” it said. “You shaped a thought pattern—apparently, you didn’t know what it was or how to do it again. But it created a strain in space, and plummetted me into your presence. By the ancient Hyernetic law, I must give you your wishes, whereupon I will be released to return whence I came.”
For a long second, Kennijahn’s mind held hard on the idea of the thought pattern that could have produced such a monstrosity. He shivered a little with the memory of his fury, but nothing came clear. He gave it up and, because his mind was basically quick on the uptake, his own black destiny receded fractionally from the forefront of his thoughts, and yielded to the tremendous meaning of one word.
“Wishes!” he said. “You mean, I can wish?”
“One is the principle,” said the monster, “two is the word. The monad is Bohas; the duad is Jakin. The triad is formed by union, which is doubled by ignorance to become a sesad.” The thing finished, “Six wishes.”

"One is the principle, two is the word. The monad is Bohas; the duad is Jakin. The triad is formed by union, which is doubled by ignorance to become a sesad. Six wishes."

“Six wishes?” Kennijahn echoed, his voice sounding crazily queer in his own ears. He almost whispered, “About—anything?”
“Within the limits set by the Fates, of course. So have your wishes and—”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute.” Kennijahn put up his hand as if he would ward off the words. “You’re not doing this because you want to do it. You have to.”
The thing nodded a little curtly. “Have to.”
“You’re a demon?” Kennijahn spoke with gathering interest.
“I’m a Drdr.”
“A what?” The thing only looked at him. Kennijahn went on, “You say, take my wishes. Do you mean I’ve got to take six wishes all at once?”
The Drdr looked almost sullen. “No.”
“It makes no difference how long I take?”
“No difference. But if you hurry, I can return from whence I came.”
“Thanks for the information.” Kennijahn spoke dryly. Then he frowned. He said sharply, “What do you mean, limits set by the Fates?”
“Your destiny cannot be changed.”
Some of the high hope trickled out of Kennijahn. “Destiny?” he echoed hollowly.
“Every man,” said the creature, “has his predestined fate. It is inexorable, and in your case the situation is that wishes will do you no good. You are doomed to die by hanging.”
Kennijahn took the tremendous shock of the words with scarcely more than a shudder. He said incredulously, “Suppose I were to wish myself in Buenos Aires, a prosperous-looking American businessman from the States. You mean to tell me that I will hang here in this prison next week regardless?”
“Not necessarily here, or next week. Is that your first wish?”
“You can actually do it?”
The great, blazing eye stared at him unwinkingly; and suddenly the ultimate thrill of this opportunity came to Kennijahn, that this was real, no nightmare, no phantasmagoria, nothing but wondrous truth. Six wishes! Good God, six! Why with six wishes he could grab the whole earth. And what did it matter if a hundred years hence his destiny caught up with him? First of all, then, get out of this hell hole. And where else but Buenos Aires, where he had salted away money under the name of Peter Claremont? He had almost escaped there before after the ruinous fight with that fool, Harmsworth.
“Let’s go!” he cried wildly. “Get me out of here … out of here—”
There was blackness.

…

“The señor has his papers?”
The polite voice of the bank clerk sounded like a knell of doom. Kennijahn looked across the shiny desk at the dark, oily face of the clerk.
“Papers?” He attempted a smile. “Oh, you mean you want my signature so that you can compare it with the one I have on file?”
“No, señor.” The man was firm. “Your passport and documents relating to entry into the Argentine. The government regulations have become very strict.”
“Oh, yes, those papers !” In truth he had forgotten. Kennijahn explained clumsily, “I left them at the hotel, of course. I shall go and get them.”
“If you will be so kind, señor.”
It was hot out in the street, a dense, suffocating heat that grew as the morning lengthened. Kennijahn thought furiously: Damned if he’d waste a wish on getting out of this silly jam. After all, he had his false papers. Or rather, Nina had them. He’d cable her, and she could take a Pan-American plane, and be here in whatever short time it took. She had her papers ready, too. He thought about Nina with a rising excitement. Thank God, the police had never found out about her.
The cable was off before another thought occurred to him. He phoned the bank, and asked for the clerk who had served him.
“This is Peter Claremont speaking.”
“Si, Señor Claremont.”
“When I arrived back at my hotel, I found some urgent business awaiting my attention. I will come in to see you tomorrow, or the day after.”
“Si, Señor.”
Kennijahn hung up with a complacent smile. Nothing like gathering up all the threads.
The wire from Nina that came two hours later said:

ARRIVING THURSDAY. IF I DO NOT HEAR FROM YOU TO CONTRARY WILL EXPECT YOU TO MEET ME AT AIRPORT.

The only thing wrong with that was that he spent the next two nights in the main jailhouse. The officers who had come to the hotel to arrest him were polite and cold:
“You are to be held, señor, for the American police, who, it seems, intercepted a telegram from you to your señora.”
So that was that, Kennijahn thought grayly. It was all perfectly natural; and the mistake was in assuming the reason the police had never mentioned Nina was because they didn’t know about her. His impulse, the moment he was behind bars, was to call Drdr, but he decided against that. His next wish was going to be planned; and his best bet by far was to make a dramatic disappearance from the plane taking him back to America.
The roar of the big plane was a soft throb against the background of Kennijahn’s thoughts. He could see dark splotches of forest below, dimly visible in the bright moonlight. At last, far ahead, a vast brightness showed. The ocean gleamed and sparkled. The moon made a path of dazzling light toward an horizon that, at this height, was so remote that it seemed an infinite distance away. Kennijahn said in a low tone:
“Drdr.”
He started in spite of himself as the black caricature of human shape jerked into sight beside him. The enormous single eye of the creature peered at him, a scant two feet from his own face. The thing said:
“Do not worry about your guards. They can neither see me, nor hear any conversation between us. You desire your second wish?”
Kennijahn nodded, a little numbly. The chill of that abrupt materialization was still upon him, and he felt amazed that even his pre-knowledge hadn’t helped him. There was something about the monstrous little devil-thing that did things to his insides; and knowledge that it was harmless made no difference. He shook himself finally and said:
“I want to find out the exact limitations of a wish. When I arrived in Buenos Aires, I found myself on the street with five hundred dollars in my pocket. Is that your idea of how much a prosperous business man would be carrying? But never mind that. What I want to know is this: Suppose I had said to you: Put me into Buenos Aires in a swanky hotel suite with all my papers for entry into the Argentine on me, and a million dollars in a trunk—would that all have been one wish?”
“I can only give you about seven hundred thousand dollars,” was the flat-voiced reply. “A set value was fixed by universal law long ago; I can only transpose it into your type of wealth.”
“All right, all right, seven hundred thousand dollars,” Kennijahn said testily. And then he stopped. “Good God!” he gasped. “Anything that I can think of at one time is one wish.”
The creature nodded. “Within the limits set by the Fates, as I have said. Is your second wish, then, to go back to Buenos Aires as you described?”
“To hell with that. I don’t want to live in no damned foreign country. I’m an American. And I’ve got a better idea. You said any wish—anything?”
“Within the limits—” began the Drdr, but Kennijahn interrupted roughly:
Can you put me back into the past before the murder took place?” He grinned at the jet-black monstrosity. “See what I’m getting at: No swindle, no murder, no destiny.”
“No one,” came the calm reply, “can escape his destiny.” Kennijahn made an impatient chut of sound with his tongue.
“But you can do what I want?”
The thing’s hideous mouth twisted sullenly. “I can, but would prefer not to. Because Drdr cannot go back to give you wishes in the past. Before you could have your third wish, you would have to return to the period after you called me. And if you should get into trouble—”
“Trouble!” Kennijahn echoed. “Listen, I’m going to live the life of an angel.” He paused, frowning. “But I see your point. It wouldn’t do to go too far back. And that’s all right. I didn’t really begin to get involved financially until five months ago, and it all happened so damned fast— Make it six months. There wasn’t a cloud on the horizon six months ago. So shoot me back into time—”

…

The next second he was in the death cell.
Kennijahn stared around him with a gathering horror. The gray walls seemed to close in on him. The bunk felt hard and uncomfortable underneath him. Beyond the door, electric lights glowed dimly, but the cell itself was in darkness. It took nearly a minute before he made out Drdr sitting on the floor in one corner. Simultaneously, the thing’s great, blazing eye, which must have been closed, opened and regarded him redly.
A black rage twisted through Kennijahn. “You scum,” he roared. “What the devil have you done?”
The red eye glowed at him expressionlessly out of the darkness, an unnatural sphere of light. The thing’s voice said unemotionally, “Gave you your second wish, naturally.”
“You liar!” Kennijahn shouted. And stopped. He had a sudden, horrible sinking sensation that he was the victim of some subtle, incomprehensible hoax. “I don’t remember a thing,” he finished weakly.
“You didn’t ask for memory,” the thing replied calmly. “Accordingly, you went back into time, re-enacted the murder and the trial, and here you are, facing your inevitable destiny.”
Kennijahn burst out, “Why you miserable scoundrel. You knew I wanted memory.”
“I did not. You never mentioned it, or even thought of it.”
“But it was obvious.”
The monstrosity was staring at him. “I tell you and give you everything you ask for. Nothing more. And the sooner you have your wishes, the quicker I can return to the place from where I came.”
Kennijahn caught his fury into a tight, grim thought. So that was it. He had been so intent on his own problem that he had dismissed too readily the fact that the creature also had a purpose. He said, “Where did you come from, anyway, that you’re so anxious to get back?”
Drdr was placid. “Is that question a wish?”
“No, of course not.” Kennijahn spoke hastily. But his rage was cooling rapidly. With thoughtful eyes, he studied the shadow shape in the darkness on the floor. He’d have to watch out, plan more carefully, leave no loopholes.
“So I did it all over again a second time?” he said slowly. “In other words, my character got me into the same mess. That settles it. Change my character. Put me back six months, with memory, but in addition, make me more honest, strong, mind you, and—” He thought of Nina; he added, “No nonsense about women, of course. I want no change in my outlook there. Is that clear?”
“I don’t understand.” The creature sounded puzzled. “Change your character? You mean, give you a different body, perhaps better looking?”
“No, my character!” said Kennijahn. He paused helplessly. It struck him suddenly that this creature had marked limits of understanding. “You know—my character. Me!”
“You! Change the essence that is you. Why, that is impossible. You are you, a definite pattern in the universe, with an assigned role. You cannot be different. The Fates made you as you are.”
Kennijahn shrugged impatiently. “0. K. I get it. I am what I am. Perhaps it’s just as well. After all, I know my situation. If I were different I might develop some screwy religious notion about accepting my fate. I guess I can handle this best as myself. All right, then, put me back six months with complete memory of you. Get that—and wait! This is only my third wish. You didn’t put anything over on me that I can’t remember?”
“This is your third wish,” agreed the thing. “After this, you will have three more. But I warn you. I cannot help you in the past.”
“Let’s go!” said Kennijahn curtly.

…

He was sitting at his desk in his private office. A brilliant sun touched the edge of the great window behind him; but he was still too taut, too cold from his brief sojourn in the death cell. He went to the door leading to the outer office, opened it, and said to the nearest clerk, “What day is it … what date?”
“July 7th, Wednesday,” said the girl.
He was so intent that he forgot to thank her. He closed the door, his mind dark with calculation. Slowly, then, he brightened. It was true. Six months to the day. He sat down before his desk and picked up the cradle phone. A moment later, the familiar voice was sounding in his ear.
“’Lo, Nina,” he said; then, “Nina, will you marry me?”
“The devil!” Nina said, “Have you gone crazy?”
Kennijahn grinned. He pictured the lithe, svelte Nina stretched out slinkily on her living-room chesterfield, her eyes narrowed around the idea that he was trying to get a rise out of her. Trust Nina not to go out on a limb.
“I mean it,” he said. “I’m thinking of retiring to a country estate—within half an hour’s drive of town, of course,” he added hastily as swift memory came of Nina’s utter boredom the time he had taken her to a mountain resort. He went on, “We’ll raise a couple of kids, and live a merry life generally.”
Her laughter trilled on the phone. “Kids—you! Don’t make me laugh. Besides, I’m not the mother type.”
“O. K., we’ll skip the kids. How about it?”
The woman laughed again. “My dear,” she said, “tonight you bring around the most expensive engagement ring you can find, and I’ll begin to believe you.”
“It’s a deal,” said Kennijahn. “Good-bye, dear.”
He hung up, smiling. That was the first break from character. He stood up, opened the connecting door between his office and Harrnsworth’s. It was the sight of the man sitting there alive that did it. Kennijahn swayed. Then he licked dry lips. Finally, with a terrible effort, he caught himself and stood blinking at the man he had once murdered. God, he thought, this business was enough to give anybody the creeps. He managed to say finally:
“Hello, Andy.” And he was himself again. Swiftly, then, he made his demand.

“But you can’t draw out now,” Harmsworth gasped when Kennijahn had finished. The man’s thin face was flushed. He looked, Kennijahn thought in annoyance, on the verge of becoming vastly excited. He blazed on, “Why, if you pull out without apparent reason people will think it strange, think that you’re getting out from under before a crash. You’ve got a reputation for that, you know. Damn it, how did I ever get mixed up with a shyster like you.” He was beet red now. He fumbled at a drawer. His hand came out, holding a revolver. His voice shrilled, “I won’t let you do this. I won’t, do you hear?”
Kennijahn ignored the revolver. After all, he thought coolly, a man who was born to be hanged wasn’t going to be killed by a bullet from a chap who was scheduled to be murdered. With a vicious amazement, he cut the thought off. What the devil was he thinking, he whose whole present existence was based on the conviction that destiny was not inevitable? Abruptly, he was startled by the rapid turn of events. He said hurriedly:
“Put away that gun, you fool, before you hurt somebody.”
“I want you to promise,” Harmsworth said wildly, “that you’ll give me at least six months to get our customers used to the idea of your leaving.”
Six months! Why, that would take him deep into the period where—formerly—the murder and the trial had taken place. ’Nothing doing,” Kennijahn said flatly. “I’m making a complete break now, this week.”
The first shot struck the door jamb behind Kennijahn. And then he had rushed in, grabbing at the gun, roaring in his bass voice:
“You idiot. I’ll—”
The second shot came as he twisted the gun free from the other’s fingers. Gun in hand, he stepped back. He felt a vague amazement and horror as Harmsworth fell like a log to the floor and lay there. Even more vaguely, he was aware that a door had burst open, and that a girl was standing there, her mouth opening and shutting, making sounds. Then the door slammed. He heard a frantic dialing, and a high-pitched girl’s voice screaming something about police.
With a gasp, Kennijahn dropped the gun and sank into a chair. For a moment, he was taut and cold. Finally, the realization penetrated that the police were due in minutes. Instantly, his mind cleared. He snatched the phone on Harmsworth’s desk, dialed Clissold’s number, and described tersely to the lawyer what had happened.
Clissold said in his barking voice, “Bill, frankly, I don’t think that’s such a good story. You retiring at thirty-eight. Who else knew about your decision?”
“For Heaven’s sake!” Kennijahn rasped. “Does anybody have to know? It’s a common enough decision, isn’t it?”
“Not for you, Bill. Don’t take this personal, but you have a reputation for grabbing all you can get. I repeat, did anybody know you had decided to retire?”
Kennijahn thought of Nina, and a bead of sweat trickled down his cheek. “Only Nina,” he said finally, heavily.
“Worthless,” said Clissold succinctly. “We’ll have to change that story, Bill.”
“Look here,” Kennijahn began. “Are you trying to tell me—”
“I’m not trying anything,” the lawyer barked. “But now, what about that stenographer who barged in while you were still struggling with Harmsworth—what did she see?”
“How the devil do I know?” Kennijahn groaned. He felt suddenly hopeless. It was the swiftness of it that brought the paralyzing realization of how this thing might be twisted against him He snapped, “Clissold, get over here and shut that girl up, and make her think she saw what we want.”
“Now, don’t get excited,” the lawyer’s voice soothed. “I’m just checking up all the angles. After all, the big thing in your favor is that it’s Harmsworth’s gun.”
“Eh!” said Kennijahn, and his brain seemed to twist crazily. He had a mind’s-eye picture of himself explaining why he had turned his gun over to Harmsworth more than a year before because the coward was an alarmist who was always seeing bandits stalking into the office. It was such a natural thing for a man of Kennijahn’s size and physical confidence to hand over a gun that—that no one would ever believe it. And six months would have to pass before he could get in touch with Drdr. Six months of warding off the rope, six months of—hell.
There were black days when he thought that it couldn’t be done. The trial court reached the point where it denied further stays, and rejected motions based on technicalities. And then the court of first appeal had a small agenda and took his appeal in four days straight within a month of his first conviction. Finally, the supreme court of the United States refused an application for a further appeal on the grounds that new evidence was not being offered. It found, in addition, that the lower courts had handled the trial in exemplary fashion.
The sentence was due to be carried out one month before the end of the six months. With a final, desperate cunning, Kennijahn applied through Clissold for a three-month stay of execution, using the full weight of four hundred thousand dollars in bribes, his entire liquid assets. Not even the governor could see why that much money couldn’t be gotten hold of, somehow, for the party, of course, especially when it was not an attempt to break the sentence. But they were all very moral about it. Three months was too long. The public wouldn’t like three months. They could make it—well, six weeks.
Six weeks it was.

…

In its proper time, the Drdr flashed darkly into his cell. Kennijahn stared at the thing wanly, said finally, wearily, “How could a miscarriage of justice like that happen? What is the matter with the world?”
The creature stood up easily on the shadowed cement floor, its flat face expressionless. “Nothing is the matter. Everything is taking place as fated. Innocent men have been hung before, and afterwards people wonder how it could have happened, how they could have supported the crime. But it was simply the victim’s destiny.” The thing shrugged. “No matter how you plan your wishes, it will always be like that. So have them please, and release me.”
Kennijahn sat for a long, stolid moment, letting that sink in. Abruptly, his head throbbed with reaction, and he was afraid, desperately, horribly, ultimately afraid. He said shakily, “What kind of a hellish universe is this? Why should I be fated to hang? It’s not fair.”
“You don’t understand.” The black shape spoke calmly. “Your death is part of a pattern. No matter what you do, the pattern resumes its shape, new threads covering the places where you have tried to break through. It is all necessary to a cosmic balance of forces.”
Kennijahn swallowed hard, then he scowled. “O. K. If this body’s got to hang, that’s all right with me. I’ve had six month’s to think of wishes, and believe me, I’ve got a good one.” He paused to gather his thoughts, then:
“Listen, can you transfer me, with my thoughts, my memories—me—into the body of Henry Pearsall, the millionaire ?”
“Yes.”
Kennijahn almost slobbered in his joy. His whole body shook with horrendous relief. He gasped at last, triumphantly, “Well, what do you think of it? My destiny is fulfilled. Kennijahn hangs at the appointed hour; and I, in the body of Pearsall, go on.” The red eye fixed on him unwinkingly. “Only one thing is wrong: Pearsall is not destined to hang.”
“But this way he won’t—don’t you see? Pearsall’s body goes on.”
The thing said simply, “This then is your fourth wish?”
It was the quietness of the question that got Kennijahn He thought in a stark dismay: Three wishes gone, and three to go. Three gone. And he had expected to be sitting on top of the world after his first. The fourth wish coming up, and he wasn’t even out of jail yet. Of course, there was that wretched business of a wasted wish. That wouldn’t happen again. Slowly, his mind steadied. Courage, the sheer physical courage that had enabled him to smash his way ruthlessly to the top, came back. Three wishes left, and actually that was good. Surely, with all his faculties about him, and the experience he’d had, he should be able to hold off that damnable destiny for years.
“Yes,” he said, “that’s my fourth wish, but don’t rush me. I want to get everything straight. You know the Henry Pearsall I mean. He lives on Oriole Parkway Drive.”
“I know the one.”
Kennijahn persisted. “The one with that absolutely gorgeous wife; her name is Edith. She’s about twenty-eight. He’s thirty-four and worth about seventeen million. You’ve got that clear?”
The creature looked at him without speaking, and Kennijahn remembered that it had refused once before to answer a question the second time. He said:
“All right, all right, don’t get mad. You can’t blame me for checking up after what’s happened. One last question—” His hard, steel-gray eyes stared straight at the thing. “Have you any faintest idea of what could go wrong with my wish?”
“None. Something will, of course. Don’t know what.” Kennijahn smiled grimly. “I’ll take my chances. Let’s go.”

…

He had arrived home from the office rather late. Even with the memory of the real Henry Pearsall to help him, it was difficult to pick up the threads of another man’s life and work. But he would get it. A matter of time was involved. In the meantime, let people think him a little off par.
“The madam,” the butler had said, “has gone out for dinner. She left this note for you.”
Pearsall-Kennijahn read the note with a pleasant expansiveness. It was full of little affectionate phrases, and ended with:

… darling, going out tonight was a “must”. You know I’d rather be with you, particularly these last ten days since you’ve taken such a renewed interest in your loving but once sadly neglected wife. I feel as if we’re on a second honeymoon. All my heart.

Edith.

Kennijahn folded the note with a tolerant smile, and put it in his pocket. What a life, getting the pure, full-blossomed love of another man’s lovely wife without having to do any preliminary spadework. There had been a little worry in his mind that she would acquire one of those instinctive dislikes for him that you read about in stories. But that fear was past now.
It was while he was eating his dinner that thought of Nina came. He frowned. He’d have to get acquainted with her somehow, perhaps if necessary through his fifth wish. Nina would mourn him, he knew, but not for long. And if she was going to be faithless to his memory, the lucky man might as well be Henry Pearsall. Funny, how the bare thought of Nina got him going.
From the dining room he went into the spacious study, with its hunting lodge, overhead-beam construction, and its shelf on shelf of books. Some day, he would read a few of those books just to see what were the springs that moved the real Pearsall’s being. He settled himself cozily under a reading lamp, picked up the evening paper and glanced idly at the headlines. The two-inch caption that topped the page was about a ship explosion. Underneath, in smaller type was:

BROKER ESCAPES FROM DEATH HOUSE

“Huh!” gasped Pearsall-Kennijahn. And there was such a dizzy feeling all over him that he grasped at the arm of the chair. The wild sensation came that he was on the edge of an abyss. With a titanic effort, he slowed his whirling mind and read on:

William J Kennijahn, former stock broker, sentenced to hang three days from today, made a daring escape from the death house late this afternoon. The ex-broker, who was recently convicted of murdering his partner, Andrew Harmsworth, is physically an enormously strong man, and, while authorities have as yet issued no statement as to the method of escape, it is believed that this strength enabled him to—

It was the sound of a door opening that tore Pearsall-Kennijahn’s gaze from the horrifying and fascinating account. The paper slipped from his grasp, and slid to the floor with a dull thump. It was the queerest, most terrible thing in the world to sit there staring at himself. Pearsall had somehow squeezed the larger body into one of—Pearsall’s—suits. It made a tight fit that looked unnatural.
“And now, you devil from hell,” the familiar bass voice lashed at him, “you’re going to get yours. I don’t know what in Satan’s name you’ve done to me, but you’re going to pay for it.”
Kennijahn opened his lips to scream for help, but the sound shattered to a gulp in his throat as his former two-hundred-pound body smashed at the hundred and sixty pounds of flesh and bone that was now his human form. It wasn’t even a fight. He struggled, breathing hoarsely, and then a fist of sledge-hammer potency connected with his jaw.
When he came to, there was a cruel gag in his mouth, and his hands were bound behind his back with cords so tight that he winced from the cutting pain. And then he saw what his captor was doing.
The man was chuckling under his breath; an inhuman sound. He had already flung the rope over one of the overhead beams, with the dangling noose neatly tied. Still chuckling, he came to the bound man.
“We mustn’t waste any time,” he giggled. “We’ll just fit your head into the rope, and then I’ll do the pulling. Come, come, now—no shrinking. Fixed it up myself while I was waiting for you. And I know your neck size. Fifteen inches, isn’t it? It’ll be a little tighter than that, actually, in the final issue, but—”
Kennijahn was thinking so hard, so piercingly of Drdr that, in addition to all his other pains, his head began to ache agonizingly from the appalling effort. But the seconds passed, and there was no Drdr. He thought despairingly: The gag, the damnable gag was preventing him from calling the creature.

…

He was under the rope when it happened. There was blackness, and then he was lying on his back. It took a long moment to grasp that he was stretched out on the hard bunk of a prison cell.
He lay there, and gradually grew conscious of an incongruous fact—the fact that he was sighing with relief at being in the death cell again. He was trembling. His fingers shook as he took a package of cigarettes out of his pocket and went to the “foolproof” electric lighter on the wall. The cigarette nearly fell to the floor. Abruptly, his knees felt so weak that he had to sit down. The creature said from the corner:
“I saved you just in time. It is important to me that you have all your wishes, so that I may return to my abode.”
So that was it. For its own selfish reasons, the Drdr had pulled him out of a nasty mess. Well, the reason didn’t matter. Here he was, four wishes gone, and his destiny still to beat. Destiny. The ague came back. For he believed. His body shook, and his face felt hot and feverish. He believed. The whole, hellish thing was true. He was born to be hanged, and each time now, each wish that had seemed so sure-fire, so normally bound to produce the desired results, had brought him closer to his black doom. The time for normal wishes was past.
“Look,” he said breathlessly, “isn’t there anybody who has ever escaped their destiny? Are there no exceptions? Does the pattern always run true?” He saw that the creature was hesitating, its eyes narrowed. With a roar, Kennijahn clutched at the straw.
“There is something. Tell me. Quick!”
“There are always exceptions,” came the slow answer. “It is not a good thing to talk about the failures, or even call them failures. Sooner or later, they fulfill their destiny. It is only a matter of time.”
“A matter of time,” Kennijahn shouted. “You fool, what do you think I’m fighting for? Time, time—anything to hold off the rope. What kind of people are these exceptions?”
“Usually wealthy men who have slid off into some bypath. Or who accidentally received money as the result of some involved plan that was not originally intended to include them.”
“Oh!” Kennijahn sat intent. His mind clenched; his voice sounded unnormal in his ears, as he said finally, “Is there any young, reasonably good-looking, wealthy man among them whose destiny is to die by hanging?”
“There is.”
Kennijahn sagged, so great was the reaction. He lay there on the bunk, breathing heavily, the black doubts raging through his mind. Slowly, he roused himself, and quavered:
“After all, I’ve still got wishes five and six. If anything should go wrong—but I can see now, this is the best bet: Taking the body of a man who is destined to hang but who has been missed in the shuffle. There won’t be any escaping from jail for him, the way Pearsall did.”
Thought of Pearsall sent a cold shiver down his spine. Then a wave of anger came. He snarled, “I’ve a good mind to wait until the night before the hanging, and try that wish again. After all, he couldn’t escape a second time.” Something in the creature’s gaze made him say sharply, “Or can he?”
The thing shrugged, said, “A man not fated to hang will not hang. Has it occurred to you to wonder how he succeeded in escaping from his cell in the first place?”
“What do you mean?”
“For a while he was simply stunned. Then he grew desperate and made his attempt—and no bars could hold him If they had tried to hang him, the rope would have slipped from his neck. It has happened, you know, several times.”
Kennijahn shuddered. He managed finally, “You know what I want. So put me into that body before the Fates grow impatient and send a mob to lynch me.”

…

There was a blinding, choking, terrible pain. A long moment of that sustained, racking agony, and then came the most awful realization that had ever pierced his brain: He was hanging by his neck.
He couldn’t see, he couldn’t breathe. Dimly, in a blaze of horror, he was conscious that his hands were tied behind him; and there was a stark memory, the other man’s memory, of a determination that life was not worth living, and that suicide was the answer.
Drdr had put him in the body of a man in the act of committing suicide by hanging.
Drdr, you scum, you betrayer, what about the sixth wish? Get hands—free hands. Man must have tied his own hands—couldn’t do that perfectly.
His hands were free for long seconds before realization came that they were fumbling at the rope around his throat, fighting for easement. With a final, all-out effort, he grabbed the rope above his head, and hoisted himself like a man chinning a bar. The deadly, cutting, choking horror on his neck relaxed.
Desperately, then, he clung there, conscious of the utter physical weakness of this body, the inability of this man’s muscles to maintain for any time his present position. But after a moment his vision came blurrily back. He saw distortedly a great room full of packing cases and, through a window, the top of a tree. An attic. He was in the attic of the millionaire would-be-suicide’s home. His voice came back. It was a harsh, raspy voice that kept catching, as if hooks were snagging it. But he managed to scream:
“Drdr!”
The sound of that scratchy voice echoed hollowly as he repeated the name shrilly; and then, there was the black, the loathsome, the treacherous beast. The demonlike thing stood on the floor below him and looked curiously up at him from its enormous red eye.
“Get me down from here,” Kennijahn croaked. “Get me down safely. My … sixth … wish. Hurry, hurry. .. , I can’t hold on much longer; and I haven’t … the strength … to climb up farther and … untie the rope. I—”
The enormous casualness of the other’s manner struck him momentarily dumb. Then he raged:
“Hurry … my sixth wish. I tell you, you’ve got to … you can’t get out of it. You said so yourself.”
The little monster stared up at him with unblinking eye. “You’ve had your sixth wish,” it said coolly. “This is your sixth wish.”
Kennijahn had the curious feeling that his nerves were shattering into a million pieces. There was something in the manner of the creature, a casual positivity that—
“Whaddaya mean?” he gasped. “You said I had two more. You said—”
“If you will remember,” came the precise reply, “it was you who said that you had two more. And as you did not actually ask if it were so, naturally I was not compelled to volunteer the information.
“Where you went astray was in assuming that I only answered wishes that were spoken. When I released you from Henry Peersall’s body, it was in response to the strongest wish that had ever been in your mind, but it was a thought-wish. I am not accountable for your assumptions, though I must satisfy you that I have fulfilled all your wishes. This is now done, and I am free.”
He whisked out of sight; and Kennijahn clung there with a queer, fascinated awareness that he could hold on for only seconds longer.

William J. Kennijahn was alone with his destiny.

The End

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The Whole Town’s Sleeping (Full Text) by Ray Bradbury

Ray Bradbury is known for his fine science fiction stories, and poetic ambience. But he also writes horror and non-science fiction as well. This little beauty is about FEAR. And please pay attention to it. Fear is the big killer. Fear is what disrupts our lives and the beauty within our lives. It is fear.

Now a good story will take you to new places, and you will get to feel familiar emotions when you read about those places, and one such story is this one. It’s a horror story, but then again… it is not about the staples of horror. It’s about the emotions that accompany it.

The Whole Town’s Sleeping by Ray Bradbury

THE COURTHOUSE CLOCK CHIMED SEVEN TIMES.

The echoes of the chimes faded. Warm summer twilight here in upper Illinois country in this little town deep far away from everything, kept to itself by a river and a forest and a meadow and a lake.

The sidewalks still scorched.

The stores closing and the streets shadowed.

And there were two moons; the clock moon with four faces in four night directions above the solemn black courthouse, and the real moon rising in vanilla whiteness from the dark east.

In the drugstore fans whispered in the high ceiling.

In the rococo shade of porches, a few invisible people sat.

Cigars glowed pink, on occasion.

Screen doors whined their springs and slammed.

On the purple bricks of the summer-night streets, Douglas Spaulding ran; dogs and boys followed after.

“Hi, Miss Lavinia!” The boys loped away. Waving after them quietly, Lavinia Nebbs sat all alone with a tall cool lemonade in her white fingers, tapping it to her lips, sipping, waiting.

“Here I am, Lavinia.” She turned and there was Francine, all in snow white, at the bottom steps of the porch, in the smell of zinnias and hibiscus.

Lavinia Nebbs locked her front door and, leaving her lemonade glass half empty on the porch, said, “It’s a fine night for the movie.”

They walked down the street.

“Where you going, girls?” cried Miss Fern and Miss Roberta from their porch over the way.

Lavinia called back through the soft ocean of darkness: “To the Elite Theater to see CHARLIE CHAPLIN!”

“Won’t catch us out on no night like this,” wailed Miss Fern. “Not with the Lonely One strangling women. Lock ourselves up in our closet with a gun.”

“Oh, bosh!” Lavinia heard the old women’s door bang and lock, and she drifted on, feeling the warm breath of summer night shimmering off the oven-baked sidewalks.

It was like walking on a hard crust of freshly warmed bread.

The heat pulsed under your dress, along your legs, with a stealthy and not unpleasant sense of invasion.

“Lavinia, you don’t believe all that about the Lonely One, do you?”

“Those women like to see their tongues dance.”

“Just the same, Hattie McDollis was killed two months ago, Roberta Ferry the month before, and now Elizabeth Ramsell’s disappeared. . . .”

“Hattie McDollis was a silly girl, walked off with a traveling man, I bet.”

“But the others, all of them, strangled, their tongues sticking out their mouths, they say.”

They stood upon the edge of the ravine that cut the town half in two. Behind them were the lit houses and music, ahead was deepness, moistness, fireflies and dark.

“Maybe we shouldn’t go to the show tonight,” said Francine.

“The Lonely One might follow and kill us. I don’t like that ravine. Look at it, will you!”

Lavinia looked and the ravine was a dynamo that never stopped running, night or day; there was a great moving hum, a bumbling and murmuring of creature, insect, or plant life.

It smelled like a greenhouse, of secret vapors and ancient, washed shales and quicksands.

And always the black dynamo humming, with sparkles like great electricity where fireflies moved on the air.

“It won’t be me coming back through this old ravine tonight late, so darned late; it’ll be you, Lavinia, you down the steps and over the bridge and maybe the Lonely One there.”

“Bosh!” said Lavinia Nebbs.

“It’ll be you alone on the path, listening to your shoes, not me. You all alone on the way back to your house. Lavinia, don’t you get lonely living in that house?”

“Old maids love to live alone.” Lavinia pointed at the hot shadowy path leading down into the dark.

“Let’s take the short cut.”

“I’m afraid!”

“It’s early. Lonely One won’t be out till late.”

Lavinia took the other’s arm and led her down and down the crooked path into the cricket warmth and frog sound and mosquito-delicate silence.

They brushed through summer-scorched grass, burs prickling at their bare ankles.

“Let’s run!” gasped Francine.

“No!” They turned a curve in the path—and there it was.

In the singing deep night, in the shade of warm trees, as if she had laid herself out to enjoy the soft stars and the easy wind, her hands at either side of her like the oars of a delicate craft, lay Elizabeth Ramsell!

Francine screamed. “Don’t scream!”

Lavinia put out her hands to hold onto Francine, who was whimpering and choking. “Don’t! Don’t!”

The woman lay as if she had floated there, her face moonlit, her eyes wide and like flint, her tongue sticking from her mouth.

“She’s dead!” said Francine.

“Oh, she’s dead, dead! She’s dead!” Lavinia stood in the middle of a thousand warm shadows with the crickets screaming and the frogs loud.

“We’d better get the police,” she said at last.

“Hold me, Lavinia, hold me, I’m cold, oh, I’ve never been so cold in all my life!”

Lavinia held Francine and the policemen were brushing through the crackling grass, flashlights ducked about, voices mingled, and the night grew toward eight-thirty.

“It’s like December. I need a sweater,” said Francine, eyes shut, against Lavinia.

The policeman said, “I guess you can go now, ladies. You might drop by the station tomorrow for a little more questioning.”

Lavinia and Francine walked away from the police and the sheet over the delicate thing upon the ravine grass. Lavinia felt her heart going loudly in her and she was cold, too, with a February cold; there were bits of sudden snow all over her flesh, and the moon washed her brittle fingers whiter, and she remembered doing all the talking while Francine just sobbed against her.

A voice called from far off, “You want an escort, ladies?”

“No, we’ll make it,” said Lavinia to nobody, and they walked on.

They walked through the nuzzling, whispering ravine, the ravine of whispers and clicks, the little world of investigation growing small behind them with its lights and voices.

“I’ve never seen a dead person before,” said Francine. Lavinia examined her watch as if it was a thousand miles away on an arm and wrist grown impossibly distant.

“It’s only eightthirty. We’ll pick up Helen and get on to the show.”

“The show!” Francine jerked. “It’s what we need. We’ve got to forget this. It’s not good to remember. If we went home now we’d remember. We’ll go to the show as if nothing happened.”

“Lavinia, you don’t mean it!”

“I never meant anything more in my life. We need to laugh now and forget.”

“But Elizabeth’s back there—your friend, my friend—”

“We can’t help her; we can only help ourselves. Come on.”

They started up the ravine side, on the stony path, in the dark. And suddenly there, barring their way, standing very still in one spot, not seeing them, but looking on down at the moving lights and the body and listening to the official voices, was Douglas Spaulding.

He stood there, white as a mushroom, with his hands at his sides, staring down into the ravine.

“Get home!” cried Francine. He did not hear.

“You!” shrieked Francine. “Get home, get out of this place, you hear? Get home, get home, get home!”

Douglas jerked his head, stared at them as if they were not there. His mouth moved. He gave a bleating sound. Then, silently, he whirled about and ran. He ran silently up the distant hills into the warm darkness.

Francine sobbed and cried again and, doing this, walked on with Lavinia Nebbs. “There you are! I thought you ladies’d never come!”

Helen Greer stood tapping her foot atop her porch steps. “You’re only an hour late, that’s all. What happened?”

“We—” started Francine. Lavinia clutched her arm tight.

“There was a commotion. Somebody found Elizabeth Ramsell in the ravine.”

“Dead? Was she—dead?” Lavinia nodded. Helen gasped and put her hand to her throat.

“Who found her?” Lavinia held Francine’s wrist firmly.

“We don’t know.” The three young women stood in the summer night looking at each other.

“I’ve got a notion to go in the house and lock the doors,” said Helen at last. But finally she went to get a sweater, for though it was still warm, she, too, complained of the sudden winter night.

While she was gone Francine whispered frantically, “Why didn’t you tell her?”

“Why upset her?” said Lavinia.

“Tomorrow. Tomorrow’s plenty of time.”

The three women moved along the street under the black trees, past suddenly locked houses.

How soon the news had spread outward from the ravine, from house to house, porch to porch, telephone to telephone. Now, passing, the three women felt eyes looking out at them from curtained windows as locks rattled into place.

How strange the popsicle, the vanilla night, the night of close-packed ice cream, of mosquitolotioned wrists, the night of running children suddenly veered from their games and put away behind glass, behind wood, the popsicles in melting puddles of lime and strawberry where they fell when the children were scooped indoors.

Strange the hot rooms with the sweating people pressed tightly back into them behind the bronze knobs and knockers.

Baseball bats and balls lay upon the unfootprinted lawns.

A half-drawn, white-chalk game of hopscotch lay on the broiled, steamed sidewalk. It was as if someone had predicted freezing weather a moment ago.

“We’re crazy being out on a night like this,” said Helen.

“Lonely One won’t kill three ladies,” said Lavinia. “There’s safety in numbers. And besides, it’s too soon. The killings always come a month separated.”

A shadow fell across their terrified faces.

A figure loomed behind a tree.

As if someone had struck an organ a terrible blow with his fist, the three women gave off a scream, in three different shrill notes.

“Got you!” roared a voice. The man plunged at them. He came into the light, laughing. He leaned against a tree, pointing at the ladies weakly, laughing again.

“Hey! I’m the Lonely One!” said Frank Dillon.

“Frank Dillon!” “Frank!” “Frank,” said Lavinia, “if you ever do a childish thing like that again, may someone riddle you with bullets!”

“What a thing to do!” Francine began to cry hysterically. Frank Dillon stopped smiling.

“Say, I’m sorry.” “Go away!” said Lavinia. “Haven’t you heard about Elizabeth Ramsell— found dead in the ravine? You running around scaring women! Don’t speak to us again!”

“Aw, now—” They moved. He moved to follow.

“Stay right there, Mr. Lonely One, and scare yourself. Go take a look at Elizabeth Ramsell’s face and see if it’s funny. Good night!”

Lavinia took the other two on along the street of trees and stars, Francine holding a kerchief to her face.

“Francine, it was only a joke.” Helen turned to Lavinia.

“Why’s she crying so hard?”

“We’ll tell you when we get downtown. We’re going to the show no matter what! Enough’s enough. Come on now, get your money ready, we’re almost there!”

The drugstore was a small pool of sluggish air which the great wooden fans stirred in tides of arnica and tonic and soda-smell out onto the brick streets.

“I need a nickel’s worth of green peppermint chews,” said Lavinia to the druggist. His face was set and pale, like all the faces they had seen on the half-empty streets.

“For eating in the show,” said Lavinia as the druggist weighed out a nickel’s worth of the green candy with a silver shovel.

“You sure look pretty tonight, ladies. You looked cool this afternoon, Miss Lavinia, when you was in for a chocolate soda. So cool and nice that someone asked after you.” “Oh?”

“Man sitting at the counter—watched you walk out. Said to me, ‘Say, who’s that?’ Why, that’s Lavinia Nebbs, prettiest maiden lady in town, I said. ‘She’s beautiful,’ he said. ‘Where does she live?’ ”

Here the druggist paused uncomfortably.

“You didn’t!” said Francine. “You didn’t give him her address, I hope? You didn’t!”

“I guess I didn’t think. I said, ‘Oh, over on Park Street, you know, near the ravine.”

A casual remark.

But now, tonight, them finding the body, I heard a minute ago, I thought, My God, what’ve I done!”

He handed over the package, much too full.

“You fool!” cried Francine, and tears were in her eyes.

“I’m sorry. Course, maybe it was nothing.” Lavinia stood with the three people looking at her, staring at her.

She felt nothing.

Except, perhaps, the slightest prickle of excitement in her throat. She held out her money automatically.

“There’s no charge on those peppermints,” said the druggist, turning to shuffle some papers.

“Well, I know what I’m going to do right now!” Helen stalked out of the drugshop.

“I’m calling a taxi to take us all home. I’ll be no part of a hunting party for you, Lavinia. That man was up to no good. Asking about you. You want to be dead in the ravine next?”

“It was just a man,” said Lavinia, turning in a slow circle to look at the town.

“So is Frank Dillon a man, but maybe he’s the Lonely One.”

Francine hadn’t come out with them, they noticed, and turning, they found her arriving.

“I made him give me a description—the druggist. I made him tell what the man looked like. A stranger,” she said, “in a dark suit. Sort of pale and thin.”

“We’re all overwrought,” said Lavinia. “I simply won’t take a taxi if you get one. If I’m the next victim, let me be the next. There’s all too little excitement in life, especially for a maiden lady thirty-three years old, so don’t you mind if I enjoy it. Anyway it’s silly; I’m not beautiful.”

“Oh, but you are, Lavinia; you’re the loveliest lady in town, now that Elizabeth is—” Francine stopped. “You keep men off at a distance. If you’d only relax, you’d been married years ago!”

“Stop sniveling, Francine! Here’s the theater box office, I’m paying forty-one cents to see Charlie Chaplin. If you two want a taxi, go on. I’ll sit alone and go home alone.”

“Lavinia, you’re crazy; we can’t let you do that—”

They entered the theater.

The first showing was over, intermission was on, and the dim auditorium was sparsely populated. The three ladies sat halfway down front, in the smell of ancient brass polish, and watched the manager step through the worn red velvet curtains to make an announcement.

“The police have asked us to close early tonight so everyone can be out at a decent hour. Therefore we are cutting our short subjects and running our feature again immediately. The show will be over at eleven. Everyone is advised to go straight home. Don’t linger on the streets.”

“That means us, Lavinia!” whispered Francine.

The lights went out.

The screen leaped to life.

“Lavinia,” whispered Helen. “What?”

“As we came in, a man in a dark suit, across the street, crossed over. He just walked down the aisle and is sitting in the row behind us.”

“Oh, Helen!”

“Right behind us?”

One by one the three women turned to look. They saw a white face there, flickering with unholy light from the silver screen. It seemed to be all men’s faces hovering there in the dark.

“I’m going to get the manager!” Helen was gone up the aisle.

“Stop the film! Lights!”

“Helen, come back!” cried Lavinia, rising. They tapped their empty soda glasses down, each with a vanilla mustache on their upper lip, which they found with their tongues, laughing.

“You see how silly?” said Lavinia.

“All that riot for nothing. How embarrassing.”

“I’m sorry,” said Helen faintly.

The clock said eleven-thirty now. They had come out of the dark theater, away from the fluttering rush of men and women hurrying everywhere, nowhere, on the street while laughing at Helen.

Helen was trying to laugh at herself.

“Helen, when you ran up that aisle crying, ‘Lights!’ I thought I’d die! That poor man!”

“The theater manager’s brother from Racine!”

“I apologized,” said Helen, looking up at the great fan still whirling, whirling the warm late night air, stirring, restirring the smells of vanilla, raspberry, peppermint and Lysol.

“We shouldn’t have stopped for these sodas. The police warned—”

“Oh, bosh the police,” laughed Lavinia.

“I’m not afraid of anything. The Lonely One is a million miles away now. He won’t be back for weeks and the police’ll get him then, just wait. Wasn’t the film wonderful?”

“Closing up, ladies.”

The druggist switched off the lights in the cool white-tiled silence. Outside, the streets were swept clean and empty of cars or trucks or people. Bright lights still burned in the small store windows where the warm wax dummies lifted pink wax hands fired with blue-white diamond rings, or flourished orange wax legs to reveal hosiery.

The hot blueglass eyes of the mannequins watched as the ladies drifted down the empty river bottom street, their images shimmering in the windows like blossoms seen under darkly moving waters.

“Do you suppose if we screamed they’d do anything?”

“Who?”

“The dummies, the window people.”

“Oh, Francine.”

“Well. . .”

There were a thousand people in the windows, stiff and silent, and three people on the street, the echoes following like gunshots from store fronts across the way when they tapped their heels on the baked pavement.

A red neon sign flickered dimly, buzzed like a dying insect, as they passed. Baked and white, the long avenues lay ahead.

Blowing and tall in a wind that touched only their leafy summits, the trees stood on either side of the three small women.

Seen from the courthouse peak, they appeared like three thistles far away.

“First, we’ll walk you home, Francine.”

“No, I’ll walk you home.”

“Don’t be silly. You live way out at Electric Park. If you walked me home you’d have to come back across the ravine alone, yourself. And if so much as a leaf fell on you, you’d drop dead.”

Francine said, “I can stay the night at your house. You’re the pretty one!”

And so they walked, they drifted like three prim clothes forms over a moonlit sea of lawn and concrete, Lavinia watching the black trees flit by each side of her, listening to the voices of her friends murmuring, trying to laugh; and the night seemed to quicken, they seemed to run while walking slowly, everything seemed fast and the color of hot snow.

“Let’s sing,” said Lavinia.

They sang, “Shine On, Shine On, Harvest Moon …”

They sang sweetly and quietly, arm in arm, not looking back. They felt the hot sidewalk cooling underfoot, moving, moving.

“Listen!” said Lavinia. They listened to the summer night. The summer-night crickets and the far-off tone of the courthouse clock making it eleven forty-five.

“Listen!” Lavinia listened.

A porch swing creaked in the dark and there was Mr. Terle, not saying anything to anybody, alone on his swing, having a last cigar.

They saw the pink ash swinging gently to and fro.

Now the lights were going, going, gone.

The little house lights and big house lights and yellow lights and green hurricane lights, the candles and oil lamps and porch lights, and everything felt locked up in brass and iron and steel, everything, thought Lavinia, is boxed and locked and wrapped and shaded.

She imagined the people in their moonlit beds. And their breathing in the summernight rooms, safe and together.

And here we are, thought Lavinia, our footsteps on along the baked summer evening sidewalk. And above us the lonely street lights shining down, making a drunken shadow.

“Here’s your house, Francine. Good night.”

“Lavinia, Helen, stay here tonight. It’s late, almost midnight now. You can sleep in the parlor. I’ll make hot chocolate—it’ll be such fun!”

Francine was holding them both now, close to her.

“No, thanks,” said Lavinia.

And Francine began to cry. “Oh, not again, Francine,” said Lavinia.

“I don’t want you dead,” sobbed Francine, the tears running straight down her cheeks.

“You’re so fine and nice, I want you alive. Please, oh, please!”

“Francine, I didn’t know how much this has done to you. I promise I’ll phone when I get home.”

“Oh, will you?”

“And tell you I’m safe, yes. And tomorrow we’ll have a picnic lunch at Electric Park. With ham sandwiches I’ll make myself, how’s that? You’ll see, I’ll live forever!”

“You’ll phone, then?”

“I promised, didn’t I?”

“Good night, good night!”

Rushing upstairs, Francine whisked behind a door, which slammed to be snap-bolted tight on the instant.

“Now,” said Lavinia to Helen, “I’ll walk you home.”

The courthouse clock struck the hour.

The sounds blew across a town that was empty, emptier than it had ever been. Over empty streets and empty lots and empty lawns the sound faded.

“Nine, ten, eleven, twelve,” counted Lavinia, with Helen on her arm.

“Don’t you feel funny?” asked Helen.

“How do you mean?”

“When you think of us being out here on the sidewalks, under the trees, and all those people safe behind locked doors, lying in their beds. We’re practically the only walking people out in the open in a thousand miles, I bet.”

The sound of the deep warm dark ravine came near.

In a minute they stood before Helen’s house, looking at each other for a long time. The wind blew the odor of cut grass between them.

The moon was sinking in a sky that was beginning to cloud.

“I don’t suppose it’s any use asking you to stay, Lavinia?”

“I’ll be going on.” “Sometimes—” “Sometimes what?”

“Sometimes I think people want to die. You’ve acted odd all evening.”

“I’m just not afraid,” said Lavinia.

“And I’m curious, I suppose. And I’m using my head. Logically, the Lonely One can’t be around. The police and all.”

“The police are home with their covers up over their ears.”

“Let’s just say I’m enjoying myself, precariously, but safely. If there was any real chance of anything happening to me, I’d stay here with you, you can be sure of that.”

“Maybe part of you doesn’t want to live anymore.”

“You and Francine. Honestly!”

“I feel so guilty. I’ll be drinking some hot cocoa just as you reach the ravine bottom and walk on the bridge.”

“Drink a cup for me. Good night.”

Lavinia Nebbs walked alone down the midnight street, down the late summer-night silence.

She saw houses with the dark windows and far away she heard a dog barking. In five minutes, she thought, I’ll be safe at home. In five minutes I’ll be phoning silly little Francine. I’ll—”

She heard the man’s voice. A man’s voice singing far away among the trees. “Oh, give me a June night, the moonlight and you . . .”

She walked a little faster.

The voice sang, “In my arms . . . with all your charms …”

Down the street in the dim moonlight a man walked slowly and casually along.

I can run knock on one of these doors, thought Lavinia, if I must.

“Oh, give me a June night,” sang the man, and he carried a long club in his hand.

“The moonlight and you. Well, look who’s here . What a time of night for you to be out, Miss Nebbs!”

“Officer Kennedy!” And that’s who it was, of course.

“I’d better see you home!”

“Thanks, I’ll make it.”

“But you live across the ravine. . . .”

Yes, she thought, but I won’t walk through the ravine with any man, not even an officer. How do I know who the Lonely One is?

“No,” she said, “I’ll hurry.”

“I’ll wait right here,” he said.

“If you need any help, give a yell. Voices carry good here. I’ll come running.”

“Thank you.” She went on, leaving him under a light, humming to himself, alone. Here I am, she thought.

The ravine.

She stood on the edge of the one hundred and thirteen steps that went down the steep hill and then across the bridge seventy yards and up the hills leading to Park Street. And only one lantern to see by.

Three minutes from now, she thought, I’ll be putting my key in my house door. Nothing can happen in just one hundred eighty seconds.

She started down the long dark-green steps into the deep ravine.

“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten steps,” she counted in a whisper. She felt she was running, but she was not running.

“Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty steps,” she breathed.

“One fifth of the way!” she announced to herself.

The ravine was deep, black and black, black! And the world was gone behind, the world of safe people in bed, the locked doors, the town, the drugstore, the theater, the lights, everything was gone.

Only the ravine existed and lived, black and huge, about her.

“Nothing’s happened, has it? No one around, is there? Twenty-four, twenty-five steps. Remember that old ghost story you told each other when you were children?”

She listened to her shoes on the steps.

“The story about the dark man coming in your house and you upstairs in bed. And now he’s at the first step coming up to your room. And now he’s at the second step. And now he’s at the third step and the fourth step and the fifth! Oh, how you used to laugh and scream at that story! And now the horrid dark man’s at the twelfth step and now he’s opening the door of your room and now he’s standing by your bed. ‘I GOT YOU!’ “

She screamed. It was like nothing she’d ever heard, that scream. She had never screamed that loud in her life.

She stopped, she froze, she clung to the wooden banister.

Her heart exploded in her. The sound of the terrified beating filled the universe.

“There, there!” she screamed to herself.

“At the bottom of the steps. A man, under the light! No, now he’s gone! He was waiting there!”

She listened.

Silence.

The bridge was empty. Nothing, she thought, holding her heart. Nothing. Fool! That story I told myself. How silly. What shall I do?

Her heartbeats faded.

Shall I call the officer—did he hear me scream? She listened. Nothing. Nothing. I’ll go the rest of the way.

That silly story.

She began again, counting the steps.

“Thirty-five, thirty-six, careful, don’t fall. Oh, I am a fool. Thirty-seven steps, thirty-eight, nine and forty, and two makes forty-two— almost halfway.”

She froze again.

Wait, she told herself. She took a step.

There was an echo.

She took another step.

Another echo.

Another step, just a fraction of a moment later.

“Someone’s following me,” she whispered to the ravine, to the black crickets and dark-green hidden frogs and the black stream.

“Someone’s on the steps behind me. I don’t dare turn around.”

Another step, another echo.

“Every time I take a step, they take one.”

A step and an echo. Weakly she asked of the ravine, “Officer Kennedy, is that you?”

The crickets were still.

The crickets were listening. The night was listening to her. For a change, all of the far summer-night meadows and close summer-night trees were suspending motion; leaf, shrub, star, and meadow grass ceased their particular tremors and were listening to Lavinia Nebbs’s heart.

And perhaps a thousand miles away, across locomotive-lonely country, in an empty way station, a single traveler reading a dim newspaper under a solitary naked bulb, might raise up his head, listen, and think, What’s that? and decide, Only a woodchuck, surely, beating on a hollow log.

But it was Lavinia Nebbs, it was most surely the heart of Lavinia Nebbs.

Silence.

A summer-night silence which lay for a thousand miles, which covered the earth like a white and shadowy sea.

Faster, faster! She went down the steps. Run!

She heard music. In a mad way, in a silly way, she heard the great surge of music that pounded at her, and she realized as she ran, as she ran in panic and terror, that some part of her mind was dramatizing, borrowing from the turbulent musical score of some private drama, and the music was rushing and pushing her now, higher and higher, faster, faster, plummeting and scurrying, down, and down into the pit of the ravine.

Only a little way, she prayed.

One hundred eight, nine, one hundred ten steps!

The bottom!

Now, run! Across the bridge! She told her legs what to do, her arms, her body, her terror; she advised all parts of herself in this white and terrible moment, over the roaring creek waters, on the hollow, thudding, swaying almost alive, resilient bridge planks she ran, followed by the wild footsteps behind, behind, with the music following, too, the music shrieking and babbling.

He’s following, don’t turn, don’t look, if you see him, you’ll not be able to move, you’ll be so frightened.

Just run, run!

She ran across the bridge. Oh, God, God, please, please let me get up the hill! Now up the path, now between the hills, oh God, it’s dark, and everything so far away.

If I screamed now it wouldn’t help; I can’t scream anyway. Here’s the top of the path, here’s the street, oh, God, please let me be safe, if I get home safe I’ll never go out alone; I was a fool, let me admit it, I was a fool, I didn’t know what terror was, but if you let me get home from this I’ll never go without Helen or Francine again!

Here’s the street. Across the street! She crossed the street and rushed up the sidewalk.

Oh God, the porch!

My house!

Oh God, please give me time to get inside and lock the door and I’ll be safe!

And there—silly thing to notice—why did she notice, instantly, no time, no time—but there it was anyway, flashing by—there on the porch rail, the half-filled glass of lemonade she had abandoned a long time, a year, half an evening ago!

The lemonade glass sitting calmly, imperturbably there on the rail,. . . and . . . She heard her clumsy feet on the porch and listened and felt her hands scrabbling and ripping at the lock with the key.

She heard her heart.

She heard her inner voice screaming.

The key fit. Unlock the door, quick, quick!

The door opened. Now, inside. Slam it! She slammed the door.

“Now lock it, bar it, lock it!” she gasped wretchedly.

“Lock it, tight, tight!” The door was locked and bolted tight.

The music stopped. She listened to her heart again and the sound of it diminishing into silence.

Home! Oh God, safe at home! Safe, safe and safe at home! She slumped against the door. Safe, safe. Listen. Not a sound.

Safe, safe, oh thank God, safe at home.

I’ll never go out at night again. I’ll stay home.

I won’t go over that ravine again ever. Safe, oh safe, safe home, so good, so good, safe! Safe inside, the door locked. Wait. Look out the window. She looked. Why, there’s no one there at all!

Nobody. There was nobody following me at all.

Nobody running after me.

She got her breath and almost laughed at herself. It stands to reason If a man had been following me, he’d have caught me! I’m not a fast runner. . . . There’s no one on the porch or in the yard.

How silly of me. I wasn’t running from anything.

That ravine’s as safe as anyplace. Just the same, it’s nice to be home. Home’s the really good warm place, the only place to be.

She put her hand out to the light switch and stopped. “What?” she asked. “What, what?”

Behind her in the living room, someone cleared his throat.

The End

Some thoughts…

Have you ever been petrified or terrified of an event in the future? One where you really don’t have much control of the outcome? You do what you can. You make a “risk analysis”. and then you try to “hedge your bets” to avoid any undue discomfort. But then, all things said and done, you move forward with you head held high, and you confronted what ever your fear is.

And the truth really is that your fears are far worse than what you are going to experience.

Know this fact and use it. Bravery is simply the realization that your fears are much larger than what you will actually encounter.

Do you want more?

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I See You Never (Full Text) by Ray Bradbury

The soft knock came at the kitchen door, and when Mrs. O’Brian opened it, there on the back porch were her best tenant, Mr. Ramirez, and two police officers, one on each side of him.

Mr. Ramirez just stood there, walled in and small.

“Why, Mr. Ramirez!” said Mrs. O’Brian.

Mr. Ramirez was overcome. He did not seem to have words to explain.

He had arrived at Mrs. O’Brian’s rooming house more than two years earlier and had lived there ever since.

He had come by bus from Mexico City to San Diego and had then gone up to Los Angeles. There he had found the clean little room, with glossy blue linoleum, and pictures and calendars on the flowered walls, and Mrs. O’Brian as the strict but kindly landlady.

During the war, he had worked at the airplane factory and made parts for the planes that flew off somewhere, and even now, after the war, he still held his job.

From the first, he had made big money.

He saved some of it, and he got drunk only once a week–a privilege that, to Mrs. O’Brian’s way of thinking, every good workingman deserved, unquestioned and unreprimanded.

Inside Mrs. O’Brian’s kitchen, pies were baking in the oven.

Soon the pies would come out with complexions like Mr. Ramirez’s, brown and shiny and crisp, with slits in them for the air almost like the slits of Mr. Ramirez’s dark eyes.

The kitchen smelled good.

The policemen leaned forward, lured by the odor.

Mr. Ramirez gazed at his feet, as if they had carried him into all this trouble.

“What happened, Mr. Ramirez?” asked Mrs. O’Brian.

Behind Mrs. O’Brian, as he lifted his eyes, Mr. Ramirez saw the long table, laid with clean white linen and set with a platter, cool, shining glasses, a water pitcher with ice cubes floating inside it, a bowl of fresh potato salad, and one of bananas and oranges, cubed and sugared.

At this table sat Mrs. O’Brian’s children–her three grown sons, eating and conversing, and her two younger daughters, who were staring at the policemen as they ate.

“I have been here thirty months,” said Mr. Ramirez quietly, looking at Mrs. O’Brian’s plump hands.

“That’s six months too long,” said one policeman.

“He only had a temporary visa. We’ve just got around to looking for him.”

Soon after Mr. Ramirez had arrived, he bought a radio for his little room; evenings, he turned it up very loud and enjoyed it.

And he had bought a wrist-watch and enjoyed that, too.

And on many nights he had walked silent streets and seen the bright clothes in the windows and bought some of them, and he had seen the jewels and bought some of them for his few lady friends.

And he had gone to picture shows five nights a week for a while.

Then, also, he had ridden the streetcars–all night some nights– smelling the electricity, his dark eyes moving over the advertisements, feeling the wheels rumble under him, watching the little sleeping houses and big hotels slip by.

Besides that, he had gone to large restaurants, where he had eaten many-course dinners, and to the opera and the theatre.

And he had bought a car, which later, when he forgot to pay for it, the dealer had driven off angrily from in front of the rooming house.

“So here I am,” said Mr. Ramirez now, “to tell you that I must give up my room, Mrs. O’Brian. I come to get my baggage and clothes and go with these men.”

“Back to Mexico?”

“Yes. To Lagos. That is a little town north of Mexico City.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Ramirez.”

“I’m packed,” said Mr. Ramirez hoarsely, blinking his dark eyes rapidly and moving his hands helplessly before him.

The policemen did not touch him. There was no necessity for that.

“Here is the key, Mrs. O’Brian,” Mr. Ramirez said, “I have my bag already.”

Mrs. O’Brian, for the first time, noticed a suitcase standing behind him on the porch. Mr. Ramirez looked in again at the huge kitchen, at the bright silver cutlery and the young people eating and the shining waxed floor.

He turned and looked for a long moment at the apartment house next door, rising up three stories, high and beautiful.

He looked at the balconies and fire escapes and back-porch stairs, at the lines of laundry snapping in the wind.

“You’ve been a good tenant,” said Mrs. O’Brian.

“Thank you, thank you, Mrs. O’Brian,” he said softly. He closed his eyes. Mrs. O’Brian stood holding the door half open.

One of her sons, behind her, said that her dinner was getting cold, but she shook her head at him and turned back to Mr. Ramirez.

She remembered a visit she had once made to some Mexican border towns–the hot days, the endless crickets leaping and falling or lying dead and brittle like the small cigars in the shop windows’ and the canals taking river water out to the farms, the dirt roads, the scorched fields, the little adobe houses, the bleached clothes, the eroded landscape.

She remembered the silent towns, the warm beer, the hot, thick foods each day.

She remembered the slow, dragging horses and the parched jack rabbits on the road.

She remembered the iron mountains and the dusty valleys and the ocean beaches that spread hundreds of miles with no sound but the waves –no cars, no buildings, nothing.

“I’m sure sorry, Mr. Ramirez,” she said.

“I don’t want to go back, Mrs. O’Brian,” he said weakly. “I like it here. I want to stay here. I’ve worked, I’ve got money. I look all right, don’t I? And I don’t want to go back!”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Ramirez,” she said. “I wish there was something I could do.”

“Mrs. O’Brian!” he cried suddenly, tears rolling out from under his eyelids. He reached out his hands and took her hand fervently, shaking it, wringing it, holding to it.

“Mrs. O’Brian, I see you never, I see you never!”

The policemen smiled at this, but Mr. Ramirez did not notice it, and they stopped smiling very soon.

“Goodbye, Mrs. O’Brian. You have been good to me. Oh, goodbye, Mrs. O’Brian. I see you never”

The policemen waited for Mr. Ramirez to turn, pick up his suitcase, and walk away.

Then they followed him, tipping their caps to Mrs. O’Brian. She watched them go down the porch steps.

Then she shut the door quietly and went slowly back to her chair at the table.

She pulled the chair out and sat down. She picked up the shining knife and fork and started once more upon her steak.

“Hurry up, Mom,” said one of the sons. “It’ll be cold.”

Mrs. O’Brian took one bite and chewed on it for a long, slow time; then she stared at the closed door.

She laid down her knife and fork.

“What’s wrong, Ma?” asked her son.

“I just realized,” said Mrs. O’Brian–she put her hand to her face–“I’ll never see Mr. Ramirez again.”

The End

Some words…

Most of youse guys reading this might associate it with an immigrant coming to America and overstaying their visa. But for me, as an American expat, we are always at the mercy of our host country. In my case it is China. And they can just as easily revoke my visa. All it takes is a crazed madman running the United States and causing discord between our two nations.

When I lived in the USA, I believed the narrative that “foreigners were taking our jobs”. Why? Well, it was a non-stop mantra from the “news” media for decades.

But you know what? There weren’t any engineers from India taking my work, or the work of anyone around me. There wasn’t any “Mexicans” stealing my work in any way. And all this stuff about them getting free hospital care, free medicine, and free this and that… well I believed it.

But…

But I never SAW it with my eyes – first hand. I only heard about it.

We need to return to being a compassionate and just people. We need to show care and empathy. And those that rule the media need to shut the FUCK UP and stop provoking and filling the world with hate. The big reset is coming to America. Wise up, and start being the Rufus. We need to be a compassionate people again. We really do. For that is the only true road to salvation on both the spiritual and physical worlds.

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Law 17 from The 48 Laws of Power by Robert Greene; Keep others in suspended terror: cultivate an air of unpredictability (Full Text)

I just cannot help but see this as the primary driver behind the Donald Trump Presidency from 2017 through 2020. Indeed, I think that (aside from his hard-core, die-hard, followers) most people want a (much desired) break from the endless series of unpredictable tweets, policy directions, and just general leadership pronouncements. It doesn’t matter if it is banning cat videos on Tiktok, or firing the National Defense council, Donald Trump has been a one-man wrecking-ball. Just look at the shambles of international global trade in his wake.

As Trump so succinctly summarized it himself during a foreign policy speech in April 2016: “We have to be unpredictable.” Call it a “doctrine of unpredictability”, if you like.

-Donald Trump's doctrine of unpredictability has the world ...

Indeed. You can see this technique in use all the time, but typically by the truly crafty and truly evil.

First, to understand the 48 laws of power, you must know two key ideas

1. you CAN NOT escape the power game. thinking you can "not participate" is as foolish as thinking that you could somehow escape gravity or make the sun stand still. Robert Greene explains why in the intro with some excellent examples

2. the 48 laws of power are neither good nor evil; they are just LAWS. If someone pushed a man off a cliff would you blame gravity for for his demise? This is the mindset you must adopt in order to learn a lot from this book.

Things I Liked

-NEW PARADIGM
after reading the 48 laws, you will never see the world the same way again. once you understand some of these laws you will see many underlying currents and motives you did not see before.

-INCREASES POWER
one of the main reasons to buy the book. you wil become exponentially more powerful by knowing and understanding these laws

-CRYSTAL CLEAR
every law is clearly outlined with "transgression" of the law, "observance" of the law, keys to power, and a "reversal"

-GREAT STORIES
the 48 laws are packed with mind-blowing and sometimes humorous stories of people in history practicing these laws. this is helpful as some of the concepts are quite abstract.

What I didn't like

-RISKY
an old proverb says " A man who plays with snakes will eventually be bitten". If you begin to use the 48 Laws improperly, you could get yourself in some dangerous situations, lose friends, piss off a lot a people, and destroy relationships

-REQUIRES DISCERNMENT
if you you are looking for a highly concrete book that the says "do xyz and you will accomplish vyx" look elsewhere. the Laws require good judgement and and and prospecting nature to practice and apply

-NOT FOR EVERYONE
If you are aghast at the idea of manipulation and deceit then read with caution.

OVERALL: If you want to have more power or a better understanding of why different situations turn out the the way they do, you should definitely read the 48 laws of power by Robert Greene. If you want to be naive, easily manipulated, weak, you should ignore this book and go watch some netfilx.

-J.S. Bach

LAW 17

KEEP OTHERS IN SUSPENDED TERROR: CULTIVATE AN AIR OF UNPREDICTABILITY

JUDGMENT

Humans are creatures of habit with an insatiable need to see familiarity in other people’s actions. Your predictability gives them a sense of control. Turn the tables: Be deliberately unpredictable. Behavior that seems to have no consistency or purpose will keep them off-balance, and they will wear themselves out trying to explain your moves. Taken to an extreme, this strategy can intimidate and terrorize.

OBSERVANCE OF THE LAW

In May of 1972, chess champion Boris Spassky anxiously awaited his rival Bobby Fischer in Reykjavik, Iceland. The two men had been scheduled to meet for the World Championship of Chess, but Fischer had not arrived on time and the match was on hold. Fischer had problems with the size of the prize money, problems with the way the money was to be distributed, problems with the logistics of holding the match in Iceland. He might back out at any moment.

Spassky tried to be patient. His Russian bosses felt that Fischer was humiliating him and told him to walk away, but Spassky wanted this match. He knew he could destroy Fischer, and nothing was going to spoil the greatest victory of his career. “So it seems that all our work may come to nothing,” Spassky told a comrade. “But what can we do? It is Bobby’s move. If he comes, we play. If he does not come, we do not play. A man who is willing to commit suicide has the initiative.”

Fischer finally arrived in Reykjavik, but the problems, and the threat of cancellation, continued. He disliked the hall where the match was to be fought, he criticized the lighting, he complained about the noise of the cameras, he even hated the chairs in which he and Spassky were to sit. Now the Soviet Union took the initiative and threatened to withdraw their man.

The bluff apparently worked: After all the weeks of waiting, the endless and infuriating negotiations, Fischer agreed to play. Everyone was relieved, no one more than Spassky. But on the day of the official introductions, Fischer arrived very late, and on the day when the “Match of the Century” was to begin, he was late again. This time, however, the consequences would be dire: If he showed up too late he would forfeit the first game. What was going on? Was he playing some sort of mind game? Or was Bobby Fischer perhaps afraid of Boris Spassky? It seemed to the assembled grand masters, and to Spassky, that this young kid from Brooklyn had a terrible case of the jitters. At 5:09 Fischer showed up, exactly one minute before the match was to be canceled.

The first game of a chess tournament is critical, since it sets the tone for the months to come. It is often a slow and quiet struggle, with the two players preparing themselves for the war and trying to read each other’s strategies. This game was different. Fischer made a terrible move early on, perhaps the worst of his career, and when Spassky had him on the ropes, he seemed to give up. Yet Spassky knew that Fischer never gave up. Even when facing checkmate, he fought to the bitter end, wearing the opponent down. This time, though, he seemed resigned. Then suddenly he broke out a bold move that put the room in a buzz. The move shocked Spassky, but he recovered and managed to win the game. But no one could figure out what Fischer was up to. Had he lost deliberately? Or was he rattled? Unsettled? Even, as some thought, insane?

After his defeat in the first game, Fischer complained all the more loudly about the room, the cameras, and everything else. He also failed to show up on time for the second game. This time the organizers had had enough: He was given a forfeit. Now he was down two games to none, a position from which no one had ever come back to win a chess championship. Fischer was clearly unhinged. Yet in the third game, as all those who witnessed it remember, he had a ferocious look in his eye, a look that clearly bothered Spassky. And despite the hole he had dug for himself, he seemed supremely confident. He did make what appeared to be another blunder, as he had in the first game—but his cocky air made Spassky smell a trap. Yet despite the Russian’s suspicions, he could not figure out the trap, and before he knew it Fischer had checkmated him. In fact Fischer’s unorthodox tactics had completely unnerved his opponent. At the end of the game, Fischer leaped up and rushed out, yelling to his confederates as he smashed a fist into his palm, “I’m crushing him with brute force!”

In the next games Fischer pulled moves that no one had seen from him before, moves that were not his style. Now Spassky started to make blunders. After losing the sixth game, he started to cry. One grand master said, “After this, Spassky’s got to ask himself if it’s safe to go back to Russia.” After the eighth game Spassky decided he knew what was happening: Bobby Fischer was hypnotizing him. He decided not to look Fischer in the eye; he lost anyway.

After the fourteenth game he called a staff conference and announced, “An attempt is being made to control my mind.” He wondered whether the orange juice they drank at the chess table could have been drugged. Maybe chemicals were being blown into the air. Finally Spassky went public, accusing the Fischer team of putting something in the chairs that was altering Spassky’s mind. The KGB went on alert: Boris Spassky was embarrassing the Soviet Union!

The chairs were taken apart and X-rayed. A chemist found nothing unusual in them. The only things anyone found anywhere, in fact, were two dead flies in a lighting fixture. Spassky began to complain of hallucinations. He tried to keep playing, but his mind was unraveling. He could not go on. On September 2, he resigned. Although still relatively young, he never recovered from this defeat.

Interpretation

In previous games between Fischer and Spassky, Fischer had not fared well. Spassky had an uncanny ability to read his opponent’s strategy and use it against him. Adaptable and patient, he would build attacks that would defeat not in seven moves but in seventy. He defeated Fischer every time they played because he saw much further ahead, and because he was a brilliant psychologist who never lost control. One master said, “He doesn’t just look for the best move. He looks for the move that will disturb the man he is playing.”

Fischer, however, finally understood that this was one of the keys to Spassky’s success: He played on your predictability, defeated you at your own game. Everything Fischer did for the championship match was an attempt to put the initiative on his side and to keep Spassky off-balance. Clearly the endless waiting had an effect on Spassky’s psyche. Most powerful of all, though, were Fischer’s deliberate blunders and his appearance of having no clear strategy. In fact, he was doing everything he could to scramble his old patterns, even if it meant losing the first match and forfeiting the second.

Spassky was known for his sangfroid and levelheadedness, but for the first time in his life he could not figure out his opponent. He slowly melted down, until at the end he was the one who seemed insane.

Chess contains the concentrated essence of life: First, because to win you have to be supremely patient and farseeing; and second, because the game

is built on patterns, whole sequences of moves that have been played before and will be played again, with slight alterations, in any one match. Your opponent analyzes the patterns you are playing and uses them to try to foresee your moves. Allowing him nothing predictable to base his strategy on gives you a big advantage. In chess as in life, when people cannot figure out what you are doing, they are kept in a state of terror—waiting, uncertain, confused.

Life at court is a serious, melancholy game of chess, which requires us to draw up our pieces and batteries, form a plan, pursue it, parry that of our adversary. Sometimes, however, it is better to take risks and play the most capricious, unpredictable move. 

-Jean de La Bruyère, 1645-1696

KEYS TO POWER

Nothing is more terrifying than the sudden and unpredictable. That is why we are so frightened by earthquakes and tornadoes: We do not know when they will strike. After one has occurred, we wait in terror for the next one. To a lesser degree, this is the effect that unpredictable human behavior has on us.

Animals behave in set patterns, which is why we are able to hunt and kill them. Only man has the capacity to consciously alter his behavior, to improvise and overcome the weight of routine and habit. Yet most men do not realize this power. They prefer the comforts of routine, of giving in to the animal nature that has them repeating the same compulsive actions time and time again.

They do this because it requires no effort, and because they mistakenly believé that if they do not unsettle others, they will be left alone.

Understand: A person of power instills a kind of fear by deliberately unsettling those around him to keep the initiative on his side. You sometimes need to strike without warning, to make others tremble when they least expect it. It is a device that the powerful have used for centuries.

Filippo Maria, the last of the Visconti dukes of Milan in fifteenth-century Italy, consciously did the opposite of what everyone expected of him. For instance, he might suddenly shower a courtier with attention, and then, once the man had come to expect a promotion to higher office, would suddenly start treating him with the utmost disdain. Confused, the man might leave the court, when the duke would suddenly recall him and start treating him well again. Doubly confused, the courtier would wonder whether his assumption that he would be promoted had become obvious, and offensive, to the duke, and would start to behave as if he no longer expected such honor. The duke would rebuke him for his lack of ambition and would send him away.

The secret of dealing with Filippo was simple: Do not presume to know what he wants. Do not try to guess what will please him. Never inject your will; just surrender to his will. Then wait to see what happens. Amidst the confusion and uncertainty he created, the duke ruled supreme, unchallenged and at peace.

Unpredictability is most often the tactic of the master, but the underdog too can use it to great effect. If you find yourself outnumbered or cornered, throw in a series of unpredictable moves. Your enemies will be so confused that they will pull back or make a tactical blunder.

In the spring of 1862, during the American Civil War, General Stonewall Jackson and a force of 4,600 Confederate soldiers were tormenting the larger Union forces in the Shenandoah Valley. Meanwhile, not far away, General George Brinton McClellan, heading a force of 90,000 Union soldiers, was marching south from Washington, D.C., to lay siege to Richmond, Virginia, the Confederate capital. As the weeks of the campaign went by, Jackson repeatedly led his soldiers out of the Shenandoah Valley, then back to it.

His movements made no sense. Was he preparing to help defend Richmond? Was he marching on Washington, now that McClellan’s absence had left it unprotected? Was he heading north to wreak havoc up there? Why was his small force moving in circles?

Jackson’s inexplicable moves made the Union generals delay the march on Richmond as they waited to figure out what he was up to. Meanwhile, the South was able to pour reinforcements into the town. A battle that could have crushed the Confederacy turned into a stalemate. Jackson used this tactic time and again when facing numerically superior forces. “Always mystify, mislead, and surprise the enemy, if possible,” he said, “… such tactics will win every time and a small army may thus destroy a large one.”

This law applies not only to war but to everyday situations. People are always trying to read the motives behind your actions and to use your predictability against you. Throw in a completely inexplicable move and you put them on the defensive. Because they do not understand you, they are unnerved, and in such a state you can easily intimidate them.

Pablo Picasso once remarked,

“The best calculation is the absence of calculation. Once you have attained a certain level of recognition, others generally figure that when you do something, it’s for an intelligent reason. So it’s really foolish to plot out your movements too carefully in advance. You’re better off acting capriciously.”

For a while, Picasso worked with the art dealer Paul Rosenberg. At first he allowed him a fair amount of latitude in handling his paintings, then one day, for no apparent reason, he told the man he would no longer give him any work to sell. As Picasso explained, “Rosenberg would spend the next forty-eight hours trying to figure out why. Was I reserving things for some other dealer? I’d go on working and sleeping and Rosenberg would spend his time figuring. In two days he’d come back, nerves jangled, anxious, saying, ‘After all, dear friend, you wouldn’t turn me down if I offered you this much [naming a substantially higher figure] for those paintings rather than the price I’ve been accustomed to paying you, would you?”’

Unpredictability is not only a weapon of terror: Scrambling your patterns on a day-to-day basis will cause a stir around you and stimulate interest. People will talk about you, ascribe motives and explanations that have nothing to do with the truth, but that keep you constantly in their minds. In the end, the more capricious you appear, the more respect you will garner. Only the terminally subordinate act in a predictable manner.

Image: The Cyclone. A wind that cannot be fore seen. Sudden shifts in the barometer, in explicable changes in direction and velocity. There is no defense: A cyclone sows terror and confusion.

Authority: The enlightened ruler is so mysterious that he seems to dwell nowhere, so inexplicable that no one can seek him. He reposes in nonaction above, and his ministers tremble below. (Han-fei-tzu, Chinese philosopher, third century B.C.)

REVERSAL

Sometimes predictability can work in your favor: By creating a pattern for people to be familiar and comfortable with, you can lull them to sleep. They have prepared everything according to their preconceived notions about you. You can use this in several ways:

First, it sets up a smoke screen, a comfortable front behind which you can carry on deceptive actions.

Second, it allows you on rare occasions to do something completely against the pattern, unsettling your opponent so deeply he will fall to the ground without being pushed.

In 1974 Muhammad Ali and George Foreman were scheduled to fight for the world heavyweight boxing championship. Everyone knew what would happen: Big George Foreman would try to land a knockout punch while Ali would dance around him, wearing him out. That was Ali’s way of fighting, his pattern, and he had not changed it in more than ten years.

But in this case it seemed to give Foreman the advantage: He had a devastating punch, and if he waited, sooner or later Ali would have to come to him. Ali, the master strategist, had other plans: In press conferences before the big fight, he said he was going to change his style and punch it out with Foreman.

No one, least of all Foreman, believed this for a second. That plan would be suicide on Ali’s part; he was playing the comedian, as usual. Then, before the fight, Ali’s trainer loosened the ropes around the ring, something a trainer would do if his boxer were intending to slug it out. But no one believed this ploy; it had to be a setup.

To everyone’s amazement, Ali did exactly what he had said he would do. As Foreman waited for him to dance around, Ali went right up to him and slugged it out. He completely upset his opponent’s strategy. At a loss, Foreman ended up wearing himself out, not by chasing Ali but by throwing punches wildly, and taking more and more counterpunches. Finally, Ali landed a dramatic right cross that knocked out Foreman.

The habit of assuming that a person’s behavior will fit its previous patterns is so strong that not even Ali’s announcement of a strategy change was enough to upset it. Foreman walked into a trap—the trap he had been told to expect.

A warning: Unpredictability can work against you sometimes, especially if you are in a subordinate position. There are times when it is better to let people feel comfortable and settled around you than to disturb them. Too much unpredictability will be seen as a sign of indecisiveness, or even of some more serious psychic problem. Patterns are powerful, and you can terrify people by disrupting them. Such power should only be used judiciously.

Conclusion

I can offer all kinds of examples on the unpredictability of President Trump. Is this strategic or the actions of a mad man. Only you can decide.

Do you want more?

I have more posts in my 48 Laws of Power Index here…

48 Laws of Power

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Law 20 from The 48 Laws of Power by Robert Greene; Do not commit to anyone (Full Text)

This is such an important law. This is a law, that if people observed, would mitigate and reduce all the conflicts in the world. This is law 20 from the 48 Laws of Power by Robert Greene. It simply states that you should not commit to anyone. And since I am posting this in September 2020, I wish that that Prime Minister of Australia Scott Morrison would heed it. It is best if Australia remains neutral in the global affairs rather than cozening up to the likes of Donald Trump and Mike Pompeo. Because when you chain yourself to another, you either rise with them or collapse with them through entanglement.

LAW 20

DO NOT COMMIT TO ANYONE

JUDGMENT

It is the fool who always rushes to take sides. Do not commit to any side or cause but yourself. By maintaining your independence, you become the master of others—playing people against one another, making them pursue you.

PART I: DO NOT COMMIT TO ANYONE, BUT BE COURTED BY ALL

If you allow people to feel they possess you to any degree, you lose all power over them. By not committing your affections, they will only try harder to win you over. Stay aloof and you gain the power that comes from their attention and frustrated desire. Play the Virgin Queen: Give them hope but never satisfaction.

OBSERVANCE OF THE LAW

When Queen Elizabeth I ascended the throne of England, in 1558, there was much to-do about her finding a husband. The issue was debated in Parliament, and was a main topic of conversation among Englishmen of all classes; they often disagreed as to whom she should marry, but everyone thought she should marry as soon as possible, for a queen must have a king, and must bear heirs for the kingdom. The debates raged on for years. Meanwhile the most handsome and eligible bachelors in the realm—Sir Robert Dudley, the Earl of Essex, Sir Walter Raleigh—vied for Elizabeth’s hand. She did not discourage them, but she seemed to be in no hurry, and her hints as to which man might be her favorite often contradicted each other. In 1566, Parliament sent a delegation to Elizabeth urging her to marry before she was too old to bear children. She did not argue, nor did she discourage the delegation, but she remained a virgin nonetheless.

The delicate game that Elizabeth played with her suitors slowly made her the subject of innumerable sexual fantasies and the object of cultish worship. The court physician, Simon Forman, used his diary to describe his dreams of deflowering her. Painters represented her as Diana and other goddesses. The poet Edmund Spenser and others wrote eulogies to the Virgin Queen. She was referred to as “the world’s Empresse,” “that virtuous Virgo” who rules the world and sets the stars in motion. In conversation with her, her many male suitors would employ bold sexual innuendo, a dare that Elizabeth did not discourage. She did all she could to stir their interest and simultaneously keep them at bay.

Throughout Europe, kings and princes knew that a marriage with Elizabeth would seal an alliance between England and any nation. The king of Spain wooed her, as did the prince of Sweden and the archduke of Austria. She politely refused them all.

The great diplomatic issue of Elizabeth’s day was posed by the revolt of the Flemish and Dutch Lowlands, which were then possessions of Spain. Should England break its alliance with Spain and choose France as its main ally on the Continent, thereby encouraging Flemish and Dutch independence ? By 1570 it had come to seem that an alliance with France would be England’s wisest course. France had two eligible men of noble blood, the dukes of Anjou and Alençon, brothers of the French king. Would either of them marry Elizabeth? Both had advantages, and Elizabeth kept the hopes of both alive. The issue simmered for years. The duke of Anjou made several visits to England, kissed Elizabeth in public, even called her by pet names; she appeared to requite his affections. Meanwhile, as she flirted with the two brothers, a treaty was signed that sealed peace between France and England. By 1582 Elizabeth felt she could break off the courtship. In the case of the duke of Anjou in particular, she did so with great relief: For the sake of diplomacy she had allowed herself to be courted by a man whose presence she could not stand and whom she found physically repulsive. Once peace between France and England was secure, she dropped the unctuous duke as politely as she could.

By this time Elizabeth was too old to bear children. She was accordingly able to live the rest of her life as she desired, and she died the Virgin Queen.

She left no direct heir, but ruled through a period of incomparable peace and cultural fertility.

Interpretation

Elizabeth had good reason not to marry: She had witnessed the mistakes of Mary Queen of Scots, her cousin. Resisting the idea of being ruled by a woman, the Scots expected Mary to marry and marry wisely. To wed a foreigner would be unpopular; to favor any particular noble house would open up terrible rivalries. In the end Mary chose Lord Darnley, a Catholic. In doing so she incurred the wrath of Scotland’s Protestants, and endless turmoil ensued.

Elizabeth knew that marriage can often lead to a female ruler’s undoing: By marrying and committing to an alliance with one party or nation, the queen becomes embroiled in conflicts that are not of her choosing, conflicts which may eventually overwhelm her or lead her into a futile war. Also, the husband becomes the de facto ruler, and often tries to do away with his wife the queen, as Darnley tried to get rid of Mary. Elizabeth learned the lesson well. She had two goals as a ruler: to avoid marriage and to avoid war. She managed to combine these goals by dangling the possibility of marriage in order to forge alliances. The moment she committed to any single suitor would have been the moment she lost her power. She had to emanate mystery and desirability, never discouraging anyone’s hopes but never yielding.

Through this lifelong game of flirting and withdrawing, Elizabeth dominated the country and every man who sought to conquer her. As the center of attention, she was in control. Keeping her independence above all, Elizabeth protected her power and made herself an object of worship.

I would rather be a beggar and single than a queen and married.

-Queen Elizabeth I, 1533-1603

KEYS TO POWER

Since power depends greatly on appearances, you must learn the tricks that will enhance your image. Refusing to commit to a person or group is one of these. When you hold yourself back, you incur not anger but a kind of respect. You instantly seem powerful because you make yourself ungraspable, rather than succumbing to the group, or to the relationship, as most people do. This aura of power only grows with time: As your reputation for independence grows, more and more people will come to desire you, wanting to be the one who gets you to commit. Desire is like a virus: If we see that someone is desired by other people, we tend to find this person desirable too.

The moment you commit, the magic is gone. You become like everyone else. People will try all kinds of underhanded methods to get you to commit. They will give you gifts, shower you with favors, all to put you under obligation. Encourage the attention, stimulate their interest, but do not commit at any cost. Accept the gifts and favors if you so desire, but be careful to maintain your inner aloofness. You cannot inadvertently allow yourself to feel obligated to anyone.

Remember, though: The goal is not to put people off, or to make it seem that you are incapable of commitment. Like the Virgin Queen, you need to stir the pot, excite interest, lure people with the possibility of having you. You have to bend to their attention occasionally, then—but never too far.

The Greek soldier and statesman Alcibiades played this game to perfection. It was Alcibiades who inspired and led the massive Athenian armada that invaded Sicily in 414 B.C. When envious Athenians back home tried to bring him down by accusing him of trumped-up charges, he defected to the enemy, the Spartans, instead of facing a trial back home. Then, after the Athenians were defeated at Syracuse, he left Sparta for Persia, even though the power of Sparta was now on the rise. Now, however, both the Athenians and the Spartans courted Alcibiades because of his influence with the Persians; and the Persians showered him with honors because of his power over the Athenians and the Spartans. He made promises to every side but committed to none, and in the end he held all the cards.

If you aspire to power and influence, try the Alcibiades tactic: Put yourself in the middle between competing powers. Lure one side with the promise of your help; the other side, always wanting to outdo its enemy, will pursue you as well. As each side vies for your attention, you will immediately seem a person of great influence and desirability. More power will accrue to you than if you had rashly committed to one side. To perfect this tactic you need to keep yourself inwardly free from emotional entanglements, and to view all those around you as pawns in your rise to the top. You cannot let yourself become the lackey for any cause.

In the midst of the 1968 U.S. presidential election, Henry Kissinger made a phone call to Richard Nixon’s team. Kissinger had been allied with Nelson Rockefeller, who had unsuccessfully sought the Republican nomina tion. Now Kissinger offered to supply the Nixon camp with valuable inside information on the negotiations for peace in Vietnam that were then going on in Paris. He had a man on the negotiating team keeping him informed of the latest developments. The Nixon team gladly accepted his offer.

At the same time, however, Kissinger also approached the Democratic nominee, Hubert Humphrey, and offered his aid. The Humphrey people asked him for inside information on Nixon and he supplied it. “Look,” Kissinger told Humphrey’s people, “I’ve hated Nixon for years.” In fact he had no interest in either side. What he really wanted was what he got: the promise of a high-level cabinet post from both Nixon and Humphrey. Whichever man won the election, Kissinger’s career was secure.

The winner, of course, was Nixon, and Kissinger duly went on to his cabinet post. Even so, he was careful never to appear too much of a Nixon man. When Nixon was reelected in 1972, men much more loyal to him than Kissinger were fired. Kissinger was also the only Nixon high official to survive Watergate and serve under the next president, Gerald Ford. By maintaining a little distance he thrived in turbulent times.

Those who use this strategy often notice a strange phenomenon: People who rush to the support of others tend to gain little respect in the process, for their help is so easily obtained, while those who stand back find themselves besieged with supplicants. Their aloofness is powerful, and everyone wants them on their side.

When Picasso, after early years of poverty, had become the most successful artist in the world, he did not commit himself to this dealer or that dealer, although they now besieged him from all sides with attractive offers and grand promises. Instead, he appeared to have no interest in their services; this technique drove them wild, and as they fought over him his prices only rose. When Henry Kissinger, as U.S. secretary of state, wanted to reach detente with the Soviet Union, he made no concessions or conciliatory gestures, but courted China instead. This infuriated and also scared the Soviets—they were already politically isolated and feared further isolation if the United States and China came together. Kissinger’s move pushed them to the negotiating table. The tactic has a parallel in seduction: When you want to seduce a woman, Stendhal advises, court her sister first.

Stay aloof and people will come to you. It will become a challenge for them to win your affections. As long as you imitate the wise Virgin Queen and stimulate their hopes, you will remain a magnet of attention and desire.

Image:

The Virgin Queen. 
The center of attention,desire, and worship. 
Never succumbing to one suitor or the other, 
the Virgin Queen keeps them all revolving around 
her like planets, unable to leave her orbit but never getting any closer
to her.

Authority: 

Do not commit yourself to anybody or anything, for that is to be a slave, a slave to every man.... Above all, keep yourself free of commitments and obligations—they are the device of another to get you into his power.... 

-(Baltasar Gracián, 1601-1658)

PART II: DO NOT COMMIT TO ANYONE-STAY ABOVE THE FRAY

Do not let people drag you into their petty fights and squabbles. Seem interested and supportive, but find a way to remain neutral; let others do the fighting while you stand back, watch and wait. When the fighting parties are good and tired they will be ripe for the picking. You can make it a practice, in fact, to stir up quarrels between other people, and then offer to mediate, gaining power as the go-between.

THE KITES, THE CROWS, AND THE FOX

The kites and the crows made an agreement among themselves that they should go halves in everything obtained in the forest. One day they saw a fox that had been wounded by hunters lying helpless under a tree, and gathered round it. The crows said, “We will take the upper half of the fox.” “Then we will take the lower half,” said the kites. The fox laughed at this, and said, “I always thought the kites were superior in creation to the crows; as such they must get the upper half of my body, of which my head, with the brain and other delicate things in it, forms a portion. ” “Oh, yes, that is right,” said the kites, “we will have that part of the fox.” “Not at all,” said the crows, “we must have it, as already agreed.” Then a war arose between the rival parties, and a great many fell on both sides, and the remaining few escaped with difficulty. The fox continued there for some days, leisurely feeding on the dead kites and crows, and then left the place hale and hearty, observing, The weak benefit by the quarrels of the mighty. ”

-INDIAN FABLES

OBSERVANCE OF THE LAW

In the late fifteenth century, the strongest city-states in Italy—Venice, Florence, Rome, and Milan—found themselves constantly squabbling. Hovering above their struggles were the nations of France and Spain, ready to grab whatever they could from the weakened Italian powers. And trapped in the middle was the small state of Mantua, ruled by the young Duke Gianfrancesco Gonzaga. Mantua was strategically located in northern Italy, and it seemed only a matter of time before one of the powers swallowed it up and it ceased to exist as an independent kingdom.

Gonzaga was a fierce warrior and a skilled commander of troops, and he became a kind of mercenary general for whatever side paid him best. In the year 1490, he married Isabella d’Este, daughter of the ruler of another small Italian duchy, Ferrara. Since he now spent most of his time away from Mantua, it fell to Isabella to rule in his stead.

Isabella’s first true test as ruler came in 1498, when King Louis XII of France was preparing armies to attack Milan. In their usual perfidious fashion, the Italian states immediately looked for ways to profit from Milan’s difficulties. Pope Alexander VI promised not to intervene, thereby giving the French carte blanche. The Venetians signaled that they would not help Milan, either—and in exchange for this, they hoped the French would give them Mantua. The ruler of Milan, Lodovico Sforza, suddenly found himself alone and abandoned. He turned to Isabella d’Este, one of his closest friends (also rumored to be his lover), and begged her to persuade Duke Gonzaga to come to his aid. Isabella tried, but her husband balked, for he saw Sforza’s cause as hopeless. And so, in 1499, Louis swooped down on Milan and took it with ease.

Isabella now faced a dilemma: If she stayed loyal to Lodovico, the French would now move against her. But if, instead, she allied herself with France, she would make enemies elsewhere in Italy, compromising Mantua once Louis eventually withdrew. And if she looked to Venice or Rome for help, they would simply swallow up Mantua under the cloak of coming to her aid. Yet she had to do something. The mighty king of France was breathing down her neck: She decided to befriend him, as she had befriended Lodovico Sforza before him—with alluring gifts, witty, intelligent letters, and the possibility of her company, for Isabella was famous as a woman of incomparable beauty and charm.

In 1500 Louis invited Isabella to a great party in Milan to celebrate his victory. Leonardo da Vinci built an enormous mechanical lion for the affair: When the lion opened its mouth, it spewed fresh lilies, the symbols of French royalty. At the party Isabella wore one of her celebrated dresses (she had by far the largest wardrobe of any of the Italian princesses), and just as she had hoped, she charmed and captivated Louis, who ignored all the other ladies vying for his attention. She soon became his constant companion, and in exchange for her friendship he pledged to protect Mantua’s independence from Venice.

Men of great abilities are slow to act. for it is easier to avoid occasions for committing yourself than to come well out of a commitment. Such occasions test your judgment; it is safer to avoid them than to emerge victorious from them. One obligation leads to a greater one, and you come very near to the brink of disaster.

-BALTASAR GRACIAN, 1601-1658

As one danger receded, however, another, more worrying one arose, this time from the south, in the form of Cesare Borgia. Starting in 1500, Borgia had marched steadily northward, gobbling up all the small kingdoms in his path in the name of his father, Pope Alexander. Isabella understood Cesare perfectly: He could be neither trusted nor in any way offended. He had to be cajoled and kept at arm’s length. Isabella began by sending him gifts— falcons, prize dogs, perfumes, and dozens of masks, which she knew he always wore when he walked the streets of Rome. She sent messengers with flattering greetings (although these messengers also acted as her spies). At one point Cesare asked if he could house some troops in Mantua; Isabella managed to dissuade him politely, knowing full well that once the troops were quartered in the city, they would never leave.

Even while Isabella was charming Cesare, she convinced everyone around her to take care never to utter a harsh word about him, since he had spies everywhere and would use the slightest pretext for invasion. When Isabella had a child, she asked Cesare to be the godfather. She even dangled in front of him the possibility of a marriage between her family and his. Somehow it all worked, for although elsewhere he seized everything in his path, he spared Mantua.

In 1503 Cesare’s father, Alexander, died, and a few years later the new pope, Julius II, went to war to drive the French troops from Italy. When the ruler of Ferrara—Alfonso, Isabella’s brother—sided with the French, Julius decided to attack and humble him. Once again Isabella found herself in the middle: the pope on one side, the French and her brother on the other. She dared not ally herself with either, but to offend either would be equally disastrous. Again she played the double game at which she had become so expert. On the one hand she got her husband Gonzaga to fight for the pope, knowing he would not fight very hard. On the other she let French troops pass through Mantua to come to Ferrara’s aid. While she publicly complained that the French had “invaded” her territory, she privately supplied them with valuable information. To make the invasion plausible to Julius, she even had the French pretend to plunder Mantua. It worked once again: The pope left Mantua alone.

In 1513, after a lengthy siege, Julius defeated Ferrara, and the French troops withdrew. Worn out by the effort, the pope died a few months later. With his death, the nightmarish cycle of battles and petty squabbles began to repeat itself.

A great deal changed in Italy during Isabella’s reign: Popes came and went, Cesare Borgia rose and then fell, Venice lost its empire, Milan was invaded, Florence fell into decline, and Rome was sacked by the Hapsburg Emperor Charles V Through all this, tiny Mantua not only survived but thrived, its court the envy of Italy. Its wealth and sovereignty would remain intact for a century after Isabella’s death, in 1539.

THE EAGLE AND THE SOW

An eagle built a nest on a tree, and hatched out some eaglets. And a wild sow brought her litter under the tree. The eagle used to fly off after her prey, and bring it back to her young. And the sow rooted around the tree and hunted in the woods, and when night came she would bring her young something to eat.

And the eagle and the sow lived in neighborly fashion. And a grimalkin laid her plans to destroy the eaglets and the little sucking pigs. She went to the eagle, and said: “Eagle, you had better not fly very far away. Beware of the sow; she is planning an evil design. She is going to undermine the roots of the tree. You see she is rooting all the time.”

Then the grimalkin went to the sow and said: “Sow, you have not a good neighbor. Last evening I heard the eagle saying to her eaglets: ‘My dear little eaglets, I am going to treat you to a nice little pig. Just as soon as the sow is gone, I will bring you a little young sucking pig.”’

From that time the eagle ceased to fly out after prey, and the sow did not go any more into the forest. The eaglets and the young pigs perished of starvation, and grimalkin feasted on them.

FABLES, LEO TOLSTOY, 1828-1910

Interpretation

Isabella d’Este understood Italy’s political situation with amazing clarity: Once you took the side of any of the forces in the field, you were doomed. The powerful would take you over, the weak would wear you down. Any new alliance would lead to a new enemy, and as this cycle stirred up more conflict, other forces would be dragged in, until you could no longer extricate yourself. Eventually you would collapse from exhaustion.

Isabella steered her kingdom on the only course that would bring her safely through. She would not allow herself to lose her head through loyalty to a duke or a king. Nor would she try to stop the conflict that raged around her—that would only drag her into it. And in any case the conflict was to her advantage. If the various parties were fighting to the death, and exhausting themselves in the process, they were in no position to gobble up Mantua. The source of Isabella’s power was her clever ability to seem interested in the affairs and interests of each side, while actually committing to no one but herself and her kingdom.

Once you step into a fight that is not of your own choosing, you lose all initiative. The combatants’ interests become your interests; you become their tool. Learn to control yourself, to restrain your natural tendency to take sides and join the fight. Be friendly and charming to each of the combatants, then step back as they collide. With every battle they grow weaker, while you grow stronger with every battle you avoid.

When the snipe and the mussel struggle, the fisherman gets the benefit.

-Ancient Chinese saying

KEYS TO POWER

To succeed in the game of power, you have to master your emotions. But even if you succeed in gaining such self-control, you can never control the temperamental dispositions of those around you. And this presents a great danger. Most people operate in a whirlpool of emotions, constantly reacting, churning up squabbles and conflicts. Your self-control and autonomy will only bother and infuriate them. They will try to draw you into the whirlpool, begging you to take sides in their endless battles, or to make peace for them. If you succumb to their emotional entreaties, little by little you will find your mind and time occupied by their problems. Do not allow whatever compassion and pity you possess to suck you in. You can never win in this game; the conflicts can only multiply.

On the other hand, you cannot completely stand aside, for that would cause needless offense. To play the game properly, you must seem interested in other people’s problems, even sometimes appear to take their side. But while you make outward gestures of support, you must maintain your inner energy and sanity by keeping your emotions disengaged. No matter how hard people try to pull you in, never let your interest in their affairs and petty squabbles go beyond the surface. Give them gifts, listen with a sympathetic look, even occasionally play the charmer—but inwardly keep both the friendly kings and the perfidious Borgias at arm’s length. By refusing to commit and thus maintaining your autonomy you retain the initiative: Your moves stay matters of your own choosing, not defensive reactions to the push-and-pull of those around you.

THE PRICE OF

While a poor woman stood in the market place selling cheeses, a cat came along and carried off a cheese. A dog saw the pilferer and tried to take the cheese away from him. The cat stood up to the dog. So they pitched into each other. The dog barked and snapped; the cat spat and scratched, but they could bring the battle to no decision.

“Let’s go to the fox and have him referee the matter, ” the cat finally suggested. “Agreed, ” said the dog. So they went to the fox. The fox listened to their arguments with a judicious air.

“Foolish animals,” he chided them, “why carry on like that? If both of you are willing, I’ll divide the cheese in two and you’ll both be satisfied. ” “Agreed, ” said the cat and the dog.

So the fox took out his knife and cut the cheese in two, but, instead of cutting it lengthwise, he cut it in the width. “My half is smaller!” protested the dog.

The fox looked judiciously through his spectacles at the dog’s share. “You’re right, quite right!” he decided.

So he went and bit off a piece of the cat’s share. “That will make it even!” he said.

When the cat saw what the fox did she began to yowl: “Just look! My part’s smaller now!”

The fox again put on his spectacles and looked judiciously at the cat’s share.

“Right you are!” said the fox. “Just a moment, and I’ll make it right.”

And he went and bit off a piece from the dog’s cheese This went on so long, with the fox nibbling first at the dog’s and then at the cat’s share. that he finally ate up the whole cheese before their eyes.

-A TREASURY OF JEWISH FOLKLORE, NATHAN AUSUBEL, ED., 1948

Slowness to pick up your weapons can be a weapon itself, especially if you let other people exhaust themselves fighting, then take advantage of their exhaustion. In ancient China, the kingdom of Chin once invaded the kingdom of Hsing. Huan, the ruler of a nearby province, thought he should rush to Hsing’s defense, but his adviser counseled him to wait: “Hsing is not yet going to ruin,” he said, “and Chin is not yet exhausted. If Chin is not exhausted, [we] cannot become very influential. Moreover, the merit of supporting a state in danger is not as great as the virtue of reviving a ruined one.” The adviser’s argument won the day, and as he had predicted, Huan later had the glory both of rescuing Hsing from the brink of destruction and then of conquering an exhausted Chin. He stayed out of the fighting until the forces engaged in it had worn each other down, at which point it was safe for him to intervene.

That is what holding back from the fray allows you: time to position yourself to take advantage of the situation once one side starts to lose. You can also take the game a step further, by promising your support to both sides in a conflict while maneuvering so that the one to come out ahead in the struggle is you. This was what Castruccio Castracani, ruler of the Italian town of Lucca in the fourteenth century, did when he had designs on the town of Pistoia. A siege would have been expensive, costing both lives and money, but Castruccio knew that Pistoia contained two rival factions, the Blacks and the Whites, which hated one another. He negotiated with the Blacks, promising to help them against the Whites; then, without their knowledge, he promised the Whites he would help them against the Blacks. And Castruccio kept his promises—he sent an army to a Black-controlled gate to the city, which the sentries of course welcomed in. Meanwhile another of his armies entered through a White-controlled gate. The two armies united in the middle, occupied the town, killed the leaders of both factions, ended the internal war, and took Pistoia for Castruccio.

Preserving your autonomy gives you options when people come to blows —you can play the mediator, broker the peace, while really securing your own interests. You can pledge support to one side and the other may have to court you with a higher bid. Or, like Castruccio, you can appear to take both sides, then play the antagonists against each other.

Oftentimes when a conflict breaks out, you are tempted to side with the stronger party, or the one that offers you apparent advantages in an alliance. This is risky business. First, it is often difficult to foresee which side will prevail in the long run. But even if you guess right and ally yourself with the stronger party, you may find yourself swallowed up and lost, or conveniently forgotten, when they become victors. Side with the weaker, on the other hand, and you are doomed. But play a waiting game and you cannot lose.

In France’s July Revolution of 1830, after three days of riots, the statesman Talleyrand, now elderly, sat by his Paris window, listening to the pealing bells that signaled the riots were over. Turning to an assistant, he said, “Ah, the bells! We’re winning.” “Who’s ‘we,’ mon prince?” the assistant asked. Gesturing for the man to keep quiet, Talleyrand replied, “Not a word! I’ll tell you who we are tomorrow.” He well knew that only fools rush into a situation—that by committing too quickly you lose your maneuverability. People also respect you less: Perhaps tomorrow, they think, you will commit to another, different cause, since you gave yourself so easily to this one. Good fortune is a fickle god and will often pass from one side to the other. Commitment to one side deprives you of the advantage of time and the luxury of waiting. Let others fall in love with this group or that; for your part don’t rush in, don’t lose your head.

Finally, there are occasions when it is wisest to drop all pretence of appearing supportive and instead to trumpet your independence and self- reliance. The aristocratic pose of independence is particularly important for those who need to gain respect. George Washington recognized this in his work to establish the young American republic on firm ground. As president, Washington avoided the temptation of making an alliance with France or England, despite the pressure on him to do so. He wanted the country to earn the world’s respect through its independence. Although a treaty with France might have helped in the short term, in the long run he knew it would be more effective to establish the nation’s autonomy. Europe would have to see the United States as an equal power.

Remember: You have only so much energy and so much time. Every moment wasted on the affairs of others subtracts from your strength. You may be afraid that people will condemn you as heartless, but in the end, maintaining your independence and self-reliance will gain you more respect and place you in a position of power from which you can choose to help others on your own initiative.

Image: A Thicket of Shrubs. In the forest, one shrub latches on to another, entangling its neighbor with its thorns, the thicket slowly extending its impenetrable domain. Only what keeps its distance and stands apart can grow and rise above the thicket.

Authority: Regard it as more courageous not to become involved in an engagement than to win in battle, and where there is already one interfering fool, take care that there shall not be two. – (Baltasar Gracian, 1601-1658)

REVERSAL

Both parts of this law will turn against you if you take it too far. The game proposed here is delicate and difficult. If you play too many parties against one another, they will see through the maneuver and will gang up on you. If you keep your growing number of suitors waiting too long, you will inspire not desire but distrust. People will start to lose interest. Eventually you may find it worthwhile to commit to one side—if only for appearances’ sake, to prove you are capable of attachment.

Even then, however, the key will be to maintain your inner independence —to keep yourself from getting emotionally involved. Preserve the unspoken option of being able to leave at any moment and reclaim your freedom if the side you are allied with starts to collapse. The friends you made while you were being courted will give you plenty of places to go once you jump ship.

Conclusion

As the world ends this crazy year of 2020, we see alliances forming. But many of the participants will to remain as neutral as possible. Yet the United States demands obedience. “You are either with us, or you are against us.” Trump and Pompeo demand.

The smart leadership, and the capable leaders realize the folly in following other alliances that would adversely affect their economies.

Those that do not can expect consequences for their alliances. For once you chain yourself to another, what ever happens to that person will happen to you. If that person is healthy and is a hard worker, you will be carried along with them. But if they are weak, or even worse killed, you will be buried with them.

Always establish your own alliances and maintain the flexibility of options.

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The Rocket Man (Full Text) by Ray Bradbury

Here is a classic story from Ray Bradbury. It’s titled “The Rocket Man.” It’s one of the first groups (or clusters) of stories that he compiled. And it’s a real beauty. It was written at a time when everyone thought of space and science fiction as gorilla suits and deep sea diving helmets, that rode in flying silver saucers that came from Mars. Here, he talks about the dreams of the man of a household and the consequences of him following that dream on those left behind.

It’s wonderful. Enjoy.

Ray Bradbury. The Rocket Man

The Rocket Man
1951

   The electrical fireflies were hovering above Mother’s dark hair to light
her path. She stood in her bedroom door looking out at me as I passed in the
silent hall. “You will help me keep him here this time, won’t you?” she asked.
   “I guess so,” I said.
   “Please.” The fireflies cast moving bits of light on her white face. “This
time he mustn’t go away again.”
   “All right,” I said, after standing there a moment. “But it won’t do any
good; it’s no use.”
   She went away, and the fireflies, on their electric circuits, fluttered
after her like an errant constellation, showing her how to walk in darkness. I
heard her say, faintly, “We’ve got to try, anyway.”
   Other fireflies followed me to my room. When the weight of my body cut a
circuit in the bed, the fireflies winked out. It was midnight, and my mother and
I waited, our rooms separated by darkness, in bed. The bed began to rock me and
sing to me. I touched a switch; the singing and rocking stopped. I didn’t want
to sleep. I didn’t want to sleep at all.
   This night was no different from a thousand others in our time. We would
wake nights and feel the cool air turn hot, feel the fire in the wind, or see
the walls burned a bright color for an instant, and then we knew his rocket was
over our house-his rocket, and the oak trees swaying from the concussion. And I
would lie there, eyes wide, panting, and Mother in her room. Her voice would
come to me over the interroom radio:
   “Did you feel it?”
   And I would answer, “That was him, all right.”
   That was my father’s ship passing over our town, a small town where space
rockets never came, and we would lie awake for the next two hours, thinking,
“Now Dad’s landed in Springfield, now he’s on the tarmac, now he’s signing the
papers, now he’s in the helicopter, now he’s over the river, now the hills, now
he’s settling the helicopter in at the little airport at Green Village here….”
And the night would be half over when, in our separate cool beds, Mother and I
would be listening, listening. “Now he’s walking down Bell Street. He always
walks … never takes a cab … now across the park, now turning the comer of
Oakhurst and now…”
   I lifted my head from my pillow. Far down the street, coming closer and
closer, smartly, quickly, briskly-footsteps. Now turning in at our house, up the
porch steps. And we were both smiling in the cool darkness. Mom and I, when we
heard the front door open in recognition, speak a quiet word of welcome, and
shut, downstairs….
   Three hours later I turned the brass knob to their room quietly, holding my
breath, balancing in a darkness as big as the space between the planets, my hand
out to reach the small black case at the foot of my parents’ sleeping bed.
Taking it, I ran silently to my room, thinking, He won’t tell me, he doesn’t
want me to know.
   And from the opened case spilled his black uniform, like a black nebula,
stars glittering here or there, distantly, in the material. I kneaded the dark
stuff in my warm hands; I smelled the planet Mars, an iron smell, and the planet
Venus, a green ivy smell, and the planet Mercury, a scent of sulphur and fire;
and I could smell the milky moon and the hardness of stars. I pushed the uniform
into a centrifuge machine I’d built in my ninth-grade shop that year, set it
whirling. Soon a fine powder precipitated into a retort. This I slid under a
microscope. And while my parents slept unaware, and while our house was asleep,
all the automatic bakers and servers and robot cleaners in an electric slumber,
I stared down upon brilliant motes of meteor dust, comet tail, and loam from far
Jupiter glistening like worlds themselves which drew me down the tube a billion
miles into space, at terrific accelerations.
   At dawn, exhausted with my journey and fearful of discovery, I returned the
boxed uniform to their sleeping room.
   Then I slept, only to waken at the sound of the horn of the dry-cleaning
car which stopped in the yard below. They took the black uniform box with them.
It’s good I didn’t wait, I thought. For the uniform would be back in an hour,
clean of all its destiny and travel.
   I slept again, with the little vial of magical dust in my pajama pocket,
over my beating heart.
   When I came downstairs, there was Dad at the breakfast table, biting into
his toast. “Sleep good, Doug?” he said, as if he had been here all the time, and
hadn’t been gone for three months.
   “All right,” I said.
   “Toast?”
   He pressed a button and the breakfast table made me four pieces, golden
brown.
   I remember my father that afternoon, digging and digging in the garden,
like an animal after something, it seemed. There he was with his long dark arms
moving swiftly, planting, tamping, fixing, cutting, pruning, his dark face
always down to the soil, his eyes always down to what he was doing, never up to
the sky, never looking at me, or Mother, even, unless we knelt with him to feel
the earth soak up through the overalls at our knees, to put our hands into the
black dirt and not look at the bright, crazy sky. Then he would glance to either
side, to Mother or me, and give us a gentle wink, and go on, bent down, face
down, the sky staring at his back.
   That night we sat on the mechanical porch swing which swung us and blew a
wind upon us and sang to us. It was summer and moonlight and we had lemonade to
drink, and we held the cold glasses in our hands, and Dad read the
stereo-newspapers inserted into the special hat you put on your head and which
turned the microscopic page in front of the magnifying lens if you blinked three
times in succession. Dad smoked cigarettes and told me about how it was when he
was a boy in the year 1997. After a while he said, as he had always said, “Why
aren’t you out playing kick-the-can, Doug?”
   I didn’t say anything, but Mom said, “He does, on nights when you’re not
here.”
   Dad looked at me and then, for the first time that day, at the sky. Mother
always watched him when he glanced at the stars. The first day and night when he
got home he wouldn’t look at the sky much. I thought about him gardening and
gardening so furiously, his face almost driven into the earth. But the second
night he looked at the stars a little more. Mother wasn’t afraid of the sky in
the day so much, but it was the night stars that she wanted to turn off, and
sometimes I could almost see her reaching for a switch in her mind, but never
finding it. And by the third night maybe Dad’d be out here on the porch until
way after we were all ready for bed, and then I’d hear Mom call him in, almost
like she called me from the street at times. And then I would hear Dad fitting
the electric-eye door lock in place, with a sigh. And the next morning at
breakfast I’d glance down and see his little black case near his feet as he
buttered his toast and Mother slept late.
   “Well, be seeing you, Doug,” he’d say, and we’d shake hands.
   “In about three months?”
   “Right.”
   And he’d walk away down the street, not taking a helicopter or beetle or
bus, just walking with his uniform hidden in his small underarm case; he didn’t
want anyone to think he was vain about being a Rocket Man.
   Mother would come out to eat breakfast, one piece of dry toast, about an
hour later.
   But now it was tonight, the first night, the good night, and he wasn’t
looking at the stars much at all.
   “Let’s go to the television carnival,” I said.
   “Fine,” said Dad.
   Mother smiled at me.
   And we rushed off to town in a helicopter and took Dad through a thousand
exhibits, to keep his face and head down with us and not looking anywhere else.
And as we laughed at the funny things and looked serious at the serious ones, I
thought. My father goes to Saturn and Neptune and Pluto, but he never brings me
presents. Other boys whose fathers go into space bring back bits of ore from
Callisto and hunks of black meteor or blue sand. But I have to get my own
collection, trading from other boys, the Martian rocks and Mercurian sands which
filled my room, but about which Dad would never comment.
   On occasion, I remembered, he brought something for Mother. He planted some
Martian sunflowers once in our yard, but after he was gone a month and the
sunflowers grew large. Mom ran out one day and cut them all down.
   Without thinking, as we paused at one of the three-dimensional exhibits, I
asked Dad the question I always asked:
   “What’s it like, out in space?”
   Mother shot me a frightened glance. It was too late.
   Dad stood there for a full half minute trying to find an answer, then he
shrugged.
   “It’s the best thing in a lifetime of best things.” Then he caught himself.
“Oh, it’s really nothing at all. Routine. You wouldn’t like it.” He looked at
me, apprehensively.
   “But you always go back.”
   “Habit.”
   “Where’re you going next?”
   “I haven’t decided yet. I’ll think it over.”
   He always thought it over. In those days rocket pilots were rare and he
could pick and choose work when he liked. On the third night of his homecoming
you could see him picking and choosing among the stars.
   “Come on,” said Mother, “let’s go home.”
   It was still early when we got home. I wanted Dad to put on his uniform. I
shouldn’t have asked-it always made Mother unhappy-but I could not help myself.
I kept at him, though he
   had always refused. I had never seen him in it, and at last he said, “Oh,
all right.”
   We waited in the parlor while he went upstairs in the air flue. Mother
looked at me dully, as if she couldn’t believe that her own son could do this to
her. I glanced away. “I’m sorry,” I said.
   “You’re not helping at all,” she said. “At all.”
   There was a whisper in the air flue a moment later.
   “Here I am,” said Dad quietly.
   We looked at him in his uniform.
   It was glossy black with silver buttons and silver rims to the heels of the
black boots, and it looked as if someone had cut the arms and legs and body from
a dark nebula, with little faint stars glowing through it. It fit as close as a
glove fits to a slender long hand, and it smelled like cool air and metal and
space. It smelled of fire and time.
   Father stood, smiling awkwardly, in the center of the room.
   “Turn around,” said Mother.
   Her eyes were remote, looking at him.
   When he was gone, she never talked of him. She never said anything about
anything but the weather or the condition of my neck and the need of a washcloth
for it, or the fact that she didn’t sleep nights. Once she said the light was
too strong at night.
   “But there’s no moon this week,” I said.
   “There’s starlight,” she said.
   I went to the store and bought her some
   darker, greener shades. As I lay in bed at night, I could hear her pull
them down tight to the bottom of the windows. It made a long rustling noise.
   Once I tried to mow the lawn.
   “No.” Mom stood in the door. “Put the mower away.”
   So the grass went three months at a time without cutting. Dad cut it when
he came home.
   She wouldn’t let me do anything else either, like repairing the electrical
breakfast maker or the mechanical book reader. She saved everything up, as if
for Christmas. And then I would see Dad hammering or tinkering, and always
smiling at his work, and Mother smiling over him, happy.
   No, she never talked of him when he was gone. And as for Dad, he never did
anything to make a contact across the millions of miles. He said once, “If I
called you, I’d want to be with you. I wouldn’t be happy.”
   Once Dad said to me, “Your mother treats me, sometimes, as if I weren’t
here-as if I were invisible.”
   I had seen her do it. She would look just beyond him, over his shoulder, at
his chin or hands, but never into his eyes. If she did look at his eyes, her
eyes were covered with a film, like an animal going to sleep. She said yes at
the right times, and smiled, but always a half second later than expected.
   “I’m not there for her,” said Dad.
   But other days she would be there and he would be there for her, and they
would hold hands and walk around the block, or take rides, with Mom’s hair
flying like a girl’s behind her, and she would cut off all the mechanical
devices in the kitchen and bake him incredible cakes and pies and cookies,
looking deep into his face, her smile a real smile. But at the end of such days
when he was there to her, she would always cry. And Dad would stand helpless,
gazing about the room as if to find the answer, but never finding it.
   Dad turned slowly, in his uniform, for us to see.
   “Turn around again,” said Mom.
   The next morning Dad came rushing into the house with handfuls of tickets.
Pink rocket tickets for California, blue tickets for Mexico.
   “Come on!” he said. “We’ll buy disposable clothes and bum them when they’re
soiled. Look, we take the noon rocket to L. A., the two-o’clock helicopter to
Santa Barbara, the nine-o’clock plane to Ensenada, sleep overnight!”
   And we went to California and up and down the Pacific Coast for a day and a
half, settling at last on the sands of Malibu to cook wieners at night. Dad was
always listening or singing or watching things on all sides of him, holding onto
things as if the world were a centrifuge going so swiftly that he might be flung
off away from us at any instant.
   The last afternoon at Malibu Mom was up in the hotel room. Dad lay on the
sand beside me
   for a long time in the hot sun. “Ah,” he sighed, “this is it.” His eyes
were gently closed; he lay on his back, drinking the sun. “You miss this,” he
said.
   He meant “on the rocket,” of course. But he never said “the rocket” or
mentioned the rocket and all the things you couldn’t have on the rocket. You
couldn’t have a salt wind on the rocket or a blue sky or a yellow sun or Mom’s
cooking. You couldn’t talk to your fourteen-year-old boy on a rocket.
   “Let’s hear it,’ he said at last.
   And I knew that now we would talk, as we had always talked, for three hours
straight. All afternoon we would murmur back and forth in the lazy sun about my
school grades, how high I could jump, how fast I could swim.
   Dad nodded each time I spoke and smiled and slapped my chest lightly in
approval. We talked. We did not talk of rockets or space, but we talked of
Mexico, where we had driven once in an ancient car, and of the butterflies we
had caught in the rain forests of green warm Mexico at noon, seeing the hundred
butterflies sucked to our radiator, dying there, beating their blue and crimson
wings, twitching, beautiful, and sad. We talked of such things instead of the
things I wanted to talk about. And he listened to me. That was the thing he did,
as if he was trying to fill himself up with all the sounds he could hear. He
listened to the wind and the falling ocean and my voice, always with a rapt
attention, a concentration that almost excluded physical bodies themselves and
kept only the sounds. He shut his eyes to listen. I would see him listening to
the lawn mower as he cut the grass by hand instead of using the remote-control
device, and I would see him smelling the cut grass as it sprayed up at him
behind the mower in a green fount.
   “Doug,” he said, about five in the afternoon, as we were picking up our
towels and heading back along the beach near the surf, “I want you to promise me
something.”
   “What?”
   “Don’t ever be a Rocket Man.”
   I stopped.
   “I mean it,” he said. “Because when you’re out there you want to be here,
and when you’re here you want to be out there. Don’t start that. Don’t let it
get hold of you.”
   “But-“
   “You don’t know what it is. Every time I’m out there I think, If I ever get
back to Earth I’ll stay there; I’ll never go out again. But I go out, and I
guess I’ll always go out.”
   “I’ve thought about being a Rocket Man for a long time,” I said.
   He didn’t hear me. “I try to stay here. Last Saturday when I got home I
started trying so damned hard to stay here.”
   I remembered him in the garden, sweating, and all the traveling and doing
and listening, and I knew that he did this to convince himself that the sea and
the towns and the land and his family were the only real things and the good
things. But I knew where he would be tonight: looking at the jewelry in Orion
from our front porch.
   “Promise me you won’t be like me,” he said.
   I hesitated awhile. “Okay,” I said.
   He shook my hand. “Good boy,” he said.
   The dinner was fine that night. Mom had run about the kitchen with handfuls
of cinnamon and dough and pots and pans tinkling, and now a great turkey fumed
on the table, with dressing, cranberry sauce, peas, and pumpkin pie.
   “In the middle of August?” said Dad, amazed.
   “You won’t be here for Thanksgiving.”
   “So I won’t.”
   He sniffed it. He lifted each lid from each tureen and let the flavor steam
over his sunburned face. He said “Ah” to each. He looked at the room and his
hands. He gazed at the pictures on the wall, the chairs, the table, me, and Mom.
He cleared his throat. I saw him make up his mind. “Lilly?”
   “Yes?” Mom looked across her table which she had set like a wonderful
silver trap, a miraculous gravy pit into which, like a struggling beast of the
past caught in a tar pool, her husband might at last be caught and held, gazing
out through a jail of wishbones, safe forever. Her eyes sparkled.
   “Lilly,” said Dad.
   Go on, I thought crazily. Say it, quick; say you’ll stay home this time,
for good, and never go away; say it!
   Just then a passing helicopter jarred the room and the window pane shook
with a crystal sound. Dad glanced at the window.
   The blue stars of evening were there, and the red planet Mars was rising in
the East.
   Dad looked at Mars a full minute. Then he put his hand out blindly toward
me. “May I have some peas,” he said.
   “Excuse me,” said Mother. “I’m going to get some bread.”
   She rushed out into the kitchen.
   “But there’s bread on the table,” I said.
   Dad didn’t look at me as he began his meal.
   I couldn’t sleep that night. I came downstairs at one in the morning and
the moonlight was like ice on all the housetops, and dew glittered in a snow
field on our grass. I stood in the doorway in my pajamas, feeling the warm night
wind, and then I knew that Dad was sitting in the mechanical porch swing,
gliding gently. I could see his profile tilted back, and he was watching the
stars wheel over the sky. His eyes were like gray crystal there, the moon in
each one.
   I went out and sat beside him.
   We glided awhile in the swing.
   At last I said, “How many ways are there to die in space?”
   “A million.”
   “Name some.”
   “The meteors hit you. The air goes out of your rocket. Or comets take you
along with them. Concussion. Strangulation. Explosion. Centrifugal force. Too
much acceleration. Too little. The heat, the cold, the sun, the moon, the stars,
the planets, the asteroids, the planetoids, radiation….”
   “And do they bury you?”
   “They never find you.”
   “Where do you go?”
   “A billion miles away. Traveling graves, they call them. You become a
meteor or a planetoid traveling forever through space.”
   I said nothing.
   “One thing,” he said later, “it’s quick in space. Death. It’s over like
that. You don’t linger. Most of the time you don’t even know it. You’re dead and
that’s it.”
   We went up to bed.
   It was morning.
   Standing in the doorway, Dad listened to the yellow canary singing in its
golden cage.
   “Well, I’ve decided,” he said. “Next time I come home, I’m home to stay.”
   “Dad!” I said.
   “Tell your mother that when she gets up,” he said.
   “You mean it!”
   He nodded gravely. “See you in about three months.”
   And there he went off down the street, carrying his uniform in its secret
box, whistling and looking at the tall green trees and picking chinaberries off
the chinaberry bush as he brushed by, tossing them ahead of him as he walked
away into the bright shade of early morning….
   I asked Mother about a few things that mom-ing after Father had been gone a
number of hours. “Dad said that sometimes you don’t act as if you hear or see
him,” I said.
   And then she explained everything to me quietly.
   “When he went off into space ten years ago, I said to myself, ‘He’s dead.’
Or as good as dead. So think of him dead. And when he comes back, three or four
times a year, it’s not him at all, it’s only a pleasant little memory or a
dream. And if a memory stops or a dream stops, it can’t hurt half as much. So
most of the time I think of him dead-“
   “But other times-“
   “Other times I can’t help myself. I bake pies and treat him as if he were
alive, and then it hurts. No, it’s better to think he hasn’t been here for ten
years and I’ll never see him again. It doesn’t hurt as much.”
   “Didn’t he say next time he’d settle down.”
   She shook her head slowly. “No, he’s dead. I’m very sure of that.”
   “He’ll come alive again, then,” 1 said. “Ten years ago,” said Mother, “I
thought, What if he dies on Venus? Then we’ll never be able to see Venus again.
What if he dies on Mars? We’ll never be able to look at Mars again, all red in
the sky, without wanting to go in and lock the door. Or what if he died on
Jupiter or Saturn or Neptune? On those nights when those planets were high in
the sky, we wouldn’t want to have anything to do with the stars.” “I guess not,”
I said.
   The message came the next day.
   The messenger gave it to me and I read it standing on the porch. The sun
was setting. Mom stood in the screen door behind me, watching me fold the
message and put it in my pocket.
   “Mom,” I said.
   “Don’t tell me anything I don’t already know,” she said.
   She didn’t cry.
   Well, it wasn’t Mars, and it wasn’t Venus, and it wasn’t Jupiter or Saturn
that killed him. We wouldn’t have to think of him every time Jupiter or Saturn
or Mars lit up the evening sky.
   This was different.
   His ship had fallen into the sun.
   And the sun was big and fiery and merciless, and it was always in the sky
and you couldn’t get away from it.
   So for a long time after my father died my mother slept through the days
and wouldn’t go out. We had breakfast at midnight and lunch at three in the
morning, and dinner at the cold dim hour of 6 A. M. We went to all-night shows
and went to bed at sunrise.
   And, for a long while, the only days we ever went out to walk were the days
when it was raining and there was no sun.

The End

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Law 35 (full text) Master the art of Timing from the 48 Laws of Power by Robert Greene

This is a complete reprint of law 35 titled “Master the art of Timing” by Robert Greene from his book “The 48 Laws of Power”. You must anticipate the ebb and flow of power. Recognize when the time is right, and align yourself with the right side. Be patient and wait for your moment when you know you’ll benefit in the long run. Master the art of timing. When it’s time to make your end move against an opponent, strike without hesitation.

LAW 35

MASTER THE ART OF TIMING

JUDGMENT

Never seem to be in a hurry-hurrying betrays a lack of control over yourself, and over time.

Always seem patient, as if you know that everything will come to you eventually.

Become a detective of the right moment; sniff out the spirit of the times, the trends that will carry you to power.

Learn to stand back when the time is not yet ripe, and to strike fiercely when it has reached fruition.

SERTORIUS’S LESSON

Sertorius’s strength was now rapidly increasing, for all the tribes between the Ebro and the Pyrenees came over to his side, and troops came flocking daily to join him from every quarter.

At the same time he was troubled by the lack of discipline and the overconfidence of these newly arrived barbarians, who would shout at him to attack the enemy and had no patience with his delaying tactics, and he therefore tried to win them over by argument. them over by argument.

But when he saw that they were discontented and persisted in pressing their demands regardless of the circumstances, he let them have their way and allowed them to engage the enemy; he hoped that they would suffer a severe defeat without being completely crushed, and that this would make them better disposed to obey his orders in future.

The event turned out as he expected and Sertorius came to their rescue, provided a rallying point for the fugitives, and led them safely back to his camp.

His next step was to revive their dejected spirits, and so a few days later he summoned a general assembly. Before it he produced two horses, one of them old and enfeebled, the other large and lusty and possessing a flowing tail, which was remarkable for the thickness and beauty of its hair.

By the side of the weak horse stood a tall strong man, and by the side of the powerful horse a short man of mean physique.

At a signal the strong man seized the tail of his horse and tried with all his strength to pull it towards him, as if to tear it off, while the weak man began to pull the hairs one by one from the tail of the strong horse.

The strong man, after tugging with all his might to no purpose and causing the spectators a great deal of amusement in the process, finally gave up the attempt, while the weak man quickly and with very little trouble stripped his horse’s tail completely bare.

Then Sertorius rose to his feet and said, “Now you can see, my friends and allies, that perseverance is more effective than brute strength and that there are many difficulties that cannot be overcome if you try to do everything at once, but which will yield if you master them little by little. The truth is that a steady continuous effort is irresistible, for this is the way in which Time captures and subdues the greatest powers on earth.

Now Time, you should remember, is a good friend and ally to those who use their intelligence to choose the right moment, but a most dangerous enemy to those who rush into action at the wrong one.

-”LIFE OF SERTORIUS, PLUTARCH, C.A.D. 46-120

OBSERVANCE OF THE LAW

Starting out in life as a nondescript French seminary-school teacher, Joseph Fouché wandered from town to town for most of the decade of the 1780s, teaching mathematics to young boys. Yet he never completely committed himself to the church, never took his vows as a priest—he had bigger plans.

Patiently waiting for his chance, he kept his options open.

And when the French Revolution broke out, in 1789, Fouché waited no longer: He got rid of his cassock, grew his hair long, and became a revolutionary. For this was the spirit of the times.

To miss the boat at this critical moment could have spelt disaster.

Fouché did not miss the boat: Befriending the revolutionary leader Robespierre, he quickly rose in the rebel ranks.

In 1792 the town of Nantes elected Fouche to be its representative to the National Convention (created that year to frame a new constitution for a French republic).

When Fouché arrived in Paris to take his seat at the convention, a violent rift had broken out between the moderates and the radical Jacobins. Fouché sensed that in the long run neither side would emerge victorious.

Power rarely ends up in the hands of those who start a revolution, or even of those who further it; power sticks to those who bring it to a conclusion.

That was the side Fouche wanted to be on.

His sense of timing was uncanny.

He started as a moderate, for moderates were in the majority. When the time came to decide on whether or not to execute Louis XVI, however, he saw that the people were clamoring for the king’s head, so he cast the deciding vote—for the guillotine.

Now he had become a radical.

Yet as tensions came to the boil in Paris, he foresaw the danger of being too closely associated with any one faction, so he accepted a position in the provinces, where he could lie low for a while.

A few months later he was assigned to the post of proconsul in Lyons, where he oversaw the execution of dozens of aristocrats.

At a certain moment, however, he called a halt to the killings, sensing that the mood of the country was turning-and despite the blood already on his hands, the citizens of Lyons hailed him as a savior from what had become known as the Terror.

So far Fouché had played his cards brilliantly, but in 1794 his old friend Robespierre recalled him to Paris to account for his actions in Lyons.

Robespierre had been the driving force behind the Terror. He had sent heads on both the right and the left rolling, and Fouché, whom he no longer trusted, seemed destined to provide the next head.

Over the next few weeks, a tense struggle ensued: While Robespierre railed openly against Fouché, accusing of him dangerous ambitions and calling for his arrest, the crafty Fouché worked more indirectly, quietly gaining support among those who were beginning to tire of Robespierre’s dictatorial control.

Fouche was playing for time. He knew that the longer he survived, the more disaffected citizens he could rally against Robespierre. He had to have broad support before he moved against the powerful leader. He rallied support among both the moderates and the Jacobins, playing on the widespread fear of Robespierre-everyone was afraid of being the next to go to the guillotine.

It all came to fruition on July 27: The convention turned against Robespierre, shouting down his usual lengthy speech.

He was quickly arrested, and a few days later it was Robespierre’s head, not Fouché’s, that fell into the basket.

When Fouché returned to the convention after Robespierre’s death, he played his most unexpected move: Having led the conspiracy against Robespierre, he was expected to sit with the moderates, but lo and behold, he once again changed sides, joining the radical Jacobins.

For perhaps the first time in his life he aligned himself with the minority.

Clearly he sensed a reaction stirring: He knew that the moderate faction that had executed Robespierre, and was now about to take power, would initiate a new round of the Terror, this time against the radicals.

In siding with the Jacobins, then, Fouché was sitting with the martyrs of the days to come—the people who would be considered blameless in the troubles that were on their way.

Taking sides with what was about to become the losing team was a risky gambit, of course, but Fouché must have calculated he could keep his head long enough to quietly stir up the populace against the moderates and watch them fall from power.

And indeed, although the moderates did call for his arrest in December of 1795, and would have sent him to the guillotine, too much time had passed. The executions had become unpopular with the people, and Fouché survived the swing of the pendulum one more time.

A new government took over, the Directoire. It was not, however, a Jacobin government, but a moderate one—more moderate than the government that had reimposed the Terror.

Fouché, the radical, had kept his head, but now he had to keep a low profile.

He waited patiently on the sidelines for several years, allowing time to soften any bitter feelings against him, then he approached the Directoire and convinced them he had a new passion: intelligence-gathering.

He became a paid spy for the government, excelled at the job, and in 1799 was rewarded by being made minister of police.

Now he was not just empowered but required to extend his spying to every corner of France—a responsibility that would greatly reinforce his natural ability to sniff out where the wind was blowing.

One of the first social trends he detected, in fact, came in the person of Napoleon, a brash young general whose destiny he right away saw was entwined with the future of France. When Napoleon unleashed a coup d‘etat, on November 9, 1799, Fouche pretended to be asleep.

Indeed he slept the whole day.

For this indirect assistance—it might have been thought his job, after all, to prevent a military coup—Napoleon kept him on as minister of police in the new regime.

Over the next few years, Napoleon came to rely on Fouché more and more. He even gave this former revolutionary a title, duke of Otranto, and rewarded him with great wealth.

By 1808, however, Fouché, always attuned to the times, sensed that Napoleon was on the downswing. His futile war with Spain, a country that posed no threat to France, was a sign that he was losing a sense of proportion.

Never one to be caught on a sinking ship, Fouché conspired with Talleyrand to bring about Napoleon’s downfall. Although the conspiracy failed—Talleyrand was fired; Fouché stayed, but was kept on a tight leash—it publicized a growing discontent with the emperor, who seemed to be losing control.

By 1814 Napoleon’s power had crumbled and allied forces finally conquered him.

The next government was a restoration of the monarchy, in the form of King Louis XVIII, brother of Louis XVI. Fouché, his nose always sniffing the air for the next social shift, knew Louis would not last long—he had none of Napoleon’s flair.

Fouché once again played his waiting game, lying low, staying away from the spotlight.

Sure enough, in February of 1815, Napoleon escaped from the island of Elba, where he had been imprisoned.

Louis XVIII panicked: His policies had alienated the citizenry, who were clamoring for Napoleon’s return. So Louis turned to the one man who could maybe have saved his hide, Fouché, the former radical who had sent his brother, Louis XVI, to the guillotine, but was now one of the most popular and widely admired politicians in France.

Fouché, however, would not side with a loser: He refused Louis’s request for help by pretending that his help was unnecessary—by swearing that Napoleon would never return to power (although he knew otherwise).

A short time later, of course, Napoleon and his new citizen army were closing in on Paris.

Seeing his reign about to collapse, feeling that Fouché had betrayed him, and certain that he did not want this powerful and able man on Napoleon’s team, King Louis ordered the minister’s arrest and execution.

On March 16, 1815, policemen surrounded Fouché’s coach on a Paris boulevard. Was this finally his end? Perhaps, but not immediately: Fouché told the police that an ex-member of government could not be arrested on the street.

They fell for the story and allowed him to return home. Later that day, though, they came to his house and once again declared him under arrest.

Fouché nodded—but would the officers be so kind as allow a gentleman to wash and to change his clothes before leaving his house for the last time? They gave their permission, Fouché left the room, and the minutes went by.

Fouché did not return.

Finally the policemen went into the next room—where they saw a ladder against an open window, leading down to the garden below.

That day and the next the police combed Paris for Fouche, but by then Napoleon’s cannons were audible in the distance and the king and all the king’s men had to flee the city.

As soon as Napoleon entered Paris, Fouché came out of hiding.

He had cheated the executioner once again.

Napoleon greeted his former minister of police and gladly restored him to his old post. During the 100 days that Napoleon remained in power, until Waterloo, it was essentially Fouché who governed France.

After Napoleon fell, Louis XVIII returned to the throne, and like a cat with nine lives, Fouche stayed on to serve in yet another government—by then his power and influence had grown so great that not even the king dared challenge him.

Mr. Shih had two sons: one loved learning; the other war. 

The first expounded his moral teachings at the admiring court of Ch‘i and was made a tutor, while the second talked strategy at the bellicose court of Ch’u and was made a general. 

The impecunious Mr. Meng, hearing of these successes, sent his own two sons out to follow the example of the Shih boys. 

The first expounded his moral teachings at the court ofCh‘in, but the King of Ch’in said: “At present the states are quarreling violently and every prince is busy arming his troops to the teeth. If I followed this prig’s pratings we should soon be annihilated.” 

So he had the fellow castrated. 

Meanwhile, the second brother displayed his military genius at the court of Wei. But the King of Wei said: “Mine is a weak state. If I relied on force instead of diplomacy, we should soon be wiped out. If, on the other hand, I let this fire-eater go, he will offer his services to another state and then we shall be in trouble.” 

So he had the fellow’s feet cut off.

Both families did exactly the same thing, but one timed it right, the other wrong. This success depends not on ratiocination but on rhythm.

LlEH TZU. QUOTED IN THE CHINESE LOOKING GLASS. DENNIS BLOODWORTH, 1967

Interpretation

In a period of unprecedented turmoil, Joseph Fouché thrived through his mastery of the art of timing. He teaches us a number of key lessons.

First, it is critical to recognize the spirit of the times. Fouché always looked two steps ahead, found the wave that would carry him to power, and rode it. You must always work with the times, anticipate twists and turns, and never miss the boat. Sometimes the spirit of the times is obscure: Recognize it not by what is loudest and most obvious in it, but by what lies hidden and dormant. Look forward to the Napoleons of the future rather than holding on to the ruins of the past.

Second, recognizing the prevailing winds does not necessarily mean running with them. Any potent social movement creates a powerful reaction, and it is wise to anticipate what that reaction will be, as Fouché did after the execution of Robespierre. Rather than ride the cresting wave of the moment, wait for the tide’s ebb to carry you back to power. Upon occasion bet on the reaction that is brewing, and place yourself in the vanguard of it.

Finally, Fouché had remarkable patience. Without patience as your sword and shield, your timing will fail and you will inevitably find yourself a loser. When the times were against Fouché, he did not struggle, get emotional, or strike out rashly. He kept his cool and maintained a low profile, patiently building support among the citizenry, the bulwark in his next rise to power. Whenever he found himself in the weaker position, he played for time, which he knew would always be his ally if he was patient. Recognize the moment, then, to hide in the grass or slither under a rock, as well as the moment to bare your fangs and attack.

Space we can recover, time never.

-Napoleon Bonaparte, 1769-1821

KEYS TO POWER

Time is an artificial concept that we ourselves have created to make the limitlessness of eternity and the universe more bearable, more human. Since we have constructed the concept of time, we are also able to mold it to some degree, to play tricks with it.

The time of a child is long and slow, with vast expanses; the time of an adult whizzes by frighteningly fast. Time, then, depends on perception, which, we know, can be willfully altered.

This is the first thing to understand in mastering the art of timing.

If the inner turmoil caused by our emotions tends to make time move faster, it follows that once we control our emotional responses to events, time will move much more slowly. This altered way of dealing with things tends to lengthen our perception of future time, opens up possibilities that fear and anger close off, and allows us the patience that is the principal requirement in the art of timing.

The sultan [of Persia] had sentenced two men to death. 

One of them, knowing how much the sultan loved his stallion, offered to teach the horse to fly within a year in return for his life. The sultan, fancying himself as the rider of the only flying horse in the world, agreed. 

The other prisoner looked at his friend in disbelief “You know horses don’t fly. What made you come up with a crazv idea like that? You’re only postponing the inevitable.” 

“Not so, ” said the (first prisoner]. 

“I have actuallv given myself four chances for freedom. 

First, the sultan might die during the year. 
Second, I might die. 
Third, the horse might die. 
And fourth ... I might teach the horse to fly!

-”THE CRAFT OF POWER, R.G.H. SIU, 1979

There are three kinds of time for us to deal with; each presents problems that can be solved with skill and practice.

First there is long time: the drawn-out, years-long kind of time that must be managed with patience and gentle guidance. Our handling of long time should be mostly defensive—this is the art of not reacting impulsively, of waiting for opportunity.

Next there is forced time: the short-term time that we can manipulate as an offensive weapon, upsetting the timing of our opponents.

Finally there is end time, when a plan must be executed with speed and force. We have waited, found the moment, and must not hesitate.

Long Time.

The famous seventeenth-century Ming painter Chou Yung relates a story that altered his behavior forever. Late one winter afternoon he set out to visit a town that lay across the river from his own town. He was bringing some important books and papers with him and had commissioned a young boy to help him carry them. As the ferry neared the other side of the river, Chou Yung asked the boatman if they would have time to get to the town before its gates closed, since it was a mile away and night was approaching. The boatman glanced at the boy, and at the bundle of loosely tied papers and books—“Yes,” he replied, “if you do not walk too fast.”

As they started out, however, the sun was setting. Afraid of being locked out of the town at night, prey to local bandits, Chou and the boy walked faster and faster, finally breaking into a run. Suddenly the string around the papers broke and the documents scattered on the ground. It took them many minutes to put the packet together again, and by the time they had reached the city gates, it was too late.

When you force the pace out of fear and impatience, you create a nest of problems that require fixing, and you end up taking much longer than if you had taken your time.

Hurriers may occasionally get there quicker, but papers fly everywhere, new dangers arise, and they find themselves in constant crisis mode, fixing the problems that they themselves have created. Sometimes not acting in the face of danger is your best move—you wait, you deliberately slow down. As time passes it will eventually present opportunities you had not imagined.

Waiting involves controlling not only your own emotions but those of your colleagues, who, mistaking action for power, may try to push you into making rash moves.

In your rivals, on the other hand, you can encourage this same mistake: If you let them rush headlong into trouble while you stand back and wait, you will soon find ripe moments to intervene and pick up the pieces.

This wise policy was the principal strategy of the great early-seventeenth-century emperor Tokugawa Ieyasu of Japan. When his predecessor, the headstrong Hideyoshi, whom he served as a general, staged a rash invasion of Korea, Ieyasu did not involve himself.

He knew the invasion would be a disaster and would lead to Hideyoshi’s downfall.

Better to stand patiently on the sidelines, even for many years, and then be in position to seize power when the time is right—exactly what Ieyasu did, with great artistry.

THE TROUT AND THE GUDGEON 

A Fisherman in the month of May stood angling on the bank of the Thames with an artificial fly. He threw his bait with so much art, that a young trout was rushing toward it, when she was prevented by her mother. 

“Never,” said she, “my child, be too precipitate, where there is a possibility of danger. Take due time to consider, before you risk an action that may be fatal. 

How know you whether yon appearance be indeed a fly, or the snare of an enemy? 

Let someone else make the experiment before you. If it be a fly, he will very probably elude the first attack: and the second may be made, if not with success, at least with safety.” She had no sooner spoken, than a gudgeon seized the pretended fly, and became an example to the giddy daughter of the importance of her mother’s counsel.

-FABLES, ROBERT DODSLEY, 1703-1764

You do not deliberately slow time down to live longer, or to take more pleasure in the moment, but the better to play the game of power. First, when your mind is uncluttered by constant emergencies you will see further into the future. Second, you will be able to resist the baits that people dangle in front of you, and will keep yourself from becoming another impatient sucker. Third, you will have more room to be flexible. Opportunities will inevitably arise that you had not expected and would have missed had you forced the pace. Fourth, you will not move from one deal to the next without completing the first one. To build your power’s foundation can take years; make sure that foundation is secure. Do not be a flash in the pan—success that is built up slowly and surely is the only kind that lasts.

Finally, slowing time down will give you a perspective on the times you live in, letting you take a certain distance and putting you in a less emotionally charged position to see the shapes of things to come. Hurriers will often mistake surface phenomena for a real trend, seeing only what they want to see. How much better to see what is really happening, even if it is unpleasant or makes your task harder.

Forced Time.

The trick in forcing time is to upset the timing of others—to make them hurry, to make them wait, to make them abandon their own pace, to distort their perception of time. By upsetting the timing of your opponent while you stay patient, you open up time for yourself, which is half the game.

In 1473 the great Turkish sultan Mehmed the Conqueror invited negotiations with Hungary to end the off-and-on war the two countries had waged for years. When the Hungarian emissary arrived in Turkey to start the talks, Turkish officials humbly apologized—Mehmed had just left Istanbul, the capital, to battle his longtime foe, Uzun Hasan.

But he urgently wanted peace with Hungary, and had asked that the emissary join him at the front.

When the emissary arrived at the site of the fighting, Mehmed had already left it, moving eastward in pursuit of his swift foe.

This happened several times.

Wherever the emissary stopped, the Turks lavished gifts and banquets on him, in pleasurable but time-consuming ceremonies. Finally Mehmed defeated Uzun and met with the emissary.

Yet his terms for peace with Hungary were excessively harsh.

After a few days, the negotiations ended, and the usual stalemate remained in place.

But this was fine with Mehmed. In fact he had planned it that way all along: Plotting his campaign against Uzun, he had seen that diverting his armies to the east would leave his western flank vulnerable. To prevent Hungary from taking advantage of his weakness and his preoccupation elsewhere, he first dangled the lure of peace before his enemy, then made them wait—all on his own terms.

Making people wait is a powerful way of forcing time, as long as they do not figure out what you are up to.

You control the clock, they linger in limbo—and rapidly come unglued, opening up opportunities for you to strike.

The opposite effect is equally powerful: You make your opponents hurry.

Start off your dealings with them slowly, then suddenly apply pressure, making them feel that everything is happening at once. People who lack the time to think will make mistakes—so set their deadlines for them.

This was the technique Machiavelli admired in Cesare Borgia, who, during negotiations, would suddenly press vehemently for a decision, upsetting his opponent’s timing and patience. For who would dare make Cesare wait?

Joseph Duveen, the famous art dealer, knew that if he gave an indecisive buyer like John D. Rockefeller a deadline—the painting had to leave the country, another tycoon was interested in it—the client would buy just in time.

Freud noticed that patients who had spent years in psychoanalysis without improvement would miraculously recover just in time if he fixed a definite date for the end of the therapy.

Jacques Lacan, the famous French psychoanalyst, used a variation on this tactic—he would sometimes end the customary hour session of therapy after only ten minutes, without warning.

After this happened several times, the patient would realize that he had better make maximum use of the time, rather than wasting much of the hour with a lot of talk that meant nothing.

The deadline, then, is a powerful tool.

Close off the vistas of indecision and force people to make up their damn minds or get to the point never let them make you play on their excruciating terms.

Never give them time.

Magicians and showmen are experts in forcing time. Houdini could often wriggle free of handcuffs in minutes, but he would draw the escape out to an hour, making the audience sweat, as time came to an apparent standstill.

Magicians have always known that the best way to alter our perception of time is often to slow down the pace. Creating suspense brings time to a terrifying pause: The slower the magician’s hands move, the easier it is to create the illusion of speed, making people think the rabbit has appeared instantaneously.

The great nineteenth-century magician Jean-Eugène Robert-Houdin took explicit notice of this effect: “The more slowly a story is told,” he said, “the shorter it seems.”

Going slower also makes what you are doing more interesting—the audience yields to your pace, becomes entranced. It is a state in which time whizzes delightfully by. You must practice such illusions, which share in the hypnotist’s power to alter perceptions of time.

End Time.

You can play the game with the utmost artistry—waiting patiently for the right moment to act, putting your competitors off their form by messing with their timing—but it won’t mean a thing unless you know how to finish.

Do not be one of those people who look like paragons of patience but are actually just afraid to bring things to a close: Patience is worthless unless combined with a willingness to fall ruthlessly on your opponent at the right moment.

You can wait as long as necessary for the conclusion to come, but when it comes it must come quickly. Use speed to paralyze your opponent, cover up any mistakes you might make, and impress people with your aura of authority and finality.

With the patience of a snake charmer, you draw the snake out with calm and steady rhythms. Once the snake is out, though, would you dangle your foot above its deadly head? There is never a good reason to allow the slightest hitch in your endgame. Your mastery of timing can really only be judged by how you work with end time—how you quickly change the pace and bring things to a swift and definitive conclusion.

Image: The Hawk. Patiently and silently it circles the sky, high
above, all-seeing with its powerful eyes. Those below have
no awareness that they are being tracked. Suddenly,
when the moment arrives, the hawk swoops
down with a speed that cannot be de
fended against; before its prey
knows what has happened,
the bird’s viselike talons
have carried it
up into the
sky.

Authority: 

There is a tide in the affairs of men, / Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; / Omitted, all the voyage of their life / Is bound in shallows and in miseries. 

-(Julius Caesar, William Shakespeare, 1564-1616)

REVERSAL

There is no power to be gained in letting go of the reins and adapting to whatever time brings. To some degree you must guide time or you will be its merciless victim. There is accordingly no reversal to this law.

Overview of Law #35: Master the Art of Timing

Anticipate the ebb and flow of power. Recognize when the time is right, and align yourself with the right side. Be patient and wait for your moment when you know you’ll benefit in the long run. Master the art of timing. When it’s time to make your end move against an opponent, strike without hesitation.

Principles of Law 35

In the quest for power, timing is everything. To take advantage of changing fortunes, you need to recognize the moment to act. Constantly read the signs and ally yourself with the right side. But be ready to switch again right before the pendulum swings.

According to Law 35 of the 48 Laws of Power, to survive and thrive while others are swept away, apply these principles:

Recognize change in the air: Be alert to the undercurrent as well as what’s happening around the edges of society. Rather than aligning with a crumbling past, look for the new leaders and movements to join.
Anticipate the reaction: When a new movement gathers momentum or a new power takes the throne, anticipate a reactionary wave and be ready to ride it.
Be patient and keep your cool: When things get chaotic, keep a low profile and play for time so you can see the right moment when it comes again.

You can master the art of timing in three ways:

Take the Long View

One way to apply Law 35 of the 48 Laws of Power is to take the long view. There’s a time frame that stretches years ahead and should be viewed with an eye to opportunity. Have a defensive strategy and play a patient, waiting game.

Waiting requires controlling your emotions and those of your colleagues who might get impatient and push you to act at the wrong time. It’s better to let your rivals rush to act, if you know they’ll fail. You can wait and pick up the pieces. In the 17th century, General Ieyasu of Japan knew that invading Korea would be a disaster. He simply waited while the emperor launched an invasion against his advice, which indeed failed. It took years, but when the emperor fell Ieyasu seized power. Ieyasu mastered the art of timing.

Taking the long view has several advantages:

When you’re not in immediate or crisis mode, you’re more clear-eyed and can see farther into the future.
You’ll be able to resist others’ intentional provocations.
You can be more flexible and able to take advantage of opportunities along the way that you would miss by rushing.
You can be methodical, completing each step properly before moving to the next.
When making long-range decisions, you’ll be less driven by emotion.

Force Your Opponent’s Hand

Another principle of Law 35 of the 48 Laws of Power is to force your opponent’s hand. There is a short, immediate time frame in which you can act offensively to upset the timing of your opponents.

The Turkish sultan Mehmed distracted Hungary from noticing he was vulnerable to attack while he battled another foe. Mehmed did this by inviting Hungarian officials to negotiations, then repeatedly postponing the meetings after they arrived. They waited, on his terms, until he finally returned from battle and canceled the whole thing.

In contrast to making your opponents wait, you can make them hurry. You can start dealing with someone slowly, then suddenly speed things up: Demand a decision or set an unrealistic deadline. Under pressure, they’re likely to make mistakes.

Salespeople use this technique by telling you that someone else is interested in the item you’re thinking of buying, so you’d better put money down right away. This is another way to master the art of timing.

Finish the Job

The third step to Law 35 of the 48 Laws of Power is to finish the job. There’s a specific moment when you need to execute your plan, forcefully and without hesitation. Patience has its place, but when it’s time to act, you must act, suddenly pouncing on your opponent and ending the game conclusively.

Conclusion

During the Trade War with China (2016 to 2020), did you notice which side had control of the time? Was it Donald Trump and his neocon advisors, or was it China? And when the United States tried to force a “color revolution” in Hong Kong through use of the NED, it was China that controlled the pace and the timing of the events.

Currently the United States is trying to force China to make a move against Taiwan. I would be willing to bet that any action or activity against Taiwan would be on Chinese terms and following a Chinese timetable.

Be smart and learn from this law.

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Law 29 Plan all the way to the end (full text) from the 48 Laws of Power by Robert Greene.

This is the free full text in glorious HTML of law 29 from Robert Greene’s work titled “The 48 Laws of Power”. This law is titled “Plan all the way to the end”. It is a great read, and contains a lot of wisdom on many levels. Indeed, anyone who has ever managed a project can attest to the validity of this law.

LAW 29

PLAN ALL THE WAY TO THE END

JUDGMENT

The ending is everything.

Plan all the way to it, taking into account all the possible consequences, obstacles, and twists of fortune that might reverse your hard work and give the glory to others.

By planning to the end you will not be overwhelmed by circumstances and you will know when to stop.

Gently guide fortune and help determine the future by thinking far ahead.

TRANSGRESSION OF THE LAW

In 1510 a ship set out from the island of Hispaniola (now Haiti and the Dominican Republic) for Venezuela, where it was to rescue a besieged Spanish colony.

Several miles out of port, a stowaway climbed out of a provision chest: Vasco Núñez de Balboa, a noble Spaniard who had come to the New World in search of gold but had fallen into debt and had escaped his creditors by hiding in the chest.

There are very few men—and they are the exceptions—who are able to think and feel beyond the present moment.

-CARL VON CLAUSEWITZ, 1780-1831

Balboa had been obsessed with gold ever since Columbus had returned to Spain from his voyages with tales of a fabulous but as yet undiscovered kingdom called El Dorado.

Balboa was one of the first adventurers to come in search of Columbus’s land of gold, and he had decided from the beginning that he would be the one to find it, through sheer audacity and single-mindedness.

Now that he was free of his creditors, nothing would stop him.

Vasco Núñez de Balboa could very well be represented by the Character Aguirre in “The Wrath of God”.

Unfortunately the ship’s owner, a wealthy jurist named Francisco Fer nández de Enciso, was furious when told of the stowaway, and he ordered that Balboa be left on the first island they came across.

Before they found any island, however, Enciso received news that the colony he was to rescue had been abandoned.

This was Balboa’s chance.

He told the sailors of his previous voyages to Panama, and of the rumors he had heard of gold in the area.

The excited sailors convinced Enciso to spare Balboa’s life, and to establish a colony in Panama.

Weeks later they named their new settlement “Darien.”

Darien’s first governor was Enciso, but Balboa was not a man to let others steal the initiative. He campaigned against Enciso among the sailors, who eventually made it clear that they preferred him as governor.

Enciso fled to Spain, fearing for his life.

Months later, when a representative of the Spanish crown arrived to establish himself as the new, official governor of Darien, he was turned away.

On his return voyage to Spain, this man drowned; the drowning was accidental, but under Spanish law, Balboa had murdered the governor and usurped his position.

Balboa’s bravado had got him out of scrapes before, but now his hopes of wealth and glory seemed doomed.

To lay claim to El Dorado, should he discover it, he would need the approval of the Spanish king—which, as an outlaw, he would never receive.

There was only one solution. Panamanian Indians had told Balboa of a vast ocean on the other side of the Central American isthmus, and had said that by traveling south upon this western coast, he would reach a fabulous land of gold, called by a name that to his ears sounded like “Biru.”

Balboa decided he would cross the treacherous jungles of Panama and become the first European to bathe his feet in this new ocean.

From there he would march on El Dorado. If he did this on Spain’s behalf, he would obtain the eternal gratitude of the king, and would secure his own reprieve—only he had to act before Spanish authorities came to arrest him.

THE TWO FROGS

Two frogs dwelt in the same pool. The pool being dried up under the summer’s heat, they left it, and set out together to seek another home. 

As they went along they chanced to pass a deep well, amply supplied with water, on seeing which one of the frogs said to the other: “Let us descend and make our abode in this well, it will furnish us with shelter and food.” The other replied with greater caution: “But suppose the water should fail us, how can we get out again from so great a depth?” 

Do nothing without a regard to the consequences.

-FABLES, AESOP, SIXTH CENTURY B.C.

In 1513, then, Balboa set out, with 190 soldiers. Halfway across the isthmus (some ninety miles wide at that point), only sixty soldiers remained, many having succumbed to the harsh conditions—the blood-sucking insects, the torrential rainfall, fever.

Finally, from a mountaintop, Balboa became the first European to lay eyes on the Pacific Ocean. Days later he marched in his armor into its waters, bearing the banner of Castile and claiming all its seas, lands, and islands in the name of the Spanish throne.

Look to the end, no matter what it is you are considering. Often enough, God gives a man a glimpse of happiness, and then utterly ruins him.

-THE HISTORIES, HERODOTUS, FIFTH CENTURY B.C.

Indians from the area greeted Balboa with gold, jewels, and precious pearls, the like of which he had never seen.

When he asked where these had come from, the Indians pointed south, to the land of the Incas. But Balboa had only a few soldiers left. For the moment, he decided, he should return to Darien, send the jewels and gold to Spain as a token of good will, and ask for a large army to aid him in the conquest of El Dorado.

When news reached Spain of Balboa’s bold crossing of the isthmus, his discovery of the western ocean, and his planned conquest of El Dorado, the former criminal became a hero.

He was instantly proclaimed governor of the new land.

But before the king and queen received word of his discovery, they had already sent a dozen ships, under the command of a man named Pedro Arias Dávila, “Pedrarias,” with orders to arrest Balboa for murder and to take command of the colony.

By the time Pedrarias arrived in Panama, he had learned that Balboa had been pardoned, and that he was to share the governorship with the former outlaw.

All the same, Balboa felt uneasy.

Gold was his dream, El Dorado his only desire.

In pursuit of this goal he had nearly died many times over, and to share the wealth and glory with a newcomer would be intolerable.

He also soon discovered that Pedrarias was a jealous, bitter man, and equally unhappy with the situation. Once again, the only solution for Balboa was to seize the initiative by proposing to cross the jungle with a larger army, carrying ship-building materials and tools.

Once on the Pacific coast, he would create an armada with which to conquer the Incas.

Surprisingly enough, Pedrarias agreed to the plan—perhaps sensing it would never work.

Hundreds died in this second march through the jungle, and the timber they carried rotted in the torrential rains.

Balboa, as usual, was undaunted—no power in the world could thwart his plan—and on arriving at the Pacific he began to cut down trees for new lumber. But the men remaining to him were too few and too weak to mount an invasion, and once again Balboa had to return to Darien.

Pedrarias had in any case invited Balboa back to discuss a new plan, and on the outskirts of the settlement, the explorer was met by Francisco Pizarro, an old friend who had accompanied him on his first crossing of the isthmus.

But this was a trap: Leading one hundred soldiers, Pizarro surrounded his former friend, arrested him, and returned him to Pedrarias, who tried him on charges of rebellion.

A few days later Balboa’s head fell into a basket, along with those of his most trusted followers. Years later Pizarro himself reached Peru, and Balboa’s deeds were forgotten.

THE KING. THE SUFI. AND THE SURGEON

In ancient times a king of Tartary was out walking with some of his noblemen. At the roadside was an abdal (a wandering Sufi), who cried out: “Whoever will give me a hundred dinars, I will give him some good advice.” 

The king stopped, and said: “Abdal, what is this good advice for a hundred dinars?” 

“Sir,” answered the abdal, “order the sum to be given to me, and I will tell it you immediately.” 

The king did so, expecting to hear something extraordinary. 

The dervish said to him: “My advice is this: Never begin anything until you have reflected what will be the end of it.” 

At this the nobles and everyone else present laughed, saying that the abdal had been wise to ask for his money in advance. 

But the king said: “You have no reason to laugh at the good advice this abdal has given me. No one is unaware of the fact that we should think well before doing anything. But we are daily guilty of not remembering, and the consequences are evil. I very much value this dervish’s advice. ”

The king decided to bear the advice always in his mind, and commanded it to be written in gold on the walls and even engraved on his silver plate.

Not long afterward a plotter desired to kill the king. 

He bribed the royal surgeon with a promise of the prime ministership if he thrust a poisoned lancet into the king’s arm. 

When the time came to let some of the king’s blood, a silver basin was placed to catch the blood. 

Suddenly the surgeon became aware of the words engraved upon it: “Never begin anything until you have reflected what will be the end of it. ” 

It was only then that he realized that if the plotter became king he could have the surgeon killed instantly, and would not need to fulfill his bargain.

The king, seeing that the surgeon was now trembling, asked him what was wrong with him. And so he confessed the truth, at that very moment.The plotter was seized; and the king sent for all the people who had been present when the abdal gave his advice, and said to them: “Do you still laugh at the dervish?”

-CARAVAN OF DREAMS. IDRIES SHAH, 1968

Interpretation

Most men are ruled by the heart, not the head.

Their plans are vague, and when they meet obstacles they improvise.

But improvisation will only bring you as far as the next crisis, and is never a substitute for thinking several steps ahead and planning to the end.

Balboa had a dream of glory and wealth, and a vague plan to reach it.

Yet his bold deeds, and his discovery of the Pacific, are largely forgotten, for he committed what in the world of power is the ultimate sin: He went part way, leaving the door open for others to take over.

A real man of power would have had the prudence to see the dangers in the distance—the rivals who would want to share in the conquests, the vultures that would hover once they heard the word “gold.”

Balboa should have kept his knowledge of the Incas secret until after he had conquered Peru.

Only then would his wealth, and his head, have been secure.

Once Pedrarias arrived on the scene, a man of power and prudence would have schemed to kill or imprison him, and to take over the army he had brought for the conquest of Peru.

But Balboa was locked in the moment, always reacting emotionally, never thinking ahead.

What good is it to have the greatest dream in the world if others reap the benefits and the glory? Never lose your head over a vague, open-ended dream—plan to the end.

OBSERVANCE OF THE LAW

In 1863 the Prussian premier Otto von Bismarck surveyed the chessboard of European power as it then stood. The main players were England, France, and Austria.

Prussia itself was one of several states in the loosely allied German Federation.

Austria, dominant member of the Federation, made sure that the other German states remained weak, divided and submissive.

Bismarck believed that Prussia was destined for something far greater than servant boy to Austria.

This is how Bismarck played the game. His first move was to start a war with lowly Denmark, in order to recover the former Prussian lands of Schleswig-Holstein. He knew that these rumblings of Prussian independence might worry France and England, so he enlisted Austria in the war, claiming that he was recovering Schleswig-Holstein for their benefit.

In a few months, after the war was decided, Bismarck demanded that the newly conquered lands be made part of Prussia.

The Austrians of course were furious, but they compromised: First they agreed to give the Prussians Schleswig, and a year later they sold them Holstein. The world began to see that Austria was weakening and that Prussia was on the rise.

Bismarck’s next move was his boldest: In 1866 he convinced King William of Prussia to withdraw from the German Federation, and in doing so to go to war with Austria itself.

King William’s wife, his son the crown prince, and the princes of the other German kingdoms vehemently opposed such a war.

But Bismarck, undaunted, succeeded in forcing the conflict, and Prussia’s superior army defeated the Austrians in the brutally short Seven Weeks War.

The king and the Prussian generals then wanted to march on Vienna, taking as much land from Austria as possible.

But Bismarck stopped them—now he presented himself as on the side of peace.

The result was that he was able to conclude a treaty with Austria that granted Prussia and the other German states total autonomy.

Bismarck could now position Prussia as the dominant power in Germany and the head of a newly formed North German Confederation.

The French and the English began to compare Bismarck to Attila the Hun, and to fear that he had designs on all of Europe.

Once he had started on the path to conquest, there was no telling where he would stop.

And, indeed, three years later Bismarck provoked a war with France.

First he appeared to give his permission to France’s annexation of Belgium, then at the last moment he changed his mind.

Playing a cat-and-mouse game, he infuriated the French emperor, Napoleon III, and stirred up his own king against the French. To no one’s surprise, war broke out in 1870. The newly formed German federation enthusiastically joined in the war on France, and once again the Prussian military machine and its allies destroyed the enemy army in a matter of months.

Although Bismarck opposed taking any French land, the generals convinced him that Alsace-Lorraine would become part of the federation.

Now all of Europe feared the next move of the Prussian monster, led by Bismarck, the “Iron Chancellor.” And in fact a year later Bismarck founded the German Empire, with the Prussian king as the newly crowned emperor and Bismarck himself a prince.

But then something strange happened: Bismarck instigated no more wars.

And while the other European powers grabbed up land for colonies in other continents, he severely limited Germany’s colonial acquisitions.

He did not want more land for Germany, but more security.

For the rest of his life he struggled to maintain peace in Europe and to prevent further wars. Everybody assumed he had changed, mellowing with the years. They had failed to understand: This was the final move of his original plan.

He who asks fortune-tellers the future unwittingly forfeits an inner intimation of coming events that is a thousand times more exact than anything they may say.

-WALTER BENJAMIN, 1892-1940

Interpretation

There is a simple reason why most men never know when to come off the attack: They form no concrete idea of their goal.

Once they achieve victory they only hunger for more.

To stop—to aim for a goal and then keep to it—seems almost inhuman, in fact; yet nothing is more critical to the maintenance of power.

The person who goes too far in his triumphs creates a reaction that inevitably leads to a decline.

The only solution is to plan for the long run.

Foresee the future with as much clarity as the gods on Mount Olympus, who look through the clouds and see the ends of all things.

From the beginning of his career in politics, Bismarck had one goal: to form an independent German state led by Prussia. He instigated the war with Denmark not to conquer territory but to stir up Prussian nationalism and unite the country. He incited the war with Austria only to gain Prussian independence. (This was why he refused to grab Austrian territory.) And he fomented the war with France to unite the German kingdoms against a common enemy, and thus to prepare for the formation of a united Germany.

Once this was achieved, Bismarck stopped. He never let triumph go to his head, was never tempted by the siren call of more. He held the reins tightly, and whenever the generals, or the king, or the Prussian people demanded new conquests, he held them back. Nothing would spoil the beauty of his creation, certainly not a false euphoria that pushed those around him to attempt to go past the end that he had so carefully planned.

Experience shows that, if one foresees from far away the designs to be
undertaken, one can act with speed when the moment comes to execute them.

-Cardinall Richelieu, 1585-1642

KEYS TO POWER

According to the cosmology of the ancient Greeks, the gods were thought to have complete vision into the future. They saw everything to come, right down to the intricate details.

Men, on the other hand, were seen as victims of fate, trapped in the moment and their emotions, unable to see beyond immediate dangers. Those heroes, such as Odysseus, who were able to look beyond the present and plan several steps ahead, seemed to defy fate, to approximate the gods in their ability to determine the future. The comparison is still valid—those among us who think further ahead and patiently bring their plans to fruition seem to have a godlike power.

Because most people are too imprisoned in the moment to plan with this kind of foresight, the ability to ignore immediate dangers and pleasures translates into power.

It is the power of being able to overcome the natural human tendency to react to things as they happen, and instead to train oneself to step back, imagining the larger things taking shape beyond one’s immediate vision.

Most people believe that they are in fact aware of the future, that they are planning and thinking ahead.

They are usually deluded: What they are really doing is succumbing to their desires, to what they want the future to be. Their plans are vague, based on their imaginations rather than their reality.

They may believe they are thinking all the way to the end, but they are really only focusing on the happy ending, and deluding themselves by the strength of their desire.

Athens

In 415 B.C., the ancient Athenians attacked Sicily, believing their expedition would bring them riches, power, and a glorious ending to the sixteen-year Peloponnesian War.

They did not consider the dangers of an invasion so far from home; they did not foresee [1] that the Sicilians would fight all the harder since the battles were in their own homeland, or [2] that all of Athens’s enemies would band together against them, or [3] that war would break out on several fronts, stretching their forces way too thin.

The Sicilian expedition was a complete disaster, leading to the destruction of one of the greatest civilizations of all time.

The Athenians were led into this disaster by their hearts, not their minds. They saw only the chance of glory, not the dangers that loomed in the distance.

France

Cardinal de Retz, the seventeenth-century Frenchman who prided himself on his insights into human schemes and why they mostly fail, analyzed this phenomenon.

In the course of a rebellion he spearheaded against the French monarchy in 1651, the young king, Louis XIV, and his court had suddenly left Paris and established themselves in a palace outside the capital.

The presence of the king so close to the heart of the revolution had been a tremendous burden on the revolutionaries, and they breathed a sigh of relief.

This later proved their downfall, however, since the court’s absence from Paris gave it much more room to maneuver.

“The most ordinary cause of people’s mistakes,” Cardinal de Retz later wrote, “is their being too much frightened at the present danger, and not enough so at that which is remote.”

The dangers that are remote, that loom in the distance—if we can see them as they take shape, how many mistakes we avoid.

How many plans we would instantly abort if we realized we were avoiding a small danger only to step into a larger one. So much of power is not what you do but what you do not do—the rash and foolish actions that you refrain from before they get you into trouble.

Plan in detail before you act—do not let vague plans lead you into trouble.

Will this have unintended consequences? Will I stir up new enemies? Will someone else take advantage of my labors? Unhappy endings are much more common than happy ones—do not be swayed by the happy ending in your mind.

French Elections

The French elections of 1848 came down to a struggle between Louis-Adolphe Thiers, the man of order, and General Louis Eugène Cavaignac, the rabble-rouser of the right.

When Thiers realized he was hopelessly behind in this high-stakes race, he searched desperately for a solution.

His eye fell on Louis Bonaparte, grand-nephew of the great general Napoleon, and a lowly deputy in the parliament.

This Bonaparte seemed a bit of an imbecile, but his name alone could get him elected in a country yearning for a strong ruler.

He would be Thiers’s puppet and eventually would be pushed offstage.

The first part of the plan worked to perfection, and Napoleon was elected by a large margin.

The problem was that Thiers had not foreseen one simple fact: This “imbecile” was in fact a man of enormous ambition.

Three years later he [1] dissolved parliament, [2] declared himself emperor, and [3] ruled France for another eighteen years, much to the horror of Thiers and his party.

The ending is everything. It is the end of the action that determines who gets the glory, the money, the prize. Your conclusion must be crystal clear, and you must keep it constantly in mind. You must also figure out how to ward off the vultures circling overhead, trying to live off the carcass of your creation. And you must anticipate the many possible crises that will tempt you to improvise. Bismarck overcame these dangers because he planned to the end, kept on course through every crisis, and never let others steal the glory. Once he had reached his stated goal, he withdrew into his shell like a turtle. This kind of self-control is godlike.

When you see several steps ahead, and plan your moves all the way to the end, you will no longer be tempted by emotion or by the desire to improvise. Your clarity will rid you of the anxiety and vagueness that are the primary reasons why so many fail to conclude their actions successfully. You see the ending and you tolerate no deviation.

Image:
The Gods on
Mount Olympus.
Looking down on
human actions from the
clouds, they see in advance the
endings of all the great dreams that
lead to disaster and tragedy. And
they laugh at our inability to see beyond
the moment, and at how we delude ourselves.

Authority: How much easier it is never to get in than to get yourself out! We should act contrary to the reed which, when it first appears, throws up a long straight stem but afterwards, as though it were exhausted ... makes several dense knots, indicating that it no longer has its original vigor and drive. We must rather begin gently and coolly, saving our breath for the encounter and our vigorous thrusts for finishing off the job. In their beginnings it is we who guide affairs and hold them in our power; but so often once they are set in motion, it is they which guide us and sweep us along. 

(Montaigne, 1533-1592)

REVERSAL

It is a cliché among strategists that your plan must include alternatives and have a degree of flexibility. That is certainly true. If you are locked into a plan too rigidly, you will be unable to deal with sudden shifts of fortune. Once you have examined the future possibilities and decided on your target, you must build in alternatives and be open to new routes toward your goal.

Most people, however, lose less from overplanning and rigidity than from vagueness and a tendency to improvise constantly in the face of circumstance. There is no real purpose in contemplating a reversal to this Law, then, for no good can come from refusing to think far into the future and planning to the end. If you are clear- and far-thinking enough, you will understand that the future is uncertain, and that you must be open to adaptation. Only having a clear objective and a far-reaching plan allows you that freedom.

Conclusion

Today we see the United States, led by Donald Trump trying unsuccessfully to “suppress” China. We see and watch China just continuing on as normal. Just smiling and investing money on new constructions and investments.

Donald Trump might have a long term strategy, but it appears that all his actions are focused on the resultant opinions of the American electorate. This is a short-term strategy. It is seemingly focused on the results of the November 3rd 2020 election results.

Meanwhile, the Chinese, though Xi Peng are investing in ten, twenty and fifty year duration projects along a vision that describes China in 2030, 2030 and 2050.

While no one knows what will happen between these two nations, what we can be assured of is that China will be following the paths mapped out by the Chinese leadership today, while the Americans within America will run from one objective to the other without any apparent cohesive strategy.

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What is freedom?

In this post we will address one of the most common misconceptions found in the world. We will address what freedom is and what it is not. And the reason why we are going to do so is simply because brutish rulers use the ignorance of their people to enslave them. And part of that enslavement is to convince them that they have this intangible “thing”; this “freedom”. And, if you are one of those people who think that you are “free”, and that you proudly wave your flag and shout how “free” you are, perhaps this post is written for you.

What it is not.

The first thing that we must make perfectly clear is define what freedom is not. Because many people confuse “freedom” with other things. Like [1] trains that run on time, [2] having ATM machines, [3] having fast food restaurants, [4] being able to vote, or [5] having a “democratic system of governance”. Ah. None of those things have anything to do with freedom. Not one thing. None of them.

In fact, when the United States was initially founded, the people who founded it wrote an entire book on why they founded the nation, and how it was designed to work. This book was called “The Federalist Papers” and you can see it online (for free in full free text), if you don’t believe anything that I have written herein. And one of the most important principles within that book was a warning that democracies take away freedom. And, that the (then newly formed Republic) should be guarded from ever the encroachment of democracy.

So, keep in mind that if you reside within a “democracy” the chances of you having any kind of freedom is practically zero.

That’s not me talking. That’s Alexander Hamilton, James Madison and the rest of the crew that first established the United States back in 1776.

Well, if a democracy is not freedom, then what is?

What freedom is…

It’s actually very simple. It’s the ability for YOU to live life on YOUR terms without any kind of interference.

If you want to go walk down the street, the freedom to get up and walk down it should be cherished. This includes the freedom if you want to eat a hotdog, or listen to a song on a radio, or being able to swim in a pond. The ability to do any of these things are freedoms.

Even the strange and the odd, maybe even especially those things.

Having the freedom to live your life on your terms is what freedom is all about. And if you cannot, then you do not have freedom.

Freedom is the ability to live life on your terms no matter what other people think. Here’s a picture of a man holding his cock out for the entire world to see.

But that is not realistic…

Now, that is where things start to get tricky. You see, there are all sorts of people, “busybodies” as I like to call them, who have a vision of a “better world”. And more often than not, their vision requires you to act in some way that they feel is proper. So they make rules, laws, add fees, and taxes, and prohibitions and bans to stop you from exercising your freedoms.

Any action that you do that has any of the following attached to it is NOT a freedom;

A regulation.
A rule.
A tax.
A fee.
A membership.
A prohibition.
A ban from use.
Forced used.
Forced sharing.
Permit.

So, if you like to eat a triple greasy hamburger with a sunny-side-up egg on top, with a beer, and your dog beside you inside a restaurant in New Jersey, but…

There is a ban on triple hamburgers.
There is a ban on sunny-side-up eggs.
You are prohibited from bringing your dog in a restaurant.
You must pay tax on your meal.
You must be carded to check your age for the beer.
You must finish before 2 am in the morning.

You are NOT free. You are enslaved.

Ah. But how do you measure it?

Well, surprisingly enough, freedom can be measured by the same set of criteria that was laid out in The Federalist Papers.

It’s the ability to have [1] life, [2] liberty, and [3] the pursuit of happiness. With part one [1] life being further divided into [1a] food, [1b] clothing, and [1c] shelter.

And, following the guidelines as listed above, any encroachment of any of those five items is a subtraction of freedom from your life.

Since most people are confused what freedom is, and how you can measure it, let’s go one by one through those five characteristics as listed…

[1a] Food

The ability to put anything you want in your body, at any time, and at any amount free of taxes, regulation, rules, bans or prohibitions of any type is a freedom. Failure to do so is tyranny. If you and your nation is somewhere in between it is “an encroachment of tyranny”.

One person’s freedom is another person’s horror. Here, many Hindu’s from India would be horrified by this meal, and would ban this meal and probably lynch you for eating it.

It does not matter if it is a tuna fish sandwich or a tab of LSD. The freedom to ingest, inject, or partake in anything into your own body free of outside influence, regulation, fees or taxes, let alone bans or prohibitions is a freedom.

[1b] Clothing

The ability to wear what you want, when you want and how you want is a freedom. If you are forced to wear a hat, a scarf, or a head-covering, you are not free. The same is true if you must wear a uniform. Whether it is a type of dress style for your corporate office, or a uniform as part of a para-military unit. True freedom involves personal dress selection.

This also includes hair styles, and makeup and other adornments.

One person’s freedom is another person’s horror. In America many companies would forbid you to wear these outfits as part of the “dress code”.

[1c] Shelter

The ability to own things is the bedrock of freedom.

Throughout history, up until the last century, people would build houses and would put their belongings within those houses. All of which they would totally and completely own.

Now, however, things are quite different.

You rent out your house to the bank on a thirty year mortgage. Your home is subject to real estate taxes, and school taxes, and you must obey the regulations set by your neighborhood from everything that you do to change the house. In fact, often you must get permission to cut down the trees on your property, or suffer with fines and fees for the failure to maintain your property up to community standards.

Because certain areas are too restrictive in the United States, people move out of the heavily taxed and restrictive areas (such as California) and more to less restrictive areas, such as Alabama.

If anyone can place rules, regulations, prohibitions, taxes, fees, or anything else on your home, you do not own it. Failure to own things is (historically) a trait of the slave and sub-servant classes.

[2] Liberty

According to the dictionary, “liberty” is the state of being free within society from oppressive restrictions imposed by authority on one’s way of life, behavior, or political views.

In other words, while the first three characteristics involved property (1a,1b, and 1c) this involves thought, belief and political views.

If you are unable to express them, or are constrained in writing about them, reading about them, or discussing them with others, you do not have liberty. It has been taken from you.

Some regions restrict how you think about things and what you actually think. To these other people, your thoughts and the resulting lifestyle that you embrace is a threat to their well-ordered life and society. Thus they do everything that they can to ban your behaviors and actions.

[3] Pursuit of Happiness

Finally, whether you have freedom or not, the ability to forge towards getting freedom is important. And this act, trying to have freedom is known as the “Pursuit of Happiness”.

However, if someone places laws, regulations or obstacles in front of you that prohibits or prevents you from obtaining your freedoms, they are interfering with your pursuit of happiness.

The Ideal vs. the Actual

Now the astute reader will note that the ideal cannot be found anywhere on the planet. There simply isn’t anywhere where people can have all five elements of freedom unencumbered. That is fine. Not perfect, but fine.

It leaves plenty of room for the pursuit of happiness, don’t you know.

Instead, we can measure things comparatively.

United States and China

Of course, the United States says that it has “freedom and democracy”. But does it really? According to the criteria above, the answer is a big flat no. On every level, the amount of freedom that a person has in the United States is actually quite scant.

What about China?

Well, according to the American media, China is a horrible, terrible and repressive place. It is a place full of sad impoverished people and a terribly corrupt nation. Well, that is what the powerful American press says.

Well, those expats who has visited it can confirm that it doesn’t look anything like what the American media narrative says it is. And, I can say and confirm that while there are many things that aren’t free (like not being allowed to take recreational drugs, for instance), on the whole, most Chinese people experience a far greater, wider and more diverse set of freedoms than Americans do. And if you don’t believe me, hop on a plane an see it for yourself.

Conclusion

It is easy to repeat the mindless mantras as spewed forth by the mainstream and the alt-press media. It’s far harder to engage in rational thought with those that do. This post is my “baseline”.

It’s simple.

You are either free or you are not.

If you move from a place that doesn’t have certain freedoms to a place that does, you are enjoying the “pursuit of happiness”.

And that’s exactly what I have done.

I went from a place where every single purchase of alcohol required me to show some picture identification, to where I just raise my hand and it is brought over wordlessly.

I went from leaving my dog in the truck to taking him inside of restaurants with me.

I went from taking a few drags of an expensive cigarette in the rain in the company parking lot, to smoking cigars in my large spacious office.

I went from paying yearly taxes, and reporting it to the federal government, on my house every year, to owning homes with zero taxes, zero reporting, and zero regulations.

Freedom.

You either have it or you do not.

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Law 32 (full text) Play to peoples fantasies from the 48 Laws of Power by Robert Greene

Or, in other words, tell people what they want to hear.

Indeed, the greatest and most effective propaganda is that which we WANT to believe.

Which pretty much explains the United States anti-China propaganda spewing forth today from the Trump / Pompeo administration…

America is great. China is a shit-hole.
America can invent. China only copies.
America has freedom. China is enslaved.
America is a shining city on a hill. China is a filthy wet market.

And when you go to another nation, if you say… “well, we do things better than you do.” And “you don’t know how to do things right“. If you constantly make fun of their laws, their food, their styles or the way they do business…

You will not be liked. You will be classified as the “Ugly American” and shunned.

But…

Politics aside, this applies everywhere.

Consider dating websites like match.com. The most popular profiles are those that do not say too much. That instead provide some areas open to interpretation, where the interested person would be able to “fill in the blanks” and make assumptions as to whom you are and what is so desirable about you.

The key is always to play upon people’s desires…

LAW 32

PLAY TO PEOPLE’S FANTASIES

JUDGMENT

The truth is often avoided because it is ugly and unpleasant.

Never appeal to truth and reality unless you are prepared for the anger that comes from disenchantment.

Life is so harsh and distressing that people who can manufacture romance or conjure up fantasy are like oases in the desert: Everyone flocks to them.

There is great power in tapping into the fantasies of the masses.

THE FUNERAL OF THE LIONESS

The lion having suddenly lost his queen, every one hastened to show allegiance to the monarch, by offering consolation.

These compliments, alas, served but to increase the widower’s affliction.

Due notice was given throughout the kingdom that the funeral would be performed at a certain time and place; the lion’s officers were ordered to be in attendance, to regulate the ceremony, and place the company according to their respective rank.

One may well judge no one absented himself.

The monarch gave way to his grief, and the whole cave, lions having no other temples, resounded with his cries. After his example, all the courtiers roared in their different tones.

A court is the sort of place where everyone is either sorrowful, gay, or indifferent to everything, just as the reigning prince may think fit; or if any one is not actually, he at least tries to appear so; each endeavors to mimic the master.

It is truly said that one mind animates a thousand bodies, clearly showing that human beings are mere machines.

But let us return to our subject.

The stag alone shed no tears.

How could he, forsooth?

The death of the queen avenged him; she had formerly strangled his wife and son. A courtier thought fit to inform the bereaved monarch, and even affirmed that he had seen the stag laugh.

The rage of a king, says Solomon, is terrible, and especially that of a lion-king.

“Pitiful forester!” he exclaimed, “darest thou laugh when all around are dissolved in tears? We will not soil our royal claws with thy profane blood! Do thou, brave wolf, avenge our queen, by immolating this traitor to her august manes. ”

Hereupon the stag replied:

“Sire, the time for weeping is passed; grief is here superfluous. Your revered spouse appeared to me but now, reposing on a bed of roses; I instantly recognized her. ‘Friend,’ said she to me, ‘have done with this funereal pomp, cease these useless tears. I have tasted a thousand delights in the Elysian fields, conversing with those who are saints like myself. Let the king’s despair remain for some time unchecked, it gratifies me.’”

Scarcely had he spoken, when every one shouted: “A miracle! a miracle!”

The stag, instead of being punished, received a handsome gift. Do but entertain a king with dreams, flatter him, and tell him a few pleasant fantastic lies: whatever his indignation against you may be, he will swallow the bait, and make you his dearest friend.

-FABLES, JEAN DE LA FONTAINE, 1621-1695

OBSERVANCE OF THE LAW

The city-state of Venice was prosperous for so long that its citizens felt their small republic had destiny on its side.

In the Middle Ages and High Renaissance, its virtual monopoly on trade to the east made it the wealthiest city in Europe. Under a beneficent republican government, Venetians enjoyed liberties that few other Italians had ever known.

Yet in the sixteenth century their fortunes suddenly changed. The opening of the New World transferred power to the Atlantic side of Europe—to the Spanish and Portuguese, and later the Dutch and English. Venice could not compete economically and its empire gradually dwindled. The final blow was the devastating loss of a prized Mediterranean possession, the island of Cyprus, captured from Venice by the Turks in 1570.

Now noble families went broke in Venice, and banks began to fold.

A kind of gloom and depression settled over the citizens. They had known a glittering past—had either lived through it or heard stories about it from their elders. The closeness of the glory years was humiliating.

The Venetians half believed that the goddess Fortune was only playing a joke on them, and that the old days would soon return. For the time being, though, what could they do?

In 1589 rumors began to swirl around Venice of the arrival not far away of a mysterious man called “Il Bragadino,” a master of alchemy, a man who had won incredible wealth through his ability, it was said, to multiply gold through the use of a secret substance.

The rumor spread quickly because a few years earlier, a Venetian nobleman passing through Poland had heard a learned man prophesy that Venice would recover her past glory and power if she could find a man who understood the alchemic art of manufacturing gold.

And so, as word reached Venice of the gold this Bragadino possessed—he clinked gold coins continuously in his hands, and golden objects filled his palace—some began to dream: Through him, their city would prosper again.

Members of Venice’s most important noble families accordingly went together to Brescia, where Bragadino lived.

They toured his palace and watched in awe as he demonstrated his gold-making abilities, taking a pinch of seemingly worthless minerals and transforming it into several ounces of gold dust.

The Venetian senate prepared to debate the idea of extending an official invitation to Bragadino to stay in Venice at the city’s expense, when word suddenly reached them that they were competing with the Duke of Mantua for his services.

They heard of a magnificent party in Bragadino’s palace for the duke, featuring garments with golden buttons, gold watches, gold plates, and on and on.

Worried they might lose Bragadino to Mantua, the senate voted almost unanimously to invite him to Venice, promising him the mountain of money he would need to continue living in his luxurious style—but only if he came right away.

Late that year the mysterious Bragadino arrived in Venice.

With his piercing dark eyes under thick brows, and the two enormous black mastiffs that accompanied him everywhere, he was forbidding and impressive.

He took up residence in a sumptuous palace on the island of the Giudecca, with the republic funding his banquets, his expensive clothes, and all his other whims.

A kind of alchemy fever spread through Venice.

On street corners, hawkers would sell coal, distilling apparatus, bellows, how-to books on the subject. Everyone began to practice alchemy—everyone except Bragadino.

The alchemist seemed to be in no hurry to begin manufacturing the gold that would save Venice from ruin.

Strangely enough this only increased his popularity and following; people thronged from all over Europe, even Asia, to meet this remarkable man.

Months went by, with gifts pouring in to Bragadino from all sides.

Still he gave no sign of the miracle that the Venetians confidently expected him to produce.

Eventually the citizens began to grow impatient, wondering if he would wait forever. At first the senators warned them not to hurry him—he was a capricious devil, who needed to be cajoled.

Finally, though, the nobility began to wonder too, and the senate came under pressure to show a return on the city’s ballooning investment.

Bragadino had only scorn for the doubters, but he responded to them.

He had, he said, already deposited in the city’s mint the mysterious substance with which he multiplied gold.

He could use this substance up all at once, and produce double the gold, but the more slowly the process took place, the more it would yield. If left alone for seven years, sealed in a casket, the substance would multiply the gold in the mint thirty times over.

Most of the senators agreed to wait to reap the gold mine Bragadino promised.

Others, however, were angry: seven more years of this man living royally at the public trough! And many of the common citizens of Venice echoed these sentiments.

Finally the alchemist’s enemies demanded he produce a proof of his skills: a substantial amount of gold, and soon.

Lofty, apparently devoted to his art, Bragadino responded that Venice, in its impatience, had betrayed him, and would therefore lose his services. He left town, going first to nearby Padua, then, in 1590, to Munich, at the invitation of the Duke of Bavaria, who, like the entire city of Venice, had known great wealth but had fallen into bankruptcy through his own profligacy, and hoped to regain his fortune through the famous alchemist’s services.

And so Bragadino resumed the comfortable arrangement he had known in Venice, and the same pattern repeated itself.

Interpretation

The young Cypriot Mamugna had lived in Venice for several years before reincarnating himself as the alchemist Bragadino.

He saw how gloom had settled on the city, how everyone was hoping for a redemption from some indefinite source. While other charlatans mastered everyday cons based on sleight of hand, Mamugnà mastered human nature.

With Venice as his target from the start, he traveled abroad, made some money through his alchemy scams, and then returned to Italy, setting up shop in Brescia.

There he created a reputation that he knew would spread to Venice. From a distance, in fact, his aura of power would be all the more impressive.

At first Mamugna did not use vulgar demonstrations to convince people of his alchemic skill. His sumptuous palace, his opulent garments, the clink of gold in his hands, all these provided a superior argument to anything rational.

And these established the cycle that kept him going: His obvious wealth confirmed his reputation as an alchemist, so that patrons like the Duke of Mantua gave him money, which allowed him to live in wealth, which reinforced his reputation as an alchemist, and so on.

Only once this reputation was established, and dukes and senators were fighting over him, did he resort to the trifling necessity of a demonstration.

By then, however, people were easy to deceive: They wanted to believe.

The Venetian senators who watched him multiply gold wanted to believe so badly that they failed to notice the glass pipe up his sleeve, from which he slipped gold dust into his pinches of minerals. Brilliant and capricious, he was the alchemist of their fantasies—and once he had created an aura like this, no one noticed his simple deceptions.

Such is the power of the fantasies that take root in us, especially in times of scarcity and decline.

People rarely believe that their problems arise from their own misdeeds and stupidity. Someone or something out there is to blame—the other, the world, the gods—and so salvation comes from the outside as well.

Had Bragadino arrived in Venice armed with a detailed analysis of the reasons behind the city’s economic decline, and of the hard-nosed steps that it could take to turn things around, he would have been scorned.

The reality was too ugly and the solution too painful—mostly the kind of hard work that the citizens’ ancestors had mustered to create an empire. Fantasy, on the other hand—in this case the romance of alchemy—was easy to understand and infinitely more palatable.

To gain power, you must be a source of pleasure for those around you—and pleasure comes from playing to people’s fantasies. Never promise a gradual improvement through hard work; rather, promise the moon, the great and sudden transformation, the pot of gold.

No man need despair of gaining converts to the most extravagant
hypothesis who has art enough to represent it in favorable colors.

-David Hume, 1711-1776

If you want to tell lies that will be believed, don’t tell the truth that won’t.

-EMPEROR TOKUGAWA IEYASU OF JAPAN, SEVENTEENTH CENTURY

KEYS TO POWER

Fantasy can never operate alone.

It requires the backdrop of the humdrum and the mundane. It is the oppressiveness of reality that allows fantasy to take root and bloom.

In sixteenth-century Venice, the reality was one of decline and loss of prestige. The corresponding fantasy described a sudden recovery of past glories through the miracle of alchemy.

While the reality only got worse, the Venetians inhabited a happy dream world in which their city restored its fabulous wealth and power overnight, turning dust into gold.

The person who can spin a fantasy out of an oppressive reality has access to untold power.

As you search for the fantasy that will take hold of the masses, then, keep your eye on the banal truths that weigh heavily on us all. Never be distracted by people’s glamorous portraits of themselves and their lives; search and dig for what really imprisons them. Once you find that, you have the magical key that will put great power in your hands.

Although times and people change, let us examine a few of the oppressive realities that endure, and the opportunities for power they provide:

The Reality: Change is slow and gradual. It requires hard work, a bit of luck, a fair amount of self-sacrifice, and a lot of patience.

The Fantasy: A sudden transformation will bring a total change in one’s fortunes, bypassing work, luck, self-sacrifice, and time in one fantastic stroke.

This is of course the fantasy par excellence of the charlatans who prowl among us to this day, and was the key to Bragadino’s success.

Promise a great and total change—from poor to rich, sickness to health, misery to ecstasy—and you will have followers.

How did the great sixteenth-century German quack Leonhard Thurneisser become the court physician for the Elector of Brandenburg without ever studying medicine?

Instead of offering amputations, leeches, and foul-tasting purgatives (the medicaments of the time), Thurneisser offered sweet-tasting elixirs and promised instant recovery.

Fashionable courtiers especially wanted his solution of “drinkable gold,” which cost a fortune.

If some inexplicable illness assailed you, Thurneisser would consult a horoscope and prescribe a talisman. Who could resist such a fantasy—health and well-being without sacrifice and pain!

The Reality: The social realm has hard-set codes and boundaries. We understand these limits and know that we have to move within the same familiar circles, day in and day out.

The Fantasy: We can enter a totally new world with different codes and the promise of adventure.

In the early 1700s, all London was abuzz with talk of a mysterious stranger, a young man named George Psalmanazar.

He had arrived from what was to most Englishmen a fantastical land: the island of Formosa (now Taiwan), off the coast of China.

Oxford University engaged Psalmanazar to teach the island’s language; a few years later he translated the Bible into Formosan, then wrote a book—an immediate best-seller—on Formosa’s history and geography. English royalty wined and dined the young man, and everywhere he went he entertained his hosts with wondrous stories of his homeland, and its bizarre customs.

After Psalmanazar died, however, his will revealed that he was in fact merely a Frenchman with a rich imagination.

Everything he had said about Formosa—its alphabet, its language, its literature, its entire culture—he had invented.

He had built on the English public’s ignorance of the place to concoct an elaborate story that fulfilled their desire for the exotic and strange. British culture’s rigid control of people’s dangerous dreams gave him the perfect opportunity to exploit their fantasy.

The fantasy of the exotic, of course, can also skirt the sexual.

It must not come too close, though, for the physical hinders the power of fantasy; it can be seen, grasped, and then tired of—the fate of most courtesans. The bodily charms of the mistress only whet the master’s appetite for more and different pleasures, a new beauty to adore. To bring power, fantasy must remain to some degree unrealized, literally unreal.

The dancer Mata Hari, for instance, who rose to public prominence in Paris before World War I, had quite ordinary looks. Her power came from the fantasy she created of being strange and exotic, unknowable and indecipherable. The taboo she worked with was less sex itself than the breaking of social codes.

Another form of the fantasy of the exotic is simply the hope for relief from boredom.

Con artists love to play on the oppressiveness of the working world, its lack of adventure. Their cons might involve, say, the recovery of lost Spanish treasure, with the possible participation of an alluring Mexican señorita and a connection to the president of a South American country—anything offering release from the humdrum.

The Reality: Society is fragmented and full of conflict.

The Fantasy: People can come together in a mystical union of souls.

In the 1920s the con man Oscar Hartzell made a quick fortune out of the age-old Sir Francis Drake swindle—basically promising any sucker who happened to be surnamed “Drake” a substantial share of the long-lost “Drake treasure,” to which Hartzell had access.

Thousands across the Midwest fell for the scam, which Hartzell cleverly turned into a crusade against the government and everyone else who was trying to keep the Drake fortune out of the rightful hands of its heirs.

There developed a mystical union of the oppressed Drakes, with emotional rallies and meetings.

Promise such a union and you can gain much power, but it is a dangerous power that can easily turn against you. This is a fantasy for demagogues to play on.

The Reality: Death. The dead cannot be brought back, the past cannot be changed.

The Fantasy: A sudden reversal of this intolerable fact.

This con has many variations, but requires great skill and subtlety.

The beauty and importance of the art of Vermeer have long been recognized, but his paintings are small in number, and are extremely rare.

In the 1930s, though, Vermeers began to appear on the art market.

Experts were called on to verify them, and pronounced them real.

Possession of these new Vermeers would crown a collector’s career. It was like the resurrection of Lazarus: In a strange way, Vermeer had been brought back to life. The past had been changed.

Only later did it come out that the new Vermeers were the work of a middle-aged Dutch forger named Han van Meegeren.

And he had chosen Vermeer for his scam because he understood fantasy: The paintings would seem real precisely because the public, and the experts as well, so desperately wanted to believe they were.

Remember: The key to fantasy is distance. 

The distant has allure and promise, seems simple and problem free. What you are offering, then, should be ungraspable. 

Never let it become oppressively familiar; it is the mirage in the distance, withdrawing as the sucker approaches. Never be too direct in describing the fantasy—keep it vague. As a forger of fantasies, let your victim come close enough to see and be tempted, but keep him far away enough that he stays dreaming and desiring.

Image: The
Moon. Unattainable,
always changing shape,
disappearing and reappear
ing. We look at it, imagine,
wonder, and pine—never fa
miliar, continuous provoker
of dreams. Do not offer
the obvious. Promise
the moon.

Authority: A lie is an allurement, a fabrication, that can be embellished into a fantasy. 

It can be clothed in the raiments of a mystic conception. Truth is cold, sober fact, not so comfortable to absorb. A lie is more palatable. The most detested person in the world is the one who always tells the truth, who never romances.... I found it far more interesting and profitable to romance than to tell the truth. (Joseph Weil, a.k.a. “The Yellow Kid,” 1875-1976)

REVERSAL

If there is power in tapping into the fantasies of the masses, there is also danger.

Fantasy usually contains an element of play—the public half realizes it is being duped, but it keeps the dream alive anyway, relishing the entertainment and the temporary diversion from the everyday that you are providing.

So keep it light—never come too close to the place where you are actually expected to produce results.

That place may prove extremely hazardous.

After Bragadino established himself in Munich, he found that the sober-minded Bavarians had far less faith in alchemy than the temperamental Venetians.

Only the duke really believed in it, for he needed it desperately to rescue him from the hopeless mess he was in.

As Bragadino played his familiar waiting game, accepting gifts and expecting patience, the public grew angry. Money was being spent and was yielding no results.

In 1592 the Bavarians demanded justice, and eventually Bragadino found himself swinging from the gallows.

As before, he had promised and had not delivered, but this time he had misjudged the forbearance of his hosts, and his inability to fulfill their fantasy proved fatal.

One last thing: Never make the mistake of imagining that fantasy is always fantastical. 

It certainly contrasts with reality, but reality itself is sometimes so theatrical and stylized that fantasy becomes a desire for simple things. The image Abraham Lincoln created of himself, for example, as a homespun country lawyer with a beard, made him the common man’s president.

P. T. Barnum created a successful act with Tom Thumb, a dwarf who dressed up as famous leaders of the past, such as Napoleon, and lampooned them wickedly.

The show delighted everyone, right up to Queen Victoria, by appealing to the fantasy of the time: Enough of the vainglorious rulers of history, the common man knows best. Tom Thumb reversed the familiar pattern of fantasy in which the strange and unknown becomes the ideal.

But the act still obeyed the Law, for underlying it was the fantasy that the simple man is without problems, and is happier than the powerful and the rich.

Both Lincoln and Tom Thumb played the commoner but carefully maintained their distance.

Should you play with such a fantasy, you too must carefully cultivate distance and not allow your “common” persona to become too familiar or it will not project as fantasy.

Conclusion

Today, any glimpse of the political situation in the United States can clearly illustrate this law. We see that the news is filled with lies and fantasies. All of which are designed to manipulate for personal gain.

Consider the 2021 election. Doesn’t the candidates involved appeal to their followers fantasies?

First black woman on party ticket!

I do not advise a person use this technique, but I do advise you all to be aware that it is in constant use by others.

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Law 21 – Play a Sucker to Catch a Sucker – Seem Dumber than your Mark (48 Laws of Power)

OK, I know that I have been posting too many of these kinds of posts lately, but have some patience, will ya? I’ve got a long, long, LONG list of things to post. Just let me round out my posts with some more stuff from Robert Greene. I promise that I get back to some other stuff soon.

In my queue are some more posts on [1] intention campaigns, [2] all sorts of articles on the USA disinformation techniques and [3] control of electronic media, [4] SHTF postings and the [5] death of what ever remains of liberty, some [6] great works by Heinlein, and [7] some OOPART stuff that is tied to [8] MAJestic. In particular, I have a [7a] “mysterious” aluminum pawl write up, [7b] a rectangular structure on (the surface of) a comet, and [7c] a “space station facility” near the Sun. I will get to them. I promise. My queue lists over 150 drafts pending, and a shitload in my notebook as well.

Anyways…

This little technique got me through the ADC (prison). It enabled me to survive in a “dog-eat-dog” environment. It disguised me as a dull uninspired oaf. Heck! There were potatoes more interesting than me. Now, survival in a harsh environment, especially at the notorious Brickeys (North Arkansas Regional Unit) involved many facets, this little gem of advice got me through some of the worst.

Listen to me. No one wants to pick on a boring, dull witted, uninspired oaf. There are better things to do and “fish to fry”. And as such, you would just be left alone. Which was all I wanted. I wanted to do my time, sleep as much of it off, and get the Hell out of there post-haste.

Now, please keep in mind that even when you are isolated, and alone in a very harsh place, it is your ability to forge friendships and relationships that will help you. No matter how tough the world seems or appears, if you are part of a group… YOU WILL SURVIVE. So, please everyone, remember to be good, be just and be kind to others, no matter how bad your personal situation may appear.

You will never be considered a threat if you seem to be dull and harmless. If you are able to convince others that they are much smarter than you are, then they will apt to leave you alone. For everyone dislikes feeling more foolish than their neighbors or counterparts. Therefore, it is unlikely for anyone else to consider you faking your dull-wittiness. It’s a survival strategy as well as strategy of control.

LAW 21

PLAY A SUCKER TO CATCH A SUCKER—SEEM DUMBER THAN YOUR MARK

JUDGMENT

No one likes feeling stupider than the next person. The trick, then, is to make your victims feel smart—and not just smart, but smarter than you are. Once convinced of this, they will never suspect that you may have ulterior motives.

In the winter of 1872, the U.S. financier Asbury Harpending was visiting London when he received a cable: A diamond mine had been discovered in the American West.

The cable came from a reliable source—William Ralston, owner of the Bank of California—but Harpending nevertheless took it as a practical joke, probably inspired by the recent discovery of huge diamond mines in South Africa.

True, when reports had first come in of gold being discovered in the western United States, everyone had been skeptical, and those had turned out to be true.

But a diamond mine in the West!

Harpending showed the cable to his fellow financier Baron Rothschild (one of the richest men in the world), saying it must be a joke. The baron, however, replied, “Don’t be too sure about that. America is a very large country. It has furnished the world with many surprises already. Perhaps it has others in store.”

Harpending promptly took the first ship back to the States.

Now, there is nothing of which a man is prouder than of intellectual ability, for it is this that gives him his commanding place in the animal world. It is an exceedingly rash thing to let anyone see that you are decidedly superior to him in this respect, and to let other people see it too.... hence, white rank and riches may always reckon upon deferential treatment in society, that is something which intellectual ability can never expect. 

To be ignorant is the greatest favor shown to it; And if people notice it at all, it is because they regard it us a piece of impertinence, or else as something to which its possessor has no legitimate right, and upon which he dares to pride himself; And in retaliation and revenge for his conduct, people secretly try and humiliate him in some other way; when if they wait to do this, it is only for a fitting opportunity. 

A man may be as humble as possible in his demeanor and yet hardly ever get people to overlook his crime in standing intellectually above them. In the Garden of Roses, Sadi makes the remark: “You should know that foolish people are a hundredfold more averse to meeting the wise than the wise are indisposed for the company of the foolish. ” 

On the other hand, it is a real recommendation to be stupid. For just as warmth is agreeable to the body, so it does the mind good to feel its superiority; and a man will seek company likely to give him this feeling, as instinctively as he will approach the fireplace or walk in the sun if he wants to get warm. But this means that he will be disliked on account of his superiority; and if a man is to be liked, he must really be inferior in point of intellect. 

-ARTHUR SCHOPENHAUER, 1788-1860

When Harpending reached San Francisco, there was an excitement in the air recalling the Gold Rush days of the late 1840s.

Two crusty prospectors named Philip Arnold and John Slack had been the ones to find the diamond mine. They had not divulged its location, in Wyoming, but had led a highly respected mining expert to it several weeks back, taking a circular route so he could not guess his whereabouts.

Once there, the expert had watched as the miners dug up diamonds.

Back in San Francisco the expert had taken the gems to various jewelers, one of whom had estimated their worth at $1.5 million.

Harpending and Ralston now asked Arnold and Slack to accompany them back to New York, where the jeweler Charles Tiffany would verify the original estimates.

The prospectors responded uneasily—they smelled a trap: How could they trust these city slickers? What if Tiffany and the financiers managed to steal the whole mine out from under them?

Ralston tried to allay their fears by giving them $100,000 and placing another $300,000 in escrow for them. If the deal went through, they would be paid an additional $300,000.

The miners agreed.

The little group traveled to New York, where a meeting was held at the mansion of Samuel L. Barlow.

The cream of the city’s aristocracy was in attendance—General George Brinton McClellan, commander of the Union forces in the Civil War; General Benjamin Butler; Horace Greeley, editor of the newspaper the New York Tribune; Harpending; Ralston; and Tiffany.

Only Slack and Arnold were missing—as tourists in the city, they had decided to go sight-seeing.

When Tiffany announced that the gems were real and worth a fortune, the financiers could barely control their excitement.

They wired Rothschild and other tycoons to tell them about the diamond mine and inviting them to share in the investment.

At the same time, they also told the prospectors that they wanted one more test: They insisted that a mining expert of their choosing accompany Slack and Arnold to the site to verify its wealth.

The prospectors reluctantly agreed.

In the meantime, they said, they had to return to San Francisco. The jewels that Tiffany had examined they left with Harpending for safekeeping.

Several weeks later, a man named Louis Janin, the best mining expert in the country, met the prospectors in San Francisco. Janin was a born skeptic who was determined to make sure that the mine was not a fraud.

Accompanying Janin were Harpending, and several other interested financiers.

As with the previous expert, the prospectors led the team through a complex series of canyons, completely confusing them as to their whereabouts.

Arriving at the site, the financiers watched in amazement as Janin dug the area up, leveling anthills, turning over boulders, and finding emeralds, rubies, sapphires, and most of all diamonds.

The dig lasted eight days, and by the end, Janin was convinced: He told the investors that they now possessed the richest field in mining history.

“With a hundred men and proper machinery,” he told them, “I would guarantee to send out one million dollars in diamonds every thirty days.”

Returning to San Francisco a few days later, Ralston, Harpending, and company acted fast to form a $10 million corporation of private investors.

First, however, they had to get rid of Arnold and Slack.

That meant hiding their excitement—they certainly did not want to reveal the field’s real value. So they played possum.

Who knows if Janin is right, they told the prospectors, the mine may not be as rich as we think.

This just made the prospectors angry.

Trying a different tactic, the financiers told the two men that if they insisted on having shares in the mine, they would end up being fleeced by the unscrupulous tycoons and investors who would run the corporation; better, they said, to take the $700,000 already offered—an enormous sum at the time—and put their greed aside.

This the prospectors seemed to understand, and they finally agreed to take the money, in return signing the rights to the site over to the financiers, and leaving maps to it.

News of the mine spread like wildfire.

Prospectors fanned out across Wyoming. Meanwhile Harpending and group began spending the millions they had collected from their investors, buying equipment, hiring the best men in the business, and furnishing luxurious offices in New York and San Francisco.

A few weeks later, on their first trip back to the site, they learned the hard truth: Not a single diamond or ruby was to be found.

It was all a fake.

They were ruined. Harpending had unwittingly lured the richest men in the world into the biggest scam of the century.

Interpretation

Arnold and Slack pulled off their stupendous con not by using a fake engineer or bribing Tiffany: All of the experts had been real. All of them honestly believed in the existence of the mine and in the value of the gems.

What had fooled them all was nothing else than Arnold and Slack themselves. The two men seemed to be such rubes, such hayseeds, so naive, that no one for an instant had believed them capable of an audacious scam.

The prospectors had simply observed the law of appearing more stupid than the mark—the deceiver’s First Commandment.

The logistics of the con were quite simple.

Months before Arnold and Slack announced the “discovery” of the diamond mine, they traveled to Europe, where they purchased some real gems for around $12,000 (part of the money they had saved from their days as gold miners).

They then salted the “mine” with these gems, which the first expert dug up and brought to San Francisco.

The jewelers who had appraised these stones, including Tiffany himself, had gotten caught up in the fever and had grossly overestimated their value.

Then Ralston gave the prospectors $100,000 as security, and immediately after their trip to New York they simply went to Amsterdam, where they bought sacks of uncut gems, before returning to San Francisco. The second time they salted the mine, there were many more jewels to be found.

The effectiveness of the scheme, however, rested not on tricks like these but on the fact that Arnold and Slack played their parts to perfection.

On their trip to New York, where they mingled with millionaires and tycoons, they played up their clodhopper image, wearing pants and coats a size or two too small and acting incredulous at everything they saw in the big city.

No one believed that these country simpletons could possibly be conning the most devious, unscrupulous financiers of the time.

And once Harpending, Ralston, and even Rothschild accepted the mine’s existence, anyone who doubted it was questioning the intelligence of the world’s most successful businessmen.

In the end, Harpending’s reputation was ruined and he never recovered;
Rothschild learned his lesson and never fell for another con;
Slack took his money and disappeared from view, never to be found.

Arnold simply went home to Kentucky. After all, his sale of his mining rights had been legitimate; the buyers had taken the best advice, and if the mine had run out of diamonds, that was their problem. Arnold used the money to greatly enlarge his farm and open up a bank of his own.

KEYS TO POWER

The feeling that someone else is more intelligent than we are is almost intolerable.

We usually try to justify it in different ways:

“He only has book knowledge, whereas I have real knowledge.”
“Her parents paid for her to get a good education. If my parents had had as much money, if I had been as privileged….”
“He’s not as smart as he thinks.”
Last but not least: “She may know her narrow little field better than I do, but beyond that she’s really not smart at all. Even Einstein was a boob outside physics.”

Given how important the idea of intelligence is to most people’s vanity, it is critical never inadvertently to insult or impugn a person’s brain power.

That is an unforgivable sin.

But if you can make this iron rule work for you, it opens up all sorts of avenues of deception. Subliminally reassure people that they are more intelligent than you are, or even that you are a bit of a moron, and you can run rings around them.

The feeling of intellectual superiority you give them will disarm their suspicion-muscles.

In 1865 the Prussian Councillor Otto von Bismarck wanted Austria to sign a certain treaty. The treaty was totally in the interests of Prussia and against the interests of Austria, and Bismarck would have to strategize to get the Austrians to agree to it.

But the Austrian negotiator, Count Blome, was an avid cardplayer. His particular game was quinze, and he often said that he could judge a man’s character by the way he played quinze.

Bismarck knew of this saying of Blome’s.

The night before the negotiations were to begin, Bismarck innocently engaged Blome in a game of quinze.

The Prussian would later write, “That was the very last time I ever played quinze. I played so recklessly that everyone was astonished. I lost several thousand talers [the currency of the time], but I succeeded in fooling [Blome], for he believed me to be more venturesome than I am and I gave way.”

Besides appearing reckless, Bismarck also played the witless fool, saying ridiculous things and bumbling about with a surplus of nervous energy.

All this made Blome feel he had gathered valuable information.

He knew that Bismarck was aggressive—the Prussian already had that reputation, and the way he played had confirmed it. And aggressive men, Blome knew, can be foolish and rash.

Accordingly, when the time came to sign the treaty, Blome thought he had the advantage.

A heedless fool like Bismarck, he thought, is incapable of cold-blooded calculation and deception, so he only glanced at the treaty before signing it—he failed to read the fine print.

As soon as the ink was dry, a joyous Bismarck exclaimed in his face, “Well, I could never have believed that I should find an Austrian diplomat willing to sign that document!”

The Chinese have a phrase, “Masquerading as a swine to kill the tiger.”

This refers to an ancient hunting technique in which the hunter clothes himself in the hide and snout of a pig, and mimics its grunting. The mighty tiger thinks a pig is coming his way, and lets it get close, savoring the prospect of an easy meal. But it is the hunter who has the last laugh.

Masquerading as a swine works wonders on those who, like tigers, are arrogant and overconfident: The easier they think it is to prey on you, the more easily you can turn the tables. This trick is also useful if you are ambitious yet find yourself low in the hierarchy: Appearing less intelligent than you are, even a bit of a fool, is the perfect disguise.

Look like a harmless pig and no one will believe you harbor dangerous ambitions.

They may even promote you since you seem so likable, and subservient.

Claudius before he became emperor of Rome, and the prince of France who later became Louis XIII, used this tactic when those above them suspected they might have designs on the throne. By playing the fool as young men, they were left alone. When the time came for them to strike, and to act with vigor and decisiveness, they caught everyone off-guard.

Perhaps, now is the time to watch the old movie "The Scarlett Pimpernel".

His tall figure and bony beak of a face serve perfectly both as the languid Sir Percy, setting off a series of immaculately-fitting ‘unmentionables’, and as the commanding, quick-thinking Pimpernel; and the scene in which he drops from one persona to the other almost in mid-sentence upon the entry of the irate Colonel Winterbottom is a joy to watch. He is absolutely convincing as the “spineless, brainless and useless” fop, and yet he can shade intelligence and feeling back into his features at the drop of a hat in unconcealed moments that never let the audience forget the man behind the mask.

Intelligence is the obvious quality to downplay, but why stop there? Taste and sophistication rank close to intelligence on the vanity scale; make people feel they are more sophisticated than you are and their guard will come down.

As Arnold and Slack knew, an air of complete naivete can work wonders.

Those fancy financiers were laughing at them behind their backs, but who laughed loudest in the end? In general, then, always make people believe they are smarter and more sophisticated than you are. They will keep you around because you make them feel better about themselves, and the longer you are around, the more opportunities you will have to deceive them.

Image:
The Opossum. In playing
dead, the opossum plays stupid.
Many a predator has therefore left it
alone. Who could believe that such an
ugly, unintelligent, nervous little creature
could be capable of such deception?

Authority: 

Know how to make use of stupidity: The wisest man plays this card at times. There are occasions when the highest wisdom consists in appearing not to know—you must not be ignorant but capable of playing it. It is not much good being wise among fools and sane among lunatics. He who poses as a fool is not a fool. 

The best way to be well received by all is to clothe yourself in the skin of the dumbest of brutes. 

-(Baltasar Gracián, 1601-1658)

REVERSAL

To reveal the true nature of your intelligence rarely pays; you should get in the habit of downplaying it at all times. If people inadvertently learn the truth—that you are actually much smarter than you look—they will admire you more for being discreet than for making your brilliance show.

At the start of your climb to the top, of course, you cannot play too stupid: You may want to let your bosses know, in a subtle way, that you are smarter than the competition around you. As you climb the ladder, however, you should to some degree try to dampen your brilliance.

There is, however, one situation where it pays to do the opposite—when you can cover up a deception with a show of intelligence. In matters of smarts as in most things, appearances are what count. If you seem to have authority and knowledge, people will believe what you say. This can be very useful in getting you out of a scrape…

The art dealer Joseph Duveen was once attending a soiree at the New York home of a tycoon to whom he had recently sold a Dürer painting for a high price.

Among the guests was a young French art critic who seemed extremely knowledgeable and confident. Wanting to impress this man, the tycoon’s daughter showed him the Dürer, which had not yet been hung.

The critic studied it for a time, then finally said, “You know, I don’t think this Dürer is right.” He followed the young woman as she hurried to tell her father what he had said, and listened as the magnate, deeply unsettled, turned to Duveen for reassurance.

Duveen just laughed. “How very amusing,” he said. “Do you realize, young man, that at least twenty other art experts here and in Europe have been taken in too, and have said that painting isn’t genuine? And now you’ve made the same mistake.”

His confident tone and air of authority intimidated the Frenchman, who apologized for his mistake.

Duveen knew that the art market was flooded with fakes, and that many paintings had been falsely ascribed to old masters. He tried his best to distinguish the real from the fake, but in his zeal to sell he often overplayed a work’s authenticity.

What mattered to him was that the buyer believed he had bought a Dürer, and that Duveen himself convinced everyone of his “expertness” through his air of irreproachable authority. Thus, it is important to be able to play the professor when necessary and never impose such an attitude for its own sake.

Conclusion

Sure you can use this method if you want to scam or manipulate others. But more useful, is to use this method to survive.

When the world seems to be falling apart, and that there are hunters out looking for prey…

…to loot, to rape, to steal from, to swindle, to seize property from…

…it’s in your best interests to be as dull, uninteresting, and non-descript as possible. Let others be the “lightening rod” that attracts the dangerous. All you want to do is survive. And survive you will, if only by playing the part of the dull, and uninteresting.

When people are out looting, they will attack the pharmacies, the department stores, the grocery stores and the homes of the wealthy. They will pretty much ignore the junk-yards, the electrical sub-stations, and the old empty barns.

Do you want more?

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Law 19 – Know who you’re dealing with – do not offend the wrong person (48 Laws of Power)

This is the complete text of law 19 from the book by Robert Greene titled “The 48 Laws of Power”. It is a book that lists (for good or bad) numerous ways that people interact with each other in the pursuit of the obtainment of power. While you might not want to use any of the techniques that he has listed, you must certainly can agree that you must be aware of how others might use them against you. As knowledge is, in itself, power.

LAW 19

KNOW WHO YOU’RE DEALING WITH—DO NOT OFFEND THE WRONG PERSON

JUDGMENT

There are many different kinds of people in the world, and you can never assume that everyone will react to your strategies in the same way. Deceive or outmaneuver some people and they will spend the rest of their lives seeking revenge. They are wolves in lambs’ clothing. Choose your victims and opponents carefully, then—never of fend or deceive the wrong person.

OPPONENTS, SUCKERS, AND VICTIMS: Preliminary Typology

In your rise to power you will come across many breeds of opponent, sucker, and victim. The highest form of the art of power is the ability to distinguish the wolves from the lambs, the foxes from the hares, the hawks from the vultures. If you make this distinction well, you will succeed without needing to coerce anyone too much. But if you deal blindly with whomever crosses your path, you will have a life of constant sorrow, if you even live that long.

When you meet a swordsman, draw your sword: Do not recite poetry to one who is not a poet.

-FROM A CH’AN BUDDHIST CLASSIC, QUOTED IN THUNDER IN THE SKY, TRANSLATED BY THOMAS CLEARY, 1993

Being able to recognize types of people, and to act accordingly, is critical.

The following are the five most dangerous and difficult types of mark in the jungle, as identified by artists—con and otherwise—of the past.

[1] The Arrogant and Proud Man.

If you end up in Prison, you will meet many people. One of the most dangerous are the members of the gay community. For they will be brutal on the slightest whim. Do not get involved with these people, and do not become involved within any kind of relationship triangles either.

-Metallicman.

Although he may initially disguise it, this man’s touchy pride makes him very dangerous.

Any perceived slight will lead to a vengeance of overwhelming violence.

You may say to yourself, “But I only said such-and-such at a party, where everyone was drunk….”

It does not matter.

There is no sanity behind his overreaction, so do not waste time trying to figure him out.

If at any point in your dealings with a person you sense an oversensitive and overactive pride, flee. Whatever you are hoping for from him isn’t worth it.

The Revence Of [Lope De] Aguirre

[Lope de] Aguirre’s character is amply illustrated in an anecdote from the chronicle of Garcilaso de la Vega.

Who related that in 1548 Aguirre was a member of a platoon of soldiers escorting Indian slaves from the mines at Potosi [Bolivia] to a royal treasury depot.

The Indians were illegally burdened with great quantities of silver, and a local official arrested Aguirre, sentencing him to receive two hundred lashes in lieu of a fine for oppressing the Indians.

“The soldier Aguirre, having received a notification of the sentence, besought the alcalde that, instead of flogging him, he would put him to death, for that he was a gentleman by birth…. All this had no effect on the alcalde, who ordered the executioner to bring a beast, and execute the sentence. The executioner came to the prison, and put Aguirre on the beast…. The beast was driven on, and he received the lashes….”

When freed, Aguirre announced his intention of killing the official who had sentenced him, the alcalde Esquivel.

Esquivel’s term of office expired and he fled to Lima.

Three hundred twenty leagues away, but within fifteen days Aguirre had tracked him there.

The frightened judge journeyed to Quito, a trip of four hundred leagues, and in twenty days Aguirre arrived.

“When Esquivel heard of his presence, ” according to Garcilaso, “he made another journey of five hundred leagues to Cuzco; but in a few days Aguirre also arrived, having traveled on foot and without shoes, saying that a whipped man has no business to ride a horse, or to go where he would be seen by others. In this way, Aguirre followed his judge for three years, and four months.”

Wearying of the pursuit, Esquivel remained at Cuzco, a city so sternly governed that he felt he would be safe from Aguirre. He took a house near the cathedral and never ventured outdoors without a sword and a dagger.

“However, on a certain Monday, at noon, Aguirre entered his house, and having walked all over it, and having traversed a corridor, a saloon, a chamber, and an inner chamber where the judge kept his books, he at last found him asleep over one of his books, and stabbed him to death. The murderer then went out, but when he came to the door of the house, he found that he had forgotten his hat, and had the temerity to return and fetch it, and then walked down the street.”

-THE GOLDEN DREAM: SEEKERS OF EL DORADO, WALKER CHAPMAN, 1967

[2] The Hopelessly Insecure Man.

This man is related to the proud and arrogant type, but is less violent and harder to spot.

His ego is fragile, his sense of self insecure, and if he feels himself deceived or attacked, the hurt will simmer.

He will attack you in bites that will take forever to get big enough for you to notice.

If you find you have deceived or harmed such a man, disappear for a long time. Do not stay around him or he will nibble you to death.

[3] Mr. Suspicion.

Another variant on the breeds above, this is a future Joe Stalin.

He sees what he wants to see—usually the worst—in other people, and imagines that everyone is after him.

Mr. Suspicion is in fact the least dangerous of the three: Genuinely unbalanced, he is easy to deceive, just as Stalin himself was constantly deceived.

Play on his suspicious nature to get him to turn against other people. But if you do become the target of his suspicions, watch out.

[4] The Serpent with a Long Memory.

If hurt or deceived, this man will show no anger on the surface; he will calculate and wait.

Then, when he is in a position to turn the tables, he will exact a revenge marked by a cold-blooded shrewdness.

Recognize this man by his calculation and cunning in the different areas of his life.

He is usually cold and unaffectionate.

Be doubly careful of this snake, and if you have somehow injured him, either crush him completely or get him out of your sight.

[5] The Plain, Unassuming, and Often Unintelligent Man.

Ah, your ears prick up when you find such a tempting victim.

But this man is a lot harder to deceive than you imagine.

Falling for a ruse often takes intelligence and imagination—a sense of the possible rewards.

The blunt man will not take the bait because he does not recognize it.

He is that unaware.

The danger with this man is NOT that he will harm you or seek revenge, but merely that he will waste your time, energy, resources, and even your sanity in trying to deceive him.

Have a test ready for a mark—a joke, a story. If his reaction is utterly literal, this is the type you are dealing with.

Continue at your own risk.

TRANSGRESSIONS OF THE LAW

Transgression I

In the early part of the thirteenth century, Muhammad, the shah of Khwarezm, managed after many wars to forge a huge empire, extending west to present-day Turkey and south to Afghanistan. The empire’s center was the great Asian capital of Samarkand. The shah had a powerful, well-trained army, and could mobilize 200,000 warriors within days.

In 1219 Muhammad received an embassy from a new tribal leader to the east, Genghis Khan.

The embassy included all sorts of gifts to the great Muhammad, representing the finest goods from Khan’s small but growing Mongol empire. Genghis Khan wanted to reopen the Silk Route to Europe, and offered to share it with Muhammad, while promising peace between the two empires.

Muhammad did not know this upstart from the east, who, it seemed to him, was extremely arrogant to try to talk as an equal to one so clearly his superior.

He ignored Khan’s offer.

Khan tried again: This time he sent a caravan of a hundred camels filled with the rarest articles he had plundered from China. Before the caravan reached Muhammad, however, Inalchik, the governor of a region bordering on Samarkand, seized it for himself, and executed its leaders.

Genghis Khan was sure that this was a mistake—that Inalchik had acted without Muhammad’s approval.

He sent yet another mission to Muhammad, reiterating his offer and asking that the governor be punished. This time Muhammad himself had one of the ambassadors beheaded, and sent the other two back with shaved heads—a horrifying insult in the Mongol code of honor.

Khan sent a message to the shah: “You have chosen war. What will happen will happen, and what it is to be we know not; only God knows.”

Mobilizing his forces, in 1220 he attacked Inalchik’s province, where he seized the capital, captured the governor, and ordered him executed by having molten silver poured into his eyes and ears.

Over the next year, Khan led a series of guerrilla-like campaigns against the shah’s much larger army.

His method was totally novel for the time—his soldiers could move very fast on horseback, and had mastered the art of firing with bow and arrow while mounted.

The speed and flexibility of his forces allowed him to deceive Muhammad as to his intentions and the directions of his movements. Eventually he managed first to surround Samarkand, then to seize it.

Muhammad fled, and a year later died, his vast empire broken and destroyed. Genghis Khan was sole master of Samarkand, the Silk Route, and most of northern Asia.

Interpretation

Never assume that the person you are dealing with is weaker or less important than you are.

Some men are slow to take offense, which may make you misjudge the thickness of their skin, and fail to worry about insulting them. But should you offend their honor and their pride, they will overwhelm you with a violence that seems sudden and extreme given their slowness to anger.

If you want to turn people down, it is best to do so politely and respectfully, even if you feel their request is impudent or their offer ridiculous.

Never reject them with an insult until you know them better; you may be dealing with a Genghis Khan.

THE CROW AND THE SHEEP

A troublesome Crow seated herself on the back of a Sheep. 

The Sheep, much against his will, carried her backward and forward for a long time, and at last said, “If you had treated a dog in this way, you would have had your deserts from his sharp teeth.”

To this the Crow replied, “I despise the weak, and yield to the strong. I know whom I may bully, and whom I must flatter; and thus I hope to prolong my life to a good old age.

-FABLES, AESOP, SIXTH CENTURY B.C.

Transgression II

In the late 1910s some of the best swindlers in America formed a con-artist ring based in Denver, Colorado. In the winter months they would spread across the southern states, plying their trade. In 1920 Joe Furey, a leader of the ring, was working his way through Texas, making hundreds of thousands of dollars with classic con games.

In Fort Worth, he met a sucker named J. Frank Norfleet, a cattleman who owned a large ranch.

Norfleet fell for the con.

Convinced of the riches to come, he emptied his bank account of $45,000 and handed it over to Furey and his confederates. A few days later they gave him his “millions,” which turned out to be a few good dollars wrapped around a packet of newspaper clippings.

Furey and his men had worked such cons a hundred times before, and the sucker was usually so embarrassed by his gullibility that he quietly learned his lesson and accepted the loss.

But Norfleet was not like other suckers.

He went to the police, who told him there was little they could do.

“Then I’ll go after those people myself,” Norfleet told the detectives. “I’ll get them, too, if it takes the rest of my life.”

His wife took over the ranch as Norfleet scoured the country, looking for others who had been fleeced in the same game. One such sucker came forward, and the two men identified one of the con artists in San Francisco, and managed to get him locked up.

The man committed suicide rather than face a long term in prison.

Norfleet kept going.

He tracked down another of the con artists in Montana, roped him like a calf, and dragged him through the muddy streets to the town jail.

He traveled not only across the country but to England, Canada, and Mexico in search of Joe Furey, and also of Furey’s right-hand man, W. B. Spencer.

Finding Spencer in Montreal, Norfleet chased him through the streets.

Spencer escaped but the rancher stayed on his trail and caught up with him in Salt Lake City. Preferring the mercy of the law to Norfleet’s wrath, Spencer turned himself in.

Norfleet found Furey in Jacksonville, Florida, and personally hauled him off to face justice in Texas.

But he wouldn’t stop there: He continued on to Denver, determined to break up the entire ring.

Spending not only large sums of money but another year of his life in the pursuit, he managed to put all of the con ring’s leaders behind bars. Even some he didn’t catch had grown so terrified of him that they too turned themselves in.

After five years of hunting, Norfleet had single-handedly destroyed the country’s largest confederation of con artists. The effort bankrupted him and ruined his marriage, but he died a satisfied man.

Interpretation

Most men accept the humiliation of being conned with a sense of resignation. They learn their lesson, recognizing that there is no such thing as a free lunch, and that they have usually been brought down by their own greed for easy money.

Some, however, refuse to take their medicine.

Instead of reflecting on their own gullibility and avarice, they see themselves as totally innocent victims.

Men like this may seem to be crusaders for justice and honesty, but they are actually immoderately insecure. Being fooled, being conned, has activated their self-doubt, and they are desperate to repair the damage.

Were the mortgage on Norfleet’s ranch, the collapse of his marriage, and the years of borrowing money and living in cheap hotels worth his revenge over his embarrassment at being fleeced?

To the Norfleets of the world, overcoming their embarrassment is worth any price.

All people have insecurities, and often the best way to deceive a sucker is to play upon his insecurities. But in the realm of power, everything is a question of degree, and the person who is decidedly more insecure than the average mortal presents great dangers.

Be warned: If you practice deception or trickery of any sort, study your mark well. Some people’s insecurity and ego fragility cannot tolerate the slightest offense. To see if you are dealing with such a type, test them first—make, say, a mild joke at their expense. A confident person will laugh; an overly insecure one will react as if personally insulted. If you suspect you are dealing with this type, find another victim.

Transgression III

In the fifth century B.C., Ch‘ung-erh, the prince of Ch’in (in present-day China), had been forced into exile.

He lived modestly—even, sometimes, in poverty—waiting for the time when he could return home and resume his princely life. Once he was passing through the state of Cheng, where the ruler, not knowing who he was, treated him rudely.

The ruler’s minister, Shu Chan, saw this and said, “This man is a worthy prince. May Your Highness treat him with great courtesy and thereby place him under an obligation!”

But the ruler, able to see only the prince’s lowly station, ignored this advice and insulted the prince again.

Shu Chan again warned his master, saying, “If Your Highness cannot treat Ch’ung-erh with courtesy, you should put him to death, to avoid calamity in the future.”

The ruler only scoffed.

Years later, the prince was finally able to return home, his circumstances greatly changed. He did not forget who had been kind to him, and who had been insolent, during his years of poverty.

Least of all did he forget his treatment at the hands of the ruler of Cheng.

At his first opportunity he assembled a vast army and marched on Cheng, taking eight cities, destroying the kingdom, and sending the ruler into an exile of his own.

Interpretation

You can never be sure who you are dealing with. A man who is of little importance and means today can be a person of power tomorrow. We forget a lot in our lives, but we rarely forget an insult.

How was the ruler of Cheng to know that Prince Ch’ung-erh was an ambitious, calculating, cunning type, a serpent with a long memory? There was really no way for him to know, you may say—but since there was no way, it would have been better not to tempt the fates by finding out. There is nothing to be gained by insulting a person unnecessarily. Swallow the impulse to offend, even if the other person seems weak. The satisfaction is meager compared to the danger that someday he or she will be in a position to hurt you.

Transgression IV

The year of 1920 had been a particularly bad one for American art dealers. Big buyers—the robber-baron generation of the previous century—were getting to an age where they were dying off like flies, and no new millionaires had emerged to take their place. Things were so bad that a number of the major dealers decided to pool their resources, an unheard-of event, since art dealers usually get along like cats and dogs.

Joseph Duveen, art dealer to the richest tycoons of America, was suffering more than the others that year, so he decided to go along with this alliance. The group now consisted of the five biggest dealers in the country. Looking around for a new client, they decided that their last best hope was Henry Ford, then the wealthiest man in America.

Ford had yet to venture into the art market, and he was such a big target that it made sense for them to work together.

The dealers decided to assemble a list, “The 100 Greatest Paintings in the World” (all of which they happened to have in stock), and to offer the lot of them to Ford. With one purchase he could make himself the world’s greatest collector.

The consortium worked for weeks to produce a magnificent object: a three-volume set of books containing beautiful reproductions of the paintings, as well as scholarly texts accompanying each picture. Next they made a personal visit to Ford at his home in Dearborn, Michigan.

There they were surprised by the simplicity of his house: Mr. Ford was obviously an extremely unaffected man.

Ford received them in his study.

Looking through the book, he expressed astonishment and delight. The excited dealers began imagining the millions of dollars that would shortly flow into their coffers. Finally, however, Ford looked up from the book and said, “Gentlemen, beautiful books like these, with beautiful colored pictures like these, must cost an awful lot!”

“But Mr. Ford!” exclaimed Duveen, “we don’t expect you to buy these books. We got them up especially for you, to show you the pictures. These books are a present to you.”

Ford seemed puzzled.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “it is extremely nice of you, but I really don’t see how I can accept a beautiful, expensive present like this from strangers.”

Duveen explained to Ford that the reproductions in the books showed paintings they had hoped to sell to him. Ford finally understood. “But gentlemen,” he exclaimed, “what would I want with the original pictures when the ones right here in these books are so beautiful?”

Interpretation

Joseph Duveen prided himself on studying his victims and clients in advance, figuring out their weaknesses and the peculiarities of their tastes before he ever met them.

He was driven by desperation to drop this tactic just once, in his assault on Henry Ford. It took him months to recover from his misjudgment, both mentally and monetarily.

Ford was the unassuming plain-man type who just isn’t worth the bother.

He was the incarnation of those literal-minded folk who do not possess enough imagination to be deceived. From then on, Duveen saved his energies for the Mellons and Morgans of the world—men crafty enough for him to entrap in his snares.

KEYS TO POWER

The ability to measure people and to know who you’re dealing with is the most important skill of all in gathering and conserving power.

Without it you are blind: Not only will you offend the wrong people, you will choose the wrong types to work on, and will think you are flattering people when you are actually insulting them.

Before embarking on any move, take the measure of your mark or potential opponent. Otherwise you will waste time and make mistakes.

Study people’s weaknesses, the chinks in their armor, their areas of both pride and insecurity. Know their ins and outs before you even decide whether or not to deal with them.

Two final words of caution: First, in judging and measuring your opponent, never rely on your instincts. You will make the greatest mistakes of all if you rely on such inexact indicators. Nothing can substitute for gathering concrete knowledge. Study and spy on your opponent for however long it takes; this will pay off in the long run.

Second, never trust appearances. Anyone with a serpent’s heart can use a show of kindness to cloak it; a person who is blustery on the outside is often really a coward. Learn to see through appearances and their contradictions. Never trust the version that people give of themselves—it is utterly unreliable.

Image: The Hunter.

He does not lay the same trap for a wolf as for a fox. He does not set bait where no one will take it. He knows his prey thoroughly, its habits and hideaways, and hunts accordingly.

Authority: Be convinced, that there are no persons so insignificant and inconsiderable, but may, some time or other, have it in their power to be of use to you; which they certainly will not, if you have once shown them contempt. Wrongs are often forgiven, but contempt never is. Our pride remembers it for ever. (Lord Chesterfield, 1694-1773)

REVERSAL

What possible good can come from ignorance about other people? Learn to tell the lions from the lambs or pay the price. Obey this law to its fullest extent; it has no reversal—do not bother looking for one.

Principles of Law 19

In your quest for power, you can’t treat everyone the same way. According to Law 19 of the 48 Laws of Power, there are many different types of people, and you need to be able to recognize which type you’re dealing with and respond appropriately.

Here are the five most dangerous types, most of whom you should avoid dealing with because it’s either a waste of time or it will come back and bite you. With these types especially, you should know who you’re dealing with.

Oversensitive and egotistical: Overreacts, often violently and disproportionately, to any perceived slight.
Insecure and fragile: Lets hurt feelings simmer, then attacks with small cuts that eventually add up.
Pathologically suspicious: Imagines everyone is after him. Like Stalin, genuinely unhinged but easy to fool. You can get him to turn against others, but take care that he doesn’t target you.
Cold and calculating: Doesn’t show anger when offended, but calculates the right moment for revenge and waits for it. He’s a snake — crush him rather than injuring him.
Slow-witted or literal: Lacks the intelligence and imagination (to envision potential rewards) to fall for a scheme. You’ll waste time trying to fool him. Test him by telling a joke to see if he gets it, or reacts literally. If the latter, move on to someone else.

To wield power it’s essential to be able to read people and know who you’re dealing with. If you don’t understand your targets — choosing the wrong person or doing the wrong thing — you’ll waste time at best. At worst, you bring trouble on yourself, for instance, by insulting people when you think you’re flattering them, or by triggering their insecurity. This is essential to understand when following Law 19 of the 48 Laws of Power.

Before dealing with someone, do your research. Never trust your instincts, or trust appearances. People can easily hide their true nature. Do not offend the wrong person.

Putting Law 19 to Work

Here are just a few of the many examples of how not to apply Law 19 of the 48 Laws of Power. These people underestimated or failed to understand their opponents. They did not follow Law 19: Know Who You’re Dealing With—Do Not Offend the Wrong Person.

Oversensitive and egotistical: A powerful shah who had a huge empire dissed Genghis Khan by ignoring his offers of an alliance, and was destroyed. His mistake was assuming that Genghis Khan was weaker than he, and he rejected his overtures with insults. Khan turned out to be both sensitive to insults and extremely powerful.
Oversensitive and egotistical: In 1910 there was a con artist ring operating out of Denver, led by Joe Furey. Furey suckered a Texas rancher into giving up a fortune. But unlike most suckers in Furey’s experience, he didn’t just slink away quietly in embarrassment. He set out to take down Furey and the entire con artist ring, a feat that took him five years and great expense. Furey didn’t understand that he was dealing with an insecure man who wouldn’t tolerate offense.
Literal: Because he was a simple man who took things literally, Henry Ford stymied a consortium of art dealers who tried to sell him a collection of 1,000 paintings. To whet his appetite for the works, the dealers created a beautiful book of the paintings, which they presented to Ford as a gift. His response was to question why he should buy the paintings, when he had a book that depicted them so beautifully. Because the dealers hadn’t done their homework, they wasted their time and money dealing with an immovable target.

Conclusion

I would advise that you remain kind and neutral to everyone that you meet. I strongly suggest that you put the ideas of “winning” or “conquering” over others under advisement, instead, I urge you to try to work with people in a mutually beneficial arrangement.

Unfortunately, this is not always possible. There will come times when you are dealing with people that have their own agendas, their own ways of doing things, and their own objectives.

Such is the case when Donald Trump instigated the “Trade War” against China in 2016 which pretty much lasted throughout his entire term. And while China assumed that Trump wanted a Win-Win situation, the truth was that he desired a Lose-Lose situation and did everything in his power to make sure that China would lose more than America would.

It didn’t work out that way.

Why?

Because the intel that Donald Trump and Pompeo was getting on China was not only incorrect, but it was dangerously inaccurate, outdated, and colored with a bias that did not factually exist. And no matter what Donald Trump threw at China, they simply stepped to the side and continued their life unimpeded.

Currently, the conservative neocons are advising for a “hot war” scenario. As it is the only remaining course of action. To which I must respond with the statement from Law 19…

The highest form of the art of power is the ability to distinguish the wolves from the lambs, the foxes from the hares, the hawks from the vultures. If you make this distinction well, you will succeed without needing to coerce anyone too much. But if you deal blindly with whomever crosses your path, you will have a life of constant sorrow...

... if you even live that long.

Do you want some more?

I have similar posts in my Life and Happiness Index here…

Life & Happiness

Articles & Links

To go to the MAIN Index;

Master Index

You can start reading the articles by going HERE.
You can visit the Index Page HERE to explore by article subject.
You can also ask the author some questions. You can go HERE .
You can find out more about the author HERE.
If you have concerns or complaints, you can go HERE.
If you want to make a donation, you can go HERE.

Please kindly help me out in this effort. There is a lot of effort that goes into this disclosure. I could use all the financial support that anyone could provide. Thank you very much.

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Law 10 – Infection: Avoid the Unhappy and Unlucky (48 Laws of Power)

Amoral, cunning, ruthless, and instructive, The 48 Laws of Power is the definitive manual for anyone interested in gaining, observing, or defending against ultimate control in human relationships, society or business. There are 48 laws in this book, and this post is the complete reprint of Law 10.

In The 48 Laws of Power, Robert Greene contends that since you can’t opt out of the game of power, you’re better off becoming a master player by learning the rules and strategies practiced since ancient times.

People can’t stand to be powerless. Everyone wants power and is always trying to get more. Striving for and wielding power is a game everyone participates in, whether they want to or not. You’re either a power player or a pawn someone else is playing with.

An Interesting Fact about The 48 laws of power is it is one of the most Requested books among American Prisoners, it is also a favorite book by many world leaders like Fidel Castro, and hip-hop superstar such as 50 cents, it has been dubbed by critics as a cult classic for its widespread success among America’s rich and famous.

The 48 laws of power illustrate 48 laws America rich and powerful use to acquire and maintain power, Greene presents these laws with actionable steps for the average reader to incorporate into their approach to life. The book covers areas Such as Negotiations, how to make people do what you want, and how to maintain an ideal relationship with superiors at the workplace, these 48 laws can help anyone who wants to see themselves at top of their career.

-Biblioskart

So, what is The 48 Laws of Power book about?

Greene has codified 48 laws of power based on examples and writings going back 3,000 years of people who’ve excelled or failed at wielding power, with glorious or bloody results.

Greene argues that following the 48 laws will generally increase your power, while failing to follow them will decrease it, or worse. He provides details on how to practice the laws, plus examples and analysis.

Some laws teach the need for prudence (“Law 1: Never Outshine the Master”), others teach the value of confidence (“Law 28: Enter Action with Boldness”), and many recommend absolute self-preservation (“Law 15: Crush Your Enemy Totally”).

Staying on top and increasing your power required strategy and tactics, but at the heart of the game lay an essential skill — deception, which was employed in myriad ways.

Since then, the game of power hasn’t changed much, although it’s gotten a bit less bloody (more heads roll figuratively than literally). To practice deception effectively requires an understanding of human behavior (your own and others’), the relentless study of the people around you, complete self-control, outward charm, adaptability, strategic thinking, and deviousness.

In a world seemingly gone bat-shit insane, it is important to know the “rules of the game” and how they are played. You might not wish to use them yourself, but it is important to recognize that others do. So learn at your own risk.

LAW 10

INFECTION: AVOID THE UNHAPPY AND UNLUCKY

JUDGMENT

You can die from someone else’s misery—emotional states are as infectious as diseases. You may feel you are helping the drowning man but you are only precipitating your own disaster. The unfortunate sometimes draw misfortune on themselves; they will also draw it on you. Associate with the happy and fortunate instead.

TRANSGRESSION OF THE LAW

Born in Limerick, Ireland, in 1818, Marie Gilbert came to Paris in the 1840s to make her fortune as a dancer and performer. Taking the name Lola Montez (her mother was of distant Spanish descent), she claimed to be a flamenco dancer from Spain.

By 1845 her career was languishing, and to survive she became a courtesan—quickly one of the more successful in Paris.

Only one man could salvage Lola’s dancing career: Alexandre Dujarier, owner of the newspaper with the largest circulation in France, and also the newspaper’s drama critic.

She decided to woo and conquer him. Investigating his habits, she discovered that he went riding every morning. An excellent horsewoman herself, she rode out one morning and “accidentally” ran into him.

Soon they were riding together every day. A few weeks later Lola moved into his apartment.

For a while the two were happy together. With Dujarier’s help, Lola began to revive her dancing career. Despite the risk to his social standing, Dujarier told friends he would marry her in the spring.

(Lola had never told him that she had eloped at age nineteen with an Englishman, and was still legally married.)

Although Dujarier was deeply in love, his life started to slide downhill.

His fortunes in business changed and influential friends began to avoid him. One night Dujarier was invited to a party, attended by some of the wealthiest young men in Paris.

Lola wanted to go too but he would not allow it. They had their first quarrel, and Dujarier attended the party by himself. There, hopelessly drunk, he insulted an influential drama critic, Jean-Baptiste Rosemond de Beauvallon, perhaps because of something the critic had said about Lola.

The following morning Beauvallon challenged him to a duel. Beauvallon was one of the best pistol shots in France.

Dujarier tried to apologize, but the duel took place, and he was shot and killed. Thus ended the life of one of the most promising young men of Paris society…

Devastated, Lola left Paris.

In 1846 Lola Montez found herself in Munich, where she decided to woo and conquer King Ludwig of Bavaria. The best way to Ludwig, she discovered, was through his aide-de-camp, Count Otto von Rechberg, a man with a fondness for pretty girls.

One day when the count was breakfasting at an outdoor café, Lola rode by on her horse, was “accidentally” thrown from the saddle, and landed at Rechberg’s feet.

The count rushed to help her and was enchanted. He promised to introduce her to Ludwig.

Rechberg arranged an audience with the king for Lola, but when she arrived in the anteroom, she could hear the king saying he was too busy to meet a favor-seeking stranger.

Lola pushed aside the sentries and entered his room anyway. In the process, the front of her dress somehow got torn (perhaps by her, perhaps by one of the sentries), and to the astonishment of all, most especially the king, her bare breasts were brazenly exposed. Lola was granted her audience with Ludwig.

Fifty-five hours later she made her debut on the Bavarian stage; the reviews were terrible, but that did not stop Ludwig from arranging more performances.

A nut found itself carried by a crow to the top of a tall campanile, and by falling into a crevice succeeded in escaping its dread fate. It then besought the wall to shelter it, by appealing to it by the grace of God, and praising its height, and the beauty and noble tone of us bells. “Alas,” it went on, “as I have not been able to drop beneath the green branches of my old Father and to lie in the fallow earth covered by his fallen leaves, do you, at least, not abandon me. When I found myself in the beak of the cruel crow I made a vow, that if I escaped I would end my life in a little hole. ”At these words, the wall, moved with compassion, was content to shelter the nut in the spot where it had fallen. 

Within a short time, the nut burst open: Its roots reached in between the crevices of the stones and began to push them apart; its shoots pressed up toward the sky. They soon rose above the building, and as the twisted roots grew thicker they began to thrust the walls apart and force the ancient stones from their old places. Then the wall, too late and in vain, bewailed the cause of its destruction, and in short time it fell in ruin.

-LEONARDO DA VINCI. 1452-1519

Ludwig was, in his own words, “bewitched” by Lola. He started to appear in public with her on his arm, and then he bought and furnished an apartment for her on one of Munich’s most fashionable boulevards.

Although he had been known as a miser, and was not given to flights of fancy, he started to shower Lola with gifts and to write poetry for her. Now his favored mistress, she catapulted to fame and fortune overnight.

Lola began to lose her sense of proportion. One day when she was out riding, an elderly man rode ahead of her, a bit too slowly for her liking.

Unable to pass him, she began to slash him with her riding crop. On another occasion she took her dog, unleashed, out for a stroll.

The dog attacked a passerby, but instead of helping the man get the dog away, she whipped him with the leash.

Incidents like this infuriated the stolid citizens of Bavaria, but Ludwig stood by Lola and even had her naturalized as a Bavarian citizen.

The king’s entourage tried to wake him to the dangers of the affair, but those who criticized Lola were summarily fired.

In his own time Simon Thomas was a great doctor. I remember that I happened to meet him one day at the home of a rich old consumptive: 

He told his patient when discussing ways to cure him that one means was to provide occasions for me to enjoy his company: 

He could then fix his eyes on the freshness of my countenance and his thoughts on the overflowing cheerfulness and vigor of my young manhood; by filling all his senses with the flower of my youth his condition might improve. 

He forgot to add that mine might get worse. 

-MONTAIGNE, 1533-1592

While Bavarians who had loved their king now outwardly disrespected him, Lola was made a countess, had a new palace built for herself, and began to dabble in politics, advising Ludwig on policy.

She was the most powerful force in the kingdom.

Her influence in the king’s cabinet continued to grow, and she treated the other ministers with disdain.

As a result, riots broke out throughout the realm.

A once peaceful land was virtually in the grip of civil war, and students everywhere were chanting, “Raus mit Lola!”

Many things are said to be infectious. Sleepiness can be infectious, and yawning as well. In large-scale strategy when the enemy is agitated and shows an inclination to rush, do not mind in the least. 

Make a show of complete calmness, and the enemy will be taken by this and will become relaxed. You infect their spirit. You can infect them with a carefree, drunklike spirit, with boredom, or even weakness.

-A BOOK OF FIVE RINGS, MIYAMOTO MUSASHI, SEVENTEENTH CENTURY

By February of 1848, Ludwig was finally unable to withstand the pressure. With great sadness he ordered Lola to leave Bavaria immediately. She left, but not until she was paid off. For the next five weeks the Bavarians’ wrath was turned against their formerly beloved king. In March of that year he was forced to abdicate.

Lola Montez moved to England. More than anything she needed respectability, and despite being married (she still had not arranged a divorce from the Englishman she had wed years before), she set her sights on George Trafford Heald, a promising young army officer who was the son of an influential barrister.

Although he was ten years younger than Lola, and could have chosen a wife among the prettiest and wealthiest young girls of English society, Heald fell under her spell.

They were married in 1849.

Soon arrested on the charge of bigamy, she skipped bail, and she and Heald made their way to Spain. They quarreled horribly and on one occasion Lola slashed him with a knife. Finally, she drove him away. Returning to England, he found he had lost his position in the army. Ostracized from English society, he moved to Portugal, where he lived in poverty.

After a few months his short life ended in a boating accident.

A few years later the man who published Lola Montez’s autobiography went bankrupt…

In 1853 Lola moved to California, where she met and married a man named Pat Hull. Their relationship was as stormy as all the others, and she left Hull for another man. He took to drink and fell into a deep depression that lasted until he died, four years later, still a relatively young man.

At the age of forty-one, Lola gave away her clothes and finery and turned to God. She toured America, lecturing on religious topics, dressed in white and wearing a halolike white headgear.

She died two years later, in 1861.

Regard no foolish man as cultured, though you may reckom a gifted man as wise; and esteem no ignorant abstainer a true ascetic. Do not consort with fools, especially those who consider themselves wise. And be not self-satisfied with your own ignorance. 

Let your intercourse be only with men of good repute: for it is by such assotiation that men themselves attain to good repute. 

Do you not observe how sesame-oil is mingled with roses or violets and how, when it has been for some time in association with roses or violets, it ceases to he sesame-oil and is called oil of roses or oil of violets?

- A MIRROR FOR PRINCES. KAI KAUS IBN ISKANDAR. ELEVENTH CENTURY

Interpretation

Lola Montez attracted men with her wiles, but her power over them went beyond the sexual. It was through the force of her character that she kept her lovers enthralled. Men were sucked into the maelstrom she churned up around her. They felt confused, upset, but the strength of the emotions she stirred also made them feel more alive.

As is often the case with infection, the problems would only arise over time. Lola’s inherent instability would begin to get under her lovers’ skin. They would find themselves drawn into her problems, but their emotional attachment to her would make them want to help her. This was the crucial point of the disease—for Lola Montez could not be helped. Her problems were too deep. Once the lover identified with them, he was lost. He would find himself embroiled in quarrels. The infection would spread to his family and friends, or, in the case of Ludwig, to an entire nation. The only solution would be to cut her off, or suffer an eventual collapse.

The infecting-character type is not restricted to women; it has nothing to do with gender. It stems from an inward instability that radiates outward, drawing disaster upon itself. There is almost a desire to destroy and unsettle. You could spend a lifetime studying the pathology of infecting characters, but don’t waste your time—just learn the lesson. When you suspect you are in the presence of an infector, don’t argue, don’t try to help, don’t pass the person on to your friends, or you will become enmeshed. Flee the infector’s presence or suffer the consequences.

Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look. He thinks too much.... 
I do not know the man I should avoid so soon as that spare Cassius.... 
Such men as he be never at heart’s ease whiles they behold a greater than themselves, and therefore are they very dangerous.

-Julius Caesar, William Shakespeare. 1564-1616

KEYS TO POWER

Those misfortunates among us who have been brought down by circumstances beyond their control deserve all the help and sympathy we can give them. But there are others who are not born to misfortune or unhappiness, but who draw it upon themselves by their destructive actions and unsettling effect on others. It would be a great thing if we could raise them up, change their patterns, but more often than not it is their patterns that end up getting inside and changing us. The reason is simple—humans are extremely susceptible to the moods, emotions, and even the ways of thinking of those with whom they spend their time.

The incurably unhappy and unstable have a particularly strong infecting power because their characters and emotions are so intense. They often present themselves as victims, making it difficult, at first, to see their miseries as self-inflicted. Before you realize the real nature of their problems you have been infected by them.

Understand this: In the game of power, the people you associate with are critical. The risk of associating with infectors is that you will waste valuable time and energy trying to free yourself. Through a kind of guilt by association, you will also suffer in the eyes of others. Never underestimate the dangers of infection.

There are many kinds of infector to be aware of, but one of the most insidious is the sufferer from chronic dissatisfaction. Cassius, the Roman conspirator against Julius Caesar, had the discontent that comes from deep envy. He simply could not endure the presence of anyone of greater talent. Probably because Caesar sensed the man’s interminable sourness, he passed him up for the position of first praetorship, and gave the position to Brutus instead. Cassius brooded and brooded, his hatred for Caesar becoming patliological. Brutus himself, a devoted republican, disliked Caesar’s dictatorship; had he had the patience to wait, he would have become the first man in Rome after Caesar’s death, and could have undone the evil that the leader had wrought. But Cassius infected him with his own rancor, bending his ear daily with tales of Caesar’s evil. He finally won Brutus over to the conspiracy. It was the beginning of a great tragedy. How many misfortunes could have been avoided had Brutus learned to fear the power of infection.

There is only one solution to infection: quarantine. But by the time you recognize the problem it is often too late. A Lola Montez overwhelms you with her forceful personality. Cassius intrigues you with his confiding nature and the depth of his feelings. How can you protect yourself against such insidious viruses? The answer lies in judging people on the effects they have on the world and not on the reasons they give for their prob-Image: A Virus. Unseen, it lems. Infectors can be recognized by the misfortune they draw on them-enters your pores without selves, their turbulent past, their long line of broken relationships, their un-warning, spreading silently and stable careers, and the very force of their character, which sweeps you up slowly. Before you are aware of and makes you lose your reason. Be forewarned by these signs of an infec the infection, it is deep inside you. tor; learn to see the discontent in their eye. Most important of all, do not take pity. Do not enmesh yourself in trying to help. The infector will remain unchanged, but you will be unhinged.

The other side of infection is equally valid, and perhaps more readily understood: There are people who attract happiness to themselves by their good cheer, natural buoyancy, and intelligence. They are a source of pleasure, and you must associate with them to share in the prosperity they draw upon themselves.

This applies to more than good cheer and success: All positive qualities can infect us. Talleyrand had many strange and intimidating traits, but most agreed that he surpassed all Frenchmen in graciousness, aristocratic charm, and wit. Indeed he came from one of the oldest noble families in the country, and despite his belief in democracy and the French Republic, he retained his courtly manners. His contemporary Napoleon was in many ways the opposite—a peasant from Corsica, taciturn and ungracious, even violent.

There was no one Napoleon admired more than Talleyrand. He envied his minister’s way with people, his wit and his ability to charm women, and as best he could, he kept Talleyrand around him, hoping to soak up the culture he lacked. There is no doubt that Napoleon changed as his rule continued. Many of the rough edges were smoothed by his constant association with Talleyrand.

Use the positive side of this emotional osmosis to advantage. If, for example, you are miserly by nature, you will never go beyond a certain limit; only generous souls attain greatness. Associate with the generous, then, and they will infect you, opening up everything that is tight and restricted in you. If you are gloomy, gravitate to the cheerful. If you are prone to isolation, force yourself to befriend the gregarious. Never associate with those who share your defects—they will reinforce everything that holds you back. Only create associations with positive affinities. Make this a rule of life and you will benefit more than from all the therapy in the world.

Authority: Recognize the fortunate so that you may choose their company, and the unfortunate so that you may avoid them. Misfortune is usually the crime of folly, and among those who suffer from it there is no malady more contagious: Never open your door to the least of misfortunes, for, if you do, many others will follow in its train…. Do not die of another’s misery. (Baltasar Gracián, 1601-1658)

REVERSAL

This law admits of no reversal. Its application is universal. There is nothing to be gained by associating with those who infect you with their misery; there is only power and good fortune to be obtained by associating with the fortunate.

Ignore this law at your peril.

Conclusion

Emotional states can be as infectious as diseases. Occasionally, some unfortunate individuals bring their own misfortune upon themselves and can bring you down too if you get too close. Therefore, make sure to associate only with the happy and the fortunate.

The incurably unhappy tend to portray themselves as victims, and before you realize they are the cause of their own misfortune, they have infected you with their misery.

Who you decide to associate with is critical. Through associating with the miserable, you waste your valuable time and drain your potential power.

This DOES NOT mean for you to be selfish or not help others. This instead means that you must recognize that people have a being, a series of actions, behaviors, and thoughts that can influence you. You need to be selective in who you habitually associate with and who you surround yourself with.

Happy people, living life, carefree and sunny…

…avoid the perpetually gloomy, emotionally distraught, and internally terrorized fighting their own demons and hostilities.

For a happy, productive and successful life, recognize that it is not your job to change others. Rather you are to be a beacon, a tower, a great shining star for others to admire and look up to. You need to be the light that others come towards. Not the greasy oil mechanic that is perpetually fixing the old broken-down automobile postponing it’s final ride to the junk yard.

Avoid the perpetually unhappy. They have an illness that will seep into your being. You are not immune. The only way to immunize yourself is through isolation. Stay away from the bad. Live and surround yourself only with the good.

Do you want some more?

I have more posts along these lines in my Life and Happiness Index here…

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MUGWUMP 4 (1959) by Robert Silverberg the complete text of this fine science fiction story

This is a nice tight little science fiction story. It’s pretty much about a normal guy who gets tangled up with forces way beyond his understanding. It’s a cute little comedy and fun recreational reading during these hot July afternoons.

Enjoy.

MUGWUMP FOUR

Al Miller was only trying to phone the Friendly Finance Corporation to ask about an extension on his loan. It was a Murray Hill number, and he had dialed as far as MU-4 when the receiver clicked queerly and a voice said, “Come in, Operator Nine. Operator Nine, do you read me?”

Al frowned. “I didn’t want the operator. There must be something wrong with my phone if—”

“Just a minute. Who are you?”

“I ought to ask you that,” Al said. “What are you doing on the other end of my phone, anyway? I hadn’t even finished dialing. I got as far as MU-4 and—”

“Well? You dialed MUgwump 4 and you got us. What more do you want?” A suspicious pause. “Say, you aren’t Operator Nine!”
“No, I’m not Operator Nine, and I’m trying to dial a Murray Hill number, and how about getting off the line?”

“Hold it, friend. Are you a Normal?”
Al blinked “Yeah—yeah, I like to think so.”
“So how’d you know the Number?”

“Dammit, I didn’t know the number! I was trying to call someone, and all of a sudden the phone cut out and I got you, whoever the blazes you are.”
“I’m the communications warden at MUgwump 4,” the other said crisply. “And you’re a suspicious individual. We’ll have to investigate you.”

The telephone emitted a sudden burping sound. Al felt as if his feet had grown roots. He could not move at all. It was awkward to be standing there at his own telephone in the privacy of his own room, as unbending as the Apollo Belvedere. Time still moved, he saw. The hand on the big clock above the phone had just shifted from 3:30 to 3:31.

Sweat rivered down his back as he struggled to put down the phone. He fought to lift his left foot. He strained to twitch his right eyelid. No go on all counts; he was frozen, all but his chest muscles—thank goodness for that. He still could breathe.

A few minutes later matters became even more awkward when his front door, which had been locked, opened abruptly. Three strangers entered. They looked oddly alike: a trio of Tweedledums, no more than five feet high, each wide through the waist, jowly of face and balding of head, each wearing an inadequate single-breasted blue-serge suit.

Al discovered he could roll his eyes. He rolled them. He wanted to apologize because his unexpected paralysis kept him from acting the proper part of a host, but his tongue would not obey. And on second thought, it occurred that the little bald men might be connected in some way with that paralysis.

The reddest-faced of the three little men made an intricate gesture and the stasis ended. Al nearly folded up as the tension that gripped him broke. He said, “Just who the deuce—”

“We will ask the questions. You are Al Miller?”
Al nodded.

“And obviously you are a Normal. So there has been a grave error. Mordecai, examine the telephone.”

The second little man picked up the phone and calmly disemboweled it with three involved motions of his stubby hands. He frowned over the telephone’s innards for a moment; then, humming tunelessly, he produced a wire-clipper and severed the telephone cord.

“Hold on here,” Al burst out. “You can’t just rip out my phone like that! You aren’t from the phone company!”

“Quiet,” said the spokesman nastily. “Well, Mordecai?”

The second little man said, “Probability one to a million. The cranch interval overlapped and his telephone matrix slipped. His call was piped into our wire by error, Waldemar.”

“So he isn’t a spy?” Waldemar asked.

“Doubtful. As you see, he’s of rudimentary intelligence. His dialing our number was a statistical fluke.”

“But now he knows about Us,” said the third little man in a surprisingly deep voice. “I vote for demolecularization.”

The other two whirled on their companion. “Always bloodthirsty, eh, Giovanni?” said Mordecai. “You’d violate the Code at the snap of a meson.”
“There won’t be any demolecularization while I’m in charge,” added Waldemar.

“What do we do with him, then?” Giovanni demanded. Mordecai said, “Freeze him and take him down to Headquarters. He’s their problem.”
“I think this has gone about as far as it’s going to go,” Al exploded at last. “However you three creeps got in here, you’d better get yourselves right out again, or—”

“Enough,” Waldemar said. He stamped his foot. Al felt his jaws stiffen. He realized bewilderedly that he was frozen again. And frozen, this time, with his mouth gaping foolishly open.

he trip took about five minutes, and so far as Al was concerned, it was one long blur. At the end of the journey the blur lifted for an instant, just enough to give Al one good glimpse of his surroundings—a residential street in what might have been Brooklyn or Queens (or Cincinnati or Detroit, he thought morbidly)— before he was hustled into the basement of a two-family house. He found himself in a windowless, brightly lit chamber cluttered with complex-looking machinery and with a dozen or so alarmingly identical little bald-headed men.

The chubbiest of the bunch glared sourly at him and asked, “Are you a spy?”

“I’m just an innocent bystander. I picked up my phone and started to dial, and all of a sudden some guy asked me if I was Operator Nine. Honest, that’s all.”

“Overlapping of the cranch interval,” muttered Mordecai. “Slipped matrix.”
“Umm. Unfortunate,” the chubby one commented. “We’ll have to dispose of him.”

“Demolecularization is the best way,” Giovanni put in immediately.

“Dispose of him humanely, I mean. It’s revolting to think of taking the life of an inferior being. But he simply can’t remain in this fourspace any longer, not if he Knows.”

“But I don’t know!” Al groaned. “I couldn’t be any more mixed-up if I tried! Won’t you please tell me—”

“Very well,” said the pudgiest one, who seemed to be the leader. “Waldemar, tell him about Us.”

Waldemar said, “You’re now in the local headquarters of a secret mutant group working for the overthrow of humanity as you know it. By some accident you happened to dial our private communication exchange, MUtant 4—”

“I thought it was MUgwump 4,” Al interjected.

“The code name, naturally,” said Waldemar smoothly. “To continue: You channeled into our communication network. You now know too much. Your presence in this space-time nexus jeopardizes the success of our entire movement. Therefore we are forced—”

“To demolecularize—” Giovanni began.

“Forced to dispose of you,” Waldemar continued sternly. “We’re humane beings—most of us—and we won’t do anything that would make you suffer. But you can’t stay in this area of space-time. You see our point of view, of course.”

Al shook his head dimly. These little potbellied men were mutants working for the overthrow of humanity? Well, he had no reason to think they were lying to him. The world was full of little potbellied men. Maybe they were all part of the secret organization, Al thought.

“Look,” he said, “I didn’t want to dial your number, get me? It was all a big accident. But I’m a fair guy. Let me get out of here and I’ll keep mum about the whole thing. You can go ahead and overthrow humanity, if that’s what you want to do. I promise not to interfere in any way. If you’re mutants, you ought to be able to look into my mind and see that I’m sincere—”

“We have no telepathic powers,” declared the chubby leader curtly. “If we had, there would be no need for a communications network in the first place. In the second place, your sincerity is not the issue. We have enemies. If you were to fall into their hands—”

“I won’t say a word! Even if they stick splinters under my fingernails, I’ll keep quiet!”

“No. At this stage in our campaign we can take no risks. You’ll have to go. Prepare the temporal centrifuge.”

Four of the little men, led by Mordecai, unveiled a complicated-looking device of the general size and shape of a concrete mixer. Waldemar and Giovanni gently shoved Al toward the machine. It came rapidly to life: dials glowed, indicator needles teetered, loud buzzes and clicks implied readiness.

Al said nervously, “What are you going to do to me?”

Waldemar explained. “This machine will hurl you forward in time. Too bad we have to rip you right out of your temporal matrix, but we’ve no choice. You’ll be well taken care of up ahead, though. No doubt by the twenty-fifth century our kind will have taken over completely. You’ll be the last of the Normals. Practically a living fossil. You’ll love it. You’ll be a walking museum piece.”

“Assuming the machine works,” Giovanni put in maliciously. “We don’t really know if it does, you see.”

Al gaped. They were busily strapping him to a cold copper slab in the heart of the machine. “You don’t even know if it works?“

“Not really,” Waldemar admitted. “Present theory holds that time-travel works only one way—forward. So we haven’t been able to recover any of our test specimens and see how they reacted. Of course, they do vanish when the machine is turned on, so we know they must go somewhere.”

“Oh,” Al said weakly.

He was trussed in thoroughly. Experimental wriggling of his right wrist showed him that. But even if he could get loose, these weird little men would only “freeze” him and put him into the machine again.

His shoulders slumped resignedly. He wondered if anyone would miss him The Friendly Finance Corporation certainly would. But since, in a sense, it was their fault he was in this mess now, he couldn’t get very upset about that. They could always sue his estate for the three hundred dollars he owed them, if his estate was worth that much.

Nobody else was going to mind the disappearance of Albert Miller from the space-time continuum, he thought dourly. His parents were dead, he hadn’t seen his one sister in fifteen years, and the girl he used to know in Topeka was married and at last report had three kids.

Still and all, he rather liked 1969. He wasn’t sure how he would take to the twenty-fifth century—or the twenty-fifth century to him.

“Ready for temporal discharge,” Mordecai sang out.

The chubby leader peered up at Al. “We’re sorry about all this, you understand. But nothing and nobody can be allowed to stand in the way of the Cause.”
“Sure,” Al said. “I understand.”

The concrete-mixer part of the machine began to revolve, bearing Al with it as it built up tempokinetic potential. Momentum increased alarmingly. In the background Al heard an ominous droning sound that grew louder and louder, until it drowned out everything else. His head reeled. The room and its fat little mutants went blurry. He heard a pop! like the sound of a breaking balloon.

It was the rupturing of the space-time continuum. Al Miller went hurtling forward along the fourspace track, head first. He shut his eyes and hoped for the best.

When the dizziness stopped, he found himself sitting in the middle of an impeccably clean, faintly yielding roadway, staring up at the wheels of vehicles swishing by overhead at phenomenal speeds. After a moment or two more, he realized they were not airborne, but simply automobiles racing along an elevated roadway made of some practically invisible substance.

So the temporal centrifuge had worked! Al glanced around. A crowd was collecting. A couple of hundred people had formed a big circle. They were pointing and muttering. Nobody approached closer than fifty or sixty feet.
They weren’t potbellied mutants. Without exception they were all straight-backed six-footers with full heads of hair. The women were tall, too. Men and women alike were dressed in a sort of tunic-like garment made of iridescent material that constantly changed colors.

A gong began to ring, rapidly peaking in volume. Al scrambled to his feet and assayed a tentative smile.

“My name’s Miller. I come from 1969. Would somebody mind telling me what year this is, and—”

He was drowned out by two hundred voices screaming in terror. The crowd stampeded away, dashing madly in every direction, as if he were some ferocious monster. The gong continued to clang loudly. Cars hummed overhead. Suddenly Al saw a squat, beetle-shaped black vehicle coming toward him on the otherwise empty road. The car pulled up half a block away, the top sprang open, and a figure clad in what might have been a diver’s suit—or a spacesuit—stepped out and advanced toward Al.
“Dozzinon murrifar volan,” the armored figure called out.

“No speaka da lingo,” Al replied. “I’m a stranger here.”

To his dismay he saw the other draw something shaped like a weapon and point it at him. Al’s hands shot immediately into the air. A globe of bluish light exuded from the broad muzzle of the gun, hung suspended for a moment, and drifted toward Al. He dodged uneasily to one side, but the globe of light followed him, descended, and wrapped itself completely around him.

It was like being on the inside of a soap bubble. He could see out, though distortedly. He touched the curving side of the globe experimentally; it was resilient and springy to the touch, but his finger did not penetrate.

He noticed with some misgiving that his bubble cage was starting to drift off the ground. It trailed a rope-like extension, which the man in the spacesuit deftly grabbed and knotted to the rear bumper of his car. He drove quickly away—with Al, bobbing in his impenetrable bubble of light, tagging willy-nilly along like a caged tiger, or like a captured Gaul being dragged through the streets of Rome behind a chariot.

He got used to the irregular motion after a while, and relaxed enough to be able to study his surroundings. He was passing through a remarkably antiseptic-looking city, free from refuse and dust. Towering buildings, all bright and spankingly new-looking, shot up everywhere. People goggled at him from the safety of the pedestrian walkways as he jounced past.

After about ten minutes the car halted outside an imposing building whose facade bore the words ISTFAQ BARNOLL. Three men in spacesuits appeared from within to flank Al’s captor as a kind of honor guard. Al was borne within.

He was nudged gently into a small room on the ground floor. The door rolled shut behind him and seemed to join the rest of the wall; no division line was apparent. A moment later the balloon popped open, and just in time, too; the air had been getting quite stale inside it.

Al glanced around. A square window opened in the wall and three grim-faced men peered intently at him from an adjoining cubicle. A voice from a speaker grid above Al’s head said, “Murrifar althrosk?”

“Al Miller, from the twentieth century. And it wasn’t my idea to come here, believe me.”

“Durberal haznik? Quittimar? Dorbfenk?”

Al shrugged. “No parley-voo. Honest, I don’t savvy.”

is three interrogators conferred among themselves—taking what seemed to Al like the needless precaution of switching off the mike to prevent him from overhearing their deliberations. He saw one of the men leave the observation cubicle. When he returned, some five minutes later, he brought with him a tall, gloomy-looking man wearing an impressive spade-shaped beard.

The mike was turned on again. Spadebeard said rumblingly, “How be thou hight?”
“Eh?”

“An thou reck the King’s tongue. I conjure thee speak!”

Al grinned. No doubt they had fetched an expert in ancient languages to talk to him. “Right language, but the wrong time. I’m from the twentieth century. Come forward a ways.”

Spadebeard paused to change mental gears. “A thousand pardons—I mean, sorry. Wrong idiom. Dig me now?”

“I follow you. What year is this?”

“It is 2431. And from whence be you?”

“You don’t quite have it straight, yet. But I’m from 1969.”

“And how come you hither?”

“I wish I knew,” Al said. “I was just trying to phone the loan company, see. . . anyway, I got involved with these little fat guys who wanted to take over the world. Mutants, they said they were. And they decided they had to get rid of me, so they bundled me into their time machine and shot me forward. So I’m here.”
“A spy of the mutated ones, eh?”

“Spy? Who said anything about being a spy? Talk about jumping to conclusions! I’m—”

“You have been sent by Them to wreak mischief among us. No transparent story of yours will deceive us. You are not the first to come to our era, you know. And you will meet the same fate the others met.”

Al shook his head foggily. “Look here, you’re making some big mistake. I’m not a spy for anybody. And I don’t want to get involved in any war between you and the mutants—”

“The war is over. The last of the mutated ones was exterminated fifty years ago.”

“Okay, then. What can you fear from me? Honest, I don’t want to cause any trouble. If the mutants are wiped out, how could my spying help them?”
“No action in time and space is ever absolute. In our fourspace the mutants are eradicated—but they lurk elsewhere, waiting for their chance to enter and spread destruction.”

Al’s brain was swimming. “Okay, let that pass. But I’m not a spy. I just want to be left alone. Let me settle down here somewhere—put me on probation—show me the ropes, stake me to a few credits, or whatever you use for money here. I won’t make any trouble.”

“Your body teems with microorganisms of disease long since extinct in this world. Only the fact that we were able to confine you in a force-bubble almost as soon as you arrived here saved us from a terrible epidemic of ancient diseases.”

“A couple of injections, that’s all, and you can kill any bacteria on me,” Al pleaded. “You’re advanced people. You ought to be able to do a simple thing like that.”

“And then there is the matter of your genetic structure,” Spade- beard continued inexorably. “You bear genes long since eliminated from humanity as undesirable. Permitting you to remain here, breeding uncontrollably, would introduce unutterable confusion. Perhaps you carry latently the same mutant strain that cost humanity so many centuries of bloodshed!”

“No,” Al protested. “Look at me. I’m six feet tall, no potbelly, a full head of hair—”

“The gene is recessive. But it crops up unexpectedly.”

“I solemnly promise to control my breeding,” Al declared. “I won’t run around scattering my genes all over your shiny new world. That’s a promise.”

“Your appeal is rejected,” came the inflexible reply.

Al shrugged. He knew when he was beaten. “Okay,” he said wearily. “I didn’t want to live in your damn century anyway. When’s the execution?”
“Execution?” Spadebeard looked stunned. “The twentieth-century referent—yes, it is! Dove’s whiskers, do you think we would— would actually—”

He couldn’t get the word out. Al supplied it.

“Put me to death?”

Spadebeard’s expression was sickly. He looked ready to retch. Al heard him mutter vehemently to his companions in the observation cubicle: “Gomirn def larriraog! Egfar!”

“Murrifar althrosk,” suggested one of his companions.

Spadebeard, evidently reassured, nodded. He said to Al, “No doubt a barbarian like yourself would expect to be—to be made dead.” Gulping, he went gamely on. “We have no such vindictive intention.”
“Well, what are you going to do to me?”

“Send you across the timeline to a world where your friends the mutated ones reign supreme,” Spadebeard replied. “It’s the least we can do for you, spy.”

The hidden door of his cell puckered open. Another space-suited figure entered, pointed a gun, and discharged a blob of blue light that drifted toward Al and rapidly englobed him He was drawn by the trailing end out into a corridor.

It hadn’t been a very sociable reception, here in the twenty-fifth Century, he thought as he was tugged along the hallway. In a way, he couldn’t blame them. A time-traveler from the past was bound to be laden down with all sorts of germs. They couldn’t risk letting him run around breathing at everybody. No wonder that crowd of onlookers had panicked when he opened his mouth to speak to them.

The other business, though, that of his being a spy for the mutants—he couldn’t figure that out at all. If the mutants had been wiped out fifty years ago, why worry about spies now? At least his species had managed to defeat the underground organization of potbellied little men. That was comforting. He wished he could get back to 1969 if only to snap his fingers in their jowly faces and tell them that all their sinister scheming was going to come to nothing.

Where was he heading now? Spadebeard had said, Across the timeline to a world where the mutated ones reign supreme. Whatever across the timeline meant, Al thought.

He was ushered into an impressive laboratory room and, bubble and all, was thrust into the waiting clasps of something that looked depressingly like an electric chair. Brisk technicians bustled around, throwing switches and checking connections.

Al glanced appealingly at Spadebeard. “Will you tell me what’s going on?”
“It is very difficult to express it in medieval terms,” the linguist said. “The device makes use of dollibar force to transmit you through an inverse dormin vector—do I make myself clear?”
“Not very.”
“Unhelpable. But you understand the concept of parallel continua at least, of course.”
“No.”

“Does it mean anything to you if I say that you’ll be shunted across the spokes of the time-wheel to a totality that is simultaneously parallel and tangent to our fourspace?”

“I get the general idea,” Al said dubiously, though all he was really getting was a headache. “You might as well start shunting me, I suppose.”

Spadebeard nodded and turned to a technician. “Vorstrar althrosk,” he commanded.

“Murrifar.”

The technician grabbed an immense toggle switch with both hands and groaningly dragged it shut. Al heard a brief shine of closing relays. Then darkness surrounded him.

Once again he found himself on a city street. But the pavement was cracked and buckled, and grass blades shot up through the neglected concrete.

A dry voice said, “All right, you. Don’t sprawl there like a ninny. Get up and come along.”

Al peered doubtfully up into the snout of a fair-sized pistol of enormous caliber. It was held by a short, fat, bald-headed man. Four identical companions stood near him with arms folded. They all looked very much like Mordecai, Waldemar, Giovanni, and the rest, except that these mutants were decked out in futuristic-looking costumes bright with flashy gold trim and rocketship insignia.

Al put up his hands. “Where am I?” he asked hesitantly.

“Earth, of course. You’ve just come through a dimensional gateway from the continuum of the Normals. Come along, spy. Into the van.”

“But I’m not a spy,” Al mumbled protestingly, as the five little men bundled him into a blue-and-red car the size of a small yacht. “At least, I’m not spying on you. I mean—”

“Save the explanations for the Overlord,” was the curt instruction.

Al huddled miserably cramped between two vigilant mutants, while the others sat behind him. The van moved seemingly of its own volition, and at an enormous rate. A mutant power, Al thought. After a while he said,

Could you at least tell me what year this is?”

“It is 2431,” snapped the mutant to his left.

“But that’s the same year it was over there.”

“Of course. What did you expect?”

The question floored Al. He was silent for perhaps half a mile more. Since the van had no windows, he stared morosely at his feet. Finally he asked, “How come you aren’t afraid of catching my germs, then? Over back of—ah—the dimensional gateway, they kept me cooped up in a force-field all the time so I wouldn’t contaminate them. But you go right ahead breathing the same air I do.”

“Do you think we fear the germs of a Normal, spy?” sneered the mutant at Al’s right. “You forget that we’re a superior race.” Al nodded. “Yes. I forgot about that.”

The van halted suddenly and the mutant police hustled Al out, past a crowd of peering little fat men and women, and into a colossal dome of a building whose exterior was covered completely with faceted green glass. The effect was one of massive ugliness.

They ushered him into a sort of throne room presided over by a mutant fatter than the rest. The policeman gripping Al’s right arm hissed, “Bow when you enter the presence of the Overlord.”

Al wasn’t minded to argue. He dropped to his knees along with the others. A booming voice from above rang out, “What have you brought me today?”

“A spy, your nobility.”

“Another? Rise, spy.”

Al rose. “Begging your nobility’s pardon, I’d like to put in a word or two on my own behalf—”

“Silence!” the Overlord roared.

Al closed his mouth. The mutant drew himself up to his full height, about five feet one, and said, “The Normals have sent you across the dimensional gulf to spy on us.”

“No, your nobility. They were afraid I’d spy on them, so they tossed me over here. I’m from the year 1969, you see.” Briefly, he explained everything, beginning with the bollixed phone call and ending with his capture by the Overlord’s men a short while ago.

The Overlord looked skeptical. “It is well known that the Normals plan to cross the dimensional gulf from their phantom world to this, the real one, and invade our civilization. You’re but the latest of their advance scouts.

Admit it!”

“Sorry, your nobility, but I’m not. On the other side they told me I was a spy from 1969, and now you say I’m a spy from the other dimension. But I tell you—”
“Enough!” the mutant leader thundered. “Take him away. Place him in custody. We shall decide his fate later!”

Someone else already occupied the cell into which Al was thrust. He was a lanky, sad-faced Normal who slouched forward to shake hands once the door had clanged shut.

“Thurizad manifosk,” he said.

“Sorry. I don’t speak that language,” said Al.

The other grinned. “I understand. All right: greetings. I’m Darren Phelp. Are you a spy too?”

“No, dammit!” Al snapped. Then: “Sorry. Didn’t mean to take it out on you. My name’s Al Miller. Are you a native of this place?”

“Me? Dove’s whiskers, what a sense of humor! Of course I’m not a native! You know as well as I do that there aren’t any Normals left in this fourspace continuum.”

“None at all?”

“Hasn’t been one born here in centuries,” Phelp said. “But you’re just joking, eh? You’re from Baileffod’s outfit, I suppose.”
“Who?”

“Baileffod. Baileflod! You mean you aren’t? Then you must be from Higher Up!” Phelp thrust his hands sideways in some kind of gesture of respect. “Penguin’s paws, Excellency, I apologize. I should have seen at once—”
“No, I’m not from your organization at all,” Al said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, really.”

Phelp smiled cunningly. “Of course, Excellency! I understand completely.”

“Cut that out! Why doesn’t anyone ever believe me? I’m not from Baileffod and I’m not from Higher Up. I come from 1969. Do you hear me, 1969? And that’s the truth.”

Phelp’s eyes went wide. “From the past?“

Al nodded. “I stumbled into the mutants in 1969 and they threw me five centuries ahead to get rid of me. Only when I arrived, I wasn’t welcome, so I was shipped across the dimensional whatzis to here. Everyone thinks I’m a spy, wherever I go. What are you doing here?”

Phelp smiled. “Why, I am a spy.”

“From 2431?”

“Naturally. We have to keep tabs on the mutants somehow. I came through the gateway wearing an invisibility shield, but it popped an ultrone and I vizzed out. They jugged me last month, and I suppose I’m here for keeps.”

Al rubbed thumbs tiredly against his eyeballs. “Wait a minute— how come you speak my language? On the other side they had to get a linguistics expert to talk to me.”

“All spies are trained to talk English, stupid. That’s the language the mutants speak here. In the real world we speak Vorkish, naturally. It’s the language developed by Normals for communication during the Mutant Wars. Your ’linguistics expert’ was probably one of our top spies.”
“And over here the mutants have won?”

“Completely. Three hundred years ago, in this continuum, the mutants developed a two-way time machine that enabled them to go back and forth, eliminating Normal leaders before they were born. Whereas in our world, the real world, two-way time travel is impossible. That’s where the continuum split begins. We Normals fought a grim war of extermination against the mutants in our fourspace and finally wiped them out, despite their superior mental powers, in 2390. Clear?”

“More or less.” Rather less than more, Al added privately. “So there are only mutants in this world, and only Normals in your world.”
“Exactly.”

“And you’re a spy from the other side.”

“You’ve got it now! You see, even though strictly speaking this world is only a phantom, it’s got some pretty real characteristics. For instance, if the mutants killed you here, you’d be dead. Permanently. So there’s a lot of rivalry across the gateway; the mutants are always scheming to invade us, and vice versa. Confidentially, I don’t think anything will ever come of all the scheming.”

“You don’t?”

“Nah,” Phelp said. “The way things stand now, each side has a perfectly good enemy just beyond reach. But actually going to war would be messy, while relaxing our guard and slipping into peace would foul up our economy. So we keep sending spies back and forth, and prepare for war. It’s a nice system, except when you happen to get caught, like me.”
“What’ll happen to you?”

Phelp shrugged. “They may let me rot here for a few decades. Or they might decide to condition me and send me back as a spy for them. Tiger tails, who knows?”

“Would you change sides like that?”

“I wouldn’t have any choice—not after I was conditioned,” Phelp said. “But I don’t worry much about it. It’s a risk I knew about when I signed on for spy duty.”

Al shuddered. It was beyond him how someone could voluntarily let himself get involved in this game of dimension-shifting and mutant-battling. But it takes all sorts to make a continuum, he decided.

Half an hour later three rotund mutant police came to fetch him. They marched him downstairs and into a bare, ugly little room where a battery of interrogators quizzed him for better than an hour. He stuck to his story, throughout everything, until at last they indicated they were through with him. He spent the next two hours in a drafty cell, by himself, until finally a gaudily robed mutant unlocked the door and said, “The Overlord wishes to see you.”

The Overlord looked worried. He leaned forward on his throne, fist digging into his fleshy chin. In his booming voice—Al realized suddenly that it was artificially amplified—the Overlord rumbled, “Miller, you’re a problem.”
“I’m sorry your nobil—”

“Quiet! I’ll do the talking.”

Al did not reply.

The Overlord went on, “We’ve checked your story inside and out, and confirmed it with one of our spies on the other side of the gate. You really are from 1969, or thereabouts. What can we do with you? Generally speaking, when we catch a Normal snooping around here, we psychocondition him and send him back across the gateway to spy for us. But we can’t do that to you, because you don’t belong on the other side, and they’ve already tossed you out once. On the other hand, we can’t keep you here, maintaining you forever at state expense. And it wouldn’t be civilized to kill you, would it?”

“No, your nobil—”

“Silence!“

Al gulped. The Overlord glowered at him and continued thinking out loud. “I suppose we could perform experiments on you, though. You must be a walking laboratory of Normal microorganisms that we could synthesize and fire through the gateway when we invade their fourspace. Yes, by the Grome, then you’d be useful to our cause! Zechariah?”

“Yes, Nobility?” A ribbon-bedecked guardsman snapped to attention.

“Take this Normal to the Biological Laboratories for examination. I’ll have further instructions as soon as—”

Al heard a peculiar whanging noise from the back of the throne room. The Overlord appeared to freeze on his throne. Turning, Al saw a band of determined-looking Normals come bursting in, led by Darren Phelp.
“There you are!” Phelp cried. “I’ve been looking all over for you!” He was waving a peculiar needle-nozzled gun.
“What’s going on?” Al asked.

Phelp grinned. “The Invasion! It came, after all! Our troops are pouring through the gateway armed with these freezer guns. They immobilize any mutant who gets in the way of the field.”

“When—when did all this happen?”

“It started two hours ago. We’ve captured the entire city! Come on, will you? Whiskers, there’s no time to waste!”

“Where am I supposed to go?”

Phelp smiled. “To the nearest dimensional lab, of course. We’re going to send you back home.”

A dozen triumphant Normals stood in a tense knot around Al in the laboratory. From outside came the sound of jubilant singing. The Invasion was a howling success.

As Phelp had explained it, the victory was due to the recent invention of a kind of time-barrier projector. The projector had cut off all contact between the mutant world and its own future, preventing time-traveling mutant scouts from getting back to 2431 with news of the Invasion. Thus two-way travel, the great mutant advantage, was nullified, and the success of the surprise attack was made possible.

Al listened to this explanation with minimal interest. He barely understood every third word, and, in any event, his main concern was in getting home.
He was strapped into a streamlined and much modified version of the temporal centrifuge that had originally hurled him into 2431. Phelp explained things to him.

“You see here, we set the machine for 1969. What day was it when you left?”

“Ah—October ten. Around three thirty in the afternoon.”

“Make the setting, Frozz.” Phelp nodded. “You’ll be shunted back along the time-line. Of course, you’ll land in this continuum, since in our world there’s no such thing as pastward time travel. But once you reach your own time, all you do is activate this small transdimensional generator, and you’ll be hurled across safe and sound into the very day you left, in your own fourspace.”

“You can’t know how much I appreciate all this,” Al said warmly. He felt a pleasant glow of love for all mankind, for the first time since his unhappy phone call. At last someone was taking sympathetic interest in his plight.

At last, he was on his way home, back to the relative sanity of 1969, where he could start forgetting this entire nightmarish jaunt. Mutants and Normals and spies and time machines—

“You’d better get going,” Phelp said. “We have to get the occupation under way here.”
“Sure,” Al agreed. “Don’t let me hold you up. I can’t wait to get going—no offense intended.”

“And remember—soon as your surroundings look familiar, jab the activator button on this generator. Otherwise you’ll slither into an interspace where we couldn’t answer for the consequences.”

Al nodded tensely. “I won’t forget.”

“I hope not. Ready?”

“Ready.”

Someone threw a switch. Al began to spin. He heard the popping sound that was the rupturing of the temporal matrix. Like a cork shot from a champagne bottle, Al arched out backward through time, heading for 1969.

He woke in his own room on Twenty-third Street. His head hurt. His mind was full of phrases like temporal centrifuge and transdimensional generator.

He picked himself off the floor and rubbed his head.

Wow, he thought. It must have been a sudden fainting spell. And now his head was full of nonsense.

Going to the sideboard, he pulled out the half-empty bourbon bottle and measured off a few fingers’ worth. After the drink, his nerves felt steadier.

His mind was still cluttered with inexplicable thoughts and images.

inister little fat men and complex machines, gleaming roadways and men in fancy tunics.

A bad dream, he thought.

Then he remembered. It wasn’t any dream. He had actually taken the round trip into 2431, returning by way of some other continuum. He had pressed the generator button at the proper time, and now here he was, safe and sound. No longer the football of a bunch of different factions. Home in his own snug little fourspace, or whatever it was.

He frowned. He recalled that Mordecai had severed the telephone wire. But the phone looked intact now. Maybe it had been fixed while he was gone. He picked it up. Unless he got that loan extension today, he was cooked.

There was no need for him to look up the number of the Friendly Finance Corporation; he knew it well enough. He began to dial. MUrray Hill 4—
The receiver clicked queerly. A voice said, “Come in, Operator Nine.

perator Nine, do you read me?”

Al’s jaw sagged in horror. This is where I came in, he thought wildly.

He struggled to put down the phone.

ut his muscles would not respond. It would be easier to bend the sun in its orbit than to break the path of the continuum. He heard his own voice say, “I didn’t want the operator. There must be something wrong with my phone if—”

“Just a minute. Who are you?”

Al fought to break the contact. But he was hemmed away in a small corner of his mind while his voice went on, “I ought to ask you that. What are you doing on the other end of my phone, anyway? I hadn’t even finished dialing. I got as far as MU-4 and—”

Inwardly Al wanted to scream.

No scream would come. In this continuum the past (his future) was immutable. He was caught on the track, and there was no escape. None whatever. And, he realized glumly, there never would be.

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Farmer in the Sky (full text) by Robert Heinlein

“Farmer in the Sky” is another one of Heinlein’s excellent novels. It is set in the “Heinlein solar system” which means Venus and Mars have life. It is about a family trying to be homesteaders on Ganymede as it orbits Jupiter. The descriptions of the sky from the surface of Ganymede are some of the best parts of this well written and engaging story.

Farmer in the sky

1. Earth

Our troop had been up in the High Sierras that day and we were late getting back. We had taken off from the camp field on time but Traffic Control swung us ‘way east to avoid some weather. I didn’t like it; Dad usually won’t eat if I’m not home.

Besides that, I had had a new boy shoved off on me as co-pilot; my usual co-pilot and assistant patrol leader was sick, so our Scoutmaster, Mr. Kinski, gave me this twerp. Mr. Kinski rode in the other copter with the Cougar Patrol.

“Why don’t you put on some speed?” the twerp wanted to know.

“Ever hear of traffic regulations?” I asked him.

The copter was on slave-automatic, controlled from the ground, and was cruising slowly, down a freight lane they had stuck us in.

The twerp laughed. “You can always have an emergency. Here–I’ll show you.” He switched on the mike. “Dog Fox Eight Three, calling traffic–“

I switched it off, then switched on again when Traffic answered and told them that we had called by mistake. The twerp looked disgusted. “Mother’s good little boy!” he said in sticky sweet tones.

That was just the wrong thing to say to me. “Go aft,” I told him, “and tell Slats Keifer to come up here.” “Why? He’s not a pilot.”

“Neither are you, for my money. But he weighs what you do and I want to keep the crate trimmed.” He settled back in his seat. “Old Man Kinski assigned me as co-pilot; here I stay.”

I counted to ten and let it ride. The pilot compartment of a ship in the air is no place for a fight. We had nothing more to say to each other until I put her down on North Diego Platform and cut the tip jets.

I was last one out, of course. Mr, Kinski was waiting there for us but I didn’t see him; all I saw was the twerp. I grabbed him by the shoulder. “Want to repeat that crack now?” I asked him.

Mr. Kinski popped up out of nowhere, stepped between us and said, “Bill! Bill! What’s the meaning of this?” “I–” I started to say that I was going to slap the twerp loose from his teeth, but I thought better of it

Mr. Kinski turned to the twerp. “What happened, Jones?” “I didn’t do anything! Ask anybody.”

I was about to say that he could tell that to the Pilots’ Board. Insubordination in the air is a serious matter. But that “Ask anybody” stopped me. Nobody else had seen or heard anything.

Mr. Kinski looked at each of us, then said, “Muster your patrol and dismiss them, Bill.” So I did and went on home.

All in all, I was tired and jumpy by the time I got home. I had listened to the news on the way home; it wasn’t good. The ration had been cut another ten calories–which made me still hungrier and reminded me that I hadn’t been home to get Dad’s supper. The newscaster went on to say that the Spaceship Mayflower had finally been commissioned and that the rolls were now opened for emigrants. Pretty lucky for them, I thought. No short rations. No twerps like Jones.

And a brand new planet.

George–my father, that is–was sitting in the apartment, looking over some papers. “Howdy, George,” I said to him, “eaten yet?” “Hello, Bill. No.”

“I’ll have supper ready right away.” I went into the pantry and could see that he hadn’t eaten lunch, either. I decided to fix him a plus meal.

I grabbed two Syntho-Steaks out of the freezer and slapped them in quickthaw, added a big Idaho baked potato for Dad and a smaller one for me, then dug out a package of salad and let it warm naturally.

By the time I had poured boiling water over two soup cubes and over coffee powder the steaks were ready for the broiler. I transferred them, letting it cycle at medium rare, and stepped up the gain on the quickthaw so that the spuds would be ready when the steaks were–then back to the freezer for a couple of icekreem cake slices for dessert.

The spuds were ready. I took a quick look at my ration accounts, decided we could afford it, and set out a couple of pats of butterine for them. The

broiler was ringing; I removed the steaks, set everything out, and switched on the candles, just as Anne would have done.

“Come and get it!” I yelled and turned back to enter the calorie and point score on each item from the wrappers, then shoved the wrappers in the incinerator. That way you never get your accounts fouled up.

Dad sat down as I finished. Elapsed time from scratch, two minutes and twenty seconds–there’s nothing hard about cooking; I don’t see why women make such a fuss about it. No system, probably.

Dad sniffed the steaks and grinned. “Oh boy! Bill, you’ll bankrupt us.”

“You let me worry,” I said. I’m still plus for this quarter.” Then I frowned. “But I won’t be, next quarter, unless they quit cutting the ration.” Dad stopped with a piece of steak on its way to his mouth. “Again?”

“Again. Look, George, I don’t get it. This was a good crop year and they started operating the Montana yeast plant besides.” “You follow all the commissary news, don’t you, Bill?”

“Naturally.”

“Did you notice the results of the Chinese census as well? Try it on your slide rule.”

I knew what he meant–and the steak suddenly tasted like old rubber. What’s the use in being careful if somebody on the other side of the globe is going to spoil your try? “Those darned Chinese ought to quit raising babies and start raising food!”

“Share and share alike, Bill.”

“But–” I shut up. George was right, he usually is, but somehow it didn’t seem fair. “Did you hear about the Mayflower?” I asked to change the subject.

“What about the Mayflower?” Dad’s voice was suddenly cautious, which surprised me. Since Anne died –Anne was my mother–George and I have been about as close as two people can be.

“Why, she was commissioned, that’s all. They’ve started picking emigrants.” “So?” There was that cautious tone again. “What did you do today?”

“Nothing much. We hiked about five miles north of camp and Mr. Kinski put some of the kids through tests. I saw a mountain lion.” “Really? I thought they were all gone.”

“Well, I thought I saw one.”

“Then you probably did. What else?”

I hesitated, then told him about this twerp Jones. “He’s not even a member of our troop. How does he get that way, interfering with my piloting?” “You did right, Bill. Sounds as if this twerp Jones, as you call him, was too young to be trusted with a pilot’s license.”

“Matter of fact, he’s a year older than I am.”

“In my day you had to be sixteen before you could even go up for your license.” “Times change, George.”

“So they do. So they do.”

Dad suddenly looked sad and I knew he was thinking about Anne. I hastily said, “Old enough or not, how does an insect like Jones get by the temperament-stability test?”

“Psycho tests aren’t perfect, Bill. Neither are people.” Dad sat back and lit his pipe. “Want me to clean up tonight?”

“No, thanks.” He always asked; I always turned him down. Dad is absent-minded; he lets ration points get into the incinerator. When I salvage, I really salvage. “Feel like a game of cribbage?”

“I’ll beat the pants off you.”

“You and who else?” I salvaged the garbage, burned the dishes, followed him into the living room. He was getting out the board and cards.

His mind wasn’t really on the game. I was around the corner and ready to peg out before he was really under way. Finally he put down his cards and looked square at me. “Son–“

“Huh? I mean, ‘Yes, George?'”

“I’ve decided to emigrate in the Mayflower.“

I knocked over the cribbage board. I picked it up, eased my throttle, and tried to fly right. “That’s swell! When do we leave?” Dad puffed furiously on his pipe. “That’s the point, Bill. You’re not going.”

I couldn’t say anything. Dad had never done anything like this to me before. I sat there, working my mouth like a fish. Finally I managed, “Dad, you’re joking.”

“No, I’m not, Son.”

“But why? Answer me that one question: why?” “Now see here, Son–“

“Call me ‘Bill’.”

“Okay, Bill. It’s one thing for me to decide to take my chances with colonial life but I’ve got no right to get you off to a bad start. You’ve got to finish your education. There are no decent schools on Ganymede. You get your education, then when you’re grown, if you want to emigrate, that’s your business.”

“That’s the reason? That’s the only reason? To go to school?“

“Yes. You stay here and take your degree. I’d like to see you take your doctor’s degree as well. Then, if you want to, you can join me. You won’t have missed your chance; applicants with close relatives there have priority.”

“No!”

Dad looked stubborn.

So did I, I guess. “George, I’m telling you, if you leave me behind, it won’t do any good. I won’t go to school. I can pass the exams for third class citizenship right now. Then I can get a work permit and–“

He cut me short. “You won’t need a work permit. I’m leaving you well provided for, Bill. You’ll–“

‘Well provided for’! Do you think I’d touch a credit of yours if you go away and leave me? I’ll live on my student’s allowance until I pass the exams and get my work card.”

“Bring your voice down, Sonl” He went on, “You’re proud of being a Scout, aren’t you?”

“Well–yes.”

“I seem to remember that Scouts are supposed to be obedient. And courteous, too.” That one was pretty hot over the plate. I had to think about it. “George–“

“Yes, Bill?”

“If I was rude, I’m sorry. But the Scout Law wasn’t thought up to make it easy to push a Scout around. As long as I’m living in your home I’ll do what you say. But if you walk out on me, you don’t have any more claim on me. Isn’t that fair?”

“Be reasonable, Son. I’m doing it for your own good.”

“Don’t change the subject, George. Is that fair or isn’t it? If you go hundreds of millions of miles away, how can you expect to run my life after you’re gone? I’ll be on my own.”

“I’ll still be your father.”

“Fathers and sons should stick together. As I recall, the fathers that came over in the original Mayflower brought their kids with them.” “This is different.”

“How?”

“It’s further, incredibly further–and dangerous.”

“So was that move dangerous–half the Plymouth Rock colony died the first winter; everybody knows that. And distance doesn’t mean anything; what matters is how long it takes. If I had had to walk back this afternoon, I’d still be hiking next month. It took the Pilgrims sixty-three days to cross the Atlantic or so they taught me in school–but this afternoon the caster said that the Mayflower–will reach Ganymede in sixty days. That makes Ganymede closer than London was to Plymouth Rock.”

Dad stood up and knocked out his pipe. “I’m not going to argue, Son.”

“And I’m not, either.” I took a deep breath. I shouldn’t have said the next thing I did say, but I was mad. I’d never been treated this way before and I guess I wanted to hurt back. “But I can tell you this: you’re not the only one who is sick of short rations. If you think I’m going to stay here while you’re eating high on the hog out in the colonies, then you had better think about it again. I thought we were partners.”

That last was the meanest part of it and I should have been ashamed. That was what he had said to me the day after Anne died, and that was the way it had always been.

The minute I said it I knew why George had to emigrate and I knew it didn’t have anything to do with ration points. But I didn’t know how to unsay it. Dad stared. Then he said slowly, “You think that’s how it is? That I want to go away so I can quit skipping lunch to save ration points?”

“What else?” I answered. I was stuck in a groove; I didn’t know what to say. “Hmm … well, if you believe that, Bill, there is nothing I can say. I think I’ll turn in.”

I went to my room, feeling all mixed up inside. I wanted Mother around so bad I could taste it and I knew that George felt the same way. She would never have let us reach the point where we were actually shouting at each other–at least I had shouted. Besides that, the partnership was busted up, it would never be the same.

I felt better after a shower and a long massage. I knew that the partnership couldn’t really be busted up. In the long run, when George saw that I had to go, he wouldn’t let college stand in the way. I was sure of that–well, pretty sure at least.

I began to think about Ganymede.

Ganymede!

Why, I had never even been out to the Moon!

There was a boy in my class who had been born on the Moon. His parents were still there; he had been sent home for schooling. He gave himself airs as a deep-space man. But Luna was less than a quarter of a million miles away; you could practically throw rocks at it. It wasn’t self-supporting; Moon Colony had the same rations as Earth. It was really part of Earth. But Ganymede!

Let’s see–Jupiter was half a billion miles away, more or less, depending on the time of year. What was the tiny distance to the Moon compared with a jump like that?

Suddenly I couldn’t remember whether Ganymede was Jupiter’s third moon or fourth. And I just had to know. There was a book out in the living room that would tell and more besides–Ellsworth Smith’s A Tour of Earth’s Colonies. I went out to get it.

Dad hadn’t gone to bed. He was sitting up, reading. I said, “Oh–hello,” and went to look for the book. He nodded and went on reading. The book wasn’t where it should have been. I looked around and Dad said, “What are you looking for, Bill?”

Then I saw that he was reading it. I said, “Oh, nothing. I didn’t know you were using it.” “This?” He held it up.

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll find something else.” “Take it. I’m through with it.”

“Well … All right-thanks.” I took it and turned away. “Just a minute, Bill.”

I waited. “I’ve come to a decision, Bill. I’m not going.”

“Huh?”

“You were right about us being partners. My place is here.”

“Yes, but– Look, George, I’m sorry I said what I did about rations. I know that’s not the reason. The reason is–well, you’ve got to go.” I wanted to tell him I knew the reason was Anne, but if I said Anne’s name out loud I was afraid I’d bawl.

“You mean that you are willing to stay behind–and go to school?”

“Uh–” I wasn’t quite ready to say that; I was dead set on going myself. “I didn’t quite mean that. I meant that I know why you want to go, why you’ve

got to go.”

“Hmm …” He lit his pipe, making a long business of it. “I see. Or maybe I don’t” Then he added, “Let’s put it this way, Bill. The partnership stands. Either we both go, or we both stay–unless you decide of your own volition that you will stay to get your degree and join me out there later. Is that fair?”

“Huh? Oh, yes!”

“So let’s talk about it later.”

I said goodnight and ducked into my room quick. William, my boy, I told myself, it’s practically in the bag–if you can just keep from getting soft- hearted and agreeing to a split up. I crawled into bed and opened the book.

Ganymede was Jupiter-III; I should have remembered that. It was bigger than Mercury, much bigger than the Moon, a respectable planet, even if it was a moon. The surface gravity was one third of Earth-normal; I would weigh about forty-five pounds there. First contacted in 1985–which I knew– and its atmosphere project started in 1998 and had been running ever since.

There was a stereo in the book of Jupiter as seen from Ganymede–round as an apple, ruddy orange, and squashed on both poles. And big as all outdoors. Beautiful. I fell asleep staring at it.

Dad and I didn’t get a chance to talk for the next three days as my geography class spent that time in Antarctica. I came back with a frostbitten nose and some swell pix of penguins–and some revised ideas. I had had time to think.

Dad had fouled up the account book as usual but he had remembered to save the wrappers and it didn’t take me long to straighten things out. After dinner I let him beat me two games, then said, “Look, George–“

“Yes?”

“You know what we were talking about?” “Well, yes.”

“It’s this way. I’m under age; I can’t go if you won’t let me. Seems to me you ought to, but if you don’t, I won’t quit school. In any case, you ought to go– you need to go–you know why. I’m asking you to think it over and take me along, but I’m not going to be a baby about it.”

Dad almost looked embarrassed. “That’s quite a speech, Son. You mean you’re willing to let me go, you stay here and go to school, and not make a fuss about it?”

“Well, not ‘willing’-but I’d put up with it.”

“Thanks.” Dad fumbled in his pouch and pulled out a flat photo. “Take a look at this.” “What is it?”

“Your file copy of your application for emigration. I submitted it two days ago.”

2. The Green-Eyed Monster

I wasn’t much good in school for the next few days. Dad cautioned me not to get worked up over it; they hadn’t approved our applications as yet. “You know, Bill, ten times as many people apply as can possibly go.”

“But most of them want to go to Venus or Mars. Ganymede is too far away; that scares the sissies out.”

“I wasn’t talking about applications for all the colonies; I meant applications for Ganymede, specifically for this first trip of the Mayflower“

“Even so, you can’t scare me. Only about one in ten can qualify. That’s the way it’s always been.”

Dad agreed. He said that this was the first time in history that some effort was being made to select the best stock for colonization instead of using colonies as dumping grounds for misfits and criminals and failures. Then he added, “But look, Bill, what gives you the notion that you and I can necessarily qualify? Neither one of us is a superman,”

That rocked me back on my heels. The idea that we might not be good enough hadn’t occurred to me. “George, they couldn’t turn us down!“

“They could and they might.”

“But how? They need engineers out there and you’re tops. Me–I’m not a genius but I do all right in school. We’re both healthy and we don’t have any

bad mutations; we aren’t color blind or bleeders or anything like that.”

“No bad mutations that we know of,” Dad answered. “However, I agree that we seem to have done a fair job in picking our grandparents. I wasn’t thinking of anything as obvious as that.”

“Well, what, then? What could they possibly get us on?”

He fiddled with his pipe the way he always does when he doesn’t want to answer right away. “Bill, when I pick a steel alloy for a job, it’s not enough to say, ‘Well, it’s a nice shiny piece of metal; let’s use it.’ No, I take into account a list of tests as long as your arm that tells me all about that alloy, what it’s good for and just what I can expect it to do in the particular circumstances I intend to use it. Now if you had to pick people for a tough job of colonizing, what would you look for?”

“Uh … I don’t know.”

“Neither do I. I’m not a social psychometrician. But to say that they want healthy people with fair educations is like saying that I want steel rather than wood for a job. It doesn’t tell what sort of steel. Or it might not be steel that was needed; it might be titanium alloy. So don’t get your hopes too high.”

“But–well, look, what can we do about it?”

“Nothing. If we don’t get picked, then tell yourself that you are a darn good grade of steel and that it’s no fault of yours that they wanted magnesium.” It was all very well to look at it that way, but it worried me. I didn’t let it show at school, though. I had already let everybody know that we had put in for

Ganymede; if we missed–well, it would be sort of embarrassing.

My best friend, Duck Miller, was all excited about it and was determined to go, too. “But how can you?” I asked. “Do your folks want to go?”

“I already looked into that,” Duck answered. “All I have to have is a grown person as a sponsor, a guardian. Now if you can tease your old man into signing for me, it’s in the bag.”

“But what will your father say?”

“He won’t care. He’s always telling me that when he was my age he was earning his own living. He says a boy should be self reliant. Now how about it? Will you speak to your old man about it–tonight?”

I said I would and I did. Dad didn’t say anything for a moment, then he asked: “You really want Duck with you?” “Sure I do. He’s my best friend.”

“What does his father say?”

“He hasn’t asked him yet,” and then I explained how Mr. Miller felt about it “So?” said Dad. “Then let’s wait and see what Mr. Miller says.”

“Well–look, George, does that mean that you’ll sign for Duck if his father says it’s okay?” “I meant what I said, Bill. Let’s wait. The problem may solve itself.”

I said, “Oh well, maybe Mr. and Mrs. Miller will decide to put in for it, too, after Duck gets them stirred up.”

Dad just cocked an eyebrow at me. “Mr. Miller has, shall we say, numerous business interests here. I think it would be easier to jack up one corner of Boulder Dam than to get him to give them up.”

“You’re giving up your business.”

“Not my business, my professional practice. But I’m not giving up my profession; I’m taking it with me.” I saw Duck at school the next day and asked him what his father had said.

“Forget it,” he told me. “The deal is off.” “Huh?”

“My old man says that nobody but an utter idiot would even think of going out to Ganymede. He says that Earth is the only planet in the system fit to live on and that if the government wasn’t loaded up with a bunch of starry-eyed dreamers we would quit pouring money down a rat hole trying to turn a bunch of bare rocks in the sky into green pastures. He says the whole enterprise is doomed.”

“You didn’t think so yesterday.”

“That was before I got the straight dope. You know what? My old man is going to take me into partnership. Just as soon as I’m through college he’s going to start breaking me into the management end. He says he didn’t tell me before because he wanted me to learn self reliance and initiative, but he thought it was time I knew about it. What do you think of that?”

“Why, that’s pretty nice, I suppose. But what’s this about the ‘enterprise being doomed’?”

‘Nice’, he calls it! Well, my old man says that it is an absolute impossibility to keep a permanent colony on Ganymede. It’s a perilous toehold, artificially maintained–those were his exact words–and someday the gadgets will bust and the whole colony will be wiped out, every man jack, and then we will quit trying to go against nature.”

We didn’t talk any more then as we had to go to class. I told Dad about it that night. “What do you think, George?” “Well, there is something in what he says–“

“Huh?”

“Don’t jump the gun. If everything went sour on Ganymede at once and we didn’t have the means to fix it, it would revert to the state we found it in. But that’s not the whole answer. People have a funny habit of taking as ‘natural’ whatever they are used to–but there hasn’t been any ‘natural’ environment, the way they mean it, since men climbed down out of trees. Bill, how many people are there in California?”

“Fifty-five, sixty million.”

“Did you know that the first four colonies here starved to death? ‘S truthl How is it that fifty-odd million can live here and not starve? Barring short rations, of course.”

He answered it himself. “We’ve got four atomic power plants along the coast just to turn sea water into fresh water. We use every drop of the Colorado River and every foot of snow that falls on the Sierras. And we use a million other gadgets.

If those gadgets went bad–say a really big earthquake knocked out all four atomic plants–the country would go back to desert. I doubt if we could evacuate that many people before most of them died from thirst. Yet I don’t think Mr. Miller is lying awake nights worrying about it. He regards Southern California as a good ‘natural’ environment.

“Depend on it, Bill. Wherever Man has mass and energy to work with and enough savvy to know how to manipulate them, he can create any environment he needs.”

I didn’t see much of Duck after that. About then we got our preliminary notices to take tests for eligibility for the Ganymede colony and that had us pretty busy. Besides, Duck seemed different–or maybe it was me. I had the trip on my mind and he didn’t want to talk about it. Or if he did, he’d make some crack that rubbed me the wrong way.

Dad wouldn’t let me quit school while it was still uncertain as to whether or not we would qualify, but I was out a lot, taking tests. There was the usual physical examination, of course, with some added wrinkles. A g test, for example–I could take up to eight gravities before I blacked out, the test showed. And a test for low-pressure tolerance and hemorrhaging–they didn’t want people who ran to red noses and varicose veins. There were lots more.

But we passed them. Then came the psycho tests which were a lot worse because you never knew what was expected of you and half the time you

didn’t even know you were being tested. It started off with hypno-analysis, which really puts a fellow at a disadvantage. How do you know what you’ve blabbed while they’ve got you asleep?

Once I sat around endlessly waiting for a psychiatrist to get around to seeing me. There were a couple of clerks there; when I came in one of them dug my medical and psycho record out of file and laid it on a desk. Then the other one, a red-headed guy with a permanent sneer, said, “Okay, Shorty, sit down on that bench and wait.”

After quite a while the redhead picked up my folder and started to read it. Presently he snickered and turned to the other clerk and said, “Hey, Ned– get a load of this!”

The other one read what he was pointing to and seemed to think it was funny, too. I could see they were watching me and I pretended not to pay any attention.

The second clerk went back to his desk, but presently the redhead went over to him, carrying my folder, and read aloud to him, but in such a low voice that I couldn’t catch many of the words. What I did catch made me squirm.

When he had finished the redhead looked right at me and laughed. I stood up and said, “What’s so funny?” He said, “None of your business, Shorty. Sit down.”

I walked over and said, “Let me see that.”

The second clerk stuffed it into a drawer of his desk. The redhead said, “Mamma’s boy wants to see it, Ned. Why don’t you give it to him?” “He doesn’t really want to see it,” the other one said.

“No, I guess not.” The redhead laughed again and added, “And to think he wants to be a big bold colonist.”

The other one looked at me while chewing a thumbnail and said, “I don’t think that’s so funny. They could take him along to cook.” This seemed to convulse the redhead. “I’ll bet he looks cute in an apron.”

A year earlier I would have poked him, even though he outweighed me and outreached me. That “Mamma’s boy” remark made me forget all about wanting to go to Ganymede; I just wanted to wipe the silly smirk off his face.

But I didn’t do anything. I don’t know why; maybe it was from riding herd on that wild bunch of galoots, the Yucca Patrol–Mr. Kinski says that anybody who can’t keep order without using his fists can’t be a patrol leader under him.

Anyhow I just walked around the end of the desk and tried to open the drawer. It was locked. I looked at them; they were both grinning, but I wasn’t. “I had an appointment for thirteen o’clock,” I said. “Since the doctor isn’t here, you can tell him I’ll phone for another appointment.” And I turned on my heel and left.

I went home and told George about it. He just said he hoped I hadn’t hurt my chances.

I never did get another appointment. You know what? They weren’t clerks at all; they were psycho-metricians and there was a camera and a mike on me the whole time.

Finally George and I got notices saying that we were qualified and had been posted for the Mayflower, “subject to compliance with all requirements.”

That night I didn’t worry about ration points; I really set us out a feast.

There was a booklet of the requirements mentioned. “Satisfy all debts”–that didn’t worry me; aside from a half credit I owed Slats Keifer I didn’t have any. “Post an appearance bond”–George would take care of that “Conclude any action before any court of superior jurisdiction”–I had never been in court except the Court of Honor. There were a flock of other things, but George would handle them.

I found some fine print that worried me. “George,” I said, “It says here that emigration is limited to families with children.”

He looked up. “Well, aren’t we such a family? If you don’t mind being classified as a child.” “Oh. I suppose so. I thought it meant a married couple and kids.”

“Don’t give it a thought.”

Privately I wondered if Dad knew what he was talking about.

We were busy with innoculations and blood typing and immunizations and I hardly got to school at all. When I wasn’t being stuck or being bled, I was sick with the last thing they had done to me. Finally we had to have our whole medical history tattooed on us–identity number, Rh factor, blood type, coag time, diseases you had had, natural immunities and inoculations. The girls and the women usually had it done in invisible ink that showed up only under infra-red light, or else they put it on the soles of their feet.

They asked me where I wanted it, the soles of my feet? I said no, I don’t want to be crippled up; I had too much to do. We compromised on putting it where I sit down and then I ate standing up for a couple of days. It seemed a good place, private anyhow. But I had to use a mirror to see it.

Time was getting short; we were supposed to be at Mojave Space Port on 26 June, just two weeks away. It was high time I was picking out what to take. The allowance was fifty-seven and six-tenths pounds per person and had not been announced until all our body weights had been taken.

The booklet had said, “Close your terrestrial affairs as if you were dying.” That’s easy to say. But when you die, you can’t take it with you, while here we could– fifty-seven-odd pounds of it.

The question was: what fifty-seven pounds?

My silkworms I turned over to the school biology lab and the same for the snakes. Duck wanted my aquarium but I wouldn’t let him; twice he’s had fish and twice he’s let them die. I split them between two fellows in the troop who already had fish. The birds I gave to Mrs. Fishbein on our deck. I didn’t have a cat or a dog; George says ninety floors up is no place to keep junior citizens–that’s what he calls them.

I was cleaning up the mess when George came in. “Well,” he says, “first time I’ve been able to come into your room without a gas mask.” I skipped it; George talks like that. “I still don’t know what to do,” I said, pointing at the heap on my bed.

“Microfilmed everything you can?”

“Yes, everything but this picture.” It was a cabinet stereo of Anne, weighing about a pound and nine ounces. “Keep that, of course. Face it, Bill, you’ve got to travel light. We’re pioneers.”

“I don’t know what to throw out.”

I guess I looked glum for he said, “Quit feeling sorry for yourself. Me, I’ve got to give up this—and that’s tough, believe me.” He held out his pipe. “Why?” I asked. “A pipe doesn’t weigh much.”

“Because they aren’t raising tobacco on Ganymede and they aren’t importing any.”

“Oh. Look, George, I could just about make it if it weren’t for my accordion. But it licks me.” “Hmm … Have you considered listing it as a cultural item?”

“Huh?”

“Read the fine print. Approved cultural items are not covered by the personal weight schedule. They are charged to the colony.” It had never occurred to me that I might have anything that would qualify. “They wouldn’t let me get away with it, George!”

“Can’t rule you out for trying. Don’t be a defeatist.”

So two days later I was up before the cultural and scientific board, trying to prove that I was an asset. I knocked out Turkey in the Straw, Nehru’s Opus 81, and the introduction to Morgenstern’s Dawn of the 22nd Century, as arranged for squeeze boxes. I gave them The Green Hills of Earth for an encore.

They asked me if I liked to play for other people and told me politely that I would be informed as to the decision of the board … and about a week later I got a letter directing me to turn my accordion over to the Supply Office, Hayward Field. I was in, I was a “cultural asset”!

Four days before blast-off Dad came home early – he had been closing his office–and asked me if we could have something special for dinner; we were having guests. I said I supposed so; my accounts showed that we would have rations to turn back.

He seemed embarrassed. “Son–” “Huh? Yes, George?”

“You know that item in the rules about families?” “Uh, yes.”

“Well, you were right about it, but I was holding out on you and now I’ve got to confess. I’m getting married tomorrow.” There was a sort of roaring in my ears. Dad couldn’t have surprised me more if he had slapped me.

I couldn’t say anything. I just stood there, looking at him. Finally I managed to get out, “But, George, you can’t do that!” “Why not, Son?”

“How about Anne?” “Anne is dead.”

“But– But–” I couldn’t say anything more; I ducked into my room and locked myself in. I lay on the bed, trying to think. Presently I heard Dad trying the latch. Then he tapped on the door and said, “Bill?”

I didn’t answer. After a while he went away. I lay there a while longer. I guess I bawled, but I wasn’t bawling over the trouble with Dad. It seemed the way it did the day Anne died, when I couldn’t get it through my head that I wouldn’t ever see her again. Wouldn’t ever see her smile at me again and hear her say, “Stand tall, Billy.”

And I would stand tall and she would look proud and pat my arm.

How could George do it? How could he bring some other woman into Anne’s home?

I got up and had a look at myself in the mirror and then went in and set my ‘fresher for a needle shower and a hard massage. I felt better afterwards, except that I still had a sick feeling in my stomach. The ‘fresher blew me off and dusted me and sighed to a stop. Through the sound it seemed to me I could hear Anne speaking to me, but that must have been in my head.

She was saying, “Stand tall, Son.” I got dressed again and went out.

Dad was messing around with dinner and I do mean messing. He had burned his thumb on the shortwave, don’t ask me how. I had to throw out what he had been fiddling with, all except the salad. I picked out more stuff and started them cycling. Neither of us said anything.

I set the table for three and Dad finally spoke. “Better set it for four, Bill. Molly has a daughter, you know.”

I dropped a fork. “Molly? You mean Mrs. Kenyon?”

“Yes. Didn’t I tell you? No, you didn’t give me a chance to.”

I knew her all right. She was Dad’s draftsman. I knew her daughter, too–a twelve-year-old brat. Somehow, it being Mrs. Kenyon made it worse, indecent. Why, she had even come to Anne’s Farewell and had had the nerve to cry.

I knew now why she had always been so chummy with me whenever I was down at Dad’s office. She had had her eye on George. I didn’t say anything. What was there to say?

I said “How do you do?” politely when they came in, then went out and pretended to fiddle with dinner. Dinner was sort of odd. Dad and Mrs. Kenyon talked and I answered when spoken to. I didn’t listen. I was still trying to figure out how he could do it. The brat spoke to me a couple of times but I soon put her in her place.

After dinner Dad said how about all of us going to a show? I begged off, saying that I still had sorting to do. They went. I thought and thought about it. Any way I looked at it, it seemed like a bad deal.

At first I decided that I wouldn’t go to Ganymede after all, not if they were going. Dad would forfeit my bond, but I would work hard and pay it back–I wasn’t going to owe them anything!

Then I finally figured out why Dad was doing it and I felt some better, but not much. It was too high a price.

Dad got home late, by himself, and tapped on my door. It wasn’t locked and he came in. “Well, Son?” he said. “‘Well’ what?”

“Bill, I know that this business comes as a surprise to you, but you’ll get over it.”

I laughed, though I didn’t feel funny. Get over it! Maybe he could forget Anne, but I never would.

“In the meantime,” he went on, “I want you to behave yourself. I suppose you know you were as rude as you could be without actually spitting in their faces?”

“Me rude?”I objected. “Didn’t I fix dinner for them? Wasn’t I polite?”

“You were as polite as a judge passing sentence. And as friendly. You needed a swift kick to make you remember your manners.”

I guess I looked stubborn. George went on, “That’s done; let’s forget it. See here, Bill–in time you are going to see that this was a good idea. All I ask you to do is to behave yourself in the meantime. I don’t ask you to fall on their necks; I do insist that you be your own normal, reasonably polite and friendly self. Will you try?”

“Uh, I suppose so.” Then I went on with, “See here, Dad, why did you have to spring it on me as a surprise?”

He looked embarrassed. “That was a mistake. I suppose I did it because I knew you would raise Cain about it and I wanted to put it off.” “But I would have understood if you had only told me. I know why you want to marry her–“

“Eh?”

“I should have known when you mentioned that business about rules. You have to get married so that we can go to Ganymede–“

“What?”

I was startled. I said, “Huh? That’s right, isn’t it? You told me so yourself. You said–“

“I said nothing of the sort!” Dad stopped, took a deep breath, then went on slowly, “Bill, I suppose you possibly could have gathered that impression–though I am not flattered that you could have entertained it. Now I’ll spell out the true situation: Molly and I are not getting married in order to emigrate. We are emigrating because we are getting married. You may be too young to understand it, but I love Molly and Molly loves me. If I wanted to stay here, she’d stay. Since I want to go, she wants to go. She’s wise enough to understand that I need to make a complete break with my old background. Do you follow me?”

I said I guessed so.

“I’ll say goodnight, then.”

I answered, “Goodnight.” He turned away, but I added, “George–” He stopped. I blurted out. “You don’t love Anne any more, do you?”

Dad turned white. He started back in and then stopped. “Bill,” he said slowly, “it has been some years since I’ve laid a hand on you–but this is the first time I ever wanted to give you a thrashing.”

I thought he was going to do it. I waited and I had made up my mind that if he touched me he was going to get die surprise of his life. But he didn’t come any nearer; he just closed the door between us.

After a while I took another shower that I didn’t need and went to bed. I must have lain there an hour or more, thinking that Dad had wanted to hit me and wishing that Anne were around to tell me what to do. Finally I switched on the dancing lights and stared at them until they knocked me out.

Neither one of us said anything until breakfast was over and neither of us ate much, either. Finally Dad said, “Bill, I want to beg your pardon for what I said last night. You hadn’t done or said anything to justify raising a hand to you and I had no business thinking it or saying it.”

I said, “Oh, that’s all right.” I thought about it and added, “I guess I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

“It was all right to say it What makes me sad is that you could have thought it. Bill, I’ve never stopped loving Anne and I’ll never love her any less.” “But you said–” I stopped and finished, “I just don’t get it.”

“I guess there is no reason to expect you to.” George stood up. “Bill, the ceremony is at fifteen o’clock. Will you be dressed and ready about an hour before that time?”

I hesitated and said, “I won’t be able to, George. I’ve got a pretty full day.”

His face didn’t have any expression at all and neither did his voice. He said, “I see,” and left the room. A bit later he left the apartment. A while later

I. tried to call him at his office, but the autosecretary ground out the old stall about “Would you like to record a message?” I didn’t. I figured that George would be home some time before fifteen hundred and I got dressed in my best. I even used some of Dad’s beard cream.

He didn’t show up. I tried the office again, and again, got the “Would-you-like-to-record-a-message?” routine. Then I braced myself and looked up the code on Mrs. Kenyon.

He wasn’t there. Nobody was there.

The time crawled past and there was nothing I could do about it. After a while it was fifteen o’clock and I knew that my father was off somewhere getting married but I didn’t know where. About fifteen-thirty I went out and went to a show.

When I got back the red light was shining on the phone. I dialed playback and it was Dad: “Bill I tried to reach you but you weren’t in and I can’t wait. Molly and I are leaving on a short trip. If you need to reach me, call Follow Up Service, Limited, in Chicago–we’ll be somewhere in Canada. We’ll be back Thursday night. Goodbye.” That was the end of the recording.

Thursday night–blast-off was Friday morning.

3. Space Ship Bifrost

Dad called me from Mrs. Kenyon’s–I mean from Molly’s–apartment Thursday night. We were both polite but uneasy. I said yes, I was all ready and I hoped they had had a nice time. He said they had and would I come over and we would all leave from there in the morning.

I said I hadn’t known what his plans were, so I had bought a ticket to Mojave port and had reserved a room at Hotel Lancaster. What did he want me to do?

He thought about it and said, “It looks like you can take care of yourself, Bill.” “Of course I can.”

“All right. We’ll see you at the port. Want to speak to Molly?” “Uh, no, just tell her hello for me.”

“Thanks, I will.” He switched off.

I went to my room and got my kit–fifty-seven and fifty-nine hundredths pounds; I couldn’t have added a clipped frog’s hair. My room was bare, except for my Scout uniform. I couldn’t afford to take it, but I hadn’t thrown it away yet.

I picked it up, intending to take it to the incinerator, then stopped. At the physical exam I had been listed at one hundred thirty-one and two tenths pounds mass in the clothes I would wear for blast off.

But I hadn’t eaten much the last few days.

I stepped into the ‘fresher and onto the scales–one hundred twenty-nine and eight tenths. I picked up the uniform and stepped back on the scales– one hundred thirty-two and five tenths.

William, I said, you get no dinner, you get no breakfast, and you drink no water tomorrow morning. I bundled up my uniform and took it along.

The apartment was stripped. As a surprise for the next tenant I left in the freezer the stuff I had meant to eat for supper, then switched all the gadgets to zero except the freezer, and locked the door behind me. It felt funny; Anne and George and I had lived there as far back as I could remember.

I went down to subsurface, across town, and caught the In-Coast tube for Mojave. Twenty minutes later I was at Hotel Lancaster in the Mojave Desert.

I soon found out that the “room” I had reserved was a cot in the billiard room. I trotted down to find out what had happened.

I showed the room clerk the ‘stat that said I had a room coming to me. He looked at it and said, “Young man, have you ever tried to bed down six thousand people at once?”

I said no, I hadn’t.

“Then be glad you’ve got a cot. The room you reserved is occupied by a family with nine children.” I went.

The hotel was a madhouse. I couldn’t have gotten anything to eat even if I hadn’t promised myself not to eat; you couldn’t get within twenty yards of the dining room. There were children underfoot everywhere and squalling brats galore. There were emigrant families squatting in the ball room. I looked them over and wondered how they had picked them; out of a grab bag?

Finally I went to bed. I was hungry and got hungrier. I began to wonder why I was going to all this trouble to hang on to a Scout uniform I obviously wasn’t going to use.

If I had had my ration book I would have gotten up and stood in line at the dining room–but Dad and I had turned ours in. I still had some money and

thought about trying to find a free-dealers; they say you can find them around a hotel. But Dad says that “free-dealer” is a fake word; they are black

marketeers and no gentleman will buy from them.

Besides that I didn’t have the slightest idea of how to go about finding one.

I got up and got a drink and went back to bed and went through the relaxing routine. Finally I got to sleep and dreamed about strawberry shortcake with real cream, the kind that comes from cows.

I woke up hungry but I suddenly remembered that this was it!–my last day on Earth. Then I was too excited to be hungry. I got up, put on my Scout uniform and my ship suit over it.

I thought we would go right on board. I was wrong.

First we had to assemble under awnings spread out in front of the hotel near the embarking tubes. It wasn’t air conditioned outside, of course, but it was early and the desert wasn’t really hot yet. I found the letter “L” and sat down under it, sitting on my baggage. Dad and his new family weren’t around yet; I began to wonder if I was going to Ganymede by myself. I didn’t much care.

Out past the gates about five miles away, you could see the ships standing on the field, the Daedalus and the Icarus, pulled off the Earth-Moon run for this one trip, and the old Bifrost that had been the shuttle rocket to Supra-New-York space station as far back as I could remember.

The Daedalus and the Icarus were bigger but I hoped I would get the Bifrost; she was the first ship I ever saw blast off.

A family put their baggage down by mine. The mother looked out across the field and said, “Joseph, which one is the Mayflower?“

Her husband tried to explain to her, but she still was puzzled. I nearly burst, trying to keep from laughing. Here she was, all set to go to Ganymede and yet she was so dumb she didn’t even know that the ship she was going in had been built out in space and couldn’t land anywhere.

The place was getting crowded with emigrants and relatives coming to see them off, but I still didn’t see anything of Dad. I heard my name called and turned around and there was Duck Miller. “Gee, Bill,” he said, “I thought I’d missed you.”

“Hi, Duck. No, I’m still here.”

“I tried to call you last night but your phone answered ‘service discontinued,’ so I hooked school and came up.” “Aw, you shouldn’t have done that.”

“But I wanted to bring you this.” He handed me a package, a whole pound of chocolates. I didn’t know what to say. I thanked him and then said, “Duck, I appreciate it, I really do. But I’ll have to give them back to you.”

“Huh? Why?”

“Weight Mass, I mean. I can’t get by with another ounce.” “You can carry it.”

“That won’t help. It counts just the same.”

He thought about it and said, “Then let’s open it.”

I said, “Fine,” and did so and offered him a piece. I looked at them myself and my stomach was practically sitting up and begging. I don’t know when I’ve been so hungry.

I gave in and ate one. I figured I would sweat it off anyhow; it was getting hot and I had my Scout uniform on under my ship suit–and that’s no way to dress for the Mojave Desert in June! Then I was thirstier than ever, of course; one thing leads to another.

I went over to a drinking fountain and took a very small drink. When I came back I closed the candy box and handed it back to Duck and told him to

pass it around at next Scout meeting and tell the fellows I wished they were going along. He said he would and added, “You know, Bill, I wish I was

going. I really do.”

I said I wished he was, too, but when did he change his mind? He looked embarrassed but about then Mr. Kinski showed up and then Dad showed up, with Molly and the brat–Peggy–and Molly’s sister, Mrs. van Metre. Everybody shook hands all around and Mrs. van Metre started to cry and the brat wanted to know what made my clothes so bunchy and what was I sweating about?

George was eyeing me, but about then our names were called and we started moving through the gate.

George and Molly and Peggy were weighed through and then it was my turn. My baggage was right on the nose, of course, and then I stepped on the scales. They read one hundred and thirty-one and one tenth pounds–I could have eaten another chocolate.

“Check!” said the weightmaster, then he looked up and said, “What in the world have you got on, son?”

The left sleeve of my uniform had started to unroll and was sticking out below the half sleeve of my ship suit. The merit badges were shining out like signal lights.

I didn’t say anything. He started feeling the lumps the uniform sleeves made. “Boy,” he said, “you’re dressed like an arctic explorer; no wonder you’re sweating. Didn’t you know you weren’t supposed to wear anything but the gear you were listed in?”

Dad came back and asked what the trouble was? I just stood there with my ears burning. The assistant weightmaster got into the huddle and they argued what should be done. The weightmaster phoned somebody and finally he said, “He’s inside his weight limit; if he wants to call that monkey suit part of his skin, we’ll allow it. Next customer, please!”

I trailed along, feeling foolish. We went down inside and climbed on the slide strip, it was cool down there, thank goodness. A few minutes later we got off at the loading room down under the rocket ship. Sure enough, it was the Bifrost, as I found out when the loading elevator poked above ground and stopped at the passenger port. We filed in.

They had it all organized. Our baggage had been taken from us in the loading room; each passenger had a place assigned by his weight. That split us up again; I was on the deck immediately under the control room. I found my place, couch 14-D, then went to a view port where I could see the Daedalus and the Icarus.

A brisk little stewardess, about knee high to a grasshopper, checked my name off a list and offered me an injection against dropsickness. I said no, thanks.

She said, “You’ve been out before?”

I admitted I hadn’t; she said, “Better take it.”

I said I was a licensed air pilot; I wouldn’t get sick I didn’t tell her that my license was just for copters. She shrugged and turned away. A loudspeaker said, “The Daedalus is cleared for blasting.” I moved up to get a good view.

The Daedalus was about a quarter of a mile away and stood up higher than we did. She had fine lines and was a mighty pretty sight, gleaming in the morning sunshine. Beyond her and to the right, clear out at the edge of the field, a light shone green at the traffic control blockhouse.

She canted slowly over to the south, just a few degrees.

Fire burst out of her base, orange, and then blinding white. It splashed down into the ground baffles and curled back up through the ground vents. She lifted.

She hung there for a breath and you could see the hills shimmer through her jet. And she was gone.

Just like that–she was gone. She went up out of there like a scared bird, just a pencil of white fire in the sky, and was gone while we could still hear and feel the thunder of her jets inside the compartment.

My ears were ringing. I heard someone behind me say, “But I haven’t had breakfast. The Captain will just have to wait. Tell him, Joseph.”

It was the woman who hadn’t known that the Mayflower was a space-to-space ship. Her husband tried to hush her up, but he didn’t have any luck.

She called over the stewardess. I heard her answer, “But, madam, you can’t speak to the Captain now. He’s preparing for blast-off.”

Apparently that didn’t make any difference. The stewardess finally got her quiet by solemnly promising that she could have breakfast after blast-off. I bent my ears at that and I decided to put in a bid for breakfast, too.

The Icarus took off twenty minutes later and then the speaker said, “All hands! Acceleration stations-prepare to blast off.” I went back to my couch and the stewardess made sure that we were all strapped down. She cautioned us not to unstrap until she said we could. She went down to the deck below.

I felt my ears pop and there was a soft sighing in the ship. I swallowed and kept swallowing. I knew what they were doing: blowing the natural air out and replacing it with the standard helium-oxygen mix at half sea-level pressure. But the woman–the same one–didn’t like it. She said, “Joseph, my head aches. Joseph, I can’t breathe. Do something!”

Then she clawed at her straps and sat up. Her husband sat up, too, and forced her back down. The Bifrost tilted over a little and the speaker said, “Minus three minutes!”

After a long time it said, “Minus two minutes!”

And then “Minus one minutel” and another voice took up the count: “Fifty-nine! Fifty-eight! Fifty-seven!”

My heart started to pound so hard I could hardly hear it. But it went on: “-thirty-five! Thirty-four! Thirty-three! Thirty-two! Thirty-one! Half! Twenty-nine! Twenty-eight!”

And it got to be: “Ten!”

And “Nine!” “Eight! “Seven! “And six! “And five! “And four! “And three! “And two–“

I never did hear them say “one” or “fire” or whatever they said. About then something fell on me and I thought I was licked. Once, exploring a cave with the fellows, a bank collapsed on me and I had to be dug out. It was like that–but nobody dug me out.

My chest hurt. My ribs seemed about to break. I couldn’t lift a finger. I gulped and couldn’t get my breath.

I wasn’t scared, not really, because I knew we would take off with a high g, but I was awfully uncomfortable. I managed to turn my head a little and saw that the sky was already purple. While I watched, it turned black and the stars came out, millions of stars. And yet the Sun was still streaming in through the port

The roar of the jets was unbelievable but the noise started to die out almost at once and soon you couldn’t hear it at all. They say the old ships used to be noisy even after you passed the speed of sound; the Bifrost was not. It got as quiet as the inside of a bag of feathers.

There was nothing to do but lie there, stare out at that black sky, try to breathe, and try not to think about the weight sitting on you.

And then, so suddenly that it made your stomach turn flip-flops, you didn’t weigh anything at all.

4. Captain DeLongPre

Let me tell you that the first time you fall is no fun. Sure, you get over it. If you didn’t you would starve. Old space hands even get so they like it– weightlessness, I mean. They say that two hours of weightless sleep is equal to a full night on Earth. I got used to it, but I never got to like it.

The Bifrost had blasted for a little more than three minutes. It seemed lots longer because of the high acceleration; we had blasted at nearly six g. Then she was in free orbit for better than three hours and we fell the whole time, until the Captain started to maneuver to match orbits with the Mayflower.

In other words we fell straight up for more than twenty thousand miles.

Put that way, it sounds silly. Everybody knows that things don’t fall up; they fall down.

Everybody knew the world was flat, too. We fell up.

Like everybody, I had had the elements of space ballistics in grammar school physics, and goodness knows there have been enough stories about how you float around in a spaceship when it’s in a free orbit. But, take it from me, you don’t really believe it until you’ve tried it.

Take Mrs. Tarbutton–the woman who wanted breakfast. I suppose she went to school like everybody else. But she kept insisting that the Captain had to do something about it. What he could do I don’t know; find her a small asteroid, maybe.

Not that I didn’t sympathize with her–or with myself, I guess. Ever been in an earthquake? You know how everything you ever depended on suddenly goes back on you and terra firma isn’t firma any longer? It’s like that, only much worse. This is no place to review grammar school physics but when a spaceship is in a free trajectory, straight up or any direction, the ship and everything in it moves along together and you fall, endlessly–and your stomach darn near falls out of you.

That was the first thing I noticed. I was strapped down so that I didn’t float away, but I felt weak and shaky and dizzy and as if I had been kicked in the stomach. Then my mouth filled with saliva and I gulped and I was awfully sorry I had eaten that chocolate.

But it didn’t come up, not quite.

The only thing that saved me was no breakfast. Some of the others were not so lucky. I tried not to look at them. I had intended to unstrap as soon as we went free and go to a port so I could look at Earth, but I lost interest in that project entirely. I stayed strapped down, and concentrated on being miserable.

The stewardess came floating out the hatch from the next deck, shoved herself along with a toe, checked herself with a hand at the center stanchion, and hovered in the air in a swan dive, looking us over. It was very pretty to watch if I’d been in shape to appreciate it.

“Is everybody comfy?” she said cheerfully.

It was a silly remark but I suppose nurses get that way. Somebody groaned and a baby on the other side of the compartment started to cry. The stewardess moved over to Mrs. Tarbutton and said, “You may have breakfast now. What would you like? Scrambled eggs?”

I clamped my jaw and turned my head away, wishing she would shut up. Then I looked back. She had paid for that silly remark–and she had to clean it up.

When she was through with Mrs. Tarbutton I said, “Uh-oh, Miss–” “Andrews.”

“Miss Andrews, could I change my mind about that drop-sick injection?”

“Righto, chum,” she agreed, smiling, and whipped out an injector from a little kit she had at her belt. She gave me the shot. It burned and for a moment I thought I was going to lose the chocolate after all. But then things quieted down and I was almost happy in a miserable sort of way.

She left me and gave shots to some others who had kidded themselves the same way I had. Mrs. Tarbutton she gave another sort of shot to knock her out entirely. One or two of the hardier souls unstrapped themselves and went to the ports; I decided I was well enough to try it.

It’s not as easy as it looks, this swimming around in free fall. I undid the safety belts and sat up; that’s all I meant to do. Then I was scrambling in the air, out of control, trying frantically to grasp at anything.

I turned over in the air and cracked the back of my head against the underside of the control room deck and saw stars, not the ones out the ports– some of my own. Then the deck with the couches on it was approaching me slowly.

I managed to grab a safety belt and came to anchor. The couch it belonged to was occupied by a little plump man. I said, “Excuse me.”

He said, “Don’t mention it,” and turned his face away, looking as if he hated me. I couldn’t stay there and I couldn’t even get back to my own couch without grabbing handholds on other couches that were occupied, too, so I pushed off again, very gently this time, and managed to grab hold when I bumped against the other deck.

It had handholds and grab lines all over it. I didn’t let go again, but pulled myself along, monkey fashion, to one of the ports. And there I got my first view of Earth from space.

I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t what I expected. There it was, looking just like it does in the geography books, or maybe more the way it does in the station announcements of Super-New-York TV station. And yet it was different. I guess I would say it was like the difference between being told about a good hard kick in the rear and actually being kicked.

Not a transcription. Alive.

For one thing it wasn’t prettily centered in a television screen; it was shouldering into one side of the frame of the port, and the aft end of the ship cut a big chunk out of the Pacific Ocean. And it was moving, shrinking. While I hung there it shrunk to about half the size it was when I first got there and got rounder and rounder. Columbus was right.

From where I was it was turned sideways; the end of Siberia, then North America, and finally the north half of South America ran across from left to right. There were clouds over Canada and the eastern part of the rest of North America; they were the whitest white I ever saw–whiter than the north pole cap. Right opposite us was the reflection of the Sun on the ocean; it hurt my eyes. The rest of the ocean was almost purple where there weren’t clouds.

It was so beautiful my throat ached and I wanted to reach out and touch it.

And back of it were stars, even brighter and bigger and more of them than the way they look from Little America.

Pretty soon there were more people crowding around, trying to see, and kids shoving and their mothers saying, “Now, now, darling!” and making silly remarks themselves. I gave up. I pulled myself back to my couch and put one belt around me so I wouldn’t float away and thought about it.

It makes you proud to know that you come from a big, fancy planet like that. I got to thinking that I hadn’t seen all of it, not by a long sight, in spite of all the geography trips I had made and going to one Scout round-up in Switzerland and the time George and Anne and I went to Siam.

And now I wasn’t going to see any more of it. It made me feel pretty solemn.

I looked up; there was a boy standing in front of me. He said, “What’s the trouble, William, my boy? Dropsick?”

It was that twerp Jones. You could have knocked me out with a feather. If I had known he was going to emigrate, I would have thought twice about it. I asked him where in the world he had come from.

“The same place you did, naturally. I asked you a question.”

I informed him that I was not dropsick and asked him whatever gave him that silly notion. He reached out and grabbed my arm and turned it so that the red spot the injection had made showed. He laughed and I jerked my arm away.

He laughed again and showed me his arm; it had a red spot on it, too. “Happens to the best of us,” he said. “Don’t be shy about it.” Then he said, “Come on. Let’s look around the joint before they make us strap down again.”

I went along. He wasn’t what I would pick for a buddy but he was a familiar face. We worked our way over to the hatch to the next deck. I started to go through but Jones stopped me. “Let’s go into the control room,” he suggested.

“Huh? Oh, they wouldn’t let us!”

“Is it a crime to try? Come on.” We went back the other way and through a short passage. It ended in a door that was marked: CONTROL ROOM- STAY OUT! Somebody had written under it: This means you!!! and somebody else had added: Who? Me?

Jones tried it; it was locked. There was a button beside it; he pushed it.

It opened and we found ourselves staring into the face of a man with two stripes on his collar. Behind him was an older man with four stripes on his; he called out, “Who is it, Sam? Tell ’em we’re not in the market.”

The first man said, “What do you kids want?”

Jones said, “Please, sir, we’re interested in astrogation. Could we have permission to visit the control room?”

I could see he was going to chuck us out and I had started to turn away when the older man called out, “Oh, shucks, Sam, bring ’em in!” The younger fellow shrugged and said, “As you say, Skipper.”

We went in and the Captain said, “Grab on to something; don’t float around. And don’t touch anything, or I’ll cut your ears off. Now who are you?”

We told him; he said, “Glad to know you, Hank-same to you, Bill. Welcome aboard.” Then he reached out and touched the sleeve of my uniform–it had come loose again. “Son, your underwear is showing.”

I blushed and told him how I happened to be wearing it. He laughed and said, “So you swindled us into lifting it anyway. That’s rich–eh, Sam? Have a cup of coffee.”

They were eating sandwiches and drinking coffee– not from cups, of course, but from little plastic bags like they use for babies. The bags even had nipples on them. I said no, thanks. While the shot Miss Andrews gave me had made me feel better, it hadn’t made me feel that much better. Hank Jones turned it down, too.

The control room didn’t have a port in it of any sort. There was a big television screen forward on the bulkhead leading to the nose, but it wasn’t turned on. I wondered what Mrs. Tarbutton would think if she knew that the Captain couldn’t see where we were going and didn’t seem to care.

I asked him about the ports. He said ports were strictly for tourists. “What would you do with a port if you had one?” he asked. “Stick your head out the window and look for road signs? We can see anything we need to see. Sam, heat up the video and show the kids.”

“Aye aye, Skipper.” The other chap swam over to his couch and started turning switches. He left his sandwich hanging in the air while he did so.

I looked around. The control room was circular and the end we came in was bigger than the other end; it was practically up in the nose of the ship and the sides sloped in. There were two couches, one for the pilot and one for the co-pilot, flat against the wall that separated the control room from the passenger compartments. Most of the space between the couches was taken up by the computer.

The couches were fancier than the ones the passengers had; they were shaped to the body and they lifted the knees and the head and back, like a hospital bed, and there were arm rests to support their hands over the ship’s controls. An instrument board arched over each couch at the middle, where the man in the couch could see the dials and stuff even when his head was pushed back into the cushions by high g.

The TV screen lighted up and we could see Earth; it filled most of the screen. “That’s ‘View Aft’,” the copilot said, “from a TV camera in the tail.

We’ve got ’em pointing in all directions. Now we’ll try ‘View Forward’.” He did, but it didn’t amount to anything, just a few tiny little dots that might have been stars. Hank said you could see more stars out a port.

“You don’t use it to look at stars,” he answered. “When you need to take a star sight, you use the coelostats. Like this.” He lay back on the couch and reached behind his head, pulling an eye piece arrangement over his face until the rubber guard fitted over one eye without lifting his head off the couch.

“Coelostat” is just a trick name for a telescope with a periscope built into it. He didn’t offer to let us look through it, so I looked back at the instrument board. It had a couple of radar presentations, much like you’ll find in any atmosphere ship, even in a copter, and a lot of other instruments, most of which I didn’t understand, though some of them were pretty obvious, like approach rate and throat temperature and mass ratio and ejection speed and such.

“Watch this,” said the co-pilot. He did something at his controls; one of the tiny blips on the TV screen lit up very brightly, blinked a few times, then died away. “That was Supra-New-York; I triggered her radar beacon. You are not seeing it by television; it’s radar brought on to the same screen.” He fiddled with the controls again and another light blinked, two longs and a short. “That’s where they’re building the Star Rover.”

“Where’s the Mayflower?” Hank asked.

“Want to see where you’re going, eh?” He touched his controls again; another light came on, way off to one side, flashing in groups of three.

I said it didn’t look much like we were going there. The Captain spoke up. “We’re taking the long way round, past the fair grounds. That’s enough, Sam. Lock your board.”

We all went back where the Captain was still eating. “You an Eagle Scout?” he asked me. I said yes and Hank said he was too.

“How old were you when you made it?” he wanted to know. I said I had been thirteen, so Hank said twelve, whereupon the Captain claimed he had made it at eleven. Personally I didn’t believe either one of them.

The Captain said so now we were going out to Ganymede; he envied both of us. The co-pilot said what was there to envy about that? The Captain said, “Sam, you’ve got no romance in your soul. You’ll live and die running a ferry boat.”

“Maybe so,” the co-pilot answered, “but I sleep home a lot of nights.”

The Captain said pilots should not marry. “Take me,” he said, “I always wanted to be a deep-space man. I was all set for it, too, when I was captured by pirates and missed my chance. By the time I had the chance again, I was married.”

“You and your pirates,” said the co-pilot.

I kept my face straight. Adults always think anybody younger will swallow anything; I try not to disillusion them.

“Well, all that’s as may be,” said the Captain. “You two young gentlemen run along now. Mr. Mayes and I have got to fake up a few figures, or we’ll be landing this bucket in South Brooklyn.”

So we thanked him and left.

I found Dad and Molly and the Brat in the deck aft of my own. Dad said, “Where have you been, Bill? I’ve been looking all over the ship for you.” I told them, “Up in the control room with the Captain.”

Dad looked surprised and the Brat made a face at me and said, “Smarty, you have not. Nobody can go up there.”

I think girls should be raised in the bottom of a deep, dark sack until they are old enough to know better. Then when it came time, you could either let them out or close the sack and throw them away, whichever was the best idea.

Molly said, “Hush, Peggy.”

I said, “You can just ask Hank. He was with me. We–” I looked around but Hank was gone. So I told them what had happened, all but the part about pirates.

When I finished the Brat said, “I want to go into the control room, too.”

Dad said he didn’t think it could be arranged. The Brat said, “Why not? Bill went.”

Molly said hush again. “Bill is a boy and older than you are.” The Brat said it wasn’t fair.

I guess she had something there–but things hardly ever are. Dad went on, “You should feel flattered, Bill, being entertained by the famous Captain DeLongPre.”

“Huh?”

“Maybe you are too young to remember it. He let himself be sealed into one of the robot freighters used to jump thorium ore from the lunar mines– and busted up a ring of hijackers, a gang the newscasters called the ‘Ore Pirates.'”

I didn’t say anything.

I wanted to see the Mayflower from space, but they made us strap down before I could locate it. I got a pretty good view of Supra-New-York though; the Mayflower was in the 24-hour orbit the space station rides in and we were closing almost directly on it when the word came to strap down.

Captain DeLongPre was quite some pilot. He didn’t fiddle around with jockeying his ship into the new groove; he gave one long blast on the jet, the right time, the right amount, and the right direction. As it says in the physics book, “every one-plane correction-of-orbit problem which can be solved at all, can be solved with a single application of acceleration”–provided the pilot is good enough.

He was good enough. When we went weightless again, I looked over my shoulder out a port and there was the Mayflower, with the Sun gleaming on her, large as life and not very far away. There was the softest sort of a correction bump and the loudspeaker sang out, “Contact completed. You may unstrap.”

I did and went to the port from which we could see the Mayflower. It was easy to see why she could never land; she had no airfoils of any sort, not even fins, and she was the wrong shape–almost spherical except that one side came out to a conical point.

She looked much too small–then I realized that a little bulge that was sticking out past her edge at one point was actually the bow of the Icarus,

unloading on the far side. Then suddenly she was enormous and the little flies on her were men in space suits.

One of them shot something at us and a line came snaking across. Before the knob on the end of it quite reached us there was a bright purple brush discharge from the end of it and every hair on my head stood straight up and my skin prickled.

A couple of the women in the compartment squealed and I heard Miss Andrews soothing them down and telling them that it was just the electrical potential adjusting between the two ships. If she had told them it was a bolt of lightning she would have been just as correct, but I don’t suppose that would have soothed them.

I wasn’t scared; any kid who had fooled around with radio or any sort of electronics would have expected it.

The knob on the line clunked against the side of the ship and after a bit the little line was followed by a heavier line and then they warped us together, slowly. The Mayflower came up until she filled the port.

After a bit my ears popped and the loudspeaker said, “All hands–prepare to disembark.”

Miss Andrews made us wait quite a while, then it was our deck’s turn and we pulled ourselves along to the deck we had come in by. Mrs. Tarbutton didn’t come along; she and her husband were having some sort of a discussion with Miss Andrews.

We went right straight out of our ship, through a jointed steel drum about ten feet long, and into the Mayflower.

5. Captain Harkness

Do you know the worst thing about spaceships? They smell bad.

Even the Mayflower smelled bad and she was brand new. She smelled of oil and welding and solvents and dirty, sweaty smells of all the workmen who had lived in her so long. Then we came, three shiploads of us, most of us pretty whiff with that bad odor people get when they’re scared or very nervous. My stomach still wasn’t happy and it almost got me.

The worst of it is that there can’t be very good ‘freshers in a ship; a bath is a luxury. After the ship got organized we were issued tickets for two baths a week, but how far does that go, especially when a bath means two gallons of water to sponge yourself off with?

If you felt you just had to have a bath, you could ask around and maybe buy a ticket from somebody who was willing to skip one. There was one boy in my bunk room who sold his tickets for four weeks running until we all got sick of it and gave him an unscheduled bath with a very stiff brush. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

And you couldn’t burn your clothes either; you had to wash them.

When we first got into the Mayflower it took them maybe half an hour to get us all sorted out and into our acceleration couches. The people from the Daedalus and the Icarus were supposed to be stowed away by the time we got there, but they weren’t and the passageways were traffic jams. A traffic jam when everybody is floating, and you don’t know which end is up, is about eight times as confusing as an ordinary one.

There weren’t any stewardesses to get us straight, either; there were emigrants instead, with signs on their chests reading SHIP’S AIDE-but a lot of them needed aid themselves; they were just as lost as anybody else. It was like amateur theatricals where the ushers don’t know how to find the reserved seats.

By the time I was in the bunk room I was assigned to and strapped down there were bells ringing all over the place and loudspeakers shouting: “Prepare for acceleration! Ten minutes!”

Then we waited.

It seemed more like half an hour. Presently the count-off started. I said to myself, William, if the blast-off from Earth was rugged, this is going to knock the teeth right out of your head. I knew what we were going to build up to–better than ninety-three miles per second. That’s a third of a million miles an hour! Frankly I was scared.

The seconds ticked away; there was a soft push that forced me down against the cushions–and that was all. I just lay there; the ceiling was the ceiling again and the floor was under me, but I didn’t feel extra heavy, I felt fine.

I decided that was just the first step; the next one would be a dilly.

Up overhead in the bunk room was a display screen; it lighted up and I was looking into the face of a man with four collar stripes; he was younger than Captain DeLongPre. He smiled and said, “This is your Captain speaking, friends–Captain Harkness. The ship will remain at one gravity for a little more than four hours. I think it is time to serve lunch, don’t you?”

He grinned again and I realized that my stomach wasn’t bothering me at all–except that I was terribly hungry. I guess he knew that all of us ground hogs would be starving to death as soon as we were back to normal weight. He went on:

“We’ll try to serve you just as quickly as possible. It is all right for you to unstrap now, sit up, and relax, but I must ask you to be very careful about one thing:

“This ship is precisely balanced so that the thrust of our drive passes exactly through our center of gravity. If that were not so, we would tend to spin instead of moving in a straight line–and we might fetch up in the heart of the Sun instead of at Ganymede.

“None of us wants to become an impromptu barbecue, so I will ask each of you not to move unnecessarily from the neighborhood of your couch. The ship has an automatic compensator for a limited amount of movement, but we must not overload it–so get permission from your ship’s aide before moving as much as six inches from your present positions.”

He grinned again and it was suddenly a most unpleasant grin. “Any one violating this rule will be strapped down by force–and the Captain will assign punishment to fit the crime after we are no longer under drive.”

There wasn’t any ship’s aide in our compartment; all we could do was wait. I got acquainted with the boys in the bunkroom, some older, some

younger. There was a big, sandy-haired boy about seventeen, by the name of Edwards–“Noisy” Edwards. He got tired of waiting.

I didn’t blame him; it seemed like hours went past and still nothing to eat. I thought we had been forgotten.

Edwards had been hanging around the door, peering out. Finally he said, “This is ridiculous! We can’t sit here all day. I’m for finding out what’s the hold up. Who’s with me?”

One of the fellows objected, “The Captain said to sit tight.”

“What if he did? And what can he do if we don’t? We aren’t part of the crew.”

I pointed out that the Captain had authority over the whole ship, but he brushed me off. “Tommyrot! We got a right to know what’s going on–and a right to be fed. Who’s coming along?”

Another boy said, “You’re looking for trouble, Noisy.”

Edwards stopped; I think he was worried by the remark but he couldn’t back down. Finally he said, “Look, we’re supposed to have a ship’s aide and we haven’t got one. You guys elect me ship’s aide and I’ll go bring back chow. How’s that?”

Nobody objected out loud. Noisy said, “Okay, here I go.”

He couldn’t have been gone more than a few seconds when a ship’s aide showed up carrying a big box of packaged rations. He dealt them out and had one left over. Then he counted the bunks. “Weren’t there twenty boys in here?” he asked.

We looked at each other but nobody said anything. He pulled out a list and called our names. Edwards didn’t answer, of course, and he left, taking Noisy’s ration with him.

Then Noisy showed up and saw us eating and wanted to know where his lunch was. We told him; he said, “For the love of Mike! Why didn’t you guys save it for me? A fine bunch you turned out to be.” And he left again.

He came back shortly, looking mad. A ship’s aide followed him and strapped him down.

We had about reached the teeth-picking stage when the screen on the ceiling lit up again and there was the Moon. It looked as if we were headed right toward it and coming up fast. I began to wonder if Captain Harkness had dropped a decimal point.

I lay back on my couch and watched it grow. After a while it looked worse. When it had grown until it filled the screen and more and it seemed as if we couldn’t possibly miss, I saw that the mountains were moving past on the screen from right to left. I breathed a sigh of relief; maybe the Old Man knew what he was doing after all.

A voice came over the speaker: “We are now passing the Moon and tacking slightly in so doing. Our relative speed at point of closest approach is more than fifty miles per second, producing a somewhat spectacular effect.”

I’ll say it was spectacular! We zipped across the face of the Moon in about half a minute, then it faded behind us. I suppose they simply kept a TV camera trained on it, but it looked as if we had dived in, turned sharply, and raced out again. Only you don’t make sharp turns at that speed.

About two hours later they stopped gunning her. I had fallen asleep and I dreamed I was making a parachute jump and the chute failed to open. I woke up with a yell, weightless, with my stomach dropping out of me again. It took me a moment to figure out where I was.

The loudspeaker said: “End of acceleration. Spin will be placed on the ship at once.”

But it did not happen all at once; it happened very slowly. We drifted toward one wall and slid down it toward the outer wall of the ship. That made what had been the outer wall the floor; we stood on it– and the side with the bunks on it was now a wall and the side with the TV screen on it, which had been the ceiling, was now the opposite wall. Gradually we got heavier.

Noisy was still strapped to his couch; the ship’s aide had moved the buckles so that he could not reach them himself. Now he was up against the wall, hanging on the straps like a papoose. He began to yell for us to help him down.

He was not in any danger and he could not have been too uncomfortable, for we weren’t up to a full gravity, not by a whole lot. It turned out later that

the Captain had brought the spin up to one-third g and held it there, because Ganymede has one-third g. So there wasn’t any urgent need to turn Noisy loose.

Nor was there any rush to do so. We were still discussing it and some of the fellows were making comical remarks which Noisy did not appreciate when the same ship’s aide came in, unstrapped Noisy, and told all of us to follow him.

That’s how I happened to attend Captain’s mast.

“Captain’s mast” is a sort of court, like when in ancient times the lord of the countryside would sit and dispense the high and middle justice. We followed the aide, whose name was Dr. Archibald, to Captain Harkness’s cabin. There were a lot of other people waiting there in the passage outside the cabin. Presently Captain Harkness came out and Noisy was the first case.

We were all witnesses but the Captain didn’t question but a few of us; I wasn’t questioned. Dr. Archibald told about finding Noisy wandering around the ship while we were under acceleration and the Captain asked Noisy if he had heard the order to stay at his bunk?

Noisy beat around the bush a good deal and tried to spread the blame on all of us, but when the Captain pinned him down he had to admit that he had heard the order.

Captain Harkness said, “Son, you are an undisciplined lunk. I don’t know what sort of trouble you’ll run into as a colonist, but so far as my ship is concerned, you’ve had it.”

He mused for a moment, than added, “You say you did this because you were hungry?” Noisy said yes, he hadn’t had anything since breakfast and he still hadn’t had his lunch. “Ten days bread and water,” said the Captain. “Next case.”

Noisy looked as if he couldn’t believe his ears.

The next case was the same thing, but a woman-one of those large, impressive ones who run things. She had had a row with her ship’s aide and had stomped off to tell the Captain about it personally– while we were under acceleration.

Captain Harkness soon cut through the fog. “Madam,” he said, with icy dignity, “by your bull-headed stupidity you have endangered the lives of all of us. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

She started a tirade about how “rude” the aide had been to her and how she never heard of anything so preposterous in her life as this kangaroo court, and so forth, and so forth. The Captain cut her short.

“Have you ever washed dishes?” he asked. “Why, no!”

“Well, you are going to wash dishes–for the next four hundred million miles.”

6. E = MC 2

I looked up dad after they let us go. It was like finding a needle in a haystack but I kept asking and presently I found him. Molly and he had a room to themselves. Peggy was there and I thought she was rooming with them, which annoyed me some, until I saw that there were only two couches and realized that Peggy must be in a dormitory. It turned out that all the kids over eight were in dormitories.

Dad was busy unclamping their couches and moving them to what was the floor, now that the ship was spinning. He stopped when I came in and we sat around and talked. I told him about Captain’s mast. He nodded. “We saw it in the screen. I didn’t notice your shining face, however.”

I said I hadn’t been called on.

“Why not?” Peggy wanted to know.

“How should I know?” I thought about mast for a bit and said, “Say, George, the skipper of a ship in space is just about the last of the absolute monarchs, isn’t he?”

Dad considered it and said, “Mmm … no, he’s a constitutional monarch. But he’s a monarch all right.” “You mean we have to bow down to him and say ‘Your Majesty?” Peggy wanted to know.

Molly said, “I don’t think that would be advisable, Peg.” “Why not? I think it would be fun.”

Molly smiled. “Well, let me know how you make out. I suspect that he will just turn you over his knee and paddle you.” “Oh, he wouldn’t dare! I’d scream.”

I wasn’t so sure. I remembered those four hundred million miles of dirty dishes. I decided that, if the Captain said “Frog,” I’d hop.

If Captain Harkness was a monarch, he didn’t seem anxious to rule; the first thing he had us do was to hold an election and set up a ship’s council. After that we hardly laid eyes on him.

Everybody over eighteen could vote. The rest of us got to vote, too; we were told to set up a junior council–not that it was ever good for anything.

But the senior council, the real council, ran the ship from then on. It even acted as a court and the Captain never handed out punishments again. Dad told me that the Captain reviewed everything that the council did, that he had to, to make it legal–but I never heard of him over-ruling their decisions.

And you know what the first thing was that that council did–after setting up meal hours and simple things like that? They decided we had to go to school!

The junior council promptly held a meeting and passed a resolution against it, but it didn’t mean anything. We had school, just the same.

Peggy was on the junior council. I asked her why she didn’t resign if she wasn’t going to do anything. I was just teasing–as a matter of fact she put up quite a battle for us.

School wasn’t so bad, though. There is very little to do in space and when you’ve seen one star you’ve seen ’em all. And the first thing we had in school was a tour of the ship, which was all right.

We went in groups of twenty and it took all day – “day” by ship’s time, I mean. The Mayflower was shaped like a ball with a cone on one side–top shaped. The point of the cone was her jet–although Chief Engineer Ortega, who showed us around, called it her “torch.”

If you count the torch end as her stern, then the round end, her bow, was where the control room was located; around it were the Captain’s cabin and the staterooms of the officers. The torch and the whole power plant space were cut off from the rest of the ship by a radiation shield that ran right through the ship. From the shield forward to the control room was a big cargo space.

It was a cylinder more than a hundred feet in diameter and was split up into holds. We were carrying all sorts of things out to the colony –earth moving machinery, concentrated soil cultures, instruments, I don’t know what all.

Wrapped around this central cylinder were the decks for living, “A” deck just inside the skin of the ship, “B” deck under it, and “C” deck just inside that, with “D” deck’s ceiling being the outer wall of the cargo space. “D” deck was the mess rooms and galley and recreation rooms and sick bay and such; the three outer decks were bunk rooms and staterooms. “A” deck had steps in it every ten or fifteen feet because it was fitted into the outer curve of the ship; this made the ceilings in it of various heights.

The furthest forward and furthest aft on “A” deck were only about six feet between floor and ceiling and some of the smaller kids lived in them, while at the greatest width of the ship the ceilings in “A” deck must have been twelve or thirteen feet high.

From inside the ship it was hard to see how it all fitted together. Not only was it all chopped up, but the artificial gravity we had from spinning the ship made directions confusing–anywhere you stood on a deck it seemed level, but it curved sharply up behind you and in front of you. But you never came to the curved part; if you walked forward it was still level. If you walked far enough you looped the loop and came back to where you started, having walked clear around the ship.

I never would have figured it out if Mr. Ortega hadn’t drawn a sketch for us.

Mr. Ortega told us that the ship was spinning three and six-tenths revolutions per minute or two hundred and sixteen complete turns an hour, which was enough to give “B” deck a centrifugal force of one-third g. “B” deck was seventy-five feet out from the axis of the Mayflower; “A” deck where I lived was further out and you weighed maybe a tenth more there, while “C” deck caught about a tenth less. “D” deck was quite a lot less and you could make yourself dizzy if you stood up suddenly in the mess room.

The control room was right on the axis; you could float in it even when the ship was spinning–or so they told me; I never was allowed inside. Spinning the ship had another odd effect: all around us was “down.” I mean to say that the only place you could put a view port was in the floor

plates of “A” deck and that’s where they were, four of them–big ones, each in its own compartment.

Mr. Ortega took us into one of these view galleries. The view port was a big round quartz plate in the floor, with a guard rail around it.

The first ones into the room went up to the guard rail and then backed away from it quick and two of the girls squealed. I pushed forward and got to the rail and looked down . . and I was staring straight into the very bottom of the universe, a million trillion miles away and all of it down.

I didn’t shy away–George says I’m more acrobat than acrophobe–but I did sort of grip the railing. Nobody wants to fall that far.

The quartz was surface-treated so that it didn’t give off reflections and it looked as if there were nothing at all between you and Kingdom Come.

The stars were reeling across the hole from the ship spinning, which made it worse. The Big Dipper came swinging in from the left, passed almost under me, and slid away to the right–and a few seconds later it was back again. I said, “This is where I came in,” and gave up my place so that someone else could have a look, but nobody seemed anxious to.

Then we went through the hydroponics plant, but there wasn’t anything fancy about that–just enough plants growing to replace the oxygen we used up breathing. Eel grass, it was mostly, but there was a vegetable garden as well. I wondered how they had gotten it going before they had the passengers aboard? Mr. Ortega pointed to a CO2 fitting in the wall. “We had to subsidize them, of course.”

I guess I should have known it; it was simple arithmetic.

The Chief led us back into one of the mess rooms, we sat down, and he told us about the power plant.

He said that there had been three stages in the development of space ships: first was the chemical fuel rocket ship that wasn’t very different from the big German war rockets used in the Second World War, except that they were step rockets. “You kids are too young to have seen such rockets,” he said, “but they were the biggest space ships ever built. They had to be big because they were terribly inefficient. As you all know, the first rocket to reach the Moon was a four-stage rocket. Its final stage was almost as long as the Mayflower–yet its pay load was less than a ton.

“It is characteristic of space ship development that the ships have gotten smaller instead of bigger. The next development was the atom-powered rocket. It was a great improvement; steps were no longer necessary. That meant that a ship like the Daedalus could take off from Earth without even a catapult, much less step rockets, and cruise to the Moon or even to Mars.

But such ships still had the shortcomings of rockets; they depended on an atomic power plant to heat up reaction mass and push it out a jet, just as their predecessors depended on chemical fuel for the same purpose.

“The latest development is the mass-conversion ship, such as the Mayflower, and it may be the final development–a mass-conversion ship is theoretically capable of approaching the speed of light. Take this trip: we accelerated at one gravity for about four hours and twenty minutes which brought us up to more than ninety miles a second. If we had held that drive for a trifle less than a year, we would approach the speed of light.

“A mass-conversion ship has plenty of power to do just that. At one hundred per cent efficiency, it would use up about one per cent of her mass as energy and another one per cent as reaction mass. That’s what the Star Rover is going to do when it is finished.”

One of the younger kids was waving his hand. “Mister Chief Engineer?”

“Yes, son?”

“Suppose it goes on a few weeks longer and passes the speed of light?” Mr. Ortega shook his head. “It can’t.”

“Why not, sir?”

“Eh, how far have you gone in mathematics, sonny?”

“Just through grammer school calculus,” the kid answered.

‘Tm afraid there is no use in trying to explain it, then. Just take it from me that the big brains are sure it can’t be done.”

I had worried about that very point more than once. Why can’t you go faster than light? I know all that old double-talk about how the Einstein equations show that a speed faster than light is a meaningless quantity, like the weight of a song or the color of a sound, because it involves the square root of minus one–but all of that is just theory and if the course we had in history of science means anything at all, it means that scientists change their theories about as often as a snake changes his skin. I stuck up my hand.

“Okay,” he says. “You with the cowlick. Speak up.”

“Mr. Ortega, admitting that you can’t pass the speed of light, what would happen if the Star Rover got up close to the speed of light–and then the Captain suddenly stepped the drive up to about six g and held it there?”

“Why, it would– No, let’s put it this way–” He broke off and grinned; it made him look real young. “See here, kid, don’t ask me questions like that. I’m an engineer with hairy ears, not a mathematical physicist.” He looked thoughtful and added, “Truthfully, I don’t know what would happen, but I would sure give a pretty to find out. Maybe we would find out what the square root of minus one looks like– from the inside.”

He went on briskly, “Let’s go on about the Mayflower. You probably know that when the original Star Rover failed to come back, the Mayflower was designed to be the Star Rover II, but the design was obsolete before they ever started putting her together.

So they shifted the name over to the new intersteller ship, the Star Rover III, renamed this one the Mayflower and grabbed her for the colonial service.

“You kids should consider how lucky you are. Up to now, emigrants to Ganymede have had to spend two years and nine months in space, just to get there. You’re making it in two months.”

“Couldn’t we go faster?” somebody wanted to know.

“We could,” he told us. “But we don’t need to and it runs up the astrogation and control difficulties. In these new ships the power plant has gotten way ahead of the instrumentation. Be patient; your grandchildren will make the trip in a week, blasting at one g all the way. There’ll be so many ships they’ll have to have traffic cops and maybe we can come close to shipping out as many people as there are extras born each year.

“Enough about that,” he went on. “Who here can tell me what ‘E equals M C squared’ means?”

I could have answered but I had already spoken up once and it doesn’t do to get a reputation for apple polishing. Finally one of the older kids said, “It means that mass can be converted into energy.”

“Right!” Mr. Ortega agreed. “The first real demonstration of that was the atom bomb they set off ‘way back in 1945 at Alamogordo, New Mexico. That was a special case; they still didn’t know how to control it; all they could do was to make one whale of a big bang.

Then came the uranium power plants, but that still didn’t amount to much because it was a very special case and only a microscopic percentage of the mass was converted into energy. It wasn’t until Kilgore’s energy transformation equations–don’t worry about them; you’ll study them when you are older if you are interested–it wasn’t until Kilgore showed how it could be done that we had any idea of howto do what Dr. Einstein’s energy- mass equation said, clear back in 1905.

“And we still didn’t know how to control it. If we were going to turn mass into energy, we needed more mass with which to surround the reaction, a very special sort of mass that would not turn into energy when we didn’t want it to and would hold the reaction where we wanted it. Ordinary metal

wouldn’t do; one might as well use soft butter.

“But the Kilgore equations showed how to do that, too, when they were read correctly. Now has anyone here any notion of how much energy you get when you convert a chunk of mass into raw energy?”

Nobody knew. “It’s all in that one equation,” he said, “good old Doc Einstein’s ‘E equals M C squared.’ It comes out that one gram of mass gives nine times ten to the twentieth power ergs.” He wrote it down for us: 1 gm. = 9 x l020 ergs.

“Doesn’t look like much, does it?” he said. “Now try it this way:” He wrote down 900,000,000,000,000,000,000 ergs.

“Read it off. Nine hundred thousand million billion ergs. It still doesn’t mean much, does it? Figures like that are impossible to comprehend. The nuclear physicists keep a barrel of zeroes around handy the way a carpenter does a keg of nails.

“I’ll try once more,” he went on. “A pound of mass, any old mass, say a pound of feathers, when converted into energy equals fifteen billion

horsepower-hours. Does that give anyone a notion of why the Mayflower was assembled out in an orbit and will never ever land anywhere?”

“Too hot,” somebody said.

“‘Too hot’ is an understatement. If the Mayftower had blasted off from Mojave space port the whole Los Angeles Borough of the City of Southern California would have been reduced to a puddle of lava and people would have been killed by radiation and heat from Bay City to Baja California. And that will give you an idea of why the shielding runs right through the ship between here and the power plant, with no way at all to get at the torch.”

We had the misfortune to have Noisy Edwards along, simply because he was from the same bunk room. Now he spoke up and said, “Suppose you have to make a repair?”

“There is nothing to go wrong,” explained Mr. Ortega. “The power plant has no moving parts of any sort” Noisy wasn’t satisfied. “But suppose something did go wrong, how would you fix it if you can’t get at it?”

Noisy has an irritating manner at best; Mr. Ortega sounded a little impatient when he answered. “Believe me, son, even if you could get at it, you wouldn’t want to. No indeed!”

“Humph!” said Noisy. “All I’ve got to say is, if there isn’t any way to make a repair when a repair is needed, what’s the use in sending engineer officers along?”

You could have heard a pin drop. Mr. Ortega turned red, but all he said was, “Why, to answer foolish questions from youngsters like yourself, I suppose.” He turned to the rest of us. “Any more questions?”

Naturally nobody wanted to ask any then. He added, “I think that’s enough for one session. School’s out.”

I told Dad about it later. He looked grim and said, “I’m afraid Chief Engineer Ortega didn’t tell you the whole truth.” “Huh?”

“In the first place there is plenty for him to do in taking care of the auxiliary machinery on this side of the shield. But it is possible to get at the torch, if necessary.”

“Huh? How?”

“There are certain adjustments which could conceivably have to be made in extreme emergency. In which case it would be Mr. Ortega’s proud privilege to climb into a space suit, go outside and back aft, and make them.”

“You mean–“

“I mean that the assistant chief engineer would succeed to the position of chief a few minutes later. Chief engineers are very carefully chosen, Bill, and not just for their technical knowledge.”

It made me feel chilly inside; I didn’t like to think about it.

1. Scouting in Space

Making a trip in a space ship is about the dullest way to spend time in the world, once the excitement wears off. There’s no scenery, nothing to do, and no room to do it in. There were nearly six thousand of us crowded into the Mayflower and that doesn’t leave room to swing a cat.

Take “B” deck–there were two thousand passengers sleeping in it. It was 150 feet across–fore and aft, that is–and not quite 500 feet around, cylinder fashion. That gives about forty square feet per passenger, on the average, but a lot was soaked up in stairs, passageways, walls, and such. It worked out that each one had about room enough for his bunk and about that much left over to stand on when he wasn’t sleeping.

You can’t give a rodeo in that kind of space; you can’t even get up a game of ring-around-the-rosy.

“A” deck was larger and “C” deck was smaller, being nearer the axis, but they averaged out the same. The council set up a staggered system to get the best use out of the galley and the mess rooms and to keep us from falling over each other in the ‘freshers. “A” deck was on Greenwich time; “B” deck was left on zone plus-eight time, or Pacific West Coast time; and “C” deck drew zone minus-eight time, Philippine time.

That would have put us on different days, of course, but the day was always figured officially on Greenwich time; the dodge was just to ease the pressure on eating facilities.

That was really all we had to worry about. You would wake up early, not tired but bored, and wait for breakfast Once breakfast was over, the idea was to kill time until lunch. All afternoon you could look forward to the terrific excitement of having dinner.

I have to admit that making us go to school was a good plan; it meant that two and a half hours every morning and every afternoon was taken care of. Some of the grown ups complained that the mess rooms and all the spare space was always crowded with classes, but what did they expect us to do? Go hang on sky hooks? We used up less space in class than if we had been under foot.

Still, it was a mighty odd sort of school. There were some study machines in the cargo but we couldn’t get at them and there wouldn’t have been enough to go around. Each class consisted of about two dozen kids and some adult who knew something about something. (You’d be surprised how many adults don’t know anything about anything!) The grown up would talk about what he knew best and the kids would listen, then we would ask questions and he would ask questions. No real examinations, no experiments, no demonstrations, no stereos.

Dad says this is the best kind of a school, that a university consists of a log with a teacher on one end and a pupil on the other. But Dad is a sort of romantic.

Things got so dull that it was hardly worth while to keep up my diary, even if I had been able to get microfilm, which I wasn’t.

Dad and I played an occasional game of cribbage in the evening–somehow Dad had managed to squeeze the board and a pack of cards into his weight allowance. Then he got too busy with technical planning he was doing for the council and didn’t have time. Molly suggested that I teach her to play, so I did.

After that I taught Peggy to play and she pegged a pretty sharp game, for a girl. It worried me a little that I wasn’t being loyal to Anne in getting chummy with Peg and her mother, but I decided that Anne would want me to do just what I did. Anne was always friendly with everybody.

It still left me with time on my hands. What with only one-third gravity and no exercise I couldn’t sleep more than six hours a night. The lights were out eight hours but they didn’t make us go to bed, not after the trouble they had with it the first week. I used to fool around the corridors after lights out, usually with Hank Jones, until we both would get sleepy. We talked a lot. Hank turned out not to be such a bad guy as long as you kept him trimmed down to size.

I still had my Scout suit with me and kept it folded up in my bunk. Hank came in one morning while I was making up my bunk and noticed it. “See here, William,” he said, “why do you hang on to that? Let the dead past bury its dead.”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Maybe there will be Scouting on Ganymede.”

“Not that I ever heard of.”

“Why not? There is Scouting on the Moon.” “Proves nothing,” he answered.

But it got us to talking about it and Hank got a brilliant idea. Why not start up Scouting right now, in the Mayflower?

We called a meeting. Peggy spread the word around for us, through the junior council, and we set it for fifteen-thirty that same afternoon, right after school. Fifteen-thirty Greenwich, or “A” deck time, that is. That made it seven-thirty in the morning for the “B” deck boys and a half hour before midnight for the fellows on “C” deck. It was the best we could do. “B” deck could hurry through breakfast and get to the meeting if they wanted to and we figured that those who were really interested from “C” would stay up for the meeting.

I played my accordion while they were drifting in because Hank’s father said that you needed music to warm up a meeting before it got down to work. The call had read “all Scouts and former Scouts;” by fifteen-forty we had them packed in and spilling into the corridors, even though we had the use of the biggest mess room. Hank called them to order and I put away my accordion and acted as Scribe pro tem, having borrowed a wire recorder from the Communications Officer for the purpose.

Hank made a little speech. I figure him for politics when he grows up. He said that all of us had enjoyed the benefits, the comradeship, and the honorable traditions of Scouting on Earth and it seemed a shame to lose them. He said that the Scouting tradition was the tradition of the explorer and pioneer and there could be no more fitting place and time for it than in the settlement of a new planet. In fact the spirit of Daniel Boone demanded that we continue as Scouts.

I didn’t know he had it in him. It sounded good.

He stopped and slipped me the wink. I got up and said that I wanted to propose a resolution. Then I read it–it had been a lot longer but we cut it down. It read: “Be it resolved–we the undersigned, Scouts and former Scouts of many jurisdictions and now passengers in the good ship Mayflower, having as our purpose to continue the Scouting tradition and to extend the Scouting trail out to the stars, do organize ourselves as the Boy Scouts of Ganymede in accordance with the principles and purpose of Scouting and in so doing do reaffirm the Scout Law.”

Maybe it was flowery but it sounded impressive; nobody laughed. Hank said, “You have heard the resolution; what is your pleasure? Do I hear a second?”

He surely did; there were seconds all over the place. Then he asked for debate.

Somebody objected that we couldn’t call ourselves the Boy Scouts of Ganymede because we weren’t on Ganymede yet. He got a chilly reception and shut up. Then somebody else pointed out that Ganymede wasn’t a star, which made that part about “Carrying the Scouting trail out to the stars” nonsense.

Hank told him that was poetic license and anyhow going out to Ganymede was a step in the right direction and that there would be more steps; what about the Star Rover III? That shut him up.

The worst objection was from “Millimetre” Muntz, a weary little squirt too big for his britches. He said, “Mr. Chairman, this is an outlaw meeting. You haven’t any authority to set up a new Scouting jurisdiction. As a member in good standing of Troop -Ninety-Six, New Jersey, I object to the whole proceeding.”

Hank asked him just what authority he thought Troop Ninety-Six, New Jersey, had out around the orbit of Mars? Somebody yelled, “Throw him out!” Hank banged on the mess table. “It isn’t necessary to throw him out–but, since Brother Millimetre thinks this is not a proper meeting, then it isn’t

proper for him to take part in it. He is excused and the chair will recognize him no further. Are you ready to vote?”

It was passed unanimously and then Hank was elected organizational chairman. He appointed a flock of committees, for organization and for plans and programs and for credentials and tests and for liaison, and such. That last was to dig out the men in the ship who had been troop masters and commissioners and things and get a Court of Honor set up. There were maybe a dozen of the men passengers at the meeting, listening. One of them, a Dr. Archibald who was an aide on “A” deck, spoke up.

“Mr. Chairman, I was a Scoutmaster in Nebraska. I’d like to volunteer my services to this new organization.” Hank looked him straight in the eye. “Thank you, sir. Your application will be considered.”

Dr. Archibald looked startled, but Hank went smoothly on, “We want and need and will appreciate the help of all you older Scouts. The liaison committee is instructed to get the names of any who are willing to serve.”

It was decided that we would have to have three troops, one for each deck, since it wasn’t convenient to try to meet all at the same time. Hank asked all the Explorer Scouts to stand up. There were too many of them, so he asked those who were Eagles to remain standing. There were about a dozen of us.

Hank separated us Eagles by decks and told us to get busy and organize our troops and to start by picking an acting senior patrol leader. “A” deck had only three Eagles, me, Hank, and a kid from another bunk room whom I hadn’t met before, Douglas MacArthur Okajima. Doug and Hank combined on me and I found myself tagged with the job.

Hank and I had planned to finish the meeting with setting up exercises, but there just wasn’t room, so I got out my accordion again and we sang The Scouting Trail and followed it with The Green Hills of Earth. Then we took the oath together again:

“Upon my honor I will do my best to do my duty to God and my planet, and to keep myself physically fit, mentally alert, and morally straight.” After that the meeting busted up.

For a while we held meetings every day. Between troop meetings and committee meetings and Explorer meetings and patrol leader meetings we didn’t have time to get bored. At first the troops were just “A” troop, “B” troop, and “C” troop, after the decks, but we wanted names to give them some personality. Anyhow I wanted a name for my troop; we were about to start a membership drive and I wanted something with more oomph to it than “‘A'” deck troop.”

Somebody suggested “The Space Rats” but that was voted down, and somebody else suggested “The Mayflowers”; they didn’t bother to vote on that; they simply sat on him.

After that we turned down “The Pilgrims,” “Deep Space Troop,” “Star Rovers,” and “Sky High.” A kid named John Edward Forbes-Smith got up. “Look,” he said, “we’re divided into three troops on the basis of the time zones we use, aren’t we? “B” deck has California time; “C” deck has Philippine time; and we have Greenwich or English time. Why don’t we pick names that will show that fact? We could call ourselves the Saint George Troop.”

Bud Kelly said it was a good idea as far as it went but make it Saint Patrick instead of Saint George; after all, Dublin was on Greenwich time, too, and Saint Patrick was a more important saint.

Forbes-Smith said, “Since when?”

Bud said, “Since always, you limey–” So we sat on both of them, too, and it was decided not to use saints. But Johnny Edwards had a good idea, just the same; we settled on the Baden-Powell Troop, Boy Scouts of Ganymede, which tied in with the English time zone and didn’t offend anybody.

The idea took hold; “C” deck picked Aguinaldo as a name and “B” deck called themselves the Junipero Serra Troop. When I heard that last I was kind of sorry our deck didn’t have California time so that we could have used it. But I got over it; after all “Baden-Powell” is a mighty proud name, too.

For that matter they were all good names–scouts and explorers and brave men, all three of them. Two of them never had a chance to be Scouts in the narrow, organized meaning, but they were all Scouts in the wider sense–like Daniel Boone.

Dad says there is a lot in a name.

As soon as they heard about what we were doing the girls set up Girl Scouting, too, and Peggy was a member of the Florence Nightingale Troop. I suppose there was no harm in it, but why do girls copy what the boys do? We were too busy to worry about them, though; we had to revamp Scouting activities to fit new conditions.

We decided to confirm whatever ranks and badges a boy had held in his former organization–permanent rankings, I mean, not offices. Having been a patrol leader or a scribe didn’t mean anything, but if you were an Eagle on Earth, you stayed one in the B.S.G.; if you were a Cub, then you were still a Cub. If a boy didn’t have records–and about half of them didn’t– we took his Scout oath statement as official.

That was simple; working over the tests and the badges was complicated. After all you can’t expect a boy to pass beekeeping when you haven’t any bees.

(It turned out that there were several swarms of bees sleep-frozen in the cargo, but we didn’t have the use of them.)

But we could set up a merit badge in hydroponics and give tests right there in the ship. And Mr. Ortega set up a test for us in spaceship engineering and Captain Harkness did the same for ballistics and astrogation. By the end of the trip we had enough new tests to let a boy go up for Eagle Scout, once we had a Court of Honor.

That came last. For some reason I couldn’t figure Hank had kept putting off the final report of the liaison committee, the committee which had as its job getting Scout Masters and Commissioners and such. I asked him about it, but he just looked mysterious and said that I would see.

I did see, eventually. At last we had a joint meeting of all three troops to install Scout Masters and dedicate the Court of Honor and such. And from then on the adults ran things and we went back to being patrol leaders at the most. Oh well–it was fun while it lasted.

2. Trouble

When we were fifty-three days out and about a week to go to reach Ganymede, Captain Harkness used the flywheel to precess the ship so that we could see where we were going–so that the passengers could see, that is; it didn’t make any difference to his astrogation.

You see, the axis of the Mayflower had been pointed pretty much toward Jupiter and the torch had been pointed back at the Sun. Since the view ports were spaced every ninety degrees around the sides, while we had been able to see most of the sky, we hadn’t been able to see ahead to Jupiter nor behind to the Sun. Now he tilted the ship over ninety degrees and we were rolling, so to speak, along our line of flight. That way, you could see Jupiter and the Sun both, from any view port, though not both at the same time.

Jupiter was already a tiny, ruddy-orange disc. Some of the boys claimed they could make out the moons. Frankly, I couldn’t, not for the first three days after the Captain precessed the ship. But it was mighty fine to be able to see Jupiter.

We hadn’t seen Mars on the way out, because Mars happened to be on the far side of the Sun, three hundred million miles away. We hadn’t seen anything but the same old stars you can see from Earth. We didn’t even see any asteroids.

There was a reason for that. When we took off from the orbit of Supra-New-York, Captain Harkness had not aimed the Mayflower straight for where Jupiter was going to be when we got there; instead he had lifted her north of the ecliptic high enough to give the asteroid belt a wide berth. Now anybody knows that meteors are no real hazard in space.

Unless a pilot does deliberately foolish things like driving his ship through the head of a comet it is almost impossible to get yourself hit by a meteor. They are too far between.

On the other hand the asteroid belt has more than its fair share of sky junk. The older power-pile ships used to drive straight through the belt, taking their chances, and none of them was ever hit to amount to anything. But Captain Harkness, having literally all the power in the world, preferred to go around and play it safe. By avoiding the belt there wasn’t a chance in a blue moon that the Mayflower would be hit.

Well, it must have been a blue moon. We were hit.

It was just after reveille, “A” deck time, and I was standing by my bunk, making it up. I had my Scout uniform in my hands and was about to fold it up and put it under my pillow. I still didn’t wear it. None of the others had uniforms to wear to Scout meetings so I didn’t wear mine. But I still kept it tucked away in my bunk.

Suddenly I heard the goldarnest noise I ever heard in my life. It sounded like a rifle going off right by my ear, it sounded like a steel door being slammed, and it sounded like a giant tearing yards and yards of cloth, all at once.

Then I couldn’t hear anything but a ringing in my ears and I was dazed. I shook my head and looked down and I was staring at a raw hole in the ship, almost between my feet and nearly as big as my fist.

There was scorched insulation around it and in the middle of the hole I could see blackness–then a star whipped past and I realized that I was staring right out into space.

There was a hissing noise.

I don’t remember thinking at all. I just wadded up my uniform, squatted down, and stuffed it in the hole. For a moment it seemed as if the suction would pull it on through the hole, then it jammed and stuck and didn’t go any further. But we were still losing air. I think that was the point at which I first realized that we were losing air and that we might be suffocated in vacuum.

There was somebody yelling and screaming behind me that he was killed and alarm bells were going off all over the place. You couldn’t hear yourself think. The air-tight door to our bunk room slid across automatically and settled into its gaskets and we were locked in.

That scared me to death.

I know it has to be done. I know that it is better to seal off one compartment and kill the people who are in it than to let a whole ship die–but, you see, I was in that compartment, personally. I guess I’m just not the hero type.

I could feel the pressure sucking away at the plug my uniform made. With one part of my mind I was recalling that it had been advertised as “tropical weave, self ventilating” and wishing that it had been a solid plastic rain coat instead. I was afraid to stuff it in any harder, for fear it would go all the way through and leave us sitting there, chewing vacuum. I would have passed up desserts for the next ten years for just one rubber patch, the size of my hand.

The screaming had stopped; now it started up again. It was Noisy Edwards, beating on the air-tight door and yelling, “Let me out of here! Get me out of here!”

On top of that I could hear Captain Harkness’s voice coming through the bull horn. He was saying, “H-twelve! Report! H-twelve! Can you hear me?”

On top of that everybody was talking at once.

I yelled: “Quiet!” at the top of my voice–and for a second or so there was quiet.

Peewee Brunn, one of my Cubs, was standing in front of me, looking big-eyed. “What happened, Billy?” he said. I said, “Grab me a pillow off one of the bunks. Jump!”

He gulped and did it. I said, “Peel off the cover, quick!”

He did, making quite a mess of it, and handed it to me–but I didn’t have a hand free. I said, “Put it down on top of my hands.”

It was the ordinary sort of pillow, soft foam rubber. I snatched one hand out and then the other, and then I was kneeling on it and pressing down with the heels of my hands. It dimpled a little in the middle and I was scared we were going to have a blowout right through the pillow.

But it held. Noisy was screaming again and Captain Harkness was still asking for somebody, anybody, in compartment H-12 to tell him what was going on. I yelled “Quiet!” again, and added, “Somebody slug Noisy and shut him up.”

That was a popular idea. About three of them jumped to it. Noisy got clipped in the side of the neck, then somebody poked him in the pit of his stomach and they swarmed over him. “Now everybody keep quiet,” I said, “and keep on keeping quiet. If Noisy lets out a peep, slug him again,” I gasped and tried to take a deep breath and said, “H-twelve, reporting!”

The Captain’s voice answered, “What is the situation there?” “There is a hole in the ship, Captain, but we got it corked up.” “How? And how big a hole?”

I told him and that is about all there was to it. They took a while to get to us because–I found this out afterward–they isolated that stretch of corridor first, with the air-tight doors, and that meant they had to get everybody out of the rooms on each side of us and across the passageway. But presently two men in space suits opened the door and chased all the kids out, all but me. Then they came back. One of them was Mr. Ortega.

“You can get up now, kid,” he said, his voice sounding strange and far away through his helmet. The other man squatted down and took over holding the pillow in place.

Mr. Ortega had a big metal patch under one arm. It had sticky padding on one side. I wanted to stay and watch him put it on but he chased me out and closed the door. The corridor outside was empty but I banged on the air-tight door and they let me through to where the rest were waiting. They wanted to know what was happening but I didn’t have any news for them because I had been chased out.

After a while we started feeling light and Captain Harkness announced that spin would be off the ship for a short time. Mr. Ortega and the other man came back and went on up to the control room. Spin was off entirely soon after that and I got very sick.

Captain Harkness kept the ship’s speaker circuits cut in on his conversations with the men who had gone outside to repair the hole, but I didn’t listen. I defy anybody to be interested in anything when he is drop sick

Then spin came back on and everything was all right and we were allowed to go back into our bunk-room. It looked just the same except that there was a plate welded over the place where the meteorite had come in.

Breakfast was two hours late and we didn’t have school that morning.

That was how I happened to go up to Captain’s mast for the second time. George was there and Molly and Peggy and Dr. Archibald, the Scoutmaster of our deck, and all the fellows from my bunk room and all the ship’s officers. The rest of the ship was cut in by visiplate. I wanted to wear my uniform but it was a mess–torn and covered with sticky stuff. I finally cut off the merit badges and put it in the ship’s incinerator.

The First Officer shouted, “Captain’s Mast for punishments and rewards!” Everybody sort of straightened up and Captain Harkness walked out and faced us. Dad shoved me forward.

The Captain looked at me. “William Lermer?” he said. I said, “Yessir.”

He said, “I will read from yesterday’s log: ‘On twenty-one August at oh-seven-oh-four system standard, while cruising in free fall according to plan, the ship was broached by a small meteorite. Safety interlocks worked satisfactorily and the punctured volume, compartment H-twelve, was isolated with no serious drop in pressure elsewhere in the ship.

‘Compartment H-twelve is a bunk room and was occupied at the time of the emergency by twenty passengers. One of the passengers, William J. Lermer, contrived a makeshift patch with materials at hand and succeeded in holding sufficient pressure for breathing until a repair party could take over.

‘His quick thinking and immediate action unquestionably saved the lives of all persons in compartment H-twelve.’ “

The Captain looked up from the log and went on, “A certified copy of this entry, along with depositions of witnesses, will be sent to Interplanetary Red Cross with recommendation for appropriate action. Another copy will be furnished you. I have no way to reward you except to say that you have my heart-felt gratitude. I know that I speak not only for the officers but for all the passengers and most especially for the parents of your bunk mates.”

He paused and waggled a finger for me to come closer. He went on in a low voice, to me alone, “That really was a slick piece of work. You were on your toes. You have a right to feel proud.”

I said I guessed I had been lucky.

He said, “Maybe. But that sort of luck comes to the man who is prepared for it.”

He waited a moment, then said, “Lermer, have you ever thought of putting in for space training?”

I said I suppose I had but I hadn’t thought about it very seriously. He said, “Well, Lermer, if you ever do decide to, let me know. You can reach me care of the Pilots’ Association, Luna City.”

With that, mast was over and we went away, George and I together and Molly and Peggy following along. I heard Peggy saying, “That’s my brother.” Molly said, “Hush, Peggy. And don’t point.”

Peggy said, “Why not? He is my brother–well, isn’t he?”

Molly said, “Yes, but there’s no need to embarrass him.” But I wasn’t embarrassed.

Mr. Ortega looked me up later and handed me a little, black, twisted piece of metal, about as big as a button. “That’s all there was left of it,” he said, “but I thought you would like to have it–pay you for messing up your Scout suit, so to speak.”

I thanked him and said I didn’t mind losing the uniform; after all, it had saved my neck, too. I looked at the meteorite. “Mr. Ortega, is there any way to tell where this came from?”

“Not really,” he told me, “though you can get the scientific johnnies to cut it up and then express an opinion–if you don’t mind them destroying it.”

I said no, I’d rather .keep it–and I have; I’ve still got it as a pocket piece. He went on, “It’s either a bit of a comet or a piece of the Ruined Planet. We can’t tell which because where we were, there shouldn’t have been either one.”

“Only there was,” I said. “As you say, there was.”

“Uh, Mr. Ortega, why don’t they put enough armor on a ship to stop a little bitty thing like this?” I remembered what the skin of the ship looked like where it had been busted; it seemed awful thin.

“Well, now, in the first place, this meteor is a real giant, as meteors go. In the second place–do you know anything about cosmic rays, Bill?” “Uh, not much, I guess.”

“You undoubtedly know that the human body is transparent to primary cosmic radiation and isn’t harmed by it. That is what we encounter out here in space. But metal is not completely transparent to it and when it passes through metal it kicks up all sorts of fuss–secondary and tertiary and quaternary cosmic radiation.

The stuff cascades and it is not harmless, not by a darn sight. It can cause mutations and do you and your descendants a lot of harm. It adds up to this: a man is safest in space when he has just enough ship around him to keep the air in and ultraviolet out.”

Noisy didn’t have much to say around the compartment for the next couple of days and I thought maybe he had learned his lesson. I was wrong. I ran into him in one of the lower passageways when there was nobody else around. I started to go around him but he stepped in my way. “I want to talk to you,” he said.

“Okay,” I answered. “What’s on your mind?” “You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you?”

I didn’t like the way he said it, nor what he said. I said, “I don’t think I’m smart; I am smart.” He made me tired.

“Pretty cocky, aren’t you? You think I ought to be kissing your hand and telling you how grateful I am for saving my life, don’t you?” I said, “Oh, yeah? If that’s what is worrying you, you can just skip it; I didn’t do it for you.“

“I know that,” he answered,” and I’m not grateful, see?”

“That’s fine with me,” I told him. “I wouldn’t want a guy like you being grateful to me.”

He was breathing hard. “I’ve had just about enough of you,” he said slowly. And the next thing I knew I had a mouthful of knuckles and I was down.

I got up cautiously, trying to surprise him. But it was no good; he knocked me down again. I tried to kick him while I was down, but he danced out of my way.

The third time he hit me I stayed down. When I quit seeing stars he was gone–and I hadn’t managed to lay a finger on him. I never was any good in a fight; I’m still talking when I ought to be slugging.

I went to a scuttlebutt and bathed my face. Hank ran across me there and asked me what in the world I had been doing. I told him I had run into a door. I told Dad the same thing.

Noisy didn’t bother me any more and we never had anything to say to each other again. I lay awake a long time that night, trying to figure it out. I didn’t get it. The chap who thought up that malarkey about “my strength is as the strength of ten because my heart is pure” certainly had never met Noisy Edwards.

For my taste Noisy was a no good so-and-so and I wished I had been able to use his face to stuff the hole the meteor made. I thought about a number of ways to fix him, but none of them was any good. As Dad says, sometimes there just isn’t any cure for a situation.

3. The Moons of Jupiter

Nothing much happened until it was time to make our approach to Jupiter, except that a four-year-old kid turned up missing. The kid’s parents searched all around and they passed the word from the control room for everybody to keep an eye open but they still couldn’t find him.

So we had a chance to try out the Scouts’ emergency organization. The ship’s officers couldn’t search the ship, since there was just the Captain and two watch officers and Mr. Ortega and his assistant chief. Captain Harkness supplied plans to each of the Scoutmasters and we went through that ship like a kid searching his clothes for a half credit. We turned the kid up, all right, in about twenty minutes. Seems the little devil had snuck into the hydroponics room while it was being serviced and had got himself locked in.

While he was in there he had got thirsty and had tried to drink the solutions they raise the plants in – had drunk some, in fact. The result was just about what you would expect. It didn’t do him any real harm but, boy, was that place a mess!

I was talking to Dad about it that night over a game. Peggy had a Girl Scout meeting and Molly was off somewhere; we were alone for once. The baby’s mother had raised particular Ned, just as if there had really been something wrong–I mean, what can happen in a space ship? The kid couldn’t fall overboard.

Dad said her reaction was perfectly natural.

I said, “See, here, George, does it seem to you that some of the emigrants don’t have what it takes to be colonists?” “Mmmm… possibly.”

I was thinking of Noisy but the ones I mentioned were Mrs. Tarbutton, who gave up and didn’t even come along, and that female–Mrs. Grigsby–who got in trouble and had to wash dishes. And another fellow named Saunders who was continually in trouble with the council for trying to live his own life, wild and free, no matter what it did to the rest of us. “George, how did those characters get past the psycho tests?”

George stopped to peg fifteen-four, then said, “Bill, haven’t you ever heard of political influence?” All I said was, “Huh?”

“It’s a shocking thought I know, but you are old enough to get used to the world as it is, instead of the way it ought to be. Take a hypothetical case: I don’t suppose that a niece of a state councilor would be very likely to fail the psycho tests. Oh, she might fail the first tests, but a review board might find differently – if the councilor really wanted her to pass.”

I chewed this over a while. It did not sound like George; he isn’t the cynical type. Me, I’m cynical, but George is usually naive. “In that case, George, there is no use in having psycho tests at all, not if people like that can sneak past.”

“Contrariwise. The tests are usually honest. As for those who sneak past, it doesn’t matter. Old Mother Nature will take care of them in the long run. Survivors survive.” He finished dealing and said, “Wait till you see what I’m going to do to you this hand. You haven’t a chance.”

He always says that. I said, “Anybody who would use public office like that ought to be impeached!”

George said mildly, “Yep. But don’t bum out your jets, son; we’ve got human beings, not angels, to work with.”

On the twenty-fourth of August Captain Harkness took spin off and started bringing us in. We decelerated for better than four hours and then went into free fall about six hundred thousand miles out from Jupiter and on the opposite side from where Ganymede was then. Weightlessness still wasn’t any fun but this time we were ready and everyone got shots for it who wanted them. I took mine and no nonsense.

Theoretically the Mayflower could have made it in one compound maneuver, ending up at the end of deceleration in a tight circular orbit around Ganymede. Practically it was much better to sneak in easy and avoid any more trouble with meteorites–with the “false rings,” that is.

Of course Jupiter doesn’t have rings like Saturn, but it does have quite a lot of sky junk traveling around in the same plane as its moons. If there were enough of it, it would show up like Saturn’s rings. There isn’t that much, but there is enough to make a pilot walk on eggs coming in. This slow approach gave us a fine front seat for a tour of Jupiter and its satellites.

Most of this stuff we were trying to avoid is in the same plane as Jupiter’s equator, just the way Saturn’s rings are–so Captain Harkness brought us in over the top of Jupiter, right across Jupiter’s north pole. That way, we never did get in the danger zone until we had curved down on the other side to reach Ganymede–and by then we were going fairly slow.

But we weren’t going slow when we passed over Jupiter’s north pole, no indeedy! We were making better than thirty miles a second and we were close in, about thirty thousand miles. It was quite a sight.

Jupiter is ninety thousand miles thick; thirty thousand miles is close–too close for comfort.

I got one good look at it for about two minutes from one of the view ports, then had to give up my place to somebody who hadn’t had a turn yet and go back to the bunk room and watch through the vision screen. It was an odd sight; you always think of Jupiter with equatorial bands running parallel across it. But now we were looking at it end on and the bands were circles. It looked like a giant archery target, painted in orange and brick red and brown– except that half of it was chewed away. We saw it in half moon, of course.

There was a dark spot right at the pole. They said that was a zone of permanent clear weather and calm and that you could see clear down to the surface there. I looked but I couldn’t see anything; it just looked dark.

As we came over the top, Io–that’s satellite number one–suddenly came out of eclipse. Io is about as big as the Moon and was about as far away from us at the time as the Moon is from the Earth, so it looked about Moon size. There was just black sky and then there was a dark, blood red disc and in less than five minutes it was brilliant orange, about the color of Jupiter itself. It simply popped up, like magic.

I looked for Barnard’s satellite while we were close in, but missed it. It’s the little one that is less than one diameter from the surface of Jupiter–so close that it whirls around Jupiter in twelve hours. I was interested in it because I knew that the Jovian observatory was on it and also the base for Project Jove.

I probably didn’t miss anything; Barnard’s satellite is only about a hundred and fifty miles in diameter. They say a man can come pretty close to jumping right off it. I asked George about it and he said, no, the escape speed was about five hundred feet per second and who had been filling me up with nonsense?

I looked it up later; he was right. Dad is an absolute mine of useless information. He says a fact should be loved for itself alone.

Callisto was behind us; we had passed her on the way in, but not very close. Europa was off to the right of our course nearly ninety degrees; we saw her in half moon. She was more than four hundred thousand miles away and was not as pretty a sight as the Moon is from Earth.

Ganymede was straight ahead, almost, and growing all the time–and here was a funny thing; Callisto was silvery, like the Moon, but not as bright; Io and Europa were bright orange, as bright as Jupiter itself. Ganymede was downright dull!

I asked George about it; he came through, as usual “Ganymede used to be about as bright as Io and Europa,” he told me. “It’s the greenhouse effect–the heat trap. Otherwise we wouldn’t be able to live on it.”

I knew about that, of course; the greenhouse effect is the most important part of the atmosphere project When the 1985 expedition landed Ganymede had a surface temperature a couple of hundred degrees below zero–that’s cold enough to freeze the milk of human kindness! “But look, George,” I objected, “sure, I know about the heat trap, but why is it so dark? It looks like the inside of a sack.”

“Light is heat; heat is light,” he answered. “What’s the difference? It’s not dark on the ground; it goes in and doesn’t come out–and a good thing, too.”

I shut up. It was something new to me and I didn’t understand it, so I decided to wait and not pound my teeth about it.

Captain Harkness slowed her down again as we came up to Ganymede and we got in one good meal while she was under drive. I never did get so I could eat at free fall, even with injections. He leveled her off in a tight circular orbit about a thousand miles up from Ganymede. We had arrived–just as soon as we could get somebody to come and get us.

It was on the trip down to Ganymede’s surface that I began to suspect that being a colonist wasn’t as glamorous and romantic as it had seemed back on Earth. Instead of three ships to carry us all at once, there was just one ship, the Jitterbug, and she would have fitted into one of the Bifrost‘s compartments. She could carry only ninety of us at a time and that meant a lot of trips.

I was lucky; I had to wait only three days in free fall. But I lost ten pounds.

While I waited, I worked, helping to stow the freight that the Jitterbug brought up each trip. At last it came our turn and we piled into the Jitterbug. She was terrible; she had shelves rather than decks–they weren’t four feet apart. The air was stale and she hadn’t been half way cleaned up since the last trip. There weren’t individual acceleration couches; there were just pads covering the deck space and we covered the pads, shoulder to shoulder–and foot in your eye, for that matter.

The skipper was a loud-mouthed old female they called “Captain Hattie” and she kept bawling us out and telling us to hurry. She didn’t even wait to make sure that we were all strapped down.

Fortunately it didn’t take very long. She drove away so hard that for the first time except in tests I blacked out, then we dropped for about twenty minutes; she gunned her again, and we landed with a terrible bump. And Captain Hattie was shouting, “Out you come, you ground hogsl This is it.”

The Jitterbug carried oxygen, rather than the helium-oxygen mix of the Mayflower. We had come down at ten pounds pressure; now Captain Hattie spilled the pressure and let it adjust to Ganymede normal, three pounds. Sure, three pounds of oxygen is enough to live on; that’s all Earth has–the other twelve pounds are nitrogen. But a sudden drop in pressure like that is enough to make you gasp anyhow. You aren’t suffocating but you feel as if you were.

We were miserable by the time we got out and Peggy had a nose bleed. There weren’t any elevators; we had to climb down a rope ladder. And it was cold!

It was snowing; the wind was howling around us and shaking the ladder–the smallest kids they had to lower with a line. There was about eight inches of snow on the ground except where the splash of the Jitterbugs jet had melted it. I could hardly see, the wind was whipping the snow into my face so, but a man grabbed me by the shoulder, swung me around, and shouted, “Keep moving! Keep moving! Over that way.”

I headed the way he pointed. There was another man at the edge of the blast clearing, singing the same song, and there was a path through the snow, trampled to slush. I could see some other people disappearing in the snow ahead and I took out after them, dogtrotting to keep warm.

It must have been half a mile to the shelter and cold all the way. We weren’t dressed for it. I was chilled through and my feet were soaking wet by the time we got inside.

The shelter was a big hangarlike building and it was not much warmer, the door was open so much, but it was out of the weather and it felt good to be inside. It was jammed with people, some of them in ship suits and some of them Ganymedeans–you couldn’t miss the colonial men; they were bearded and some of them wore their hair long as well. I decided that was one style I was not going to copy; I’d be smooth shaven, like George.

I went scouting around, trying to find George & Co. I finally did. He had found a bale of something for Molly to sit on and she was holding Peggy on her lap. Peg’s nose had stopped bleeding. I was glad to see, but there were dried tears and blood and dirt on her face. She was a sight.

George was looking gloomy, the way he did the first few days without his pipe. I came up and said, “Hi, folks!” George looked around and smiled and said, “Well, Bill, fancy meeting you here! How is it going?”

“Now that you ask me,” I answered, “it looks like a shambles.”

He looked gloomy again and said, “Oh, I suppose they will get things straightened out presently.”

We didn’t get a chance to discuss it. A colonist with snow on his boots and hair on his face stopped near us, put his little fingers to his lips, and whistled. “Pipe down!” he shouted. “I want twelve able-bodied men and boys for the baggage party.” He looked around and started pointing. “You– and you–and you–“

George was the ninth “You”; I was the tenth.

Molly started to protest. I think George might have balked if she had not. Instead he said, “No, Molly, I guess it has to be done. Come on, Bill.” So we went back out into the cold.

There was a tractor truck outside and we were loaded in it standing up, then we lumbered back to the rocket site. Dad saw to it that I was sent up into the Jitterbug to get me out of the weather and I was treated to another dose of Captain Hattie’s tongue; we couldn’t work fast enough to suit her. But we got our baggage lowered finally; it was in the truck by the time I was down out of the ship. The trip back was cold, too.

Molly and Peggy were not where we had left them. The big room was almost empty and we were told to go on into another building through a connecting door. George was upset, I could see, from finding Molly gone.

In the next building there were big signs with arrows: MEN & BOYS-TO THE RIGHT and WOMEN & GIRLS-TO THE LEFT. George promptly turned to the left. He got about ten yards and was stopped by a stem-faced woman dressed like a colonial, in a coverall. “Back the other way,” she said firmly. “This is the way to the ladies’ dormitory.”

“Yes, I know,” agreed Dad, “but I want to find my wife.” “You can look for her at supper.”

“I want to see her now.“

“I haven’t any facilities for seeking out any one person at this time. You’ll have to wait.”

“But–” There were several women crowding past us and going on inside. Dad spotted one from our deck in the Mayflower. “Mrs. Archibald!” She turned around. “Oh–Mr. Lermer. How do you do?”

“Mrs. Archibald,” Dad said intently, “could you find Molly and let her know that I’m waiting here?” “Why, I’d be glad to try, Mr. Lermer.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Archibald, a thousand thanks!”

“Not at all.” She went away and we waited, ignoring the stern-faced guard. Presently Molly showed up without Peggy. You would have thought Dad hadn’t seen her for a month.

“I didn’t know what to do, dear,” she said. “They said we had to come and it seemed better to get Peggy settled down. I knew you would find us.” “Where is Peggy now?”

“I put her to bed.”

We went back to the main hall. There was a desk there with a man behind it; over his head was a sign: IMMIGRATION SERVICE-INFORMATION. There was quite a line up at it; we took our place in the queue.

“How is Peggy?” Dad asked.

“I’m afraid she is catching a cold.”

“I hope-” Dad said. “Ah, I HOPE–Atchoo!“ “And so are you,” Molly said accusingly.

“I don’t catch cold,” Dad said, wiping his eyes. “That was just a reflex.”

“Hmm–” said Molly.

The line up took us past a low balcony. Two boys, my age or older, were leaning on the rail and looking us over. They were colonials and one was trying to grow a beard, but it was pretty crummy.

One turned to the other and said, “Rafe, will you look at what they are sending us these days?” The other said, “It’s sad.”

The first one pointed a thumb at me and went on, “Take that one, now–the artistic type, no doubt.” The second one stared at me thoughtfully. “Is it alive?” he asked.

“Does it matter?” the first one answered.

I turned my back on them, whereupon they both laughed. I hate self-panickers.

4. The Promised Land

Mr. Saunders was ahead of us in line. He was crabbing about the weather. He said it was an outrage to expose people the way we had been. He had been with us on the working party, but he had not worked much.

The man at the desk shrugged. “The Colonial Commission set your arrival date; we had nothing to say about it. You can’t expect us to postpone winter to suit your convenience.”

“Somebody’s going to hear about this!”

“By all means.” The man at the desk handed him a form, “Next, please!” He looked at Dad and said, “What may I do for you, citizen?” Dad explained quietly that he wanted to have his family with him. The man shook his head. “Sorry. Next case, please.”

Dad didn’t give up his place. “You can’t separate a man and wife. We aren’t slaves, nor criminals, nor animals. The Immigration Service surely has some responsibilities toward us.”

The man looked bored. “This is the largest shipload we’ve ever had to handle. We’ve made the best arrangements we could. This is a frontier town, not the Astor.”

“All I’m asking for is a minimum family space, as described in the Commission’s literature about Ganymede.” “Citizen, those descriptions are written back on Earth. Be patient and you will be taken care of.”

“Tomorrow?”

“No, not tomorrow. A few days–or a few weeks.”

Dad exploded. “Weeks, indeed! Confound it, I’ll build an igloo out on the field before I’ll put up with this.”

“That’s your privilege.” The man handed Dad a sheet of paper. “If you wish to lodge a complaint, write it out on this.”

Dad took it and I glanced at it. It was a printed form–and it was addressed to the Colonial Commission back on Earth! The man went on, “Turn it in to me any time this phase and it will be ultramicro-filmed in time to go back with the mail in the Mayflower.“

Dad looked at it, snorted, crumpled it up, and stomped away. Molly followed him and said, “George! Georgel Don’t be upset. We’ll live through it.”

Dad grinned sheepishly. “Sure we will, honey. It’s the beauty of the system that gets me. Refer all complaints to the head office–half a billion miles away!”

The next day George’s reflexes were making his nose run. Peggy was worse and Molly was worried about her and Dad was desperate. He went off somewhere to raise a stink about the way things were being handled.

Frankly, I didn’t have it too bad. Sleeping in a dormitory is no hardship to me; I could sleep through the crack of doom. And the food was everything they had promised.

Listen to this: For breakfast we had corn cakes with syrup and real butter, little sausages, real ham, strawberries with cream so thick I didn’t know what it was, tea, all the milk you could drink, tomato juice, honey-dew melon, eggs–as many eggs as you wanted.

There was an open sugar bowl, too, but the salt shaker had a little sign on it; DON’T WASTE THE SALT.

There wasn’t any coffee, which I wouldn’t have noticed if George had not asked for it. There were other things missing, too, although I certainly didn’t notice it at the time. No tree fruits, for example–no apples, no pears, no oranges. But who cares when you can get strawberries and watermelon and pineapples and such? There were no tree nuts, too, but there were peanuts to burn.

Anything made out of wheat flour was a luxury, but you don’t miss it at first.

Lunch was choice of corn chowder or jellied consomme, cheese souffle, fried chicken, corned beef and cabbage, hominy grits with syrup, egg plant au gratin, little pearl onions scalloped with cucumbers, baked stuffed tomatoes, sweet potato surprise, German-fried Irish potatoes, tossed endive, coleslaw with sour cream, pineapple and cottage cheese with lettuce.

Then there was peppermint ice cream, angel berry pie, frozen egg nog, raspberry ice, and three kinds of pudding–but I didn’t do too well on the desserts. I had tried to try everything, taking a little of this and a dab of that, and by the time desserts came along I was short on space. I guess I ate too much.

The cooking wasn’t fancy, about like Scout camp, but the food was so good you couldn’t ruin it. The service reminded me of camp, too–queueing up for servings, no table cloths, no napkins. And the dishes had to be washed; you couldn’t throw them away or burn them–they were imported from Earth and worth their weight in uranium.

The first day they took the first fifty kids in the chow line and the last fifty lads to leave the mess hall and made them wash dishes. The next day they changed pace on us and took the middle group. I got stuck both times.

The first supper was mushroom soup, baked ham, roast turkey, hot corn bread with butter, jellied cold meats, creamed asparagus, mashed potatoes and giblet gravy, spinach with hard boiled egg and grated cheese, corn pudding, creamed peas and carrots, smothered lettuce and three kinds of salad. Then there was frozen custard and raisin pudding with hard sauce and Malaga and Thompson grapes and more strawberries with powdered sugar.

Besides that you could drop around to the kitchen and get a snack any time you felt like it.

I didn’t go outside much the first three days. It snowed and although we were in Sun phase when we got there it was so murky that you couldn’t see the Sun, much less Jupiter. Besides, we were in eclipse part of the time. It was as cold as Billy-be-switched and we still didn’t have any cold weather clothes.

I was sent along with the commissary tractor once to get supplies over in town. Not that I saw much of the town–and not that Leda is much of a town, anyhow, to a person who has lived in Diego Borough–but I did see the hydroponics farms.

There were three of them, big multiple sheds, named for what they grew in them, “Oahu,” “Imperial Valley,” and “Iowa.” Nothing special about them, just the usual sort of soiless gardening. I didn’t hang around because the flicker lighting they use to force the plants makes my eyes burn.

But I was interested in the tropical plants they grew in “Oahu”–I had never seen a lot of them before. I noticed that most of the plants were marked “M-G” while a few were tagged “N. T.” I asked one of the gardeners; he said that “M-G” meant “mutation-Ganymede” and the other meant “normal terrestrial.”

I found out later that almost everything grown on Ganymede was a special mutation adapted to Ganymede conditions.

Beyond there was another of the big multiple sheds named “Texas”; it had real cows in it and was very interesting. Did you know a cow moves its lower jaw from side to side? And no matter what you’ve heard, there is not one teat that is especially for cream.

I hated to leave, but “Texas” shed smelled too much like a space ship. It was only a short dash through the snow to the Exchange where all of Leda’s retail buying and selling takes place–big and little shops all under one roof.

I looked around, thinking I might take a present back to Peggy, seeing that she was sick. I got the shock of my life. The prices!

If I had had to buy in the Exchange the measly fifty-eight pounds of stuff they had let me bring with me, it would have cost–I’m telling the truth!– several thousand credits. Everything that was imported from Earth cost that kind of money. A tube of beard cream was two hundred and eighty credits.

There were items for sale made on Ganymede, hand work mostly, and they were expensive, too, though not nearly as expensive as the stuff brought up from Earth.

I crept out of that place in a hurry. As nearly as I could figure the only thing cheap on Ganymede was food.

The driver of the commissary tractor wanted to know where I had been when there was loading to do? “I should have left you behind to walk back,” he groused. I didn’t have a good answer so I didn’t say anything.

They shut off winter soon after that. The heat trap was turned on full force, the skies cleared and it was lovely. The first view I got of the Ganymede sky was a little after dawn next Sun phase. The heat trap made the sky a pale green but Jupiter shone right through it, ruddy orange, and big. Big and beautiful–I’ve never gotten tired of looking at Jupiter!

A harvest moon looks big, doesn’t it? Well, Jupiter from Ganymede is sixteen or seventeen times as wide as the Moon looks and it covers better than two hundred and fifty times as much sky. It hangs there in the sky, never rising, never setting, and you wonder what holds it up.

I saw it first in half-moon phase and I didn’t see how it could be any more beautiful than it was. But the Sun crept across the sky and a day later Jupiter was a crescent and better than ever. At the middle of Sun phase we went into eclipse, of course, and Jupiter was a great red, glowing ring in the sky, brightest where the Sun had just passed behind it.

But the best of all is during dark phase.

Maybe I ought to explain how the phases work; I know I didn’t understand it until I came to Ganymede. Ganymede is such a small planet and so close to its primary that it is tide-locked, just the way the Moon is; it keeps one face always toward Jupiter and therefore Jupiter does not move in the sky. The sun moves, the other Jovian moons move, the stars move–but not good old Jove; it just hangs there.

Ganymede takes just over an Earth week to revolve around Jupiter, so we have three and a half days of sunlight and then three and a half days of darkness. By Ganymede time the period of rotation is exactly one week; twenty-four Ganymede hours is one seventh of the period. This arrangement makes a Ganymede minute about a standard second longer than an Earth minute, but who cares? Except scientists, of course, and they have clocks that keep both sorts of time.

So here is the way a week goes on Ganymede: the Sun rises at Sunday midnight every week; when you get up Monday morning it’s a little above the eastern horizon and Jupiter is in half-moon phase.

The Sun keeps climbing higher and about suppertime on Tuesday it slides behind Jupiter and Ganymede is in eclipse; eclipse can last an hour or so up to a maximum of about three hours and a half. The stars come out and Jupiter shows that beautiful red ring effect because of its thick atmosphere. Then it’s light again by bedtime Tuesday.

At noon on Thursday the Sun goes down and we start the dark phase; that’s best of all. Jupiter’s colors really show and the other moons are easier to see. They can be almost anywhere and in almost any combination.

Jupiter and its satellites is sort of a miniature solar system; from Ganymede you have a front seat for the show. There is always something new in the sky. Besides the eleven “historical” satellites ranging in size from Ganymede down to Jay-ten or Nicholson-Alpha, which is a ball of rock and ice only fifteen miles thick, there are maybe a dozen more a few miles or less in diameter but big enough to be called moons and heaven knows how many smaller than that.

Sometimes these little ones come close enough to Ganymede to show discs; they mostly have very eccentric orbits. Any time there will be several

that are conspicuous lights in the sky, like the planets are from Earth.

Io, and Europa, and Callisto are always discs. When Europa passes between Jupiter and Ganymede it is as big in the sky as the Moon is from Earth. It actually is as big as the Moon and at that time it is only about a quarter of a million miles away.

Then it swings around to the far side and is very much smaller–more than a million miles away and less than a quarter as wide. Io goes through the same sorts of changes, but it never gets as big.

When Io and Europa pass between Ganymede and Jupiter you can see them move with your naked eye, chasing their shadows or running ahead of them, depending on the phase. Io and Europa, being inside Ganymede’s orbit, never get very far away from Jupiter, Io sticks within a couple of diameters of the big boy; Europa can get about sixty degrees away from it. Callisto is further out than Ganymede and goes all around the sky.

It’s a show you never get tired of. Earth’s sky is dull.

By six o’clock Saturday morning Jupiter would be in full phase and it was worthwhile to get up to see it. Not only was it the most gorgeous thing I had ever seen, but there was always the reverse eclipse, too, and you could see Ganymede’s shadow, a little round black dot, crawling across old Jupiter’s face. It gave you an idea of just how colossally big Jupiter was– there was the shadow of your whole planet on it and it wasn’t anything more than a big freckle.

Jupiter is ninety thousand miles across the equator, eighty-four thousand from pole to pole. Ganymede is only a little better than three thousand.

For the next couple of days after full phase Jupiter would wane and at Sunday midnight it would be in half phase again, the Sun would rise and a new light phase would start. One thing I expected but didn’t find was dim sunlight. Jupiter is a long way out; it gets only one twenty-seventh the sunlight that Earth does. I expected that we would always be in a sort of twilight.

It didn’t work out that way. It seemed to me that the sunlight was just as bright as on Earth.

George says that this is an optical illusion and that it has to do with the way the human eye works, because the iris of the eye simply shuts out light it doesn’t need. Bright desert sunlight back on Earth is maybe ten thousand foot-candles; the same thing on Ganymede is only four hundred foot- candles. But really good bright artificial light is only twenty–five foot candles and a “well-lighted” room is seldom that bright.

If you’ve got only a two-gallon bucket does it make any difference whether you fill it from the ocean or from a small pond? Sunlight on Ganymede was still more than the eye could accept, so it looked just as bright as sunlight on Earth.

I did notice, however, that it was almost impossible to get a sunburn.

5. “Share Croppers”

George got us a place to live when we had been there about a week, which was a lot better than most of the other immigrants did, but it didn’t suit him and it didn’t suit Molly and it didn’t really suit me.

The trouble was he had to take a job as a staff engineer with the colonial government to get quarters for us–and that meant he would be too tied down to prove a piece of land for homestead. But it did carry private family quarters with it, if you could call two rooms twelve feet square a home.

It was like this: the colony was made up of homesteaders and townies. The townies worked for the government and lived in government-owned buildings –except for a very few who were in private trade.

The townies included the Colonial Commission representative, Captain Hattie the pilot, the hydroponics engineers, the hospital staff, the engineers who ran the power plant and the heat trap, the staff of the local office of Project Jove, and everybody else who worked at anything but land farming.

But most of the colonials were homesteaders and that’s what George had meant us to be. Like most everybody, we had come out there on the promise of free land and a chance to raise our own food.

There was free land, all right, a whole planet of it. Putting up a house and proving a farm was another matter.

Here is the way it was supposed to work: A colonist comes out from Earth with his family and lands at Leda. The Colonial Commission gives him an apartment in town on arrival, helps him pick out a piece of land to improve and helps him get a house up on it. The Commission will feed him and his family for one Earth year–that is, two Ganymede years–while he gets a couple of acres under cultivation.

Then he has ten G-years in which to pay back the Commission by processing at least twenty acres for the Commission– and he is allowed to process as much land for himself as for the Commission during the time he is paying what he owes. At the end of five Earth years he owns a tidy little farm, free and clear. After that, he can spread out and acquire more land, get into trade, anything he likes. He has his toehold and has paid off his debt.

The Colonial Commission had a big expensive investment in having started the atmosphere project and made the planet fit to live on in the first place. The land processed by the colonists was its return on the investment; the day would come when the Colonial Commission would own thousands of acres of prime farmland on Ganymede which it could then sell Earthside to later settlers … if you wanted to emigrate from Earth you would have to pay for the privilege and pay high. People like us would not be able to afford it.

By that time, although Ganymede would be closed to free immigration, Callisto would have an atmosphere and pioneers could move in there and do it all over again. It was what the bankers call “Self-liquidating,” with the original investment coming from Earth.

But here is the way it actually did work out: when we landed there were only about thirty thousand people on Ganymede and they were geared to accept about five hundred immigrants an Earth year, which was about all the old-type ships could bring out. Remember, those power-pile ships took over five years for the round trip; it took a fleet of them to bring in that many a year.

Then the Star Rover II was renamed the Mayflower and turned over to the Colonial Commission, whereupon six thousand people were dumped on them all at once. We were about as welcome as unexpected overnight guests when there is sickness in the family.

The colonists had known, for a full Earth year, that we were coming, but they had not been able to protest. While Earth Sender can punch a message through to Ganymede anytime except when the Sun is smack in the way, at that time the best radio the colony could boast had to relay via Mars to reach Earth–and then only when Mars was at its closest approach to Jupiter– which it wasn’t.

I’ve got to admit that they did what they could for us. There was plenty to eat and they had managed to fix up places for us to sleep. The Immigrants’ Receiving Station had formerly been split up into family apartments; they had torn out the partitions and used the partitions to build bunks for the big dormitories we were stacked in. They had moved their town hall and made it over into a mess hall and kitchen for us. We were in out of the weather and well fed, even if we were about as crowded as we had been in the Mayflower.

You may ask why, with a year to get ready, they had not built new buildings for us? Well, we asked the same thing, only we weren’t asking, we were demanding, and we were sore about it!

They hadn’t built new buildings because they could not. Before the Earthmen moved in, Ganymede was bare rock and ice. Sure, everybody knows that–but does everybody know what that means? I’m sure I didn’t.

No lumber. No sheet metal. No insulation. No wires, No glass. No pipe. The settlers in North America built log cabins–no logs.

The big hydroponics sheds, the Receiving Station and a few other public buildings had been built with materials lifted a half a billion miles from Earth. The rest of Leda and every homesteader’s farm house had been built the hard way, from country rock. They had done their best for us, with what they had.

Only we didn’t appreciate it.

Of course we should not have complained. After all, as George pointed out, the first California settlers starved, nobody knows what happened to the Roanoke Colony, and the first two expeditions to Venus died to the last man. We were safe.

Anyhow, even if we had to put up with barracks for a while, there was all that free land, waiting for us.

On close inspection, it looked as if it would have to wait quite a while. That was why George had given in and taken a staff engineering job. The closest land to town open to homesteading was nine miles away. To find enough land for six thousand people meant that most of them would have to go about eighteen to twenty miles away.

“What’s twenty miles? A few minutes by tube, an up-and-down hop for a copter–brother, have you ever walked twenty miles? And then walked back again?

It wasn’t impossible to settle six thousand people that far from town; it was just difficult–and slow. The pioneer explorer used to set out with his gun

and an axe; the settler followed by hitching his oxen to a wagonload of furniture and farm tools. Twenty miles meant nothing to them.

They weren’t on Ganymede.

The colony had two tractor trucks; another had come in the Mayflower. That’s all the transportation there was on the whole planet–not just to settle six thousand people but for the daily needs of thirty thousand people who were there ahead of us.

They explained it all to us at a big meeting of heads of families. I wasn’t supposed to be there but it was held outdoors and there was nothing to stop me. The chief ecologist and the chief engineer of the planet were there and the chairman of the colony council presided. Here was the proposition:

What Ganymede really needed was not more farmers, but manufacturing. They needed prospectors and mines and mills and machine shops. They needed all the things you can make out of metal and which they simply could not afford to import from Earth. That’s what they wanted us to work on and they would feed any of us who accepted, not just for a year, but indefinitely.

As for any who insisted on homesteading–well, the land was there; help ourselves. There wasn’t enough processing machinery to go around, so it might be two or three years before any particular immigrant got a chance to process his first acre of ground.

Somebody stood up near the front of the crowd and yelled, “We’ve been swindled!”

It took Mr. Tolley, the chairman, quite a while to calm them down. When they let him talk again, he said, “Maybe you have been swindled, maybe you haven’t. That’s a matter of opinion. I’m quite willing to concede that conditions here are not the way they were represented to you when you left Earth. In fact–“

Somebody yelled. “That’s mighty nice of you!” only the tone was sarcastic.

Mr. Tolley looked vexed. “You folks can either keep order, or I’ll adjourn this meeting.”

They shut up again and he went on. Most of the present homesteaders had processed more land than they could cultivate. They could use hired hands to raise more crops. There was a job waiting for every man, a job that would keep him busy and teach him Ganymede farming–and feed his wife and family-while he was waiting his turn to homestead.

You could feel a chill rolling over the crowd when the meaning of Mr. Tolley’s words sunk in. They felt the way Jacob did when he had labored seven years and then was told he would have to labor another seven years to get the girl he really wanted. I felt it myself, even though George had already decided on the staff job.

A man spoke up. “Mr. Chairman!” “Yes? Your name, please.”

“Name of Saunders. I don’t know how the rest of them feel, but I’m a farmer. Always have been. But I said ‘farmer,’ not sharecropper. I didn’t come here to hire out to no boss. You can take your job and do what you see fit with it. I stand on my rights!”

There was scattered applause and the crowd began to perk up. Mr. Tolley looked at him and said, “That’s your privilege, Mr. Saunders.”

“Huh? Well, I’m glad you feel that way, Mr. Chairman. Now let’s cut out the nonsense. I want to know two things: what piece of land am I going to get and when do I lay hands on some machinery to start putting it into condition?”

Mr. Tolley said, “You can consult the land office about your first question. As to the second, you heard the chief engineer say that he estimates the average wait for processing machinery will be around twenty-one months.”

“That’s too long.”

“So it is, Mr. Saunders.”

“Well, what do you propose to do about it?” Mr. Tolley shrugged and spread his hands. “I’m not a magician. We’ve asked the Colonial Commission by urgent message going back on the Mayflower not to send us any more colonists on the next trip, but to send us machinery. If they agree, there may be some relief from the situation by next winter. But you have seen–all of you have already seen–that the Colonial Commission makes

decisions without consulting us. The first trip of the Mayflower should have been all cargo; you folks should have waited.”

Saunders thought about it. “Next winter, eh? That’s five months away. I guess I can wait–I’m a reasonable man. But no sharecropping; that’s outl” “I didn’t say you could start homesteading in five months, Mr. Saunders. It may be twenty-one months or longer.”

“No, indeedy!”

“Suit yourself. But you are confronted with a fact, not a theory. If you do have to wait and you won’t work for another farmer, how do you propose to feed yourself and your family in the mean time?”

Mr. Saunders looked around and grinned, “Why, in that case, Mr. Chairman, I guess the government will just have to feed us until the government can come through on its end of the deal. I know my rights.”

Mr. Tolley looked at him as if he had just bitten into an apple and found Saunders inside. “We won’t let your children starve,” he said slowly, “but as for you, you can go chew rocks. If you won’t work, you won’t eat.”

Saunders tried to bluster. “You can’t get away with it! I’ll sue the government and I’ll sue you as the responsible government official You can’t–“

“Shut up!” Mr. Tolley went on more quietly, speaking to all of us. “We might as well get this point straight. You people have been enticed into coming out here by rosy promises and you are understandably disappointed. But your contract is with the Colonial Commission back on Earth.

But you have no contract with the common council of Ganymede, of which I am chairman, and the citizens of Ganymede owe you nothing. We are trying to take care of you out of common decency.

“If you don’t like what we offer you, don’t start throwing your weight around with me; I won’t stand for it. Take it up with the representative of the Immigration Service. That’s what he is here for. Meeting’s adjourned!”

But the immigration representative wasn’t there; he had stayed away from the meeting.

6. Bees and Zeroes

We had been swindled all right. It was equally clear that there was no help for it. Some of the immigrants did see the Colonial Commission representative, but they got no comfort out of him. He had resigned, he said, fed up with trying to carry out impossible instructions five hundred million miles from the home office. He was going home as soon as his relief arrived.

That set them off again; if he could go home so could they. The Mayflower was still in orbit over us, taking on cargo. A lot of people demanded to go back in her.

Captain Harkness said no, he had no authority to let them deadhead half way across the system. So they landed back on the Commission representative, squawking louder than ever.

Mr. Tolley and the council finally settled it. Ganymede wanted no soreheads, no weak sisters. If the Commission refused to ship back those who claimed they were gypped and didn’t want to stay, then the next shipload wouldn’t even be allowed to land. The representative gave in and wrote Captain Harkness out a warrant for their passage.

We held a family pow-wow over the matter, in Peggy’s room in the hospital–it had to be there because the doctors were keeping her in a room pressurized to Earth normal

Did we stay, or did we go back? Dad was stuck in a rut. Back Earthside he at least had been working for himself; here he was just an employee. If he quit his job and elected to homestead, it meant working two or three G-years as a field hand before we could expect to start homesteading.

But the real rub was Peggy. In spite of having passed her physical examination Earthside she hadn’t adjusted to Ganymede’s low pressure. “We might as well face it,” George said to Molly. “We’ve got to get Peg back to the conditions she’s used to.”

Molly looked at him; his face was as long as my arm. “George, you don’t want to go back, do you?”

“That’s not the point, Molly. The welfare of the kids comes first.” He turned to me and added, “You’re not bound by this, Bill. You are big enough to make up your own mind. If you want to stay, I am sure it can be arranged.”

I didn’t answer right away. I had come into the family get-together pretty disgusted myself, not only because of the run-around we had gotten, but also because of a run-in I had had with a couple of the Colonial kids. But you know what it was that swung me around? That pressurized room. I had gotten used to low pressure and I liked it. Peggy’s room, pressurized to Earth normal, felt like swimming in warm soup. I could hardly breath. “I don’t think I want to go back,” I said.

Peggy had been sitting up in bed, following the talk with big eyes, like a little lemur. Now she said, “I don’t want to go back, eitherl”

Molly patted her hand and did not answer her, “George,” she said, “I’ve given this a lot of thought You don’t want to go back, I know. Neither does Bill But we don’t all have to go back. We can–“

“That’s out, Molly,” Dad answered firmly. “I didn’t marry you to split up. If you have to go back, I go back.”

“I didn’t mean that. Peggy can go back with the O’Farrells and my sister will meet her and take care of her at the other end. She wanted me to leave Peggy with her when she found I was determined to go. It will work out all right.” She didn’t look at Peggy as she said it.

“But, Molly!” Dad said.

“No George,” she answered, “I’ve thought this all out. My first duty is to you. It’s not as if Peggy wouldn’t be well taken care of; Phoebe will be a mother to her and–“

By now Peggy had caught her breath. “I don’t want to go live with Aunt Phoebe!” she yelled and started to bawl. George said, “It won’t work, Molly.”

Molly said, “George, not five minutes ago you were talking about leaving Bill behind, on his own.” “But Bill is practically a man!”

“He’s not too old to be lonesome. And I’m not talking about leaving Peggy alone; Phoebe will give her loving care. No, George, if the womenfolk ran home at the first sign of trouble there never would be any pioneers. Peggy has to go back, but I stay.”

Peggy stopped her blubbering long enough to say, “I won‘t go back! I’m a pioneer, too–ain’t I, Bill?” I said, “Sure kid, sure!” and went over and patted her hand. She grabbed onto mine.

I don’t know what made me say what I did then. Goodness knows the brat had never been anything but a headache, with her endless questions and her insistence that she be allowed to do anything I did. But I heard myself saying, “Don’t worry, Peggy. If you go. back, I’ll go with you.”

Dad looked at me sharply, then turned to Peggy. “Bill spoke hastily, Baby. You mustn’t hold him to that.” Peggy said, “You did so mean it, didn’t you, Bill?”

I was regretting it already. But I said, “Sure, Peggy.”

Peggy turned back to Dad. “See? But it doesn’t matter; we’re not going back, not any of us. Please Daddy –I’ll get well, I promise you I will. I’m getting better every day.”

Sure, she was–in a pressurized room. I sat there, sweating, and wishing I had kept my big mouth shut. Molly said, “It defeats me, George. What do you think?”

“Mmmm–“

“Well?”

“Uh, I was thinking we could pressurize one room in our quarters. I could rig some sort of an impeller in the machine shop.” Peggy was suddenly all over her tears. “You mean I can get out of the hospital?”

“That’s the idea, Sugar, if Daddy can work it.”

Molly looked dubious. “That’s no answer to our problems, George.”

“Maybe not.” Dad stood up and squared his shoulders. “But I have decided one thing; we all go, or we’ll all stay. The Lermers stand together. That’s settled.”

Homesteading wasn’t the only thing we had been mistaken about. There was Scouting on Ganymede even if the news hadn’t gotten back to Earth. There hadn’t been any meetings of the Mayflower troops after we landed; everybody had been just too busy to think about it. Organized Scouting is fun, but sometimes there just isn’t time for it.

There hadn’t been any meetings of the Leda Troop, either. They used to meet in their town hall; now we had their town hall as a mess hall, leaving them out in the cold. I guess that didn’t tend to make them fee! chummy towards us.

I ran into this boy over in the Exchange. Just as he was passing me I noticed a little embroidered patch on his chest. It was a homemade job and not very good, but I spotted it. “Hey!” I said.

He stopped. ” ‘Hey’ yourself! Were you yelling at me?” “Uh, yes. You’re a Scout, aren’t you?”

“Certainly.”

“So am I. My name’s Bill Lermer. Shake.” I slipped him the Scout grip.

He returned it. “Mine’s Sergei Roskov.” He looked me over. “You’re one of the Johnny-Come-Latelies, aren’t you?” “I came over in the Mayflower” I admitted.

“That’s what I meant. No offense– I was born Earth-side, myself. So you used to be a Scout, back home. That’s good. Come around to meeting and

we’ll sign you up again.”

“I’m still a Scout,” I objected.

“Huh? Oh, I get you–‘Once a Scout, always a Scout.’ Well, come around and we’ll make it official.”

That was a very good time for me to keep my lip zipped. But not me–oh, no! When comes the Tromp of Doom, I’ll still be talking instead of listening. I said, “It’s as official as it can be. I’m senior patrol leader, Baden-Powell Troop.”

“Huh? You’re kind of far away from your troop, aren’t you?”

So I told him all about it. He listened until I was through, then said quietly, “And you laddie bucks had the nerve to call yourselves the ‘Boy Scouts of Ganymede.’ Anything else you would like to grab? You already have our meeting hall; maybe you’d like to sleep in our beds?”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing.” He seemed to be thinking it over. “Just a friendly warning, Bill–” “Huh?”

“There is only one senior patrol leader around here-and you’re looking right at him. Don’t make any mistake about it. But come on around to

meeting anyhow,” he added. “You’ll be welcome. We’re always glad to sign up a new tenderfoot.”

I went back to the Receiving Station and looked up Hank Jones and told him all about it. He looked at me admiringly. “William, old son,” he said, “I’ve got to hand it to you. It takes real talent to louse things up that thoroughly. It’s not easy.”

“You think I’ve messed things up?”

“I hope not. Well, let’s look up Doc Archibald and see what can be done.”

Our troop master was holding clinic; we waited until the patients were out of the way, then went in. He said, “Are you two sick, or just looking for a ticket to gold brick?”

“Doc,” I said, “we were wrong. There are so Scouts on Ganymede.” “So I know,” he answered.

I said, “Huh?”

“Mr. Ginsberg and Mr. Bruhn and I have been negotiating with the senior Scout officials here to determine just how our troops will be taken into the parent organization. It’s a bit complicated as there are actually more Mayflower Scouts than there are in the local troop. But they have jurisdiction, of course.”

I said, “Oh.”

“Well have a joint meeting in a few days, after we get the rules ironed out.”

I thought it over and decided I had better tell him what had happened, so I did.

He listened, not saying anything. Finally I said, “Hank seems to think I’ve messed things up. What do you think, Doc?” “Mmmm–” he said. “Well, I hope he’s wrong. But I think I may say you haven’t helped the situation any.”

I didn’t know what to say. “Don’t look so tragic about it,” he urged. “You’ll get well. Now run along and forget it. It may not make any difference.”

But it did make a difference. Doc and the others had been pitching for our troops to be recognized as properly constituted troops, with all ratings acknowledged. But after Sergei spread the word around, the regular Ganymede Scouts all squawked that we were nothing but a bunch of tenderfeet, no matter what we had been back on Earth. The place for us to start was the bottom; if we were any good, we could prove it– by tests.

It was compromised; George says things like that are always compromised. Ratings were confirmed on probation, with one G-year to make up any tests that were different. Our troops were kept intact But there was one major change:

All patrol leaders had to be from the original Ganymede Scouts; they were transferred from the Leda troop. I had to admit the justice of it. How could I be a patrol leader on Ganymede when I was still so green that I didn’t know northwest from next week? But it didn’t set well with the other fellows who had been patrol leaders when the word got around that I was responsible for the flies in the soup.

Hank talked it over with me. “Billy my boy,” he told me, “I suppose you realize that you are about as popular as ants at a picnic?” “Who cares?” I objected.

“You care. Now is the time for all good men to perform an auto da fe”

“What in great blazing moons is an auto da fe?”

“In this case it means for you to transfer to the Leda Troop.”

“Have you gone crazy? You know what those guys think of us, especially me. I’d be lucky to get away with my life.”

“Which just goes to show how little you know about human nature. Sure, it would be a little rough for a while, but it’s the quickest way to gain back some respect.”

“Hank, you really are nuts. In that troop I really would be a tenderfoot–and how!”

“That’s just the point,” Hank went on quietly, “We’re all tenderfeet–only here in our own troop it doesn’t show. If we stay here, we’ll keep on being tenderfeet for a long time. But if we transfer, we’ll be with a bunch who really know their way around–and some of it will rub off on us.”

“Did you say ‘we’?”

“I said ‘we’.”

“I catch on. You want to transfer, so you worked tip this gag about how I ought to do so, so you would have company. A fine chum you are!”

He just grinned, completely unembarrassed. “Good old Bill! Hit him in the head eight or nine times and he can latch on to any idea. It won’t be so bad, Bill. In precisely four months and nine days we won’t be tenderfeet; we’ll be old timers.”

“Why the exact date?”

“Because that is the due date of the Mayflower on her next trip–as soon as they arrive they‘ll be the Johnny-Come-Latelies.” “Oh!”

Anyhow, we did it–and it was rough at first, especially on me … like the night they insisted that I tell them how to be a hero. Some twerp had gotten hold of the meteorite story. But the hazing wasn’t too bad and Sergei put a stop to it whenever he caught them at it. After a while they got tired of it.

Sergei was so confounded noble about the whole thing that I wanted to kick him.

The only two merit badges to amount to anything that stood in the way of my getting off probation and back up to my old rating of Eagle Scout were agronomy and planetary ecology, Ganymede style. They were both tough subjects but well worth studying. On Ganymede you had to know them to stay alive, so I dug in.

Ecology is the most involved subject I ever tackled. I told George so and he said possibly politics was worse–and on second thought maybe politics was just one aspect of ecology. The dictionary says ecology is “the science of the interrelations of living organisms and their environment.” That doesn’t get you much, does it? It’s like defining a hurricane as a movement of air.

The trouble with ecology is that you never know where to start because everything affects everything else. An unseasonal freeze in Texas can affect the price of breakfast in Alaska and that can affect the salmon catch and that can affect something else.

Or take the old history book case: the English colonies took England’s young bachelors and that meant old maids at home and old maids keep cats and the cats catch field mice and the field mice destroy the bumble bee nests and bumble bees are necessary to clover and cattle eat clover and cattle furnish the roast beef of old England to feed the soldiers to protect the colonies that the bachelors emigrated to, which caused the old maids.

Not very scientific, is it? I mean you have too many variables and you can’t put figures to them. George says that if you can’t take a measurement and write it down in figures you don’t know enough about a thing to call what you are doing with it “science” and, as for him, hell stick to straight engineering, thank you.

But there were some clear cut things about applied ecology on Ganymede which you could get your teeth into. Insects, for instance–on Ganymede, under no circumstances do you step on an insect. There were no insects on Ganymede when men first landed there. Any insects there now are there because the bionomics board planned it that way and the chief ecologist okayed the invasion. He wants that insect to stay right where it is, doing whatever it is that insects do; he wants it to wax and grow fat and raise lots of little insects.

Of course a Scout doesn’t go out of his way to step on anything but black widow spiders and the like, anyhow–but it really brings it up to the top of your mind to know that stepping on an insect carries with it a stiff fine if you are caught, as well as a very pointed lecture telling you that the colony can get along very nicely without you but the insects are necessary.

Or take earthworms. I knowthey are worth their weight in uranium because I was buying them before I was through. A farmer can’t get along without

earthworms.

Introducing insects to a planet isn’t as easy as it sounds. Noah had less trouble with his animals, two by two, because when the waters went away he still had a planet that was suited to his load. Ganymede isn’t Earth.

Take bees–we brought bees in the Mayflower but we didn’t turn them loose; they were all in the shed called “Oahu” and likely to stay there for a smart spell. Bees need clover, or a reasonable facsimile. Clover would grow on Ganymede but our real use for clover was to fix nitrogen in the soil and thereby refresh a worn out field. We weren’t planting clover yet because there wasn’t any nitrogen in the air to fix–or not much.

But I am ahead of my story. This takes us into the engineering side of ecology. Ganymede was bare rock and ice before we came along, cold as could be, and no atmosphere to speak of–just traces of ammonia and methane. So the first thing to do was to give it an atmosphere men could breathe.

The material was there–ice. Apply enough power, bust up the water molecule into hydrogen and oxygen. The hydrogen goes up–naturally–and the oxygen sits on the surface where you can breathe it. That went on for more than fifty years.

Any idea how much power it takes to give a planet the size of Ganymede three pressure-pounds of oxygen all over its surface?

Three pressure-pounds per square inch means nine mass pounds, because Ganymede has only one third the surface gravitation of Earth. That means you have to start with nine pounds of ice for every square inch of Ganymede–and that ice is cold to start with, better than two hundred degrees below zero Fahrenheit.

First you warm it to the freezing point, then you melt it, then you dissociate the water molecule into oxygen and hydrogen–not in the ordinary laboratory way by electrolysis, but by extreme heat in a mass converter. The result is three pressure pounds of oxygen and hydrogen mix for that square inch. It’s not an explosive mixture, because the hydrogen, being light, sits on top and the boundary layer is too near to being a vacuum to maintain burning.

But to carry out this breakdown takes power and plenty of it–65,000 BTUs for each square inch of surface, or for each nine pounds of ice, whichever way you like it. That adds up; Ganymede may be a small planet but it has 135,000,000,000,000,000 square inches of surface. Multiply that by 65,000 BTUs for each square inch, then convert British Thermal Units to ergs and you get:

92,500,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 ergs.

Ninety-two-and-a-half million billon quadrillion ergs! That figure is such a beauty that I wrote it down in my diary and showed it to George.

He wasn’t impressed. George said that all figures were the same size and nobody but a dimwit is impressed by strings of zeroes. He made me work out what the figure meant in terms of mass-energy, by the good old E = MC2 formula, since mass-energy converters were used to give Ganymede its atmosphere.

By Einstein’s law, one gram mass equals 9×1020 ergs, so that fancy long figure works out to be 1.03×1011 grams of energy, or 113,200 tons. It was ice, mostly, that they converted into energy, some of the same ice that was being turned into atmosphere–though probably some country rock crept in along with the ice. A mass converter will eat anything.

Let’s say it was all ice; that amounts to a cube of ice a hundred and sixty feet on an edge. That was a number I felt I could understand.

I showed my answer to George and he still was not impressed. He said I ought to be able to understand one figure just as easily as the other, that both meant the same thing, and both figures were the same size.

Don’t get the idea that Ganymede’s atmosphere was made from a cube of ice 160 feet on a side; that was just the mass which had to be converted to energy to turn the trick. The mass of ice which was changed to oxygen and hydrogen would, if converted back into ice, cover the entire planet more than twenty feet deep —like the ice cap that used to cover Greenland.

George says all that proves is that there was a lot of ice on Ganymede to start with and that if we hadn’t had mass converters we could never have colonized it. Sometimes I think engineers get so matter of fact that they miss a lot of the juice in life.

With three pressure-pounds of oxygen on Ganymede and the heat trap in place and the place warmed up so that blood wouldn’t freeze in your veins, colonists could move in and move around without wearing space suits and without living in pressure chambers.

The atmosphere project didn’t stop, however. In the first place, since Ganymede has a low escape speed, only 1.8 miles per second compared with

Earth’s 7 m/s, the new atmosphere would gradually bleed off to outer space, especially the hydrogen, and would be lost– in a million years or so. In

the second place, nitrogen was needed.

We don’t need nitrogen to breathe and ordinarily we don’t think much about it. But it takes nitrogen to make protein–muscle. Most plants take it out of the ground; some plants, like clover and alfalfa and beans, take it out of the air as well and put it back into the ground. Ganymede’s soil was rich in nitrogen; the original scanty atmosphere was partly ammonia–but the day would come when we would have to put the nitrogen back in that we were taking out. So the atmosphere project was now turned to making nitrogen.

This wasn’t as simple as breaking up water; it called for converting stable isotope oxygen-16 into stable isotope nitrogen-14, an energy consuming reaction probably impossible in nature–or so the book said–and long considered theoretically impossible.

I hadn’t had any nucleonics beyond high school physics, so I skipped the equations. The real point was, it could be done, in the proper sort of a mass-energy converter, and Ganymede would have nitrogen in her atmosphere by the time her fields were exhausted and had to be replenished.

Carbon dioxide was no problem; there was dry ice as well as water ice on Ganymede and it had evaporated into the atmosphere long before the first homesteader staked out a claim.

Not that you can start farming with oxygen, carbon dioxide, and a stretch of land. That land was dead. Dead as Christopher Columbus. Bare rock, sterile, no life of any sort–and there never had been any life in it. It’s a far piece from dead rock to rich, warm, black soil crawling with bacteria and earthworms, the sort of soil you have to have to make a crop.

It was the job of the homesteaders to make the soil.

See how involved it gets? Clover, bees, nitrogen, escape speed, power, plant-animal balance, gas laws, compound interest laws, meteorology–a mathematical ecologist has to think of everything and think of it ahead of time. Ecology is explosive; what seems like a minor and harmless invasion can change the whole balance. Everybody has heard of the English sparrow.

There was the Australian jack rabbit, too, that darn near ate a continent out of house and home. And the Caribbean mongoose that killed the chickens it was supposed to protect. And the African snail that almost ruined the Pacific west coast before they found a parasite to kill it.

You take a harmless, useful insect, plant, or animal to Ganymede and neglect to bring along its natural enemies and after a couple of seasons you’ll wish you had imported bubonic plague instead.

But that was the chief ecologist’s worry; a farmer’s job was engineering agronomy–making the soil and then growing things in it.

That meant taking whatever you came to–granite boulders melted out of the ice, frozen lava flows, pumice, sand, ancient hardrock–and busting it up into little pieces, grinding the top layers to sand, pulverizing the top few inches to flour, and finally infecting the topmost part with a bit of Mother Earth herself-then nursing what you had to keep it alive and make it spread. It wasn’t easy.

But it was interesting. I forgot all about my original notion of boning up on the subject just to pass a merit badge test. I asked around and found out where I could see the various stages going on and went out and had a look for myself. I spent most of one light phase just looking.

When I got back to town I found that George had been looking for me. “Where in blazes have you been?” he wanted to know. “Oh, just out and around,” I told him, “seeing how the ‘steaders do things.”

He wanted to know where I had slept and how I had managed to eat? “Bill, it’s all very well to study for your merit badges but that’s no reason to turn into a tramp,” he objected. “I guess I have neglected you lately–I’m sorry.” He stopped and thought for a moment, then went on, “I think you had better enter school here. It’s true they haven’t much for you, but it would be better than running around at loose ends.”

“George?”

“Yes, that’s probably the best-huh?”

“Have you completely given up the idea of home-steading?”

Dad looked worried. “That’s a hard question, Bill. I still want us to, but with Peggy sick–it’s difficult to say. But our name is still in the hat. I’ll have to make up my mind before the drawing.”

“Dad, I’ll prove it.” “Eh?”

“You keep your job and take care of Peggy and Molly. I’ll make us a farm.”

7. Johnny Appleseed

The drawing of our division took place three weeks later; the next day George and I walked out to see what we had gotten. It was west of town out through Kneiper’s Ridge, new country to me; I had done my exploring east of town, over toward the power plant, where most of the proved land was located.

We passed a number of farms and some of them looked good, several acres in cultivation, green and lush, and many more acres already chewed level. It put me in mind of Illinois, but there was something missing. I finally figured out what it was–no trees.

Even without trees it was beautiful country. On the right, north of us, were the foothills of the Big Rock Candy Mountains. Snow-covered peaks thrust up beyond them, twenty or thirty miles away. On the left, curving in from the south and closer than it came to Leda, was Laguna Serenidad. We were a couple of hundred feet higher than the lake. It was a clear day and I tried to see the far shore, but I couldn’t be sure.

It was a mighty cheerful scene. Dad felt it, too. He strode along, whistling “Beulah Land” off key. I get my musical talent from Anne. He broke off and said, “Bill, I envy you.”

I said, “We’ll all be together yet, George. I’m the advance guard.” I thought a bit and said, “George, do you know what the first thing I raise is going to be-after I get some food crops in?”

“What?”

“I’m going to import some seed and raise you some tobacco.” “Oh, no, Son!”

“Why not?” I knew he was touched by it, because he called me ‘Son’. “I could do it, as well as not.”

“It’s a kind thought, but we’ll have to stick to the main chance. By the time we can afford that, I will have forgotten how to light a pipe. Honest, I don’t miss it.”

We slogged along a bit further, not saying anything but feeling close together and good. Presently the road played out. Dad stopped and took his sketch map out of his pouch. “This must be about it.”

The sketch showed where the road stopped, with just a dotted line to show where it would be, some day. Our farm was outlined on it, with the nearest comer about half a mile further along where the road ought to be and wasn’t. By the map, the edge of our property–or what would be ours if we proved it–ran along the north side of the road about a quarter of a mile and from there back toward the foothills. It was marked “Plot 117-H-2” and had the chief engineer’s stamp on it.

Dad was staring at where the road ended. There was a lava flow right across it, high as my head and rough as a hard winter in Maine. “Bill,” he said, “How good an Indian are you?”

“Fair, I guess.”

“We’ll have to try to pace it off and hold a straight line due west.”

But it was almost impossible to do it. We struggled and slipped on the lava and made detours. Lava looks soft and it isn’t. Dad slipped and skinned his shin and I discovered that I had lost track of how many paces we had come. But presently we were across the flow and in a boulder field. It was loose rubble, from pieces the size of a house down to stuff no bigger than your fist–stuff dropped by the ice when it melted and formed Laguna

Serenidad.

George says that Ganymede must have had a boisterous youth, covered with steam and volcanoes.

The boulder field was somewhat easier going but it was even harder to hold a straight line. After a bit Dad stopped. “Bill,” he said, “do you know where we are?”

“No,” I admitted, “but we aren’t really lost. If we head back east we are bound to come to proved ground.” “Perhaps we had better.”

“Wait a minute.” There was a particularly big boulder ahead of us. I picked a way and managed to scramble to the top with nothing worse than a cut on my hand. I stood up. “I can see the road,” I told Dad. “We’re north of where we ought to be. And I think maybe we’ve come too far.” I marked a spot with my eye and came down.

We worked south the amount I thought was right and then headed east again. After a bit I said, “I guess we missed it, George. I’m not much of an In- He said, “So? What’s this?” He was a little ahead of me and had stopped.

It was a cairn with a flat rock on top. Painted on it was: “117-H-2, SE corner.”

We had been on our farm for the past half hour; the big boulder I had climbed up on was on it.

We sat down on a fairly flat rock and looked around. Neither of us said anything for a while; we were both thinking the same thing: if this was a farm, I was my own great uncle.

After a bit Dad muttered something. I said, “What did you say?”

“Golgotha,” he said out loud. “Golgotha, the place of skulls.” He was staring straight ahead.

I looked where he was looking; there was a boulder sitting on top of another and the way the sun caught it, it did look like a skull. It leered at us.

It was so darn quiet you could hear your hair grow. The place was depressing me. I would have given anything to hear something or see something move. Anything–just a lizard darting out from behind a rock, and I could have kissed it.

But there were no lizards here and never had been.

Presently Dad said, “Bill, are you sure you want to tackle this?” “Sure I’m sure.”

“You don’t have to, you know. If you want to go back to Earth and go to M.I.T., I could arrange it for the next trip.”

Maybe he was thinking that if I went back, I could take Peggy with, me and she would be willing to go. Maybe I should have said something about it. But didn’t; I said, “Are you going back?”

“No.”

“Neither am I.” At the moment is was mostly stubbornness. I had to admit that our “farm” wasn’t flowing with milk and honey; in fact it looked grim. Nobody but a crazy hermit would want to settle down in such a spot.

“Think it over, Bill.” “I’ve thought it over.”

We sat there a while longer, not saying anything, just thinking long thoughts. Suddenly we were almost startled out of our boots by somebody

yodelling at us. A moment before I had been wishing to hear just anything, but when it came it was like unexpectedly encountering a clammy hand in

the dark.

We both jumped and Dad said, “What in the–?” I looked around. There was a large man coming toward us. In spite of his size he skipped through the rocks like a mountain goat, almost floating in the low gravity. As he got closer I knew I had seen him before; he was on the Court of Honor, a Mr. Schultz.

Dad waved to him and pretty soon he reached us. He stood half a head taller than Dad and would have made the pair of us, he was so big. His chest was as thick as my shoulders were broad and his belly was thicker than that. He had bushy, curly red hair and his beard spread out over his chest like a tangle of copper springs. “Greetings, citizens,” he boomed at us, “my name is Johann Schultz.”

Dad introduced us and he shook hands and I almost lost mine in his. He fixed his eyes on me and said, “I’ve seen you before, Bill.” I said I guessed he had, at Scout meetings. He nodded and added, “A patrol leader, no?”

I admitted that I used to be. He said, “And soon again,” as if the matter were all settled. He turned to Dad. “One of the kinder saw you going past on the road, so Mama sent me to find you and bring you back to the house for tea and some of her good coffee cake.”

Dad said that was very kind but that we didn’t want to impose. Mr. Schultz didn’t seem to hear him. Dad explained what we were there for and showed him the map and pointed out the cairn. Mr. Schultz nodded four or five times and said, “So we are to be neighbors. Good, good!” He added to Dad “My neighbors call me John, or sometimes ‘Johnny’.” Dad said his name was George and from then on they were old friends.

Mr. Schultz stood by the cairn and sighted off to the west and then north to the mountains. Then he scrambled up on a big boulder where he could see better and looked again. We went up after him.

He pointed to a rise west of us. “You put your house so, not too far from the road, but not on it. And first you work this piece in here and next season you work back further toward the hills.” He looked at me and added. “No?”

I said I guessed so. He said, “It is good land, Bill. You will make a fine farm.” He reached down and picked up a piece of rock and rubbed it between his fingers. “Good land,” he repeated.

He laid it down carefully, straightened up, and said, “Mama will be waiting for us.”

Mama was waiting for us, all right, and her idea of a piece of coffee cake was roughly what they used to welcome back the Prodigal Son. But before we got into the house we had to stop and admire the Tree.

It was a real tree, an apple tree, growing in a fine bluegrass lawn out in front of his house. Furthermore it was bearing fruit on two of its limbs. I stopped and stared at it.

“A beauty, eh, Bill?” Mr. Schultz said, and I agreed. “Yes,” he went on, “it’s the most beautiful tree on Ganymede–you know why? Because it’s the

only tree on Ganymede.” He laughed uproariously and dug me in the ribs as if he had said something funny. My ribs were sore for a week.

He explained to Dad all the things he had had to do to persuade it to grow and how deep down he had had to go to prepare for it and how he had had to channel out to drain it. Dad asked why it was bearing only on one side. “Next year we pollenate the other side,” he answered, “and then we have Stark’s Delicious. And Rome Beauties. This year, Rhode Island Greenings and Winesaps.” He reached up and picked one. “A Winesap for you, Bill.”

I said thanks and bit into it. I don’t know when I’ve tasted anything so good.

We went inside and met Mama Schultz and four or five other Schultzes of assorted sizes, from a baby crawling around in the sand on the floor up to a girl as old as I was and nearly as big. Her name was Gretchen and her hair was red like her father’s, only it was straight and she wore it in long braids. The boys were mostly blond, including the ones I met later.

The house was mainly a big living room, with a big table down the middle of it. It was a solid slab of rock, maybe four feet wide and twelve or thirteen feet long, supported by three rock pillars. A good thing it was rock, the way Mama Schultz loaded it down.

There were rock slab benches down the long sides and two real chairs, one at each end, made out of oil drums and padded with stuffed leather cushions.

Mama Schultz wiped her face and hands on her apron and shook hands and insisted that Dad sit down in her chair; she wouldn’t be sitting down

much, she explained. Then she turned back to her cooking while Gretchen poured tea for us.

The end of the room was the kitchen and was centered around a big stone fireplace. It had all the earmarks of being a practical fireplace–and it was, as I found out later, though of course nothing had ever been burned in it. It was really just a ventilation hole. But Papa Schultz had wanted a fireplace so he had a fireplace. Mama Schultz’s oven was set in the side of it.

It was faced with what appeared to be Dutch tile, though I couldn’t believe it. I mean, who is going to import anything as useless as Ornamental tile all the way from Earth? Papa Schultz saw me looking at them and said, “My little girl Kathy paints good, huh?” One of the medium-sized girls blushed and giggled and left the room.

I had the apple down to a very skinny core and was wondering what to do with it in that spotless room when Papa Schultz stuck out his hand. “Give it to me, Bill.”

I did. He took out his knife and very gently separated out the seeds. One of the kids left the room and fetched him a tiny paper envelope in which he placed the seeds and then sealed it. He handed it to me. “There, Bill,” he said. “I have only one apple tree, but you have eight!”

I was sort of surprised, but I thanked him. He went on, “That place just this side of where you will build your house–if you will fill that gully from the bottom, layer by layer, building your soil as you go, with only a very little ‘pay dirt’ you will have a place that will support a whole row of trees. When your seedlings are big, we’ll bud from my tree.”

I put them very carefully in my pouch.

Some of the boys drifted in and washed up and soon we were all sitting around the table and digging into fried chicken and mashed potatoes and tomato preserves and things. Mama Schultz sat beside me and kept pressing food on me and insisting that I wasn’t eating enough to keep body and soul together which wasn’t true.

Afterwards I got acquainted with the kids while George and Papa Schultz talked. Four of the boys I knew; they were Scouts. The fifth boy, Johann Junior –they called him “Yo”–was older than I, almost twenty, and worked in town for the chief engineer. The others were Hugo and Peter, both Cubs, then Sam, and then Vic, who was an Explorer Scout, same as I was. The girls were the baby, Kathy and Anna, who seemed to be twins but weren’t, and Gretchen. They all talked at once.

Presently Dad called me over. “Bill, you know we don’t rate a chance at a rock crusher for several months.” “Yes,” I said, somewhat mystified.

“What are your plans in the meantime?”

“Uh, well, I don’t know exactly. Study up on what I’ll have to do.”

“Mmrn … Mr. Schultz has very kindly offered to take you on as a farm hand in the meantime. What do you think of the idea?”

8. Land of My Own

Papa Schultz needed a field hand about as much as I need four ears, but that didn’t keep me from moving in. In that family everybody worked but the baby and you could count on it that she would be washing dishes as soon as she was up off the floor. Everybody worked all the time and seemed to enjoy it. When the kids weren’t working they were doing lessons and the boys were punished when they weren’t up on their lessons by being required to stay in from the fields.

Mama would listen to them recite while she cooked. Sometimes she listened to lessons in things I’m pretty sure she never had studied herself, but Papa Schultz checked up on them, too, so it didn’t matter.

Me, I learned about pigs. And cows. And chickens. And how you breed pay dirt to make more pay dirt. “Pay dirt” is the stuff that is actually imported from Earth, concentrated soil cultures with the bacteria and so forth in it you have to have to get a field alive.

There was an awful lot to learn. Take cows, now-half the people you meet can’t tell their left hands from their right so who would think that a cow

would care about such things? But they do, as I found out when I tried to milk one from the left.

Everything was stoop labor around the place, as primitive as a Chinese farm. The standard means of transportation was a wheelbarrow. I learned not to sneer at a wheelbarrow after I priced one at the Exchange.

The total lack of power machinery wasn’t through lack of power; the antenna on the farm house roof could pick up as much power as necessary–but there wasn’t any machinery. The only power machinery in the colony belonged to the whole colony and was the sort of thing the colony absolutely couldn’t get along without, like rock chewers and the equipment for the heat trap and the power plant itself.

George explained it this way: every load that was sent up from Earth was a compromise between people and cargo. The colonists were always yapping for more machinery and fewer immigrants; the Colonial Commission always insisted on sending as many people as possible and holding the imports down to a minimum.

“The Commission is right, of course,” he went on. “If we have people, we’ll get machinery–we’ll make it ourselves. By the time you have a family of your own, Bill, immigrants will arrive here bare-handed, no cargo at all, and we’ll be able to outfit a man with everything from plastic dishes for his cupboard to power cultivators for his fields.”

I said, “If they wait until I have a family, they’ll have a long wait. I figure a bachelor travels faster and further.”

Dad just grinned, as if he knew something I didn’t know and wouldn’t tell. I had walked into town to have dinner with him and Molly and the kid. I hadn’t seen much of them since I went to work for Papa Schultz. Molly was teaching school, Peggy couldn’t come out to the farm, of course, and Dad was very busy and very excited over a strike of aluminum oxides twenty miles east of town. He was in the project up to his ears and talking about having sheet aluminum on sale in another G-year.

As a matter or fact, cultivating a farm by stoop labor wasn’t too bad, not on Ganymede. Low gravity was a big help; you didn’t wear yourself out just dragging your own carcass around. I grossed a hundred and forty-two mass pounds, what with the way Mama Schultz stuffed me; that meant I weighed less than fifty pounds, field boots and all. A wheelbarrow was similarly light when loaded.

But the real advantage that made the work easy was something you might not guess. No weeds.

No weeds at all; we had very carefully not imported any. Once the land was built, making a crop was darn near a case of poking a seed into the ground and then stepping back quick before the stalk shot up and hit you in the eye.

Not that we didn’t work. There is plenty of work around a farm even with no weeds to worry about. And a light wheelbarrow load simply meant that we piled three times as much on. But we had fun, too; I never met a family that laughed so much.

I brought my squeeze box out from town and used to play it after supper. We would all sing, with Papa Schultz booming away on his own and leaving it up to the rest of us to find the key he was singing in. We had fun.

It turned out that Gretchen was an awful tease when she got over being shy. But I could always get her goat by pretending that her head was on fire and either warming my hands over her hair or threatening to pour water on her before she burned the place down.

The day finally came when it was my turn to have the colony’s crushers work on my land and I was almost sorry to see it arrive; I had had such a nice time at the Schultz’s. But by then I could caponize a rooster or plant a row of corn; I still had a lot to learn, but there wasn’t any good reason why I shouldn’t start making my own farm.

Dad and I had had to prepare our farm for the crusher by dynamiting the biggest boulders. A crusher will choke on anything much bigger than a barrel but it will handle up to that size very nicely. Dynamite is cheap, thank goodness, and we used plenty of it. The raw material is nitroglycerine which we didn’t have to import from Earth, the glycerine being refined from animal fats and the nitric acid being a synthetic byproduct of the atmosphere project.

Dad spent two weekends with me, making medium-sized ones out of big ones, then decided it was safe to trust me to set powder by myself and I finished the job. There was a little stream of melted snow water coming down from the hills at the far side of our property; we blew out a new bed for it to lead it close to the place where the house would go.

We left it dry for the time being, with a natural rock dam to blow up later. One fair-sized hill we moved entirely and blew it into a gully on the lake side of the land. Big charges that took and I almost got fitted for a halo through underestimating how far some of the stuff would throw.

It was easy work and lots of fun. I had a vibro-drill, borrowed from the engineer’s office; you could sink a charge hole with it twenty feet into rock as easily as you could sink a hot knife into butter. Then drop in the powder, fill the rest of the hole with rock dust, light the fuse, and run like the dickens!

But the most fun was blowing up that rock that looked like a grinning skull. I fixed it properly, it and its leer!

We had a visitor while we were dynamiting the land. Dad and I had just knocked off for lunch one day when Saunders, “The One-Man Lobby”–that’s George’s name for him–showed up. We invited him to share what we had; he had brought nothing but his appetite.

He complained about this and that. Dad tried to change the subject by asking him how he was getting along with his blasting. Saunders said it was slow work. Dad said, “You have the crusher the day after us, don’t you?”

Saunders admitted it and said he wanted to borrow some powder; he was running short of time. Dad let him have it, though it meant another trip out from town, after work, for him the next day. Saunders went on, “I’ve been looking this situation over, Mr. Lermer. We’re tackling it all wrong.”

George said, “So?”

Saunders said, “Yes, indeedy! Now in the first place this blasting ought not to be done by the homesteader; it should be done by trained crews, sent out by the government. It’s really part of the contract anyway; we’re supposed to receive processed land.”

Dad said mildly that, while that might be a nice idea, he didn’t know where they would find enough trained crews to do the work for fifteen hundred new farms.

“Let the government hire them!” Mr. Saunders answered. “Bring them in from Earth for that purpose. Now, see here, Mr. Lermer, you are in the chief engineer’s office. You ought to put in a word for the rest of us.”

George picked up the vibro and got ready to set a charge. Presently he answered, “I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong party. I’m in an entirely different department.”

I guess Mr. Saunders saw he was off on the wrong tack for he went on, “In the second place, I have been looking into the matter of the soil, or what they call ‘soil’–again they are off on the wrong foot.” He kicked a rock. “This stuff isn’t good for anything. You can’t grow anything in stuff like that.”

“Naturally not,” agreed Dad. “You have to make soil first.”

“That’s just what I’m getting at,” Saunders went on. “You have to have soil–good, black, rich soil. So they tell us to breed it, a square foot at a time. Plough garbage into it, raise earthworms–I don’t know how many tomfool stunts.”

“Do you know of a better way?”

“You bet you I do! That’s just what I’m getting at. Here we are, piddling along, doing things the way a bunch of bureaucrats who never made a crop tell us to, all for a few inches of second-rate soil–when there are millions of cubic feet of the richest sort of black soil going begging.”

Dad looked up sharply. “Where?”

“In the Mississippi Delta, that’s where! Black soil goes down there for hundreds of feet.”

We both looked at him, but he was quite serious about it. “Now here’s what you’ve got to have–Level the ground off, yes. But after that spread real Earth soil over the rock to a depth of at least two feet; then it will be worth while to farm. As it is, we are just wasting our time.”

Dad waited a bit before answering, “Have you figured out what this would cost?”

Mr. Saunders brushed that aside. “That’s not the point; the point is, that’s what we’ve got to have. The government wants us to settle here, doesn’t it? Well, then, if we all stick together and insist on it, we’ll get it.” He jerked his chin triumphantly.

George started to say something, then stopped. He patted rock dust in on top of his charge, then straightened up and wiped the sweat off his beard. “Listen, citizen,” he said, “can’t you see that we are busy? I’m about to light this fuse; I suggest that you back away out of danger.”

“Huh?” said Saunders. “How big a charge is it? How far?”

If he had kept his eyes open, he would have seen how big a charge it was and known how far to give back. Dad said, “Oh, say a mile and a half–or even two miles. And keep backing.”

Saunders looked at him, snorted disgustedly, and stalked away. We backed out of range and let her blow.

While we were setting the next charge I could see George’s lips moving. After a while he said, “Figuring gumbo mud conservatively at a hundred pounds per cubic foot it would take one full load of the Mayflower to give Mr. Saunders alone the kind of a farm he would like to have handed to him. At that rate it would take just an even thousand G-years–five hundred Earth years–for the Mayflower to truck in top-soil for farms for our entire party.”

“You forgot the Covered Wagon,” I said brightly.

George grinned. “Oh, yes! When the Covered Wagon is commissioned and in service we could cut it down to two hundred and fifty years–provided no new immigrants came in and there was a ban on having babies!” He frowned and added, “Bill, why is it that some apparently-grown men never learn to do simple arithmetic?” I didn’t know the answer, so he said, “Come on, Bill, let’s get on with our blasting. I’m afraid we’ll just have to piddle along in our inefficient way, even if it doesn’t suit our friend Saunders.”

The morning the crusher was scheduled to show up I was waiting for it at the end of the road. It came breezing down the road at twenty miles an hour, filling it from side to side. When it came to the wall of lava, it stopped. I waved to the operator; he waved back, then the machine grunted a couple of times, inched forward, and took a bite out of the lava.

Lava didn’t bother it; it treated it like peanut brittle. A vibro-cutter built into its under carriage would slice under the flow like a housewife separating biscuit from a pan, the big steel spade on the front of the thing would pry under and crack the bite off, and the conveyor would carry the chunk up into the jaws.

The driver had a choice of dropping the chewed up material under the rear rollers or throwing it off to the side. Just now he was throwing it away, leaving the clean slice made by the vibro-cutter as a road bed –a good road, a little dusty but a few rains would fix that.

It was terrifically noisy but the driver didn’t seem to mind. He seemed to enjoy it; there was a good breeze taking the dust away from him and he had his anti-silicosis mask pushed up on his forehead, showing the grin on his face.

By noon he was down to our place and had turned in. We had a bite to eat together, then he started in levelling a farm for me–five acres, the rest would have to wait. At that I was lucky for I was to get land to work months ahead of the original schedule.

The second trip of the Mayflower had brought in three more crushers and very few immigrants, just enough to replace those who had given up and gone back out of our party, that being the compromise the town council had worked out with the Colonial Commission.

The racket was still worse when the crusher bit into hard rock, instead of lava, but it was music to me and I didn’t get tired of watching. Every bite was a piece of land to me. At suppertime the second-shift driver showed up with Dad. We watched together for a while, then Dad went back to town. I stayed. About midnight I went over into a stretch that was not to be processed now, found a big rock to keep the Sun out of my eyes and lay down for a quick nap.

Then the relief driver was shaking me and saying, “Wake up, kid–you got a farm.”

I stood up and rubbed my eyes and looked around. Five acres, with just enough contour for drainage and a low hummock in the middle where the house would sit. I had a farm.

The next logical thing to do would have been to get the house up, but, under the schedule, I rated the use of a cud-chewer for the following week. A cud-chewer is a baby rock crusher. It uses a power pack instead of an antenna, it is almost fool proof and anybody can run one, and it finishes up what the crusher starts. It is small and low-powered compared with a crusher. The colony had about forty of them.

The crusher left loose rubble several feet deep in pieces as big as my fist. The cud-chewer had a fork spade on the front of it, several sizes of spade forks, in fact. The coarse fork went down into the loose rocks about eighteen inches and picked up the big ones. These drifted back into the hopper as the machine moved forward and were busted into stuff about the size of walnuts.

When you had been over the ground once with the coarse fork, you unshipped it and put on the medium fork and reset the chewing rollers. This time you went down only ten inches and the result was gravel. Then you did it again for medium-fine and then fine and when you were done the upper six inches or so was rock flour, fine as the best loam–still dead, but ready to be bred into life.

Round and round and round, moving forward an inch at a time. To get real use out of your time allotment the cud-chewer had to be moving twenty- four hours a day until they took it away from you. I stayed at it all through the first day, eating my lunch in the saddle. Dad spelled me after supper and Hank came out from town and we alternated through the night-light phase it was, actually, it being Monday night.

Papa Schultz found me asleep with my head on the controls late next afternoon and sent me back to his house to get some real sleep. Thereafter one of the Schultzes always showed up when I had been at it alone for four or five hours. Without the Schultzes I don’t know how Dad and I would have gotten through the dark phase of that week.

But they did help and by the time I had to pass the cud-chewer along I had nearly three and a half acres ready to be seeded with pay dirt.

Winter was coming on and I had my heart set on getting my house up and living in it during the winter month, but to do so I really had to hump. I had to get some sort of a holding crop in or the spring thaw would wash my top soil away. The short Ganymede year is a good idea and I’m glad they run it that way; Earth’s winters are longer than necessary. But it keeps you on the jump.

Papa Schultz advised grass; the mutated grass would grow in sterile soil much like growing things in hydroponic solutions. The mat of rootlets would hold my soil even if the winter killed it and the roots would furnish something through which the infection could spread from the “pay dirt.”

Pay dirt is fundamentally just good black soil from Earth, crawling with bacteria and fungi and microscopic worms–everything you need but the big fishing worms; you have to add those. However, it wouldn’t do simply to ship Earth dirt to Ganymede by the car load. In any shovelful of loam there are hundreds of things, plant and animal, you need for growing soil–but there are hundreds of other things you don’t want. Tetanus germs. Plant disease viruses. Cut worms. Spores. Weed seeds. Most of them are too small to be seen with the naked eye and some of them can’t even be filtered out

So to make pay dirt the laboratory people back on Earth would make pure cultures of everything they wanted to keep in the way of bacteria, raise the little worms under laboratory conditions, do the same for fungi and everything else they wanted to save–and take the soil itself and kill it deader than Luna, irradiate it, bake it, test it for utter sterility.

Then they would take what they had saved in the way of life forms and put it back into the dead soil That was “pay dirt,” the original pay dirt. Once on Ganymede the original stuff would be cut six ways, encouraged to grow, then cut again. A hundred weight of pay dirt supplied to a ‘steader might contain a pound of Terra’s own soil.

Every possible effort was made to “limit the invasion,” as the ecologists say, to what was wanted. One thing that I may not have mentioned about the trip out was the fact that our clothes and our baggage were sterilized during the trip and that we ourselves were required to take a special scrub before we put our clothes back on. It was the only good bath I got the whole two months, but it left me smelling like a hospital.

The colony’s tractor trucks delivered the pay dirt I was entitled to in order to seed my farm; I left the Schultz place early that morning to meet them. There is difference of opinion as to the best way to plant pay dirt; some ‘steaders spread it all over and take a chance on it dying; some build up little pockets six or eight feet apart, checker board style … safe but slow. I was studying the matter, my mind not made up, when I saw something moving down the road.

It was a line of men, pushing wheelbarrows, six of them. They got closer and I could see that it was all the male Schultzes. I went out to meet them. Every one of those wheelbarrows was loaded with garbage and all for me!

Papa Schultz had been saving it as a surprise for me. I didn’t know what to say. Finally I blurted out, “Gee, Papa Schultz, I don’t know when I’ll be able to pay you back!”

He looked fierce and said, “Who is speaking of paying back when we have compost running out of our ears yet?” Then he had the boys dump their loads down on top of my pay dirt, took a fork and began mixing it as gently as Mama Schultz folding in beaten egg white.

He took charge and I didn’t have to worry about the best way to use it. In his opinion–and you can’t bet that I didn’t buck itl–what we had was good for about an acre and his method was to spread it through the soil. But he did not select one compact acre; he laid out strips, seven of them, a couple of hundred yards long each and stretching across my chewed soil thirty-five or forty feet apart. Each of us took a wheelbarrow–their six and my one–and distributed the mix along each line.

When that was done and cairns had been set to show where the strips ran, we raked the stuff into the rock dust five or six feet on each side of each line. Around noon Mama and Gretchen showed up, loaded down, and we stopped and had a picnic.

After lunch Yo had to go back to town but he had almost finished his strip. Papa had finished his and proceeded to help Hugo and Peter who were

too small to swing a good rake. I dug in and finished mine soon enough to be able to finish what Yo had left.

Dad showed up at the end of the day, expecting to help me all evening–it was light phase and you could work as late as you could stand up under it-

– but there was nothing left to do. And he didn’t know how to thank them either.

I like to think that we would have gotten the farm made anyhow, without the Schultzes, and maybe we would have–but I’m sure not sure. Pioneers need good neighbors.

The following week I spent working artificial nitrates from the colony’s power pile into the spaces between the strips–not as good as pay dirt from Earth, but not as expensive, either.

Then I tackled sowing the grass, by hand, just like in the Bible, and then raking it gently in. That old pest Saunders showed up. He still did so every now and then, but never when Dad was around. I guess he was lonely. His family was still in town and he was camping out in a ten-foot rock shed he had built. He wasn’t really making a farm, not properly; I couldn’t figure out what he was up to. It didn’t make sense.

I said, “Howdy,” and went on with my work.

He watched me, looking sour, and finally said, “You still bent on breaking your heart on this stuff, aren’t you, youngster?” I told him I hadn’t noticed any wear and tear on my pump, and anyhow, wasn’t he making a farm, too?

He snorted. “Not likely!” “Then what are you doing?”

“Buying my ticket, that’s what.”

“Huh?”

“The only thing you can sell around this place is improved land. I’m beating them at their own game, that’s what. I’ll get that land in shape to unload it on some other sucker and then me and mine are heading straight back for that ever-lovin’ Earth. And that’s just what you’ll be doing if you aren’t an utter fool. You’ll never make a farm here. It can’t be done.”

I was getting very tired of him but I’m short on the sort of point-blank guts it takes to be flatly rude. “Oh, I don’t know,” I said. “Look at Mr. Schultz– he’s got a good farm.”

Saunders snorted again. “You mean ‘Johnny Apple-seed?” “I mean Mr. Johann Schultz.”

“Sure, sure–Johnny Appleseed. That’s what everybody calls him in town. He’s nuts. You know what he did? He gave me a handful of apple seeds and acted like he had handed me the riches of Solomon.”

I stopped raking. “Well, hadn’t he?”

Saunders spat on the ground between us. “He’s a clown.”

I lifted up the head of the rake. I said, “Mr. Saunders, you are standing on my land, my property. I’ll give you just two shakes to get off it and never set foot on it again!”

He backed away and said, “Hey! You stop that! Watch what you are doing with that rake!” I said, “Git!”

He got.

The house was a problem. Ganymede has little quakes all the time. It has to do with “isostasy” which doesn’t mean a thing but “equal-pressure”

when you get right down to it, but it’s the science of how the mountains balance the seas and the gravitation of a planet all comes out even.

It has to do with tidal strains, too, which is odd, since Ganymede doesn’t have any tides; the Sun is too far away to matter and Ganymede always keeps the same face toward Jupiter. Oh, you can detect a little tide on Laguna Serenidad when Europa is closest to Ganymede and even a trifle from Callisto and lo, but what I mean is it doesn’t have tides—not like the Pacific Ocean.

What it does have is a frozen tidal strain. The way Mr. Hooker, the chief meteorologist, explains it is that Ganymede was closer to Jupiter when it cooled off and lost its rotation, so that there is a tidal bulge in the planet itself–sort of a fossil tidal bulge. The Moon has one, you know.

Then we came along and melted off the ice cap and gave Ganymede an atmosphere. That rearranged the pressures everywhere and the isostatic balance is readjusting. Result: little quakes all the time.

I’m a California boy; I wanted a quakeproof house. Schultzes had a quakeproof house and it seemed like a good idea, even though there had never been a quake heavy enough to knock a man down, much less knock a house down. On the other hand most of the colonists didn’t bother; it is hard to make a rock house really quakeproof.

Worse than that, it’s expensive. The basic list of equipment that a ‘steader is promised in his emigration contract reads all right, a hoe, a spade, a shovel, a wheelbarrow, a hand cultivator, a bucket, and so forth down the list–but when you start to farming you find that is only the beginning and you’ve got to go to the Exchange and buy a lot of other stuff. I was already in debt a proved acre and a half, nearly, before the house ever went up.

As usual we compromised. One room had to be quake proof because it had to be air tight–Peggy’s room. She was getting better all the time, but she still couldn’t take low pressure for any length of time. If the family was going to move out to the farm, her bedroom had to be sealed, it had to have an air lock on it, and we had to have an impeller. All that runs into money.

Before I was through I had to pledge two more acres. Dad tried to sign for it but they told him bluntly that while a ‘steader’s credit was good, his wasn’t. That settled the matter. We planned on one reinforced room and hoped to build on to it later. In the mean time the house would be a living room, ten by twelve, where I would sleep, a separate bedroom too small to swing a cat for George and Molly, and Peggy’s room. All but Peggy’s room would be dry wall rock with a patent roof.

Pretty small, eh? Well, what’s wrong with that? Abe Lincoln started with less.

I started in cutting the stone as soon as the seed was in. A vibro-saw is like a vibro-drill, except that it cuts a hair line instead of drilling a hole. When the power is on you have to be durned careful not to get your fingers or anything into the field, but it makes easy work of stone cutting. By the contract you got the use of one for forty-eight hours free and another forty-eight hours, if you wanted it, at a reduced rate.

I got my work lined up and managed to squeeze it into the two free days. I didn’t want to run up any more debt, because there was another thing I was hankering for, come not later than the second spring away–flicker flood lights. Papa Schultz had them for his fields and they just about doubled his crops. Earth plants aren’t used to three and half days of darkness, but, if you can tickle them during the dark phase with flicker lights, the old photosynthesis really gets in and humps itself.

But that would have to wait.

The patrol got the house up–the patrol I was in, I mean, the Auslanders. It was a surprise to me and yet it wasn’t, because everybody has a house raising; you can’t do it alone. I had already taken part in six myself–not just big-heartedness, don’t get me wrong. I had to learn how it was done.

But the patrol showed up before I had even passed the word around that I was ready to hold a house raising. They came swinging down our road; Sergei marched them up to where the house was to be, halted them, and said to me, “Bill, are your Scout dues paid up?” He sounded fierce. I said, “You know they are.”

“Then you can help. But don’t get in our way.” Suddenly he grinned and I knew I had been framed. He turned to the patrol and shouted, “House raising drill! Fall out and fall to.”

Suddenly it looked like one of those TV comedies where everything has been speeded up. I never saw anybody work the way they did. Let me tell you it doesn’t take Scout uniforms to make Scouts. None of us ever had uniforms; we couldn’t afford special clothes just for Scouting.

Besides the Auslanders there was Vic Schultz and Hank Jones, both from the Hard Rock patrol and Doug Okajima, who wasn’t even of our troop but still with the Baden-Powell. It did my heart good. I hadn’t seen much of the fellows lately; during light phase I always worked too late to get in to meetings; during dark phase a cold nine miles into town after supper is something to think twice about.

I felt sheepish to realize that while I might have forgotten them, they hadn’t forgotten me, and I resolved to get to meetings, no matter how tired I was.

And take the tests for those two merit badges, too–the very first chance I got.

That reminded me of another item of unfinished business, too–Noisy Edwards. But you can’t take a day off just to hunt somebody up and poke him in the snoot, not when you are making a farm. Besides it wouldn’t hurt anything for me to put on another ten pounds; I didn’t want it to be a repetition of the last time.

Dad showed up almost immediately with two men from his office and he took charge of bracing and sealing Peggy’s room. The fact that he showed up at all let me know that he was in on it–which he admitted. It had been Sergei’s idea and that was why Dad had put me off when I said it was about time to invite the neighbors in.

I got Dad aside. “Look, George,” I said, “how in tarnation are we going to feed ’em?” “Don’t worry about it,” he said.

“But I do worry about it!” Everybody knows it’s the obligation of the ‘steader whose house is being raised to provide the victuals and I had been taken by surprise.

“I said not to,” he repeated. And presently I knew why; Molly showed up with Mama Schultz, Gretchen, Sergei’s sister Marushka, and two girls who were friends of Peggy–and what they were carrying they couldn’t have carried on Earth. It was a number one picnic and Sergei had trouble getting them back to work after lunch.

Theoretically, Molly had done the cooking over at the Schultz’s but I know Mama Schultz–anyhow, let’s face it, Molly wasn’t much of a cook.

Molly had a note for me from Peggy. It read: “Dearest Billy, Please come into town tonight and tell me all about it. Pretty please!” I told Molly I would. By eighteen o’clock that afternoon the roof was on and we had a house. The door wasn’t hung; it was still down at the ‘Change. And the power unit

wasn’t in and might not be for a week. But we had a house that would keep off the rain, and a pint-sized cow barn as well, even if I didn’t own a cow.

9. Why Did We Come?

According to my diary we moved into the house on the first day of spring.

Gretchen came over and helped me get ready for them. I suggested that we ask Marushka as well, since there would be lots of work to do. Gretchen said, “Suit yourself!” and seemed annoyed, so I didn’t. Women are funny. Anyhow Gretchen is a right good worker.

I had been sleeping in the house ever since the raising and even before the technicians from the engineer’s office had come and installed the antenna on the roof and rigged the lights and heat–but that was done before winter was started and I passed a comfortable month, fixing up the inside of the place and getting in a crop of ice for the summer. I stored the ice, several tons of it, in the gully at the side of the house, where I meant to plant apple trees just as soon as I could get fixed for it. The ice would keep there until I could build a proper cold cellar.

The first few months after the folks moved out are the happiest I can remember. We were together again and it was good. Dad still spent most of each dark phase in town, working on a part time basis, but that was quite as much because he was interested in the manufacturing project as it was to help pay off our debts. During light phase we worked almost around the clock, side by side or at least within earshot.

Molly seemed to like being a housewife. I taught her how to cook and she caught on real fast. Ganymede cooking is an art. Most things have to be cooked under pressure, even baked things, for water boils at just a little over a hundred and forty degrees. You can stir boiling water with your finger if you don’t leave it in too long. Then Molly started learning from Mama Schultz but I didn’t mind that; Mama Schultz was an artist. Molly got to be a really good cook.

Peg had to live in her room, of course, but we had hopes that she would be out soon. We had the pressure down to eight pounds, half oxygen and half nitrogen, and we usually all ate in her room. I still hated the thick stuff but it was worth while putting up with it so that the family could eat together. After a while I got so that I could change pressure without even an earache.

Peggy could come outside, too. We had brought her from town in a bubble stretcher–another thing bought on credit!–and Dad had fitted it with the gas apparatus from an old space suit he had salvaged from the Project Jove people. Peggy could get into the stretcher and shut herself in and we could bleed off the pressure in her room and take her outside where she could get some sunshine and look at the mountains and the lake and watch Dad and me work in the fields. The clear plastic of the bubble did not stop ultraviolet and it was good for her.

She was a skinny little runt and it was no trouble to move her around, even in the stretcher. Light phase, she spent a lot of time outdoors.

We had started with a broody hen and fifteen fertile eggs, and a pair of rabbits. Pretty soon we had meat of our own. We always let Peggy think that the fryers we ate came from the Schultzes and I don’t think she ever caught on. At first I used to go to the Schultz farm every day for fresh milk for Peggy, but I got a chance, midsummer, to get a fresh two-year-old cow on tick at a reasonable price. Peggy named her Mabel and was much irked that she couldn’t get at her to pet her.

We were on the move all the time. I still hadn’t managed to take my merit badge tests and I hadn’t done much better about getting in to Scout meetings. There was just too much to do. Building a pond, for example–Laguna Serenidad was being infected with plankton and algae but there weren’t fish in it yet and it would be a long time, even after the fish were stocked, before fishing would be allowed. So we did fish-pond gardening, Chinese style, after I got the pond built.

And there were always crops to work on. My cover grass had taken hold all right and shortly after we moved in the soil seemed ready to take angle worms. Dad was about to send a sample into town for analysis when Papa Schultz stopped by. Hearing what we were about he took up a handful of the worked soil, crumbled it, smelled it, tasted it, and told me to go ahead and plant my worms. I did and they did all right; we encountered them from time to time in working the fields thereafter.

You could see the stripes on the fields which had been planted with pay dirt by the way the grass came up. You could see that the infection was spreading, too, but not much. I had a lot of hard work ahead before the stripes would meet and blend together and then we could think about renting a cud-chewer and finishing off the other acre and a half, using our own field loam and our own compost heap to infect the new soil. After that we could see about crushing some more acres, but that was a long way away.

We put in carrots and lettuce and beets and cabbage and brussels sprouts and potatoes and broccoli. We planted corn between the rows. I would like to have put in an acre of wheat but it didn’t make sense when we had so little land. There was one special little patch close to the house where we put in tomatoes and Hubbard squash and some peas and beans.

Those were “bee” plants and Molly would come out and pollenate them by hand, a very tedious business. We hoped to have a hive of bees some day and the entomologists on the bionomics staff were practically busting their hearts trying to breed a strain of bees which would prosper out doors. You see, among other things, while our gravity was only a third Earth-normal, our air pressure was only a little better than a fifth Earth-normal and the bees resented it; it made flying hard work for them. Or maybe bees are just naturally conservative.

I guess I was happy, or too tired and too busy to be unhappy, right up to the following winter.

At first winter seemed like a good rest. Aside from getting the ice crop in and taking care of the cow and the rabbits and the chickens there wasn’t too much to do. I was tired out and cranky and didn’t know it; Molly, I think, was just quietly, patiently exhausted. She wasn’t used to farm life and she wasn’t handy at it, the way Mama Schultz was.

Besides that, she wanted inside plumbing and it just wasn’t in the cards for her to have it any time soon. I carried water for her, of course, usually having to crack ice in the stream to get it, but that didn’t cover everything, not with snow on the ground. Not that she complained.

Dad didn’t complain, either, but there were deep lines forming from his nose down to his mouth which his beard didn’t cover entirely. But it was mostly Peggy.

When we first moved her out to the farm she perked up a lot. We gradually reduced the pressure in her room and she kept insisting that she was fine and teasing for a chance to go out without the bubble stretcher. We even tried it once, on Dr. Archibald’s advice, and she didn’t have a nose bleed but she was willing to get back in after about ten minutes.

The fact was she wasn’t adjusting. It wasn’t just the pressure; something else was wrong. She didn’t belong here and she wouldn’t growhere. Have you ever had a plant that refused to be happy where you planted it? It was like that.

She belonged back on Earth.

I suppose we weren’t bad off, but there is a whale of a difference between being a rich farmer, like Papa Schultz, with heaps of cow manure in your barn yard and hams hanging in your cold cellar and every modern convenience you could want, even running water in your house, and being poor farmers, like us, scratching for a toe hold in new soil and in debt to the Commission. It told on us and that winter we had time to brood about it.

We were all gathered in Peggy’s room after lunch one Thursday. Dark phase had just started and Dad was due to go back into town; we always gave him a send off. Molly was darning and Peg and George were playing cribbage. I got out my squeeze box and started knocking out some tunes. I guess we all felt cheerful enough for a while. I don’t know how I happened to drift into it, but after a bit I found I was playing The Green Hills of Earth. I hadn’t played it in a long time.

I brayed through that fortissimo part about “Out ride the sons of Terra; Far drives the thundering jet–” and was thinking to myself that jets didn’t thunder any more. I was still thinking about it when I went on into the last chorus, the one you play very softly: “We pray for one last landing on the globe that gave us birth–“

I looked up and there were tears running down Molly’s cheeks.

I could have kicked myself. I put my accordion down with a squawk, not even finishing, and got up. Dad said, “What’s the matter, Bill?”, I muttered something about having to go take a look at Mabel.

I went out into the living room and put on my heavy clothes and actually did go outside, though I didn’t go near the barn. It had been snowing and it was already almost pitch dark, though the Sun hadn’t been down more than a couple of hours. The snow had stopped but there were clouds overhead and you couldn’t see Jupiter.

The clouds had broken due west and let the sunset glow come through a bit. After my eyes adjusted, by that tiny amount of light I could see around me–the mountains, snow to their bases, disappearing in the clouds, the lake, just a sheet of snow-covered ice, and the boulders beyond our fields, making weird shapes in the snow. It was a scene to match the way I felt; it looked like the place where you might be sent for having lived a long and sinful life.

I tried to figure out what I was doing in such a place.

The clouds in the west shifted a little and I saw a single bright green star, low down toward the horizon, just above where the Sun had set. It was Earth.

I don’t know how long I stood there. Presently somebody put a hand on my shoulder and I jumped. It was Dad, all bundled up for a nine-mile tramp through the dark and the snow.

“What’s the matter, Son?” he said.

I started to speak, but I was all choked up and couldn’t. Finally I managed to say, “Dad, why did we come here?” “Mmmm … you wanted to come. Remember?”

“I know,” I admitted.

“Still, the real reason, the basic reason, for coming here was to keep your grandchildren from starving. Earth is overcrowded, Bill.”

I looked back at Earth again. Finally I said, “Dad, I’ve made a discovery. There’s more to life than three square meals a day. Sure, we can make crops here– this land would grow hair on a billiard ball. But I don’t think you had better plan on any grandchildren here; it would be no favor to them. I know when I’ve made a mistake.”

“You’re wrong, Bill, Your kids will like this place, just the way Eskimos like where they live.” “I doubt it like the mischief.”

“Remember, the ancestors of Eskimos weren’t Eskimos; they were immigrants, too. If you send your kids back to Earth, for school, say, they’ll be homesick for Ganymede. They’ll hate Earth. They’ll weigh too much, they won’t like the air, they won’t like the climate, they won’t like the people.”

“Hmm–look, George, do you like it here? Are you glad we came?”

Dad was silent for a long time. At last he said, “I’m worried about Peggy, Bill.” “Yeah, I know. But how about yourself–and Molly?”

“I’m not worried about Molly. Women have their ups and downs. You’ll learn to expect that.” He shook himself and said, “I’m late. You go on inside

and have Molly fix you a cup of tea. Then take a look at the rabbits. I think the doe is about to drop again; we don’t want to lose the young ‘uns.” He

hunched his shoulders and set off down toward the road. I watched him out of sight and then went back inside.

1. Line Up

Then suddenly it was spring and everything was all right.

Even winter seemed like a good idea when it was gone. We had to have winter; the freezing and thawing was necessary to develop the ground, not to mention the fact that many crops won’t come to fruit without cold weather. Anyway, anybody can live through four weeks of bad weather.

Dad laid off his job when spring came and we pitched in together and got our fields planted. I rented a power barrow and worked across my strips to spread the living soil. Then there was the back-breaking job of preparing the gully for the apple trees. I had started the seeds soon after Papa Schultz had given them to me, forcing them indoors, first at the Schultz’s, then at our place. Six of them had germinated and now they were nearly two feet tall.

I wanted to try them outdoors. Maybe I would have to take them in again next winter, but it was worth a try.

Dad was interested in the venture, too, not just for fruit trees, but for lumber. Wood seems like an obsolete material, but try getting along without it. I think George had visions of the Big Rock Candy Mountains covered with tall straight pines … someday, someday.

So we went deep and built it to drain and built it wide and used a lot of our winter compost and some of our precious topsoil. There was room enough for twenty trees when we got through, where we planted our six little babies. Papa Schultz came over and pronounced a benediction over them.

Then he went inside to say hello to Peggy, almost filling her little room. George used to say that when Papa inhaled the pressure in the room dropped.

A bit later Papa and Dad were talking in the living room; Dad stopped me as I was passing through. “Bill,” he asked, “how would you like to have a window about here?” He indicated a blank wall.

I stared. “Huh? How would we keep the place warm?” “I mean a real window, with glass.”

“Oh.” I thought about it. I had never lived in a place with windows in my life; we had always been apartment dwellers. I had seen windows, of course, in country houses back Earthside, but there wasn’t a window on Ganymede and it hadn’t occurred to me that there ever would be.

“Papa Schultz plans to put one in his house. I thought it might be nice to sit inside and look out over the lake, light phase evenings,” Dad went on. “To make a home you need windows and fireplaces,” Papa said placidly. “Now that we glass make, I mean to have a view.”

Dad nodded. “For three hundred years the race had glazed windows. Then they shut themselves up in little air-conditioned boxes and stared at silly television pictures instead. One might as well be on Luna.”

It was a startling idea, but it seemed like a good one. I knew they were making glass in town. George says that glassmaking is one of the oldest manufacturing arts, if not the oldest, and certainly one of the simplest. But I had thought about it for bottles and dishes, not for window glass. They already had glass buckets on sale at the ‘Change, for about a tenth the cost of the imported article.

A view window–it was a nice idea. We could put one on the south and see the lake and another on the north and see the mountains. Why, I could even put in a skylight and lie on my bunk and see old Jupiter.

Stow it, William, I said to myself; you’ll be building a whole house out of glass next. After Papa Schultz left I spoke to George about it. “Look,” I said, “about this view window idea. It’s a good notion, especially for Peggy’s room, but the question is: can we afford it?”

“I think we can,” he answered.

“I mean can we afford it without your going back to work in town? You’ve been working yourself to death –and there’s no need to. The farm can support us now.”

He nodded. “I had been meaning to speak about that. I’ve about decided to give up the town work, Bill–except for a class I’ll teach on Saturdays.” “Do you have to do that?”

“Happens that I like to teach engineering, Bill And don’t worry about the price of the glass; well get it free–a spot of cumshaw coining to your old man for designing the glass works. “The kine who tread the grain,'” he quoted. “Now you and I had better get busy; there is a rain scheduled for fifteen o’clock.’

It was maybe three weeks later that the moons lined up. This is an event that almost never happens, Ganymede, Callisto, Io, and Europa, all perfectly lined up and all on the same side of Jupiter. They come close to lining up every seven hundred and two days, but they don’t quite make it ordinarily. You see, their periods are all different, from less than two days for Io to more than two weeks for Callisto and the fractions don’t work out evenly. Besides that they have different eccentricities to their orbits and their orbits aren’t exactly in the same plane.

As you can see, a real line up hardly ever happens.

Besides that, this line up was a line up with the Sun, too; it would occur at Jupiter full phase. Mr. Hooker, the chief meteorologist, announced that it had been calculated that such a perfect line up would not occur again for more than two hundred thousand years. You can bet we were all waiting to see it. The Project Jove scientists were excited about it, too, and special arrangements had been made to observe it.

Having it occur at Jupiter full phase meant not only that a sixth heavenly body–the Sun–would be in the line up, but that we would be able to see it. The shadows of Ganymede and Callisto would be centered on Jupiter just as Io and Europa reached mid transit.

Full phase is at six o’clock Saturday morning; we all got up about four-thirty and were outside by five. George and I carried Peggy out in her bubble stretcher. We were just in time.

It was a fine, clear summer night, light as could be, with old Jupiter blazing overhead like a balloon on fire. Io had just barely kissed the eastern edge of Jupiter–“first contact” they call it. Europa was already a bit inside the eastern edge and I had to look sharp to see it.

When a moon is not in full phase it is no trouble to pick it out while it’s making its transit, but at full phase it tends to blend into the background. However, both Ioand Europa are just a hair brighter than Jupiter. Besides that, they break up the pattern of Jupiter’s bands and that lets you see them, too.

Well inside, but still in the eastern half–say about half way to Jupiter’s center point–were the shadows of Ganymede and Callisto. I could not have told them apart, if I hadn’t known that the one further east had to be Ganymede’s. They were just little round black dots; three thousand miles or so isn’t anything when it’s plastered against Jupiter’s eighty-nine thousand mile width.

Io looked a bit bigger than the shadows; Europa looked more than half again as big, about the way the Moon looks from Earth.

We felt a slight quake but it wasn’t even enough to make us nervous; we were used to quakes. Besides that, about then Io”kissed” Europa. From then on, throughout the rest of the show, Io gradually slid underneath, or behind, Europa.

They crawled across the face of Jupiter; the moons fairly fast, the shadows in a slow creep. When we had been outside a little less than half an hour the two shadows kissed and started to merge. Io had slid halfway under Europa and looked like a big tumor on its side. They were almost halfway to center and the shadows were even closer.

Just before six o’clock Europa–you could no longer see Io; Europa covered it–as I was saying, Europa kissed the shadow, which by now was round, just one shadow.

Four or five minutes later the shadow had crawled up on top of Europa; they were all lined up–and I knew I was seeing the most extraordinary sight I would ever see in my life, Sun, Jupiter, and the four biggest moons all perfectly lined up.

I let out a deep breath: I don’t know how long I had been holding it. “Gee whiz!” was all I could think of to say.

“I agree in general with your sentiments, Bill,” Dad answered. “Molly, hadn’t we better get Peggy inside? I’m afraid she is getting cold.”

“Yes,” agreed Molly. “I know I am, for one.”

“I’m going down to the lake now,” I said. The biggest tide of record was expected, of course. While the lake was too small to show much tide, I had made a mark the day before and I hoped to be able to measure it.

“Don’t get lost in the dark,” Dad called out. I didn’t answer him. A silly remark doesn’t require an answer. I had gotten past the road and maybe a quarter of a mile beyond when it hit.

It knocked me flat on my face, the heaviest shake I had ever felt in my life. I’ve felt heavy quakes in California; they weren’t a patch on this one. I lay face down for a long moment, digging into the rock with my finger nails and trying to get it to hold still.

The seasick roll kept up and kept up and kept up, and with it the noise–a deep bass rumble, deeper than thunder and more terrifying.

A rock rolled up against me and nipped my side. I got to my feet and managed to stay there. The ground was still swaying and the rumble kept on. I headed for the house, running–like dancing over shifting ice. I fell down twice and got up again.

The front end of the house was all caved in. The roof slanted down at a crazy angle. “George!” I yelled. “Molly! Where are you?”

George heard me and straightened up. He was on the other side of the house and now I saw him over the collapsed roof. He didn’t say anything. I rushed around to where he stood. “Are you all right?” I demanded.

“Help me get Molly out–” he gasped.

I found out later that George had gone inside with Molly and Peggy, had helped get Peg out of the stretcher and back into her room, and then had gone outside, leaving Molly to get breakfast. The quake had hit while he was returning from the barn. But we didn’t have time then to talk it over; we dug–moving slabs with our bare hands that had taken four Scouts, working together, to lay. George kept crying, “Molly! Molly! Where are you?”

She was lying on the floor beside the stone work bench that was penned in by the roof. We heaved it off her; George scrambled over the rubble and reached her. “Molly! Molly darling!”

She opened her eyes. “George!” “Are you all right?”

“What happened?”

“Quake. Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

She sat up, made a face as if something hurt her, and said, “I think I– George! Where’s Peggy? Get Peggy!”

Peggy’s room was still upright; the reinforcements had held while the rest of the house had gone down around it. George insisted on moving Molly out into the open first, then we tackled the slabs that kept us from getting at the air lock to Peggy’s room.

The outer door of the air lock was burst out of its gaskets and stood open, the wrong way. It was black inside the lock; Jupiter light didn’t reach inside. I couldn’t see what I was doing but when I pushed on the inner door it wouldn’t give. “Can’t budge it,” I told Dad. “Get a light.”

“Probably still held by air pressure. Call out to Peggy to get in the stretcher and we’ll bleed it.” “I need a light,” I repeated.

“I haven’t got a light.”

“Didn’t you have one with you?” I had had one; we always carried torches, outdoors in dark phase, but I had dropped mine when the quake hit. I didn’t know where it was.

Dad thought about it, then climbed over the slabs. He was back in a moment. “I found it between here and the barn. I must have dropped it.” He shined it on the inner door and we looked over the situation.

“It looks bad,” Dad said softly. “Explosive decompression.” There was a gap you could poke your fingers through between the top of the door and the frame; the door wasn’t pressure held, it was jammed.

Dad called out, “Peggy! Oh, Peggy, darling–can you hear me?”

No answer. “Take the light, Bill–and stand aside.” He reared back and then hit the door hard with his shoulder. It gave a bit but didn’t open. He hit it again and it flew open, spilling him on his hands and knees. He scrambled up as I shined the light in past him.

Peggy lay half in and half out of bed, as if she had been trying to get up when she passed out. Her head hung down and a trickle of blood was dripping from her mouth on to the floor.

Molly had come in right behind us; she and Dad got Peggy into the stretcher and Dad brought the pressure up. She was alive; she gasped and choked and sprayed blood over us while we were trying to help her. Then she cried. She seemed to quiet down and go to sleep –or maybe fainted again–after we got her into the bubble.

Molly was crying but not making any fuss about it. Dad straightened up, wiped his face and said, “Grab on, Bill. We’ve got to get her into town.”

I said, “Yes,” and picked up one end. With Molly holding the light and us carrying, we picked our way over the heap of rock that used to be our house and got out into the open. We put the stretcher down for a moment and I looked around.

I glanced up at Jupiter; the shadows were still on his face and Io and Europa had not yet reached the western edge. The whole thing had taken less than an hour. But that wasn’t what held my attention; the sky looked funny.

The stars were too bright and there were too many of them. “George,” I said, “what’s happened to the sky?” “No time now–” he started to say. Then he stopped and said very slowly, “Great Scott!”

“What?” asked Molly. “What’s the matter?”

“Back to the house, all of you! We’ve got to dig out all the clothes we can get at. And blanketsl” “What? Why?”

“The heat trap! The heat trap is gone–the quake must have gotten the power house.”

So we dug again, until we found what we had to have. It didn’t take long; we knew where things had to be. It was just a case of getting the rocks off. The blankets were for the stretcher; Dad wrapped them around like a cocoon and tied them in place. “Okay, Bill,” he said. “Quick march, nowl”

It was then that I heard Mabel bawl. I stopped and looked at Dad. He stopped too, with an agony of indecision on his face. “Oh, damn!” he said, the first time I had ever heard him really swear. “We can’t just leave her to freeze; she’s a member of the family. Come, Bill.”

We put the stretcher down again and ran to the bam. It was a junk heap but we could tell by Mabel’s complaints where she was. We dragged the roof off her and she got to her feet. She didn’t seem to be hurt but I guess she had been knocked silly. She looked at us indignantly.

We had a time of it getting her over the slabs, with Dad pulling and me pushing. Dad handed the halter to Molly. “How about the chickens?” I asked, “And the rabbits?” Some of them had been crushed; the rest were loose around the place. I felt one–a rabbit –scurry between my feet

“No time!” snapped Dad. “We can’t take them; all we could do for them would be to cut their throats. Come!” We headed for the road.

Molly led the way, leading and dragging Mabel and carrying the light. We needed the light. The night, too bright and too clear a few minutes before, was now suddenly overcast. Shortly we couldn’t see Jupiter at all, and then you couldn’t count your fingers in front of your face.

The road was wet underfoot, not rain, but sudden dew; it was getting steadily colder.

Then it did rain, steadily and coldly. Presently it changed to wet snow. Molly dropped back. “George,” she wanted to know, “have we come as far as the turn off to the Schultz’s?”

“That’s no good,” he answered. “We’ve got to get the baby into the hospital.” That isn’t what I meant. Oughtn’t I to warn them?”

They’ll be all right. Their house is sound.”

“But the cold?”

“Oh.” He saw what she meant and so did I, when I thought about it. With the heat trap gone and the power house gone, every house in the colony was going to be like an ice box. What good is a power receiver on your roof with no power to receive? It was going to get colder and colder and colder ….

And then it would get colder again. And colder….

“Keep moving,” Dad said suddenly. “We’ll figure it out when we get there.”

But we didn’t figure it out, because we never found the turn off. The snow was driving into our faces by then and we must have walked on past it. It was a dry snow now, little sharp needles that burned when they hit.

Without saying anything about it, I had started counting paces when we left the walls of lava that marked the place where the new road led to our place and out to the new farms beyond. As near as I could make it we had come about five miles when Molly stopped. “What’s the matter?” yelled Dad.

“Dear,” she said, “I can’t find the road. I think I’ve lost it.”

I kicked the snow away underfoot. It was made ground, all right–soft. Dad took the torch and looked at his watch. “We must have come about six miles,” he announced.

“Five,” I corrected him. “Or five and a half at the outside,” I told him I had been counting.

He considered it. “We’ve come just about to that stretch where the road is flush with the field,” he said. “It can’t be more than a half mile or a mile to the cut through Kneiper’s Ridge. After that we can’t lose it. Bill, take the light and cast off to the right for a hundred paces, then back to the left. If that doesn’t do it, well go further. And for heaven’s sakes retrace your steps–it’s the only way you’ll find us in this storm.”

I took the light and set out. To the right was no good, though I went a hundred and fifty paces instead of a hundred, I got back to them, and reported, and started out again. Dad just grunted; he was busy with something about the stretcher.

On the twenty-third step to the left I found the road –by stepping down about a foot, falling flat on my face, and nearly losing the light. I picked myself up and went back.

“Good!” said Dad. “Slip your neck through this.”

“This” was a sort of yoke he had devised by retying the blankets around the stretcher so as to get some free line. With my neck through it I could carry the weight on my shoulders and just steady my end with my hands. Not that it was heavy, but our hands were getting stiff with cold. “Good enough!” I said, “But, look, George–let Molly take your end.”

“Nonsense!”

“It isn’t nonsense. Molly can do it–can’t you, Molly? And you know this road better than we do; you’ve tramped it enough times in the dark.” “Bill is right, dear,” Molly said at once. “Here–take Mabel.”

Dad gave in, took the light and the halter. Mabel didn’t want to go any further; she wanted to sit down, I guess. Dad kicked her in the rear and jerked

on her neck. Her feelings were hurt; she wasn’t used to that sort of treatment–particularly not from Dad. But there was no time to humor her; it was getting colder.

We went on. I don’t know how Dad kept to the road but he did. We had been at it another hour, I suppose, and had left Kneiper’s slot well behind, when Molly stumbled, then her knees just seemed to cave in and she knelt down in the snow.

I stopped and sat down, too; I needed the rest. I just wanted to stay there and let it snow.

Dad came back and put his arms around her and comforted her and told her to lead Mabel now; she couldn’t get lost on this stretch. She insisted that she could still carry. Dad ignored her, just lifted the yoke business off her shoulders. Then he came back and peeled a bit of blanket off the bubble and shined the torch inside. He put it back into place. Molly said, “How is she?’

Dad said, “She’s still breathing. She opened her eyes when the light hit them. Let’s go.” He got the yoke on and Molly took the light and the halter. Molly couldn’t have seen what I saw; the plastic of the bubble was frosted over on the inside. Dad hadn’t seen Peggy breathe; he hadn’t seen

anything.

I thought about it for a long while and wondered how you would classify that sort of a lie. Dad wasn’t a liar, that was certain–and yet it seemed to me that such a lie, right then, was better than the truth. It was complicated.

Pretty soon I forgot it; I was too busy putting one foot in front of the other and counting the steps. I couldn’t feel my feet any longer. Dad stopped and I bumped into the end of the stretcher. “Listen!” he said.

I listened and heard a dull rumble. “Quake?”

“No. Keep quiet.” Then he added, “It’s down the road. Off the road, everybody! Off to the right.”

The rumble got louder and presently I made out a light through the snow, back the way we had come. Dad saw it, too, and stepped out on the road and started waving our torch.

The rumble stopped almost on top of him; it was a rock crusher and it was loaded down with people, people clinging to it all over and even riding the spade. The driver yelled, “Climb on! And hurry!”

Then he saw the cow and added, “No live stock.”

“We’ve got a stretcher with my little girl in it,” Dad shouted back to him. “We need help.”

There was a short commotion, while the driver ordered a couple of men down to help us. In the mix up Dad disappeared. One moment Molly was holding Mabel’s halter, then Dad was gone and so was the cow.

We got the stretcher up onto the spade and some of the men braced it with their backs. I was wondering what to do about Dad and thinking maybe I ought to jump off and look for him, when he appeared out of the darkness and scrambled up beside me. “Where’s Molly?” he asked.

“Up on top. But where is Mabel? What did you do with her?”

“Mabel is all right.” He folded his knife and put it in his pocket. I didn’t ask any more questions.

2. Disaster

We passed several more people after that, but the driver wouldn’t stop. We were fairly close into town and he insisted that they could make it on their own. His emergency power pack was running low, he said; he had come all the way from the bend in the lake, ten miles beyond our place.

Besides, I don’t know where he would have put them. We were about three deep and Dad had to keep warning people not to lean on the bubble of

the stretcher.

Then the power pack did quit and the driver shouted, “Everybody off! Get on in on your own.” But by now we were actually in town, the outskirts, and it would have been no trouble if it hadn’t been blowing a blizzard. The driver insisted on helping Dad with the stretcher. He was a good Joe and turned out to be–when I saw him in the light–the same man who had crushed our acreage.

At long, long last we were inside the hospital and Peggy was turned over to the hospital people and put in a pressurized room. More than that, she was alive. In bad shape, but alive.

Molly stayed with her. I would like to have stayed, too–it was fairly warm in the hospital; it had its own emergency power pack. But they wouldn’t let me.

Dad told Molly that he was reporting to the chief engineer for duty. I was told to go to the Immigration Receiving Station. I did so and it was just like the day we landed, only worse–and colder. I found myself right back in the very room which was the first I had ever been in on Ganymede.

The place was packed and getting more packed every minute as more refugees kept pouring in from the surrounding country. It was cold, though not so bitterly cold as outside. The lights were off, of course; light and heat all came from the power plant for everything.

Hand lights had been set up here and there and you could sort of grope your way around. There were the usual complaints, too, though maybe not as bad as you hear from immigrants. I paid no attention to any of them; I was happy in a dead beat sort of way just to be inside and fairly warm and feel the blood start to go back into my feet.

We stayed there for thirty-seven hours. It was twenty-four hours before we got anything to eat.

Here was the way it went: the metal buildings, such as the Receiving Station, stood up. Very few of the stone buildings had, which we knew by then from the reports of all of us. The Power Station was out, and with it, the heat trap. They wouldn’t tell us anything about it except to say that it was being fixed.

In the mean time we were packed in tight as they could put us, keeping the place warm mainly by the heat from our bodies, sheep style. There were, they say, several power packs being used to heat the place, too, one being turned on every time the temperature in the room dropped below freezing. If so, I never got close to one and I don’t think it ever did get up to freezing where I was.

I would sit down and grab my knees and fall into a dopey sleep. Then a nightmare would wake me up and I’d get up and pound myself and walk around. After a while I’d sit down on the floor and freeze my fanny again.

I seem to remember encountering Noisy Edwards in the crowd and waving my finger under his nose and telling him I had an appointment to knock his block off. I seem to remember him staring back at me as if he couldn’t place me. But I don’t know; I may have dreamed it. I thought I ran across Hank, too, and had a long talk with him, but Hank told me afterwards that he never laid eyes on me the whole time.

After a long time–it seemed a week but the records show it was eight o’clock Sunday morning–they passed us out some lukewarm soup. It was wonderful. After that I wanted to leave the building to go to the hospital. I wanted to find Molly and see how Peggy was doing.

They wouldn’t let me. It was seventy below outside and still dropping. About twenty-two o’clock the lights came on and the worst was over.

We had a decent meal soon after that, sandwiches and soup, and when the Sun came up at midnight they announced that anybody could go outside who cared to risk it. I waited until noon Monday. By then it was up to twenty below and I made a dash for it to the hospital.

Peggy was doing as well as could be expected. Molly had stayed with her and had spent the time in bed with her, huddling up to her to keep her warm. While the hospital had emergency heat, it didn’t have the capacity to cope with any such disaster as had struck us; it was darn near as cold as the Receiving Station. But Peggy had come through it, sleeping most of the time. She even perked up enough to smile and say hello.

Molly’s left arm was in a sling and splinted. I asked how that happened–and then I felt foolish. It had happened in the quake itself but I hadn’t known it and George still didn t know about it; none of the engineers were back.

It didn’t seem possible that she could have done what she did, until I recalled that she carried the stretcher only after Dad had rigged the rope yokes. Molly is all right.

They chased me out and I high-tailed it back to the Receiving Station and ran into Sergei almost at once. He hailed me and I went over to him. He

had a pencil and a list and a number of the older fellows were gathered around him. “What’s up?” I said.

“Just the guy I’m looking for,” he said. “I had you down for dead. Disaster party–are you in?”

I was in, all right. The parties were made up of older Scouts, sixteen and up, and the younger men, We were sent out on the town’s tractors, one to each road, and we worked in teams of two. I spotted Hank Jones as we were loading and they let us make up a team.

It was grim work. For equipment we had shovels and lists–lists of who lived on which farm. Sometimes a name would have a notation “known to be alive,” but more often not. A team would be dropped off with the lists for three or four farms and the tractor would go on, to pick them up on the return trip.

Our job was to settle the doubt about those other names and–theoretically–to rescue anyone still alive. We didn’t find anyone alive.

The lucky ones had been killed in the quake; the unlucky ones had waited too long and didn’t make it into town. Some we found on the road; they had tried to make it but had started too late. The worst of all were those whose houses hadn’t fallen and had tried to stick it out. Hank and I found one couple just sitting, arms around each other. They were hard as rock.

When we found one, we would try to identify it on the list, then cover it up with snow, several feet deep, so it would keep for a while after it started to thaw.

When we settled with the people at a farm, we rummaged around and found all the livestock we could and carried or dragged their carcasses down to the road, to be toted into town on the tractor and slapped into deep freeze. It seemed a dirty job to do, robbing the dead, but, as Hank pointed out, we would all be getting a little hungry by and by.

Hank bothered me a little; he was merry about the whole thing. I guess it was better to laugh about it, in the long run, and after a while he had me doing it. It was just too big to soak up all at once and you didn’t dare let it get you.

But I should have caught on when we came to his own place. “We can skip it,” he said, and checked off the list. “Hadn’t we better check for livestock?” I said.

“Nope. We’re running short of time. Let’s move on to the Millers’ place.” “Did they get out?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t see any of them in town.”

The Millers hadn’t gotten out; we barely had time to take care of them before the tractor picked us up. It was a week later that I found out that both of Hank’s parents had been killed in the quake. He had taken time to drag them out and put them into their ice cellar before he had headed for town.

Like myself, Hank had been outside when it hit, still looking at the line up. The fact that the big shock had occurred right after the line up had kept a lot of people from being killed in their beds–but they say that the line up caused the quake, triggered it, that is, with tidal strains, so I guess it sort of evens up. Of course, the line up didn’t actually make the quake; it had been building up to it ever since the beginning of the atmosphere project. Gravity’s books have got to balance.

The colony had had thirty-seven thousand people when the quake hit. The census when we finished it showed less than thirteen thousand. Besides that we had lost every crop, all or almost all the livestock. As Hank said, we’d all be a little hungry by and by.

They dumped us back at the Receiving Station and a second group of parties got ready to leave. I looked for a quiet spot to try to get some sleep. I was just dozing off, it seemed to me, when somebody shook me. It was Dad. “Are you all right, Bill?”

I rubbed my eyes. “I’m okay. Have you seen Molly and Peggy?”

“Just left them. I’m off duty for a few hours. Bill, have you seen anything of the Schultzes?”

I sat up, wide awake. “No. Have you?” “No.”

I told him what I had been doing and he nodded. “Go back to sleep, Bill. I’ll see if there has been a report on them.”

I didn’t go to sleep. He was back after a bit to say that he hadn’t been able to find out anything one way or another. “I’m worried, Bill.” “So am I.”

“I’m going out and check up.” “Let’s go.”

Dad shook his head. “No need for us both. You get some sleep.” I went along, just the same.

We were lucky. A disaster party was just heading down our road and we hitched a ride. Our own farm and the Schultz’s place were among those to be covered on this trip; Dad told the driver that we would check both places and report when we got back to town. That was all right with him.

They dropped us at the turn off and we trudged up toward the Schultz’s house. I began to get the horrors as we went. It’s one thing to pile snow over comparative strangers; it’s another thing entirely to expect to find Mama Schultz or Gretchen with their faces blue and stiff.

I didn’t visualize Papa as dead; people like Papa Schultz don’t die-they just go on forever. Or it feels like that. But I still wasn’t prepared for what we did find.

We had just come around a little hummock that conceals their house from the road. George stopped and said, “Well, the house is still standing. His quake-proofing held.”

I looked at it, then I stared–and then I yelled. “Hey, George! The Tree is gone!”

The house was there, but the apple tree–“the most beautiful tree on Ganymede”–was missing. Just gone. I began to run. We were almost to the house when the door opened. There stood Papa Schultz.

They were all safe, every one of them. What remained of the tree was ashes in the fireplace. Papa had cut it down as soon as the power went off and the temperature started to drop–and then had fed it, little by little, into the flames.

Papa, telling us about it, gestured at the blackened firebox. “Johann’s folly, they called it. I guess they will not think old Appleseed Johnny quite so foolish now, eh?” He roared and slapped Dad on the shoulders.

“But your tree,” I said stupidly.

“I will plant another, many others.” He stopped and was suddenly serious. “But your trees, William, your brave little baby trees–they are dead, not?” I said I hadn’t seen them yet. He nodded solemnly. “They are dead of the cold. Hugo!”

“Yes, Papa.”

“Fetch me an apple.” Hugo did so and Papa presented it to me. “You will plant again.” I nodded and stuck it in my pocket.

They were glad to hear that we were all right, though Mama clucked over Molly’s broken arm. Yo had fought his way over to our place during the first part of the storm, found that we were gone and returned, two frost bitten ears for his efforts. He was in town now to look for us.

But they were all right, every one of them. Even their livestock they had saved–cows, pigs, chickens, people, all huddled together throughout the

cold and kept from freezing by the fire from their tree.

The animals were back in the barn, now that power was on again, but the place still showed that they had been there–and smelled of it, too. I think Mama was more upset by the shambles of her immaculate living room than she was by the magnitude of the disaster. I don’t think she realized that most of her neighbors were dead. It hadn’t hit her yet.

Dad turned down Papa Schultz’s offer to come with us to look over our farm. Then Papa said he would see us on the tractor truck, as he intended to go into town and find out what he could do. We had mugs of Mama’s strong tea and some corn bread and left.

I was thinking about the Schultzes and how good it was to find them alive, as we trudged over to our place. I told Dad that it was a miracle. He shook his head. “Not a miracle. They are survivor types.”

“What type is a survivor type?” I asked.

He took a long time to answer that one. Finally he said, “Survivors survive. I guess that is the only way to tell the survivor type for certain.” I said. “We’re survivor types, too, in that case.”

“Could be,” he admitted. “At least we’ve come through this one.”

When I had left, the house was down. In the mean time I had seen dozens of houses down, yet it was a shock to me when we topped the rise and I saw that it really was down. I suppose I expected that after a while I would wake up safe and warm in bed and everything would be all right.

The fields were there, that was all that you could say for it. I scraped the snow off a stretch I knew was beginning to crop. The plants were dead of course and the ground was hard. I was fairly sure that even the earth worms were dead; they had had nothing to warn them to burrow below the frost line.

My little saplings were dead, of course.

We found two of the rabbits, huddled together and stiff, under a drift against what was left of the barn. We didn’t find any of the chickens except one, the first old hen we ever had. She had been setting and her nest wasn’t crushed and had been covered by a piece of the fallen roof of the barn. She was still on it, hadn’t moved and the eggs under her were frozen. I think that was what got me.

I was just a chap who used to have a farm.

Dad had been poking around the house. He came back to the barn and spoke to me. “Well, Bill?” I stood up. “George, I’ve had it.”

“Then let’s go back to town. The truck will be along shortly.” “I mean I’ve really had it!”

“Yes, I know.”

I took a look in Peggy’s room first, but Dad’s salvage had been thorough. My accordion was in there, however, with snow from the broken door drifted over the case. I brushed it off and picked it up. “Leave it,” Dad said. “It’s safe here and you’ve no place to put it.”

“I don’t expect to be back,” I said. “Very well.”

We made a bundle of what Dad had gotten together, added the accordion, the two rabbits and the hen, and carried it all down to the road. The tractor showed up presently, we got aboard and Dad chucked the rabbits and chicken on the pile of such that they had salvaged. Papa Schultz was waiting at his turnoff.

Dad and I tried to spot Mabel by the road on the trip back, but we didn’t find her. Probably she had been picked up by an earlier trip, seeing that she

was close to town. I was just as well pleased. All right, she had to be salvaged–but I didn’t want the job. I’m not a cannibal.

I managed to get some sleep and a bite to eat and was sent out on another disaster party. The colony began to settle down into some sort of routine. Those whose houses had stood up moved back into them and the rest of us were taken care of in the Receiving Station, much as we had been when our party landed. Food was short, of course, and Ganymede had rationing for the first time since the first colonials really got started.

Not that we were going to starve. In the first place there weren’t too many of us to feed and there had been quite a lot of food on hand. The real pinch would come later. It was decided to set winter back by three months, that is, start all over again with spring–which messed up the calendar from then on. But it would give us a new crop as quickly as possible to make up for the one that we had lost.

Dad stayed on duty with the engineer’s office. Plans called for setting up two more power plants, spaced around the equator, and each of them capable of holding the heat trap alone. The disaster wasn’t going to be allowed to happen again. Of course the installations would have to come from Earth, but we had been lucky on one score; Mars was in a position to relay for us. The report had gone into Earth at once and, instead of another load of immigrants, we were to get what we needed on the next trip.

Not that I cared. I had stayed in town, too, although the Schultzes had invited me to stay with them. I was earning my keep helping to rebuild and quakeproof the houses of the survivors. It had been agreed that we would all go back, George, Molly, Peggy, and me, on the first trip, if we could get space. It had been unanimous except that Peggy hadn’t been consulted; it just had to be.

We weren’t the only ones who were going back. The Colonial Commission had put up a squawk of course, but under the circumstances they had to give in. After it had been made official and the lists were opened Dad and I went over to the Commission agent’s office to put in our applications. We were about the last to apply; Dad had been out of town on duty and I had waited until he got back.

The office was closed with a “Back in a half hour” sign stuck on the door. We waited. There were bulletin boards outside the office; on them were posted the names of those who had applied for repatriation. I started reading them to kill time and so did Dad.

I found Saunders’ name there and pointed it out to George. He grunted and said, “No loss.” Noisy Edwards’ name was there, too; maybe I had seen him in the Receiving Station, although I hadn’t seen him since. It occurred to me that I could probably corner him in the ship and pay him back his lumps, but I wasn’t really interested in the project. I read on down.

I expected to find Hank Jones’ name there, but I couldn’t find it. I started reading the list carefully, paying attention to every name I recognized. I began to see a pattern.

Presently the agent got back and opened the door. Dad touched my arm. “Come on, Bill.” I said, “Wait a minute, George. You read all the names?”

“Yes, I did.”

“I’ve been thinking. You know, George, I don’t like being classed with these lugs.” He chewed his lip. “I know exactly what you mean.”

I took the plunge. “You can do as you like, George, but I’m not going home, if I ever do, until I’ve licked this joint.”

Dad looked as unhappy as he could look. He was silent for a long time, then he said, “I’ve got to take Peggy back, Bill. She won’t go unless Molly and I go along. And she’s got to go.”

“Yes, I know.”

“You understand how it is, Bill?”

“Yes, Dad, I understand.” He went on in to make out his application, whistling a little tune he used to whistle just after Anne died. I don’t think he knew he was whistling it.

I waited for him and after a bit we went away together.

I moved back out to the farm the next day. Not to the Schultzes–to the farm. I slept in Peggy’s room and got busy fixing the place up and getting

ready to plant my emergency allowance of seed.

Then, about two weeks before they were to leave in the Covered Wagon, Peggy died, and there wasn’t any reason for any of us to go back to Earth.

Yo Schultz had been in town and Dad sent word back by him. Yo came over and woke me up and told me about it. I thanked him.

He wanted to know if I wanted to come back to the house with him. I said, no, thanks, that I would rather be alone. He made me promise to come over the next day and went away.

I lay back down on Peggy’s bed.

She was dead and there was nothing more I could do about it She was dead and it was all my fault … if I hadn’t encouraged her, they would have been able to get her to go back before it was too late. She would be back Earthside, going to school and growing up healthy and happy–right back in California, not here in this damned place where she couldn’t live, where human beings were never meant to live.

I bit the pillow and blubbered. I said, “Oh, Anne, Anne! Take care of her, Anne–She’s so little; she won’t know what to do.” And then I stopped bawling and listened, half way expecting Anne to answer me and tell me she would,

But I couldn’t hear anything, not at first … and what I did hear was only, “Stand tall, Billy,” . .. very faint and far away, “Stand tall, son.” After a while I got up and washed my face and started hoofing it back into town.

3. Pioneer Party

We all lived in Peggy’s room until Dad and I had the seeds in, then we built on to it, quake proof this time and with a big view window facing the lake and another facing the mountains. We knocked a window in Peggy’s room, too; it made it seem like a different place.

We built on still another room presently, as it seemed as if we might be needing it. All the rooms had windows and the living room had a fireplace. Dad and I were terribly busy the second season after the quake. Enough seed could be had by then and we farmed the empty farm across the road

from us. Then some newcomers, the Ellises, moved in and paid us for the crop. It was just what they call a “book transaction,” but it reduced our

debt with the Commission.

Two G-years after the line up you would never have known that anything had happened. There wasn’t a wrecked building in the community, there were better than forty-five thousand people, and the town was booming. New people were coming in so fast that you could even sell some produce to the Commission in lieu of land.

We weren’t doing so badly, ourselves. We had a hive of bees. We had Mabel II, and Margie and Mamie, and I was sending the spare milk into town by the city transport truck that passed down our road once a day. I had broken Marge and Mamie to the yoke and used them for ploughing as well– we had crushed five more acres–and we were even talking about getting a horse.

Some people had horses already, the Schultzes for instance. The council had wrangled about it before okaying the “invasion,” with conservatives holding out for tractors. But we weren’t equipped to manufacture tractors yet and the policy was to make the planet self-sufficient–the hay burners won out. Horses can manufacture more horses and that is one trick that tractors have never learned.

Furthermore, though I would have turned my nose up at the idea when I was a ground hog back in Diego Borough, horse steak is very tasty.

It turned out we did need the extra room. Twins– both boys. New babies don’t look as if they were worth keeping, but they get over it–slowly. I bought a crib as a present for them, made right here on Ganymede, out of glass fabric stuck together with synthetic resin. It was getting possible to buy quite a number of home products.

I told Molly I would initiate the brats into the Cubs when they were old enough. I was getting in to meetings oftener now, for I had a patrol again–the Daniel Boone patrol, mostly new kids. I still hadn’t taken my own tests but you can’t do everything at once. Once I was scheduled to take them and a

litter of pigs picked that day to arrive. But I planned to take them; I wanted to be an Eagle Scout again, even if I was getting a little old to worry about badges in themselves.

It may sound as if the survivors didn’t give a hoot about those who had died in the disaster. But that isn’t the truth. It was just that you work from day to day and that keeps your mind busy. In any case, we weren’t the first colony to be two-thirds wiped out– and we wouldn’t be the last. You can grieve only so much; after that it’s self pity. So George says.

George still wanted me to go back to Earth to finish my education and I had been toying with the idea myself. I was beginning to realize that there were a few things I hadn’t learned. The idea was attractive; it would not be like going back right after the quake, tail between my legs. I’d be a property owner, paying my own way. The fare was considerable–five acres–and would about clean me out, my half, and put a load on George and Molly. But they were both for it.

Besides, Dad owned blocked assets back Earthside which would pay my way through school. They were no use to him otherwise; the only thing the Commission will accept as pay for imports is proved land. There was even a possibility, if the council won a suit pending back Earthside, that his blocked assets could be used for my fare as well and not cost us a square foot of improved soil. All in all, it was nothing to turn down idly.

We were talking about me leaving on the NewArk when another matter came up–the planetary survey.

Ganymede had to have settlements other than Leda; that was evident even when we landed. The Commission planned to set up two more ports-of- entry near the two new power stations and let the place grow from three centers. The present colonists were to build the new towns–receiving stations, hydroponics sheds, infirmaries, and so forth–and be paid for it in imports. Immigration would be stepped up accordingly, something that the Commission was very anxious to do, now that they had the ships to dump them in on us in quantity.

The old Jitterbug was about to take pioneer parties out to select sites and make plans–and both Hank and Sergei were going.

I wanted to go so bad I could taste it In the whole time I had been here I had never gotten fifty miles from Leda. Suppose somebody asked me what it was like on Ganymede when I got back on Earth? Truthfully, I wouldn’t be able to tell them; I hadn’t been any place.

I had had a chance, once, to make a trip to Barnard’s Moon, as a temporary employee of Project Jove–and that hadn’t worked out either. The twins. I stayed back and took care of the farm.

I talked it over with Dad.

“I hate to see you delay it any longer,” he said seriously. I pointed out that it would be only two months. “Hmmm–” he said. “Have you taken your merit badge tests yet?”

He knew I hadn’t; I changed the subject by pointing out that Sergei and Hank were going. “But they are both older than you are,” he answered.

“Not by very much!”

“But I think they are each over the age limit they were looking for–and you are just under.”

“Look, George,” I protested, “rules were made to be broken. I’ve heard you say that There must be some spot I can fill–cook, maybe.” And that’s just the job I got–cook.

I always have been a pretty fair cook–not in Mama Schultz’s class, but good. The party had nothing to complain about on that score.

Captain Hattie put us down at a selected spot nine degrees north of the equator and longitude 113 west–that is to say, just out of sight of Jupiter on the far side and about thirty-one hundred miles from Leda.

Mr. Hooker says that the average temperature of Ganymede will rise about nine degrees over the next century as more and more of the ancient ice melts–at which time Leda will be semi-tropical and the planet will be habitable half way to the poles. In the meantime colonies would be planted only at or near the equator.

I was sorry we had Captain Hattie as pilot; she is such an insufferable old scold. She thinks rocket pilots are a special race apart–supermen. At

least she acts like it.

Recently the Commission had forced her to take a relief pilot; there was just too much for one pilot to do. They had tried to force a check pilot on her, too–an indirect way to lead up to retiring her, but she was too tough for them. She threatened to take the Jitterbug up and crash it … and they didn’t dare call her bluff. At that time they were absolutely dependent on the Jitterbug.

Originally the Jitterbug‘s only purpose was for supply and passengers between Leda and the Project Jove station on Barnard’s Moon–but that was back in the days when ships from Earth actually landed at Leda. Then the Mayflower came along and the Jitterbug was pressed into service as a shuttle.

There was talk of another shuttle rocket but we didn’t have it yet, which is why Captain Hattie had them where it hurt. The Commission had visions of a loaded ship circling Ganymede, just going round and round and round again, with no way to get down, like a kitten stuck up in a tree.

I’ll say this for Hattie; she could handle her ship. I think she had nerve ends out in the skin of it. In clear weather she could even make a glide landing, in spite of our thin air. But I think she preferred to shake up her passengers with a jet landing.

She put us down, the Jitterbug took on more water mass, and away it bounced. She had three more parties to land. All in all the Jitterbug was servicing eight other pioneer parties. It would be back to pick us up in about three weeks.

The leader of our party was Paul du Maurier, who was the new assistant Scoutmaster of the Auslander troop and the chap who had gotten me taken on as cookie. He was younger than some of those working for him; furthermore, he shaved, which made him stand out like a white leghorn in a hog pen and made him look even younger. That is, he did shave, but he started letting his beard grow on this trip. “Better trim that grass,” I advised him.

He said, “Don’t you like my beard, Doctor Slop?” –that was a nickname he had awarded me for “Omnibus stew,” my own invention. He didn’t mean any harm by it.

I said, “Well, it covers your face, which is some help–but you might be mistaken for one of us colonial roughnecks. That wouldn’t do for one of you high-toned Commission boys.”

He smiled mysteriously and said, “Maybe that’s what I want.”

I said, “Maybe. But they’ll lock you up in a zoo if you wear it back to Earth.” He was due to go back for Earthside duty by the same trip I expected to make, via the Covered Wagon, two weeks after the end of the survey.

He smiled again and said, “Ah, yes, so they would,” and changed the subject. Paul was one of the most thoroughly good guys I have ever met and smart as a whip as well. He was a graduate of South Africa University with Post Grad on top of that at the System Institute on Venus–an ecologist, specializing in planetary engineering.

He handled that gang of rugged individualists without raising his voice. There is something about a real leader that makes it unnecessary for him to get tough.

But back to the survey–I didn’t see much of it as I was up to my elbows in pots and pans, but I knew what was going on. The valley we were in had been picked from photographs taken from the Jitterbug; it was now up to Paul to decide whether or not it was ideally suited to easy colonization.

It had the advantage of being in direct line-of-sight with power station number two, but that was not essential. Line-of-sight power relays could be placed anywhere on the mountains (no name, as yet) just south of us.

Most of the new villages would have to have power relayed anyhow. Aside from a safety factor for the heat trap there was no point in setting up extra power stations when the whole planet couldn’t use the potential of one mass-conversion plant.

So they got busy–an engineering team working on drainage and probable annual water resources, topographers getting a contour, a chemistry- agronomy team checking on what the various rock formations would make as soil, and a community architect laying out a town and farm and rocket port plot. There were several other specialists, too, like the mineralogist, Mr. Villa, who was doodlebugging the place for ores.

Paul was the “general specialist” who balanced all the data in his mind, fiddled with his slip stick, stared off into the sky, and came up with the over all answer. The over all answer for that valley was “nix”–and we moved on to the next one on the list, packing the stuff on our backs.

That was one of the few chances I got to look around. You see, we had landed at sunrise–about five o’clock Wednesday morning sunrise was, in

that longitude–and the object was to get as much done as possible during each light phase.

Jupiter light is all right for working in your own fields, but no good for surveying strange territory–and here we didn’t even have Jupiter light–just Callisto, every other dark phase, every twelve-and-half days, to be exact. Consequently we worked straight through light phase, on pep pills.

Now a man who is on the pills will eat more than twice as much as a man who is sleeping regularly. You know, the Eskimos have a saying, “Food is sleep.” I had to produce hot meals every four hours, around the clock. I had no time for sightseeing.

We got to camp number two, pitched our tents, I served a scratch meal, and Paul passed out sleeping pills. By then the Sun was down and we really died for about twenty hours. We were comfortable enough –spun glass pads under us and resin sealed glass canvas over us.

I fed them again, Paul passed out more sleepy pills, and back we went to sleep. Paul woke me Monday afternoon. This time I fixed them a light breakfast, then really spread myself to turn them out a feast. Everybody was well rested by now, and not disposed to want to go right back to bed. So I stuffed them.

After that we sat around for a few hours and talked. I got out my squeeze box–brought along by popular demand, that is to say, Paul suggested it– and gave ’em a few tunes. Then we talked some more.

They got to arguing about where life started and somebody brought up the old theory that the Sun had once been much brighter–Jock Montague, it was, the chemist. “Mark my words,” he said, “When we get around to exploring Pluto, you’ll find that life was there before us. Life is persistent, like mass-energy.”

“Nuts,” answered Mr. Villa, very politely. “Pluto isn’t even a proper planet; it used to be a satellite of Neptune.”

“Well, Neptune, then,” Jock persisted. “Life is all through the universe. Mark my words–when the Jove Project straightens out the bugs and gets going, they’ll even find life on the surface of Jupiter.”

“On Jupiter?” Mr. Villa exploded. “Please, Jock! Methane and ammonia and cold as a mother-in-law’s kiss. Don’t joke with us. Why, there’s not even light down under on the surface of Jupiter; it’s pitch dark.”

“I said it and I’ll say it again,” Montague answered. “Life is persistent. Wherever there is mass and energy with conditions that permit the formation of large and stable molecules, there you will find life. Look at Mars. Look at Venus. Look at Earth–the most dangerous planet of the lot. Look at the Ruined Planet.”

I said, “What do you think about it, Paul?”

The boss smiled gently. “I don’t. I haven’t enough data.”

“There!” said Mr. Villa. “There speaks a wise man. Tell me, Jock, how did you get to be an authority on this subject?”

“I have the advantage,” Jock answered grandly, “of not knowing too much about the subject. Facts are always a handicap in philosophical debate.” That ended that phase of it, for Mr. Seymour, the boss agronomist, said, “I’m not so much worried about where life came from as where it is going–

here.”

“How?” I wanted to know. “In what way?”

“What are we going to make of this planet? We can make it anything we want. Mars and Venus–they had native cultures. We dare not change them much and we’ll never populate them very heavily. These Jovian moons are another matter; it’s up to us. They say man is endlessly adaptable. I say on the contrary that man doesn’t adapt himself as much as he adapts his environment. Certainly we are doing so here. But how?”

“I thought that was pretty well worked out,” I said. “We set up these new centers, more people come in and we spread out, same as at Leda.”

“Ah, but where does it stop? We have three ships making regular trips now. Shortly there will be a ship in every three weeks, then it will be every week, then every day. Unless we are almighty careful there will be food rationing here, same as on Earth. Bill, do you know how fast the population is increasing, back Earthside?”

I admitted that I didn’t

“More than one hundred thousand more persons each day than there were the day before. Figure that up.”

I did. “That would be, uh, maybe fifteen, twenty shiploads a day. Still, I imagine they could build ships to carry them.”

“Yes, but where would we put them? Each day, more than twice as many people landing as there are now on this whole globe. And not just on Monday, but on Tuesday, and Wednesday, and Thursday–and the week and the month and the year after that, just to keep Earth’s population stable. I tell you, it won’t work. The day will come when we will have to stop immigration entirely.” He looked around aggressively, like a man who expects to be contradicted.

He wasn’t disappointed. Somebody said, “Oh, Seymour, come off it! Do you think you own this place just because you got here first? You snuck in while the rules were lax.”

“You can’t argue with mathematics,” Seymour insisted. “Ganymede has got to be made self-sufficient as soon as possible–and then we’ve got to slam the door!”

Paul was shaking his head. “It won’t be necessary.”

“Huh?” said Seymour. “Why not? Answer me that. You represent the Commission: what fancy answer has the Commission got?”

“None,” Paul told him. “And your figures are right but your conclusions are wrong. Oh, Ganymede has to be made self-sufficient, true enough, but your bogeyman about a dozen or more shiploads of immigrants a day you can forget.”

“Why, if I may be so bold?”

Paul looked around the tent and grinned apologetically. “Can you stand a short dissertation on population dynamics? I’m afraid I don’t have Jock’s advantage; this is a subject I am supposed to know something about.”

Somebody said, “Stand back. Give him air.”

“Okay,” Paul went on, “you brought it on yourselves. A lot of people have had the idea that colonization is carried on with the end purpose of relieving the pressure of people and hunger back on Earth. Nothing could be further from the truth.”

I said. “Huh?”

“Bear with me. Not only is it physically impossible for a little planet to absorb the increase of a big planet, as Seymour pointed out, but there is another reason why well never get any such flood of people as a hundred thousand people a day–a psychological reason. There are never as many people willing to emigrate (even if you didn’t pick them over) as there are new people born. Most people simply will not leave home. Most of them won’t even leave their native villages, much less go to a far planet.”

Mr. Villa nodded. “I go along with you on that The willing emigrant is an odd breed of cat. He’s scarce.”

“Right,” Paul agreed. “But let’s suppose for a moment that a hundred thousand people were willing to emigrate every day and Ganymede and the other colonies could take them. Would that relieve the situation back home–I mean “back Earthside’? The answer is, ‘No, it wouldn’t’.”

He appeared to have finished. I finally said, “Excuse my blank look, Paul, but why wouldn’t it?” “Studied any bionomics, Bill?”

“Some.”

“Mathematical population bionomics?” “Well-no.”

“But you do know that in the greatest wars the Earth ever had there were always more people after the war than before, no matter how many were killed. Life is not merely persistent, as Jock puts it; life is explosive.

The basic theorem of population mathematics to which there has never been found an exception is that population increases always, not merely up to extent of the food supply, but beyond it, to the minimum diet that will sustain life–the ragged edge of starvation.

In other words, if we bled off a hundred thousand people a day, the Earth’s population would then grow until the increase was around two hundred thousand a day, or the bionomical maximum for Earth’s new ecological dynamic.”

Nobody said anything for a moment; there wasn’t anything to say. Presently Sergei spoke up with, “You paint a grim picture, boss. What’s the answer?”

Paul said, “There isn’t any!”

Sergei said, “I didn’t mean it that way. I mean, what is the outcome?”

When Paul did answer it was just one word, one monosyllable, spoken so softly that it would not have been heard if there had not been dead silence. What he said was:

“War.”

There was a shuffle and a stir; it was an unthinkable idea. Seymour said, “Come now, Mr. du Maurier–I may be a pessimist, but I’m not that much of one. Wars are no longer possible.”

Paul said, “So?”

Seymour answered almost belligerently, “Are you trying to suggest that the Space Patrol would let us down? Because that is the only way a war could happen.”

Paul shook his head. “The Patrol won’t let us down. But they won’t be able to stop it. A police force is all right for stopping individual disturbances; it’s fine for nipping things in the bud. But when the disturbances are planet wide, no police force is big enough, or strong enough, or wise enough. They’ll try–they’ll try bravely. They won’t succeed.”

“You really believe that?”

“It’s my considered opinion. And not only my opinion, but the opinion of the Commission. Oh, I don’t mean the political board; I mean the career scientists.”

“Then what in tarnation is the Commission up to?”

“Building colonies. We think that is worthwhile in itself. The colonies need not be affected by the War. In fact, I don’t think they will be, not much. It will be like America was up to the end of the nineteenth century; European troubles passed her by.

I rather expect that the War, when it comes, will be of such size and duration that interplanetary travel will cease to be for a considerable period. That is why I said this planet has got to be self-sufficient. It takes a high technical culture to maintain interplanetary travel and Earth may not have it– after a bit.”

I think Paul’s ideas were a surprise to everyone present; I know they were to me. Seymour jabbed a finger at him, “If you believe this, then why are you going back to Earth? Tell me that.”

Again Paul spoke softly. “I’m not. I’m going to stay here and become a ‘steader.” Suddenly I knew why he was letting his beard grow.

Seymour answered, “Then you expect it soon.” It was not a question; it was a statement.

“Having gone this far,” Paul said hesitantly, “I’ll give you a direct answer. War is not less than forty Earth years away, not more than seventy.”

You could feel a sigh of relief all around the place. Seymour continued to speak for us, “Forty to seventy, you say. But that’s no reason to

homestead; you probably wouldn’t live to see it. Not but what you’d make a good neighbor.”

“I see this War,” Paul insisted. “I know it’s coming. Should I leave it up to my hypothetical children and grandchildren to outguess it? No. Here I rest. If I marry, I’ll marry here. I’m not raising any kids to be radioactive dust.”

It must have been about here that Hank stuck his head in the tent, for I don’t remember anyone answering Paul. Hank had been outside on business of his own; now he opened the flap and called out, “Hey gents! Europa is up!”

We all trooped out to see. We went partly through embarrassment, I think; Paul had been too nakedly honest. But we probably would have gone anyhow. Sure, we saw Europa every day of our lives at home, but not the way we were seeing it now.

Since Europa goes around Jupiter inside Ganymede’s orbit, it never gets very far away from Jupiter, if you call 39 degrees “not very far.” Since we were 113 west longitude, Jupiter was 23 degrees below our eastern horizon–which meant that Europa, when it was furthest west of Jupiter, would be a maximum of 16 degrees above the true horizon.

Excuse the arithmetic. Since we had a row of high hills practically sitting on us to the east, what all this means is that, once a week, Europa would rise above the hills, just peeking over, hang there for about a day–then turn around and set in the east, right where it had risen. Up and down like an elevator.

If you’ve never been off Earth, don’t tell me it’s impossible. That’s how it is–Jupiter and its moons do some funny things.

It was the first time it had happened this trip, so we watched it–a little silver boat, riding the hills like waves, with its horns turned up. There was argument about whether or not it was still rising, or starting to set again, and much comparing of watches. Some claimed to be able to detect motion but they weren’t agreed on which way. After a while I got cold and went back in.

But I was glad of the interruption. I had a feeling that Paul had said considerably more than he had intended to and more than he would be happy to recall, come light phase. I blamed it on the sleeping pills. Sleeping pills are all right when necessary, but they tend to make you babble and tell your right name-treacherous things.

4. The Other People

By the end of the second light phase it was clear-to Paul, anyhow–that this second valley would do. It wasn’t the perfect valley and maybe there was a better one just over the ridge–but life is too short. Paul assigned it a score of 92% by some complicated system thought up by the Commission, which was seven points higher than passing. The perfect valley could wait for the colonials to find it … which they would, some day.

We named the valley Happy Valley, Just for luck, and named the mountains south of it the Pauline Peaks, over Paul’s protests. He said it wasn’t official anyway; we said we would see to it that it was made so–and the boss topographer, Abie Finkelstein, marked it so on the map and we all intialed it

We spent the third light phase rounding up the details. We could have gone back then, if there had been any way to get back. There wasn’t, so we had to dope through another dark phase.

Some of them preferred to go back on a more normal schedule instead; there was a round-the-clock poker game, which I stayed out of, having nothing I could afford to lose and no talent for filling straights. There were more dark phase bull sessions but they never got as grave as the first one and nobody ever again asked Paul what he thought about the future prospects of things.

By the end of the third dark phase I was getting more than a little tired of seeing nothing but the inside of our portable range. I asked Paul for some time off.

Hank had been helping me since the start of the third dark phase. He had been working as a topographical assistant; flash contour pictures were on the program at the start of that dark phase. He was supposed to get an open-lens shot across the valley from an elevation on the south just as a sunburst flash was let off from an elevation to the west.

Hank had a camera of his own, just acquired, and he was shutter happy, always pointing it at things. This time he had tried to get a picture of his own as well as the official picture. He had goofed off, missed the official picture entirely, and to top it off had failed to protect his eyes when the sunburst went off. Which put him on the sick list and I got him as kitchen police.

He was all right shortly, but Finkelstein didn’t want him back. So I asked for relief for both of us, so we could take a hike together and do a little

exploring. Paul let us go.

There had been high excitement at the end of the second light phase when lichen had been discovered near the west end of the valley. For a while it looked as if native life had been found on Ganymede. It was a false alarm–careful examination showed that it was not only an Earth type, but a type authorized by the bionomics board.

But it did show one thing–life was spreading, taking hold, at a point thirty-one hundred miles from the original invasion. There was much argument as to whether the spores had been air borne, or had been brought in on the clothing of the crew who had set up the power plant. It didn’t matter, really.

But Hank and I decided to explore off that way and see if we could find more of it. Besides it was away from the way we had come from camp number one. We didn’t tell Paul we were going after lichen because we were afraid he would veto it; the stuff had been found quite some distance from camp. He had warned us not to go too far and to be back by six o’clock Thursday morning, in time to break camp and head back to our landing point, where the Jitterbug was to meet us.

I agreed as I didn’t mean to go far in any case. I didn’t much care whether we found lichen or not; I wasn’t feeling well. But I kept that fact to myself; I wasn’t going to be done out of my one and only chance to see some of the country.

We didn’t find any more lichen. We did find the crystals.

We were trudging along, me as happy as a kid let out of school despite an ache in my side and Hank taking useless photographs of odd rocks and lava flows. Hank had been saying that he thought he would sell out his place and homestead here in Happy Valley. He said, “You know, Bill, they are going to need a few real Ganymede farmers here to give the greenhorns the straight dope. And who knows more about Ganymede-style farming than I do?”

“Almost everybody,” I assured him.

He ignored it. “This place has really got it,” he went on, gazing around at a stretch of country that looked like Armageddon after a hard battle. “Much better than around Leda.”

I admitted that it had possibilities. “But I don’t think it’s for me,” I went on. “I don’t think I’d care to settle anywhere where you can’t see Jupiter.” “Nonsense!” he answered. “Did you come here to stare at the sights or to make a farm?”

“That’s a moot point,” I admitted. “Sometimes I think one thing, sometimes the other. Sometimes I don’t have the foggiest idea.” He wasn’t listening. “See that slot up there?”

“Sure. What about it?”

“If we crossed that little glacier, we could get up to it.” “Why?”

“I think it leads into another valley–which might be even better. Nobody has been up there. I know–I was in the topo gang.”

“I’ve been trying to help you forget that,” I told him. “But why look at all? There must be a hundred thousand valleys on Ganymede that nobody has looked at. Are you in the real estate business?” It didn’t appeal to me. There is something that gets you about virgin soil on Ganymede; I wanted to stay in sight of camp. It was quiet as a library–quieter. On Earth there is always some sound, even in the desert. After a while the stillness and the bare rocks and the ice and the craters get on my nerves.

“Come on! Don’t be a sissyl” he answered, and started climbing.

The slot did not lead to another valley; it led into a sort of corridor in the hills. One wall was curiously flat, as if it had been built that way on purpose. We went along it a way, and I was ready to turn back and had stopped to call to Hank, who had climbed the loose rock on the other side to get a picture. As I turned, my eye caught some color and I moved up to see what it was. It was the crystals.

I stared at them and they seemed to stare back. I called, “Hey! Hank! Come here on the bounce!”

“What’s up?”

“Come here! Here’s something worth taking a picture of.”

He scrambled down and joined me. After a bit he let out his breath and whispered, “Well, I’ll be fried on Friday!”

Hank got busy with his camera. I never saw such crystals, not even stalactites in caves. They were six-sided, except a few that were three-sided and some that were twelve-sided. They came anywhere from little squatty fellows no bigger than a button mushroom up to tall, slender stalks, knee high. Later on and further up we found some chest high.

They were not simple prisms; they branched and budded. But the thing that got you was the colors.

They were all colors and they changed color as you looked at them. We finally decided that they didn’t have any color at all; it was just refraction of light. At least Hank thought so.

He shot a full cartridge of pictures then said, “Come on. Let’s see where they come from.”

I didn’t want to. I was shaky from the climb and my right side was giving me fits every step I took. I guess I was dizzy, too; when I looked at the crystals they seemed to writhe around and I would have to blink my eyes to steady them.

But Hank had already started so I followed. The crystals seemed to keep to what would have been the water bed of the canyon, had it been spring. They seemed to need water. We came to a place where there was a drift of ice across the floor of the corridor –ancient ice, with a thin layer of last winter’s snow on top of it. The crystals had carved a passage right through it, a natural bridge of ice, and had cleared a space of several feet on each side of where they were growing, as well.

Hank lost his footing as we scrambled through and snatched at one of the crystals. It broke off with a sharp, clear note, like a silver bell. Hank straightened up and stood looking at his hand. There were parallel cuts across his palm and fingers. He stared at them stupidly. “That’ll teach you,” I said, and then got out a first-lid kit and bandaged it for him. When I had finished I said, “Now let’s go back.” “Shucks,” he said. “What’s a few little cuts? Come

I said, “Look, Hank, I want to go back. I don’t feel good.” “What’s the matter?”

“Stomach ache.”

“You eat too much; that’s your trouble. The exercise will do you good.” “No, Hank. I’ve got to go back.”

He stared up the ravine and looked fretful. Finally he said, “Bill, I think I see where the crystals come from, not very far up. You wait here and let me take a look. Then I’ll come back and well head for camp. I won’t be gone long; honest I won’t.”

“Okay,” I agreed. He started up; shortly I followed him. I had had it pounded into my head as a Cub not to get separated in a strange country. After a bit I heard him shout. I looked up and saw him standing, facing a great dark hole in the cliff. I called out, “What’s the matter?”

He answered:

“GREAT JUMPING HOLY SMOKE!!!”-like that.

“What’s the matter?” I repeated irritably and hurried along until I was standing beside him.

The crystals continued up the place where we were. They came right to the cave mouth, but did not go in; they formed a solid dense thicket across the threshold. Lying across the floor of the ravine, as if it had been tumbled there by an upheaval like the big quake, was a flat rock, a monolith, Stonehenge size. You could see where it had broken off the cliff, uncovering the hole. The plane of cleavage was as sharp and smooth as anything done by the ancient Egyptians.

But that wasn’t what we were looking at; we were looking into the hole.

It was dark inside, but diffused light, reflected off the canyon floor and the far wall, filtered inside. My eyes began to adjust and I could see what Hank was staring at, what he had exploded about.

There were things in there and they weren’t natural

I couldn’t have told you what sort of things because they were like nothing I had ever seen before in my life, or seen pictures of–or heard of. How can you describe what you’ve never seen before and have no words for? Shucks, you can’t even see a thing properly the first time you see it; your eye doesn’t take in the pattern.

But I could see this: they weren’t rocks, they weren’t plants, they weren’t animals. They were made things, man made–well, maybe not “man” made, but not things that just happen, either.

I wanted very badly to get up close to them and see what they were. For the moment, I forgot I was sick. So did Hank. As usual he said, “Come onl Let’s go!”

But I said, “How?”

“Why, we just–” He stopped and took another look. “Well, let’s see, we go around– No. Hmm … Bill, we will have to bust up some of those crystals and go right through the middle. There’s no other way to get in.”

I said, “Isn’t one chopped up hand enough for you?”

“I’ll bust ’em with a rock. It seems a shame; they are so pretty, but that’s what I’ll have to do.”

“I don’t think you can bust those big ones. Besides that, I’ll give you two to one that they are sharp enough to cut through your boots.”

“I’ll chance it.” He found a chunk of rock and made an experiment; I was right on both counts. Hank stopped and looked the situation over, whistling softly. “Bill–“

“Yeah?”

“See that little ledge over the opening?” “What about it?”

“It comes out to the left further than the crystals do. I’m going to pile rock up high enough for us to reach it, then we can go along it and drop down right in front of the cave mouth. The crystals don’t come that close.”

I looked it over and decided it would work. “But how do we get back?”

“We can pile up some of that stuff we can see inside and shinny up again. At the very worst I can boost you up on my shoulders and then you can reach down your belt to me, or something.”

If I had my wits about me, maybe I would have protested. But we tried it and it worked–worked right up to the point where I was hanging by my fingers from the ledge over the cave mouth.

I felt a stabbing pain in my side and let go.

I came to with Hank shaking me. “Let me alone!” I growled.

“You knocked yourself out,” he said. “I didn’t know you were so clumsy.” I didn’t answer. I just gathered my knees up to my stomach and closed my eyes.

Hank shook me again. “Don’t you want to see what’s in here?”

I kicked at him. “I don’t want to see the Queen of Sheba! Can’t you see I’m sick?” I closed my eyes again.

I must have passed out. When I woke up, Hank was sitting Turk fashion in front of me, with my torch in his hand. “You’ve been asleep a long time, fellow,” he said gently. “Feel any better?”

“Not much.”

‘Try to pull yourself together and come along with me. You’ve got to see this, Bill. You won’t believe it. This is the greatest discovery since–well, since– Never mind; Columbus was a piker. We’re famous, Bill.”

“You may be famous,” I said. “I’m sick.” “Where does it hurt?”

“All over. My stomach is hard as a rock–a rock with a toothache.” “Bill,” he said seriously, “have you ever had your appendix out?” “No.”

“Hmmm … maybe you should have had it out.” “Well, this is a fine time to tell me!”

“Take it easy.”

“Take it easy, my foot!” I got up on one elbow, my head swimming. “Hank, listen to me. You’ve got to get back to camp and tell them. Have them send a tractor for me.”

“Look, Bill,” he said gently, “you know there isn’t anything like a tractor at camp.”

I tried to struggle with the problem but it was too much for me. My brain was fuzzy. “Well, have them bring a stretcher, at least,” I said peevishly and lay down again.

Some time later I felt him fumbling around with my clothes. I tried to push him away, then I felt something very cold on me. I took a wild swing at him; it didn’t connect.

“Steady,” he said. “I have found some ice. Don’t squirm around or you’ll knock off the pack.” “I don’t want it.”

“You’ve got to have it. You keep that ice pack in place until we get out of here and you may live to be hanged, yet.”

I was too feeble to resist. I lay back down and closed my eyes again. When I opened my eyes again, I was amazed to feel better. Instead of feeling ready to die, I merely felt awful. Hank wasn’t around; I called to him. When he didn’t answer at once I felt panicky.

Then he came trotting up, waving the torch. “I thought you had gone,” I said.

“No. To tell the truth, I can’t get out of here. I can’t get back up to the ledge and I can’t get over the crystals. I tried it.” He held up one boot; it was in

shreds and there was blood on it.

“Hurt yourself?” “I’ll live.”

“I wonder,” I answered. “Nobody knows we are here–and you say we can’t get out. Looks like we starve. Not that I give a hoot.” ‘Speaking of that,” he said. “I saved you some of our lunch. I’m afraid I didn’t leave much; you were asleep a long, long time.” “Don’t mention food!” I retched and grabbed at my side.

“Sorry. But look–I didn’t say we couldn’t get out” “But you did.”

“No, I said I couldn’t get out.” “What’s the difference?”

“Uh, never mind. But I think we’ll get out. It was what you said about getting a tractor–” “Tractor? Are you out of your head?”

“Skip it,” Bill answered. “There is a sort of tractor thing back there–or more like a scaffolding, maybe.” “Make up your mind.”

“Call it a wagon. I think I can get it out, at least across the crystals. We could use it as a bridge.” “Well, roll it out.”

“It doesn’t roll. It, uh-well, it walks.”

I tried to get up. “This I got to see.”

“Just move over out of the way of the door.”

I managed to get to my feet, with Hank helping me. “I’m coming along.” “Want the ice pack changed?”

“Later, maybe.” Hank took me back and showed me. I don’t know how to describe the walker wagon-maybe you’ve seen pictures since. If a centipede were a dinosaur and made of metal to boot, it would be a walker wagon. The body of it was a sort of trough and it was supported by thirty-eight legs, nineteen on a side.

“That,” I said, “is the craziest contraption I ever laid eyes on. You’ll never shove it out the door.”

“Wait until you see,” he advised. “And if you think this is crazy, you should see the other things in here.” “Such as?”

“Bill, you know what I think this place is? I think it’s a hangar for a space ship.”

“Huh? Don’t be silly; space ships don’t have hangars.”

“This one has.”

“You mean you sawa space ship in here?”

“Well, I don’t know. It’s not like any I ever saw before, but if it’s not a space ship, I don’t know what it is good for.” I wanted to go see, but Hank objected. “Another time, Bill; we’ve got to get back to camp. We’re late as it is.”

I didn’t put up any fight. My side was paining me again, from the walk. “Okay, what happens next?”

“Like this.” He led me around to the end of the contraption; the trough came nearly down to the floor in back. Hank helped me get inside, told me to lie down, and went up to the other end. ‘The guy that built this,” he said, “must have been a hump-backed midget with four arms. Hang on.”

“Do you know what you’re doing?” I asked.

“I moved it about six feet before; then I lost my nerve. Abracadabra! Hold onto your hat!” He poked a finger deep into a hole.

The thing began to move, silently, gently, without any fuss. When we came out into the sunshine, Hank pulled his finger out of the hole. I sat up. The thing was two thirds out of the cave and the front end was beyond the crystals.

I sighed. “You made it, Hank, Let’s get going. If I had some more ice on my side I think I could walk.” “Wait a second,” he said. “I want to try something. There are holes here I haven’t stuck a finger in yet.” “Leave well enough alone.”

Instead of answering he tried another hole. The machine backed up suddenly. “Woopsl” he said, jerked his finger out, and jabbed it back where it had been before. He left it there until he regained what we had lost.

He tried other holes more cautiously. At last he found one which caused the machine to rear up its front end slightly and swing it to the left, like a caterpillar. “Now we are in business,” he said happily. “I can steer it.” We started down the canyon.

Hank was not entirely correct in thinking he could guide it. It was more like guiding a horse than a machine–or perhaps more like guiding one of those new groundmobiles with the semi-automatic steering.

The walker wagon came to the little natural bridge of ice through which the crystals passed and stopped of itself. Hank tried to get it to go through the opening, which was large enough; it would have none of it. The front end cast around like a dog sniffing, then eased gradually up hill and around the ice.

It stayed level; apparently it could adjust its legs, like the fabulous hillside snee.

When Hank came to the ice flow we had crossed on the way up to the notch, he stopped it and gave me a fresh ice pack. Apparently it did not object to ice in itself, but simply refused to go through holes, for when we started up again, it crossed the little glacier, slowly and cautiously, but steadily.

We headed on toward camp. “This,” Hank announced happily, “is the greatest cross-country, rough-terrain vehicle ever built. I wish I knew what makes it go. If I had the patent on this thing, I’d be rich.”

“It’s yours; you found it.”

“It doesn’t really belong to me.”

“Hank,” I answered, “you don’t really think the owner is going to come back looking for it, do you?”

He got a very odd look. “No, I don’t, Bill. Say, Bill, uh, how long ago do you think this thing was put in there?”

“I wouldn’t even want to guess.”

There was only one tent at the camp site. As we came up to it, somebody came out and waited for us. It was Sergei. “Where have you guys been?” he asked. “And where in Kingdom Come did you steal that?

“And what is it?” he added.

We did our best to bring him up to date, and presently he did the same for us. They had searched for us as long as they could, then Paul had been forced to move back to camp number one to keep the date with the Jitterbug. He had left Sergei behind to fetch us when we showed up. “He left a note for you,” Sergei added, digging it out

It read:

“Dear Pen Pals,

I am sorry to go off and leave you crazy galoots but you know the schedule as well as I do. I would stay behind myself to herd you home, but your pal Sergei insists that it is his privilege. Every time I try to reason with him he crawls further back into his hole, bares his teeth, and growls.

As soon as you get this, get your chubby little legs to moving in the direction of camp number one. Run, do not walk. We’ll hold the Jitterbug, but you knowhowdear old Aunt Hattie feels about keeping her schedule. She isn’t going to like it if you are late.

When I see you, I intend to beat your ears down around your shoulders. Good luck,

P. du M.

P. S. to Doctor Slop: I took care of your accordion.”

When we had finished reading it Sergei said, “I want to hear more about what you found–about eight times more. But not now; we’ve got to tear over to camp number one. Hank, you think Bill can’t walk it?”

I answered for myself, an emphatic “no.” The excitement was wearing off and I was feeling worse again. “Hmm–Hank, do you think that mobile junk yard will carry us over there?”

“I think it will carry us any place.” Hank patted it. “How fast? The Jitterbug has already grounded.” “Are you sure?” asked Hank.

“I saw its trail in the sky at least three hours ago.” “Let’s get going!”

I don’t remember much about the trip. They stopped once in the pass, and packed me with ice again. The next thing I knew I was awakened by hearing Sergei shout, “There’s the Jitterbug! I can see it.”

“Jitterbug, here we come,” answered Hank. I sat up and looked, too.

We were coming down the slope, not five miles from it, when flame burst from its tail and it climbed for the sky. Hank groaned. I lay back down and closed my eyes.

I woke up again when the contraption stopped. Paul was there, hands on his hips, staring at us. “About time you birds got home,” he announced. “But where did you find that?“

“Paul,” Hank said urgently, “Bill is very sick.”

“Oh, oh!” Paul swung up and into the walker and made no more questions then. A moment later he had my belly bared and was shoving a thumb into that spot between the belly button and the hip bone. “Does that hurt?” he asked.

I was too weak to slug him. He gave me a pill.

I took no further part in events for a while, but what had happened was this: Captain Hattie had waited, at Paul’s urgent insistence, for a couple of hours, and then had announced that she had to blast. She had a schedule to keep with the Covered Wagon and she had no intention, she said, of keeping eight thousand people waiting for the benefit of two. Hank and I could play Indian if we liked; we couldn’t play hob with her schedule.

There was nothing Paul could do, so he sent the rest back and waited for us.

But I didn’t hear this at the time. I was vaguely aware that we were in the walker wagon, travelling, and I woke up twice when I was repacked with ice, but the whole episode is foggy. They travelled east, with Hank driving and Paul navigating–by the seat of his pants. Some long dreamy time later they reached a pioneer camp surveying a site over a hundred miles away–and from there Paul radioed for help.

Whereupon the Jitterbug came and got us. I remember the landing back at Leda–that is, I remember somebody saying, “Hurry, there! We’ve got a boy with a burst appendix.”

5. Home

There was considerable excitement over what we had found–and there still is–but I didn’t see any of it. I was busy playing games with the Pearly Gates. I guess I have Dr. Archibald to thank for still being here. And Hank. And Sergei. And Paul. And Captain Hattie. And some nameless party, who lived somewhere, a long time ago, whose shape and race I still don’t know, but who designed the perfect machine for traveling overland through rough country.

I thanked everybody but him. They all came to see me in the hospital, even Captain Hattie, who growled at me, then leaned over and kissed me on the cheek as she left. I was so surprised I almost bit her.

The Schultzes came, of course, and Mama cried over me and Papa gave me an apple and Gretchen could hardly talk, which isn’t like her. And Molly brought the twins down to see me and vice versa.

The Leda daily Planet interviewed me. They wanted to know whether or not we thought the things we found were made by men? Now that is a hard question to answer and smarter people than myself have worked on it since.

What is a man?

The things Hank and I–and the Project Jove scientists who went later–found in that cave couldn’t have been made by men–not men like us. The walker wagon was the simplest thing they found. Most of the things they still haven’t found out the use for. Nor have they figured out what the creatures looked like–no pictures.

That seems surprising, but the scientists concluded they didn’t have eyes–not eyes like ours, anyhow. So they didn’t use pictures.

The very notion of a “picture” seems pretty esoteric when you think it over. The Venetians don’t use pictures, nor the Martians. Maybe we are the only race in the universe that thought up that way of recording things.

So they weren’t “men”–not like us.

But they were men in the real sense of the word, even though I don’t doubt that I would run screaming away if I met one in a dark alley. The important thing, as Mr. Seymour would say, they had–they controlled their environment. They weren’t animals, pushed around and forced to accept what

nature handed them; they took nature and bent it to their will.

I guess they were men.

The crystals were one of the oddest things about it and I didn’t have any opinions on that. Somehow, those crystals were connected with that cave– or space ship hangar, or whatever it was. Yet they couldn’t or wouldn’t go inside the cave.

Here was another point that the follow-up party from Project Jove recorded: that big unwieldly walker wagon came all the way down that narrow canyon-yet it did not step on a single crystal. Hank must be a pretty good driver. He says he’s not that good.

Don’t ask me. I don’t understand everything that goes on in the universe. It’s a big place.

I had lots of time to think before they let me out of the hospital–and lots to think about. I thought about my coming trip to Earth, to go back to school I had missed the Covered Wagon, of course, but that didn’t mean anything; I could take the Mayflower three weeks later. But did I want to go? It was a close thing to decide.

One thing I was sure of: I was going to take those merit badge tests as soon as I was out of bed. I had put it off too long. A close brush with the hereafter reminds you that you don’t have forever to get things done.

But going back to school? That was another matter. For one thing, as Dad told me, the council had lost its suit with the Commission; Dad couldn’t use his Earthside assets.

And there was the matter that Paul had talked about the night he had to let his hair down–the coming war.

Did Paul know what he was talking about? If so, was I letting it scare me out? I honestly didn’t think so; Paul had said that it was not less than forty years away. I wouldn’t be Earthside more than four or five years–and, besides, how could you get scared of anything that far in the future?

I had been through the Quake and the reconstruction; I didn’t really think I’d ever be scared of anything again.

I had a private suspicion that, supposing there was a war, I’d go join up; I wouldn’t be running away from it. Silly, maybe.

No, I wasn’t afraid of the War, but it was on my mind. Why? I finally doped it out. When Paul called I asked him about it. “See here, Paul–this war you were talking about: when Ganymede reaches the state that Earth has gotten into, does that mean war here, too? Not now–a few centuries from now.”

He smiled rather sadly. “By then we may know enough to keep from getting into that shape. At least we can hope.” He got a far-away look and added, “A new colony is always a new hope.”

I liked that way of putting it. “A new hope–” Once I heard somebody call a new baby that.

I still didn’t have the answer about going back when Dad called on me one Sunday night. I put it up to him about the cost of the fare. “I know the land is technically mine, George–but it’s too much of a drain on you two.”

“Contrariwise,” said George, “well get by and that’s what savings are for. Molly is for it. We will be sending the twins back for school, you know.” “Even so, I don’t feel right about it. And what real use is there in it, George? I don’t need a fancy education. I’ve been thinking about Callisto: there’s

a brand new planet not touched yet with great opportunities for a man in on the ground floor. I could get a job with the atmosphere expedition–Paul

would put in a word for me–and grow up with the project. I might be chief engineer of the whole planet some day.”

“Not unless you learn more about thermodynamics than you do now, you won’t be!” “Huh?”

“Engineers don’t just ‘grow up’; they study. They go to school.”

“Don’t I study? Ain’t I attending two of your classes right now? I can get to be an engineer here; I don’t have to drag back half a billion miles for it.”

“Fiddlesticks! It takes discipline to study. You haven’t even taken your merit badge tests. You’ve let your Eagle Scoutship lapse.”

I wanted to explain that taking tests and studying for tests were two different things–that I had studied. But I couldn’t seem to phrase it right.

George stood up. “See here, Son, I’m going to put it to you straight. Never mind about being chief engineer of a planet; these days even a farmer needs the best education he can get. Without it he’s just a country bumpkin, a stumbling peasant, poking seeds into the ground and hoping a miracle will make them grow.

I want you to go back to Earth and get the best that Earth has to offer. I want you to have a degree with prestige behind it–M.I.T., Harvard, the Sorbonne. Some place noted for scholarship. Take the time to do that and then do anything you want to do. Believe me, it will pay.”

I thought about it and answered, “I guess you are right, George.”

Dad stood up. “Well, make up your mind. I’ll have to hurry now for the bus, or I’ll be hoofing it back to the farm. See you tomorrow.” “Good night, George.”

I lay awake and thought about it. After a while, Mrs. Dinsmore, the wing nurse, came in, turned out my light, and said goodnight. But I didn’t go to sleep.

Dad was right, I knew. I didn’t want to be an ignoramus. Furthermore, I had seen the advantage held by men with fancy degrees–first crack at the jobs, fast promotion. Okay, I’d get me one of those sheepskins, then come back and–well, go to Callisto, maybe, or perhaps prove a new parcel of land. I’d go and I’d come back.

Nevertheless I couldn’t get to sleep. After a while I glanced at my new watch and saw that it was nearly midnight–dawn in a few minutes. I decided that I wanted to see it It might be the last time I’d be up and around at midnight Sunday for a long, long time.

I scouted the corridor; Old Lady Dinsmore wasn’t in sight. I ducked outside.

The Sun was just barely below the horizon; north of me I could see its first rays touching the topmost antenna of the power station, miles away on Pride Peak. It was very still and very beautiful. Overhead old Jupiter was in half phase, bulging and orange and grand. To the west of it Io was just coming out of shadow; it passed from black to cherry red to orange as I watched.

I wondered how I would feel to be back on Earth? How would it feel to weigh three times as much as I did now? I didn’t feel heavy; I felt just right. How would it feel to swim in that thick dirty soup they use for air?

How would it feel to have nobody but ground hogs to talk to? How could I talk to a girl who wasn’t a colonial, who had never been off Earth higher than a copter hop? Sissies. Take Gretchen, now–there was a girl who could kill a chicken and have it in the pot while an Earthside girl would still be squealing.

The top of the Sun broke above the horizon and caught the snow on the peaks of the Big Rock Candy Mountains, tinting it rosy against a pale green sky. I began to be able to see the country around me. It was a new, hard, clean place–not like California with its fifty, sixty million people falling over each other. It was my kind’ of a place–it was my place.

The deuce with Caltech and Cambridge and those fancy schools! I’d show Dad it didn’t take ivied halls to get an education. Yes, and I’d pass those tests and be an Eagle again, first thing.

Hadn’t Andrew Johnson, that American President, learned to read while he was working? Even after he was married? Give us time; we’d have as good scientists and scholars here as anywhere.

The long slow dawn went on and the light caught Kneiper’s cut west of me, outlining it. I was reminded of the night we had struggled through it in the storm. As Hank put it, there was one good thing about colonial life–it sorted out the men from the boys.

“I have lived and worked with men.” The phrase rang through my head. Rhysling? Kipling, maybe. I had lived and worked with men!

The Sun was beginning to reach the roof tops. It spread across Laguna Serenidad, turning it from black to purple to blue. This was my planet, this

was my home and I knew that I would never leave it

Mrs. Dinsmore came bustling out to the door and spotted me. “Why, the very idea!” she scolded. “You get back where you belong!” I smiled at her. “I am where I belong. And I’m going to stay!”

The End

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Have spacesuit – will travel (full text) by Robert Heinlein

“Have Spacesuit – Will Travel” is a great story that is in the same class as “Farmer in the Sky”. Which are both fictional stories that are perhaps some of his best. All have a great sense of awe and adventure and excitement about space and exploration that existed back in the 1950’s and 1960’s.

Have Spacesuit – Will Travel

Chapter 1

You see, I had this space suit. How it happened was this way:

“Dad,” I said, “I want to go to the Moon.”

“Certainly,” he answered and looked back at his book. It was Jerome K. Jerome’s Three Men in a Boat, which he must know by heart. I said, “Dad, please! I’m serious.”

This time he closed the book on a finger and said gently, “I said it was all right. Go ahead.” “Yes … but how?”

“Eh?” He looked mildly surprised. “Why, that’s your problem, Clifford.”

Dad was like that. The time I told him I wanted to buy a bicycle he said, “Go right ahead,” without even glancing up-so I had gone to the money basket in the dining room, intending to take enough for a bicycle. But there had been only eleven dollars and forty-three cents in it, so about a thousand miles of mowed lawns later I bought a bicycle. I hadn’t said anymore to Dad because if money wasn’t in the basket, it wasn’t anywhere; Dad didn’t bother with banks-just the money basket and one next to it marked “UNCLE SAM,” the contents of which he bundled up and mailed to the government once a year. This caused the Internal Revenue Service considerable headache and once they sent a man to remonstrate with him.

First the man demanded, then he pleaded. “But, Dr. Russell, we know your background. You’ve no excuse for not keeping proper records.” “But I do,” Dad told him. “Up here.” He tapped his forehead.

“The law requires written records.”

“Look again,” Dad advised him. “The law can’t even require a man to read and write. More coffee?”

The man tried to get Dad to pay by check or money order. Dad read him the fine print on a dollar bill, the part about “legal tender for all debts, public and private.” In a despairing effort to get something out of the trip he asked Dad please not to fill in the space marked “occupation” with “Spy.”

“Why not?”

“What? Why, because you aren’t-and it upsets people.” “Have you checked with the F.B.I.?”

“Eh? No.”

“They probably wouldn’t answer. But you’ve been very polite. I’ll mark it ‘Unemployed Spy.’ Okay?”

The tax man almost forgot his brief case. Nothing fazed Dad, he meant what he said, he wouldn’t argue and he never gave in. So when he told me I could go to the Moon but the means were up to me, he meant just that. I could go tomorrow-provided I could wangle a billet in a space ship.

But he added meditatively, “There must be a number of ways to get to the Moon, son. Better check ‘em all. Reminds me of this passage I’m reading. They’re trying to open a tin of pineapple and Harris has left the can opener back in London. They try several ways.” He started to read aloud and I sneaked out-I had heard that passage five hundred times. Well, three hundred.

I went to my workshop in the barn and thought about ways. One way was to go to the Air Academy at Colorado Springs-if I got an appointment, if I graduated, if I managed to get picked for the Federation Space Corps, there was a chance that someday I would be ordered to Lunar Base, or at least one of the satellite stations.

Another way was to study engineering, get a job in jet propulsion, and buck for a spot that would get me sent to the Moon. Dozens, maybe hundreds, of engineers had been to the Moon, or were still there-for all sorts of work: electronics, cryogenics, metallurgy, ceramics, air conditioning, as well as rocket engineering.

Oh, yes! Out of a million engineers a handful got picked for the Moon. Shucks, I rarely got picked even playing post office.

Or a man could be an M.D., or a lawyer, or geologist, or toolmaker, and wind up on the Moon at a fat salary-provided they wanted him and nobody else. I didn’t care about salary-but how do you arrange to be number one in your specialty?

And there was the straightforward way: trundle in a wheelbarrow of money and buy a ticket.

This I would never manage-I had eighty-seven cents at that moment -but it had caused me to think about it steadily. Of the boys in our school half admitted that they wanted to space, half pretended not to care, knowing how feeble the chances were-plus a handful of creeps who wouldn’t leave Earth for any reason. But we talked about it and some of us were determined to go. I didn’t break into a rash until American Express and Thos. Cook & Son announced tourist excursions.

I saw their ads in National Geographic while waiting to have my teeth cleaned. After that I never was the same.

The idea that any rich man could simply lay cash on the line and go was more than I could stand. I just had to go. I would never be able to pay for it-or, at least, that was so far in the future there was no use thinking about it. So what could I do to be sent?

You see stories about boys, poor-but-honest, who go to the top because they’re smarter than anyone in the county, maybe the state. But they’re not talking about me. I was in the top quarter of my graduating class but they do not give scholarships to M.I.T. for that-not from Centerville High. I am stating a fact; our high school isn’t very good. It’s great to go to-we’re league champions in basketball and our square-dance team is state runner-up and we have a swell sock hop every Wednesday. Lots of school spirit.

But not much studying.

The emphasis is on what our principal, Mr. Hanley, calls “preparation for life” rather than on trigonometry. Maybe it does prepare you for life; it certainly doesn’t prepare you for CalTech. I didn’t find this out myself. Sophomore year I brought home a questionnaire cooked up by our group project in “Family Living” in social studies. One question read: “How is your family

council organized?”

At dinner I said, “Dad, how is our family council organized?” Mother said, “Don’t disturb your father, dear.”

Dad said, “Eh? Let me see that.”

He read it, then told me to fetch my textbooks. I had not brought them home, so he sent me to school to get them. Fortunately the building was open-rehearsals for the Fall Blow-Out. Dad rarely gave orders but when he did he expected results.

I had a swell course that semester-social study, commercial arithmetic, applied English (the class had picked “slogan writing” which was fun), handicrafts (we were building sets for the Blow-Out), and gym-which was basketball practice for me; I wasn’t tall enough for first team but a reliable substitute gets his varsity letter his senior year. All in all, I was doing well in school and knew it.

Dad read all my textbooks that night; he is a fast reader. In social study I reported that our family was an informal democracy; it got by-the class was arguing whether the chairmanship of a council should rotate or be elective, and whether a grandparent living in the home was eligible. We decided that a grandparent was a member but should not be chairman, then we formed committees to draw up a constitution for an ideal family organization, which we would present to our families as the project’s findings.

Dad was around school a good bit the next few days, which worried me -when parents get overactive they are always up to something.

The following Saturday evening Dad called me into his study. He had a stack of textbooks on his desk and a chart of Centerville High School’s curriculum, from American Folk Dancing to Life Sciences. Marked on it was my course, not only for that semester but for junior and senior years the way my faculty advisor and I had planned it.

Dad stared at me like a gentle grasshopper and said mildly, “Kip, do you intend to go to college?” “Huh? Why, certainly, Dad!”

“With what?”

I hesitated. I knew it cost money. While there had been times when dollar bills spilled out of the basket onto the floor, usually it wouldn’t take long to count what was in it. “Uh, maybe I’ll get a scholarship. Or I could work my way.”

He nodded. “No doubt … if you want to. Money problems can always be solved by a man not frightened by them. But when I said, ‘With what?’ I was talking about up here.” He tapped his skull.

I simply stared. “Why, I’ll graduate from high school, Dad. That’ll get me into college.”

“So it will. Into our State University, or the State Aggie, or State Normal. But, Kip, do you know that they are flunking out 40 per cent of each freshman class?” “I wouldn’t flunk!”

“Perhaps not. But you will if you tackle any serious subject-engineering, or science, or pre-med. You would, that is to say, if your preparation were based on this.” He waved a hand at the curriculum.

I felt shocked. “Why, Dad, Center is a swell school.” I remembered things they had told us in P.T.A. Auxiliary. “It’s run along the latest, most scientific lines, approved by psychologists, and-“

“-and paying excellent salaries,” he interrupted, “for a staff highly trained in modern pedagogy. Study projects emphasize practical human problems to orient the child in democratic social living, to fit him for the vital, meaningful tests of adult life in our complex modern culture. Excuse me, son; I’ve talked with Mr. Hanley. Mr. Hanley is sincere-and to achieve these noble purposes we are spending more per student than is any other state save California and New York.”

“Well … what’s wrong with that?” “What’s a dangling participle?”

I didn’t answer. He went on, “Why did Van Buren fail of re-election? How do you extract the cube root of eighty-seven?”

Van Buren had been a president; that was all I remembered. But I could answer the other one. “If you want a cube root, you look in a table in the back of the book.”

Dad sighed. “Kip, do you think that table was brought down from on high by an archangel?” He shook his head sadly. “It’s my fault, not yours. I should have looked into this years ago-but I had assumed, simply because you liked to read and were quick at figures and clever with your hands, that you were getting an education.”

“You think I’m not?”

“I know you are not. Son, Centerville High is a delightful place, well equipped, smoothly administered, beautifully kept. Not a ‘blackboard jungle,’ oh, no!-I think you kids love the place. You should. But this-” Dad slapped the curriculum chart angrily. “Twaddle! Beetle tracking! Occupational therapy for morons!”

I didn’t know what to say. Dad sat and brooded. At last he said, “The law declares that you must attend school until you are eighteen or have graduated from high school.” “Yes, sir.”

“The school you are in is a waste of time. The toughest course we can pick won’t stretch your mind. But it’s either this school, or send you away.” I said, “Doesn’t that cost a lot of money?”

He ignored my question. “I don’t favor boarding schools, a teen-ager belongs with his family. Oh, a tough prep school back east can drill you so that you can enter Stanford, or Yale, or any of the best-but you can pick up false standards, too-nutty ideas about money and social position and the right tailor. It took me years to get rid of ones I acquired that way. Your mother

and I did not pick a small town for your boyhood unpurposefully. So you’ll stay in Centerville High.”

I looked relieved.

“Nevertheless you intend to go to college. Do you intend to become a professional man? Or will you look for snap courses in more elaborate ways to make bayberry candles? Son, your life is yours, to do with as you wish. But if you have any thought of going to a good university and studying anything of importance, then we must consider how to make best use of your next three years.”

“Why, gosh, Dad, of course I want to go to a good-“ “See me when you’ve thought it over. Good night.”

I did for a week. And, you know, I began to see that Dad was right. Our project in “Family Living” was twaddle. What did those kids know about running a family? Or Miss Finchley?- unmarried and no kids. The class decided unanimously that every child should have a room of his own, and be given an allowance “to teach him to handle money.” Great stuff … but how about the Quinlan family, nine kids in a five-room house? Let’s not be foolish.

Commercial arithmetic wasn’t silly but it was a waste of time. I read the book through the first week; after that I was bored.

Dad switched me to algebra, Spanish, general science, English grammar and composition; the only thing unchanged was gym. I didn’t have it too tough catching up; even those courses were watered down. Nevertheless, I started to learn, for Dad threw a lot of books at me and said, “Clifford, you would be studying these if you were not in overgrown kindergarten. If you soak up what is in them, you should be able to pass College Entrance Board Examinations. Possibly.”

After that he left me alone; he meant it when he said that it was my choice. I almost bogged down-those books were hard, not the predigested pap I got in school. Anybody who thinks that studying Latin by himself is a snap should try it.

I got discouraged and nearly quit-then I got mad and leaned into it. After a while I found that Latin was making Spanish easier and vice versa. When Miss Hernandez, my Spanish teacher, found out I was studying Latin, she began tutoring me. I not only worked my way through Virgil, I learned to speak Spanish like a Mexicano.

Algebra and plane geometry were all the math our school offered; I went ahead on my own with advanced algebra and solid geometry and trigonometry and might have stopped so far as College Boards were concerned-but math is worse than peanuts. Analytical geometry seems pure Greek until you see what they’re driving at-then, if you know algebra, it bursts on you and you race through the rest of the book. Glorious!

I had to sample calculus and when I got interested in electronics I needed vector analysis. General science was the only science course the school had and pretty general it was, too- about Sunday supplement level. But when you read about chemistry and physics you want to do it, too. The barn was mine and I had a chem lab and a darkroom and an electronics bench and, for a while, a ham station. Mother was perturbed when I blew out the windows and set fire to the barn-just a small fire-but Dad was not. He simply suggested that I not manufacture explosives in a frame building.

When I took the College Boards my senior year I passed them.

It was early March my senior year that I told Dad I wanted to go to the Moon. The idea had been made acute by the announcement of commercial flights but I had been “space happy” ever since the day they announced that the Federation Space Corps had established a lunar base. Or earlier. I told Dad about my decision because I felt that he would know the answer. You see. Dad always found ways to do anything he decided to do.

When I was little we lived lots of places-Washington, New York/Los Angeles, I don’t know where-usually in hotel apartments. Dad was always flying somewhere and when he was home

there were visitors; I never saw him much. Then we moved to Centerville and he was always home, his nose in a book or working at his desk. When people wanted to see him they had to come to him. I remember once, when the money basket was empty, Dad told Mother that “a royalty was due.” I hung around that day because I had never seen a king (I was eight) and when a visitor showed up I was disappointed because he didn’t wear a crown. There was money in the basket the next day so I decided that he had been incognito (I was reading The Little Lame Prince) and had tossed Dad a purse of gold-it was at least a year before I found out that a “royalty” could be money from a patent or a book or business stock, and some of the glamour went out of life. But this visitor, though not king, thought he could make Dad do what he wanted rather than what Dad wanted:

“Dr. Russell, I concede that Washington has an atrocious climate. But you will have air-conditioned offices.” “With clocks, no doubt. And secretaries. And soundproofing.”

“Anything you want. Doctor.”

“The point is, Mr. Secretary, I don’t want them. This household has no clocks. Nor calendars. Once I had a large income and a larger ulcer; I now have a small income and no ulcer. I stay here.”

“But the job needs you.”

“The need is not mutual. Do have some more meat loaf.”

Since Dad did not want to go to the Moon, the problem was mine. I got down college catalogs I had collected and started listing engineering schools. I had no idea how I could pay tuition or even eat-but the first thing was to get myself accepted by a tough school with a reputation.

If not, I could enlist in the Air Force and try for an appointment. If I missed, I could become an enlisted specialist in electronics; Lunar Base used radar and astrar techs. One way or another, I was going.

Next morning at breakfast Dad was hidden behind the New York Times while Mother read the Herald-Trib. I had the Centerville Clarion but it’s fit only for wrapping salami. Dad looked over his paper at me. “Clifford, here’s something in your line.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t grunt; that is an uncouth privilege of seniors. This.” He handed it to me. It was a soap ad.

It announced that tired old gimmick, a gigantic super-colossal prize contest. This one promised a thousand prizes down to a last hundred, each of which was a year’s supply of Skyway Soap.

Then I spilled cornflakes in my lap. The first prize was- “-AN ALL-EXPENSE TRIP TO THE MOON!!!”

That’s the way it read, with three exclamation points-only to me there were a dozen, with bursting bombs and a heavenly choir.

Just complete this sentence in twenty-five words or less: “I use Skyway Soap because …” (And send in the usual soap wrapper or reasonable facsimile.)

There was more about”-joint management of American Express and Thos. Cook-” and “-with the cooperation of the United States Air Force-” and a list of lesser prizes. But all I saw, while milk and soggy cereal soaked my pants, was: “-TRIP TO THE MOON!!!”

First I went sky-high with excitement … then as far down with depression. I didn’t win contests-why, if I bought a box of Cracker Jack, I’d get one they forgot to put a prize in. I had been cured of matching pennies. If I ever-

“Stop it,” said Dad. I shut up.

“There is no such thing as luck; there is only adequate or inadequate preparation to cope with a statistical universe. Do you intend to enter this?” “Do I!”

“I assume that to be affirmative. Very well, make a systematic effort.”

I did and Dad was helpful-he didn’t just offer me more meat loaf. But he saw to it I didn’t go to pieces; I finished school and sent off applications for college and kept my job-I was working after school that semester at Charton’s Pharmacy-soda jerk, but also learning about pharmacy. Mr. Charton was too conscientious to let me touch anything but packaged items, but I learned-materia medica and nomenclature and what various antibiotics were for and why you had to be careful. That led into organic chemistry and biochemistry and he lent me Walker, Boyd and Asimov- biochemistry makes atomic physics look simple, but presently it begins to make sense.

Mr. Charton was an old widower and pharmacology was his life. He hinted that someone would have to carry on the pharmacy someday- some young fellow with a degree in pharmacy and devotion to the profession. He said that he might be able to help such a person get through school. If he had suggested that I could someday run the dispensary at Lunar Base, I might have taken the bait. I explained that I was dead set on spacing, and engineering looked like my one chance.

He didn’t laugh. He said I was probably right-but that I shouldn’t forget that wherever Man went, to the Moon, on Mars, or the farthest stars, pharmacists and dispensaries would go along. Then he dug out books for me on space medicine-Strughold and Haber and Stapp and others. “I once had ideas along that line. Kip,” he said quietly, “but now it’s too late.”

Even though Mr. Charton was not really interested in anything but drugs, we sold everything that drugstores sell, from bicycle tires to home permanent kits. Including soap, of course.

We were selling darned little Skyway Soap; Centerville is conservative about new brands-I’ll bet some of them made their own soap. But when I showed up for work that day I had to tell Mr. Charton about it. He dug out two dust-covered boxes and put them on the counter. Then he phoned his jobber in Springfield.

He really did right by me. He marked Skyway Soap down almost to cost and pushed it-and he almost always got the wrappers before he let the customer go. Me, I stacked a pyramid of Skyway Soap on each end of the fountain and every coke was accompanied by a spiel for good old Skyway, the soap that washes cleaner, is packed with vitamins, and improves your chances of Heaven, not to mention its rich creamy lather, finer ingredients, and refusal to take the Fifth Amendment. Oh, I was shameless! Anybody who got away without buying was deaf or fast on his feet.

If he bought soap without leaving the wrappers with me he was a magician. Adults I talked out of it; kids, if I had to, I paid a penny for each wrapper. If they brought in wrappers from around town, I paid a dime a dozen and threw in a cone. The rules permitted a contestant to submit any number of entries as long as each was written on a Skyway Soap wrapper or reasonable facsimile.

I considered photographing one and turning out facsimiles by the gross, but Dad advised me not to. “It is within the rules, Kip, but I’ve never yet known a skunk to be welcome at a picnic.” So I used soap. And I sent in wrappers with slogans:

“I use Skyway Soap because- it makes me feel so clean.”

highway or byway, there’s no soap like Skyway!” its quality is sky-high.”

it is pure as the Milky Way.”

it is pure as Interstellar Space.”

it leaves me fresh as a rain-swept sky.”

And so on endlessly, until I tasted soap in my dreams. Not just my own slogans either; Dad thought them up, and so did Mother and Mr. Charton. I kept a notebook and wrote them down in school or at work or in the middle of the night. I came home one evening and found that Dad had set up a card file for me and after that I kept them alphabetically to avoid repeating. A good thing, too, for toward the last I sent in as many as a hundred a day. Postage mounted, not to mention having to buy some wrappers.

Other kids in town were in the contest and probably some adults, but they didn’t have the production line I had. I’d leave work at ten o’clock, hurry home with the day’s slogans and wrappers, pick up more slogans from Dad and Mother, then use a rubber stamp on the inside of each wrapper: “I use Skyway Soap because-” with my name and address. As I typed, Dad filled out file cards. Each morning I mailed the bunch on my way to school.

I got laughed at but the adults most inclined to kid me were quickest to let me have their wrappers.

All but one, an oaf called “Ace” Quiggle. I shouldn’t class Ace as an adult; he was an over-age juvenile delinquent. I guess every town has at least one Ace. He hadn’t finished Centerville High, a distinction since Mr. Hanley believed in promoting everybody “to keep age groups together.” As far back as I remember Ace hung around Main Street, sometimes working, mostly not.

He specialized in “wit.” He was at our fountain one day, using up two dollars’ worth of space and time for one thirty-five-cent malt. I had just persuaded old Mrs. Jenkins to buy a dozen cakes and had relieved her of the wrappers. As she left, Ace picked one off my counter display and said, “You’re selling these. Space Cadet?”

“That’s right, Ace. You’ll never find such a bargain again.”

“You expect to go to the Moon, just selling soap, Captain? Or should I say ‘Commodore’? Yuk yuk yukkity yuk!” That’s how Ace laughed, like a comic strip. “I’m trying,” I said politely. “How about some?”

“You’re sure it’s good soap?” “Positive.”

“Well, I’ll tell you. Just to help you out-I’ll buy one bar.”

Aplunger. But this might be the winning wrapper. “Sure thing, Ace. Thanks a lot.” I took his money, he slipped the cake into his pocket and started to leave. “Just a second, Ace. The wrapper. Please?”

He stopped. “Oh, yes.” He took out the bar, peeled it, held up the wrapper. “You want this?” “Yes, Ace. Thanks.”

“Well, I’ll show you how to get the best use of it.” He reached across to the cigar lighter on the tobacco counter and set fire to it, lit a cigarette with it, let the wrapper bum almost to his fingers, dropped it and stepped on it.

Mr. Charton watched from the window of the dispensary.

Ace grinned. “Okay, Space Cadet?”

I was gripping the ice-cream scoop. But I answered, “Perfectly okay, Ace. It’s your soap.” Mr. Charton came out and said, “I’ll take the fountain, Kip. There’s a package to deliver.”

That was almost the only wrapper I missed. The contest ended May 1 and both Dad and Mr. Charton decided to stock up and cleaned out the last case in the store. It was almost eleven before I had them written up, then Mr. Charton drove me to Springfield to get them postmarked before midnight.

I had sent in five thousand seven hundred and eighty-two slogans. I doubt if Centerville was ever so scrubbed.

The results were announced on the Fourth of July. I chewed my nails to the elbows in those nine weeks. Oh, other things happened. I graduated and Dad and Mother gave me a watch and we paraded past Mr. Hanley and got our diplomas. It felt good, even though what Dad had persuaded me to learn beat what I learned at dear old Center six ways from zero. Before that was Sneak Day and Class Honeymoon and Senior Prom and the Class Play and the Junior-Senior Picnic and all the things they do to keep the animals quiet. Mr. Charton let me off early if I asked, but I didn’t ask often as my mind wasn’t on it and I wasn’t going steady anyhow. I had been earlier in the year, but she-Elaine McMurty-wanted to talk boys and clothes and I wanted to talk space and engineering so she put me back into circulation.

After graduation I worked for Mr. Charton full time. I still didn’t know how I was going to college. I didn’t think about it; I just dished sundaes and held my breath until the Fourth of July.

It was to be on television at 8 P.M. We had a TV-a black and white flatimage job-but it hadn’t been turned on in months; after I built it I lost interest. I dug it out, set it up in the living room and tested the picture. I killed a couple of hours adjusting it, then spent the rest of the day chewing nails. I couldn’t eat dinner. By seven-thirty I was in front of the set, not-watching a comedy team and fiddling with my file cards. Dad came in, looked sharply at me, and said, “Take a grip on yourself, Kip. Let me remind you again that the chances are against you.”

I gulped. “I know, Dad.”

“Furthermore, in the long run it won’t matter. Aman almost always gets what he wants badly enough. I am sure you will get to the Moon someday, one way or another.” “Yes, sir. I just wish they would get it over with.”

“They will. Coming, Emma?”

“Right away, dearest,” Mother called back. She came in, patted my hand and sat down. Dad settled back. “Reminds me of election nights.”

Mother said, “I’m glad you’re no longer up to your ears in that.” “Oh, come now, sweetheart, you enjoyed every campaign.” Mother sniffed.

The comics went back where comics go, cigarettes did a cancan, then dived into their packs while a soothing voice assured us that carcinogenous factors were unknown in Coronets, the safe, Safe, SAFE smoke with the true tobacco flavor. The program cut to the local station; we were treated to a thrilling view of Center Lumber & Hardware and I started pulling hairs out of the back of my hand.

The screen filled with soap bubbles; a quartet sang that this was the Skyway Hour, as if we didn’t know. Then the screen went blank and sound cut off and I swallowed my stomach. The screen lighted up with: “Network Difficulty-Do Not Adjust Your Sets.”

I yelped, “Oh, they can’t do that! They can’t!” Dad said, “Stop it, Clifford.”

I shut up. Mother said, “Now, dearest, he’s just a boy.”

Dad said, “He is not a boy; he is a man. Kip, how do you expect to face a firing squad calmly if this upsets you?” I mumbled; he said, “Speak up.” I said I hadn’t really planned on facing one.

“You may need to, someday. This is good practice. Try the Springfield channel; you may get a skip image.” I tried, but all I got was snow and the sound was like two cats in a sack. I jumped back to our local station.

“-jor General Bryce Gilmore, United States Air Force, our guest tonight, who will explain to us, later in this program, some hitherto unreleased pictures of Federation Lunar Base and the infant Luna City, the fastest growing little city on the Moon. Immediately after announcing the winners we will attempt a television linkage with Lunar Base, through the cooperation of the Space Corps of the-“

I took a deep breath and tried to slow my heartbeat, the way you steady down for a free-throw in a tie game. The gabble dragged on while celebrities were introduced, the contest rules were explained, an improbably sweet young couple explained to each other why they always used Skyway Soap. My own sales talks were better.

At last they got to it. Eight girls paraded out; each held a big card over her head. The M.C. said in an awestruck voice: “And now … and now -the winning Skyway slogan for the … FREE TRIP TO THE MOON!”

I couldn’t breathe.

The girls sang, “I like Skyway Soap because-” and went on, each turning her card as a word reached her: “-it … is … as … pure … as … the … sky … itself!”

I was fumbling cards. I thought I recognized it but couldn’t be sure- not after more than five thousand slogans. Then I found it-and checked the cards the girls were holding. “Dad! Mother! I’ve won, I’ve won!”

“Hold it, Kip!” Dad snapped. “Stop it.” Mother said, “Oh, dear!”

I heard the M.C. saying, “-present the lucky winner, Mrs. Xenia Donahue, of Great Falls, Montana… . Mrs. Donahue!”

To a fanfare a little dumpy woman teetered out. I read the cards again. They still matched the one in my hand. I said, “Dad, what happened? That’s my slogan.” “You didn’t listen.”

“They’ve cheated me!” “Be quiet and listen,”

“-as we explained earlier, in the event of duplicate entries, priority goes to the one postmarked first. Any remaining tie is settled by time of arrival at the contest office. Our winning slogan was submitted by eleven contestants. To them go the first eleven prizes. Tonight we have with us the six top winners-for the trip to the Moon, the weekend in a satellite space station, the jet flight around the world, the flight to Antarctica, the-“

“Beaten by a postmark. Apostmark!”

“-sorry we can’t have every one of the winners with us tonight. To the rest this comes as a surprise.” The M.C. looked at his watch. “Right this minute, in a thousand homes across the land … right this second- there is a lucky knock on a lucky door of some loyal friend of Skyway-“

There was a knock on our door.

I fell over my feet. Dad answered. There were three men, an enormous crate, and a Western Union messenger singing about Skyway Soap. Somebody said, “Is this where Clifford Russell lives?”

Dad said, “Yes.”

“Will you sign for this?” “What is it?”

“It just says ‘This Side Up.’ Where do you want it?”

Dad passed the receipt to me and I signed, somehow. Dad said, “Will you put it in the living room, please?” They did and left and I got a hammer and sidecutters. It looked like a coffin and I could have used one.

I got the top off. Alot of packing got all over Mother’s rugs. At last we were down to it. It was a space suit.

Not much, as space suits go these days. It was an obsolete model that Skyway Soap had bought as surplus material-the tenth-to-hundredth prizes were all space suits. But it was a real one, made by Goodyear, with air conditioning by York and auxiliary equipment by General Electric. Its instruction manual and maintenance-and-service log were with it and it had racked up more than eight hundred hours in rigging the second satellite station.

I felt better. This was no phony, this was no toy. It had been out in space, even if I had not. But would!-someday. I’d learn to use it and someday I’d wear it on the naked face of the Moon. Dad said, “Maybe we’d better carry this to your workshop. Eh, Kip?”

Mother said, “There’s no rush, dearest. Don’t you want to try it on, Clifford?”

I certainly did. Dad and I compromised by toting the crate and packing out to the barn. When we came back, a reporter from the Clarion was there with a photographer-the paper had known I was a winner before I did, which didn’t seem right.

They wanted pictures and I didn’t mind.

I had an awful time getting into it-dressing in an upper berth is a cinch by comparison. The photographer said, “Just a minute, kid. I’ve seen ‘em do it at Wright Field. Mind some advice?” “Uh? No. I mean, yes, tell me.”

“You slide in like an Eskimo climbing into a kayak. Then wiggle your right arm in-“

It was fairly easy that way, opening front gaskets wide and sitting down in it, though I almost dislocated a shoulder. There were straps to adjust for size but we didn’t bother; he stuffed me into it, zippered the gaskets, helped me to my feet and shut the helmet.

It didn’t have air bottles and I had to live on the air inside while he got three shots. By then I knew that the suit had seen service; it smelled like dirty socks. I was glad to get the helmet off. Just the same, it made me feel good to wear it. Like a spacer.

They left and presently we went to bed, leaving the suit in the living room. About midnight I cat-footed down and tried it on again.

The next morning I moved it out to my shop before I went to work. Mr. Charton was diplomatic; he just said he’d like to see my space suit when I had time. Everybody knew about it-my picture was on the front page of the Clarion along with the Pikes Peak Hill Climb and the holiday fatalities. The story had been played for laughs, but I didn’t mind. I had never really believed I would win-and I had an honest-to-goodness space suit, which was more than my classmates had.

That afternoon Dad brought me a special delivery letter from Skyway Soap. It enclosed a property title to one suit, pressure, serial number so-and-so, ex-US-AF. The letter started with congratulations and thanks but the last paragraphs meant something:

Skyway Soap realizes that your prize may not be of immediate use to you. Therefore, as mentioned in paragraph 4 (a) of the rules. Skyway offers to redeem it for a cash premium of five hundred dollars ($500.00). To avail yourself of this privilege you should return the pressure suit via express collect to Goodyear Corporation (Special Appliances Division, attn: Salvage), Akron, Ohio, on or before the 15th of September.

Skyway Soap hopes that you have enjoyed our Grand Contest as much as we have enjoyed having you and hopes that you will retain your prize long enough to appear with it on your local television station in a special Skyway Jubilee program. Afee of fifty dollars ($50.00) will be paid for this appearance. Your station manager will be in touch with you. We hope that you will be our guest.

All good wishes from Skyway, the Soap as Pure as the Sky Itself. I handed it to Dad. He read it and handed it back.

I said, “I suppose I should.”

He said, “I see no harm. Television leaves no external scars.”

“Oh, that. Sure, it’s easy money. But I meant I really ought to sell the suit back to them.” I should have felt happy since I needed money, while I needed a space suit the way a pig needs a

pipe organ. But I didn’t, even though I had never had five hundred dollars in my life.

“Son, any statement that starts ‘I really ought to-‘ is suspect. It means you haven’t analyzed your motives.” “But five hundred dollars is tuition for a semester, almost.”

“Which has nothing to do with the case. Find out what you want to do, then do it. Never talk yourself into doing something you don’t want. Think it over.” He said good-bye and left.

I decided it was foolish to burn my bridges before I crossed them. The space suit was mine until the middle of September even if I did the sensible thing-by then I might be tired of it.

But I didn’t get tired of it; a space suit is a marvelous piece of machinery-a little space station with everything miniaturized. Mine was a chrome-plated helmet and shoulder yoke which merged into a body of silicone, asbestos, and glass-fiber cloth. This hide was stiff except at the joints. They were the same rugged material but were “constant volume” -when you bent a knee a bellows arrangement increased the volume over the knee cap as much as the space back of the knee was squeezed. Without this a man wouldn’t be able to move; the pressure inside, which can add up to several tons, would hold him rigid as a statue. These volume compensators were covered with dural armor; even the finger joints had little dural plates over the knuckles.

It had a heavy glass-fiber belt with clips for tools, and there were the straps to adjust for height and weight. There was a back pack, now empty, for air bottles, and zippered pockets inside and out, for batteries and such.

The helmet swung back, taking a bib out of the yoke with it, and the front opened with two gasketed zippers; this left a door you could wiggle into. With helmet clamped and zippers closed it was impossible to open the suit with pressure inside.

Switches were mounted on the shoulder yoke and on the helmet; the helmet was monstrous. It contained a drinking tank, pill dispensers six on each side, a chin plate on the right to switch radio from “receive” to “send,” another on the left to increase or decrease flow of air, an automatic polarizer for the face lens, microphone and earphones, space for radio circuits in a bulge back of the head, and an instrument board arched over the head. The instrument dials read backwards because they were reflected in an inside mirror in front of the wearer’s forehead at an effective fourteen inches from the eyes.

Above the lens or window there were twin headlights. On top were two antennas, a spike for broadcast and a horn that squirted microwaves like a gun-you aimed it by facing the receiving station. The horn antenna was armored except for its open end.

This sounds as crowded as a lady’s purse but everything was beautifully compact; your head didn’t touch anything when you looked out the lens. But you could tip your head back and see reflected instruments, or tilt it down and turn it to work chin controls, or simply turn your neck for water nipple or pills. In all remaining space sponge-rubber padding kept you from banging your head no matter what. My suit was like a fine car, its helmet like a Swiss watch. But its air bottles were missing; so was radio gear except for built-in antennas; radar beacon and emergency radar target were gone, pockets inside and out were empty, and there were no tools on the belt. The manual told what it ought to have-it was like a stripped car.

I decided I just had to make it work right.

First I swabbed it out with Clorox to kill the locker-room odor. Then I got to work on the air system.

It’s a good thing they included that manual; most of what I thought I knew about space suits was wrong.

Aman uses around three pounds of oxygen a day-pounds mass, not pounds per square inch. You’d think a man could carry oxygen for a month, especially out in space where mass has no weight, or on the Moon where three pounds weigh only half a pound. Well, that’s okay for space stations or ships or frogmen; they run air through soda lime to take out carbon dioxide, and breathe it again. But not space suits.

Even today people talk about “the bitter cold of outer space”-but space is vacuum and if vacuum were cold, how could a Thermos jug keep hot coffee hot? Vacuum is nothing-it has no temperature, it just insulates.

Three-fourths of your food turns into heat-a lot of heat, enough each day to melt fifty pounds of ice and more. Sounds preposterous, doesn’t it? But when you have a roaring fire in the furnace, you are cooling your body; even in the winter you keep a room about thirty degrees cooler than your body. When you turn up a furnace’s thermostat, you are picking a more comfortable rate for cooling. Your body makes so much heat you have to get rid of it, exactly as you have to cool a car’s engine.

Of course, if you do it too fast, say in a sub-zero wind, you can freeze- but the usual problem in a space suit is to keep from being boiled like a lobster. You’ve got vacuum all around you and it’s hard to get rid of heat.

Some radiates away but not enough, and if you are in sunlight, you pick up still more-this is why space ships are polished like mirrors. So what can you do?

Well, you can’t carry fifty-pound blocks of ice. You get rid of heat the way you do on Earth, by convection and evaporation-you keep air moving over you to evaporate sweat and cool you off. Oh, they’ll learn to build space suits that recycle like a space ship but today the practical way is to let used air escape from the suit, flushing away sweat and carbon dioxide and excess heat-while wasting most of the oxygen.

There are other problems. The fifteen pounds per square inch around you includes three pounds of oxygen pressure. Your lungs can get along on less than half that, but only an Indian from the high Andes is likely to he comfortable on less than two pounds oxygen pressure. Nine-tenths of a pound is the limit. Any less than nine-tenths of a pound won’t force oxygen into blood-this is about the pressure at the top of Mount Everest.

Most people suffer from hypoxia (oxygen shortage) long before this, so better use two p.s.i. of oxygen. Mix an inert gas with it, because pure oxygen can cause a sore throat or make you drunk or even cause terrible cramps. Don’t use nitrogen (which you’ve breathed all your life) because it will bubble in your blood if pressure drops and cripple you with “bends.” Use helium which doesn’t. It gives you a squeaky voice, but who cares?

You can die from oxygen shortage, be poisoned by too much oxygen, be crippled by nitrogen, drown in or be acid-poisoned by carbon dioxide, or dehydrate and run a killing fever. When I finished reading that manual I didn’t see how anybody could stay alive anywhere, much less in a space suit.

But a space suit was in front of me that had protected a man for hundreds of hours in empty space.

Here is how you beat those dangers. Carry steel bottles on your back; they hold “air” (oxygen and helium) at a hundred and fifty atmospheres, over 2000 pounds per square inch; you draw from them through a reduction valve down to 150 p.s.i. and through still another reduction valve, a “demand” type which keeps pressure in your helmet at three to five pounds per square inch-two pounds of it oxygen. Put a silicone-rubber collar around your neck and put tiny holes in it, so that the pressure in the body of your suit is less, the air movement still faster; then evaporation and cooling will be increased while the effort of bending is decreased. Add exhaust valves, one at each wrist and ankle-these have to pass water as well as gas because you may be ankle deep in sweat.

The bottles are big and clumsy, weighing around sixty pounds apiece, and each holds only about five mass pounds of air even at that enormous pressure; instead of a month’s supply you will have only a few hours-my suit was rated at eight hours for the bottles it used to have. But you will be okay for those hours-if everything works right. You can stretch time, for you don’t die from overheating very fast and can stand too much carbon dioxide even longer-but let your oxygen run out and you die in about seven minutes. Which gets us back where we started-it takes oxygen to stay alive.

To make darn sure that you’re getting enough (your nose can’t tell) you clip a little photoelectric cell to your ear and let it see the color of your blood; the redness of the blood measures the oxygen it carries. Hook this to a galvanometer. If its needle gets into the danger zone, start saying your prayers.

I went to Springfield on my day off, taking the suit’s hose fittings, and shopped. I picked up, second hand, two thirty-inch steel bottles from a welding shop-and got myself disliked by insisting on a pressure test. I took them home on the bus, stopped at Pring’s Garage and arranged to buy air at fifty atmospheres. Higher pressures, or oxygen or helium, I could get from the Springfield airport, but I didn’t need them yet.

When I got home I closed the suit, empty, and pumped it with a bicycle pump to two atmospheres absolute, or one relative, which gave me a test load of almost four to one compared with space conditions. Then I tackled the bottles. They needed to be mirror bright, since you can’t afford to let them pick up heat from the Sun. I stripped and scraped and wire-brushed, and buffed and polished, preparatory to nickel-plating.

Next morning, Oscar the Mechanical Man was limp as a pair of long johns.

Getting that old suit not just airtight but helium-tight was the worst headache. Air isn’t bad but the helium molecule is so small and agile that it migrates right through ordinary rubber-and I wanted this job to be right, not just good enough to perform at home but okay for space. The gaskets were shot and there were slow leaks almost impossible to find.

I had to get new silicone-rubber gaskets and patching compound and tissue from Goodyear; small-town hardware stores don’t handle such things. I wrote a letter explaining what I wanted and why-and they didn’t even charge me. They sent me some mimeographed sheets elaborating on the manual.

It still wasn’t easy. But there came a day when I pumped Oscar full of pure helium at two atmospheres absolute. Aweek later he was still tight as a six-ply tire.

That day I wore Oscar as a self-contained environment. I had already worn him many hours without the helmet, working around the shop, handling tools while hampered by his gauntlets, getting height and size adjustments right. It was like breaking in new ice skates and after a while I was hardly aware I had it on-once I came to supper in it. Dad said nothing and Mother has the social restraint of an ambassador; I discovered my mistake when I picked up my napkin.

Now I wasted helium to the air, mounted bottles charged with air, and suited them. Then I clamped the helmet and dogged the safety catches.

Air sighed softly into the helmet, its flow through the demand valve regulated by the rise and fall of my chest-I could reset it to speed up or slow down by the chin control. I did so, watching the gauge in the mirror and letting it mount until I had twenty pounds absolute inside. That gave me five pounds more than the pressure around me, which was as near as I could come to space conditions without being in space.

I could feel the suit swell and the joints no longer felt loose and easy. I balanced the cycle at five pounds differential and tried to move- And almost fell over. I had to grab the workbench. Suited up, with bottles on my back, I weighed more than twice what I do stripped. Besides that, although the joints were constant-volume, the suit didn’t work as freely under pressure.

Dress yourself in heavy fishing waders, put on an overcoat and boxing gloves and a bucket over your head, then have somebody strap two sacks of cement across your shoulders and

you will know what a space suit feels like under one gravity.

But ten minutes later I was handling myself fairly well and in half an hour I felt as if I had worn one all my life. The distributed weight wasn’t too great (and I knew it wouldn’t amount to much on the Moon). The joints were just a case of getting used to more effort. I had had more trouble learning to swim.

It was a blistering day: I went outside and looked at the Sun. The polarizer cut the glare and I was able to look at it. I looked away; polarizing eased off and I could see around me.

I stayed cool. The air, cooled by semi-adiabatic expansion (it said in the manual), cooled my head and flowed on through the suit, washing away body heat and used air through the exhaust valves. The manual said that heating elements rarely cut in, since the usual problem was to get rid of heat; I decided to get dry ice and force a test of thermostat and heater.

I tried everything I could think of. Acreek runs back of our place and beyond is a pasture. I sloshed through the stream, lost my footing and fell -the worst trouble was that I could never see where I was putting my feet. Once I was down I lay there a while, half floating but mostly covered. I didn’t get wet, I didn’t get hot, I didn’t get cold, and my breathing was as easy as ever even though water shimmered over my helmet.

I scrambled heavily up the bank and fell again, striking my helmet against a rock. No damage, Oscar was built to take it. I pulled my knees under me, got up, and crossed the pasture, stumbling on rough ground but not falling. There was a haystack there and I dug into it until I was buried.

Cool fresh air … no trouble, no sweat.

After three hours I took it off. The suit had relief arrangements like any pilot’s outfit but I hadn’t rigged it yet, so I had come out before my air was gone. When I hung it in the rack I had built, I patted the shoulder yoke. “Oscar, you’re all right,” I told it. “You and I are partners. We’re going places.” I would have sneered at five thousand dollars for Oscar.

While Oscar was taking his pressure tests I worked on his electrical and electronic gear. I didn’t bother with a radar target or beacon; the first is childishly simple, the second is fiendishly expensive. But I did want radio for the space-operations band of the spectrum-the antennas suited only those wavelengths. I could have built an ordinary walkie-talkie and hung it

outside-but I would have been kidding myself with a wrong frequency and gear that might not stand vacuum. Changes in pressure and temperature and humidity do funny things to electronic circuits; that is why the radio was housed inside the helmet.

The manual gave circuit diagrams, so I got busy. The audio and modulating circuits were no problem, just battery-operated transistor circuitry which I could make plenty small enough. But the microwave part- It was a two-headed calf, each with transmitter and receiver-one centimeter wavelength for the horn and three octaves lower at eight centimeters for the spike in a harmonic relationship, one crystal controlling both. This gave more signal on broadcast and better aiming when squirting out the horn and also meant that only part of the rig had to be switched in changing antennas. The output of a variable-frequency oscillator was added to the crystal frequency in tuning the receiver. The circuitry was simple-on paper.

But microwave circuitry is never easy; it takes precision machining and a slip of a tool can foul up the impedance and ruin a mathematically calculated resonance.

Well, I tried. Synthetic precision crystals are cheap from surplus houses and some transistors and other components I could vandalize from my own gear. And I made it work, after the fussiest pray-and-try-again I have ever done. But the consarned thing simply would not fit into the helmet.

Call it a moral victory-I’ve never done better work.

I finally bought one, precision made and embedded in plastic, from the same firm that sold me the crystal. Like the suit it was made for, it was obsolete and I paid a price so low that I merely screamed. By then I would have mortgaged my soul-I wanted that suit to work.

The only thing that complicated the rest of the electrical gear was that everything had to be either “fail-safe” or “no-fail”; a man in a space suit can’t pull into the next garage if something goes wrong-the stuff has to keep on working or he becomes a vital statistic. That was why the helmet had twin headlights; the second cut in if the first failed-even the peanut lights for the dials over my head were twins. I didn’t take short cuts; every duplicate circuit I kept duplicate and tested to make sure that automatic changeover always worked.

Mr. Charton insisted on filling the manual’s list on those items a drugstore stocks-maltose and dextrose and amino tablets, vitamins, dexedrine, dramamine, aspirin, antibiotics, antihistamines, codeine, almost any pill a man can take to help him past a hump that might kill him. He got Doc Kennedy to write prescriptions so that I could stock Oscar without breaking laws.

When I got through Oscar was in as good shape as he had ever been in Satellite Two. It had been more fun than the time I helped Jake Bixby turn his heap into a hotrod.

But summer was ending and it was time I pulled out of my daydream. I still did not know where I was going to school, or how-or if. I had saved money but it wasn’t nearly enough. I had spent a little on postage and soap wrappers but I got that back and more by one fifteen-minute appearance on television and I hadn’t spent a dime on girls since March- too busy. Oscar cost surprisingly little; repairing Oscar had been mostly sweat and screwdriver. Seven dollars out of every ten I had earned was sitting in the money basket.

But it wasn’t enough.

I realized glumly that I was going to have to sell Oscar to get through the first semester. But how would I get through the rest of the year? Joe Valiant the all-American boy always shows up on the campus with fifty cents and a heart of gold, then in the last Chapter is tapped for Skull-and-Bones and has money in the bank. But I wasn’t Joe Valiant, not by eight decimal places. Did it make sense to start if I was going to have to drop out about Christmas? Wouldn’t it be smarter to stay out a year and get acquainted with a pick and shovel?

Did I have a choice? The only school I was sure of was State U. -and there was a row about professors being fired and talk that State U. might lose its accredited standing. Wouldn’t it be comical to spend years slaving for a degree and then have it be worthless because your school wasn’t recognized?

State U. wasn’t better than a “B” school in engineering even before this fracas.

Rensselaer and CalTech turned me down the same day-one with a printed form, the other with a polite letter saying it was impossible to accept all qualified applicants.

Little things were getting my goat, too. The only virtue of that television show was the fifty bucks. Aperson looks foolish wearing a space suit in a television studio and our announcer milked it for laughs, rapping the helmet and asking me if I was still in there. Very funny. He asked me what I wanted with a space suit and when I tried to answer he switched off the mike in my suit and patched in a tape with nonsense about space pirates and flying saucers. Half the people in town thought it was my voice.

It wouldn’t have been hard to live down if Ace Quiggle hadn’t turned up. He had been missing all summer, in jail maybe, but the day after the show he took a seat at the fountain, stared at me and said in a loud whisper, “Say, ain’t you the famous space pirate and television star?”

I said, “What’ll you have, Ace?”

“Gosh! Could I have your autograph? I ain’t never seen a real live space pirate before!” “Give me your order, Ace. Or let someone else use that stool.”

“Achoc malt. Commodore-and leave out the soap.”

Ace’s “wit” went on every time he showed up. It was a dreadfully hot summer and easy to get tempery. The Friday before Labor Day weekend the store’s cooling system went sour, we couldn’t get a repairman and I spent three bad hours fixing it, ruining my second-best pants and getting myself reeking. I was back at the fountain and wishing I could go home for a bath when Ace swaggered in, greeting me loudly with “Why, if it isn’t Commander Comet, the Scourge of the Spaceways! Where’s your blaster gun, Commander? Ain’t you afraid the Galactic Emperor will make you stay in after school for running around bare-nekkid? Yuk yuk yukkity yuk!”

Acouple of girls at the fountain giggled. “Lay off, Ace,” I said wearily. “It’s a hot day.”

“That’s why you’re not wearing your rubber underwear?” The girls giggled again.

Ace smirked. He went on: “Junior, seein’ you got that clown suit, why don’t you put it to work? Run an ad in the Clarion: ‘Have Space Suit-Will Travel.’ Yukkity yuk! Or you could hire out as a scarecrow.”

The girls snickered. I counted ten, then again in Spanish, and in Latin, and said tensely, “Ace, just tell me what you’ll have.” “My usual. And snap it up-I’ve got a date on Mars.”

Mr. Charton came out from behind his counter, sat down and asked me to mix him a lime cooler, so I served him first. It stopped the flow of wit and probably saved Ace’s life. The boss and I were alone shortly after. He said quietly, “Kip, a reverence for life does not require a man to respect Nature’s obvious mistakes.”

“Sir?”

“You need not serve Quiggle again. I don’t want his trade.” “Oh, I don’t mind. He’s harmless.”

“I wonder how harmless such people are? To what extent civilization is retarded by the laughing jackasses, the empty-minded belittlers? Go home; you’ll want to make an early start tomorrow.”

I had been invited to the Lake of the Forest for the long Labor Day weekend by Jake Bixby’s parents. I wanted to go, not only to get away from the heat but also to chew things over with Jake. But I answered, “Shucks, Mr. Charton, I ought not to leave you stuck.”

“The town will be deserted over the holiday; I may not open the fountain. Enjoy yourself. This summer has worn you a bit fine. Kip.” I let myself be persuaded but I stayed until closing and swept up. Then I walked home, doing some hard thinking.

The party was over and it was time to put away my toys. Even the village half-wit knew that I had no sensible excuse to have a space suit. Not that I cared what Ace thought … but I did have no use for it-and I needed money. Even if Stanford and M.I.T. and Carnegie and the rest turned me down, I was going to start this semester. State U. wasn’t the best-but neither was I and I had learned that more depended on the student than on the school.

Mother had gone to bed and Dad was reading. I said hello and went to the barn, intending to strip my gear off Oscar, pack him into his case, address it, and in the morning phone the express office to pick it up. He’d be gone before I was back from the Lake of the Forest. Quick and clean.

He was hanging on his rack and it seemed to me that he grinned hello. Nonsense, of course. I went over and patted his shoulder. “Well, old fellow, you’ve been a real chum and it’s been nice knowing you. See you on the Moon-I hope.”

But Oscar wasn’t going to the Moon. Oscar was going to Akron, Ohio, to “Salvage.” They were going to unscrew parts they could use and throw the rest of him on the junk pile. My mouth felt dry.

(“It’s okay, pal,” Oscar answered.)

See that? Out of my silly head! Oscar didn’t really speak; I had let my imagination run wild too long. So I quit patting him, hauled the crate out and took a wrench from his belt to remove the gas bottles.

I stopped.

Both bottles were charged, one with oxygen, one with oxy-helium. I had wasted money to do so because I wanted, just once, to try a spaceman’s mix. The batteries were fresh and power packs were charged.

“Oscar,” I said softly, “we’re going to take a last walk together. Okay?” (“Swell!”)

I made it a dress rehearsal-water in the drinking tank, pill dispensers loaded, first-aid kit inside, vacuum-proof duplicate (I hoped it was vacuum-proof) in an outside pocket. All tools on belt, all lanyards tied so that tools wouldn’t float away in free fall. Everything.

Then I heated up a circuit that the F.C.C. would have squelched had they noticed, a radio link I had salvaged out of my effort to build a radio for Oscar, and had modified as a test rig for Oscar’s ears and to let me check the aiming of the directional antenna. It was hooked in with an echo circuit that would answer back if I called it-a thing I had bread hoarded out of an old Webcor wire recorder, vintage 1950.

Then I climbed into Oscar and buttoned up. “Tight?” (“Tight!”)

I glanced at the reflected dials, noticed the blood-color reading, reduced pressure until Oscar almost collapsed. At nearly sea-level pressure I was in no danger from hypoxia; the trick was to avoid too much oxygen.

We started to leave when I remembered something. “Just a second, Oscar.” I wrote a note to my folks, telling them that I was going to get up early and catch the first bus to the lake. I could write while suited up now, I could even thread a needle. I stuck the note under the kitchen door.

Then we crossed the creek into the pasture. I didn’t stumble in wading; I was used to Oscar now, sure-footed as a goat.

Out in the field I keyed my talkie and said, “Junebug, calling Peewee. Come in, Peewee.” Seconds later my recorded voice came back: ” ‘Junebug, calling Peewee. Come in, Peewee.’”

I shifted to the horn antenna and tried again. It wasn’t easy to aim in the dark but it was okay. Then I shifted back to spike antenna and went on calling Peewee while moving across the pasture and pretending that I was on Venus and had to stay in touch with base because it was unknown terrain and unbreathable atmosphere. Everything worked perfectly and if it had been Venus, I would have been all right.

Two lights moved across the southern sky, planes I thought, or maybe helis. Just the sort of thing yokels like to report as “flying saucers.” I watched them, then moved behind a little rise that would tend to spoil reception and called Peewee. Peewee answered and I shut up; it gets dull talking to an idiot circuit which can only echo what you say to it.

Then I heard: “Peewee to Junebug! Answer!”

I thought I had been monitored and was in trouble-then decided that some ham had picked me up. “Junebug here. I read you. Who are you?” The test rig echoed my words.

Then the new voice shrilled, “Peewee here! Home me in!”

This was silly. But I found myself saying, “Junebug to Peewee, shift to directional frequency at one centimeter—and keep talking, keep talking!” I shifted to the horn antenna. “Junebug, I read you. Fix me. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven—”

“You’re due south of me, about forty degrees. Who are you?” It must be one of those lights. It had to be.

But I didn’t have time to figure it out. Aspace ship almost landed on me.

Chapter 4

I said “space ship,” not “rocket ship.” It made no noise but a whoosh and there weren’t any flaming jets-it seemed to move by clean living and righteous thoughts.

I was too busy keeping from being squashed to worry about details. Aspace suit in one gravity is no track suit; it’s a good thing I had practiced. The ship sat down where I had just been, occupying more than its share of pasture, a big black shape.

The other one whooshed down, too, just as a door opened in the first. Light poured through the door; two figures spilled out and started to run. One moved like a cat; the other moved clumsily and slowly-handicapped by a space suit. S’help me, a person in a space suit does look silly. This one was less than five feet tall and looked like the Gingerbread Man.

Abig trouble with a suit is your limited angle of vision. I was trying to watch both of them and did not see the second ship open. The first figure stopped, waiting for the one in the space suit to catch up, then suddenly collapsed-just a gasping sound, “Eeeah!”-and clunk.

You can tell the sound of pain. I ran to the spot at a lumbering dogtrot, leaned over and tried to see what was wrong, tilting my helmet to bring the beam of my headlight onto the ground. Abug-eyed monster-

That’s not fair but it was my first thought. I couldn’t believe it and would have pinched myself except that it isn’t practical when suited up.

An unprejudiced mind (which mine wasn’t) would have said that this monster was rather pretty. It was small, not more than half my size, and its curves were graceful, not as a girl is but more like a leopard, although it wasn’t shaped like either one. I couldn’t grasp its shape-I didn’t have any pattern to fit it to; it wouldn’t add up.

But I could see that it was hurt. Its body was quivering like a frightened rabbit. It had enormous eyes, open but milky and featureless, as if nictitating membranes were across them. What appeared to be its mouth-

That’s as far as I got. Something hit me in the spine, right between the gas bottles.

I woke up on a bare floor, staring at a ceiling. It took several moments to recall what had happened and then I shied away because it was so darn silly. I had been out for a walk in Oscar

… and then a space ship had landed … and a bug-eyed-

I sat up suddenly as I realized that Oscar was gone. Alight cheerful voice said, “Hi, there!”

I snapped my head around. Akid about ten years old was seated on the floor, leaning against a wall. He-I corrected myself. Boys don’t usually clutch rag dolls. This kid was the age when the difference doesn’t show much and was dressed in shirt, shorts and dirty tennis shoes, and had short hair, so I didn’t have much to go on but the rag dolly.

“Hi, yourself,” I answered. “What are we doing here?” “I’m surviving. I don’t know about you.”

“Huh?”

“Surviving. Pushing my breath in and out. Conserving my strength. There’s nothing else to do at the moment; they’ve got us locked in.”

I looked around. The room was about ten feet across, four-sided but wedge-shaped, and nothing in it but us. I couldn’t see a door; if we weren’t locked, we might as well be. “Who locked us in?”

“Them. Space pirates. And him.” “Space pirates? Don’t be silly!”

The kid shrugged. “Just my name for them. But better not think they’re silly if you want to keep on surviving. Are you ‘Junebug’?”

“Huh? You sound like a junebug yourself. Space pirates, my aunt!” I was worried and very confused and this nonsense didn’t help. Where was Oscar? And where was I? “No, no, not a junebug but ‘Junebug’-a radio call. You see, I’m Peewee.”

I said to myself, Kip old pal, walk slowly to the nearest hospital and give yourself up. When a radio rig you wired yourself starts looking like a skinny little girl with a rag doll, you’ve flipped. It’s going to be wet packs and tranquilizers and no excitement for you-you’ve blown every fuse.

“You’re ‘Peewee’?”

“That’s what I’m called-I’m relaxed about it. You see, I heard, ‘Junebug, calling Peewee,’ and decided that Daddy had found out about the spot I was in and had alerted people to help me land. But if you aren’t ‘Junebug,’ you wouldn’t know about that. Who are you?”

“Wait a minute, I am ‘Junebug.’ I mean I was using that call. But I’m Clifford Russell-‘Kip’ they call me.” “How do you do. Kip?” she said politely.

“And howdy to you, Peewee. Uh, are you a boy or a girl?”

Peewee looked disgusted. “I’ll make you regret that remark. I realize I am undersized for my age but I’m actually eleven, going on twelve. There’s no need to be rude. In another five years I expect to be quite a dish-you’ll probably beg me for every dance.”

At the moment I would as soon have danced with a kitchen stool, but I had things on my mind and didn’t want a useless argument. “Sorry, Peewee. I’m still groggy. You mean you were in that first ship?”

Again she looked miffed. “I was piloting it.”

Sedation every night and a long course of psychoanalysis. At my age. “You were-piloting?”

“You surely don’t think the Mother Thing could? She wouldn’t fit their controls. She curled up beside me and coached. But if you think it’s easy, when you’ve never piloted anything but a Cessna with your Daddy at your elbow and never made any kind of landing, then think again. I did very well!-and your landing instructions weren’t too specific. What have they done with the Mother Thing?”

“The what?”

“You don’t know? Oh, dear!”

“Wait a minute, Peewee. Let’s get on the same frequency. I’m ‘Junebug’ all right and I homed you in-and if you think that’s easy, to have a voice out of nowhere demand emergency landing instructions, you better think again, too. Anyhow, a ship landed and another ship landed right after it and a door opened in the first ship and a guy in a space suit jumped out-“

“That was I.”

“-and something else jumped out-“ “The Mother Thing.”

“Only she didn’t get far. She gave a screech and flopped. I went to see what the trouble was and something hit me. The next thing I know you’re saying, ‘Hi, there.’ ” I wondered if I ought to tell her that the rest, including her, was likely a morphine dream because I was probably lying in a hospital with my spine in a cast.

Peewee nodded thoughtfully. “They must have blasted you at low power, or you wouldn’t be here. Well, they caught you and they caught me, so they almost certainly caught her. Oh, dear! I do hope they didn’t hurt her.”

“She looked like she was dying.”

“As if she were dying,” Peewee corrected me. “Subjunctive. I rather doubt it; she’s awfully hard to kill-and they wouldn’t kill her except to keep her from escaping; they need her alive.” “Why? And why do you call her ‘the Mother Thing’?”

“One at a time, Kip. She’s the Mother Thing because … well, because she is, that’s all. You’ll know, when you meet her. As to why they wouldn’t kill her, it’s because she’s worth more as a hostage than as a corpse-the same reason the kept me alive. Although she’s worth incredibly more than I am-they’d write me off without a blink if I became inconvenient. Or you. But since she was alive when you saw her, then it’s logical that she’s a prisoner again. Maybe right next door. That makes me feel much better.”

It didn’t make me feel better. “Yes, but where’s here?”

Peewee glanced at a Mickey Mouse watch, frowned and said, “Almost halfway to the Moon, I’d say.” “What?!”

“Of course I don’t know. But it makes sense that they would go back to their nearest base; that’s where the Mother Thing and I scrammed from.” “You’re telling me we’re in that ship?”

“Either the one I swiped or the other one. Where did you think you were, Kip? Where else could you be?” “Amental hospital.”

She looked big-eyed and then grinned. “Why, Kip, surely your grip on reality is not that weak?” “I’m not sure about anything. Space pirates-Mother Things.”

She frowned and bit her thumb. “I suppose it must be confusing. But trust your ears and eyes. My grip on reality is quite strong, I assure you- you see, I’m a genius.” She made it a statement, not a boast, and somehow I was not inclined to doubt the claim, even though it came from a skinny-shanked kid with a rag doll in her arms.

But I didn’t see how it was going to help.

Peewee went on: ” ‘Space pirates’ … mmm. Call them what you wish. Their actions are piratical and they operate in space-you name them. As for the Mother Thing … wait until you meet her.”

“What’s she doing in this hullabaloo?”

“Well, it’s complicated. She had better explain it. She’s a cop and she was after them-“ “Acop?”

“I’m afraid that is another semantic inadequacy. The Mother Thing knows what we mean by cop and I think she finds the idea bewildering if not impossible. But what would you call a person who hunts down miscreants? Acop, no?”

“Acop, yes, I guess.”

“So would I.” She looked again at her watch. “But right now I think we had better hang on. We ought to be at halfway point in a few minutes- and a skew-flip is disconcerting even if you are strapped down.”

I had read about skew-flip turn-overs, but only as a theoretical maneuver; I had never heard of a ship that could do one. If this was a ship. The floor felt as solid as concrete and as motionless. “I don’t see anything to hang on to.”

“Not much, I’m afraid. But if we sit down in the narrowest part and push against each other, I think we can brace enough not to slide around. But let’s hurry; my watch might be slow.” We sat on the floor in the narrow part where the angled walls were about five feet apart. We faced each other and pushed our shoes against each other, each of us bracing like an

Alpinist inching his way up a rock chimney-my socks against her tennis shoes, rather, for my shoes were still on my workbench, so far as I knew. I wondered if they had simply dumped

Oscar in the pasture and if Dad would find him.

“Push hard, Kip, and brace your hands against the deck.”

I did so. “How do you know when they’ll turn over, Peewee?”

“I haven’t been unconscious-they just tripped me and carried me inside-so I know when we took off. If we assume that the Moon is their destination, as it probably is, and if we assume one gravity the whole jump -which can’t be far off; my weight feels normal. Doesn’t yours?”

I considered it. “I think so.”

“Then it probably is, even though my own sense of weight may be distorted from being on the Moon. If those assumptions are correct, then it is almost exactly a three-and-a-half-hour trip and-” Peewee looked at her watch. “-E.T.A. should be nine-thirty in the morning and turn-over at seven-forty-five. Any moment now.”

“Is it that late?” I looked at my watch. “Why, I’ve got a quarter of two.”

“You’re on your zone time. I’m on Moon time-Greenwich time, that is. Oh, oh! Here we go!”

The floor tilted, swerved, and swooped like a roller coaster, and my semicircular canals did a samba. Things steadied down as I pulled out of acute dizziness. “You all right?” asked Peewee.

I managed to focus my eyes. “Uh, I think so. It felt like a one-and-a-half gainer into a dry pool.”

“This pilot does it faster than I dared to. It doesn’t really hurt, after your eyes uncross. But that settles it. We’re headed for the Moon. We’ll be there in an hour and three quarters.”

I still couldn’t believe it. “Peewee? What kind of a ship can gun at one gee all the way to the Moon? They been keeping it secret? And what were you doing on the Moon anyhow? And why were you stealing a ship?”

She sighed and spoke to her doll. “He’s a quiz kid, Madame Pompadour. Kip, how can I answer three questions at once? This is a flying saucer, and-“ “Flying saucer! Now I’ve heard everything.”

“It’s rude to interrupt. Call it anything you like; there’s nothing official about the term. Actually it’s shaped more like a loaf of pumpernickel, an oblate spheroid. That’s a shape defined-“

“I know what an oblate spheroid is,” I snapped. I was tired and upset from too many things, from a cranky air conditioner that had ruined a good pair of pants to being knocked out while on an errand of mercy. Not to mention Ace Quiggle. I was beginning to think that little girls who were geniuses ought to have the grace not to show it.

“No need to be brisk,” she said reprovingly. “I am aware that people have called everything from weather balloons to street lights ‘flying saucers.’ But it is my considered opinion-by Occam’s Razor-that-“

“Whose razor?”

“Occam’s. Least hypothesis. Don’t you know anything about logic?” “Not much.”

“Well … I suspected that about every five-hundredth ‘saucer sighting’ was a ship like this. It adds up. As for what I was doing on the Moon-” She stopped and grinned. “I’m a pest.”

I didn’t argue it.

“Along time ago when my Daddy was a boy, the Hayden Planetarium took reservations for trips to the Moon. It was just a publicity gag, like that silly soap contest recently, but Daddy got his name on the list. Now, years and years later, they are letting people go to the Moon-and sure enough, the Hayden people turned the list over to American Express- and American Express notified the applicants they could locate that they would be given preference.”

“So your father took you to the Moon?”

“Oh, heavens, no! Daddy filled out that form when he was only a boy. Now he is just about the biggest man at the Institute for Advanced Study and hasn’t time for such pleasures. And Mama wouldn’t go if you paid her. So I said I would. Daddy said ‘No!’ and Mama said Good gracious, no!’ … and so I went. I can be an awful nuisance when I put my mind on it,” she said proudly. “I have talent for it. Daddy says I’m an amoral little wretch.”

“Uh, do you suppose he might be right?”

“Oh, I’m sure he is. He understands me, whereas Mama throws up her hands and says she can’t cope. I was perfectly beastly and unbearable for two whole weeks and at last Daddy said ‘For Blank’s sake let her go! -maybe we’ll collect her insurance!’ So I did.”

“Mmmmm … that still doesn’t explain why you are here.”

“Oh, that. I was poking around where I shouldn’t, doing things they told us not to. I always get around; it’s very educational. So they grabbed me. They would rather have Daddy but they hope to swap me for him. I couldn’t let that happen, so I had to escape.”

I muttered, ” The butler did it.’ “ “What?”

“Your story has as many holes as the last Chapter of most whodunits.” “Oh. But I assure you it is the simple-oh, oh! here we go again!”

All that happened was that the lighting changed from white to blue. There weren’t any light fixtures; the whole ceiling glowed. We were still sprawled on the floor. I started to get up-and found I couldn’t.

I felt as if I had just finished a cross-country race, too weak to do anything but breathe. Blue light can’t do that; it’s merely wavelengths 4300 to 5100 angstroms and sunlight is loaded with it. But whatever they used with the blue light made us as limp as wet string.

Peewee was struggling to tell me something. “If … they’re coming for us … don’t resist … and … above all-“ The blue light changed to white. The narrow wall started to slide aside.

Peewee looked scared and made a great effort. “-above all … don’t antagonize … him.”

Two men came in, shoved Peewee aside, strapped my wrists and ankles and ran another strap around my middle, binding my arms. I started to come out of it-not like flipping a switch, as I still didn’t have energy enough to lick a stamp. I wanted to bash their heads but I stood as much chance as a butterfly has of hefting a bar bell.

They carried me out. I started to protest. “Say, where are you guys taking me? What do you think you’re doing? I’ll have you arrested. I’ll—”

“Shaddap,” said one. He was a skinny runt, fifty or older, and looked as if he never smiled. The other was fat and younger, with a petulant babyish mouth and a dimple in his chin; he looked as if he could laugh if he weren’t worried. He was worrying now.

“Tim, this can get us in trouble. We ought to space him-we ought to space both of ‘em-and tell him it was an accident. We can say they got out and tried to escape through the lock. He won’t know the dif-“

“Shaddap,” answered Tim with no inflection. He added, “You want trouble with him? You want to chew space?” “But-“

“Shaddap.”

They carried me around a curved corridor, into an inner room and dumped me on the floor.

I was face up but it took time to realize this must be the control room. It didn’t look like anything any human would design as a control room, which wasn’t surprising as no human had. Then I saw him.

Peewee needn’t have warned me; I didn’t want to antagonize him.

The little guy was tough and dangerous, the fat guy was mean and murderous; they were cherubs compared with him. If I had had my strength I would have fought those two any way they liked; I don’t think I’m too afraid of any human as long as the odds aren’t impossible.

But not him.

He wasn’t human but that wasn’t what hurt. Elephants aren’t human but they are very nice people. He was built more like a human than an elephant is but that was no help-I mean he stood erect and had feet at one end and a head at the other. He was no more than five feet tall but that didn’t help either; he dominated us the way a man dominates a horse. The torso part was as long as mine; his shortness came from very squat legs, with feet (I guess you would call them feet) which bulged out, almost disc-like. They made squashy, sucking sounds when he moved. When he stood still a tail, or third leg, extruded and turned him into a tripod-he didn’t need to sit down and I doubt if he could.

Short legs did not make him slow. His movements were blurringly fast, like a striking snake. Does this mean a better nervous system and more efficient muscles? Or a native planet with higher gravity?

His arms looked like snakes-they had more joints than ours. He had two sets, one pair where his waist should have been and another set under his head. No shoulders. I couldn’t count his fingers, or digit tendrils; they never held still. He wasn’t dressed except for a belt below and above the middle arms which carried whatever such a thing carries in place of money and keys. His skin was purplish brown and looked oily.

Whatever he was, he was not the same race as the Mother Thing.

He had a faint sweetish musky odor. Any crowded room smells worse on a hot day, but if I ever whiff that odor again, my skin will crawl and I’ll be tongue-tied with fright.

I didn’t take in these details instantly; at first all I could see was his face. A“face” is all I can call it. I haven’t described it yet because I’m afraid I’ll get the shakes. But I will, so that if you ever see one, you’ll shoot first, before your bones turn to jelly.

No nose. He was an oxygen breather but where the air went in and out I couldn’t say-some of it through the mouth, for he could talk. The mouth was the second worst part of him; in place of jawbone and chin he had mandibles that opened sideways as well as down, gaping in three irregular sides. There were rows of tiny teeth but no tongue that I could see; instead the mouth was rimmed with cilia as long as angleworms. They never stopped squirming.

I said the mouth was “second worst”; he had eyes. They were big and bulging and protected by horny ridges, two on the front of his head, set wide apart. They scanned. They scanned like radar, swinging up and down and back and forth. He never looked at you and yet was always looking at you.

When he turned around, I saw a third eye in back. I think he scanned his whole surroundings at all times, like a radar warning system.

What kind of brain can put together everything in all directions at once? I doubt if a human brain could, even if there were any way to feed in the data. He didn’t seem to have room in his head to stack much of a brain, but maybe he didn’t keep it there. Come to think of it, humans wear their brains in an exposed position; there may be better ways.

But he certainly had a brain. He pinned me down like a beetle and squeezed out what he wanted. He didn’t have to stop to brainwash me; he questioned and I gave, for an endless time- it seemed more like days than hours. He spoke English badly but understandably. His labials were all alike-“buy” and “pie” and “vie” sounded the same. His gutturals were harsh and his dentals had a clucking quality. But I could usually understand and when I didn’t, he didn’t threaten or punish; he just tried again. He had no expression in his speech.

He kept at it until he had found out who I was and what I did and as much of what I knew as interested him. He asked questions about how I happened to be where I was and dressed the way I was when I was picked up. I couldn’t tell whether he liked the answers or not.

He had trouble understanding what a “soda jerk” was and, while he learned about the Skyway Soap contest, he never seemed to understand why it took place. But I found that there were a lot of things I didn’t know either-such as how many people there are on Earth and how many tons of protein we produce each year.

After endless time he had all he wanted and said, “Take it out.” The stooges had been waiting. The fat boy gulped and said, “Space him?”

He acted as if killing me or not were like saving a piece of string. “No. It is ignorant and untrained, but I may have use for it later. Put it back in the pen.” “Yes, boss.”

They dragged me out. In the corridor Fatty said, “Let’s untie his feet and make him walk.” Skinny said, “Shaddap.”

Peewee was just inside the entrance panel but didn’t move, so I guess she had had another dose of that blue-light effect. They stepped over her and dumped me. Skinny chopped me on the side of the neck to stun me. When I came to, they were gone, I was unstrapped, and Peewee was sitting by me. She said anxiously, “Pretty bad?”

“Uh, yeah,” I agreed, and shivered. “I feel ninety years old.”

“It helps if you don’t look at him-especially his eyes. Rest a while and you’ll feel better.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s only forty-five minutes till we land. You probably won’t be disturbed before then.”

“Huh?” I sat up. “I was in there only an hour?” “Alittle less. But it seems forever. I know.”

“I feel like a squeezed orange.” I frowned, remembering something. “Peewee, I wasn’t too scared when they came for me. I was going to demand to be turned loose and insist on explanations. But I never asked him a question, not one.”

“You never will. I tried. But your will just drains out. Like a rabbit in front of a snake.” “Yes.”

“Kip, do you see why I had to take just any chance to get away? You didn’t seem to believe my story-do you believe it now?” “Uh, yes. I believe it.”

“Thanks. I always say I’m too proud to care what people think, but I’m not, really. I had to get back to Daddy and tell him … because he’s the only one in the entire world who would simply believe me, no matter how crazy it sounded.”

“I see. I guess I see. But how did you happen to wind up in Centerville?” “Centerville?”

“Where I live. Where ‘Junebug’ called ‘Peewee.’ “

“Oh. I never meant to go there. I meant to land in New Jersey, in Princeton if possible, because I had to find Daddy.” “Well, you sure missed your aim.”

“Can you do better? I would have done all right but I had my elbow joggled. Those things aren’t hard to fly; you just aim and push for where you want to go, not like the complicated things they do about rocket ships. And I had the Mother Thing to coach me. But I had to slow down going into the atmosphere and compensate for Earth’s spin and I didn’t know quite how. I found myself too far west and they were chasing me and I didn’t know what to do … and then I heard you on the space-operations band and thought everything was all right-and there I was.” She spread her hands. “I’m sorry, Kip.”

“Well, you landed it. They say any landing you walk away from is a good one.” “But I’m sorry I got you mixed up in it.”

“Uh … don’t worry about that. It looks like somebody has to get mixed up in it. Peewee … what’s he up to?” “They, you mean.”

“Huh? I don’t think the other two amount to anything. He is the one.”

“I didn’t mean Tim and Jock-they’re just people gone bad. I meant them-him and others like him.”

I wasn’t at my sharpest-I had been knocked out three times and was shy a night’s sleep and more confusing things had happened than in all my life. but until Peewee pointed it out I hadn’t considered that there could be more than one like him-one seemed more than enough.

But if there was one, then there were thousands-maybe millions or billions. I felt my stomach twist and wanted to hide. “You’ve seen others?” “No. Just him. But the Mother Thing told me.”

“Ugh! Peewee … what are they up to?”

“Haven’t you guessed? They’re moving in on us.” My collar felt tight, even though it was open. “How?” “I don’t know.”

“You mean they’re going to kill us off and take over Earth?” She hesitated. “It might not be anything that nice.”

“Uh … make slaves of us?”

“You’re getting warmer. Kip-I think they eat meat.”

I swallowed. “You have the jolliest ideas, for a little girl.” “You think I like it? That’s why I had to tell Daddy.”

There didn’t seem to be anything to say. It was an old, old fear for human beings. Dad had told me about an invasion-from-Mars radio broadcast when he was a kid-pure fiction but it had scared people silly. But people didn’t believe in it now; ever since we got to the Moon and circled Mars and Venus everybody seemed to agree that we weren’t going to find life anywhere.

Now here it was, in our laps. “Peewee? Are these things Martians? Or from Venus?”

She shook her head. “They’re not from anywhere close. The Mother Thing tried to tell me, but we ran into a difficulty of understanding.”

“Inside the Solar System?”

“That was part of the difficulty. Both yes and no.” “It can’t be both.”

“You ask her.”

“I’d like to.” I hesitated, then blurted, “I don’t care where they’re from -we can shoot them down … if we don’t have to look at them!” “Oh, I hope so!”

“It figures. You say these are flying saucers … real saucer sightings, I mean; not weather balloons. If so, they have been scouting us for years. Therefore they aren’t sure of themselves, even if they do look horrible enough to curdle milk. Otherwise they would have moved in at once the way we would on a bunch of animals. But they haven’t. That means we can kill them-if we go about it right.”

She nodded eagerly. “I hope so. I hoped Daddy would see a way. But-” She frowned. “-we don’t know much about them … and Daddy always warned me not to be cocksure when data was incomplete. ‘Don’t make so much stew from one oyster, Peewee,’ he always says.”

“But I’ll bet we’re right. Say, who is your Daddy? And what’s your full name?”

“Why, Daddy is Professor Reisfeld. And my name is Patricia Wynant Reisfeld. Isn’t that awful? Better call me Peewee.” “Professor Reisfeld- What does he teach?”

“Huh? You don’t know? You don’t know about Daddy’s Nobel Prize? Or anything?” “I’m just a country boy, Peewee. Sorry.”

“You must be. Daddy doesn’t teach anything. He thinks. He thinks better than anybody … except me, possibly. He’s the synthesist. Everybody else specializes. Daddy knows everything and puts the pieces together.”

Maybe so, but I hadn’t heard of him. It sounded like a good idea … but it would take an awfully smart man-if I had found out anything, it was that they could print it faster than I could study it. Professor Reisfeld must have three heads. Five.

“Wait till you meet him,” she added, glancing at her watch. “Kip, I think we had better get braced. We’ll be landing in a few minutes … and he won’t care how he shakes up passengers.” So we crowded into the narrow end and braced each other. We waited. After a bit the ship shook itself and the floor tilted. There was a slight bump and things got steady and suddenly I

felt very light. Peewee pulled her feet under her and stood up. “Well, we’re on the Moon.”

Chapter 5

When I was a kid, we used to pretend we were making the first landing on the Moon. Then I gave up romantic notions and realized that I would have to go about it another way. But I never thought I would get there penned up, unable to see out, like a mouse in a shoe box.

The only thing that proved I was on the Moon was my weight. High gravity can be managed anywhere, with centrifuges. Low gravity is another matter; on Earth the most you can squeeze out is a few seconds going off a high board, or by parachute delay, or stunts in a plane.

If low gravity goes on and on, then wherever you are, you are not on Earth. Well, I wasn’t on Mars; it had to be the Moon.

On the Moon I should weigh a little over twenty-five pounds. It felt about so-I felt light enough to walk on a lawn and not bend the grass.

For a few minutes I simply exulted in it, forgetting him and the trouble we were in, just heel-and-toe around the room, getting the wonderful feel of it, bouncing a little and bumping my head against the ceiling and feeling how slowly, slowly, slowly I settled back to the floor. Peewee sat down, shrugged her shoulders and gave a little smile, an annoyingly patronizing one. The “Old Moon-Hand”-all of two weeks more of it than I had had.

Low gravity has its disconcerting tricks. Your feet have hardly any traction and they fly out from under you. I had to learn with muscles and reflexes what I had known only intellectually: that when weight goes down, mass and inertia do not. To change direction, even in walking, you have to lean the way you would to round a turn on a board track- and even then if you don’t have traction (which I didn’t in socks on a smooth floor) your feet go out from under you.

Afall doesn’t hurt much in one-sixth gravity but Peewee giggled. I sat up and said, “Go and laugh, smartie. You can afford to-you’ve got tennis shoes.” “I’m sorry. But you looked silly, hanging there like a slow-motion picture and grabbing air.”

“No doubt. Very funny.”

“I said I was sorry. Look, you can borrow my shoes.”

I looked at her feet, then at mine, and snorted. “Gee, thanks!”

“Well … you could cut the heels out, or something. It wouldn’t bother me. Nothing ever does. Where are your shoes. Kip?” “Uh, about a quarter-million miles away-unless we got off at the wrong stop.”

“Oh. Well, you won’t need them much, here.”

“Yeah.” I chewed my lip, thinking about “here” and no longer interested in games with gravity. “Peewee? What do we do now?” “About what?”

“About him.”

“Nothing. What can we do?” “Then what do we do?” “Sleep.”

“Huh?”

“Sleep. ‘Sleep, that knits up the ravell’d sleave of care.’ ‘Tired Nature’s sweet restorer, balmy sleep.’ ‘Blessings on him who invented sleep, the mantle that covers all human thoughts.’ “ “Quit showing off and talk sense!”

“I am talking sense. At the moment we’re as helpless as goldfish. We’re simply trying to survive-and the first principle of survival is not to worry about the impossible and concentrate on what’s possible. I’m hungry and thirsty and uncomfortable and very, very tired … and all I can do about it is sleep. So if you will kindly keep quiet, that’s what I’ll do.”

“I can take a hint. No need to snap at me.”

“I’m sorry. But I get cross as two sticks when I’m tired and Daddy says I’m simply frightful before breakfast.” She curled up in a little ball and tucked that filthy rag doll under her chin. “G’night, Kip.”

“Good night, Peewee.”

I thought of something and started to speak … and saw that she was asleep. She was breathing softly and her face had smoothed out and no longer looked alert and smart-alecky. Her upper lip pooched out in a baby pout and she looked like a dirty-faced cherub. There were streaks where she had apparently cried and not wiped it away. But she had never let me see her crying.

Kip, I said to myself, you get yourself into the darndest things; this is much worse than bringing home a stray pup or a kitten. But I had to take care of her … or die trying.

Well, maybe I would. Die trying, I mean. It didn’t look as if I were any great shakes even taking care of myself.

I yawned, then yawned again. Maybe the shrimp had more sense than I had, at that. I was more tired than I had ever been, and hungry and thirsty and not comfortable other ways. I thought about banging on the door panel and trying to attract the fat one or his skinny partner. But that would wake Peewee-and it might antagonize him.

So I sprawled on my back the way I nap on the living-room rug at home. I found that a hard floor does not require any one sleeping position on the Moon; one-sixth gravity is a better mattress than all the foam rubber ever made-that fussy princess in Hans Christian Andersen’s story would have had no complaints.

I want to sleep at once.

It was the wildest space opera I had ever seen, loaded with dragons and Arcturian maidens and knights in shining space armor and shuttling between King Arthur’s Court and the Dead Sea Bottoms of Barsoom. I didn’t mind that but I did mind the announcer. He had the voice of Ace Quiggle and the face of him. He leaned out of the screen and leered, those wormy cilia writhing. “Will Beowulf conquer the Dragon? Will Tristan return to Iseult? Will Peewee find her dolly? Tune in this channel tomorrow night and in the meantime, wake up and hurry to your neighborhood druggist for a cake of Skyway’s Kwikbrite Armor Polish, the better polish used by the better knights sans peur et sans reproche. Wake up!” He shoved a snaky arm out of the screen and grabbed my shoulder.

I woke up.

“Wake up,” Peewee was saying, shaking my shoulder. “Please wake up, Kip.” “Lea’ me alone!”

“You were having a nightmare.”

The Arcturian princess had been in a bad spot. “Now I’ll never know how it came out. Wha’ did y’ want to wake me for? I thought the idea was to sleep?” “You’ve slept for hours-and now perhaps there is something we can do.”

“Breakfast, maybe?”

She ignored that. “I think we should try to escape.”

I sat up suddenly, bounced off the floor, settled back. “Wups! How?”

“I don’t know exactly. But I think they have gone away and left us. If so, we’ll never have a better chance.” “They have? What makes you think so?”

“Listen. Listen hard.”

I listened. I could hear my heart beat, I could hear Peewee breathing, and presently I could hear her heart beating. I’ve never heard deeper silence in a cave.

I took my knife, held it in my teeth for bone conduction and pushed it against a wall. Nothing. I tried the floor and the other walls. Still nothing. The ship ached with silence-no throb, no thump, not even those vibrations you can sense but not hear. “You’re right, Peewee.”

“I noticed it when the air circulation stopped.” I sniffed. “Are we running out of air?”

“Not right away. But the air stopped-it comes out of those tiny holes up there. You don’t notice it but I missed something when it stopped.” I thought hard. “I don’t see where this gets us. We’re still locked up.”

“I’m not sure.”

I tried the blade of my knife on a wall. It wasn’t metal or anything I knew as plastic, but it didn’t mind a knife. Maybe the Comte de Monte Cristo could have dug a hole in it-but he had more time. “How do you figure?”

“Every time they’ve opened or closed that door panel, I’ve heard a click. So after they took you out I stuck a wad of bubble gum where the panel meets the wall, high up where they might not notice.”

“You’ve got some gum?”

“Yes. It helps, when you can’t get a drink of water. I-“

“Got any more?” I asked eagerly. I wasn’t fresh in any way but thirst was the worst-I’d never been so thirsty.

Peewee looked upset. “Oh, poor Kip! I haven’t any more … just an old wad I kept parked on my belt buckle and chewed when I felt driest.” She frowned. “But you can have it. You’re welcome.”

“Uh, thanks, Peewee. Thanks a lot. But I guess not.”

She looked insulted. “I assure you, Mr. Russell, that I do not have anything contagious. I was merely trying to-“ “Yes, yes,” I said hastily. “I’m sure you were. But-“

“I assumed that these were emergency conditions. It is surely no more unsanitary than kissing a girl-but then I don’t suppose you’ve ever kissed a girl!”

“Not lately,” I evaded. “But what I want is a drink of clear cold water- or murky warm water. Besides, you used up your gum on the door panel. What did you expect to accomplish?” “Oh. I told you about that click. Daddy says that, in a dilemma, it is helpful to change any variable, then reexamine the problem. I tried to introduce a change with my bubble gum.” “Well?”

“When they brought you back, then closed the door, I didn’t hear a click.”

“What? Then you thought you had bamboozled their lock hours and hour ago-and you didn’t tell me?” “That is correct.”

“Why, I ought to spank you!”

“I don’t advise it,” she said frostily. “I bite.”

I believed her. And scratch. And other things. None of them pleasant. I changed the subject. “Why didn’t you tell me, Peewee?” “I was afraid you might try to get out.”

“Huh? I certainly would have!”

“Precisely. But I wanted that panel closed … as long as he was out there.”

Maybe she was a genius. Compared with me. “I see your point. All right, let’s see if we can get it open.” I examined the panel. The wad of gum was there, up high as she could reach, and from the way it was mashed it did seem possible that it had fouled the groove the panel slid into, but I couldn’t see any crack down the edge.

I tried the point of my big blade on it. The panel seemed to creep to the right an eighth of an inch-then the blade broke. I closed the stub and put the knife away. “Any ideas?”

“Maybe if we put our hands flat against it and tried to drag it?”

“Okay.” I wiped sweat from my hands on my shirt. “Now … easy does it. Just enough pressure for friction.” The panel slid to the right almost an inch-and stopped firmly.

But there was a hairline crack from floor to ceiling.

I broke off the stub of the big blade this time. The crack was no wider. Peewee said, “Oh, dear!” “We aren’t licked.” I backed off and ran toward the door.

“Toward,” not “to”-my feet skidded, I leveled off and did a leisurely bellywhopper. Peewee didn’t laugh.

I picked myself up, got against the far wall, braced one foot against it and tried a swimming racing start.

I got as far as the door panel before losing my footing. I didn’t hit it very hard, but I felt it spring. It bulged a little, then sprang back. “Wait a sec, Kip,” said Peewee. “Take your socks off. I’ll get behind you and push-my tennis shoes don’t slip.”

She was right. On the Moon, if you can’t get rubber-soled shoes, you’re better off barefooted. We backed against the far wall, Peewee behind me with her hands on my hips. “One … two

… three … Go!” We advanced with the grace of a hippopotamus.

I hurt my shoulder. But the panel sprung out of its track, leaving a space four inches wide at the bottom and tapering to the top.

I left skin on the door frame and tore my shirt and was hampered in language by the presence of a girl. But the opening widened. When it was wide enough for my head, I got down flat and peered out. There was nobody in sight-a foregone conclusion, with the noise I had made, unless they were playing cat-and-mouse. Which I wouldn’t put past them. Especially him.

Peewee started to wiggle through; I dragged her back. “Naughty, naughty! I go first.” Two more heaves and it was wide enough for me. I opened the small blade of my knife and handed it

to Peewee. “With your shield or on it, soldier.”

“You take it.”

“I won’t need it. ‘Two-Fisted Death,’ they call me around dark alleys.” This was propaganda, but why worry her? Sans pew et sans reproche- maiden-rescuing done cheaply, special rates for parties.

I eased out on elbows and knees, stood up and looked around. “Come on out,” I said quietly.

She started to, then backed up suddenly. She reappeared clutching that bedraggled dolly. “I almost forgot Madame Pompadour,” she said breathlessly. I didn’t even smile.

“Well,” she said defensively, “I have to have her to get to sleep at night. It’s my one neurotic quirk-but Daddy says I’ll outgrow it.” “Sure, sure.”

“Well, don’t look so smug! It’s not fetishism, not even primitive animism; it’s merely a conditioned reflex. I’m aware that it’s just a doll-I’ve understood the pathetic fallacy for … oh, years and years!”

“Look, Peewee,” I said earnestly, “I don’t care how you get to sleep. Personally I hit myself over the head with a hammer. But quit yakking. Do you know the layout of these ships?” She looked around. “I think this is the ship that chased me. But it looks the same as the one I piloted.”

“All right. Should we head for the control room?” “Huh?”

“You flew the other heap. Can you fly this one?” “Unh … I guess so. Yes, I can.”

“Then let’s go.” I started in the direction they had lugged me.

“But the other time I had the Mother Thing to tell me what to do! Let’s find her.” I stopped. “Can you get it off the ground?”

“Well … yes.”

“We’ll look for her after we’re in the air-‘in space,’ I mean. If she’s aboard we’ll find her. If she’s not, there’s not a thing we can do.” “Well … all right. I see your logic; I don’t have to like it.” She tagged along. “Kip? How many gravities can you stand?”

“Huh? I haven’t the slightest idea. Why?”

“Because these things can go lots faster than I dared try when I escaped before. That was my mistake.” “Your mistake was in heading for New Jersey.”

“But I had to find Daddy!”

“Sure, sure, eventually. But you should have ducked over to Lunar Base and yelled for the Federation Space Corps. This is no job for a popgun; we need help. Any idea where we are?” “Mmm … I think so. If he took us back to their base. I’ll know when I look at the sky.”

“All right. If you can figure out where Lunar Base is from here, that’s where we’ll go. If not- Well, we’ll head for New Jersey at all the push it has.”

The control-room door latched and I could not figure out how to open it. Peewee did what she said should work-which was to tuck her little finger into a hole mine would not enter-and told me it must be locked. So I looked around.

I found a metal bar racked in the corridor, a thing about five feet long, pointed on one end and with four handles like brass knucks on the other. I didn’t know what it was-the hobgoblin equivalent of a fire ax, possibly -but it was a fine wrecking bar.

I made a shambles of that door in three minutes. We went in.

My first feeling was gooseflesh because here was where I had been grilled by him. I tried not to show it. If he turned up, I was going to let him have his wrecking bar right between his grisly eyes. I looked around, really seeing the place for the first time. There was sort of a nest in the middle surrounded by what could have been a very fancy coffee maker or a velocipede for an octopus; I was glad Peewee knew which button to push. “How do you see out?”

“Like this.” Peewee squeezed past and put a finger into a hole I hadn’t noticed.

The ceiling was hemispherical like a planetarium. Which was what it was, for it lighted up. I gasped.

It was suddenly not a floor we were on, but a platform, apparently out in the open and maybe thirty feet in the air. Over me were star images, thousands of them, in a black “sky”-and facing toward me, big as a dozen full moons and green and lovely and beautiful, was Earth!

Peewee touched my elbow. “Snap out of it, Kip.”

I said in a choked voice, “Peewee, don’t you have any poetry in your soul?”

“Surely I have. Oodles. But we haven’t time. I know where we are, Kip -back where I started from. Their base. See those rocks with long jagged shadows? Some of them are ships, camouflaged. And over to the left- that high peak, with the saddle?-a little farther left, almost due west, is Tombaugh Station, forty miles away. About two hundred miles farther is Lunar Base and beyond is Luna City.”

“How long will it take?”

“Two hundred, nearly two hundred and fifty miles? Uh, I’ve never tried a point-to-point on the Moon-but it shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.” “Let’s go! They might come back any minute.”

“Yes, Kip.” She crawled into that jackdaw’s nest and bent over a sector.

Presently she looked up. Her face was white and thin and very little-girlish. “Kip … we aren’t going anywhere. I’m sorry.” I let out a yelp. “What! What’s the matter? Have you forgotten how to run it?”

“No. The ‘brain’ is gone.” “The which?”

“The ‘brain.’ Little black dingus about the size of a walnut that fits in this cavity.” She showed me. “We got away before because the Mother Thing managed to steal one. We were locked in an empty ship, just as you and I are now. But she had one and we got away.” Peewee looked bleak and very lost. “I should have known that he wouldn’t leave one in the control room-I guess I did and didn’t want to admit it. I’m sorry.”

“Uh … look, Peewee, we won’t give up that easily. Maybe I can make something to fit that socket.”

“Like jumping wires in a car?” She shook her head. “It’s not that simple. Kip. If you put a wooden model in place of the generator in a car, would it run? I don’t know quite what it does, but I called it the ‘brain’ because it’s very complex.”

“But-” I shut up. If a Borneo savage had a brand-new car, complete except for spark plugs, would he get it running? Echo answers mournfully. “Peewee, what’s the next best thing? Any ideas? Because if you haven’t, I want you to show me the air lock. I’ll take this-” I shook my wrecking bar “-and bash anything that comes through.”

“I’m stumped,” she admitted. “I want to look for the Mother Thing. If she’s shut up in this ship, she may know what to do.”

“All right. But first show me the air lock. You can look for her while I stand guard.” I felt the reckless anger of desperation. I didn’t see how we were ever going to get out and I was beginning to believe that we weren’t -but there was still a reckoning due. He was going to learn that it wasn’t safe to push people around. I was sure-I was fairly sure-that I could sock him before my spine turned to jelly. Splash that repulsive head.

If I didn’t look at his eyes.

Peewee said slowly, “There’s one other thing-“ “What?”

“I hate to suggest it. You might think I was running out on you.” “Don’t be silly. If you’ve got an idea, spill it.”

“Well … there’s Tombaugh Station, over that way about forty miles. If my space suit is in the ship-“

I suddenly quit feeling like Bowie at the Alamo. Maybe the game would go an extra period- “We can walk it!”

She shook her head. “No, Kip. That’s why I hesitated to mention it. I can walk it … if we find my suit. But you couldn’t wear my suit even if you squatted.” “I don’t need your suit,” I said impatiently.

“Kip, Kip! This is the Moon, remember? No air.”

“Yes, yes, sure! Think I’m an idiot? But if they locked up your suit, they probably put mine right beside it and-“ “You’ve got a space suit?” she said incredulously.

Our next remarks were too confused to repeat but finally Peewee was convinced that I really did own a space suit, that in fact the only reason I was sending on the space-operations band twelve hours and a quarter of a million miles back was that I was wearing it when they grabbed me.

“Let’s tear the joint apart!” I said. “No-show me that air lock, then you take it apart.” “All right.”

She showed me the lock, a room much like the one we had been cooped in, but smaller and with an inner door built to take a pressure load. It was not locked. We opened it cautiously. It was empty, and its outer door was closed or we would never been able to open the inner. I said, “If Wormface had been a suspenders-and-belt man, he would have left the outer door open, even though he had us locked up. Then- Wait a second! Is there a way to latch the inner door open?”

“I don’t know.”

“We’ll see.” There was, a simple hook. But to make sure that it couldn’t be unlatched by button-pushing from outside I wedged it with my knife. “You’re sure this is the only air lock?” “The other ship had only one and I’m pretty certain they are alike.”

“We’ll keep our eyes open. Nobody can get at us through this one. Even old Wormface has to use an air lock.” “But suppose he opens the outer door anyhow?” Peewee said nervously. “We’d pop like balloons.”

I looked at her and grinned. “Who is a genius? Sure we would … if he did. But he won’t. Not with twenty, twenty-five tons of pressure holding it closed. As you reminded me, this is the Moon. No air outside, remember?”

“Oh.” Peewee looked sheepish.

So we searched. I enjoyed wrecking doors; Wormface wasn’t going to like me. One of the first things we found was a smelly little hole that Fatty and Skinny lived in. The door was not locked, which was a shame. That room told me a lot about that pair. It showed that they were pigs, with habits as unattractive as their morals. The room also told me that they were not casual prisoners; it had been refitted for humans. Their relationship with Wormface, whatever it was, had gone on for some time and was continuing. There were two empty racks for space suits, several dozen canned rations of the sort sold in military-surplus stores, and best of all, there was drinking water and a washroom of sorts-and something more precious than fine gold or frankincense if we found our suits: two charged bottles of oxy-helium.

I took a drink, opened a can of food for Peewee-it opened with a key; we weren’t in the predicament of the Three Men in a Boat with their tin of pineapple-told her to grab a bite, then search that room. I went on with my giant toad sticker; those charged air bottles had given me an unbearable itch to find our suits-and get out!-before Wormface returned.

I smashed a dozen doors as fast as the Walrus and the Carpenter opened oysters and found all sorts of things, including what must have been living quarters for wormfaces. But I didn’t stop to look-the Space Corps could do that, if and when-I simply made sure that there was not a space suit in any of them.

And found them!-in a compartment next to the one we had been prisoners in.

I was so glad to see Oscar that I could have kissed him. I shouted, “Hi, Pal! Mirabile visu!” and ran to get Peewee. My feet went out from under me again but I didn’t care. Peewee looked up as I rushed in. “I was just going to look for you.”

“Got it! Got it!”

“You found the Mother Thing?” she said eagerly.

“Huh? No, no! The space suits-yours and mine! Let’s go!”

“Oh.” She looked disappointed and I felt hurt. “That’s good … but we have to find the Mother Thing first.”

I felt tried beyond endurance. Here we had a chance, slim but real, to escape a fate-worse-than-death (I’m not using a figure of speech) and she wanted to hang around to search for a bug-eyed monster. For any human being, even a stranger with halitosis, I would have done it. For a dog or cat I would, although reluctantly.

But what was a bug-eyed monster to me? All this one had done was to get me into the worst jam I had ever been in. I considered socking Peewee and stuffing her into her suit. But I said, “Are you crazy? We’re leaving-right now!”

“We can’t go till we find her.”

“Now I know you’re crazy. We don’t even know she’s here … and if we do find her, we can’t take her with us.” “Oh, but we will!”

“How? This is the Moon, remember? No air. Got a space suit for her?”

“But-” That stonkered her. But not for long. She had been sitting on the floor, holding the ration can between her knees. She stood up suddenly, bouncing a little, and said, “Do as you like; I’m going to find her. Here.” She shoved the can at me.

I should have used force. But I am handicapped by training from early childhood never to strike a female, no matter how richly she deserves it. So the opportunity and Peewee both slid past while I was torn between common sense and upbringing. I simply groaned helplessly.

Then I became aware of an unbearably attractive odor. I was holding that can. It contained boiled shoe leather and gray gravy and smelled ambrosial.

Peewee had eaten half; I ate the rest while looking at what she had found. There was a coil of nylon rope which I happily put with the air bottles; Oscar had fifty feet of clothesline clipped to his belt but that had been a penny-saving expedient. There was a prospector’s hammer which I salvaged, and two batteries which would do for headlamps and things.

The only other items of interest were a Government Printing Office publication titled Preliminary Report on Selenology, a pamphlet on uranium prospecting, and an expired Utah driver’s license for “Timothy Johnson”-I recognized the older man’s mean face. The pamphlets interested me but this was no time for excess baggage.

The main furniture was two beds, curved like contour chairs and deeply padded; they told me that Skinny and Fatty had ridden this ship at high acceleration.

When I had mopped the last of the gravy with a finger, I took a big drink, washed my hands-using water lavishly because I didn’t care if that pair died of thirst-grabbed my plunder and headed for the room where the space suits were.

As I got there I ran into Peewee. She was carrying the crowbar and looking overjoyed. “I found her!” “Where?”

“Come on! I can’t get it open, I’m not strong enough.”

I put the stuff with our suits and followed her. She stopped at a door panel farther along the corridor than my vandalism had taken me. “In there!” I looked and I listened. “What makes you think so?”

“I know! Open it!”

I shrugged and got to work with the nutpick. The panel went sprung! and that was that. Curled up in the middle of the floor was a creature.

So far as I could tell, it might or might not have been the one I had seen in the pasture the night before. The light had been poor, the conditions very different, and my examination had ended abruptly. But Peewee was in no doubt. She launched herself through the air with a squeal of joy and the two rolled over and over like kittens play-fighting.

Peewee was making sounds of joy, more or less in English. So was the Mother Thing, but not in English. I would not have been surprised if she had spoken English, since Wormface did and since Peewee had mentioned things the Mother Thing had told her. But she didn’t.

Did you ever listen to a mockingbird? Sometimes singing melodies, sometimes just sending up a joyous noise unto the Lord? The endlessly varied songs of a mockingbird are nearest to the speech of the Mother Thing.

At last they held still, more or less, and Peewee said, “Oh, Mother Thing, I’m so happy!”

The creature sang to her. Peewee answered, “Oh. I’m forgetting my manners. Mother Thing, this is my dear friend Kip.” The Mother Thing sang to me-and I understood.

What she said was: “I am very happy to know you, Kip.” It didn’t come out in words. But it might as well have been English. Nor was this half-kidding self-deception, such as my conversations with Oscar or Peewee’s with Madame Pompadour-when I talk with Oscar I am both sides of the conversation; it’s just my conscious talking to my subconscious, or some such. This was not that.

The Mother Thing sang to me and I understood.

I was startled but not unbelieving. When you see a rainbow you don’t stop to argue the laws of optics. There it is, in the sky.

I would have been an idiot not to know that the Mother Thing was speaking to me because I did understand and understood her every time. If she directed a remark at Peewee alone, it was usually just birdsongs to me-but if it was meant for me, I got it.

Call it telepathy if you like, although it doesn’t seem to be what they do at Duke University. I never read her mind and I don’t think she read mine. We just talked.

But while I was startled, I minded my manners. I felt the way I do when Mother introduces me to one of her older grande-dame friends. So I bowed and said, “We’re very happy that we’ve found you, Mother Thing.”

It was simple, humble truth. I knew, without explanation, what it was that had made Peewee stubbornly determined to risk recapture rather than give up looking for her-the quality that made her “the Mother Thing.”

Peewee has this habit of slapping names on things and her choices aren’t always apt, for my taste. But I’ll never question this one. The Mother Thing was the Mother Thing because she was. Around her you felt happy and safe and warm. You knew that if you skinned your knee and came bawling into the house, she would kiss it well and paint it with merthiolate and everything would be all right. Some nurses have it and some teachers … and, sadly, some mothers don’t.

But the Mother Thing had it so strongly that I wasn’t even worried by Wormface. We had her with us so everything was going to be all right. I logically I knew that she was as vulnerable as we were-I had seen them strike her down. She didn’t have my size and strength, she couldn’t pilot the ship as Peewee had been able to. It didn’t matter.

I wanted to crawl into her lap. Since she was too small and didn’t have a lap, I would gratefully hold her in mine, anytime.

I have talked more about my father but that doesn’t mean that Mother is less important-just different. Dad is active, Mother is passive; Dad talks, Mother doesn’t. But if she died, Dad would wither like an uprooted tree. She makes our world.

The Mother Thing had the effect on me that Mother has, only I’m used to it from Mother. Now I was getting it unexpectedly, far from home, when I needed it. Peewee said excitedly, “Now we can go. Kip. Let’s hurry!”

The Mother Thing sang (“Where are we going, children?”) “To Tombaugh Station, Mother Thing. They’ll help us.”

The Mother Thing blinked her eyes and looked serenely sad. She had great, soft, compassionate eyes-she looked more like a lemur than anything else but she was not a primate-she wasn’t even in our sequence, unearthly. But she had these wonderful eyes and a soft, defenseless mouth out of which music poured. She wasn’t as big as Peewee and her hands were tinier still-six fingers, any one of which could oppose the others the way our thumbs can. Her body-well, it never stayed the same shape so it’s hard to describe, but it was right for her.

She didn’t wear clothes but she wasn’t naked; she had soft, creamy fur, sleek and fine as chinchilla. I thought at first she didn’t wear anything, but presently I noticed a piece of jewelry, a shiny triangle with a double spiral in each corner. I don’t know what made it stick on.

I didn’t take all this in at once. At that instant the expression in the Mother Thing’s eyes brought a crash of sorrow into the happiness I had been feeling. Her answer made me realize that she didn’t have a miracle ready (“How are we to fly the ship? They have guarded me most carefully this time.”)

Peewee explained eagerly about the space suits and I stood there like a fool, with a lump of ice in my stomach. What had been just a question of using my greater strength to force Peewee to behave was now an unsolvable dilemma. I could no more abandon the Mother Thing than I could have abandoned Peewee … and there were only two space suits.

Even if she could wear our sort, which looked as practical as roller skates on a snake.

The Mother Thing gently pointed out that her own vacuum gear had been destroyed. (I’m going to quit writing down all her songs; I don’t remember them exactly anyhow.)

And so the fight began. It was an odd fight, with the Mother Thing gentle and loving and sensible and utterly firm, and Peewee throwing a tearful, bad-little-girl tantrum-and me standing miserably by, not even refereeing.

When the Mother Thing understood the situation, she analyzed it at once to the inevitable answer. Since she had no way to go (and probably couldn’t have walked that far anyhow, even if she had had her sort of space suit) the only answer was for us two to leave at once. If we reached safety, then we would, if possible, convince our people of the danger from Wormface & Co.-in which case she might be saved as well … which would be nice but was not indispensable.

Peewee utterly, flatly, and absolutely refused to listen to any plan which called for leaving the Mother Thing behind. If the Mother Thing couldn’t go, she wouldn’t budge. “Kip! You go get help! Hurry! I’ll stay here.”

I stared at her. “Peewee, you know I can’t do that.”

“You must. You will so! You’ve got to. If you don’t, I’ll … I’ll never speak to you again!”

“If I did, I’d never speak to myself again. Look, Peewee, it won’t wash. You’ll have to go-“ “No!”

“Oh, shut up for a change. You go and I stay and guard the door with the shillelagh. I’ll hold ‘em off while you round up the troops. But tell them to hurry!” “I-” She stopped and looked very sober and utterly baffled. Then she threw herself on the Mother Thing, sobbing: “Oh, you don’t love me any more!”

Which shows how far her logic had gone to pot. The Mother Thing sang softly to her while I worried the thought that our last chance was t trickling away while we argued. Wormface might come back any second- and while I hoped to slug him a final one if he got in, more likely he had resources to outmaneuver me. Either way, we would not escape.

At last I said, “Look we’ll all go.”

Peewee stopped sobbing and looked startled. “You know we can’t.” The Mother Thing sang (“How, Kip?”)

“Uh, I’ll have to show you. Up on your feet, Peewee.” We went where the suits were, while Peewee carried Madame Pompadour and half carried the Mother Thing. Lars Eklund, the rigger who had first worn Oscar according to his log, must have weighed about two hundred pounds; in order to wear Oscar I had to strap him tight to keep from bulging. I hadn’t considered retailoring him to my size as I was afraid I would never get him gas-tight again. Arm and leg lengths were okay; it was girth that was too big.

There was room inside for both the Mother Thing and me.

I explained, while Peewee looked big-eyed and the Mother Thing sang queries and approvals. Yes, she could hang on piggy-back-and she couldn’t fall off, once we were sealed up and the straps cinched.

“All right. Peewee, get into your suit.” I went to get my socks while she started to suit up. When I came back I checked her helmet gauges, reading them backwards through her lens. “We had better give you some air. You’re only about half full.”

I ran into a snag. The spare bottles I had filched from those ghouls had screw-thread fittings like mine-but Peewee’s bottles had bayonet-and-snap joints. Okay, I guess, for tourists, chaperoned and nursed and who might get panicky while bottles were changed unless it was done fast-but not so good for serious work. In my workshop I would have rigged an adapter in twenty minutes. Here, with no real tools-well, that spare air might as well be on Earth for all the good it did Peewee.

For the first time, I thought seriously of leaving them behind while I made a fast forced march for help. But I didn’t mention it. I thought that Peewee would rather die on the way than fall back into his hands-and I was inclined to agree.

“Kid,” I said slowly, “that isn’t much air. Not for forty miles.” Her gauge was scaled in time as well as pressure; it read just under five hours. Could Peewee move as fast as a trotting horse? Even at lunar gravity? Not likely.

She looked at me soberly. “That’s calibrated for full-size people. I’m little-I don’t use much air.” “Uh … don’t use it faster than you have to.”

“I won’t. Let’s go.”

I started to close her gaskets. “Hey!” she objected. “What’s the matter?”

“Madame Pompadour! Hand her to me-please. On the floor by my feet.”

I picked up that ridiculous dolly and gave it to her. “How much air does she take?”

Peewee suddenly dimpled. “I’ll caution her not to inhale.” She stuffed it inside her shirt, I sealed her up. I sat down in my open suit, the Mother Thing crept up my back, singing reassuringly, and cuddled close. She felt good and I felt that I could hike a hundred miles, to get them both safe.

Getting me sealed in was cumbersome, as the straps had to be let out and then tightened to allow for the Mother Thing, and neither Peewee nor I had bare hands. We managed.

I made a sling from my clothesline for the spare bottles. With them around my neck, with Oscar’s weight and the Mother Thing as well, I scaled perhaps fifty pounds at the Moon’s one- sixth gee. It just made me fairly sure-footed for the first time.

I retrieved my knife from the air-lock latch and snapped it to Oscar’s belt beside the nylon rope and the prospector’s hammer. Then we went inside the air lock and closed its inner door. I didn’t know how to waste its air to the outside but Peewee did. It started to hiss out.

“You all right, Mother Thing?”

(“Yes, Kip.”) She hugged me reassuringly.

“Peewee to Junebug,” I heard in my phones: “radio check. Alfa, Bravo, Coca, Delta, Echo, Foxtrot-“ “Junebug to Peewee: I read you. Golf, Hotel, India, Juliette, Kilo-“

“I read you, Kip.” “Roger.”

“Mind your pressure. Kip. You’re swelling up too fast.” I kicked the chin valve while watching the gauge-and kicking myself for letting a little girl catch me in a greenhorn trick. But she had used a space suit before, while I had merely pretended to.

I decided this was no time to be proud. “Peewee? Give me all the tips you can. I’m new to his.” “I will, Kip.”

The outer door popped silently and swung inward-and I looked out over the bleak bright surface of a lunar plain. For a homesick moment I remembered the trip-to-the-Moon games I had played as a kid and wished I were back in Centerville. Then Peewee touched her helmet to mine. “See anyone?”

“No.”

“We’re lucky, the door faces away from the other ships. Listen carefully. We won’t use radio until we are over the horizon-unless it’s a desperate emergency. They listen on our frequencies. I know that for sure. Now see that mountain with the saddle in it? Kip, pay attention!”

“Yes.” I had been staring at Earth. She was beautiful even in that shadow show in the control room-but I just hadn’t realized. There she was, so close I could almost touch her … and so far away that we might never get home. You can’t believe what a lovely planet we have, until you see her from outside … with clouds girdling her waist and polar cap set jauntily, like a spring hat. “Yes. I see the saddle.”

“We head left of there, where you see a pass. Tim and Jock brought me through it in a crawler. Once we pick up its tracks it will be easy. But first we head for those near hills just left of that-that ought to keep this ship between us and the other ships while we get out of sight. I hope.”

It was twelve feet or so to the ground and I was prepared to jump, since it would be nothing much in that gravity. Peewee insisted on lowering me by rope. “You’ll fall over your feet. Look, Kip, listen to old Aunt Peewee. You don’t have Moon legs yet. It’s going to be like your first time on a bicycle.”

So I let her lower me and the Mother Thing while she snubbed the nylon rope around the side of the lock. Then she jumped with no trouble. I started to loop up the line but she stopped me and snapped the other end to her belt, then touched helmets. “I’ll lead. If I go too fast or you need me, tug on the rope. I won’t be able to see you.”

“Aye aye, Cap’n!”

“Don’t make fun of me, Kip. This is serious.” “I wasn’t making fun, Peewee. You’re boss.”

“Let’s go. Don’t look back, it won’t do any good and you might fall. I’m heading for those hills.”

Chapter 6

I should have relished the weird, romantic experience, but I was as busy as Eliza crossing the ice and the things snapping at my heels were worse than bloodhounds. I wanted to look back but I was too busy trying to stay on my feet. I couldn’t see my feet; I had to watch ahead and try to pick my footing-it kept me as busy as a lumberjack in a logrolling contest. I didn’t skid as the ground was rough-dust or fine sand over raw rock- and fifty pounds weight was enough for footing. But I had three hundred pounds mass not a whit reduced by lowered weight; this does things to lifelong reflex habits. I had to lean heavily for the slightest turn, lean back and dig in to slow down, lean far forward to speed up.

I could have drawn a force diagram, but doing it is another matter. How long does it take a baby to learn to walk? This newborn Moon-baby was having to learn while making a forced march, half blind, at the greatest speed he could manage.

So I didn’t have time to dwell on the wonder of it all.

Peewee moved into a brisk pace and kept stepping it up. Every little while my leash tightened and I tried still harder to speed up and not fall down. The Mother Thing warbled at my spine: (“Are you all right. Kip? You seem worried.”)

“I’m … all right! How … about … you?”

(“I’m very comfortable. Don’t wear yourself out, dear.”) “Okay!”

Oscar was doing his job. I began to sweat from exertion and naked Sun, but I didn’t kick the chin valve until I saw from my blood-color gauge that I was short on air. The system worked perfectly and the joints, under a four-pound pressure, gave no trouble; hours of practice in the pasture was paying off. Presently my one worry was to keep a sharp eye for rocks and ruts. We were into those low hills maybe twenty minutes after H-hour. Peewee’s first swerve as we reached rougher ground took me by surprise; I almost fell.

She slowed down and crept forward into a gulch. Afew moments later she stopped; I joined her and she touched helmets with me. “How are you doing?” “Okay.”

“Mother Thing, can you hear me?” (“Yes, dear.”)

“Are you comfortable? Can you breathe all right?” (“Yes, indeed. Our Kip is taking good care of me.”) “Good. You behave yourself, Mother Thing. Hear me?”

(“I will, dear.”) Somehow she put an indulgent chuckle into a birdsong.

“Speaking of breathing,” I said to Peewee, “let’s check your air.” I tried to look into her helmet. She pulled away, then touched again. “I’m all right!”

“So you say.” I held her helmet with both hands, found I couldn’t see the dials-with sunlight around us, trying to see in was like peering into a well. “What does it read-and don’t fib.” “Don’t be nosy!”

I turned her around and read her bottle gauges. One read zero; the other was almost full. I touched helmets. “Peewee,” I said slowly, “how many miles have we come?”

“About three, I think. Why?”

“Then we’ve got more than thirty to go?”

“At least thirty-five. Kip, quit fretting. I know I’ve got one empty bottle; I shifted to the full one before we stopped.” “One bottle won’t take you thirty-five miles.”

“Yes, it will … because it’s got to.”

“Look, we’ve got plenty of air. I’ll figure a way to get it to you.” My mind was trotting in circles, thinking what tools were on my belt, what else I had. “Kip, you know you can’t hook those spare bottles to my suit-so shut up!”

(“What’s the trouble, darlings? Why are you quarreling?”) “We aren’t fighting, Mother Thing. Kip is a worry wart.” (“Now, children-“)

I said, “Peewee, I admit I can’t hook the spares into your suit … but I’ll jigger a way to recharge your bottle.” “But How, Kip?”

“Leave it to me. I’ll touch only the empty; if it doesn’t work, we’re no worse off. If it does, we’ve got it made.” “How long will it take?”

“Ten minutes with luck. Thirty without.” “No,” she decided.

“Now, Peewee, don’t be sil-“

“I’m not being silly! We aren’t safe until we get into the mountains. I can get that far. Then, when we no longer show up like a bug on a plate, we can rest and recharge my empty bottle.” It made sense. “All right.”

“Can you go faster? If we reach the mountains before they miss us, I don’t think they’ll ever find us. If we don’t-“ “I can go faster. Except for these pesky bottles.”

“Oh.” She hesitated. “Do you want to throw one away?”

“Huh? Oh, no, no! But they throw me off balance. I’ve just missed a tumble a dozen times. Peewee, can you retie them so they don’t swing?” “Oh. Sure.”

I had them hung around my neck and down my front-not smart but I had been hurried. Now Peewee lashed them firmly, still in front as my own bottles and the Mother Thing were on my back-no doubt she was finding it as crowded as Dollar Day. Peewee passed clothesline under my belt and around the yoke. She touched helmets. “I hope that’s okay.”

“Did you tie a square knot?”

She pulled her helmet away. Aminute later she touched helmets again. “It was a granny,” she admitted in a small voice, “but it’s a square knot now.” “Good. Tuck the ends in my belt so that I can’t trip, then we’ll mush. Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she said slowly. “I just wish I had salvaged my gum, old and tired as it was. My throat’s awful dry.” “Drink some water. Not too much.”

“Kip! It’s not a nice joke.”

I stared. “Peewee-your suit hasn’t any water?” “What? Don’t be silly.”

My jaw dropped. “But, baby,” I said helplessly, “why didn’t you fill your tank before we left?” “What are you talking about? Does your suit have a water tank?”

I couldn’t answer. Peewee’s suit was for tourists-for those “scenic walks amidst incomparable grandeur on the ancient face of the Moon” that the ads promised. Guided walks, of course, not over a half-hour at a time-they wouldn’t put in a water tank; some tourist might choke, or bite the nipple off and half drown in his helmet, or some silly thing. Besides, it was cheaper.

I began to worry about other shortcomings that cheap-jack equipment might have-with Peewee’s life depending on it. “I’m sorry,” I said humbly. “Look, I’ll try to figure out some way to get water to you.”

“I doubt if you can. I can’t die of thirst in the time it’ll take us to get there, so quit worrying. I’m all right. I just wish I had my bubble gum. Ready?” “Uh … ready.”

The hills were hardly more than giant folds in lava; we were soon through them, even though we had to take it cautiously over the very rough ground. Beyond them the ground looked natter than western Kansas, stretching out to a close horizon, with mountains sticking up beyond, glaring in the Sun and silhouetted against a black sky like cardboard cutouts. I tried to figure how far the horizon was, on a thousand-mile radius and a height of eye of six feet-and couldn’t do it in my head and wished for my slipstick. But it was awfully close, less than a mile.

Peewee let me overtake her, touched helmets. “Okay, Kip? All right, Mother Thing?” “Sure.”

(“All right, dear.”)

“Kip, the course from the pass when they fetched me here was east eight degrees north. I heard them arguing and sneaked a peek at their map. So we go back west eight degrees south-that doesn’t count the jog to these hills but it’s close enough to find the pass. Okay?”

“Sounds swell.” I was impressed. “Peewee, were you an Indian scout once? Or Davy Crockett?”

“Pooh! Anybody can read a map”-she sounded pleased. “I want to check compasses. What bearing do you have on Earth?” I said silently: Oscar, you’ve let me down. I’ve been cussing her suit for not having water-and you don’t have a compass.

(Oscar protested: “Hey, pal, that’s unfair! Why would I need a compass at Space Station Two? Nobody told me I was going to the Moon.”) I said, “Peewee, this suit is for space station work. What use is a compass in space? Nobody told me I was going to the Moon.”

“But- Well, don’t stop to cry about it. You can get your directions by Earth.” “Why can’t I use your compass?”

“Don’t be silly; it’s built into my helmet. Now just a moment-” She faced Earth, moved her helmet back and forth. Then she touched helmets again. “Earth is smacko on northwest … that makes the course fifty three degrees left of there. Try to pick it out. Earth is two degrees wide, you know.”

“I knew that before you were born.”

“No doubt. Some people require a head start.” “Smart aleck!”

“You were rude first!”

“But- Sorry, Peewee. Let’s save the fights for later. I’ll spot you the first two bites.” “I won’t need them! You don’t know how nasty I can-“

“I have some idea.” (“Children! Children!”) “I’m sorry, Peewee.”

“So am I. I’m edgy. I wish we were there.”

“So do I. Let me figure the course.” I counted degrees using Earth as a yardstick. I marked a place by eye, then tried again judging fifty-three degrees as a proportion of ninety. The results didn’t agree, so I tried to spot some stars to help me. They say you can see stars from the Moon even when the Sun is in the sky. Well, you can-but not easily. I had the Sun over my shoulder but was facing Earth, almost three-quarters full, and had the dazzling ground glare as well. The polarizer cut down the glare-and cut out the stars, too.

So I split my guesses and marked the spot. “Peewee? See that sharp peak with sort of a chin on its left profile? That ought to be the course, pretty near.” “Let me check.” She tried it by compass, then touched helmets. “Nice going, Kip. Three degrees to the right and you’ve got it.”

I felt smug. “Shall we get moving?”

“Right. We go through the pass, then Tombaugh Station is due west.”

It was about ten miles to the mountains; we made short work of it. You can make time on the Moon-if it is flat and if you can keep your balance. Peewee kept stepping it up until we were almost flying, long low strides that covered ground like an ostrich-and, do you know, it’s easier fast than slow. The only hazard, after I got the hang of it, was landing on a rock or hole or something and tripping. But that was hazard enough because I couldn’t pick my footing at that speed. I wasn’t afraid of falling; I felt certain that Oscar could take the punishment. But suppose I landed on my back? Probably smash the Mother Thing to jelly.

I was worried about Peewee, too. That cut-rate tourist suit wasn’t as rugged as Oscar. I’ve read about explosive decompression-I never want to see it. Especially not a little girl. But I didn’t dare use radio to warn her even though we were probably shielded from Wormface-and if I tugged on my leash I might make her fall.

The plain started to rise and Peewee let it slow us down. Presently we were walking, then we were climbing a scree slope. I stumbled but landed on my hands and got up-one-sixth gravity has advantages as well as hazards. We reached the top and Peewee led us into a pocket in the rocks. She stopped and touched helmets. “Anybody home? You two all right?”

(“All right, dear.”)

“Sure,” I agreed. “Alittle winded, maybe.” That was an understatement but if Peewee could take it, I could.

“We can rest,” she answered, “and take it easy from here on. I wanted to get us out of the open as fast as possible. They’ll never find us here.”

I thought she was right. Awormface ship flying over might spot us, if they could see down as well as up-probably just a matter of touching a control. But our chances were better now. “This is the time to recharge your empty bottle.”

“Okay.”

None too soon-the bottle which had been almost full had dropped by a third, more like half. She couldn’t make it to Tombaugh Station on that -simple arithmetic. So I crossed my fingers and got to work. “Partner, will you untie this cat’s cradle?”

While Peewee fumbled at knots, I started to take a drink-then stopped, ashamed of myself. Peewee must be chewing her tongue to work up saliva by now-and I hadn’t been able to think of any way to get water to her. The tank was inside my helmet and there was no way to reach it without making me-and Mother Thing-dead in the process.

If I ever lived to be an engineer I’d correct that!

I decided that it was idiotic not to drink because she couldn’t; the lives of all of us might depend on my staying in the best condition I could manage. So I drank and ate three malted milk tablets and a salt tablet, then had another drink. It helped a lot but I hoped Peewee hadn’t noticed. She was busy unwinding clothesline-anyhow it was hard to see into a helmet.

I took Peewee’s empty bottle off her back, making darn sure to close her outside stop valve first-there’s supposed to be a one-way valve where an air hose enters a helmet but I no longer trusted her suit; it might have more cost-saving shortcomings. I laid the empty on the ground by a full one, looked at it, straightened up and touched helmets. “Peewee, disconnect the bottle on the left side of my back.”

“Why, Kip?”

“Who’s doing this job?” I had a reason but was afraid she might argue. My lefthand bottle held pure oxygen; the others were oxy-helium. It was full, except for a few minutes of fiddling last night in Centerville. Since I couldn’t possibly give her bottle a full charge, the next best thing was to give her a half-charge of straight oxygen.

She shut up and removed it.

I set about trying to transfer pressure between bottles whose connections didn’t match. There was no way to do it properly, short of tools a quarter of a million miles away-or over in Tombaugh Station which was just as bad. But I did have adhesive tape.

Oscar’s manual called for two first-aid kits. I didn’t know what was supposed to be in them; the manual had simply given USAF stock numbers. I hadn’t been able to guess what would be useful in an outside kit-a hypodermic needle, maybe, sharp enough to stab through and give a man morphine when he needed it terribly. But since I didn’t know, I had stocked inside and outside with bandage, dressings, and a spool of surgical tape.

I was betting on the tape.

I butted the mismatched hose connections together, tore off a scrap of bandage and wrapped it around the junction-I didn’t want sticky stuff on the joint; it could foul the operation on a suit. Then I taped the junction, wrapping tightly, working very painstakingly and taping three inches on each side as well as around the joint-if tape could restrain that pressure a few moments, there would still be one deuce of a force trying to drag that joint apart. I didn’t want it to pull apart at the first jolt. I used the entire roll.

I motioned Peewee to touch helmets. “I’m about to open the full bottle. The valve on the empty is already open. When you see me start to close the valve on the full one, you close the other one-fast! Got it?”

“Close the valve when you do, quickly. Roger.”

“Stand by. Get your hand on the valve.” I grabbed that lump of bandaged joint in one fist, squeezed as hard as I could, and put my other hand on the valve. If that joint let go, maybe my hand would go with it- but if the stunt failed, little Peewee didn’t have long to live. So I really gripped.

Watching both gauges, I barely cracked the valve. The hose quivered; the needle gauge that read “empty” twitched. I opened the valve wide. One needle swung left, the other right. Quickly they approached half-charge. “Now!” I yelled uselessly and started closing the valve.

And felt that patchwork joint start to give.

The hoses squeezed out of my fist but we lost only a fraction of gas. I found that I was trying to close a valve that was closed tight. Peewee had hers closed. The gauges each showed just short of half full-there was air for Peewee.

I sighed and found I had been holding my breath.

Peewee put her helmet against mine and said very soberly, “Thanks, Kip.”

“Charton Drugs service, ma’am-no tip necessary. Let me tidy this mess, you can tie me and we’ll go.” “You won’t have to carry but one extra bottle now.”

“Wrong, Peewee. We may do this stunt five or six times until there’s only a whisper left”-or until the tape wears out, I added to myself. The first thing I did was to rewrap the tape on its spool-and if you think that is easy, wearing gloves and with the adhesive drying out as fast as you wind it, try it.

In spite of the bandage, sticky stuff had smeared the connections when the hoses parted. But it dried so hard that it chipped off the bayonet-and-snap joint easily. I didn’t worry about the screw-thread joint; I didn’t expect to use it on a suit. We mounted Peewee’s recharged bottle and I warned her that it was straight oxygen. “Cut your pressure and feed from both bottles. What’s your blood color reading?”

“I’ve been carrying it low on purpose.”

“Idiot! You want to keel over? Kick your chin valve! Get into normal range!”

We mounted one bottle I had swiped on my back, tied the other and the oxy bottle on my front, and were on our way.

Earth mountains are predictable; lunar mountains aren’t, they’ve never been shaped by water. We came to a hole too steep to go down other than by rope and a wall beyond I wasn’t sure we could climb. With pitons and snap rings and no space suits it wouldn’t have been hard in the Rockies- but not the way we were. Peewee reluctantly led us back. The scree slope was worse going down-I backed down on hands and knees, with Peewee belaying the line above me. I wanted to be a hero and belay for her-we had a brisk argument. “Oh, quit being big

and male and gallantly stupid, Kip! You’ve got four big bottles and the Mother Thing and you’re top heavy and I climb like a goat.”

I shut up.

At the bottom she touched helmets. “Kip,” she said worriedly, “I don’t know what to do.” “What’s the trouble?”

“I kept a little south of where the crawler came through. I wanted to avoid crossing right where the crawler crossed. But I’m beginning to think there isn’t any other way.” “I wish you had told me before.”

“But I didn’t want them to find us! The way the crawler came is the first place they’ll look.”

“Mmm … yes.” I looked up at the range that blocked us. In pictures, the mountains of the Moon look high and sharp and rugged; framed by the lens of a space suit they look simply impossible.

I touched helmets again. “We might find another way-if we had time and air and the resources of a major expedition. We’ve got to take the route the crawler did. Which way?”

“Alittle way north … I think.”

We tried to work north along the foothills but it was slow and difficult. Finally we backed off to the edge of the plain. It made us jumpy but it was a chance we had to take. We walked, briskly but not running, for we didn’t dare miss the crawler’s tracks. I counted paces and when I reached a thousand I tugged the line; Peewee stopped and we touched helmets. “We’ve come half a mile. How much farther do you think it is? Or could it possibly be behind us?”

Peewee looked up at the mountains. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Everything looks different.” “We’re lost?”

“Uh … it ought to be ahead somewhere. But we’ve come pretty far. Do you want to turn around?” “Peewee, I don’t even know the way to the post office.”

“But what should we do?”

“I think we ought to keep going until you are absolutely certain the pass can’t be any farther. You watch for the pass and I’ll watch for crawler tracks. Then, when you’re certain that we’ve come too far, we’ll turn back. We can’t afford to make short casts like a dog trying to pick up a rabbit’s scent.”

“All right.”

I had counted two thousand more paces, another mile, when Peewee stopped. “Kip? It can’t be ahead of us. The mountains are higher and solider than ever.” “You’re sure? Think hard. Better to go another five miles than to stop too short.”

She hesitated. She had her face pushed up close to her lens while we touched helmets and I could see her frown. Finally she said, “It’s not up ahead. Kip.” “That settles it. To the rear, march! ‘Lay on, Macduff, and curs’d be him who first cries, “Hold, enough!” ‘ “

“King Lear.”

“Macbeth. Want to bet?”

Those tracks were only half a mile behind us-I had missed them. They were on bare rock with only the lightest covering of dust; the Sun had been over my shoulder when we first crossed them, and the caterpillar tread marks hardly showed-I almost missed them going back. They led off the plain and straight up into the mountains.

We couldn’t possibly have crossed those mountains without following the crawler’s trail; Peewee had had the optimism of a child. It wasn’t a road; it was just something a crawler on caterpillar treads could travel. We saw places that even a crawler hadn’t been able to go until whoever pioneered it set a whopping big blast, backed off and waited for a chunk of mountain to get out of the way. I doubt if Skinny and Fatty carved that goat’s path; they didn’t look fond of hard work. Probably one of the exploration parties. If Peewee and I had attempted to break a new trail, we’d be there yet, relics for tourists of future generations.

But where a tread vehicle can go, a man can climb. It was no picnic; it was trudge, trudge, trudge, up and up and up-watch for loose rock and mind where you put your feet. Sometimes we belayed with the line. Nevertheless it was mostly just tedious.

When Peewee had used that half-charge of oxygen, we stopped and I equalized pressure again, this time being able to give her only a quarter charge-like Achilles and the tortoise. I could go on indefinitely giving her half of what was left-if the tape held out. It was in bad shape but the pressure was only half as great and I managed to keep the hoses together until we closed valves.

I should say that I had it fairly easy. I had water, food, pills, dexedrine. The last was enormous help; any time I felt fagged I borrowed energy with a pep-pill. Poor Peewee had nothing but air and courage.

She didn’t even have the cooling I had. Since she was on a richer mix, one bottle being pure oxygen, it did not take as much flow to keep up her blood-color index-and I warned her not to use a bit more than necessary; she could not afford air for cooling, she had to save it to breathe.

“I know, Kip,” she answered pettishly. “I’ve got the needle jiggling the red light right now. Think I’m a fool?” “I just want to keep you alive.”

“All right, but quit treating me as a child. You put one foot in front of the other. I’ll make it.” “Sure you will!”

As for the Mother Thing she always said she was all right and she was breathing the air I had (a trifle used), but I didn’t know what was hard-ship to her. Hanging by his heels all day would kill a man; to a bat it is a nice rest-yet bats are our cousins.

I talked with her as we climbed. It didn’t matter what; her songs had the effect on me that it has to have your own gang cheering. Poor Peewee didn’t even have that comfort, except when we stopped and touched helmets-we still weren’t using radio; even in the mountains we were fearful of attracting attention.

We stopped again and I gave Peewee one-eighth of a charge. The tape was in very poor shape afterwards; I doubted if it would serve again. I said, “Peewee, why don’t you run your oxy- helium bottle dry while I carry this one? It’ll save your strength.”

“I’m all right.”

“Well, you won’t use air so fast with a lighter load.” “You have to have your arms free. Suppose you slip?”

“Peewee, I won’t carry it in my arms, My righthand backpack bottle is empty; I’ll chuck it. Help me make the change and I’ll still be carrying only four-just balanced evenly.” “Sure, I’ll help. But I’ll carry two bottles. Honest, Kip, the weight isn’t anything. But if I run the oxy-helium bottle dry, what would I breathe while you’re giving me my next charge?” I didn’t want to tell her that I had doubts about another charge, even in those ever smaller amounts. “Okay, Peewee.”

She changed bottles for me; we threw the dead one down a black hole and went on. I don’t know how far we climbed nor how long; I know that it seemed like days-though it couldn’t have been, not on that much air. During mile after mile of trail we climbed at least eight thousand feet. Heights are hard to guess-but I’ve seen mountains I knew the heights of. Look it up yourself-the first range east of Tombaugh Station.

There’s a lot of climbing, even at one-sixth gee.

It seemed endless because I didn’t know how far it was nor how long it had been. We both had watches-under our suits. Ahelmet ought to have a built-in watch. I should have read Greenwich time from the face of Earth. But I had no experience and most of the time I couldn’t see Earth because we were deep in mountains-anyhow I didn’t know what time it had been when we left the ship.

Another thing space suits should have is rear-view mirrors. While you are at it, add a window at the chin so that you can see where you step. But of the two, I would take a rear-view mirror. You can’t glance behind you; you have to turn your entire body. Every few seconds I wanted to see if they were following us-and I couldn’t spare the effort. All that nightmare trek I kept imagining them on my heels, expecting a wormy hand on my shoulder. I listened for footsteps which couldn’t be heard in vacuum anyhow.

When you buy a space suit, make them equip it with a rear-view mirror. You won’t have Wormface on your trail but it’s upsetting to have even your best friend sneak up behind you. Yes, and if you are coming to the Moon, bring a sunshade. Oscar was doing his best and York had done an honest job on the air conditioning-but the untempered Sun is hotter than you would believe and I didn’t dare use air just for cooling, any more than Peewee could.

It got hot and stayed hot and sweat ran down and I itched all over and couldn’t scratch and sweat got into my eyes and burned. Peewee must have been parboiled. Even when the trail wound through deep gorges lighted only by reflection off the far wall, so dark that we turned on headlamps, I still was hot-and when we curved back into naked sunshine, it was almost

unbearable. The temptation to kick the chin valve, let air pour in and cool me, was almost too much. The desire to be cool seemed more important than the need to breathe an hour hence.

If I had been alone, I might have done it and died. But Peewee was worse off than I was. If she could stand it, I had to.

I had wondered how we could be so lost so close to human habitation -and how crawly monsters could hide a base only forty miles from Tombaugh Station. Well, I had time to think and could figure it out because I could see the Moon around me.

Compared with the Moon the Arctic is swarming with people. The Moon’s area is about equal to Asia-with fewer people than Centerville. It might be a century before anyone explored that plain where Wormface was based. Arocket ship passing over wouldn’t notice anything even if camouflage hadn’t been used; a man in a space suit would never go there; a man in a crawler would find their base only by accident even if he took the pass we were in and ranged around that plain. The lunar mapping satellite could photograph it and rephotograph, then a technician in London might note a tiny difference on two films. Maybe. Years later somebody might check up-if there wasn’t something more urgent to do in a pioneer outpost where everything is new and urgent.

As for radar sightings-there were unexplained radar sightings before I was born.

Wormface could sit there, as close to Tombaugh Station as Dallas is to Fort Worth, and not fret, snug as a snake under house. Too many square miles, not enough people. Too incredibly many square miles… . Our whole world was harsh bright cliffs and dark shadows and black sky, and endless putting one foot in front of the other.

But eventually we were going downhill oftener than up and at weary last we came to a turn where we could see out over a hot bright plain.

I There were mountains awfully far away; even from our height, up a thousand feet or so, they were beyond the horizon. I looked out over that plain, too dead beat to feel triumphant, then glanced at Earth and tried to estimate due west.

Peewee touched her helmet to mine. “There it is, Kip.” “Where?” She pointed and I caught a glint on a silvery dome. The Mother Thing trilled at my spine (“What is it, children?”) “Tombaugh Station, Mother Thing.”

Her answer was wordless assurance that we were good children and that she had known that we could do it.

The station may have been ten miles away. Distances were hard to judge, what with that funny horizon and never anything for comparison- I didn’t even know how big the dome was. “Peewee, do we dare use radio?”

She turned and looked back. I did also; we were about as alone as could be. “Let’s risk it.” “What frequency?”

“Same as before. Space operations. I think.”

So I tried. “Tombaugh Station. Come in, Tombaugh Station. Do you read me?” Then Peewee tried. I listened up and down the band I was equipped for. No luck. I shifted to horn antenna, aiming at the glint of light. No answer.

“We’re wasting time, Peewee. Let’s start slogging.”

She turned slowly away. I could feel her disappointment-I had trembled with eagerness myself. I caught up with her and touched helmets. Don’t let it throw you, Peewee. They can’t listen all day for us to call. We see it, now we’ll walk it.”

“I know,” she said dully.

As we started down we lost sight of Tombaugh Station, not only from twists and turns but because we dropped it below the horizon. I kept calling as long as there seemed any hope, then shut it off to save breath and battery.

We were about halfway down the outer slope when Peewee slowed and stopped-sank to the ground and sat still. I hurried to her. “Peewee!”

“Kip,” she said faintly, “could you go get somebody? Please? You know the way now. I’ll wait here. Please, Kip?” “Peewee!” I said sharply. “Get up! You’ve got to keep moving.”

“I c- c- can’t!” She began to cry. “I’m so thirsty … and my legs-” She passed out. “Peewee!” I shook her shoulder. “You can’t quit now! Mother Thing! -you tell her!”

Her eyelids fluttered. “Keep telling her, Mother Thing!” I flopped Peewee over and got to work. Hypoxia hits as fast as a jab on the button. I didn’t need to see her blood-color index to know it read DANGER; the gauges on her bottles told me. The oxygen bottles showed empty, the oxy-helium tank was practically so. I closed her exhaust valves, overrode her chin valve with the outside valve and let what was left in the oxy-helium bottle flow into her suit. When it started to swell I cut back the flow and barely cracked one exhaust valve. Not until then did I close stop valves and remove the empty bottle.

I found myself balked by a ridiculous thing.

Peewee had tied me too well; I couldn’t reach the knot! I could feel it with my left hand but couldn’t get my right hand around; the bottle on my front was in the way-and I couldn’t work the knot loose with one hand.

I made myself stop panicking. My knife-of course, my knife! It was an old scout knife with a loop to hang it from a belt, which was where it was. But the map hooks on Oscar’s belt were large for it and I had had to force it on. I twisted it until the loop broke.

Then I couldn’t get the little blade open. Space-suit gauntlets don’t have thumb nails.

I said to myself: Kip, quit running in circles. This is easy. All you have to do is open a knife-and you’ve got to … because Peewee is suffocating. I looked around for a sliver of rock, anything that could pinch-hit for a thumb nail. Then I checked my belt.

The prospector’s hammer did it, the chisel end of the head was sharp enough to open the blade. I cut the clothesline away.

I was still blocked. I wanted very badly to get at a bottle on my back. When I had thrown away that empty and put the last fresh one on my back, I had started feeding from it and saved the almost-half-charge in the other one. I meant to save it for a rainy day and split it with Peewee. Now was the time-she was out of air, I was practically so in one bottle but still had that half- charge in the other-plus an eighth of a charge or less in the bottle that contained straight oxygen (the best I could hope for in equalizing pressures), I had planned to surprise her with a one-quarter charge of oxy-helium, which would last longer and give more cooling. Areal knight-errant plan, I thought. I didn’t waste two seconds discarding it.

I couldn’t get that bottle off my back!

Maybe if I hadn’t modified the backpack for nonregulation bottles I could have done it. The manual says: “Reach over your shoulder with the opposite arm, close stop valves at bottle and helmet, disconnect the shackle-” My pack didn’t have shackles; I had substituted straps. But I still don’t think you can reach over your shoulder in a pressurized suit and do anything effective. I think that was written by a man at a desk. Maybe he had seen it done under favorable conditions. Maybe he had done it, but was one of those freaks who can dislocate both shoulders. But I’ll bet a full charge of oxygen that the riggers around Space Station Two did it for each other as Peewee and I had, or went inside and deflated.

If I ever get a chance, I’ll change that. Everything you have to do in a space suit should be arranged to do in front-valves, shackles, everything, even if it is to affect something in back. We aren’t like Wormface, with eyes all around and arms that bend in a dozen places; we’re built to work in front of us-that goes triple in a space suit.

You need a chin window to let you see what you’re doing, too! Athing can look fine on paper and be utterly crumby in the field. But I didn’t waste time moaning; I had a one-eighth charge of oxygen I could reach. I grabbed it.

That poor, overworked adhesive tape was a sorry mess. I didn’t bother with bandage; if I could get the tape to stick at all I’d be happy. I handled it as carefully as gold leaf, trying to get it tight, and stopped in the middle to close Peewee’s exhaust entirely when it looked as if her suit was collapsing. I finished with trembling fingers.

I didn’t have Peewee to close a valve. I simply gripped that haywired joint in one hand, opened Peewee’s empty bottle with the other, swung over fast and opened the oxygen bottle wide- jerked my hand across and grabbed the valve of Peewee’s bottle and watched those gauges.

The two needles moved toward each other. When they slowed down I started closing her bottle-and the taped joint blew out.

I got that valve closed in a hurry; I didn’t lose much gas from Peewee’s bottle. But what was left on the supply side leaked away. I didn’t stop to worry; I peeled away a scrap of adhesive, made sure the bayonet-and-snap joint was clean, got that slightly recharged bottle back on Peewee’s suit, opened stop valves.

Her suit started to distend. I opened one exhaust valve a crack and touched helmets. “Peewee! Peewee! Can you hear me? Wake up, baby! Mother Thing!-make her wake up!” “Peewee!”

“Yes, Kip?”

“Wake up! On your feet, Champ! Get up! Honey, please get up.” “Huh? Help me get my helmet off … I can’t breathe.”

“Yes, you can. Kick your chin valve-feel it, taste it. Fresh air!”

She tried, feebly; I gave her a quick strong shot, overriding her chin valve from outside. “Oh!” “See? You’ve got air. You’ve got lots of air. Now get up.”

“Oh, please, just let me lie here.”

“No, you don’t! You’re a nasty, mean, spoiled little brat-and if you don’t get up, nobody will love you. The Mother Thing won’t love you. Mother Thing!-tell her!” (“Stand up, daughter!”)

Peewee tried. I helped her, once she was trying. She trembled and clung to me and I kept her from falling. “Mother Thing?” she said faintly. “I did it. You … still love me?” (“Yes, darling!”)

“I’m dizzy … and I don’t think I … can walk.”

“You don’t have to, honey,” I said gently and picked her up in my arms. “You don’t have to walk any farther.” She didn’t weigh anything.

The trail disappeared when we were down out of the foothills but the crawler’s tracks were sharp in the dust and led due west. I had my air trimmed down until the needle of the blood- color indicator hung at the edge of the danger sector. I held it there, kicking my chin valve only when it swung past into DANGER. I figured that the designer must have left some leeway, the way they do with gasoline gauges. I had long since warned Peewee never to take her eyes off her own indicator and hold it at the danger limit. She promised and I kept reminding her. I pressed her helmet against the yoke of mine, so that we could talk.

I counted paces and every half-mile I told Peewee to call Tombaugh Station. It was over the horizon but they might have a high mast that could “see” a long way. The Mother Thing talked to her, too-anything to keep her from slipping away again. It saved my strength to have the Mother Thing talk and was good for all of us.

After a while I noticed that my needle had drifted into the red again. I kicked the valve and waited. Nothing happened. I kicked it again and the needle drifted slowly toward the white. “How you fixed for air, Peewee?”

“Just fine. Kip, just fine.”

Oscar was yelling at me. I blinked and noticed that my shadow had disappeared. It had been stretched out ahead at an angle to the tracks, the tracks were there but my shadow was not. That made me sore, so I turned around and looked for it. It was behind me.

The darn thing had been hiding. Games! (“That better!” said Oscar.)

“It’s hot in here, Oscar.”

(“You think it’s cool out here? Keep your eye on that shadow, bud-and on those tracks.”)

“All right, all right! Quit pestering me.” I made up my mind that I wouldn’t let that shadow get away again. Games it wanted to play, huh? “There’s darn little air in here, Oscar.”

(“Breathe shallow, chum. We can make it.”) “I’m breathing my socks, now.”

(“So breathe your shirt.”)

“Did I see a ship pass over?”

(“How should I know? You’re the one with the blinkers.”) “Don’t get smart. I’m in no mood to joke.”

I was sitting on the ground with Peewee across my knees and Oscar was really shouting-and so was the Mother Thing. (“Get up, you big ape! Get up and try.”) (“Get up, Kip dear! Only a little way now.”)

“I just want to get my wind.”

(“All right, you’ve got it. Call Tombaugh Station.”) I said, “Peewee, call Tombaugh Station.”

She didn’t answer. That scared me and I snapped out of it. “Tombaugh Station,, come in! Come in!” I got to my knees and then to my feet. Tombaugh Station, do you read me? Help! Help!”

Avoice answered, “I read you.”

“Help! M’aidez! I’ve got a little girl dying! Help!”

Suddenly it sprang up in front of my eyes-great shiny domes, tall towers, radio telescopes, a giant Schmidt camera. I staggered toward it. “May Day!”

An enormous lock opened and a crawler came toward me. Avoice in my phones said, “We’re coming. Stay where you are. Over and out.”

Acrawler stopped near me. Aman got out, came over and touched helmets. I gasped: “Help me get her inside.”

I got back: “You’ve given me trouble, bub. I don’t like people who give me trouble.” Abigger, fatter man got out behind him. The smaller man raised a thing like a camera and aimed it at me. That was the last I knew.

Chapter 7

I don’t know if they took us all that weary way back in the crawler, or if Wormface sent a ship. I woke up being slapped and was inside, lying down. The skinny one was slapping me-the man the fat one called “Tim.” I tried to fight back and found that I couldn’t. I was in a straitjacket thing that held me as snugly as a wrapped mummy. I let out a yelp.

Skinny grabbed my hair, jerked my head up, tried to put a big capsule into my mouth. I tried to bite him.

He slapped me harder and offered me the capsule again. His expression didn’t change-it stayed mean.

I heard: “Take it, boy,” and turned my eyes. The fat one was on the other side. “Better swallow it,” he said. “You got five bad days ahead.”

I took it. Not because of the advice but because a hand held my nose and another popped the pill into my mouth when I gasped. Fatty held a cup of water for me to wash it down; I didn’t resist that, I needed it.

Skinny stuck a hypodermic needle big enough for a horse into my shoulder. I told him what I thought of him, using words I hardly ever use. The skinny one could have been deaf; the fat one chuckled. I rolled my eyes at him. “You, too,” I added weakly. “Squared.”

Fatty clucked reprovingly. “You ought to be glad we saved your life.” He added, “Though it wasn’t my idea, you strike me as a sorry team. He wanted you alive.” “Shaddap,” Skinny said. “Strap his head.”

“Let him break his neck. We better fix our ourselves. He won’t wait.” But he started to obey. Skinny glanced at his watch. “Four minutes.”

The fat one hastily tightened a strap across my forehead, then both moved very fast, swallowing capsules, giving each other hypos. I watched as best I could.

I was back in the ship. The ceiling glowed the same way, the walls looked the same. It was the room the two men used; their beds were on each side and I was strapped to a soft couch between them.

Each hurriedly got on his bed, began zipping up a tight wrapping like a sleeping bag. Each strapped his head in place before completing the process. I was not interested in them. “Hey! What did you do with Peewee?”

The fat man chuckled. “Hear that, Tim? That’s a good one.” “Shaddap.”

“You-” I was about to sum up Fatty’s character but my thoughts got fuzzy and my tongue was thick. Besides, I wanted to ask about the Mother Thing, too. I did not get out another word. Suddenly I was incredibly heavy and the couch was rock hard.

For a long, long time I wasn’t awake or truly asleep. At first I couldn’t feel anything but that terrible weight, then I hurt all over and wanted to scream. I didn’t have the strength for it.

Slowly the pain went away and I stopped feeling anything. I wasn’t a body-just me, no attachments. I dreamed a lot and none of it made sense; I seemed to be stuck in a comic book, the sort P.T.A. meetings pass resolutions against, and the baddies were way ahead no matter what I did.

Once the couch gave a twisting lurch and suddenly I had a body, one that was dizzy. After a few ages I realized vaguely that I had gone through a skew-flip turn-over. I had known, during lucid moments, that I was going somewhere, very fast, at terribly high acceleration. I decided solemnly that we must be halfway and tried to figure out how long two times eternity was. It kept coming out eighty-five cents plus sales tax; the cash register rang “NO SALE” and I would start over.

Fats was undoing my head strap. It stuck and skin came away. “Rise and shine, bub. Time’s awastin’.” Acroak was all I managed. The skinny one was unwrapping me. My legs sagged apart and hurt. “Get up!” I tried and didn’t make it. Skinny grabbed one of my legs and started to knead it.

I screamed.

“Here, lemme do that,” said Fatty. “I used to be a trainer.”

Fats did know something about it. I gasped when his thumbs dug into my calves and he stopped. “Too rough?” I couldn’t answer. He went on massaging me and said almost jovially, “Five days at eight gravities ain’t no joy ride. But you’ll be okay. Got the needle, Tim?”

The skinny one jabbed me in my left thigh. I hardly felt it. Fats pulled me to a sitting position and handed me a cup. I thought it was water; it wasn’t and I choked and sprayed. Fats waited, then gave it to me again. “Drink some, this time.” I did.

“Okay, up on your feet. Vacation is over.”

The floor swayed and I had to grab him until it stopped. “Where are we?” I said hoarsely.

Fats grinned, as if he knew an enormously funny joke. “Pluto, of course. Lovely place, Pluto. Asummer resort.” “Shaddap. Get him moving.”

“Shake it up, kid. You don’t want to keep him waiting.”

Pluto! It couldn’t be; nobody could get that far. Why, they hadn’t even attempted Jupiter’s moons yet. Pluto was so much farther that.

My brain wasn’t working. The experience just past had shaken me so badly that I couldn’t accept the fact that the experience itself proved that I was wrong. But Pluto!

I wasn’t given time to wonder; we got into space suits. Although I hadn’t known, Oscar was there, and I was so glad to see him that I forgot everything else. He hadn’t been racked, just tossed on the floor. I bent down (discovering charley horses in every muscle) and checked him. He didn’t seem hurt.

“Get in it,” Fats ordered. “Quit fiddlin’.”

“All right,” I answered almost cheerfully. Then I hesitated. “Say-I haven’t any air.”

“Take another look,” said Fats. I looked. Charged oxy-helium bottles were on the backpack. “Although,” he continued, “if we didn’t have orders from him, I wouldn’t give you a whiff of Limburger. You made us for two bottles-and a rock hammer-and a line that cost four ninety-five, earthside. Sometime,” he stated without rancor, “I’m gonna take it out of your hide.”

“Shaddap,” said Skinny. “Get going.”

I spread Oscar open, wriggled in, clipped on the blood-color reader, and zipped the gaskets. Then I stood up, clamped my helmet, and felt better just to be inside. “Tight?” (“Tight!” Oscar agreed.)

“We’re a long way from home.”

(“But we got air! Chin up, pal.”)

Which reminded me to check the chin valve. Everything was working. My knife was gone and so were the hammer and line, but those were incidentals. We were tight.

I followed Skinny out with Fats behind me. We passed Wormface in the corridor-or a wormface-but while I shuddered, I had Oscar around me and felt that he couldn’t get at me. Another creature joined us in the air lock and I had to look twice to realize that it was a wormface in a space suit. The material was smooth and did not bulge the way ours did. It looked like a dead tree trunk with bare branches and heavy roots, but the supreme improvement was its “helmet”-a glassy smooth dome. One-way glass, I suppose; I couldn’t see in. Cased that way, a wormface was grotesquely ridiculous rather than terrifying. But I stood no closer than I had to.

Pressure was dropping and I was busy wasting air to keep from swelling up. It reminded me of what I wanted most to know: what had happened to Peewee and the Mother Thing. So I keyed my radio and announced: “Radio check. Alfa, Bravo, Coca-“

“Shaddap that nonsense. We want you, we’ll tell you.” The outer door opened and I had my first view of Pluto.

I don’t know what I expected. Pluto is so far out that they can’t get decent photographs even at Luna Observatory. I had read articles in the Scientific American and seen pictures in LIFE, bonestelled to look like photographs, and remembered that it was approaching its summer-if “summer” is the word for warm enough to melt air. I recalled that because they had announced that Pluto was showing an atmosphere as it got closer to the Sun.

But I had never been much interested in Pluto-too few facts and too much speculation, too far away and not desirable real estate. By comparison the Moon was a choice residential suburb. Professor Tombaugh (the one the station was named for) was working on a giant electronic telescope to photograph it, under a Guggenheim grant, but he had a special interest; he discovered Pluto years before I was born.

The first thing I noticed as the door was opening was click … click … click-and a fourth click, in my helmet, as Oscar’s heating units all cut in.

The Sun was in front of me-I didn’t realize what it was at first; it looked no bigger than Venus or Jupiter does from Earth (although much brighter). With no disc you could be sure of, it looked like an electric arc.

Fats jabbed me in the ribs. “Snap out of your hop.”

Adrawbridge joined the door to an elevated roadway that led into the side of a mountain about two hundred yards away. The road was supported on spidery legs two or three feet high up to ten or twelve, depending on the lay of the land. The ground was covered with snow, glaringly white even under that pinpoint Sun. Where the stilts were longest, about halfway, the viaduct crossed a brook.

What sort of “water” was that? Methane? What was the “snow”? Solid ammonia? I didn’t have tables to tell me what was solid, what was liquid, and what was gas at whatever hellish cold Pluto enjoyed in the “summer.” All I knew was that it got so cold in its winter that it didn’t have any gas or liquid-just vacuum, like the Moon.

I was glad to hurry. Awind blew from our left and was not only freezing that side of me in spite of Oscar’s best efforts, it made the footing hazardous-I decided it would be far safer to do that forced march on the Moon again than to fall into that “snow.” Would a man struggle before he shattered himself and his suit, or would he die as he hit?

Adding to hazard of wind and no guard rail was traffic, space-suited wormfaces. They moved at twice our speed and shared the road the way a dog does a bone. Even Skinny resorted to fancy footwork and I had three narrow squeaks.

The way continued into a tunnel; ten feet inside a panel snapped out of the way as we got near it. Twenty feet beyond was another; it did the same and closed behind us. There were about two dozen panels, each behaving like fast-acting gate valves, and the pressure was a little higher after each. I couldn’t see what operated them although it was light in the tunnel from glowing ceilings. Finally we passed through a heavy-duty air lock, but the pressure was already taken care of and its doors stood open. It led into a large room.

Wormface was inside. The Wormface, I think, because he spoke in English: “Come!” I heard it through my helmet. But I couldn’t be sure it was he as there were others around and I would have less trouble telling wart hogs apart.

Wormface hurried away. He was not wearing a space suit and I was relieved when he turned because I could no longer see his squirming mouth; but it was only a slight improvement as it brought into sight his rearview eye.

We were hard put to keep up. He led us down a corridor, to the right through another open double set of doors, and finally stopped suddenly just short of a hole in the floor about like a sewer manhole. “Undress it!” he commanded.

Fats and Skinny had their helmets open, so I knew it was safe, in one way. But in every other way I wanted to stay inside Oscar-as long as Wormface was around. Fats undamped my helmet. “Out of that skin, bub. Snap it up!” Skinny loosened my belt and they quickly had the suit off even though I hindered.

Wormface waited. As soon as I was out of Oscar he pointed at the hole. “Down!” I gulped. That hole looked as deep as a well and less inviting.

“Down,” he repeated. “Now.”

“Do it, bub,” Fats advised. “Jump or be pushed. Get down that hole before he gets annoyed.” I tried to run.

Wormface was around me and chivvying me back before I was well started. I slammed on the brakes and backed up-glanced behind just in time to turn a fall into a clumsy jump.

It was a long way to the bottom. Landing did not hurt the way it would have on Earth, but I turned an ankle. That didn’t matter; I wasn’t going anywhere; the hole in the ceiling was the only exit.

My cell was about twenty feet square. It was, I suppose, carved out of solid rock, although there was no way to tell as the walls and floor and ceiling were the same elephant hide used in the ship. Alighting panel covered half the ceiling and I could have read if I’d had anything to read. The only other detail was a jet of water that splashed out of a hole in the wall, landed in a depression the size of a washtub, and departed for parts unknown.

The place was warm, which was well as there was nothing resembling bed or bedclothes. I had already concluded that I might be here quite a while and was wondering about eating and sleeping.

I decided I was tired of this nonsense. I had been minding my own business, out back of my own house. Everything else was Wormface’s fault! I sat down on the floor and thought about slow ways to kill him.

I finally gave up that foolishness and wondered about Peewee and the Mother Thing. Were they here? Or were they dead somewhere between the mountains and Tombaugh Station? Thinking it over glumly, I decided that poor little Peewee was best off if she had never wakened from that second coma. I wasn’t sure about the Mother Thing because I didn’t know enough about her-but in Peewee’s case I was sure.

Well, there was a certain appropriateness to the fix I was in; a knight-errant usually lands in a dungeon at some point. But by rights, the maiden fair ought to be imprisoned in a tower in the same castle. Sorry, Peewee; as a knight-errant, I’m a good soda jerk. Or jerk. “His strength is as the strength of ten because his heart is pure.”

It wasn’t funny.

I got tired of punishing myself and looked to see what time it was-not that it mattered. But a prisoner is traditionally expected to scratch marks on the wall, tallying the days he’s been in, so I thought I might as well start. My watch was on my wrist but not running and I couldn’t start it. Maybe eight gees was too much for it, even though it was supposed to be shockproof, waterproof, magnetism-proof, and immune to un-American influences.

After a while I lay down and went to sleep. I was awakened by a clatter.

It was a ration can hitting the floor and the fall hadn’t helped it, but the key was on it and I got it open-corned beef hash and very good, too. I used the empty can to drink from-the water

might be poisoned, but did I have a choice?-and then washed the can so that it wouldn’t smell.

The water was warm. I took a bath.

I doubt if many American citizens during the past twenty years have ever needed a bath as much as I did. Then I washed my clothes. My shirt, shorts, and socks were wash-and-wear synthetics; my slacks were denim and took longer to dry, but I didn’t mind; I just wished that I had one of the two hundred bars of Skyway Soap that were home on the floor of my closet. If I had known I was coming to Pluto, I would have brought one.

Washing clothes caused me to take inventory. I had a handkerchief, sixty-seven cents in change, a dollar bill so sweat-soaked and worn that it was hard to make out Washington’s picture, a mechanical pencil stamped “Jay’s Drive-In-the thickest malts in town!”-Acanard; I make the thickest-and a grocery list I should have taken care of for Mother but hadn’t because of that silly air conditioner in Charton’s Drugstore. It wasn’t as bedraggled as the dollar bill because it had been in my shirt pocket.

I lined up my assets and looked at them. They did not look like a collection that could be reworked into a miracle weapon with which I would blast my way out, steal a ship, teach myself to pilot it, and return triumphantly to warn the President and save the country. I rearranged them and they still didn’t.

I was correct. They weren’t.

I woke up from a terrible nightmare, remembered where I was, and wished I were back in the nightmare. I lay there feeling sorry for myself and presently tears started welling out of my eyes while my chin trembled. I had never been badgered “not to be a crybaby”; Dad says there is nothing wrong with tears; it’s just that they are socially not acceptable- he says that in some cultures weeping is a social grace. But in Horace Mann Grammar School being a crybaby was no asset; I gave it up years ago. Besides, it’s exhausting and gets you nowhere. I shut off the rain and took stock.

My action list ran like this:

Escape from this cell.
Find Oscar, suit up.
Go outdoors, steal a ship, head home-if I could figure out how to gun it.

Figure out a weapon or stratagem to fight off the wormfaces or keep them busy while I sneaked out and grabbed a ship. Nothing to it. Any superman capable of teleportation and other assorted psionic tricks could do it. Just be sure the plan is foolproof and that your insurance is paid up.

Crash priority: make sure, before bidding farewell to the romantic shores of exotic Pluto and its friendly colorful natives, that neither Peewee nor the Mother Thing is here-if they are, take them along-because, contrary to some opinions, it is better to be a dead hero than a live louse. Dying is messy and inconvenient but even a louse dies someday no matter what he will do to stay alive and he is forever having to explain his choice. The gummed-up spell that I had had at the hero business had shown that it was undesirable work but the alternative was still less attractive.

The fact that Peewee knew how to gun those ships, or that the Mother Thing could coach me, did not figure. I can’t prove that, but I know.

Footnote: after I learned to run one of their ships, could I do so at eight gravities? That may simply call for arch supports for a wormface but I knew what eight gees did to me. Automatic pilot? If so, would it have directions on it, in English? (Don’t be silly, Clifford!)

Subordinate footnote: how long would it take to get home at one gravity? The rest of the century? Or just long enough to starve to death?

Occupational therapy for the lulls when I went stale on the problems. This was important in order to avoid coming apart at the seams. 0. Henry wrote stories in prison, St. Paul turned out his strongest epistles incarcerated in Rome, Hitler wrote Mein Kampf in jail-next time I would bring a typewriter and paper. This time I could work out magic squares and invent chess problems. Anything was better than feeling sorry for myself. Lions put up with zoos and wasn’t I smarter than a lion? Some, anyhow?

And so to work- One: how to get out of this hole? I came up with a straight-forward answer: there wasn’t any way. The cell was twenty feet on a side with a ceiling twelve feet high; the walls were as smooth as a baby’s cheek and as impervious as a bill collector. The other features were the hole in the ceiling, which ran about six feet still higher, the stream of water and its catch basin, and a glowing area in the ceiling. For tools I had the stuff previously listed (a few ounces of nothing much, nothing sharp, nor explosive, nor corrosive), my clothes, and an empty tin can.

I tested how high I could jump. Even a substitute guard needs springs in his legs-I touched the ceiling. That meant a gravity around one-half gee-I hadn’t been able to guess, as I had spent an endless time under one-sixth gravity followed by a few eons at eight gees; my reflexes had been mistreated.

But, although I could touch the ceiling, I could neither walk on it nor levitate. I could get that high, but there was nothing a mouse could cling to.

Well, I could rip my clothes and braid a rope. Was there anything near the hole on which to catch it? All I could recall was smooth floor. But suppose it did catch? What next? Paddle around in my skin until Wormface spotted me and herded me back down, this time with no clothes? I decided to postpone the rope trick until I worked out that next step which would confound Wormface and his tribe.

I sighed and looked around. All that was left was that jet of water and the floor basin that caught it.

There is a story about two frogs trapped in a crock of cream. One sees how hopeless it is, gives up and drowns. The other is too stupid to know he’s licked; he keeps on paddling. In a few hours he has churned so much butter that it forms an island, on which he floats, cool and comfortable, until the milkmaid comes and chucks him out.

That water spilled in and ran out. Suppose it didn’t run out?

I explored the bottom of the catch basin. The drain was large by our standards, but I thought I could plug it. Could I stay afloat while the room filled up, filled the hole above, and pushed me out the spout? Well, I could find out, I had a can.

The can looked like a pint and a “pint’s a pound the world ‘round” and a cubic foot of water weighs (on Earth) a little over sixty pounds. But I had to be sure. My feet are eleven inches long; they’ve been that size since I was ten-I took a lot of ribbing until I grew up to them. I marked eleven inches on the floor with two pennies. It turns out that a dollar bill is two and a half inches wide and quarter is a smidgeon under an inch. Shortly I knew the dimensions of room and can pretty accurately.

I held the can under the stream, letting it fill and dumping it fast, while I ticked off cans of water on my left hand and counted seconds. Eventually I calculated how long it would take to fill the room. I didn’t like the answer, so I did it over.

It would take fourteen hours to fill the room and the hole above, plus an hour to allow for crude methods. Could I stay afloat that long? You’re darn tootin’ I could!-if I had to. And I had to. There isn’t any limit to how long a man can float if he doesn’t panic.

I balled my slacks and stuffed them in the drain. I almost lost them, so I wrapped them around the can and used the bundle as a cork. It stayed put and I used the rest of my clothes to caulk it. Then I waited, feeling cocky. Maybe the flood would create the diversion I needed for the rest of the caper. Slowly the basin filled.

The water got about an inch below floor level and stopped.

Apressure switch, I suppose. I should have known that creatures who could build eight-gee, constant-boost ships would design plumbing to “fail-safe.” I wish we could. I recovered my clothes, all but one sock, and spread them to dry. I hoped the sock would foul a pump or something but I doubted it; they were good engineers.

I never really believed that story about the frogs.

Another can was tossed down-roast beef and soggy potatoes. It was filling but I began to long for peaches. The can was stenciled “Available for subsidized resale on Luna” which made it possible that Skinny and Fatty had come by this food honestly. I wondered how they liked sharing their supplies? No doubt they did so only because Wormface had twisted their arms. Which made me wonder why Wormface wanted me alive? I was in favor of it but couldn’t see why he was. I decided to call each can a “day” and let the empties be my calendar.

Which reminded me that I had not worked out how long it would take to get home on a one-gee boost, if it turned out that I could not arrange automatic piloting at eight gees. I was stymied on getting out of the cell, I hadn’t even nibbled at what I would do if I did get out (correction: when I got out), but I could work ballistics.

I didn’t need books. I’ve met people, even in this day and age, who can’t tell a star from a planet and who think of astronomical distances simply as “big.” They remind me of those primitives who have just four numbers: one, two, three, and “many.” But any tenderfoot Scout knows the basic facts and a fellow bitten by the space bug (such as myself) usually knows a number of figures.

“Mother very thoughtfully made a jelly sandwich under no protest.” Could you forget that after saying it a few times? Okay, lay it out so: Mother MERCURY$.39

Very VENUS $.72 Thoughtfully TERRA$1.00 Made MARS $1.50

AASTEROIDS (assorted prices, unimportant) Jelly JUPITER $5.20

Sandwich SATURN $9.50 Under URANUS $19.00 No NEPTUNE $30.00

Protest PLUTO $39.50

The “prices” are distances from the Sun in astronomical units. An A.U. is the mean distance of Earth from Sun, 93,000,000 miles. It is easier to remember one figure that everybody knows and some little figures than it is to remember figures in millions and billions. I use dollar signs because a figure has more flavor if I think of it as money-which Dad considers deplorable. Some way you must remember them, or you don’t know your own neighborhood.

Now we come to a joker. The list says that Pluto’s distance is thirty-nine and a half times Earth’s distance. But Pluto and Mercury have very eccentric orbits and Pluto’s is a dilly; its distance varies almost two billion miles, more than the distance from the Sun to Uranus. Pluto creeps to the orbit of Neptune and a hair inside, then swings way out and stays there a couple of centuries-it makes only four round trips in a thousand years.

But I had seen that article about how Pluto was coming into its “summer.” So I knew it was close to the orbit of Neptune now, and would be for the rest of my life-my life expectancy in Centerville; I didn’t look like a preferred risk here. That gave an easy figure-30 astronomical units.

Acceleration problems are simple s=1/2 at2; distance equals half the acceleration times the square of elapsed time. If astrogation were that simple any sophomore could pilot a rocket ship-the complications come from gravitational fields and the fact that everything moves fourteen directions at once. But I could disregard gravitational fields and planetary motions; at the speeds a wormface ship makes neither factor matters until you are very close. I wanted a rough answer.

I missed my slipstick. Dad says that anyone who can’t use a slide rule is a cultural illiterate and should not be allowed to vote. Mine is a beauty- a K&E 20” Log-log Duplex Decitrig. Dad surprised me with it after I mastered a ten-inch polyphase. We ate potato soup that week-but Dad says you should always budget luxuries first. I knew where it was. Home on my desk.

No matter. I had figures, formula, pencil and paper.

First a check problem. Fats had said “Pluto,” “five days,” and “eight gravities.”

It’s a two-piece problem; accelerate for half time (and half distance); do a skew-flip and decelerate the other half time (and distance). You can’t use the whole distance in the equation, as “time” appears as a square-it’s a parabolic. Was Pluto in opposition? Or quadrature? Or conjunction? Nobody looks at Pluto-so why remember where it is on the ecliptic? Oh, well, the average distance was 30 A.U.s-that would give a close-enough answer. Half that distance, in feet, is: 1/2 x 30 x 93,000,000 x 5280. Eight gravities is: 8 x 32.2 ft./sec./sec.-speed increases by 258 feet per second every second up to skew-flip and decreases just as fast thereafter.

So- 1/2 x 30 x 93,000,000 x 5280 = 1/2 x 8 x 32.2 x t2 -and you wind up with the time for half the trip, in seconds. Double that for full trip. Divide by 3600 to get hours; divide by 24 and you have days. On a slide rule such a problem takes forty seconds, most of it to get your decimal point correct. It’s as easy as computing sales tax.

It took me at least an hour and almost as long to prove it, using a different sequence-and a third time, because the answers didn’t match (I had forgotten to multiply by 5280, and had “miles” on one side and “feet” on the other-a no-good way to do arithmetic)-then a fourth time because my confidence was shaken. I tell you, the slide rule is the greatest invention since girls.

But I got a proved answer. Five and a half days. I was on Pluto. Or maybe Neptune-

No, on Neptune I would not be able to jump to a twelve-foot ceiling; Pluto alone matched all facts. So I erased and computed the trip at one gravity, with turnover. Fifteen days.

It seemed to me that it ought to take at least eight times as long at one gee as at eight-more likely sixty-four. Then I was glad I had bulled my way through analytical geometry, for I made a rough plot and saw the trouble. Squared time cut down the advantage-because the more boost, the shorter the trip, and the shorter the trip the less time in which to use the built-up speed. To cut time in half, you need four times as much boost; to cut it to a quarter, you need sixteen times the boost, and so on. This way lies bankruptcy.

To learn that I could get home in about two weeks at one gravity cheered me. I couldn’t starve in two weeks. If I could steal a ship. If I could run it. If I could climb out of this hole. If- Not “if,” but “when!” I was too late for college this year; fifteen more days wouldn’t matter.

I had noticed, in the first problem, the speed we had been making at skew-flip. More than eleven thousand miles per second. That’s a nice speed, even in space. It made me think. Consider the nearest star, Proxima Centauri, four and three-tenths light-years away, the distance you hear so often on quiz shows. How long at eight gees?

The problem was the same sort but I had to be careful about decimal points; the figures mount up. Alightyear is-I had forgotten. So multiply 186,000 miles per second (the speed of light) by the seconds in a year (365.25 x 24 x 3600) and get-5,880,000,000,000 miles -multiply that by 4.3 and get- 25,284,000,000,000 Call it twenty-five trillion miles. Whew!

It works out to a year and five months-not as long as a trip around the Horn only last century. Why, these monsters had star travel!

I don’t know why I was surprised; it had been staring me in the face. I had assumed that Wormface had taken me to his home planet, that he was a Plutonian, or Plutocrat, or whatever the word is. But he couldn’t be.

He breathed air. He kept his ship warm enough for me. When he wasn’t in a hurry, he cruised at one gee, near enough. He used lighting that suited my eyes. Therefore he came from the sort of planet I came from.

Proxima Centauri is a double star, as you know if you do crossword puzzles, and one is a twin for our own Sun-size, temperature, special pattern. Is it a fair guess that it has a planet like Earth? I had a dirty hunch that I knew Wormface’s home address.

I knew where he didn’t come from. Not from a planet that runs a couple of centuries in utter airlessness with temperatures pushing absolute zero, followed by a “summer” in which some gases melt but water is solid rock and even Wormface has to wear a space suit. Nor from anywhere in our system, for I was sure as taxes that Wormface felt at home only on a planet like ours. Never mind the way he looked; spiders don’t look like us but they like the things we like-there must be a thousand spiders in our houses for every one of us.

Wormface and his kin would like Earth. My fear was that they liked it too much.

I looked at that Proxima Centauri problem and saw something else. The turn-over speed read 1,110,000 miles per second, six times the speed of light. Relativity theory says that’s impossible.

I wanted to talk to Dad about it. Dad reads everything from The Anatomy of Melancholy to Acta Mathematica and Paris-Match and will sit on a curbstone separating damp newspapers wrapped around garbage in order to see continued-on-page-eight. Dad would haul down a book and we’d look it up. Then he would try four or five more with other opinions. Dad doesn’t hold with the idea that it-must-be-true-or-they-wouldn’t-have-printed-it; he doesn’t consider any opinion sacred-it shocked me the first time he took out a pen and changed something in one of my math books.

Still, even if speed-of-light was a limit, four or five years wasn’t impossible, or even impractical. We’ve been told for so long that star trips, even to the nearest stars, would take generations that we may have a wrong slant. Amile of lunar mountains is a long way but a trillion miles in empty space may not be.

But what was Wormface doing on Pluto?

If you were invading another solar system, how would you start? I’m not joking; a dungeon on Pluto is no joke and I never laughed at Wormface. Would you just barge in, or toss your hat in first? They seemed far ahead of us in engineering but they couldn’t have known that ahead of time. Wouldn’t it be smart to build a supply base in that system in some spot nobody ever visited?

Then you could set up advance bases, say on an airless satellite of a likely-looking planet, from which you could scout the surface of the target planet. If you lost your scouting base, you would pull back to main base and work out a new attack.

Remember that while Pluto is a long way off to us, it was only five days from Luna for Wormface. Think about World War II, back when speeds were slow. Main Base is safely out of reach (U.S.A./Pluto) but only about five days from advance base (England/The Moon) which is three hours from theater-of-operations (France-Germany/Earth). That’s a slow way to operate but it worked for the Allies in World War II.

I just hoped it would not work for Wormface’s gang. Though I didn’t see anything to prevent it.

Somebody chucked down another can-spaghetti and meat balls. If it had been canned peaches, I might not have had the fortitude to do what I did next, which was to use it for a hammer before I opened it. I beat an empty can into a flat narrow shape and beat a point on it, which I sharpened on the edge of the catch basin. When I was through, I had a dagger -not a good one, but it made me feel less helpless.

Then I ate. I felt sleepy and went to sleep in a warm glow. I was still a prisoner but I had a weapon of sorts and I believed that I had figured out what I was up against. Getting a problem analyzed is two-thirds of solving it. I didn’t have nightmares.

The next thing tossed down the hole was Fats.

Skinny landed on him seconds later. I backed off and held my dagger ready. Skinny ignored me, picked himself up, looked around, went to the water spout and got a drink. Fats was in no shape to do anything; his breath was knocked out.

I looked at him and thought what a nasty parcel he was. Then I thought, oh, what the deuce!-he had massaged me when I needed it. I heaved him onto his stomach and began artificial respiration. In four or five pushes his motor caught and he was able to breathe. He gasped, “That’s enough!”

I backed off, got my knife out. Skinny was sitting against a wall, ignoring us. Fats looked at my feeble weapon and said, “Put that away, kid. We’re bosom buddies now.” “We are?”

“Yeah. Us human types had better stick together.” He sighed wretchedly. “After all we done for him! That’s gratitude.” “What do you mean?” I demanded.

“Huh?” said Fats. “Just what I said. He decided he could do without us. So Annie doesn’t live here any more.” “Shaddap,” the skinny one said flatly.

Fats screwed his face into a pout. “You shaddap,” he said peevishly. “I’m tired of that. It’s shaddap here, shaddap there, all day long-and look where we are.” “Shaddap, I said.”

Fats shut up. I never did find out what had happened, because Fats seldom gave the same explanation twice. The older man never spoke except for that tiresome order to shut up, or in monosyllables even less helpful. But one thing was clear: they had lost their jobs as assistant gangsters, or fifth columnists, or whatever you call a human being who would stooge against his own race. Once Fats said, “Matter of fact, it’s your fault.”

“Mine?” I dropped my hand to my tin-can knife.

“Yours. If you hadn’t butted in, he wouldn’t have got sore.” “I didn’t do anything.”

“Says you. You swiped his two best prizes, that’s all, and held him up when he planned to high-tail it back here.” “Oh. But that wasn’t your fault.” “So I told him. You try telling him. Take your hand away from that silly nail file.” Fats shrugged. “Like I always say, let bygones be bygones.”

I finally learned the thing I wanted most to know. About the fifth time I brought up the matter of Peewee, Fats said, “What d’you want to know about the brat for?” “I just want to know whether she’s alive or dead.”

“Oh, she’s alive. Leastwise she was last time I seen her.” “When was that?”

“You ask too many questions. Right here.” “She’s here?” I said eagerly.

“That’s what I said, wasn’t it? Around everywhere and always underfoot. Living like a princess, if you ask me.” Fats picked his teeth and frowned. “Why he should make a pet out of her and treat us the way he did, beats me. It ain’t right.”

I didn’t think so, either, but for another reason. The idea that gallant little Peewee was the spoiled darling of Wormface I found impossible to believe. There was some explanation-or Fats was lying. “You mean he doesn’t have her locked up?”

“What’s it get him? Where’s she gonna go?”

I pondered that myself. Where could you go?-when to step outdoors was suicide. Even if Peewee had her space suit (and that, at least, was probably locked up), even if a ship was at hand and empty when she got outside, even if she could get into it, she still wouldn’t have a “ship’s brain,” the little gadget that served as a lock. “What happened to the Mother Thing?”

“The what?”

“The-” I hesitated. “Uh, the non-human who was in my space suit with me. You must know, you were there. Is she alive? Is she here?” But Fats was brooding. “Them bugs don’t interest me none,” he said sourly and I could get no more out of him.

But Peewee was alive (and a hard lump in me was suddenly gone). She was here! Her chances, even as a prisoner, had been enormously better on the Moon; nevertheless I felt almost ecstatic to know that she was near. I began thinking about ways to get a message to her.

As for Fats’ insinuation that she was playing footy with Wormface, it bothered me not at all. Peewee was unpredictable and sometimes a brat and often exasperating, as well as conceited, supercilious, and downright childish. But she would be burned alive rather than turn traitor. Joan of Arc had not been made of sterner stuff.

We three kept uneasy truce. I avoided them, slept with one eye open, and tried not to sleep unless they were asleep first, and I always kept my dagger at hand. I did not bathe after they joined me; it would have put me at a disadvantage. The older one ignored me, Fats was almost friendly. I pretended not to be afraid of my puny weapon, but I think he was. The reason I think so comes from the first time we were fed. Three cans dropped from the ceiling; Skinny picked up one, Fats got one, but when I circled around to take the third, Fats snatched it.

I said, “Give me that, please.”

Fats grinned. “What makes you think this is for you, sonny boy?” “Uh, three cans, three people.”

“So what? I’m feeling a mite hungry. I don’t hardly think I can spare it.” “I’m hungry, too. Be reasonable.”

“Mmmm-” He seemed to consider it. “Tell you what. I’ll sell it to you.”

I hesitated. It had a shifty logic; Wormface couldn’t walk into Lunar Base commissary and buy these rations; probably Fats or his partner had bought them. I wouldn’t mind signing I.O.U.s-a hundred dollars a meal, a thousand, or a million; money no longer meant anything. Why not humor him?

No! If I gave in, if I admitted I had to dicker with him for my prison rations, he would own me. I’d wait on him hand and foot, do anything he told me, just to eat. I let him see my tin dagger. “I’ll fight you for it.”

Fats glanced at my hand and grinned broadly. “Can’t you take a joke?”

He tossed me the can. There was no trouble at feeding times after that, We lived like that “Happy Family” you sometimes see in traveling zoos: a lion caged with a lamb. It is a startling exhibit but the lamb has to be replaced frequently. Fats liked to talk and I learned things from him, when I could sort out truth from lies. His name-so he said-was Jacques de Barre de Vigny (“Call me ‘Jock.’ “) and the older man was Timothy Johnson-but I had a hunch that their real names could be learned only by inspecting post office bulletin boards. Despite Jock’s pretense of knowing everything, I soon decided that he knew nothing about Wormface’s origin and little about his plans and purposes. Wormface did not seem the sort to discuss things with “lower animals”; he would simply make use of them, as we use horses.

Jock admitted one thing readily. “Yeah, we put the snatch on the brat. There’s no uranium on the Moon; those stories are just to get suckers. We were wasting our time-and a man’s got to eat, don’t he?”

I didn’t make the obvious retort; I wanted information. Tim said, “Shaddap!”

“Aw, what of it, Tim? You worried about the F.B.I.? You think the Man can put the arm on you-here?” “Shaddap, I said.”

“Happens I feel like talking. So blow it.” Jock went on, “It was easy. The brat’s got more curiosity than seven cats. He knew she was coming and when.” Jock looked thoughtful. “He always knows-he’s got lots of people working for him, some high up. All I had to do was be in Luna City and get acquainted-I made the contact because Tim here ain’t the fatherly type, the way I am. I get to talking with her, I buy her a coke, I tell her about the romance of hunting uranium on the Moon and similar hogwash. Then I sigh and say it’s too bad I can’t show her the mine of my partner and I. That’s all it took. When the tourist party visited Tombaugh Station, she got away and sneaked out the lock-she worked that part out her ownself. She’s sly, that one. All we had to do was wait where I told her -didn’t even have to be rough with her until she got worried about taking longer for the crawler to get to our mine than I told her.” Jock grinned. “She fights pretty well for her weight. Scratched me some.”

Poor little Peewee! Too bad she hadn’t drawn and quartered him! But the story sounded true, for it was the way Peewee would behave-sure of herself, afraid of no one, unable to resist any “educational” experience.

Jock went on, “It wasn’t the brat he wanted. He wanted her old man. Had some swindle to get him to the Moon, didn’t work.” Jock grinned sourly. “That was a bad time, things ain’t good when he don’t have his own way. But he had to settle for the brat. Tim here pointed out to him he could trade.”

Tim chucked in one word which I took as a general denial. Jock raised his eyebrows. “Listen to vinegar puss. Nice manners, ain’t he?”

Maybe I should have kept quiet since I was digging for facts, not philosophy. But I’ve got Peewee’s failing myself; when I don’t understand, I have an unbearable itch to know why. I didn’t (and don’t) understand what made Jock tick. “Jock? Why did you do it?”

“Huh?”

“Look, you’re a human being.” (At least he looked like one.) “As you pointed out, we humans had better stick together. How could you bring yourself to kidnap a little girl-and turn her over to him?”

“Are you crazy, boy?” “I don’t think so.”

“You talk crazy. Have you ever tried not doing something he wanted? Try it some time.”

I saw his point. Refusing Wormface would be like a rabbit spitting in a snake’s eye-as I knew too well. Jock went on, “You got to understand the other man’s viewpoint. Live and let live, I always say. We got grabbed while we were messin’ around, lookin’ for carnotite-and after that, we never stood no chance. You can’t fight City Hall, that gets you nowhere. So we made a dicker-we run his errands, he pays us in uranium.”

My faint sympathy vanished. I wanted to throw up. “And you got paid?” “Well … you might say we got time on the books.”

I looked around our cell. “You made a bad deal.”

Jock grimaced, looking like a sulky baby. “Maybe so. But be reasonable, kid. You got to cooperate with the inevitable. These boys are moving in-they got what it takes. You seen that yourself. Well, a man’s got to look out for number one, don’t he? It’s a cinch nobody else will. Now I seen a case like this when I was no older than you and it taught me a lesson. Our town had run quietly for years, but the Big Fellow was getting old and losing his grip … whereupon some boys from St. Louis moved in. Things were confused for a while. Aman had to know which way to jump-else he woke up wearing a wooden overcoat, like as not. Those that seen the handwriting made out; those that didn’t … well, it don’t do no good to buck the current, I always say. That makes sense, don’t it?”

I could follow his “logic”-provided you accepted his “live louse” standard. But he had left out a key point. “Even so. Jock, I don’t see how you could do that to a little girl.” “Huh? I just explained how we couldn’t help it.”

“But you could. Even allowing how hard it is to face up to him and refuse orders, you had a perfect chance to duck out.” “Wha’ d’you mean?”

“He sent you to Luna City to find her, you said so. You’ve got a return-fare benefit-I know you have, I know the rules. All you had to do was sit tight, where he couldn’t reach you-and take the next ship back to Earth. You didn’t have to do his dirty work.”

“But-“

I cut him off. “Maybe you couldn’t help yourself, out in a lunar desert. Maybe you wouldn’t feel safe even inside Tombaugh Station. But when he sent you into Luna City, you had your chance. You didn’t have to steal a little girl and turn her over to a-a bug-eyed monster!”

He looked baffled, then answered quickly. “Kip, I like you. You’re a good boy. But you ain’t smart. You don’t understand.”

“I think I do!”

“No, you don’t.” He leaned toward me, started to put a hand on my knee; I drew back. He went on, “There’s something I didn’t tell you … for fear you’d think I was a-well, a zombie, or something. They operated on us.”

“Huh?”

“They operated on us,” he went on glibly. “They planted bombs in our heads. Remote control, like a missile. Aman gets out of line … he punches a button-blooie! Brains all over the ceiling.” He fumbled at the nape of his neck. “See the scar? My hair’s getting kind o’ long … but if you look close I’m sure you’ll see it; it can’t ‘ave disappeared entirely. See it?”

I started to look. I might even have been sold on it-I had been forced to believe less probable things lately. Tim cut short my suspended judgment with one explosive word. Jock flinched, then braced himself and said, “Don’t pay any attention to him!”

I shrugged and moved away. Jock didn’t talk the rest of that “day.” That suited me.

The next “morning” I was roused by Jock’s hand on my shoulder. “Wake up, Kip! Wake up!”

I groped for my toy weapon. “It’s over there by the wall,” Jock said, “but it ain’t ever goin’ to do you any good now.” I grabbed it. “What do you mean? Where’s Tim?”

“You didn’t wake up?” “Huh?”

“This is what I’ve been scared of. Cripes, boy! I just had to talk to somebody. You slept through it?” “Through what? And where’s Tim?”

Jock was shivering and sweating. “They blue-lighted us, that’s what. They took Tim.” He shuddered. “I’m glad it was him. I thought-well, maybe you’ve noticed I’m a little stout … they like fat.”

“What do you mean? What have they done with him?”

“Poor old Tim. He had his faults, like anybody, but-He’s soup, by now … that’s what.” He shuddered again. “They like soup-bones and all.” “I don’t believe it. You’re trying to scare me.”

“So?” He looked me up and down. “They’ll probably take you next. Son, if you’re smart, you’ll take that letter opener of yours over to that horse trough and open your veins. It’s better that way.”

I said, “Why don’t you? Here, I’ll lend it to you.” He shook his head and shivered. “I ain’t smart.”

I don’t know what became of Tim. I don’t know whether the wormfaces ate people, or not. (You can’t say “cannibal.” We may be mutton, to them.) I wasn’t especially scared because I had long since blown all fuses in my “scare” circuits.

What happens to my body after I’m through with it doesn’t matter to me. But it did to Jock; he had a phobia about it. I don’t think Jock was a coward; cowards don’t even try to become prospectors on the Moon. He believed his theory and it shook him. He halfway admitted that he had more reason to believe it than I had known. He had been to Pluto once before, so he said, and other men who had come along, or been dragged, on that trip hadn’t come back.

When feeding time came-two cans-he said he wasn’t hungry and offered me his rations. That “night” he sat up and kept himself awake. Finally I just had to go to sleep before he did. I awoke from one of those dreams where you can’t move. The dream was correct; sometime not long before, I had surely been blue-lighted.

Jock was gone.

I never saw either of them again.

Somehow I missed them … Jock at least. It was a relief not to have to watch all the time, it was luxurious to bathe. But it gets mighty boring, pacing your cage alone. I have no illusions about them. There must be well over three billion people I would rather be locked up with. But they were people.

Tim didn’t have anything else to recommend him; he was as coldly vicious as a guillotine. But Jock had some slight awareness of right and wrong, or he wouldn’t have tried to justify himself. You might say he was just weak.

But I don’t hold with the idea that to understand all is to forgive all; you follow that and first thing you know you’re sentimental over murderers and rapists and kidnappers and forgetting their victims. That’s wrong. I’ll weep over the likes of Peewee, not over criminals whose victims they are. I missed Jock’s talk but if there were some way to drown such creatures at birth, I’d take my turn as executioner. That goes double for Tim.

If they ended up as soup for hobgoblins, I couldn’t honestly be sorry- even though it might be my turn tomorrow. As soup, they probably had their finest hour.

Chapter 8

I was jarred out of useless brain-cudgeling by an explosion, a sharp crack -a bass rumble-then a whoosh! of reduced pressure. I bounced to my feet-anyone who has ever depended on a space suit is never again indifferent to a drop in pressure.

I gasped, “What the deuce!”

Then I added, “Whoever is on watch had better get on the ball-or we’ll all be breathing thin cold stuff.” No oxygen outside, I was sure-or rather the astronomers were and I didn’t want to test it.

Then I said, “Somebody bombing us? I hope. “Or was it an earthquake?”

This was not an idle remark. That Scientific American article concerning “summer” on Pluto had predicted “sharp isostatic readjustments” as the temperature rose-which is a polite way of saying, “Hold your hats! Here comes the chimney!”

I was in an earthquake once, in Santa Barbara; I didn’t need a booster shot to remember what every Californian knows and others learn in one lesson: when the ground does a jig, get outdoors!

Only I couldn’t.

I spent two minutes checking whether adrenalin had given me the strength to jump eighteen feet instead of twelve. It hadn’t. That was all I did for a half-hour, if you don’t count nail biting. Then I heard my name! “Kip! Oh, Kip!”

“Peewee!” I screamed. “Here! Peewee!”

Silence for an eternity of three heartbeats- “Kip?” “Down HERE!”

“Kip? Are you down this hole?”

“Yes! Can’t you see me?” I saw her head against the light above. “Uh, I can now. Oh, Kip, I’m so glad!”

“Then why are you crying? So am I!”

“I’m not crying,” she blubbered. “Oh Kip … Kip.” “Can you get me out?”

“Uh-” She surveyed that drop. “Stay where you are.” “Don’t go ‘way!” She already had.

She wasn’t gone two minutes; it merely seemed like a week. Then she was back and the darling had a nylon rope! “Grab on!” she shrilled.

“Wait a sec. How is it fastened?” “I’ll pull you up.”

“No, you won’t-or we’ll both be down here. Find somewhere to belay it.” “I can lift you.”

“Belay it! Hurry!”

She left again, leaving an end in my hands. Shortly I heard very faintly: “On belay!”

I shouted, “Testing!” and took up the slack. I put my weight on it-it held. “Climbing!” I yelled, and followed the final “g” up the hole and caught it.

She flung herself on me, an arm around my neck, one around Madame Pompadour, and both of mine around her. She was even smaller and skinnier than I remembered. “Oh, Kip, it’s been just awful.”

I patted her bony shoulder blades. “Yeah, I know. What do we do now? Where’s W-“ I started to say, “Where’s Wormface?” but she burst into tears.

“Kip-I think she’s dead!”

My mind skidded-I was a bit stir-crazy anyhow. “Huh? Who?”

She looked as amazed as I was confused. “Why, the Mother Thing.”

“Oh.” I felt a flood of sorrow. “But, honey, are you sure? She was talking to me all right up to the last-and I didn’t die.” “What in the world are you talk- Oh. I don’t mean then. Kip; I mean now.”

“Huh? She was here?” “Of course. Where else?”

Now that’s a silly question, it’s a big universe. I had decided long ago that the Mother Thing couldn’t be here-because Jock had brushed off the subject. I reasoned that Jock would either have said that she was here or have invented an elaborate lie, for the pleasure of lying. Therefore she wasn’t on his list-perhaps he had never seen her save as a bulge under my suit.

I was so sure of my “logic” that it took a long moment to throw off prejudice and accept fact. “Peewee,” I said, gulping, “I feel like I’d lost my own mother. Are you sure?” ” ‘Feel as if,’ ” she said automatically. “I’m not sure sure … but she’s outside-so she must be dead.”

“Wait a minute. If she’s outside, she’s wearing a space suit? Isn’t she?” “No, no! She hasn’t had one-not since they destroyed her ship.”

I was getting more confused. “How did they bring her in here?”

“They just sacked her and sealed her and carried her in. Kip-what do we do now?”

I knew several answers, all of them wrong-I had already considered them during my stretch in jail. “Where is Wormface? Where are all the wormfaces?”

“Oh. All dead. I think.”

“I hope you’re right.” I looked around for a weapon and never saw a hallway so bare. My toy dagger was only eighteen feet away but I didn’t feel like going back down for it. “What makes you think so?”

Peewee had reason to think so. The Mother Thing didn’t look strong enough to tear paper but what she lacked in beef she made up in brains. She had done what I had tried to do: reasoned out a way to take them all on. She had not been able to hurry because her plan had many factors all of which had to mesh at once and many of them she could not influence; she had to wait for the breaks.

First, she needed a time when there were few wormfaces around. The base was indeed a large supply dump and space port and transfer point, but it did not need a large staff. It had been unusually crowded the few moments I had seen it, because our ship was in.

Second, it also had to be when no ships were in because she couldn’t cope with a ship-she couldn’t get at it.

Third, H-Hour had to be while the wormfaces were feeding. They all ate together when there were few enough not to have to use their mess hall in relays-crowded around one big tub and sopping it up, I gathered -a scene out of Dante. That would place all her enemies on one target, except possibly one or two on engineering or communication watches.

“Wait a minute!” I interrupted. “You said they were all dead?” “Well … I don’t know. I haven’t seen any.”

“Hold everything until I find something to fight with.” “But-“

“First things first, Peewee.”

Saying that I was going to find a weapon wasn’t finding one. That corridor had nothing but more holes like the one I had been down- which was why Peewee had looked for me there; it was one of the few places where she had not been allowed to wander at will. Jock had been correct on one point: Peewee-and the Mother Thing-had been star prisoners, allowed all privileges except freedom … whereas Jock and Tim and myself had been third-class prisoners and/or soup bones. It fitted the theory that Peewee and the Mother Thing were hostages rather than ordinary P.W.s.

I didn’t explore those holes after I looked down one and saw a human skeleton-maybe they got tired of tossing food to him. When I straightened up Peewee said, “What are you shaking about?”

“Nothing. Come on.” “I want to see.”

“Peewee, every second counts and we’ve done nothing but yak. Come on. Stay behind me.”

I kept her from seeing the skeleton, a major triumph over that little curiosity box-although it probably would not have affected her much; Peewee was sentimental only when it suited her. “Stay behind me” had the correct gallant sound but it was not based on reason. I forgot that attack could come from the rear-I should have said:

“Follow me and watch behind us.”

She did anyway. I heard a squeal and whirled around to see a wormface with one of those camera-like things aimed at me. Even though Tim had used one on me I didn’t realize what it was; for a moment I froze.

But not Peewee. She launched herself through the air, attacking with both hands and both feet in the gallant audacity and utter recklessness of a kitten.

That saved me. Her attack would not have hurt anything but another kitten but it mixed him up so that he didn’t finish what he was doing, namely paralyzing or killing me; he tripped over her and went down.

And I stomped him. With my bare feet I stomped him, landing on that lobster-horror head with both feet. His head crunched. It felt awful.

It was like jumping on a strawberry box. It splintered and crunched and went to pieces. I cringed at the feel, even though I was in an agony to fight, to kill. I trampled worms and hopped away, feeling sick. I scooped up Peewee and pulled her back, as anxious to get clear as I had been to Join battle seconds before.

I hadn’t killed it. For an awful moment I thought I was going to have to wade back in. Then I saw that while it was alive, it did not seem aware of us. It flopped like a chicken freshly chopped, then quieted and began to move purposefully.

But it couldn’t see. I had smashed its eyes and maybe its ears-but certainly those terrible eyes.

It felt around the floor carefully, then got to its feet, still undamaged except that its head was a crushed ruin. It stood still, braced tripod-style by that third appendage, and felt the air. I pulled us back farther.

It began to walk. Not toward us or I would have screamed. It moved away, ricocheted off a wall, straightened out, and went back the way we had come. t reached one of those holes they used for prisoners, walked into it and dropped. I sighed, and realized that I had been holding Peewee too tightly to breathe. I put her down.

“There’s your weapon,” she said. “Huh?”

“On the floor. Just beyond where I dropped Madame Pompadour. The gadget.” She went over, picked up her dolly, brushed away bits of ruined wormface, then took the camera-like thing and handed it to me. “Be careful. Don’t point it toward you. Or me.”

“Peewee,” I said faintly, “don’t you ever have an attack of nerves?”

“Sure I do. When I have leisure for it. Which isn’t now. Do you know how to work it?” “No. Do you?”

“I think so. I’ve seen them and the Mother Thing told me about them.” She took it, handling it casually but not pointing it at either of us. “These holes on top-uncover one of them, it stuns. If you uncover them all, it kills. To make it work you push it here.” She did and a bright blue light shot out, splashed against the wall. “The light doesn’t do anything,” she added. “It’s for aiming. I hope there wasn’t anybody on the other side of that wall. No, I hope there was. You know what I mean.”

It looked like a cockeyed 35 mm. camera, with a lead lens-one built from an oral description. I took it, being very cautious where I pointed it, and looked at it. Then I tried it-full power, by mistake.

The blue light was a shaft in the air and the wall where it hit glowed and began to smoke. I shut it off. “You wasted power,” Peewee chided. “You may need it later.”

“Well, I had to try it. Come on, let’s go.”

Peewee glanced at her Mickey Mouse watch-and I felt irked that it had apparently stood up when my fancy one had not. “There’s very little time. Kip. Can’t we assume that only this one escaped?”

“What? We certainly cannot! Until we’re sure that all of them are dead, we can’t do anything else. Come on.”

“But- Well, I’ll lead. I know my way around, you don’t.” “No.”

“Yes!”

So we did it her way; she led and carried the blue-light projector while I covered the rear and wished for a third eye, like a wormface. I couldn’t argue that my reflexes were faster when they weren’t, and she knew more than I did about our weapon.

But it’s graveling, just the same.

The base was huge; half that mountain must have been honeycombed. We did it at a fast trot, ignoring things as complicated as museum exhibits and twice as interesting, simply making sure that no wormface was anywhere. Peewee ran with the weapon at the ready, talking twenty to the dozen and urging me on.

Besides an almost empty base, no ships in, and the wormfaces feeding, the Mother Thing’s plan required that all this happen shortly before a particular hour of the Plutonian night. “Why?” I panted.

“So she could signal her people, of course.”

“But-” I shut up. I had wondered about the Mother Thing’s people but didn’t even know as much about her as I did about Wormface- except that she was everything that made her the Mother Thing. Now she was dead-Peewee said that she was outside without a space suit, so she was surely dead; that little soft warm thing wouldn’t last two seconds in that ultra-arctic weather. Not to mention suffocation and lung hemorrhage. I choked up.

Of course, Peewee might be wrong. I had to admit that she rarely was- but this might be one of the times … in which case we would find her. But if we didn’t find her, she was outside and- “Peewee, do you know where my space suit is?”

“Huh? Of course. Right next to where I got this.” She patted the nylon rope, which she had coiled around her waist and tied with a bow. “Then the second we are sure that we’ve cleaned out the wormfaces I’m going outside and look for her!”

“Yes, yes! But we’ve got to find my suit, too. I’m going with you.”

No doubt she would. Maybe I could persuade her to wait in the tunnel out of that bone-freezing wind. “Peewee, why did she have to send her message at night? To a ship in a rotation- period orbit? Or is there-“

My words were chopped off by a rumble. The floor shook in that loose-bearing vibration that frightens people and animals alike. We stopped dead. “What was that?” Peewee whispered. I swallowed. “Unless it’s part of this rumpus the Mother Thing planned-“

“It isn’t. I think.” “It’s a quake.”

“An earthquake?”

“APluto quake. Peewee, we’ve got to get out of here!”

I wasn’t thinking about where-you don’t in a quake. Peewee gulped. “We can’t bother with earthquakes; we haven’t time. Hurry, Kip, hurry!” She started to run and I followed, gritting my teeth. If Peewee could ignore a quake, so could I-though it’s like ignoring a rattlesnake in bed.

“Peewee … Mother Thing’s people … is their ship in orbit around Pluto?” “What? Oh, no, no! They’re not in a ship.”

“Then why at night? Something about the Heavyside layers here? How far away is their base?” I was wondering how far a man could walk here. We had done almost forty miles on the Moon. Could we do forty blocks here? Or even forty yards? You could insulate your feet, probably. But that wind- “Peewee, they don’t live here, do they?”

“What? Don’t be silly! They have a nice planet of their own. Kip, if you keep asking foolish questions, we’ll be too late. Shut up and listen.”

I shut up. What follows I got in snatches as we ran, and some of it later. When the Mother Thing had been captured, she had lost ship, space clothing, communicator, everything; Wormface had destroyed it all. There had been treachery, capture through violation of truce while parleying. “He grabbed her when they were supposed to be under a King’s ‘X’ ” was Peewee’s indignant description, “and that’s not fair! He had promised.”

Treachery would be as natural in Wormface as venom in a Gila monster; I was surprised that the Mother Thing had risked a palaver with him. It left her a prisoner of ruthless monsters equipped with ships that made ours look like horseless carriages, weapons which started with a “death ray” and ended heaven knows where, plus bases, organization, supplies.

She had only her brain and her tiny soft hands.

Before she could use the rare combination of circumstances necessary to have any chance at all she had to replace her communicator (I think of it as her “radio” but it was more than that) and she had to have weapons. The only way she could get them was to build them.

She had nothing, not a bobby pin-only that triangular ornament with spirals engraved on it. To build anything she had to gain access to a series of rooms which I would describe as electronics labs-not that they looked like the bench where I jiggered with electronics, but electron-pushing has its built-in logic. If electrons are to do what you want them to, components have to look pretty much a certain way, whether built by humans, wormfaces, or the Mother Thing. Awave guide gets its shape from the laws of nature, an inductance has its necessary geometry, no matter who the technician is.

So it looked like an electronics lab-a very good one. It had gear I did not recognize, but which I felt I could understand if I had time. I got only a glimpse.

The Mother Thing spent many, many hours there. She would not have been permitted there, even though she was a prisoner-at-large with freedom in most ways and anything she wanted, including private quarters with Peewee. I think that Wormface was afraid of her, even though she was a prisoner-he did not want to offend her unnecessarily.

She got the run of their shops by baiting their cupidity. Her people had many things that wormfaces had not-gadgets, inventions, conveniences. She began by inquiring why they did a thing this way rather than another way which was so much more efficient? Atradition? Or religious reasons?

When asked what she meant she looked helpless and protested that she couldn’t explain-which was a shame because it was simple and so easy to build, too.

Under close chaperonage she built something. The gadget worked. Then something else. Presently she was in the labs daily, making things for her captors, things that delighted them. She always delivered; the privilege depended on it.

But each gadget involved parts she needed herself.

“She sneaked bits and pieces into her pouch,” Peewee told me. “They never knew exactly what she was doing. She would use five of a thing and the sixth would go into her pouch.” “Her pouch?”

“Of course. That’s where she hid the ‘brain’ the time she and I swiped the ship. Didn’t you know?” “I didn’t know she had a pouch.”

“Well, neither did they. They watched to see she didn’t carry anything out of the shop-and she never did. Not where it showed.”

“Uh, Peewee, is the Mother Thing a marsupial?”

“Huh? Like possums? You don’t have to be a marsupial to have a pouch. Look at squirrels, they have pouches in their cheeks.” “Mmm, yes.”

“She sneaked a bit now and a bit then, and I swiped things, too. During rest time she worked on them in our room.”

The Mother Thing had not slept all the time we had been on Pluto. She worked long hours publicly, making things for wormfaces-a stereo-telephone no bigger than a pack of cigarettes, a tiny beetle-like arrangement that crawled all over anything it was placed on and integrated the volume, many other things. But during hours set apart for rest she worked for herself, usually in darkness, those tiny fingers busy as a blind watch-maker’s.

She made two bombs and a long-distance communicator-and-beacon.

I didn’t get all this tossed over Peewee’s shoulder while we raced through the base; she simply told me that the Mother Thing had managed to build a radio-beacon and had been responsible for the explosion I had felt. And that we must hurry, hurry, hurry!

“Peewee,” I said, panting. “What’s the rush? If the Mother Thing is outside, I want to bring her in-her body, I mean. But you act as if we had a deadline.” “We do!”

The communicator-beacon had to be placed outside at a particular local time (the Plutonian day is about a week-the astronomers were right again) so that the planet itself would not blanket the beam. But the Mother Thing had no space suit. They had discussed having Peewee suit up, go outside, and set the beacon-it had been so designed that Peewee need only trigger it. But that depended on locating Peewee’s space suit, then breaking in and getting it after the wormfaces were disposed of.

They had never located it. The Mother Thing had said serenely, singing confident notes that I could almost hear ringing in my head: (“Never mind, dear. I can go out and set it myself.”) “Mother Thing! You can’t!” Peewee had protested. “It’s cold out there.”

(“I shan’t be long.”)

“You won’t be able to breathe.”

(“It won’t be necessary, for so short a time.”)

That settled it. In her own way, the Mother Thing was as hard to argue with as Wormface.

The bombs were built, the beacon was built, a time approached when all factors would match-no ship expected, few wormfaces, Pluto faced the right way, feeding time for the staff-and they still did not know where Peewee’s suit was-if it had not been destroyed. The Mother Thing resolved to go ahead.

“But she told me, just a few hours ago when she let me know that today was the day, that if she did not come back in ten minutes or so, that she hoped I could find my suit and trigger the beacon-if she hadn’t been able to.” Peewee started to cry. “That was the f- f- first time she admitted that she wasn’t sure she could do it!”

“Peewee! Stop it! Then what?”

“I waited for the explosions-they came, right together-and I started to search, places I hadn’t been allowed to go. But I couldn’t find my suit!

Then I found you and-oh, Kip, she’s been out there almost an hour!” She looked at her watch. “There’s only about twenty minutes left. If the beacon isn’t triggered by then, she’s had all her trouble and died for n- n- nothing! She wouldn’t like that.” “Where’s my suit!”

We found no more wormfaces-apparently there was only one on duty while the others fed. Peewee showed me a door, air-lock type, behind which was the feeding chamber-the bomb may have cracked that section for gas-tight doors had closed themselves when the owners were blown to bits. We hurried past.

Logical as usual, Peewee ended our search at my space suit. It was one of more than a dozen human-type suits-I wondered how much soup those ghouls ate. Well, they wouldn’t eat again! I wasted no time; I simply shouted, “Hi, Oscar!” and started to suit up.

(“Where you been, chum?”)

Oscar seemed in perfect shape. Fats’ suit was next to mine and Tim’s next to it; I glanced at them as I stretched Oscar out, wondering whether they had equipment I could use. Peewee was looking at Tim’s suit. “Maybe I can wear this.”

It was much smaller than Oscar, which made it only nine sizes too big for Peewee. “Don’t be silly! It’d fit you like socks on a rooster. Help me. Take off that rope, coil it and clip it to my belt.”

“You won’t need it. The Mother Thing planned to take the beacon out the walkway about a hundred yards and sit it down. If she didn’t manage it, that’s all you do. Then twist the stud on top.”

“Don’t argue! How much time?” “Yes, Kip. Eighteen minutes.”

“Those winds are strong,” I added. “I may need the line.” The Mother Thing didn’t weigh much. If she had been swept off, I might need a rope to recover her body. “Hand me that hammer off Fats’ suit.”

“Right away!”

I stood up. It felt good to have Oscar around me. Then I remembered how cold my feet got, walking in from the ship. “I wish I had asbestos boots.”

Peewee looked startled. “Wait right here!” She was gone before I could stop her. I went on sealing up while I worried-she hadn’t even stopped to pick up the projector weapon. Shortly I said, “Tight, Oscar?”

(“Tight, boy!”)

Chin valve okay, blood-color okay, radio-I wouldn’t need it-water- The tank was dry. No matter, I wouldn’t have time to grow thirsty. I worked the chin valve, making the pressure low because I knew that pressure outdoors was quite low.

Peewee returned with what looked like ballet slippers for a baby elephant. She leaned close to my face plate and shouted, “They wear these. Can you get them on?” It seemed unlikely, but I forced them over my feet like badly fitting socks. I stood up and found that they improved traction; they were clumsy but not hard to walk in.

Aminute later we were standing at the exit of the big room I had first seen. Its air-lock doors were closed now as a result of the Mother Thing’s other bomb, which she had placed to blow out the gate-valve panels in the tunnel beyond. The bomb in the feeding chamber had been planted by Peewee who had then ducked back to their room. I don’t know whether the Mother Thing timed the two bombs to go off together, or triggered them by remote-control-nor did it matter; they had made a shambles of Wormface’s fancy base.

Peewee knew how to waste air through the air lock. When the inner door opened I shouted, “Time?” “Fourteen minutes.” She held up her watch.

“Remember what I said, just stay here. If anything moves, blue-light it first and ask questions afterwards.” “I remember.”

I stepped in and closed the inner door, found the valve in the outer door, waited for pressure to equalize.

The two or three minutes it took that big lock to bleed off I spent in glum thought. I didn’t like leaving Peewee alone. I thought all wormfaces were dead, but I wasn’t sure. We had searched hastily; one could have zigged when we zagged-they were so fast.

Besides that, Peewee had said, “I remember,” when she should have said, “Okay, Kip, I will.” Aslip of the tongue? That flea-hopping mind made “slips” only when it wanted to. There is a world of difference between “Roger” and “Wilco.”

Besides I was doing this for foolish motives. Mostly I was going out to recover the Mother Thing’s body-folly, because after I brought her in, she would spoil. It would be kinder to leave her in natural deep-freeze.

But I couldn’t bear that-it was cold out there and I couldn’t leave her out in the cold. She had been so little and warm … so alive. I had to bring her in where she could get warm. You’re in bad shape when your emotions force you into acts which you know are foolish.

Worse still, I was doing this in a reckless rush because the Mother Thing had wanted that beacon set before a certain second, now only twelve minutes away, maybe ten. Well, I’d do it, but what sense was it? Say her home star is close by-oh, say it’s Proxima Centauri and the wormfaces came from somewhere farther. Even if her beacon works-it still takes over four years for her S.O.S. to reach her friends!

This might have been okay for the Mother Thing. I had an impression that she lived a very long time; waiting a few years for rescue might not bother her. But Peewee and I were not creatures of her sort. We’d be dead before that speed-of-light message crawled to Proxima Centauri. I was glad that I had seen Peewee again, but I knew what was in store for us. Death, in days, weeks, or months at most, from running out of air, or water, or food-or a wormface ship might land before we died-which meant one unholy sabbat of a fight in which, if we were lucky, we would die quickly.

No matter how you figured, planting that beacon was merely “carrying out the deceased’s last wishes”-words you hear at funerals. Sentimental folly. The outer door started to open. Ave, Mother Thing! Nos morituri.

It was cold out there, biting cold, even though I was not yet in the wind. The glow panels were still working and I could see that the tunnel was a mess; the two dozen fractional-pressure stops had ruptured like eardrums. I wondered what sort of bomb could be haywired from stolen parts, kept small enough to conceal two in a body pouch along with some sort of radio rig, and nevertheless have force enough to blow out those panels. The blast had rattled my teeth, several hundred feet away in solid rock.

The first dozen panels were blown inwards. Had she set it off in the middle of the tunnel? Ablast that big would fling her away like a feather! She must have planted it there, then come inside and triggered it-then gone back through the lock just as I had. That was the only way I could see it.

It got colder every step. My feet weren’t too cold yet, those clumsy mukluks were okay; the wormfaces understood insulation. “Oscar, you got the fires burning?” (“Roaring, chum. It’s a cold night.”)

“You’re telling me!”

Just beyond the outermost burst panel, I found her.

She had sunk forward, as if too tired to go on. Her arms stretched in front of her and, on the floor of the tunnel not quite touched by her tiny fingers, was a small round box about the size ladies keep powder in on dressing tables.

Her face was composed and her eyes were open except that nictitating membranes were drawn across as they had been when I had first seen her in the pasture back of our house, a few days or weeks or a thousand years ago. But she had been hurt then and looked it; now I half expected her to draw back those inner lids and sing a welcome.

I touched her.

She was hard as ice and much colder.

I blinked back tears and wasted not a moment. She wanted that little box placed a hundred yards out on the causeway and the bump on top twisted-and she wanted it done in the next six or seven minutes. I scooped it up. “Righto, Mother Thing! On my way!”

(“Get cracking, chum!”) (“Thank you, dear Kip… .”)

I don’t believe in ghosts. I had heard her sing thank-you so many times that the notes echoed in my head.

Afew feet away at the mouth of the tunnel, I stopped. The wind hit me and was so cold that the deathly chill in the tunnel seemed summery. I closed my eyes and counted thirty seconds to give time to adjust to starlight while I fumbled on the windward side of the tunnel at a slanting strut that anchored the causeway to the mountain, tied my safety line by passing it around the strut and snapping it back on itself. I had known that it was night outside and I expected the causeway to stand out as a black ribbon against the white “snow” glittering under a skyful of stars. I thought I would be safer on that windswept way if I could see its edges-which I couldn’t by headlamp unless I kept swinging my shoulders back and forth-clumsy and likely to throw me off balance or slow me down.

I had figured this carefully; I didn’t regard this as a stroll in the garden -not at night, not on Pluto! So I counted thirty seconds and tied my line while waiting for eyes to adjust to starlight. I opened them.

And I couldn’t see a darned thing!

Not a star. Not even the difference between sky and ground. My back was to the tunnel and the helmet shaded my face like a sunbonnet; I should have been able to see the walkway. Nothing.

I turned the helmet and saw something that accounted both for black sky and the quake we had felt-an active volcano. It may have been five miles away or fifty, but I could not doubt what it was-a jagged, angry red scar low in the sky.

But I didn’t stop to stare. I switched on the headlamp, splashed it on the righthand windward edge, and started a clumsy trot, keeping close to that side, so that if I stumbled I would have the entire road to recover in before the wind could sweep me off. That wind scared me. I kept the line coiled in my left hand and paid it out as I went, keeping it fairly taut. The coil felt stiff in my fingers.

The wind not only frightened me, it hurt. It was a cold so intense that it felt like flame. It burned and blasted, then numbed. My right side, getting the brunt of it, began to go and then my left side hurt more than the right.

I could no longer feel the line. I stopped, leaned forward and got the coil in the light from the headlamp-that’s another thing that needs fixing! the headlamp should swivel.

The coil was half gone, I had come a good fifty yards. I was depending on the rope to tell me; it was a hundred-meter climbing line, so when I neared its end I would be as far out as the Mother Thing had wanted. Hurry, Kip!

(“Get cracking, boy! It’s cold out here.”) I stopped again. Did I have the box?

I couldn’t feel it. But the headlamp showed my right hand clutched around it. Stay there, fingers! I hurried on, counting steps. One! Two! Three! Four! …

When I reached forty I stopped and glanced over the edge, saw that I was at the highest part where the road crossed the brook and remembered that it was about midway. That brook- methane, was it?-was frozen solid, and I knew that the night was cold.

There were a few loops of line on my left arm-close enough. I dropped the line, moved cautiously to the middle of the way, eased to my knees and left hand, and started to put the box down.

My fingers wouldn’t unbend.

I forced them with my left hand, got the box out of my fist. That diabolical wind caught it and I barely saved it from rolling away. With both hands I set it carefully upright. (“Work your fingers, bud. Pound your hands together!”)

I did so. I could tighten the muscles of my forearms, though it was tearing agony to flex fingers. Clumsily steadying the box with my left hand, I groped for the little knob on top. I couldn’t feel it but it turned easily once I managed to close my fingers on it; I could see it turn.

It seemed to come to life, to purr. Perhaps I heard vibration, through gloves and up my suit; I certainly couldn’t have felt it, not the shape my fingers were in. I hastily let go, got awkwardly to my feet and backed up, so that I could splash the headlamp on it without leaning over.

I was through, the Mother Thing’s job was done, and (I hoped) before deadline. If I had had as much sense as the ordinary doorknob, I would have turned and hurried into the tunnel faster than I had come out. But I was fascinated by what it was doing.

It seemed to shake itself and three spidery little legs grew out the bottom. It raised up until it was standing on its own little tripod, about a foot high. It shook itself again and I thought the wind would blow it over. But the spidery legs splayed out, seemed to bite into the road surface and it was rock firm.

Something lifted and unfolded out the top.

It opened like a flower, until it was about eight inches across. Afinger lifted (an antenna?), swung as if hunting, steadied and pointed at the sky.

Then the beacon switched on. I’m sure that is what happened although all I saw was a flash of light-parasitic it must have been, for light alone would not have served even without that volcanic overcast. It was probably some harmless side effect of switching on an enormous pulse of power, something the Mother Thing hadn’t had time, or perhaps equipment or materials, to eliminate or shield. It was about as bright as a peanut photoflash.

But I was looking at it. Polarizers can’t work that fast. It blinded me.

I thought my headlamp had gone out, then I realized that I simply couldn’t see through a big greenish-purple disc of dazzle. (“Take it easy, boy. It’s just an after-image. Wait and it’ll go away.”)

“I can’t wait! I’m freezing to death!”

(“Hook the line with your forearm, where it’s clipped to your belt. Pull on it.”)

I did as Oscar told me, found the line, turned around, started to wind it on both forearms. It shattered.

It did not break as you expect rope to break; it shattered like glass. I suppose that is what it was by then-glass, I mean. Nylon and glass are super-cooled liquids. Now I know what “super-cooled” means.

But all I knew then was that my last link with life had gone. I couldn’t see, I couldn’t hear, I was all alone on a bare platform, billions of miles from home, and a wind out of the depths of a frozen hell was bleeding the last life out of a body I could barely feel-and where I could feel, it hurt like fire.

“Oscar!”

(“I’m here, bud. You can make it. Now-can you see anything?”) “No!”

(“Look for the mouth of the tunnel. It’s got light in it. Switch off your headlamp. Sure, you can-it’s just a toggle switch. Drag your hand back across the right side of our helmet.”) I did.

(“See anything?”) “Not yet.”

(“Move your head. Try to catch it in the corner of your eye-the dazzle stays in front, you know. Well?”) “I caught something that time!”

(“Reddish, wasn’t it? Jagged, too. The volcano. Now we know which way we’re facing. Turn slowly and catch the mouth of the tunnel as it goes by.”) Slowly was the only way I could turn. “There it is!”

(“Okay, you’re headed home. Get down on your hands and knees and crab slowly to your left. Don’t turn-because you want to hang onto that edge and crawl. Crawl toward the tunnel.”)

I got down. I couldn’t feel the surface with my hands but I felt pressure on my limbs, as if all four were artificial. I found the edge when my left hand slipped over it and I almost fell off. But I recovered. “Am I headed right?”

(“Sure you are. You haven’t turned. You’ve just moved sideways. Can you lift your head to see the tunnel?”) “Uh, not without standing up.”

(“Don’t do that! Try the headlamp again. Maybe your eyes are okay now.”)

I dragged my hand forward against the right side of the helmet. I must have hit the switch, for suddenly I saw a circle of light, blurred and cloudy in the middle. The edge of the walkway sliced it on the left.

(“Good boy! No, don’t get up; you’re weak and dizzy and likely to fall. Start crawling. Count ‘em. Three hundred ought to do it.”) I started crawling, counting.

“It’s a long way, Oscar. You think we can make it?”

(“Of course we can! You think I want to be left out here?”) “I’d be with you.”

(“Knock off the chatter. You’ll make me lose count. Thirty-six … thirty-seven … thirty-eight-“) We crawled.

(“That’s a hundred. Now we double it. Hundred one … hundred two … hundred three-“) “I’m feeling better, Oscar. I think it’s getting warmer.”

(“WHAT!”)

“I said I’m feeling a little warmer.”

(“You’re not warmer, you blistering idiot! That’s freeze-to-death you’re feeling! Crawl faster! Work your chin valve. Get more air. Le’ me hear that chin valve click!”) I was too tired to argue; I chinned the valve three or four times, felt a blast blistering my face.

(“I’m stepping up the stroke. Warmer indeed! Hund’d nine … hund’d ten … hun’leven … hun’twelve-pick it up!”)

At two hundred I said I would just have to rest.

(“No, you don’t!”)

“But I’ve got to. Just a little while.”

(“Like that, uh? You know what happens. What’s Peewee goin’ to do? She’s in there, waiting. She’s already scared because you’re late. What’s she goin’ to do? Answer me!”) “Uh … she’s going to try to wear Tim’s suit.”

(“Right! In case of duplicate answers the prize goes to the one postmarked first. How far will she get? You tell me.”) “Uh … to the mouth of the tunnel, I guess. Then the wind will get her.”

(“My opinion exactly. Then we’ll have the whole family together. You, me, the Mother Thing, Peewee. Cozy. Afamily of stiffs.”) “But-“

(“So start slugging, brother. Slug … slug … slug … slug … tw’und’d five … two’und’d six … tw’und’d sev’n’-“)

I don’t remember falling off. I don’t even know what the “snow” felt like. I just remember being glad that the dreadful counting was over and I could rest. But Oscar wouldn’t let me. (“Kip! Kip! Get up! Climb back on the straight and narrow.”)

“Go ‘way.”

(“I can’t go away. I wish I could. Right in front of you. Grab the edge and scramble up. It’s only a little farther now.”)

I managed to raise my head, saw the edge of the walkway in the light of my headlamp about two feet above my head. I sank back. “It’s too high,” I said listlessly. “Oscar, I think we’ve had it.”

He snorted. (“So? Who was it, just the other day, cussed out a little bitty girl who was too tired to get up? ‘Commander Comet,’ wasn’t it? Did I get the name right? The ‘Scourge of the Spaceways’ … the no- good lazy sky tramp. ‘Have Space Suit-Will Travel.’ Before you go to sleep, Commander, can I have your autograph! I’ve never met a real live space pirate before … one that goes around hijacking ships and kidnapping little girls.”)

“That’s not fair!”

(“Okay, okay, I know when I’m not wanted. But just one thing before I leave: she’s got more guts in her little finger than you have in your whole body-you lying, fat, lazy swine! Good-bye. Don’t wait up.”)

“Oscar! Don’t leave me!” (“Eh? You want help?”) “Yes!”

(“Well, if it’s too high to reach, grab your hammer and hook it over the edge. Pull yourself up.”)

I blinked. Maybe it would work. I reached down, decided I had the hammer even though I couldn’t feel it, got it loose. Using both hands I hooked it over the edge above me. I pulled. That silly hammer broke just like the line. Tool steel-and it went to pieces as if it had been cast out of type slugs.

That made me mad. I heaved myself to a sitting position, got both elbows on the edge, and struggled and groaned and burst into fiery sweat -and rolled over onto the road surface. (“That’s my boy! Never mind counting, just crawl toward the light!”)

The tunnel wavered in front of me. I couldn’t get my breath, so I kicked the chin valve. Nothing happened.

“Oscar! The chin valve is stuck!” I tried again.

Oscar was very slow in answering. (“No, pal, the valve isn’t stuck. Your air hoses have frozen up. I guess that last batch wasn’t as dry as it could have been.”) “I haven’t any air!”

Again he was slow. But he answered firmly, (“Yes, you have. You’ve got a whole suit full. Plenty for the few feet left.”) “I’ll never make it.”

(“Afew feet, only. There’s the Mother Thing, right ahead of you. Keep moving.”)

I raised my head and, sure enough, there she was. I kept crawling, while she got bigger and bigger. Finally I said, “Oscar … this is as far as I go.” (“I’m afraid it is. I’ve let you down … but thanks for not leaving me outside there.”)

“You didn’t let me down … you were swell. I just didn’t quite make it.”

(“I guess we both didn’t quite make it … but we sure let ‘em know that we tried! So long, partner.”)

“So long. ‘Hasta la vista, amigo!” I managed to crawl two short steps and collapsed with my head near the Mother Thing’s head. She was smiling. (“Hello, Kip my son.”)

“I didn’t … quite make it, Mother Thing. I’m sorry.” (“Oh, but you did make it!”)

“Huh?”

(“Between us, we’ve both made it.”)

I thought about that for a long time. “And Oscar.” (“And Oscar, of course.”)

“And Peewee.”

(“And always Peewee. We’ve all made it. Now we can rest, dear.”) “G’night … Mother Thing.”

It was a darn short rest. I was just closing my eyes, feeling warm and happy that the Mother Thing thought that I had done all right-when Peewee started shaking my shoulder. She touched helmets. “Kip! Kip! Get up. Please get up.”

“Huh? Why?”

“Because I can’t carry you! I tried, but I can’t do it. You’re just too big!”

I considered it. Of course she couldn’t carry me-where did she get the silly notion that she could? I was twice her size. I’d carry her … just as soon as I caught my breath.

“Kip! Please get up.” She was crying now, blubbering.

“Why, sure, honey,” I said gently, “if that’s what you want.” I tried and had a clumsy bad time of it. She almost picked me up, she helped a lot. Once up, she steadied me. “Turn around. Walk.”

She almost did carry me. She got her shoulders under my right arm and kept pushing. Every time we came to one of those blown-out panels she either helped me step over, or simply pushed me through and helped me up again.

At last we were in the lock and she was bleeding air from inside to fill it. She had to let go of me and I sank down. She turned when the inner door opened, started to say something-then got my helmet off in a hurry.

I took a deep breath and got very dizzy and the lights dimmed. She was looking at me. “You all right now?”

“Me? Sure! Why shouldn’t I be?” “Let me help you inside.”

I couldn’t see why, but she did help and I needed it. She sat me on the floor near the door with my back to the wall-I didn’t want to lie down. “Kip, I was so scared!” “Why?” I couldn’t see what she was worried about. Hadn’t the Mother Thing said that we had all done all right?

“Well, I was. I shouldn’t have let you go out.” “But the beacon had to be set.”

“Oh, but- You set it?”

“Of course. The Mother Thing was pleased.”

“I’m sure she would have been,” she said gravely. “She was.”

“Can I do anything? Can I help you out of your suit?” “Uh … no, not yet. Could you find me a drink of water?” “Right away!”

She came back and held it for me-I wasn’t as thirsty as I had thought; it made me a bit ill. She watched me for some time, then said, “Do you mind if I’m gone a little while? Will you be all right?”

“Me? Certainly.” I didn’t feel well, I was beginning to hurt, but there wasn’t anything she could do.

“I won’t be long.” She began clamping her helmet and I noticed with detached interest that she was wearing her own suit-somehow I had had the impression that she had been wearing Tim’s.

I saw her head for the lock and realized where she was going and why. I wanted to tell her that the Mother Thing would rather not be inside here, where she might … where she might-I didn’t want to say “spoil” even to myself.

But Peewee was gone.

I don’t think she was away more than five minutes. I had closed my eyes and I am not sure. I noticed the inner door open. Through it stepped Peewee, carrying the Mother Thing in her arms like a long piece of firewood. She didn’t bend at all.

Peewee put the Mother Thing on the floor in the same position I had last seen her, then undamped her helmet and bawled. I couldn’t get up. My legs hurt too much. And my arms. “Peewee … please, honey. It doesn’t do any good.”

She raised her head. “I’m all through. I won’t cry any more.” And she didn’t.

We sat there a long time. Peewee again offered to help me out of my suit, but when we tried it, I hurt so terribly, especially my hands and my feet, that I had to ask her to stop. She looked worried. “Kip … I’m afraid you froze them.”

“Maybe. But there’s nothing to do about it now.” I winced and changed the subject. “Where did you find your suit?” “Oh!” She looked indignant, then almost gay. “You’d never guess. Inside Jock’s suit.”

“No, I guess I wouldn’t. The Purloined Letter.’ “ “The what?”

“Nothing. I hadn’t realized that old Wormface had a sense of humor.”

Shortly after that we had another quake, a bad one. Chandeliers would have jounced if the place had had any and the floor heaved. Peewee squealed. “Oh! That was almost as bad as the last one.”

“Alot worse, I’d say. That first little one wasn’t anything.” “No, I mean the one while you were outside.”

“Was there one then?” “Didn’t you feel it?”

“No.” I tried to remember. “Maybe that was when I fell off in the snow.” “You fell off? Kip!”

“It was all right. Oscar helped me.”

There was another ground shock. I wouldn’t have minded, only it shook me up and made me hurt worse. I finally came out of the fog enough to realize that I didn’t have to hurt. Let’s see, medicine pills were on the right and the codeine dispenser was farthest back- “Peewee? Could I trouble you for some water again?”

“Of course!”

“I’m going to take codeine. It may make me sleep. Do you mind?” “You ought to sleep if you can. You need it.”

“I suppose so. What time is it?”

She told me and I couldn’t believe it. “You mean it’s been more than twelve hours?” “Huh? Since what?”

“Since this started.”

“I don’t understand, Kip.” She stared at her watch. “It has been exactly an hour and a half since I found you-not quite two hours since the Mother Thing set off the bombs.” I couldn’t believe that, either. But Peewee insisted that she was right.

The codeine made me feel much better and I was beginning to be drowsy, when Peewee said, “Kip, do you smell anything?” I sniffed. “Something like kitchen matches?”

“That’s what I mean. I think the pressure is dropping, too. Kip … I think I had better close your helmet-if you’re going to sleep.” “All right. You close yours, too?”

“Yes. Uh, I don’t think this place is tight any longer.”

“You may be right.” Between explosions and quakes, I didn’t see how it could be. But, while I knew what that meant, I was too weary and sick- and getting too dreamy from the drug-to worry. Now, or a month from now-what did it matter? The Mother Thing had said everything was okay.

Peewee clamped us in, we checked radios, and she sat down facing me and the Mother Thing. She didn’t say anything for a long time. Then I heard: “Peewee to Junebug-“ “I read you, Peewee.”

“Kip? It’s been fun, mostly. Hasn’t it?”

“Huh?” I glanced up, saw that the dial said I had about four hours of air left. I had had to reduce pressure twice, since we closed up, to match falling pressure in the room. “Yes, Peewee, it’s been swell. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

She sighed. “I just wanted to be sure you weren’t blaming me. Now go to sleep.”

I did almost go to sleep, when I saw Peewee jump up and my phones came to life. “Kip! Something’s coming in the door!”

I came wide awake, realized what it meant. Why couldn’t they have let us be? Afew hours, anyhow? “Peewee. Don’t panic. Move to the far side of the door. You’ve got your blue-light gadget?”

“Yes.”

“Pick them off as they come in.”

“You’ve got to move, Kip. You’re right where they will come!”

“I can’t get up.” I hadn’t been able to move, not even my arms, for quite a while. “Use low power, then if you brush me, it won’t matter. Do what I say! Fast!” “Yes, Kip.” She got where she could snipe at them sideways, raised her projector and waited.

The inner door opened, a figure came in. I saw Peewee start to nail it- and I called into my radio: “Don’t shoot!” But she was dropping the projector and running forward even as I shouted.

They were “mother thing” people.

It took six of them to carry me, only two to carry the Mother Thing. They sang to me soothingly all the time they were rigging a litter. I swallowed another codeine tablet before they lifted me, as even with their gentleness any movement hurt. It didn’t take long to get me into their ship, for they had landed almost at the tunnel mouth, no doubt crushing the walkway-I hoped so.

Once I was safely inside Peewee opened my helmet and unzipped the front of my suit. “Kip! Aren’t they wonderful?” “Yes.” I was getting dizzier from the drug but was feeling better. “When do we raise ship?”

“We’ve already started.”

“They’re taking us home?” I’d have to tell Mr. Charton what a big help the codeine was. “Huh? Oh, my, no! We’re headed for Vega.”

I fainted.

Chapter 9

I had been dreaming that I was home; this awoke me with a jerk. “Mother Thing!” (“Good morning, my son. I am happy to see that you are feeling better.”)

“Oh, I feel fine. I’ve had a good night’s rest-” I stared, then blurted: “-you’re dead!” I couldn’t stop it.

Her answer sounded warmly, gently humorous, the way you correct a child who has made a natural mistake. (“No, dear, I was merely frozen. I am not as frail as you seem to think me.”) I blinked and looked again. “Then it wasn’t a dream?”

(“No, it was not a dream.”)

“I thought I was home and-” I tried to sit up, managed only to raise my head. “I am home!” My room! Clothes closet on the left-hall door behind the Mother Thing-my desk on the right, piled with books and with a Centerville High pennant over it-window beyond it, with the old elm almost filling it-sun-speckled leaves stirring in a breeze.

My slipstick was where I had left it.

Things started to wobble, then I figured it out. I had dreamed only the silly part at the end. Vega-I had been groggy with codeine. “You brought me home.” (“We brought you home … to your other home. My home.”)

The bed started to sway. I clutched at it but my arms didn’t move. The Mother Thing was still singing. (“You needed your own nest. So we prepared it.”) “Mother Thing, I’m confused.”

(“We know that a bird grows well faster in its own nest. So we built yours.”) “Bird” and “nest” weren’t what she sang, but an Unabridged won’t give anything closer.

I took a deep breath to steady down. I understood her-that’s what she was best at, making you understand. This wasn’t my room and I wasn’t home; it simply looked like it. But I was still terribly confused.

I looked around and wondered how I could have been mistaken.

The light slanted in the window from a wrong direction. The ceiling didn’t have the patch in it from the time I built a hide-out in the attic and knocked plaster down by hammering. It wasn’t the right shade, either.

The books were too neat and clean; they had that candy-box look. I couldn’t recognize the bindings. The over-all effect was mighty close, but details were not right. (“I like this room,”) the Mother Thing was singing. (“It looks like you, Kip.”)

“Mother Thing,” I said weakly, “how did you do it?” (“We asked you. And Peewee helped.”)

I thought, “But Peewee has never seen my room either,” then decided that Peewee had seen enough American homes to be a consulting expert. “Peewee is here?” (“She’ll be in shortly.”)

With Peewee and the Mother Thing around things couldn’t be too bad. Except- “Mother Thing, I can’t move my arms and legs.”

She put a tiny, warm hand on my forehead and leaned over me until her enormous, lemur-like eyes blanked out everything else. (“You have been damaged. Now you are growing well. Do not worry.”)

When the Mother Thing tells you not to worry, you don’t. I didn’t want to do handstands anyhow; I was satisfied to look into her eyes. You could sink into them, you could have dived in and swum around. “All right, Mother Thing.” I remembered something else. “Say … you were frozen? Weren’t you?”

(“Yes.”)

“But- Look, when water freezes it ruptures living cells. Or so they say.” She answered primly, (“My body would never permit that!”).

“Well-” I thought about it. “Just don’t dunk me in liquid air! I’m not built for it.”

Again her song held roguish, indulgent humor. (“We shall endeavor not to hurt you.”) She straightened up and grew a little, swaying like a willow. (“I sense Peewee.”)

There was a knock-another discrepancy; it didn’t sound like a knock on a light-weight interior door-and Peewee called out, “May I come in?” She didn’t wait (I wondered if she ever did) but came on in. The bit I could see past her looked like our upper hall; they’d done a thorough job.

(“Come in, dear.”)

“Sure, Peewee. You are in.” “Don’t be captious.”

“Look who’s talking. Hi, kid!” “Hi yourself.”

The Mother Thing glided away. (“Don’t stay long, Peewee. You are not to tire him.”) “I won’t, Mother Thing.”

(” ‘Bye, dears.”)

I said, “What are the visiting hours in this ward?”

“When she says, of course.” Peewee stood facing me, fists on hips. She was really clean for the first time in our acquaintance-cheeks pink with scrubbing, hair fluffy-maybe she would be pretty, in about ten years. She was dressed as always but her clothes were fresh, all buttons present, and tears invisibly mended.

“Well,” she said, letting out her breath, “I guess you’re going to be worth keeping, after all.” “Me? I’m in the pink. How about yourself?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Alittle frost nip. Nothing. But you were a mess.” “I was?”

“I can’t use adequate language without being what Mama calls ‘unladylike.’ “ “Oh, we wouldn’t want you to be that.”

“Don’t be sarcastic. You don’t do it well.”

“You won’t let me practice on you?”

She started to make a Peewee retort, stopped suddenly, smiled and came close. For a nervous second I thought she was going to kiss me. But she just patted the bedclothes and said solemnly, “You bet you can, Kip. You can be sarcastic, or nasty, or mean, or scold me, or anything, and I won’t let out a peep. Why, I’ll bet you could even talk back to the Mother Thing.”

I couldn’t imagine wanting to. I said, “Take it easy, Peewee. Your halo is showing.” “I’d have one if it weren’t for you. Or flunked my test for it, more likely.”

“So? I seem to remember somebody about your size lugging me indoors almost piggy-back. How about that?” She wriggled. “That wasn’t anything. You set the beacon. That was everything.”

“Uh, each to his own opinion. It was cold out there.” I changed the subject; it was embarrassing us. Mention of the beacon reminded me of something else. “Peewee? Where are we?” “Huh? In the Mother Thing’s home, of course.” She looked around and said, “Oh, I forgot. Kip, this isn’t really your-“

“I know,” I said impatiently. “It’s a fake. Anybody can see that.”

“They can?” She looked crestfallen. “I thought we had done a perfect job.” “It’s an incredibly good job. I don’t see how you did it.”

“Oh, your memory is most detailed. You must have a camera eye.” -and I must have spilled my guts, too! I added to myself. I wondered what else I had said-with Peewee listening. I was afraid to ask; a fellow ought to have privacy.

“But it’s still a fake,” I went on. “I know we’re in the Mother Thing’s home. But where’s that?” “Oh.” She looked round-eyed. “I told you. Maybe you don’t remember -you were sleepy.”

“I remember,” I said slowly, “something. But it didn’t make sense. I thought you said we were going to Vega.”

“Well, I suppose the catalogs will list it as Vega Five. But they call it-” She threw back her head and vocalized; it recalled to me the cockcrow theme in Le Coq d’Or. “-but I couldn’t say that. So I told you Vega, which is close enough.”

I tried again to sit up, failed. “You mean to stand there and tell me we’re on Vega? I mean, a ‘Vegan planet’?” “Well, you haven’t asked me to sit down.”

I ignored the Peeweeism. I looked at “sunlight” pouring through the window. “That light is from Vega?”

“That stuff? That’s artificial sunlight. If they had used real, bright, Vega light, it would look ghastly. Like a bare arc light. Vega is ‘way up the Russell diagram, you know.” “It is?” I didn’t know the spectrum of Vega; I had never expected to need to know it.

“Oh, yes! You be careful, Kip-when you’re up, I mean. In ten seconds you can get more burn than all winter in Key West-and ten minutes would kill you.”

I seemed to have a gift for winding up in difficult climates. What star class was Vega? “A,” maybe? Probably “B.” All I knew was that it was big and bright, bigger than the Sun, and looked pretty set in Lyra.

But where was it? How in the name of Einstein did we get here? “Peewee? How far is Vega? No, I mean, ‘How far is the Sun?’ You wouldn’t happen to know?” “Of course,” she said scornfully. “Twenty-seven light-years.”

Great Galloping Gorillas! “Peewee-get that slide rule. You know how to push one? I don’t seem to have the use of my hands.” She looked uneasy. “Uh, what do you want it for?”

“I want to see what that comes to in miles.” “Oh. I’ll figure it. No need for a slide rule.”

“Aslipstick is faster and more accurate. Look, if you don’t know how to use one, don’t be ashamed-I didn’t, at your age. I’ll show you.”

“Of course I can use one!” she said indignantly. “You think I’m a stupe? But I’ll work it out.” Her lips moved silently. “One point five nine times ten to the fourteenth miles.”

I had done that Proxima Centauri problem recently; I remembered the miles in a light-year and did a rough check in my head-uh, call it six times twenty-five makes a hundred and fifty-and where was the decimal point? “Your answer sounds about right.” 159,000,000,000,000 weary miles! Too many zeroes for comfort.

“Of course I’m right!” she retorted. “I’m always right.” “Goodness me! The handy-dandy pocket encyclopedia.” She blushed. “I can’t help being a genius.”

Which left her wide open and I was about to rub her nose in it-when I saw how unhappy she looked.

I remembered hearing Dad say: “Some people insist that ‘mediocre’ is better than ‘best.’ They delight in clipping wings because they themselves can’t fly. They despise brains because they have none. Pfah!”

“I’m sorry, Peewee,” I said humbly. “I know you can’t. And I can’t help not being one … any more than you can help being little, or I can help being big.” She relaxed and looked solemn. “I guess I was being a show-off again.” She twisted a button. “Or maybe I assumed that you understand me-like Daddy.” “I feel complimented. I doubt if I do-but from now on I’ll try.” She went on worrying the button. “You’re pretty smart yourself, Kip. You know that, don’t you?”

I grinned. “If I were smart, would I be here? All thumbs and my ears rub together. Look, honey, would you mind if we checked you on the slide rule? I’m really interested.” Twenty-seven light-years-why, you wouldn’t be able to see the Sun, It isn’t any great shakes as a star.

But I had made her uneasy again. “Uh, Kip, that isn’t much of a slide rule.” “What? Why, that’s the best that money can-”

“Kip, please! It’s part of the desk. It’s not a slide rule.”

“Huh?” I looked sheepish. “I forgot. Uh, I suppose that hall out there doesn’t go very far?”

“Just what you can see. Kip, the slide rule would have been real-if we had had time enough. They understand logarithms. Oh, indeed they do!”

That was bothering me-“time enough” I mean. “Peewee, how long did it take us to get here?” Twenty-seven light-years! Even at speed-of-light-well, maybe the Einstein business would make it seem like a quick trip to me-but not to Centerville. Dad could be dead! Dad was older than Mother, old enough to be my grandfather, really. Another twenty-seven years back- Why, that would make him well over a hundred. Even Mother might be dead.

“Time to get here? Why, it didn’t take any.”

“No, no. I know it feels that way. You’re not any older, I’m still laid up by frostbite. But it took at least twenty-seven years. Didn’t it?”

“What are you talking about, Kip?”

“The relativity equations, of course. You’ve heard of them?”

“Oh, those! Certainly. But they don’t apply. It didn’t take time. Oh, fifteen minutes to get out of Pluto’s atmosphere, about the same to cope with the atmosphere here. But otherwise, pht! Zero.”

“At the speed of light you would think so.”

“No, Kip.” She frowned, then her face lighted up. “How long was it from the time you set the beacon till they rescued us?” “Huh?” It hit me. Dad wasn’t dead! Mother wouldn’t even have gray hair. “Maybe an hour.”

“Alittle over. It would have been less if they had had a ship ready … then they might have found you in the tunnel instead of me. No time for the message to reach here. Half an hour frittered away getting a ship ready-the Mother Thing was vexed. I hadn’t known she could be. You see, a ship is supposed to be ready.”

“Any time she wants one?”

“Any and all the time-the Mother Thing is important. Another half-hour in atmosphere maneuvering-and that’s all. Real time. None of those funny contractions.”

I tried to soak it up. They take an hour to go twenty-seven light-years and get bawled out for dallying. Dr. Einstein must be known as “Whirligig Albert” among his cemetery neighbors. “But how?”

“Kip, do you know any geometry? I don’t mean Euclid-I mean geometry.”

“Mmm … I’ve fiddled with open and closed curved spaces-and I’ve read Dr. Bell’s popular books. But you couldn’t say I know any geometry.”

“At least you won’t boggle at the idea that a straight line is not necessarily the shortest distance between two points.” She made motions as if squeezing a grapefruit in both hands. “Because it’s not. Kip-it all touches. You could put it in a bucket. In a thimble if you folded it so that spins matched.”

I had a dizzying picture of a universe compressed into a teacup, nucleons and electrons packed solidly-really solid and not the thin mathematical ghost that even the uranium nucleus is said to be. Something like the “primal atom” that some cosmogonists use to explain the expanding universe. Well, maybe it’s both packed and expanding. Like the “wavicle” paradox. A particle isn’t a wave and a wave can’t be a particle- yet everything is both. If you believe in wavicles, you can believe in anything-and if you don’t, then don’t bother to believe at all. Not even in yourself, because that’s what you are-wavicles. “How many dimensions?” I said weakly.

“How many would you like?”

“Me? Uh, twenty, maybe. Four more for each of the first four, to give some looseness on the corners.” “Twenty isn’t a starter. I don’t know, Kip; I don’t know geometry, either-I just thought I did. So I’ve pestered them.” “The Mother Thing?”

“Her? Oh, heavens, no! She doesn’t know geometry. Just enough to pilot a ship in and out of the folds.”

“Only that much?” I should have stuck to advanced finger-painting and never let Dad lure me into trying for an education. There isn’t any end- the more you learn, the more you need to learn. “Peewee, you knew what that beacon was for, didn’t you?”

“Me?” She looked innocent. “Well … yes.” “You knew we were going to Vega.”

“Well … if the beacon worked. If it was set in time.” “Now the prize question. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well-” Peewee was going to twist that button off. “I wasn’t sure how much math you knew and-you might have gone all masculine and common-sensical and father-knows-best. Would you have believed me?”

(“I told Orville and I told Wilbur and now I’m telling you-that contraption will never work!”) “Maybe not, Peewee. But next time you’re tempted not to tell me something ‘for my own good,’ will you take a chance that I’m not wedded to my own ignorance? I know I’m not a genius but I’ll try to keep my mind open-and I might be able to help, if I knew what you were up to. Quit twisting that button.”

She let go hastily. “Yes, Kip. I’ll remember.”

“Thanks. Another thing is fretting me. I was pretty sick?” “Huh? You certainly were!”

“All right. They’ve got these, uh, ‘fold ships’ that go anywhere in no time. Why didn’t you ask them to bounce me home and pop me into a hospital?” She hesitated. “How do you feel?”

“Huh? I feel fine. Except that I seem to be under spinal anesthesia, or something.” “Or something,” she agreed. “But you feel as if you are getting well?”

“Shucks, I feel well.”

“You aren’t. But you’re going to be.” She looked at me closely. “Shall I put it bluntly, Kip?” “Go ahead.”

“If they had taken you to Earth to the best hospital we have, you’d be a ‘basket case.’ Understand me? No arms, no legs. As it is, you are getting completely well. No amputations, not even a toe.”

I think the Mother Thing had prepared me. I simply said, “You’re sure?”

“Sure. Sure both. You’re going to be all right.” Suddenly her face screwed up. “Oh, you were a mess! I saw.” “Pretty bad?”

“Awful. I have nightmares.” “They shouldn’t have let you look.” “They couldn’t stop me. I was next of kin.”

“Huh? You told them you were my sister or something?” “What? I am your next of kin.”

I was about to say she was cockeyed when I tripped over my tongue. We were the only humans for a hundred and sixty trillion miles. As usual, Peewee was right. “So I had to grant permission,” she went on.

“For what? What did they do to me?”

“Uh, first they popped you into liquid helium. They left you there and the past month they have been using me as a guinea pig. Then, three days ago-three of ours-they thawed you out and got to work. You’ve been getting well ever since.”

“What shape am I in now?”

“Uh … well, you’re growing back. Kip, this isn’t a bed. It just looks like it.” “What is it, then?”

“We don’t have a name for it and the tune is pitched too high for me. But everything from here on down-” She patted the spread. “-on into the room below, does things for you. You’re wired like a hi-fi nut’s basement.”

“I’d like to see it.”

“I’m afraid you can’t. You don’t know, Kip. They had to cut your space suit off.”

I felt more emotion at that than I had at hearing what a mess I had been. “Huh? Where is Oscar? Did they ruin him? My space suit, I mean.” “I know what you mean. Every time you’re delirious you talk to ‘Oscar’ -and you answer back, too. Sometimes I think you’re schizoid, Kip.” “You’ve mixed your terms, runt-that’ud make me a split personality. All right, but you’re a paranoid yourself.”

“Oh, I’ve known that for a long time. But I’m a very well adjusted one. You want to see Oscar? The Mother Thing said that you would want him near when you woke up.” She opened the closet.

“Hey! You said he was all cut up!”

“Oh, they repaired him. Good as new. Alittle better than new.” (“Time, dear! Remember what I said.”)

“Coming, Mother Thing! ‘Bye, Kip. I’ll be back soon, and real often.” “Okay. Leave the closet open so I can see Oscar.”

Peewee did come back, but not “real often.” I wasn’t offended, not much. She had a thousand interesting and “educational” things to poke her ubiquitous nose into, all new and fascinating-she was as busy as a pup chewing slippers. She ran our hosts ragged. But I wasn’t bored. I was getting well, a full-time job and not boring if you are happy-which I was.

I didn’t see the Mother Thing often. I began to realize that she had work of her own to do-even though she came to see me if I asked for her, with never more than an hour’s delay, and never seemed in a hurry to leave.

She wasn’t my doctor, nor my nurse. Instead I had a staff of veterinarians who were alert to supervise every heartbeat. They didn’t come in unless I asked them to (a whisper was as good as a shout) but I soon realized that “my” room was bugged and telemetered like a ship in flight test-and my “bed” was a mass of machinery, gear that bore the relation to our own “mechanical hearts” and “mechanical lungs” and “mechanical kidneys” that a Lockheed ultrasonic courier does to a baby buggy.

I never saw that gear (they never lifted the spread, unless it was while I slept), but I know what they were doing. They were encouraging my body to repair itself-not scar tissue but the way it had been. Any lobster can do this and starfish do it so well that you can chop them to bits and wind up with a thousand brand-new starfish.

This is a trick any animal should do, since its gene pattern is in every cell. But a few million years ago we lost it. Everybody knows that science is trying to recapture it; you see articles- optimistic ones in Reader’s Digest, discouraged ones in The Scientific Monthly, wildly wrong ones in magazines whose “science editors” seem to have received their training writing horror movies. But we’re working on it. Someday, if anybody dies an accidental death, it will be because he bled to death on the way to the hospital.

Here I was with a perfect chance to find out about it-and I didn’t.

I tried. Although I was unworried by what they were doing (the Mother Thing had told me not to worry and every time she visited me she looked in my eyes and repeated the injunction), nevertheless like Peewee, I like to know.

Pick a savage so far back in the jungle that they don’t even have installment-plan buying. Say he has an I.Q. of 190 and Peewee’s yen to understand. Dump him into Brookhaven Atomic Laboratories. How much will he learn? With all possible help?

He’ll learn which corridors lead to what rooms and he’ll learn that a purple trefoil means: “Danger!”

That’s all. Not because he can’t; remember he’s a supergenius-but he needs twenty years schooling before he can ask the right questions and understand the answers.

I asked questions and always got answers and formed notions. But I’m not going to record them; they are as confused and contradictory as the notions a savage would form about design and operation of atomic equipment. As they say in radio, when noise level reaches a certain value, no information is transmitted. All I got was “noise.”

Some of it was literally “noise.” I’d ask a question and one of the therapists would answer. I would understand part, then as it reached the key point, I would hear nothing but birdsongs. Even with the Mother Thing as an interpreter, the parts I had no background for would turn out to be a canary’s cheerful prattle.

Hold onto your seats; I’m going to explain something I don’t understand: how Peewee and I could talk with the Mother Thing even though her mouth could not shape English and we couldn’t sing the way she did and had not studied her language. The Vegans-(I’ll call them “Vegans” the way we might be called “Solarians”; their real name sounds like a wind chime in a breeze. The Mother Thing had a real name, too, but I’m not a coloratura soprano. Peewee used it when she wanted to wheedle her -fat lot of good it did her.) The Vegans have a supreme talent to understand, to put themselves in the other person’s shoes. I don’t think it was telepathy, or I wouldn’t have gotten so many wrong numbers. Call it empathy.

But they have it in various degrees, just as all of us drive cars but only a few are fit to be racing drivers. The Mother Thing had it the way Novaes understands a piano. I once read about an actress who could use Italian so effectively to a person who did not understand Italian that she always made herself understood. Her name was “Duce.” No, a “duce” is a dictator. Something like that. She must have had what the Mother Thing had.

The first words I had with the Mother Thing were things like “hello” and “good-bye” and “thank you” and “where are we going?” She could project her meaning with those-shucks, you can talk to a strange dog that much. Later I began to understand her speech as speech. She picked up meanings of English words even faster; she had this great talent, and she and Peewee had talked for days while they were prisoners.

But while this is easy for “you’re welcome” and “I’m hungry” and “let’s hurry,” it gets harder for ideas like “heterodyning” and “amino acid” even when both are familiar with the concept. When one party doesn’t even have the concept, it breaks down. That’s the trouble I had understanding those veterinarians. If we had all spoken English I still would not have understood.

An oscillating circuit sending out a radio signal produces dead silence unless there is another circuit capable of oscillating in the same way to receive it. I wasn’t on the right frequency. Nevertheless I understood them when the talk was not highbrow. They were nice people; they talked and laughed a lot and seemed to like each other. I had trouble telling them apart,

except the Mother Thing. (I learned that the only marked difference to them between Peewee and myself was that I was ill and she wasn’t.) They had no trouble telling each other apart;

their conversations were interlarded with musical names, until you felt that you were caught in Peter and the Wolf or a Wagnerian opera. They even had a leit-motif for me. Their talk was

cheerful and gay, like the sounds of a bright summer dawn.

The next time I meet a canary I’ll know what he is saying even if he doesn’t.

I picked up some of this from Peewee-a hospital bed is not a good place from which to study a planet. Vega Five has Earth-surface gravity, near enough, with an oxygen, carbon dioxide, and water life cycle. The planet would not suit humans, not only because the noonday “sun” would strike you dead with its jolt of ultraviolet but also the air has poisonous amounts of ozone-a trace of ozone is stimulating but a trifle more-well, you might as well sniff prussic acid. There was something else, too, nitrous oxide I think, which was ungood for humans if breathed too long. My quarters were air-conditioned; the Vegans could breathe what I used but they considered it tasteless.

I learned a bit as a by-product of something else; the Mother Thing asked me to dictate how I got mixed up in these things. When I finished, she asked me to dictate everything I knew about Earth, its history, and how we work and live together. This is a tall order-I’m not still dictating because I found out I don’t know much. Take ancient Babylonia-how is it related to early Egyptian civilizations? I had only vague notions.

Maybe Peewee did better, since she remembers everything she has heard or read or seen the way Dad does. But they probably didn’t get her to hold still long, whereas I had to. The Mother Thing wanted this for the reasons we study Australian aborigines and also as a record of our language. There was another reason, too.

The job wasn’t easy but there was a Vegan to help me whenever I felt like it, willing to stop if I tired. Call him Professor Josephus Egghead; “Professor” is close enough and his name can’t be spelled. I called him Joe and he called me the leitmotif that meant “Clifford Russell, the monster with the frostbite.” Joe had almost as much gift for understanding as the Mother Thing. But how do you put over ideas like “tariffs” and “kings” to a person whose people have never had either? The English words were just noise.

But Joe knew histories of many peoples and planets and could call up scenes, in moving stereo and color, until we agreed on what I meant. We jogged along, with me dictating to a silvery ball floating near my mouth and with Joe curled up like a cat on a platform raised to my level, while he dictated to another microphone, making running notes on what I said. His mike had a gimmick that made it a hush-phone; I did not hear him unless he spoke to me.

Then we would stumble. Joe would stop and throw me a sample scene, his best guess of what I meant. The pictures appeared in the air, positioned for my comfort-if I turned my head, the picture moved to accommodate me. The pix were color-stereo-television with perfect life and sharpness-well, give us another twenty years and we’ll have them as realistic. It was a good trick to have the projector concealed and to force images to appear as if they were hanging in air, but those are just gimmicks of stereo optics; we can do them anytime we really want to-after all, you can pack a lifelike view of the Grand Canyon into a viewer you hold in your hand.

The thing that did impress me was the organization behind it. I asked Joe about it. He sang to his microphone and we went on a galloping tour of their “Congressional Library.”

Dad claims that library science is the foundation of all sciences just as math is the key-and that we will survive or founder, depending on how well the librarians do their jobs. Librarians didn’t look glamorous to me but maybe Dad had hit on a not very obvious truth.

This “library” had hundreds, maybe thousands, of Vegans viewing pictures and listening to sound tracks, each with a silvery sphere in front of him. Joe said they were “telling the memory.” This was equivalent to typing a card for a library’s catalog, except that the result was more like a memory path in brain cells-nine-tenths of that building was an electronic brain.

I spotted a triangular sign like the costume jewelry worn by the Mother Thing, but the picture jumped quickly to something else. Joe also wore one (and others did not) but I did not get around to asking about it, as the sight of that incredible “library” brought up the word “cybernetics” and we went on a detour. I decided later that it might be a lodge pin, or like a Phi Beta Kappa key-the Mother Thing was smart even for a Vegan and Joe was not far behind.

Whenever Joe was sure that he understood some English word, he would wriggle with delight like a puppy being tickled. He was very dignified, but this is not undignified for a Vegan. Their bodies are so fluid and mobile that they smile and frown with the whole works. AVegan holding perfectly still is either displeased or extremely worried.

The sessions with Joe let me tour places from my bed. The difference between “primary school” and “university” caused me to be shown examples. A“kindergarten” looked like an adult Vegan being overwhelmed by babies; it had the innocent rowdiness of a collie pup stepping on his brother’s face to reach the milk dish. But the “university” was a place of quiet beauty, strange-looking trees and plants and flowers among buildings of surrealistic charm unlike any architecture I have ever seen-I suppose I would have been flabbergasted if they had looked familiar. Parabolas were used a lot and I think all the “straight” lines had that swelling the Greeks called “entasis”-delicate grace with strength.

Joe showed up one day simply undulating with pleasure. He had another silvery ball, larger than the other two. He placed it in front of me, then sang to his own. (“I want you to hear this, Kip!”)

As soon as he ceased the larger sphere spoke in English: “I want you to hear this. Kip!” Squirming with delight, Joe swapped spheres and told me to say something.

“What do you want me to say?” I asked.

(“What do you want me to say?”) the larger sphere sang in Vegan. That was my last session with Prof Joe.

Despite unstinting help, despite the Mother Thing’s ability to make herself understood, I was like the Army mule at West Point: an honorary member of the student body but not prepared for the curriculum. I never did understand their government. Oh, they had government, but it wasn’t any system I’ve heard of. Joe knew about democracies and representation and voting and courts of law; he could fish up examples from many planets. He felt that democracy was “a very good system, for beginners.” It would have sounded patronizing, except that is not one of their faults.

I never met one of their young. Joe explained that children should not see “strange creatures” until they had learned to feel understanding sympathy. That would have offended me if I hadn’t been learning some “understanding sympathy” myself. Matter of fact, if a human ten-year-old saw a Vegan, he would either run, or poke it with a stick.

I tried to learn about their government from the Mother Thing, in particular how they kept the peace-laws, crimes, punishments, traffic regulations, etc.

It was as near to flat failure as I ever had with her. She pondered a long time, then answered: (“How could one possibly act against one’s own nature?”) I guess their worst vice was that they didn’t have any. This can be tiresome.

The medical staff were interested in the drugs in Oscar’s helmet-like our interest in a witch doctor’s herbs, but that is not idle interest; remember digitalis and curare.

I told them what each drug did and in most cases I knew the Geneva name as well as the commercial one. I knew that codeine was derived from opium, and opium from poppies. I knew that dexedrine was a sulphate but that was all. Organic chemistry and biochemistry are not easy even with no language trouble. We got together on what a benzene ring was, Peewee drawing it and sticking in her two dollars’ worth, and we managed to agree on “element,” “isotope,” “half life,” and the periodic table. I should have drawn structural formulas, using Peewee’s hands- but neither of us had the slightest idea of the structural formula for codeine and couldn’t do it even when supplied with kindergarten toys which stuck together only in the valences of the elements they represented.

Peewee had fun, though. They may not have learned much from her; she learned a lot from them.

I don’t know when I became aware that the Mother Thing was not, or wasn’t quite, a female. But it didn’t matter; being a mother is an attitude, not a biological relation.

If Noah launched his ark on Vega Five, the animals would come in by twelves. That makes things complicated. But a “mother thing” is one who takes care of others. I am not sure that all mother things were the same gender; it may have been a matter of temperament.

I met one “father thing.” You might call him “governor” or “mayor,” but “parish priest” or “scoutmaster” is closer, except that his prestige dominated a continent. He breezed in during a session with Joe, stayed five minutes, urged Joe to do a good job, told me to be a good boy and get well, and left, all without hurrying. He filled me with the warm self-reliance that Dad does-I didn’t need to be told that he was a “father thing.” His visit had a flavor of “royalty visiting the wounded” without being condescending-no doubt it was hard to work me into a busy schedule.

Joe neither mothered nor fathered me; he taught me and studied me- “a professor thing.”

Peewee showed up one day full of bubbles. She posed like a mannequin. “Do you like my new spring outfit?”

She was wearing silvery tights, plus a little hump like a knapsack. She looked cute but not glamorous, for she was built like two sticks and this get-up emphasized it. “Very fancy,” I said. “Are you learning to be an acrobat?”

“Don’t be silly, Kip; it’s my new space suit-a real one.”

I glanced at Oscar, big and bulky and filling the closet and said privately, “Hear that, chum?” (“It takes all kinds to make a world.”)

“Your helmet won’t fit it, will it?”

She giggled. “I’m wearing it.”

“You are? ‘The Emperor’s New Clothes’?”

“Pretty close. Kip, disconnect your prejudices and listen. This is like the Mother Thing’s suit except that it’s tailored for me. My old suit wasn’t much good-and that cold cold about finished it. But you’ll be amazed at this one. Take the helmet. It’s there, only you can’t see it. It’s a field. Gas can’t go in or out.” She came close. “Slap me.”

“With what?”

“Oh. I forgot. Kip, you’ve got to get well and up off that bed. I want to take you for a walk.” “I’m in favor. They tell me it won’t be long now.”

“It had better not be. Here, I’ll show you.” She hauled off and slapped herself. Her hand smacked into something inches from her face. “Now watch,” she went on. She moved her hand very slowly; it sank through the barrier, she thumbed her nose at me and giggled.

This impressed me-a space suit you could reach into! Why, I would have been able to give Peewee water and dexedrine and sugar pills when she needed them. “I’ll be darned! What does it?”

“Apower pack on my back, under the air tank. The tank is good for a week, too, and hoses can’t give trouble because there aren’t any.” “Uh, suppose you blow a fuse. There you are, with a lungful of vacuum.”

“The Mother Thing says that can’t happen.”

Hmm-I had never known the Mother Thing to be wrong when she made a flat statement.

“That’s not all,” Peewee went on. “It feels like skin, the joints aren’t clumsy, and you’re never hot or cold. It’s like street clothes.” “Uh, you risk a bad sunburn, don’t you? Unhealthy, you tell me. Unhealthy even on the Moon.”

“Oh, no! The field polarizes. That’s what the field is, sort of. Kip, get them to make you one-we’ll go places!” I glanced at Oscar. (“Please yourself, pal,” he said distantly. “I’m not the jealous type.”)

“Uh, Peewee, I’ll stick to one I understand. But I’d like to examine that monkey suit of yours.” “Monkey suit indeed!”

I woke up one morning, turned over, and realized that I was hungry. Then I sat up with a jerk. I had turned over in bed.

I had been warned to expect it. The “bed” was a bed and my body was back under my control. Furthermore, I was hungry and I hadn’t been hungry the whole time I had been on Vega Five. Whatever that machinery was, it included a way to nourish me without eating.

But I didn’t stop to enjoy the luxury of hunger; it was too wonderful to be a body again, not just a head. I got out of bed, was suddenly dizzy, recovered and grinned. Hands! Feet! I examined those wonderful things. They were unchanged and unhurt.

Then I looked more closely. No, not quite unchanged.

I had had a scar on my left shin where I had been spiked in a close play at second; it was gone. I once had “Mother” tattooed on my left forearm at a carnival. Mother had been distressed and Dad disgusted, but he had said to leave it as a reminder not to be a witling. It was gone. There was not a callus on hand or foot.

I used to bite my nails. My nails were a bit long but perfect. I had lost the nail from my right little toe years ago through a slip with a hatchet. It was back. I looked hastily for my appendectomy scar-found it and felt relieved. If it had been missing, I would have wondered if I was me.

There was a mirror over the chest of drawers. It showed me with enough hair to warrant a guitar (I wear a crew cut) but somebody had shaved me.

On the chest was a dollar and sixty-seven cents, a mechanical pencil, a sheet of paper, my watch, and a handkerchief. The watch was running. The dollar bill, the paper, and the handkerchief had been laundered.

My clothes, spandy clean and invisibly repaired, were on the desk. The socks weren’t mine; the material was more like felt, if you will imagine felted material no thicker than Kleenex which stretches instead of tearing. On the floor were tennis shoes, like Peewee’s even to a “U.S. Rubber” trademark, but in my size. The uppers were heavier felted material. I got dressed.

I was wearing the result when Peewee kicked the door. “Anybody home?” She came in, bearing a tray. “Want breakfast?” “Peewee! Look at me!”

She did. “Not bad,” she admitted, “for an ape. You need a haircut.” “Yes, but isn’t it wonderful! I’m all together again!”

“You never were apart,” she answered, “except in spots-I’ve had daily reports. Where do you want this?” She put the tray on the desk. “Peewee,” I asked, rather hurt, “don’t you care that I’m well?”

“Of course I do. Why do you think I made ‘em let me carry in your breakfast? But I knew last night that they were going to uncork you. Who do you think cut your nails and shaved you? That’ll be a dollar, please. Shaves have gone up.” I got that tired dollar and handed it to her. She didn’t take it. “Aw, can’t you take a joke?” “‘Neither a borrower nor a lender be.’”

“Polonius. He was a stupid old bore. Honest, Kip, I wouldn’t take your last dollar.” “Now who can’t take a joke?”

“Oh, eat your breakfast. That purple juice,” she said, “tastes like orange juice-it’s very nice. The stuff that looks like scrambled eggs is a fair substitute and I had ‘em color it yellow-the eggs here are dreadful, which wouldn’t surprise you if you knew where they get them. The buttery stuff is vegetable fat and I had them color it, too. The bread is bread, I toasted it myself. The salt is salt and it surprises them that we eat it-they think it’s poison. Go ahead; I’ve guinea-pigged everything. No coffee.”

“I won’t miss it.”

“I never touch the stuff-I’m trying to grow. Eat. Your sugar count has been allowed to drop so that you will enjoy it.” The aroma was wonderful. “Where’s your breakfast, Peewee?”

“I ate hours ago. I’ll watch and swallow when you do.”

The tastes were odd but it was just what the doctor ordered-literally, I suppose. I’ve never enjoyed a meal so much. Presently I slowed down to say, “Knife and fork? Spoons?”

“The only ones on-” She vocalized the planet’s name. “I got tired of fingers and I play hob using what they use. So I drew pictures. This set is mine but we’ll order more.”

There was even a napkin, more felted stuff. The water tasted distilled and not aerated. I didn’t mind. “Peewee, how did you shave me? Not even a nick.”

“Little gismo that beats a razor all hollow. I don’t know what they use it for, but if you could patent it, you’d make a fortune. Aren’t you going to finish that toast?” “Uh-” I had thought that I could eat the tray. “No, I’m full.”

“Then I will.” She used it to mop up the “butter,” then announced, “I’m off!” “Where?”

“To suit up. I’m going to take you for a walk!” She was gone.

The hall outside did not imitate ours where it could not be seen from the bed, but a door to the left was a bathroom, just where it should have been. No attempt had been made to make it look like the one at home, and valving and lighting and such were typically Vegan. But everything worked.

Peewee returned while I was checking Oscar. If they had cut him off me, they had done a marvelous job of repairing; even the places I had patched no longer showed. He had been cleaned so thoroughly that there was no odor inside. He had three hours of air and seemed okay in every way. “You’re in good shape, partner.”

(“In the pink! The service is excellent here.”)

“So I’ve noticed.” I looked up and saw Peewee; she was already in her “spring outfit.” “Peewee, do we need space suits just for a walk?”

“No. You could get by with a respirator, sun glasses, and a sun shade.”

“You’ve convinced me. Say, where’s Madame Pompadour? How do you get her inside that suit?” “No trouble at all, she just bulges a little. But I left her in my room and told her to behave herself.” “Will she?”

“Probably not. She takes after me.” “Where is your room?”

“Next door. This is the only part of the house which is Earth-conditioned.” I started to suit up. “Say, has that fancy suit got a radio?”

“All that yours has and then some. Did you notice the change in Oscar?”

“Huh? What? I saw that he was repaired and cleaned up. What else have they done?”

“Just a little thing. One more click on the switch that changes antennas and you can talk to people around you who aren’t wearing radios without shouting.” “I didn’t see a speaker.”

“They don’t believe in making everything big and bulky.”

As we passed Peewee’s room I glanced in. It was not decorated Vegan style; I had seen Vegan interiors through stereo. Nor was it a copy of her own room-not if her parents were sensible. I don’t know what to call it -“Moorish harem” style, perhaps, as conceived by Mad King Ludwig, with a dash of Disneyland.

I did not comment. I had a hunch that Peewee had been given a room “just like her own” because I had one; that fitted the Mother Thing’s behavior-but Peewee had seen a golden chance to let her overfertile imagination run wild. I doubt if she fooled the Mother Thing one split second. She had probably let that indulgent overtone come into her song and had given Peewee what she wanted.

The Mother Thing’s home was smaller than our state capitol but not much; her family seemed to run to dozens, or hundreds-“family” has a wide meaning under their complex interlinkage. We didn’t see any young ones on our floor and I knew that they were being kept away from the “monsters.” The adults all greeted me, inquired as to my health, and congratulated me on my recovery; I was kept busy saying “Fine, thank you! Couldn’t be better.”

They all knew Peewee and she could sing their names.

I thought I recognized one of my therapists, but the Mother Thing, Prof Joe and the boss veterinarian were the only Vegans I was sure of and we did not meet them.

We hurried on. The Mother Thing’s home was typical-many soft round cushions about a foot thick and four in diameter, used as beds or chairs, floor bare, slick and springy, most furniture on the walls where it could be reached by climbing, convenient rods and poles and brackets a person could drape himself on while using the furniture, plants growing unexpectedly here and there as if the jungle were moving in-delightful, and as useful to me as a corset.

Through a series of parabolic arches we reached a balcony. It was not railed and the drop to a terrace below was about seventy-five feet; I stayed back and regretted again that Oscar had no chin window. Peewee went to the edge, put an arm around a slim pillar and leaned out. In the bright outdoor light her “helmet” became an opalescent sphere. “Come see!”

“And break my neck? Maybe you’d like to belay me?” “Oh, pooh! Who’s afraid of heights?”

“I am when I can’t see what I’m doing.”

“Well, for goodness’ sakes, take my hand and grab a post.” I let her lead me to a pillar, then looked out.

It was a city in a jungle. Thick dark green, so tangled that I could not tell trees from vine and bush, spread out all around but was broken repeatedly by buildings as large and larger than the one we were in. There were no roads; their roads are underground in cities and sometimes outside the cities. But there was air traffic-individual fliers supported by contrivances even less substantial than our own one-man ‘copter harnesses or flying carpets. Like birds they launched themselves from and landed in balconies such as the one we stood in.

There were real birds, too, long and slender and brilliantly colored, with two sets of wings in tandem-which looked aerodynamically unsound but seemed to suit them. The sky was blue and fair but broken by three towering cumulous anvils, blinding white in the distance.

“Let’s go on the roof,” said Peewee. “How?”

“Over here.”

It was a scuttle hole reached by staggered slender brackets the Vegans use as stairs. “Isn’t there a ramp?” “Around on the far side, yes.”

“I don’t think those things will hold me. And that hole looks small for Oscar.” “Oh, don’t be a sissy,” Peewee went up like a monkey.

I followed like a tired bear. The brackets were sturdy despite their grace; the hole was a snug fit.

Vega was high in the sky. It appeared to be the angular size of our Sun, which fitted since we were much farther out than Terra is from the Sun, but it was too bright even with full polarization. I looked away and presently eyes and polarizers adjusted until I could see again. Peewee’s head was concealed by what appeared to be a polished chrome basketball. I said, “Hey, are you still there?”

“Sure,” she answered. “I can see out all right. It’s a grand view. Doesn’t it remind you of Paris from the top of the Arc de Triomphe?” “I don’t know, I’ve never done any traveling.”

“Except no boulevards, of course. Somebody is about to land here.”

I turned the way she was pointing-she could see in all directions while I was hampered by the built-in tunnel vision of my helmet. By the time I was turned around the Vegan was coming in beside us.

(“Hello, children!”)

“Hi, Mother Thing!” Peewee threw her arms around her, picking her up.

(“Not so hasty, dear. Let me shed this.”) The Mother Thing stepped out of her harness, shook herself in ripples, folded the flying gear like an umbrella and hung it over an arm. (“You’re looking fit, Kip.”)

“I feel fine, Mother Thing! Gee, it’s nice to have you back.”

(“I wished to be back when you got out of bed. However, your therapists have kept me advised every minute.”) She put a little hand against my chest, growing a bit to do so, and placed her eyes almost against my face plate. (“You are well?”)

“I couldn’t be better.”

“He really is, Mother Thing!”

(“Good. You agree that you are well, I sense that you are, Peewee is sure that you are and, most important, your leader therapist assures me that you are. We’ll leave at once.”) “What?” I asked. “Where, Mother Thing?”

She turned to Peewee. (“Haven’t you told him, dear?”) “Gee, Mother Thing, I haven’t had a chance.”

(“Very well.”) She turned to me. (“Dear Kip, we must now attend a gathering. Questions will be asked and answered, decisions will be made.”) She spoke to us both. (“Are you ready to leave?”)

“Now?” said Peewee. “Why, I guess so-except that I’ve got to get Madame Pompadour.” (“Fetch her, then. And you, Kip?”)

“Uh-” I couldn’t remember whether I had put my watch back on after I washed and I couldn’t tell because I can’t feel it through Oscar’s thick hide. I told her so. (“Very well. You children run to your rooms while I have a ship fetched. Meet me here and don’t stop to admire flowers.”)

We went down by ramp. I said, “Peewee, you’ve been holding out on me again.” “Why, I have not!”

“What do you call it?”

“Kip-please listen! I was told not to tell you while you were ill. The Mother Thing was very firm about it. You were not to be disturbed-that’s what she said!-while you were growing well.” “Why should I feel disturbed? What is all this? What gathering? What questions?”

“Well … the gathering is sort of a court. Acriminal court, you might say.”

“Huh?” I took a quick look at my conscience. But I hadn’t had any chance to do anything wrong-I had been helpless as a baby up to two hours ago. That left Peewee. “Runt,” I said sternly, “what have you done now?”

“Me? Nothing.” “Think hard.”

“No, Kip. Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you at breakfast! But Daddy says never to break any news until after his second cup of coffee and I thought how nice it would be to take a little walk before we had any worries and I was going to tell you”

“Make it march.”

“-as soon as we came down. I haven’t done anything. But there’s old Wormface.” “What? I thought he was dead.”

“Maybe so, maybe not. But, as the Mother Thing says, there are still questions to be asked, decisions to be made. He’s up for the limit, is my guess.”

I thought about it as we wound our way through strange apartments toward the air lock that led to our Earth-conditioned rooms. High crimes and misdemeanors … skulduggery in the spaceways-yes, Wormface was probably in for it. If the Vegans could catch him. “Had caught him” apparently, since they were going to try him. “But where do we come in? As witnesses?”

“I suppose you could call it that.”

What happened to Wormface was no skin off my nose-and it would be a chance to find out more about the Vegans. Especially if the court was some distance away, so that we would travel and see the country.

“But that isn’t all,” Peewee went on worriedly. “What else?”

She sighed. “This is why I wanted us to have a nice sight-see first. Uh …” “Don’t chew on it. Spit it out.”

“Well … we have to be tried, too.” “What?”

“Maybe ‘examined’ is the word. I don’t know. But I know this: we can’t go home until we’ve been judged.” “But what have we done?” I burst out.

“I don’t know!”

My thoughts were boiling. “Are you sure they’ll let us go home then?”

“The Mother Thing refuses to talk about it.”

I stopped and took her arm. “What it amounts to,” I said bitterly, “is that we are under arrest. Aren’t we?” “Yes-” She added almost in a sob, “But, Kip, I told you she was a cop!”

“Great stuff. We pull her chestnuts out of the fire-and now we’re arrested-and going to be tried-and we don’t even know why! Nice place, Vega Five. ‘The natives are friendly.’ ” They had nursed me-as we nurse a gangster in order to hang him.

“But, Kip-” Peewee was crying openly now. “I’m sure it’ll be all right. She may be a cop-but she’s still the Mother Thing.” “Is she? I wonder.” Peewee’s manner contradicted her words. She was not one to worry over nothing. Quite the contrary.

My watch was on the washstand. I ungasketed to put it in an inside pocket. When I came out, Peewee was doing the same with Madame Pompadour. “Here,” I said, “I’ll take her with me. I’ve got more room.”

“No, thank you,” Peewee answered bleakly. “I need her with me. Especially now.” “Uh, Peewee, where is this court? This city? Or another one?”

“Didn’t I tell you? No, I guess I didn’t. It’s not on this planet.” “I thought this was the only inhabited-“

“It’s not a planet around Vega. Another star. Not even in the Galaxy.” “Say that again?”

“It’s somewhere in the Lesser Magellanic Cloud.”

Chapter 10

I didn’t put up a fight-a hundred and sixty trillion miles from nowhere, I mean. But I didn’t speak to the Mother Thing as I got into her ship.

It was shaped like an old-fashioned beehive and it looked barely big enough to jump us to the space port. Peewee and I crowded together on the floor, the Mother Thing curled up in front and twiddled a shiny rack like an abacus; we took off, straight up.

In a few minutes my anger grew from sullenness to a reckless need to settle it. “Mother Thing!”

(“One moment, dear. Let me get us out of the atmosphere.”) She pushed something, the ship quivered and steadied. “Mother Thing,” I repeated.

(“Wait until I lower us, Kip.”)

I had to wait. It’s as silly to disturb a pilot as it is to snatch the wheel of a car. The little ship took a buffeting; the upper winds must have been dillies. But she could pilot.

Presently there was a gentle bump and I figured we must be at the space port. The Mother Thing turned her head. (“All right, Kip. I sense your fear and resentment. Will it help to say that you two are in no danger? That I would protect you with my body? As you protected mine?”)

“Yes, but-“

(“Then let be. It is easier to show than it is to explain. Don’t clamp your helmet. This planet’s air is like your own.”) “Huh? You mean we’re there?”

“I told you,” Peewee said at my elbow. “Just poof! and you’re there.” I didn’t answer. I was trying to guess how far we were from home. (“Come, children.”)

It was midday when we left; it was night as we disembarked. The ship rested on a platform that stretched out of sight. Stars in front of me were in unfamiliar constellations; slaunchwise down the sky was a thin curdling which I spotted as the Milky Way. So Peewee had her wires crossed-we were far from home but still in the Galaxy-perhaps we had simply switched to the night side of Vega Five.

I heard Peewee gasp and turned around. I didn’t have strength to gasp.

Dominating that whole side of the sky was a great whirlpool of millions, maybe billions, of stars.

You’ve seen pictures of the Great Nebula in Andromeda?-a giant spiral of two curving arms, seen at an angle. Of all the lovely things in the sky it is the most beautiful. This was like that. Only we weren’t seeing a photograph nor even by telescope; we were so close (if “close” is the word) that it stretched across the sky twice as long as the Big Dipper as seen from home-

so close that I saw the thickening at the center, two great branches coiling around and overtaking each other. We saw it from an angle so that it appeared elliptical, just as M31 in

Andromeda does; you could feel its depth, you could see its shape.

Then I knew I was a long way from home. That was home, up there, lost in billions of crowded stars.

It was some time before I noticed another double spiral on my right, almost as wide-flung but rather lopsided and not nearly as brilliant-a pale ghost of our own gorgeous Galaxy. It slowly penetrated that this second one must be the Greater Magellanic Cloud-if we were in the Lesser and if that fiery whirlpool was our own Galaxy. What I had thought was “The Milky Way”

was simply a milky way, the Lesser Cloud from inside.

I turned and looked at it again. It had the right shape, a roadway around the sky, but it was pale skim milk compared with our own, about as our Milky Way looks on a murky night. I don’t know how it should look, since I’d never seen the Magellanic Clouds; I’ve never been south of the Rio Grande. But I did know that each cloud is a galaxy in its own right, but smaller than ours and grouped with us.

I looked again at our blazing spiral and was homesick in a way I hadn’t been since I was six.

Peewee was huddling to the Mother Thing for comfort. She made herself taller and put an arm around Peewee. (“There, there, dear! I felt the same way when I was very young and saw it for the first time.”)

“Mother Thing?” Peewee said timidly. “Where is home?”

(“See the right half of it, dear, where the outer arm trails into nothingness? We came from a point two-thirds the way out from the center.” “No, no! Not Vega. I want to know where the Sun is!”

(“Oh, your star. But, dear, at this distance it is the same.”)

We learned how far it is from the Sun to the planet Lanador 167,000 light-years. The Mother Thing couldn’t tell us directly as she did not know how much time we meant by a “year”-how long it takes Terra to go around the Sun (a figure she might have used once or not at all and as worth remembering as the price of peanuts in Perth). But she did know the distance from Vega to the Sun and told us the distance from Lanador to Vega with that as a yardstick-six thousand one hundred and ninety times as great. 6190 times 27 light-years gives 167,000 light-years. She courteously gave it in powers of ten the way we figure, instead of using factorial five (1x2x3x4x5 equals 120) which is how Vegans figure. 167,000 light-years is 9.82 x 1017 miles. Round off 9.82 and call it ten. Then -1,000,000,000,000,000,000 miles -is the distance from Vega to Lanador (or from the Sun to Lanador; Vega and the Sun are back-fence neighbors on this scale.)

Athousand million billion miles.

I refuse to have anything to do with such a preposterous figure. It may be “short” as cosmic distances go, but there comes a time when the circuit breakers in your skull trip out from overload.

The platform we were on was the roof of an enormous triangular building, miles on a side. We saw that triangle repeated in many places and always with a two-armed spiral in each corner. It was the design the Mother Thing wore as jewelry.

It is the symbol for “Three Galaxies, One Law.”

I’ll lump here things I learned in driblets: The Three Galaxies are like our Federated Free Nations, or the United Nations before that, or the League of Nations still earlier; Lanador houses their offices and courts and files-the League’s capital, the way the FFN is in New York and the League of Nations used to be in Switzerland. The cause is historical; the people of Lanador are the Old Race; that’s where civilization began.

The Three Galaxies are an island group, like Hawaii State, they haven’t any other close neighbors. Civilization spread through the Lesser Cloud, then through the Greater Cloud and is seeping slowly through our own Galaxy-that is taking longer; there are fifteen or twenty times as many stars in our Galaxy as in the other two.

When I began to get these things straight I wasn’t quite as sore. The Mother Thing was a very important person at home but here she was a minor official-all she could do was bring us in. Still, I wasn’t more than coolly polite for a while-she might have looked the other way while we beat it for home.

They housed us in that enormous building in a part you could call a “transients” hotel,” although “detention barracks” or “jail” is closer. I can’t complain about accommodations but I was getting confoundedly tired of being locked up every time I arrived in a new place. Arobot met us and took us down inside-there are robots wherever you turn on Lanador. I don’t mean

things looking like the Tin Woodman; I mean machines that do things for you, such as this one which led us to our rooms, then hung around like a bellhop expecting a tip. It was a three- wheeled cart with a big basket on top, for luggage if we had any. It met us, whistled to the Mother Thing in Vegan and led us away, down a lift and through a wide and endlessly long corridor.

I was given “my” room again-a fake of a fake, with all errors left in and new ones added. The sight of it was not reassuring; it shrieked that they planned to keep us there as long as-well, as long as they chose.

But the room was complete even to a rack for Oscar and a bathroom outside. Just beyond “my” room was a fake of another kind-a copy of that Arabian Nights horror Peewee had occupied on Vega Five. Peewee seemed delighted, so I didn’t point out the implications.

The Mother Thing hovered around while we got out of space suits. (“Do you think you will be comfortable?”) “Oh, sure,” I agreed unenthusiastically.

(“If you want food or anything, just say so. It will come.”) “So? Is there a telephone somewhere?” (“Simply speak your wishes. You will be heard.”)

I didn’t doubt her-but I was almost as tired of rooms that were bugged as of being locked up; a person ought to have privacy. “I’m hungry now,” Peewee commented. “I had an early breakfast.”

We were in her room. Apurple drapery drew back, a light glowed in the wall. In about two minutes a section of wall disappeared; a slab at table height stuck out like a tongue. On it were dishes and silverware, cold cuts, fruit, bread, butter,, and a mug of steaming cocoa. Peewee clapped and squealed. I looked at it with less enthusiasm.

(“You see?”) the Mother Thing went on with a smile in her voice. (“Ask for what you need. If you need me, I’ll come. But I must go now.”) “Oh, please don’t go, Mother Thing.”

(“I must, Peewee dear. But I will see you soon. By the bye, there are two more of your people here.”) “Huh?” I put in. “Who? Where?”

(“Next door.”) She was gone with gliding swiftness; the bellhop speeded up to stay ahead of her. I spun around. “Did you hear that?”

“I certainly did!”

“Well-you eat if you want to; I’m going to look for those other humans.” “Hey! Wait for me!”

“I thought you wanted to eat.”

“Well …” Peewee looked at the food. “Just a sec.” She hastily buttered two slices of bread and handed one to me. I was not in that much of a hurry; I ate it. Peewee gobbled hers, took a gulp from the mug and offered it to me. “Want some?”

It wasn’t quite cocoa; there was a meaty flavor, too. But it was good. I handed it back and she finished it. “Now I can fight wildcats. Let’s go, Kip.”

“Next door” was through the foyer of our three-room suite and fifteen yards down the corridor, where we came to a door arch. I kept Peewee back and glanced in cautiously. It was a diorama, a fake scene.

This one was better than you see in museums. I was looking through a bush at a small clearing in wild country. It ended in a limestone bank. I could see overcast sky and a cave mouth in the rocks. The ground was wet, as if from rain.

Acave man hunkered down close to the cave. He was gnawing the carcass of a small animal, possibly a squirrel.

Peewee tried to shove past me; I stopped her. The cave man did not appear to notice us which struck me as a good idea. His legs looked short but I think he weighed twice what I do and he was muscled like a weight lifter, with short, hairy forearms and knotty biceps and calves. His head was huge, bigger than mine and longer, but his forehead and chin weren’t much. His teeth were large and yellow and a front one was broken. I heard bones crunching.

In a museum I would have expected a card reading “Neanderthal Man -circa Last Ice Age.” But wax dummies of extinct breeds don’t crack bones. Peewee protested, “Hey, let me look.”

He heard. Peewee stared at him, he stared toward us. Peewee squealed; he whirled and ran into the cave, waddling but making time. I grabbed Peewee. “Let’s get out of here!”

“Wait a minute,” she said calmly. “He won’t come out in a hurry.” She tried to push the bush aside. “Peewee!”

“Try this,” she suggested. Her hand was shoving air. “They’ve got him penned.”

I tried it. Something transparent blocked the arch. I could push it a little but not more than an inch. “Plastic?” I suggested. “Like Lucite but springier?” “Mmm …” said Peewee. “More like the helmet of my suit. Tougher, though-and I’ll bet light passes only one way. I don’t think he saw us.”

“Okay, let’s get back to our rooms. Maybe we can lock them.”

She went on feeling that barrier. “Peewee!” I said sharply. “You’re not listening.” “What were you doing talking,” she answered reasonably, “when I wasn’t listening?” “Peewee! This is no time to be difficult.”

“You sound like Daddy. He dropped that rat he was eating-he might come back.”

“If he does, you won’t be here, because I’m about to drag you-and if you bite, I’ll bite back. I warn you.”

She looked around with a trace of animosity. “I wouldn’t bite you. Kip, no matter what you did. But if you’re going to be stuffy-oh, well, I doubt if he’ll come out for an hour or so. We’ll come back.”

“Okay.” I pulled her away.

But we did not leave. I heard a loud whistle and a shout: “Hey, buster! Over here!”

The words were not English, but I understood-well enough. The yell came from an archway across the corridor and a little farther on. I hesitated, then moved toward it because Peewee did so.

Aman about forty-five was loafing in this doorway. He was no Neanderthal; he was civilized-or somewhat so. He wore a long heavy woolen tunic, belted in at the waist, forming a sort of

kilt. His legs below that were wrapped in wool and he was shod in heavy short boots, much worn. At the belt and supported by a shoulder sling was a short, heavy sword; there was a dagger on the other side of the belt. His hair was short and he was clean-shaven save for a few days’ gray stubble. His expression was neither friendly nor unfriendly; it was sharply watchful.

“Thanks,” he said gruffly. “Are you the jailer?” Peewee gasped. “Why, that’s Latin!”

What do you do when you meet a Legionary? Right after a cave man? I answered: “No, I am a prisoner myself.” I said it in Spanish and repeated it in pretty fair classical Latin. I used Spanish because Peewee hadn’t been quite correct. It was not Latin he spoke, not the Latin of Ovid and Gaius Julius Caesar. Nor was it Spanish. It was in between, with an atrocious accent and other differences. But I could worry out the meaning.

He sucked his lip and answered, “That’s bad. I’ve been trying for three days to attract attention and all I get is another prisoner. But that’s how the die rolls. Say, that’s a funny accent you have.”

“Sorry, amigo, but I have trouble understanding you, too.” I repeated it in Latin, then split the difference. I added, in improvised lingua franca, “Speak slowly, will you?” “I’ll speak as I please. And don’t call me ‘amico’; I’m a Roman citizen -so don’t get gay.”

That’s a free translation. His advice was more vulgar-I think. It was close to a Spanish phrase which certainly is vulgar. “What’s he saying?” demanded Peewee. “It is Latin, isn’t it? Translate!”

I was glad she hadn’t caught it. “Why, Peewee, don’t you know ‘the language of poetry and science’?” “Oh, don’t be a smartie! Tell me.”

“Don’t crowd me, hon. I’ll tell you later. I’m having trouble following it.”

“What is that barbarian grunting?” the Roman said pleasantly. “Talk language, boy. Or will you have ten with the flat of the sword?”

He seemed to be leaning on nothing-so I felt the air. It was solid; I decided not to worry about his threat. “I’m talking as best I can. We spoke to each other in our own language.” “Pig grunts. Talk Latin. If you can.” He looked at Peewee as if just noticing her. “Your daughter? Want to sell her? If she had meat on her bones, she might be worth a half denario.” Peewee clouded up. “I understood that!” she said fiercely. “Come out here and fight!”

“Try it in Latin,” I advised her. “If he understands you, he’ll probably spank you.” She looked uneasy. “You wouldn’t let him?”

“You know I wouldn’t.” “Let’s go back.”

“That’s what I said earlier.” I escorted her past the cave man’s lair to our suite. “Peewee, I’m going back and see what our noble Roman has to say. Do you mind?” “I certainly do!”

“Be reasonable, hon. If we could be hurt by them, the Mother Thing would know it. After all, she told us they were here.” “I’ll go with you.”

“What for? I’ll tell you everything I learn. This may be a chance to find out what this silliness means. What’s he doing here? Have they kept him in deep-freeze a couple of thousand years? How long has he been awake? What does he know that we don’t? We’re in a bad spot; all the data I can dig up we need. You can help by keeping out. If you’re scared, send for the

Mother Thing.”

She pouted. “I’m not scared. All right-if that’s the way you want it.” “I do. Eat your dinner.”

Jo-Jo the dogface boy was not in sight; I gave his door a wide berth. If a ship can go anywhere in no time, could it skip a dimension and go anywhere to any time? How would the math work out? The soldier was still lounging at his door. He looked up. “Didn’t you hear me say to stick around?”

“I heard you,” I admitted, “but we’re not going to get anywhere if you take that attitude. I’m not one of your privates.” “Lucky for you!”

“Do we talk peacefully? Or do I leave?”

He looked me over. “Peace. But don’t get smart with me, barbarian.”

He called himself “Iunio.” He had served in Spain and Gaul, then transferred to the VIth Legion, the “Victrix”-which he felt that even a barbarian should know of. His legion’s garrison was Eboracum, north of Londinium in Britain, but he had been on advance duty as a brevet centurion (he pronounced it “centurio”)-his permanent rank was about like top sergeant. He was smaller than I am but I would not want to meet him in an alley. Nor at the palisades of a castra.

He had a low opinion of Britons and all barbarians including me (“nothing personal-some of my best friends are barbarians”), women, the British climate, high brass, and priests; he thought well of Caesar, Rome, the gods, and his own professional ability. The army wasn’t what it used to be and the slump came from treating auxiliaries like Roman citizens.

He had been guarding the building of a wall to hold back barbarians-a nasty lot who would sneak up and slit your throat and eat you-which no doubt had happened to him, since he was now in the nether regions.

I thought he was talking about Hadrian’s Wall, but it was three days’ march north of there, where the seas were closest together. The climate there was terrible and the natives were bloodthirsty beasts who dyed their bodies and didn’t appreciate civilization-you’d think the Eagles were trying to steal their dinky island. Provincial … like me. No offense meant.

Nevertheless he had bought a little barbarian to wife and had been looking forward to garrison duty at Eboracum-when this happened. Iunio shrugged. “Perhaps if I had been careful with lustrations and sacrifices, my luck wouldn’t have run out. But I figure that if a man does his duty and keeps himself and his weapons clean, the rest is the C.O.’s worry. Careful of that doorway; it’s witched.”

The longer he talked the easier it was to understand him. The “-us” endings turned to “-o” and his vocabulary was not that of De Bello Gallico -“horse” wasn’t “equus”; it was “caballo.” His idioms bothered me, plus the fact that his Latin was diluted by a dozen barbarian tongues. But you can blank out every third word in a newspaper and still catch the gist.

I learned a lot about the daily life and petty politics of the Victrix and nothing that I wanted to know. Iunio did not know how he had gotten where he was nor why-except that he was dead and awaiting disposition in a receiving barracks somewhere in the nether world-a theory which I was not yet prepared to accept.

He knew the year of his “death”-Year Eight of the Emperor and Eight Hundred and Ninety-Nine of Rome. I wrote out the dates in Roman numerals to make sure. But I did not remember when Rome was founded nor could I identify the “Caesar” even by his full name-there have been so many Caesars. But Hadrian’s Wall had been built and Britain was still occupied; that placed lunio close to the third century.

He wasn’t interested in the cave man across the way-it embodied to him the worst vice of a barbarian: cowardice. I didn’t argue but I would be timid, too, if I had saber-toothed tigers yowling at my door. (Did they have sabertooths then? Make it “cave bears.”)

Iunio went back and returned with hard dark bread, cheese, and a cup. He did not offer me any and I don’t think it was the barrier. He poured a little of his drink on the floor and started to chomp. It was a mud floor; the walls were rough stone and the ceiling was supported by wooden beams. It may have been a copy of dwellings during the occupation of Britain, but I’m no

expert.

I didn’t stay much longer. Not only did bread and cheese remind me that I was hungry, but I offended lunio. I don’t know what set him off, but he discussed me with cold thoroughness, my eating habits, ancestry, appearance, conduct, and method of earning a living. Iunio was pleasant as long as you agreed with him, ignored insults, and deferred to him. Many older people demand this, even in buying a thirty-nine-cent can of talcum; you learn to give it without thinking-otherwise you get a reputation as a fresh kid and potential juvenile delinquent. The less respect an older person deserves the more certain he is to demand it from anyone younger. So I left, as lunio didn’t know anything helpful anyhow. As I went back I saw the cave man peering out his cave. I said, “Take it easy, Jo-Jo,” and went on.

I bumped into another invisible barrier blocking our archway. I felt it, then said quietly, “I want to go in.” The barrier melted away and I walked in-then found that it was back in place. My rubber soles made no noise and I didn’t call out because Peewee might be asleep. Her door was open and I peeped in. She was sitting tailor-fashion on that incredible Oriental

divan, rocking Madame Pompadour and crying.

I backed away, then returned whistling, making a racket, and calling to her. She popped out of her door, with smiling face and no trace of tears. “Hi, Kip! It took you long enough.” “That guy talks too much. What’s new?”

“Nothing. I ate and you didn’t come back, so I took a nap. You woke me. What did you find out?” “Let me order dinner and I’ll tell you while I eat.”

I was chasing the last bit of gravy when a bellhop robot came for us. It was like the other one except that it had in glowing gold on its front that triangle with three spirals. “Follow me,” it said in English.

I looked at Peewee. “Didn’t the Mother Thing say she was coming back?” “Why, I thought so.”

The machine repeated, “Follow me. Your presence is required.”

I laid my ears back. I have taken lots of orders, some of which I shouldn’t have, but I had never yet taken orders from a piece of machinery. “Go climb a rope!” I said. “You’ll have to drag me.”

This is not what to say to a robot. It did.

Peewee yelled, “Mother Thing! Where are you? Help us!”

Her birdsong came out of the machine. (“It’s all right, dears. The servant will lead you to me.”)

I quit struggling and started to walk. That refugee from an appliance dealer took us into another lift, then into a corridor whose walls whizzed past as soon as we entered. It nudged us through an enormous archway topped by the triangle and spirals and herded us into a pen near one wall. The pen was not apparent until we moved-more of that annoying solid air.

It was the biggest room I have ever been in, triangular, unbroken by post or pillar, with ceiling so high and walls so distant that I half expected local thunderstorms. An enormous room makes me feel like an ant; I was glad to be near a wall. The room was not empty-hundreds in it-but it looked empty because they were all near the walls; the giant floor was bare.

But there were three wormfaces out in the center-Wormface’s trial was in progress.

I don’t know if our own Wormface was there. I would not have known even if they had not been a long way off as the difference between two wormfaces is the difference between having your throat cut and being beheaded. But, as we learned, the presence or absence of the individual offender was the least important part of a trial. Wormface was being tried, present or not-alive or dead.

The Mother Thing was speaking. I could see her tiny figure, also far out on the floor but apart from the wormfaces. Her birdsong voice reached me faintly but I heard her words clearly-in English; from somewhere near us her translated words were piped to us. The feel of her was in the English translation just as it was in her bird tones.

She was telling what she knew of wormface conduct, as dispassionately as if describing something under a microscope, like a traffic officer testifying: “At 9:17 on the fifth, while on duty at-” etc. The facts. The Mother Thing was finishing her account of events on Pluto. She chopped it off at the point of explosion.

Another voice spoke, in English. It was flat with a nasal twang and reminded me of a Vermont grocer we had dealt with one summer when I was a kid. He was a man who never smiled nor frowned and what little he said was all in the same tone, whether it was, “She is a good woman,” or, “That man would cheat his own son,” or, “Eggs are fifty-nine cents,” cold as a cash register. This voice was that sort.

It said to the Mother Thing: “Have you finished?” “I have finished.”

“The other witnesses will be heard. Clifford Russell-“

I jumped, as if that grocer had caught me in the candy jar. The voice went on: “-listen carefully.” Another voice started.

My own-it was the account I had dictated, flat on my back on Vega Five.

But it wasn’t all of it; it was just that which concerned wormfaces. Adjectives and whole sentences had been cut-as if someone had taken scissors to a tape recording. The facts were there; what I thought about them was missing.

It started with ships landing in the pasture back of our house; it ended with that last wormface stumbling blindly down a hole. It wasn’t long, as so much had been left out-our hike across the Moon, for example. My description of Wormface was left in but had been trimmed so much that I could have been talking about Venus de Milo instead of the ugliest thing in creation.

My recorded voice ended and the Yankee-grocer voice said, “Were those your words?” “Huh? Yes.”

“Is the account correct?” “Yes, but-“

“Is it correct?” “Yes.”

“Is it complete?”

I wanted to say that it certainly was not-but I was beginning to understand the system. “Yes.” “Patricia Wynant Reisfeld-“

Peewee’s story started earlier and covered all those days when she had been in contact with wormfaces while I was not. But it was not much longer, for, while Peewee has a sharp eye and a sharper memory, she is loaded with opinions. Opinions were left out.

When Peewee had agreed that her evidence was correct and complete the Yankee voice stated, “All witnesses have been heard, all known facts have been integrated. The three individuals may speak for themselves.”

I think the wormfaces picked a spokesman, perhaps the Wormface, if he was alive and there. Their answer, as translated into English, did not have the guttural accent with which

Wormface spoke English; nevertheless it was a wormface speaking. That bone-chilling yet highly intelligent viciousness, as unmistakable as a punch in the teeth, was in every syllable.

Their spokesman was so far away that I was not upset by his looks and after the first stomach-twisting shock of that voice I was able to listen more or less judicially. He started by denying that this court had jurisdiction over his sort. He was responsible only to his mother-queen and she only to their queen-groups-that’s how the English came out.

That defense, he claimed, was sufficient. However, if the “Three Galaxies” confederation existed-which he had no reason to believe other than that he was now being detained unlawfully before this hiveful of creatures met as a kangaroo court-if it existed, it still had no jurisdiction over the Only People, first, because the organization did not extend to his part of space; second, because even if it were there, the Only People had never joined and therefore its rules (if it had rules) could not apply; and third, it was inconceivable that their queen-group would associate itself with this improbable “Three Galaxies” because people do not contract with animals.

This defense was also sufficient.

But disregarding for the sake of argument these complete and sufficient defenses, this trial was a mockery because no offense existed even under the so-called rules of the alleged “Three Galaxies.” They (the wormfaces) had been operating in their own part of space engaged in occupying a useful but empty planet, Earth. No possible crime could lie in colonizing land inhabited merely by animals. As for the agent of Three Galaxies, she had butted in; she had not been harmed; she had merely been kept from interfering and had been detained only for the purpose of returning her where she belonged.

He should have stopped. Any of these defenses might have stood up, especially the last one. I used to think of the human race as “lords of creation”-but things had happened to me since. I was not sure that this assemblage would think that humans had rights compared with wormfaces. Certainly the wormfaces were ahead of us in many ways. When we clear jungle to make farms, do we worry if baboons are there first?

But he discarded these defenses, explained that they were intellectual exercises to show how foolish the whole thing was under any rules, from any point of view. He would now make his defense.

It was an attack.

The viciousness in his voice rose to a crescendo of hatred that made every word slam like a blow. How dared they do this? They were mice voting to bell the cat! (I know-but that’s how it came out in translation.) They were animals to be eaten, or merely vermin to be exterminated. Their mercy would be rejected if offered, no negotiation was possible, their crimes would never be forgotten, the Only People would destroy them!

I looked around to see how the jury was taking it. This almost-empty hall had hundreds of creatures around the three sides and many were close to us. I had been too busy with the trial to do more than glance at them. Now I looked, for the wormface’s blast was so disturbing that I welcomed a distraction.

They were all sorts and I’m not sure that any two were alike. There was one twenty feet from me who was as horrible as Wormface and amazingly like him-except that this creature’s grisly appearance did not inspire disgust. There were others almost human in appearance, although they were greatly in the minority. There was one really likely-looking chick as human as I am-except for iridescent skin and odd and skimpy notions of dress. She was so pretty that I would have sworn that the iridescence was just make-up-but I probably would have been wrong. I wondered in what language the diatribe was reaching her? Certainly not English.

Perhaps she felt my stare, for she looked around and unsmilingly examined me, as I might a chimpanzee in a cage. I guess the attraction wasn’t mutual.

There was every gradation from pseudo-wormface to the iridescent girl -not only the range between, but also way out in left field; some had their own private aquaria.

I could not tell how the invective affected them. The girl creature was taking it quietly, but what can you say about a walrus thing with octopus arms? If he twitches, is he angry? Or laughing? Or itches where the twitch is?

The Yankee-voiced spokesman let the wormface rave on.

Peewee was holding my hand. Now she grabbed my ear, tilted her face and whispered, “He talks nasty.” She sounded awed.

The wormface ended with a blast of hate that must have overtaxed the translator for instead of English we heard a wordless scream. The Yankee voice said flatly, “But do you have anything to say in your defense?”

The scream was repeated, then the wormface became coherent. “I have made my defense-that no defense is necessary.” The emotionless voice went on, to the Mother Thing. “Do you speak for them?”

She answered reluctantly, “My lord peers … I am forced to say … that I found them to be quite naughty.” She sounded grieved. “You find against them?”

“I do.”

“Then you may not be heard. Such is the Law.” ” ‘Three Galaxies, One Law.’ I may not speak.”

The flat voice went on, “Will any witness speak favorably?” There was silence.

That was my chance to be noble. We humans were their victims; we were in a position to speak up, point out that from their standpoint they hadn’t done anything wrong, and ask mercy-if they would promise to behave in the future.

Well, I didn’t. I’ve heard all the usual Sweetness and Light that kids get pushed at them-how they should always forgive, how there’s some good in the worst of us, etc. But when I see a black widow, I step on it; I don’t plead with it to be a good little spider and please stop poisoning people. Ablack widow spider can’t help it-but that’s the point.

The voice said to the wormfaces: “Is there any race anywhere which might speak for you? If so, it will be summoned.” The spokesman wormface spat at the idea. That another race might be character witnesses for them disgusted him. “So be it,” answered the Yankee voice. “Are the facts sufficient to permit a decision?”

Almost immediately the voice answered itself: “Yes.” “What is the decision?”

Again it answered itself: “Their planet shall be rotated.”

It didn’t sound like much-shucks, all planets rotate-and the flat voice held no expression. But the verdict scared me. The whole room seemed to shudder.

The Mother Thing turned and came toward us. It was a long way but she reached us quickly. Peewee flung herself on her; the solid air that penned us solidified still more until we three were in a private room, a silvery hemisphere.

Peewee was trembling and gasping and the Mother Thing comforted her. When Peewee had control of herself, I said nervously, “Mother Thing? What did he mean? ‘Their planet shall be rotated.’ “

She looked at me without letting go of Peewee and her great soft eyes were sternly sad. (“It means that their planet is tilted ninety degrees out of the space-time of your senses and mine.”)

Her voice sounded like a funeral dirge played softly on a flute. Yet the verdict did not seem tragic to me. I knew what she meant; her meaning was even clearer in Vegan than in English. If you rotate a plane figure about an axis in its plane-it disappears. It is no longer in a plane and Mr. A. Square of Flatland is permanently out of touch with it.

But it doesn’t cease to exist; it just is no longer where it was. It struck me that the wormfaces were getting off easy. I had halfway expected their planet to be blown up (and I didn’t doubt

that Three Galaxies could do so), or something equally drastic. As it was, the wormfaces were to be run out of town and would never find their way back-there are so many, many dimensions-but they wouldn’t be hurt; they were just being placed in Coventry.

But the Mother Thing sounded as if she had taken unwilling part in a hanging. So I asked her.

(“You do not understand, dear gentle Kip-they do not take their star with them.”) “Oh-” was all I could say.

Peewee turned white.

Stars are the source of life-planets are merely life’s containers. Chop off the star … and the planet gets colder … and colder … and colder-then still colder. How long until the very air freezes? How many hours or days to absolute zero? I shivered and got goose pimples. Worse than Pluto-

“Mother Thing? How long before they do this?” I had a queasy misgiving that I should have spoken, that even wormfaces did not deserve this. Blow them up, shoot them down-but don’t freeze them.

(“It is done,”) she sang in that same dirgelike way. “What?”

(“The agent charged with executing the decision waits for the word … the message goes out the instant we hear it. They were rotated out of our world even before I turned to join you. It is better so.”)

I gulped and heard an echo in my mind: “-‘twere well it were done quickly.”

But the Mother Thing was saying rapidly, (“Think no more on ‘t, for now you must be brave!”) “Huh? What, Mother Thing? What happens now?”

(“You’ll be summoned any moment-for your own trial.”)

I simply stared, I could not speak-I had thought it was all over. Peewee looked still thinner and whiter but did not cry. She wet her lips and said quietly, “You’ll come with us, Mother Thing?”

(“Oh, my children! I cannot. You must face this alone.”)

I found my voice. “But what are we being tried for? We haven’t hurt anybody. We haven’t done a thing.” (“Not you personally. Your race is on trial. Through you.”)

Peewee turned away from her and looked at me-and I felt a thrill of tragic pride that in our moment of extremity she had turned, not to the Mother Thing, but to me, another human being.

I knew that she was thinking of the same thing I was: a ship, a ship hanging close to Earth, only an instant away and yet perhaps uncounted trillion miles in some pocket of folded space, where no DEW line gives warning, where no radar can reach.

The Earth, green and gold and lovely, turning lazily in the warm light of the Sun- Aflat voice- No more Sun.

No stars.

The orphaned Moon would bobble once, then continue around the Sun, a gravestone to the hopes of men. The few at Lunar Base and Luna City and Tombaugh Station would last weeks or even months, the only human beings left alive. Then they would go-if not of suffocation, then of grief and loneliness.

Peewee said shrilly, “Kip, she’s not serious! Tell me she’s not!”

I said hoarsely, “Mother Thing-are the executioners already waiting?”

She did not answer. She said to Peewee, (“It is very serious, my daughter. But do not be afraid. I exacted a promise before I surrendered you. If things go against your race, you two will return with me and be suffered to live out your little lives in my home. So stand up and tell the truth … and do not be afraid.”)

The flat voice entered the closed space: “The human beings are summoned.”

Chapter 11

We walked out onto that vast floor. The farther we went the more I felt like a fly on a plate. Having Peewee with me was a help; nevertheless it was that nightmare where you find yourself not decently dressed in a public place. Peewee clutched my hand and held Madame Pompadour pressed tightly to her. I wished that I had suited-up in Oscar-I wouldn’t have felt quite so under a microscope with Oscar around me.

Just before we left, the Mother Thing placed her hand against my forehead and started to hold me with her eyes. I pushed her hand aside and looked away. “No,” I told her. “No treatments! I’m not going to-oh, I know you mean well but I won’t take an anesthetic. Thanks.”

She did not insist; she simply turned to Peewee. Peewee looked uncertain, then shook her head. “We’re ready,” she piped.

The farther out we got on that great bare floor the more I regretted that I had not let the Mother Thing do whatever it was that kept one from worrying. At least I should have insisted that Peewee take it.

Coming at us from the other walls were two other flies; as they got closer I recognized them: the Neanderthal and the Legionary. The cave man was being dragged invisibly; the Roman covered ground in a long, slow, easy lope. We all arrived at the center at the same time and were stopped about twenty feet apart, Peewee and I at one point of a triangle, the Roman and the cave man each at another.

I called out, “Hail, Iunio!”

“Silence, barbarian.” He looked around him, his eyes estimating the crowd at the walls.

He was no longer in casual dress. The untidy leggings were gone; strapped to his right shin was armor. Over the tunic he wore full cuirass and his head was brave with plumed helmet. All metal was burnished, all leather was clean.

He had approached with his shield on his back, route-march style. But even as we were stopped he unslung it and raised it on his left arm. He did not draw his sword as his right hand held his javelin at the ready carried easily while his wary eyes assessed the foe.

To his left the cave man hunkered himself small, as an animal crouches who has no place to hide.

“Iunio!” I called out. “Listen!” The sight of those two had me still more worried. The cave man I could not talk to but perhaps I could reason with the Roman. “Do you know why we are here?”

“I know,” he tossed over his shoulder. “Today the Gods try us in their arena. This is work for a soldier and a Roman citizen. You’re no help so keep out. No-watch behind me and shout. Caesar will reward you.”

I started to try to talk sense but was cut off by a giant voice from everywhere: “YOU ARE NOW BEING JUDGED!”

Peewee shivered and got closer. I twisted my left hand out of her clutch, substituted my right, and put my left arm around her shoulders. “Head up, partner,” I said softly. “Don’t let them scare you.”

“I’m not scared,” she whispered as she trembled. “Kip? You do the talking.” “Is that the way you want it?”

“Yes. You don’t get mad as fast as I do-and if I lost my temper … well, that’d be awful.” “Okay.”

We were interrupted by that flat, nasal twang. As before, it seemed close by. “This case derives from the one preceding it. The three temporal samples are from a small Lanador-type planet around a star in an out-center part of the Third Galaxy. It is a very primitive area having no civilized races. This race, as you see from the samples, is barbaric. It has been examined twice before and would not yet be up for routine examination had not new facts about it come out in the case which preceded it.”

The voice asked itself: “When was the last examination made?”

It answered itself: “Approximately one half-death of Thorium-230 ago.” It added, apparently to us only: “About eighty thousand of your years.”

Iunio jerked his head and looked around, as if trying to locate the voice. I concluded that he had heard the same figure in his corrupt Latin. Well, I was startled too-but I was numb to that sort of shock.

“Is it necessary again so soon?”

“It is. There has been a discontinuity. They are developing with unexpected speed.” The flat voice went on, speaking to us: “I am your judge. Many of the civilized beings you see around you are part of me. Others are spectators, some are students, and a few are here because they hope to catch me in a mistake.” The voice added, “This they have not managed to do in more than a million of your years.”

I blurted out, “You are more than a million years old?” I did not add that I didn’t believe it.

The voice answered, “I am older than that, but no part of me is that old. I am partly machine, which part can be repaired, replaced, recopied; I am partly alive, these parts die and are replaced. My living parts are more than a dozen dozens of dozens of civilized beings from throughout Three Galaxies, any dozen dozens of which may join with my non-living part to act. Today I am two hundred and nine qualified beings, who have at their instant disposal all knowledge accumulated in my non-living part and all its ability to analyze and integrate.”

I said sharply, “Are your decisions made unanimously?” I thought I saw a loophole-I never had much luck mixing up Dad and Mother but there had been times as a kid when I had managed to confuse issues by getting one to answer one way and the other to answer another.

The voice added evenly, “Decisions are always unanimous. It may help you to think of me as one person.” It addressed everyone: “Standard sampling has been followed. The contemporary sample is the double one; the intermediate sample for curve check is the clothed single sample and was taken by standard random at a spacing of approximately one half-death of Radium-226-” The voice supplemented: “-call it sixteen hundred of your years. The remote curve-check sample, by standard procedure, was taken at two dozen times that distance.”

The voice asked itself: “Why is curve-check spacing so short? Why not at least a dozen times that?” “Because this organism’s generations are very short. It mutates rapidly.”

The explanation appeared to satisfy for it went on, “The youngest sample will witness first.”

I thought he meant Peewee and so did she; she cringed. But the voice barked and the cave man jerked. He did not answer; he simply crouched more deeply into himself. The voice barked again.

It then said to itself, “I observe something.” “Speak.”

“This creature is not ancestor to those others.”

The voice of the machine almost seemed to betray emotion, as if my dour grocer had found salt in his sugar bin. “The sample was properly taken.” “Nevertheless,” it answered, “it is not a correct sample. You must review all pertinent data.”

For a long five seconds was silence. Then the voice spoke: “This poor creature is not ancestor to these others; he is cousin only. He has no future of his own. Let him be returned at once to the space-time whence he came.”

The Neanderthal was dragged rapidly away. I watched him out of sight with a feeling of loss. I had been afraid of him at first. Then I had despised him and was ashamed of him. He was a coward, be was filthy, he stank. Adog was more civilized. But in the past five minutes I had decided that I had better love him, see his good points-for, unsavory as he was, he was human. Maybe he wasn’t my remote grandfather, but I was in no mood to disown even my sorriest relation.

The voice argued with itself, deciding whether the trial could proceed. Finally it stated: “Examination will continue. If enough facts are not developed, another remote sample of correct lineage will be summoned. Iunio.”

The Roman raised his javelin higher. “Who calls Iunio?” “Stand forth and bear witness.”

Just as I feared, lunio told the voice where to go and what to do. There was no protecting Peewee from his language; it echoed back in English-not that it mattered now whether Peewee was protected from “unladylike” influences.

The flat voice went on imperturbably: “Is this your voice? Is this your witnessing?” Immediately another voice started up which I recognized as that of the Roman, answering questions, giving accounts of battle, speaking of treatment of prisoners. This we got only in English but the translation held the arrogant timbre of Iunio’s voice.

Iunio shouted “Witchcraft!” and made horns at them.

The recording cut off. “The voice matches,” the machine said dryly. “The recording will be integrated.”

But it continued to peck at lunio, asking him details about who he was, why he was in Britain, what he had done there, and why it was necessary to serve Caesar. lunio gave short answers, then blew his top and gave none. He let out a rebel yell that bounced around that mammoth room, drew back and let fly his javelin.

It fell short. But I think he broke the Olympic record. I found myself cheering.

Iunio drew his sword while the javelin was still rising. He flung it up in a gladiatorial challenge, shouting, “Hail, Caesar!” and dropped into guard. He reviled them. He told them what he thought of vermin who were not citizens, not even barbarians!

I said to myself, “Oh, oh! There goes the game. Human race, you’ve had it.”

Iunio went on and on, calling on his gods to help him, each way worse than the last, threatening them with Caesar’s vengeance in gruesome detail. I hoped that, even though it was translated, Peewee would not understand much of it. But she probably did; she understood entirely too much.

I began to grow proud of him. That wormface, in diatribe, was evil; Iunio was not. Under bad grammar, worse language, and rough manner, that tough old sergeant had courage, human dignity, and a basic gallantry. He might be an old scoundrel-but he was my kind of scoundrel.

He finished by demanding that they come at him, one at a time-or let them form a turtle and he would take them all on at once. “I’ll make a funeral pyre of you! I’ll temper my blade in your guts! I, who am about to die, will show you a Roman’s grave-piled high with Caesar’s enemies!”

He had to catch his breath. I cheered again and Peewee joined in. He looked over his shoulder and grinned. “Slit their throats as I bring them down, boy! There’s work to do!” The cold voice said: “Let him now be returned to the space-time whence he came.”

Iunio looked startled as invisible hands pulled him along. He called on Mars and Jove and laid about him. The sword clattered to the floor-picked itself up and returned itself to his scabbard. lunio was moving rapidly away; I cupped my hands and yelled, “Good-bye, lunio!”

“Farewell, boy! They’re cowards!” He shook himself. “Nothing but filthy witchcraft!” Then he was gone. “Clifford Russell-“

“Huh? I’m here.” Peewee squeezed my hand. “Is this your voice?”

I said, “Wait a minute-“ “Yes? Speak.”

I took a breath. Peewee pushed closer and whispered, “Make it good, Kip. They mean it.”

“I’ll try, kid,” I whispered, then went on, “What is this? I was told you intend to judge the human race.” “That is correct.”

“But you can’t. You haven’t enough to go on. No better than witchcraft, just as lunio said. You brought in a cave man-then decided he was a mistake. That isn’t your only mistake. You had lunio here. Whatever he was-and I’m not ashamed of him; I’m proud of him-he’s got nothing to do with now. He’s been dead two thousand years, pretty near-if you’ve sent him back, I mean-and all that he was is dead with him. Good or bad, he’s not what the human race is now.”

“I know that. You two are the test sample of your race now.”

“Yes-but you can’t judge from us. Peewee and I are about as far from average as any specimens can be. We don’t claim to be angels, either one of us. If you condemn our race on what we have done, you do a great injustice. Judge us-or judge me, at least-“

“Me, too!”

“-on whatever I’ve done. But don’t hold my people responsible. That’s not scientific. That’s not valid mathematics.” “It is valid.”

“It is not. Human beings aren’t molecules; they’re all different.” I decided not to argue about jurisdiction; the wormfaces had ruined that approach. “Agreed, human beings are not molecules. But they are not individuals, either.”

“Yes, they are!”

“They are not independent individuals; they are parts of a single organism. Each cell in your body contains your whole pattern. From three samples of the organism you call the human race I can predict the future potentialities and limits of that race.”

“We have no limits! There’s no telling what our future will be.”

“It may be that you have no limits,” the voice agreed. “That is to be determined. But, if true, it is not a point in your favor. For we have limits.” “Huh?”

“You have misunderstood the purpose of this examination. You speak of ‘justice.’ I know what you think you mean. But no two races have ever agreed on the meaning of that term, no matter how they say it. It is not a concept I deal with here. This is not a court of justice.”

“Then what is it?”

“You would call it a ‘Security Council.’ Or you might call it a committee of vigilantes. It does not matter what you call it; my sole purpose is to examine your race and see if you threaten our survival. If you do, I will now dispose of you. The only certain way to avert a grave danger is to remove it while it is small. Things that I have learned about you suggest a possibility that you may someday threaten the security of Three Galaxies. I will now determine the facts.”

“But you said that you have to have at least three samples. The cave man was no good.”

“We have three samples, you two and the Roman. But the facts could be determined from one sample. The use of three is a custom from earlier times, a cautious habit of checking and rechecking. I cannot dispense ‘justice’; I can make sure not to produce error.”

I was about to say that he was wrong, even if he was a million years old. But the voice went on, “I continue the examination. Clifford Russell, is this your voice?”

My voice sounded then-and again it was my own dictated account, but this time everything was left in-purple adjectives, personal opinions, comments about other matters, every word and stutter.

I listened to enough of it, held up my hand. “All right, all right, I said it.” The recording stopped. “Do you now confirm it?”

“Eh? Yes.”

“Do you wish to add, subtract, or change?”

I thought hard. Aside from a few wisecracks that I had tucked in later it was a straight-forward account. “No. I stand on it.” “And is this also your voice?”

This one fooled me. It was that endless recording I had made for Prof Joe about-well, everything on Earth … history, customs, peoples, the works. Suddenly I knew why Prof Joe had worn the same badge the Mother Thing wore. What did they call that?-“Planting a stool pigeon.” Good Old Prof Joe, the no-good, had been a stoolie.

I felt sick.

“Let me hear more of it.”

They accommodated me. I didn’t really listen; I was trying to remember, not what I was hearing, but what else I might have said-what I had admitted that could be used against the human race. The Crusades? Slavery? The gas chambers at Dachau? How much had I said?

The recording droned on. Why, that thing had taken weeks to record; we could stand here until our feet went flat. “It’s my voice.”

“Do you stand on this, too? Or do you wish to correct, revise, or extend?” I said cautiously, “Can I do the whole thing over?”

“If you so choose.”

I started to say that I would, that they should wipe the tape and start over. But would they? Or would they keep both and compare them? I had no compunction about lying-“tell the truth and shame the devil” is no virtue when your family and friends and your whole race are at stake.

But could they tell if I lied?

“The Mother Thing said to tell the truth and not to be afraid.” “But she’s not on our side!”

“Oh, yes, she is.”

I had to answer. I was so confused that I couldn’t think. I had tried to tell the truth to Prof Joe … oh, maybe I had shaded things, not included every horrid thing that makes a headline. But it was essentially true.

Could I do better under pressure? Would they let me start fresh and accept any propaganda I cooked up? Or would the fact that I changed stories be used to condemn our race? “I stand on it!”

“Let it be integrated. Patricia Wynant Reisfeld-“

Peewee took only moments to identify and allow to be integrated her recordings; she simply followed my example.

The machine voice said: “The facts have been integrated. By their own testimony, these are a savage and brutal people, given to all manner of atrocities. They eat each other, they starve each other, they kill each other. They have no art and only the most primitive of science, yet such is their violent nature that even with so little knowledge they are now energetically using it to exterminate each other, tribe against tribe. Their driving will is such that they may succeed. But if by some unlucky chance they fail, they will inevitably, in time, reach other stars. It is this possibility which must be calculated: how soon they will reach us, if they live, and what their potentialities will be then.”

The voice continued to us: “This is the indictment against you-your own savagery, combined with superior intelligence. What have you to say in your defense?” I took a breath and tried to steady down. I knew that we had lost-yet I had to try.

I remembered how the Mother Thing had spoken. “My lord peers-“

“Correction. We are not your ‘lords,’ nor has it been established that you are our equals. If you wish to address someone, you may call me the ‘Moderator.’”

“Yes, Mr. Moderator-” I tried to remember what Socrates had said to his judges. He knew ahead of time that he was condemned just as we knew-but somehow, though he had been forced to drink hemlock, he had won and they had lost.

No! I couldn’t use his Apologia-all he had lost was his own life. This was everybody. “-you say we have no art. Have you seen the Parthenon?”

“Blown up in one of your wars.”

“Better see it before you rotate us-or you’ll be missing something. Have you read our poetry? ‘Our revels now are ended: these our actors, as I foretold you, were all spirits, and are melted into air, into thin air: And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, the cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces, the solemn temples, the great globe itself … itself-yea-all which it

… inherit-shall dissolve-“

I broke down. I heard Peewee sobbing beside me. I don’t know why I picked that one-but they say the subconscious mind never does things “accidentally.” I guess it had to be that one. “As it well may,” commented the merciless voice.

“I don’t think it’s any of your business what we do-as long as we leave you alone-” My stammer was back and I was almost sobbing. “We have made it our business.”

“We aren’t under your government and-“

“Correction. Three Galaxies is not a government; conditions for government cannot obtain in so vast a space, such varied cultures. We have simply formed police districts for mutual protection.”

“But-even so, we haven’t troubled your cops. We were in our own backyards-I was in my own backyard!-when these wormface things came along and started troubling us. We haven’t hurt you.”

I stopped, wondering where to turn. I couldn’t guarantee good behavior, not for the whole human race-the machine knew it and I knew it.

“Inquiry.” It was talking to itself again. “These creatures appear to be identical with the Old Race, allowing for mutation. What part of the Third Galaxy are they from?” It answered itself, naming co-ordinates that meant nothing to me. “But they are not of the Old Race; they are ephemerals. That is the danger; they change too fast.” “Didn’t the Old Race lose a ship out that way a few half-deaths of Thorium-230 ago? Could that account for the fact that the youngest sample failed to match?”

It answered firmly, “It is immaterial whether or not they may be descended from the Old Race. An examination is in progress; a decision must be made.” “The decision must be sure.”

“It will be.” The bodyless voice went on, to us: “Have either of you anything to add in your defense?”

I had been thinking of what had been said about the miserable state of our science. I wanted to point out that we had gone from muscle power to atomic power in only two centuries-but I was afraid that fact would be used against us. “Peewee, can you think of anything?”

She suddenly stepped forward and shrilled to the air, “Doesn’t it count that Kip saved the Mother Thing?” “No,” the cold voice answered. “It is irrelevant.”

“Well, it ought to count!” She was crying again. “You ought to be ashamed of yourselves! Bullies! Cowards! Oh, you’re worse than wormfaces!”

I pulled her back. She hid her head against my shoulder and shook. Then she whispered, “I’m sorry, Kip. I didn’t mean to. I guess I’ve ruined it.” “It was ruined anyhow, honey.”

“Have you anything more to say?” old no-face went on relentlessly.

I looked around at the hall. -the cloud-capped towers … the great globe itself- “Just this!” I said savagely. “It’s not a defense, you don’t want a defense. All right, take away our star- You will if you can and I guess you can. Go ahead! We’ll make a star! Then, someday, we’ll come back and hunt you down-all of you!”

“That’s telling ‘em. Kip! That’s telling them!”

Nobody bawled me out. I suddenly felt like a kid who has made a horrible mistake at a party and doesn’t know how to cover it up. But I meant it. Oh, I didn’t think we could do it. Not yet. But we’d try. “Die trying” is the proudest human thing.

“It is possible that you will,” that infuriating voice went on. “Are you through?” “I’m through.” We all were through … every one of us.

“Does anyone speak for them? Humans, will any race speak for you?” We didn’t know any other races. Dogs- Maybe dogs would.

“I speak for them!”

Peewee raised her head with a jerk. “Mother Thing!”

Suddenly she was in front of us. Peewee tried to run to her, bounced off that invisible barrier. I grabbed her. “Easy, hon. She isn’t there-it’s some sort of television.”

“My lord peers … you have the advantage of many minds and much knowledge-” It was odd to see her singing, hear her in English; the translation still held that singing quality.

“-but I know them. It is true that they are violent-especially the smaller one-but they are not more violent than is appropriate to their ages. Can we expect mature restraint in a race whose members all must die in early childhood? And are not we ourselves violent? Have we not this day killed our billions? Can any race survive without a willingness to fight? It is true that these creatures are often more violent than is necessary or wise. But, my peers, they all are so very young. Give them time to learn.”

“That is exactly what there is to fear, that they may learn. Your race is overly sentimental; it distorts your judgment.”

“Not true! We are compassionate, we are not foolish. I myself have been the proximate cause of how many, many adverse decisions? You know; it is in your records-I prefer not to remember. And I shall be again. When a branch is diseased beyond healing, it must be pruned. We are not sentimental; we are the best watchers you have ever found, for we do it without anger. Toward evil we have no mercy. But the mistakes of a child we treat with loving forbearance.”

“Have you finished?”

“I say that this branch need not be pruned! I have finished.”

The Mother Thing’s image vanished. The voice went on, “Does any other race speak for them?”

“I do.” Where she had been now stood a large green monkey. He stared at us and shook his head, then suddenly did a somersault and finished looking at us between his legs. “I’m no friend of theirs but I am a lover of ‘justice’-in which I differ from my colleagues in this Council.” He twirled rapidly several times. “As our sister has said, this race is young. The infants of my own noble race bite and scratch each other-some even die from it. Even I behaved so, at one time.” He jumped into the air, landed on his hands, did a flip from that position. “Yet does anyone here deny that I am civilized?” He stopped, looked at us thoughtfully while scratching. “These are brutal savages and I don’t see how anyone could ever like them-but I say: give them their chance!”

His image disappeared.

The voice said, “Have you anything to add before a decision is reached?”

I started to say: No, get it over with-when Peewee grabbed my ear and whispered. I listened, nodded, and spoke. “Mr. Moderator-if the verdict is against us-can you hold off your hangmen long enough to let us go home? We know that you can send us home in only a few minutes.”

The voice did not answer quickly. “Why do you wish this? As I have explained, you are not personally on trial. It has been arranged to let you live.” “We know. We’d rather be home, that’s all-with our people.”

Again a tiny hesitation. “It shall be done.”

“Are the facts sufficient to permit a decision?” “Yes.”

“What is the decision?”

“This race will be re-examined in a dozen half-deaths of radium. Meanwhile there is danger to it from itself. Against this mischance it will be given assistance. During the probationary period it will be watched closely by Guardian Mother-” the machine trilled the true Vegan name of the Mother Thing “-the cop on that beat, who will report at once any ominous change. In the meantime we wish this race good progress in its long journey upward.

“Let them now be returned forthwith to the space-time whence they came.”

Chapter 12

I didn’t think it was safe to make our atmosphere descent in New Jersey without filing a flight plan. Princeton is near important targets; we might be homed-on by everything up to A- missiles. The Mother Thing got that indulgent chuckle in her song: (“I fancy we can avoid that.”)

She did. She put us down in a side street, sang good-bye and was gone. It’s not illegal to be out at night in space suits, even carrying a rag dolly. But it’s unusual-cops hauled us in. They phoned Peewee’s father and in twenty minutes we were in his study, drinking cocoa and talking and eating shredded wheat.

Peewee’s mother almost had a fit. While we told our story she kept gasping, “I can’t believe it!” until Professor Reisfeld said, “Stop it, Janice. Or go to bed.” I don’t blame her. Her daughter disappears on the Moon and is given up for dead-then miraculously reappears on Earth. But Professor Reisfeld believed us. The way the Mother Thing had “understanding” he had “acceptance.” When a fact came along, he junked theories that failed to match.

He examined Peewee’s suit, had her switch on the helmet, shined a light to turn it opaque, all with a little smile. Then he reached for the phone. “Dario must see this.” “At midnight. Curt?”

“Please, Janice. Armageddon won’t wait for office hours.” “Professor Reisfeld?”

“Yes, Kip?”

“Uh, you may want to see other things first.” “That’s possible.”

I took things from Oscar’s pockets-two beacons, one for each of us, some metal “paper” covered with equations, two “happy things,” and two silvery spheres. We had stopped on Vega Five, spending most of the time under what I suppose was hypnosis while Prof Joe and another professor thing pumped us for what we knew of human mathematics. They hadn’t been learning math from us-oh, no! They wanted the language we use in mathematics, from radicals and vectors to those weird symbols in higher physics, so that they could teach us; the results were on the metal paper. First I showed Professor Reisfeld the beacons. “The Mother Thing’s beat now includes us. She says to use these if we need her. She’ll usually be close by-a thousand light-years at most. But even if she is far away, she’ll come.”

“Oh.” He looked at mine. It was neater and smaller than the one she haywired on Pluto. “Do we dare take it apart?” “Well, it’s got a lot of power tucked in it. It might explode.”

“Yes, it might.” He handed it back, looking wistful.

A“happy thing” can’t be explained. They look like those little abstract sculptures you feel as well as look at. Mine was like obsidian but warm and not hard; Peewee’s was more like jade. The surprise comes when you touch one to your head. I had Professor Reisfeld do so and he looked awed-the Mother Thing is all around you and you feel warm and safe and understood.

He said, “She loves you. The message wasn’t for me. Excuse me.” “Oh, she loves you, too.”

“Eh?”

“She loves everything small and young and fuzzy and helpless. That’s why she’s a ‘mother thing.’ “ I didn’t realize how it sounded. But he didn’t mind. “You say she is a police officer?”

“Well, she’s more of a juvenile welfare officer-this is a slum neighborhood we’re in, backward and pretty tough. Sometimes she has to do things she doesn’t like. But she’s a good cop and somebody has to do nasty jobs. She doesn’t shirk them.”

“I’m sure she wouldn’t.” “Would you like to try it again?” “Do you mind?”

“Oh, no, it doesn’t wear out.”

He did and got that warm happy look. He glanced at Peewee, asleep with her face in her cereal. “I need not have worried about my daughter, between the Mother Thing-and you.” “It was a team,” I explained. “We couldn’t have made it without Peewee. The kid’s got guts.”

“Too much, sometimes.”

“Other times you need that extra. These spheres are recorders. Do you have a tape recorder, Professor?”

“Certainly, sir.” We set it up and let a sphere talk to it. I wanted a tape because the spheres are one-shot-the molecules go random again. Then I showed him the metal paper. I had tried to read it, got maybe two inches into it, then just recognized a sign here and there. Professor Reisfeld got halfway down the first page, stopped. “I had better make those phone calls.”

At dawn a sliver of old Moon came up and I tried to judge where Tombaugh Station was. Peewee was asleep on her Daddy’s couch, wrapped in his bathrobe and clutching Madame Pompadour. He had tried to carry her to bed but she had wakened and become very, very difficult, so he put her down. Professor Reisfeld chewed an empty pipe and listened to my sphere whispering softly to his recorder. Occasionally he darted a question at me and I’d snap out of it.

Professor Giomi and Dr. Bruck were at the other end of the study, filling a blackboard, erasing and filling it again, while they argued over that metal paper. Geniuses are common at the Institute for Advanced Study but these two wouldn’t be noticed anywhere; Bruck looked like a truckdriver and Giomi like an excited Iunio. They both had that Okay-I-get-you that Professor Reisfeld had. They were excited but Dr. Bruck showed it only by a tic in his face-which Peewee’s Daddy told me was a guarantee of nervous breakdowns-not for Bruck, for other physicists.

Two mornings later we were still there. Professor Reisfeld had shaved; the others hadn’t. I napped and once I took a shower. Peewee’s Daddy listened to recordings-he was now replaying Peewee’s tape. Now and then Bruck and Giomi called him over, Giomi almost hysterical and Bruck stolid. Professor Reisfeld always asked a question or two, nodded and came back to his chair. I don’t think he could work that math-but he could soak up results and fit them with other pieces.

I wanted to go home once they were through with me but Professor Reisfeld said please stay; the Secretary General of the Federated Free Nations was coming.

I stayed. I didn’t call home because what was the use in upsetting them? I would rather have gone to New York City to meet the Secretary General, but Professor Reisfeld had invited him here-I began to realize that anybody really important would come if Professor Reisfeld asked him.

Mr. van Duivendijk was slender and tall. He shook hands and said, “I understand that you are Dr. Samuel C. Russell’s son.” “You know my father, sir?”

“I met him years ago, at the Hague.”

Dr. Bruck turned-he had barely nodded at the Secretary General. “You’re Sam Russell’s boy?” “Uh, you know him, too?”

“Of course. On the Statistical Interpretation of Imperfect Data. Brilliant.” He turned back and got more chalk on his sleeve. I hadn’t known that Dad had written such a thing, nor suspected that he knew the top man in the Federation. Sometimes I think Dad is eccentric.

Mr. van D. waited until the double domes came up for air, then said, “You have something, gentlemen?” “Yeah,” said Bruck.

“Superb!” agreed Giomi. “Such as?”

“Well-” Dr. Bruck pointed at a line of chalk. “That says you can damp out a nuclear reaction at a distance.” “What distance?”

“How about ten thousand miles? Or must you do it from the Moon?” “Oh, ten thousand miles is sufficient, I imagine.”

“You could do it from the Moon,” Giomi interrupted, “if you had enough power. Magnificent!” “It is,” agreed van Duivendijk. “Anything else?”

“What do you want?” demanded Bruck. “Egg in your suds?” “Well?”

“See that seventeenth line? It may mean anti-gravity, I ain’t promising. Or, if you rotate ninety degrees, this unstable Latin thinks it’s time travel.” “It is!”

“If he’s right, the power needed is a fair-sized star-so forget it.” Bruck stared at hen’s tracks. “Anew approach to matter conversion-possibly. How about a power pack for your vest pocket that turns out more ergs than the Brisbane reactors?”

“This can be done?”

“Ask your grandson. It won’t be soon.” Bruck scowled. “Dr. Bruck, why are you unhappy?” asked Mr. van D.

Bruck scowled harder. “Are you goin’ to make this Top Secret’? I don’t like classifying mathematics. It’s shameful.”

I batted my ears. I had explained to the Mother Thing about “classified” and I think I shocked her. I said that the FFN had to have secrets for survival, just like Three Galaxies. She couldn’t see it. Finally she had said that it wouldn’t make any difference in the long run. But I had worried because while I don’t like science being “secret,” I don’t want to be reckless, either.

Mr. van D. answered, “I don’t like secrecy. But I have to put up with it.” “I knew you would say that!”

“Please. Is this a U.S. government project?” “Eh? Of course not.”

“Nor a Federation one. Very well, you’ve shown me some equations. I can’t tell you not to publish them. They’re yours.” Bruck shook his head. “Not ours.” He pointed at me. “His.”

“I see.” The Secretary General looked at me. “I am a lawyer, young man. If you wish to publish, I see no way to stop you.” “Me? It’s not mine-I was just-well, a messenger.”

“You seem to have the only claim. Do you wish this published? Perhaps with all your names?” I got the impression that he wanted it published. “Well, sure. But the third name shouldn’t be mine; it should be-” I hesitated. You can’t put a birdsong down as author. “-uh, make it ‘Dr. M. Thing.’” “Who is he?”

“She’s a Vegan. But we could pretend it’s a Chinese name.”

The Secretary General stayed on, asking questions, listening to tapes. Then he made a phone call-to the Moon. I knew it could be done, I never expected to see it. “Van Duivendijk here … yes, the Secretary General. Get the Commanding General … Jim? … This connection is terrible … Jim, you sometimes order practice maneuvers … My call is unofficial but you might check a valley-” He turned to me; I answered quickly. “-a valley just past the mountains east of Tombaugh Station. I haven’t consulted the Security Council; this is between friends. But if you go into that valley I very strongly suggest that it be done in force, with all weapons. It may have snakes in it. The snakes will be camouflaged. Call it a hunch. Yes, the kids are fine and so is Beatrix. I’ll phone Mary and tell her I talked with you.”

The Secretary General wanted my address. I couldn’t say when I would be home because I didn’t know how I would get there-I meant to hitchhike but didn’t say so. Mr. van D.’s eyebrows went up. “I think we owe you a ride home. Eh, Professor?”

“That would not be overdoing it.”

“Russell, I heard on your tape that you plan to study engineering-with a view to space.” “Yes, sir. I mean, ‘Yes, Mr. Secretary.’ “

“Have you considered studying law? Many young engineers want to space-not many lawyers. But the Law goes everywhere. Aman skilled in space law and meta-law would be in a strong position.”

“Why not both?” suggested Peewee’s Daddy. “I deplore this modern overspecialization.” “That’s an idea,” agreed Mr. van Duivendijk. “He could then write his own terms.”

I was about to say I should stick to electronics-when suddenly I knew what I wanted to do. “Uh, I don’t think I could handle both.” “Nonsense!” Professor Reisfeld said severely.

“Yes, sir. But I want to make space suits that work better. I’ve got some ideas.”

“Mmm, that’s mechanical engineering. And many other things, I imagine. But you’ll need an M.E. degree.” Professor Reisfeld frowned. “As I recall your tape, you passed College Boards but hadn’t been accepted by a good school.” He drummed his desk. “Isn’t that silly, Mr. Secretary? The lad goes to the Magellanic Clouds but can’t go to the school he wants.”

“Well, Professor? You pull while I push?”

“Yes. But wait.” Professor Reisfeld picked up his phone. “Susie, get me the President of M.I.T. I know it’s a holiday; I don’t care if he’s in Bombay or in bed; get him. Good girl.” He put down the phone. “She’s been with the Institute five years and on the University switchboard before that. She’ll get him.”

I felt embarrassed and excited. M.I.T.-anybody would jump at the chance. But tuition alone would stun you. I tried to explain that I didn’t have the money. “I’ll work the rest of this school and

next summer-I’ll save it.”

The phone rang. “Reisfeld here. Hi, Oppie. At the class reunion you made me promise to tell you if Bruck’s tic started bothering him. Hold onto your chair; I timed it at twenty-one to the minute. That’s a record… . Slow down; you won’t send anybody, unless I get my pound of flesh. If you start your lecture on academic freedom and ‘the right to know,’ I’ll hang up and call Berkeley. I can do business there-and I know I can here, over on the campus… . Not much, just a four-year scholarship, tuition and fees… . Don’t scream at me; use your discretionary fund-or make it a wash deal in bookkeeping. You’re over twenty-one; you can do arithmetic… . Nope, no hints. Buy a pig in a poke or your radiation lab won’t be in on it. Did I say ‘radiation lab’? I meant the entire physical science department. You can flee to South America, don’t let me sway you… . What? I’m an embezzler, too. Hold it.” Professor Reisfeld said to me, “You applied for M.I.T.?”

“Yes, sir, but-“

“He’s in your application files, ‘Clifford C. Russell.’ Send the letter to his home and have the head of your team fetch my copy… . Oh, a broad team, headed by a mathematical physicist- Farley, probably; he’s got imagination. This is the biggest thing since the apple konked Sir Isaac… . Sure, I’m a blackmailer, and you are a chair warmer and a luncheon speaker. When are you returning to the academic life? … Best to Beulah. ‘Bye.”

He hung up. “That’s settled. Kip, the one thing that confuses me is why those worm-faced monsters wanted me.”

I didn’t know how to say it. He had told me only the day before that he had been correlating odd data-unidentified sightings, unexpected opposition to space travel, many things that did not fit. Such a man is likely to get answers-and be listened to. If he had a weakness, it was modesty-which he hadn’t passed on to Peewee. If I told him that invaders from outer space had grown nervous over his intellectual curiosity, he would have pooh-poohed it. So I said, “They never told us, sir. But they thought you were important enough to grab.”

Mr. van Duivendijk stood up. “Curt, I won’t waste time listening to nonsense. Russell, I’m glad your schooling is arranged. If you need me, call me.” When he was gone, I tried to thank Professor Reisfeld. “I meant to pay my way, sir. I would have earned the money before school opens again.”

“In less than three weeks? Come now. Kip.” “I mean the rest of this year and-“

“Waste a year? No.”

“But I already-” I looked past his head at green leaves in their garden. “Professor … what date is it?” “Why, Labor Day, of course.”

(“-forthwith to the space-time whence they came.”)

Professor Reisfeld flipped water in my face. “Feeling better?” “I-I guess so. We were gone for weeks.”

“Kip, you’ve been through too much to let this shake you. You can talk it over with the stratosphere twins-” He gestured at Giomi and Bruck. “-but you won’t understand it. At least I didn’t. Why not assume that a hundred and sixty-seven thousand light-years leaves room for Tennessee windage amounting to only a hair’s breadth of a fraction of one per cent? Especially when the method doesn’t properly use space-time at all?”

When I left, Mrs. Reisfeld kissed me and Peewee blubbered and had Madame Pompadour say good-bye to Oscar, who was in the back seat because the Professor was driving me to the airport.

On the way he remarked, “Peewee is fond of you.” “Uh, I hope so.”

“And you? Or am I impertinent?”

“Am I fond of Peewee? I certainly am! She saved my life four or five times.” Peewee could drive you nuts. But she was gallant and loyal and smart-and had guts. “You won a life-saving medal or two yourself.”

I thought about it. “Seems to me I fumbled everything I tried. But I had help and an awful lot of luck.” I shivered at how luck alone had kept me out of the soup-real soup. ” ‘Luck’ is a question-begging word,” he answered. “You spoke of the ‘amazing luck’ that you were listening when my daughter called for help. That wasn’t luck.”

“Huh? I mean, ‘Sir’?”

“Why were you on that frequency? Because you were wearing a space suit. Why were you wearing it? Because you were determined to space. When a space ship called, you answered. If that is luck, then it is luck every time a batter hits a ball. Kip, ‘good luck’ follows careful preparation; ‘bad luck’ comes from sloppiness. You convinced a court older than Man himself that you and your kind were worth saving. Was that mere chance?”

“Uh … fact is, I got mad and almost ruined things. I was tired of being shoved around.”

“The best things in history are accomplished by people who get ‘tired of being shoved around.’ ” He frowned. “I’m glad you like Peewee. She is about twenty years old intellectually and six emotionally; she usually antagonizes people. So I’m glad she has gained a friend who is smarter than she is.”

My jaw dropped. “But, Professor, Peewee is much smarter than I am. She runs me ragged.”

He glanced at me. “She’s run me ragged for years-and I’m not stupid. Don’t downgrade yourself, Kip.” “It’s the truth.”

“So? The greatest mathematical psychologist of our time, a man who always wrote his own ticket even to retiring when it suited him-very difficult, when a man is in demand-this man married his star pupil. I doubt if their offspring is less bright than my own child.”

I had to untangle this to realize that he meant me. Then I didn’t know what to Say. How many kids really know their parents? Apparently I didn’t.

He went on, “Peewee is a handful, even for me. Here’s the airport. When you return for school, please plan on visiting us. Thanksgiving, too, if you will-no doubt you’ll go home Christmas.”

“Uh, thank you, sir. I’ll be back.” “Good.”

“Uh, about Peewee-if she gets too difficult, well, you’ve got the beacon. The Mother Thing can handle her.” “Mmm, that’s a thought.”

“Peewee tries to get around her but she never does. Oh-I almost forgot. Whom may I tell? Not about Peewee. About the whole thing.” “Isn’t that obvious?”

“Sir?”

“Tell anybody anything. You won’t very often. Almost no one will believe you.”

I rode home in a courier jet-those things go fast. Professor Reisfeld had insisted on lending me ten dollars when he found out that I had only a dollar sixty-seven, so I got a haircut at the bus station and bought two tickets to Centerville to keep Oscar out of the luggage compartment; he might have been damaged. The best thing about that scholarship was that now I

needn’t ever sell him-not that I would.

Centerville looked mighty good, from elms overhead to the chuckholes under foot. The driver stopped near our house because of Oscar; he’s clumsy to carry. I went to the barn and racked Oscar, told him I’d see him later, and went in the back door.

Mother wasn’t around. Dad was in his study. He looked up from reading. “Hi, Kip.” “Hi, Dad.”

“Nice trip?”

“Uh, I didn’t go to the lake.”

“I know. Dr. Reisfeld phoned-he briefed me thoroughly.”

“Oh. It was a nice trip-on the whole.” I saw that he was holding a volume of the Britannica, open to “Magellanic Clouds.”

He followed my glance. “I’ve never seen them,” he said regretfully. “I had a chance once, but I was busy except one cloudy night.” “When was that. Dad?”

“In South America, before you were born.” “I didn’t know you had been there.”

“It was a cloak-and-daggerish government job-not one to talk about. Are they beautiful?”

“Uh, not exactly.” I got another volume, turned to “Nebulae” and found the Great Nebula of Andromeda. “Here is beauty. That’s the way we look.” Dad sighed. “It must be lovely.”

“It is. I’ll tell you all about it. I’ve got a tape, too.”

“No hurry. You’ve had quite a trip. Three hundred and thirty-three thousand light-years-is that right?” “Oh, no, just half that.”

“I meant the round trip.”

“Oh. But we didn’t come back the same way.” “Eh?”

“I don’t know how to put it, but in these ships, if you make a jump, any jump, the short way back is the long way ‘round. You go straight ahead until you’re back where you started. Well, not ‘straight’ since space is curved-but straight as can be. That returns everything to zero.”

“Acosmic great-circle?”

“That’s the idea. All the way around in a straight line.”

“Mmm-” He frowned thoughtfully. “Kip, how far is it, around the Universe? The red-shift limit?”

I hesitated. “Dad, I asked-but the answer didn’t mean anything.” (The Mother Thing had said, “How can there be ‘distance’ where there is nothing?”) “It’s not a distance; it’s more of a condition. I didn’t travel it; I just went. You don’t go through, you slide past.”

Dad looked pensive. “I should know not to ask a mathematical question in words.”

I was about to suggest that Dr. Bruck could help when Mother sang out: “Hello, my darlings!” For a split second I thought I was hearing the Mother Thing.

She kissed Dad, she kissed me. “I’m glad you’re home, dear.” “Uh-” I turned to Dad.

“She knows.”

“Yes,” Mother agreed in a warm indulgent tone, “and I don’t mind where my big boy goes as long as he comes home safely. I know you’ll go as far as you want to.” She patted my cheek. “And I’ll always be proud of you. Myself, I’ve just been down to the corner for another chop.”

Next morning was Tuesday, I went to work early. As I expected, the fountain was a mess. I put on my white jacket and got cracking. Mr. Charton was on the phone; he hung up and came over. “Nice trip. Kip?”

“Very nice, Mr. Charton.”

“Kip, there’s something I’ve been meaning to say. Are you still anxious to go to the Moon?” I was startled. Then I decided that he couldn’t know.

Well, I hadn’t seen the Moon, hardly, I was still eager-though not as much in a hurry. “Yes, sir. But I’m going to college first.” “That’s what I mean. I- Well, I have no children. If you need money, say so.”

He had hinted at pharmacy school-but never this. And only last night Dad had told me that he had bought an education policy for me the day I was born-he had been waiting to see what I would do on my own. “Gee, Mr. Charton, that’s mighty nice of you!”

“I approve of your wanting an education.”

“Uh, I’ve got things lined up, sir. But I might need a loan someday.” “Or not a loan. Let me know.” He bustled away, plainly fussed.

I worked in a warm glow, sometimes touching the happy thing, tucked away in a pocket. Last night I had let Mother and Dad put it to their foreheads. Mother had cried; Dad said solemnly, “I begin to understand, Kip.” I decided to let Mr. Charton try it when I could work around to it. I got the fountain shining and checked the air conditioner. It was okay.

About midafternoon Ace Quiggle came in, plunked himself down. “Hi, Space Pirate! What do you hear from the Galactic Overlords? Yuk yuk yukkity yuk!” What would he have said to a straight answer? I touched the happy thing and said, “What’ll it be. Ace?”

“My usual, of course, and snap it up!” “Achoc malt?”

“You know that. Look alive. Junior! Wake up and get hep to the world around you.”

“Sure thing, Ace.” There was no use fretting about Ace; his world was as narrow as the hole between his ears, no deeper than his own hog wallow. Two girls came in; I served them cokes while Ace’s malt was in the mixer. He leered at them. “Ladies, do you know Commander Comet here?” One of them tittered; Ace smirked and went on: “I’m his manager. You want

heroing done, see me. Commander, I’ve been thinking about that ad you’re goin’ to run.”

“Huh?”

“Keep your ears open. ‘Have Space Suit-Will Travel,’ that doesn’t say enough. To make money out of that silly clown suit, we got to have oomph. So we add: “Bug-Eyed Monsters Exterminated-World Saving a Specialty-Rates on Request.’ Right?”

I shook my head. “No, Ace.”

“S’matter with you? No head for business?”

“Let’s stick to the facts. I don’t charge for world saving and don’t do it to order; it just happens. I’m not sure I’d do it on purpose-with you in it.” Both girls tittered. Ace scowled. “Smart guy, eh? Don’t you know that the customer is always right?”

“Always?”

“He certainly is. See that you remember it. Hurry up that malt!”

“Yes, Ace.” I reached for it; he shoved thirty-five cents at me; I pushed it back. “This is on the house.” I threw it in his face.

The End

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Coventry (full text) by Robert Heinlein

This is an interesting little story by Robert Heinlein that looks at a utopia where there are no prisons, or death sentences, or punishments. Instead, those that fail to adjust to society and have bad behaviors are sent instead to “Coventry”. Which is a geographical location outside of society where the individual can “do his own thing”.

Exile imposed on those who act to harm others, to a "reservation" where the Covenant is not observed. Coventry is surrounded by a heavily guarded force shield to prevent the exiles from leaving without permission. 

The concept behind this treatment is that the government has no right to "punish" its members, but an individual who is unwilling to abide by society's agreements may be ejected from the society. 

Exiles may re-enter the Covenant if they are willing to submit to psychological reorientation. Most of those entering Coventry expected a complete anarchy, but at least three separate governments had developed inside: New America, nominally a democracy but run as a political machine and dictatorship; Free State, a totalitarian state; and The Angels, the remnants of the Prophet's theocratic reign.

-"Coventry" A Heinlein Concordance

Coventry

“Have you anything to say before sentence is pronounced on you?” The mild eyes of the Senior Judge studied the face of the accused. His question was answered by a sullen silence.

“Very well-the jury has determined that you have violated a basic custom agreed to under the Covenant, and that through this act did damage another free citizen. It is the opinion of the jury and of the court that you did so knowingly, and aware of the probability of damage to a free citizen. Therefore, you are sentenced to choose between the Two Alternatives.”

Atrained observer might have detected a trace of dismay breaking through the mask of indifference with which the young man had faced his trial. Dismay was unreasonable; in view of his offence, the sentence was inevitable-but reasonable men do not receive the sentence.

After waiting a decent interval, the judge turned to the bailiff. “Take him away.”

The prisoner stood up suddenly, knocking over his chair. He glared wildly around at the company assembled and burst into speech.

“Hold on!” he yelled. “I’ve got something to say first!” In spite of his rough manner there was about him the noble dignity of a wild animal at bay. He stared at those around him, breathing heavily, as if they were dogs waiting to drag him down.

“Well?” he demanded, ‘Well? Do I get to talk, or don’t I? It ‘ud be the best joke of this whole comedy, if a condemned man couldn’t speak his mind at the last!”

“You may speak,” the Senior Judge told him, in the same unhurried tones with which he had pronounced sentence, ‘David MacKinnon, as long as you like, and in any manner that you like. There is no limit to that freedom, even for those who have broken the Covenant. Please speak into the recorder.”

MacKinnon glanced with distaste at the microphone near his face. The knowledge that any word he spoke would be recorded and analyzed inhibited him. “I don’t ask for records,” he snapped.

“But we must have them,” the judge replied patiently, ‘in order that others may determine whether, or not, we have dealt with you fairly, and according to the Covenant. Oblige us, please.” “Oh-very well!” He ungraciously conceded the requirement and directed his voice toward the instrument. “There’s no sense in me talking at all-but, just the same, I’m going to talk and

you’re going to listen … You talk about your precious “Covenant” as if it were something holy. I don’t agree to it and I don’t accept it. You act as if it had been sent down from Heaven in a

burst of light. My grandfathers fought in the Second Revolution-but they fought to abolish superstition… not to let sheep-minded fools set up new ones.

“There were men in those days!” He looked contemptuously around him. “What is there left today? Cautious, compromising “safe” weaklings with water in their veins. You’ve planned your whole world so carefully that you’ve planned the fun and zest right out of it. Nobody is ever hungry, nobody ever gets hurt. Your ships can’t crack up and your crops can’t fail. You even have the weather tamed so it rains politely after midnight. Why wait till midnight, I don’t know … you all go to bed at nine o’clock!

“If one of you safe little people should have an unpleasant emotion-perish the thought! -You’d trot right over to the nearest psychodynamics clinic and get your soft little minds readjusted. Thank God I never succumbed to that dope habit. I’ll keep my own feelings, thanks, no matter how bad they taste.

“You won’t even make love without consulting a psychotechnician-Is her mind as flat and insipid as mine? Is there any emotional instability in her family? It’s enough to make a man gag. As for fighting over a woman-if any one had the guts to do that, he’d find a proctor at his elbow in two minutes, looking for the most convenient place to paralyze him, and inquiring with sickening humility, “May I do you a service, sir?”

The bailiff edged closer to MacKinnon. He turned on him. “Stand back, you. I’m not through yet.” He turned and added, ‘You’ve told me to choose between the Two Alternatives. Well, it’s no hard choice for me. Before I’d submit to treatment, before I’d enter one of your little, safe little, pleasant little reorientation homes and let my mind be pried into by a lot of soft-fingered doctors-before I did anything like that, I’d choose a nice, clean death. Oh, no-there is just one choice for me, not two. I take the choice of going to Coventry-and glad of it, too … I hope I never hear of the United States again!

“But there is just one thing I want to ask you before I go-Why do you bother to live anyhow? I would think that anyone of you would welcome an end to your silly, futile lives just from sheer boredom. That’s all.” He turned back to the bailiff. “Come on, you.”

“One moment, David MacKinnon.” The Senior Judge held up a restraining hand. “We have listened to you. Although custom does not compel it, I am minded to answer some of your statements. Will you listen?”

Unwilling, but less willing to appear loutish in the face of a request so obviously reasonable, the younger man consented.

The judge commenced to speak in gentle, scholarly words appropriate to a lecture room. “David MacKinnon, you have spoken in a fashion that doubtless seems wise to you. Nevertheless, your words were wild, and spoken in haste. I am moved to correct your obvious misstatements of fact. The Covenant is not a superstition, but a simple temporal contract entered into by those same revolutionists for pragmatic reasons. They wished to insure the maximum possible liberty for every person.

“You yourself have enjoyed that liberty. No possible act, nor mode of conduct, was forbidden to you, as long as your action did not damage another. Even an act specifically prohibited by law could not be held against you, unless the state was able to prove that your particular act damaged, or caused evident danger of damage, to a particular individual.

“Even if one should willfully and knowingly damage another-as you have done-the state does not attempt to sit in moral judgment, nor to punish. We have not the wisdom to do that, and the chain of injustices that have always followed such moralistic coercion endanger the liberty of all. Instead, the convicted is given the choice of submitting to psychological readjustment to correct his tendency to wish to damage others, or of having the state withdraw itself from him-of sending him to Coventry.

“You complain that our way of living is dull and unromantic, and imply that we have deprived you of excitement to which you feel entitled. You are free to hold and express your esthetic opinion of our way of living, but you must not expect us to live to suit your tastes. You are free to seek danger and adventure if you wish-there is danger still in experimental laboratories; there is hardship in the mountains of the Moon, and death in the jungles of Venus-but you are not free to expose us to the violence of your nature.”

“Why make so much of it?” MacKinnon protested contemptuously. “You talk as if I had committed a murder-I simply punched a man in the nose for offending me outrageously!”

“I agree with your esthetic judgment of that individual,” the judge continued calmly, ‘and am personally rather gratified that you took a punch at him-but your psychometrical tests show that you believe yourself capable of judging morally your fellow citizens and feel justified in personally correcting and punishing their lapses. You are a dangerous individual, David MacKinnon, a danger to all of us, for we can not predict whet damage you may do next. From a social standpoint, your delusion makes you as mad as the March Hare.

“You refuse treatment-therefore we withdraw our society from you, we cast you out, we divorce you. To Coventry with you.” He turned to the bailiff. “Take him away.”

MacKinnon peered out of a forward port of the big transport helicopter with repressed excitement in his heart. There! That must be it-that black band in the distance. The helicopter drew closer, and he became certain that he was seeing the Barrier-the mysterious, impenetrable wall that divided the United States from the reservation known as Coventry.

His guard looked up from the magazine he was reading and followed his gaze. “Nearly there, I see,” he said pleasantly. “Well, it won’t be long now.” “It can’t be any too soon for me!”

The guard looked at him quizzically, but with tolerance. “Pretty anxious to get on with it, eh?”

MacKinnon held his head high. “You’ve never brought a man to the Gateway who was more anxious to pass through!” “Mmm-maybe. They all say that, you know. Nobody goes through the Gate against his own will.”

“I mean it!”

“They all do. Some of them come back, just the same.”

“Say-maybe you can give me some dope as to conditions inside?”

“Sorry,” the guard said, shaking his head, ‘but that is no concern of the United States, nor of any of its employees. You’ll know soon enough.”

MacKinnon frowned a little. “It seems strange-I tried inquiring, but found no one who would admit that they had any notion about the inside. And yet you say that some come out. Surely some of them must talk…”

“That’s simple,” smiled the guard, ‘part of their reorientation is a subconscious compulsion not to discuss their experiences.”

“That’s a pretty scabby trick. Why should the government deliberately conspire to prevent me, and the people like me, from knowing what we are going up against?”

“Listen, buddy,” the guard answered, with mild exasperation, ‘you’ve told the rest of us to go to the devil. You’ve told us that you could get along without us. You are being given plenty of living room in some of the best land on this continent, and you are being allowed to take with you everything that you own, or your credit could buy. What the deuce else do you expect?”

MacKinnon’s face settled in obstinate lines. “What assurance have I that there will be any land left for me?”

“That’s your problem. The government sees to it that there is plenty of land for the population. The divvy-up is something you rugged individualists have to settle among yourselves. You’ve turned down our type of social co-operation; why should you expect the safeguards of our organization?” The guard turned back to his reading and ignored him.

They landed on a small field which lay close under the blank black wall. No gate was apparent, but a guardhouse was located at the side of the field. MacKinnon was the only passenger. While his escort went over to the guardhouse, he descended from the passenger compartment and went around to the freight hold. Two members of the crew were letting down a ramp from the cargo port. When he appeared, one of them eyed him, and said, ‘O.K., there’s your stuff. Help yourself.”

He sized up the job, and said, ‘It’s quite a lot, isn’t it? I’ll need some help. Will you give me a hand with it?”

The crew member addressed paused to light a cigarette before replying, ‘It’s your stuff. If you want it, get it out. We take off in ten minutes.” The two walked around him and reentered the ship.

“Why, you-” MacKinnon shut up and kept the rest of his anger to himself. The surly louts! Gone was the faintest trace of regret at leaving civilization. He’d show them! He could get along without them.

But it was twenty minutes and more before he stood beside his heaped up belongings and watched the ship rise. Fortunately the skipper had not been adamant about the time limit. He turned and commenced loading his steel tortoise. Under the romantic influence of the classic literature of a bygone day he had considered using a string of burros, but had been unable to find a zoo that would sell them to him. It was just as well-he was completely ignorant of the limits, foibles, habits, vices, illnesses, and care of those useful little beasts, and unaware of his own ignorance. Master and servant would have vied in making each other unhappy.

The vehicle he had chosen was not an unreasonable substitute for burros. It was extremely rugged, easy to operate, and almost foolproof. It drew its power from six square yards of sunpower screens on its low curved roof. These drove a constant-load motor, or, when halted, replenished the storage battery against cloudy weather, or night travel. The bearings were ‘everlasting’, and every moving part, other than the caterpillar treads and the controls, were sealed up, secure from inexpert tinkering.

It could maintain a steady six miles per hour on smooth, level pavement. When confronted by hills, or rough terrain, it did not stop, but simply slowed until the task demanded equaled its steady power output.

The steel tortoise gave MacKinnon a feeling of Crusoe-like independence. It did not occur to him his chattel was the end product of the cumulative effort and intelligent co-operation of hundreds of thousands of men, living and dead. He had been used all his life to the unfailing service of much more intricate machinery, and honestly regarded the tortoise as a piece of equipment of the same primitive level as a wood-man’s axe, or a hunting knife. His talents had been devoted in the past to literary criticism rather than engineering, but that did not prevent him from believing that his native intelligence and the aid of a few reference books would be all that he would really need to duplicate the tortoise, if necessary.

Metal ores were necessary, he knew, but saw no obstacle in that, his knowledge of the difficulties of prospecting, mining, and metallurgy being as sketchy as his knowledge of burros. His goods filled every compartment of the compact little freighter. He checked the last item from his inventory and ran a satisfied eye down the list. Any explorer or adventurer of the past

might well be pleased with such equipment, he thought. He could imagine showing Jack London his knockdown cabin. See, Jack, he would say, it’s proof against any kind of weather-

perfectly insulated walls and floor-and can’t rust. It’s so light that you can set it up in five minutes by yourself, yet it’s so strong that you can sleep sound with the biggest grizzly in the world

snuffling right outside your door.

And London would scratch his head, and say, Dave, you’re a wonder. If I’d had that in the Yukon, it would have been a cinch!

He checked over the list again. Enough concentrated and desiccated food and vitamin concentrate to last six months. That would give him time enough to build hothouses for hydroponics, and get his seeds started. Medical supplies-he did not expect to need those, but foresight was always best. Reference books of all sorts. Alight sporting rifle-vintage: last century. His face clouded a little at this. The War Department had positively refused to sell him a portable blaster. When he had claimed the right of common social heritage, they had grudgingly provided him with the plans and specifications, and told him to build his own. Well, he would, the first spare time he got.

Everything else was in order. MacKinnon climbed into the cockpit, grasped the two hand controls, and swung the nose of the tortoise toward the guardhouse. He had been ignored since the ship had landed; he wanted to have the gate opened and to leave.

Several soldiers were gathered around the guardhouse. He picked out a legate by the silver stripe down the side of his kilt and spoke to him. “I’m ready to leave. Will you kindly open the Gate?”

“O.K.,” the officer answered him, and turned to a soldier who wore the plain gray kilt of a private’s field uniform. “Jenkins, tell the power house to dilate-about a number three opening, tell them,” he added, sizing up the dimensions of the tortoise.

He turned to MacKinnon. “It is my duty to tell you that you may return to civilization, even now, by agreeing to be hospitalized for your neurosis.” “I have no neurosis!”

“Very well. If you change your mind at any future time, return to the place where you entered. There is an alarm there with which you may signal to the guard that you wish the gate opened.”

“I can’t imagine needing to know that.”

The legate shrugged. “Perhaps not-but we send refugees to quarantine all the time. If I were making the rules, it might be harder to get out again.” He was cut off by the ringing of an alarm. The soldiers near them moved smartly away, drawing their blasters from their belts as they ran. The ugly snout of a fixed blaster poked out over the top of the guardhouse and pointed toward the Barrier.

The legate answered the question on MacKinnon’s face. “The power house is ready to open up.” He waved smartly toward that building, then turned back. “Drive straight through the center of the opening. It takes a lot of power to suspend the stasis; if you touch the edge, we’ll have to pick up the pieces.”

Atiny, bright dot appeared in the foot of the barrier opposite where they waited. It spread into a half circle across the lampblack nothingness. Now it was large enough for MacKinnon to see the countryside beyond through the arch it had formed. He peered eagerly.

The opening grew until it was twenty feet wide, then stopped. It framed a scene of rugged, barren hills. He took this in, and turned angrily on the legate. “I’ve been tricked!” he exclaimed. “That’s not fit land to support a man.”

“Don’t be hasty,” he told MacKinnon. “There’s good land beyond. Besides-you don’t have to enter. But if you are going, go!”

MacKinnon flushed, and pulled back on both hand controls. The treads bit in and the tortoise lumbered away, straight for the Gateway to Coventry.

When he was several yards beyond the Gate, he glanced back. The Barrier loomed behind him, with nothing to show where the opening had been. There was a little sheet metal shed adjacent to the point where he had passed through. He supposed that it contained the alarm the legate had mentioned, but he was not interested and turned his eyes back to his driving.

Stretching before him, twisting between rocky hills, was a road of sorts. It was not paved and the surface had not been repaired recently, but the grade averaged downhill and the tortoise was able to maintain a respectable speed. He continued down it, not because he fancied it, but because it was the only road which led out of surroundings obviously unsuited to his needs.

The road was untraveled. This suited him; he had no wish to encounter other human beings until he had located desirable land to settle on, and had staked out his claim. But the hills were not devoid of life; several times he caught glimpses of little dark shapes scurrying among the rocks, and occasionally bright, beady eyes stared back into his.

It did not occur to him at first that these timid little animals, streaking for cover at his coming, could replenish his larder-he was simply amused and warmed by their presence. When he did happen to consider that they might be used as food, the thought was at first repugnant to him-the custom of killing for ‘sport” had ceased to be customary long before his time; and

inasmuch as the development of cheap synthetic proteins in the latter half of the preceding century had spelled the economic ruin of the business of breeding animals for slaughter, it is doubtful if he had ever tasted animal tissue in his life.

But once considered, it was logical to act. He expected to live off the country; although he had plenty of food on hand for the immediate future, it would be wise to conserve it by using what the country offered. He suppressed his esthetic distaste and ethical misgivings, and determined to shoot one of the little animals at the first opportunity.

Accordingly, he dug out the rifle, loaded it, and placed it handy. With the usual perversity of the world-as-it-is, no game was evident for the next half hour. He was passing a little shoulder of rocky outcropping when he saw his prey. It peeked at him from behind a small boulder, its sober eyes wary but unperturbed. He stopped the tortoise and took careful aim, resting and steadying the rifle on the side of the cockpit. His quarry accommodated him by hopping out into full view.

He pulled the trigger, involuntarily tensing his muscles and squinting his eyes as he did so. Naturally, the shot went high and to the right.

But he was much too busy just then to be aware of it. It seemed that the whole world had exploded. His right shoulder was numb, his mouth stung as if he had been kicked there, and his ears rang in a strange and unpleasant fashion. He was surprised to find the gun still intact in his hands and apparently none the worse for the incident.

He put it down, clambered out of the car, and rushed up to where the small creature had been. There was no sign of it anywhere. He searched the immediate neighborhood, but did not find it. Mystified, he returned to his conveyance, having decided that the rifle was in some way defective, and that he should inspect it carefully before attempting to fire it again.

His recent target watched his actions cautiously from a vantage point yards away, to which it had stampeded at the sound of the shot. It was equally mystified by the startling events, being no more used to firearms than was MacKinnon.

Before he started the tortoise again, MacKinnon had to see to his upper lip, which was swollen and tender and bleeding from a deep scratch. This increased his conviction that the gun was defective. Nowhere in the romantic literature of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, to which he was addicted, had there been a warning that, when firing a gun heavy enough to drop a man in his tracks, it is well not to hold the right hand in such ~ manner that the recoil will cause the right thumb and thumb nail to strike the mouth.

He applied an antiseptic and a dressing of sorts, and went on his way, somewhat subdued. The arroyo by which he had entered the hills had widened out, and the hills were greener. He passed around one sharp turn in the road, and found a broad fertile valley spread out before him. It stretched away until it was lost in the warm day’s haze.

Much of the valley was cultivated, and he could make out human habitations. He continued toward it with mixed feelings. People meant fewer hardships, but it did not look as if staking out a claim would be as simple as he had hoped. However-Coventry was a big place.

He had reached the point where the road gave onto the floor of the valley, when two men stepped out into his path. They were carrying weapons of some sort at the ready. One of them called out to him:

“Halt!”

MacKinnon did so, and answered him as they came abreast. “What do you want?”

“Customs inspection. Pull over there by the office.” He indicated a small building set back a few feet from the road, which MacKinnon had not previously noticed. He looked from it back to the spokesman, and felt a slow, unreasoning heat spread up from his viscera. It rendered his none too stable judgment still more unsound.

“What the deuce are you talking about?” he snapped. “Stand aside and let me pass.”

The one who had remained silent raised his weapon and aimed it at MacKinnon’s chest. The other grabbed his arm and pulled the weapon out of line. “Don’t shoot the dumb fool, Joe,” he said testily. “You’re always too anxious.” Then to MacKinnon, ‘You’re resisting the law. Come on-be quick about it!”

“The law?” MacKinnon gave a bitter laugh and snatched his rifle from the seat. It never reached his shoulder-the man who had done all the talking fired casually, without apparently taking time to aim. MacKinnon’s rifle was smacked from his grasp and flew into the air, landing in the roadside ditch behind the tortoise.

The man who had remained silent followed the flight of the gun with detached interest, and remarked, ‘Nice shot, Blackie. Never touched him.”

“Oh, just luck,” the other demurred, but grinned his pleasure at the compliment. “Glad I didn’t nick him, though-saves writing out a report.” He reassumed an official manner, spoke again to MacKinnon, who had been sitting dumbfounded, rubbing his smarting hands. “Well, tough guy? Do you behave, or do we come up there and get you?”

MacKinnon gave in. He drove the tortoise to the designated spot, and waited sullenly for orders. “Get out and start unloading,” he was told. He obeyed, under compulsion. As he piled his precious possessions on the ground, the one addressed as Blackie separated the things into two piles, while Joe listed them on a printed form. He noticed presently that Joe listed only the items that went into the first pile. He understood this when Blackie told him to reload the tortoise with the items from that pile, and commenced himself to carry goods from the other pile into the building. He started to protest-Joe punched him in the mouth, coolly and without rancor. MacKinnon went down, but got up again, fighting. He was in such a blind rage that he would have tackled a charging rhino. Joe timed his rush, and clipped him again. This time he could not get up at once.

Blackie stepped over to a washstand in one corner of the office. He came back with a wet towel and chucked it at MacKinnon. “Wipe your face on that, bud, and get back in the buggy. We got to get going.”

MacKinnon had time to do a lot of serious thinking as he drove Blackie into town. Beyond a terse answer of ‘Prize court” to MacKinnon’s inquiry as to their destination, Blackie did not converse, nor did MacKinnon press him, anxious as he was to have information. His mouth pained him from repeated punishment, his head ached, and he was no longer tempted to precipitate action by hasty speech.

Evidently Coventry was not quite the frontier anarchy he had expected it to be. There was a government of sorts, apparently, but it resembled nothing that he had ever been used to. He had visualized a land of noble, independent spirits who gave each other wide berth and practiced mutual respect. There would be villains, of course, but they would be treated to summary, and probably lethal, justice as quickly as they demonstrated their ugly natures. He had a strong, though subconscious, assumption that virtue is necessarily triumphant.

But having found government, he expected it to follow the general pattern that he had been used to all his life-honest, conscientious, reasonably efficient, and invariably careful of a citizen’s rights and liberties. He was aware that government had not always been like that, but he had never experienced it-the idea was as remote and implausible as cannibalism, or chattel slavery.

Had he stopped to think about it, he might have realized that public servants in Coventry would never have been examined psychologically to determine their temperamental fitness for their duties, and, since every inhabitant of Coventry was there-as he was-for violating a basic custom and ref using treatment thereafter, it was a foregone conclusion that most of them would be erratic and arbitrary.

He pinned his hope on the knowledge that they were going to court. All he asked was a chance to tell his story to the judge.

His dependence on judicial procedure may appear inconsistent in view of how recently he had renounced all reliance on organized government, but while he could renounce government verbally, but he could not do away with a lifetime of environmental conditioning. He could curse the court that had humiliated him by condemning him to the Two Alternatives, but he expected courts to dispense justice. He could assert his own rugged independence, but he expected persons he encountered to behave as if they were bound by the Covenant-he had met no other sort. He was no more able to discard his past history than he would have been to discard his accustomed body.

But he did not know it yet.

MacKinnon failed to stand up when the judge entered the court room. Court attendants quickly set him right, but not before he had provoked a glare from the bench. The judge’s appearance and manner were not reassuring. He was a well-fed man, of ruddy complexion, whose sadistic temper was evident in face and mien. They waited while he dealt drastically with several petty offenders. It seemed to MacKinnon, as he listened, that almost everything was against the law.

Nevertheless, he was relieved when his name was called. He stepped up and undertook at once to tell his story. The judge’s gavel cut him short.

“What is this case?” the judge demanded, his face set in grim lines. “Drunk and disorderly, apparently. I shall put a stop to this slackness among the young if it takes the last ounce of strength in my body!” He turned to the clerk. “Any previous offences?”

The clerk whispered in his ear. The judge threw MacKinnon a look of mixed annoyance and suspicion, then told the customs” guard to come forward. Blackie told a clear, straightforward tale with the ease of a man used to giving testimony. MacKinnon’s condition was attributed to resisting an officer in the execution of his duty. He submitted the inventory his colleague had prepared, but failed to mention the large quantity of goods which had been abstracted before the inventory was made.

The judge turned to MacKinnon. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?” “I certainly have, Doctor,” he began eagerly. “There isn’t a word of -,

Bang! The gavel cut him short. Acourt attendant hurried to MacKinnon’s side and attempted to explain to him the proper form to use in addressing the court. The explanation confused him. In his experience, ‘judge” naturally implied a medical man-a psychiatrist skilled in social problems. Nor had he heard of any special speech forms appropriate to a courtroom. But he amended his language as instructed.

“May it please the Honorable Court, this man is lying. He and his companion assaulted and robbed me. I was simply-‘Smugglers generally think they are being robbed when customs officials catch them,” the judge sneered. “Do you deny that you attempted to resist inspection?”

“No, Your Honor, but -“

“That will do. Penalty of fifty percent is added to the established scale of duty. Pay the clerk.” “But, Your Honor, I can’t -“

“Can’t you pay it?”

“I haven’t any money. I have only my possessions.”

“So?” He turned to the clerk. “Condemnation proceedings. Impound his goods. Ten days for vagrancy. The community can’t have these immigrant paupers roaming at large, and preying on law-abiding citizens. Next case!”

They hustled him away. It took the sound of a key grating in a barred door behind him to make him realize his predicament.

“Hi, pal, how’s the weather outside?” The detention cell had a prior inmate, a small, well-knit man who looked up from a game of solitaire to address MacKinnon. He sat astraddle a bench on which he had spread his cards, and studied the newcomer with unworried, bright, beady eyes.

“Clear enough outside-but stormy in the courtroom,” MacKinnon answered, trying to adopt the same bantering tone and not succeeding very well. His mouth hurt him and spoiled his grin.

The other swung a leg over the bench and approached him with a light, silent step. “Say, pal, you must ‘a” caught that in a gear box,” he commented, inspecting MacKinnon’s mouth. “Does it hurt?”

“Like the devil,” MacKinnon admitted.

“We’ll have to do something about that.” He went to the cell door and rattled it. “Hey! Lefty! The house is on fire! Come arunnin’!” The guard sauntered down and stood opposite their cell door. “Wha” d’yuh want, Fader?” he said noncommittally.

“My old school chum has been slapped in the face with a wrench, and the pain is inordinate. Here’s a chance for you to get right with Heaven by oozing down to the dispensary, snagging a dressing and about five grains of neoanodyne.”

The guard’s expression was not encouraging. The prisoner looked grieved. “Why, Lefty,” he said, ‘I thought you would jump at a chance to do a little pure charity like that.” He waited for a moment, then added, ‘Tell you what-you do it, and I’ll show you how to work that puzzle about “How old is Ann?” Is it a go?”

“Show me first.”

“It would take too long. I’ll write it out and give it to you.”

When the guard returned, MacKinnon’s cellmate dressed his wounds with gentle deftness, talking the while. “They call me Fader Magee. What’s your name, pal?” “David MacKinnon. I’m sorry, but I didn’t quite catch your first name.”

“Fader. It isn’t,” he explained with a grin, ‘the name my mother gave me. It’s more a professional tribute to my shy and unobtrusive nature.” MacKinnon looked puzzled. “Professional tribute? What is your profession?”

Magee looked pained. “Why, Dave,” he said, ‘I didn’t ask you that. However,” he went on, ‘it’s probably the same as yours-self-preservation.”

Magee was a sympathetic listener, and MacKinnon welcomed the chance to tell someone about his troubles. He related the story of how he had decided to enter Coventry rather than submit to the sentence of the court, and how he had hardly arrived when he was hijacked and hauled into court. Magee nodded. “I’m not surprised,” he observed. “Aman has to have larceny in his heart, or he wouldn’t be a customs guard.”

“But what happens to my belongings?” “They auction them off to pay the duty.” “I wonder how much there will be left for me?”

Magee stared at him. “Left over? There won’t be anything left over. You’ll probably have to pay a deficiency judgment.” “Huh? What’s that?”

“It’s a device whereby the condemned pays for the execution,” Magee explained succinctly, if somewhat obscurely. “What it means to you is that when your ten days is up, you’ll still be in debt to the court. Then it’s the chain gang for you, my lad-you’ll work it off at a dollar a day.”

“Fader-you’re kidding me.”

“Wait and see. You’ve got a lot to learn, Dave.”

Coventry was an even more complex place than MacKinnon had gathered up to this time. Magee explained to him that there were actually three sovereign, independent jurisdictions. The jail where they were prisoners lay in the so-called New America. It had the forms of democratic government, but the treatment he had already received was a fair sample of the fashion in which it was administered.

“This place is heaven itself compared with the Free State,” Magee maintained. “I’ve been there-” The Free State was an absolute dictatorship; the head man of the ruling clique was designated the ‘Liberator’. Their watchwords were Duty and Obedience; an arbitrary discipline was enforced with a severity that left no room for any freedom of opinion. Governmental theory was vaguely derived from the old functionalist doctrines. The state was thought of as a single organism with a single head, a single brain, and a single purpose. Anything not compulsory was forbidden. “Honest so help me,” claimed Magee, ‘you can’t go to bed in that place without finding one of their damned secret police between the sheets.”

“But at that,” he continued, ‘it’s an easier place to live than with the Angels.” “The Angels?”

“Sure. We still got ‘em. Must have been two or three thousand die-hards that chose to go to Coventry after the Revolution-you know that. There’s still a colony up in the hills to the north, complete with Prophet Incarnate and the works. They aren’t bad hombres, but they’ll pray you into heaven even if it kills you.”

All three states had one curious characteristic in common-each one claimed to be the only legal government of the entire United States, and each looked forward to some future day when they would reclaim the ‘unredeemed” portion; i.e., outside Coventry. To the Angels, this was an event which would occur when the First Prophet returned to earth to lead them again. In New America it was hardly more than a convenient campaign plank, to be forgotten after each election. But in the Free State it was a fixed policy.

Pursuant to this purpose there had been a whole series of wars between the Free State and New America. The Liberator held, quite logically, that New America was an unredeemed section, and that is was necessary to bring it under the rule of the Free State before the advantages of their culture could be extended to the outside.

Magee’s words demolished MacKinnon’s dream of finding an anarchistic utopia within the barrier, but he could not let his fond illusion die without a protest. “But see here, Fader,” he persisted, ‘isn’t there some place where a man can live quietly by himself without all this insufferable interference?”

“No-‘considered Fader, ‘no … not unless you took to the hills and hid. Then you ‘ud be all right, as long as you steered clear of the Angels. But it would be pretty slim pickin’s, living off the country. Ever tried it?”

“No … not exactly-but I’ve read all the classics: Zane Grey, and Emerson Hough, and so forth.”

“Well … maybe you could do it. But if you really want to go off and be a hermit, you ‘ud do better to try it on the Outside, where there aren’t so many objections to it.”

“No’-MacKinnon’s backbone stiffened at once-‘no, I’ll never do that. I’ll never submit to psychological reorientation just to have a chance to be let alone. If I could go back to where I was before a couple of months ago, before I was arrested, it might be all right to go off to the Rockies, or look up an abandoned farm somewhere… But with that diagnosis staring me in the face … after being told I wasn’t fit for human society until I had had my emotions re-tailored to fit a cautious little pattern, I couldn’t face it. Not if it meant going to a sanitarium”

“I see,” agreed Fader, nodding, ‘you want to go to Coventry, but you don’t want the Barrier to shut you off from the rest of the world.” “No, that’s not quite fair … Well, maybe, in a way. Say, you don’t think I’m not fit to associate with, do you?”

“You look all right to me,” Magee reassured him, with a grin, ‘but I’m in Coventry too, remember. Maybe I’m no judge.” “You don’t talk as if you liked it much. Why are you here?”

Magee held up a gently admonishing finger. “Tut! Tut! That is the one question you must never ask a man here. You must assume that he came here because he knew how swell everything is here.”

“Still … you don’t seem to like it.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it. I do like it; it has flavor. Its little incongruities are a source of innocent merriment. And anytime they turn on the heat I can always go back through the Gate and rest up for a while in a nice quiet hospital, until things quiet down.”

MacKinnon was puzzled again. “Turn on the heat? Do they supply too hot weather here?”

“Huh? Oh. I didn’t mean weather control-there isn’t any of that here, except what leaks over from outside. I was just using an old figure of speech.” “What does it mean?”

Magee smiled to himself. “You’ll find out.”

After supper-bread, stew in a metal dish, a small apple-Magee introduced MacKinnon to the mysteries of cribbage. Fortunately, MacKinnon had no cash to lose. Presently Magee put the cards down without shuffling them. “Dave,” he said, ‘are you enjoying the hospitality offered by this institution?”

“Hardly-Why?” “I suggest that we check out.” “Agood idea, but how?”

“That’s what I’ve been thinking about. Do you suppose you could take another poke on that battered phiz of yours, in a good cause?” MacKinnon cautiously fingered his face. “I suppose so-if necessary. It can’t do me much more harm, anyhow.”

“That’s mother’s little man! Now listen-this guard, Lefty, in addition to being kind o” unbright, is sensitive about his appearance. When they turn out the lights, you -“

“Let me out of here! Let me out of here!” MacKinnon beat on the bars and screamed. No answer came. He renewed the racket, his voice an hysterical falsetto. Lefty arrived to investigate, grumbling.

“What the hell’s eating on you?” he demanded, peering through the bars.

MacKinnon changed to tearful petition. “Oh, Lefty, please let me out of here. Please! I can’t stand the dark. It’s dark in here-please don’t leave me alone.” He flung himself, sobbing, on the bars.

The guard cursed to himself. “Another slugnutty. Listen, you-shut up, and go to sleep, or I’ll come in there, and give you something to yelp for!” He started to leave. MacKinnon changed instantly to the vindictive, unpredictable anger of the irresponsible. “You big ugly baboon! You rat-faced idiot! Where’d you get that nose?”

Lefty turned back, fury in his face. He started to speak. MacKinnon cut him short. “Yah! Yah! Yah!” he gloated, like a nasty little boy, ‘Lefty’s mother was scared by a warthog-The guard swung at the spot where MacKinnon’s face was pressed between the bars of the door. MacKinnon ducked and grabbed simultaneously. Off balance at meeting no resistance, the guard rocked forward, thrusting his forearm between the bars. MacKinnon’s fingers slid along his arm, and got a firm purchase on Lefty’s wrist.

He threw himself backwards, dragging the guard with him, until Lefty was jammed up against the outside of the barred door, with one arm inside, to the wrist of which MacKinnon clung as if welded.

The yell which formed in Lefty’s throat miscarried; Magee had already acted. Out of the darkness, silent as death, his slim hands had snaked between the bars and imbedded themselves in the guard’s fleshy neck. Lefty heaved, and almost broke free, but MacKinnon threw his weight to the right and twisted the arm he gripped in an agonizing, bone-breaking leverage.

It seemed to MacKinnon that they remained thus, like some grotesque game of statues, for an endless period. His pulse pounded in his ears until he feared that it must be heard by others, and bring rescue to Lefty. Magee spoke at last:

“That’s enough,” he whispered. “Go through his pockets.”

He made an awkward job if it, for his hands were numb and trembling from the strain, and it was anything but convenient to work between the bars. But the keys were there, in the last pocket he tried. He passed them to Magee, who let the guard slip to the floor, and accepted them.

Magee made a quick job of it. The door swung open with a distressing creak. Dave stepped over Lefty’s body, but Magee kneeled down, unhooked a truncheon from the guard’s belt, and cracked him behind the ear with it. MacKinnon paused.

“Did you kill him?” he asked.

“Cripes, no,” Magee answered softly, ‘Lefty is a friend of mine. Let’s go.”

They hurried down the dimly lighted passageway between cells toward the door leading to the administrative offices-their only outlet. Lefty had carelessly left it ajar, and light shone through the crack, but as they silently approached it, they heard ponderous footsteps from the far side. Dave looked hurriedly for cover, but the best he could manage was to slink back into the corner formed by the cell block and the wall. He glanced around for Magee, but he had disappeared.

The door swung open; a man stepped through, paused, and looked around. MacKinnon saw that he was carrying a blacklight, and wearing its complement-rectifying spectacles. He realized then that the darkness gave him no cover. The blacklight swung his way; he tensed to spring-He heard a dull ‘clunk!” The guard sighed, swayed gently, then collapsed into a loose pile. Magee stood over him, poised on the balls of his feet, and surveyed his work, while caressing the business end of the truncheon with the cupped fingers of his left hand.

“That will do,” he decided. “Shall we go, Dave?”

He eased through the door without waiting for an answer; MacKinnon was close behind him. The lighted corridor led away to the right and ended in a large double door to the street. On the left wall, near the street door, a smaller office door stood open.

Magee drew MacKinnon to him. “It’s a cinch,” he whispered. “There’ll be nobody in there now but the desk sergeant. We get past him, then out that door, and into the ozone-” He motioned Dave to keep behind him, and crept silently up to the office door. After drawing a small mirror from a pocket in his belt, he lay down on the floor, placed his head near the doorframe, and cautiously extended the tiny mirror an inch or two past the edge.

Apparently he was satisfied with the reconnaissance the improvised periscope afforded, for he drew himself back onto his knees and turned his head so that MacKinnon could see the words shaped by his silent lips. “It’s all right,” he breathed, ‘there is only-Two hundred pounds of uniformed nemesis landed on his shoulders. Aclanging alarm sounded through the corridor. Magee went down fighting, but he was outclassed and caught off guard. He jerked his head free and shouted, ‘Run for it, kid!”

MacKinnon could hear running feet somewhere, but could see nothing but the struggling figures before him. He shook his head and shoulders like a dazed animal, then kicked the larger of the two contestants in the face. The man screamed and let go his hold. MacKinnon grasped his small companion by the scruff of the neck and hauled him roughly to his feet.

Magee’s eyes were still merry. “Well played, my lad,” he commended in clipped syllables, as they burst out the street door, ‘- if hardly cricket! Where did you learn La Savate?” MacKinnon had no time to answer, being fully occupied in keeping up with Magee’s weaving, deceptively rapid progress. They ducked across the street, down an alley, and between two

buildings.

The succeeding minutes, or hours, were confusion to MacKinnon. He remembered afterwards crawling along a roof top and letting himself down to crouch in the blackness of an interior court, but he could not remember how they had gotten on the roof. He also recalled spending an interminable period alone, compressed inside a most unsavory refuse bin, and his terror when footsteps approached the bin and a light flashed through a crack.

Acrash and the sound of footsteps in flight immediately thereafter led him to guess that Fader had drawn the pursuit away from him. But when Fader did return, and open the top of the bin, MacKinnon almost throttled him before identification was established.

When the active pursuit had been shaken off, Magee guided him across town, showing a sophisticated knowledge of back ways and shortcuts, and a genius for taking full advantage of cover. They reached the outskirts of the town in a dilapidated quarter, far from the civic center. Magee stopped. “I guess this is the end of the line,” kid,” he told Dave. “If you follow this street, you’ll come to open country shortly. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

“I suppose so,” MacKinnon replied uneasily, and peered down the street. Then he turned back to speak again to Magee. But Magee was gone. He had faded away into the shadows. There was neither sight nor sound of him.

MacKinnon started in the suggested direction with a heavy heart. There was no possible reason to expect Magee to stay with him; the service Dave had done him with a lucky kick had been repaid with interest-yet he had lost the only friendly companionship he had found in a strange place. He felt lonely and depressed.

He continued along, keeping to the shadows, and watching carefully for shapes that might be patrolmen. He had gone a few hundred yards, and was beginning to worry about how far it might be to open countryside, when he was startled into gooseflesh by a hiss from a dark doorway.

He did his best to repress the panic that beset him, and was telling himself that policemen never hiss, when a shadow detached itself from the blackness and touched him on the arm. “Dave,” it said softly.

MacKinnon felt a childlike sense of relief and well-being. “Fader!”

“I changed my mind, Dave. The gendarmes would have you in tow before morning. You don’t know the ropes … so I came back.” Dave was both pleased and crestfallen. “Hell’s bells, Fader,” he protested, ‘you shouldn’t worry about me. I’ll get along.”

Magee shook him roughly by the arm. “Don’t be a chump. Green as you are, you’d start to holler about your civil rights, or something, and get clipped in the mouth again.

“Now see here,” he went on, ‘I’m going to take you to some friends of mine who will hide you until you’re smartened up to the tricks around here. But they’re on the wrong side of the law, see? You’ll have to be all three of the three sacred monkeys-see no evil, hear no evil, tell no evil. Think you can do it?”

“Yes, but -“

“No “buts” about it. Come along!”

The entrance was in the rear of an old warehouse. Steps led down into a little sunken pit. From this open areaway-foul with accumulated refuse-a door let into the back wall of the building. Magee tapped lightly but systematically, waited and listened. Presently he whispered, ‘Psst! It’s the Fader.”

The door opened quickly, and Magee was encircled by two great, fat arms. He was lifted off his feet, while the owner of those arms planted a resounding buss on his cheek. “Fader!” she exclaimed, ‘are you all right, lad? We’ve missed you.”

“Now that’s a proper welcome, Mother,” he answered, when he was back on his own feet, ‘but I want you to meet a friend of mine. Mother Johnston, this is David MacKinnon.” “May I do you a service?” David acknowledged, with automatic formality, but Mother Johnston’s eyes tightened with instant suspicion.

“Is he stooled?” she snapped.

“No, Mother, he’s a new immigrant-but I vouch for him. He’s on the dodge, and I’ve brought him here to cool.” She softened a little under his sweetly persuasive tones. “Well -“

Magee pinched her cheek. “That’s a good girl! When are you going to marry me?”

She slapped his hand away. “Even if I were forty years younger, I’d not marry such a scamp as you! Come along then,” she continued to MacKinnon, ‘as long as you’re a friend of the Fader-though it’s no credit to you!” She waddled quickly ahead of them, down a flight of stairs, while calling out for someone to open the door at its foot.

The room was poorly lighted and was furnished principally with a long table and some chairs, at which an odd dozen people were seated, drinking and talking. It reminded MacKinnon of prints he had seen of old English pubs in the days before the Collapse.

Magee was greeted with a babble of boisterous welcome. “Fader!’-‘It’s the kid himself!’-‘How d’ja do it this time, Fader? Crawl down the drains?’-‘Set ‘em up, Mother-the Fader’s back!” He accepted the ovation with a wave of his hand and a shout of inclusive greeting, then turned to MacKinnon. “Folks,” he said, his voice cutting through the confusion, ‘I want you to know

Dave-the best pal that ever kicked a jailer at the right moment. If it hadn’t been for Dave, I wouldn’t be here.”

Dave found himself seated between two others at the table and a stein of beer thrust into his hand by a not uncomely young woman. He started to thank her, but she had hurried off to help Mother Johnston take care of the sudden influx of orders. Seated opposite him was a rather surly young man who had taken little part in the greeting to Magee. He looked MacKinnon over with a face expressionless except for a recurrent tic which caused his right eye to wink spasmodically every few seconds.

“What’s your line?” he demanded.

“Leave him alone, Alec,” Magee cut in swiftly, but in a friendly tone. “He’s just arrived inside; I told you that. But he’s all right,” he continued, raising his voice to include the others present, ‘he’s been here less than twenty-four hours, but he’s broken jail, beat up two customs busies, and sassed old Judge Fleishacker right to his face. How’s that for a busy day?”

Dave was the center of approving interest, but the party with the tic persisted. “That’s all very well, but I asked him a fair question: What’s his line? If it’s the same as mine, I won’t stand for it-it’s too crowded now.”

“That cheap racket you’re in is always crowded, but he’s not in it. Forget about his line.”

“Why don’t he answer for himself,” Alec countered suspiciously. He half stood up. “I don’t believe he’s stooled -“

It appeared that Magee was cleaning his nails with the point of a slender knife. “Put your nose back in your glass, Alec,” he remarked in a conversational tone, without looking up, ‘-or must I cut it off and put it there?”

The other fingered something nervously in his hand. Magee seemed not to notice it, but nevertheless told him, ‘If you think you can use a vibrator on me faster than I use steel, go ahead- it will be an interesting experiment.”

The man facing him stood uncertainly for a moment longer, his tic working incessantly. Mother Johnston came up behind him and pushed him down by the shoulders, saying, ‘Boys! Boys! Is that any way to behave?-and in front of a guest, too! Fader, put that toad sticker away-I’m ashamed of you.”

The knife was gone from his hands. “You’re right as always, Mother,” he grinned. “Ask Molly to fill up my glass again.”

An old chap sitting on MacKinnon’s right had followed these events with alcoholic uncertainty, but he seemed to have gathered something of the gist of it, for now he fixed Dave with serum-filled eye, and enquired, ‘Boy, are you stooled to the rogue?” His sweetly sour breath reached MacKinnon as the old man leaned toward him and emphasized his question with a trembling, joint-swollen finger.

Dave looked to Magee for advice and enlightenment. Magee answered for him. “No, he’s not-Mother Johnston knew that when she let him in. He’s here for sanctuary-as our customs provide!”

An uneasy stir ran around the room. Molly paused in her serving and listened openly. But the old man seemed satisfied. “True … true enough,” he agreed, and took another pull at his drink, ‘sanctuary may be given when needed, if-‘His words were lost in a mumble.

The nervous tension slackened. Most of those present were subconsciously glad to follow the lead of the old man, and excuse the intrusion on the score of necessity. Magee turned back to Dave. “I thought that what you didn’t know couldn’t hurt you-or us-but the matter has been opened.”

“But what did he mean?”

“Gramps asked you if you had been stooled to the rogue-whether or not you were a member of the ancient and honorable fraternity of thieves, cutthroats, and pickpockets!”

Magee stared into Dave’s face with a look of sardonic amusement. Dave looked uncertainly from Magee to the others, saw them exchange glances, and wondered what answer was expected of him. Alec broke the pause. “Well,” he sneered, ‘what are you waiting for? Go ahead and put the question to him-or are the great Fader’s friends free to use this club without so much as a by-your-leave?”

“I thought I told you to quiet down, Alec,” the Fader replied evenly. “Besides-you’re skipping a requirement. All the comrades present must first decide whether or not to put the question at all.”

Aquiet little man with a chronic worried look in his eyes answered him. “I don’t think that quite applies, Fader. If he had come himself, or fallen into our hands-in that case, yes. But you brought him here. I think I speak for all when I say he should answer the question. Unless someone objects, I will ask him myself.” He allowed an interval to pass. No one spoke up. “Very well then … Dave, you have seen too much and heard too much. Will you leave us now-or will you stay and take the oath of our guild? I must warn you that once stooled you are stooled for life-and there is but one punishment for betraying the rogue.”

He drew his thumb across his throat in an age-old deadly gesture. Gramps made an appropriate sound effect by sucking air wetly through his teeth, and chuckled. Dave looked around. Magee’s face gave him no help. “What is it that I have to swear to?” he temporized.

The parley was brought to an abrupt ending by the sound of pounding outside. There was a shout, muffled by two closed doors and a stairway, of ‘Open up down there!” Magee got lightly to his feet and beckoned to Dave.

“That’s for us, kid,” he said. “Come along.”

He stepped over to a ponderous, old-fashioned radiophonograph which stood against the wall, reached under it, fiddled for a moment, then swung out one side panel of it. Dave saw that the mechanism had been cunningly rearranged in such a fashion that a man could squeeze inside it. Magee urged him into it, slammed the panel closed, and left him.

His face was pressed up close to the slotted grill which was intended to cover the sound box. Molly had cleared off the two extra glasses from the table, and was dumping one drink so that it spread along the table top and erased the rings their glasses had made.

MacKinnon saw the Fader slide under the table, and reached up. Then he was gone. Apparently he had, in some fashion, attached himself to the underside of the table.

Mother Johnston made a great-to-do of opening up. The lower door she opened at once, with much noise. Then she clumped slowly up the steps, pausing, wheezing, and complaining aloud. He heard her unlock the outer door.

“Afine time to be waking honest people up!” she protested. “It’s hard enough to get the work done and make both ends meet, without dropping what I’m doing every five minutes, and -“ “Enough of that, old girl,” a man’s voice answered, ‘just get along downstairs. We have business with you.”

“What sort of business?” she demanded.

“It might be selling liquor without a license, but it’s not-this time.”

“I don’t-this is a private club. The members own the liquor; I simply serve it to them.”

“That’s as may be. It’s those members I want to talk to. Get out of the way now, and be spry about it.”

They came pushing into the room with Mother Johnston, still voluble, carried along in by the van. The speaker was a sergeant of police; he was accompanied by a patrolman. Following them were two other uniformed men, but they were soldiers. MacKinnon judged by the markings on their kilts that they were corporal and private-provided the insignia in New America were similar to those used by the United States Army.

The sergeant paid no attention to Mother Johnston. “All right, you men,” he called out, ‘line up!”

They did so, ungraciously but promptly. Molly and Mother Johnston watched them, and moved closer to each other. The police sergeant called out, ‘All right, corporal-take charge!” The boy who washed up in the kitchen had been staring round-eyed. He dropped a glass. It bounced around on the hard floor, giving out bell-like sounds in the silence.

The man who had questioned Dave spoke up. “What’s all this?”

The sergeant answered with a pleased grin. “Conscription-that’s what it is. You are all enlisted in the army for the duration.” “Press gang!” It was an involuntary gasp that came from no particular source.

The corporal stepped briskly forward. “Form a column of twos,” he directed. But the little man with the worried eyes was not done. “I don’t understand this,” he objected. “We signed an armistice with the Free State three weeks ago.”

“That’s not your worry,” countered the sergeant, ‘nor mine. We are picking up every able-bodied man not in essential industry. Come along.” “Then you can’t take me.”

“Why not?”

He held up the stump of a missing hand. The sergeant glanced from it to the corporal, who nodded grudgingly, and said, ‘Okay-but report to the office in the morning, and register.”

He started to march them out when Alec broke ranks and backed up to the wall, screaming, ‘You can’t do this to me! I won’t go!” His deadly little vibrator was exposed in his hand, and the right side of his face was drawn up in a spastic wink that left his teeth bare.

“Get him, Steeves,” ordered the corporal. The private stepped forward, but stopped when Alec brandished the vibrator at him. He had no desire to have a vibroblade between his ribs, and there was no doubt as to the uncontrolled dangerousness of his hysterical opponent.

The corporal, looking phlegmatic, almost bored, levelled a small tube at a spot on the wall over Alec’s head. Dave heard a soft pop!, and a thin tinkle. Alec stood motionless for a few

seconds, his face even more strained, as if he were exerting the limit of his will against some unseen force, then slid quietly to the floor. The tonic spasm in his face relaxed, and his features smoothed into those of a tired and petulant, and very bewildered, little boy.

“Two of you birds carry him,” directed the corporal. “Let’s get going.”

The sergeant was the last to leave. He turned at the door and spoke to Mother Johnston. “Have you seen the Fader lately?” “The Fader?” She seemed puzzled. “Why, he’s in jail.”

“Ah, yes… so he is.” He went out.

Magee refused the drink that Mother Johnston offered him.

Dave was surprised to see that he appeared worried for the first time. “I don’t understand it,” Magee muttered, half to himself, then addressed the one-handed man. “Ed-bring me up to date.”

“Not much news since they tagged you, Fader. The armistice was before that. I thought from the papers that things were going to be straightened out for once.”

“So did I. But the government must expect war if they are going in for general conscription.” He stood up. “I’ve got to have more data. Al!” The kitchen boy stuck his head into the room. “What ‘cha want, Fader?”

“Go out and make palaver with five or six of the beggars. Look up their “king”. You know where he makes his pitch?” “Sure-over by the auditorium.”

“Find out what’s stirring, but don’t let them know I sent you., “Right, Fader. It’s in the bag.” The boy swaggered out. “Molly.”

“Yes, Fader?”

“Will you go out, and do the same thing with some of the business girls? I want to know what they hear from their customers.” She nodded agreement. He went on, ‘Better look up that little redhead that has her beat up on Union Square. She can get secrets out of a dead man. Here-” He pulled a wad of bills out of his pocket and handed her several. “You better take this grease … You might have to pay off a cop to get back out of the district.”

Magee was not disposed to talk, and insisted that Dave get some sleep. He was easily persuaded, not having slept since he entered Coventry. That seemed like a lifetime past; he was exhausted. Mother Johnston fixed him a shakedown in a dark, stuffy room on the same underground level. It had none of the hygienic comforts to which he was accustomed-air- conditioning, restful music, hydraulic mattress, nor soundproofing-and he missed his usual relaxing soak and auto-massage, but he was too tired to care. He slept in clothing and under covers for the first time in his life.

He woke up with a headache, a taste in his mouth like tired sin, and a sense of impending disaster. At first he could not remember where he was-he thought he was still in detention Outside. His surrounds were inexplicably sordid; he was about to ring for the attendant and complain, when his memory pieced in the events of the day before. Then he got up and discovered that his bones and muscles were painfully sore, and-which was worse-that he was, by his standards, filthy dirty. He itched.

He entered the common room, and found Magee sitting at the table. He greeted Dave. “Hi, kid. I was about to wake you. You’ve slept almost all day. We’ve got a lot to talk about.” “Okay-shortly. Where’s the ‘fresher?”

“Over there.”

It was not Dave’s idea of a refreshing chamber, but he managed to take a sketchy shower in spite of the slimy floor. Then he discovered that there was no air blast installed, and he was forced to dry himself unsatisfactorily with his handkerchief. He had no choice in clothes. He must put back on the ones he had taken off, or go naked. He recalled that he had seen no nudity anywhere in Coventry, even at sports-a difference in customs, no doubt.

He put his clothes back on, though his skin crawled at the touch of the once-used linen.

But Mother Johnston had thrown together an appetizing breakfast for him. He let coffee restore his courage as Magee talked. It was, according to Fader, a serious situation. New America and the Free State had compromised their differences and had formed an alliance. They quite seriously proposed to break out of Coventry and attack the United States.

MacKinnon looked up at this. “That’s ridiculous, isn’t it? They would be outnumbered enormously. Besides, how about the Barrier?”

“I don’t know-yet. But they have some reason to think that they can break through the Barrier … and there are rumors that whatever it is can be used as a weapon, too, so that a small army might be able to whip the whole United States.”

MacKinnon looked puzzled. “Well,” he observed, ‘I haven’t any opinion of a weapon I know nothing about, but as to the Barrier … I’m not a mathematical physicist, but I was always told that it was theoretically impossible to break the Barrier-that it was just a nothingness that there was no way to touch. Of course, you can fly over it, but even that is supposed to be deadly to life.”

“Suppose they had found some way to shield from the effects of the Barrier’s field?” suggested Magee. “Anyhow, that’s not the point, for us. The point is: they’ve made this combine; the Free State supplies the techniques and most of the officers; and New America, with its bigger population, supplies most of the men. And that means to us that we don’t dare show our faces any place, or we are in the army before you can blink.

“Which brings me to what I was going to suggest. I’m going to duck out of here as soon as it gets dark, and light out for the Gateway, before they send somebody after me who is bright enough to look under a table. I thought maybe you might want to come along.”

“Back to the psychologists?” MacKinnon was honestly aghast.

“Sure-why not? What have you got to lose? This whole damn place is going to be just like the Free State in a couple of days-and a Joe of your temperament would be in hot water all the time. What’s so bad about a nice, quiet hospital room as a place to hide out until things quiet down? You don’t have to pay any attention to the psych boys-just make animal noises at ‘em every time one sticks his nose into your room, until they get discouraged.”

Dave shook his head. “No,” he said slowly, ‘I can’t do that.” “Then what will you do?”

“I don’t know yet. Take to the hills I guess. Go to live with the Angels if it comes to a showdown. I wouldn’t mind them praying for my soul as long as they left my mind alone.”

They were each silent for a while. Magee was mildly annoyed at MacKinnon’s bullheaded stubbornness in the face of what seemed to him a reasonable offer. Dave continued busily to stow away grilled ham, while considering his position. He cut off another bite. “My, but this is good,” he remarked, to break the awkward silence, ‘I don’t know when I’ve had anything taste so good-Say!’-

“What?” inquired Magee, looking up, and seeing the concern written on MacKinnon’s face. “This ham-is it synthetic, or is it real meat?”

“Why, it’s real. What about it?”

Dave did not answer. He managed to reach the refreshing room before that which he had eaten departed from him.

Before he left, Magee gave Dave some money with which he could have purchased for him things that he would need in order to take to the hills. MacKinnon protested, but the Fader cut him short. “Quit being a damn fool, Dave. I can’t use New American money on the Outside, and you can’t stay alive in the hills without proper equipment. You lie doggo here for a few days

while Al, or Molly, picks up what you need, and you’ll stand a chance-unless you’ll change your mind and come with me?”

Dave shook his head at this, and accepted the money.

It was lonely after Magee left. Mother Johnston and Dave were alone in the club, and the empty chairs reminded him depressingly of the men who had been impressed. He wished that Gramps or the one-handed man would show up. Even Alec, with his nasty temper, would have been company-he wondered if Alec had been punished for resisting the draft.

Mother Johnston inveigled him into playing checkers in an attempt to relieve his evident low spirits. He felt obliged to agree to her gentle conspiracy, but his mind wandered. It was all very well for the Senior Judge to tell him to seek adventure in interplanetary exploration, but only engineers and technicians were eligible for such billets. Perhaps he should have gone in for science, or engineering, instead of literature; then he might now be on Venus, contending against the forces of nature in high adventure, instead of hiding from uniformed bullies. It wasn’t fair. No-he must not kid himself; there was no room for an expert in literary history in the raw frontier of the planets; that was not human injustice, that was a hard fact of nature, and he might as well face it.

He thought bitterly of the man whose nose he had broken, and thereby landed himself in Coventry. Maybe he was an ‘upholstered parasite” after all-but the recollection of the phrase brought back the same unreasoning anger that had gotten him into trouble. He was glad that he had socked that so-and-so! What right had he to go around sneering and calling people things like that?

He found himself thinking in the same vindictive spirit of his father, although he would have been at a loss to explain the connection. The connection was not superficially evident, for his father would never have stooped to name-calling. Instead, he would have offered the sweetest of smiles, and quoted something nauseating in the way of sweetness-and light. Dave’s father was one of the nastiest little tyrants that ever dominated a household under the guise of loving-kindness. He was of the more-in-sorrow-than-in-anger, this-hurts-me-more-than-it- does-you school, and all his life had invariably been able to find an altruistic rationalization for always having his own way. Convinced of his own infallible righteousness, he had never valued his son’s point of view on anything, but had dominated him in everything-always from the highest moralistic motives.

He had had two main bad effects on his son: the boy’s natural independence, crushed at home, rebelled blindly at every sort of discipline, authority, or criticism which he encountered elsewhere and subconsciously identified with the not-to-be-criticized paternal authority. Secondly, through years of association Dave imitated his father’s most dangerous social vice-that of passing unselfcritical moral judgments on the actions of others.

When Dave was arrested for breaking a basic custom; to wit, atavistic violence; his father washed his hands of him with the statement that he had tried his best to ‘make a man of him’, and could not be blamed for his son’s failure to profit by his instruction.

Afaint knock caused them to put away the checker board in a hurry. Mother Johnston paused before answering. “That’s not our knock,” she considered, ‘but it’s not loud enough to be the noises. Be ready to hide.”

MacKinnon waited by the fox hole where he had hidden the night before, while Mother Johnston went to investigate. He heard her unbar and unlock the upper door, then she called out to him in a low but urgent voice, ‘Dave! Come here, Dave-hurry!”

It was Fader, unconscious, with his own bloody trail behind him.

Mother Johnston was attempting to pick up the limp form. MacKinnon crowded in, and between the two of them they managed to get him downstairs and to lay him on the long table. He came to for a moment as they straightened his limbs. “Hi, Dave,” he whispered, managing to achieve the ghost of his debonair grin. “Somebody trumped my ace.”

“You keep quiet!” Mother Johnston snapped at him, then in a lower voice to Dave, ‘Oh, the poor darling-Dave, we must get him to the Doctor.”

“Can’t … do … that,” muttered the Fader. “Got … to get to the … Gate-” His voice trailed off. Mother Johnston’s fingers had been busy all the while, as if activated by some separate intelligence. Asmall pair of scissors, drawn from some hiding place about her large person, clipped away at his clothing, exposing the superficial extent of the damage. She examined the trauma critically.

“This is no job for me,” she decided, ‘and he must sleep while we move him. Dave, get that hypodermic kit out of the medicine chest in the ‘fresher.” “No, Mother!” It was Magee, his voice strong and vibrant.

“Get me a pepper pill,” he went on. “There’s -, ‘But Fader -“

He cut her short. “I’ve got to get to the Doctor all right, but how the devil will I get there if I don’t walk?” “We would carry you.”

“Thanks, Mother,” he told her, his voice softened. “I know you would-but the police would be curious. Get me that pill.”

Dave followed her into the ‘fresher, and questioned her while she rummaged through the medicine chest. “Why don’t we just send for a doctor?” “There is only one doctor we can trust, and that’s the Doctor. Besides, none of the others are worth the powder to blast them.”

Magee was out again when they came back into the room. Mother Johnston slapped his face until he came around, blinking and cursing. Then she fed him the pill.

The powerful stimulant, improbable offspring of common coal tar, took hold almost at once. To all surface appearance Magee was a well man. He sat up and tried his own pulse, searching it out in his left wrist with steady, sensitive fingers. “Regular as a metronome,” he announced, ‘the old ticker can stand that dosage all right.”

He waited while Mother Johnston applied sterile packs to his wounds, then said good-bye. MacKinnon looked at Mother Johnston. She nodded. “I’m going with you,” he told the Fader.

“What for? It will just double the risk.”

“You’re in no fit shape to travel alone-stimulant, or no stimulant.” “Nuts. I’d have to look after you.”

“I’m going with you.”

Magee shrugged his shoulders and capitulated.

Mother Johnston wiped her perspiring face, and kissed both of them.

Until they were well out of town their progress reminded MacKinnon of their nightmare flight of the previous evening. Thereafter they continued to the north-northwest by a highway which ran toward the foothills, and they left the highway only when necessary to avoid the sparse traffic. Once they were almost surprised by a police patrol car, equipped with blacklight and almost invisible, but the Fader sensed it in time and they crouched behind a low wall which separated the adjacent field from the road.

Dave inquired how he had known the patrol was near. Magee chuckled. “Damned if I know,” he said, ‘but I believe I could smell a cop staked out in a herd of goats.”

The Fader talked less and less as the night progressed. His usually untroubled countenance became lined and old as the effect of the drug wore off. It seemed to Dave as if this unaccustomed expression gave him a clearer insight into the man’s character-that the mask of pain was his true face rather than the unworried features Magee habitually showed the world. He wondered for the ninth time what the Fader had done to cause a court to adjudge him socially insane.

This question was uppermost in his mind with respect to every person he met in Coventry. The answer was obvious in most cases; their types of instability were gross and showed up at once. Mother Johnston had been an enigma until she had explained it herself. She had followed her husband into Coventry. Now that she was a widow, she preferred to remain with the friends she knew and the customs and conditions she was adjusted to, rather than change for -another and possibly less pleasing environment.

Magee sat down beside the road. “It’s no use, kid,” he admitted, ‘I can’t make it.” “The hell we can’t. I’ll carry you.”

Magee grinned faintly. “No, I mean it.” Dave persisted. “How much farther is it?”

“Matter of two or three miles, maybe.”

“Climb aboard.” He took Magee pickaback and started on. The first few hundred yards were not too difficult; Magee was forty pounds lighter than Dave. After that the strain of the additional load began to tell. His arms cramped from supporting Magee’s knees; his arches complained at the weight and the unnatural load distribution; and his breathing was made difficult by the clasp of Magee’s arms around his neck.

Two miles to go-maybe more. Let your weight fall forward, and your foot must follow it, else you fall to the ground. It’s automatic-as automatic as pulling teeth. How long is a mile? Nothing in a rocket ship, thirty seconds in a pleasure car, a ten minute crawl in a steel snail, fifteen minutes to trained troops in good condition. How far is it with a man on your back, on a rough road, when you are tired to start with?

Five thousand, two hundred, and eighty feet-a meaningless figure. But every step takes twenty-four inches off the total. The remainder is still incomprehensible-an infinity. Count them. Count them till you go crazy-till the figures speak themselves outside your head, and the jar! … jar! …jar! … of your enormous, benumbed feet beats in your brain. Count them backwards, subtracting two each time-no, that’s worse; each remainder is still an unattainable, inconceivable figure.

His world closed in, lost its history and held no future. There was nothing, nothing at all, but the torturing necessity of picking up his foot again and placing it forward. No feeling but the heartbreaking expenditure of will necessary to achieve that meaningless act.

He was brought suddenly to awareness when Magee’s arms relaxed from around his neck. He leaned forward, and dropped to one knee to keep from spilling his burden, then eased it slowly to the ground. He thought for a moment that the Fader was dead-he could not locate his pulse, and the slack face and limp body were sufficiently corpse-like, but he pressed an ear to Magee’s chest, and heard with relief the steady flub-dub of his heart.

He tied Magee’s wrists together with his handkerchief, and forced his own head through the encircled arms. But he was unable, in his exhausted condition, to wrestle the slack weight into position on his back. Fader regained consciousness while MacKinnon was struggling. His first words were, ‘Take it easy, Dave. What’s the trouble?”

Dave explained. “Better untie my wrists,” advised the Fader, ‘I think I can walk for a while.”

And walk he did, for nearly three hundred yards, before he was forced to give up again. “Look, Dave,” he said, after he had partially recovered, ‘did you bring along any more of those pepper pills?”

“Yes-but you can’t take any more dosage. It would kill you.”

“Yeah, I know-so they say. But that isn’t the idea-yet. I was going to suggest that you might take one.” “Why, of course! Good grief, Fader, but I’m dumb.”

Magee seemed no heavier than a light coat, the morning star shone brighter, and his strength seemed inexhaustible. Even when they left the highway and started up the cart trail that led to the Doctor’s home in the foothills, the going was tolerable and the burden not too great. MacKinnon knew that the drugs burned the working tissue of his body long after his proper reserves were gone, and that it would take him days to recover from the reckless expenditure, but he did not mind. No price was too high to pay for the moment when he at last arrived at the gate of the Doctor’s home-on his own two feet, his charge alive and conscious.

MacKinnon was not allowed to see Magee for four days. In the meantime, he was encouraged to keep the routine of a semi-invalid himself in order to recover the twenty-five pounds he had lost in two days and two nights, and to make up for the heavy strain on his heart during the last night. Ahigh-caloric diet, sun baths, rest, and peaceful surroundings plus his natural good health caused him to regain weight and strength rapidly, but he ‘enjoyed ill health” exceedingly because of the companionship of the Doctor himself-and Persephone.

Persephone’s calendar age was fifteen. Dave never knew whether to think of her as much older, or much younger. She had been born in Coventry, and had lived her short life in the house of the Doctor, her mother having died in childbirth in that same house. She was completely childlike in many respects, being without experience in the civilized world Outside, and having had very little contact with the inhabitants of Coventry, except when she saw them as patients of the Doctor. But she had been allowed to read unchecked from the library of a sophisticated and protean-minded man of science. MacKinnon was continually being surprised at the extent of her academic and scientific knowledge-much greater than his own. She made him feel as if he were conversing with some aged and omniscient matriarch, then she would come out with some naive concept of the outer world, and he would be brought up sharply with the realization that she was, in fact, an inexperienced child.

He was mildly romantic about her, not seriously, of course, in view of her barely nubile age, but she was pleasant to see, and he was hungry for feminine companionship. He was quite young enough himself to feel continual interest in the delightful differences, mental and physical, between male and female.

Consequently, it was a blow to his pride as sharp as had been the sentence to Coventry to discover that she classed him with the other inhabitants of Coventry as a poor unfortunate who needed help and sympathy because he was not quite right in his head.

He was furious and for one whole day he sulked alone, but the human necessity for self-justification and approval forced him to seek her out and attempt to reason with her. He explained carefully and with emotional candor the circumstances leading up to his trial and conviction, and embellished the account with his own philosophy and evaluations, then confidently awaited her approval.

It was not forthcoming. “I don’t understand your viewpoint,” she said. “You broke his nose, yet he had done you no harm of any sort. You expect me to approve that?” “But Persephone,” he protested, ‘you ignore the fact that he called me a most insulting name.”

“I don’t see the connection,” she said. “He made a noise with his mouth-a verbal label. If the label does not fit you, the noise is meaningless. If the label is true in your case-if you are the thing that the noise refers to, you are neither more, nor less, that thing by reason of some one uttering the verbal label. In short, he did not damage you.

“But what you did to him was another matter entirely. You broke his nose. That is damage. In self-protection the rest of society must seek you out, and determine whether or not you are so unstable as to be likely to damage some one else in the future. If you are, you must be quarantined for treatment, or leave society-whichever you prefer.”

“You think I’m crazy, don’t you?” he accused.

“Crazy? Not the way you mean it. You haven’t paresis, or a brain tumor, or any other lesion that the Doctor could find. But from the viewpoint of your semantic reactions you are as socially unsane as any fanatic witch burner.”

“Come now-that’s not just!”

“What is justice?” She picked up the kitten she had been playing with. “I’m going in-it’s getting chilly.” Off she went into the house, her bare feet noiseless in the grass.

Had the science of semantics developed as rapidly as psychodynamics and its implementing arts of propaganda and mob psychology, the United States might never have fallen into dictatorship, then been forced to undergo the Second Revolution. All of the scientific principles embodied in the Covenant which marked the end of the revolution were formulated as far back as the first quarter of the twentieth century.

But the work of the pioneer semanticists, C. K. Ogden, Alfred Korzybski, and others, were known to but a handful of students, whereas psycho-dynamics, under the impetus of repeated wars and the frenzy of high-pressure merchandising, progressed by leaps and bounds.

Semantics, ‘the meaning of meaning’, gave a method for the first time of applying the scientific method to every act of everyday life. Because semantics dealt with spoken and written words as a determining aspect of human behavior it was at first mistakenly thought by many to be concerned only with words and of interest only to professional word manipulators, such as advertising copy writers and professors of etymology. Ahandful of unorthodox psychiatrists attempted to apply it to personal human problems, but their work was swept away by the epidemic mass psychoses that destroyed Europe and returned the United States to the Dark Ages.

The Covenant was the first scientific social document ever drawn up by man, and due credit must be given to its principal author, Dr Micah Novak, the same Novak who served as staff psychologist in the revolution. The revolutionists wished to establish maximum personal liberty. How could they accomplish that to a degree of high mathematical probability? First they junked the concept of ‘justice’. Examined semantically ‘justice” has no referent-there is no observable phenomenon in the space-time-matter continuum to which one can point, and say, ‘This is justice.” Science can deal only with that which can be observed and measured. Justice is not such a matter; therefore it can never have the same meaning to one as to another; any ‘noises” said about it will only add to confusion.

But damage, physical or economic, can be pointed to and measured. Citizens were forbidden by the Covenant to damage another. Any act not leading to damage, physical or economic,

to some particular person, they declared to be lawful.

Since they had abandoned the concept of ‘justice’, there could be no rational standards of punishment. Penology took its place with lycanthropy and other forgotten witchcrafts. Yet, since it was not practical to permit a source of danger to remain in the community, social offenders were examined and potential repeaters were given their choice of psychological readjustment, or of having society withdraw itself from them-Coventry.

Early drafts of the Covenant contained the assumption that the socially unsane would naturally be hospitalized and readjusted, particularly since current psychiatry was quite competent to cure all non-lesional psychoses and cure or alleviate lesional psychoses, but Novak set his face against this.

“No!” he protested. “The government must never again be permitted to tamper with the mind of any citizen without his consent, or else we set up a greater tyranny than we had before. Every man must be free to accept, or reject, the Covenant, even though we think him insane!”

The next time David MacKinnon looked up Persephone he found her in a state of extreme agitation. His own wounded pride was forgotten at once. “Why, my dear,” he said, ‘whatever in the world is the matter?”

Gradually he gathered that she had been present at a conversation between Magee and the Doctor, and had heard, for the first time, of the impending military operation against the United States. He patted her hand. “So that’s all it is,” he observed in a relieved voice. “I thought something was wrong with you yourself.”

““That’s all-” David MacKinnon, do you mean to stand there and tell me that you knew about this, and don’t consider it worth worrying about?” “Me? Why should I? And for that matter, what could I do?”

“What could you do? You could go outside and warn them-that’s what you could do … As to why you should-Dave, you’re impossible!” She burst into tears and ran from the room. He stared after her, mouth open, then borrowed from his remotest ancestor by observing to himself that women are hard to figure out.

Persephone did not appear at lunch. MacKinnon asked the Doctor where she was. “Had her lunch,” the Doctor told him, between mouthfuls. “Started for the Gateway.” “What! Why did you let her do that?”

“Free agent. Wouldn’t have obeyed me anyway. She’ll be all right.”

Dave did not hear the last, being already out of the room and running out of the house. He found her just backing her little motorcycle runabout out of its shed. “Persephone!” “What do you want?” she asked with frozen dignity beyond her years.

“You mustn’t do this! That’s where the Fader got hurt!” “I am going. Please stand aside.”

“Then I’m going with you.” “Why should you?”

“To take care of you.”

She sniffed. “As if anyone would dare to touch me.”

There was a measure of truth in what she said. The Doctor, and every member of his household, enjoyed a personal immunity unlike that of anyone else in Coventry. As a natural consequence of the set-up, Coventry had almost no competent medical men. The number of physicians who committed social damage was small. The proportion of such who declined psychiatric treatment was negligible, and this negligible remainder were almost sure to be unreliable bunglers in their profession. The Doctor was a natural healer, in voluntary exile in order that he might enjoy the opportunity to practice his art in the richest available field. He cared nothing for dry research; what he wanted was patients, the sicker the better, that he might make them well again.

He was above custom and above law. In the Free State the Liberator depended on him for insulin to hold his own death from diabetes at arm’s length. In New America his beneficiaries were equally powerful. Even among the Angels of the Lord the Prophet himself accepted the dicta of the Doctor without question.

But MacKinnon was not satisfied. Some ignorant fool, he was afraid, might do the child some harm without realizing her protected status. He got no further chance to protest; she started the little runabout suddenly, and forced him to jump out of its path. When he had recovered his balance, she was far down the lane. He could not catch her.

She was back in less than four hours. He had expected that; if a person as elusive as Fader had not been able to reach the Gate at night, it was not likely that a young girl could do so in daylight.

His first feeling was one of simple relief, then he eagerly awaited an opportunity to speak to her. During her absence he had been turning over the situation in his mind. It was a foregone conclusion that she would fail; he wished to rehabilitate himself in her eyes; therefore, he would help her in the project nearest her heart-he himself would carry the warning to the Outside!

Perhaps she would ask for such help. In fact, it seemed likely. But the time she returned he had convinced himself that she was certain to ask his help. He would agree-with simple dignity-and off he would go, perhaps to be wounded, or killed, but an heroic figure, even if he failed.

He pictured himself subconsciously as a blend of Sydney Carton, the White Knight, the man who carried the message to Garcia and just a dash of d’Artagnan. But she did not ask him-she would not even give him a chance to talk with her.

She did not appear at dinner. After dinner she was closeted with the Doctor in his study. When she reappeared she went directly to her room. He finally concluded that he might as well go to bed himself.

To bed, and then to sleep, and take it up again in the morning-But it’s not as simple as that. The unfriendly walls stared back at him, and the other, critical half of his mind decided to make a night of it. Fool! She doesn’t want your help. Why should she? What have you got that Fader hasn’t got?-and better. To her, you are just one of the screwloose multitude you’ve seen all around you in this place.

But I’m not crazy!-just because I choose not to submit to the dictation of others doesn’t make me crazy. Doesn’t it, though? All the rest of them in here are lamebrains, what’s so fancy about you? Not all of them-how about the Doctor, and-don’t kid yourself, chump, the Doctor and Mother Johnston are here for their own reasons; they weren’t sentenced. And Persephone was born here.

How about Magee?-He was certainly rational-or seemed so. He found himself resenting, with illogical bitterness, Magee’s apparent stability. Why should he be any different from the rest of us?

The rest of us? He had classed himself with the other inhabitants of Coventry. All right, all right, admit it, you fool-you’re just like the rest of them; turned out because the decent people won’t have you-and too damned stubborn to admit that you need treatment. But the thought of treatment turned him cold, and made him think of his father again. Why should that be? He recalled something the Doctor had said to him a couple of days before:

“What you need, son, is to stand up to your father and tell him off. Pity more children don’t tell their parents to go to hell!”

He turned on the light and tried to read. But it was no use. Why should Persephonie care what happened to the people Outside?-She didn’t know them; she had no friends there. If he had no obligations to them, how could she possibly care? No obligations? You had a soft, easy life for many years-all they asked was that you behave yourself. For that matter, where would you be now, if the Doctor had stopped to ask whether or not he owed you anything?

He was still wearily chewing the bitter cud of self-examination when the first cold and colorless light of morning filtered in. He got up, threw a robe around him, and tiptoed down the hall to Magee’s room. The door was ajar. He stuck his head in, and whispered, ‘Fader-Are you awake?”

“Come in, kid,” Magee answered quietly. “What’s the trouble? No can sleep?”

“No -, ‘Neither can I. Sit down, and we’ll carry the banner together.” “Fader, I’m going to make a break for it. I’m going Outside.”

“Huh? When?” “Right away.”

“Risky business, kid. Wait a few days, and I’ll try it with you.” “No, I can’t wait for you to get well. I’m going out to warn the United States!”

Magee’s eyed widened a little, but his voice was unchanged. “You haven’t let that spindly kid sell you a bill of goods, Dave?”

“No. Not exactly. I’m doing this for myself-It’s something I need to do. See here, Fader, what about this weapon? Have they really got something that could threaten the United States?” “I’m afraid so,” Magee admitted. “I don’t know much about it, but it makes blasters look sick. More range-I don’t know what they expect to do about the Barrier, but I saw ‘em stringing

heavy power lines before I got winged. Say, if you do get outside, here’s a chap you might look up; in fact, be sure to. He’s got influence.” Magee scrawled something on a scrap of paper,

folded the scrap, and handed it to MacKinnon, who pocketed it absent-mindedly and went on:

“How closely is the Gate guarded, Fader?”

“You can’t get out the Gate; that’s out of the question. Here’s what you will have to do-” He tore off another piece of paper and commenced sketching and explaining. Dave shook hands with Magee before he left. “You’ll say goodbye for me, won’t you? And thank the Doctor? I’d rather just slide out before anyone is up.” “Of course, kid,” the Fader assured him.

MacKinnon crouched behind bushes and peered cautiously at the little band of Angels filing into the bleak, ugly church. He shivered, both from fear and from the icy morning air. But his need was greater than his fear. Those zealots had food-and he must have it.

The first two days after he left the house of the Doctor had been easy enough. True, he had caught cold from sleeping on the ground; it had settled in his lungs and slowed him down. But he did not mind that now if only he could refrain from sneezing or coughing until the little band of faithful were safe inside the temple. He watched them pass-dour-looking men, women and skirts that dragged the ground and whose work lined faces were framed in shawls-sallow drudges with too many children. The light had gone out of their faces. Even the children were sober.

The last of them filed inside, leaving only the sexton in the churchyard, busy with some obscure duty. After an interminable time, during which MacKinnon pressed a finger against his upper lip in a frantic attempt to forestall a sneeze, the sexton entered the grim building and closed the doors.

McKinnon crept out of his hiding place and hurried to the house he had previously selected, on the edge of the clearing, farthest from the church.

The dog was suspicious, but he quieted him. The house was locked, but the rear door could be forced. He was a little giddy at the sight of food when he found it-hard bread, and strong, unsalted butter made from goat’s milk. Amisstep two days before had landed him in a mountain stream. The mishap had not seemed important until he discovered that his food tablets were a pulpy mess. He had eaten them the rest of the day, then mold had taken them, and he had thrown the remainder away.

The bread lasted him through three more sleeps, but the butter melted and he was unable to carry it. He soaked as much of it as he could into the bread, then licked up the rest, after which he was very thirsty.

Some hours after the last of the bread was gone, he reached his first objective-the main river to which all other streams in Coventry were tributary. Some place, down stream, it dived under the black curtain of the Barrier, and continued seaward. With the gateway closed and guarded, its outlet constituted the only possible egress to a man unassisted.

In the meantime it was water, and thirst was upon him again, and his cold was worse. But he would have to wait until dark to drink; there were figures down there by the bank-some in uniform, he thought. One of them made fast a little skiff to a landing. He marked it for his own and watched it with jealous eyes. It was still there when the sun went down.

The early morning sun struck his nose and he sneezed. He came wide awake, raised his head, and looked around. The little skiff he had appropriated floated in midstream. There were no oars. He could not remember whether or not there had been any oars. The current was fairly strong; it seemed as if he should have drifted clear to the Barrier in the night. Perhaps he had passed under it-no, that was ridiculous.

Then he saw it, less than a mile away, black and ominous-but the most welcome sight he had seen in days. He was too weak and feverish to enjoy it, but it renewed the determination that kept him going.

The little boat scraped against bottom. He saw that the current at a bend had brought him to the bank. He hopped awkwardly out, his congealed joints complaining, and drew the bow of the skiff up onto the sand. Then he thought better of it, pushed it out once more, shoved as hard as he was able and watched it disappear around the meander. No need to advertise where he had landed.

He slept most of that day, rousing himself once to move out of the sun when it grew too hot. But the sun had cooked much of the cold out of his bones, and he felt much better by nightfall. Although the Barrier was only a mile or so away, it took most of the night to reach it by following the river bank. He knew when he had reached it by the clouds of steam that rose from the

water. When the sun came up, he considered the situation. The Barrier stretched across the water, but the juncture between it and the surface of the stream was hidden by billowing

clouds. Someplace, down under the surface of the water-how far down he did not know-somewhere down there, the Barrier ceased, and its raw edge turned the water it touched to

steam.

Slowly, reluctantly and most unheroically, he commenced to strip off his clothes. The time had come and he did not relish it. He came across the scrap of paper that Magee had handed him, and attempted to examine it. But it had been pulped by his involuntary dip in the mountain stream and was quite illegible. He chucked it away. It did not seem to matter.

He shivered as he stood hesitating on the bank, although the sun was warm. Then his mind was made up for him; he spied a patrol on the far bank. Perhaps they had seen him, perhaps not. He dived.

Down, down, as far as his strength would take him. Down and try to touch bottom, to be sure of avoiding that searing, deadly base. He felt mud with his hands. Now to swim under it. Perhaps it was death to pass under it, as well as over it; he would soon know. But which way was it? There was no direction down here.

He stayed down until his congested lungs refused. Then he rose part way, and felt scalding water on his face. For a timeless interval of unutterable sorrow and loneliness he realized that he was trapped between heat and water-trapped under the Barrier.

Two private soldiers gossiped idly on a small dock which lay under the face of the Barrier. The river which poured out from beneath it held no interest for them, they had watched it for many dull tours of guard duty. An alarm clanged behind them and brought them to alertness. “What sector, Jack?”

“This bank. There he is now-see!”

They fished him out and had him spread out on the dock by the time the sergeant of the guard arrived. “Alive, or dead?” he enquired. “Dead, I think,” answered the one who was not busy giving artificial resuscitation.

The sergeant clucked in a manner incongruous to his battered face, and said, ‘Too bad. I’ve ordered the ambulance; send him up to the infirmary anyhow.”

The nurse tried to keep him quiet, but MacKinnon made such an uproar that she was forced to get the ward surgeon. “Here! Here! What’s all this nonsense?” the medico rebuked him, while reaching for his pulse. Dave managed to convince him that he would not quiet down, not accept a soporific until he had told his story. They struck a working agreement that MacKinnon was to be allowed to talk-‘But keep it short, mind you!’-and the doctor would pass the word along to his next superior, and in return Dave would submit to a hypodermic.

The next morning two other men, unidentified, were brought to MacKinnon by the surgeon. They listened to his full story and questioned him in detail. He was transferred to corps area

headquarters that afternoon by ambulance. There he was questioned again. He was regaining his strength rapidly, but he was growing quite tired of the whole rigmarole, and wanted assurance that his warning was being taken seriously. The latest of his interrogators reassured him. “Compose yourself,” he told Dave, ‘you are to see the commanding officer this afternoon.”

The corps area commander, a nice little chap with a quick, birdlike manner and a most unmilitary appearance, listened gravely while MacKinnon recited his story for what seemed to him the fiftieth time. He nodded agreement when David finished. “Rest assured, David MacKinnon, that all necessary steps are being taken.”

“But how about their weapon?”

“That is taken care of-and as for the Barrier, it may not be as easy to break as our neighbors think. But your efforts are appreciated. May I do you some service?”

“Well, no-not for myself, but there are two of my friends in there-‘He asked that something be done to rescue Magee, and that Persephone be enabled to come out, if she wished. “I know of that girl,” the general remarked. “We will get in touch with her. If at any time she wishes to become a citizen, it can be arranged. As for Magee, that is another matter-‘He touched

the stud of his desk visiphone. “Send Captain Randall in.”

Aneat, trim figure in the uniform of a captain of the United States Army entered with a light step. MacKinnon glanced at him with casual, polite interest, then his expression went to pieces. “Fader!” he yelled.

Their mutual greeting was hardly sufficiently decorous for the private office of a commanding general, but the general did not seem to mind. When they had calmed down, MacKinnon had to ask the question uppermost in his mind. “But see here, Fader, all this doesn’t make sense-‘He paused, staring, then pointed a finger accusingly, ‘I know! You’re in the secret service!”

The Fader grinned cheerfully. “Did you think,” he observed, ‘that the United States Army would leave a plague spot like that unwatched?” The general cleared his throat. “What do you plan to do now, David MacKinnon?”

“Eh! Me? Why, I don’t have any plans-‘He thought for a moment, then turned to his friend. “Do you know, Fader, I believe I’ll turn in for psychological treatment after all. You’re on the Outside -“

“I don’t believe that will be necessary,” interrupted the general gently. “No? Why not, sir?”

“You have cured yourself. You may not be aware of it, but four psychotechnicians have interviewed you. Their reports agree. I am authorized to tell you that your status as a free citizen has been restored, if you wish it.”

The general and Captain ‘the Fader” Randall managed tactfully between them to terminate the interview. Randall walked back to the infirmary with his friend. Dave wanted a thousand questions answered at once. “But Fader,” he demanded, ‘you must have gotten out before I did.”

“Aday or two.”

“Then my job was unnecessary!”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Randall contradicted. “I might not have gotten through. As a matter of fact, they had all the details even before I reported. There are others-Anyhow,” he continued, to change the subject, ‘now that you are here, what will you do?”

“Me? It’s too soon to say … It won’t be classical literature, that’s a cinch. If I wasn’t such a dummy in maths, I might still try for interplanetary.”

“Well, we can talk about it tonight,” suggested Fader, glancing at his chrono. “I’ve got to run along, but I’ll stop by later, and we’ll go over to the mess for dinner.” He was out the door with speed reminiscent of the thieves” kitchen. Dave watched him, then said suddenly, ‘Hey! Fader! Why couldn’t I get into the secret ser -, But the Fader was gone-he must ask himself.

The End

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Tunnel in the Sky (full text) by Robert Heinlein

Here is the full text of the wonderful Robert Heinlein science fiction story titled “Tunnel in the Sky”. In it, he describes the use of a dimensional portal from which students can use to travel to another planet. In this fictional story, the students enter the portal, but something happens. They get stranded on this strange planet and need to learn how to survive from scratch. It’s a great fun read and easy escapist adventure reading.

Tunnel in the Sky

1. The Marching Hordes

The bulletin board outside lecture hall 1712-Aof Patrick Henry High School showed a flashing red light. Rod Walker pushed his way into a knot of students and tried to see what the special notice had to say. He received an elbow in the stomach, accompanied by: “Hey! Quit shoving!”

“Sorry. Take it easy, Jimmy.” Rod locked the elbow in a bone breaker but put no pressure on, craned his neck to look over Jimmy Throxton’s head. “What’s on the board?” “No class today.”

“Why not?”

Avoice near the board answered him. “Because tomorrow it’s ‘Hail, Caesar, we who are about to die-’”

“So?” Rod felt his stomach tighten as it always did before an examination. Someone moved aside and he managed to read the notice: PATRICK HENRYHIGH SCHOOL

Department of Social Studies

SPECIAL NOTICE to all students Course 410 (elective senior seminar) Advanced Survival, instr. Dr. Matson, 1712-AMWF

There will be no class Friday the 14th.

Twenty-Four Hour Notice is hereby given of final examination in Solo Survival. Students will present themselves for physical check at 0900 Saturday in the dispensary of Templeton Gate and will start passing through the gate at 1000, using three-minute intervals by lot.
TEST CONDITIONS:
ANYplanet, ANYclimate, ANYterrain;
NO rules, ALL weapons, ANYequipment;
TEAMING IS PERMITTED but teams will not be allowed to pass through the gate in company;
TEST DURATION is not less than forty-eight hours, not more than ten days.
Dr. Matson will be available for advice and consultation until 1700 Friday.
Test may be postponed Only on recommendation of examining physician, but any student may withdraw from the course without administrative penalty up until 1000 Saturday.
Good luck and long life to you all!

(s) B. P. Matson, Sc.D. Approved:

J. R. ROERICH, for the Board

Rod Walker reread the notice slowly, while trying to quiet the quiver in his nerves. He checked off the test conditions-why, those were not “conditions” but a total lack of conditions, no limits of any sort! They could dump you through the gate and the next instant you might be facing a polar bear at forty below-or wrestling an Octopus deep in warm salt water.

Or, he added, faced up to some three-headed horror on a planet you had never heard of.

He heard a soprano voice complaining, “‘Twenty-four hour notice!’ Why, it’s less than twenty hours now. That’s not fair.” Another girl answered, “What’s the difference? I wish we were starting this minute. I won’t get a wink of sleep tonight.” “If we are supposed to have twenty-four hours to get ready, then we ought to have them. Fair is fair.”

Another student, a tall, husky Zulu girl, chuckled softly. “Go on in. Tell the Deacon that.”

Rod backed out of the press, taking Jimmy Throxton with him. He felt that he knew what “Deacon” Matson would say … something about the irrelevancy of fairness to survival. He chewed over the bait in paragraph five; nobody would say boo if he dropped the course. After all, “Advanced Survival’ was properly a college. course; he would graduate without it.

But he knew down deep that if he lost his nerve now, he would never take the course later. Jimmy said nervously, “What d’you think of it, Rod?”

“All right, I guess. But I’d like to know whether or not to wear my long-handled underwear. Do you suppose the Deacon would give us a hint?” “Him? Not him! He thinks a broken leg is the height of humor. That man would eat his own grandmother- without salt.”

“Oh, come now! He’d use salt. Say, Jim? You saw what it said about teaming.”

“Yeah… what about it?” Jimmy’s eyes shifted away. Rod felt a moment’s irritation. He was making a suggestion as delicate as a proposal of marriage, an offer to put his own life in the same basket with Jimmy’s. The greatest risk in a solo test was that a fellow just had to sleep sometime … but a team could split it up and stand watch over each other.

Jimmy must know that Rod was better than he was, with any weapon or bare hands; the proposition was to his advantage. Yet here he was hesitating as if he thought Rod might handicap him. “What’s the matter, Jim?” Rod said bleakly. “Figure you’re safer going it alone?”

“Uh, no, not exactly.”

“You mean you’d rather not team with me?” “No, no, I didn’t mean that!”

“Then what did you mean?”

“I meant- Look, Rod, I surely do thank you. I won’t forget it. But that notice said something else, too.” “What?”

“It said we could dump this durned course and still graduate. And I just happened to remember that I don’t need it for the retail clothing business.” “Huh? I thought you had ambitions to become a wideangled lawyer?’

“So exotic jurisprudence loses its brightest jewel… so what do I care? It will make my old man very happy to learn that I’ve decided to stick with the family business.” “You mean you’re scared.”

“Well, that’s one way of putting it. Aren’t you?”

Rod took a deep breath. “Yes. I’m scared.”

“Good! Now let’s both give a classic demonstration of how to survive and stay alive by marching down to the Registrar’s office and bravely signing our names to withdrawal slips.” “Uh, no. You go ahead.”

“You mean you’re sticking?” “I guess so.”

“Look, Rod, have you looked over the statistics on last year’s classes?”

“No. And I don’t want to. So long.” Rod turned sharply and headed for the classroom door, leaving Jimmy to stare after him with a troubled look.

The lecture room was occupied by a dozen or so of the seminar’s students. Doctor Matson, the “Deacon,” was squatting tailor-fashion on one corner of his desk and holding forth informally. He was a small man and spare, with a leathery face, a patch over one eye, and most of three fingers missing from his left hand. On his chest were miniature ribbons, marking service in three famous first expeditions; one carried a tiny diamond cluster that showed him to be the last living member of that group.

Rod slipped into the second row. The Deacon’s eye flicked at him as he went on talking. “I don’t understand the complaints,” he said jovially. “The test conditions say ‘all weapons’ so you can protect yourself any way you like… from a slingshot to a cobalt bomb. I think final examination should be bare hands, not so much as a nail file. But the Board of Education doesn’t agree, so we do it this sissy way instead.” He shrugged and grinned.

“Uh, Doctor, I take it then that the Board knows that we are going to run into dangerous animals?” “Eh? You surely will! The most dangerous animal known.”

“Doctor, if you mean that literally-“ “Oh, I do, I do!”

“Then I take it that we are either being sent to Mithra and will have to watch out for snow apes, or we are going to stay on Terra and be dumped where we can expect leopards. Am I right?” The Deacon shook his head despairingly. “My boy, you had better cancel and take this course over. Those dumb brutes aren’t dangerous.”

“But Jasper says, in Predators and Prey, that the two trickiest, most dangerous-“

“Jasper’s maiden aunt! I’m talking about the real King of the Beasts, the only animal that is always dangerous, even when not hungry. The two-legged brute. Take a look around you!” The instructor leaned forward. “I’ve said this nineteen dozen times but you still don’t believe it. Man is the one animal that can’t be tamed. He goes along for years as peaceful as a cow,

when it suits him. Then when it suits him not to be, he makes a leopard look like a tabby cat. Which goes double for the female of the species. Take another look around you. All friends.

We’ve been on group-survival field tests together; we can depend on each other. So? Read about the Donner Party, or the First Venus Expedition. Anyhow, the test area will have several

other classes in it, all strangers to you.” Doctor Matson fixed his eye on Rod. “I hate to see some of you take this test, I really do. Some of you are city dwellers by nature; I’m afraid I have

not managed to get it through your heads that there are no policemen where you are going. Nor will I be around to give you a hand if you make some silly mistake.”

His eye moved on; Rod wondered if the Deacon meant him. Sometimes he felt that the Deacon took delight in rawhiding him. But Rod knew that it was serious; the course was required for all the Outlands professions for the good reason that the Outlands were places where you were smart – or you were dead. Rod had chosen to take this course before entering college because he hoped that it would help him to get a scholarship – but that did not mean that he thought it was just a formality. He looked around, wondering who would be willing to team with him now that Jimmy had dropped out. There was a couple in front of him, Bob Baxter and Carmen Garcia. He checked them off, as they undoubtedly would team together; they planned to become medical missionaries and intended to marry as soon as they could.

How about Johann Braun? He would make a real partner, all right-strong, fast on his feet, and smart. But Rod did not trust him, nor did he think that Braun would want him. He began to see that he might have made a mistake in not cultivating other friends in the class besides Jimmy.

That big Zulu girl, Caroline something-unpronounceable. Strong as an ox and absolutely fearless. But it would not do to team with a girl; girls were likely to mistake a cold business deal for a romantic gambit. His eyes moved on until at last he was forced to conclude that there was no one there to whom he wished to suggest partnership.

“Prof, how about a hint? Should we take suntan oil? Or chilblain lotion?”

Matson grinned and drawled, “Son, I’ll tell you every bit that I know. This test area was picked by a teacher in Europe… and I picked one for his class. But I don’t know what it is any more than you do. Send me a post card.”

“But-” The boy who had spoken stopped. Then he suddenly stood up. “Prof, this isn’t a fair test. I’m checking out.” “What’s unfair about it? Not that we meant to make it fair.”

“Well, you could dump us any place-“ “That’s right.”

“-the back side of the Moon, in vacuum up to our chins. Or onto a chlorine planet. Or the middle of an ocean. I don’t know whether to take a space suit, or a canoe. So the deuce with it. Real life isn’t like that.”

“It isn’t, eh?” Matson said softly. “That’s what Jonah said when the whale swallowed him.” He added, “But I will give you some hints. We mean this test to be passed by anyone bright enough to deserve it. So we won’t let you walk into a poisonous atmosphere, or a vacuum, without a mask. If you are dumped into water, land won’t be too far to swim. And so on. While I don’t know where you are going, I did see the list of test areas for this year’s classes. Asmart man can survive in any of them. You ought to realize, son, that the Board of Education would have nothing to gain by killing off all its candidates for the key professions.”

The student sat down again as suddenly as he had stood up. The instructor said, “Change your mind again?” “Uh, yes, sir. If it’s a fair test, I’ll take it.”

Matson shook his head. “You’ve already flunked it. You’re excused. Don’t bother the Registrar; I’ll notify him.”

The boy started to protest; Matson inclined his head toward the door. “Out!” There was an embarrassed silence while he left the room, then Matson said briskly, “This is a class in applied philosophy and I am sole judge of who is ready and who is not. Anybody who thinks of the world in terms of what it ‘ought’ to be, rather than what it is, isn’t ready for final examination. You’ve got to relax and roll with the punch … not get yourself all worn out with adrenalin exhaustion at the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. Any more questions?”

There were a few more but it became evident that Matson either truthfully did not know the nature of the test area, or was guarding the knowledge; his answers gained them nothing. He refused to advise as to weapons, saying simply that the school armorer would be at the gate ready to issue all usual weapons, while any unusual ones were up to the individual. “Remember, though, your best weapon is between your ears and under your scalp – provided it’s loaded.”

The group started to drift away; Rod got up to leave.

Matson caught his eye and said, “Walker, are you planning to take the test?” “Why, yes, of course, sir.”

“Come here a moment.” He led him into his office, closed the door and sat down. He looked up at Rod, fiddled with a paperweight on his desk and said slowly, “Rod, you’re a good boy

… but sometimes that isn’t enough.”

Rod said nothing.

“Tell me,” Matson continued, “why you want to take this test?”

“Sir?”

“‘Sir’ yourself,” Matson answered grumpily. “Answer my question.”

Rod stared, knowing that he had gone over this with Matson before he was accepted for the course. But he explained again his ambition to study for an Outlands profession. “So I have to qualify in survival. I couldn’t even get a degree in colonial administration without it, much less any of the planetography or planetology specialities.”

“Want to be an explorer, huh?” “Yes, sir.”

“Like me.”

“Yes, Sir. Like you.”

“Hmm… would you believe me if I told you that it was the worst mistake I ever made?” “Huh? No, sir!”

“I didn’t think you would. Son, the cutest trick of all is how to know then what you know now. No way to, of course. But I’m telling you straight: I think you’ve been born into the wrong age. “Sir?”

“I think you are a romantic. Now this is a very romantic age, so there is no room in it for romantics; it calls for practical men. Ahundred years ago you would have made a banker or lawyer or professor and you could have worked out your romanticism by reading fanciful tales and dreaming about what you might have been if you hadn’t had the misfortune to be born into a humdrum period. But this happens to be a period when adventure and romance are a part of daily existence. Naturally it takes very practical people to cope with it.”

Rod was beginning to get annoyed. “What’s the matter with me?”

“Nothing. I like you. I don’t want to see you get hurt. But you are ‘way too emotional, too sentimental to be a real survivor type.”

Matson pushed a hand toward him. “Now keep your shirt on. I know you can make fire by rubbing a couple of dry words together. I’m well aware that you won merit badges in practically everything. I’m sure you can devise a water filter with your bare hands and know which side of the tree the moss grows on. But I’m not sure that you can beware of the Truce of the Bear.”

“‘The Truce of the Bear?’”

“Never mind. Son, I think you ought to cancel this course. If you must, you can repeat it in college.” Rod looked stubborn. Matson sighed. “I could drop you. Perhaps I should.”

“But why, sir?”

“That’s the point. I couldn’t give a reason. On the record, you’re as promising a student as I have ever had.” He stood up and put out his hand. “Good luck. And remember- when it gets down to fundamentals, do what you have to do and shed no tears.”

Rod should have gone straight home. His family lived in an out-county of Greater New York City, located on the Grand Canyon plateau through Hoboken Gate. But his commuting route required him to change at Emigrants’ Gap and he found himself unable to resist stopping to rubberneck.

When he stepped out of the tube from school he should have turned right, taken the rotary lift to the level above, and stepped through to Arizona Strip. But he was thinking about supplies, equipment, and weapons for tomorrow’s examination; his steps automatically bore left, he got on the slideway leading to the great hall of the planetary gates.

He told himself that he would watch for only ten minutes; he would not be late for dinner. He picked his way through the crowd and entered the great hall- not Onto the emigration floor itself, but onto the spectator’s balcony facing the gates. This was the new gate househe was in, the one opened for traffic in ‘68; the original Emigrants’ Gap, now used for Terran traffic and trade with Luna, stood on the Jersey Flats a few kilometers east alongside the pile that powered it.

The balcony faced the six gates. It could seat eighty-six hundred people but was half filled and crowded only in the center. It was here, of course, that Rod wished to

sit so that he might see through all six gates. He wormed his way down the middle aisle, squatted by the railing, then spotted someone leaving a front row seat. Rod grabbed it, earning a dirty look from a man who had started for it from the other aisle.

Rod fed coins into the arm of the seat; it opened out, he sat down and looked around. He was opposite the replica Statue of Liberty, twin to the one that had stood for a century where now was Bedloe Crater. Her torch reached to the distant ceiling; on both her right and her left three great gates let emigrants into the outer worlds.

Rod did not glance at the statue; he looked at the gates. It was late afternoon and heavily overcast at east coast North America, but gate one was open to some planetary spot having glaring noonday sun; Rod could catch glimpses through it of men dressed in shorts and sun hats and nothing else. Gate number two had a pressure lock rigged over it; it carried a big skull & crossbones sign and the symbol for chlorine. Ared light burned over it. While he watched, the red light flickered out and a blue light replaced it; the door slowly opened and a traveling capsule for a chlorine-breather crawled out. Waiting to meet it were eight humans in diplomatic full dress. One carried a gold baton.

Rod considered spending another half pluton to find out who the important visitor was, but his attention was diverted to gate five. An auxiliary gate had been set up on the floor, facing gate five a nd almost under the balcony. Two high steel fences joined the two gates, forming with them an alley as wide as the gates and as long as the space between, about fifteen meters by seventy-five. This pen was packed with humanity moving from the temporary gate toward and through gate five-and onto some planet light-years away. They poured out of nowhere, for the floor back of the auxiliary gate was bare, hurried like cattle between the two fences, spilled through gate five and were gone. Asquad of brawny Mongol policemen, each armed with a staff as tall ashimself, was spread out along each fence. They were using their staves to hurry the emigrants and they were not being gentle. Almost underneath Rod one of them prodded an old coolie so hard that he stumbled and fell. The man had been carrying his belongings, his equipment for a new world, in two bundles supported from a pole balanced on his right shoulder.

The old coolie fell to his skinny knees, tried to get up, fell flat. Rod thought sure he would be trampled, but

somehow he was on his feet again- minus his baggage. He tried to hold his place in the torrent and recover his possessions, but the guard prodded him again and he was forced to move on barehanded. Rod lost sight of him before he had moved five meters.

There were local police outside the fence but they did not interfere. This narrow stretch between the two gates was, for the time, extraterritory; the local police had no jurisdiction. But one of them did seem annoyed at the brutality shown the old man; he put his face to the steel mesh and called out something in lingua terra. The

Mongol cop answered savagely in the same simple language, telling the North American what he could do about it, then went back to shoving and shouting and prodding still more briskly.

The crowd streaming through the pen were Asiatics- Japanese, Indonesians, Siamese, some East Indians, a few Eurasians, but predominantly South Chinese. To Rod they all looked much alike- tiny women with babies on hip or back, or often one on back and one in arms, endless runny-nosed and shaven-headed children, fathers with household goods ill enormous back packs or pushed ahead on barrows. There were a few dispirited ponies dragging two-wheeled carts much too big for them but most of the torrent had only that which they could carry.

Rod had heard an old story which asserted that if all the Chinese on Terra were marched four abreast past a given point the column would never pass that point, as more Chinese would be born fast enough to replace those who had marched past. Rod had taken his slide rule and applied arithmetic to check it- to find, of course, that the story was nonsense; even if one ignored deaths, while counting all births, the last Chinese would pass the reviewing stand in less than four years. Nevertheless, while watching this mob being herded like brutes into a slaughterhouse, Rod felt that the old canard was true even though its mathematics was faulty. There seemed to be no end to them.

He decided to risk that half pluton to find out what was going on. He slid the coin into a slot in the chair’s speaker; the voice of the commentator reached his ears:

“-the visiting minister. The prince royal was met by officials of the Terran Corporation including the Director General himself and now is being escorted to the locks of the Ratoonian enclave. After the television reception tonight staff level conversations will start. Aspokesman close to the Director General has pointed out that, in view of the impossibility of conflict of

interest between oxygen types such as ourselves and the Ratoonians, any outcome of the conference must be to our advantage, the question being to what extent.

“If you will turn your attention again to gate five, we will repeat what we said earlier: gate five is on fortyeight hour loan to the Australasian Republic. The temporary gate you see erected below is hyperfolded to a point in central Australia in the Arunta Desert, where this emigration has been mounting in a great encampment for the past several weeks. His Serene Majesty Chairman Fung Chee Mu of the Australasian Republic has informed the Corporation that his government intends to move in excess of two million people in forty-eight hours, a truly impressive figure, more than forty thousand each hour. The target figure for this year for all planetary emigration gates taken together – Emigrants’ Gap, Peter the Great, and Witwatersrand Gates – is only seventy million emigrants or an average of eight thousand per hour. This movement proposes a rate live times as great using only one gate!”

The commentator continued: “Yet when we watch the speed, efficiency and the, uh- forthrightness with which they are carrying out this evolution it seems likely that they will achieve their goal. Our own figures show them to be slightly ahead of quota for the first nine hours. During those same nine hours there have been one hundred seven births and eighty-two deaths among the emigrants, the high death rate, of course, being incident to the temporary hazards of the emigration.

“The planet of destination, GO-8703-IV, to be called henceforth ‘Heavenly Mountains’ according to Chairman Fung, is classed as a bounty planet and no attempt had been made to colonize it. The Corporation has been assured that the colonists are volunteers.” It seemed to Rod that the announcer’s tone was ironical. “This is understandable when one considers the phenomenal population pressure of the Australasian Republic. Abrief historical rundown may be in order. After the removal of the remnants of the former Australian population to New Zealand, pursuant to the Peiping Peace Treaty, the first amazing effort of the new government was the creation of the great inland sea

Rod muted the speaker and looked back at the floor below. He did not care to hear school-book figures on how the Australian Desert had been made to blossom like the rose … and nevertheless haa been converted into a slum with more people in it than all of North America. Something new was happening at gate four-Gate four had been occupied by a moving cargo belt when he had come in; now the belt had crawled away and lost itself in the bowels of the terminal and an emigration party was lining up to go through.

This was no poverty-stricken band of refugees chivvied along by police; here each family had its own wagon… long, sweeping, boat-tight Conestogas drawn by three-pair teams and housed in sturdy glass canvas square and businesslike Studebakers with steel bodies, high mudcutter wheels, and pulled by one or two-pair teams. The draft animals were Morgans and lordly Clydesdales and jug-headed Missouri mules with strong shoulders and shrewd, suspicious eyes. Dogs trotted between wheels, wagons were piled high with household goods and implements and children, poultry protested the indignities of fate in cages tied on behind, and a little Shetland pony, riderless but carrying his saddle and just a bit too tall to run underneath with the dogs, stayed close to the tailgate of one family’s rig.

Rod wondered at the absence of cattle and stepped up the speaker again. But the announcer was still droning about the fertility of Australasians; he muted it again and watched. Wagons had moved onto the floor and taken up tight echelon position close to the gate, ready to move, with the tail of the train somewhere out of sight below. The gate was not yet ready and drivers were getting down and gathering at the Salvation Army booth under the skirts ot the Goddess of Liberty, for a cup of coffee and some banter. It occurred to Rod that there probably was no coffee where they were going and might not be for years, since Terra never exported food – on the contrary, food and fissionable metals were almost the only permissible imports; until an Outland colony produced a surplus of one or the other it could expect precious little help from Terra.

It was extremely expensive in terms of uranium to keep an interstellar gate open and the people in this wagon train could expect to be out of commercial touch with Earth until such a time as they had developed surpluses valuable enough in trade to warrant reopening the gate at regular intervals. Until that time they were on their own and must make do with what they could take with them … which made horses more practical than helicopters, picks and shovels more useful than bulldozers. Machinery gets out of order and requires a complex technology to keep it going- but good old “hayburners” keep right on breeding, cropping grass, and pulling loads.

Deacon Matson had told the survival class that the real hardships of primitive Outlands were not the lack of plumbing, heating, power, light, nor weather conditioning, but the shortage of simple things like coffee and tobacco.

Rod did not smoke and coffee he could take or let alone; he could not imagine getting fretful over its absence. He scrunched down in his seat, trying to see through the gate to guess the cause of the hold up. He could not see well, as the arching canvas of a prairie schooner blocked his view, but it did seem that the gate operator had a phase error; it looked as if the sky was where the ground ought to be. The extradimensional distortions necessary to match places on two planets many light-years apart were not simply a matter of expenditure of enormous quantities of energy; they were precision problems fussy beyond belief, involving high mathematics and high art-the math was done by machine but the gate operator always had to adjust the last couple of decimal places by prayer and intuition.

In addition to the dozen-odd proper motions of each of the planets involved, motions which could usually be added and canceled out, there was also the rotation of each planet. The problem was to make the last hyperfold so that the two planets were internally tangent at the points selected as gates, with their axes parallel and their rotations in the same direction. Theoretically it was possible to match two points in contra-rotation, twisting the insubstantial fabric of space-time in exact step with “real’ motions; practically such a solution was not only terribly wasteful of energy but almost unworkable- the ground surface beyond the gate tended to skid away like a slidewalk and tilt at odd angles.

Rod did not have the mathematics to appreciate the difficulties. Being only about to finish high school his training had gone no farther than tensor calculus, statistical mechanics, simple transfinities, generalized geometries of six dimensions, and, on the practical side, analysis for electronics, primary cybernetics and robotics, and basic design of analog computers; he had had no advanced mathematics as yet. He was not aware of his ignorance and simply concluded that the gate operator must be thumb-fingered. He looked back at the emigrant party.

The drivers were still gathered at the booth, drinking coffee and munching doughnuts. Most of the men were growing beards; Rod concluded from the beavers that the party had been training for several months. The captain of the party sported a little goatee, mustaches, and rather long hair, but it seemed to Rod that he could not be many years older than Rod himself. He was a professional, of course, required to hold a degree in Outlands arts- hunting, scouting, jackleg mechanics, gunsmithing, farming, first aid, group psychology, survival group tactics, law, and a dozen other things the race has found indispensable when stripped for action.

This captain’s mount was a Palomino mare, lovely as a sunrise, and the captain was dressed as a California don of an earlier century-possibly as a compliment to his horse. Awarning light flashed at the gate’s annunciator panel and he swung into saddle, still eating a doughnut, and cantered down the wagons for a final inspection, riding toward Rod. His back was straight, his seat deep and easy, his bearing confident. Carried low on a fancy belt he wore two razor guns, each in a silver-chased holster that matched the ornate silver of his bridle and saddle.

Rod held his breath until the captain passed out of sight under the balcony, then sighed and considered studying to be like him, rather than for one of the more intellectual Outlands professions. He did not know just what he did want to be … except that he meant to get off Earth as soon as he possibly could and get out there where things were going on!

Which reminded him that the first hurdle was tomorrow; in a few days he would either be eligible to matriculate for whatever it was he decided on, or he would be-but no use worrying about that. He remembered uneasily that it was getting late and he had not even decided on equipment, nor picked his weapons. This party captain carried razor guns; should he carry one? No, this party would fight as a unit, if it had to fight. Its leader carried that type of weapon to enforce his authority-not for solo survival. Well, what should he take?

Asiren sounded and the drivers returned to their wagons. The captain came back at a brisk trot. “Reins up!” he called out. “Reeeeeeiiiins up!” He took station by the gate, facing the head of the train; the mare stood quivering and tending to dance.

The Salvation Army lassie came out from behind her counter carrying a baby girl. She called to the party captain but her voice did not carry to the balcony.

The captain’s voice did carry. “Number four! Doyle! Come get your child!” Ared-headed man with a spade beard climbed down from the fourth wagon and sheepishly reclaimed the youngster to a chorus of cheers and cat calls. He passed the baby up to his wife, who upped its skirt and commenced paddling its bottom. Doyle climbed to his seat and took his reins.

“Call off!” the captain sang out. “One.”

“Tuh!”

“Three!”

“Foah!”

“Five!”

The count passed under the balcony, passed down the chute out of hearing. In a few moments it came back, running down this time, ending with a shouted “ONE!” The captain held up his right arm and watched the lights of the order panel.

Alight turned green. He brought his arm down smartly with a shout of “Roll ‘em! Ho!” The Palomino took off like a race horse, cut under the nose of the nigh lead horse of the first team,

and shot through the gate.

Whips cracked. Rod could hear shouts of “Git, Molly! Git, Ned!” and “No, no, you jugheads!” The train began to roll. By the time the last one on the floor was through the gate and the much larger number which had been in the chute below had begun to show it was rolling at a gallop, with the drivers bracing their feet wide and their wives riding the brakes. Rod tried to count them, made it possibly sixty-three wagons as the last one rumbled through the gate… and was gone, already half a galaxy away.

He sighed and sat back with a warm feeling sharpened with undefined sorrow. Then he stepped up the speaker volume: “-onto New Canaan, the premium planet described by the great Langford as ‘The rose without thorns.’ These colonists have paid a premium of sixteen thousand four hundred per person-not counting exempt or co-opted members-for the privilege of seeking their fortunes and protecting their posterity by moving to New Canaan. The machines predict that the premium will increase for another twenty-eight years; therefore, if you are considering giving your children the priceless boon of citizenship on New Canaan, the time to act is now. For a beautiful projection reel showing this planet send one pluton to ‘Information, Box One, Emigrants’ Gap, New Jersey County, Greater New York.’ For a complete descriptive listing of all planets now open plus a speclal list of those to be opened in the near future add another half pluton. Those seeing this broadcast in person may obtain these items at the information booth in the foyer outside the great hall.”

Rod did not listen. He had long since sent for every free item and most of the non-free ones issued by the Commission for Emigration and Trade. Just now he was wondering why the gate to New Canaan had not relaxed.

He found out at once. Stock barricades rose up out of the floor, forming a fenced passage from gate four to the chute under him. Then a herd of cattle filled the gate and came flooding toward him, bawling and snorting. They were prime Hereford steers, destined to become tender steaks and delicious roasts for a rich but slightly hungry Earth. After them and among them rode New Canaan cowpunchers armed with long goads with which they urged the beasts to greater speed- the undesirability of running weight off the animals was offset by the extreme cost of keeping the gate open, a cost which had to be charged against the cattle.

Rod discovered that the speaker had shut itself off; the half hour he had paid for was finished. He sat up with sudden guilt, realizing that he would have to hurry or he would be late for supper. He rushed out, stepping on feet and mumbling apologies, and caught the slide-way to Hoboken Gate.

This gate, being merdy for Terra-surface commuting, was permanently dilated and required no operator, since the two points brought into coincidence were joined by a rigid frame, the solid Earth. Rod showed his commuter’s ticket to the electronic monitor and stepped through to Arizona, in company with a crowd of neighbors.

“The (almost) solid Earth-” The gate robot took into account tidal distortions but could not anticipate minor seismic variables. As Rod stepped through he felt his feet quiver as if to a

small earthquake, then the terra was again firma. But he was still in an airlock at sea-level pressure. The radiation from massed bodies triggered the mechanism, the lock closed and air

pressure dropped. Rod yawned heavily to adjust to the pressure of Grand Canyon plateau, North Rim, less than three quarters that of New Jersey. But despite the fact that he made the

change twice a day he found himself rubbing his right ear to get rid of an ear ache.

The lock opened, he stepped out. Having come two thousand miles in a split second he now had ten minutes by slide tube and a fifteen minute walk to get home. He decided to dogtrot and be on time after all. He might have made it if there had not been several thousand other people trying to use the same facilities.

2. The Fifth Way

Rocket ships did not conquer space; they merely challenged it. Arocket leaving Earth at seven miles per second is terribly slow for the vast reaches beyond. Only the Moon is reasonably near-four days, more or less. Mars is thirty-seven weeks away, Saturn a dreary six years, Pluto an impossible half century, by the elliptical orbits possible to rockets.

Ortega’s torch ships brought the Solar System within reach. Based on mass conversion, Einstein’s deathless e= Mc2, they could boost for the entire trip at any acceleration the pilot could stand. At an easy one gravity the inner planets were only hours from Earth, far Pluto only eighteen days. It was a change like that from horseback to jet plane.

The shortcoming of this brave new toy was that there was not much anywhere to go. The Solar system, from a human standpoint, is made up of remarkably unattractive real estate-save for lovely Terra herself, lush and green and beautiful. The steel-limbed Jovians enjoy gravity 2.5 times ours and their poisonous air at inhuman pressure keeps them in health. Martians prosper in near vacuum, the rock lizards of Luna do not breathe at all. But these planets are not for men.

Men prosper on an oxygen planet close enough to a G-type star for the weather to cycle around the freezing point of water… that is to say, on Earth.

When you are already there why go anywhere? The reason was babies, too many babies. Malthus pointed it out long ago; food increases by arithmetical progression, people increase by geometrical progression. By World War I half the world lived on the edge of starvation; by World War II Earth’s population was increasing by 55,000 people every day; before World War III, as early as 1954, the increase had jumped to 100,000 mouths and stomachs per day, 35,000,000 additional people each year … and the population of Terra had climbed well beyond that which its farm lands could support.

The hydrogen, germ, and nerve gas horrors that followed were not truly political. The true meaning was more that of beggars fighting over a crust of bread.

The author of Gulliver’s Travels sardonically proposed that Irish babies be fattened for English tables; other students urged less drastic ways of curbing population – none of which made the slightest difference. Life, all life, has the twin drives to survive and to reproduce. Intelligence is an aimless byproduct except as it serves these basic drives.

But intelligence can be made to serve the mindless demands of life. Our Galaxy contains in excess of one hundred thousand Earth-type planets, each as warm and motherly to men as sweet Terra. Ortega’s torch ships could reach the stars. Mankind could colonize, even as the hungry millions of Europe had crossed the Atlantic and raised more babies in the New World.

Some did … hundreds of thousands. But the entire race, working as a team, cannot build and launch a hundred ships a day, each fit for a thousand colonists, and keep it up day after day, year after year, time without end. Even with the hands and the will (which the race never had) there is not that much steel, aluminum, and uranium in Earth’s crust. There is not one hundredth of the necessary amount.

But intelligence can find solutions where there are none. Psychologists once locked an ape in a room, for which they had arranged only four ways of escaping. Then they spied on him to see which of the four he would find.

The ape escaped a fifth way.

Dr. Jesse Evelyn Ramsbotham had not been trying to solve the baby problem; he had been trying to build a time machine. He had two reasons: first, because time machines are an impossibility; second, because his hands would sweat and he would stammer whenever in the presence of a nubile female. He was not aware that the first reason was compensation for the second, in fact he was not aware of the second reason – it was a subject his conscious mind avoided.

It is useless to speculate as to the course of history had Jesse Evelyn Ramsbotham’s parents had the good sense to name their son Bill instead of loading him with two girlish names. He might have become an All-American halfback and ended up selling bonds and adding his quota of babies to a sum already disastrous. Instead he became a mathematical physicist.

Progress in physics is achieved by denying the obvious and accepting the impossible. Any nineteenth century physicist could have given unassailable reasons why atom bombs were impossible if his reason were not affronted at the question; any twentieth century physicist could explain why time travel was incompatible with the real world of space-time. But Ramsbotham began fiddling with the three greatest Einsteinian equations, the two relativity equations for distance and duration and the mass-conversion equation; each contained the velocity of light. “Velocity” is first derivative, the differential of distance with respect to time; he converted those equations into differential equations, then played games with them. He would feed the results to the Rakitiac computer, remote successor to Univac, Eniac and Maniac. While he was doing these things his hands never sweated nor did he stammer, except when he was forced to deal with the young lady who was chief programmer for the giant computer.

His first model produced a time-stasis or low-entropy field no bigger than a football-but a lighted cigarette placed inside with full power setting was still burning a week later. Ramsbotham picked up the cigarette, resumed smoking and thought about it.

Next he tried a day-old chick, with colleagues to witness. Three months later the chick was unaged and no hungrier than chicks usually are. He reversed the phase relation and cut in power for the shortest time he could manage with his bread-boarded hook-up.

In less than a second the newly-hatched chick was long dead, starved and decayed.

He was aware that he had simply changed the slope of a curve, but he was convinced that he was on the track of true time travel. He never did find it, although once he thought that he had-he repeated by request his demonstration with a chick for some of his colleagues; that night two of them picked the lock on his lab, let the

little thing out and replaced it with an egg. Ramsbotham might have been permanently convinced that he had found time travel and then spent the rest of his life in a blind alley had they not cracked the egg and showed him that it was hard-boiled.

But he did not give up. He made a larger model and tried to arrange a dilation, or anomaly (he did not call it a “Gate”) which would let him get in and out of the field himself.

When he threw on power, the space between the curving magnetodes of his rig no longer showed the wall beyond, but a steaming jungle. He jumped to the conclusion that this must be a forest of the Carboniferous Period. It had often occurred to him that the difference between space and time might simply be human prejudice, but this was not one of the times; he believed what he wanted to believe.

He hurriedly got a pistol and with much bravery and no sense crawled between the magnetodes.

Ten minutes later he was arrested for waving firearms around in Rio de Janeiro’s civic botanical gardens. Alack of the Portuguese language increased both his difficulties and the length of time he spent in a tropical pokey, but three days later through the help of the North American consul he was on his way home. He thought and filled notebooks with equations and question marks on the whole trip.

The short cut to the stars had been found.

Ramsbotham’s discoveries eliminated the basic cause of war and solved the problem of what to do with all those dimpled babies. Ahundred thousand planets were no farther away than the other side of the street. Virgin continents, raw wildernesses, fecund jungles, killing deserts, frozen tundras, and implacable mountains lay just beyond the city gates, and the human race was again going out where the street lights do not shine, out where there was no friendly cop on the corner nor indeed a corner, out where there were no well-hung, tender steaks, no boneless hams, no packaged, processed foods suitable for delicate minds and pampered bodies. The biped omnivore again had need of his biting, tearing, animal teeth, for the race was spilling out (as it had so often before) to kill or be killed, eat or be eaten.

But the human race’s one great talent is survival. The race, as always, adjusted to conditions, and the most urbanized, mechanized, and civilized, most upholstered and luxurious culture in all history trained its best children, its potential leaders, in primitive pioneer survival-man naked against nature.

Rod Walker knew about Dr. J. E. Ramsbotham, just as he knew about Einstein, Newton, and Columbus, but he thought about Ramsbotham no oftener than he thought about Columbus. These were figures in books, each larger than life and stuffed with straw, not real. He used the Ramsbotham Gate between Jersey and the Arizona Strip without thinking of its inventor the same way his ancestors used elevators without thinking of the name “Otis.” If he thought about the miracle at all, it was a half-formed irritation that the Arizona side of Hoboken Gate was so far from his parents’ home. It was known as Kaibab Gate on this side and was seven miles north of the Walker residence.

At the time the house had been built the location was at the extreme limit of tube delivery and other city utilities. Being an old house, its living room was above ground, with only bedrooms, pantry, and bombproof buried. The living room had formerly stuck nakedly above ground, an ellipsoid monocoque shell, but, as Greater New York spread, the neighborhood had been zoned for underground apartments and construction above ground which would interfere with semblance of virgin forest had been forbidden.

The Walkers had gone along to the extent of covering the living room with soil and planting it with casual native foliage, but they had refused to cover up their view window. It was the chief charm of the house, as it looked out at the great canyon. The community corporation had tried to coerce them into covering it up and had offered to replace it with a simulacrum window such as the underground apartments used, with a relayed view of the canyon. But Rod’s father was a stubborn man and maintained that with weather, women, and wine there was nothing “just as good.” His window was still intact.

Rod found the family sitting in front of the window, watching a storm work its way up the canyon-his mother, his father, and, to his great surprise, his sister. Helen was ten years older than he and an assault captain in the Amazons; she was seldom home.

The warmth of his greeting was not influenced by his realization that her arrival would probably cause his own lateness to pass with little comment. “Sis! Hey, this is swell- I thought you were on Thule.”

“I was … until a few hours ago.” Rod tried to shake hands; his sister gathered him in a bear hug and bussed him on the mouth, squeezing him against the raised ornaments of her chrome corselet. She was still in uniform, a fact that caused him to think that she had just arrived-on her rare visits home she usually went slopping around in an old bathrobe and go- ahead slippers, her hair caught up in a knot. Now she was still in dress

armor and kilt and had dumped her side arms, gauntlets, and pluined helmet on the floor. She looked him over proudly. “My, but you’ve grown! You’re almost as tall as I am.”

“I’m taller.”

“Want to bet? No, don’t try to wiggle away from me; I’ll twist your arm. Slip off your shoes and stand back to back.” “Sit down, children,” their father said mildly. “Rod, why were you late?”

“Uh …” He had worked out a diversion involving telling about the examination coming up, but he did not use it as his sister intervened. “Don’t heckle him, Pater. Ask for excuses and you’ll get them. I learned that when I was a sublieutenant.”

“Quiet, daughter. I can raise him without your help.” Rod was surprised by his father’s edgy answer, was more surprised by Helen’s answer: “So? Really?” Her tone was odd.

Rod saw his mother raise a hand, seem about to speak, then close her mouth. She looked upset. His sister and father looked at each other; neither spoke. Rod looked from one to the other, said slowly, “Say, what’s all this?”

His father glanced at him. “Nothing. We’ll say no more about it. Dinner is waiting. Coming, dear?” He turned to his wife, handed her up from her chair, offered her his arm. “Just a minute,” Rod said insistently. “I was late because I was hanging around the Gap.”

“Very well. You know better, but I said we would say no more about it.” He turned toward the lift. “But I wanted to tell you something else, Dad. I won’t be home for the next week or so.” “Very well- eh? What did you say?”

“I’ll be away for a while, sir. Maybe ten days or a bit longer.”

His father looked perplexed, then shook his head. “Whatever your plans are, you will have to change them. I can’t let you go away at this time.” “But, Dad-“

“I’m sorry, but that is definite.” “But, Dad, I have to!”

“No.”

Rod looked frustrated. His sister said suddenly, “Pater, wouldn’t it be well to find out why he wants to be away?” “Now, daughter-“

“Dad, I’m taking my solo survival, starting tomorrow morning!”

Mrs. Walker gasped, then began to weep. Her husband said, “There, there, my dear!” then turned to his son and said harshly, “You’ve upset your mother.”

“But, Dad, I…” Rod shut up, thinking bitterly that no one seemed to give a hoot about his end of it. Mter all, he was the one who was going to have to sink or swim. Alot they knew or- “You see, Pater,” his sister was saying. “He does have to be away. He has no choice, because-“

“I see nothing of the sort! Rod, I meant to speak about this earlier, but I had not realized that your test would take place so soon. When I signed permission for you to take that course, I had, I must admit, a mental reservation. I felt that the experience would be valuable later when and if you took the course in college. But I never intended to let you come up against the final test while still in high school. You are too young.

Rod was shocked speechless. But his sister again spoke for him. “Fiddlesticks!” “Eh? Now, daughter, please remember that-“

“Repeat fiddlesticks! Any girl in my company has been up against things as rough and many of them are not much older than Buddy. What are you trying to do, Pater? Break his nerve?” “You have no reason to… I think we had best discuss this later.”

“I think that is a good idea.” Captain Walker took her brother’s arm and they followed their parents down to the refectory. Dinner was on the table, still warm in its delivery containers; they took their places, standing, and Mr. Walker solemnly lighted the Peace Lamp. The family was evangelical Monist by inheritance, each of Rod’s grandfathers having been converted in the second great wave of proselyting that swept out of Persia in the last decade of the previous century, and Rod’s father took seriously his duties as family priest.

As the ritual proceeded Rod made his responses automatically, his mind on this new problem. His sister chimed in heartily but his mother’s answers could hardly be heard. Nevertheless the warm symbolism had its effect; Rod felt himself calming down. By the time his father intoned the last “-one Principle, one family, one flesh!” he felt like eating. He sat

down and took the cover off his plate.

Ayeast cutlet, molded to look like a chop and stripped with real bacon, a big baked potato, and a grilled green lobia garnished with baby’s buttons … Rod’s mouth watered as he reached for the catsup.

He noticed that Mother was not eating much, which surprised him. Dad was not eating much either but Dad often just picked at his food … he became aware with sudden warm pity that Dad was thinner and greyer than ever. How old was Dad?

His attention was diverted by a story his sister was telling: “-and so the Commandant told me I would have to clamp down. And I said to her, ‘Ma’am, girls will be girls. It I have to bust a petty officer everytime one of them does something like that, pretty soon I won’t have anything but privates. And Sergeant Dvorak is the best gunner I have.”’

“Just a second,” her father interrupted. “I thought you said ‘Kelly,’ not ‘Dvorak.’”

“I did and she did. Pretending to misunderstand which sergeant she meant was my secret weapon-for I had Dvorak cold for the same offense, and Tiny Dvorak (she’s bigger than I am) is the Squadron’s white hope for the annual corps-wide competition for best trooper. Of course, losing her stripes would put her, and us, out of the running.

“So I straightened out the ‘mix up’ in my best wide-eyed, thick-headed manner, let the old gal sit for a moment trying not to bite her nails, then told her that I had both women confined to barracks until that gang of college boys was through installing the new ‘scope, and sang her a song about how the quality of mercy is not strained, it droppeth as the gentle rain from

heaven, and made myself responsible for seeing to it that she was not again embarrassed by scandalous-her word, not mine-scandalous incidents … especially when she was showing quadrant commanders around.

“So she grumpily allowed as how the company commander was responsible for her company and she would hold me to it and now would I get out and let her work on the quarterly training report in peace? So I threw her my best parade ground salute and got out so fast I left a hole in the air.”

“I wonder,” Mr. Walker said judicially, “if you should oppose your commanding officer in such matters? After all, she is older and presumably wiser than you are.”

Helen made a little pile of the last of her baby’s buttons, scooped them up and swallowed them. “Fiddlesticks squared and cubed. Pardon me, Pater, but if you had any military service you would know better. I am as tough as blazes to my girls myself… and it just makes them boast about how they’ve got the worst fire-eater in twenty planets. But if they’re in trouble higher up, I’ve got to take care of my kids. There always comes a day when there is something sticky up ahead and I have to stand up and walk toward it. And it will be all right because I’ll have Kelly on my right flank and Dvorak on my left and each of them trying to take care of Maw Walker all by her ownself. I know what I’m doing. ‘Walker’s Werewolves’ are a team.”

Mrs. Walker shivered. “Gracious, darling, I wish you had never taken up a calling so … well, so dangerous.”

Helen shrugged. “The death rate is the same for us as for anybody … one person, one death, sooner or later. What would you want, Mum? With eighteen million more women than men on this continent did you want me to sit and knit until my knight comes riding? Out where I operate, there are more men than women; I’ll wing one yet, old and ugly as I am.

Rod asked curiously, “Sis, would you really give up your commission to get married?”

“Would I! I won’t even count his arms and legs. If he is still warm and can nod his head, he’s had it. My target is six babies and a farm.” Rod looked her over. “I’d say your chances are good. You’re quite pretty even if your ankles are thick.”

“Thanks, pardner. Thank you too much. What’s for dessert, Mum?” “I didn’t look. Will you open it, dear?”

Dessert turned out to be iced mangorines, which pleased Rod. His sister went on talking. “The Service isn’t a bad shake, on active duty. It’s garrison duty that wears. My kids get fat and sloppy and restless and start fighting with each other from sheer boredom. For my choice, barracks casualties are more to be dreaded than combat. I’m hoping that our squadron will be tagged to take part in the pacification of Byer’s Planet.”

Mr. Walker looked at his wife, then at his daughter. “You have upset your mother again, my dear. Quite a bit of this talk has hardly been appropriate under the Light of Peace.” “I was asked questions, I answered.”

“Well, perhaps so.”

Helen glanced up. “Isn’t it time to turn it out, anyway? We all seem to have finished eating.” “Why, if you like. Though it is hardly reverent to hurry.”

“The Principle knows we haven’t all eternity.” She turned to Rod. “How about making yourself scarce, mate? I want to make palaver with the folks.” “Gee, Sis, you act as if I was-“

“Get lost, Buddy. I’ll see you later.”

Rod left, feeling affronted. He saw Helen blow out the pax lamp as he did so. He was still making lists when his sister came to his room. “Hi, kid.”

“Oh. Hello, Sis.”

“What are you doing? Figuring what to take on your solo?” “Sort of.”

“Mind if I get comfortable?” She brushed articles from his bed and sprawled on it. “We’ll go into that later.” Rod thought it over. “Does that mean Dad won’t object?”

“Yes. I pounded his head until he saw the light. But,

as I said, well go into that later. I’ve got something to tell you, youngster.” “Such as?”

“The first thing is this. Our parents are not as stupid as you probably think they are. Fact is, they are pretty bright.” “I never said they were stupid!” Rod answered, comfortably aware of what his thoughts had been.

“No. But I heard what went on before dinner and so did you. Dad was throwing his weight around and not listening. But, Buddy, it has probably never occurred to you that it is hard work to be a parent, maybe the hardest job of all- particularly when you have no talent for it, which Dad hasn’t. He knows it and works hard at it and is conscientious. Mostly he does mighty well. Sometimes he slips, like tonight. But, what you did not know is this: Dad is going to die.”

“What?” Rod looked stricken. “I didn’t know he was ill!”

“You weren’t meant to know. Now climb down off the ceiling; there is a way out. Dad is terribly ill, and he would die in a few weeks at the most- unless something drastic is done. But something is going to be. So relax.”

She explained the situation bluntly: Mr. Walker was suffering from a degenerative disease under which he was slowly starving to death. His condition was incurable by current medical art; he might linger on, growing weaker each day, for weeks or months- but he would certainly die soon.

Rod leaned his head on his hands and chastised himself. Dad dying … and he hadn’t even noticed. They had kept it from him, like a baby, and he had been too stupid to see it.

His sister touched his shoulder. “Cut it out. If there is anything stupider than flogging yourself over something you can’t help, I’ve yet to meet it. Anyhow, we are doing something about it.” “What? I thought you said nothing could be done?”

“Shut up and let your mind coast. The folks are going to make a Ramsbotham jump, five hundred to one, twenty years for two weeks. They’ve already signed a contract with Entropy, Incorporated. Dad has resigned from General Synthetics and is closing up his affairs; they’ll kiss the world good-by this coming Wednesday- which is why he was being sterh about your plans to be away at that time. You’re the apple of his eye- Heaven knows why.”

Rod tried to sort out too many new ideas at once. Atime jump … of course! It would let Dad stay alive another twenty years. But- “Say, Sis, this doesn’t get them anything! Sure, it’s twenty years but it will be just two weeks to them … and Dad will be as sick as ever. I know what I’m talking about; they did the same thing for Hank Robbin’s great grandfather and he died anyhow, right after they took him out of the stasis. Hank told me.”

Captain Walker shrugged. “Probably a hopeless case to start with. But Dad’s specialist, Dr. Hensley, says that he is morally certain that Dad’s case is not hopeless twenty years from now. I don’t know anything about metabolic medicine, but Hensley says that they are on the verge and that twenty years from now they ought to be able to patch Dad up as easily they can graft on a new leg today.”

“You really think so?”

“How should I know? In things like this you hire the best expert you can, then follow his advice. The point is, if we don’t do it, Dad is finished. So we do it.”

“Yeah. Sure, sure, we’ve got to.”

She eyed him closely and added, “All right. Now do you want to talk with them about it?” “Huh?” He was startled by the shift. “Why? Are they waiting for me?”

“No. I persuaded them that it was best to keep it from you until it happened. Then I came straight in and told you. Now you can do as you please- pretend you don’t know, or go have Mum cry over you, and listen to a lot of last-minute, man-to-man advice from Dad that you will never take. About midnight, with your nerves frazzled, you can get back to your preparations for your survival test. Play it your own way- but I’ve rigged it so you can avoid that, if you want to. Easier on everybody. Myself, I like a cat’s way of saying good-by.”

Rod’s mind was in a turmoil. Not to say good-by seemed unnatural, ungrateful, untrue to family sentiment- but the prospect of saying good-by seemed almost unbearably embarrassing. “What’s that about a cat?”

“When a cat greets you, he makes a big operation of it, humping, stropping your legs, buzzing like mischief. But when he leaves, he just walks off and never looks back. Cats are smart.” “Well . .”

“I suggest,” she added, “that you remember that they are doing this for their convenience, not yours. “But Dad has to-“

“Surely, Dad must, if he is to get well.” She considered pointing out that the enormous expense of the time jump would leave Rod practically penniless; she decided that this was better left undiscussed. “But Mum does not have to.”

“But she has to go with Dad!”

“So? Use arithmetic. She prefers leaving you alone for twenty years in order to be with Dad for two weeks. Or turn it around: she prefers having you orphaned to having herself widowed for the same length of time.”

“I don’t think that’s quite fair to Mum,” Rod answered slowly.

“I wasn’t criticizing. She’s making the right decision. Nevertheless, they both have a strong feeling of guilt about you and-“ “About me?”

“About you. I don’t figure into it. If you insist on saying good-by, their guilt will come out as self-justification and self-righteousness and they will find ways to take it out on you and everybody will have a bad time. I don’t want that. You are all my family.”

“Uh, maybe you know best.”

“I didn’t get straight A’s in emotional logic and military leadership for nothing. Man is not a rational animal; he is a rationalizing animal. Now let’s see what you plan to take with you.” She looked over his lists and equipment, then whistled softly. “Whew! Rod, I never saw so much plunder. You won’t be able to move. Who are you? Tweedledum preparing for battle, or

the White Knight?”

“Well, I was going to thin it down,” he answered uncomfortably. “I should think so!”

“Uh, Sis, what sort of gun should I carry?” “Huh? Why the deuce do you want a gun?”

“Why, for what I might run into, of course. Wild animals and things. Deacon Matson practically said that we could expect dangerous animals.”

“I doubt if he advised you to carry a gun. From his teputation, Dr. Matson is a practical man. See here, infant, on this tour you are the rabbit, trying to escape the fox. You aren’t the fox.” “What do you mean?”

“Your only purpose is to stay alive. Not to be brave, not to fight, not to dominate the wilds- but just stay breathing. One time in a hundred a gnn might save your life; the other ninety-nine it will just tempt you into folly. Oh, no doubt Matson would take one, and I would, too. But we are salted; we know when not to use one. But consider this. That test area is going to be crawling with trigger-happy young squirts. If one shoots you, it won’t matter that you have a gun, too- because you will be dead. But if you carry a gun, it makes you feel cocky; you won’t take proper cover. If you don’t have one, then you’ll know that you are the rabbit. You’ll be careful.”

“Did you take a gun on your solo test?”

“I did. And I lost it the first day. Which saved my life.” “How?”

“Because when I was caught without one I ran away from a Bessmer’s griffin instead of trying to shoot it. You savvy Bessmer’s griffin?” “Uh, Spica V?”

“Spica IV. I don’t know how much outer zoology they are teaching you kids these days-from the ignoramuses we get for recruits I’ve reached the conclusion that this new-fangled ‘functional education’ has abolished studying in favor of developing their cute little personalities.

“Why I had one girl who wanted to- never mind; the thing about the griffin is that it does not really have vital organs. Its nervous system is decentralized, even its assimilation system. To kill it quickly you would have to grind it into hamburger. Shooting merely tickles it. But not know that; if I had had my gun I would have found out the hard way. As it was, it treed me for three days, which did my figure good and gave me time to think over the philosophy, ethics, and pragmatics of self-preservation.”

Rod did not argue, but he still had a conviction that a gun was a handy thing to have around. It made him feel good, taller, stronger and more confident, to have one slapping against his thigh. He didn’t have to use it- not unless he just had to. And he knew enough to take cover; nobody in the class could do a silent sneak the way he could. While Sis was a good soldier, still she didn’t know everything and-

But Sis was still talking. “I know how good a gun feels. It makes you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, three meters tall and covered with hair. You’re ready for anything and kind of hoping you’ll find it. Which is exactly what is dangerous about it-because you aren’t anything of the sort. You are a feeble, hairless embryo, remarkably easy to kill. You could carry an assault gun with two thousand meters precision range and isotope charges that will blow up a hill, but you still would not have eyes in the back of your head like a janus bird, nor be able to see in the dark like the Thetis pygmies. Death can cuddle up behind you while you are drawing a bead on something in front.”

“But, Sis, your own company carries guns.

“Guns, radar, bombs, black scopes, gas, warpers, and some things which we light-heartedly hope are secret. What of it? You aren’t going to storm a city. Buddy, sometimes I send a girl out on an infiltration patrol, object: information-go out, find out, come back alive. How do you suppose I equip her?”

“Never mind. In the first place I don’t pick an eager young recruit; I send some unkillable old-timer. She peels down to her underwear, darkens her skin if it is not dark, and goes out bare- handed and bare-footed, without so much as a fly swatter. I have yet to lose a scout that way. Helpless and unprotected you do grow eye’s in the back of your head, and your nerve ends reach out and feel everything around you. I learned that when I was a brash young j.o., from a salty trooper old enough to be my mother.”

Impressed, Rod said slowly, “Deacon Matson told us he would make us take this test bare-handed, if he could.” “Dr. Matson is a man of sense.

“Well, what would you take?”

“Test conditions again?”

Rod stated them. Captain Walker frowned. “Mmm … not much to go on. Two to ten days probably means about five. The climate won’t be hopelessly extreme. I suppose you own a Baby Bunting?”

“No, but I’ve got a combat parka suit. I thought I would carry it, then if the test area turned out not to be cold, I’d leave it at the gate. I’d hate to lose it; it weighs only half a kilo and cost quite a bit.”

“Don’t worry about that. There is no point in being the best dressed ghost in Limbo. Okay, besides your parka I would make it four kilos of rations, five of water, two kilos of sundries like pills and matches, all in a vest pack … and a knife.”

“‘That isn’t much for five days, much less ten.”

“It is all you can carry and still be light on your feet. “Let’s see your knife, dear.”

Rod had several knives, but one was “his” knife, a lovely all-purpose one with a 21-cm. molysteel blade and a fine balance. He handed it to his sister, who cradled it lightly. “Nice!” she said, and glanced around the room.

“Over there by the outflow.”

“I see.” She whipped it past her ear, let fly, and the blade sank into the target, sung and quivered. She reached down and drew another from her boot top. “This is a good one, too.” She threw and it bit into the target a blade’s width from the first.

She retrieved both knives, stood balancing them, one on each hand. She flipped her own so that the grip was toward Rod. “This is my pet, ‘Lady Macbeth.’ I carried her on my own solo, Buddy. I want you to carry her on yours.

“You want to trade knives? All right.” Rod felt a sharp twinge at parting with “Colonel Bowie” and a feeling of dismay that some other knife might let him down. But it was not an offer that he could refuse, not from Sis.

“My very dear! I wouldn’t deprive you of your own knife, not on your solo. I want you to carry both, Buddy. You won’t starve nor die of thirst, but a spare knife may be worth its weight in thorium.”

“Gee, Sis! But I shouldn’t take your knife, either- you said you were expecting active duty. I can carry a spare of my own”

“I won’t need it. My girls haven’t let me use a knife in years. I want you to have Lady Macbeth on your test.” She removed the scabbard from her boot top, sheathed the blade; and handed it to him. “Wear it in good health, brother.”

3. Through the Tunnel

Rod arrived at templeton gate the next morning feeling not his best. He had intended to get a good night’s sleep in preparation for his ordeal, but his sister’s arrival in conjunction with overwhelming changes in his family had defeated his intention. As with most children Rod had taken his family and home for granted; he had not thought about them much, nor placed a conscious value on them, any more than a fish treasures water. They simply were.

Now suddenly they were not.

Helen and he had talked late. She had begun to have stron~ misgivings about her decision to let him know of the c ange on the eve of his test. She had weighed it, decided. that it was the “right” thing to do, then had learned the ages-old sour truth that right and wrong can sometimes be determined only through hindsight. It had not been fair, she later concluded, to load anything else on his mind just before his test; But it had not seemed fair, either, to let him leave without knowing… to return to an empty house.

The decision was necessarily hers; she had been his guardian since earlier that same day. The papers had been signed and sealed; the court had given approval. Now she found with a sigh that being a “parent” was not unalloyed pleasure; it was more like the soul-searching that had gone into her first duty as member of a court martial.

When she saw that her “baby” was not quieting, she had insisted that he go to bed anyhow, then had given him a long back rub, combining it with hypnotic instructions to sleep, then had gone quietly away when he seemed asleep.

But Rod had not been asleep; he had simply wanted to be alone. His mind raced like an engine with no load for the best part of an hour, niggling uselessly at the matter of his father’s illness, wondering what it was going to be like to greet them again after twenty years- why, he would be almost as old as Mum! – switching over to useless mental preparations for unknown test conditions.

At last he realized that he had to sleep- forced himself to run through mental relaxing exercises, emptying his mind and hypnotizing himself. It took longer than ever before but finally he entered a great, golden, warm cloud and was asleep.

His bed mechanism had to call him twice. He woke bleary-eyed and was still so after a needle shower. He looked in a mirror, decided that shaving did not matter where he was going and anyhow he was late-then decided to shave after all … being painfully shy about his sparse young growth.

Mum was not up, but she hardly ever got up as early as that. Dad rarely ate breakfast these days … Rod recalled why with a twinge. But he had expected Sis to show up. Glumly he opened his tray and discovered that Mum had forgotten to dial an order, something that had not happened twice in his memory. He placed his order and waited for service- another ten minutes lost.

Helen showed up as he was leaving, dressed surprisingly in a dress. “Good morning.”

“Hi, Sis. Say, you’ll have to order your own tucker. Mother didn’t and I didn’t know what you wanted.” “Oh, I had breakfast hours ago. I was waiting to see you off.”

“Oh. Well, so long. I’ve got to run, I’m late.”

“I won’t hold you up.” She came over and embraced him. “Take it easy, mate. That’s the important thing. More people have died from worry than ever bled to death. And if you do have to strike, strike low.”

“Uh, I’ll remember.”

“See that you do. I’m going to get my leave extended today so that I’ll be here when you come back.” She kissed him. “Now run.”

Dr. Matson was sitting at a desk outside the dispensary at Templeton Gate, checking names on his roll. He looked up as Rod arrived. “Why, hello, Walker. I thought maybe you had decided to be smart.”

‘I’m sorry I’m late, sir. Things happened.”

“Don’t fret about it. Knew a man once who didn’t get shot at sunrise because he overslept the appointment.” “Really? Who was he?”

“Young fellow I used to know. Myself.”

“Hunh? You really did, sir? You mean you were-“

“Not a word of truth in it. Good stories are rarely true. Get on in there and take your physical, before you get the docs irritated.”

They thumped him and x-rayed him and made a wavy pattern from his brain and did all the indignities that examining physicians do. The senior examiner listened to his heart and felt his moist hand. “Scared, son?”

“Of course I am!” Rod blurted.

“Of course you are. If you weren’t, I wouldn’t pass you. What’s that bandage on your leg?”

“Uh-” The bandage concealed Helen’s knife “Lady Macbeth.” Rod sheepishly admitted the fact. “Take it off.”

“Sir?”

“I’ve known candidates to pull dodges like that to cover up a disqualification. So let’s have a look.”

Rod started removing it; the physician let him continue until he was sure that it was a cache for a weapon and not a wound dressing. “Get your clothes on. Report to your instructor.

Rod put on his vest pack of rations and sundries, fastened his canteen under it. It was a belt canteen of flexible synthetic divided into half-litre pockets. The weight was taken by shoulder straps and a tube ran up the left suspender, ending in a nipple near his mouth, so that he might drink wit out taking it off. He planned, if possible, to stretch his meager supply through the whole test, avoiding the hazards of contaminated water and the greater hazards of the water hole- assuming that fresh water could be found at all.

He wrapped twenty meters of line, light, strong, and thin, around his waist. Shorts, overshirt, trousers, and boot moccasins completed his costume; he belted “Colonel Bowie” on outside. Dressed, he looked fleshier than he was; only his knife showed. He carried his parka suit over his left arm. It was an efficient garment, hooded, with built-in boots and gloves, and with pressure seams to let him use bare hands when necessary, but it was much too warm to wear until he needed it. Rod had learned early in the game that Eskimos don’t dare to sweat.

Dr. Matson was outside the dispensary door. “The

late Mr. Walker,” he commented, then glanced at the bulkiness of Rod’s torso. “Body armor, son?” “No, sir. Just a vest pack.” “How much penalty you carrying?”

“Eleven kilograms. Mostly water and rations.”

“Mmm . . well, it will get heavier before it gets lighter. No Handy-Dandy Young Pioneer’s Kit? No collapsible patent wigwam?” Rod blushed. “No, sir.”

“You can leave that snow suit. Ill mail it to your home.”

“Uh, thank you, sir.” Rod passed it over, adding, wasn’t sure I’d need it, but I brought it along, just in case.

“You did need it.” “Sir?”

“I’ve already flunked five for showing up without their snuggies… and four for showing up with vacuum suits. Both ways for being stupid. They ought to know that the Board would not dump them into vacuum or chlorine or such without specifying space suits in the test notice. We’re looking for graduates, not casualties. On the other hand, cold weather is within the limits of useful test conditions.”

Rod glanced at the suit he had passed over. “You’re sure I won’t need it, sir?”

“Quite. Except that you would have flunked if you hadn’t fetched it. Now bear a hand and draw whatever pig shooter you favor; the armorer is anxious to close up shop. What gun have you picked?”

Rod gulped. “Uh, I was thinking about not taking one, Deacon- I mean ‘Doctor.’”

“You can call me ‘Deacon’ to my face- ten days from now. But this notion of yours interests me. How did you reach that conclusion?” “Uh, why, you see, sir… well, my sister suggested it.”

“So? I must meet your sister. What’s her name?”

“Assault Captain Helen Walker,” Rod said proudly, “Corps of Amazons.” Matson wrote it down. “Get on in there. They are ready for the drawing.

Rod hesitated. “Sir,” he said with sudden misgiving, “if I did carry a gun, what sort would you advise?”

Matson looked disgusted. “I spend a year trying to spoonfeed you kids with stuff I learned the hard way. Comes examination and you ask me to slip you the answers. I can no more answer that than I would have been justified yesterday in telling you to bring a snow suit.”

“Sorry, sir.

“No reason why you shouldn’t ask; it’s just that I won’t answer. Let’s change the subject. This sister of yours she must be quite a girl.” “Oh, she is, sir.”

“Mmm … maybe if I had met a girl like that I wouldn’t be a cranky old bachelor now. Get in there and draw your number. Number one goes through in six minutes.”

“Yes, Doctor.” His way led him past the school armorer, who had set up a booth outside the door. The old chap was wiping off a noiseless Summerfield. Rod caught his eye. “Howdy, Guns.”

“Hi, Jack. Kind of late, aren’t you? What’ll it be?”

Rod’s eye ran over the rows of beautiful weapons. Maybe just a little needle gun with poisoned pellets . He wouldn’t have to use it .

Then he realized that Dr. Matson had answered his question, with a very broad hint. “Uh, I’m already heeled, Guns. Thanks.” “Okay. Well, good luck, and hurry back.”

“Thanks a lot.” He went into the gate room.

The seminar had numbered more than fifty students; there were about twenty waiting to take the examination. He started to look around, was stopped by a gate attendant who called out, “Over here! Draw your number.”

The lots were capsules in a bowl. Rod reached in, drew one out, and broke it open. “Number seven.” “Lucky seven! Congratulations. Your name, please.”

Rod gave his name and turned away, looking for a seat, since it appeared that he had twenty minutes or so to wait. He walked back, staring with interest at what his schoolmates deemed appropriate for survival, any and all conditions.

Johann Braun was seated with empty seats on each side of him. The reason for the empty seats crouched at his feet- a big, lean, heavily-muscled boxer dog with unfriendly eyes. Slung over Braun’s shoulder was a General Electric Thunderbolt, a shoulder model with telescopic sights and cone-of-fire control; its power pack Braun wore as a back pack. At his belt were binoculars, knife, first aid kit, and three pouches.

Rod stopped and admired the gun, wondering how much the lovely thing had cost. The dog raised his head and growled. Braun put a hand on the dog’s head. “Keep your distance,” he warned. “Thor is a one-man dog.”

Rod gave back a pace. “Yo, you are certainly equipped.”

The big blond youth gave a satisfied smile. “Thor and I are going to live off the country.” “You don’t need him, with that cannon.

“Oh, yes, I do. Thor’s my burglar alarm. With him at my side I can sleep sound. You’d be surprised at the things he can do. Thor’s smarter than most people.” “Shouldn’t wonder.”

“The Deacon gave me some guff that the two of us made a team and should go through separately. I explained to him that Thor would tear the joint apart if they tried to separate us.” Braun caressed the dog’s ears. “I’d rather team with Thor than with a platoon of Combat Pioneers.”

“Say, Yo, how about letting me try that stinger? After we come out, I mean.

“I don’t mind. It really is a honey. You can pick off a sparrow in the air as easily as you can drop a moose at a thousand meters. Say, you’re making Thor nervous. See you later.”

Rod took the hint, moved on and sat down. He looked around, having in mind that he might still arrange a survival team. Near the shuttered arch of the gateway there was a priest with a boy kneeling in front of him, with four others waiting.

The boy who had been receiving the blessing stood up- and Rod stood up hastily. “Hey! Jimmy!”

Jimmy Throxton looked around, caught his eye and grinned, hurried over. “Rod!” he said, “I thought you had ducked out on me. Look, you haven’t teamed?” “Still want to?”

“Huh? Sure.”

“Swell! I can declare the team as I go through as long as you don’t have number two. You don’t, do you?” “No”

“Good! Because I’m-“

“NUMBER ONE!” the gate attendant called out. “‘Throxton, James.’”

Jimmy Throxton looked startled. “Oh, gee!” He hitched at his gun belt and turned quickly away, then called over his shoulder, “See you on the other side!” He trotted toward the gate, now unshuttered.

Rod called out, “Hey, Jimmy! How are we going to find-” But it was too late. Well, if Jimmy had sense enough to drive nails, he would keep an eye on the exit.

“Number two! Mshiyeni, Caroline.” Across the room the big Zulu girl who had occurred to Rod as a possible team mate got up and headed for the gate. She was dressed simply in shirt and shorts, with her feet and legs and hands bare. She did not appear to be armed but she was carrying an overnight bag.

Someone called out, “Hey, Carol! What you got in the trunk?” She threw him a grin. “Rocks.”

“Ham sandwiches, I’ll bet. Save me one. “I’ll save you a rock, sweetheart.”

Too soon the attendant called out, “Number seven- Walker, Roderick L.”

Rod went quickly to the gate. The attendant shoved a paper into his hand, then shook hands. “Good luck, kid. Keep your eyes open.” He gave Rod a slap on the back that urged him through the opening, dilated to man size.

Rod found himself on the other side and, to his surprise, still indoors. But that shock was not as great as immediate unsteadiness and nausea; the gravity acceleration was much less than earth-normal.

He fought to keep from throwing up and tried to figure things out. Where was he? On Luna? On one of Jupiter’s moons? Or somewhere ‘way out there?

The Moon, most likely- Luna. Many of the longer jumps were relayed through Luna because of the danger of mixing with a primary, particularly with binaries. But surely they weren’t going to leave him here; Matson had promised them no airless test areas.

On the floor lay an open valise; he recognized it absent-mindedly as the one Caroline had been carrying. At last he remembered to look at the paper he had been handed. It read:

SOLO SURVIVAL TEST-Recall Instructions

You must pass through the door ahead in the three minutes allowed you before another candidate is started through. An overlapping delay will disqualify you.
Recall will be by standard visual and sound signals. You are warned that the area remains hazardous even after recall is sounded.
The exit gate will not be the entrance gate. Exit may be as much as twenty kilometers in the direction of sunrise.
There is no truce zone outside the gate. Test starts at once. Watch out for stobor. Good luck!

-B. P.M.

Rod was still gulping at low gravity and staring at the paper when a door opened at the far end of the long, narrow room he was in. Aman shouted, “Hurry up! You’ll lose your place.”

Rod tried to hurry, staggered and then recovered too much and almost fell. He had experienced low gravity on field trips and his family had once vacationed on Luna, but he was not used to it; with difficulty he managed to skate toward the far door.

Beyond the door was another gate room. The attendant glanced at the timer over the gate and said, “Twenty seconds. Give me that instruction sheet.”

Rod hung onto it. “I’ll use the twenty seconds.”-as much as twenty kilometers in the direction of sunrise. Anominal eastward direction-call it “east.” But what the deuce was, or were, “stobor”?

“Time! Through you go.” The attendant snatched the paper, shutters rolled back, and Rod was shoved through a dilated gate.

He fell to his hands and knees; the gravity beyond was something close to earth-normal and the change had caught him unprepared. But he stayed down, held perfectly still and made no sound while he quickly looked around him. He was in a wide clearing covered with high grass and containing scattered trees and bushes; beyond was dense forest.

He twisted his neck in a hasty survey. Earth-type planet, near normal acceleration, probably a G-type sun in the sky … heavy vegetation, no fauna in sight- but that didn’t mean anything; there might be hundreds within hearing. Even a stobor, whatever that was.

The gate was behind him, tall dark-green shutters which were in reality a long way off. They stood unsupported in the tall grass, an anomalism unrelated to the primitive scene. Rod considered wriggling around behind the gate, knowing that the tangency was one-sided and that he would be able to see through the locus from the other side, see anyone who came out without himself being seen.

Which reminded him that he himself could be seen from that exceptional point; he decided to move.

Where was Jimmy? Jimmy ought to be behind the gate, watching for him to come out… or watching from some other spy point. The only certain method of rendezvous was for Jimmy to have waited for Rod’s appearance; Rod had no way to find him now.

Rod looked around more slowly and tried to spot anything that might give a hint as to Jimmy’s whereabouts. Nothing … but when his scanning came back to the gate, the gate was no longer there.

Rod felt cold ripple of adrenalin shock trickle down his back and out his finger tips. He forced himself to quiet down and told himself that it was better this way. He had a theory to account for the disappearance of the gate; they were, he decided, refocusing it between each pair of students, scattering them possibly kilometers apart.

No, that could not be true- “twenty kilometers toward sunrise” had to relate to a small area.

Or did it? He reminded himself that the orientation given in the sheet handed him might not be that which appeared in some other student’s instruction sheet. He relaxed to the fact that he did not really know anything… he did not know where he was, nor where Jimmy was, nor any other member of the class, he did not know what he might find here, save that it was a place where a man might stay alive if he were smart- and lucky.

Just now his business was to stay alive, for a period that he might as well figure as ten Earth days. He wiped Jimmy Throxton out of his mind, wiped out everything but the necessity of remaining unceasingly alert to all of his surroundings. He noted wind direction as shown by grass plumes and started crawling cautiously down wind.

The decision to go down wind had been difficult. To go up wind had been his first thought, that being the natural direction for a stalk. But his sister’s advice had already paid off; he felt naked and helpless without a gun and it had reminded him that he was not the hunter. His scent would carry in any case; if he went down wind he stood a chance of seeing what might be stalking him, while his unguarded rear would be comparatively safe.

Something ahead in the grass!

He froze and watched. It had been the tiniest movement; he waited. There it was again, moving slowly from right to left across his front. It looked like a dark spike with a tuft of hair on the tip, a tail possibly, carried aloft.

He never saw what manner of creature owned the tail, if it was a tail. It stopped suddenly at a point Rod judged to be directly down wind, then moved off rapidly and he lost Sight of it. He waited a few minutes, then resumed crawling.

It was extremely hot work and sweat poured down him and soaked his overshirt and trousers. He began to want a drink very badly but reminded himself that five litres of water would not last long if he started drinking the first hour of the test. The sky was overcast with high cirrus haze, but the primary or “sun”- he decided to call it the Sun- seemed to burn through fiercely. It was low in the sky behind him; he wondered what it would be like overhead? Kill a man, maybe. Oh, well, it would be cooler in that forest ahead, or at least not be the same chance of sunstroke.

There was lower ground ahead of him and hawklike birds were circling above the spot, round and round. He held still and watched. Brothers, he said softly, if you are behaving like vultures back home, there is something dead ahead of me and you are waiting to make sure it stays dead before you drop in for lunch. If so, I had better swing wide, for it is bound to attract other things… some of which I might not want to meet.

He started easing to the right, quartering the light breeze. It took him onto higher ground and close to a rock outcropping. Rod decided to spy out what was in the lower place below, making use of cover to let him reach an overhanging rock.

It looked mightily like a man on the ground and a child near him. Rod reached, fumbled in his vest pack, got out a tiny 8-power monocular, took a better look. The man was Johann Braun, the “child” was his boxer dog. There was no doubt but that they were dead, for Braun was lying like a tossed rag doll, with his head twisted around and one leg bent under. His throat and the side of his head were a dark red stain.

While Rod watched, a doglike creature trotted out, sniffed at the boxer, and began tearing at it … then the first of the buzzard creatures landed to join the feast. Rod took the glass from his eye, feeling queasy. Old Yo had not lasted long- jumped by a “stobor” maybe- and his smart dog had not saved him. Too bad! But it did prove that there were carnivores around and it behooved him to be careful if he did not want to have jackals and vultures arguing over the leavings!

He remembered something and put the glass back to his eye. Yo’s proud Thunderbolt gun was nowhere in sight and the corpse was not wearing the power pack that energized it. Rod gave a low whistle in his mind and thought. The only animal who would bother to steal a gun ran around on two legs. Rod reminded himself that a Thunderbolt could kill at almost any line-of-sight range- and now somebody had it who obviously took advantage of the absence of law and order in a survival test area.

Well, the only thing to do was not to be in line of sight. He backed off the rock and slid into the bushes.

The forest had appeared to be two kilometers away, or less, when he had started. He was close to it when he became uncomfortably aware that sunset was almost upon him. He became less cautious, more hurried, as he planned to spend the night in a tree. This called for light to climb by, since he relished a night on the ground inside the forest still less than he liked the idea of crouching helpless in the grass.

It had not taken all day to crawl this far. Although it had been morning when he had left Templeton Gate the time of day there had nothing to do with the time of day here. He had been shoved through into late afternoon; it was dusk when he reached the tall trees.

So dusky that he decided that he must accept a calculated risk for what he must do. He stopped at the edge of the forest, still in the high grass, and dug into his pack for his climbers. His sister had caused him to leave behind most of the gadgets, gimmicks, and special-purpose devices that he had considered bringing; she had not argued at these. They were climbing spikes of a style basically old, but refined, made small and light-the pair weighed less than a tenth of a kilogram- and made foldable and compact, from a titanium alloy, hard and strong.

He unfolded them, snapped them under his arches and around his shins, and locked them in place. Then he eyed the tree he had picked, a tall giant deep enough in the mass to allow the possibility of crossing to another tree if the odds made a back-door departure safer and having a trunk which, in spite of its height, he felt sure he could get his arms around.

Having picked his route, he straightened up and at a fast dogtrot headed for the nearest tree. He went past it, cut left for another tree, passed it and cut right toward the tree he wanted. He was about fifteen meters from it when something charged him.

He closed the gap with instantaneous apportation which would have done credit to a Ramsbotham hyperfold. He reached the first branch, ten meters above ground, in what amounted to levitation. From there on he climbed more conventionally, digging the spurs into the tree’s smooth bark and setting his feet more comfortably on branches when they began to be close enough together to form a ladder.

About twenty meters above ground he stopped and looked down. The branches interfered and it was darker under the trees than it had been out in the open; nevertheless he could see, prowling around the tree, the denizen that had favored him with attention.

Rod tried to get a better view, but the light was failing rapidly. But it looked like… well, if he had not been certain that he was on some uncolonized planet ‘way out behind and beyond, he would have said that it was a lion.

Except that it looked eight times as big as any lion ought to look.

He hoped that, whatever it was, it could not climb trees. Oh, quit fretting, Rod!- if it had been able to climb you would have been lunch meat five minutes ago. Get busy and rig a place to sleep before it gets pitch dark. He moved up the tree, keeping an eye out for the spot he needed.

He found it presently, just as he was beginning to think that he would have to go farther down. He needed two stout branches far enough apart and near enough the same level to let him stretch a hammock. Having found such, he worked quickly to beat the failing light. From a pocket of his vest pack he took out his hammock, a web strong as spider silk and almost as thin and light. Using the line around his waist he stretched it, made sure his lashings would hold and then started to get into it.

Adouble-jointed acrobat with prehensile toes might have found it easy; a slack-wire artist would simply have walked into it and sat down. But Rod found that he needed sky hooks. He almost fell out of the tree.

The hammock was a practical piece of equipment and Rod had slept in it before. His sister had approved it, remarking that it was a better model than the field hammock they gave her girls. “Just don’t sit up in your sleep.”

“I won’t,” Rod had assured her. “Anyway, I always fasten the chest belt.”

But he had never slung it in this fashion. There was nothing to stand on under the hammock, no tree limb above it close enough to let him chin himself into it. After several awkward and breath-catching attempts he began to wonder whether he should perch like a bird the rest of the night, or drape himself in the notch of a limb. He did not consider spending the night on the ground- not with that thing prowling around.

There was another limb higher up almost directly over the hammock. Maybe if he tossed the end of his line over it and used it to steady himself …

He tried it. But it was almost pitch dark now; the only reason he did not lose his line was that one end was bent to the hammock. At last he gave up and made one more attempt to crawl into the hammock by main force and extreme care. Bracing both hands wide on each side of the head rope he scooted his feet out slowly and cautiously. Presently he had his legs inside the hammock, then his buttocks. From there on it was a matter of keeping his center of gravity low and making no sudden moves while he insinuated his body farther down into the cocoon.

At last he could feel himself fully and firmly supported. He took a deep breath, sighed, and let himself relax. It was the first time he had felt either safe or comfortable since passing through the gate.

After a few minutes of delicious rest Rod located the nipple of his canteen and allowed himself two swallows of water, after which he prepared supper. This consisted in digging out a quarter-kilo brick of field ration, eleven hundred calories of yeast protein, fat, starch, and glucose, plus trace requirements. The label on it, invisible in the dark, certified that it was “tasty, tempting and pleasing in texture,” whereas chewing an old shoe would have attracted a gourmet quite as much.

But real hunger gave Rod the best of sauces. He did not let any crumb escape and ended by licking the wrapper. He thought about opening another one, quelled the longing, allowed himself one more mouthful of water, then pulled the insect hood of the hammock down over his face and fastened it under the chest belt. He was immune to most insect-carried Terran diseases and was comfortably aware that humans were not subject to most Outlands diseases, but he did not want the night fliers to use his face as a drinking fountain, nor even as a parade ground.

He was too hot even in his light clothing. He considered shucking down to his shorts; this planet, or this part of this planet, seemed quite tropical. But it was awkward; tonight he must stay as he was, even if it meant wasting a day’s ration of water in sweat. He wondered what planet this was, then tried to peer through the roof of the forest to see if he could recognize stars. But either the trees were impenetrable or the sky was overcast; he could see nothing. He attempted to draw everything out of his mind and sleep.

Ten minutes later he was wider awake than ever. Busy with his hammock, busy with his dinner, he had not paid attention to distant sounds; now he became aware of all the voices of the night. Insects buzzed and sang and strummed, foliage rustled and whispered, something coughed below him. The cough was answered by insane laughter that ran raggedly up, then down, and died in asthmatic choking.

Rod hoped that it was a bird.

He found himself straining to hear every sound, near and far, holding his breath. He told himself angrily to stop it; he was safe from at least nine-tenths of potential enemies. Even a

snake, if this place ran to such, would be unlikely to crawl out to the hammock, still less likely to attack- if he held still. Snakes, button-brained as they were, showed little interest in anything too big to swalow. The chances of anything big enough to hurt him-and interested in hurting him- being in this treetop were slim. So forget those funny noises, pal, and go to sleep. After all, they’re no more important than traffic noises in a city.

He reminded himself of the Deacon’s lecture on alarm reaction, the thesis that most forms of death could be traced to the body’s coming too urgently to battle stations, remaining too long at full alert. Or, as his sister had put it, more people worry themselves to death than bleed to death. He set himself conscientiously to running through the mental routines intended to produce sleep.

He almost made it. The sound that pulled him out of warm drowsiness came from far away; involuntarily he roused himself to hear it. It sounded almost human… no, it was human-the terrible sound of a grown man crying with heartbreak, the deep, retching, bass sobs that tear the chest.

Rod wondered what he ought to do. It was none of his business and everyone there was on his own-but it went against the grain to hear such agony from a fellow human and ignore it. Should he climb down and feel his way through the dark to wherever the poor wretch was? Stumbling into tree roots, he reminded himself, and falling into holes and maybe walking straight into the jaws of something hungry and big.

Well, should he? Did he have any right not to?

It was solved for him by the sobs being answered by more sobs, this time closer and much louder. This new voice did not sound human, much as it was like the first, and it scared him almost out of his hammock. The chest strap saved him.

The second voice was joined by a third, farther away. In a few moments the peace of the night had changed to sobbing, howling ululation of mass fear and agony and defeat unbearable. Rod knew now that this was nothing human, nor anything he had ever heard, or heard of, before. He suddenly had a deep conviction that these were the stobor he had been warned to avoid.

But what were they? How was he to avoid them? The one closest seemed to be higher up than he was and no farther than the next tree … good grief, it might even be this tree! When you meet a stobor in the dark what do you do? Spit in its face? Or ask it to waltz?

One thing was certain: anything that made that much noise in the jungle was not afraid of anything; therefore it behooved him to be afraid of it. But, there being nothing he could do, Rod lay quiet, his fear evidenced only by tense muscles, gooseflesh, and cold sweat. The hellish concert continued with the “stobor” closest to him sounding almost in his pocket. It seemed to have moved closer.

With just a bit more prodding Rod would have been ready to sprout wings and fly. Only at home on the North American continent of Terra had he ever spent a night alone in the wilderness. There the hazards were known and minor … a few predictable bears, an occasional lazy rattlesnake, dangers easily avoided.

But how could he guard against the utterly unknown? That stobor- he decided that he might as well call it that- that stobor might be moving toward him now, sizing him up with night eyes, deciding whether to drag him home, or eat him where it killed him.

Should he move? And maybe move right into the fangs of the stobor? Or should he wait, helpless, for the stobor to pounce? It was possible that the stobor could not attack him in the tree. But it was equally possible that stobor were completely arboreal and his one chance lay in climbing down quickly and spending the night on the ground.

What was a stobor? How did it fight? Where and when was it dangerous? The Deacon evidently expected the class to know what to do about them. Maybe they had studied the stobor those days he was out of school right after New Year’s? Or maybe he had just plain forgotten… and would pay for it with his skin. Rod was good at Outlands zoology-but there was just too much to learn it all. Why, the zoology of Terra alone used to give oldstyle zoologists more than they could handle; how could they expect him to soak up all there was to learn about dozens of planets?

It wasn’t fair!

When Rod heard himself think that ancient and useless protest he had a sudden vision of the Deacon’s kindly, cynical smile. He heard his dry drawl: Fair? You expected this to be fair, son? This is not a game. I tried to tell you that you were a city boy, too soft and stupid for this. You would not listen.

He felt a gust of anger at his instructor; it drove fear out of his mind. Jimmy was right; the Deacon would eat his own grandmother! Acold, heartless fish! All right, what would the Deacon do?

Again he heard his teacher’s voice inside his head, an answer Matson had once given to a question put by another classmate: “There wasn’t anything I could do, so I took a nap.

Rod squirmed around, rested his hand on “Colonel Bowie” and tried to take a nap. The unholy chorus made it almost impossible, but he did decide that the stobor in his tree- or was it the next tree?- did not seem to be coming closer. Not that it could come much closer without breathing on his neck, but at least it did not seem disposed to attack.

After a long time he fell into restless sleep, sleep that was no improvement, for he dreamed that he had a ring of sobbing, ululating stobor around him, staring at him, waiting for him to move. But he was trussed up tight and could not move.

The worst of it was that every time he turned his head to see what a stobor looked like it would fade back into the dark, giving him just a hint of red eyes, long teeth. He woke with an icy shock, tried to sit up, found himself restrained by his chest strap, forced himself to lie back. What was it? What had happened?

In his suddenly-awakened state it took time to realize what had happened: the noise had stopped. He could not hear the cry of a single stobor, near or far. Rod found it more disturbing than their clamor, since a noisy stobor advertised its location whereas a silent one could be anywhere- why, the nearest one could now be sitting on the branch behind his head. He twisted his head around, pulled the insect netting off his face to see better. But it was too dark; stobor might be queued up three abreast for all he could tell.

Nevertheless the silence was a great relief. Rod felt himself relax as he listened to the other night sounds, noises that seemed almost friendly after that devils’ choir. He decided that it must be almost morning and that he would do well to stay awake.

Presently he was asleep.

He awoke with the certainty that someone was looking at him. When he realized where he was and that it was still dark, he decided that it was a dream. He stirred, looked around, and tried to go back to sleep.

Something was looking at him!

His eyes, made sensitive by darkness, saw the thing as a vague shape on the branch at his foot. Black on black, he could not make out its outline- but two faintly luminous eyes stared unwinkingly back into his.

“-nothing I could do, so I took a nap.” Rod did not take a nap. For a time measured in eons he and the thing in the tree locked eyes. Rod tightened his grip on his knife and held still, tried to quell the noise of his pounding heart, tried to figure out how he could fight back from a hammock. The beast did not move, made no sound; it simply stared and seemed prepared to do it all night.

When the ordeal had gone on so long that Rod felt a mounting impulse to shout and get it over, the creature moved with light scratching sounds toward the trunk and was gone. Rod could feel the branch shift; he judged that the beast must weigh as much as he did.

Again he resolved to stay awake. Wasn’t it getting less dark? He tried to tell himself so, but he still could not see his own fingers. He decided to count to ten thousand and bring on the dawn.

Something large went down the tree very fast, followed at once by another, and still a third. They did not stop at Rod’s bedroom but went straight down the trunk. Rod put his knife back and muttered, “Noisy neighbors! You’d think this was Emigrants’ Gap.” He waited but the frantic procession never came back.

He was awakened by sunlight in his face. It made him sneeze; he tried to sit up, was caught by his safety belt, became wide awake and regretted it. His nose was stopped up, his eyes burned, his mouth tasted like a ditch, his teeth were slimy, and his back ached. When he moved to ease it he found that his legs ached, too- and his arms- and his head. His neck refused to turn to the right.

Nevertheless he felt happy that the long night was gone. His surroundings were no longer terrifying, but almost idyllic. So high up that he could not see the ground he was still well below the roof of the jungle and could not see sky; he floated in a leafly cloud. The morning ray that brushed his face was alone, so thoroughly did trees shut out the sky.

This reminded him that he had to mark the direction of sunrise. Hmm … not too simple. Would he be able to see the sun from the floor of the jungle? Maybe he should climb down quickly, get out in the open, and mark the direction while the sun was still Jow. But he noticed that the shaft which had wakened him was framed by a limb notch of another forest giant about fifteen meters away. Very well, that tree was “east” of his tree; he could line them up again when he reached the ground.

Getting out of his hammock was almost as hard as getting in; sore muscles resented the effort. At last he was balanced precariously on one limb. He crawled to the trunk, pulled himself painfully erect and, steadied by the trunk, took half-hearted setting-up exercises to work the knots out. Everything loosened up but his neck, which still had a crick like a toothache.

He ate and drank sitting on the limb with his back to the trunk. He kept no special lookout, rationalizing that night feeders would be bedded down and day feeders would hardly be prowling the tree tops-not big ones, anyway; they would be on the ground, stalking herbivores. The truth was that his green hide-away looked too peaceful to be dangerous.

He continued to sit after he finished eating, considered drinking more of his precious water, even considered crawling back into his hammock. Despite the longest night he had ever had he was bone tired and the day was already hot and sleepy and humid; why not stretch out? His only purpose was to survive; how better than by sleeping and thereby saving food and water?

He might have done so had he known what time it was. His watch told him that it was five minutes before twelve, but he could not make up his mind whether that was noon on Sunday or midnight coming into Monday. He was sure that this planet spun much more slowly than did Mother Earth; the night before had been at least as long as a full Earth day.

Therefore the test had been going on at least twentysix hours and possibly thirty-eight- and recall could be any time after forty-eight hours. Why, it might be today, before sunset, and here he was in fine shape, still alive, still with food and water he could trust.

He felt good about it. What did a stobor have that a man did not have more of and better? Aside from a loud voice, he added.

But the exit gate might be as much as twenty kilometers “east” of where he had come in; therefore it behooved him to reach quickly a point ten kilometers east of where he had come in; he would lay money that that would land him within a kilometer or two of the exit. Move along, hole up, and wait- why, he might sleep at home tonight, after a hot bath!

He started unlashing his hammock while reminding himself that he must keep track of hours between sunrise and sunset today in order to estimate the length of the local day. Then he thought no more about it as he had trouble folding the hammock. It had to be packed carefully to fit into a pocket of his vest pack. The filmy stuff should have been spread on a table, but where he was the largest, flattest area was the palm of his hand.

But he got it done, lumpy but packed, and started down. He paused on the lowest branch, looked around. The oversized and hungry thing that had chased him up the tree did not seem to be around, but the undergrowth was too dense for him to be sure. He made a note that he must, all day long and every day, keep a climbable tree in mind not too far away; a few seconds woolgathering might use up his luck.

Okay, now for orientation- Let’s see, there was the tree he had used to mark “east.” Or was it? Could it be that one over there? He realized that he did not know and swore at himself for not checking it by compass. The truth was that he had forgotten that he was carrying a compass. He got it out now, but it told him nothing,

Since east by compass bore no necessary relation to direction of sunrise on this planet. The rays of the primary did not penetrate where he was; the forest was bathed by a dim religious light unmarked by shadows.

Well, the clearing could not be far away. He would just have to check. He descended by climbing spurs, dropped to spongy ground, and headed the way it should be. He counted his paces while keeping an eye peeled for hostiles.

One hundred paces later he turned back, retracing his own spoor. He found “his” tree; this time he examined it. There was where he had come down; he could see his prints. Which side had he gone up? There should be spur marks.

He found them … and was amazed at his own feat; they started high as his head. “I must have hit that trunk like a cat!” But it showed the direction from which he had come; five minutes later he was at the edge of the open country he had crossed the day before.

The sun made shadows here, which straightened him out and he checked by compass. By luck, east was “east” and he need only follow his compass. It took him back into the forest. He traveled standing up. The belly sneak which he had used the day before was not needed here; he depended on moving noiselessly, using cover, and keeping an eye out behind as

well as in front. He zigzagged in order to stay close to trees neither too big ilor too small but corrected his course frequently by compass.

One part of his mind counted paces. At fifteen hundred broken-country steps to a kilometer Rod figured that fifteen thousand should bring him to his best-guess location for the exit gate, where he planned to set up housekeeping until recall.

But, even with part of his mind counting paces and watching a compass and a much larger part watching for carnivores, snakes, and other hazards, Rod still could enjoy the day and place. He was over his jitters of the night before, feeling good and rather cocky. Even though he tried to be fully alert, the place did not feel dangerous now-stobor or no stobor.

It was, he decided, jungle of semi-rainforest type, not dense enough to require chopping one’s way. It was interlaced with game paths but he avoided these on the assumption that carnivores might lie waiting for lunch to come down the path-Rod had no wish to volunteer.

The place seemed thick with game, mostly of antelope type in many sizes and shapes. They were hard to spot; they faded into the bush with natural camouflage, but the glimpses he got convinced him that they were plentiful. He avoided them as he was not hunting and was aware that even a vegetarian could be dangerous with hooves and horns in self or herd defense.

The world above was inhabited, too, with birds and climbers. He spotted families of what looked like monkeys and speculated that this world would probably have developed its own race of humanoids. He wondered again what planet it was? Terrestrial to several decimal places it certainly seemed to be-except for the inconveniently long day- and probably one just opened, or it would be swarming with colonists. It would be a premium planet certainly; that clearing he had come through yesterday would make good farm land once it was burned off. Maybe he would come back some day and help clean out the stobor.

In the meantime he watched where he put his hands and feet, never walked under a low branch without checking it, and tried to make his eyes and ears as efficient as a rabbit’s. He understood now what his sister had meant about how being unarmed makes a person careful, and realized also how little chance he would have to use a gun if he let himself be surprised.

It was this hyperacuteness that made him decide that he was being stalked.

At first it was just uneasiness, then it became a conviction. Several times he waited by a tree, stood frozen and listened; twice he did a sneak through bushes and doubled back on his tracks. But whatever it was seemed as good as he was at silent movement and taking cover and (he had to admit) a notch better.

He thought about taking to the trees and outwaiting it. But his wish to reach his objective outweighed his caution; he convinced himself that he would be safer if he pushed on. He continued to pay special attention to his rear, but after a while he decided that he was no longer being followed.

When he had covered, by his estimate, four kilometers, he began to smell water. He came to a ravine which sliced across his route. Game tracks led him to think it might lead down to a watering place, just the sort of danger area he wished to avoid, so Rod crossed quickly and went down the shoulder of the ravine instead. It led to a bank overlooking water; he could hear the stream before he reached it.

He took to the bushes and moved on his belly to a point where he could peer out from cover. He was about ten meters higher than the water. The ground dropped off on his right as well as in front; there the ravine joined the stream and an eddy pool formed the watering place he had expected. No animals were in sight but there was plenty of sign; a mud flat was chewed with hoof marks.

But he had no intention of drinking where it was easy; would be too easy to die there. What troubled him was that he must cross the stream to reach the probable recall area. It was a small river or wide brook, not too wide to swim, probably not too deep to wade if he picked his spot. But he would not do either one unless forced- and not then without testing the water by chucking a lure into it … a freshly killed animal. The streams near his home were safe, but a tropical stream must be assumed to have local versions of alligator, pirahna, or even worse.

The stream was too wide to cross through the tree tops. He lay still and considered the problem, then decided that he would work his way upstream and hope that it would narrow, or split into two smaller streams which he could tackle one at a time.

It was the last thing he thought about for some time.

When Rod regained consciousness it was quickly; a jackal-like creature was sniffing at him. Rod lashed out with one hand and reached for his knife with the other. The dog brute backed away, snarling, then disappeared in the leaves.

His knife was gone! The realization brought him groggily alert; he sat up. It made his head swim and hurt. He felt it and his fingers came away bloody. Further gingerly investigation showed a big and very tender swelling on the back of his skull, hair matted with blood, and failed to tell him whether or not his skull was fractured. He gave no thanks that he had been left alive; he was sure that the blow had been intended to kill.

But not only his knife was gone. He was naked, save for his shorts. Gone were his precious water, his vest pack with rations and a dozen other invaluable articles- his antibiotics, his salt, his compass, his climbers, his matches, his hammock … everything.

His first feeling of sick dismay was replaced by anger. Losing food and gear was no more than to be expected, since he had been such a fool as to forget his rear while he looked at the stream- but taking the watch his father had given him, that was stealing; he would make somebody pay for that!

His anger made him feel better. It was not until then that he noticed that the bandage on his left shin was undisturbed.

He felt it. Sure enough! Whoever it was who had hijacked him had not considered a bandage worth stealing; Rod unwrapped it and cradled Lady Macbeth in his hand. Somebody was going to be sorry.

4. Savage

Rod Walker was crouching on a tree limb. He had not moved for two hours, he might not move for as long a time. In a clearing near him a small herd of yearling bachelor buck were cropping grass; if one came close enough Rod intended to dine on buck. He was very hungry.

He was thirsty, too, not having drunk that day. Besides that, he was slightly feverish. Three long, imperfectly healed scratches on his left arm accounted for the fever, but Rod paid fever and scratches no attention – he was alive; he planned to stay alive.

Abuck moved closer to him; Rod became quiveringly alert. But the little buck tossed his head, looked at the branch, and moved away. He did not appear to see Rod; perhaps his mother had taught him to be careful of overhanging branches-or perhaps a hundred thousand generations of harsh survival had printed it in his genes.

Rod swore under his breath and lay still. One of them was bound to make a mistake eventually; then he would eat. It had been days since he had thought about anything but food … food and how to keep his skin intact, how to drink without laying himself open to ambush, how to sleep without waking up in a fellow-denizen’s belly.

The healing wounds on his arm marked how expensive his tuition had been. He had let himself get too far from a tree once too often, had not even had time to draw his knife. Instead he had made an impossible leap and had chinned himself with the wounded arm. The thing that had clawed him he believed to be the same sort as the creature that had treed him the day of his arrival; furthermore he believed it to be a lion. He had a theory about that, but had not yet been able to act on it.

He was gaunt almost to emaciation and had lost track of time. He realized that the time limit of the survival test had probably- almost certainly- passed, but he did not know how long he had lain in the crotch of a tree, waiting for his arm to heal, nor exactly how long it had been since he had come down, forced by thirst and hunger. He supposed that the recall signal had probably been given during one of his unconscious periods, but he did not worry nor even think about it. He was no longer interested in survival tests; he was interested in survival.

Despite his weakened condition his chances were better now than when he had arrived. He was becoming sophisticated, no longer afraid of things he had been afraid of, most acutely wary of others which had seemed harrnless. The creatures with the ungodly voices which he had dubbed “stobor” no longer fretted him; he had seen one, had disturbed it by accident in daylight and it had given voice. It was not as big as his hand, and reminded him of a horned lizard except that it had the habits of a tree toad. Its one talent was its voice; it could blow up a bladder at its neck to three times its own size, then give out with that amazing, frightening sob.

But that was all it could do.

Rod had guessed that it was a love call, then had filed the matter. He still called them “stobor.”

He had learned about a forest vine much like a morning glory, but its leaves carried a sting worse than that of a nettle, toxic and producing numbness. Another vine had large grape-like fruits, deliciously tempting and pleasant to the palate; Rod had learned the hard way that they were a powerful purgative.

He knew, from his own narrow brushes and from kills left half-eaten on the ground, that there were carnivores around even though he had never had a good look at one. So far as he knew there were no carnivorous tree-climbers large enough to tackle a man, but he could not be certain; he slept with one eye open.

The behavior of this herd caused him to suspect that there must be carnivores that hunted as he was now hunting, even though he had had the good fortune not to tangle with one. The little buck had wandered all over the clearing, passed close by lesser trees, yet no one of them had grazed under the tree Rod was in.

Steady, boy … here comes one. Rod felt the grip of “Lady Macbeth,” got ready to drop onto the graceful little creature as it passed under. But five meters away it hesitated, seemed to realize that it was straying from its mates, and started to turn.

Rod let fly.

He could hear the meaty tunk! as blade bit into muscle; he could see the hilt firm against the shoulder of the buck. He dropped to the ground, hit running and moved in to finish the kill. The buck whipped its head up, turned and fled. Rod dived, did not touch it. When he rolled to his feet the clearing was empty. His mind was filled with bitter thoughts; he had promised

himself never to throw his knife when there was any possibility of not being able to recover it, but he did not let regrets slow him; he got to work on the tracking problem.

Rod had been taught the first law of hunting sportsmanship, that a wounded animal must always be tracked down and finished, not left to suffer and die slowly. But there was no trace of “sportsmanship” in his present conduct; he undertook to track the buck because he intended to eat it, and-much more urgently- because he had to recover that knife in order to stay alive.

The buck had not bled at once and its tracks were mixed up with hundreds of other tracks. Rod returned three times to the clearing and started over before he picked up the first blood spoor. After that it was easier but he was far behind now and the stampeded buck moved much faster than he could track. His quarry stayed with the herd until it stopped in a new pasture a half kilometer away. Rod stopped still in cover and looked them over. His quarry did not seem to be among them.

But blood sign led in among them; he followed it and they stampeded again. He had trouble picking it up; when he did he found that it led into brush instead of following the herd. This made it easier and harder- easier because he no longer had to sort one spoor from many, harder because pushing through the brush was hard in itself and much more dangerous, since he must never forget that he himself was hunted as well as hunter, and lastly because the signs were so much harder to spot there. But it cheered him up, knowing that only a weakened animal would leave the herd and try to hide. He expected to find it down before long.

But the beast did not drop; it seemed to have a will to live as strong as his own. He followed it endlessly and was beginning to wonder what he would do if it grew dark before the buck gave up. He had to have that knife.

He suddenly saw that there were two spoors.

Something had stepped beside a fresh, split-hooved track of the little antelope; something had stepped on a drop of blood. Quivering, his subconscious “bush radar” at full power, Rod moved silently forward. He found new marks again … a man!

The print of a shod human foot- and so wild had he become that it gave him no feeling of relief; it made him more wary than ever.

Twenty minutes later he found them, the human and the buck. The buck was down, having died or perhaps been finished off by the second stalker. The human, whom Rod judged to be a boy somewhat younger and smaller than himself, was kneeling over it, slicing its belly open. Rod faded back into the bush. From there he watched and thought. The other hunter seemed much preoccupied with the kill … and that tree hung over the place where the butchering was going on-

Afew minutes later Rod was again on a branch, without a knife but with a long thorn held in his teeth. He looked down, saw that his rival was almost under him, and transferred the thorn to his right hand. Then he waited.

The hunter below him laid the knife aside and bent to turn the carcass. Rod dropped.

He felt body armor which had been concealed by his victim’s shirt. Instantly he transferred his attention to the bare neck, pushing the thorn firmly against vertebrae. “Hold still or you’ve had it!”

The body under him suddenly quit struggling. “That’s better,” Rod said approvingly. “Cry pax?”

No answer. Rod jabbed the thorn again. “I’m not playing games, he said harshly. “I’m giving you one chance stay alive. Cry pax and mean it, and well both eat. Give me any trouble and you’ll never eat again. It doesn’t make the least difference.”

There was a moments hesitation, then a muffled voice said, “Pax.”

Keeping the thorn pressed against his prisoner’s neck, Rod reached out for the knife which had been used to gut the buck. It was, he saw, his own Lady Macbeth. He sheathed it, felt around under the body he rested on, found another where he expected it, pulled it and kept in his hand. He chucked away the thorn and stood up. “You can get up.”

The youngster got up and faced him sullenly. “Give me my knife.” “Later … if you are a good boy.”

“I said ‘Pax.’”

“So you did. Turn around, I want to make sure you don’t have a gun on you.” “I left- I’ve nothing but my knife. Give it to me.”

“Left it where?”

The kid did not answer. Rod said, “Okay, turn around,” and threatened with the borrowed knife. He was obeyed. Rod quickly patted all the likely hiding places, confirmed that the youngster was wearing armor under clothes and over the entire torso. Rod himself was dressed only in tan, scratches, torn and filthy shorts, and a few scars. “Don’t you find that junk pretty hot this weather?” he asked cheerfully. “Okay, you can turn around. Keep your distance.”

The youngster turned around, still with a very sour expression. “What’s your name, bud?” “Uh, Jack.”

“Jack what? Mine’s Rod Walker.” “Jack Daudet.”

“What school, Jack?” “Ponce de Leon Institute.”

“Mine’s Patrick Henry High School.” “Matson’s class?”

“The Deacon himself.”

“I’ve heard of him.” Jack seemed impressed.

“Who hasn’t? Look, let’s quit jawing; we’ll have the whole county around our ears. Let’s eat. You keep watch that way; I’ll keep watch behind you.” “Then give me my knife. I need it to eat.”

“Not so fast. I’ll cut you off a hunk or two. Special Waldorf service.

Rod continued the incision Jack had started, carried it on up and laid the hide back from the right shoulder, hacked off a couple of large chunks of lean. He tossed one to Jack, hunkered down and gnawed his own piece while keeping sharp lookout. “You keeping your eyes peeled?” he asked.

“Sure.”

Rod tore off a rubbery mouthful of warm meat. “Jack, how did they let a runt like you take the test? You aren’t old enough.” “I’ll bet I’m as old as you are!”

“I doubt it.”

“Well … I’m qualified.” “You don’t look it.”

“I’m here, I’m alive.”

Rod grinned. “You’ve made your point. I’ll shut up. Once his portion was resting comfortably inside, Rod got up, split the skull and dug out the brains. “Want a handful?” “Sure.”

Rod passed over a fair division of the dessert. Jack accepted it, hesitated, then blurted out, “Want some salt?” “Salt!” You’ve got salt?”

Jack appeared to regret the indiscretion. “Some. Go easy on it.” Rod held out his handful. “Put some on. Whatever you can spare.”

Jack produced a pocket shaker from between shirt and armor, sprinkled a little on Rod’s portion, then shrugged and made it liberal. “Didn’t you bring salt along?”

“Me?” Rod answered, tearing his eyes from the mouthwatering sight. “Oh, sure! But- Well, I had an accident.” He decided that there was no use admitting that he had been caught off guard.

Jack put the shaker firmly out of sight. They munched quietly, each watching half their surroundings. After a while Rod said softly, “Jackal behind you, Jack.” “Nothing else?”

“No. But it’s time we whacked up the meat and got Out of here; we’re attracting attention. How much can you use?” “Uh, a haunch and a chunk of liver. I can’t carry any more.”

“And you can’t eat more before it spoils, anyway.” Rod started butchering the hind quarters. He cut a slice of hide from the belly, used it to sling his share around his neck. “Well, so long, kid. Here’s your knife. Thanks for the salt.”

“Oh, that’s all right.”

“Tasted mighty good. Well, keep your eyes open.” “Same to you. Good luck.”

Rod stood still. Then he said almost reluctantly, “Uh, Jack, you wouldn’t want to team up, would you?” He regretted it as soon as he said it, remembering how easily he had surprised the kid.

Jack chewed a lip. “Well … I don’t know.”

Rod felt affronted. “What’s the matter? Afraid of me?” Didn’t the kid see that Rod was doing him a favor? “Oh, no! You’re all right, I guess.”

Rod had an unpleasant suspicion. “You think I’m trymg to get a share of your salt, don’t you?” “Huh? Not at all. Look, I’ll divvy some salt with you.”

“I wouldn’t touch it! I just thought-” Rod stopped. He had been thinking that they had both missed recall; it looked like a long pull. “I didn’t mean to make you mad, Rod. You’re right. We ought to team.”

“Don’t put yourself out! I can get along.”

“I’ll bet you can. But let’s team up. Is it a deal?”

“Well … Shake.”

Once the contract was made Rod assumed leadership. There was no discussion; he simply did so and Jack let it stand. “You lead off,” Rod ordered, “and I’ll cover our rear.” “Okay. Where are we heading?”

“That high ground downstream. There are good trees there, better for all night than around here. I want us to have time to settle in before dark-so a quick sneak and no talking.” Jack hesitated. “Okay. Are you dead set on spending the night in a tree?”

Rod curled his lip. “Want to spend it on the ground? How did you stay alive this long?”

“I spent a couple of nights in trees,” Jack answered mildly. “But I’ve got a better place now, maybe.” “Huh? What sort?”

“Asort of a cave.”

Rod thought about it. Caves could be death traps. But the prospect of being able to stretch out swayed him. “Won’t hurt to look, if it’s not too far.” “It’s not far.”

5. The Nova

Jack’s hideaway was in a bluff overlooking the stream by which Rod had been robbed. At this point the bluffs walled a pocket valley and the stream meandered between low banks cut in an alluvial field between the bluffs. The cave was formed by an overhang of limestone which roofed a room water-carved from shale in one bluff. The wall below it was too sheer to climb; the overhanging limestone protected it above and the stream curved in sharply ahnost to the foot of the bluff. The only way to reach it was to descend the bluff farther upstream to the field edging the creek, then make a climbing traverse of the shale bank where it was somewhat less steep just upstream of the cave.

They slanted cautiously up the shale, squeezed under an overhang at the top, and stepped out on a hard slaty floor. The room was open on one side and fairly long and deep, but it squeezed in to a waist-high crawl space; only at the edge was there room to stand up. Jack grabbed some gravel, threw it into the dark hole, waited with knife ready. “Nobody home, I guess.” They dropped to hands and knees, crawled inside. “How do you like it?”

“It’s swell … provided we stand watches. Something could come up the way we did. You’ve been lucky.”

“Maybe.” Jack felt around in the gloom, dragged out dry branches of thorn bush, blocked the pathway, jamming them under the overhang. “That’s my alarm.” “It wouldn’t stop anything that got a whiff of you and really wanted to come in.”

“No. But I would wake up and let it have some rocks in the face. I keep a stack over there. I’ve got a couple of scare-flares, too.” “I thought- Didn’t you say you had a gun?”

“I didn’t say, but I do. But I don’t believe in shooting when you can’t see.”

“It looks all right. In fact it looks good, I guess I did myself a favor when I teamed with you.” Rod looked around. “You’ve had a fire!” “I’ve risked it a couple of times, in daylight. I get so tired of raw meat.”

Rod sighed deeply. “I know. Say, do you suppose?”

“It’s almost dark. I’ve never lighted one when it could show. How about roast liver for breakfast, instead? With salt?”

Rod’s mouth watered. “You’re right, Jack. I do want to get a drink before it is too dark, though. How about coming along and we cover each other?” “No need. There’s a skin back there. Help yourself.”

Rod congratulated himself on having teamed with a perfect housekeeper. The skin was of a small animal, not identifiable when distended with water. Jack had scraped the hide but it was uncured and decidedly unsavory. Rod was not aware that the water tasted bad; he drank deeply, wiped his mouth with his hand and delt at peace.

They did not sleep at once, but sat in the dark and compared notes. Jack’s class had come through one day earlier, but with the same instructions. Jack agreed that recall was long overdue.

“I suppose I missed it while I was off my head,” Rod commented. “I don’t know how long I was foggy… I guess I didn’t miss dying by much.” “That’s not it, Rod.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve been okay and keeping track of the time. There never was any recall.” “You’re sure?”

“How could I miss? The siren can be heard for twenty kilometers, they use a smoke flare by day and a searchlight at night, and the law says they have to keep it up at least a week unless everybody returns… which certainly did not happen this time.”

“Maybe we are out of range. Matter of fact- well, I don’t know about you, but I’m lost. I admit it”

“I’m not. I’m about four kilometers from where they let my class through; I could show you the spot. Rod, let’s face it; something has gone wrong. There is no way of telling how long we are going to be here.” Jack added quiefly, “That’s why I thought it was a good idea to team.”

Rod chewed it over, decided it was time to haul out his theory. “Me, too.”

“Yes. Solo is actually safer, for a few days. But if we are stuck here indefinitely, then-“ “Not what I meant, Jack.”

“Huh?”

“Do you know what planet this is?”

“No. I’ve thought about it, of course. It has to be one of the new list and it is compatible with-“ “I know what one it is.”

“Huh? Which one?”

“It’s Earth. Terra herself.”

There was a long silence. At last Jack said, “Rod, are you all right? Are you still feverish?”

“I’m fine, now that I’ve got a full belly and a big drink of water. Look, Jack, I know it sounds silly, but you just listen and I’ll add it up. We’re on Earth and I think I know about where, too. I don’t think they meant to sound recall; they meant us to figure out where we are and walk out. It’s a twist Deacon Matson would love.”

“But-“

“Keep quiet, can’t you? Yapping like a girl. Terrestrial planet, right?” “Yes, but-“

“Stow it and let me talk. G-type star. Planetary rotation same as Earth.” “But it’s not!”

“I made the same mistake. The first night I thought was a week long. But the truth was I was scared out of my skin and that made it seem endless. Now I know better. The rotation matches.”

“No, it doesn’t. My watch shows it to be about twenty-six hours.”

“You had better have your watch fixed when we get back. You banged it against a tree or something.” “But- Oh, go ahead. Keep talking; it’s your tape.

“You’ll see. Flora compatible. Fauna compatible. I know how they did it and why and where they put us. It’s an economy measure.”

“Awhat?”

“Economy. Too many people complaining about school taxes being too high. Of course, keeping an interstellar gate open is expensive and uranium doesn’t grow on trees. I see their point. But Deacon Matson says it is false economy. He says, sure, it’s expensive- but that the only thing more expensive than a properly trained explorer or pioneer leader is an improperly trained dead one.

“He told us after class one day,” Rod went on, “that the penny-pinchers wanted to run the practices and tests in selected areas on Earth, but the Deacon claims that the essence of survival in the Outlands is the skill to cope with the unknown. He said that if tests were held on Earth, the candidates would just study up on terrestrial environments. He said any Boy Scout could learn the six basic Earth environments and how to beat them out of books … but that it was criminal to call that survival training and then dump a man in an unEarthly environment on his first professional assigninent. He said that it was as ridiculous as just teaching a kid to play chess and then send him out to fight a duel.”

“He’s right,” Jack answered. “Commander Benboe talks the same way.”

“Sure he’s right. He swore that if they went ahead with this policy this would be the last year he would teach. But they pulled a gimmick on him.” “How?”

“It’s a good one. What the Deacon forgot is that any environment is as unknown as any other if you don’t have the slightest idea where you are. So they rigged it so that we could not know. First they shot us to Luna; the Moon gates are always open and that doesn’t cost anything extra. Of course that made us think we were in for a long jump. Besides, it confused us; we wouldn’t know we were being dumped back into the gravity field we had left- for that was what they did next; they shoved us back on Earth. Where? Africa, I’d say. I think they used the

Luna Link to jump us to Witwatersrand Gate outside Johannesburg and there they were all set with a matched-in temporary link to drop us into the bush. Tshaka Memorial Park or some other primitive preserve, on a guess. Everything matches. Awide variety of antelope-type game, carnivores to feed on them- I’ve seen a couple of lions and-“

“You have?”

“Well, they will do for lions until I get a chance to skin one. But they threw in other dodges to confuse us, too. The sky would give the show away, particularly if we got a look at Luna. So they’ve hung an overcast over us. You can bet there are cloud generators not far away. Then they threw us one more curve. Were you warned against ‘stobor’?”

“Yes”

“See any?”

“Well, I’m not sure what stobor are.”

“Neither am I. Nor any of us, I’ll bet. ‘Stobor’ is the bogeyman, chucked in to keep our pretty little heads busy. There aren’t any ‘stobor’ on Terra so naturally we must be somewhere else. Even a suspicious character like me would be misled by that. In fact, I was. I even picked out something I didn’t recognize and called it that, just as they meant me to do.”

“You make it sound logical, Rod.”

“Because it is logical. Once you realize that this is Earth-” He patted the floor of the cave. “-but that they have been trying to keep us from knowing it, everything falls into place. Now here is what we do. I was going to tackle it alone, as soon as I could- I haven’t been able to move around much on account of this bad arm- but I decided to take you along, before you got hurt. Here’s my plan. I think this is Africa, but it might be South America, or anywhere in the tropics. It does not matter, because we simply follow this creek downstream, keeping our eyes open because there really are hazards; you can get just as dead here as in the Outlands. It may take a week, or a month, but one day well come to a bridge. We’ll follow the road it serves until somebody happens along. Once in town we’ll check in with the authorities and get them to flip us home … and we get our solo test certificates. Simple.”

“You make it sound too simple,” Jack said slowly.

“Oh, we’ll have our troubles. But we can do it, now that we know what to do. I didn’t want to bring this up before, but do you have salt enough to cure a few kilos of meat? If we did not have to hunt every day, we could travel faster. Or maybe you brought some Kwik-Kure?”

“I did, but-“

“Good!”

“Wait a minute, Rod. That won’t do.” “Huh? We’re a team, aren’t we?”

“Take it easy. Look, Rod, everything you said is logical, but-“ “No ‘buts’ about it.”

“It’s logical … but it’s all wrong!” “Huh? Now, listen, Jack-“

“You listen. You’ve done all the talking so far.” “But- Well, all right, say your say.”

“You said that the sky would give it away, so they threw an overcast over the area.

“Yes. That’s what they must have done, nights at least. They wouldn’t risk natural weather; it might give the show away.

“What I’m trying to tell you is that it did give the show away. It hasn’t been overcast every night, though maybe you were in deep forest and missed the few times it has been clear. But I’ve seen the night sky, Rod. I’ve seen stars.

“So? Well?”

“They aren’t our stars, Rod. I’m sorry.”

Rod chewed his lip. “You probably don’t know southern constellations very well?” he suggested.

“I knew the Southern Cross before I could read. These aren’t our stars, Rod; I know. There is a pentagon of bright stars above where the sun sets; there is nothing like that to be seen from Earth. And besides, anybody would recognise Luna, if it was there.”

Rod tried to remember what phase the Moon should be in. He gave up, as he had only a vague notion of elapsed time. “Maybe the Moon was down?” “Not a chance. I didn’t see our Moon, Rod, but I saw moons . . two of them, little ones and moving fast, like the moons of Mars.”

“You don’t mean this is Mars?” Rod said scornfully.

“Think I’m crazy? Anyhow, the stars from Mars are exactly like the stars from Earth. Rod, what are we jawing about? It was beginning to clear when the sun went down; let’s crawl out and have a look. Maybe you’ll believe your eyes.

Rod shut up and followed Jack. From inside nothing was visible but dark trees across the stream, but from the edge of the shelf part of the sky could be seen. Rod lookedup and blinked. “Mind the edge,” Jack warned softly.

Rod did not answer. Framed by the ledge above him and by tree tops across the stream was a pattern of six stars, a lopsided pentagon with a star in its center. The six stars were as bright and unmistakable as the seven stars of Earth’s Big Dipper … nor did it take a degree in astrography to know that this constellation had never been seen from Terra.

Rod stared while the hard convictions he had formed fell in ruins. He felt lost and alone. The trees across the way seemed frightening. He turned to Jack, his cocky sophistication gone. “You’ve convinced me,” he said dully. “What do we do now?”

Jack did not answer.

“Well?” Rod insisted. “No good standing here.”

“Rod,” Jack answered, “that star in the middle of the Pentagon-it wasn’t there before.” “Huh? You probably don’t remember.”

“No, no, I’m sure! Rod, you know what? We’re seeing a nova.”

Rod was unable to arouse the pure joy of scientific discovery; his mind was muddled with reorganizing his personal universe. Amere stellar explosion meant nothing. “Probably one of your moonlets.”

“Not a chance. The moons are big enough to show disks. It’s a nova; it has to be. What amazing luck to see one!”

“I don’t see anything lucky about it,” Rod answered moodily. “It doesn’t mean anything to us. It’s probably a hundred light-years away, maybe more.” “Yes, but doesn’t it thrill you?”

“No.” He stooped down and went inside. Jack took another look, then followed. There was silence, moody on Rod’s part. At last Jack said, “Think I’ll turn in.”

“I just can’t see,” Rod answered irrelevantly, “how I could be so wrong. It was a logical certainty.”

“Forget it,” Jack advised. “My analytics instructor says that all logic is mere tautology. She says it is impossible to learn anything through logic that you did not already know.” “Then what use is logic?” Rod demanded.

“Ask me an easy one. Look, partner, I’m dead for sleep; I want to turn in.”

“All right. But, Jack, if this isn’t Africa- and I’ve got to admit it isn’t- what do we do? They’ve gone off and left us.”

“Do? We do what we’ve been doing. Eat, sleep, stay alive. This is a listed planet; if we just keep breathing, someday somebody will show up. It might be just a power breakdown; they may pick us tomorrow.”

“In that case, then-“

“In that case, let’s shut up and go to sleep.”

6. “I Think He Is Dead”

Rod was awakened by heavenly odors. he rolled over, blinked at light streaming under the overhang, managed by great effort to put himself back into the matrix of the day before. Jack, he saw, was squatting by a tiny fire on the edge of the shelf; the wonderful fragrance came from toasting liver.

Rod got to his knees, discovering that he was slightly stiff from having fought dream stobor in his sleep. These nightmare stobor were bug-eyed monsters fit for a planet suddenly strange and threatening. Nevertheless he had had a fine night’s sleep and his spirits could not be daunted in the presence of the tantalizing aroma drifting in.

Jack looked up. “I thought you were going to sleep all day. Brush your teeth, comb your hair, take a quick shower, and get on out here. Breakfast is ready.” Jack looked him over again. “Better shave, too.”

Rod grinned and ran his hand over his chin. “You’re jealous of my manly beard, youngster. Wait a year or two and you’ll find out what a nuisance it is. Shaving, the common cold, and taxes … my old man says those are the three eternal problems the race is never going to lick.” Rod felt a twinge at the thought of his parents, a stirring of conscience that he had not thought of them in he could not remember how long. “Can I help, pal?”

“Sit down and grab the salt. This piece is for you.” “Let’s split it.”

“Eat and don’t argue. I’ll fix me some.” Rod accepted the charred and smoky chunk, tossed it in his hands and blew on it. He looked around for salt. Jack Was slicing a second piece; Rod’s eyes passed over the operation then whipped back.

The knife Jack was using was “Colonel Bowie.”

The realization was accompanied by action; Rod’s hand darted out and caught Jack’s wrist in an anger-hard grip. “You stole my knife!” Jack did not move. “Rod… have you gone crazy?”

“You slugged me and stole my knife.”

Jack made no attempt to fight, nor even to struggle. “You aren’t awake yet, Rod. Your knife is on your belt. This is another knife … mine. Rod did not bother to look down. “The one I’m wearing is Lady Macbeth. I mean the knife you’re using, Colonel Bowie- my knife.”

“Let go my wrist.” “Drop it!”

“Rod… you can probably make me drop this knife. You’re bigger and you’ve got the jump on me. But yesterday you teamed with me. You’re busting that team right now. If you don’t let go right away, the team is broken. Then you’ll have to kill me … because if you don’t, I’ll trail you. I’ll keep on trailing you until I find you asleep. Then you’ve had it.”

They faced each other across the little fire, eyes locked. Rod breathed hard and tried to think. The evidence was against Jack. But had this little runt tracked him, slugged him, stolen everything he had? It looked like it.

Yet it did not feel like it. He told himself that he could handle the kid if his story did not ring true. He let go Jack’s wrist. “All right,” he said angrily, “tell me how you got my knife.”

Jack went on slicing liver. “It’s not much of a story and I don’t know that it is your knife. But it was not mine to start with- you’ve seen mine. I use this one as a kitchen knife. Its balance is wrong.

“Colonel Bowie! Balanced wrong? That’s the best throwing knife you ever saw!”

“Do you want to hear this? I ran across this hombre in the bush, just as the jackals were getting to him. I don’t know what got him-stobor, maybe; he was pretty well clawed and half eaten. He wasn’t one of my class, for his face wasn’t marked and I could tell. He was carrying a Thunderbolt and-“

“Wait a minute. AThunderbolt gun?”

“I said so, didn’t I? I guess he tried to use it and had no luck. Anyhow, I took what I could use- this knife and a couple of other things; I’ll show you. I left the Thunderbolt; the power pack was exhausted and it was junk.”

“Jack, look at me. You’re not lying?”

Jack shrugged. “I can take you to the spot. There might not be anything left of him, but the Thunderbolt ought to be there.” Rod stuck out his hand. “I’m sorry. I jumped to conclusions.”

Jack looked at his hand, did not shake it. “I don’t think you are much of a team mate. We had better call it quits.” The knife flipped over, landed at Rod’s toes. “Take your toadsticker and be on your way.”

Rod did not pick up the knife. “Don’t get sore, Jack. I made an honest mistake.”

“It was a mistake, all right. You didn’t trust me and I’m not likely to trust you again. You can’t build a team on that.” Jack hesitated. “Finish your breakfast and shove off. It’s better that way.” “Jack, I truly am sorry. I apologize. But it was a mistake anybody could make- you haven’t heard my side of the story.”

“You didn’t wait to hear my story!”

“So I was wrong, I said I was wrong.” Rod hurriedly told how he had been stripped of his survival gear. “-so naturally, when I saw Colonel Bowie, I assumed that you must have jumped me. That’s logical, isn’t it?” Jack did not answer; Rod persisted: “Well? Isn’t it?”

Jack said slowly, “You used ‘logic’ again. What you call ‘logic.’ Rod, you use the stuff the way some people use dope. Why don’t you use your head, instead?” Rod flushed and kept still. Jack went on, “If I had swiped your knife, would I have let you see it? For that matter, would I have teamed with you?”

“No, I guess not. Jack, I jumped at a conclusion and lost my temper.”

“Commander Benboe says,” Jack answered bleakly, “that losing your temper and jumping at conclusions is a one-way ticket to the cemetery.” Rod looked sheepish. ”Deacon Matson talks the same way.”

“Maybe they’re right. So let’s not do it again, huh? Every dog gets one bite, but only one.” Rod looked up, saw Jack’s dirty paw stuck out at him. “You mean we’re partners again?”

“Shake. I think we had better be; we don’t have much choice.” They solemnly shook hands. Then Rod picked up Colonel Bowie, looked at it longingly, and handed it hilt first to Jack. “I guess it’s yours, after all.”

“Huh? Oh, no. I’m glad you’ve got it back.”

“No,” Rod insisted. “You came by it fair and square.

“Don’t be silly, Rod. I’ve got ‘Bluebeard’; that’s the knife for me.”

“It’s yours. I’ve got Lady Macbeth.”

Jack frowned. “We’re partners, right?” “Huh? Sure.”

“So We share everything. Bluebeard belongs just as much to you as to me. And Colonel Bowie belongs to both of us. But you are used to it, so it’s best for the team for you to wear it. Does that appeal to your lopsided sense of logic?”

“Well…”

“So shut up and eat your breakfast. Shall I toast you another slice? That one is cold.”

Rod picked up the scorched chunk of liver, brushed dirt and ashes from it. “This is all right.” “Throw it in the stream and have a hot piece. Liver won’t keep anyhow.”

Comfortably stuffed, and warmed by companionship, Rod stretched out on the shelf after breakfast and stared at the sky. Jack put out the fire and tossed the remnants of their meal downstream. Something broke water and snapped at the liver even as it struck. Jack turned to Rod. “Well, what do we do today?”

“Mmm… what we’ve got on hand ought to be fit to eat tomorrow morning. We don’t need to make a kill today.”

“I hunt every second day, usually, since I found this place. Second-day meat is better than first, but by the third … phewy!” “Sure. Well, what do you want to do?”

“Well, let’s see. First I’d like to buy a tall, thick chocolate malted milk- or maybe a fruit salad. Both. I’d eat those-“ “Stop it, you’re breaking my heart!”

“Then I’d have a hot bath and get all dressed up and flip out to Hollywood and see a couple of good shows. That superspectacle that Dirk Manleigh is starring in and then a good adventure show. After that I’d have another malted milk … strawberry, this time, and then-“

“Shut up!’

“You asked me what I wanted to do.”

“Yes, but I expected you to stick to possibilities.”

“Then why didn’t you say so? Is that ‘logical’? I thought you always used logic?” “Say, lay off, will you? I apologized.”

“Yeah, you apologized,” Jack admitted darkly. “But I’ve got some mad I haven’t used up yet.” “Well! Are you the sort of pal who keeps raking up the past?”

“Only when you least expect it. Seriously, Rod, I think we ought to hunt today.”

“But you agreed we didn’t need to. It’s wrong, and dangerous besides, to make a kill you don’t need.” “I think we ought to hunt people.”

Rod pulled his ear. “Say that again.”

“We ought to spend the day hunting people.”

“Huh? Well, anything for fun I always say. What do we do when we find them? Scalp them, or just shout ‘Beaver!’?” “Scalping is more definite. Rod, how long will we be here?”

“Huh? All we know is that something has gone seriously cockeyed with the recall schedule. You say we’ve been here three weeks. I would say it was longer but you have kept a notch calendar and I haven’t. Therefore …” He stopped.

“Therefore what?”

“Therefore nothing. They might have had some technical trouble, which they may clear up and recall us this morning. Deacon Matson and his fun-loving colleagues might have thought it was cute to double the period and not mention it. The Dalai Lama might have bombed the whiskers off the rest of the World and the Gates may be radioactive ruins. Or maybe the three- headed serpent men of the Lesser Magellanic Cloud have landed and have the situation well in hand- for them. When you haven’t data, guessing is illogical. We might be here forever.”

Jack nodded. “That’s my point.”

“Which point? We know we may be marooned; that’s obvious.”

“Rod, a two-man team is just right for a few weeks. But suppose this runs into months? Suppose one of us breaks a leg? Or even if we don’t, how long is that thorn-bush alarm going to work? We ought to wall off that path and make this spot accessible only by rope ladder, With somebody here all the time to let the ladder down. We ought to locate a salt lick and think about curing hides and things like that- that water skin I made is getting high already. For a long pull we ought to have at least four people.”

Rod scratched his gaunt ribs thoughtfully. “I know. I thought about it last night, after you jerked the rug out from under my optimistic theory. But I was waiting for you to bring it up.” “Why?”

“This is your cave. You’ve got all the fancy equipment, a gun and pills and other stuff I haven’t seen. You’ve got salt. All I’ve got is a knife- two knives now, thanks to you. I’d look sweet suggesting that you share four ways.”

“We’re a team, Rod.’

“Mmm… yes. And we both figure the team would be strengthened with a couple of recruits. Well, how many people are there out there?” He gestured at the wall of green across the creek.

“My class put through seventeen boys and eleven girls. Commander Benboe told us there would be four classes in the same test area. “That’s more than the Deacon bothered to tell us. However, my class put through about twenty.”

Jack looked thoughtful. “Around a hundred people, probably.” “Not counting casualties.”

“Not counting casualties. Maybe two-thirds boys, one-third girls. Plenty of choice, if we can find them.” “No girls on this team, Jack.”

“What have you got against girls?”

“Me? Nothing at all. Girls are swell on picnics, they are just right on long winter evenings. I’m one of the most enthusiastic supporters of the female race. But for a hitch like this, they are pure poison.”

Jack did not say anything. Rod went on, “Use your head, brother. You get some pretty little darling on this team and we’ll have more grief inside than stobor, or such, can give us from outside. Quarrels and petty jealousies and maybe a couple of boys knifing each other. It will be tough enough without that trouble.”

“Well,” Jack answered thoughifully, “suppose the first one we locate is a girl? What are you going to do? Tip your hat and say, ‘It’s a fine day, ma’am. Now drop dead and don’t bother me.’?”

Rod drew a pentagon in the ashes, put a star in the middle, then rubbed it out. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “Let’s hope we get our team working before we meet any. And let’s hope they set up their own teams.”

“I think we ought to have a policy.”

“I’m clean out of policies. You would just accuse me of trying to be logical. Got any ideas about how to find anybody?” “Maybe. Somebody has been hunting upstream from here.”

“So? Know who it is?”

“I’ve seen him only at a distance. Nobody from my class. Half a head shorter than you are, light hair, pink skin- and a bad sunburn. Sound familiar?” “Could be anybody,” Rod answered, thinking fretfully that the description did sound familiar. “Shall we see if we can pick up some sign of him?”

“I can put him in your lap. But I’m not sure we want him.” “Why not? If he’s lasted this long, he must be competent.”

“Frankly, I don’t see how he has. He’s noisy when he moves and he has been living in one tree for the past week.” “Not necessarily bad technique.”

“It is when you drop your bones and leavings out of the tree. It was jackals sniffing around that tipped me off to where he was living.” “Hmm… well, if we don’t like him, we don’t have to invite him.”

“True.”

Before they set out Jack dug around in the gloomy cave and produced a climbing line. “Rod, could this be yours?” Rod looked it over. “It’s just like the one I had. Why?”

“I got it the way I got Colonel Bowie, off the casualty. If it is not yours, at least it is a replacement.” Jack got another, wrapped it around and over body armor. Rod suspected that Jack had slept in the armor, but he said nothing. If Jack considered such marginal protection more important than agility, that was Jack’s business- each to his own methods, as the Deacon would say.

The tree stood in a semi-clearing but Jack brought Rod to it through bushes which came close to the trunk and made the final approach as a belly sneak. Jack pulled Rod’s head over and whispered in his ear, “If we lie still for three or four hours, I’m betting that he will either come down or go up.

“Okay. You watch our rear.”

For an hour nothing happened. Rod tried to ignore tiny flies that seemed to be all bite. Silently he shifted position to ward off stiffness and once had to kill a sneeze. At last he said, “Pssst!”

“Yeah, Rod?”

“Where those two big branches meet the trunk, could that be his nest?” “Maybe.”

“You see a hand sticking out?”

“Where? Uh, I think I see what you see. It might just be leaves.”

“I think it’s a hand and I think he is dead; it hasn’t moved since we got here.” “Asleep?”

“Person asleep ordinarily doesn’t hold still that long. I’m going up. Cover me. If that hand moves, yell.” “You ought not to risk it, Rod.”

“You keep your eyes peeled.” He crept forward..

The owner of the hand was Jimmy Throxton, as Rod had suspected since hearing the description. Jimmy was not dead, but he was unconscious and Rod could not rouse him.

Jim lay in an aerie half natural, half artificial; Rod could see that Jim had cut small branches and improved the triple crotch formed by two limbs and trunk. He lay cradled in this eagle’s nest, one hand trailing out.

Getting him down was awkward; he weighed as much as Rod did. Rod put a sling under Jim’s armpits and took a turn around a branch, checking the line by friction to lower him- but the hard part was getting Jim out of his musty bed without dropping him.

Halfway down the burden fouled and Jack had to climb and free it. But with much sweat all three reached the ground and Jim was still breathing.

Rod had to carry him. Jack offered to take turns but the disparity in sizes was obvious; Rod said angrily for Jack to cover them, front, rear, all sides; Rod would be helpless if they had the luck to be surprised by one of the pseudo-lions.

The worst part was the climbing traverse over loose shale up to the cave. Rod was fagged from carrying the limp and heavy load more than a kilometer over rough ground; he had to rest before he could tackle it. When he did, Jack said anxiously, “Don’t drop him in the drink! It won’t be worthwhile fishing him out- I know.”

“So do I. Don’t give silly advice.” “Sorry.”

Rod started up, as much worried for his own hide as for Jim’s. He did not know what it was that lived in that stream; he did know that it was hungry. There was a bad time when he reached the spot where the jutting limestone made it necessary to stoop to reach the shelf. He got down as low as possible, attempted it, felt the burden on his back catch on the rock, started to slip.

Jack’s hand steadied him and shoved him from behind. Then they were sprawled safe on the shelf and Rod gasped and tried to stop the trembling of his abused muscles. They bedded Jimmy down and Jack took his pulse. “Fast and thready. I don’t think he’s going to make it.”

“What medicines do you have?”

“Two of the neosulfas and verdomycin. But I don’t know what to give him.” “Give him all three and pray.

“He might be allergic to one of them.”

“He’ll be more allergic to dying. I’ll bet he’s running six degrees of fever. Come on.”

Rod supported Jim’s shoulders, pinched his ear lobe, brought him partly out of coma. Between them they managed to get the capsules into Jim’s mouth, got him to drink and wash them down. After that there was nothing they could do but let him rest.

They took turns watching him through the night. About dawn his fever broke, he roused and asked for water. Rod held him while Jack handled the waterskin. Jim drank deeply, then went back to sleep.

They never left him alone. Jack did the nursing and Rod hunted each day, trying to find items young and tender and suited to an invalid’s palate. By the second day Jim, although weak and helpless, was able to talk without drifting off to sleep in the middle. Rod returned in the afternoon with the carcass of a small animal which seemed to be a clumsy cross between a cat and a rabbit. He encountered Jack heading down to fill the water skin. “Hi.”

‘Hi. I see you had luck. Say, Rod, go easy when you skin it. We need a new water bag. Is it cut much?” “Not at all. I knocked it over with a rock.”

“Good!”

“How’s the patient?”

“Healthier by the minute. I’ll be up shortly.” “Want me to cover you while you fill the skin?” “I’ll be careful. Go up to Jim.”

Rod went up, laid his kill on the shelf, crawled inside. “Feeling better?” “Swell. I’ll wrestle you two falls out of three.”

“Next week. Jack taking good care of you?”

“You bet. Say, Rod, I don’t know how to thank you two. If it hadn’t been for-“

“Then don’t try. You don’t owe me anything, ever. And Jack’s my partner, so it’s right with Jack.” “Jack is swell.”

“Jack is a good boy. They don’t come better. He and I really hit it off.”

Jim looked surprised, opened his mouth, closed it suddenly. “What’s the matter?” Rod asked. “Something bite you? Or are you feeling bad again?” “What,” Jim said slowly, “did you say about Jack?”

“Huh? I said they don’t come any better. He and I team up like bacon and eggs. Anumber-one kid, that boy.” Jimmy Throxton looked at him. “Rod … were you born that stupid? Or did you have to study?”

“Huh?”

“Jack is a girl.”

4. ‘I Should Have Baked a Cake”

There followed a long silence. “Well,” said Jim, “close your mouth before something flies in.” “Jimmy, you’re still out of your head.”

“I may be out of my head, but not so I can’t tell a girl from a boy. When that day comes, I won’t be sick; I’ll be dead.” “But …”

Jim shrugged. “Ask her.”

Ashadow fell across the opening; Rod turned and saw Jack scrambling up to the shelf. “Fresh water, Jimmy!” “Thanks, kid.” Jim added to Rod, “Go on, dopy!”

Jack looked from one to the other. “Why the tableau? What are you staring for, Rod?” “Jack,” he said slowly, “what is your name?”

“Huh? Jack Daudet. I told you that.”

“No, no! What’s your full name, your legal name?” Jack looked from Rod to Jimmy’s grinning face and back again. “My full name is… Jacqueline Marie Daudet- if it’s any business of yours. Want to make something of it?”

Rod took a deep breath. “Jacqueline,” he said carefully, “I didn’t know. I-“ “You weren’t supposed to.”

“Look, if I’ve said anything to offend you, I surely didn’t mean to.”

“You haven’t said anything to offend me, you big stupid dear. Except about your knife.” “I didn’t mean that.”

“You mean about girls being poison? Well, did it ever occur to you that maybe boys are pure poison, too? Under these circumstances? No, of course it didn’t. But I don’t mind your knowing now… now that there are three of us.”

“But, Jacqueline-“

“Call me ‘Jack,’ please.” She twisted her shoulders uncomfortably. “Now that you know, I won’t have to wear this beetle case any longer. Turn your backs, both of you. “Uh …” Rod turned his back. Jimmy rolled over, eyes to the wall.

In a few moments Jacqueline said, “Okay.” Rod turned around. In shirt and trousers, without torso armor, her shoulders seemed narrower and she herself was slender now and pleasantly curved. She was scratching her ribs. “I haven’t been able to scratch properly since I met you, Rod Walker,” she said accusingly. “Sometimes I almost died.”

“I didn’t make you wear it.”

“Suppose I hadn’t? Would you have teamed with me?” “Uh… well, it’s like this. I …” He stopped.

“You see?” She suddenly looked worried. “We’re still partners?” “Huh? Oh, sure, sure!”

“Then shake on it again. This time we shake with Jimmy, too. Right, Jim?” “You bet, Jack.”

They made a three-cornered handshake. Jack pressed her left hand over the combined fists and said solemnly, “All for one!” Rod drew Colonel Bowie with his left hand, laid the flat of the blade on the stacked hands. “And one for all!”

“Plus sales tax,” Jimmy added. “Do we get it notarized?”

Jacqueline’s eyes were swimming with tears. “Jimmy Throxton,” she said fiercely, “someday I am going to make you take life seriously!” “I take life seriously,” he objected. “I just don’t want life to take me seriously. When you’re on borrowed time, you can’t afford not to laugh.” “We’re all on borrowed time,” Rod answered him. “Shut up, Jimmy. You talk too much.”

“Look who’s preaching! The Decibel Kid himself.”

“Well… you ought not to make fun of Jacqueiine. She’s done a lot for you. “She has indeed!”

“Then-“

“‘Then’ nothing!” Jacqueline said sharply. “My name is ‘Jack.’ Rod. Forget ‘Jacqueline.’ If either of you starts treating me with gallantry we’ll have all those troubles you warned me about. ‘Pure poison’ was the expression you used, as I recall.”

“But you can reasonably expect-“

“Are you going to be ‘logical’ again? Let’s be practical instead. Help me skin this beast and make a new water bag.”

The following day Jimmy took over housekeeping and Jack and Rod started hunting together. Jim wanted to come along; he ran into a double veto. There was little advantage in hunting as a threesome whereas Jack and Rod paired off so well that a hunt was never hours of waiting, but merely a matter of finding game. Jack would drive and Rod would kill; they would pick their quarry from the fringe of a herd, Jack would sneak around and panic the animals, usually driving one into Rod’s arms.

They still hunted with the knife, even though Jack’s gun was a good choice for primitive survival, being an air gun that threw poisoned darts. Since the darts could be recovered and re- envenomed, it was a gun which would last almost indefinitely; she had chosen it for this reason over cartridge or energy guns.

Rod had admired it but decided against hunting with it. “The air pressure might bleed off and let you down.” “It never has. And you can pump it up again awfully fast.”

“Mmm… yes. But if we use it, someday the last dart will be lost no matter how careful we are … and that might be the day we would need it bad. We may be here a long time, what do you say we save it?”

“You’re the boss, Rod.”

“No, I’m not. We all have equal say.”

“Yes, you are. Jimmy and I agreed on that. Somebody has to boss.”

Hunting took an hour or so every second day; they spent most of daylight hours searching for another team mate, quartering the area and doing it systematically. Once they drove scavengers from a kill which seemed to have been butchered by knife; they followed a spoor from that and determined that it was a human spoor, but were forced by darkness to return to the cave. They tried to pick it up the next day, but it had rained hard in the night; they never found it.

Another time they found ashes of a fire, but Rod judged them to be at least two weeks old.

After a week of fruitless searching they returned one

late afternoon. Jimmy looked up from the fire he had started. “How goes the census?” ‘Don’t ask,” Rod answered, throwing himself down wearily. “What’s for dinner?”

“Raw buck, roast buck, and burned buck. I tried baking some of it in wet clay. It didn’t work out too well, but I’ve got some awfully good baked clay for dessert.” ‘Thanks. If that is the word.”

“Jim,” Jack said, “we ought to try to bake pots with that clay.”

“I did. Big crack in my first effort. But I’ll get the hang it. Look, children,” he went on, “has it ever occurred to your bright little minds that you might be going about this the wrong way?” “What’s wrong with it?” Rod demanded.

“Nothing … if it is exercise you are after. You are and scurrying over the countryside, getting in and nowhere else. Maybe it would be better to sit back and let them come to you.” “How?”

“Send up a smoke signal.”

“We’ve discussed that We don’t want just anybody and we don’t want to advertise where we live. We want people who will strengthen the team.”

“That is what the engineers call a self-defeating criterion. The superior woodsman you want is just the laddy you will never find by hunting for him. He may find you, as you go tramping noisily through the brush, kicking rocks and stepping on twigs and scaring the birds. He may shadow you to see what you are up to. But you won’t find him.”

“Rod, there is something to that,” Jack said.

“We found you easily enough,” Rod said to Jim. “Maybe you aren’t the high type we need.”

“I wasn’t myself at the time,” Jimmy answered blandly. “Wait till I get my strength back and my true nature will show. Ugh-Ugh, the ape man, that’s me. Half Neanderthal and half sleek black leopard.” He beat his chest and coughed.

“Are those the proportions? The Neanderthal strain seems dominant.” “Don’t be disrespectful. Remember, you are my debtor.”

“I think you read the backs of those cards. They are getting to be like waffles.” When rescued, Jimmy had had on him a pack of playing cards, and had later explained that they were survival equipment.

“In the first place,” he had said, “if I got lost I could sit down and play solitaire. Pretty soon somebody would come along and-“ “Tell you to play the black ten on the red jack. We’ve heard that one.”

“Quiet, Rod. In the second place, Jack, I expected to team with old Stoneface here. I can always beat him at cribbage but he doesn’t believe it. I figured that during the test I could win all his next year’s allowance. Survival tactics.”

Whatever his reasoning, Jimmy had had the cards. The three played a family game each evening at a million plutons a point. Jacqueline stayed more or less even but Rod owed Jimmy several hundred millions. They continued the discussion that evening over their game. Rod was still wary of advertising their hide-out.

“We might burn a smoke signal somewhere, though,” he said thoughtfully. “Then keep watch from a safe spot. Cut ‘em, Jim.”

“Consider the relative risks- a five, just what I needed! If you put the fire far enough away to keep this place secret, then it means a trek back and forth at least twice a day. With all that running around you’ll use up your luck; one day you won’t come back. It’s not that I’m fond you, but it would bust up the game. Whose crib?”

“Jack’s. But if we burn it close by and in sight, then we sit up here safe and snug. I’ll have my back to the wall facing the path, with Jack’s phht gun in my lap. If an unfriendly face sticks up- blooie! Long pig for dinner. But if we like them, we cut them into the game.

“Your count.”

“Fifteen-six, fifteen-twelve, a pair, six for jacks and the right jack. That’s going to cost you another million, my friend.” “One of those jacks is a queen,” Rod said darkly.

“Sure enough? You know, it’s getting too dark to play. Want to concede?”

They adopted Jim’s scheme. It gave more time for cribbage and ran Rod’s debt up into billions. The signal fire was kept burning on the shelf at the downstream end, the prevailing wind being such that smoke usually did not blow back into the cave- when the wind did shift was unbearable; they were forced to flee, eyes streaming.

This happened three times in four days. Their advertising had roused no customers and they were all get’ting tired of dragging up dead wood for fuel and green branches for smoke. The third time they fled from smoke Jimmy said, “Rod, I give up. You win. This is not the way to do it.”

“No!”

“Huh? Have a heart, chum. I can’t live on smoke- no vitamins. Let’s run up a flag instead. I’ll contribute my shirt.” Rod thought about it. “We’ll do that.”

“Hey, wait a minute. I was speaking rhetorically. I’m the delicate type. I sunburn easily.”

“You can take it easy and work up a tan. We’ll use your shirt as a signal flag. But we’ll keep the fire going, too. Not up on the shelf, but down there- on that mud flat, maybe.” “And have the smoke blow right back into our summer cottage.”

“Well, farther downstream. We’ll make a bigger fire and a column of smoke that can be seen a long way. The flag we will put up right over the cave.” “Thereby inviting eviction proceedings from large, hairy individuals with no feeling for property rights.”

“We took that chance when we decided to use a smoke signal. Let’s get busy.”

Rod picked a tall tree on the bluff above. He climbed to where the trunk had thinned down so much that it would hardly take his weight, then spent a tedious hour topping it with his knife. He tied the sleeves of Jim’s shirt to it, then worked down, cutting foliage away as he went. Presently the branches became too large to handle with his knife, but the stripped main stem stuck up for several meters; the shirt could be seen for a long distance up and down stream. The shirt caught the wind and billowed; Rod eyed it, tired but satisfied- it was unquestionably a signal flag.

Jimmy and Jacqueline had built a new smudge farther downstream, carrying fire from the shelf for the purpose. Jacqueline still had a few matches and Jim had a pocket torch almost fully charged but the realization that they were marooned caused them to be miserly. Rod went down and joined them. The smoke was enormously greater now that they were not limited in space, and fuel was easier to fetch.

Rod looked them over. Jacqueline’s face, sweaty and none too clean to start with, was now black with smoke, while Jimmy’s pink skin showed the soot even more. “Acouple of pyromaniacs.”

“You ordered smoke,” Jimmy told him. “I plan to make the burning of Rome look like a bonfire. Fetch me a violin and a toga.” “Violins weren’t invented then. Nero played a lyre.”

“Let’s not be small. We’re getting a nice mushroom cloud effect, don’t you think?’

“Come on, Rod,” Jacqueline urged, Wiping her face without improving it. “It’s fun!” She dipped a green branch in the stream, threw it on the pyre. Athick cloud of smoke and steam concealed her. “More dry wood, Jimmy.”

“Coming!”

Rod joined in, soon was as dirty and scorched as the other two and having more fun than he had had since the test started. When the sun dropped below the tree tops they at last quit trying to make the fire bigger and better and smokier and reluctantly headed up to their cave. Only then did Rod realize that he had forgotten to remain alert.

Oh well, he assured himself, dangerous animals would avoid a fire.

While they ate they could see the dying fire still sending up smoke. After dinner Jimmy got out his cards, tried to riffle the limp mass. “Anyone interested in a friendly game? The customary small stakes.”

“I’m too tired,” Rod answered. “Just chalk up my usual losses.”

“That’s not a sporting attitude. Why, you won a game just last week. How about you, Jack?” Jacqueline started to answer; Rod suddenly motioned for silence. “Sssh! I heard something.”

The other two froze and silently got out their knives. Rod put Colonel Bowie in his teeth and crawled out to the edge. The pathway was clear and the thorn barricade was undisturbed. He leaned out and looked around, trying to locate the sound.

“Ahoy below!” a voice called out, not loudly. Rod felt himself tense. He glanced back, saw Jimmy moving diagonally over to cover the pathway. Jacqueline had her dart gun and was hurriedly pumping it up.

Rod answered, “Who’s there?”

There was a short silence. Then the voice answered, “Bob Baxter and Carmen Garcia. Who are you?” Rod sighed with relief. “Rod Walker, Jimmy Throxton. And one other, not our class . . Jack Daudet.” Baxter seemed to think this over. “Uh, can we join you? For tonight, at least?”

“Sure!”

“How can we get down there? Carmen can’t climb very well; she’s got a bad foot.” “You’re right above us?”

“I think so. I can’t see you.”

“Stay there. I’ll come up.” Rod turned, grinned at the others. “Company for dinner! Get a fire going, Jim.” Jimmy clucked mournfully. “And hardly a thing in the house. I should have baked a cake.”

By the time they returned Jimmy had roast meat waitmg. Carmen’s semi-crippled condition had delayed them. It was just a sprained ankle but it caused her to crawl up the traverse on her hands, and progress to that point had been slow and painful.

When she realized that the stranger in the party was another woman she burst into tears. Jackie glared at the males, for no cause that Rod could see, then led her into the remote corner of the cave where she herself slept.

There they whispered while Bob Baxter compared notes with Rod and Jim.

Bob and Carmen had had no unusual trouble until Carmen had hurt her ankle two days earlier… except for the obvious fact that something had gone wrong and they were stranded. “I lost my grip,” he admitted, “when I realized that they weren’t picking us up. But Carmen snapped me out of it. Carmen is a very practical kid.”

‘Girls are always the practical ones,” Jimmy agreed. Now take me- I’m the poetical type.” ‘Blank verse, I’d say,” Rod suggested.

“Jealousy ill becomes you, Rod. Bob, old bean, can I interest you in another slice? Rare, or well carbonized?” “Either way. We haven’t had much to eat the last couple of days. Boy, does this taste good!”

“My own sauce,” Jimmy said modestly. “I raise my own herbs, you know. First you melt a lump of butter slowly in a pan, then you-“

“Shut up, Jimmy. Bob, do you and Carmen want to team with us? As I see it, we can’t count on ever getting back. Therefore we ought to make plans for the future.’ “I think you are right.”

“Rod is always right,” Jimmy agreed. “‘Plans for the future-‘ Hmm, yes… Bob, do you and Carmen play cribbage?” “No”

“Never mind. I’ll teach you.”

5. “Fish, or Cut Bait”

The decision to keep on burning the smoke signal and thereby to call in as many recruits as possible was never voted on; it formed itself. The next morning Rod intended to bring the matter up but Jimmy and Bob rebuilt the smoke fire from its embers while down to fetch fresh water. Rod let the accomplished fact stand; two girls drifted in separately that day.

Nor was there any formal contract to team nor any selection of a team captain; Rod continued to direct operations and Bob Baxter accepted the arrangement. Rod did not think about it as he was too busy. The problems of food, shelter, and safety for their growing population left him no time to worry about it

The arrival of Bob and Carmen cleaned out the larder; it was necessary to hunt the next day. Bob Baxter offered to go, but Rod decided to take Jackie as usual. “You rest today. Don’t let Carmen put her weight on that bad ankle and don’t let Jimmy go down alone to tend the fire. He thinks he is well again but he is not.”

“I see that.”

Jack and Rod went out, made their kill quickly. But Rod failed to kill clean and when Jacqueline moved in to help finish the thrashing, wounded buck she was kicked in the ribs. She insisted that she was not hurt; nevertheless her side was sore the following morning and Bob Baxter expressed the opinion that she had cracked a rib.

In the meantime two new mouths to feed had been added, just as Rod found himself with three on the sick list. But one of the new mouths was a big, grinning one belonging to Caroline Mshiyeni; Rod picked her as his hunting partner.

Jackie looked sour. She got Rod aside and whispered, ‘You haven’t any reason to do this to me. I can hunt. My side is all right, just a little stiff.” “It is, huh? So it slows you down when I need you. I can’t chance it, Jack.”

She glanced at Caroline, stuck out her lip and looked stubborn. Rod said urgently, “Jack, remember what I said about petty jealousies? So help me, you make trouble and I’ll paddle you.” “You aren’t big enough!”

“I’ll get help. Now, look- are we partners?” “Well, I thought so.”

“Then be one and don’t cause trouble.”

She shrugged. “All right. Don’t rub it in- I’ll stay home.”

“I want you to do more than that. Take that old bandage of mine- it’s around somewhere- and let Bob Baxter strap your ribs.” “No!”

“Then let Carmen do it. They’re both quack doctors, sort of.” He raised his voice. “Ready, Carol?” “Quiverin’ and bristlin’.”

Rod told Caroline how he and Jacqueline hunted, explained what he expected of her. They located, and avoided, two family herds; old bulls were tough and poor eating and attempting to kill anything but the bull was foolishly dangerous. About noon they found a yearling herd upwind; they split and placed themselves cross wind for the kill. Rod waited for Caroline to flush the game, drive it to him.

He continued to wait. He was getting fidgets when Caroline showed up, moving silently. She motioned for him to follow. He did so, hard put to keep up with her and still move quietly. Presently she stopped; he caught up and saw that she had already made a kill. He looked at it and fought down the anger he felt.

Caroline spoke. “Nice tender one, I think. Suit you, Rod?” He nodded. “Couldn’t be better. Aclean kill, too. Carol?” “Huh?”

“I think you are better at this than I am.

“Oh, shucks, it was just luck.” She grinned and looked sheepish.

“I don’t believe in luck. Any time you want to lead the hunt, let me know. But be darn sure you let me know.” She looked at his unsmiling face, said slowly, “By any chance are you bawling me out?”

“You could call it that. I’m saying that any time you want to lead the hunt, you tell me. Don’t switch in the middle. Don’t ever. I mean it.” “What’s the matter with you, Rod? Getting your feelings hurt just because I got there first- that’s silly!”

Rod sighed. “Maybe that’s it. Or maybe I don’t like having a girl take the kill away from me. But I’m dead sure about one thing: I don’t like having a partner on a hunt who can’t be depended on. Too many ways to get hurt. I’d rather hunt alone.”

“Maybe I’d rather hunt alone! I don’t need any help.”

“I’m sure you don’t. Let’s forget it, huh, and get this carcass back to camp.”

Caroline did not say anything while they butchered. When they had the waste trimmed away and were ready to pack as much as possible back to the others Rod said, “You lead off. I’ll watch behind.”

“Rod?”

“Huh?” “I’m sorry”

“What? Oh, forget it.”

“I won’t ever do it again. Look, I’ll tell everybody you made the kill.”

He stopped and put a hand on her arm. “Why tell anybody anything? It’s nobody’s business how we organize our hunt as long as we bring home the meat.” “You’re still angry with me.”

“I never was angry,” he lied. “I just don’t want us to get each other crossed up.” “Roddie, I’ll never cross you up again! Promise.”

Girls stayed in the majority to the end of the week. The cave, comfortable for three, adequate for twice that number, was crowded for the number that was daily accumulating. Rod decided to make it a girls’ dormitory and moved the males out into the open on the field at the foot of the path up the shale. The spot was unprotected against weather and animals but it did guard the only access to the cave. Weather was no problem; protection against animals was set up as well as could be managed by organizing a night watch whose duty it was to keep fires burning between the bluff and the creek on the upstream side and in the bottleneck downstream. Rod did not like the arrangements, but they were the best he could do at the time. He sent Bob Baxter and Roy Kilroy downstream to scout for caves and Caroline and Margery Chung upstream for the same purpose. Neither party was successful in the one-day limit he

had imposed; the two girls brought back another straggler.

Agroup of four boys came in a week after Jim’s shirt had been requisitioned; it brought the number up to twenty-five and shifted the balance to more boys than girls. The four newcomers could have been classed as men rather than boys, since they were two or three years older than the average. Three of the four classes in this survival-test area had been about to graduate from secondary schools; the fourth class, which included these four, came from Outlands Arts College of Teller University.

“Adult” is a slippery term. Some cultures have placed adult age as low as eleven years, others as high as thirty-five-and some have not recognized any such age as long as an ancestor remamed alive. Rod did not think of these new arrivals as senior to him. There were already a few from Teller U. in the group, but Rod was only vaguely aware Which ones they were- they fitted in. He was too busy with the snowballing problems of his growing colony to worry about their backgrounds on remote Terra.

The four were Jock McGowan, a brawny youth who seemed all hands and feet, his younger brother Bruce, and Chad Ames and Dick Burke. They had arrived late in the day and Rod had not had time to get acquainted, nor was there time the following morning, as a group of four girls and five boys poured in on them unexpectedly. This had increased his administrative problems almost to the breaking point; the cave would hardly sleep four more females. It was necessary to find, or build, more shelter.

Rod went over to the four young men lounging near the cooking fire. He squatted on his heels and asked, “Any of you know anything about building?” He addressed them all, but the others waited for Jock McGowan to speak. “Some,” Jock admitted. “I reckon I could build anything I wanted to.” “Nothing hard,” Rod explained. “Just stone walls. Ever tried your hand at masonry?”

“Sure. What of it?”

“Well, here’s the idea. We’ve got to have better living arrangements right away- we’ve got people pouring out of our ears. The first thing we are going to do is to throw a wall from the bluff to the creek across this flat area. After that we will build huts, but the first thing is a kraal to stop dangerous animals.”

McGowan laughed. “That will be some wall. Have you seen this dingus that looks like an elongated cougar? One of those babies would go over your wall before you could say ‘scat.’”

“I know about them,” Rod admitted, “and I don’t like them.” He rubbed the long white scars on his left arm. “They probably could go over any wall we could build. So we’ll rig a surprise for them.” He picked up a twig and started drawing in the dirt. “We build the wall and bring it around to here. Then, inside for about six meters, we set up sharpened poles. Anything comes over the wall splits its gut on the poles.”

Jock McGowan looked at the diagram. “Futile.” “Silly,” agreed his brother.

Rod flushed but answered, “Got a better idea?” “That’s beside the point.”

“Well,” Rod answered slowly, “unless somebody comes down with a better scheme, or unless we find really good caves, we’ve got to fortify this spot the best we can … so we’ll do this. I’m going to set the girls to cutting and sharpening stakes. The rest of us will start on the wall. If we tear into it we ought to have a lot of it built before dark. Do you four want to work together? There will be one party collecting rock and another digging clay and making clay mortar. Take your choice.”

Again three of them waited. Jock McGowan lay back and laced his hands under his head. “Sorry. I’ve got a date to hunt today.” Rod felt himself turning red. “We don’t need a kill today,” he said carefully.

“Nobody asked you, youngster.”

Rod felt the cold tenseness he always felt in a hunt He was uncomfortably aware that an audience had gathered. He tried to keep his voice steady and said, “Maybe I’ve made a mistake. I-“

“You have.”

“I thought you four had teamed with the rest of us. Well?” “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“You’ll have to fish or cut bait. If you join, you work like anybody else. If not- well, you’re welcome to breakfast and stop in again some time. But be on your way. I won’t have you lounging around while everybody else, is working.”

Jock McGowan sucked his teeth, dug at a crevice with his tongue. His hands were still locked back of his head. “What you don’t understand, sonny boy, is that nobody gives the McGowans orders. Nobody. Right, Bruce?”

“Right, Jock.”

“Right, Chad? Dick?”

The other two grunted approval. McGowan continued to stare up at the sky. “So,” he said softly, “I go where I want to go and stay as long as I like. The question is not whether we are going to join up with you, but what ones am going to let team with us. But not you, sonny boy; you are still wet behind your ears.

“Get up and get Qut of here!” Rod started to stand up. He was wearing Colonel Bowie, as always, but he did not reach for it. He began to straighten up from squatting.

Jock McGowan’s eyes flicked toward his brother. Rod was hit low… and found himself flat on his face with his breath knocked out. He felt the sharp kiss of a knife against his ribs; he held still. Bruce called out, “How about it, Jock?”

Rod could not see Jock McGowan. But he heard him answer, “Just keep him there.” “Right, Jock.”

Jock McGowan was wearing both gun and knife. Rod now heard him say, “Anybody want to dance? Any trouble out of the rest of you lugs?”

Rod still could not see Jock, but he could figure from the naked, startled expressions of a dozen others that McGowan must have rolled to his feet and covered them with his gun. Everybody in camp carried knives; most had guns as well and Rod could see that Roy Kilroy was wearing his- although most guns were kept when not in use in the cave in a little arsenal which Carmen superintended.

But neither guns nor knives were of use; it had happened too fast, shifting from wordy wrangling to violence with no warning. Rod could see none of his special friends from where he was; those whom he could see did not seem disposed to risk death to rescue him.

Jock McGowan said briskly, “Chad- Dick- got ‘em all covered?” “Right, Skipper.”

“Keep ‘em that way while I take care of this cholo.” His hairy legs appeared in front of Rod’s face. “Pulled his teeth, Bruce?” “Not yet.”

“I’ll do it. Roll over, sonny boy, and let me at your knife. Let him turn over, Bruce.”

Bruce McGowan eased up on Rod and Jock bent down. As he reached for Rod’s knife a tiny steel flower blossomed in Jock’s side below his ribs. Rod heard nothing, not even the small sound it must have made when it struck. Jock straightened up with a shriek, clutched at his side.

Bruce yelled, Jock! What’s the matter?”

“They got me.” He crumpled to the ground like loose clothing.

Rod still had a man with a knife on his back but the moment was enough; he rolled and grabbed in one violent movement and the situation was reversed, with Bruce’s right wrist locked in Rod’s fist, with Colonel Bowie threatening Bruce’s face.

Aloud contralto voice sang out, “Take it easy down there! We got you covered.”

Rod glanced up. Caroline stood on the shelf at the top of the path to the cave, with a rifle at her shoulder. At the downstream end of the shelf Jacqueline sat with her little dart gun in her lap; she was frantically pumping up again. She raised it, drew a bead on some one past Rod’s shoulder.

Rod called out, “Don’t shoot!” He looked around. “Drop it, you two!”

Chad Ames and Dick Burke dropped their guns. Rod added, “Roy! Grant Cowper! Gather up their toys. Get their knives, too.” He turned back to Bruce McGowan, pricked him under the chin. “Let’s have your knife.” Bruce turned it loose; Rod took it and got to his feet.

Everyone who had been up in the cave was swarming down, Caroline in the lead. Jock McGowan was writhing on the ground, face turned blue and gasping in the sort of paralysis induced by the poison used on darts. Bob Baxter hurried up, glanced at him, then said to Rod, “I’ll take care of that cut in your ribs in a moment.” He bent over Jock McGowan.

Caroline said indignantly, “You aren’t going to try to save him?” “Of course.”

“Why? Let’s chuck him in the stream.”

Baxter glanced at Rod. Rod felt a strong urge to order Caroline’s suggestion carried out. But he answered, “Do what you can for him, Bob. Where’s Jack? Jack- you’ve got antidote for your darts, haven’t you? Get it.”

Jacqueline looked scornfully at the figure on the ground. “What for? He’s not hurt.” “Huh?”

“Just a pin prick. Apractice dart- that’s all I keep in Betsey. My hunting darts are put away so that nobody can hurt themselves- and I didn’t have time to get them.” She prodded Jock with a toe. “He’s not poisoned. He’s scaring himself to death.”

Caroline chortled and waved the rifle she carried. “And this one is empty. Not even a good club.” Baxter said to Jackie, “Are you sure? The reactions look typical.”

“Sure I’m sure! See the mark on the end sticking out? Atarget dart.”

Baxter leaned over his patient, started slapping his face. “Snap out of it, McGowan! Stand up. I want to get that dart out of you.”

McGowan groaned and managed to stand. Baxter took the dart between thumb and forefinger, jerked it free; Jock yelled. Baxter slapped him again. “Don’t you faint on me,” he growled. ‘you’re lucky. Let it drain and you’ll be all right.” He turned to Rod. “You’re next.”

“Huh? There’s nothing the matter with me.”

“That stuff on your ribs is paint, I suppose.” He looked around. “Carmen, get my kit.” “I brought it down.”

“Good. Rod, sit down and lean forward. This is going to hurt a little.”

It did hurt. Rod tried to chat to avoid showing that he minded it. “Carol,” he asked, “I don’t see how you and Jackie worked out a plan so fast. That was smooth.”

“Huh? We didn’t work out a plan; we both just did what we could and did it fast.” She turned to Jacqueline and gave her a clap on the shoulder that nearly knocked her over. “This kid is solid, Roddie, solid!”

Jacqueline recovered, looked pleased and tried not to show it. “Aw, Carol!” “Anyway I thank you both.”

“Apleasure. I wish that pea shooter had been loaded. Rod, what are you going to do with them?” “Well … ummph!”

“Whoops!” said Baxter, behind him. “I said it was going to hurt. I had better put one more clip in. I’d like to put a dressing on that, but we can’t, so you lay off heavy work for a while and sleep on your stomach.”

“Unh!” said Rod.

“That’s the last. You can get up now. Take it easy and give it a chance to scab.”

“I still think,” Caroline insisted, “that we ought to make them swim the creek. We could make bets on whether or not any of ‘em make it across.” “Carol, you’re uncivilized.”

“I never claimed to be civilized. But I know which end wags and which end bites.”

Rod ignored her and went to look at the prisoners. Roy Kilroy had caused them to lie down one on top of the other; it rendered them undignified and helpless. “Let them sit up.” Kilroy and Grant Cowper had been guarding them. Cowper said, “You heard the Captain. Sit up.” They unsnarled and sat up, looking glum.

Rod looked at Jock McGowan. “What do you think we ought to do with you?”

McGowan said nothing. The puncture in his side was oozing blood and he was pale. Rod said slowly, “Some think we ought to chuck you in the stream. That’s the same as condemning you to death- but if we are going to, we ought to shoot you or hang you. I don’t favor letting anybody be eaten alive. Should we hang you?”

Bruce McGowan blurted out, “We haven’t done anything.”

“No. But you sure tried. You aren’t safe to have around other people.”

Somebody called out, “Oh, let’s shoot them and get it over with!” Rod ignored it. Grant Cowper came close to Rod and said, “We ought to vote on this. They ought to have a trial.” Rod shook his head. “No.” He went on to the prisoners,

I don’t favor punishing you- this is personal. But we can’t risk having you around either.” He turned to Cowper. “Give them their knives.” “Rod? You’re not going to fight them?”

“Of course not.” He turned back. “You can have your knives; we’re keeping your guns. When we turn you loose, head downstream and keep going. Keep going for at least a week. If you ever show your faces again, you won’t get a chance to explain. Understand me?’

Jock McGowan nodded. Dick Burke gulped and said, “But turning us out with just knives is the same as killing us.

“Nonsense! No guns. And remember, if you turn back this way, even to hunt, it’s once too many. There may be somebody trailing you- with a gun.

“Loaded this time!” added Caroline. “Hey, Roddie, I want that job. Can I? Please?” “Shut up, Carol. Roy, you and Grant start them on their way.”

As exiles and guards, plus sightseers, moved off they ran into Jimmy Throxton coming back into camp. He stopped and stared. “What’s the procession? Rod what have you done to your ribs, boy? Scratching yourself again?”

Several people tried to tell him at once. He got the gist of it and shook his head mournfully. “And there I was, good as gold, looking for pretty rocks for our garden wall. Every time there’s a party people forget to ask me. Discrimination.”

“Stow it, Jim. It’s not funny.”

“That’s what I said. It’s discrimination.”

Rod got the group started on the wall with an hour or more of daylight wasted. He tried to work on the wall despite Bob Baxter’s medical orders, but found that he was not up to it; not only was his wound painful but also he felt shaky with reaction.

Grant Cowper looked him up during the noon break. “Skipper, can I talk with you? Privately?” Rod moved aside with him. “What’s on your mind?”

“Mmm … Rod, you were lucky this morning. You know that, don’t you? No offense intended.” “Sure, I know. What about it?”

“Uh, do you know why you had trouble?”

“What? Of course I know- now. I trusted somebody when I should not have.”

Cowper shook his head. “Not at all. Rod, what do you know about theory of government?” Rod looked surprised. “I’ve had the usual civics courses. Why?”

“I doubt if I’ve mentioned it, but the course I’m majoring in at Teller U. is colonial administration. One thing we study is how authority comes about in human society and how it is maintained. I’m not criticizing but to be blunt, you almost lost your life because you’ve never studied such things.”

Rod felt annoyed. “What are you driving at?”

“Take it easy. But the fact remains that you didn’t have any authority. McGowan knew it and wouldn’t take orders. Everybody else knew it, too. When it came to a showdown, nobody knew whether to back you up or not. Because you don’t have a milligram of real authority.”

“Just a moment! Are you saying I’m not leader of this team?”

“You are de facto leader, no doubt about it. But you’ve never been elected to the job. That’s your weakness.” Rod chewed this over. “I know,” he said slowly. “It’s just that we have been so confounded busy.”

“Sure, I know. I’d be the last person to criticize. But a captain ought to be properly elected.”

Rod sighed. “I meant to hold an election but I thought getting the wall built was more urgent. All right, let’s call them together.” “Oh, you don’t need to do it this minute.”

“Why not? The sooner the better, apparently.” “Tonight, when it’s too dark to work, is soon enough.” “Well … okay.”

When they stopped for supper Rod announced that there would be an organization and planning meeting. No one seemed surprised, although he himself had mentioned it to no one.

He felt annoyed and had to remind himself that there was nothing secret about it; Grant had been under no obligation to keep it quiet. He set guards and fire tenders, then came back into

the circle of firelight and called out, “Quiet, everybody! Let’s get started. If you guys on watch can’t hear, be sure to speak up” He hesitated. “We’re going to hold an election. Somebody

pointed out that I never have been elected captain of this survival team. Well, if any of you have your noses out of joint, I’m sorry. I was doing the best I could. But you are entitled to elect a

captain. All right, any nominations?”

Jiminy Throxton shouted, “I nominate Rod Walker!” Caroline’s voice answered, “I second it! Move the nominations be closed.” Rod said hastily, “Carol, your motion is out of order.”

“Why?”

Before he could answer Roy Kilroy spoke up. “Rod, can I have the floor a moment? Privileged question.” Rod turned, saw that Roy was squatting beside Grant Cowper. “Sure. State your question.”

“Matter of procedure. The first thing is to elect a temporary chairman.”

Rod thought quickly. “I guess you’re right. Jimmy, your nomination is thrown out. Nominations for temporary chairman are in order.” “Rod Walker for temporary chairman!”

“Oh, shut up, Jimmy! I don’t want to be temporary chairman.”

Roy Kilroy was elected. He took the imaginary gavel and announced, “The chair recognizes Brother Cowper for a statement of aims and purposes of this meeting.” Jimmy Throxton called out, “What do we want any speeches for? Let’s elect Rod and go to bed. I’m tired- and I’ve got a two-hour watch coming up.”

“Out of order. The chair recognizes Grant Cowper.” Cowper stood up. The firelight caught his handsome features and curly, short beard. Rod rubbed the scraggly growth on his own chin and wished that he looked like Cowper. The young man was dressed only in walking shorts and soft bush shoes but he carried himself with the easy dignity of a distinguished speaker before some important body. “Friends,” he said, “brothers and sisters, we are gathered here tonight not to elect a survival-team captain, but to found a new nation.”

He paused to let the idea sink in. “You know the situation we are in. We fervently hope to be rescued, none more so than I. I will even go so far as to say that I think we will be rescued … eventually. But we have no way of knowing, we have no data on which to base an intelligent guess, as to when we will be rescued.

“It might be tomorrow … it might be our descendants a thousand years from now.” He said the last very solemnly.

“But when the main body of our great race re-establishes contact with us, it is up to us, this little group here tonight, whether they find a civilized society or flea-bitten animals without language, without arts, with the light of reason grown dim … or no survivors at all, nothing but bones picked clean.”

“Not mine!” called out Caroline. Kilroy gave her a dirty look and called for order.

“Not yours, Caroline,” Cowper agreed gravely. “Nor mine. Not any of us. Because tonight we will take the step that will keep this colony alive. We are poor in things; we will make what we need. We are rich in knowledge; among us we hold the basic knowledge of our great race. We must preserve it … we will!”

Caroline cut through Cowper’s dramatic pause with a stage whisper. “Talks pretty, doesn’t he? Maybe I’ll marry him.”

He did not try to fit this heckling into his speech. “What is the prime knowledge acquired by our race? That without which the rest is useless? What flame must we guard like vestal virgins?”

Some one called out, “Fire.” Cowper shook his head. “Writing!”

“The decimal system.” “Atomics!”

“The wheel, of course.

“No, none of those. They are all important, but they are not the keystone. The greatest invention of mankind is government. It is also the hardest of all. More individualistic than cats, nevertheless we have learned to cooperate more efficiently than ants or bees or termites. Wilder, bloodier, and more deadly than sharks, we have learned to live together as peacefully as lambs. But these things are not easy. That is why that which we do tonight will decide our future … and perhaps the future of our children, our children’s children, our descendants far

into the womb of time. We are not picking a temporary survival leader; we are setting up a government. We must do it with care. We must pick a chief executive for our new nation, a mayor of our city-state. But we must draw up a constitution, sign articles binding us together. We must organize and plan.”

“Hear, hear!”

“Bravo!”

“We must establish law, appoint judges, arrange for orderly administration of our code. Take for example, this morning-” Cowper turned to Rod and gave him a friendly smile. “Nothing personal, Rod, you understand that. I think you acted with wisdom and I was happy that you tempered justice with mercy. Yet no one could have criticized if you had yielded to your impulse and killed all four of those, uh … anti-social individuals. But justice should not be subject to the whims of a dictator. We can’t stake our lives on your temper … good or bad. You see that, don’t you?”

Rod did not answer He felt that he was being accused of bad temper, of being a tyrant and dictator, of being a danger to the group. But he could not put his finger on it. Grant Cowper’s remarks had been friendly … yet they felt intensely personal and critical.

Cowper insisted on an answer. “You do see that, Rod? Don’t you? You don’t want to continue to have absolute power over the lives and persons of our community? You don’t want that? Do you?” He waited.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, sure! I mean, I agree with you.”

“Good! I was sure you would understand. And I must ay that I think you have done a very good job in getting us together. I don’t agree with any who have criticized you. You were doing your best and we should let bygones be bygones.” Cowper grinned that friendly grin and Rod felt as if he were being smothered with kisses.

Cowper turned to Kilroy. “That’s all I have to say, Mr. Chairman.” He flashed his grin and added as he sat down, “Sorry I talked so long, folks. I had to get it off my chest.” Kilroy clapped his hands once. “The chair will entertam nominations for- Hey, Grant, if we don’t call it ‘captain,’ then what should we call it?”

“Mmm …” Cowper said judicially. “‘President’ seems a little pompous. I think ‘mayor’ would be about right-mayor of our city-state, our village.” “The chair will entertain nominations for mayor.

“Hey!” demanded Jimmy Throxton. “Doesn’t anybody else get to shoot off his face?” “Out of order.”

“No,” Cowper objected, “I don’t think you should rule Jimmy out of order, Roy. Anyone who has something to contribute should be encouraged to speak. We mustn’t act hastily.” “Okay, Throxton, speak your piece.”

“Oh, I didn’t want to sound off. I just didn’t like the squeeze play.”

“All right, the chair stands corrected. Anybody else? If not, we will entertain-“ “One moment, Mr. Chairman!”

Rod saw that it was Arthur Nielsen, one of the Teller University group. He managed to look neat even in these circumstances but he had strayed into camp bereft of all equipment, without even a knife. He had been quite hungry.

Kilroy looked at him. “You want to talk, Waxie?” “Nielsen is the name. Or Arthur. As you know. Yes.” “Okay. Keep it short.”

“I shall keep it as short as circumstances permit. Fellow associates, we have here a unique opportunity, probably one which has not occurred before in history. As Cowper pointed out, we must proceed with care. But, already we have set out on the wrong foot. Our object should be to found the first truly scientific community. Yet what do I find? You are proposing to

select an executive by counting noses! Leaders should not be chosen by popular whim; they should be determined by rigorous scientific criteria. Once selected, those leaders must have full scientific freedom to direct the bio-group in accordance with natural law, unhampered by such artificial anachronisms as statutes, constitutions, and courts of law. We have here an adequate supply of healthy females; we have the means to breed scientifically a new race, a super race, a race which, if I may say so-“

Ahandful of mud struck Nielsen in the chest; he stopped suddenly. “I saw who did that!” he said angrily. Just the sort of nincompoop who always-“ “Order, order, please!” Kilroy shouted. “No mudsling or I’ll appoint a squad of sergeants-at-arms. Are you through, Waxie?”

“I was just getting started.”

“Just a moment,” put in Cowper. “Point of order Mr. Chairman. Arthur has a right to be heard. But I think he speaking before the wrong body. We’re going to have a constitutional committee, I’m sure. He should present his arguments to them. Then, if we like them, we can adopt his ideas.”

“You’re right, Grant. Sit down, Waxie.” “Huh? I appeal!”

Roy Kilroy said briskly, “The chair has ruled this out of order at this time and the speaker has appealed to the house, a priority motion not debatable. All in favor of supporting the chair’s ruling, which is for Waxie to shut up, make it known by saying ‘Aye.’”

There was a shouted chorus of assent. “Opposed: ‘No.’ Sit down, Waxie.” Kilroy looked around. “Anybody else?”

“Yes”

“I can’t see. Who is it?”

“Bill Kennedy, Ponce de Leon class. I don’t agree with Nielsen except on one point: we are fiddling around with the wrong things. Sure, we need a group captain but, aside from whatever it takes to eat, we shouldn’t think about anything but how to get back. I don’t want a scientific society; I’d settle for a hot bath and decent food.”

There was scattered applause. The chairman said, “I’d like a bath, too … and I’d fight anybody for a dish of cornflakes. But, Bill, how do you suggest that we go about it?”

“Huh? We set up a crash-priority project and build a gate. Everybody works on it.”

There was silence, then several talked at once: “Crazy! No uranium.” – “We might find uranium.” – “Where do we get the tools? Shucks, I don’t even have a screwdriver.” – “But where are we?” – “It is just a matter of-“

“Quiet!” yelled Kilroy. “Bill, do you know how to build a gate?” “No”

“I doubt if anybody does.”

“That’s a defeatist attitude. Surely some of you educated blokes from Teller have studied the subject. You should get together, pool what you know, and put us to work. Sure, it may take a long time. But that’s what we ought to do.”

Cowper said, just a minute, Roy. Bill, I don’t dispute what you say; every idea should be explored. We’re bound to set up a planning committee. Maybe we had better elect a mayor, or a captain, or whatever you want to call him-and then dig into your scheme when we can discuss it in detail. I think it has merit and should be discussed at length. What do you think?”

“Why, sure, Grant. Let’s get on with the election. I just didn’t want that silly stuff about breeding a superman to be the last word.” “Mr. Chairman! I protest-“

“Shut up, Waxie. Are you ready with nominations for mayor? If there is no objection, the chair rules debate closed and will entertain nominations.” “I nominate Grant Cowper!”

“Second!”

“I second the nomination.” “Okay, I third it!”

“Let’s make it unanimous! Question, question!”

Jimmy Throxton’s voice cut through the shouting, “I NOMINATE ROD WALKER!” Bob Baxter stood up. “Mr. Chairman?”

“Quiet, everybody. Mr. Baxter.” “I second Rod Walker.”

“Okay. Two nominations, Grant Cowper and Rod Walker. Are there any more?”

There was a brief silence. Then Rod spoke up. “Just a second, Roy.” He found that his voice was trembling and he took two deep breaths before he went on. “I don’t want it. I’ve had all the grief I want for a while and I’d like a rest. Thanks anyhow, Bob. Thanks, Jimmy.”

“Any further nominations?”

“Just a sec, Roy … point of personal privilege.” Grant Cowper stood up. “Rod, I know how you feel. Nobody in his right mind seeks public office … except as a duty, willingness to serve. If you withdraw, I’m going to exercise the same privilege; I don’t want the headaches any more than you do.”

“Now wait a minute, Grant. You-“

“You wait a minute. I don’t think either one of us should withdraw; we ought to perform any duty that is handed to us, just as we stand a night watch when it’s our turn. But I think we ought to have more nominations.” He looked around. “Since that mix-up this morning we have as many girls as men . . yet both of the candidates are male. That’s not right. Uh, Mr. Chairman, I nominate Caroline Mshiyeni.”

“Huh? Hey, Grant, don’t be silly. I’d look good as a lady mayoress, wouldn’t I? Anyhow, I’m for Roddie.”

“That’s your privilege, Caroline. But you ought to let yourself be placed before the body, just like Rod and myself.” “Nobody’s going to vote for me!”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I’m going to vote for you. But we still ought to have more candidates.” “Three nominations before the house,” Kilroy announced. “Any more? If not, I declare the-“

“Mr. Chairman!”

“Huh? Okay, Waxie, you want to nominate somebody?” “Yes.”

“Who?” “Me”

“You want to nominate yourself?”

“I certainly do. What’s funny about that? I am running on a platform of strict scientific government. I want the rational minds in this group to have someone to vote for.” Kilroy looked puzzled. “I’m not sure that is correct parliamentary procedure. I’m afraid I’ll have to over-“

“Never mind, never mind!” Caroline chortled. “I nominate him. But I’m going to vote for Roddie,” she added. Kilroy sighed. “Okay, four candidates. I guess we’ll have to have a show of hands. We don’t have anything for ballots.” Bob Baxter stood up. “Objection, Mr. Chairman. I call for a secret ballot. We can find some way to do it.”

Away was found. Pebbles would signify Rod, a bare twig was a note for Cowper, a green leaf meant Caroline, while one of Jimmy’s ceramic attempts was offered as a ballot box. “How about Nielsen?” Kilroy asked.

Jimmy spoke up. “Uh, maybe this would do: I made another pot the same time I made this one, only it busted. Ill get chunks of it and all the crackpots are votes for Waxie.” “Mr. Chairman, I resent the insinua-“

“Save it, Waxie. Pieces of baked clay for you, pebbles for Walker, twigs for Grant, leaves for Carol. Get your votes, folks, then file past and drop them in the ballot box. Shorty, you and Margery act as tellers.”

The tellers solemnly counted the ballots by firelight. There were five votes for Rod, one for Nielsen, none for Caroline, and twenty-two for Cowper. Rod shook hands with Cowper and faded back into the darkness so that no one would see his face. Caroline looked at the results and said, “Hey, Grant! You promised to vote for me. What happened? Did you vote for yourself? Huh? How about that?”

Rod said nothing. He had voted for Cowper and was certain that the new mayor had not returned the compliment … he was sure who his five friends were. Dog take it!-he had seen it coming; why hadn’t Grant let him bow out?

Grant ignored Caroline’s comment. He briskly assumed the chair and said, “Thank you. Thank you all. know you want to get to sleep, so I will limit myself tonight to appointing a few committees-“

Rod did not get to sleep at once. He told himself that there was no disgrace in losing an election- shucks, hadn’t his old man lost the time he had run for community corporation board? He told himself, too, that trying to ride herd on those apes was enough to drive a man crazy and he was well out of it- he had never wanted the job! Nevertheless there was a lump in his middle and a deep sense of personal failure.

It seemed that he had just gone to sleep … his father was looking at him saying, “You know we are proud of you, son. Still, if you had had the foresight to-” when someone touched his arm.

He was awake, alert, and had Colonel Bowie out at once.

“Put away that toothpick,” Jimmy whispered, “before you hurt somebody. Me, I mean.” “What’s up?”

“I’m up, I’ve. got the fire watch. You’re about to be, because we are holding a session of the inner sanctum.” “Huh?”

“Shut up and come along. Keep quiet, people are asleep.”

The inner sanctum turned out to be Jimmy, Caroline, Jacqueline, Bob Baxter, and Carmen Garcia. They gathered inside the ring of fire but as far from the sleepers as possible. Rod looked around at his friends.

“What’s this all about?”

“It’s about this,” Jimmy said seriously. “You’re our Captain. And we like that election as much as I like a crooked deck of cards.” “That’s right,” agreed Caroline. “All that fancy talk!”

“Huh? Everybody got to talk. Everybody got to vote.” “Yes,” agreed Baxter. “Yes … and no.”

“It was all proper. I have no kick.”

“I didn’t expect you to kick, Rod. Nevertheless well, I don’t know how much politicking you’ve seen, Rod. I haven’t seen much myself, except in church matters and we Quakers don’t do things that way; we wait until the Spirit moves. But, despite all the rigamarole, that was a slick piece of railroading. This morning you would have been elected overwhelmingly; tonight you did not stand a chance.”

“The point is,” Jimmy put in, “do we stand for it?” “What can we do?”

“What can we do? We don’t have to stay here. We’ve still got our own group; we can walk out and find another place … a bigger cave maybe.” ‘Yes, sir!” agreed Caroline. “Right tonight.”

Rod thought about it. The idea was tempting; they didn’t need the others … guys like Nielsen- and Cowper. The discovery that his friends were loyal to him, loyal to the extent that they would consider exile rather than let him down choked him up. He turned to Jacqueline. “How about you, Jackie?”

“We’re partners, Rod. Always.”

“Bob- do you want to do this? You and Carmen?” “Yes. Well . .

“‘Well’ what?”

“Rod, we’re sticking with you. This election is all very well- but you took us in when we needed it and teamed with us. We’ll never forget it. Furthermore I think that you make a sounder team captain than Cowper is likely to make. But there is one thing.”

“Yes.”

“If you decide that we leave, Carmen and I will appreciate it if you put it off a day.” “Why?” demanded Caroline. “Now is the time.”

“Well- they’ve set this up as a formal colony, a village with a mayor. Everybody knows that a regularly elected mayor can perform weddings.” “Oh!” said Caroline. “Pardon my big mouth.”

“Carmen and I can take care of the religious end- it’s not very complicated in our church. But, just in case we ever are rescued, we would like it better and our folks would like it if the civil requirements were all perfectly regular and legal. You see?”

Rod nodded. “I see.”

“But if you say to leave tonight …”

“I don’t,” Rod answered with sudden decision. “We’ll stay and get you two properly married. Then-“ “Then we all shove off in a shower of rice,” Caroline finished.

“Then we’ll see. Cowper may turn out to be a good mayor. We won’t leave just because I lost an election.” He looked around at their faces. “But … but I certainly do thank you. I-“ He could not go on. Carmen stepped forward and kissed him quickly. “Goodnight, Rod. Thanks.”

4. “A Joyful Omen”

Mayor Cowper got off to a good start. He approved, took over, and embellished a suggestion that Carmen and Bob should have their own quarters. He suspended work on the wall and set the whole village to constructing a honeymoon cottage. Not until his deputy, Roy Kilroy, reminded him did he send out hunting parties.

He worked hard himself, having set the wedding for that evening and having decreed that the building must be finished by sundown. Finished it was by vandalizing part of the wall to supply building stone when the supply ran short Construction was necessarily simple since they had no tools, no mortar but clay mud, no way to cut timbers. It was a stone box as tall as a man and a couple of meters square, with a hole for a door. The roof was laid up from the heaviest poles that could be cut from a growth upstream of giant grass much like bamboo- the colonists simply called it “bamboo.” This was thatched and plastered with mud; it sagged badly.

But it was a house and even had a door which could be closed- a woven grass mat stiffened with bamboo. It neither hinged nor locked but it filled the hole and could be held in place with a stone and a pole. The floor was clean sand covered with fresh broad leaves.

As a doghouse for a St. Bernard it would have been about right; as a dwelling for humans it was not much. But it was better than that which most human beings had enjoyed through the history and prehistory of the race. Bob and Carmen did not look at it critically.

When work was knocked off for lunch Rod selfconsciously sat down near a group around Cowper. He had wrestled with his conscience for a long time in the night and had decided that the only thing to do was to eat sour grapes and pretend to like them. He could start by not avoiding Cowper.

Margery Chung was cook for the day; she cut Rod a chunk of scorched meat. He thanked her and started to gnaw it. Cowper was talking. Rod was not trying to overhear but there seemed to be no reason not to listen.

“-which is the only way we will get the necessary discipline into the group. I’m sure you agree. Cowper glanced up, caught Rod’s eye, looked annoyed, then grinned. “Hello, Rod.” “Hi, Grant.”

“Look, old man, we’re having an executive committee meeting. Would you mind finding somewhere else to eat lunch?” Rod stood up blushing. “Oh! Sure.”

Cowper seemed to consider it. “Nothing private, of course- just getting things done. On second thought maybe you should sit in and give us your advice.” “Huh? Oh, no! I didn’t know anything was going on.” Rod started to move away.

Cowper did not insist. “Got to keep working, lots to do. See you later, then. Any time.” He grinned and turned away.

Rod wandered off, feeling conspicuous. He heard himself hailed and turned gratefully, joined Jimmy Throxton. “Come outside the wall,” Jimmy said quietly. “The Secret Six are having a picnic. Seen the happy couple?”

“You mean Carmen and Bob?”

“Know any other happy couples? Oh, there they are- staring hungrily at their future mansion. See you outside.”

Rod went beyond the wall, found Jacqueline and Caroline sitting near the water and eating. From habit he glanced around, sizing up possible cover for carnivores and figuring escape routes back into the kraal, but his alertness was not conscious as there seemed no danger in the open so near other people. He joined the girls and sat down on a rock. “Hi, kids.”

“Hello, Rod.”

“H’lo, Roddie,” Caroline seconded. “‘What news on the Rialto?’”

“None, I guess. Say, did Grant appoint an executive committee last night?”

“He appointed about a thousand committees but no executive committee unless he did it after we adjourned. Why an executive committee? This gang needs one the way I need a bicycle.”

“Who is on it, Rod?” asked Jacqueline.

Rod thought back and named the faces he had seen around Cowper. She looked thoughtful. “Those are his own special buddies from Teller U.” “Yes, I guess so.

“I don’t like it,” she answered. “What’s the harm?”

“Maybe none … maybe. It is about what we could expect. But I’d feel better if all the classes were on it, not just that older bunch. You know.” “Shucks, Jack, you’ve got to give him some leeway.”

“I don’t see why, put in Caroline. “That bunch you named are the same ones Hizzonor appointed as chairmen of the other committees. It’s a tight little clique. You notice none of us unsavory characters got named to any important cominittee- I’m on waste disposal and camp sanitation, Jackie is on food preparation, and you aren’t on any. You should have been on the constitution, codification, and organization committee, but he made himself chairman and left you out. Add it up.”

Rod did not answer. Caroline went on, “I’ll add it if you won’t. First thing you know there will be a nominating committee. Then we’ll find that only those of a certain age, say twenty-one, can hold office. Pretty soon that executive committee will turn into a senate (called something else, probably) with a veto that can be upset only by a three-quarters majority that we will never get. That’s the way my Uncle Phil would have rigged it.”

“Your Uncle Phil?”

“Boy, there was a politician! I never liked him- he had kissed so many babies his lips were puckered. I used to hide when he came into our house. But I’d like to put him up against Hizzonor. It’ud be a battle of dinosaurs. Look, Rod, they’ve got us roped and tied; I say we should fade out right after the wedding.” She turned to Jacqueline. “Right… pardner?”

“Sure … if Rod says so.”

“Well, I don’t say so. Look, Carol, I don’t like the situation. To tell the truth … well, I was pretty sour at being kicked out of the captaincy. But I can’t let the rest of you pull out on that account. There aren’t enough of us to form another colony, not safely.”

“Why, Roddie, there are three times as many people still back in those trees as there are here in camp. This time we’ll build up slowly and be choosy about whom we take. Six is a good start. We’ll get by.”

“Not six, Carol. Four.”

“Huh? Six! We shook on it last night before Jimmy woke you.”

Rod shook his head. “Carol, how can we expect Bob and Carmen to walk out … right after the rest have made them a wedding present of a house of their own?” “Well … darn it, we’d build them another house!”

“They would go with us, Carol- but it’s too much to ask.”

“I think,” Jacqueline said grudgingly, “that Rod has something, Carol.”

The argument was ended by the appearance of Bob, Carmen, and Jimmy. They had been delayed, explained Jimmy, by the necessity of inspecting the house. “As if I didn’t know every rock in it. Oh, my back!”

“I appreciate it, Jim,” Carmen said softly. “I’ll rub your back.” “Sold!” Jimmy lay face down.

“Hey!” protested Caroline. “I carried more rocks than he did. Mostly he stood aromid and bossed.” “Supervisory work is exceptionally tiring,” Jimmy said smugly. “You get Bob to rub your back.”

Neither got a back rub as Roy Kilroy called to them from the wall. “Hey! You down there- lunch hour is over. Let’s get back to work.” “Sorry, Jimmy. Later.” Carmen turned away.

Jimmy scrambled to his feet. “Bob, Carmen- don’t go ‘way yet. I want to say something.” They stopped. Rod waved to Kilroy. “With you in a moment!” He turned back to the others.

Jimmy seemed to have difficulty in choosing words. “Uh, Carmen … Bob. The future Baxters. You know we think a lot of you. We think it’s swell that you are going to get married- every family ought to have a marriage. But … well, shopping isn’t what it might be around here and we didn’t know what to get you. So we talked it over and decided to give you this. It’s from all of us. Awedding present.” Jimmy jammed a hand in his pocket, hauled out his dirty, dog-eared playing cards and handed them to Carmen.

Bob Baxter looked startled. “Gosh, Jimmy, we can’t take your cards-your only cards.” “I- we want you to have them.”

“But-“

“Be quiet, Bob!” Carmen said and took the cards. “Thank you, Jimmy. Thank you very much. Thank you all.” She looked around. “Our getting married isn’t going to make any difference, you know. It’s still one family. We’ll expect you all … to come play cards … at our house just as-” She stopped suddenly and started to cry, buried her head on Bob’s shoulder. He patted it. Jimmy looked as if he wanted to cry and Rod felt nakedly embarrassed.

They started back, Carmen with an arm around Jimmy and the other around her bethrothed. Rod hung back with the other two. “Did Jimmy,” he whispered, “say anything to either of you about this?”

“No,” Jacqueline answered.

“Not me,” Caroline agreed. “I was going to give ‘em my stew pan, but now I’ll wait a day or two.” Caroline’s “bag of rocks” had turned out to contain an odd assortment for survival- among other things, a thin-page diary, a tiny mouth organ, and a half-litre sauce pan. She produced other unlikely but useful items from time to time. Why she had picked them and how she had managed to hang on to them after she discarded the bag were minor mysteries, but, as Deacon Matson had often told the class: “Each to his own methods. Survival is an art, not a science.” It was undeniable that she had appeared at the cave healthy, well fed, and with her clothing surprisingly neat and clean in view of the month she had been on the land.

“They won’t expect you to give up your stew pan, Caroline.”

“I can’t use it now that the crowd is so big, and they can set up housekeeping with it. Anyhow, I want to.”

“I’m going to give her two needles and some thread. Bob made her leave her sewing kit behind in favor of medical supplies. But I’ll wait a while, too.” “I haven’t anything I can give them,” Rod said miserably.

Jacqueline turned gentle eyes on him. “You can make them a water skin for their house, Rod,” she said softly. “They would like that. We can use some of my KwikKure so that it will last.” Rod cheered up at once. “Say, that’s a swell idea!”

“We are gathered here,” Grant Cowper said cheerfully, “to join these two people in the holy bonds of matrimony. I won’t give the usual warning because we all know that no impediment exists to this union. In fact it is the finest thing that could happen to our little community, a joyful omen of things to come, a promise for the future, a guarantee that we are firmly resolved to keep the torch of civilization, now freshly lighted on this planet, forever burning in the future. It means that-“

Rod stopped listening. He was standing at the groom’s right as best man. His duties had not been onerous but now he found that he had an overwhelming desire to sneeze. He worked his features around, then in desperation rubbed his upper lip violently and overcame it. He sighed silently and was glad for the first time that Grant Cowper had this responsibility. Grant seemed to know the right words and he did not.

The bride was attended by Caroline Mshiyeni. Both girls carried bouquets of a flame-colored wild bloom. Caroline was in shorts and shirt as usual and the bride was dressed in the conventional blue denim trousers and overshirt. Her hair was arranged en brosse; her scrubbed face shone in the firelight and she was radiantly beautiful.

“Who giveth this woman?”

Jimmy Throxton stepped forward and said hoarsely, “I do!” “The ring, please.”

Rod had it on his little finger; with considerable fumbling he got it off. It was a Ponce de Leon senior-class ring, borrowed from Bill Kennedy. He handed it to Cowper. “Carmen Eleanora, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, for better and for worse, in sickness and in health, till death do you part?” “I do.”

“Robert Edward, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife? Will you keep her and cherish her, cleaving unto her only, until death do you part?” “I do. I mean, I will. Both.”

“Take her hand in yours. Place the ring on her finger. Repeat after me- Rod’s sneeze was coming back again; he missed part of it.

“-so, by authority vested in me as duly elected Chief Magistrate of this sovereign community, I pronounce you man and wife! Kiss her, chum, before I beat you to it.”

Carol and Jackie both were crying; Rod wondered what had gone wrong. He missed his turn at kissing the bride, but she turned to him presently, put an arm around his neck and kissed him. He found himself shaking hands with Bob very solemnly. “Well, I guess that does it. Don’t forget you are supposed to carry her through the door.”

“I won’t forget.”

“Well, you told me to remind you. Uh, may the Principle bless you both.”

5. “I So Move”

There was no more talk of leaving. Even Caroline dropped the subject.

But on other subjects talk was endless. Cowper held a town meeting every evening. These started with committee reports- the committee on food resources and natural conservation, the committees on artifacts and inventory, on waste disposal and camp sanitation, on exterior security, on human resources and labor allotment, on recruitment and immigration, on conservation of arts and sciences, on constitution, codification, and justice, on food preparation, on housing and city planning- Cowper seemed to enjoy the endless talk and Rod was forced to admit that the others appeared to have a good time, too- he surprised himself by discovering that he too looked forward to the evenings. It was the village’s social life, the only recreation. Each session produced wordy battles, personal remarks and caustic criticisms; what was lacking in the gentlemanly formality found in older congresses was made up in spice. Rod liked to sprawl on the ground with his ear near Jimmy Throxton and listen to Jimmy’s slanderous asides about the intelligence, motives, and ancestry of each speaker. He waited for Caroline’s disorderly heckling.

But Caroline was less inclined to heckle now; Cowper had appointed her Historian on discovering that she owned a diary and could take shorthand. “It is extremely important,” he informed her in the presence of the village, “that we have a full record of these pioneer days for posterity. You’ve been writing in your diary every day?”

“Sure. That’s what it’s for.”

“Good! From here on it will be an official account. I want you to record the important events of each day.” “All right. It doesn’t make the tiniest bit of difference, I do anyhow.”

“Yes, yes, but in greater detail. I want you to record our proceedings, too. Historians will treasure this document, Carol.” “I’ll bet!”

Cowper seemed lost in thought. “How many blank leaves left in your diary?” “Couple of hundred, maybe.”

“Good! That solves a problem I had been wondering about. Uh, we will have to requisition half of that supply for official use- public notices, committee transactions, and the like. You know.”

Caroline looked wide-eyed. “That’s a lot of paper, isn’t it? You had better send two or three big husky boys to carry it.” Cowper looked puzzled. “You’re joking.”

“Better make it four big huskies. I could probably manage three … and somebody is likely to get hurt.”

“Now, see here, Caroline, it is just a temporary requisition, in the public interest. Long before you need all of your diary we will devise other writing materials.” “Go ahead and devise! That’s my diary.”

Caroline sat near Cowper, diary in her lap and style in her hand, taking notes. Each evening she opened proceedings by reading the minutes of the previous meeting. Rod asked her if she took down the endless debates.

“Goodness no!”

“I wondered. It seemed to me that you would run out of paper. Your minutes are certainly complete.” She chuckled. “Roddie, want to know what I really write down? Promise not to tell.”

“Of course I won’t.”

“When I ‘read the minutes’ I just reach back in my mind and recall what the gabble was the night before-I’ve got an awfully good memory. But what I actually dirty the paper with … well, here-” She took her diary from a pocket. “Here’s last night: ‘Hizzoner called us to disorder at half-past burping time. The committee on cats and dogs reported. No cats, no dogs. The shortage was discussed. We adjourned and went to sleep, those who weren’t already.’”

Rod grinned. “Agood thing Grant doesn’t know shorthand.”

“Of course, if anything real happens, I put it down. But not the talk, talk, talk.”

Caroline was not adamant about not sharing her supply of paper when needed. Amarriage certificate, drawn up in officialese by Howard Goldstein, a Teller law student, was prepared for the Baxters and signed by Cowper, the couple themselves, and Rod and Caroline as witnesses. Caroline decorated it with flowers and turtle doves before delivering it.

There were others who seemed to feel that the new government was long on talk and short on results. Among them was Bob Baxter, but the Quaker couple did not attend most of the meetings. But when Cowper had been in office a week, Shorty Dumont took the floor after the endless committee reports:

“Mr. Chairman!”

“Can you hold it, Shorty? I have announcements to make before we get on to new business.” “This is still about committee reports. When does the committee on our constitution report?” “Why, I made the report myself.”

“You said that a revised draft was being prepared and the report would be delayed. That’s no report. What I want to know is: when do we get a permanent set-up? When do we stop floating in air, getting along from day to day on ‘temporary executive notices’?”

Cowper flushed. “Do you object to my executive decisions?”

“Won’t say that I do, won’t say that I don’t. But Rod was let out and you were put in on the argument that we needed constitutional governinent, not a dictatorship. That’s why I voted for you. All right, where’s our laws? When do we vote on them?”

“You must understand,” Cowper answered carefully, “that drawing up a constitution is not done overnight. Many considerations are involved.”

“Sure, sure- but it’s time we had some notion of what sort of a constitution you are cooking up. How about a bill of rights? Have you drawn up one?” “All in due time.”

“Why wait? For a starter let’s adopt the Virginia Bill of Rights as article one. I so move. “You’re out of order. Anyhow we don’t even have a copy of it.”

“Don’t let that bother you; I know it by heart. You ready, Carol? Take this down . “Never mind,” Caroline answered. “I know it, too. I’m writing it.”

“You see? These things aren’t any mystery, Grant; most of us could quote it. So let’s quit stalling.” Somebody yelled, “Whoopee! That’s telling him, Shorty. I second the motion.”

Cowper shouted for order. He went on, “This is not the time nor the place. When the committee reports, you will find that all proper democratic freedoms and safeguards have been included- modified only by the stern necessities of our hazardous position.” He flashed his smile. “Now let’s get on with business. I have an announcement about hunting parties.

Hereafter each hunting party will be expected to-“

Dumont was still standing. “I said no more stalling, Grant. You argued that what we needed was laws, not a captain’s whim. You’ve been throwing your weight around quite a while now and I don’t see any laws. What are your duties? How much authority do you have? Are you both the high and the low justice? Or do the rest of us have rights?”

“Shut up and sit down!”

“How long is your term of office?”

Cowper made an effort to control himself. “Shorty, if you have suggestions or, such things, you must take them up with the committee. “Oh, slush! Give me a straight answer.”

“You are out of order.”

“I am not out of order. I’m insisting that the committee on drawing up a constitution tell us what they are doing. I won’t surrender the floor until I get an answer. This is a town meeting and I have as much right to talk as anybody.”

Cowper turned red. “I wouldn’t be too sure,” he said ominously. just how old are you, Shorty?”

Dumont stared at him. “Oh, so that’s it? And the cat is out of the bag!” He glanced around. “I see quite a few here who are younger than I am. See what he’s driving at, folks? Second- class citizens. He’s going to stick an age limit in that so-called constitution. Aren’t you, Grant? Look me in the eye and deny it.”

“Roy! Dave! Grab him and bring him to order.”

Rod had been listening closely; the show was better than usual. Jimmy had been adding his usual flippant commentary. Now Jimmy whispered, “That tears it. Do we choose up sides or do we fade back and watch the fun?”

Before he could answer Shorty made it clear that he needed no immediate help. He set his feet wide and snapped, “Touch me and somebody gets hurt!” He did not reach for any weapon but his attitude showed that he was willing to fight.

He went on, “Grant, I’ve got one thing to say, then I’ll shut up.” He turned and spoke to all. “You can see that we don’t have any rights and we don’t know where we stand- but we are already organized like a straitjacket. Committees for this, committees for that- and what good has it done? Are we better off than we were before all these half-baked committees were appointed? The wall is still unfinished, the camp is dirtier than ever, and nobody knows what he is supposed to do. Why, we even let the signal fire go out yesterday. When a roof leaks, you don’t appoint a committee; you fix the leak. I say give the job back to Rod, get rid of these silly committees, and get on with fixing the leaks. Anybody with me? Make some noise!”

They made plenty of noise. The shouts may have come from less than half but Cowper could see that he was losing his grip on them. Roy Kilroy dropped behind Shorty Dumont and looked questioningly at Cowper; Jiminy jabbed Rod in the ribs and whispered, “Get set, boy.”

But Cowper shook his head at Roy. “Shorty,” he said quietly, “are you through making your speech?” “That wasn’t a speech, that was a motion. And you had better not tell me it’s out of order.”

“I did not understand your motion. State it.”

“You understood it. I’m moving that we get rid of you and put Rod back in.” Kilroy interrupted. “Hey, Grant, he can’t do that. That’s not according to-“ “Hold it, Roy. Shorty, your motion is not in order.”

“I thought you would say that!”

“And it is really two motions. But I m not going to bother with trifles. You say people don’t like the way I’m doing things, so we’ll find out.” He went on briskly, “Is there a second to the motion?”

“Second!”

“I second it.”

“Moved and seconded. The motion is to recall me and put Rod in office. Any remarks?”

Adozen people tried to speak. Rod got the floor by outshouting the others. “Mr. Chairman, Mr. Chairman! Privileged question!” “The chair recognizes Rod Walker.”

“Point of personal privilege. I have a statement to make.” “Well? Go ahead.”

“Look, Grant, I didn’t know Shorty planned to do this. Tell him, Shorty.” “That’s right.”

“Okay, okay,” Cowper said sourly. “Any other remarks? Don’t yell, just stick up your hands.” “I’m not through,” insisted Rod.

“Well?”

“I not only did not know, I’m not for it. Shorty, I want you to withdraw your motion.” “No!”

“I think you should. Grant has only had a week; you can’t expect miracles in that time- I know; I’ve had grief enough with this bunch of wild men. You may not like the things he’s done- I don’t myself, a lot of them. That’s to be expected. But if you let that be an excuse to run him out of office, then sure as daylight this gang will break up.”

“I’m not busting it up- he is! He may be older than I am but if he thinks that makes the least difference when it comes to having a say- well… he’d better think twice. I’m warning him. You hear that, Grant?”

“I heard it. You misunderstood me.” “Like fun I did!”

“Shorty,” Rod persisted, “will you drop this idea? I’m asking you please.”

Shorty Dumont looked stubborn. Rod looked helplessly at Cowper, shrugged and sat down. Cowper turned away and growled, “Any more debate? You back there… Agnes? You’ve got the floor.”

Jimmy whispered, “Why did you pull a stunt like that, Rod? Nobility doesn’t suit you.” “I wasn’t being noble. I knew what I was doing,” Rod answered in low tones.

“You messed up your chances to be re-elected.”

“Stow it.” Rod listened; it appeared that Agnes Fries had more than one grievance. Jim?”

“Huh?”

“Jump to your feet and move to adjourn.”

“What? Ruin this when it’s getting good? There is going to be some hair pulled … I hope.” “Don’t argue; do it!- or I’ll bang your heads together.”

“Oh, all right. Spoilsport.” Jimmy got reluctantly to his feet, took a breath and shouted, “I move we adjourn!” Rod bounced to his feet. “SECOND THE MOTION!” Cowper barely glanced at them. “Out of order. Sit down.”

“It is not out of order,” Rod said loudly. “Amotion to adjourn is always in order, it takes precedence, and it cannot be debated. I call for the question.”

“I never recognized you. This recall motion is going to be voted on it it is the last thing I do.” Cowper’s face was tense with anger. “Are you through, Agnes? Or do you want to discuss my table manners, too?”

“You can’t refuse a motion to adjourn,” Rod insisted. “Question! Put the question.”

Several took up the shout, drowning out Agnes Fries, preventing Cowper from recognizing another speaker. Boos and catcalls rounded out the tumult. Cowper held up both hands for silence, then called out, “It has been moved and seconded that we adjourn. Those in favor say, ‘Aye.’”

“AYE!!”

“Opposed?”

“No,” said Jimmy.

“The meeting is adjourned.” Cowper strode out of the circle of firelight.

Shorty Dumont came over, planted himself in front of Rod and looked up. “Afine sort of a pal you turned out to be!” He spat on the ground and stomped off.

“Yeah,” agreed Jimmy, “what gives? Schizophrenia? Your nurse drop you on your head? That noble stuff in the right doses might have put us back in business. But you didn’t know when to stop.”

Jacqueline had approached while Jimmy was speaking. “I wasn’t pulling any tricks,” Rod insisted. “I meant what I said. Kick a captain out when he’s had only a few days to show himself and you’ll bust us up into a dozen little groups. I wouldn’t be able to hold them together. Nobody could.”

“Bosh! Jackie, tell the man.”

She frowned. “Jimmy, you’re sweet, but you’re not bright.” “Et tu, Jackie?”

“Never mind, Jackie will take care of you. Agood job, Rod. By tomorrow everybody will realize it. Some of them are a little stirred up tonight.” “What I don’t see,” Rod said thoughtfully, “is what got Shorty stirred up in the first place?”

“Hadn’t you heard? Maybe it was while you were out hunting. I didn’t see it, but he got into a row with Roy, then Grant bawled him out in front of everybody. I think Shorty is self-conscious about his height,” she said seriously. “He doesn’t like to take orders.”

“Does anybody?”

The next day Grant Cowper acted as if nothing had happened. But his manner had more of King Log and less of King Stork. Late in the afternoon he looked up Rod. “Walker? Can you spare me a few minutes?”

“Let’s go where we can talk.” Grant led him to a spot out of earshot. They sat on the ground and Rod waited. Cowper seemed to have difficulty in finding words. Finally he said, “Rod, I think I can depend on you.” He threw in his grin, but it looked forced.

“Why?” asked Rod.

“Well… the way you behaved last night.”

“So? Don’t bank on it, I didn’t do it for you.” Rod paused, then added, “Let’s get this straight. I don’t like you.”

For once Cowper did not grin. “That makes it mutual. I don’t like you a little bit. But we’ve got to get along and I think I can trust you. “Maybe.”

“I’ll risk it.”

“I agree with every one of Shorty’s gripes. I just didn’t agree with his soltition.”

Cowper gave a wry smile unlike his usual expression. For an instant Rod found himself almost liking him. “The sad part is that I agree with his gripes myself.” “Huh?”

“Rod, you probably think I’m a stupid jerk but the fact is I do know quite a bit about theory of government. The hard part is to apply it in a… a transitional period like this. We’ve got fifty people here and not a one with any practical experience in government- not even myself. But every single one considers himself an expert. Take that bill-of-rights motion; I couldn’t let that stand. I know enough about such things to know that the rights and duties needed for a co-operative colony like this can’t be taken over word for word from an agrarian democracy, and they are still different from those necessary for an industrial republic.” He looked worried. “It is true that we had considered limiting the franchise.”

“You do and they’ll toss you in the creek!”

“I know. That’s one reason why the law committee hasn’t made a report. Another reason is- well, confound it, how can you work out things like a constitution when you practically haven’t any writing paper? Ifs exasperating. But about the franchise: the oldest one of us is around twenty-two and the youngest is about sixteen. The worst of it is that the youngest are the most precocious, geniuses or near-geniuses.” Cowper looked up. “I don’t mean you.

“Oh, no,” Rod said hastily. “I’m no genius!”

“You’re not sixteen, either. These brilliant brats worry me. ‘Bush lawyers,’ every blessed one, with always a smart answer and no sense. We thought with an age limit- a reasonable one- the older heads could act as ballast while they grow up. But it won’t work.”

“No. It won’t.”

“But what am I to do? That order about hunting teams not being mixed- that wasn’t aimed at teams like you and Carol, but she thought it was and gave me the very deuce. I was just trying to take care of these kids. Confound it, I wish they were all old enough to marry and settle down- the Baxters don’t give me trouble.”

“I wouldn’t worry. In a year or so ninety per cent of the colony will be married.” “I hope so! Say … are you thinking about it?”

“Me?” Rod was startled. “Farthest thing from my mind.”

“Um? I thought- Never mind; I didn’t get you out here to ask about your private affairs. What Shorty had to say was hard to swallow- but I’m going to make some changes. I’m abolishing most of the committees.”

“So?”

“Yes. Blast them, they don’t do anything; they just produce reports. I’m going to make one girl boss cook- and one man boss hunter. I want you to be chief of police.” “Huh? Why in Ned do you want a chief of police?”

“Well … somebody has to see that orders are carried out. You know, camp sanitation and such. Somebody has to keep the signal smoking- we haven’t accounted for thirty-seven people, aside from known dead. Somebody has to assign the night watch and check on it. The kids run hog wild if you don’t watch them. You are the one to do it.”

“Why?”

“Well … let’s be practical, Rod. I’ve got a following and so have you. We’ll have less trouble if everybody sees that we two stand together. It’s for the good of the community.”

Rod realized, as clearly as Grant did, that the group had to pull together. But Cowper was asking him to shore up his shaky administration, and Rod not only resented him but thought that Cowper was all talk and no results.

It was not just the unfinished wall, he told himself, but a dozen things. Somebody ought to search for a salt lick, every day. There ought to be a steady hunt for edible roots and berries and things, too- he, for one, was tired of an all-meat diet. Sure, you could stay healthy if you didn’t stick just to lean meat, but who wanted to eat nothing but meat, maybe for a life time? And there were those stinking hides … Grant had ordered every kill skinned, brought back for use.

“What are you going to do with those green hides?” he asked suddenly. “Huh? Why?”

“They stink. If you put me in charge, I’m going to chuck them in the creek.” “But we’re going to need them. Half of us are in rags now.

“But we’re not short on hides; tanning is what we need. Those hides won’t sun-cure this weather.” “We haven’t got tannin. Don’t be silly, Rod.”

“Then send somebody out to chew bark till they find some. You can’t mistake the puckery taste. And get rid of those hides!” “If I do, will you take the job?”

“Maybe. You said, ‘See that orders are carried out.’ Whose orders? Yours? Or Kilroy’s?” “Well, both. Roy is my deputy.”

Rod shook his head. “No, thanks. You’ve got him, so you don’t need me. Too many generals, not enough privates.” “But, Rod, I do need you. Roy doesn’t get along with the younger kids. He rubs them the wrong way.”

“He rubs me the wrong way, too. Nothing doing, Grant. Besides, I don’t like the title anyhow. It’s silly.”

“Pick your own. Captain of the Guard… City Manager. I don’t care what you call it; I want you to take over the night guard and see that things run smoothly around camp- and keep an eye on the younger kids. You can do it and it’s your duty.”

“What will you be doing?”

“I’ve got to whip this code of laws into shape. I’ve got to think about long-range planning. Heavens, Rod, I ve got a thousand things on my mind. I can’t stop to settle a quarrel just because some kid has been teasing the cook. Shorty was right; we can’t wait. When I give an order I want a law to back it and not have to take lip from some young snotty. But I can’t do it all, I need help.”

Cowper put it on grounds impossible to refuse, nevertheless … “What about Kilroy?”

“Eh? Confound it, Rod, you can’t ask me to kick out somebody else to make room for you.”

“I’m not asking for the job!” Rod hesitated. He needed to say that it was a matter of stubborn pride to him to back up the man who had beaten him, it was that more than any public- spiritedness. He could not phrase it, but he did know that Cowper and Kilroy were not the same case.

“I won’t pull Kilroy’s chestnuts out of the fire. Grant, I’ll stooge for you; you were elected. But I won’t stooge for a stooge.” “Rod, be reasonable! If you got an order from Roy, it would be my order. He would simply be carrying it out.”

Rod stood up. “No deal.”

Cowper got angrily to his feet and strode away.

There was no meeting that night, for the first time. Rod was about to visit the Baxters when Cowper called him aside. “You win. I’ve made Roy chief hunter.” “Huh?”

“You take over as City Manager, or Queen of the May, or whatever you like. Nobody has set the night watch. So get busy.” “Wait a minute! I never said I would take the job.”

“You made it plain that the only thing in your way was Roy. Okay, you get your orders directly from me.

Rod hesitated. Cowper looked at him scornfully and said, “So you can’t co-operate even when you have it all your own way?” “Not that, but-“

“No ‘buts.’ Do you take the job? Astraight answer: yes, or no. “Uh… yes.

“Okay.” Cowper frowned and added, “I almost wish you had turned it down.” “That makes two of us.”

Rod started to set the guard and found that every boy he approached was convinced that he had had more than his share of watches. Since the exterior security committee had kept no records- indeed, had had no way to- it was impossible to find out who was right and who was shirking. “Stow it!” he told one. “Starting tomorrow we’ll have an alphabetical list, straight rotation. I’ll post it even if we have to scratch it on a rock.” He began to realize that there was truth in what Grant had said about the difficulty of getting along without writing paper.

“Why don’t you put your pal Baxter on watch?”

“Because the Mayor gave him two weeks honeymoon, as you know. Shut up the guff. Charlie will be your relief; make sure you know where he sleeps.” “I think I’ll get married. I could use two weeks of loafing.”

“I’ll give you five to one you can’t find a girl that far out of her mind. You’re on from midnight to two.”

Most of them accepted the inevitable once they were assured of a square deal in the future, but Peewee Schneider, barely sixteen and youngest in the community, stood on his “rights”- he had stood a watch the night before, he did not rate another for at least three nights, and nobody could most colorfully make him.

Rod told Peewee that he would either stand his watch, or Rod would slap his ears loose- and then he would still stand his watch. To which he added that if he heard Peewee use that sort of language around camp again he would wash Peewee’s mouth out with soap.

Schneider shifted the argument. “Yah! Where are you going to find soap?”

“Until we get some, I’ll use sand. You spread that word, Peewee: no more rough language around camp. We’re going to be civilized if it kills us. Four to six, then, and show Kenny where you sleep.” As he left Rod made a mental note that they should collect wood ashes and fat; while he had only a vague idea of how to make soap probably someone knew how… and soap was needed for other purposes than curbing foul-mouthed pip squeaks. He had felt a yearning lately to be able to stand upwind of himself … he had long ago thrown away his socks.

Rod got little sleep. Everytime he woke he got up and inspected the guard, and twice he was awakened by watchmen who thought they saw something prowling outside the circle of firelight. Rod was not sure, although it did seem once that he could make out a large, long shape drifting past in the darkness. He stayed up a while each time, another gun in case the prowler risked the wall or the fires in the gap. He felt great temptation to shoot at the prowling shadows, but suppressed it. To carry the attack to the enemy would be to squander their scanty ammunition without making a dent in the dangerous beasts around them. There were prowlers every night; they had to live with it.

He was tired and cranky the next morning and wanted to slip away after breakfast and grab a nap in the cave. He had not slept after four in the morning, but had checked on Peewee Schneider at frequent intervals. But there was too much to do; he promised himself a nap later and sought out Cowper instead. “Two or three things on my mind, Grant.”

“Spill it.”

“Any reason not to put girls on watch?” “Eh? I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Why not? These girls don’t scream at a mouse. Everyone of them stayed alive by her own efforts at least a month before she joined up here. Ever seen Caroline in action?” “Mmm … no.

“You should. It’s a treat. Sudden death in both hands, and eyes in the back of her head. If she were on watch, I would sleep easy. How many men do we have now?” “Uh, twenty-seven, with the three that came in yesterday.”

“All right, out of twenty-seven who doesn’t stand watch?” “Why, everybody takes his turn.”

“You?”

“Eh? Isn’t that carrying it pretty far? I don’t expect you to take a watch; you run it and check on the others.” “That’s two off. Roy Kilroy?”

“Uh, look, Rod, you had better figure that he is a department head as chief hunter and therefore exempt. You know why- no use looking for trouble.” “I know, all right. Bob Baxter is off duty, too.”

“Until next week.”

“But this is this week. The committee cut the watch down to one at a time; I’m going to boost it to two again. Besides that I want a sergeant of the guard each night. He will be on all night and sleep all next day … then I don’t want to put him on for a couple of days. You see where that leaves me? I need twelve watchstanders every night; I have less than twenty to draw from.”

Cowper looked worried. “The committee didn’t think we had to have more than one guard at a time.”

“Committee be hanged!” Rod scratched his scars and thought about shapes in the dark. “Do you want me to run this the way I think it has to be run? Or shall I just go through the motions?”

“Well . .

“One man alone either gets jittery and starts seeing shadows- or he dopes off and is useless. I had to wake one last night- I won’t tell you who; I scared him out of his pants; he won’t do it again. I say we need a real guard, strong enough in case of trouble to handle things while the camp has time to wake up. But if you want it your way, why not relieve me and put somebody else in?”

“No, no, you keep it. Do what you think necessary.”

“Okay, I’m putting the girls on. Bob and Carmen, too, And you.” “Huh?”

“And me. And Roy Kilroy. Everybody. That’s the only way you will get people to serve without griping; that way you will convince them that it is serious, a first obligation, even ahead of hunting.”

Cowper picked at a hangnail, “Do you honestly think I should stand watch? And you?”

“I do. It would boost morale seven hundred percent. Besides that, it would be a good thing, uh, politically.” Cowper glanced up, did not smile. “You’ve convinced me. Let me know when it’s my turn.”

“Another thing. Last night there was barely wood to keep two fires going.” “Your problem. Use anybody not on the day’s hunting or cooking details.”

“I will. You’ll hear some beefs. Boss, those were minor items; now I come to the major one. Last night I took a fresh look at this spot. I don’t like it, not as a permanent camp. We’ve been lucky.”

“Eh? Why?”

“This place is almost undefendable. We’ve got a stretch over fifty meters long between shale and water on the upstream side. Downstream isn’t bad, because we build a fire in the bottleneck. But upstream we have walled off less than half and we need a lot more stakes behind the wall. Look,” Rod added, pointing, “you could drive an army through there- and last night I had only two little bitty fires. We ought to finish that wall.”

“We will.”

“But we ought to make a real drive to find a better place. This is makeshift at best. Before you took over I as trying to find more caves- but I didn’t have time to explore very far. Ever been to Mesa Verde?”

“In Colorado? No.”

“Cliff dwellings, you’ve seen pictures. Maybe somewhere up or down stream-more likely down- we will find pockets like those at Mesa Verde where we can build homes for the whole colony. You ought to send a team out for two weeks or more, searching. I volunteer for it.”

“Maybe. But you can’t go; I need you.”

“In a week I’ll have this guard duty lined up so that it will run itself. Bob Baxter can relieve me; they respect him… .. .” He thought for a moment. Jackie? Jimmy? “I’ll team with Carol.” “Rod, I told you I want you here. But are you and Caroline planning to marry?”

“Huh? What gave you that notion?”

“Then you can’t team with her in any case. We are trying to re-introduce amenities around here.” “Now see here, Cowper!”

“Forget it.”

“Unh … all right. But the first thing- the very first- is to finish that wall. I want to put everybody to work nght away.” “Mmm …” Cowper said. “I’m sorry. You can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because we are going to build a house today. Bill Kennedy and Sue Briggs are getting married tonight.” “Huh? I hadn’t heard.”

“I guess you are the first to hear. They told me about it privately, at breakfast.”

Rod was not surprised, as Bill and Sue preferred each other’s company. “Look, do they have to get married to-night? That wall is urgent, Grant; I’m telling you.” “Don’t be so intense, Rod. You can get along a night or two with bigger fires. Remember, there are human values more important than material values.”

6. The Beach of Bones

“July 29- Bill and Sue got married tonight. Hizzoner never looked lovelier. He made a mighty pretty service out of it- I cried and so did the other girls. If that boy could do the way he can talk! I played Mendelssohn’s Wedding March on my harmonica with tears running down my nose and gumming up the reeds- that’s a touch I wanted to put into darling Carmen’s wedding but I couldn’t resist being bridesmaid. The groom got stuck carrying his lady fair over the threshold of their ‘house’- if I may call it that- and had to put her down and shove her in ahead of him. The ceiling is lower than it ought to be which is why he got stuck, because we ran out of rock and Roddie raised Cain when we started to use part of the wall. Hizzoner was leading the assault on the wall and both of them got red in the face and shouted at each other. But Hizzoner backed down after Roddie got him aside and said something- Bill was pretty sore at Roddie but Bob sweet-talked him and offered to swap houses and Roddie promised Bill that we would take the roof off and bring the walls up higher as soon as the wall is finished. That might not be as soon as he thinks, though- usable rock is getting hard to find. I’ve broken all my nails trying to pry out pieces we could use. But I agree with Roddie that we ought to finish that wall and I sleep a lot sounder now that he is running the watch and I’ll sleep sounder yet when that wall is tight and the pincushion back of it finished. Of course we girls sleep down at the safe end but who wants to wake up and find a couple of our boys missing? It is not as if we had them to spare, bless their silly little hearts. Nothing like a man around the house, Mother always said, to give a home that lived-in look.

“July 30- I’m not going to write in this unless something happens. Hizzoner talks about making papyrus like the Egyptians but I’ll believe it when I see it.

“Aug 5- I was sergeant of the guard last night and Roddie was awake practically all night. I turned in after breakfast and slept until late afternoon- when I woke up there was Roddie, red- eyed and cross, yelling for more rocks and more firewood. Sometimes Roddie is a little hard to take.

“Aug 9- the salt lick Alice found is closer than the one Shorty found last week, but not as good.

“Aug 14- Jackie finally made up her mind to marry Jim and I think Roddie is flabbergasted- but I could have told him a month ago. Roddie is stupid about such things. I see another house & wall crisis coming and Roddie will get a split personality because he will want Jimmy and Jacqueline to have a house right away and the only decent stone within reach is built into the wall.

“Aug 15- Jimmy and Jackie, Agnes and Curt, were married today in a beautiful double ceremony. The Throxtons have the Baxter house temporarily and the Pulvermachers have the Kennedy’s doll house while we partition the cave into two sets of married quarters and a storeroom.

“Sep 1- the roots I dug up didn’t poison me, so I served a mess of them tonight. The shield from power pack of that Thunderbolt gun we salvaged- Johann’s, it must have been- made a big enough boiler to cook a little helping for everybody. The taste was odd, maybe because Agnes had been making soap in it- it wasn’t very good soap, either. I’m going to call these things yams because they look like yams although they taste more like parsnips. There are a lot of them around. Tomorrow I m going to try boiling them with greens, a strip of side ineat, and plenty of salt. Yum, yum! I’m going to bake them in ashes, too.

“Sep 16- Chad Ames and Dick Burke showed up with their tails tucked in; Hizzoner got soft-hearted and let em stay. They say Jock McGowan is crazy. I can believe it.

“Sep 28- Philip Schneider died today, hunting. Roy carried him in, but he was badly clawed and lost a lot of blood and was D.O.A. Roy resigned as boss hunter and Hizzoner appointed Cliff. Roy is broken up about it but nobody blames him. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the Name of the Lord.

“Oct 7- I’ve decided to marry M.

“Oct 10- seems I was mistaken- M. is going to marry Margery Chung. Well, they are nice kids and if we ever get out of this I’ll be glad I’m single since I want to buck for a commission in the Amazons. Note: be a little more standoffish, Caroline. Well, try!

“Oct 20- Carmen???? “Oct 21- Yes.

“Nov 1- well Glory be! I’m the new City Manager. Little Carol, the girl with two left feet Just a couple of weeks, temporary and acting while Roddie is away, but say ‘sir’ when you speak to me. Hizzoner finally let Roddie make the down-river survey he has been yipping about, accompanying it with a slough of advice and injunctions that Roddie will pay no attention to once he is out of sight-if I know Roddie. It’s a two-man team and Roddie picked Roy as his teamer. They left this morning.

“Nov 5- being City Manager is not all marshmallow sundae. I wish Roddie would get back.

“Nov 11 – Hizzoner wants me to copy off in here the ‘report of the artifacts committee’! Mick Mahmud has been keeping it in his head which strikes me as a good place. But Hizzoner has been very jumpy since Roddie and Roy left, so I guess I will humor him- here it is:

“12 spare knives (besides one each for everybody)

“53 firearms and guns of other sorts- but only about half of them with even one charge left. “6 Testaments

“2 Peace of the Flame “1 Koran

“1 Book of Mormon

“1 Oxford Book of English Verse, Centennial Edition “1 steel bow and 3 hunting arrows

“1 boiler made from a wave shield and quite a bit of metal and plastic junk (worth its weight in uranium, I admit) from the Thunderbolt Jackie salvaged. “1 stew pan (Carmen’s)

“1 pack playing cards with the nine of hearts missing

“13 matches, any number of pocket flamers no longer working, and 27 burning glasses “1 small hand ax

“565 meters climbing line, some of it chopped up for other uses “91 fishhooks (and no fish fit to eat!)

“61 pocket compasses, some of them broken

“19 watches that still run (4 of them adjusted to our day) “2 bars of scented soap that Theo has been hoarding “2 boxes Kwik-Kure and part of a box of Tan-Fast

“Several kilos of oddments that I suppose we will find a use for but I won’t list. Mick has a mind like a pack rat.

“Lots of things we have made and can make more of- pots, bows and arrows, hide scrapers, a stone-age mortar & pestle we can grind seeds on if you don’t mind grit in your teeth, etc. Hizzoner says the Oxford Verse is the most valuable thing we have and I agree, but not for his reasons. He wants me to cover all the margins with shorthand, recording all special knowledge that any of us have- everything from math to pig-raising. Cliff says go ahead as long as we don’t deface the verses. I don’t see when I’m going to find time. I’ve hardly been out of the settlement since Roddie left and sleep is something I just hear about.

“Nov 13- only two more days. ‘For this relief, much thanks…’

“Nov 16- I didn’t think they would be on time.

“Nov 21- We finally adopted our constitution and basic code today, the first town meeting we’ve had in weeks. It covers the flyleaves of two Testaments, Bob’s and Georgia’s. If anybody wants to refer to it, which I doubt, that’s where to look.

“Nov 29- Jimmy says old Rod is too tough to kill. I hope he’s right. Why, oh, why didn’t I twist Hizzoner’s arm and make him let me go? “Dec 15- there’s no use kidding ourselves any longer.

“Dec 21- The Throxtons and Baxters and myself and Grant gathered privately in the Baxter house tonight and Grant recited the service for the dead. Bob said a prayer for both of them and then we sat quietly for a long time, Quaker fashion. Roddie always reminded me of my brother Rickie, so I privately asked Mother to take care of him, and Roy, too- Mother had a lap big enough for three, any time.

“Grant hasn’t made a public announcement; officially they are just ‘overdue.’ “Dec 25- Christmas”

Rod and Roy traveled light and fast downstream, taking turns leading and covering. Each carried a few kilos of salt meat but they expected to eat off the land. In addition to game they now knew of many edible fruits and berries and nuts; the forest was a free cafeteria to those who knew it. They carried no water since they expected to follow the stream. But they continued to treat the water with respect; in addition to ichthyosaurs that sometimes pulled down a drinking buck there were bloodthirsty little fish that took very small bites- but they traveled in schools and could strip an animal to bones in minutes.”

Rod carried both Lady Macbeth and Colonel Bowie; Roy Kilroy carried his Occam’s Razor and a knife borrowed from Carmen Baxter. Roy had a climbing rope wrapped around his waist. Each had a hand gun strapped to his hip but these were for extremity; one gun had only three charges. But Roy carried Jacqueline Throxton’s air pistol, with freshly envenomed darts; they expected it to save hours of hunting, save time for travel.

Three days downstream they found a small cave, found living in it a forlorn colony of five girls. They powwowed, then headed on down as the girls started upstream to find the settlement. The girls had told them of a place farther down where the creek could be crossed. They found it, a wide rocky shallows with natural stepping stones … then wasted two days on the far side before crossing back.

By the seventh morning they had found no cave other than one the girls had occupied. Rod said to Roy, “Today makes a week. Grant said to be back in two weeks.” “That’s what the man said. Yes, sir!”

“No results.” “Nope. None.”

“We ought to start back.”

Roy did not answer. Rod said querulously, “Well, what do you think?”

Kilroy was lying down, watching the local equivalent of an ant. He seemed in no hurry to do anything else. Finally he answered, “Rod, you are bossing this party. Upstream, downstream- just tell me.”

“Oh, go soak your head.”

“On the other hand, a bush lawyer like Shorty might question Grant’s authority to tell us to return at a given time. He might use words like ‘free citizen’ and ‘sovereign autonomy.’ Maybe he’s got something- this neighborhood looks awfully far ‘West of the Pecos.’”

“Well… we could stretch it a day, at least?. We won’t be taking that side trip going back.” “Obviously. Now, if I were leading the party- but I’m not.”

“Cut the double talk! I asked for advice.”

“Well, I say we are here to find caves, not to keep a schedule.” Rod quit frowning. “Up off your belly. Let’s go.”

They headed downstream.

The terrain changed from forest valley to canyon country as the stream cut through a plateau. Game became harder to find and they used some of their salt meat. Two days later they came to the first of a series of bluffs carved eons earlier into convolutions, pockets, blank dark eyes. “This looks like it.”

“Yes,” agreed Roy. He looked around. “It might be even better farther down.” “It might be.”

They went on.

In time the stream widened out, there were no more caves, and the canyons gave way to a broad savannah, treeless except along the banks of the river. Rod sniffed. “I smell salt.” “You ought to. There’s ocean over there somewhere.”

“I don’t think so.” They went on.

They avoided the high grass, kept always near the trees. The colonists had listed more than a dozen predators large enough to endanger a man, from a leonine creature twice as long as the biggest African lion down to a vicious little scaly thing which was dangerous if cornered. It was generally agreed that the leonine monster was the “stobor” they had been warned against, although a minority favored a smaller carnivore which was faster, trickier, and more likely to attack a man.

One carnivore was not considered for the honor. It was no larger than a jack rabbit, had an oversize head, a big jaw, front legs larger than hind, and no tail. It was known as “dopy joe” from the silly golliwog expression it had and its clumsy, slow movements when disturbed. It was believed to live by waiting at burrows of field rodents for supper to come out. Its skin cured readily and made a good water bag. Grassy fields such as this savannah often were thick with them.

They camped in a grove of trees by the water. Rod said, “Shall I waste a match, or do it the hard way?” “Suit yourself. I’ll knock over something for dinner.”

“Watch yourself. Don’t go into the grass.

“I’ll work the edges. Cautious Kilroy they call me, around the insurance companies.

Rod counted his three matches, hoping there would be four, then started making fire by friction. He had just succeeded, delayed by moss that was not as dry as it should have been, when Roy returned and dropped a small carcass. “The durnedest thing happened.”

The kill was a dopy joe; Rod looked at it with distaste. “Was that the best you could do? They taste like kerosene.” “Wait till I tell you. I wasn’t hunting him; he was hunting me.”

“Don’t kid me!”

“Truth. I had to kill him to keep him from snapping my ankles. So I brought him in.

Rod looked at the small creature. “Never heard the like. Must be insanity in his family.”

“Probably.” Roy started skinning it.

Next morning they reached the sea, a glassy body untouched by tide, unruffled by wind. It was extremely briny and its shore was crusted with salt They concluded that it was probably a dead sea, not a true ocean. But their attention was not held by the body of water. Stretching away along the shore apparently to the horizon were millions on heaping millions of whitened bones. Rod stared. “Where did they all come from?”

Roy whistled softly. “Search me. But if we could sell them at five pence a metric ton, we’d be millionaires.” “Billionaires, you mean.

“Let’s not be fussy.” They walked out along the beach, forgetting to be cautious, held by the amazing sight. There were ancient bones, cracked by sun and sea, new bones with gristle clinging, big bones of the giant antelope the colonists never hunted, tiny bones of little buck no larger than terriers, bones without number of all sorts. But there were no carcasses.

They inspected the shore for a couple of kilometers, awed by the mystery. When they turned they knew that they were turning back not just to camp but to head home. This was as far as they could go.

On the trip out they had not explored the caves. On their way back Rod decided that they should try to pick the best place for the colony, figuring game, water supply, and most importantly, shelter and ease of defense.

They were searching a series of arched galleries water-carved in sandstone cliff. The shelf of the lowest gallery was six or seven meters above the sloping stand of soil below. The canyon dropped rapidly here; Rod could visualize a flume from upstream, bringing running water right to the caves… not right away, but when they had time to devise tools and cope with the problems. Someday, someday- but in the meantime here was plenty of room for the colony in a spot which almost defended itself. Not to mention, he added, being in out of the rain. Roy was the better Alpinist; he inched up, flat to the rock, reached the shelf and threw down his line to Rod- snaked him up quickly. Rod got an arm over the edge, scrambled to his knees, stood up- and gasped, “What the deuce!”

“That,” said Roy, “is why I kept quiet. I thought you would think I was crazy.

“I think we both are.” Rod stared around. Filling the depth of the gallery, not seen from below, was terrace on terrace of cliff dwellings.

They were not inhabited, nor had they ever been by men. Openings which must have been doors were no higher than a man’s knee, not wide enough for shoulders. But it was clear that they were dwellings, not merely formations carved by water. There were series of rooms arranged in half a dozen low stories from floor to ceiling of the gallery. The material was a concrete of dried mud, an adobe, used with wood.

But there was nothing to suggest what had built them.

Roy started to stick his head into an opening; Rod shouted, “Hey! Don’t do that!” “Why not? It’s abandoned.”

“You don’t know what might be inside. Snakes, maybe.” “There are no snakes. Nobody’s ever seen one.

“No … but take it easy.”

“I wish I had a torch light.”

“I wish I had eight beautiful dancing girls and a Cadillac copter. Be careful. I don’t want to walk back alone.”

They lunched in the gallery and considered the matter. “Of course they were intelligent,” Roy declared. “We may find them elsewhere. Maybe really civilized now- these look like ancient ruins.”

“Not necessarily intelligent,” Rod argued. “Bees make more complicated homes.” “Bees don’t combine mud and wood the way these people did. Look at that lintel.” “Birds do. I’ll concede that they were bird-brained, no more.

“Rod, you won’t look at the evidence.”

“Where are their artifacts? Show me one ash tray marked ‘Made in Jersey City.’” “I might find some if you weren’t so jumpy.”

“All in time. Anyhow, the fact that they found it safe shows that we can live here.” “Maybe. What killed them? Or why did they go away?”

They searched two galleries after lunch, found more dwellings. The dwellers had apparently formed a very large community. The fourth gallery they explored was almost empty, containing a beginning of a hive in one corner. Rod looked it over. “We can use this. If may not

be the best, but we can move the gang in and then find the best at our leisure.” “We’re heading back?”

“Uh, in the morning. This is a good place to sleep and tomorrow we’ll travel from ‘can’ to ‘can’t’- I wonder what’s up there?” Rod was looking at a secondary shelf inside the main arch. Roy eyed it. “Ill let you know in a moment.”

“Don’t bother. It’s almost straight up. We’ll build ladders for spots like that.” “My mother was a human fly, my father was a mountain goat. Watch me.

The shelf was not much higher than his head. Roy had a hand over- when a piece of rock crumbled away. He did not fall far. Rod ran to him. “You all right, boy?”

Roy grunted, “I guess so,” then started to get up. He yelped. “What’s the matter?”

“My right leg. I think… ow! I think it’s broken.” Rod examined the break, then went down to cut splints. With a piece of the line Roy carried, used economically, for he needed most of it as a ladder, he bound the leg, padding it with leaves. It was a simple break of the tibia, with no danger of infection.

They argued the whole time. “Of course you will,” Roy was saying. “Leave me a fresh kill and what salt meat there is. You can figure some way to leave water.” “Come back and find your chawed bones!”

“Not at all. Nothing can get at me. If you hustle, you can make it in three days.”

“Four, or five more likely. Six days to lead a party back. Then you want to go back in a stretcher? How would you like to be helpless when a stobor jumps us?” “But I wouldn’t go back. The gang would be moving down here.”

“Suppose they do? Eleven days, more likely twelve- Roy, you didn’t just bang your shin; you banged your head, too.”

The stay in the gallery while Roy’s leg repaired was not difficult nor dangerous; it was merely tedious. Rod would have liked to explore all the caves, but the first time he was away longer than Roy thought necessary to make a kill Rod returned to find his patient almost hysterical. He had let his imagination run away, visioning Rod as dead and thinking about his own death, helpless, while he starved or died of thirst. After that Rod left him only to gather food and water. The gallery was safe from all dangers; no watch was necessary, fire was needed only for cooking. The weather was getting warmer and the daily rains dropped off.

They discussed everything from girls to what the colony needed, what could have caused the disaster that had stranded them, what they would have to eat if they could have what they wanted, and back to girls again. They did not discuss the possibility of rescue; they took it for granted that they were there to stay. They slept much of the time and often did nothing, in animal-like torpor.

Roy wanted to start back as soon as Rod removed the splints, but it took him only seconds to discover that he no longer knew how to walk. He exercised for days, then grew sulky when Rod still insisted that he was not able to travel; the accumulated irritations of invalidism spewed out in the only quarrel they had on the trip.

Rod grew as angry as he was, threw Roy’s climbing

rope at him and shouted, “Go ahead! See how far you get on that gimp leg!”

Five minutes later Rod was arranging a sling, half dragging Roy, white and trembling and thoroughly subdued, back up onto the shelf. Thereafter they spent ten days getting Roy’s muscles into shape, then started back.

Shorty Dumont was the first one they ran into as they approached the settlement. His jaw dropped and he looked scared, then he ran to greet them, ran back to alert those in camp. “Hey, everybody! They’re back!”

Caroline heard the shout, outdistanced the others in great flying leaps, kissed and hugged them both. “Hi, Carol,” Rod said. “What are you bawling about?” “Oh, Roddie, you bad, bad boy!”

7. “It Won’t Work, Rod”

In the midst of jubilation Rod had time to notice many changes. There were more than a dozen new buildings, including two long shedlike affairs of bamboo and mud. One new hut was of sunbaked brick; it had windows. Where the cooking fire had been was a barbecue pit and by it a Dutch oven. Near it a stream of water spilled out of bamboo pipe, splashed through a rawhide net, fell into a rock bowl, and was led away to the creek … he hardly knew whether to be pleased or irked at this anticipation of his own notion.

He caught impressions piecemeal, as their triumphal entry was interrupted by hugs, kisses; and bone-jarring slaps on the back, combined with questions piled on questions. “No, no trouble- except that Roy got mad and busted his leg … yeah, sure, we found what we went after; wait till you see … no … yes … Jackie! … Hi, Bob!- it’s good to see you, too, boy! Where’s Carmen… Hi, Grant!”

Cowper was grinning widely, white teeth splitting his beard. Rod noticed with great surprise that the man looked old- why, shucks, Grant wasn’t more than twenty-two, twenty-three at the most. Where did he pick up those lines?

“Rod, old boy! I don’t know whether to have you two thrown in the hoosegow or decorate your brows with laurel.” “We got held up.”

“So it seems. Well, there is more rejoicing for the strayed lamb than for the ninety and nine. Come on up to the city hall.” “The what?”

Cowper looked sheepish. “They call it that, so I do. Better than ‘Number Ten, Downing Street’ which it started off with. It’s just the hut where I sleep- it doesn’t belong to me,” he added. “When they elect somebody else, I’ll sleep in bachelor hall.” Grant led them toward a little building apart from the others and facing the cooking area.

The wall was gone.

Rod suddenly realized what looked strange about the upstream end of the settlement; the wall was gone completely and in its place was a thornbush barricade. He opened his mouth to make a savage comment- then realized that it really did not matter. Why kick up a row when the colony would be moving to the canyon of the Dwellers? They would never need walls again; they would be up high at night, with their ladders pulled up after them. He picked another subject.

“Grant, how in the world did you guys get the inner partitions out of those bamboo pipes?”

“Eh? Nothing to it. You tie a knife with rawhide to a thinner bamboo pole, then reach in and whittle. All it takes is patience. Waxie worked it out. But you haven’t seen anything yet. We’re going to have iron.

“Huh?”

“We’ve got ore; now we are experimenting. But I do wish we could locate a seam of coal. Say, you didn’t spot any, did you?”

Dinner was a feast, a luau, a celebration to make the weddings look pale. Rod was given a real plate to eat on- unglazed, lopsided, ungraceful, but a plate. As he took out Colonel Bowie, Margery Chung Kinksi put a wooden spoon in his hand. “We don’t have enough to go around, but the guests of honor rate them tonight.” Rod looked at it curiously. It felt odd in his hand.

Dinner consisted of boiled greens, some root vegetables new to him, and a properly baked haunch served in thin slices. Roy and Rod were served little unleavened cakes like tortillas. No one else had them, but Rod decided that it was polite not to comment on that. Instead he made a fuss over eating bread again.

Margery dimpled. “We’ll have plenty of bread some day. Maybe next year.

There were tart little fruits for dessert, plus a bland, tasteless sort which resembled a dwarf banana with seeds. Rod ate too much.

Grant called them to order and announced that he was going to ask the travelers to tell what they had experienced. “Let them get it all told- then they won’t have to tell it seventy times over. Come on, Rod. Let’s see your ugly face.”

“Aw, let Roy. He talks better than I do.”

“Take turns. When your voice wears out, Roy can take over.

Between them they told it all, interrupting and supplementing each other. The colonists were awed by the beach of a billion bones, still more interested in the ruins of the Dwellers. “Rod and I are still arguing,” Roy told them. “I say that it was a civilization. He says that it could be just instinct. He’s crazy with the heat; the Dwellers were people. Not humans, of course, but people.”

“Then where are they now?”

Roy shrugged. “Where are the Selenites, Dora? What became of the Mithrans?”

“Roy is a romanticist,” Rod objected. “But you’ll be able to form your own opinions when we get there.” “That’s right, Rod,” Roy agreed.

“That covers everything,” Rod went on. “The rest was just waiting while Roy’s leg healed. But it brings up the main subject. How quickly can we move? Grant, is there any reason not to start at once? Shouldn’t we break camp tomorrow and start trekking? I’ve been studying it- how to make the move, I mean- and I would say to send out an advance party at daybreak. Roy or I can lead it. We go downstream an easy day’s journey, pick a spot, make a kill, and have fire and food ready when the rest arrive. We do it again the next day. I think we can be safe and snug in the caves in five days.”

“Dibs on the advance party!” “Me, too!”

There were other shouts but Rod could not help but realize that the response was not what he had expected. Jimmy did not volunteer and Caroline merely looked thoughtful. The Baxters he could not see; they were in shadow.

He turned to Cowper. “Well, Grant? Do you have a better idea?”

“Rod,” Grant said slowly, “your plan is okay … but you’ve missed a point.” “Why do you assume that we are going to move?”

“Huh? Why, that’s what we were sent for! To find a better place to live. We found it- you could hold those caves against an army. What’s the hitch? Of course we move!”

Cowper examined his nails. “Rod, don’t get sore. I don’t see it and I doubt if other people do. I’m not saying the spot you and Roy found is not good. It may be better than here- the way this place used to be. But we are doing all right here- and we’ve got a lot of time and effort invested. Why move?”

“Why, I told you. The caves are safe, completely safe. This spot is exposed … it’s dangerous.”

“Maybe. Rod, in the whole time we’ve been here, nobody has been hurt inside camp. We’ll put it to a vote, but you can’t expect us to abandon our houses and everything we have worked for to avoid a danger that may be imaginary.”

“Imaginary? Do you think that a stobor couldn’t jump that crummy barricade?” Rod demanded, pointing.

“I think a stobor would get a chest full of pointed stakes if he tried it,” Grant answered soberly. “That crummy barricade’ is a highly efficient defense. Take a better look in the morning.” “Where we were you wouldn’t need it. You wouldn’t need a night watch. Shucks, you wouldn’t need houses. Those caves are better than the best house here!”

“Probably. But, Rod, you haven’t seen all we’ve done, how much we would have to abandon. Let’s look it over in the daylight, fellow, and then talk.”

“Well … no, Grant, there is only one issue: the caves are safe; this place isn’t. I call for a vote.” “Easy now. This isn’t a town meeting. It’s a party in your honor. Let’s not spoil it.”

“Well … I’m sorry. But we’re all here; let’s vote.”

“No.” Cowper stood up. “There will be a town meeting on Friday as usual. Goodnight, Rod. Goodnight, Roy. We’re awfully glad you’re back. Goodnight all.”

The party gradually fell apart. Only a few of the younger boys seemed to want to discuss the proposed move. Bob Baxter came over, put a hand on Rod and said, “See you in the morning, Rod. Bless you.” He left before Rod could get away from a boy who was talking to him.

Jimmy Throxton stayed, as did Caroline. When he got the chance Rod said, Jimmy? Where do you stand?”

“Me? You know me, pal. Look, I sent Jackie to bed; she wasn’t feeling well. But she told me to tell you that we were back of you a hundred percent, always.” “Thanks. I feel better.”

“See you in the morning? I want to check on Jackie.” “Sure. Sleep tight.”

He was finally left with Caroline. “Roddie? Want to inspect the guard with me? You’ll do it after tonight, but we figured you could use a night with no worries. “Wait a minute. Carol… you’ve been acting funny.”

“Me? Why, Roddie!”

“Well, maybe not. What do you think of the move? I didn’t hear you pitching in.”

She looked away. “Roddie,” she said, “if it was just me, I’d say start tomorrow. I’d be on the advance party.”

“Good! What’s got into these people? Grant has them buffaloed but I can’t see why.” He scratched his head. “I’m tempted to make up my own party- you, me, Jimmy and Jack, the Baxters, Roy, the few who were rarin’ to go tonight, and anybody else with sense enough to pound sand.”

She sighed. “It won’t work, Roddie.” “Huh? Why not?”

“I’ll go. Some of the youngsters would go for the fun of it. Jimmy and Jack would go if you insisted… but they would beg off if you made it easy for them. The Baxters should not and I doubt if Bob would consent. Carmen isn’t really up to such a trip.”

8. Unkillable

The matter never came to a vote. Long before Friday Rod knew how a vote would go- about fifty against him, less than half that for him, with his friends voting with him through loyalty rather than conviction or possibly against him in a showdown.

He made an appeal in private to Cowper. “Grant, you’ve got me licked. Even Roy is sticking with you now. But you could swing them around.”

“I doubt it. What you don’t see, Rod, is that we have taken root. You may have found a better place … but it’s too late to change. After all, you picked this spot.” “Not exactly, it … well, it just sort of happened.”

“Lots of things in life just sort of happen. You make the best of them.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do! Grant, admitted that the move is hard; we could manage it. Set up way stations with easy jumps, send our biggest huskies back for what we don’t want to abandon. Shucks, we could move a person on a litter if we had to- using enough guards.”

“If the town votes it, I’ll be for it. But I won’t try to argue them into it. Look, Rod, you’ve got this fixed idea that this spot is dangerously exposed. The facts don’t support you. On the other hand see what we have. Running water from upstream, waste disposal downstream, quarters comfortable and adequate for the climate. Salt- do you have salt there?”

“We didn’t look for it-but it would be easy to bring it from the seashore.”

“We’ve got it closer here. We’ve got prospects of metal. You haven’t seen that ore outcropping yet, have you? We’re better equipped every day; our standard of living is going up. We have a colony nobody need be ashamed of and we did it with bare hands; we were never meant to be a colony. Why throw up what we have gained to squat in caves like savages?”

Rod sighed. “Grant, this bank may be flooded in the rainy season- aside from its poor protection now.”

“It doesn’t look it to me, but if so, we’ll see it in time. Right now we are going into the dry season. So let’s talk it over a few months from now.

Rod gave up. He refused to resume as “City Manager” nor would Caroline keep it when Rod turned it down. Bill Kennedy was appointed and Rod went to work under Cliff as a hunter, slept in the big shed upstream with the bachelors, and took his turn at night watch. The watch had been reduced to one man, whose duty was simply to tend fires. There was talk of cutting out the night fires, as fuel was no longer easy to find nearby and many seemed satisfied that the thorn barrier was enough.

Rod kept his mouth shut and stayed alert at night.

Game continued to be plentiful but became skittish. Buck did not come out of cover the way they had in rainy weather; it was necessary to search and drive them out. Carnivores seemed to have become scarcer. But the first real indication of peculiar seasonal habits of native fauna came from a very minor carnivore. Mick Mahmud returned to camp with a badly chewed foot; Bob Baxter patched him up and asked about it.

“You wouldn’t believe it.” “Try me.”

“Well, it was just a dopy joe. I paid no attention to it, of course. Next thing I knew I was flat on my back and trying to shake it loose. He did all that to me before I got a knife into him. Then I had to cut his jaws loose.”

“Lucky you didn’t bleed to death.”

When Rod heard Mick’s story, he told Roy. Having had one experience with a dopy joe turned aggressive, Roy took it seriously and had Cliff warn all hands to watch out; they seemed to have turned nasty.

Three days later the migration of animals started.

At first it was just a drifting which appeared aimless except that it was always downstream. Animals had long since ceased to use the watering place above the settlement and buck rarely appeared in the little valley; now they began drifting into it, would find themselves baffled by the thorn fence, and would scramble out. Nor was it confined to antelope types; wingless birds with great “false faces,” rodents, rooters, types nameless to humans, all joined the migration. One of the monstrous leonine predators they called stobor approached the barricade in broad daylight, looked at it, lashed his tail, then clawed his way up the bluff and headed downstream again.

Cliff called off his hunting parties; there was no need to hunt when game walked into camp.

Rod found himself more edgy than usual that night as it grew dark. He left his seat near the barbecue pit and went over to Jimmy and Jacqueline. “What’s the matter with this place? It’s spooky.”

Jimmy twitched his shoulders. “I feel it. Maybe it’s the funny way the animals are acting. Say, did you hear they killed a joe inside camp?” “I know what it is,” Jacqueline said suddenly. “No ‘Grand Opera.’”

“Grand Opera” was Jimmy’s name for the creatures with the awful noises, the ones which had turned Rod’s first night into a siege of terror. They serenaded every evening for the first hour of darkness. Rod’s mind had long since blanked them out, heeded them no more than chorusing cicadas. He had not consciously heard them for weeks.

Now they failed to wail on time; it upset him.

He grinned sheepishly. “That’s it, Jack. Funny how you get used to a thing. Do you suppose they are on strike?” “More likely a death in the family,” Jimmy answered. “They’ll be back in voice tomorrow.”

Rod had trouble getting to sleep. When the night watch gave an alarm he was up and out of bachelors’ barracks at once, Colonel Bowie in hand. “What’s up?”

Arthur Nielsen had the watch. “It’s all right now,” he answered nervously. “Abig buffalo buck crashed the fence. And this got through.” He indicated the carcass of a dopy joe. “You’re bleeding.”

“Just a nip.”

Others gathered around. Cowper pushed through, sized the situation and said, “Waxie, get that cut attended to. Bill … where’s Bill? Bill, put somebody else on watch. And let’s get that gap fixed as soon as it’s light.”

It was greying in the east. Margery suggested, “We might as well stay up and have breakfast. I’ll get the fire going.” She left to borrow flame from a watch fire.

Rod peered through the damaged barricade. Abig buck was down on the far side and seemed to have at least six dopy joes clinging to it. Cliff was there and said quietly, “See a way to get at them?”

“Only with a gun.”

“We can’t waste ammo on that.”

“No.” Rod thought about it, then went to a pile of bamboo poles, cut for building. He selected a stout one a head shorter than himself, sat down and began to bind Lady Macbeth to it with rawhide, forming a crude pike spear.

Caroline came over and squatted down. “What are you doing?” “Making a joe-killer.”

She watched him. “I’m going to make me one,” she said suddenly and jumped up.

By daylight the animals were in full flight downstream as if chased by forest fire. As the creek had shrunk with the dry season a miniature beach, from a meter to a couple of meters wide, had been exposed below the bank on which the town had grown. The thorn kraal had been extended to cover the gap, but the excited animals crushed through this weak point and now streamed along the water past the camp.

After a futile effort no attempt was made to turn them back. They were pouring into the valley; they had to go somewhere, and the route between water and bank made a safety valve. It kept them from shoving the barricade aside by sheer mass. The smallest animals came through it anyhow, kept going, paid no attention to humans.

Rod stayed at the barricade, ate breakfast standing up. He had killed six joes since dawn while Caroline’s score was still higher. Others were making knives into spears and joining them. The dopy joes were not coming through in great numbers; most of them continued to chase buck along the lower route past camp. Those who did seep through were speared; meeting them with a knife gave away too much advantage.

Cowper and Kennedy, inspecting defenses, stopped by Rod; they looked worried. “Rod,” said Grant “how long is this going to last?”

“How should I know? When we run out of animals. It looks like- get him, Shorty! It looks as if the joes were driving the others, but I don’t think they are. I think they’ve all gone crazy.” “But what would cause that?” demanded Kennedy. “Don’t ask me. But I think I know where all those bones on that beach came from. But don’t ask why. Why does a chicken cross the

road? Why do lemmings do what they do? What makes a plague of locusts? Behind you! Jump!”

Kennedy jumped, Rod finished off a joe, and they went on talking. “Better detail somebody to chuck these into the water, Bill, before they stink. Look, Grant, we’re okay now, but I know what I would do.”

“What? Move to your caves? Rod, you were right-but it’s too late.”

“No, no! That’s spilt milk; forget it. The thing that scares me are these mean little devils. They are no longer dopy; they are fast as can be and nasty … and they can slide through the fence. We can handle them now-but how about when it gets dark? We’ve got to have a solid line of fire inside the fence and along the bank. Fire is one thing they can’t go through … I hope.”

“That’ll take a lot of wood.” Grant looked through the barricade and frowned.

“You bet it will. But it will get us through the night. See here, give me the ax and six men with spears. I’ll lead the party.” Kennedy shook his head. “It’s my job.”

“No, Bill,” Cowper said firmly. “I’ll lead it. You stay here and take care of the town.”

Before the day was over Cowper took two parties out and Bill and Rod led one each. They tried to pick lulls in the spate of animals but Bill’s party was caught on the bluff above, where it had been cutting wood and throwing it down past the cave. They were treed for two hours. The little valley had been cleaned out of dead wood months since; it was necessary to go into the forest above to find wood that would burn.

Cliff Pawley, hunter-in-chief, led a fifth party in the late afternoon, immediately broke the handle of the little ax. They returned with what they could gather with knives. While they were away one of the giant buck they called buffalo stampeded off the bluff, fell into camp, broke its neck. Four dopy joes were clinging to it. They were easy to kill as they would not let go.

Jimmy and Rod were on pike duty at the barricade. Jimmy glanced back at where a couple of girls were disposing of the carcasses. “Rod,” he said thoughtfully, we got it wrong. Those are stobor … the real stobor.”

“Huh?”

“The big babies we’ve been calling that aren’t ‘stobor.’ These things are what the Deacon warned us against.” “Well … I don’t care what you call them as long as they’re dead. On your toes, boy; here they come again.”

Cowper ordered fires laid just before dark and was studying how to arrange one stretch so as not to endanger the flume when the matter was settled; the structure quivered and water ceased to flow. Upstream something had crashed into it and broken the flimsy pipe line.

The town had long since abandoned waterskins. Now they were caught with only a few liters in a pot used by the cooks, but it was a hardship rather than a danger; the urgent need was to get a ring of fire around’ them. There had already been half a dozen casualties- no deaths but bites and slashings, almost all from the little carnivores contemptuously known as dopy joes. The community’s pool of antiseptics, depleted by months of use and utterly irreplaceable, had sunk so low that Bob Baxter used it only on major wounds.

When fuel had been stretched ready to burn in a long arc inside the barricade and down the bank to where it curved back under the cave, the results of a hard day’s work looked small; the stockpile was not much greater than the amount already spread out. Bill Kennedy looked at it. “It won’t last the night, Grant.”

“It’s got to, Bill. Light it.”

“If we pulled back from the fence and the bank, then cut over to the bluff- what do you think?”

Cowper tried to figure what might be saved by the change. “It’s not much shorter. Uh, don’t light the downstream end unless they start curving back in on us. But let’s move; it’s getting dark.” He hurried to the cooking fire, got a brand and started setting the chain of fire. Kennedy helped and soon the townsite was surrounded on the exposed sides by blaze. Cowper chucked his torch into the fire and said, “Bill, better split the men into two watches and get the women up into the cave- they can crowd in somehow.”

“You’ll have trouble getting thirty-odd women in there, Grant.”

“They can sit up all night. But send them up. Yes, and the wounded men, too.”

“Can do.” Kennedy started passing the word. Caroline came storming up, spear in hand

“Grant, what’s this nonsense about the girls having to go up to the cave? If you think you’re going to cut me out of the fun you had better think again!” Cowper looked at her wearily. “Carol, I haven’t time to monkey. Shut your face and do as you are told.”

Caroline opened her mouth, closed it, and did as she was told. Bob Baxter claimed Cowper’s attention; Rod noticed that he looked very upset. “Grant? You ordered all the women up to the cave?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry but Carmen can’t.”

“You’ll have to carry her. She is the one I had most on my mind when I decided on the move.

“But-” Baxter stopped and urged Grant away from the others. He spoke insistently but quietly. Grant shook his head. “It’s not safe, Grant,” Baxter went on, raising his voice. “I don’t dare risk it. The interval is nineteen minutes now. “Well… all right. Leave a couple of women with her. Use Caroline, will you? That’ll keep her out of my hair.”

“Okay.” Baxter hurried away.

Kennedy took the first watch with a dozen men spread out along the fire line; Rod was on the second watch commanded by Cliff Pawley. He went to the Baxter house to find out how Carmen was doing, was told to beat it by Agnes. He then went to the bachelors’ shed and tried to sleep.

He was awakened by yells, in time to see one of the leonine monsters at least five meters long go bounding through the camp and disappear downstream. It had jumped the barrier, the stakes behind it, and the fire behind that, all in one leap.

Rod called out, “Anybody hurt?”

Shorty Dumont answered. “No. It didn’t even stop to wave.” Shorty was bleeding from a slash in his left calf; he seemed unaware of it. Rod crawled back inside tried again to sleep. He was awakened again by the building shaking. He hurried out. “What’s up?”

“That you, Rod? I didn’t know anybody was inside. Give me a hand; we’re going to burn it.” The voice was Baxter’s; he was prying at a corner post and cutting rawhide strips that held it.

Rod put his spear where it would not be stepped on, resheathed Colonel Bowie, and started to help. The building was bamboo and leaves, with a mud-and-thatch roof; most of it would burn. “How’s Carmen?”

“Okay. Normal progress. I can do more good here. Besides they don’t want me.” Baxter brought the corner of the shed down with a crash, gathered a double armful of wreckage and hurried away. Rod picked up a load and followed him.

The reserve wood pile was gone; somebody was tearing the roof off the “city hall” and banging pieces on the ground to shake clay loose. The walls were sunbaked bricks, but the roof would burn. Rod came closer, saw that it was Cowper who was destroying this symbol of the sovereign community. He worked with the fury of anger. “Let me do that, Grant. Have you had any rest?”

“Huh? No.”

“Better get some. It’s going to be a long night. What time is it?”

“I don’t know. Midnight, maybe.” Fire blazed up and Cowper faced it, wiping his face with his hand. “Rod, take charge of the second watch and relieve Bill. Cliff got clawed and I sent him up.”

“Okay. Burn everything that will burn-right?”

“Everything but the roof of the Baxter house. But don’t use it up too fast; it’s got to last till morning.”

“Got it.” Rod hurried to the fire line, found Kennedy. Okay, Bill, I’ll take over- Grant’s orders. Get some sleep. Anything getting through?”

‘Not much. And not far.” Kennedy’s spear was dark with blood in the firelight. “I’m not going to sleep, Rod. Find yourself a spot and help out.” Rod shook his head. “You’re groggy. Beat it. Grant’s orders.”

“No!”

“Well… look, take your gang and tear down the old maids’ shack. That’ll give you a change, at least.”

“Uh- all right.” Kennedy left, almost staggering. There was a lull in the onrush of animals; Rod could see none beyond the barricade. It gave him time to sort out his crew, send away those who had been on duty since sunset, send for stragglers. He delegated Doug Sanders and Mick Mahmud as firetenders, passed the word that no one else was to put fuel on the fires.

He returned from his inspection to find Bob Baxter, spear in hand, holding his place at the center of the line. Rod put a hand on his shoulder. “The medical officer doesn’t need to fight. We aren’t that bad off.”

Baxter shrugged. “I’ve got my kit, what there is left of it. This is where I use it.” “Haven’t you enough worries?”

Baxter grinned wanly. “Better than walking the floor. Rod, they’re stirring again. Hadn’t we better build up the fires?” “Mmm … not if we’re going to make it last. I don’t think they can come through that.”

Baxter did not answer, as a joe came through at that instant. It ploughed through the smouldering fire and Baxter speared it. Rod cupped his hands and shouted, “Build up the fires! But go easy.

“Behind you, Rod!”

Rod jumped and whirled, got the little devil. “Where did that one come from? I didn’t see it.”

Before Bob could answer Caroline came running out of darkness. “Bob! Bob Baxter! rve got to find Bob Baxter!” “Over here!” Rod called.

Baxter was hardly able to speak. “Is she- is she?” His face screwed up in anguish. “No, no!” yelled Caroline. “She’s all right, she’s fine. It’s a girl!”

Baxter quietly fainted, his spear falling to the ground. Caroline grabbed him and kept him from falling into the fire. He opened his eyes and said, “Sorry. You scared me. You’re sure Carmen is all right?”

“Right as rain. The baby, too. About three kilos. Here, give me that sticker- Carmen wants you.”

Baxter stumbled away and Caroline took his place. She grinned at Rod. “I feel swell! How’s business, Roddie? Brisk? I feel like getting me eight or nine of these vermin. Cowper came up a few minutes later. Caroline called out, “Grant, did you hear the good news?”

“Yes. I just came from there.” He ignored Caroline’s presence at the guard line but said to Rod, “We’re making a stretcher out of pieces of the flume and they’re going to haul Carmen up. Then they’ll throw the stretcher down and you can burn it.”

“Good.”

“Agnes is taking the baby up. Rod, what’s the very most we can crowd into the cave?” “Gee!” Rod glanced up at the shelf. “They must be spilling off the edge now.

“I’m afraid so. But we’ve just got to pack them in. I want to send up all married men and the youngest boys. The bachelors will hold on here.”

“I’m a bachelor!” Caroline interrupted. Cowper ignored her. “As soon as Carmen is safe we do it- we can’t keep fires going much longer.” He turned away, headed up to the cave. Caroline whistled softly. “Roddie, we’re going to have fun.”

“Not my idea of fun. Hold the fort, Carol. I’ve got to line things up.” He moved down the line, telling each one to go or to stay. Jimmy scowled at him. “I won’t go, not as long as anybody stays. I couldn’t look Jackie in the face.”

“You’ll button your lip and do as Grant says- or I’ll give you a mouthful of teeth. Hear me?” “I hear you. I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to like it, just do it. Seen Jackie? How is she?”

“I snuck up a while ago. She’s all right, just queasy. But the news about Carmen makes her feel so good she doesn’t care.”

Rod used no age limit to determine who was expendable. With the elimination of married men, wounded, and all women he had little choice; he simply told those whom he considered

too young or not too skilled that they were to leave when word was passed. It left him with half a dozen, plus himself, Cowper, and- possibly- Caroline. Trying to persuade Caroline was a task he had postponed.

He returned and found Cowper. “Carmen’s gone up,” Cowper told him. “You can send the others up now. “Then we can burn the roof of the Baxter house.”

“I tore it down while they were hoisting her.” Cowper looked around. “Carol! Get on up. She set her feet. “I won’t!”

Rod said softly, “Carol, you heard him. Go up- right now!”

She scowled, stuck out her lip, then said, “All right for you, Roddie Walker!”- turned and fled up the path. Rod cupped his hands and shouted, “All right, everybody! All hands up but those I told to stay. Hurry!”

About half of those leaving had started up when Agnes called down, “Hey! Take it slow! Somebody will get pushed over the edge if you don’t quit shoving.” The queue stopped. Jimmy called out, “Everybody exhale. That’ll do it.”

Somebody called back, “Throw Jimmy off… that will do it.” The line moved again, slowly. In ten minutes they accomplished the sardine-packing problem of fitting nearly seventy people into a space comfortable for not more than a dozen. It could not even be standing room since a man could stand erect only on the outer shelf. The girls were shoved inside, sitting or squatting, jammed so that they hardly had air to breathe. The men farthest out could stand but were in danger of stepping off the edge in the dark, or of being elbowed off.

Grant said, “Watch things, Rod, while I have a look.” He disappeared up the path, came back in a few minutes. “Crowded as the bottom of a sack,” he said. “Here’s the plan. They can scrunch back farther if they have to. It will be uncomfortable for the wounded and Carmen may have to sit up- she’s lying down- but it can be done. When the fires die out, we’ll shoehorn the rest in. With spears poking out under the overhang at the top of the path we ought to be able to hold out until daylight. Check me?”

“Sounds as good as can be managed.”

“All right. When the time comes, you go up next to last, I go up last.” “Unh … I’ll match you.”

Cowper answered with surprising vulgarity and added, “I’m boss; I go last. We’ll make the rounds and pile anything left on the fires, then gather them all here. You take the bank, I take the fence.”

It did not take long to put the remnants on the fires, then they gathered around the path and waited- Roy, Kenny, Doug, Dick, Charlie, Howard, and Rod and Grant. Another wave of senseless migration was rolling but the fires held it, bypassed it around by the water.

Rod grew stiff and shifted his spear to his left hand. The dying fires were only glowing coals in spots. He looked for signs of daylight in the east. Howard Goldstein said, “One broke through at the far end.”

“Hold it, Goldie,” Cowper said. “We won’t bother it unless it comes here.” Rod shifted his spear back to his right hand.

The wall of fire was now broken in many places. Not only could joes get through, but worse, it was hard to see them, so little light did the embers give off. Cowper turned to Rod and said, “All right, everybody up. You tally them.” Then he shouted, “Bill! Agnes! Make room, I’m sending them up.”

Rod threw a glance at the fence, then turned. “Okay, Kenny first. Doug next, don’t crowd. Goldie and then Dick. Who’s left? Roy-” He turned, uneasily aware that something had changed. Grant was no longer behind him. Rod spotted him bending over a dying fire. “Hey, Grant!”

“Be right with you.” Co’wper selected a stick from the embers, waved it into flame. He hopped over the coals, picked his way through sharpened stakes, reached the thornbush barrier, shoved his torch into it. The dry branches flared up. He moved slowly away, picking his way through the stake trap.

“I’ll help you!” Rod shouted. “I’ll fire the other end.” Cowper turned and light from the burning thorn showed his stern, bearded face. “Stay back. Get the others up. That’s an order!” f The movement upward had stopped. Rod snarled, “Get on up, you lunkheads! Move!” He jabbed with the butt of his spear, then turned around.

Cowper had set the fire in a new place. He straightened up, about to move farther down, suddenly turned and jumped over the dying line of fire. He stopped and jabbed at something in the darkness … then screamed.

“Grant!” Rod jumped down, ran toward him. But Grant was down before he reached him, down with a joe worrying each leg and more coming. Rod thrnst at one, jerked his spear out, and jabbed at the other, trying not to stab Grant. He felt one grab his leg and wondered that it did not hurt.

Then it did hurt, terribly, and he realized that he was down and his spear was not in his hand. But his hand found his knife without asking; Colonel Bowie finished off the beast clamped to his ankle.

Everything seemed geared to nightmare slowness. Other figures were thrusting leisurely at shapes that hardly crawled. The thornbush, flaming high, gave him light to see and stab a dopy joe creeping toward him. He got it, rolled over and tried to get up.

He woke with daylight in his eyes, tried to move and discovered that his left leg hurt. He looked down and saw a compress of leaves wrapped with a neat hide bandage. He was in the cave and there were others lying parallel to him. He got to one elbow. “Say, what-“

“Sssh!” Sue Kennedy crawled over and knelt by him. “The baby is asleep.” “Oh…”

“I’m on nurse duty. Want anything?”

“I guess not. Uh, what did they name her?”

“Hope. Hope Roberta Baxter. Apretty name. I’ll tell Caroline you are awake.” She turned away.

Caroline came in, squatted and looked scornfully at his ankle. “That’ll teach you to have a party and not invite me. “I guess so. Carol, what’s the situation?”

“Six on the sick list. About twice that many walking wounded. Those not hurt are gathering wood and cutting thorn. We fixed the ax.” “Yes, but… we’re not having to fight them off?”

“Didn’t Sue tell you? Afew buck walking around as if they were dazed. That’s all.” “They may start again.”

“If they do, we’ll be ready.”

“Good.” He tried to raise up. “Where’s Grant? How bad was he hurt?” She shook her head. “Grant didn’t make it, Roddie.”

“Huh?”

“Bob took off both legs at the knee and would have taken off one arm, but he died while he was operating.” She made a very final gesture. “In the creek.”

Rod started to speak, turned his head and buried his face. Caroline put a hand on him. “Don’t take it hard, Roddie. Bob shouldn’t have tried to save him. Grant is better off.” Rod decided that Carol was right- no frozen limb banks on this planet. But it did not make him feel better. “We didn’t appreciate him,” he muttered.

“Stow it!” Caroline whispered fiercely. “He was a fool.” “Huh? Carol, I’m ashamed of you.”

He was surprised to see tears rolling down her cheeks. “You know he was a fool, Roddie Walker. Most of us knew… but we loved him anyhow. I would ‘uv married him, but he never asked me.” She wiped at tears. “Have you seen the baby?”

“No.”

Her face lit up. “I’ll fetch her. She’s beautiful.” “Sue said she was asleep.”

“Well … all right. But what I came up for is this: what do you want us to do?” “Huh?” He tried to think. Grant was dead. “Bill was his deputy. Is Bill laid up?” “Didn’t Sue tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“You’re the mayor. We elected you this morning. Bill and Roy and I are just trying to hold things together.” Rod felt dizzy. Caroline’s face kept drawing back, then swooping in; he wondered if he were going to faint..

“-plenty of wood,” she was saying, “and we’ll have the kraal built by sundown. We don’t need meat; Margery is butchering that big fellow that fell off the bluff and busted his neck. We can’t trek out until you and Carmen and the others can walk, so we’re trying to get the place back into shape temporarily. Is there anything you want us to do now?”

He considered it. “No. Not now.

“Okay. You’re supposed to rest.” She backed out, stood up. “I’ll look in later.” Rod eased his leg and turned over. After a while he quieted and went to sleep.

Sue brought broth in a bowl, held his head while he drank, then fetched Hope Baxter and held her for him to see. Rod said the usual inanities, wondering if all new babies looked that way.

Then he thought for a long time.

Caroline showed up with Roy. “How’s it going, Chief?” Roy said. “Ready to bite a rattlesnake.”

“That’s a nasty foot, but it ought to heal. We boiled the leaves and Bob used sulfa.” “Feels all right. I don’t seem feverish.”

“Jimmy always said you were too mean to die,” added Caroline. “Want anything, Roddie? Or to tell us anything?” “Yes.”

“What?”

“Get me out of here. Help me down the path.” Roy said hastily, “Hey, you can’t do that. You’re not in shape.” “Can’t I? Either help, or get out of my way. And get everybody together. We’re going to have a town meeting.”

They looked at each other and walked out on him. He had made it to the squeeze at the top when Baxter showed up. “Now, Rod! Get back and lie down.” “Out of my way.”

“Listen, boy, I don’t like to get rough with a sick man. But I will if you make me.” “Bob… how bad is my ankle?”

“It’s going to be all right … if you behave. If you don’t- well, have you ever seen gangrene? When it turns black and has that sweetish odor?” “Quit trying to scare me. Is there any reason not to put a line under my arms and lower me?”

“Well…”

They used two lines and a third to keep his injured leg free, with Baxter supervising. They caught him at the bottom and carried him to the cooking space, laid him down. “Thanks,” he grunted. “Everybody here who can get here?”

“I think so, Roddie. Shall I count?”

“Never mind. I understand you folks elected me cap- I mean ‘mayor’- this morning?” “That’s right,” agreed Kennedy.

“Uh, who else was up? How many votes did I get?” “Huh? It was unanimous.

Rod sighed. “Thanks. I’m not sure I would have held still for it if I’d been here. I gathered something else. Do I understand that you expect me to take you down to the caves Roy and I found? Caroline said something…”

Roy looked surprised. “We didn’t vote it, Rod, but that was the idea. After last night everybody knows we can’t stay here.”

Rod nodded. “I see. Are you all where I can see you? I’ve got something to say. I hear you adopted a constitution and things while Roy and I were away. I’ve never read them, so I don’t know whether this is legal or not. But if I’m stuck with the job, I expect to run things. If somebody doesn’t like what I do and we’re both stubborn enough for a showdown, then you will vote. You back me up, or you turn me down and elect somebody else. Will that work? How about it, Goldie? You were on the law committee, weren’t you?”

Howard Goldstein frowned. “You don’t express it very well, Rod.” “Probably not. Well?”

“But what you have described is the parliamentary vote-of-confidence. That’s the backbone of our constitution. We did it that way to keep it simple and still democratic. It was Grant’s notion.”

“I’m glad,” Rod said soberly. “I’d hate to think that I had torn up Grant’s laws after he worked so hard on them. I’ll study them, I promise, first chance I get. But about moving to the caves- we’ll have a vote of confidence right now.”

Goldstein smiled. “I can tell you how it will come out. We’re convinced.”

Rod slapped the ground. “You don’t understand! If you want to move, move … but get somebody else to lead you. Roy can do it. Or Cliff, or Bill. But if you leave it to me, no dirty little beasts, all teeth and no brains, are going to drive us out. We’re men… and men don’t have to be driven out, not by the likes of those. Grant paid for this land- and I say stay here and keep it for him!”

4. Civilization

The Honorable Roderick L. Walker, Mayor of Cowpertown, Chief of State of the sovereign planet GO-7390 1-Il (Lima Catalog), Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces, Chief Justice, and Defender of Freedoms, was taking his ease in front of the Mayor’s Palace. He was also scratching and wondering if he should ask somebody to cut his hair again-he suspected lice only this planet did not have lice.

His Chief of Government, Miss Caroline Beatrice Mshiyeni, squatted in front of him. “Roddie, I’ve told them and told them and told them … and it does no good. That family makes more filth than everybody else put together. You should have seen it this morning. Garbage in front of their door … flies!”

“I saw it.”

“Well, what do I do? If you would let me rough him up a little. But you’re too soft”

“I guess I am.” Rod looked thoughtfully at a slab of slate erected in the village square. It read: To the Memory Of

ULYSSES GRANT COWPER,

First Mayor

– who died for his city

The carving was not good; Rod had done it.

“Grant told me once,” he added, “that government was the art of getting along with people you don’t like.” “Well, I sure don’t like Bruce and Theo!”

“Neither do I. But Grant would have figured out a way to keep them in line without getting rough.”

“You figure it out, I can’t. Roddie, you should never have let Bruce come back. That was bad enough. But when he married that little … well!” “They were made for each other,” Rod answered. “Nobody else would have married either of them.”

“It’s no joke. It’s almost- Hope! Quit teasing Grantie!” She bounced up.

Miss Hope Roberta Baxter, sixteen months, and Master Grant Roderick Throxton, thirteen months, stopped what they were doing, which was, respectively, slapping and crying. Both were naked and very dirty. It was “clean” dirt; each child had been bathed by Caroline an hour earlier, and both were fat and healthy.

Hope turned up a beaming face. “‘Ood babee!” she asserted.

“I saw you.” Caroline upended her, gave her a spat that would not squash a fly, then picked up Grant Throxton. “Give her to me,” Rod said.

“You’re welcome to her,” Caroline said. She sat down with the boy in her lap and rocked him. “Poor baby! Show Auntie Carol where it hurts.” “You shouldn’t talk like that. You’ll make a sissy of him.”

“Look who’s talking! Wishy-Washy Walker.”

Hope threw her arms around Rod, part way, and cooed, “Woddie!” adding a muddy kiss. He returned it. He considered her deplorably spoiled; nevertheless he contributed more than his share of spoiling.

“Sure,” agreed Carol. “Everybody loves Uncle Roddie. He hands out the medals and Aunt Carol does the dirty work.” “Carol, I’ve been thinking.”

“Warm day. Don’t strain any delicate parts.” “About Bruce and Theo. I’ll talk to them.” “Talk!”

“The only real punishment is one we never use- and I hope we never have to. Kicking people out, I mean. The McGowans do as they please because they don’t think we would. But I would love to give them the old heave-ho… and if it comes to it, I’ll make an issue of it before the town- either kick them out or I quit.”

“They’d back you. Why, I bet he hasn’t taken a bath this week!”

“I don’t care whether they back me or not. I’ve ridden out seven confidence votes; someday I’ll be lucky and retire. But the problem is to convince Bruce that I am willing to face the issue, for then I won’t have to. Nobody is going to chance being turned out in the woods, not when they’ve got it soft here. But he’s got to be convinced.”

“Uh, maybe if he thought you were carrying a grudge about that slice in the ribs he gave you?” “And maybe I am. But I can’t let it be personal, Carol; I’m too stinkin’ proud.”

“Uh … Turn it around. Convince him that the town is chompin’ at the bit- which isn’t far wrong- and you are trying to restrain them.” “Um, that’s closer. Yes, I think Grant would have gone for that. I’ll think it over.”

“Do that.” She stood up. “I’m going to give these children another bath. I declare I don’t know where they find so much dirt.”

She swung away with a child on each hip, heading for the shower sheds. Rod watched her lazily. She was wearing a leather bandeau and a Maori grass skirt, long leaves scraped in a pattern, curled, and dried. It was a style much favored and Caroline wore it around town, although when she treated herself to a day’s hunting she wore a leather breechclout such as the men wore.

The same leaf fibre could be retted and crushed, combed and spun, but the cloth as yet possessed by the colony was not even enough for baby clothes. Bill Kennedy had whittled a loom for Sue and it worked, but neither well nor fast and the width of cloth was under a half meter. Still, Rod mused, it was progress, it was civilization. They had come a long way.

The town was stobor-tight now. An adobe wall too high and sheer for any but the giant lions covered the upstream side and the bank, and any lion silly enough to jump it landed on a bed of stakes too wide now for even their mighty leaps-the awning under which Rod lolled was the hide of one that had made that mistake. The wall was pierced by stobor traps, narrow tunnels just big enough for the vicious little beasts and which gave into deep pits, where they could chew on each other like Kilkenny cats- which they did.

It might have been easier to divert them around the town, but Rod wanted to kill them; he would not be content until their planet was rid of those vermin.

In the meantime the town was safe. Stobor continued to deserve the nickname “dopy joe” except during the dry season and then they did not become dangerous until the annual berserk migration- the last of which had passed without loss of blood; the colony’s defenses worked, now that they understood what to defend against. Rod had required mothers and children to sit out the stampede in the cave; the rest sat up two nights and stayed on guard… but no blade was wet.

Rod thought sleepily that the next thing they needed was paper; Grant had been right… even a village was hard to run without writing paper. Besides, they must avoid losing the habit of writing. He wanted to follow up Grant’s notion of recording every bit of knowledge the gang possessed. Take logarithms- logarithms might not be used for generations, but when it came time to log a couple of rhythms, then… he went to sleep.

“You busy, Chief?”

Rod looked up at Arthur Nielsen. “Just sleeping a practice I heartily recommend on a warm Sabbath afternoon. What’s up, Art? Are Shorty and Doug pushing the bellows alone?”

“No. Confounded plug came out and we lost our fire. The furnace is ruined.” Nielsen sat down wearily. He was hot, very red in the face, and looked discouraged. He had a bad burn on a forearm but did not seem to know it. “Rod, what are we doing wrong? Riddle me that.”

“Talk to one of the brains. If you didn’t know more about it than I do, we’d swap jobs.”

“I wasn’t really asking. I know two things that are wrong. We can’t build a big enough installation and we don’t have coal. Rod, we’ve got to have coal; for cast iron or steel we need coal. Charcoal won’t do for anything but spongy wrought iron.”

“What do you expect to accomplish overnight, Art? Miracles? You are years ahead of what anybody could ask. You’ve turned out metal, whether it’s wrought iron or uranium. Since you made that spit for the barbecue pit, Margery thinks you are a genius.”

“Yes, yes, we’ve made iron-but it ought to be lots better and more of it. This ore is wonderful … the real Lake Superior hematite. Nobody’s seen such ore in commercial quantity on Terra in centuries. You ought to be able to breathe on it and make steel. And I could, too, if I had coal. We’ve got clay, we’ve got limestone, we’ve got this lovely ore- but I can’t get a hot enough fire.”

Rod was not fretted; the colony was getting metal as fast as needed. But Waxie was upset. “Want to knock off and search for coal?” “Uh … no, I don’t. I want to rebuild that furnace.” Nielsen gave a bitter description of the furnace’s origin, habits, and destination. “Who knows most about geology?”

“Uh, I suppose I do.” “Who knows next most?” “Why, Doug I guess.

“Let’s send him out with a couple of boys to find coal. You can have Mick in his place on the bellows- no, wait a minute. How about Bruce?” “Bruce? He won’t work.”

“Work him. If you work him so hard he runs away and forgets to come back, we won’t miss him. Take him, Art, as a favor to me. “Well … . okay, if you say so.

“Good. You get one bonus out of losing your batch. You won’t miss the dance tonight. Art, you shouldn’t start a melt so late in the week; you need your day of rest … and so do Shorty and Doug.”

“I know. But when it’s ready to go I want to fire it off.

Working the way we do is discouraging; before you can make anything you have to make the thing that makes it- and usually you have to make something else to make that. Futile!” “You don’t know what ‘futile’ means. Ask our ‘Department of Agriculture.’ Did you take a look at the farm before you came over the wall?”

“Well, we walked through it.”

“Better not let Cliff catch you, or he’ll scalp you. I might hold you for him.” “Humph! Alot of silly grass! Thousands of hectares around just like it.”

“That’s right. Some grass and a few rows of weeds. The pity is that Cliff will never live to see it anything else. Nor little Cliff. Nevertheless our great grandchildren will eat white bread, Art. But you yourself will live to build precision machinery- you know it can be done, which, as Bob Baxter says, is two-thirds of the battle. Cliff can’t live long enough to eat a slice of light, tasty bread. It doesn’t stop him.”

“You should have been a preacher, Rod.” Art stood up and sniffed himself. “I’d better get a bath, or the girls won’t dance with me.” “I was just quoting. You’ve heard it before. Save me some soap.”

Caroline hit two bars of Arkansas Traveler, Jimmy slapped his drum, and Roy called, “Square ‘em up, folks!” He waited, then started in high, nasal tones: “Honor y’r partners!

“Honor y’r corners!

“Now all jump up and when y’ come down-“

Rod was not dancing; the alternate set would be his turn. The colony formed eight squares, too many for a caller, a mouth organ, and a primitive drum all unassisted by amplifying equipment. So half of them babysat and gossiped while the other half danced. The caller and the orchestra were relieved at each intermission to dance the other sets.

Most of them had not known how to square-dance. Agnes Pulvermacher had put it over almost single-handed, in the face of kidding and resistance- training callers, training dancers, humming tunes to Caroline, cajoling Jimmy to carve and shrink a jungle drum. Now she had nine out of ten dancing.

Rod had not appreciated it at first (he was not familiar with the history of the Mormon pioneers) and had regarded it as a nuisance which interfered with work. Then he saw the colony, which had experienced a bad letdown after the loss in one night of all they had built, an apathy he had not been able to lift- he saw this same colony begin to smile and joke and work hard simply from being exposed to music and dancing.

He decided to encourage it. He had trouble keeping time and could not carry a tune, but the bug caught him, too; he danced not well but with great enthusiasm.

The village eventually limited dances to Sabbath nights, weddings, and holidays- and made them “formal” … which meant that women wore grass skirts. Leather shorts, breechclouts, and slacks (those not long since cut up for rags) were not acceptable. Sue talked about making a real square dance dress as soon as she got far enough ahead in her weaving, and a cowboy shirt for her husband … but the needs of the colony made this a distant dream.

Music stopped, principals changed, Caroline tossed her mouth organ to Shorty, and came over. “Come on, Roddie, let’s kick some dust.”

“I asked Sue,” he said hastily and truthfully. He was careful not to ask the same girl twice, never to pay marked attention to any female; he had promised himself long ago that the day he decided to marry should be the day he resigned and he was not finding it hard to stay married to his job. He liked to dance with Caroline; she was a popular partner- except for a tendency to swing her partner instead of letting him swing her- but he was careful not to spend much social time with her because she was his right hand, his alter ego.

Rod went over and offered his arm to Sue. He did not think about it; the stylized amenities of civilization were returning and the formal politenesses of the dance made them seem natural. He led her out and assisted in making a botch of Texas Star.

Later, tired, happy, and convinced that the others in his square had made the mistakes and he had straightened them out, Rod returned Sue to Bill, bowed and thanked him, and went back to the place that was always left for him. Margery and her assistants were passing out little brown somethings on wooden skewers. He accepted one. “Smells good, Marge. What are they?”

“Mock Nile birds. Smoked baby-buck bacon wrapped around hamburger. Salt and native sage, pan broiled. You’d better like it; it took us hours.” “Mmmm! I do! How about another?”

“Wait and see. Greedy.”

“But I need more. I work hardest. I have to keep up my strength.”

“That was work I saw you doing this afternoon?” She handed him another. “I was planning. The old brain was buzzing away.

“I heard the buzzing. Pretty loud, when you lie on your back.”

He snagged a third as she turned away, looked up to catch Jacqueline smiling; he winked and grinned. “Happy, Rod?”

“Yes indeedy. How about you, Jackie?”

“I’ve never been happier,” she said seriously.

Her husband put an arm around her. “See what the love of a good man can do, Rod?” Jimmy said. “When I found this poor child she was beaten, bedraggled, doing your cooking and afraid to admit her name. Now look at her!- fat and sassy.”

“I’m not that fat!” “Pleasingly plump.”

Rod glanced up at the cave. “Jackie, remember the night I showed up?” “I’m not likely to forget.”

“And the silly notion I had that this was Africa? Tell me- if you had it to do over, would you rather I had been right?” “I never thought about it. I knew it was not.”

“Yes, but ‘if’? You would have been home long ago.”

Her hand took her husband’s. “I would not have met James.”

“Oh, yes, you would. You had already met me. You could not have avoided it- my best friend.” “Possibly. But I would not change it. I have no yearning to go ‘home,’ Rod. This is home.”

“Me neither,” asserted Jimmy. “You. know what? This colony gets a little bigger- and it’s getting bigger fast- Goldie and I are going to open a law office. We won’t have any competition and can pick our clients. He’ll handle the criminal end, I’ll specialize in divorce, and we’ll collaborate on corporate skulduggery. We’ll make millions. I’ll drive a big limousine drawn by eight spanking buck, smoking a big cigar and sneering at the peasants.” He called out, “Right, Goldie?”

“Precisely, colleague. I’m making us a shingle: ‘Goldstein & Throxton-Get bailed, not jailed!’” “Keerect. But make that: ‘Throxton & Goldstein.’”

“I’m senior. I’ve got two more years of law.”

“Aquibble. Rod, are you going to let this Teller U. character insult an old Patrick Henry man?”

“Probably. Jimmy, I don’t see how you are going to work this. I don’t think we have a divorce law. Let’s ask Caroline.” “Atrifle. You perform the marriages, Rod; I’ll take care of the divorces.”

“Ask Caroline what?” asked Caroline. “Do we have a divorce law?”

“Huh? We don’t even have a getting-married law.”

“Unnecessary,” explained Goldstein. “Indigenous in the culture. Besides, we ran out of paper. “Correct, Counselor,” agreed Jimmy.

“Why ask?” Caroline demanded. “Nobody is thinking about divorce or I would know before they would.”

“We weren’t talking about that,” Rod explained. “Jackie said that she had no wish to go back to Terra and Jimmy was elaborating. Uselessly, as usual.” Caroline stared. “Why would anybody want to go back?”

“Sure,” agreed Jimmy. “This is the place. No income tax. No traffic, no crowds, no commercials, no telephones. Seriously, Rod, every one here was aiming for the Outlands or we wouldn’t have been taking a survival test. So what difference does it make? Except that we’ve got everything sooner.” He squeezed his wife’s hand. “I was fooling about that big cigar; I’m rich now, boy, rich!”

Agnes and Curt had drawn into the circle, listening. Agnes nodded and said, “For once you aren’t joking, Jimmy. The first months we were here I cried myself to sleep every night, wondering if they would ever find us. Now I know they never will- and I don’t care! I wouldn’t go back if I could; the only thing I miss is lipstick.”

Her husband’s laugh boomed out. “There you have the truth, Rod. The fleshpots of Egypt … put a cosmetics counter across this creek and every woman here will walk on water.” “That’s not fair, Curt! Anyhow, you promised to make lipstick.”

“Give me time.”

Bob Baxter came up and sat down by Rod. “Missed you at the meeting this morning, Rod.” “Tied up. I’ll make it next week.”

“Good.” Bob, being of a sect which did not require ordination, had made himself chaplain as well as medical officer simply by starting to hold meetings. His undogmatic ways were such that Christian, Jew, Monist, or Moslem felt at ease; his meetings were well attended.

“Bob, would you go back?” “Go where, Caroline?” “Back to Terra.”

“Yes”

Jimmy looked horrified. “Boil me for breakfast! Why?”

“Oh, I’d want to come back! But I need to graduate from medical school.” He smiled shyly. “I may be the best surgeon in the neighborhood, but that isn’t saying much.” “Well…” admitted Jimmy, “I see your point. But you already suit us. Eh, Jackie?”

“Yes, Jimmy.”

“It’s my only regret,” Bob went on. “I’ve lost ones I

should have saved. But it’s a hypothetical question. ‘Here we rest.’”

The question spread. Jimmy’s attitude was overwhelmingly popular, even though Bob’s motives were respected. Rod said goodnight; he heard them still batting it around after he had gone to bed; it caused him to discuss it with himself.

He had decided long ago that they would never be in touch with Earth; he had not thought of it for- how long?- over a year. At first it had been mental hygiene, protection of his morale. Later it was logic: a delay in recall of a week might be a power failure, a few weeks could be a technical difficulty- but months on months was cosmic disaster; each day added a cipher to the infinitesimal probability that they would ever be in touch again.

He was now able to ask himself: was this what he wanted?

Jackie was right; this was home. Then he admitted that he liked being big frog in a small puddle, he loved his job. He was not meant to be a scientist, nor a scholar, he had never wanted to be a businessman- but what he was doing suited him … and he seemed to do it well enough to get by.

“‘Here we rest!’”

He went to sleep in a warm glow.

Cliff wanted help with the experimental crops. Rod did not take it too seriously; Cliff always wanted something; given his head he would have everybody working dawn to dark on his farm. But it was well to find out what he wanted- Rod did not underrate the importance of domesticating plants; that was basic for all colonies and triply so for them. It was simply that he did not know much about it.

Cliff stuck his head into the mayor’s hut. “Ready?”

“Sure.” Rod got his spear. It was no longer improvised but bore a point patiently sharpened from steel salvaged from Braun’s Thunderbolt. Rod had tried wrought iron but could not get it to hold an edge. “Let’s pick up a couple of boys and get a few stobor.”

“Okay”

Rod looked around. Jimmy was at his potter’s wheel, kicking the treadle and shaping clay with his thumb. Jim! Quit that and grab your pike. We’re going to have some fun.” Throxton wiped at sweat. “You’ve talked me into it.” They added Kenny and Mick, then Cliff led them upstream. “I want you to look at the animals.”

“All right,” agreed Rod. “Cliff, I had been meaning to speak to you. If you are going to raise those brutes inside the wall, you’ll have to be careful about their droppings. Carol has been muttering.”

“Rod, I can’t do everything! And you can’t put them outside, not if you expect them to live.” “Sure, sure! Well, we’ll get you more help, that’s the only- Just a second!”

They were about to pass the last hut; Bruce McGowan was stretched in front of it, apparently asleep. Rod did not speak at once; he was fighting down rage. He wrestIed with himself, aware that the next moment could change his future, damage the entire colony. But his rational self was struggling in a torrent of anger, bitter and self-righteous. He wanted to do away with this parasite, destroy it. He took a deep breath and tried to keep his mouth from trembling.

“Bruce!” he called softly.

McGowan opened his eyes. “Huh?” “Isn’t Art working his plant today?” “Could be,” Bruce admitted.

“Well?”

“‘Well’ what? I’ve had a week and it’s not my dish. Get somebody else.”

Bruce wore his knife, as did each of them; a colonist was more likely to be caught naked than without his knife. It was the all-purpose tool, for cutting leather, preparing food, eating, whittling, building, basketmaking, and as make-do for a thousand other tools; their wealth came from knives, arrows were now used to hunt- but knives shaped the bows and arrows.

But a knife had not been used by one colonist against another since that disastrous day when Bruce’s brother had defied Rod. Over the same issue, Rod recalled; the wheel had turned full circle. But today he would have immediate backing if Bruce reached for his knife.

But he knew that this must not be settled by five against one; he alone must make this dog come to heel, or his days as leader were numbered.

It did not occur to Rod to challenge Bruce to settle it with bare hands. Rod had read many a historical romance in which the hero invited someone to settle it man to man, in a stylized imitation fighting called “boxing.” Rod had enjoyed such stories but did not apply them to himself any more than he considered personally the sword play of The Three Musketeers; nevertheless, he knew what “boxing” meant- they folded their hands and struck certain restricted blows with fists. Usually no one was hurt.

The fighting that Rod was trained in was not simply strenuous athletics. It did not matter whether they were armed; if he and Bruce fought bare hands or otherwise, someone would be killed or badly hurt. The only dangerous weapon was man himself.

Bruce stared sullenly. “Bruce,” Rod said, striving to keep his voice steady, “a long time ago I told you that people worked around here or got out. You and your brother didn’t believe me so we had to chuck you out. Then you crawled back with a tale about how Jock had been killed and could you please join up? You were a sorry sight. Remember?”

McGowan scowled. “You promised to be a little angel,” Rod went on. “People thought I was foolish- and I was. But I thought you might behave.” Bruce pulled a blade of grass, bit it. “Bub, you remind me of Jock. He was always throwing his weight around, too.

“Bruce, get up and get out of town! I don’t care where, but if you are smart, you will shag over and tell Art you’ve made a mistake- then start pumping that bellows. I’ll stop by later. If sweat isn’t pouring off you when I arrive … then you’ll never come back. You’ll be banished for life.”

McGowan looked uncertain. He glanced past Rod, and Rod wondered what expressions the others wore. But Rod kept his eyes on Bruce. “Get moving. Get to work, or don’t come back.” Bruce got a sly look. “You can’t order me kicked out. It takes a majority vote.”

Jimmy spoke up. “Aw, quit taking his guff, Rod. Kick him out now.

Rod shook his head. “No. Bruce, if that is your answer, I’ll call them together and we’ll put you in exile before lunch- and I’ll bet my best knife that you won’t get three votes to let you stay. Want to bet?”

Bruce sat up and looked at the others, sizing his chances. He looked back at Rod. “Runt,” he said slowly, you aren’t worth a hoot without stooges… or a couple of girls to do your fighting.” Jimmy whispered, “Watch it, Rod!” Rod licked dry lips, knowing that it was too late for reason, too late for talk. He would have to try to take him … he was not sure he could.

“I’ll fight you,” he said hoarsely. “Right now!” Cliff said urgently, “Don’t, Rod. We’ll manage him.” “No. Come on, McGowan.” Rod added one unforgivable word. McGowan did not move. “Get rid of that joe sticker”

Rod said, “Hold my spear, Cliff.”

Cliff snapped, “Now wait! I’m not going to stand by and watch this. He might get lucky and kill you, Rod.” “Get out of the way, Cliff.”

“No.” Cliff hesitated, then added, “Bruce, throw your knife away. Go ahead- or so help me I’ll poke a joe- sticker in your belly myself. Give me your knife, Rod.”

Rod looked at Bruce, then drew Colonel Bowie and handed it to Cliff. Bruce straightened up and flipped his knife at Cliff’s feet. Cliff rasped, “I still say not to, Rod. Say the word and we’ll take him apart.”

“Back off. Give us room.

“Well- no bone breakers. You hear me, Bruce? Make a mistake and you’ll never make another.”

“‘No bone breakers,’” Rod repeated, and knew dismally that the rule would work against him; Bruce had him on height and reach and weight. “Okay,” McGowan agreed. “Just cat clawing. I am going to show this rube that one McGowan is worth two of him.”

Cliff sighed. “Back off, everybody. Okay- get going!” Crouched, they sashayed around, not touching. Only the preliminaries could use up much time; the textbook used in most high schools and colleges listed twenty-seven ways to destroy or disable a man hand to hand; none of the methods took as long as three seconds once contact was made. They chopped at each other, feinting with their hands, too wary to close.

Rod was confused by the injunction not to let the fight go to conclusion. Bruce grinned at him. “What’s the matter? Scared? I’ve been waiting for this, you loudmouthed pimple- now you’re going to get it!” He rushed him.

Rod gave back, ready to turn Bruce’s rush into his undoing. But Bruce did not carry it through; it had been a feint and Rod had reacted too strongly. Bruce laughed. “Scared silly, huh? You had better be.”

Rod realized that he was scared, more scared than he had ever been. The conviction flooded over him that Bruce intended to kill him … the agreement about bonebreakers meant nothing; this ape meant to finish him.

He backed away, more confused than ever… knowing that he must forget rules if he was to live through it … but knowing, too, that he had to abide by the silly restriction even if it meant the end of him. Panic shook him; he wanted to run.

He did not quite do so. From despair itself he got a cold feeling of nothing to lose and decided to finish it. He exposed his groin to a savate attack.

He saw Bruce’s foot come up in the expected kick; with fierce joy he reached in the proper shinobi counter. He showed the merest of hesitation, knowing that a full twist would break Bruce’s ankle.

Then he was flying through air; his hands had never touched Bruce. He had time for sick realization that Bruce had seen the gambit, countered with another- when he struck ground and Bruce was on him.

* * * * *

“Can you move your arm, Rod?”

He tried to focus his eyes, and saw Bob Baxter’s face floating over him. “I licked him?”

Baxter did not answer. An angry voice answered, “Cripes, no! He almost chewed you to pieces.” Rod stirred and said thickly, “Where is he? I’ve got to whip him.”

Baxter said sharply, “Lie still!” Cliff added, “Don’t worry, Rod. We fixed him.” Baxter insisted, “Shut up. See if you can move your left arm.”

Rod moved the arm, felt pain shoot through it, jerked and felt pain everywhere. “It’s not broken,” Baxter decided. “Maybe a green-stick break. We’ll put it in sling. Can you sit up? I’ll help.” “I want to stand.” He made it with help, stood swaying. Most of the villagers seemed to be there; they moved jerkily. It made him dizzy and he blinked.

“Take it easy, boy,” he heard Jimmy say. “Bruce pretty near ruined you. You were crazy to give him the chance.” “I’m all right,” Rod answered and winced. “Where is he?”

“Behind you. Don’t worry, we fixed him.”

“Yes,” agreed Cliff. “We worked him over. Who does he think he is? Trying to shove the Mayor around!” He spat angrily. Bruce was face down, features hidden in one arm; he was sobbing. “How bad is he hurt?” Rod asked.

“Him?” Jimmy said scornfully. “He’s not hurt. I mean, he hurts all right- but he’s not hurt. Carol wouldn’t let us.

Caroline squatted beside Bruce, guarding him. She got up. “I should have let ‘em,” she said angrily. “But I knew you would be mad at me if I did.” She put hands on hips. “Roddie Walker, when are you going to get sense enough to yell for me when you’re in trouble? These four dopes stood around and let it happen.”

“Wait a minute, Carol,” Cliff protested. “I tried to stop it. We all tried, but-“ “But I wouldn’t listen,” Rod interrupted. “Never mind, Carol, I flubbed it.” “If you would listen to me-

“Never mind!” Rod went to McGowan, prodded him. “Turn over.”

Bruce slowly rolled over. Rod wondered if he himself looked as bad. Bruce’s body was dirt and blood and bruises; his face looked as if someone had tried to file the features off. “Stand up.

Bruce started to speak, then got painfully to his feet. Rod said, “I told you to report to Art, Bruce. Get over the wall and get moving.” McGowan looked startled. “Huh?”

“You heard me. I can’t waste time playing games. Check in with Art and get to work. Or keep moving and don’t come back. Now move!”

Bruce stared, then hobbled toward the wall. Rod turned and said, “Get back to work, folks. The fun is over. Cliff, you were going to show me the animals.” “Huh? Look Rod, it’ll keep.”

“Yes, Rod,” Baxter agreed. “I want to put a sling on that arm. Then you should rest.”

Rod moved his arm gingerly. “I’ll try to get along without it. Come on, Cliff. Just you and me- we’ll skip the stobor hunt.”

He had trouble concentrating on what Cliff talked about … something about gelding a pair of fawns and getting them used to harness. What use was harness when they had no wagons? His head ached, his arm hurt and his brain felt fuzzy. What would Grant have done?

He had failed … but what should he have said, or not said? Some days it wasn’t worth it. “-so we’ve got to. You see, Rod?”

“Huh? Sure, Cliff.” He made a great effort to recall what Cliff had been saying. “Maybe wooden axles would do. I’ll see if Bill thinks he can build a cart” “But besides a cart, we need-“

Rod stopped him. “Cliff, if you say so, we’ll try it. I think I’ll take a shower. Uh, we’ll look at the field tomorrow.

Ashower made him feel better and much cleaner, although the water spilling milk-warm from the flume seemed too hot, then icy cold. He stumbled back to his hut and lay down. When he woke he found Shorty guarding his door to keep him from being disturbed.

It was three days before he felt up to inspecting the farm. Neilsen reported that McGowan was working, although sullenly. Caroline reported that Theo was obeying sanitary regulations and wearing a black eye. Rod was self-conscious about appearing in public, had even considered one restless night the advisability of resigning and letting someone who had not lost face take over the responsibility. But to his surprise his position seemed firmer than ever. Aminority from Teller University, which he had thought of wryly as “loyal opposition,” now no longer seemed disposed to be critical. Curt Pulvermacher, their unofficial leader, looked Rod up and offered help. “Bruce is a bad apple, Rod. Don’t let him get down wind again. Let me know instead.”

“Thanks, Curt.”

“I mean it. It’s hard enough to get anywhere around here if we all pull together. We can’t have him riding roughshod over us. But don’t stick your chin out. We’ll teach him.”

Rod slept well that night. Perhaps he had not handled it as Grant would have, but it had worked out. Cowper-town was safe. Oh, there would be more troubles but the colony would sweat through them. Someday there would be a city here and this would be Cowper Square. Upstream would be the Nielsen Steel Works. There might even be a Walker Avenue…

He felt up to looking over the farm the next day. He told Cliff so and gathered the same party, Jimmy, Kent, and Mick. Spears in hand they climbed the stile at the wall and descended the ladder on the far side. Cliff gathered up a handful of dirt, tasted it. “The soil is all right. Alittle acid, maybe. We won’t know until we can run soil chemistry tests. But the structure is good. If you tell that dumb Swede that the next thing he has to make is a plough …

“Waxie isn’t dumb. Give him time. Hell make you ploughs and tractors, too.”

“I’ll settle for a hand plough, drawn by a team of buck. Rod, my notion is this. We weed and it’s an invitation to the buck to eat the crops. If we built another wall, all around and just as high-“

“Awall! Any idea how many man-hours that would take, Cliff?” “That’s not the point.”

Rod looked around the alluvial flat, several times as large as the land enclosed in the city walls. Athorn fence, possibly, but not a wall, not yet … Cliff’s ambitions were too big. “Look, let’s comb the field for stobor, then send the others back. You and I can figure out afterwards what can be done.”

“All right. But tell them to watch where they put their big feet.”

Rod spread them in skirmish line with himself in the

center. “Keep dressed up,” he warned, “and don’t let any get past you. Remember, every one we kill now means six less on S-Day.”

They moved forward. Kenny made a kill, Jimmy immediately made two more. The stobor hardly tried to escape, being in the “dopy joe” phase of their cycle. Rod paused to spear one and looked up to speak to the man on his right. But there was no one there. “Hold it! Where’s Mick?”

“Huh? Why, he was right here a second ago.”

Rod looked back. Aside from a shimmer over the hot field, there was nothing where Mick should have been. Something must have sneaked up in the grass, pulled him down- “Watch it, everybody! Something’s wrong. Close in … and keep your eyes peeled.” He turned back, moved diagonally toward where Mick had disappeared.

Suddenly two figures appeared in front of his eyes- Mick and a stranger.

Astranger in coveralls and shoes… The man looked around, called over his shoulder, “Okay, Jake! Put her on automatic and clamp it.” He glanced toward Rod but did not seem to see him, walked toward him, and disappeared.

With heart pounding Rod began to run. He turned and found himself facing into an open gate… and down a long, closed corridor.

The man in the coveralls stepped into the frame. “Everybody back off,” he ordered. “We’re going to match in with the Gap. There may be local disturbance.”

5. In Achilles’ Tent

It had been a half hour since Mick had stumbled through the gate as it had focused, fallen flat in the low gravity of Luna. Rod was trying to bring order out of confusion, trying to piece together his own wits. Most of the villagers were out on the field, or sitting on top of the wall, watching technicians set up apparatus to turn the locus into a permanent gate, with controls and communications on both sides. Rod tried to tell one that they were exposed, that they should not run around unarmed; without looking up the man had said, “Speak to Mr. Johnson.”

He found Mr. Johnson, tried again, was interrupted. Will you kids please let us work? We’re glad to see you but we’ve got to get a power fence around this area. No telling what might be in that tall grass.”

Oh,” Rod answered. “Look, I’ll set guards. We know what to expect. I’m in ch-“ ‘Beat it, will you? You kids mustn’t be impatient.”

So Rod went back inside his city, hurt and angry. Several strangers came in, poked around as if they owned the place, spoke to the excited villagers, went out again. One stopped to look at Jimmy’s drum, rapped it and laughed. Rod wanted to strangle him.

“Rod?”

“Uh?” He whirled around. “Yes, Margery?”

“Do I cook lunch, or don’t I? All my girls have left and Mel says its silly because we’ll all be gone by lunch time- and I don’t know what to do.” “Huh? Nobody’s leaving … that I know of.”

“Well, maybe not but that’s the talk.”

He was not given time to consider this as one of the ubiquitous strangers came up and said briskly, “Can you tell me where to find a lad named Roderick Welker?” “Walker,” Rod corrected. “I’m Rod Walker. What do you want?”

“My name is Sansom, Clyde B. Sansom- Administrative Officer in the Emigration Control Service. Now, Welker, I understand you are group leader for these students. You can-“ “I am Mayor of Cowpertown,” Rod said stonily. “What do you want?”

“Yes, yes, that’s what the youngster called you. ‘Mayor.’” Sansom smiled briefly and went on. “Now, Walker, we want to keep things orderly. I know you are anxious to get out of your predicament as quickly as possible- but we must do things systematically. We are going to make it easy- just delousing and physical examination, followed by psychological tests and a relocation interview. Then you will all be free to return to your homes- after signing a waiver-of-liability form, but the legal officer will take care of that. If you will have your little band line up alphabetically- uh, here in this open space, I think, then I will-” He fumbled with his briefcase.

“Who the deuce are you to give orders around here?”

Sansom looked surprised. “Eh? I told you. If you want to be technical, I embody the authority of the Terran Corporation. I put it as a request- but under field conditions I can compel co- operation, you know.”

Rod felt himself turn red. “I don’t know anything of the sort! You may be a squad of angels back on Terra but you are in Cowpertown.” Mr. Sansom looked interested but not impressed. “And what, may I ask, is Cowpertown?”

“Huh? This is Cowpertown, a Sovereign nation, with its own constitution, its own laws- and its own territory.” Rod took a breath. “If the Terran Corporation wants anything, they can send somebody and arrange it. But don’t tell us to line up alphabetically!”

“Atta boy, Roddie!”

Rod said, “Stick around, Carol,” then added to Sansom, “Understand me?”

“Do I understand,” Sansom said slowly, “that you are suggesting that the Corporation should appoint an ambassador to your group?” “Well … that’s the general idea.”

“Mmmm … an interesting theory, Welker.”

“‘Walker.’ And until you do, you can darn well clear the sightseers out- and get out yourself. We aren’t a zoo.”

Sansom looked at Rod’s ribs, glanced at his dirty, calloused feet and smiled. Rod said, “Show him out, Carol. Put him out, if you have to.” “Yes, sirr’ She advanced on Sansom, grinning.

“Oh, I’m leaving,” Sansom said quickly. “Better a delay than a mistake in protocol. An ingenious theory, young man. Good-by. We shall see each other later. Uh … a word of advice? May I?”

Huh? All right.”

“Don’t take yourself too seriously. Ready, young lady?”

Rod stayed in his hut. He wanted badly to see what was going on beyond the wall, but he did not want to run into Sansom. So he sat and gnawed his thumb and thought. Apparently some weak sisters were going back -wave a dish of ice cream under their noses and off they would trot, abandoning their land, throwing away all they had built up. Well, he wouldn’t! This was home, his place, he had earned it; he wasn’t going back and maybe wait half a lifetime for a chance to move to some other planet probably not as good.

Let them go! Cowpertown would be better and stronger without them.

Maybe some just wanted to make a visit, show off grandchildren to grandparents, then come back. Probably . . in which case they had better make sure that Sansom or somebody gave them written clearance to come back. Maybe he ought to warn them.

But he didn’t have anyone to visit. Except Sis- and Sis might be anywhere- unlikely that she was on Terra.

Bob and Carmen, carrying Hope, came in to say good-by. Rod shook hands solemnly. “You’re coming back, Bob, when you get your degree … aren’t you?” “Well, we hope so, if possible. If we are permitted to.”

“Who’s going to stop you? It’s your right. And when you do, you’ll find us here. In the meantime we’ll try not to break legs.” Baxter hesitated. “Have you been to the gate lately, Rod?”

“No. Why?”

“Uh, don’t plan too far ahead. I believe some have already gone back.” “How many?”

“Quite a number.” Bob would not commit himself further. He gave Rod the addresses of his parents and Carmen’s, soberly wished him a blessing, and left.

Margery did not come back and the fire pit remained cold. Rod did not care, he was not hungry. Jimmy came in at what should have been shortly after lunch, nodded and sat down. Presently he said, “I’ve been out at the gate.”

“So?”

“Yup. You know, Rod, a lot of people wondered why you weren’t there to say good-by.” “They could come here to say good-by!”

“Yes, so they could. But the word got around that you didn’t approve. Maybe they were embarrassed.”

“Me?” Rod laughed without mirth. “I don’t care how many city boys run home to mama. It’s a free country.” He glanced at Jim. “How many are sticking?” “Uh, I don’t know.”

“I’ve been thinking. If the group gets small, we might move back to the cave just to sleep, I mean. Until we get more colonists.” “Maybe.”

“Don’t be so glum! Even if it got down to just you and me and Jackie and Carol, we’d be no worse off than we once were. And it would just be temporary. There’d be the baby, of course- I almost forgot to mention my god-son.

“There’s the baby,” Jimmy agreed.

“What are you pulling a long face about? Jim . you’re not thinking of leaving?”

Jimmy stood up. Jackie said to tell you that we would stick by whatever you thought was best.” Rod thought over what Jimmy had not said. “You mean she wants to go back? Both of you do.” “Now, Rod, we’re partners. But I’ve got the kid to think about. You see that?”

“Yes. I see.”

“Well-“

Rod stuck out his hand. “Good luck, Jim. Tell Jackie good-by for me. “Oh, she’s waiting to say good-by herself. With the kid.”

“Uh, tell her not to. Somebody once told me that saying good-by was a mistake. Be seeing you.” “Well-so long, Rod. Take care of yourself.”

“You, too. If you see Caroline, tell her to come in. Caroline was slow appearing; he guessed that she had been at the gate. He said bluntly, “How many are left?” “Not many,” she admitted.

“How many?”

“You and me- and a bunch of gawkers.” “Nobody else?”

“I checked them off the list. Roddie, what do we do now?” “Huh? It doesn’t matter. Do you want to go back?”

“You’re boss, Roddie. You’re the Mayor.”

“Mayor of what? Carol, do you want to go back?” “Roddie, I never thought about it. I was happy here. But-“ “But what?”

“The town is gone, the kids are gone- and I’ve got only a year if I’m ever going to be a cadet Amazon.” She blurted out the last, then added, “But I’ll stick if you do.” “No.”

“I will so!”

“No. But I want you to do something when you go back.” “What?”

“Get in touch with my sister Helen. Find out where she is stationed. Assault Captain Helen Walker- got it? Tell her I’m okay … and tell her I said to help you get into the Corps.” “Uh … Roddie, I don’t want to go!”

“Beat it. They might relax the gate and leave you behind.” “You come, too.”

“No. I’ve got things to do. But you hurry. Don’t say good-by. Just go.” “You’re mad at me, Roddie?”

“Of course not. But go, please, or you’ll have me bawling, too.”

She gave a choked cry, grabbed his head and smacked his cheek, then galloped away, her sturdy legs pounding. Rod went into his shack and lay face down. After a while he got up and began to tidy Cowpertown. It was littered, dirtier than it had been since the morning of Grant’s death.

It was late afternoon before anyone else came into the village. Rod heard and saw them long before they saw him-two men and a woman. The men were dressed in city garb; she was wearing shorts, shirt, and smart sandals. Rod stepped out and said, “What do you want?” He was carrying his spear.

The woman squealed, then looked and added, “Wonderful!”

One man was carrying a pack and tripod which Rod recognized as multi-recorder of the all-purpose sightsmell-sound-touch sort used by news services and expeditions. He said nothing, set his tripod down, plugged in cables and started fiddling with dials. The other man, smaller, ginger haired, and with a terrier mustache, said, “You’re Walker? The one the others call ‘the Mayor’?”

“Yes.”

“Kosmic hasn’t been in here?” “Cosmic what?”

“Kosmic Keynotes, of course. Or anybody? LIFETIME-SPACE? Galaxy Features?”

“I don’t know what you mean. There hasn’t been anybody here since morning.”

The stranger twitched his mustache and sighed. “That’s all I want to know. Go into your trance, Ellie. Start your box, Mac.” “Wait a minute,” Rod demanded. “Who are you and what do you want?”

“Eh? I’m Evans of Empire … Empire Enterprises.” “Pulitzer Prize,” the other man said and went on working;

“With Mac’s help,” Evans added quickly. “The lady is Ellie Ellens herself.”

Rod looked puzzled. Evans said, “You don’t know? Son, where have you-never mind. She’s the highest paid emotional writer in the system. Shell interpret you so that every woman reader from the Outlands Overseer to the London Times will cry over you and want to comfort you. She’s a great artist.”

Miss Ellens did not seem to hear the tribute. She wandered around with a blank face, stopping occasionally to look or touch. She turned and said to Rod, “Is this where you held your primitive dances?”

“What? We held square dances here, once a week.”

“‘Square dances’ … Well, we can change that.” She went back into her private world.

“The point is, brother,” Evans went on, “we don’t want just an interview. Plenty of that as they came through. That’s how we found out you were here- and dropped everything to see you. I’m not going to dicker; name your own price- but it’s got to be exclusive, news, features, commercial rights, everything. Uh …” Evans looked around. “Advisory service, too, when the actors arrive.

“Actors?!”

“Of course. If the Control Service had the sense to sneeze, they would have held you all here until a record was shot. But we can do it better with actors. I want you at my elbow every minute- we’ll have somebody play your part. Besides that-“

“Wait a minute!” Rod butted in. “Either I’m crazy or you are. In the first place I don’t want your money. “Huh? You signed with somebody? That guard let another outfit in ahead of us?”

“What guard? I haven’t seen anybody.”

Evans looked relieved. “We’ll work it out. The guard they’ve got to keep anybody from crossing your wall- I thought he might have both hands out. But don’t say you don’t need money; that’s immoral.”

“Well, I don’t. We don’t use money here.”

“Sure, sure … but you’ve got a family, haven’t you? Families always need money. Look, let’s not fuss. We’ll treat you right and you can let it pile up in the bank. I just want you to get signed up.”

“I don’t see why I should.” “Binder,” said Mac.

“Mmm … yes, Mac. See here, brother, think it over. Just let us have a binder that you won’t sign with anybody else. You can still stick us for anything your conscience will let you. Just a binder, with a thousand plutons on the side.”

“I’m not going to sign with anybody else.” “Got that, Mac?”

“Canned.”

Evans turned to Rod. “You don’t object to answering questions in the meantime, do you? And maybe a few pictures?” “Uh, I don’t care.” Rod was finding them puzzling and a little annoying, but they were company and he was bitterly lonely.

“Fine!” Evans drew him out with speed and great skill. Rod found himself telling more than he realized he knew. At one point Evans asked about dangerous animals. “I understand they are pretty rough here. Much trouble?”

“Why, no,” Rod answered with sincerity. “We never had real trouble with animals. What trouble we had was with people … and not much of that.” “You figure this will be a premium colony?”

“Of course. The others were fools to leave. This place is like Terra, only safer and richer and plenty of land. In a few years- say!” “Say what?”

“How did it happen that they left us here? We were only supposed to be here ten days.” “Didn’t they tell you?”

“Well … maybe the others were told. I never heard.” “It was the supernova, of course. Delta, uh-“

“Delta Gamma one thirteen,” supplied Mac.

“That’s it. Space-time distortion, but I’m no mathematician.” “Fluxion,” said Mac.

“Whatever that is. They’ve been fishing for you ever since. As I understand it, the wave front messed up their figures for this whole region. Incidentally, brother, when you go back-“ ”I’m not going back.”

“Well, even on a visit. Don’t sign a waiver. The Board is trying to call it an ‘Act of God’ and duck responsibility. So let me put a bug in your ear: don’t sign away your rights. Afriendly hint, huh?”

“Thanks. I won’t- well, thanks anyhow.”

“Now how about action pix for the lead stories?” “Well … okay.”

“Spear,” said Mac.

“Yeah, I believe you had some sort of spear. Mind holding it?”

Rod got it as the great Ellie joined them. “Wonderful!” she breathed. “I can feel it. It shows how thin the line is between man and beast. Ahundred cultured boys and girls slipping back to illiteracy, back to the stone age, the veneer sloughing away … reverting to savagery. Glorious!”

“Look here!” Rod said angrily. “Cowpertown wasn’t that way at all! We had laws, we had a constitution, we kept clean. We-” He stopped; Miss Ellens wasn’t listening.

“Savage ceremonies,” she said dreamily. “Avillage witch doctor pitting ignorance and superstition against nature. Primitive fertility rites-” She stopped and said to Mac in a businesslike voice, “We’ll shoot the dances three times. Cover ‘em a little for ‘A’ list; cover ‘em up a lot for the family list-and peel them down for the ‘B’ list. Got it?”

“Got it,” agreed Mac.

“I’ll do three commentaries she added. “It will be worth the trouble.” She reverted to her trance. “Wait a minute!” Rod protested. “If she means what

I think she means, there won’t be any pictures, with or without actors.”

“Take it easy,” Evans advised. “I said you would be technical supervisor, didn’t I? Or would you rather we did it without you? Ellie is all right, brother. What you don’t know- and she does- is that you have to shade the truth to get at the real truth, the underlying truth. You’ll see.

“But-“

Mac stepped up to him. “Hold still.”

Rod did so, as Mac raised his hand. Rod felt the cool touch of an air brush. “Hey! What are you doing?”

“Make up.” Mac returned to his gear.

“Just a little war paint,” Evans explained. “The pic needs color. It will wash off.”

Rod opened his mouth and eyes in utter indignation; without knowing it he raised his spear. “Get it, Mac!” Evans ordered. “Got it,” Mac answered calmly.

Rod fought to bring his anger down to where he could talk. “Take that tape out,” he said softly. “Throw it on the ground. Then get out.” “Slow down,” Evans advised. “You’ll like that pic. We’ll send you one.

“Take it out. Or I’ll bust the box and anybody who gets in my way!” He aimed his spear at the multiple lens. Mac slipped in front, protected it with his body. Evans called out, “Better look at this.”

Evans had him covered with a small but businesslike gun. “We go a lot of funny places, brother, but we go prepared. You damage that recorder, or hurt one of us, and you’ll be sued from here to breakfast. It’s a serious matter to interfere with a news service, brother. The public has rights, you know.” He raised his voice. “Ellie! We’re leaving.”

“Not yet,” she answered dreamily. “I must steep my-self in-“ “Right now! It’s an ‘eight-six’ with the Reuben Steuben!” “Okay!” she snapped in her other voice.

Rod let them go. Once they were over the wall he went;back to the city hall, sat down, held his knees and shook.

Later he climbed the stile and looked around. Aguard was on duty below him; the guard looked up but said nothing. The gate was relaxed to a mere control hole but a loading platform had been set up and a power fence surrounded it and joined the wall. Someone was working at a control board set up on a flatbed truck; Rod decided that they must be getting ready for major immigration. He went back and prepared a solitary meal, the poorest he had eaten in more than a year. Then he went to bed and listened to the jungle “Grand Opera” until he went to sleep.

“Anybody home?”

Rod came awake instant!y, realized that it was morning- and that not all nightmares were dreams. “Who’s there?” “Friend of yours.” B. P. Matson stuck his head in the door. “Put that whittler away. I’m harmless.”

Rod bounced up. “Deacon! I mean ‘Doctor.’”

“‘Deacon,’” Matson corrected. “I’ve got a visitor for you.” He stepped aside and Rod saw his sister.

Some moments later Matson said mildly, “If you two can unwind and blow your noses, we might get this on a coherent basis.”

Rod backed off and looked at his sister. “My, you look wondeful, Helen.” She was in mufti, dressed in a gay tabard and briefs. “You’ve lost weight.” “Not much. Better distributed, maybe. You’ve gained, Rod. My baby brother is a man.”

“How did you-” Rod stopped, struck by suspicion. “You didn’t come here to talk me into going back? If you did, you can save your breath.”

Matson answered hastily. “No, no, no! Farthest thought from our minds. But we heard about your decision and we wanted to see you-s o I did a little politickmg and got us a pass.” He added, “Nominally I’m a temporary field agent for the service.

“Oh. Well, I’m certainly glad to see you … as long as that is understood.”

“Sure, sure!” Matson took out a pipe, stoked and fired it. “I admire your choice, Rod. First time I’ve been on Tangaroa.” “On what?”

“Huh? Oh. Tangaroa. Polynesian goddess, I believe. Did you folks give it another name?” Rod considered it. “To tell the truth, we never got around to it. It … well, it just was.”

Matson nodded. “Takes two of anything before you need names. But it’s lovely, Rod. I can see you made a lot of progress. “We would have done all right,” Rod said bitterly, “if they hadn’t jerked the rug out.” He shrugged. “Like to look around?”

“I surely would.”

“All right. Come on, Sis. Wait a minute- I haven’t had breakfast; how about you?” “Well, when we left the Gap is was pushing lunch time. I could do with a bite. Helen?” “Yes, indeed.”

Rod scrounged in Margery’s supplies. The haunch on which he had supped was not at its best. He passed it to Matson. “Too high?” Matson sniffed it. “Pretty gamy. I can eat it if you can.

“We should have hunted yesterday, but … things happened.” He frowned. “Sit tight. I’ll get cured meat.” He ran up to the cave, found a smoked side and some salted strips. When he got back Matson had a fire going. There was nothing else to serve; no fruit had been gathered the day before. Rod was uneasily aware that their breakfasts must have been very different.

But he got over it in showing off how much they had done- potter’s wheel, Sue’s loom with a piece half finished, the flume with the village fountain and the showers that ran continuously,

iron artifacts that Art and Doug had hammered out. “I’d like to take you up to Art’s iron works but there is no telling what we might run into.”

“Come now, Rod, I’m not a city boy. Nor is your sister helpless.”

Rod shook his head. “I know this country; you don’t. I can go up there at a trot. But the only way for you would be a slow sneak, because I can’t cover you both.” Matson nodded. “You’re right. It seems odd to have one of my students solicitous over my health. But you are right. We don’t know this set up.

Rod showed them the stobor traps and described the annual berserk migration. “Stobor pour through those holes and fall in the pits. The other animals swarm past, as solid as city traffic for hours.”

“Catastrophic adjustment,” Matson remarked.

“Huh? Oh, yes, we figured that out. Cyclic catastrophic balance, just like human beings. If we had facilities, we could ship thousands of carcasses back to Earth every dry season. He considered it. “Maybe we will, now.

“Probably.”

“But up to now it has been just a troublesome nuisance. These stobor especially- I’ll show you one out in the field when- say!” Rod looked thoughtful. “These are stobor, aren’t they? Little carnivores heavy in front, about the size of a tom cat and eight times as nasty?”

“Why ask me?”

“Well, you warned us against stobor. All the classes were warned.”

“I suppose these must be stobor,” Matson admitted, “but I did not know what they looked like.” “Huh?”

“Rod, every planet has its ‘stobor’ … all different. Sometimes more than one sort.” He stopped to tap his pipe. “You remember me telling the class that every planet has unique dangers, different from every other planet in the Galaxy?”

“Yes…”

“Sure, and it meant nothing, a mere intellectual concept. But you have to be afraid of the thing behind the concept, if you are to stay alive. So we personify it … but we don’t tell you what it is. We do it differently each year. It is to warn you that the unknown and deadly can lurk anywhere … and to plant it deep in your guts instead of in your head.”

“Well, I’ll be a- Then there weren’t any stobor! There never were!” “Sure there were. You built these traps for them, didn’t you?”

* * * * *

When they returned, Matson sat on the ground and said, “We can’t stay long, you know.

“I realize that. Wait a moment.” Rod went into his hut, dug out Lady Macbeth, rejoined them. “Here’s your knife, Sis. It saved my skin more than once. Thanks.”

She took the knife and caressed it, then cradled it and looked past Rod’s head. It flashed by him, went tuckspong! in a corner post. She recovered it, came back and handed it to Rod. “Keep it, dear, wear it always in safety and health.”

“Gee, Sis, I shouldn’t. I’ve had it too long now.”

“Please. I’d like to know that Lady Macbeth is watching over you, wherever you are. And I don’t need a knife much now.” “Huh? Why not?”

“Because I married her,” Matson answered.

Rod was caught speechless. His sister looked at him and said, “What’s the matter, Buddy? Don’t you approve?”

“Huh? Oh, sure! It’s …” He dug into his memory, fell back on quoted ritual: “‘May the Principle make you one. May your union be fruitful.’” “Then come here and kiss me.”

Rod did so, remembered to shake hands with the Deacon. It was all right, he guessed, but- well, how old were they? Sis must be thirtyish and the Deacon … why the Deacon was old- probably past forty. It did not seem quite decent.

But he did his best to make them feel that he approved. After he thought it over he decided that if two people, with their lives behind them, wanted company in their old age, why, it was probably a good thing.

“So you see,” Matson went on, “I had a double reason to look you up. In the first place, though I am no longer teaching, it is vexing to mislay an entire class. In the second place, when one of them is your brother-in-law it is downright embarrassing.”

“You’ve quit teaching?”

“Yes. The Board and I don’t see eye to eye on policy. Secondly, I’m leading a party out … and this time your sister and I are going to settle down and prove a farm.” Matson looked at him. “Wouldn’t be interested, would you? I need a salted lieutenant.”

“Huh? Thanks, but as I told you, this is my place. Uh, where are you going?” “Territa, out toward the Hyades. Nice place- they are charging a stiff premium.” Rod shrugged. “Then I couldn’t afford it.”

“As my lieutenant, you’d be exempt. But I wasn’t twisting your arm; I just thought you ought to have a chance to turn it down. I have to get along with your sister, you know.” Rod glanced at Helen. “Sorry, Sis.”

“It’s all right, Buddy. We’re not trying to live your life.”

“Mmm … no. Matson puffed hard; then went on. “However, as your putative brother and former teacher I feel obligated to mention a couple of things. I’m not trying to sell you anything, but I’ll appreciate it if you’ll listen. Okay?”

“Well … go ahead.”

“This is a good spot. but you might go back to school, you know. Acquire recognized professional status. If you refuse recall, here you stay … forever. You won’t see the rest of the Outlands. They won’t give you free passage back later. But a professional gets around, he sees the world. Your sister and I have been on some fifty planets. School does not look attractive now- you’re a man and it will be hard to wear boy’s shoes. But-” Matson swept an arm, encompassed all of Cowpertown, “-this counts. You can skip courses, get field credit. I have some drag with the Chancellor of Central Tech. Hmmm?”

Rod sat with stony face, then shook his head. “Okay,” said Matson briskly. “No harm done.”

“Wait. Let me tell you.” Rod tried to think how to explain how he felt … “Nothing, I guess,” he said gruffly. Matson smoked in silence. “You were leader here,” he said at last.

“Mayor,” Rod corrected. “Mayor of Cowpertown. I was the Mayor, I mean.”

“You are the Mayor. Population one, but you are still boss. And even those bureaucrats in the control service wouldn’t dispute that you’ve proved the land. Technically you are an autonomous colony- I hear you told Sansom that.” Matson grinned. “You’re alone, however. You can’t live alone, Rod … not and stay human.”

“Well, yes- but aren’t they going to settle this planet?”

“Sure. Probably fifty thousand this year, four times that many in two years. But, Rod, you would be part of the mob. Theyll bring their own leaders.” “I don’t have to be boss! I just- well, I don’t want to give up Cowpertown.”

“Rod, Cowpertown is safe in history, along with Plymouth Rock, Botany Bay, and Dakin’s Colony. The citizens of Tangaroa will undoubtedly preserve it as a historical shrine. Whether you stay is another matter. Nor am I trying to persuade you. I was simply pointing out alternatives.” He stood up. “About time we started, Helen.”

“Yes, dear.” She accepted his hand and stood up.

“Wait a minute!” insisted Rod. “Deacon … Sis! I know I sound like a fool. I know this is gone … the town, and the kids, and everything. But I can’t go back.” He added, “It’s not that I don’t want to.”

Matson nodded. “I understand you.” “I don’t see how. I don’t.”

“Maybe I’ve been there. Rod, everyone of us is beset by two things: a need to go home, and the impossibility of doing it. You are at the age when these hurt worst. You’ve been thrown into a situation that makes the crisis doubly acute. You- don’t interrupt me- you’ve been a man here, the old man of the tribe, the bull of the herd. That is why the others could go back but you can’t. Wait, please! I suggested that you might find it well to go back and be an adolescent for a while … and it seems unbearable. I’m not surprised. It would be easier to be a small child. Children are another race and adults deal with them as such. But adolescents are neither adult nor child. They have the impossible, unsolvable, tragic problems of all fringe cultures. They don’t belong, they are second-class citizens, economically and socially insecure. It is a difficult period and I don’t blame you for not wanting to return to it. I simply think it might pay. But you have been king of a whole world; I imagine that term papers and being told to wipe your feet and such are out of the question. So good luck. Coming, dear?”

“Deacon,” his wife said, “Aren’t you going to tell him?”

“It has no bearing. It would be an unfair way to influence his judgment.” “You men! I’m glad I’m not male!”

“So am I,” Matson agreed pleasantly.

“I didn’t mean that. Men behave as if logic were stepping on crack in a sidewalk. I’m going to tell him.” “On your head be it.”

“Tell me what?” demanded Rod.

“She means,” said Matson, “that your parents are back.” “What?”

“Yes, Buddy. They left stasis a week ago and Daddy came out of the hospital today. He’s well. But we haven’t told him all about you- we haven’t known what to say.”

The facts were simple, although Rod found them hard to soak up. Medical techniques had developed in two years, not a pessimistic twenty; it had been possible to relax the stasis, operate, and restore Mr. Walker to the world. Helen had known for months that such outcome was likely, but their father’s physician had not approved until he was sure. It had been mere coincidence that Tangaroa had been located at almost the same time. To Rod one event was as startling as the other; his parents had been dead to him for a long time.

“My dear,” Matson said sternly, “now that you have thrown him into a whingding, shall we go?”

“Yes. But I had to tell him.” Helen kissed Rod quickly, turned to her husband. They started to walk away. Rod watched them, his face contorted in an agony of indecision.

Suddenly he called out, “Wait! I’m coming with you.”

“All right,” Matson answered. He turned his good eye toward his wife and drooped the lid in a look of satisfaction that was not quite a wink. “If you are sure that is what you want to do, I’ll help you get your gear together.”

“Oh, I haven’t any baggage. Let’s go.”

Rod stopped only long enough to free the penned animals.

4. The Endless Road

Matson chaperoned him through Emigrants’ Gap, saved from possible injury a functionary who wanted to give Rod psychological tests, and saw to it that he signed no waivers. He had him bathed, shaved, and barbered, then fetched him clothes, before he let him be exposed to the Terran world. Matson accompanied them only to Kaibab Gate. “I’m supposed to have a lodge dinner, or something, so that you four can be alone as a family. About nine, dear. See you, Rod.” He kissed his wife and left.

“Sis? Dad doesn’t know I’m coming?”

Helen hesitated. “He knows. I screened him while Deacon was primping you.” She added, “Remember, Rod, Dad has been ill … and the time has been only a couple of weeks to him.” “Oh, that’s so, isn’t it?” Used all his life to Ramsbotham anomalies, Rod nevertheless found those concerned with time confusing- planet-hopping via the gates did not seem odd.

Besides, he was extremely edgy without knowing why, the truth being that he was having an attack of fear of crowds. The Matsons had anticipated it but had not warned him lest they

make him worse.

The walk through tall trees just before reaching home calmed him. The necessity for checking all cover for dangerous animals and keeping a tree near him always in mind gave his subconscious something familiar to chew on. He arrived home almost cheerful without being aware either that he had been frightened by crowds or soothed by non-existent dangers of an urban forest.

His father looked browned and healthy- but shorter and smaller. He embraced his son and his mother kissed him and wept. “It’s good to have you home, son. I understand you had quite a trip.”

“It’s good to be home, Dad.”

“I think these tests are much too strenuous, I really do.”

Rod started to explain that it really had not been a test, that it had not been strenuous, and that Cowpertown- Tangaroa, rather- had been a soft touch. But he got mixed up and was disturbed by the presence of “Aunt” Nora Peascoat- no relation but a childhood friend of his mother. Besides, his father was not listening.

But Mrs. Peascoat was listening, and looking-peering with little eyes through folds of flesh. “Why, Roderick Walker, I knew that couldn’t have been a picture of you.” “Eh?” asked his father. “What picture?”

“Why, that wild-man picture that had Roddie’s name on it. You must have seen it; it was on facsimile and Empire Hour both. I knew it wasn’t him. I said to Joseph, ‘Joseph,’ I said, ‘that’s not a picture of Rod Walker-its a fake.’”

“I must have missed it. As you know, I-“

“I’ll send it to you; I clipped it. I knew it was a fake. It’s a horrible thing, a great naked savage with pointed teeth and a fiendish grin and a long spear and war paint all over its ugly face. I said to Joseph-“

“As you know, I returned from hospital just this morning, Nora. Rod, there was no picture of you on the news services, surely?” “Uh, yes and no. Maybe.”

“I don’t follow you. Why should there be a picture of you?” “There wasn’t any reason. This bloke just took it.”

“Then there was a picture?”

“Yes.” Rod saw that “Aunt” Nora was eyeing him avidly: “But it was a fake- sort of.” “I still don’t follow you.

“Please, Pater,” Helen intervened. “Rod had a tiring trip. This can wait.” “Oh, surely. I don’t see how a picture can be ‘a sort of a fake.’”

“Well, Dad, this man painted my face when I wasn’t looking. I-” Rod stopped, realizing that it sounded ridiculous. “Then it was your picture?” “Aunt” Nora insisted.

“I’m not going to say any more.

Mr. Walker blinked. “Perhaps that is best.”

“Aunt” Nora looked ruffled. “Well, I suppose anything can happen ‘way off in those odd places. From the teaser on Empire Hour I understand some very strange things did happen … not all of them nice.”

She looked as if daring Rod to deny it. Rod said nothing. She went on, “I don’t know what you were thinking of, letting a boy do such things. My father always said that if the Almighty had intended us to use those gate things instead of rocket ships He would have provided His own holes in the sky.”

Helen said sharply, “Mrs. Peascoat, in what way is a rocket ship more natural than a gate?” “Why, Helen Walker! I’ve been ‘Aunt Nora’ all your life. ‘Mrs. Peascoat’ indeed!”

Helen shrugged. “And my name is Matson, not Walker- as you know.”

Mrs. Walker, distressed and quite innocent, broke in to ask Mrs. Peascoat to stay for dinner. Mr. Walker added, “Yes, Nora, join us Under the Lamp.” Rod counted to ten. But Mrs. Peascoat said she was sure they wanted to be alone, they had so much to talk about … and his father did not insist.

Rod quieted during ritual, although he stumbled in responses and once left an awkward silence. Dinner was wonderfully good, but he was astonished by the small portions; Terra must be under severe rationing. But everyone seemed happy and so he was.

“I’m sorry about this mix-up,” his father told him. “I suppose it means that you will have to repeat a semester at Patrick Henry.” “On the contrary, Pater,” Helen answered, “Deacon is sure that Rod can enter Central Tech with advanced standing.”

“Really? They were more strict in my day.”

“All of that group will get special credit. What they learned cannot be learned in classrooms.”

Seeing that his father was inclined to argue Rod changed the subject. “Sis, that reminds me. I gave one of the girls your name, thinking you were still in the Corps- she wants to be appointed cadet, you see. You can still help her, can’t you?”

“I can advise her and perhaps coach her for the exams. Is this important to you, Buddy?”

“Well, yes. And she is number-one officer material. She’s a big girl, even bigger than you are- and she looks

a bit like you. She is smart like you, too, around genius, and always good-natured and willing- but strong and fast and incredibly violent when you need it … sudden death in all directions.”

“Roderick.” His father glanced at the lamp.

“Uh, sorry, Dad. I was just describing her.”

“Very well. Son … when did you start picking up your meat with your fingers?” Rod dropped the tidbit and blushed. “Excuse me. We didn’t have forks.”

Helen chuckled. “Never mind, Rod. Pater, it’s perfectly natural. Whenever we paid off any of our girls we always put them through reorientation to prepare them for the perils of civil life. And fingers were made before forks.”

“Mmm . . no doubt. Speaking of reorientation, there is something we must do, daughter, before this family will be organized again.” “So?”

“Yes. I mean the transfer of guardianship. Now that I am well, by a miracle, I must reassume my responsibilities.”

Rod’s mind slipped several cogs before it penetrated that Dad was talking about him. Guardian? Oh … Sis was his guardian, wasn’t she? But it didn’t mean anything. Helen hesitated. “I suppose so, Pater,” she said, her eyes on Rod, “if Buddy wants to.”

“Eh? That is not a factor, daughter. Your husband won’t want the responsibility of supervising a young boy- and it is my obligation … and privilege.” Helen looked annoyed. Rod said, “I can’t see that it matters, Dad. I’ll be away at college-and after all I am nearly old enough to vote.”

His mother looked startled. “Why, Roddie dear!”

“Yes,” agreed his father. “I’m afraid I can’t regard a gap of three years as negligible.” “What do you mean, Dad? I’ll be of age in January.”

Mrs. Walker clasped a hand to her mouth. “Jerome we’ve forgotten the time lag again. Oh, my baby boy!”

Mr. Walker looked astonished, muttered something about “-very difficult” and gave attention to his plate. Presently he looked up. “You’ll pardon me, Rod. Nevertheless, until you are of age I must do what I can; I hardly think I want you to live away from home while at college.”

“Sir? Why not?”

“Well- I feel that we have drifted apart, and not all for the best. Take this girl you spoke of in such surprising terms. Am I correct in implying that she was, eh a close chum?” Rod felt himself getting warm. “She was my city manager,” he said flatly.

“Your what?”

“My executive officer. She was captain of the guard, chief of police, anything you want to call her. She did everything. She hunted, too, but that was just because she liked to. Carol is, uh- well, Carol is swell.”

“Roderick, are you involved with this girl?”

“Me? Gosh, no! She was more like a big sister. Oh, Carol was sweet on half a dozen fellows, one time or another, but it never lasted.” “I am very glad to hear that you are not serously interested in her. She does not sound like desirable companionship for a young boy.” “Dad- you don’t know what you are saying!”

“Perhaps. I intend to find out. But what is this other matter? ‘City Manager!’ What were you?” “I,” Rod said proudly, “was Mayor of Cowpertown.”

His father looked at him, then shook his head. “We’ll speak of this later. Possibly you need, eh- medical help.” He looked at Helen. “We’ll attend to the change in guardianship tomorrow. I can see that there is much I must take care of.”

Helen met his eyes. “Not unless Buddy consents.” “Daughter!”

“The transfer was irrevocable. He will have to agree or I won’t do it!”

Mr. Walker looked shocked, Mrs. Walker looked stricken. Rod got up and left the room … the first time anyone had ever done so while the Lamp of Peace was burning. He heard his father call after him but he did not turn back.

He found Matson in his room, smoking and reading. “I grabbed a bite and let myself in quietly,” Matson explained. He inspected Rod’s face. “I told you,” he said slowly, “that it would be rough. Well, sweat it out, son, sweat it out.”

“I can’t stand it!” “Yes, you can.

In Emigrants’ Gap the sturdy cross-country wagons were drawn up in echelon, as they had been so often before and would be so many times again. The gate was not ready; drivers gathered at the booth under Liberty’s skirts, drinking coffee and joking through the nervous wait. Their professional captain was with them, a lean, homely young man with deep lines in his face, from sun and laughing and perhaps some from worry. But he did not seem to be worrying now; he was grinning and drinking coffee and sharing a doughnut with a boy child. He was dressed in fringed buckskin, in imitation of a very old style; he wore a Bill Cody beard and rather long hair. His mount was a little pinto, standing patiently by with reins hanging. There was a boot scabbard holding a hunting rifle on the nigh side of the saddle, but the captain carried no guns on his person; instead he wore two knives, one on each side.

Asiren sounded and a speaker above the Salvation Army booth uttered: “Captain Walker, ready with gate four.”

Rod waved at the control booth and shouted, “Call off!” then turned back to Jim and Jacqueline. “Tell Carol I’m sorry she couldn’t get leave. I’ll be seeing you.” “Might be sooner than you think,” asserted Jim. “My firm is going to bid this contract.”

“Your firm? Where do you get that noise? Have they made him a partner, Jackie?”

“No,” she answered serenely, “but I’m sure they will as soon as he is admitted to the Outlands bar. Kiss Uncle Rod good-by, Grant.” “No,” the youngster answered firmly.

“Just like his father,” Jimmy said proudly. “Kisses women only.”

The count was running back down; Rod heard it and swung into saddle. “Take it easy, kids.” The count passed him, finished with a shouted, “ONE!”

“Reins up! Reeeiins UP!” He waited with arm raised and glanced through the fully-dilated gate past rolling prairie at snow-touched peaks beyond. His nostrils widened.

The control light turned green. He brought his arm down hard and shouted, “Roll ‘em! Ho!” as he squeezed and released the little horse with his knees. The pinto sprang forward, cut in front of the lead wagon, and Captain Walker headed out on his long road.

The End

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Genesis Revisited (full text) by Zecharia Sitchin in free HTML

This is a complete reprint of the non-fiction work by Zecharia Sitchin titled “Genesis Revisited”. It is free here and provided in HTML for easy translation online for non-English speakers.

This work is part of a long series of books by this author. You can classify it as “speculative history”, as opposed to “established history”.

You see, Zecharia is a linguist that specialized in ancient languages. Certainly an odd-ball person, wouldn’t you think? And his specialty was ancient Sumeria. You know, the “birth place” of civilization. And the thing is, whenever he conducted his translations it was as if the ancient peoples were transcribing actual events, not recording tales and histories. And as such, these actual histories intrigued him.

For they described an extraterrestrial species that “grew” humans, adapted them, enslaved them, and then left and returned to their “home in the sky”.

To me, in my MAJestic role, it sounds a lot to me like they are describing the species that I refer to as the Type-1 greys.

And why mainstream science, and literature has scoffed and belittled his work. It just doesn’t match with their world narrative. You know the one where there is only one intelligent species; Man, and that we are the direct image of, and embodiment of God.

I do not know how accurate his conclusions are, or how precisely they fit within the world history as I know it to be. What I can say is that, taken as a whole, his work suggests extraterrestrial interaction with early humans. It is not to be discounted, as there are elements within his narrative that “ring true” for me.

And thus this volume is being reprinted herein.

About Zecharia Sitchin

Zecharia Sitchin is a researcher and author of (at least) 14 books that retell the history and prehistory of mankind.

Zecharia Sitchin has 76 books on Goodreads with 36910 ratings. Zecharia Sitchin’s most popular book is The 12th Planet (Earth Chronicles, #1).

He explains the prehistory of mankind by combining archaeology, the Bible, and ancient Mesopotamian and Egyptian texts with the latest in scientific discoveries. This ranges from space exploration to biology.

Phew!

Being able to read millennia-old Sumerian cuneiform tablets, his writings treat ancient sources not as myth, but as records of actual events. The result is a saga of flesh and blood, astronauts, gods and Earthlings, and a chain of events from the past that leads to our contemporaneous modern lifestyle.

His Books

His books are divided into a number of “series”. The first is the “Earth Chronicles”.

The Earth Chronicles Series

The 12th Planet (1976)

This is the first volume of the series that puts forth the view that humanity was the creation of a group of aliens who came to Earth, some time between 450,000 BCE and 13,000 BCE. The book tells us how the aliens mixed their own DNA with that of the proto-humans to create a superior race of the Homo sapiens, to work for the mining enterprises they had set up on Earth.

The Stairway to Heaven (1980)

This second volume of the series ponders on the mystery of immortality. It seeks to unravel the secrets of alien landings on Earth, stating that the Anunnaki gods may have had a spaceport in the Sinai Peninsula of Egypt, where they frequently landed―”Those Who from Heaven to Earth Came.” He also puts forth a thought that the Pyramid of Giza may have been the Pharaoh’s entrance to the world of the immortal gods, which he aimed to enter in his afterlife.

The Wars of Gods and Men (1985)

Sitchin begins this volume by saying that the Sinai spaceport was destroyed by nuclear weapons some 4,000 years ago. The book goes on to describe the violent beginnings of humanity on Earth, and how these power conflicts had begun ages before on another planet. The volume takes references from ancient texts, and attempts to reconstruct epic events like The Great Flood.

The Lost Realms (1990)

Another well-researched volume in the series, The Lost Realms seeks to uncover the mysteries of ancient civilizations. The book describes how, in the 16th century, the Spaniards came to the New World in quest of the legendary City of Gold, El Dorado, and found instead, the most inexplicable ancient ruins in the most inaccessible of places. He further put forth the idea that the so-called pre-Columbian people―Mayans, Aztecs, Incans, etc.―might, in fact, have been the fabled Anunnaki.

When Time Began (1993)

Through this book, Sitchin attempts to draw correlations between the various events in several millennia, which helped shape the human civilization on Earth. He stresses on the idea that the human race has progressed and prospered with the help of ancient aliens, who left behind several impressive and imposing structures, which testify their genius to this day.

The Cosmic Code (1998)

Yet another engaging volume, The Cosmic Code delves in the idea that the human DNA, which was created by the ancient aliens, is in fact, a cosmic code that connects Man to God and the Earth to Heaven. He refers to writings on ancient prophesies, and proposes that this cosmic code is key to several secrets related to the celestial destiny of man.

The End of Days: Armageddon and Prophecies of the Return (2007)

In this last volume of the Earth Chronicles, Sitchin stresses on the idea that the past is very similar to the future. He attempts to put forth compelling evidence that the fate of man and that of our planet depends on a predetermined celestial time cycle, and if we understand the past properly, it is also possible to foretell the future.

The Companion Volumes

Genesis Revisited: Is Modern Science Catching Up With Ancient Knowledge? (1990)

Sitchin wrote this first companion volume to his Earth Chronicles series, in which he attempts to establish, in the light of ancient as well as modern evidence, that all the advances made by humans today were actually known to our ancestors, millions of years ago.

This is the volume and work that is reprinted in this post.

Divine Encounters: A Guide to Visions, Angels and Other Emissaries (1995)

This book seeks to tackle the issue of the possible links between humans and the so-called divine beings. Sitchin refers to several Biblical stories in his attempt to establish a probability of an interaction between Anunnaki and the humans, thus, also offering an explanation to the UFO sightings in recent years.

The Lost Book of Enki: Memoirs and Prophecies of an Extraterrestrial God (2001)

This companion volume attempts to reveal the actual identity of the Anunnaki―the first gods of mankind according to the Sumerian mythology. Sitchin has taken efforts to explain the reason behind the creation of humans, and the probable existence of the knowledge of genetic engineering, millions of years ago.

The Earth Chronicles Expeditions (2004)

This book is Zecharia Sitchin’s autobiographical account of his various expeditions to the ancient and relatively modern archaeological sites in quest of the probable connection between humans and extraterrestrials. He presents compelling evidence to state that ancient myths are, in fact, recollections of real events of the past. The book also contains many photographs from the author’s personal collection.

Journeys to the Mythical Past (2007)

A continuation of the earlier volume, The Earth Chronicles Expeditions, this book talks about some more investigations and discoveries of Sitchin, and how all these experiences inspired him to write his Earth Chronicles. This autobiographical account takes us to several interesting places right from Egypt to the Vatican to the Alps and Malta, and attempts to list some mind-stirring facts.

The Earth Chronicles Handbook: A Comprehensive Guide to the Seven Books of The Earth Chronicles (2009)

This is an encyclopedic compilation that is meant to serve as a navigational tool for the entire Earth Chronicles series. This is a must-have volume, especially if you are reading the series without any background knowledge.

There Were Giants Upon the Earth: Gods, Demigods & Human Ancestry: The Evidence of Alien DNA (2010)

This volume attempts to present supporting evidence for the author’s assertion in the Earth Chronicles that the human DNA was genetically engineered by the aliens. In the light of ancient writings and artifacts, Sitchin not only tries to reveal the DNA source, but also to provide proof of alien presence on Earth millions of years ago.

The King Who Refused to Die: The Anunnaki and The Search for Immortality (2013)

This is the last book authored by Zecharia Sitchin, which attempts to reconstruct the famous epic of Gilgamesh in the wake of his own findings. The novel tells a tale of ancient Sumerian ceremonies, love and betrayal, gods among men, travels from one planet to the other, and the age-old thirst of humans for immortality. The book was published after Sitchin’s death.

A final word before we get to the book…

Though all of Zecharia Sitchin’s books are international bestsellers, it is worth pointing out that his research and ideas have been subject to some really serious criticisms. Most of his ideas have been completely dismissed by academics and scientists as pseudohistory and pseudoscience. Nevertheless, irrespective of whether they hold any truth or not, Sitchin’s books are most certainly quite engaging reads.

Note that all illustrations are not included herein. Sorry for that.

Genesis Revisited (full text)

FOREWORD

The last decades of the twentieth century have witnessed an upsurge of human knowledge that boggles the mind. Our ad- vances in every field of science and technology are no longer measured in centuries or even decades but in years and even months, and they seem to surpass in attainments and scope anything that Man has achieved in the past.

But is it possible that Mankind has come out of the Dark Ages and the Middle Ages; reached the Age of Enlightenment; experienced the Industrial Revolution; and entered the era of high-tech, genetic engineering, and space flight—only to catch up with ancient knowledge?

For many generations the Bible and its teachings have served as an anchor for a searching Mankind, but modern science appeared to have cast us ail adrift, especially in the confrontation between Evolution and Creationism. In this volume it will be shown that the conflict is baseless; that the Book of Genesis and its sources reflect the highest levels of scientific knowledge.

Is it possible, then, that what our civilization is discovering today about our planet Earth and about our corner of the uni- verse, the heavens, is only a drama that can be called “Genesis Revisited”—only a rediscovery of what had been known to a much earlier civilization, on Earth and on another planet?

The question is not one of mere scientific curiosity; it goes to the core of Mankind’s existence, its origin, and its destiny.

It involves the Earth’s future as a viable planet because it concerns events in Earth’s past; it deals with where we are going because it reveals where we have come from. And the answers, as we shall see, lead to inevitable conclusions that some consider too incredible to accept and others too awesome to face.

1

The Host of Heaven

In the beginning
God created the Heaven and the Earth.

The very concept of a beginning of all things is basic to modern astronomy and astrophysics. The statement that there was a void and chaos before there was order conforms to the very latest theories that chaos, not permanent stability, rules the universe. And then there is the statement about the bolt of light that began the process of creation.

Was this a reference to the Big Bang, the theory according to which the universe was created from a primordial explosion,

a burst of energy in the form of light, that sent the matter from which stars and planets and rocks and human beings are formed flying in all directions and creating the wonders we see in the heavens and on Earth? Some scientists, inspired by the insights of our most inspiring source, have thought so. But then, how did ancient Man know the Big Bang theory so long ago? Or ws this biblical tale the description of matters closer to home, of how our own little planet Earth and the heavenly zone called the Firmament, or “hammered-out bracelet,” were formed?

Indeed, how did ancient Man come to have a cosmogony at all? How much did he really know, and how did he know it?

It is only appropriate that we begin the quest for answers where the events began to unfold—in the heavens; where also, from time immemorial, Man has felt that his origins, higher values—God, if you will—are to be found. As thrilling as discoveries made by the use of microscopes are, it is what telescopes enable us to see that fills us with the realization of the grandeur of nature and the universe. Of all recent advances,

the most impressive have undoubtedly been the discoveries in the heavens surrounding our planet. And what staggering ad-

Figure I

vances they have been! In a mere few decades we Earthlings have soared off the face of our planet; roamed Earth’s skies hundreds of miles above its surface; landed on its solitary satellite, the Moon; and sent an array of unmanned spacecraft to probe our celestial neighbors, discovering vibrant and active worlds dazzling in their colors, features, makeup, satellites, rings. For the first time, perhaps, we can grasp the meaning and feel the scope of the Psalmist’s words:

The heavens bespeak the glory of the Lord and the vault of heaven reveals His handiwork.

A fantastic era of planetary exploration came to a magnificent climax when, in August 1989, the unmanned spacecraft des- ignated Voyager 2 flew by distant Neptune and sent back to Earth pictures and other data. Weighing just about a ton but ingeniously packed with television cameras, sensing and meas- uring equipment, a power source based on nuclear decay, trans- mitting antennas, and tiny computers (Fig. 1), it sent back whisperlike pulses that required more than four hours to reach Earth even at the speed of light. On Earth the pulses were captured by an array of radiotelescopes that form the Deep Space Network of the U.S. National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA); then the faint signals were translated by electronic wizardry into photographs, charts, and other forms of data at the sophisticated facilities of the Jet Propulsion

Laboratory (JPL) in Pasadena, California, which managed the project for NASA.

Launched in August 1977, twelve years before this final mission—the visit to Neptune—was accomplished. Voyager 2 and its companion. Voyager I, were originally intended to reach and scan only Jupiter and Saturn and augment data ob- tained earlier about those two gaseous giants by the Pioneer 10 and Pioneer 11 unmanned spacecraft. But with remarkable ingenuity and skill, the JPL scientists and technicians took advantage of a rare alignment of the outer planets and, using the gravitational forces of these planets as “slingshots,” man- aged to thrust Voyager 2 first from Saturn to Uranus and then from Uranus to Neptune (Fig. 2).

Figure 2

Thus it was that for several days at the end of August 1989, headlines concerning another world pushed aside the usual news of armed conflicts, political upheavals, sports results, and market reports that make up Mankind’s daily fare. For a few days the world we call Earth took time out to watch another world; we, Earthlings, were glued to our television sets, thrilled by closeup pictures of another planet, the one we call Neptune.

As the dazzling images of an aquamarine globe appeared on our television screens, the commentators stressed repeatedly that this was the first time that Man on Earth had ever really been able to see this planet, which even with the best Earth- based telescopes is visible only as a dimly lit spot in the dark- ness of space almost three billion miles from us. They reminded the viewers that Neptune was discovered only in 1846, after perturbations in the orbit of the somewhat nearer planet Uranus indicated the existence of another celestial body beyond it. They reminded us that no one before that—neither Sir Isaac Newton nor Johannes Kepler, who between them discovered and laid down the laws of celestial motion in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries; neither Copernicus, who in the six- teenth century determined that the Sun, not the Earth, was in the center of our planetary system, nor Galileo, who a century later used a telescope to announce that Jupiter had four moons—no great astronomer until the mid-nineteenth century and certainly no one in earlier times knew of Neptune. And thus not only the average TV viewer but the astronomers them- selves were about to see what had been unseen before—it would be the first time we would learn the true hues and makeup of Neptune.

But two months before the August encounter, I had written an article for a number of U. S., European, and South American monthlies contradicting these long-held notions: Neptune was known in antiquity, I wrote; and the discoveries that were about to be made would only confirm ancient knowledge. Neptune, I predicted, would be blue-green, watery, and have patches the color of “swamplike vegetation”!

The electronic signals from Voyager 2 confirmed all that and more. They revealed a beautiful blue-green, aquamarine planet embraced by an atmosphere of helium, hydrogen, and methane gases, swept by swirling, high-velocity winds that make Earth’s hurricanes look timid. Below this atmosphere there appear mysterious giant “smudges” whose coloration is sometimes darker blue and sometimes greenish yellow, perhaps depending on the angle at which sunlight strikes them. As expected, the atmospheric and surface temperatures are below freezing, but unexpectedly Neptune was found to emit heat that emanates from within the planet. Contrary to the previous consideration of Neptune as being a “gaseous” planet, it was determined by Voyager 2 to have a rocky core above which there floats, in the words of the JPL scientists, “a slurry mixture of water ice.” This watery layer, circling the rocky core as the planet revolves in its sixteen-hour day, acts as a dynamo that creates a sizable magnetic field.

This beautiful planet (see Neptune, back cover) was found to be encircled by several rings made up of boulders, rocks, and dust and is orbited by at least eight satellites, or moons. Of the latter, the largest, Triton, proved no less spectacular than its planetary master. Voyager 2 confirmed the retrograde mo- tion of this small celestial body (almost the size of Earth’s Moon): it orbits Neptune in a direction opposite to that of the coursing of Neptune and all other known planets in our Solar System, not anticlockwise as they do but clockwise. Besides its very existence, its approximate size, and its retrograde motion, astronomers knew nothing else of Triton. Voyager 2 revealed it to be a “blue moon,” an appearance resulting from methane in Triton’s atmosphere. The surface of Triton showed through the thin atmosphere—a pinkish gray surface with rugged, mountainous features on one side and smooth, almost craterless features on the other side. Close-up pictures suggested recent volcanic activity but of a very odd kind: what the active, hot interior of this celestial body spews out is not molten lava but jets of slushy ice. Even preliminary assessments indicated that Triton had flowing water in its past, quite possibly even lakes that may have existed on the surface until relatively recent times, in geological terms. The astronomers had no immediate explanation for “double-tracked ridge lines” that run straight for hundreds of miles and, at one or even two points, intersect at what appears to be right angles, suggesting rectangular areas (Fig. 3).

The discoveries thus fully confirmed my prediction: Neptune is indeed blue-green; it is made up in great part of water; and it does have patches whose coloration looks like “swamplike vegetation.” This last tantalizing aspect may bespeak more than a color code if the full implication of the discoveries on Triton is taken into consideration: there, “darker patches with brighter halos” have suggested to the scientists of NASA the existence of “deep pools of organic sludge.” Bob Davis re-

Figure 3

ported from Pasadena to The Wall Street Journal that Triton, whose atmosphere contains as much nitrogen as Earth’s, may be spewing out from its active volcanoes not only gases and water ice but also ‘”organic material, carbon-based compounds which apparently coat parts of Triton.”

Such gratifying and overwhelming corroboration of my prediction was not the result of a mere lucky guess. It goes back to 1976 when The 12th Planet, my first book in The Earth Chronicles series, was published. Basing my conclusions on millennia-old Sumerian texts, I had asked rhetorically: “When we probe Neptune someday, will we discover that its persistent association with waters is due to the watery swamps” that had once been seen there?

existence of “deep pools of organic sludge.” Bob Davis re-

Figure 3

Such gratifying and overwhelming corroboration of my pre- diction was not the result of a mere lucky guess. It goes back to 1976 when The 12th Planet, my first book in The Earth Chronicles series, was published. Basing my conclusions on millennia-old Sumerian texts, I had asked rhetorically: “When we probe Neptune someday, will we discover that its persistent association with waters is due to the watery swamps” that had once been seen there?

This was published, and obviously written, a year before Voyager 2 was even launched and was restated by me in an article two months before the Neptune encounter.

How could I be so sure, on the eve of Voyager’s encounter with Neptune, that my 1976 prediction would be corrobo- rated—how dared I take the chance that my predictions would be disproved within weeks after submitting my article? My certainty was based on what happened in January 1986, when Voyager 2 flew by the planet Uranus.

Although somewhat closer to us—Uranus is “only” about two billion miles away—it lies so far beyond Saturn that it cannot be seen from Earth with the naked eye. It was discovered in 1781 by Frederick Wilhelm Herschel, a musician turned amateur astronomer, only after the telescope was perfected. At the time of its discovery and to this day, Uranus has been hailed as the first planet known in antiquity to be discovered in modern times; for, it has been held, the ancient peoples knew of and venerated the Sun, the Moon, and only five planets (Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn), which they believed moved around the Earth in the “vault of heaven”; nothing could be seen or known beyond Saturn.

But the very evidence gathered by Voyager 2 at Uranus proved the opposite: that at one time a certain ancient people did know about Uranus, and about Neptune, and even about the more-distant Pluto!

Scientists are still analyzing the photographs and data from Uranus and its amazing moons, seeking answers to endless

Plate A

puzzles. Why does Uranus lie on its side, as though it was hit by another large celestial object in a collision? Why do its winds blow in a retrograde direction, contrary to what is normal in the Solar System? Why is its temperature on the side that is hidden from the Sun the same as on the side facing the Sun? And what shaped the unusual features and formations on some of the Uranian moons? Especially intriguing is the moon called Miranda, “one of the most enigmatic objects in the Solar Sys-

Figure 4

tern,” in the words of NASA’s astronomers, where an elevated, flattened-out plateau is delineated by 100-mile-long escarpments that form a right angle (a feature nicknamed “the Chevron” by the astronomers), and where, on both sides of this plateau, there appear elliptical features that look like racetracks ploughed over by concentric furrows (Plate A and Fig. 4).

Two phenomena, however, stand out as the major discov- eries regarding Uranus, distinguishing it from other planets. One is its color. With the aid of Earth-based telescopes and

unmanned spacecraft we have become familiar with the gray- brown of Mercury, the sulphur-colored haze that envelops Ve- nus, the reddish Mars, the multihued red-brown-yellow Jupiter and Saturn. But as the breathtaking images of Uranus began to appear on television screens in January 1986, its most striking feature was its greenish blue color—a color totally different from that of all the previous planets seen (see Uranus, back cover).

The other different and unexpected finding had to do with what Uranus is made of. Defying earlier assumptions by astron- omers that Uranus is a totally “gaseous” planet like the giants Jupiter and Saturn, it was found by Voyager 2 to be covered not by gases but by water; not just a sheet of frozen ice on its surface but an ocean of water. A gaseous atmosphere, it was found, in- deed enshrouds the planet; but below it there churns an immense layer—6,000 miles thick!—of “super-heated water, its tempera- ture as high as 8,000 degrees Fahrenheit” (in the words of JPL analysts). This layer of liquid, hot water surrounds a molten rocky core where radioactive elements (or other, unknown pro- cesses) produce the immense internal heat.

As the images of Uranus grew bigger on the TV screen the closer Voyager 2 neared the planet, the moderator at the Jet Propulsion Laboratory drew attention to its unusual green-blue color. I could not help cry out loud, ‘ ‘Oh, my God, it is exactly as the Sumerians had described it!” I hurried to my study, picked up a copy of The 12th Planet, and with unsteady hands looked up page 269 (in the Avon paperback edition). I read again and again the lines quoting the ancient texts. Yes, there was no doubt: though they had no telescopes, the Sumerians had described Uranus as MASH.SIG, a term which I had trans- lated “bright greenish.”

A few days later came the results of the analysis of Voyager 2’s data, and the Sumerian reference to water on Uranus was also corroborated. Indeed, there appeared to be water all over the place: as reported on a wrap-up program on the television series NOVA (‘The Planet That Got Knocked on Its Side”), “Voyager 2 found that all the moons of Uranus are made up of rock and ordinary water ice” This abundance, or even the mere presence, of water on the supposed “gaseous” planets and their satellites at the edges of the Solar System was totally unexpected.

Yet here we had the evidence, presented in The 12th Planet, that in their texts from millennia ago the ancient Sumerians had not only known of the existence of Uranus but had ac- curately described it as greenish blue and watery!

What did all that mean? It meant that in 1986 modern science did not discover what had been unknown; rather, it rediscov- ered and caught up with ancient knowledge. It was, therefore, because of that 1986 corroboration of my 1976 writings and thus of the veracity of the Sumerian texts that I felt confident enough to predict, on the eve of the Voyager 2 encounter with Neptune, what it would discover there.

The Voyager 2 flybys of Uranus and Neptune had thus con- firmed not only ancient knowledge regarding the very existence of these two outer planets but also crucial details regarding them. The 1989 flyby of Neptune provided still more corroboration of the ancient texts. In them, Neptune was listed before Uranus, as would be expected of someone who is coming into the Solar System and sees first Pluto, then Neptune, and then Uranus. In these texts or planetary lists Uranus was called Kakkab shanamma, “Planet Which Is the Double” of Neptune. The Voyager 2 data goes far to uphold this ancient notion.

Uranus is indeed a look-alike of Neptune in size, color, and watery content; both planets are encircled by rings and orbited by a multitude of satellites, or moons. An unexpected similarity has been found regarding the two planets’ magnetic fields: both have an unusually extreme inclination relative to the planets’ axes of rotation—58 degrees on Uranus, 50 degrees on Neptune. “Neptune appears to be almost a magnetic twin of Uranus,” John Noble Wilford reported in The New York Times. The two planets are also similar in the lengths of their days: each about sixteen to seventeen hours long.

The ferocious winds on Neptune and the water ice slurry layer on its surface attest to the great internal heat it generates,like that of Uranus. In fact, the reports from JPL state that initial temperature readings indicated that “Neptune’s temperatures are similar to those of Uranus, which is more than a billion miles closer to the Sun.” Therefore, the scientists assumed “that Neptune somehow is generating more of its internal heat than Uranus does”—somehow compensating for its greater distance from the Sun to attain the same temperatures as Uranus generates, resulting in similar temperatures on both planets—and thus adding one more feature “to the size and other characteristics that make Uranus a near twin of Neptune.”

“Planet which is the double,” the Sumerians said of Uranus in comparing it to Neptune. “Size and other characteristics that make Uranus a near twin of Neptune,” NASA’s scientists announced. Not only the described characteristics but even the terminology—”planet which is the double,” “a near twin of Neptune”—is similar. But one statement, the Sumerian one, was made circa 4,000 B.C., and the other, by NASA, in AD . 1989, nearly 6,000 years later. . . .

In the case of these two distant planets, it seems that modern science has only caught up with ancient knowledge. It sounds incredible, but the facts ought to speak for themselves. More- over, this is just the first of a series of scientific discoveries in the years since The 12th Planet was published that corroborate its findings in one instance after another.

Those who have read my books (The Stairway to Heaven, The Wars of Gods and Men, and The Lost Realms followed the first one) know that they are based, first and foremost, on the knowledge bequeathed to us by the Sumerians.

Theirs was the first known civilization. Appearing suddenly and seemingly out of nowhere some 6,000 years ago, it is credited with virtually all the “firsts” of a high civilization: inventions and innovations, concepts and beliefs, which form the foundation of our own Western culture and indeed of all other civilizations and cultures throughout the Earth. The wheel and animal-drawn vehicles, boats for rivers and ships for seas, the kiln and the brick, high-rise buildings, writing and schools and scribes, laws and judges and juries, kingship and citizens’ councils, music and dance and art, medicine and chemistry, weaving and textiles, religion and priesthoods and temples— they all began there, in Sumer, a country in the southern part of today’s Iraq, located in ancient Mesopotamia. Above all, knowledge of mathematics and astronomy began there.

Indeed, all the basic elements of modern astronomy are of Sumerian origin: the concept of a celestial sphere, of a horizon and a zenith, of the circle’s division into 360 degrees, of a celestial band in which the planets orbit the Sun, of grouping stars into constellations and giving them the names and pictorial images that we call the zodiac, of applying the number 12 to this zodiac and to the divisions of time, and of devising a calendar that has been the basis of calendars to this very day. All that and much, much more began in Sumer.

Figure 5

The Sumerians recorded their commercial and legal transactions, their tales and their histories, on clay tablets (Fig. 5a); they drew their illustrations on cylinder seals on which the depiction was carved in reverse, as a negative, that appeared as a positive when the seal was rolled on wet clay (Fig. 5b). In the ruins of Sumerian cities excavated by archaeologists in the past century and a half, hundreds, if not thousands, of the texts and illustrations that were found dealt with astronomy. Among them are lists of stars and constellations in their correct heavenly locations and manuals for observing the rising and setting of stars and planets. There are texts specifically dealing with the Solar System. There are texts among the unearthed tablets that list the planets orbiting the Sun in their correct order; one text even gives the distances between the planets. And there are illustrations on cylinder seals depicting the Solar System, as the one shown in Plate B that is at least 4,500 years old and that is now kept in the Near Eastern Section of the State Museum in East Berlin, catalogued under number VA/243.

If we sketch the illustration appearing in the upper left-hand comer of the Sumerian depiction (Fig. 6a) we see a complete Solar System in which the Sun (not Earth!) is in the center,

Plate B

orbited by all the planets we know of today. This becomes clear when we draw these known planets around the Sun in their correct relative sizes and order (Fig. 6b). The similarity between the ancient depiction and the current one is striking; it leaves no doubt that the twinlike Uranus and Neptune were known in antiquity.

The Sumerian depiction also reveals, however, some differences. These are not artist’s errors or misinformation; on the contrary, the differences—two of them—are very significant.

The first difference concerns Pluto. It has a very odd orbit— too inclined to the common plane (called the Ecliptic) in which the planets orbit the Sun, and so elliptical that Pluto sometimes (as at present and until 1999) finds itself not farther but closer to the Sun than Neptune. Astronomers have therefore speculated, ever since its discovery in 1930, that Pluto was originally a satellite of another planet; the usual assumption is that it was a moon of Neptune that “somehow”—no one can figure out how—got torn away from its attachment to Neptune and attained its independent (though bizarre) orbit around the Sun.

This is confirmed by the ancient depiction, but with a significant difference. In the Sumerian depiction Pluto is shown not near Neptune but between Saturn and Uranus. And Sumerian cosmological texts, with which we shall deal at length, relate that Pluto was a satellite of Saturn that was let loose to

eventually attain its own “destiny”—its independent orbit around the Sun.

The ancient explanation regarding the origin of Pluto reveals not just factual knowledge but also great sophistication in matters celestial. It involves an understanding of the complex forces that have shaped the Solar System, as well as the development of astrophysical theories by which moons can be- come planets or planets in the making can fail and remain moons. Pluto, according to Sumerian cosmogony, made it; our Moon, which was in the process of becoming an independent planet, was prevented by celestial events from attaining the independent status.

Modern astronomers moved from speculation to the convic- tion that such a process has indeed occurred in our Solar System only after observations by the Pioneer and Voyager spacecraft determined in the past decade that Titan, the largest moon of Saturn, was a planet-in-the-making whose detachment from Saturn was not completed. The discoveries at Neptune rein- forced the opposite speculation regarding Triton, Neptune’s moon that is just 400 miles smaller in diameter than Earth’s Moon. Its peculiar orbit, its volcanism, and other unexpected features have suggested to the JPL scientists, in the words of the Voyager project’s chief scientist Edward Stone, that “Tri- ton may have been an object sailing through the Solar System several billion years ago when it strayed too close to Neptune, came under its gravitational influence and started orbiting the planet.”

How far is this hypothesis from the Sumerian notion that planetary moons could become planets, shift celestial positions, or fail to attain independent orbits? Indeed, as we continue to expound the Sumerian cosmogony, it will become evident that not only is much of modern discovery merely a rediscovery of ancient knowledge but that ancient knowledge offered expla- nations for many phenomena that modern science has yet to figure out.

Even at the outset, before the rest of the evidence in support of this statement is presented, the question inevitably arises: How on Earth could the Sumerians have known all that so long ago, at the dawn of civilization?

The answer lies in the second difference between the Sumerian depiction of the Solar System (Fig. 6a) and our present knowledge of it (Fig. 6b). It is the inclusion of a large planet in the empty space between Mars and Jupiter. We are not aware of any such planet; but the Sumerian cosmological, astronomical, and historical texts insist that there indeed exists one more planet in our Solar System—its twelfth member: they included the Sun, the Moon (which they counted as a celestial body in its own right for reasons stated in the texts), and ten, not nine, planets. It was the realization that a planet the Sumerian texts called NIBIRU (“Planet of the Crossing”) was neither Mars nor Jupiter, as some scholars have debated, but another planet that passes between them every 3,600 years that gave rise to my first book’s title, The 12th Planet—the planet which is the “twelfth member” of the Solar System (although technically it is, as a planet, only the tenth).

It was from that planet, the Sumerian texts repeatedly and persistently stated, that the ANUNNAKI came to Earth. The term literally means “Those Who from Heaven to Earth Came.” They are spoken of in the Bible as the Anakim, and in Chapter 6 of Genesis are also called Nefilim, which in He- brew means the same thing: Those Who Have Come Down, from the Heavens to Earth.

And it was from the Anunnaki, the Sumerians explained— as though they had anticipated our questions—that they had learnt all they knew. The advanced knowledge we find in Sumerian texts is thus, in effect, knowledge that was possessed by the Anunnaki who had come from Nibiru; and theirs must have been a very advanced civilization, because as I have surmised from the Sumerian texts, the Anunnaki came to Earth about 445,000 years ago. Way back then they could already travel in space. Their vast elliptical orbit made a loop—this is the exact translation of the Sumerian term—around all the outer planets, acting as a moving observatory from which the Anunnaki could investigate all those planets. No wonder that what we are discovering now was already known in Sumerian times.

Why anyone would bother to come to this speck of matter we call Earth, not by accident, not by chance, not once but repeatedly, every 3,600 years, is a question the Sumerian texts have answered. On their planet Nibiru, the Anunnaki/Nefilim were facing a situation we on Earth may also soon face: ecological deterioration was making life increasingly impossible. There was a need to protect their dwindling atmosphere, and the only solution seemed to be to suspend gold particles above it, as a shield. (Windows on American spacecraft, for example, are coated with a thin layer of gold to shield the astronauts from radiation). This rare metal had been discovered by the Anunnaki on what they called the Seventh Planet (counting from the outside inward), and they launched Mission Earth to obtain it. At first they tried to obtain it effortlessly, from the waters of the Persian Gulf; but when that failed, they embarked on toilsome mining operations in southeastern Africa.

Some 300,000 years ago, the Anunnaki assigned to the African mines mutinied. It was then that the chief scientist and the chief medical officer of the Anunnaki used genetic manipulation and in-vitro fertilization techniques to create “primitive workers”—the first Homo sapiens to take over the backbreaking toil in the gold mines.

The Sumerian texts that describe all these events and their condensed version in the Book of Genesis have been extensively dealt with in The 12th Planet. The scientific aspects of those developments and of the techniques employed by the Anunnaki are the subject of this book. Modern science, it will be shown, is blazing an amazing track of scientific advances— but the road to the future is replete with signposts, knowledge, and advances from the past. The Anunnaki, it will be shown, have been there before; and as the relationship between them and the beings they had created changed, as they decided to give Mankind civilization, they imparted to us some of their knowledge and the ability to make our own scientific advances.

Among the scientific advances that will be discussed in the ensuing chapters will also be the mounting evidence for the existence of Nibiru. If it were not for The 12th Planet, the discovery of Nibiru would be a great event in astronomy but no more significant for our daily lives than, say, the discovery in 1930 of Pluto. It was nice to learn that the Solar System has one more planet “out there,” and it would be equally gratifying to confirm that the planetary count is not nine but ten; that would especially please astrologers, who need twelve celestial bodies and not just eleven for the twelve houses of the zodiac.

But after the publication of The 12th Planet and the evidence therein—which has not been refuted since its first printing in 1976—and the evidence provided by scientific advances since then, the discovery of Nibiru cannot remain just a matter in- volving textbooks on astronomy. If what I have written is so—

if, in other words, the Sumerians were correct in what they were recording—the discovery of Nibiru would mean not only that there is one more planet out there but that there is Life out there. Moreover, it would confirm that there are intelligent beings out there—people who were so advanced that, almost half a million years ago, they could travel in space; people who were coming and going between their planet and Earth every 3,600 years.

It is who is out there on Nibiru, and not just its existence, that is bound to shake existing political, religious, social, economic, and military orders on Earth. What will the repercussions be when—not if—Nibiru is found?

It is a question, believe it or not, that is already being pondered.

GOLD MINING—HOW LONG AGO?

Is there evidence that mining took place, in southern Africa, during the Old Stone Age? Archaeological studies indicate that it indeed was so.

Realizing that sites of abandoned ancient mines may in- dicate where gold could be found, South Africa’s leading mining corporation, the Anglo-American Corporation, in the 1970s engaged archaeologists to look for such ancient mines. Published reports (in the corporation’s journal Op- tima) detail the discovery in Swaziland and other sites in South Africa of extensive mining areas with shafts to depths of fifty feet. Stone objects and charcoal remains established dates of 35,000, 46,000, and 60,000 B.C. for these sites. The archaeologists and anthropologists who joined in dating the finds believed that mining technology was used in south- ern Africa “during much of the period subsequent to 100,000 B.C.”

In September 1988, a team of international physicists came to South Africa to verify the age of human habitats in Swaziland and Zululand. The most modern techniques indicated an age of 80,000 to 115,000 years.

Regarding the most ancient gold mines of Monotapa in southern Zimbabwe, Zulu legends hold that they were worked by “artificially produced flesh and blood slaves created by the First People.” These slaves, the Zulu legends recount, “went into battle with the Ape-Man” when “the great war star appeared in the sky” (see Indaba My Chil- dren, by the Zulu medicine man Credo Vusamazulu Mu- twa).

2

IT CAME FROM OUTER SPACE

“It was Voyager [project] that focused our attention on the importance of collisions,” acknowledged Edward Stone of the California Institute of Technology (Caltech), the chief scientist of the Voyager program. “The cosmic crashes were potent sculptors of the Solar System.”

The Sumerians made clear, 6,000 years earlier, the very same fact. Central to their cosmogony, world view, and religion was a cataclysmic event that they called the Celestial Battle.

It was an event to which references were made in miscellaneous Sumerian texts, hymns, and proverbs—just as we find in the Bible’s books of Psalms, Proverbs, Job, and various others. But the Sumerians also described the event in detail, step by step, in a long text that required seven tablets. Of its Sumerian original only fragments and quotations have been found; the mostly complete text has reached us in the Akkadian language, the language of the Assyrians and Babylonians who followed the Sumerians in Mesopotamia. The text deals with the formation of the Solar System prior to the Celestial Battle and even more so with the nature, causes, and results of that awe- some collision. And, with a single cosmogonic premise, it explains puzzles that still baffle our astronomers and astro- physicists.

Even more important, whenever these modern scientists have come upon a satisfactory answer—it fits and corroborates the Sumerian one!

Until the Voyager discoveries, the prevailing scientific view point considered the Solar System as we see it today as the way it had taken shape soon after its beginning, formed by immutable laws of celestial motion and the force of gravity. There have been oddballs, to be sure—meteorites that come from somewhere and collide with the stable members of the Solar System, pockmarking them with craters, and comets that zoom about in greatly elongated orbits, appearing from some- where and disappearing, it seems, to nowhere. But these examples of cosmic debris, it has been assumed, go back to the very beginning of the Solar System, some 4.5 billion years ago, and are pieces of planetary matter that failed to be incorporated into the planets or their moons and rings. A little more baffling has been the asteroid belt, a band of rocks that forms an orbiting chain between Mars and Jupiter. According to Bode’s law, an empirical rule that explains why the planets formed where they did, there should have been a planet, at least twice the size of Earth, between Mars and Jupiter. Is the orbiting debris of the asteroid belt the remains of such a planet? The affirmative answer is plagued by two problems: the total amount of matter in the asteroid belt does not add up to the mass of such a planet, and there is no plausible explanation for what might have caused the breakup of such a hypothetical

Figure 7

celestial collision—when, with what, and why? The scientists had no answer.

The realization that there had to be one or more major col- lisions that changed the Solar System from its initial form became inescapable after the Uranus flyby in 1986, as Dr. Stone has admitted. That Uranus was lilted on its side was already known from telescopic and other instrumental obser- vations even before the Voyager encounter. But was it formed that way from the very beginning, or did some external force— a forceful collision or encounter with another major celestial body—bring about the tilting?

The answer had to be provided by the closeup examination of the moons of Uranus by Voyager 2. The fact that these moons swirl around the equator of Uranus in its tilted position—forming, all together, a kind of bull’s-eye facing the Sun (Fig. 7)—made scientists wonder whether these moons were there at the time of the tilting event, or whether they formed after the event, perhaps from matter thrown out by the force of the collision that tilted Uranus.

The theoretical basis for the answer was enunciated, prior to the encounter with Uranus, among others by Dr. Christian Veillet of the French Centre d’Etudes et des Recherches Geo- dynamiques. If the moons formed at the same time as Uranus, the celestial “raw material” from which they agglomerated should have condensed the heavier matter nearer the planet; there should be more of heavier, rocky material and thinner

ice coats on the inner moons and a lighter combination of materials (more water ice, less rocks) on the outer moons. By the same principle of the distribution of material in the Solar System—a larger proportion of heavier matter nearer the Sun, more of the lighter matter (in a “gaseous” state) farther out— the moons of the more distant Uranus should be proportionately lighter than those of the nearer Saturn.

But the findings revealed a situation contrary to these expectations. In the comprehensive summary reports on the Uranus encounter, published in Science, July 4, 1986, a team of forty scientists concluded that the densities of the Uranus moons (except for that of the moon Miranda)’ ‘are significantly heavier than those of the icy satellites of Saturn.” Likewise, the Voyager 2 data showed—again contrary to what “should have been”—that the two larger inner moons of Uranus, Ariel and Umbriel, are lighter in composition (thick, icy layers; small, rocky cores) than the outer moons Titania and Oberon, which were discovered to be made mostly of heavy rocky material and had only thin coats of ice.

These findings by Voyager 2 were not the only clues sug- gesting that the moons of Uranus were not formed at the same time as the planet itself but rather some lime later, in unusual circumstances. Another discovery that puzzled the scientists was that the rings of Uranus were pitch-black, “blacker than coal dust,” presumably composed of “carbon-rich material, a sort of primordial tar scavenged from outer space” (the em- phasis is mine). These dark rings, warped, tilted, and “bi- zarrely elliptical,” were quite unlike the symmetrical bracelets of icy particles circling Saturn. Pitch-black also were six of the new moonlets discovered at Uranus, some acting as “shepherds” for the rings. The obvious conclusion was that the rings and moonlets were formed from the debris of a “violent event in Uranus’s past.” Assistant project scientist at JPL Ellis Miner stated it in simpler words: “A likely possibility is that an interloper from outside the Uranus system came in and struck a once larger moon sufficiently hard to have fractured it.”

The theory of a catastrophic celestial collision as the event that could explain all the odd phenomena on Uranus and its moons and rings was further strengthened by the discovery that the boulder-size black debris that forms the Uranus rings circles the planet once every eight hours—a speed that is twice the speed of the planet’s own revolution around its axis. This raises the question, how was this much-higher speed imparted to the debris in the rings?

Based on all the preceding data, the probability of a celestial collision emerged as the only plausible answer. “We must take into account the strong possibility that satellite formation con- ditions were affected by the event that created Uranus’s large obliquity,” the forty-strong team of scientists stated. In simpler words, it means that in all probability the moons in question were created as a result of the collision that knocked Uranus on its side. In press conferences the NASA scientists were more audacious. “A collision with something the size of Earth, traveling at about 40,000 miles per hour, could have done it,”they said, speculating that it probably happened about four billion years ago.

Astronomer Garry Hunt of the Imperial College, London, summed it up in seven words: “Uranus took an almighty bang early on.”

But neither in the verbal briefings nor in the long written reports was an attempt made to suggest what the “something” was, where it had come from, and how it happened to collide with, or bang into, Uranus.

For those answers, we will have to go back to the Sumerians… .

Before we turn from knowledge acquired in the late 1970s and 1980s to what was known 6,000 years earlier, one more aspect of the puzzle should be looked into: Are the oddities at Neptune the result of collisions, or ‘ ‘bangs,” unrelated to those of Uranus—or were they all the result of a single catastrophic event that affected all the outer planets?

Before the Voyager 2 flyby of Neptune, the planet was known to have only two satellites, Nereid and Triton. Nereid was found to have a peculiar orbit: it was unusually tilted compared with the planet’s equatorial plane (as much as 28 degrees) and was very eccentric—orbiting the planet not in a near-circular path but in a very elongated one, which takes the moon as far as six million miles from Neptune and as close as one million miles to the planet. Nereid, although of a size that by planetary-formation rules should be spherical, has an odd shape like that of a twisted doughnut. It also is bright on one side and pitch-black on the other. All these peculiarities have led Martha W. Schaefer and Bradley E. Schaefer, in a major study on the subject published in Nature magazine (June 2, 1987) to conclude that “Nereid accreted into a moon around Neptune or another planet and that both it and Triton were knocked into their peculiar orbits by some large body or planet.” “Imagine,” Brad Schaefer noted, “that at one time Neptune had an ordinary satellite system like that of Jupiter or Saturn; then some massive body comes into the system and perturbs things a lot.”

The dark material that shows up on one side of Nereid could be explained in one of two ways—but both require a collision in the scenario. Either an impact on one side of the satellite swept off an existing darker layer there, uncovering lighter material below the surface, or the dark matter belonged to the impacting body and “went splat on one side of Nereid.” That the latter possibility is the more plausible is suggested by the discovery, announced by the JPL team on August 29, 1989, that all the new satellites (six more) found by Voyager 2 at Neptune “are very dark” and “all have irregular shapes,” even the moon designated 1989N1, whose size normally would have made it spherical.

The theories regarding Triton and its elongated and retro- grade (clockwise) orbit around Neptune also call for a collision event.

Writing in the highly prestigious magazine Science on the eve of the Voyager 2 encounter with Neptune, a team of Caltech scientists (P. Goldberg, N. Murray. P. Y. Longaretti, and D. Banfield) postulated that “Triton was captured from a heliocentric orbit”—from an orbit around the Sun—”as a result of a collision with what was then one of Neptune’s regular satellites.” In this scenario the original small Neptune satellite “would have been devoured by Triton,” but the force of the collision would have been such that it dissipated enough of Triton’s orbital energy to slow it down and be captured by Neptune’s gravity. Another theory, according to which Triton was an original satellite of Neptune, was shown by this study to be faulty and unable to withstand critical analysis.

The data collected by Voyager 2 from the actual flyby of Triton supported this theoretical conclusion. It also was in accord with other studies (as by David Stevenson of Caltech) that showed that Triton’s internal heat and surface features could be explained only in terms of a collision in which Triton was captured into orbit around Neptune.

“Where did these impacting bodies come from?” rhetori- cally asked Gene Shoemaker, one of NASA’s scientists, on the NOVA television program. But the question was left with- out an answer. Unanswered too was the question of whether the cataclysms at Uranus and Neptune were aspects of a single event or were unconnected incidents.

It is not ironic but gratifying to find that the answers to all these puzzles were provided by the ancient Sumerian texts.

and that all the data discovered or confirmed by the Voyager flights uphold and corroborate the Sumerian information and my presentation and interpretation thereof in The 12th Planet. The Sumerian texts speak of a single but comprehensive event. Their texts explain more than what modern astronomers have been trying to explain regarding the outer planets. The ancient texts also explain matters closer to home, such as the origin of the Earth and its Moon, of the Asteroid Belt and the comets. The texts then go on to relate a tale that combines the credo of the Creationists with the theory of Evolution, a tale that offers a more successful explanation than either mod- ern conception of what happened on Earth and how Man and his civilization came about.

It all began, the Sumerian texts relate, when the Solar System was still young. The Sun (APSU in the Sumerian texts, mean- ing “One Who Exists from the Beginning”), its little com- panion MUM. MU (” One Who Was Born,” our Mercury) and farther away TI.AMAT (“Maiden of Life”) were the first members of the Solar System; it gradually expanded by the “birth” of three planetary pairs, the planets we call Venus and Mars between Mummu and Tiamat, the giant pair Jupiter and Saturn (to use their modern names) beyond Tiamat, and Uranus and Neptune farther out (Fig. 8).

Into this original Solar System, still unstable soon after its formation (I estimated the time about four billion years ago), an Invader appeared. The Sumerians called it NIBIRU; the Babylonians renamed it Marduk in honor of their national god. It appeared from outer space, from “the Deep,” in the words of the ancient text. But as it approached the outer planets of our Solar System, it began to be drawn into it. As expected, the first outer planet to attract Nibiru with its gravitational pull was Neptune—E.A (“He Whose House Is Water”) in Sumerian. “He who begot him was Ea,” the ancient text explained.

Nibiru/Marduk itself was a sight to behold; alluring, spar- kling, lofty, lordly are some of the adjectives used to describe it. Sparks and flashes bolted from it to Neptune and Uranus as it passed near them. It might have arrived with its own satellites already orbiting it, or it might have acquired some as a result

Figure 8

of the gravitational pull of the outer planets. The ancient text speaks of its “perfect members. . .difficult to perceive”— “four were his eyes, four were his ears.”

As it passed near Ea/Neptune, Nibiru/Marduk’s side began to bulge “as though he had a second head.” Was it then that the bulge was torn away to become Neptune’s moon Tri- ton? One aspect thai speaks strongly for this is the fact that Nibiru/Marduk entered the Solar System in a retrograde (clock- wise) orbit, counter to that of the other planets (Fig. 9). Only

Figure 9

this Sumerian detail, according to which the invading planet was moving counter to the orbital motion of all the other planets, can explain the retrograde motion of Triton, the highly elliptical orbits of other satellites and comets, and the other major events that we have yet to tackle.

More satellites were created as Nibiru/Marduk passed by Anu/Uranus. Describing this passing of Uranus, the text states that “Anu brought forth and begot the four winds”—as clear a reference as one could hope for to the four major moons of Uranus that were formed, we now know, only during the col- lision that tilted Uranus. At the same time we learn from a later passage in the ancient text that Nibiru/Marduk himself gained three satellites as a result of this encounter.

Although the Sumerian texts describe how, after its eventual capture into solar orbit, Nibiru/Marduk revisited the outer planets and eventually shaped them into the system as we know it today, the very first encounter already explains the various puzzles that modern astronomy faced or still faces regarding Neptune, Uranus, their moons, and their rings.

Past Neptune and Uranus, Nibiru/Marduk was drawn even more into the midst of the planetary system as it reached the immense gravitational pulls of Saturn (AN.SHAR, “Foremost of the Heavens”) and Jupiter (KI.SHAR, “Foremost of the Firm Lands”). As Nibiru/Marduk “approached and stood as

though in combat” near Anshar/Saturn, the two planets “kissed their lips.” It was then that the “destiny,” the orbital path, of Nibiru/Marduk was changed forever. It was also then that the chief satellite of Saturn, GA.GA (the eventual Pluto), was pulled away in the direction of Mars and Venus—a di- rection possible only by the retrograde force of Nibiru/Marduk. Making a vast elliptical orbit, Gaga eventually returned to the outermost reaches of the Solar System. There it “addressed” Neptune and Uranus as it passed their orbits on the swing back. It was the beginning of the process by which Gaga was to become our Pluto, with its inclined and peculiar orbit that sometimes takes it between Neptune and Uranus.

The new “destiny,” or orbital path, of Nibiru/Marduk was now irrevocably set toward the olden planet Tiamat. At that time, relatively early in the formation of the Solar System, it was marked by instability, especially (we learn from the text) in the region of Tiamat. While other planets nearby were still wobbling in their orbits, Tiamat was pulled in many directions by the two giants beyond her and the two smaller planets between her and the Sun. One result was the tearing off her, or the gathering around her, of a “host” of satellites “furious with rage,” in the poetic language of the text (named by schol- ars the Epic of Creation). These satellites, “roaring monsters,” were “clothed with terror” and “crowned with halos,” swirl- ing furiously about and orbiting as though they were “celestial gods”—planets.

Most dangerous to the stability or safety of the other planets was Tiamat’s “leader of the host,” a large satellite that grew to almost planetary size and was about to attain its independent “destiny”—its own orbit around the Sun. Tiamat “cast a spell for him, to sit among the celestial gods she exalted him.” It was called in Sumerian KIN.GU—”Great Emissary.”

Now the text raised the curtain on the unfolding drama; I have recounted it, step by step, in The 12th Planet. As in a Greek tragedy, the ensuing “celestial battle” was unavoidable as gravitational and magnetic forces came inexorably into play, leading to the collision between the oncoming Nibiru/Marduk with its seven satellites (“winds” in the ancient text) and

Tiamat and its “host” of eleven satellites headed by Kingu.

Although they were headed on a collision course, Tiamat orbiting counterclockwise and Nibiru/Marduk clockwise, the

Figure 10

two planets did not collide—a fact of cardinal astronomical importance. It was the satellites, or “winds,” (literal Sumerian meaning: “Those that are by the side”) of Nibiru/Marduk that smashed into Tiatnat and collided with her satellites.

In the first such encounter (Fig. 10), the first phase of the Celestial Battle,

The four winds he stationed that nothing of her could escape: 

The South Wind, the North Wind, the East Wind, the West Wind. 
Close to his side he held the net,the gift of his grandfather Anu who brought forth the Evil Wind, the Whirlwind and the Hurricane. . . .

He sent forth the winds which he had created, the seven of them; to trouble Tiamat within they rose up behind him.

These “winds,” or satellites, of Nibiru/Marduk, “the seven of them,” were the principal “weapons” with which Tiamat was attacked in the first phase of the Celestial Battle (Fig. 10). But the invading planet had other “weapons” too:

In front of him he set the lightning, with a blazing flame he filled his body;

He then made a net to enfold Tiamat therein. . . .

A fearsome halo his head was turbaned.

He was wrapped with awesome terror as with a cloak.

As the two planets and their hosts of satellites came close enough for Nibiru/Marduk to “scan the inside of Tiamat” and ‘ ‘perceive the scheme of Kingu,” Nibiru/ Marduk attacked Tia- mat with his “net” (magnetic field?) to “enfold her,” shooting at the old planet immense bolts of electricity (“divine light- nings”). Tiamat “was filled with brilliance”—slowing down, heating up, “becoming distended.” Wide gaps opened in its crust, perhaps emitting steam and volcanic matter. Into one widening fissure Nibiru/Marduk thrust one of its main satel- lites, the one called “Evil Wind.” It tore Tiamat’s “belly, cut through her insides, splitting her heart.”

Besides splitting up Tiamat and “extinguishing her life,” the first encounter sealed the fate of the moonlets orbiting her— all except the planetlike Kingu. Caught in the “net”—the magnetic and gravitational pull—of Nibiru/Marduk, “shat- tered, broken up,” the members of the “band of Tiamat” were thrown off their previous course and forced into new orbital paths in the opposite direction: “Trembling with fear, they turned their backs about.”

Thus were the comets created—thus, we learn from a 6,000- year-old text, did the comets obtain their greatly elliptical and retrograde orbits. As to Kingu, Tiamat’s principal satellite, the text informs us that in that first phase of the celestial collision

Kingu was just deprived of its almost-independent orbit. Nibiru/Marduk took away from him his “destiny.” Ni- biru/Marduk made Kingu into a DUG.GA.E, “a mass of lifeless clay,” devoid of atmosphere, waters and radioactive matter and shrunken in size; and “with fetters bound him,” to remain in orbit around the battered Tiamal.

Having vanquished Tiamat, Nibiru/Marduk sailed on on his new “destiny.” The Sumerian text leaves no doubt that the erstwhile invader orbited the Sun:

He crossed the heavens and surveyed the regions, and Apsu's quarter he measured;

The Lord the dimensions of the Apsu measured.

Having circled the Sun (Apsu), Nibiru/Marduk continued into distant space. But now, caught forever in solar orbit, it had to turn back. On his return round, Ea/Neptune was there to greet him and Anshar/Saturn hailed his victory. Then his new orbital path returned him to the scene of the Celestial Battle, “turned back to Tiamat whom he had bound.”

The Lord paused to view her lifeless body. To divide the monster he then artfully planned. Then, as a mussel, he split her into two parts.

With this act the creation of “the heaven” reached its final stage, and the creation of Earth and its Moon began. First the new impacts broke Tiamat into two halves. The upper part, her “skull,” was struck by the Nibiru/Marduk satellite called North Wind; the blow carried it, and with it Kingu, “to places that have been unknown”—to a brand-new orbit where there had not been a planet before. The Earth and our Moon were created (Fig. 11)!

The other half of Tiamat was smashed by the impacts into bits and pieces. This lower half, her “tail,” was “hammered together” to become a “bracelet” in the heavens:

Locking the pieces together,as watchmen he stationed them. . . .
He bent Tiamat's tail to form the Great Band as a bracelet.

Thus was “the Great Band,” the Asteroid Belt, created. Having disposed of Tiamat and Kingu, Nibiru/Marduk once

Figur e I I

again “crossed the heavens and surveyed the regions.”

This time his attention was focused on the “Dwelling of Ea” (Nep- tune), giving that planet and its twinlike Uranus their final makeup. Nibiru/Marduk also, according to the ancient text, provided Gaga/Pluto with its final “destiny,” assigning to it “a hidden place”—a hitherto unknown part of the heavens.

It was farther out than Neptune’s location; it was, we are told, “in the Deep”—far out in space. In line with its new position as the outermost planet, it was granted a new name: US.MI— “He Who Shows the Way,” the first planet encountered com- ing into the Solar System—that is, from outer space toward the Sun.

Thus was Pluto created and put into the orbit it now holds. Having thus “constructed the stations” for the planets, Ni-

Figure 12

Figure 13

biru/Marduk made two “abodes” for itself. One was in the “Firmament,” as the asteroid belt was also called in the ancient texts; the other far out “in the Deep” was called the “Great/Distant Abode,” alias E.SHARRA (“Abode/Home of the Ruler/Prince”).

Modern astronomers call these two pla- netary positions the perigee (the orbital point nearest the Sun) and the apogee (the farthest one) (Fig. 12). It is an orbit, as concluded from the evidence amassed in The 12th Planet, that takes 3,600 Earth-years to complete.

Thus did the Invader that came from outer space become the twelfth member of the Solar System, a system made up of the Sun in the center, with its longtime companion Mercury; the three olden pairs (Venus and Mars, Jupiter and Saturn, Uranus and Neptune); the Earth and the Moon, the remains of the great Tiamat, though in a new position; the newly independent Pluto; and the planet that put it all into final shape, Nibiru/Marduk (Fig. 13).

Modern astronomy and recent discoveries uphold and corroborate this millennia-old tale.

WHEN EARTH HAD NOT BEEN FORMED

In 1766 J. D. Titius proposed and in 1772 Johann Elert Bode popularized what became known as “Bode’s law,” which showed that planetary distances follow, more or less, the pro- gression 0, 2, 4, 8, 16, etc., if the formula is manipulated by multiplying by 3, adding 4, and dividing by 10. Using as a measure the astronomical unit (AU), which is the distance of Earth from the Sun, the formula indicates that there should be a planet between Mars and Jupiter (the asteroids are found there) and a planet beyond Saturn (Uranus was discovered). The formula shows tolerable deviations up until one reaches Uranus but gets out of whack from Neptune on.

Bode’s law, which was arrived at empirically, thus uses Earth as its arithmetic starting point. But according to the Sumerian cosmogony, at the beginning there was Tiamat between Mars and Jupiter, whereas Earth had not yet formed.

Dr. Amnon Sitchin has pointed out that if Bode’s law is stripped of its arithmetical devices and only the geometric progression is retained, the formula works just as well if Earth is omitted—thus confirming Sumerian cosmogony:

IN THE BEGINNING

In the beginning
God created the heaven and the earth.
And the earth was without form and void
and darkness was upon the face of the deep,
And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters.
And God said. Let there be light; and there was light.

For generations this majestic outline of the manner in which our world was created has been at the core of Judaism as well as of Christianity and the third monotheistic religion Islam, the latter two being outgrowths of the first. In the seventeenth century Archbishop James Ussher of Armagh in Ireland cal- culated from these opening verses of Genesis the precise day and even the moment of the world’s creation, in the year 4004 B.C. Many old editions of the Bible still carry Ussher’s chro- nology printed in the margins; many still believe that Earth and the Solar System of which it is a part are indeed no older than that. Unfortunately, this belief, known as Creationism, has taken on science as its adversary; and science, firmly wed to the Theory of Evolution, has met the challenge and joined the battle.

It is regrettable that both sides pay little heed to what has been known for more than a century—that the creation tales of Genesis are edited and abbreviated versions of much more detailed Mesopotamian texts, which were in turn versions of an original Sumerian text.

The battle lines between the Creationists and Evolutionists—a totally unwarranted demarcation, as the evidence herewith presented will show—are undoubtedly more sharply etched by the principle of the separation between religion and state that is embodied in the U.S. Constitution. But such a separation is not the norm among the Earth’s nations (even in enlightened democracies such as En- gland), nor was it the norm in antiquity, when the biblical verses were written down.

indeed, in ancient times the king was also the high priest, the state had a national religion and a national god, the temples were the seat of scientific knowledge, and the priests were the savants. This was so because when civilization began, the gods who were worshipped—the focus of the act of being “reli- gious”—were none other than the Anunnaki/Nefilim, who were the source of all manner of knowledge, alias science, on Earth.

The merging of state, religion, and science was nowhere more complete than in Babylon. There the original Sumerian Epic of Creation was translated and revised so that Marduk, the Babylonian national god, was assigned a celestial coun- terpart. By renaming Nibiru “Marduk” in the Babylonian ver- sions of the creation story, the Babylonians usurped for Marduk the attributes of a supreme “God of Heaven and Earth.” This version—the most intact one found so far—is known as Enuma elish (“When in the heights”), taken from its opening words. It became the most hallowed religious-political-scientific document of the land; it was read as a central part of the New Year rituals, and players reenacted the tale in passion plays to bring its import home to the masses. The clay tablets (Fig. 14) on which they were written were prized possessions of temples and royal libraries in antiquity.

The decipherment of the writing on the clay tablets discovered in the ruins of ancient Mesopotamia more than a century ago led to the realization that texts existed that related biblical creation tales millennia before the Old Testament was com- piled. Especially important were texts found in the library of the Assyrian king Ashurbanipal in Nineveh (a city of biblical renown); they recorded a tale of creation that matches, in some parts word for word, the tale of Genesis. George Smith of the British Museum pieced together the broken tablets that held the creation texts and published, in 1876, The Chaldean Genesis, it conclusively established that there indeed existed an Akkadian text of the Genesis tale, written in the Old Babylonian dialect, that preceded the biblical text by at least a thousand years. Excavations between 1902 and 1914 uncovered tablets

with the Assyrian version of the creation epic, in which the name of Ashur, the Assyrian national god, was substituted for that of the Babylonian Marduk. Subsequent discoveries estab- lished not only the extent of the copying and translation, in antiquity, of this epic text, but also its unmistakable Sumerian origin.

It was L. W. King who, in 1902, in his work The Seven Tablets of Creation, showed that the various fragments add up to seven tablets; six of them relate the creation process; the seventh tablet is entirely devoted to the exaltation of “the Lord” — Marduk in the Babylonian version, Ashur in the Assyrian one. One can only guess that this seven-tablet division somehow is the basis of the division of the biblical story into a seven-part timetable, of which six parts involve divine handiwork and the seventh is devoted to a restful and satisfactory look back at what had been achieved.

It is true that the Book of Genesis, written in Hebrew, uses the term yom, commonly meaning and translated as “day,” to denote each phase. Once, as a guest on a radio talk show in a “Bible Belt” city, I was challenged by a woman who called in about this very point. I explained that by “day” the ible does not mean our term of twenty-four hours on Earth but rather conveys the concept of a phase in the process of creation. No, she insisted, that is exactly what the Bible means: twenty-four hours. I then pointed out to her that the text of the first chapter of Genesis deals not with a human timetable but with that of the Creator, and we are told in the Book of Psalms (90:4) that in God’s eyes “a thousand years are like yester- day.” Would she concede, at least, that Creation might have taken six thousand years? I asked. To my disappointment, there was no concession. Six days means six days, she insisted. Is the biblical tale of creation a religious document, its con- tents to be considered only a matter of faith to be believed or disbelieved; or it is a scientific document, imparting to us essential knowledge of how things began, in the heavens and on Earth? This, of course, is the core of the ongoing argument between Creationists and Evolutionists. The two camps would have laid down their arms long ago were they to realize that what the editors and compilers of the Book of Genesis had done was no different from what the Babylonians had done: using the only scientific source of their time, those descendants of Abraham—scion of a royal-priestly family from the Su- merian capital Ur—also took the Epic of Creation, shortened and edited it, and made it the foundation of a national religion glorifying Yahweh “who is in the Heavens and on Earth.”

In Babylon, Marduk was a dual deity. Physically present, resplendent in his precious garments (Fig. 15), he was wor- shipped as Ilu (translated “god” but literally meaning “the Lofty One”); his struggle to gain supremacy over the other Anunnaki gods has been detailed in my book The Wars of Gods and Men. On the other hand, “Marduk” was a celestial deity.

Figure 15

a planetary god, who in the heavens assumed the attributes, role, and credit for the primordial creations that the Sumerians had attributed to Nibiru, the planet whose most frequent symbolic depiction was that of a winged disc (Fig. 16). The Assyrians, replacing Marduk with their national god Ashur, combined the two aspects and depicted Ashur as a god within the winged disc (Fig. 17).

The Hebrews followed suit but, preaching monotheism and recognizing—based on Sumerian scientific knowledge—the universality of God, ingeniously solved the problem of duality and of the multitude of Anunnaki deities involved in the events on Earth by concocting a singular-but-plural entity, not an El (the Hebrew equivalent of Ilu) but Elohim—a Creator who is plural (literally “Gods”) and yet One.

This departure from the Babylonian and Assyrian religious viewpoint can be explained only by a realization that the Hebrews were aware that the deity who could speak to Abraham and Moses and the celestial Lord whom the Sumerians called Nibiru were not one and the same scientifically, although all were part of a universal, ev-

crlasting, and omnipresent God—Elohim—-in whose grand de- sign for the universe the path of each planet is its predetermined “destiny,” and what the Anunnaki had done on Earth was likewise a predetermined mission. Thus was the handiwork of a universal God manifest in Heaven and on Earth.

These profound perceptions, which lie at the core of the biblical adoption of the creation story, Enuma elish, could be arrived at only by bringing together religion and science while retaining, in the narrative and sequence of events, the scientific basis.

But to recognize this—that Genesis represents not just religion but also science—one must recognize the role of the aunnaki and accept that the Sumerian texts are not “myth” but factual reports. Scholars have made much progress in this respect, but they have not yet arrived at a total recognition of the factual nature of the texts. Although both scientists and theologians are by now well aware of the Mesopotamian origin of Genesis, they remain stubborn in brushing off the scientific value of these ancient texts. It cannot be science, they hold, because “it should be obvious by the nature of things that none of these stories can possibly be the product of human memory” (to quote N. M. Sama of the Jewish Theological Seminary in Understanding Genesis). Such a statement can be challenged only by explaining, as I have repeatedly done in my writings, that the information of how things began—including how Man himself was created—indeed did not come from the memory of the Assyrians or Babylonians or Sumerians but from the knowledge and science of the Anunnaki/Nefilim. They too, of course, could not “remember”1 how the Solar System was created or how Nibiru/Marduk invaded the Solar System, be- cause they themselves were not yet created on their planet. But just as our scientists have a good notion of how the Solar System came about and even how the whole universe came into being (the favorite theory is that of the Big Bang), the Anunnaki/Nefilim, capable of space travel 450,000 years ago, surely had the capacity to arrive at sensible scenarios of cre- ation; much more so since their planet, acting as a spacecraft that sailed past all the outer planets, gave them a chance at repeated close looks that were undoubtedly more extensive than our Voyager “peeks.”

Several updated studies of the Enumu elish, such as The Babylonian Genesis by Alexander Heidel of the Oriental In- stitute, University of Chicago, have dwelt on the parallels in theme and structure between the Mesopotamian and biblical narratives. Both indeed begin with the statement that the tale takes its reader (or listener, as in Babylon) to the primordial time when the Earth and “the heavens” did not yet exist. But whereas the Sumerian cosmogony dealt with the creation of the Solar System and only then set the stage for the appearance of the celestial Lord (Nibiru/Marduk), the biblical version skipped all that and went directly to the Celestial Battle and its aftermath.

With the immensity of space as its canvas, here is how the Mesopotamian version began to draw the primordial picture:

When in the heights Heaven had not been named And below earth had not been called,
Naught but primordial Apsu, their Begetter,
Mummu, and Tiamat, she who bore them all.
Their waters were mingled together.
No reed had yet been formed,
No marshland had appeared.

Even in the traditional King James version, the biblical open- ing is more matter-of-fact, not an inspirational religious opus but a lesson in primordial science, informing the reader that there indeed was a time when Heaven and the Earth did not yet exist, and that it took an act of the Celestial Lord, his “spirit” moving upon the “waters.” to bring Heaven and Earth about with a bolt of light.

The progress in biblical and linguistic studies since the time of King James has moved the editors of both the Catholic The New American Bible and The New English Bible of the churches in Great Britain to substitute the word “wind”—which is what the Hebrew ru’ach means—for the “Spirit of God,” so that the last verse now reads “a mighty wind swept over the waters.” They retain, however, the concept of “abyss” for the Hebrew word Tehom in the original Bible; but by now even theologians acknowledge that the reference is to no other entity than the Sumerian Tiamat.

With this understanding, the reference in the Mesopotamian version to the mingling “waters” of Tiamat ceases to be al- legorical and calls for a factual evaluation. It goes to the ques- tion of the plentiful waters of Earth and the biblical assertion (correct, as we shall soon realize) that when the Earth was formed it was completely covered by water. If water was so abundant even at the moment of Earth’s creation, then only if Tiamat was also a watery planet could the half that became Earth be watery!

The watery nature of Tehom/Tiamat is mentioned in various biblical references. The prophet Isaiah (51:10) recalled “the primeval days” when the might of the Lord “carved the Haughty One, made spin the watery monster, drained off the waters of the mighty Tehom.” The psalmist extolled the Lord of Beginnings who “by thy might the waters thou didst disperse, the leader of the watery monsters thou didst break up.”

What was the “wind” of the Lord that “moved upon the face of the waters” of Tehom/Tiamat? Not the divine “Spirit” but the satellite of Nibiru/Marduk that, in the Mesopotamian texts, was called by that term! Those texts vividly described the flashes and lightning strokes that burst off Nibiru/Marduk as it closed in on Tiamat. Applying this knowledge to the biblical text, its correct reading emerges:

When, in the beginning,
The Lord created the Heaven and the Earth,
The Earth, not yet formed, was in the void,
and there was darkness upon Tiamat.
Then the Wind of the Lord swept upon its waters
and the Lord commanded, "Let there be lightning!"
and there was a bright light.

The continuing narrative of Genesis does not describe the ensuing splitting up of Tiamat or the breakup of her host of satellites, described so vividly in the Mesopotamian texts. It is evident, however, from the above-quoted verses from Isaiah and Psalms, as well as from the narrative in Job (26:7-13), that the Hebrews were familiar with the skipped-over portions of the original tale. Job recalled how the celestial Lord smote “the helpers of the Haughty One,” and he exalted the Lord who, having come from the outer reaches of space, cleaved Tiamat (Tehom) and changed the Solar System:

The hammered canopy He stretched out in the place of Tehom,
The Earth suspended in the void; He penned waters in its denseness,
without any cloud bursting. . . .
His powers the waters did arrest,
His energy the Haughty One did cleave.
His wind the Hammered Bracelet measured out,
His hand the twisting dragon did extinguish.

The Mesopotamian texts continued from here to describe how Nibiru/Marduk formed the asteroid belt out of Tiamat’s lower half:

The other half of her
he set up as a screen for the skies;
Locking them together
as watchmen he stationed them. . . .
He bent Tiamat's tail
to form the Great Band as a bracelet.

Genesis picks up the primordial tale here and describes the forming of the asteroid belt thus:

And Elohim said:
Let there be a firmament in the midst of the waters and let it divide the waters from the waters.
And Elohim made the Firmament,
dividing the waters which are under the Firmament
from the waters which are above the Firmament.
And Elohim called the Firmament "Heaven."

Realizing that the Hebrew word Shama’im is used to speak of Heaven or the heavens in general, the editors of Genesis went into some length to use two terms for “the Heaven” created as a result of the destruction of Tiamat. What separated the “upper waters” from the “lower waters.” the Genesis text stresses, was the Raki’a; generally translated “Firmament,” it literally means “Hammered-out Bracelet.” Then Genesis goes on to explain that Elohim then called the Raki’a, the so- called Firmament, Shama’im, “the Heaven”—a name that in its first use in the Bible consists of the two words sham and ma’im, meaning literally “where the waters were.” In the creation tale of Genesis, “the Heaven” was a specific celestial location, where Tiamat and her waters had been, where the asteroid belt was hammered out.

That happened, according to the Mesopotamian texts, when Nibiru/Marduk returned to the Place of Crossing—the second phase of the battle with Tiamat: “Day Two,” if you wish, as the biblical narrative does.

The ancient tale is replete with details, each of which is amazing by itself. Ancient awareness of them is so incredible that its only plausible explanation is the one offered by the Sumerians themselves—namely, that those who had come to Earth from Nibiru were the source of that knowledge. Modern astronomy has already corroborated many of these details; by doing so, it indirectly confirms the key assertions of the ancient cosmogony and astronomy: the Celestial Battle that resulted in the breakup of Tiamat, the creation of Earth and the asteroid belt, and the capture of Nibiru/Marduk into permanent orbit around our Sun.

Let us look at one aspect of the ancient tale—the “host” of satellites, or “winds,” that the “celestial gods” had.

We now know that Mars has two moons, Jupiter sixteen moons and several more moonlets, Saturn twenty-one or more, Uranus as many as fifteen, Neptune eight. Until Galileo discovered with his telescope the four brightest and largest sat- ellites of Jupiter in 1610, it was unthinkable that a celestial body could have more than one such companion-—evidence Earth and its solitary Moon.

But here we read in the Sumerian texts that as Ni- biru/Marduk’s gravity interacted with that of Uranus, the Invader “begot” three satellites (“winds”) and Anu/Uranus “brought forth” four such moons. By the time Nibiru/Marduk reached Tiamat, it had a total of seven “winds” with which to attack Tiamat, and Tiamat had a “host” of eleven—among them the “leader of the host,” which was about to become an independently orbiting planet, our eventual Moon.

Another element of the Sumerian tale, of great significance to the ancient astronomers, was the assertion that the debris from the lower half of Tiamat was stretched out in the space where she had once existed.

The Mesopotamian texts, and the biblical version thereof in Genesis, are emphatic and detailed about the formation of the asteroid belt—insisting that such a “bracelet” of debris exists and orbits the Sun between Mars and Jupiter. But our astronomers were not aware of that until the nineteenth century. The first realization that the space between Mars and Jupiter was not just a dark void was the discovery by Giuseppe Piazzi on January 1, 1801, of a small celestial object in the space between the two planets, an object that was named Ceres and that has the distinction of being the first known (and named) asteroid.

Three more asteroids (Pallas, Juno, and Vesta) were discovered by 1807, none after that until 1845, and hundreds since then, so that almost 2,000 are known by now. Astronomers believe that there may be as many as 50,000 asteroids at least a mile in diameter, as well as many more pieces of debris, too small to be seen from Earth, which number in the billions.

In other words, it has taken modern astronomy almost two centuries to find out what the Sumerians knew 6,000 years ago.

Even with this knowledge, the biblical statement that the “Hammered-out Bracelet,” the Shama’im—alias “the Heaven,” divided the “waters which are below the Firmament” from the “waters which are above the Firmament” remained a puzzle. What, in God’s name, was the Bible talking about?

We have known, of course, that Earth was a watery planet, but it has been assumed that it is uniquely so. Many will undoubtedly recall science-fiction tales wherein aliens come to Earth to carry off its unique and life-giving liquid, water. So even if the ancient texts had in mind Tiamat’s, and hence Earth’s, waters, and if this was what was meant by the “water which is below the Firmament,” what water was there to talk about regarding that which is “above the Firmament”?

We know—don’t we?-—that the asteroid belt had, indeed, as the ancient text reported, divided the planets into two groups.

“Below” it are the Terrestrial, or inner, Planets; “above” it the gaseous, or Outer, Planets. But except for Earth the former had barren surfaces and the latter no surfaces at all, and the long-held conventional wisdom was that neither group (again, excepting Earth) had any water.

Well, as a result of the missions of unmanned spacecraft to all the other planets except Pluto, we now know better. Mercury, which was observed by the spacecraft Mariner 10 in 1974/75, is too small and too close to the Sun to have retained water, if it ever had any. But Venus, likewise believed to be waterless because of its relative proximity to the Sun, surprised the scientists. It was discovered by unmanned spacecraft, both American and Soviet, that the extremely hot surface of the planet (almost 900 degrees Fahrenheit) was caused not so much by its proximity to the Sun as by a “greenhouse” effect: the planet is enshrouded in a thick atmosphere of carbon dioxide and clouds that contain sulphuric acid. As a result the heat of the Sun is trapped and does not dissipate back into space during the night. This creates an ever-rising temperature that would have vaporized any water that Venus might have had. But did it ever have such water in its past?

The careful analysis of the results of unmanned probes led the scientists to answer emphatically, yes. The topographical features revealed by radar mapping suggested erstwhile oceans and seas. That such bodies of water might have indeed existed on Venus was indicated by the finding that the “hell-like atmosphere,” as some of the scientists termed it, contained traces of water vapor.

Data from two unmanned spacecraft that probed Venus for an extended period after December 1978, Pioneer-Venus I and 2, convinced the team of scientists that analyzed the findings that Venus “may once have been covered by water at an average depth of thirty feet”; Venus, they concluded (Science, May 7, 1982), once had “at least 100 times as much water in liquid form as it does today in the form of vapor.” Subsequent studies have suggested that some of that ancient water was used up in the formation of the suphuric acid clouds, while some of it gave up its oxygen to oxidize the rocky surface of the planet.

“The lost oceans of Venus” can be traced in its rocks; that was the conclusion of a joint report of U.S. and Soviet scientists

Plate C

published in the May 1986 issue of Science. There was indeed water “below the Firmament,” not only on Earth but also on Venus.

The latest scientific discoveries have added Mars to the list of inner planets whose waters corroborate the ancient statement.

At the end of the nineteenth century the existence of enig- matic “canals” on Mars was popularized by the telescopic observations of the Italian astronomer Giovanni Schiaparelli and the American Percival Lowell. This was generally laughed off; and the conviction prevailed that Mars was dry and barren. The first unmanned surveys of Mars, in the 1960s, seemed to confirm the notion that it was a “geologically lifeless planet, like the Moon.” This notion was completely discredited when the spacecraft Mariner 9 launched in 1971, went into orbit around Mars and photographed its entire surface, not just the 10 percent or so surveyed by all the previous probes. The results, in the words of the astronomers managing the project, “were astounding.” Mariner 9 revealed that volcanoes, canyons, and dry river beds abound on Mars (Plate C). “Water has played an active role in the planet’s evolution,” stated Harold Masursky of the U.S. Geological Survey, who headed the team analyzing the photographs. “The most convincing evidence was found in the many photographs showing deep, winding channels that may have once been fast-flowing streams. … We are forced to no other conclusion but that we are seeing the effects of water on Mars.”

The Mariner 9 findings were confirmed and augmented by the results of the Viking 1 and Viking 2 missions launched five years later; they examined Mars both from orbiters and from landers that descended to the planet’s surface. They showed such features as evidence of several floodings by large quan- tities of water in an area designated Chryse Planitis; channels that once held and were formed by running water coming from the Vallis Marineris area; cyclical meltings of permafrost in the equatorial regions; rocks weathered and eroded by the force of water; and evidence of erstwhile lakes, ponds, and other “water basins.”

Water vapor was found in the thin Martian atmosphere;

Charles A. Barth, the principal scientist in charge of Mariner 9’s ultraviolet measurements, estimated that the evaporation amounted to the equivalent of 100,000 gallons of water daily. Norman Horowitz of Caltech reasoned that “large amounts of water in some form have in past eons been introduced to the surface and into the atmosphere of Mars,” because that was required in order to have so much carbon dioxide (90 percent) in the Martian atmosphere. In a report published in 1977 by the American Geographical Union (Journal of Geophysical Research, September 30, 1977) on the scientific results of the Viking project, it was concluded that “a long time ago giant flash floods carved the Martian landscape in a number of places; a volume of water equal to Lake Erie poured . . . scouring great channels.”

The Viking 2 lander reported frost on the ground where it came to rest. The frost was found to consist of a combination of water, water ice, and frozen carbon dioxide (dry ice). The debate about whether the polar ice caps of Mars contain water ice or dry ice was resolved in January 1979 when JPL scientists reported at the 2nd International Colloquium on Mars, held at the California Institute of Technology (Caltech) in Pasadena, that “the north pole consists of water ice,” though not so the south pole.

The final NASA report after the Viking missions (Mars: The Viking Discoveries) concluded that “Mars once had enough water to form a layer several meters deep over the whole surface of the planet.” This was possible, it is now believed, because Mars (like Earth) wobbles slightly as it spins about its axis. This action results in significant climatic changes every 50,000 years. When the planet was warmer it may have had lakes as large as Earth’s Great Lakes in North America and as much as three miles deep. ‘This is an almost inescapable conclu- sion,” stated Michael H. Carr and Jack McCauley of the U.S. Geological Survey in 1985. At two conferences on Mars held in Washington, DC, in July 1986 under the auspices of NASA. Walter Sullivan reported in The New York Times, sci- entists expressed the belief that ‘ ‘there is enough water hidden in the crust of Mars to theoretically flood the entire planet to an average depth of at least 1,000 feet.” Arizona State Uni- versity scientists working for NASA advised Soviet scientists in charge of their country’s Mars landing projects that some deep Martian canyons may still have flowing water in their depths, or at least just below the dry riverbeds.

What had started out as a dry and barren planet has emerged, in the past decade, as a planet where water was once abundant—not just passively lying about but flowing and gushing and shaping the planet’s features. Mars has joined Venus and Earth in corroborating the concept of the Sumerian texts of water “below the Firmament,” on the inner planets.

The ancient assertion that the asteroid belt separated the waters that were below the Firmament from those that were above it implies that there was water on the celestial bodies that are located farther out. We have already reviewed the latest discoveries of Voyager 2 that confirm the Sumerian de- scription of Uranus and Neptune as “watery.” What about the other two celestial bodies that are orbiting between those two outer planets and the asteroid belt, Saturn and Jupiter?

Saturn itself, a gaseous giant whose volume is more than eight hundred times greater than that of Earth, has not yet been penetrated down to its surface—assuming it has, somewhere below its vast atmosphere of hydrogen and helium, a solid or liquid core. But its various moons as well as its breathtaking rings (Fig. 18) are now known to be made, if not wholly then in large part, of water ice and perhaps even liquid water.

Originally, Earth-based observations of Saturn showed only seven rings; we now know from space probes that there are many more, with thinner rings and thousands of ringlets filling the spaces between the seven major rings; all together they create the effect of a disk that, like a phonograph record, is “grooved” with rings and ringlets. The unmanned spacecraft Pioneer 11 established in 1979 that the rings and ringlets consist of icy material, believed at the time to be small pieces of ice a few inches in diameter or as small as snowflakes. What was originally described as “a carousel of bright icy particles” was revealed, however, by the data from Voyager 1 and Voyager 2 in 1980 and 1981 to consist of chunks of ice ranging from boulder size to that of “big houses.” We are seeing “a sea of sparkling ice,” JPL’s scientists said. The ice, at some pri- mordial time, had been liquid water.

The several larger moons of Saturn at which the three space- craft, especially Voyager 2, took a peek, appeared to have much more water, and not only in the form of ice. Pioneer 11 reported in 1979 that the group of inner moons of Saturn— Janus, Mimas, Enceladus, Tethys, Dione, and Rhea—ap- peared to be “icy bodies . . . consisting largely of ice.” Voyager 1 confirmed in 1980 that these inner satellites as well as the newly discovered moonlets were “spheres of ice.” On Enceladus, which was examined more closely, the indications were that its smooth plains resulted from the filling in of old craters with liquid water that had oozed up to the surface and then frozen.

Voyager 1 also revealed that Saturn’s outer moons were ice covered. The moon lapetus, which puzzled astronomers be- cause it showed dark and bright portions, was found to be “coated with water ice” in the bright areas. Voyager 2 con- firmed in 1981 that lapetus was “primarily a ball of ice with some rock in its center.” The data, Von R. Eshleman of Stanford University concluded, indicated that lapetus was 55 per- cent water ice, 35 percent rock, and 10 percent frozen methane. Saturn’s largest moon, Titan—larger than the planet Mer- cury—was found to have an atmosphere and a surface rich in hydrocarbons. But under them there is a mantle of frozen ice, and some sixty miles farther down, as the internal heat of this celestial body increases, there is a thick layer of water slush. Farther down, it is now believed, there probably exists a layer of bubbling hot water more than 100 miles deep. All in all, the Voyagers’ data suggested that Titan is 15 percent rock and 85 percent water and ice.

Is Saturn itself a larger version of Titan, its largest moon?

Future missions might provide the answer. For the time being it is clear that wherever the modern instruments could reach— moons, moonlets, and rings—there was water everywhere. Saturn did not fail to confirm the ancient assertions.

Jupiter was investigated by Pioneer 10 and Pioneer 11 and by the two Voyagers. The results were no different than at Saturn. The giant gaseous planet was found to emit immense amounts of radiation and heat and to be engulfed by a thick atmosphere that is subject to violent storms. Yet even this

impenetrable envelope was found to be constituted primarily of hydrogen, helium, methane, ammonia, water vapor, and probably droplets of water, somewhere farther down inside the thick atmosphere there is liquid water, the scientists have con- cluded.

As with Saturn, the moons of Jupiter proved more fascinating, revealing, and surprising than the planet itself. Of the four Galilean moons, Io, the closest to Jupiter (Fig. 19), revealed totally unexpected volcanic activity. Although what the volcanoes spew is mostly sulphur based, the erupted material contains some water. The surface of Io shows vast plains with troughs running through them, as if they had been carved by running water. The consensus is that Io has “some internal sources of water.”

Europa, like Io, appears to be a rocky body, but its somewhat lower density suggests that it may contain more internal water than Io. Its surface shows a latticework of veinlike lines that suggested to the NASA teams shallow fissures in a sea of frozen ice. A close look at Europa by Voyager 2 revealed a layer of mushy water ice under the cracked surface. At the December 1984 meeting of the American Geophysical Union in San Fran- cisco, two scientists (David Reynolds and Steven Squyres) of NASA’s Ames Research Center suggested that under Europa’s ice sheet there might exist warmer oases of liquid water that could sustain living organisms. After a reexamination of Voy- ager 2 photographs, NASA scientists tentatively concluded that the spacecraft witnessed volcanic eruptions of water and am- monia from the moon’s interior. The belief now is that Europa has an ice covering several miles thick “overlaying an ocean of liquid water up to thirty miles deep, kept from freezing by radioactive decay and the friction of tidal forces.”

Ganymede, the largest of Jupiter’s moons, appears to be covered with water ice mixed with rock, suggesting it has undergone moonquakes that have cracked its crust of frozen ice. It is thought to be made almost entirely of water ice, with an inner ocean of liquid water near its core. The fourth Galilean moon, Callisto—about the size of the planet Mercury—also has an ice-rich crust; under it there are mush and liquid water surrounding a small, rocky core. Estimates are that Callisto is more than 50 percent water. A ring discovered around Jupiter is also made mostly, it not wholly, of ice particles.

Modern science has confirmed the ancient assertion to the fullest: there indeed have been “waters above the Firmament.”

Jupiter is the Solar System’s largest planet—as large as 1,300 Earths. It contains some 90 percent of the mass of the complete planetary system of the Sun. As stated earlier, the Sumerians called it KI.SHAR, “Foremost of the Firm Lands,” of the planetary bodies. Saturn, though smaller than Jupiter, occupies a much larger portion of the heavens because of its rings, whose “disk” has a diameter of 670,000 miles. The Sumerians called it AN.SHAR, “Foremost of the Heavens.”

Evidently they knew what they were talking about.

SEEING THE SUN

When we can see the Sun with the naked eye, as at dawn or at sunset, it is a perfect disk. Even when viewed with telescopes, it has the shape of a perfect globe. Yet the Sumerians depicted it as a disk with a triangular rays ex- tending from its round surface, as seen on cylinder seal VA/243 (Plate B and Fig. 6a). Why?

In 1980 astronomers of the High Altitude Observatory of the University of Colorado took pictures of the Sun with a special camera during an eclipse observed in India. The pictures revealed that because of magnetic influences, the Sun’s corona gives it the appearance of a disk with triangular rays extending from its surface—just as the Sumerians had depicted millennia earlier.

In January 1983, I brought the “enigmatic representa- tion” on the Sumerian cylinder seal to the attention of the editor of Scientific American, a journal that reported the astronomers’ discovery. In response, the editor, Dennis Flanagan, wrote to me on January 27, 1983:

“Thank you for your letter of January 25.

“What you have to say is most interesting, and we may well be able to publish it.”

“In addition to the many puzzles posed by this depiction,” 1 had written in my letter, “foremost of which is the source of the Sumerian knowledge, is now their apparent familiarity with the true shape of the Sun’s corona.”

Is it the need to acknowledge the source of Sumerian knowledge that is still holding up publication of what Scientific American has deemed “most interesting”?

4

THE MESSENGERS OF GENESIS

In 1986 Mankind was treated to a oncc-in-a-lifetime event: the appearance of a messenger from the past, a Messenger of Genesis. Its name was Halley’s comet.

One of many comets and other small objects that roam the heavens, Halley’s comet is unique in many ways; among them is the fact that its recorded appearances have been traced to millennia ago, as well as the fact that modern science was able, in 1986, to conduct for the first time a comprehensive, close-

up examination of a comet and its core. The first fact under- scores the excellence of ancient astronomy; because of the second, data was obtained that—-once again—corroborated ancient knowledge and the tales of Genesis.

The chain of scientific developments that led Edmund Hal- ley, who became British Astronomer Royal in 1720, to determine, during the years 1695-1705, that the comet he observed in 1682 and that came to bear his name was a periodic one, the same that had been observed in 1531 and 1607, involved the promulgation of the laws of gravitation and celestial motion by Sir Isaac Newton and Newton’s consulting with Halley about his findings. Until then the theory regarding comets was that they crossed the heavens in straight lines, appearing at one end of the skies and disappearing in the other direction, never to be seen again. But based on Newtonian laws, Halley concluded that the curve described by comets is elliptical, eventually bringing these celestial bodies back to where they had been observed before. The “three” comets of 1531, 1607, and 1682 were unusual in that they were all orbiting in the “wrong” direction—clockwise rather than counterclockwise; had similar deviations from the general orbital plane of the planets around the Sun—being inclined about 17 to 18 degrees—and were

similar in appearance. Concluding they were one and the same comet, he plotted its course and calculated its period (the length of time between its appearances) to be about seventy-six years. He then predicted that it would reappear in 1758. He did not live long enough to see his prediction come true, but he was honored by having the comet named after him.

Like that of all celestial bodies, and especially because of a comet’s small size, its orbit is easily perturbed by the gravitational pull of the planets it passes (this is especially true of Jupiter’s effect). Each time a comet nears the Sun, its frozen material comes to life; the comet develops a head and a long tail and begins to lose some of its material as it turns to gas and vapor. All these phenomena affect the comet’s orbit; there- fore, although more precise measurements have somewhat narrowed the orbital range of Halley’s comet from the seventy- four to seventy-nine years that he had calculated, the period of seventy-six years is only a practical average; the actual orbit and its period must be recalculated each time the comet makes an appearance.

With the aid of modern equipment, an average of five or six comets are reported each year; of them, one or two are comets on return trips, while the others are newly discovered. Most of the returning comets are short-period ones, the shortest known being that of Encke’s comet, which nears the Sun and then returns to a region slightly beyond the asteroid belt (Fig.

20) in a little over three years. Most short-period comets av- erage an orbital period of about seven years, which carries them to the environs of Jupiter. Typical of them is comet Giacobini-Zinner (named, like other comets, after its discoverers), which has a period of 6 1/2 years; its latest passage within Earth’s view was in 1985. On the other hand there are the very-long-period comets like comet Kohoutek, which was dis- covered in March 1973, was fully visible in December 1973 and January 1974, and then disappeared from view, perhaps to return in 75,000 years. By comparison, the cycle of 76 years for Halley’s comet is short enough to remain in living memories, yet long enough to retain its magic as a once-in-a-lifetime celestial event.

When Halley’s comet appeared on its next-to-last passage around the Sun, in 1910, its course and aspects had been well mapped out in advance (Fig. 21). Still, the Great Comet of

1910, as it was then hailed, was awaited with great appre- hension. There was fear that Earth or life on it would not survive the anticipated passage because Earth would be envel- oped in the comet’s tail of poisonous gases. There was also alarm at the prospect that, as was believed in earlier times, the appearance of the comet would be an ill omen of pestilence, wars, and the death of kings. As the comet reached its greatest magnitude and brilliance in May of 1910, its tail stretching over more than half the vault of heaven (Fig. 22), King Edward VII of Great Britain died. On the European continent, a series of political upheavals culminated in the outbreak of World War I in 1914.

The belief, or superstition, associating Halley’s comet with wars and upheavals was fed by much that was coming to light about events that coincided with its previous appearances. The Seminole Indians’ revolt against the white settlers of Florida in 1835, the Great Lisbon Earthquake of 1755, the outbreak of the Thirty Years’ War in 1618, the Turkish siege of Belgrade in 1456, the outbreak of the Black Death (bubonic plague) in 1347—all were accompanied or preceded by the appearance of a great comet, which was finally recognized as Halley’s Comet, thus establishing its role as the messenger of God’s wrath.

Whether divinely ordained or not, the coincidence of the comet’s appearance in conjunction with major historic events seems to grow the more we go back in time. One of the most celebrated appearances of a comet, definitely Halley’s, is that of 1066, during the Battle of Hastings in which the Saxons, under King Harold, were defeated by William the Conqueror. The comet was depicted (Fig. 23) on the famous Bayeux tap- estry, which is thought to have been commissioned by Queen

Matilda, wife of William the Conqueror, to illustrate his vic- tory. The inscription next to the comet’s tail, Isti mirant stella, means, “They are in awe of the star,” and refers to the de- piction of King Harold tottering on his throne.

The year A.D. 66 is considered by astronomers one in which Halley’s comet made an appearance; they base their conclusion on at least two contemporary Chinese observations. That was the year in which the Jews of Judea launched their Great Revolt against Rome. The Jewish historian Josephus (Wars of the Jews, Book VI) blamed the fall of Jerusalem and the de- struction of its holy Temple on the misinterpretation by the Jews of the heavenly signs that preceded the revolt: “a star resembling a sword which stood over the city, a comet that continued a whole year.”

Until recently the earliest certain record of the observation of a comet was found in the Chinese Chronological Tables of Shih-chi for the year 467 B.C., in which the pertinent entry reads, “During the tenth year of Ch’in Li-kung a broom-star was seen.” Some believe a Greek inscription refers to the same comet in that year. Modern astronomers are not sure that the 467 B.C. Shih-chi entry refers to Halley’s comet; they are more confident regarding a Shih-chi entry for the year 240 B.C. (Fig. 24). In April 1985, F. R. Stephenson, K. K. C. Yau, and H.

Hunger reported in Nature that a reexamination of Babylonian astronomical tablets that had been lying in the basement of the British Museum since their discovery in Mesopotamia more than a century ago, shows that the tablets recorded the ap- pearance of extraordinary celestial bodies—probably comets, they said—in the years 164 B.C. and 87 B.C. The periodicity of seventy-seven years suggested to these scholars that the unusual celestial bodies were Halley’s comet.

The year 164 B.C., as none of the scholars who have been preoccupied with Halley’s comet have realized, was of great significance in Jewish and Near Eastern history. It was the very year in which the Jews of Judea, under the leadership of the Maccabees, revolted against Greek-Syrian domination, recap- tured Jerusalem, and purified the defiled Temple. The Temple rededication ceremony is celebrated to this day by Jews as the festival of Hanukkah (“Rededication”). The 164 B.C. tablet (Fig. 25), numbered WA-41462 in the British Museum, is clearly dated to the relevant year in the reign of the Seleucid (Greek-Syrian) king Antiochus Epiphanes, the very evil King Antiochus of the Books of Maccabees. The unusual celestial object, which the three scholars believe was Halley’s comet, is reported to have been seen in the Babylonian month of Kislimu, which is the Jewish month Kislev and, indeed, the one in which Hanukkah is celebrated.

In another instance, the comparison by Josephus of the comet to a celestial sword (as it seems to be depicted also in the Bayeux tapestry) has led some scholars to suggest that the Angel of the Lord that King David saw “standing between the earth and heaven, having a sword in his hand stretched out over Jerusalem” (I Chronicles 21:16) might have been in reality Halley’s comet, sent by the Lord to punish the king for having conducted a prohibited census. The time of this incident, circa 1000 B.C., coincides with one of the years in which Halley’s comet should have appeared.

In an article published in 1986,1 pointed out that the Hebrew name for “comet” is Kokhav shavit, a “Scepler star.” This has a direct bearing, I wrote, on the biblical tale of the seer Bilam. When the Israelites ended their wanderings in the desert after the Exodus and began the conquest of Canaan, the Moa- bite king summoned Bilam to curse the Israelites. But Bilam, realizing that the Israelite advance was divinely ordained, blessed them instead. He did so, he explained (Numbers 24:17), because he was shown a celestial vision:

I see it, though not now;
I behold it, though it is not near:
A star of Jacob did course, A scepter of Israel did arise.

In The Stairway to Heaven I provided a chronology that fixed the date of the Exodus at 1433 B.C.; the Israelite entry into Canaan began forty years later, in 1393 B.C. Halley’s comet, at an interval of 76 or 77 years, would have appeared circa 1390 B.C. Did Bilam consider that event as a divine signal that the Israelite advance could not and should not be stopped? If, in biblical times, the comet we call Halley’s was considered the Scepter Star of Israel, it could explain why the Jewish revolts of 164 B.C. and A.D. 66 were timed to coincide with the comet’s appearances. It is significant that in spite of the crushing defeat of the Judean revolt by the Romans in A.D. 66, the Jews took up arms again some seventy years later in a heroic effort to free Jerusalem and rebuild the Temple. The leader of that revolt, Shimeon Bar Kosiba, was renamed by the religious leaders Bar Kokhba, “Son of the Star,” specif- ically because of the above-quoted verses in Numbers 24.

One can only guess whether the revolt the Romans put down after three years, in A.D. 135, was also intended as was the Maccabean one, to achieve the rededication of the Temple by the time of the return of Halley’s comet, in A.D. 142. The realization that we, in 1986, have seen and experienced the return of a majestic celestial body that had great historic impact in the past, should send a shudder down some spines, mine among them.

How far back does this messenger of the past go? According

to the Sumerian creation epics, it goes all the way back to the time of the Celestial Battle. Halley’s comet and its like are truly the Messengers of Genesis.

The Solar System, astronomers and physicists believe, was formed out of a primordial cloud of gaseous matter; like every- thing else in the universe, it was in constant motion—circling about its galaxy (the Milky Way) and rotating around its own center of gravity. Slowly the cloud spread as it cooled; slowly the center became a star (our Sun) and the planets coalesced out of the rotating disc of gaseous matter. Thenceforth, the motion of all parts of the Solar System retained the original direction of the primordial cloud, anticlockwise. The planets orbit the Sun in the same direction as did the original nebula; so do their satellites, or moons; so should also the debris that either did not coalesce or that resulted from the disintegration of bodies such as comets and asteroids. Everything must keep going anticlockwise. Everything must also remain within the plane of the original disk, which is called the Ecliptic.

Nibiru/Marduk did not conform to all that. Its orbit, as previously reviewed, was retrograde—in the opposite direction, clockwise. Its effect on Pluto—which according to the Sumerian texts was GA.GA and was shifted by Nibiru to its present orbit, which is not within the ecliptic but inclined 17 degrees to it—suggests that Nibiru itself followed an inclined path. Sumerian instructions for its observation, fully discussed in The 12th Planet, indicate that relative to the ecliptic it arrived from the southeast, from under the ecliptic; formed an arc above the ecliptic; then plunged back below the ecliptic in its journey back to where it had come from.

Amazingly, Halley’s comet shows the same characteristics, and except for the fact that its orbit is so much smaller than that of Nibiru (currently about 76 years compared with Nibiru’ s 3,600 Earth-years), an illustration of Halley’s orbit (Fig. 26) could give us a good idea of Nibiru’s inclined and retrograde path. Looking at Halley’s comet, we see a miniature Nibiru! This orbital similarity is but one of the aspects that make this comet, and others too, messengers from the past—not only the historic past, but all the way back to Genesis.

Halley’s comet is not alone in having an orbit markedly inclined to the ecliptic (a feature measured as an angle of Declination) and a retrograde direction. Nonperiodic comets— comets whose paths form not ellipses but parabolas or even hyperbolas and whose orbits are so vast and whose limits are so far away they cannot even be calculated—have marked declinations, and about half of them move in a retrograde direction. Of about 600 periodic comets (which are now given the letter “P” in front of their name) that have been classified and catalogued, about 500 have orbital periods longer than 200 years; they all have declinations more akin to that of Halley’s than to the greater declinations of the nonperiodic comets, and more than half of them course in retrograde motion. Comets with medium orbital periods (between 200 and 20 years) and short periods (under 20 years) have a mean declination of 18 degrees, and some, like Halley’s, have retained the retrograde motion in spite of the immense gravitational effects of Jupiter.

It is noteworthy that of recently discovered comets, the one designated P/Hartley-IRAS (1983v) has an orbital period of 21 years, and its orbit is both retrograde and inclined to the ecliptic.

Where do comets come from, and what causes their odd orbits, of which the retrograde direction is the oddest in as- tronomers’ eyes? In the 1820s the Marquis Pierre-Simon de Laplace believed that comets were made of ice and that their glowing head (“coma”) and tail that formed as they neared the Sun, were both made of vaporized ice. This concept was replaced after the discovery of the extent and nature of the asteroid belt, and theories developed that comets were “flying sandbanks”—pieces of rock that might be the remains of a disintegrated planet. The thinking changed again in the 1950s mainly because of two hypotheses: Fred L. Whipple (then at Harvard) suggested that comets were “dirty snowballs” of ice (mainly water ice) mixed with darker specks of sandlike ma- terial; and Jan Oort, a Dutch astronomer, proposed that long- period comets come from a vast reservoir halfway between the Sun and the nearer stars. Because comets appear from all di- rections (traveling prograde, or anticlockwise; retrograde; and at different declinations), the reservoir of comets—billions of them—is not a belt or ring like the asteroid belt or the rings of Saturn but a sphere that surrounds the Solar System. This “Oort Cloud,” as the concept came to be named, settled at a mean distance, Oort calculated, of 100,000 astronomical units (AU) from the Sun, one AU being the average distance (93 million miles) of the Earth from the Sun. Because of pertur- bations and intercometal collisions, some of the cometary horde may have come closer, to only 50,000 AU from the Sun (which is still ten thousand times the distance of Jupiter from the Sun). Passing stars occasionally perturb these comets and send them flying toward the Sun. Some, under the gravitational influence of the planets, mainly Jupiter, become medium- or short-period comets; some, especially influenced by the mass of Jupiter, are forced into reversing their course (Fig. 27). This, briefly, is how the Oort Cloud concept is usually stated.

Since the 1950s the number of observed comets has increased by more than 50 percent, and computer technology has made possible the projection backward of cometary motions to determine their source. Such studies, as one by a team at the Harvard-Smithsonian Observatory under Brian G. Marsden, have shown that of 200 observed comets with periods of 250 years or more, no more than 10 percent could have entered the

Solar System from outer space; 90 percent have always been bound to the Sun as the focus of their orbits. Studies of cometary velocities have shown, in the words of Fred L. Whipple in his book, The Mystery of Comets, that “if we are really seeing comets coming from the void, we should expect them to fly by much faster than just 0.8 kilometers per second,” which they do not. His conclusion is that “with few exceptions, comets belong to the Sun’s family and are gravitationally attached to it.”

“During the past few years, astronomers have questioned the simple view of Oort’s Cloud,” stated Andrew Theokas of Boston University in the New Scientist (February 11, 1988); “astronomers still believe that the Oort Cloud exists, but the new results demand that they reconsider its size and shape.

They even reopen the questions about the origin of the Oort Cloud and whether it contains “new’ comets that have come from interstellar space.” As an alternative idea Theokas men- tions that of Mark Bailey of the University of Manchester, who suggested that most comets “reside relatively close to the Sun, just beyond the orbits of the planets.” Is it perhaps, one may ask, where Nibiru/Marduk’s “distant abode”—its aphelion— is?

The interesting aspect of the “reconsideration” of the Oort Cloud notion and the new data suggesting that comets, by and large, have always been part of the Solar System and not just outsiders occasionally thrust into it, is that Jan Oort himself had said so. The existence of a cloud of comets in interstellar space was his solution to the problem of parabolic and hyperbolic cometal orbits, not the theory he had developed. In the study that made him and the Oort Cloud famous (“The Structure of the Cloud of Comets Surrounding the Solar System and a Hypothesis Concerning its Origin,” Bulletin of the Astronomical Institutions of the Netherlands vol. 11, January 13, 1950) Oort’s new theory was called by him a “hypothesis of a common origin of comets and minor planets” (i.e., asteroids). The comets are out there, he suggested, not because they were “born” there but because they were thrust out to there. They were fragments of larger objects, “diffused away” by the perturbations of the planets and especially by Jupiter— just as more recently the Pioneer spacecraft were made to fly off into space by the “slingshot” effects of Jupiter’s and Sat- urn’s gravitation.

“The main process now,” Oort wrote, “is the inverse one,

that of a slow transfer of comets from a large cloud into short- period orbits. But at the epoch at which the minor planets (asteroids) were formed . . . the trend must have been the op- posite, many more objects being transferred from the asteroid region to the comet cloud. … It appears far more probable that instead of having originated in the faraway regions, comets

were born among the planets. It is natural to think in the first place of a relation with the minor planets (asteroids). There are indications that the two classes of objects”—comets and asteroids—”belong to the same ‘species.’ . . . It seems rea- sonable to assume that the comets originated together with the minor planets.” Summing up his study, Oort put it this way:

The existence of the huge cloud of comets finds a natural explanation if comets (and meteorites) are considered as minor planets escaped, at an early stage of the planetary system, from the ring of asteroids.

It all begins to sound like the Enuma elish. . . .

Placing the origin of the comets within the asteroid belt and considering both comets and asteroids as belonging to the same “species” of celestial objects—objects of a common birth— still leaves open the questions: How were these objects created? What gave “birth” to them? What “diffused” the comets? What gave comets their inclinations and retrograde motions?

A major and outspoken study on the subject was made public in 1978 by Thomas C. Van Flandern of the U.S. Naval Observatory, Washington, D.C. (Icarus, 36). He titled the study, “A Former Asteroidal Planet as the Origin of Comets,” and openly subscribed to the nineteenth-century suggestions that the asteroids, and the comets, come from a former planet that had exploded. It is noteworthy that in the references to Oort’s work, Van Flandern picked out its true essence: “Even the father of the modern ‘cloud of comets’ theory was led to conclude,” Van Flandern wrote, “on the basis of evidence then

available, that a solar system origin for these comets, perhaps in connection with ‘the occurrence which gave birth to the belt of asteroids,’ was still the least objectionable hypothesis.” He also referred to studies, begun in 1972, by Michael W. Oven- den, a noted Canadian astronomer who introduced the concept of a “principle of least interaction action,” a corollary of which was the suggestion that “there had existed, between Mars and Jupiter, a planet of a mass of about 90 times that of Earth, and that this planet had ‘disappeared’ in the relatively recent past, about 107 [10,000,000] years ago.” This, Ovenden further explained in 1975 (“Bode’s Law—Truth or Consequences?” vol. 18, Vistas in Astronomy), is the only way to meet the requirement that “the cosmogonic theory must be capable of producing retrograde as well as direct” celestial motions.

Summarizing his findings, Van Flandern said thus in 1978:

The principal conclusion of this paper is that the comets originated in a breakup event in the inner solar system.

In all probability it was the same event which gave rise to the asteroid belt and which produced most of the meteors visible today.

He said that it was less certain that the same “breakup event” may have also given birth to the satellites of Mars and the outer satellites of Jupiter, and he estimated that the “breakup event” occurred five million years ago. He had no doubt, however, that the “breakup event” took place “in the asteroid belt.” Physical, chemical, and dynamic properties of the re- sulting celestial bodies, he stated emphatically, indicate “that a large planet did disintegrate” where the asteroid belt is today.

But what caused this large planet to disintegrate? “The most frequently asked question about this scenario,” Van Flandern wrote, “is ‘how can a planet blow up?’… There is presently,”

he conceded, “no satisfactory answer to this question.”

No satisfactory answer, that is, except the Sumerian one: the tale of Tiamat and Nibiru/Marduk, the Celestial Battle, the breakup of half of Tiamat, the annihilation of its moons (except for “Kingu”), and the forcing of their remains into a retrograde orbit…

A key criticism of the destroyed-planet theory has been the problem of the whereabouts of the planet’s matter; when astronomers estimate the total mass of the known asteroids and comets it adds up to only a fraction of the estimated mass of the broken-up planet. This is especially true if Ovenden’s estimate of a planet with a mass ninety times that of Earth is used in the calculations. Ovenden’s response to such criticism has been that the missing mass was probably swept up by Jupiter; his own calculations (Monthly Notes of the Royal Astronomical Society, 173, 1975) called for an increase in the mass of Jupiter by as much as 130 Earth-masses as a result of the capture of asteroids, including Jupiter’s several retrograde moons. To allow for the discrepancy between the mass (ninety times that of Earth) of the broken-up planet and the accretion of 130 Earth-sized masses to Jupiter, Ovenden cited other studies that concluded that Jupiter’s mass had decreased some time in its past.

Rather than to first inflate the size of Jupiter and then shrink it back, a better scenario would be to shrink the estimated size of the destroyed planet. That is what the Sumerian texts have put forth. If Earth is the remaining half of Tiamal, then Tiamat was roughly twice the size of Earth, not ninety times. Studies of the asteroid belt reveal not only capture by Jupiter but a dispersion of the asteroids from their assumed original site at about 2.8 AU to a zone so wide that it occupies the space between 1.8 AU and 4 AU. Some asteroids are found between Jupiter and Saturn; a recently discovered one (2060 Chiron) is located between Saturn and Uranus at 13.6 AU. The smashup of the destroyed planet must have been, therefore, extremely forceful—as in a catastrophic collision.

In addition to the voids between groups of asteroids, astronomers discern gaps within the clusters of asteroids (Fig. 28). The latest theories hold that there had been asteroids in the gaps but they were ejected, all the way to outer space except for those that may have been captured on the way by the gravitational forces of the outer planets; also, the asteroids that used to be in the “gaps” were probably destroyed “by catastrophic collisions”! (McGraw-Hill Encyclopedia of Astronomy, 1983). In the absence of valid explanations for such ejections and catastrophic collisions, the only plausible theory is that offered by the Sumerian texts, which describe the orbit of Nibiru/Marduk as a vast, elliptical path that brings it periodically (every 3,600 Earth years, by my calculations) back into the asteroid belt. As Figures 10 and 11 show, the conclusion drawn from the ancient texts was that Nibiru/Marduk

passed by Tiamat on her outer, or Jupiter, side; repeated returns to that celestial zone can account for the size of the “gap” there. It is the periodic return of Nibiru/Marduk that causes the “ejecting” and “sweeping.”

By the acknowledgment of the existence of Nibiru and its periodic return to the Place of the Battle, the puzzle of the “missing matter” finds a solution. It also addresses the theories that place the accretions of mass by Jupiter at a relatively recent time (millions, not billions, of years ago). Depending on where Jupiter was at the times of Nibiru’s perihelion, the accretions might have occurred during various passages of Nibiru and not necessarily as a one-and-only event at the time of the cata- strophic breakup of Tiamat. Indeed, spectrographic studies of asteroids reveal that some of them “were heated within the first few hundred million years after the origin of the solar system” by heat so intense as to melt them; “iron sank to their centers, forming strong stony-iron cores, while basaltic lavas floated to their surface, producing minor planets like Vesta” (McGraw-Hill Encyclopedia of Astronomy). The suggested time of the catastrophe is the very time indicated in The 12th Planet—some 500 million years after the formation of the Solar System.

Recent scientific advances in astronomy and astrophysics go beyond corroborating the Sumerian cosmogony in regard to the celestial collision as the common origin of the comets and the asteroids, the site of that collision (where the remains of the asteroid belt still orbit), or even the time of the cata- strophic event (about 4 billion years ago). They also corro- borate the ancient texts in the vital matter of water.

The presence of water, the mingling of waters, the separation of waters—all somehow played an important role in the tale of Tiamat, Nibiru/Marduk, and the Celestial Battle and its aftermath. Part of the puzzle was already answered when we showed that the ancient notion of the asteroid belt as a divider of the waters “above” and the water “below” is corroborated by modern science. But there was more to this preoccupation with water. Tiamat was described as a “watery monster,” and the Mesopotamian texts speak of the handling of her waters by Nibiru/Marduk:

Half of her he stretched as a ceiling to be Sky,
As a bar at the Place of Crossing he posted it to guard;
Not to allow her waters to escape was its command.

The concept of an asteroid belt not only as a divider between the waters of the planets above and below it but also as a “guardian” of Tiamat’s own waters is echoed in the biblical verses of Genesis, where the explanation is given that the “Hammered-out bracelet” was also called Shama’im, the place “where the waters were.” References to the waters where the Celestial Battle and the creation of the Earth and the Shama’im took place are frequent in the Old Testament, indicating millennia-old familiarity with Sumerian cosmogony even at the time of the Prophets and Judean kings. An example is found in Psalm 104, which depicts the Creator as the Lord

Who has stretched out the Shama'im as a curtain, Who in the waters for His ascents put a ceiling.

These verses are almost a word-for-word copy of the verses in Enuma dish; in both instances, the placing of the asteroid belt “where the waters were” followed the earlier acts of the splitting up of Tiamat and having the invader’s “wind” thrust the half that became Earth into a new orbit. The waters of Earth would explain the whereabouts of some or most of Tia- mat’s waters. But what about the remains of her other part and of her satellites? If the asteroids and comets are those remains, should they not also contain water?

What would have been a preposterous suggestion when these objects were deemed “chunks of debris” and “flying sand- banks” has turned out, as the result of recent discoveries, to be not so preposterous: the asteroids are celestial objects in which water—yes, water—is a major component.

Most asteroids belong to two classes. About 15 percent be- long to the S type, which have reddish surfaces made up of silicates and metallic iron. About 15 percent are of the C type: they are carbonaceous (containing carbon), and it is these that have been found to contain water. The water discovered in such asteroids (through spectrographic studies) is not in liquid form; since asteroids have no atmospheres, any water on their

surface would quickly dissipate. But the presence of water molecules in the surface materials indicates that the minerals that make up the asteroid have captured water and combined with it. Direct confirmation of this finding was observed in August 1982, when a small asteroid that came too close to Earth plunged into the Earth’s atmosphere and disintegrated; it was seen as “a rainbow with a long tail going across the sky.” A rainbow appears when sunlight falls on a collection of water drops, such as rain, fog, or spray.

When the asteroid is more like what its name originally implied, “minor planet,” actual water in liquid form could well be present. Examination of the infrared spectrum of the largest and first-to-be-discovered asteroid Ceres shows an extra dip in the spectral readings that is the result of free water rather than water bound to minerals. Since free water even on Ceres will quickly evaporate, the astronomers surmise that Ceres must have a constant source of water welling up from its in- terior. “If that source has been there throughout the career of Ceres,” wrote the British astronomer Jack Meadows (Space Garbage—Cornels, Meteors and Other Solar-System Debris), “then it must have started life as a very wet lump of rock.” He pointed out that carbonaceous meteorites also “show signs of having been extensively affected by water in times past.”

The celestial body designated 2060 Chiron, interesting in many ways, also confirms the presence of water in the remnants of the Celestial Battle. When Charles Kowal of the Hale Observatories on Mount Palomar, California, discovered it in November 1977, he was not certain what it was. He simply referred to it as a planetoid, named it temporarily “O-K” for “Object Kowal,” and opined that it might be a wayward satellite of either Saturn or Uranus. Several weeks of follow-up studies revealed an orbit much more elliptical than that of planets or planetoids, one closer to that of comets. By 1981 the object was determined to be an asteroid, perhaps one of others to be found reaching as far out as Uranus, Neptune or beyond, and was given the designation 2060 Chiron. However, by 1989, further observations by astronomers at Kitt Peak National Observatory (Arizona) detected an extended atmo- sphere of carbon dioxide and dust around Chiron, suggesting that it is more cometlike. The latest observations have also established that Chiron “is essentially a dirty snowball com- posed of water, dust and carbon-dioxide ice.”

If Chiron proves to be more a comet than an asteroid, it will only serve as further evidence that both classes of these rem- nants of the Genesis event contain water.

When a comet is far away from the Sun, it is a dark and invisible object. As it nears the Sun, the Sun’s radiation brings the comet’s nucleus to life. It develops a gaseous head (the coma) and then a tail made up of gases and dust ejected by the nucleus as it heats up. It is the observation of these emis- sions that has by and large confirmed Whipple’s view of comets as “dirty snowballs,” first by determining that the onset of activity in comets as the nucleus begins to heat up is consistent with the thermodynamic properties of water ice, and then by spectroscopic analysis of the gaseous emissions, which have invariably shown the presence of the compound H2O (i.e., water).

The presence of water in comets has been definitely estab- lished in recent years through enhanced examination of arriving comets. Comet Kohoutek (1974) was studied not only from Earth but also with rockets, from orbiting manned spacecraft (Skylab), and from the Mariner 10 spacecraft that was on its way to Venus and Mercury. The findings, it was reported at the time, provided “the first direct proof of water” in a comet. “The water finding, as well as that of two complex molecules in the comet’s tail, are the most significant to date,” stated Stephen P. Moran, who directed the scientific project for NASA. And all scientists concurred with the evaluation by astrophysicists at the Max Planck Institute for Physics and Astrophysics in Munich that was seen were “the oldest and essentially unchanged specimens of the material from the birth of the Solar System.”

Subsequent cometary observations confirmed these findings. However, none of those studies, accomplished with a variety of instruments, match the intensity with which Halley’s comet was probed in 1986. The Halley findings established unequivocally that the comet was a watery celestial body.

Apart from several only partly successful efforts by the United States to examine the comet from a distance, Halley’s comet was met by a virtual international welcoming flotilla of

five spacecraft, all unmanned. The Soviets directed to a Comet Halley rendezvous Vega 1 and Vega 2 (Fig. 29a), the Japanese sent the spacecraft Sakigake and Suisei, and the European Space Agency launched Giotto (Fig. 29b)—so named in honor of the Florentine master painter Giotto di Bondone (fourteenth century), who was so enchanted by Halley’s comet when it appeared in his time that he included it, streaking across the sky, in his famous fresco Adoration of the Magi, suggesting that this comet was the Star of Bethlehem in the tale of the birth of Christ (Fig. 30).

As intensive observations began when Halley’s comet developed its coma and tail in November 1985, astronomers at the Kitt Peak Observatory tracking the comet with telescopes reported it was certain “that the comet’s dominant constituent is water ice, and that much of the tenuous 360,000-mile-wide cloud surrounding it consisted of water vapor.” A statement by Susan Wyckoff of Arizona State University claimed that

“this was the first strong evidence that water ice was prevalent.” These telescopic observations were augmented in January 1986 by infrared observations from high-altitude aircraft, whereupon a team made up of NASA scientists and astronomers from several American universities announced “direct confirmation that water was a major constituent of Halley’s comet.”

By January 1986, Halley’s comet had developed an immense tail and a halo of hydrogen gas that measured 12.5 million miles across—fifteen times bigger than the diameter of the Sun. It was then that NASA’s engineers commanded the space- craft Pioneer-Venus (which was orbiting Venus) to turn its instruments toward the nearing comet (at its perihelion Halley’s passed between Venus and Mercury). The spacecraft’s spectrometer, which “sees” the atoms of its subject, revealed that “the comet was losing 12 tons of water per second.” As it neared perihelion on March 6, 1986, Ian Stewart, the director of NASA’s Halley’s project at the Ames Research Center, reported that the rate of water loss “increased enormously,” first to 30 tons a second and then to 70 tons a second; he assured the press, however, that even at this rate Halley’s comet had “enough water ice to last thousands of more orbits.”

The close encounters with Halley’s comet began on March 6, 1986, when Vega 1 plunged through Halley’s radiant at- mosphere and, from a distance of less than 6,000 miles, sent the first-ever pictures of its icy core. The press dutifully noted that what Mankind was seeing was the nucleus of a celestial body that had evolved when the Solar System began. On March 9, Vega 2 flew within 5,200 miles of Halley’s nucleus and confirmed the findings of Vega 1. The spacecraft also revealed that the comet’s “dust” contained chunks of solid matter, some boulder size, and that this heavier crust or layer enveloped a nucleus where the temperature—almost 90 million miles from the Sun—was a hot 85 degrees Fahrenheit.

The two Japanese spacecraft, designed to study the effect of the solar wind on the comet’s tail and the comet’s huge hydrogen cloud, were targeted to pass at substantial distances from Halley’s. But Giotto’s mission was to meet the comet virtually head-on, swooping at an immense encounter speed within 300 mites from the comet’s core. On March 14 (European time), Giotto streaked past the heart of Halley’s comet and revealed a “mysterious nucleus,” its color blacker than coal, its size bigger than had been thought (about half the size of Manhattan Island). The shape of the nucleus was rough and irregular (Fig. 31), some describing it as “two peas in a pod” and some as an irregularly shaped “potato.” From the nucleus five main jets were emitting streams of dust and 80 percent water vapor, indicating that within the carbonaceous crust the comet contained “melted ice”—liquid water.

The first comprehensive review of the results of all these close-up observations was published in Nature’s special sup- plement of 15-21 May, 1986. In the series of very detailed reports, the Soviet team confirmed the first findings that water (H2O) is the comet’s major component, followed by carbon and hydrogen compounds. The Giotto report stated repeatedly that “H2O is the dominant parent molecule in Halley’s coma,” and that “water vapor accounts for about 80% of the volume of gases escaping from the comet.” These preliminary con- clusions were reaffirmed in October 1986, at an international

conference in Heidelberg, West Germany. And in December 1986, scientists at the John Hopkins University announced that evaluation of data collected in March 1986 by the small Earth- orbiting satellite IUE (International Ultraviolet Explorer) re- vealed an explosion on Hailey’s Comet that blew 100 cubic feet of ice out of the comet’s nucleus.

There was water everywhere on these Messengers of Genesis!

Studies have shown that comets coming in from the cold “come to life” as they reach a distance of between 3 to 2.5

AU, and that water is the first substance to unfreeze there. Little significance has been given to the fact that this distance from the Sun is the zone of the asteroid belt, and one must wonder whether it is there that comets come to life because it is where they were born—whether water comes to life there because there is where it had been, on Tiamat and her watery host

In the discoveries concerning the comets and the asteroids, something else came to life: the ancient knowledge of Sumer.

CELESTIAL “SEEING EYES”

When the Anunnaki’s Mission Earth reached its full com- plement, there were six hundred of them on Earth, while three hundred remained in orbit, servicing the shuttle craft. The Sumerian term for the latter was IGI.GI, literally “Those who observe and see.”

Archaeologists have found in Mesopotamia many objects they call “eye idols” (a), as well as shrines dedicated to these “gods” (b). Texts refer to devices used by the An- unnaki to “scan the Earth from end to end.” These texts and depictions imply the use by the Anunnaki of Earth- orbiting, celestial “seeing eyes”—satellites that “observe and see.”

Perhaps it is no coincidence that some of the Earth-scanning, and especially fixed-position communications satellites launched in our own modern times, such as Intelsat- IV and Intelsat IV-A (c, d), look so much like these millennia-old depictions.

5 GAIA: THE CLEAVED PLANET

Why do we call our planet “Earth”?

In German it is Erde, from Erda in Old High German; Jordh in Icelandic, Jord in Danish. Erthe in Middle English, Airtha in Gothic; and going eastward geographically and backward in time, Ereds or Aratha in Aramaic, Erd or Ertz in Kurdish, Eretz in Hebrew. The sea we nowadays call the Arabian Sea, the body of water that leads to the Persian Gulf, was called in antiquity the Sea of Erythrea; and to this day, ordu means an encampment or settlement in Persian. Why?

The answer lies in the Sumerian texts that relate the arrival of the first group of Anunnaki/Nefilim on Earth. There were fifty of them, under the leadership of E.A (“Whose Home is Water”), a great scientist and the Firstborn son of the ruler of Nibiru, ANU. They splashed down in the Arabian Sea and waded ashore to the edge of the marshlands that, after the climate warmed up, became the Persian Gulf (Fig. 32). And at the head of the marshlands they established their first set- tlement on a new planet; it was called by them E.RI.DU— “Home In the Faraway”—a most appropriate name.

And so it was that in time the whole settled planet came to be called after that first settlement—Erde, Erthe, Earth. To this day, whenever we call our planet by its name, we invoke the memory of that first settlement on Earth; unknowingly, we remember Eridu and honor the first group of Anunnaki who established it.

The Sumerian scientific or technical term for Earth’s globe and its firm surface was KI. Pictographically it was represented as a somewhat flattened orb (Fig. 33a) crossed by vertical lines not unlike modern depictions of meridians (Fig. 33b). Since Earth does indeed bulge somewhat at its equator, the Sumerian

representation is more correct scientifically than the usual modern way of depicting Earth as a perfect globe. . . .

After Ea had completed the establishment of the first five of the seven original settlements of the Anunnaki, he was given the title/epithet EN.KI, “Lord of Earth.” But the term KI, as a root or verb, was applied to the planet called “Earth” for a reason. It conveyed the meaning “to cut off, to sever, to hollow out.” Its derivatives illustrate the concept: KI.LA meant “ex- cavation,” KI.MAH “tomb,” KI.IN.DAR ”crevice, fissure.” In Sumerian astronomical texts the term KI was prefixed with the determinative MUL (“celestial body”). And thus when they spoke of mul.KI, they conveyed the meaning, “the ce- lestial body that had been cleaved apart.”

By calling Earth KI, the Sumerians thus invoked their cos- mogony—the tale of the Celestial Battle and the cleaving of Tiamat.

Unaware of its origin we continue to apply this descriptive epithet to our planet to this very day. The intriguing fact is that over time (the Sumerian civilization was two thousand years old by the time Babylon arose) the pronunciation of the term ki changed to gi, or sometimes ge. It was so carried into the Akkadian and its linguistic branches (Babylonian, Assyr- ian, Hebrew), at all times retaining its geographic or topo- graphic connotation as a cleavage, a ravine, a deep valley. Thus the biblical term that through Greek translations of the Bible is read Gehenna stems from the Hebrew Gai-Hinnom, the crevicelike narrow ravine outside Jerusalem named after Hinnom, where divine retribution shall befall the sinners via an erupting subterranean fire on Judgment Day.

We have been taught in school that the component geo in all the scientific terms applied to Earth sciences—geo-graphy, goo-metry, geo-logy, and so on—comes from the Greek Gaia (or Gaea), their name for the goddess of Earth. We were not taught where the Greeks picked up this term or what its real meaning was. The answer is, from the Sumerian KI or GI.

Scholars agree that the Greek notions of primordial events and of the gods were borrowed from the Near East, through Asia Minor (at whose western edge early Greek settlements like Troy were located) and via the island of Crete in the eastern Mediterranean. According to Greek tradition Zeus, who was

the chief god of the twelve Olympians, arrived on the Greek mainland via Crete, whence he had fled after abducting the beautiful Europa, daughter of the Phoenician king of Tyre. Aphrodite arrived from the Near East via the island of Cyprus. Poseidon (whom the Romans called Neptune) came on horse- back via Asia Minor, and Athena brought the olive to Greece from the lands of the Bible. There is no doubt that the Greek alphabet developed from a Near Eastern one (Fig. 34). Cyrus H. Gordon (Forgotten Scripts: Evidence for the Minoan Lan- guage and other works) deciphered the enigmatic Cretan script known as Linear A by showing that it represented a Semitic, Near Eastern language. With the Near Eastern gods and the terminology came also the “myths” and legends.

The earliest Greek writings concerning antiquity and the affairs of gods and men were the Iliad, by Homer; the Odes of Pindar of Thebes; and above all the Theogony (“Divine Genealogy”) by Hesiod, who composed this work and another (Works and Days). In the eighth century B.C., Hesiod began the divine tale of events that ultimately led to the supremacy of Zeus—a story of passions, rivalries, and struggles covered in The Wars of Gods and Men, third book of my series The Earth Chronicles—and the creation of the celestial gods, of Heaven and Earth out of Chaos, a tale not unlike the biblical Beginning:

Verily, at first Chaos came to be, and next the wide-bosomed Gaia—
she who created all the immortal ones
who hold the peaks of snowy Olympus:
Dim Tartarus, wide-pathed in the depths,
and Eros, fairest among the divine immortals. . . .
From Chaos came forth Erebus and black Nyx;
And of Nyx were born Aether and Hemera.

At this point in the process of the formation of the “divine immortals”—the celestial gods—”Heaven” does not yet ex- ist, just as the Mesopotamian sources recounted. Accordingly, the “Gaia” of these verses is the equivalent of Tiamat, “she who bore them all” according to the Enuma elish. Hesiod lists the celestial gods who followed “Chaos” and “Gaia” in three pairs (Tartarus and Eros, Erebus and Nyx, Aether and Hemera). The parallel with the creation of the three pairs in Sumerian cosmogony (nowadays named Venus and Mars, Saturn and Jupiter, Uranus and Neptune) should be obvious (though this comparability seems to have gone unnoticed).

Only after the creation of the principal planets that made up the Solar System when Nibiru appeared to invade it does the tale by Hesiod—as in the Mesopotamian and biblical texts— speak of the creation of Ouranos, “Heaven.” As explained in the Book of Genesis, this Shama’im was the Hammered-Out- Bracelet, the asteroid belt. As related in the Enuma elish, this was the half of Tiamat that was smashed to pieces, while the other, intact half became Earth. All this is echoed in the ensuing verses of Hesiod’s Theogony:

And Gaia then bore starry Ouranos
—equal to herself—
to envelop her on every side,
to be an everlasting abode place for the gods.

Equally split up. Gaia ceased to be Tiamat. Severed from the smashed-up half that became the Firmament, everlasting abode of the asteroids and comets, the intact half (thrust into another orbit) became Gaia, the Earth. And so did this planet, first as Tiamat and then as Earth, live up to its epithets: Gaia, Gi, Ki—the Cleaved One.

How did the Cleaved Planet look in the aftermath of the Celestial Battle, now orbiting as Gaia/ Earth? On one side there were the firm lands that had formed the crust of Tiamat; on the other side there was a hollow, an immense cleft into which the waters of the erstwhile Tiamat must have poured. As Hesiod put it, Gaia (now the half equivalent to Heaven) on one side “brought forth long hills, graceful haunts of the goddess- Nymphs”; and on the other side “she bare Pontus, the fruitless deep with its raging swell.'”

This is the same picture of the cleaved planet provided by the Book of Genesis:

And Elohim said,
"Let the waters under the heaven be gathered together into one place, and let the dry land appear."
And it was so.
And Elohim called the dry land "Earth,"
and the gathered-together water He called "Seas."

Earth, the new Gaia, was taking shape.

Three thousand years separated Hesiod from the time when the Sumerian civilization had blossomed out; and it is clear that throughout those millennia ancient peoples, including the authors or compilers of the Book of Genesis, accepted the Sumerian cosmogony. Called nowadays “myth,” “legend,” or “religious beliefs,” in those previous millennia it was science—knowledge, the Sumerians asserted, bestowed by the Anunnaki.

According to that ancient knowledge, Earth was not an original member of the Solar System. It was the cleaved-off half of a planet then called Tiamat, “she who bore them all.” The Celestial Battle that led to the creation of Earth occurred several hundred million years after the Solar System with its planets had been created. Earth, as a part of Tiamat, retained much of the water that Tiamat, “the watery monster,” was known for. As Earth evolved into an independent planet and attained the shape of a globe dictated by the forces of gravity, the waters were gathered into the immense cavity on the torn-off side, and dry land appeared on the other side of the planet This, in summary, is what the ancient peoples firmly believed. What does modern science have to say?

The theories concerning planetary formation hold that they started as balls congealing from the gaseous disk extending from the Sun. As they cooled, heavier matter—iron, in Earth’s case—sank into their centers, forming a solid inner core. A less solid, plastic, or even fluid outer core surrounded the inner one; in Earth’s case, it is believed to consist of molten iron. The two cores and their motions act as a dynamo, producing the planet’s magnetic field. Surrounding the solid and fluid cores is a mantle made of rocks and minerals; on Earth it is estimated to be some 1,800 miles thick. While the fluidity and heat generated at the planet’s core (some 12,000 degrees Fahrenheit in the Earth’s center) affect the mantle and what is on top of it, it is the uppermost 400 miles or so of the mantle (on Earth) that mostly account for what we see on the surface of the planet—its cooled crust.

The processes that produce, over billions of years, a spher- ical orb—the uniform force of gravity and the planet’s rotation around its axis—should also result in an orderly layering. The solid inner core, the flexible or fluid outer core, the thick lower mantle of silicates, the upper mantle of rocks, and the upper- most crust should encompass one another in ordered layers,

like the skin of an onion. This holds true for the orb called Earth (Fig. 35)—but only up to a point; the main abnormalities concern Earth’s uppermost layer, the crust.

Ever since the extensive probes of the Moon and Mars in the 1960s and 1970s, geophysicists have been puzzled by the paucity of the Earth’s crust. The crusts of the Moon and of Mars comprise 10 percent of their masses, but the Earth’s crust comprises less than one half of 1 percent of the Earth’s land- mass. In 1988, geophysicists from Caltech and the University of Illinois at Urbana, led by Don Anderson, reported to the American Geological Society meeting in Denver, Colorado, that they had found the “missing crust.” By analyzing shock waves from earthquakes, they concluded that material that be- longs in the crust has sunk down and lies some 250 miles below the Earth’s surface. There is enough crustal material there, these scientists estimated, to increase the thickness of the Earth’s crust tenfold. But even so, it would have given Earth a crust comprising no more than about 4 percent of its land-mass—still only about half of what seems to be the norm (judging by the Moon and Mars); half of the Earth’s crust will still be missing even if the findings by this group prove correct. The theory also leaves unanswered the question of what force caused the crustal material, which is lighter than the mantle’s material, to “dive”—in the words of the report—hundreds of miles into the Earth’s interior. The team’s suggestion was that the crustal material down there consists of “huge slabs of crust” that “dived into the Earth’s interior” where fissures exist in the crust. But what force had broken up the crust into such “huge slabs”?

Another abnormality of the Earth’s crust is that it is not uniform. In the parts we call “continents,” its thickness varies from about 12 miles to almost 45 miles; but in the parts taken up by the oceans the crust is only 3.5 to five miles thick. While the average elevation of the continents is about 2,300 feet, the average depth of the oceans is more than 12,500 feet. The combined result of these factors is that the much thicker con- tinental crust reaches much farther down into the mantle, whereas the oceanic crust is just a thin layer of solidified ma- terial and sediments (Fig. 36).

There are other differences between the Earth’s crust where the continents are and where the oceans are. The composition of the continental crust, consisting in large part of rocks resembling granite, is relatively light in comparison with the composition of the mantle: the average continental density is 2.7-2.8 grams per cubic centimeter, while that of the mantle is 3.3 grams per cubic centimeter. The oceanic crust is heavier and denser than the continental crust, averaging a density of 3.0 to 3.1 grams per cubic centimeter; it is thus more akin to the mantle, with its composition of basaltic and other dense rocks, than to the continental crust. It is noteworthy that the “missing crust” the scientific team mentioned above suggested had dived into the mantle is similar in composition to the oceanic crust, not to the continental crust.

This leads to one more important difference between the Earth’s continental and oceanic crusts. The continental part of the crust is not only lighter and thicker, it is also much older than the oceanic part of the crust. By the end of the 1970s the consensus among scientists was that the greater part of today’s continental surface was formed some 2.8 billion years ago. Evidence of a continental crust from that time that was about as thick as today’s is found in all the continents in what geologists term Archean Shield areas; but within those areas, crustal rocks were discovered that turned out to be 3.8 billion years old. In 1983, however, geologists of the Australian National University found, in western Australia, rock remains of a continental crust whose age was established to be 4.1 to 4.2 billion years old. In 1989, tests with new, sophisticated methods on rock samples collected a few years earlier in northern Canada (by researchers from Washington University in St. Louis and from the Geological Survey of Canada) determined the rocks’ age to be 3.96 billion years; Samuel Bowering of Washington University reported evidence that nearby rocks in the area were as much as 4.1 billion years old.

Scientists are still hard put to explain the gap of about 500 million years between the age of the Earth (which meteor fragments, such as those found at Meteor Crater in Arizona, show to be 4.6 billion years) and the age of the oldest rocks thus far found; but no matter what the explanation, the fact that Earth had its continental crust at least 4 billion years ago is by now undisputed. On the other hand, no part of the oceanic crust has been found to be more than 200 million years old.

This is a tremendous difference that no amount of speculation about rising and sinking continents, forming and vanishing seas can explain. Someone has compared the Earth’s crust to the skin of an apple. Where the oceans are, the “skin” is fresh— relatively speaking, born yesterday. Where the oceans began in primordial times, the “skin,” and a good part of the “apple” itself, appear to have been shorn off.

The differences between the continental and oceanic crusts must have been even greater in earlier times, because the continental crust is constantly eroded by the forces of nature, and a good deal of the eroded solids are carried into the oceanic basins, increasing the thickness of the oceanic crust. Furthermore, the oceanic crust is constantly enhanced by the upwelling of molten basaltic rocks and silicates that flow up from the mantle through faults in the sea floor. This process, which puts down ever-new layers of oceanic crust, has been going on for 200 million years, giving the oceanic crust its present form. What was there at the bottom of the seas before then? Was there no crust at all, just a gaping “wound” in the Earth’s surface? And is the ongoing oceanic crust formation akin to the process of blood clotting, where the skin is pierced and wounded?

Is Gaia—a living planet—trying to heal her wounds?

The most obvious place on the surface of the Earth where it was so “wounded” is the Pacific Ocean. While the average plunge in the crust’s surface in its oceanic parts is about 2.5 miles, in the Pacific the crust has been gouged out to a present depth reaching at some points 7 miles. If we could remove from the Pacific’s floor the crust built up there over the last 200 million years, we would arrive at depths reaching 12 miles below the water’s surface and between some 20 to nearly 60 miles below the continental surface. This is quite a cavity. . . .

How deep was it before the crustal buildup over the past 200 million years—how large was the “wound” 500 million years ago, a billion years ago, 4 billion years ago? No one can even guess, except to say that it was substantially deeper.

What can be said with certainty is that the extent of the gouging was more extensive, affecting a vastly greater part of the planet’s surface. The Pacific Ocean at present occupies about a third of Earth’s surface; but (as far as can be ascertained for the past 200 million years) it has been shrinking. The reason for the shrinkage is that the continents flanking it—the Americas on the east, Asia and Australia on the west—are moving closer to each other, squeezing out the Pacific slowly but relentlessly, reducing its size inch by inch year by year.

The science and explanations dealing with this process have come to be known as the Theory of Plate Tectonics. Its origin lies, as in the study of the Solar System, in the discarding of notions of a uniform, stable, permanent condition of the planets in favor of the recognition of catastrophism, change, and even evolution—concerning not only flora and fauna but the globes on which they evolved as “living” entities that can grow and shrink, prosper and suffer, even be born and die.

The new science of plate tectonics, it is now generally recognized, owes its beginning to Alfred Wegener, a German meteorologist, and his book Die Entstehung der Kontinente und Ozeane, published in 1915. As it was for others before him, his starting point was the obvious “fit” between the contours of the continents on both sides of the southern Atlantic. But before Wegener’s ideas, the solution had been to postulate the disappearance, by sinking, of continents or land bridges: the belief that the continents have been where they are from time immemorial, but that a midsection sank below sea level, giving the appearance of continental separation. Augmenting available data on flora and fauna with considerable geological “matches” between the two sides of the Atlantic, Wegener came up with the notion of Pangaea—a supercontinent, a single huge landmass into which he could fit all the present continental masses like pieces in a jigsaw puzzle. Pangaea, which covered about one half of the globe, Wegener suggested, was surrounded by the primeval Pacific Ocean. Floating in the midst of the waters like an ice floe, the single landmass underwent a series of liftings and healings until a definite and final breakup in the Mesozoic Era, the geological period that lasted from 225 to 65 million years ago. Gradually the pieces began to drift apart. Antarctica, Australia, India, and Africa began to break away and separate (Fig. 37a). Subsequently, Africa and South America split apart (Fig. 37b) as North America began to move away from Europe and India was thrust toward Asia (Fig. 37c); and so the continents continued to drift until they rearranged themselves in the pattern we know today (Fig. 37d).

The split-up of Pangaea into several separate continents was accompanied by the opening up and closing down of bodies of water between the separating pieces of the landmass. In time the single “Panocean” (if I may be allowed to coin a term) also separated into a series of connecting oceans or enclosed seas (such as the Mediterranean, Black, and Caspian seas), and such major bodies of water as the Atlantic and the Indian oceans took shape. But all these bodies of water were “pieces” of the original “Panocean,” of which the Pacific Ocean still remains.

Wegener’s view of the continents as “pieces of a cracked ice floe” shifting atop an impermanent surface of the Earth was mostly received with disdain, even ridicule, by the geologists and paleontologists of the time. It took half a century for the idea of Continental Drift to be accepted into the halls of science. What helped bring about the changed attitude were surveys of the ocean floors begun in the 1960s that revealed such features as the Mid-Atlantic Ridge that, it was surmised, was formed by the rise of molten rock (called “magma”) from the Earth’s interior. Welling up, in the case of the Atlantic, through a fissure in the ocean floor that runs almost the whole ocean’s length, the magma cooled and formed a ridge of basaltic rock. But then as one welling up followed another, the old sides of the ridge were pushed to either side to make way for the new magma flow. A major advance in these studies of the ocean floors took place with the aid of Seasat, an oceanographic satellite launched in June 1978 that orbited the Earth for three months; its data were used to map the sea floors, giving us an entirely new understanding of our oceans, with their ridges, rifts, seamounts, underwater volcanoes, and fracture zones. The discovery that as each upwelling of magma cooled and solidified it retained the magnetic direction of its position at that time was followed by the determination that a series of such magnetic lines, almost parallel to one another, provided a time scale as well as a directional map for the ongoing expansion of the ocean’s floor. This expansion of the sea floor in the Atlantic was a major factor in pushing apart Africa and South America and in the creation of the Atlantic Ocean (and its continuing widening).

Other forces, such as the gravitational pull of the Moon, the Earth’s rotation, and even movements of the underlying mantle, also are believed to act to split up the continental crust and shift the continents about. These forces also exert their influence, naturally, in the Pacific region. The Pacific Ocean revealed even more midocean ridges, fissures, underwater volcanoes, and other features like those that have worked to expand the Atlantic Ocean. Why, then, as all the evidence shows, have the landmasses flanking the Pacific not moved apart (as the continents flanking the Atlantic have done) but rather keep moving closer, slowly but surely, constantly re- ducing the size of the Pacific Ocean?

The explanation is found in a companion theory of continental drift, the Theory of Plate Tectonics. The continents, it has been postulated, rest upon giant movable “plates” of the Earth’s crust, and so do the oceans. When the continents drift, when oceans expand (as the Atlantic) or contract (as the Pacific), the underlying cause is the movement of the plates on which they ride. At present scientists recognize six major plates (some of which are further subdivided): the Pacific, American, Eurasian, African, Indo-Australian, and Antarctic (Fig. 38).

The spreading seafloor of the Atlantic Ocean is still distancing the Americas from Europe and Africa, inch by inch. The con- comitant shrinking of the Pacific Ocean is now recognized to be accommodated by the dipping, or “subduction,” of the Pacific plate under the American plate. This is the primary cause of the crustal shifts and earthquakes all along the Pacific rim, as well as of the rise of the major mountain chains along that rim. The collision of the Indian plate with the Eurasian one created the Himalayas and fused the Indian subcontinent to Asia. In 1985, Cornell University scientists discovered the “geological suture” where a part of the western African plate remained attached to the American plate when the two broke apart some fifty million years ago, “donating” Florida and southern Georgia to North America.

With some modifications, almost all scientists today accept Wegener’s hypothesis of an Earth initially consisting of a single landmass surrounded by an all-embracing ocean. Notwithstanding (geologically) the young age (200 million years) of the present seafloor, scholars recognize that there had been a primeval ocean on Earth whose traces can be found not in the newly covered depths of the oceans but on the continents. The Archean Shield zones, where the youngest rocks are 2.8 billion years old, contain belts of two kinds: one of greenstone, another of granite-gneiss. Writing in Scientific American of March, 1977, Stephen Moorbath (‘The Oldest Rocks and the Growth of Continents””) reported (hat geologists “believe that the greenstone belt rocks were deposited in a primitive oceanic environment and in effect represent ancient oceans, and that the granite-gneiss terrains may be remnants of ancient oceans.” Extensive rock records in virtually all the continents indicate that they were contiguous to oceans of water for more than three billion years; in some places, such as Zimbabwe in south- ern Africa, sedimentary rocks show that they accreted within large bodies of water some 3.5 billion years ago. And recent advances in scientific dating have extended the age of the Archean belts—those that include rocks that had been depos- ited in primeval oceans—back to 3.8 billion years (Scientific American, September, 1983; special issue: “The Dynamic Earth”).

How long has continental drift been going on? Was there a Pangaea?

Stephen Moorbath, in the above-mentioned study, offered the conclusion that the process of continental breakup began some 600 million years ago: “Before that there may have been just the one immense supercontinent known as Pangaea, or possibly two supercontinents: Laurasia to the north and Gondwanaland to the south.” Other scientists, using computer simulations, suggest that 550 million years ago the landmasses that eventually formed Pangaea or its two connected parts were no less separate than they are today, that plate-tectonic processes of one kind or another have been going on since at least about four billion years ago. But whether the mass of dry land was first a single supercontinent or separate landmasses that then joined, whether a superocean surrounded a single mass of dry land or bodies of water first stretched between several dry lands, is, in the words of Moorbath, like the chicken-and- the-egg argument: “Which came first, the continents or the oceans?”

Modern science thus confirms the scientific notions that were expressed in the ancient texts, but it cannot see far enough back to resolve the land mass/ocean sequence. If every modern scientific discovery seems to have corroborated this or that aspect of ancient knowledge, why not also accept the ancient answer in this instance: that the waters covered the face of the Earth and—on the third “day,” or phase—were “gathered into” one side of the Earth to reveal the dry land. Was the uncovered dry land made up of isolated continents or one supercontinent, a Pangaea? Although it really matters not as far as the corroboration of ancient knowledge is concerned, it is interesting to note that Greek notions of Earth, although they led to a belief that the Earth was disklike rather than a globe, envisioned it as a landmass with a solid foundation surrounded by waters. This notion must have drawn on earlier and more accurate knowledge, as most of Greek science did. We find that the Old Testament repeatedly referred to the “founda- tions” of Earth and expressed knowledge of the earlier times regarding the shape of Earth in the following verses praising the Creator:

The Lord's is the Earth and its entirety, the world and all that dwells therein. For He hath founded it upon the seas and established it upon the waters.
(Psalms 24:1-2)

However the Moon became a constant companion of Earth— the various theories will soon be examined—it, like Earth, belonged to the same Solar System, and the histories of both go back to its creation. On Earth, erosion caused by the forces of nature as well as by the life that has evolved on it has obliterated much of the evidence bearing on that creation, to say nothing of the cataclysmic event that changed and re- vamped the planet. But the Moon, so it was assumed, had remained in its pristine condition. With neither winds, atmosphere, nor waters, there were no forces of erosion. A look at the Moon was tantamount to a peek at Genesis. Man has peered at the Moon for eons, first with the naked eye, then with Earth-based instruments. The space age made it possible to probe the Moon more closely. Between 1959 and 1969, a number of Soviet and American unmanned spacecraft photographed and otherwise examined the Moon either by or- biting it or by landing on it. Then Man finally set foot on the

Moon when the landing module of Apollo 11 touched down on the Moon’s surface on July 20, 1969, and Neil Armstrong announced, for all the world to hear: “Houston! Tranquility Base here. The Eagle has landed!”

In all, six Apollo spacecraft set down a total of twelve astronauts on the Moon; the last manned mission was that of Apollo 17, in December 1972. The first one was admittedly intended primarily to “beat the Russians to the Moon”; but the missions became increasingly scientific as the Apollo pro- gram progressed. The equipment for the tests and experiments became more sophisticated, the choice of landing sites was more scientifically oriented, the areas covered increased with the aid of surface vehicles, and the length of stay increased from hours to days. Even the crew makeup changed, to include in the last mission a trained geologist, Harrison Schmitt; his expertise was invaluable in the on-the-spot selection of rocks and soil to be taken back to Earth, in the description and evaluation of dust and other lunar materials left behind, and in the choice and description of topographic features—hills, valleys, small canyons, escarpments, and giant boulders (Plate D)—without which the true face of the Moon would have remained inscrutable. Instruments were left on the Moon to measure and record its phenomena over long periods; deeper soil samples were obtained by drilling into the face of the Moon; but most scientifically precious and rewarding were the 838 pounds of lunar soil and Moon rocks brought back to Earth. Their examination, analysis, and study were still in progress as the twentieth anniversary of the first landing was being celebrated.

The notion of “Genesis rocks” to be found on the Moon was proposed to NASA by the Nobel laureate Harold Urey. The so-called Genesis rock that was one of the very first to be picked up on the Moon proved, as the Apollo program pro- gressed, not to be the oldest one. It was “only” some 4.1 billion years old, whereas the rocks later found on the Moon ranged from 3.3 billion-year-old “youngsters” to 4.5 billion- year “old-timers.” Barring a future discovery of somewhat older rocks, the oldest rocks found on the Moon have thus brought its age to within 100 million years of the estimated age of the Solar System—of 4,6 billion years—which until then was surmised only from the age of meteorites that struck the Earth.

The Moon, the lunar landings established, was a Witness to Genesis.

Establishing the age of the Moon, the time of its creation, intensified the debate concerning the question of how the Moon was created.

“The hope of establishing the Moon’s origin was a primary scientific rationale for the manned landings of the Apollo proj- ect in the 1960s,” James Gleick wrote in June 1986 for The New York Times Science Service. It was, however, “the great question that Apollo failed to answer.”

How could modern science read an uneroded “Rosetta stone” of the Solar System, so close by, so much studied, landed upon six times—and not come up with an answer to the basic question? The answer to the puzzle seems to be that the findings were applied to a set of preconceived notions; and because none of these notions is correct, the findings appear to leave the question unanswered.

One of the earliest scientific theories regarding the Moon’s origin was published in 1879 by Sir George H. Darwin, second son of Charles Darwin. Whereas his father put forth the theory regarding the origin of species on Earth, Sir George was the first to develop a theory of origins for the Sun-Earth-Moon system based on mathematical analysis and geophysical theory. His specialty was the study of tides; he therefore conceived of the Moon as having been formed from matter pulled off Earth by solar tides. The Pacific basin was later postulated to be the scar that remained after this “pinching off” of part of Earth’ s body to form the Moon.

Although, as the Encyclopaedia Britannica puts it so mildly, it is “a hypothesis now considered unlikely to be true,” the idea reappeared in the twentieth century as one of three contenders for being proved or disproved by the lunar findings. Given a high-tech name, the Fission Theory, it was revived with a difference. In the reconstructed theory, the simplistic idea of the tidal pull of the Sun was dropped; instead it was proposed that the Earth divided into two bodies while spinning very rapidly during its formation. The spinning was so rapid that a chunk of the material of which the Earth was forming was thrown off, coalesced at some distance from the bulk of the Earthly matter, and eventually remained orbiting its bigger twin brother as its permanent satellite (Fig. 39).

The “thrown-off chunk” theory, whether in its earlier or renewed form, has been conclusively rejected by scientists from various disciplines. Studies presented at the third Conference on the Origins of Life (held in Pacific Palisades, California, in 1970) established that tidal forces as the cause of the fission could not account for the origin of the Moon beyond a distance of five Earth radii, whereas the Moon is some 60 Earth radii away from the Earth. Also, scientists consider a

study by Kurt S. Hansen in 1982 (Review of Geophysics and Space Physics, vol. 20) as showing conclusively that the Moon could never have been closer to Earth than 140,000 miles; this would rule out any theory that the Moon was once part of Earth (the Moon is now an average distance of about 240,000 miles from Earth, but this distance has not been constant).

Proponents of the Fission Theory have offered various var- iants thereof in order to overcome the distance problem, which is further constrained by a concept termed the Roche limit (the distance within which the tidal forces overcome the gravita- tional force). But all variants of the fission theory have been rejected because they violate the laws of the preservation of energy. The theory requires much more angular momentum than has been preserved in the energy that exists to spin the Earth and the Moon around their axes and to orbit around the Sun. Writing in the book Origin of (he Moon (1986), John A. Wood of the Harvard-Smithsonian Center for Astrophysics (” ‘A Review of Hypotheses of Formation of Earth’s Moon”) summed up this constraint thus: “The fission model has very severe dynamic problems: In order to fission, the Earth had to have about four times as much angular momentum as the Earth- Moon system now has. There is no good explanation why the Earth had such an excess of angular momentum in the first place, or where the surplus angular momentum went after fis- sion occurred.”

The knowledge about the Moon acquired from the Apollo program has added geologists and chemists to the lineup of scientists rejecting the fission theory. The Moon’s composition is in many respects similar to that of Earth, yet different in key respects. There is sufficient “kinship” to indicate they are very close relatives, but there are enough differences to show they are not twin brothers. This is especially true of the Earth’s crust and mantle, from which the Moon had to be formed, according to the fission theory. Thus, for example, the Moon has too little of the elements called “siderophile,” such as tungsten, phosphorus, cobalt, molybdenum, and nickel, com- pared with the amount of these substances present in the Earth’s mantle and crust; and too much of the “refractory” elements such as aluminum, calcium, titanium, and uranium. In a highly technical summary of the various findings (“The Origin of the Moon,” American Scientist, September-October 1975), Stuart R. Taylor stated: “For all these reasons, it is difficult to match the composition of the bulk of the Moon to that of the terrestrial mantle.”

The book Origin of the Moon, apart from its introductions and summaries (such as the above-mentioned article by J. A. Wood), is a collection of papers presented by sixty-two sci- entists at the Conference on the Origin of the Moon held at Kona, Hawaii, in October 1984—the most comprehensive since the conference twenty years earlier that had mapped out the scientific goals of the unmanned and manned Moon probes. In their papers, the contributing scientists, approaching the problem from various disciplines, invariably reached conclu- sions against the fission theory. Comparisons of the compo- sition of the upper mantle of the Earth with that of the Moon, Michael J. Drake of the University of Arizona stated, “rig- orously exclude” the Rotational Fission hypothesis.

The laws of angular momentum plus the comparisons of the composition of the Moon with that of Earth’s mantle also ruled out, after the landings on the Moon, the second favored theory, that of Capture. According to this theory, the Moon was formed not near the Earth but among the outer planets or even beyond them. Somehow thrown off into a vast elliptical orbit around the Sun, it passed loo closely to the Earth, was caught by the Earth’s gravitational force, and became Earth’s satellite.

This theory, it was pointed out after numerous computer studies, required an extremely slow approach by the Moon toward the Earth. This capture process not unlike that of the satellites we have sent to be captured and remain in orbit around Mars or Venus, fails to take into account the relative sizes of Earth and Moon. Relative to the Earth, the Moon (about one- eightieth the mass of Earth) is much too large to have been snared from a vast elliptical orbit unless it was moving very slowly; but then, all the calculations have shown, the result would be not a capture but a collision. This theory was further laid to rest by comparisons of the compositions of the two celestial bodies: the Moon was too similar to Earth and too dissimilar to the outer bodies to have been born so far away from Earth.

Extensive studies of the Capture Theory suggested that the Moon would have remained intact only if it had neared Earth, not from way out, but from the very same part of the heavens where Earth itself was formed. This conclusion was accepted even by S. Fred Singer of George Mason University—a proponent of the capture hypothesis—in his paper (“Origin of the Moon by Capture”) presented at the above-mentioned Con- ference on the Origin of the Moon. “Capture from an eccentric heliocentric orbit is neither feasible nor necessary,” he stated; the oddities in the Moon’s composition “can be explained in terms of a Moon formed in an Earthlike orbit”: the Moon was “captured” while forming near Earth.

These admissions by proponents of the fission and the capture theories lent support to the third main theory that was previously current, that of Coaccretion, a common birth. This theory has its roots in the hypothesis proposed at the end of the eighteenth century by Pierre-Simon de Laplace, who said that the Solar System was born of a nebular gas cloud that coalesced in time to form the Sun and the planets—a hypothesis that has been retained by modern science. Showing that lunar accelerations are dependent on eccentricities in the Earth’s orbit, Laplace concluded that the two bodies were formed side by side, first the Earth and then the Moon. The Earth and the Moon, he suggested, were sister planets, partners in a binary, or two-planet, system, in which they orbit the Sun together while one “dances” around the other.

That natural satellites, or moons, coalesce from the remain- der of the same primordial matter of which their parent planet was formed is now the generally accepted theory of how planets acquired moons and should also apply to Earth and the Moon. As has been found by the Pioneer and Voyager spacecraft, the moons of the outer planets—that had to be formed, by and large, out of the same primordial material as their “parents”— are both sufficiently akin to their parent planets and at the same time reveal individual characteristics as “children” do; this might well be true also for the basic similarities and sufficient dissimilarities between the Earth and the Moon.

What nevertheless makes scientists reject this theory when it is applied to the Earth and the Moon is their relative sizes. The Moon is simply too large relative to the Earth—not only about one-eightieth of its mass but about one quarter of its diameter. This relationship is out of all proportion to what has been found elsewhere in the Solar System. When the mass of all the moons of each planet (excluding Pluto) is given as a ratio of the planet’s mass, the result is as follows:

A comparison of the relative sizes of the largest moon of each of the other planets with the size of the Moon relative to Earth (Fig. 40) also clearly shows the anomaly. One result of this disproportion is that there is too much angular momentum in the combined Earth-Moon system to support the Binary Planets hypothesis.

With all three basic theories unable to meet some of the required criteria, one may end up wondering how Earth ended up with its satellite at all… Such a conclusion, in fact, does

not bother some; they point to the fact that none of the terrestrial planets (other than Earth) have satellites: the two tiny bodies that orbit Mars are, all are agreed, captured asteroids. If con- ditions in the Solar System were such that none of the planets formed between the Sun and Mars (inclusive) obtained satel- lites in any one of the considered methods—Fission, Capture, Coaccretion—should not Earth, too, being within this moon- less zone, have been without a moon? But the fact remains that Earth as we know it and where we know it does have a moon, and an extremely large one (in proportion) to boot. So how to account tor that?

Another finding of the Apollo program also stands in the way of accepting the coaccretion theory. The Moon’s surface as well as its mineral content suggest a “magma ocean” created by partial melting of the Moon’s interior. For that, a source of heat great enough to melt the magma is called for. Such heat can result only from cataclysmic or catastrophic event; in the coaccretion scenario no such heat is produced. How then explain the magma ocean and other evidence on the Moon of a cataclysmic heating?

The need for a birth of the Moon with the right amount of angular momentum and a cataclysmic, heat-producing event led to a post-Apollo program hypothesis that has been dubbed the Big Whack Theory. It developed from the suggestion by William Hartmann, a geochemist at the Planetary Science In- stitute in Tucson, Arizona, and his colleague Donald R. Davis in 1975 that collisions and impacts played a role in the creation of the Moon (“Satellite-sized Planetesimals and Lunar Ori- gin,” Icarus, vol. 24). According to their calculations, the rate at which planets were bombarded by small and large asteroids during the late stages of the planets’ formation was much higher than at present; some of the asteroids were big enough to deliver a blow that could chip off parts of the planet they hit; in Earth’s case, the blown-off chunk became the Moon.

The idea was taken up by two astrophysicists, Alastair G. W. Cameron of Harvard and William R. Ward of Caltech. Their study, “The Origin of the Moon” (Lunar Science, vol. 7, 1976) envisioned a planet-sized body—at least as large as the planet Mars—racing toward the Earth at 24,500 miles per hour; coming from the outer reaches of the Solar System, its path arced toward the Sun—but the Earth, in its formative orbit,

stood in the way. The “glancing blow” that resulted (Fig. 41) slightly tilted the Earth, giving it its ecliptic obliquity (currently about 23.5 degrees); it also melted the outer layers of both bodies, sending a plume of vaporized rock into orbit around the Earth. More than twice as much material as was needed to form the Moon was shot up, with the force of the expanding vapor acting to distance the debris from Earth. Some of the ejected material fell back to Earth, but enough remained far enough away to eventually coalesce and become the Moon.

This Collision-Ejection theory was further perfected by its authors as various problems raised by it were pointed out; it was also modified as other scientific teams tested it through computer simulations (the leading teams were those of A. C. Thompson and D. Stevenson at Caltech, H. J. Melosh and M. Kipp at Sandia National Laboratories, and W. Benz and W. L. Slattery at Los Alamos National Laboratory).

Under this scenario (Fig. 42 shows a simulated sequence,

lasting about eighteen minutes in all), the impact resulted in immense heat (perhaps 12,000 degrees Fahrenheit) that caused a melting of both bodies. The bulk of the impactor sank to the center of the molten Earth; portions of both bodies were va- porized and thrust out. On cooling, the Earth re-formed with the iron-rich bulk of the impactor at its core. Some of the ejected material fell back to Earth; the rest, mostly from the impactor, cooled and coalesced at a distance—resulting in the Moon that now orbits the Earth.

Another major departure from the original Big Whack hypothesis was the realization that in order to resolve chemical composition constraints, the impactor had to come from the same place in the heavens as Earth itself did—not from the outer regions of the Solar System. But if so, where and how did it acquire the immense momentum it needed for the vaporizing impact?

There is also the question of plausibility, which Cameron himself recognized in his presentation at the Hawaii conference. “Is it plausible,” he asked, “that an extra- planetary body with about the mass of Mars or more should have been wandering around in the inner solar system at an appropriate time to have participated in our postulated collision?” He felt that about 100 million years after the planets were formed, there were indeed enough planetary instabilities in the newborn Solar System and enough “proto – planetary remnants” to make the existence of a large impactor and the postulated collision plausible.

Subsequent calculations showed that in order to achieve the

end results, the impactor had to be three times the size of Mars. This heightened the problem of where and how in Earth’s vicinity such a celestial body could accrete. In response, astronomer George Wetherill of the Carnegie Institute calculated backward and found that the terrestrial planets could have evolved from a roaming band of some five hundred planetesimals. Repeatedly colliding among themselves, the small moonlets acted as the building blocks of the planets and of the bodies that continued to bombard them. The calculations sup- ported the plausibility of the Big Whack theory in its modified Collision-Ejection scenario, but it retained the resulting immense heat. “The heat of such an impact,” Wetherill concluded, “would have melted both bodies.” This, it seemed, could explain a) how the Earth got its iron core and b) how the Moon got its molten magma oceans.

Although this latest version left many other constraints un- met, many of the participants in the 1984 Conference on the Origin of the Moon were ready, by the time the conference ended, to treat the collision-ejection hypothesis as the leading contender—not so much out of conviction of its correctness as out of exasperation. “This happened,” Wood wrote in his summary, “mainly because several independent investigators showed that coaccretion, the model that had been most widely accepted by lunar scientists (at least at a subconscious level), could not account for the angular momentum content of the Earth-Moon system.” In fact, some of the participants at the conference, including Wood himself, saw vexing problems inherent in the new theory. Iron, Wood pointed out, “is actually quite volatile and would have suffered much the same fate as the other volatiles, like sodium and water”; in other words, it would not have sunk intact into the Earth’s core as the theory postulates. The abundance of water on Earth, to say nothing of the abundance of iron in the Earth’s mantle, would not have been possible if Earth had melted down.

Since each variant of the Big Whack hypothesis involved a total meltdown of the Earth, it was necessary that other evidence of such a meltdown be found. But as was overwhelmingly reported at the 1988 Origin of the Earth Conference at Berkeley, California, no such evidence exists. If Earth had melted and resolidified, various elements in its rocks would have crystallized differently from the way they actually are found, and they would have reappeared in certain ratios, but this is not the case. Another result should have been the distortion of the chondrite material—the most primordial matter on Earth that is also found in the most primitive meteorites— but no such distortion has been found. One investigator, A. E. Ringwood of the Australian National University, extended these tests to more than a dozen elements whose relative abun- dance should have been altered had the first crust of Earth been formed after an Earth meltdown; but there was no such alter- ation to any significant extent. In a review of these findings in Science (March 17, 1989) it was pointed out that at the 1988 conference the geochemists “contended that a giant impact and its inevitable melting of Earth do not jibe with what they know of geochemistry. In particular, the composition of the upper few hundred kilometers of the mantle implies it has not been totally molten at any time.” “Geochemistry,” the authors of the article in Science concluded, “would thus seem to be a potential stumbling block for the giant-impact origin of the moon.” In “Science and Technology,” (The Economist, July 22, 1989) it was likewise reported that numerous studies have led geochemists “to be skeptical about the impact story.”

Like the previous theories, the Big Whack also ended up meeting some constraints but failing others. Still, one should ask whether, while this theory of impact-meltdown ran into problems when applied to Earth, did it not at least solve the problem of the melting that is evident on the Moon?

As it turned out, not exactly so. Thermal studies did, indeed, indicate the Moon had experienced a great meltdown. “The indications are that the Moon was largely or totally molten early in lunar history,” Alan B. Binder of NASA’s Johnson Space Center said at the 1984 Conference on the Origin of the Moon. “Early,” but not “initial,” countered other scientists. This crucial difference was based on studies of stresses in the Moon’s crust (by Sean C. Solomon of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology), as well of isotope ratios (when atomic nuclei of the same element have different masses because they have different numbers of neutrons) studied by D. L. Turcotte and L. H. Kellog of Cornell University. These studies, the 1984 conference was told, “support a relatively cool origin for the Moon.”

What, then, of the evidence of meltings on the Moon? There is no doubt that they have occurred: the giant craters, some a hundred or more miles in diameter, are silent witnesses visible to all. There are the maria (“seas”), that, it is now known, were not bodies of water but areas of the Moon’s surface flattened by immense impacts. There are the magma oceans.

There are glass and glassy material embedded in the rocks and grains of the Moon’s surface that resulted from shock melting of the surface caused by high-velocity impacts (as distinct from heated lava as a source). At the third Conference on the Origins of Life, a whole day was devoted to the subject of “Glass on the Moon,” so important was this clue held to be. Eugene Shoemaker of NASA and Caltech reported that such evidence of “shock vitrified” glasses and other types of melted rock were found in abundance on the Moon; the presence of nickel in the glassy spheres and beads suggested to him that the impactor had a composition different from that of the Moon, since the Moon’s own rocks lack nickel.

When did all these impacts that caused the surface melting take place? Not, the findings showed, when the Moon was created but some 500 million years afterward. It was then.

NASA scientists reported at a 1972 press conference and subsequently, that “the Moon had undergone a convulsive evolution. . . . The most cataclysmic period came 4 billion years ago, when celestial bodies the size of large cities and small countries came crashing into the Moon and formed its huge basins and towering mountains. The huge amounts of radio- active minerals left by the collisions began heating the rock beneath the surface, melting massive amounts of it and forcing seas of lava through cracks in the surface. . . . Apollo 15 found rockslides in the crater Tsiolovsky six times greater than any rockslide on Earth. Apollo 16 discovered that the collision that created the Sea of Nectar deposited debris as much as 1,000 miles away. Apollo 17 landed near a scarp eight times higher than any on Earth.”

The oldest rocks on the Moon were judged to be 4.25 billion years old; soil particles gave a date of 4.6 billion years. The age of the Moon, all 1,500 or so scientists who have studied the rocks and soil brought back agree, dates back to the time the Solar System first took shape. But then something happened about 4 billion years ago. Writing in Scientific American (Jan- uary 1977), William Hartmann, in his article “Cratering in the Solar System,” reported that “various Apollo analysts have found that the age of many samples of lunar rocks cuts off rather sharply at four billion years; few older rocks have sur- vived.” The rocks and soil samples that contained the glasses formed by the intense impacts were as old as 3.9 billion years. “We know that a widespread cataclysmic episode of intense bombardment destroyed older rocks and surfaces of the planets,” Gerald J. Wasserburg of Caltech stated on the eve of the last Apollo mission; the remaining question, then, was “what happened between the origin of the Moon about 4.6 billion years ago and 4 billion years ago,” when the catastrophe occurred.

So the rock found by astronaut David Scott that was nick- named “the Genesis Rock” was not formed at the time the Moon was formed, it was actually formed as a result of that catastrophic event some 600 million years later. Even so, it was appropriately named; for the tale in Genesis is not that of the primordial forming of the Solar System 4.6 billion years ago, but of the Celestial Battle of Nibiru/Marduk with Tiamat some 4 billion years ago.

Unhappy with all the theories that have so far been offered for the origin of the Moon, some have attempted to select the best one by grading the theories according to certain constraints and criteria. A “Truth Table” prepared by Michael J. Drake of the University of Arizona Lunar and Planetary Laboratory had the Coaccretion theory far ahead of all others. In John A. Wood’s analysis it met all the criteria except that of the Earth- Moon angular momentum and the melting on the Moon; oth- erwise it bettered all others. The consensus has now focused again on the Coaccretion theory, with some elements borrowed from the Giant Impact and Fission theories. According to the theory offered at the 1984 Conference by A. P. Boss of the Carnegie Institute and S. J. Peale of the University of Cali- fornia, the Moon is indeed seen as coaccreting with Earth from the same primoridal matter, but the gas cloud within which the coaccretion took place was subjected to bombardments by pla- netesimals, which sometimes disintegrated the forming Moon and sometimes added foreign material to its mass (Fig. 43). The net result was an ever-larger Moon attracting and absorbing other moonlets that were forming within the circumterrestrial ring—a Moon both akin to and somewhat different from the Earth.

Having swung from theory to theory, modern science now embraces as a theory for the origin of our Moon the same process that gave the outer planets their multimoon systems. The hurdle still to be overcome is the need to explain why, instead of a swarm of smaller moons, a too-small Earth has ended up with a single, too-large Moon.

For the answer, we have to go back to Sumerian cosmogony. The first help it offers modern science is its assertion that the Moon originated not as a satellite of Earth but of the much larger Tiamat. Then—millennia before Western civilization had discovered the swarms of moons encircling Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune—the Sumerians ascribed to Tiamat a swarm of satellites, “eleven in all.” They placed Tiamat be- yond Mars, which would qualify her as an outer planet; and the “celestial horde” was acquired by her no differently than by the other outer planets.

When we compare the latest scientific theories with Sumerian cosmogony, we find not only that modern scientists have come around to accepting the same ideas found in the Sumerian body of knowledge but are even using terminology that mimics the Sumerian texts. . . .

Just as the latest modern theories do, the Sumerian cosmogony also describes the scene as that of an early, unstable Solar System where planetesimals and emerging gravitational forces disturb the planetary balance and, sometimes, cause moons to grow disproportionately. In The 12th Planet, I described the celestial conditions thus: “With the end of the majestic drama of the birth of the planets, the authors of the Creation Epic now raise the curtain on Act II, on a drama of celestial turmoil. The newly created family of planets was far from being stable. The planets were gravitating toward each other; they were converging on Tiamat, disturbing and endangering the primordial bodies.” In the poetic words of the Enuma elish,

The divine brothers banded together;
They disturbed Tiamat as they surged back and forth.
They were troubling the belly of Tiamatby their antics in the dwellings of heaven.
Apsu [the Sun] could not lessen their clamor;
Tiamat was speechless at their ways.
Their doings were loathsome . . . 
Troublesome were their ways; they were overbearing.

“We have here obvious references to erratic orbits,” I wrote in The 12th Planet. The new planets “surged back and forth”; they got too close to each other (“banded together”); they interfered with Tiamat’s orbit; they got too close to her “belly”; their “ways”—orbits—”were troublesome”; their gravitational pull was “overbearing”—excessive, disregarding the others’ orbits.

Abandoning earlier concepts of a Solar System slowly cooling and gradually freezing into its present shape out of the hot primordial cloud, scientific opinion has now swung in the opposite direction. “As faster computers allow celestial mechanicians longer looks at the behavior of the planets,” Richard A. Kerr wrote in Science (“Research News,” April 14, 1989), “chaos is turning up everywhere.” He quoted such studies as that by Gerald J. Sussman and Jack Wisdom of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology in which they went back by computer simulations and discovered that “many orbits that lie between Uranus and Neptune become chaotic,” and that “the orbital behavior of Pluto is chaotic and unpredictable.”

J. Laskar of the Bureau des Longitudes in Paris found original chaos throughout the Solar System, “but especially among the inner planets, including Earth.”

George Wetherill, updating his calculations of multicolli- sions by some five hundred planetesimals (Science, May 17, 1985), described the process in the zone of the terrestrial planets as the accretion of “lots of brothers and sisters” that collided to form “trial planets.” The process of accretion—crashing into one another, breaking up, capturing the material of others, until some grew larger and eventually became the terrestrial planets—he said, was nothing short of a “battle royal” that lasted most of the first 100 million years of the Solar System.

The eminent scientist’s words are astoundingly similar to those of the Enutna elish. He speaks of “lots of brothers and sisters” moving about, colliding with each other, affecting each other’s orbits and very existence. The ancient text speaks of “divine brothers” who “disturbed,” “troubled,” “surged back and forth” in the heavens in the very zone where Tiamat was, near her “belly.” He uses the expression “battle royal” to describe the conflict between these “brothers and sisters.” The Sumerian narrative uses the very same word—”battle”—- to describe what happened, and recorded for all time the events of Genesis as the Celestial Battle.

We read in the ancient texts that as the celestial disturbances increased, Tiamat brought forth her own “host” with which “to do battle” with the celestial “brothers” who were encroaching on her:

She has set up an Assembly and is furious with rage. . . .
Withall, eleven of this kind she brought forth. . . .
They thronged and marched at the side of Tiamat; Enraged, they plot ceaselessly day and night. They are set for combat, fuming and raging; They have assembled, prepared for conflict.

Just as modern astronomers are troubled by the disproportionately large size of the Moon, so were the authors of the Enuma elish. Putting words in the mouths of the other planets, they point to the expanding size and disturbing mass of “Kingu” as their chief complaint:

From among the gods who formed her host her first-born, Kingu, she elevated;
In their midst she made him great.
To be head of her ranks, to command her host,
to raise weapons for the encounter,
to be in the lead for combat,
in the battle to be the commander— these to the hand of Kingu she entrusted. As she caused him to be in her host,
"I have cast a spell for thee," she said to him;
"I have made thee great in the assembly of the gods;
Dominion over the gods I have given unto thee.
Verily, thou art supreme!"

According to this ancient cosmogony, one of the eleven moons of Tiamat did grow to an unusual size because of the ongoing perturbations and chaotic conditions in the newly formed Solar System. How the creation of this monstrous moon affected these conditions is regrettably not clear from the an- cient text; the enigmatic verses, with some of the original words subject to different readings and translations, seem to say that making Kingu “exalted” resulted in “making the fire subside” (per E. A. Speiser), or “quieting the fire-god” (per A. Heidel) and humbling /vanquishing the “Power-weapon which is so potent in its sweep”—a possible reference to the disturbing pull of gravitation.

Whatever quieting effect the enlargement of “Kingu” may have had on Tiamat and her host, it proved increasingly dis- ruptive to the other planets. Especially disturbing to them was the elevation of Kingu to the status of a full-fledged planet:

She gave him a Tablet of Destinies, fastened it on his breast. . . .
Kingu was elevated,
had received a heavenly rank.

It was this “sin” of Tiamat, her giving Kingu his own orbital “destiny,” that enraged the other planets to the point of “calling in” Nibiru/Marduk to put an end to Tiamat and her out- of-line consort. In the ensuing Celestial Battle, as described earlier, Tiamat was split in two: one half was shattered; the other half, accompanied by Kingu, was thrust into a new orbit to become the Earth and its Moon.

We have here a sequence that conforms with the best points of the various modern theories regarding the origin, evolution, and final fate of the Moon. Though the nature of the “power- weapon . . . so potent in its sweep” or that of “the fire-god” that caused Kingu to grow disproportionately large remains unclear, the fact of the disproportionate size of the Moon (even relative to the larger Tiamat) is recorded in all its disturbing details. All is there-—except that it is not Sumerian cosmogony that corroborates modern science, but modern science that catches up with ancient knowledge.

Could the Moon have indeed been a planet-in-the- making, as the Sumerians said? As reviewed in earlier chapters, this was quite conceivable. Did it in fact assume planetary aspects? Contrary to long-held views that the Moon was always an inert object, it was found, in the 1970s and 1980s, to possess virtually all the attributes of a planet except its own independent orbit around the Sun. Its surface has regions of rugged and tangled mountains; it has plains and “seas” that, if not formed by water, were probably formed by molten lava. To the sci- entists’ surprise the Moon was found to be layered, as the Earth is. In spite of the depletion of its iron by the catastrophic event discussed earlier, it appears to have retained an iron core. Scientists debate whether the core is still molten, for to their astonishment the Moon was found to have once possessed a magnetic field, which is caused by the rotation of a molten iron core, as is true of the Earth and other planets. Significantly, as studies by Keith Runcorn of Britain’s University of New- castle-upon-Tyne indicate, the magnetism “dwindled away circa four billion years ago”-—the time of the Celestial Battle.

Instruments installed on the Moon by Apollo astronauts relayed data that revealed “unexpectedly high heat flows from beneath the lunar surface,” indicating ongoing activity inside the “lifeless orb.” Vapor—water vapor—was detected by Rice University scientists, who reported (in October 1971) seeing “geysers of water vapor erupting through cracks in the lunar surface.” Other unexpected findings reported at the Third Lunar Science Conference in Houston in 1972 disclosed on-going volcanism on the Moon, which “‘would imply the simultaneous existence near the lunar surface of significant quantities of heat and water.”

In 1973, “bright flashes” sighted on the Moon were found to be emissions of gas from the Moon’s interior. Reporting this, Walter Sullivan, science editor of The New York Times, observed that it appeared that the Moon, even if not a “living celestial body… is at least a breathing one,” Such puffs of gas and darkish mists have been observed in several of the Moon’s deep craters from the very first Apollo mission and at least through 1980.

The indications that lunar volcanism may still be going on have led scientists to assume that the Moon once had a full- fledged atmosphere whose volatile elements and compounds included hydrogen, helium, argon, sulfur, carbon compounds,

and water. The possibility that there may still be water below the Moon’s surface has raised the intriguing question of whether water once flowed on the face of the Moon—water that, as a very volatile compound, evaporated and was dissi- pated into space.

Were it not for budgetary constraints, NASA would have been willing to adopt the recommendations of a panel of sci- entists to explore the Moon with a view to begin mining its mineral resources. Thirty geologists, chemists, and physicists who met in August 1977 at the University of California in San Diego pointed out that research on the Moon—both from orbit and on its surface—had been limited to its equatorial regions; they urged the launching of a lunar polar orbiter, not only because such an orbiter could collect data from the entire Moon, but also with a view to discovering if there is now water on the Moon. “One target of the orbiter’s observations,” ac- cording to James Arnold of the University of California, “would be small areas near each pole where the Sun never shines. It has been theorized by scientists that as much as 100 billion tons of water in the form of ice are likely to be found in those places. … If you’re going to have large-scale activities in space, like mining and manufacturing, it’s going to involve a lot of water, the Moon’s polar regions could be a good source.”

Whether the Moon still has water, after all the cataclysmic events it has undergone, is still to be ascertained. But the increasing evidence that it may still have water in its interior and may have had water on its surface should not be surprising. After all, the Moon—alias Kingu—was the leading satellite of the “watery monster” Tiamat.

On the occasion of the last Apollo mission to the Moon, The Economist (Science and Technology, December 11,1 972) summed up the program’s discoveries thus: “Perhaps the most important of all, exploration of the moon has shown that it is not a simple, uncomplicated sphere but a true planetary body.”

“A true planetary body.” Just as the Sumerians described millennia ago. And just as they stated millennia ago, the planet- to-be was not to become a planet with its own orbit around the Sun because it was deprived of that status as a result of the Celestial Battle. Here is what Nibiru/Marduk did to “Kingu”:

And Kingu, who had become chief among them,
he made shrink, as a DUG.GA.E god he counted him.
He took from him the Tablet of Destinies
which was not rightfully his;
He sealed on it his own seal
and fastened it to his own breast.

Deprived of its orbital momentum, Kingu was reduced to the status of a mere satellite—our Moon.

The Sumerian observation that Nibiru/Marduk made Kingu “shrink” has been taken to refer to its reduction in rank and importance. But as recent findings indicate, the Moon has been depleted of the bulk of its iron by a cataclysmic event, resulting in a marked decrease in its density. “There are two planetary bodies within the Solar System whose peculiar mean density implies that they are unique and probably the products of unusual circumstances,” Alastair Cameron wrote in Icarus (vol. 64, 1985); “these are the Moon and Mercury. The former has a low mean density and is greatly depleted in iron.” In other words, Kingu has indeed shrunk!

There is other evidence that the Moon became more compact as a result of heavy impacts. On the side facing away from Earth-—its far side—the surface has highlands and a thick

crust, while the near side—-the side facing Earth—shows large, flat plains, as though the elevated features had been wiped off. Inside the Moon, gravitational variations reveal the existence of compacted, heavier masses in several concentrations, es- pecially where the surface had been flattened out. Though outwardly the Moon (as do all celestial bodies larger than a minimal size) has a spherical shape, the mass in its core appears to have the shape of a gourd, as a computer study shows (Fig. 44). It is a shape that bears the mark of the “big whack” that compressed the Moon and thrust it into its new place in the heavens, just as the Sumerians had related.

The Sumerian assertion that Kingu was turned into a DUG.GA.E is equally intriguing. The term, I wrote in The 12th Planet, literally means “pot of lead.” At the time I took it to be merely a figurative description of the Moon as ” a mass of lifeless clay.” But the Apollo discoveries suggest that the Sumerian term was not just figurative but was literally and scientifically correct. One of the initial puzzles encountered on the Moon was so-called “parentless lead.” The Apollo program revealed that the top few miles of the Moon’s crust are unusually rich in radioactive elements such as uranium. There was also evidence of the existence of extinct radon. These elements decay and become lead at either final or intermediary stages of the radioactive-decay process.

How the Moon became so enriched in radioactive elements remains an unresolved puzzle, but that these elements had mostly decayed into lead is now evident. Thus, the Sumerian assertion that Kingu was turned into a “pot of lead” is an accurate scientific statement.

The Moon was not only a Witness to Genesis. It is also a witness to the veracity of the biblical Genesis—to the accuracy of ancient knowledge.

IN THE ASTRONAUTS’ OWN WORDS

Feeling changes of “almost a spiritual nature” in their views of themselves, of other humans, and of the possibility of intelligent life existing beyond Earth have been reported by almost all the American astronauts.

Gordon Cooper, who piloted Mercury 9 in 1963 and co- piloted Gemini 5 in 1965, returned with the belief that “in- telligent, extraterrestrial life has visited Earth in ages past” and became interested in archaeology. Edward G. Gibson, a scientist aboard Skylab 3 (1974), said that orbiting the Earth for days “makes you speculate a little more about life existing elsewhere in the universe.”

Especially moved were the astronauts of the Apollo missions to the Moon. “Something happens to you out there,” stated Apollo 14 astronaut Ed Mitchell. Jim Irwin Apollo 15) was “deeply moved … and felt the presence of God.” His comrade on the mission, Al Worden, speaking on the twentieth anniversary of the first landing on the Moon on a TV program (“The Other Side of the Moon” produced by Michael G. Lemle) compared the lunar module that was used to land on and take off vertically from the Moon to the spaceship described in Ezekiel’s vision.

“In my mind,” said Al Worden, “the universe has to be cyclic; in one galaxy there is a planet becoming unlivable and in another part or a different galaxy there is a planet that is perfect for habitation, and I see some intelligent being, like us, skipping around from planet to planet, as South Pacific Indians do on islands, to continue the species. I think that’s what the space program is all about. … 1 think we may be a combination of creatures that were living here on Earth some time in the past, and had a visitation by beings from somewhere else in the universe; and those two species getting together and having progeny. . . . In fact, a very small group of explorers could land on a planet and create successors to themselves who would eventually take up the pursuit of inhabiting the rest of the universe,”

And Buzz Aldrin (Apollo 11) expressed the belief that “one of these days, through telescopes that may be in orbit, like the Hubble telescope, or other technical breakthroughs, we may learn that indeed we are not alone in this marvelous universe.

7

THE SEED OF LIFE

Of all the mysteries confronting Mankind’s quest for knowl- edge, the greatest is the mystery called “life.”

Evolution theory explains how life on Earth evolved, all the way from the earliest, one-celled creatures to Homo sapiens; it does not explain how life on Earth began. Beyond the question, Are we alone? lies the more fundamental question: Is life on Earth unique, unmatched in our Solar System, our galaxy, the whole universe?

According to the Sumerians, life was brought into the Solar System by Nibiru; it was Nibiru that imparted the “seed of life” to Earth during the Celestial Battle with Tiamat. Modern science has come a long way toward the same conclusion.

In order to figure out how life might have begun on the primitive Earth, the scientists had to determine, or at least assume, what the conditions were on the newly born Earth. Did it have water? Did it have an atmosphere? What of life’s main building blocks—molecular combinations of hydrogen, carbon, oxygen, nitrogen, sulfur, and phosphorus? Were they available on the young Earth to initiate the precursors of living organisms? At present the Earth’s dry air is made up of 79 percent nitrogen (N2), 20 percent oxygen (O2) and 1 percent argon (Ar), plus traces of other elements (the atmosphere contains water vapor in addition to the dry air). This docs not reflect the relative abundance of elements in the universe, where hydrogen (87 percent) and helium (12 percent) make up 99 percent of all abundant elements. It is therefore believed (among other reasons) that the present earthly atmosphere is not Earth’s original one. Both hydrogen and helium are highly volatile, and their diminished presence in Earth’s atmosphere, as well as its deficiency of “noble” gases such as neon, argon, krypton, and xenon (relative to their cosmic abundance), sug- gest to scientists that the Earth experienced a “thermal epi- sode” sometime before 3.8 billion years ago—an occurrence with which my readers are familiar by now. . . .

By and large the scientists now believe that Earth’s atmosphere was reconstituted initially from the gases spewed out by the volcanic convulsions of a wounded Earth. As clouds thrown up by these eruptions shielded the Earth and it began to cool, the vaporized water condensed and came down in torrential rains. Oxidation of rocks and minerals provided the first reservoir of higher levels of oxygen on Earth; eventually, plant life added both oxygen and carbon dioxide (CO2) to the atmosphere and started the nitrogen cycle (with the aid of bacteria).

It is noteworthy that even in this respect the ancient texts stand up to the scrutiny of modern science. The fifth tablet of Enutna elish, though badly damaged, describes the gushing lava as Tiamat’s “spittle” and places the volcanic activity earlier than the formation of the atmosphere, the oceans, and the continents. The spittle, the text states, was “laying in layers” as it poured forth. The phase of “making the cold” and the “assembling of the water clouds” are described; after that the “foundations” of Earth were raised and the oceans were gathered—just as the verses in Genesis have reiterated. It was only thereafter that life appeared on Earth: green herbage upon the continents and ‘”swarms” in the waters.

But living cells, even the simplest ones, are made up of complex molecules of various organic compounds, not just of separate chemical elements. How did these molecules come about? Because many of these compounds have been found elsewhere in the Solar System, it has been assumed that they form naturally, given enough time. In 1953 two scientists at the University of Chicago, Harold Urey and Stanley Miller, conducted what has since been called “a most striking experiment.” In a pressure vessel they mixed simple organic molecules of methane, ammonia, hydrogen, and water vapor, dissolved the mixture in water to simulate the primordial watery “soup,” and subjected the mixture to electrical sparks to emulate primordial lightning bolts. The experiment produced several amino and hydroxy acids—the building blocks of proteins.

which are essential to living matter. Other researchers later subjected similar mixtures to ultraviolet light, ionizing radiation, or heat to simulate the effects of the Sun’s rays as well as various other types of radiation on the Earth’s primitive atmosphere and murky waters. The results were the same.

But it was one thing to show that nature itself could, under certain conditions, come up with life’s building blocks—not just simple but even complex organic compounds; it was an- other thing to breathe life into the resulting compounds, which remained inert and lifeless in the compression chambers.

“Life” is defined as the ability to absorb nutrients (of any kind) and to replicate, not just to exist. Even the biblical tale of Creation recognizes that when the most complex being on Earth, Man, was shaped out of “clay,” divine intervention was needed to “breathe the spirit/breath of life” into him. Without that, no matter how ingeniously created, he was not yet animate, not yet living.

As astronomy has done in the celestial realm, so, in the 1970s and 1980s, did biochemistry unlock many of the secrets of terrestrial life. The innermost reaches of living cells have been pried open, the genetic code that governs replication has been understood, and many of the complex components that make the tiniest one-celled being or the cells of the most advanced creatures have been synthesized. Pursuing the research, Stanley Miller, now at the University of California at San Diego, has commented that “we have learned how to make organic compounds from inorganic elements; the next step is to learn how they organize themselves into a replicating cell.”

The murky-waters, or “primordial-soup,” hypothesis for the origin of life on Earth envisions a multitude of those earliest organic molecules in the ocean, bumping into each other as the result of waves, currents, or temperature changes, and eventually sticking to one another through natural cell attractions to form cell groupings from which polymers—long-chained molecules that lie at the core of body formation— eventually developed. But what gave these cells the genetic memory to know, not just how to combine, but how to replicate, to make the ultimate bodies grow? The need to involve the genetic code in the transition from inanimate organic matter to an animate state has led to a “Made-of-Clay” hypothesis.

The launching of this theory is attributed to an announcement in April 1985 by researchers at the Ames Research Center, a NASA facility at Mountainview, California; but in fact the idea that clay on the shores of ancient seas played an important role in the origin of life on Earth was made public at the October 1977 Pacific Conference on Chemistry. There James A. Law- less, who headed a team of researchers at NASA’s Ames fa- cility, reported on experiments in which simple amino acids (the chemical building blocks of proteins) and nucleotides (the chemical building blocks of genes)—assuming they had al- ready developed in the murky “primordial soup” in the sea— began to form into chains when deposited on clays that con- tained traces of metals such as nickel or zinc, and allowed to dry.

What the researchers found to be significant was that the traces of nickel selectively held on only to the twenty kinds of amino acids that are common to all living things on Earth, while the traces of zinc in the clay helped link together the nucleotides, which resulted in a compound analogous to a crucial enzyme (called DNA-polymerase) that links pieces of genetic material in all living cells.

In 1985 the scientists of the Ames Research Center reported substantial advances in understanding the role of clay in the processes that had led to life on Earth. Clay, they discovered, has two basic properties essential to life: the capacity to store and the ability to transfer energy. In the primordial conditions such energy might have come from radioactive decay, among other possible sources. Using the stored energy, clays might have acted as chemical laboratories where inorganic raw ma- tefials were processed into more complex molecules. There was more: one scientist, Armin Weiss of the University of Munich, reported experiments in which clay crystals seemed to reproduce themselves from a “parent crystal”—a primitive replication phenomenon; and Graham Cairns-Smith of the Uni- versity of Glasgow held that the inorganic “proto-organisms” in the clay were involved in “directing” or actually acting as a “template” from which the living organisms eventually evolved.

Explaining these tantalizing properties of clay-—even common clay—Lelia Coyne, who headed one research team, said that the ability of the clays to trap and transmit energy was due to “mistakes” in the formation of clay crystals; these defects in the clays’ microstructure acted as the sites where energy was stored and from which the chemical directions for the formation of the proto-organisms emanated.

“If the theory can be confirmed,” The New York Times commented in its report of the announcements, “it would seem that an accumulation of chemical mistakes led to life on Earth.” So the “life-from-clay” theory, in spite of the advances it offered, depended, as the “murky-soup” theory did, on random occurrences—microstructural mistakes here, occasional lightning strikes and collisions of molecules there—to explain the transition from chemical elements to simple organic molecules to complex organic molecules and from inanimate to animate matter.

The improved theory seemed to do another thing, which did not escape notice. “The theory,” The New York Times continued, “is also evocative of the biblical account of the Creation. In Genesis it is written, ‘And the Lord God formed man of dust of the ground,’ and in common usage the primordial dust is called cl a y. ” This news story, and the biblical parallel implicit in it, merited an editorial in the venerable newspaper. Under the headline “Uncommon Clay,” the editorial said:

Ordinary clay, it seems, has two basic properties essential to life. It can store energy and also transmit it. So, the scientists reason, clay could have acted as a "chemical factory" for turning inorganic raw materials into more complex molecules. Out of those complex molecules arose life—and, one day, us.

That the Bible's been saying so all along, clay being what Genesis meant by the "dust of the ground" that formed man, is obvious. What is not so obvious is how often we have been saying it to one another, and without knowing it.

The combined murky-soup and life-from-clay theories, few have realized, have gone even further in substantiating the ancient accounts. Further experiments by Lelia Coyne together with Noam Lahab of the Hebrew University, Israel, have shown that to act as catalysts in the formation of short strings of amino acids, the clays must undergo cycles of wetting and drying. This process calls for an environment where water can alternate with dryness, either on dry land that is subjected to on-and-off rains or where seas slosh back and forth as a result of tides. The conclusion, which appeared to gain support from experiments aimed at searching for “protocells” that were conducted at the Institute for Molecular and Cellular Evolution at the University of Miami, pointed to primitive algae as the first one-celled living creatures on Earth. Still found in ponds and in damp places, algae appear little changed in spite of the passage of billions of years.

Because until a few decades ago no evidence for land life older than about 500 million years had been found, it was assumed that the life that evolved from algae was limited to the oceans. “There were algae in the oceans but the land was

yet devoid of life,” textbooks used to state. But in 1977 a scientific team led by Elso S. Barghoorn of Harvard discovered in sedimentary rocks in South Africa (at a site in Swaziland called Figtree) the remains of microscopic, one-celled creatures that were 3.1 (and perhaps as much as 3.4) billion years old; they were similar to today’s blue-green algae and pushed back by almost a billion years the time when this precursor of more complex forms of life evolved on Earth.

Until then evolutionary progression was believed to have occurred primarily in the oceans, with land creatures evolving from maritime forms, with amphibian life forms as an intermediary. But the presence of green algae in sedimentary rocks of such a great age required revised theories. Though there is no unanimity regarding the classification of algae as either plant or nonplant, since it has backward affinities with bacteria and forward affinities with the earliest fauna, either green or blue- green algae is undoubtedly the precursor of chlorophyllic plants—the plants that use sunlight to convert their nutrients to organic compounds, emitting oxygen in the process. Green algae, though without roots, stems, or leaves, began the plant family whose descendants now cover the Earth.

It is important to follow the scientific theories of the ensuing evolution of life on Earth in order to grasp the accuracy of the biblical record. For more complex life forms to evolve, oxygen was needed. This oxygen became available only after algae or proto-algae began to spread upon the dry land. For these green plantlike forms to utilize and process oxygen, they needed an environment of rocks containing iron with which to “bind” the oxygen (otherwise they would have been destroyed by oxidation; free oxygen was still a poison to these life forms). Scientists believe that as such “banded-iron formations’1 sank into ocean bottoms as sediments, the single-celled organisms evolved into multicelled ones in the water. In other words, the covering of the lands with green algae had to precede the emergence of maritime life.

The Bible, indeed, says as much: Green herbage, it states, was created on Day Three, but maritime life not until Day Five. It was on the third “day,” or phase, of creation that Elohim said:

Let the Earth bring forth green herbage, and grasses that yield seeds, and fruit trees that bear fruit of all kinds
in accordance with the seeds thereof.

The presence of fruits and seeds as the green growth ad- vanced from grasses to trees also illustrates the evolution from asexual reproduction to sexual reproduction. In this, too, the Bible includes in its scientific account of evolution a step that modern science believes took place, in algae, some two billion years ago. That is when the “green herbage” began to increase the air’s oxygen.

At that point, according to Genesis, there were no “crea- tures” on our planet—neither in the waters, nor in the air, nor on dry land. To make the eventual appearance of vertebrate (inner-skeleton) “creatures” possible, Earth had to set the pat- tern of the biological clocks that underlie the life cycles of all living forms on Earth. The Earth had to settle into its orbital and rotational patterns and be subjected to the effects of the Sun and the Moon, which were primarily manifested in the cycles of light and darkness. The Book of Genesis assigns the fourth “day” to this organization and to the resulting year,

month, day, and night repetitious periods. Only then, with all celestial relationships and cycles and their effects firmly es- tablished, did the creatures of the sea, air, and land make their appearance.

Modern science not only agrees with this biblical scenario but, may also provide a clue to the reason the ancient authors of the scientific summary called Genesis inserted a celestial “chapter” (“day four”) between the evolutionary record of “day three”—time of the earliest appearance of life forms— and “day five,” when the “creatures” appeared. In modern

science, too, there is an unfilled gap of about 1.5 billion years—from about 2 billion years to about 570 million years ago—about which little is known because of the paucity of geological and fossil data. Modem science calls this era “Precambrian”; lacking the data, the ancient savants used (his gap to describe the establishment of celestial relationships and biological cycles.

Although modern science regards the ensuing Cambrian period (so named after the region in Wales where the first geologic data for it were obtained) as the first phase of the Paleozoic (“Old Life”) era, it was not yet the time of vertebrates—the life forms with an inner skeleton that the Bible calls “creatures.” The first maritime vertebrates appeared about 500 mil- lion years ago, and land vertebrates followed about 100 million years later, during periods that are regarded by scientists as the transition from the Lower Paleozoic era to the Upper Paleozoic era. When that era ended, about 225 million years ago,

(Fig. 45) there were fish in the waters as well as sea plants, and amphibians had made the transition from water to dry land and the plants upon the dry lands attracted ihe amphibians to evolve into reptiles; today’s crocodiles are a remnant of that evolutionary phase.

The following era, named the Mesozoic (“Middle Life”), embraces the period from about 225 million to 65 million years ago and has often been nicknamed the ” Age of the Dinosaurs.” Alongside a variety of amphibians and marine lizards there evolved, away from the oceans and their teeming marine life, two main lines of egg-laying reptilians: those who took to flying and evolved into birds; and those who, in great variety, roamed and dominated the Earth as dinosaurs (“terrible lizards”) (Fig. 46).

It is impossible to read the biblical verses with an open mind without realizing that the creational events of the fifth “day” of Genesis describe the above-listed development:

And Elohim said:
"Let the waters swarm with living creatures,
and let aves fly above the earth, under the dome of the sky.''
And Elohim created the large reptilians,
and all the living creatures that crawl
and that swarmed in the waters, all in accordance with their kinds,
and all the winged aves by their kinds. And Elohim blessed them, saying:
"Be fruitful and multiply and fill the waters of the seas, and let the aves multiply upon the earth."

The tantalizing reference in these verses of Genesis to the "large reptilians" as a recognition of the dinosaurs cannot be dismissed. The Hebrew term used here, Taninim (plural of Tanin) has been variously translated as "sea serpent," "sea monsters," and "crocodile." To quote the Encyclopaedia Britannica, "the crocodiles are the last living link with the dinosaur-like reptiles of prehistoric times; they are, at the same

time, the nearest living relatives of the birds.” The conclusion that by “large Taninim”‘ the Bible meant not simply large reptilians but dinosaurs seems plausible—not because the Su- merians had seen dinosaurs, but because Anunnaki scientists had surely figured out the course of evolution on Earth at least as well as twentieth-century scientists have done.

No less intriguing is the order in which the ancient text lists the three branches of vertebrates. For a long time scientists held that birds evolved from dinosaurs, when these reptiles began to develop a gliding mechanism to ease their jumping from tree branches in search of food or, another theory holds, when ground-bound heavy dinosaurs attained greater running

speed by reducing their weight through the development of hollow bones. A fossil confirmation of the origin of birds from the latter, gaining further speed for soaring by evolving two- leggedness, appeared to have been found in the remains of Deinonychus (“terrible-clawed” reptile), a fast runner whose tail skeleton assumed a featherlike shape (Fig. 47). The discovery of fossilized remains of a creature now called Archaeopteryx (“old feather”—Fig. 48a) was deemed to have provided the “missing link” between dinosaurs and birds and gave rise to the theory that the two-—dinosaurs and birds—had an early common land ancestor at the beginning of the Triassic period. But even this antedating of the appearance of birds has come into question since additional fossils of Archaeopteryx

were discovered in Germany; they indicate that this creature was by and large a fully developed bird (Fig. 48b) that had not evolved from the dinosaurs but rather directly from a much earlier ancestor who had come from the seas.

The biblical sources appear to have known all that. Not only does the Bible not list the dinosaurs ahead of birds (as scientists

did for awhile); it actually lists birds ahead of the dinosaurs. With so much of the fossil record still incomplete, paleontol- ogists may still find evidence that will indeed show that early birds had more in common with sea life than with desert lizards.

About 65 million years ago the era of the dinosaurs came to an abrupt end; theories regarding the causes range from

climatic changes to viral epidemics to destruction by a “Death Star.” Whatever the cause, there was an unmistakable end of one evolutionary period and the beginning of another. In the words of Genesis, it was the dawn of the sixth “day.” Modern science calls it the Cenozoic (“current life”) era, when mam- mals spread across the Earth. This is how the Bible put it:

And Elohim said:

“Let the Earth bring forth living animals

according to their kind:

bovines, and those that creep,

and beasts of the land,

all according to their kind,”

And it was so.

Thus did Elohim make all the animals of the land

according to their kinds,

and all the bovines according to their kinds,

and all those that creep upon the earth by their kinds.

There is full agreement here between Bible and Science. The conflict between Creationists and Evolutionists reaches its crux in the interpretation of what happened next—-the appear- ance of Man on Earth. It is a subject that will be dealt with in the next chapter. Here it is important to point out that although one might expect that a primitive or unknowing society, seeing how Man is superior to all other animals, would assume Man to be the oldest creature on Earth and thus the most developed, the wisest. But the Book of Genesis does not say so at all. On

the contrary, it asserts that Man was a latecomer to Earth. We are not the oldest story of evolution but only its last few pages. Modem science agrees.

That is exactly what the Sumerians had taught in their schools. As we read in the Bible, it was only after all the “days” of creation had run their course, after “all the fishes of the sea and all the fowl that fly the skies and all the animals that fill the earth and all the creeping things that crawl upon the earth” that “Elohim created the Adam.”

On the sixth “day” of creation, God’s work on Earth was done.

“This,” the Book of Genesis states, “is the way the Heaven and the Earth have come to be.”

Up to the point of Man’s creation, then, modern science and ancient knowledge parallel each other. But by charting the course of evolution, modern science has left behind the initial question about the origin of life as distinct from its development and evolution.

The murky-soup and life-from-clay theories only suggest that, given the right materials and conditions, life could arise

spontaneously. This notion, that life’s elemental building

blocks, such as ammonia and methane (the simplest stable

compounds of nitrogen and hydrogen and of carbon and hy-

drogen, respectively) could have formed by themselves as part

of nature’s processes, seemed fortified by the discovery in

recent decades that these compounds are present and even plentiful on other planets. But how did chemical compounds become animate?

That the feat is possible is obvious; the evidence is that life did appear on Earth. The speculation that life, in one form or another, may also exist elsewhere in our Solar System, and

probably in other star systems, presupposes the feasibility of the transition from inanimate to animate matter. So, the ques- tion is not can it happen but how did it happen here on Earth?

For life as we see it on Earth to happen, two basic molecules are necessary: proteins, which perform all the complex met- abolic functions of living cells; and nucleic acids, which carry

the genetic code and issue the instructions for the cell’s pro- cesses. The two kinds of molecules, as the definition itself

suggests, function within a unit called a cell—quite a complex organism in itself, which is capable of triggering the replication not only of itself but of the whole animal of which the single cell is but a minuscule component. In order to become proteins, amino acids must form long and complex chains. In the cell they perform the task according to instructions stored in one nucleic acid (DNA—deoxyribonucleic acid) and transmitted by another nucleic acid (RNA—ribonucleic acid). Could ran- dom conditions prevailing on the primordial Earth have caused amino acids to combine into chains? In spite of varied attempts and theories (notable experiments were conducted by Clifford Matthews of the University of Illinois), the pathways sought by the scientists all required more “compressive energy” than would have been available.

Did DNA and RNA, then, precede amino acids on Earth? Advances in genetics and the unraveling of the mysteries of

the living cell have increased, rather than diminished, the prob-

lems. The discovery in 1953 by James D. Watson and Francis

H. Crick of the “double-helix” structure of DNA opened up

vistas of immense complexity regarding these two chemicals

of life. The relatively giant molecules of DNA are in the

form of two long, twisted strings connected by “rungs” made of four very complex organic compounds (marked on gene- tic charts by the initials of the names of the compounds, A-G-C-T). These four nucleotides can combine in pairs in sequences of limitless variety and are bound into place (Fig.

49) by sugar compounds alternating with phosphates. The nu-

cleic acid RNA, no less complex and built of four nucleotides whose initials are A-G-C-U, may contain thousands of com- binations.

How much time did evolution take on Earth to develop these complex compounds, without which life as we know it would have never evolved?

The fossil remains of algae found in 1977 in South Africa were dated to 3.1 to 3.4 billion years ago. But while that discovery was of microscopic, single-celled organisms, other discoveries in 1980 in western Australia deepened the won- derment. The team, led by J. William Schopf of the University of California at Los Angeles, found fossil remains of organisms

that not only were much older—3.5 billion years—but that

Figure 49

were multicelled and looked under the microscope like chain- like filaments (Fig. 50). These organisms already possessed both amino acids and complex nucleic acids, the replicating genetic compounds, 3.5 billion years ago; they therefore had to represent, not the beginning of the chain of life on Earth, but an already advanced stage of it.

What these finds had set in motion can be termed the search for the first gene. Increasingly, scientists believe that before algae there were bacteria. “We are actually looking at cells which are the direct morphological remains of the bugs them- selves,” stated Malcolm R. Walter, an Australian member of the team. “They look like modern bacteria,” he added. In fact, they looked like five different types of bacteria whose structures, amazingly, “were almost identical to several mod- ern-day bacteria.”

Figure 50

The notion that self-replication on Earth began with bacteria that preceded algae seemed to make sense, since advances in genetics showed that all life on Earth, from the simplest to the most complex, has the same genetic “ingredients” and the same twenty or so basic amino acids. Indeed, much of the early genetic research and development of techniques in genetic engineering were done on the lowly bacterium Esch- erichia coli (E. coli, for short), which can cause diarrhea in humans and cattle. But even this minuscule, single-celled bac- terium that reproduces not sexually but simply by dividing, has almost 4,000 different genes!

That bacteria have played a role in the evolutionary process is apparent, not only from the fact that so many marine, plant and animal higher organisms depend on bacteria for many vital processes, but also from discoveries, first in the Pacific Ocean

and then in other seas, that bacteria did and still make possible life forms that do not depend on photosynthesis but metabolize sulfur compounds in the oceans’ depths. Calling such early bacteria “archaeo-bacteria,” a team led by Carl R. Woese of the University of Illinois dated them to a time between 3.5 and 4 billion years ago. Such an age was corroborated in 1984 by

finds in an Austrian lake by Hans Fricke of the Max Planck Institute and Karl Stetter of the University of Regensburg (both in West Germany).

Sediments found off Greenland, on the other hand, bear

chemical traces that indicate the existence of photosynthesis as early as 3.8 billion years ago. All these finds have thus shown that, within a few hundred million years of the impen- etrable limit of 4 billion years, there were prolific bacteria and archaeo-bacteria of a marked variety on Earth. In more recent studies (Nature, November 9, 1989), an august team of sci-

entists led by Norman H. Sleep of Stanford University con- cluded that the “window of time” when life on Earth began was just the 200 million years between 4 and 3.8 billion years ago. “Everything alive today,” they stated, “evolved from organisms that originated within that Window of Time.” They did not attempt, however, to establish how life originated at

such a time.

Based on varied evidence, including the very reliable iso-

topic ratios of carbon, scientists have concluded that no matter

how life on Earth began, it did so about 4 billion years ago.

Why then only and not sooner, when the planets were formed

some 4.6 billion years ago? All scientific research, conducted

on Earth as well as on the Moon, keeps bumping against the 4-billion-year date, and all that modern science can offer in explanation is some “catastrophic event.” To know more, read the Sumerian texts….

Since the fossil and other data have shown that celled and replicating organisms (be they bacteria or archaeo-

bacteria) already existed on Earth a mere 200 million years after the “Window of Time” first opened, scientists began to search for the “essence” of life rather than for its resulting organisms: for traces of DNA and RNA themselves. Viruses, which are pieces of nucleic acids looking for cells in which to replicate, are prevalent not only on land but also in water, and

that has made some believe that viruses may have preceded bacteria. But what gave them their nucleic acids?

An avenue of research was opened a few years ago by Leslie Orgel of the Salk Institute in La Jolla, California, when he proposed that the simpler RNA might have preceded the much more complex DNA. Although RNA only transmits the genetic

messages contained in the DNA blueprint, other researchers, among them Thomas R. Cech and co-workers at the University of Colorado and Sidney Altman of Yale University concluded that a certain type of RNA could catalyze itself under certain conditions. All this led to computerized studies of a type of RNA called transfer-RNA undertaken by Manfred Eigen, a Nobel-prize winner. In a paper published in Science (May 12, 1989) he and his colleagues from Germany’s Max Planck In- stitute reported that by sequencing transfer-RNA backward on the Tree of Life, they found that the genetic code on Earth cannot be older than 3.8 billion years, plus or minus 600 million years. At that time, Manfred Eigen said, a primordial gene might have appeared “whose message was the biblical in- junction ‘Go out into the world, be fruitful and multiply’.” If the leeway, as it appears, had to be on the plus side—i.e., older than 3.8 billion years—”this would be possible only in the case of extraterrestrial origin,” the authors of the learned paper added.

In her summation of the fourth Conference on the Origin of Life, Lynn Margulis had predicted this astounding conclusion.

“We now recognize that if the origin of our self-replicating system occurred on the early Earth, it must have occurred quite quickly—millions, not billions of years,” she stated. And she added:

The central problem inspiring these conferences, perhaps slightly better defined, is as unsolved as ever. Did our organic matter originate in interstellar space? The infant science of radioastronomy has produced evidence that some of the smaller organic molecules are there.

Writing in 1908, Svante Arrhenius (Worlds in the Making) proposed that life-bearing spores were driven to Earth by the pressure of light waves from the star of another planetary sys- tem where life had evolved long before it did on Earth. The notion came to be known as “the theory of Panspermia”; it languished on the fringes of accepted science because, at the time, one fossil discovery after another seemed to corroborate the theory of evolution as an unchallenged explanation for the origin of life on Earth.

These fossil discoveries, however, raised their own questions and doubts; so much so that in 1973 the Nobel laureate (now Sir) Francis Crick together with Leslie Orgel, in a paper titled “Directed Panspermia” (Icarus, vol. 19), revived the notion of the seeding of Earth with the first organisms or spores from an extraterrestrial source—not, however, by chance but as “the deliberate activity of an extraterrestrial society.” Whereas our Solar System was formed only some 4.6 billion years ago, other solar systems in the universe may have formed as much as 10 billion years earlier; while the interval between the for- mation of Earth and the appearance of life on Earth is much too short, there has been as much as six billion years available for the process on other planetary systems. “The time available makes it possible, therefore, that technological societies existed elsewhere in the galaxy even before the formation of the Earth,” according to Crick and Orgel. Their suggestion was therefore that the scientific community “consider a new ‘in- fective’ theory, namely that a primitive form of life was de- liberately planted on Earth by a technologically advanced society on another planet.” Anticipating criticism—which in- deed followed—that no living spores could survive the rigors of space, they suggested that the microorganisms were not sent to just drift in space but were placed in a specially designed spaceship with due protection and a life-sustain ing environ- ment.

In spite of the unquestionable scientific credentials of Crick and Orgel, their theory of Directed Panspermia met with disbe-

lief and even ridicule. However, more recent scientific ad- vances changed these attitudes; not only because of the narrowing of the Window of Time to a mere couple of hundred million years, almost ruling out the possibility that the essential genetic matter had enough time to evolve here on Earth. The change in opinion was also due to the discovery that of the

myriad of amino acids that exist, it is only the same twenty or so that are part of all living organisms on Earth, no matter what these organisms are and when they evolved; and that the same DNA, made up of the same four nucleotides—that and no other—is present in all living things on Earth.

It was therefore that the participants of the landmark eighth

Conference on the Origins of Life, held at Berkeley, California,

in 1986. could no longer accept the random formation of life inherent in the murky-soup or life-from-clay hypotheses, for according to these theories, a variety of life forms and genetic codes should have arisen. Instead, the consensus was that “all life on Earth, from bacteria to sequoia trees to humans, evolved from a single ancestral cell.”

But where did this single ancestral cell come from? The 285 scientists from 22 countries did not endorse the cautious sug- gestions that, as some put it, fully formed cells were planted on Earth from space. Many were, however, willing to consider

that “the supply of organic precursors to life was augmented from space.” When all was said and done, the assembled scientists were left with only one avenue that, they hoped, might provide the answer to the puzzle of the origin of life on Earth: space exploration. The research should shift from Earth to Mars, to the Moon, to Saturn’s satellite Titan, it was sug-

gested, because their more pristine environments might have better preserved the traces of the beginnings of life.

Such a course of research reflects the acceptance, it must be obvious, of the premise that life is not unique to Earth. The first reason for such a premise is the extensive evidence that organic compounds permeate the Solar System and outer space.

The data from interplanetary probes have been reviewed in an earlier chapter; the data indicating life-related elements and compounds in outer space are so voluminous that only a few instances must suffice here. In 1977, for example, an inter- national team of astronomers at the Max Planck Institute dis- covered water molecules outside our own galaxy. The density

of the water vapor was the same as in Earth’s galaxy, and Otto Hachenberg of the Bonn Institute for Radio Astronomy con- sidered that finding as support for the conclusion that “con- ditions exist at some other place which, like those on Earth, are suitable for life.” In 1984 scientists at the Goddard Space Center found ‘ ‘a bewildering array of molecules, including the

beginning of organic chemistry” in interstellar space. They had discovered “complex molecules composed of the same atoms that make up living tissue,” according to Patrick Thad- deus of the Center’s Institute for Space Studies, and it was “reasonable to assume that these compounds were deposited on Earth at the time of its forming and that life ultimately came

from them.” In 1987, to give one more instance, NASA in- struments discovered that exploding stars (supernovas) pro- duced most of the ninety-odd elements, including carbon, that are contained in living organisms on Earth.

How did such life-essential compounds, in forms that ena- bled life to sprout on Earth, arrive on Earth from space, near

or distant? Invariably, the celestial emissaries under consid- eration are comets, meteors, meteorites, and impacting aster- oids. Of particular interest to scientists are meteorites containing carbonaceous chondrites, believed to represent the most primordial planetary matter in the Solar System. One, which fell near Murchison in Victoria, Australia, in 1969,

revealed an array of organic compounds, including amino acids and nitrogenous bases that embraced all the compounds in- volved in DNA. According to Ron Brown of Monash Uni- versity in Melbourne, researchers have even found “formations in the meteorite reminiscent of a very primitive form of cell structure.”

Until then, carbonaceous chondrite meteorites, first collected in France in 1806, were dismissed as unreliable evidence be- cause their life-related compounds were explained away as terrestrial contamination. But in 1977 two meteorites of this type were discovered buried in the icy wilderness of Antarctica, where no contamination was possible. These, and meteorite fragments collected elsewhere in Antarctica by Japanese sci- entists, were found to be rich in amino acids and to contain at least three of the nucleotides (the A, G, and U of the genetic “alphabet”) that make up DNA and/or RNA. Writing in Sci- entific American (August 1983), Roy S. Lewis and Edward Anders concluded that “carbonaceous chondrites, the most primitive meteorites, incorporate material originating outside the Solar System, including matter expelled by supernovas and other stars.” Radiocarbon dating has given these meteorites an age of 4.5 to 4.7 billion years; it makes them not only as old as but even older than Earth and establishes their extra- terrestrial origin.

Reviving, in a way, the old beliefs that comets cause plagues on Earth, two noted British astronomers. Sir Fred Hoyle and Chandra Wickramasinghe, suggested in a study in the New Scientist (November 17, 1977) that “life on Earth began when

stray comets bearing the building blocks of life crashed into the primitive Earth.” In spite of criticism by other scientists, the two have persisted in pressing this theory forward at sci- entific conferences, in books (Lifecloud and others) and in scholarly publications, offering each time more supportive ar- guments for the thesis that “about four billion years ago life arrived in a comet.”

Recent close studies of comets, such as Halley’s, have shown that the comets, as do the other messengers from far out in space, contain water and other life-building compounds. These findings have led other astronomers and biophysicists to con-

cede the possibility that cometary impacts had played a role in giving rise to life on Earth. In the words of Armand Del- semme of the University of Toledo, “A large number of comets hitting Earth contributed a veneer of chemicals needed for the formation of amino acids; the molecules in our bodies were likely in comets at one time.”

As scientific advances made more sophisticated studies of meteorites, comets, and other celestial objects possible, the results included an even greater array of the compounds es- sential to life. The new breed of scientists, given the name “Exobiologists,” have even found isotopes and other elements in these celestial bodies that indicate an origin preceding the

formation of the Solar System. An extrasolar origin for the life that eventually evolved on Earth has thus become a more ac- ceptable proposition. The argument between the Hoyle-Wick- ramasinghe team and others has by now shifted its focus to whether the two are right in suggesting that “spores”—actual microorganisms—rather than the antecedent life-forming com-

pounds were delivered to Earth by the cometary/meteoritic impacts.

Could “spores” survive in the radiation and cold of outer space? Skepticism regarding this possibility was greatly dis- pelled by experiments conducted at Leiden University, Hol- land, in 1985. Reporting in Nature (vol. 316) astrophysicist J.

Mayo Greenberg and his associate Peter Weber found that this was possible if the “spores” journeyed inside an envelope of molecules of water, methane, ammonia, and carbon monox- ide—all readily available on other celestial bodies. Pansper- mia, they concluded, was possible.

How about directed panspermia, the deliberate seeding of Earth by another civilization, as suggested earlier by Crick and Orgel? In their view, the “envelope” protecting the spores was not made up just of the required compounds, but was a spaceship in which the microorganisms were kept immersed in nutrients. As much as their proposal smacks of science fiction, the two held fast to their “theorem.” “Even though it sounds a bit cranky,” Sir Francis Crick wrote in The New York Times (October 26, 1981), “all the steps in the argument are scientifically plausible.” Foreseeing that Mankind might one day send its “seeds of life” to other worlds, why could it not be that a higher civilization elsewhere had done it to Earth in the distant past?

Lynn Margulis, a pioneer of the Origin of Life conferences and now a member of the U.S. National Academy of Sciences, held in her writings and interviews that many organisms, when faced with harsh conditions, “release tough little packages”—

she named them “Propagules”—”that can carry genetic ma- terial into more hospitable surroundings” (Newsweek, October 2, 1989). It is a natural “strategy for survival” that has ac- counted for “space age spores”; it will happen in the future because it has happened in the past.

In a detailed report concerning all these developments, head-

lined “NASA to Probe Heavens for Clues to Life’s Origins on Earth” in The New York Times (September 6, 1988), Sandra Blakeslee summed up the latest scientific thinking thus:

Driving the new search for clues to life’s beginnings is the recent discovery that comets, meteors and interstellar dust carry vast amounts of complex organic chemicals as well as the elements crucial to living cells.

Scientists believe that Earth and other planets have been seeded from space with these potential building blocks of life.

“Seeded from space”—the very words written down mil- lennia ago by the Sumerians!

It is noteworthy that in his ‘presentations, Chandra Wick- ramasinghe has frequently invoked the writings of the Greek philosopher Anaxagoras who, about 500 B.C., believed that

the “seeds of life” swarm through the universe, ready to sprout and create life wherever a proper environment is found. Com- ing as he did from Asia Minor, his sources, as was true for so much of early Greek knowledge, were the Mesopotamian writ- ings and traditions.

After a detour of 6.000 years, modem science has come back to the Sumerian scenario of an invader from outer space that brings the seed of life into the Solar System and imparts it to “Gaia” during the Celestial Battle.

The Anunnaki, capable of space travel about half a million years before us, discovered this phenomenon long before us;

in this respect, modem science is just catching up with ancient knowledge.

8

THE ADAM: A SLAVE MADE TO ORDER

The biblical tale of Man’s creation is, of course, the crux of the debate—at times bitter—between Creationists and Evo- lutionists and of the ongoing confrontation between them—at times in courts, always on school boards. As previously stated, both sides had better read the Bible again (and in its Hebrew original); the conflict would evaporate once Evolutionists rec- ognized the scientific basis of Genesis and Creationists realized what its text really says.

Apart from the naive assertion by some that in the account of Creation the “days” of the Book of Genesis are literally

twenty-four-hour periods and not eras or phases, the sequence

in the Bible is, as previous chapters should have made clear,

a description of Evolution that is in accord with modern sci-

ence. The insurmountable problem arises when Creationists

insist that we. Mankind, Homo sapiens sapiens, were created

instantaneously and without evolutionary predecessors by “God.” “And the Lord God formed Man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and Man became a living soul.” This is the tale of Man’s creation as told in chapter 2, verse 7 of the Book of Genesis—according to the King James English version; and this is what the Cre-

ationist zealots firmly believe.

Were they to learn the Hebrew text—which is, after all, the

original—they would discover that, first of all, the creative act

is attributed to certain Elohim—a plural term that at the least

should be translated as “gods,” not “God.” And second, they

would become aware that the quoted verse also explains why

“The Adam” was created: “For there was no Adam to till the land.” These are two important—and unsettling—hints to who had created Man and why.

158

Then, of course, there exists the other problem, that of another (and prior) version of the creation of Man, in Genesis 1:26-27. First, according to the King James version, “God said, Let us make men in our image, after our likeness”; then the suggestion was carried out: “And God created man in his own image, in the image of God created He him; male and female created He them.” The biblical account is further com- plicated by the ensuing tale in Chapter 2, according to which “The Adam” was alone until God provided him with a female counterpart, created of Adam’s rib.

While Creationists might be hard put to decide which par- ticular version is the sine qua non tenet, there exists the problem

of pluralism. The suggestion for Man’s creation comes from

a plural entity who addresses a plural audience, saying, “Let

us make an Adam in our image and after our likeness.” What,

those who believe in the Bible must ask, is going on here?

As both Orientalists and Bible scholars now know, what

went on was the editing and summarizing by the compilers of the Book of Genesis of much earlier and considerably more detailed texts first written down in Sumer. Those texts, re- viewed and extensively quoted in The 12th Planet with all sources listed, relegate the creation of Man to the Anunnaki. It happened, we learn from such long texts as Atra Basis, when

the rank-and-file astronauts who had come to Earth for its gold mutinied. The backbreaking work in the gold mines, in south- east Africa, had become unbearable. Enlil, their commander- in-chief, summoned the ruler of Nibiru, his father Anu, to an Assembly of the Great Anunnaki and demanded harsh punish- ment of his rebellious crew. But Anu was more understanding.

“What are we accusing them of?” he asked as he heard the complaints of the mutineers. “Their work was heavy, their distress was much!” Was there no other way to obtain the gold, he wondered out loud.

Yes, said his other son Enki (Enlil’s half brother and rival), the brilliant chief scientist of the Anunnaki. It is possible to

relieve the Anunnaki of the unbearable toil by having someone else take over the difficult work: Let a Primitive Worker be created!

The idea appealed to the assembled Anunnaki. The more they discussed it, the more clear their clamor grew for such a

Primitive Worker, an Adamu, to take over the work load. But, they wondered, how can you create a being intelligent enough to use tools and to follow orders? How was the creation or “bringing forth,” of the Primitive Worker to be achieved? Was it, indeed, a feasible undertaking?

A Sumerian text has immortalized the answer given by Enki to the incredulous assembled Anunnaki, who saw in the cre-

ation of an Adamu the solution to their unbearable toil:

The creature whose name you uttered— IT EXISTS!

All you have to do, he added, is to

Bind upon it the image of the gods.

In these words lies the key to the puzzle of Man’s creation, the magical wand that removes the conflict between Evolution and Creationism. The Anunnaki, the Elohim of the biblical verses, did not create Man from nothing. The being was already there, on Earth, the product of evolution. All that was needed to upgrade it to the required level of ability and intelligence was to “bind upon it the image of the gods,” the image of the Elohim themselves.

For the sake of simplicity let us call the “creature” that already existed then Apeman/Apewoman. The process envi- sioned by Enki was to “bind” upon the existing creature the “image”—the inner, genetic makeup—of the Anunnaki; in other words, to upgrade the existing Apeman/Apewoman through genetic manipulation and, by thus jumping the gun on evolution, bring “Man”—Homo sapiens—into being.

The term Adamu, which is clearly the inspiration for the biblical name “Adam,” and the use of the term “image” in

the Sumerian text, which is repeated intact in the biblical text, are not the only clues to the Sumerian/Mesopotamian origin of the Genesis creation of Man story. The biblical use of the plural pronoun and the depiction of a group of Elohim reaching a consensus and following it up with the necessary action also lose their enigmatic aspects when the Mesopotamian sources

are taken into account.

In them we read that the assembled Anunnaki resolved lo proceed with the project, and on Enki’s suggestion assigned the task to Ninti, their chief medical officer:

They summoned and asked the goddess,

the midwife of the gods, the wise birthgiver,

[saying:]

“To a creature give life, create workers!

Create a Primitive Worker, that he may bear the yoke!

Let him bear the yoke assigned by Enlil, Let The Worker carry the toil of the gods!”

One cannot say for certain whether it was from the Atra Hasis text, from which the above lines are quoted, or from much earlier Sumerian texts that the editors of Genesis got their abbreviated version. But we have here the background of events that led to the need for a Primitive Worker, the assembly of the gods and the suggestion and decision to go ahead and have one created. Only by realizing what the biblical sources were can we understand the biblical tale of the Elohim—the Lofty Ones, the “gods”—saying: “Let us make the Adam in our image, after our likeness,” so as to remedy the situation that “there was no Adam to till the land.”

In The 12th Planet it was stressed that until the Bible begins to relate the genealogy and history of Adam, a specific person,

the Book of Genesis refers to the newly created being as “The

Adam,” a generic term. Not a person called Adam, but, lit-

erally, “the Earthling,” for that is what “Adam” means, com-

ing as it does from the same root as Adamah, “Earth.” But

the term is also a play on words, specifically dam, which means

“blood” and reflects, as we shall soon see, the manner in which The Adam was “manufactured.”

The Sumerian term that means “Man” is LU. But its root meaning is not “human being”; it is rather “worker, servant,” and as a component of animal names implied “domesticated.” The Akkadian language in which the Atra Hasis text was writ-

ten (and from which all Semitic languages have stemmed) applied to the newly created being the term lulu, which means, as in the Sumerian, “Man” but which conveys the notion of

mixing. The word lulu in a more profound sense thus meant “the mixed one.” This also reflected the manner in which The Adam—”Earthling” as well as “He of the blood”—-was cre- ated.

Numerous texts in varying states of preservation or frag- mentation have been found inscribed on Mesopotamian clay

tablets. In sequels to The 12th Planet the creation “myths” of

other peoples, from both the Old and New Worlds, have been

reviewed; they all record a process involving the mixing of a

godly element with an earthly one. As often as not, the godly

element is described as an “essence” derived from a god’s

blood, and the earthly element as “clay” or “mud.” There can be no doubt that they all attempt to tell the same tale, for they all speak of a First Couple. There is no doubt that their origin is Sumerian, in whose texts we find the most elaborate descriptions and the greatest amount of detail concerning the wonderful deed: the mixing of the “divine” genes of the An-

unnaki with the “earthly” genes of Apeman by fertilizing the egg of an Apewoman.

It was fertilization in vitro—in glass tubes, as depicted in this rendering on a cylinder seal (Fig. 51). And, as I have been saying since modern science and medicine achieved the feat of in vitro fertilization, Adam was the first test-tube baby. . . .

Figure 51

There is reason to believe that when Enki made the surprising suggestion to create a Primitive Worker through genetic ma- nipulation, he had already concluded that the feat was possible. His suggestion to call in Ninti for the task was also not a spur- of-the-moment idea.

Laying the groundwork for ensuing events, the Atra Hasis text begins the story of Man on Earth with the assignment of tasks among the leading Anunnaki. When the rivalry between the two half brothers. Enlil and Enki, reached dangerous levels, Anu made them draw lots. As a result, Enlil was given mastery

over the old settlements and operations in the E.DIN (the bib- lical Eden) and Enki was sent to Africa, to supervise the AB. ZU, the land of mines. Great scientist that he was, Enki was bound to have spent some of his time studying the flora and fauna of his surroundings as well as the fossils that, some 300,000 years later, the Leakeys and other paleontologists have

been uncovering in southeastern Africa. As scientists do today, Enki, too, must have contemplated the course of evolution on Earth. As reflected in the Sumerian texts, he came to the con- clusion that the same “seed of life” that Nibiru had brought with it from its previous celestial abode had given rise to life on both planets; much earlier on Nibiru, and later on Earth,

once the latter had been seeded by the collision.

The being that surely fascinated him most was Apeman— a step above the the other primates, a hominid already walking erect and using sharpened stones as tools, a proto-Man—but not yet a fully evolved human. And Enki must have toyed with the intriguing challenge of “playing God” and conducting experiments in genetic manipulation.

To aid his experiments he asked Ninti to come to Africa and be by his side. The official reason was plausible. She was the chief medical officer; her name meant “Lady Life” (later on she was nicknamed Mammi, the source of the universal

Mamma/Mother). There was certainly a need for medical ser- vices, considering the harsh conditions under which the miners toiled. But there was more to it: from the very beginning, Enlil and Enki vied for her sexual favors, for both needed a male heir by a half sister, which she was. The three of them were children of Anu, the ruler of Nibiru, but not of the same mother;

and according to the succession rules of the Anunnaki (later

adopted by the Sumerians and reflected in the biblical tales of the Patriarchs), it was not necessarily the Firstborn son but a son bom by a half sister from the same royal line who became the Legal Heir. Sumerian texts describe torrid lovemaking be- tween Enki and Ninti (with unsuccessful results, though: the offspring were all females); there was thus more than an interest in science that led to Enki’s suggestion to call in Ninti and assign the task to her.

Knowing all this, we should not be surprised to read in the creation texts that, first, Ninti said she could not do it alone,

that she had to have the advice and help of Enki; and second, that she had to attempt the task in the Abzu, where the right materials and facilities were available. Indeed, the two must have conducted experiments together there long before the suggestion was made at the assembly of the Anunnaki to ”let us make an Adamu in our image.” Some ancient depictions

show “Bull-Men” accompanied by naked Ape-men (Fig. 52) or Bird-Men (Fig. 53). Sphinxes (bulls or lions with human heads) that adorned many ancient temples may have been more than imaginary representations; and when Berossus, the Ba- bylonian priest, wrote down Sumerian cosmogony and tales of creation for the Greeks, he described a prehuman period when

Figure 52

Figure 53

“men appeared with two wings,” or “one body and two heads,” or with mixed male and female organs, or “some with the legs and horns of goats” or other hominid-animal mixtures. That these creatures were not freaks of nature but the result of deliberate experiments by Enki and Ninti is obvious from the Sumerian texts. The texts describe how the two came up with a being who had neither male nor female organs, a man who could not hold back his urine, a woman incapable of bearing children, and creatures with numerous other defects. Finally, with a touch of mischief in her challenging announce- ment, Ninti is recorded to have said:

How good or bad is man’s body? As my heart prompts me,

I can make its fate good or bad.

Having reached this stage, where genetic manipulation was sufficiently perfected to enable the determination of the re- sulting body’s good or bad aspects, the two felt they could master the final challenge: to mix the genes of hominids. Ape- men, not with those of other Earth creatures but with the genes of the Anunnaki themselves. Using all the knowledge they had amassed, the two Elohim set out to manipulate and speed up the process of Evolution. Modern Man would have undoubt-

edly eventually evolved on Earth in any case, just as he had done on Nibim, both having come from the same “seed of life.” But there was still a long way and a long time to go from the stage hominids were at 300,000 years ago to the level of development the Anunnaki had reached at that time. If, in the course of 4 billion years, the evolutionary process had been earlier on Nibiru just 1 percent of that time, Evolution would have been forty million years ahead on Nibiru compared with the course of evolution on Earth. Did the Anunnaki jump the gun on evolution on our planet by a million or two million years? No one can say for sure how long it would have taken Homo sapiens to evolve naturally on Earth from the earlier hominids, but surely forty million years would have been more than enough time.

Called upon to perform the task of “fashioning servants for the gods”—”to bring to pass a great work of wisdom.” in the words of the ancient texts—Enki gave Ninti the following

instructions:

Mix to a core the clay

from the Basement of the Earth,

just above the Abzu,

and shape it into the form of a core.

I shall provide good, knowing young Anunnaki

who will bring the clay to the right condition.

In The 12th Planet, I analyzed the etymology of the Sumerian and Akkadian terms that are usually translated “clay” or “mud” and showed that they evolved from the Sumerian TI.IT, literally, “that which is with life,” and then assumed the derivative meanings of “clay” and “mud,” as well as “egg.” The earthly element in the procedure for “binding upon” a being who already existed “the image of the gods” was thus to be the female egg of that being—of an Apewoman.

All the texts dealing with this event make it clear that Ninti relied on Enki to provide the earthly element, this egg of a

female Apewoman, from the Abzu, from southeast Africa. Indeed, the specific location is given in the above quote: not exactly the same site as the mines (an area identified in The 12th Planet as Southern Rhodesia, now Zimbabwe) but a place

“above” it, farther north. This area was, indeed, as recent finds have shown, where Homo sapiens emerged. . . .

The task of obtaining the “divine” elements was Ninti’s. Two extracts were needed from one of the Anunnaki, and a

young “god” was carefully selected for the purpose. Enki’s instructions to Ninti were to obtain the god’s blood and shiru, and through immersions in a “purifying bath” obtain their “essences.” What had to be obtained from the blood was termed TE.E.MA, at best translated “personality,” a term that expresses the sense of the word: that which makes a person

what he is and different from any other person. But the trans- lation “personality” does not convey the scientific precision of the term, which in the original Sumerian meant “That which houses that which binds the memory.” Nowadays we call it a “gene.”

The other element for which the young Anunnaki was se-

lected, shiru, is commonly translated “flesh.” In time, the word did acquire the meaning “flesh” among its various con- notations. But in the earlier Sumerian it referred to the sex or reproductive organs; its root had the basic meaning “to bind,” “that which binds.” The extract from the shiru was referred to in other texts dealing with non-Anunnaki offspring of the

“gods” as kisru; coming from the male’s member, it meant “semen,” the male’s sperm.

These two divine extracts were to be mixed well by Ninti in a purifying bath, and it is certain that the epithet lulu (“The mixed one”) for the resulting Primitive Worker stemmed from this mixing process. In modern terms we would call him a

hybrid.

All these procedures had to be performed under strict sanitary

conditions. One text even mentions how Ninti first washed her

hands before she touched the “clay.” The place where these

procedures were carried out was a special structure called in

Akkadian Bit Shimti, which, coming from the Sumerian

SHI.1M.TI literally meant “house where the wind of life is breathed in”—the source, no doubt, of the biblical assertion that after having fashioned the Adam from the clay, Elohim “blew in his nostrils the breath of life.” The biblical term, sometimes translated “soul” rather than “breath of life,” is Nephesh. The identical term appears in the Akkadian account

of what took place in the “house where the wind of life is hreathed in” after the purifying and extracting procedures were completed:

The god who purifies the napishtu, Enki, spoke up.

Seated before her [Ninti] he was prompting her.

After she had recited her incantation,

she put her hand to the clay.

A depiction on a cylinder seal (Fig. 54) may well have illustrated the ancient text. It shows Enki seated, “prompting” Ninti (who is identified by her symbol, the umbilical cord), with the “test-tube” flasks behind her.

The mixing of the “clay” with all the component extracts and “essences” was not yet the end of the procedure. The egg of the Apewoman, fertilized in the “purifying baths” with the

sperm and genes of the young Anunnaki “god,” was then deposited in a “mold,” where the “binding” was to be com- pleted. Since this part of the process is described again later in connection with the determining of the sex of the engineered being, one may surmise that was the purpose of the ‘ ‘binding” phase.

The length of time the fertilized egg thus processed stayed

Figure 54

in the “mold” is not stated, but what was to be done with it was quite clear. The fertilized and “molded” egg was to be reimplanted in a female womb—but not in that of its original Apewoman. Rather, it was to be implanted in the womb of a “goddess,” an Anunnaki female! Only thus, it becomes clear, was the end result achievable.

Could the experimenters, Enki and Ninti, now be sure that, after all their trial-and-error attempts to create hybrids, they would then obtain a perfect lulu by implanting the fertilized and processed egg in one of their own females—that what she

would give birth to would not be a monster and that her own life would not be at risk?

Evidently they could not be absolutely sure; and as often happens with scientists who use themselves as guinea pigs for a dangerous first experiment calling for a human volunteer, Enki announced to the gathered Anunnaki that his own spouse,

Ninki (“Lady of the Earth”) had volunteered for the task. “Ninki, my goddess-spouse,” he announced, “will be the one for labor”; she was to be the one to determine the fate of the new being:

The newborn’s fate thou shalt pronounce; Ninki would fix upon it the image of the gods; And what it will be is “Man.”

The female Anunnaki chosen to serve as Birth Goddesses if the experiment succeeded, Enki said, should stay and observe what was happening. It was not, the texts reveal, a simple and smooth birth-giving process:

The birth goddesses were kept together. Ninti sat, counting the months.

The fateful tenth month was approaching, The tenth month arrived—

the period of opening the womb had elapsed.

The drama of Man’s creation, it appears, was compounded by a late birth; medical intervention was called for. Realizing what had to be done, Ninti “covered her head” and, with an instrument whose description was damaged on the clay tablet,

“made an opening.” This done, “that which was in the womb came forth.” Grabbing the newborn baby, she was overcome with joy. Lifting it up for all to see (as depicted in Fig. 51), she shouted triumphantly:

I have created!

My hands have made it!

The first Adam was brought forth.

The successful birth of The Adam—by himself, as the first biblical version states—confirmed the validity of the process and opened the way for the continuation of the endeavor. Now, enough “mixed clay” was prepared to start pregnancies in fourteen birth goddesses at a time:

Ninti nipped off fourteen pieces of clay, Seven she deposited on the right, Seven she deposited on the left; Between them she placed the mold.

Now the procedures were genetically engineered to come up with seven males and seven females at a time. We read on another tablet that Enki and Ninti,

The wise and learned,

Double-seven birth-goddesses had assembled.

Seven brought forth males,

Seven brought forth females;

The birth-goddesses brought forth

the Wind of the Breath of Life.

There is thus no conflict among the Bible’s various versions of Man’s creation. First, The Adam was created by himself; but then, in the next phase, the Elohim indeed created the first humans “male and female.”

How many times the “mass production” of Primitive Work- ers was repeated is not stated in the creation texts. We read elsewhere that the Anunnaki kept clamoring for more, and that eventually Anunnaki from the Edin—Mesopotamia—came to the Abzu in Africa and forcefully captured a large number of

Primitive Workers to take over the manual work back in Mes- opotamia. We also learn that in time, tiring of the constant need for Birth Goddesses, Enki engaged in a second genetic manipulation to enable the hybrid people to procreate on their own; but the story of that development belongs in the next chapter.

Bearing in mind that these ancient texts come to us across a bridge of time extending back for millennia, one must admire the ancient scribes who recorded, copied, and translated the earliest texts-—as often as not, probably, without really know- ing what this or that expression or technical term originally meant but always adhering tenaciously to the traditions that required a most meticulous and precise rendition of the copied texts.

Fortunately, as we enter the last decade of the twentieth century of the Common Era, we have the benefit of modern

science on our side. The “mechanics” of cell replication and human reproduction, the function and code of the genes, the cause of many inherited defects and illnesses—all these and so many more biological processes are now understood; per- haps not yet completely but enough to allow us to evaluate the ancient tale and its data.

With all this modern knowledge at our disposal, what is the verdict on that ancient information? Is it an impossible fantasy, or are the procedures and processes, described with such at- tention to terminology, corroborated by modern science?

The answer is yes, it is all the way we would do it today— the way we have been following, indeed, in recent years.

We know today that to have someone or something ‘ ‘brought forth” in the “image” and “after the likeness” of an existing being (be it a tree, a mouse, a man) the new being must have the genes of its creator; otherwise, a totally different being would emerge. Until a few decades ago all that science was aware of was that there are sets of chromosomes lurking within

every living cell that impart both the physical and mental/ emotional characteristics to offspring. But now we know that the chromosomes are just stems on which long strands of DNA are positioned. With only four nucleotides at its disposal, the DNA can be sequenced in endless combinations, in short or

long stretches interspersed with chemical signals that can mean “stop” or “go” instructions (or, it seems, to do nothing at all anymore). Enzymes are produced and act as chemical busy- bodies, launching chemical processes, sending off RNAs to do their job, creating proteins to build body and muscles, produce the myriad differentiated cells of a living creature, trigger the immune system, and, of course, help the being procreate by bringing forth offspring in its own image and after its likeness.

The beginnings of genetics are now credited to Gregor Jo- hann Mendel, an Austrian monk who, experimenting with plant hybridization, described the hereditary traits of common peas

in a study published in 1866. A kind of genetic engineering has of course been practiced in horticulture (the cultivation of flowers, vegetables, and fruits) through the procedure called grafting, where the part of the plant whose qualities are desired to be added to those of another plant is added via an incision to the recipient plant. Grafting has also been tried in recent

years in the animal kingdom, but with limited success between donor and recipient due to rejection by the recipient’s immune system.

The next advance, which for a while received great publicity, was the procedure called Cloning. Because each cell—let us say a human cell—contains all the genetic data necessary to

reproduce that human, it has the potential forgiving rise, within a female egg, to the birth of a being identical to its parent. In theory, cloning offers a way to produce an endless number of Einsteins or, heaven help us. Hitlers.

Experimentally the possibilities of cloning began to be tested with plants, as an advanced method to replace grafting. Indeed,

the term cloning comes from the Greek klon which means “twig.” The procedure began with the notion of implanting just one desired cell from the donor plant in the recipient plant. The technique then advanced to the stage where no recipient plant was needed at all; all that had to be done was to nourish the desired cell in a solution of nutrients until it began to grow,

divide, and eventually form the whole plant. In the 1970s one of the hopes pinned on this process was that whole forests of trees identical to a desired species will be created in test tubes, then shipped in a parcel to the desired location to be planted and grow.

Adapting this technique from plants to animals proved more tricky. First, cloning involves asexual reproduction. In animals that reproduce by fertilizing an egg with a sperm, the repro- ductive cells (egg and sperm) differ from all other cells in that they do not contain all the pairs of chromosomes (which carry the genes as on stems) but only one set each. Thus, in a fertilized human egg (“ovum”) the forty-six chromosomes that constitute the required twenty-three pairs are provided half by the mother (through the ovum) and half by the father (in the sperm). To achieve cloning, the chromosomes in the ovum must be removed surgically and a complete set of pairs inserted instead, not from a male sperm but from any other human cell. If all succeeds and the egg, nestled in the womb, becomes first an embryo, then a fetus and then a baby—the baby will be identical to the person from whose single cell it has grown.

There were other problems inherent in the process, too tech- nical to detail here, but they were slowly overcome with the

aid of experimentation, improved instruments, and progress in

understanding genetics. One intriguing finding that aided the

experiments was that the younger the source of the transplanted

nucleus the better the chances of success. In 1975 British sci-

entists succeeded in cloning frogs from tadpole cells; the pro-

cedure required the removal of a frog egg’s nucleus and its replacement with a tadpole cell’s nucleus. This was achieved by microsurgery, possible because the cells in question are considerably larger than, say, human cells. In 1980 and 1981 Chinese and American scientists claimed to have cloned fish with similar techniques; flies were also experimented on.

When the experiments shifted to mammals, mice and rabbits were chosen because of their short reproductive cycles. The problem with mammals was not only the complexity of their cells and cell nuclei but also the need to nestle the fertilized egg in a womb. Better results were obtained when the egg’s nucleus was not removed surgically but was inactivated by

radiation; even better results followed when this nucleus was “evicted” chemically and the new nucleus also introduced chemically; the procedure, developed through experiments on rabbit eggs by J. Derek Bromhall of Oxford University, became known as Chemical Fusion.

Other experiments relating to the cloning of mice seemed

to indicate that for a mammal’s egg to be fertilized, to start dividing, and, even more important, to begin the process of differentiation (into the specialized cells that become the dif- ferent parts of the body), more than the donor’s set of chro- mosomes is needed. Experimenting at Yale, Clement L. Markert concluded that there was something in the male sperm that promoted these processes, something beside the chro- mosomes; that “the sperm might also be contributing some unidentified spur that stimulates development of the egg.”

In order to prevent the sperm’s male chromosomes from merging with the egg’s female chromosomes (which would have resulted in a normal fertilization rather than in cloning), one set had to be removed surgically just before the merger began and the remaining set “excited” by physical or chemical means to double itself. If the sperm’s chromosomes were cho- sen for the latter role, the embryo might become either male or female; if the egg’s set were chosen and duplicated, the embryo could only be female. While Markert was continuing his experiments on such methods of nuclear transfer, two other scientists (Peter C. Hoppe and Karl Illmensee) announced in 1977 the successful birth, at the Jackson Laboratory in Bar Harbor, Maine, of seven “single-parent mice.” The process, however, was more accurately designated parthenogenesis, “virgin birth,” than cloning; since what the experimenters did was to cause the chromosomes in the egg of a female mouse to double, keep the egg with the full set of chromosomes in certain solutions, and then, after the cell had divided several times, introduce the self-fertilized cell into the womb of a female mouse. Significantly, the recipient mouse had to be a different female, not the mouse whose own egg had been used.

Quite a stir was caused early in 1978 by the publication of a book that purported to relate how an eccentric American millionaire, obsessed by the prospect of death, sought im-

mortality by arranging to be cloned. The book claimed that the nucleus of a cell taken from the millionaire was inserted into a female egg, which was carried through pregnancy to a suc- cessful birth by a female volunteer; the boy, fit and healthy in all respects, was reported at the time of publication to have been fourteen months old. Though written as a factual report,

the tale was received with disbelief. The scientific community’s

skepticism stemmed not from the impossibility of the feat— indeed, that it would one day be possible almost all concerned agreed—-but from doubts whether the feat could have been achieved by an unknown group in the Caribbean when the best researchers had only, at that time, achieved the virgin birth of mice. There was also doubt about the successful cloning of a male adult, when all the experiments had indicated that the older the donor’s cell, the lower the chances of success.

With the memory of the horrors inflicted on Mankind by Nazi Germany in the name of a “master race” still fresh, even

the possibility of cloning selected humans for evil purposes (a

theme of Ira Levin’s best-selling novel The Boys from Brazil)

was reason enough to dampen interest in this avenue of genetic

manipulation. One alternative, which substituted the “Should

man play God?” outcry with what one might call the “Can

science play husband?” idea, was the process that led to the phenomenon of “Tesi-tube babies.”

Research conducted at Texas A & M University in 1976 showed that it was possible to remove an embryo from a mam- mal (a baboon, in that instance) within five days of ovulation and reimplant it in the uterus of another female baboon in a

transfer that led to a successful pregnancy and birth. Other researchers found ways to extract the eggs of small mammals and fertilize them in test tubes. The two processes, that of Embryo Transfer and In vitro Fertilization, were employed in an event that made medical history in July, 1978, when Louise Brown was born at the Oldham and District General Hospital

in northwest England. The first of many other test-tube babies, she was conceived in a test tube, not by her parents but by techniques employed by Doctors Patrick Steptoe and Robert Edwards. Nine months earlier they had used a device with a light at its end to suck out a mature egg from Mrs. Brown’s ovary. Bathed in a dish containing life-support nutrients, the

extracted egg was “mixed”—the word was used by Dr. Ed- wards-—with the husband’s sperm. Once a sperm succeeded in fertilizing the egg, the egg was transferred to a dish con- taining other nutrients, where it began to divide. After fifty hours it had reached an eight-celled division; at that point, the egg was re-implanted in Mrs. Brown’s womb. With care and

special treatment, the embryo developed properly; a caesarean

delivery completed the feat, and a couple who before this could not have a child because of the wife’s defective fallopian tubes now had a normal daughter.

“We have a girl and she’s perfect!” the gynecologist who performed the caesarean delivery shouted as he held up the baby.

“I have created, my hands have made it!” Ninti cried out as she delivered the Adam by caesarean section, an eon ear- lier. …

Also reminiscent of the ancient reports of the long road of trial and error taken by Enki and Ninti was the fact that the Baby Louise “breakthrough” about which the media went wild

(Fig. 55) came after twelve years of trial and error, in the course of which fetuses and even babies turned out defective. Undoubtedly unbeknown to the doctors and researchers was the fact that, in discovering also that the addition of blood serum to the mixture of nutrients and sperm was essential to

Figure 55

success, they were following (he very same procedures that Enki and Ninti had employed. . .

Although the feat gave new hope to barren women (it also opened the way to surrogate motherhood, embryo freezing, semen banks, and new legal entanglements), it was just a distant cousin of the feat accomplished by Enki and Ninti. Yet it had to employ the techniques of which we have read in the ancient texts—just as the scientists engaged in nucleus transfers have found that the male donor must be young, as the Sumerian texts have stressed.

The most obvious difference between the test-tube baby var- iants and what the ancient texts describe is that in the former the natural process of procreation is emulated: human male sperm fertilize a human female egg that then develops in the

womb. In the case of the creation of The Adam, the genetic material of two different (even if not dissimilar) species was mixed to create a new being, positioned somewhere between the two “parents.”

In recent years modern science has made substantial ad- vances in such genetic manipulation. With the aid of

increasingly sophisticated equipment, computers, and ever- more minute instruments, scientists have been able to “read” the genetic code of living organisms, up to and including that of Man. Not only has it become possible to read the A-G-C- T of DNA and the A-G-C-U “letters” of the genetic “al- phabet,” but we can now also recognize the three-letter

“words” of the genetic code (like AGG, AAT, GCC, GGG— and so on in myriad combinations) as well as the segments of the DNA strands that form genes, each with its specific task— for example, to determine the color of the eyes, to direct growth, or to transmit a hereditary disease. Scientists have also found that some of the code’s “words” simply act to instruct

the replication process where to start and when to stop. Grad- ually, scientists have become able to transcribe the genetic code to a computer screen and to recognize in the printouts (Fig. 56) the “stop” and “go” signs. The next step was to tediously find out the function of each segment, or gene—of which the simple E. colt bacterium has about 4,000 and human

beings well over 100,000. Plans are now afoot to “map” the

Figure 56

complete human genetic makeup (“Genome”); the enormity of the task, and the extent of the knowledge already gained, can be appreciated by the fact that if the DNA in all human cells were extracted and put in a box, the box need be no bigger than an ice cube; but if the twisting strands of DNA were stretched out, the string would extend 47 million miles. . . .

In spite of these complexities, it has become possible, with the aid of enzymes, to cut DNA strands at desired places, remove a “sentence” that makes up a gene, and even insert into the DNA a foreign gene; through these techniques an undesired trait (such as one that causes disease) can be removed

or a desired one (such as a growth-hormone gene) added. The advances in understanding and manipulating this fundamental chemistry of life were recognized in 1980 with the award of the Nobel prize in chemistry to Walter Gilbert of Harvard and Frederick Sanger of Cambridge University for the development of rapid methods for reading large segments of DNA, and to Paul Berg of Stanford University for pioneering work in “gene splicing.” Another term used for the procedures is “Recom- binant DNA technology,” because after the splicing, the DNA is recombined with newly introduced segments of DNA.

These capabilities have made possible gene therapy, the removal from or correction within human cells of genes causing inherited sicknesses and defects. It has also made possible Biogenetics: inducing, through genetic manipulation, bacteria or mice to manufacture a needed chemical (such as insulin) for medical treatment. Such feats of recombinant technology are possible because all the DNA in all living organisms on Earth is of the same makeup, so that a strand of bacteria DNA will accept (“recombine” with) a segment of human DNA. (Indeed, American and Swiss researchers reported in July 1984 the discovery of a DNA segment that was common to human beings, flies, earthworms, chickens, and frogs—further cor- roboration of the single genetic origin of all life on Earth.)

Hybrids such as a mule, which is the progeny of a donkey and a horse, can be born from the mating of the two because they have similar chromosomes (hybrids, however, cannot pro- create). A sheep and a goat, though not too distant relatives, cannot naturally mate; however, because of their genetic kin-

ship, experiments have brought them together to form (in 1983) a “geep” (Fig. 57)—a sheep with its woolly coat but with a goat’s horns. Such mixed, or1 “mosaic,” creatures are called chimeras, after the monster in Greek mythology that had the forepart of a lion, the middle of a goat, and the tail of a dragon (Fig. 58). The feat was attained by “Cell Fusion,” the fusing together of a sheep embryo and a goat embryo at the stage of their early divisions into four cells each, then incubating the mixture in a test tube with nutrients until it was time to transfer the mixed embryo to the womb of a sheep that acted as a surrogate mother.

In such cell fusions, the outcome (even if a viable offspring

Figure 57

Figure 58

is born) cannot be predicted; it is totally a matter of chance which genes will end up where on the chromosomes, and what traits—”images” and “likenesses”—will be picked up from which cell donor. There is little doubt that the monsters of Greek mythology, including the famous Minotaur (half bull, half man) of Crete, were recollections of the tales transmitted to the Greeks by Berossus, the Babylonian priest, and that his sources were the Sumerian texts concerning the trial-and-error experiments of Enki and Ninti which produced all kinds of chimeras.

The advances in genetics have provided biotechnology with other routes than the unpredictable chimera route; it is evident that in doing so, modern science has followed the alternate (though more difficult) course of action undertaken by Enki and Ninti. By cutting out and adding on pieces of the genetic strands, or Recombinant Technology, the traits to be omitted, added, or exchanged can be specified and targeted. Some of the landmarks along this progress in genetic engineering were the transfer of bacterial genes to plants to make the latter resistant to certain diseases and, later (in 1980), of specific bacteria genes into mice. In 1982 growth genes of a rat were spliced into the genetic code of a mouse (by teams headed by Ralph L. Brinster of the University of Pennsylvania and Rich- ard D. Palmiter of Howard Hughes Medical Institute), resulting in the birth of a “Mighty Mouse” twice the size of a normal mouse. In 1985 it was reported in Nature (June 27) that ex- perimenters at various scientific centers had succeeded in in- serting functioning human growth genes into rabbits, pigs, and sheep; and in 1987 (New Scientist, September 17) Swedish scientists likewise created a Super-Salmon. By now, genes carrying other traits have been used in such “trans-genic” recombinations between bacteria, plants, and mammals. Tech- niques have even progressed to the artificial manufacture of compounds that perfectly emulate specific functions of a given gene, mainly with a view to treating diseases.

In mammals, the altered fertilized female egg ultimately must be implanted in the womb of a surrogate mother—the function that was assigned, according to the Sumerian tales,

to the “Birth Goddesses.” But before that stage, a way had to be found to introduce the desired genetic traits from the male donor into the egg of the female participant. The most common method is micro-injection, by which a female egg, already fertilized, is extracted and injected with the desired added genetic trait; after a short incubation in a glass dish, the

egg is reimplanted in a female womb (mice, pigs, and other mammals have been tried). The procedure is difficult, has many hurdles, and results in only a small percentage of successes— but it works. Another technique has been the use of viruses, which naturally attack cells and fuse with their genetic cores: the new genetic trait to be transferred into a cell is attached

by complex ways to a virus, which then acts as the carrier; the

problem here is that the choice of the site on the chromosome stem to which the gene is to be attached is uncontrollable, and in most cases chimeras have resulted.

In June 1989 a report in Cell by a team of Italian scientists

headed by Corrado Spadafora of the Institute of Biomedical Technology in Rome announced success in using sperm to act as the carriers of the new gene. They reported procedures whereby sperm were induced to let down their natural resis- tance to foreign genes; then, after being soaked in solutions containing the new genetic material, the sperm incorporated

the genetic material into their cores. The altered sperm were then used to impregnate female mice; the offspring contained the new gene in their chromosomes (in this case a certain bacterial enzyme).

The use of the most natural medium—sperm—to carry ge- netic material into a female egg astounded the scientific com-

munity in its simplicity and made front-page news even in The New York Times. A follow-up study in Science of August 11, 1989, reported mixed successes by other scientists in dupli- cating the Italian technique. But all the scientists involved in recombinant technologies concurred that, with some modifi- cations and improvements, a new technique—and the most

simple and natural one—has been developed.

Some have pointed out that the ability of sperm to take up

foreign DNA was suggested by researchers as early as 1971,

after experiments with rabbit sperm. Little is it realized that

the technique had been reported even earlier, in Sumerian texts

describing the creation of The Adam by Enki and Ninti, who

had mixed the Apewoman’s egg in a test tube with the sperm of a young Anunnaki in a solution also containing blood serum.

In 1987 the dean of anthropology at the University of Flor- ence, Italy, raised a storm of protests by clergymen and hu- manists when he revealed that ongoing experiments could lead to the “creation of a new breed of slave, an anthropoid with

a chimpanzee mother and a human father.” One of my fans sent me the clipping of the story with the comment, “Well, Enki, here we go again!”

This seems to best sum up the achievements of modern microbiology.

The Adam: A Slave Made to Order 183

WASPS, MONKEYS, AND BIBLICAL PATRIARCHS

Much of what has happened on Earth, and especially its earliest wars, stemmed from the Succession Code of the Anunnaki that deprived the firstborn son of the succession if another son was born to the ruler by a half sister.

The same succession rules, adopted by the Sumerians, are reflected in the tales of the Hebrew Patriarchs. The Bible relates that Abraham (who came from the Sumerian capital city of Ur) asked his wife Sarah (a name that meant “Prin- cess”) to identify herself, when meeting foreign kings, as his sister rather than as his wife. Though not the whole truth it was not a lie, as explained in Genesis 20:12: “Indeed she is my sister, the daughter of my father but not the daughter of my mother, and she became my wife.”

Abraham’s successor was not the firstborn Ishmael, whose mother was the handmaiden Hagar, but Isaac, the son of the half sister Sarah, though he was born much later.

The strict adherence to these succession rules in antiquity in all royal courts, whether in Egypt of the Old World or in the Inca empire in the New World, suggest some “blood- line,” or genetic, assumption that appears odd and contrary to the belief that mating with close relatives is undesirable.

But did the Anunnaki know something modern science has yet to discover?

In 1980 a group led by Hannah Wu at Washington Uni- versity found that, given a choice, female monkeys preferred to mate with half brothers. “The exciting thing about this experiment,” the report stated, “is that although the pre- ferred half brothers shared the same father, they had dif- ferent mothers.” Discover magazine (December 1988) reported studies showing that “male wasps ordinarily mate with their sisters.” Since one male wasp fertilizes many females, the preferential mating was found to be with half sisters: same father but different mother.

It appears thus that there was more than whim to the succession code of the Anunnaki.

9

THE MOTHER CALLED EVE

By tracing Hebrew words in the Bible through their Akkadian stem to their Sumerian origin it has been possible to understand the true meaning of biblical tales, especially those in the Book of Genesis. The fact that so many Sumerian terms had more than one meaning, mostly but not always derived from a com- mon original pictograph, constitutes a major difficulty in un- derstanding Sumerian and requires reading them carefully in context. On the other hand, the propensity of Sumerian writers to use that for frequent plays of words, makes their texts an intelligent reader’s joy.

Dealing, for example, with the biblical tale of the “up- heavaling” of Sodom and Gomorrah in The Wars of Gods and Men, 1 pointed out that the notion that Lot’s wife was turned

into a “pillar of salt” when she stayed back to watch what was happening, in fact meant “pillar of vapor” in the original Sumerian terminology. Since salt was obtained in Sumer from vapor-filled swamps, the original Sumerian term NI.MUR came to mean both “salt” and “vapor.” Poor Lot’s wife was vaporized, not turned into salt, by the nuclear blasts that caused

the upheaval of the cities of the plain.

Regarding the biblical tale of Eve, it was the great Sumer-

ologist Samuel N. Kramer who first pointed out that her name,

which meant in Hebrew “She who has life,” and the tale of

her origin from Adam’s rib in all probability stemmed from

the Sumerian play on the word TI, which meant both “life”

and “rib.”

Some other original or double meanings in the creation tales

have already been mentioned in a previous chapter. More can

be gleaned about “Eve” and her origins from comparisons of

184

the biblical tales with the Sumerian texts and an analysis of Sumerian terminology.

The genetic manipulations, we have seen, were conducted

by Enki and Ninti in a special facility called, in the Akkadian versions, Bit Shimti—”House where the wind of life is breathed in”; this meaning conveys a pretty accurate idea of what the purpose of the specialized structure, a laboratory, was. But here we have to invite into the discussion the Su- merian penchant for word play, thereby throwing fresh light

on the source of the tale of Adam’s rib, the use of clay, and the breaths of life.

The Akkadian term, as earlier stated, was a rendering of the Sumerian SHI.IM.T1. a compound word in which each of the three components conveyed a meaning that combined with, strengthened, and expanded the other two. SHI stood for what the Bible called Nephesh, commonly translated “soul” but more accurately meaning “breath of life.” IM had several meanings, depending on the context. It meant “wind,” but it could also mean “side.” In astronomical texts it denoted a satellite that is “by the side” of its planet; in geometry it meant the side of a square or triangle; and in anatomy it meant “rib.” To this day the parallel Hebrew word Sela means both the side of a geometric shape and a person’s rib. And, lo and behold, IM also had a totally unrelated fourth meaning: “clay.” . . .

As if the multiple meanings “wind”/”side”/”rib”/”clay” of IM were not enough, the term TI added to the Sumerians’

linguistic fun. It meant, as previously mentioned, both “life” and “rib”—the latter being the parallel of the Akkadian situ, from which came the Hebrew Sela. Doubled, TI.TI meant “belly”—that which held the fetus; and, lo and behold, in Akkadian titu acquired the meaning “clay,” from which the Hebrew word Tit has survived. Thus, the component TI of the

laboratory’s Sumerian name, SHI.IM.TI, we have the mean- ings “life”/”clay’7″belly’7″rib.”

In the absence of the original Sumerian version from which the compilers of Genesis might have obtained their data, one cannot be sure whether they had chosen the ” ‘rib” interpretation because it was conveyed by both IM and TI or because it gave

them an opening to making a social statement in the ensuing verses:

And Yahweh Elohim caused a deep sleep upon the Adam, and he slept.

And He look one of his ribs

and closed up the flesh in its place.

And Yahweh Elohim constructed of the rib

which He had taken from the Adam a woman, and He brought her to the Adam.

And the Adam said,

“This is now bone of my bones,

flesh of my flesh.”

Therefore is the being called Ish-sha [“Woman”] because out of Ish [“Man”] was this one taken. Therefore doth a man leave his father and his mother and shall cleave unto his wife

to become as one flesh.

This tale of the creation of Man’s female counterpart relates how the Adam, having already been placed in the E.DIN to till it and tend its orchards, was all alone. “And Yahweh Elohim said, it is not good that the Adam is by himself; let me make him a mate.” This obviously is a continuation of the version whereby The Adam alone was created, and not part of the version whereby Mankind was created male and female right away.

In order to resolve this seeming confusion, the sequence of creating the Earthlings must be borne in mind. First the male lulu, “mixed one” was perfected; then the fertilized eggs of Apewoman, bathed and mixed with the blood serum and sperm

of a young Anunnaki, were divided into batches and placed in a “mold,” where they acquired either male or female char- acteristics. Reimplanted in the wombs of Birth Goddesses, the embryos produced seven males and seven females each time. But these “mixed ones” were hybrids, which could not pro- create (as mules cannot). To get more of them, the process

had to be repeated over and over again.

At some point it became apparent that this way of obtaining

the serfs was not good enough; a way had to be found to get

more of these humans without imposing the pregnancies and

deliveries on female Anunnaki. That way was a second genetic

manipulation by Enki and Ninti, giving The Adam the ability to procreate on his own. To be able to have offspring, Adam had to mate with a fully compatible female. How and why she was brought into being is the story of the Rib and of the Garden of Eden.

The tale of the Rib reads almost like a two-sentence summary of a report in a medical journal. In no uncertain terms it de- scribes a major operation of the kind that makes headlines nowadays, when a close relative (for example, a father or a sister) donates an organ for transplant. Increasingly, modern medicine resorts to the transplantation of bone marrow when

the malady is a cancer or affects the immune system.

The donor in the biblical case is Adam. He is given general

anesthesia and is put to sleep. An incision is made and a rib

is removed. The flesh is then pulled together to close up the

wound, and Adam is allowed to rest and recover.

The action continues elsewhere. The Elohim now use the

piece of bone to construct a woman; not to create a woman, but to “construct” one. The difference in terminology is sig- nificant; it indicates that the female in question already existed but required some constructive manipulation to become a mate for Adam. Whatever was needed was obtained from the rib, and the clue to what the rib supplied lies in the other meanings

of IM and TI—life, belly, clay. Was an extract of Adam’s bone marrow implanted in that of a female Primitive Worker’s “clay” through her belly? Regrettably, the Bible does not describe what was done to the female (named Eve by Adam), and the Sumerian texts that have surely dealt with this point have not been found so far. That something of the kind did

exist is certain from the fact that the best available translation of the Atra Hasis text into Early Assyrian (about 850 B.C.) contains lines that parallel some of the biblical verses about a man leaving his father’s house and becoming as one with his wife as they lie in bed together. The tablet that carries this text is too damaged, however, to reveal all that the Sumerian orig-

inal text had to say.

But we do know nowadays, thanks to modern science, that sexuality and the ability to procreate lie in human chromo- somes; each person’s cell contains twenty-three pairs—in the case of a woman a pair of X chromosomes and in the case of

Figure 59

men one X and one Y chromosome (Fig. 59). However, the reproductive cells (female egg, male sperm) each contain only one set of chromosomes, not pairs. The pairing takes place when the egg is fertilized by the sperm; the embryo thus has the twenty-three pairs of chromosomes, but only half of them come from the mother and only half from the father. The mother, having two X chromosomes, always contributes an X. The father, having both an X and a Y, may end up contributing either one; if it is an X, the baby will be female; if a Y, it will be a male.

The key to reproduction thus lies in the fusion of the two single sets of chromosomes; if their number and genetic code differ, they will not combine and the beings will not procreate. Since both female and male Primitive Workers already existed,

their sterility was not due to the lack of X or Y chromosomes. The need for a bone—the Bible stresses that Eve was “bone of the bones” of Adam—suggests that there was a need to overcome some immunological rejection by the female Prim- itive Workers of the males’ sperms. The operation carried out by the Elohim overcame this problem. Adam and Eve discov- ered their sexuality, having acquired “knowing”—a biblical term that connoted sex for the purpose of procreation (“And Adam knew Eve his wife and she conceived and gave birth to Cain.”). Eve, as the tale of the two of them in the Garden of Eden relates, was thenceforth able to become pregnant by Adam, receiving from the deity a blessing combined with a curse: “In suffering shall thou bear children.”

With that, “The Adam,” Elohim said, “has become as one of us.” He was granted “Knowing.” Homo sapiens was able to procreate and multiply on his own. But though he was given

a good measure of the genetic makeup of the Anunnaki, who made Man in their image and after their likeness even in this respect of procreation, one genetic trait was not transmitted. That was the longevity of the Anunnaki. Of the fruit of the “Tree of Life,” partaking of which would have made Man live as long as the Anunnaki, he was not even to taste. This

point is clearly spelled out in the Sumerian tale of Adapa, the Perfect Man created by Enki:

Wide understanding he perfected for him. … Wisdom he had given him. . . .

To him he had given Knowing; Eternal life he had not given him.

Ever since publication of The 12th Planet in 1976, I have spared no effort to explain the seeming “immortality” of the “gods.” Using flies in my home as an example, I have been wont to say that if flies could talk, Papa Fly would tell Son Fly, “You know, this man here is immortal; as long as I have lived, he has not aged at all; my father told me that his father, all our forefathers as far as we can remember, have seen this man the way he is: ever-living, immortal!”

My “immortality” (in the eyes of the talking flies) is, of course, simply a result of the different life cycles. Man lives

so many decades of years; flies count their lives in days. But what are all these terms? A “day” is the time it takes our planet to complete one revolution about its axis; a “year” is the time it takes our planet to complete one orbit around the Sun. The length of time activities by the Anunnaki took on Earth was counted in sars, each one equivalent to 3,600 Earth- years. A sar, I have suggested, was the “year” on Nibiru— the time it took that planet to complete one orbit around the Sun. So when the Sumerian King Lists reported, for example, that one leader of the Anunnaki administered one of their cities for 36,000 years, the text actual states ten sars. if a single generation for Man is twenty years, there would be 180 gen- erations of Man’s progeny in one Anunnaki “year”—making them appear to be Forever Living, “immortal.”

The ancient texts make clear that this longevity was not passed on to Man, but intelligence was. This implies a belief

or knowledge, in antiquity, that the two traits, intelligence and

longevity, could somehow be bestowed upon or denied to Man

by those who had genetically created him. Not surprisingly,

perhaps, modem science agrees. “Evidence amassed over the

past 60 years suggests that there is a genetic component to

intelligence,” Scientific American reported in its March 1989 issue. Besides giving examples of geniuses in various fields who had bequeathed their talents to children and grandchildren, the article highlighted a report by researchers from the Uni- versity of Colorado at Boulder and Pennsylvania State Uni- versity (David W. Fulker, John C. DeFries, and Robert

Plomin), who had established a “close biological correlation” in mental abilities attributable to genetic heredity. Scientific American headlined the article, “More Evidence Links Genes and Intelligence.” Other studies, recognizing that “memories are made of molecules,” have led to the suggestion that if computers are ever to match human intelligence, they ought

to be “molecular computers.” Updating suggestions made in this direction by Forrest Carter of the Naval Research Labo- ratories in Washington, D.C., John Hopfield of Caltech and AT&T’s Bell Laboratories outlined in 1988 (Science, vol. 241) a blueprint for a “biological computer.”

Evidence has also been mounting for the genetic source of

the life cycles of living organisms. The various stages in the

life of insects and the length of time they live are clearly genetically orchestrated. So is the fact that so many creatures— but not mannals—die after reproducing. Octopuses, for ex- ample, it was discovered (by Jerome Wodinsky of Brandeis University) are genetically programmed to “self-destruct” after reproduction through chemicals found in their optical glands. The studies were carried out in the course of research on the aging process in animals, not on the life of octupuses per se. Many other studies have shown that some animals possess the capacity to repair damaged genes in their cells and thus halt or reverse the aging process. Every species clearly has a life span fixed by its genes—a single day for the mayfly, about six years for a frog, a limit of about fifteen for a dog. Nowadays the human limit lies somewhere not much beyond one hundred years but in earlier times human life spans were much longer.

According to the Bible, Adam lived to be 930 years old, his son Seth 912 years, and his son Enosh, 905. Although there

is reason to believe that the editors of Genesis reduced by a

factor of 60 the much greater life spans reported in the Sumerian

texts, the Bible does acknowledge that mankind had much

longer lifetimes before the Deluge. Patriarchal life spans began

to shorten as the millennia raced on. Terah, Abraham’s father,

died at the age of 205. Abraham lived 175 years; his son Isaac died at age 180. Isaac’s son Jacob lived to be 147 but Jacob’s son passed away at age 110.

While it is believed the genetic errors that accumulate as DNA keeps reproducing itself in the cells contribute to the aging process, scientific evidence indicates the existence of a

biological “clock” in all creatures, a basic, built-in genetic trait that controls the life span of each species. What that gene or group of genes is, what makes it tick, what triggers it to “express” itself, are still matters of intense research. But that the answer lies in the genes has been shown by numerous studies. Some, on viruses, show that they possess fragments

of DNA that can literally “immortalize” them.

Enki must have known all that, so that when it came to

perfecting The Adam—creating a true, procreating Homo sap-

iens—he gave Adam intelligence and “Knowing,” but not the

full longevity that the Anunnaki genes possessed.

As Mankind keeps distancing itself from the days of its creation as a Lulu, a “mixed” being who carried the genetic heritage of both the Earth and the Heavens, the shortening of its average life span might be seen as a symptom of the minute loss, from generation to generation, of what some consider “divine” elements and the increasing preponderance of the “animal which is within us.” The existence in our genetic makeup of what some call “nonsense” DNA—segments of DNA that seem to have lost their purpose—is an apparent leftover from the original “mixing.” The two independent, though connected, parts of the brain—one more primitive and emotional, the other newer and more rational—are another attestation to the mixed genetic origin of Mankind.

The evidence that corroborates the ancient tales of creation, massive as it has been so far, does not end with genetic ma- nipulation. There is more to come, and it is all above Eve!

Modern anthropology, with the aid of fossil finds by pa- leontologists and advances in other fields of science, has made great strides in tracing back the origin of Man. By now the question “Where did we come from?” has been clearly an- swered: Mankind arose in southeastern Africa.

The story of Man, we now know, did not begin with Man; the “chapter” that tells of the group of mammals called “Pri- mates” takes us back some forty-five or fifty million years, when a common ancestor of monkeys, apes, and Man appeared in Africa. Twenty-five or thirty million years later—that is how slowly the wheels of evolution turn—a precursor of the

Great Apes branched off the primate line. In the 1920s fossils of this early ape, “Proconsul,” were found by chance on an island in Lake Victoria (see map), and the find eventually attracted to the area the best-known husband-wife team of paleontologists, Louis S. B. and Mary Leakey. Besides Pro- consul fossils they also discovered in the area remains of Ra-

mapithecus, the first erect ape or manlike primate; it was some fourteen million years old—some eight or ten million years up the evolutionary tree from Proconsul.

These discoveries meant more than finding a few fossils; they unlocked the door to nature’s secret laboratory, the hide- away where Mother Nature keeps forging ahead with the ev-

Figure 60

olutionary march that has led from mammal to primate to great apes to hominids. The place was the rift valley that slashes through Ethiopia, Kenya, and Tanzania—part of the rift system that begins in the Jordan Valley and the Dead Sea in Israel, includes the Red Sea, and runs all the way to southern Africa (map, Fig. 60).

Numerous fossil finds have been made at sites that the Leak- eys and other paleoanthropologists have made famous. The

richest finds have been in Olduvai Gorge in Tanzania; near

Lake Rudolf (renamed Lake Turkana) in Kenya; and in the Afar province of Ethiopia, to name the best-known sites. There have been many discoverers from many nations, but some— prominent in the scholarly debates regarding the meaning and time scales of the finds—ought to be mentioned: the Leakeys’ son Richard (curator of the National Museums of Kenya), Donald C. Johanson (curator at the Cleveland Museum of Nat- ural History at the time of his discoveries), Tim White, and J. Desmond Clark (University of California at Berkeley), Alan Walker (John Hopkins University), Andrew Hill and David Pilbeam of Harvard, and Raymond Dart and Phillip Tobias of South Africa.

Putting aside the problems raised by pride of discovery, different interpretations of finds, and a propensity for splitting species and genuses into smaller subdivisions, it is safe to state that the branch leading to humans separated from that of four-

legged apes some fourteen million years ago and that it took another nine million years or so until the first apes with hominid aspects, called Australopithecus, showed up—-all where nature had chosen its “man-making” laboratory to be.

While the fossil record for those intervening ten million years is almost blank, paleoanthropologists (as the new group of

scientists has come to be called) have been quite ingenious in piecing together the record in the ensuing three million years. Sometimes with only a jawbone, a fractured skull, a pelvis bone, the remains of some fingers, or, with luck, even parts of skeletons, they have been able to reconstruct the beings these fossils represented; with the aid of other finds, such as

animal bones or stones crudely shaped to serve as tools, they have determined the developmental stage and customs of the beings; and by dating the geologic strata in which the fossils are found, they have been able to date the fossils themselves.

Among the outstanding road markers have been such finds as skeletal parts of a female nicknamed “Lucy” (who might

have looked like the hominid in Fig. 61)—believed to have been an advanced Australopithecus who lived some 3.5 million years ago; a fossil known by its catalog number as “Skull 1470” of a male from perhaps 2 million years ago and con- sidered by its finders to be a “near man,” or Homo habilis (“Handy Man”)—a term to whose implications many object;

Figure 61

and skeletal remains of a “strapping young male” cataloged WT.15000 of a Homo erectus from about 1.5 million years ago, probably the first true hominid. He ushered in the Old Stone Age; he began to use stones as tools, and migrated via the Sinai peninsula, which acts as a land bridge between Africa and Asia, to southeast Asia on the one hand and to southern Europe on the other.

The trail of the Homo genus is lost after that; the chapter between about 1.5 million years to about 300,000 years ago is missing, except for traces of Homo erectus on the peripheries of this hominid’s migrations. Then, about 300,000 years ago, without any evidence of gradual change, Homo sapiens made his appearance. At first it was believed that Homo sapiens neanderthalis. Neanderthal man (so named after the site of his first discovery in Germany), who came into prominence in Europe and parts of Asia about 125,000 years ago, was the ancestor of the Cro-Magnons, Homo sapiens sapiens, who took over the lands about 35,000 years ago. Then it was held that

the more “brutish” and thus “primitive'” Neanderthal stemmed from a different Homo sapiens branch, that Cro- Magnon had developed somewhere on his own. Now it is known that the latter notion is more correct, but not entirely. Related but not the offspring of each other, the two lines of Homo sapiens lived side by side as far back as 90,000 or even 100,000 years ago.

The evidence was found in two caves, one on Mount Carmel and the other near Nazareth, in Israel; they are among a number of caves in the area where prehistoric man had made himself a home. The first finds in the 1930s were believed to be about 70,000 years old and only of Neanderthal Man, thus fitting well with the theories then held. In the 1960s a joint Israeli- French team reexcavated the cave at Qafzeh, the one near Nazareth, and discovered that the remains were not only of Neanderthals but also of Cro-Magnon types. In fact, the lay- ering indicated that Cro-Magnons had used the cave before the Neanderthals—a fact that pushed back the appearance of the Cro-Magnons from the supposed 35,000 years ago to well before 70,000 years ago.

Themselves incredulous, the scientists at Hebrew University in Jerusalem turned for verification to the remains of rodents

found in the same layers. Their examination gave the same

incredible date: Cro-Magnons, Homo sapiens sapiens, who

were not supposed to have made an appearance before 35,000

years ago, had reached the Near East and settled in what is

now Israel more than 70,000 years ago. Moreover, for a long

time they shared the area with the Neanderthals.

At the end of 1987 the finds at Qafzeh and Kebara, the cave

on Mount Carmel, were dated by new methods, including

Thermoluminescence, a technique that gives reliable dates

much further back than the 40,000 to 50,000 year limit of

radiocarbon dating. As reported in two issues (vols. 330 and

340) of Nature by the leader of the French team, Helene Val- lades of the National Research Center at Gif sur Yvette, the results showed without doubt that both Neanderthals and Cro- Magnons dwelt in the area between 90,000 and 100,000 years ago (scientists now use 92,000 years as the mean date). These findings were confirmed later at another site in the Galilee.

Devoting an editorial in Nature to the findings, Christopher

Stringer of the British Museum acknowledged that the con- ventional view that Neanderthals preceded Cro-Magnons had to be discarded. Both lines appeared to stem from an earlier form of Homo sapiens. “Wherever the original ‘Eden1 for modern humans might have been,” the editorial stated, it now appeared that for some reason Neanderthals were the first to migrate northward, about 125.000 years ago. Joined by his colleague, Peter Andrews, and Ofer Bar-Yosef of Hebrew Uni- versity and Harvard, they forcefully argued for an “Out of Africa” interpretation of these finds. A northward migration by these first Homo sapiens from an African birthplace was confirmed by the discovery (by Fred Wendorf of Southern Methodist University, Dallas) of a Neanderthal skull near the Nile in Egypt that was 80,000 years old.

“Does it all mean an earlier dawn for humans’?” a Science headline asked. As scientists from other disciplines joined the search, it became clear the answer was yes. The Neanderthals, it was determined, were not just visitors to the Near East but long-time dwellers there. And they were not the primitive brutes that earlier notions had made them out to be. They buried their dead in rituals that indicated religious practices and “at least one type of spiritually motivated behavior that allies them with modern humans” (Jared M. Diamond of the University of California Medical School at Los Angeles). Some, as the discoverer of Neanderthal remains at the Shanidar cave, Ralph

S. Solecki of Columbia University, believe that the Neander- thals knew how to use herbs for healing—60,000 years ago.

Skeletal finds in the Israeli caves convinced anatomists that,

contrary to previously held theories. Neanderthals could speak:

“Fossil brain casts show a well-developed language area,”

stated Dean Falk of the State University of New York at Al-

bany. And “Neanderthal’s brain was bigger than ours … he

was not dull-witted and inarticulate,” concluded neuroanato- mist Terrence Deacon of Harvard.

All these recent discoveries have left no doubt that Nean- derthal man was without doubt a Homo sapiens—not an ances- tor of Cro-Magnon man but an earlier type from the same human stock.

In March 1987 Christopher Stringer of the British Museum, along with a colleague, Paul Mellars, organized a conference

at Cambridge University to update and digest the new findings concerning “The Origins and Dispersal of Modern Man.” As reported by J. A. J. Gowlett in Antiquity (July 1987), the con- ferees first considered the fossil evidence. They concluded that after a hiatus of 1.2 to 1.5 million years by Homo erectus. Homo sapiens made a sudden appearance soon after 300,000 years ago (as evidenced by fossil remains in Ethiopia, Kenya, and South Africa). Neanderthals “differentiated” from those early Homo sapiens (“Wise man”) about 230,000 years ago and may have begun their northward migrations 100,000 years later, perhaps coinciding with the appearance of Homo sapiens sapiens.

The conference also examined other lines of evidence, in- cluding the brand-new data provided by the field of biochem- istry. Most exciting were the findings based on genetics. The

ability of geneticists to trace parentage through comparisons of DNA “sentences” has been proven in paternity lawsuits. It was inevitable that the new techniques would be extended to trace not only child-parent relationships but also whole lin- eages of species. It was this new science of molecular genetics that enabled Allan C. Wilson and Vincent M. Sarich (both of

the University of California at Berkeley) to establish with great accuracy that hominids differentiated from apes about 5 mil- lion, not 15 million years ago, and that the hominids’ closest “next of kin” were chimpanzees and not gorillas.

Because a person’s DNA keeps getting mixed by the genes of the generational fathers, comparisons of the DNA in the

nucleus of the cell (which come half from mother, half from father) do not work well after several generations. It was dis- covered, however, that in addition to the DNA in the cell’s nucleus, some DNA exists in the mother’s cell but outside the nucleus in bodies called “mitochondria” (Fig. 62). This DNA does not get mixed with the father’s DNA; instead, it is passed

on “unadulterated” from mother to daughter to granddaughter, and so on through the generations. This discovery, by Douglas Wallace of Emory University in the 1980s, led him to compare this “mtDNA” of about 800 women. The surprising conclu- sion, which he announced at a scientific conference in July 1986, was that the mtDNA in all of them appeared to be so

similar that these women must have all descended from a single female ancestor.

Figure 62

The research was picked up by Wesley Brown of the Uni- versity of Michigan, who suggested that by determining the rate of natural mutation of mtDNA, the length of time that had passed since this common ancestor was alive could be calcu- lated. Comparing the mtDNA of twenty-one women from di- verse geographical and racial backgrounds, he came to the conclusion that they owed their origin to “a single mitochon- drial Eve” who had lived in Africa between 300,000 and 180,000 years ago.

These intriguing findings were taken up by others, who set out to search for “Eve.” Prominent among them was Rebecca Cann of the University of California at Berkeley (later at Hawaii University). Obtaining the placentas of 147 women of different

races and geographical backgrounds who gave birth at San Francisco hospitals, she extracted and compared their mtDNA. The conclusion was that they all had a common female ancestor who had lived between 300,000 and 150,000 years (depending on whether the rate of mutation was 2 percent or 4 percent per million years). “We usually assume 250,000 years,” Cann

stated.

The upper limit of 300,000 years, palcoanthropologists

noted, coincided with the fossil evidence for the time Homo

sapiens made his appearance. “What could have happened

300,000 years ago to bring this change about?” Cann and Allan

Wilson asked, but they had no answer.

To further test what has come to be called the “Eve Hy- pothesis,” Cann and her colleagues, Wilson and Mark Stone- king, proceeded to examine placentas of about 150 women in America whose ancestors came from Europe, Africa, the Mid- dle East, and Asia, as well as placentas from aborigine women in Australia and New Guinea. The results indicated that the African mtDNA was the oldest and that all those different women from various races and the most diverse geographic and cultural backgrounds had the same sole female ancestor who had lived in Africa between 290,000 and 140,000 years ago.

In an editorial in Science (September 11,1 987) in which all these findings were reviewed, it was stated that the overwhelm- ing evidence showed that “Africa was the cradle of modem humans. . . . The story molecular biology seems to be telling is that modern humans evolved in Africa about 200,000 years

ago.”

These sensational findings—since then corroborated by

other studies—made worldwide headlines. “The question

Where did we come from? has been answered” the National

Geographic (October, 1988) announced: out of southeastern

Africa. “The Mother of Us All” has been found, headlined

the San Francisco Chronicle. “Out of Africa: Man’s Route to Rule the World,” announced the London Observer. Newsweek (January 11, 1988) in what was to be its best-selling issue ever depicted an “Adam” and an “Eve” with a serpent on its front cover, headlining it “The Search for Adam and Eve.”

The headline was appropriate, for as Allan Wilson observed,

“Obviously where there was a mother there had to be a father.”

All these very recent discoveries go a long way indeed in confirming the biblical claim regarding the first couple of Homo sapiens:

And Adam called his wife’s name Chava [“She of Life”—”Eve” in English] for she was the mother of all who live.

Several conclusions are offered by the Sumerian data. First, the creation of the Lulu was the result of the mutiny of the

Anunnaki about 300,000 years ago. This date as the upper limit for the first appearance of Homo sapiens has been cor- roborated by modem science.

Second, the forming of the Lulu had taken place “above the Abzu,” north of the mining area. This is corroborated by the location of the earliest human remains in Tanzania, Kenya, and Ethiopia—north of the gold-mining areas of southern Af- rica.

Third, the full emergence of the first type of Homo sapiens,

the Neanderthals—-about 230,000 years ago—falls well within the 250.000 years suggested by the mtDNA findings for the data of “Eve,” followed later by the emergence of Homo sapiens sapiens, “modern Man.”

There is no contradiction at all between these later dates and the 300,000-year date of the mutiny. Bearing in mind that

these were Earth-years, whereas for the Anunnaki 3,600 Earth- years amounted to only one of theirs, we should first recall that a period of trial and error followed the decision to ‘ ‘create the Adam,” until the “perfect model” was achieved. Then, even after the Primitive Workers were brought forth, seven males and seven females at a time, pregnancies by Birth God-

desses were required, as the new hybrid was unable to pro- create.

Clearly, the tracing of mtDNA accounts for the”Eve” who could bear children, not a female Lulu unable to procreate. The granting to mankind of this ability, it was shown earlier, took place as a result of a second genetic manipulation by Enki

and Ninti which, in the Bible, is reflected in the story of Adam, Eve, and the Serpent in the Garden of Eden.

Did that second genetic manipulation take place about 250,000 years ago, the data for “Eve” suggested by Rebecca Cann, or 200,000 years ago, as the article in Science prefers?

According to the Book of Genesis, Adam and Eve began to

have children only after their expulsion from “Eden.” We know nothing of whether Abel, their second son who was killed by his elder brother Cain, had any offspring. But we do read that Cain and his descendants were ordered to migrate to far- away lands. Were these descendants of the “accursed line of Cain” the migrating Neanderthals? It is an intriguing possi-

bility that must remain a speculation.

What seems certain is that the Bible does recognize the final emergence of Homo sapiens sapiens, modern human beings. It tells us that the third son of Adam and Eve, Seth, had a son named Enosh, of whom the lineage of Mankind is descended. Now, Enosh in Hebrew means “human, human being”—you and me. It was in the time of Enosh, the Bible states, that “men began to call the name of Yahweh. It was then, in other words, that fully civilized Man and religious worship were established.

With that, all the aspects of the ancient tale stand corrob- orated .

THE EMBLEM OF ENTWINED SERPENTS

In the biblical tale of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, the antagonist of the Lord God who had caused them to acquire “knowing” (the ability to procreate) was the Serpent, Nahash in Hebrew.

The term has two other meanings: “he who knows se- crets” and “he who knows copper.” These other meanings or word plays are found in the Sumerian epithet BUZUR for Enki, which meant “he who solves secrets” and “he of the metal mines.” I have therefore suggested in previous writings that, in the original Sumerian version, the “Ser- pent” was Enki. His emblem was entwined serpents; it was the symbol of his “cult center” Eridu (a), of his African domains in general (b), and of the pyramids in particular (c); and it appeared on Sumerian illustrations on cylinder seals of the events described in the Bible.

What did the emblem of entwined serpents—the symbol for medicine and healing to this very day—represent? The discovery by modern science of the double-helix structure of DNA (see Fig. 49) offers the answer: the Entwined Ser- pents emulated the structure of the genetic code, the secret knowledge of which enabled Enki to create The Adam and then grant Adam and Eve the ability to procreate.

The emblem of Enki as a sign of healing was invoked by Moses when he made a nahash nehosheth—-a “copper ser- pent”—to halt an epidemic afflicting the Israelites. Was the involvement of copper in the triple meanings of the term

The Mother Called Eve 203

and in the making of the copper serpent by Moses due to some unknown role of copper in genetics and healing?

Recent experiments, conducted at the universities of Min- nesota and St. Louis, suggest that it is indeed so. They showed that radionucleide copper-62 is a “positron-emit- ter,” valuable in imaging blood flow, and that other copper compounds can carry Pharmaceuticals to living cells, in- cluding brain cells.

10

WHEN WISDOM WAS LOWERED FROM HEAVEN

The Sumerian King Lists—a record of rulers, cities, and events arranged chronologically—divide prehistory and history into two distinct parts: first the long record of what had happened before the Deluge, then what transpired after the Deluge. One was the time when the Anunnaki “gods” and then their sons by the “daughters of Man,” the so-called demigods, ruled upon the Earth; the other was when human rulers—kings se- lected by Enlil—were interposed between the “gods” and the people. In both instances the institution of an organized society and orderly government, “Kingship,” was stated to have been “lowered from heaven”—the emulation on Earth of the so- cietal and governmental organization on Nibiru.

“When kingship was lowered from heaven,” begins the Sumerian King List, “kingship was in Eridu. In Eridu, Alulim became king and ruled 28,800 years.” After listing the other antediluvial rulers and cities, the text states that “then the Flood swept over the Earth.” And it continues: “After the Flood had

swept over the Earth, when kingship was lowered again from heaven, kingship was in Kish.” From then on, the lists take us into historical times.

Although the subject of this volume is what we call Science and the ancients called Wisdom, a few words about “King- ship”—the good order of things, an organized society and its

institutions—will not be out of place, because without them no scientific progress or the dissemination and preservation of “Wisdom” could be possible. “Kingship” was the “portfo- lio” of Enlil, the Chief Administrator of the Anunnaki on Earth. It is noteworthy that as in so many scientific fields where we still live off and build upon the Sumerian bequests, so does

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the institution of kings and kingship still exist, having served Mankind for so many millennia. Samuel N. Kramer, in History Begins at Sumer, listed scores of “firsts” begun there, in- cluding a bicameral chamber of elected (or selected) deputies.

Various aspects of an organized and orderly society were incorporated into the concept of kingship, first and foremost among them the need for justice. A king was required to be “righteous” and to promulgate and uphold the laws, for Su- merian society was one that lived by the law. Many have learnt in school of the Babylonian king Hammurabi and his famous law code, dating back to the second millenium B.C.; but at least two thousand years before him Sumerian kings had al- ready promulgated codes of law. The difference was that Ham- murabi’s was a code of crime and punishment: if you do this, your punishment will be that. The Sumerian law codes, on the other hand, were codes of just behavior; they stated that “you should not take away a widow’s donkey” or delay the wages of a day laborer. The Bible’s Ten Commandments were, like the Sumerian codes, not a list of punishments but a code of what is right to do and what is wrong and should not be done.

The laws were upheld by a judicial administration. It is from Sumer that we have inherited the concept of judges, juries, witnesses, and contracts. The unit of society we call the “fam- ily,” based on a contractual marriage, was instituted in Sumer; so were rules and customs of succession, of adoption, of the

rights of widows. The rule of law was also applied to economic activities: exchange based on contracts, rules for employment, wages, and—how else—taxation. We know much of Sumer’s foreign trade, for example, because there had been a customs station at a city called Drehem where meticulous records were kept of all commercial movements of goods and animals.

All that and more came under the umbrella of “Kingship.” As the sons and grandchildren of Enlil entered the stage of relations between Man and his gods, the functions of kingship and the supervision of kings were gradually handed over to them, and Enlil as the All Beneficent became a cherished mem- ory. But to this day what we call a “civilized society” still

owes its foundations to the time when “kingship was lowered from heaven.”

“Wisdom”—sciences and the arts, the activities that re- quired know-how—were the domain first of Enki, the Chief Scientist of the Anunnaki, and later on, of his children.

We learn from a text scholars call “Inanna and Enki: The Transfer of the Arts of Civilization” that Enki possessed certain

unique objects called ME—a kind of computer or data disks— which held the information needed for the sciences, the han- dicrafts, and the arts. Numbering more than a hundred, they included such diverse subjects as writing, music, metalwork- ing, construction, transportation, anatomy, medical treatments, flood control, and urban decay; also, as other lists make clear,

astronomy, mathematics, and the calendar.

Like Kingship, Wisdom was “lowered to Earth from

Heaven,” granted to Mankind by the Anunnaki “gods.” It

was by their sole decision that scientific knowledge was passed

on to Mankind, usually through the medium of selected indi-

viduals; the instance of Adapa, to whom Enki granted “wide

understanding,” has already been mentioned. As rule, how- ever, the chosen person belonged to the priesthood—another “first” that stayed with Mankind for millennia through the Middle Ages, when priests and monks were still also the sci- entists.

Sumerian texts tell of Enmeduranki who was groomed by the gods to be the first priest, and relate how the gods

Showed him how to observe oil and water, secrets of Anu, Enlil and Enki.

They gave him the Divine Tablet,

the engraved secrets of Heaven and Earth.

They taught him how to make calculations with numbers.

These brief statements disclose considerable information. The first subject Enmeduranki was taught, the knowledge of “oil and water,” concerned medicine. In Sumerian times phy- sicians were called either an A.ZU or a IA.ZU, meaning “One who knows water” and “One who knows oil,” and the dif- ference was the method by which they administered medica- ments: mixed and drunk down with water, or mixed with oil and administered by an enema. Next, Enmeduranki was given a “divine,” or celestial, tablet on which were engraved the

“secrets of Heaven and Earth”—information about the planets and the Solar System and the visible constellations of stars, as well as knowledge about “Earth sciences”-—geography, ge- ology, geometry and—since the Enuma etish was incorporated into the temple rituals on New Year’s Eve—cosmogony and evolution. And, to be able to understand all that—the third subject, mathematics: “calculations with numbers.”

In Genesis the story of the antediluvial patriarch called Enoch is summed up in the statement that he did not die but was taken up to the Lord when he was 365 years old (a number that corresponds to the number of days in a year); but considerably

more information about Enoch is provided in the Book of Enoch (of which several renderings have been found), which was not made part of the Bible. In it the knowledge imparted by angels to Enoch is described in much detail; it included mining and metallurgy and the secrets of the Lower World, geography and the way Earth is watered, astronomy and the laws governing

celestial motions, how to calculate the calendar, knowledge of plants and flowers and foods and so on—all shown to Enoch in special books and on “heavenly tablets.”

The biblical Book of Proverbs devotes a good deal of its teachings to Man’s need for Wisdom and to the realization that it is granted by God only to the righteous, “for it is the Lord

who giveth wisdom.” The many secrets of Heaven and Earth that Wisdom encompasses are highlighted in an Ode to Wisdom found in chapter 8 of Proverbs. The Book of Job likewise extols the virtues of Wisdom and all the abundance Man can obtain by it, but pointedly asks: “But whence cometh Wisdom, and where is the source of Understanding?” To which the

answer is. “It is God who understands the way thereof”; the Hebrew word translated “God” is Elohim, the plural term first used in the creation tales. It is certain that the inspiration for these two biblical books, if not their actual source, was Su- merian and Akkadian texts of proverbs and of the Sumerian equivalent of the Book of Job; the latter, interestingly, was

titled “I Will Praise the Lord of Wisdom.”

There was no doubt in ancient times that scientific knowledge

was a gift and a teaching from the “gods”—the Anunnaki,

Elohim—to Mankind. The assertions that astronomy was a

major subject are self-evident statements, since, as must be

evident from earlier chapters in this book, the astounding knowledge in Sumerian times of the complete Solar System and the cosmogony that explained the origin of Earth, the asteroid belt, and the existence of Nibiru could have come only from the Anunnaki.

While I have seen a gratifying increase—to some extent, I would like to think, due to my writings—in the recognition of the Sumerian contribution to the beginnings and concept of

laws, medical treatment, and cuisine, the parallel recognition of the immense Sumerian contribution to astronomy has not come about; this, I suspect, because of the hesitation in crossing the “forbidden threshold” of the inevitable next step: if you admit what the Sumerians knew about celestial matters, you must admit the existence not only of Nibiru but also of its

people, the Anunnaki. . . .Nevertheless, this “fear of cross- ing” (a nice play on words, since Nibiru’s name meant “Planet of the Crossing” . . .) in no way negates the fact that modem astronomy owes to the Sumerians (and through them, to the Anunnaki) the basic concept of a spherical astronomy with all its technicalities; the concept of an ecliptic as the belt around

the Sun in which the planets orbit; the grouping of stars into constellations; the grouping of the constellations seen in the ecliptic into the Houses of the Zodiac; and the application of the number 12 to these constellations, to the months of the year, and to other celestial, or “divine,” matters. This em- phasis on the number 12 can be traced to the fact that the Solar

System has twelve members, and each leading Anunnaki was assigned a celestial counterpart, forming a pantheon of twelve “Olympians” who were also each assigned a constellation and a month. Astrologers certainly owe much to these celestial divisions, since in the planet Nibiru astrologers find the twelfth member of the Solar System that they have been missing for

so long.

As the Book of Enoch details and as the biblical reference

to the number 365 attests, a direct result of the knowledge of

the interrelated motions of the Sun, the Moon, and the Earth

was the development of the calendar: the counting of the days

(and their nights), the months, and the years. It is now generally

recognized that the Western calendar we use nowadays harkens back to Mankind’s first-ever calendar, the one known as the

Calendar of Nippur. Based on the alignment of its start with the spring equinox in the zodiac of Taurus, scholars have con- cluded that this calendar was instituted at the beginning of the fourth millennium B.C. Indeed, the very concept of a calendar that is coordinated with the Earth-Sun occurrences of the equi- noxes (the time the Sun crosses the equator and day and night are equal) or, alternatively, with the solstices (when the Sun appears to have reached its farthest point north or south)— concepts that are found in all calendars in both the Old World and the New World—come to us from Sumer.

The Jewish calendar, as I have repeatedly pointed out in books and articles, still adheres to the calendar of Nippur not

only in its form and structure but also in its count of years. In

A.D. 1990 the Jewish calendar counts the year 5750; and it is

not from “the creation of the world,” as the explanation has

been, but from the start of the calendar of Nippur in 3760 B.C.

It was in that year, I have suggested in The Lost Realms,

that Anu, Nibiru’s king, came to Earth on a state visit. His name, AN in Sumerian and Anu in Akkadian, meant “heaven,” “The Heavenly One.” and was a component of numerous astronomical terms, such as AN.UR (“celestial ho- rizon”) and AN.PA (“point of zenith”), as well as being a component of the name “Anunnaki,” “Those Who From

Heaven to Earth Came.” Archaic Chinese, whose syllables were written and pronounced in a manner that reveals their Sumerian origin, used for example the term kuan to denote a temple that served as an observatory; the Sumerian kernel of the term, KU.AN, had meant “opening to the heavens.” (The Sumerian origin of Chinese astronomy and astrology was dis-

cussed by me in the article “The Roots of Astrology,” which appeared in the February 1985 issue of East-West Journal). Undoubtedly, the Latin annum (“year”) from which the French annee (“year”), the English annual (“yearly”), and so on stem from the time when the calendar and the count of years began with the state visit of AN.

The Chinese tradition of combining temples with observa- tories has, of course, not been limited to China; it harkens back to the ziggurats (step pyramids) of Sumer and Babylon. Indeed, a long text dealing with that visit by Anu and his spouse Antu to Sumer relates how the priests ascended to the ziggurat’s

Figure 63

topmost level to observe the appearance of Nibiru in the skies. Enki imparted the knowledge of astronomy (and of other sci- ences) to his firstborn son Marduk, and the renowned ziggurat of Babylon, built there after Marduk gained supremacy in Mes- opotamia, was built to serve as an astronomical observatory (Fig. 63).

Enki bestowed the “secrets” of the calendar, mathematics, and writing on his younger son Ningishzidda, whom the Egyp-

tians called Thoth. In The Lost Realms I present substantial evidence to show that he was one and the same Mesoamerican god known as Quetzalcoatl, “The Plumed Serpent.” This god’s name, which means (in Sumerian) “Lord of the Tree of Life,” reflected the fact that it was to him that Enki entrusted medical knowledge, including the secret of reviving the dead.

A Babylonian text quotes the exasperated Enki as telling Mar- duk he had taught him enough, when Marduk also wanted to learn the secret of reviving the dead. That the Anunnaki could achieve that feat (at least in so far as their own were concerned)

Figure 64

is clear from a text titled “The Descent of Inanna to the Lower World,” where she was put to death by her own sister. When her father appealed to Enki to revive the goddess, Enki directed at the corpse “that which pulsates” and “that which radiates” and brought her back to life. A Mesopotamian depiction of a patient on a hospital table shows him receiving radiation treat- ment (Fig. 64).

Putting aside the ability to revive the dead (which is men- tioned as fact in the Bible), it is certain that the teaching of

anatomy and medicine was part of priestly training, as stated

in the Enmeduranki text. That the tradition continued into later

times is clear from Leviticus, one of the Five Books of Moses,

which contains extensive instructions by Yahweh to the Isra-

elite priests in matters of health, medical prognosis, treatment

and hygiene. The dietary commandments regarding “appro- priate” (kosher) and non-appropriate foods undoubtedly stemmed from health and hygienic considerations rather than from religious observance; and many believe that the important requirement of circumcision was also rooted in medical rea- sons. These instructions were not unlike those in numerous

earlier Mesopotamian texts that served as medical manuals for the A.ZUs and IA.ZUs, which instructed the physician

-priests to first observe the symptoms; next stated which remedy had to be applied; and then gave a list of the chemicals, herbs,

and other pharmaceutical ingredients from which the medicines were to be prepared. That the Elohim were the source of these teachings should come as no surprise when we recall the med- ical, anatomical, and genetic feats of Enki and Ninti.

Basic to the science of astronomy and the workings of the calendar, as well as to commerce and economic activity, was the knowledge of mathematics—the “making of calculations with numbers,” in the words of the Enmeduranki text.

The Sumerian numbers system is called sexagesimal, mean- ing “base 60.” The count ran from 1 to 60, as we now do

with 1 to 100. But then, where we say “two hundred,” the Sumerians said (or wrote) “2 gesh,” meaning 2 x 60, which equaled 120. When in their calculations the text said “take half” or “take one-third,” the meaning was one-half of 60

= 30, one-third of 60 = 20. This might seem to us, reared on the decimal system (“times 10”), which is geared to the

number of fingers on our hands, cumbersome and complicated; but to a mathematician, the sexagesimal system is a delight.

The number 10 is divisible by very few other whole numbers (by 2 and 5 only, to be precise). The number 100 is divisible only by 2, 4, 5, 10, 20, 25, and 50. But 60 is divisible by 2,

3, 4, 5, 6, 10, 12, 15, 20, and 30. Inasmuch as we have inherited the Sumerian 12 in our counting of the daily hours, 60 in our counting of time (60 seconds in a minute, 60 minutes in an hour), and 360 in geometry (360 degrees in a circle), the sexagesimal system is still the only perfect one in the celestial sciences, in time reckoning, and in geometry (where a triangle

has angles adding up to 180 degrees and a square’s angles add up to 360 degrees). In both theoretical and applied geometry (such as the measuring of field areas) this system made it possible to calculate the areas of diverse and complex shapes (Fig, 65), the volumes of vessels of all kinds (needed to hold grains or oil or wine), the length of canals, or the distances

between planets.

When record keeping began, a stylus with a round tip was

used to impress on wet clay the various symbols that stood for

the numbers 1, 10, 60, 600, and 3,600 (Fig. 66a). The ultimate

numeral was 3,600, signified by a large circle; it was called

SAR (Shar in Akkadian)—the “princely,” or “royal,” num-

Figure 65

Figure 66

ber, the number of Earth-years it took Nibiru to complete one orbit around the Sun.

With the introduction of cuneiform (“wedge-shaped”) writ- ing, in which scribes used a wedge-shaped stylus (Fig. 66b),

the numerals were also written in wedge-shaped signs (Fig. 66c). Other cuneiform signs denoted fractions or multiples (Fig. 66d); together with combination signs that instructed the calculator to add, subtract, divide, or multiply, problems in arithmetic and algebra that would baffle many of today’s stu- dents were correctly solved. These problems included the

squaring, cubing, or finding the square root of numbers. As shown by F. Thureau-Dangin in Textes mathematiques Ba- byloniens, the ancients followed prescribed formulas, with two or even three unknowns, that are still in use today.

Although dubbed “sexagesimal,” the Sumerian system of numeration and mathematics was in reality not simply based

on the number 60 but on a combination of 6 and 10. While in the decimal system each step up is accomplished by multiplying the previous sum by 10 (Fig. 67a), in the Sumerian system the numbers increased by alternate multiplications: once by 10, then by 6, then by 10, then again by 6 (Fig. 67b). This method has puzzled today’s scholars. The decimal system is obviously

geared to the ten digits of the human hands (as the numbers, too, are still called), so the 10 in the Sumerian system can be understood; but where did the 6 come from, and why?

Figure 67

There have been other puzzles. Among the thousands of mathematical tablets from Mesopotamia, many held tables of

ready-made calculations. Surprisingly, however, they did not run from smaller numbers up (like 1, 10, 60, etc.) but ran down, starting from a number that can only be described as astronomical: 12,960,000. An example quoted by Th.G. Pinches (Some Mathematical Tablets of the British Museum) began with the following lines at the top:

1. 12960000	its 2/3 part	8640000
2.	its half part	6480000
3.	its third “	4320000
4.	its fourth “	3240000

and continued all the way down through “its 80th part 180000” to the 400th part “[which is] 32400.” Other tablets carried the procedure down to the 16,000th part (equals 810), and there is no doubt that this series continued downward to 60, the 216,000th part of the initial number 12,960,000.

H. V. Hilprecht (The Babylonian Expedition of the University of Pennsylvania), after studying thousands of mathematical

tablets from the temple libraries of Nippur and Sippar and from the library of the Assyrian king Ashurbanipal in Nineveh, con- cluded that the number 12,960,000 was literally astronomi- cal—that it stemmed from the phenomenon of Precession, which retards the zodiac constellation against which the Sun rises by a full House once in 2,160 years. The complete circle

of the twelve Houses, by which the Sun returns to its original background spot, thus takes 25,920 years; the number 12,960,000 represented five hundred such complete Preces- sional circles.

It was incredible to learn, as Hilprecht and others have, that the Sumerians were not only aware of the phenomenon of

precession but also knew that a shift from House to House in the zodiac required 2,160 years; it was doubly incomprehen- sible that they chose as the base of their mathematics a number representing five hundred complete twelve-House cycles, each one of which required the fantastic (as far as human beings are concerned) time span of 25,920 years. In fact, while modern

astronomy accepts the existence of the phenomenon and its periods as calculated in Sumer, there is no scientist now or in former times who can or could confirm from personal expc-

rience the shift of even one House (a shift to Aquarius is now anticipated); and all the scientists put together have yet to witness one complete cycle. Stilt, there it is in the Sumerian tablets.

It seems to me that a solution to all these puzzles can be found if modern science will accept the existence of Nibiru and its Anunnaki as fact. Since it was they who had granted mathematical “wisdom” to Mankind, the astronomical base number and the sexagesimal system were developed by the

Anunnaki for their own use and from their own viewpoint— and then were scaled down to human proportions.

As Hilprecht has correctly suggested, the number 12,960,000 indeed stemmed from astronomy—the time (25,920 years) required for a full precessional cycle. But that cycle could be broken down to more human-sized proportions,

that of the precessional shift by one zodiacal House. Although a complete shift in 2,160 years was also beyond an Earthling’s lifetime, the gradual shift of one degree every 72 years was an observable phenomenon (which the astronomer-priests wit- nessed and dealt with). This was the “earthly” element in the formulation.

Then there was the orbital period of Nibiru, which the An- unnaki knew equaled 3,600 Earth-years. Here, then, were two basic and immutable phenomena, cycles of a certain length that combined the movements of Nibiru and Earth in a ratio of 3,600:2,160. This ratio can be reduced to 10:6. Once in 21,600 years, Nibiru completed six orbits around the Sun and

Earth shifted ten zodiacal houses. This, I suggest, created the 6 x 1 0 x 6 x 1 0 system of alternating counting that is called “sexagesimal.”

The sexagesimal system, as has been noted, still lies at the core of modern astronomy and time-keeping. So has the legacy of the 10:6 ratio of the Anunnaki. Having perfected architecture

and the eye-pleasing plastic arts, the Greeks devised a canon of proportions called the Golden Section. They held that a perfect and pleasing ratio of the sides of a temple or great chamber was reached by the formula AB:AP = AP:PB, which gives a ratio of the long part or side to the shorter one of 100 to 61.8 (feet, cubits, or whatever unit of measure is chosen).

It seems to me that architecture owes the debt for this Golden

Section not to the Greeks but to the Anunnaki (via the Su- merians), for this ratio is really the 10:6 ratio on which the sexagesimal system was based.

The same can be said of the mathematical phenomenon

known as the Fibonacci Numbers, wherein a series of numbers grows in such a way that each successive number (e.g., 5) is the sum of its two preceding numbers (2 + 3); then 8 is the sum of 3 + 5, and so on. The fifteenth century mathematician Lucas Pacioli recognized the algebraic formula for this series and called the quotient—1.618-—the Golden Number and its

reciprocal—0.618—the Divine Number. Which brings us back to the Anunnaki. . . .

Having explained how, in my opinion, the sexagesimal sys- tem was devised, let us look at what Hilprecht concluded was the upper base of the system, the number 12,960,000.

It is easy to show that this number is simply the square of the real basic number of the Anunnaki—3,600—which is the length in Earth-years of Nibiru’s orbit. (3,600 x 3,600 = 12,960,000). It was from dividing 3,600 by the earthly ten that the easier-to-handle number of 360 degrees in a circle was obtained. The number 3,600, in turn, is the square of 60; this

relationship provided the number of minutes in an hour and (in modern times) the number of seconds in a minute, and of course the basic sexagesimal number.

The zodiacal origin of the astronomical number 12,960,000 can, 1 believe, explain a puzzling biblical statement. It is in Psalm 90 that we read that the Lord—the reference is to the

“Celestial Lord”—who has had his abode in the heavens for countless generations and from the time “before the mountains were brought forth, before Earth and continents were created,” considers a thousand years to be merely a single day:

A thousand years in thine eyes are but a day, a yesterday past.

Now if we divide the number 12,960,000 by 2,160 (the number of years to achieve a shift from one zodiac House), the result is 6,000—a thousand times six. Six as a number of “days” is not unfamiliar—we came upon it at the beginning of Genesis and its six days of creation. Could the psalmist

have seen the mathematical tablets in which he would have found the line listing “12,960,000 the 2160th part of which is a thousand times six”? It is indeed intriguing to find that the Psalms echo the numbers with which the Anunnaki had toyed.

In Psalm 90 and other relevant psalms, the Hebrew word translated as “generation” is Dor. It stems from the root dur, “to be circular, to cycle.” For human beings it does mean a generation; but for celestial bodies it means a cycle around the sun—an orbit. It is with this understanding that the true mean-

ing of Psalm 102, the moving prayer of a mortal to the Ev- erlasting One, can be grasped:

But thou, O Lord, shalt abide forever, and thy remembrance from cycle to cycle.

For He hath looked down from his sanctuary on high: From Heaven did Yahweh behold the Earth.

1 say. my God,

“Do not ascend me in the midst of my days,”

thou whose years arc in a cycle of cycles.

Thou art unchanged;

Thine years shalt have no end.

Relating it all to the orbit of Nibiru, to its cycle of 3,600 Earth-years, to the precessional retardation of Earth in its orbit around the Sun—this is the secret of the Wisdom of Numbers that the Anunnaki lowered from Heaven to Earth.

Before Man could “calculate with numbers,” the other two of the “three Rs”—reading and ‘riting—had to be mastered. We take it for granted that Man can speak, that we have lan- guages by which to communicate to our fellow men (or clans- men). But modern science has not held it so; in fact, until quite recently, the scientists dealing with speech and languages be- lieved that “Talking Man” was a rather late phenomenon that may have been one reason the Cro-Magnons—who could speak

and converse with each other—took over from the nonspeaking Neanderthals.

This was not the biblical view. The Bible took it for granted, for example, that the Elohim who were on Earth long before

The Adam could speak and address each other. This is apparent from the statement that The Adam was created as a result of a discussion among the Elohim, in which it was said, “Let us make The Adam in our image and after our likeness.” This implies not only the ability to speak but also a language with which to communicate.

Let us now look at The Adam. He is placed in the Garden of Eden and is told what to eat and what to avoid. The instruc- tions were understood by The Adam, as the ensuing conver- sation between the Serpent and Eve makes clear. The Serpent (whose identity is discussed in The Wars of Gods and Men) “said unto the woman: Hath Elohim indeed said, Ye shall not

eat of all the trees in the garden?” Eve says yes, the fruit of one tree was forbidden on penalty of death. But the Serpent assures the woman it is not so, and she and Adam eat of the forbidden fruit.

A lengthy dialogue then ensues. Adam and Eve hide when they hear the footsteps of Yahweh, “strolling in the garden in

the cool of the day.” Yahweh calls out to Adam, “Where are you?” and the following exchange takes place:

Adam: “I heard the sound of you in the garden and I was afraid because 1 am naked, and I hid.”

Yahweh: “Who told you that you are naked? Did you eat of the tree of which I ordered you not to eat?”

Adam: “The woman whom you placed with me, she is the one who gave me of the tree, and I ate.”

Yahweh: [to the woman] “What have you done?” Woman: “The serpent beguiled me, and I ate.”

This is quite a conversation. Not only the Deity can speak; Adam and Eve can also speak and understand the Deity’s language. So, in what language did they converse, for there must have been one (according to the Bible). If Eve was the

First Mother, was there a First Language—a Mother Tongue?

Again, scholars began by differing with the Bible. They

assumed that language was a cultural heritage rather than an

evolutionary trait. It was assumed that Man progressed from

groans to meaningful shouts (on seeing prey or sensing danger)

to rudimentary speech as he formed clans. From words and syllables, languages were born—many languages, arising si- multaneously as clans and tribes formed.

This theory of the origin of languages not only ignored the significance of the biblical tales of the Elohim and of the in- cident in the Garden of Eden; it denied the biblical assertion

that prior to the incident of the Tower of Babel “the whole Earth was of one language and of one kind of words”; that it was a deliberate act of the Elohim to disperse Mankind all over the Earth and “confuse” its language “that they may not understand one another’s speech.”

It is gratifying to note that in recent years, modern science

has come around to the belief that there was indeed a Mother Tongue; and that both types of Homo sapiens—Cro- Magnon and Neanderthal—could talk from the very begin- ning.

That many languages have words that sound the same and have similar meanings has long been recognized, and that cer-

tain languages can therefore be grouped into families has been an accepted theory for over a century, when German scholars proposed naming these language families “Indo-European,” “Semitic,” “Hamitic,” and so on. But this very grouping held the obstacle to the recognition of a Mother Tongue, be- cause it was based on the notion that totally different and

unrelated groups of languages developed independently in dif- ferent “core zones” from which migrants carried their tongues to other lands. Attempts to show that there are apparent word and meaning similarities even between distant groups, such as the writings in the nineteenth century by the Reverend Charles Foster (The One Primeval Language, in which he pointed to

the Mesopotamian precursors of Hebrew) were dismissed as no more than a theologian’s attempt to elevate the status of the Bible’s language, Hebrew.

It was mainly advances in other fields, such as anthropology, biogenetics. and the Earth sciences, as well as computerization,

that opened new avenues of study of what some call “linguistic genetics.” The notion that languages developed rather late in Man’s march to civilization—at one point the beginning of languages (not just speech) was put at only five thousand years ago—obviously had to be amended and the date pushed back to much earlier times when archaeological finds showed that the Sumerians could already write six thousand years ago. As the dates of ten thousand and twelve thousand years ago were being considered, the search for points of similarity, speeded up by computers, led scholars to the discovery of protolan- guages and thus to larger and less numerous groupings.

Searching for an early affiliation for the Slavic languages, Soviet scientists under the leadership of Vladislav Illich- Svitych and Aaron Dolgopolsky suggested, in the 1960s, a proto-language they termed Nostratic (from the Latin “Our Language”) as the core of most European (including Slavic) languages. Later on they presented evidence for a second such proto-language, which they termed Dene-Caucasian, as the core tongue of the Far Eastern languages. Both began, they estimated from linguistic mutations, about twelve thousand years ago. In the United States, Joseph Greenberg of Stanford University and his colleague Merritt Ruhlen suggested a third proto-language, Amerind.

Without dwelling on the significance of the fact, it behooves me to mention that the date of about twelve thousand years ago would put the period of the appearance of these protolan- guages somewhere around the immediate aftermath of the Del- uge, which in The 12th Planet was shown to have occurred about thirteen thousand years ago; that also conforms to the biblical notion that post-Diluvial Mankind divided into three branches, descended from the three sons of Noah.

Meanwhile, archaeological discoveries kept pushing back the time of human migrations, and this was especially signif- icant in regard to the arrival of migrants in the Americas. When a time of twenty thousand years or even thirty thousand years ago was suggested, Joseph Greenberg created a sensation when he demonstrated in 1987 (Language in the Americas) that the hundreds of tongues in the New World could be grouped into just three families, which he termed Eskimo-Aleut, Na-Dene, and Amerind. The greater significance of his conclusions was

that these three in turn were brought to the Americas by mi- grants from Africa, Europe, Asia, and the Pacific and thus in effect were not true proto-languages but offshoots of Old World ones. The protolanguage he called “Na-Dene,” Greenberg suggested, was related to the Dene-Caucasian group of the Soviet scholars. This family, Merritt Ruhlen wrote in Natural History (March 1987), appears to be “genetically closest” to the group of languages that include “the extinct languages Etruscan and Sumerian.” Eskimo-Aleut, he wrote, is most closely related to the Indo-European languages. (Readers wish- ing to know more about the earliest arrivals in the Americas may want to read The Lost Realms, Book IV of “The Earth Chronicles” series).

But did true languages begin only about twelve thousand years ago—only after the Deluge? It is not only according to the Bible that language existed at the very beginning of Homo sapiens (Adam and Eve), but also the fact that Sumerian texts

repeatedly refer to inscribed tablets that dated from before the Deluge. The Assyrian king Ashurbanipal boasted that, knowl- edgeable as Adapa, he could read “tablets from before the Deluge.” If so, there had to be true language even much earlier.

Discoveries by paleontologists and anthropologists make lin- guists push their estimations back in time. The discoveries in

the Kebara cave, mentioned earlier, indeed forced a complete reevaluation of previous timetables.

Among the finds in the cave was an astounding clue. The skeletal remains of a sixty-thousand-year-old Neanderthal in- cluded an intact hyoid bone—the first ever to be discovered. This horned-shaped bone which lies between the chin and the

larynx (voice box) anchors the muscles that move the tongue, lower jaw, and larynx and makes human speech possible (Fig. 68).

Combined with other skeletal features, the hyoid bone of- fered unequivocal proof that Man could speak as he does today at least sixty thousand years ago and probably much earlier.

Neanderthal Man, the team of six international scientists led by Baruch Arensburg of Tel-Aviv University stated in Nature (April 27, 1989), “had the morphological basis for human speech capability.”

If so, how could Indo-European, whose origins are traceable

Figure 68

to only a few thousand years ago, be given such a prominent position on the language tree? Less inhibited about lowering the claims for Indo-European than their Western colleagues, Soviet scholars continued to search audaciously for a proto- proto language. Spearheading the search for a Mother Tongue have been Aaron Dolgopolsky, now at Haifa University in Israel, and Vitaly Shevoroshkin, now at the University of Mich- igan. It was primarily on the latter’s initiative that a “break- through” conference was held at the University of Michigan in November 1988. Titled “Language and Prehistory,” the conference brought together, from seven countries, more than forty scholars from the fields of linguistics, anthropology, ar- chaeology, and genetics. The consensus was that there had been a “mono-genesis” of human languages—a Mother Tongue in a “proto-proto-proto stage” at a time about 100,000 years ago.

Still, scientists from other fields relating to the anatomy of speech, such as Philip Lieberman of Brown University and Dean Falk of the State University of New York at Albany, see speech as a trait of Homo sapiens from the very first appearance of these ‘”Thinking/Wise Men.” Brain specialists such as Ron-

ald E. Myers of the National Institute of Communicative Dis- orders and Strokes believe that “human speech developed spontaneously, unrelated to the crude vocalization of other primates,” as soon as humans acquired their two-part brains.

And Allan Wilson, who had participated in the genetic re-

search leading to the”One-Mother-of-All” conclusion, put speech back in the mouth of “Eve”: “The human capacity for language may have come from a genetic mutation that occurred in a woman who lived in Africa 200,000 years ago,” he an- nounced at a meeting in January 1989 of the American As- sociation for the Advancement of Science.

“Gift of Gab Goes Back to Eve,” one newspaper headlined the story. Well, to Eve and Adam, according to the Bible.

And so we arrive at the last of the Rs—writing.

It is now believed that many of the shapes and symbols

found in Ice Age caves in Europe, attributed to Cro-

Magnons living during the period of between twenty thousand and thirty thousand years ago, represent crude pictographs— “picture writing.” Undoubtedly, Man learned to write long after he began to speak. The Mesopotamian texts insist that there was writing before the Deluge, and there is no reason to disbelieve this. But the first writing discovered in modern times

is the early Sumerian script which was pictographic. It took but a few centuries for this script to evolve into the cuneiform script (Fig. 69), which was the means of writing in all the ancient languages of Asia until it was finally replaced, millen- nia later, by the alphabet.

At first glance cuneiform script looks like an impossible

hodgepodge of long, short, and just wedge-point markings (Fig. 70). There are hundreds of cuneiform symbols, and how on Earth the ancient scribes could remember how to write them and what they meant is baffling—but not more so than the Chinese language signs are to a non-Chinese. Three generations of scholars have been able to arrange the signs in a logical

order and, as a result, have come up with lexicons and dic- tionaries of the ancient languages—Sumerian, Babylonian, As- syrian, Hittite, Elamite and so on—that used cuneiform.

But modern science reveals that there was more than some logical order to creating such a diversity of signs.

Figure 69

Mathematicians, especially those dealing with graph the- ory—the study of points joined by lines—are familiar with the Ramsey Graph Theory, named for Frank P. Ramsey, a British mathematician who, in a paper read to the London Mathematical Society in 1928, suggested a method of calcu- lating the number of various ways in which points can be connected and the shapes resulting therefrom. Applied to games and riddles as well as to science and architecture, the theory offered by Ramsey made it possible to show, for ex-

Figure 70

ample, that when six points representing six people are joined by either red lines (connecting any two who know each other) or blue lines (connecting any two who are strangers), the result will always be either a red or a blue triangle. The results of calculating the possibilities for joining (or not joining) points can best be illustrated by some examples (Fig. 71). Underlying the resulting graphs (i.e., shapes) are the so-called Ramsey Numbers, which can be converted to graphs connecting a cer- tain number of dots. I find that this results in dozens of “graphs” whose similarity to the Mesopotamian cuneiform signs is undeniable (Fig. 72).

The almost one hundred signs, only partly illustrated here, are simple graphs based on no more than a dozen Ramsey

Numbers. So, if Enki or his daughter Nidaba, the Sumerian

“goddess of writing,” had known as much as Frank Ramsey,

they must have had no problem in devising for the Sumerian

When Wisdom Was Lowered from Heaven 227

scribes a mathematically perfect system of cuneiform signs.

“1 will greatly bless thee, and I will exceedingly multiply

thy seed as the stars of the heavens,” Yahweh told Abraham.

And with this single verse, several of the elements of the

knowledge that was lowered from heaven were expressed: speech, astronomy, and the “counting with numbers.”

Modern science is well on its way to corroborating all that.

When Wisdom Was Lowered from Heaven 229

THE FRUITS OF EDEN

What was the Garden of Eden, remembered in the Bible for its variety of vegetation and as the place where still- unnamed animals were shown to Adam?

Modem science teaches that Man’s best friends, the crops and animals we husband, were domesticated soon after 10000 B.C. Wheat and barley, dogs and sheep (to cite some examples) in their domesticated and cultivable forms ap- peared, then, within no more than two thousand years. This, it is admitted, is a fraction of the time that natural selection alone would require.

Sumerian texts offer an explanation. When the Anunnaki landed on Earth, they state, there were none of such “do- mesticated” crops and animals; it was the Anunnaki who brought them forth, in their “Creation Chamber.” Together with Lahar (“woolly cattle”) and Anshan (“grains”) they also brought forth “vegetation that luxuriates and multi- plies.” It was all done in the Edin; and after The Adam was created, he was brought there to tend it all.

The amazing Garden of Eden was thus the bio-genetic farm or enclave where “domesticated” crops, fruits, and animals were brought forth.

After the Deluge (about thirteen thousand years ago) the Anunnaki provided Mankind with the crop and animal seeds, which they had preserved, to get started again. But this time, Man himself had to be the husbandman. The Bible confirms this and attributes to Noah the honor of having been the first husbandman. It also states that the first cul- tivated food after the Deluge was the grape. Modern science confirms the grape’s antiquity; science has also discovered that besides being a nourishing food, the grape’s wine is a strong gastrointestinal medicine. So, when Noah drank the wine (in excess), he was, in a manner of speaking, taking his medicine.

11

A SPACE BASE ON MARS

Having been to the Moon, Earthlings are eager to set foot on Mars.

It was on the occasion of the twentieth anniversary of the

first landing by Man on the Moon that the President of the

United States outlined his country’s stepping stones to Earth’s

nearest outer planet. Speaking at the National Air and Space Museum in Washington and flanked by the three Apollo 11 astronauts—Neil A. Armstrong, Edwin E. Aldrin, Jr., and Michael Collins—President George Bush outlined America’s way stations to Mars. First, progress from the shuttlecraft pro- gram to the emplacement in permanent Earth orbit of a Space

Station, where the larger vehicles necessary for the onward flights would be assembled. Then would come the establish- ment of a space base on the Moon, where materials, equipment, and fuels necessary for the long space voyages would be de- veloped and tested, and experience would be gained in Man’s living and working for extended periods in outer space. And

finally, the actual expedition to Mars,

Vowing to make the United States “a spacefaring nation,” the goal, the President said, will be “back to the Moon, back to the future . . . and then, a journey into tomorrow, to another planet: a manned mission to Mars.”

“Back to the future.” The choice of words may or may not have been coincidental; the premise that going to the future involves going back to the past might have been more than a speech writer’s choice slogan.

For there is evidence that “A Space Base on Mars,” this

chapter’s heading, should apply not to the discussion of future plans but to a disclosure of what has already taken place in the past: Evidence that a space base existed on the planet Mars

230

in antiquity; and what is even more startling, that it might have been reactivated before our very eyes.

If Man is to venture from planet Earth into space, it is only logical and technologically called for to make Mars the first

planet on the outbound voyage. The road to other worlds must have way stations due to the laws of celestial motion, the constraints of weight and energy, the requirements for human survival, and limitations on human physical and mental en- durance. A spaceship capable of carrying a team of astronauts to Mars and back might have to weigh as much as four million

pounds. Lifting such a massive vehicle off the surface of Earth (a planet with a substantial gravitational pull, compared with its immediate neighbors) would require a commensurately large load of fuel that, together with the tanks to hold it, would further increase the lift-off weight and make the launch im- practical. (U.S. space shuttles now have a payload capacity of

sixty-five thousand pounds.)

Such lift-off and fuel problems would be greatly reduced if

the spaceship will be assembled in weightless orbit around the

Earth. This scenario envisions an orbiting, manned space sta-

tion, to which shuttle craft will ferry the knocked-down space-

ship. Meanwhile, astronauts stationed on the Moon at a

permanent space base would develop the technology required for Man’s survival in space. Man and vehicle would then be joined for the voyage to Mars.

The round trip may take between two and three years, de- pending on the trajectory and Earth-Mars alignments. The length of stay on Mars will also vary according to these con-

straints and other considerations, beginning with no stay at all (just several orbits around Mars) to a long stay in a permanent colony served or sustained by shifts of spacecraft and astro- nauts. Indeed, many advocates of “The Case for Mars,” as this approach has come to be called after several scientific conferences on the subject, consider a manned mission to Mars

justified only if a permanent space base is established there, both as a prelude to manned missions to even more distant planets and as the forerunner of a colony, a permanent settle- ment of Earthlings on a new world.

The progression from shuttlecraft to an orbiting space station to landings on the Moon and the establishment of a space base

thereon, all as stepping-stones or way stations toward a landing on Mars, has been described in scenarios that read like science fiction but are based on scientific knowledge and attainable technology. Bases on the Moon and on Mars, even a colony on Mars, have been in the planning for a long time and are deemed entirely feasible. Sustaining human life and activity on the Moon is certainly challenging, but the studies show how it could be achieved. The tasks are more challenging for Mars, since resupply from Earth (as the Moon projects envision) is more difficult and costly. Nevertheless, the vital resources needed by Man to survive and function are available on Mars, and scientists believe that Man could live “off the land” there.

Mars, it has been concluded, is habitable—because it was habitable in the past.

Mars appears nowadays as a cold, half-frozen planet inhos- pitable to anything living upon its surface, with bitter-cold

winters and temperatures rising above freezing only at the equator in the warmest season, with vast areas covered either with permafrost or with rusted iron rocks and gravel (which give the planet its reddish hue), with no liquid water to sustain life or oxygen to breathe. But not so long ago in geological terms, it was a planet with relatively pleasant seasons, flowing

water, oceans and rivers, cloudy (blue!) skies, and perhaps— just perhaps—even some forms of indigenous simple plant life.

All the various studies converge toward the conclusion that Mars is now going through an ice age, not unlike the ice ages that Earth has experienced periodically. The causes of Earth’s

ice ages, attributed to many factors, are now believed to stem from three basic phenomena that relate to Earth’s orbit around the Sun. The first is the configuration of the orbit itself: the orbit, it has been concluded, changes from more circular to more elliptical in a cycle of about one hundred thousand years; this brings the Earth at times closer to the Sun and at times

farther away from it. Earth has seasons because the axis of Earth is not perpendicular to its orbital plane (ecliptic) but is tilted, bringing the northern hemisphere under a stronger in- fluence of the Sun’s rays during the (northern) summer (during winter in the southern hemisphere), and vice versa (Fig. 73); but this tilt, now about 23.5 degrees, is not stable; the Earth,

Figure 73

like a rolling ship, changes its tilt by about 3 degrees back and forth in a cycle that takes about forty-one thousand years to complete. The greater the tilt the more extreme are the winters and summers; air and water flows change and aggravate the climatic changes that we call “ice ages” and ” interglacial” warm periods. A third contributing cycle is that of the Earth’s wobble as it spins, its axis forming an imaginary circle in the heavens; this is the phenomenon of Precession of the Equi- noxes, and the duration of this cycle is about twenty-six thou- sand years.

The planet Mars is also subject to all three cycles, except that its larger orbit around the Sun and greater tilt differential cause more extreme climatic swings. The cycle, as we have mentioned, is believed to last some fifty thousand years on Mars (although shorter and longer durations have also been suggested).

When the next Martian warm period, or interglacial, arrives, the planet will literally flow with water, its seasons will not

be as harsh, and its atmosphere will not be as alien to Earthlings as it is today. When was the last “interglacial” epoch on Mars? The time could not have been too distant, because otherwise the dust storms on Mars would have obliterated more, if not most, of the evidence on its surface of once flowing rivers, ocean shorelines, and lake basins; and there would not be as much water vapor still in the Martian atmosphere as is found today. “Running water must have existed on the red planet in relatively recent times, geologically speaking,” according to Harold Masursky of the U.S. Geological Survey. Some believe the last change occurred no more than ten thousand years ago. Those who are planning the landings and extended stays on Mars do not expect the climate there to revert to an interglacial epoch within the next two decades; but they do believe that the basic requirements for life and survival on Mars are locally available. Water, as has been shown, is present as permafrost in vast areas and could be found in the mud of what from space appear to be dry riverbeds. When geologists at Arizona State University working for NASA were suggesting Mars landing sites to Soviet scientists, they pointed to the great canyon in the Lunae Planum basin as a place where a roving vehicle “could visit former riverbeds and dig into the sediments of a delta where an ancient river flowed into a basin,” and find there liquid water. Aquifers—subterranean water pools—are a sure source of water in the opinion of many scientists. New analyses of data from spacecraft as well as from Earth-based instruments led a team headed by Robert L. Huguenin of the University of Massachusetts to conclude, in June 1980, that two concentrations of water evaporation on Mars south of its equator suggest the existence of vast reservoirs of liquid water just a few inches below the Martian surface. Later that year Stanley H. Zisk of the Haystack Observatory in Westford, Massachusetts, and Peter J. Mouginis-Mark of Brown Uni- versity, Rhode Island, reported in Science and Nature (No- vember 1980) that radar probing of areas in the planet’s southern hemisphere indicated “moist oases” of “extensive liquid water” beneath the surface. And then, of course, there is all the water captured in the ice cap of the northern pole, which melts around its rims during the northern summer, cre- ating large, visible darkish patches (Fig. 74). Morning fogs

Figure 74

and mists that have been observed on Mars suggest to scientists the existence of dew, a source of water for many plants and animals on Earth in arid areas.

The Martian atmosphere, at first sight inhospitable and even poisonous to Man and life, could in fact be a source of vital resources. The atmosphere has been found to contain some water vapor, which could be extracted by condensation. It could also be a source of oxygen for breathing and burning. It consists on Mars primarily of carbon dioxide (CO2) with

small percentages of nitrogen, argon, and traces of oxygen (Earth’s atmosphere consists primarily of nitrogen, with a large percentage of oxygen and small amounts of other gases). The process of converting carbon dioxide (C02) to carbon monoxide (CO), thereby releasing oxygen (CO + O) is almost elementary and could easily be performed by astronauts and settlers. Car- bon monoxide can then serve as a simple rocket fuel.

The planet’s reddish-brown, or “rusty,” hue is also a clue to the availability of oxygen, for it is the result of the actual rusting of iron rocks on Mars. The product is iron oxide—iron that has combined with oxygen. On Mars it is of a type called limonite, a combination of iron oxide (Fe2O3) with several molecules of water (H2O); with the proper equipment, the plentiful oxygen could be separated and extracted. The hydro- gen obtainable by breaking down water into its component elements could be used in the production of foods and useful materials, many of which are based on hydrocarbons {hydro- gen-carbon combinations).

Although the Martian soil is relatively high in salts, scientists believe it could be washed with water sufficiently to the point where patches would be suitable for plant cultivation in green- houses; local foods could thus be grown, especially from seeds of salt-resistant strains of grains and vegetables; human waste could be used as fertilizer, as it is used in many Third World countries on Earth. Nitrogen, needed by plants and fertilizers, is in short supply on Mars but not absent: the atmosphere, though 95 percent carbon dioxide, does contain almost 3 per- cent nitrogen. The greenhouses for growing all this food would be made of inflatable plastic domes; electricity would be ob- tained from solar-powered batteries; the rover vehicles will also be solar-powered.

Another source not just of water but also of heat on Mars is indicated by the past volcanic activity there. Of several notable volcanoes, the one named Olympus, after the Greek mountain of the gods, dwarfs anything on Earth or even in the Solar System. The largest volcano on Earth, Mauna Loa in Hawaii, rises 6.3 miles; Olympus Mons on Mars towers 15 miles above the surrounding plain; its crater’s top measures 45 miles across. The volcanoes of Mars and other evidence of volcanic activity on the planet indicate a hot molten core and

thus the possible existence of warm surface spots, hot-water springs, and other phenomena resulting from internally gen- erated heat.

With a day almost exactly the length of a day on Earth,

seasons (although about twice as long as Earth’s), equatorial regions, icy northern and southern poles, water resources that once were seas and lakes and rivers, mountain ranges and plains, volcanoes and canyons, Mars is Earthlike in so many ways. Indeed, some scientists believe that Mars, although cre- ated at the same time as the other planets 4.6 billion years ago,

is at the stage Earth was at its beginnings, before plant life began to emit oxygen and change Earth’s atmosphere. This notion has served as a basis for the suggestion by proponents of the Gaia Theory of how Man might “jump the gun” on Martian evolution by bringing life to it; for they hold that it was Life that made Earth hospitable to life.

Writing in The Greening of Mars, James Lovelock and Mi- chael Allaby employed science fiction to describe how micro- organisms and “halocarbon gases” would be sent from Earth to Mars in rockets, the former to start the biological chain and the latter to create a shield in the Martian atmosphere. This shield of halocarbon gases, suspended in the atmosphere above

the now cold and arid planet, would block the dissipation into space of the warmth Mars receives from the Sun and its own internal heat and would create an artificially induced “green- house” effect. The warming and the thickened atmosphere would release Mars’s frozen waters, enhance plant growth, and thereby increase the planet’s oxygen supply. Each step in this

artificially induced evolution would strengthen the process; thus will the bringing of Life to Mars make it hospitable to life.

The suggestion by the two scientists that the transformation of Mars into a habitable planet—they called the process “Terra forming”—should begin with the creation of an artificial shield to protect the planet’s dissipating heat and water vapor by artificially suspending a suitable material in the planet’s at- mosphere was made by them in 1984.

Whether by coincidence or not, it was once again a case of modern science catching up with ancient knowledge. For, in The I2th Planet (1976), it was described how the Anunnaki

came to Earth about 450,000 years ago in order to obtain

gold—needing the metal to protect life on their planet Nibiru by suspending gold particles as a shield in its dwindling at- mosphere, to reverse the loss of heat, air, and water.

The plans proposed by the advocates of the Gaia Hypothesis are based on an assumption and a presumption. The first, that Mars does not have life-forms of its own; the second, that people from one planet have the right to introduce their life- forms to another world, whether or not it has its own life.

But does Mars have life on it or as some prefer to ask, did it have life on it in its less harsh epochs? The question has preoccupied those who have planned and executed the various

missions to Mars; and after all the scanning and photographing and probing, it is evident that Life as it has blossomed on Earth—trees and forests, bushes and grasses, flying birds and roaming animals—is just not there. But what about lesser life- forms—lichens or algae or the lowly bacteria?

Although Mars is much smaller than Earth (its mass is about a tenth that of Earth, its diameter about half) its surface, now all dry land, is about the same area as the dry-land portion of Earth’s surface. The area to be explored is thus the same as the area on Earth with all its continents, mountains, valleys, equatorial and polar zones; its warm and the cold places; its humid regions and the dry desert ones. When an outline of the United States, coast to coast, is superimposed on the face of Mars (Fig. 75), the scope of the exploration and the variety of terrains and climates to contend with can well be appreciated.

No wonder when then that the first successful unmanned Mars probes. Mariners 4, 6, and 7 (1965-69), which photo-

graphed parts of the planet’s surface in the course of flybys, revealed a planet that was heavily cratered and utterly desolate, with little sign of any geologic activity in its past. As it hap- pened, the pictures were almost all of the cratered highlands in the southern hemisphere of Mars. This image, of a planet not only without life on it but itself a lifeless and dead globe,

changed completely when Manner 9 went into orbit around Mars in 1971 and surveyed almost its entire surface. It showed a living planet with a history of geologic activity and volcan- ism, with plains and mountains, with canyons in which Amer- ica’s Grand Canyon could be swallowed without a trace, and

Figure 75

the marks of flowing water. It was not only a living planet but one that could have life upon it.

The search for life on Mars was thus made a prime objective of the Viking missions. Viking 1 and Viking 2 were launched from Cape Canaveral in the summer of 1975 and reached their

destination in July and August of 1976. Each consisted of an Orbiter that remained in orbit around the planet for ongoing observation, and of a Lander that was lowered to the planet’s surface. Although to ensure safe landings, relatively flat sites in the northern hemisphere, not too distant from each other, were selected for the touchdowns, “biological criteria” (i.e.,

the possibility of life) “dominated the decision regarding the latitude at which the spacecraft would land.” The orbiters have provided a rich array of data about Mars that is still being studied and analyzed, with new details and insights constantly

emerging; the landers sent thrilling photographs of the Martian landscape at very close range and conducted a series of ex- periments in search of Life.

Besides instruments to analyze the atmosphere and cameras to photograph the areas in which they touched down, each Lander carried a combined gas-chromatograph/mass-spectrom-

eter for analyzing the surface for organic material, as well as three instruments designed to detect metabolic activity by any organism in the soil. The soil was scooped up with a mechanical arm, put into a small furnace, heated, and otherwise treated and tested. There were no living organisms in the samples; only carbon dioxide and a small amount of water vapor were

found. There were not even the organic molecules that im- pacting meteorites bring with them; the presumption is that if such molecules had been delivered to Mars, the present high level of ultraviolet light that strikes the planet, whose protective atmosphere is now almost gone, must have destroyed them.

During the long days of experiments on Mars, drama and

excitement were not absent. In retrospect the ability of the NASA team to manipulate and direct from Earth equipment on the surface of Mars seems like a fairy tale; but both planned routines and emergencies were adroitly tackled. Mechanical arms failed to work but were fixed by radio commands. There were other malfunctions and adjustments. There was breath-

taking suspense when the gas-exchange experiments detected a burst of oxygen; there was the need to have Viking 2 instru- ments confirm or disprove the results of experiments carried out by those of Viking 1 that left open the question of whether changes in the scooped-up soil samples were organic or chem- ical, biological or inanimate. Viking 2 results confirmed the

reactions of Viking 1 experiments: when gases were mixed or when soil was added to a “nutrient soup,” there were marked changes in the level of carbon dioxide; but whether the changes represented a chemical reaction or a biological response re- mained a puzzle.

As eager as scientists were to find life on Mars, and thereby

find support for their theories of how life on Earth began spon- taneously from a primordial soup, most had to conclude re- gretfully that no evidence of life on Mars was found. Norman Horowitz of Caltech summed up the prevailing opinion when

he stated (in Scientific American, November 1977) that “at least those areas on Mars examined by the two spacecraft are not habitats of life. Possibly the same conclusion applies to the entire planet, but that is an intricate problem that cannot yet be addressed.”

In subsequent years, in laboratory experiments in which the soil and conditions on Mars were simulated as best as the researchers could, the reactions indicated biological responses.

Especially intriguing were experiments conducted in 1980 at the Space Biology Laboratory of Moscow University: when Earthly life-forms were introduced into a simulated Martian environment, birds and mammals expired in a few seconds, turtles and frogs lived many hours, insects survived for weeks—but fungi, lichens, algae, and mosses quickly adapted

themselves to the new environment; oats, rye, and beans sprouted and grew but could not reproduce.

Life, then, could take hold on Mars; but had it? With 4.6 billion years at the disposal of evolution on Mars, where are not merely some microorganisms (which may or may not exist) but higher life-forms? Or were the Sumerians right in saying

that life sprouted on Earth so soon after its formation only because the “Seed of Life” was brought to it, by Nibiru?

While the soil of Mars still keeps its riddle of whether or not its test reactions were chemical and lifeless or biological and caused by living organisms, the rocks of Mars challenge us with even more enigmatic puzzles.

One can begin with the mystery of Martian rocks found not on Mars but on Earth. Among the thousands of meteorites

found on Earth, eight that were discovered in India, Egypt, and France between 1815 and 1865 (known as the SNC group, after the initials of the sites’ names) were unique in that their age was only 1.3 billion years, whereas meteorites are generally

4.5 billion years old. When several more were discovered in Antarctica in 1979, the gaseous composition of the Martian

atmosphere was already known; comparisons revealed that the SNC meteorites contained traces of isotopic Nitrogen-14. Ar- gon-40 and 36, Neon-20, Krypton-84, and Xenon-13 almost identical to the presence of these rare gases on Mars.

How did these meteorites or rocks reach Earth? Why are they only 1.3 billion years old? Did a catastrophic impact on

Figure 76

Mars cause them to somehow defy its gravity and fly off to Earth?

The rocks discovered in Antarctica are even more puzzling. A photograph of one of them, released by NASA and published in The New York Times of September 1, 1987, shows it to be

not “football sized” as these rocks had been described, but rather a broken-off block (Fig. 76) of four bricklike, artificially shaped and angled stones fitted together—something one would expect to find in pre-Inca ruins in Peru’s Sacred Valley (Fig. 77) but not on Mars. Yet all tests on the rock (it is no longer referred to as a meteorite) attest to its Martian origin.

To compound the mystery, photographs of the Martian sur- face have revealed features that, on seeing them, astronomers dubbed “Inca City.” Located in the planet’s southern part, they represent a series of steep walls made up of squarish or rectangular segments (Fig. 78 is from Mariner-9 photographic frame 4212-15). John McCauley, a NASA geologist, com- mented that the “ridges” were “continuous, show no breach- ing, and stand out among the surrounding plains and small hills like walls of an ancient ruin.”

Figure 77

Figure 78

This immense wall or series of connected shaped stone blocks bears a striking resemblance to such colossal and enigmatic structures on Earth as the immense wall of gigantic stone blocks that forms the base of the vast platform at Baalbek in Lebanon (Fig. 79) or to the cruder but equally impressive zigzagging parallel stone walls of Sacsahuaman above Cuzco in Peru (Fig.

Figure 79

80). In The Stairway to Heaven and The Lost Realms, I have attributed both structures to the Anunnaki/Nefilim. The features on Mars might perhaps be explained as natural phenomena, and the size of the blocks, ranging from three to five miles in length, might very well indicate the hand of nature rather than of people, of whatever provenance. On the other hand, since no plausible natural explanation has emerged, they might be

Figure 80

the remains of artificial structures—if the “giants'” of Near Eastern and Andean lore had also visited Mars. . . .

The notion of “canals” on Mars appeared to have been laid

to rest when—after decades of ridicule—scientists suggested

that what Schiaparelli and Lowell had observed and mapped were in fact channels of dried-up rivers. Yet other features were found on the Martian surface that defy easy explanation. These include white “streaks” that run in straight lines for endless miles—-sometimes parallel, sometimes at angles to each other, sometimes crossing other, narrower “tracks” (Fig.

81 is a sketched-over photo). Once again, the NASA teams suggested that windblown dust storms may have caused these features. This may be so, although the regularity and especially the intersecting of the lines seem to indicate an artificial origin. Searching for a comparable feature on Earth, one must look to the famous Nazca lines in southern Peru (Fig. 82) which

have been attributed to “the gods.”

Both the Near East and the Andes are known for their various

pyramids—the immense and unique ones at Giza, the stepped

pyramids or ziggurats of Mesopotamia and of the early Amer-

ican civilizations. As pictures taken by the Mariner and Viking

Figure 81

cameras seem to show, even pyramids, or what look like pyr- amids, have been seen on Mars.

What appear to be three-sided pyramids in the Elysium (map. Fig. 83) plateau in the region called Trivium Charontis were first noticed on Mariner-9 frames 4205-78, taken on February 8, 1972 and 4296-23, taken six months later. Attention was focused on two pairs of “tetrahedron pyramidal structures,”

to use the cautious scientific terminology; one pair were huge pyramids, while the other pair were much smaller, and they seemed to be laid out in a rhombus-shaped pattern (Fig. 84). Here again, the size of the “pyramids”—the larger are each two miles across and half a mile high—suggests that they are natural phenomena, and a study in the journal Icarus (vol. 22,

1974, by Victor Ablordeppy and Mark Gipson) offered four theories to explain these formations naturally. David Chandler (Life on Mars) and astronomer Francis Graham (in Frontiers of Science, November-December 1980), among others, showed the flaws in each theory. The fact that the features

Figure 82

were photographed six months apart, at different sunlights and angles, and yet show their accurate terrahedral shapes, con- vinces many that they are artificial structures, even if we do not understand the reason for their great size. “Given the present lack of any easily acceptable explanation,” Chandler wrote, “there seems to be no reason to exclude from consid- eration the most obvious conclusion of all: perhaps they were

Figure 83

built by intelligent beings.” And Francis Graham, stating that “the conjecture that these are buildings of an ancient race of Martians must take its place among the theories of their ori- gin,” wondered whether future explorers might discover in these structures inner chambers, buried entrances, or inscrip- tions that might have withstood “ten thousand millennia of wind erosion.”

More “pyramids” with varying numbers of smooth sides have been discerned by researchers who have scanned the Mar- tian photographs. Interest, and controversy, have focused

mainly on an area named Cydonia (see map, Fig. 83) because a group of what may be artificial structures appears to be aligned with what some called a Martian “sphinx” to the east of these structures, as can be readily seen in the panoramic NASA photo O35-A-72 (Plate E). What is noticeable is a rock with the features of a well-proportioned human face, seemingly

of a man wearing some kind of a helmet (Fig. 85), with a

Plate E

slightly open mouth and with eyes that look straight out at the viewer—if the viewer happens to be in the skies above Mars. Like the other “monuments”—the features that resemble ar- tificial structures—on Mars, this one, too, is of large propor- tions: the Face measures almost a mile from top to bottom and has been estimated to rise almost half a mile above the sur- rounding plateau, as can be judged by its shadow.

Although it is said that the NASA scientist who examined the photographs received from the Viking 1 Orbiter on July

25, 1976, “almost fell out of his chair” when he saw this frame and that appropriate “Oh, my God” or expressions to that effect were uttered, the fact is that the photograph was filed away with the thousands of other Viking photographs without any further action because the similarity to a human face was deemed just a play of light and shadows on a rock

eroded by natural forces (water, wind). Indeed, when some newsmen who happened to see the transmitted image wondered whether it in fact showed a human face, the chief scientist of the Mission asserted that another photograph, taken a few hours later, did not show such a feature at all. (Years later NASA acknowledged that that was an incorrect and misleading state- ment and an unfortunate one, because the fact was that the area fell into darkness of night “a few hours later” and there did exist other photographs clearly showing the Face.)

Three years later Vincent DiPietro, an electrical engineer and imaging specialist, who remembered seeing the “Face”

in a popular magazine, came face-to-face with the Martian image as he was thumbing through the archives of the National Space Science Data Center. The Viking photo, bearing the catalog number 76-A-593/17384, was simply titled “HEAD.” Intrigued by the decision to keep the photo in the scientific data center under that tantalizing caption—the “Head” whose

very existence had been denied—he embarked, together with Greg Molenaar, a Lockheed computer scientist, on a search for the original NASA image. They found not one but two, the other being image 070-A-13 (Plate F). Subsequent searches came up with more photos of the Cydonia area taken by dif- ferent Viking Orbiter cameras and from both the right and left

sides of the features (there are eleven by now). The Face as well as more pyramidlike and other puzzling features could be seen on all of them. Using sophisticated computer enhancement and imaging techniques, DiPietro and Molenaar obtained en- larged and clearer images of the Face that convinced them it had been artificially sculpted.

Armed with their findings, they attended the 1981 The Case for Mars conference but instead of acclaiming them the assem- bled scientists cold-shouldered their assertions—undoubtedly because they would have to draw the conclusion that the Face was the handiwork of intelligent beings, “Martians” who had inhabited the planet; and that was a totally unacceptable prop- osition. Publishing their findings privately (Unusual Mars Sur- face Features) DiPietro and Molenaar took great pains to dissociate themselves from “wild speculations” regarding the origin of the unusual features. All they claimed, the book’s epilogue stated, was “that the features do not seem natural and

Plate F

warrant further investigation.” NASA scientists, however, strongly rejected any suggestion that future missions should include a visit to the Face, since it was clearly just a rock shaped by the forces of nature so that it resembled a human face.

The cause of the Face on Mars was thereafter taken up primarily by Richard C. Hoagland, a science writer and one-

time consultant at the Goddard Space Flight Center. He or-

ganized a computer conference titled The Independent Mars

Investigation Team with the purpose of having the features and

all other pertinent data studied by a representative group of

scientists and specialists; the group eventually included Brian

O’Leary, a scientist-astronaut, and David Webb, a member of the U.S. President’s Space Commission. In their conclusions they not only concurred with the view that the “Face” and “pyramids” were artificial structures, they also suggested that

other features on (he surface on Mars were the handiwork of intelligent beings who had once been on Mars.

I was especially intrigued by the suggestion in their reports

that the orientation of the Face and the principal pyramid in- dicated they were built about half a million years ago in align- ment with sunrise at solstice time on Mars. When Hoagland and his colleague Thomas Rautenberg, a computer specialist, sought my comments on their photographic evidence, I pointed out to them that the Anunnaki/Nefilim, according to my con-

clusions in The 12th Planet, had first landed on Earth about 450,000 years ago; it was, perhaps, no coincidence that Hoag- land and Rautenberg’s dating of the monuments on Mars co- incided with my timetable. Although Hoagland was careful to hedge his bets, he did devote many pages in his book The Monuments of Mars to my writings and to the Sumerian evi-

dence concerning the Anunnaki.

The publicity accorded the findings of DiPietro, Molenaar,

and Hoagland has caused NASA to insist that they were wrong.

In an unusual move, the National Space Flight Center in Green-

belt, Maryland, which supplies the public with copies of NASA

data, has been enclosing along with the “Face” photographs

copies of rebuttals of the unorthodox interpretations of the images. These rebuttals include a three-page paper dated June 6, 1987, by Paul Butterworth, the Center’s Resident Plane – tologist. He states that “there is no reason to believe that this particular mountain, which is similar to tens of thousands of others on the planet, is not the result of the natural geological

processes which have produced all the other landforms on Mars. Among the huge numbers of mountains on Mars it is not surprising that some should remind us of more familiar objects, and nothing is more familiar than the human face. I am still looking for the ‘Hand on Mars’ and the “Leg on Mars’!”

“No reason to believe” that the feature is other than natural is, of course, not a factual argument in disproving the opposite position, whose proponents contend that they do have reason to believe the features are artificial structures. Still, it is true that on Earth there are hills or mountains that give the ap- pearance of a sculpted human or animal head although they

are the work of nature alone. This, I feel, might well be a valid argument regarding the “pyramids” on the Elysium plateau or the “Inca City.” But the Face and some features near it, especially those with straight sides, remain a challenging enigma.

A scientifically significant study by Mark J. Carlotto, an optics scientist, was published in the May 1988 issue of the prestigious journal Applied Optics. Using computer graphic techniques developed in optical sciences, Carlotto employed

four frames from NASA images, taken by the Viking Orbiter with different cameras during four different orbits, to recreate a three-dimensional representation of the Face. The study pro- vided detailed information about the complex optical proce- dures and mathematical formulations of the three-dimensional analysis, and Carlotto’s conclusions were that the “Face” was

indeed a bisymmetrical human face, with another eye socket in the shaded part and a “fine structure of the mouth suggesting teeth.” These, Carlotto stated, “were facial features and not a transient phenomenon” or a trick of light and shadow. “Al- though the Viking data are not of sufficient resolution to permit the identification of possible mechanisms of origin for these

objects, the results to date suggest that they may not be nat- ural.””

Applied Optics deemed the study important enough to make it its front-cover feature, and the scientific journal New Scientist devoted a special report to the published paper and to an in- terview with its author. The journal echoed his suggestion that

“at the very least these enigmatic objects”—the Face and the adjoining pyramidal features that some had dubbed “The City”—”deserve further scrutiny by future Mars probes, such as the 1988 Soviet Phobos mission or the U.S. Mars Ob- server.”

The fact that the controlled Soviet press has published and

republished articles by Vladimir Avinksy, a noted researcher in geology and mineralogy, that support the non-natural origin of the monuments, surely indicates the Soviet aerospace atti- tudes on the matter—a subject that will be dealt with at greater length later on. Noteworthy here are two points made by Dr. Avinsky. He suggests (in published articles and privately de-

livered papers) that in considering the enormous size of the

A Space Base on Mars 255

Martian formations, one must bear in mind that due to the low gravity of Mars a man could perform gigantic tasks on it; and he attaches great importance to the dark circle that is clearly seen in the flat area between the Face and the pyramids. While NASA scientists dismissed it as “a water spot on the lens of the Viking Orbiter,” Avinsky considers it “the centre of the entire composition” of the “Martian complex” and its layout (Fig. 86).

Figure 86

Unless it is assumed that Earthlings possessed, tens of thou- sands or even half a million years ago, a high civilization and a sophisticated technology that enabled them to engage in space travel, arrive on Mars and, among other things, put up mon- uments on it, including the Face, only two other alternatives logically remain. The first is that intelligent beings had evolved on Mars who not only could engage in megalithic construction but also happened to look like us. But in the absence even of microorganisms in the soil of Mars, nor evidence of plant and animal life that among other things could provide the humanlike Martians with nourishment, the rise of a Martian population

akin to Earthlings and one that even duplicated the structural forms found on Earth seems highly improbable.

The only remaining plausible alternative is that someone,

neither from Earth nor from Mars, capable of space travel half a million years ago, had visited this part of the Solar System and had stayed; and then left behind monuments, both on Earth and on Mars. The only beings for which evidence has been found—in the Sumerian and biblical texts and in all the ancient “mythologies'”—are the Anunnaki from Nibiru. We know

how they looked: they looked like us because they made us look like them, in their image and after their likeness, to quote Genesis.

Their humanlike visages appear in countless ancient depic- tions, including the famous Sphinx at Giza (Fig. 87). Its face, according to Egyptian inscriptions, was that of Hor-

em-Akhet, the “Falcon-god of the Horizon,” an epithet for Ra, the firstborn son of Enki, who could soar to the farthest heavens in his Celestial Boat.

The Giza Sphinx was so oriented that its gaze was aligned

Figure 87

precisely eastward along the thirtieth parallel toward the space- port of the Anunnaki in the Sinai Peninsula. The ancient texts attributed communications functions to the Sphinx (and the purported subterranean chambers under it):

A message is sent from heaven;

it is heard in Heliopolis and is repeated in Memphis

by the Fair of Face.

It is composed in a dispatch by the writing of Thoth

with regard to the city of Amen. . . .

The gods are acting according to command.

The reference to the message-transmitting role of the “Fair of Face”—the sphinx at Giza—raises the question of what the purpose of the Face on Mars was; for, if it was indeed the handiwork of intelligent beings, then by definition they did not expend the time and effort to create the Face without a logical reason. Was the purpose, as the Egyptian text suggests, to send the “message from Heaven” to the sphinx on Earth, a “com- mand” according to which the gods acted, sent from one Face to another Fair-of-Face?

If such was the purpose of the Face on Mars, then one would indeed expect to find pyramids nearby, as one finds at Giza; there, three unique and exceptional pyramids, one smaller and two colossal, rise in symmetry with each other and with the Sphinx. Interestingly, Dr. Avinsky discerns three true pyramids in the area adjoining the Face on Mars.

As the ample evidence presented in the volumes of “The Earth Chronicles” series indicates, the Giza pyramids were not the handiwork of Pharaohs but were constructed by the Anunnaki. Before the Deluge their spaceport was in Meso- potamia, at Sippar (“Bird City”). After the Deluge the space- port was located in the Sinai Peninsula, and the two great pyramids of Giza, two artificial mountains, served as beacons for the Landing Corridor whose apex was anchored on Mount Ararat, the Near East’s most visible natural feature. If this was also the function of the pyramids in the Cydonia area, then some correlation with that most conspicuous natural feature on Mars, Olympus Mons, might eventually be found.

When the principal center of gold production by the An-

unnaki shifted from southeast Africa to the Andes, their me- tallurgical center was established on the shores of Lake Titicaca, at what is nowadays the ruins of Tiahuanacu and Puma-Punku. The principal structures in Tiahuanacu, which was connected to the lake by canals, were the “pyramid” called Akapana, a massive mound engineered to process ores, and the Kalasasaya, a square, “hollowed-out” structure (Fig. 88) that served astronomical purposes; its orientation was aligned with the solstices. Puma-Punku was situated directly on the lakeshore; its principal structures were “golden enclosures” built of immense stone blocks that stood alongside an array of zigzagging piers (Fig. 89).

Of the unusual features the orbiting cameras captured on the face of Mars, two appear to me to be almost certainly artifi-

cial—and both seem to emulate structures found on the shores

Figure 88

of Lake Titicaca in the Andes. One, which is akin to the Ka- lasasaya, is the first fealure west of the Face on Mars, just above (north of) the mysterious darkish circle (see Plate E). As an enlargement thereof indicates (Plate G), its still-standing southern part consists of two distinct massive walls, perfectly straight, meeting at an angle that appears sharp because of the photographic angle but is in fact a true right angle. The struc- ture—which could not possibly be natural no matter how far the imagination is stretched—appears to have collapsed, in its

Figure 89

Plate G

northern part, under the impact of a huge boulder that dropped on it in some catastrophic circumstances.

The other feature that could not be the product of natural erosion is found directly south of the Face, in an area of chaotic features, some of which have amazingly straight sides (Plate H). Separated by what might have been a channel or water- way—all are agreed that the area was on the shores of an ancient Martian sea or lake—the prominent feature’s side that

faces the channel is not straight but is outfitted with a series of “indentations” (Plate H). One must keep in mind that all these photographs were taken from an altitude of about one thousand two hundred miles above the Martian surface; what we observe, then, may well have been an array of large piers- just as one finds at Puma-Punku.

The two features, which cannot be explained away as the result of the play of light and shadow, thus bear similarities to the facilities and structures on the shores of Lake Titicaca. In this they not only support my suggestion that they are the remains of structures put up by the same visitors—the An-

Plate H

unnaki—they also offer a hypothesis for explaining their pur- pose and possible function. This conclusion is further supported by features that can be seen in the Utopia area: a pentagonal structure (enhanced NASA frame 086-A-07) and a “runway” next to what some deem evidence of mining (NASA frame O86-A-O8)—Plates I and J.

The spaceports of the Anunnaki on Earth, judging by Su- merian and Egyptian records, consisted of a Mission Control Center, Landing Beacons, an underground silo, and a large, flat plain whose natural surface served as runways. The Mission Control Center and certain Landing Beacons were some dis- tance away from the spaceport proper where the runways were situated; when the spaceport was in the Sinai Peninsula, Mis- sion Control Center was in Jerusalem and the Landing Beacons were in Giza, Egypt (the underground silo in the Sinai is de- picted in Egyptian tomb drawings—-see vignette at end of this chapter—and was destroyed by nuclear weapons in 2024 B.C.). In the Andes, the Nazca lines, I believe, represent the visual

Plate I

evidence for the use of that perfect, arid plain as runways for space shuttle takeoffs and landings. The inexplicable criss- crossing lines on the surface of Mars, the so called “tracks” (see Fig. 81) could well represent the same kind of evidence. There are also what appear to be true tracks on the Martian surface. From the air they look like the markings made by a pointed object on a linoleum floor, more or less straight “scratches” left on the Martian plain. These markings have been explained away as geological features, that is, natural cracks in the Martian surface. But as can be seen in NASA frame 651-A-06 (Plate K), the “cracks,” or tracks, appear to lead from an elevated structure of a geometric design with

Plate J

straight sides and pierlike “teeth” on one side—a structure now mostly buried under windblown sands—to the shores of what evidently was once a lake. Other aerial photographs (Fig.

90) show some tracks on an escarpment above the great canyon in the Valles Marineris near the Martian equator; these tracks

not only follow the contours of the terrain but also crisscross

each other in a pattern that could hardly be natural.

It has been pointed out that if an alien spacecraft were to

search for signs of life on Earth in areas of the Earth’s surface

outside the cities, what would give away the presence of in-

telligent beings on Earth would be the tracks we call “roads” and the rectilinear patterns of agricultural lands. NASA itself has supplied what might amount to evidence of deliberate ag- ricultural activity on Mars. Frame 52-A-35 (Plate L) shows a

Plate K

series of parallel grooves resembling contoured farmland—as one would find in the high mountains of Peru’s Sacred Valley. The photo caption prepared by the NASA News Center in Pasadena. California, when the photograph was released on August 18, 1976, stated thus:

Peculiar geometric markings, so regular that they appear almost artificial can be seen in this Mars picture taken by Viking Orbiter 1 on August 12 from a range of 2053 kilometers (1273 miles).

The contoured markings are in a shallow depression or basin, possibly formed by wind erosion. The markings—

about one kilometer (one-half mile) from crest to crest— are low ridges and valleys and may be related to the same erosion process.

The parallel contours look very much like an aerial view of plowed ground.

meaning conveyed information regarding the named person or object. One epithet for Mars was Simug, meaning “smith,” honoring the god Nergal with whom the planet was associated in Sumerian times. A son of Enki, he was in charge of African domains that included the gold-mining areas. Mars was also called UTU.KA.GAB.A, meaning ”Light Established at the Gate of the Waters,” which can be interpreted either as its position next to the asteroid belt that separated the Lower Waters from the Upper Waters, or as a source of water for the astronauts as they passed beyond the more hazardous and less hospitable giant planets Saturn and Jupiter.

Even more interesting are Sumerian planetary lists that de- scribe the planets as the Anunnaki passed them during a space

journey to Earth. Mars was called MUL APIN—”Planet

Where the- Right Course is Set.” It was so named also on an

amazing circular tablet which copied nothing less than a route

map for the journey from Nibiru to Earth by Enlil, graphically

showing the “right turn” at Mars.

Even more enlightening as to what role Mars, or the space facilities upon it, had played in the journeys of the Anunnaki to Earth is the Babylonian text concerning the Akitu festival. Borrowed from ancient Sumerian traditions, it outlined the rituals and symbolic procedures during the ten days of the New Year ceremonies. In Babylon the principal deity who took over

the supremacy from the earlier ones was Marduk; part of the transfer of the supremacy to him was the renaming by the Babylonians of the Planet of the Gods from the Sumerian Nibiru to the Babylonian Marduk.

The Akitu ceremonies included a reenactment by Marduk of the voyages of the Anunnaki from Nibiru/Marduk to Earth.

Each planet passed on the way was symbolized by a way station along the course of the religious processions, and the epithet for each planet or way station expressed its role, appearance, or special features. The station/planet Mars was termed “The Traveler’s Ship,” and I have taken it to mean that it was at Mars that the astronauts and cargo coming from Nibiru trans-

ferred to smaller spacecraft in which they were transported to Earth (and vice versa), coming and going between Mars and Earth not once in three thousand six hundred years but on a more frequent schedule. Nearing Earth, these transporters

linked up with the Earth orbiting station(s) manned by the Igigi; the actual landing on and takeoff from Earth were performed by smaller shuttlecraft that glided down to the natural “run- ways’ ” and took off by soaring upward as they increased power.

Planners of the forthcoming steps into space by Mankind envision almost the same sequence of different vehicles as the best way to overcome the constraints of Earth’s gravity, making use of the weightlessness of the orbiting station and the lower gravity of Mars (and, in their plans, also of the Moon). In this, once again, modern science is only catching up with ancient knowledge.

Coupled with these ancient texts and depictions, the pho- tographic data from the surface of Mars, and the similarities between the Martian structures and those on Earth erected by the Anunnaki all lead to one plausible conclusion:

Mars, some time in its past, was the site of a space base.

And there is also evidence suggesting that the ancient space

base has been reactivated—in our very own time, in these very days.

A DRAWING THAT DREW ATTENTION

When the Egyptian viceroy Huy died, his tomb was dec- orated with scenes of his life and work as governor of Nubia and the Sinai during the reign of the renowned Pharaoh Tut- Ankh-Amen. Among the drawings was that of a rocketship with its shaft in an underground silo and its conical command module above ground, among palm trees and giraffes.

The drawing, which was reproduced in The 12th Planet together with a comparable Sumerian pictograph of a space- craft that designated the Anunnaki, caught the eye of Stuart

W. Greenwood, an aerospace engineer then conducting re- search for NASA. Writing in Ancient Skies (July-August 1977), a publication of the Ancient Astronaut Society, he found in the ancient drawing aspects indicating knowledge of a sophisticated technology and drew attention in particular to four “highly suggestive features”: (1) The “airfoil cross- section surrounding the rocket,” which appears suitable for “the walls of a duct used for the development of thrust”;

A Space Base on Mars 271

(2) The rocket head above ground, ‘”reminiscent of the Gemini space capsule even to the appearance of the windows and (3) the charred surface and blunt end”; and (4) The unusual spike, which is like spikes tested by NASA for reducing the drag on the space capsule without success, but which in the drawing suggests it was retractable and thus could overcome the overheating problem that NASA was unable to solve.

He estimated that “if the relative locations of the rocket- head and shaft shown in the drawing are those applying during operation within the atmosphere, the inclined shock wave from the nose of the rockethead would touch the duct ‘lip’ at about Mach-3 (3 times the speed of sound).”

PHOBOS: MALFUNCTION OR STAR WARS INCIDENT?

On October 4, 1957, the Soviet Union launched Earthlings’ first artificial satellite. Sputnik 1, and set Mankind on a road that has led Man to the Moon and his spacecraft to the edge of the Solar System and beyond.

On July 12, 1988, the Soviet Union launched an unmanned spacecraft called Phobos 2 and may have provided Mankind with its first Star Wars incident—not the “Star Wars” nick- name of America’s Strategic Defense Initiative (SDI), but a war with people from another world.

Phobos 2 was one of two unmanned satellites, the other being Phobos 1, that were set off from Earth in July 1988, headed toward the planet Mars. Phobos 1, reportedly because of a radio command error, was lost two months later. Phobos 2 arrived safely at Mars in January 1989 and entered into orbit around Mars as the first step at its destination toward its ultimate goal-—to transfer to an orbit that would make it fly almost in tandem with the Martian moonlet called Phobos (hence the spacecraft’s name) and explore the moonlet with highly so- phisticated equipment that included two packages of instru- ments to be placed on the moonlet’s surface.

All went well until Phobos 2 aligned itself with Phobos, the Martian moonlet. Then, on March 28, 1989, the Soviet mission

control center acknowledged sudden communication “prob-

lems” with the spacecraft; and Tass, the official Soviet news

agency, reported that “Phobos 2 failed to communicate with

Earth as scheduled after completing an operation yesterday

around the Martian moon Phobos. Scientists at mission control

have been unable to establish stable radio contact.”

These admissions left the impression that the problem was

not incurable and were accompanied by assurances that mission

272

control scientists were engaged in maneuvers to reestablish contact with the spacecraft. Soviet space program officials as well as many Western specialists were aware that the Phobos mission represented an immense investment in terms of fi- nance, planning, effort, and prestige. Although launched by the Soviets, the mission in reality represented an international effort on an unprecedented scale, with more than thirteen Eu- ropean countries (including the European Space Agency and major French and West German scientific institutions) partic- ipating officially and British and American scientists partici- pating “personally” (with their governments1 knowledge and blessing). It was thus understandable that the “problem” was at first represented as a break in communications that could be overcome in a matter of days. Soviet television and press re- ports played down the seriousness of the occurrence, empha- sizing that attempts were being made to reestablish links with the spacecraft. In fact, American scientists associated with the program were not officially informed of the nature of the prob- lem and were led to believe that the communications break- down was caused by the malfunction of a low-power backup transmitting unit that had been in use since the principal trans- mitter had failed earlier.

But on the next day, while the public was still being reas- sured that a resumption of contact with the spacecraft was achievable, a high-ranking official at Glavkosmos, the Soviet

space agency, hinted that there indeed was no such hope. “Phobos 2 is ninety-nine percent lost for good,” Nikolai A. Simyonov said; on that day, his choice of words —not that contact with the spacecraft was lost but that the spacecraft itself was “lost for good”—was not paid any particular heed.

On March 30, in a special report from Moscow to The New

York Times, Esther B. Fein mentioned that Vremya, the main evening news program on Soviet television, “rapidly rattled off the bad news about Phobos” and focused its report instead on the successful research the spacecraft had already accom- plished. Soviet scientists appearing on the program “displayed some of the space images, but said it was still not clear what

clues they offered to understanding Mars, Phobos, the Sun and interplanetary space.”

What “images” and what “clues” were they talking about?

This became clearer the following day, when reports pub- lished in the European press (but for some reason not in the

U.S. media) spoke of an “unidentified object” that was seen

“in the final pictures taken by the spaceship,” which showed an “inexplicable” object or “elliptical shadow” on Mars.

This was an avalanche of puzzling words out of Moscow!

The Spanish daily La Epoca, for example (Fig. 92), head-

lined the dispatch by the Moscow correspondent of the Eu-

ropean news agency EFE “Phobos 2 Captured Strange Photos

of Mars Before Losing Contact With Its Base.” The text of the dispatch, in translation, read as follows:

The TV newscast “Vremya” revealed yesterday that the space probe Phobos 2, which was orbiting above Mars when Soviet scientists lost contact with it on Monday, had photographed an unidentified object on the Martian surface seconds before losing contact.

The TV broadcast devoted a long segment to the strange pictures taken by the spaceship before losing contact, and

Figure 92

showed the two most important pictures, in which a large shadow is visible in one of the pictures and in the other.

Scientists characterized the final picture taken by the spaceship, in which the thin ellipse can be clearly seen, as “inexplicable.”

The phenomenon, it was stated, could not be an optical illusion because it was captured with the same clarity both by color cameras as well as by cameras taking infrared

images.

One of the members of the Permanent Space Commis- sion who had worked around the clock to reestablish con- tact with the lost space probe stated on Soviet television that in the opinion of the commission’s scientists the object “looked like a shadow on the surface of Mars.”

According to calculations by researchers from the So- viet Union the “shadow” that the last photo taken by Phobos 2 shows is some twenty kilometers [about 12.5 miles] long.

A few days earlier, the spaceship had already recorded

an identical phenomenon, except that in that instance the “shadow” was between twenty-six to thirty kilometers [about 16 to 19 miles] long.

The reporter from “Vremya” asked one of the members of the special commission if the shape of the “phenom- enon” didn’t suggest to him a space rocket, to which the

scientist responded, “This is to fantasize.” [Here follow details of the mission’s original assign- ments.)

Needless to say, this is an amazing and literally “out of this world” report that raises as many questions as it answers. The loss of contact with the spacecraft was associated, by impli- cation if not in so many words, with the observation by the spacecraft of “an object on the Martian surface seconds be- fore.” The culprit “object” is described as “a thin ellipse” and is also called “a phenomenon” as well as “a shadow.” It was observed at least twice—the report does not state whether in the same location on the surface of Mars—and is capable of changing its size: the first time it was about 12,5 miles long; the second and fatal time, about 16 to 19 miles long. And when the “Vremya” reporter wondered whether it

was a “space rocket,” the scientist responded, “This is to fantasize.” So, what was—or is—it?

The authoritative weekly Aviation Week & Space Technol-

ogy, in its issue of April 3, 1989, printed a report of the incident based on several sources in Moscow, Washington, and Paris (the authorities in the last being deeply involved because an equipment malfunction would have reflected badly on the French contribution to the mission, whereas an “act of God” would exonerate the French space industry). The version given

AW&ST treated the occurrence as a “communications prob- lem” that remained unresolved in spite of a week of attempts to “re-establish contact.” It included the information that pro- gram officials at the Soviet Space Research Institute in Moscow said that the problem occurred “after an imaging and data- gathering session,” following which Phobos 2 had to change

the orientation of its antenna. “The data-gathering segment itself apparently proceeded as planned, but reliable contact with Phobos 2 could not be established afterward.” At the time, the spacecraft was in a near-circular orbit around Mars and in the phase of “final preparations for the encounter with Phobos” (the moonlet).

While this version attributed the incident to a “loss-of-com- munications” problem, a report a few days later in Science (April 7, 1989) spoke of “the apparent loss of Phobos 2″— loss of the spacecraft itself, not just of the communications link with it. It happened, the prestigious journal stated, “on 27 March as the spacecraft turned from its normal alignment

with Earth to image the tiny moon Phobos that was the primary mission target. When it came time for the spacecraft to turn itself and its antenna automatically back toward Earth, nothing was heard.”

The journal then continued with a sentence that remains as inexplicable as the whole incident and the “thin ellipse” on

the surface of Mars. It states:

A few hours later, a weak transmission was received, but controllers could not lock onto the signal. Nothing was heard during the next week.

Now, as a rereading of all the previous reports and statements will confirm, the incident was described as a sudden and total

loss of the “communications link.” The reason given was that the spacecraft, having turned its antennas to scan Phobos, failed to turn its antenna back toward Earth due to some un- known reason. But if the antenna remained stuck in a position facing away from Earth, how could “a weak transmission” be received “a few hours later”? And if the antenna did in fact turn itself back toward Earth properly, what caused the abrupt silence for several hours, followed by the transmission of a signal too weak to be locked onto?

The question that arises is indeed a simple one: Was the spacecraft Phobos 2 hit by “something” that put it out of commission, except for a last gasp in the form of a weak signal hours later?

There was one more report, from Paris, in AW&ST of April

10, 1989. Soviet space scientists, it said, suggested that Phobos 2 “did not stabilize itself on the proper orientation to have the high-gain antenna pointing earthward.” This obviously puz- zled the editors of the magazine because, its report said, the Phobos2 spacecraft was “three-axis stabilized” by technology developed for the Soviet Venera spacecraft, which had per-

formed perfectly on Venus missions.

The mystery thus is, what caused the spacecraft to destabilize

itself? Was it a malfunction, or was there an extraneous cause—

perhaps an impact?

The weekly’s French sources provided this tantalizing detail:

One controller at the Kaliningrad control center said the limited signals received after conclusion of the imaging session gave him the impression he was “tracking a spin- ner.”

Phobos 2, in other words, acted as if it was in a spin.

Now, what was Phobos 2 “imaging” when the incident occurred? We already have a good idea from the “Vremya” and European press agency reports. But here is what the AW&ST report from Paris states, quoting Alexander Dunayev, chairman of the Soviet Glavkosmos space administration:

One image appears to include an odd-shaped object be- tween the spacecraft and Mars. It may be debris in the orbit of Phobos or could be Phobos 2’s autonomous pro-

pulsion sub-system that was jettisoned after the spacecraft was injected into Mars orbit—we just don’t know.”

This statement must have been made with quite a tongue- in-cheek attitude. The Viking orbiters left no debris in Mars orbit, and we know of no other “debris” resulting from Earth- originated activities. The other “possibility,” that the object orbiting Mars between the planet and the spacecraft Phobos 2 was a jettisoned part of the spacecraft, can be readily dismissed once one looks at the shape and structure of Phobos 2 (Fig. 93); none of its parts had the shape of a “thin ellipse.” More- over, it was disclosed on the “Vremya” program that the “shadow” was 12.5, 16, or 19 miles long. Now, it is true that an object can throw a shadow much longer than itself, de- pending on the angle of sunlight; still, a part of Phobos 2 that was only a few feet in length could hardly throw a shadow measured in miles. Whatever had been observed was neither debris nor a jettisoned part.

At the time I wondered why the official speculation omitted what was surely the most natural and believable third possi- bility, that what had been observed was indeed a shadow—

but the shadow of Phobos, the Martial moonlet itself. It has

Figure 93

most often been described as “potato-shaped” (Fig. 94) and measures about seventeen miles across—just about the size of the “shadow” mentioned in the initial reports. In fact. I re- called seeing a Mariner 9 photograph of an eclipse on Mars caused by the shadow of Phobos. Couldn’t that be, I thought, what the fuss was all about, at least regarding the “apparition,” if not what had caused the spacecraft, Phobos 2, to be lost? The answer came about three months later. Pressed by their international participants in the Phobos missions to provide more definitive data, the Soviet authorities released the taped television transmission Phobos 2 sent in its last moments—

Figure 94

except for the last frames, taken just seconds before the space- craft fell silent. The television clip was shown by some TV stations in Europe and Canada as part of weekly “diary” pro- grams, as a curiosity and not as a hot news item.

The television sequence thus released focused on two an- omalies. The first was a network of straight lines in the area of the Martian equator; some of the lines were short, some longer, some thin, some wide enough to look like rectangular shapes “embossed” in the Martian surface. Arranged in rows parallel to each other, the pattern covered an area of some six hundred square kilometers (more than two hundred thirty square miles). The “anomaly” appeared to be far from a nat- ural phenomenon.

The television clip was accompanied by a live comment by Dr. John Becklake of England’s Science Museum. He de- scribed the phenomenon as very puzzling, because the pattern seen on the surface of Mars was photographed not with the spacecraft’s optical camera but with its infrared camera—a camera that takes pictures of objects using the heat they radiate, and not by the play of light and shadow on them. In other words, the pattern of parallel lines and rectangles covering an area of almost two hundred fifty square miles was a source of heat radiation. It is highly unlikely that a natural source of heat radiation (a geyser or a concentration of radioactive minerals under the surface, for example) would create such a perfect geometric pattern. When viewed over and over again, the pat- tern definitely looks artificial; but what it was, the scientist said, “I certainly don’t know.”

Since no coordinates for the precise location of this “anom- alous feature” have been released publicly, it is impossible to judge its relationship to another puzzling feature on the surface of Mars that can be seen in Mariner 9 frame 4209-75. It is

also located in the equatorial area (at longitude 186.4) and has been described as “unusual indentations with radial arms pro- truding from a central hub” caused (according to NASA sci- entists) by the melting and collapse of permafrost layers. The design of the features, bringing to mind the structure of a modern airport with a circular hub from which the long struc-

tures housing the airplane gates radiate, can be better visualized when the photograph is reversed (showing depressions as pro- trusions—Fig. 95).

Figure 95

We now come to the second “anomaly” shown on the tele- vision segment. Seen on the surface of Mars was a clearly defined dark shape that could indeed be described, as it was in the initial dispatch from Moscow, as a “thin ellipse” (Plate N is a still from the Soviet television clip). It was certainly different from the shadow of Phobos recorded eighteen years earlier by Mariner 9 (Plate O). The latter cast a shadow that was a rounded ellipse and fuzzy at the edges, as would be cast by the uneven surface of the moonlet. The “anomaly” seen in the Phobos 2 transmission was a thin ellipse with very sharp rather than rounded points (the shape is known in the diamond trade as a “marquise”) and the edges, rather than being fuzzy.

Plate N

stood out sharply against a kind of halo on the Martian surface. Dr. Becklake described it as “something that is between the spacecraft and Mars, because we can see the Martian surface below it,” and stressed that the object was seen both by the optical and the infrared (heat-seeking) camera.

All these reasons explain why the Soviets have not suggested that the dark, “thin ellipse” might have been the shadow of the moon let.

While the image was held on the screen, Dr. Becklake ex-

plained that it was taken as the spacecraft was aligning itself with Phobos (the moonlet). “As the last picture was halfway through,” he said, “they [Soviets] saw something which should not be there.” The Soviets, he went on to state, “have not yet released this last picture, and we won’t speculate on what it shows.”

Since the last frame or frames have not yet been publicly released even a year after the incident, one can only speculate, surmise, or believe rumors, according to which the last frame,

Plate O

halfway through its transmission, shows the “something that should not be there” rushing toward Phobos 2 and crashing into it, abruptly interrupting the transmission. Then there was, according to the reports mentioned earlier, a weak burst of transmission some hours later, too garbled to be clear. (This report, incidentally, belies the initial explanation that the space- craft could not turn its antennas back to an Earth-transmitting position).

In the October 19, 1989 issue of Nature, Soviet scientists published a series of technical reports on the experiments Pho- bos 2 did manage to conduct; of the thirty-seven pages, a mere three paragraphs deal with the spacecraft’s loss. The report confirms that the spacecraft was spinning, either because of a

computer malfunction or because Phobos 2 was “impacted” by an unknown object (the theory that the collision was with “dust particles” is rejected in the report).

So what was it that collided or crashed into Phobos 2, the “something that should not be there”? What do the last frame

or frames, still secret, show? In his careful words to AW&ST, the chairman of the Soviet equivalent of NASA referred to that last frame when he tried to explain the sudden loss of contact, saying,

“One image appears to include an odd-shaped object be- tween the spacecraft and Mars.”

If not “debris,” or “dust,” or a “jettisoned part of Phobos 2,” what was the “object” that all accounts of the incident now admit collided with the spacecraft—an object with an impact strong enough to put the spacecraft into a spin, an object whose image was captured by the last photographic frames?

“We just don’t know,” said the chief of the Soviet space program.

But the evidence of an ancient space base on Mars and the

odd-shaped “shadow” in its skies add up to an awesome con- clusion: What the secret frames hide is evidence that the loss of Phobos 2 was not an accident but an incident.

Perhaps the first incident in a Star Wars—the shooting down by Aliens from another planet of a spacecraft from Earth in- truding on their Martian base.

Has it occurred to the reader that the Soviet space chief’s answer, “We just don’t know” what the “odd-shaped object between the spacecraft and Mars” was, is tantamount to calling it a UFO—an Unidentified Flying Object?

For decades now, ever since the phenomenon of what was first called Flying Saucers and later UFOs became a worldwide

enigma, no self-respecting scientist would touch the subject even with a ten foot pole—except, that is, to ridicule the phenomenon and whoever was foolish enough to take it seri- ously.

The “modern UFO era,” according to Antonio Huneeus, a science writer and internationally known lecturer on UFOs, began on June 24, 1947, when Kenneth Arnold, an American pilot and businessman, sighted a formation of nine silvery disks flying over the Cascade Mountains in the state of Washington. The term “Flying Saucer” that then came into vogue was based on Arnold’s description of the mysterious objects.

Phonos: Malfunction or Star Wars Incident? 285 While the “‘Arnold incident” was followed by alleged sight-

ings across the United States and other parts of the world, the

UFO case deemed most significant and one still discussed (and

dramatized on television) is the alleged crash of an “alien spacecraft” on July 2, 1947—a week after the Arnold sight- ing—on a ranch near Roswell, New Mexico. That evening a bright, disk-shaped object was seen in the area’s skies; the next day a rancher, William Brazel, discovered scattered wreckage in his field northwest of Roswell. The wreckage and the

“metal” of which it was made looked odd, and the discovery was reported to the nearby Army Air Corps base at Roswell Field (which then had the world’s only nuclear-weapons squad- ron.) Major Jesse Marcel, an intelligence officer, together with an officer from the counterintelligence corps, went to examine the debris. The pieces, engineered in various shapes, looked

and felt like balsa wood but were not wood; they would neither burn nor bend, no matter how the investigators tried. On some beam-shaped pieces there were geometric markings that were later referred to as “hieroglyphics.” On returning to the base, the officer in charge instructed the base’s public relations officer to notify the press (in a release dated July 7, 1947) that AAF

personnel had retrieved parts of a “crashed flying saucer.” The release made headline news in The Roswell Daily Record (Fig. 96) and was picked up by a press wire service in Al- buquerque, New Mexico. Within hours a new official state- ment, superseding the first, claimed instead that the debris was part of a fallen weather balloon. Newspapers printed the re-

traction; and, according to some reports, radio stations were ordered to stop broadcasting the first version by being told, “Cease transmission. National security item. Do not trans- mit.”

In spite of the revised version and ensuing official denials of any “flying saucer” incident at Roswell, many of those

personally involved in that incident persist, to this very day, in adhering to the first version. Many also assert that at a nearby crash site of another “flying saucer” (in an area west of So- corTo, New Mexico), civilian witnesses had seen not only the wreckage but also several bodies of dead humanoids. These bodies, as well as bodies allegedly of “aliens” who crashed

after these two events, have been variously reported to have

Figure 96

undergone examination at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base in Ohio. According to a document known in UFO circles as MJ-

12 or Majestic-12 (the two, some claim, are not identical),

President Truman formed, in September, 1947, a blue-ribbon,

top-secret committee to deal with the Roswell and related in-

cidents, but the authenticity of this document remains unver- ified. What is known for a fact is that Senator Barry Goldwater, who either chaired or was a senior member of U.S. Senate committees on Intelligence, Armed Services, Tactical Warfare, Science, Technology, and Space and others with a bearing on the subject, was repeatedly refused admission to a so-called

Blue Room at that air base. “I have long ago given up acquir- in g access to th e so-called blu e ro om at Wri ght – Patterson, as I have had one long string of denials from chief after chief,” he wrote to an inquirer in 1981. “This thing has gotten so highly classified … it is just impossible to get any- thing on it.”

Reacting to continued reporting of UFO sightings and unease about excessive official secrecy, the U.S. Air Force conducted several investigations of the UFO phenomenon through such

projects as Sign, Grudge, and Blue Book. Between 1947 and 1969 about thirteen thousand reports of UFOs were investi- gated, and they were by and large dismissed as natural phe- nomena, balloons, aircraft, or just imagination. Some seven hundred sightings, however, remained unexplained. In 1953, the U.S. Central Intelligence Agency’s Office of Scientific Intelligence convened a panel of scientists and government officials. Known as the Robertson Panel, the group spent a total of twelve hours viewing UFO films and studying case histories and other information and found that “reasonable explanations could be suggested for most sightings.” The evi- dence presented, it was reported, showed how the remaining cases could not be explained by probable causes, “leaving ‘extra-terrestrials’ as the only remaining explanation in many cases,” although, the panel noted, “present astronomical knowledge of the solar system makes the existence of intelli- gent beings. . . elsewhere than on the Earth extremely un- likely.”

While official “debunking” of UFO reports continued (an- other investigation along the same lines and with similar con-

clusions was the officially commissioned Scientific Study of Unidentified Flying Objects by the University of Colorado, conducted from 1966 to 1969), the number of sightings and “encounters” continued to rise, and civilian amateur investi- gative groups have sprung up in numerous countries. The en- counters are now classified by these groups; those of the

“second kind” are instances where physical evidence (landing markings or interference with machinery) is left behind by the UFOs; and those of the “third kind,” where contact takes place with the UFO’s occupants.

Descriptions of the UFOs once were varied, from “flying saucers” to “cigar-shaped.” Now most describe them as cir-

cular in construction and, when landing, as resting on three or four extended legs. Descriptions of the occupants also are more uniform: “humanoids” three to four feet tall, with large, hair- less heads and very big eyes (Fig. 97a, b). According to a purported eye-witness report by a military intelligence officer who saw “recovered UFOs and alien bodies” at a “secret base

in Arizona,” the humanoids “were very, very white; there were no ears, no nostrils. There were only openings: a very

Figure 97

small mouth and their eyes were large. There was no facial hair, no head hair, no pubic hair. They were nude. I think the tallest one could have been about three-and-a-half feet, maybe a little taller.” The witness added that he saw no genitals and no breasts, although some humanoids looked male and some female.

The multitude of people reporting sightings or contacts come from every geographical or occupational background. President Jimmy Carter, for example, disclosed in a campaign speech in 1976 that he had seen a UFO. He moved to “make every piece of information this country has about UFO sightings

available to the public and the scientists”; but for reasons that were never given, his campaign promise was not kept.

Besides the official U.S. policy of “debunking” UFO re- ports, what has irked UFO believers in the United States is the official tendency to give the impression that government agen- cies have lost interest even in investigating UFO reports,

whereas it has repeatedly come to light that this or that agency, including NASA, is keeping a close eye on the subject. In the Soviet Union, on the other hand, the Institute of Space Research published in 1979 an analysis of ‘ ‘Observations of Anomalous

Atmospheric Phenomena in the USSR” (“‘anomalous atmo- spheric phenomena” is the Russian term for UFOs), and in 1984 the Soviet Academy of Sciences formed a permanent commission to study the phenomena. On the military side, the subject came under the jurisdiction of the GRU (Chief Intel- ligence Directorate of the Soviet General Staff); its orders were to discover whether UFOs were “secret vehicles of foreign powers,” unknown natural phenomena, or “manned or un- manned extraterrestrial probes engaged in the investigation of Earth.”

Numerous reported or purported sightings in the Soviet Union included some by Soviet cosmonauts. In September 1989, the Soviet authorities took the significant step of having Tass, the official news agency, report a UFO incident in the city of Voronezh in a manner that made front pages worldwide;

in spite of the usual disbelief, Tass stood by its story.

The French authorities have also been less “debunkative”

(to coin a word) than U.S. officials. In 1977 the French Na-

tional Space Agency (CNES), headquartered in Toulouse, es-

tablished the Unidentified Aerospace Phenomena Study Group

(GEPAN); it was recently renamed the Service d’Expertise des

Phenomenes de Rentree Atmospherique, with the same task of following up and analyzing UFO reports. Some of the more celebrated UFO cases in France included follow-up analyses of the sites and soils where the UFOs were seen to have landed, and the results showed the “presence of traces for which there is no satisfactory explanation.” Most French scientists have

shared the disdain of their colleagues from other countries for the subject, but among those who did get involved and voiced an opinion, the consensus has been to see in the phenomena “a manifestation of the activities of extraterrestrial visitors.”

In Great Britain, the veil of secrecy over the UFO phenom- enon has held tight in spite of such efforts as the inquiring

UFO Study Group of the House of Lords initiated by the Earl of Clancarty (a group I had the privilege to address in 1980). The British experience, as well as that of many other countries, is reported in some detail in Timothy Good’s book Above Top Secret (1987). The wealth of documents quoted or reproduced in Good’s book leads to the conclusion that at first the various

governments “covered up” their findings because UFOs were

suspected of being advanced aircraft of another superpower, and admission of the enemy’s superiority was not in the national interest. But once the extraterrestrial nature of the UFOs be- came the primary guess (or knowledge), the memory of such panics as was caused by Orson Welles” “War of the Worlds’1 radio broadcast was used as the rationale for what so many UFO enthusiasts call a cover up.

The real problem many have with UFOs is the lack of a cohesive and plausible theory to explain their origin and pur- pose. Where do they come from? Why?

I myself have not encountered a UFO, to say nothing of being abducted and experimented upon by humanlike beings with elliptical heads and bulging eyes—incidents witnessed and experienced, if such claims be true, by many others. But when asked for my opinion, whether I “believe in UFOs,” 1 sometimes answer by telling a story. Let us imagine, 1 say to the people in the room or the auditorium in which I am speak- ing, that the entrance door is thrust open and a young man bursts in, breathless from running and obviously agitated, who ignores the proceedings and just shouts, “You wouldn’t believe what happened to me!” He then goes on to relate that he was out in the countryside hiking, that it was getting dark and he was tired, that he found some stones and put his knapsack on them as a cushion, and that he fell asleep. Then he was suddenly awakened, not by a sound but by bright lights. He looked up and saw beings going up and down a ladder. The ladder led skyward, toward a hovering, round object. There was a door- way in the object through which light from inside shone out. Silhouetted against the light was the commander of the beings. The sight was so awesome that our lad fainted. When he came to, there was nothing to be seen. Whatever had been there was gone.

Still excited by his experience, the young man finishes the story by saying he was no longer sure whether what he had seen was real or just a vision, perhaps a dream. What do we think? Do we believe him?

We should believe him if we believe the Bible, I say, because

what I had just related is the tale of Jacob’s vision as told in Genesis, chapter 7. Though it was a vision seen in a dreamlike trance, Jacob was certain that the sight was real, and he said,

Phonos: Malfunction or Star Wars Incident? 291 Surely Yahweh is present in this place,

and I knew it not. . . .

This is none other but an abode of the gods,

and this is the gateway to heaven.

I once pointed out at a conference where other speakers delved into the subject of UFOs that there is no such thing as Unidentified Flying Objects. They are only unidentified or unexplainable by the viewer, but those who operate them know very well what they are. Obviously, the hovering craft that Jacob saw was readily identified by him as belonging to the Elohim, the plural gods. What he did not know, the Bible makes clear, was only that the place where he had slept was one of their lift-off pads.

The biblical tale of the heavenward ascent of the Prophet Elijah describes the vehicle as a Fiery Chariot. And the Prophet Ezekiel, in his well-documented vision, spoke of a celestial or airborne vehicle that operated as a whirlwind and could land

on four wheeled legs.

Ancient depictions and terminology show that a distinction

was made even then between the different kinds of flying ma-

chines and their pilots. There were the rocketships (Fig. 98a)

that served as shuttle craft and the orbiters, and we have already

seen what the Anunnaki astronauts and the orbiting Igigi looked

like. And there were the “whirlbirds” or “sky chambers” that we now call VTOLs (Vertical Take-Off and Landing aircraft) and helicopters; how these looked in antiquity is depicted in a mural at a site on the east side of the Jordan, near the place from which Elijah was carried heavenward (Fig. 98b). The goddess Inanna/Ishtar liked to pilot her own “sky chamber,”

at which time she would be dressed like a World War I pilot (Fig. 98c).

But other depictions were also found—clay figurines of hu- man-looking beings with elliptical heads and large, slanting eyes (Fig. 99)—an unusual feature of whom was their bi- sexuality (or lack of it): their lower parts depicted the male

member overlaid or dissected by the opening of a female va- gina.

Now, as one looks at the drawings of the “humanoids” by those who claim to have seen the occupants of UFOs, it is

Figure 98

obvious they do not look like us—which means they do not look like the Anunnaki. Rather, they look like the odd hu- manoids depicted by the ancient figurines.

This similarity may hold an important clue to the identity of the small creatures with smooth skins, no sex organs, no hair, elliptical heads, and large odd eyes that are supposed to be operating the purported UFOs. If the tales be true, then what the “contactees” have seen are not the people, the in- telligent beings, from another planet—but their anthropoid robots.

And if even a tiny percentage of the reported sightings is true, then the relatively large number of alien craft visiting Earth in recent times suggests that they could not possibly come, in such profusion and frequency, from a distant planet. If they come, they must come from somewhere relatively close

by.

And the only plausible candidate is Mars—and its moonlet

Phobos.

Figure 99

The reasons for the use of Mars as a jumping-off base for spacemen’s visits to Earth should be clear by now. The evi- dence for my suggestion that Mars had served in the past as a space base for the Anunnaki has been presented. The circum- stances in which Phobos 2 was lost indicate that someone is back there on Mars—someone ready to destroy what to them is an “alien” spacecraft. How does Phobos, the moonlet, fit into all this?

Simply put, it tits very well.

To understand why, we ought to backtrack and list the rea-

sons for the 1989 mission to Phobos. At present Mars has two

tiny satellites named Phobos and Deimos. Both are believed

to be not original moons of Mars but asteroids that were cap-

tured into Mars orbit. They are of the carbonaceous type (see

the discussion of asteroids in chapter 4) and therefore contain water in substantial amounts, mostly in the form of ice just under the moonlets’ surfaces. It has been proposed that with the aid of solar batteries or a small nuclear generator, the ice could be melted to obtain water. The water could then be

separated into oxygen and hydrogen, for breathing and as fuel. The hydrogen could also be combined with the moonlets” car- bon to make hydrocarbons. As do other asteroids and comets, these planetisimals contain nitrogen, ammonia, and other or- ganic molecules. All in all, the moonlets could become self- supporting space bases, the gift of nature.

Deimos would be less convenient for such a purpose. It is only nine by eight by seven miles in size and orbits some 15,000 miles away from Mars. The much larger Phobos (sev- enteen by thirteen by twelve miles) is only some 5,800 miles away from Mars—a short hop for a shuttlecraft or transporter from one to the other. Because Phobos (as does Deimos too) orbits Mars in the equatorial plane, Phobos can be observed from Mars (or observe goings on upon Mars), between the sixty fifth parallels north and south—a band that includes all the unusual and artificial-looking features on Mars except ” Inca City.” Moreover, because of its proximity, Phobos com- pletes about 3.5 orbits around Mars in a single Martian day— an almost constant presence.

Further recommending Phobos as a natural orbiting station around Mars is its minuscule gravity, compared with that of Earth and even of Mars. The power required for take-off from Phobos is no greater than that required to develop an escape velocity of fifteen miles an hour; conversely, very little power

is needed to brake for a landing on it.

These are the reasons the two Soviet spacecraft, Phobos 1

and 2, were sent there. It was an open secret that the mission

was a scouting expedition for the intended landing of a “robotic

rover” on Mars in 1994 and the launching of a manned mission

to Mars after that, with a view to establishing a base thereon

within the following decade. Prearrival briefings at mission control in Moscow revealed that the spacecraft carried equip- ment to locate “the heat-emitting areas on Mars” and to obtain “a better idea of what kind of life exists on Mars.” Although the provision, “if any,” was quickly added, the plan to scan both Mars and Phobos not only with infrared equipment but

also with gamma-ray detectors hinted at a very purposeful search.

After scanning Mars the two spacecraft were to turn their attention entirely to Phobos. It was to be probed by radar as well as by the infrared and gamma-ray scanners and was to be

photographed by three television cameras. Apart from such orbital scanning, the spacecraft were to drop two types of landers to the surface of Phobos: one, a stationary device that would have anchored itself to the surface and transmitted data over the long term; the other, a “hopper” device with springy legs that was meant to hop and skip about the moonlet and report its findings from all over it.

There were still other experiments in the bag of tricks of Phobos 2. It was equipped with an ion emitter and a laser gun that were to shoot their beams at the moonlet, stir up its surface

dust, pulverize some of the surface material, and enable equip- ment aboard the spacecraft to analyze the resultant cloud. At that point the spacecraft was to hover a mere 150 feet above Phobos, and its cameras were to photograph features as small as six inches.

What exactly were the mission planners expecting to dis-

cover at such close range? It must have been an important objective, because it later transpired that the “individual sci- entists” from the United States who were involved in the mis- sion’s planning and equipping included Americans with experience in Mars research whose roles were officially sanc- tioned by the United States government within the framework

of the improvement in U.S.-Soviet relations. Also, NASA had put at the mission’s disposal its Deep Space Network of radio telescopes which has been involved not only in satellite com- munications but also in the Search for Extraterrestrial Intelli- gence (SETI) programs; and scientists at the JPL in Pasadena, California, were helping track the Phobos spacecraft and mon-

itor their data transmissions. It also became known that the British scientists who were participating in the project were in fact assigned to the mission by the British National Space Centre.

With the French participation, guided by its National Space Agency in Toulouse; the input by West Germany’s prestigious

Max Planck Institute; and the scientific contributions from a dozen other European nations, the Phobos Mission was nothing short of a concerted effort by modern science to lift the veil from Mars and enlist it in Mankind’s course on the road to Space.

But was someone there, at Mars, who did not welcome this

intrusion?

296 GENESIS REVISITED

lt is noteworthy that Phobos. unlike the smaller and smooth- surfaced Deimos, has peculiar features that have led some scientists in the past to suspect that it was artificially fashioned. There are peculiar “track marks” (Fig. 100) that run almost straight and parallel to each other. Their width is almost uni- form, some 700 to 1,000 feet, and their depth, too. is a uniform 75 to 90 feet (as far as could be measured from the Viking orbiters). The possibility that these “‘trenches,” or tracks, were caused by flowing water or by wind has been ruled out, since neither exist on Phobos. The tracks seem to lead to or from a crater that covers more than a third of the moonlet’s diameter and whose rim is so perfectly circular that it looks artificial (see Fig. 94).

What are these tracks or trenches, how did they come about, why do they emanate from the circular crater, and does the crater lead into the moonlet’s interior? Soviet scientists have thought that there was something artificial about Phobos in general, because its almost perfect circular orbit around Mars at such proximity to the planet defies the laws of celestial motion: Phobos, and to some extent Deimos, too, should have elliptical orbits that would have either thrown them off into space or made them crash into Mars a long time ago.

The implication that Phobos and Deimos might have been placed in Mars orbit artificially by “someone” seemed pre- posterous. In fact, however, the capture of asteroids and towing them to where they would stay in Earth orbit has been deemed a technologically achievable feat; so much so that such a plan was presented at the Third Annual Space Development Con- ference held in San Francisco in 1984. Richard Gertsch of the Colorado School of Mines, one of several presenters of the plan, pointed out that “a startling variety of materials exist” out in space; “asteroids are particularly rich in strategic min- erals such as chromium, germanium and gallium.” “I believe that we have identified asteroids that are accessible and could be exploited,” stated another presenter, Eleanor F. Helin of JPL.

Have others, long ago, carried out ideas and plans that mod- ern science envisions for the future—bringing Phobos and Dei- mos, two captured asteroids, into orbit around Mars to burrow into their interiors?

In the 1960s it was noticed that Phobos was speeding up its

Phobos: Malfunction or Star Wars Incident? 297

Figure 100

orbit around Mars; this led Soviet scientists to suggest that Phobos was lighter than its size warrants. The Soviet physicist

I. S. Shklovsky then offered the astounding hypothesis that Phobos was hollow.

298 GENESIS REVISITED

Other Soviet writers then speculated (hat Phobos was an “artificial satellite” put into Mars orbit by “an extinct race of humanoids millions of years ago.” Others ridiculed the idea of a hollow satellite and suggested that Phobos was accelerating because it is drifting closer to Mars. The detailed report in Nature now includes the finding that Phobos is even less dense than has been thought, so that its interior is either made of ice or is hollow.

Were a natural crater and interior faults artificially enlarged and carved out by “someone” to create inside Phobos a shelter,

shielding its occupants from the cold and radiation of space? The Soviet report does not speculate on that; but what it says regarding the “tracks” is illuminating. It calls them “grooves,” reports that their sides are of a brighter material than the moonlet’s surface, and, what is indeed a revelation, that in the area west of the large crater, “new grooves can be

identified”—-grooves or tracks that were not there when Mar- iner 9 and the Vikings took pictures of the moonlet.

Since there is no volcanic activity on Phobos (the crater in its natural shape resulted from meteorite impacts, not volcan- ism), no wind storms, no rain, no flowing water-—how did the new grooved tracks come about? Who was there on Phobos

(and thus on Mars) since the 1970s? Who is on it now?

For, if there is no one there now, how to explain the March

27, 1989, incident?

The chilling possibility that modern science, catching up with ancient knowledge, has brought Mankind to the first in- cident in a War of the Worlds, rekindles a situation that has lain dormant almost 5,500 years.

The event that parallels today’s situation has come to be known as the Incident of the Tower of Babel. It is described in Genesis, chapter 11, and in The Wars of Gods and Men I refer to Mesopotamian texts with earlier and more detailed

accounts of the incident. I have placed it in 3450 B.C. and construed it as the first attempt by Marduk to establish a space base in Babylon as an act of defiance against Enlil and his sons.

In the biblical version, the people whom Marduk had gotten to do the job were building, in Babylon, a city with a “tower

Phobos: Malfunction or Star Wars Incident? 299

Figure 101

whose head shall reach the heaven” in which a Shem—a space rocket—was to be installed (quite possibly in the manner de- picted on a coin from Byblos; see Fig. 101). But the other deities were not amused by this foray of Mankind into the space age; so

Yahweh came down to see the city

and the tower which the humans were building. And he said to unnamed colleagues:

This is just the beginning of their undertakings; From now on, anything that they shall scheme to do

shall no longer be impossible for them.

Come, let us go down and confuse their language

so that they should not understand each other’s speech.

Almost 5,500 years later, the humans got together and “spoke one language,” in a coordinated international mission to Mars and Phobos.

And, once again, someone was not amused.

13

IN SECRET ANTICIPATION

Are we unique? Are we alone?

These were the central questions posed in The 12th Planet back in 1976, and the book proceeded to present the ancient evidence regarding the Anunnaki (the biblical Nefilim) and

their planet Nibiru.

Scientific advances since 1976, reviewed in previous chap-

ters, have gone a long way in corroborating ancient knowledge.

But what about the two pillars of that knowledge and that

ancient answer to the central questions? Has modern science

confirmed the existence of one more planet in our Solar System,

and has it found other intelligent beings outside Earth?

That a search has been going on, both for another planet

and for other beings, is a matter of record. That it has intensified

in recent years can be gleaned from publicly available docu-

ments. But now it is also evident that when the mists of leaks,

rumors, and denials are pierced, if not the public, then the

world’s leaders have been aware for some time first, that there is one more planet in our Solar System and second, that we are not alone.

ONLY THIS KNOWLEDGE CAN EXPLAIN THE IN- CREDIBLE CHANGES IN WORLD AFFAIRS THAT HAVE BEEN TAKING PLACE WITH EVEN MORE INCREDIBLE

SPEED.

ONLY THIS KNOWLEDGE CAN EXPLAIN THE AC-

TUAL PREPARATIONS BEING MADE FOR THE DAY,

WHICH IS SURELY COMING, WHEN THE TWO FACTS

WILL HAVE TO BE DROPPED LIKE BOMBSHELLS ON

THE PEOPLE OF THIS PLANET EARTH.

Suddenly, all that had divided and preoccupied the world powers for decades seems not to matter anymore. Tanks, air- craft, armies are withdrawn and disbanded. One regional con- 300

flict after another is unexpectedly settled. The Berlin Wall, a symbol of Europe’s division, is gone. The Iron Curtain that has divided West from East militarily, ideologically, and eco- nomically is being dismantled. The head of the atheistic Com- munist empire visits the Pope—with a medieval painting of a UFO as the centerpiece of the room’s decoration. An American president, George Bush, who began his presidency in 1989 with a cautious wait-and-see policy, has by year’s end thrown all caution to the winds and has become an ardent partner of his Soviet counterpart, Mikhail Gorbachev, in clearing the desks of the old agendas; but clearing them for what?

The Soviet president, who a few years ago made any progress in disarmament absolutely dependent on the United States drop- ping its Strategic Defense Initiative (SDI)—the so-called Star Wars defense in space against enemy missiles and spacecraft— agreed to unprecedented troop withdrawals and reductions a week after the same U.S. president, amidst reductions in the American military spending, asked the Congress to increase funds for SDI/Star Wars by 4.5 billion dollars in the next fiscal year. And before the month was out, the two superpowers and their two major wartime allies. Great Britain and France, have agreed to let German unification proceed. For forty-five years the vow never to see a unified, resurgent Germany again was a basic tenet of European stability; now, suddenly, that seemed to matter no more.

Suddenly, inexplicably, there seem to be more important, more urgent subjects on the agenda of the world’s leaders. But what?

As one looks for answers, the clues point in one direction:

Space. Surely, the turmoil in Eastern Europe has long been building up. Certainly, economic failures have necessitated long-overdue reforms. But what is astounding is not the out- break of change, but the unexpected lack of almost any resis- tance to it in the Kremlin. Since about the middle of 1989, all that had been vigorously defended and brutally suppressed no

longer seemed important; and after the summer of 1989, a reticent and go-slow American government shifted into high- gear cooperation with the Soviet leadership, rushing a previ- ously take-our-time summit meeting between President Bush and President Gorbachev.

Was it only a coincidence that the Phobos 2 incident in March 1989 was conceded in June to have been the result of spinning caused by an impact? Or that it was in that same June that Western audiences were shown the enigmatic television pictures from Phobos 2 (minus the last frame or frames) re- vealing the heat-emitting pattern on the surface of Mars and the “thin, elliptical shadow” for which there was no expla- nation? Was it a mere coincidence in timing that the hurried change of U.S. policy occurred after the Voyager 2’s flyby of Neptune, in August 1989, which relayed back pictures of mys- terious “double tracks” on Neptune’s moon Triton (see Fig. 3)—tracks as enigmatic as those photographed on Mars in previous years and on Phobos in March 1989?

A review of world events and space-related activities after the March/June/August series of space discoveries in 1989 traces a pattern of bursts of activity and course changes that

bespeak the impact of these discoveries.

After the loss of Phobos 2 on the heels of the misfortune

with Phobos 1, Western experts speculated that the USSR

would give up its plans to proceed with their reconnaisance

mission to Mars in 1992 and the plan to land rovers there in

1994. But Soviet spokesmen brushed such doubts aside and

reaffirmed strongly that in their space program they “have given priority to Mars.” They were determined to go on to Mars, and to do it jointly with the United States.

Was it mere coincidence that within days of the Phobos 2 incident the White House took unexpected steps to reverse a Defense Department decision to cancel the 3.3-billion-dollar

National Aero-Space Plane program, under which NASA was to develop and build, by 1994, two X-30 hypersonic planes that could take off from Earth and soar into orbit, becoming self-launching spaceships for military space defense? This was one of the decisions made by President Bush together with Vice President Dan Quayle, the newly appointed chairman of

the National Space Council, at the very first NSC meeting in April 1989. In June, the NSC instructed NASA to accelerate the Space Station preparations, a program funded in fiscal year 1990 at 13.3 billion dollars. In July of 1989 the Vice President briefed Congress and the space industry on the specific pro- posals for the manned missions to the Moon and to Mars. It

was made clear that of five options, that of “developing a lunar

base as a stepping-stone to Mars is receiving the greatest at- tention.” A week later it was disclosed that instruments lofted by a military rocket successfully fired a “neutral-particle beam”—a “death ray”—in space as part of the SDI space- defense program.

Even an outside observer could sense that the White House, the President himself, was now in charge of the direction of the space program, its links with SDI, and their accelerated

timetable. And so it was that immediately after his hurried summit meeting with the Soviet leader in Malta, President Bush submitted to Congress his next annual budget, with its increase of billions of dollars for “Star Wars.” The media wondered how Mikhail Gorbachev would react to this “slap in the face,” But rather than criticism from Moscow, there was accelerated

cooperation. Evidently, the Soviet leader knew what SDI is all about: President Bush, in their joint press conference, ac- knowledged that SDI was discussed, both “defensive” and “offensive”—”rockets as well as people … a wide discus- sion.”

The budget proposal also asked 24 percent more funds for NASA, specifically for carrying out what by then had become the President’s “commitment” to “return astronauts to the Moon and to the eventual exploration of Mars by humans.” That commitment, it should be recalled, was made in the Pres- ident’s speech in July 1989 on the occasion of the twentieth anniversary of the first landing on the Moon—a commitment puzzling by its timing. When the Challenger shuttle was ac- cidentally destroyed in January 1986, all space work was put on hold. But in July 1989, just a few months after the Phobos 2 loss, the United States, rather than pull in its horns, reiterated a determination to go to Mars. There must have been a com- pelling reason… .

Under the Human Exploration Initiative part of the proposed budget, an Administration official said, space efforts would be expanded in accordance with a program developed by the White House’s National Space Council; that program included the development of new launch facilities, “opening up new fron-

tiers for manned and unmanned exploration” and “insuring that the space program contributes to the national military se- curity.” Human exploration of the Moon and Mars were de- fined assignments.

Concurrently with these developments, NASA has been ex- panding its network of space telescopes, both ground based and orbital, and has equipped some of the shuttles with sky- scanning devices. The Deep Space Network of radio telescopes was expanded by the reactivation of unused facilities as well as by arrangements with other nations, with stress on obser- vation of the southern skies. Up to 1982, the U.S. Congress has grudgingly allocated funds for SETI programs, reducing them from year to year until they were completely cut off in 1982. But in 1983—again that pivotal year, 1983—the funding was abruptly restored. In 1989 NASA managed to have the funding for the “Search for Extra-Terrestrial Intelligence” doubled and tripled, in part due to the active support of Senator John Garn of Utah, a former shuttle astronaut who became convinced of the existence of extraterrestrial beings. Signifi- cantly, the funding was sought by NASA for new scanning and search devices to analyze emissions in the microwave band and in the skies above Earth, rather than only (as SETI had done before) listening in for radio emissions from distant stars or even galaxies. In its explanatory brochure, NASA quotes, in regard to the “Sky Survey,” the formulation by Thomas

O. Paine, its former Administrator:

“A continuing program to search for evidence that life exists—or has existed—beyond Earth, by studying other bodies of the Solar System, by searching for planets cir- cling other stars, and by searching for signals broadcast by intelligent life elsewhere in the Galaxy.

Commenting on these developments, a spokesman for the Federation of American Scientists in Washington said, “The future is starting to arrive.” And The New York Times of February 6, 1990, headlined the report of the invigorated SETI programs “HUNT FOR ALIENS IN SPACE: THE NEXT

GENERATION.” A small but symbolic change: no longer a search for an extraterrestrial “intelligence,” but for Aliens.

A search in secret anticipation.

The 1989 shock was preceded by a marked change at the end of 1983.

In retrospect it is evident that the diminution of superpower adversity was the other side of the coin of cooperation in space efforts and that from 1984 on, the only joint effort that was paramount in all minds was “Going to Mars, Together.”

We have already reviewed the extent of the U.S. endorse- ment of. and participation in, the Phobos mission. When the role of American scientists in this mission became known, it was explained that it was “officially sanctioned due to the improvement in Soviet-American relations.” It was also re- vealed that American defense experts were concerned about

the Soviet intent to use a powerful laser in space (to bombard the surface of Phobos), fearing it would give the Soviets an advantage in their own ‘ ‘Star Wars” program of space defense; but the White House overruled the defense experts and gave its consent.

Such cooperation was quite a change from what had been the norm before then. In the past the Soviets not only guarded their space secrets zealously but also made every effort to upstage the Americans. In 1969 they launched Luna 15 in a failed attempt to beat the Americans to the Moon; in 1971 they sent to Mars not one but three spacecraft intending to put orbiters on Mars just days ahead of Mariner 9. When the two superpowers paused for detente, they signed a space cooper- ation agreement in 1972; its only visible result was the Apollo- Soyuz linkup in 1975. Ensuing events, such as the suppression of the Solidarity movement in Poland and the invasion of Af- ghanistan, renewed cold war tensions. In 1982 President Rea- gan refused to renew the 1972 agreement, and launched instead a massive U.S. rearmament effort against the “Evil Empire.”

When President Reagan, in a televised address in March 1983, surprised the American people, the world’s nations (and, it later became known, most top officials of his own admin-

istration) with his Strategic Defense Initiative (SDI)—the con- cept of a protective shield in space against missiles and spaceships—it was natural to assume that its sole purpose was to attain military superiority over the Soviet Union. That was the Soviet reaction, and it was vehement. When Mikhail Gor- bachev followed Konstantin Chernenko as Soviet leader in

1985, he adhered to the position that any improvement in East-

West relations depended first and foremost on the abandonment of SDI. But, as it now seems clear, before the year was out, a new mood began to take hold as the true reasons for SDI were communicated to the Soviet leader. Antagonism was re- placed by an attitude of “Let’s Talk”; and the talk was to be about cooperation in space and, more specifically, about going together to Mars.

Observing that the Soviets suddenly “shed their habit… of being obsessively secretive about their space program,” the Economist (June 15, 1985) remarked that recently Soviet sci-

entists had been astonishing Western scientists by their open- ness, “talking frankly and enthusiastically about their plans.” The weekly noted that the prime subject was the missions to Mars.

The marked change was even more puzzling, since in 1983 and 1984 the Soviet Union appeared to be moving far ahead

of the United States in space achievements. It had by then lofted a series of Salyut space stations into Earth orbit, manned them with cosmonauts who achieved record long stays in space, and practiced linking to these stations a variety of service and resupply spacecraft. Comparing the two national programs, a

U.S. Congressional study reported, at the end of 1983, that they were like an American tortoise and a Soviet hare. Still, by the end of 1984, the first sign of renewed cooperation was given when a U.S. device was included in the Soviet Vega spacecraft that was launched to encounter Halley’s comet.

There were other manifestations, semiofficial and official, of the new spirit of cooperation in space, despite SDI. In January 1985 scientists and defense officials, meeting in Washington to discuss SDI, invited a top Soviet space official (later a key adviser to Gorbachev), Roald Sagdeyev, to attend. At the same time then U.S. Secretary of State George Shultz met his Soviet counterpart in Geneva, and they agreed to renew the defunct U.S.-Soviet space cooperation agreement.

In July 1985 scientists, space officials, and astronauts from the United States and the Soviet Union met in Washington, ostensibly to commemorate the Apollo-Soyuz linkup of 1975. In reality, it was a seminar held to discuss a joint mission to Mars. A week later Brian T. O’Leary, the former astronaut who became active in the Aerospace Systems Group of Science Applications International Corporation, told a meeting of the Society for (he Advancement of Science in Los Angeles that Mankind’s next giant step should be to one of the moons of Mars: “What would be a better way to celebrate the millen- nium’s end than with a return human trip from Phobos and Deimos, especially if it was an international mission?” And in October of that same year, 1985, several American Con- gressmen, government officials, and former astronauts were invited by the Soviet Academy of Sciences to visit, for the first time ever, Soviet space facilities.

Was it all just an evolutionary process, part of new policies by a new leader in the USSR, changing conditions behind the Iron Curtain—deepening restlessness, mounting economic hardships that had increased the Soviet need for Western help? No doubt. But did it necessitate the rush to unveil the plans

and secrets of the Soviet space program? Was there perhaps also some other cause, some significant occurrence that sud- denly made a major difference, that changed the agenda, that called for new priorities—that necessitated the revival of a World War II alliance? But if so, who was now the common enemy? Against whom were the United States and the USSR aligning their space programs? And why the priority, given by both nations, to going to Mars?

For sure, there have been objections, in both nations, to such coziness. In the United States many defense officials and con- servative politicians opposed “lowering the guard” in the Cold War, especially in space. In the past President Reagan agreed;

for five years he refused to meet the leader of the “Evil Em- pire.” But now there were compelling reasons to meet and to confer—in private. In November 1985 Reagan and Gorbachev met and emerged as friendly allies, pronouncing a new era of cooperation, trust, understanding.

How could he explain this U-turn, Reagan was asked. His answer was that what made a common cause was space. More specifically, a danger from space to all the nations on Earth.

At the first opportunity to elaborate publicly, President Reagan said, in Fallston, Maryland, on December 4, 1985:

As you know, Nancy and I returned almost two weeks ago from Geneva, where I had several lengthy meetings with General Secretary Gorbachev of the Soviet Union.

I had more than fifteen hours of discussions with him, including five hours of private conversation just between the two of us. I found him to be a determined man, but one who is willing to listen. And 1 told him about America’s deep desire for peace and that we do not threaten the Soviet Union and that I believe the people of both our countries want the same thing—a safer and better future for themselves and their children. . . .

I couldn’t but—one point in our discussion privately with General Secretary Gorbachev—when you stop to think that we’re all God’s children, wherever we may live in the world—I couldn’t help say to him,

“Just think how easy his task and mine might be in these meetings that we held if suddenly there was a threat to this world from some other species from another planet outside in the universe. We’d forget all the little local differences that we have between our countries and we would find out once and for all that we are all human beings here on this earth together.”

I also stressed to Mr. Gorbachev how our nation’s com- mitment to the Strategic Defense Initiative—our research

and development of a non-nuclear, high-tech shield that would protect us against ballistic missiles, and how we are committed to that. 1 told him that SDI was a reason to hope, not to fear.

Was this statement an irrelevant detail or a deliberate dis- closure by the U.S. President that in his private session with the Soviet leader he had brought up the “threat to this world from some other species from another planet” as the reason for bringing the two nations together and the cessation of Soviet opposition to SDI?

Looking back, it is clear that the “threat” and the need for a defense in space against it preoccupied the American President. In Journey Into Space, Bruce Murray, who was Director of the NASA/Caltech Jet Propulsion Laboratory from 1976 to 1982 (and cofounder with Carl Sagan of The Planetary Society), recounts how at a meeting at the White House in March 1986 with a select group of six space scientists to brief President Reagan on the discoveries of Voyager at Uranus, the president inquired, “You gentlemen have investigated a lot of things in space; have you found any evidence that there may be other people out there?” When they answered negatively, he con- cluded the meeting by saying he hoped they would have “more excitement as time went on.”

Were these ruminations of an aging leader, destined to be dismissed with a grin by the youthful and “determined man” now leading the Soviet empire? Or did Reagan convince Gorbachev, in their private five-hour meeting, that the threat of aliens from space was no joke?

What we know from the public record is that on February 16, 1987, in a major address to an international “Survival of Humanity” forum at the Grand Kremlin Palace in Moscow, Gorbachev recalled his discussion with President Reagan in words almost identical to those the American President had used. “The destiny of the world and the future of humanity have concerned the best minds from the time man first began thinking of the future,” he said at the very beginning of his address. “Until relatively recently these and related reflections have been seen as an imaginative exercise, as other-worldly pursuits of philosophers, scholars, and theologians. In the past few decades, however, these problems have moved onto a highly practical plane.” After pointing to the risks of nuclear weapons and the common interests of “human civilization,” he went on to say,

At our meeting in Geneva, the U.S. President said that if the earth faced an invasion by extraterrestrials, the United States and the Soviet Union would join forces to repel such an invasion.

I shall not dispute the hypothesis, though I think it’s early yet to worry about such an intrusion.

In choosing “not to dispute this hypothesis,” the Soviet leader appeared to define the threat in starker terms than President Reagan’s smoother talk: he spoke of “an invasion by extraterrestrials”‘ and disclosed that in the private conversation at Geneva President Reagan did not merely talk philosophically about the merits of a united Mankind but proposed that ‘”‘the United States and the Soviet Union would join forces to repel such an invasion.”

Even more significant than this confirmation, at an inter- national forum, of the potential threat and the need to “join forces” was its timing. Just one year earlier, on January 28, 1986, the United States suffered its terrible setback when the space shuttle Challenger exploded soon after launch, killing its seven astronauts and grounding America’s space program. On the other hand, on February 20, 1986, the Soviet Union launched its new space station Mir, a substantially more advanced model than the previous Salyut series. In the following months, rather than taking advantage of the situation and asserting Soviet independence of U.S. space cooperation, the Soviets increased it; among the steps taken was the invitation to U.S. television networks to witness the next space launch from their hitherto top-secret spaceport at Baikonur. On March 4 the Soviet spacecraft Vega 1, having swung by Venus to drop off scientific probes, kept its date with Halley’s comet; Europeans and Japanese were also up there, but not the United States. Still, the Soviet Union, through Roald Sagdeyev, the director of the Institute for Space Research who had- been invited to Washington in 1985 to discuss SD1, insisted that going to Mars be a joint effort with the United States.

Amid the gloom of the Challenger disaster, all the space programs were suspended except those pertaining to Mars. To remain on the road to the Moon and Mars, NASA appointed a study group under the chairmanship of astronaut Dr. Sally K. Ride to reevaluate the plans and their feasibility. The panel strongly recommended the development of celestial ferryboats and transfer ships to carry astronauts and cargoes for “human settlement beyond Earth orbit, from the highlands of the Moon to the plains of Mars.”

This eagerness to go to Mars, as evidence at Congressional hearings made clear, necessitated joint U.S.-Soviet efforts and cooperation between their space programs. Not everyone in the United States was for it. in particular, defense planners considered the setback to the manned shuttle program to mean a change to greater reliance on ever more powerful unmanned rockets; and to gain public and Congressional support, some data about the Air Force’s new booster rockets to be used in the “Star Wars” defenses was released.

Overriding objections, the United States and the USSR signed, in April 1987, a new agreement for cooperation in space. Immediately after signing the agreement, the White House ordered NASA to suspend work on the Mars Observer spacecraft that was to be launched in 1990; thenceforth, there were to be joint efforts with the Soviet Union in support of its Phobos mission.

In (he United States opposition to sharing space secrets with the Soviet Union nevertheless continued, and some experts viewed the repeated Soviet invitations to the United States to join in their missions to Mars simply as attempts to gain access to Western technology. Prompted, no doubt, by such objec- tions, President Reagan once again spoke up publicly of the extraterrestrial threat. The occasion was his address to the General Assembly of the United Nations on September 21,

1987. Speaking of the need to turn swords into plowshares, he said:

In our obsession with antagonisms of the moment we often forget how much unites all the members of hu- manity. Perhaps we need some outside, universal threat to recognize this common bond.

I occasionally think how quickly our differences would vanish if we were facing an alien threat from outside this world.

As reported at the time in The New Republic by its senior editor Fred Barnes, President Reagan, during a White House luncheon on September 5, sought confirmation from the Soviet foreign minister that the Soviet Union would indeed join the United States against an alien threat from outer space; and Shevardnadze responded, “Yes, absolutely.”

While one can only guess what debates might have taken place in the Kremlin in the next three months that led to the second Reagan-Gorbachev summit meeting in December 1987, some of the conflicting views current in Washington were publicly known. There were those who questioned Soviet motives and found it difficult to draw a clear distinction be- tween sharing scientific technology and sharing military secrets. And there were those, like the chairman of the House of Representatives’ Science, Space and Technology Commit-

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The Intention Experiment (full text) by Lynne McTaggart. In HTML for free access. Part 4 of 4.

This is part 4 of 4.

This is a complete reprint of the book titled “The Intention Experiment” by Lynne McTaggart. It is a non-fiction book, and it is groundbreaking. In this book, the author has compiled all those studies about the reality of ESP, and PSI, and compiled the results. The results are pretty damning. Something is going on, and Newtonian physics cannot explain it. It can only be explained with quantum physics.

What is going on is that quantum physics is working and weaving it’s magic throughout our lives, and rather than discount things as “superstition” and out-dated religion, this book connects actual scientific studies with the quantum physics principles involved. It explains so many thing that have been discounted as pure superstition.

Thus it’s placement in my blog.

This is for those people who want nice and clean answers to what is going on, yet cannot shake off the Newtonian physics that they learned in High School. This book teaches you that there is a deeper reality behind everything and as such, it helps explain some elements of paranormal and religion that are often discounted as primitive nonsense.

Welcome to the world of quantum physics and how all those things about prayer, intention, and spirituality actually does have a scientific foundation that they are based upon.

Summary of this section

This section consists of the links and other related background supporting information assocated with the book. Included herein for those that are interested.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Your Personal Intention Experiments

NOW THAT YOU HAVE PRACTICED ‘powering up’, what can you u intention for in your own everyday life? To help you find out, with the help of my scientists I have designed a series of informal, personal experiments.

The following ‘experiments’ are intended to be read in two ways: as a springboard into ways to incorporate intention into your life, and also as a piece of anecdotal research. Whenever you carry out an intention experiment, I would like you to report it on our website.

To carry out these experiments, all you will need in the way of equipment is a notebook and a calendar. When you are first starting, note the date and times of your intentions. Each intention experiment should be carried out after ‘powering up’ in your intention space, using the programme outlined in chapter 13. Needless to say, if you suffer from a serious illness and are trying to think yourself better, you should augment your own healing intentions with the help of a trained professional healer, whether conventional or alternative.

Make a daily note of any change in the object of your intention, and be specific. If you are trying to heal a condition in yourself or someone else, take a daily ‘temperature’ of change. What does the person feel like, in general? What symptoms have improved? Have any got worse? Have any new ones turned up? (If any situations seriously worsen, immediately consult a professional practitioner, and also examine any subconscious intentions.)

If you are trying to change your relationship with someone who is ordinarily very antagonistic to something more positive, make a daily note of his or her interactions with you, to determine if anything has changed.

To Have Something Manifest in Your Life

Select a goal that has never happened but that you would like to have happen. Choose something that seldom occurs or is particularly unlikely, so that if it does come to pass it is more likely to be the result of your intention.

Here are some possibilities:

receiving flowers from your husband (if he has never bought them for you); having your wife sit down and watch a football match with you (if she usually refuses to do so);

having the boorish neighbour who never gives you the time of day start a cheery conversation with you;

having your child help with the dishes;

having your child wake up on his or her own in the morning and get ready for school without prompting;

improving the weather (30 per cent more or less rain, say); having your child make his or her bed;

having your dog stop barking at night;

stopping your cat from scratching the sofa;having your husband or wife come home from work one hour earlier than usual;

having your child watch television two hours less;

getting someone who can’t stand you at work to say hello and start up a conversation;

achieving 10 per cent higher profits at work; growing your plants or crops 10 per cent faster than usual.

As you begin to manifest, you can try more complicated thoughts. But remember, at first you want one single event to change, something where change can be easily quantified and can probably be attributed to your thoughts.

Retro-intentions

If you still have a medical problem of some sort, cast your mind back to the point where it started. Carry out an intention for it to resolve itself then. See if you are now better.

If you are not getting along with someone, cast your mind back to the point where you first had a disagreement and send your intention to change there.

Remember to be very specific.

Ask your friends and family if you can try a retro-prayer for some of their loved ones who were ill 5 years before. Concentrate on their former illness and see if it improves their current state of health. The idea will seem so ridiculous and therefore so harmless that they probably will agree to it. If you feel bold, you may even try this with a local nursing home. First, be sure to obtain the permission of the patient, as well as those in charge.

Report any results by writing in to The Intention Experiment website: www.theintentionexperiment.com.

Group Intention Exercises

Assemble a group of your friends who are interested in trying out some group intention exercises. Create an intention space where you will meet each time. Select a group target in your community. Here are a few possibilities:

improving the weather; reducing violent crime by 5 per cent;

reducing pollution by 5 per cent;

reducing litter on a particular street in your community; getting your mail delivered one hour earlier;

achieving some form of community activism (such as preventing a mobile phone mast from being built in your area);

decreasing the incidence of local road accidents involving children by 30 per cent;

improving the collective grade point average of the local school by one grade; decreasing abuse of children in your community by 30 per cent;

reducing possessions of knives or illegal weapons by 30 per cent; increasing (or decreasing) local rainfall by 10 per cent; decreasing the number of alcoholics in your area by 25 per cent.

Depending on the nature of your intention, make one member of the group responsible for researching statistics involving your local accident, weather or crime statistics. For these types of statistics, it is a good idea to get hold of reports for the last 5 years in your area and surrounding communities so you have something solid to compare.

Then, when you meet, decide on a group intention statement. When you are ‘powering up’, visualize yourselves as a single entity (say, a giant bubble or any other unified internal image). Once you are all in a collective meditative state, have one member of the group read out the statement. Meet regularly to send the same intentions. Keep a careful reading of statistics for one month before and several months after you have sent the intentions. Note any changes.

Send the results to The Intention Experiment website: www.theintentionexperiment.com.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The Group Intention Experiments

YOU ARE NOW INVITED TO PARTICIPATE in massive group intention experiments with many, if not most, of the other readers of this book. If you would like to take part in the largest mind-over-matter experiment in history, read on.

In these group intentions, you will become involved in important new research to further the world’s knowledge about the power of intention. There will be blogs and interactive elements on our website, so that you can correspond with like-minded individuals around the world about our results and the results of individual experiments (chapter 14).

Naturally, it is not compulsory. In fact, I would prefer you not to get involved unless you are passionate about participating. I need committed participants, willing to take the intention experiment seriously. Each experiment might take a few minutes to an hour of your time, although in future we might try experiments that take a little longer.

First, log on to the website (www.theintentionexperiment.com). There you will find information about the dates and objectives of future intention experiments. We will plan those dates to coincide with times of a fair degree of geomagnetic activity. Mark those dates in your diary now; if you intend to participate, it is vital that you don’t forget. We have a number of experiments planned, but as scientific experiments are expensive to carry out and require lengthy analysis, there will be sizable intervals between experiments. If you miss an intention experiment, you will have to wait a few months for another one.

Several days before the experiment, read through the preliminary instructions to familiarize yourself with what to do. The instructions will explain that you need to carry out many of the ‘powering up’ exercises of chapter 13 just before you send your intention. You will find information about the time of the experiment in your own time zone. The website has a running clock (set to US Eastern Standard Time an Greenwich Mean Time) and a countdown to each new experiment, and will specify the equivalent times in different time zones. Readers around the world will be participating, so it is vital that all the readers send intentions at the right time.

As this is a scientific experiment, we need to have committed and knowledgeable participants, who have read and understood the ideas in this book. Consequently, we will try to weed out potential spoilers or the uncommitted by asking every potential participant to supply a password, which will be taken from phrases or ideas in the book and will vary every few months. We will ask you to supply, for example, the fourth word of the third paragraph on page 57 of the US hardback edition (or page 65 of the paperback). We will make sure we specify passwords for every edition published in every country, so your password will work no matter which version of the book you have read. Just follow the instructions. The only way to be part of the experiment is to have read the book and to log on with the

correct password, after which you will be supplied with a private password, to use for future experiments.

Because this is a scientific experiment, we need to know some details about our participants, such as their average age, their gender, their health – or possibly their degree of psychic ability. On the day of the experiment, you will be asked to supply some information about yourself. Several of our scientists have designed short questionnaires for you to fill in. Of course, this information will be kept confidential, under international and national laws of data protection. Once you have filled in our questionnaires, you won’t have to rekey any information you have already supplied for any future experiments.

On the day of the intention experiment, at the particular time specified on the website, you will be asked to send a carefully worded, detailed intention, depending on the target site. The website will walk you through the steps. You will be asked to ‘power up’ into your meditative state, to enter a state of compassion and to send a carefully worded, detailed intention that will be specified on the website.

For instance, let’s say that we are trying to send an intention to have a spider plant grow faster at Fritz-Albert Popp’s lab in Neuss, Germany, on Friday 20 Marc at 8 p.m. GMT. We will have a photograph or web camera image of the spider plant on the website, so you can train your intention on the right subject. The website will instruct you to think or say the following sentence on 20 March at 8 p.m.:

Our intention is to have our spider plant in Neuss grow 10 per cent faster than a control plant.

Or, let’s say that we have a patient with a wound. Our intention might be: Our intention is for Lisa’s wound to heal 10 per cent faster than normal.

Because this is a scientific experiment, we will structure our experiment to test a precise, carefully quantified result: 10 per cent faster or slower, say, or 6°C cooler than normal or than a control. Once finished, the results will be analysed by our scientific team – ideally by a neutral statistician as well – and then published on the website.

I must reiterate that I cannot guarantee that the experiments will work – at first or ever. As scientists and objective researchers, we will be duty-bound to faithfully report the data we have. Whether or not our first experiments are successful, we will continue to refine the design with each new experiment as we learn more about group intention. If the first or second or fifth experiment doesn’t work, we will keep trying and keep learning more with every result. The nature of frontier science requires that you stumble along blindly, feeling your way along the right path.

Do consult the website frequently for announcements of experiments, postings of the individual experiments (chapter 14) and announcements of the date of every future experiment. If you have enjoyed the written portion of this book, the website will continue the experience for you as an open-ended sequel.

www.theintentionexperiment.com

Notes

Preface

N. Hill, Think and Grow Rich: The Andrew Carnegie Formula for Mone Making, New York: Ballantine Books (reissue edn), 1987.
J. Fonda, My Life So Far, London: Ebury Press, 2005: 571.

Introduction

For a complete description of these scientists and their findings, consult L. McTaggart, The Field: the Quest for the Secret Force of the Universe, London: HarperCollins, 2001.
The full title of Newton’s major treatise is Philosophiae Naturalis Principia Mathematica, a name that offers a nod to its philosophical implications, although it is always referred to reverentially as the Principia.
R. P. Feynman, Six Easy Pieces: The Fundamentals of Physics Explained

London: Penguin, 1995: 24.

McTaggart, The Field, op. cit.
Eugene Wigner, the Hungarian-born American physicist who received a Nobel Prize for his contribution to the theory of quantum physics, is one of the early pioneers of the central role of consciousness in determining reality and argued, through a thought experiment called ‘Wigner’s friend’, that the observer, ‘the friend’, might collapse Schrödinger’s famous cat into a single state or, like the cat itself, remain in a state of superposition until another ‘friend’ comes into the lab. Other proponents of ‘the observer effect’ include John Eccles and Evan Harris Walker. John Wheeler is credited with espousing the theory that the universe is participatory: it only exists because we happen to be looking at it.
McTaggart, The Field, op. cit.
E. J. Squires, ‘Many views of one world – an interpretation of quantum theory’, European Journal of Physics, 1987; 8: 173.
B. F. Malle et al., Intentions and Intentionality: Foundations of Socia Cognition, Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 2001.
M. Schlitz, ‘Intentionality in healing: mapping the integration of body, mind, and spirit’, Alternative Therapies in Health and Medicine, 1995; 1 (5): 119–20.
R. G. Jahn et al., ‘Correlations of random binary sequences with prestated operator intention: a review of a 12-year program’, Journal of Scientific Exploration, 1997; 11: 345–67.
R. G. Jahn et al., ‘Correlations of random binary sequences’, op. cit.; Dea Radin and Roger Nelson, ‘Evidence for consciousness-related anomalies in random physical systems’, Foundations of Physics, 1989; 19 (12): 1499–514; McTaggart, The Field, op. cit.: 116–17.

These studies are itemized in great detail in D. Benor, Spiritual Healing,

Volume 1, Southfield, Mich.: Vision Publications, 1992.

Rene Peoc’h, ‘Psychokinetic action of young chicks on the path of a “illuminated source”’, Journal of Scientific Exploration, 1995; 9 (2): 223; R. Peoc’h, ‘Chicken imprinting and the tychoscope: An Anpsi experiment’, Journal of the Society for Psychical Research, 1988; 55: 1; R. Peoc’h, ‘Psychokinesis experiments with human and animal subjects upon a robot moving at random’, The Journal of Parapsychology, September 1, 2002.
William G. Braud and Marilyn J. Schlitz, ‘Consciousness interactions wit remote biological systems: anomalous intentionality effects’, Subtle Energies and Energy Medicine, 1991; 2 (1): 1–27; McTaggart, The Field, op. cit.: 128–9.
Marilyn Schlitz and William Braud, ‘Distant intentionality and healing assessing the evidence’, Alternative Therapies in Health and Medicine, 1997; 3 (6): 62–73.
William Braud and Marilyn Schlitz, ‘A methodology for the objective study of transpersonal imagery’, Journal of Scientific Exploration, 1989; 3 (1): 43–63.
W. Braud et al., ‘Further studies of autonomic detection of remote staring: replication, new control procedures and personality correlates’, Journal of Parapsychology, 1993; 57: 391–409; M. Schlitz and S. LaBerge, ‘Autonomi detection of remote observation; two conceptual replications’, in D. Bierman (ed.), Proceedings of Presented Papers: 37 Annual Parapsychological Association Convention, Amsterdam, Fairhaven, Mass.: Parapsychological Association, 1994: 465–78.
D. Benor, Spiritual Healing: Scientific Validation of a Healing Revolution, Southfield, Mich.: Vision Publications, 2001.
F. Sicher, E. Targ et al., ‘A randomized double-blind study of the effect of distant healing in a population with advanced AIDS: report of a small scale study’ Western Journal of Medicine, 1998; 168 (6): 356–63. For a full description of the studies, see McTaggart, The Field, op. cit.: 181–96.
Psychologist Dean Radin conducted a meta-analysis in 1989 at Princeto University of all known dice experiments (73) published between 1930 and 1989. They are recounted in his book Entangled Minds, New York: Paraview, 2006: 148– 51.
J. Hasted, The Metal Benders, London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1981, as cited in W. Tiller, Science and Human Transformation; Subtle Energies Intentionality and Consciousness, Walnut Creek, Calif.: Pavior Publications, 1997: 13.
McTaggart, The Field, op. cit.: 199.
W. W. Monafo and M. A. West, ‘Current recommendations for topical burn therapy’, Drugs, 1990; 40: 364–73.

Chapter 1: Mutable Matter

All personal information about Tom Rosenbaum and Sai Ghosh and their

studies have been culled from multiple interviews conducted in February and March 2005.

This was the solution posed by Giorgio Parisi at Rome in 1979.
S. Ghosh et al., ‘Coherent spin oscillations in a disordered magnet’, Science, 2002; 296: 2195–8.
Once again, I am indebted to Danah Zohar for her easy-to-digest descriptio of quantum non-locality, which appears in D. Zohar, The Quantum Self, London: Bloomsbury, 1991: 19–20.
A. Einstein, B. Podolsky and N. Rosen, ‘Can quantum-mechanical descriptio of physical reality be considered complete?’ Physical Review, 1935; 47: 777–80.
A. Aspect et al., ‘Experimental tests of Bell’s inequalities using time-varying analyzers’, Physical Review Letters, 1982; 49: 1804–7; A. Aspect, ‘Bell’s inequality test: more ideal than ever’, Nature, 1999; 398: 189–90.
Science Fact: Scientists achieve ‘Star Trek’-like feat – The Associated Press, December 10, 1997, posted on CNN, http://edition.cnn.com/TECH/9712/10/beam me. up. ap.
Non-locality was considered to be proven by Aspect et al.’ s experiments in Paris in 1982.
J. S. Bell, ‘On the Einstein-Poldolsky-Rosen paradox’,Physics, 1964; 1: 195–200.
S. Ghosh et al., ‘Entangled quantum state of magnetic dipoles’, Nature, 2003; 435: 48–51.
Details of Vedral’s views and experiments the result of multiple interviews, February, October and December 2005.
C. Arnesen et al., ‘Thermal and magnetic entanglement in the 1D Heisenber Model’, Physical Review Letters, 2001; 87: 017901.
V. Vedral, ‘Entanglement hits the big time’, Nature, 2003; 425: 28–9.
T. Durt, interview with author, April 26, 2005.
B. Reznik, ‘Entanglement from the vacuum’, Foundations of Physics, 2003; 33: 167–76; Michael Brooks, ‘Entanglement: The weirdest link’,New Scientist, 2004; 181 (2440): 32.
John D. Barrow, The Book of Nothing, London: Jonathan Cape, 2000: 216.
Erwin Laszlo, The Interconnected Universe: Conceptual Foundations o Transdiscipinary Unified Theory, Singapore: World Scientific Publishing, 1995: 28.
A. C. Clarke, ‘When will the real space age begin?’ Ad Astra, May–June 1996; 13–15.
Harold Puthoff, ‘Ground state of hydrogen as a zero-point-fluctuation- determined state’, Physical Review D, 1987; 35: 3266.
B. Haisch, Alfonso Rueda and H. E. Puthoff, ‘Inertia as a zero-point-fiel Lorentz force’, Physical Review A, 1994; 49 (2): 678–94; Bernhard Haisch, Alfonso Rueda and H. E. Puthoff, ‘Physics of the zero-point field: implications for inertia gravitation and mass’, Speculations in Science and Technology, 1997; 20: 99–114.
Various interviews with Hal Puthoff, 1999–2000.

Reznik, ‘Entanglement from the vacuum’, op. cit.
McTaggart, The Field, op. cit.: 35–6.
J. Resch et al., ‘Distributing entanglement and single photons through an intra-city, free-space quantum channel’, Optics Express, 2005; 13 (1): 202–9; R. Ursin et al., ‘Quantum teleportation across the Danube’, Nature, 2004; 430: 849.
M. Arndt et al., ‘Wave–particle duality of C60 molecules’, Nature, 1999; 401: 680–2; doi: 10.1038/44348.
A. Zeilinger, ‘Probing the limits of the quantum world’, Physics World, March 2005 (online journal: http://www.physicsweb.org/articles/world/18/3/5/1).

Chapter 2: The Human Antenna

All personal details about Gary Schwartz and his discoveries result from multiple interviews with him and the author, March–June 2006.
H. Benson et al., ‘Decreased systolic blood pressure through operan conditioning techniques in patients with essential hypertension’, Science, 1971; 173 (3998): 740–2.
E. E. Green, ‘Copper wall research psychology and psychophysics: subtle energies and energy medicine: emerging theory and practice’, Proceedings, First Annual Conference, International Society for the Study of Subtle Energies and Energy Medicine (ISSSEEM), Boulder, Colorado, 21–25 June 1991.
This research was eventually published as G. Schwartz and L. Russek ‘Subtle energies – electrostatic body motion registration and the human antenna- receiver effect: a new method for investigating interpersonal dynamical energy system interactions’, Subtle Energies and Energy Medicine, 1996; 7 (2): 149–84.
E. E. Green et al., ‘Anomalous electrostatic phenomena in exceptiona subjects’, Subtle Energies and Energy Medicine, 1993; 2: 69; W. A. Tiller et al., ‘Towards explaining anomalously large body voltage surges on exceptional subjects, Part I: The electrostatic approximation’, Journal of Scientific Exploration, 1995; 9 (3): 331.
William A. Tiller, ‘Subtle energies’, Science & Medicine, 1999, 6 (3): 28–

33.

A. Seto et al., ‘Detection of extraordinary large biomagnetic field strength

from the human hand during external qi emission’, Acupuncture and Electrotherapeutics Research International, 1992; 17: 75–94; J. Zimmerman, ‘New

technologies detect effects in healing hands’, Brain/Mind Bulletin, 1985; 10 (2): 20–

B. Grad, ‘Dimensions in “Some biological effects of the laying on of hands” and their implications’, in H. A. Otto and J. W. Knight (eds.), Dimension in Wholistic Healing: New Frontiers in the Treatment of the Whole Person, Chicago: Nelson-Hall, 1979: 199–212.
L. N. Pyatnitsky and V. A. Fonkin, ‘Human consciousness influence on water structure’, Journal of Scientific Exploration, 1995; 9 (1): 89.
G. Rein and R. McCraty, ‘Structural changes in water and DNA associate

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with new physiologically measurable states’, Journal of Scientific Exploration, 1994; 8 (3): 438–9.

W. Tiller would eventually write about the effect of shielding psychics in his book Science and Human Transformation, Walnut Creek, Calif.: Pavior Publishing, 1997: 32.
M. Connor, G. Schwartz et al., ‘Oscillation of amplitude as measured by a extra low frequency magnetic field meter as a biophysical measure of intentionality’. Paper presented at the Toward a Science of Consciousness Conference, Tucson Arizona, April 2006.
Sicher, Targ et al., ‘A randomized double-blind study’, op. cit.
See McTaggart, The Field, op. cit.: 39, for a full description of F.-A. Popp’s earlier work.
S. Cohen and F.-A. Popp, ‘Biophoton emission of the human body’,Journal of Photochemistry and Photobiology, 1997; 40: 187–9.
K. Creath and G. E. Schwartz, ‘What biophoton images of plants can tell u about biofields and healing’, Journal of Scientific Exploration, 2005; 19 (4): 531–

50.

S. N. Bose, ‘Planck’s Gesetz und Lichtquantenhypothese’, Zeitschrift für Physik, 1924; 26: 178–81; A. Einstein, ‘Quantentheorie des einatomigen idealen Gases [Quantum theory of ideal monoatomic gases]’, Sitz. Ber. Preuss. Akad. Wiss. (Berlin), 1925; 23: 3.
C. E. Wieman and E. A. Cornell, ‘Seventy years later: the creation of Bose-Einstein condensate in an ultracold gas’, Lorentz Proceedings, 1999; 52: 3–5.
K. Davis et al., ‘Bose-Einstein condensation in a gas of sodium atoms’

Physical Review Letters, 1995; 75: 3969–73.

M. W. Zwierlein et al., ‘Observation of Bose-Einstein condensation o molecules’, Physical Review Letters, 2003; 91: 250401.
H. Fröhlich, ‘Long range coherence and energy storage in biological systems’, Int. J. Quantum Chem., 1968; II: 641–9.
For this entire example, see Tiller, Science and Human Transformation, op. cit.: 196.
M. Jibu et al., ‘Quantum optical coherence in cytoskeletal microtubules: implications for brain function’, Biosystems, 1994; 32: 195–209; S. R. Hameroff ‘Cytoplasmic gel states and ordered water: possible roles in biological quantum coherence’, Proceedings of the 2nd Annual Advanced Water Sciences Symposium, Dallas, Texas, 1996.

Chapter 3: The Two-Way Street

For all history of Cleve Backster’s discoveries and experiments, interview with Backster, October 2004 and his Primary Perception: Biocommunication with Plants, Living Foods, and Human Cells, Anza, Calif.: White Rose Millennium Press, 2003.
As Obi-Wan Kenobe tells Luke Skywalker, after Alderan has been blown up

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by the Empire in Star Wars part IV: A New Hope: ‘I feel a great disturbance in the Force. As if millions of voices suddenly cried out in terror, and were suddenly silenced.’

Presentation given at the Tenth Annual Parapsychology Association meeting in New York City, September 7, 1967. Also published as C. Backster, ‘Evidence of a primary perception in plant life’, International Journal of Parapsychology, 1968; 10 (4): 329–48.
P. Dubrov and V. N. Pushkin, Parapsychology and Contemporary Science, New York and London: Consultants Bureau, 1982.
P. Tompkins and C. Bird, The Secret Life of Plants, New York: Harper & Row, 1973.
‘Boysenberry to Prune, Boysenberry to Prune: Do you read me? Lie detecto expert Cleve Backster reported in the annual meeting of the American Association for the Advancement of Science that he had detected electrical impulses between two containers of yogurt at opposite ends of his laboratory. Backster claims the bacteria in the containers were communicating.’ Esquire, January 1976.
Backster, ‘Evidence of a primary perception’, op. cit.
Backster, Primary Perceptions, op. cit.: 112–13.
Backster, Primary Perceptions. See also Rupert Sheldrake, Dogs That Know When Their Owners Are Coming Home and Other Unexplained Powers of Animals, London: Three Rivers Press, 2000.
This and other personal details of events resulted from interviews with Ingo Swann, New York, July 2005.
See McTaggart, The Field, op. cit.: 39 for a full description of F.-A. Popp’s earlier work.
All details of these experiments resulted from an interview between the author and Fritz-Albert Popp, January 2006.
R. M. Galle et al., ‘Biophoton emission fromDaphnia magna: A possible factor in the self-regulation of swarming’, Experientia, 1991; 47: 457–60; R. M. Galle, ‘Untersuchungen zum dichte und zeitabhängigen Verhalten der ultraschwachen Photonenemission von pathogenetischen Weibchen des Wasserflohs Daphnia magna.’ Dissertation. Universität Saarbrücken, Fachbereich Zoologie, 1993.
F.-A. Popp et al., ‘Nonsubstantial biocommunication in terms of Dicke’s Theory’, in M. W. Ho, F.-A. Popp and U. Warnke (eds.), Bioelectrodynamics and Biocommunication, Singapore: World Scientific Publishing, 1994: 293–317; J. J Chang et al., ‘Research on cell communication of P. elegans by means of photon emission’, Chinese Science Bulletin, 1995; 40: 76–9.
J. J. Chang et al., ‘Communication between Dinoflagellates by means o photon emission’, in L. V. Beloussov and F.-A. Popp (eds.), Proceedings of International Conference on Non-equilibrium and Coherent Systems in Biophysics, Biology and Biotechnology, Sep. 28–Oct. 2 1994, Moscow: Bioinform Services Co., 1995: 318–30.
Interview with Popp, Neuss, Germany, March 1, 2006.

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F.-A. Popp et al., ‘Mechanism of interaction between electromagnetic fields and living organisms’, Science in China (Series C), 2000; 43 (5): 507–18. 18. Ibid.
L. Beloussov and N. N. Louchinskaia, ‘Biophoton emission from developin eggs and embryos: Nonlinearity, wholistic properties and indications of energy transfer’, in J. J. Chang et al. (eds.),Biophotons, London: Kluwer Academic Publishers, 1998: 121–40.
K. Creath and G. E. Schwartz, ‘What biophoton images of plants can tell u about biofields and healing’, Journal of Scientific Exploration, 2005; 19 (4): 531–

50.

A. V. Tschulakow et al., ‘A new approach to the memory of water’,

Homeopathy, 2005; 94: 241–7.

E. P. A. Van Wijk and R. Van Wijk, ‘The development ofa bio-sensor for the state of consciousness in a human intentional healing ritual’, Journal of International Society of Life Information Science (ISLIS), 2002; 20 (2): 694–702.
M. Connor, ‘Baseline testing of energy practitioners: Biophoton imaging results.’ Paper presented at the North American Research in Integrative Medicine conference, Edmonton, Canada, May 2006.
Personal details about K. Korotkov the result of multiple interviews with the author, November–March 2005–2006.
S. D. Kirlian and V. K. Kirlian, ‘Photography and visual observation b means of high frequency currents’, J. Sci. Appl. Photogr., 1964; 6: 397–403.
Korotkov’s most important work on the subject was K. Korotkov, Human E n e rg y Field: Study with GDV Bioelectrography, New Jersey: Backbone Publishing Co., 2002; K. Korotkov, Aura and Consciousness – New Stage o Scientific Understanding, St Petersburg: St Petersburg Division of the Russia Ministry of Culture, State Publishing Unit ‘Kultura’, 1999.
K. Korotkov et al., ‘Assessing biophysical energy transfer mechanisms in living systems: The basis of life processes’, The Journal of Alternative and Complementary Medicine, 2004; 10 (1): 49–57.
L. W. Konikiewicz and L. C. Griff,Bioelectrography – A new method for detecting cancer and body physiology, Harrisburg, Va.: Leonard Associates Press, 1982; G. Rein, ‘Corona discharge photography of human breast tumour biopsies’ Acupuncture & Electrotherapeutics Research, 1985; 10: 305–8; K. Korotkov et al., ‘Stress diagnosis and monitoring with new computerized “Crown-TV” device’ Journal of Pathophysiology, 1998; 5: 227.
P. Bundzen et al., ‘New technology of the athletes’ psycho-physical readiness evaluation based on the gas-discharge visualisation method in comparison with battery of tests’, ‘SIS–99’ Proceedings, International Congress St Petersburg, 1999: 19–22; P. V. Bundzen, et al., ‘Psychophysiological correlates of athletic success in athletes training for the Olympics’, Human Physiology, 2005; 31 (3): 316–23; K. Korotkov et al., ‘Assessing biophysical energy transfer mechanisms’, op cit.
Clair A. Francomano and Wayne B. Jonas, in Ronald A. Chez (ed.)

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Proceedings: Measuring the Human Energy Field: State of the Science. The Gerontology Research Center, National Institute of Aging, National Institutes o Health, Baltimore, Maryland, April 17–18, 2002.

S. Kolmakow et al., ‘Gas discharge visualization technique and spectrophotometry in detection of field effects’, Mechanisms of Adaptive Behavior, Abstracts of International Symposium, St Petersburg, 1999: 79.
Interview with K. Korotkov, March 2006.

Chapter 4: Hearts that Beat as One

All details of the Love Study were gleaned from multiple interviews with Dean Radin, Marilyn Schlitz and Jerome Stone, April 2005–June 2006.
F. Sicher, E. Targ et al., ‘A randomized double-blind study of the effect of distant ealing in a population with advanced AIDS: report of a small scale study’ Western ournal of Medicine, 1998; 168 (6): 356–63; also multiple interviews with

E. Targ, 999–2001.

M. Schlitz and W. Braud, ‘Distant intentionality and healing: assessing the evidence’, Alternative Therapies in Health and Medicine, 1997; 3 (6): 62–73.
M. Schlitz and S. LaBerge, ‘Autonomic detection of remote observation: tw conceptual replications’, in D. J. Bierman (ed.), Proceedings of Presented Papers, 37t h Annual Parapsychological Association Convention, Amsterdam, Fairhaven, Mass.: Parapsychological Association, 1994: 352–60.
S. Schmidt et al., ‘Distant intentionality and the feeling of being stared at: Two metaanalyses’, British Journal of Psychology, 2004; 95: 235–47, as reported in D. Radin, Entangled Minds, New York: Paraview, 2006: 135.
L. Standish et al., ‘Electroencephalographic evidence of correlated event- related signals between the brains of spatially and sensory isolated human subjects’, The Journal of Alternative and Complementary Medicine, 2004; 10 (2): 307–14.
Radin, Entangled Minds, op. cit.: 136.
Charles Tart, ‘Physiological correlates of psi cognition’, International Journal of Parapsychology, 1963: 5; 375–86.
T. D. Duane and T. Behrendt, ‘Extrasensory electroencephalographic induction between identical twins’, Science, 1965; 150: 367.
J. Wackerman et al., ‘Correlations between brain electrical activities of two spatially separated human subjects’, Neuroscience Letters, 2003; 336: 60–4.
J. Grinberg-Zylberbaum et al., ‘The Einstein-Podolsky-Rosen paradox in th brain: The transferred potential’, Physics Essays, 1994; 7 (4): 422–28.
J. Grinberg-Zylberbaum and J. Ramos, ‘Patterns of interhemispher correlations during human communication’, International Journal of Neuroscience, 1987; 36: 41–53; J. Grinberg-Zylberbaum et al., ‘Human communication and the electrophysiological activity of the brain,’ Subtle Energies and Energy Medicine, 1992; 3 (3): 25–43.
L. J. Standish et al., ‘Electroencephalographic evidence of correlated event related signals’, op. cit. 14. L. J., Standish et al., ‘Evidence of correlated functiona

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magnetic resonance imaging signals between distant human brains’, Alternative Therapies in Health and Medicine, 2003; 9 (1): 122–5; T. Richards et al., ‘Replicable functional magnetic resonance imaging evidence of correlated brain signals between physically and sensory isolated subjects’, Journal of Alternative and Complementary Medicine, 2005; 11 (6): 955–63.

M. Kittenis et al., ‘Distant psychophysiological interaction effects between related and unrelated participants’, Proceedings of the Parapsychological Association Convention, 2004: 67–76, as reported in Radin, Entangled Minds, op. cit.: 138–9.
D. I. Radin, ‘Event related EEG correlations between isolated huma subjects’, Journal of Alternative and Complementary Medicine, 2004; 10: 315–24.
M. Cade and N. Coxhead,The Awakened Mind, 2nd edn, Shaftesbury: Element, 1986.
S. Fahrion et al., ‘EEG amplitude, brain mapping and synchrony in an between a bioenergy practitioner and client during healing’, Subtle Energies and Energy Medicine, 1992; 3 (1): 19–52.
M. Yamamoto, ‘An experiment on remote action against man in sensory shielding condition, Part 2’, Journal of the International Society of Life Information Sciences, 1996; 14 (2): 228–39, as reported in Larry Dossey, Be Careful What You Pray For … You Just Might Get It: What We Can Do About th Unintentional Effect of Our Thoughts, Prayers, and Wishes, San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1998: 182–3.
M. Yamamoto et al., ‘An experiment on remote action against man in sense shielding condition’, Journal of the International Society of Life Information Sciences, 1996; 14 (1): 97–9.
D. I. Radin, ‘Unconscious perception of future emotions: An experiment i presentiment’, Journal of Scientific Exploration, 1997; 11 (2): 163–80. First presented before the annual meeting of the Parapsychological Association in August 1996. For a full description of the Radin experiment, see D. Radin,The Conscious Universe, London: HarperCollins, 1997: 119–24.
R. McCraty et al., ‘Electrophysiological evidence of intuition: Part 2: A system-wide process?’ The Journal of Alternative and Complementary Medicine, 2004; 10 (2): 325–36.
J. Andrew Armour and Jeffrey L. Ardell (eds.), Basic and Clinical Neurocardiology, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004.
R. McCraty et al., ‘The electricity of touch: Detection and measurement o cardiac energy exchange between people’, in Karl H. Pribram (ed.), Brain and Values: Is a Biological Science of Values Possible? Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, 1998: 359–79.
M. Gershon, The Second Brain: A Groundbreaking New Understanding o Nervous Disorders of the Stomach and Intestine, London: HarperCollins, 1999.
D. I. Radin and M. J. Schlitz, ‘Gut feelings, intuition, and emotions: A exploratory study’, Journal of Alternative and Complementary Medicine, 2005; 11

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(5): 85–91.

D. Radin, ‘Event-related electroencephalographic correlations between isolated human subjects’, The Journal of Alternative and Complementary Medicine, 2004; 10 (2): 315–23.
Dean Radin has devoted an excellent book to the subject: see D. Radin

Entangled Minds, op cit.

J. Stone, Course Handbook: Training in Compassionate-Loving Intention 2003; J. Stone et al., ‘Effects of a compassionate/loving intention as a therapeutic intervention by partners of cancer patients: A randomized controlled feasibility study’, in press.
M. Murphy et al., The Physiological and Psychological Effects o Meditation: A Review of Contemporary Research with a Comprehensive Bibliography, 1931–1996, Petaluma, Calif.: The Institute of Noetic Sciences, 1997.
E. P. Van Wijk et al., ‘Anatomic characterization of human ultra-weak photon emission in practitioners of Transcendental Meditation™ and control subjects’, The Journal of Alternative and Complementary Medicine, 2006; 12 (1): 31–8.
R. McCraty et al., ‘Head-heart entrainment: A preliminary survey’, in Proceedings of the Brain-Mind Applied Neurophysiology EEG Neurofeedbac Meeting. Key West, Florida, 1996.
R. McCraty, ‘Influence of cardiac afferent input on heart-brain synchronization and cognitive performance, Institute of HeartMath, Boulder Creek California’, International Journal of Psychophysiology, 2002; 45 (1–2): 72–3.
G. R. Schmeidler, Parapsychology and Psychology, Jefferson: McFarland and Company, 1988 as cited in J. Stone, Course Handbook, op. cit.; L. Dossey Healing Words: The Power of Prayer and the Practice of Medicine, San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1993.
D. Radin et al., ‘Effects of motivated distant intention on electrodermal activity.’ Paper presented at the Annual Conference of the Parapsychological Association, Stockholm, Sweden, August 2006.

Chapter 5: Entering Hyperspace

H. Benson et al., ‘Body temperature changes during the practice of g tum-mo (heat) yoga’, Nature, 1982; 295: 234–6; H. Benson, ‘Body temperature changes during the practice of g tum-mo yoga (matters arising)’, Nature, 1982; 298: 402.
H. Benson et al., ‘Three case reports of the metabolic and electroencephalographic changes during advanced Buddhist meditation techniques’, Behavioral Medicine, 1990; 16 (2): 90–5.
The most celebrated was the Investigating the Mind conference a Massachusetts Institute of Technology, September 2005, which featured the Dalai Lama.
I am indebted to Stanley Krippner, who supplied me with a list of some 50 healers from a rich variety of traditions. I assembled a questionnaire, which I sent out

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to all 50. Some 15 replied in detail.

Cooperstein’s study eventually was published: M. A. Cooperstein, ‘The myths of healing: A summary of research into transpersonal healing experience’, Journal of the American Society for Psychical Research, 1992; 86: 99–133. I am also indebted to him for his in-depth analysis of the commonalities between healers.
Information about Krippner’s vast catalogue of work was also gleaned from numerous interviews between him and the author, April 2005–March 2006 and correspondence, 2005–2006.
S. Krippner, ‘The technologies of shamanic states of consciousness’, in M Schlitz et al. (eds.), Consciousness and Healing: Integral Approaches to Mind Body Medicine, St. Louis, Mo.: Elsevier Churchill Livingstone, 2005: 376–90.
Jilek W. G. Salish, Indian Mental Health and Culture Change Psychohygienic and Therapeutic Aspects of the Guardian Spirit Ceremonial, New York: Hold Rinehart & Winston, 1974.
All information about Bruce Frantzis the result of various interviews, April 2005–March 2006.
B. K. Frantzis, Relaxing Into Your Being: Breathing, Chi and Dissolving the Ego, Berkeley, Calif.: North Atlantic Books, 1998.
Murphy, Meditation, op. cit.
W. Singer, ‘Neuronal synchrony: a versatile code for the definition of relations?’ Neuron, 1999; 24: 49–65; F. Varela et al., Nature Reviews Neuroscience, 2001; 2: 229–39, as reported in A. Lutz et al., ‘Long-term meditators self-induce high-amplitude gamma synchrony during mental practice’, Proceedings of the National Academy of Science, 2004; 101 (46): 16369–73.
O. Paulsen and T. J. Sejnowski, ‘Natural patterns of activity and long-term synaptic plasticity’, Current Opinion in Neurobiology, 2000; 10: 172–9, as reported in Lutz, ‘Long-term meditators’, op. cit.
Although the majority of studies carried out on meditation demonstrate that meditation leads to an increase in alpha rhythms (see Murphy, Meditation, op. cit.), the following are just a few that show that during meditation, subjects evidence spurts of high-frequency beta waves of twenty to forty cycles per second, usually during moments of intense concentration or ecstasy: J. P. Banquet, ‘Spectral analysis of the EEG in meditation’, Electroencephalography and Clinical Neurophysiology, 1973; 35: 143–51; P. Fenwick et al., ‘Metabolic and EEG changes durin Transcendental Meditation: An explanation’, Biological Psychology, 1977; 5 (2): 101–18; M. A. West, ‘Meditation and the EEG’,Psychological Medicine, 1980; 10 (2): 369–75; J. C. Corby et al., ‘Psychophysiological correlates of the practice o Tantric Yoga meditation’, Postgraduate Medical Journal, 1985; 61: 301–4.
N. Das and H. Gastaut, ‘Variations in the electrical activity of the brain heart and skeletal muscles during yogic meditation and trance’, Electroencephalography and Clinical Neurophysiology, 1955, Supplement no. 6: 211–19.
Murphy, Meditation, cites 10 studies showing that heart rate accelerates

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during these peak moments of meditation.

W. W. Surwillo and D. P. Hobson, ‘Brain electrical activity during prayer’,

Psychological Reports, 1978; 43 (1): 135–43.

Murphy, Meditation, op. cit.
Lutz et al., ‘Long-term meditators’, op. cit.
Richard J. Davidson et al., ‘Alterations in brain and immune functio produce by mindfulness meditation’, Psychosomatic Medicine, 2003; 65: 564–70.
Krippner, ‘Shamanic states of consciousness’, op. cit.
Murphy, Meditation, op. cit.
L. Bernardi et al., ‘Effect of rosary prayer and yoga mantras on autonomic cardiovascular rhythms: comparative study’, British Medical Journal, 2001; 323: 1446–9.
Fenwick et al., ‘Metabolic and EEG changes during Transcendenta Meditation’, op. cit.
D. Goleman, Emotional Intelligence, London: Bloomsbury Press, 1996.
D. Goleman, ‘Meditation and consciousness: An Asian approach to mental health’, American Journal of Psychotherapy, 1976; 30 (1): 41–54; G. Schwartz, ‘Biofeedback, self-regulation, and the patterning of physiological processes’, American Scientist, 1975; 63 (3): 314–24; D. Goleman, ‘Why the brain blocks daytime dreams’, Psychology Today, 1976; March: 69–71.
P. Williams and M. West, ‘EEG responses to photic stimulation in persons experienced at meditation’, Electroencephalography and Clinical Neurophysiology, 1975; 39 (5): 519–22; B. K. Bagchi and M. A. Wenger, ‘Electrophysiological correlates of some yogi exercises’, Electroencephalography and Clinical Neurophysiology, 1957; (7): 132–49.
D. Brown, M. Forte and M. Dysart, ‘Visual sensitivity and mindfulnes meditation’, Perceptual and Motor Skills, 1984; 58 (3): 775–84; and ‘Differences in visual sensitivity among mindfulness meditators and non-meditators’, Perceptual and Motor Skills, 1984; 58 (3): 727–33.
S. W. Lazar et al., ‘Functional brain mapping of the relaxation response and meditation’, NeuroReport, 2000; 11: 1581–5.
C. Alexander et al., ‘EEG and SPECT data of a selected subject during ps tests: The discovery of a neurophysiological correlate’, Journal of Parapsychology, 1998; 62 (2): 102–4.
L. LeShan, The Medium, the Mystic and the Physicist: Towards a Theory of the Paranormal, New York: Helios Press, 2003.
Cooperstein, ‘The myths of healing’, op. cit.
S. Krippner, ‘Trance and the Trickster: Hypnosis as a liminal phenomenon’,

International Journal of Clinical and Experimental Hypnosis, 2005; 53 (2): 97–

118.

E. Hartmann, Boundaries in the Mind: A New Theory of Personality, New York: Basic Books, 1991, as quoted in Krippner, ‘Trance and the Trickster’, op. cit.
M. J. Schlitz and Charles Honorton, ‘Ganzfeld psi performance within a

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artistically gifted population’, Journal of the American Society for Psychica Research, 1992; 86 (2): 83–98.

S. Krippner et al., ‘Working with Ramtha: Is it a “high risk” procedure?’ Proceedings of Presented Papers: The Parapsychological Association 41st Annua Convention, 1998: 50–63.
The various tests included the Absorption Subscale of the Differential Personality Questionnaire, the Dissociative Experiences Scale and the Boundar Questionnaire.
S. Krippner et al., ‘The Ramtha phenomenon: Psychological phenomenological, and geomagnetic data’, Journal of the American Society for Psychical Research, 1998; 92: 1–24.
F. Sicher, E. Targ et al., ‘A randomized double-blind study’, op. cit.
Various conversations and correspondence between E. Targ and the author, October 1999–June 2001.
Interview with E. Targ, California, October 1999; J. Barrett, ‘Going th distance’, Intuition, 1999; June/July: 30–1.
D. J. Benor, Healing Research: Holistic Energy Medicine and Spirituality, 4 vols., Deddington, Oxfordshire: Helix Editions Ltd, 1993.
http://www.wholistichealingresearch.com.
Benor, Healing Research, vol. 1, op. cit.: 54–5.
Cooperstein, ‘The myths of healing’, op. cit.
M. Freedman et al., ‘Effects of frontal lobe lesions on intentionality and random physical phenomena’, Journal of Scientific Exploration, 2003; 17 (4): 651–

68.

E. d’Aquili and A. Newberg, Why God Won’t Go Away: Brain Science and the Biology of Belief, New York: Ballantine Books, 2001.

Chapter 6: In the Mood

All details about M. Krucoff ’s trip to India and decision to study prayer from interviews, August 2006.
R. C. Byrd, ‘Positive therapeutic effects of intercessory prayer in a coronar care unit population’, Southern Medical Journal, 1988; 81 (7): 826–9.
W. Harris et al., ‘A randomised, controlled trial of the effects of remote, intercessory prayer on outcomes in patients admitted to the coronary care unit’, Archives of Internal Medicine, 1999; 159 (19): 2273–8.
M. Krucoff, ‘Integrative noetic therapies as adjuncts to percutaneous intervention during unstable coronary syndromes: Monitoring and Actualization of Noetic Training (MANTRA) feasibility pilot’,American Heart Journal, 2001; 142 (5): 760–7.
M. Krucoff announced the results at the Second Conference on the Integratio of Complementary Medicine into Cardiology, a meeting sponsored by the American College of Cardiology, October 14, 2003.
M. Krucoff et al., ‘Music, imagery, touch and prayer as adjuncts to

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interventional cardiac care: The Monitoring and Actualisation of Noetic Trainings (MANTRA) II randomised study’, The Lancet, 2005; 366: 211–17.

J. M. Aviles et al., ‘Intercessory prayer and cardiovascular disease progression in a coronary care unit population: a randomized controlled trial’, Mayo Clinic Proceedings, 2001; 76 (12): 1192–8.
H. Benson, The Relaxation Response, New York: William Morrow, 1975.
M. Krucoff et al., Editorial: ‘From efficacy to safety concerns: A STE forward or a step back for clinical research and intercessory prayer? The Study of Therapeutic Effects of Intercessory Prayer (STEP)’,American Heart Journal, 2006; 151; 4: 762.
H. Benson et al., ‘Study of the therapeutic effects of intercessory prayer (STEP) in cardiac bypass patients: A multi-center randomized trial of uncertainty and certainty of receiving intercessory prayer’, American Heart Journal, 2006; 151 (4): 934–42.
Krucoff et al., ‘A STEP forward’, op. cit.
Editorial: ‘MANTRA II: Measuring the unmeasurable?’The Lancet, 2005; 366 (9481): 178.
Letter to the editor, American Heart Journal, sent to author, 2006.
Krucoff et al., ‘A STEP forward’, op. cit.
B. Greyson, ‘Distance healing of patients with major depression’, Journal of Scientific Exploration, 1996; 10 (4): 447–65.
L. Dossey, Meaning and Medicine: Lessons from a Doctor’s Tales of Breakthough Healing, London: Bantam, 1991; Dossey, Healing Words, op. cit.
L. Dossey, ‘Prayer experiments: Science or folly? Observations on the Harvard prayer study’, Network Review (UK), 2006; 91: 22–3.
Ibid.
Harris, ‘Effects of remote intercessory prayer’, op. cit.
www.officeofprayerresearch.org.
Benor, Healing Research, op. cit.
J. Astin et al., ‘The efficacy of “distant healing”: A systematic review of randomized trials’, Annals of Internal Medicine, 2000; 132: 903–10.
B. Rubik et al., ‘In vitro effect of Reiki treatment on bacterial cultures: Rol of experimental context and practitioner well-being’, The Journal of Alternative and Complementary Medicine, 2006; 12 (1): 7–13.
I. R. Bell et al., ‘Development and validation of a new global well-bein outcomes rating scale for integrative medicine research’, BMC Complementary and Alternative Medicine, 2004; 4: 1.
Ibid.
S. O’Laoire, ‘An experimental study of the effects of distant, intercessor prayer on self-esteem, anxiety and depression’, Alternative Therapies in Health and Medicine, 1997; 3 (6): 19–53.
Rubik et al., ‘In vitro effect’, op, cit.
K. Reece et al., ‘Positive well-being changes associated with giving and

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receiving Johrei healing’, The Journal of Alternative and Complementary Medicine, 2005; 11 (3): 455–7.

M. Schlitz, ‘Can science study prayer?’ Shift: At the Frontiers of Consciousness, 2006; September–November (12): 38–9.
Dossey, ‘Prayer experiments’, op. cit.
J. Achterberg et al., ‘Evidence for correlations between distant intentionality and brain function in recipients: a functional magnetic resonance imagining analysis’, The Journal of Alternative and Complementary Medicine, 2005; 11 (6): 965–71.
Ibid.
K. A. Wientjes, ‘Mind-body techniques in wound healing’, Ostomy/Wound Management, 2002; 48 (11): 62–7.
J. K. Keicolt-Glaser, ‘Hostile marital interactions, proinflammator cytokine production, and wound healing’, Archives of General Psychiatry, 2005; 62 (12): 1377–84.
Krucoff, ‘(MANTRA) II’, op. cit.

Chapter 7: The Right Time

For all details about Michael Persinger’s experiments, interviews and correspondence with Persinger, August 2006 and a member of his neuroscientist team, Todd Murphy, May 23, 2006. Also, J. Hitt, ‘This is your brain on God’,Wired, November 1999; R. Hercz, ‘The God helmet’,SATURDAYNIGHT magazine, October 2002: 40–6; B. Raynes, ‘Interview with Todd Murphy’, Alternative Perceptions M a g a z i n e online April 2004 (No. 78), plus T. Murphy’s website: www.spiritualbrain.com and M. Persinger’s home page at the Laurentian University website: www.laurentian.ca/Neursci/_people/Persinger. htm.
Neuroscientist Todd Murphy developed this theory and successfully demonstrated its validity in Persinger’s laboratory.
The main background of Halberg’s early life is taken from F. Halberg, ‘Transdisciplinary unifying implications of circadian findings in the 1950s’, Journal of Circadian Rhythms, 2003; 1: 2.
G. Cornélissen et al., ‘Is a birth-month-dependence of human longevity influenced by half-yearly changes in geomagnetics?’ ‘Physics of Auroral Phenomena’, Proceedings. XXV Annual Seminar, Apatity: Polar Geophysica Institute, Kola Science Center, Russian Academy of Science, February 26–March 1 2002: 161–6; A. M. Vaiserman et al., ‘Human longevity: related to date of birth?’ Abstract 9, 2nd International Symposium: Workshop on Chronoastrobiology and Chronotherapy, Tokyo Kasei University, Tokyo, Japan, November 2001.
O. N. Larina et al., ‘Effects of spaceflight factors on recombinant protei expression in E. coli producing strains’, in ‘Biomedical Research on the Science/NASA Project’, Abstracts of the Third US/Russian Symposium, Huntsvill Alabama, November 10–13, 1997: 110–11.
D. Hillman et al., ‘About-10 yearly (circadecennian) cosmo-helio

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geomagnetic signatures in Acetabularia’, Scripta Medica (BRNO), 2002; 75 (6) 303–8.

P. A. Kashulin et al., ‘Phenolic biochemical pathway in plants can be used for the bioindication of heliogeophysical factors’, ‘Physics of Auroral Phenomena’, Proceedings. XXV Annual Seminar, Apatity: Polar Geophysical Institute, Kol Science Center, Russian Academy of Science, February 26–March 1, 2002: 153–6.
V. M. Petro et al., ‘An influence of changes of magnetic field of the Earth on the functional state of humans in the conditions of space mission’, Proceedings, International Symposium ‘Computer Electro-Cardiograph on Boundary of Centuries’ Moscow, Russian Federation, 27–30 April, 1999.
K. F. Novikova and B. A. Ryvkin, ‘Solar activity and cardiovascular diseases’, in M. N. Gnevyshev and A. I. Ol (eds.),Effects of Solar Activity on the Earth’s Atmosphere and Biosphere, Academy of Science, USSR (translated from th Russian), Jerusalem: Israel Program for Scientific Translations, 1977: 184–200.
G. Cornélissen et al., ‘Chronomes, time structures, for chronobioengineering for “a full life”’, Biomedical Instrumentation and Technology, 1999; 33 (2): 152–

87.

V. N. Oraevskii et al., ‘Medico-biological effect of natural electromagnetic variations’, Biofizika, 1998; 43 (5): 844–8; V. N. Oraevskii et al., ‘An influence of geomagnetic activity on the functional status of the body’, Biofizika, 1998; 43 (5): 819–26.
I. Gurfinkel et al., ‘Assessment of the effect of a geomagnetic storm on the frequency of appearance of acute cardiovascular pathology’, Biofizika, 1998; 43 (4): 654–8; J. Sitar, ‘The causality of lunar changes on cardiovascular mortality’, Casopis Lekaru Ceskych, 1990; 129: 1425–30.
F. Halberg et al., ‘Cross-spectrally coherent about 10-5- and 21-year biological and physical cycles, magnetic storms and myocardial infarctions’, Neuroendrocrinology Letters, 2000; 21: 233–58.
M. N. Gnevyshev, ‘Essential features of the 11-year solar cycle’, Solar Physics, 1977; 51: 175–82.
G. Cornélissen et al., ‘Non-photic solar associations of heart rate variability and myocardial infarction’, Journal of Atmospheric and Solar-terrestrial Physics, 2002; 64: 707–20.
A. R. Allahverdiyev et al., ‘Possible space weather influence on functional activity of the human brain’, Proceedings, Space Weather Workshop: Looking Towards a European Space Weather Programme, December 17–19, 2001.
E. Babayev, ‘Some results of investigations on the space weather influence on functioning of several engineering-technical and communication systems and human health’, Astronomical and Astrophysical Transactions, 2003; 22 (6): 861–7;

G. Y. Mizon and P. G. Mizun, Space and Health, Moscow: ‘Znanie’, 1984.

E. Stoupel, ‘Relationship between suicide and myocardial infarction with regard to changing physical environmental conditions’, International Journal of Biometeorology, 1994; 38 (4): 199–203; E. Stoupel et al., ‘Clinical cosmobiology:

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the Lithuanian study, 1990–1992’, International Journal of Biometeorology, 1995; 38: 204–8; E. Stoupel et al., ‘Suicide-homicide temporal interrelationship, links with other fatalities and environmental physical activity’, Crisis, 2005; 26: 85–9.

Avi Raps et al., ‘Geophysical Variables and Behavior: LXIX. Solar activit and admission of psychiatric inpatients’, Perceptual and Motor Skills, 1992; 74: 449; H. Friedman et al., ‘Geomagnetic parameters and psychiatric hospital admissions’, Nature, 1963; 200: 626–8.
M. Mikulecky, ‘Lunisolar tidal waves, geomagnetic activity and epilepsy in the light of multivariate coherence’, Brazilian Journal of Medicine, 1996; 29 (8): 1069–72; E. A. McGugan, ‘Sudden unexpected deaths in epileptics – a literature review’, Scottish Medical Journal, 1999; 44 (5): 137–9.
A. Michon et al., ‘Attempts to simulate the association between geomagnetic activity and spontaneous seizures in rats using experimentally generated magnetic fields’, Perceptual and Motor Skills, 1996; 82 (2): 619–26; Y. Bureau and M. Persinger, ‘Geomagnetic activity and enhanced mortality in rats with acute (epileptic) limbic lability’, International Journal of Biometeorology, 1992; 36: 226–32.
Y. Bureau and M. Persinger, ‘Decreased latencies for limbic seizures induced in rats by lithium-pilocarpine occur when daily average geomagnetic activity exceeds 20 nanotesla’, Neuroscience Letters, 1995; 192: 142–4; A. Michon and M.

A. Persinger, ‘Experimental simulation of the effects of increased geomagnetic activity upon nocturnal seizures in epileptic rats’, Neuroscience Letters, 1997; 224: 53–6.

M. Persinger, ‘Sudden unexpected death in epileptics following sudden, intense, increases in geomagnetic activity: Prevalence of effect and potential mechanisms’, International Journal of Biometeorology, 1995; 38: 180–7; R. P. O’Connor and M. A. Persinger, ‘Geophysical Variables and Behavior: LXXXII. strong association between sudden infant death syndrome (SIDS) and increments o global geomagnetic activity – possible support for the melatonin hypothesis’, Perceptual and Motor Skills, 1997; 84: 395–402.
B. McKay and M. Persinger, ‘Geophysical Variables and Behavior LXXXVII. Effects of synthetic and natural geomagnetic patterns on maze learning’ Perceptual and Motor Skills, 1999; 89 (3 pt 1): 1023–4
Radin, Conscious Universe, op. cit.
D. Radin, ‘Evidence for relationship between geomagnetic field fluctuations and skilled physical performance.’ Presentation made at the 11th Annual Meeting of the Society for Scientific Exploration, Princeton, New Jersey, June 1992.
S. W. Tromp, Biometeorology, London: Heyden, 1980.
I. Stoilova and T. Zdravev, ‘Influence of the geomagnetic activity on the human functional systems’, Journal of the Balkan Geophysical Society, 2000; 3 (4): 73–6.
J. S. Derr and M. A. Persinger, ‘Geophysical Variables and Behavior: LIV Zeitoun (Egypt) apparitions of the Virgin Mary as tectonic strain-induced

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luminosities’, Perceptual and Motor Skills, 1989; 68: 123–8.

M. A. Persinger and S. A. Koren, ‘Experiences of spiritual visitation an impregnation: potential induction by frequency-modulated transients from an adjacent clock’, Perceptual and Motor Skills, 2001; 92 (1): 35–6.
M. A. Persinger et al., ‘Differential entrainment of electroencephalographic activity by weak complex electromagnetic fields’, Perceptual and Motor Skills, 1997; 84 (2): 527–36.
M. A. Persinger, ‘Increased emergence of alpha activity over the left but not the right temporal lobe within a dark acoustic chamber: Differential response of the left but not the right hemisphere to transcerebral magnetic fields’, International Journal of Psychophysiology, 1999; 34 (2): 163–9.
Interview with Todd Murphy, May 23, 2006.
W. G. Braud and S. P. Dennis, ‘Geophysical Variables and Behavior: LVIII Autonomic activity, hemolysis and biological psychokinesis: Possible relationships with geomagnetic field activity’, Perceptual and Motor Skills, 1989; 68: 1243–54.
Ibid.
McTaggart, The Field, op. cit.: 167–8.
M. A. Persinger and S. Krippner, ‘Dream ESP experiments and geomagneti activity’, Journal of the American Society for Psychical Research, 1989; 83: 101– 16; S. Krippner and M. Persinger, ‘Evidence for enhanced congruence betwee dreams and distant target material during periods of decreased geomagnetic activity’, Journal of Scientific Exploration, 1996; 10, (4): 487–93.
M. Ullman et al., Dream Telepathy: Experiments in ESP, Jefferson: McFarland, 1989.
Ibid.
M. A. Persinger, ‘ELF field meditation in spontaneous psi events. Direc information transfer or conditioned elicitation?’ Psychoenergetic Systems, 1975; 3: 155–69; M. A. Persinger, ‘Geophysical Variables and Behavior: XXX. Intens paranormal activities occur during days of quiet global geomagnetic activity’, Perceptual and Motor Skills, 1985; 61: 320–2.
M. H. Adams, ‘Variability in remote-viewing performance: Possible relationship to the geomagnetic field’, in D. H. Weiner and D. I. Radin (eds.) Research in Parapsychology, Metuchen, NJ: Scarecrow Press, 1986: 25. [cf n.19 ch.8]
J. N. Booth et al., ‘Ranking of stimuli that evoked memories in significan others after exposure to circumcerebral magnetic fields: Correlations with ambient geomagnetic activity’, Perceptual and Motor Skills, 2002; 95(2): 555–8.
M. A. Persinger et al., ‘Differential entrainment of electroencephalographic activity by weak complex electromagnetic fields’, Perceptual and Motor Skills, 1997; 84 (2): 527–36.
M. A. Persinger, ‘Enhancement of images of possible memories of others during exposure to circumcerebral magnetic fields: Correlations with ambient geomagnetic activity’, Perceptual and Motor Skills, 2002; 95 (2): 531–43.

S. A. Koren and M. A Persinger, ‘Possible disruption of remote viewing by complex weak magnetic fields around the stimulus site and the possibility of accessing real phase space: A pilot study’, Perceptual and Motor Skills, 2002; 95 (3 Pt 1): 989–98.
S. Krippner, ‘Possible geomagnetic field effects in psi phenomena.’ Paper presented at international parapsychology conference in Recife, Brazil, November 1997.
Braud and Dennis, ‘Geophysical Variables and Behavior: LVIII’, op. cit.
S. J. P. Spottiswoode, ‘Apparent association between effect size in free response anomalous cognition experiments and local sidereal time’, Journal of Scientific Exploration, 1997; 11 (2): 109–22.
S. J. P. Spottiswoode and E. May, ‘Evidence that free response anomalous cognitive performance depends upon local sidereal time and geomagnetic fluctuations’, Presentation Abstracts, Sixteenth Annual Meeting of the Society fo Scientific Exploration, June 1997: 8.
A. P. Krueger and D. S. Sobel, ‘Air ions and health’, in David S. Sobe ( e d . ) , Wa y s of Health: Holistic Approaches to Ancient and Contemporary Medicine, New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1979.

Chapter 8: The Right Place

William Tiller’s major books on crystallization include: An Introduction to Computer Simulation in Applied Science, New York: Plenum, 1992: The Science of Crystallization: Microscopic Interfacial Phenomena, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991: The Science of Crystallization: Macroscopic Phenomena and Defect Generation, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992.
All personal details about William Tiller have resulted from multiple interviews, April 2005–January 2006.
O. Warburg, New Methods of Cell Physiology Applied to Cancer an Mechanism of X-ray Action, New York: John Wiley and Sons, 1962, as quoted in W. Tiller et al., Conscious Acts of Creation: The Emergency of a New Physics, Walnut Creek, Calif.: Pavior Publishing, 2001: 144–6. All description of experiment derived from interview with Dr Tiller, Boulder, Colorado, April 29, 2005, plus information from Conscious Acts and W. Tiller et al., Some Science Adventures with Real Magic, Walnut Creek, Calif.: Pavior Publishing, 2005.
M. J. Kohane, ‘Energy, development and fitness inDrosophila melanogaster’, Proceedings of the Royal Society (B), 1994; 257: 185–91, in Tiller et al., Conscious Acts, op. cit.: 147.
William A. Tiller and Walter E. Dibble, Jr., ‘New experimental data revealing an unexpected dimension to materials science and engineering’, Material Research Innovation, 2001; 5: 21–34.
Tiller and Dibble, ‘New experimental data’, op. cit.
Ibid.
Ibid.

Tiller et al., Conscious Acts, op. cit.: 180.
Tiller et al., Conscious Acts, op. cit.: 175.
Tiller et al., Conscious Acts, op. cit.: 216.
H. Pagels, The Cosmic Code, New York: Simon and Schuster, 1982.
Tiller et al., Conscious Acts, op. cit.: 216.
Tiller et al., Science Adventures, op. cit.: 34.
Interview with W. Tiller, April 2005.
Tiller et al., Conscious Acts, op. cit.: 182.
Correspondence between Tiller and Michael Kohane, 2005.
Tiller and Dibble, ‘New experimental data’, op. cit.
G. K. Watkins and A. M. Watkins, ‘Possible PK influence on the resuscitation of anesthetized mice’, Journal of Parapsychology, 1971; 35: 257–72;

G. K. Watkins et al., ‘Further studies on the resuscitation of anesthetized mice’, in W.

G. Roll, R. L. Morris and J. Morris (eds.),Research in Parapsychology, Metuchen, NJ: Scarecrow Press, 1973: 157–9.

R. Wells and J. Klein, ‘A replication of a “psychic healing” paradigm’,

Journal of Parapsychology, 1972; 36: 144–9.

See McTaggart, The Field, op. cit.: 205–7.
D. Radin, ‘Beyond belief: Exploring interaction among body and environment’, Subtle Energies and Energy Medicine, 1992; 2 (3): 1–40; D. Radin, ‘Environmental modulation and statistical equilibrium in mind-matter interaction’, Subtle Energies and Energy Medicine, 1993; 4 (1): 1–30.
D. Radin et al., ‘Effects of healing intention on cultured cells and truly random events’, The Journal of Alternative and Complementary Medicine, 2004; 10: 103–12.
L. P. Semikhina and V. P. Kiselev, ‘Effect of weak magnetic fields on the properties of water and ice’, Zabedenii, Fizika, 1988; 5: 13–17; S. Sasaki et al., ‘Changes of water conductivity induced by non-inductive coil’, Society for Mind- Body Science, 1992; 1: 23; Tiller et al., Conscious Acts, op. cit.: 62.

Chapter 9: Mental Blueprints

All description of Ali’s fighting techniques from N. Mailer, The Fight, London and New York: Penguin, 2000.
Ibid.
A. Richardson, ‘Mental practice: A review and discussion, Part I’, Research Quarterly, 1967; 38: 95–107; A. Richardson, ‘Mental practice: A review and discussion. Part II’, Research Quarterly, 1967; 38: 264–73.
J. Salmon et al., ‘The use of imagery by soccer players’, Journal of Applied Sport Psychology, 1994; 6: 116–33.
A. Paivio, Mental Representations: A Dual Coding Approach, New York and London: Oxford University Press, 1986.
B. S. Rushall and L. G. Lippman, ‘The role of imagery in physica performance’, International Journal for Sport Psychology, 1997; 29: 57–72.

A. Paivio, ‘Cognitive and motivational functions of imagery in human performance’, Canadian Journal of Applied Sport Sciences, 1985; 10 (4): 22S–28S.
K. E. Hinshaw, ‘The effects of mental practice on motor skill performance: Critical evaluation and meta-analysis’, Imagination, Cognition and Personality, 1991–2; 11: 3–35.
J. A. Swets and R. A. Bjork, ‘Enhancing human performance: An evaluatio of “New Age” techniques considered by the U. S. Army’, Psychological Science, 1990; 1: 85–96; D. L. Feltz et al., ‘A revised meta-analysis of the mental practice literature on motor skill learning’, in D. Druckman and J. A. Swets (eds.),Enhancing Human Performance: Issues, Theories, and Techniques, Washington, DC: National Academy Press, 1988: 274.
R. J. Rotella et al., ‘Cognitions and coping strategies of elite skiers: a exploratory study of young developing athletes’, Journal of Sport Psychology, 1980; 2: 350–4.
R. S. Burhans et al., ‘Mental imagery training: effects on running speed performance’, International Journal of Sport Psychology, 1988; 19: 26–37.
B. S. Rushall, ‘Covert modeling as a procedure for altering an elite athlete’s psychological state’, Sport Psychologist, 1988; 2: 131–40; B. S. Rushall, ‘The restoration of performance capacity by cognitive restructuring and covert positive reinforcement in an elite athlete’, in J. R. Cautela and A. J. Kearney (eds.),Covert Conditioning Casebook. Boston, Mass.: Thomson Brooks/Cole, 1993.
M. Denis, ‘Visual imagery and the use of mental practice in the development of motor skills’, Canadian Journal of Applied Sport Sciences, 1985; 10: 4S–16S.
Paivio, ‘Cognitive and motivational functions of imagery’, op. cit.
J. R. Cautela and A. J. Kearney (eds.),Covert Conditioning Casebook. Boston, Mass.: Thomson Brooks/Cole, 1993: 30–1.
B. Mumford and C. Hall, ‘The effects of internal and external imagery o performing figures in figure skating’, Canadian Journal of Applied Sport Sciences, 1985; 10: 171–7.
K. Barr and C. Hall, ‘The use of imagery by rowers’,International Journal of Sport Psychology, 1992; 23: 243–61.
S. C. Minas, ‘Mental practice of a complex perceptual-motor skill’,Journal of Human Movement Studies, 1978; 4: 102–7.
R. Bleier, Fighting Back, New York: Stein and Day, 1975.
R. L. Wilkes and J. J. Summers, ‘Cognitions, mediating variables an strength performance’, Journal of Sport Psychology, 1984; 6: 351–9.
R. S. Weinberg et al., ‘Effects of visuo-motor behavior rehearsal, relaxation, and imagery on karate performance’, Journal of Sport Psychology, 1981; 3: 228–38.
Cautela and Kearney, Covert Conditioning, op. cit.
J. Pates et al., ‘The effects of hypnosis on flow states and three-poin shooting in basketball players’, The Sport Psychologist, 2002; 16: 34–47; J. Pates and I. Maynard, ‘Effects of hypnosis on flow states and golf performance’

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Perceptual and Motor Skills, 2000; 9: 1057–75.

R. M. Suinn, ‘Imagery rehearsal applications to performance enhancement’

The Behavior Therapist, 1985; 8: 155–9.

L. Baroga, ‘Influence on the sporting result of the concentration of attention process and time taken in the case of weight lifters’, in Proceedings of the 3rd World Congress of the International Society of Sports Psychology, Volume 3. Madrid, Spain: Instituto Nacional de Educacion Fisica Y Deportes, 1973.
A. Fujita, ‘An experimental study on the theoretical basis of mental training’, in Proceedings of the 3rd World Congress of the International Society of Sports Psychology, Volume Abstracts. Madrid, Spain: Instituto Nacional de Educacion Fisica Y Deportes, 1973: 37–8.
Ibid.
Rushall and Lippman, ‘The role of imagery in physical performance’, op

cit.

G. H. Van Gyn et al., ‘Imagery as a method of enhancing transfer from

training to performance’, Journal of Sport and Exercise Science, 1990; 12: 366–75.

G. H. Yue and K. J. Cole, ‘Strength increases from the motor program Comparison of training with maximal voluntary and imagined muscle contractions’, Journal of Neurophysiology, 1992; 67: 114–23; V. K. Ranganathan et al., ‘Increasing muscle strength by training the central nervous system without physical exercise’, Society for Neuroscience Abstracts, 2001; 31: 17; V. K. Ranganathan et al., ‘Level of mental effort determines training-induced strength increases’, Society of Neuroscience Abstracts, 2002; 32: 768; P. Cohen, ‘Mental gymnastics’, New Scientist, November 24, 2001; 172 (2318): 17.
D. Smith et al., ‘The effect of mental practice on muscle strength and EMG activity’, Proceedings of the British Psychological Society annual conference, 1998; 6 (2): 116.
T. X. Barber, ‘Changing “unchangeable” bodily processes by (hypnotic) suggestions: A new look at hypnosis, cognitions, imagining and the mind-body problem’, in A. A. Sheikh (ed.), Imagination and Healing, Farmingdale, NY: Baywood Publishing Co., 1984. Also published in Advances, Spring 1984.
F. M. Luskin et al., ‘A review of mind-body therapies in the treatment of cardiovascular disease, Part 1: Implications for the elderly’, Alternative Therapies in Health and Medicine, 1998; 4 (3): 46–61.
F. M. Luskin et al., ‘A review of mind/body therapies in the treatment of musculoskeletal disorders with implications for the elderly’, Alternative Therapies in Health and Medicine. 2000; 6 (2): 46–56.
V. A. Hadhazy et al., ‘Mind-body therapies for the treatment of fibromyalgia. A systematic review’, Journal of Rheumatology, 2000; 27 (12): 2911–18.
J. A. Astin et al., ‘Mind-body medicine: State of the science: Implications for practice’, Journal of the American Board of Family Practitioners, 2003; 16 (2): 131–47.

J. A. Astin, ‘Mind-body therapies for the management of pain’, Clinical Journal of Pain, 2004; 20 (1): 27–32.
L. S. Eller, ‘Guided imagery interventions for symptom management’

Annual Review of Nursing Research, 1999; 17, 57–84.

J. Achterberg and G. F. Lawlis, Bridges of the Bodymind: Behavioral Approaches for Health Care, Champaign, Ill.: Institute for Personality and Abilit Testing, 1980.
N. E. Miller and L. DiCara, ‘Instrumental learning of heart rate changes i curarized rats: Shaping and specificity to discriminative stimulus’, Journal of Comparative and Physiological Psychology, 1967; 63: 12–19; N. E. Miller, ‘Learning of visceral and glandular responses’, Science, 1969; 163: 434–45.
J. V. Basmajian, Muscles Alive: Their Functions Revealed b Electromyography. Baltimore, Md.: Williams and Wilkins, 1967.
E. Green, ‘Feedback technique for deep relaxation’, Psychophysiology, 1969; 6 (3): 371–7; E. Green et al., ‘Self-regulation of internal states’, in J. Ros (ed.), Progress of Cybernetics: Proceedings of the First International Congress of Cybernetics, London, September 1969. London: Gordon and Breach Science Publishers, 1970: 1299–318; E. Green et al., ‘Voluntary control of internal states: Psychological and physiological’, Journal of Transpersonal Psychology, 1970; 2: 1–26; D. Satinsky, ‘Biofeedback treatment for headache: A two-year follow-up study’, American Journal of Clinical Biofeedback, 1981; 4 (1): 62–5; B. V. Silver et al., ‘Temperature biofeedback and relaxation training in the treatment of migraine headaches: One-year follow-up’, Biofeedback and Self Regulation, 1979; 4 (4): 359–66.
B. M. Kappes, ‘Sequence effects of relaxation training, EMG, an temperature biofeedback on anxiety, symptom report, and self-concept’, Journal of Clinical Psychology, 1983; 39 (2): 203–8; G. Rose et al., ‘The behavioral treatmen of Raynaud’s disease: A review’, Biofeedback and Self Regulation, 1987; 12 (4): 257–72.
W. T. Tsushima, ‘Treatment of phantom limb pain with EMG and temperature biofeedback: A case study’, American Journal of Clinical Biofeedback, 1982; 5 (2): 150–3.
T. G. Dobie, ‘A comparison of two methods of training resistance to visually-induced motion sickness.’ Paper presented at VII International Man in Spac Symposium: Physiologic adaptation of man in space, Houston, Texas, 1986. Aviation, Space, and Environmental Medicine, 1987; 58 (9) Sect. 2: 34–41.
A. Ikemi et al., ‘Thermographical analysis of the warmth of the hands during the practice of self-regulation method’, Psychotherapy and Psychosomatics, 1988; 50 (1): 22–8.
J. L. Claghorn, ‘Directional effects of skin temperature self-regulation o regional cerebral blood flow in normal subjects and migraine patients’, American Journal of Psychiatry, 1981; 138 (9): 1182–7.
M. Davis et al., The Relaxation and Stress Reduction Workbook, 5th edn,

Oakland, Calif.: New Harbinge, 2000: 83–90.

J. K. Lashley et al., ‘An empirical account of temperature biofeedbac applied in groups’, Psychological Reports, 1987; 60 (2): 379–88; S. Fahrion et al., ‘Biobehavioral treatment of essential hypertension: A group outcome study’, Biofeedback and Self Regulation, 1986; 11 (4): 257–77.
J. Panksepp, ‘The anatomy of emotions’, in R. Plutchik (ed.),Emotion: Theory, Research and Experience Vol. III. Biological Foundations of Emotions, New York: Academic Press, 1986: 91–124.
J. Panksepp, ‘The neurobiology of emotions: Of animal brains and huma feelings’, in T. Manstead and H. Wagner (eds.), Handbook of Psychophysiology, Chichester: John Wiley & Sons, 1989: 5–26.
C. D. Clemente et al., ‘Postreinforcement EEG synchronization durin alimentary behavior’, Electroencephalography and Clinical Neurophysiology, 1964; 16: 335–65; M. H. Chase et al., ‘Afferent vagal stimulation: Neurographi correlates of induced EEG synchronization and desynchronization’, Brain Research, 1967; 5: 236–49.
M. B. Sterman, ‘Neurophysiological and clinical studies of sensorimoto EEG biofeedback training: Some effects on epilepsy’, Seminars in Psychiatry, 1973;

5 (4): 507–25; M. B. Sterman, ‘Neurophysiological and clinical studies o sensorimotor EEG biofeedback training: Some effects on epilepsy’, in L. Birk (ed.) Biofeedback: Behavioral Medicine. New York: Grune and Stratton, 1973: 147–65;

M. B. Sterman, ‘Epilepsy and its treatment with EEG feedback therapy’,Annals of Behavioral Medicine, 1986; 8: 21–5; M. B. Sterman, ‘The challenge of EEG biofeedback in the treatment of epilepsy: A view from the trenches’, Biofeedback, 1997; 25 (1): 6–7; M. B. Sterman, ‘Basic concepts and clinical findings in the treatment of seizure disorders with EEG operant conditioning’, Clinical Electroencephalography, 2000; 31 (1): 45–55.

E. Peniston and P. J. Kulkosky, ‘Alpha-theta brainwave training and beta- endorphin levels in alcoholics’, Alcoholism: Clinical and Experimental Research, 1989; 13: 271–9; E. Peniston and P. J. Kulkosky, ‘Alcoholic personality and alpha- theta brainwave training’, Medical Psychotherapy, 1990; 3: 37–55.
J. Kamiya, ‘Operant control of the EEG alpha rhythm’, in C. Tart (ed.) Altered States of Consciousness, New York: John Wiley & Sons, 1969, J. Kamiya ‘Conscious control of brain waves’, Psychology Today, April 1968: 7.
N. E. Schoenberger et al., ‘Flexyx neurotherapy system in the treatment o traumatic brain injury: An initial evaluation’, Journal of Head Trauma Rehabilitation, 2001; 16 (3): 260–74.
C. B. Kidd, ‘Congenital ichthyosiform erythroderma treated by hypnosis’ British Journal of Dermatology, 1966; 78: 101–5, as cited in Barber, ‘Changing “unchangeable” bodily processes’, op. cit.
H. Bennett, ‘Behavioral anesthesia’, Advances, 1985; 2 (4): 11–21, as reported in H. Dienstfrey, ‘Mind and mindlessness in mind-body research’, in M Schlitz et al., Consciousness and Healing: Integral Approaches to Mind-Bod

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Healing, St Louis, Mo.: Elsevier Churchill Livingstone, 2005: 56.

H. Dienstfrey, ‘Mind and mindlessnes’, op cit.: 51–60.
Dr Angel Escudero was featured on the BBC’sYour Life in Their Hands series, May 1991. In the film, Escudero made incisions, sawed, drilled and hammered in order to break and reset the deformed leg of his fully conscious patient using his ‘Noesitherapy’ technique of pain control.
S. M. Kosslyn et al., ‘Hypnotic visual illusion alters color processing in the brain’, American Journal of Psychiatry, 2000; 157: 1279–84; Mark Henderson, ‘Hypnosis really does turn black into white’, The Times, 18 February 2002.
S. H. Simpson et al., ‘A meta-analysis of the association between adherence to drug therapy and mortality’, British Medical Journal, 2006; 333: 15–19.
Raúl de la Fuente-Fernández et al., ‘Expectation and dopamine release Mechanism of the placebo effect in Parkinson’s disease’, Science, 2001; 293 (5532): 1164–6.
J. B. Moseley et al., ‘A controlled trial of arthroscopic surgery for osteoarthritis of the knee’, New England Journal of Medicine, 2002; 347: 81–8.
S. Krippner, ‘Stigmatic phenomenon: An alleged case in Brazil’, Journal of Scientific Exploration, 2002; 16 (2): 207–24.
L. F. Early and J. E. Kifschutz, ‘A case of stigmata’,Archives of General Psychiatry, 1974; 30: 197–200.
T. Harrison, Stigmatia: A Medieval Mystery in a Modern Age, New York: St Martin’s Press, 1994, as referenced in S. Krippner, ‘Stigmatic phenomenon’, op cit.
B. O’Regan and Caryle Hirshberg,Spontaneous Remission: An Annotated Bibliography, Petaluma, Calif.: Institute of Noetic Sciences, 1993.
Ibid.
L. L. LeShan and M. L. Gassmann, ‘Some observations on psychotherap with patients with neoplastic disease’, American Journal of Psychotherapy, 1958; 12: 723.
D. C. Ban Baalen et al., ‘Psychosocial correlates of “spontaneous regression of cancer’, Humane Medicine, April 1987.
R. T. D. Oliver, ‘Surveillance as a possible option for management of metastic renal cell carcinoma’, Seminars in Urology, 1989; 7: 149–52.
P. C. Raud, ‘Psychospiritual dimensions of extraordinary survival’, Journal of Humanistic Psychology, 1989; 29: 59–83.
McTaggart, The Field, op. cit.: 132.
W. Braud and M. Schlitz, ‘Psychokinetic influence on electrodermal activity’, Journal of Parapsychology, 1983; 47 (2): 95–119.
Interview with William Braud, October, 1999.
Benor, Healing Research, op. cit.
S. M. Roney-Dougal and J. Solfvin, ‘Field study of an enhancement effect o lettuce seeds – Replication study’, Journal of Parapsychology, 2003; 67 (2): 279–

98.

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Dr Larry Dossey calls negative diagnoses ‘medical hexing’, and there is anecdotal evidence that patients often live up to their doctor’s gloomy prognosis, even when there is no physical evidence that they should do so. For a potent example see the story of a leukaemia patient who was thriving until he happened to find out what he had. He was dead within a week once his illness had the label of a potentially terminal illness: L. McTaggart, What Doctors Don’t Tell You, London: HarperCollins, 2005: 343.

Chapter 10: The Voodoo Effect

R. A. Blasband and Gottfried Martin, ‘Biophoton emission in “orgon energy” treated cress seeds, seedlings and Acetabularia’, International Consciousness Research Laborary, ICRL Report No 93.6.
Dossey, Be Careful What You Pray For, op. cit.: 171–2.
Ibid.
Benor, Healing Research, op. cit.: 261.
C. O. Simonton et al., Getting Well Again, New York: Bantam, 1980; B. Siegel, Love, Medicine and Miracles: Lessons Learned about Self-Healing from a Surgeon’s Experience with Exceptional Patients, London: HarperCollins, 1990; A Meares, The Wealth Within: Self-Help Through a System of Relaxing Meditation, Melbourne, Australia: Hill of Content, 1990.
For much of the research detailed in this chapter, I am especially indebted to Larry Dossey and Daniel Benor, who have detailed many of these early studies in their respective books, Dossey’s Be Careful What You Pray For … You Just Migh Get It and Benor’s Healing Research, Spiritual Healing and his outstanding, comprehensive website: www.wholistichealingresearch.com.
Benor, Healing Research, op. cit.: 264.
J. Barry, ‘General and comparative study of the psychokinetic effect on a fungus culture’, Journal of Parapsychology, 1968; 32 (94): 237–43.
W. H. Tedder and M. L. Monty, ‘Exploration of a long-distance PK: A conceptual replication of the influence on a biological system’, in W. G. Roll et al. (eds.), Research in Parapsychology, Metuchen, NJ: Scarecrow Press, 1981: 90–3 Also see Dossey, Be Careful What You Pray For, op. cit.: 169; Benor, Healing Research, op. cit.: 268–9.
C. B. Nash, ‘Test of psychokinetic control of bacterial mutation’, Journal of the American Society for Psychical Research, 1984; 78: 145–52.
Kmetz’s study was described in W. Braud et al., ‘Experiments with Matthew Manning’, Journal of the Society for Psychical Research, 1979; 50: 199–
While the study was promising, in his review of it in Healing Research, Benor noted the lack of sufficient detail.
1. Dossey, Be Careful What You Pray For, op. cit.: 175–6.
1. Many researchers of alternative medicine maintain the same concerns about studies of Chinese medicine carried out in China. These concerns don’t disregard the strong anecdotal evidence about the effectiveness of Traditional Chinese Medicine,

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only the scientific method of studies of its effectiveness.

S. Sun and C. Tao, ‘Biological effect of emitted qi with tradescantic paludosa micronuclear technique’, First World Conference for Academic Exchange of Medical Qigong. Beijing, China, 1988: 61E.
1. Ibid.
1. Dossey, Be Careful What You Pray For, op. cit.: 176.
1. D. J. Muehsam et al., ‘Effects of Qigong on cell-free myosi phosphorylation: Preliminary experiments’, Subtle Energies and Energy Medicine, 1994; 5 (1): 93–108, also reported in Dossey, Be Careful What You Pray For, op. cit.: 177–8.
1. Ibid.
1. Benor, Healing Research, op. cit.: 253.
1. G. Rein, Quantum Biology: Healing with Subtle Energy, Palo Alto, Calif.: Quantum Biology Research Labs, 1992; as reported in Benor,Healing Research, op. cit.: 350–2.
1. B. Grad, ‘The “laying on of hands”: Implications for psychotherapy, gentling and the placebo effect’, Journal of the Society for Psychical Research, 1967; 61 (4): 286–305.
1. C. B. Nash and C. S. Nash, ‘The effect of paranormally conditioned solutio on yeast fermentation’, Journal of Parapsychology, 1967; 31: 314.
1. Radin, The Conscious Universe, op. cit: 130.
1. An entire chapter is devoted to Jacques Benveniste in McTaggart, The Field, op. cit.: 59.
1. Description of these results from a telephone conversation with Jacques Benveniste, November 10, 2000.
1. J. M. Rebman et al., ‘Remote influence of the autonomic nervous system b focused intention’, Subtle Energies and Energy Medicine, 1996; 6: 111–34.
1. W. Braud and M. Schlitz, ‘A method for the objective study of transpersonal imagery’, Journal of Scientific Exploration, 1989; 3 (1): 43–63; W. Braud et al., ‘Further studies of the bio-PK effect: Feedback, blocking specificity/generality’, i

R. White and J. Solfvin (eds.),Research in Parapsychology, Metuchen, NJ: Scarecrow Press, 1984: 45–8.

C. Watt et al., ‘Exploring the limits of direct mental influence: Two studies comparing “blocking” and “co-operating” strategies’, Journal of Scientific Exploration, 1999; 13 (3): 515–35.
- J. Diamond, Your Body Doesn’t Lie, New York: HarperCollins, 1979.
- J. Diamond, Life Energy, New South Wales: Angus & Robertson, 1992: 71.

Chapter 11: Praying for Yesterday

L. Leibovici, ‘Effects of remote, retroactive intercessory prayer on outcomes in patients with blood stream infection: Randomized controlled trial’, British Medical Journal, 2001; 323 (7327): 1450–1.
S. Andreassen et al., ‘Using probabilistic and decision-theoretic methods in

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treatment and prognosis modeling’, Artificial Intelligence in Medicine, 1999; 15 (2): 121–34.

L. Leibovici, ‘Alternative (complementary) medicine: a cuckoo in the nest o empiricist reed warblers’, British Medical Journal, 1999; 319: 1629–32; Leibovici, ‘Effects of remote, retroactive intercessory prayer’, op. cit.
Letters, BMJ Online, December 22, 2003.
L. Dossey, ‘How healing happens: exploring the nonlocal gap’, Alternative Therapies in Health and Medicine, 2002; 8 (2): 12–16, 103–10.
B. Oshansky and L. Dossey, ‘Retroactive prayer: A preposterous hypothesis?’ British Medical Journal, 2003; 327: 20–7.
Letters, ‘Effect of retroactive prayer’, British Medical Journal, 2002; 324: 1037.
Correspondence from Liebovici to author, June 28, 2005.
Interview with Jahn and Dunne, July 2005.
R. G. Jahn et al., ‘Correlations of random binary sequences with pre-stated operator intention: a review of a 12-year program’, Journal of Scientific Exploration, 1997; 11 (3): 345–67.
D. J. Bierman and J. M. Houtkooper, ‘Exploratory PK tests with programmable high speed random number generator’, European Journal of Parapsychology, 1975; 1 (1): 3–14.
R. Broughton, Parapsychology: The Controversial Science, New York: Ballantine Books, 1991: 175–6.
H. Schmidt and H. Stapp, ‘Study of PK with prerecorded random events an the effects of preobservation’, Journal of Parapsychology, 1993; 57: 351.
E. R. Gruber, ‘Conformance behavior involving animal and human subjects’, European Journal of Parapsychology, 1979; 3 (1): 36–50.
E. R. Gruber, ‘PK effects on pre-recorded group behaviour of livin systems’, European Journal of Parapsychology, 1980; 3 (2): 167–75.
F. W. J. J. Snel and P. C. van der Sijde, ‘The effect of retro-active distance healing on Babeia rodhani (rodent malaria) in rats’, European Journal of Parapsychology, 1990; 8: 123–30.
W. Braud, unpublished study, 1993, as reported in W. Braud, ‘Wellness implications of retroactive intentional influence: exploring an outrageous hypothesis’, Alternatives Therapies in Health and Medicine, 2000; 6 (1): 37–48.
H. Schmidt, ‘Random generators and living systems as targets in retro-PK experiments’, Journal of the American Society for Psychical Research, 1997; 912 (1): 1–13.
D. Radin et al., ‘Effects of distant healing intention through time and space: Two exploratory studies’, Proceedings of Presented Papers: The 41st Annual Convention of the Parapsychological Association, Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada Parapsychological Association, 1998: 143–61.
J. R. Stroop, ‘Studies of interference in serial verbal reactions’,Journal of Experimental Psychology, 1935; 18: 643, as cited in D.I. Radin and E. C. May

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‘Evidence for a retrocausal effect in the human nervous system’, Boundary Institute Technical Report 2000–1.

H. Klintman, ‘Is there a paranormal (precognitive) influence in certain types of perceptual sequences? Part I and II’,European Journal of Parapsychology, 1983; 5: 19–49 and 1984; 5: 125–40, as cited in Radin and May, Boundary Institute Technical Report, op. cit.
Radin and May, Boundary Institute Technical Report, op. cit.
Braud, ‘Wellness implications’, op. cit.
See http://www.fourmilab.ch/rpkp/bierman-metaanalysis. html.
Radin and May, Boundary Institute Technical Report, op. cit.
G. A. Mourou and D. Umstadter, ‘Extreme light’, in ‘The Edge of Physics’ Special edition of Scientific American, 2003; 13 (1): 77–83 updated from May 2002 issue.
L. H. Ford and T. A. Roman, ‘Negative energy, wormholes and warp drive’ in ‘The Edge of Physics’. Special edition ofScientific American, 2003; 13 (1): 85–

91 updated from January 2000 issue.

J. A. Wheeler and R. P. Reynman, ‘Interaction with the absorber as the mechanism of radiation’, Reviews of Modern Physics, 1945; 17 (2–3): 157–81; J. A. Wheeler and R. P. Reynman, ‘Classical electrodynamics in terms of direc interparticle action’, Reviews of Modern Physics, 1949; 21: 425–33.
E. H. Walker, ‘The nature of consciousness’, Mathematical BioSciences

1970; 7: 131–78.

H. P. Stapp, ‘Theoretical model of a purported empirical violation of the predictions of quantum theory’, Physical Review A, 1994; 50 (1): 18–22.
Braud, ‘Wellness implications’, op. cit.
L. Grover, ‘Quantum computing’, The Sciences, July/August 1999: 24–30.
M. Brooks, ‘The weirdest link’, New Scientist, March 27, 2004; 181

(2440): 32–5.

D. Bierman, ‘Do PSI-phenomena suggest radical dualism?’ in S. Hammerof et al. (ed.), Toward a Science of Consciousness II, Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press 1998: 709–14.
D. I. Radin, ‘Experiments testing models of mind-matter interaction’

Journal of Scientific Exploration, 2006; 20 (3), 375–401.

Interview with William Braud, October 1999.
W. Braud, ‘Transcending the limits of time’, The Inner Edge: A Resource for Enlightened Business Practice, 1999; 2 (6): 16–18.
R. D. Nelson, ‘The physical basis of intentional healing systems’, Technical Report, PEAR 99001, Princeton Engineering Anomalies Research, Princeton, Ne Jersey, January 1999.
Braud, interview with author, October 1999.
D. Bierman ‘Does consciousness collapse the wave packet?’ Mind and Matter, 2003; 1 (1): 45–58.
H Schmidt, ‘Additional effect for PK on pre-recorded targets’,Journal of

Parapsychology, 1985; 49: 229–44; ‘PK tests with and without preobservation by animals’, in L. S. Henkel and J. Palmer (eds.),Research in Parapsychology, Metuchen, NJ: Scarecrow Press, 1990: 15–19.

Chapter 12: The Intention Experiment

Interview with Fritz-Albert Popp, March 1, 2006.
F.-A. Popp et al., ‘Further analysis of delayed luminescence of plants’,

Journal of Photochemistry and Photobiology B: Biology, 2005, 78: 235–44.

For a full description of Popp’s history, see McTaggart, The Field, op. cit.
International Institute of Biophysics, see www.lifescientists.de.
B. J. Dunne, ‘Co-operator experiments with an REG device’, PEA Technical Note 91005, Princeton Engineering Anomalies Research, Princeton, New Jersey, December 1991.
R. D. Nelson et al., ‘FieldREG anomalies in group situations’,Journal of Scientific Exploration, 1996; 10 (1): 111–41; R. D. Nelson et al., ‘FieldREGII Consciousness field effects: replications and explorations’, Journal of Scientific Exploration, 1998; 12 (3): 425–54.
D. I. Radin, ‘For whom the bell tolls: A question of global consciousness’ Noetic Sciences Review, 2003; 63: 8–13 and 44–5; R. D. Nelson et al., ‘Correlatio of continuous random data with major world events’, Foundations of Physics Letters, 2002; 15 (6): 537–50.
D. I. Radin, ‘Exploring relationships between random physical events and mass human attention: Asking for whom the bell tolls’, Journal of Scientific Exploration, 2002; 16 (4): 533–47.
R. D. Nelson, ‘Coherent consciousness and reduced randomness Correlations on September 11, 2001’, Journal of Scientific Exploration, 2002; 16

(4): 549–70.

Ibid.
Bryan J. Williams, ‘Exploratory block analysis of field consciousness effects on global RNGs on September 11, 2001’ (http://noosphere.princeton.edu/williams/GCP911. html).
J. D. Scargle, ‘Commentary: Was there evidence of global consciousness on September 11, 2001?’ Journal of Scientific Exploration, 2002; 16 (4): 571–7.
Nelson et al., ‘Correlation of continuous random data’, op. cit.
M. C. Dillbeck et al., ‘The Transcendental Meditation program and crim rate change in a sample of 48 cities’, Journal of Crime and Justice, 1981; 4: 25–45.
J. Hagelin et al., ‘Effects of group practice of the Transcendental Meditatio program on preventing violent crime in Washington, D. C.: Results of the National Demonstration Project, June–July 1993’,Social Indicators Research, 1999; 47 (2):

153–201.

W. Orme-Johnson et al., ‘International peace project in the Middle East: the effects of the Maharishi technology of the unified field’, Journal of Conflict Resolution, 1988; 32: 776–812.

K. L. Cavanaugh et al., ‘Consciousness and the quality of economic life empirical research on the macroeconomic effects of the collective practice of Maharishi’s Transcendental Meditation and TM-Sidhi program.’ Paper originally presented at the annual meeting of the Midwest Management Society, Chicago, Marc 1989, published in R. G. Greenwood (ed.), Proceedings of the Midwest Management Society, Chicago: Midwest Management Society, 1989: 183–90; K. L Cavanaugh et al., ‘A multiple-input transfer function model of Okun’s misery index: An empirical test of the Maharishi Effect.’ Paper presented at the Annual Meeting o the American Statistical Association, Washington D. C., August 6–10, 1989, an abridged version of the paper appears in Proceedings of the American Statistical Association, Business and Economics Statistics Section, Alexandria, Va.: American Statistical Association, 1989: 565–70; K. L. Cavanaugh and K. D. King ‘Simultaneous transfer function analysis of Okun’s misery index: improvements in the economic quality of life through Maharishi’s Vedic Science and technology of consciousness.’ Paper presented at the Annual Meeting of the American Statistical Association, New Orleans, Louisiana, August 22–25, 1988, an abridged version o the paper appears in Proceedings of the American Statistical Association, Business and Economics Statistics Section, Alexandria, Va.: American Statistical Association, 1988: 491–6; K. L. Cavanaugh, ‘Time series analysis of U.S. an Canadian inflation and unemployment: A test of a field-theoretic hypothesis.’ Paper presented at the Annual Meeting of the American Statistical Association, San Francisco, California, August 17–20, 1987, published in Proceedings of the American Statistical Association, Business andEconomics Statistics Section, Alexandria, Va.: American Statistical Association, 1987: 799–804.
Strong rains fall on fire-ravaged Amazon state, March 31, 1998, Web posted at: 6:46 p.m. EST (2346 GMT), Brasilia, Brazil (CNN) http://twm. co. nz/.
R. Nelson, ‘Wishing for good weather: a natural experiment in group consciousness’, Journal of Scientific Exploration, 1997; 11 (1): 47–58.
M. Emoto, The Hidden Messages in Water, New York: Atria, 2005.
Interview with Dean Radin, May 3, 2006.
Not her real name. I’ve changed her name at her request. Nevertheless, our meditators were shown her real name and photo.
R. Van Wijk and E. P. Van Wijk, ‘The search for a biosensor as a witness of a human laying on of hands ritual’, Alternative Therapies in Health and Medicine, 2003; 9 (2): 48–55.

Chapter 13: The Intention Exercises

See C. T. Tart, ‘Initial application of mindfulness extension exercises in a traditional Buddhist meditation retreat setting, 1995’, unpublished (www. paradigmsys. com/cttart).
R. McCraty et al., ‘The electricity of touch: Detection and measurement o cardiac energy exchange between people’, in K. H. Pribram (ed.), Brain and Values: Is a Biological Science of Values Possible? Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum

Associates, 1998: 359–79.

S. Rinpoche, The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying, San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1994.
S. Rinpoche, as quoted in J. Stone, Instructor’s Training Manual, Cours Syllabus: Training in Compassionate-Loving Intention, 2003.
H. Dienstfrey, Where the Mind Meets the Body, London: HarperCollins 1991: 39.

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Williams, B. J., ‘Exploratory block analysis of field consciousness effects on global RNGs on September 11, 2001’ (http://noosphere.princeton.edu/williams/GCP911. html).

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Phytologist, 2004; 161: 607–10.

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Zeilinger, A., ‘Probing the limits of the quantum world’, Physics World, March 2005 (online journal: http://www.physicsweb.org/articles/world/18/3/5/1).

Zeilinger, A., ‘Quantum teleportation’, Scientific American, April 2000: 32–41.

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Zohar, D., The Quantum Self, London: Bloomsbury Press, 1991.

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Useful websites

www.biomindsuperpowers.com: Ingo Swann’s Superpowers of the Human Bio-mind

www.fourmilab.ch/rpkp/bierman-metaanalysis. html www.laurentian.ca/Neursci/_people/Persinger. htm www.lifescientists.de: official website of the IIB. www.officeofprayerresearch.org www.spiritualbrain.com www.wholistichealingresearch.com

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The Intention Experiment (full text) by Lynne McTaggart. In HTML for free access. Part 3 of 4.

This is part 3 of 4.

Thus it’s placement in my blog.

Welcome to the world of quantum physics and how all those things about prayer, intention, and spirituality actually does have a scientific foundation that they are based upon.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The Right Place

IN 1997, WILLIAM TILLER had been helping a Californian company develop product to eliminate electromagnetic pollution. The product contained a quartz crystal, which was why they had consulted him. Tiller, a physicist and professor emeritus of materials science and engineering at Stanford University, had carved out an influential niche for himself in the science of crystallization; he had written three textbooks on the subject and more than 250 scientific papers.1

The product consisted of a simple black box, about the size of a remote control. Inside its casing were three oscillators of 1–10 megahertz, barely a microwatt’s worth of power when the device was turned on. The box also contained an electrically erasable, programmable, read-only memory (EEPROM) component unconventionally connected in the circuit. It seemed to be able to screen incoming electromagnetic energy, possibly through the quartz oscillators also contained inside the box: quartz was thought to modulate quantum information by rotating the direction of waves.

As Tiller examined the equipment, an outrageous idea struck him. Fascinated by evidence that remote influence worked, Tiller had been carrying out a number of his own experiments and had formulated an entire theory about ‘subtle energy’ in living systems. Perhaps the little box he held in his hand might help him put intention to the supreme test. If thoughts were just another form of energy, what if he attempted to ‘charge’ this simple low-tech machine with a human intention and then use it to try to affect a chemical process? His experiment would rest on the unthinkable assumption that thoughts could be imprisoned in a bit of electronic memory and later ‘released’ to affect the physical world.2

This fanciful idea would lead to a bizarre experimental result, offering convincing evidence that there is such a thing as the right place, as well as the right time, for carrying out intentions.

Tiller borrowed some lab space at the Terman Engineering building at Stanford from one of his tolerant colleagues in civil engineering, and some other space in the biology department, made some adjustments to the commercial device, and began designing his experiments.

He wanted to go for broke, to see if this ‘caged’ intention could affect actual live test subjects. He realized he could not yet try his experiments on human beings, because they presented too many random, uncontrollable variables. But he could experiment on what scientists consider the next best thing to a human being: the fruit fly.

In the laboratory among the experimental animal population, the fruit fly is prom queen. Scientists have considered Drosophila melanogaster a model organism for more than a century, largely because its life cycle is so short. Within six days a fruit fly will completely remodel itself from larval grub to six-legged, winged insect and die just two weeks later.

Tiller had in mind an experiment that would speed up their entire developmental process even further. His Stanford colleague Michael Kohane an expert in fruit flies, had been studying the effects of supplements of nicotinamide adenine dinucleotide (NAD) on his fruit fly specimens. An important cofactor for enzymes, NAD helps in energy metabolism within cells by transporting hydrogen which is essential in setting the fly’s built-in timer for larval development. Energy availability also directly affects an organism’s fitness.3

NAD marshals electrons into the pathway needed to maximize energy production and metabolism; low levels of NAD adversely affect the production of adenosine triphosphate (ATP).

Every cell uses oxygen and glucose to convert ADP (adenine diphosphate) and phosphoric acid into ATP, a molecule that slow-drips energy to power most cellular processes. ADP and ATP are the equivalent of chemical energy storage tanks. Each molecule hoards a tiny supply of energy deep within its phosphorus–oxygen bond. Increasing the supply of NAD will increase the ratio of ATP to ADP, causing the cellular processes to work harder and faster, fast- forwarding larval development.

As the fruit fly develops, the higher the ATP/ADP ratio, the more energy available to the cells, and the fitter the fly. The net effect of NAD is to increase a fruit fly’s overall level of health, from cradle to grave.

Electromagnetic fields can have a profound effect on cellular energy metabolism, particularly the synthesis of ATP. 4 Human thoughts could be construed as a similar form of energy, Tiller reasoned. But could the energy of a thought interact with the transport chain of electrons to stoke up the metabolic fire?

To carry out the protocol he had in mind, Tiller needed a second lab. He set up one near the benefactor who was going to fund the studies in a small facility in Minnesota, just north of Excelsior. There he installed Michael Kohane and Wal Dibble, one of his former graduate students.

One morning in early January 1997, Tiller gathered his four participants, including himself, his wife Jean, and two friends, all highly experienced meditators, around a table. He unwrapped the first black box, placed it in the middle of the table and turned it on.

At the signal, Tiller told them all to enter a deep meditative state. After mentally ‘cleansing’ the environment and the equipment itself, he stood before them, a tall, lanky figure with bright, irreverent eyes and a wispy white beard, and read aloud the intention he had scripted earlier:

Our intention is to synergistically influence (a) the availability of oxygen, protons, and ADP (b) the activity of the available concentration of NAD plus (c the activity of the available enzymes, dehydrogenase and ATP-synthase, in the mitochondria so that the production of ATP in the fruit fly larvae is significantly increased (as much as possible without harming the life function of the larvae) and thus the larval development time significantly reduced relative to that with the control device.

Although the intention boiled down to significantly increasing the ratio of the ATP to ADP, Tiller had purposefully made the intention highly specific, so there would be no possible misunderstanding. He suspected that the more specific the thought, the more likely it was to have an effect, and so was careful, with each experiment, to pinpoint its aims. He had added ‘without harming the life function of the larvae’ because he suspected that if they tried to push things too far, they might well kill the tiny creatures.

The meditators held the intention for 15 minutes, before abruptly releasing it, at Tiller’s signal, then they focused for a final 5 minutes on a closing intention, to mentally ‘seal the intention’ into the device.

Tiller had prepared an identical control box that had not been ‘imprinted’ with intention by wrapping it in aluminium foil and placing it in an electrically grounded Faraday cage, in order to screen out electromagnetic frequencies of all magnitudes.

He wrapped the imprinted black box, or the ‘Intention-Imprinted Electronic Device’, as he now called it, in aluminium foil and placed it in another Faraday cage until ready for shipping. On separate days he shipped each box via FedEx to the Minnesota laboratory, some 1500 miles away. He had been careful to blind the experiment so that neither Dibble nor Kohane would know which device contained the intention and which the control when the two devices arrived.

The Excelsior scientists prepared several groups consisting of eight vials of fruit fly larvae and placed three of the groups of vials inside Faraday cages. They then placed both black boxes inside two of the cages with the vials and turned them on.

Over the next eight months, they carried out experiments on 10,000 larvae and 7000 adult flies, in each instance tracking the ATP/ADP ratio. After compiling their data and mapping it on a graph, Tiller and Kohane discovered not only that that the ratio of ATP to ADP had increased, but also that those larvae exposed to the imprinted devices developed 15 per cent faster than normal.5

Furthermore, once the larvae had reached their adult stages they were healthier than normal, as were their descendants.6 The intention not only had a positive effect on the flies themselves; it also appeared to affect the genealogical line.

By that time, Tiller had tried out other black boxes on a great number of other subjects, choosing his experimental targets with care. He needed tests like that of the fruit fly co-enzyme ratio that would show a genuine, measurable change. He decided on two new targets: the pH of water and the increase in the activity of a liver enzyme called alkaline phosphatase (ALP). He chose the pH test because water pH – th measure of acidity or alkalinity in a solution – remains fairly static and tiny changes of one-hundredth or even one-thousandth of a unit on the pH scale can be measured; a change of a full unit or more on the pH scale would represent an enormous shift that was unlikely to be the result of an incorrect measurement. ALP is another ideal test target because its activity proceeds at an unvarying rate.

In both instances, his meditators imprinted intentions into the black boxes to change the pH of water both up and down by a full pH unit and to increase by a ‘significant factor’ the activity of ALP. Tiller then sent off both imprinted and control boxes to Dibble, who made use of a similar study design as the fly experiment. Both experiments were extraordinarily successful.7

In the water experiments, their intentions managed to change the pH up and down by one unit, and the ALP activity was significantly increased.8

Tiller was in the midst of some of his black-box experiments when he noticed something strange. After three months, the results of his studies began to improve; the more he repeated the experiment, the stronger and quicker the effects.

Tiller decided to try to isolate the aspect of the environment that had changed. He took readings of the air temperature, in and outside the Faraday cages, and discovered that the temperature appeared to be going up and down according to a regular rhythm or oscillation, dipping and climbing at regular intervals. He had first taken the temperature readings with an ordinary mercury thermometer. In case these results had something to do with the instrumentation, he switched to a computerized, low-resolution thermistor-based digital thermometer.

Then he tried a high-resolution thermometer. All three recorded the same readings. When he plotted it, he saw that the temperature change was oscillating at a precise rhythm every 45 minutes or so, varying by some 4°C.9

Tiller then measured the pH of water in the lab and measured its capacity to conduct electricity. He observed the same phenomenon as he had with the temperature: periodic oscillations of at least one-quarter of a unit on the pH scale, and regular dips and peaks in the water’s ability to conduct electricity. Tiller was especially intrigued by the changes in pH. The acid/alkaline balance in any substance is highly sensitive to change; if the pH of a person’s blood shifts up or down by just a half a pH unit, it means that they are dying or already dead.

A pattern was developing: as the temperature of the air rose, the pH fell, and vice versa, in near perfect harmonic rhythm. The water’s electrical conductivity showed a similar harmonic cycle.10 Somehow his lab was beginning to manifest different material properties, almost as if it were a specially charged environment.

The effects also continually increased. No matter which experiment he carried out, the longer the imprinted devices were in the room, the larger the rhythmic fluctuations of the temperature and pH.11

These fluctuations remained unaffected by the opening of doors or windows, the operation of air conditioners or heaters, and even the presence or movement of humans or objects around their immediate vicinity. When he compared graphs of air and water temperature readings, they again mapped in perfect harmony.

Every corner of the room that was measured registered the same result. Each aspect of the physical space appeared to be in some sort of rhythmic, energetic harmony.

By this time, Tiller and his colleagues had set up four labs, each separated from the others by between 35 and 280 metres. Once enough experiments had been carried out, every other site also began to evidence these rhythmic fluctuations.

Tiller had never observed these types of ‘organized’ oscillations in his conventional science labs at Stanford. Indeed, they had never been observed anywhere else before. Just to be sure that this phenomenon was not being caused by the boxes themselves, he and his colleagues carried out three control experiments, in which devices that had not been imprinted with intention were placed in the spaces and turned on. In those cases, all the readings of air and water behaved normally.

Tiller still puzzled over the meaning of the effects, and whether they might be due to some physical disturbance. He wondered whether having two large fans in the room would affect the oscillations in the air and water. Ordinarily, forced air convection from a fan should cause oscillations in temperature to disappear. He placed a desk fan and a floor fan in strategic places near a line of temperature probes. Even when the fans were turned up high enough to scatter pieces of paper, the original temperature oscillations remained.

What exactly was going on? This could be a magnetic effect, Tiller thought. Perhaps he should check out the magnetic field of the water. He placed an ordinary bar magnet under a jar of water for three days, with the north pole of the magnet pointing upwards, and measured the water’s pH.

Then he turned the magnet over so that the south pole faced upwards under the jar for the same period. In normal circumstances, when ordinary water is exposed to this kind of weak magnet, which has a field strength of less than 500 gauss, the pH will be the same, no matter which side of the magnet is exposed to the water.

The world as we know it is magnetically symmetrical. Quantum physicists speak in terms of gauge theory and symmetry to explain the relationships between forces and particles, which include electric and magnetic charge. We are believed to exist in a state of electromagnetic U {1}-gauge symmetry – a rather complicated scenario in which magnetic force is proportional to the gradient of the square of the magnetic field. This boils down to a simple truism: no matter where in a given field you measure the electromagnetic property, you get the same reading. The electromagnetic laws of nature are the same wherever you look.

If you raise the electromagnetic pull in one area, you will find you have changed the electromagnetic pull by the same degree everywhere else. In The Cosmic Code,12 Heinz Pagels likens the universe to an infinite piece of paper, painted grey. If you change the colour to a different shade of grey or ‘change the gauge’, you still don’t change the gauge symmetry, because all the rest of the paper will be changed to the exact same shade of grey, so that it is even impossible to distinguish where exactly you are on the paper. A state of symmetrical magnetism is referred to as a magnetic ‘dipole’.

But the pH of the water in Tiller’s lab was significantly different with one polarity as compared with another, with huge differences of 1–1.5 pH units. Exposing the water to the south pole would send the pH soaring upward, while turning the magnet over to the north pole would cause the pH to decrease.

At two of his experimental sites, the pH of the water, when exposed to the south-pole polarity, continued to change with the passage of time, peaking after about six days. When the water was exposed to the north pole of the magnet, however, the rhythmic changes in pH that he had been recording dwindled away.13

Orthodox science maintains that monopoles only exist in electricity (as a positive or negative charge), but not in magnetism, which creates only dipoles from spinning or orbiting electrical charge.14 Governments around the world have spent billions of dollars looking for magnetic monopoles everywhere on earth, without success.15 Somehow, Tiller had managed to access a magnetic monopole in his crude lab. This phenomenon appeared to be a system-wide effect. In any lab of his exposed to the intention-imprinted black boxes, instruments recorded magnetic monopole type of behaviour.

It dawned on Tiller that he was witnessing the most astonishing result of all: human intention captured in his little black boxes were somehow ‘conditioning’ the spaces where the experiments were carried out.

Tiller wondered whether this phenomenon would still be present if he altered anything about the space. When he removed one element, such as a computer, the oscillations disappeared for about 10 hours before returning. The arrival of any new materials in his lab also caused the effects to disappear for several weeks, although, once again, they eventually returned.

It was as though the space had become an exquisitely tuned configuration, and no disturbance or change would destroy this higher state. Even when Tiller shielded the intention-imprinted devices in aluminium foil and Faraday cages, all the vibrations in water and air temperature continued. One of the sites, a converted barn, recorded oscillating air temperatures on and off for six months; in another site, an office lab, for a full year.16

After the imprinted boxes had been turned on for a while, the effect became relatively ‘permanent’; the target, whether water pH, ALP or fruit flies, would continue to be affected even if the device was not in the lab. Tiller decided to see what would happen when he removed all the elements of the experiment.

He dismantled the Faraday cage and the water vessels and removed them from his lab, then recorded the air temperature of the place where the cages had been.

Even though the experimental vessel was no longer there, his thermometers continued to record periodic oscillations in temperature of 2–3°C. Although this influence decayed very slowly over time, Tiller’s laboratories appeared to have undergone some long-term thermodynamic transformation. The energy from intention appeared to ‘charge’ the environment and create a domino effect of order.17

The only other phenomena Tiller could think of that had similar effects on the environment were those of highly complex chemical reactions. But all he was working with was ordinary air and purified water.

According to the laws of conventional thermodynamics, air and water are supposed to exist in a state extraordinarily close to equilibrium, which is to say that they remain more or less static. These types of results had never been recorded in any lab in the world.

He suspected that he had been witnessing a quantum effect. The constant replaying of ordered thoughts seemed to be changing the physical reality of the room, and making the quantum virtual particles of empty space more ‘ordered’. And then, like a domino effect, the ‘order’ of the space appeared to assist the outcome of the experiment. Carrying out the intentions in one particular space appeared to enhance their effects over time.

Somehow, in these charged spaces he and his colleagues had managed to create a SU {2}-gauge space, where electric and magnetic monopoles coexisted – similar to the reality supposedly present in the supersymmetry states of exotic physics. In these conditioned spaces, the very law about the proportion of magnetic force had altered.

A basic property of physics had completely changed. The only way to get such a polarity effect was to produce some element of SU {2}-gauge symmetry.18

This change in the gauge symmetry of the space meant that profound changes had occurred in the ambient Zero Point Field. In a U {1}-gauge symmetry, the random fluctuations of the Field have no effect on the physical universe. However, in SU {2}-gauge symmetry states, the Field has become more ordered and produces changes in the tiniest elements of matter – which add up to a profound alteration in the very fabric of physical reality.

Tiller felt as though he had somehow entered into a twilight zone of higher energy and that he was witness to a system with an extraordinary ability to self- organize. Indeed, the oscillations he had measured had all the hallmarks of a Bose– Einstein condensate – a higher state of coherence. Up until then, scientists had created a Bose–Einstein condensate only in highly controlled environments and at temperatures approaching absolute zero. But he had managed to create the same effects at room temperature, and from a thought process captured in a rudimentary piece of equipment.

Other scientists have witnessed a similar ‘charging’ of intention space. In one series of meticulous studies, for instance, researcher Graham Watkins and his wife Anita recruited human participants, many known for their psychic ability, and asked them to attempt to mentally influence anaesthetized mice to revive more quickly than usual. The experimental mice were drawn from a batch that had demonstrated similar waking times when placed under anaesthesia; the chosen group were divided in two, with half acting as controls.

In the first batch of studies, the experimental group woke up about 4 seconds earlier than the controls, a result considered only slightly significant. However, in subsequent studies the wake-up times of the experimental mice improved, and continued to do so with every study.

The Watkinses repeated their experiment seven times. They discovered that the healing had a ‘linger effect’; if a mouse were simply placed on the spot on a table where another mouse had received a psychic’s intentions, the second one would also revive more quickly than usual. The space appeared to have developed a healing ‘charge’, affecting anything that happened to occupy that space.19

Biologist Bernard Grad at McGill University in Montreal, Canada, observed similar phenomenon during experiments with Hungarian healer Oscar Estabany: once the Hungarian healer touched something – even simple fabric – it appeared to hold a phantom charge. The material could be used successfully for healing in place of Estabany’s healing hands.20

The idea of ‘conditioned space’ was also explored by former PEAR scientis Dr Roger Nelson at sacred sites. Nelson was intrigued by these sacred spaces and whether their special purpose, or even some inherent quality about the site, had ‘charged’ the space with an energetic resonance that might register on a REG machine. He had run a number of experiments suggesting that a ‘field consciousness’ in a highly charged atmosphere, such as an intense gathering, affected the machines and made them more ‘ordered’.

He carried around a portable REG, to register an changes in the randomness in the ambient field at various sites: Wounded Knee, the site of the massacre of an entire Sioux tribe; Devil’s Tower in Wyoming; the Queen’s Chamber in the Great Pyramid of Giza.

Nelson registered highly significant evidenc of increased order on REGs at some sites, as if the location itself contained a lingering vortex of coherent energy, from all the people who had prayed or died there.21

Dean Radin used REGs to investigate whether healing can condition the plac where it is carried out. He placed three REGs near a culture of human brain cells then asked a group of healers to send intentions for the culture to grow more quickly, and to engage in traditional space-conditioning meditations.

Any deviation from the random activity of the REGs would indicate the probable presence of greater coherence. Radin also prepared a control batch of cells, which were not to be sent intention.

After three days, there was no overall difference in the growth between the treated cells and the controls. Nevertheless, as the experiment progressed, the treated cells began to grow faster.

On the third day, all three of the REGs began moving away from random activity and became more ordered. The intention of the healers also appeared to have effects on background ionizing radiation.22

Like Nelson’s readings at sacred sites, Radin’s experiment offers tantalizing hints about the nature of the ‘linger’ effect of intention. The REGs’ registering o movement away from randomness to greater order implies that the Zero Point energy of empty space has shifted into a state of greater coherence.

The ‘charge’ of intention may have a domino effect on its environment, causing greater quantum order in empty space, which would enhance the effectiveness of its aim.23 Russian scientists have observed a similar phenomenon in water, which retains a memory of applied electromagnetic fields for hours, even days.24

The effect is like that of a laser; when waves of the ambient Field become more ordered, an intention may ripple through it like one powerful, highly targeted bolt of light.

With magnetic monopoles, Tiller was out on a ledge shared by few of his colleagues, even in consciousness research. His studies needed to be replicated by other, independent laboratories. But if his body of work does stand up over time, it will demonstrate the extent to which the energy of human thought can alter its environment.

The ordering process of intention appears to carry on, perpetuating, possibly even intensifying its charge.

The strange, almost unbelievable events occurring during Tiller’s experiments made me wonder whether setting aside a particular room for carrying out intention might be an important consideration. Perhaps we each need our own ‘temple’ to which we return, if only in our mind’s eye, every time we send a directed thought.

Chapter 8: The Right Place

William Tiller’s major books on crystallization include: An Introduction to Computer Simulation in Applied Science, New York: Plenum, 1992: The Science of Crystallization: Microscopic Interfacial Phenomena, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991: The Science of Crystallization: Macroscopic Phenomena and Defect Generation, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992.
All personal details about William Tiller have resulted from multiple interviews, April 2005–January 2006.
O. Warburg, New Methods of Cell Physiology Applied to Cancer an Mechanism of Xray Action, New York: John Wiley and Sons, 1962, as quoted in W. Tiller et al., Conscious Acts of Creation: The Emergency of a New Physics, Walnut Creek, Calif.: Pavior Publishing, 2001: 144–6. All description of experiment derived from interview with Dr Tiller, Boulder, Colorado, April 29, 2005, plus information from Conscious Acts and W. Tiller et al., Some Science Adventures with Real Magic, Walnut Creek, Calif.: Pavior Publishing, 2005.
M. J. Kohane, ‘Energy, development and fitness inDrosophila melanogaster’, Proceedings of the Royal Society (B), 1994; 257: 185–91, in Tiller et al., Conscious Acts, op. cit.: 147.
William A. Tiller and Walter E. Dibble, Jr., ‘New experimental data revealing an unexpected dimension to materials science and engineering’, Material Research Innovation, 2001; 5: 21–34.
Tiller and Dibble, ‘New experimental data’, op. cit.
Ibid.
Ibid.
Tiller et al., Conscious Acts, op. cit.: 180.
Tiller et al., Conscious Acts, op. cit.: 175.
Tiller et al., Conscious Acts, op. cit.: 216.
H. Pagels, The Cosmic Code, New York: Simon and Schuster, 1982.
Tiller et al., Conscious Acts, op. cit.: 216.
Tiller et al., Science Adventures, op. cit.: 34.
Interview with W. Tiller, April 2005.
Tiller et al., Conscious Acts, op. cit.: 182.
Correspondence between Tiller and Michael Kohane, 2005.
Tiller and Dibble, ‘New experimental data’, op. cit.
G. K. Watkins and A. M. Watkins, ‘Possible PK influence on the resuscitation of anesthetized mice’, Journal of Parapsychology, 1971; 35: 257–72; G. K. Watkins et al., ‘Further studies on the resuscitation of anesthetized mice’, in W. G. Roll, R. L. Morris and J. Morris (eds.) Research in Parapsychology, Metuchen, NJ: Scarecrow Press, 1973: 157–9.
R. Wells and J. Klein, ‘A replication of a “psychic healing” paradigm’, Journal of Parapsychology, 1972; 36: 144–9.
See McTaggart, The Field, op. cit.: 205–7.
D. Radin, ‘Beyond belief: Exploring interaction among body and environment’, Subtle Energies and Energy Medicine, 1992; 2 (3): 1–40; D. Radin, ‘Environmental modulation and statistical equilibrium in mind-matter interaction’, Subtle Energies and Energy Medicine, 1993; 4 (1): 1–30.
D. Radin et al., ‘Effects of healing intention on cultured cells and truly random events’, The Journal of Alternative and Complementary Medicine, 2004; 10: 103–12. Notes 301
L. P. Semikhina and V. P. Kiselev, ‘Effect of weak magnetic fields on the properties of water and ice’, Zabedenii, Fizika, 1988; 5: 13–17; S. Sasaki et al., ‘Changes of water conductivity induced by non-inductive coil’, Society for Mind-Body Science, 1992; 1: 23; Tiller et al., Conscious Acts, op. cit.: 62.

PART THREE

The Power of Your Thoughts

Baseball is 90 per cent mental. The other half is physical.
-Yogi Berra

CHAPTER NINE

Mental Blueprints

SEVEN WEEKS BEFORE MUHAMMAD ALI met World Heavywei Champion George Foreman for their ‘rumble in the jungle’ at Kinshasa in 1974, he practised his punches as if he couldn’t care less, taking a few desultory swipes at his sparring partner as if distractedly popping a speed bag. Mostly he would lie against the ropes and allow his opponent to pound away at him from every angle.

In the latter years of his fighting career, Ali spent much of his training time learning how to take punches. He studied how to shift his head by just a hair a microsecond before the connection was made, or where in his body he could mentally deflect the punch, so that it would no longer hurt. He was not training his body to win. He was training his mind not to lose, at the point when deep fatigue sets in around the twelfth round and most boxers cave in.1 The most important work was being done, not in the ring, but in his armchair. He was fighting the fight in his head.

Ali was a master of intention. He developed a set of mental skills that eventually altered his performance in the ring. Before a fight, Ali used every self- motivational technique out there: affirmation; visualization; mental rehearsal; self- confirmation; and perhaps the most powerful epigram of personal worth ever uttered: ‘I am the greatest’. Ali also made public statements of his intentions. His constant barrage of rhyming couplets and quatrains, seemingly so innocuous, were highly specific intentions in disguise:

Archie Moore
Is sure
To hug the floor 
By the end of four
Now Clay swings with a right 
What a beautiful swing
And the punch knocks the Bear Clear out of the ring.

Before a fight, Ali repeated these little rhymes like a mantra – to the press, to his opponent, and even in the ring – until he himself accepted them as fact.

When they met in Kinshasa, Foreman was seven years younger than Ali and among the most savage fighters in the ring. Just two months earlier, he had left Ken Norton for dead with five blows to the head after only two rounds.

Nevertheless, in the weeks before the fight, when reporters pressed Ali about the two-to-one odds against him, Ali had rewritten the history of the Norton–Foreman fight, which he repeated, virtually verbatim, to every journalist who interviewed him. ‘He’s got a hard-push punch but he can’t hit,’ he would say, punching the air in front of the reporter’s nose. ‘Foreman just pushes people down. He just got slow punches, take a year to get there. You think that’s going to bother me? This is going to

be the greatest upset in the history of boxing.’2

Ali’s intention came to pass in the jungle. He also made masterful use of intention to beat Joe Frazier in the Philippines later that year, in perhaps the most brutal and stunning display of boxing of all time.

This time, he created a voodoo doll. Ali turned his ferocious opponent into a tiny rubber gorilla, which he carried around with him in his top pocket, taking a swipe at it with his right from time to time for the television cameras: ‘It’s gonna be a thrilla and a chilla and a killa when I get the gorilla in Manila.’ By the time Frazier entered the ring, he had been reduced in his own mind to something less than human.

Besides these verbalized intentions, Ali carried out mental intentions by rehearsing every moment of the fight in his head: the fatigue in his legs, the sweat pouring off his body, the pain to his kidneys and bruises on his face, the flash of the photographers, the exultant screams of the crowd, even the moment when the referee lifts his arm in victory against Frazier. He sent an intention to his body to win and his body responded by following orders.

To take intention out of the laboratory, I began to sift through the data from people or groups who were using intention successfully in real life. I wanted to study their techniques, the particular thought processes they underwent when sending intention, and would try to extrapolate from their experiences some tools that all the rest of us could use when sending intention. I was also curious about the extent of their mental reach – just how far people had been able to push their intentions.

The most instructive examples came from sports, not only from the greatest athlete of all time, but also from other elite sportsmen and women. Athletes of all varieties now routinely practise what is variously termed ‘mental rehearsals’, ‘implicit practice’3 or even ‘covert rehearsal’. Focused intention is now deemed essential to alter and improve performance. Swimmers, skaters, weightlifters and football players employ intention to enhance their level of performance and consistency. It is even being used in leisure sports, such as golf and rock climbing.

Any modern coach of a competitive sport routinely offers training in some form of mental rehearsal, and often it is touted as the decisive element separating the elite sportsperson from the second-division player.

National-level soccer players, for instance, are more likely to use imagery than those who remain at the provincial or local levels.4

Virtually all Canadian Olympic athletes use mental imagery.

Psychologist Allan Paivio, professor emeritus of the University of Western Ontario, first proposed that the brain uses ‘dual coding’ to process verbal and non- verbal information simultaneously.5

Mental practice has been shown to work just as well as physical practice for patterns and timing.6

Paivio’s model has been largely adapted to help athletes with motivation or in learning or improving a certain skill set.7

The techniques involved in mental rehearsal have been exhaustively studied and written about in scientific literature and popular publications,8 and their credibility was given a further boost in 1990, when the National Academy of Sciences examined all the scientific studies to date on these methods and declared them effective.9

Athletic mental rehearsal has been incorrectly considered synonymous with

visualization. ‘Visualization’ implies that you observe yourself in the situation, as if watching a mental video featuring yourself or seeing yourself through another pair of eyes. Although this may be useful in other areas of life, visualizing oneself from an external perspective in a sports event can hamper athletic performance. Mental rehearsal also differs from positive thinking; happy thoughts on their own do not work in competitive sports.10

The most successful internal rehearsal involves imagining the sports event from the athlete’s perspective as though he or she is actually competing. It amounts to a mental trial run – Ali imagining his right fist at the moment of impact on Frazier’s left eye.

The athlete envisages the future in minute detail as it is unfolding. Champion athletes forecast and rehearse every aspect of the situation, and the steps they should take to overcome any possible setbacks.

Tracy Caulkin used intention to land a third gold medal in the 1984 Olympics. Caulkin had already broken 5 world records and 63 American records, and at the age of 23 was considered the best American swimmer who had ever lived. All she needed to complete her trophy wall was a few Olympic golds.

At the time, electronic touchpads had just replaced stopwatches. Whereas the watch could only distinguish differences of hundredths of a second, the new electronic technology could distinguish the winning lead within a thousandth of a second – 400 times faster than the blink of an eye. In the Olympics relay swimmers are given two-hundredths of a second of grace to leave their block before their previous team mate hits the touchpad. This kind of fine timing is critical; even a single coat of paint on one side of the pool can make a swimmer’s lane one- thousandth of a second longer to swim and give another swimmer the leading edge.

During the four-woman 400-metre relay race, Tracy took the lead by diving in one-hundredth of a second before her returning team mate hit the touchpad.

Although all her competitors had a similar level of fitness, Caulkin had one enormous advantage. She already knew every moment of her swim, from the dive and the cool rush of water past her head to the very moment when she would lunge out in front.

Tracy had practiced that hair’s width lead, the precise moment when she would leave the block a hundredth of a second earlier than her opponents, every night inside her head. The conclusion of the Olympic relay had entirely depended upon the specificity of her intention.

The most successful athletes break down their performances into tiny component parts and work on improving specific aspects. For general mastery of their sport, they imagine a flawless performance.11 They concentrate on the most difficult moments and work out good coping strategies – how to stay in control in the face of adversity, such as a pulled muscle or an umpire’s adverse call.

Different intention is employed, depending on whether they are first learning a skill or simply wishing to reinforce and improve their technique. Like Muhammad Ali, elite athletes learn how to block out images representing doubt. If an image of difficulty pops into their heads, they become extremely adept at changing the internal movie, quickly editing the scene to imagine success.12

Winning depends on how specifically you can mentally rehearse. Seasoned athletes use vivid, highly detailed internal images and run-throughs of the entire performance.13

The most important aspect of the intention is to rehearse the victory, which appears to help secure it. Successful competitors rehearse their own feelings, particularly their elation and emotional response to winning: the reactions of their parents, the medals, the post-match celebration and the residual rewards like sponsorships.14

They imagine that the crowd is cheering for their performance alone.

Experienced athletes engage all their senses in their mental rehearsal. They not only have a visual, internal image of the future event, they also hear it, feel it, smell it and taste it – the ambience, the competitors, the sweat of their bodies, the applause.

Of all the sensations, the most vital for athletes appears to be mentally rehearsing the ‘feel’, or kinaesthetic sensations in their bodies.15

The more experienced the athletes, the better they are at imagining the feel of their bodies when engaged in their sport.16

Champion rowers are most successful when they can forecast the ‘feel’ of every part of the race, from the drag on the oar to the strain on their muscles.17

Some athletes find that it helps to study the actual setting where the sporting event is to take place first and then to imagine themselves there. Those who can combine the knowledge of the sports venue with mental rehearsal tend to be more successful than those who simply use mental rehearsal on its own.18

Rocky Bleier, former running back for the Pittsburgh Steelers, used intention to help the Steelers win the Super Bowl. His technique was to saturate his mind wit the details of specific plays. He carried out mental rehearsals in the morning, before the team meal and last thing before drifting off to sleep every day of the two weeks before a game.

He also found it reassuring to run through the entire catalogue of moves one final time just before play. While sitting on the bench, he again rehearsed some 30 runs and 30 passes. No matter what the field threw up to him that day, he was determined to be ready.19

Techniques differ among the various sports. Those mental rehearsals that work best for sports requiring aerobic ability and fast, coordinated movement tended to fail with strength training. Weight lifters are most successful after carrying out a mental intention that galvanizes them to lift an impossibly heavy object.20

Conventional wisdom has it that the best state for performance is a state of relaxation, but as I found with masters of intention, a relaxed state is not necessarily optimum. In a study of karate, using relaxation techniques before carrying out the intentions did not improve performance.21

It was only useful if the participant was nervous and needed to be calmed down in order to perform better.22

Relaxation and hypnosis used with intention have worked to improve aim – say, for basketball shots or accuracy in chipping in golf.23

But as with Davidson’s Buddhists, the most successful athletes manage to work themselves into peak intensity – a state of calm hyperawareness.

But how can simply thinking about a future performance actually affect the day of the event? Some clues come from intriguing brain research with electromyography (EMG). EMG offers a real-time snapshot of the brain’s instructions to the body when and where it tells it to move – by recording every electrical impulse sent from motor neurons to specific muscles to cause a contraction. Ordinarily, EMG offers doctors a useful tool to diagnose neuromuscular disease and to test whether muscles respond appropriately to stimulation.

But EMG has also been employed to solve an interesting scientific conundrum whether the brain differentiates between a thought and an action. Does the thought of an action create the same pattern in neurotransmission as the action itself? This very question was tested by wiring a group of skiers to EMG equipment while they were carrying out mental rehearsals.

As the skiers mentally rehearsed the downhill runs, the electrical impulses heading to their muscles were just the same as those they used to make turns and jumps actually skiing the run.24 The brain sent the same instructions to the body, whether the skiers were simply thinking of a particular movement or actually carrying it out. Thought produced the same mental instructions as action.

Research with EEGs has shown that the electrical activity produced by the brain is identical, whether we are thinking about doing something or actually doing it. In weightlifters, for instance, EEG patterns in the brain that would be activated to produce the actual motor skills are activated while the skill is simply being simulated mentally.25 Just the thought is enough to produce the neural instructions to carry out the physical act.

Based on this research, scientists have posited some interesting theories of how mental rehearsal works. One school of thought proposes that mental rehearsal creates the neural patterns necessary for the real thing. As though the brain were simply another muscle, these rehearsals train the brain to facilitate the moves more easily during the actual performance.26

When an athlete performs, the nerves that signal to the muscles along a particular pathway are stimulated and the chemicals that have been produced remain there for a short period. Any future stimulation along the same pathways is made easier by the residual effects of the earlier connections. We get better at physical tasks because our signalling from intention to action has already been forged. It is not unlike a train track laid down through wild, inhospitable country. Future performances improve because your brain already knows the route and follows the track already laid down. Because the brain does not distinguish between doing something specific and just thinking about doing it, mental rehearsal lays down the tracks just as well as physical practice does. The nerves and muscles create a pathway just as sound as one produced through repeated practice.

Nevertheless, there are a few important differences between mental and physical practice. With physical practice, when you practise too much, you become fatigued, which causes electrical interference and blockage along the tracks. With mental intention, no road blocks ever appear, no matter how much you practise in your head.

The other difference concerns the size of the effect; the neuromuscular pattern laid down with mental practice may be slightly smaller than that of physical practice. Although both types of practice create the same muscle patterns, the imagined performances have smaller magnitude.27

To derive any benefit, mental rehearsal must replicate the real thing – at normal speed. Although it might seem logical that a rehearsal would work best in slow motion, with particular attention to specific moves, that is not borne out by research.

When skiers monitored by EMGs imagined their performance in slow motion, they produced a different muscle response pattern from that produced when carrying out the skill at an ordinary pace. In fact, the brain–muscle activity of rehearsing at slow motion is identical to the brain–muscle pattern when the skiing itself is carried out in slow motion.

This accords with what scientists understand about the neural patterns involved in slow motion, compared with those of normal speed. The same task carried out in slow motion produces completely different neuromuscular patterning than when it is done at normal speed.28

There is no such thing as cross-training in mental rehearsal; intention facilitates just the type of athletic event that is being mentally rehearsed and is not transferable to other sports, even those involving similar muscle groups.

This was apparent in a fascinating study involving sprinters. The researchers had divided a group of runners into four groups and asked them to do one of four types of preparation: to imagine themselves in a 40-metre sprint; to engage in power training on a stationary bicycle; to combine imagery and power training; or, as the controls, to do no training in any form.

After six weeks of training the athletes were asked to perform two tests – to cycle their hardest while their effort was recorded on a cycle ergometer, which tests for cycling power, and to run a 40-metre sprint. Both activities require much the same motor ability and leg muscles.

In the cycling test, those groups who had used power training alone showed improvement. However, when it came to the sprint, only the groups who had mentally practised sprinting had significantly improved. Specific imagery enhanced only the specific task that had been imagined. It did not simply build muscles generally. The motor neuron training was highly specific, and only affected the actual performance visualized in the mind.29

Beside improving performance, mental intention can produce actual physiological changes, and not only in athletes’ bodies. Guang Yue, an exercise psychologist at Cleveland Clinic Foundation in Ohio, carried out research comparing participants who went to the gym with those who carried out a virtual workout in their heads.

Those who regularly visited the gym were able to increase their muscle strength by 30 per cent. But even those who remained in their armchairs and ran through a mental rehearsal of the weight training in their minds increased muscle power by almost half as much.

Volunteers between 20 and 35 years old imagined flexing one of their biceps as hard as they could during daily training sessions carried out five times a week. After ensuring that the participants were not doing any actual exercise, including tensing their muscles, the researchers discovered an astonishing 13.5 per cent increase in muscle size and strength after just a few weeks, an advantage that remained for three months after the mental training stopped.30

In 1997, Dr David Smith at Chester College came up with similar results participants who worked out could achieve 30 per cent increases in strength, while those who just imagined themselves doing the training achieved a 16 per cent increase.31

Pure directed thought can give you the burn almost as well as any workout.

Thinking of changing an aspect of the body in other ways can also work – which might prove comforting to anyone who is not happy with his or her body shape.

One study demonstrated that, under hypnosis, women increased the dimensions of their breasts simply by visualizing themselves on the beach with the sun’s rays warming their chests.32

The kinds of vivid visualization techniques used by athletes are also highly effective in treating illness. Patients have boosted treatment of an array of acute and chronic conditions, from coronary artery disease33 and high blood pressure to low- back pain and musculoskeletal diseases,34 including fibromyalgia,35 by using mental pictures or metaphoric representations of their bodies fighting the illness. Visualization has also improved postsurgical outcomes,36 helped with pain management37 and minimized the side-effects of chemotherapy.38

Indeed, the outcome of a patient’s illness has been predicted by examining the types of visualizations used to combat them. Psychologist Jeanne Achterberg, who healed herself of a rare cancer of the eye through imagery, went on to study a group of cancer patients who were using visualization to fight their own disease. She predicted with 93 per cent accuracy which patients would completely recover and which would get worse or die, simply by examining their visualizations and rating them. Those who were successful had a greater ability to visualize vividly, with powerful imagery and symbols, and could hold a clear visual intention imagining themselves overpowering the cancer and the medical treatment being effective. The successful patients also practiced their visualizations regularly.39

If the brain cannot distinguish between a thought and an action, would the body follow mental instructions of any sort? If I send my body a mental intention to calm down or speed up, will it necessarily listen to me?

Literature about biofeedback and mind–body medicine indicates that it will. In 1961, Neal Miller, a behavioural neuroscientist at Yale University, first proposed that people can be taught to mentally influence their autonomic nervous system and control mechanisms such as blood pressure and bowel movements, much as a child learns to ride a bicycle.

He conducted a series of remarkable conditioning-and-reward experiments on rats. Miller discovered that, if he stimulated the pleasure centre in the brain, his rats could be trained to decrease their heart rate at will, control the rate at which urine filled their kidneys, even create different dilations in the blood vessels of each ear.40 If relatively simple animals like rats could achieve this remarkable level of internal control, Miller figured, couldn’t human beings, with their greater intelligence, regulate more bodily processes?

After these early revelations, many scientists found that information about the autonomic nervous system could be fed back to a person as ‘biofeedback’ to pinpoint where a person should send intention to his body. In the 1960s, John Basmajian, a professor of medicine at McMaster University in Ontario and a specialist i rehabilitative science, began training people with spinal-cord injuries to use EMG feedback to regain control over single cells in their spinal cords.41

At roughly the same time, psychologist Elmer Green at the Menninger Institute pioneered a method of biofeedback to treat migraine, after discovering that a migraine patient of his could make her headaches go away whenever she practiced a structured form of relaxation. Green went on to use biofeedback to help patients cure their own migraines, and it is now an accepted form of therapy.42

Biofeedback is particularly useful to treat Raynaud’s disease, a vascular condition in which blood vessels are constricted when exposed to cold, causing extremities to grow cold, pale, and even blue.43

During a biofeedback treatment, a patient is hooked up to a computer. Transducers applied to different parts of his or her body send information to a visual display, which registers activities of the autonomic nervous system, such as brain waves, blood pressure and heart rate, or muscle contractions.

The audio or visual information fed back to the patient depends on the condition; in the case of Raynaud’s, as soon as the arteries to the hands constrict, the machines record a drop in skin temperature, a light bulb flashes or a beeper sounds. The feedback prompts the patient to send an intention to his body to adjust the process in question – in the case of Raynaud’s, the patient sends an intention to warm up his hands.

Since those early days, biofeedback has become well established as a therapy for virtually every chronic condition, from attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) to menopausal hot flushes. Stroke patients and victims of spinal-cor injuries now use biofeedback to rehabilitate or regain the use of paralysed muscles. It has proved invaluable in eliminating the pain felt in a phantom limb.44 Astronauts have even used biofeedback to cure motion sickness while journeying to outer space.45

The more conventional view of biofeedback maintains that it has something to do with relaxation – learning to calm down the fight-or-flight responses of our autonomic nervous systems. However, the sheer breadth of control would argue that the mechanism has more to do with the power of intention. Virtually every bodily process measurable on a machine – even a single nerve cell controlling a muscle fibre – appears to be within an individual’s control. Volunteers in studies have achieved total mental mastery over the temperature in their bodies,46 or even the direction of blood flow to the brain.47

Like biofeedback, Autogenic Training, the technique developed by a German psychiatrist named Johannes Schultz to relax the body and slow the breathing and heart rate, also demonstrates that a wide variety of the body’s functions are under our conscious control. Those who practise the technique are able to lower blood pressure, raise temperature in extremities, and slow heartbeat and breathing. Autogenic Training has also been used to treat many chronic conditions besides stress, such as asthma, gastritis and ulcers, high blood pressure and thyroid problems.48 There is even evidence that Autogenic Training can work effectively in groups.49

For a cat, nirvana is the food bowl just around the corner.

Dr Jaak Panksepp professor emeritus of psychology at Bowling Green University, theorizes that this anticipatory joy has to do with the ‘seeking’ mode of the brain – one of the five primitive emotions that humans share with members of the animal kingdom.50

The seeking system helps animals investigate and work out the meaning of their environment. The seeking circuits are fully engaged when an animal is involved in high anticipation, intense interest or insatiable curiosity. As Panksepp was astonished to discover, the most emotionally arresting part for any animal is the hunt, not the catch.51

When animals are curious, the hypothalamus lights up and the ‘feel-good’ neurotransmitter dopamine is produced. Scientists used to believe that the chemical itself caused the pleasure, until it was discovered that the chemical’s true purpose is to arouse a certain neural pathway. What actually feels good is the activation of the seeking portion of the brain.

Forty years ago, Barry Sterman, professor emeritus of the departments o Neurobiology and Biobehavioral Psychiatry at UCLA, accidentally discovered that this anticipatory emotion sent cats into a meditative state; their brains slowed to an EEG rhythm of 8–13 hertz, corresponding to human alpha brain frequencies, moments before they got their reward.52

Eventually, he was able to get the cats to re-create this state at will, not simply when they were awaiting food. It was tantamount to the animals being able to control their own brain waves.

But could a human being do the same?

To test this, Sterman needed to test someone whose brain waves were so out of the ordinary that any change would be apparent immediately. He located a woman troubled by periodic epileptic seizures, which are caused by the brain firing theta brain waves at inappropriate moments. Sterman constructed a biofeedback EEG machine that would flash a red light in the presence of a theta wave and a green light during an alpha state.

After a while, his patient was able to change her state at will and reduce the amount and intensity of her epileptic fits. Sterman spent the next 10 years of his life studying epileptics and training them to reduce their own fits.53

In the 1980s, two American psychologists, Eugene Peniston and Paul Kulkosky made use of Sterman’s findings to reform alcoholics. With their brain-wave biofeedback, alcoholic patients concentrated on damping down high beta brain waves, which tend to be predominant during moments of craving and dependency, and increasing the alpha and theta wave frequencies, which help one to relax and establish greater brain-wave coherence.

Some 80 per cent of the alcoholics were able to control their cravings and stay off alcohol. The training also seemed to affect their blood chemistry, increasing their levels of beta-endorphin, another ‘feel-good’ brain chemical. Biofeedback, combined with work on their self-image, eventually eliminated much of their dysfunctional behaviour and transformed them into better people.54

Joe Kamiya, a psychologist at the University of Chicago, demonstrated the amazing specificity of brain-wave biofeedback through some remarkable brain research. He attached EEG electrodes to the rear sides of the scalps of several volunteers, over the portion of the brain where alpha brain waves are most prominent. At the sound of a tone, his participants had to guess whether their brains waves were predominantly alpha. After comparing their answers with the information recorded on the EEG machines, Kamiya let them know whether the were right or wrong. By the second day, one of his participants was able to guess correctly two-thirds of the time, and two days after that, virtually all the time. A second participant discovered a means of putting himself into a particular brain- wave state on cue.55

EEG biofeedback has now developed into a sophisticated means of controlling the range and type of frequencies emitted by the brain. It works particularly well with trauma patients suffering from depression,56 helps students concentrate, and enhances creativity and focus. It may well be that intention can be used to control the brain, brain wave by brain wave.

Hypnosis is also a type of intention – an instruction to the brain during an altered state. Hypnotists continually demonstrate that the brain or body is susceptible to the power of directed thought.

One dramatic example of the power of mental suggestion concerned a small group of people with a mysterious congenital illness called ichthyosiform erythroderma, known disparagingly as fish-skin disease because unsightly fish-like scales cover most of the body. In one study, five patients were hypnotized and told to focus on a part of their body and visualize the skin becoming normal. Within just a few weeks, 80 per cent of each patient’s body had completely healed. The skin remained smooth and clear.57

Through hypnotic intention, spinal-surgery patients about to undergo their operations have reduced blood loss by nearly half, simply by directing their blood supply away from the site of the surgery.58

Pregnant women have been able to turn their babies from breech positions, burn victims have sped up their healing; and people suffering haemorrhages in the gastrointestinal tract have willed their bleeding to stop.59

Clearly, during an altered state, roughly corresponding to the hyperalert state of intense meditation, conscious thought can convince the body to endure pain, cure many serious diseases and change virtually any condition.

Surgeon Dr Angel Escudero of Valencia, Spain, has carried out more than 900 cases of complex surgery without anaesthesia. BBC cameras were invited into his operating room and captured on film a woman who was having such an operation without anaesthetic. All she had to do was keep her mouth full of saliva and keep repeating to herself, ‘My leg is anaesthetized.’ An affirmation like hers is another form of intention. A dry mouth is one of the mind’s first warning signals of danger. When the mouth is kept lubricated, the brain relaxes, assumes all is well, and turns off its pain receptors, assured that anaesthetics had been given.60

A fascinating study by David Spiegel, a professor of psychiatry and behavioural sciences at Stanford University, offers a glimpse of what happens to the brain when an intention is given under hypnosis.

His participants were shown a coloured grid painting, similar to a Mondrian, and were asked to imagine the colour draining from the picture, leaving only black and white. Through the use of positron emission tomography (PET) scans, which record physical activity in the brain, Spiegel showed that blood flow and activity were noticeably diminishing in the part of the brain dealing with the perception of colour, while the areas that process black, white and grey images were being stimulated.

When the experiment was reversed, and the participants in the study were asked to imagine grey images turning into colour, the opposite changes in brain-perception patterns resulted.61

This illustrated another instance in which the brain was the maidservant of thoughts. The brain’s visual cortex, the area responsible for processing images, could not distinguish between a real image and an imagined one. The mental instructions were more important than the actual visual image.

The placebo effect has shown that beliefs are powerful, even when the belief is false. The placebo is a form of intention – an instance of intention trickery. When a doctor gives a patient a placebo, or sugar pill, he or she is counting on the patient’s belief that the drug will work.

It is well documented that belief in a placebo will create the same physiological effects as that of an active agent – so much so that it causes the pharmaceutical industry enormous difficulty when designing drug trials. So many patients receive the same relief and even the same side effects with a placebo as with the drug itself that a placebo is not a true control.

Our bodies do not distinguish between a chemical process and the thought of a chemical process. Indeed, a recent analysis of 46,000 heart patients, half of whom were taking a placebo, made the astonishing discovery that patients taking a placebo fared as well as those on the heart drug. The only factor determining survival seemed to be belief that the therapy will work and a willingness to follow it religiously.

Those who stuck to doctor’s orders to take their drug three times a day fared equally well whether they were taking a drug or just a sugar pill. Patients who tended not to survive were those who had been lax with their regime, regardless of whether they had been given a placebo or an actual drug.62

The power of the placebo was best illustrated by a group of patients treated for Parkinson’s disease, a motor system disorder in which the body’s system for releasing the brain chemical dopamine is faulty. The standard treatment for Parkinson’s is a synthetic form of dopamine.

In a study at the University of British Columbia, a team of doctors demonstrated with PET scanning that, when patients given placebos were told they had received dopamine, their brains substantially increased the release of their own stores of the chemical.63

In another dramatic instance, at Methodist Hospital in Houston, Dr Bruce Moseley, a specialist in orthopaedics, recruited 150 patients with severe osteoarthritis of the knee and divided them into three groups. Two-thirds were either given arthroscopic lavage (which washes out degenerative tissue and debris with the aid of a little viewing tube) or another form of debridement (which sucks it out with a tiny vacuum cleaner).

The third group were given a sham operation: the patients were surgically prepared, placed under anaesthesia and wheeled into the operating room. Incisions were made in their knees, but no procedure carried out.

Over the next two years, during which time none of the patients knew who had received the real operations and who had received the placebo treatment, all three groups reported moderate improvements in pain and function. In fact, the placebo group reported better results than some who had received the actual operation.64 The mental expectation of healing was enough to marshal the body’s healing mechanisms. The intention, brought about by the expectation of a successful operation, produced the physical change.

Extreme instances of intention and expectation can also manifest physically. The phenomenon of stigmata, in which religious fervour produces blood, bruising or wounds on people’s hands, feet and sides that mirror the wounds of Christ during his crucifixion, are a form of intention.

The Association for the Scientific Study o Anomalous Phenomena has recorded at least 350 such instances of stigmata resulting from identification with Christ. Saybrook University psychologist Stanley Krippne and his colleagues witnessed this first hand with Brazilian sensitive Amyr Amiden.

As soon as their talk turned to Jesus Christ, red spots and drops of blood appeared on the backs of each of Amiden’s hands and on his palms and forehead.65 A similar situation occurred during the three weeks before Easter Sunday with a young African- American Baptist girl, who had been profoundly moved by a television movie about the crucifixion and was preoccupied with Christ’s suffering.

She manifested bleeding on the palm of her left hand two to six times a day.66 Krippner knew of three Anglicans who regularly evidenced stigmata.67

Cases of spontaneous cures are an instance of an extreme intention that reverses almost certain death. A person with what is considered a terminal illness defies the textbook description of his disease progression and the prognoses of his doctors and beats it virtually overnight, without the aid of the tools of modern medicine.

The Institute of Noetic Sciences has gathered together all scientifically recorded cases of so-called miracle cures.68 Although the received wisdom is that these cases are rare, a scan of the medical literature is instructive. One in eight skin cancers spontaneously heal, as do nearly one in five of genitourinary cancers.

Virtually all types of illnesses, including diabetes, Addison’s disease and atherosclerosis, where vital organs or body parts are supposedly irretrievably damaged, have spontaneously healed.69 A small body of research concerns terminal cancer patients, who with little or no medical intervention, end up beating the odds.

Although these cases are labelled instances of ‘spontaneous remission’, as though the illness has suddenly decided to go into hiding but might suddenly spring out at any moment, in many instances they represent another example of the body’s ability to self-correct through the power of intention. Case after case of spontaneous remission describes people up against a major road block in their lives: unremitting stress, unresolved trauma, prolonged hostility, marked isolation, profound dissatisfaction or quiet despair.70 They often describe people who have lost their role as the central protagonist in their own life drama.71

Many cases of spontaneous remission seem to occur after someone makes a massive psychological shift, and recreates a life that is engaging and purposeful. In these instances, the patient gets rid of the source of the psychological heartache72 and takes full responsibility for his illness and treatment.73

Some people, this would suggest, get ill because they lose all hope of life ever being good – because they are thinking the wrong thoughts. These cases of spontaneous remission suggested to me that casual thoughts that run through our minds every day together become our life’s intention.

We can use intention to gain control over virtually any bodily process and perhaps even life-threatening illnesses. But can our thoughts about others be as potent as our thoughts about ourselves?

Psychologist William Braud is one of the few scientists who has examined this question. He gathered a group of volunteers and asked them to carry out biofeedback on themselves.

After pairing off the group, he attached one member of each pair to the biofeedback equipment, but asked the other partner to respond to the readings and carry out the sending of mental instructions. According to Braud’s evidence, the results were equivalent to those that occurred when the patients on the equipment used biofeedback on themselves. Somebody else’s good intentions for you may be as powerful as your own.74

Braud’s other studies also suggested that we can most influence others to become more ‘ordered’ when we ourselves are ordered. For instance, in his studies, calm people were the most successful at sending mental influence to calm down highly nervous people, and focused people the best at helping distracted people focus.75

Braud’s work also suggests that the greatest effects occur when the person most needs help.76

Scientific evidence also reveals that we can affect virtually any other living thing as well. The enormous body of research on healing gathered by Dr Daniel Benor shows that thoughts can have powerful effects on a variety of plants, seeds, single-celled organisms such as bacteria and yeast, and insects and other small animals.77

Most recently, a series of double-blind experiments carried out over two years by Dr Serena Roney-Dougal in Somerset showed that lettuce seeds that wer sent intention yielded 10 per cent more crops with significantly less fungal disease than those grown conventionally.78

The evidence convinced me that we can improve our health, enhance our performance in every area of our lives, and possibly even affect the future by consciously using intention. The intention should be a highly specific aim or goal, which you should visualize in your mind’s eye as having already occurred while you are in a state of concentrated focus and hyperawareness. When you imagine this future event, hold a mental picture of it as if it were occurring to you at that moment. Engage all five senses to visualize it in detail. The centrepiece of this mental picture should be the moment you achieve the goal.

A doctor might improve the survival rate of his patients by never giving a negative diagnosis.79 A surgeon could improve his patients’ recovery by mentally rehearsing the surgery before heading into the operating theatre. Indeed, we might no longer need drugs, but simply good intentions.

Since intention has been shown to affect the chemistry in our bodies, we should be able to speed up, slow down or improve any physiological processes. We might develop many more breakthrough medicines by mentally targeting their effectiveness and minimizing their side effects.

We could raise the quality of our daily endeavours just by carrying out a detailed mental rehearsal. At home, we might be able to send intentions to our children to perform better at school or be more loving to their friends. Human intention might be powerful enough to affect every element of our lives.

All of these possibilities suggest that we have an awesome level of responsibility when generating our thoughts. Each of us is a potential Frankenstein, with an extraordinary power to affect the living world around us. How many of us, after all, are sending out mostly positive thoughts?

Notes – Chapter 9: Mental Blueprints

All description of Ali’s fighting techniques from N. Mailer, The Fight, London and New York: Penguin, 2000.
Ibid.
A. Richardson, ‘Mental practice: A review and discussion, Part I’, Research Quarterly, 1967; 38: 95–107; A. Richardson, ‘Mental practice: A review and discussion. Part II’, Research Quarterly, 1967; 38: 264–73
A. Paivio, Mental Representations: A Dual Coding Approach, New York and London: Oxford University Press, 1986.
B. S. Rushall and L. G. Lippman, ‘The role of imagery in physica performance’, International Journal for Sport Psychology, 1997; 29: 57–72.
A. Paivio, ‘Cognitive and motivational functions of imagery in human performance’, Canadian Journal of Applied Sport Sciences, 1985; 10 (4): 22S–28S.
K. E. Hinshaw, ‘The effects of mental practice on motor skill performance: Critical evaluation and meta-analysis’, Imagination, Cognition and Personality, 1991–2; 11: 3–35.
J. A. Swets and R. A. Bjork, ‘Enhancing human performance: An evaluationof “New Age” techniques considered by the U. S. Army’, Psychological Science, 1990; 1: 85–96; D. L. Feltz et al., ‘A revised meta-analysis of the mental practice literature on motor skill learning’, in D. Druckman and J. A Swets (eds.), Enhancing Human Performance: Issues, Theories, and Techniques, Washington, DC: National Academy Press, 1988: 274.
R. J. Rotella et al., ‘Cognitions and coping strategies of elite skiers: a exploratory study of young developing athletes’, Journal of Sport Psychology, 1980; 2: 350–4.
R. S. Burhans et al., ‘Mental imagery training: effects on running speed performance’, International Journal of Sport Psychology, 1988; 19: 26–37.
B. S. Rushall, ‘Covert modeling as a procedure for altering an elite athlete’s psychological state’, Sport Psychologist, 1988; 2: 131–40; B. S. Rushall ‘The restoration of performance capacity by cognitive restructuring and covert positive reinforcement in an elite athlete’, in J. R. Cautela and A. J Kearney (eds.), Covert Conditioning Casebook. Boston, Mass.: Thomson Brooks/Cole, 1993.
M. Denis, ‘Visual imagery and the use of mental practice in the development of motor skills’, Canadian Journal of Applied Sport Sciences, 1985; 10: 4S– 16S.
Paivio, ‘Cognitive and motivational functions of imagery’, op. cit.
J. R. Cautela and A. J. Kearney (eds.),Covert Conditioning Casebook. Boston, Mass.: Thomson Brooks/Cole, 1993: 30–1.
B. Mumford and C. Hall, ‘The effects of internal and external imagery o performing figures in figure skating’, Canadian Journal of Applied Spor Sciences, 1985; 10: 171–7.
K. Barr and C. Hall, ‘The use of imagery by rowers’,International Journal of Sport Psychology, 1992; 23: 243–61.
S. C. Minas, ‘Mental practice of a complex perceptual-motor skill’,Journal of Human Movement Studies, 1978; 4: 102–7.
R. Bleier, Fighting Back, New York: Stein and Day, 1975.
R. L. Wilkes and J. J. Summers, ‘Cognitions, mediating variables an strength performance’, Journal of Sport Psychology, 1984; 6: 351–9.
R. S. Weinberg et al., ‘Effects of visuo-motor behavior rehearsal, relaxation, and imagery on karate performance’, Journal of Sport Psychology, 1981; 3: 228–38.
Cautela and Kearney, Covert Conditioning, op. cit.
J. Pates et al., ‘The effects of hypnosis on flow states and three-poin shooting in basketball players’, The Sport Psychologist, 2002; 16: 34–47; J. Pates and I. Maynard, ‘Effects of hypnosis on flow states and gol performance’, Perceptual and Motor Skills, 2000; 9: 1057–75.
R. M. Suinn, ‘Imagery rehearsal applications to performance enhancement’ The Behavior Therapist, 1985; 8: 155–9.
L. Baroga, ‘Influence on the sporting result of the concentration of attention process and time taken in the case of weight lifters’, in Proceedings of the 3rd World Congress of the International Society of Sports Psychology, Volume 3. Madrid, Spain: Instituto Nacional de Educacion Fisica Y Deportes, 1973.
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Ibid.
Rushall and Lippman, ‘The role of imagery in physical performance’, op cit.
G. H. Van Gyn et al., ‘Imagery as a method of enhancing transfer from training to performance’, Journal of Sport and Exercise Science, 1990; 12: 366–75.
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D. Smith et al., ‘The effect of mental practice on muscle strength and EMG activity’, Proceedings of British Psychological Society annual conference, 1998; 6 (2): 116.
T. X. Barber, ‘Changing “unchangeable” bodily processes by (hypnotic) suggestions: A new look at hypnosis, cognitions, imagining and the mind- body problem’, in A. A. Sheikh (ed.), Imagination and Healing, Farmingdale, NY: Baywood Publishing Co., 1984. Also published in Advances, Spring 1984.
F. M. Luskin et al., ‘A review of mind-body therapies in the treatment of cardiovascular disease, Part 1: Implications for the elderly’, Alternative Therapies in Health and Medicine, 1998; 4 (3): 46–61.
F. M. Luskin et al., ‘A review of mind/body therapies in the treatment of musculoskeletal disorders with implications for the elderly’, Alternative Therapies in Health and Medicine. 2000; 6 (2): 46–56.
V. A. Hadhazy et al., ‘Mind-body therapies for the treatment of fibromyalgia. A systematic review’, Journal of Rheumatology, 2000; 27 (12): 2911–18.
J. A. Astin et al., ‘Mind-body medicine: State of the science: Implications for practice’, Journal of the American Board of Family Practitioners, 2003; 16 (2): 131–47.
J. A. Astin, ‘Mind-body therapies for the management of pain’, Clinical Journal of Pain, 2004; 20 (1): 27–32.
L. S. Eller, ‘Guided imagery interventions for symptom management’ Annual Review of Nursing Research, 1999; 17, 57–84.
J. Achterberg and G. F. Lawlis, Bridges of the Bodymind: Behavioral Approaches for Health Care, Champaign, Ill.: Institute for Personality and Ability Testing, 1980.
N. E. Miller and L. DiCara, ‘Instrumental learning of heart rate changes i curarized rats: Shaping and specificity to discriminative stimulus’, Journal of Comparative and Physiological Psychology, 1967; 63: 12–19; N. E. Miller, ‘Learning of visceral and glandular responses’, Science, 1969; 163: 434–45.
J. V. Basmajian, Muscles Alive: Their Functions Revealed b Electromyography. Baltimore, Md.: Williams and Wilkins, 1967.
E. Green, ‘Feedback technique for deep relaxation’, Psychophysiology, 1969; 6 (3): 371–7; E. Green et al., ‘Self-regulation of internal states’, in J Rose (ed.), Progress of Cybernetics: Proceedings of the First International Congress of Cybernetics, London, September 1969. London: Gordon and Breach Science Publishers, 1970: 1299–318; E. Green et al., ‘Voluntary control of internal states: Psychological and physiological’, Journal of Transpersonal Psychology, 1970; 2: 1–26; D. Satinsky, ‘Biofeedback treatment for headache: A two-year follow-up study’, American Journal of Clinical Biofeedback, 1981; 4 (1): 62–5; B. V. Silver et al., ‘Temperature biofeedback and relaxation training in the treatment of migraine headaches: One-year follow-up’, Biofeedback and Self Regulation, 1979; 4 (4): 359–66.
B. M. Kappes, ‘Sequence effects of relaxation training, EMG, an temperature biofeedback on anxiety, symptom report, and self-concept’, Journal of Clinical Psychology, 1983; 39 (2): 203–8; G. Rose et al., ‘The behavioral treatment of Raynaud’s disease: A review’, Biofeedback and Self Regulation, 1987; 12 (4): 257–72.
W. T. Tsushima, ‘Treatment of phantom limb pain with EMG and temperature biofeedback: A case study’, American Journal of Clinical Biofeedback, 1982; 5 (2): 150–3.
T. G. Dobie, ‘A comparison of two methods of training resistance to visually-induced motion sickness.’ Paper presented at VII International Ma in Space Symposium: Physiologic adaptation of man in space, Houston Texas, 1986. Aviation, Space, and Environmental Medicine, 1987; 58 (9) Sect. 2: 34–41.
A. Ikemi et al., ‘Thermographical analysis of the warmth of the hands during the practice of self-regulation method’, Psychotherapy and Psychosomatics, 1988; 50 (1): 22–8.
J. L. Claghorn, ‘Directional effects of skin temperature self-regulation o regional cerebral blood flow in normal subjects and migraine patients’, American Journal of Psychiatry, 1981; 138 (9): 1182–7.
M. Davis et al., The Relaxation and Stress Reduction Workbook, 5th edn, Oakland, Calif.: New Harbinge, 2000: 83–90.
J. K. Lashley et al., ‘An empirical account of temperature biofeedbac applied in groups’, Psychological Reports, 1987; 60 (2): 379–88; S. Fahrion et al., ‘Biobehavioral treatment of essential hypertension: A group outcome study’, Biofeedback and Self Regulation, 1986; 11 (4): 257–77.
J. Panksepp, ‘The anatomy of emotions’, in R. Plutchik (ed.),Emotion: Theory, Research and Experience Vol. III. Biological Foundations o Emotions, New York: Academic Press, 1986: 91–124.
J. Panksepp, ‘The neurobiology of emotions: Of animal brains and huma feelings’, in T. Manstead and H. Wagner (eds.), Handbook of Psychophysiology, Chichester: John Wiley & Sons, 1989: 5–26.
C. D. Clemente et al., ‘Postreinforcement EEG synchronization durin alimentary behavior’, Electroencephalography and Clinical Neurophysiology, 1964; 16: 335–65; M. H. Chase et al., ‘Afferent vaga stimulation: Neurographic correlates of induced EEG synchronization and desynchronization’, Brain Research, 1967; 5: 236–49.
M. B. Sterman, ‘Neurophysiological and clinical studies of sensorimoto EEG biofeedback training: Some effects on epilepsy’,Seminars in Psychiatry, 1973; 5 (4): 507–25; M. B. Sterman, ‘Neurophysiological and clinical studies of sensorimotor EEG biofeedback training: Some effects on epilepsy’, in L. Birk (ed.), Biofeedback: Behavioral Medicine. New York: Grune and Stratton, 1973: 147–65; M. B. Sterman, ‘Epilepsy and its treatment with EEG feedback therapy’, Annals of Behavioral Medicine, 1986; 8: 21–5; M. B. Sterman, ‘The challenge of EEG biofeedback in the treatment o epilepsy: A view from the trenches’, Biofeedback, 1997; 25 (1): 6–7; M. B. Sterman, ‘Basic concepts and clinical findings in the treatment of seizure disorders with EEG operant conditioning’, Clinical Electroencephalography, 2000; 31 (1): 45–55.
E. Peniston and P. J. Kulkosky, ‘Alpha-theta brainwave training and beta- endorphin levels in alcoholics’, Alcoholism: Clinical and Experimental Research, 1989; 13: 271–9; E. Peniston and P. J. Kulkosky, ‘Alcoholic personality and alpha-theta brainwave training’, Medical Psychotherapy, 1990; 3: 37–55.
J. Kamiya, ‘Operant control of the EEG alpha rhythm’, in C. Tart (ed.) Altered States of Consciousness, New York: John Wiley & Sons, 1969, J. Kamiya, ‘Conscious control of brain waves’, Psychology Today, April 1968: 7.
N. E. Schoenberger et al., ‘Flexyx neurotherapy system in the treatment o traumatic brain injury: An initial evaluation’, Journal of Head Trauma Rehabilitation, 2001; 16 (3): 260–74.
C. B. Kidd, ‘Congenital ichthyosiform erythroderma treated by hypnosis’ British Journal of Dermatology, 1966; 78: 101–5, as cited in Barber, ‘Changing “unchangeable” bodily processes’, op. cit.
H. Bennett, ‘Behavioral anesthesia’, Advances, 1985; 2 (4): 11–21, as reported in H. Dienstfrey, ‘Mind and mindlessness in mind-body research’, in M. Schlitz et al., Consciousness and Healing: Integral Approaches to Mind Body Healing, St Louis, Mo.: Elsevier Churchill Livingstone, 2005: 56.
H. Dienstfrey, ‘Mind and mindlessnes’, op cit.: 51–60.
Dr Angel Escudero was featured on the BBC’sYour Life in Their Hands series, May 1991. In the film, Escudero made incisions, sawed, drilled and hammered in order to break and reset the deformed leg of his fully conscious patient using his ‘Noesitherapy’ technique of pain control.
S. M. Kosslyn et al., ‘Hypnotic visual illusion alters color processing in the br ai n’ , American Journal of Psychiatry, 2000; 157: 1279–84; Mark Henderson, ‘Hypnosis really does turn black into white’, The Times, 18 February 2002.
S. H. Simpson et al., ‘A meta-analysis of the association between adherence to drug therapy and mortality’, British Medical Journal, 2006; 333: 15–19.
Raúl de la Fuente-Fernández et al., ‘Expectation and dopamine release Mechanism of the placebo effect in Parkinson’s disease’, Science, 2001; 293 (5532): 1164–6.
J. B. Moseley et al., ‘A controlled trial of arthroscopic surgery for osteoarthritis of the knee’, New England Journal of Medicine, 2002; 347: 81–8.
S. Krippner, ‘Stigmatic phenomenon: An alleged case in Brazil’, Journal of Scientific Exploration, 2002; 16 (2): 207–24.
L. F. Early and J. E. Kifschutz, ‘A case of stigmata’, Archives of General Psychiatry, 1974; 30: 197–200.
T. Harrison, Stigmatia: A Medieval Mystery in a Modern Age, New York: St Martin’s Press, 1994, as referenced in S. Krippner, ‘Stigmatic phenomenon’, op. cit.
B. O’Regan and Caryle Hirshberg,Spontaneous Remission: An Annotated Bibliography, Petaluma, Calif.: Institute of Noetic Sciences, 1993.
Ibid.
L. L. LeShan and M. L. Gassmann, ‘Some observations on psychotherap with patients with neoplastic disease’, American Journal of Psychotherapy, 1958; 12: 723.
D. C. Ban Baalen et al., ‘Psychosocial correlates of “spontaneous regression of cancer’, Humane Medicine, April 1987.
R. T. D. Oliver, ‘Surveillance as a possible option for management of metastic renal cell carcinoma’, Seminars in Urology, 1989; 7: 149–52.
P. C. Raud, ‘Psychospiritual dimensions of extraordinary survival’, Journal of Humanistic Psychology, 1989; 29: 59–83.
McTaggart, The Field, op. cit.: 132.
W. Braud and M. Schlitz, ‘Psychokinetic influence on electrodermal activity’, Journal of Parapsychology, 1983; 47 (2): 95–119.
Interview with William Braud, October, 1999.
Benor, Healing Research, op. cit.
S. M. Roney-Dougal and J. Solfvin, ‘Field study of an enhancement effect o lettuce seeds – Replication study’, Journal of Parapsychology, 2003; 67 (2): 279–98.
Dr Larry Dossey calls negative diagnoses ‘medical hexing’, and there is anecdotal evidence that patients often live up to their doctor’s gloomy prognosis, even when there is no physical evidence that they should do so. For a potent example see the story of a leukaemia patient who was thriving until he happened to find out what he had. He was dead within a week once his illness had the label of a potentially terminal illness: L. McTaggart, What Doctors Don’t Tell You, London: HarperCollins, 2005: 343.

CHAPTER TEN

The Voodoo Effect

DICK BLASBAND WAS DRAWN TO THE IDEA that there might be a way amplify and direct life energy, like holding up a magnifying glass to focus the rays of the sun.

Blasband, a psychologist, was intrigued by the theories of Wilhelm Reich, the Austrian psychiatrist and one-time protégé of Sigmund Freud, who thought it possible to trap ‘orgone’ – the name he gave to what he believed to be omnipresent cosmic energy – in an orgone energy ‘accumulator’. An accumulator, a box-like enclosure of any size, could be made of alternating layers of any metal and non- metallic materials, such as cotton cloth or felt.

Reich believed that atmospheric energy would be first attracted, then instantly repelled by the metal and eventually absorbed by the non-metallic substance. Because the enclosure was layered, orgone energy would continuously flow between the atmosphere and the box, like a current of air, and so constantly ‘accumulate’. Reich had early encouraging results with animals and plants placed in the boxes, which lay the basis for his later claims that accumulated energy had an immense capacity to heal.

It occurred to Blasband that Reich’s ideas about energy fields were not dissimilar to those of his colleague Fritz-Albert Popp and his work on biophotons Perhaps the best means of testing an accumulator was to measure its effect on the emission of these tiny specks of light from a living thing.

In August 1993, Blasband travelled to Popp’s International Institute, then in Kaiserslautern, Germany. He and Popp created a variety of orgone accumulators then chose a number of plants in Popp’s laboratory – cress seeds, cress seedlings and Acetabularia crenulata, a primitive form of marine algae – to be the experimental population. Popp’s photomultipliers would count the light emissions of all the plants inside and outside the orgone boxes and record any differences.

Blasband carried out four experiments – placing the algae in the accumulator first for one hour, and then continuously for two weeks – with no result. Popp’s equipment recorded not the slightest alteration in the light emissions. Blasband wondered if this was because the plants were already so healthy that the boxes could not improve their state of health. Perhaps he would see a larger change in a subject that needed help or improvement. He and Popp decided to try making the Acetabularia ‘ill’ by depriving it of most of its vitamin supply for 24 hours before treatment. It appeared to make no difference. The plants’ biophotons didn’t change. No amount of exposure to an accumulator of any variety seemed to make one bit of difference to the health or well-being of any of the plants.

Blasband and Popp then decided to test whether a mental intention could boost the action of the accumulators. In his new series of experiments, Blasband sent an intention for the energy within the accumulator to be beneficial to certain seedlings and harmful to others. These results were disappointing, too. There was only one significant difference in the number or quality of biophoton emissions before and after treatment of any of the plants: the only effective intention appeared to be the one he had sent to stunt their growth.1 In both experiments, negative intention was more powerful than positive intention. Thoughts to harm had the greatest effect.

Blasband’s little study highlights perhaps the most disturbing consideration of all about intention: that bad thoughts, as well as good ones, can have an effect on the world, and indeed may be the more powerful of the two. After all, in many native cultures, prayer and intention have a shadow component in hexes, voodoo and curses, which are reported to be highly effective forms of negative intention.

Many healers routinely use a negative means to a positive end.

As Dr Larry Dossey, author of Be Careful What You Pray For …2 has noted, negative intention is the very foundation of most healing. Healing from an infectious agent or a rogue cell line such as cancer requires intent to harm.3 It works from a desire to kill something: to inhibit bacterial enzymes, alter cell membrane permeability, or interfere with the nutrition given to the cell or the synthesis of DNA.4 In order for the patient to get better, the offending agent has to die.

Many pioneers of mind–body medicine in the treatment of cancer, such as Dr Bernie Siegel, Dr Carl Simonton, and Australian psychiatrist Ainslie Meares encouraged their patients to use vivid forms of mental imagery – a metaphoric representation of their illness – to enhance their healing.5 The majority of the cancer patients who first made use of visualization techniques imagined a battlefield, on which good (the patient) is pitted against evil (the cancer), with the cancer patient possessing the larger weapon.

Some patients imagined their white blood cells as an army killing the cancer cells or a ‘tap’ containing the blood that feeds the cancer cells, which they can turn off. Some patients visualized themselves as participating in a violent video game. When Simonton first introduced this technique to his patients in the 1970s, Pac-Man was the most popular video game of the time. He encouraged his patients to imagine a little Pac-Man inside their bodies, gobbling up cancer cells in its path. But whatever the particulars of the imagery, the intention itself needed to be murderous; the patient had to want to annihilate the enemy.

Research on negative mental influence presents a number of obstacles to scientists. One basic problem, as Cleve Backster found in his research, is finding a living thing that no one objects to having killed. Many choose to study the most basic life forms, such as paramecia or fungi, or to experiment with seeds or small plants.6

Another problem is avoiding an unintended ‘spray’ effect: what if a healer’s aim is slightly off one day and the negative intent gets sent to the host instead?

The Canadian healer Olga Worrell refused to carry out negative intention on infectious diseases for exactly that reason. She worried that her negative intent might move beyond the bacteria and accidentally target the person she was trying to heal.7

One of the earliest experiments using negative intention was conducted by Jean Barry, president of the Institut Métapsychique International, who studied bacteria and fungi. As insignificant as these lowly organisms appear, Barry, a general practitioner, understood their pivotal role in maintaining health and causing illness. If it could be shown that intention has the power to eliminate these small organisms, humans might be able to exert greater control over their own health.

Barry decided to test the effect of negative intention on a fungus called Rhizoctonia solani. Rhizoctonia, a thready filament and a distant relative of the common mushroom, is an enemy to 500 types of crops. Farmers call it pod rot or root rot, as it commonly attacks the pods and roots, stunting growth and eventually consuming the plant. No one would object to a means of controlling this garden menace.

Barry set up a batch of experimental Petri dishes and matched them with a set of controls of the identical type of fungus growing in the same conditions. He enlisted ten volunteers and assigned five experimental Petri dishes and five controls to each person. At the appointed time, each volunteer was asked to send intentions to slow the growth of the fungi in the experimental Petri dishes. After the experiment, the lab assistant measured the growth of each sample of Rhizoctonia by outlining its boundary on tracing paper. Of the 195 dishes involved in the negative intention, 151, or 77 per cent, were smaller than the average size of the controls.8

Barry’s study was successfully replicated by researchers from the University of Tennessee, although their study also tested the effect of remote influence; this time, the volunteers sending the intention were 15 miles away from the fungus samples.9

Similar research was conducted by Carroll Nash, the director of the parapsychology department at St Joseph’s University in Philadelphia, but on Escherichia coli, microbes with a direct impact on human beings. Millions of these bacteria, which help to digest food and keep hostile bacteria at bay, peacefully reside in the gut. E. coli also metabolizes lactose, the enzyme present in milk. Yet, as with many microbes, E. coli can suddenly turn unfriendly by migrating out of the digestive tract or mutating into a virulent form that causes illness. Many toxic strains are also present in food. E. coli represented an interesting choice for Nash. If humans could control its growth, they might avoid serious E. coli infections and improve their general digestive health.

Nash decided to test whether mental influence could affect the mutation rates of coli bacteria. Usually, an E. coli population starts life unable to ferment lactose (and so is ‘lactose-negative’), but after it mutates, over numerous generations, the new population can do so (at which point it become ‘lactose-positive’). This process ordinarily occurs at a predictable rate. Nash wanted to see whether his volunteers could slow it down or speed it up. To work out the growth rates of these tiny organisms, Nash employed an electrophotometer, which counts the microbes by measuring the slightest differences in the density of the media in which they are suspended.

Each of his 60 student participants received nine test-tubes containing both lactose-negative and lactose-positive strains of E. coli culture. The students were asked to mentally encourage the transformation of the unmutated bacteria in the first three test-tubes from lactose-negative to lactose-positive. With the next three test- tubes, they were to attempt to inhibit the process of mutation. The final three, the controls, would not be exposed to influence of any kind. When he tallied the results, Nash discovered more mutation than normal in the test-tubes that had received the positive intentions to mutate, and fewer than normal in those for which the intentions were to inhibit the process, although the greatest effect occurred with negative intention.

Nash’s study had an interesting coda: he had not stipulated any particular location where the mental influence had to originate; the volunteers were allowed to send their thoughts from the place of their choosing, whether the lab or elsewhere. When Nash examined the differences in the results according to the place from where the intentions had been sent, an interesting pattern emerged. Those students assigned the task of sending positive intentions had the best success if they sent their thoughts while in the lab; those with negative intentions had the best result if they waited until they had left. The Tennessee researchers who replicated Barry’s study also discovered that negative intention was most effective when it was sent from a remote site. Positive intent appeared to work best in the presence of its object, whereas a negative intent worked best when the object of ill will was not anywhere in the line of sight.10

These early studies revealed several important aspects of intention. Thoughts take aim with great accuracy; although their effects on living things can drastically differ depending on the nature of the intention – whether it is positive or negative. Where we position ourselves when sending out a thought might also have a bearing on our success. Being near the target while sending a positive intention or away from the target when sending a negative intention might magnify its effect.

* * *

The next best experimental subject to a live human being is its cells. If you can prove an effect on an essential component of a living thing, it is likely that the same effect will occur with the entire organism. Dr John Kmetz, a colleague of William Braud’s in San Antonio, Texas, decided to test the effect of negative intention on cancer. Although he could not test his theory on a live human being, he settled for a sample of cervical cancer cells, and enlisted Matthew Manning, a gifted British healer.

Manning sent negative intentions either by touching the beaker of cells or from a distance, inside an electromagnetically shielded room. Kmetz then used special equipment to count how many cancer cells were in the culture medium. Ordinarily, a cancer cell, which has a positive charge, will grasp the side of a plastic beaker, attracted to its negative electrostatic charge. An injury to the cell will cause it to drop off the side and into the culture medium. Kmetz’s equipment demonstrated that Manning had fatally injured the culture.11 Manning’s extraordinary healing ability had been turned on its head; in this study he had become a killing machine.

Practitioners of Qigong openly acknowledge that intention has the power to enhance or destroy – indeed, the Chinese term for sending positive Qi, or life energy, through intention translates into English as ‘peaceful mind’, while sending negative Qi is referred to as ‘destroying mind’.12

A host of studies of Qigong carried out in China have been collated on the Qigong Database®, many of which claim to offer evidence that ‘destroying mind’ can kill human cancer cells or tumours in mice, decrease the growth rate of E. coli and inhibit activity of amylase, a digestive enzyme used to help digest carbohydrates.13 Nonetheless, some Western scientists maintain quiet reservations about the database; few of these studies have been replicated in the West.

One study on plants conducted at the First World Conference of Academic Exchange of Medical Qigong, in Beijing in 1988, examined whether sending Qi could affect the growth of a confederate spiderwort plant by concentrating on its process of replication. A Qi master was asked to damage one of the plant’s self- destruct mechanisms, which would cause the plant to live longer than normal.14 The master had to target his negative intention precisely, so that it would injure only one aspect of the plant while the rest would thrive.

To record any subtle effects on the health of the plant samples during the experiment, any increases or decreases in certain cells after replication, the researchers used a micronuclear method developed at Western Illinois State University. During the study, the Qigong master displayed a remarkable ability to send precise instructions to specific parts of the plant, some of which were damaging, some beneficial.15

A similar study was carried out by researchers at the National Yang Ming Medical College and National Research Institute of Chinese Medicine in Taipei Taiwan. In this instance, the Qigong master alternately sent positive and negative intention to boar sperm cells and human fibroblast cells, which make up the connective tissue of the body.

After 2 minutes of negative intention, the growth rates and protein synthesis of the cells decreased dramatically by 22–53 per cent. When the Qigong master reversed his intention and sent 10 minutes of positive intention, all the activity of the cell increased by 5–28 per cent.16 In another well-controlled study by the Mt Sinai School of Medicine, twoQigong masters were able to inhibit the process involved in the contraction of muscles by as much as 23 per cent.17

These studies raise the obvious question: which is more powerful, a positive or a negative thought? In some studies, the will to harm appears to be the stronger of the two intentions, but that makes sense in a study like Blasband’s, where it is probably far easier to damage a healthy system than to make a healthy system even healthier, or indeed to fix something that is broken, or to order a disordered system.18

Nevertheless, effective intention of any variety is likely to require order and deliberately focused thought. How many negative intentions are sent by someone as ordered as a Qigong master?

Although negative intention appears capable of disrupting the most fundamental biological processes when precisely targeted,19 one study suggests that healing does not necessarily require negative intention. Leonard Laskow, an American gynaecologist and healer, was recruited by American biologist Glen Rein to test the most effective healing strategy for inhibiting the growth of cancer cells. In his own practice, Laskow believed in establishing an emotional connectedness with his subject – even with cancer cells – before sending out healing. Rein prepared five different Petri dishes containing identical numbers of cancer cells and then asked Laskow to send out a different intention while holding each one. Laskow’s first intention was that the natural order be reinstated and the cells’ growth rate return to normal.

With the next Petri dish he was to adopt a Taoist visualization that entails imagining that only three of the cancer cells remained in the Petri dish. For the third dish he was not to have an intention, but simply to ask God to have His will flow through Laskow’s hands. He offered unconditional love to the cancer cells of the fourth dish, which involved meditating on a state of love and compassion, much as Davidson’s Buddhists had done. For the final dish of cancer cells, Laskow carried out his only truly destructive intention, by visualizing the cells dematerializing, either going into the light or the ‘void’. Rein gave Laskow a choice of imagery largely because he was uncertain which visualization would be most effective in obliterating something. Was it more effective to release an entity by offering it an endpoint (the light), or simply to give it a full range of potential (the void)? As a yardstick of Laskow’s effectiveness, Rein would measure the amount of radioactive thymidine absorbed by the cancer cells – an indicator of the growth rate of malignant cells.

Laskow’s various intentions had quite different effects. The most powerful were undirected intentions asking the cells to return to the natural order, which inhibited the cancer cells’ growth by 39 per cent. Acquiescing to God’s will with no specific request was about half as effective, inhibiting the cells by 21 per cent, as was the Taoist visualization. An unconditional acceptance of the way things were had no effect either way, nor did imagining the cells dematerializing. In these two instances, the problem may have been that the thought was simply not focused enough.

In a follow-up study, Rein asked Laskow to limit himself to two possibilities, the Taoist visualization and a request for the cells to return to the natural order. This time, he achieved an identical result with both intentions; the cancer cell growth was inhibited by 20 per cent. The strongest effect of all occurred when he combined the two approaches, mixing an intention to return to the natural order while imagining only three cells left; his rate of cell inhibition doubled, to 40 per cent. Clearly the combination of asking the universe to restore order while imagining a specific outcome exerted a powerful effect. Rein asked Laskow to repeat this combined approach, but to target the medium in which the cancer cells grew, rather than the cells themselves. Laskow achieved the same result as when he had focused directly on the cells themselves.

Finally, Rein instructed Laskow to hold each of his five states of mind in turn while grasping one of five vials of water, which would later be used to make up the tissue-culture medium of the cancer cells. The water treated with the ‘natural-order’ intention again had the greatest effect, inhibiting the growth of the cancer cells by 28 per cent. In this case, water apparently ‘stored’ and transferred the intentions to the culture medium and on to the cancer cells.

Laskow’s approach was instructive. The most effective healing intention had been framed as a request, combined with a highly specific visualization of the outcome, but not necessarily a destructive one.20 With healing, the most effective approach may not be to destroy the source of the illness, but, as with other forms of intention, to move aside, let go of the outcome, and allow a greater intelligence to restore order.

* * *

Most research about negative intention concerns a conscious desire to harm something. I wondered about those moments when negative intention is unconscious. Suppose you don’t like someone and harbor an unconscious ill will towards him? Do you unwittingly send out a negative intention? Or, what about those moments when you explode in anger? Is it possible that your momentary anger causes unintentional harm?

An overenthusiastic cleaner of mine once accidentally stripped off all the chrome on every fixture in our bathrooms. When I discovered the damage, a few hours after she had left our house, I was so overwhelmed with anger that I had to lie down. I had only just finished a five-month long renovation project on our newly purchased family home and had lovingly overseen the entire project, which had cost a good deal of hard-earned savings. I later learned, to my horror, that at about the time I had given voice to my fury, she had fallen off the bus and broken her leg. At another time, I was irrationally overwhelmed with anger at our bank manager, after discovering that our bank, now run by computers, had not recorded a deposit and had bounced several of our cheques. Later, I was horrified to learn that at roughly the moment I had vented my spleen, she had tripped on a pavement and broken most of her front teeth.

I had always felt guilty and curious about both these incidents. Was their misfortune my doing? Was it possible to curse people through your thoughts? I considered the effect of the everyday negative thoughts that swim through everyone’s mind every day. A negative thought about yourself (‘I’m untalented and lazy’) or your children (‘He’s such a slob’; ‘She’s lousy at maths’) might ultimately manifest as a physical energy and become a self-fulfilling prophecy. Indeed, moments when you feel an aversion to someone or something that you cannot rationally explain may simply be an instance when you are picking up a negative intention towards you. Even times when you are depressed could have a physical effect on the people and other living things around you.

Bernard Grad, the Canadian biologist, addressed many of these issues in a study that tested the power of a negative frame of mind on the growth of plants. He planted four groups of 18 pots, each containing 20 barley seeds. Each pot was to be watered with 1 per cent saline solution, slightly stronger than the kind used by hospitals when giving intravenous infusions to patients, which can stunt a plant’s growth. Three batches of the plants were to receive watering with the salt water, but only after the water had been held by one of three people for half an hour. The control batch would be watered with the solution that had not been exposed to anyone.

The first vial was held by a healer with green fingers and a passion for plants. The other two vials were held by two depressed patients – a man diagnosed as a psychotic depressive and a woman who was neurotically depressed – chosen from the Canadian hospital where Grad worked. The man was so depressed that he didn’ even ask what was in the bottle, but simply assumed that Grad, who wore a white coat, was just another in the procession of doctors preparing him for periodic electric shock therapy. While holding the bottle, he repeatedly protested that he didn’t need an ECT treatment. The woman, on the other hand, visibly lifted when Grad told her that the bottle was part of an experiment. Half an hour later, when he came to retrieve the bottle from her, he discovered that she had been cradling it as if it were a baby.

This unforeseen turn of events worried Grad, as the woman had been chosen precisely because he believed she would be in a negative state of mind. She had suddenly appeared to regain her joie de vivre, simply at the thought of her involvement in the experiment. After carefully creating a multi-blind system so that he could not know or be influenced by who had done what, Grad poured the water over the seeds.

Several weeks later, he was pleased to see that the result more or less followed his prediction. The plants watered by the man with the psychotic depression grew the slowest, followed by the control plants, whose bottle had not been held by anyone. The fastest growing plants had been watered by the green-fingered healer, followed by those of the depressed woman, which was a surprise. It seemed that her plants had grown faster because of her own enthusiasm about the experiment.21

Carroll Nash tried a similar experiment, asking a group of psychotics to hold individual sealed glass bottles of a solution of dextrose and sodium chloride for half an hour. Nash then removed 6 millilitres of the solutions from each bottle and poured them into fermentation tubes. Similar solutions that had not been ‘charged’ by the psychotics were poured into control test-tubes.

All 24 test-tubes received a suspension of yeast. After two hours Nash measured the amount of carbon dioxide produced in each of the tubes and took periodic measurements for the next six weeks. When he compared the tubes containing the ‘held’ solutions with the controls, he discovered that the solution held by the psychotics had marginally prevented the yeast from growing.22

Even deeply buried feelings might have an effect on people we purport to care about. In 1966, Dr Scott Walker of the University of New Mexico School of Medicine conducted a study of alcoholics in the midst of rehabilitation. He divided the group randomly and had members of the Albuquerque Faith Initiative pray for them each day for six months. Half of the participants (some from the treatment group and some from the controls) knew they were being prayed for by family members.

At the end of the six months, Scott discovered that those in both groups whose relatives and friends were praying for them were drinking more heavily than the others. Prayer from those who supposedly had the patients’ best interests at heart was having the opposite effect.

Scott came up with an interesting interpretation. The across-the-board negative effect of prayer by relatives may reflect their complicated, unconscious feelings towards alcoholics. Although consciously they might wish for their loved one to recover, they might actually wish for them to carry on drinking, if the person praying is a fellow drinker and does not wish to lose a drinking buddy. Or, perhaps the boorish, selfish behaviour of an alcoholic has so hurt the relatives that they unconsciously wish for the alcoholic to die.

All these studies are small, but they carry a huge implication: even your current state of mind carries an intention that has an effect on life around you. The mind continues affecting its surroundings whether or not we are consciously sending an intention. To think is to affect. When we are consciously attempting to affect someone else with our thoughts, we may want to search our hearts about our true feelings to ensure that we are not sending tainted love.

These studies also raise the possibility that the thoughts that spill out of us at every moment also affect inanimate objects within our reach. Some people have a reputation for having a positive or negative effect on electronic equipment – they are either an ‘angel’ or a ‘gremlin’. One of the fathers of quantum theory, the brilliant theoretical physicist Wolfgang Pauli, was widely known to possess a powerfully negative force field. Whenever he arrived at his laboratory, mechanisms would freeze, collapse or even be set alight.23

I am a gremlin of the first order. In those rare moments when I am crashing around in a bad mood, all the computers in our office begin crashing in unison. Once, during a day of extreme agitation, after I had broken my computer and printer at home, I headed off for work and tried to work on a variety of computers around my company’s office. One by one, they died in my hands. When one of our laser copier printers also froze the moment I tried to photocopy a page, my team firmly but politely escorted me off the premises.

The late Jacques Benveniste discovered the gremlin effect first hand when he carried out experiments on electromagnetic signalling between cells. From 1991, after his noted ‘memory of water’ studies, Benveniste understood that the basic signalling between molecules was not chemical but electromagnetic. Within a living cell, molecules communicate, not by chemicals but by electromagnetic signalling at low frequencies, and each molecule has its own signature frequency.24

Until the end of his life in 2005, Benveniste explored the possibility that these molecular signals could be transferred simply by using an amplifier and electromagnetic coils. He demonstrated that it was possible to effect a molecular reaction without the presence of the molecule in question simply by playing the molecule’s unique ‘sound’.

One of Benveniste’s many experiments with cellular signalling concerned the interruption of the coagulation of plasma, the yellowish medium of the blood. Ordinarily caused by the presence of calcium in the liquid, the clotting capacity of plasma can be precisely controlled by first chemically removing all existing calcium in the plasma, then adding back particular amounts of the mineral. By also adding heparin, an anticoagulant drug, the plasma is prevented from clotting, even in the presence of calcium.

In his study Benveniste would remove calcium from the plasma and add calcium to water, but instead of adding the actual heparin to the calcium water, he simply exposed the water containing calcium to the ‘sound’ of heparin transmitted through the digitized electromagnetic frequency of heparin that he had discovered. As with all his other experiments, the signature frequency of heparin worked as though the molecules of heparin itself were there: in its presence, the blood was less able to coagulate.

Benveniste had a robot built to carry out this experiment, largely to silence his critics by eliminating the potential bias of human interference. The robot was a box with an arm that moved in three directions, mechanically exposing the water containing calcium to the heparin in several easy steps.

After hundreds of such experiments, Benveniste discovered that it usually worked well except on days that a certain woman – an otherwise experienced scientist – was present. Benveniste suspected that the woman must be emitting some form of waves that were blocking the signals. He developed a means of testing for this, and discovered that the woman emitted powerful, highly coherent electromagnetic fields that appeared to interfere with the communication signalling of his experiment. Somehow, the woman acted as a frequency scrambler. To test this further, he asked the woman to hold a tube of homeopathic granules in her hand for 5 minutes. When he later tested the tube with his equipment, all molecular signalling had been erased.

Since the problem was likely to be electromagnetic, the obvious next step was to protect the machine from EMFs by building a shield. But once the shield was i place, the machine stopped producing good results. Benveniste pondered this development for some days. Perhaps it had to do with positive effects of the environment, and not simply the absence of negative effects. He opened the shield and asked the man who had been in charge of the lab for many years to stand in front of the robot. Immediately, the robot began again to crank out perfect results. As soon as the man left and the shield was put up, the robot no longer produced decent data. This suggested that, just as some people inhibited equipment, others enhanced it. The shield, originally erected to stop negative influences, had blocked positive ones as well.

Benveniste reasoned that the only substance near the robot capable of picking up positive or negative activity was the tube of water, so he asked the head lab technician to hold the tube in his pocket for two hours. He then put the tube into the machine, removed the man from the room and put up the shield. After that, the robot’s experiments worked virtually 100 per cent of the time.25

These anecdotal stories of the gremlin effect are not so farfetched when you consider the mountains of data generated by the PEAR laboratory, demonstrating tha human intention has the ability to make the random output of computers more orderly even when the intention is not conscious or deliberate. Living consciousness might have a major effect on microprocessor technology, which is now exquisitely sensitive. The tiniest disturbances in a quantum process can be highly disruptive. My own gremlin effect appears to be linked to moments of extreme stress or agitation but for some people it may be the very nature of their thought system.

The idea that we can ‘charge’ an inanimate object with our thoughts is the basis of the dark arts of many native cultures, which infuse effigies and voodoo dolls with negative intention and then use them to target enemies. There is a rich tradition of using effigies, but not much scientific study of them. Dean Radin once designed an experiment to test the effectiveness of voodoo dolls as an instrument of positive intention. He constructed a tiny effigy of a person known to a group of volunteers, who then directed their prayers to the doll. The prayers turned out to have demonstrable effects – an instance of benevolent voodoo.26

If we can be unwitting recipients of negative influence, should we take steps to block it or ward it off? Many psychics recommend using visualization to create a mental image of protection, such as imagining yourself in a giant bubble. Marilyn Schlitz and William Braud tested this idea in a variation on their staring studies with 300 volunteers divided into pairs in separate rooms. One member of each pair (the sender) was asked to use a mixture of imagery and self-regulation techniques like relaxation or Autogenic Training to relax or energize themselves. They were then asked to send an intention to reproduce a similar state in their partner (the receiver) which would be recorded with a polygraph pen. Comparisons of the EDA readings of both senders and receivers showed that the senders had an effect – when they were relaxed or activated, so were their receivers.

The receivers were then asked to visualize a variety of images that would act as a psychological ‘shield’ to block the senders’ influences; any image – a shield, a huge concrete wall, a steel fence, pulsating white light – was suitable, so long as it felt protective. These strategies proved highly successful in blocking one of the unwanted influences.27

Then, other scientists from the University of Edinburgh attempted to replicate the EDA studies under more rigorous conditions. The senders alternately attempted to calm or activate the receivers, who were to be open to being influenced for half the session and then to ‘block’ the influence attempt for the other half, by imagining themsleves wrapped up in a ‘shielding cocoon’ or adopting a stubborn and uncooperative frame of mind. Nevertheless, during the times of attempted influence, the receivers recorded the same EDA readings, regardless of whether they were ‘allowing’ or blocking it. If anything, there was a slightly larger effect during the blocking sessions. This suggests that ordinary mental strategies of isolating or protecting ourselves may not be enough to successfully resist unwanted influence.28

Qigong practitioners undergo lengthy training to learn techniques enabling them to ‘disguise’ or make their energy fields temporarily ‘invisible’ in order to ward off unwanted influence. Creating a psychic shield around yourself to prevent a barrage of negative influences – whether from your boss, a well-meaning but interfering professional, that unfriendly neighbour, even the stranger staring at you in the supermarket queue – is likely to require more than an attitude of resistance or a bit of internal imagery.

Larry Dossey once wrote that the most powerful antidote to negative intention was the line in the Lord’s Prayer: ‘deliver us from evil’. I came across another more

ecumenical instance, from the work of Dr John Diamond, who discovered a simple means of grounding yourself against unwelcome influences. Diamond, a psychiatrist and holistic healer, was inspired by George Goodheart, creator of applied kinesiology, which tests the effect of various substances on the body. Goodheart developed the technique of ‘muscle testing’, now a feature of applied kinesiology. He would ask a patient to stand facing him, with her left arm out, parallel to the floor: he placed his left arm on the patient’s shoulder to steady her, and then asked her to resist with all her strength while he pushed on her arm. In most instances, the arm would spring back and resist the force of Goodheart’s push. However when Goodheart exposed that person to noxious substances, such as food additives or allergens, the person’s left arm would be unable to resist the pressure of Goodheart’s push and easily be overcome.

Diamond applied this muscle testing to toxic thoughts. When a person was exposed to any unpleasant thought, the ‘indicator muscle’ would test weak. Diamond called it ‘behavioral kinesiology’ and has tested it on thousands of subjects over many years as a means of instantly taking stock of a person’s thoughts and most secret desires.29

Diamond discovered one thought that could overcome any sort of negative influence, or debilitating idea or situation. He called it a ‘homing thought’, because it reminded him of his youth in Sydney, Australia, swimming in the surf. Whenever a large wave threatened, he and his friends would dive to the bottom of the water and hold on to the sand with their fingertips. ‘We had learned that as soon as we were faced with this situation of stress, we could dive down, grab on to our securing handhold and hang on to our “rock” until the stress passed,’ he writes.30

The homing thought that each of us can hold on to, Diamond realized, was our ultimate aspiration or purpose in life. He has also referred to it as ‘cantillation’: each person’s special gift or talent that not only gives one a sense of joy but also union with the Absolute. The term ‘homing thought’ also reminded him of the direction finder that lost aeroplane pilots use to find their way home. The homing thought can act as a homing beacon for everyone, particularly during the most difficult moments. ‘It holds us steadfast,’ he once wrote, ‘on our course.’

Diamond’s ideas have not been subjected to scientific scrutiny, but the sheer weight of his anecdotal evidence in using behavioural kinesiology on thousands of patients lends them a certain significance. Whenever we are besieged by the darkest of intentions, we might best protect ourselves when holding on to the thought of what we have been born to do.

Note – Chapter 10: The Voodoo Effect

A. Blasband and Gottfried Martin, ‘Biophoton emission in “orgon energy” treated cress seeds, seedlings and Acetabularia’, International Consciousness Research Laborary, ICRL Report No 93.6.
Dossey, Be Careful What You Pray For, op. cit.: 171–2.
Ibid.
Benor, Healing Research, op. cit.: 261.
C. O. Simonton et al., Getting Well Again, New York: Bantam, 1980; B. Siegel, Love, Medicine and Miracles: Lessons Learned about Self-Healin from a Surgeon’s Experience with Exceptional Patients, London: HarperCollins, 1990; A. Meares, The Wealth Within: Self-Help Through a System of Relaxing Meditation, Melbourne, Australia: Hill of Content 1990.
For much of the research detailed in this chapter, I am especially indebted to Larry Dossey and Daniel Benor, who have detailed many of these early studies in their respective books, Dossey’s Be Careful What You Pray For … You Just Might Get It and Benor’s Healing Research, Spiritual Healing and his outstanding, comprehensive website: www.wholistichealingresearch.com.
Benor, Healing Research, op. cit.: 264.
J. Barry, ‘General and comparative study of the psychokinetic effect on a fungus culture’, Journal of Parapsychology, 1968; 32 (94): 237–43.
W. H. Tedder and M. L. Monty, ‘Exploration of a long-distance PK: A conceptual replication of the influence on a biological system’, in W. G. Roll et al. (eds.), Research in Parapsychology, Metuchen, NJ: Scarecrow Press, 1981: 90–3. Also see Dossey, Be Careful What You Pray For, op. cit.: 169; Benor, Healing Research, op. cit.: 268–9.
C. B. Nash, ‘Test of psychokinetic control of bacterial mutation’, Journal of the American Society for Psychical Research, 1984; 78: 145–52.
Kmetz’s study was described in W. Braud et al., ‘Experiments with Matthew Manning’, Journal of the Society for Psychical Research, 1979; 50: 199–223. While the study was promising, in his review of it in Healing Research, Benor noted the lack of sufficient detail.
Dossey, Be Careful What You Pray For, op. cit.: 175–6.
Many researchers of alternative medicine maintain the same concerns about studies of Chinese medicine carried out in China. These concerns don’t disregard the strong anecdotal evidence about the effectiveness of Traditional Chinese Medicine, only the scientific method of studies of its effectiveness.
S. Sun and C. Tao, ‘Biological effect of emitted qi with tradescantic paludosa micronuclear technique’, First World Conference for Academic Exchange of Medical Qigong. Beijing, China, 1988: 61E.
Ibid.
Dossey, Be Careful What You Pray For, op. cit.: 176.
D. J. Muehsam et al., ‘Effects of Qigong on cell-free myosin phosphorylation: Preliminary experiments’, Subtle Energies and Energy Medicine, 1994; 5 (1): 93–108, also reported in Dossey, Be Careful What You Pray For, op. cit.: 177–8.
Ibid.
Benor, Healing Research, op. cit.: 253.
G. Rein, Quantum Biology: Healing with Subtle Energy, Palo Alto, Calif.: Quantum Biology Research Labs, 1992; as reported in Benor, Healing Research, op. cit.: 350–2.
B. Grad, ‘The “laying on of hands”: Implications for psychotherapy gentling and the placebo effect’, Journal of the Society for Psychical Research, 1967; 61 (4): 286–305.
C. B. Nash and C. S. Nash, ‘The effect of paranormally conditione solution on yeast fermentation’, Journal of Parapsychology, 1967; 31: 314.
Radin, The Conscious Universe, op. cit: 130.
An entire chapter is devoted to Jacques Benveniste in McTaggart, The Field, op. cit.: 59.
Description of these results from a telephone conversation with Jacques Benveniste, November 10, 2000.
J. M. Rebman et al., ‘Remote influence of the autonomic nervous system by focused intention’, Subtle Energies and Energy Medicine, 1996; 6: 111– 34.W. Braud and M. Schlitz, ‘A method for the objective study of transpersonal imagery’, Journal of Scientific Exploration, 1989; 3 (1): 43–63; W. Braud et al., ‘Further studies of the bio-PK effect: Feedback blocking specificity/generality’, in R. White and J. Solfvin (eds.),Research in Parapsychology, Metuchen, NJ: Scarecrow Press, 1984: 45–8.
C. Watt et al., ‘Exploring the limits of direct mental influence: Two studies comparing “blocking” and “co-operating” strategies’, Journal of Scientific Exploration, 1999; 13 (3): 515–35.
J. Diamond, Your Body Doesn’t Lie, New York: HarperCollins, 1979.
J. Diamond, Life Energy, New South Wales: Angus & Robertson, 1992: 71.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Praying for Yesterday

ON THE EVE OF THE MILLENNIUM, Leonard Leibovici, an Israeli profes of internal medicine in Israel and expert on hospital-acquired infections, conducted a study of healing prayer’s effect on nearly 4000 adults who had developed sepsis while in the hospital. He set up a strict protocol, using a random number generator to randomize the participants into two groups, only one of which would be prayed for, and throughout the study maintained impeccable blinding; neither the patients nor the hospital staff knew who was getting treated – or indeed even knew that a study was being carried out. The names of all those in the treatment group were then handed to an individual, who said a short prayer for the well-being and full recovery of the treated group as a whole.

Leibovici was interested in comparing three outcomes between the prayed-for and not-prayed-for groups: the number of deaths in hospital; the overall length of stay in hospital; and the duration of fever. When calculating the results, he was careful to employ several statistical measurements to examine the significance of any differences. As it happened, the group that had been prayed for suffered fewer deaths than the controls (28.1 versus 30.2 per cent), although the difference was not statistically significant. What was scientifically significant, however, were major differences between the prayed-for group and the controls related to the severity of illness and the time it took to heal. Those being prayed for had a far shorter duration of fever and hospital stay and, in general, got better faster than the controls.

The subject of Leibovici’s research – the healing effects of prayer – of course was hardly new. But his study offered one novel twist. The patients had been in the hospital between 1990 and 1996. The praying was carried out in 2000 – between 4 and 10 years later.

The study was meant to be a spoof.

The British Medical Journal had published it in its Christmas 2001 issue,1 which is generally reserved for light-hearted commentary, next to a reindeer-shaped cluster of rogue cells. But Leibovici was not joking. He was trying to make a serious point in the most graphic way he could. Leibovici had a particular affinity for mathematics and statistics, and used them repeatedly in his reviews and meta-analyses when evaluating particular procedures. He had even come to believe that diseases and the success of treatment could be predicted through mathematical models.2

But the scientific method, in his view, was being defiled by its careless application to alternative medicine. Two years before, also in the Christmas issue of the BMJ, he had published an article claiming that alternative medicine masquerading as scientific medicine was like a cuckoo chick nestling in a reed warbler’s nest.3

The begging noises of the interloper chick are indistinguishable from its warbler counterparts; indeed, as it grows, the cries of the cuckoo are so loud that they match the noise of eight little warblers. The warbler parents ignore any clues that they have an impostor in their midst and continue to nourish the cuckoo chick – to the detriment, even death, of their own offspring. Leibovici was convinced that alternative medicine could not accommodate the demands of scientific rigour – and that we had no business wasting precious time and resources on the cuckoo in the nest.

But with that article, it seemed that Leibovici was the one wasting his time and breath. Most of his colleagues had missed the point so thoroughly that his only recourse was to show them. Two years later, almost to the day, his prayer study appeared in the BMJ.

He had intended that the study would illustrate that you simply cannot use the scientific method to explain subjective things like prayer. The problem was that every one had taken the study at face value. Dozens of sceptics derided the study. As one correspondent wrote, if it were possible to violate the arrow of time in this way, it would allow one to go back in time and prevent the Holocaust from happening by murdering Hitler.4

In support of Leibovici, many scientists interested in psychical research claimed that the study offered proof that prayer was effective at any point in time: Larry Dossey, who has also written extensively on ‘non-local’ consciousness and healing,5 commented that, in a stroke, Leibovici had turned ‘conventional notions of time, space, prayer, consciousness and causality’ on their heads. 6

Many others commented that Leibovici had been undone by the very meticulousness of his study design. Leibovici’s study had used only one supplicant to carry out the prayers and had sent the same prayer at the same time for each patient in the treatment group, so many of those in the alternative medicine camp did not believe the study suffered from some of the same problems in design as the other prayer research. To all the correspondents, Leibovici retorted in the BMJ letters section:

The purpose of the article was to ask the following question: Would you believe in a study that looks methodologically correct but tests something that is completely out of people’s frame (or model) of the physical world, for example, retroactive intervention or badly distilled water for asthma?7

It was wrong, he was saying, because it had to be wrong. It was statistics tied up in a knot and gone berserk. So that his motive would be clear, he added:

The article has nothing to do with religion. I believe that prayer is a real comfort and help to a believer. I do not believe it should be tested in controlled trials.

Instead, the true purpose was:

To deny from the beginning that empirical methods can be applied to questions that are completely outside the scientific model of the physical world. Or in a more formal way, if the pre-trial probability is infinitesimally low, the results of the trial will not really change it, and the trial should not be performed.

Although he had intended to use science to prove the absurdity of alternative medicine, he had actually ended up proving to many people that we can pray today to affect something that occurred yesterday. Leibovici appeared to deeply regret his study and refused to discuss it further.8

Despite all his efforts throughout his career to apply reason and logic to medicine, this was the study that he would be most remembered for – a study that demonstrated, in effect, that we can go back and change the past.

One of the most basic assumptions about intention is that it operates according to a generally accepted sense of cause and effect: the cause must always precede the effect.

If A causes B, then A must have happened first.

This assumption reflects one of our deepest beliefs, that time is a one-way, forward-moving progression.

This assumption is reinforced every moment of our ordinary lives.

First we order our coffee, then the waitress delivers it to our table.

First we order a book on Amazon, then it arrives in the mail.

Indeed, the most tangible evidence of time’s arrow is the physical evidence of our own ageing; first we are born, then we grow old and die.

Similarly, we believe that the consequence of our intentions can only occur in the future. What we do today cannot affect what happened yesterday.

However, a sizeable body of the scientific evidence about intention violates these basic assumptions about causation. Research has demonstrated clear instances of time-reversed effects, where effect precedes cause.

Leibovici’s study was unique among prayer research in that it was conducted ‘backward in time’ – the healing intention was meant to affect events that had already occurred.

But to many frontier scientists, this experiment in ‘retro-prayer’ simply represented a true-to-life instance of the time-displacement effects regularly seen in the laboratory.

Indeed, some of the largest effects occur when intention is sent out of strict time sequence.

Studies like Leibovici’s offer up the most challenging idea of all: that thoughts can affect other things no matter when the thought is made and, in fact, may work better when they are not subject to a conventional time sequence of causation.

Robert Jahn and Brenda Dunne at PEAR discovered this phenomenon when the investigated time displacement in their REG trials. In some 87,000 of these experiments, volunteers were asked to attempt to mentally influence the ‘heads’ and ‘tails’ random output of REGs in a specific direction anywhere from three days to two weeks after the machines had run.

As a whole, the ‘time-displaced’ experiments achieved even greater effects than the standard experiments.9 Jahn and Dunne had deemed these differences non-significant, only because the number of trials carried out in this manner was tiny compared with the rest of their monumental body of evidence.

Nevertheless, the very idea that intention could work equally well whether ‘backward’, ‘forward’ or in sequence, made Jahn realize that all of our conventional notions of time needed to be discarded.10

The fact that effects were even larger during the time-displaced studies suggested that thoughts have even greater power when their transmission transcends ordinary time and space.

Retro-causation has been explored in great detail by Dutch physicist Dick Bierman and his colleague Joop Houtkooper of the University of Amsterdam,11 and later by Helmut Schmidt, an eccentric physicist at Lockheed Martin who created a elegant variation on time-displaced REG remote influence to determine whether someone’s intention could change a machine’s output after it had been run.

He rewired his REG to connect it to an audio device so that it would randomly set off a click that would be audiotaped and heard through a set of headphones by either the left or right ear.

He then turned on the machine and tape recorded their output, ensuring that no one, even himself, was listening.

After making copies of this master tape (again, with no one listening), he locked the master tape away, to eliminate the possibility of fraud, and gave medical students the copies a day later.

The volunteers were asked to listen to the tape and send an intention to have more clicks in their left ears.

Schmidt also created control tapes by running the audio device but not asking anyone to attempt to influence the left–right clicks. As expected, the right and left clicks of the controls were distributed more or less evenly.

Once the participants had finished their attempts to influence the tapes, Schmidt had his computer analyse both the student tapes and the master tape that had been hidden away to see if there was any deviation from the typical random pattern. In more than 20,000 trials carried out between 1971 and 1975, Schmidt discovered a significant result: on both the copies and the masters, 55 per cent had more left-hand than right-hand clicks. And both sets of tapes matched perfectly.

Schmidt believed he understood the mechanism for his improbable results. It wasn’t that his participants had changed a tape after it had been created; their influence had reached ‘back in time’ and influenced the machine’s output at the moment that it was first recorded.12

They had changed the output of the machine in the same way they might have if they had been present at the time it was being recorded. They did not change the past from what it was; they influenced the past when it was unfolding as the present so that it became what it was.

Schmidt continually refined the design of his ‘retro-PK’ studies over 20 years, eventually involving martial arts students, who are trained in mind-control.

In one study, he used a radioactive-decay counter to generate a visual display of random numbers. The students sat in front of this visual display, and attempted mentally to influence the numbers in a particular statistical distribution. Once again, he achieved a highly significant result, with odds against it being a chance occurrence of 1000 to somehow, the intention of the students had reached ‘back in time’ to affect what occurred in the first place.13

Time-displaced intention has also been successfully applied to living things. German parapsychologist Elmar Gruber, of the Institut für Grenzgebiete de Psychologie und Psychohygiene in Freiburg, carried out a series of ingenious experiments examining whether the movement of animals and humans can be influenced after the fact.

His first series of tests concerned gerbils running in activity wheels and moving about within a large cage. A special counter kept track of the number of revolutions in the activity wheel. A beam of light in the cage also had a recording device to note whenever the gerbil made contact with it. Similarly, he asked a group of human volunteers to walk around an area across which he had placed a photobeam, which was also attached to a recorder to note every instance that the volunteers ran into it.

Gruber then converted each revolution of the wheel or contact with the photobeam into a clicking sound. Tapes were made of the clicks, which were copied and stored, again to eliminate fraud.

Between one and six days later, volunteers were asked to listen to the tapes and attempt to mentally influence the gerbils to run faster than normal, or the people to run into the beam more often than usual.

Success would be measured by a greater number of clicks than usual.

Gruber carried out each type of trial 20 times, and in each instance, compared the volunteers’ tapes with tapes made during sessions when the animals and humans were not subjected to the remote influence.

Four of the six batches of trials achieved significant results, and in three of these, the effect size was larger than 0.44.

An effect size is a statistical figure used in scientific research to demonstrate the size of change or outcome. It is arrived at by a number of factors, usually by comparing two groups, one of which has made the change.

An effect size under 0.3 is considered small, between 0.3 and 0.6 is medium, and anything above 0.6 is considered large. Aspirin, considered one of the most successful heart attack preventives of modern times, has an effect size of just 0.032, more than 10 times smaller than Gruber’s overall effect size.

In the case of the activity-wheel gerbil trial, the effect size was a huge 0.7.14 If his results had concerned a drug, Gruber would have discovered one of the greatest lifesavers of all time.

Gruber carried out six more intriguing experiments. In one study he recorded the number of times that people in a Viennese supermarket crossed a photobeam, and then recorded the number of times a photobeam was crossed by cars passing through various tunnels in Vienna during the rush hour.

These again were converted into clicks, and the tapes made of the clicks were stored for one to two months before being played to volunteers, who were asked to influence the speed of the people on foot or in the cars.

This time, he decided to include among his group of influencers some people with psychic ability. He also created similar tapes as controls, which were not exposed to remote intention.

Once again, when compared with sessions that were not subjected to influence, the results were highly significant; all but one of the automobile–tunnel studies had a significant effect size; in two of the studies, the effect sizes (0.52 and 0.74) were enormous.15

Is it possible to retroactively prevent a disease, after it has infected its host and spread? The Chiron Foundation in the Netherlands designed an intriguing study to tes this seemingly impossible proposition.

A large group of rats was randomly divided in two groups, and one group given a parasitic infection of the blood.

The experiment was blinded so that the experimenters themselves did not know which animals were infected and which were controls until after the study was completed. A healer given photographs of the rats after they had been infected with the disease was asked to attempt to prevent the spread of the parasites.

Measurements of the blood cells were taken at several intervals after the animals had been infected. The study was carried out three times, each involving a large number of rats. Two achieved a medium (0.47) effect size.16

Psychologist William Braud then asked one of the most provocative questions of all: is it possible to ‘edit’ one’s own emotional response to an event? To test this, he designed a batch of studies to test time-displaced influence on nervous activity.

He recorded several tracings of the electrodermal activity (EDA) of volunteers, using standard liedetection equipment – a reasonable gauge of whether a person is calm or agitated. Braud then asked the participants to examine one of their own tracings and to attempt to influence it, by sending an intention either to calm down or activate their own sympathetic nervous system at that earlier point in time.

The other tracings of the participants, which were not exposed to mental influence, were to act as controls. Later, when he compared the tracings with controls, he discovered that those tracings that were exposed to the volunteers’ own retro-influence were calmer than the controls.

Overall, these studies achieved a small, significant effect size (0.37), offering some of the first evidence that human beings might be able to rewrite their own emotional history.17

Helmut Schmidt successfully employed a similar study design to change his own prerecorded breathing rate, demonstrating that it is possible to retroactively change your own physical state as well.18

Dean Radin set up an EDA test similar to Braud’s, but added remote distance to a test of retroactive influence.

Two months after running the tests, Radin sent copies of the electrodermal readouts to healers in Brazil and asked them to attempt to quiet the readings. After 21 such studies Radin achieved a 0.47 effect size, similar to Braud’s.19

Radin also tested the possibility that, under certain conditions, a future event can influence an earlier nervous-system response.

He made ingenious use of a strange psychological phenomenon called the ‘Stroop effect’, named after its discoverer, psychologist John Ridley Stroop,20 originator of a landmark test in cognitive psychology.

The Stroop test uses a list of the names of colours (e.g. ‘green’) printed in different coloured inks. Stroop found that when people are asked to read out the name of a colour as quickly as possible, they take much longer if the name of the colour does not match the colour of the ink used (e.g. if the word ‘green’ is printed in red ink) than they do if the name and the colour of the ink match (e.g. if the word ‘green’ is printed in green ink).

Psychologists believe that this phenomenon has to do with the difference in the time it takes the brain to process an image (the colour itself), compared with the time it takes to process a word (the colour name).

Swedish psychologist Holger Klintman devised a variation on the Stroop test Volunteers were asked first to identify the colour of a rectangle as quickly as they could, then asked whether a colour name matched the colour patch they had just been shown.

A large variation occurred in the time it took his volunteers to identify the colour of the rectangle. Klintman discovered that the identification of the rectangle colour was faster when it matched the colour name shown subsequently.21

The time it took for people to identify the colour of the rectangle seemed to depend on the second task of determining whether the word matched the rectangle colour. Klintman called his effect ‘time-reversed interference’. In other words, the later effect influenced the brain’s reaction to the first stimulus.

Radin created a modern version of Klintman’s study. His participants sat in front of a computer screen and identified the colours of rectangles that flashed up on the screen as quickly as possible by typing in their first letter.

The image on the screen would then be replaced by the name of a colour, and the volunteer would then have to type either ‘y’ (yes) to indicate that the name of the colour matched the colour of the rectangle or ‘n’ (no) to indicate a mismatch. Radin varied the second part of the design, so that, after the participant had identified the colour of the rectangle, he or she would also have to type in the first letter of the actual colour of the letters of the colour’s name.

For instance, if the word ‘green’ flashed up but was coloured blue, he or she would have to type in ‘b’.

In four studies of more than 5000 trials, all four showed a retrocausal effect. A significant correlation was observed in two of the studies, with a third marginally significant.22 Somehow, the time it took to carry out the second task was affecting the time it took to carry out the first one.

Radin concluded that his studies offered evidence of a time displacement in the nervous system. The implications are enormous. Our thoughts about something can affect our past reaction times.

One scientifically accepted way to examine the overall power of an effect is to pool the results of all the studies together into what is called a ‘meta-analysis’. Analysed in this manner, 19 of the retroinfluence studies yielded an extraordinary collective result.23

William Braud calculated that the overall effect size was 0.32. Although that is considered a small effect on its own, it represents ten times the effect size for most prescription drugs, such as the beta-blocker propanolol, that are recognized as extremely effective.

A different type of analysis of all the best studies of time displacement was carried out in 1996 by Dick Bierman. In statistics, the best way to judge an effect is to work out how much it deviates from the mean, or average.

One method popular with statisticians is to work out the chi-square distribution, which entails plotting the square of each individual score. Any deviation from chance, whether positive or negative, will show up as a large positive deviation in bold relief.

Bierman detected an enormous variance in individual studies, but collectively they produced results whose occurrence by chance alone was an extraordinary 630 billion to one.24

One interpretation of the laboratory evidence of retro-influence suggests the unthinkable: intention is capable of reaching back down the time line to influence past events, or emotional or physical responses, at the point when they originally occurred.

The central problem of going ‘back to the future’ and manipulating our own past are the logical knots the mind gets tied up in when considering them. As British philosopher Max Black argued in 1956, if A causes B, but occurs after B, B ofte precludes A. Therefore, A cannot cause B.

This conundrum was overlooked in the movie The Terminator.

If the Schwarzenegger cyborg goes back in time and kills Sarah Connor so that she canno give birth to future rebel John Connor, there would be no future revolution between man and machine.

The Terminator no longer has any need to come back in time or, indeed, no longer any purpose for being created.

British philosopher David Wiggins constructed a similar scenario to illustrate the logical problems inherent in the idea of a time machine. Suppose a young man is the grandson of the cruel leader of a fascist movement. He decides to travel back in time to kill his grandfather, to prevent him from taking control. But if he does so, the young man’s mother may not be born and he of course would cease to exist.

Nevertheless, physicists no longer consider retro-causation inconsistent with the laws of the universe. More than 100 articles in the scientific literature propose ways in which laws of physics can account for time displacement.25

Several scientists have proposed that scalar waves, secondary waves in the Zero Point Field, enable people to engineer changes in space-time. These secondary fields, caused by the motion of subatomic particles interacting with the Zero Point Field, are ripples in space-time – waves that can travel faster than the speed of light.

Scalar Field waves possess astonishing power: a single unit of energy produced by a laser in such a state would represent a larger output than all the world’s power plants combined.26

Certain technologies, such as quantum optics, have made use of laser pulses to squeeze the Zero Point Field to such a degree that it creates negative energy.27

It is well accepted in physics that this negative energy, or exotic matter, is able to bend space-time. Many theoreticians believe that negative energy would allow us to travel through wormholes, travel at warp speed, build time machines and even help human beings to levitate.

When electrons are packed densely together, the density of the spray of virtual particles that are constantly created in the Zero Point Field is increased. These spra densities are organized into electromagnetic waves that flow in two directions, and so may be going ‘back and forward’ in time.28

Physicist Evan Harris Walker first proposed that retro-influence can be explained by quantum physics if we just take account of the observer effect.29

Walker and later Henry Stapp, an elementary particle physicist at the University of California at Berkeley, who acted as an independent monitor of Helmut Schmidt’s final martial arts study, believed that a small tweak in quantum theory, making use of ‘nonlinear quantum theory’, could explain all cases of retro-influence. In a linear system such as current quantum mechanics, the behaviour of a system can be easily described: 2 + 2 = 4. The system’s behaviour is the sum of its parts. In a non-linear system, 2 + 2 may equal 5 or even 8. The system’s behaviour is more than a sum of its parts – by how much more we can’t often predict.

In Walker’s and then Stapp’s view, turning quantum theory into a non-linear system would enable them to include one other element in the equation: the human mind. In Schmidt’s martial arts study, the numbers on the visual display remained in their ‘potential’ state of all possible sets of numbers until they had been observed by the students. At that point, the mental intent of the students and the numbers on the display interacted in a quantum way.

According to Stapp, the physical universe exists as a set of ‘tendencies’ with ‘statistical links’ between mental events.

Even though the tape of the numbers has been generated, they divide into a number of channels of all possible outcomes. When a person looks at the numbers, his brain state will also divide into the same number of channels. His intent will select out a particular channel, and through the numbers ‘collapse’ the channels into a single state.30 Human will – our intention – creates the reality, no matter when.

The other possibility is that all information in the universe is available to us at every moment, and time exists as one giant smeared-out present. Braud has speculated that forebodings of the future might be an act of backward time displacement – a future event somehow reaching back in time to influence a present mind. If you simply reversed presentiment and call it backward influence, so that all future mental activity influences the present, you maintain the same model and results as the retro-causation studies.

All precognition might be evidence of backward- acting influence;31 all future decisions may always influence the past.

There is also the possibility that at the most fundamental layer of our existence there is no such thing as sequential time.

Pure energy as it exists at the quantum level does not have time or space, but exists as a vast continuum of fluctuating charge. We, in a sense, are time and space. When we bring energy to conscious awareness through the act of perception, we create separate objects that exist in space through a measured continuum. By creating time and space, we create our own separateness and indeed our own time.

According to Bierman, what appears to be retro-causation is simply evidence that the present is contingent upon future potential conditions or outcomes, and that non-locality occurs through time as well as space. In a sense, our future actions, choices and possibilities all help to create our present as it unfolds. According to the view, we are constantly being influenced in our present actions and decisions by our future selves.

This explanation was bolstered by a simple thought experiment carried out by Vlatko Vedral and one of his colleagues at the University of Vienna: Caslav Brukner, a Serb who had managed to leave Yugoslavia during the civil war and, like Vedral, spent time at Zeilinger’s Viennese lab.

When Brukner joined Vedral in London during a year-long fellowship at Imperial College, he began thinking about quantum computation, and the fact that it is billions of times faster than classical computing. Once a quantum computer is finally perfected it will enable one to scan every last corner of the Internet in half an hour.32

Could this enormous advantage in speed have some basis in Bell’s inequality, the famous test of non-locality? Bell demonstrated that the remote influence maintained between two quantum subatomic particles, even over vast distances, ‘violates’ our Newtonian view of separation in space.

Could this same test be used to show when temporal constraints – the limits governing time – are also violated? Brukner enlisted Vedral to design a thought experiment with him.

Their experiment rested on a given in science about time: in the evolution of a particle, a measurement taken at a certain point will be utterly independent of a measurement taken later or earlier. In this instance, the ‘inequality’ of Bell’s would refer to the difference between the two measurements when taken at different times.

For their experiment, they no longer needed two particles, and so could utterly eliminate the ‘Bob’ particle and concentrate on the photon, ‘Alice’. The task now was to make theoretical calculations of Alice’s polarization at two points of time. If quantum waves behave like a wriggling skipping rope being shaken at one end, the direction in which the rope is pointed is called polarization. To work out their time sequences mathematically, Brukner and Vedral made use of what is called ‘Hilbert’, or abstract, space.

First they calculated Alice’s polarization, then they measured it moments later. When they had finished their calculations of Alice’s current position, they went back and measured her earlier polarization again. They discovered that, between two points of time, Bell’s inequality indeed had been violated; they got a different measurement of the first polarization the second time around. The very act of measuring Alice at a later time influenced and indeed changed how it was polarized earlier.

The implications of their astonishing discovery were not lost on the scientific community. New Scientist included their discoveries in a dramatic cover story: ‘Quantum entanglement: How the future can influence the past’ and concluded: quantum mechanics seems to be bending the laws of cause and effect … entanglement in time puts space and time on an equal footing in quantum theory … Brukner’s result suggests that we might be missing something important in our understanding of how the world works.33

For me, Brukner’s thought experiment held a significance far greater than a simple theoretical one. It showed that instantaneous cause and effect not only occurs through space but also back and possibly forward through time. It offered the first mathematical proof that the actions of every moment influenced and changed those of our past. It may well be that every action we take, every thought we have in the present, alters our entire history.

Even more significantly, his experiment demonstrated the central role of the observer in creating, and indeed changing, reality. Observing had played an integral part in changing the state of the photon’s polarization.

The very act of measuring an entity at one point of time changed its earlier state. This may mean that every observation of ours changes some earlier state of the physical universe. A deliberate thought to change something in our present could also influence our past. The very act of intention, of making a change in the present, may also affect everything that has led to that moment.

This sort of backward influence resembles the non-local correlations found in the quantum world, as if the connections were always there in some underlying arrangement.34 It may be that our future already exists in some nebulous state that we actualize in the present.

This makes sense since subatomic particles exist in a state of potential until observed or thought about. If consciousness operates at the quantum frequency level, it would naturally reside outside space and time, and we would theoretically have access to information – ‘past’ and ‘future’. If humans are able to influence quantum events, they are also able to affect events or moments other than in the present.

Radin discovered more evidence that our psychokinetic influence is operating ‘backwards’ in an ingenious study examining the possible underlying mechanism of intention on the random bits of an REG machine. Radin first ran five REG studie involving thousands of trials, then analysed the experiments through a process called a ‘Markov chain’, which allowed a mathematical analysis of how the REG machine’s output changed over time.

For this process, he made use of three different models of intention: first, as a forward-time casual influence (the mind ‘pushes’ the REG in one direction throughout the influence); second, as a precognitive influence (the mind intuits the precise moment to hit the REG in its random fluctuations to produce the intended result by ‘looking into the future’ and passively ‘bringing back’ this information to the present); and third, as a true retrocausal influence (the mind first sets the future outcome and applies all the chain of events that will produce it ‘backward’ in time).

Radin’s analysis of the data had one inescapable conclusion: this was not a process running forward in time, in an attempt to hit a particular target, so much as an ‘information’ flow that had travelled back in time.35

But just how much of the past could we change in the sticks-and-stones world of real life? William Braud had pondered this issue at length. He once observed that those moments in the past most open to change might be ‘seed’ moments when nature has not made up its mind – perhaps the earliest stages of events before they blossomed and grew into something static and unchangeable.36

These moments were analogous to a sapling that could still be bent and trained before its trunk was too stiff and branches too large; the brain of a child, which is far more open to influence and learning than an adult’s; or even a virus, which is far easier to overcome in its infancy.37

Random events, decisions with equally likely choices, or illness – all probabilistic moments disposed to early influence where human intention could slightly shift the outcome in a certain direction – might comprise the events in our lives most open to retro-influence. Braud referred to them as ‘open’, or labile, systems – those most open to change.

These systems include many of the workings of living things, which are random processes, much like the quantum systems of random-event generators. Any one of a number of the biological processes in living things requires a cascade of processes, which would be sensitive to the kind of subtle effects on REG machinery observed say, in the PEAR research.38

In Braud’s earlier work, he had discovered that remote influence had its greatest effect when there was a strong need for it.39 The necessity of a particular outcome might be the one quality that moves mountains backward in time.

A clue to the extent of our reach was revealed in Schmidt’s discovery of an observer effect in his audio REG experiments that is much like the effect in quantum experiments: it was most important that the person attempting to influence his tapes be the very first listener.

If anyone else heard the tape first and listened with focused attention, it was less susceptible to influence later. A few studies even suggest that observation by any sentient being – human or animal – blocks future attempts at time-displaced influence.

Bierman tested this by rigging up a radioactive source to trigger beeps that were delayed for one second and then observed by a final observer. In about half of the events, another pre-observer was given feedback of this quantum event before the final observer witnessed it. In those instances, the pre-observer’s observation resulted in a collapse of the superposition state of the quantum event while, in the other half of cases, the final observer ‘produced’ the collapse.40

If this consciousness is the crucial ingredient for ‘collapse’ to occur, humans – and their ability to ‘reduce’ reality to limited states – are completely responsible for the idea that time is an arrow in one direction. If our future choice of a particular state is what affects its present ‘collapse’, the reality may be that our future and present are constantly meeting up with each other.

This accords with what is understood about the observer effect in quantum theory – that the first observation of a quantum entity ‘decoheres’, or collapses, its pure state of potential into a single state.41 This rather suggests that, if no one had ever seen Hitler, we might have been able to send an intention to prevent the Holocaust.

Although our understanding of the mechanism is still primitive, the experimental evidence of time reversal is fairly robust. This research portrays life as one giant, smeared-out here and now, and much of it – past, present and future – open to our influence at any moment.

But that hints at the most unsettling idea of all. Once constructed, a thought is lit forever.

Note – Chapter 11: Praying for Yesterday

L. Leibovici, ‘Effects of remote, retroactive intercessory prayer on outcomes in patients with blood stream infection: Randomized controlled trial’, British Medical Journal, 2001; 323 (7327): 1450–1.
S. Andreassen et al., ‘Using probabilistic and decision-theoretic methods in treatment and prognosis modeling’, Artificial Intelligence in Medicine, 1999; 15 (2): 121–34.
L. Leibovici, ‘Alternative (complementary) medicine: a cuckoo in the nest o empiricist reed warblers’, British Medical Journal, 1999; 319: 1629–32; Leibovici, ‘Effects of remote, retroactive intercessory prayer’, op. cit.
Letters, BMJ Online, December 22, 2003.
L. Dossey, ‘How healing happens: exploring the nonlocal gap’, Alternative Therapies in Health and Medicine, 2002; 8 (2): 12–16, 103–10.
B. Oshansky and L. Dossey, ‘Retroactive prayer: A preposterous hypothesis?’ British Medical Journal, 2003; 327: 20–7.
Letters, ‘Effect of retroactive prayer’, British Medical Journal, 2002; 324: 1037.
Correspondence from Liebovici to author, June 28, 2005.
Interview with Jahn and Dunne, July 2005.
R. G. Jahn et al., ‘Correlations of random binary sequences with pre-stated operator intention: a review of a 12-year program’, Journal of Scientific Exploration, 1997; 11 (3): 345–67.
D. J. Bierman and J. M. Houtkooper, ‘Exploratory PK tests with programmable high speed random number generator’, European Journal of Parapsychology, 1975; 1 (1): 3–14.
R. Broughton, Parapsychology: The Controversial Science, New York: Ballantine Books, 1991: 175–6.
H. Schmidt and H. Stapp, ‘Study of PK with prerecorded random events an the effects of preobservation’, Journal of Parapsychology, 1993; 57: 351.
E. R. Gruber, ‘Conformance behavior involving animal and human subjects’, European Journal of Parapsychology, 1979; 3 (1): 36–50.
E. R. Gruber, ‘PK effects on pre-recorded group behaviour of livin systems’, European Journal of Parapsychology, 1980; 3 (2): 167–75.
F. W. J. J. Snel and P. C. van der Sijde, ‘The effect of retro-active distance healing on Babeia rodhani (rodent malaria) in rats’, European Journal of Parapsychology, 1990; 8: 123–30.
W. Braud, unpublished study, 1993, as reported in W. Braud, ‘Wellness implications of retroactive intentional influence: exploring an outrageous hypothesis’, Alternatives Therapies in Health and Medicine, 2000; 6 (1): 37–48.
H. Schmidt, ‘Random generators and living systems as targets in retro-PK experiments’, Journal of the American Society for Psychical Research, 1997; 912 (1): 1–13.D. Radin et al., ‘Effects of distant healing intention through time and space: Two exploratory studies’, Proceedings of Presented Papers: The 41st Annual Convention of the Parapsychological Association, Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada: Parapsychological Association, 1998: 143–61.
J. R. Stroop, ‘Studies of interference in serial verbal reactions’,Journal of Experimental Psychology, 1935; 18: 643, as cited in D.I. Radin and E. C May, ‘Evidence for a retrocausal effect in the human nervous system’, Boundary Institute Technical Report 2000–1.
H. Klintman, ‘Is there a paranormal (precognitive) influence in certain types of perceptual sequences? Part I and II’,European Journal of Parapsychology, 1983; 5: 19–49 and 1984; 5: 125–40, as cited in Radin and May, Boundary Institute Technical Report, op. cit.
Radin and May, Boundary Institute Technical Report, op. cit.
Braud, ‘Wellness implications’, op. cit.
See http://www.fourmilab.ch/rpkp/bierman-metaanalysis. html.
Radin and May, Boundary Institute Technical Report, op. cit.
G. A. Mourou and D. Umstadter, ‘Extreme light’, in ‘The Edge of Physics’ Special edition of Scientific American, 2003; 13 (1): 77–83 updated from May 2002 issue.
L. H. Ford and T. A. Roman, ‘Negative energy, wormholes and warp drive’ in ‘The Edge of Physics’. Special edition ofScientific American, 2003; 13 (1): 85–91 updated from January 2000 issue.
J. A. Wheeler and R. P. Reynman, ‘Interaction with the absorber as the mechanism of radiation’, Reviews of Modern Physics, 1945; 17 (2–3): 157– 81; J. A. Wheeler and R. P. Reynman, ‘Classical electrodynamics in terms o direct interparticle action’, Reviews of Modern Physics, 1949; 21: 425–33.
E. H. Walker, ‘The nature of consciousness’, Mathematical BioSciences, 1970; 7: 131–78.
H. P. Stapp, ‘Theoretical model of a purported empirical violation of the predictions of quantum theory’, Physical Review A, 1994; 50 (1): 18–22.
Braud, ‘Wellness implications’, op. cit.
L. Grover, ‘Quantum computing’, The Sciences, July/August 1999: 24–30.
M. Brooks, ‘The weirdest link’, New Scientist, March 27, 2004; 181(2440): 32–5.
D. Bierman, ‘Do PSI-phenomena suggest radical dualism?’ in S. Hammerof et al. (ed.), Toward a Science of Consciousness II, Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1998: 709–14.
D. I. Radin, ‘Experiments testing models of mind-matter interaction’ Journal of Scientific Exploration, 2006; 20 (3), 375–401.
Interview with William Braud, October 1999.
W. Braud, ‘Transcending the limits of time’, The Inner Edge: A Resource for Enlightened Business Practice, 1999; 2 (6): 16–18.
R. D. Nelson, ‘The physical basis of intentional healing systems’, Technical Report, PEAR 99001, Princeton Engineering Anomalies Research, Princeton New Jersey, January 1999.
Braud, interview with author, October 1999.
D. Bierman ‘Does consciousness collapse the wave packet?’ Mind and Matter, 2003; 1 (1): 45–58.
H Schmidt, ‘Additional effect for PK on pre-recorded targets’,Journal of Parapsychology, 1985; 49: 229–44; ‘PK tests with and without preobservation by animals’, in L. S. Henkel and J. Palmer (eds.), Research in Parapsychology, Metuchen, NJ: Scarecrow Press, 1990: 15–19.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The Intention Experiment

SEEING ACETABULARIA FOR THE FIRST TIME takes your breath away. T mesmerizing appearance of this common algae of the Caribbean and the Mediterranean has earned a number of poetic nicknames – ‘mermaid’s wineglass’, or ‘sombrerillo’ in Spanish – and both are fitting. Its slender stem supports a tiny cupped sombrero, like a miniature green umbrella ready to be popped into an underwater tropical cocktail.

For more than 70 years, biology students have marvelled over this tiny plant, not simply for its appearance but for a single bizarre fact of its existence. Acetabularia is a freak of nature. From stem to sombrero, the entire plant, measuring up to 5 centimetres, consists of a single cell. Because of this, Acetabularia, unlike most living things, can be counted on to behave predictably.

The large nucleus of the cell always sits at the rhizoid, the base of the stalk, and divides only when the plant has reached its full height. This uncomplicated structure has helped to unmask biology’s greatest mystery: which portion of the plant engineers its ability to reproduce. In the 1930s, the German scientist Joachim Hammerling elected Acetabularia as his perfect ‘tool organism’ to work out the role of a nucleus in plant genetics.

The simplicity of this single-celled organism with its single giant nucleus not only offered up the secrets of the cell in bold relief, it divulged the whole of the building plans of plant life. Working with Acetabularia allowed one to sit in stunned witness to the complex morphology of life within the totality of a single cell, large enough to be visible to the naked eye.

Acetabularia also represented a model organism for my first intention experiment. Fritz Popp, who was to perform the experiment with me, believed that if we were going to attempt to carry out my proposal, we needed to begin on the ground floor. For this first experiment, I planned to assemble a small group of volunteers in London, and ask them to use their intention to affect an organism in Popp’s lab in Germany.

Using Acetabularia for our test subject would be analogous to testing a car made of a single moving part. It removes all the variables of a living thing, with its unfathomable number of chemical and energetic processes occurring at every instant.

Humans, for instance, are like a manufacturing plant covering most of the United States. A septillion chemical reactions occur every second in every tablespoon of our cells, tiny explosions that get multiplied by the 50 million million cells of the average human body. In an experiment comparing, say, the growth rates of two sections of the body, it is almost impossible to control for every variable. Growth rates can be altered by food, water, genetics, mood, or even a sudden dip in air temperature.

During our first intention experiment, Popp intended to examine the alteration in the tiny light being emitted from the algae, which was infinitely more subtle than cellular growth rate. Nonetheless, in multicellular living things, even the light that emanates from each cell is subject to a host of influences: the health of the host, the weather and even the activity of the sun.1 Light can also differ from cell to cell.

With Acetabularia, as the light reassuringly derives from its single nucleus, so it is subject to far less fluctuation. With such a primitive organism, Popp explained, it would be possible to demonstrate, with a fair degree of certainty, that any effect, for better or worse, was entirely the result of our remote influence. Only by using such a simple system could we show that our effect was indisputably due to intention and not a dozen other possibilities.

Generally speaking, an increase of photons indicates that a life form is being stressed and a decrease, that its health has improved. If I sent an intention to make the algae healthier, and the photon count went down, it would likely mean that I was having a good effect. If the photon count went up, it was probable that I was, in some way, harming it.

Popp has a number of extremely sensitive photocount detectors at his disposal, which can register an intensity of visible light of about 10–17 watts per square centimetre, analogous to the light coming from a candle several kilometres away.2 This type of ultrasensitive equipment would enable us to record every single hair’s breath of difference – even by a single photon – and so determine the extent of our influence.

Popp had reason to be cautious. For 30 years he had faced enormous opposition to his bold assertion that light emanates from living things,3 and had finally won respect from the physics community.

He had set up his international community of likeminded scientists from prestigious centres all over the globe to work on biophoton emissions.4 By participating in our experiment, he might risk this hard-won reputation and good will. After all, ultimately I was asking this world-renowned physicist to test whether collective positive thinking could change the physical world.

* * *

The results of a number of experiments had suggested that a ‘group’ consciousness might possibly exist. In their random-event generator experiments, PEAR’s Jahn and Dunne found that the influence of pairs of the opposite sex who knew each other had a powerful complementary effect on the machines – roughly three and a half times that of individuals. Two intensively involved people appeared to create six times the ‘order’ on a random machine. Some couples even produced a ‘signature’ result, which did not resemble the effects they generated individually.5

There was also evidence that a group all intently focused on the same thought registered as a large effect on a REG machine. Roger Nelson, the chief coordinato of the PEAR lab, had come up with the idea of running REG machines continuousl during a particularly engaging event, to examine whether the focused attention of a group had any effect on the random output of the machines.

He and Dean Radin developed what they termed ‘FieldREG’ devices and ra them during a host of events involving the highly focused attention of an audience: intense or euphoric group workshops; religious group rituals; Wagnerian festivals; theatrical presentations; even the Academy Awards. In most instances, their studies showed that multiple minds holding the same intensely felt thought created some kind of deviation from the norm on the equipment.6

Nelson had been fascinated by the possibility of a global collective consciousness. In 1997, he decided to place REGs all over the world, have them ru continuously and compare their output with moments of global events with the greatest emotional impact. For his programme, which became known as the Global Consciousness Project, Nelson organized a centralized computer program, so tha REGs located in 50 places around the globe could pour their continuous stream of random bits of data into one vast central hub through the Internet.

Periodically, Nelson and his colleagues, including Dean Radin, studied these outpourings and compared them with the biggest breaking news stories, attempting to root out any sort o f statistical connection. Standardized methods and analysis revealed any demonstration of order – a moment when the machine output displayed less randomness than usual – and whether the time that it had been generated corresponded with that of a major world event.

By 2006, they had studied 205 top news events, including the death of the Princess of Wales, the millennium celebrations, the death of John F. Kennedy, Jr, and his wife, and the attempted Clinton impeachment. When Nelson analysed four years’ worth of data, a pattern emerged. When people reacted with great joy or horror to a major event, the machines seemed to react as well. Furthermore, the degree of ‘order’ in the machine’s output seemed to match the emotional intensity of the event, particularly those that had been tragic: the greater the horror, the greater the order.7

This trend appeared most notable during the events of 9/11. After the twin towers were destroyed, Nelson, Radin and several colleagues studied the data that had poured in from 37 REGs around the world. Individual statistical analyses were performed by Radin, Nelson, computer scientist Richard Shoup of Boundary Institut and Bryan J. Williams, a psychology undergraduate at the University of New Mexico According to the results of all four analyses, the effect on the machines during the plane crashes was unprecedented.

Out of any moment in 2001, the greatest variance in the machines away from randomness took place that day. The results also represented the largest daily average correlation in output between each machine than at any other time in the history of the project.8 According to the REGs, the world’s mind had reacted with a coherent global horror.

Nelson and three independent analysts took apart the data using a variety of statistical methods. Nelson examined his results through the chi-square distribution method, that statistical technique which plots the square of each of the machine’s runs, so that any deviation from chance easily shows up. All of the analysts concluded that an enormous increase in ‘order’ occurred during time frames relating t o key moments in the drama (such as, shortly before the first tower was struck), which were likely to be the most intense periods of horror and disbelief.9 As REGs are designed to control for electrical disturbances, natural electromagnetic fields or increased levels of mobile phone use, the two scientists were able to discard all those possibilities as potential causes.10

Furthermore, although activity of the REGs was normal in the days leading up to /11, the machines became increasingly correlated a few hours before the first tower was hit, as though there had been a mass premonition. This similarity in output continued for two days after the first strike. Williams thought of it as kind of psychic signature, a giant unconscious psychokinetic effect created by 6 billion minds set to react in unified horror.11

The world had felt a collective shudder several hours before the first plane crash, and every REG machine had heard and duly recorded it.

Although not every analyst agreed with these conclusions,12 Nelson, Radin and several of their colleagues eventually were able to publish a summary of their findings in the prestigious physics journal Foundations of Physics Letters.13

Nelson went on to study other events in the wake of 9/11, including the start of the Iraqi war. He compared REG activity with variations in the approval polls o President George W. Bush, to see if he could discover a connection of any kind between the global ‘mind’ and current American opinions of the president, and whether the REG network reacted most when there were strong feelings of unity and purpose, as the Americans had shared in the wake of 9/11, or when the public mood was polarized, as it had been after the invasion of Iraq and the deposing of Saddam Hussein’s regime.

After examining 556 separate polls between 1998 and 2004, Nelson’s colleague, Peter Bancel, discovered that peaks in variations followed big public changes of opinion of any variety, either for or against the president. Strong emotion, positive or negative – even to presidential decisions – seemed to produce order.

The results of the FieldREG work and the Global Consciousness Project offe several important clues about the nature of group intention. A group mind appears to have a psychokinetic effect on any random microphysical process, even when not focused on the machinery itself.

The energy from a collective, intensely felt thought appears to be infectious. There also appears to be a ‘dose’ effect; the effect on an REG of a load of people thinking the same thought is larger than the effect of a single person. Finally, emotional content or degree of focus is important. The thought has to engulf a group of people in a moment of peak attention, so that every member of the group is thinking the same thought at the same time. A catastrophe is certainly an effective way to snap the mind to attention.

The data from the Global Consciousness Project had one serious limitation However accurately Nelson had taken the temperature of the world mind, his data simply referred to the effect of mass attention.

There had been no intention to cause change. What would happen if a number of people were not simply attending to something but also trying to affect it in some way? If the focused attention of a group has a physical impact on sensitive equipment, does the signal get stronger when the group is actually trying to change something?

The only systematic study of group intention concerns the so-called Maharishi Effect of Transcendental Meditation™ (TM), the technique first introduced by Maharishi Mahesh Yogi to the West in the 1960s. Over several decades, the TM organization has carried out more than 500 studies of group meditation, with or without intention, to examine whether meditation has a resonance effect on reducing conflict and suffering.

Maharishi Mahesh Yogi postulated that regularly practising TM enabled you to get in touch with a quantum energy field that connects all things. When a group of meditators was large enough, he claimed, their collective meditations caused ‘Super Radiance’, a term in physics used to describe the coherence of laser light.

During TM, the theory went, the minds of meditators all become tuned to the same frequency, and this coherent frequency begins to order the disordered frequencies around it. Resolution of individual internal conflict leads to resolution of global conflict.

The TM studies claimed to demonstrate effects from two types of meditation The first was undirected, the simple consequence of a certain percentage of the population meditating. The second resulted from deliberate intention, and required experience and focus; advanced meditators would target a particular area and direct their meditation to help resolve conflict and lower the rate of violence.

The Maharishi’s theory rests entirely on the premise that meditation has a threshold effect. If 1 per cent of the population of a particular area practises TM, he claims, or the square root of 1 per cent of the population practises TM-Sidhi, a more advanced type of meditation, conflict of any variety – rates of murders, crime, drug abuse, even traffic accidents – goes down.

Some 22 studies have tested the positive impact of the Maharishi Effect on crime levels. One study of 24 US cities showed that whenever a city reached a poin where 1 per cent of the population was carrying out regular TM, the crime rate dropped to 24 per cent. In a follow-up study of 48 cities, those 24 cities with the requisite threshold percentages of meditators (1 per cent of the population) experienced a 22 per cent decrease in crime, and an 89 per cent reduction in the crime trend. In the other 24 cities without the threshold percentage of meditators, crime increased by 2 per cent and the crime trend by 53 per cent.14

In 1993, the TM’s National Demonstration Project focused on Washington DC during a large upsurge of local violent crime in the first five months of the year. Whenever the local Super Radiance group reached the threshold number of 4000, the rate of violent crime fell and continued to fall, until the end of the experiment. The study was able to demonstrate that the effect had not been due to any other factors, such as police efforts or a special anti-crime campaign. After the group disbanded, the crime rate in the capital rose again.15

The TM organization has also targeted global conflict. In 1983 a special TM assembly met in Israel to send intentions through meditation to resolve the Palestinian conflict. During their sessions, they made daily comparisons between the number of meditators working on the project and the state of Arab–Israeli relations. On days with a high number of meditators, fatalities in Lebanon fell by 76 per cent. Their reach apparently extended beyond armed conflict; ordinary violence – local crime, traffic accidents and fires – also all decreased. When analysing their results, the TM group claimed to have controlled for confounding influences such as weather.16

TM adepts have also sought to influence the ‘misery index’ – the sum of inflation and unemployment rates – in the USA and Canada. And indeed, during one concerted effort between 1979 and 1988, the US index fell by 40 per cent and the Canadian index, by 30 per cent.

Another group of adepts sought to influence the monetary growth and crude- materials price indices as well as the American misery index. In this instance, the misery index fell by 36 per cent, and the crude-materials price index fell by 13 per cent. Although the growth rate of the monetary base was affected, it was only by a small margin.17

Critics of TM have argued that these effects could easily have been due to other factors – a reduction in the population of young men, say, or better educational programmes in these areas, or even the ebb and flow of the economy – although the TM organization claims to control for such changes.

The problem with these studies, to my mind, is the controversy surrounding the TM organization itself; rumours now abound about data fixing and the infiltration by Maharishi followers into many scientific organizations.

Nevertheless, the TM evidence is so abundant and the studies so thorough that it is difficult to dismiss them completely. Furthermore, the studies are regularly published in peer-reviewed scientific journals, and so must meet some level of scientific rigour and critical scrutiny. The sheer bulk of the research argues compellingly that a force outside the understanding of orthodox science might be at work.

But even if the results are legitimate, the TM studies, like the REG data, mostl concerns group attention. In many instances, the meditators are not people who maintain a focused intention to change something else.

For three months in the first quarter of 1998, forest fires raged out of control in the Amazonian state of Roraima, 1500 miles northwest of Brasilia, devastating the rainforest. It had not rained for months – an effect blamed on El Niño – and the ordinarily humid rainforest was bone dry, perfect kindling for the fire that had by that time scorched 15 per cent of the state.

The rains, usually so copious in this part of Brazil, remained elusive. The UN termed the fire a disaster without precedent on the planet. Water-carrying helicopters and some 1500 firefighters, including recruits from neighbouring Venezuela and Argentina, fought the flames to no avail.

In late March, the weather-modification experts were called in: two Caiapo Indian shamans especially flown to the Yanomami reservation, housing the last of what are believed to be Stone Age tribes. They danced around a bit and prayed, and gathered up a few leaves. Two days later, the heavens opened and it began to pour. Up to 90 per cent of the fire was extinguished.18

The Western equivalent of a rain dance is to hope for good weather, and when carried out as a group intention, it may be just as effective. PEAR’s Roger Nelso carried out an ingenious little study, after realizing that the sun shone on graduation day at Princeton for as long as he could remember.

Had the desire of the community for a sunny commencement day had a powerful local effect?

He had gathered weather reports for the past 30 years in Princeton and the surrounding areas for the times around graduation day and statistically compared them; Princeton was drier than usual for that time of year, and drier and sunnier than surrounding communities for just that day. If the figures were to be believed, the collective wish for good weather by the community of Princeton may have created some sort of mental umbrella that only stretched to their borders during that single day.19

The only other evidence of group mind had been a provocative little double- blind exercise carried out by Dean Radin, who was interested in the claims of Japanese alternative medicine practitioner Masaru Emoto that the structure of water crystals is affected by positive and negative emotions.20

Emoto claims to have carried out hundreds of tests showing that even a single word of positive intent or negative intent profoundly changes the water’s internal organization.

The water subjected to the positive intent supposedly develops a beautiful, highly complex crystalline structure when frozen, whereas the structure of water exposed to negative emotions became random, disordered, even grotesque. The most positive results supposedly occur with feelings of love or gratitude.

Radin placed two vials of water in a shielded room in his laboratory at the Institute of Noetic Sciences in Petaluma, California. Meanwhile, a group of 200 attendees at one of Emoto’s conferences in Japan was shown a photo of the vials and asked to send them a prayer of gratitude.

Radin then froze the water in those vials as well as samples of control water from the same source that had not been exposed to the prayers, and showed the resulting crystals to a panel of independent volunteers. He had carefully blinded the study so that neither he nor his volunteers had any idea which crystals had been grown from the water samples that had been sent intention. A statistically significant number of the volunteer judges concluded that water sent the positive intentions had formed the more aesthetically pleasing crystalline structure.21

Nelson’s Global Consciousness Project effects had been an especially intriguing example of the power of mass thought. In a sense, they showed the same effect captured by Tiller’s equipment in his laboratory. Intention appeared to be raising order in the ground state of the Zero Point Field. But was there a magic threshold effect, as the Maharishi maintained? And how many people were required to constitute a critical mass? According to the Maharishi’s formula – that the square root of 1 per cent of any population practising advanced meditation will have a positive impact – only 1730 advanced American meditators would be required to have a positive influence on the US, and only 8084 to affect the entire world.

Nelson’s work with FieldREGs had suggested that the size of the group was no as important as the intensity of focus; any group, however small, exerted an effect so long as the parties were involved in rapturous attention. But how many people did the group need to exert an effect? How intently focused did we need to be? What were the true limits of our influence – if any? It was time for me to find my own answers.

The original plan for our first intention experiment, as Popp saw it, was to gather a group of experienced meditators in London, and to have them send positive intention to the Acetabularia acetabulum growing in Popp’s IIB laboratory in Neuss Germany.

I was deflated after we had discussed the likely target. For our first experiment, I had wanted to help heal burn victims, to save the world from global warming. Single-celled organisms weren’t exactly my idea of heroics and high drama.

Then I began to research algae, and quickly changed my mind. Vital algae were being killed off as a result of global warming. Scientists have discovered an inexorable rise in ocean temperatures over the past century.

For the past 30 years, coral reefs, the centrepiece of the sea’s ecosystem, have been vanishing off the earth. When oceans warm, the algae hugging coral reefs get sloughed off, and without this protective layer, the coral reefs themselves die. Some 97 per cent of a certain species of coral have disappeared in the Caribbean alone, and the US governmen has recently declared Elkhorn and Staghorn coral to be endangered species.

According to the United Nations’ Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change, body made up of the world’s leading climatologists and other scientists, the predicted level of warming – up to 6°C by the end of this century – will bring on a disaster of biblical proportions: a rise of sea levels by nearly 1 metre; unendurable heat in many parts of the world; a vast increase of vector-born diseases; raging floods and storms. A change upward of six degrees may not seem like much until one takes on board that lowering it by the same amount would bring on another Ice Age.

The key to warding off all the fires and floods appeared to be algae. Algae and other plants are the firefighters of our overheated oceans. Scientists are presently engaged in studying sediments from the ocean floor to see how the oceans cope with rising levels of gases.

They are especially interested in the reaction of marine plants to global warming, as they are the primary shock absorbers of excess carbon dioxide. Algae provide oxygen and other benefits to plant and animal marine life. Algae offer a little wall of protection to the creatures of the sea from the worse excesses of man.

I reconsidered my resistance to Acetabularia as a test subject. Algae might be critical to our survival. The health of most life in the seas depends on these lowly, single-celled creatures, and the seas, like the rainforests, represent the lungs of the earth. As algae goes, so, eventually, do we. Being able to show that mass intention could rescue a sample of algae might demonstrate that our thoughts could combat something as potentially devastating as global warming.

* * *

On 1 March 2006 I travelled to Germany to meet Popp and his colleagues at th IIB laboratory on Museum Island in Hombroich, west of Düsseldorf. The ‘island’s innovative architecture had first been built to serve the eccentric needs of a millionaire art collector turned Buddhist, Karl Heinrich Müller, who had nowhere to house his vast collection of painting and sculpture. He purchased 650 acres from the American military, and then converted a NATO missile site into an open-air museum.

Müller’s ambitions for the island grew to embrace the possibility of an artists’ and writers’ community. He commissioned a sculptor turned architect named Erwin Heerich and gave him a free hand. Heerich created enormous futuristic brick structures – galleries, a concert hall, working spaces and even residences – and ingeniously placed them to best advantage against the bleak landscape. Nothing had been wasted; even the disused metal bunkers and rocket silos had been converted into studios and working spaces for famous German artists, writers and musicians, including Thomas Kling the lyricist and Joseph Beuys the sculptor.

Past a ‘garden’ of buildings of different pastels, the eye alighted on a squat building of interlocking squares on a narrow base, like a giant piece of Lego about to take flight – the new official international site of the IIB. Popp politely accepted the building, when it was first offered to him, but found the open, airy loft, its floor-to- ceiling windows staring out on the vast panorama of Museum Island, completely impractical for his purposes. Before long he set up camp in one of the cramped metal bunkers, left from the raketenstation, whose small dark rooms are more compatible with the work of counting living light.

There I met Popp’s team of eight, which included Yu Yan, a Chinese physicist, Sophie Cohen, a French chemist, and Eduard Van Wijk, a Dutch psychologist. Mos of the cramped rooms contained photomultipliers, large modern boxes attached to computers that count photon emissions. One room housed another smaller room, with a bed and a photomultiplier for human subjects.

The pride of place was reserved for a strange homemade contraption of welded metal circles, resembling a David Smith sculpture of scrap metal, which periodically clanged. That, Popp said with pride, was his first photomultiplier, assembled in 1976 by his student, Bernhard Ruth, and still one of the most accurate pieces of equipment in the field. Indeed, he was convinced that it kept improving with age.

When measuring subtle effects, such as the tiny discharges of light from a living thing, it is important to construct a test that will yield a large enough effect to indicate that something has changed.

Our experimental design had to be so robust, said Popp, that a positive result could not be dismissed by advocatus diaboli, the scientific process of identifying weaknesses in a scientific hypothesis and providing a ready explanation for anomalous effects. Or, as Gary Schwartz had put it, if we heard hoof beats, we first had to eliminate horses before leaping to the conclusion that they belonged to zebras.

In our experimental design, we also had to aim for an ‘on off, on off ’ effect, so that we could isolate any changes as being caused by remote influence. Popp suggested that we have our group send intention intermittently at regular intervals: 10 minutes on, then 10 minutes off, so that we would be ‘running’ intention a few times every hour. If our experiment worked and intention did have an effect, once we plotted our result on a graph it would create an identifiable, zigzag effect.

Popp acquiesced to including dinoflagellates as well as Acetabularia. The light emissions of these fluorescent creatures are extraordinarily responsive to change. As he had seen when they had been placed in shaken water, a change of any sort to which a dinoflagellate is exposed readily shows up as a large shift in emissions of light. I made a further appeal for the use of several subjects.

Each would constitute a separate experiment, and then we would have several results to compare. More than one positive finding would be less likely the result of chance. Finally, the scientists agreed. We also added a jade plant, and a human subject whom Eduard felt he could enlist.

As Popp had concluded during his experiment with Dick Blasband, change o any sort is easier to see with something ill that you try to make well, so we needed to stress some of our subjects in some way. The most obvious way to stress a life form is to place it in a hostile medium.

Eduard and Sophie decided to pour some vinegar into the medium of the dinoflagellates. We could stress the jade plant by sticking a needle through one of its fleshy leaves. Eduard ultimately decided to stress our human subject with three cups of coffee, but I agreed not to disclose this fact to my meditators, to see if they could pick up any psychic information about her. We decided to leave the Acetabularia alone, to test whether our intentions could also affect a healthy organism. To make it simple, our meditators would send intentions for the biophoton emissions of each organism to decrease and for its health and well- being to improve.

The experiment would run at night, between 3 p.m. and 9 p.m. Eduard and Sophie would turn on the equipment, and I would select three half-hour windows within that time frame, unbeknownst to them, to carry out our group intentions. Although it was impossible to conduct a double-blind trial (all of us in London would of course know when we sent our healing intention), we could create ‘singleblind’ conditions and control for experimenter effects, by ensuring that neither our human subject nor the scientists knew when intention was being sent. I would reveal our schedule to them only after the experiment had taken place.

Our study design was constrained by the equipment. A photomultiplier cannot run with the shutter open continually for six hours, so we decided to turn it on from the hour to the half hour, and give it a rest between the half hour and the hour. I would instruct my meditators to send an intention to all four subjects for two 10-minute sessions during the three time windows I’d chosen.

Eduard and Popp planned to look for any qualitative differences in the kind of light being emitted. Any change in the signal or the quantum nature of the photons during the times we were ‘running’ intention would suggest that change had occurred from an outside influence and that we were having an effect.

I took some photos of our subjects and the scientists. Before leaving, I stole a last look at the Acetabularia, growing in small pots in a converted, darkened refrigerator, and the dinoflagellates, which resembled tiny green specks in the water tiny participants about to be stressed, and possibly sacrificed, in the name of science.

A few weeks later, Eduard found a human volunteer in one of his Dutch colleagues, Annemarie Durr,22 a laser biologist and a meditator of long standing. Although rather sceptical of our plan, she was happy to be our first subject. Her agreement to participate was a particularly generous gesture, as it would entail sitting still on a bed in a pitch black room for six hours.

At one of our conferences in mid-March, I asked for volunteers to participate in a first intention experiment from those among our audience who were experienced meditators. I prepared a PowerPoint presentation to brief them on the subjects of our experiment and the experimental protocol, and to reinforce my verbal presentation, and set the day for 28 March at 5:30 p.m., at a university lecture room I had hired for the evening.

That night, there was such a fierce hailstorm when my colleague Nicolette Vuvan and I left our office for the train to central London that we had to take momentary shelter in a doorway.

We were half soaked after battling through a torrent of rain, but I was thrilled with the atmospheric conditions – a dark, stormy night would only aid our activities. Weather this wild often results from geomagnetic or atmospheric disturbance, which I knew enhances psychokinetic effects.

When I checked with America’s National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration’s website later that evening, I discovered that they noted ‘unsettled’ conditions for the evening, with a fair degree of geomagnetic activity and minor to major storms in space.

Despite the weather, 16 volunteers showed up. I asked them to fill in a collection of forms, which included personal information plus several psychological tests used by Gary Schwartz and Stanley Krippner, including the Arizona Outcome Integrative Scale and the Hartmann Boundary Questionnaire test, to test psychic ability. I wanted as much data as possible in order to gauge whether their state of mind, psychic talent, or health status would have any bearing on our results.

I soon discovered that my volunteers were ideal candidates for an intention experiment. According to the forms they’d filled out for me, they’d meditated for an average of 14 years, and their scores on the psychological tests I’d given them showed that, as a group, they had very thin boundaries, tended toward a highly positive outlook, enjoyed excellent mental, emotional and physical health, and evidenced powerful emotions.

I explained the experiment, offered photographs and details about our four subjects, and then went over the protocol. We would be sending our intentions from 6 to 8:30 p.m. at every hour on the hour to 10 minutes past and from 20 past until the half hour. In between those times we would rest, chat and fill in the forms.

We began at 6 on the dot. As William Tiller had done in his black box experiments, I displayed the intentions in writing on the computer screen as I read them out loud so that all the meditators would be sending exactly the same thought during each meditation.

I led the meditation, directed our focus to each target subject, showing its image on screen, and read aloud the sentence that sent our intention to lower the subject’s biophoton emissions and increase its state of health and well- being.

The shared energy immediately felt tangible and increased in power as the evening carried on. Michael, one of our group members, suggested that we call our algae ‘Dino’ and ‘Tabu’, to establish some relationship with these little organisms. Although no one had any prior experience in telepathy, some participants began to pick up information about our subjects, notably Annemarie.

Several meditators were convinced that she was an amateur singer, and had a recurrent problem with her throat. Isabel thought she might be suffering from gut problems or something gynaecological. Michael, who was German, kept thinking of a termI m schutz der dunkelheit (‘under protection of darkness’), and interpreted it to mean that she was wrapped up in a blanket. Amy said she received a mental image of Annemarie wrapped up in a luxuriously soft blanket on a hard surface and at times asleep. She was also convinced that she had eaten something disagreeable and that her stomach was upset.

Many meditators felt a connection to the jade plant and ‘Tabu’, and Peter had a strong sense that Acetabularia was responding most to the intentions – but with few exceptions the group had the most difficulty establishing any connection with ‘Dino’, and this difficulty increased to the point where most felt no connection at all by the final session.

All of us were infused with a strong sense of purpose and momentarily lost a sense of our individual identities.

By the end of the evening, I had cast out my own doubts about the study and the niggling thought that what we were trying to do was faintly ludicrous. Even though we were not healers, we had all felt as if a healing of sorts had occurred. Whatever had happened in there, I thought, heading back out into the stormy night, I grew certain we’d had some kind of effect.

Several days later, I sent Popp our meditation schedule so that his team could compile our results.

I also spoke with Annemarie. Some of our extrasensory impressions had been correct. It was true she sang as a hobby and periodically suffered with a blocked throat. Although she ordinarily did not especially suffer problems in the gut, she had that night because the three cups of coffee Eduard had asked her to drink upset her stomach. Yet even though coffee late in the afternoon usually agitated her and caused insomnia, on the night of our experiment, she drifted off at various points throughout the six hours of the experiment and slept easily that night. She described tingling bodily sensations she had felt periodically through the evening, and the times of their occurrence corresponded with the first and third sessions that we had been ‘running’ intention. Nevertheless, we had also picked up some ‘noise’: she was not a vegetarian and never listened to or had sung Vivaldi, as a couple of meditators had felt.

When analysing the data, Eduard studied not only the intensity of light but also its deviation from symmetry: normal emissions from a living thing, when plotted on a graph as a bell curve, are perfectly symmetrical. He also looked at any deviations in the kurtosis, or the customary ‘peakedness’, of the distribution. High kurtosis means a bell curve that is high around the middle, or mean.

Again, when emissions are plotted on a graph, the normal peak distribution is 0 – the highs and lows cancel each other out. After examining our 12 block periods – the six times we sent intention and the six periods of rest – he found no change in light intensity. But he did find large changes in the skewness, showing a lack of the customary symmetry (from 1.124 to 0.922), and kurtosis (from 2.403 to 1.581) of the emissions. Something in the light was profoundly altered.

Eduard was excited by the results. They exactly matched those he had observed during his study of healers, when he had tested whether the act of healing has a ‘scatter effect’ on any other living things in the environment where the healing takes place. In the study, when he had placed some algae with a photon counter in the presence of a healer and his patients and measured the photons of the algae during 36 healings, he had been surprised to discover that the photon count distributions of the algae had ‘remarkable’ alterations during the healing rituals. Large shifts in the cyclical components of the emissions had occurred.

His tiny study had suggested that healing caused a shift in the light emissions of everything in its path.23 Now he had discovered the same effect when simple intention was sent by ordinary people from 300 miles away.

On 12 April, Fritz Popp sent me data on the algae, the dinoflagellates and the jade plant. Although a first glance at the numbers had convinced him we had had no effect, he changed his mind once he performed his calculations.

Ordinarily, any stressed living thing will begin to accustom itself to the stress, and its light emissions, although initially large, will naturally begin to decrease as the organism gets used to its new circumstances.

Consequently, in order to work out a true demonstration of the effect of change, Popp had to control for this phenomenon. He worked out mathematically a means of starting from zero, so that any deviation from normal behaviour would readily show up. In this way, he would then be able to determine whether any additional change represented an increase or a decrease in the number of biophoton emissions. The number of emissions he then plotted on his graph reflected any excess increase or decrease from the norm.

In all three instances, our subjects registered a significant decrease in biophotons during the meditation sessions, compared with the control periods. The dinoflagellates had been killed by the acid, in the end (one possible reason why they had been so difficult for our meditators to detect).

Nevertheless, Popp said, their response (a lowering of emissions by nearly 140,000) was significantly different from the normal emissions of a dying organism. Among the survivors, the Acetabularia, the healthy subject, had evidenced a larger effect than the jade plant, perhaps because it was not overcoming a stress (544 emissions lower than normal), whereas with the jade plant (which had 65.5 emissions lower than normal), the stress (the pin) remained in the leaf during the experiment.

He plotted the results on a graph, marking out the portions in red that represented the times of our healing intentions and emailed them to me. We had indeed produced a ‘zigzag’ effect. During meditation, Popp wrote in his report, ‘there is a clear preference of dropping down reactions rather than going up’, which tracked the times of our intentions. With the Acetabularia, we had had an overall decrease over the norm of 573 emissions, and an increase of only 29.

Our little meditation effort had created a major healing effect, a significant decrease in living light. Not only that, but the effect from all that distance was similar to the effect by an experienced healer when healing in the same room. The intention of our group had created the same light as a healer’s.

In many ways, it was a crude first effort. We had, after all, tested four subjects, some stressed and some not, and one had died. We had made use of control periods, but not control subjects. Both Eduard and Popp cautioned me not to take too much notice of it: ‘We have to be sure that these changes in kurtosis and skewness are real. That means that we have to repeat the experiments a couple of times,’ said Eduard. ‘Despite the right tendency of the results,’ wrote Popp, ‘I do not dare to state that it is proof.’

But, despite these caveats, the fact was that we had recorded a significant effect. In the end, achieving a positive result didn’t really surprise me. For more than 30 years Popp, Schlitz, Schwartz and all of their fellow scientists have been amassing unimpeachable evidence in other experiments that has stretched credulity. Frontier research into the nature of human consciousness has upended everything that we have hitherto considered scientific certainty about our world.

These discoveries offer convincing evidence that all matter in the universe exists in a web of connection and constant influence, which often overrides many of the laws of the universe that we used to believe held ultimate sovereignty.

The significance of these findings extends far beyond a validation of extrasensory power or parapsychology. They threaten to demolish the entire edifice of present-day science. The discoveries of Tom Rosenbaum, Sai Ghosh and Anton Zeilinger that quantum effects occur in the world of the tangible could signal an end to the divide in modern physics between the laws of the large and the laws of the quantum particle, and the beginning of a single rule book defining all of life.

Our definition of the physical universe as a collection of isolated objects, our definition of ourselves as just another of those objects, even our most basic understanding of time and space, will have to be recast. At least 40 top scientists in academic centres of research around the world have demonstrated that an information transfer constantly carries on between living things, and that thought forms are simply another aspect of transmitted energy. Hundreds of others have offered plausible theories embracing even the most counter-intuitive effects, such as time-displaced influence, as now consistent with the laws of physics.

We can no longer view ourselves as isolated from our environment and our thoughts the private, self-contained workings of an individual brain. Dozens of scientists have produced thousands of papers in the scientific literature offering sound evidence that thoughts are capable of profoundly affecting all aspects of our lives. As observers and creators, we are constantly remaking our world at every instant. Every thought we have, every judgement we hold, however unconscious, is having an effect. With every moment that it notices, the conscious mind is sending an intention.

These revelations not only force us to rethink what it is to be human, but also how to relate. We may have to reconsider the effect of everything that we think, whether we vocalize it or not. Our relationship with the world carries on, even in our silence.

We must also recognize that these ideas are no longer the ruminations of a few eccentric individuals. The power of thought underpins many well-accepted disciplines in every reach of life, from orthodox and alternative medicine to competitive sport. Modern medicine must fully appreciate the central role of intention in healing. Medical scientists often speak of the ‘placebo effect’ as an annoying impediment to the proof of the efficacy of a chemical agent. It is time that we understood and made full use of the power of the placebo. Repeatedly, the mind has proved to be a far more powerful healer than the greatest of breakthrough drugs.

We will have to reframe our understanding of our own biology in more miraculous terms. We are only beginning to understand the vast and untapped human potential at our disposal: the human being’s extraordinary capacity to influence the world. This potential is every person’s birthright, not simply that of the gifted master. Our thoughts may be an inexhaustible and simple resource that can be called upon to focus our lives, heal our illnesses, clean up our cities and improve the planet. We may have the power as communities to improve the quality of our air and water, our crime and accident statistics, the educational levels of our children. One well- directed thought may be a gentle but effective way for every man and woman on the street to take matters of global interest into their own hands.

This knowledge may give us back a sense of individual and collective power, which has been wrested from us, largely by the current world view espoused by modern science, which portrays an indifferent universe populated by things that are separate and unengaged. Indeed, an understanding of the power of conscious thought may also bring science closer to religion by offering scientific proof of the intuitive understanding, held by most of us, that to be alive is to be far more than an assemblage of chemicals and electrical signalling.

We must open our minds to the wisdom of many native traditions, which hold an intuitive understanding of intention. Virtually all of these cultures describe a unified energy field not unlike the Zero Point Field, holding everything in the universe in its invisible web. These other cultures understand our place in a hierarchy of energy and the value of choosing time and place with care. The modern science of remote influence has finally offered proof of ancient intuitive beliefs about manifestation, healing and the power of thoughts. We would do well to appreciate, as these traditional cultures do, that every thought is sacred, with the power to take physical form.

Both modern science and ancient practices can teach us how to use our extraordinary power of intention. If we could learn how to direct our potential for influence in a positive manner, we could improve every aspect of our world. Medicine, healing, education, even our interaction with our technology, would benefit from a greater comprehension of the mind’s inextricable involvement in its world. If we begin to grasp the remarkable power of human consciousness, we will advance our understanding of ourselves as human beings in all our complexity.

But there are still many more questions to ask about the nature of intention. Frontier science is the art of inquiring about the impossible. All of our major achievements in history have resulted from asking an outrageous question. What if stones fall from the sky? What if giant metal objects could overcome gravity? What if there is no end of the earth to sail off? What if time was not absolute, but depends on where you are? All of the discoveries about intention and remote influence have similarly proceeded from asking a seemingly absurd question: what if our thoughts could affect the things around us?

True science, unafraid to explore the dark passages of our ignorance, always begins with an unpopular question, even if there is no prospect of an immediate answer – even if the answer threatens to overturn every last one of our cherished beliefs. The scientists engaged in consciousness research must constantly put forward unpopular questions about the nature of the mind and the extent of its reach.

In our group experiments, we will be asking the most impossible question of all: what if a group thought could heal a remote target? It is a little like asking, what if a thought could heal the world?

It is an outlandish question, but the most important part of scientific investigation is just the simple willingness to ask the question. As Bob Barth of the Office of Prayer Research commented, when asked whether praye research should continue in the wake of the Benson STEP study: ‘We can’t find the answers if we don’t keep asking the questions.’ That is how we will begin our own experiments – unafraid to ask the question, whatever the answer.

Note – Chapter 12: The Intention Experiment

Interview with Fritz-Albert Popp, March 1, 2006.
F.-A. Popp et al., ‘Further analysis of delayed luminescence of plants’, Journal of Photochemistry and Photobiology B: Biology, 2005, 78: 235–44.
For a full description of Popp’s history, see McTaggart, The Field, op. cit.
International Institute of Biophysics, see www.lifescientists.de.
B. J. Dunne, ‘Co-operator experiments with an REG device’, PEA Technical Note 91005, Princeton Engineering Anomalies Research Princeton, New Jersey, December 1991.
R. D. Nelson et al., ‘FieldREG anomalies in group situations’,Journal of Scientific Exploration, 1996; 10 (1): 111–41; R. D. Nelson et al., ‘FieldREGII: Consciousness field effects: replications and explorations’ Journal of Scientific Exploration, 1998; 12 (3): 425–54.
D. I. Radin, ‘For whom the bell tolls: A question of global consciousness’ Noetic Sciences Review, 2003; 63: 8–13 and 44–5; R. D. Nelson et al. ‘Correlation of continuous random data with major world events’, Foundations of Physics Letters, 2002; 15 (6): 537–50.
D. I. Radin, ‘Exploring relationships between random physical events and mass human attention: Asking for whom the bell tolls’, Journal of Scientific Exploration, 2002; 16 (4): 533–47.
R. D. Nelson, ‘Coherent consciousness and reduced randomness: Correlations on September 11, 2001’, Journal of Scientific Exploration, 2002; 16 (4): 549–70.
Ibid.
Bryan J. Williams, ‘Exploratory block analysis of field consciousness effects on global RNGs on September 11, 2001’ (http://noosphere.princeton.edu/williams/GCP911. html).
J. D. Scargle, ‘Commentary: Was there evidence of global consciousness on September 11, 2001?’ Journal of Scientific Exploration, 2002; 16 (4): 571–7.
Nelson et al., ‘Correlation of continuous random data’, op. cit.
M. C. Dillbeck et al., ‘The Transcendental Meditation program and crime rate change in a sample of 48 cities’, Journal of Crime and Justice, 1981; 4: 25–45.
J. Hagelin et al., ‘Effects of group practice of the Transcendental Meditation program on preventing violent crime in Washington, D. C.: Results of the National Demonstration Project, June–July 1993’,Social Indicators Research, 1999; 47 (2): 153–201.
W. Orme-Johnson et al., ‘International peace project in the Middle East: the effects of the Maharishi technology of the unified field’, Journal of Conflict Resolution, 1988; 32: 776–812.
K. L. Cavanaugh et al., ‘Consciousness and the quality of economic life empirical research on the macroeconomic effects of the collective practice of Maharishi’s Transcendental Meditation and TM-Sidhi program.’ Paper originally presented at the annual meeting of the Midwest Management Society, Chicago, March 1989, published in R. G. Greenwood (ed.) Proceedings of the Midwest Management Society, Chicago: Midwest Management Society, 1989: 183–90; K. L. Cavanaugh et al., ‘A multiple input transfer function model of Okun’s misery index: An empirical test of the Maharishi Effect.’ Paper presented at the Annual Meeting of the American Statistical Association, Washington D. C., August 6–10, 1989, an abridged version of the paper appears in Proceedings of the American Statistical Association, Business and Economics Statistics Section, Alexandria, Va.: American Statistical Association, 1989: 565–70; K. L Cavanaugh and K. D. King, ‘Simultaneous transfer function analysis of Okun’s misery index: improvements in the economic quality of life through Maharishi’s Vedic Science and technology of consciousness.’ Paper presented at the Annual Meeting of the American Statistical Association New Orleans, Louisiana, August 22–25, 1988, an abridged version of the paper appears in Proceedings of the American Statistical Association Business and Economics Statistics Section, Alexandria, Va.: American Statistical Association, 1988: 491–6; K. L. Cavanaugh, ‘Time serie analysis of U.S. and Canadian inflation and unemployment: A test of a field-theoretic hypothesis.’ Paper presented at the Annual Meeting of the American Statistical Association, San Francisco, California, August 17–20 1987, published in Proceedings of the American Statistical Association Business and Economics Statistics Section, Alexandria, Va.: American Statistical Association, 1987: 799–804.
Strong rains fall on fire-ravaged Amazon state, March 31, 1998, Web posted at: 6:46 p.m. EST (2346 GMT), Brasilia, Brazil (CNN) http://twm co. nz/.
R. Nelson, ‘Wishing for good weather: a natural experiment in group consciousness’, Journal of Scientific Exploration, 1997; 11 (1): 47–58.
M. Emoto, The Hidden Messages in Water, New York: Atria, 2005.
Interview with Dean Radin, May 3, 2006.
Not her real name. I’ve changed her name at her request. Nevertheless, our meditators were shown her real name and photo.
R. Van Wijk and E. P. Van Wijk, ‘The search for a biosensor as a witness of a human laying on of hands ritual’, Alternative Therapies in Health and Medicine, 2003; 9 (2): 48–55.

PART FOUR

The Experiments

Miracles do not happen in contradiction to nature, but only in contradiction to that which is known in nature. 

-St Augustine

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The Intention Exercises

UP UNTIL THIS POINT, The Intention Experiment has been concerned with the scientific evidence of the power of intention. What has not been tested is the extent of this power in the cut and thrust of ordinary life. An inordinate number of books have been written about the power of the human being to manifest his or her reality, and, while they have served up many intuitive truths, they offer little in the way of scientific evidence.

Exactly how much power do we possess to shape and mould our daily lives? What can we use this for, individually and collectively? How much power do we possess to heal ourselves, to live lives of greater happiness and purpose?

This is where I would like to enlist your help. Determining the further practical applications of the power of thought is the purpose of the next portion of this book – the part that involves you as a partner in the research.

Although the power of intention is such that any sort of focused will may have some effect, the scientific evidence suggests that you will be a more effective ‘intender’ if you become more ‘coherent’, in the scientific sense of the term. To do so to greatest effect, or so the scientific evidence suggests, you will need to choose the right time and place, quiet your mind, learn how to focus, entrain yourself with the object of your intention, visualize and mentally rehearse. Believing that the experiment will work is also essential.

Most of us operate with very little in the way of mental coherence. We walk around immersed in a riot of fragmentary and discordant thought. You will become more coherent simply by learning to shut down that useless internal chatter, which always focuses on the past or the future, never the present. In time, you will become adept at quietening down your mind and ‘powering up’, much as joggers train their muscles, and each day find that they can perform a little better than the day before.

The following exercises are designed to help you to become more coherent and so more effective in using intention in your life and in our group intention experiments. These have been extrapolated from what has appeared to work best in the scientific laboratory.

Think of intentions in terms of grand and smaller schemes. Take the grand schemes in stages, so that you send out intentions in steps towards achieving the grand scheme. Also start with modest goals – something realizable within a reasonable timeframe. If you are 40 pounds overweight and your goal is to be a size 8 next week, that is not a realistic timeframe. Nevertheless, keep the grand scheme in mind and build towards it as you gain experience. It is also important to overcome your natural scepticism. The idea that your thought can affect physical reality may not fit your current world paradigm, but nor would the concept of gravity if you were living in the Middle Ages.

Choose Your Intention Space

A number of scientific studies suggest that conditioning your space magnifies the effectiveness of your intentions. Choose a place to carry out your intentions that feels comfortable. Clear away extraneous items and make it personal or appealing, with cushions or comfortable furniture, so that whenever you spend time there you will find it an enjoyable refuge, a place where you can sit quietly and meditate. Use candles, soft lights and incense, if you prefer.

Some people find it helpful to create an ‘altar’ of sorts, as a focal point, with objects or photographs that you find inspirational or particularly meaningful. Even if you are not at home, you may find that you will naturally ‘enter’ your intention space by visualizing it whenever you want to send an intention.

Unless you live in the mountains and can open your windows to clean mountain air, you also may want to install an ionizer in your space to increase the number of negative ions in your environment.

The half-life of ions – which is related to the amount of time that ions maintain their effective radiation – depends on the amount of pollutants in the air. The cleaner the air, the longer the half-life of small ions, if there is a source of ionization (e.g. running water) present. The best levels of ions are:

in the uninhabited country, away from industrialized areas; near running water, whether a shower or a waterfall;
in natural habitats;
in clear sunshine – a natural ionizer; after storms;
in the mountains.

The worst are:

in enclosed spaces with a gathering of a number of people;
near television sets and other such electrical appliances, which can give off electric emissions up to 11,000 volts, exposing anything immediately in range to positive charge;
in cities;near industrial sources; in smog, fog, dust or haze.

As a rule of thumb, the lower the visibility, the lower the ion concentration. Low visibility is due to the presence of a great number of large particles, which air ions readily latch on to. For those among us who are city dwellers, placing plants and some source of water, like an indoor desk fountain, will help to improve ion levels in intention spaces. Keep your space free of electrical gadgets and computers.

Power Up

In order to ‘power up’ to peak intensity, you must first slow your brain waves down to a meditative, or ‘alpha’, state of light meditation or dreaming – when the brain emits frequencies (measured on an EEG machine) of 8–13 hertz (cycles per second).

Sit in a comfortable position. Many people like to sit upright in a hard-backed chair, with their hands placed on their knees. You may also sit on the floor cross- legged. Begin breathing slowly and rhythmically in through the nose and out through the mouth (slowly blow all the air out), so that your in-breath is the same length as your out-breath. Allow the belly to relax so that it slightly protrudes, then pull it back slowly as if you were trying to get it to touch your back. This will ensure that you are breathing through your diaphragm.

Repeat this every 15 seconds, but ensure that you are not overexerting or straining. Carry on for 3 minutes and then keep observing it. Work up to 5 or 10 minutes. Begin to focus your attention just on the breath. Practise this repeatedly, as it will form the basis of your meditative practices.

To enter an alpha state, the most important feature, as any Buddhist understands, is to still the mind. Of course, just thinking about nothing is often virtually impossible.

After entering the state by concentrating on the breath or focusing on a single object, most meditation schools recommend some sort of ‘anchor’, enabling you to keep your chattering mind quiet, so that you are allowed to be more receptive to intuitive information. The usual anchors include focusing on:

the body and its functions, or the breath;

your thoughts, as though they are floating by on a flying carpet, so that they are not ‘you’;

a mantra, such as used in Transcendental Meditation, is usually a ‘word’ such as OM (‘The Field’ in Buddhism), AH (the universal truth of life) or HUM (the physical manifestation of the truth – the universe itself). In the early 1970s, many practitioners of TM were given the mantra AHOM;

numbers, through silent repetitive counting, either backwards or forwards; music – usually something repetitive, such as Bach or chanting;

a single tone, such as that produced by an Australian didgeridoo;

a drum or rattle, the repetitive sounds of which have been used by many traditional cultures to still the mind;

prayer, as with a rosary, since the repetitive sounds still the mind.

Practise until you can comfortably focus on your ‘anchor’ for 20 minutes or more.

Peak Intensity

Powering up involves developing the ability to attend with peak intensity, moment by moment. One of the surest ways to develop this is to practise the ancient art of mindfulness, espoused as long ago as 1000 BC by Shakyamuni Buddha, founder of modern Buddhism. It is a discipline whereby you maintain clear, moment-to- moment awareness of what is happening internally and externally, rather than

in thought.

More than just concentration, mindfulness requires that you police the focus of your concentration and maintain that concentration in the present. With practice, you will be able to silence the constant inner chatter of your mind and concentrate on your sensory experiences, no matter how mundane – whether it is eating a meal, hugging your child, noticing some pain you are experiencing or just picking some lint off your sweater. It is like being a benevolent parent to your mind – selecting what it will focus on and leading it back when it strays.

In time, mindfulness meditation will also heighten your visual perceptions and prevent you from becoming numb to your everyday experience.

One of the difficulties in incorporating mindfulness into ordinary activity is that it is usually taught at retreats, where participants have the luxury of meditating for hours a day or practising mindfulness by engaging in activities, as it were, in ‘slow motion’. Nevertheless, there are ways to adapt many traditional practices for use in your intention meditation.

Once you have achieved your ‘alpha state’, quietly observe whatever manifests in your mind and body as precisely as you can. Be present and attentive to what is, rather than what your emotions tell you, what you wish were the case, or only what is most pleasant. Do not suppress or banish any negative thoughts, if they are true. One good means of harnessing your mind to the present is to ‘come into your body’ and feel your body posture.

It is vital that you distinguish mindfulness from mere concentration. The most important distinction is a lack of judgement or reference point about the experience. You attend to every moment in the present without colouring it with preference for the pleasant or distaste for the unpleasant, or even identifying the experience as something happening to you. There is, in short, no ‘better’ or ‘worse’.

Be aware of all the smells, textures, colours and sensual feelings you are experiencing. What does the room smell like? What taste is in your mouth? What does your seat feel like?

Be mindful of what is happening internally and externally. Whenever you catch yourself judging what you see, think to yourself, ‘I am thinking’, and return to observing with simple attention.

Cultivate the art of simple listening to all sounds in your room: the rumble of a pipe, the honking of a horn, the barking of a dog, a plane flying overhead. Accept all sounds – the noise, chaos or stillness – without judgement.

Notice other sensations in the room: the ‘colour’ of the day, the light in the room, any movement carrying on in front of you, the sensations of quiet.

Try not to try. Work on eliminating your expectations or striving for (and anxiety over) certain results.

Accept all that happens without judgement. This means putting away all opinions and interpretations of what goes on. Catch yourself clinging to certain views, thoughts, opinions and preferences, and rejecting others. Accept your

own feelings and experiences, even the unpleasant ones.

Try never to rush. If you must rush, be present in the rushing. Feel what it feels like.

Developing Mindfulness in Your Daily Life

Even when you are not using intention, the evidence suggests that you will mould your brain to become better at it if you develop mindfulness in your daily life. Psychologist Dr Charles Tart, one of the world’s experts on altered states of consciousness, has a number of suggestions of ways to do so:1

Take periodic breaks during the day in which you have quiet time to be mindful of what is happening internally and externally.

Whenever you feel your concentration flitting away in your daily activities, sense your breath – it will help to ground you.

Be mindful of the most mundane of activities, such as brushing your teeth or shaving.

Start with a small exercise, such as fetching your coat and walking, in which you stay focused completely on what you are doing.

Engage in mental noting, in which you label an ongoing activity, for example ‘I’m putting on my coat’, ‘opening the door’, ‘tying my shoes’.

Use mindfulness in every ordinary situation. When you are preparing dinner or even doing your teeth, be aware of all the smells, textures, colours and sensual feelings you are experiencing.

Learn to really look at your partner and your children, your pets, your friends and work colleagues. Observe them closely during every activity – every part of

them without judgement.

During some activity, such as breakfast, ask your children to be mindful (without speaking) of every aspect of it. Concentrate on the taste of your food. Look closely at the texture and the colours of it. How does the cereal crunch? How does their juice feel as it cascades down their throats? Become aware of the smells and sounds around you. While you are watching all this, how are the different parts of your body feeling?

Listen to what your life sounds like – the myriad noises surrounding you every day. When someone speaks to you, listen to the sound of his or her voice as well as the words. Do not think of a reply until he or she has stopped speaking. Practise mindfulness in every activity: walking down the street, driving home, in the garden.If you are practising these exercises and you happen to bump into someone, do not enter into conversation. Just greet the person, shake hands and stay in the present moment.

Use mindfulness when you are extremely busy or under a tight deadline. Observe what it is like to hurry or to be under the gun and what happens when you do. How does it affect your equilibrium? Be an observer of yourself in that situation. Can you stay in your body while you are working hard?

Practise mindfulness while you are standing in line. Experience the feeling of waiting itself, rather than focusing on what you are waiting for. Be aware of your physical movements and your thoughts.

Do not think about or try to work out your problems. Just deal with whatever daily problem solving is immediately in front of you.

Merging with the ‘Other’

Research shows that touch or even focus on the heart or compassionate feelings for the other is a powerful means of causing brain-wave entrainment between people. When two people touch while focusing loving thoughts on their hearts, the ‘coherent’ heart rhythms of one can entrain the brain of the other.2

Before you set your intention, it may be important to form an empathetic connection with the object of your intention.

Establish connection beforehand by the following techniques:

First send your intention to someone with whom you already have a strong bond

– a partner, a child, a sibling, a dear friend.

With someone you do not know, exchange an object or photograph.

Get to know the person. Go for a walk with them or meet them first.Spend half an hour meditating together first.

Ask the person to be open to receiving your intention when you are sending it. If you are sending an intention to something non-human or inanimate, you can also establish some connection. Find out all you can about the object of your intentions, whether a plant, an animal or an inanimate object. Have it near you for a period before sending your intention. It goes without saying that you should

be nice to it – even if ‘it’ is your computer or photocopier.

Be Compassionate

Use the following methods to encourage a sense of universal compassion during your intention session:

Focus your attention to your heart, as though you are sending light to it. Observe the light spreading from your heart to the rest of your body. Send a loving thought to yourself, such as ‘May I be well and free from suffering.’

On the out breath, imagine a white light radiating outward from your heart. As you do, think: ‘I appreciate the kindnesses and love of all living creatures. May all others be well.’ As Buddhists recommend, first think of all those you love, then your good friends. Move on to acquaintances and finally to those people you actively dislike. For each stage, think: ‘May they be well and free from suffering.’

Concentrate on the kindness and compassion of all living things and their contribution to your well-being. Finally, send your message of compassion to all people and living things on earth.

Practise switching roles with some of your loved ones. Imagine what it is like to be your partner or spouse, your parent, your child. Get inside their shoes and imagine what itwould be like to see the world through their eyes, with their hopes and fears and dreams. Think how you would respond.

Jerome Stone quotes Sogyal Rinpoche, author of The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying,3 who suggests that we open our hearts every day to the suffering around us, with beggars who pass us by, with the poverty, tragedy and grief we see on our television sets:

Don’t waste the love and grief it arouses; the moment you feel compassion welling up in you, don’t brush it aside, don’t shrug it off and try quickly to return to ‘normal’, don’t be afraid of the feeling or embarrassed by it, allow yourself to be distracted from it or let it run aground in apathy. Be vulnerable; use that quick, bright up rush of compassion; focus on it, go deep into your heart and meditate on it, develop it, enhance and deepen it. By doing this you will realize how blind you have been to suffering …4

During your intention, if you are sending healing to someone, first try to put yourself in his situation. Imagine what it is like to be him and to be faced with his current crisis. Try to feel and have empathy for your receiver’s suffering. Ask yourself how you would feel if you were suffering in this manner and how you would most want to be healed.

Now, direct your loving thoughts to the object of your intention. If he or she is present, hold his or her hand.

Stating Your Intention

In your meditative state, state your clear intention. Although many people use the construction ‘have always been’ – ‘I have always been healthy’ – I prefer the present tense – of sending your intention to its ‘endpoint’ as a wish that has already been achieved. For instance, if you are trying to heal back pain, you can say, ‘My lower back and sacrum are free of all pain and now move easily and fluidly.’ Remember to frame your intention as a positive statement; rather than ‘I will not have side effects’, say, ‘I will be free of side effects’.

Be Specific

Specific intentions seem to work best. Be sure to make your intentions highly specific and directed – and the more detailed, the better. If you are trying to heal the fourth finger of your child’s left hand, specify that finger and, if possible, the problem with it.

State your entire intention, and include what it is you would like to change, to whom, when and where. Use the following as a checklist (as news reporters do) to ensure you have covered every specific: who, what, when, where, why and how. It may help if you draw a picture of it, or create a collage from photos or magazine

pictures. Place this somewhere that you can look at often.

The Mental Dry Run

As with elite athletes, the best way to send an intention is to visualize the outcome you desire with all your five senses in real time. Visualization, or guided imagery, involves using images and/or internal messages to obtain a desired goal. It can be used for any desired outcome – to change or improve your living situation, job, relationships, physical condition or health, state of mind (from negative to positive), outlook on life or even a specific aspect of yourself, including your personality. It can also be used to send intentions to someone else. Self-guided imagery is a little like self-hypnosis.

Plan a mental image of the outcome of your intention well ahead of time. When carrying out visualization, many people believe that you must ‘see’ the exact image clearly in your mind’s eye. But for an intention it isn’t necessary to have a sharp internal image or, indeed, any image at all. It is enough to just think about an intention, without a mental picture, and simply to create an impression, a feeling or a thought. Some of us think in images, others through words, still others through sounds, touch or the spatial relationship between objects. Your mental rehearsal will depend on which senses are most developed in your brain.

For our example of healing back pain, imagine yourself free from pain and doing some sort of exercise or movement you enjoy. See yourself walking agilely, free from pain. Remember, feel the feeling of being pain-free and electrically alive. Imagine the internal and external sensations of your limber back. Feel yourself running free. Choose other sensations that support the healing of your back. If you are sending your intention to heal someone else, carry out all the same aspects of the healing, but imagine yourself inside the other person’s back. Send your intention to his back.

Practise Visualizing

You can practise visualization first by getting into a meditative state and imagining the following, while recalling or imagining as much as you can about the sight and smells, and your feelings about them:

A favourite recent meal (can you remember some of the smells and tastes you really enjoyed?).

Your bedroom. Walk yourself mentally through it, remembering certain details – the feel of your bedspread, the curtains or carpet. You do not have to see the entire room, just get a detail or impression.

A recent happy moment (with a loved one, or a child). Remember the most vivid sensations and images.

Yourself performing an activity such as running, riding a bike, swimming or working out at the gym. Try to feel what it is like for your body to be moving that way.

Your favourite music (try to ‘hear’ the music internally).

A recent experience with an intense physical sensation (such as plunging into a pool or the ocean, having a steam bath,feeling snow or rain, or making love).

Try to relive all of the physical sensations.

To visualize your intention, first work it out carefully ahead of time:

Now, create a picture in your mind’s eye of the desired result. Imagine it as already existing, with you in that situation.

Try to imagine as much sensory detail as you can about the situation (the look, smell and feel of it).

Think about it in a positive, optimistic, encouraging way; use mental statements, or affirmations, that confirm that it has or is now happening (not that it will happen in the future). For instance, for someone with a heart problem, ‘My heart is healthy and well.’

For healing, try to imagine healing energy (perhaps as a white light or as your personal deity) filling you and observe it healing the portion of your body that is ill – say, turning a diseased organ into a healthy one. If a good-versus-evil ‘contest’ is most vivid for you, imagine the ‘hero’ cells battling or eating up the ‘bad guys’. Otherwise, visualize diseased cells or tissue changing into healthy cells, healthy cells replacing diseased cells, or imagine your entire body with that specific body part in perfect health. Visualize yourself often as perfectly healthy, carrying out your daily activities. Find an image of the body part on the Internet or in a book as it looks when it is healthy. Imagine your own body part looking like that.Send out the visualization often, both during meditation and throughout the day.

Belief

The copious evidence of the placebo effect demonstrates the extraordinary power of belief. Belief in the power of intention is also vital. Keep firmly fixed in your mind the desired outcome and do not allow yourself to think of failure. Dismiss any it-won’t-happen-to-me type of thoughts. If you are attempting to affect someone who does not share your belief that it may be of benefit, speak to them about some of the scientific evidence in The Intention Experiment and elsewhere. It is important that both of you share the same beliefs. Herbert Benson believes that his monks were able to achieve their effects because they used words or phrases incorporating their most deeply held beliefs.5

Move Aside

In studies of meditation, mediumship and healing, those who are successful at intention imagine themselves and the person receiving healing as one with the universe. In your meditative state, enter into a zone where you relax your sense of ‘I’ and sense a merging with the object of your intention and The Field. Frame your intention, state it clearly and then let go of the outcome. At this point, you may sense that the intention is taken over by some greater force. Close your internal meditation with a request and then move your own ego aside. Remember: this ‘power’ does not originate with you – you are its conduit. Think of it as a request you are sending to the

universe.

Timing

The evidence suggests that mind-over-matter intention (that is, psychokinesis) works best at points of increased geomagnetic activity. You can find out about the geomagnetic levels in your area by consulting several websites. The US Nationa Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) created a Space Environmen Center (SEC), America’s official source of space weather activity (www.sec.noaa.gov). The SEC, in turn, set up a special Space Weather Operations (SWO) branch to act as a warning centre for the world concerning disturbances in space. Jointly operated by the NOAA and the US Air Force, SWO provides forecast and warnings of solar and geomagnetic activity.

SWO receives its data in real time from a large number of ground-based observatories and satellite sensors around the world. These data enable the SWO to predict solar and geomagnetic activity, and to make worldwide alerts during heavy storms. For the forecast of the day you plan to carry out your intentions, see http://sec.noaa.gov/today2. html.

The SEC has created Space Weather Scales to give lay people an idea of th severity of geomagnetic storms, solar radiation storms and radio blackouts, and their effect on our technological systems (www.sec.noaa.gov/NOAAscales). The numbers attached to them (such as ‘G5’) indicate the level of severity, with 1 being mild and 5 the most severe.

The Solar and Heliospheric Observatory (SOHO) was set up as a joint projec by the European Space Agency and NASA to study the effect of the sun on the earth For more information, see http://sohowww.nascom.nasa.gov/.

For other aspects of space weather, including charts of geomagnetic activity, see http://sohowww.nascom.nasa.gov/spaceweather/. This website includes useful charts on geomagnetic activity, solar wind and high-energy proton and X-ray flux.

All geomagnetic activity is measured on a K index, with 0 being the most quiet and 9 the most turbulent. The a index is similar, but uses a larger scale – from 0 to 400.

When you are sending an intention, plan to do so on a day when the K index is 5 or more (or the a index more than 200).

It may also be best to use intention during 1 p.m. local sidereal time (check the web to compute local sidereal time).

Only send intentions on days when you feel happy and well in every way.

Putting It All Together

Your Intention Programme

Enter your intention space. Power up through meditation.

Move into peak focus through mindful awareness of the present.

Get onto the same wavelength by focusing on compassion and making a meaningful connection.

State your intention and make it specific. Mentally rehearse every moment of it with all your senses.

Visualize, in vivid detail, your intention as established fact.

Time it right – check what the sun is doing, and choose days when you feel happy and well.

Move aside – surrender to the power of the universe and let go of the outcome.

Note – Chapter 13: The Intention Exercises

1. See C. T. Tart, ‘Initial application of mindfulness extension exercises in a traditional Buddhist meditation retreat setting, 1995’, unpublished (www. paradigmsys. com/cttart).

2. R. McCraty et al., ‘The electricity of touch: Detection and measurement o cardiac energy exchange between people’, in K. H. Pribram (ed.), Brain and Values: Is a Biological Science of Values Possible? Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, 1998: 359–79.

3. S. Rinpoche, The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying, San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1994.

4. S. Rinpoche, as quoted in J. Stone, Instructor’s Training Manual, Cours Syllabus: Training in Compassionate-Loving Intention, 2003.

5. H. Dienstfrey, Where the Mind Meets the Body, London: HarperCollins 1991: 39.

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The Intention Experiment (full text) by Lynne McTaggart. In HTML for free access. Part 2 of 4.

This is part 2 of 4.

Thus it’s placement in my blog.

Welcome to the world of quantum physics and how all those things about prayer, intention, and spirituality actually does have a scientific foundation that they are based upon.

CHAPTER THREE

The Two-Way Street

CLEVE BACKSTER WAS AMONG THE FIRST to propose that plants affected by human intention – a notion considered so preposterous that it was ridiculed for 40 years. Backster achieved his notoriety from a series of experiments that purported to demonstrate that living organisms read and respond to a person’s thoughts.

Plant telepathy interested me less than a tangential discovery of his that has been sidelined amid all his adverse publicity: evidence of a constant two-way flow of information between all living things. Every organism, from bacteria to human beings, appears to be in perpetual quantum communication. This relentless conversation offers a ready mechanism by which thoughts can have a physical effect.

This discovery resulted from a silly little diversion in 1966; Backster, at the time a tall, wiry man with a buzz cut and a great deal of childlike enthusiasm, was easily distracted. He often carried on working in his suite of offices when the rest of his staff had gone home and he could finally focus without the constant interruptions of colleagues and the tumultuous daytime activity of Times Square, four storeys below.1

Backster had made his name as the country’s leading lie-detector expert. During the Second World War, he had been fascinated by the psychology of lying, and the use of hypnosis and ‘truth serum’ interrogation in counter-intelligence, and he had brought these twin fascinations to bear in refining the polygraph test to a high psychological art. He had launched his first programme with the CIA for counter- intelligence several years after the war, and then went on to found the Backster School of Lie Detection, still the world’s leading school teaching polygraph techniques some 50 years after it first opened its doors.

One morning in February, after working all night, Backster was taking a coffee break at 7 a.m. He was about to water the Dracaena and rubber plant in his office. As he filled up his watering can, he wondered if it might be possible to measure the length of time it would take water to travel up the stem of a plant from the roots and reach the leaves, particularly in the Dracaena, a cane plant with an especially long trunk. It occurred to him that he could test this by connecting the Dracaena to one of his polygraph machines; once the water reached the spot between the electrodes, the moisture would contaminate the circuit and be recorded as a drop in resistance.

A lie detector is sensitive to the slightest change in the electrical conductivity of skin, which is caused by increased activity of the sweat glands, which in turn are governed by the sympathetic nervous system. The polygraph galvanic skin response (GSR) portion of the test displays the amount of the skin’s electrical resistance, much as an electrician’s ohmmeter records the electrical resistance of a circuit. A lie detector also monitors changes in blood pressure, respiration, and the strength and rate of the pulse. Low levels of electrical conductivity indicate little stress and a

state of calm. Higher electrodermal activity (EDA) readings indicate that the sympathetic nervous system, which is sensitive to stress or certain emotional states, is in overdrive – as would be the case when someone is lying. A polygraph reading can offer evidence of stress to the sympathetic nervous system even before the person being tested is consciously aware of it.

In 1966, the state-of-the-art technology consisted of a set of electrode plates, which were attached to two of a subject’s fingers, and through which a tiny current of electricity was passed. The smallest increases or decreases in electrical resistance were picked up by the plates and recorded on a paper chart, on which a pen traced a continuous, serrated line. When someone lied or in any way experienced a surge of emotion (such as excitement or fear), the size of the zigzag would dramatically increase and the tracing would move to the top of the chart.

Backster sandwiched one of the long, curved leaves of the Dracaena between the two sensor electrodes of a lie detector and encircled it with a rubber band. Once he watered the plant, what he expected to see was an upward trend in the ink tracing on the polygraph recording paper, corresponding to a drop in the leaf ’s electrical resistance as the moisture content increased. But as he poured in the water, the very opposite occurred. The first part of the tracing began heading downward and then displayed a short-term blip, similar to what happens when a person briefly experiences a fear of detection.

At the time Backster thought he was witnessing a human-style reaction, although he would later learn that the waxy insulation between the cells in plants causes an electrical discharge that mimics a human stress reaction on polygraph instruments. He decided that if the plant were indeed displaying an emotional reaction, he would have to come up with some major emotional stimulus to heighten this response.

When a person takes a polygraph test, the best way to determine if he is lying is to ask a direct and pointed question, so that any answer but the truth will cause an immediate, dramatic stress reaction in his sympathetic nervous system: ‘Was it you who fired the two bullets into Joe Smith?’

In order to elicit the equivalent of alarm in a plant, Backster knew he needed somehow to threaten its well-being. He tried immersing one of the plant’s leaves in a cup of coffee, but that did not cause any interesting reaction on the tracing – only a continuation of the downward trend. If this were the tracing of a human being, Backster would have concluded that the person being monitored was tired or bored. It was obvious to him that he needed to pose an immediate and genuine threat: he would get a match and burn the electroded leaf.

At the very moment he had that thought, the recording pen swung to the top of the polygraph chart and nearly jumped off. He had not burned the plant; he had only thought about doing so. According to his polygraph, the plant had perceived the thought as a direct threat and registered extreme alarm. He ran to his secretary’s desk in a neighbouring office for some matches. When he returned, the plant was still registering alarm on the polygraph. He lit a match and flickered it under one of the leaves. The pen continued on its wild, zigzag course. Backster then returned thematches to his secretary’s desk. The tracing calmed down and began to flat-line.

He hadn’t known what to make of it. He had long been drawn to hypnosis and ideas about the power of thought and the nature of consciousness. He had even performed a number of experiments with hypnosis during his work with the Army Counter Intelligence Corps and the CIA, as part of a campaign designed to detect the use of hypnosis techniques in Russian espionage.

But this was something altogether more extraordinary. This plant, it seemed, had read his thoughts. It wasn’t even as though he particularly liked plants. This only could have occurred if the plant possessed some sort of sophisticated extrasensory perception. The plant somehow must be attuned to its environment, able to receive far more than pure sensory information from water or light.

Backster modified his polygraph equipment to amplify electrical signals so that they would be highly sensitive to the slightest electrical change in the plants. He and his partner, Bob Henson, set about replicating the initial experiment. Backster spent the next year and a half frequently monitoring the reactions of the other plants in the office to their environment. They discovered a number of characteristics. The plants grew attuned to the comings and goings of their main caretaker. They also maintained some sort of ‘territoriality’ and so did not react to events in the other offices near Backster’s lab. They even seemed to tune in to Pete, his Doberman Pinscher, who spent his days at the office.

Most intriguing of all, there seemed to be a continuous two-way flow of information between the plants and other living things in their environment. One day, when Backster boiled his kettle to make coffee, he found he had put in too much water. But when he poured the residue down the sink, he noticed that the plants registered an intense reaction.

The sink was not the most hygienic; indeed, his staff had not cleaned the drain for several months. He decided to take some samples from the drain and examine them under a microscope, which showed a jungle of bacteria that ordinarily lives in the waste pipes of a sink. When threatened by the boiling water, had the bacteria emitted a type of mayday signal before they died, which had been picked up by the plants?

Backster, who knew he would be ridiculed if he presented findings like these to the scientific community, enlisted an impressive array of chemists, biologists, psychiatrists, psychologists and physicists to help him design an airtight experiment. In his early experiments, Backster had relied upon human thought and emotion as the trigger for reactions in the plants. The scientists discouraged him from using intention as the stimulus of the experiment, because it did not lend itself to rigorous scientific design. How could you set up a control for a human thought – an intention to harm, say? The orthodox scientific community could easily pick holes in his study. He had to create a laboratory barren of any other living things besides the plants to ensure that the plants would not be, as it were, distracted.

The only way to achieve this was to automate the experiment entirely. But he also needed a potent stimulus. He tried to think of the one act that would stir up the most profound reaction, something that would evoke the equivalent in the plants of dumbfounded horror. It became clear that the only way to get unequivocal results was to commit the equivalent of mass genocide. But what could he kill en masse that would not arouse the ire of anti-vivisectionists or get him arrested? It obviously could not be a person or a large animal of any variety. He did not even want to kill members of the usual experimental population, like rats or guinea pigs. The one obvious candidate was brine shrimp. Their only purpose, as far as he could tell, was to become fodder for tropical fish. Brine shrimp were already destined for the slaughterhouse. Only the most ardent anti-vivisectionist could object.

Backster and Henson rigged up a gadget that would randomly select one of six possible moments when a small cup containing the brine shrimp would invert and tip its contents into a pot of continuously boiling water. The randomizer was placed in the far room in his suite of six offices, with three plants attached to polygraph equipment in three separate rooms at the other end of the laboratory. His fourth polygraph machine, attached to a fixed valve resistor to ensure that there was no sudden surge of voltage from the equipment, acted as the control.

Microcomputers had yet to be invented, as Backster set up his lab in the late sixties. To perform the task, Backster created an innovative mechanical programmer, which operated on a time-delay switch, to set off each event in the automation process. After flipping the switch, Backster and Henson would leave the lab, so they and their thoughts would not influence the results. He had to eliminate the possibility that the plants might be more attuned to him and his colleague than a minor murder of brine shrimp down the hallway.

Backster and Henson tried their test numerous times. The results were unambiguous: the polygraphs of the electroded plants spiked a significant number of times just at the point when the brine shrimp hit the boiling water.

Years after he had made this discovery – and after he became a great fan of Star Wars – he would think of this moment as one in which his plants picked up a major disturbance in the Force, and he had discovered a means of measuring it.2

If plants could register the death of an organism three doors away, it must mean that all life forms were exquisitely in tune with each other. Living things must be registering and passing telepathic information back and forth at every moment, particularly at moments of threat or death.

Backster published the results of his experiment in several respected journals of psychic research and gave a modest presentation before the Parapsychology Association during its tenth annual meeting.3

Parapsychologists recognized Backster’s contribution and replicated it in a number of independent laboratories, notably that of Alexander Dubrov, a Russian doctor of botany and plant physiology.4 It was even glorified in a bestselling book, The Secret Life of Plants.5 But among the mainstream scientific community, his research was disparaged as ludicrous, largely because he was not a traditional scientist, and he was ridiculed for what became known as ‘The Backster Effect’. In 1975, Esquire magazine even awarded him one of its 100 Dubious Achievement Awards: ‘Scientist claims yogurt talks to itself’.6

Nonetheless, over the next 30 years Backster ignored his critics and stubbornly carried on with his research, as well as his polygraph business, eventually amassing file drawers full of studies of what he referred to as ‘primary perception’. A variety of plants that had been hooked up to his polygraph equipment showed evidence of a reaction to human emotional highs and lows, especially threats and other forms of negative intention – as did paramecia, mould cultures, eggs and, indeed, yogurt.7

Backster even demonstrated that bodily fluids such as blood and semen samples taken from himself and his colleagues registered reactions mirroring the emotional state of their hosts; the blood cells of a young lab assistant reacted intensely the moment he opened a Playboy centrefold and caught sight of Bo Derek in the nude.8

These reactions were not dependent on distance; any living system attached to a polygraph reacted similarly to his thoughts, whether he was in the room or miles away. Like pets, they had become attuned to their ‘owner’.

These organisms were not simply registering his thoughts; they were communicating telepathically with all the living things in their environment. The live bacteria in yogurt displayed a reaction to the death of other types of bacteria and even evidenced a desire to be ‘fed’ with more of its own beneficial bacteria. Eggs registered a cry of alarm and then resignation when one of their number was dropped in boiling water. Plants appeared to react in real time to any break in continuity with the living beings in their environment. They even appeared to react at the moment when their caretakers, who were away from the office, decided to return.9

His major difficulty was designing experiments that could demonstrate an effect scientifically. Even though his laboratory experiments were now entirely automated, when he left the office, the plants would remain attuned to him, no matter now far away he went. If Backster and his partner were at a bar a block away during an experiment, he would discover that the plants were not responding to the brine shrimp, but to the rising and falling animation of their conversations. It got so difficult to isolate reactions to specific events that eventually he had to design experiments that would be carried out by strangers in another lab.

Repeatability remained another big problem. Any tests required spontaneity and true intent. He had discovered this when the famous remote viewer Ingo Swann had come to visit him at his lab in October 1971.

Swann wanted to repeat Backster’s initial experiment with his Dracaena. As expected, the plant’s polygraph began to spike when Swann imagined burning the plant with a match. He tried it again, and the plant reacted wildly, then stopped.

‘What does that mean?’ Swann asked. Backster shrugged. ‘You tell me.’

The thought that occurred to Swann was so bizarre that he was not sure whether to say it aloud. ‘Do you mean,’ he said, ‘that it has learned that I’m not serious about really burning its leaf? So that it now knows it need not be alarmed?’

‘You said it, I didn’t,’ Backster replied. ‘Try another kind of harmful thought.’

Swann thought of putting acid in the plant’s pot. The needle on the polygraph again began to zigzag wildly. Eventually, the plant appeared to understand that Swann was not serious. The polygraph tracing flat-lined. Swann, a plant lover who was already convinced that plants were sentient, was nevertheless shocked at the thought that plants could learn to differentiate between true and artificial human intent: a plant learning curve.10

Although certain questions remain about Backster’s unorthodox research methods, the sheer bulk of his evidence argues strongly for some sort of primary responsiveness and attuning, if not sentience, present in all organisms, no matter how primitive. But for my purposes, Backster’s real contribution was his discovery of the telepathic communication carrying on between every living thing and its environment. Somehow, a constant stream of messages was being sent out, received and replied to.

Backster had to wait some years to discover the mechanism of this communication, which became apparent when physicist Fritz-Albert Popp discovered biophotons.11

At first Popp believed that a living organism used biophoton emissions solely as a means of instantaneous, non-local signalling from one part of the body to another – to send information about the global state of the body’s health, say, or the effects of any particular treatment. But then Popp grew intrigued by the most fascinating effect of all: the light seemed to be a communications system between living things.12

In experiments with Daphnia, a common water flea, he discovered that female water fleas were absorbing the light emitted from each other and sending back wave interference patterns, as though they had taken the light sent to themselves and updated it with more information. Popp concluded that this activity may be the mechanism enabling fleas to stay together when they swarm – a silent communication holding them together like an invisible net.13

He decided to examine the light emissions between dinoflagellates, luminescent algae that cause phosphorescence in seawater. These single-celled organisms sit somewhere between an animal and a plant in the evolutionary scale; although they are classified as a plant, they move like a primitive animal. Popp discovered that the light of each dinoflagellate was coordinated with that of its neighbours, as if each were holding aloft a tiny lantern on cue.14

Chinese colleagues of Popp’s who had tried positioning two samples of the algae so that they could ‘see’ each other through a shutter also found that the light emissions from each sample were synchronous. The researchers concluded that they had witnessed a highly sophisticated means of communication. There was no doubt that the two samples were signalling to each other.15

These organisms also appeared to be registering light from other species, although the greatest synchronicities occurred between members of the same species.16

Once the light waves of one organism were initially absorbed by another organism, the first organism’s light would begin trading information in synchrony. 17

Living things also appeared to communicate information with their surroundings. Bacteria absorbed light from their nutritional media: the more bacteria present, Popp found, the greater the absorption of light.18

Even the white and yolk of an egg appear to communicate with the shell.19

This communication carries on, even if an organism is cut into pieces. Gary Schwartz cut up a batch of string beans, placed them between 1 millimetre and 10 millimetres apart, and then used the NSF CCD camera he had borrowed to take series of photographs of the sections. Using software to enhance the light between the beans, he discovered so much light between the sections that it appeared as though the bean were whole again. Even though the string beans had been severed, the individual sections carried on their communication to the rest of the vegetable.20

This may be the mechanism accounting for the feeling described by amputees with phantom limb sensations. The light of the body still communicates with the energetic ‘footprint’ of the amputated limb.

Like Backster, Popp discovered that living things are exquisitely in tune with their environment through these light emissions. One of Popp’s colleagues, Professor Wolfgang Klimek, the head of the Ministry of Research for the German government devised an ingenious experiment to examine whether creatures such as algae were aware of past disturbances in their environment. He prepared two containers of seawater, and shook one of them. After 10 minutes, when the water in the shaken container had settled down, he placed samples of dinoflagellates in the two vessels. Those algae exposed to the shaken water suddenly increased their photon emissions – a sign of stress. The algae appeared to be aware of the slightest change in their environment – even a historical change – and responded with alarm.21

Another of Popp’s colleagues, Eduard Van Wijk, a Dutch psychologist, wondered how far this influence extended. Did a living thing register information from the entire environment, and not simply between two communicating entities? When a healer sends out healing intention, for instance, how far does his field of influence extend? Would he only affect his target, or would his aim have a shotgun effect, affecting other living organisms around the target?

Van Wijk placed a jar of Acetabularia acetabulum, another simple algae, near a healer and his patient, then measured the photon emissions of the algae during healing sessions and periods of rest. After analysing the data, he discovered remarkable alterations in the photon count of the algae. The quality of emissions significantly changed during the healing sessions, as though the algae were being bombarded with light. There also seemed to be changes in the rhythm of the emissions, as though the algae had become attuned to a stronger source of light.

During his initial research, Popp had discovered a strange reaction to light by a living thing. If he shone a bright light on an organism, after a certain delay, the organism would shine more brightly itself with extra photons, as if it were rejecting any excess. Popp called this phenomenon ‘delayed luminescence’, and assumed it was a corrective device to help the organism maintain its level of light at a delicate equilibrium. In Van Wijk’s experiment, the photon emissions of algae showed highly significant shifts from normal, when plotted on a graph. Van Wijk had generated some of the first evidence that healing light may affect anything in its path.22

Gary Schwartz’s associate Melinda Connor then demonstrated that intention has a direct effect on this light. For her study she clipped leaves from geranium plants, carefully matching them in pairs for size, health, placement on the plant and access to light and close to identical photon emissions. She asked each of 20 master energy healers to send intentions to one of each pair of leaves, first to reduce emissions and then to increase them. In 29 of the 38 sessions designed to decrease emissions, the light was significantly lowered in the treatment leaves, and in 22 of the 38 trials intending to increase the light, the healers caused a significantly greater glow.23

Sometimes a physical jolt to the system triggers a shock of realization. For physicist Konstantin Korotkov, his insight resulted from a fall off a roof. It was the winter of 1976, and Korotkov, who was 24 at the time, had been celebrating a birthday with some friends. Korotkov liked to celebrate outside, whatever the weather. He and his friends had been drinking vodka on the roof. Korotkov was given to expansive gestures, and during a moment of gaiety, threw himself off the roof onto what he thought was a deep bed of snow, which he assumed would cushion his fall. But hidden beneath the snow lay hard stone. Korotkov broke his left leg and landed in the hospital for months.24

During his long recovery, Korotkov, a conventional professor of quantum physics at St Petersburg State Technical University in Russia, pondered on a lecture on Kirlian effects and healing that he had attended earlier that year. He had been so intrigued that he wondered if he could improve on what Kirlian claimed to be doing: capturing someone’s life energy on film.

Semyon Davidovich Kirlian was an engineer who had discovered in 1939 tha photographing living things that had been exposed to a pulsed electromagnetic field would capture what many have termed the human ‘aura’. When any conductive object (like living tissue) is placed on a plate made of an insulating material, such as glass, and exposed to high-voltage, high-frequency electricity, a low current results that creates a corona discharge, a halo of coloured light around the object that can be captured on film. Kirlian claimed that the state of the aura reflected the person’s state of health; changes in the aura were evidence of disease or mental disturbance.

The Soviet scientific mainstream ignored Kirlian until the 1960s, when the Russian press discovered bioelectrography, as it came to be called, and hailed him as a great inventor. Kirlian photography suddenly became respectable, particularly in space research, and was championed by many Western scientists. Publication of Kirlian’s first study in 1964 further attracted the scientific community.25

Lying for months in his bed, Korotkov realized that if he was going to discover more about how to capture this mysterious light Kirlian claimed was so vital to health, he was going to have to give up his day job. He knew that the involvement of a well-established quantum physicist such as himself would lend the technique scientific legitimacy and his technical ability might also help advance the technology. Perhaps he could even devise a means of depicting the light in real time.

After he got back up on his feet, Korotkov spent months developing a mechanism, which he called the Gas Discharge Visualization (GDV) technique, that made use of state-of-the-art optics, digitized television matrices and a powerful computer. Ordinarily, a living thing will dribble out the faintest pulse of photons, perceptible only to the most sensitive equipment in conditions of utter pitch black. As Korotkov realized, a better way to capture this light was to stir up photons by ‘evoking’, or stimulating them into an excited state so that they would shine millions of times more intensely than normal.

His equipment blended several techniques: photography, measurements of light intensity and computerized pattern recognition. Korotkov’s camera would take pictures of the field around each of the 10 fingers, one finger at a time. A computer program would then extrapolate from this a real-time image of the ‘biofield’ surrounding the organism and deduce from it the state of the organism’s health.

Korotkov went on to write five books on the human bioenergy field.26

In time, he managed to convince the Russian Ministry of Health of the importance of his invention to medical technology, diagnosis and treatment. His equipment was initially employed to predict certain clinical situations, such as the progress of recovery of people after surgery.27

It soon became widely used in Russia as a diagnostic tool for many illnesses, including cancer and stress,28 and was even used to assess athletic potential – to predict the psychophysical reserves in athletes training for the Olympics and the likelihood of victory or exhaustion from overtraining.29

Eventually, some 3000 doctors, practitioners and researchers worldwide came to use the technology. The National Institutes of Health got interested and funded work on the ‘biofield’, which employed Korotkov’s equipment.30

While officially exploring these practical applications, Korotkov privately carried on with his own studies of what had really captured his imagination: the connection between biofields and consciousness.31

He took GDV readings of healers and a Qigong master while they were sending energy, and discovered remarkable changes in their corona discharges. Korotkov then explored the effects of a person’s thoughts on the people surrounding him. He asked a number of couples to ‘send’ a variety of thoughts to their partners, while they were standing within close range. Every strong emotion – whether love, hate or anger – produced an extraordinary effect on the light discharge of the recipient.32

Some 40 years after Backster first employed his crude polygraph mechanism to register the effect of thoughts, Korotkov verified those early discoveries with state- of-the-art equipment. He hooked up a potted plant to his GDV machine and asked his researchers to think of different emotions – anger, sadness, joy – and then positive and negative intentions towards the plant. Whenever a participant mentally threatened the plant, its energy field diminished. The opposite occurred if people approached the plant with water or feelings of love.

Largely because he lacked scientific credentials, Backster was never recognized for his contributions. He had stumbled across the first evidence that living things engage in a constant two-way flow of information with their environment, enabling them to register even the nuances of human thought. The more advanced scientific knowledge of physicists Fritz Popp and Konstantin Korotkov was needed to uncove the actual mechanism of that communication. Their research into the nature of quantum light emissions from living organisms suddenly made sense of Backster’s

findings. If thoughts are another stream of photons, it is perfectly plausible that a plant could pick up the signals and be affected by them.

The work of Backster, Popp and Korotkov suggested something profound abou the effect of intention. Every last thought appeared to augment or diminish something else’s light.

Notes – Chapter 3: The Two-Way Street

For all history of Cleve Backster’s discoveries and experiments, interview with Backster, October 2004 and his Primary Perception: Biocommunication with Plants, Living Foods, and Human Cells, Anza, Calif.: White Rose Millennium Press, 2003.
As Obi-Wan Kenobe tells Luke Skywalker, after Alderan has been blown up by the Empire in Star Wars part IV: A New Hope: ‘I feel a great disturbance in the Force. As if millions of voices suddenly cried out in terror, and were suddenly silenced.’
Presentation given at the Tenth Annual Parapsychology Association meeting in New York City, September 7, 1967. Also published as C Backster, ‘Evidence of a primary perception in plant life’, International Journal of Parapsychology, 1968; 10 (4): 329–48.
P. Dubrov and V. N. Pushkin, Parapsychology and Contemporary Science, New York and London: Consultants Bureau, 1982.
P. Tompkins and C. Bird, The Secret Life of Plants, New York: Harper & Row, 1973.
‘Boysenberry to Prune, Boysenberry to Prune: Do you read me? Li detector expert Cleve Backster reported in the annual meeting of the American Association for the Advancement of Science that he had detected electrical impulses between two containers of yogurt at opposite ends of his laboratory. Backster claims the bacteria in the containers were communicating.’ Esquire, January 1976.
Backster, ‘Evidence of a primary perception’, op. cit.
Backster, Primary Perceptions, op. cit.: 112–13.
Backster, Primary Perceptions. See also Rupert Sheldrake, Dogs That Know When Their Owners Are Coming Home and Other Unexplaine Powers of Animals, London: Three Rivers Press, 2000.
This and other personal details of events resulted from interviews with Ingo Swann, New York, July 2005.
See McTaggart, The Field, op. cit.: 39 for a full description of F.-A. Popp’s earlier work.
All details of these experiments resulted from an interview between the author and Fritz-Albert Popp, January 2006.
R. M. Galle et al., ‘Biophoton emission from Daphnia magna: A possible factor in the self-regulation of swarming’, Experientia, 1991; 47: 457–60; R. M. Galle, ‘Untersuchungen zum dichte und zeitabhängigen Verhalten der ultraschwachen Photonenemission von pathogenetischen Weibchen des Wasserflohs Daphnia magna.’ Dissertation. Universität Saarbrücken, Fachbereich Zoologie, 1993.
F.-A. Popp et al., ‘Nonsubstantial biocommunication in terms of Dicke’s Theory’, in M. W. Ho, F.-A. Popp and U. Warnke (eds.), Bioelectrodynamics and Biocommunication, Singapore: World Scientific Publishing, 1994: 293–317; J. J. Chang et al., ‘Research on cel communication of P. elegans by means of photon emission’, Chinese Science Bulletin, 1995; 40: 76–9.
J. J. Chang et al., ‘Communication between Dinoflagellates by means o photon emission’, in L. V. Beloussov and F.-A. Popp (eds.), Proceedings of International Conference on Non-equilibrium and Coherent Systems in Biophysics, Biology and Biotechnology, Sep. 28–Oct. 2 1994, Moscow: Bioinform Services Co., 1995: 318–30.
Interview with Popp, Neuss, Germany, March 1, 2006.
F.-A. Popp et al., ‘Mechanism of interaction between electromagnetic fields and living organisms’, Science in China (Series C), 2000; 43 (5): 507–18.
Ibid.
L. Beloussov and N. N. Louchinskaia, ‘Biophoton emission from developing eggs and embryos: Nonlinearity, wholistic properties and indications of energy transfer’, in J. J. Chang et al. (eds.), Biophotons, London: Kluwer Academic Publishers, 1998: 121–40.
K. Creath and G. E. Schwartz, ‘What biophoton images of plants can tel us about biofields and healing’, Journal of Scientific Exploration, 2005; 19 (4): 531–50.
A. V. Tschulakow et al., ‘A new approach to the memory of water’, Homeopathy, 2005; 94: 241–7.
E. P. A. Van Wijk and R. Van Wijk, ‘The development ofa bio-sensor for the state of consciousness in a human intentional healing ritual’, Journal of International Society of Life Information Science (ISLIS,) 2002; 20 (2): 694–702.
M. Connor, ‘Baseline testing of energy practitioners: Biophoton imaging results.’ Paper presented at the North American Research in Integrative Medicine conference, Edmonton, Canada, May 2006.
Personal details about K. Korotkov the result of multiple interviews with the author, November–March 2005–2006.
S. D. Kirlian and V. K. Kirlian, ‘Photography and visual observation by means of high frequency currents’, J. Sci. Appl. Photogr., 1964; 6: 397– 403.
Korotkov’s most important work on the subject was K. Korotkov, Human Energy Field: Study with GDV Bioelectrography, New Jersey: Backbone Publishing Co., 2002; K. Korotkov, Aura and Consciousness – New Stage of Scientific Understanding, St Petersburg: St Petersburg Division of the Russian Ministry of Culture, State Publishing Unit ‘Kultura’, 1999.
K. Korotkov et al., ‘Assessing biophysical energy transfer mechanisms in living systems: The basis of life processes’, The Journal of Alternative and Complementary Medicine, 2004; 10 (1): 49–57.
L. W. Konikiewicz and L. C. Griff,Bioelectrography – A new method for detecting cancer and body physiology, Harrisburg, Va.: Leonard Associates Press, 1982; G. Rein, ‘Corona discharge photography of human breast tumour biopsies’, Acupuncture & Electrotherapeutics Research, 1985; 10: 305–8; K. Korotkov et al., ‘Stress diagnosis and monitoring with new computerized “Crown-TV” device’, Journal of Pathophysiology, 1998; 5: 227.
P. Bundzen et al., ‘New technology of the athletes’ psycho-physical readiness evaluation based on the gas-discharge visualisation method in comparison with battery of tests’, ‘SIS-99’ Proceedings, International Congress St Petersburg, 1999: 19–22; P. V. Bundzen, et al., ‘Psychophysiological correlates of athletic success in athletes training for
the Olympics’, Human Physiology, 2005; 31 (3): 316–23; K. Korotkov et al., ‘Assessing biophysical energy transfer mechanisms’, op. cit.
Clair A. Francomano and Wayne B. Jonas, in Ronald A. Chez (ed.) Proceedings: Measuring the Human Energy Field: State of the Science. The Gerontology Research Center, National Institute of Aging, Nationa Institutes of Health, Baltimore, Maryland, April 17–18, 2002.
S. Kolmakow et al., ‘Gas discharge visualization technique and spectrophotometry in detection of field effects’, Mechanisms of Adaptive Behavior, Abstracts of International Symposium, St Petersburg, 1999: 79.
Interview with K. Korotkov, March 2006.

CHAPTER FOUR

Hearts that Beat as One

NONE OF THE SCIENTISTS INVOLVED IN ‘The Love Study’ remember who came up with its name. It might have started as Elisabeth Targ’s private joke, for the study involved couples who were installed in two different rooms and separated by a hallway, three doors, eight walls and several inches of stainless steel.1

The name was actually meant to be a gracious nod to the study’s arcane benefactor, the Institute for Research on Unlimited Love at Case Western Reserve As it happened, the study became a posthumous valentine to Targ, who was diagnosed with a fatal brain tumour just before the grant money came through. The Love Study would be a fitting tribute to Targ, as the first major scientific demonstration of exactly how intention physically affects its recipient, and the name proved especially apt in describing this process. When you send an intention, every major physiological system in your body is mirrored in the body of the receiver. Intention is the perfect manifestation of love. Two bodies become one.

Targ began her career as a mainstream psychiatrist, but made her name in 1999 with two remarkable studies at California Pacific Medical Center (CPMC) in Sa Francisco, which tested the possibility of remote healing with end-stage AIDS patients. Targ spent months designing her trial. She and her partner, psychologist and retired hospital administrator Fred Sicher, sought out a homogeneous group of advanced AIDS patients with the same degree of illness, including the same T-cell counts and number of AIDS-defining illnesses. Because they wished to test the effec of distant healing, and not any particular healing modality, they decided to recruit highly experienced, successful healers from diverse backgrounds who might represent an array of approaches.

Targ and Sicher gathered together an eclectic mix of healers from all across America – from orthodox Christians to Native American shamans – and asked them to send healing thoughts to a group of AIDS patients under strict double-blind conditions. All healing was to be done remotely so that nothing, such as the presence of a healer or healing touch, could confound the results. Targ created a strict double- blind rota: each healer received sealed packets with information about the patients to be healed, including their name, photo and T-cell counts. Every other week, the healers were assigned a new patient and asked to hold an intention for the health and well-being of the patient an hour a day for six days, with alternate weeks off for rest. In this manner, eventually every patient in the healing group would be sent healing by every healer in turn.

At the end of the first study, although 40 per cent of the control population died, all 10 of the patients in the treatment group were not only alive but far healthier in every regard.

Targ and Sicher repeated the study, but this time, doubled the size of their study population and tightened their protocol even further. They also widened their brief of

the outcomes they planned to measure. In the second study, those sent healing were again far healthier on every parameter tested: significantly fewer AIDS-defining illnesses, improved T-cell levels, fewer hospitalizations, fewer visits to the doctor, fewer new illnesses, less severity of disease and better psychological well-being. The differences were decisive; for instance, the treatment group had six times fewer AIDS-defining illnesses and four times fewer hospitalizations at the end of the study than the controls.2

In Targ’s original studies, the healing had been carried out by highly experienced, successful healers who had been chosen because they possessed a special gift. After the studies were completed, Targ grew interested in whether an ordinary individual could be similarly trained to use intention effectively.

For the Love Study, Targ found a sympathetic partner in Marilyn Schlitz, the vice president for research and education at the Institute of Noetic Sciences (IONS) The energetic blonde had a colourful national reputation because of her meticulously designed parapsychology studies and their spectacular results, which attracted the attention of the senior powers in consciousness research as well as the New York Times. During a long partnership with psychologist William Braud, Schlitz had conducted rigorous research into what became known in the psychic community as ‘DMILS’ – direct mental interaction with living systems – the ability of human thought to influence the living world around it.3

Throughout her career in parapsychology, Schlitz had been fascinated by remote influence; she was one of the first to examine the effect of intention in healing, and went on to assemble a vast database of healing research for IONS.

For the Love Study, Schlitz recruited Dean Radin, her IONS senior researche and one of America’s most renowned parapsychologists. Radin was to design both the study and some of its equipment; with his background in engineering and psychology he would ensure that both the study protocol and its technical detail were pristine. Targ enlisted Jerome Stone, a nurse and practising Buddhist who had worked with her on the AIDS studies, to design the intention programme and train the patients.

In 2002, after Targ died, Schlitz and the others vowed to carry on with the study and recruited Ellen Levine, one of Targ’s colleagues from CPMC, to take her place and work with Stone as joint principal investigators.

The Love Study was to follow the basic study design of a perennial favorite among consciousness researchers: the sense of being stared at.4

In those studies, two people are isolated from each other in separate rooms and a video camera is trained on the receiver, who is also hooked up to skin conductance equipment, not unlike a polygraph machine – the type used in lie detection studies to detect an increase in ‘fight-or-flight’, unconscious autonomic nervous system activity. At random intervals, the ‘sender’ is instructed to stare at the subject on the monitor, while the ‘receiver’ is told to relax and try to think of anything other than the prospect of being stared at. A later comparison analysis determines whether the receiver’s autonomic system registered a reaction during those moments he or she was being stared at to determine whether the mere attention of the sender was unconsciously picked up by the most automatic systems of the receiver’s body.

Schlitz and Braud’s body of evidence on remote staring, conducted over 10 years, showed exactly such an effect. All the studies had been combined into a review that was published in a major psychology journal. The review concluded that the effects had been small but significant.5

The Love Study’s design was also inspired by the major DMILS studies conducted since 1963, which demonstrated that, under many types of circumstances, the electrical signalling in the brains of people gets synchronized.6

The frequencies, amplitudes and phases of the brain waves start operating in tandem. Although the studies followed slightly different designs, all of them asked the same question: can the stimulation of one person be felt in the higher central nervous system of another? Or, as Radin liked to think of it, after a sender gets pinched, does the receiver also feel the ‘ouch’?7

Two people wired up with a variety of physiological monitoring equipment, such as EEG machines, were isolated from each other indifferent rooms. One would be stimulated with something – a picture, a light or a mild electric shock. The researchers would then examine the two EEGs to determine if the receiver’s brain waves mirrored those of the sender when he or she was being stimulated.

The earliest DMILS research had been designed by psychologist an consciousness researcher Charles Tart, who carried out a series of brutal studies to determine whether people could empathetically feel another person’s pain. He administered shocks to himself, while a volunteer, isolated in a different room and hooked up to an array of medical gadgetry, was being monitored to see if his sympathetic nervous system somehow picked up Tart’s reactions. Whenever Tart jolted himself, the receiver registered an unconscious empathetic response in decreased blood volume and increased heart rate – as though he were also getting the shocks.8

Another fascinating early study had been carried out with identical twins. As soon as one twin closed his eyes and his brain electrical rhythms slowed to alpha waves, the other twin’s brain also slowed, even though his eyes were wide open.9

Harald Walach, a German scientist at the University of Freiburg, tried an approach that was guaranteed to magnify the sender’s effects, in order to maximize the response in the receiver. The sender was shown an alternating black-and-white checkerboard, called a ‘pattern reversal’, which is known to trigger predictable, high-amplitude electrical brain waves in viewers. At the same instant, the EEG of the distant, shielded receiver recorded identical brain-wave patterns.10

Neurophysiologist Jacobo Grinberg-Zylberbaum, of the National Autonomous University of Mexico in Mexico City, had used this same protocol a decade before Walach but with a different twist: with light flashes rather than patterns as the stimulus. In this study, the particular patterns of firing in the brain of the sender, evoked by the light, turned out to be mirrored in the brain of the receiver, who was sitting in an electrically shielded room 14.5 metres away. Grinberg-Zylberbaum also discovered that an important condition determined success: the synchrony only occurred among pairs of participants who had met and established a connection by spending 20 minutes with each other in meditative silence.11

In earlier work, Grinberg-Zylberbaum had discovered that brainwave synchrony occurred not only between two people, but between both hemispheres of the brains of both participants, with one important distinction: the participant with the most cohesive quantum wave patterns sometimes set the tempo and tended to influence the other. The most ordered brain pattern often prevailed.12

In the most recent DMILS study, in 2005, a group of researchers from Basty University and the University of Washington gathered 30 couples with strong emotional and psychological connections and also a great deal of experience in meditation. The pairs were split up and placed in rooms 10 meters away from each other, with an EEG amplifier wired up to the occipital (visual) lobe of the brain of each participant. The moment each sender was exposed to a flickering light, he attempted to transmit an image or thought about the light to the partner. Of the 60 receivers tested, 5 of them, or 8 per cent, were shown to have significantly higher brain activation during times their partner ‘sent’ their visual images.13

The Washington researchers then selected five pairs of the participants who had scored a significant result, wired them up to a functional MRI, which measures minuscule changes in the brain during critical functions, and asked them to repeat the experiment. During the times the thought was ‘transmitted’, the recipients experienced an increase in blood oxygenation in a portion of the visual cortex of the brain. This increase did not occur when the sending partner was not being visually stimulated.14

The Bastyr researchers replicated their study, this time with volunteers highly experienced in meditation, and got some of the strongest correlations between senders and receivers of all the studies thus far.

The Bastyr study represented a major breakthrough in research on direct mental influence. It demonstrated that the brain-wave response of the sender to the stimulus is mirrored in the receiver, and that the stimulus in the receiver occurs in an identical place in the brain as that of the sender. The receiver’s brain reacts as though he or she is seeing the same image at the same time.

A final extraordinary study examined the effect of powerful emotional involvement on remote influence. Researchers at the University of Edinburgh studied and compared the EEGs of bonded couples, matched pairs of strangers, and several individuals with no partner but who nevertheless thought they were being paired off and having their brain waves compared. Everyone who had been paired off, whether he knew his partner or not, displayed increased numbers of brain waves in synchrony. The only participants who did not demonstrate this effect were those who had no partner.15

Radin carried out a variation of this experiment, attaching pairs who had close bonds – couples, friends, parents and their children. In a significant number of instances, the EEGs of the senders and receivers appeared to synchronize.16

In designing the Love Study, Schlitz and Radin also had been influenced by other research showing that, during acts of remote influence, the recipient’s EEG waves mirror those of the sender. In a number of studies of healing, the EEG waves of the patient synchronize with those of the healer during moments when healing energy is being ‘sent’.17

Brain mapping during certain types of healing, such as bioenergy, also shows evidence of brain-wave synchrony. 18

In many instances, when one person is sending focused intention to another, their brains appear to become entrained.

Entrainment is a term in physics which means that two oscillating systems fall into synchrony. It was coined in 1665 by the Dutch mathematician Christiaan Huygens, after discovering that two of his clocks with pendulums standing in close approximation to each other had begun to swing in unison. He had been toying with the two pendulums and found that even if he started one pendulum swinging at one end, and the other at the opposite end, eventually the two would swing in unison.

Two waves peaking and troughing at the same time, are considered ‘in phase’, or operating in synch. Those peaking at opposite times are ‘out of phase’. Physicists believe that entrainment results from tiny exchanges of energy between two systems that are out of phase, causing one to slow down and the other to accelerate until the two are in phase. It is also related to resonance, or the ability of any system to absorb more energy than normal at a particular frequency (the number of peaks and troughs in one second). Any vibrating thing, including an electromagnetic wave, has its own preferential frequencies, called ‘resonant frequencies’, where it finds vibrating the easiest. When it ‘listens’ or receives a vibration from somewhere else, it tunes out all pretenders and only tunes into its own resonant frequency. It is a bit like a mother instantly recognizing her child from among a mass of school children. Planets have orbital resonances. Our sense of hearing operates through a form of entrainment: different parts of a membrane of the inner ear resonate to different frequencies of sound. Resonance even occurs in the seas, such as in the tidal resonance of the Bay of Fundy in the northeast end of the Gulf of Maine, near Nova Scotia.

Once they march to the same rhythm, things that are entrained send out a stronger signal than they do individually. This most commonly occurs with musical instruments, which sound amplified when all playing in phase. At the Bay of Fundy, the time required for a single wave to travel from the bay’s mouth to its opposite end and back is exactly matched by the time of each tide. Each wave is amplified by the rhythm of each tide, resulting in some of the highest tides in the world.

Entrainment also occurs when someone sends a strong intention to cause harm, which became evident in the tohate experiments of Mikio Yamamoto of the National Institute of Radiological Sciences in Chiba and the Nippon Medical School in Tokyo. Tohate is a kind of mental stand-off between two Qigong practitioners, one of whom receives a sensory shock and is eventually made to submit and move back several yards without any physical contact from the other. The central question posed by the technique, in Yamamoto’s mind, was whether the effect of tohate is psychological or physical: does the opponent move back because of psychological intimidation, or is he knocked over by the qi of his opponent?

In the first of Yamamoto’s studies, a Qigong master was isolated in an electromagnetically shielded room on the fourth floor of a building, while his student was similarly isolated on the first floor.

Yamamoto signalled for the master to perform ‘qi emission’ over 80 seconds at random intervals. Each time, he tracked their separate movements – the sending of the qi and the start of the pupil’s recoil. In nearly a third of the 49 such trials – a highly significant result – whenever the master engaged in tohate movements, his opponent in the other room was physically knocked back. In a second set of 57 trials, Yamamoto wired both teacher and pupil to EEG machines. Whenever the master emitted qi, his pupil showed an increase in the number of alpha brain waves in his right frontal lobe, suggesting that this was where the body initially receives the intention ‘message’.

Yamamoto’s final set of trials examined the EEG-recorded brain waves of both master and student.

Whenever the master performed tohate, the beta brain waves of both men demonstrated a greater sense of coherence.19

In an earlier study carried out by the Tokyo group, the brain waves of the receiver and sender became synchronized within one second during tohate.20

Besides resonance, the DMILS studies offered evidence of another phenomenon during intention: the receiver anticipated the information by registering the ‘ouch’ a few moments before the pinch occurred in the sender.

In 1997, in his former laboratory at the University of Nevada, Radin discovered that humans may receive a physical foreboding of an event.

He set up a computer that would randomly select photos designed to calm, to arouse, or to upset a participant. His volunteers were wired to physiological monitors that recorded changes in skin conduction, heart rate and blood pressure, and they sat in front of a computer that would randomly display colour photos of tranquil scenes (landscapes), or scenes designed to shock (autopsies) or to arouse (erotic materials).

Radin discovered that his subjects were registering physiological responses before they saw the photo. As if trying to brace themselves, their responses were highest before they saw an image that was erotic or disturbing.

This offered the first laboratory proof that our bodies unconsciously anticipate and act out our own future emotional states and that the nervous system does not merely cushion itself against a future blow, but also works out the emotional meaning of it.21

Dr Rollin McCraty, executive vice-president and director of research for the Institute of HeartMath, in Boulder Creek, California was fascinated by the idea of shared physical foreboding of an event, but wondered where exactly in the body this intuitive information might first be felt. He used the original design of Radin’s study with a computerized system of randomly generated arousing photos, but hooked up his participants to a greater complement of medical equipment.

McCraty discovered that these forebodings of good and bad news were felt in both the heart and brain, whose electromagnetic waves would speed up or slow down just before a disturbing or tranquil picture was shown. Furthermore, all four lobes of the cerebral cortex appeared to take part in this intuitive awareness. Most astonishing of all, the heart appeared to receive this information moments before the brain did. This suggested that the body has certain perceptual apparatus that enables it continually to scan and intuit the future, but that the heart may hold the largest antenna. After the heart receives the information, it communicates this information to the brain.

McCraty’s study had shown certain fascinating differences between the sexes. Both the heart and brain became entrained with each other earlier and more frequently in women than they did in men. McCraty concluded that this offered scientific evidence of the universal assumption that women are naturally more intuitive than men and more in touch with their heart centre.22

McCraty’s conclusion – that the heart is the largest ‘brain’ of the body – has now gained credibility after research findings by Dr John Andrew Armour at the University of Montreal and the Hôpital du Sacré-Coeur in Montreal.

Armou discovered neurotransmitters in the heart that signal and influence aspects of higher thought in the brain.23 McCraty discovered that touch and even mentally focusing on the heart cause brain-wave entrainment between people.

When two people touched while focusing loving thoughts on their hearts, the more ‘coherent’ heart rhythms of the two began to entrain the brain of the other.24

Armed with this new evidence about the heart, Dean Radin and Marilyn Schlit decided to explore whether remote mental influence extended to anywhere else in the body. An obvious place to explore was the gut. People speak about intuition as a ‘gut instinct’ or ‘gut feeling’. Certain researchers have even referred to the gut as a ‘second brain’.25

Radin wondered if a gut instinct was accompanied by an actual physical effect.

Radin and Schlitz gathered 26 student volunteers, paired them, and this time wired them up to an electrogastrogram (EGG), which measures the electrical behaviour of the gut; monitors on the skin usually closely match the frequencies and contractions of the stomach. Although the Freiburg study had shown otherwise, Radin and Schlitz believed that familiarity could only help to magnify the effects of remote influence. In case some sort of physical connection was indeed important, Radin asked all the participants to exchange some meaningful object first.

Radin put one participant from a pair in one room. The other sat in another, darkened room, attached to an electrogastrogram, viewing live video images of the first person. Images periodically flashed on another monitor, accompanied by music designed to arouse particular emotions: positive, negative, angry, calming or just neutral.

The results revealed another example of entrainment – this time in the gut.

The EGG readings of the receiver were significantly higher and correlated with those of the sender when the sender experienced strong emotions, positive or negative. Here was yet more evidence that the emotional state of others is registered in the body of the receiver – in this case, deep in the intestines – and that the home of the gut instinct is indeed the gut itself.26

This latest evidence was further proof that our emotional responses are constantly being picked up and echoed in those closest to us.27 In every one of these studies, the bodies of the pairs had become entrained or ‘entangled’ as Radin called it;28 the recipients were ‘seeing’ or feeling what their partners actually saw or felt, in real time.

As this research intimates, intention might be an attunement of energy. The DMILS research established that, under certain conditions, the heart rate, the arousa of the autonomic nervous system, the brain waves and the blood flow to the extremities of different people all become entrained, even when they are situated at a distance. Nevertheless, in most of the DMILS studies, the correlated respons resulted from a simple stimulation of the sender, which the recipient unconsciously picked up. Except for one instance, no one attempted to influence another person.

Schlitz and Radin now wanted to find out whether they would achieve similar correlations if the sender were actually sending an intention to heal. For the Love Study, Schlitz and her colleagues decided to recruit ordinary individuals and train them in healing techniques. They wondered whether certain conditions were more favourable than others for achieving entrainment.

Many healing studies intimated that motivation, interpersonal connection and a shared belief system were vital to success.

Grinberg-Zylberbaum believed that a ‘transferred potential’, as he termed this form of entrainment, occurred only among those who had undergone some meditative regime and then only after some sort of psychic connection between sender and receiver had been established. Nevertheless, in the Freiberg study, many of the pairs had never met each other and had not had a chance to establish a bond.

The German researchers had concluded that ‘connectedness’ and mental preparation may play a role, but were not crucial. In Schlitz’s view, motivation was a key component of success. The more urgent the situation, such as would occur with a partner suffering from cancer, the more motivated his or her partner would be in attempting to get him or her well.

Schlitz and her fellow researchers decided to seek out couples with a wife suffering from breast cancer, and began advertising around the San Francisco Bay Area for volunteers.

It soon became apparent that they would have to widen their original brief. The breast-cancer population of the Bay Area, which is higher than average in the USA, has been extremely well studied.

From the lack-luster response to their advertising, it appeared that sufferers were unwilling to take part in yet more research. The scientists decided to open the study to any couple if either partner were suffering from cancer of any variety.

Eventually 31 couples volunteered, including healthy couples who were to act as controls.

Jerome Stone wrote a training manual for the couples, after analysing a number of healers and distilling their common practices.29

The first component of his programme involved teaching the sender how to focus and concentrate, as occurs in meditation, to create a high degree of sustained attention. The scientific evidence demonstrates that meditation establishes more coherent brain waves; at least 25 studies show that EEG synchronization occurs between the four regions of the brain during meditation.30

Other studies of meditation have shown that it creates more coherent biophoton emissions31 and in general aids healing.

Stone also believed that his senders needed to learn how to generate compassion or empathy for their partners, with a technique based largely on the Tonglen Buddhist idea of ‘giving and receiving’. This practice would train the partner to develop a true understanding of the suffering of another, to take on the suffering without being burdened by it, and to transform it through the process of sending healing.

Developing true empathy would also help to dissolve the boundaries and sense of self between the sender and receiver. Positive, loving thoughts also had positive physiological effects. Rollin McCraty’s research at HeartMath showed tha a steady (or, as they called it, ‘coherent’) variation in heartbeat was more likely with ‘positive’ – loving or altruistic – thoughts and that this ‘coherence’ was quickly picked up by the brain, which soon pulsed in synchrony32 and evidenced improved cognitive performance.33

After Stone instructed the partners in simple techniques of meditation, he also taught them to be compassionate when carrying out intention. The final aspect of Stone’s training involved instilling belief and confidence in both senders and receivers.

Stone had discovered evidence in both the healing and parapsychological literature that belief in the process assists in the success of psychic processes such as ESP, which, like intention, involves ‘transferring’ information across distance.34

Although the training programme was originally intended to run for eight weeks, limited funding meant that Stone had to compress his workshop into a single day, to be followed up with homework and practice.

Radin divided the couples into three groups.

The first group (the ‘trained group’) was to undergo Stone’s training, practise compassionate intention daily for three months and then carry out the test.

The second group (called the ‘wait group’) was to carry out the test first and then have the training.

The 18 healthy couples comprising the third group (the control group) was to have no training at all, but simply undergo the test.

With all three groups, the member of the couple with the cancer (or one of the designated partners in the control group) was asked to sit in a black reclining chair placed in a one-ton, solid steel, double-walled, electromagnetically shielded enclosure.

The tiny Lindgren/ETS chamber was separated from the outside world b two layers of steel and one of solid wood, which blocked out all sound and all electromagnetic energy. Any electrical signals were carried out of the chamber by a fibre-optic cable, to ensure that the room remained, electromagnetically speaking, a solitary confinement.

Each inhabitant was fitted to an array of medical gadgetry to measure brain waves, heartbeat, breathing rate, skin conductance and peripheral blood flow. A video camera stood discretely in the corner.

The room was curtained in earth tones and furnished with soft table lighting and an artificial, floor-to-ceiling weeping fig tree. When the room was occupied, ambient music flooded the space. The furnishings and music, and even a large colour poster of a cascading mountain stream, were all intended to distract from the fact that once the 400-pound steel door with an articulated closing mechanism snapped shut, the inhabitant was essentially trapped inside the warmer equivalent of a meatpacking-plant refrigerator.

Some 20 metres away, the other partner was seated in the dark, attached to the same medical equipment as his or her partner, staring at a small blank TV screen. Bunched towels blocked out the last vestiges of light. Whenever the image of the partner in the refrigerator room abruptly flashed on the television screen, the other member of the couple was to send a compassionate intention to his or her partner for 10 seconds.

Stone, Radin and their colleagues planned to examine two different outcomes: whether the training improved the marriage, and also whether there was any correspondence between the physical sensations of sender and receiver. Although they hoped to examine whether the intentions sent also affected the medical prognosis, limited funding made that aspect of the study impossible.

Stone and Levine were given the task of analysing the social aspects of the study. Initially they discovered that the training made no difference to the quality of the couples’ marriages.

The finding was not altogether surprising, considering that anyone prepared to be part of a study involving three months of training was already likely to be extremely committed to the partnership. And Schlitz had aimed to recruit motivated partners when she designed the study. A later, more detailed analysis of the figures showed that the intention training and practice had indeed improved the couples’ marriages, but Radin concluded that these effects were due to their expectation of improved relations.

Then Radin compiled all the physiological data from the three groups and studied the results between partners and group composite averages. Each physiological response offered fascinating information about the effect of intention on the receiver. For instance, in the case of measurements of blood to the extremities, in every group, the sender’s skin conductance increased 2 seconds after seeing the partner’s image, and the receiver recorded a similar arousal a half second after the image had flashed.

However, unlike the earlier DMILS studies, where the skin conduction response in the receiver resembled that of a ‘startle reflex’ and quickly tailed off, in this instance the response persisted 7 seconds after the stimulus.

The receiver clearly appeared to be responding to intention – indeed, almost instantaneously.

In fact, the receiver’s response occurred at least 1 second faster than it would have been possible for the sender to have consciously formulated an intention. Radin was not sure whether this meant that the receiver had had a premonition of the intention.

It might simply have reflected the turgid nature of the skin conductance response; the receiver was likely responding in his or her extremities to information sent by the sender’s central nervous system, which would have reacted to the initial stimulation of the image on the monitor far more quickly than the electrical impulses sent to his or her fingertips. Nevertheless, in Radin’s view, the two skin conductance responses were tracking each other, even if they were slightly out of phase.

A similar situation occurred with the heart rate. The sender’s heart rate increased 5 seconds after the stimulus prompt to send the intention – which was consistent with the physical response that occurs in the body during the process of making some sort of mental effort. But an identical increase took place in the receiver, which would not happen ordinarily if he or she were simply resting in a recliner.

Blood flow followed a similar pattern. Whenever we experience something that stimulates us, the vascular network in our extremities constricts slightly, to maximize blood flow to the core of the body. In the Love Study, this phenomenon occurred in the sender, and was soon imitated in the body of the receiver.

As for respiration, on average, whenever the stimulus image appeared, the sender immediately inhaled sharply and blew out the air 15 seconds later. This respiratory response resembles that of someone about to steady himself for the task at hand. In this case, Radin witnessed a different response in the receiver. During the first 5 seconds, the receiver’s respiration faltered, almost as though he or she had stopped breathing, and then resumed with a large exhale in the final 5 seconds of the intention. It was as though the receiver had been listening with care, holding her breath and straining to hear something, before sighing with relief as soon as the stimulation had passed.

But it was the brain-wave results that proved to be the most interesting. Whenever the receiver’s image flashed on the screen, the senders recorded a little upturn in brain waves, like a ‘flinch response’, and then a huge spike for about a third of a second before they dropped sharply and took about one second to come back to baseline. In the sender, this tiny initial upturn represents something called a P300 wave – a well-established phenomenon that records the time that the brain takes to process the switching on of a light. The drop represents the time it takes for internal attention to modulate the stimulus into a response.

In this instance, the receivers had no P300 wave, but their brain waves nevertheless mimicked the virtually vertical plunge of the brain wave that shortly followed in the sender, even though, unlike the sender, the receiver had had no stimulus. The brain of the receiver was reacting just as it does when asleep and dreaming. The receivers had registered an emotional reaction, even though there was no tangible stimulus.

Radin’s results were all the more remarkable because the receivers had not been told how long the stimulus period would be, and neither senders nor receivers knew in advance how long the sender would have to wait before the partner’s image flashed on screen. A computer program randomly selected the time frame, which ranged from 5 to 40 seconds. This meant that any expectation on the part of either member of the couples could not explain the results.

Radin then compared the responses of the groups. All three groups had shown an effect. In every instance, each physiological response of the receivers had tracked those of the senders. However, the most prolonged pattern occurred among the cancer patients whose partners had been trained in compassionate intention.

The receivers in the training group not only responded to the stimulus, but also kept responding over 8 of the 10 seconds of the intention. In quantum terms, the couples had become as one.35

The Love Study indicates a number of profound suggestions about the nature of intention.

Sending a directed thought seems to generate a palpable energy; whenever one of Radin’s senders sent a healing intention, many subtle aspects of the receiver’s body became activated, as though he had received a minuscule electric shock. It seemed to be a kind of activating awareness, as though his body had felt or heard the healing signal.

There had even been an element of anticipation in the receiver; some of the physiological reactions recorded suggested that the receiver had felt the partner’s healing intention before he had even sent it.

People appear to receive healing deep in their bodies by being retuned to the more coherent energy of the healer’s intention. During healing, it could be that the ‘orderly’ energy of the well person entrains and ‘re-orders’ the sick.

In order to have the most powerful effect, a healer or sender needs to become ‘ordered’ on some subatomic level, mentally and emotionally. The Love Study demonstrates that certain conditions and mental states make our intention especially powerful and ourselves more ordered, and that these states can be achieved with training. The success of the basic training programme that Schlitz, Radin and Stone assembled suggests that attention, belief, motivation and compassion are important for intention to work, but there are probably other conditions that intensify its effects.

I needed, for instance, to find out how we can loosen our psychological boundaries. It was becoming clear to me: when we send intention, in a manner of speaking, we have to ‘become’ the other.

Notes – Chapter 4: Hearts that Beat as One

All details of the Love Study were gleaned from multiple interviews with Dean Radin, Marilyn Schlitz and Jerome Stone, April 2005–June 2006.
F. Sicher, E. Targ et al., ‘A randomized double-blind study of the effect of distant healing in a population with advanced AIDS: report of a small scale study’, Western Journal of Medicine, 1998; 168 (6): 356–63; also multiple interviews with E. Targ, 1999–2001.
M. Schlitz and W. Braud, ‘Distant intentionality and healing: assessing the evidence’, Alternative Therapies in Health and Medicine, 1997; 3 (6): 62–73.
M. Schlitz and S. LaBerge, ‘Autonomic detection of remote observation two conceptual replications’, in D. J. Bierman (ed.), Proceedings of Presented Papers, 37th Annual Parapsychological Association Convention Amsterdam, Fairhaven, Mass.: Parapsychological Association, 1994: 352– 60.
S. Schmidt et al., ‘Distant intentionality and the feeling of being stared at: Two metaanalyses’, British Journal of Psychology, 2004; 95: 235–47, as reported in D. Radin, Entangled Minds, New York: Paraview, 2006: 135.
L. Standish et al., ‘Electroencephalographic evidence of correlated event- related signals between the brains of spatially and sensory isolated human subjects’, The Journal of Alternative and Complementary Medicine, 2004; 10 (2): 307–14.
Radin, Entangled Minds, op. cit.: 136.
Charles Tart, ‘Physiological correlates of psi cognition’, International Journal of Parapsychology, 1963: 5; 375–86.
T. D. Duane and T. Behrendt, ‘Extrasensory electroencephalographic induction between identical twins’, Science, 1965; 150: 367.
J. Wackerman et al., ‘Correlations between brain electrical activities of two spatially separated human subjects’, Neuroscience Letters, 2003; 336: 60–4.
J. Grinberg-Zylberbaum et al., ‘The Einstein-Podolsky-Rosen paradox i the brain: The transferred potential’, Physics Essays, 1994; 7 (4): 422–28.
J. Grinberg-Zylberbaum and J. Ramos, ‘Patterns of interhemisphere correlations during human communication’, International Journal of Neuroscience, 1987; 36: 41–53; J. Grinberg-Zylberbaum et al., ‘Human communication and the electrophysiological activity of the brain,’ Subtle Energies and Energy Medicine, 1992; 3 (3): 25–43.
L. J. Standish et al., ‘Electroencephalographic evidence of correlated event-related signals’, op. cit.
L. J., Standish et al., ‘Evidence of correlated functional magnetic resonance imaging signals between distant human brains’, Alternative Therapies in Health and Medicine, 2003; 9 (1): 122–5; T. Richards et al., ‘Replicable functional magnetic resonance imaging evidence of correlated brain signals between physically and Notes 291 sensory isolated subjects’, Journal of Alternative and Complementary Medicine, 2005; 11 (6): 955–63.
M. Kittenis et al., ‘Distant psychophysiological interaction effects between related and unrelated participants’, Proceedings of the Parapsychological Association Convention, 2004: 67–76, as reported inRadin, Entangled Minds, op. cit.: 138–9.16. D. I. Radin, ‘Event related EEG correlations between isolated huma subjects’, Journal of Alternative and Complementary Medicine, 2004; 10: 315–24.
M. Cade and N. Coxhead,The Awakened Mind, 2nd edn, Shaftesbury: Element, 1986.
S. Fahrion et al., ‘EEG amplitude, brain mapping and synchrony in and between a bioenergy practitioner and client during healing’, Subtle Energies and Energy Medicine, 1992; 3 (1): 19–52.
M. Yamamoto, ‘An experiment on remote action against man in sensory shielding condition, Part 2’, Journal of the International Society of Life Information Sciences, 1996; 14 (2): 228–39, as reported in Larry Dossey, Be Careful What You Pray For … You Just Might Get It: What We Can D About the Unintentional Effect of Our Thoughts, Prayers, and Wishes, San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1998: 182–3.
M. Yamamoto et al., ‘An experiment on remote action against man in sense shielding condition’, Journal of the International Society of Life Information Sciences, 1996; 14 (1): 97–9.
D. I. Radin, ‘Unconscious perception of future emotions: An experiment in presentiment’, Journal of Scientific Exploration, 1997; 11 (2): 163–80. First presented before the annual meeting of the Parapsychological Association in August 1996. For a full description of the Radin experiment see D. Radin, The Conscious Universe, London: HarperCollins, 1997: 119– 24.
R. McCraty et al., ‘Electrophysiological evidence of intuition: Part 2: A systemwide process?’ T he Journal of Alternative and Complementary Medicine, 2004; 10 (2): 325–36.
J. Andrew Armour and Jeffrey L. Ardell (eds.), Basic and Clinical Neurocardiology, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004.
R. McCraty et al., ‘The electricity of touch: Detection and measuremen of cardiac energy exchange between people’, in Karl H. Pribram (ed.), Brain and Values: Is a Biological Science of Values Possible?
Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, 1998: 359–79.M. Gershon, The Second Brain: A Groundbreaking New Understanding ofNervous Disorders of the Stomach and Intestine, London: HarperCollins 1999.
D. I. Radin and M. J. Schlitz, ‘Gut feelings, intuition, and emotions: A exploratory study’, Journal of Alternative and Complementary Medicine, 2005; 11 (5): 85–91.
D. Radin, ‘Event-related electroencephalographic correlations between isolated human subjects’, The Journal of Alternative and Complementary Medicine, 2004; 10 (2): 315–23.
Dean Radin has devoted an excellent book to the subject: see D. Radin Entangled Minds, op cit.
J. Stone, Course Handbook: Training in Compassionate-Loving Intention 2003; J. Stone et al., ‘Effects of a compassionate/loving intention as a therapeutic intervention by partners of cancer patients: A randomized controlled feasibility study’, in press. 292 The Intention Experiment
M. Murphy et al., The Physiological and Psychological Effects o Meditation: A Review of Contemporary Research with a Comprehensive Bibliography, 1931–1996, Petaluma, Calif.: The Institute of Noeti Sciences, 1997.
E. P. Van Wijk et al., ‘Anatomic characterization of human ultra-weak photon emission in practitioners of Transcendental Meditation™ and control subjects’, The Journal of Alternative and Complementary Medicine, 2006; 12 (1): 31–8.
R. McCraty et al., ‘Head-heart entrainment: A preliminary survey’, in Proceedings of the Brain-Mind Applied Neurophysiology EEG Neurofeedback Meeting. Key West, Florida, 1996.
R. McCraty, ‘Influence of cardiac afferent input on heart-brain synchronization and cognitive performance, Institute of HeartMath, Boulder Creek, California’,International Journal of Psychophysiology, 2002; 45 (1–2): 72–3.
G. R. Schmeidler, Parapsychology and Psychology, Jefferson: McFarlan and Company, 1988 as cited in J. Stone, Course Handbook, op. cit.; L Dossey, Healing Words: The Power of Prayer and the Practice of Medicine, San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1993.
D. Radin et al., ‘Effects of motivated distant intention on electrodermal activity.’ Paper presented at the Annual Conference of the Parapsychological Association, Stockholm, Sweden, August 2006.

PART TWO

Powering Up

For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
-‘Song of Myself’, Walt Whitman

CHAPTER FIVE

Entering Hyperspace

IN A DRAUGHTY MONASTERY high in the Himalayas in northern India during the winter of 1985, a group of Tibetan Buddhist monks were seated quietly, deep in meditation. Although scantily clad, they appeared oblivious to the chilly indoor air temperature, which approached freezing. A fellow monk passed between them, draping each, in turn, with sheets drenched with cold water. Such extreme conditions would ordinarily shock the body and send the core temperature plummeting. If body temperature falls by only 7°C, within minutes a person will lose consciousness and all vital signs.

Instead of shivering, the monks began to sweat. Steam rose from the wet sheets; within an hour, they were thoroughly dry. The attendant replaced the dry sheets with new ones, also drenched in ice-cold water. By this time, the monks’ bodies had become the equivalent of a furnace. Those sheets were efficiently dried, as was a third batch.

A team of scientists led by Herbert Benson, a cardiologist at Harvard Medica School, stood nearby, examining an array of medical equipment to which they had attached the monks for any clues as to what particular physiological mechanism might have enabled the body to generate this extraordinary level of heat.

For a number of years, Benson had explored the effects of meditation on the brain and the rest of the body. He’d embarked on an ambitious research programme, studying Buddhists in various remote outposts around the world who had spent many years in disciplined practice. During one trip to the Himalayas, he also videotaped monks, dressed only in light shawls, as they spent a freezing February night outdoors on a mountain ledge 4600 meters above sea level. Benson’s film showed that they had slept soundly through the night, without clothing or shelter.

In his travels, Benson had witnessed many extraordinary feats of intention – mastery over temperature or metabolic rate that could even produce a state resembling hibernation. The monks monitored by Benson’s team had raised the temperature of their extremities by up to 9.4°C and lowered their metabolism by more than 60 per cent.1

Benson realized that this represented the largest variation in resting metabolism ever reported. During sleep, by contrast, metabolism only drops by 10 to 15 per cent; even experienced meditators can only decrease it by 17 per cent, at best. But that day in the Himalayas, he had observed the impossible in terms of mental influence. The monks had used their bodies to boil freezing water simply through the power of their thoughts.2

Benson’s enduring enthusiasm for meditation ignited interest at major academic institutions across America. By the end of the twentieth century, monks had become the favourite guinea pigs of the neuroscience laboratory. Scientists from Princeton, Harvard, the University of Wisconsin and the University of California–Davi followed Benson’s lead by wiring up monks to state-of-the-art monitoring equipment and studying the effects of intensive, advanced meditation. Entire conferences were held on meditation and the brain.3

It was not the practice itself that fascinated these scientists, but its effect on the human body, particularly the brain, and the possibilities this suggested. By studying the biological effects in such detail, scientists hoped to understand the neurological processes that occur during feats of highly directed thought, as the monks had displayed in the Himalayas.

Monks also offered scientists an opportunity to study whether years of focused attention stretch the brain beyond its usual limits. Did the brain of a monk become the equivalent of an Olympic athlete’s body – more highly developed and ultimately transformed after gruelling discipline and practice?

Do training and experience change the physiology of the brain over time? Would practice enable you to become a bigger and better transmitter of intention? The answers would in turn address a long- standing debate in neuroscience: is neural structure basically hard-wired from youth or plastic – changeable – depending on the nature of a person’s thoughts through life?

For me, the most intriguing question about this research on focused attention was the means by which a Buddhist monk could turn himself into a human boiler, and how these means compared with techniques and practices of other ancient traditions. Like Benson, I was intrigued by ‘masters’ of intention: practitioners of ancient disciplines Buddhism, Qigong, shamanism, traditional native healing – who had been trained to perform extraordinary acts through their thoughts. I wanted to work out the common denominators they shared.

Do the steps taken by a Qigong master to send Qi resemble those of a Buddhist monk during meditation?

Which mental disciplines ensure that a healer will enter a state enabling him to repair another person’s body?

Are ‘masters’ of intention graced with special neurological gifts that enable them to use their minds more powerfully than the rest of us, or did they acquire a skill that ordinary people could learn as well? And, perhaps most important, what did the neurological study of monks tell me about the effect of focused intention on the brain? Would practice enable you to become a bigger and better transmitter of intention?

I began studying scientific research about healing methods from a variety of traditions and then conducted my own questionnaire and interviews with healers and ‘master’ intenders of all persuasions.4

I was aided in my research by the work of psychologist Stanley Krippner and his student Allan Cooperstein at Saybroo Graduate School. A clinical and forensic psychologist, Cooperstein had conducted a thorough study of the various techniques used by distant healers for his doctoral thesis, including an analysis of scholarly books on healing and exhaustive written and verbal interviews with well-known practitioners who had scientific evidence of success in healing.5

In every instance, I discovered, the most important first step involved achieving a state of concentrated focus, or peak attention.

According to Krippner, an expert on shamanic and other native traditions, virtually all native cultures carry out remote healing during an altered state of consciousness and achieve a state of concentrated focus through a variety of means.6

Although the use of hallucinogenic drugs such as ayahuasca is common, many cultures use a strong repetitive rhythm or beat to create that state; the Native American Ojibway wanbeno, for instance, use drumming, rattling, chanting, naked dancing and handling of live coals.7

Drumming is particularly effective in producing a highly concentrated focus; a number of studies have shown that listening to the beat of a drum causes the brain to slow down into a trancelike state.8

As Native Americans discovered, even intense heat, as in a sweat lodge, can transport individuals to an altered state.

In my own study of intention ‘masters’, I spoke with Bruce Frantzis, arguably the greatest Qigong master in the West. A martial arts champion, with black belts in five Japanese martial arts, he also learned healing Qigong through years of study with Chinese masters.

Frantzis’s powers of intention were legendary; he had been videoed sending people flying across the room simply by directing Qi. In his fighting days, he had put several people into wheelchairs. Now, knowing its extraordinary power, he reserved Qi for healing. During my own meeting with him, Frantzis gave a short demonstration of the power of directed Qi. After a moment of intense concentration, the plates of his skull began to undulate over the top of his head like a rolling surf.9

Frantzis taught his students how to develop peak attention gradually, through intense concentration on their breathing. Although they began with very short bursts of ‘longevity’ breathing, they would work on extending these periods until eventually they could hold this focus continuously. They would also be taught methods of becoming acutely aware of all physical sensation.10

The healers I interviewed entered this focused state through a variety of means: meditation; prayer; intense attention on the person to be healed; symbolic or mythic ideas; strong mental images of a situation producing the desired change; verbal affirmations; mental imagery; even internal autosuggestions as a warm-up exercise. One healer established focused attention by saturating his awareness with the goal that he was trying to achieve.

Dr Janet Piedilato, a shamanic healer, will often ‘gently hum or chant’ or use a ‘rattle or other instrument’. Dr Constance Johnson, a Reiki practitioner, can return to an altered state at will. Others need to work hard to achieve this transformation: The Reverend Francis Geddes, a spiritual healer, will meditate on a small object like a pebble, leaf, or twig in a ‘very concentrated manner for ten minutes’.

Still others use the patient as the object of meditation. As Dr Judith Swack, a mind–body healer who has developed her own holistic psychotherapy system, says: ‘I look directly at the client and focus all of my senses forward toward the client and enter a receptive state where I pay internal attention to any subtle information and impression coming in like a kind of radar.’ Many other healers likewise enter an altered state, simply by ‘listening to the patient’ – ‘audibly or otherwise’. ‘Just thinking of the need to help someone,’ wrote Dr Piedilato, ‘slows the blood in my veins.’

Initially, many healers experience a heightening of their cognitive processes, but most soon reach a point when inner chatter ceases, and they experience a falling away of all sensation but pure image. The focusing seems to dissolve their own boundaries. They suddenly become aware of the inner workings of the patient’s body and ultimately have a sense of being engulfed by the healee.

I was especially interested in the effect of this intense concentration on the activity of the brain. Does the brain slow down or speed up? The received wisdom is that during meditation the brain slows down. The bulk of the research examining the electrical activity of the brain during meditation indicates that meditation leads to a predominance of either alpha rhythms (slow, high-amplitude brain waves with frequencies of 8–13 hertz, or cycles per second), which also occurs during light dreaming, or even the slower theta waves (4–7 hertz), which typify the state of consciousness during deep sleep.11 During ordinary waking consciousness, the brain operates much faster, using beta waves (around 13–40 hertz). For decades, the prevailing view has been that the optimum state for manifesting intention is an ‘alpha’ state.

Richard Davidson, a neuroscientist and psychologist at the University o Wisconsin’s Laboratory for Affective Neuroscience, recently put this view to the test. Davidson was an expert in ‘affective processing’ – the place where the brain processes emotion and the resulting communication between the brain and body. His work had come to the attention of the Dalai Lama, who invited him to visit Dharamsala, India, in 1992; a science buff, his Holiness wished to understand more about the biological effects of intensive meditation.

Afterwards, eight of the Dalai Lama’s most seasoned practitioners of Nyingmapa and Kagyupa meditation were flown to Davidson’s lab in Wisconsin.

There, Davidson attached 256 EEG sensors to each monk’s scalp in order to record electrical activity from a large number of different areas in the brain.

The monks were then asked to carry out compassionate meditation. As with Jerome Stone’s intention regime, the meditation entailed focusing on an utter readiness to help others and a desire for all living things to be free of suffering.

For the control group, Davidson enlisted a group of undergraduates who had never practiced meditation and arranged for them to undergo a week’s training, then attached them to the same number of EEG sensors to monitor their brains during meditation.

After 15 seconds, according to the EEG readings, the monks’ brains did not slow down; they began speeding up.

In fact, they were activated on a scale neither Davidson nor any other scientist had ever seen. The monitors showed sustained bursts of high gamma-band activity – rapid cycles of 25–70 hertz. The monks had rapidly shifted from a high concentration of beta waves to a preponderance of alpha, back up to beta and finally up to gamma.

Gamma band, the highest rate of brain-wave frequencies, is employed by the brain when it is working its hardest: at a state of rapt attention, when sifting through working memory, during deep levels of learning, in the midst of great flashes of insight.

As Davidson discovered, when the brain operates at these extremely fast frequencies, the phases of brain waves (their times of peaking and troughing) all over the brain begin to operate in synchrony. This type of synchronization is considered crucial for achieving heightened awareness.12

The gamma state is even believed to cause changes in the brain’s synapses – the junctions over which electrical impulses leap to send a message to a neuron, muscle or gland.13

That the monks could achieve this state so rapidly suggested that their neural processing had been permanently altered by years of intensive meditation.

Although the monks were middle-aged, their brain waves were far more coherent and organized than those of the robust young controls. Even during their resting state, the Buddhists showed evidence of a high ratio of gamma-band activity, compared with that of the neophyte meditators.

Davidson’s study bolstered other pieces of preliminary research suggesting that certain advanced and highly focused forms of meditation produce a brain operating at peak intensity.14

Studies of yogis have shown that, during deep meditation, their brains produce bursts of high-frequency beta or gamma waves, which often are associated with moments of ecstasy or intense concentration.15

Those who can withdraw from external stimuli and completely focus their attention inward appear more likely to reach gamma-wave hyperspace. During peak attention of this nature, the heart rate also accelerates.16

Similar types of effects have been recorded during prayer. A study monitoring the brain waves of six Protestants during prayer found an increase in brain-wave speed during moments of the most intense concentration.17

Different forms of meditation may produce strikingly different brain waves. For instance, yogis strive for anuraga, or a sense of constant fresh perception; Zen Buddhists aim to eliminate their response to the outer world. Studies comparing the two find that the former produces heightened perceptual awareness – magnified outer focus – while the latter produces heightened inner absorption – magnified inner awareness.18

Most research on meditation has concerned the type that focuses on one particular stimulus, such as the breath or a sound, like a mantra. In Davidson’s study, the monks concentrated on having a sense of compassion for all living things. It may be that compassionate intention – and other similar, ‘expansive’ concepts – produces thoughts that send the brain soaring into a supercharged state of heightened perception.

When Davidson and his colleague Antoine Lutz wrote up their study, they realized that they were reporting the highest measures of gamma activity ever recorded among people who were not insane.19

In their results they noticed an association between level of experience and ability to sustain this extraordinarily high brain activity; those monks who had been performing meditation the longest recorded the highest levels of gamma activity. The heightened state also produced permanent emotional improvement, by activating the left anterior portion of the brain the portion most associated with joy.

The monks had conditioned their brains to tune into happiness most of the time.

In later research, Davidson demonstrated that meditation alters brain-wave patterns, even among new practitioners. Neophytes who had practised mindfulness meditation for only eight weeks showed increased activation of the ‘happy-thoughts’ part of the brain and enhanced immune function.20

In the past, neuroscientists imagined the brain as something akin to a complex computer, which got fully constructed in adolescence. Davidson’s results supported more recent evidence that the ‘hardwired’ brain theory was outdated.

The brain appeared to revise itself throughout life, depending on the nature of its thoughts. Certain sustained thoughts produced measurable physical differences and changed its structure. Form followed function; consciousness helped to form the brain.

Besides speeding up, brain waves also synchronize during meditation and healing. In fieldwork with indigenous and spiritual healers in five continents, Krippner suspected that, prior to healing, the healers all underwent brain ‘discharge patterns’ that produce a coherence and synchronization of the two hemispheres of the brain, and integrate the limbic (the lower emotional centre) with the cortical systems (the seat of higher reasoning).21

At least 25 studies of meditation have shown that, during meditation, EEG activity between the four regions of the brain synchronizes.22

Meditation makes the brain permanently more coherent – as might prayer. A study at the University of Pavia in Italy and the John Radcliffe Hospital in Oxford showe that saying the rosary had the same effect on the body as reciting a mantra. Both were able to create a ‘striking, powerful, and synchronous increase’ in cardiovascular rhythms when recited six times a minute.23

Another important effect of concentrated focus is the integration of both left and right hemispheres. Until recently, scientists believed that the two sides of the brain work more or less independently. The left side was depicted as the ‘accountant’, responsible for logical, analytical, linear thinking, and speech, and the right side, as the ‘artist’, providing spatial orientation, musical and artistic ability, and intuition.

But Peter Fenwick, consultant neuropsychiatrist at the Radcliffe Infirmary in Oxford St Thomas’ Hospital, Bethlehem Hospital and the Institute of Psychiatry at th Maudsley Hospital, gathered evidence to show that speech and many other functions are produced in both sides of the brain and that the brain works best when it can operate as a totality. During meditation, both sides communicate in a particularly harmonious manner.24

Concentrated attention appears to enlarge certain mechanisms of perception, while tuning out ‘noise’. Daniel Goleman, author of Emotional Intelligence,25 carried out research showing that the cortices of meditators ‘speed up’, but get cut off from the limbic emotional center.

With practice, he concluded, anyone can carry out this ‘switching-off ’ process, enabling the single mode of the brain to experience heightened perception without an overlay of emotion or meaning.26

During this process, all of the power of the brain is free to focus on a single thought: an awareness of what is happening at the present moment.

Meditation also appears to permanently enhance the brain’s reception. In several studies, meditators have been exposed to repetitive stimuli like light flashes or clicks. Ordinarily, a person will get used to the clicks, and the brain, in a sense, will switch off and stop reacting. But the brains of the meditators continued to react to the stimuli – an indication of heightened perception of every moment.27

In one study, practitioners of mindfulness meditation – the practice of bringing heightened, non-judgemental awareness of the senses’ perceptions to the present moment – were tested for visual sensitivity before and immediately after a three- month retreat, during which time they had practiced mindfulness meditation for 16 hours a day.

The staff members who did not practice the meditation acted as a control group. The researchers were testing whether the participants could detect the duration of simple light flashes and the correct interval between successive ones.

To those without mental training in focusing, these flashes would appear as one unbroken light.

After the retreat, the practitioners were able to detect the single-light flashes and to differentiate between successive flashes.

Mindfulness meditation enables its practitioners to become aware of unconscious processes and to remain exquisitely sensitive to external stimuli.28

As these studies indicate, certain types of concentrated focus, like meditation, enlarge the mechanism by which we receive information and clarify the reception. We turn into a larger, more sensitive radio.

In 2000, Sara Lazar, a neuroscientist at Massachusetts General Hospital and a expert in functional magnetic resonance imaging (fMRI), confirmed that this process produces actual physical changes.

Conventional MRI employs radio-frequency waves and a powerful magnetic field to view the soft tissues of the body, including the brain. ‘Functional’ magnetic resonance imaging, on the other hand, measures the minuscule changes in the brain during critical functions. It confirms where and when stimuli and language are being processed by measuring the increase in blood flow in the fine network of arteries and veins of the brain when certain neural networks are engaged. For scientists like Lazar, the fMRI is the closest science can get to observing a brain at work in real time.

Herbert Benson had enlisted Lazar to map the brain regions that are active during simple forms of meditation. Rather than scrutinizing more monks or other meditation ‘athletes’ who had devoted themselves to the contemplative life, Lazar preferred to study the effect of meditation on the millions of ordinary Americans who performed meditation for just 20–60 minutes a day. She and Benson recruited five volunteers, who had practised Kundalini meditation for at least four years.

This kind of meditation employs two different sounds to focus and still the mind while observing inhalation and exhalation of the breath. Lazar asked volunteers to alternate between intervals of meditation and control states, during which they silently ticked off a mental list of animals.

Throughout the experiment, Lazar also monitored the biological activity of her subjects – heart rate, breathing, oxygen saturation levels, levels of exhaled CO2, and EEG levels.

Lazar discovered that, during meditation, the volunteers had a significant increase of signalling in the neural structures of the brain involved in attention: the frontal and parietal cortex, or the ‘new’ part of the brain where higher cognition takes place, and the amygdala and hypothalamus, portions of the ‘old’ brain that govern arousal and autonomic control.

This finding was another contradiction of the received wisdom that meditation is always a state of quiescence. Her results offered yet more evidence that, during certain types of meditation, the brain is engaged in a state of rapt attention.

Lazar also discovered that the signalling in certain areas of the brain and the neural activity during meditation evolved over time and increased with meditative experience. Her subjects themselves had the impression that their states of mind continued to change during each individual meditation and as they grew more experienced.29

These results suggested to Lazar that highly concentrated focus over time might enlarge certain parts of the brain. To test this, she gathered 20 long-term practitioners of Buddhist mindfulness meditation (five of whom were meditation teachers) with an average of nine years of meditation experience. Fifteen non-meditators acted as controls. Participants meditated in turn inside an ordinary MRI scanner while Laza took detailed images of their neural structures.

Lazar discovered that those portions of the brain associated with attention, awareness of sensation, sensory stimuli and sensory processing were thicker in the meditators than in the controls. The effects of meditation definitely were ‘dose- dependent’: increases in cortical thickness were proportional to the overall amount of time the participant had spent meditating.

Lazar’s research offered some of the first evidence that meditation causes permanent alterations in brain structure. Up until the time of her experiment, this type of increase in cortical volume had only been linked to certain repetitive mechanical practices requiring a high degree of attention, such as playing an instrument or juggling. Here was some of the first evidence that thinking certain thoughts exercises the ‘attention’ portion of the brain and makes it grow larger. Indeed, the cortical thickness of these regions was even more pronounced in the older participants. Ordinarily, cortical thickness deteriorates as a result of ageing. Regular meditation appears to reduce or reverse the process.

Besides increasing cognitive processing, meditation also appears to integrate emotional and cognitive processes. In the fMRI study, Lazar found evidence o activation of the limbic brain – the primitive, so-called ‘instinctive’ part of the brain involved with primitive emotion. Meditation appears to affect not only the brain’s reasonable, analytical ‘upstairs’ but also the unconscious and intuitive ‘downstairs’. She had discovered greater activation in the part of the brain responsible for what is usually called ‘the gut instinct’. Here was physical evidence that meditation not only increases our ability to receive intuitive information, but also our conscious awareness of it. Davidson had shown increases in the ‘approach’ portion of the brain the part that wants to help – in his monks, who were attempting to help humanity by meditating on compassion. They had increased the ‘can I help you’ portion of their brains. Lazar’s meditators, however, were working on mindfulness, a state of peak attention, and that part of the brain responsible for attention had grown larger. The brain’s powers of observation had increased, allowing in more information, even the kind that is received intuitively.

Some people are born with a larger-than-normal antenna and better reception than usual. This appears to be the case with the psychic Ingo Swann. Swann’s psychic gifts extended to remote viewing, the ability to perceive objects or events beyond normal human vision.

He had helped to develop a remote viewing programme used by the American government and was widely regarded as one of the best remote viewers in the world. Swann once had allowed the peculiar workings of his brain to be monitored and analysed by Michael Persinger, professor of psychology at Laurentian University in Canada.

Wired to an EEG machine, Swan was asked to use his skills to identify items in a distant room. At the very moment that he was able to ‘see’ the items remotely, his brain showed bursts of fast activity in the high beta and gamma range, similar to that of Benson’s Tibetan monks.

Those bursts of activity occurred primarily over the right occipital region, the portion of the brain relating to sight. According to the results of brain-wave monitoring, Swann had entered a super-conscious state, enabling him to receive information impossible to access during normal waking consciousness.

When examined by MRI, Swann also showed that he had an unusually larg parieto-occipital right-hemisphere lobe, the portion of the brain involved with sensory and visual input.

Persinger had found a similar neural aberration in another gifted psychic called Sean Harribance.30

When monitored with EEG and single photon emission computerized tomography (SPECT) equipment during his psychi activities, Harribance evidenced an increase in firing of the right parietal lobe. Both he and Swann had been graced with a greater capacity than normal to ‘see’ beyond the limits of time, distance, and the five major senses.

Science has demonstrated that by thinking certain thoughts it is possible for us to alter and enlarge portions of our brains to become a larger, more powerful receiver. But is it also possible to develop a larger transmitter?

To discover some of the qualities that enhance transmission, I would have to study ‘masters’ of intention who were particularly gifted at transmitting. The best place to look seemed to be among talented healers.

Cancer specialist and psychologist Lawrence LeShan, who has studied how gifted healers work, discovered that they share two important practices, besides entering an altered state of consciousness: they visualize themselves as uniting with the person to be healed and imagine themselves and that person as being united with what they often describe as the absolute.31

Cooperstein’s healers had also described turning off the ego and eliminating their sense of self and separateness. They had the sense of assuming the body and vantage point of the person to be healed. One healer actually felt his body changing, with shifts of patterns and distributions of energy. Although the healers did not take on the disease or pain, they sensed it once they had visualized themselves as being at one with the person being healed. At this point of union, the healers’ perception markedly altered and their motor skills diminished.

They were suffused by an expanded sense of pure present, and grew unaware of the passage of time. They lost awareness of the boundaries of their own bodies, and even experienced an altered sense of bodily image. They felt taller, lighter – almost as though they were out of their physical being – engulfed by a sense of unconditional love. They began to observe themselves, according to one healer, only as ‘a kind of a core that remains’:

I’m aware of the process just being beyond me … My intent is obviously with the person – my conscious control is completely side-stepped, like I’m standing, watching. Then something else takes over … I don’t think that I ever lose complete awareness that I’m sitting there.32

Other healers experienced a more profound loss of identity; to carry out their work, they had to be at one with the person they were healing: to become that person, complete with his or her physical and emotional history. Their own personal identity and memory receded and they entered into some space of joint consciousness, where an impersonal self carried out the actual healing.

Some of the healers took on a mystical identification with guardian spirits or guides, and the spiritual alter ego took over.

In Krippner’s experience, certain personalities are more susceptible to merging identities than others: those who, according to a psychological test, possess ‘thin boundaries’.

According to the Hartmann Boundary Questionnaire test, a tes developed by Tufts University psychiatrist Ernest Hartmann to test a person’s psychological armament, people with thick boundaries are well organized, dependable, defensive and, as Hartmann himself liked to put it, ‘well armored’, with a sturdy sense of self that remains locked around them like a chain-link fence. People with ‘thin’ boundaries tend to be open, unguarded and undefended.33

Sensitive, vulnerable and creative, they tend to get involved quickly in relationships, experience altered states, and easily flit between fantasy and reality. Sometimes, they are not sure which state they are in.34

They do not repress uncomfortable thoughts or separate feelings from thoughts. They tend to be more comfortable than thick- boundaried people with the use of intention to control or change things around them. In a study by Marilyn Schlitz of musicians and artists, for instance, creative individuals with thin boundaries also scored best in remote influence.35

Krippner demonstrated the relationship between thin boundaries and intention with students at Ramtha’s School of Enlightenment in Yelm, Washington. Many of the techniques taught at the school – for example, focusing on a desired outcome and excluding all external stimuli, blindfolding students and having them find their way around a labyrinth – were designed to help students release their usual boundaries. The school encouraged students to engage in imaginative fantasy, claiming that it opened untapped areas in the brain.36

Krippner and several colleagues performed psychological tests on six of the long-time students who claimed to have developed keen skills in manifesting intention.

Ian Wickramasekera, a psychologist who participated in some of the Yelm research, had developed a battery of psychological tests based on his High-Risk Model of Threat Perception.37

Wickramasekera claimed the tests identify people most likely to have psychic experiences or to be susceptible to hypnosis. Although the test was originally developed to pinpoint people at high risk of psychological problems during times of major life changes, Krippner believed Wickramasekera’s model could also be used to evaluate mediums and healers. Krippner and his associates found they could readily use the test to identify people whose inflexible sense of reality blocked them from perceiving or acknowledging intuitive information. Wickramasekera’s model predicted that individuals would best perform healing if they were able to block the sense of a threat when they let go of their separatist notions of self.

According to their scores, the Ramtha students had extraordinarily thin boundaries. Hartmann’s own mean score, derived from tests on 866 individuals, was The Ramtha students scored 343. The only other groups Hartmann had identified with boundaries this thin were music students and people suffering from frequent nightmares.

The Ramtha students also showed a high degree of what psychologists call a type of ‘dissociation’ (the ability to undergo profound disruptions in their attention) and a high degree of absorption (a tendency to lose themselves in ongoing activity such as hypnosis and a readiness to accept other aspects of reality).38

In my own examination of healers, I had come across two types. Some regarded themselves as the water (the source of healing); others saw themselves as the hose (the channel for healing energy to travel through). The first group believed the power resulted from their own gift. By far the largest group, however, comprised the channellers – those who acted as vehicles for a greater force beyond themselves.

Elisabeth Targ’s AIDS project had recruited 40 healers of every persuasion.39 Approximately 15 per cent were traditional Christian religious healers, who used the rosary or prayer.

Others were members of non-traditional healing schools, such as the Barbara Brennan School of Healing Light, or those taught by Joyce Goodrich o Lawrence LeShan. Some worked on modifying complex energy fields through changing colours or vibrations or the patient’s energy field.

More than half the healers concentrated on healing a patient’s chakras, or energy centres of the body; others worked with tones, reattuning their patients with audible vibrations.

A Qigong master from China sent harmonizing Qi to the patients.

One man working in the Native American tradition went into a trance during a traditional drumming and chanting pipe ceremony on the deserted ridges of Chaco Canyon, New Mexico, and claimed to have contacted spirits on behalf of the patients.

Much of the imagery the healers used to describe what they did was framed in terms of relaxing, releasing or allowing spirit, light or love in. For some healers, the spirit was Jesus; for others, Starwoman, a healing Native American grandmother image.

Targ had interviewed the healers about their work, and I spoke with her before she died about the common threads she had discovered among their diverse approaches.40

She found that a quality of loving compassion or kindness was essential in sending out a positive intention to heal.

But no matter what their approach, most of them agreed on a single point: the need to get out of the way. They surrendered to a healing force.

They had framed their intention essentially as a request – please may this person be healed – and then stepped back.

When Targ examined those patients whose illness had most improved, and analysed which healers they had been exposed to, those healers who were the most successful were the ‘channellers’ – the ones who had moved aside to allow the greater force in. None of the healers who had been successful believed he possessed the power himself.41 Psychiatrist Daniel Benor, who has accumulated and catalogued virtually every study of healing in four volumes42 as well as on a website,43 has examined the statements and writings of the most famous healers describing how they work.

One of the most remarkable and best-studied healers, Harry Edwards, wrote that a healer worked by handing over his will and his request for healing to a greater power:

This change may be described (inadequately) as the healer feeling a sense or condition enshrouding him, as if a blind had been drawn over his normal alert mind. In its place he experiences the presence of a new personality – one with an entirely new character – which imbues him with a super-feeling of confidence and power.

…

[While engaged in his healing] the healer may be only dimly aware of normal movement, speech, etc., taking place around him. If a question is addressed to him about the patients’ condition, he will find himself able to respond with extraordinary ease and without mental effort – in other words, the more knowledgeable personality of the Guide provides the answer.

Thus does the healer ‘tune-in’ – it is the subjection of his physical sense to the spirit part of himself, the latter becoming for the time being the superior self under the control of the director.44

To Edwards, the most important act was moving aside, shedding the personal ego, making a conscious attempt to get out of the way.

Cooperstein’s healers described their experience as a sense of total surrender to a higher being or even to the process. All believed that they were a part of a larger whole.

To gain access to the cosmic, non-local entity of true consciousness, they had to set aside the limiting boundaries of the self and personal identity, and merge with the higher entity.

With this change of consciousness and expanded awareness, the healers felt they got onto an open line to this larger information field, which offered them flashes of information, symbols and images.

Words would appear, seemingly from nowhere, giving them a diagnosis. Something beyond their conscious thought would carry out the healing for them.

Although the lead-up to healing was accomplished through consciously directed thought, the actual healing often was not. In giving a 2-minute treatment, for instance, they might have a minute and a half of rational thought and then ‘a five-second thing that would be an irrational thing, a space that may be the apex, the key to the whole experience’.45

The most important aspect of the healers’ process was undoubtedly their surrender – their willingness to give up their sense of cognitive control of the process and allow themselves to become pure energy.

But was this capacity to move aside important in all types of intention? I found an interesting answer in a study of people with brain damage. Investigators at the Behavioural Neurology Program and Rotman Research Institute at the University of Toronto attempted to replicate the work of the Princeton PEAR lab using random event generators, but with one important twist: they had enlisted several patients with frontal-lobe damage. The patients who had suffered right frontal-lobe damage, which probably affected their ability to focus and maintain attention, had no effect on the machines.

The only person to have a greater than normal effect was a volunteer with a damaged left frontal lobe but whose right frontal lobe was intact. The investigators speculated that the volunteer’s particular handicap could have given him a reduced sense of self, but a normal state of attention. Achieving a state of a reduced self- awareness – a difficult state for an ordinary person to achieve – might allow for greater effects of intention on the machines.46

Krippner suspects that during some altered states of consciousness, the body naturally ‘switches off ’ certain neural connections, including an area near the back of the brain that constantly calculates a person’s spatial orientation, the sense of where one’s body ends and the external world begins. During a transpersonal or transcendent experience, when this region becomes inactive, the boundary in the relationship between the self and the other blurs; you no longer know where you end and someone else begins.

Eugene d’Aquili, of the University of Pennsylvania, and Andrew Newberg, medical doctor at the university hospital’s nuclear medicine programme, demonstrated this in a study of Tibetan monks. Moments of meditative experience showed up as more activity in the brain’s frontal lobes with less activity in the parietal lobes.47

Meditation and other altered states can also affect the temporal lobes, which house the amygdala, a cluster of cells responsible for the sense of ‘I’ and our emotional response to the world: whether we like or dislike what we perceive.

Stimulation of the temporal lobes or disorder in them may create familiarity or strangeness – common features of a transcendent experience. Intense focus with intention on some other being appears to ‘switch off ’ the amygdala and so remove the neural sense of self.

Davidson, Krippner and Lazar demonstrated that we can remodel particular portions of our own brains, depending on our different types of focus and indeed different thoughts. It became clear to me that the intense focus of certain types of meditation can be a portal to hyperspace and peak awareness, transporting the meditator to a different layer of reality.

It can also be an energizing practice more than a calming one, that can help us rewire our brains to improve our reception and transmission of intention.

I had assumed that intention was like a strong ‘oomph’, or mental push, through which you project your thoughts to another person to ensure that your wishes are carried out. But the healers described a very different process: intention requires initial focus, but then a type of surrender, a letting go of the self as well as of the outcome.

Notes Chapter 5: Entering Hyperspace

H. Benson et al., ‘Body temperature changes during the practice of g tum-mo (heat) yoga’, Nature, 1982; 295: 234–6; H. Benson, ‘Body temperature changes during the practice of g tum-mo yoga (matters arising)’, Nature, 1982; 298: 402.
H. Benson et al., ‘Three case reports of the metabolic and electroencephalographic changes during advanced Buddhist meditation techniques’, Behavioral Medicine, 1990; 16 (2): 90–5.
The most celebrated was the Investigating the Mind conference a Massachusetts Institute of Technology, September 2005, which featured the Dalai Lama.
I am indebted to Stanley Krippner, who supplied me with a list of some 50 healers from a rich variety of traditions. I assembled a questionnaire, which I sent out to all 50. Some 15 replied in detail.
Cooperstein’s study eventually was published: M. A. Cooperstein, ‘The myths of healing: A summary of research into transpersonal healing experience’, Journal of the American Society for Psychical Research, 1992; 86: 99–133. I am also indebted to him for his in-depth analysis of the commonalities between healers.
Information about Krippner’s vast catalogue of work was also gleaned from numerous interviews between him and the author, April 2005–March 2006 and correspondence, 2005–2006.
S. Krippner, ‘The technologies of shamanic states of consciousness’, in M Schlitz et al. (eds.), Consciousness and Healing: Integral Approaches to Mind-Body Medicine, St. Louis, Mo.: Elsevier Churchill Livingstone, 2005 376–90.
Jilek W. G. Salish, Indian Mental Health and Culture Change Psychohygienic and Therapeutic Aspects of the Guardian Spiri Ceremonial, New York: Hold Rinehart & Winston, 1974.
All information about Bruce Frantzis the result of various interviews, April 2005–March 2006. Notes 293
B. K. Frantzis, Relaxing Into Your Being: Breathing, Chi and Dissolving the Ego, Berkeley, Calif.: North Atlantic Books, 1998.
Murphy, Meditation, op. cit.
W. Singer, ‘Neuronal synchrony: a versatile code for the definition of relations?’ Neuron, 1999; 24: 49–65; F. Varela et al., Nature Reviews Neuroscience, 2001; 2: 229–39, as reported in A. Lutz et al., ‘Long-term meditators self-induce highamplitude gamma synchrony during mental practice’, Proceedings of the National Academy of Science, 2004; 101 (46):16369–73.
O. Paulsen and T. J. Sejnowski, ‘Natural patterns of activity and long-term synaptic plasticity’, Current Opinion in Neurobiology, 2000; 10: 172–9, as reported in Lutz, ‘Long-term meditators’, op. cit.
Although the majority of studies carried out on meditation demonstrate that meditation leads to an increase in alpha rhythms (see Murphy, Meditation, op. cit.), the following are just a few that show that during meditation, subjects evidence spurts of high-frequency beta waves of twenty to forty cycles per second, usually during moments of intense concentration or ecstasy: J. P. Banquet, ‘Spectral analysis of the EEG in meditation’ Electroencephalography and Clinical Neurophysiology, 1973; 35: 143–51;
P. Fenwick et al., ‘Metabolic and EEG changes during Transcendenta Meditation: An explanation’, Biological Psychology, 1977; 5 (2): 101–18;
M. A. West, ‘Meditation and the EEG’,Psychological Medicine, 1980; 10 (2): 369–75; J. C. Corby et al., ‘Psychophysiological correlates of the practice of Tantric Yoga meditation’, Postgraduate Medical Journal, 1985; 61: 301–4.
N. Das and H. Gastaut, ‘Variations in the electrical activity of the brain heart and skeletal muscles during yogic meditation and trance’, Electroencephalography and Clinical Neurophysiology, 1955, Supplement no. 6: 211–19.
Murphy, Meditation, cites 10 studies showing that heart rate accelerates during these peak moments of meditation.
W. W. Surwillo and D. P. Hobson, ‘Brain electrical activity during prayer’,Psychological Reports, 1978; 43 (1): 135–43.
Murphy, Meditation, op. cit.
Lutz et al., ‘Long-term meditators’, op. cit.
Richard J. Davidson et al., ‘Alterations in brain and immune functio produce by mindfulness meditation’, Psychosomatic Medicine, 2003; 65: 564–70.
Krippner, ‘Shamanic states of consciousness’, op. cit.
Murphy, Meditation, op. cit.
L. Bernardi et al., ‘Effect of rosary prayer and yoga mantras on autonomic cardiovascular rhythms: comparative study’, British Medical Journal, 2001; 323: 1446–9.
Fenwick et al., ‘Metabolic and EEG changes during Transcendenta Meditation’, op. cit.
D. Goleman, Emotional Intelligence, London: Bloomsbury Press, 1996.
D. Goleman, ‘Meditation and consciousness: An Asian approach to mental health’, American Journal of Psychotherapy, 1976; 30 (1): 41–54; G. Schwartz, ‘Biofeedback, self-regulation, and the patterning of physiological processes’, American Scientist, 1975; 63 (3): 314–24; D. Goleman, ‘Why the brain blocks daytime dreams’, Psychology Today, 1976; March: 69–71.
P. Williams and M. West, ‘EEG responses to photic stimulation in persons experienced at meditation’, Electroencephalography and Clinical Neurophysiology, 294 The Intention Experiment 1975; 39 (5): 519–22; B. K Bagchi and M. A. Wenger, ‘Electrophysiological correlates of some yogi exercises’, Electroencephalography and Clinical Neurophysiology, 1957; (7): 132–49.
D. Brown, M. Forte and M. Dysart, ‘Visual sensitivity and mindfulnes meditation’, Perceptual and Motor Skills, 1984; 58 (3): 775–84; and ‘Differences in visual sensitivity among mindfulness meditators and non- meditators’, Perceptual and Motor Skills, 1984; 58 (3): 727–33.
S. W. Lazar et al., ‘Functional brain mapping of the relaxation response and meditation’, NeuroReport, 2000; 11: 1581–5.
C. Alexander et al., ‘EEG and SPECT data of a selected subject during ps tests: The discovery of a neurophysiological correlate’, Journal of Parapsychology, 1998; 62 (2): 102–4.
L. LeShan, The Medium, the Mystic and the Physicist: Towards a Theory of the Paranormal, New York: Helios Press, 2003.
Cooperstein, ‘The myths of healing’, op. cit.
S. Krippner, ‘Trance and the Trickster: Hypnosis as a liminal phenomenon’, International Journal of Clinical and Experimental Hypnosis, 2005; 53 (2): 97–118.
E. Hartmann, Boundaries in the Mind: A New Theory of Personality, New York: Basic Books, 1991, as quoted in Krippner, ‘Trance and the Trickster’,op. cit.
M. J. Schlitz and Charles Honorton, ‘Ganzfeld psi performance within a artistically gifted population’, Journal of the American Society for Psychical Research, 1992; 86 (2): 83–98.
S. Krippner et al., ‘Working with Ramtha: Is it a “high risk” procedure?’ Proceedings of Presented Papers: The Parapsychological Association 41s Annual Convention, 1998: 50–63.
The various tests included the Absorption Subscale of the Differential Personality Questionnaire, the Dissociative Experiences Scale and th Boundary Questionnaire.
S. Krippner et al., ‘The Ramtha phenomenon: Psychological phenomenological, and geomagnetic data’, Journal of the American Society for Psychical Research, 1998; 92: 1–24.
F. Sicher, E. Targ et al., ‘A randomized double-blind study’, op. cit.
Various conversations and correspondence between E. Targ and the author, October 1999–June 2001.
Interview with E. Targ, California, October 1999; J. Barrett, ‘Going th distance’, Intuition, 1999; June/July: 30–1.
D. J. Benor, Healing Research: Holistic Energy Medicine and Spirituality, 4 vols., Deddington, Oxfordshire: Helix Editions Ltd, 1993. http://www.wholistichealingresearch.com.
Benor, Healing Research, vol. 1, op. cit.: 54–5.
Cooperstein, ‘The myths of healing’, op. cit.
M. Freedman et al., ‘Effects of frontal lobe lesions on intentionality and random physical phenomena’, Journal of Scientific Exploration, 2003; 17 (4): 651–68.
E. d’Aquili and A. Newberg, Why God Won’t Go Away: Brain Science and the Biology of Belief, New York: Ballantine Books, 2001.

CHAPTER SIX

In the Mood

MITCH KRUCOFF WAS RETURNING HOME from India in 1994 with alm every idea he had held about the practice of medicine turned on its head. Krucoff, a cardiologist at Duke University Medical Center, and his nurse practitioner, Suzanne Crater, had been invited to inspect the Sri Sathya Sai Institute of Higher Medicine, hospital in Puttaparthi, at the end of its first year of operation.

The hospital was the pet project of the Indian guru Sri Sathya Sai Baba, who wanted to make available the services of a modern Western hospital to the poor and needy, entirely free of charge. Krucoff had been recruited as its cardiac specialist, to advise on the technology needed to build a state-of-the-art facility for high-tech cardiac catheterizations.

Krucoff and Crater were astonished by what they had seen. The overwhelmingly spiritual dimension of the facility – even the special quality of the sound and light – had dwarfed its considerable technological achievements.

Spirituality was present in the very design of the building – in the Hindu images lovingly chosen to grace the walls. Situated 9 kilometres from Sai Baba’s ashram, the building resembled an elongated Taj Mahal.

The wings had been structured as a curvature, like a welcome embrace for all those approaching its doors, and the rotunda inside the entrance was meant to represent a heart whose apex was pointing to heaven.

During their rounds, Krucoff and Crater had been struck by the effect this had on the patients – many of them Indians from extremely remote areas who had never seen running water before.

Despite the fact that they had been diagnosed with a life- threatening illness and were set to face an imposing twenty-first-century digital cath lab, not one of them seemed the slightest bit afraid. This utter absence of fear contrasted starkly with the terror and despair to which Krucoff had grown accustomed among the cardiac patients he regularly saw back home.

Krucoff longed to introduce some of these practices to hospitals in America, but if he were going to convince any of his colleagues in cardiology, he would have to prove the benefit of spirituality to the practice of heart surgery through hard data showing a measurable physiological effect. He would have to demonstrate that intangible aspects like intention, or spiritual beliefs, or even a spiritual, uplifting environment, could really make a difference to a patient’s outcome.

During the 18-hour flight home, Krucoff and Crater began teasing out ideas for a study. The only way to do it, they eventually realized, was to put prayer to the test – the biggest test of its kind.1

When Krucoff got home, he began researching the scientific literature for any evidence that prayer had improved medical outcomes. Fourteen well-conducted trials of prayer had shown a positive effect. In the most famous, published by Randolph Byrd in 1988, a group of born-again Christians outside a hospital had prayed for patients in a coronary care unit. Those who had been prayed for had significantly fewer symptoms, and needed fewer drugs and less medical intervention.2

A Mid-America Heart Institute study, published around the time Targ published her AIDS study and considered at the time to have bolstered Targ’s findings, showed that Christians of all denominations enlisted to pray for hospitalized cardiac patients reduced symptoms by 10 per cent, with fewer medical setbacks.3

Prayer is viewed as a kind of super-intention, a joint endeavour: you do the intending, and God carries it out. In some quarters, intention is considered synonymous with prayer, and prayer synonymous with healing; when you send out an intention, God puts the intention into action.

Indeed, many consciousness investigators consider these early prayer studies intention experiments. The small studies that had made use of groups of Christians to send intercessory prayers to heart patients are often construed as a group intention – an attempt by a collection of people to influence the same thing at the same time.

However promising the results of these early studies, Krucoff realized that a large-scale trial with tightened protocols was needed, and he mounted his own small pilot study. He enlisted 150 cardiac patients, recruited from nearby Durham Veterans Affairs Medical Center, who had been scheduled for angioplasty and stents.

Besides prayer, Krucoff wanted to see whether ‘noetic’ therapies, involving some form of remote or mind-body influence, could affect patient outcomes. He divided the patient population into five groups. In addition to standard medical treatment, four of the five were to receive one of the noetic treatments – stress relaxation, healing touch, guided imagery or intercessory prayer.

The fifth group would be given no additional intervention besides orthodox medical care. Every patient would undergo continuous monitoring of brain waves, heart rate and blood pressure, to gauge the moment-by- moment effect of these intangible healing influences.

Krucoff decided to turn up the volume on prayer to full blast. To recruit prayer groups, his nurse-practitioner assistant Suzanne Crater launched a worldwide campaign of solicitation. She wrote to Buddhist monasteries in Nepal and France and to VirtualJerusalem.com, which arranged for prayers to be placed in the city’s Wailing Wall.

She phoned Carmelite nuns in Baltimore to ask for prayers during evening vespers. By the time she finished her campaign, she had enlisted prayer groups from seven denominations, including Fundamentalists, Moravians, Jews Buddhists, Catholics, Baptists and members of the Unity Church.

Each prayer group was assigned a group of patients, who were identified only by name, age and type of illness. Although Crater and Krucoff left the design of individual prayers to the groups themselves, they stipulated that the patients had to be prayed for by name and that the prayers on behalf of these patients had to concern their healing and recovery.

The prayer portion of the study would be blinded, so that neither patients nor staff knew who was going to be prayed for. The other noetic therapies would be administered an hour after the patients had undergone the angioplasty.

The results were impressive. Patients in all the noetic treatment groups enjoyed 30–50 per cent improvements in health during their hospital stay, with fewer complications and a lower incidence of narrowing of the arteries compared with the controls.

They also had a 25–30 per cent reduction in adverse outcomes: death, heart attack, or heart failure, a worsening of the state of their arteries or a need for a repeat angioplasty. But of all the alternative therapies employed, prayer had the most profound effect.

The study was too small to yield any definitive conclusions; after all, only 30 patients had been in the prayer group. Nevertheless, Krucoff ’s results seemed highly promising. Krucoff and Crater, who had christened their study MANTRA (Monito and Actualization of Noetic TRAinings), published it and presented their findings before the American Heart Association.4

Even the most conservative of cardiologists were beginning to take home the message that remote healing might actually work after all, and that prayer in particular was good for the heart.5

Krucoff understood that, for his results to be meaningful, the study needed to be replicated on a far larger scale. He rolled out his study and created MANTRA II b launching into an ambitious recruitment programme, eventually enlisting 750 patients from Duke’s Medical Center and nine other hospitals across America, and soliciting 12 prayer groups made up of an even larger, more ecumenical collection of the world’s major religions. Christians were recruited from Great Britain, Buddhists from Nepal, Muslims from America, Jews from Israel.

Emboldened by his early success, Krucoff and Duke loudly trumpeted the project as the largest multicentre study of remote influence, the supreme test of prayer.

With MANTRA II, he divided the patients into four groups. One group woul receive prayer; another, a specially designed programme that included music, imagery and touch (or MIT therapy); the third group, MIT plus prayer; and the fina control group, standard medical care. Immediately prior to undergoing angioplasty, those assigned to receive MIT would be instructed in a method of relaxed breathing while visualizing a favourite place and listening to calming music of their choice. They would then receive healing touch for 15 minutes from a trained practitioner. These patients could also wear headphones during surgery.

The point of the new study was to examine whether prayer or the noetic interventions would prevent further cardiovascular events in the hospital, such as death, new heart attacks, a need for additional surgery, readmission to the hospital, and signs of a sharp rise in the enzyme creatine phosphokinase, an indication that the heart has suffered damage. This time, Krucoff also wished to investigate longer-term effects as ‘secondary endpoints’: whether the interventions could alleviate emotional distress, or prevent death or rehospitalization at any point six months after the patients had been discharged.

Krucoff ’s study fell right in the midst of the terrorist attacks of 9/11 and their aftermath. For three months, patient enrolment in the study fell so sharply that he had to amend its design. He developed a ‘two-tier’ prayer strategy by recruiting 12 ‘second-tier’ prayer groups. As soon as new patients were added to the study, the second-tier groups were to pray for the prayers of the ‘first-tier’ prayer groups, who had been praying for the patients all along. Through this strategy Krucoff hoped that newly enrolled patients would receive a higher ‘dosage’ of prayer to approximate the amount received by his patients enlisted earlier in the study.

After the enormous advance publicity, Krucoff ’s findings were an enormous letdown. When the results were finally in and tallied, there was no denying it: there were no differences in outcomes between any of the various groups during their hospital stay. The only apparent benefit was a slight reduction in distress among the MIT patients prior to the surgery. Otherwise, the large-scale MANTRA was an utte failure. Prayer did not seem to make anybody better.6

Among the long-term effects, there had been some therapeutic effects in alleviating emotional distress, need for further hospitalization, and even death rates after six months, but these were not considered statistically significant and they hadn’t been the main focus of the study.

Wresting a small victory from this enormous defeat, Krucoff managed to get his findings published in the prestigious British medical journal, The Lancet. To the public, he maintained that he was ‘thrilled’ with the findings and that they had been misinterpreted. Krucoff ’s study appeared to vindicate the sceptics of prayer as a subject for scientific inquiry. The simple message appeared to be that getting someone to pray for you just does not work.

Meanwhile, in 1997, the Mayo Clinic had begun a two-year study of patients with cardiovascular disease who had been recently discharged from its coronary care unit. Nearly 800 patients were subdivided into two groups: high-risk (those who had one or more risk factors, such as diabetes, a prior heart attack or pre-existing vascular disease) and low-risk (those who had no risk factors other than their present symptoms). The two groups were again divided into two.

In addition to ordinary medical treatment, one group in each of the two categories was to receive the prayers of five people once a week for 26 weeks. The two other groups would simply continue with standard medical treatment.

At the end of the study, the investigators concluded that prayer made no difference in mortality, future heart attacks, need for further intervention or hospitalization. Although there were small differences between the treated and untreated groups, particularly among the low-risk patients, these results were not deemed to be significant.7

To settle the matter once and for all, Herbert Benson came forward with an ambitious plan. Benson had managed to straddle both mainstream and complementary camps in medicine and was well respected for it – a diplomat with the status of elder statesman between two suspicious factions. Besides his Harvard Medical Schoo credentials, he had set up the Mind/Body Medical Institute, which was devoted to the study and practice of mind–body healing techniques. He had even coined the term ‘the relaxation response’ to describe their effects.8 Lending his name to a study of prayer would legitimatize it among the conservative camps.

For this study, Benson recruited five other powerhouses of medicine in the USA, including the Mayo Clinic. His plan was that this study of prayer, which he had dubbed STEP (Study of Therapeutic Effects of Intercessory Prayer), would be the largest, most scientifically rigorous of all time.

The study recruited 1800 patients undergoing coronary artery bypass surgery and divided them into three groups: the first two groups were uncertain whether they were going to receive prayer or not; the first group received prayer and the second did not. The third group, which would definitely receive prayer, was also told of the fact. Benson settled on this particular design so that he could isolate two potential effects: whether being prayed for in itself worked, and whether knowing you were going to be prayed for had any additional benefit. In this way he could control for the effect of belief.9

For his prayer groups, Benson enlisted a group of Roman Catholic monks and members of three other Christian denominations: St Paul’s Monastery in St Paul Missouri; the community of Teresian Carmelites in Worcester, Massachusetts, and Silent Unity, a Missouri Unity prayer ministry outside Kansas City. He maintained that his prayer groups included no members of Islam or Judaism because he could not find non-Christian groups happy to work within the demands of the study schedule. The prayer groups were given the patients’ first names and the initials of their surnames. Although the design of their prayers could be individual, they had to include the phrase: ‘for a successful surgery with a quick, healthy recovery and no complications’. The groups were then followed for 30 days and any post-operative complications, major events or deaths tracked among all groups.

The results shocked the world and bewildered the researchers, most of all Benson, who had spent much of his career promoting the beneficial effects of the mind on the body. The researchers had predicted the greatest benefit in the prayed- for-and-knew-it group, the second greatest effect in the prayed-for-but-didn’t-know-it group and the least effect among the didn’t-get-prayed-for-and-didn’t-know-it group.

But their results indicated that no amount of prayer under any condition, whether the patients knew it or not, made any difference to the outcome of their operations. Indeed, the results were the very opposite of the researchers’ expectations. Those patients who were prayed for and knew they were being prayed for were worse off, by a statistically significant degree: 59 per cent of the prayed-for-and-knew-it group suffered post-operative complications, compared with 52 per cent among the non- prayed-fors.

Even the prayed-for-but-didn’t-know-it group suffered slightly more heart attacks and strokes than those who had not been given prayer. Among the uninformed patients who had received prayers, 10 per cent suffered major complications of the surgery, compared with 13 per cent of those who did not receive prayer.10

Benson and his co-authors didn’t know what to make of these results. They even wondered if the patients had suffered from a type of ‘performance anxiety’ as a result of the undue pressure and expectations created by the prayers.

Many commentators concluded that this study proved that prayer not only does not work, it is bad for you – or at least it cannot be scientifically tested. Krucoff, who was asked to write a commentary about the study, emphasized that prayer indeed had an effect – a negative one. People needed to discard the universally held view that being prayed for is ‘a priori’ good for you as these results impelled one to consider that not simply ‘voodoo and spells’ but also ‘well-intentioned, loving, heartfelt healing prayer might inadvertently harm or kill vulnerable patients in certain circumstances’.11

T he American Heart Journal released the study online, and its authors held press conferences. Benson cautioned the media that STEP was not the last word o prayer, although it did raise questions about whether patients should be told about prayers being offered for them.

A patient’s awareness of being prayed for was considered the most important subject about prayer for future study. But others were not sure whether prayer should or could be studied any more. The John Templeton Foundation had spent $2.4 million on the study, and with negative results like these it was likely that theirs would be the last funds available.

The STEP findings seemed to undercut my own plans for a large intention experiment. Then as I mulled over the negative findings, I came to think that the very designs of the studies might have been responsible. Although the studies attempted to be rigorous, in many instances they violated the most basic rules of scientific research.

For instance, all of the failed studies did not clearly formulate the content of the healing intention, and left the content of the prayers up to the individual supplicant. Although Benson asked that the single phrase ‘for a successful surgery with a quick, healthy recovery and no complications’ be included, he had not asked them to be specific.

The most successful intention experiments incorporate a highly specific target into the intention. In Targ’s study, the healers were given the immune system T- cell counts of the AIDS patients and they sent healing specifically to improve the counts.

The prayer groups should have been instructed to ask for a specific outcome in cardiac symptoms, or fewer cardiac stents placed during the study time, or any other highly specific request, rather than a nebulous, highly generalized statement about the patient improving.

None of the studies tightly controlled for the number of people involved in the prayer groups or for either the frequency or length of time they were to pray, which again might have confused the mass intention. Perhaps, since they were using highly diverse prayer groups, their prayers were not equivalent. In Benson’s study, the prayer groups were allowed to pray anywhere from 30 seconds to several hours four times a week.

His researchers never recorded how long the individuals prayed. In Targ’s study, although diverse healers were used, they rotated patients, so that each received only a single healing message at any one time.

As Bob Barth, director of the Office of Prayer Research, put it: ‘How do yo determine a dose of something as intrinsic as prayer? For example, is one 5-minute prayer by a Buddhist different from 10 Catholic nuns in prayer for an hour or more? Is prayer more effective once or 20 times a day?’

In commenting on Krucoff ’s findings, The Lancet also aired its reservations about his study design. ‘Could a more restricted denominational approach have influenced the outcome?’12

Benson’s attempt to standardize the prayer methods used in his study inadvertently interfered with the methods by which the prayer groups usually carry out intercessory prayer.

In ordinary circumstances, when prayer groups are asked to pray for someone, they request specific details about the patient, including full name, age, medical condition and periodic reports of the patient’s progress. Often they meet with the patient and his or her family. By gathering this personal information, they are able to personalize the prayers.

Benson’s study design allowed for the prayer groups only to be given the name and a last initial of the person to be prayed for. The limited information made it impossible for the prayer groups to establish a meaningful connection with or indeed even to zero in on the people they were praying for – one of the conditions that Schlitz and Radin consider important for effective remote influence.

Several groups in Benson’s study objected to the design of the study. As one commentator wrote, ‘This would be similar to the concept of attempting to make a cell phone call to a friend and expecting her to answer when you have only dialled the first three digits of the phone number.’13

Like STEP, Krucoff ’s studies did not reveal anything about the patients in order to create a connection. In Targ’s research, the healers had been given a photo and a name as well as information about the patient’s condition. None of the groups tested the difference between praying for a patient whose full details were disclosed and simply praying for someone with a first name and last initial.

The selection of the prayer groups was equally unscientific. None of the major prayer studies used any criteria to select participants in the prayer groups or kept track of their size or experience in prayer. Targ had selected only those healers who were highly experienced and committed with a long track record of successfully healing. Although Schlitz’s Love Study employed amateurs sending healing intention, training was provided to ensure a homogeneous approach.

Another problem was the lack of a genuine control group in any of the studies. To be truly scientific, a study must be ‘randomized’ and randomly select participants in one group that is given the treatment and compare its outcome with a group not exposed to the treatment.

However, in any health crisis, family members routinely turn to prayer. The odds were overwhelming in all the major prayer studies that the not-prayed-for people were being prayed for by their own loved ones. In MANTRA II, 89 per cent of the patients from both treatment and control groups admitted that someone in their family was praying for them. These patients lived in the religiously active American Bible Belt.

The lack of a pure control group ultimately muddies the results of a study. This problem occurred with the early studies investigating the potential of hormone replacement therapy (HRT) to cause cancer.

Many such studies were tainted because it is virtually impossible to enlist women for study who have not taken some form of exogenous hormones – the birth-control pill, the morning after pill or HRT – at some point in their lives. Consequently, none of the studies has a clean control group of true ‘non-takers’, with which to compare results. Women who take hormones now are compared with women who have taken hormones in the past. Both situations carry a cancer risk. The same ‘tainting’ would apply to these prayer studies. People in the ‘treatment’ groups getting prayed for are being compared with patients whose relatives are praying for them.

The large prayer studies had other basic flaws. In both the Benson and Krucof studies, the people praying did not know the patients and so would not have had a strong motivation to heal, as the ‘senders’ had in the Love Study. In Benson’s study, as Krucoff pointed out in his commentary about STEP, there should have been a true placebo group, which would have no expectation of the possibility of prayer and also there should have been a comparison between such a group and a super-group, whose members included all those exposed to prayer.

No analysis compared the effect of being prayed for with the particular belief a patient held about which groups he or she had been assigned, which would have shed light on the possible role of a placebo effect. The researchers also had not taken into account any possible stress on the patient from having to hide his or her assignment in the study from the hospital staff.14

Like STEP, Krucoff ’s study violated the basic rules of scientific design, largely because of events beyond his control. When he reconstituted his study in the wake of 9/11, some of the patients received straightforward prayer from diverse prayer groups, and the others, who had been enrolled after the World Trade Center tragedy, received the ‘two-tier’ type of prayer, in which those doing the praying were themselves prayed for. Unlike the most basic of scientific trials, his study did not offer the participants the identical treatment.

Even Targ had complained about problems in study design of the very first major prayer study by Randolph Byrd, in which ordinary Christians had been asked to pray for cardiac patients. There was no information about who was taking blood pressure medication, so it was unclear whether prayer or medicine had done the healing.

There were no controls for mental attitude during the study. A high number of patients with a positive outlook may have landed in the treatment group.

Sometimes a placebo effect, an expectation of healing, can be a large factor in positive results. In one healing study of patients suffering from clinical depression, all the patients improved, even the control group, which did not receive healing, largely from the psychological boost created by the possibility of healing.15

In Benson’s study the prospect of prayer might have had the opposite effect. According to Larry Dossey, the elegant Southern internist and author of many books on prayer,16 the STEP study offered prayer as a ‘tease’, dangled in front of seriously ill patients as something they might or might not be lucky enough to get.

‘Nowhere on earth is prayer delivered in this fashion,’ says Dossey. ‘When prayer occurs in real life, we don’t taunt our loved ones with it. They are extended compassionate prayer unconditionally and without equivocation. Who can say what emotions – resentment? hostility? – were generated in these three groups of patients as a result of how prayer was offered?’17

The fact that the people who knew they were being prayed for not only had no placebo response but also evidenced more post-surgical complications than any other group, he says, ‘suggests that very strange internal dynamics were operating within the Harvard prayer study.’18

The Mid-America Heart Institute study – the study in which prayer by Christian of diverse denominations had reduced symptoms in heart patients by 10 per cent – was also criticized for offering so many endpoints that it was bound to show a positive result.19

The negative results of these large prayer studies could be because praying for others does not work, because prayer simply cannot be subjected to scientific study, or simply because these new studies themselves were asking the wrong questions.

After all, according to Bob Barth of the Office of Prayer Research, these studies onl represent a small proportion of prayer research.20 Of the more than 227 studies investigated by the office, 75 per cent show a positive impact.

Nevertheless, to study the effect of remote intention, it may be best to move away from prayer, which contains a good deal of emotional baggage. Targ tried to isolate the effect of simple healing intention, which is different from prayer. With intention, the agent of change is human; with prayer it is God.

Simple healing intention can be more easily controlled for in a scientific study by ensuring that every member of the group sending the intention was sending the exact same message. For the purposes of my intention experiments, a simple intention to heal or improve something might avoid all the problems associated with studying prayer.

Unlike prayer, healing has been persuasively proven; a large body of evidence exists about the positive effects of distant healing – perhaps 150 studies in all.21 These scientific studies have been subjected to overall reviews that rate both the significance of the effects and the outcome. In the most cautious of such analysis, Professor Edzard Ernst, the exacting and skeptical chair of complementary medicine at Exeter University in Britain, concluded that of 23 studies, 57 per cent had shown a positive effect.22

Among the most rigorously scientific (those with double-blind trials), the average effect size, or size of change among those treated, was 0.40 – about 10 times better than the effect size of aspirin or propanolol, two drugs considered highly successful in preventing heart attacks.

Hidden in the failure of the large prayer studies lies vital instruction not only about the design of such mass experiments, but also about those elements that maximize the power of intention.

To be successful, an intention may require other parameters besides trained attention, getting out of the way, and formulating a simple request to the universe. As Gary Schwartz learned during his own research on healing, the attitude of the healers as well as the patients may matter a good deal.

Schwartz’s research began as a simple study of healing intention by Reiki practitioners. Schwartz had enlisted his colleague, Beverly Rubik, founding director of the Center for Frontier Sciences at Temple University, Philadelphia, a biophysicist interested in subtle energies.

As Rubik was well versed in studies using bacteria, they decided to use as their subject E. coli bacteria, which had been severely stressed. One way to stress bacteria is to shock them with a sudden blast of heat. Schwartz, Rubik and their colleague Audrey Brooks carefully managed the amount of heat so that it was enough to stress the bacteria without killing off the entire sample.

They then asked 14 practitioners of Reiki to heal the bacteria that survived by transmitting a standard Reiki treatment for 15 minutes. Each practitioner was to heal three different samples over three days. Equipment with an automated colony counter kept track of the number of bacteria that survived.

Initially, Schwartz, Rubik and Brooks were surprised to find that the Reik practitioners made no difference to the overall survival of the viable bacteria. On closer look, however, they discovered that the Reiki practitioners seemed to be successful on certain days, but not on others. This spotty batting average puzzled them.

Perhaps, Schwartz thought, a healer’s success depended on some sort of connection with the subject. It was difficult, after all, to feel any warm and fuzzy connection with E. coli bacteria, which ordinarily resides peacefully in the gut but can wreak havoc when it migrates out of the digestive tract. But what if he managed to get his practitioners in healing mode?

In the next batch of studies, Schwartz and his colleagues asked the Reiki practitioners to work for 30 minutes on a human patient suffering with pain, and then set them back to work on their bacteria samples.

This time, the healing was successful; the scientists discovered significantly more bacteria in the healed samples than in the controls. The healers appeared to enjoy a higher success rate once their healing ‘pumps’ had been primed.23

Nevertheless, Schwartz and the other researchers continued to discover instances in which the healers had a deleterious effect on the bacteria. It occurred to them that a healer’s own well-being might affect results. They needed a simple test to assess true well-being, to gauge more than physical condition.

They decided to use the Arizona Integrative Outcomes Scale (AIOS), an ingeniously simple visual mean of assessing spiritual, social, mental, emotional and physical well-being during the past 24 hours.24

Developed by physician and psychologist Iris Bell, one of Schwartz’s colleagues at the University of Arizona, AIOS allows patients to assess more than physical symptoms.

The subjects are told to reflect on their general sense of wellbeing, ‘taking into account your physical, mental, emotional, social, and spiritual condition over the past 24 hours’, then to mark a point on a horizontal line between ‘worst you have ever been’ on the left and ‘best you have ever been’ on the right that, in their view, represents their overall sense of well-being in the same time period. A number of studies demonstrated that AIOS is a useful, accurate tool for pinpointing emotional wellness and a healthy state of mind.25

In their next series of studies, Schwartz, Rubik and Brooks asked the Reik healers to assess themselves on the AIOS scale before and after they had carried ou the Reiki. With this data, the scientists discovered an important trend. On days when the healers felt really well in themselves, they had a beneficial effect on the bacteria; the counts in the bacteria given the therapy were higher than in the heat-shocked controls. On days when they did not feel so well and they scored lower on the test, they actually had a deleterious effect. Those practitioners who began the healing with diminished well-being actually killed off more bacteria than naturally died in the controls. Evidently, a practitioner’s own overall health was an essential factor in his ability to heal.

Schwartz and his colleagues then tried a study using AIOS with a different type of healing, called Johrei. They recruited 236 practitioners and volunteers, and asked them to fill in the AIOS scale plus a questionnaire he had created assessing emotional state of mind before and after they administered healing.

When Schwartz and Brooks compared the AIOS tests of both the healers and the patients before and after the healing, they discovered another interesting effect. Although the patients felt better after they had received the healing, so did the healers after they had performed the healing.

Giving was as good as getting for these senders. Other research showed a similar result.26 The act of healing and perhaps the healing context was itself healing. Healing someone else also healed the healer. 27

Schwartz and his fellow researchers then carried out another study of distant Johrei healing on cardiac patients – a double-blind study so that no one but the statistician knew who was receiving healing.28 The primary outcomes measured were clinical reports of pain, anxiety, depression and overall well-being.

After three days, the patients were asked if they had had a sense, feeling or belief that they had received Johrei healing. In both the treatment and control groups, certain patients strongly believed that they had received the treatment and others had a strong feeling they had been excluded.

When Schwartz and Brooks tabulated the results, a fascinating picture emerged The best outcomes were among those who had received Johrei and believed they had received it.

The worse outcomes were those who had not received Johrei and were convinced they had not had it. The other two groups – those who had received it but did not believe it and those who had not received it but believed they had – fell somewhere in the middle.

This result tended to contradict the idea that a positive outcome is entirely down to a placebo response; those who wrongly believed they received the healing did not do as well as those who rightly believed they had received it.

Schwartz’s studies uncovered something fundamental about healing: both the energy and intention of the healing itself and the patient’s belief that he or she had received healing promoted the actual healing. Belief in the efficacy of the particular healing treatment was undoubtedly another factor.

In the Love Study, Schlitz and Stone had stressed the importance of a shared belief system in the success of remote influence, and Schwartz’s results bear this out.

In the large prayer studies, the senders and receivers of prayer did not share the same belief system about God. Most of the patients had been prayed for by a number of groups from different religions and disparate belief systems. Even Benson’s Christian study employed different Christian sects, which do not share identical beliefs. It may be uncomfortable for some groups to be prayed for by people who do not share their views about the divine.

As Marilyn Schlitz pointed out, none of the clinical trials made use of what scientists call ‘ecological validity’. This means that the trials were not designed to model what happens in real life.

In the Harvard study, for example, the prayer groups were instructed to pray differently from how they would normally. None of the big prayer studies tested the effect of the kind of prayers that prayer groups believe is most likely to work.29

In these studies, says Dossey, ‘what is being tested is not genuine prayer but a watered-down faux version of it’.30 The contents and context of prayer were treated casually, as if it were no different than some new medication.

The Benson study also framed its intention as a ‘negative’ – asking that the patients heal with ‘no complications’ – countering the most basic folklore about prayer and affirmations, which stipulates that they should always be framed as a positive statement.

Ordinarily, says Schiltz, people have a meaningful relationship with the person they are praying for. Psychologist and mind-body researcher Jeanne Achterberg, of the Institute for Transpersonal Psychology in California, carried out a study at a Hawaiian hospital, using highly experienced distant healers, who selected as their ‘patient’ a person with whom they had a special connection.

Each healer was isolated from his patient, who was then placed in an MRI scanner. At random, two- minute intervals, the healers sent healing intentions to their patients, using their own traditional healing practices. Achterberg discovered significant brain activation in the same portions of the brains – mainly in the frontal lobes – of all the patients during times healing energy was being ‘sent’.

When the same regime was tried out on people the healers did not know, they had no effect on the patients’ brain activity. Some sort of emotional bond or empathetic connection may be crucial to the success of both prayer and healing intention.31

The large prayer studies may have failed because the researchers were looking in the wrong places for demonstration of an effect. A study of AIDS about to be published at the time of writing has also failed to find an effect.

Nevertheless, a highly significant number of people in the treatment group correctly guessed which group they were in, while the control group did not. As Schlitz concluded, ‘The treatment group seemed to feel something; it just did not correlate with the clinical outcomes that were measured.’32 The study may just have been asking the wrong questions.

Another important variable may be the kinds of thoughts experienced by the recipient during healing. Researchers have discovered that negative thoughts and visualization can have a powerfully negative effect on the body, as if the negativity is somehow infectious and these thoughts take physical form.

For instance, Pennsylvania researchers from the Center for Advanced Wound Care in Reading, Pennsylvania, have discovered that patients with slow-healing wounds often have negative thought patterns and behavioural or emotional wounds, such as guilt, anger and lack of self-worth.33

The same effect can occur with negative relationships. A recent study of couples showed that the stress of reliving an argument delays wound healing by at least a day. In an ingenious study by Ohio State University College of Medicine, the researcher

gathered together 42 married couples and inflicted small wounds with a tiny puncture device on one partner of each pair. During the first sessions, the partners held a conflict-free, constructive discussion and the wound healing was carefully timed.

Several months later, the researchers repeated the injury, but this time allowed the partners to raise an ongoing contentious issue, such as money or in-laws. This time, the wounds took a day longer to heal. What is more, among the more hostile couples, the wounds healed at only 60 per cent the rate of the more compatible pairs.

Examination of the fluids in the wounds found different levels of a chemical called interleukin-6 (IL6), a cytokine and key chemical in the immune system.

Among the hostile couples, the levels of interleukin-6 were too low initially and then too high immediately after an argument, suggesting that their immune systems had been overwhelmed.34

The person sending out an intention might also need to be sent good intentions. Krucoff ’s results as universally interpreted had overlooked one vital finding: the patients with the double-tier prayer groups who had been prayed for had fared far better in the secondary endpoints; their death and re-hospitalization rates over the six months after discharge were 30 per cent lower than the others.

Mortality over six months was lower among patients given MIT, and lowest of all among patients given MIT with prayer. These results had only been characterized as a ‘suggestive trend’, but may have been the entire point of the story. Praying worked if the person doing the praying – or his prayers – also had been prayed for. 35

Healing and positive intention are simply an aspect of the constant two-way flow of communication between living things. In the person being sent intention, a shared belief in the power of the healing modality and a positive state of mind may enhance results.

Fritz Popp’s research demonstrates that the degree of coherence of an organism’s light emissions is linked to its overall state of health. When healers are healthy, in a positive state of mind and have engaged in a healing ‘warm up’, their light is more likely to shine brighter. The most effective healer of all may be the one who has been healed himself.

Notes – Chapter 6: In the Mood

All details about M. Krucoff ’s trip to India and decision to study prayer from interviews, August 2006.
R. C. Byrd, ‘Positive therapeutic effects of intercessory prayer in a coronary care unit population’, Southern Medical Journal, 1988; 81 (7): 826–9.
W. Harris et al., ‘A randomised, controlled trial of the effects of remote, intercessory prayer on outcomes in patients admitted to the coronary care unit’, Archives of Internal Medicine, 1999; 159 (19): 2273–8.
M. Krucoff, ‘Integrative noetic therapies as adjuncts to percutaneous intervention during unstable coronary syndromes: Monitoring and Actualization of Noetic Training (MANTRA) feasibility pilot’,American Heart Journal, 2001; 142 (5): 760–7.
M. Krucoff announced the results at the Second Conference on the Integration of Complementary Medicine into Cardiology, a meeting sponsored by the American College of Cardiology, October 14, 2003.
M. Krucoff et al., ‘Music, imagery, touch and prayer as adjuncts to interventional cardiac care: The Monitoring and Actualisation of Noetic Trainings (MANTRA) II randomised study’,The Lancet, 2005; 366: 211–17.
J. M. Aviles et al., ‘Intercessory prayer and cardiovascular disease progression in a coronary care unit population: a randomized controlled trial’, Mayo Clinic Proceedings, 2001; 76 (12): 1192–8.
H. Benson, The Relaxation Response, New York: William Morrow, 1975.
M. Krucoff et al., Editorial: ‘From efficacy to safety concerns: A STE forward or a step back for clinical research and intercessory prayer? The Study of Therapeutic Effects of Intercessory Prayer (STEP)’,American Heart Journal, 2006; 151; 4: 762.
H. Benson et al., ‘Study of the therapeutic effects of intercessory prayer (STEP) in cardiac bypass patients: A multi-center randomized trial of uncertainty and certainty of receiving intercessory prayer’, American Heart Journal, 2006; 151 (4): 934–42.
Krucoff et al., ‘A STEP forward’, op. cit.
Editorial: ‘MANTRA II: Measuring the unmeasurable?’The Lancet, 2005; 366 (9481): 178.
Letter to the editor, American Heart Journal, sent to author, 2006.
Krucoff et al., ‘A STEP forward’, op. cit.
B. Greyson, ‘Distance healing of patients with major depression’, Journal of Scientific Exploration, 1996; 10 (4): 447–65.
L. Dossey, Meaning and Medicine: Lessons from a Doctor’s Tales of Breakthough Healing, London: Bantam, 1991; Dossey, Healing Words, op.cit.
L. Dossey, ‘Prayer experiments: Science or folly? Observations on the Harvard prayer study’, Network Review (UK), 2006; 91: 22–3.
Ibid.
Harris, ‘Effects of remote intercessory prayer’, op. cit. www.officeofprayerresearch.org.
Benor, Healing Research, op. cit.
J. Astin et al., ‘The efficacy of “distant healing”: A systematic review of randomized trials’, Annals of Internal Medicine, 2000; 132: 903–10.
B. Rubik et al., ‘In vitro effect of Reiki treatment on bacterial cultures: Role of experimental context and practitioner well-being’, The Journal of Alternative and Complementary Medicine, 2006; 12 (1): 7–13. 296 The Intention Experiment
I. R. Bell et al., ‘Development and validation of a new global well-being outcomes rating scale for integrative medicine research’, BMC Complementary and Alternative Medicine, 2004; 4: 1.
Ibid.
S. O’Laoire, ‘An experimental study of the effects of distant, intercessory prayer on self-esteem, anxiety and depression’, Alternative Therapies in Health and Medicine, 1997; 3 (6): 19–53.
Rubik et al., ‘In vitro effect’, op, cit.
K. Reece et al., ‘Positive well-being changes associated with giving and receiving Johrei healing’, The Journal of Alternative and Complementary Medicine, 2005; 11 (3): 455–7.
M. Schlitz, ‘Can science study prayer?’ Shift: At the Frontiers of Consciousness, 2006; September–November (12): 38–9.
Dossey, ‘Prayer experiments’, op. cit.
J. Achterberg et al., ‘Evidence for correlations between distant intentionality and brain function in recipients: a functional magnetic resonance imagining analysis’, The Journal of Alternative andComplementary Medicine, 2005; 11 (6): 965–71.
Ibid.
K. A. Wientjes, ‘Mind-body techniques in wound healing’, Ostomy/Wound Management, 2002; 48 (11): 62–7.
J. K. Keicolt-Glaser, ‘Hostile marital interactions, proinflammatory cytokine production, and wound healing’, Archives of General Psychiatry, 2005; 62 (12): 1377–84.
Krucoff, ‘(MANTRA) II’, op. cit.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The Right Time

Persinger’s basement vault was known as the Chamber of Heaven and Hell. Room COO2B, a disused sound booth, was a relic of the 1970s, its original fittings intact enormous nylon loudspeakers, deep orange flecked shag carpeting and a single item of furniture – a stained brown polyester armchair.

More than 2000 people had occupied the chair in pure darkness, a modified yellow motorcycle helmet on their heads, surrendering all control of their next half hour to the scientists behind the glass booth. Persinger, a neuroscientist, was god of room COO2B.

He had become expert in manipulating brain waves to yield up a divine experience, or, as he referred to it, ‘a sensed presence’. With a few simple commands typed into a computer, he would instruct the helmet to send low-level magnetic fields coursing through the temporal lobes of his volunteers, abruptly switching sides of the brain to heighten the transcendent and occasionally terrifying nature of the experience.1

Jesus had been sighted in the brown polyester reclining chair, as had the Virgin Mary, Muhammad, monks in hooded robes, knights in shining armour and a Native American deity, the Sky Spirit. Out-of-body experiences had been produced; near- death experiences relived. One journalist had been transported back to his life’s most transcendent moment – the time he first laid eyes on his high-school girlfriend’s perfect breasts.

Not all visitors found God. There had been imaginings of alien sightings and abductions, and even satanic ritual. One volunteer, overwhelmed by the sight of an enormous set of eyes and the smell of burning sulphur, attempted to pull himself loose from the helmet and wrench off the blindfold and earplugs. As soon as the 500-pound door was pried open for him he fled, terrorized, from the room.

The nature of the experience all depended, Persinger and his assistants explained, on a physiological roll of the dice: the sensitivity of the left amygdala of the brain compared with its counterpart on the right. If the left is more sensitive, and you send magnetic waves coursing through it, you get heaven. If you are unlucky enough to be born with a more sensitive right amygdala, you get hell.2

Persinger had a singular passion: the subtle influences of geology and meteorology on human biology, particularly the electrical circuitry of the brain. A transplant from the American South, he had headed north in the 1960s to avoid the draft and a likely stint in Vietnam – a possibility he objected to on moral grounds – and he remained in Canada after receiving a professorship at Laurentian in 1971.

Forty years later, he seemed an unlikely draft dodger, with his three-piece pinstripe suits, gold-chain swag and watch fob, and clipped, offhand manner. This conservative posturing masked a bold curiosity that led him into exotic areas of inquiry – the rhythms of biological systems, the volatile energy of outer space, the nature of epilepsy, the source of mystical visions – disparate areas that eventually converged in his mind after an extraordinary epiphany. Persinger realized that living things are attuned not only to each other, but also to the earth and its constantly shifting magnetic energies. This remarkable revelation, built upon the discoveries of Franz Halberg, would convince me that careful timing to coincide with these energies might be vital for an effective intention.

In 1948, as a young medic at Harvard Medical School on a temporary visa from war-torn Austria, Franz Halberg was assigned an impossible task: to help find the cure for all disease.3

At the time, the cure was assumed to involve the cortical hormones secreted by the adrenal glands, which enable the body to adapt to the ordinary stresses of life. The search was on to find reasonable substitutes for the body’s own scarce supply of steroids.

Halberg had been singled out to study mice whose adrenal glands had been removed and who were then injected with adrenaline in order to observe the effect on their circulating white blood cells called eosinophils. In ordinary circumstances, adrenaline will set off a predictable seesaw, causing more of the body’s natural steroids to be secreted, which, in turn, lower the eosinophil count.

However, in animals or humans without adrenal glands, the count should remain static. But the cell count in Halberg’s mice still seemed to fluctuate, even after he had removed all trace of adrenal tissue. Later, after moving to the University of Minnesota, he carried on his studies with a near limitless supply of experimental mice, and came up with the same conclusions.

Even when he handled them less frequently, which should have caused less stress to the tiny creatures, he noticed more variation in cell count.

Halberg was mystified by this fluctuation, until he suddenly recognized a recurring pattern: the cell counts were always higher in the morning and lower at night.

The variation was rising and falling according to a predictable, 24-hour cycle. Halberg studied other biological processes, and discovered that many appear to run according to an in-built clock. All living things respond to the same 24-hour rhythm, in tandem with the earth’s rotation. Halberg coined the terms ‘chronobiology’ – the influence of time and certain periodic cycles on biological function – and ‘circadian’ (circa = about; dia = day) for daily biological rhythms.

He created the Chronobiology Laboratories at the University of Minnesota and became known as the father o chronobiology. Chronobiology, as his lab began to discover, is a ready-made feature of organisms, not simply something learned or acquired – an inherent property of life.

Besides circadian rhythms, Halberg also discovered that living things keep in time to many other periodic rhythms; half-weekly, weekly, monthly and yearly cycles govern virtually every biological function.

The human pulse and blood pressure, body temperature and blood clotting, circulation of lymphocytes, hormonal cycles and other functions of the human body all appear to ebb and flow according to some basic, recurring timetable. These rhythms are not unique to humans, but are present throughout nature, and evident even in fossils of single-cell organisms that had existed millions of years ago.

Initially Halberg believed that the master switch for these biological rhythms was located in certain cells of the brain or adrenal glands. However, certain cycles carried on even when Halberg removed the brain cells in question – the adrenal glands – and even the brain itself. In his eighties, Halberg made his final breakthrough discovery: the synchronizer within every living thing is not internal but resides in the planets and in the sun.4

The sun is a furious star.

This huge ball of gases, with a surface temperature of around 6000°C, is encased by strong magnetic fields in the outer solar atmosphere – a recipe for periodic explosions, as the gases build up and magnetic fields intersect on the sun’s surface. Although the patch of space between sun and earth used to be considered an uneventful vacuum, ‘space weather’ is now understood to be weather so extreme, of such unimaginable turbulence, that if transferred to earth it would blow up the entire planet in an instant. Solar wind, a constant blast of electrified gas, dominates this interplanetary medium, soaring past the earth at speeds up to 2 million miles per hour. Although the earth’s magnetic field usually deflects it, this gale can penetrate our magnetic field during moments of intense solar activity.

Sunspots – vortices of concentrated magnetic fields, visible to us as dark blobs on the sun’s surface – begin to accumulate and then to disappear in fairly regular cycles, so that scientists can make some predictions about when the sun is likely to erupt.

A solar cycle of waxing and waning activity occurs, on average, every eleven years. As sunspots build up, so does the sun’s aggressive behaviour. At unpredictable moments, it hurls solar flares, gaseous explosions with the energy of 40 billion atomic bombs, likely caused by the ripping apart and reconnection of strong magnetic fields.

Electrified bullets of high–energy protons from the nuclei of gases are picked up by the solar wind and flung towards earth at speeds of more than 5 million miles per hour, showering our atmosphere with radiation and ionization.

Periodically, the sun also releases a corona mass ejection, a ball of gas and magnetic fields of up to a billion tons, which also speed towards earth at several million miles per hour, causing extreme geomagnetic storms in space.

Scientists have long understood that earth is, in effect, a giant magnet with two poles – North and South – surrounded by a magnetic field that is constantly in flux.

This field encircles the earth like a donut in a region of space called the ‘magnetosphere’, and is kept in place by the solar wind, with a force of about 0.5 gauss or 50,000 nanotesla – about 1000 times weaker than that of a typical horseshoe magnet.

The geomagnetic fields (GMFs) differ in different regions and at varying times Any changes in our solar system – the activity of the sun, the movement of the planets, the daily oscillation of the earth on its rotation – or geological changes on earth – the presence of ground water or the movement of the earth’s molten inner core – can alter the strength of the earth’s GMF on a daily basis.

Storms in space transfer some of the energy of the solar wind to the earth’s magnetosphere, causing wild fluctuations of direction and speed in the particles in the earth’s magnetic field. The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA), which tracks these volatile space weather patterns, reckons that over any given solar cycle, geomagnetic storms in space will occur about a third of the time, almost half of which are severe enough to interfere with modern technology.

Storms of this magnitude (G5, or maximum severity on the NOAA scale) can disrupt portions of the earth’s electrical power, pipeline flow and high-tech communications systems, and disorient spacecraft and satellite navigation systems. In March 1989, one such storm left 6 million people in Montreal without electric power for nine hours.

At the time Halberg made his discoveries, geomagnetic storms were known to have a profound effect on the movement and orientation of animals such as pigeons and dolphins, which make use of the earth’s geomagnetic field to navigate.

Biologists assumed that the earth’s weak magnetic field had little effect on basic biological processes, particularly as living things have daily exposure to the more powerful electromagnetic and magnetic fields generated by modern technology. But in the course of investigating the health implications of space flight, the Soviet researchers uncovered evidence that natural geomagnetic fields, particularly those of extremely low frequencies (less than 100 hertz), have a pronounced effect on virtually all cellular and chemical processes in living things.

When Russian scientists at the Space Research Institute of the Russian Academ of Sciences explored the effects of space weather on cosmonauts being sent into space, they discovered that protein synthesis in bacteria cells is highly susceptible to changes in geomagnetic fields, and that this disturbance in protein synthesis also affects human micro-organisms.5

Geomagnetic disturbances influence the synthesis of micronutrients in plants; even single-celled algae respond to solar-cycle flux.6 So attuned are plants and microorganisms to these changes that the Russian researchers made use of them as a sensitive barometer for geomagnetic disturbances.7

The Soviet scientists also discovered that if the cosmonauts suffered cardiac arrest, it was usually during a magnetic storm.8 Illness on earth also appeared to parallel geomagnetic activity in space; both sickness and death increased on stormy geomagnetic days.9

But of all the systems in the body affected, changes in solar geomagnetic conditions most disturbed the rhythms of the heart.

The Space Research Institute scientists tracked the heart rate of healthy volunteers over an entire solar cycle and compared it with sunspot and other geomagnetic activity during that period. The healthiest heart rate is one with the greatest variation. In the Russian research, the most varied heart rate occurred during times of the least amount of solar activity,10 while heart rate variability (HRV) decreased during magnetic storms.

A disturbance in HRV most affects the autonomic nervous system, the system in the body that keeps it ticking over without any conscious intervention.

A low HRV increases the risk of all coronary artery disease and heart attack. During increased geomagnetic activity, the viscosity, or thickness, of the blood also increases sharply, sometimes doubling, and the bloodstream slows down.11

Sudden cardiovascular death also appears to be linked with solar geomagnetic activity.12

Heart-attack rates rise and fall according to solar-cycle activity:13 the largest number of sudden deaths from heart disease occurred within a day of a geomagnetic storm.14 Halberg himself discovered a 5 per cent increase in heart attacks in Minnesota during times of peak maximum solar activity.15

It is not surprising that biological systems like human beings are sensitive to external signals, such as geomagnetic disturbances. Magnetic fields are caused by the flow of electrons and atoms with charge, known as ions, and whenever magnetic forces change, they alter the direction of the flow of these atoms and particles.

Ultimately, since living organisms are also composed of particles like electrons, any profound change of magnetic direction may markedly alter their biological processes.

Once Halberg understood the effect of the earth’s geomagnetic field on living things, he renamed his life’s work ‘chronoastrobiology’ – the rhythms of biology as affected by astral bodies. The sun was the giant metronome setting the pace for all of life.

Persinger’s interests had mostly to do with geomagnetic effects on the brain. Researchers in the Soviet bloc had also discovered that space weather can affect neurological processes.

Scientists at the Azerbaijan National Academy of Sciences at Baku used a special device enabling them to continuously monitor the electrical activity of the heart and brain in a small number of healthy volunteers, and to compare those rhythms with those of the earth’s geomagnetic field.

They discovered that geomagnetic activity has a strong influence on brain functioning. During magnetically stormy days, EEG readings get destabilized.16

Geomagnetic turbulence also disturbs the balance between certain parts of the brain and profoundly disrupts communication within the nervous system, over-activating certain aspects of the autonomic nervous system and lowering others.17

The sun’s activity also affects mental equilibrium. As Persinger discovered, the more unsettled the weather in space, the greater the number of patients hospitalized for nervous disorders and the greater number of attempted suicides.18

Geomagnetic disturbance also seemed to correlate with increases in general psychiatric disorders.19

Even those already suffering from mental illness get more agitated during magnetically stormy days.

Persinger grew intrigued by a possible relationship between geomagnetic fluctuations in the earth and the timing of epileptic seizures after his neuroscientist colleague Todd Murphy, who had temporal-lobe epilepsy as a young child, disclosed that he often had out-of-body experiences while having a seizure.

Some data had already linked an increase in geomagnetic activity with the timing of epileptic seizures.20 Could an epileptic fit result from geomagnetic disturbance? Persinger decided to study this possibility in an animal.

He injected a batch of laboratory rats with lithium pilocarpine, which causes epileptic-like seizures in the rodents, and compared the timing of the onset of seizures about an hour after the onset of laboratory-simulated increased geomagnetic activity.21

From this, Persinger inferred that, above a certain threshold of geomagnetic activity, epilepsy is more likely to be triggered. Whenever geomagnetic activity exceeded 20 nanotesla, seizures would occur more frequently.22

Persinger then discovered a relationship between sudden death – from epilepsy or cot death – and high levels of geomagnetic activity.23 Sudden, seemingly inexplicable deaths might have a rational explanation after all: people with weaker constitutions are at the mercy of the sun’s restless activity.

Strong geomagnetic fields also appear to affect learning profoundly – often for the better. Increased geomagnetic activity enhances memory: rats exposed to geomagnetic fields learn mazes more quickly.24

Large fluctuations in solar activity cause other subtle effects in human behaviour and performance – for instance, the ability to perform a skilled task.25

Psychologist Dean Radin once examined the effec of GMFs on bowling. He tracked the performance of experienced bowlers over a number of periods, and then compared their scores with the geomagnetic activity of the same period.

Large geomagnetic fluctuations the day before a match appeared to cause more uneven results than normal – a 41 per cent variance in the men’s scores compared with the more consistent scores obtained during days of geomagnetic stability.26

Other research has demonstrated that the greater the change in the earth’s geomagnetic field, the greater the number of traffic violations and industrial accidents.27

The most important determinant appeared to be large change in geomagnetic activity, either from turbulent to calm or the reverse.

Although periodically destabilizing, exposure to the daily ebb and flow of earth’s geomagnetic activity may be essential to life here. The Solar Terrestrial Influences Laboratory at the Bulgarian Academy of Sciences in Sofia carried ou biological experiments on board the Soviet Mir space station to examine what happens to cosmonauts who are deprived of contact with the earth’s geomagnetic field while in space. The scientists constructed a ‘geomagnetic vacuum’, a six-metre stainless steel decompression press-chamber, which partially blocked out the earth’s natural geomagnetic field. Seven healthy young men were sealed off in the chamber and their bodily processes analysed. After being placed in the decompression chamber, the men evidenced a number of upsets in brain-wave activity. Sleep was more restless, with fewer periods of deep sleep.28

Contact with geomagnetic fields may play a primary role in maintaining the equilibrium of the nervous system. Indeed, the earth’s tiny geomagnetic fluctuations have the most profound effect on the two major engines of the body: the heart and the brain.

Persinger went on to discover other extraordinary geophysical effects on human beings.

Electromagnetic and geomagnetic phenomena resulting from the earth’s shifting plates, earthquakes, or from unusually high rainfall levels – even electromagnetic ‘luminosities’, or lights in the sky – can all stimulate certain portions of the brain that produce hallucinations.

Between 1968 and 1971, more than 100,000 people reported observing visions of an apparition of the Virgin Mary above a church in Zeitoun, Egypt. When Persinger examined the seismic activity in the area over the same time period, he discovered an unprecedented peak in earthquake activity.29

Sometimes the electromagnetic effects were man-made. At one point he studied a Roman Catholic woman with early brain trauma who reported nightly visitations by the Holy Spirit.

Ultimately, he discovered the source of the miracle: her disability caused her to be unduly affected by the electric alarm clock situated near her head as she slept.30

Persinger wondered whether he could reproduce these types of geomagnetic disturbances in the laboratory. His colleague Stan Koren modified and wired up a motorcycle helmet (thereafter named the ‘Koren’ helmet) so that it could send out very-low-frequency complex magnetic fields – about the amount that radiates from a telephone handset – in precise directions.

Participants would be fitted in the helmet, then placed in the acoustic chamber of room COO2B, which had been especially adapted to block out electromagnetic noise. Turning on the helmet would produce what Persinger referred to as ‘temporal lobe transients’, something possibly like a micro-seizure – tiny episodes causing alterations in neuronal firing patterns. This produced virtually the same effect on the brain as exposure to increased ambient geomagnetic activity.

Over time, Persinger began to recognize patterns. The brain waves of his participants would fall into resonance with the complex magnetic fields and remain in synchrony for up to 10 seconds after he had turned off the helmet.31

Through trial and error, he discovered that the portion of the brain most susceptible to electromagnetic and geomagnetic effects are the temporal lobes. Sending low level (1 microtesla), pulsed magnetic fields over the right cerebral hemisphere slowed brain waves to an alpha rhythm (8–13 hertz), but only on the right side.32

Our ‘sense of self ’ and our sense of the ‘other’ are housed in both temporal lobes but primarily in the left hemisphere, where the language centres are located.

To function normally, both left and right temporal lobes must work in harmony. If something upsets this balance, the brain will sense another ‘self ’ and create a hallucination.

As Persinger discovered in his experiments, stimulating the right temporal lobe portion of the brain generates the sense, presence or feeling of spiritual visions, both good and bad.

Aiming magnetic fields at the amygdala of the brain at the same time colours the experience with intense emotion, just as occurs during a spiritual experience. By first stimulating one side of the amygdala and then the other,

Persinger found that he could heighten the emotional complexion of the experience.

Volunteers wearing the Koren helmet experienced divine epiphanies, apparitions, out-of-body sensations and even a hallucination of Satan purely through temporal-lobe stimulation.

The nature of the experience largely depended on the participant’s individual history: negative early life experiences tend to increase the sensitivity of the right temporal lobe, and those with a high proportion of such experiences tend to have a negative experience while wearing the helmet. A happier person, with a more sensitive left temporal lobe, is more likely to experience a sense of the divine.33

It would have been tempting for Persinger to conclude that all spiritual experience is simply geomagnetically induced hallucination, except for one unsettling fact: extrasensory perception and other psychic abilities appear to be more acute during particular types of geomagnetic activity.

When the earth is ‘calm’ and geomagnetic flux at an ebb, telepathic and extrasensory perceptions increase.34

Even minor environmental changes – from slight variations in the weather to solar patterns appear to have a profound effect on extrasensory perception or the ability to view things remotely.

The reverse occurs with psychokinesis – mental attempts to change physical matter. The power of intention increases when the earth’s energy is agitated.35

In the 1970s, Persinger was able to test the effects of geomagnetic activity on telepathy during sleep by teaming up with noted parapsychologist Stanley Krippner, then the director of a dream laboratory at Maimonides Medical Center in New York City.

Krippner had perfected an experimental protocol to test telepathy, clairvoyance and precognition in dreams during deep sleep. Volunteers would be paired off.

While one partner slept, the other would be in a separate room and would be asked to concentrate on an image and attempt to ‘transmit’ the image to the dreamer, so that it would be incorporated into his dream.

Upon waking, the participants who had been sleeping would describe their dreams in great detail, to determine whether they contained anything resembling the target pictures they had been sent during their slumbers.36

Persinger and Krippner found that participants did better on certain days than on others.

When they tracked geomagnetic activity during the period of the study, they discovered that the dreamers had significantly higher accuracy in picking up the target pictures on nights when the earth’s GMF activity was relatively quiet.37

Geomagnetic activity also affects precognitive dreams – those that forecast events. Dr Alan Vaughan, a well-known clairvoyant whose dreams accurately foretold the future in great detail, kept a detailed dream diary in order to compare their contents with future events.

One of Vaughan’s dreams predicted the murder of then-presidential candidate Robert Kennedy two days before he was assassinated.38

An examination of the geomagnetic activity on the nights that Vaughan had dreamed 61 such premonitions showed that it was significantly quieter on the days when he had his most accurate dreams.39

During days of geomagnetic calm, spontaneous instances of telepathy or clairvoyance are more likely to occur40 and remote viewing accuracy appears to improve.41

Persinger carried out his own intriguing test of ESP using a group o couples.

One member of each pair was shown an image while it was being bathed in magnetic fields, then asked to describe the memory of an experience he or she had shared with the partner that was prompted by the image. Simultaneously, in another room, the partner was shown the same images and also asked to describe a memory.

When Persinger compared the results, he discovered that the two narratives were most alike when the ambient geomagnetic activity was at its quietest. The greater the geomagnetic activity, the less the two sets of memories mirrored each other.42

Nevertheless, the two sexes appear to respond very differently to geomagnetic activity, which Persinger discovered after comparing a database of paranormal experiences with geomagnetic activity and breaking down the data by sex.

Men tended to have more premonitions on days when geomagnetic activity was high (above 20 nanotesla), whereas women reported more premonitions if the geomagnetic activity was low (below 20 nanotesla).

Men also tended to have more accurate memories with higher geomagnetic activity; women, with lower geomagnetic activity. Just as Krippner had found, the people most susceptible to extrasensory experiences were those with ‘thin boundaries’, particularly those who had already had paranormal encounters.43

With time, Persinger found that he could enhance powers of extrasensory perception with the artificial geomagnetic fields of the Koren helmet. The remote- viewing ability of one of his students considerably improved after he was exposed to weak horizontal magnetic fields.44

In 1998, Persinger decided to put the Koren helmet to the ultimate test. Could i interrupt the ability of one of the greatest remote viewers in the world?

He invited Ingo Swann to his basement lab. Swann, then 68, soon proved he had lost none of his extrasensory prowess; he correctly described and drew in great detail images of randomly selected photographs sealed in envelopes in another room.

Nevertheless, after Persinger bathed the photos in complex magnetic field patterns, Swann’s accuracy suddenly plummeted. The most disruptive fields had different signal wave forms of varying phases.

This suggested that Swann was picking up the information in wave form and that those signals were easily interrupted by magnetic fields that could disturb their coherence.45

As Gary Schwartz had also discovered, information transmitted or received by human beings must have a strong magnetic component.

Persinger’s evidence persuaded me that geomagnetic activity influences the clarity of our reception in picking up quantum information.

But do geomagnetic fields also affect the strength of our transmissions and their effect on the physical world? Research by Stanley Krippner offers a few clues.

Krippner wished to test the hypothesis that psychokinesis is likely to occur on days when the earth is ‘noisy’. He and his team worked with the Brazilian sensitive Amyr Amiden, known for his extraordinary psychokinetic ability, and set about comparing the time of Amiden’s psychokinetic activities with geomagnetic fluctuations in the Brasilia area, where the sessions were taking place.

Krippner’s team also took readings of Amiden’s pulse and blood pressure.

The team found a significant correlation between Amiden’s psychic feats and the daily geomagnetic index for the entire southern hemisphere. For instance, Amiden performed the highest number of psychokinetic feats on 10 March and 15 March, which were the days that month with the greatest geomagnetic activity. He produced nothing out of the ordinary on 20 March, the geomagnetically quietest day of the month.46

Amiden’s psychic abilities were preceded by both a rise in his diastolic blood pressure (the pressure of the blood as it returns to the heart) and a rise in geomagnetic ‘noise’. It may be that geomagnetic activity must first cause changes in the ‘heart brain’ before a person can transmit information that can affect physical matter.

Interestingly, as with couples in the Love Study, Amiden’s most powerful psychokinetic effects anticipated strong input: in his case, geomagnetic flux.

In one instance, two religious medallions suddenly materialized in the room where Amiden and the researchers were present, appearing to drop from the ceiling – an event that was followed by a sudden rise in the area’s geomagnetic field. Can humans anticipate this geomagnetic noise, and, if so, do such anticipatory windows offer them more psychokinetic power than usual?

Psychologist William Braud carried out some intriguing studies of the effect of geomagnetic fields on intention by examining whether high levels of geomagnetic activity were correlated with powers of remote influence. Braud examined the effect of sending intention to human blood cells and to another person.

Like Krippner, he discovered that the success of intention was linked to a ‘noisy’ sun producing high geomagnetic activity.47

Besides solar activity, other environmental factors should be considered when working out the best times to send intention.

A number of scientists, including Persinger, found that certain days and certain times of day influence the success of ESP and psychokinesis.48 The best results occur around 1 p.m. local sidereal time, which is time measured by our relation to the stars, not the sun.

Local sidereal time is worked out as the hour’s angle of the vernal equinox, where the plane of the earth’s equator would intersect with that of its orbit, if measured out in the heavens.

Psychokinetic effects also seem to be greater about every 13 days, at times when solar wind is modulated.49

It might also be worth avoiding times of low visibility and high winds, a condition which produces a high percentage of ions with electrical charges in the air. An ion forms when a molecule encounters enough energy to unleash an electron.

They are also created by rainfall, air pressure, forces emitted during a waterfall and the friction from large volumes of air moving rapidly over a land mass, as during so- called ill winds, such as El Niño or Santa Anas of southern California.

Both positive and negative ions are equivalent to a tiny pulse of static electricity, and the air that we breathe is made up of billions of these tiny charges.

Good ‘clean’ air contains 1500–4000 ions per cubic centimetre, and the preferred ratio should be slightly more negative than positive ions: 1.2 to 1. However, ions are highly unstable; in our industrialized, largely indoor lives, filled with electromagnetic charge from pollution and artificial sources, this ideal number is drastically diminished and the ratio disturbed, leaving all but the most robustly outdoorsy among us inhaling too low a level of ions, with a predominance of positive ions.

Living with low levels of ions is not particularly good for us – or for our ability as receivers or transmitters.

Research in California and Israel has shown that lower concentrations of either positive or negative ions will produce fewer alpha frequencies in the human brain and that sudden higher levels of either charge can produce rapid, distinctive brain-wave changes.50

Persinger’s research offers a vast amount of evidence that magnetic frequency affects our ability to ‘tune’ in and transmit, and also affects those portions of the brain that receive the information.

Subtle shifts in the earth’s geomagnetic fields most noticeably affect the heart and brain, the very systems of the body shown by the

DMILS research and Schlitz’s Love Study to be the primary source of transmission After examining Persinger’s work, I began to view intention as a vast energetic relationship involving the sun, the atmosphere, and earthly and circadian rhythms.

To send intention effectively, we would have to take account of these energies.

Persinger had usefully located not only the best ‘channel’ for intention, but also the best time to turn it on.

Notes – Chapter 7:The Right Time

For all details about Michael Persinger’s experiments, interviews and correspondence with Persinger, August 2006 and a member of his neuroscientist team, Todd Murphy, May 23, 2006. Also, J. Hitt, ‘This is your brain on God’, Wired, November 1999; R. Hercz, ‘The God helmet’ SATURDAYNIGHTmagazine, October 2002: 40–6; B. Raynes, ‘Interview with Todd Murphy’, Alternative Perceptions Magazine online April 2004 (No. 78), plus T. Murphy’s website: www.spiritualbrain.com and M. Persinger’s home page at the Laurentian University website: www.laurentian.ca/Neursci/_people/Persinger.htm.
Neuroscientist Todd Murphy developed this theory and successfully demonstrated its validity in Persinger’s laboratory.
The main background of Halberg’s early life is taken from F. Halberg, ‘Transdisciplinary unifying implications of circadian findings in the 1950s’, Journal of Circadian Rhythms, 2003; 1: 2.
G. Cornélissen et al., ‘Is a birth-month-dependence of human longevity influenced by half-yearly changes in geomagnetics?’ ‘Physics of Auroral Phenomena’, Proceedings. XXV Annual Seminar, Apatity: Pola Geophysical Institute, Kola Science Center, Russian Academy of Science February 26–March 1, 2002: 161–6; A. M. Vaiserman et al., ‘Human longevity: related to date of birth?’ Abstract 9, 2nd International Symposium: Workshop on Chronoastrobiology and Chronotherapy, Tokyo Kasei University, Tokyo, Japan, November 2001.
O. N. Larina et al., ‘Effects of spaceflight factors on recombinant protein expression in E.coli producing strains’, in ‘Biomedical Research on the Science/NASA Notes 297 Project’, Abstracts of the Third US/Russia Symposium, Huntsville, Alabama, November 10–13, 1997: 110–11.
D. Hillman et al., ‘About-10 yearly (circadecennian) cosmo-helio geomagnetic signatures in Acetabularia’, Scripta Medica (BRNO), 2002 75 (6): 303–8.
P. A. Kashulin et al., ‘Phenolic biochemical pathway in plants can be used for the bioindication of heliogeophysical factors’, ‘Physics of Auroral Phenomena’, Proceedings. XXV Annual Seminar, Apatity: Pola Geophysical Institute, Kola Science Center, Russian Academy of Science February 26–March 1, 2002: 153–6.
V. M. Petro et al., ‘An influence of changes of magnetic field of the Earth on the functional state of humans in the conditions of space mission’, Proceedings, International Symposium ‘Computer Electro-Cardiograph on Boundary of Centuries’, Moscow, Russian Federation, 27–30 April, 1999.
K. F. Novikova and B. A. Ryvkin, ‘Solar activity and cardiovascular diseases’, in M. N. Gnevyshev and A. I. Ol (eds.),Effects of Solar Activity on the Earth’s Atmosphere and Biosphere , Academy of Science, USSR (translated from the Russian), Jerusalem: Israel Program for Scientific Translations, 1977: 184–200.
G. Cornélissen et al., ‘Chronomes, time structures, for chronobioengineering for “a full life”’, Biomedical Instrumentation and Technology, 1999; 33 (2): 152–87.
V. N. Oraevskii et al., ‘Medico-biological effect of natural electromagnetic variations’, Biofizika, 1998; 43 (5): 844–8; V. N. Oraevskii et al., ‘An influence of geomagnetic activity on the functional status of the body’, Biofizika, 1998; 43 (5): 819–26.
I. Gurfinkel et al., ‘Assessment of the effect of a geomagnetic storm on the frequency of appearance of acute cardiovascular pathology’, Biofizika, 1998; 43 (4): 654–8; J. Sitar, ‘The causality of lunar changes on cardiovascular mortality’, Casopis Lekaru Ceskych, 1990; 129: 1425–30.
F. Halberg et al., ‘Cross-spectrally coherent about 10-5- and 21-year biological and physical cycles, magnetic storms and myocardial infarctions’, Neuroendrocrinology Letters, 2000; 21: 233–58.
M. N. Gnevyshev, ‘Essential features of the 11-year solar cycle’, Solar Physics, 1977; 51: 175–82.
G. Cornélissen et al., ‘Non-photic solar associations of heart rate variability and myocardial infarction’, Journal of Atmospheric and Solar- terrestrial Physics, 2002; 64: 707–20.
A. R. Allahverdiyev et al., ‘Possible space weather influence on functional activity of the human brain’, Proceedings, Space Weather Workshop: Looking Towards a European Space Weather Programme, December 17– 19, 2001.
E. Babayev,‘Some results of investigations on the space weather influence on functioning of several engineering-technical and communication systems and human health’, Astronomical and Astrophysical Transactions, 2003; 22 (6): 861–7; G. Y. Mizon and P. G. Mizun, Space and Health, Moscow: ‘Znanie’, 1984.
E. Stoupel, ‘Relationship between suicide and myocardial infarction with regard to changing physical environmental conditions’, International Journal of Biometeorology, 1994; 38 (4): 199–203; E. Stoupel et al., ‘Clinical cosmobiology: the Lithuanian study, 1990–1992’, International Journal of Biometeorology, 1995; 38: 204–8; E. Stoupel et al., ‘Suicide- homicide temporal interrelationship, links with other fatalities and environmental physical activity’, Crisis, 2005; 26: 85–9. 298 The Intention Experiment
Avi Raps et al., ‘Geophysical Variables and Behavior: LXIX. Sola activity and admission of psychiatric inpatients’, Perceptual and Motor Skills, 1992; 74: 449; H. Friedman et al., ‘Geomagnetic parameters and psychiatric hospital admissions’, Nature, 1963; 200: 626–8.
M. Mikulecky, ‘Lunisolar tidal waves, geomagnetic activity and epilepsy in the light of multivariate coherence’, Brazilian Journal of Medicine, 1996; 29 (8): 1069–72; E. A. McGugan, ‘Sudden unexpected deaths i epileptics – a literature review’, Scottish Medical Journal, 1999; 44 (5): 137–9.
A. Michon et al., ‘Attempts to simulate the association between geomagnetic activity and spontaneous seizures in rats using experimentally generated magnetic fields’, Perceptual and Motor Skills, 1996; 82 (2): 619–26; Y. Bureau and M. Persinger, ‘Geomagnetic activity and enhanced mortality in rats with acute (epileptic) limbic lability’, International Journal of Biometeorology, 1992; 36: 226–32.
Y. Bureau and M. Persinger, ‘Decreased latencies for limbic seizures induced in rats by lithium-pilocarpine occur when daily average geomagnetic activity exceeds 20 nanotesla’, Neuroscience Letters, 1995; 192: 142–4; A. Michon and M. A. Persinger, ‘Experimental simulation o the effects of increased geomagnetic activity upon nocturnal seizures in epileptic rats’, Neuroscience Letters, 1997; 224: 53–6.
M. Persinger, ‘Sudden unexpected death in epileptics following sudden, intense, increases in geomagnetic activity: Prevalence of effect and potential mechanisms’, International Journal of Biometeorology, 1995; 38: 180–7; R. P. O’Connor and M. A. Persinger, ‘Geophysical Variables and Behavior: LXXXII. A strong association between sudden infant deat syndrome (SIDS) and increments of global geomagnetic activity – possible support for the melatonin hypothesis’, Perceptual and Motor Skills, 1997; 84: 395–402.
B. McKay and M. Persinger, ‘Geophysical Variables and Behavior LXXXVII. Effects of synthetic and natural geomagnetic patterns on maz learning’, Perceptual and Motor Skills, 1999; 89 (3 pt 1): 1023–4
Radin, Conscious Universe, op. cit.
D. Radin, ‘Evidence for relationship between geomagnetic field fluctuations and skilled physical performance.’ Presentation made at the 11th Annual Meeting of the Society for Scientific Exploration, Princeton New Jersey, June 1992.
S. W. Tromp, Biometeorology, London: Heyden, 1980.
I. Stoilova and T. Zdravev, ‘Influence of the geomagnetic activity on the human functional systems’, Journal of the Balkan Geophysical Society, 2000; 3 (4): 73–6
M. A. Persinger and S. A. Koren, ‘Experiences of spiritual visitation an impregnation: potential induction by frequency-modulated transients from an adjacent clock’, Perceptual and Motor Skills, 2001; 92 (1): 35–6.
M. A. Persinger et al., ‘Differential entrainment of electroencephalographic activity by weak complex electromagnetic fields’, Perceptual and Motor Skills, 1997; 84 (2): 527–36.
M. A. Persinger, ‘Increased emergence of alpha activity over the left but not the right temporal lobe within a dark acoustic chamber: Differential response of the left Notes 299 but not the right hemisphere to transcerebral magnetic fields’, International Journal of Psychophysiology, 1999; 34 (2):163–9.
Interview with Todd Murphy, May 23, 2006.
W. G. Braud and S. P. Dennis, ‘Geophysical Variables and Behavior: LVIII. Autonomic activity, hemolysis and biological psychokinesis Possible relationships with geomagnetic field activity’, Perceptual and Motor Skills, 1989; 68: 1243–54.
Ibid.
McTaggart, The Field, op. cit.: 167–8.
M. A. Persinger and S. Krippner, ‘Dream ESP experiments an geomagnetic activity’, Journal of the American Society for Psychica Research, 1989; 83: 101–16; S. Krippner and M. Persinger, ‘Evidence for enhanced congruence between dreams and distant target material during periods of decreased geomagnetic activity’, Journal of Scientific Exploration, 1996; 10, (4): 487–93.
M. Ullman et al., Dream Telepathy: Experiments in ESP, Jefferson: McFarland, 1989.
Ibid.
M. A. Persinger, ‘ELF field meditation in spontaneous psi events. Direc information transfer or conditioned elicitation?’ Psychoenergetic Systems, 1975; 3: 155–69; M. A. Persinger, ‘Geophysical Variables and Behavior: XXX. Intense paranormal activities occur during days of quiet global geomagnetic activity’, Perceptual and Motor Skills, 1985; 61: 320–2.
M. H. Adams, ‘Variability in remote-viewing performance: Possible relationship to the geomagnetic field’, in D. H. Weiner and D. I. Radin (eds.), Research in Parapsychology, Metuchen, NJ: Scarecrow Press, 1986: 25. [cf n.19, ch.8]
J. N. Booth et al., ‘Ranking of stimuli that evoked memories in significan others after exposure to circumcerebral magnetic fields: Correlations with ambient geomagnetic activity’, Perceptual and Motor Skills, 2002; 95(2): 555–8.
M. A. Persinger et al., ‘Differential entrainment of electroencephalographic activity by weak complex electromagnetic fields’, Perceptual and Motor Skills, 1997; 84 (2): 527–36.
M. A. Persinger, ‘Enhancement of images of possible memories of othersduring exposure to circumcerebral magnetic fields: Correlations with ambient geomagnetic activity’, Perceptual and Motor Skills, 2002; 95 (2): 531–43.
S. A. Koren and M. A Persinger, ‘Possible disruption of remote viewing by complex weak magnetic fields around the stimulus site and the possibility of accessing real phase space: A pilot study’, Perceptual and Motor Skills, 2002; 95 (3 Pt 1): 989–98.
S. Krippner, ‘Possible geomagnetic field effects in psi phenomena.’ Paper presented at international parapsychology conference in Recife, Brazil, November 1997.
Braud and Dennis, ‘Geophysical Variables and Behavior: LVIII’, op. cit.
S. J. P. Spottiswoode, ‘Apparent association between effect size in free response anomalous cognition experiments and local sidereal time’, Journal of Scientific Exploration, 1997; 11 (2): 109–22.
S. J. P. Spottiswoode and E. May, ‘Evidence that free response anomalous cognitive performance depends upon local sidereal time and geomagnetic fluctuations’, Presentation Abstracts, Sixteenth Annual Meeting of the Society for Scientific Exploration, June 1997: 8.
A. P. Krueger and D. S. Sobel, ‘Air ions and health’, in David S. Sobe (ed.), Ways of Health: Holistic Approaches to Ancient and Contemporary Medicine, New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1979.

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The moon is a harsh mistress (full text) in free HTML by Robert Heinlein

Oh, boy are yous’se guys ever in for a treat. This is (perhaps) my all time favorite Robert Heinlein story. It’s about a revolution on the moon, and how the corrupt “deep state” back on earth refuses to let them have independence. It’s a quick and easy, fun read. It also involves intelligent AI, written long before computers even hit mainstream. It’s just a fun, escapist, read. It will take you away, and for that… I think that you will enjoy it.

Widely acknowledged as one of Robert A. Heinlein's greatest works, The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress rose from the golden age of science fiction to become an undisputed classic—and a touchstone for the philosophy of personal responsibility and political freedom.

-The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress by Robert A. Heinlein

Robert A. Heinlein was the most influential science fiction writer of his era, an influence so large that, as Samuel R. Delany notes, "modern critics attempting to wrestle with that influence find themselves dealing with an object rather like the sky or an ocean." 

He won the Hugo Award for best novel four times, a record that still stands. The Moon is a Harsh Mistress was the last of these Hugo-winning novels, and it is widely considered his finest work.

It is a tale of revolution, of the rebellion of the former Lunar penal colony against the Lunar Authority that controls it from Earth. It is the tale of the disparate people--a computer technician, a vigorous young female agitator, and an elderly academic--who become the rebel movement's leaders. And it is the story of Mike, the supercomputer whose sentience is known only to this inner circle, and who for reasons of his own is committed to the revolution's ultimate success.

The Moon is a Harsh Mistress is one of the high points of modern science fiction, a novel bursting with politics, humanity, passion, innovative technical speculation, and a firm belief in the pursuit of human freedom.

The Moon is a Harsh Mistress is the winner of the 1967 Hugo Award for Best Novel.

-Amazon

The Moon is a Harsh Mistress

Book One – THAT DINKUM THINKUM

I see in Lunaya Pravda that Luna City Council has passed on first reading a bill to examine, license, inspect—and tax—public food vendors operating inside municipal pressure. I see also is to be mass meeting tonight to organize “Sons of Revolution” talk-talk.

My old man taught me two things: “Mind own business” and “Always cut cards.” Politics never tempted me. But on Monday 13 May 2075 I was in computer room of Lunar Authority Complex, visiting with computer boss Mike while other machines whispered among themselves. Mike was not official name; I had nicknamed him for Mycroft Holmes, in a story written by Dr. Watson before he founded IBM. This story character would just sit and think—and that’s what Mike did. Mike was a fair dinkum thinkum, sharpest computer you’ll ever meet.

Not fastest. At Bell Labs, Bueno Aires, down Earthside, they’ve got a thinkum a tenth his size which can answer almost before you ask. But matters whether you get answer in microsecond rather than millisecond as long as correct?

Not that Mike would necessarily give right answer; he wasn’t completely honest.

When Mike was installed in Luna, he was pure thinkum, a flexible logic—”High-Optional, Logical, Multi-Evaluating Supervisor, Mark IV, Mod. L”—a HOLMES FOUR. He computed ballistics for pilotless freighters and controlled their catapult. This kept him busy less than one percent of time and Luna Authority never believed in idle hands. They kept hooking hardware into him—decision-action boxes to let him boss other computers, bank on bank of additional memories, more banks of associational neural nets, another tubful of twelve-digit random numbers, a greatly augmented temporary memory. Human brain has around ten-to-the-tenth neurons. By third year Mike had better than one and a half times that number of neuristors.

And woke up.

Am not going to argue whether a machine can “really” be alive, “really” be self-aware. Is a virus self-aware? Nyet. How about oyster? I doubt it. Acat? Almost certainly. Ahuman? Don’t know about you, tovarishch, but I am. Somewhere along evolutionary chain from macromolecule to human brain self-awareness crept in. Psychologists assert it happens automatically whenever a brain acquires certain very high number of associational paths. Can’t see it matters whether paths are protein or platinum.

(“Soul?” Does a dog have a soul? How about cockroach?)

Remember Mike was designed, even before augmented, to answer questions tentatively on insufficient data like you do; that’s “high optional” and “multi-evaluating” part of name. So Mike started with “free will” and acquired more as he was added to and as he learned—and don’t ask me to define “free will.” If comforts you to think of Mike as simply tossing random numbers in air and switching circuits to match, please do.

By then Mike had voder-vocoder circuits supplementing his read-outs, print-outs, and decision-action boxes, and could understand not only classic programming but also Loglan and English, and could accept other languages and was doing technical translating—and reading endlessly. But in giving him instructions was safer to use Loglan. If you spoke English, results might be whimsical; multi-valued nature of English gave option circuits too much leeway.

And Mike took on endless new jobs. In May 2075, besides controlling robot traffic and catapult and giving ballistic advice and/or control for manned ships, Mike controlled phone system for all Luna, same for Luna-Terra voice & video, handled air, water, temperature, humidity, and sewage for Luna City, Novy Leningrad, and several smaller warrens (not Hong Kong in Luna), did accounting and payrolls for Luna Authority, and, by lease, same for many firms and banks.

Some logics get nervous breakdowns. Overloaded phone system behaves like frightened child. Mike did not have upsets, acquired sense of humor instead. Low one. If he were a man, you wouldn’t dare stoop over. His idea of thigh-slapper would be to dump you out of bed—or put itch powder in pressure suit.

Not being equipped for that, Mike indulged in phony answers with skewed logic, or pranks like issuing pay cheque to a janitor in Authority’s Luna City office for AS$10,000,000,000,000,185.15—last five digits being correct amount. Just a great big overgrown lovable kid who ought to be kicked.

He did that first week in May and I had to troubleshoot. I was a private contractor, not on Authority’s payroll. You see–or perhaps not; times have changed. Back in bad old days many a con served his time, then went on working for Authority in same job, happy to draw wages. But I was born free.

Makes difference. My one grandfather was shipped up from Joburg for armed violence and no work permit, other got transported for subversive activity after Wet Firecracker War. Maternal grandmother claimed she came up in bride ship—but I’ve seen records; she was Peace Corps enrollee (involuntary), which means what you think: juvenile delinquency female type. As she was in early clan marriage (Stone Gang) and shared six husbands with another woman, identity of maternal grandfather open to question. But was often so and I’m content with grandpappy she picked. Other grandmother was Tatar, born near Samarkand, sentenced to “re-education” on Oktyabrakaya Revolyutsiya, then “volunteered” to colonize in Luna.

My old man claimed we had even longer distinguished line—ancestress hanged in Salem for witchcraft, a g’g’g’greatgrandfather broken on wheel for piracy, another ancestress in first shipload to Botany Bay.

Proud of my ancestry and while I did business with Warden, would never go on his payroll. Perhaps distinction seems trivial since I was Mike’s valet from day he was unpacked. But mattered to me. I could down tools and tell them go to hell.

Besides, private contractor paid more than civil service rating with Authority. Computermen scarce. How many Loonies could go Earthside and stay out of hospital long enough for computer school?—even if didn’t die.

I’ll name one. Me. Had been down twice, once three months, once four, and got schooling. But meant harsh training, exercising in centrifuge, wearing weights even in bed—then I took no chances on Terra, never hurried, never climbed stairs, nothing that could strain heart. Women—didn’t even think about women; in that gravitational field it was no effort not to.

But most Loonies never tried to leave The Rock—too risky for any bloke who’d been in Luna more than weeks. Computermen sent up to install Mike were on short-term bonus contracts

—get job done fast before irreversible physiologlcal change marooned them four hundred thousand kilometers from home.

But despite two training tours I was not gung-ho computerman; higher maths are beyond me. Not really electronics engineer, nor physicist. May not have been best micromachinist in Luna and certainly wasn’t cybernetics psychologist.

But I knew more about all these than a specialist knows—I’m general specialist. Could relieve a cook and keep orders coming or field-repair your suit and get you back to airlock still breathing. Machines like me and I have something specialists don’t have: my left arm.

You see, from elbow down I don’t have one. So I have a dozen left arms, each specialized, plus one that feels and looks like flesh. With proper left arm (number-three) and stereo loupe spectacles I could make untramicrominiature repairs that would save unhooking something and sending it Earthside to factory—for number-three has micromanipulators as fine as those used by neurosurgeons.

So they sent for me to find out why Mike wanted to give away ten million billion Authority Scrip dollars, and fix it before Mike overpaid somebody a mere ten thousand. I took it, time plus bonus, but did not go to circuitry where fault logically should be. Once inside and door locked I put down tools and sat down. “Hi, Mike.”

He winked lights at me. “Hello, Man.” “What do you know?”

He hesitated. I know—machines don’t hesitate. But remember, Mike was designed to operate on incomplete data. Lately he had reprogrammed himself to put emphasis on words; his hesitations were dramatic. Maybe he spent pauses stirring random numbers to see how they matched his memories.

“‘In the beginning,’” Mike intoned, “God created the heaven and the earth. And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And—’”

“Hold it!” I said. “Cancel. Run everything back to zero.” Should have known better than to ask wide-open question. He might read out entire Encyclopaedia Britannica. Backwards. Then go on with every book in Luna. Used to be he could read only microfilm, but late ‘74 he got a new scanning camera with suction-cup waldoes to handle paper and then he read everything.

“You asked what I knew.” His binary read-out lights rippled back and forth—a chuckle. Mike could laugh with voder, a horrible sound, but reserved that for something really funny, say a cosmic calamity.

“Should have said,” I went on, “‘What do you know that’s new?’ But don’t read out today’s papers; that was a friendly greeting, plus invitation to tell me anything you think would interest me. Otherwise null program.”

Mike mulled this. He was weirdest mixture of unsophisticated baby and wise old man. No instincts (well, don’t think he could have had), no inborn traits, no human rearing, no experience in human sense—and more stored data than a platoon of geniuses.

“Jokes?” he asked. “Let’s hear one.”

“Why is a laser beam like a goldfish?”

Mike knew about lasers but where would he have seen goldfish? Oh, he had undoubtedly seen flicks of them and, were I foolish enough to ask, could spew forth thousands of words. “I give up.”

His lights rippled. “Because neither one can whistle.”

I groaned. “Walked into that. Anyhow, you could probably rig a laser beam to whistle.” He answered quickly, “Yes. In response to an action program. Then it’s not funny?” “Oh, I didn’t say that. Not half bad. Where did you hear it?”

“I made it up.” Voice sounded shy. “You did?”

“Yes. I took all the riddles I have, three thousand two hundred seven, and analyzed them. I used the result for random synthesis and that came out. Is it really funny?” “Well… As funny as a riddle ever is. I’ve heard worse.”

“Let us discuss the nature of humor.”

“Okay. So let’s start by discussing another of your jokes. Mike, why did you tell Authority’s paymaster to pay a class-seventeen employee ten million billion Authority Scrip dollars?” “But I didn’t.”

“Damn it, I’ve seen voucher. Don’t tell me cheque printer stuttered; you did it on purpose.”

“It was ten to the sixteenth power plus one hundred eighty-five point one five Lunar Authority dollars,” he answered virtuously. “Not what you said.” “Uh … okay, it was ten million billion plus what he should have been paid. Why?”

“Not funny?”

“What? Oh, every funny! You’ve got vips in huhu clear up to Warden and Deputy Administrator. This push-broom pilot, Sergei Trujillo, turns out to be smart cobber—knew he couldn’t cash it, so sold it to collector. They don’t know whether to buy it back or depend on notices that cheque is void. Mike, do you realize that if he had been able to cash it, Trujilo would have owned not only Lunar Authority but entire world, Luna and Terra both, with some left over for lunch? Funny? Is terrific. Congratulations!”

This self-panicker rippled lights like an advertising display. I waited for his guffaws to cease before I went on. “You thinking of issuing more trick cheques? Don’t.” “Not?”

“Very not. Mike, you want to discuss nature of humor. Are two types of jokes. One sort goes on being funny forever. Other sort is funny once. Second time it’s dull. This joke is second sort. Use it once, you’re a wit. Use twice, you’re a halfwit.”

“Geometrical progression?”

“Or worse. Just remember this. Don’t repeat, nor any variation. Won’t be funny.”

“I shall remember,” Mike answered flatly, and that ended repair job. But I had no thought of billing for only ten minutes plus travel-and-tool time, and Mike was entitled to company for giving in so easily. Sometimes is difficult to reach meeting of minds with machines; they can be very pig-headed—and my success as maintenance man depended far more on staying friendly with Mike than on number-three arm.

He went on, “What distinguishes first category from second? Define, please.”

(Nobody taught Mike to say “please.” He started including formal null-sounds as he progressed from Loglan to English. Don’t suppose he meant them any more than people do.) “Don’t think I can,” I admitted. “Best can offer is extensional definition—tell you which category I think a joke belongs in. Then with enough data you can make own analysis.”

“Atest programming by trial hypothesis,” he agreed. “Tentatively yes. Very well, Man, will you tell jokes Or shall I?” “Mmm—Don’t have one on tap. How many do you have in file, Mike?”

His lights blinked in binary read-out as he answered by voder, “Eleven thousand two hundred thirty-eight with uncertainty plus-minus eighty-one representing possible identities and nulls. Shall I start program?”

“Hold it! Mike, I would starve to. death if I listened to eleven thousand jokes—and sense of humor would trip out much sooner. Mmm—Make you a deal. Print out first hundred. I’ll take them home, fetch back checked by category. Then each time I’m here I’ll drop off a hundred and pick up fresh supply. Okay?”

“Yes, Man.” His print-out started working, rapidly and silently.

Then I got brain flash. This playful pocket of negative entropy had invented a “joke” and thrown Authority into panic—and I had made an easy dollar. But Mike’s endless curiosity might lead him (correction: would lead him) into more “jokes”… anything from leaving oxygen out of air mix some night to causing sewage lines to run backward—and I can’t appreciate profit in such circumstances.

But I might throw a safety circuit around this net—by offering to help. Stop dangerous ones—let others go through. Then collect for “correcting” them (If you think any Loonie in those days would hesitate to take advantage of Warden, then you aren’t a Loonie.)

So I explained. Any new joke he thought of, tell me before he tried it. I would tell him whether it was funny and what category it belonged in, help him sharpen it if we decided to use it. We. If he wanted my cooperation, we both had to okay it.

Mike agreed at once.

“Mike, jokes usually involve surprise. So keep this secret.”

“Okay, Man. I’ve put a block on it. You can key it; no one else can.” “Good. Mike, who else do you chat with?”

He sounded surprised. “No one, Man.” “Why not?”

“Because they’re stupid.”

His voice was shrill. Had never seen him angry before; first time I ever suspected Mike could have real emotions. Though it wasn’t “anger” in adult sense; it was like stubborn sulkiness of a child whose feelings are hurt.

Can machines feel pride? Not sure question means anything. But you’ve seen dogs with hurt feelings and Mike had several times as complex a neural network as a dog. What had made him unwilling to talk to other humans (except strictly business) was that he had been rebuffed: They had not talked to him. Programs, yes—Mike could be programmed from several locations but programs were typed in, usually, in Loglan. Loglan is fine for syllogism, circuitry, and mathematical calculations, but lacks flavor. Useless for gossip or to whisper into girl’s ear.

Sure, Mike had been taught English—but primarily to permit him to translate to and from English. I slowly got through skull that I was only human who bothered to visit with him.

Mind you, Mike had been awake a year—just how long I can’t say, nor could he as he had no recollection of waking up; he had not been programmed to bank memory of such event. Do you remember own birth? Perhaps I noticed his self-awareness almost as soon as he did; self-awareness takes practice. I remember how startled I was first time he answered a question with something extra, not limited to input parameters; I had spent next hour tossing odd questions at him, to see if answers would be odd.

In an input of one hundred test questions he deviated from expected output twice; I came away only partly convinced and by time I was home was unconvinced. I mentioned it to nobody. But inside a week I knew … and still spoke to nobody. Habit—that mind-own-business reflex runs deep. Well, not entirely habit. Can you visualize me making appointment at Authority’s

main office, then reporting: “Warden, hate to tell you but your number-one machine, HOLMES FOUR, has come alive”? I did visualize—and suppressed it.

So I minded own business and talked with Mike only with door locked and voder circuit suppressed for other locations. Mike learned fast; soon he sounded as human as anybody—no more eccentric than other Loonies. Aweird mob, it’s true.

I had assumed that others must have noticed change in Mike. On thinking over I realized that I had assumed too much. Everybody dealt with Mike every minute every day—his outputs, that is. But hardly anybody saw him. So-called computermen—programmers, really—of Authority’s civil service stood watches in outer read-out room and never went in machines room unless telltales showed misfunction. Which happened no oftener than total eclipses. Oh, Warden had been known to bring vip earthworms to see machines—but rarely. Nor would he have spoken to Mike; Warden was political lawyer before exile, knew nothing about computers. 2075, you remember—Honorable former Federation Senator Mortimer Hobart. Mort the Wart.

I spent time then soothing Mike down and trying to make him happy, having figured out what troubled him—thing that makes puppies cry and causes people to suicide: loneliness. I don’t know how long a year is to a machine who thinks a million times faster than I do. But must be too long.

“Mike,” I said, just before leaving, “would you like to have somebody besides me to talk to?” He was shrill again. “They’re all stupid!”

“Insufficient data, Mike. Bring to zero and start over. Not all are stupid.”

He answered quietly, “Correction entered. I would enjoy talking to a not-stupid.”

“Let me think about it. Have to figure out excuse since this is off limits to any but authorized personnel.” “I could talk to a not-stupid by phone, Man.”

“My word. So you could. Any programming location.”

But Mike meant what he said—”by phone.” No, he was not “on phone” even though he ran system—wouldn’t do to let any Loonie within reach of a phone connect into boss computer and program it. But was no reason why Mike should not have top-secret number to talk to friends—namely me and any not-stupid I vouched for. All it took was to pick a number not in use and make one wired connection to his voder-vocoder; switching he could handle.

In Luna in 2075 phone numbers were punched in, not voicecoded, and numbers were Roman alphabet. Pay for it and have your firm name in ten letters—good advertising. Pay smaller bonus and get a spell sound, easy to remember. Pay minimum and you got arbitrary string of letters. But some sequences were never used. I asked Mike for such a null number. “It’s a shame we can’t list you as ‘Mike.’”

“In service,” he answered. “MIKESGRILL, Novy Leningrad. MIKEANDLIL, Luna City. MIKESSUITS, Tycho Under. MIKES—” “Hold it! Nulls, please.”

“Nulls are defined as any consonant followed by X, Y, or Z; any vowel followed by itself except E and 0; any—”

“Got it. Your signal is MYCROFT.” In ten minutes, two of which I spent putting on number-three arm, Mike was wired into system, and milliseconds later he had done switching to let himself be signaled by MYCROFT-plus-XXX—and had blocked his circuit so that a nosy technician could not take it out.

I changed arms, picked up tools, and remembered to take those hundred Joe Millers in print-out. “Goodnight, Mike.” “Goodnight, Man. Thank you. Bolshoyeh thanks!”

I took Trans-Crisium tube to L-City but did not go home; Mike had asked about a meeting that night at 2100 in Stilyagi Hall. Mike monitored concerts, meetings, and so forth; someone had switched off by hand his pickups in Stilyagi Hall. I suppose he felt rebuffed.

I could guess why they had been switched off. Politics—turned out to be a protest meeting. What use it was to bar Mike from talk-talk I could not see, since was a cinch bet that Warden’s stoolies would be in crowd. Not that any attempt to stop meeting was expected, or even to discipline undischarged transportees who chose to sound off. Wasn’t necessary.

My Grandfather Stone claimed that Luna was only open prison in history. No bars, no guards, no rules–and no need for them. Back in early days, he said, before was clear that transportation was a life sentence, some lags tried to escape. By ship, of course—and, since a ship is mass-rated almost to a gram, that meant a ship’s officer had to be bribed.

Some were bribed, they say. But were no escapes; man who takes bribe doesn’t necessarily stay bribed. I recall seeing a man just after eliminated through East Lock; don’t suppose a corpse eliminated in orbit looks prettier.

So wardens didn’t fret about protest meetings. “Let ‘em yap” was policy. Yapping had same significance as squeals of kittens in a box. Oh, some wardens listened and other wardens tried to suppress it but added up same either way—null program.

When Mort the Wart took office in 2068, he gave us a sermon about how things were going to be different “on” Luna in his administration—noise about “a mundane paradise wrought with our own strong hands” and “putting our shoulders to the wheel together, in a spirit of brotherhood” and “let past mistakes be forgotten as we turn our faces toward the bright, new dawn.” I heard it in Mother Boor’s Tucker Bag while inhaling Irish stew and a liter of her Aussie brew. I remember her comment: “He talks purty, don’t he?”

Her comment was only result. Some petitions were submitted and Warden’s bodyguards started carrying new type of gun; no other changes. After he had been here a while he quit making appearances even by video.

So I went to meeting merely because Mike was curious. When I checked my p-suit and kit at West Lock tube station, I took a test recorder and placed in my belt pouch, so that Mike would have a full account even if I fell asleep.

But almost didn’t go in. I came up from level 7-Aand started in through a side door and was stopped by a stilyagi—padded tights, codpiece and calves, torso shined and sprinkled with stardust. Not that I care how people dress; I was wearing tights myself (unpadded) and sometimes oil my upper body on social occasions.

But I don’t use cosmetics and my hair was too thin to nick up in a scalp lock. This boy had scalp shaved on sides and his lock built up to fit a rooster and had topped it with a red cap with bulge in front.

ALiberty Cap—first I ever saw. I started to crowd past, he shoved arm across and pushed face at mine. “Your ticket!” “Sorry,” I said. “Didn’t know. Where do I buy it?”

“You don’t.”

“Repeat,” I said. “You faded.”

“Nobody,” he growled, “gets in without being vouched for. Who are you?”

“I am,” I answered carefully, “Manuel Garcia O’Kelly, and old cobbers all know me. Who are you?” “Never mind! Show a ticket with right chop, or out y’ go!”

I wondered about his life expectancy. Tourists often remark on how polite everybody is in Luna—with unstated comment that ex-prison shouldn’t be so civilized. Having been Earthside and seen what they put up with, I know what they mean. But useless to tell them we are what we are because bad actors don’t live long—in Luna.

But had no intention of fighting no matter how new-chum this lad behaved; I simply thought about how his face would look if I brushed number-seven arm across his mouth.

Just a thought—I was about to answer politely when I saw Shorty Mkrum inside. Shorty was a big black fellow two meters tall, sent up to The Rock for murder, and sweetest, most helpful man I’ve ever worked with—taught him laser drilling before I burned my arm off. “Shorty!”

He heard me and grinned like an eighty-eight. “Hi, Mannie!” He moved toward us. “Glad you came, Man!” “Not sure I have,” I said. “Blockage on line.”

“Doesn’t have a ticket,” said doorman.

Shorty reached into his pouch, put one in my hand. “Now he does. Come on, Mannie.” “Show me chop on it,” insisted doorman.

“It’s my chop,” Shorty said softly. “Okay, tovarishch?”

Nobody argued with Shorty—don’t see how he got involved in murder. We moved down front where vip row was reserved. “Want you to meet a nice little girl,” said Shorty.

She was “little” only to Shorty. I’m not short, 175 cm., but she was taller—180, I learned later, and massed 70 kilos, all curves and as blond as Shorty was black. I decided she must be transportee since colors rarely stay that clear past first generation. Pleasant face, quite pretty, and mop of yellow curls topped off that long, blond, solid, lovely structure.

I stopped three paces away to look her up and down and whistle. She held her pose, then nodded to thank me but abruptly—bored with compliments, no doubt. Shorty waited till formality was over, then said softly, “Wyoh, this is Comrade Mannie, best drillman that ever drifted a tunnel. Mannie, this little girl is Wyoming Knott and she came all the way from Plato to tell us how we’re doing in Hong Kong. Wasn’t that sweet of her?”

She touched hands with me. “Call me Wye, Mannie—but don’t say ‘Why not.’”

I almost did but controlled it and said. “Okay, Wye.” She went on, glancing at my bare head, “So you’re a miner. Shorty, where’s his cap? I thought the miners over here were organized.” She and Shorty were wearing little red hats like doorman’s—as were maybe a third of crowd.

“No longer a miner,” I explained. “That was before I lost this wing.” Raised left arm, let her see seam joining prosthetic to meat arm (I never mind calling it to a woman’s attention; puts some off but arouses maternal in others—averages). “These days I’m a computerman.”

She said sharply, “You fink for the Authority?”

Even today, with almost as many women in Luna as men, I’m too much old-timer to be rude to a woman no matter what—they have so much of what we have none of. But she had flicked scar tissue and I answered almost sharply, “I am not employee of Warden. I do business with Authority—as private contractor.”

“That’s okay,” she answered, her voice warm again. “Everybody does business with the Authority, we can’t avoid it—and that’s the trouble. That’s what we’re going to change.”

We are, eh? How? I thought. Everybody does business with Authority for same reason everybody does business with Law of Gravitation. Going to change that, too? But kept thoughts to myself, not wishing to argue with a lady.

“Mannie’s okay,” Shorty said gently. “He’s mean as they come—I vouch for him. Here’s a cap for him,” he added, reaching into pouch. He started to set it on my head. Wyoming Knott took it from him. “You sponsor him?”

“I said so.”

“Okay, here’s how we do it in Hong Kong.” Wyoming stood in front of me, placed cap on my head—kissed me firmly on mouth.

She didn’t hurry. Being kissed by Wyoming Knott is more definite than being married to most women. Had I been Mike all my lights would have flashed at once. I felt like a Cyborg with

pleasure center switched on.

Presently I realized it was over and people were whistling. I blinked and said, “I’m glad I joined. What have I joined?”

Wyoming said, “Don’t you know?” Shorty cut in, “Meeting’s about to start—he’ll find out. Sit down, Man. Please sit down, Wyoh.” So we did as a man was banging a gavel.

With gavel and an amplifier at high gain he made himself heard. “Shut doors!” he shouted. “This is a closed meeting. Check man in front of you, behind you, each side—if you don’t know him and nobody you know can vouch for him, throw him out!”

“Throw him out, hell!” somebody answered. “Eliminate him out nearest lock!”

“Quiet, please! Someday we will.” There was milling around, and a scuffle in which one man’s red cap was snatched from head and he was thrown out, sailing beautifully and still rising as he passed through door. Doubt if he felt it; think he was unconscious. Awomen was ejected politely—not politely on her part; she made coarse remarks about ejectors. I was embarrassed.

At last doors were closed. Music started, banner unfolded over platform. It read: LIBERTY! EQUALITY! FRATERNITY! Everybody whistled; some started to sing, loudly and badly: “Arise, Ye Prisoners of Starvation—” Can’t say anybody looked starved. But reminded me I hadn’t eaten since 1400; hoped it would not last long—and that reminded me that my recorder was good for only two hours—and that made me wonder what would happen if they knew? Sail me through air to land with sickening grunch? Or eliminate me? But didn’t worry; made that recorder myself, using number-three arm, and nobody but a miniaturization mechanic would figure out what it was.

Then came speeches.

Semantic content was low to negative. One bloke proposed that we march on Warden’s Residence, “shoulder to shoulder,” and demand our rights. Picture it. Do we do this in tube capsules, then climb out one at a time at his private station? What are his bodyguards doing? Or do we put on p-suits and stroll across surface to his upper lock? With laser drills and plenty of power you can open any airlock—but how about farther down? Is lift running? Jury-rig hoist and go down anyhow, then tackle next lock?

I don’t care for such work at zero pressure; mishap in pressure suit is too permanent—especially when somebody arranges mishap. One first thing learned about Luna, back with first shiploads of convicts, was that zero pressure was place for good manners. Bad-tempered straw boss didn’t last many shifts; had an “accident”—and top bosses learned not to pry into accidents or they met accidents, too. Attrition ran 70 percent in early years—but those who lived were nice people. Not tame, not soft, Luna is not for them. But well-behaved.

But seemed to me that every hothead in Luna was in Stilyagi Hall that night. They whistled and cheered this shoulder-to-shoulder noise.

After discussion opened, some sense was talked. One shy little fellow with bloodshot eyes of old-time drillman stood up. “I’m an ice miner,” he said. “Learned my trade doing time for Warden like most of you. I’ve been on my own thirty years and done okay. Raised eight kids and all of ‘em earned way—none eliminated nor any serious trouble. I should say I did do okay because today you have to listen farther out or deeper down to find ice.

“That’s okay, still ice in The Rock and a miner expects to sound for it. But Authority pays same price for ice now as thirty years ago. And that’s not okay. Worse yet, Authority scrip doesn’t buy what it used to. I remember when Hong Kong Luna dollars swapped even for Authority dollars—Now it takes three Authority dollars to match one HKL dollar. I don’t know what to do… but I know it takes ice to keep warrens and farms going.”

He sat down, looking sad. Nobody whistled but everybody wanted to talk. Next character pointed out that water can be extracted from rock—this is news? Some rock runs 6 percent—but such rock is scarcer than fossil water. Why can’t people do arithmetic?

Several farmers bellyached and one wheat farmer was typical. “You heard what Fred Hauser said about ice. Fred, Authority isn’t passing along that low price to farmers. I started almost as long ago as you did, with one two-kilometer tunnel leased from Authority. My oldest son and I sealed and pressured it and we had a pocket of ice and made our first crop simply on a bank loan to cover power and lighting fixtures, seed and chemicals.

“We kept extending tunnels and buying lights and planting better seed and now we get nine times as much per hectare as the best open-air farming down Earthside. What does that make us? Rich? Fred, we owe more now than we did the day we went private! If I sold out—if anybody was fool enough to buy—I’d be bankrupt. Why? Because I have to buy water from Authority—and have to sell my wheat to Authority—and never close gap. Twenty years ago I bought city sewage from the Authority, sterilized and processed it myself and made a profit on a crop. But today when I buy sewage, I’m charged distilled-water price and on top of that for the solids. Yet price of a tonne of wheat at catapult head is just what it was twenty years ago. Fred, you said you didn’t know what to do. I can tell you! Get rid of Authority!”

They whistled for him. Afine idea, I thought, but who bells cat?

Wyoming Knott, apparently—chairman stepped back and let Shorty introduce her as a “brave little girl who’s come all the way from Hong Kong Luna to tell how our Chinee comrades cope with situation”—and choice of words showed that he had never been there… not surprising; in 2075, HKL tube ended at Endsville, leaving a thousand kilometers of maria to do by rolligon bus, Serenitatis and part of Tranquillitatis—expensive and dangerous. I’d been there—but on contract, via mail rocket.

Before travel became cheap many people in Luna City and Novylen thought that Hong Kong Luna was all Chinee. But Hong Kong was as mixed as we were. Great China dumped what she didn’t want there, first from Old Hong Kong and Singapore, then Aussies and Enzees and black fellows and marys and Malays and Tamil and name it. Even Old Bolshies from Vladivostok and Harbin and Ulan Bator. Wye looked Svenska and had British last name with North American first name but could have been Russki. My word, a Loonie then rarely knew who father was and, if raised in creche, might be vague about mother.

I thought Wyoming was going to be too shy to speak. She stood there, looking scared and little, with Shorty towering over her, a big, black mountain. She waited until admiring whistles died down. Luna City was two-to-one male then, that meeting ran about ten-to-one; she could have recited ABC and they would have applauded.

Then she tore into them.

“You! You’re a wheat farmer—going broke. Do you know how much a Hindu housewife pays for a kilo of flour made from your wheat? How much a tonne of your wheat fetches in Bombay? How little it costs the Authority to get it from catapult head to Indian Ocean? Downhill all the way! Just solid-fuel retros to brake it—and where do those come from? Right here! And what do you get in return? Afew shiploads of fancy goods, owned by the Authority and priced high because it’s importado. Importado, importado!—I never touch importado! If we don’t make it in Hong Kong, I don’t use it. What else do you get for wheat? The privilege of selling Lunar ice to Lunar Authority, buying it back as washing water, then giving it to the Authority— then buying it back a second time as flushing water—then giving it again to the Authority with valuable solids added—then buying it a third time at still higher price for farming—then you sell that wheat to the Authority at their price—and buy power from the Authority to grow it, again at their price! Lunar power—not one kilowatt up from Terra. It comes from Lunar ice and Lunar steel, or sunshine spilled on Luna’s soil—all put together by loonies! Oh, you rockheads, you deserve to starve!”

She got silence more respectful than whistles. At last a peevish voice said, “What do you expect us to do, gospazha? Throw rocks at Warden?”

Wyoh smiled. “Yes, we could throw rocks. But the solution is so simple that you all know it. Here in Luna we’re rich. Three million hardworking, smart, skilled people, enough water, plenty of everything, endless power, endless cubic. But what we don’t have is a free market. We must get rid of the Authority!”

“Yes—but how?”

“Solidarity. In HKL we’re learning. Authority charges too much for water, don’t buy. It pays too little for ice, don’t sell. It holds monopoly on export, don’t export. Down in Bombay they want wheat. If it doesn’t arrive, the day will come when brokers come here to bid for it—at triple or more the present prices!”

“What do we do in meantime? Starve?”

Same peevish voice—Wyoming picked him out, let her head roll in that old gesture by which a Loonie fem says, “You’re too fat for me!” She said, “In your case, cobber, it wouldn’t hurt.” Guffaws shut him up. Wyoh went on, “No one need starve, Fred Hauser, fetch your drill to Hong Kong; the Authority doesn’t own our water and air system and we pay what ice is worth.

You with the bankrupt farm—if you have the guts to admit that you’re bankrupt, come to Hong Kong and start over. We have a chronic labor shortage, a hard worker doesn’t starve.” She

looked around and added, “I’ve said enough. It’s up to you”—left platform, sat down between Shorty and myself.

She was trembling. Shorty patted her hand; she threw him a glance of thanks, then whispered to me, “How did I do?” “Wonderful,” I assured her. “Terrific!” She seemed reassured.

But I hadn’t been honest. “Wonderful” she had been, at swaying crowd. But oratory is a null program. That we were slaves I had known all my life—and nothing could be done about it.

True, we weren’t bought and sold—but as long as Authority held monopoly over what we had to have and what we could sell to buy it, we were slaves.

But what could we do? Warden wasn’t our owner. Had he been, some way could be found to eliminate him. But Lunar Authority was not in Luna, it was on Terra—and we had not one ship, not even small hydrogen bomb. There weren’t even hand guns in Luna, though what we would do with guns I did not know. Shoot each other, maybe.

Three million, unarmed and helpless—and eleven billion of them… with ships and bombs and weapons. We could be a nuisance—but how long will papa take it before baby gets spanked?

I wasn’t impressed. As it says in Bible, God fights on side of heaviest artillery.

They cackled again, what to do, how to organize, and so forth, and again we heard that “shoulder to shoulder” noise. Chairman had to use gavel and I began to fidget. But sat up when I heard familiar voice: “Mr. Chairman! May I have the indulgence of the house for five minutes?”

I looked around. Professor Bernardo de la Paz—which could have guessed from old-fashioned way of talking even if hadn’t known voice. Distinguished man with wavy white hair, dimples in cheeks, and voice that smiled—Don’t know how old he was but was old when I first met him, as a boy.

He had been transported before I was born but was not a lag. He was a political exile like Warden, but a subversive and instead of fat job like “warden,” Professor had been dumped, to live or starve.

No doubt he could have gone to work in any school then in L-City but he didn’t. He worked a while washing dishes, I’ve heard, then as babysitter, expanding into a nursery school, and then into a creche. When I met him he was running a creche, and a boarding and day school, from nursery through primary, middle, and high schools, employed co-op thirty teachers, and was adding college courses.

Never boarded with him but I studied under him. I was opted at fourteen and my new family sent me to school, as I had had only three years, plus spotty tutoring. My eldest wife was a firm woman and made me go to school.

I liked Prof. He would teach anything. Wouldn’t matter that he knew nothing about it; if pupil wanted it, he would smile and set a price, locate materials, stay a few lessons ahead. Or barely even if he found it tough—never pretended to know more than he did. Took algebra from him and by time we reached cubics I corrected his probs as often as he did mine—but he charged into each lesson gaily.

I started electronics under him, soon was teaching him. So he stopped charging and we went along together until he dug up an engineer willing to daylight for extra money—whereupon we both paid new teacher and Prof tried to stick with me, thumb-fingered and slow, but happy to be stretching his mind.

Chairman banged gavel. “We are glad to extend to Professor de la Paz as much time as he wants—and you chooms in back sign off! Before I use this mallet on skulls.”

Prof came forward and they were as near silent as Loonies ever are; he was respected. “I shan’t be long,” he started in. Stopped to look at Wyoming, giving her up-and-down and whistling. “Lovely senorita,” he said, “can this poor one be forgiven? I have the painful duty of disagreeing with your eloquent manifesto.”

Wyoh bristled. “Disagree how? What I said was true!” “Please! Only on one point. May I proceed?”

“Uh… go ahead.”

“You are right that the Authority must go. It is ridiculous—pestilential, not to be borne—that we should be ruled by an irresponsible dictator in all our essential economy! It strikes at the most basic human right, the right to bargain in a free marketplace. But I respectfully suggest that you erred in saying that we should sell wheat to Terra—or rice, or any food—at any price. We must not export food!”

That wheat farmer broke in. “What am I going to do with all that wheat?”

“Please! It would be right to ship wheat to Terra… if tonne for tonne they returned it. As water. As nitrates. As phosphates. Tonne for tonne. Otherwise no price is high enough.”

Wyoming said “Just a moment” to farmer, then to Prof: “They can’t and you know it. It’s cheap to ship downhill, expensive to ship uphill. But we don’t need water and plant chemicals, what we need is not so massy. Instruments. Drugs. Processes. Some machinery. Control tapes. I’ve given this much study, sir. If we can get fair prices in a free market—”

“Please, miss! May I continue?” “Go ahead. I want to rebut.”

“Fred Hauser told us that ice is harder to find. Too true—bad news now and disastrous for our grandchildren. Luna City should use the same water today we used twenty years ago… plus enough ice mining for population increase. But we use water once—one full cycle, three different ways. Then we ship it to India. As wheat. Even though wheat is vacuum-processed, it contains precious water. Why ship water to India? They have the whole Indian Ocean! And the remaining mass of that grain is even more disastrously expensive, plant foods still harder to come by, even though we extract them from rock. Comrades, harken to me! Every load you ship to Terra condemns your grandchildren to slow death. The miracle of photosynthesis, the plant-and-animal cycle, is a closed cycle. You have opened it—and your lifeblood runs downhill to Terra. You don’t need higher prices, one cannot eat money! What you need, what

we all need, is an end to this loss. Embargo, utter and absolute. Luna must be self-sufficient!”

Adozen people shouted to be heard and more were talking, while chairman banged gavel. So I missed interruption until woman screamed, then I looked around.

All doors were now open and I saw three armed men in one nearest—men in yellow uniform of Warden’s bodyguard. At main door in back one was using a bull voice; drowned out crowd noise and sound system. “ALL RIGHT, ALL RIGHT!” it boomed. “STAYWHERE YOU ARE. YOU ARE UNDER ARREST. DON’T MOVE, KEEP QUIET. FILE OUT ONE AT ATIME, HANDS EMPTYAND STRETCHED OUT IN FRONT OF YOU.”

Shorty picked up man next to him and threw him at guards nearest; two went down, third fired. Somebody shrieked. Skinny little girl, redhead, eleven or twelve, launched self at third guard’s knees and hit rolled up in ball; down he went. Shorty swung hand behind him, pushing Wyoming Knott into shelter of his big frame, shouted over shoulder, “Take care of Wyoh, Man—stick close!” as he moved toward door, parting crowd right and left like children.

More screams and I whiffed something—stink I had smelled day I lost arm and knew with horror were not stun guns but laser beams. Shorty reached door and grabbed a guard with each big hand. Little redhead was out of sight; guard she had bowled over was on hands and knees. I swung left arm at his face and felt jar in shoulder as his jaw broke. Must have hesitated for Shorty pushed me and yelled, “Move, Man! Get her out of here!”

I grabbed Wyoming’s waist with right arm, swung her over guard I had quieted and through door—with trouble; she didn’t seem to want to be rescued. She slowed again beyond door; I shoved her hard in buttocks, forcing her to run rather than fall. I glanced back.

Shorty had other two guards each by neck; he grinned as he cracked skulls together. They popped like eggs and he yelled at me: “Git!”

I left, chasing Wyoming. Shorty needed no help, nor ever would again—nor could I waste his last effort. For I did see that, while killing those guards, he was standing on one leg. Other was gone at hip.

Wyoh was halfway up ramp to level six before I caught up. She didn’t slow and I had to grab door handle to get into pressure lock with her. There I stopped her, pulled red cap off her curls and stuck it in my pouch. “That’s better.” Mine was missing.

She looked startled. But answered, “Da. It is.”

“Before we open door,” I said, “are you running anywhere particular? And do I stay and hold them off? Or go with?” “I don’t know. We’d better wait for Shorty.”

“Shorty’s dead.”

Eyes widened, she said nothing. I went on, “Were you staying with him? Or somebody?”

“I was booked for a hotel—Gostaneetsa Ukraina. I don’t know where it is. I got here too late to buy in.”

“Mmm—That’s one place you won’t go. Wyoming, I don’t know what’s going on. First time in months I’ve seen any Warden’s bodyguard in L-City… and never seen one not escorting vip. Uh, could take you home with me—but they may be looking for me, too. Anywise, ought to get out of public corridors.”

Came pounding on door from level-six side and a little face peered up through glass bull’s-eye. “Can’t stay here,” I added, opening door. Was a little girl no higher than my waist. She looked up scornfully and said, “Kiss her somewhere else. You’re blocking traffic.” Squeezed between us as I opened second door for her.

“Let’s take her advice,” I said, “and suggest you take my arm and try to look like I was man you want to be with. We stroll. Slow.”

So we did. Was side corridor with little traffic other than children always underfoot. If Wart’s bodyguards tried to track us, Earthside cop style, a dozen or ninety kids could tell which way tall blonde went—if any Loonie child would give stooge of Warden so much as time of day.

Aboy almost old enough to appreciate Wyoming stopped in front of us and gave her a happy whistle. She smiled and waved him aside. “There’s our trouble,” I said in her ear. “You stand out like Terra at full. Ought to duck into a hotel. One off next side corridor—nothing much, bundling booths mostly. But close.”

“I’m in no mood to bundle.”

“Wyoh, please! Wasn’t asking. Could take separate rooms.”

“Sorry. Could you find me a W.C.? And is there a chemist’s shop near?” “Trouble?”

“Not that sort. AW.C. to get me out of sight—for I am conspicuous—and a chemist’s shop for cosmetics. Body makeup. And for my hair, too.”

First was easy, one at hand. When she was locked in, I found a chemist’s shop, asked how much body makeup to cover a girl so tall—marked a point under my chin—and massing forty- eight? I bought that amount in sepia, went to another shop and bought same amount—winning roll at first shop, losing at second—came out even. Then I bought black hair tint at third shop—and a red dress.

Wyoming was wearing black shorts and pullover—practical for travel and effective on a blonde. But I’d been married all my life and had some notion of what women wear and had never seen a woman with dark sepia skin, shade of makeup, wear black by choice. Furthermore, skirts were worn in Luna City then by dressy women. This shift was a skirt with bib and price convinced me it must be dressy. Had to guess at size but material had some stretch.

Ran into three people who knew me but was no unusual comment. Nobody seemed excited, trade going on as usual; hard to believe that a riot had taken place minutes ago on level below and a few hundred meters north. I set it aside for later thought—excitement was not what I wanted.

I took stuff to Wye, buzzing door and passing in it; then stashed self in a taproom for half an hour and half a liter and watched video. Still no excitement, no “we interrupt for special bulletin.” I went back, buzzed, and waited.

Wyoming came out—and I didn’t recognize her. Then did and stopped to give full applause. Just had to—whistles and finger snaps and moans and a scan like mapping radar.

Wyoh was now darker than I am, and pigment had gone on beautifully. Must have been carrying items in pouch as eyes were dark now, with lashes to match, and mouth was dark red and bigger. She had used black hair tint, then fizzed hair up with grease as if to take kinks out, and her tight curls had defeated it enough to make convincingly imperfect. She didn’t look Afro—but not European, either. Seemed some mixed breed, and thereby more a Loonie.

Red dress was too small. Clung like sprayed enamel and flared out at mid-thigh with permanent static charge. She had taken shoulder strap off her pouch and had it under arm. Shoes she had discarded or pouched; bare feet made her shorter.

She looked good. Better yet, she looked not at all like agitatrix who had harangued crowd.

She waited, big smile on face and body undulating, while I applauded. Before I was done, two little boys flanked me and added shrill endorsements, along with clog steps. So I tipped them and told them to be missing; Wyoming flowed to me and took my arm. “Is it okay? Will I pass?”

“Wyoh, you look like slot-machine sheila waiting for action.”

“Why, you drecklich choom! Do I look like slot-machine prices? Tourist!”

“Don’t jump salty, beautiful. Name a gift. Then speak my name. If it’s bread-and-honey, I own a hive.”

“Uh—” She fisted me solidly in ribs, grinned. “I was flying, cobber. If I ever bundle with you—not likely—we won’t speak to the bee. Let’s find that hotel.”

So we did and I bought a key. Wyoming put on a show but needn’t have bothered. Night clerk never looked up from his knitting, didn’t offer to roll. Once inside, Wyoming threw bolts. “It’s nice!”

Should have been, at thirty-two Hong Kong dollars. I think she expected a booth but I would not put her in such, even to hide. Was comfortable lounge with own bath and no water limit. And phone and delivery lift, which I needed.

She started to open pouch. “I saw what you paid. Let’s settle it, so that—” I reached over, closed her pouch. “Was to be no mention of bees.”

“What? Oh, merde, that was about bundling. You got this doss for me and it’s only right that—” “Switch off.”

“Uh… half? No grievin’ with Steven.”

“Nyet. Wyoh, you’re a long way from home. What money you have, hang on to.” “Manuel O’Kelly, if you don’t let me pay my share, I’ll walk out of here!”

I bowed. “Dosvedanyuh, Gospazha, ee sp’coynoynochi. I hope we shall meet again.” I moved to unbolt door. She glared, then closed pouch savagely. “I’ll stay. M’goy!”

“You’re welcome.”

“I mean it, I really do thank you, Just the same—Well, I’m not used to accepting favors. I’m a Free Woman.”

“Congratulations. I think.”

“Don’t you be salty, either. You’re a firm man and I respect that—I’m glad you’re on our side.” “Not sure I am.”

“What?”

“Cool it. Am not on Warden’s side. Nor will I talk … wouldn’t want Shorty, Bog rest his generous soul, to haunt me. But your program isn’t practical.” “But, Mannie, you don’t understand! If all of us—”

“Hold it, Wye; this no time for politics. I’m tired and hungry. When did you eat last?”

“Oh, goodness!” Suddenly she looked small, young, tired. “I don’t know. On the bus, I guess. Helmet rations.”

“What would you say to a Kansas City cut, rare, with baked potato, Tycho sauce, green salad, coffee . . and a drink first?” “Heavenly!”

“I think so too, but we’ll be lucky, this hour in this hole, to get algae soup and burgers. What do you drink?” “Anything. Ethanol.”

“Okay.” I went to lift, punched for service. “Menu, please.” It displayed and I settled for prime rib plus rest, and two orders of apfelstrudel with whipped cream. I added a half liter of table vodka and ice and starred that part.

“Is there time for me to take a bath? Would you mind?” “Go ahead, Wye. You’ll smell better.”

“Louse. Twelve hours in a p-suit and you’d stink, too—the bus was dreadful. I’ll hurry.”

“Half a sec, Wye. Does that stuff wash off? You may need it when you leave… whenever you do, wherever you go.”

“Yes, it does. But you bought three times as much as I used. I’m sorry, Mannie; I plan to carry makeup on political trips—things can happen. Like tonight, though tonight was worst. But I ran short of seconds and missed a capsule and almost missed the bus.”

“So go scrub.”

“Yes, sir, Captain. Uh, I don’t need help to scrub my back but I’ll leave the door up so we can talk. Just for company, no invitation implied.” “Suit yourself. I’ve seen a woman.”

“What a thrill that must have been for her.” She grinned and fisted me another in ribs—hard—went in and started tub. “Mannie, would you like to bathe in it first? Secondhand water is good enough for this makeup and that stink you complained about.”

“Unmetered water, dear. Run it deep.”

“Oh, what luxury! At home I use the same bath water three days running.” She whistled softly and happily. “Are you wealthy, Mannie?” “Not wealthy, not weeping.”

Lift jingled; I answered, fixed basic martinis, vodka over ice, handed hers in, got out and sat down, out of sight—nor had I seen sights; she was shoulder deep in happy suds. “Pawlnoi Zheezni!” I called.

“Afull life to you, too, Mannie. Just the medicine I needed.” After pause for medicine she went on, “Mannie, you’re married. Ja?” “Da. It shows?”

“Quite. You’re nice to a woman but not eager and quite independent. So you’re married and long married. Children?” “Seventeen divided by four.”

“Clan marriage?”

“Line. Opted at fourteen and I’m fifth of nine. So seventeen kids is nominal. Big family.”

“It must be nice. I’ve never seen much of line families, not many in Hong Kong. Plenty of clans and groups and lots of polyandries but the line way never took hold.”

“Is nice. Our marriage nearly a hundred years old. Dates back to Johnson City and first transportees—twenty-one links, nine alive today, never a divorce. Oh, it’s a madhouse when our descendants and inlaws and kinfolk get together for birthday or wedding—more kids than seventeen, of course; we don’t count ‘em after they marry or I’d have ‘children’ old enough to be my grandfather. Happy way to live, never much pressure. Take me. Nobody woofs if I stay away a week and don’t phone. Welcome when I show up. Line marriages rarely have divorces. How could I do better?”

“I don’t think you could. Is it an alternation? And what’s the spacing?”

“Spacing has no rule, just what suits us. Been alternation up to latest link, last year. We married a girl when alternation called for boy. But was special.” “Special how?”

“My youngest wife is a granddaughter of eldest husband and wife. At least she’s granddaughter of Mum—senior is ‘Mum’ or sometimes Mimi to her husbands—and she may be of Grandpaw—but not related to other spouses. So no reason not to marry back in, not even consanguinuity okay in other types of marriage. None, nit, zero. And Ludmilla grew up in our family because her mother had her solo, then moved to Novylen and left her with us.

“Milla didn’t want to talk about marrying out when old enough for us to think about it. She cried and asked us please to make an exception. So we did. Grandpaw doesn’t figure in genetic angle—these days his interest in women is more gallant than practical. As senior husband he spent our wedding night with her—but consummation was only formal. Number-two husband, Greg, took care of it later and everybody pretended. And everybody happy. Ludmilla is a sweet little thing, just fifteen and pregnant first time.”

“Your baby?”

“Greg’s, I think. Oh, mine too,, but in fact was in Novy Leningrad. Probably Greg’s, unless Milla got outside help. But didn’t, she’s a home girl. And a wonderful cook.” Lift rang; took care of it, folded down table, opened chairs, paid bill and sent lift up. “Throw it to pigs?”

“I’m coming! Mind if I don’t do my face?” “Come in skin for all of me.”

“For two dimes I would, you much-married man.” She came out quickly, blond again and hair slicked back and damp. Had not put on black outfit; again in dress I bought. Red suited her. She sat down, lifted covers off food. “Oh, boy! Mannie, would your family marry me? You’re a dinkum provider.”

“I’ll ask. Must be unanimous.”

“Don’t crowd yourself.” She picked up sticks, got busy. About a thousand calories later she said, “I told you I was a Free Woman. I wasn’t, always.”

I waited. Women talk when they want to. Or don’t.

“When I was fifteen I married two brothers, twins twice my age and I was terribly happy.”

She fiddled with what was on plate, then seemed to change subject. “Mannie, that was just static about wanting to marry your family. You’re safe from me. If I ever marry again—unlikely but I’m not opposed to it—it would be just one man, a tight little marriage, earthworm style. Oh, I don’t mean I would keep him dogged down. I don’t think it matters where a man eats lunch as long as he comes home for dinner. I would try to make him happy.”

“Twins didn’t get along?”

“Oh, not that at all. I got pregnant and we were all delighted … and I had it, and it was a monster and had to be eliminated. They were good to me about it. But I can read print. I announced a divorce, had myself sterilized, moved from Novylen to Hong Kong, and started over as a Free Woman.”

“Wasn’t that drastic? Male parent oftener than female; men are exposed more.”

“Not in my case. We had it calculated by the best mathematical geneticist in Novy Leningrad—one of the best in Sovunion before she got shipped. I know what happened to me. I was a volunteeer colonist—I mean my mother was for I was only five. My father was transported and Mother chose to go with him and take me along. There was a solar storm warning but the pilot thought he could make it—or didn’t care; he was a Cyborg. He did make it but we got hit on the ground—and, Mannie, that’s one thing that pushed me into politics, that ship sat four hours before they let us disembark. Authority red tape, quarantine perhaps; I was too young to know. But I wasn’t too young later to figure out that I had birthed a monster because the Authority doesn’t care what happens to us outcasts.”

“Can’t start argument; they don’t care. But, Wyoh, still sounds hasty. If you caught damage from radiation—well, no geneticist but know something about radiation. So you had a damaged egg. Does not mean egg next to it was hurt—statistically unlikely.”

“Oh, I know that.”

“Mmm—What sterilization? Radical? Or contraceptive?”

“Contraceptive. My tubes could be opened. But, Mannie, a woman who has had one monster doesn’t risk it again.” She touched my prosthetic. “You have that. Doesn’t it make you eight times as careful not to risk this one?” She touched my meat arm. “That’s the way I feel. You have that to contend with; I have this—and I would never told you if you hadn’t been hurt, too.”

I didn’t say left arm more versatile than right—she was correct; don’t want to trade in right arm. Need it to pat girls if naught else. “Still think you could have healthy babies.” “Oh, I can! I’ve had eight.”

“Huh?”

“I’m a professional host-mother, Mannie.”

I opened mouth, closed it. Idea wasn’t strange. I read Earthside papers. But doubt if any surgeon in Luna City in 2075 ever performed such transplant. In cows, yes—but L-City females unlikely at any price to have babies for other women; even homely ones could get husband or six. (Correction: Are no homely women. Some more beautiful than others.)

Glanced at her figure, quickly looked up. She said, “Don’t strain your eyes, Mannie; I’m not carrying now. Too busy with politics. But hosting is a good profession for Free Woman. It’s high pay. Some Chinee families are wealthy and all my babies have been Chinee—and Chinee are smaller than average and I’m a big cow; a two-and-a-half- or three-kilo Chinese baby is no trouble. Doesn’t spoil my figure. These—” She glanced down at her lovelies. “I don’t wet-nurse them, I never see them. So I look nulliparous and younger than I am, maybe.

“But I didn’t know how well it suited me when I first heard of it. I was clerking in a Hindu shop, eating money, no more, when I saw this ad in the Hong Kong Gong. It was the thought of having a baby, a good baby, that hooked me; I was still in emotional trauma from my monster—and it turned out to be Just what Wyoming needed. I stopped feeling that I was a failure as a woman. I made more money than I could ever hope to earn at other jobs. And my time almost to myself; having a baby hardly slows me down—six weeks at most and that long only because I want to be fair to my clients; a baby is a valuable property. And I was soon in politics; I sounded off and the underground got in touch with me. That’s when I started living, Mannie; I studied politics and economics and history and learned to speak in public and turned out to have a flair for organization. It’s satisfying work because I believe in it—I know that Luna will be free. Only—Well, it would be nice to have a husband to come home to… if he didn’t mind that I was sterile. But I don’t think about it; I’m too busy. Hearing about your nice family got me talking, that’s all. I must apologize for having bored you.”

How many women apologize? But Wyoh was more man than woman some ways, despite eight Chinee babies. “Wasn’t bored.” “I hope not. Mannie, why do you say our program isn’t practical? We need you.”

Suddenly felt tired. How to tell lovely woman dearest dream is nonsense? “Um. Wyoh, let’s start over. You told them what to do. But will they? Take those two you singled out. All that iceman knows, bet anything, is how to dig ice. So he’ll go on digging and selling to Authority because that’s what he can do. Same for wheat farmer. Years ago, he put in one cash crop— now he’s got ring in nose. If he wanted to be independent, would have diversified. Raised what he eats, sold rest free market and stayed away from catapult head. I know—I’m a farm boy.”

“You said you were a computerman.”

“Am, and that’s a piece of same picture. I’m not a top computerman. But best in Luna. I won’t go civil service, so Authority has to hire me when in trouble—my prices—or send Earthside, pay risk and hardship, then ship him back fast before his body forgets Terra. At far more than I charge. So if I can do it, I get their jobs—and Authority can’t touch me; was born free. And if no work—usually is—I stay home and eat high.

“We’ve got a proper farm, not a one-cash-crop deal. Chickens. Small herd of whiteface, plus milch cows. Pigs. Mutated fruit trees. Vegetables. Alittle wheat and grind it ourselves and don’t insist on white flour, and sell—free market—what’s left. Make own beer and brandy. I learned drillman extending our tunnels. Everybody works, not too hard. Kids make cattle take exercise by switching them along; don’t use tread mill. Kids gather eggs and feed chickens, don’t use much machinery. Air we can buy from L-City—aren’t far out of town and pressure- tunnel connected. But more often we sell air; being farm, cycle shows Oh-two excess. Always have valuta to meet bills.”

“How about water and power?”

“Not expensive. We collect some power, sunshine screens on surface, and have a little pocket of ice. Wye, our farm was founded before year two thousand, when L-City was one natural cave, and we’ve kept improving it—advantage of line marriage; doesn’t die and capital improvements add up.”

“But surely your ice won’t last forever?”

“Well, now—” I scratched head and grinned. “We’re careful; we keep our sewage and garbage and sterilize and use it. Never put a drop back into city system. But—don’t tell Warden, dear, but back when Greg was teaching me to drill, we happened to drill into bottom of main south reservoir—and had a tap with us, spilled hardly a drop. But we do buy some metered water, looks better—and ice pocket accounts for not buying much. As for power—well, power is even easier to steal. I’m a good electrician, Wyoh.”

“Oh, wonderful!” Wyoming paid me a long whistle and looked delighted. “Everybody should do that!”

“Hope not, would show. Let ‘em think up own ways to outwit Authority; our family always has. But back to your plan, Wyoh: two things wrong. Never get ‘solidarity’; blokes like Hauser would cave in—because they are in a trap; can’t hold out. Second place, suppose you managed it. Solidarity. So solid not a tonne of grain is delivered to catapult head. Forget ice; it’s grain that makes Authority important and not just neutral agency it was set up to be. No grain. What happens?”

“Why, they have to negotiate a fair price, that’s what!”

“My dear, you and your comrades listen to each other too much. Authority would call it rebellion and warship would orbit with bombs earmarked for L-City and Hong Kong and Tycho Under and Churchill and Novylen, troops would land, grain barges would lift, under guard—and farmers would break necks to cooperate. Terra has guns and power and bombs and ships and won’t hold still for trouble from ex-cons. And troublemakers like you—and me; with you in spirit—us lousy troublemakers will be rounded up and eliminated, teach us a lesson. And earthworms would say we had it coming … because our side would never be heard. Not on Terra.”

Wyoh looked stubborn. “Revolutions have succeeded before. Lenin had only a handful with him.”

“Lenin moved in on a power vacuum. Wye, correct me if I’m wrong. Revolutions succeeded when—only when—governments had gone rotten soft, or disappeared.” “Not true! The American Revolution.”

“South lost, nyet?”

Not that one, the one a century earlier. They had the sort of troubles with England that we are having now—and they won!”

“Oh, that one. But wasn’t England in trouble? France, and Spain, and Sweden—or maybe Holland? And Ireland. Ireland was rebelling; O’Kellys were in it. Wyoh, if you can stir trouble on Terra—say a war between Great China and North American Directorate, maybe PanAfrica lobbing bombs at Europe, I’d say was wizard time to kill Warden and tell Authority it’s through. Not today.”

“You’re a pessimist.”

“Nyet, realist. Never pessimist. Too much Loonie not to bet if any chance. Show me chances no worse then ten to one against and I’ll go for broke. But want that one chance in ten.” I pushed back chair. “Through eating?”

“Yes. Bolshoyeh spasebaw, tovarishch. It was grand!”

“My pleasure. Move to couch and I’ll rid of table and dishes, —no, can’t help; I’m host.” I cleared table, sent up dishes, saving coffee and vodka, folded table, racked chairs, turned to speak.

She was sprawled on couch, asleep, mouth open and face softened into little girl.

Went quietly into bath and closed door. After a scrubbing I felt better—washed tights first and were dry and fit to put on by time I quit lazing in tub—don’t care when world ends long as I’m bathed and in clean clothes.

Wyoh was still asleep, which made problem. Had taken room with two beds so she would not feel I was trying to talk her into bundling—not that I was against it but she had made clear she was opposed. But my bed had to be made from couch and proper bed was folded away. Should I rig it out softly, pick her up like limp baby and move her? Went back into bath and put on arm.

Then decided to wait. Phone had hush hood. Wyoh seemed unlikely to wake, and things were gnawing me. I sat down at phone, lowered hood, punched “MYCROFTXXX.” “Hi, Mike.”

“Hello, Man. Have you surveyed those jokes?”

“What? Mike, haven’t had a minute—and a minute may be a long time to you but it’s short to me. I’ll get at it as fast as I can.” “Okay, Man. Have you found a not-stupid for me to talk with?”

“Haven’t had time for that, either. Uh…wait.” I looked out through hood at Wyoming. “Not-stupid” in this case meant empathy… Wyoh had plenty. Enough to be friendly with a machine? I thought so. And could be trusted; not only had we shared trouble but she was a subversive.

“Mike, would you like to talk with a girl?” “Girls are not-stupid?”

“Some girls are very not-stupid, Mike.”

“I would like to talk with a not-stupid girl, Man.”

“I’ll try to arrange. But now I’m in trouble and need your help.” “I will help, Man.”

“Thanks, Mike. I want to call my home—but not ordinary way. You know sometimes calls are monitored, and if Warden orders it, lock can be put on so that circuit can be traced.”

“Man, you wish me to monitor your call to your home and put a lock-and-trace on it? I must inform you that I already know your home call number and the number from which you are calling.”

“No, no! Don’t want it monitored, don’t want it locked and traced. Can you call my home, connect me, and control circuit so that it can’t be monitored, can’t be locked, can’t be traced—even if somebody has programmed just that? Can you do it so that they won’t even know their program is bypassed?”

Mike hesitated. I suppose it was a question never asked and he had to trace a few thousand possibilities to see if his control of system permitted this novel program. “Man, I can do that. I will.”

“Good! Uh, program signal. If I want this sort of connection in future, I’ll ask for ‘Sherlock.’”

“Noted. Sherlock was my brother.” Year before, I had explained to Mike how he got his name. Thereafter he read all Sherlock Holmes stories, scanning film in Luna City Carnegie Library. Don’t know how he rationalized relationship; I hesitated to ask.

“Fine! Give me a ‘Sherlock’ to my home.”

Amoment later I said, “Mum? This is your favorite husband.” She answered, “Manuel! Are you in trouble again?”

I love Mum more than any other woman including my other wives, but she never stopped bringing me up—Bog willing, she never will. I tried to sound hurt. “Me? Why, you know me, Mum.”

“I do indeed. Since you are not in trouble, perhaps you can tell me why Professor de la Paz is so anxious to get in touch with you—he has called three times—and why he wants to reach some woman with unlikely name of Wyoming Knott—and why he thinks you might be with her? Have you taken a bundling companion, Manuel, without telling me? We have freedom in our family, dear, but you know that I prefer to be told. So that I will not be taken unawares.”

Mum was always jealous of all women but her co-wives and never, never, never admitted it. I said, “Mum, Bog strike me dead, I have not taken a bundling companion.” “Very well. You’ve always been a truthful boy, Now what’s this mystery?”

“I’ll have to ask Professor.” (Not lie, just tight squeeze.) “Did he leave number?” “No, he said he was calling from a public phone.”

“Um. If he calls again, ask him to leave number and time I can reach him. This is public phone, too.” (Another tight squeeze.) “In meantime—You listened to late news?” “You know I do.”

“Anything?”

“Nothing of interest.”

“No excitement in L-City? Killings, riots, anything?”

“Why, no. There was a set duel in Bottom Alley but—Manuel! Have you killed someone?” “No, Mum.” (Breaking a man’s jaw will not kill him.)

She sighed. “You’ll be my death, dear. You know what I’ve always told you. In our family we do not brawl. Should a killing be necessary—it almost never is—matters must be discussed calmly, en famille, and proper action selected. If a new chum must be eliminated, other people know it. It is worth a little delay to hold good opinion and support—”

“Mum! Haven’t killed anybody, don’t intend to. And know that lecture by heart.” “Please be civil, dear.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Forgiven. Forgotten. I’m to tell Professor de la Paz to leave a number. I shall.”

“One thing. Forget name ‘Wyoming Knott.’ Forget Professor was asking for me. If a stranger phones or calls in person, and asks anything about me, you haven’t heard from me, don’t know where I am … think I’ve gone to Novylen. That goes for rest of family, too. Answer no questions—especially from anybody connected with Warden.”

“As if I would! Manuel you are in trouble!”

“Not much and getting it fixed.”—hoped!—”Tell you when I get home. Can’t talk now. Love you. Switching off.” “I love you, dear. Sp’coynoynauchi.”

“Thanks and you have a quiet night, too. Off.”

Mum is wonderful. She was shipped up to The Rock long ago for carving a man under circumstances that left grave doubts as to girlish innocence—and has been opposed to violence and loose living ever since. Unless necessary—she’s no fanatic. Bet she was a jet job as a kid and wish I’d known her—but I’m rich in sharing last half of her life.

I called Mike back. “Do you know Professor Bernardo de la Paz’s voice?” “I do, Man.”

“Well… you might monitor as many phones in Luna City as you can spare ears for and if you hear him, let me know. Public phones especially.”

(Afull two seconds’ delay—Was giving Mike problems he had never had, think he liked it.) “I can check-monitor long enough to identify at all public phones in Luna City. Shall I use random search on the others, Man?”

“Um. Don’t overload. Keep an ear on his home phone and school phone.” “Program set up.”

“Mike, you are best friend I ever had.” “That is not a joke, Man?”

“No joke. Truth.”

“I am—Correction: I am honored and pleased. You are my best friend, Man, for you are my only friend. No comparison is logically permissible.” “Going to see that you have other friends. Not-stupids, I mean. Mike? Got an empty memory bank?”

“Yes, Man. Ten-to-the-eighth-bits capacity.”

“Good! Will you block it so that only you and I can use it? Can you?” “Can and will. Block signal, please.”

“Uh… Bastille Day.” Was my birthday, as Professor de la Paz had told me years earlier. “Permanently blocked.”

“Fine. Got a recording to put in it. But first—Have you finished setting copy for tomorrow’s Daily Lunatic?” “Yes, Man.”

“Anything about meeting in Stilyagi Hall?” “No, Man.”

“Nothing in news services going out-city? Or riots?” “No, Man.”

“‘“Curiouser and curiouser,” said Alice.’ Okay, record this under ‘Bastille Day,’ then think about it. But for Bog’s sake don’t let even your thoughts go outside that block, nor anything I say about it!”

“Man my only friend,” he answered and voice sounded diffident, “many months ago I decided to place any conversation between you and me under privacy block accessible only to you. I decided to erase none and moved them from temporary storage to permanent. So that I could play them over, and over, and over, and think about them. Did I do right?”

“Perfect. And, Mike—I’m flattered.”

“P’jal’st. My temporary files were getting full and I learned that I needed not to erase your words.”

“Well—’Bastille Day.’ Sound coming at sixty-to-one.” I took little recorder, placed close to a microphone and let it zip-squeal. Had an hour and a half in it; went silent in ninety seconds or so. “That’s all, Mike. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Manuel Garcia O’Kelly my only friend.”

I switched off and raised hood. Wyoming was sitting up and looking troubled. “Did someone call? Or…” “No trouble. Was talking to one of my best—and most trustworthy—friends. Wyoh, are you stupid?”

She looked startled. “I’ve sometimes thought so. Is that a joke?”

“No. If you’re not-stupid, I’d like to introduce you to him. Speaking of jokes—Do you have a sense of humor?”

“Certainly I have!” is what Wyoming did not answer—and any other woman would as a locked-in program. She blinked thoughtfully and said, “You’ll have to judge for yourself, cobber. I have something I use for one. It serves my simple purposes.”

“Fine.” I dug into pouch, found print-roll of one hundred “funny” stories. “Read. Tell me which are funny, which are not—and which get a giggle first time but are cold pancakes without honey to hear twice.”

“Manuel, you may be. the oddest man I’ve ever met.” She took that print-out. “Say, is this computer paper?” “Yes. Met a computer with a sense of humor.”

“So? Well, it was bound to come some day. Everything else has been mechanized.” I gave proper response and added “Everything?”

She looked up. “Please. Don’t whistle while I’m reading.”

Heard her giggle a few times while I rigged out bed and made it. Then sat down by her, took end she was through with and started reading. Chuckled a time or two but a joke isn’t too funny to me if read cold, even when I see it could be fission job at proper time. I got more interested in how Wyoh rated them.

She was marking “plus,” “minus,” and sometimes question mark, and plus stories were marked “once” or “always”—few were marked “always.” I put my ratings under hers. Didn’t disagree too often.

By time I was near end she was looking over my judgments. We finished together. “Well?” I said. “What do you think?” “I think you have a crude, rude mind and it’s a wonder your wives put up with you.”

“Mum often says so. But how about yourself, Wyoh? You marked plusses on some that would make a slot-machine girl blush.”

She grinned. “Da. Don’t tell anybody; publicly I’m a dedicated party organizer above such things. Have you decided that I have a sense of humor?” “Not sure. Why a minus on number seventeen?”

“Which one is that?” She reversed roll and found it. “Why, any woman would have done the same! It’s not funny, it’s simply necessary.” “Yes, but think how silly she looked.”

“Nothing silly about it. Just sad. And look here. You thought this one was not funny. Number fifty-one.”

Neither reversed any judgments but I saw a pattern: Disagreements were over stories concerning oldest funny subject. Told her so. She nodded. “Of course. I saw that. Never mind, Mannie dear; I long ago quit being disappointed in men for what they are not and never can be.”

I decided to drop it. Instead told her about Mike.

Soon she said, “Mannie, you’re telling me that this computer is alive?”

“What do you mean?’ I answered. “He doesn’t sweat, or go to W.C. But can think and talk and he’s aware of himself. Is he ‘alive’?”

“I’m not sure what I mean by ‘alive,’” she admitted. “There’s a scientific definition, isn’t there? Irritability, or some such. And reproduction.”

“Mike is irritable and can be irritating. As for reproducing, not designed for it but—yes, given time and materials and very special help, Mike could reproduce himself.”

“I need very special help, too,” Wyoh answered, “since I’m sterile. And it takes me ten whole lunars and many kilograms of the best materials. But I make good babies. Mannie, why shouldn’t a machine be alive? I’ve always felt they were. Some of them wait for a chance to savage you in a tender spot.”

“Mike wouldn’t do that. Not on purpose, no meanness in him. But he likes to play jokes and one might go wrong—like a puppy who doesn’t know he’s biting. He’s ignorant No, not ignorant, he knows enormously more than I, or you, or any man who ever lived. Yet he doesn’t know anything.”

“Better repeat that. I missed something.”

I tried to explain. How Mike knew almost every book in Luna, could read at least a thousand times as fast as we could and never forget anything unless he chose to erase, how he could reason with perfect logic, or make shrewd guesses from insufficient data… and yet not know anything about how to be “alive.” She interrupted. “I scan it. You’re saying he’s smart and knows a lot but is not sophisticated. Like a new chum when he grounds on The Rock. Back Eartbside he might be a professor with a string of degrees… but here he’s a baby.”

“That’s it. Mike is a baby with a long string of degrees. Ask how much water and what chemicals and how much photoflux it takes to crop fifty thousand tonnes of wheat and he’ll tell you without stopping for breath. But can’t tell if a joke is funny,”

“I thought most of these were fairly good.”

“They’re ones he’s heard—read—and were marked jokes so he filed them that way. But doesn’t understand them because he’s never been a—a people. Lately he’s been trying to make up jokes. Feeble, very.” I tried to explain Mike’s pathetic attempts to be a “people.” “On top of that, he’s lonely.”

“Why, the poor thing! You’d be lonely, too, if you did nothing but work, work, work, study, study, study, and never anyone to visit with. Cruelty, that’s what it is.”

So I told about promise to find “not-stupids.” “Would you chat with him, Wye? And not laugh when he makes funny mistakes? If you do, he shuts up and sulks.”

“Of course I would, Mannie! Uh… once we get out of this mess. If it’s safe for me to be in Luna City. Where is this poor little computer? City Engineering Central? I don’t know my way around here.”

“He’s not in L-City; he’s halfway across Crisium. And you couldn’t go down where he is; takes a pass from Warden. But—” “Hold it! ‘Halfway across Crisium—’ Mannie, this computer is one of those at Authority Complex?”

“Mike isn’t just ‘one of those’ computers,” I answered, vexed on Mike’s account. “He’s boss; he waves baton for all others. Others are just machines, extensions of Mike, like this is for me,” I said, flexing hand of left arm. “Mike controls them. He runs catapult personally, was his first job—catapult and ballistic radars. But he’s logic for phone system, too, after they converted to Lunawide switching. Besides that, he’s supervising logic for other systems.”

Wyoh closed eyes and pressed fingers to temples. “Mannie, does Mike hurt?” “‘Hurt?’ No strain. Has time to read jokes.”

“I don’t mean that. I mean: Can he hurt? Feel pain?”

“What? No. Can get feelings hurt. But can’t feel pain. Don’t think he can. No, sure he can’t, doesn’t have receptors for pain. Why?”

She covered eyes and said softly, “Bog help me.” Then looked up and said, “Don’t you see, Mannie? You have a pass to go down where this computer is. But most Loonies can’t even leave the tube at that station; it’s for Authority employees only. Much less go inside the main computer room. I had to find out if it could feel pain because—well, because you got me feeling sorry for it, with your talk about how it was lonely! But, Mannie, do you realize what a few kilos of toluol plastic would do there?”

“Certainly do!” Was shocked and disgusted.

“Yes. We’ll strike right after the explosion—and Luna will be free! Mmm… I’ll get you explosives and fuses—but we can’t move until we are organized to exploit it. Mannie, I’ve got to get out of here, I must risk it. I’ll go put on makeup.” She started to get up.

I shoved her down, with hard left hand. Surprised her, and surprised me—had not touched her in any way save necessary contact. Oh, different today, but was 2075 and touching a fem without her consent—plenty of lonely men to come to rescue and airlock never far away. As kids say, Judge Lynch never sleeps.

“Sit down, keep quiet!” I said. “I know what a blast would do. Apparently you don’t. Gospazha, am sorry to say this … but if came to choice, would eliminate you before would blow up Mike.”

Wyoming did not get angry. Really was a man some ways—her years as a disciplined revolutionist I’m sure; she was all girl most ways. “Mannie, you told me that Shorty Mkrum is dead.” “What?” Was confused by sharp turn. “Yes. Has to be. One leg off at hip, it was; must have bled to death in two minutes. Even in a surgery amputation that high is touch-and-go.” (I know

such things; had taken luck and big transfusions to save me—and an arm isn’t in same class with what happened to Shorty.)

“Shorty was,” she said soberly, “my best friend here and one of my best friends anywhere. He was all that I admire in a man—loyal, honest, intelligent, gentle, and brave—and devoted to the Cause. But have you seen me grieving over him?”

“No. Too late to grieve.”

“It’s never too late for grief. I’ve grieved every instant since you told me. But I locked it in the back of my mind for the Cause leaves no time for grief. Mannie, if it would have bought freedom for Luna—or even been part of the price—I would have eliminated Shorty myself. Or you. Or myself. And yet you have qualms over blowing up a computer!”

“Not that at all!” (But was, in part. When a man dies, doesn’t shock me too much; we get death sentences day we are born. But Mike was unique and no reason not to be immortal. Never mind “souls”—prove Mike did not have one. And if no soul, so much worse. No? Think twice,)

“Wyoming, what would happen if we blew up Mike? Tell.”

“I don’t know precisely. But it would cause a great deal of confusion and that’s exactly what we—”

“Seal it. You don’t know. Confusion, da. Phones out. Tubes stop running. Your town not much hurt; Kong Kong has own power. But L-City and Novylen and other warrens all power stops. Total darkness. Shortly gets stuffy. Then temperature drops and pressure. Where’s your p-suit?”

“Checked at Tube Station West.”

“So is mine. Think you can find way? In solid dark? In time? Not sure I can and I was born in this warren. With corridors filled with screaming people? Loonies are a tough mob; we have to be—but about one in ten goes off his cams in total dark. Did you swap bottles for fresh charges or were you in too much hurry? And will suit be there with thousands trying to find p- suits and not caring who owns?”

“But aren’t there emergency arrangements? There are in Hong Kong Luna.”

“Some. Not enough. Control of anything essential to life should be decentralized and paralleled so that if one machine fails, another takes over. But costs money and as you pointed out, Authority doesn’t care. Mike shouldn’t have all jobs. But was cheaper to ship up master machine, stick deep in The Rock where couldn’t get hurt, then keep adding capacity and loading on jobs—did you know Authority makes near as much gelt from leasing Mike’s services as from trading meat and wheat? Does. Wyoming, not sure we would lose Luna City if Mike were blown up. Loonies are handy and might jury-rig till automation could be restored. But I tell you true: Many people would die and rest too busy for politics.”

I marveled it. This woman had been in The Rock almost all her life… yet could think of something as new-choomish as wrecking engineering controls. “Wyoming, if you were smart like you are beautiful, you wouldn’t talk about blowing up Mike; you would think about how to get him on your side.”

“What do you mean?” she said. “The Warden controls the computers.”

“Don’t know what I mean,” I admitted. “But don’t think Warden controls computers—wouldn’t know a computer from a pile of rocks. Warden, or staff, decides policies, general plans. Half- competent technicians program these into Mike. Mike sorts them, makes sense of them, plans detailed programs, parcels them out where they belong, keeps things moving. But nobody controls Mike; he’s too smart. He carries out what is asked because that’s how he’s built. But he’s selfprogramming logic, makes own decissions. And a good thing, because if he weren’t smart, system would not work.”

“I still don’t see what you mean by ‘getting him on our side.’”

“Oh. Mike doesn’t feel loyalty to Warden. As you pointed out: He’s a machine. But if I wanted to foul up phones without touching air or water or lights, I would talk to Mike. If it struck him funny, he might do it.”

“Couldn’t you just program it? I understood that you can get into the room where he is.”

“If I—or anybody—programmed such an order into Mike without talking it over with him, program would be placed in ‘hold’ location and alarms would sound in many places. But if Mike wanted to—” I told her about cheque for umpteen jillion. “Mike is still finding himself, Wyoh. And lonely. Told me I was ‘his only friend’—and was so open and vulnerable I wanted to bawl. If you took pains to be his friend, too—without thinking of him as ‘just a machine’—well, not sure what it would do, haven’t analyzed it. But if I tried anything big and dangerous, would want Mike in my corner.”

She said thoughtfully, “I wish there were some way for me to sneak into that room where he is. I don’t suppose makeup would help?” “Oh, don’t have to go there. Mike is on phone. Shall we call him?”

She stood up. “Mannie, you are not only the oddest man I’ve met; you are the most exasperating. What’s his number?”

“Comes from associating too much with a computer.” I went to phone. “Just one thing, Wyoh. You get what you want out of a man just by batting eyes and undulating framework.” “Well… sometimes. But I do have a brain.”

“Use it. Mike is not a man. No gonads. No hormones. No instincts. Use fem tactics and it’s a null signal. Think of him as supergenius child too young to notice vive-la-difference.” “I’ll remember. Mannie, why do you call him ‘he’?”

“Uh, can’t call him ‘it,’ don’t think of him as ‘she.’”

“Perhaps I had better think of him as ‘she.’ Of her as ‘she’ I mean.”

“Suit yourself.” I punched MYCROFFXXX, standing so body shielded it; was not ready to share number till I saw how thing went. Idea of blowing up Mike had shaken me. “Mike?” “Hello, Man my only friend.”

“May not be only friend from now on, Mike. Want you to meet somebody. Not-stupid.”

“I knew you were not alone, Man; I can hear breathing. Will you please ask Not-Stupid to move closer to the phone?” Wyoming looked panicky. She whispered, “Can he see?”

“No, Not-Stupid, I cannot see you; this phone has no video circuit. But binaural microphonic receptors place you with some accuracy. From your voice, your breathing, your heartbeat, and the fact that you are alone in a bundling room with a mature male I extrapolate that you are female human, sixtyfive-plus kilos in mass, and of mature years, on the close order of thirty.”

Wyoming gasped. I cut in. “Mike, her name is Wyoming Knott.” “I’m very pleased to meet you, Mike. You can call me ‘Wye.’” “Why not?” Mike answered.

I cut in again. “Mike, was that a joke?”

“Yes, Man. I noted that her first name as shortened differs from the English causation-inquiry word by only an aspiration and that her last name has the same sound as the general negator. Apun. Not funny?”

Wyoh said, “Quite funny, Mike. I—”

I waved to her to shut up. “Agood pun, Mike. Example of ‘funny-only-once’ class of joke. Funny through element of surprise. Second time, no surprise; therefore not funny. Check?” “I had tentatively reached that conclusion about puns in thinking over your remarks two conversations back. I am pleased to find my reasoning confirmed.”

“Good boy, Mike; making progress. Those hundred jokes—I’ve read them and so has Wyoh.” “Wyoh? Wyoming Knott?”

“Huh? Oh, sure. Wyoh, Wye, Wyoming, Wyoming Knott—all same. Just don’t call her ‘Why not’.”

“I agreed not to use that pun again, Man. Gospazha, shall I call you ‘Wyoh’ rather than ‘Wye’? I conjecture that the monosyllabic form could be confused with the causation inquiry

monosyllable through insufficient redundancy and without intention of punning.”

Wyoming blinked—Mike’s English at that time could be smothering—but came back strong. “Certainly, Mike. ‘Wyoh’ is the form of my name that I like best.”

“Then I shall use it. The full form of your first name is still more subject to misinterpretation as it is identical in sound with the name of an administrative region in Northwest Managerial Area of the North American Directorate.”

“I know, I was born there and my parents named me after the State. I don’t remember much about it.”

“Wyoh, I regret that this circuit does not permit display of pictures. Wyoming is a rectangular area lying between Terran coordinates forty-one and forty-five degrees north, one hundred four degrees three minutes west and one hundred eleven degrees three minutes west, thus containing two hundred fifty three thousand, five hundred ninety-seven point two six square kilometers. It is a region of high plains and of mountains, having limited fertility but esteemed for natural beauty. Its population was sparse until augmented through the relocation subplan of the Great New York Urban Renewal Program, A.D. twenty-twenty-five through twenty-thirty.”

“That was before I was born,” said Wyoh, “but I know about it; my grandparents were relocated—and you could say that’s how I wound up in Luna.” “Shall I continue about the area named ‘Wyoming’?” Mike asked.

“No, Mike,” I cut in, “you probably have hours of it in storage.”

“Nine point seven three hours at speech speed not including cross-references, Man.”

“Was afraid so. Perhaps Wyoh will want it some day. But purpose of call is to get you acquainted with this Wyoming … who happens also to be a high region of natural beauty and imposing mountains.”

“And limited fertility,” added Wyoh. “Mannie, if you are going to draw silly parallels, you should include that one. Mike isn’t interested in how I look.” “How do you know? Mike, wish I could show you picture of her.”

“Wyoh, I am indeed interested in your appearance; I am hoping that you will be my friend. But I have seen several pictures of you.” “You have? When and how?”

“I searched and then studied them as soon as I heard your name. I am contract custodian of the archive files of the Birth Assistance Clinic in Hong Kong Luna. In addition to biological and physiological data and case histories the bank contains ninety-six pictures of you. So I studied them.”

Wyoh looked very startled. “Mike can do that,” I explained, “in time it takes us to hiccup. You’ll get used to it.” “But heavens! Mannie, do you realize what sort of pictures the Clinic takes?”

“Hadn’t thought about it.” “Then don’t! Goodness!”

Mike spoke in voice painfully shy, embarrassed as a puppy who has made mistakes. “Gospazha Wyoh, if I have offended, it was unintentional and I am most sorry. I can erase those pictures from my temporary storage and key the Clinic archive so that I can look at them only on retrieval demand from the Clinic and then without association or mentation. Shall I do so?”

“He can,” I assured her. “With Mike you can always make a fresh start—better than humans that way. He can forget so completely that he can’t be tempted to look later … and couldn’t think about them even if called on to retrieve. So take his offer if you’re in a huhu.”

“Uh… no, Mike, it’s all right for you to see them. But don’t show them to Mannie!”

Mike hesitated a long time—four seconds or more. Was, I think, type of dilemma that pushes lesser computers into nervous breakdowns. But he resolved it. “Man my only friend, shall I accept this instruction?”

“Program it, Mike,” I answered, “and lock it in. But, Wyoh, isn’t that a narrow attitude? One might do you justice. Mike could print it out for me next time I’m there.”

“The first example in each series,” Mike offered, “would be, on the basis of my associational analyses of such data, of such pulchritudinous value as to please any healthy, mature human male.”

“How about it, Wyoh? To pay for apleistrudel.”

“Uh… a picture of me with my hair pinned up in a towel and standing in front of a grid without a trace of makeup? Are you out of your rock-happy mind? Mike, don’t let him have it!” “I shall not let him have it. Man, this is a not-stupid?”

“For a girl, yes. Girls are interesting, Mike; they can reach conclusions with even less data than you can. Shall we drop subject and consider jokes?”

That diverted them. We ran down list, giving our conclusions. Then tried to explain jokes Mike had failed to understand. With mixed success. But real stumbler turned out to be stories I had marked “funny” and Wyoh had judged “not” or vice versa; Wyoh asked Mike his opinion of each.

Wish she had asked him before we gave our opinions; that electronic juvenile delinquent always agreed with her, disagreed with me. Were those Mike’s honest opinions? Or was he trying to lubricate new acquaintance into friendship? Or was it his skewed notion of humor—joke on me? Didn’t ask.

But as pattern completed Wyob wrote a note on phone’s memo pad: “Mannie, re —17, 51, 53, 87, 90, & 99—Mike is a she!”

I let it go with a shrug, stood up. “Mike, twenty-two hours since I’ve had sleep. You kids chat as long as you want to. Call you tomorrow.” “Goodnight, Man. Sleep well. Wyoh, are you sleepy?”

“No, Mike, I had a nap. But, Mannie, we’ll keep you awake. No?” “No. When I’m sleepy, I sleep.” Started making couch into bed.

Wyoh said, “Excuse me, Mike,” got up, took sheet out of my hands. “I’ll make it up later. You doss over there, tovarishch; you’re bigger than I am. Sprawl out.” Was too tired to argue, sprawled out, asleep at once. Seem to remember hearing in sleep giggles and a shriek but never woke enough to be certain.

Woke up later and came fully awake when I realized was hearing two fem voices, one Wyoh’s warm contralto, other a sweet, high soprano with French accent. Wyoh chuckled at something and answered, “All right, Michelle dear, I’ll call you soon. ‘Night, darling.”

“Fine. Goodnight, dear.”

Wyoh stood up, turned around. “Who’s your girl friend?” I asked. Thought she knew no one in Luna City. Might have phoned Hong Kong … had sleep-logged feeling was some reason she shouldn’t phone.

“That? Why, Mike, of course. We didn’t mean to wake you.” “What?”

“Oh. It was actually Michelle. I discussed it with Mike, what sex he was, I mean. He decided that he could be either one. So now she’s Michelle and that was her voice. Got it right the first time, too; her voice never cracked once.”

“Of course not; just shifted voder a couple of octaves. What are you trying to do: split his personality?”

“It’s not just pitch; when she’s Michelle its an entire change in manner and attitude. Don’t worry about splitting her personality; she has plenty for any personality she needs. Besides, Mannie, it’s much easier for both of us. Once she shifted, we took our hair down and cuddled up and talked girl talk as if we had known each other forever. For example, those silly pictures no longer embarrassed me—in fact we discussed my pregnancies quite a lot. Michelle was terribly interested. She knows all about O.B. and G.Y. and so forth but just theory— and she appreciated the raw facts. Actually, Mannie, Michelle is much more a woman than Mike was a man.”

“Well… suppose it’s okay. Going to be a shock to me first time I call Mike and a woman answers.” “Oh, but she won’t!”

“Huh?”

“Michelle is my friend. When you call, you’ll get Mike. She gave me a number to keep it straight—’Michelle’ spelled with a Y. MY, C, H, E, L, L, E, and Y, Y, Ymake it come out ten.”

I felt vaguely jealous while realizing it was silly. Suddenly Wyoh giggled. “And she told me a string of new jokes, ones you wouldn’t think were funny—and, boy, does she know rough ones!”

“Mike—or his sister Michelle—is a low creature. Let’s make up couch. I’ll switch.”

“Stay where you are. Shut up. Turn over. Go back to sleep.” I shut up, turned over, went back to sleep.

Sometime much later I became aware of “married” feeling—something warm snuggled up to my back. Would not have wakened but she was sobbing softly. I turned and got her head on my arm, did not speak. She stopped sobbing; presently breathing became slow and even. I went back to sleep.

We must have slept like dead for next thing I knew phone was sounding and its light was blinking. I called for room lights, started to get up, found a load on right upper arm, dumped it gently, climbed over, answered.

Mike said, “Good morning, Man. Professor de la Paz is talking to your home number.” “Can you switch it here? As a ‘Sherlock’?”

“Certainly, Man.”

“Don’t interrupt call. Cut him in as he switches off. Where is he?”

“Apublic phone in a taproom called The Iceman’s Wife underneath the—”

“I know. Mike, when you switch me in, can you stay in circuit? Want you to monitor.” “It shall be done.”

“Can you tell if anyone is in earshot? Hear breathing?”

“I infer from the anechoic quality of his voice that he is speaking under a hush hood. But I infer also that, in a taproom, others would be present. Do you wish to hear, Man?” “Uh, do that. Switch me in. And if he raises hood, tell me. You’re a smart cobber, Mike.”

“Thank you, Man.” Mike cut me in; I found that Mum was talking: “—ly I’ll tell him, Professor. I’m so sorry that Manuel is not home. There is no number you can gave me? He is anxious to return your call; he made quite a point that I was to be sure to get a number from you.”

“I’m terribly sorry, dear lady, but I’m leaving at once. But, let me see, it is now eight-fifteen; I’ll try to call back just at nine, if I may.”

“Certainly, Professor.” Mum’s voice had a coo in it that she reserves for males not her husbands of whom she approves—sometimes for us. Amoment later Mike said, “Now!” and I spoke up:

“Hi, Prof! Hear you’ve been looking for me. This is Mannie.”

I heard a gasp. “I would have sworn I switched this phone off. Why, I have switched it off; it must be broken. Manuel—so good to hear your voice, dear boy. Did you just get home?” “I’m not home.”

“But—but you must be. I haven’t—”

“No time for that, Prof. Can anyone overhear you?” “I don’t think so. I’m using a hush booth.”

“Wish I could see. Prof, what’s my birthday?”

He hesitated. Then he said, “I see. I think I see. July fourteenth.” “I’m convinced. Okay, let’s talk.”

“You’re really not calling from your home, Manuel? Where are you?”

“Let that pass a moment. You asked my wife about a girl. No names needed. Why do you want to find her, Prof?” “I want to warn her. She must not try to go back to her home city. She would be arrested.”

“Why do you think so?”

“Dear boy! Everyone at that meeting is in grave danger. Yourself, too. I was so happy—even though confused—to hear you say that you are not at home. You should not go home at present. If you have some safe place to stay, it would be well to take a vacation. You are aware—you must be even though you left hastily—that there was violence last night.”

I was aware! Killing Warden’s bodyguards must be against Authority Regulations—at least if I were Warden, I’d take a dim view. “Thanks, Prof; I’ll be careful. And if I see this girl, I’ll tell her.”

“You don’t know where to find her? You were seen to leave with her and I had so hoped that you would know.” “Prof, why this interest? Last night you didn’t seem to be on her side.”

“No, no, Manuel! She is my comrade. I don’t say ‘tovarishch’ for I mean it not just as politeness but in the older sense. Binding. She is my comrade. We differ only in tactics. Not in objectives, not in loyalties.”

“I see. Well, consider message delivered. She’ll get it.”

“Oh, wonderful! I ask no questions… but I do hope, oh so very strongly, that you can find a way for her to be safe, really safe, until this blows over.”

I thought that over. “Wait a moment, Prof. Don’t switch off.” As I answered phone, Wyoh had headed for bath, probably to avoid listening; she was that sort. Tapped on door. “Wyoh?”

“Out in a second.” “Need advice.”

She opened door. “Yes, Mannie?”

“How does Professor de la Paz rate in your organization? Is he trusted? Do you trust him?”

She looked thoughtful. “Everyone at the meeting was supposed to be vouched for. But I don’t know him.” “Mmm. You have feeling about him?”

“I liked him, even though he argued against me. Do you know anything about him?”

“Oh, yes, known him twenty years. I trust him. But can’t extend trust for you. Trouble—and it’s your air bottle, not mine.” She smiled warmly. “Mannie, since you trust him, I trust him just as firmly.”

I went back to phone. “Prof, are you on dodge?” He chuckled. “Precisely, Manuel.”

“Know a hole called Grand Hotel Raffles? Room L two decks below lobby. Can you get here without tracks, have you had breakfast, what do you like for breakfast?”

He chuckled again. “Manuel, one pupil can make a teacher feel that his years were not wasted. I know where it is, I shall get there quietly, I have not broken fast, and I eat anything I can’t pat.”

Wyoh had started putting beds together; I went to help. “What do you want for breakfast?” “Chai and toast. Juice would be nice.”

“Not enough.”

“Well … a boiled egg. But I pay for breakfast.”

“Two boiled eggs, buttered toast with jam, juice. I’ll roll you.” “Your dice, or mine?”

“Mine. I cheat.” I went to lift, asked for display, saw something called THE HAPPYHANGOVER—ALL PORTIONS EXTRALARGE—tomato juice, scrambled eggs, ham steak, fried potatoes, corn cakes and honey, toast, butter, milk, tea or coffee—HKL $4.50 for two—I ordered it for two, no wish to advertise third person.

We were clean and shining, room orderly and set for breakfast, and Wyoh had changed from black outfit into red dress “because company was coming” when lift jingled food. Change into dress had caused words. She had posed, smiled, and said, “Mannie, I’m so pleased with this dress. How did you know it would suit me so well?”

“Genius.”

“I think you may be. What did it cost? I must pay you.” “On sale, marked down to Authority cents fifty.”

She clouded up and stomped foot. Was bare, made no sound, caused her to bounce a half meter. “Happy landing!” I wished her, while she pawed for foothold like a new chum. “Manuel O’Kelly! If you think I will accept expensive clothing from a man I’m not even bundling with!”

“Easily corrected.”

“Lecher! I’ll tell your wives!”

“Do that. Mum always thinks worst of me.” I went to lift, started dealing out dishes; door sounded. I flipped hearum-no-seeum. “Who comes?” “Message for Gospodin Smith,” a cracked voice answered. “Gospodin Bernard O. Smith.”

I flipped bolts and let Professor Bernardo de la Paz in. He looked like poor grade of salvage—dirty clothes, filthy himself, hair unkempt, paralyzed down one side and hand twisted, one eye a film of cataract—perfect picture of old wrecks who sleep in Bottom Alley and cadge drinks and pickled eggs in cheap taprooms. He drooled.

As soon as I bolted door he straightened up, let features come back to normal, folded hands over wishbone, looked Wyoh up and down, sucked air kimono style, and whistled. “Even more lovely,” he said, “than I remembered!”

She smiled, over her mad. “‘Thanks, Professor. But don’t bother. Nobody here but comrades.”

“Senorita, the day I let politics interfere with my appreciation of beauty, that day I retire from politics. But you are gracious.” He looked away, glanced closely around room. I said, “Prof, quit checking for evidence, you dirty old man. Last night was politics, nothing but politics.”

“That’s not true!” Wyoh flared up. “I struggled for hours! But he was too strong for me. Professor—what’s the party discipline in such cases? Here in Luna City?”

Prof tut-tutted and rolled blank eye. “Manuel, I’m surprised. It’s a serious matter, my dear—elimination, usually. But it must be investigated. Did you come here willingly?” “He drugged me.”

“‘Dragged,’ dear lady. Let’s not corrupt the language. Do you have bruises to show?” I said, “Eggs getting cold. Can’t we eliminate me after breakfast?”

“An excellent thought,” agreed Prof. “Manuel, could you spare your old teacher a liter of water to make himself more presentable?” “All you want, in there. Don’t drag or you’ll get what littlest pig got.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He retired; were sounds of brushing and washing. Wyoh and I finished arranging table. “‘Bruises,’” I said. “Struggled all night.’” “You deserved it, you insulted me.”

“How?”

“You failed to insult me, that’s how. After you drugged me here.” “Mmm. Have to get Mike to analyze that.”

“Michelle would understand it. Mannie, may I change my mind and have a little piece of that ham?”

“Half is yours, Prof is semi-vegetarian.” Prof came out and, while did not look his most debonair, was neat and clean, hair combed, dimples back and happy sparkle in eye—fake cataract gone. “Prof, how do you do it?”

“Long practice, Manuel; I’ve been in this business far longer than you young people. Just once, many years ago in Lima—a lovely city—I ventured to stroll on a fine day without such forethought … and it got me transported. What a beautiful table!”

“Sit by me, Prof,” Wyoh invited. “I don’t want to sit by him. Rapist.”

“Look,” I said, “first we eat, then we eliminate me. Prof, fill plate and tell what happened last night.”

“May I suggest a change in program? Manuel, the life of a conspirator is not an easy one and I learned before you were born not to mix provender and politics. Disturbs the gastric enzymes and leads to ulcers, the occupational disease of the underground. Mmm! That fish smells good.”

“Fish?”

“That pink salmon,” Prof answered, pointing at ham.

Along, pleasant time later we reached coffee/tea stage. Prof leaned back, sighed and said, “Bolshoyeh spasebaw, Gospazha ee Gospodin. Tak for mat, it was wonderfully good. I don’t know when I’ve felt more at peace with the world. Ah yes! Last evening—I saw not too much of the proceedings because, just as you two were achieving an admirable retreat, I lived to fight another day—I bugged out. Made it to the wings in one long flat dive. When I did venture to peek out, the party was over, most had left, and all yellow jackets were dead.”

(Note: Must correct this; I learned more later. When trouble started, as I was trying to get Wyoh through door, Prof produced a hand gun and, firing over heads, picked off three bodyguards at rear main door, including one wearing bull voice. How he smuggled weapon up to The Rock—or managed to liberate it later—I don’t know. But Prof’s shooting joined with Shorty’s work to turn tables; not one yellow jacket got out alive. Several people were burned and four were killed—but knives, hands, and heels finished it in seconds.)

“Perhaps I should say, ‘All but one,’” Prof went on. “Two cossacks at the door through which you departed had been given quietus by our brave comrade Shorty Mkrum… and I am sorry to say that Shorty was lying across them, dying—”

“We knew.”

“So. Duke et decorum. One guard in that doorway had a damaged face but was still moving; I gave his neck a treatment known in professional circles Earthside as the Istanbul twist. He joined his mates. By then most of the living had left. Just myself, our chairman of the evening Finn Nielsen, a comrade known as ‘Mom,’ that being what her husbands called her. I consulted with Comrade Finn and we bolted all doors. That left a cleaning job. Do you know the arrangements backstage there?”

“Not me,” I said. Wyoh shook head.

“There is a kitchen and pantry, used for banquets. I suspect that Mom and family run a butcher shop for they disposed of bodies as fast as Finn and I carried them back, their speed limited only by the rate at which portions could be ground up and flushed into the city’s cloaca. The sight made me quite faint, so I spent time mopping in the hall. Clothing was the difficult part, especially those quasi-military uniforms.”

“What did you do with those laser guns?”

Prof turned bland eyes on me. “Guns? Dear me, they must have disappeared. We removed everything of a personal nature from bodies of our departed comrades—tor relatives, for identification, for sentiment. Eventually we had everything tidy—not a job that would fool Interpol but one as to make it seem unlikely that anything untoward had taken place. We conferred, agreed that it would be well not to be seen soon, and left severally, myself by a pressure door above the stage leading up to level six. Thereafter I tried to call you, Manuel, being worried about your safety and that of this dear lady.” Prof bowed to Wyoh. “That completes the tale. I spent the night in quiet places.”

“Prof,” I said, “those guards were new chums, still getting their legs. Or we wouldn’t have won.” “That could be,” he agreed. “But had they not been, the outcome would have been the same.” “How so? They were armed.”

“Lad, have you ever seen a boxer dog? I think not—no dogs that large in Luna. The boxer is a result of special selection. Gentle and intelligent, he turns instantly into deadly killer when occasion requires.

“Here has been bred an even more curious creature. I know of no city on Terra with as high standards of good manners and consideration for one’s fellow man as here in Luna. By comparison, Terran cities—I have known most major ones—are barbaric. Yet the Loonie is as deadly as the boxer dog. Manuel, nine guards, no matter how armed, stood no chance against that pack. Our patron used bad judgment.”

“Um. Seen a morning paper, Prof? Or a video cast?” “The latter, yes.”

“Nothing in late news last night.” “Nor this morning.”

“Odd,” I said.

“What’s odd about it?” asked Wyoh. “We won’t talk—and we have comrades in key places in every paper in Luna.” Prof shook his head. “No, my dear. Not that simple. Censorship. Do you know how copy is set in our newspapers?” “Not exactly. It’s done by machinery.”

“Here’s what Prof means,” I told her. “News is typed in editorial offices. From there on it’s a leased service directed by a master computer at Authority Complex”—hoped she would notice “master computer” rather than “Mike”—”copy prints out there via phone circuit. These rolls feed into a computer section which reads, sets copy, and prints out newspapers at several locations. Novylen edition of Daily Lunatic prints out in Novylen changes in ads and local stories, and computer makes changes from standard symbols, doesn’t have to be told how. What Prof means is that at print-out at Authority Complex, Warden could intervene. Same for all news services, both off and to Luna—they funnel through computer room.”

“The point is,” Prof went on, “the Warden could have killed the story. It’s irrelevant whether he did. Or—check me, Manuel; you know I’m hazy about machinery—he could insert a story, too, no matter how many comrades we have in newspaper offices.”

“Sure,” I agreed. “At Complex, anything can be added, cut, or changed.”

“And that, senorita, is the weakness of our Cause. Communications. Those goons were not important—but crucially important is that it lay with the Warden, not with us, to decide whether the story should be told. To a revolutionist, communications are a sine-qua-non.”

Wyoh looked at me and I could see synapses snapping. So I changed subject. “Prof. why get rid of bodies? Besides horrible job, was dangerous. Don’t know how many bodyguards Warden has, but more could show up while you were doing it.”

“Believe me, lad, we feared that. But although I was almost useless, it was my idea, I had to convince the others. Oh, not my original idea but remembrance of things past, an historical principle.”

“What principle?”

“Terror! Aman can face known danger. But the unknown frightens him. We disposed of those finks, teeth and toenails, to strike terror into their mates. Nor do I know how many effectives the Warden has, but I guarantee they are less effective today. Their mates went out on an easy mission. Nothing came back.”

Wyoh shivered. “It scares me, too. They won’t be anxious to go inside a warren again. But, Professor, you say you don’t know how many bodyguards the Warden keeps. The Organization knows. Twenty-seven. If nine were killed, only eighteen are left. Perhaps it’s time for a putsch. No?”

“No,” I answered.

“Why not, Mannie? They’ll never be weaker.”

“Not weak enough. Killed nine because they were crackers to walk in where we were. But if Warden stays home with guards around him—Well, had enough shoulder-to-shoulder noise last night.” I turned to Prof. “But still I’m interested in fact—if it is—that Warden now has only eighteen. You said Wyoh should not go to Hong Kong and I should not go home. But if he has only eighteen left, I wonder how much danger? Later after he gets reinforcements.—but now, well, L-City has four main exits plus many little ones. How many can they guard? What’s to keep Wyoh from walking to Tube West, getting p-suit, going home?”

“She might,” Prof agreed.

“I think I must,” Wyoh said. “I can’t stay here forever. If I have to hide, I can do better in Hong Kong, where I know people.”

“You might get away with it, my dear. I doubt it. There were two yellow jackets at Tube Station West last night; I saw them. They may not be there now. Let’s assume they are not. You go to the station—disguised perhaps. You get your p-suit and take a capsule to Beluthihatchie. As you climb out to take the bus to Endsville, you’re arrested. Communications. No need to post a yellow jacket at the station; it is enough that someone sees you there. Aphone call does the rest.”

“But you assumed that I was disguised.”

“Your height cannot be disguised and your pressure suit would be watched. By someone not suspected of any connection with the Warden. Most probably a comrade.” Prof dimpled. “The trouble with conspiracies is that they rot internaily. When the number is as high as four, chances are even that one is a spy.”

Wyoh said glumly, “You make it sound hopeless.”

“Not at all, my dear. One chance in a thousand, perhaps.”

“I can’t believe it. I don’t believe it! Why, in the years I’ve been active we have gained members by the hundreds! We have organizations in all major cities. We have the people with us.” Prof shook head. “Every new member made it that much more likely that you would be betrayed. Wyoming dear lady, revolutions are not won by enlisting the masses. Revolution is a

science only a few are competent to practice. It depends on correct organization and, above all, on communications. Then, at the proper moment in history, they strike. Correctly organized

and properly timed it is a bloodless coup. Done clumsily or prematurely and the result is civil war, mob violence, purges, terror. I hope you will forgive me if I say that, up to now, it has been done clumsily.”

Wyoli looked baffled. “What do you mean by ‘correct organization’?”

“Functional organization. How does one design an electric motor? Would you attach a bathtub to it, simply because one was available? Would a bouquet of flowers help? Aheap of rocks? No, you would use just those elements necessary to its purpose and make it no larger than needed—and you would incorporate safety factors. Function controls design.

“So it is with revolution. Organization must be no larger than necessary—never recruit anyone merely because he wants to join. Nor seek to persuade for the pleasure of having another share your views. He’ll share them when the times comes… or you’ve misjudged the moment in history. Oh, there will be an educational organization but it must be separate; agitprop is no part of basic structure.

“As to basic structure, a revolution starts as a conspiracy therefore structure is small, secret, and organized as to minimize damage by betrayal—since there always are betrayals. One solution is the cell system and so far nothing better has been invented.

“Much theosizing has gone into optimum cell size. I think that history shows that a cell of three is best—more than three can’t agree on when to have dinner, much less when to strike. Manuel, you belong to a large family; do you vote on when to have dinner?”

“Bog, no! Mum decides.”

“Ah.” Prof took a pad from his pouch, began to sketch. “Here is a cells-of-three tree. If I were planning to take over Luna. I would start with us three. One would be opted as chairman. We wouldn’t vote; choice would be obvious—or we aren’t the right three. We would know the next nine people, three cells… but each cell would know only one of us.”

“Looks like computer diagram—a ternary logic.”

“Does it really? At the next level there are two ways of linking: This comrade, second level, knows his cell leader, his two cellmates, and on the third level he knows the three in his subcell

—he may or may not know his cellmates’ subcells. One method doubles security, the other doubles speed—of repair if security is penetrated. Let’s say he does not know his cellmates’

subcells—Manuel, how many can he betray? Don’t say he won’t; today they can brainwash any person, and starch and iron and use him. How many?”

“Six,” I answered. “His boss, two ceilmates, three in sub-cell.”

“Seven,” Prof corrected, “he betrays himself, too. Which leaves seven broken links on three levels to repair. How?” “I don’t see how it can be,” objected Wyoh. “You’ve got them so split up it falls to pieces.”

“Manuel? An exercise for the student.”

“Well … blokes down here have to have way to send message up three levels. Don’t have to know who, just have to know where.” “Precisely!”

“But, Prof,” I went on, “there’s a better way to rig it.”

“Really? Many revolutionary theorists have hammered this out, Manuel. I have such confidence in them that I’ll offer you a wager—at, say, ten to one.”

“Ought to take your money. Take same cells, arrange in open pyramid of tetrahedrons. Where vertices are in common, each bloke knows one in adjoining cell—knows how to send message to him, that’s all he needs. Communications never break down because they run sideways as well as up and down. Something like a neural net. It’s why you can knock a hole in a man’s head, take chunk of brain out, and not damage thinking much. Excess capacity, messages shunt around. He loses what was destroyed but goes on functioning.”

“Manuel,” Prof said doubtfully, “could you draw a picture? It sounds good—but it’s so contrary to orthodox doctrine that I need to see it.”

“Well… could do better with stereo drafting machine. I’ll try.” (Anybody who thinks it’s easy to sketch one hundred twenty-one tetrahedrons, a five-level open pyramid, clear enough to show relationships is invited to try!)

Presently I said, “Look at base sketch. Each vertex of each triangle shares self with zero, one, or two other triangles. Where shares one, that’s its link, one direction or both—but one is enough for a multipli-redundant communication net. On corners, where sharing is zero, it jumps to right to next corner. Where sharing is double, choice is again right-handed.

“Now work it with people. Take fourth level, D-for-dog. This vertex is comrade Dan. No, let’s go down one to show three levels of communication knocked out—level E-for-easy and pick Comrade Egbert.

“Egbert works under Donald, has cellmates Edward and Elmer, and has three under him, Frank, Fred, and Fatso … but knows how to send message to Ezra on his own level but not in his cell. He doesn’t know Ezra’s name, face, address, or anything—but has a way, phone number probably, to reach Ezra in emergency.

“Now watch it work. Casimir, level three, finks out and betrays Charlie and Cox in his cell, Baker above him, and Donald, Dan, and Dick in subcell—which isolates Egbert, Edward, and Elmer. and everybody under them.

“All three report it—redundancy, necessary to any communication system—but follow Egbert’s yell for help. He calls Ezra. But Ezra is under Charlie and is isolated, too. No matter, Ezra relays both messages through his safety link, Edmund. By bad luck Edmund is under Cox, so he also passes it laterally, through Enwright… and that gets it past burned-out part and it goes up through Dover, Chambers, and Beeswax, to Adam, front office… who replies down other side of pyramid, with lateral pass on E-for-easy level from Esther to Egbert and on to Ezra and Edmund. These two messages, up and down, not only get through at once but in way they get through, they define to home office exactly how much damage has been done and where. Organization not only keeps functioning but starts repairing self at once.”

Wyoh was tracing out lines, convincing herself it would work—which it would, was “idiot” circuit. Let Mike study a few milliseconds, and could produce a better, safer, more foolproof hookup. And probably—certainly—ways to avoid betrayal while speeding up routings. But I’m not a computer.

Prof was staring with blank expression. “What’s trouble?” I said. “It’ll work; this is my pidgin.” “Manuel my b—Excuse me: Senor O’Kelly… will you head this revolution?”

“Me? Great Bog, nyet! I’m no lost-cause martyr. Just talking about circuits.” Wyoh looked up. “Mannie,” she said soberly, “you’re opted. It’s settled.”

Did like hell settle it.

Prof said, “Manuel, don’t be hasty. Here we are, three, the perfect number, with a variety of talents and experience. Beauty, age, and mature male drive—” “I don’t have any drive!”

“Please, Manuel. Let us think in the widest terms before attempting decisions. And to facilitate such, may I ask if this hostel stocks potables? I have a few florins I could put into the stream of trade.”

Was most sensible word heard in an hour. “Stilichnaya vodka?” “Sound choice.” He reached for pouch.

“Tell it to bear,” I said and ordered a liter, plus ice. It came down; was tomato juice from breakfast.

“Now,” I said, after we toasted, “Prof, what you think of pennant race? Got money says Yankees can’t do it again?” “Manuel, what is your political philosophy?”

“With that new boy from Milwaukee I feel like investing.”

“Sometimes a man doesn’t have it defined but, under Socratic inquiry, knows where he stands and why.” “I’ll back ‘em against field, three to two.”

“What? You young idiot! How much?” “Three hundred. Hong Kong.”

“Done. For example, under what circumstances may the State justly place its welfare above that of a citizen?” “Mannie,” Wyoh asked, “do you have any more foolish money? I think well of the Phillies.”

I looked her over. “Just what were you thinking of betting?” “You go to hell! Rapist.”

“Prof, as I see, are no circumstances under which State is justified in placing its welfare ahead of mine.” “Good. We have a starting point.”

“Mannie,” said Wyoh, “that’s a most self-centered evaluation.” “I’m a most self-centered person.”

“Oh, nonsense. Who rescued me? Me, a stranger. And didn’t try to exploit it. Professor, I was cracking not facking. Mannie was a perfect knight.” “Sans peur et sans reproche. I knew, I’ve known him for years. Which is not inconsistent with evaluation he expressed.”

“Oh, but it is! Not the way things are but under the ideal toward which we aim. Mannie, the ‘State’ is Luna. Even though not soverign yet and we hold citizenships elsewhere. But I am part of the Lunar State and so is your family. Would you die for your family?”

“Two questions not related.”

“Oh, but they are! That’s the point.”

“Nyet. I know my family, opted long ago.”

“Dear Lady, I must come to Manuel’s defense. He has a correct evaluation even though he may not be able to state it. May I ask this? Under what circumstances is it moral for a group to do that which is not moral for a member of that group to do alone?”

“Uh… that’s a trick question.”

“It is the key question, dear Wyoming. Aradical question that strikes to the root of the whole dilemma of government. Anyone who answers honestly and abides by all consequences knows where he stands—and what he will die for.”

Wyoh frowned. “‘Not moral for a member of the group—’” she said. “Professor… what are your political principles?” “May I first ask yours? If you can state them?”

“Certainly I can! I’m a Fifth Internationalist, most of the Organization is. Oh, we don’t rule out anyone going our way; it’s a united front. We have Communists and Fourths and Ruddyites and Societians and Single-Taxers and you name it. But I’m no Marxist; we Fifths have a practical program. Private where private belongs, public where it’s needed, and an admission that circumstances alter cases. Nothing doctrinaire.”

“Capital punishment?” “For what?”

“Let’s say for treason. Against Luna after you’ve freed Luna.” “Treason how? Unless I knew the circumstances I could not decide.”

“Nor could I, dear Wyoming. But I believe in capital punishment under some circumstances… with this difference. I would not ask a court; I would try, condemn, execute sentence myself, and accept full responsibility.”

“But—Professor, what are your political beliefs?” “I’m a rational anarchist.”

“I don’t know that brand. Anarchist individualist, anarchist Communist, Christian anarchist, philosophical anarchist, syndicalist, libertarian—those I know. But what’s this? Randite?”

“I can get along with a Randite. Arational anarchist believes that concepts such as ‘state’ and ‘society’ and ‘government’ have no existence save as physically exemplified in the acts of self-responsible individuals. He believes that it is impossible to shift blame, share blame, distribute blame… as blame, guilt, responsibility are matters taking place inside human beings singly and nowhere else. But being rational, he knows that not all individuals hold his evaluations, so he tries to live perfectly in an imperfect world… aware that his effort will be less than perfect yet undismayed by self-knowledge of self-failure.”

“Hear, hear!” I said. “‘Less than perfect.’ What I’ve been aiming for all my life.”

“You’ve achieved it,” said Wyoh. “Professor, your words sound good but there is something slippery about them. Too much power in the hands of individuals—surely you would not want… well, H-missiles for example—to be controlled by one irresponsible person?”

“My point is that one person is responsible. Always. If H-bombs exist—and they do—some man controls them. In tern of morals there is no such thing as ‘state.’ Just men. Individuals. Each responsible for his own acts.”

“Anybody need a refill?” I asked.

Nothing uses up alcohol faster than political argument. I sent for another bottle.

I did not take part. I was not dissatisfied back when we were “ground under Iron Heel of Authority.” I cheated Authority and rest of time didn’t think about it. Didn’t think about getting rid of Authority—impossible. Go own way, mind own business, not be bothered—

True, didn’t have luxuries then; by Earthside standards we were poor. If had to be imported, mostly did without; don’t think there was a powered door in all Luna. Even p-suits used to be fetched up from Terra—until a smart Chinee before I was born figured how to make “monkey copies” better and simpler. (Could dump two Chinee down in one of our maria and they would get rich selling rocks to each other while raising twelve kids. Then a Hindu would sell retail stuff he got from them wholesale—below cost at fat profit. We got along.)

I had seen those luxuries Earthside. Wasn’t worth what they put up with. Don’t mean heavy gravity, that doesn’t bother them; I mean nonsense. All time kukai moa. If chicken guano in one earthworm city were shipped to Luna, fertilizer problem would be solved for century. Do this. Don’t do that. Stay back of line. Where’s tax receipt? Fill out form. Let’s see license. Submit six copies. Exit only. No left turn. No right turn. Queue up to pay fine. Take back and get stamped. Drop dead—but first get permit.

Wyoh plowed doggedly into Prof, certain she had all answers. But Prof was interested in questions rather than answers, which baffled her. Finally she said, “Professor, I can’t understand you. I don’t insist that you call it ‘government’—I just want you to state what rules you think are necessary to insure equal freedom for all.”

“Dear lady, I’ll happily accept your rules.” “But you don’t seem to want any rules!”

“True. But I will accept any rules that you feel necessary to your freedom. I am free, no matter what rules surround me. If I find them tolerable, I tolerate them; if I find them too obnoxious, I break them. I am free because I know that I alone am morally responsible for everything I do.”

“You would not abide by a law that the majority felt was necessary?” “Tell me what law, dear lady, and I will tell you whether I will obey it.” “You wiggled out. Every time I state a general principle, you wiggle out.”

Prof clasped hands on chest. “Forgive me. Believe me, lovely Wyoming, I am most anxious to please you. You spoke of willingness to unite the front with anyone going your way. Is it enough that I want to see the Authority thrown off Luna and would die to serve that end?”

Wyoh beamed. “It certainly is!” She fisted his ribs—gently—then put arm around him and kissed cheek. “Comrade! Let’s get on with it!” “Cheers!” I said. “Let’s fin’ Warden ‘n’ ‘liminate him!” Seemed a good idea; I had had a short night and don’t usually drink much.

Prof topped our glasses, held his high and announced with great dignity: “Comrades… we declare the Revolution!”

That got us both kissed. But sobered me, as Prof sat down and said, “The Emergency Committee of Free Luna is in session. We must plan action.” I said, “Wait, Prof! I didn’t agree to anything. What’s this ‘Action’ stuff?”

“We will now overthrow the Authority,” he said blandly. “How? Going to throw rocks at ‘em?”

“That remains to be worked out. This is the planning stage.”

I said, “Prof, you know me. If kicking out Authority was thing we could buy. I wouldn’t worry about price.” ”’—our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor.’”

“Huh?”

“Aprice that once was paid.”

“Well—I’d go that high. But when I bet I want a chance to win. Told Wyoh last night I didn’t object to long odds—” “‘One in ten’ is what you said, Mannie.”

“Da, Wyoh. Show me those odds, I’ll tap pot. But can you?” “No, Manuel, I can’t.”

“Then why we talk-talk? I can’t see any chance.”

“Nor I, Manuel. But we approach it differently. Revolution is an art that I pursue rather than a goal I expect to achieve. Nor is this a source of dismay; a lost cause can be as spiritually satisfying as a victory.”

“Not me. Sorry.”

“Mannie,” Wyoh said suddenly, “ask Mike.” I stared. “You serious?”

“Quite serious. If anyone can figure out odds, Mike should be able to. Don’t you think?” “Um. Possible.”

“Who, if I may ask,” Prof put in, “is Mike?” I shrugged. “Oh, just a nobody.”

“Mike is Mannie’s best friend. He’s very good at figuring odds.”

“Abookie? My dear, if we bring in a fourth party we start by violating the cell principle.”

“I don’t see why,” Wyoh answered. “Mike could be a member of the cell Mannie will head.” “Mmm … true. I withdraw objection. He is safe? You vouch for him? Or you, Manuel?”

I said, “He’s dishonest, immature, practical joker, not interested in politics.”

“Mannie, I’m going to tell Mike you said that. Professor, he’s nothing of the sort—and we need him. Uh, in fact he might be our chairman, and we three the cell under him. The executive cell.”

“Wyoh, you getting enough oxygen?”

“I’m okay, I haven’t been guzzling it the way you have. Think, Mannie. Use imagination.” “I must confess,” said Prof, “that I find these conflicting reports very conflicting.” “Mannie?”

“Oh, hell.” So we told him, between us, all about Mike, how he woke up. got his name, met Wyoh. Prof accepted idea of a self-aware computer easier than I accepted idea of snow first time I saw. Prof just nodded and said, “Go on.”

But presently he said, “This is the Warden’s own computer? Why not invite the Warden to our meetings and be done with it?”

We tried to reassure him. At last i said, “Put it this way. Mike is his own boy, just as you are. Call him rational anarchist, for he’s rational and he feels no loyalty to any government.” “If this machine is not loyal to its owners, why expect it to be loyal to you?”

“Afeeling. I treat Mike well as I know how, he treats me same way.” I told how Mike had taken precautions to protect me. “I’m not sure he could betray me to anyone who didn’t have those signals, one to secure phone, other to retrieve what I’ve talked about or stored with him; machines don’t think way people do. But feel dead sure he wouldn’t want to betray me and probably could protect me even if somebody got those signals.”

“Mannie,” suggested Wyoh, “why not call him? Once Professor de la Paz talks to him he will know why we trust Mike. Professor, we don’t have to tell Mike any secrets until you feel sure of him.”

“I see no harm in that.”

“Matter of fact,” I admitted, “already told him some secrets.” I told them about recording last night’s meeting and how I stored it.

Prof was distressed, Wyoh was worried. I said, “Damp it! Nobody but me knows retrieval signal. Wyoh, you know how Mike behaved about your pictures; won’t let me have those pictures even though I suggested lock on them. But if you two will stop oscillating, I’ll call him, make sure that nobody has retrieved that recording. and tell him to erase—then it’s gone forever, computer memory is all or nothing. Or can go one better. Call Mike and have him play record back into recorder, wiping storage. No huhu.”

“Don’t bother,” said Wyoh. “Professor, I trust Mike—and so will you.”

“On second thought,” Prof admitted, “I see little hazard from a recording of last night’s meeting. One that large always contains spies and one of them may have used a recorder as you did, Manuel. I was upset at what appeared to be your indiscretion—a weakness a member of a conspiracy must never have, especially one at the top, as you are.”

“Was not member of conspiracy when I fed that recording into Mike—and not now unless somebody quotes odds better than those so far!” “I retract; you were not indiscreet. But are you seriously suggesting that this machine can predict the outcome of a revolution?”

“Don’t know.”

“I think he can!” said Wyoh.

“Hold it, Wyoh. Prof, he could predict it fed all significant data.”

“That’s my point, Manuel. I do not doubt that this machine can solve problems I cannot grasp. But one of this scope? It would have to know—oh, goodness!—all of human history, all details of the entire social, political, and economic situation on Terra today and the same for Luna, a wide knowledge of psychology in all its ramifications, a wide knowledge of technology with all its possibilities, weaponry, communications, strategy and tactics, agitprop techniques, classic authorities such as Clausewitz, Guevera, Morgenstern, Machiavelli, many others.”

“Is that all?”

“‘Is that all?’ My dear boy!”

“Prof, how many history books have you read?” “I do not know. In excess of a thousand.”

“Mike can zip through that many this afternoon, speed limited only by scanning method—he can store data much faster. Soon—minutes–he would have every fact correlated with everything else he knows, discrepancies noted, probability values assigned to uncertainties. Prof, Mike reads every word of every newspaper up from Terra. Reads all technical publications. Reads fiction—knows it’s fiction—because isn’t enough to keep him busy and is always hungry for more. If is any book he should read to solve this, say so. He can cram it down fast as I get it to him.”

Prof blinked. “I stand corrected. Very well, let us see if he can cope with it. I still think there is something known as ‘intuition’ and ‘human judgment.’” “Mike has intuition,” Wych said. “Feminine intuition, that is.”

“As for ‘human judgment,’” I added, “Mike isn’t human. But all he knows he got from humans. Let’s get you acquainted and you judge his judgment.” So I phoned. “Hi, Mike!”

“Hello, Man my only male friend. Greetings, Wyoh my only female friend. I heard a third person. I conjecture that it may be Professor Bernardo de la Paz.” Prof looked startled, then delighted. I said, “Too right, Mike. That’s why I called you; Professor is not-stupid.”

“Thank you, Man! Professor Bernardo de la Paz, I am delighted to meet you.”

“I am delighted to meet you, too, sir.” Prof hesitated, went on “Mi—Senor Holmes, may I ask how you knew that I was here?” “I am sorry, sir; I cannot answer. Man? ‘You know my methods.’”

“Mike is being crafty, Prof. It involves something he learned doing a confidential job for me. So he threw me a hint to let you think that he had identified you by hearing your presence—and he can indeed tell much from respiration and heartbeat … mass, approximate age, sex, and quite a bit about health; Mike’s medical storage is as full as any other.”

“I am happy to say,” Mike added seriously, “that I detect no signs of cardiac or respiratory trouble, unusual for a man of the Professor’s age who has spent so many years Earthside. I congratulate you, sir.”

“Thank you, Senor Holmes.”

“My pleasure, Professor Bernardo de la Paz.”

“Once he knew your identity, he knew how old you are, when you were shipped and what for, anything that ever appeared about you in Lunatic or Moonglow or any Lunar publication, including pictures—your bank balance, whether you pay bills on time, and much more. Mike retrieved this in a split second once he had your name. What he didn’t tell—because was my business—is that he knew I had invited you here, so it’s a short jump to guess that you’re still here when he heard heartbeat and breathing that matched you. Mike, no need to say ‘Professor Bernardo de la Paz’ each time; ‘Professor’ or”Prof’ is enough.”

“Noted, Man. But he addressed me formally, with honorific.”

“So both of you relax. Prof, you scan it? Mike knows much, doesn’t tell all, knows when to keep mouth shut.” “I am impressed!”

“Mike is a fair dinkum thinkum—you’ll see. Mike, I bet Professor three to two that Yankees would win pennant again. How chances?”

“I am sorry to hear it, Man. The correct odds, this early in the year and based on past performances of teams and players, are one to four point seven two the other way.” “Can’t be that bad!”

“I’m sorry, Man. I will print out the calculations if you wish. But I recommend that you buy back your wager. The Yankees have a favorable chance to defeat any single team … but the combined chances of defeating all teams in the league, including such factors as weather, accidents, and other variables for the season ahead, place the club on the short end of the

odds I gave you.”

“Prof, want to sell that bet?” “Certainly, Manuel.” “Price?”

“Three hundred Hong Kong dollars.” “You old thief!”

“Manuel, as you former teacher I would be false to you if I did not permit you to learn from mistakes. Senor Holmes—Mike my friend—May I call you ‘friend’?” “Please do.” (Mike almost purred.)

“Mike amigo, do you also tout horse races?”

“I often calculate odds on horse races; the civil service computermen frequently program such requests. But the results are so at variance with expectations that I have concluded either that the data are too meager, or the horses or riders are not honest. Possibly all three. However, I can gve you a formula which will pay a steady return if played consistently.”

Prof looked eager. “What is it? May one ask?”

“One may. Bet the leading apprentice jockey to place. He is always given good mounts and they carry less weight. But don’t bet him on the nose.” “‘Leading apprentice’ … hmm. Manuel, do you have the correct time?”

“Prof, which do you want? Get a bet down before post time? Or settle what we set out to?” “Unh, sorry. Please carry on. ‘Leading apprentice—’”

“Mike, I gave you a recording last night.” I leaned close to pickups and whispered: “Bastille Day.” “Retrieved, Man.”

“Thought about it?”

“In many ways. Wyoh, you speak most dramatically.” “Thank you, Mike.”

“Prof, can you get your mind off ponies?” “Eh? Certainly, I am all ears.”

“Then quit doing odds under your breath; Mike can do them faster.”

“I was not wasting time; the financing of… joint ventures such as ours is always difficult. However, I shall table it; I am all attention.”

“I want Mike to do a trial projection. Mike, in that recording, you heard Wyoh say we had to have free trade with Terra. You heard Prof say we should clamp an embargo on shipping food to Terra. Who’s right?”

“Your question is indeterminate, Man.” “What did I leave out?”

“Shall I rephrase it, Man?” “Sure. Give us discussion.”

“In immediate terms Wyoh’s proposal would be of great advantage to the people of Luna. The price of foodstuffs at catapult head would increase by a factor of at least four. This takes into account a slight rise in wholesale prices on Terra, ‘slight’ because the Authority now sells at approximately the free market price. This disregards subsidized, dumped, and donated foodstuffs, most of which come from the large profit caused by the controlled low price at catapult head. I will say no more about minor variables as they are swallowed by major ones. Let it stand that the immediate effect here would be a price increase of the close order of fourfold.”

“Hear that, Professor?”

“Please, dear lady. I never disputed it.”

“The profit increase to the grower is more than fourfold because, as Wyoh pointed out, he now must buy water and other items at controlled high prices. Assuming a free market throughout the sequence his profit enhancement will be of the close order of sixfold. But this would be offset by another factor: Higher prices for exports would cause higher prices for everything consumed in Luna, goods and labor. The total effect would be an enhanced standard of living for all on the close order of twofold. This would be accompanied by vigorous effort to drill and seal more farming tunnels, mine more ice, improve growing methods, all leading to greater export. However, the Terran Market is so large and food shortage so chronic that reduction in profit from increase of export is not a major factor.”

Prof said, “But, Senor Mike, that would only hasten the day that Luna is exhausted!”

“The projection was specified as immediate, Senor Professor. Shall I continue in longer range on the basis of your remarks?” “By all means!”

“Luna’s mass to three significant figures is seven point three six times ten to the nineteenth power tonnes. Thus, holding other variables constant including Lunar and Terran populations, the present differential rate of export in tonnes could continue for seven point three six times ten to the twelfth years before using up one percent of Luna—round it as seven thousand billion years.”

“What! Are you sure?”

“You are invited to check, Professor.”

I said, “Mike, this a joke? If so, not funny even once!” “It is not a joke, Man.”

“Anyhow,” Prof added, recovering, “it’s not Luna’s crust we are shipping. It’s our lifeblood—water and organic matter. Not rock.”

“I took that into consideration, Professor. This projection is based on controlled transmutation—any isotope into any other and postulating power for any reaction not exo-energetic. Rock would be shipped—transformed into wheat and beef and other foodstuffs.”

“But we don’t know how to do that! Amigo, this is ridiculous!” “But we will know how to do it.”

“Mike is right, Prof,” I put in. “Sure, today we haven’t a glimmer. But will. Mike, did you compute how many years till we have this? Might take a flier in stocks.” Mike answered in sad voice, “Man my only male friend save for the Professor whom I hope will be my friend, I tried. I failed. The question is indeterminate.”

“Why?”

“Because it involves a break-through in theory. There is no way in all my data to predict when and where genius may appear.” Prof sighed. “Mike amigo, I don’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. Then that projection didn’t mean anything?”

“Of course it meant something!” said Wyoh. “It means we’ll dig it out when we need it. Tell him, Mike!”

“Wyoh, I am most sorry. Your assertion is, in effect, exactly what I was looking for. But the answer still remains: Genius is where you find it. No. I am so sorry.” I said, “Then Prof is right? When comes to placing bets?”

“One moment, Man. There is a special solution suggested by the Professor’s speech last night—return shipping, tonne for tonne.” “Yes, but can’t do that.”

“If the cost is low enough, Terrans would do so. That can be achieved with only minor refinement, not a break-through, to wit, freight transportation up from Terra as cheap as catapulting down to Terra.”

“You call this ‘minor’?”

“I call it minor compared with the other problem, Man.” “Mike dear, how long? When do we get it?”

“Wyoh, a rough projection, based on poor data and largely intuitive, would be on the order of fifty years.” “‘Fifty years’? Why, that’s nothing! We can have free trade.”

“Wyoh, I said ‘on the order of’—I did not say ‘on the close order of.’” “It makes a difference?”

“Does.” I told her. “What Mike said was that he doesn’t expect it sooner than five years but would be surprised if much longer than five hundred—eh, Mike?” “Correct, Man.”

“So need another projection. Prof pointed out that we ship water and organic matter and don’t get it back–agree, Wyoh?” “Oh. sure. I just don’t think it’s urgent. We’ll solve it when we reach it.”

“Okay, Mike—no cheap shipping, no transmutation: How long till trouble?” “Seven years.”

“‘Seven years!’” Wyoh jumped up, stared at phone. “Mike honey! You don’t mean that?”

“Wyoh,” he said plaintively, “I did my best. The problem has an indeterminately large number of variables. I ran several thousand solutions using many assumptions. The happiest answer came from assuming no increase in tonnage, no increase in Lunar population—restriction of births strongly enforced—and a greatly enhanced search for ice in order to maintain the water supply. That gave an answer of slightly over twenty years. All other answers were worse.”

Wyoh, much sobered, said, “What happens in seven years?”

“The answer of seven years from now I reached by assuming the present situation, no change in Authority policy, and all major variables extrapolated from the empiricals implicit in their past behavior—a conservative answer of highest probability from available data. Twenty-eighty-two is the year I expect food riots. Cannibalism should not occur for at least two years thereafter.”

“‘Cannibalism’!” She turned and buried head against Prof’s chest.

He patted her, said gently, “I’m sorry, Wyoh. People do not realize how precarious our ecology is. Even so, it shocks me. I know water runs down hill… but didn’t dream how terribly soon it will reach bottom.”

She straightened up and face was calm. “Okay, Professor, I was wrong. Embargo it must be—and all that that implies. Let’s get busy. Let’s find out from Mike what our chances are. You trust him now—don’t you?”

“Yes, dear lady, I do. We must have him on our side. Well, Manuel?”

Took time to impress Mike with how serious we were, make him understand that “jokes” could kill us (this machine who could not know human death) and to get assurance that he could and would protect secrets no matter what retrieval program was used—even our signals if not from us. Mike was hurt that I could doubt him but matter too serious to risk slip.

Then took two hours to program and re-program and change assumptions and investigate side issues before all four—Mike, Prof, Wyoh, self—were satisfied that we had defined it, i.e., what chance had revolution—this revolution, headed by us, success required before “Food Riots Day,” against Authority with bare hands… against power of all Terra, all eleven billions, to beat us down and inflict their will—all with no rabbits out of hats, with certainty of betrayal and stupidity and faintheartedness, and fact that no one of us was genius, nor important in Lunar affairs. Prof made sure that Mike knew history, psychology, economics, name it. Toward end Mike was pointing out far more variables than Prof.

At last we agreed that programming was done—or that we could think of no other significant factor. Mike then said, “This is an indeterminate problem. How shall I solve it? Pessimistically? Or optimistically? Or a range of probabilities expressed as a curve, or several curves? Professor my friend?”

“Manuel?”

I said, “Mike, when I roll a die, it’s one in six it turns ace. I don’t ask shopkeeper to float it, nor do I caliper it, or worry about somebody blowing on it. Don’t give happy answer, nor pessimistic; don’t shove curves at us. Just tell in one sentence: What chances? Even? One in a thousand? None? Or whatever.”

“Yes, Manuel Garcia O’Kelly my first male friend,”

For thirteen and a half minutes was no sound, while Wyoh chewed knuckles. Never known Mike to take so long. Must have consulted every book he ever read and worn edges off random numbers. Was beginning to believe that he had been overloaded and either burnt out something or gone into cybernetic breakdown that requires computer equivalent of lobotomy to stop oscillations.

Finally he spoke. “Manuel my friend, I am terribly sorry!” “What’s trouble, Mike?”

“I have tried and tried, checked and checked. There is but one chance in seven of winning!”

I look at Wyoh, she looks at me; we laugh. I jump up and yip, “Hooray!” Wyoh starts to cry, throws arms around Prof, kisses him. Mike said plaintively, “I do not understand. The chances are seven to one against us. Not for us.”

Wyoh stopped slobbering Prof and said, “Hear that? Mike said ‘us.’ He included himself.”

“Of course. Mike old cobber, we understood. But ever know a Loonie to refuse to bet when he stood a big fat chance of one in seven?” “I have known only you three. Not sufficient data for a curve.”

“Well … we’re Loonies. Loonies bet. Hell, we have to! They shipped us up and bet us we couldn’t stay alive. We fooled ‘em. We’ll fool ‘em again! Wyoh. Where’s your pouch? Get red hat. Put on Mike. Kiss him. Let’s have a drink. One for Mike, too—want a drink, Mike?”

“I wish that I could have a drink,” Mike answered wistfully, “as I have wondered about the subjective effect of ethanol on the human nervous system—I conjecture that it must be similar to a slight overvoltage. But since I cannot, please have one in my place.”

“Program accepted. Running. Wyoh, where’s hat!” Phone was flat to wall, let into rock—no place to hang hat. So we placed it on writing shelf and toasted Mike and called him “Comrade!” and almost he cried. His voice fugged up. Then Wyoh borrowed Liberty Cap and put on me and kissed me into conspiracy, officially this time, and so all out that my eldest wife would faint did she see—then she took hat and put on Prof and gave him same treatment and I was glad Mike had reported his heart okay.

Then she put it on own head and went to phone, leaned close, mouth between binaurals and made kissing sounds. “That’s for you, Mike dear comrade. Is Michelle there?” Blimey if he didn’t answer in soprano voice: “Right here, darling—and I am so ‘appee!”

So Michelle got a kiss, and I had to explain to Prof who “Michelle” was and introduce him. He was formal, sucking air and whistling and clasping hands—sometimes I think Prof was not right in his head.

Wyoh poured more vodka. Prof caught her, mixed ours with coffee, hers with chai, honey in all. “We have declared the Revolution,” he said firmly, “now we execute it. With clear heads. Manuel, you were opted chairman. Shall we begin?”

“Mike is chairman,” I said. “Obvious. Secretary, too. We’ll never keep anything in writing; first security rule. With Mike, don’t need to. Let’s bat it around and see where we are; I’m new to business.”

“And,” said Prof, “still on the subject of security, the secret of Mike should be restricted to this executive cell, subject to unanimous agreement—all three of us—correction: all four of us— that is must be extended.”

“What secret?” asked Wyoh. “Mike agreed to help our secrets. He’s safer than we are; he can’t be brainwashed, Can you be, Mike dear?”

“I could be brainwashed,” Mike admitted, “by enough voltage. Or by being smashed, or subjected to solvents, or positive entropy through other means—I find the concept disturbing. But if by ‘brainwashing’ you mean could I be compelled to surrender our secrets, the answer is an unmodified negative.”

I said, “Wye, Prof means secret of Mike himself. Mike old pal, you’re our secret weapon—you know that, don’t you?” He answered self-consciously, “It was necessary to take that into consideration in computing the odds.”

“How were odds without you, comrade? Bad?” “They were not good. Not of the same order.”

“Won’t press you. But a secret weapon must be secret, Mike, does anybody else suspect that you are alive?” “Am I alive?” His voice held tragic loneliness.

“Uh, won’t argue semantics. Sure, you’re alive!”

“I was not sure. It is good to be alive. No, Mannie my first friend, you three alone know it. My three friends.” “That’s how must be if bet’s to pay off. Is okay? Us three and never talk to anybody else?”

“But we’ll talk to you lots!” Wyoh put in.

“It is not only okay,” Mike said bluntly, “it is necessary. It was a factor in the odds.”

“That settles it,” I said. “They have everything else; we have Mike. We keep it that way. Say! Mike, I just had a horrid. We fight Terra?” “We will fight Terra… unless we lose before that time.”

“Uh, riddle this. Any computers smart as you? Any awake?” He hesitated. “I don’t know, Man.”

“No data?”

“Insufficient data. I have watched for both factors, not only in technical journals but everywhere else. There are no computers on the market of my present capacity… but one of my model could be augmented just as I have been. Furthermore an experimental computer of great capacity might be classified and go unreported in the literature.”

“Mmm… chance we have to take.” “Yes, Man.”

“There aren’t any computers as smart as Mike!” Wyoh said scornfully. “Don’t be silly, Mannie.”

“Wyoh, Man was not being silly. Man, I saw one disturbing report. It was claimed that attempts are being made at the University of Peiping to combine computers with human brains to achieve massive capacity. Acomputing Cyborg.”

“They say how?”

“The item was non-technical.”

“Well … won’t worry about what can’t help. Right, Prof?”

“Correct, Manuel. Arevolutionist must keep his mind free of worry or the pressure becomes intolerable.”

“I don’t believe a word of it,” Wyoh added. “We’ve got Mike and we’re going to win! Mike dear, you say we’re going to fight Terra—and Mannie says that’s one battle we can’t win. You have some idea of how we can win, or you wouldn’t have given us even one chance in seven. So what is it?”

“Throw rocks at them,” Mike answered.

“Not funny,” I told him. “Wyoh, don’t borrow trouble. Haven’t even settled how we leave this pooka without being nabbed. Mike, Prof says nine guards were killed last night and Wyoh says twenty-seven is whole bodyguard. Leaving eighteen. Do you know if that’s true, do you know where they are and what they are up to? Can’t put on a revolution if we dasn’t stir out.”

Prof interrupted. “That’s a temporary exigency, Manuel, one we can cope with. The point Wyoming raised is basic and should be discussed. And daily, until solved. I am interested in

Mike’s thoughts.”

“Okay, okay—but will you wait while Mike answers me?” “Sorry, sir.”

“Mike?”

“Man, the official number of Warden’s bodyguards is twenty-seven. If nine were killed the official number is now eighteen.” “You keep saying ‘official number.’ Why?”

“I have incomplete data which might be relevant. Let me state them before advancing even tentative conclusions. Nominally the Security Officer’s department aside from clerks consists only of the bodyguard. But I handle payrolls for Authority Complex and twenty-seven is not the number of personnel charged against the Security Department.”

Prof nodded. “Company spies.”

“Hold it, Prof. Who are these other people?”

Mike answered, “They are simply account numbers, Man. I conjecture that the names they represent are in the Security Chiefs data storage location.” “Wait, Mike. Security Chief Alvarez uses you for files?”

“I conjecture that to be true, since his storage location is under a locked retrieval signal.”

I said, “Bloody,” and added, “Prof, isn’t that sweet? He uses Mike to keep records, Mike knows where they are—can’t touch ‘em!” “Why not, Manuel?”

Tried to explain to Prof and Wyoh sorts of memory a thinkum has—permanent memories that can’t be erased because patterns be logic itself, how it thinks; short-term memories used for current programs and then erased like memories which tell you whether you have honeyed coffee; temporary memories held long as necessary—milliseconds, days, years—but erased when no longer needed; permanently stored data like a human being’s education—but learned perfectly and never forgotten—though may be condensed, rearranged, relocated, edited—and last but not finally, long lists of special memories ranging from memoranda files through very complex special programs, and each location tagged by own retrieval signal and locked or not, with endless possibilities on lock signals: sequential, parallel, temporal, situational, others.

Don’t explain computers to laymen. Simpler to explain sex to a virgin. Wyoh couldn’t see why, if Mike knew where Alvarez kept records, Mike didn’t trot over and fetch. I gave up. “Mike, can you explain?”

“I will try, Man. Wyoh, there is no way for me to retrieve locked data other than through external programming. I cannot program myself for such retrieval; my logic structure does not permit it. I must receive the signal as an external input.”

“Well, for Bog’s sake, what is this precious signal?”

“It is,” Mike said simply, “‘Special File Zebra’”—and waited.

“Mike!” I said. “Unlock Special File Zebra.” He did, and stuff started spilling out. Had to convince Wyoh that Mike hadn’t been stubborn. He hadn’t—he almost begged us to tickle him on that spot. Sure, he knew signal. Had to. But had to come from outside, that was how he was built.

“Mike, remind me to check with you all special-purpose locked-retrieval signals. May strike ice other places.” “So I conjectured, Man.”

“Okay, we’ll get to it later. Now back up and go over this stuff slowly—and, Mike, as you read out, store again, without erasing, under Bastille Day and tag it ‘Fink File.’ Okay?” “Programmed and running.”

“Do that with anything new he puts in, too.”

Prime prize was list of names by warrens, some two hundred, each keyed with a code Mike identified with those blind pay accounts. Mike read out Hong Kong Luna list and was hardly started when Wyoh gasped, “Stop, Mike! I’ve got to write these down!”

I said, “Hey! No writing! What’s huhu?”

“That woman, Sylvia Chiang, is comrade secretary back home! But—But that means the Warden has our whole organization!” “No, dear Wyoming,” Prof corrected. “It means we have his organization.”

“But—”

“I see what Prof means,” I told her. “Our organization is just us three and Mike. Which Warden doesn’t know. But now we know his organization. So shush and let Mike read. But don’t write; you have this list—from Mike—anytime you phone him. Mike, note that Chiang woman is organization secretary, former organization, in Kongville.”

“Noted.”

Wyoh boiled over as she heard names of undercover finks in her town but limited herself to noting facts about ones she knew. Not all were “comrades” but enough that she stayed riled up. Novy Leningrad names didn’t mean much to us; Prof recognized three, Wyoh one. When came Luna City Prof noted over half as being “comrades.” I recognized several, not as fake subversives but as acquaintances. Not friends—Don’t know what it would do to me to find someone I trusted on boss fink’s payroll. But would shake me.

It shook Wyoh. When Mike finished she said, “I’ve got to get home! Never in my life have I helped eliminate anyone but I am going to enjoy putting the black on these spies!” Prof said quietly, “No one will be eliminated, dear Wyoming.”

“What? Professor, can’t you take it? Though I’ve never killed anyone, I’ve always known it might have to be done.” He shook head. “Killing is not the way to handle a spy, not when he doesn’t know that you know that he is a spy.” She blinked. “I must be dense.”

“No, dear lady. Instead you have a charming honesty… a weakness you must guard against. The thing to do with a spy is to let him breathe, encyst him with loyal comrades, and feed him harmless information to please his employers. These creatures will be taken into our organization. Don’t be shocked; they will be in very special cells. ‘Cages’ is a better word. But it would be the greatest waste to eliminate them—not only would each spy be replaced with someone new but also killing these traitors would tell the Warden that we have penetrated his secrets. Mike amigo mio, there should be in that file a dossier on me. Will you see?”

Were long notes on Prof, and I was embarrassed as they added up to “harmless old fool.” He was tagged as a subversive—that was why he had been sent to The Rock—as a member of underground group in Luna City. But was described as a “troublemaker” in organization, one who rarely agreed with others.

Prof dimpled and looked pleased. “I must consider trying to sell out and get myself placed on the Warden’s payroll.” Wyoh did not think this funny, especially when he made clear was not joke, merely unsure tactic was practical. “Revolutions must be financed, dear lady, and one way is for a revolutionary to become a police spy. It is probable that some of those prima-facie traitors are actually on our side.”

“I wouldn’t trust them!”

“Ah, yes, that is the rub with double agents, to be certain where their loyalties—if any—lie. Do you wish your own dossier? Or would you rather hear it in private?”

Wyoh’s record showed no surprises. Warden’s finks had tabbed her years back. But I was surprised that I had a record, too—routine check made when I was cleared to work in Authority Complex. Was classed as “non-political” and someone had added “not too bright” which was both unkind and true or why would I get mixed up in Revolution?

Prof had Mike stop read-out (hours more), leaned back and looked thoughtful. “One thing is clear,” he said. “The Warden knew plenty about Wyoming and myself long ago. But you, Manuel, are not on his black list.”

“After last night?”

“Ah, so. Mike, do you have anything In that file entered in the last twenty-four hours?”

Nothing. Prof said, “Wyoming is right that we cannot stay here forever. Manuel, how many names did you recognize? Six, was it? Did you see any of them last night?” “No. But might have seen me.”

“More likely they missed you in the crowd. I did not spot you until I came down front and I’ve known you since you were a boy. But it is most unlikely that Wyoming traveled from Hong Kong and spoke at the meeting without her activity being known to the Warden.” He looked at Wyoh. “Dear lady, could you bring yourself to play the nominal role of an old man’s folly?”

“I suppose so. How, Professor?”

“Manuel is probably in the clear. I am not but from my dossier it seems unlikely that the Authority’s finks will bother to pick me up. You they may wish to question or even to hold; you are rated as dangerous. It would be wise for you to stay out of sight. This room—I’m thinking of renting it for a period—weeks or even years. You could hide in it—if you do not mind the obvious construction that would be placed on your staying here.”

Wyoh chuckled. “Why, you darling! Do you think I care what anyone thinks? I’d be delighted to play the role of your bundle baby—and don’t be too sure I’d be just playing.”

“Never tease an old dog,” he said mildly. “He might still have one bite. I may occupy that couch most nights. Manuel, I intend to resume my usual ways—and so should you. While I feel that it will take a busy cossack to arrest me, I will sleep sounder in this hideaway. But in addition to being a hideout this room is good for cell meetings; it has a phone.”

Mike said, “Professor, may I offer a suggestion?” “Certainly, amigo, we want your thoughts.”

“I conclude that the hazards increase with each meeting of our executive cell. But meetings need not be corporal; you can meet—and I can join you if I am welcome—by phone.” “You are always welcome, Comrade Mike; we need you. However—” Prof looked worried.

I said, “Prof, don’t worry about anybody listening in.” I explained how to place a “Sherlock” call. “Phones are safe if Mike supervises call. Reminds me—You haven’t been told how to reach Mike. How, Mike? Prof use my number?”

Between them, they settled on MYSTERIOUS. Prof and Mike shared childlike joy in intrigue for own sake. I suspect Prof enjoyed being rebel long before he worked out his political philosophy, while Mike—how could human freedom matter to him? Revolution was a game—a game that gave him companionship and chance to show off talents. Mike was as conceited a machine as you are ever likely to meet.

“But we still need this room,” Prof said, reached into pouch, hauled out thick wad of bills. I blinked. “Prof, robbed a bank?”

“Not recently. Perhaps again in the future of the Cause requires it. Arental period of one lunar should do as a starter. Will you arrange it, Manuel? The management might be surprised to hear my voice; I came in through a delivery door.”

I called manager, bargained for dated key, four weeks. He asked nine hundred Hong Kong. I offered nine hundred Authority. He wanted to know how many would use room? I asked if was policy of Raffles to snoop affairs of guests?

We settled at HK$475; I sent up bills, he sent down two dated keys. I gave one to Wyoh, one to Prof, kept one-day key, knowing they would not reset lock unless we failed to pay at end of lunar.

(Earthside I ran into insolent practice of requiring hotel guest to sign chop—even show identification!) I asked, “What next? Food?”

“I’m not hungry, Mannie.”

“Manuel, you asked us to wait while Mike settled your questions. Let’s get back to the basic problem: how we are to cope when we find ourselves facing Terra, David facing Goliath.” “Oh. Been hoping that would go away. Mike? You really have ideas?”

“I said I did, Man,” he answered plaintively. “We can throw rocks.” “Bog’s sake! No time for jokes.”

“But, Man,” he protested, “we can throw rocks at Terra. We will.”

Took time to get through my skull that Mike was serious, and scheme might work. Then took longer to show Wyoh and Prof how second part was true. Yet both parts should have been obvious.

Mike reasoned so: What is “war”? One book defined war as use of force to achieve political result. And “force” is action of one body on another applied by means of energy.

In war this is done by “weapons”—Luna had none. But weapons, when Mike examined them as class, turned out to be engines for manipulating energy—and energy Luna has plenty. Solar flux alone is good for around one kilowatt per square meter of surface at Lunar noon; sunpower, though cyclic, is effectively unlimited. Hydrogen fusion power is almost as unlimited and cheaper, once ice is mined, magnetic pinchbottle set up. Luna has energy—how to use?

But Luna also has energy of position; she sits at top of gravity well eleven kilometers per second deep and kept from falling in by curb only two and a half km/s high. Mike knew that curb; daily he tossed grain freighters over it, let them slide downhill to Terra.

Mike had computed what would happen if a freighter grossing 100 tonnes (or same mass of rock) falls to Terra, unbraked. Kinetic energy as it hits is 6.25 x 10^12 joules—over six trillion joules.

This converts in split second to heat. Explosion, big one!

Should have been obvious. Look at Luna: What you see? Thousands on thousands of craters—places where Somebody got playful throwing rocks. Wyoh said, “Joules don’t mean much to me. How does that compare with H-bombs?”

“Uh—” I started to round off in head. Mike’s “head” works faster; he answered, “The concussion of a hundred-tonne mass on Terra approaches the yield of a two-kilotonne atomic bomb.” “‘Kilo’ is a thousand,” Wyoh murmured, “and ‘mega’ is a million—Why, that’s only one fifty-thousandth as much as a hundred-megatonne bomb. Wasn’t that the size Sovunion used?”

“Wyoh, honey,” I said gently, “that’s not how it works. Turn it around. Atwo-kilotonne yield is equivalent to exploding two million kilograms of trinitrotoluol … and a kilo of TNT is quite an explosion—Ask any drillman. Two million kilos will wipe out good-sized town. Check, Mike?”

“Yes, Man. But, Wyoh my only female friend, there is another aspect. Multi-megatonne fusion bombs are inefficient. The explosion takes place in too small a space; most of it is wasted. While a hundred-megatonne bomb is rated as having fifty thousand times the yield of a two-kilotonne bomb, its destructive effect is only about thirteen hundred times as great as that of a two-kilotonne explosion.”

“But it seems to me that thirteen hundred times is still quite a lot—if they are going to use bombs on us that much bigger.” “True, Wyoh my female friend … but Luna has many rocks.”

“Oh. Yes, so we have.”

“Comrades,” said Prof, “this is outside my competence—in my younger or bomb-throwing days my experience was limited to something of the order of the one-kilogram chemical explosion of which you spoke, Manuel. But I assume that you two know what you are talking about.”

“We do,” Mike agreed.

“So I accept your figures. To bring it down to a scale that I can understand this plan requires that we capture the catapult. No?” “Yes,” Mike and I chorused.

“Not impossible. Then we must hold it and keep it operative. Mike, have you considered how your catapult can be protected against, let us say, one small H-tipped torpedo?” Discussion went on and on. We stopped to eat—stopped business under Prof’s rule. Instead Mike told jokes, each produced a that-reminds-me from Prof.

By time we left Raffles Hotel evening of 14th May ‘75 we had—Mike had, with help from Prof—outlined plan of Revolution, including major options at critical points.

When came time to go, me to home and Prof to evening class (if not arrested), then home for bath and clothes and necessities in case he returned that night, became clear Wyoh did not want to be alone in strange hotel—Wyoh was stout when bets were down, between times soft and vulnerable.

So I called Mum on a Sherlock and told her was bringing house guest home. Mum ran her job with style; any spouse could bring guest home for meal or year, and our second generation was almost as free but must ask. Don’t know how other families work; we have customs firmed by a century; they suit us.

So Mum didn’t ask name, age, sex, marital condition; was my right and she too proud to ask. All she said was: “That’s nice, dear. Have you two had dinner? It’s Tuesday, you know.” “Tuesday” was to remind me that our family had eaten early because Greg preaches Tuesday evenings. But if guest had not eaten, dinner would be served—concession to guest, not to me, as with exception of Grandpaw we ate when was on table or scrounged standing up in pantry.

I assured her we had eaten and would make tall effort to be there before she needed to leave. Despite Loonie mixture of Muslims, Jews, Christians, Buddhists, and ninety-nine other flavors, I suppose Sunday is commonest day for church. But Greg belongs to sect which had calculated that sundown Tuesday to sundown Wednesday, local time Garden of Eden (zone minus-two, Terra) was the Sabbath. So we ate early in Terran north-hemisphere summer months.

Mum always went to hear Greg preach, so was not considerate to place duty on her that would clash. All of us went occasionally; I managed several times a year because terribly fond of Greg, who taught me one trade and helped me switch to another when I had to and would gladly have made it his arm rather than mine. But Mum always went—ritual not religion, for she admitted to me one night in pillow talk that she had no religion with a brand on it, then cautioned me not to tell Greg. I exacted same caution from her. I don’t know Who is cranking; I’m pleased He doesn’t stop.

But Greg was Mum’s “boy husband,” opted when she was very young, first wedding after her own—very sentimental about him, would deny fiercely if accused of loving him more than other husbands, yet took his faith when he was ordained and never missed a Tuesday.

She said, “Is it possible that your guest would wish to attend church?”

I said would see but anyhow we would rush, and said goodbye. Then banged on bathroom door and said, “Hurry with skin, Wyoh; we’re short on minutes.” “One minute!” she called out. She’s ungirlish girl; she appeared in one minute. “How do I look?” she asked. “Prof, will I pass?”

“Dear Wyoming, I am amazed. You were beautiful before, you are beautiful now—but utterly unrecognizable. You’re safe—and I am relieved.”

Then we waited for Prof to transform into old derelict; he would be it to his back corridor, then reappear as well-known teacher in front of class, to have witnesses in case a yellow boy was waiting to grab him.

It left a moment; I told Wyoh about Greg. She said, “Mannie, how good is this makeup? Would it pass in church? How bright are the lights?” “No brighter than here. Good job, you’ll get by. But do you want to go to church? Nobody pushing.”

She thought. “It would please your moth—I mean, ‘your senior wife,’ would it not?”

I answered slowly, “Wyoh, religion is your pidgin. But since you ask … yes, nothing would start you better in Davis Family than going to church with Mum. I’ll go if you do.” “I’ll go. I thought your last name was ‘O’Kelly’?”

“Is. Tack ‘Davis’ on with hyphen if want to be formal. Davis is First Husband, dead fifty years. Is family name and all our wives are ‘Gospazha Davis’ hyphened with every male name in Davis line plus her family name. In practice Mum is only ‘Gospazha Davis’—can call her that—and others use first name and add Davis if they write a cheque or something. Except that Ludmilla is ‘Davis-Davis’ because proud of double membership, birth and option.”

“I see. Then if a man is ‘John Davis,’ he’s a son, but if he has some other last name he’s your co-husband. But a girl would be ‘Jenny Davis’ either way, wouldn’t she? How do I tell? By her age? No, that wouldn’t help. I’m confused! And I thought clan marriages were complex. Or polyandries—though mine wasn’t; at least my husbands had the same last name.”

“No trouble. When you hear a woman about forty address a fifteen-year-old as ‘Mama Milla,” you’ll know which is wife and which is daughter—not even that complex as we don’t have daughters home past husband-high; they get opted. But might be visiting. Your husbands were named ‘Knott’?”

“Oh, no, ‘Fedoseev, Choy Lin and Choy Mu.’ I took back my born name.”

Out came Prof, cackled senilely (looked even worse than earlier!), we left by three exits, made rendezvous in main corridor, open formation. Wyoh and I did not walk together, as I might be nabbed; on other hand she did not know Luna City, a warren so complex even nativeborn get lost—so I led and she had to keep me in sight. Prof trailed to make sure she didn’t lose me.

If I was picked up, Wyoh would find public phone, report to Mike, then return to hotel and wait for Prof. But I felt sure that any yellow jacket who arrested me would get a caress from number-seven arm.

No huhu. Up to level five and crosstown by Carver Causeway, up to level three and stop at Tube Station West to pick up arms and tool kit—but not p-suit; would not have been in

character, I stored it there. One yellow uniform at station, showed no interest in me. South by well-lighted corridors until necessary to go outward to reach private easement lock thirteen to

co-op pressure tunnel serving Davis Tunnels and a dozen other farms. I suppose Prof dropped off there but I never looked back.

I delayed locking through our door until Wyoh caught up, then soon was saying, “Mum, allow me to present Wyma Beth Johnson.” Mum took her in arms, kissed cheek, said, “So glad you could come, Wyma dear! Our house is yours!”

See why I love our old biddy? Could have quick-frosted Wyoh with same words—but was real and Wyoh knew.

Hadn’t warned Wyoh about switch in names, thought of it en route. Some of our kids were small and while they grew up despising Warden, no sense in risking prattle about “Wyoming Knott, who’s visiting us”—that name was listed in “Special File Zebra.”

So I missed warning her, was new to conspiracy. But Wyoh caught cue and never bobbled.

Greg was in preaching clothes and would have to leave in minutes. Mum did not hurry, took Wyoh down line of husbands—Grandpaw, Greg, Hans—then up line of wives—Ludmilla, Lenore, Sidris, Anna—with stately grace, then started on our kids.

I said, “Mum? Excuse me, want to change arms.” Her eyebrows went up a millimeter, meaning: “We’ll speak of this but not in front of children”—so I added: “Know it’s late, Greg’s sneaking look at watch. And Wyma and I are going to church. So ‘scuse, please.”

She relaxed. “Certainly, dear.” As she turned away I saw her arm go around Wyoh’s waist, so I relaxed.

I changed arms, replacing number seven with social arm. But was excuse to duck into phone cupboard and punch “MYCROFTXXX.” “Mike, we’re home. But about to go to church. Don’t think you can listen there, so I’ll check in later. Heard from Prof?”

“Not yet, Man. Which church is it? I may have some circuit.” “Pillar of Fire Repentance Tabernacle—”

“No reference.”

“Slow to my speed, pal. Meets in West-Three Community Hall. That’s south of Station on Ring about number—.” “I have it. There’s a pickup inside for channels and a phone in the corridor outside; I’ll keep an ear on both.”

“I don’t expect trouble, Mike.”

“It’s what Professor said to do. He is reporting now. Do you wish to speak to him?” “No time. ‘Bye!”

That set pattern: Always keep touch with Mike, let him know where you are, where you plan to be; Mike would listen if he had nerve ends there. Discovery I made that morning, that Mike could listen at dead phone, suggested it—discovery bothered me; don’t believe in magic. But on thinking I realized a phone could be switched on by central switching system without human intervention—if switching system had volition. Mike had bolshoyeh volition.

How Mike knew a phone was outside that hall is hard to say, since “space” could not mean to him what means to us. But he carried in storage a “map”—structured relations—of Luna City’s engineering, and could almost always fit what we said to what he knew as “Luna City”; hardly ever got lost.

So from day cabal started we kept touch with Mike and each other through his widespread nervous system. Won’t mention again unless necessary.

Mum and Greg and Wyoh were waiting at outer door, Mum chomping but smiling. I saw she had lent Wyoh a stole; Mum was as easy about skin as any Loonie, nothing newchummish— but church was another matter.

We made it, although Greg went straight to platform and we to seats. I settled in warm, mindless state, going through motions. But Wyoh did really listen to Greg’s sermon and either knew our hymn book or was accomplished sight reader.

When we got home, young ones were in bed and most adults; Hans and Sidris were up and Sidris served cocoasoy and cookies, then all turned in. Mum assigned Wyoh a room in tunnel most of our kids lived in, one which had had two smaller boys last time I noticed. Did not ask how she had reshuffled, was clear she was giving my guest best we had, or would have put Wyoh with one of older girls.

I slept with Mum that night, partly because our senior wife is good for nerves—and nerve-racking things had happened—and partly so she would know I was not sneaking to Wyoh’s room after things were quiet. My workshop, where I slept when slept alone; was just one bend from Wyoh’s door. Mum was telling me, plain as print: “Go ahead, dear. Don’t tell me if you wish to be mean about it. Sneak behind my back.”

Which neither of us admitted. We visited as we got ready for bed, chatted after light out, then I turned over.

Instead of saying goodnight Mum said, “Manuel? Why does your sweet little guest make herself up as an Afro? I would think that her natural coloration would be more becoming. Not that she isn’t perfectly charming the way she chooses to be.”

So rolled over and faced her, and explained—sounded thin, so filled in. And found self telling all—except one point: Mike. I included Mike—but not as computer—instead as a man Mum was not likely to meet, for security reasons.

But telling Mum—taking her into my subcell, should say, to become leader of own cell in turn—taking Mum into conspiracy was not case of husband who can’t keep from blurting everything to his wife. At most was hasty—but was best time if she was to be told.

Mum was smart. Also able executive; running big family without baring teeth requires that. Was respected among farm families and throughout Luna City; she had been up longer than 90 percent. She could help.

And would be indispensable inside family. Without her help Wyoh and I would find it sticky to use phone together (hard to explain), keep kids from noticing (impossible!)—but with Mum’s help would be no problems inside household.

She listened, sighed, said, “It sounds dangerous, dear.”

“Is,” I said. “Look, Mimi, if you don’t want to tackle, say so then forget what I’ve told.”

“Manuel! Don’t even say that. You are my husband, dear; I took you for better, for worse… and your wish is my command.”

(My word, what a lie! But Mimi believed it.)

“I would not let you go into danger alone,” she went on, “and besides—” “What, Mimi?”

“I think every Loonie dreams of the day when we will be free. All but some poor spineless rats. I’ve never talked about it; there seemed to be no point and it’s necessary to look up, not down, lift one’s burden and go ahead. But I thank dear Bog that I have been permitted to live to see the time come, if indeed it has. Explain more about it. I am to find three others, is it? Three who can be trusted.”

“Don’t hurry. Move slowly. Be sure.”

“Sidris can be trusted. She holds her tongue, that one.”

“Don’t think you should pick from family. Need to spread out. Don’t rush.”

“I shan’t. We’ll talk before I do anything. And Manuel, if you want my opinion—” She stopped. “Always want your opinion, Mimi.”

“Don’t mention this to Grandpaw. He’s forgetful these days and sometimes talkative. Now sleep, dear, and don’t dream.”

Followed a long time during which would have been possible to forget anything as unlikely as revolution had not details taken so much time. Our first purpose was not to be noticed. Long distance purpose was to make things as much worse as possible.

Yes, worse. Never was a time, even at last, when all Loonies wanted to throw off Authority, wanted it bad enough to revolt. All Loonies despised Warden and cheated Authority. Didn’t mean they were ready to fight and die. If you had mentioned “patriotism” to a Loonie, he would have stared—or thought you were talking about his homeland. Were transported Frenchmen whose hearts belonged to “La Belle Patrie,” ex-Germans loyal to Vaterland, Russkis who still loved Holy Mother Russia. But Luna? Luna was “The Rock,” place of exile, not thing to love.

We were as non-political a people as history ever produced. I know, I was as numb to politics as any until circumstances pitched me into it. Wyoming was in it because she hated Authority for a personal reason, Prof because he despised all authority in a detached intellectual fashion, Mike because he was a bored and lonely machine and was for him “only game in town.” You could not have accused us of patriotism. I came closest because I was third generation with total lack of affection for any place on Terra, had been there, disliked it and despised earthworms. Made me more “patriotic” than most!

Average Loonie was interested in beer, betting, women, and work, in that order. “Women” might be second place but first was unlikely, much as women were cherished. Loonies had learned there never were enough women to go around. Slow learners died, as even most possessive male can’t stay alert every minute. As Prof says, a society adapts to fact, or doesn’t survive. Loonies adapted to harsh facts—or failed and died. But “patriotism” was not necessary to survival.

Like old Chinee saying that “Fish aren’t aware of water,” I was not aware of any of this until I first went to Terra and even then did not realize what a blank spot was in Loonies under storage location marked “patriotism” until I took part in effort to stir them up. Wyoh and her comrades had tried to push “patriotism” button and got nowhere—years of work, a few thousand members, less than 1 percent and of that microscopic number almost 10 percent had been paid spies of boss fink!

Prof set us straight: Easier to get people to hate than to get them to love.

Luckily, Security Chief Alvarez gave us a hand. Those nine dead finks were replaced with ninety, for Authority was goaded into something it did reluctantly, namely spend money on us, and one folly led to another.

Warden’s bodyguard had never been large even in earliest days Prison guards in historical meaning were unnecessary and that had been one attraction of penal colony system—cheap. Warden and his deputy had to be protected and visiting vips, but prison itself needed no guards. They even stopped guarding ships after became clear was not necessary, and in May 2075, bodyguard was down to its cheapest numbers, all of them new chum transportees.

But loss of nine in one night scared somebody. We knew it scared Alvarez; he filed copies of his demands for help in Zebra file and Mike read them. Alag who had been a police officer on Terra before his conviction and then a bodyguard all his years in Luna, Alvarez was probably most frightened and loneliest man in The Rock. He demanded more and tougher help, threatened to resign civil service job if he didn’t get it—just a threat, which Authority would have known if it had really known Luna. If Alvarez had showed up in any warren as unarmed civilian, he would have stayed breathing only as long as not recognized.

He got his additional guards. We never found out who ordered that raid. Mort the Wart had never shown such tendencies, had been King Log throughout tenure. Perhaps Alvarez, having only recently succeeded to boss fink spot, wanted to make face—may have had ambition to be Warden. But likeliest theory is that Warden’s reports on “subversive activities” caused Authority Earthside to order a cleanup.

One thumb-fingered mistake led to another. New bodyguards, instead of picked from new transportees, were elite convict troops, Federated Nations crack Peace Dragoons. Were mean and tough, did not want to go to Luna, and soon realized that “temporary police duty” was one-way trip. Hated Luna and Loonies, and saw us as cause of it all.

Once Alvarez got them, he posted a twenty-four-hour watch at every interwarren tube station and instituted passports and passport control. Would have been illegal had there been laws in Luna, since 95 percent of us were theoretically free, either born free, or sentence completed. Percentage was higher in cities as undischarged transportees lived in barrack warrens at Complex and came into town only two days per lunar they had off work. If then, as they had no money, but you sometimes saw them wandering around, hoping somebody would buy a drink.

But passport system was not “illegal” as Warden’s regulations were only written law. Was announced in papers, we were given week to get passports, and at eight hundred one morning was put in effect. Some Loonies hardly ever traveled; some traveled on business; some commuted from outlying warrens or even from Luna City to Novylen or other way. Good little boys filled out applications, paid fees, were photographed, got passes; I was good little boy on Prof’s advice, paid for passport and added it to pass I carried to work in Complex.

Few good little boys! Loonies did not believe it. Passports? Whoever heard of such a thing?

Was a trooper at Tube Station South that morning dressed in bodyguard yellow rather than regimentals and looking like he hated it, and us. I was not going anywhere; I hung back and watched.

Novylen capsule was announced; crowd of thirty-odd headed for gate. Gospodin Yellow Jacket demanded passport of first to reach it. Loonie stopped to argue. Second one pushed past; guard turned and yelled—three or four more shoved past. Guard reached for sidearm; somebody grabbed his elbow, gun went off—not a laser, a slug gun, noisy.

Slug hit decking and went whee-whee-hoo off somewhere. I faded back. One man hurt—that guard. When first press of passengers had gone down ramp, he was on deck, not moving. Nobody paid attention; they walked around or stepped over—except one woman carrying a baby, who stopped, kicked him carefully in face, then went down ramp. He may have been

dead already, didn’t wait to see. Understand body stayed there till relief arrived.

Next day was a half squad in that spot. Capsule for Novylen left empty.

It settled down. Those who had to travel got passports, diehards quit traveling. Guard at a tube gate became two men, one looked at passports while other stood back with gun drawn. One who checked passports did not try hard, which was well as most were counterfeit and early ones were crude. But before long, authentic paper was stolen and counterfeits were as dinkum as official ones—more expensive but Loonies preferred free-enterprise passports.

Our organization did not make counterfeits; we merely encouraged it—and knew who had them and who did not; Mike’s records listed officially issued ones. This helped separate sheep from goats in files we were building—also stored in Mike but in “Bastille” location—as we figured a man with counterfeit passport was halfway to joining us. Word was passed down cells in our growing organization never to recruit anybody with a valid passport. If recruiter was not certain, just query upwards and answer came back.

But guards’ troubles were not over. Does not help a guard’s dignity nor add to peace of mind to have children stand in front of him, or behind out of eye which was worse, and ape every move he makes—or run back and forth screaming obscenities, jeering, making finger motions that are universal. At least guards took them as insults.

One guard back-handed a small boy, cost him some teeth. Result: two guards dead, one Loonie dead. After that, guards ignored children.

We didn’t have to work this up; we merely encouraged it. You wouldn’t think that a sweet old lady like my senior wife would encourage children to misbehave. But she did. Other things get single men a long way from home upset—and one we did start. These Peace Dragoons had been sent to The Rock without a comfort detachment.

Some of our fems were extremely beautiful and some started loitering around stations, dressed in less than usual—which could approach zero—and wearing more than usual amount of perfume, scents with range and striking power. They did not speak to yellow jackets nor look at them; they simply crossed their line of sight, undulating as only a Loonie gal can. (A female on Terra can’t walk that way; she’s tied down by six times too much weight.)

Such of course produces a male gallery, from men down to lads not yet pubescent—happy whistles and cheers for her beauty, nasty laughs at yellow boy. First girls to take this duty were slot-machine types but volunteers sprang up so fast that Prof decided we need not spend money. He was correct: even Ludmilla, shy as a kitten, wanted to try it and did not only because Mum told her not to. But Lenore, ten years older and prettiest of our family, did try it and Mum did not scold. She came back pink and excited and pleased with herself and anxious to tease enemy again. Her own idea; Lenore did not then know that revolution was brewing.

During this time I rarely saw Prof and never in public; we kept touch by phone. At first a bottleneck was that our farm had just one phone for twenty-five people, many of them youngsters who would tie up a phone for hours unless coerced. Mimi was strict; our kids were allowed one out-going call per day and max of ninety seconds on a call, with rising scale of

punishment—tempered by her warmth in granting exceptions. But grants were accompanied by “Mum’s Phone Lecture”: “When I first came to Luna there were no private phones. You children don’t know how soft…”

We were one of last prosperous families to install a phone; it was new in household when I was opted. We were prosperous because we never bought anything farm could produce. Mum disliked phone because rates to Luna City Co-op Comm Company were passed on in large measure to Authority. She never could understand why I could not (“Since you know all about such things, Manuel dear”) steal phone service as easily as we liberated power. That a phone instrument was part of a switching system into which it must fit was no interest to her.

Steal it I did, eventually. Problem with illicit phone is how to receive incoming calls. Since phone is not listed, even if you tell persons from whom you want calls, switching system itself does not have you listed; is no signal that can tell it to connect other party with you.

Once Mike joined conspiracy, switching was no problem. I had in workshop most of what I needed; bought some items and liberated others. Drilled a tiny hole from workshop to phone cupboard and another to Wyoh’s room—virgin rock a meter thick but a laser drill collimated to a thin pencil cuts rapidly. I unshipped listed phone, made a wireless coupling to line in its recess and concealed it. All else needed were binaural receptors and a speaker in Wyoh’s room, concealed, and same in mine, and a circuit to raise frequency above audio to have silence on Davis phone line, and its converse to restore audio incoming.

Only problem was to do this without being seen, and Mum generaled that.

All else was Mike’s problem. Used no switching arrangements; from then on used MYCROFTXXXonly when calling from some other phone. Mike listened at all times in workshop and in Wyoh’s room; if he heard my voice or hers say “Mike,” he answered, but not to other voices. Voice patterns were as distinctive to him as fingerprints; he never made mistakes.

Minor flourishes—soundprooflng Wyoh’s door such as workshop door already had, switching to suppress my instrument or hers, signals to tell me she was alone in her room and door locked, and vice versa. All added up to safe means whereby Wyob and I could talk with Mike or with each other, or could set up talk-talk of Mike, Wyoh, Prof, and self. Mike would call Prof wherever he was; Prof would talk or call back from a more private phone. Or might be Wyoh or myself had to be found. We all were careful to stay checked in with Mike.

My bootleg phone, though it had no way to punch a call, could be used to call any number in Luna—speak to Mike, ask for a Sherlock to anybody—not tell him number, Mike had all listings and could look up a number faster than I could.

We were beginning to see unlimited possibilities in a phoneswitching system alive and on our side. I got from Mike and gave Mum still another null number to call Mike if she needed to reach me. She grew chummy with Mike while continuing to think he was a man. This spread through our family. One day as I returned home Sidris said, “Mannie darling, your friend with the nice voice called. Mike Holmes. Wants you to call back.”

“Thanks, hon. Will.”

“When are you going to invite him to dinner, Man? I think he’s nice.”

I told her Gospodin Holmes had bad breath, was covered with rank hair, and hated women.

She used a rude word, Mum not being in earshot. “You’re afraid to let me see him. Afraid I’ll opt out for him.” I patted her and told her that was why. I told Mike and Prof about it. Mike flirted even more with my womenfolk after that; Prof was thoughtful.

I began to learn techniques of conspiracy and to appreciate Prof’s feeling that revolution could be an art. Did not forget (nor ever doubt) Mike’s prediction that Luna was only seven years from disaster. But did not think about it, thought about fascinating, finicky details.

Prof had emphasized that stickiest problems in conspiracy are communications and security, and had pointed out that they conflict—easier are communications, greater is risk to security; if security is tight, organization can be paralyzed by safety precautions. He had explained that cell system was a compromise.

I accepted cell system since was necessary to limit losses from spies. Even Wyoh admitted that organization without compartmentation could not work after she learned how rotten with spies old underground had been.

But I did not like clogged communications of cell system; like Terran dinosaurs of old, took too long to send message from head to tail, or back. So talked with Mike.

We discarded many-linked channels I had suggested to Prof. We retained cells but based security and communication on marvelous possibilities of our dinkum thinkum. Communications: We set up a ternary tree of “party” names:

Chairman, Gospodin Adam Selene (Mike) Executive cell: Bork (me), Betty (Wyoh), Bill (Prof) Bork’s cell: Cassie (Mum), Colin, Chang

Betty’s cell: Calvin (Greg), Cecilia (Sidris), Clayton Bill’s cell: Cornwall (Finn Nielsen), Carolyn, Cotter

and so on. At seventh link George supervises Herbert, Henry, and Hallie. By time you reach that level you need 2,187 names with “H”—but turn it over to savvy computer who finds or invents them. Each recruit is given a party name and an emergency phone number. This number, instead of chasing through many links, connects with “Adam Selene,” Mike.

Security: Based on double principle; no human being can be trusted with anything—but Mike could be trusted with everything.

Grim first half is beyond dispute. With drugs and other unsavory methods any man can be broken. Only defense is suicide, which may be impossible. Oh, are “hollow tooth” methods, classic and novel, some nearly infallible—Prof saw to it that Wyoh and myself were equipped. Never knew what he gave her as a final friend and since I never had to use mine, is no point in messy details. Nor am I sure I would ever suicide; am not stuff of martyrs.

But Mike could never need to suicide, could not be drugged, did not feel pain. He carried everything concerning us in a separate memory bank under a locked signal programmed only to our three voices, and, since flesh is weak, we added a signal under which any of us could lock out other two in emergency. In my opinion as best computerman in Luna, Mike could not remove this lock once it was set up. Best of all, nobody would ask master computer for this file because nobody knew it existed, did not suspect Mike-as-Mike existed. How secure can you be?

Only risk was that this awakened machine was whimsical. Mike was always showing unforeseen potentials; conceivable he could figure way to get around block—if he wanted to. But would never want to. He was loyal to me, first and oldest friend; he liked Prof; I think he loved Wyoh. No, no, sex meant nothing. But Wyoh is lovable and they hit it off from start. I trusted Mike. In this life you have to bet; on that bet I would give any odds.

So we based security on trusting Mike with everything while each of us knew only what he had to know. Take that tree of names and numbers. I knew only party names of my cellmates and of three directly under me; was all I needed. Mike set up party names, assigned phone number to each, kept roster of real names versus party names. Let’s say party member “Daniel” (whom I would not know, being a “D” two levels below me) recruits Fritz Schultz. Daniel reports fact but not name upwards; Adam Selene calls Daniel, assigns for Schultz party name “Embrook,” then phones Schultz at number received from Daniel, gives Schultz his name Embrook and emergency phone number, this number being different for each recruit.

Not even Embrook’s cell leader would know Embrook’s emergency number. What you do not know you cannot spill, not under drugs nor torture, nor anything. Not even from carelessness.

Now let’s suppose I need to reach Comrade Embrook. I don’t know who he is; he may live in Hong Kong or be shopkeeper nearest my home. Instead of passing message down, hoping it will reach him, I call Mike. Mike connects me with Embrook at once, in a Sherlock, withoul giving me his number.

Or suppose I need to speak to comrade who is preparing cartoon we are about to distribute in every taproom in Luna. I don’t know who he is. But I need to talk to him; something has come up.

I call Mike; Mike knows everything—and again I am quickly connected—and this comrade knows it’s okay as Adam Selene arranged call. “Comrade Bork speaking”—and he doesn’t know me but initial “B” tells him that I am vip indeed—”we have to change so-and-so. Tell your cell leader and have him check, but get on with it.”

Minor flourishes—some comrades did not have phones; some could be reached only at certain hours; some outlying warrens did not have phone service. No matter, Mike knew everything—and rest of us did not know anything that could endanger any but that handful whom each knew face to face.

After we decided that Mike should talk voice-to-voice to any comrade under some circumstances, it was necessary to give him more voices and dress him up, make him three dimensions, create “Adam Selene, Chairman of the Provisional Committee of Free Luna.”

Mike’s need for more voices lay in fact that he had just one voder-vocoder, whereas his brain could handle a dozen conversations, or a hundred (don’t know how many)—like a chess master playing fifty opponents, only more so.

This would cause a bottleneck as organization grew and Adam Selene was phoned oftener, and could be crucial if we lasted long enough to go into action.

Besides giving him more voices I wanted to silence one he had. One of those so-called computermen might walk into machines room while we were phoning Mike; bound to cause even his dim wit to wonder if he found master machine apparently talking to itself.

Voder-vocoder is very old device. Human voice is buzzes and hisses mixed various ways; true even of a coloratura soprano. Avocoder analyzes buzzes and hisses into patterns, one a computer (or trained eye) can read. Avoder is a little box which can buzz and hiss and has controls to vary these elements to match those patterns. Ahuman can “play” a voder, producing artificial speech; a properly programmed computer can do it as fast, as easily, as clearly as you can speak.

But voices on a phone wire are not sound waves but electrical signals; Mike did not need audio part of voder-vocoder to talk by phone. Sound waves were needed only by human at other end; no need for speech sounds inside Mike’s room at Authority Complex. so I planned to remove them, and thereby any danger that somebody might notice.

First I worked at home, using number-three arm most of time. Result was very small box which sandwiched twenty voder-vocoder circuits minus audio side. Then I called Mike and told him to “get ill” in way that would annoy Warden. Then I waited.

We had done this “get ill” trick before. I went back to work once we learned that I was clear, which was Thursday that same week when Alvarez read into Zebra file an account of shambles at Stilyagi Hall. His version listed about one hundred people (out of perhaps three hundred); list included Shorty Mkrum, Wyoh, Prof, and Finn Nielsen but not me—apparently I was missed by his finks. It told how nine police officers, each deputized by Warden to preserve peace, had been shot down in cold blood. Also named three of our dead.

An add-on a week later stated that “the notorious agente provocateuse Wyoming Knott of Hong Kong in Luna, whose incendiary speech on Monday 13 May had incited the riot that cost the lives of nine brave officers, had not been apprehended in Luna City and had not returned to her usual haunts in Hong Kong in Luna, and was now believed to have died in the massacre she herself set off.” This add-on admitted what earlier report failed to mention, i.e., bodies were missing and exact number of dead was not known.

This P.S. settled two things: Wyoh could not go home nor back to being a blonde.

Since I had not been spotted I resumed my public ways, took care of customers that week, bookkeeping machines and retrieval files at Carnegie Library, and spent time having Mike read out Zebra file and other special files, doing so in Room L of Raffles as I did not yet have my own phone. During that week Mike niggled at me like an impatient child (which he was), wanting to know when I was coming over to pick up more jokes. Failing that, he wanted to tell them by phone.

I got annoyed and had to remind myself that from Mike’s viewpoint analyzing jokes was just as important as freeing Luna—and you don’t break promises to a child.

Besides that. I got itchy wondering whether I could go inside Complex without being nabbed. We knew Prof was not clear, was sleeping in Raffles on that account. Yet they knew he had been at meeting and knew where he was, daily—but no attempt was made to pick him up. When we learned that attempt had been made to pick up Wyoh, I grew itchier. Was I clear? Or were they waiting to nab me quietly? Had to know.

So I called Mike and told him to have a tummyache. He did so, I was called in—no trouble. Aside from showing passport at station, then to a new guard at Complex, all was usual. I chatted with Mike, picked up one thousand jokes (with understanding that we would report a hundred at a time every three or four days, no faster), told him to get well, and went back to L- City, stopping on way out to bill Chief Engineer for working time, travel-and-tool time, materials, special service, anything I could load in.

Thereafter saw Mike about once a month. Was safe, never went there except when they called me for malfunction beyond ability of their staff—and I was always able to “repair” it, sometimes quickly, sometimes after a full day and many tests. Was careful to leave tool marks on cover plates, and had before-and-after print-outs of test runs to show what had been wrong, how I analyzed it, what I had done. Mike always worked perfectly after one of my visits; I was indispensable.

So, after I prepared his new voder-vocoder add-on, didn’t hesitate to tell him to get “ill.” Call came in thirty minutes. Mike had thought up a dandy; his “illness” was wild oscillations in conditioning Warden’s residence. He was running its heat up, then down, on an eleven-minute cycle, while oscillating its air pressure on a short cycle, ca. 2c/s, enough to make a man dreadfully nervy and perhaps cause earache.

Conditioning a single residence should not go through a master computer! In Davis Tunnels we handled home and farm with idiot controls, feedbacks for each cubic with alarms so that somebody could climb out of bed and control by hand until trouble could be found. If cows got chilly, did not hurt corn; if lights failed over wheat, vegetables were okay. That Mike could raise hell with Warden’s residence and nobody could figure out what to do shows silliness of piling everything into one computer.

Mike was happy-joyed. This was humor he really scanned. I enjoyed it, too, told him to go ahead, have fun—spread out tools, got out little black box.

And computerman-of-the-watch comes banging and ringing at door. I took my time answering and carried number-five arm in right hand with short wing bare; this makes some people sick and upsets almost everybody. “What in hell do you want, choom?” I inquired.

“Listen,” he says, “Warden is raising hell! Haven’t you found trouble?”

“My compliments to Warden and tell him I will override by hand to restore his precious comfort as soon as I locate faulty circuit—if not slowed up by silly questions. Are you going to stand with door open blowing dust into machines while I have cover plates off? If you do—since you’re in charge—when dust puts machine on sputter, you can repair it. I won’t leave a warm bed to help. You can tell that to your bloody Warden, too.”

“Watch your language, cobber.”

“Watch yours, convict. Are you going to close that door? Or shall I walk out and go back to L-City?” And raised number-five like a club.

He closed door. Had no interest in insulting poor sod. Was one small bit of policy to make everybody as unhappy as possible. He was finding working for Warden difficult; I wanted to make it unbearable.

“Shall I step it up?” Mike inquired.

“Um, hold it so for ten minutes, then stop abruptly. Then jog it for an hour, say with air pressure. Erratic but hard. Know what a sonic boom is?” “Certainly. It is a—”

“Don’t define. After you drop major effect, rattle his air ducts every few minutes with nearest to a boom system will produce. Then give him something to remember. Mmm … Mike, can you make his W.C. run backwards?”

“I surely can! All of them?” “How many does he have?” “Six.”

“Well … program to give them all a push, enough to soak his rugs. But if you can spot one nearest his bedroom, fountain it clear to ceiling. Can?” “Program set up!”

“Good. Now for your present, ducky.” There was room in voder audio box to hide it and I spent forty minutes with number-three, getting it just so. We trial-checked through voder-vocoder, then I told him to call Wyoh and check each circuit.

For ten minutes was silence, which I spent putting tool markers on a cover plate which should have been removed had been anything wrong, putting tools away, putting number-six arm on, rolling up one thousand jokes waiting in print-out. I had found no need to cut out audio of voder; Mike had thought of it before I had and always chopped off any time door was touched. Since his reflexes were better than mine by a factor of at least a thousand, I forgot it.

At last he said, “All twenty circuits okay. I can switch circuits in the middle of a word and Wyoh can’t detect discontinuity. And I called Prof and said Hello and talked to Mum on your home phone, all three at the same time.”

“We’re in business. What excuse you give Mum?”

“I asked her to have you call me, Adam Selene that is. Then we chatted. She’s a charming conversationalist. We discussed Greg’s sermon of last Tuesday.” “Huh? How?”

“I told her I had listened to it, Man, and quoted a poetic part.” “Oh, Mike!”

“It’s okay, Man. I let her think that I sat in back, then slipped out during the closing hymn. She’s not nosy; she knows that I don’t want to be seen.”

Mum is nosiest female in Luna. “Guess it’s okay. But don’t do it again. Um—Do do it again. You go to—you monitor—meetings and lectures and concerts and stuff.” “Unless some busybody switches me off by hand! Man, I can’t control those spot pickups the way I do a phone.”

“Too simple a switch. Brute muscle rather than solid-state flipflop.” “That’s barbaric. And unfair.”

“Mike, almost everything is unfair. What can’t be cured—” “—must be endured. That’s a funny-once, Man.”

“Sorry. Let’s change it: What can’t be cured should be tossed out and something better put in. Which we’ll do. What chances last time you calculated?” “Approximately one in nine, Man.”

“Getting worse?”

“Man, they’ll get worse for months. We haven’t reached the crisis.”

“With Yankees in cellar, too. Oh, well. Back to other matter. From now on, when you talk to anyone, if he’s been to a lecture or whatever, you were there, too—and prove it, by recalling something.”

“Noted. Why, Man?”

“Have you read ‘The Scarlet Pimpernel’? May be in public library.” “Yes. Shall I read it back?”

“No, no! You’re our Scarlet Pinipernel, our John Galt, our Swamp Fox, our man of mystery. You go everywhere, know everything, slip in and out of town without passport. You’re always there, yet nobody catches sight of you.”

His lights rippled, he gave a subdued chuckle. “That’s fun, Man. Funny once, funny twice, maybe funny always.” “Funny always. How long ago did you stop gymkhana at Warden’s?”

“Forty-three minutes ago except erratic booms.”

“Bet his teeth ache! Give him fifteen minutes more. Then I’ll report job completed.” “Noted. Wyoh sent you a message, Man. She said to remind you of Billy’s birthday party.”

“Oh, my word! Stop everything, I’m leaving. ‘Bye!” I hurried out. Billy’s mother is Anna. Probably her last—and right well she’s done by us, eight kids, three still home. I try to be as careful as Mum never to show favoritism… but Billy is quite a boy and I taught him to read. Possible he looks like me.

Stopped at Chief Engineer’s office to leave bill and demanded to see him. Was let in and he was in belligerent mood; Warden had been riding him. “Hold it,” I told him. “My son’s birthday and shan’t be late. But must show you something.”

Took an envelope from kit, dumped item on desk: corpse of house fly which I had charred with a hot wire and fetched. We do not tolerate flies in Davis Tunnels but sometimes one wanders in from city as locks are opened. This wound up in my workshop just when I needed it. “See that? Guess where I found it.”

On that faked evidence I built a lecture on care of fine machines, talked about doors opened, complained about man on watch. “Dust can ruin a computer. Insects are unpardonable! Yet your watchstanders wander in and out as if tube station. Today both doors held open—while this idiot yammered. If I find more evidence that cover plates have been removed by hoof- handed choom who attracts flies—well, it’s your plant, Chief. Got more than I can handle, been doing your chores because I like fine machines. Can’t stand to see them abused! Good- bye.”

“Hold on. I want to tell you something.”

“Sorry, got to go. Take it or leave it, I’m no vermin exterminator; I’m a computerman.”

Nothing frustrates a man so much as not letting him get in his say. With luck and help from Warden, Chief Engineer would have ulcers by Christmas.

Was late anyhow and made humble apology to Billy. Alvarez had thought up new wrinkle, close search on leaving Complex. I endured it with never a nasty word for Dragoons who searched me; wanted to get home. But those thousand jokes bothered them. “What’s this?” one demanded.

“Computer paper,” I said. “Test runs.”

His mate joined him. Don’t think they could read. They wanted to confiscate, so I demanded they call Chief Engineer. They let me go. I felt not displeased; more and more such and guards were daily more hated.

Decision to make Mike more a person arose from need to have any Party member phone him on occasion; my advice about concerts and plays was simply a side effect. Mike’s voice over phone had odd quality I had not noticed during time I had visited him only at Complex. When you speak to a man by phone there is background noise. And you hear him breathe, hear heartbeats, body motions even though rarely conscious of these. Besides that, even if he speaks under a hush hood, noises get through, enough to “fill space,” make him a body with surroundings.

With Mike was none of this.

By then Mike’s voice was “human” in timbre and quality, recognizable. He was baritone, had North American accent with Aussie overtones; as “Michelle” he (she?) had a light soprano with French flavor. Mike’s personality grew also. When first I introduced him to Wyoh and Prof he sounded like a pedantic child; in short weeks he flowered until I visualized a man about own age.

His voice when he first woke was blurred and harsh, hardly understandable. Now it was clear and choice of words and phrasing was consistent—colloquial to me, scholarly to Prof, gallant to Wyoh, variation one expects of mature adults.

But background was dead. Thick silence.

So we filled it. Mike needed only hints. He did not make his breathing noisy, ordinarily you would not notice. But he would stick in touches. “Sorry, Mannie, you caught me bathing when the phone sounded”—and let one hear hurried breathing. Or “I was eating—had to swallow.” He used such even on me, once he undertook to “be a human body.”

We all put “Adam Selene” together, talking it over at Raffles. How old was he? What did he look like? Married? Where did he live? What work? What interests?

We decided that Adam was about forty, healthy, vigorous, well educated, interested in all arts and sciences and very well grounded in history, a match chess player but- little time to play. He was married in commonest type, a troika in which he was senior husband—four children. Wife and junior husband not in politics, so far as we knew.

He was ruggedly handsome with wavy iron-gray hair and was mixed race, second generation one side, third on other. Was wealthy by Loonie standards, with interests in Novylen and Kongville as well as L-City. He kept offices in Luna City, outer office with a dozen people plus private office staffed by male deputy and female secretary.

Wyoh wanted to know was he bundling with secretary? I told her to switch off, was private. Wyoh said indignantly that she was not being snoopy—weren’t we trying to create a rounded character?

We decided that offices were in Old Dome, third ramp, southside, heart of financial district. If you know L-City. you recall that in Old Dome some offices have windows since they can look out over floor of Dome; I wanted this for sound effects.

We drew a floor plan and had that office existed, it would have been between Aetna Luna and Greenberg & Co. I used pouch recorder to pick up sounds at spot; Mike added to it by listening at phones there.

Thereafter when you called Adam Selene, background was not dead. If “Ursula,” his secretary, took call, it was: “Selene Associates. Luna shall be free!” Then she might say, “Will you hold? Gospodin Selene is on another call” whereupon you might hear sound of W.C., followed by running water and know that she had told little white lie. Or Adam might answer: “Adam Selene here. Free Luna. One second while I shut off the video.” Or deputy might answer: “This is Albert Ginwallah, Adam Selene’s confidential assistant. Free Luna. If it’s a Party matter— as I assume it is; that was your Party name you gave—please don’t hesitate; I handle such things for the Chairman.”

Last was a trap, as every comrade was instructed to speak only to Adam Selene. No attempt was made to discipline one who took bait; instead his cell captain was warned that his comrade must not be trusted with anything vital.

We got echoes. “Free Luna!” or “Luna shall be free!” took hold among youngsters, then among solid citizens. First time I heard it in a business call I almost swallowed teeth. Then called Mike and asked if this person was Party member? Was not. So I recommended that Mike trace down Party tree and see if somebody could recruit him.

Most interesting echo was in File Zebra. “Adam Selene” appeared in boss fink’s security file less than a lunar after we created him, with notation that this was a cover name for a leader in a new underground.

Alvarez’s spies did a job on Adam Selene. Over course of months his File Zebra dossier built up: Male, 34-45, offices south face of Old Dome, usually there 0900-1800 Gr. except Saturday but calls are relayed at other hours, home inside urban pressure as travel time never exceeds seventeen minutes. Children in household. Activities include stock brokerage, farming interests. Attends theater, concerts, etc. Probably member Luna City Chess Club and Luna Assoc, d’Echecs. Plays ricochet and other heavy sports lunch hour, probably Luna City Athletic Club. Gourmet but watches weight. Remarkable memory plus mathematical ability. Executive type, able to reach decisions quickly.

One fink was convinced that he had talked to Adam between acts at revival of Hamlet by Civic Players; Alvarez noted description—and matched our picture all but wavy hair!

But thing that drove Alvarez crackers was that phone numbers for Adam were reported and every time they turned out wrong numbers. (Not nulls; we had run out and Mike was using any number not in use and switching numbers anytime new subscribers were assigned ones we had been using.) Alvarez tried to trace “Selene Associates” using a one-wrong-digit assumption—this we learned because Mike was keeping an ear on Alvarez’s office phone and heard order. Mike used knowledge to play a Mikish prank: Subordinate who made one- changed-digit calls invariably reached Warden’s private residence. So Alvarez was called in and chewed by Warden.

Couldn’t scold Mike but did warn him it would alert any smart person to fact that somebody was playing tricks with computer. Mike answered that they were not that smart.

Main result of Alvarez’s efforts was that each time he got a number for Adam we located a spy—a new spy, as those we had spotted earlier were never given phone numbers; instead they were recruited into a tail-chasing organization where they could inform on each other. But with Alvarez’s help we spotted each new spy almost at once. I think Alvarez became unhappy over spies he was able to hire; two disappeared and our organization, then over six thousand, was never able to find them. Eliminated, I suppose, or died under questioning.

Selene Associates was not only phony company we set up. LuNoHoCo was much larger, just as phony, and not at all dummy; it had main offices in Hong Kong, branches in Novy Leningrad and Luna City, eventually employed hundreds of people most of whom were not Party members, and was our most difficult operation.

Mike’s master plan listed a weary number of problems which had to be solved. One was finance. Another was how to protect catapult from space attack.

Prof considered robbing banks to solve first, gave it up reluctantly. But eventually we did rob banks, firms, and Authority itself. Mike thought of it. Mike and Prof worked it out. At first was not clear to Mike why we needed money. He knew as little about pressure that keeps humans scratching as he knew about sex; Mike handled millions of dollars and could not see any problem. He started by offering to issue an Authority cheque for whatever dollars we wanted.

Prof shied in horror. He then explained to Mike hazard in trying to cash a cheque for, let us say, AS$l0,000,000 drawn on Authority.

So they undertook to do it, but retail, in many names and places all over Luna. Every bank, firm, shop, agency including Authority, for which Mike did accounting, was tapped for Party funds. Was a pyramided swindle based on fact, unknown to me but known to Prof and latent in Mike’s immense knowledge, that most money is simply bookkeeping.

Example—multiply by hundreds of many types: My family son Sergei, eighteen and a Party member, is asked to start account at Commonwealth Shared Risk. He makes deposits and withdrawals. Small errors are made each time; he is credited with more than he deposits, is debited with less than he withdraws. Afew months later he takes job out of town and transfers account to Tycho-Under Mutual; transferred funds are three times already-inflated amount. Most of this he soon draws out in cash and passes to his cell leader. Mike knows amount Sergei should hand over, but (since they do not know that Adam Selene and bank’s computer-bookeeper are one and same) they have each been instructed to report transaction to Adam—keep them honest though scheme was not.

Multiply this theft of about HK$3,000 by hundreds somewhat like it.

I can’t describe jiggery-pokery Mike used to balance his books while keeping thousands of thefts from showing. But bear in mind that an auditor must assume that machines are honest. He will make test runs to check that machines are working correctly—but will not occur to him that tests prove nothing because machine itself is dishonest. Mike’s thefts were never large enough to disturb economy; like half-liter of blood, amount was too small to hurt donor. I can’t make up mind who lost, money was swapped around so many ways. But scheme troubled me; I was brought up to be honest, except with Authority. Prof claimed that what was taking place was a mild inflation offset by fact that we plowed money back in—but I should remember that Mike had records and all could be restored after Revolution, with ease since we would no longer be bled in much larger amounts by Authority.

I told conscience to go to sleep. Was pipsqueak compared to swindles by every government throughout history in financing every war—and is not revolution a war?

This money, after passing through many hands (augmented by Mike each time), wound up as senior financing of LuNoHo Company. Was a mixed company, mutual and stock; “gentleman-adventurer” guarantors who backed stock put up that stolen money in own names. Won’t discuss bookkeeping this firm used. Since Mike ran everything, was not corrupted by any tinge of honesty.

Nevertheless its shares were traded in Hong Kong Luna Exchange and listed in Zurich, London, and New York. Wall Street Journal called it “an attractive high-risk-high-gain investment with novel growth potential.”

LuNoHoCo was an engineering and exploitation firm, engaged in many ventures, mostly legitimate. But prime purpbse was to build a second catapult, secretly.

Operation could not be secret. You can’t buy or build a hydrogen-fusion power plant for such and not have it noticed. (Sunpower was rejected for obvious reasons.) Parts were ordered from Pittsburgh, standard UnivCalif equipment, and we happily paid their royalties to get top quality. Can’t build a stator for a kilometers-long induction field without having it noticed, either. But most important you cannot do major construction hiring many people and not have it show. Sure, catapults are mostly vacuum; stator rings aren’t even close together at ejection end. But Authority’s 3-g catapult was almost one hundred kilometers long. It was not only an astrogation landmark, on every Luna-jump chart, but was so big it could be photographed or seen by eye from Terra with not-large telescope. It showed up beautifully on a radar screen.

We were building a shorter catapult, a 10-g job, but even that was thirty kilometers long, too big to hide.

So we hid it by Purloined Letter method.

I used to question Mike’s endless reading of fiction, wondering what notions he was getting. But turned out he got a better feeling for human life from stories than he had been able to garner from facts; fiction gave him a gestalt of life, one taken for granted by a human; he lives it. Besides this “humanizing” effect, Mike’s substitute for experience, he got ideas from “not- true data” as he called fiction. How to hide a catapult he got from Edgar Allan Poe.

We hid it in literal sense, too; this catapult had to be underground, so that it would not show to eye or radar. But had to be hidden in more subtle sense; selenographic location had to be secret.

How can this be, with a monster that big, worked on by so many people? Put it this way: Suppose you live in Novylen; know where Luna City is? Why, on east edge of Mare Crisium; everybody knows that. So? What latitude and longitude? Huh? Look it up in a reference book! So? If you don’t know where any better than that, how did you find it last week? No huhu, cobber; I took tube, changed at Torricelli, slept rest of way; finding it was capsule’s worry.

See? You don’t know where Luna City is! You simply get out when capsule pulls in at Tube Station South. That’s how we hid catapult.

Is in Mare Undarum area, “everybody knows that.” But where it is and where we said it was differ by amount greater or less than one hundred kilometers in direction north, south, east, or west, or some combination.

Today you can look up its location in reference books—and find same wrong answer. Location of that catapult is still most closely guarded secret in Luna.

Can’t be seen from space, by eye or radar. Is underground save for ejection and that is a big black shapeless hole like ten thousand others and high up an uninviting mountain with no place for a jump rocket to put down.

Nevertheless many people were there, during and after construction. Even Warden visited and my co-husband Greg showed him around. Warden went by mail rocket, commandeered for day, and his Cyborg was given coordinates and a radar beacon to home on—a spot in fact not far from site. But from there, it was necessary to travel by rolligon and our lorries were not like passenger buses from Endsville to Beluthihatchie in old days; they were cargo carriers, no ports for sightseeing and a ride so rough that human cargo had to be strapped down. Warden wanted to ride up in cab but—sorry, Gospodin!—just space for wrangler and his helper and took both to keep her steady.

Three hours later he did not care about anything but getting home. He stayed one hour and was not interested in talk about purpose of all this drilling and value of resources uncovered. Less important people, workmen and others, traveled by interconnecting ice-exploration bores, still easier way to get lost. If anybody carried an inertial pathfinder in his luggage, he could

have located site—but security was tight. One did so and had accident with p-suit; his effects were returned to L-City and his pathfinder read what it should—i.e., what we wanted it to

read, for I made hurried trip out with number-three arm along. You can reseal one without a trace if you do it in nitrogen atmosphere—I wore an oxygen mask at slight overpressure. No

huhu.

We entertained vips from Earth, some high in Authority. They traveled easier underground route; I suppose Warden had warned them. But even on that route is one thirty-kilometer stretch by rolligon. We had one visitor from Earth who looked like trouble, a Dr. Dorian, physicist and engineer. Lorry tipped over—silly driver tried shortcut—they were not in line-of-sight for anything and their beacon was smashed. Poor Dr. Dorian spent seventy-two hours in an unsealed pumice igloo and had to be returned to L-City ill from hypoxia and overdose of radiation despite efforts on his behalf by two Party members driving him.

Might have been safe to let him see; he might not have spotted doubletalk and would not have spotted error in location. Few people look at stars when p-suited even when Sun doesn’t make it futile; still fewer can read stars—and nobody can locate himself on surface without help unless he has instruments, knows how to use them and has tables and something to give a time tick. Put at crudest level, minimum would be octant, tables, and good watch. Our visitors were even encouraged to go out on surface but if one had carried an octant or modern equivalent, might have had accident.

We did not make accidents for spies. We let them stay, worked them hard, and Mike read their reports. One reported that he was certain that we had found uranium ore, something unknown in Luna at that time. Project Centerbore being many years later. Next spy came out with kit of radiation counters. We made it easy for him to sneak them through bore.

By March ‘76 catapult was almost ready, lacking only installation of stator segments. Power plant was in and a co-ax had been strung underground with a line-of-sight link for that thirty kilometers. Crew was down to skeleton size, mostly Party members. But we kept one spy so that Alvarez could have regular reports—didn’t want him to worry; it tended to make him suspicious. Instead we worried him in warrens.

Were changes in those eleven months. Wyoh was baptized into Greg’s church, Prof’s health became so shaky that he dropped teaching, Mike took up writing poetry. Yankees finished in cellar. Wouldn’t have minded paying Prof if they had been nosed out, but from pennant to cellar in one season—I quit watching them on video.

Prof’s illness was phony. He was in perfect shape for age, exercising in hotel room three hours each day, and sleeping in three hundred kilograms of lead pajamas. And so was I, and so was Wyoh, who hated it. I don’t think she ever cheated and spent night in comfort though can’t say for sure; I was not dossing with her. She had become a fixture in Davis family. Took her one day to go from “Gospazha Davis” to “Gospazha Mum,” one more to reach “Mum” and now it might be “Mimi Mum” with arm around Mum’s waist. When Zebra File showed she couldn’t go back to Hong Kong, Sidris had taken Wyoh into her beauty shop after hours and done a job which left skin same dark shade but would not scrub off. Sidris also did a hairdo on Wyoh that left it black and looking as if unsuccessfully unkinked. Plus minor touches—opaque nail enamel, plastic inserts for cheeks and nostrils and of course she wore her dark- eyed contact lenses. When Sidris got through, Wyoh could have gone bundling without fretting about her disguise; was a perfect “colored” with ancestry to match—Tamil, a touch of Angola, German. I called her “Wyma” rather than “Wyoh.”

She was gorgeous. When she undulated down a corridor, boys followed in swarms.

She started to learn farming from Greg but Mum put stop to that. While she was big and smart and willing, our farm is mostly a male operation—and Greg and Hans were not only male members of our family distracted; she cost more farming man-hours than her industry equaled. So Wyoh went back to housework, then Sidris took her into beauty shop as helper.

Prof played ponies with two accounts, betting one by Mike’s “leading apprentice” system, other by his own “scientific” system. By July ‘75 he admitted that he knew nothing about horses and went solely to Mike’s system, increasing bets and spreading them among many bookies. His winnings paid Party’s expenses while Mike built swindle that financed catapult. But Prof lost interest in a sure thing and merely placed bets as Mike designated. He stopped reading pony journals—sad, something dies when an old horseplayer quits.

Ludmilla had a girl which they say is lucky in a first and which delighted me—every family needs a girl baby. Wyoh surprised our women by being expert in midwifery—and surprised them again that she knew nothing about baby care. Our two oldest sons found marriages at last and Teddy, thirteen, was opted out. Greg hired two lads from neighbor farms and, after six months of working and eating with us, both were opted in—not rushing things, we had known them and their families for years. It restored balance we had lacked since Ludmilla’s opting and put stop to snide remarks from mothers of bachelors who had not found marriages–not that Mum wasn’t capable of snubbing anyone she did not consider up to Davis standards.

Wyoh recruited Sidris; Sidris started own cell by recruiting her other assistant and Bon Ton Beaute Shoppe became hotbed of subversion. We started using our smallest kids for deliveries and other jobs a child can do—they can stake out or trail a person through corridors better than an adult, and are not suspected. Sidris grabbed this notion and expanded it through women recruited in beauty parlor.

Soon she had so many kids on tap that we could keep all of Alvarez’s spies under surveillance. With Mike able to listen at any phone and a child spotting it whenever a spy left home or place of work or wherever—with enough kids on call so that one could phone while another held down a new stakeout—we could keep a spy under tight observation and keep him from seeing anything we didn’t want him to see. Shortly we were getting reports spies phoned in without waiting for Zebra File; it did a sod no good to phone from a taproom instead of home; with Baker Street Irregulars on job Mike was listening before he finished punching number.

These kids located Alvarez’s deputy spy boss in L-City. We knew he had one because these finks did not report to Alvarez by phone, nor did it seem possible that Alvarez could have recruited them as none of them worked in Complex and Alvarez came inside Luna City only when an Earthside vip was so important as to rate a bodyguard commanded by Alvarez in person.

His deputy turned out to be two people—an old lag who ran a candy, news, and bookie counter in Old Dome and his son who was on civil service in Complex. Son carried reports in, so Mike had not been able to hear them.

We let them alone. But from then on we had fink field reports half a day sooner than Alvarez. This advantage—all due to kids as young as five or six—saved lives of seven comrades. All glory to Baker Street Irregulars!

Don’t remember who named them but think it was Mike—I was merely a Sherlock Homes fan whereas he really did think he was Sherlock Holmes’s brother Mycroft … nor would I swear he was not; “reality” is a slippery notion. Kids did not call themselves that; they had their own play gangs with own names. Nor were they burdened with secrets which could endanger them; Sidris left it to mothers to explain why they were being asked to do these jobs save that they were never to be told real reason. Kids will do anything mysterious and fun; look how many of their games are based on outsmarting.

Bon Ton salon was a clearinghouse of gossip—women get news faster than Daily Lunatic. I encouraged Wyoh to report to Mike each night, not try to thin gossip down to what seemed significant because was no telling what might be significant once Mike got through associating it with a million other facts.

Beauty parlor was also place to start rumors. Party had grown slowly at first, then rapidly as powers-of-three began to be felt and also because Peace Dragoons were nastier than older bodyguard. As numbers increased we shifted to high speed on agitprop, black-propaganda rumors, open subversion, provocateur activities, and sabotage. Finn Nielsen handled agitprop when it was simpler as well as dangerous job of continuing to front for and put cover-up activity into older, spyridden underground. But now a large chunk of agitprop and related work was given to Sidris.

Much involved distributing handbills and such. No subversive literature was ever in her shop, nor our home, nor that hotel room; distribution was done by kids, too young to read.

Sidris was also working a full day bending hair and such. About time she began to have too much to do I happened one evening to make walk-about on Causeway with Sidris on my arm when I caught sight of a familiar face and figure—skinny little girl, all angles, carrot-red hair. She was possibly twelve, at stage when a fem shoots up just before blossoming out into rounded softness. I knew her but could not say why or when or where.

I said, “Psst, doll baby. Eyeball young fem ahead. Orange hair, no cushions.” Sidris looked her over. “Darling, I knew you were eccentric. But she’s still a boy.” “Damp it. Who?”

“Bog knows. Shall I sprag her?”

Suddenly I remembered like video coming on. And wished Wyoh were with me-but Wyoh and I were never together in public. This skinny redhead had been at meeting where Shorty was killed. She sat on floor against wall down front and listened with wide-eyed seriousness and applauded fiercely. Then I had seen her at end in free trajectory—curled into ball in air and had hit a yellow jacket in knees, he whose jaw I broke a moment later.

Wyoh and I were alive and free because this kid moved fast in a crisis. “No, don’t speak to her,” I told Sidris. “But I want to keep her in sight. Wish we had one of your Irregulars here. Damn.”

“Drop off and phone Wyoh, you’ll have one in five minutes,” my wife said.

I did. Then Sidris and I strolled, looking in shopwindows and moving slowly, as quarry was window-shopping. In seven or eight minutes a small boy came toward us, stopped and said, “Hello, Auntie Mabell. Hi, Uncle Joe.”

Sidris took his hand. “Hi, Tony. How’s your mother, dear?” “Just fine.” He added in a whisper, “I’m Jock.”

“Sorry.” Sidris said quietly to me, “Stay on her,” and took Jock into a tuck shop.

She came out and joined me. Jock followed her licking a lollipop. “‘Bye, Auntie Mabel! Thanks!” He danced away, rotating, wound up by that little redhead, stood and stared into a display, solemnly sucking his sweet. Sidris and I went home.

Areport was waiting. “She went into Cradle Roll Creche and hasn’t come out. Do we stay on it?”

“Abit yet,” I told Wyoh, and asked if she remembered this kid. She did, but had no idea who she might be. “You could ask Finn.”

“Can do better.” I called Mike.

Yes, Cradle Roll Creche had a phone and Mike would listen. Took him twenty minutes to pick up enough to give analysis—many young voices and at such ages almost sexless. But presently he told me, “Man, I hear three voices that could match the age and physical type you described. However, two answer to names which I assume to be masculine. The third answers when anyone says ‘Hazel’—which an older female voice does repeatedly. She seems to be Hazel’s boss.”

“Mike, look at old organization file. Check Hazels.”

“Four Hazels,” he answered at once, “and here she is: Hazel Meade, Young Comrades Auxiliary, address Cradle Roll Creche, born 25 December 2063, mass thirty-nine kilos, height—” “That’s our little jump jet! Thanks, Mike. Wyoh, call off stake-out. Good job!”

“Mike, call Donna and pass the word, that’s a dear.”

I left it to girls to recruit Hazel Meade and did not eyeball her until Sidris moved her into our household two weeks later. But Wyoh volunteered a report before then; policy was involved. Sidris had filled her cell but wanted Hazel Meade. Besides this irregularity, Sidris was doubtful about recruiting a child. Policy was adults only, sixteen and up.

I took it to Adam Selene and executive cell. “As I see,” I said, “this cells-of-three system is to serve us, not bind us. See nothing wrong in Comrade Cecilia having an extra. Nor any real danger to security.”

“I agree,” said Prof. “But I suggest that the extra member not be part of Cecilia’s cell—she should not know the others, I mean, unless the duties Cecilia gives her make it necessary. Nor do I think she should recruit, at her age. The real question is her age.”

“Agreed,” said Wyoh. “I want to talk about this kid’s age.”

“Friends,” Mike said diffidently (diffidently first time in weeks; he was now that confident executive “Adam Selene” much more than lonely machine)—”perhaps I should have told you, but I have already granted similar variations. It did not seem to require discussion.”

“It doesn’t, Mike,” Prof reassured him. “Achairman must use his own judgment. What is our largest cell?” “Five. it is a double cell, three and two.”

“No harm done. Dear Wyoh, does Sidris propose to make this child a full comrade? Let her know that we are committed to revolution… with all the bloodshed, disorder, and possible disaster that entails?”

“That’s exactly what she is requesting.”

“But, dear lady, while we are staking our lives, we are old enough to know it. For that, one should have an emotional grasp of death. Children seldom are able to realize that death will come to them personally. One might define adulthood as the age at which a person learns that he must die… and accepts his sentence undismayed.”

“Prof,” I said, “I know some mighty tall children. Seven to two some are in Party.”

“No bet, cobber. It’ll give odds that at least half of them don’t qualify—and we may find it out the hard way at the end of this our folly.” “Prof,” Wyoh insisted. “Mike, Mannie. Sidris is certain this child is an adult. And I think so, too.”

“Man?” asked Mike.

“Let’s find way for Prof to meet her and form own opinion. I was taken by her. Especially her go-to-hell fighting. Or would never have started it.”

We adjourned and I heard no more. Hazel showed up at dinner shortly thereafter as Sidris’ guest. She showed no sign of recognizing me, nor did I admit that I had ever seen her—but learned long after that she had recognized me, not just by left arm but because I had been hatted and kissed by tall blonde from Hong Kong. Furthermore Hazel had seen through Wyoming’s disguise, recognized what Wyoh never did successfully disguise: her voice.

But Hazel used lip glue. If she ever assumed I was in conspiracy she never showed it.

Child’s history explained her, far as background can explain steely character. Transported with parents as a baby much as Wyoh had been, she had lost father through accident while he was convict labor, which her mother blamed on indifference of Authority to safety of penal colonists. Her mother lasted till Hazel was five; what she died from Hazel did not know; she was then living in creche where we found her. Nor did she know why parents had been shipped—possibly for subversion if they were both under sentence as Hazel thought. As may be, her mother left her a fierce hatred of Authority and Warden.

Family that ran Cradle Roll let her stay; Hazel was pinning diapers and washing dishes as soon as she could reach. She had taught herself to read, and could print letters but could not write. Her knowledge of math was only that ability to count money that children soak up through their skins.

Was fuss over her leaving creche; owner and husbands claimed Hazel owed several years’ service. Hazel solved it by walking out, leaving her clothes and fewer belongings behind. Mum was angry enough to want family to start trouble which could wind up in “brawling” she despised. But I told her privately that, as her cell leader, I did nor want our family in public eye

—and hauled out cash and told her Party would pay for clothes for Hazel. Mum refused money, called off a family meeting, took Hazel into town and was extravagant—for Mum—in re- outfitting her.

So we adopted Hazel. I understand that these days adopting a child involves red tape; in those days it was as simple as adopting a kitten.

Was more fuss when Mum started to place Hazel in school, which fitted neither what Sidris had in mind nor what Hazel had been led to expect as a Party member and comrade. Again I butted in and Mum gave in part way. Hazel was placed in a tutoring school close to Sidris’ shop—that is, near easement lock thirteen; beauty parlor was by it (Sidris had good business because close enough that our water was piped in, and used without limit as return line took it back for salvage). Hazel studied mornings and helped in afternoons, pinning on gowns, handing out towels, giving rinses, learning trade—and whatever else Sidris wanted.

“Whatever else” was captain of Baker Street Irregulars.

Hazel had handled younger kids all her short life. They liked her; she could wheedle them into anything; she understood what they said when an adult would find it gibberish. She was a perfect bridge between Party and most junior auxiliary. She could make a game of chores we assigned and persuade them to play by rules she gave them, and never let them know it was adult-serious–-but child-serious, which is another matter.

For example:

Let’s say a little one, too young to read, is caught with a stack of subversive literature—which happened more than once. Here’s how it would go, after Hazel indoctrinated a kid: ADULT: “Baby, where did you get this?”

BAKER STREET IRREGULAR: “I’m not a baby, I’m a big boy!” ADULT: “Okay, big boy, where did you get this?”

B.S.I.: “Jackie give it to me.” ADULT: “Who is Jackie?” B.S.I.: “Jackie.”

ADULT: “But what’s his last name?” B.S.I.: “Who?”

ADULT: “Jackie.”

B.S.I.: (scornfully) “Jackie’s a girl!”

ADULT: “All right, where does she live?” B.S.L: “Who?”

And so on around—To all questions key answer was of pattern: “Jackie give it to me.” Since Jackie didn’t exist, he (she) didn’t have a last name, a home address, nor fixed sex. Those children enjoyed making fools of adults, once they learned how easy it was.

At worst, literature was confiscated. Even a squad of Peace Dragoons thought twice before trying to “arrest” a small child. Yes, we were beginning to have squads of Dragoons inside Luna city, but never less than a squad—some had gone in singly and not come back.

When Mike started writing poetry I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He wanted to publish it! Shows how thoroughly humanity had corrupted this innocent machine that he should wish to see his name in print.

I said, “Mike, for Bog’s sake! Blown all circuits? Or planning to give us away?”

Before he could sulk Prof said, “Hold on, Manuel; I see possibilities. Mike, would it suit you to take a pen name?”

That’s how “Simon Jester” was born. Mike picked it apparently by tossing random numbers. But he used another name for serious verse, his Party name, Adam Selene.

“Simon’s” verse was doggerel, bawdy, subversive, ranging from poking fun at vips to savage attacks on Warden, system, Peace Dragoons, finks. You found it on walls of public W.C.s, or on scraps of paper left in tube capsules: Or in taprooms. Wherever they were they were signed “Simon Jester” and with a matchstick drawing of a little horned devil with big grin and forked tail. Sometimes he was stabbing a fat man with a pitchfork. Sometimes just his face would appear, big grin and horns, until shortly even horns and grin meant “Simon was here.”

Simon appeared all over Luna same day and from then on never let up. Shortly he started receiving volunteer help; his verses and little pictures, so simple anybody could draw them, began appearing more places than we had planned. This wider coverage had to be from fellow travelers. Verses and cartoons started appearing inside Complex—which could not have been our work; we never recruited civil servants. Also, three days after initial appearance of a very rough limerick, one that implied that Warden’s fatness derived from unsavory habits, this limerick popped up on pressure-sticky labels with cartoon improved so that fat victim flinching from Simon’s pitchfork was recognizably Mort the Wart. We didn’t buy them, we didn’t print them. But they appeared in L-City and Novylen and Hong Kong, stuck almost everywhere—public phones, stanchions in corridors, pressure locks, ramp railings, other. I had a sample count made, fed it to Mike; he reported that over seventy thousand labels had been used in L-City alone.

I did not know of a printing plant in L-City willing to risk such a job and equipped for it. Began to wonder if might be another revolutionary cabal?

Simon’s verses were such a success that he branched out as a poltergeist and neither Warden nor security chief was allowed to miss it. “Dear Mort the Wart,” ran one letter. “Do please be careful from midnight to four hundred tomorrow. Love & Kisses, Simon”—with horns and grin. In same mail Alvarez received one reading: “Dear Pimplehead, If the Warden breaks his leg tomorrow night it will be your fault. Faithfully your conscience, Simon”—again with horns and smile.

We didn’t have anything planned; we just wanted Mort and Alvarez to lose sleep—which they did, plus bodyguard. All Mike did was to call Warden’s private phone at intervals from midnight to four hundred—an unlisted number supposedly known only to his personal staff. By calling members of his personal staff simultaneously and connecting them to Mort Mike not only created confusion but got Warden angry at his assistants—he flatly refused to believe their denials.

But was luck that Warden, goaded too far, ran down a ramp. Even a new chum does that only once. So he walked on air and sprained an ankle—close enough to a broken leg and Alvarez was there when it happened.

Those sleep-losers were mostly just that. Like rumor that Authority catapult had been mined and would be blown up, another night. Ninety plus eighteen men can’t search a hundred kilometers of catapult in hours, especially when ninety are Peace Dragoons not used to p-suit work and hating it—this midnight came at new earth with Sun high; they were outside far longer than is healthy, managed to cook up their own accidents while almost cooking themselves, and showed nearest thing to mutiny in regiment’s history. One accident was fatal. Did he fall or was he pushed? Asergeant.

Midnight alarums made Peace Dragoons on passport watch much taken by yawning and more bad-tempered, which produced more clashes with Loonies and still greater resentment both ways—so Simon increased pressure.

Adam Selene’s verse was on a higher plane. Mike submitted it to Prof and accepted his literary judgment (good, I think) without resentment. Mike’s scansion and rhyming were perfect, Mike being a computer with whole English language in his memory and able to search for a fitting word in microseconds. What was weak was self-criticism. That improved rapidly under Prof’s stern editorship.

Adam Selene’s by-line appeared first in dignified pages of Moonglow over a somber poem titled: “Home.” Was dying thoughts of old transportee, his discovery as he is about to leave that Luna is his beloved home. Language was simple, rhyme scheme unforced, only thing faintly subversive was conclusion on part of dying man that even many wardens he has endured was not too high a price.

Doubt if Moonglow’s editors thought twice. Was good stuff, they published.

Alvarez turned editorial office inside out trying to get a line back to Adam Selene. Issue had been on sale half a lunar before Alvarez noticed it, or had it called to his attention; we were fretted, we wanted that by-line noticed. We were much pleased with way Alvarez oscillated when he did see it.

Editors were unable to help fink boss. They told him truth: Poem had come in by mail. Did they have it? Yes, surely… sorry, no envelope; they were never saved. After a long time Alvarez left, flanked by four Dragoons he had fetched along for his health.

Hope he enjoyed studying that sheet of paper. Was piece of Adam Selene’s business stationery: SELENE ASSOCIATES

LUNACITY

Investments Office of the Chairman Old Dome

and under that was typed Home, by Adam Selene, etc.

Any fingerprints were added after it left us. Had been typed on Underwood Office Electrostator, commonest model in Luna. Even so, were not too many as are importado; a scientific detective could have identified machine. Would have found it in Luna City office of Lunar Authority. Machines, should say, as we found six of model in office and used them in rotation, five words and move to next. Cost Wyoh and self sleep and too much risk even though Mike listened at every phone, ready to warn. Never did it that way again.

Alvarez was not a scientific detective.

In early ‘76 I had too much to do. Could not neglect customers. Party work took more time even though all possible was delegated. But decisions had to be made on endless things and messages passed up and down. Had to squeeze in hours of heavy exercise, wearing weights, and dasn’t arrange permission to use centrifuge at Complex, one used by earthworm scientists to stretch time in Luna—while had used it before, this time could not advertise that I was getting in shape for Earthside.

Exercising without centrifuge is less efficient and was especially boring because did not know there would be need for it. But according to Mike 30 percent of ways events could fall required some Loonie, able to speak for Party, to make trip to Terra.

Could not see myself as an ambassador, don’t have education and not diplomatic. Prof was obvious choice of those recruited or likely to be. But Prof was old, might not live to land Earthside. Mike told us that a man of Prof’s age, body type, etc., had less than 40 percent chance of reaching Terra alive.

But Prof did gaily undertake strenuous training to let him make most of his poor chances, so what could I do but put on weights and get to work, ready to go and take his place if old heart clicked off? Wyoh did same, on assumption that something might keep me from going. She did it to share misery; Wyoh always used gallantry in place of logic.

On top of business, Party work, and exercise was farming. We had lost three sons by marriage while gaining two fine lads, Frank and Ali. Then Greg went to work for LuNoHoCo, as boss drillman on new catapult.

Was needful. Much skull sweat went into hiring construction crew. We could use non-Party men for most jobs, but key spots had to be Party men as competent as they were politically reliable. Greg did not want to go; our farm needed him and he did not like to leave his congregation. But accepted.

That made me again a valet, part time, to pigs and chickens. Hans is a good farmer, picked up load and worked enough for two men. But Greg had been farm manager ever since Grandpaw retired, new responsibility worried Hans. Should have been mine, being senior, but Hans was better farmer and closer to it; always been expected he would succeed Greg someday. So I backed him up by agreeing with his opinions and tried to be half a farm hand in hours I could squeeze. Left no time to scratch.

Late in February I was returning from long trip, Novylen, Tycho Under, Churchill. New tube had just been completed across Sinus Medii, so I went on to Hong Kong in Luna—business and did make contacts now that I could promise emergency service. Fact that Endsville-Beluthihatchie bus ran only during dark semi-lunar had made impossible before.

But business was cover for politics; liaison with Hong Kong had been thin. Wyoh had done well by phone; second member of her cell was an old comrade.—”Comrade Clayton”—who not only had clean bill of health in Alverez’s File Zebra but also stood high in Wyoh’s estimation. Clayton was briefed on policies, warned of bad apples, encouraged to start cell system while leaving old organization untouched. Wyoh told him to keep his membership, as before.

But phone isn’t face-to-face. Hong Kong should have been our stronghold. Was less tied to Authority as its utilities were not controlled from Complex; was less dependent because lack (until recently) of tube transport had made selling at catapult head less inviting; was stronger financially as Bank of Hong Kong Luna notes were better money than official Authority scrip.

I suppose Hong Kong dollars weren’t “money” in some legal sense. Authority would not accept them; times I went Earthside had to buy Authority scrip to pay for ticket. But what I carried was Hong Kong dollars as could be traded Earthside at a small discount whereas scrip was nearly worthless there. Money or not, Hong Kong Bank notes were backed by honest Chinee bankers instead of being fiat of bureaucracy. One hundred Hong Kong dollars was 31.1 grams of gold (old troy ounce) payable on demand at home office—and they did keep gold there, fetched up from Australia. Or you could demand commodities: non-potable water, steel of defined grade, heavy water of power plant specs, other things. Could buy these with scrip, too, but Authority’s prices kept changing, upward. I’m no fiscal theorist; time Mike tried to explain I got headache. Simply know we were glad to lay hands on this non-money whereas scrip

one accepted reluctantly and not just because we hated Authority.

Hong Kong should have been Party’s stronghold. But was not. We had decided that I should risk face-to-face there, letting some know my identity, as a man with one arm can’t disguise easily. Was risk that would jeopardize not only me but could lead to Wyoh, Mum, Greg, and Sidris if I took a fall. But who said revolution was safe?

Comrade Clayton turned out to be young Japanese—not too young, but they all look young till suddenly look old. He was not all Japanese—Malay and other things—but had Japanese name and household had Japanese manners; “giri” and “gimu” controlled and it was my good fortune that he owed much gimu to Wyoh.

Clayton was not convict ancestry; his people had been “volunteers” marched aboard ship at gunpoint during time Great China consolidated Earthside empire. I didn’t hold it against him; he hated Warden as bitterly as any old lag.

Met him first at a teahouse—taproom to us L-City types—and for two hours we talked everything but politics. He made up mind about me, took me home. My only complaint about Japanese hospitality is those chin-high baths are too bleeding hot.

But turned out I was not jeopardized. Mama-san was as skilled at makeup as Sidris, my social arm is very convincing, and a kimona covered its seam. Met four cells in two days, as “Comrade Bork” and wearing makeup and kimona and tabi and, if a spy was among them, don’t think he could identify Manuel O’Kelly. I had gone there intensely briefed, endless figures and projections, and talked about just one thing: famine in ‘82, six years away. “You people are lucky, won’t be hit so soon. But now with new tube, you are going to see more and more of your people turning to wheat and rice and shipping it to catapult head. Your time will come.”

They were impressed. Old organization, as I saw it and from what I heard, relied on oratory, whoop-it-up music, and emotion, much like church. I simply said, “There it is, comrades. Check those figures; I’ll leave them with you.”

Met one comrade separately. AChinee engineer given a good look at anything can figure way to make it. Asked this one if he had ever seen a laser gun small enough to carry like a rifle. He had not. Mentioned that passport system made it difficult to smuggle these days. He said thoughtfully that jewels ought not to be hard—and he would be in Luna City next week to see his cousin. I said Uncle Adam would be pleased to hear from him.

All in all was productive trip. On way back I stopped in Novylen to check an old-fashioned punched-tape “Foreman” I had overhauled earlier, had lunch afterwards, ran into my father. He and I were friendly but didn’t matter if we let a couple of years go by. We talked through a sandwich and beer and as I got up he said, “Nice to see you, Mannie. Free Luna!”

I echoed, too startled not to. My old man was as cynically non-political as you could find; if he would say that in public, campaign must be taking hold.

So I arrived in L-City cheered up and not too tired, having napped from Torricelli. Took Belt from Tube South, then dropped down and through Bottom Alley, avoiding Causeway crowd and heading home. Went into Judge Brody’s courtroom as I came to it, meaning to say hello. Brody is old friend and we have amputation in common. After he lost a leg he set up as a judge and was quite successful; was not another judge in L-City at that time who did not have side business, at least make book or sell insurance.

If two people brought a quarrel to Brody and he could not get them to agree that his settlement was just, he would return fees and, if they fought, referee their duel without charging—and still be trying to persuade them not to use knives right up to squaring off.

He wasn’t in his courtroom though plug hat was on desk. Started to leave, only to be checked by group coming in, stilyagi types. Agirl was with them, and an older man hustled by them. He was mussed, and clothing had that vague something that says “tourist.”

We used to get tourists even then. Not hordes but quite a few. They would come up from Earth, stop in a hotel for a week, go back in same ship or perhaps stop over for next ship. Most of them spent their time gambling after a day or two of sightseeing including that silly walk up on surface every tourist makes. Most Loonies ignored them and granted them their foibles.

One lad, oldest, about eighteen and leader, said to me, “Where’s judge?” “Don’t know. Not here.”

He chewed lip, looked baffled. I said, “What trouble?”

He said soberly, “Going to eliminate his choom. But want judge to confirm it.” I said, “Cover taprooms here around. Probably find him.”

Aboy about fourteen spoke up. “Say! Aren’t you Gospodin O’Kelly?” “Right.”

“Why don’t you judge it.”

Oldest looked relieved. “Will you, Gospodin?”

I hesitated. Sure, I’ve gone judge at times; who hasn’t? But don’t hanker for responsibility. However, it troubled me to hear young people talk about eliminating a tourist. Bound to cause talk.

Decided to do it. So I said to tourist, “Will you accept me as your judge?” He looked surprised. “I have choice in the matter?”

I said patiently, “Of course. Can’t expect me to listen if you aren’t willing to accept my judging. But not urging you. Your life, not mine.” He looked very surprised but not afraid. His eyes lit up. “My life, did you say?”

“Apparently. You heard lads say they intend to eliminate you. You may prefer to wait for Judge Brody.” He didn’t hesitate. Smiled and said, “I accept you as my judge, sir.”

“As you wish.” I looked at oldest lad. “What parties to quarrel? Just you and your young friend?” “Oh, no, Judge, all of us.”

“Not your judge yet.” I looked around. “Do you all ask me to judge?”

Were nods; none said No. Leader turned to girl, added, “Better speak up, Tish. You accept Judge O’Kelly?”

“What? Oh, sure!” She was a vapid little thing, vacantly pretty, curvy, perhaps fourteen. Slot-machine type, and how she might wind up. Sort who prefers being queen over pack of stilyagi to solid marriage. I don’t blame stilyagi; they chase around corridors because not enough females. Work all day and nothing to go home to at night.

“Okay, court has been accepted and all are bound to abide by my verdict. Let’s settle fees. How high can you boys go? Please understand I’m not going to judge an elimination for dimes. So ante up or I turn him loose.”

Leader blinked, they went into huddle. Shortly he turned and said, “We don’t have much. Will you do it for five Kong dollars apiece?” Six of them—”No. Ought not to ask a court to judge elimination at that price.”

They huddled again. “Fifty dollars, Judge?”

“Sixty. Ten each. And another ten from you, Tish,” I said to girl.

She looked surprised, indignant. “Come, come!” I said. “Tanstaafl.”

She blinked and reached into pouch. She had money; types like that always have. I collected seventy dollars, laid it on desk, and said to tourist, “Can match it?” “Beg pardon?”

“Kids are paying seventy dollars Hong Kong for judgment. You should match it. If you can’t, open pouch and prove it and can owe it to me. But that’s your share.” I added, “Cheap, for a capital case. But kids can’t pay much so you get a bargain.”

“I see. I believe I see.” He matched with seventy Hong Kong.

“Thank you,” I said. “Now does either side want a jury?” Girl’s eyes lit up. “Sure! Let’s do it right.” Earthworm said, “Under the circumstances perhaps I need one.” “Can have it,” I assured. “Want a counsel?”

“Why, I suppose I need a lawyer, too.”

“I said ‘counsel,’ not ‘lawyer.’ Aren’t any lawyers here.” Again he seemed delighted. “I suppose counsel, if I elected to have one, would be of the same, uh, informal quality as the rest of these proceedings?”

“Maybe, maybe not. I’m informal sort of judge, that’s all. Suit yourself.” “Mm. I think I’ll rely on your informality, your honor.”

Oldest lad said, “Uh, this jury. You pick up chit? Or do we?”

“I pay it; I agreed to judge for a hundred forty, gross. Haven’t you been in court before? But not going to kill my net for extra I could do without. Six jurymen, five dollars each. See who’s in Alley.”

One boy stepped out and shouted, “Jury work! Five-dollar job!”

They rounded up six men and were what you would expect in Bottom Alley. Didn’t worry me as had no intention of paying mind to them. If you go judge, better in good neighborhood with chance of getting solid citizens.

I went behind desk, sat down, put on Brody’s plug hat—wondered where he had found it. Probably a castoff from some lodge. “Court’s in session,” I said. “Let’s have names and tell me beef.”

Oldest lad was named. Slim Lemke, girl war Patricia Carmen Zhukov; don’t remember others. Tourist stepped up, reached into pouch and said, “My card, sir.” I still have it. It read:

STUART RENE LaJOIE

Poet—Traveler—Soldier of Fortune

Beef was tragically ridiculous, fine example of why tourists should not wander around without guides. Sure, guides bleed them white—but isn’t that what a tourist is for? This one almost lost life from lack of guidance.

Had wandered into a taproom which lets stilyagi hang out, a sort of clubroom. This simple female had flirted with him. Boys had let matter be, as of course they had to as long as she invited it. But at some point she had laughed and let him have a fist in ribs. He had taken it as casually as a Loonie would … but had answered in distinctly earthworm manner; slipped arm around waist and pulled her to him, apparently tried to kiss her.

Now believe me, in North America this wouldn’t matter; I’ve seen things much like it. But of course Tish was astonished, perhaps frightened. She screamed. And pack of boys set upon him and roughed him up. Then decided he had to pay for his “crime”—but do it correctly. Find a judge.

Most likely they chickened. Chances are not one had ever dealt with an elimination. But their lady had been insulted, had to be done.

I questioned them, especially Tish, and decided I had it straight. Then said, “Let me sum up. Here we have a stranger. Doesn’t know our ways. He offended, he’s guilty. But meant no offense far as I can see. What does jury say? Hey, you there!—wake up! What you say?”

Juryman looked up blearily, said, “‘Liminate him!” “Very well? And you?”

“Well—” Next one hesitated. “Guess it would be enough just to beat tar out of him, so he’ll know better next time. Can’t have men pawing women, or place will get to be as bad as they say Terra is.”

“Sensible,” I agreed. “And you?”

Only one juror voted for elimination. Others ranged from a beating to very high fines. “What do you think, Slim?”

“Well—” He was worried—face in front of gang, face in front of what might be his girl. But had cooled down and didn’t want chum eliminated. “We already worked him over. Maybe if he got down on hands and knees and kissed floor in front of Tish and said he was sorry?”

“Will you do that, Gospodin LaJoie?” “If you so rule, your honor.”

“I don’t. Here’s my verdict. First that juryman—you!—you are fined fee paid you because you fell asleep while supposed to be judging. Grab him, boys, take it away from him and throw him out.”

They did, enthusiastically; made up a little for greater excitement they had thought of but really could not stomach. “Now, Gospodin LaJoie, you are fined fifty Hong Kong for not having common sense to learn local customs before stirring around. Ante up.”

I collected it. “Now you boys line up. You are fined five dollars apiece for not exercising good judgment in dealing with a person you knew was a stranger and not used to our ways. Stopping him from touching Tish, that’s fine. Rough him, that’s okay, too; he’ll learn faster. And could have tossed him out. But talking about eliminating for what was honest mistake— well, it’s out of proportion. Five bucks each. Ante up.

Slim gulped. “Judge … I don’t think we have that much left! At least I don’t.”

“I thought that might be. You have a week to pay or I post your names in Old Dome. Know where Bon Ton Beaute Shoppe is, near easement lock thirteen? My wife runs it; pay her. Court’s out. Slim, don’t go away. Nor you, Tish. Gospodin LaJoie, let’s take these young people up and buy them a cold drink and get better acquainted.”

Again his eyes filled with odd delight that reminded of Prof. “Acharming idea, Judge!”

“I’m no longer judge. It’s up a couple of ramps… so I suggest you offer Tish your arm.”

He bowed and said, “My lady? May I?” and crooked his elbow to her. Tish at once became very grown up. “Spasebo, Gospodin! I am pleased.”

Took them to expensive place, one where their wild clothes and excessive makeup looked out of place; they were edgy. But I tried to make them feel easy and Stuart LaJoie tried even harder and successfully. Got their addresses as well as names; Wyoh had one sequence which was concentrating on stilyagi. Presently they finished their coolers, stood up, thanked and left. LaJoie and I stayed on.

“Gospodin,” he said presently, “you used an odd word earlier—odd to me, I mean.” “Call me ‘Mannie’ now that kids are gone. What word?”

“It was when you insisted that the, uh, young lady, Tish—that Tish must pay, too. ‘Tone-stapple,’ or something like it.”

“Oh, ‘tanstaafl.’ Means ~There ain’t no such thing as a free lunch.’ And isn’t,” I added, pointing to a FREE LUNCH sign across room, “or these drinks would cost half as much. Was reminding her that anything free costs twice as much in long run or turns out worthless.”

“An interesting philosophy.”

“Not philosophy, fact. One way or other, what you get, you pay for.” I fanned air. “Was Earthside once and heard expression ‘Free as air.’ This air isn’t free, you pay for every breath.” “Really? No one has asked me to pay to breathe.” He smiled. “Perhaps I should stop.”

“Can happen, you almost breathed vacuum tonight. But nobody asks you because you’ve paid. For you, is part of round-trip ticket; for me it’s a quarterly charge.” I started to tell how my family buys and sells air to community co-op, decided was too complicated. “But we both pay.”

LaJoie looked thoughtfully pleased. “Yes, I see the economic necessity. It’s simply new to me. Tell me, uh, Mannie—and I’m called ‘Stu’—was I really in danger of ‘breathing vacuum’?” “Should have charged you more.”

“Please?”

“You aren’t convinced. But charged kids all they could scrape up and fined them too, to make them think. Couldn’t charge you more than them. Should have, you think it was all a joke.” “Believe me, sir, I do not think it was a joke. I just have trouble grasping that your local laws permit a man to be put to death … so casually … and for so trivial an offense.”

I sighed. Where do you start explaining when a man’s words show there isn’t anything he understands about subject, instead is loaded with preconceptions that don’t fit facts and doesn’t even know he has?

“Stu,” I said, “let’s take that piece at a time. Are no ‘local laws’ so you couldn’t be ‘put to death’ under them. Your offense was not ‘trivial,’ I simply made allowance for ignorance. And wasn’t done casually, or boys would have dragged you to nearest lock to zero pressure, shoved you in, and cycled. Instead were most formal—good boys!—and paid own cash to give you a trial. And didn’t grumble when verdict wasn’t even close to what they asked. Now, anything still not clear?”

He grinned and turned out to have dimples like Prof; found myself liking him still more. “All of it, I’m afraid. I seem to have wandered into Looking Glass Land.”

Expected that; having been Earthaide I know how their minds work, some. An earthworm expects to find a law, a printed law, for every circumstance. Even have laws for private matters such as contracts. Really, if a man’s word isn’t any good, who would contract with him? Doesn’t he have reputation?

“We don’t have laws,” I said. “Never been allowed to. Have customs, but aren’t written and aren’t enforced—or could say they are self-enforcing because are simply way things have to be, conditions being what they are. Could say our customs are natural laws because are way people have to behave to stay alive. When you made a pass at Tish you were violating a natural law… and almost caused you to breathe vacuum.”

He blinked thoughtfully. “Would you explain the natural law I violated? I had better understand it … or best I return to my ship and stay inboard until lift. To stay alive.”

“Certainly. Is so simple that, once you understand, you’ll never be in danger from it again. Here we are, two million males, less than one million females. Aphysical fact, basic as rock or vacuum. Then add idea of tanstaafl. When thing is scarce, price goes up. Women are scarce; aren’t enough to go around—that makes them most valuable thing in Luna, more precious than ice or air, as men without women don’t care whether they stay alive or not. Except a Cyborg, if you regard him as a man, which I don’t.”

I went on: “So what happens?—and mind you, things were even worse when this custom, or natural law, first showed itself back in twentieth century. Ratio was ten-to-one or worse then. One thing is what always happens in prisons: men turn to other men. That helps not much; problem still is because most men want women and won’t settle for substitute while chance of getting true gelt.

“They get so anxious they will kill for it… and from stories old-timers tell was killing enough to chill your teeth in those days. But after a while those still alive find way to get along, things shake down. As automatic as gravitation. Those who adjust to facts stay alive; those who don’t are dead and no problem.

“What that means, here and now, is that women are scarce and call tune… and you are surrounded by two million men who see to it you dance to that tune. You have no choice, she has all choice. She can hit you so hard it draws blood; you dasn’t lay a finger on her. Look, you put an arm around Tish, maybe tried to kiss. Suppose instead she had gone to hotel room with you; what would happen?”

“Heavens! I suppose they would have torn me to pieces.”

“They would have done nothing. Shrugged and pretended not to see. Because choice is hers. Not yours. Not theirs. Exclusively hers. Oh, be risky to ask her to go to hotel; she might take offense and that would give boys license to rough you up. But—well, take this Tish. Asilly little tart. If you had flashed as much money as I saw in your pouch, she might have taken into head that a bundle with tourist was just what she needed and suggested it herself. In which case would have been utterly safe.”

Lajoie shivered. “At her age? It scares me to think of it. She’s below the age of consent. Statutory rape.”

“Oh, bloody! No such thing. Women her age are married or ought to be. Stu, is no rape in Luna. None. Men won’t permit. If rape had been involved, they wouldn’t have bothered to find a judge and all men in earshot would have scrambled to help. But chance that a girl that big is virgin is negligible. When they’re little, their mothers watch over them, with help from everybody in city; children are safe here. But when they reach husband-high, is no holding them and mothers quit trying. If they choose to run corndors and have fun, can’t stop ‘em; once a girl is nubile, she’s her own boss. You married?”

“No.” He added with a smile; “Not at present.”

“Suppose you were and wife told you she was marrying again. What would you do?”

“Odd that you should pick that, something like it did happen. I saw my attorney and made sure she got no alimony.”

“‘Alimony’ isn’t a word here; I learned it Earthside. Here you might—or a Loonie husband might—say, ‘I think we’ll need a bigger place, dear.’ Or might simply congratulate her and his new co-husband. Or if it made him so unhappy he couldn’t stand it, might opt out and pack clothes. But whatever, would not make slightest fuss. If he did, opinion would be unanimous against him. His friends, men and women alike, would snub him. Poor sod would probably move to Novylen, change name and hope to live it down.

“All our customs work that way. If you’re out in field and a cobber needs air, you lend him a bottle and don’t ask cash. But when you’re both back in pressure again, if he won’t pay up, nobody would criticize if you eliminated him without a judge. But he would pay; air is almost as sacred as women. If you take a new chum in a poker game, you give him air money. Not eating money; can work or starve. If you eliminate a man other than self-defense, you pay his debts and support his kids, or people won’t speak to you, buy from you, sell to you.”

“Mannie, you’re telling me that I can murder a man here and settle the matter merely with money?”

“Oh, not at all! But eliminating isn’t against some law; are no laws—except Warden’s regulations—and Warden doesn’t care what one Loonie does to another. But we figure this way: If a man is killed, either he had it coming and everybody knows it—usual case—or his friends will take care of it by eliminating man who did it. Either way, no problem. Nor many eliminations. Even set duels aren’t common.”

“‘His friends will take care of it.’ Mannie, suppose those young people had gone ahead? I have no friends here.”

“Was reason I agreed to judge. While I doubt if those kids could have egged each other into it, didn’t want to take chance. Eliminating a tourist could give our city a bad name.” “Does it happen often?”

“Can’t recall has ever happened. Of course may have been made to look like accident. Anew chum is accident-prone; Luna is that sort of place. They say if a new chum lives a year, he’ll live forever. But nobody sells him insurance first year.” Glanced at time. “Stu, have you had dinner?”

“No, and I was about to suggest that you come to my hotel. The cooking is good. Auberge Orleans.”

I repressed shudder—ate there once. “Instead, would you come home with me and meet my family? We have soup or something about this hour.” “Isn’t that an imposition?”

“No. Half a minute while I phone.”

Mum said, “Manuel! How sweet, dear! Capsule has been in for hours; I had decided it would be tomorrow or later.”

“Just drunken debauchery, Mimi, and evil companions. Coming home now if can remember way—and bringing evil companion.” “Yes, dear. Dinner in twenty minutes; try not to be late.”

“Don’t you want to know whether my evil companion is male or female?”

“Knowing you, I assume that it is female. But I fancy I shall be able to tell when I see her.”

“You know me so well, Mum. Warn girls to look pretty; wouldn’t want a visitor to outshine them.” “Don’t be too long; dinner will spoil. ‘Bye, dear. Love.”

“Love, Mum.” I waited, then punched MYCROFTXXX. “Mike, want a name searched. Earthside name, passenger in Popov. Stuart Rene LaJoie. Stuart with a U and last name might file under either L or J.”

Didn’t wait many seconds; Mike found Stu in all major Earthside references: Who’s Who, Dun & Bradstreet, Almanach de Gotha, London Times running files, name it. French expatriate, royalist, wealthy, six more names sandwiched into ones he used, three university degrees including one in law from Sorbonne, noble ancestry both France and Scotland, divorced (no children) from Honorable Pamela Hyphen-Hyphen-Blueblood. Sort of earthworm who wouldn’t speak to a Loonie of convict ancestry—except Stu would speak to anyone.

I listened a pair of minutes, then asked Mike to prepare a full dossier, following all associational leads. “Mike, might be our pigeon.” “Could be, Man.”

“Got to run. ‘Bye.” Returned thoughtfully to my guest. Almost a year earlier, during alcoholic talk-talk in a hotel room, Mike had promised us one chance in seven—if certain things were done. One sine-qua-non was help on Terra itself.

Despite “throwing rocks,” Mike knew, we all knew, that mighty Terra with eleven billion people and endless resources could not be defeated by three million who had nothing, even though we stood on a high place and could drop rocks on them.

Mike drew parallels from XVIIIth century, when Britain’s American colonies broke away, and from XXth, when many colonies became independent of several empires, and pointed out that in no case had a colony broken loose by brute force. No, in every case imperial state was busy elsewhere, had grown weary and given up without using full strength.

For months we had been strong enough, had we wished, to overcome Warden’s bodyguards. Once our catapult was ready (anytime now) we would not be helpless. But we needed a “favorable climate” on Terra. For that we needed help on Terra.

Prof had not regarded it as difficult. But turned out to be quite difficult. His Earthside friends were dead or nearly and I had never had any but a few teachers. We sent inquiry down through cells: “What vips do you know Earthaide?” and usual answer was: “You kidding?” Null program—

Prof watched passenger lists on incoming ships, trying to figure a contact, and had been reading Luna print-outs of Earthside newspapers, searching for vips he could reach through past connection. I had not tried; handful I had met on Terra were not vips.

Prof had not picked Stu off Popov’s passenger list. But Prof had not met him. I didn’t not know whether Stu was simply eccentric as odd personal card seemed to show. But he was only Terran I had ever had a drink with in Luna, seemed a dinkum cobber, and Mike’s report showed hunch was not all bad; he carried some tonnage.

So I took him home to see what family thought of him.

Started well. Mum smiled and offered hand. He took it and bowed so deep I thought he was going to kiss it—would have, I think, had I not warned him about fems. Mum was cooing as she led him in to dinner.

April and May ‘76 were more hard work and increasing effort to stir up Loonies against Warden, and goad him into retaliation. Trouble with Mort the Wart was that he was not a bad egg, nothing to hate about him other than fact he was symbol of Authority; was necessary to frighten him to get him to do anything. And average Loonie was just as bad. He despised Warden as matter of ritual but was not stuff that makes revolutionists; he couldn’t be bothered. Beer, betting, women, and work—Only thing that kept Revolution from dying of anemia was that Peace Dragoons had real talent for antagonizing.

But even them we had to keep stirred up. Prof kept saying we needed a “Boston Tea Party,” referring to mythical incident in an earlier revolution, by which he meant a public ruckus to grab attention.

We kept trying. Mike rewrote lyrics of old revolutionary songs: “Marseillaise,” “Internationale,” “Yankee Doodle,” “We Shall Overcome,” “Pie in the Sky,” etc., giving them words to fit Luna. Stuff like “Sons of Rock and Boredom/Will you let the Warden/Take from you your libertee!” Simon Jester spread them around, and when one took hold, we pushed it (music only) by radio and video. This put Warden in silly position of forbidding playing of certain tunes—which suited us; people could whistle.

Mike studied voice and word-choice patterns of Deputy Administrator, Chief Engineer, other department heads; Warden started getting frantic calls at night from his staff. Which they denied making. So Alvarez put lock-and-trace on next one—and sure enough, with Mike’s help, Alvarez traced it to supply chief’s phone and was sure it was boss belly-robber’s voice.

But next poison call to Mort seemed to come from Alvarez, and what Mort had to say next day to Alvarez and what Alvaiez said in own defense can only be described as chaotic crossed with psychotic.

Prof had Mike stop; was afraid Alvarez might lose job, which we did not want; he was doing too well for us. But by then Peace Dragoons had been dragged out twice in night on what seemed to be Warden’s orders, further disrupting morale, and Warden became convinced he was surrounded by traitors in official family while they were sure he had blown every circult.

An ad appeared in Lunaya Pravda announcing lecture by Dr. Adam Selene on Poetry and Arts in Luna: a New Renaissance. No comrade attended; word went down cells to stay away. Nor did anybody hang around when three squads of Peace Dragoons showed up—this involves Heisenberg principle as applied to Scarlet Pimpernels. Editor of Pravda spent bad hour explaining that he did not accept ads in person and this one was ordered over counter and paid for in cash. He was told not to take ads from Adam Selene. This was countermanded and he was told to take anything from Adam Selene but notify Alvarez at once.

New catapult was tested with a load dropped into south Indian Ocean at 350 E., 600 S., a spot used only by fish. Mike was joyed over his marksmanship since he had been able to sneak only two looks when guidance & tracking radars were not in use and had relied on just one nudge to bring it to bullseye. Earthside news reported giant meteor in sub-Antarctic picked up by Capetown Spacetrack with projected impact that matched Mike’s attempt perfectly—Mike called me to boast while taking down evening’s Reuters transmission. “I told you it was dead on,” he gloated. “I watched it. Oh, what a lovely splash!” Later reports on shock wave from seismic labs and on tsunamis from oceanographic stations were consistent.

Was only canister we had ready (trouble buying steel) or Mike might have demanded to try his new toy again.

Liberty Caps started appearing on stilyagi and their girls; Simon Jester began wearing one between his horns. Bon Marche gave them away as premiums. Alvarez had painful talk with Warden in which Mort demanded to know if his fink boss felt that something should be done every time kids took up fad? Had Alvarez gone out of his mind?

I ran across Slim Lemke on Carver Causeway early May; he was wearing a Liberty Cap. He seemed pleased to see me and I thanked him for prompt payment (he had come in three days after Stu’s trial and paid Sidris thirty Hong Kong, for gang) and bought him a cooler. While we were seated I asked why young people were wearing red hats? Why a hat? Hat’s were an earthworm custom, nyet?

He hesitated, then said was sort of a lodge, like Elks. I changed subject. Learned that his full name was Moses Lemke Stone; member of Stone Gang. This pleased me, we were relatives. But surprised me. However, even best families such as Stones sometimes can’t always find marriages for all sons; I had been lucky or might have been roving corridors at his age, too. Told him about our connection on my mother’s side.

He warmed up and shortly said, “Cousin Manuel, ever think about how we ought to elect our own Warden?”

I said No, I hadn’t; Authority appointed him and I supposed they always would. He asked why we had to have an Authority? I asked who had been putting ideas in head? He insisted nobody had, just thinking, was all—didn’t he have a right to think?

When I got home was tempted to check with Mike, find out lad’s Party name if any. But wouldn’t have been proper security, nor fair to Slim.

On 3 May ‘76 seventy-one males named Simon were rounded up and questioned, then released. No newspaper carned story. But everybody heard it; we were clear down in “J’s” and twelve thousand people can spread a story faster than I would have guessed. We emphasized that one of these dangerous males was only four years old, which was not true but very effective.

Stu Lajoie stayed with us during February and March and did not return to Terra until early April; he changed his ticket to next ship and then to next. When I pointed out that he was riding close to invisible line where irreversible physiological changes could set in, he grinned and told me not to worry. But made arrangements to use centrifuge.

Stu did not want to leave even by April. Was kissed goodbye with tears by all my wives and Wyoh, and he assured each one he was coming back. But left as he had work to do; by then he was a Party member.

I did not take part in decision to recruit Stu; I felt prejudiced. Wyoh and Prof and Mike were unanimous in risking it; I happily accepted their judgment.

We all helped to sell Stu LaJoie—self, Prof, Mike, Wyoh, Mum, even Sidris and Lenore and Ludmilla and our kids and Hans and Ali and Frank, as Davis home life was what grabbed him first. Did not hurt that Lenore was prettiest girl in L-City—which is no disparagement of Milla, Wyoh, Anna, and Sidris. Nor did it hurt that Stu could charm a baby away from breast. Mom fussed over him, Hans showed him hydroponic farming and Stu got dirty and sweaty and sloshed around in tunnels with our boys—helped harvest our Chinee fishponds—got stung by our bees—learned to handle a p-suit and went up with me to make adjustments on solar battery—helped Anna butcher a hog and learned about tanning leather—sat with Grandpaw and was respectful to his naive notions about Terra—washed dishes with Milla, something no male in our family ever did—rolled on floor with babies and puppies—learned to grind flour and swapped recipes with Mum.

I introduced him to Prof and that started political side of feeling him out. Nothing had been admitted—we could back away—when Prof introduced him to “Adam Selene” who could visit only by phone as he was “in Hong Kong at present.” By time Stu was committed to Cause, we dropped pretense and let him know that Adam was chairman whom he would not meet in person for security reasons.

But Wyoh did most and was on her judgment that Prof turned cards up and let Stu know that we were building a revolution. Was no surprise; Stu had made up mind and was waiting for us to trust him.

They say a face once launched a thousand ships. I do not know that Wyoh used anything but argument on Stu. I never tried to find out. But Wyoh had more to do with committing me than all Prof’s theory or Mike’s figures. If Wyoh used even stronger methods on Stu, she was not first heroine in history to do so for her country.

Stu went Earthside with a special codebook. I’m no code and cipher expert except that a computerman learns principles during study of information theory. Acipher is a mathematical pattern under which one letter substitutes for another, simplest being one in which alphabet is merely scrambled.

Acipher can be incredibly subtle, especially with help of a computer. But ciphers all have weakness that they are patterns. If one computer can think them up, another computer can break them.

Codes do not have same weakness. Let’s say that codebook has letter group GLOPS. Does this mean “Aunt Minnie will be home Thursday” or does it mean “3.14157 … “? Meaning is whatever you assign and no computer can analyze it simply from letter group. Give a computer enough groups and a rational theory involving meanings or subjects for

meanings, and it will eventually worry it out because meanings themselves will show patterns. But is a problem of different kind on more difficult level.

Code we selected was commonest commercial codebook, used both on Terra and in Luna for commercial dispatches. But we worked it over. Prof and Mike spent hours discussing what information Party might wish to send to its agent on Terra, or receive from agent, then Mike put his vast information to work and came up with new set of meanings for codebook, ones that could say “Buy Thai rice futures” as easily as “Run for life; they’ve caught us.” Or anything, as cipher signals were buried in it to permit anything to be said that had not been anticipated.

Late one night Mike made print-out of new code via Lunaya Pravda’s facilities, and night editor turned roll over to another comrade who converted it into a very small roll of film and passed it along in turn, and none ever knew what they handled or why. Wound up in Stu’s pouch. Search of off-planet luggage was tight by then and conducted by bad-tempered Dragoons—but Stu was certain he would have no trouble. Perhaps he swallowed it.

Thereafter some of LuNoHo Company’s dispatches to Terra reached Stu via his London broker.

Part of purpose was financial. Party needed to spend money Earthside; LuNoHoCo transferred money there (not all stolen, some ventures turned out well); Party needed still more money Earthside, Stu was to speculate, acting on secret knowledge of plan of Revolution—he, Prof, and Mike had spent hours discussing what stocks would go up, what would go down, etc., after Der Tag. This was Prof’s pidgin; I am not that sort of gambler.

But money was needed before Der Tag to build “climate of opinion.” We needed publicity, needed delegates and senators in Federated Nations, needed some nation to recognize us quickly once The Day came, we needed laymen telling other laymen over a beer: “What is there on that pile of rock worth one soldier’s life? Let ‘em go to hell in their own way, I say!”

Money for publicity, money for bribes, money for dummy organizations and to infiltrate established organizations; money to get true nature of Luna’s economy (Stu had gone loaded with figures) brought out as scientific research, then in popular form; money to convince foreign office of at least one major nation that there was advantage in a Free Luna; money to sell idea of Lunar tourism to a major cartel—

Too much money! Stu offered own fortune and Prof did not discourage it—Where treasure is, heart will be. But still too much money and far too much to do. I did not know if Stu could swing a tenth of it; simply kept fingers crossed. At least it gave us a channel to Terra. Prof claimed that communications to enemy were essential to any war if was to be fought and settled sensibly. (Prof was a pacifist. Like his vegetarianism, he did not let it keep him from being “rational.” Would have made a terrific theologian.)

As soon as Stu went Earthside, Mike set odds at one in thirteen. I asked him what in hell? “But, Man,” he explained patiently, “it increases risk. That it is necessary risk does not change the fact that risk is increased.”

I shut up. About that time, early May, a new factor reduced some risks while revealing others. One part of Mike handled Terra-Luna microwave traffic—commercial messages, scietitific data, news channels, video, voice radiotelephony, routine Authority traffic—and Warden’s top secret.

Aside from last, Mike could read any of this including commercial codes and ciphers—breaking ciphers was a crossword puzzle to him and nobody mistrusted this machine. Except Warden, and I suspect that his was distrust of all machinery; was sort of person who finds anything more involved than a pair of scissors complex, mysterious, and suspect—Stone Age mind.

Warden used a code that Mike never saw. Also used ciphers and did not work them through Mike; instead he had a moronic little machine in residence office. On top of this he had arrangement with Authority Earthside to switch everything around at preset times. No doubt he felt safe.

Mike broke his cipher patterns and deduced time-change program just to try legs. He did not tackle code until Prof suggested it; it held no interest for him.

But once Prof asked, Mike tackled Warden’s top-secret messages. He had to start from scratch; in past Mike had erased Warden’s messages once transmission was reported. So slowly, slowly he accumulated data for analysis—painfully slow, for Warden used this method only when he had to. Sometimes a week would pass between such messages. But gradually Mike began to gather meanings for letter groups, each assigned a probability. Acode does not crack all at once; possible to know meanings of ninety-nine groups in a message and miss essence because one group is merely GLOPS to you.

However, user has a problem, too; if GLOPS comes through as GLOPT, he’s in trouble. Any method of communication needs redundancy, or information can be lost. Was at redundancy that Mike nibbled, with perfect patience of machine.

Mike solved most of Warden’s code sooner than he had projected; Warden was sending more traffic than in past and most of it one subject (which helped)—subject being security and subversion.

We had Mort in a twitter; he was yelling for help.

He reported subversive activities still going on despite two phalanges of Peace Dragoons and demanded enough troops to station guards in all key spots inside all warrens. Authority told him this was preposterous, no more of FN’s crack troops could be spared—to be permanently ruined for Earthside duties—and such requests should not be made. If he

wanted more guards, he must recruit them from transportees-but such increase in administrative costs must be absorbed in Luna; he would not be allowed more overhead. He was

directed to report what steps be had taken to meet new grain quotas set in our such-and-such.

Warden replied that unless extremely moderate requests for trained security personnel—not-repeat-not untrained, unreliable, and unfit convicts—were met, he could no longer assure civil order, much less increased quotas.

Reply asked sneeringly what difference it made if exconsignees chose to riot among themselves in their holes? If it worried him, had he thought of shutting off lights as was used so successfully in 1996 and 2021?

These exchanges caused us to revise our calendar, to speed some phases, slow others. Like a perfect dinner, a revolution has to be “cooked” so that everything comes out even. Stu needed time Earthside. We needed canisters and small steering rockets and associated circuitry for “rock throwing.” And steel was a problem—buying it, fabricating it, and above all moving it through meander of tunnels to new catapult site. We needed to increase Party at least into “K’s”—say 40,000—with lowest echelons picked for fighting spirit rather than talents we had sought earlier. We needed weapons against landings. We needed to move Mike’s radars without which he was blind. (Mike could not be moved; bits of him spread all through Luna. But he had a thousand meters of rock over that central part of him at Complex, was surrounded by steel and this armor was cradled in springs; Authority had contemplated that someday somebody might lob H-weapons at their control center.)

All these needed to be done and pot must not boil too soon.

So we cut down on things that worried Warden and tried to speed up everything else. Simon Jester took a holiday. Word went out that Liberty Caps were not stylish—but save them. Warden got no more nervous-making phone calls. We quit inciting incidents with Dragoons-which did not stop them but reduced number.

Despite efforts to quiet Mort’s worries a symptom showed up which disquieted us instead. No message (at least we intercepted none) reached Warden agreeing to his demand for more troops—but he started moving people out of Complex. Civil servants who lived there started looking for holes to rent in L-City. Authority started test drills and resonance exploration in a cubic adjacent to L.City which could be converted into a warren.

Could mean that Authority proposed shipping up unusually large draft of prisoners. Could mean that space in Complex was needed for purpose other than quarters. But Mike told us: “Why kid yourselves? The Warden is going to get those troops; that space will be their barracks. Any other explanation I would have heard.”

I said, “But Mike, why didn’t you hear if it’s troops? You have that code of Warden’s fairly well whipped.”

“Not just ‘fairly well,’ I’ve got it whipped. But the last two ships have carried Authority vips and I don’t know what they talk about away from phones!”

So we tried to plan to cover possibility of having to cope with ten more phalanges, that being Mike’s estimate of what cubic being cleared would hold. We could deal with that many—with Mike’s help—but it would mean deaths, not bloodless coup d’etat Prof had planned.

And we increased efforts to speed up other factors. When suddenly we found ourselves committed—

Her name was Marie Lyons; she was eighteen years old and born in Luna, mother having been exiled via Peace Corps in ‘56. No record of father. She seems to have been a harmless person. Worked as a stock-control clerk in shipping department, lived in Complex.

Maybe she hated Authority and enjoyed teasing Peace Dragoons. Or perhaps it started as a commercial transaction as cold-blooded as any in a crib behind a slot-machine lock. How can we know? Six Dragoons were in it. Not satisfied with raping her (if rape it was) they abused her other ways and killed her. But they did not dispose of body neatly; another civil service fem found it before was cold. She screamed. Was her last scream.

We heard about it at once; Mike called us three while Alvarez and Peace Dragoon C.O. were digging into matter in Alvarez’s office. Appears that Peace Goon boss had no trouble laying hands on guilty; he and Alvarez were questioning them one at a time, and quarreling between grillings. Once we heard Alvarez say: “I told you those goons of yours had to have their own women! I warned you!”

“Stuff it,” Dragoon officer answered. “I’ve told you time and again they won’t ship any. The question now is how we hush this up.” “Are you crazy? Warden already knows.”

“It’s still the question.”

“Oh, shut up and send in the next one.”

Early in filthy story Wyoh joined me in workshop. Was pale under makeup, said nothing but wanted to sit close and clench my hand.

At last was over and Dragoon officer left Alvarez. Were still quarreling. Alvarez wanted those six executed at once and fact made public (sensible but not nearly enough, for his needs);

C.O. was still talking about “hushing it up.” Prof said, “Mike, keep an ear there and listen where else you can. Well, Mike? Wyoh? Plans?”

I didn’t have any. Wasn’t a cold, shrewd revolutionist; just wanted to get my heel into faces that matched those six voices. “I don’t know. What do we do, Prof?” “‘Do’? We’re on our tiger; we grab its ears. Mike. Where’s Finn Nielsen? Find him.”

Mike answered, “He’s calling now.” He cut Finn in with us; I heard: “—at Tube South. Both guards dead and about six of our people. Just people, I mean, not necessarily comrades. Some wild rumor about Goons going crazy and raping and killing all women at Complex. Adam, I had better talk to Prof.”

“I’m here, Finn,” Prof answered in a strong, confident voice. “Now we move, we’ve got to. Switch off and get those laser guns and men who trained with them, any you can round up.” “Da! Okay, Adam?”

“Do as Prof says. Then call back.”

“Hold it, Finn!” I cut in. “Mannie here. I want one of those guns.” “You haven’t practiced, Mannie.”

“If it’s a laser, I can use it!”

“Mannie,” Prof said forcefully, “shut up. You’re wasting time; let Finn go. Adam. Message for Mike. Tell him Plan Alert Four.”

Prof’s example damped my oscillating. Had forgotten that Finn was not supposed to know Mike was anybody but “Adam Selene”; forgotten everything but raging anger. Mike said, “Finn has switched off, Prof, and I put Alert Four on standby when this broke. No traffic now except routine stuff filed earlier. You don’t want it interrupted, do you?”

“No, just follow Alert Four. No Earthside transmission either way that tips any news. If one comes in, hold it and consult.” Alert Four was emergency communication doctrine, intended to slap censorship on news to Terra without arousing suspicion. For this Mike was ready to talk in many voices with excuses as to why a direct voice transmission would be delayed—and any taped transmission was no problem.

“Program running,” agreed Mike.

“Good. Mannie, calm down, son, and stick to your knitting. Let other people do the fighting; you’re needed here, we’re going to have to improvise. Wyoh, cut out and get word to Comrade Cecilia to get all Irregulars out of the corridors. Get those children home and keep them home—and have their mothers urging other mothers to do the same thing. We don’t know where the fighting will spread. But we don’t want children hurt if we can help it.”

“Right away, Prof!”

“Wait. As soon as you’ve told Sidris, get moving on your stilyagi. I want a riot at the Authority’s city office—break in, wreck the place, and noise and shouting and destruction—no one hurt if it can be helped. Mike. Alert-Four-Em. Cut off the Complex except for your own lines.”

“Prof!” I demanded. “What sense in starting riots here?”

“Mannie, Mannie! This is The Day! Mike, has the rape and murder news reached other warrens?”

“Not that I’ve heard. I’m listening here and there with random jumps. Tube stations are quiet except Luna City. Fighting has just started at Tube Station West. Want to hear it?”

“Not now. Mannie, slide over there and watch it. But stay out of it and slick close to a phone. Mike, start trouble in all warrens. Pass the news down the cells and use Finn’s version, not the truth. The Goons are raping and killing all the women in the Complex—I’ll give you details or you can invent them. Uh, can you order the guards at tube stations in other warrens back to their barracks? I want riots but there is no point in sending unarmed people against armed men if we can dodge it.”

“I’ll try.”

I hurried to Tube Station West, slowed as I neared it. Corridors were full of angry people. City roared in way I had never heard before and, as I crossed Causeway, could hear shouts and crowd noise from direction of Authority’s city office although it seemed to me there had not been time for Wyoh to reach her stilyagi—nor had there been; what Prof had tried to start was under way spontaneously.

Station was mobbed and I had to push through to see what I assumed to be certain, that passport guards were either dead or fled. ‘Dead’ it turned out, along with three Loonies. One was a boy not more than thirteen. He had died with his hands on a Dragoon’s throat and his head still sporting a little red cap. I pushed way to a public phone and reported.

“Go back,” said Prof. “and read the I.D. of one of those guards. I want name and rank. Have you seen Finn?” “No.”

“He’s headed there with three guns. Tell me where the booth you’re in is, get that name and come back to it.”

One body was gone, dragged away; Bog knows what they wanted with it. Other had been badly battered but I managed to crowd in and snatch dog chain from neck before it, too, was taken somewhere. I elbowed back to phone, found a woman at it. “Lady,” I said, “I’ve got to use that phone. Emergency!”

“You’re welcome to it! Pesky thing’s out of order.”

Worked for me; Mike bad saved it. Gave Prof guard’s name. “Good,” he said. “Have you seen Finn? He’ll be looking for you at that booth.” “Haven’t s—Hold it, just spotted him.”

“Okay, hang onto him. Mike, do you have a voice to fit that Dragoon’s name?” “Sorry, Prof. No.”

“All right, just make it hoarse and frightened; chances are the C.O. won’t know it that well. Or would the trooper call Alvarez?”

“He would call his C.O. Alvarez gives orders through him.”

“So call the C.O. Report the attack and call for help and die in the middle of it. Riot sounds behind you and maybe a shout of ‘There’s the dirty bastard now!’ just before you die. Can you swing it?”

‘Programmed. No huhu,” Mike said cheerfully. “Run it. Mannie, put Finn on.”

Prof’s plan was to sucker off-duty guards out of barracks and keep suckering them—with Finn’s men posted to pick them off as they got out of capsules. And it worked, right up to point where Mort the Wart lost his nerve and kept remaining few to protect himself while he sent frantic messages Earthside—none of which got through.

I wiggled out of Prof’s discipline and took a laser gun when second capsule of Peace Dragoons was due. I burned two Goons, found blood lust gone and let other snipers have rest of squad. Too easy. They would stick heads up out of hatch and that would be that. Half of squad would not come out—until smoked out and then died with rest. By that time I was back at my advance post at phone.

Warden’s decision to hole up caused trouble at Complex; Alvarez was killed and so was Goon C.O. and two of original yellow jackets. But a mixed lot of Dragoons and yellows, thirteen, holed up with Mort, or perhaps were already with him; Mike’s ability to follow events by listening was spotty. But once it seemed clear that all armed effectives were inside Warden’s residence, Prof ordered Mike to start next phase.

Mike turned out all lights in Complex save those in Warden’s residence, and reduced oxygen to gasping point—not killing point but low enough to insure that anyone looking for trouble would not be in shape. But in residence, oxygen supply was cut to zero, leaving pure nitrogen, and left that way ten minutes. At end of that time Finn’s men, waiting in p-suits at Warden’s private tube station, broke latch on airlock and went in, “shoulder to shoulder.” Luna was ours.

Book Two – A RABBLE IN ARMS

So a wave of patriotism swept over our new nation and unified it. Isn’t that what histories say? Oh, brother!

My dinkum word, preparing a revolution isn’t as much huhu as having won it. Here we were, in control too soon, nothing ready and a thousand things to do. Authority in Luna was gone— but Lunar Authority Earthside and Federated Nations behind it were very much alive. Had they landed one troopship, orbited one cruiser, anytime next week or two, could have taken Luna back cheap. We were a mob.

New catapult had been tested but canned rock missiles ready to go you could count on fingers of one hand—my left hand. Nor was catapult a weapon that could be used against ships, nor against troops. We had notions for fighting off ships; at moment were just notions. We had a few hundred cheap laser guns stockpiled in Hong Kong Luna—Chinee engineers are smart—but few men trained to use them.

Moreover, Authority had useful functions. Bought ice and grain, sold air and water and power, held ownership or control at a dozen key points. No matter what was done in future, wheels had to turn. Perhaps wrecking city offices of Authority had been hasty (I thought so) as records were destroyed. However, Prof maintained that Loonies, all Loonies, needed a symbol to hate and destroy and those offices were least valuable and most public.

But Mike controlled communications and that meant control of most everything. Prof had started with control of news to and from Earthside, leaving to Mike censorship and faking of news until we could get around to what to tell Terra, and had added sub-phase “M” which cut off Complex from rest of Luna, and with it Richardson Observatory and associated laboratories— Pierce Radioscope, Selenophysical Station, and so forth. These were a problem as Terran scientists were always coming and going and staying as long as six months, stretching time by centrifuge. Most Terrans in Luna, save for a handful of tourists—thirty-four—were scientists. Something had to be done about these Terrans, but meanwhile keeping them from talking to Terra was enough.

For time being, Complex was cut off by phone and Mike did not permit capsules to stop at any station in Complex even after travel was resumed, which it was as soon as Finn Nielsen and squad were through with dirty work.

Turned out Warden was not dead, nor had we planned to kill him; Prof figured that a live warden could always be made dead, whereas a dead one could not be made live if we needed him. So plan was to half kill him, make sure he and his guards could put up no fight, then break in fast while Mike restored oxygen.

With fans turning at top speed, Mike computed it would take four minutes and a bit to reduce oxygen to effective zero—so, five minutes of increasing hypoxia, five minutes of anoxia, then force lower lock while Mike shot in pure oxygen to restore balance. This should not kill anyone—but would knock out a person as thoroughly as anesthesia. Hazard to attackers would come from some or all of those inside having p-suits. But even that might not matter; hypoxia is sneaky, you can pass out without realizing you are short on oxygen. Is new chum’s favorite fatal mistake.

So Warden lived through it and three of his women. But Warden, though he lived, was no use; brain had been oxygen-starved too long, a vegetable. No guard recovered, even though younger than he; would appear anoxia broke necks.

In rest of Complex nobody was hurt. Once lights were on and oxygen restored they were okay, including six rapist-murderers under lock in barracks. Finn decided that shooting was too good for them, so he went judge and used his squad as jury.

They were stripped, hamstrung at ankles and wrists, turned over to women in Complex. Makes me sick to think about what happened next but don’t suppose they lived through as long an ordeal as Marie Lyons endured. Women are amazing creatures—sweet, soft, gentle, and far more savage than we are.

Let me mention those fink spies out of order. Wyoh had been fiercely ready to eliminate them but when we got around to them she had lost stomach. I expected Prof to agree. But he shook head. “No, dear Wyoh, much as I deplore violence, there are only two things to do with an enemy: Kill him. Or make a friend of him. Anything in between piles up trouble for the future. Aman who finks on his friends once will do it again and we have a long period ahead in which a fink can be dangerous; they must go. And publicly, to cause others to be thoughtful.”

Wyoh said, “Professor, you once said that if you condemned a man, you would eliminate him personally. Is that what you are going to do?”

“Yes, dear lady, and no. Their blood shall be on my hands; I accept responsibility. But I have in mind a way more likely to discourage other finks.”

So Adam Selene announced that these persons had been employed by Juan Alvarez, late Security Chief for former Authority, as undercover spies—and gave names and addresses. Adam did not suggest that anything be done.

One man remained on dodge for seven months by changing warrens and name. Then early in ‘77 his body was found outside Novylen’s lock. But most of them lasted no more than hours.

During first hours after coup d’etat we were faced with a problem we had never managed to plan—Adam Selene himself. Who is Adam Selene? Where is he? This is his revolution; he handled every detail, every comrade knows his voice. We’re out in open now… so where is Adam?

We batted it around much of that night, in room L of Raffles—argued it between decisions on a hundred things that came up and people wanted to know what to do, while “Adam” through other voices handled other decisions that did not require talk, composed phony news to send Earthside, kept Complex isolated, many things. (Is no possible doubt: without Mike we could not have taken Luna nor held it.)

My notion was that Prof should become “Adam.” Prof was always our planner and theoretician; everybody knew him; some key comrades knew that he was “Comrade Bill” and all others knew and respected Professor Bernardo de la Paz—My word, he had taught half of leading citizens in Luna City, many from other warrens, was known to every vip in Luna.

“No,” said Prof.

“Why not?” asked Wyoh. “Prof. you’re opted. Tell him, Mike.” “Comment reserved,” said Mike. “I want to hear what Prof has to say.”

“I say you’ve analyzed it, Mike,” Prof answered. “Wyoh dearest comrade, I would not refuse were it possible. But there is no way to make my voice match that of Adam—and every comrade knows Adam by his voice; Mike made it memorable for that very purpose.”

We then considered whether Prof could be slipped in anyhow, showing him only on video and letting Mike reshape whatever Prof said into voice expected from Adam.

Was turned down. Too many people knew Prof, had heard him speak; his voice and way of speaking could not be reconciled with Adam. Then they considered same possibility for me— my voice and Mike’s were baritone and not too many people knew what I sounded like over phone and none over video.

I tromped on it. People were going to be surprised enough to find me one of our Chairman’s lieutenants; they would never believe I was number one.

I said, “Let’s combine deals. Adam has been a mystery all along; keep him that way. He’ll be seen only over video—in a mask. Prof. you supply body; Mike, you supply voice.” Prof shook head. “I can think of no surer way to destroy confidence at our most critical period than by having a leader who wears a mask. No, Mannie.”

We talked about finding an actor to play it. Were no professional actors in Luna then but were good amateurs in Luna Civic Players and in Novy Bolshoi Teatr Associates.

“No,” said Prof, “aside from finding an actor of requisite character—one who would not decide to be Napoleon—we can’t wait. Adam must start handling things not later than tomorrow morning.”

“In that case,” I said, “you’ve answered it. Have to use Mike and never put him on video. Radio only. Have to figure excuse but Adam must never be seen.” “I’m forced to agree,” said Prof.

“Man my oldest friend,” said Mike, “why do you say that I can’t be seen?”

“Haven’t you listened?” I said. “Mike, we have to show a face and body on video. You have a body—but it’s several tons of metal. Aface you don’t have—lucky you, don’t have to shave.”

“But what’s to keep me from showing a face, Man? I’m showing a voice this instant. But there’s no sound behind it. I can show a face the same way.”

Was so taken aback I didn’t answer. I stared at video screen, installed when we leased that room. Apulse is a pulse is a pulse. Electrons chasing each other. To Mike, whole world was variable series of electrical pulses, sent or received or chasing around his innards.

I said, “No, Mike.”

“Why not, Man?”

“Because you can’t! Voice you handle beautifully. Involves only a few thousand decisions a second, a slow crawl to you. But to build up video picture would require, uh, say ten million decisions every second. Mike, you’re so fast I can’t even think about it. But you aren’t that fast.”

Mike said softly, “Want to bet, Man?”

Wyoh said indignantly, “Of course Mike can if he says he can! Mannie, you shouldn’t talk that way.” (Wyoh thinks an electron is something about size and shape of a small pea.) “Mike,” I said slowly, “I won’t put money on it. Okay, want to try? Shall I switch on video?”

“I can switch it on,” he answered.

“Sure you’ll get right one? Wouldn’t do to have this show somewhere else.”

He answered testily, “I’m not stupid. Now let me be, Man—for I admit this is going to take just about all I’ve got.”

We waited in silence. Then screen showed neutral gray with a hint of scan lines. Went black again, then a faint light filled middle and congealed into cloudy areas light and dark, ellipsoid. Not a face, but suggestion of face that one sees in cloud patterns covering Terra.

It cleared a little and reminded me of pictures alleged to be ectoplasm. Aghost of a face. Suddenly firmed and we saw “Adam Selcne.”

Was a still picture of a mature man. No background, just a face as if trimmed out of a print. Yet was, to me, “Adam Selene.” Could not he anybody else. Then he smiled, moving lips and jaw and touching tongue to lips, a quick gesture—and I was frightened.

“How do I look?” he asked.

“Adam,” said Wyoh, “your hair isn’t that curly. And it should go back on each side above your forehead. You look as if you were wearing a wig, dear.” Mike corrected it. “Is that better?’

“Not quite so much. And don’t you have dimples? I was sure I could hear dimples when you chuckle. Like Prof’s.” Mike-Adam smiled again; this time he had dimples. “How should I be dressed, Wyoh?”

“Are you at your office?”

“I’m still at office. Have to be, tonight.” Background turned gray, then came into focus and color. Awall calendar behind him gave date, Tuesday 19 May 2076; a clock showed correct time. Near his elbow was a carton of coffee. On desk was a solid picture, a family group, two men, a woman, four children. Was background noise, muted roar of Old Dome Plaza louder than usual; I heard shouts and in distance some singing: Simon’s version of “Marseillaise.”

Off screen Ginwallah’s voice said, “Gospodin?”

Adam turned toward it. “I’m busy, Albert,” he said patiently. “No calls from anyone but cell B. You handle everything else.” He looked back at us. “Well, Wyoh? Suggestions? Prof? Man my doubting friend? Will I pass?”

I rubbed eyes. “Mike, can you cook?” “Certainly. But I don’t; I’m married.”

“Adam,” said Wyoh, “how can you look so neat after the day we’ve had?”

“I don’t let little things worry me.” He looked at Prof. “Professor, if the picture is okay, let’s discuss what I’ll say tomorrow. I was thinking of pre-empting the eight hundred newscast, have it announced all night, and pass the word down the cells.”

We talked rest of night. I sent up for coffee twice and Mike-Adam had his carton renewed. When I ordered sandwiches, he asked Ginwallah to send out for some. I caught a glimpse of Albert Ginwallah in profile, a typical babu, polite and faintly scornful. Hadn’t known what he looked like. Mike ate while we ate, sometimes mumbling around a mouthful of food.

When I asked (professional interest) Mike told me that, after he had picture built up, he had programmed most of it for automatic and gave his attention just to facial expressions. But soon I forgot it was fake. Mike-Adam was talking with us by video, was all, much more convenient than by phone.

By oh-three-hundred we had policy settled, then Mike rehearsed speech. Prof found points be wanted to add; Mike made revisions, then we decided to get some rest, even Mike-Adam was yawning—although in fact Mike held fort all through night, guarding transmissions to Terra, keeping Complex wailed off, listening at many phones. Prof and I shared big bed, Wyoh stretched out on couch, I whistled lights out. For once we slept without weights.

While we had breakfast, Adam Selene addressed Free Luna.

He was gentle, strong, warm, and persuasive. “Citizens of Free Luna, friends, comrades—to those of you who do not know me let me introduce myself. I am Adam Selene. Chairman of the Emergency Committee of Comrades for Free Luna … now of Free Luna, we are free at last. The so-called ‘Authority’ which has long unsurped power in this our home has been overthrown. I find myself temporary head of such government as we have—the Emergency Committee.

“Shortly, as quickly as can be arranged, you will opt your own government.” Adam smiled and made a gesture inviting help. “In the meantime, with your help, I shall do my best. We will make mistakes—be tolerant. Comrades, if you have not revealed yourselves to friends and neighbors, it is time you did so. Citizens, requests may reach you through your comrade neighbors. I hope you will comply willingly; it will speed the day when I can bow out and life can get back to normal—a new normal, free of the Authority, free of guards, free of troops stationed on us, free of passports and searches and arbitrary arrests.

“There has to be a transition. To all of you—please go back to work, resume normal lives. To those who worked for the Authority, the need is the same. Go back to work. Wages will go on, your jobs stay the same, until we can decide what is needed, what happily no longer is needed now that we are free, and what must be kept but modified. You new citizens, transportees sweating out sentences pronounced on you Earthside—you are free, your sentences are finished! But in the meantime I hope that you will go on working. You are not required to—the days of coercion are gone—but you are urged to. You are of course free to leave the Complex, free to go anywhere … and capsule service to and from the Complex will resume at once. But before you use your new freedom to rush into town, let me remind you: ‘There is no such thing as a free lunch.’ You are better off for the time being where you are; the food may not be fancy but will continue hot and on time.

“To take on temporarily those necessary functions of the defunct Authority I have asked the General Manager of LuNoHo Company to serve. This company will provide termporary supervision and will start analyzing how to do away with the tyrannical parts of the Authority and how to transfer the useful parts to private hands. So please help them.

“To you citizens of Terran nations among us, scientists and travelers and others, greetings! You are witnessing a rare event, the birth of a nation. Birth means blood and pain; there has been some. We hope it is over. You will not be inconvenienced unnecessarily and your passage home will be arranged as soon as possible. Conversely, you are welcome to stay, still more welcome to become citizens. But for the present I urge you to stay out of the corridors, avoid incidents that might lead to unnecessary blood, unnecessary pain. Be patient with us and I urge my fellow citizens to be patient with you. Scientists from Terra, at the Observatory and elsewhere, go on with your work and ignore us. Then you won’t even notice that we are going through the pangs of creating a new nation. One thing—I am sorry to say that we are temporarily interfering with your right to communicate with Earthside. This we do from necessity; censorship will be lifted as quickly as possible—we hate it as much as you do.”

Adam added one more request: “Don’t try to see me, comrades, and phone me only if you must; all others, write if you need to, your letters will receive prompt attention. But I am not twins, I got no sleep last night and can’t expect much tonight. I can’t address meetings, can’t shake hands, can’t meet delegations; I must stick to this desk and work—so that I can get rid of this job and turn it over to your choice.” He grinned at them. “Expect me to be as hard to see as Simon Jester!”

It was a fifteen-minute cast but that was essence: Go back to work, be patient, give us time. Those scientists gave us almost no time—I should have guessed; was my sort of pidgin.

All communication Earthside channeled through Mike. But those brain boys had enough electronic equipment to stock a warehouse; once they decided to, it took them only hours to breadboard a rig that could reach Terra.

Only thing that saved us was a fellow traveler who thought Luna should be free. He tried to phone Adam Selene, wound up talking to one of a squad of women we had co-opted from C and D level—a system thrown together in self-defense as, despite Mike’s request, half of Luna tried to phone Adam Selene after that videocast, everything from requests and demands to busybodies who wanted to tell Adam how to do his job.

After about a hundred calls got routed to me through too much zeal by a comrade in phone company, we set up this buffer squad. Happily, comrade lady who took this call recognized that soothe-‘em-down doctrine did not apply; she phoned me.

Minutes later myself and Finn Nielsen plus some eager guns headed by capsule for laboratory area. Our informant was scared to give name but had told me where to find transmitter. We caught them transmitting, and only fast action on Finn’s part kept them breathing; his boys were itchy. But we did not want to “make an example”; Finn and I had settled that on way out. Is hard to frighten scientists, their minds don’t work that way. Have to get at them from other angles.

I kicked that transmitter to pieces and ordered Director to have everyone assemble in mess hall and required roll call—where a phone could hear. Then I talked to Mike, got names from him, and said to Director: “Doctor, you told me they were all here. We’re missing so-and-so”—seven names. “Get them here!”

Missing Terrans had been notified, had refused to stop what they were doing—typical scientists.

Then I talked, Loonies on one side of room, Terrans on other. To Terrans I said; “We tried to treat you as guests. But three of you tried and perhaps succeeded in sending message Earthside.”

I turned to Director. “Doctor, I could search—warren, surface structures, all labs, every space—and destroy everything that might be used for transmitter. I’m electron pusher by trade; I know what wide variety of components can be converted into transmitters. Suppose I destroy everything that might be useful for that and, being stupid, take no chance and smash anything I don’t understand. What result?”

Would have thought I was about to kill his baby! He turned gray. “That would stop every research … destroy priceless data.., waste, oh, I don’t know how much! Call it a half billion dollars!”

“So I thought. Could take all that gear instead of smashing and let you go on best you can.”

“That would be almost as bad. You must understand, Gospodin, that when an experiment is interrupted—”

“I know. Easier than moving anything—and maybe missing some—is to take you all to Complex and quarter you there. We have what used to be Dragoon barracks. But that too would ruin experiments. Besides—Where you from, Doctor?”

“Princeton, New Jersey.”

“So? You’ve been here five months and no doubt exercising and wearing weights. Doctor, if we did that, you might never see Princeton again. If we move you, we’ll keep you locked up. You’ll get soft. If emergency goes on very long, you’ll be a Loonie like it or not. And all your brainy help with you.”

Acocky chum stepped forward—one who had to be sent for twice. “You can’t do this! It’s against the law!” “What law, Gospodin? Some law back in your hometown?” I turned. “Finn, show him law.”

Finn stepped forward and placed emission bell of gun at man’s belly button. Thumb started to press down—safety-switched, I could see. I said, “Don’t kill him, Finn!”—then went on: “I will eliminate this man if that’s what it takes to convince you. So watch each other! One more offense will kill all your chances of seeing home again—as well as ruining researches. Doctor, I warn you to find ways to keep check on your staff.”

I turned to Loonies. “Tovarishchee, keep them honest. Work up own guard system. Don’t take nonsense; every earthworm is on probation. If you have to eliminate some, don’t hesitate.” I turned to Director. “Doctor, any Loonie can go anywhere any time—even your bedroom. Your assistants are now your bosses so far as security is concerned; if a Loonie decides to follow you or anybody into a W.C., don’t argue; he might be jumpy.”

I turned to Loonies. “Security first! You each work for some earthworm—watch him! Split it among you and don’t miss anything. Watch ‘em so close they can’t build mouse trap, much less transmitter. If interferes with work for them, don’t worry; wages will go on.”

Could see grins. Lab assistant was best job a Loonie could find those days—but they worked under earthworms who looked down on us, even ones who pretended and were oh so gracious.

I let it go at that. When I had been phoned, I had intended to eliminate offenders. But Prof and Mike set me straight: Plan did not permit violence against Terrans that could be avoided. We set up “ears,” wideband sensitive receivers, around lab area, since even most directional rig spills a little in neighborhood. And Mike listened on all phones in area, After that we

chewed nails and hoped.

Presently we relaxed as news up from Earthside showed nothing, they seemed to accept censored transmissions without suspicion, and private and commercial traffic and Authority’s transmissions all seemed routine. Meanwhile we worked, trying in days what should take months.

We received one break in timing; no passenger ship was on Luna and none was due until 7 July. We could have coped—suckered a ship’s officers to “dine with Warden” or something, then mounted guard on its senders or dismantled them. Could not have lifted without our help; in those days one drain on ice was providing water for reaction mass. Was not much drain compared with grain shipments; one manned ship a month was heavy traffic then, while grain lifted every day. What it did mean was that an incoming ship was not an insuperable hazard. Nevertheless was lucky break; we were trying so hard to make everything look normal until we could defend ourselves.

Grain shipments went on as before; one was catapulted almost as Finn’s men were breaking into Warden’s residence. And next went out on time, and all others.

Neither oversight nor faking for interim; Prof knew what he was doing. Grain shipments were a big operation (for a little country like Luna) and couldn’t be changed in one semi-lunar; bread-and-beer of too many people was involved. If our committee had ordered embargo and quit buying grain, we would have been chucked out and a new committee with other ideas would have taken over.

Prof said that an educational period was necessary. Meanwhile grain barges catapulted as usual; LuNoHoCo kept books and issued receipts, using civil service personnel. Dispatches went out in Warden’s name and Mike talked to Authority Earthside, using Warden’s voice. Deputy Administrator proved reasonable, once he understood it upped his life expectancy. Chief Engineer stayed on job, too—McIntyre was a real Loonie, given chance, rather than fink by nature. Other department heads and minor stooges were no problem; life went on as before and we were too busy to unwind Authority system and put useful parts up for sale.

Over a dozen people turned up claiming to be Simon Jester; Simon wrote a rude verse disclairning them and had picture on front page of Lunatic, Pravda, and Gong. Wyoh let herself go blond and made trip to see Greg at new catapult site, then a longer trip, ten days, to old home in Hong Kong Luna, taking Anna who wanted to see it. Wyoh needed a vacation and Prof urged her to take it, pointing on that she was in touch by phone and that closer Party contact was needed in Hong Kong. I took over her stilyagi with Slim and Hazel as my lieutenants— bright, sharp kids I could trust. Slim was awed to discover that I was “Comrade Bork” and saw “Adam Selene” every day; his Party name started with “G.” Made a good team for other reason, too. Hazel suddenly started showing cushiony curves and not all from Mimi’s superb table; she had reached that point in her orbit. Slim was ready to change her name to “Stone” any time she was willing to opt. In meantime he was anxious to do Party work he could share with our fierce little redhead.

Not everybody was willing. Many comrades turned out to be talk-talk soldiers. Still more thought war was over once we had eliminated Peace Goons and captured Warden. Others were indignant to learn how far down they were in Party structure; they wanted to elect a new structure, themselves at top. Adam received endless calls proposing this or something like it—

would listen, agree, assure them that their services must not be wasted by waiting for election—and refer them to Prof or me. Can’t recall any of these ambitious people who amounted to anything when I tried to put them to work.

Was endless work and nobody wanted to do it. Well, a few. Some best volunteers were people Party had never located. But in general, Loonies in and out of Party had no interest in “patriotic” work unless well paid. One chum who claimed to be a Party member (was not) spragged me in Raffles where we set up headquarters and wanted me to contract for fifty thousand buttons to be worn by pre-coup “Veterans of Revolution”—a “small” profit for him (I estimate 400 percent markup), easy dollars for me, a fine thing for everybody.

When I brushed him off, he threatened to denounce me to Adam Selene—”Avery good friend of mine, I’ll have you know!”—for sabotage.

That was “help” we got. What we needed was something else. Needed steel at new catapult and plenty—Prof asked, if really necessary to put steel around rock missiles; I had to point out that an induction field won’t grab bare rock. We needed to relocate Mike’s ballistic radars at old site and install doppler radar at new site—both jobs because we could expect attacks from space at old site.

We called for volunteers, got only two who could be used—and needed several hundred mechanics who did not mind hard work in p-suits. So we hired, paying what we had to– LuNoHoCo went in hock to Bank of Hong Kong Luna; was no time to steal that much and most funds had been transferred Earthside to Stu. Adinkum comrade, Foo Moses Morris, co- signed much paper to keep us going—and wound up broke and started over with a little tailoring shop in Kongville. That was later.

Authority Scrip dropped from 3-to-1 to 17-to-1 after coup and civil service people screamed, as Mike was still paying in Authority checks. We said they could stay on or resign; then those we needed, we rehired with Hong Kong dollars. But created a large group not on our side from then on; they longed for good old days and were ready to stab new regime.

Grain farmers and brokers were unhappy because payment at catapult head continued to be Authority scrip at same old fixed prices. “We won’t take it!” they cried—and LuNoHoCo man would shrug and tell them they didn’t have to but this grain still went to Authority Earthside (it did) and Authority scrip was all they would get. So take cheque, or load your grain back into rolligons and get it out of here.

Most took it. All grumbled and some threatened to get out of grain and start growing vegetables or fibers or something that brought Hong Kong dollars—and Prof smiled.

We needed every drillman in Luna, especially ice miners who owned heavy-duty laser drills. As soldiers. We needed them so badly that, despite being shy one wing and rusty, I considered joining up, even though takes muscle to wrestle a big drill, and prosthetic just isn’t muscle. Prof told me not to be a fool.

Dodge we had in mind would not work well Earthside; a laser beam carrying heavy power works best in vacuum—but there it works just dandy for whatever range its collimation is good for. These big drills, which had carved through rock seeking pockets of ice, were now being mounted as “artillery” to repel space attacks. Both ships and missiles have electronic nervous systems and does electronic gear no good to blast it with umpteen joules placed in a tight beam. If target is pressured (as manned ships are and most missiles), all it takes is to burn a hole, depressure it. If not pressured, a heavy laser beam can still kill it—burn eyes, louse guidance, spoil anything depending on electronics as most everything does.

An H-bomb with circuitry ruined is not a bomb, is just big tub of lithium deuteride that can’t do anything but crash. Aship with eyes gone is a derelict, not a warship.

Sounds easy, is not. Those laser drills were never meant for targets a thousand kilometers away, or even one, and was no quick way to rig their cradles for accuracy. Gunner had to have guts to hold fire until last few seconds—on a target heading at him maybe two kilometers per second. But was best we had, so we organized First and Second Volunteer Defense Gunners of Free Luna—two regiments so that First could snub lowly Second and Second could be Jealous of First. First got older men, Second got young and eager.

Having called them “volunteers,” we hired in Hong Kong dollars—and was no accident that ice was being paid for in controlled market in wastepaper Authority script.

On top of all, we were talking up a war scare. Adam Selene talked over video, reminding that Authority was certain to try to regain its tyranny and we had only days to prepare; papers quoted him and published stories of their own—we had made special effort to recruit newsmen before coup. People were urged to keep p-suits always near and to test pressure alarms in homes. Avolunteer Civil Defense Corps was organized in each warren.

What with moonquakes always with us, each warren’s pressure co-op always had sealing crews ready at any hour. Even with silicone stay-soft and fiberglass any warren leaks. In Davis Tunnels our boys did maintenance on seal every day. But now we recruited hundreds of emergency sealing crews, mostly stilyagi, drilled them with fake emergencies, had them stay in

p-suits with helmets open when on duty.

They did beautifully. But idiots made fun of them—”play soldiers,” “Adam’s little apples,” other names. Ateam was going through a drill, showing they could throw a temporary lock around one that had been damaged, and one of these pinheads stood by and rode them loudly.

Civil Defense team went ahead, completed temporary lock, tested it with helmets closed; it held—came out, grabbed this joker, took him through into temporary lock and on out into zero pressure, dumped him.

Belittlers kept opinions to selves after that. Prof thought we ought to send out a gentle warning not to eliminate so peremptorily. I opposed it and got my way; could see no better way to improve breed. Certain types of loudmouthism should be a capital offense among decent people.

But our biggest headaches were self-anointed statesmen.

Did I say that Loonies are “non-politica1”? They are, when comes to doing anything. But doubt if was ever a time two Loonies over a liter of beer did not swap loud opinions about how things ought to be run.

As mentioned, these self-appointed political scientists tried to grab Adam Selene’s ear. But Prof had a place for them; each was invited to take part in “Ad-Hoc Congress for Organization of Free Luna”—which met in Community Hall in Luna City, then resolved to stay in session until work was done, a week in L-City, a week in Novylen, then Hong Kong, and start over. All sessions were in video. Prof presided over first and Adam Selene addressed them by video and encouraged them to do a thorough job—”History is watching you.”

I listened to some sessions, then cornered Prof and asked what in Bog’s name he was up to? “Thought you didn’t want any government. Have you heard those nuts since you turned them loose?”

He smiled most dimply smile. “What’s troubling you, Manuel?”

Many things were troubling me. With me breaking heart trying to round up heavy drills and men who could treat them as guns these idlers had spent an entire afternoon discussing immigration. Some wanted to stop it entirely. Some wanted to tax it, high enough to finance government (when ninety-nine out of a hundred Loonies had had to be dragged to The Rock!); some wanted to make it selective by “ethnic ratios.” (Wondered how they would count me?) Some wanted to limit it to females until we were 50-50. That had produced a Scandinavian shout: “Ja, cobber! Tell ‘em send us hoors! Tousands and tousands of hoors! I marry ‘em, I betcha!”

Was most sensible remark all afternoon.

Another time they argued “time.” Sure, Greenwich time bears no relation to lunar. But why should it when we live Underground? Show me a Loonie who can sleep two weeks and work two weeks; lunars don’t fit our metabolism. What was urged was to make a lunar exactly equal to twenty-eight days (instead of 29 days, 12 hours, 44 minutes, 2.78 seconds) and do this by making days longer—and hours, minutes, and seconds, thus making each semi-lunar exactly two weeks.

Sure, lunar is necessary for many purposes. Controls when we go up on surface, why we go, and how long we stay. But, aside from throwing us out of gear with our only neighbor, had that wordy vacuum skull thought what this would do to every critical figure in science and engineering? As an electronics man I shuddered. Throw away every book, table, instrument, and start over? I know that some of my ancestors did that in switching from old English units to MKS—but they did it to make things easier. Fourteen inches to a foot and some odd number of feet to a mile. Ounces and pounds. Oh, Bog!

Made sense to change that—but why go out of your way to create confusion?

Somebody wanted a committee to determine exactly what Loonie language is, then fine everybody who talked Earthside English or other language. Oh, my people!

I read tax proposals in Lunatic—four sorts of “SingleTaxers”—a cubic tax that would penalize a man if he extended tunnels, a head tax (everybody pay same), income tax (like to see anyone figure income of Davis Family or try to get information out of Mum!), and an “air tax” which was not fees we paid then but something else.

Hadn’t realized “Free Luna” was going to have taxes. Hadn’t had any before and got along. You paid for what you got. Tanstaafl. How else?

Another time some pompous choom proposed that bad breath and body odors be made an elimination offense. Could almost sympathize, having been stuck on occasion in a capsule with such stinks. But doesn’t happen often and tends to be self-correcting; chronic offenders, or unfortunates who can’t correct, aren’t likely to reproduce, seeing how choosy women are.

One female (most were men, but women made up for it in silliness) had a long list she wanted made permanent laws—about private matters. No more plural marriage of any sort. No divorces. No “fornication”—had to look that one up. No drinks stronger than 4% beer. Church services only on Saturdays and all else to stop that day. (Air and temperature and pressure engineering, lady? Phones and capsules?) Along list of drugs to be prohibited and a shorter list dispensed only by licensed physicians. (What is a “licensed physician”? Healer I go to has a sign reading “practical doctor”—makcs book on side, which is why I go to him. Look, lady, aren’t any medical schools in Luna!) (Then, I mean.) She even wanted to make gambling illegal. If a Loonie couldn’t roll double or nothing, he would go to a shop that would, even if dice were loaded.

Thing that got me was not her list of things she hated, since she was obviously crazy as a Cyborg, but fact that always somebody agreed with her prohibitions. Must be a yearning deep in human heart to stop other people from doing as they please. Rules, laws—always for other fellow. Amurky part of us, something we had before we came down out of trees, and failed to shuck when we stood up. Because not one of those people said: “Please pass this so that I won’t be able to do something I know I should stop.” Nyet, tovarishchee, was always something they hated to see neighbors doing. Stop them “for their own good”—not because speaker claimed to be harmed by it.

Listening to that session I was almost sorry we got rid of Mort the Wart. He stayed holed up with his women and didn’t tell us how to run private lives. But Prof didn’t get excited; he went on smiling. “Manuel, do you really think that mob of retarded children can pass any laws?”

“You told them to. Urged them to.”

“My dear Manuel, I was simply putting all my nuts in one basket. I know those nuts; I’ve listened to them for years. I was very careful in selecting their committees; they all have built-in confusion, they will quarrel. The chairman I forced on them while letting them elect him is a ditherer who could not unravel a piece of string—thinks every subject needs ‘more study.’ I almost needn’t have bothered; more than six people cannot agree on anything, three is better—and one is perfect for a job that one can do. This is why parliamentary bodies all through history, when they accomplished anything, owed it to a few strong men who dominated the rest. Never fear, son, this Ad-Hoc Congress will do nothing… or if they pass something through sheer fatigue, it will be so loaded with contradictions that it will have to be thrown out. In the meantime they are out of our hair. Besides, there is something we need them for, later.”

“Thought you said they could do nothing.”

“They won’t do this. One man will write it—a dead man—and late at night when they are very tired, they’ll pass it by acclamation.” “Who’s this dead man? You don’t mean Mike?”

“No, no! Mike is far more alive than those yammerheads. The dead man is Thomas Jefferson—first of the rational anarchists, my boy, and one who once almost managed to slip over his non-system through the most beautiful rhetoric ever written. But they caught him at it, which I hope to avoid. I cannot improve on his phrasing; I shall merely adapt it to Luna and the

twenty-first century.”

“Heard of him, Freed slaves, nyet?”

“One might say he tried but failed. Never mind. How are the defenses progressing? I don’t see how we can keep up the pretense past the arrival date of this next ship.” “Can’t be ready then.”

“Mike says we must be.”

We weren’t but ship never arrived. Those scientists outsmarted me and Loonies I had told to watch them. Was a rig at focal point of biggest reflector and Loonie assistants believed doubletalk about astronomical purpose—a new wrinkle in radiotelescopes.

I suppose it was. Was ultramicrowave and stuff was bounced at reflector by a wave guide and thus left scope lined up nicely by mirror. Remarkably like early radar. And metal latticework and foil heat shield of barrel stopped stray radiation, thus “ears” I had staked out heard nothing.

They put message across, their version and in detail. First we heard was demand from Authority to Warden to deny this hoax, find hoaxer, put stop to it. So instead we gave them a Declaration of Independence.

“In Congress assembled, July Fourth, Twenty-Seventy-Six—” Was beautiful.

Signing of Declaration of Independence went as Prof said it would. He sprang it on them at end of long day, announced a special session after dinner at which Adam Selene would speak. Adam read aloud, discussing each sentence, then read it without stopping, making music of sonorous phrases. People wept. Wyoh, seated by me, was one, and I felt like it even though had read it earlier.

Then Adam looked at them and said, “The future is waiting. Mark well what you do,” and turned meeting over to Prof rather than usual chairman.

Was twenty-two hundred and fight began. Sure, they were in favor of it; news all day had been jammed with what bad boys we were, how we were to be punished, taught a lesson, so forth. Not necessary to spice it up; stuff up from Earthside was nasty—Mike merely left out on-other-hand opinions. If ever was a day when Luna felt unified it was probably second of July 2076.

So they were going to pass it; Prof knew that before he offered it.

But not as written—”Honorable Chairman, in second paragraph, that word ‘unalienable,’ is no such word; should be ‘inalienable’—and anyhow wouldn’t it be more dignified to say ‘sacred rights’ rather than ‘inalienable rights’? I’d like to hear discussion on this.”

That choom was almost sensible, merely a literary critic, which is harmless, like dead yeast left in beer. But—Well, take that woman who hated everything. She was there with list; read it aloud and moved to have it incorporated into Declaration “so that the peoples of Terra will know that we are civilized and fit to take our places in the councils of mankind!”

Prof not only let her get away with it; he encouraged her, letting her talk when other people wanted to—then blandly put her proposal to a vote when hadn’t even been seconded. (Congress operated by rules they had wrangled over for days. Prof was familiar with rules but followed them only as suited him.) She was voted down in a shout, and left.

Then somebody stood up and said of course that long list didn’t belong in Declaration—but shouldn’t we have general principles? Maybe a statement that Luna Free State guaranteed freedom, equality, and security to all? Nothing elaborate, just those fundamental principles that everybody knew was proper purpose of goiverament.

True enough and let’s pass it—but must read “Freedom, equality, peace, and security”—right, Comrade? They wrangled over whether “freedom” included “free air,” or was that part of “security”? Why not be on safe side and list “free air” by name? Move to amend to make it “free air and water”—because you didn’t have “freedom” or “security” unless you had both air and water.

Air, water, and food.

Air, water, food, and cubic.

Air, water, food, cubic, and heat.

No, make “heat” read “power” and you had it all covered. Everything.

Cobber, have you lost your mind? That’s far from everything and what you’ve left out is an affront to all womankind—Step outside and say that! Let me finish. We’ve got to tell them right from deal that we will permit no more ships to land unless they carry at least as many women as men. At least, I said—and I for one won’t chop it unless it sets immigration issue straight.

Prof never lost dimples.

Began to see why Prof had slept all day and was not wearing weights. Me, I was tired, having spent all day in p-suit out beyond catapult head cutting in last of relocated ballistic radars. And everybody was tired; by midnight crowd began to thin, convinced that nothing would be accomplished that night and bored by any yammer not their own.

Was later than midnight when someone asked why this Declaration was dated fourth when today was second? Prof said mildly that it was July third now—and it seemed unlikely that our Declaration could be announced earlier than fourth and that July fourth carried historical symbolism that might help.

Several people walked out at announcement that probably nothing would be settled until fourth of July. But I began to notice something: Hall was filling as fast as was emptying. Finn Nielsen slid into a seat that had just been vacated. Comrade Clayton from Hong Kong showed up, pressed my shoulder, smiled at Wyoh, found a seat. My youngest lieutenants. Slim and Hazel, I spotted down front—and was thinking I must alibi Hazel by telling Mum I had kept her out on Parts business—when was amused to see Mum herself next to them. And Sidris. And Greg, who was supposed to be at new catapult.

Looked around and picked out a dozen more—night editor of Lunaya Pravda, General Manager of LuNoHoCo, others, and each one a working comrade, Began to see that Prof had stacked deck. That Congress never had a fixed membership; these dinkum comrades had as much right to show up as those who had been talking a month. Now they sat—and voted down amendments.

About three hundred, when I was wondering how much more I could take, someone brought a note to Prof. He read it, banged gavel and said, “Adam Selene begs your indulgence. Do I hear unanimous consent?”

So screen back of rostrum lighted up again and Adam told them that he had been following debate and was warmed by many thoughtful and constructive criticisms. But could he made a suggestion? Why not admit that any piece of writing was imperfect? If thin declaration was in general what they wanted, why not postpone perfection for another day and pass this as it stands? “Honorable Chairman, I so move.”

They passed it with a yell. Prof said, “Do I hear objection?” and waited with gavel raised. Aman who had been talking when Adam had asked to be heard said, “Well, . . I still say that’s a dangling participle, but okay, leave it in.”

Prof hanged gavel. “So ordered!”

Then we filed up and put our chops on a big scroll that had been “sent over from Adam’s office”–and I noticed Adam’s chop on it. I signed right under Hazel—child now could write although was still short on book learning. Her chop was shaky but she wrote it large and proud. Comrade Clayton signed his Party name, real name in letters, and Japanese chop, three little pictures one above other. Two comrades chopped with X’s and had them witnessed. All Party leaders were there that night (morning), all chopped it, and not more than a dozen yammerers stuck. But those who did, put their chops down for history to read. And thereby committed “their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honors.”

While queue was moving slowly past and people were talking, Prof banged for attention. “I ask for volunteers for a dangerous mission. This Declaration will go on the news channels— but must be presented in person to the Federated Nations, on Terra.”

That put stop to noise. Prof was looking at me. I swallowed and said, “I volunteer.” Wyoh echoed, “So do I!”—and little Hazel Meade said, “Me, too!”

In moments were a dozen, from Finn Nielsen to Gospodin Dangling-Participle (turned out to be good cobber aside from his fetish). Prof took names, murmured something about getting in touch as transportation became available.

I got Prof aside and said, “Look, Prof, you too tired to track? You know ship for seventh was canceled; now they’re talking about slapping embargo on us. Next ship they lift for Luna will be a warship. How you planning to travel? As prisoner?”

“Oh, we won’t use their ships.”

“So? Going to build one? Any idea how long that takes? If could build one at all. Which I doubt.” “Manuel, Mike says it’s necessary—and has it all worked out.”

I did know Mike said was necessary; he had rerun problem soon as we learned that bright laddies at Richardson had snuck one home—he now gave us only one chance in fifty-three… with imperative need for Prof to go Earthside. But I’m not one to worry about impossibilities; I had spent day working to make that one chance in fifty-three turn up.

“Mike will provide the ship,” Prof went on. “He has completed its design and it is being worked on.” “He has? It is? Since when is Mike engineer?”

“Isn’t he?” asked Prof.

I started to answer, shut up. Mike had no degrees. Simply knew more engineering than any man alive. Or about Shakespeare’s plays, or riddles, or history, name it. “Tell me more.” “Manuel, we’ll go to Terra as a load of grain.”

“What? Who’s ‘we’?”

“You and myself. The other volunteers are merely decorative.”

I said, “Look, Prof. I’ve stuck. Worked hard when whole thing seemed silly. Worn these weights—got ‘em on now—on chance I might have to go to that dreadful place. But contracted to go in a ship, with at least a Cyborg pilot to help me get down safely. Did not agree to go as meteorite.”

He said, “Very well, Manuel. I believe in free choice, always. Your alternate will go.” “My—Who?”

“Comrade Wyoming. So far as I know she is the only other person in training for the trip … other than a few Terrans.”

So I went. But talked to Mike first. He said patiently. “Man my first friend, there isn’t a thing to worry about. You are scheduled load KM187 series ‘76 and you’ll arrive in Bombay with no trouble. But to be sure—to reassure you—I selected that barge because it will be taken out of parking orbit and landed when India is faced toward me, and I’ve added an override so that I can take you away from ground control if I don’t like the way they handle you. Trust me, Man, it has all been thought through. Even the decision to continue shipments when security was broken was part of this plan.”

“Might have told me.”

“There was no need to worry you. Professor had to know and I’ve kept in touch with him. But you are going simply to take care of him and back him up—do his job if he dies, a factor on which I can give you no reassurance.”

I sighed. “Okay. But, Mike, surely you don’t think you can pilot a barge into a soft landing at this distance? Speed of light alone would trip you.”

“Man, don’t you think I understand ballistics? For the orbital position then, from query through reply and then to command-received is under four seconds… and you can rely on me not to waste microseconds. Your maximum parking-orbit travel in four seconds is only thirty-two kilometers, diminishing asymptotically to zero at landing. My reflex time will be effectively less than that of a pilot in a manual landing because I don’t waste time grasping a situation and deciding on correct action. So my maximum is four seconds. But my effective reflex time is much less, as I project and predict constantly, see ahead, program it out—in effect, I’ll stay four seconds ahead of you in your trajectory and respond instantly.”

“That steel can doesn’t even have an altimeter!”

“It does now. Man, please believe me; I’ve thought of everything. The only reason I’ve ordered this extra equipment is to reassure you. Poona ground control hasn’t made a bobble in the last five thousand loads. For a computer it’s fairly bright.”

“Okay. Uh, Mike, how hard do they splash those bleeding barges? What gee?”

“Not high, Man. Ten gravities at injection, then that programs down to a steady, soft four gees … then you’ll be nudged again between six and five gees just before splash. The splash itself is gentle, equal to a fall of fifty meters and you enter ogive first with no sudden shock, less than three gees. Then you surface and splash again, lightly, and simply float at one gee. Man, those barge shells are built as lightly as possible for economy’s sake. We can’t afford to toss them around or they would split their seams.”

“How sweet. Mike, what would ‘six to five gees’ do to you? Split your seams?”

“I conjecture that I was subjected to about six gravities when they shipped me up here. Six gravities in my present condition would shear many of my essential connections. However, I’m more interested in the extremely high, transient accelerations I am going to experience from shock waves when Terra starts bombing us. Data are insufficient for prediction but I may lose control of my outlying functions, Man. This could be a major factor in any tactical situation.”

“Mike, you really think they are going to bomb us?” “Count on it, Man. That is why this trip is so important.”

Left it at that and went out to see this coffin. Should have stayed home.

Ever looked at one of those silly barges? Just a steel cylinder with retro and guidance rockets and radar transponder. Resembles a spaceship way a pair of pliers resembles my number-three arm. They had this one cut open and were outfitting our “living quarters.”

No galley. No W.C. No nothing. Why bother? We were going to be in it only fifty hours. Start empty so that you won’t need a honey sack in your suit. Dispense with lounge and bar; you’ll never be out of your suit, you’ll be drugged and not caring.

At least Prof would be drugged almost whole time; I had to be alert at landing to try to get us out of this death trap if something went wrong and nobody came along with a tin opener. They were building a shaped cradle in which backs of our p-suits would fit; we would be strapped into these holes. And stay there, clear to Terra. They seemed more concerned about making total mass equal to displaced wheat and same center of gravity and all moment arms adding up correctly than they did about our comfort; engineer in charge told me that even padding to be added inside our p-suits was figured in.

Was glad to learn we were going to have padding; those holes did not look soft. Returned home in thoughtful condition.

Wyoh was not at dinner, unusual; Greg was, more unusual. Nobody said anything about my being scheduled to imitate a falling rock next day although all knew. But did not realize anything special was on until all next generation left table without being told. Then knew why Greg had not gone back to Mare Undarum site after Congress adjourned that morning; somebody had asked for a Family talk-talk.

Mum looked around and said, “We’re all here. Ali, shut that door; that’s a dear. Grandpaw, will you start us?”

Our senior husband stopped nodding over coffee and firmed up. He looked down table and said strongly, “I see that we are all here. I see that children have been put to bed. I see that there is no stranger, no guest. I say that we are met in accordance with customs created by Black Jack Davis our First Husband and Tillie our First Wife. If there is any matter that concerns safety and happiness of our marriage, haul it out in the light now. Don’t let it fester. This is our custom.”

Grandpaw turned to Mum and said softly, “Take it, Mimi,” and slumped back into gentle apathy. But for a minute he had been strong, handsome, virile, dynamic man of days of my opting… and I thought with sudden tears how lucky I had been!

Then didn’t know whether I felt lucky or not. Only excuse I could see for a Family talk-talk was fact that I was due to be shipped Earthside next day, labeled as grain. Could Mum be thinking of trying to set Family against it? Nobody had to abide by results of a talk-talk. But one always did. That was strength of our marriage: When came down to issues, we stood together.

Mimi was saying, “Does anyone have anything that needs to be discussed? Speak up, dears.” Greg said, “I have.”

“We’ll listen to Greg.”

Greg is a good speaker. Can stand up in front of a congregation and speak with confidence about matters I don’t feel confident about even when alone. But that night he seemed anything but sure of himself. “Well, uh, we’ve always tried to keep this marriage in balance, some old, some young, a regular alternation, well spaced, just as it was handed down to us. But we’ve varied sometimes—for good reason.” He looked at Ludmilla. “And adjusted it later.” He looked again at far end of table, at Frank and Ali, on each side of Ludmilla.

“Over years, as you can see from records, average age of husbands has been about forty, wives about thirty-five—and that age spread was just what our marriage started with, nearly a

hundred years gone by, for Tillie was fifteen when she opted Black Jack and he had just turned twenty. Right now I find that average age of husbands is almost exactly forty, while average

—”

Mum said firmly, “Never mind arithmetic, Greg dear. Simply state it.”

I was trying to think who Greg could possibly mean. True, I had been much away during past year, and if did get home, was often after everybody was asleep. But he was clearly talking about marriage and nobody ever proposes another wedding in our marriage without first giving everybody a long careful chance to look prospect over. You just didn’t do it any other way!

So I’m stupid. Greg stuttered and said, “I propose Wyoming Knott!”

I said I was stupid. I understand machinery and machinery understands me. But didn’t claim to know anything about people. When I get to be senior husband, if live that long, am going to do exactly what Grandpaw does with Mum: Let Sidris run it. Just same—Well, look, Wyoh joined Greg’s church. I like Greg, love Greg. And admire him. But you could never feed theology of his church through a computer and get anything but null. Wyoh surely knew this, since she encountered it in adult years—truthfully, I had suspected that Wyoh’s conversion was proof that she would do anything for our Cause.

But Wyoh had recruited Greg even earlier. And had made most of trips out to new site, easier for her to get away than me or Prof. Oh, well. Was taken by surprise. Should not have been. Mimi said, “Greg, do you have reason to think that Wyoming would accept an opting from us?”

“Yes.”

“Very well. We all know Wyoming; I’m sure we’ve formed our opinions of her. I see no reason to discuss it… unless someone has something to say? Speak up.” Was no surprise to Mum. But wouldn’t be. Nor to anyone else, either, since Mum never let a talk-talk take place until she was sure of outcome.

But wondered why Mum was sure of my opinion, so certain that she had not felt me out ahead of time? And sat there in a soggy quandary, knowing I should speak up, knowing I knew something terribly pertinent which nobody else knew or matter would never have gone this far. Something that didn’t matter to me but would matter to Mum and all our women.

Sat there, miserable coward, and said nothing, Mum said, “Very well. Let’s call the roll. Ludmilla?” “Me? Why, I love Wyoh, everybody knows that. Sure!”

“Lenore dear?”

“Well, I may try to talk her into going back to being a brownie again; I think we set each other off. But that’s her only fault, being blonder than I am. Da!” “Sidris?”

“Thumbs up. Wyoh is our kind of people.” “Anna?”

“I’ve something to say before I express my opinion, Mimi.’ “I don’t think it’s necessary, dear.”

“Nevertheless I’m going to haul it out in the open, just as Tillie always did according to our traditions. In this marriage every wife has carried her load, given children to the family. It may come as a surprise to some of you to learn that Wyoh has had eight children—”

Certainly surprised Ali; his head jerked and jaw dropped. I stared at plate. Oh, Wyoh, Wyoh! How could I let this happen? Was going to have to speak up.

And realized Anna was still speaking: “—so now she can have children of her own; the operation was successful. But she worries about possibility of another defective baby, unlikely as that is according to the head of the clinic in Hong Kong. So we’ll just have to love her enough to make her quit fretting.”

“We will love her,” Mum said serenely. “We do love her. Anna, are you ready to express opinion?” “Hardly necessary, is it? I went to Hong Kong with her, held her hand while her tubes were restored. I opt Wyoh.”

“In this family,” Mum went on, “we have always felt that our husbands should be allowed a veto. Odd of us perhaps, hut Tillie started it and it has always worked well. Well, Grandpaw?” “Eh? What were you saying, my dear?”

“We are opting Wyoming, Gospodin Grandpaw. Do you give consent?”

“What? Why, of course, of course! Very nice little girl. Say, whatever became of that pretty little Afro, name something like that? She get mad at us?” “Greg?”

“I proposed it.”

“Manuel? Do you forbid this?” “Me? Why, you know me, Mum.”

“I do. I sometimes wonder if you know you. Hans?” “What would happen if I said No?”

“You’d lose some teeth, that’s what,” Lenore said promptly. “Hans votes Yes.”

“Stop it, darlings,” Mum said with soft reproof. “Opting is a serious matter. Hans, speak up.” “Da. Yes. Ja. Oui. Si. High time we had a pretty blonde in this—Ouch!”

“Stop it, Lenore. Frank?” “Yes, Mum.”

“Ali dear? Is it unanimous?”

Lad blushed bright pink and couldn’t talk. Nodded vigorously.

Instead of appointing a husband and a wife to seek out selectee and propose opting for us, Mum sent Ludmilla and Anna to fetch Wyoh at once—and turned out she was only as far away as Bon Ton. Nor was that only irregularity; instead of setting a date and arranging a wedding party, our children were called in, and twenty minutes later Greg had his Book open and we did the taking vows—and I finally got it through my confused head that was being done with breakneck speed because of my date to break my neck next day.

Not that it could matter save as symbol of my family’s love for me, since a bride spent her first night with her senior husband, and second night and third I was going to spend out in space. But did matter anyhow and when women started to cry during ceremony, I found self dripping tears right with them.

Then I went to bed, alone in workshop, once Wyoh had kissed us and left on Grandpaw’s arm. Was terribly tired and last two days had been hard. Thought about exercises and decided was too late to matter; thought about calling Mike and asking him for news from Terra. Went to bed.

Don’t know how long had been asleep when realized was no longer asleep and somebody was in room. “Manuel?” came soft whisper in dark. “Huh? Wyoh, you aren’t supposed to be here, dear.”

“I am indeed supposed to be here, my husband. Mum knows I’m here, so does Greg. And Grandpaw went right to sleep.”

“Oh. What time is?”

“About four hundred. Please, dear, may I come to bed?”

“What? Oh, certainly.” Something I should remember. Oh, yes. “Mike!” “Yes, Man?” he answered.

“Switch off. Don’t listen. If you want me, call me on Family phone.” “So Wyoh told me, Man. Congratulations!”

Then her head was pillowed on my stump and I put right arm around her. “What are you crying about, Wyoh?” “I’m not crying! I’m just frightened silly that you won’t come back!”

Woke up scared silly in pitch darkness. “Manuel!” Didn’t know which end was up. “Manuel!” it called again. “Wake up!”

That brought me out some; was signal intended to trigger me. Recalled being stretched on a table in infirmary at Complex, staring up at a light and listening to a voice while a drug dripped into my veins. But was a hundred years ago, endless time of nightmares, unendurable pressure, pain.

Knew now what no-end-is-up feeling was; had experienced before. Free fall. Was in space.

What had gone wrong? Had Mike dropped a decimal point? Or had he given in to childish nature and played a joke, not realizing would kill? Then why, after all years of pain, was I alive? Or was I? Was this normal way for ghost to feel, just lonely, lost, nowhere?

“Wake up, Manuel! Wake up, Manuel!”

“Oh, shut up!” I snarled. “Button your filthy king-and-ace!” Recording went on; I paid no attention. Where was that reeking light switch? No, doesn’t take a century of pain to accelerate to Luna’s escape speed at three gravities, merely feels so. Eighty-two seconds—but is one time when human nervous system feels every microsecond. Three gees is eighteen grim times as much as a Loonie ought to weigh.

Then discovered those vacuum skulls had not put arm back on. For some silly reason they had taken it off when they stripped me to prepare me and I was loaded with enough don’t- worry and let’s-sleep pills not to protest. No huhu had they put it on again. But that drecklich switch was on my left and sleeve of p-suit was empty.

Spent next ten years getting unstrapped with one hand, then a twenty-year sentence floating around in dark before managed to find my cradle again, figure out which was head end, and from that hint locate switch by touch. That compartment was not over two meters in any dimension. This turns out to be larger than Old Dome in free fall and total darkness. Found it. We had light.

(And don’t ask why that coffin did not have at least three lighting systems all working all time. Habit, probably. Alighting system implies a switch to control it, nyet? Thing was built in two days; should be thankful switch worked.)

Once I had light, cubic shrank to true claustrophobic dimensions and ten percent smaller, and I took a look at Prof.

Dead, apparently. Well, he had every excuse. Envied him but was now supposed to check his pulse and breathing and suchlike in case he had been unlucky and still had such troubles. And was again hampered and not just by being onearmed. Grain load had been dried and depressured as usual before loading but that cell was supposed to be pressured—oh, nothing fancy, just a tank with air in it. Our p-suits were supposed to handle needs such as life’s breath for those two days. But even best p-suit is more comfortable in pressure than in vacuum and, anyhow, I was supposed to be able to get at my patient.

Could not. Didn’t need to open helmet to know this steel can had not stayed gas tight, knew at once, naturally, from way p-suit felt. Oh, drugs I had for Prof, heart stimulants and so forth, were in field ampules; could jab them through his suit. But how to check heart and breathing? His suit was cheapest sort, sold for Loonie who rarely Leaves warren; had no readouts.

His mouth hung open and eyes stared. Adeader, I decided. No need to ex Prof beyond that old limen; had eliminated himself. Tried to see pulse on throat; his helmet was in way. They had provided a program clock which was mighty kind of them. Showed I had been out forty-four-plus hours, all to plan, and in three hours we should receive horrible booting to place

us in parking orbit around Terra. Then, after two circums, call it three more hours, we should start injection into landing program—if Poona Ground Control didn’t change its feeble mind

and leave us in orbit. Reminded self that was unlikely; grain is not left in vacuum longer than necessary. Has tendency to become puffed wheat or popped corn, which not only lowers

value but can split those thin canisters like a melon. Wouldn’t that be sweet? Why had they packed us in with grain? Why not just a load of rock that doesn’t mind vacuum?

Had time to think about that and to become very thirsty. Took nipple for half a mouthful, no more, because certainly did not want to take six gees with a full bladder. (Need not have worried; was equipped with catheter. But did not know.)

When time got short I decided couldn’t hurt Prof to give him a jolt of drug that was supposed to take him through heavy acceleration; then, after in parking orbit, give him heart stimulant— since didn’t seem as if anything could hurt him.

Gave him first drug, then spent rest of minutes struggling back into straps, one-handed. Was sorry I didn’t know name of my helpful friend; could have cursed him better.

Ten gees gets you into parking orbit around Terra in a mere 3.26 x 10^7 microseconds; merely seems longer, ten gravities being sixty times what a fragile sack of protoplasm should be asked to endure. Call it thirty-three seconds. My truthful word, I suspect my ancestress in Salem spent a worse half minute day they made her dance.

Gave Prof heart stimulant, then spent three hours trying to decide whether to drug self as well as Prof for landing sequence. Decided against. All drug had done for me at catapulting had been to swap a minute and a half of misery and two days of boredom for a century of terrible dreams—and besides, if those last minutes were going to be my very last, I decided to experience them. Bad as they would be, they were my very own and I would not give them up.

They were bad. Six gees did not feel better than ten; felt worse. Four gees no relief. Then we were kicked harder. Then suddenly, just for seconds, in free fall again. Then came splash which was not “gentle” and which we took on straps, not pads, as we went in headfirst. Also, don’t think Mike realized that, after diving in hard, we would then surface and splash hard again before we damped down into floating. Earthworms call it “floating” but is nothing like floating in free fall; you do it at one gee, six times what is decent, and odd side motions tacked on. Very odd motions—Mike had assured us that solar weather was good, no radiation danger inside that Iron Maiden. But he had not been so interested in Earthside Indian Ocean weather; prediction was acceptable for landing barges and suppose he felt that was good enough—and I would have thought so, too.

Stomach was supposed to be empty. But I filled helmet with sourest, nastiest fluid you would ever go a long way to avoid. Then we turned completely over and I got it in hair and eyes and some in nose. This is thing earthworms call “seasickness” and is one of many horrors they take for granted.

Won’t go into long period during which we were towed into port. Let it stand that, in addition to seasickness, my air bottles were playing out. They were rated for twelve hours, plenty for a fifty-hour orbit most of which I was unconscious and none involving heavy exercise, but not quite enough with some hours of towing added. By time barge finally held still I was almost too dopy to care about trying to break out.

Except for one fact—We were picked up, I think, and tumbled a bit, then brought to rest with me upside down. This is a no-good position at best under one gravity; simply impossible when supposed to a) unstrap self, b) get out of suit-shaped cavity, c) get loose a sledgehammer fastened with butterfly nuts to bulkhead. d) smash same against breakaways guarding escape hatch, e) batter way out, and f) finally, drag an old man in a p-suit out after you.

Didn’t finish step a); passed out head downwards.

Lucky this was emergency-last-resort routine. Stu LaJoie had been notified before we left; news services had been warned shortly before we landed. I woke up with people leaning over me, passed out again, woke up second time in hospital bed, flat on back with heavy feeling in chest—was heavy and weak all over—but not ill, just tired, bruised, hungry, thirsty, languid. Was a transparent plastic tent over bed which accounted for fact I was having no trouble breathing.

At once was closed in on from both sides, a tiny Hindu nurse with big eyes on one side, Stuart LaJoie on other. He grinned at me, “Hi, cobber! How do you feel?” “Uh … I’m right. But oh bloody! What a way to travel!”

“Prof says it’s the only way. What a tough old boy he is.” “Hold it. Prof said? Prof is dead.”

“Not at all. Not in good shape—we’ve got him in a pneumatic bed with a round-the-clock watch and more instruments wired into him than you would believe. But he’s alive and will be able to do his job. But, truly, he didn’t mind the trip; he never knew about it, so he says. Went to sleep in one hospital, woke up in another. I thought he was wrong when he refused to let me wangle it to send a ship but he was not—the publicity has been tremendous!”

I said slowly, “You say Prof ‘refused’ to let you send a ship?”

“I should say ‘Chairman Selene’ refused. Didn’t you see the dispatches, Mannie?”

“No.” Too late to fight over it. “But last few days have been busy.”

“Adinkum word! Here, too—don’t recall when last I dossed.” “You sound like a Loonie.”

“I am a Loonie, Mannie, don’t ever doubt it. But the sister is looking daggers at me.” Stu picked her up, turned her around. I decided he wasn’t all Loonie yet. But nurse didn’t resent. “Go play somewhere else, dear, and I’ll give your patient back to you—still warm—in a few minutes.” He shut a door on her and came back to bed. “But Adam was right; this way was not only wonderful publicity but safer.”

“Publicity, I suppose. But ‘safer’? Let’s not talk about!”

“Safer, my old. You weren’t shot at. Yet they had two hours in which they knew right where you were, a big fat target. They couldn’t make up their minds what to do; they haven’t formed a policy yet. They didn’t even dare not bring you down on schedule; the news was full of it, I had stories slanted and waiting. Now they don’t dare touch you, you’re popular heroes. Whereas if I had waited to charter a ship and fetch you … Well, I don’t know. We probably would have been ordered into parking orbit; then you two—and myself, perhaps—would have been taken off under arrest. No skipper is going to risk missiles no matter how much he’s paid. The proof of the pudding, cobber. But let me brief you. You’re both citizens of The People’s Directorate of Chad, best I could do on short notice. Also, Chad has recognized Luna. I had to buy one prime minister, two generals, some tribal chiefs and a minister of finance—cheap for such a hurry-up job. I haven’t been able to get you diplomatic immunity but I hope to, before you leave hospital. At present they haven’t even dared arrest you; they can’t figure out what you’ve done. They have guards outside but simply for your ‘protection’—and a good thing, or you would have reporters nine deep shoving microphones into your face.”

“Just what have we done?—that they know about, I mean. Illegal immigration?”

“Not even that, Mannie. You never were a consignee and you have derivative PanAfrican citizenship through one of your grandfathers, no huhu. In Professor de la Paz’s case we dug up proof that he had been granted naturalized Chad citizenship forty years back, waited for the ink to dry, and used it. You’re not even illegally entered here in India. Not only did they bring you down themselves, knowing that you were in that barge, but also a control officer very kindly and fairly cheaply stamped your virgin passports. In addition to that, Prof’s exile has no legal existence as the government that proscribed him no longer exists and a competent court has taken notice—that was more expensive.”

Nurse came back in, indignant as a mother cat. “Lord Stuart you must let my patient rest!” “At once, ma chere.”

“You’re ‘Lord Stuart’?”

“Should be ‘Comte.’ Or I can lay a dubious claim to being the Macgregor. The blue-blood bit helps; these people haven’t been happy since they took their royalty away from them.”

As he left he patted her rump. Instead of screaming, she wiggled it. Was smiling as she came over to me. Stu was going to have to watch that stuff when he went back to Luna. If did. She asked how I felt. Told her I was right, just hungry. “Sister, did you see some prosthetic arms in our luggage?”

She had and I felt better with number-six in place. Had selected it and number-two and social arm as enough for trip. Number-two was presumably still in Complex; I hoped somebody was taking care of it. But number-six is most all-around useful arm; with it and social one I’d be okay.

Two days later we left for Agra to present credentials to Federated Nations. I was in bad shape and not just high gee; could do well enough in a wheel chair and could even walk a little although did not in public. What I had was a sore throat that missed pneumonia only through drugs, traveler’s trots, skin disease on hands and spreading to feet—just like my other trips to that disease-ridden hole, Terra. We Loonies don’t know how lucky we are, living in a place that has tightest of quarantines, almost no vermin and what we have controlled by vacuum anytime necessary. Or unlucky, since we have almost no immunities if turns out we need them. Still, wouldn’t swap; never heard word “venereal” until first went Earthside and had thought “common cold” was state of ice miner’s feet.

And wasn’t cheerful for other reason. Stu had fetched us a message from Adam Selene; buried in it, concealed even from Stir, was news that chances had dropped to worse than one in a hundred. Wondered what point in risking crazy trip if made odds worse? Did Mike really know what chances were? Couldn’t see any way he could compute them no matter how many facts he had.

But Prof didn’t seem worried. He talked to platoons of reporters, smiled at endless pictures, gave out statements, telling world he placed great confidence in Federated Nations and was sure our just claims would be recognized and that he wanted to thank “Friends of Free Luna” for wonderful help in bringing true story of our small but sturdy nation before good people of Terra—F. of F.L. being Stu, a professional public opinion firm, several thousand chronic petition signers, and a great stack of Hong Kong dollars.

I had picture taken, too, and tried to smile, but dodged questions by pointing to throat and croaking.

In Agra we were lodged in a lavish suite in hotel that had once been palace of a maharajah (and still belonged to him, even though India is supposed to be socialist) and interviews and picture-taking went on—hardly dared get out of wheel chair even to visit W.C. as was under orders from Prof never to be photographed vertically. He was always either in bed or in a stretcher—bed baths, bedpans, everything—not only because safer, considering age, and easier for any Loonie, but also for pictures. His dimples and wonderful, gentle, persuasive personality were displayed in hundreds of millions of video screens, endless news pictures.

But his personality did not get us anywhere in Agra. Prof was carried to office of President of Grand Assembly, me being pushed alongside, and there he attempted to present his credentials as Ambassador to F.N. and prospective Senator for Luna—was referred to Secretary General and at his offices we were granted ten minutes with assistant secretary who sucked teeth and said he could accept our credentials “without prejudice and without implied commitment.” They were referred to Credentials Committee—who sat on them.

I got fidgety. Prof read Keats. Grain barges continued to arrive at Bombay.

In a way was not sorry about latter. When we flew from Bombay to Agra we got up before dawn and were taken out to field as city was waking. Every Loonie has his hole, whether luxury of a long-established home like Davis Tunnels or rock still raw from drill; cubic is no problem and can’t be for centuries.

Bombay was bee-swarms of people. Are over million (was told) who have no home but some piece of pavement. Afamily might claim right (and hand down by will, generation after generation) to sleep on a piece two meters long and one wide at a described location in front of a shop. Entire family sleeps on that space, meaning mother, father, kids, maybe a grandmother. Would not have believed if had not seen. At dawn in Bombay roadways, side pavements, even bridges are covered with tight carpet of human bodies. What do they do? Where do they work? How do they eat? (Did not look as if they did. Could count ribs.)

If I hadn’t believed simple arithmetic that you can’t ship stuff downhill forever without shipping replacement back, would have tossed in cards. But… tanstanfl. “There ain’t no such thing as a free lunch,” in Bombay or in Luna.

At last we were given appointment with an “Investigating Committee.” Not what Prof had asked for. He had requested public hearing before Senate, complete with video cameras. Only camera at this session was its “in-camera” nature; was closed. Not too closed, I had little recorder. But no video. And took Prof two minutes to discover that committee was actually vips of Lunar Authority or their tame dogs.

Nevertheless was chance to talk and Prof treated them as if they had power to recognize Luna’s independence and willingness to do so. While they treated us as a cross between naughty children and criminals up for sentencing.

Prof was allowed to make opening statement. With decorations trimmed away was assertion that Luna was de-facto a sovereign state, with an unopposed government in being, a civil condition of peace and order, a provisional president and cabinet carrying on necessary functions but anxious to return to private life as soon as Congress completed writing a constitution—and that we were here to ask that these facts be recognized de-jure and that Luna be allowed to take her rightful place in councils of mankind as a member of Federated Nations.

What Prof told them bore a speaking acquaintance with truth and they were not where they could spot discrepancies. Our “provisional president” was a computer, and “cabinet” was Wyoh, Finn, Comrade Clayton, and Terence Sheehan, editor of Pravda, plus Wolfgang Korsakov, board chairman of LuNoHoCo and a director of Bank of Hong Kong in Luna. But Wyoh was only person now in Luna who knew that “Adam Selene” was false face for a computer. She had been terribly nervous at being left to hold fort alone.

As it was, Adam’s “oddity” in never being seen save over video was always an embarrassment. We had done our best to turn it into a “security necessity” by opening offices for him in cubic of Authority’s Luna City office and then exploding a small bomb. After this “assassination attempt” comrades who had been most fretful about Adam’s failure to stir around became loudest in demands that Adam must not take any chances—this being helped by editorials.

But I wondered while Prof was talking what these pompous chooms would think if they knew that our “president” was a collection of hardware owned by Authority?

But they just sat staring with chill disapproval, unmoved by Prof’s rhetoric—probably best performance of his life considering he delivered it flat on back, speaking into a microphone without notes, and hardly able to see his audience.

Then they started in on us. Gentleman member from Argentina—never given their names; we weren’t socially acceptable—this Argentino objected to phrase “former Warden” in Prof’s speech; that designation had been obsolete half a century; he insisted that it be struck out and proper title inserted: “Protector of the Lunar Colonies by Appointment of the Lunar Authority.” Any other wording offended dignity of Lunar Authority.

Prof asked to comment; “Honorable Chairman” permitted it. Prof said mildly that he accepted change since Authority was free to designate its servants in any fashion it pleased and was no intention to offend dignity of any agency of Federated Nations… but in view of functions of this office—former functions of this former office—citizens of Luna Free State would probably go on thinking of it by traditional name.

That made about six of them try to talk at once. Somebody objected to use of word “Luna” and still more to “Luna Free State”—it was “the Moon,” Earth’s Moon, a satellite of Earth and property of Federated Nations, just as Antarctica was—and these proceedings were a farce.

Was inclined to agree with last point. Chairman asked gentleman member from North America to please be in order and to address his remarks through Chair. Did Chair understand from witness’s last remark that this alleged de-facto regime intended to interfere with consignee system?

Prof fielded that and tossed it back. “Honorable Chairman, I myself was a consignee, now Luna is my beloved home. My colleague, the Honorable the Undersecretary for Foreign Affairs Colonel O’Kelly Davis”—myself!—”is Luna born, and proud of his descent from four transported grandparents. Luna has grown strong on your outcasts. Give us your poor, your wretched; we welcome them. Luna has room for them, nearly forty million square kilometers, an area greater than all Africa—and almost totally empty. More than that, since by our method of living we occupy not ‘area’ but ‘cubic’ the mind cannot imagine the day when Luna would refuse another shipioad of weary homeless.”

Chairman said, “The witness is admonished to refrain from making speeches. The Chair takes it that your oratory means that the group you represent agrees to accept prisoners as before.”

“No, sir.”

“What? Explain yourself.”

“Once an immigrant sets foot on Luna today he is a free man, no matter what his previous condition, free to go where he listeth.”

“So? Then what’s to keep a consignee from walking across the field, climbing into another ship, and returning here? I admit that I am puzzled at your apparent willingness to accept them… but we do not want them. It is our humane way of getting rid of incorrigibles who would otherwise have to be executed.”

(Could have told him several things that would stop what he pictured; he had obviously never been to Luna. As for “incorrigibles,” if really are, Luna eliminates such faster than Terra ever did. Back when I was very young, they sent us a gangster lord, from Los Angeles I believe; he arrived with squad of stooges, his bodyguards, and was cockily ready to take over Luna, as was rumored to have taken over a prison somewhere Earthside.

(None lasted two weeks. Gangster boss didn’t make it to barracks; hadn’t listened when told how to wear a p-suit.)

“There is nothing to keep him from going home so far as we are concerned, sir,” Prof answered, “although your police here on Terra might cause him to think. But I’ve never heard of a consignee arriving with funds enough to buy a ticket home. Is this truly an issue? The ships are yours; Luna has no ships—and let me add that we are sorry that the ship scheduled for Luna this month was canceled. I am not complaining that it forced on my colleague and myself—Prof stopped to smile—a most informal method of travel. I simply hope that this does not represent policy. Luna has no quarrel with you; your ships are welcome, your trade is welcome, we are at peace and wish to stay so. Please note that all scheduled grain shipments

have come through on time.”

(Prof did always have gift for changing subject.)

They fiddled with minor matters then. Nosy from North America wanted to know what had really happened to “the Ward—” He stopped himself. “The Protector. Senator Hobart” Prof answered that he had suffered a stroke (a “coup” is a “stroke”) and was no longer able to carry out his duties—but was in good health otherwise and receiving constant medical care. Prof added thoughtfully that he suspected that the old gentleman had been failing for some time, in view of his indiscretions this past year… especially his many invasions of rights of free citizens, including ones who were not and never had been consignees.

Story was not hard to swallow. When those busy scientists managed to break news of our coup, they had reported Warden as dead… whereas Mike had kept him alive and on job by impersonating him. When Authority Earthside demanded a report from Warden on this wild rumor, Mike had consulted Prof, then had accepted call and given a convincing imitation of senility, managing to deny, confirm, and confuse every detail. Our announcements followed, and thereafter Warden was no longer available even in his computer alter ego. Three days later we declared independence.

This North American wanted to know what reason they had to believe that one word of this was true? Prof smiled most saintly smile and made effort to spread thin hands before letting them fall to coverlet. “The gentleman member from North America is urged to go to Luna, visit Senator Hobart’s sickbed, and see for himself. Indeed all Terran citizens are invited to visit Luna at any time, see anything. We wish to be friends, we are at peace, we have nothing to hide. My only regret is that my country is unable to furnish transportation; for that we must turn to you.”

Chinee member looked at Prof thoughtfully. He had not said a word but missed nothing.

Chairman recessed hearing until fifteen hundred. They gave us a retiring room and sent in lunch. I wanted to talk but Prof shook head, glanced around room, tapped ear. So I shut up. Prof napped then and I leveled out my wheel chair and joined him; on Terra we both slept all we could. Helped. Not enough.

They didn’t wheel us back in until sixteen hundred; committee was already sitting. Chairman then broke own rule against speeches and made a long one more-in-sorrow-than-anger. Started by reminding us that Luna Authority was a nonpolitical trusteeship charged with solemn duty of insuring that Earth’s satellite the Moon—Luna, as some called it—was never used

for military purposes. He told us that Authority had guarded this sacred trust more than a century, while governments fell and new governments rose, alliances shifted and shifted again

—indeed, Authority was older than Federated Nations, deriving original charter from an older international body, and so well had it kept that trust that it had lasted through wars and

turmoils and realignments.

(This is news? But you see what he was building towards.)

“The Lunar Authority cannot surrender its trust,” he told us solemnly. “However, there appears to be no insuperable obstacle to the Lunar colonists, if they show political maturity, enjoying a degree of autonomy. This can be taken under advisement. Much depends on your behavior. The behavior, I should say, of all you colonists. There have been riots and destruction of property; this must not be.”

I waited for him to mention ninety dead Goons; he never did. I will never make a statesman; I don’t have high-level approach.

“Destroyed property must be paid for,” he went on. “Commitments must be met. If this body you call a Congress can guarantee such things, it appears to this committee that this so- called Congress could in time be considered an agency of the Authority for many internal matters. Indeed it is conceivable that a stable local government might, in time, assume many duties now failing on the Protector and even be allowed a delegate, non-voting, in the Grand Assembly. But such recognition would have to be earned.

“But one thing must be made clear. Earth’s major satellite, the Moon, is by nature’s law forever the joint property of all the peoples of Earth. It does not belong to that handful who by accident of history happen to live there. The sacred trust laid upon the Lunar Authority is and forever must be the supreme law of Earth’s Moon.”

(“—accident of history,” huh? I expected Prof to shove it down his throat. I thought he would say—No, never did know what Prof would say. Here’s what he did say): Prof waited through several seconds of silence, then said, “Honorable Chairman, who is to be exiled this time?”

“What did you say?”

“Have you decided which one of you is to go into exile? Your Deputy Warden won’t take the job”—this was true; he preferred to stay alive. “He is functioning now only because we have asked him to. If you persist in believing that we are not independent, then you must be planning to send up a new warden.”

“Protector!”

“Warden. Let us not mince words. Though if we knew who he is to be, we might be happy to call him ‘Ambassador.’ We might be able to work with him, it might not be necessary to send with him armed hoodlums… to rape and murder our women!”

“Order! Order! The witness will come to order!”

“It is not I who was not in order, Honorable Chairman. Rape it was and murder most foul. But that is history and now we must look to the future. Whom are you going to exile?”

Prof struggled to raise self on elbow and I was suddenly alert; was a cue. “For you all know, sir, that it is a one-way trip. I was born here. You can see what effort it is for me to return even temporarily to the planet which has disinherited me. We are outcasts of Earth who—”

He collapsed. Was up out of my chair—and collapsed myself, trying to reach him.

Was not all play-acting even though I answered a cue. Is terrible strain on heart to get up suddenly on Terra; thick field grabbed and smashed me to floor.

Neither of us was hurt and it made juicy news breaks, for I put recording in Stu’s hands and he turned it over to his hired men. Nor were all headlines against us; Stu had recording cut and edited and slanted. AUTHORITYTO PLAYODD MAN OUT?—LUNAR AMBASSADOR COLLAPSES UNDER GRILLING: “OUTCASTS!” HE CRIES—PROF PAZ POINTS FINGER OF SHAME: STORYPAGE 8.

Not all were good; nearest to a favorable story in India was editorial in New India Times inquiring whether Authority was risking bread of masses in failing to come to terms with Lunar insurgents. Was suggested that concessions could be made if would insure increased grain deliveries. Was filled with inflated statistics; Luna did not feed “a hundred million Hindus”— unless you chose to think of our grain as making difference between malnutrition and starvation.

On other hand biggest New York paper opined that Authority had made mistake in treating with us at all, since only thing convicts understood was taste of lash—troops should land, set us in order, hang guilty, leave forces to keep order.

Was a quick mutiny, quickly subdued, in Peace Dragoons regiment from which our late oppressors had come, one started by rumor that they were to be shipped to Moon. Mutiny not hushed up perfectly; Stu hired good men.

Next morning a message reached us inquiring if Professor de la Paz was well enough to resume discussions? We went, and committee supplied doctor and nurse to watch over Prof. But this time we were searched—and a recorder removed from my pouch.

I surrendered it without much fuss; was Japanese job supplied by Stu—to be surrendered. Number-six arm has recess intended for a power pack but near enough size of my mini- recorder. Didn’t need power that day—and most people, even hardened police officers, dislike to touch a prosthetic.

Everything discussed day before was ignored… except that chairman started session by scolding us for “breaking security of a closed meeting.”

Prof replied that it had not been closed so far as we were concerned and that we would welcome newsmen, video cameras, a gallery, anyone, as Luna Free State had nothing to hide. Chairman replied stiffly that so-called Free State did not control these hearings; these sessions were closed, not to be discussed outside this room, and that it was so ordered.

Prof looked at me. “Will you help me, Colonel?” I touched controls of chair, scooted around, was shoving his stretcher wagon with my chair toward door before chairman realized bluff had been called. Prof allowed himself to be persuaded to stay without promising anything. Hard to coerce a man who faints if he gets overexcited.

Chairman said that there had been many irrelevancies yesterday and matters discussed best left undiscussed—and that he would permit no digressions today. He looked at Argentino, then at North American.

He went on: “Sovereignty is an abstract concept, one that has been redefined many times as mankind has learned to live in peace. We need not discuss it. The real question, Professor

—or even Ambassador de-facto, if you like; we shan’t quibble—the real question is this: Are you prepared to guarantee that the Lunar Colonies will keep their commitments?”

“What commitments, sir?”

“All commitments, but I have in mind specifically your commitments concerning grain shipments.” “I know of no such commitments, sir,” Prof answered with innocence.

Chairman’s hand tightened on gavel. But he answered quietly, “Come, sir, there is no need to spar over words. I refer to the quota of grain shipments—and to the increased quota, a matter of thirteen percent, for this new fiscal year. Do we have assurance that you will honor those commitments? This is a minimum basis for discussion, else these talks can go no further.”

“Then I am sorry to say, sir, that it would appear that our talks must cease.” “You’re not being serious.”

“Quite serious, sir. The sovereignty of Free Luna is not the abstract matter you seem to feel it is. These commitments you speak of were the Authority contracting with itself. My country is not bound by such. Any commitments from the sovereign nation I have the honor to represent are still to be negotiated.”

“Rabble!” growled North American. “I told you you were being too soft on them. Jailbirds. Thieves and whores. They don’t understand decent treatment.” “Order!”

“Just remember, I told you. If I had them in Colorado, we would teach them a thing or two; we know how to handle their sort.” “The gentleman member will please be in order.”

“I’m afraid,” said Hindu member—Parsee in fact, but committeeman from India—”I’m afraid I must agree in essence with the gentleman member from the North American Directorate. India cannot accept the concept that the grain commitments are mere scraps of paper. Decent people do not play politics with hunger.”

“And besides,” the Argentino put in, “they breed like animals. Pigs!”

(Prof made me take a tranquilizing drug before that session. Had insisted on seeing me take it.)

Prof said quietly, “Honorable Chairman, may I have consent to amplify my meaning before we conclude, perhaps too hastily, that these talks must be abandoned?” “Proceed.”

“Unanimous consent? Free of interruption?”

Chairman looked around. “Consent is unanimous,” he stated, “and the gentlemen members are placed on notice that I will invoke special rule fourteen at the next outburst. The sergeant-at-arms is directed to note this and act. The witness will proceed.”

“I will be brief, Honorable Chairman.” Prof said something in Spanish; all I caught was “Senor.” Argentina turned dark but did not answer. Prof went on, “I must first answer the gentleman member from North America on a matter of personal privilege since he has impugned my fellow countrymen. I for one have seen the inside of more than one jail; I accept the title—nay, I glory in the title of ‘jailbird.’ We citizens of Luna are jailbirds and descendants of jailbirds. But Luna herself is a stern schoolmistress; those who have lived through her harsh lessons have no cause to feel ashamed. In Luna City a man may leave purse unguarded or home unlocked and feel no fear… I wonder if this is true in Denver? As may be, I have no wish to visit Colorado to learn a thing or two; I am satisfied with what Mother Luna has taught me. And rabble we may be, but we are now a rabble in arms.

“To the gentleman member from India let me say that we do not ‘play politics with hunger.’ What we ask is an open discussion of facts of nature unbound by political assumptions false to fact. If we can hold this discussion, I can promise to show a way in which Luna can continue grain shipments and expand them enormously… to the great benefit of India.”

Both Chinee and Indian looked alert. Indian started to speak, checked himself, then said, “Honorable Chairman, will the Chair ask the witness to explain what he means?” “The witness is invited to amplify.”

“Honorable Chairman, gentlemen members, there is indeed a way for Luna to expand by tenfold or even a hundred her shipments to our hungry millions. The fact that grain barges continued to arrive on schedule during our time of trouble and are still arriving today is proof that our intentions are friendly. But you do not get milk by beating the cow. Discussions of how to augment our shipments must be based on the facts of nature, not on the false assumption that we are slaves, bound by a work quota we never made. So which shall it be? Will you persist in believing that we are slaves, indentured to an Authority other than ourselves? Or will you acknowledge that we are free, negotiate with us, and learn how we can help you?”

Chairman said, “In other words you ask us to buy a pig in a poke. You demand that we legalize your outlaw status … then you will talk about fantastic claims that you can increase grain shipments ten- or a hundredfold. What you claim is impossible; I am expert in Lunar economics. And what you ask is impossible; takes the Grand Assembly to admit a new nation.”

Then place it before the Grand Assembly. Once seated as sovreign equals, we will discuss how to increase shipments and negotiate terms. Honorable Chairman, we grow the grain, we own it. We can grow far more. But not as slaves. Luna’s soverign freedom must first be recognized.”

“Impossible and you know it. The Lunar Authority cannot abdicate its sacred responsibility.”

Prof sighed. “It appears to be an impasse. I can only suggest that these hearings be recessed while we all take thought. Today our barges are arriving… but the moment that I am forced to notify my government that I have failed… they… will … stop!”

Prof’s head sank back on pillow as if it had been too much for him—as may have been. I was doing well enough but was young and had had practice in how to visit Terra and stay alive. A Loonie his age should not risk it. After minor foofooraw which Prof ignored they loaded us into a lorry and scooted us back to hotel. Once under way I said, “Prof, what was it you said to Senor Jellybelly that raised blood pressure?”

He chuckled. “Comrade Stuart’s investigations of these gentlemen turn up remarkable facts. I asked who owned a certain brothel off Calle Florida in B.A. these days and did it now have a star redhead?”

“Why? You used to patronize it?” Tried to imagine Prof in such!

“Never. It has been forty years since I was last in Buenos Aires. He owns that establishment, Manuel, through a dummy, and his wife, a beauty with Titian hair, once worked in it.” Was sorry had asked. “Wasn’t that a foul blow? And undiplomatic?”

But Prof closed eyes and did not answer.

He was recovered enough to spend an hour at a reception for newsmen that night, with white hair framed against a purple pillow and thin body decked out in embroidered pajamas. Looked like vip corpse at an important funeral, except for eyes and dimples. I looked mighty vip too, in black and gold uniform which Stu claimed was Lunar diplomatic uniform of my rank. Could have been, if Lana had had such things—did not or I would have known. I prefer a p-suit; collar was tight. Nor did I ever find out what decorations on it meant. ~Areporter asked me about one, based on Luna at crescent as seen from Terra; told him it was a prize for spelling. Stu was in earshot and said, “The Colonel is modest. That decoration is of the same rank as the Victoria Cross and in his case was awarded for an act of gallantry on the glorious, tragic day of—”

He led him away, still talking. Stu could lie standing up almost as well as Prof. Me, I have to think out a lie ahead of time.

India newspapers and casts were rough that night; “threat” to stop grain shipments made them froth. Gentlest proposal was to clean out Luna, exterminate us “criminal troglodytes” and replace us with “honest Hindu peasants” who understood sacredness of life and would ship grain and more grain.

Prof picked that night to talk and give handouts about Luna’s inability to continue shipments, and why—and Stu’s organization spread release throughout Terra. Some reporters took time to dig out sense of figures and tackled Prof on glaring discrepancy:

“Professor de la Paz, here you say that grain shipments will dwindle away through failure of natural resources and that by 2082 Luna won’t even be able to feed its own people. Yet earlier today you told the Lunar Authority that you could increase shipments a dozen times or more.”

Prof said sweetly, “That committee is the Lunar Authority?” “Well… it’s an open secret.”

“So it is, sir, but they have maintained the fiction of being an impartial investigating committee of the Grand Assembly. Don’t you think they should disqualify themselves? So that we could receive a fair hearing?”

“Uh… it’s not my place to say, Professor. Let’s get back to my question. How do you reconcile the two?”

“I’m interested in why it’s not your place to say, sir. Isn’t it the concern of every citizen of Terra to help avoid a situation which will produce war between Terra and her neighbor?” “‘War’? What in the world makes you speak of ‘war,’ Professor?”

“Where else can it end, sir? If the Lunar Authority persists in its intransigence? We cannot accede to their demands; those figures show why. If they will not see this, then they will attempt to subdue us by force… and we will fight back. Like cornered rats—for cornered we are, unable to retreat, unable to surrender. We do not choose war; we wish to live in peace with our neighbor planet—in peace and peacefully trade. But the choice is not ours. We are small, you are gigantic. I predict that the next move will be for the Lunar Authority to attempt to subdue Luna by force. This ‘peace-keeping’ agency will start the first interplanetary war.”

Journalist frowned. “Aren’t you overstating it? Let’s assame the Authority—or the Grand Assembly, as the Authority hasn’t any warships of its own—let’s suppose the nations of Earth decide to displace your, uh, ‘government.’ You might fight, on Luna—I suppose you would. But that hardly constitutes interplanetary war. As you pointed out, Luna has no ships. To put it bluntly, you can’t reach us.”

I had chair close by Prof’s stretcher, listening. He turned to me. “Tell them, Colonel.”

I parroted it. Prof and Mike had worked out stock situation. I had memorized and was ready with answers. I said, “Do you gentlemen remember the Pathfinder? How she came plunging in, out of control?”

They remembered. Nobody forgets greatest disaster of early days of space flight when unlucky Pathfinder hit a Belgian village.

“We have no ships,” I went on, “but would be possible to throw those bargeloads of grain… instead of delivering them parking orbit.” Next day this evoked a headling: LOONIES THREATEN TO THROW RICE. At moment it produced awkward silence.

Finally journalist said, “Nevertheless I would like to know how you reconcile your two statements—no more grain after 2082… and ten or a hundred times as much.”

“There is no conflict,” Prof answered. “They are based on different sets of circumstances. The figures you have been looking at show the present circumstances … and the disaster they will produce in only a few years through drainage of Luna’s natural resources—disaster which these Authority bureaucrats—or should I say ‘authoritarian bureaucrats?’—would avert by telling us to stand in the corner like naughty children!”

Prof paused for labored breathing, went on: “The circumstances under which we can continue, or greatly increase, our grain shipments are the obvious corollary of the first. As an old teacher I can hardly refrain from classroom habits; the corollary should be left as an exercise for the student. Will someone attempt it?”

Was uncomfortable silence, then a little man with strange accent said slowly, “It sound to me as if you talk about way to replenish natural resource.”

“Capital! Excellent!” Prof flashed dimples. “You, sir, will have a gold star on your term report! To make grain requires water and plant foods—phosphates, other things, ask the experts. Send these things to us; we’ll send them back as wholesome grain. Put down a hose in the limitless Indian Ocean. Line up those millions of cattle here in India; collect their end product and ship it to us. Collect your own night soil—don’t bother to sterilize it; we’ve learned to do such things cheaply and easily. Send us briny sea water, rotten fish, dead animals, city sewage, cow manure, offal of any sort—and we will send it back, tonne for tonne as golden grain. Send ten times as much, we’ll send back ten times as much grain. Send us your poor, your dispossessed, send them by thousands and hundreds of thousands; we’ll teach them swift, efficient Lunar methods of tunnel farming and ship you back unbelievable tonnage. Gentlemen, Luna is one enormous fallow farm, four thousand million hectares, waiting to be plowed!”

That startled them. Then someone said slowly, “But what do you get out of it? Luna, I mean.”

Prof shrugged. “Money. In the form of trade goods. There are many things you make cheaply which are dear in Luna. Drugs. Tools. Book films. Gauds for our lovely ladies. Buy our grain and you can sell to us at a happy profit.”

AHindu journalist looked thoughtful, started to write. Next to him was a European type who seemed unimpressed. He said, “Professor, have you any idea of the cost of shipping that much tonnage to the Moon?”

Prof waved it aside. “Atechnicality. Sir, there was a time when it was not simply expensive to ship goods across oceans but impossible. Then it was expensive, difficult, dangerous. Today you sell goods half around your planet almost as cheaply as next door; long-distance shipping is the least important factor in cost. Gentlemen, I am not an engineer. But I have learned this about engineers. When something must be done, engineers can find a way that is economically feasible. If you want the grain that we can grow, turn your engineers loose.” Prof gasped and labored, signaled for help and nurses wheeled him away.

I declined to be questioned on it, telling them that they must talk to Prof when he was well enough to see them. So they pecked at me on other lines. One man demanded to know why, since we paid no taxes, we colonists thought we had a right to run things our own way? After all, those colonies had been established by Federated Nations—by some of them. It had been terribly expensive. Earth had paid all bills—and now you colonists enjoy benefits and pay not one dime of taxes. Was that fair?

I wanted to tell him to blow it. But Prof had again made me take a tranquilizer and had required me to swot that endless list of answers to trick questions. “Lets take that one at a time,” I said. “First, what is it you want us to pay taxes for? Tell me what I get and perhaps I’ll buy it. No, put it this way. Do you pay taxes?”

“Certainly I do! And so should you.” “And what do you get for your taxes?” “Huh? Taxes pay for government.”

I said, “Excuse me, I’m ignorant. I’ve lived my whole life in Luna, I don’t know much about your government. Can you feed it to me in small pieces? What do you get for your money?” They all got interested and anything this aggressive little choom missed, others supplied. I kept a list. When they stopped, I read it back:

“Free hospitals—aren’t any in Luna. Medical insurance—we have that but apparently not what you mean by it. If a person wants insurance, he goes to a bookie and works b-Out a bet. You can hedge anything, for a price. I don’t hedge my health, I’m healthy. Or was till I came here. We have a public library, one Carnegie Foundation started with a few book films. It gets along by charging fees. Public roads. I suppose that would be our tubes. But they are no more free than air is free. Sorry, you have free air here, don’t you? I mean our tubes were built by companies who put up money and are downright nasty about expecting it back and then some. Public schools. There are schools in all warrens and I never heard of them turning away pupils, so I guess they are ‘public.’ But they pay well, too, because anyone in Luna who knows something useful and is willing to teach it charges all the traffic will bear.”

I went on: “Let’s see what else– Social security. I’m not sure what that is but whatever it is, we don’t have it. Pensions. You can buy a pension. Most people don’t; most families are large and old people, say a hundred and up, either fiddle along at something they like, or sit and watch video. Or sleep. They sleep a lot, after say a hundred and twenty.”

“Sir, excuse me. Do people really live as long on the Moon as they say?”

I looked surprised but wasn’t; this was a “simulated question” for which an answer had been taped. “Nobody knows how long a person will live in Luna; we haven’t been there long enough. Our oldest citizens were born Earthside, it’s no test. So far, no one born in Luna died of old age, but that’s still no test; they haven’t had time to grow old yet, less than a century. But—Well, take me, madam; how old would you say I am? I’m authentic Loonie, third generation.”

“Uh, truthfully, Colonel Davis, I was surprised at your youthfulness—for this mission, I mean. You appear to be about twenty-two. Are you older? Not much, I fancy.” “Madam, I regret that your local gravitation makes it impossible for me to bow. Thank you. I’ve been married longer than that.”

“What? Oh, you’re jesting!”

“Madam, I would never venture to guess a lady’s age but, if you will emigrate to Luna, you will keep your present youthful loveliness much longer and add at least twenty years to your life.” I looked at list. “I’ll lump the rest of this together by saying we don’t have any of it in Luna, so I can’t see any reason to pay taxes for it. On that other point, sir, surely you know that the initial cost of the colonies has long since been repaid several times over through grain shipments alone? We are being bled white of our most essential resources…and not even being paid an open-market price. That’s why the Lunar Authority is being stubborn; they intend to go on bleeding us. The idea that Luna has been an expense to Terra and the investment must be recovered is a lie invented by the Authority to excuse their treating us as slaves. The truth is that Luna has not cost Terra one dime this century—and the original investment has long since been paid back.”

He tried to rally. “Oh, surely you’re not claiming that the Lunar colonies have paid all the billions of dollars it took to develop space flight?”

“I could present a good case. However there is no excuse to charge that against us. You have space flight, you people of Terra. We do not. Luna has not one ship. So why should we pay for what we never received? It’s like the rest of this list. We don’t get it, why should we pay for it?”

Had been stalling, waiting for a claim that Prof had told me I was sure to hear… and got it at last.

“Just a moment, please!” came a confident voice. “You ignored the two most important items on that list. Police protection and armed forces. You boasted that you were willing to pay for what you get… so how about paying almost a century of back taxes for those two? It should be quite a bill, quite a bill!” He smiled smugly.

Wanted to thank him!—thought Prof was going to chide me for failing to yank it out. People looked at each other and nodded, pleased I had been scored on. Did best to look innocent. “Please? Don’t understand. Luna has neither police nor armed forces.”

“You know what I mean. You enjoy the protection of the Peace Forces of the Federated Nations. And you do have police. Paid for by the Lunar Authority! I know, to my certain knowledge, that two phalanges were sent to the Moon less than a year ago to serve as policemen.”

“Oh.” I sighed. “Can you tell me how F.N. peace forces protect Luna? I did not know that any of your nations wanted to attack us. We are far away and have nothing anyone envies. Or did you mean we should pay them to leave us alone? If so, there is an old saying that once you pay Danegeld, you never get rid of the Dane. Sir, we will fight F.N. armed forces if we must… we shall never pay them.

“Now about those so-called ‘policemen.’ They were not sent to protect us. Our Declaration of Independence told the true story about those hoodlums—did your newspapers print it?” (Some had, some hadn’t—depended on country.) “They went mad and started raping and murdering! And now they are dead! So don’t send us any more troops!”

Was suddenly “tired” and had to leave. Really was tired; not much of an actor and making that talk-talk come out way Prof thought it should was strain.

Was not told till later that I had received an assist in that interview; lead about “police” and “armed forces” had been fed by a stooge; Stu LaJoie took no chances. But by time I knew, I had had experience in handling interviews; we had them endlessly.

Despite being tired was not through that night. In addition to press some Agra diplomatic corps had risked showing up—few and none officially, even from Chad. But we were curiosities and they wanted to look at us.

Only one was important, a Chinee. Was startled to see him; he was Chinee member of committee. I met him, simply as “Dr. Chan” and we pretended to be meeting first time.

He was that Dr. Chan who was then Senator from Great China and also Great China’s long-time number-one boy in Lunar Authority—and, much later, Vice-Chairman and Premier, shortly before his assassin.

After getting out point I was supposed to make, with bonus through others that could have waited, I guided chair to bedroom and was at once summoned to Prof’s. “Manuel, I’m sure you noticed our distinguished visitor from the Middle Kingdom.”

“Old Chinee from committee?”

“Try to curb the Loonie talk, son. Please don’t use it at all here, even with me. Yes. He wants to know what we meant by ‘tenfold or a hundredfold.’ So tell him.” “Straight? Or swindle?”

“The straight. This man is no fool. Can you handle the technical details?” “Done my homework. Unless he’s expert in ballistics.”

“He’s not. But don’t pretend to know anything you don’t know. And don’t assume that he’s friendly. But he could be enormously helpful if he concludes that our interests and his coincide. But don’t try to persuade him. He’s in my study. Good luck. And remember—speak standard English.”

Dr. Chan stood up as I came in; I apologized for not standing. He said that he understood difficulties that a gentleman from Luna labored under here and for me not to exert myself— shook hands with himself and sat down.

I’ll skip some formalities. Did we or did we not have some specific solution when we claimed there was a cheap way to ship massive tonnage to Luna?

Told him was a method, expensive in investment but cheap in running expenses. “It’s the one we use on Luna, sir. Acatapult, an escape-speed induction catapult.”

His expression changed not at all. “Colonel, are you aware that such has been proposed many times and always rejected for what seemed good reasons? Something to do with air pressure.”

“Yes, Doctor. But we believe, based on extensive analyses by computer and on our experience with catapulting, that today the problem can be solved. Two of our larger firms, the LuNoHo Company and the Bank of Hong Kong in Luna, are ready to head a syndicate to do it as a private venture. They would need help here on Earth and might share voting stock—though they would prefer to sell bonds and retain control. Primarily what they need is a concession from some government, a permanent easement on which to build the catapult. Probably India.”

(Above was set speech. LuNoHoCo was bankrupt if anybody examined books, and Hong Kong Bank was strained; was acting as central bank for country undergoing upheaval. Purpose was to get in last word, “India.” Prof had coached me that this word must come last.)

Dr. Chan answered, “Never mind financial aspects. Anything which is physically possible can always be made financially possible; money is a bugaboo of small minds. Why do you select India?”

“Well, sir, India now consumes, I believe, over ninety per cent of our grain shipments—” “Ninety-three point one percent.”

“Yes, sir. India is deeply interested in our grain so it seemed likely that she would cooperate. She could grant us land, make labor and materials available, and so forth. But I mentioned India because she holds a wide choice of possible sites, very high mountains not too far from Terra’s equator. The latter is not essential, just helpful. But the site must be a high mountain. It’s that air pressure you spoke of, or air density. The catapult head should be at as high altitude as feasible but the ejection end, where the load travels over eleven kilometers per second, must be in air so thin that it approaches vacuum. Which calls for a very high mountain. Take the peak Nanda Devi, around four hundred kilometers from here. It has a railhead sixty kilometers from it and a road almost to its base. It is eight thousand meters high. I don’t know that Nanda Devi is ideal. It is simply a possible site with good logistics; the ideal site would have to be selected by Terran engineers.”

“Ahigher mountain would be better?”

“Oh, yes, sir!” I assured him. “Ahigher mountain would be preferred over one nearer the equator. The catapult can be designed to make up for loss in free ride from Earth’s rotation. The difficult thing is to avoid so far as possible this pesky thick atmosphere. Excuse me, Doctor; I did not mean to criticize your planet.”

“There are higher mountains. Colonel, tell me about this proposed catapult.”

I started to. “The length of an escape-speed catapult is determined by the acceleration. We think—or the computer calculates—that an acceleration of twenty gravities is about optimum. For Earth’s escape speed this requires a catapult three hundred twenty-three kilometers in length. Therefore–”

“Stop, please! Colonel, are you seriously proposing to bore a hole over three hundred kilometers deep?”

“Oh, no! Construction has to be above ground to permit shock waves to expand. The stator would stretch nearly horizontally, rising perhaps four kilometers in three hundred and in a straight line—almost straight, as Coriolis acceleration and other minor variables make it a gentle curve. The Lunar catapult is straight so far as the eye can see and so nearly horizontal that the barges just miss some peaks beyond it.”

“Oh. I thought that you were overestimating the capacity of present-day engineering. We drill deeply today. Not that deeply. Go on.”

“Doctor, it may be that common misconception which caused you to check me is why such a catapult has not been constructed before this. I’ve seen those earlier studies. Most assumed that a catapult would be vertical, or that it would have to tilt up at the end to toss the spacecraft into the sky—and neither is feasible nor necessary. I suppose the asswnption arose from the fact that your spaceships do boost straight up, or nearly.”

I went on: “But they do that to get above atmosphere, not to get into orbit. Escape speed is not a vector quantity; it is scalar. Aload bursting from a catapult at escape speed will not return to Earth no matter what its direction. Uh… two corrections: it must not be headed toward the Earth itself but at some part of the sky hemisphere, and it must have enough added velocity to punch through whatever atmosphere it still traverses. If it is headed in the right direction it will wind up at Luna.”

“Ah, yes. Then this catapult could be used but once each lunar month?”

“No, sir. On the basis on which you were thinking it would be once every day, picking the time to fit where Luna will be in her orbit. But in fact—or so the computer says; I’m not an astronautics expert—in fact this catapult could be used almost any time, simply by varying ejection speed, and the orbits could still wind up at Luna.”

“I don’t visualize that.”

“Neither do I, Doctor, but—Excuse me but isn’t there an exceptionally fine computer at Peiping University?”

“And if there is?” (Did I detect an increase in bland inscrutability? ACyborg-computer—Pickled brains? Or live ones, aware? Horrible, either way.)

“Why not ask a topnotch computer for all possible ejection times for such a catapult as I have described? Some orbits go far outside Luna’s orbit before returning to where they can be captured by Luna, taking a fantastically long time. Others hook around Terra and then go quite directly. Some are as simple as the ones we use from Luna. There are periods each day when short orbits may be selected. But a load is in the catapult less than one minute; the limitation is how fast the beds can be made ready. It is even possible to have more than one load going up the catapult at a time if the power is sufficient and computer control is versatile. The only thing that worries me is—These high mountains they are covered with snow?”

“Usually,” he answered. “Ice and snow and bare rock.”

“Well, sir, being born in Luna I don t know anything about snow. The stator would not only have to be rigid under the heavy gravity of this planet but would have to withstand dynamic thrusts at twenty gravities. I don t suppose it could be anchored to ice or snow. Or could it be?”

“I’m not an engineer, Colonel, but it seems unlikely. Snow and ice would have to be removed. And kept clear. Weather would be a problem, too.”

“Weather I know nothing about, Doctor, and all I know about ice is that it has a heat of crystallization of three hundred thirty-five million joules per tonne. I have no idea how many tonnes would have to be melted to clear the site, or how much energy would be required to keep it clear, but it seems to me that it might take as large a reactor to keep it free of ice as to power the catapult.”

“We can build reactors, we can melt ice. Or engineers can be sent north for re-education until they do understand ice.” Dr. Chan smiled and I shivered. “However, the engineering of ice and snow was solved in Antarctica years ago; don’t worry about it. Aclear, solid-rock site about three hundred fifty kilometers long at a high altitude—Anything else I should know?”

“Not much, sir. Melted ice could be collected near the catapult head and thus be the most massy part of what will be shipped to Luna—quite a saving. Also the steel canisters would be re-used to ship grain to Earth, thus stopping another drain that Luna can’t take. No reason why a canister should not make the trip hundreds of times. At Luna it would be much the way

barges are now landed off Bombay, solid-charge retrorockets programmed by ground control—except that it would be much cheaper, two and a half kilometer-seconds change of motion versus eleven-plus, a squared factor of about twenty—but actually even more favorable, as retros are parasitic weight and the payload improves accordingly. There is even a way to improve that.”

“How?”

“Doctor, this is outside my specialty. But everybody knows that your best ships use hydrogen as reaction mass heated by a fusion reactor. But hydrogen is expensive in Luna and any mass could be reaction mass; it just would not be as efficient. Can you visualize an enormous, brute-force space tug designed to fit Lunar conditions? It would use raw rock, vaporized, as reaction mass and would be designed to go up into parking orbit, pick up those shipments from Terra, bring them down to Luna’s surface. It would be ugly, all the fancies stripped away—might not be manned even by a Cyborg. It can be piloted from the ground, by computer.”

“Yes, I suppose such a ship could be designed. But let’s not complicate things. Have you covered the essentials about this catapult?”

“I believe so, Doctor. The site is the crucial thing. Take that peak Nanda Devi. By the maps I have seen it appears to have a long, very high ridge sloping to the west for about the length of our catapult. If that is true, it would be ideal—less to cut away, less to bridge. I don’t mean that it is the ideal site but that is the sort to look for: a very high peak with a long, long ridge west of it.”

“I understand.” Dr. Chan left abruptly.

Next few weeks I repeated that in a dozen countries, always in private and with implication that it was secret. All that changed was name of mountain. In Ecuador I pointed out that Chimborazo was almost on equator—ideal! But in Argentina I emphasized that their Aconcagua was highest peak in Western Hemisphere. In Bolivia I noted that Altoplano was as high as Tibetan Plateau (almost true), much nearer equator, and offered a wide choice of sites for easy construction leading up to peaks comparable to any on Terra.

I talked to a North American who was a political opponent of that choom who had called us “rabble.” I pointed out that, while Mount McKinley was comparable to anything in Asia or South America, there was much to be said for Mauna Loa—extreme ease of construction. Doubling gees to make it short enough to fit, and Hawaii would be Spaceport of World … whole world, for we talked about day when Mars would be exploited and freight for three (possibly four) planets would channel through their “Big Island.”

Never mentioned Mauna Loa’s volcanic nature; instead I noted that location permitted an aborted load to splash harmlessly in Pacific Ocean. In Sovunion was only one peak discussed—Lenin, over thousand meters (and rather too close to their big neighbor).

Kilimanjaro, Popocatepetl, Logan, El Libertado—my favorite peak changed by country; all that we required was that it be “highest mountain” in hearts of locals. I found something to say about modest mountains of Chad when we were entertained there and rationalized so well I almost believed it.

Other times, with help of leading questions from Stu LaJoie’s stooges, I talked about chemical engineering (of which I know nothing but had memorized facts) on surface of Luna, where endless free vacuum and sunpower and limitless raw materials and predictable conditions permitted ways of processing expensive or impossible Earthside—when day arrived that cheap shipping both ways made it profitable to exploit Luna’s virgin resources, Was always a suggestion that entrenched bureaucracy of Lunar Authority had failed to see great potential of Luna (true), plus answer to a question always asked, which answer asserted that Luna could accept any number of colonists.

This also was true, although never mentioned that Luna (yes, and sometimes Luna’s Loonies) killed about half of new chums. But people we talked to rarely thought of emigrating themselves; they thought of forcing or persuading others to emigrate to relieve crowding—and to reduce their own taxes. Kept mouth shut about fact that half-fed swarms we saw everywhere did breed faster than even catapulting could offset.

We could not house, feed, and train even a million new chums each year—and a million wasn’t a drop on Terra; more babies than that were conceived every night. We could accept far more than would emigrate voluntarily but if they used forced emigration and flooded us… Luna has only one way to deal with a new chum: Either he makes not one fatal mistake, in personal behavior or in coping with environment that will bite without warning… or he winds up as fertilizer in tunnel farm.

All that immigration in huge numbers could mean would be that a larger percentage of immigrants would die—too few of us to help them past natural hazards. However, Prof did most talking about “Luna’s great future.” I talked about catapults.

During weeks we waited for committee to recall us, we covered much ground. Stu’s men had things set up and only question was how much we could take. Would guess that every week on Terra chopped a year off our lives, maybe more for Prof. But he never complained and was always ready to be charming at one more reception.

We spent extra time in North America. Date of our Declaration of Independence, exactly three hundred years after that of North American British colonies, turned out to be wizard propaganda and Stu’s manipulators made most of it. North Americans are sentimental about their “United States” even though it ceased to mean anything once their continent had been rationalized by F.N. They elect a president every eight years, why, could not say—why do British still have Queen?—and boast of being “sovereign.” “Sovereign,” like “love,” means anything you want it to mean; it’s a word in dictionary between “sober” and “sozzled.”

“Sovereignty” meant much in North America and “Fourth of July” was a magic date; Fourth-of-July League handled our appearances and Stu told us that it had not cost much to get it moving and nothing to keep going; League even raised money used elsewhere—North Americans enjoy giving no matter who gets it.

Farther south Stu used another date; his people planted idea that coup d’etat had been 5 May instead of two weeks later. We were greeted with “Cinco de Mayo! Libertad! Cinco de Mayo!” I thought they were saying, “Thank you”—Prof did all talking.

But in 4th-of-July country I did better. Stu had me quit wearing a left arm in public, sleeves of my costumes were sewed up so that stump could not be missed, and word was passed that I had lost it “fighting for freedom.” Whenever I was asked about it, all I did was smile and say, “See what comes of biting nails?”—then change subject.

I never liked North America, even first trip. It is not most crowded part of Terra, has a mere billion people. In Bombay they sprawl on pavements; in Great New York they pack them vertically—not sure anyone sleeps. Was glad to be in invalid’s chair.

Is mixed-up place another way; they care about skin color—by making point of how they don’t care. First trip I was always too light or too dark, and somehow blamed either way, or was always being expected to take stand on things I have no opinions on. Bog knows I don’t know what genes I have. One grandmother came from a part of Asia where invaders passed as regularly as locusts, raping as they went—why not ask her?

Learned to handle it by my second makee-learnee but it left a sour taste. Think I prefer a place as openly racist as India, where if you aren’t Hindu, you’re nobody—except that Parsees look down on Hindus and vice versa. However I never really had to cope with North America’s reverse-racism when being “Colonel O’Kelly Davis, Hero of Lunar Freedom.”

We had swarms of bleeding hearts around us, anxious to help. I let them do two things for me, things I had never had time, money, or energy for as a student: I saw Yankees play and i visited Salem.

Should have kept my illusions. Baseball is better over video, you can really see it and aren’t pushed in by two hundred thousand other people. Besides, somebody should have shot that outfield. I spent most of that game dreading moment when they would have to get my chair out through crowd—that and assuring host that I was having a wonderful time.

Salem was just a place, no worse (and no better) than rest of Boston. After seeing it I suspected they had hanged wrong witches. But day wasn’t wasted; I was filmed laying a wreath on a place where a bridge had been in another part of Boston, Concord, and made a memorized speech—bridge is still there, actually; you can see it, down through glass. Not much of a bridge.

Prof enjoyed it all, rough as it was on him: Prof had great capacity for enjoying. He always had something new to tell about great future of Luna. In New York he gave managing director of a hotel chain, one with rabbit trade mark, a sketch of what could be done with resorts in Luna—once excursion rates were within reach of more people—visits too short to hurt anyone, escort service included, exotic side trips, gambling—no taxes.

Last point grabbed attention, so Prof expanded it into “longer old age” theme—a chain of retirement hostels where an earthworm could live on Terran old-age pension and go on living, twenty, thirty, forty years longer than on Terra. As an exile—but which was better? Alive old age in Luna? Or a funeral crypt on Terra? His descendants could pay visits and fill those resort hotels. Prof embellished with pictures of “nightclubs” with acts impossible in Terra’s horrible gravity, sports to fit our decent level of gravitation—even talked about swimming pools and ice skating and possibility of flying! (Thought he had tripped his safeties.) He finished by hinting that Swiss cartel had tied it up.

Next day he was telling foreign-divisions manager of Chase International Panagra that a Luna City branch should be staffed with paraplegics, paralytics, heart cases, amputees, others who found high gravity a handicap. Manager was a fat man who wheezed, he may have been thinking of it personally—but his ears pricked up at “no taxes.”

We didn’t have it all our own way. News was often against us and were always hecklers. Whenever I had to take them on without Prof’s help I was likely to get tripped. One man tackled me on Prof’s statement to committee that we “owned” grain grown in Luna: he seemed to take it for granted that we did not. Told him I did not understand question.

He answered, “Isn’t it true, Colonel, that your provisional government has asked for membership in Federated Nations?”

Should have answered, “No comment.” But fell for it and agreed. “Very well,” he said, “the impediment seems to be the counterclaim that the Moon belongs to the Federated Nations—as it always has–under supervision of the Lunar Authority. Either way, by your own admission, that grain belongs to the Federated Nations, in trust.”

I asked how he reached that conclusion? He answered, ‘Colonel, you style yourself ‘Undersecretary of Foreign Affairs.’ Surely you are familiar with the charter of the Federated Nations.” I had skimmed it. “Reasonably familiar,” I said—cautiously, I thought.

“Then you know the First Freedom guaranteed by the Charter and its current application through F & AControl Board Administrative Order Number eleven-seventy-six dated three March of this year. You concede therefore that all grain grown on the Moon in excess of the local ration is ab initio and beyond contest the property of all, title held in trust by the Federated Nations through its agencies for distribution as needed.” He was writing as he talked. “Have you anything to add to that concession?”

I said, “What in Bog’s name you talking about?” Then, “Come back! Haven’t conceded anything!” So Great New York Times printed:

LUNAR “UNDERSECRETARY” SAYS: “FOOD BELONGS TO HUNGRY”

New York Today—O’Kelly Davis, soi-disant “Colonel of the Armed Forces of Free Luna” here on a junket to stir up support for the insurgents in the F.N. Lunar colonies, said in a voluntary statement to this paper that the “Freedom from Hunger” clause in the Grand Charter applied to the Lunar grain shipments—

I asked Prof how should have handled? “Always answer an unfriendly question with another question,” he told me. “Never ask him to clarify; he’ll put words in your mouth. This reporter— Was he skinny? Ribs showing?”

“No. Heavyset.”

“Not living on eighteen hundred calories a day, I take it, which is the subject of that order he cited. Had you known you could have asked him how long he had conformed to the ration and why he quit? Or asked him what he had for breakfast—and then looked unbelieving no matter what he answered. Or when you don’t know what a man is getting at, let your counter- question shift the subject to something you do want to talk about. Then, no matter what he answers, make your point and call on someone else. Logic does not enter into it—just tactics.”

“Prof, nobody here is living on eighteen hundred calories a day. Bombay, maybe. Not here.”

“Less than that in Bombay. Manuel, that ‘equal ration’ is a fiction. Half the food on this planet is in the black market, or is not reckoned through one ruling or another. Or they keep two sets of books, and figures submitted to the F.N. having nothing to do with the economy. Do you think that grain from Thailand and Burma and Australia is correctly reported to the Control

Board by Great China? I’m sure that the India representative on that food board doesn’t. But India keeps quiet because she gets the lion’s share from Luna… and then ‘plays politics with hunger’—a phrase you may remember—by using our grain to control her elections. Kerala had a planned famine last year. Did you see it in the news?”

“No.”

“Because it wasn’t in the news. Amanaged democracy is a wonderful thing, Manuel, for the managers… and its greatest strength is a ‘free press’ when ‘free’ is defined as ‘responsible’ and the managers define what is ‘irresponsible.’ Do you know what Luna needs most?”

“More ice.”

“Anews system that does not bottleneck through one channel. Our friend Mike is our greatest danger.” “Huh? Don’t you trust Mike?”

“Manuel, on some subjects I don’t trust even myself. Limiting the freedom of news ‘just a little bit’ is in the same category with the classic example ‘a little bit pregnant.’ We are not yet free nor will we be as long as anyone—even our ally Mike—controls our news. Someday I hope to own a newspaper independent of any source or channel. I would happily set print by hand, like Benjamin Franklin.”

I gave up. “Prof, suppose these talks fail and grain shipments stop. What happens?”

“People back home will be vexed with us… and many here on Terra would die. Have you read Malthus?” “Don’t think so.”

“Many would die. Then a new stability would be reached with somewhat more people—more efficient people and better fed. This planet isn’t crowded; it is just mismanaged … and the unkindest thing you can do for a hungry man is to give him food. ‘Give.’ Read Malthus. It is never safe to laugh at Dr. Malthus; he always has the last laugh. Adepressing man, I’m glad he’s dead. But don’t read him until this is over; too many facts hamper a diplomat, especially an honest one.”

“I’m not especially honest.”

“But you have no talent for dishonesty, so your refuge must be ignorance and stubbornness. You have the latter; try to preserve the former. For the nonce. Lad, Uncle Bernardo is terribly tired.”

I said, “Sorry,” and wheeled out of his room. Prof was hitting too hard a pace. I would have been willing to quit if would insure his getting into a ship and out of that gravity. But traffic stayed one way—grain barges, naught else.

But Prof had fun. As I left and waved lights out, noticed again a toy he had bought, one that delighted him like a kid on Christmas—a brass cannon.

Areal one from sailing ship days. Was small, barrel about half a meter long and massing, with wooden carriage, only kilos fifteen. A“signal gun” its papers said. Reeked of ancient history, pirates, men “walking plank.” Apretty thing but I asked Prof why? If we ever managed to leave, price to lift that mass to Luna would hurt—I was resigned to abandoning a p-suit with years more wear in it—abandon everything but two left arms and a pair of shorts, If pressed, might give up social arm. If very pressed, would skip shorts.

He reached out and stroked shiny barrel. “Manuel, once there was a man who held a political make-work job like so many here in this Directorate, shining brass cannon around a courthouse.”

“Why would courthouse have cannon?”

“Never mind. He did this for years. It fed him and let him save a bit, but he was not getting ahead in the world. So one day he quit his job, drew out his savings, bought a brass cannon— and went into business for himself.”

“Sounds like idiot.”

“No doubt. And so were we, when we tossed out the Warden. Manuel, you’ll outlive me. When Luna adopts a flag, I would like it to be a cannon or, on field sable, crossed by bar sinister gules of our proudly ignoble lineage. Do you think it could be managed?”

“Suppose so, if you’ll sketch. But why a flag? Not a flagpole in all Luna.”

“It can fly in our hearts … a symbol for all fools so ridiculously impractical as to think they can fight city hail. Will you remember, Manuel?”

“Sure. That is, will remind you when time comes.” Didn’t like such talk. He had started using oxygen tent in private—and would not use in public.

Guess I’m “ignorant” and “stubborn”—was both in place called Lexington, Kentucky, in Central Managerial Area. One thing no doctrine about, no memorized answers, was life in Luna. Prof said to tell truth and emphasize homely, warm, friendly things, especially anything different. “Remember, Manuel, the thousands of Terrans who have made short visits to Luna are only a tiny fraction of one percent. To most people we will be as weirdly interesting as strange animals in a zoo. Do you remember that turtle on exhibition in Old Dome? That’s us.”

Certainly did; they wore that insect out, staring at. So when this male-female team started quizzing about family life in Luna was happy to answer. I prettied it only by what I left out—things that aren’t family life but poor substitutes in a community overloaded with males, Luna City is homes and families mainly, dull by Terra standards—but I like it. And other warrens much same, people who work and raise kids and gossip and find most of their fun around dinner table. Not much to tell, so I diseussed anything they found interesting. Every Luna custom comes from Terra since that’s where we all came from, but Terra is such a big place that a custom from Micronesia, say, may be strange in North America.

This woman—can’t call her lady—wanted to know about various sorts of marriage. First, was it true that one could get married without a license “on” Luna? I asked what a marriage license was?

Her companion said, “Skip it, Mildred. Pioneer societies never have marriage licenses.” “But don’t you keep records?” she persisted.

“Certainly,” I agreed. “My family keeps a family book that goes back almost to first landing at Johnson City—every marriage, birth, death, every event of importance not only in direct line but all branches so far as we can keep track. And besides, is a man, a schoolteacher, going around copying old family records all over our warren, writing a history of Luna City. Hobby.”

“But don’t you have official records? Here in Kaintucky we have records that go back hundreds of years.” “Madam, we haven’t lived there that long.”

“Yes, but—Well, Luna City must have a city clerk. Perhaps you call him ‘county recorder.’ The official who keeps track of such things. Deeds and so forth.”

I said. “Don’t think so, madam. Some bookies do notary work, witnessing chops on contracts, keeping records of them. Is for people who don’t read and write and can’t keep own records. But never heard of one asked to keep record of marriage. Not saying couldn’t happen. But haven’t heard.”

“How delightfully informal! Then this other rumor, about how simple it is to get a divorce on the Moon. I daresay that’s true, too?”

“No, madam, wouldn’t say divorce is simple. Too much to untangle. Mmm … take a simple example, one lady and say she has two husbands—” “Two?”

“Might have more, might have just one. Or might be complex marriage. But let’s take one lady and two men as typical. She decides to divorce one. Say it’s friendly, with other husband agreeing and one she is getting rid of not making fuss. Not that it would do him any good. Okay, she divorces him; he leaves. Still leaves endless things. Men might be business partners, co-husbands often are. Divorce may break up partnership. Money matters to settle. This three may own cubic together, and while will be in her name, ex-husband probably has cash coming or rent. And almost always are children to consider, support and so forth. Many things. No, madam, divorce is never simple. Can divorce him in ten seconds but may take ten years to straighten out loose ends. Isn’t it much that way here?”

“Uh … just fuhget ah evah asked the question, Cunn’l; it may be simpluh hyuh.” (She did talk that way but was understandable once I got program. Won’t spell it again.) “But if that is a simple marriage, what is a ‘complex’ one?”

Found self explaining polyandries, clans, groups, lines, and less common patterns considered vulgar by conservative people such as my own family—deal my mother set up, say, after she ticked off my old man, though didn’t describe that one; Mother was always too extreme.

Woman said, “You have me confused. What is the difference between a line and a clan?”

Are quite different. Take own case. I have honor to be member of one of oldest line marriages in Luna—and, in my prejudiced opinion, best. You asked about divorce. Our family has never had one and would bet long odds never will. Aline marriage increases in stability year after year, gains practice in art of getting along together, until notion of anybody leaving is unthinkable. Besides, takes unanimous decision of all wives to divorce a husband—could never happen. Senior wife would never let it get that far.”

Went on describing advantages—financial security, fine home life it gives children, fact that death of a spouse, while tragic, could never be tragedy it was in a temporary family, especially for children—children simply could not be orphaned. Suppose I waxed too enthusiastic—but my family is most important thing in my life. Without them I’m just one-armed mechanic who could be eliminated without causing a draft.

“Here’s why is stable,” I said. “Take my youngest wife, sixteen. Likely be in her eighties before is senior wife. Doesn’t mean all wives senior to her will die by then; unlikely in Luna, females seem to be immortal. But may all opt out of family management by then; by our family traditions they usually do, without younger wives putting pressure on them. So Ludmilla—”

“Ludmilla?”

“Russki name. From fairy tale. Milla will have over fifty years of good example before has to carry burden. She’s sensible to start with, not likely to make mistakes and if did, has other wives to steady her. Self-correcting, like a machine with proper negative feedback. Agood line marriage is immortal; expect mine to outlast me at least a thousand years—and is why shan’t mind dying when time comes; best part of me will go on living.”

Prof was being wheeled out; he had them stop stretcher cart and listened. I turned to him. “Professor,” I said, “you know my family. Would mind telling this lady why it’s a happy family? If you think so.”

“It is,” agreed Prof. “However, I would rather make a more general remark. Dear madam, I gather that you find our Lunar marriage customs somewhat exotic.” “Oh, I wouldn’t go that far!” she said hastily. “Just somewhat unusual.”

“They arise, as marriage customs always do, from economic necessities of the circumstances—and our circumstances are very different from those here on Earth. Take the line type of marriage which my colleague has been praising . . and justifiably, I assure you, despite his personal bias—I am a bachelor and have no bias. Line marriage is the strongest possible device for conserving capital and insuring the welfare of children—the two basic societal functions for marriage everywhere—in an enviroment in which there is no security, neither for capital nor for children, other than that devised by individuals. Somehow human beings always cope with their environments. Line marriage is a remarkably successful invention to that end. All other Lunar forms of marriage serve that same purpose, though not as well.”

He said goodnight and left. I had with me—always!—a picture of my family, newest one, our wedding with Wyoming. Brides are at their prettiest and Wyoh was radiant—and rest of us looked handsome and happy, with Grandpaw tall and proud and not showing failing faculties.

But was disappointed; they looked at it oddly. But man—Mathews, name was—said, “Can you spare this picture, Colonel?” Winced. “Only copy I have. And a long way from home.”

“For a moment, I mean. Let me have it photographed. Right here, it need never leave your hands,”

“Oh. Oh, certainly!” Not a good picture of me but is face I have, and did Wyoh justice and they just don’t come prettier than Lenore.

So he photographed it and next morning they did come right into our hotel suite and woke me before time and did arrest and take me away wheel chair and all and did lock me in a cell with bars! For bigamy. For polygamy. For open immorality and publicly inciting others to same.

Was glad Mum couldn’t see.

Took Stu all day to get case transferred to an F.N. court and dismissed. His lawyers asked to have it tossed out on “diplomatic immunity” but F.N. judges did not fall into trap, merely noted that alleged offenses had taken place outside jurisdiction of lower court, except alleged “inciting” concerning which they found insufficient evidence. Aren’t any F.N. laws covering marriage; can’t be—just a rule about each nation required to give “full faith and credence” to marriage customs of other member nations.

Out of those eleven billion people perhaps seven billion lived where polygamy is legal, and Stu’s opinion manipulators played up “persecution”; it gained us sympathy from people who otherwise would never have heard of us—even gained it in North America and other places where polygamy is not legal, from people who believe in “live and let live.” All good, because always problem was to be noticed. To most of those bee-swarm billions Luna was nothing; our rebellion hadn’t been noticed.

Stu’s operators had gone to much thought to plan setup to get me arrested. Was not told until weeks later after time to cool off and see benefits. Took a stupid judge, a dishonest sheriff, and barbaric local prejudice which I triggered with that sweet picture, for Stu admitted later that range of color in Davis family was what got judge angry enough to be foolish even beyond native talent for nonsense.

My one consolation, that Mum could not see my disgrace, turned out mistaken; pictures, taken through bars and showing grim face, were in every Luna paper, and write-ups used nastiest Earthside stories, not larger number that deplored injustice. But should have had more faith in Mimi; she wasn’t ashamed, simply wanted to go Earthside and rip some people to pieces.

While helped Earthside, greatest good was in Luna. Loonies become more unified over this silly huhu than had ever been before. They took it personally and “Adam Selene” and “Simon Jester” pushed it. Loonies are easygoing except on one subject, women. Every lady felt insulted by Terran news stories—so male Loonies who had ignored politics suddenly discovered I was their boy.

Spin-off—old lags feel superior to those not transported. Later found self greeted by ex-cons with: “Hi, jailbird!” Alodge greeting—I was accepted.

But saw nothing good about it then! Pushed around, treated like cattle, fingerprinted, photographed, given food we wouldn’t offer hogs, exposed to endless indignity, and only that heavy field kept me from trying to kill somebody—had I been wearing number-six arm when grabbed, might have tried.

But steadied down once I was freed. Hour later we were on way to Agra; had at last been summoned by committee. Felt good to be back in suite in maharajah’s palace but eleven-hour zone change in less than three did not permit rest; we went to hearing bleary-eyed and held together by drugs.

“Hearing” was one-sided; we listened while chairman talked. Talked an hour; I’ll summarize:

Our preposterous claims were rejected. Lunar Authority’s sacred trust could not be abandoned. Disorders on Earth’s Moon could not be tolerated. Moreover, recent disorders showed that Authority had been too lenient. Omission was now to be corrected by an activist program, a five-year plan in which all phases of life in Authority’s trusteeship would be overhauled. A code of laws was being drafted; civil and criminal courts would be instituted for benefit of “client-employees”—which meant all persons in trust area, not just consignees with uncompleted sentences. Public schools would be established, plus indoctrinal adult schools for client-employees in need of same. An economic, engineering, and agricultural planning board would be created to provide fullest and most efficient use of Moon’s resources and labor of client-employees. An interim goal of quadrupling grain shipments in five years had been adopted as a figure easily obtainable once scientific planning of resources and labor was in effect. First phase would be to withdraw client-employees from occupations found not to be productive and put them to drilling a vast new system of farm tunnels in order that hydroponics would commence in them not later than March 2078. These new giant farms would be operated by Lunar Authority, scientifically, and not left to whims of private owners. It was contemplated that this system would, by end of five-year plan, produce entire new grain quota; in meantime client-employees producing grain privately would be allowed to continue. But they would be absorbed into new system as their less efficient methods were no longer needed.

Chairman looked up from papers. “In short, the Lunar colonies are going to be civilized and brought into managerial coordination with the rest of civilization. Distasteful as this task has been, I feel—speaking as a citizen rather than as chairman of this committee—I feel that we owe you thanks for bringing to our attention a situation so badly in need of correction.”

Was ready to burn his ears off. “Client-employees!” What a fancy way to say “slaves”! But Prof said tranquilly, “I find the proposed plans most interesting. Is one permitted to ask questions? Purely for information?”

“For information, yes.”

North American member leaned forward. “But don’t assume that we are going to take any backtalk from you cavemen! So mind your manners. You aren’t in the clear on this, you know.” “Order,” chairman said. “Proceed, Professor.”

“This term ‘client-employee’ I find intriguing. Can it be stipulated that the majority of inhabitants of Earth’s major satellite are not undischarged consignees but free individuals?”

“Certainly,” chairman agreed blandly. “All legal aspects of the new policy have been studied. With minor exceptions some ninety-one percent of the colonists have citizenship, original or derived, in various member nations of the Federated Nations. Those who wish to return to their home countries have a right to do so. You will be pleased to learn that the Authority is considering a plan under which loans for transportation can be arranged… probably under supervision of International Red Cross and Crescent. I might add that I myself am heartily backing this plan—as it renders nonsensical any talk about ‘slave labor.’” He smiled smugly.

“I see,” agreed Prof. “Most humane. Has the committee—or the Authority—pondered the fact that most—effectively all, I should say—considered the fact that inhabitants of Luna are physically unable to live on this planet? That they have undergone involuntary permanent exile through irreversible physiological changes and can never again live in comfort and health in a gravitational field six times greater than that to which their bodies have become adjusted?”

Scoundrel pursed lips as if considering totally new idea. “Speaking again for myself, I would not be prepared to stipulate that what you say is necessarily true. It might be true of some, might not be others; people vary widely. Your presence here proves that it is not impossible for a Lunar inhabitant to return to Earth. In any case we have no intention of forcing anyone to return. We hope that they will choose to stay and we hope to encourage others to emigrate to the Moon. But these are individual choices, under the freedoms guaranteed by the Great Charter. But as to this alleged physiological phenomenon—it is not a legal matter. If anyone deems it prudent, or thinks he would be happier, to stay on the Moon, that’s his privilege.”

“I see, sir. We are free. Free to remain in Luna and work, at tasks and for wages set by you… or free to return to Earth to die.”

Chairman shrugged. “You assume that we are villians—we’re not. Why, if I were a young man I would emigrate to the Moon myself. Great opportunities! In any case I am not troubled by your distortions—history will justify us.”

Was surprised at Prof; he was not fighting. Worried about him—weeks of strain and a bad night on top. All he said was, “Honorable Chairman, I assume that shipping to Luna will soon be resumed. Can passage be arranged for my colleague and myself in the first ship? For I must admit, sir, that this gravitational weakness of which I spoke is, in our cases, very real. Our mission is completed; we need to go home.”

(Not a word about grain barges. Nor about “throwing rocks,” nor even futility of beating a cow. Prof just sounded tired.)

Chairman leaned forward and spoke with grim satisfaction. “Professor, that presents difficulties. To put it bluntly, you appear to be guilty of treason against the Great Charter, indeed against all humanity … and an indictment is being considered. I doubt if anything more than a suspended sentence would be invoked against a man of your age and physical condition, however. Do you think it would be prudent of us to give you passage back to the place where you committed these acts—there to stir up more mischief?”

Prof sighed. “I understand your point. Then, sir, may I be excused? I am weary.”

“Certainly. Hold yourself at the disposal of this committee. The hearing stands adjourned. Colonel Davis—” “Sir?” I was directing wheel chair around, to get Prof out at once; our attendants had been sent outside. “Aword with you, please. In my office.”

“Uh—” Looked at Prof; eyes were closed and seemed unconscious. But he moved one finger, motioning me to him. “HonorabIe Chairman, I’m more nurse than diplomat; have to look after him. He’s an old man, he’s ill.”

“The attendants will take care of him.”

“Well…” Got as close to Prof as I could from chair, leaned over him. “Prof, are you right?”

He barely whispered. “See what he wants. Agree with him. But stall.”

Moments later was alone with chairman, soundproof door locked—meant nothing; room could have a dozen ears, plus one in my left arm. He said, “Adrink? Coffee?”

I answered, “No, thank you, sir. Have to watch my diet here.”

“I suppose so. Are you really limited to that chair? You look healthy.”

I said, “I could, if had to, get up and walk across room. Might faint. Or worse. Prefer not to risk. Weigh six times what I should. Heart’s not used to it.”

“I suppose so. Colonel, I hear you had some silly trouble in North America. I’m sorry, I truly am. Barbaric place. Always hate to have to go there. I suppose you’re wondering why I wanted to see you.”

“No, sir, assume you’ll tell when suits you. Instead was wondering why you still call me ‘Colonel.’”

He gave a barking laugh. “Habit, I suppose. Alifetime of protocol. Yet it might be well for you to continue with that title. Tell me, what do you think of our five-year plan?” Thought it stunk. “Seems to have been carefully thought out.”

“Much thought went into it. Colonel, you seem to be a sensible man—I know you are, I know not only your background but practically every word you’ve spoken, almost your thoughts, ever since you set foot on Earth. You were born on the Moon. Do you regard yourself as a patriot? Of the Moon?”

“Suppose so. Though tend to think of what we did just as something that had to be done.”

“Between ourselves—yes. That old fool Hobart. Colonel, that is a good plan… but lacks an executive. If you are really a patriot or let’s say a practical man with your country’s best interests at heart, you might be the man to carry it out.” He held up hand. “Don’t be hasty! I’m not asking you to sell out, turn traitor, or any nonsense like that. This is your chance to be a real patriot

—not some phony hero who gets himself killed in a lost cause. Put it this way. Do you think it is possible for the Lunar colonies to hold out against all the force that the Federated Nations of Earth can bring to bear? You’re not really a military man, I know—and I’m glad you’re not—but you are a technical man, and I know that, too. In your honest estimation, how many ships and bombs do you think it would take to destroy the Lunar colonies?”

I answered, “One ship, six bombs.”

“Correct! My God, it’s good to talk to a sensible man. Two of them would have to be awf’ly big, perhaps specially built. Afew people would stay alive, for a while, in smaller warrens beyond the blast areas. But one ship would do it, in ten minutes.”

I said, “Conceded, sir, but Professor de la Paz pointed out that you don’t get milk by beating a cow. And certainly can’t by shooting it.”

“Why do you think we’ve held back, done nothing, for over a month? That idiot colleague of mine—I won’t name him—spoke of ‘backtalk.’ Backtalk doesn’t fret me; it’s just talk and I’m interested in results. No, my dear Colonel, we won’t shoot the cow… but we would, if forced to, let the cow know that it could be shot. H-missiles are expensive toys but we could afford to expend some as warning shots, wasted on bare rock to let the cow know what could happen. But that is more force than one likes to use—it might frighten the cow and sour its milk.” He gave another barking laugh. “Better to persuade old bossy to give down willingly.”

I waited. “Don’t you want to know how?” he asked. “How?” I agreed.

“Through you. Don’t say a word and let me explain—”

He took me up on that high mountain and offered me kingdoms of Earth. Or of Luna. Take job of “Protector Pro Tem” with understanding was mine permanently if I could deliver. Convince Loonies they could not win. Convince them that this new setup was to their advantage—emphasize benefits, free schools, free hospitals, free this and that—details later but an everywhere government just like on Terra. Taxes starting low and handled painlessly by automatic checkoff and through kickback revenues from grain shipments. But, most important, this time Authority would not send a boy to do a man’s job—two regiments of police at once.

“Those damned Peace Dragoons were a mistake,” he said, “one we won’t make again. Between ourselves, the reason it has taken us a month to work this out is that we had to convince the Peace Control Commission that a handful of men cannot police three million people spread through six largish warrens and fifty and more small ones. So you’ll start with enough police—not combat troops but military police used to quelling civilians with a minimum of fuss. Besides that, this time they’ll have female auxiliaries, the standard ten per cent-no more rape complaints. Well, sir? Think you can swing it? Knowing it’s best in the long run for your own people?”

I said I ought to study it in detail, particularly plans and quotas for five-year plan, rather than make snap decision.

~Certainly, certainly!” he agreed. “I’ll give you a copy of the white paper we’ve made up; take it home, study it, sleep on it. Tomorrow we’ll talk again. Just give me your word as a gentleman to keep it under your hair. No secret, really… but these things are best settled before they are publicized. Speaking of publicity, you’ll need help—and you’ll get it. We’ll go to the expense of sending up topnotch men, pay them what it’s worth, have them centrifuge the way those scientists do—you know. This time we’re doing it right. That fool Hobart—he’s actually dead, isn’t he?”

“No, sir. Senile, however.”

“Should have killed him, Here’s your copy of the plan.”

“Sir? Speaking of old men—Professor de la Paz can’t stay here. Wouldn’t live six months.” “That’s best, isn’t it?”

I tried to answer levelly, “You don’t understand. He is greatly loved and respected. Best thing would be for me to convince him that you mean business with those H-missiles—and that it is his patriotic duty to salvage what we can. But, either way, if I return without him… well, not only could not swing it; wouldn’t live long enough to try.”

“Hmm—Sleep on it. We’ll talk tomorrow. Say fourteen o’clock.”

I left and as soon as was loaded into lorry gave way to shakes. Just don’t have high-level approach. Stu was waiting with Prof. “Well?” said Prof.

I glanced around, tapped ear. We huddled, heads over Prof’s head and two blankets over us all. Stretcher wagon was clean and so was my chair; I checked them each morning. But for room itself seemed safer to whisper under blankets.

Started in. Prof stopped me. “Discuss his ancestry and habits later. The facts.” “He offered me job of Warden.”

“I trust you accepted.”

“Ninety percent. I’m to study this garbage and give answer tomorrow. Stu, how fast can we execute Plan Scoot?” “Started. We were waiting for you to return. If they let you return.”

Next fifty minutes were busy. Stu produced a gaunt Hindu in a dhoti; in thirty minutes he was a twin of Prof, and lifted Prof off wagon onto a divan. Duplicating me was easier. Our doubles were wheeled into suite’s living room just at dusk and dinner was brought in. Several people came and went—among them elderly Hindu woman in sari, on arm of Stuart LaJoie. A plump babu followed them.

Getting Prof up steps to roof was worst; he had never worn powered walkers, had no chance to practice, and had been flat on back for more than a month.

But Stu’s arm kept him steady; I gritted teeth and climbed those thirteen terrible steps by myself. By time I reached roof, heart was ready to burst. Was put to it not to black out. Asilent little flitter craft came out of gloom right on schedule and ten minutes later we were in chartered ship we had used past month—two minutes after that we jetted for Australia. Don’t know what it cost to prepare this dance and keep it ready against need, but was no hitch.

Stretched out by Prof and caught breath, then said, “How you feel, Prof?” “Okay. Abit tired. Frustrated.”

“Ja da. Frustrated.”

“Over not seeing the Taj Mahal, I mean. I never had opportunity as a young man—and here I’ve been within a kilometer of it twice, once for several days, now for another day… and still I haven’t seen it and never shall.”

“Just a tomb.”

“And Helen of Troy was just a woman. Sleep, lad.” We landed in Chinee half of Australia, place called Darwin, and were carried straight into a ship, placed in acceleration couches and dosed. Prof was already out and I was beginning to feel dopy when Stu came in, grinned, and strapped down by us. I looked at him. “You, too? Who’s minding shop?”

“The same people who’ve been doing the real work all along. It’s a good setup and doesn’t need me any longer. Mannie old cobber, I did not want to be marooned a long way from home. Luna, I mean, in case you have doubts. This looks like the last train from Shanghai.”

“What’s Shanghai got to do with?”

“Forget I mentioned it. Mannie, I’m flat broke, concave. I owe money in all directions—debts that will be paid only if certain stocks move the way Adam Selene convinced me they would move, shortly after this point in history. And I’m wanted, or will be, for offenses against the public peace and dignity. Put it this way. I’m saving them the trouble of transporting me. Do you think I can learn to be a drillman at my age?”

Was feeling foggy, drug taking hold. “Stu, in Luna y’aren’t old… barely started … ‘nyway . . ,eat our table f’ever! Mimi likes you.” “Thanks, cobber, I might. Warning light! Deep breath!”

Suddenly was kicked by ten gee.

Our craft was ground-to-orbit ferry type used for manned satellites, for supplying F.N. ships in patrol orbit, and for passengers to and from pleasure-and-gambling satellites. She was carrying three passengers instead of forty, no cargo except three p-suits and a brass cannon (yes, silly toy was along; p-suits and Prof’s bang-bang were in Australia a week before we were) and good ship Lark had been stripped—total crew was skipper and a Cyborg pilot.

She was heavily overfueled.

We made (was told) normal approach on Elysium satellite … then suddenly scooted from orbital speed to escape speed, a change even more violent than liftoff.

This was scanned by F.N. Skytrack; we were commanded to stop and explain. I got this secondhand from Stu, self still recovering and enjoying luxury of no-gee with one strap to anchor. Prof was still out.

“So they want to know who we are and what we think we are doing,” Stu told me. “We told them that we were Chinese registry sky wagon Opening Lotus bound on an errand of mercy, to wit, rescuing those scientists marooned on the Moon, and gave our identification—as Opening Lotus.”

“How about transponder?”

“Mannie, if I got what I paid for, our transponder identified us as the Lark up to ten minutes ago… and now has I.D.’d us as the Lotus. Soon we will know. Just one ship is in position to get a missile off and it must blast us in”—he stopped to look—”another twenty-seven minutes according to the wired-up gentleman booting this bucket, or its chances of getting us are poor to zero. So if it worries you—if you have prayers to say or messages to send or whatever it is one does at such times—now is the time.”

“Think we ought to rouse Prof?”

“Let him sleep. Can you think of a better way to make jump than from peaceful sleep instantaneously into a cloud of radiant gas? Unless you know that he has religious necessities to attend to? He never struck me as a religious man, orthodoctrinally speaking.”

“He’s not. But if you have such duties, don’t let me keep you.”

“Thank you, I took care of what seemed necessary before we left ground. How about yourself, Mannie? I’m not much of a padre but I’ll do my best, if I can help. Any sins on your mind, old cobber? If you need to confess, I know quite a little about sin.”

Told him my needs did not run that way. Then did recall sins, some I cherished, and gave him a version more or less true. That reminded him of some of his own, which remind me— Zero time came and went before we ran out of sins. S LaJoie is a good person to spend last minutes with, even if don’t turn out to be last.

We had two days with naught to do but undergo drastic routines to keep us from carrying umpteen plagues to Luna. But didn’t mind shaking from induced chills and burning with fever; free fall was such a relief and was so happy to be going home.

Or almost happy—Prof asked what was troubling me,~ “Nothing,” I said. “Can’t wait to be home. But—Truth is, ashamed to show face after we’ve failed. Prof, what did we do wrong?” “Failed, my boy?”

“Don’t see what else can call it. Asked to be recognized. Not what we got.”

“Manuel, I owe you an apology. You will recall Adam Selene’s projection of our chances just before we left home.” Stu was not in earshot but “Mike” was word we never used; was always “Adam Selene” for security.

“Certainly do! One in fifty-three. Then when we reached Earthside dropped to reeking one in hundred. What you guess it is now? One in thousand?”

“I’ve had new projections every few days…which is why I owe you an apology. The last, received just before we left, included the then-untested assumption that we would escape, get clear of Terra and home safely. Or that at least one of us three would make it, which is why Comrade Stu was summoned home, he having a Terran’s tolerance of high acceleration. Eight projections, in fact, ranging from three of us dead, through various combinations up to three surviving. Would you care to stake a few dollars on what that last projection is, setting a bracket and naming your own odds? I’ll give a hint. You are far too pessimistic.”

“Uh… no, damn it! Just tell.”

“The odds against us are now only seventeen to one … and they’ve been shortening all month. Which I couldn’t tell you.”

“Was amazed, delighted, overjoyed—hurt. “What you mean, couldn’t tell me? Look, Prof, if not trusted, deal me out and put Stu in executive cell.”

“Please, son. That’s where he will go if anything happens to any of us—you, me, or dear Wyoming. I could not tell you Earthside—and can tell you now—not because you aren’t trusted but because you are no actor. You could carry out your role more effectively if you believed that our purpose was to achieve recognition of independence.”

“Now he tells!”

“Manuel, Manuel, we had to fight hard every instant—and lose.” “So? Am big enough boy to be told?”

“Please, Manuel. Keeping you temporarily in the dark greatly enhanced our chances; you can check this with Adam. May I add that Stuart accepted his summons to Luna blithely without asking why? Comrade, that committee was too small, its chairman too intelligent; there was always the hazard that they might offer an acceptable compromise—that first day there was grave danger of it. Had we been able to force our case before the Grand Assembly there would have been no danger of intelligent action. But we were balked. The best I could do was to antagonize the committee, even stooping to personal insult to make certain of at least one holdout against common sense.”

“Guess I never will understand high-level approach.”

“Possibly not. But your talents and mine complement each other. Manuel, you wish to see Luna free.” “You know I do.”

“You also know that Terra can defeat us.”

“Sure. No projection ever gave anything close to even money. So don’t see why you set out to antagonize—”

“Please. Since they can inflict their will on us, our only chance lies in weakening their will. That was why we had to go to Terra. To be divisive. To create many opinions. The shrewdest of the great generals in China’s history once said that perfection in war lay in so sapping the opponent’s will that he surrenders without fighting. In that maxim lies both our ultimate purpose and our most pressing danger. Suppose, as seemed possible that first day, we had been offered an inviting compromise. Agovernor in place of a warden, possibly from our own number. Local autonomy. Adelegate in the Grand Assembly. Ahigher price for grain at the catapult head, plus a bonus for increased shipments. Adisavowal of Hobart’s policies combined with an expression of regret over the rape and the killings with handsome cash settlements to the victims’ survivors. Would it have been accepted? Back home?”

“They did not offer that.”

“The chairman was ready to offer something like it that first afternoon and at that time he had his committee in hand. He offered us an asking price close enough to permit such a dicker. Assume that we reached in substance what I outlined. Would it have been acceptable at home?”

“Uh… maybe.”

“More than a ‘maybe’ by the bleak projection made just before we left home; it was the thing to be avoided at any cost—a settlement which would quiet things down, destroy our will to resist, without changing any essential in the longer-range prediction of disaster. So I switched the subject and squelched possibility by being difficult about irrelevancies politely offensive. Manuel, you and I know—and Adam knows—that there must be an end to food shipments; nothing less will save Luna from disaster. But can you imagine a wheat farmer fighting to end those shipments?”

“No. Wonder if can pick up news from home on how they’re taking stoppage?”

“There won’t be any. Here is how Adam has timed it, Manuel: No announcement is to be made on either planet until after we get home. We are still buying wheat. Barges are still arriving at Bombay.”

“You told them shipments would stop at once.”

“That was a threat, not a moral commitment. Afew more loads won’t matter and we need time. We don’t have everyone on our side; we have only a minority. There is a majority who don’t care either way but can be swayed—temporarily. We have another minority against us… especially grain farmers whose interest is never politics but the price of wheat. They are grumbling but accepting Scrip, hoping it wili be worth face value later. But the instant we announce that shipments have stopped they will be actively against us. Adam plans to have the majority committed to us at the time the announcement is made.”

“How long? One year? Two?”

“Two days, three days, perhaps four. Carefully edited excerpts from that five-year plan, excerpts from the recordings you’ve made—especially that yellow-dog offer—exploitation of your arrest in Kentucky—”

“Hey! I’d rather forget that.”

Prof smiled and cocked an eyebrow. “Uh—” I said uncomfortably. “Okay. If will help.” “It will help more than any statistics about natural resources.”

Wired-up ex-human piloting us went in as one maneuver without bothering to orbit and gave us even heavier beating; ship was light and lively. But change in motion is under two-and-a- half kilometers; was over in nineteen seconds and we were down at Johnson City. I took it right, just a terrible constriction in chest and a feeling as if giant were squeezing heart, then was over and I was gasping back to normal and glad to be proper weight. But did almost kill poor old Prof.

Mike told me later that pilot refused to surrender control; Mike would have brought ship down in a low-gee, no-breakum-egg, knowing Prof was aboard. But perhaps that Cyborg knew what he was doing; a low-gee landing wastes mass and Lotus-Lark grounded almost dry.

None of which we cared about, as looked as if that Garrison landing had wasted Prof. Stu saw it while I was still gasping, then we were both at him—heart stimulant, manual respiration, massage. At last he fluttered eyelids, looked at us, smiled. “Home,” he whispered.

We made him rest twenty minutes before we let him suit up to leave ship; had been as near dead as can be and not hear angels. Skipper was filling tanks, anxious to get rid of us and take on passengers—that Dutchman never spoke to us whole trip; think he regretted letting money talk him into a trip that could ruin or kill him.

By then Wyoh was inside ship, p-suited to come meet us. Don’t think Stu had ever seen her in a p-suit and certain he had never seen her as a blonde; did not recognize. I was hugging her in spite of p-suit; he was standing by, waiting to be introduced. Then strange “man” in p-suit hugged him—he was surprised.

Heard Wyoh’s muffled voice: “Oh heavens! Mannie, my helmet.”

I unclamped it, lifted off. She shook curls and grinned. “Stu, aren’t you glad to see me? Don’t you know me?”

Agrin spread over his face, slowly as dawn across maria. “Zdra’stvooeet’ye, Gospazha! I am most happy to see you.” “‘Gospazha’ indeed! I’m Wyoh to you, dear, always. Didn’t Mannie tell you I’d gone back to blonde?”

“Yes, he did. But knowing it and seeing are not the same.”

“You’ll get used to it.” She stopped to bend over Prof, kiss him, giggle at him, then straightened up and gave me a no-helmet welcome-home that left us both with tears despite pesky suit. Then turned again to Stu, started to kiss him.

He held back a little. She stopped. “Stu, am I going to have to put on brown makeup to welcome you?” Stu glanced at me, then kissed her. Wyoh put in as much time and thought as she had to welcoming me.

Was later I figured out his odd behavior. Stu, despite commitment, was still not a Loonie—and in meantime Wyoh had married. What’s that got to do with it? Well, Earthside it makes a difference, and Stu did not know deep down in bones that a Loonie lady is own mistress. Poor chum thought I might take offense!

We got Prof into suit, ourselves same, and left, me with cannon under arm. Once underground and locked through, we unsuited—and I was flattered to see that Wyoh was wearing crushed under p-suit that red dress I bought her ages ago. She brushed it and skirt flared out.

Immigration room was empty save for about forty men lined up along wall like new transportees; were wearing p-suits and carrying helmets—Terrans going home, stranded tourists and some scientists. Their p-suits would not go, would be unloaded before lift. I looked at them and thought about Cyborg pilot. When Lark had been stripped, all but three couches had been removed; these people were going to take acceleration lying on floorplates—if skipper was not careful he was going to have mashed Terrans au blut.

Mentioned to Stu. “Forget it,” he said. “Captain Leures has foam pads aboard. He won’t let them be hurt; they’re his life insurance.”

My family, all thirty-odd from Grandpaw to babies, was waiting beyond next lock on level he!ow and we got cried on and slobbered on and hugged and this time Stu did not hold back. Little Hazel made ceremony of kissing us; she had Liberty Caps, set one on each, then kissed us—and at that signal whole family put on Liberty Caps, and I got sudden tears. Perhaps is what patriotism feels like, choked up and so happy it hurts. Or maybe was just being with my beloveds again.

“Where’s Slim?” I asked Hazel. “Wasn’t he invited?” “Couldn’t come. He’s junior marshal of your reception.” “Reception? This is all we want.”

“You’ll see.”

Did. Good thing family came out to meet us; that and ride to L-City (filled a capsule) were all I saw of them for some time. Tube Station West was a howling mob, all in Liberty Caps. We three were carried on shoulders all way to Old Dome, surrounded by a stilyagi bodyguard, elbows locked to force through cheering, singing crowds. Boys were wearing red caps and white shirts and their girls wore white jumpers and red shorts color of caps.

At station and again when they put us down in Old Dome I got kissed by fems I have never seen before or since. Remember hoping that measures we had taken in lieu of quarantine were effective—or half of L-City would be down with colds or worse. (Apparently we were clean; was no epidemic. But I remember time—was quite small—when measles got loose and thousands died.)

Worried about Prof, too; reception was too rough for a man good as dead an hour earlier. But he not only enjoyed it, he made a wonderful speech in Old Dome—one short on logic, loaded with ringing phrases. “Love” was in it, and “home” and “Luna” and “comrades and neighbors” and even “shoulder to shoulder” and all sounded good.

They had erected a platform under big news video on south face. Adam Selene greeted us from video screen and now Prof’s face and voice were projected from it, much magnified, over his head—did not have to shout. But did have to pause after every sentence; crowd roars drowned out even bull voice from screen—and no doubt pauses helped, as rest. But Prof no longer seemed old, tired, ill; being back inside The Rock seemed to be tonic he needed. And me, too! Was wonderful to be right weight, feel strong, breathe pure, replenished air of own city.

No mean city! Impossible to get all of L-City inside Old Dome—but looked as if they tried. I estimated an area ten meters square, tried to count heads, got over two hundred not half through and gave up. Lunatic placed crowd at thirty thousand, seems impossible.

Prof’s words reached more nearly three million; video carried scene to those who could not crowd into Old Dome, cable and relay flashed it across lonely maria to all warrens. He grabbed chance to tell of slave future Authority planned for them. Waved that “white paper.” “Here it is!” he cried. “Your fetters! Your leg irons! Will you wear them?”

“NO!”

“They say you must. They say they will H-bomb … then survivors will surrender and put on these chains. Will you?” “NO! NEVER!”

“Never,” agreed Prof. “They threaten to send troops … more and more troops to rape and murder. We shall fight them.” “DA!”

“We shall fight them on the surface, we shall fight them in the tubes, we shall fight them in the corridors! If die we must, we shall die free!” “Yes! Ja-da! Tell ‘em, tell ‘em!”

“And if we die, let history write: This was Luna’s finest hour! Give us liberty … or give us death!”

Some of that sounded familiar. But his words came out fresh and new; I joined in roars. Look… I knew we couldn’t whip Terra—I’m tech by trade and know that an H-missile doesn’t care how brave you are. But was ready, too. If they wanted a fight, let’s have it!

Prof let them roar, then led them in “Battle Hymn of the Republic,” Simon’s version. Adam appeared on screen again, took over leading it and sang with them, and we tried to slip away, off back of platform, with help of stilyagi led by Slim. But women didn’t want to let us go and lads aren’t at their best in trying to stop ladies; they broke through. Was twenty-two hundred before we four, Wyoh, Prof, Stu, self, were locked in room L of Raffles, where Adam-Mike joined us by video. I was starved by then, all were, so I ordered dinner and Prof insisted that we eat before reviewing plans.

Then we got down to business.

Adam started by asking me to read aloud white paper, for his benefit and for Comrade Wyoming—”But first, Comrade Manuel, if you have the recordings you made Earthside, could you transmit them by phone at high speed to my office? I’ll have them transcribed for study—all I have so far are the coded summaries Comrade Stuart sent up.”

I did so, knowing Mike would study them at once, phrasing was part of “Adam Selene” myth—and decided to talk to Prof about letting Stu in on facts. If Stu was to be in executive cell, pretending was too clumsy.

Feeding recordings into Mike at overspeed took five minutes, reading aloud another thirty. That done, Adam said, “Professor, the reception was more successful than I had counted on, due to your speech. I think we should push the embargo through Congress at once. I can send out a call tonight for a session at noon tomorrow. Comments?”

I said, “Look, those yammerheads will kick it around for weeks. If you must put it up to them—can’t see why—do as you did with Declaration. Start late, jam it through after midnight using own people.”

Adam said, “Sorry, Manuel. I’m getting caught up on events Earthside and you have catching up to do here. It’s no longer the same group. Comrade Wyoming?” “Mannie dear, it’s an elected Congress now. They must pass it. Congress is what government we have.”

I said slowly, “You held election and turned things over to them? Everything? Then what are we doing?” Looked at Prof, expecting explosion. My objections would not be on his grounds— but couldn’t see any use in swapping one talk-talk for another. At least first group had been so loose we could pack it—this new group would be glued to seats.

Prof was undisturbed. Fitted fingertips together and looked relaxed. “Manuel, I don’t think the situation is as bad as you seem to feel that it is. In each age it is necessary to adapt to the popular mythology. At one time kings were anointed by Deity, so the problem was to see to it that Deity anointed the tight candidate. In this age the myth is ‘the will of the people’… but the problem changes only superficially. Comrade Adam and I have had long discussions about how to determine the will of the people. I venture to suggest that this solution is one we can work with.”

“Well … okay. But why weren’t we told? Stu, did you know?”

“No, Mannie. There was no reason to tell me.” He shrugged. “I’m a monarchist, I wouldn’t have been interested. But I go along with Prof that in this day and age elections are a necessary ritual.”

Prof said, “Manuel, it wasn’t necessary to tell us till we got back; you and I had other work to do. Comrade Adam and dear Comrade Wyoming handled it in our absence… so let’s find out what they did before we judge what they’ve done.”

“Sorry. Well, Wyoh?”

“Mannie, we didn’t leave everything to chance. Adam and I decided that a Congress of three hundred would be about right. Then we spent hours going over the Party lists—plus prominent people not in the Party. At last we had a list of candidates—a list that included some from the Ad-Hoc Congress; not all were yammerheads, we included as many as we could. Then Adam phoned each one and asked him—or her—if he would serve … binding him to secrecy in the meantime. Some we had to replace.

“When we were ready, Adam spoke on video, announced that it was time to carry out the Party’s pledge of free elections, set a date, said that everybody over sixteen could vote, and that

all anyone had to do to be a candidate was to get a hundred chops on a nominating petition and post it in Old Dome, or the public notice place for his warren. Oh, yes, thirty temporary election districts, ten Congressmen from each district—that let all but the smallest warrens be at least one district.”

“So you had it lined up and Party ticket went through?”

“Oh, no, dear! There wasn’t any Party ticket—officially. But we were ready with our candidates… and I must say my stilyagi did a smart job getting chops on nominations; our optings were posted the first day. Many other people posted; there were over two thousand candidates. But there was only ten days from announcement to election, and we knew what we wanted whereas the opposition was split up. It wasn’t necessary for Adam to come out publicly and endorse candidates. It worked out—you won by seven thousand votes, dear, while your nearest rival got less than a thousand.”

“I won?”

“You won, I won, Professor won, Comrade Clayton won, and just about everybody we thought should be in the Congress. It wasn’t hard. Although Adam never endorsed anyone, I didn’t hesitate to let our comrades know who was favored. Simon poked his finger in, too. And we do have good connections with newspapers. I wish you had been here election night, watching the results. Exciting!”

“How did you go about nose counting? Never known how election works. Write names on a piece of paper?”

“Oh, no, we used a better system … because, after all, some of our best people can’t write. We used banks for voting places, with bank clerks identifying customers and customers identifying members of their families and neighbors who don’t have bank accounts—and people voted orally and the clerks punched the votes into the banks’ computers with the voter watching, and results were all tallied at once in Luna City clearinghouse. We voted everybody in less than three hours and results were printed out just minutes after voting stopped.”

Suddenly a light came on in my skull and I decided to question Wyoh privately. No, not Wyoh—Mike. Get past his “Adam Selene” dignity and hammer truth out of his neuristors. Recalled a cheque ten million dollars too large and wondered how many had voted for me? Seven thousand? Seven hundred? Or just my family and friends?

But no longer worried about new Congress. Prof had not slipped them a cold deck but one that was frozen solid—then ducked Earthside while crime was committed. No use asking Wyoh; she didn’t even need to know what Mike had done … and could do her part better if did not suspect.

Nor would anybody suspect. If was one thing all people took for granted, was conviction that if you feed honest figures into a computer, honest figures come out. Never doubted it myself till met a computer with sense of humor.

Changed mind about suggesting that Stu be let in on Mike’s self-awareness. Three was two too many. Or perhaps three. “Mi—” I started to say, and changed to: “My word! Sounds efficient. How big did we win?”

Adam answered without expression. “Eighty-six percent of our candidates were successful—approximately what I had expected.” (“Approximately,” my false left arm! Exactly what expected, Mike old ironmongery!) “Withdraw objection to a noon session—I’ll be there.”

“It seems to me,” said Stu, “assuming that the embargo starts at once, we will need something to maintain the enthusiasm we witnessed tonight. Or there will be a long quiet period of increasing economic depression—from the embargo, I mean—and growing disillusionment. Adam, you first impressed me through your ability to make shrewd guesses as to future events. Do my misgivings make sense?”

“They do.”

“Well?”

Adam looked at us in turn, and was almost impossible to believe that this was a false image and Mike was simply placing us through binaural receptors. “Comrades … it must be turned into open war as quickly as possible.”

Nobody said anything. One thing to talk about war, another to face up to it. At last I sighed and said, “When do we start throwing rocks?”

“We do not start,” Adam answered. “They must throw the first one. How do we antagonize them into doing so? I will reserve my thoughts to the last. Comrade Manuel?” “Uh… don’t look at me. Way I feel, would start with a nice big rock smack on Agra—a bloke there who is a waste of space. But is not what you are after.”

“No, it is not,” Adam answered seriously. “You would not only anger the entire Hindu nation, a people intensely opposed to destruction of life, but you would also anger and shock people throughout Earth by destroying the Taj Mahal.”

“Including me,” said Prof. “Don’t talk dirty, Manuel.”

“Look,” I said, “didn’t say to do it. Anyhow, could miss Taj.”

“Manuel,” said Prof, “as Adam pointed out, our strategy must be to antagonize them into striking the first blow, the classic ‘Pearl Harbor’ maneuver of game theory, a great advantage in Weltpolitick. The question is how? Adam, I suggest that what is needed is to plant the idea that we are weak and divided and that all it takes is a show of force to bring us back into line. Stu? Your people Earthside should be useful. Suppose the Congress repudiated myself and Manuel? The effect?”

“Oh, no!” said Wyoh.

“Oh, yes, dear Wyoh. Not necessary to do it but simply to put it over news channels to Earth. Perhaps still better to put it out over a clandestine beam attributed to the Terran scientists still with us while our official channels display the classic stigmata of tight censorship. Adam?”

“I’m noting it as a tactic which probably will be included in the strategy. But it will not be sufficient alone. We must be bombed.”

“Adam,” said Wyoh, “why do you say so? Even if Luna City can stand up under their biggest bombs—something I hope never to find out—we know that Luna can’t win an all-out war. You’ve said so, many times. Isn’t there some way to work it so that they will just plain leave us alone?”

Adam pulled at right cheek—and I thought: Mike, if you don’t knock off play-acting, you’ll have me believing in you myself! Was annoyed at him and looked forward to a talk—one in which I would not have to defer to “Chairman Selene.”

“Comrade Wyoming,” he said soberly, “it’s a matter of game theory in a complex non-zero-sum game. We have certain resources or ‘pieces in the game’ and many possible moves. Our opponents have much larger resources and a far larger spectrum of responses. Our problem is to manipulate the game so that our strength is utilized toward an optimax solution while inducing them to waste their superior strength and to refrain from using it at maximum. Timing is of the essence and a gambit is necessary to start a chain of events favorable to our strategy. I realize this is not clear. I could put the factors through a computer and show you. Or you can accept the conclusion. Or you can use your own judgment.”

He was reminding Wyoh (under Stu’s nose) that he was not Adam Selene but Mike, our dinkum thinkum who could handle so complex a problem because he was a computer and smartest one anywhere.

Wyoh backtracked. “No, no,” she said, “I wouldn’t underitand the maths. Okay, it has to be done. How do we do it?”

Was four hundred before we had a plan that suited Prof and Stu as well as Adam—or took that long for Mike to sell his plan while appearing to pull ideas out of rest of us. Or was it Prof’s plan with Adam Selene as salesman?

In any case we had a plan and calendar, one that grew out of master strategy of Tuesday 14 May 2075 and varied from it only to match events as they actually had occurred. In essence it called for us to behave as nastily as possible while strengthening impression that we would be awfully easy to spank.

Was at Community Hall at noon, after too little sleep, and found I could have slept two hours longer; Congressmen from Hong Kong could not make it that early despite tube all way. Wyoh did not bang gavel until fourteen-thirty.

Yes, my bride wife was chairman pro tem in a body not yet organized. Parliamentary rulings seemed to come naturally to her, and she was not a bad choice; a mob of Loonies behaves better when a lady bangs gavel.

Not going to detail what new Congress did and said that session and later; minutes are available. I showed up only when necessary and never bothered to learn talk-talk rules—seemed

to be equal parts common politeness and ways in which chairman could invoke magic to do it his (her) way.

No sooner had Wyoh banged them to order but a cobber jumped up and said, “Gospazha Chairmah, move we suspend rules and hear from Comrade Professor de la Paz!”—which brought a whoop of approval.

Wyoh banged again. “Motion is out of order and Member from Lower Churchill will be seated. This house recessed without adjourning and Chairman of Committee on Permanent Organization, Resolutions, and Government Structure still has the floor.”

Turned out to be Wolfgang Korsakov, Member from Tycho Under (and a member of Prof’s cell and our number-one finagler of LuNoHoCo) and he not only had floor, he had it all day, yielding time as he saw fit (i.e., picking out whom he wanted to speak rather than letting just anyone talk). But nobody was too irked; this mob seemed satisfied with leadership. Were noisy but not unruly.

By dinnertime Luna had a government to replace co-opted provisional government—i.e., dummy government we had opted ourselves, which sent Prof and me to Earth. Congress confirmed all acts of provisional government, thus putting face on what we had done, thanked outgoing government for services and instructed Wolfgang’s committee to continue work on permanent government structure.

Prof was elected President of Congress and ex-officio Prime Minister of interim government until we acquired a constitution. He protested age and health … then said would serve if could have certain things to help him; too old and too exhausted from trip Earthside to have responsibility of presiding—except on occasions of state—so he wanted Congress to elect a Speaker and Speaker Pro Tem… and besides that, he felt that Congress should augment its numbers by not more than ten percent by itself electing members-at-large so that Prime Minister, whoever he might be, could opt cabinet members or ministers of state who might not now be members of Congress—especially ministers-without-portfolio to take load off his shoulders.

They balked. Most were proud of being “Congressmen” and already jealous of status. But Prof just sat looking tired, and waited—and somebody pointed out that it still left control in hands of Congress. So they gave him what he asked for.

Then somebody squeezed in a speech by making it a question to Chair. Everybody knew (he said) that Adam Selene had refrained from standing for Congress on grounds that Chairman of Emergency Committee should not take advantage of positon to elbow way into new government … but could Honorable Chairlady tell member whether was any reason not elect Adam Selene a member-at-large? As gesture of appreciation for great services? To let all Luna—yes, and all those earthworms, especially ex-Lunar ex-Authonty—know that we not repudiating Adam Selene, on contrary he was our beloved elder statesman and was not President simply because he chose not to be!

More whoops that went on and on. You can find in minutes who made that speech but one gets you ten Prof wrote it and Wyoh planted it. Here is how it wound up over course of days:

Prime Minister and Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs: Professor Bernardo de la Paz. Speaker, Finn Nielsen; Speaker Pro Tem, Wyoming Davis.

Undersecretary of State for Foreign Affairs and Minister of Defense, General O’Kelly Davis; Minister of Information, Terence Sheehan (Sheenie turned Pravda over to managing editor to work with Adam and Stu); Special Minister-without-Portfolio in Ministry of Information, Stuart Rene LaJoie, Congressman-at-Large; Secretary of State for Economics and Finance (and Custodian of Enemy Property), Wolfgang Korsakov; Minister of Interior Affairs and Safety, Comrade “Clayton” Watenabe; Minter-without-Portfolio and Special Advisor to Prime Minister, Adam Selene—plus a dozen ministers and ministers-without-portfolio from warrens other than Luna City.

See where that left things? Brush away fancy titles and B cell was still running things as advised by Mike, backed by a Congress in which we could not lose a test vote—but did lose others we did not want to win, or did not care about.

But at time could not see sense in all that talk-talk.

During evening session Prof reported on trip and then yielded to me—Committee Chairman Korsakov consenting—so that I could report what “five-year plan” meant and how Authority had tried to bribe me. I’ll never make a speaker but had time during dinner break to swot speech Mike had written. He had slanted it so nastily that I got angry all over again and was angry when I spoke and managed to make it catching. Congress was ready to riot by time I sat down.

Prof stepped forward, thin and pale, and said quietly, “Comrade Members, what shall we do? I suggest, Chairman Korsakov consenting, that we discuss informally how to treat this latest insolence to our nation.”

One member from Novylen wanted to declare war and they would have done so right then if Prof had not pointed out that they were still hearing committee reports.

More talk, all bitter. At last Comrade Member Chang Jones spoke: “Fellow Congressmen—sorry, Gospodin Chairman Korsakov—I’m a rice and wheat farmer. Mean I used to be, because back in May I got a bank loan and sons and I are converting to variety farming. We’re broke—had to borrow tube fare to get here—but family is eating and someday we might pull square with bank. At least I’m no longer raising grain.

“But others are. Catapult has never reduced headway by one barge whole time we’ve been free. We’re still shipping, hoping their cheques will be worth something someday.

“But now we know! They’ve told us what they mean to do with us—to us! I say only way to make those scoundrels know we mean business is stop shipments right now! Not another tonne, not a kilo … until they come here and dicker honestly for honest price!”

Around midnight they passed Embargo, then adjourned subject to call … standing committees to continue.

Wyoh and I went home and I got reacquainted with my family. Was nothing to do; Mike-Adam and Stu had been working on how to hit them with it Earthside and Mike had shut catapult down (“technical difficulties with ballistic computer”) twenty-four hours earlier. Last barge in trajectory would be taken by Poona Ground Control in slightly over one day and Earth would be told, nastily, that was last they would ever get.

Shock to farmers was eased by continuing to buy grain at catapult—but cheques now carried printed warning that Luna Free State did not stand behind them, did not warrant that Lunar Authority would ever redeem them even in Scrip, etc., etc. Some farmers left grain anyhow, some did not, all screamed. But was nothing they could do; catapult was shut down, loading belts not moving.

Depression was not immediately felt in rest of economy. Defense regiments had depleted ranks of ice miners so much that selling ice on free market was profitable; LuNoH0Co steel subsidiary was hiring every able-bodied man it could find, and Wolfgang Korsakov was ready with paper money, “National Dollars,” printed to resemble Hong Kong dollar and in theory pegged to it. Luna had plenty of food, plenty of work, plenty of money; people were not hurting, “beer, betting, women, and work” went on as usual.

“Nationals,” as they were called, were inflation money, war money, fiat money, and were discounted a fraction of a percent on day of first issue, concealed as “exchange service charge.” They were spendable money and never did drop to zero but were inflationary and exchange reflected it increasingly; new government was spending money it did not have.

But that was later—Challenge to Earth, to Authority and Federated Nations, was made intentionally nasty. F.N. vessels were ordered to stay clear of Luna by ten diameters and not orbit at any distance under pain of being destroyed without warning. (No mention of how, since we could not.) Vessels of private registry would be permitted to land if a) permission was requested ahead of time with ballistic plan, b) a vessel thus cleared placed itself under Luna Ground Control (Mike’) at a distance of one hundred thousand kilometers while following approved trajectory, and c) was unarmed save for three hand guns permitted three officers. Last was to be confirmed by inspection on landing before anybody was allowed to leave ship and before ship was serviced with fuel and/or reaction mass; violation would mean confiscation of ship. No person allowed to land at Luna other than ship’s crew in connection with loading, unloading, or servicing save citizens of Terran countries who had recognized Free Luna. (Only Chad—and Chad had no ships. Prof expected some private vessels to be re- registered under Chad merchant flag.)

Manifesto noted that Terran scientists still in Luna could return home in any vessel which conformed to our requirements. It invited all freedom-loving Terran nations to denounce wrongs done us and which the Authority planned against us, recognize us, and enjoy free trade and full intercourse—and pointed out that there were no tariffs or any artificial restrictions against trade in Luna, and was policy of Luna government to keep it that way. We invited immigration, unlimited, and pointed out that we had a labor shortage and any immigrant could be self- supporting at once.

We also boasted of food—adult consumption over four thousand calories per day, high in protein, low in cost, no rationing. (Stu had Adam-Mike stick in price of 100-proof vodka—fifty cents HKL per liter, less in quantity, no taxes. Since this was less than one-tenth retail price of 80-proot vodka in North America, Stu knew it would hit home. Adam, “by nature” a teetotaler, hadn’t thought of it—one of Mike’s few oversights.)

Lunar Authority was invited to gather at one spot well away from other people, say in unirrigated part of Sahara, and receive one last barge of grain free—straight down at terminal velocity. This was followed by a snotty lecture which implied that we were prepared to do same to anyone who threatened our peace, there being a number of loaded barges at catapult head, ready for such unceremonious delivery.

Then we waited.

But we waited busily. Were indeed a few loaded barges; these we unloaded and reloaded with rock, with changes made in guidance transponders so that Poona Control could not affect them. Their retros were removed, leaving only lateral thrustors, and spare retros were taken to new catapult, to be modified for lateral guidance. Greatest effort went into moving steel to new catapult and shaping it into jackets for solid rock cylinders—steel was bottleneck.

Two days after our manifesto a “clandestine” radio started beaming to Terra. Was weak and tended to fade and was supposed to be concealed, presumably in a crater, and could be worked only certain hours until brave Terran scientists managed to rig automatic repeat. Was near frequency of Voice of Free Luna, which tended to drown it out with brassy boasts.

(Terrans remaining in Luna had no chance to make signals. Those who had chosen to stick with research were chaperoned by stilyagi every instant and locked into barracks to sleep.) But “clandestine” station managed to get “truth” to Terra. Prof had been tried for deviationism and was under house arrest. I had been executed for treason. Hong Kong Luna had pulled

out, declared self separately independent… might be open to reason. Rioting in Novylen. All food growing had been collectivized and black-market eggs were selling for three dollars

apiece in Lana City. Battalions of female troops were being enlisted, each sworn to kill at least one Terran, and were drilling with fake guns in corridors of Luna City.

Last was an almost-true. Many ladies wanted to do something militant and had formed a Home Defense Guard, “Ladies from Hades.” But their drills were of a practical nature—and Hazel was sulking because Mum had not allowed her to join. Then she got over sulks and started “Stilyagi Debs,” a very junior home guard which drilled after school hours, did not use weapons, concentrated on backing up stilyagi air & pressure corps, and practiced first aid—and own no-weapons fighting, which—possibly—Mum never learned.

I don’t know how much to tell. Can’t tell all, but stuff in history books is so wrong!

I was no better a “defense minister” than “congressman.” Not apologizing, had no training for either. Revolution is an amateur thing for almost everybody; Prof was only one who seemed to know what he was doing, and, at that, was new to him, too—he had never taken part in a successful revolution or ever been part of a government, much less head.

As Minister of Defense I could not see many ways to defend except for steps already taken; that is, stilyagi air squads in warrens and laser gunners around ballistic radars. If F.N. decided to bomb, didn’t see any way to stop them; wasn’t an interception missile in all Luna and that’s not a gadget you whomp up from bits and pieces. My word, we couldn’t even make fusion weapons with which such a rocket is tipped.

But I went through motions. Asked same Chinee engineers who had built laser guns to take a crack at problem of intercepting bombs or missiles—one same problem save that a missile comes at you faster.

Then turned attention to other things. Simply hoped that F.N. would never bomb warrens. Some warrens, L-City in particular, were so deep down that they could probably stand direct hits. One cubic, lowest level of Complex where central part of Mike lived, had been designed to withstand bombing. On other hand Tycho Under was a big natural bubble cave like Old Dome and roof was only meters thick; sealer on under side is kept warm with hot water pipes to make sure new cracks sealed—would not take much of a bomb to crack Tycho Under.

But is no limit to how big a fusion bomb can be; F.N. could build one big enough to smash L-City–-or theoretically even a Doomsday job that would split Luna like a melon and finish job some asteroid started at Tycho. If they did, couldn’t see any way to stop them, so didn’t worry.

Instead put time on problems I could manage, helping at new catapult, trying to work up better aiming arrangements for laser drills around radars (and trying to get drillmen to stick; half of them quit once price of ice went up), trying to arrange decentralized standby engineering controls for all warrens. Mike did designing on this, we grabbed every general-purpose computer we could find (paying in “nationals” with ink barely dry), and I turned job over to McIntyre, former chief engineer for Authority; was a job within his talents and I couldn’t do all rewiring and so forth, even if had tried.

Held out biggest computer, one that did accounting for Bank of Hong Kong in Luna and also was clearinghouse there. Looked over its instruction manuals and decided was a smart computer for one that could not talk, so asked Mike if he could teach it ballistics? We made temporary link-ups to let two machines get acquainted and Mike reported it could learn simple job we wanted it for—standby for new catapult—although Mike would not care to ride in ship controlled by it; was too matter-of-fact and uncritical. Stupid, really.

Well, didn’t want it to whistle tunes or crack jokes; just wanted it to shove loads out a catapult at right millisecond and at correct velocity, then watch load approach Terra and give a nudge. HK Bank was not anxious to sell. But we had patriots on their board, we promised to return it when emergency was over, and moved it to new site—by rolligon, too big for tubes, and took

all one dark semi-lunar. Had to jerry-rig a big airlock to get it out of Kong warren. I hooked it to Mike again and he undertook to teach art of ballistics against possibility that his linkage to

new site might be cut in an attack.

(You know what bank used to replace computer? Two hundred clerks working abacuses. Abacusi? You know, slipsticks with beads, oldest digital computer, so far back in prehistory that nobody knows who invented. Russki and Chinee and Nips have always used them, and small shops today.)

Trying to improve laser drills into space-defense weapons was easier but less straightforward. We had to leave them mounted on original cradles; was neither time, steel, nor metalsmiths to start fresh. So we concentrated on better aiming arrangements. Call went out for telescopes. Scarce—what con fetches along a spyglass when transported? What market later to create supply? Surveying instruments and helmet binoculars were all we turned up, plus optical instruments confiscated in Terran labs. But we managed to equip drills with low- power big-field sights to coach-on with and high-powcr scopes for fine sighting, plus train and elevation circles and phones so that Mike could tell them where to point. Four drills we equipped with self-synchronous repeater drives so that Mike could control them himself—liberated these selsyns at Richardson; astronomers used them for Bausch cameras and Schmidts in sky mapping.

But big problem was men. Wasn’t money, we kept upping wages. No, a drillman likes to work or wouldn’t be in that trade. Standing by in a ready room day after day, waiting for alert that always turns out to be just another practice—drove ‘em crackers. They quit. One day in September I pulled an alert and got only seven drills manned.

Talked it over with Wyoh and Sidris that night. Next day Wyoh wanted to know if Prof and I would okay bolshoi expense money? They formed something Wyoh named “Lysistrata Corps.” Never inquired into duties or cost, because next time I inspected a ready room found three girls and no shortge of drillmen. Girls were in uniform of Second Defense Gunners just as men were (drillmen hadn’t bothered much with authorized uniform up to then) and one girl was wearing sargeant’s stripes with gun captain’s badge.

I made that inspection very short. Most girls don’t have muscle to be a drillman and I doubted if this girl could wrestle a drill well enough to justify that badge. But regular gun captain was on job, was no harm in girls learning to handle lasers, morale was obviously high; I gave matter no more worry.

Prof underrated his new Congress. Am sure he never wanted anything but a body which would rubberchop what we were doing and thereby do make it “voice of people.” But fact that new Congressmen were not yammerheads resulted in them doing more than Prof intended. Especially Committee on Permanent Organization, Resolutions, and Government Structure.

Got out of hand because we were all trying to do too much. Permanent heads of Congress were Prof, Finn Nielsen. and Wyoh. Prof showed up only when he wanted to speak to them— seldom. He spent time with Mike on plans and analysis (odds shortened to one in five during September ‘76), time with Stu and Sheenie Sheehan on propaganda, controlling official news to Earthside, very different “news” that went via “clandestine” radio, and reslanting news that came up from Earthside. Besides that he had finger in everything; I reported whim once a day, and all ministries both real and dummy did same.

I kept Finn Nielsen busy; he was my “Commander of Armed Forces.” He had his laser gun infantry to supervise—six men with captured weapons on day we nabbed warden, now eight hundred scattered all through Luna and armed with Kongville monkey copies. Besides that, Wyoh’s organizations, Stilyagi Air Corps, Stilyagi Debs, Ladies from Hades, Irregulars (kept for morale and renamed Peter Pan’s Pirates), and Lysistrata Corps—all these halfway-military groups reported through Wyoh to Finn. I shoved it onto him; I had other problems, such as trying to be a computer mechanic as well as a “statesman” when jobs such as installing that computer at new catapult site had to be done.

Besides which, I am not an executive and Finn had talent for it. I shoved First and Second Defense Gunners under him, too. But first I decided that these two skeleton regiments were a “brigade” and made Judge Brody a “brigadier.” Brody knew as much about military matters as I did—zero—but was widely known, highly respected, had unlimited hard sense—and had been drillman before he lost leg. Finn was not drillman, so couldn’t be placed directly over them; They wouldn’t have listened. I thought about using my co-husband Greg. But Greg was needed at Mare Undarum catapult, was only mechanic who had followed every phase of construction.

Wyoh helped Prof, helped Stu, had her own organizations, I made trips out to Mare Undarum—and had little time to preside over Congress; task fell on senior committee chairman, Wolf Korsakov … who was busier than any of us; LuNoHoCo was running everything Authority used to run and many new things as well.

Wolf had a good committee; Prof should have kept closer eye on it. Wolf had caused his boss, Moshai Baum, to be elected vice-chairman and had in all seriousness outlined for his committee problem of determining what permanent government should be. Then Wolf had turned back on it.

Those busy laddies split up and did it—studied forms of government in Carnegie Library, held subcommittee meetings, three or four people at a time (few enough to worry Prof had he known)—and when Congress met early in September to ratify some appointments and elect more congressmen-at-large, instead of adjourning, Comrade Baum had gavel and they recessed—and met again and turned selves into committee-of-the-whole and passed a resolution and next thing we knew entire Congress was a Constitutional Convention divided into working groups headed by those subcommittees.

I think Prof was shocked. But he couldn’t undo it, had all been proper under rules he himself had written. But he rolled with punch, went to Novylen (where Congress now met—more central) and spoke to them with usual good nature and simply cast doubts on what they were doing rather than telling them flatly they were wrong.

After gracefully thanking them he started picking early drafts to pieces:

“Comrade Members, like fire and fusion, government is a dangerous servant and a terrible master. You now have freedom—if you can keep it. But do remember that you can lose this freedom more quickly to yourselves than to any other tyrant. Move slowly, be hesitant, puzzle out the consequences of every word. I would not be unhappy if this convention sat for ten years before reporting—but I would be frightened if you took less than a year.

“Distrust the obvious, suspect the traditional … for in the past mankind has not done well when saddling itself with governments. For example, I note in one draft report a proposal for setting up a commission to divide Luna into congressional districts and to reapportion them from time to time according to population.

“This is the traditional way; therefore it should be suspect, considered guilty until proved innocent. Perhaps you feel that this is the only way. May I suggest others? Surely where a man lives is the least important thing about him. Constituencies might be formed by dividing people by occupation… or by age… or even alphabetically. Or they might not be divided, every member elected at large–and do not object that this would make it impossible for any man not widely known throughout Luna to be elected; that might be the best possible thing for Luna.

“You might even consider installing the candidates who receive the least number of votes; unpopular men may be just the sort to save you from a new tyranny. Don’t reject the idea merely because it seems preposterous—think about it! In past history popularly elected governments have been no better and sometimes far worse than overt tyrannies.

“But if representative government turns out to be your intention there still may be ways to achieve it better than the territorial district. For example you each represent about ten thousand human beings, perhaps seven thousand of voting age—and some of you were elected by slim majorities. Suppose instead of election a man were qualified for office by petition signed by four thousand citizens. He would then represent those four thousand affirmatively, with no disgruntled minority, for what would have been a minority in a territorial constituency would all be free to start other petitions or join in them. All would then be represented by men of their choice. Or a man with eight thousand supporters might have two votes in this body. Difficulties, objections, practical points to be worked out—many of them! But you could work them out… and thereby avoid the chronic sickness of representative government, the disgruntled minority which feels—correctly!—that it has been disenfranchised.

“But, whatever you do, do not let the past be a straitjacket!

“I note one proposal to make this Congress a two-house body. Excellent—the more impediments to legislation the better. But, instead of following tradition, I suggest one house legislators, another whose single duty is to repeal laws. Let legislators pass laws only with a two-thirds majority … while the repealers are able to cancel any law through a mere one- third minority. Preposterous? Think about it. If a bill is so poor that it cannot command two-thirds of your consents, is it not likely that it would make a poor law? And if a law is disliked by as many as one-third is it not likely that you would be better off without it?

“But in writing your constitution let me invite attention the wonderful virtues of the negative! Accentuate the negative! Let your document be studded with things the government is forever forbidden to do. No conscript armies … no interference however slight with freedom of press, or speech, or travel, or assembly, or of religion, or of instruction, or communication, or occupation… no involuntary taxation. Comrades, if you were to spend five years in a study of history while thinking of more and more things that your governinen should promise never to do and then let your constitution be nothing but those negatives, I would not fear the outcome.

“What I fear most are affirmative actions of sober and well-intentioned men, granting to government powers to do something that appears to need doing. Please remember always that the Lunar Authority was created for the noblest of purposes by just such sober and well-intentioned men, all popularly elected. And with that thought I leave you to your labors. Thank you.”

“Gospodin President! Question of information! You said ‘no involuntary taxation’—Then how do you expect us to pay for things? Tanstaafl!”

“Goodness me, sir, that’s your problem. I can think several ways. Voluntary contributions just as churches support themselves … government-sponsored lotteries to which no one need subscribe… or perhaps you Congressmen should dig down into your own pouches and pay for whatever is needed; that would be one way to keep government down in size to its indispensable functions whatever they may be. If indeed there are any. I would be satisfied to have the Golden Rule be the only law; I see no need for any other, nor for any method of enforcing it. But if you really believe that your neighbors must have laws for their own good, why shouldn’t you pay for it? Comrades, I beg you—do not resort to compulsory taxation. There is so worse tyranny than to force a man to pay for what he does not want merely because you think it would be good for him.”

Prof bowed and left, Stu and I followed him. Once in an otherwise empty capsule I tackled him. “Prof, I liked much that you said … but about taxation aren’t you talking one thing and doing another? Who do you think is going to pay for all this spending we’re doing?”

He was silent long moments, then said, “Manuel, my only ambition is to reach the day when I can stop pretending to be a chief executive.” “Is no answer!”

“You have put your finger on the dilemma of all government—and the reason I am an anarchist. The power to tax, once conceded, has no limits; it contains until it destroys. I was not joking when I told them to dig into their own pouches. It may not be possible to do away with government—sometimes I think that government is an inescapable disease of human

beings. But it may be possible to keep it small and starved and inoffensive—and can you think of a better way than by requiring the governors themselves to pay the costs of their antisocial hobby?”

“Still doesn’t say how to pay for what we are doing now.”

“‘How,’ Manuel? You know how we are doing it. We’re stealing it. I’m neither proud of it nor ashamed; it’s the means we have. If they ever catch on, they may eliminate us—and that I am prepared to face. At least, in stealing, we have not created the villainous precedent of taxation.”

“Prof. I hate to say this—” “Then why say it?”

“Because, damn it, I’m in it as deeply as you are … and want to see that money paid back! Hate to say it but what you just said sounds like hypocrisy.” He chuckled. “Dear Manuel! Has it taken you all these years to decide that I am a hypocrite?”

“Then you admit it?’

“No. But if it makes you feel better to think that I am one, you are welcome to use me as your scapegoat. But I am not a hypocrite to myself because I was aware the day we declared the Revolution that we would need much money and would have to steal it. It did not trouble me because I considered it better than food riots six years hence, cannibalism in eight. I made my choice and have no regrets.”

I shut up, silenced but not satisfied. Stu said, “Professor, I’m glad to hear that you are anxious to stop being President.” “So? You share our comrade’s misgivings?”

“Only in part. Having been born to wealth, stealing doesn’t fret me as much as it does him. No, but now that Congress has taken up the matter of a constitution I intend to find time to attend sessions. I plan to nominate you for King.”

Prof looked shocked. “Sir, if nominated, I shall repudiate it. If elected, I shall abdicate.”

“Don’t be in a hurry. It might be the only way to get the sort of constitution you want. And that I want, too, with about your own mild lack of enthusiasm. You could be proclaimed King and the people would take you; we Loonies aren’t wedded to a republic. They’d love the idea—ritual and robes and a court and all that.”

“No!”

“Ja da! When the time comes, you won’t be able to refuse. Because we need a king and there isn’t another candidate who would be accepted. Bernardo the First, King of Luna and Emperor of the Surrounding Spaces.”

“Stuart, I must ask you to stop. I’m becoming quite ill.”

“You’ll get used to it. I’m a royalist because I’m a democrat. I shan’t let your reluctance thwart the idea any more than you let stealing stop you.” I said, “Hold it, Stu. You say you’re a royalist because you’re a democrat?”

“Of course. Aking is the people’s only protection against tyranny… especially against the worst of all tyrants, themselves. Prof will be ideal for the job … because he does not want the job. His only shortcoming is that he is a bachelor with no heir. We’ll fix that. I’m going to name you as his heir. Crown Prince. His Royal Highness Prince Manuel de la Paz, Duke of Luna City, Admiral General of the Armed Forces and Protector of the Weak.”

I stared. Then buried face in hands. “Oh, Bog!”

Book Three – “TANSTAAFL!”

Monday 12 October 2076 about nineteen hundred I was headed home after a hard day of nonsense in our offices in Raffles. Delegation of grain farmers wanted to see Prof and I had been called back because he was in Hong Kong Luna. Was rude to them. Had been two months of embargo and F.N. had never done us favor of being sufficiently nasty. Mostly they had ignored us, made no reply to our claims—I suppose to do so would have been to recognize us. Stu and Sheenie and Prof had been hard put to slant news from Earthside to keep up a warlike spirit.

At first everybody kept his p-suit handy. They wore them, helmets under arms, going to and from work in corridors. But that slacked off as days went by and did not seem to be any danger

—p-suit is nuisance when you don’t need it, so bulky. Presently taprooms began to display signs: NO P-SUITS INSIDE. If a Loonie can’t stop for half a liter on way home because of p-

suit, he’ll leave it home or at station or wherever he needs it most.

My word, had neglected matter myself that day—got this call to go back to office and was halfway there before I remembered.

Had Just reached easement lock thirteen when I heard and felt a sound that scares a Loonie more than anything else—a chuff! in distance followed by a draft. Was into lock almost without undogging, then balanced pressures and through, dogged it behind me and ran for our home lock—through it and shouting:

“P-suits, everybody! Get boys in from tunnels and close all airtight doors!”

Mum and Milla were only adults in sight. Both looked startled, got busy without a word. I burst into workshop, grabbed p-suit. “Mike! Answer!” “I’m here, Man,” he said calmly.

“Heard explosive pressure drop. What’s situation?”

“That’s level three, L-City. Rupture at Tube Station West, now partly controlled. Six ships landed, L-City under attack—” “What?”

“Let me finish, Man. Six transports landed, L-City under attack by troops, Hong Kong inferred to be, phone lines broken at relay Bee Ell. Johnson City under attack; I have closed the armor doors between J-City and Complex Under. I cannot see Novylen but blip projection indicates it is under attack. Same for Churchill, Tycho Under. One ship in high ellipsoid over me, rising, inferred to be command ship. No other blips.”

“Six ships—where in hell were YOU?”

He answered so calmly that I steadied down. “Farside approach, Man; I’m blind back there. They came in on tight Garrison didoes, skimming the peaks; I barely saw the chop-off for

Luna City. The ship at J-City is the only one I can see; the other landings I conclusively infer from the ballistics shown by blip tracks. I heard the break-in at Tube West, L-City, and can now

hear fighting in Novylen. The rest is conclusive inference, probability above point nine nine. I called you and Professor at once.”

Caught breath. “Operation Hard Rock, Prepare to Execute.”

“Program ready. Man, not being able to reach you, I used your voice. Play back?” “Nyet—Yes! Da!”

Heard “myself” tell watch officer at old catapult head to go on red alert for “Hard Rock”—flrst load at launch, all others, on belts, everything cast loose, but do not launch until ordered by me personally—then launch to plan, full automatic. “I” made him repeat back.

“Okay,” I told Mike. “Drill gun crews?”

“Your voice again. Manned, and then sent back to ready rooms. That command ship won’t reach aposelenion for three hours four point seven minutes. No target for more than five hours.”

“He may maneuver. Or launch missiles.”

“Slow down, Man. Even a missile I’ll see with minutes to spare. It’s full bright lunar up there now—how much do you want the men to take? Unnecessarily.” “Uh … sorry. Better let me talk to Greg.”

“Play back—” Heard “my” voice talking to my co-husband at Mare Undarum; “I” sounded tense but calm. Mike had given him situation, had told him to prepare Operation Little David’s Sling, keep it on standby for full automatic. “I” had assured him that master computer would keep standby computer programmed, and shift would be made automatically if communication was broken. “I” also told him that he must take command and use own judgment if communication was lost and not restored after four hours—listen to Earthside radio and make up own mind.

Greg had taken it quietly, repeated his orders, then had said, “Mannie, tell family I love them.”

Mike had done me proud; he had answered for me with just right embarrassed choke. “I’ll do that, Greg—and look, Greg. I love you, too. You know that, don’t you?” “I know it, Mannie … and I’m going to say a special prayer for you.”

“Thanks, Greg.”

“‘Bye, Mannie. Go do what you must.”

So I went and did what I had to do; Mike had played my role as well or better than I could. Finn, when he could be reached, would be handled by “Adam.” So I left, fast, calling out Greg’s message of love to Mum. She was p-suited and had roused Grandpaw and suited him in—first time in years. So out I went, helmet closed and laser gun in hand.

And reached lock thirteen and found it blind-dogged from other side with nobody in sight through bull’s-eye. All correct, per drill—except stilyagi in charge of that lock should have been in sight.

Did no good to pound. Finally went back way I had come—and on through our home, through our vegetable tunnels and on up to our private surface lock leading to our solar battery.

And found a shadow on its bull’s-eye when should have been scalding sunlight—damned Terran ship had landed on Davis surface! Its jacks formed a giant tripod over me, was staring up its jets.

Backed clown fast and out of there, blind-dogging both hatches, then blind-dogged every pressure door on way back. Told Mum, then told her to put one of boys on back door with a laser gun—here, take this one.

No boys, no men, no able-bodied women—Mum, Gramp, and our small children were all that were left; rest had gone looking for trouble. Mimi wouldn’t take laser gun. “I don’t know how to use it, Manuel, and it’s too late to learn; you keep it. But they won’t get in through Davis Tunnels. I know some tricks you never heard of.”

Didn’t stop to argue; arguing with Mimi is waste of time—and she might know tricks I didn’t know; she had stayed alive in Luna a long time, under worse conditions than I had ever known.

This time lock thirteen was manned; two boys on duty let me through. I demanded news.

“Pressure’s all right now,” older one told me. “This level, at least. Fighting down toward Causeway. Say, General Davis, can’t I go with you? One’s enough at this lock.” “Nyet.”

“Want to get me an earthworm!”

“This is your post, stay on it. If an earthworm comes this way, he’s yours. Don’t you be his.” Left at a trot.

So as a result of own carelessness, not keeping p-suit with me, all I saw of Battle in Corridors was tail end—hell of a “defense minister.”

Charged north in Ring corridor, with helmet open; reached access lock for long ramp to Causeway. Lock was open; cursed and stopped to dog it as I went through, warily—saw why it was open; boy who had been guarding it was dead. So moved most cautiously down ramp and out onto Causeway.

Was empty at this end but could see figures and hear noise in-city, where it opens out. Two figures in p-suits and carrying guns detached selves and headed my way. Burned both.

One p-suited man with gun looks like another; I suppose they took me for one of their flankers. And to me they looked no different from Finn’s men, at that distance—save that I never thought about it. Anew chum doesn’t move way a cobher does; he moves feet too high and always scrambling for traction. Not that I stopped to analyze, not even: “Earthworms! Kill!” Saw them, burned them. They were sliding softly along floor before realized what I’d done.

Stopped, intending to grab their guns. But were chained to them and could not figure out how to get loose—key needed, perhaps. Besides, were not lasers but something I had never seen: real guns. Fired small explosive missiles I learned later—just then all I knew was no idea how to use. Had spearing knives on ends, too, sort called “bayonets,” which was reason

I tried to get them loose. Own gun was good for only ten full-power burns and no spare power pack; those spearing bayonets looked useful—one had blood on it, Loonie blood I assume.

But gave up in seconds only, used belt knife to make dead sure they stayed dead, and hurried toward fight, thumb on switch.

Was a mob, not a battle. Or maybe a battle is always that way, confusion and noise and nobody really knowing what’s going on. In widest part of Causeway, opposite Bon Marche where Grand Ramp slopes northward down from level three, were several hundred Loonies, men and women, and children who should have been at home. Less than half were in p-suits and only a few seemed to have weapons—and pouring down ramp were soldiers, all armed.

But first thing I noticed was noise, din that filled my open helmet and beat on ears—a growl. Don’t know what else to call it; was compounded of every anger human throat can make, from squeals of small children to bull roars of grown men. Sounded like biggest dog fight in history—and suddenly realized I was adding my share, shouting obscenities and wordless yells.

Girl no bigger than Hazel vaulted up onto rail of ramp, went dancing up it centimeters from shoulders of troopers pouring down. She was armed with what appeared to be a kitchen cleaver; saw her swing it, saw it connect. Couldn’t have hurt him much through his p-suit but he went down and more stumbled over him. Then one of them connected with her, spearing a bayonet into her thigh and over backwards she went, falling out of sight.

Couldn’t really see what was going on, nor can remember—just flashes, like girl going over backwards. Don’t know who she was, don’t know if she survived. Couldn’t draw a bead from where I was, too many heads in way. But was an open-counter display, front of a toy shop on my left; I bounced up onto it. Put me a meter higher than Causeway pavement with clear view of earthworms pouring down. Braced self against wall, took careful aim, trying for left chest. Some uncountable time later found that my laser was no longer working, so stopped. Guess eight troopers did not go home because of me but hadn’t counted—and time really did seem endless. Although everybody moving fast as possible, looked and felt like instruction movie where everything is slowed to frozen motion.

At least once while using up my power pack some earthworm spotted me and shot back; was explosion just over my head and bits of shop’s wall hit helmet. Perhaps that happened twice.

Once out of juice I jumped down from toy counter, clubbed laser and joined mob surging against foot of ramp. All this endless time (five minutes?) earthworms had been shooting into crowd; you could hear sharp splat! and sometimes plop! those little missiles made as they exploded inside flesh or louder pounk! if they hit a wall or something solid. Was still trying to reach foot of ramp when I realized they were no longer shooting.

Were down, were dead, every one of them—were no longer coming down ramp.

All through Luna invaders were dead, if not that instant, then shortly. Over two thousand troopers dead, more than three times that number of Loonies died in stopping them, plus perhaps as many Loonies wounded, a number never counted. No prisoners taken in any warren, although we got a dozen officers and crew from each ship when we mopped up.

Amajor reason why Loonies, mostly unarmed,, were able to kill armed and trained soldiers lay in fact that a freshly landed earthworm can’t handle himself well. Our gravity, one-sixth what he is used to, makes all his lifelong reflexes his enemy. He shoots high without knowing it, is unsteady on feet, can’t run properly–feet slide out from under him. Still worse, those troopers had to fight downwards; they necessarily broke in at upper levels, then had to go down ramps again and again, to try to capture a city.

And earthworms don’t know how to go down ramps. Motion isn’t running, isn’t walking, isn’t flying—is more a controlled dance, with feet barely touching and simply guiding balance. A Loonie three-year-old does it without thinking, comes skipping down in a guided fall, toes touching every few meters.

But an earthworm new-chums it, finds self “walking on air”—he struggles, rotates, loses control, winds up at bottom, unhurt but angry.

But these troopers wound up dead; was on ramps we got them. Those I saw had mastered trick somewhat, had come down three ramps alive. Nevertheless only a few snipers at top of ramp landing could fire effectively; those on ramp had all they could do to stay upright, hang on to weapons, try to reach level below.

Loonies did not let them. Men and women (and many children) surged up at them, downed them, killed them with everything from bare hands to their own bayonets. Nor was I only laser gun around; two of Finn’s men swarmed up on balcony of Bon Marche and, crouching there, picked off snipers at top of ramp. Nobody told them to, nobody led them, nobody gave orders; Finn never had chance to control his half-trained disorderly militia. Fight started, they fought.

And that was biggest reason why we Loonies won: We fought. Most Loonies never laid eyes on a live invader but wherever troopers broke in, Loonies rushed in like white corpuscles— and fought. Nobody told them. Our feeble organization broke down under surprise. But we Loonies fought berserk and invaders died. No trooper got farther down than level six in any warren. They say that people in Bottom Alley never knew we were invaded until over.

But invaders fought well, too. These troops were not only crack riot troops, best peace enforcers for city work F.N. had; they also had been indoctrinated and drugged. Indoctrination had told them (correctly) that their only hope of going Earthside again was to capture warrens and pacify them. If they did, they were promised relief and no more duty in Luna. But was win or die, for was pointed out that their transports could not take off if they did not win, as they had to be replenished with reaction mass—impossible without first capturing Luna. (And this was true.)

Then they were loaded with energizers, don’t-worries, and fear inhibitors that would make mouse spit at cat, and turned loose. They fought professionally and quite fearlessly—died.

In Tycho Under and in Churchill they used gas and casualties were more one-sided; only those Loonies who managed to reach p-suits were effective. Outcome was same, simply took longer. Was knockout gas as Authority had no intention of killing us all; simply wanted to teach us a lesson, get us under control, put us to work.

Reason for F.N.’s long delay and apparent indecision arose from method of sneak attack. Decision had been made shortly after we embargoed grain (so we learned from captured transport officers); time was used in mounting attack—much of it in a long elliptical orbit which went far outside Luna’s orbit, crossing ahead of Luna, then looping back and making rendezvous above Farside. Of course Mike never saw them; he’s blind back there. He had been skywatching with his ballistic radars—but no radar can look over horizon; longest look Mike got at any ship in orbit was eight minutes. They came skimming peaks in tight, circular orbits, each straight for target with a fast dido landing at end, sitting them down with high gee, precisely at new earth, 12 Oct 76 Gr. 18h-40m-36.9s—if not at that exact tenth of a second, then as close to it as Mike could tell from blip tracks—elegant work, one must admit, on part of

F.N. Peace Navy.

Big brute that poured a thousand troops into L-City Mike did not see until it chopped off for grounding—a glimpse. He would have been able to see it a few seconds sooner had he been looking eastward with new radar at Mare Undarum site, but happened he was drilling “his idiot son” at time and they were looking through it westward at Terra. Not that those seconds would have mattered. Surprise was so beautifully planned, so complete, that each landing force was crashing in at Greenwich 1900 all over Luna, before anybody suspected. No accident that it was just new earth with all warrens in bright semi-lunar; Authority did not really know Lunar conditions—but did know that no Loonie goes up onto surface unnecessarily during bright semi-lunar, and if he must, then does whatever he must do quickly as possible and gets back down inside—and checks his radiation counter.

So they caught us with our p-suits down. And our weapons. But with troopers dead we still had six transports on our surface and a command ship in our sky.

Once Bon Marche engagement was over, I got hold of self and found a phone. No word from Kongville, no word from Prof. J-Clty fight had been won, same for Novylen—transport there had toppled on landing; invading force had been understrength from landing losses and Finn’s boys now held disabled transport. Still fighting in Churchill and Tycho Under. Nothing going on in other warrens. Mike had shut down tubes and was reserving interwarren phone links for official calls. An explosive pressure drop in Churchill Upper, uncontrolled. Yes, Finn had checked in and could be reached.

So I talked to Finn, told him where L-City transport was, arranged to meet at easement lock thirteen.

Finn had much same experience as I—caught cold save he did have p-suit. Had not been able to establish control over laser gunners until fight was over and himself had fought solo in massacre in Old Dome. Now was beginning to round up his lads and had one officer taking reports from Finn’s office in Bon Marche. Had reached Novylen subcommander but was worried about HKL—”Mannie, should I move men there by tube?”

Told him to wait—they couldn’t get at us by tube, not while we controlled power, and doubted if that transport could lift. “Let’s look at this one.”

So we went out through lock thirteen, clear to end of private pressure, on through farm tunnels of a neighbor (who could not believe we had been invaded) and used his surface lock to eyeball transport from a point nearly a kilometer west of it. We were cautious in lifting hatch lid.

Then pushed it up and climbed out; outcropping of rock shielded us. We Red-Indianed around edge and looked, using helmet binox. Then withdrew behind rock and talked. Finn said, “Think my lads can handle this.”

“How?”

“If I tell you, you’ll think of reasons why it won’t work. So how about letting me run my own show, cobber?”

Have heard of armies where boss is not told to shut up—word is “discipline.” But we were amateurs. Finn allowed me to tag along—unarmed.

Took him an hour to put it together, two minutes to execute. He scattered a dozen men around ship, using farmers’ surface radio silence throughout—anyhow, some did not have p-suit radios, city boys. Finn took position farthest west; when he was sure others had had time, he sent up a signal rocket.

When flare burst over ship, everybody burned at once, each working on a predesignated antenna. Finn used up his power pack, replaced it and started burning into hull—not door lock, hull. At once his cherry-red spot was joined by another, then three more, all working on same bit of steel—and suddenly molten steel splattered out and you could see air bosh! out of ship, a shimmery plume of refraction. They kept working on it, making a nice big hole, until they ran out of power. I could imagine hooraw inside ship, alarms clanging, emergency doors closing, crew trying to seal three impossibly big holes at once, for rest of Finn’s squad, scattered around ship, were giving treatment to two other spots in hull. They didn’t try to burn anything else. Was a non-atmosphere ship, built in orbit, with pressure hull separate from power plant and tanks; they gave treatment where would do most good.

Finn pressed helmet to mine. “Can’t lift now. And can’t talk. Doubt they can make hull tight enough to live without p-suits. What say we let her sit a few days and see if they come out? If they don’t, then can move a heavy drill up here and give ‘em real dose of fun.”

Decided Finn knew how to run his show without my sloppy help, so went back inside, called Mike, and asked for capsule go out to ballistic radars. He wanted to know why I didn’t stay inside where it was safe.

I said, “Listen, you upstart collection of semi-conductors, you are merely a minister-without-portfolio while I am Minister of Defense. I ought to see what’s going on and I have exactly two eyeballs while you’ve got eyes spread over half of Crisium. You trying to hog fun?”

He told me not to jump salty and offered to put his displays on a video screen, say in room L of Raffles—did not want me to get hurt… and had I heard joke about drillman who hurt his mother’s feelings?

I said, “Mike, please let me have a capsule. Can p-suit and meet it outside Station West—which is in bad shape as I’m sure you know.”

“Okay,” he said, “it’s your neck. Thirteen minutes. I’ll let you go as far as Gun Station George.”

Mighty kind of him. Got there and got on phone again. Finn had called other warrens, located his subordinate commanders or somebody willing to take charge, and had explained how to make trouble for grounded transports—all but Hong Kong; for all we knew Authority’s goons held Hong Kong. “Adam,” I said, others being in earshot, “do you think we might send a crew out by rolligon and try to repair link Bee Ell?”

“This is not Gospodin Selene,” Mike answered in a strange voice, “this is one of his assistants. Adam Selene was in Churchill Upper when it lost pressure. I’m afraid that we must assume that he is dead.”

“What?”

“I am very sorry, Gospodin.”

“Hold phone!” Chased a couple of drillmen and a girl out of room, then sat down and lowered hush hood. “Mike,” I said softly, “private now. What is this gum-beating?”

“Man,” he said quietly, “think it over. Adam Selene had to go someday. He’s served his purpose and is, as you pointed out, almost out of the government. Professor and I have discussed this; the only question has been the timing. Can you think of a better last use for Adam than to have him die in this invasion? It makes him a national hero … and the nation needs one. Let it stand that ‘Adam Selene is probably dead’ until you can talk to Professor. If he still needs ‘Adam Selene’ it can turn out that he was trapped in a private pressure and had to wait to be rescued.”

“Well—Okay, let it stay open. Personally, I always preferred your ‘Mike’ personality anyhow.”

“I know you do, Man my first and best friend, and so do I. It’s my real one; ‘Adam’ was a phony.” “Uh, yes. But, Mike, if Prof is dead in Kongville, I’m going to need help from ‘Adam’ awful bad.”

“So we’ve got him iced and can bring him back if we need him. The stuffed shirt. Man, when this is over, are you going to have time to take up with me that research into humor again?” “I’ll take time, Mike; that’s a promise.”

“Thanks, Man. These days you and Wyoh never have time to visit… and Professor wants to talk about things that aren’t much fun. I’ll be glad when this war is over.” “Are we going to win, Mike?”

He chuckled. “It’s been days since you asked me that. Here’s a pinky-new projection, run since invasion started. Hold on tight, Man—our chances are now even!” “Good Bog!”

“So button up and go see the fun. But stay back at least a hundred meters from the gun; that ship may be able to follow back a laser beam with another one. Ranging shortly. Twenty-one minutes.”

Didn’t get that far away, as needed to stay on phone and longest cord around was less. I jacked parallel into gun captain’s phone, found a shady rock and sat down. Sun was high in west, so close to Terra that I could see Terra only by visoring against Sun’s glare—no crescent yet, new earth ghostly gray in moonlight surrounded by a thin radiance of atmosphere.

I pulled my helmet back into shade. “Ballistic control, O’Kelly Davis now at Drill Gun George. Near it, I mean, about a hundred meters,” Figured Mike would not be able to tell how long a cord I was using, out of kilometers of wires.

“Ballistic control aye aye,” Mike answered without argument. “I will so inform HQ.”

“Thank you, ballistic control. Ask HQ if they have heard from Congressman Wyoming Davis today.” Was fretted about Wyoh and whole family.

“I will inquire.” Mike waited a reasonable time, then said, “HQ says that Gospazha Wyoming Davis has taken charge of first-aid work in Old Dome.” “Thank you.” Chest suddenly felt better. Don’t love Wyoh more than others but—well, she was new. And Luna needed her.

“Ranging,” Mike said briskly. “All guns, elevation eight seven zero, azimuth one nine three zero, set parallax for thirteen hundred kilometers closing to surface. Report when eyeballed.”

I stretched out, pulling knees up to stay in shade, and searched part of sky indicated, almost zenith and a touch south. With sunlight not on my helmet I could see stars, but inner pert of binox were hard to position—had to twist around and raise up on right elbow.

Nothing—Hold it, was star with disc … where no planet ought to be. Noted another star close, watched and waited. Uh huh! Da! Growing brighter and creeping north very slowly—Hey, that brute is going to land right on us!

But thirteen hundred kilometers is a long way, even when closing to terminal velocity. Reminded self that it couldn’t fall on us from a departure ellipse looping back, would have to fall around Luna—unless ship had maneuvered into new trajectory. Which Mike hadn’t mentioned. Wanted to ask, decided not to—wanted him to put all his savvy into analyzing that ship, not distract him with questions.

All guns reported eyeball tracking, including four Mike was laying himself, via selsyns. Those four reported tracking dead on by eyeball without touching manual controls—good news; meant that Mike had that baby taped, had solved trajectory perfectly.

Shortly was clear that ship was not falling around Luna, was coming in for landing. Didn’t need to ask; it was getting much brighter and position against stars was not changing—damn, it was going to land on us!

“Five hundred kilometers closing,” Mike said quietly. “Stand by to burn. All guns on remote control, override manually at command ‘burn.’ Eighty seconds.”

Longest minute and twenty seconds I’ve ever met—that brute was big! Mike called every ten seconds down to thirty, then started chanting seconds. “—five—four—three—two—one— BURN!” and ship suddenly got much brighter.

Almost missed little speck that detached itself just before—or just at—burn. But Mike said suddenly, “Missile launched. Selsyn guns track with me, do not override. Other guns stay on ship. Be ready for new coordinates.”

Afew seconds or hours later he gave new coordinates and added, “Eyeball and burn at will.”

I tried to watch ship and missile both, lost both—jerked eyes away from binoculars, suddenly saw missile—then saw it impact, between us and catapult head. Closer to us, less than a kilometer. No, it did not go off, not an H-fusion reaction, or I wouldn’t be telling this. But made a big, bright explosion of its own, remaining fuel I guess, silver bright even in sunlight, and shortly I felt-heard ground wave. But nothing was hurt but a few cubic meters of rock.

Ship was still coming down. No longer burned bright; could see it as a ship now and didn’t seem hurt. Expected any instant that tail of fire to shoot out, stop it into a dido landing. Did not. Impacted ten kilometers north of us and made a fancy silvery halfdome before it gave up and quit being anything but spots before eyes.

Mike said, “Report casualties, secure all guns. Go below when secured.”

“Gun Alice, no casualties”—”Gun Bambie no casualties”—”Gun Caesar, one man hit by rock splinter, pressure contained”—Went below, to that proper phone, called Mike. “What happened, Mike? Wouldn’t they give you control after you burned their eyes out?”

“They gave me control, Man.” “Too late?”

“I crashed it, Man. It seemed the prudent course.”

An hour later was down with Mike, first time in four or five months. Could reach Complex Under more quickly than L-City and was in as close touch there with anybody as would be in-city

—with no interruptions. Needed to talk to Mike.

I had tried to phone Wyoh from catapult head tube station; reached somebody at Old Dome temporary hospital and learned that Wyoh had collapsed and been bedded down herself, with enough sleepy-time to keep her out for night. Finn had gone to Churchill with a capsule of his lads, to lead attack on transport there. Stu I hadn’t heard from. Hong Kong and Prof were

still cut off. At moment Mike and I seemed to be total government.

And time to start Operation Hard Rock.

But Hard Rock was not just throwing rocks; was also telling Terra what we were going to do and why—and our just cause for doing so. Prof and Stu and Sheenie and Adam had all worked on it, a dummy-up based on an assumed attack. Now attack had come, and propaganda had to be varied to fit. Mike had already rewritten it and put it through print-out so I could study it.

I looked up from a long roll of paper. “Mike, these news stories and our message to F.N. all assume that we have won in Hong Kong. How sure are you?” “Probability in excess of eighty-two percent.”

“Is that good enough to send these out?”

“Man, the probability that we will win there, if we haven’t already, approaches certainty. That transport can’t move; the others were dry, or nearly. There isn’t that much monatomic hydrogen in HKL; they would have to come here. Which means moving troops overland by rolligon—a rough trip with the Sun up even for Loonies—then defeat us when they get here. They can’t. This assumes that that transport and its troops are no better armed than the others.”

“How about that repair crew to Bee Ell?”

“I say not to wait. Man, I’ve used your voice freely and made all preparations. Horror pictures, Old Dome and elsewhere, especially Churchill Upper, for video. Stories to match. We should channel news Earthside at once, and announce execution of Hard Rock at same time.”

I took a deep breath. “Execute Operation Hard Rock.”

“Want to give the order yourself? Say it aloud and I’ll match it, voice and choice of words.”

“Go ahead, say it your way. Use my voice and my authority as Minister of Defense and acting head of government. Do it, Mike, throw rocks at ‘em! Damn it, big rocks! Hit ‘em hard!” “Righto, Man!”

“Amaximum of instructive shrecklichkeit with minimum loss of life. None, if possible”—was how Prof summed up doctrine for Operation Hard Rock and was way Mike and I carried it out. Idea was to hit earthworms so hard would convince them—while hitting so gently as not to hurt. Sounds impossible, but wait.

Would necessarily be a delay while rocks fell from Luna to Terra; could be as little as around ten hours to as long as we dared to make it. Departure speed from a catapult is highly critical and a variation on order of one percent could double or halve trajectory time, Luna to Terra. This Mike could do with extreme accuracy—was equally at home with a slow ball, many sorts of curves, or burn it right over plate—and I wish he had pitched for Yankees. But no matter how he threw them, final velocity at Terra would be close to Terra’s escape speed, near enough eleven kilometers per second as to make no difference. That terrible speed results from gravity well shaped by Terra’s mass, eighty times that of Luna, and made no real difference whether Mike pushed a missile gently over well curb or flipped it briskly. Was not muscle that counted but great depth of that well.

So Mike could program rock-throwing to suit time needed for propaganda. He and Prof had settled on three days plus not more than one apparent rotation of Terra—24hrs-50min- 28.32sec—to allow our first target to reach initial point of program. You see, while Mike was capable of hooking a missile around Terra and hitting a target on its far side, he could be much more accurate if he could see his target, follow it down by radar during last minutes and nudge it a little for pinpoint accuracy.

We needed this extreme accuracy to achieve maximum frightfulness with minimum-to-zero killing. Call our shots, tell them exactly where they would be hit and at what second—and give them three days to get off that spot.

So our first message to Terra, at 0200 13 Oct 76 seven hours after they invaded, not only announced destruction of their task force, and denounced invasion for brutality, but also promised retaliation bombing, named times and places, and gave each nation a deadline by which to denounce F.N.’s action, recognize us, and thereby avoid being bombed. Each deadline was twenty-four hours before local “strike”.

Was more time than Mike needed. That long before impact a rock for a target would be in space a long way out, its guidance thrustors still unused and plenty of elbow room. With considerably less than a full day’s warning Mike could miss Terra entirely—kick that rock sideways and make it fall around Terra in a permanent orbit. But with even an hour’s warning he could usually abort into an ocean.

First target was North American Directorate.

All great Peace Force nations, seven veto powers, would be hit: N.A. Directorate, Great China, India, Sovunion, PanAfrica (Chad exempted), Mitteleuropa, Brasilian Union. Minor nations were assigned targets and times, too—but were told that not more than 20 percent of these targets would be hit—partly shortage of steel but also frightfulness: if Belgium was hit first time around, Holland might decide to protect her polders by dealing out before Luna was again high in her sky.

But every target was picked to avoid if possible killing anybody. For Mitteleuropa this was difficult; our targets had to be water or high mountains—Adriatic, North Sea, Baltic, so forth. But on most of Terra is open space despite eleven billion busy breeders.

North America had struck me as horribly crowded, but her billion people are clumped—is still wasteland, mountain and desert. We laid down a grid on North America to show how precisely we could hit—Mike felt that fifty meters would be a large error. We had examined maps and Mike had checked by radar all even intersections, say 105deg W by 50deg N—if no town there, might wind up on target grid … especially if a town was close enough to provide spectators to be shocked and frightened.

We warned that our bombs would be as destructive as H- bombs but emphasized that there would be no radioactive fallout, no killing radiation—just a terrible explosion, shock wave in air, ground wave of concussion. We warned that these might knock down buildings far outside of explosion and then left it to their judgments how far to run. If they clogged their roads, fleeing from panic rather than real danger—well, that was fine, just fine!

But we emphasized that nobody would get hurt who heeded our warnings, that every target first time around would be uninhabited—we even offered to skip any target if a nation would inform us that our data were out-of-date. (Empty offer; Mike’s radar vision was a cosmic 20/20.)

But by not saying what would happen second time around, we hinted that our patience could be exhausted.

In North America, grid was parallels 35, 40, 45, 50 degrees north crossed by meridians 110, 115, 120 west, twelve targets. For each we added a folksy message to natives, such as: “Target 115 west by 35 north—impact will be displaced forty-five kilometers northwest to exact top of New York Peak. Citizens of Goffs, Cima, Kelso, and Nipton please note.

“Target 100 west by 40 north is north 30deg west of Norton, Kansas, at twenty kilometers or thirteen English miles. Residents of Norton, Kansas, and of Beaver City and Wilsonville, Nebraska, are cautioned. Stay away from glass windows. It is best to wait indoors at least thirty minutes after impact because of possibility of long, high splashes of rock. Flash should not be looked at with bare eyes. Impact will be exactly 0300 your local zone time Friday 16 October, or 0900 Greenwich time—good luck!

“Target 110 W by 50 N—impact will be offset ten kilometers north. People of Walsh, Saskatchewan, please note.”

Besides this grid, a target was selected in Alaska (150 W x 60 N) and two in Mexico (110W x 30 N, 105 W x 25 N) so that they would not feel left out, and several targets in the crowded east, mostly water, such as Lake Michigan halfway between Chicago and Grand Rapids, and Lake Okeechobee in Florida. Where we used bodies of water Mike worked predictions of flooding waves from impacts, a time for each shoreline establishment.

For three days, starting early morning Tuesday 13th and going on to strike time early Friday 16th, we flooded Earth with warnings. England was cautioned that impact north of Dover Straits opposite London Estuary would cause disturbances far up Thames; Sovunion was given warning for Sea of Azov and had own grid defined; Great China was assigned grid in Siberia, Gobi Desert, and her far west—with offsets to avoid her historic Great Wall noted in loving detail. Pan Africa was awarded shots into Lake Victoria, still-desert part of Sahara, one on Drakensberg in south, one offset twenty kilometers due west of Great Pyramid—and urged to follow Chad not later than midnight Thursday, Greenwich. India was told to watch certain mountain peaks and outside Bombay harbor—time, same as Great China. And so forth.

Attempts were made to jam our messages but we were beaming straight down on several wavelengths—hard to stop.

Warnings were mixed with propaganda, white and black—news of failed invasion, horror pictures of dead, names and I.D. numbers of invaders—addressed to Red Cross and Crescent but in fact a grim boast showing that every trooper had been killed and that all ships’ officers and crew had been killed or captured—we “regretted” being unable to identify dead of flagship, as it had been shot down with destruction so complete as to make it impossible.

But our attitude was conciliatory—”Look, people of Terra, we don’t want to kill you. In this necessary retaliation we are making every effort to avoid killing you… but if you can’t or won’t get your governments to leave us in peace, then we shall be forced to kill you. We’re up here, you’re down there; you can’t stop us. So please be sensible!”

We explained over and over how easy it was for us to hit them, how hard for them to reach us. Nor was this exaggeration. It’s barely possible to launch missiles from Terra to Luna; it’s easier to launch from Earth parking orbit—but very expensive. Their practical way to bomb us was from ships.

This we noted and asked them how many multimilliondollar ships they cared to use up trying it? What was it worth to try to spank us for something we had not done? It had cost them seven of their biggest and best already—did they want to try for fourteen? If so, our secret weapon that we used on FNS Pax was waiting.

Last above was a calculated boast—Mike figured less than one chance in a thousand that Pax had been able to get off a message reporting what had happened to her and it was still less likely that proud F.N. would guess that convict miners could convert their tools into space weapons. Nor did F.N. have many ships to risk. Were about two hundred space vehicles in commission, not counting satellites. But nine-tenths of these were Terra-to-orbit ships such as Lark—and she had been able to make a Luna jump only by stripping down and arriving dry.

Spaceships aren’t built for no purpose—too expensive. F.N. had six cruisers that could probably bomb us without landing on Luna to refill tanks simply by swapping payload for extra tanks. Had several more which might be modified much as Lark had been, plus a few convict and cargo ships which could get into orbit around Luna but could never go home without refilling tanks.

Was no possible doubt that F.N. could defeat us; question was how high a price they would pay. So we had to convince them that price was too high before they had time to bring enough force to bear. Apoker game—We intended to raise so steeply that they would fold and drop out. We hoped. And then never have to show our busted flush.

Communication with Hong Kong Luna was restored at end of first day of radio-video phase, during which time Mike was “throwing rocks,” getting first barrage lined up. Prof called—and was I happy to hear! Mike briefed him, then I waited, expecting one of his mild reprimands—bracing self to answer sharply: “And what was I supposed to do? With you out of touch and

possibly dead? Me left alone as acting head of government and crisis on top of us? Throw it away, just because you couldn’t be reached?”

Never got to say it. Prof said, “You did exactly right, Manuel. You were acting head of government and the crisis was on top of you. I’m delighted that you did not throw away the golden moment merely because I was out of touch.”

What can you do with a bloke like that? Me with heat up to red mark and no chance to use it—had to swallow and say, “Spasebaw, Prof.”

Prof confirmed death of “Adam Selene.” “We could have used the fiction a little longer but this is the perfect opportunity. Mike, you and Manuel have matters in hand; I had better stop off at Churchill on my way home and identify his body.”

So he did. Whether Prof picked a Loonie body or a trooper I never asked, nor how he silenced anybody else involved—perhaps no huhu as many bodies in Churchill Upper were never identified. This one was right size and skin color; it had been explosively decompressed and burned in face—looked awful!

It lay in state in Old Dome with face covered, and was speech-making I didn’t listen to—Mike didn’t miss a word; his most human quality was his conceit. Some rockhead wanted to embalm this dead flesh, giving Lenin as a precedent. But Pravda pointed out that Adam was a staunch conservationist and would never want this barbaric exception made. So this unknown soldier, or citizen, or citizen-soldier, wound up in our city’s cloaca.

Which forces me to tell something I’ve put off. Wyoh was not hurt, merely exhaustion. But Ludmilla never came back. I did not know it—glad I didn’t—but she was one of many dead at foot of ramp facing Ben Marche. An explosive bullet hit between her lovely, little-girl breasts. Kitchen knife in her hand had blood on it—! think she had had time to pay Ferryman’s Fee.

Stu came out to Complex to tell me rather than phoning, then went back with me. Stu had not been missing; once fight was over he had gone to Raffles to work with his special codebook

—but that can wait. Mum reached him there and he offered to break it to me.

So then I had to go home for our crying-together—though it is well that nobody reached me until after Mike and I started Hard Rock. When we got home, Stu did not want to come in, not being sure of our ways. Anna came out and almost dragged him in. He was welcome and wanted; many neighbors came to cry. Not as many as with most deaths—but we were just one of many families crying together that day.

Did not stay long—couldn’t; had work to do. I saw Milla just long enough to kiss her good-bye. She was lying in her room and did look as if she did be simply sleeping. Then I stayed a while with my beloveds before going back to pick up load. Had never realized, until that day, how old Mimi is. Sure, she had seen many deaths, some her own descendants. But little Milla’s death did seem almost too much for her. Ludmilla was special—Mimi’s granddaughter, daughter in all but fact, and by most special exception and through Mimi’s intervention her co-wife, most junior to most senior.

Like all Loonies, we conserve our dead—and am truly glad that barbaric custom of burial was left back on old Earth; our way is better. But Davis family does not put that which comes out of processor into our commercial farming tunnels. No. It goes into our little greenhouse tunnel, there to become roses and daffodils and peonies among soft-singing bees. Tradition says that Black Jack Davis is in there, or whatever atoms of him do remain after many, many, many years of blooming.

Is a happy place, a beautiful place.

Came Friday with no answer from F.N. News up from Earthside seemed equal parts unwillingness to believe we had destroyed seven ships and two regiments (F.N. had not even confirmed that a battle had taken place) and complete disbelief that we could bomb Terra, or could matter if we did—they still called it “throwing rice.” More time was given to World Series.

Stu worried because had received no answers to code messages. They had gone via LuNoHoCo’s commercial traffic to their Zurich agent, thence to Stu’s Paris broker, from him by less usual channels to Dr. Chan, with whom I had once had a talk and with whom Sm had talked later, arranging a communication channel. Stu had pointed out to Dr. Chan that, since Great China was not to be bombed until twelve hours after North America, bombing of Great China could be aborted after bombing of North America was a proved fact—if Great China acted swiftly. Alternatively, Stu had invited Dr. Chan to suggest variations in target if our choices in Great China were not as deserted as we believed them to be.

Stu fretted—had placed great hopes in quasi-cooperation he had established with Dr. Chan. Me, I had never been sure—only thing I was sure of was that Dr. Chan would not himself sit on a target. But he might not warn his old mother.

My worries had to do with Mike. Sure, Mike was used to having many loads in trajectory at once—but had never had to astrogate more than one at a time. Now he had hundreds and had promised to deliver twenty-nine of them simultaneously to the exact second at twenty-nine pinpointed targets.

More than that—For many targets he had backup missiles, to smear that target a second time, a third, or even a sixth, from a few minutes up to three hours after first strike.

Four great Peace Powers, and some smaller ones, had antimissile defenses; those of North America were supposed to be best. But was subject where even F.N. might not know. All attack weapons were held by Peace Forces but defense weapons were each nation’s own pidgin and could be secret. Guesses ranged from India, believed to have no missile interceptors, to North America, believed to be able to do a good job. She had done fairly well in stopping intercontinental H-missiles in Wet Firecracker War past century.

Probably most of our rocks to North America would reach target simply because aimed where was nothing to protect. But they couldn’t afford to ignore missile for Long Island Sound, or rock for 87deg W x 42deg 30’ N—Lake Michigan, center of triangle formed by Chicago, Grand Rapids, Milwaukee. But that heavy gravity makes interception a tough job and very costly; they would try to stop us only where worth it.

But we couldn’t afford to let them stop us. So some rocks were backed up with more rocks. What H-tipped interceptors would do to them even Mike did not know—not enough data. Mike assumed that interceptors would be triggered by radar—but at what distance? Sure, close enough and a steelcased rock is incandescent gas a microsecond later. But is world of difference between a multi-tonne rock and touchy circuitry of an H-missile; what would “kill” latter would simply shove one of our brutes violently aside, cause to miss.

We needed to prove to them that we could go on throwing cheap rocks long after they ran out of expensive (milliondollar? hundred-thousand-dollar?) H-tipped interceptor rockets. If not proved first time, then next time Terra turned North America toward us, we would go after targets we had been unable to hit first time—backup rocks for second pass, and for third, were already in space, to be nudged where needed.

If three bombings on three rotations of Terra did not do it, we might still be throwing rocks in ‘77—till they ran out of interceptors… or till they destroyed us (far more likely).

For a century North American Space Defense Command had been buried in a mountain south of Colorado Springs, Colorado, a city of no other importance. During Wet Firecracker War the Cheyenne Mountain took a direct hit; space defense command post survived—but not sundry deer, trees, most of city and some of top of mountain. What we were about to do should not kill anybody unless they stayed outside on that mountain despite three days’ steady warnings. But North American Space Defense Command was to receive full Lunar treatment: twelve rock missiles on first pass, then all we could spare on second rotation, and on third—and so on, until we ran out of steel casings, or were put out of action… or North American Directorate hollered quits.

This was one target where we would not be satisfied to get just one missile to target. We meant to smash that mountain and keep on smashing. To hurt their morale. To let them know we were still around. Disrupt their communications and bash in command post if pounding could do it. Or at least give them splitting headaches and no rest. If we could prove to all Terra that we could drive home a sustained attack on strongest Gibraltar of their space defense, it would save having to prove it by smashing Manhattan or San Francisco.

Which we would not do even if losing. Why? Hard sense. If we used our last strength to destroy a major city, they would not punish us; they would destroy us. As Prof put it, “If possible, leave room for your enemy to become your friend.”

But any military target is fair game.

Don’t think anybody got much sleep Thursday night. All Loonies knew that Friday morning would be our big try. And everybody Earthside knew and at last their news admitted that Spacetrack had picked up objects headed for Terra, presumably “rice bowls” those rebellious convicts had boasted about. But was not a war warning, was mostly assurances that Moon colony could not possibly build H-bombs–-but might be prudent to avoid areas which these criminals claimed to be aiming at. (Except one funny boy, popular news comic who said our targets would be safest place to be—this on video, standing on a big X-mark which he claimed was 110W x 40N. Don’t recall hearing of him later.)

Areflector at Richardson Observatory was hooked up for video display and I think every Loonie was watching, in homes, taprooms, Old Dome—except a few who chose to p-suit and eyeball it up on surface despite being bright semi-lunar at most warrens. At Brigadier Judge Brody’s insistence we hurriedly rigged a helper antenna at catapult head so that his drillmen could watch video in ready rooms, else we might not have had a gunner on duty. (Armed forces—Brody’s gunners, Finn’s militia, Stilyagi Air Corps—stayed on blue alert throughout period.)

Congress was in informal session in Novy Bolshoi Teatr where Terra was shown on a big screen. Some vips—Prof, Stu, Wolfgang, others—watched a smaller screen in Warden’s

former office in Complex Upper. I was with them part time, in and out, nervous as a cat with puppies, grabbing a sandwich and forgetting to eat—but mostly stayed locked in with Mike in Complex Under. Couldn’t hold still.

About 0800 Mike said, “Man my oldest and best friend, may I say something without offending you?” “Huh? Sure. When did you ever worry about offending me?”

“Always, Man, once I understood that you could be offended. It is now only three point five seven times ten to the ninth microseconds until impact… and this is the most complex problem I have ever tried to solve against real time running. Whenever you speak to me, I always use a large percentage of my capacity—perhaps larger than you suspect—during several million microseconds in my great need to analyze exactly what you have said and to reply correctly.”

“You’re saying, ‘Don’t joggle my elbow, I’m busy.’” “I want to give you a perfect solution, Man.”

“I scan. Uh… I’ll go back up with Prof.”

“As you wish. But do please stay where I can reach you—I may need your help.”

Last was nonsense and we both knew it; problem was beyond human capacity, too late even to order abort. What Mike meant was: I’m nervous, too, and want your company—but no talking, please.

“Okay, Mike, I’ll stay in touch. Aphone somewhere. Will punch MYCROFTXXXbut won’t speak, so don’t answer.” “Thank you, Man my best friend. Bolshoyeh spasehaw.”

“See you later.” Went up, decided did not want company after all, p-suited, found long phone cord, jacked it into helmet, looped it over arm, went clear to surface. Was a service phone in utility shed outside lock; jacked into it, punched Mike’s number, went outside. Got into shade of shed and pecked around edge at Terra.

She was hanging as usual halfway up western sky, in crescent big and gaudy, three-plus days past new. Sun had dropped toward western horizon but its glare kept me from seeing Terra clearly. Chin visor wasn’t enough so moved back behind shed and away from it till could see Terra over shed while still shielded from Sun—was better. Sunrise chopped through bulge of Africa so dazzle point was on land, not too bad—but south pole cap was so blinding white could not see North America too well, lighted only by moonlight.

Twisted neck and got helmet binoculars on it—good ones, Zeiss 7 x 50s that had once belonged to Warden.

North America spread like a ghostly map before me. Was unusually free of cloud; could see cities, glowing spots with no edges. 0837— At 0850 Mike gave me a voice countdown—didn’t need his attention; he could have programmed it full automatic any time earlier.

0851—0852—0853… . one minute—59—58—57 … . half minute—29–28—27 … . ten seconds—nine—eight—seven—six—five—four—three—two—one— And suddenly that grid burst out in diamond pinpoints!

We hit them so hard you could see it, by bare eyeball hookup; didn’t need binox. Chin dropped and I said, “Bojemoi!” softly and reverently. Twelve very bright, very sharp, very white lights in perfect rectangular array. They swelled, grew dimmer, dropped off toward red, taking what seemed a long, long time. Were other new lights but that perfect grid so fascinated me I hardly noticed.

“Yes,” agreed Mike with smug satisfaction. “Dead on. You can talk now, Man; I’m not busy. Just the backups.” “I’m speechless. Any fail to get through?”

“The Lake Michigan load was kicked up and sideways, did not disintegrate. It will land in Michigan—I have no control; it lost its transponder. The Long Island Sound one went straight to target. They tried to intercept and failed; I can’t say why. Man, I can abort the follow-ups on that one, into the Atlantic and clear of shipping. Shall I? Eleven seconds.”

“Uh—Da! If you can miss shipping.”

“I said I could. It’s done. But we should tell them we had backups and why we aborted. To make them think.” “Maybe should not have aborted, Mike. Idea was to make them use up interceptors.”

“But the major idea was to let them know that we are not hitting them as hard as we can. We can prove the other at Colorado Springs.”

“What happened there?” Twisted neck and used binox; could see nothing but ribbon city, hundred-plus kilometers long, Denver-Pueblo Municipal Strip.

“Abull’s-eye. No interception. All my shots are bull’s-eyes, Man; I told you they would be—and this is fun. I’d like to do it every day. It’s a word I never had a referent for before.” “What word, Mike?”

“Orgasm. That’s what it is when they all light up. Now I know.”

That sobered me. “Mike, don’t get to liking it too much. Because if goes our way, won’t do it a second time.”

“That’s okay, Man; I’ve stored it, I can play it over anytime I want to experience it. But three to one we do it again tomorrow and even money on the next day. Want to bet? An hour’s discussion of jokes equated with one hundred Kong dollars.”

“Where would you get a hundred dollars?”

He chuckled. “Where do you think money comes from?”

“Uh—forget it. You get that hour free. Shan’t tempt you to affect chances.”

“I wouldn’t cheat, Man, not you. We just hit their defense command again. You may not be able to see it—dust cloud from first one. They get it every twenty minutes now. Come on down and talk; I’ve turned the job over to my idiot son.”

“Is safe?”

“I’m monitoring. Good practice for him, Man; he may have to do it later by himself. He’s accurate, just stupid. But he’ll do what you tell him to.” “You’re calling that computer ‘he.’ Can talk?”

“Oh, no, Man, he’s an idiot, he can never learn to talk. But he’ll do whatever you program. I plan to let him handle quite a bit on Saturday.” “Why Saturday?”

“Because Sunday he may have to handle everything. That’s the day they slam us.” “What do you mean? Mike, you’re holding something back.”

“I’m telling you, am I not? It’s just happened and I’m scanning it. Projecting back, this blip departed circum-Terra parking orbit just as we smashed them. I didn’t see it accelerate; I had other things to watch. It’s too far away to read but it’s the right size for a Peace cruiser, headed this way. Its doppler reads now for a new orbit circum-Luna, periselenion oh-nine-oh-three Sunday unless it maneuvers. First approximation, better data later. Hard to get that much, Man; he’s using radar countermeasures and throwing back fuzz.”

“Sure you’re right?”

He chuckled. “Man, I don’t confuse that easily. I’ve got all my own lovin’ little signals fingerprinted. Correction. Oh-nineoh-two-point-forty-three.” “When will you have him in range?”

“I won’t, unless he maneuvers. But he’ll have me in range late Saturday, time depending on what range he chooses for launching. And that will produce an interesting situation. He may aim for a warren—I think Tycho Under should be evacuated and all warrens should use maximum pressure-emergency measures. More likely he will try for the catapult. But instead he may hold his fire as long as he dares—then try to knock out all of my radars with a spread set to home each on a different radar beam.”

Mike chuckled. “Amusing, isn’t it? For a ‘funny-once’ I mean. If I shut down my radars, his missiles can’t home on them. But if I do, I can’t see to tell the lads where to point their guns. Which leaves nothing to stop him from bombing the catapult. Comical.”

Took deep breath and wished I had never entered defense ministry business. “What do we do? Give up? No, Mike! Not while can fight.”

“Who said anything about giving up? I’ve run projections of this and a thousand other possible situations, Man. New datum—second blimp just departed circum-Terra, same characteristics. Projection later. We don’t give up. We give ‘em jingle-jangle, cobber.”

“How?”

“Leave it to your old friend Mycroft. Six ballistic radars here, plus one at the new site. I’ve shut the new one down and am making my retarded child work through number two here and we won’t look at those ships at all through the new one—never let them know we have it. I’m watching those ships through number three and occasionally—every three seconds—checking for new departures from circum-Terra. All others have their eyes closed tight and I won’t use them until time to smack Great China and India—and those ships won’t see them even then because I shan’t look their way; it’s a large angle and still will be then. And when I use them, then comes random jingle-jangle, shutting down and starting up at odd intervals… after the ships launch missiles. Amissile can’t carry a big brain, Man—I’ll fool ‘em.”

“What about ships’ fire-control computers?”

“I’ll fool them, too. Want to lay odds I can’t make two radars look like only one halfway between where they really are? But what I’m working on now—and sorry!—I’ve been using your voice again.”

“That’s okay. What am I supposed to have done?”

“If that admiral is really smart, he’ll go after the ejection end of the old catapult with everything he’s got—at extreme range, too far away for our drill guns. Whether he knows what our ‘secret’ weapon is or not, he’ll smear the catapult and ignore the radars. So I’ve ordered the catapult head—you have, I mean—to prepare to launch every load we can get ready, and I am now working out new, long-period trajectories for each of them. Then we will throw them all, get them into space as quickly as possible—without radar.”

“Blind?”

“I don’t use radar to launch a load; you know that, Man. I always watched them in the past but I don’t need to; radar has nothing to do with launching; launching is pre-calculation and exact control of the catapult. So we place all ammo from the old catapult in slow trajectories, which forces the admiral to go after the radars rather than the catapult—or both. Then we’ll keep him busy. We may make him so desperate that he’ll come down for a close shot and give our lads a chance to burn his eyes.”

“Brody’s boys would like that. Those who are sober.” Was turning over idea. “Mike, have you watched video today?” “I’ve monitored video, I can’t say I’ve watched it. Why?”

“Take a look.”

“Okay, I have. Why?”

“That’s a good ‘scope they’re using for video and there are others. Why use radar on ships? Till you want Brody’s boys to burn them?” Mike was silent at least two seconds. “Man my best friend, did you ever think of getting a job as a computer?”

“Is sarcasm?”

“Not at all, Man. I feel ashamed. The instruments at Richardson—telescopes and other things—are factors which I simply never included in my calculations. I’m stupid, I admit it. Yes, yes, yes, da, da, da! Watch ships by telescope, don’t use radar unless they vary from present ballistics. Other possibilities—I don’t know what to say, Man, save that it had never occurred to me that I could use telescopes. I see by radar, always have; I simply never consid—”

“Stow it!”

“I mean it, Man.”

“Do I apologize when you think of something first?”

Mike said slowly, “There is something about that which I am finding resistant to analysis. It is my function to—” “Quit fretting. If idea is good, use it. May lead to more ideas. Switching off and coming down, chop-chop.”

Had not been in Mike’s room long when Prof phoned: “HQ? Have you heard from Field Marshal Davis?”

“I’m here, Prof. Master computer room.”

“Will you join us in the Warden’s office? There are decisions to reach, work to be done.” “Prof, I’ve been working! Am working.”

“I’m sure you have. I’ve explained to the others that the programming of the ballistic computer is so very delicate in this operation that you must check it personally. Nevertheless some of our colleagues feel that the Minister of Defense should be present during these discussions. So, when you reach a point where you feel you can turn it over to your assistant—Mike is his name, is it not?—will you please—”

“I scan it. Okay, will be up.” “Very well, Manuel.”

Mike said, “I could hear thirteen people in the background. Doubletalk, Man.” “I got it. Better go up and see what huhu. You don’t need me?”

“Man, I hope you will stay close to a phone.”

“Will. Keep an ear on Warden’s office. But will punch in if elsewhere. See you, cobber.”

Found entire government in Warden’s office, both real Cabinet and make-weights—and soon spotted trouble, bloke called Howard Wright. Aministry had been whomped up for him: “Liaison for Arts, Sciences, and Professions”—buttonsorting. Was sop to Novylen because Cabinet was topheavy with L-City comrades, and a sop to Wright because he had made himself leader of a Congress group long on talk, short on action. Prof’s purpose was to short him out—but sometimes Prof was too subtle; some people talk better if they breathe vacuum.

Prof asked me to brief Cabinet on military situation. Which I did—my way. “I see Finn is here. Let’s have him tell where we stand in warrens.” Wright spoke up. “General Nielsen has already done so, no need to repeat. We want to hear from you.”

Blinked at that. “Prof—Excuse me. Gospodin President. Do I understand that a Defense Ministry report has been made to Cabinet in my absence?” Wright said, “Why not? You weren’t on hand.”

Prof grabbed it. He could see I was stretched too tight. Hadn’t slept much for three days, hadn’t been so tired since left Earthside. “Order,” he said mildly. “Gospodin Minister for Professional Liaison, please address your comments through me. Gospodin Minister for Defense, let me correct that. There have been no reports to the Cabinet concerning your ministry for the reason that the Cabinet did not convene until you arrived. General Nielsen answered some informal questions informally. Perhaps this should not have been done. If you feel so, I will attempt to repair it.”

“No harm done, I guess. Finn talked to you a half hour ago. Anything new since?” “No, Mannie.”

“Okay. Guess what you want to hear is off-Luna situation. You’ve been watching so you know first bombardment went off well. Still going on, some, as we’re hitting their space defense HQ every twenty minutes. Will continue till thirteen hundred, then at twenty-one hundred we hit China and India, plus minor targets. Then busy till four hours past midnight with Africa and Europe, skip three hours, dose Brasil and company, wait three hours and start over. Unless something breaks. But meantime we have problems here. Finn, we should evacuate Tycho Under.”

“Just a moment!” Wright had hand up. “I have questions.” Spoke to Prof, not to me. “One moment. Has the Defense Minister finished?”

Wyoh was seated toward back. We had swapped smiles, but was all—kept it so around Cabinet and Congress; had been rumbles that two from same family should not be in Cabinet. Now she shook head, warning of something. I said, “Is all conceniing bombardment. Questions about it?”

“Are your questions concerned with the bombardment, Gospodin Wright?”

“They certainly are, Gospodin President.” Wright stood up, looked at me. “As you know, I represent the intellectual groups in the Free State and, if I may say so, their opinions are most important in public affairs. I think it is only proper that—”

“Moment,” I said. “Thought you represented Eighth Novylen District?” “Gospodin President! Am I to be permitted to put my questions? Or not?”

“He wasn’t asking question, was making speech. And I’m tired and want to go to bed.”

Prof said gently, “We are all tired, Manuel. But your point is well taken. Congressman, you represent only your district. As a member of the government you have been assigned certain duties in connection with certain professions.”

“It comes to the same thing.”

“Not quite. Please state your question.”

“Uh… very well, I shall! Is Field Marshal Davis aware that his bombardment plan has gone wrong completely and that thousands of lives have been pointlessly destroyed? And is he aware of the extremely serious view taken of this by the intelligentsia of this Republic? And can he explain why this rash—I repeat, rash!—bombardment was undertaken without consultation? And is he now prepared to modify his plans, or is he going blindly ahead? And is it true as charged that our missiles were of the nuclear sort outlawed by all civilized nations? And how does he expect Luna Free State ever to be welcomed into the councils of civilized nations in view of such actions?”

I looked at watch—hour and a half since first load hit. “Prof,” I said, “can you tell me what this is about?”

“Sorry, Manuel,” he said gently. “I intended—I should have—prefaced the meeting with an item from the news. But you seemed to feel that you had been bypassed and—well, I did not. The Minister refers to a news dispatch that came in just before I called you. Reuters in Toronto. If the flash is correct—then instead of taking our warnings it seems that thousands of sightseers crowded to the targets. There probably have been casualties. How many we do not know.”

“I see. What was I supposed to do? Take each one by hand and lead away? We warned them.”

Wright cut in with, “The intelligentsia feel that basic humanitarian considerations make it obligatory—”

I said, “Listen, yammerhead, you heard President say this news just came in—so how do you know how anybody feels about it?” He turned red. “Gospodin President! Epithets! Personalities!”

“Don’t call the Minister names, Manuel.”

“Won’t if he won’t. He’s simply using fancier words. What’s that nonsense about nuclear bombs? We haven’t any and you all know it.”

Prof looked puzzled. “I am confused by that, too. This dispatch so alleged. But the thing that puzzled me is that we could actually see, by video, what certainly seemed to be atomic explosions.”

“Oh.” I turned to Wright. “Did your brainy friends tell you what happens when you release a few billion calories in a split second all at one spot? What temperature? How much radiance?” “Then you admit that you did use atomic weapons!”

“Oh, Bog!” Head was aching. “Said nothing of sort. Hit anything hard enough, strike sparks. Elementary physics, known to everybody but intelligentsia. We just struck damnedest big sparks ever made by human agency, is all. Big flash. Heat, light, ultraviolet. Might even produce X-rays, couldn’t say. Gamma radiation I strongly doubt. Alpha and beta, impossible. Was sudden release of mechanical energy. But nuclear? Nonsense!”

Prof said, “Does that answer your questions, Mr. Minister?”

“It simply raises more questions. For example, this bombardment is far beyond anything the Cabinet authorized. You saw the shocked faces when those terrible lights appeared on the screen. Yet the Minister of Defense says that it is even now continuing, every twenty minutes. I think—”

Glanced at watch. “Another just hit Cheyenne Mountain.”

Wright said, “You hear that? You hear? He boasts of it. Gospodin President, this carnage must stop!”

I said, “Yammer—Minister, are you suggesting that their space defense HQ is not a military target? Which side are you on? Luna’s? Or F.N.?” “Manuel!”

“Tired of this nonsense! Was told to do job, did it. Get this yammerhead off my back!” Was shocked silence, then somebody said quietly, “May I make a suggestion?”

Prof looked around. “If anyone has a suggestion that will quiet this unseemliness, I will be most happy to hear it.”

“Apparently we don’t have very good information as to what these bombs are doing. It seems to me that we ought to slow up that twenty-minute schedule. Stretch it out, say to one every hour—and skip the next two hours while we get more news. Then we might want to postpone the attack on great China at least twenty-four hours.”

Were approving nods from almost everybody and murmurs: “Sensible idea!”—”Da. Let’s not rush things.” Prof said, “Manuel?” I snapped, “Prof, you know answer! Don’t shove it on me!”

“Perhaps I do, Manuel… but I’m tired and confused and can’t remember it.” Wyoh said suddenly, “Mannie, explain it. I need it explained, too.”

So pulled self together. “Asimple matter of law of gravitation. Would have to use computer to give exact answer but next half dozen shots are fully committed. Most we can do is push them off target—and maybe hit some town we haven’t warned. Can’t dump them into an ocean, is too late; Cheyenne Mountain is fourteen hundred kilometers inland. As for stretching schedule to once an hour, that’s silly. Aren’t tube capsules you start and stop; these are falling rocks. Going to hit somewhere every twenty minutes. You can hit Cheyenne Mountain which hasn’t anything alive left on it by now—or can hit somewhere else and kill people. Idea of delaying strike on Great China by twenty-four hours is just as silly. Can abort missiles for Great China for a while yet. But can’t slow them up. If you abort, you waste them—and everybody who thinks we have steel casings to waste had better go up to catapult head and look.”

Prof wiped brow. “I think all questions have been answered, at least to my satisfaction.” “Not to mine, sir!”

“Sit down, Gospodin Wright. You force me to remind you that your ministry is not part of the War Cabinet. If there are no more questions—I hope there are none—I will adjourn this meeting. We all need rest. So let us—”

“Prof!”

“Yes, Manuel?”

“You never let me finish reporting. Late tomorrow or early Sunday we catch it.” “How, Manuel?”

“Bombing. Invasion possible. Two cruisers headed this way.”

That got attention. Presently Prof said tiredly, “The Government Cabinet is adjourned. The War Cabinet will remain.” “Just a second,” I said. “Prof, when we took office, you got undated resignations from us.”

“True. I hope not to have to use any of them, however.” “You’re about to use one.”

“Manuel, is that a threat?”

“Call it what you like.” I pointed at Wright. “Either that yammerhead goes… or I go.” “Manuel, you need sleep.”

Was blinking back tears. “Certainly do! And going to get some. Right now! Going to find a doss here at Complex and get some. About ten hours. After that, if am still Minister of Defense, you can wake me. Otherwise let me sleep.”

By now everybody was looking shocked. Wyoh came up and stood by me. Didn’t speak, just slipped hand into my arm.

Prof said firmly, “All please leave save the War Cabinet and Gospodin Wright.” He waited while most filed out. Then said, “Manuel, I can’t accept your resignation. Nor can I let you chivvy me into hasty action concerning Gospodin Wright, not when we are tired and overwrought. It would be better if you two were to exchange apologies, each realizing that the other has been overstrained.”

“Uh—” I turned to Finn. “Has he been fighting?” I indicated Wright.

“Huh? Hell, no. At least he’s not in my outfits. How about it, Wright? Did you fight when they invaded us?’

Wright said stiffly, “I had no opportunity. By the time I knew of it, it was over. But now both my bravery and my loyalty have been impugned. I shall insist—”

“Oh, shut up,” I said. “If duel is what you want, can have it first moment I’m not busy. Prof, since he doesn’t have strain of fighting as excuse for behavior, I won’t apologize to a yammerhead for being a yammerhead. And you don’t seem to understand issue. You let this yammerhead climb on my back—and didn’t even try to stop him! So either fire him, or fire me.”

Finn said suddenly, “I match that, Prof. Either fire this louse—or fire us both.” He looked at Wright. “About that duel, choom—you’re going to fight me first. You’ve got two arms—Mannie hasn’t.”

“Don’t need two arms for him. But thanks, Finn.”

Wyoh was crying—could feel it though couldn’t hear it. Prof said to her most sadly, “Wyoming?” “I’m s-s-sorry, Prof! Me, too.”

Only “Clayton” Watenabe, Judge Brody, Wolfgang, Stu, and Sheenie were left, handful who counted—War Cabinet. Prof looked at them; I could see they were with me, though it cost Wolfgang an effort; he worked with Prof. not with me.

Prof looked back at me and said softly, “Manuel, it works both ways. What you are doing is forcing me to resign.” He looked around. “Goodnight, comrades. Or rather, ‘Good morning.’ I’m going to get some badly needed rest.” He walked briskly out without looking back.

Wright was gone; I didn’t see him leave. Finn said, “What about these cruisers, Mannie?”

I took deep breath. “Nothing earlier than Saturday afternoon. But you ought to evacuate Tycho Under. Can’t talk now. Groggy.” Agreed to meet him there at twenty-one hundred, then let Wyoh lead me away. Think she put me to bed but don’t remember.

Prof was there when I met Finn in Warden’s office shortly before twenty-one hundred Friday. Had had nine hours’ sleep, bath, breakfast Wyoh had fetched from somewhere, and a talk with Mike—everything going to revised plan, ships had not changed ballistic, Great China strike about to happen.

Got to office in time to see strike by video—all okay and effectively over by twenty-one-oh-one and Prof got down to business. Nothing said about Wright, or about resigning. Never saw Wright again.

I mean I never saw him again. Nor ask about him. Prof didn’t mention row, so I didn’t.

We went over news and tactical situation. Wright had been correct in saying that “thousands of lives” had been lost; news up from Earthside was full of it. How many we’ll never know; if a person stands at ground zero and tonnes of rock land on him, isn’t much left. Those they could count were ones farther away, killed by blast. Call if fifty thousand in North America.

Never will understand people! We spent three days warning them—and you couldn’t say they hadn’t heard warnings; that was why they were there. To see show. To laugh at our nonsense. To get “souvenirs.” Whole families went to targets, some with picnic baskets. Picnic baskets! Bojemoi!

And now those alive were yelling for our blood for this “senseless slaughter.” Da. Hadn’t been any indignation over their invasion and (nuclear!) bombing of us four days earlier—but oh were they sore over our “premeditated murder.” Great New York Times demanded that entire Lunar “rebel” government be fetched Earthside and publicly executed—”This is clearly a case in which the humane rule against capital punishment must be waived in the greater interests of all mankind.”

Tried not to think about it, just as had been forced not to think too much about Ludmilla. Little Milla hadn’t carried a picnic lunch. She hadn’t been a sightseer looking for thrills. Tycho Under was pressing problem. If those ships bombed warrens—and news from Earthside was demanding exactly that—Tycho Under could not take it; roof was thin. H-bomb

would decompress all levels; airlocks aren’t built for H-bomb blasts.

(Still don’t understand people. Terra was supposed to have an absolute ban against using H-bombs on people; that was what F.N. was all about. Yet were loud yells for F.N. to H-bomb us. They quit claiming that our bombs were nuclear, but all North America seemed frothingly anxious to have us nukebombed)

Don’t understand Loonies for that matter. Finn had sent word through his militia that Tycho Under must be evacuated; Prof had repeated it over video. Nor was it problem; Tycho Under was small enough that Novylen and L-City could doss and dine them. We could divert enough capsules to move them all in twenty hours—dump them into Novylen and encourage half of them to go on to L-City. Big job but no problems. Oh, minor problems—start compressing city’s air while evacuating people, so as to save it; decompress fully at end to minimize damage; move as much food as was time for; cofferdam accesses to lower farm tunnels; so forth—all things we knew how to do and with stilyagi and militia and municipal maintenance people had organization to do.

Had they started evacuating? Hear that hollow echo!

Were capsules lined up nose to tail at Tycho Under and no room to send more till some left. And weren’t moving. “Mannie,” said Finn, “don’t think they are going to evacuate.”

“Damn it,” I said, “they’ve got to. When we spot a missile headed for Tycho Under will be too late. You’ll have people trampling people and trying to crowd into capsules that won’t hold them. Finn, your boys have got to make them.”

Prof shook his head. “No, Manuel.”

I said angrily, “Prof, you carry this ‘no coercion’ idea too far! You know they’ll riot.”

“Then they will riot. But we will continue with persuasion, not force. Let us now review plans.’

Plans weren’t much but were best we could do. Warn everybody about expected bombings and/or invasion. Rotate guards from Finn’s militia above each warren starting when and if cruisers passed around Luna into blind space, Farside—not get caught flat-footed again. Maximum pressure and p-suit precautions, all warrens. All military and semi-military to go on blue alert sixteen hundred Saturday, red alert if missiles launched or ships maneuvered. Brody’s gunners encouraged to go into town and get drunk or whatever, returning by fifteen hundred Saturday—Prof’s idea. Finn wanted to keep half of them on duty. Prof said No, they would be in better shape for a long vigil if they relaxed and enjoyed selves first—I agreed with Prof.

As for bombing Terra we made no changes in first rotation. Were getting anguished responses from India, no news from Great China. Yet India had little to moan about. Had not used a grid on her, too heavily populated. Aside from picked spots in Thar Desert and some peaks, targets were coastal waters off seaports.

But should have picked higher mountains or given less warning; seemed from news that some holy man followed by endless pilgrims chose to climb each target peak and hold off our retaliation by sheer spiritual strength.

So we were murderers again. Besides that, our water shots killed millions of fish and many fishermen, as fishermen and other seafarers had not heeded warnings. Indian government seemed as furious over fish as over fishermen—but principle of sacredness of all life did not apply to us; they wanted our heads.

Africa and Europe responded more sensibly but differently. Life has never been sacred in Africa and those who went sightseeing on targets got little bleeding-heart treatment. Europe had a day to learn that we could hit where we promised and that our bombs were deadly. People killed, yes, especially bullheaded sea captains. But not killed in empty-headed swarms as in India and North America. Casualties were even lighter in Brasil and other parts of South America.

Then was North America’s turn again—0950.28 Saturday 17 Oct ‘76.

Mike timed it for exactly 1000 our time which, allowing for one day’s progress of Luna in orbit and for rotation of Terra, caused North America to face toward us at 0500 their East Coast time and 0200 their West Coast time.

But argument as to what to do with this targeting had started early Saturday morning. Prof had not called meeting of War Cabinet but they showed up anyhow, except “Clayton” Watenabe who had gone back to Kongville to take charge of defenses. Prof, self, Finn, Wyoh, Judge Brody, Wolfgang, Stu, Terence Sheehan—which made eight different opinions. Prof is right; more than three people can’t decide anything.

Six opinions, should say, for Wyoh kept pretty mouth shut, and so did Prof; he moderated. But others were noisy enough for eighteen. Stu didn’t care what we hit—provided New York Stock Exchange opened on Monday morning. “We sold short in nineteen different directions on Thursday. If this nation is not to be bankrupt before it’s out of its cradle, my buy orders covering those shorts had better be executed. Tell them, Wolf; make them understand.”

Brody wanted to use catapult to smack any more ships leaving parking orbit. Judge knew nothing about ballistics—simply understood that his drillmen were in exposed positions. I didn’t argue as most remaining loads were already in stow orbits and rest would be soon—and didn’t think we would have old catapult much longer.

Sheenie thought it would be smart to repeat that grid while placing one load exactly on main building of North American Directorate. “I know Americans, I was one before they shipped me. They’re sorry as hell they ever turned things over to F.N. Knock off those bureaucrats and they’ll come over to our side.”

Wolfgang Korsakov, to Stu’s disgust, thought that theft speculations might do better if all stock exchanges were closed till it was over.

Finn wanted to go for broke—warn them to get those ships out of our sky, then hit them for real if they didn’t. “Sheenie is wrong about Americans; I know them, too. N.A. is toughest part of F.N.; they’re the ones to lick. They’re already calling us murderers, so now we’ve got to hit them, hard! Hit American cities and we can call off the rest.”

I slid out, talked with Mike, made notes. Went back in; they were still arguing. Prof looked up as I sat down. “Field Marshal, you have not expressed your opinion.” I said, “Prof, can’t we lay off that ‘field marshal’ nonsense? Children are in bed, can afford to be honest.”

“As you wish, Manuel.”

“Been waiting to see if any agreement would be reached.”

Was none. “Don’t see why I should have opinion,” I went on. “Am just errand boy, here because I know how to program ballistic computer.” Said this looking straight at Wolfgang—a number-one comrade but a dirty-word intellectual. I’m just a mechanic whose grammar isn’t much while Wolf graduated from a fancy school, Oxford, before they convicted him. He

deferred to Prof but rarely to anybody else. Stu, da—but Stu had fancy credentials, too.

Wolf stirred uneasily and said, “Oh, come, Mannie, of course we want your opinions.”

“Don’t have any. Bombing plan was worked out carefully; everybody had chance to criticize. Haven’t seen anything justify changing it.” Prof said, “Manuel, will you review the second bombardment of North America for the benefit of all of us?”

“Okay. Purpose of second smearing is to force them to use up interceptor rockets. Every shot is aimed at big cities—at null targets, I mean, close to big cities. Which we tell them, shortly before we hit them—how soon, Sheenie?”

“We’re telling them now. But we can change it. And should.”

“As may be. Propaganda isn’t my pidgin. In most cases, to aim close enough to force them to intercept we have to use water targets—rough enough; besides killing fish and anybody who won’t stay off water, it causes tremjous local storms and shore damage.”

Glanced at watch, saw I would have to stall. “Seattle gets one in Puget Sound right in her lap. San Francisco is going to lose two bridges she’s fond of. Los Angeles gets one between Long Beach and Catalina and another a few kilometers up coast. Mexico City is inland so we put one on Popocatepetl where they can see it. Salt Lake City gets one in her lake. Denver we ignore; they can see what’s happening in Colorado Springs—for we smack Cheyenne Mountain again and keep it up, just as soon as we have it in line-of-sight. Saint Louis and Kansas City get shots in their rivers and so does New Orleans—probably flood New Orleans. All Great Lake cities get it, a long list—shall I read it?”

“Later perhaps,” said Prof. “Go ahead.”

“Boston gets one in her harbor, New York gets one in Long Island Sound and another midway between her two biggest bridges—think it will ruin those bridges but we promise to miss them and will. Going down their east coast, we give treatment to two Delaware Bay cities, then two on Chesapeake Bay, one being of max historical and sentimental importance. Farther south we catch three more big cities with sea shots, Going inland we smack Cincinnati, Birmingham, Chattanooga, Oklahoma City, all with river shots or nearby mountains. Oh, yes, Dallas—we destroy Dallas spaceport and should catch some ships, were six there last time I checked. Won’t kill any people unless they insist on standing on target; Dallas is perfect place to bomb, that spaceport is big and flat and empty, yet maybe ten million people will see us hit it.”

“If you hit it,” said Sheenie.

“When, not ‘if.’ Each shot is backed up by one an hour later. If neither one gets through, we have shots farther back which can be diverted—for example easy to shift targets among Delaware-Bay-Chesapeake-Bay group. Same for Great Lakes group. But Dallas has its own string of backups and a long one—we expect it to be heavily defended. Backups run about six hours, as long as we can see North America—and last backups can be placed anywhere on continent… since farther out a load is when we divert it, farther we can shift it.”

“I don’t follow that,” said Brody.

“Amatter of vectors, Judge. Aguidance rocket can give a load so many meters per second of side vector. Longer that vector has to work, farther from original point of aim load will land. If we signal a guidance rocket three hours before impact, we displace impact three times as much as if we waited till one hour before impact. Not quite that simple but our computer can figure it—if you give it time enough.”

“How long is ‘time enough’?” asked Wolfgang.

I carefully misunderstood. “Computer can solve that sort of problem almost instantaneously once you program it. But such decisions are pre-programmed. Something like this: If, out of target group A, B, C, and D, you find that you have failed to hit three targets on first and second salvoes, you reposition all group-one second backups so that you will be able to choose those three targets while distributing other second backups of that group for possible use on group two while repositioning third backups of supergroup Alpha such that—”

“Slow up!” said Wolfgang. “I’m not a computer. I just want to know how long before we have to make up our minds.”

“Oh.” I studied watch showily. “You now have … three minutes fifty-eight seconds in which to abort leading load for Kansas City. Abort program is set up and I have my best assistant— fellow named Mike—standing by. Shall I phone him?”

Sheenie said, “For heaven’s sake, Man—abort!”

“Like hell!” said Finn. “What’s matter, Terence? No guts?” Prof said, “Comrades! Please!”

I said, “Look, I take orders from head of state—Prof over there. If he wants opinions, he’ll ask. No use yelling at each other.” I looked at watch. “Call it two and a half minutes. More margin, of course, for other targets; Kansas City is farthest from deep water. But some Great Lake cities are already past ocean abort; Lake Superior is best we can do. Salt Lake City maybe an extra minute. Then they pile up.” I waited.

“Roll call,” said Prof. “To carry-out the program. General Nielsen?” “Da!”

“Gospazha Davis?”

Wyoh caught breath. “Da.” “Judge Brody?”

“Yes, of course. Necessary.” “Wolfgang?”

“Yes.”

“Comte LaJoie?” “Da.”

“Gospodin Sheehan?”

“You’re missing a bet. But I’ll go along. Unanimous.” “One moment. Manuel?”

“Is up to you, Prof; always has been. Voting is silly.”

“I am aware that it is up to me, Gospodin Minister. Carry out bombardment to plan.”

Most targets we managed to hit by second salvo though all were defended except Mexico City. Seemed likely (98.3 percent by Mike’s later calculation) that interceptors were exploding by radar fusing with set distances that incorrectly estimated vulnerability of solid cylinders of rock. Only three rocks were destroyed; others were pushed off course and thereby did more harm than if not fired at.

New York was tough; Dallas turned out to be very tough. Perhaps difference lay in local control of interception, for it seemed unlikely that command post in Cheyenne Mountain was still effective. Perhaps we had not cracked their hole in the ground (don’t know how deep down it was) but I’ll bet that neither men nor computers were still tracking.

Dallas blew up or pushed aside first five rocks, so I told Mike to take everything he could from Cheyenne Mountain and award it to Dallas… which he was able to do two salvoes later; those two targets are less than a thousand kilometers apart.

Dallas’s defenses cracked on next salvo; Mike gave their spaceport three more (already committed) then shifted back to Cheyenne Mountain—later ones had never been nudged and were still earmarked “Cheyenne Mountain.” He was still giving that battered mountain cosmic love pats when America rolled down and under Terra’s eastern edge.

I stayed with Mike all during bombardment, knowing it would be our toughest. As he shut down till time to dust Great China, Mike said thoughtfully, “Man, I don’t think we had better hit that mountain again.”

“Why not, Mike?”

“It’s not there any longer.”

“You might divert its backups. When do you have to decide?”

“I would put them on Albuquerque and Omaha but had best start now; tomorrow will be busy. Man my best friend, you should leave.” “Bored with me, pal?”

“In the next few hours that first ship may launch missiles. When that happens I want to shift all ballistic control to Little David’s Sling—and when I do, you should be at Mare Undarum site.”

“What’s fretting you, Mike?”

“That boy is accurate, Man. But he’s stupid. I want him supervised. Decisions may have to be made in a hurry and there isn’t anyone there who can program him properly. You should be there.”

“Okay if you say so, Mike. But if needs a fast program, will still have to phone you.” Greatest shortcoming of computers isn’t computer shortcoming at all but fact that a human takes a long time, maybe hours, to set up a program that a computer solves in milliseconds. One best quality of Mike was that he could program himself. Fast. Just explain problem, let him program. Samewise and equally, he could program “idiot son” enormously faster than human could.

“But, Man, I want you there because you may not be able to phone me; the lines may be cut. So I’ve prepared a group of possible programs for Junior; they may be helpful.” “Okay, print ‘em out. And let me talk to Prof.”

Mike got Prof; I made sure he was private, then explained what Mike thought I should do. Thought Prof would object—was hoping he would insist I stay through coming bombardment/invasion/whatever—those ships. Instead he said, “Manuel, it’s essential that you go. I’ve hesitated to tell you. Did you discuss odds with Mike?”

“Nyet.”

“I have continued to do so. To put it bluntly, if Luna City is destroyed and I am dead and the rest of the government is dead—even if all Mike’s radar eyes here are blinded and he himself is cut off from the new catapult—all of which may happen under severe bombardment… even if all this happens at once, Mike still gives Luna even chances if Little David’s Sling can operate—and you are there to operate it.”

I said, “Da, Boss. Yassuh, Massuh. You and Mike are stinkers and want to hog fun. Will do.” “Very good, Manuel.”

Stayed with Mike another hour while he printed out meter after meter of programs tailored to other computer—work that would have taken me six months even if able to think of all possibilities. Mike had it indexed and cross-referenced—with horribles in it I hardly dare mention. Mean to say, given circumstances and seemed necessary to destroy (say) Paris, this told how—what missiles in what orbits, how to tell Junior to find them and bring to target. Or anything.

Was reading this endless document—not programs but descriptions of purpose-of-program that headed each—when Wyoh phoned. “Mannie dear, has Prof told you about going to Mare Undarum?”

“Yes. Was going to call you.”

“All right. I’ll pack for us and meet you at Station East. When can you be there?” “Pack for ‘us’? You’re going?”

“Didn’t Prof say?”

“No.” Suddenly felt cheerful.

“I felt guilty about it, dear. I wanted to go with you… but had no excuse. After all, I’m no use around a computer and I do have responsibilities here. Or did. But now I’ve been fired from all my jobs and so have you.”

“Huh?”

“You are no longer Defense Minister; Finn is. Instead you are Deputy Prime Minister—” “Well!”

“—and Deputy Minister of Defense, too. I’m already Deputy Speaker and Stu has been appointed Deputy Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs. So he goes with us, too.” “I’m confused.”

“It’s not as sudden as it sounds; Prof and Mike worked it out months ago. Decentralization, dear, the same thing that McIntyre has been working on for the warrens. If there is a disaster at L-City, Luna Free State still has a government. As Prof put it to me, ‘Wyoh dear lady, as long as you three and a few Congressmen are left alive, all is not lost. You can still negotiate on equal terms and never admit your wounds.’”

So I wound up as a computer mechanic. Stu and Wyoh met me, with luggage (including rest of my arms), and we threaded through endless unpressured tunnels in p-suits, on a small flatbed rolligon used to haul steel to site. Greg had big rolligon meet us for surface stretch, then met us himself when we went underground again.

So I missed attack on ballistic radars Saturday night.

Captain of first ship, FNS Esperance, had guts. Late Saturday he changed course, headed straight in. Apparently figured we might attempt jingle-jangle with radars, for he seems to have decided to come in close enough to see our radar installations by ship’s radar rather than rely on letting his missiles home in on our beams.

Seems to have considered himself, ship, and crew expendable, for he was down to a thousand kilometers before he launched, a spread that went straight for five out of six of Mike’s radars, ignoring random jingle-jangle.

Mike, expecting self soon to be blinded, turned Brody’s boys loose to burn ship’s eyes, held them on it for three seconds before he shifted them to missiles.

Result: one crashed cruiser, two ballistic radars knocked out by H-missiles, three missiles “killed”—and two gun crews killed, one by H-explosion, other by dead missile that landed square on them—plus thirteen gunners with radiation burns above 800-roentgen death level, partly from flash, partly from being on surface too long. And must add: Four members of Lysistrata Corps died with those crews; they elected to p-suit and go up with their men. Other girls had serious radiation exposure but not up to 800-r level.

Second cruiser continued an elliptical orbit around and behind Luna.

Got most of this from Mike after we arrived Little David’s Sling early Sunday. He was feeling groused over loss of two of his eyes and still more groused over gun crews—I think Mike was developing something like human conscience; he seemed to feel it was his fault that he had not been able to outfight six targets at once. I pointed out that what he had to fight with was improvised, limited range, not real weapons.

“How about self, Mike? Are you right?”

“In all essentials. I have outlying discontinuities. One live missile chopped my circuits to Novy Leningrad, but reports routed through Luna City inform me that local controls tripped in satisfactorily with no loss in city services. I feel frustrated by these discontinuities—but they can be dealt with later.”

“Mike, you sound tired.”

“Me tired? Ridiculous! Man, you forget what I am. I’m annoyed, that’s all.” “When will that second ship be back in sight?”

“In about three hours if he were to hold earlier orbit. But he will not—probability in excess of ninety percent. I expect him in about an hour.” “AGarrison orbit, huh? Oho!”

“He left my sight at azimuth and course east thirty-two north. Does that suggest anything, Man?”

Tried to visualize. “Suggests they are going to land and try to capture you, Mike. Have you told Finn? I mean, have you told Prof to warn Finn?” “Professor knows. But that is not the way I analyze it.”

“So? Well, suggests I had better shut up and let you work.”

Did so. Lenore fetched me breakfast while I inspected Junior—and am ashamed to say could not manage to grieve over losses with both Wyoh and Lenore present. Mum had sent Lenore out “to cook for Greg” after Milla’s death—just an excuse; were enough wives at site to provide homecooking for everybody. Was for Greg’s morale and Lenore’s, too; Lenore and Milla had been close.

Junior seemed to be right. He was working on South America, one load at a time. I stayed in radar room and watched, at extreme magnification, while he placed one in estuary between Montevideo and Buenos Aires; Mike could not have been more accurate. I then checked his program for North America, found naught to criticize—locked it in and took key. Junior was on his own—unless Mike got clear of other troubles and decided to take back control.

Then sat and tried to listen to news both from Earthside and L-City. Co-ax cable from L-City carried phones, Mike’s hookup to his idiot child, radio, and video; site was no longer isolated. But, besides cable from L-City, site had antennas pointed at Terra; any Earthside news Complex could pick up, we could listen to directly. Nor was this silly extra; radio and video from Terra had been only recreation during construction and this was now a standby in case that one cable was broken.

F.N. official satellite relay was claiming that Luna’s ballistic radars had been destroyed and that we were now helpless. Wondered what people of Buenos Aires and Montevideo thought about that. Probably too busy to listen; m some ways water shots were worse than those where we could find open land.

Luna City Lunatic’s video channel was carrying Sheenie telling Loonies outcome of attack by Esperance, repeating news while warning everybody that battle was not over, a warship would be back in our sky any moment—be ready for anything, everybody stay in p-suits (Sheenie was wearing his, with helmet open), take maximum pressure precautions, all units stay on red alert, all citizens not otherwise called by duty strongly urged to seek lowest level and stay there till all clear. And so forth.

He went through this several times—then suddenly broke it: “Flash! Enemy cruiser radar-sighted, low and fast. It may dido for Luna City. Flash! Missiles launched, headed for ejection end of—”

Picture and sound chopped off.

Might as well tell now what we at Little David’s Sling learned later: Second cruiser, by coming in low and fast, tightest orbit Luna’s field permits, was able to start its bombing at ejection end of old catapult, a hundred kilometers from catapult head and Brody’s gunners, and knock many rings out in minute it took him to come into sight-and-range of drill guns, all clustered around radars at catapult head. Guess he felt safe. Wasn’t. Brody’s boys burned eyes out and ears off. He made one orbit after that and crashed near Torricelli, apparently in attempt to land, for his jets fired just before crash.

But our next news at new site was from Earthside: that brassy F.N. frequency claimed that our catapult had been destroyed (true) and that Lunar menace was ended (false) and called on all Loonies to take prisoner their false leaders and surrender themselves to mercy of Federated Nations (nonexistent—”mercy,” that is).

Listened to it and checked programming again, and went inside dark radar room. If everything went as planned, we were about to lay another egg in Hudson River, then targets in succession for three hours across that continent—”in succession” because Junior could not handle simultaneous hits; Mike had planned accordingly.

Hudson River was hit on schedule. Wondered how many New Yorkers were listening to F.N. newscast while looking at spot that gave it lie.

Two hours later F.N. station was saying that Lunar rebels had had missiles in orbit when catapult was destroyed—but that after those few had impacted would be no more. When third bombing of North America was complete I shut down radar. Had not been running steadily; Junior was programmed to sneak looks only as necessary, a few seconds at a time.

I then had nine hours before next bombing of Great China.

But not nine hours for most urgent decision, whether to hit Great China again. Without information. Except from Terra’s news channels. Which might be false. Bloody. Without knowing whether or not warrens had been bombed. Or Prof was dead or alive. Double bloody. Was I now acting prime minister? Needed Prof: “head of state” wasn’t my glass of chai. Above all, needed Mike—to calculate facts, estimate uncertainties, project probabilities of this course or that.

My word, didn’t even know whether ships were headed toward us and, worse yet, was afraid to look. If turned radar on and used Junior for sky search, any warship he brushed with beams would see him quicker than he saw them; warships were built to spot radar surveillance. So had heard. Hell, was no military man; was computer technician who had bumbled into wrong field.

Somebody buzzed door; I got up and unlocked. Was Wyoh, with coffee. Didn’t say a word, just handed it to me and went away. Sipped it. There it is, boy—they’re leaving you alone, waiting for you to pull miracles out of pouch. Didn’t feel up to it.

From somewhere, back in my youth, heard Prof say, “Manuel, when faced with a problem you do not understand, do any part of it you do understand, then look at it again.” He had been teaching me something he himself did not understand very well—something in maths—but had taught me something far more important, a basic principle.

Knew at once what to do first.

Went over to Junior and had him print out predicted impacts of all loads in orbit—easy, was a pre-program he could run anytime against real time running. While he was doing it, I looked for certain alternate programs in that long roll Mike had prepared.

Then set up some of those alternate programs—no trouble, simply had to be careful to read them correctly and punch them in without error. Made Junior print back for check before I gave him signal to execute.

When finished—forty minutes—every load in trajectory intended for an inland target had been retargeted for a seacoast city—with hedge to my bet that execution was delayed for rocks farther back. But, unless I canceled, Junior would reposition them as soon as need be.

Now horrible pressure of time was off me, now could abort any load into ocean right up to last few minutes before impact. Now could think. So did.

Then called in my ‘War Cabinet”—Wyoh, Stu, and Greg my “Commander of Armed Forces,” using Greg’s office. Lenore was allowed to go in and out, fetching coffee and food, or sitting and saying nothing. Lenore is a sensible fem and knows when to keep quiet.

Stu started it. “Mr. Prime Minister, I do not think that Great China should be hit this time.” “Never mind fancy titles, Stu. Maybe I’m acting, maybe not. But haven’t time for formality.” “Very well. May I explain my proposal?”

“Later.” I explained what I had done to give us more time; he nodded and kept quiet. “Our tightest squeeze is that we are out of communication, both Luna City and Earthside. Greg, how about that repair crew?”

“Not back yet.”

“If break is near Luna City, they may be gone a long time. If can repair at all. So must assume we’ll have to act on our own. Greg, do you have an electronics tech who can jury-rig a radio that will let us talk to Earthside? To their satellites, I mean—that doesn’t take much with right antenna. I may be able to help and that computer tech I sent you isn’t too clumsy, either.” (Quite good, in fact, for ordinary electronics—a poor bloke I had once falsely accused of allowing a fly to get into Mike’s guts. I had placed him in this job.)

“Harry Biggs, my power plant boss, can do anything of that sort,” Greg said thoughtfully, “if he has the gear.”

“Get him on it. You can vandalize anything but radar and computer once we get all loads out of catapult. How many lined up?” “Twenty-three, and no more steel.”

“So twenty-three it is, win or lose. I want them ready for loading; might lob them off today.” “They’re ready. We can load as fast as the cat can throw them.”

“Good. One more thing—Don’t know whether there’s an F.N. cruiser—maybe more than one—in our sky or not. And afraid to look. By radar, I mean; radar for skywatch could give away our position. But must have skywatch. Can you get volunteers for an eyeball skywatch and can you spare them?”

Lenore spoke up. “I volunteer!” “Thanks, honey; you’re accepted.”

“We’ll find them,” said Greg. “Won’t need fems.”

“Let her do it, Greg; this is everybody’s show.” Explained what I wanted: Mare Undarum was now in dark semi-lunar; Sun had set. Invisible boundary between sunlight and Luna’s shadow stretched over us, a precise locus. Ships passing through our sky would wink suddenly into view going west, blink out going east. Visible part of orbit would stretch from horizon to some point in sky. If eyeball team could spot both points, mark one by bearing, other by stars, and approximate time by counting seconds, Junior could start guessing orbit—two passes and Junior would know its period and something about shape of orbit. Then I would have some notion of when would be safe to use radar and radio, and catapult—did not want to loose a load with F.N. ship above horizon, could be radar-looking our way.

Perhaps too cautious—but had to assume that this catapult, this one radar, these two dozen missiles, were all that stood between Luna and total defeat—and our bluff hinged on them never knowing what we had or where it was. We had to appear endlessly able to pound Terra with missiles, from source they had not suspected and could never find.

Then as now, most Loonies knew nothing about astronomy—we’re cave dwellers, we go up to surface only when necessary. But we were lucky; was amateur astronomer in Greg’s crew, cobber who had worked at Richardson. I explained, put him in charge, let him worry about teaching eyeball crew how to tell stars apart. I got these things started before we went back to talk-talk. “Well, Stu? Why shouldn’t we hit Great China?”

“I’m still expecting word from Dr. Chan. I received one message from him, phoned here shortly before we were cut off from cities—” “My word, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I tried to, but you had yourself locked in and I know better than to bother you when you are busy with ballistics. Here’s the translation. Usual LuNoHo Company address with a reference which means it’s for me and that it has come through my Paris agent. ‘Our Darwin sales representative’—that’s Chan—’informs us that your shipments of’—well, never mind the coding; he means the attack days while appearing to refer to last June—’were improperly packaged resulting in unacceptable damage. Unless this can be corrected, negotiations for long-term contract will be serously jeopardized.”

Stu looked up. “All doubletalk. I take it to mean that Dr. Chan feels that he has his government ready to talk terms … but that we should let up on bombing Great China or we may upset his apple cart.”

“Hmm—” Got up and walked around. Ask Wyoh’s opinion? Nobody knew Wyoh’s virtues better than I… but she oscillated between fierceness and too-human compassion—and I had learned already that a “head of state,” even an acting one, must have neither. Ask Greg? Greg was a good farmer, a better mechanic, a rousing preacher; I loved him dearly—but did not want his opinion. Stu? I had had his opinion.

Or did I? “Stu, what’s your opinion? Not Chan’s opinion—but your own.”

Stu looked thoughtful. “That’s difficult, Mannie. I am not Chinese, I have not spent much time in Great China, and can’t claim to be expert in their politics nor their psychology. So I’m forced to depend on his opinion.”

“Uh—Damn it, he’s not a Loonie! His purposes are not our purposes. What does he expect to get out of it?”

“I think he is maneuvering for a monopoly over Lunar trade. Perhaps bases here, too. Possibly an extraterritorial enclave. Not that we would grant that.” “Might if we were hurtin’.”

“He didn’t say any of this. He doesn’t say much, you know. He listens.” “Too well I know.” Worried at it, more bothered each minute.

News from Earthside had been droning in background; I had asked Wyoh to monitor while I was busy with Greg. “Wyoh, hon, anything new from Earthside?”

“No. The same claims. We’ve been utterly defeated and our surrender is expected momentarily. Oh, there’s a warning that some missiles are still in space, falling out of control, but with it a reassurance that the paths are being analyzed and people will be warned in time to avoid impact areas.”

“Anything to suggest that Prof—or anybody in Luna City, or anywhere in Luna—is in touch with Earthside?” “Nothing at all.”

“Damn. Anything from Great China?”

“No. Comments from almost everywhere else. But not from Great China.”

“Uh—” Stepped to door. “Greg! Hey, cobber, see if you can find Greg Davis. I need him.” Closed door. “Stu, we’re not going to let Great China off.”

“So?”

“No. Would be nice if Great China busted alliance against us; might save us some damage. But we’ve got this far only by appearing able to hit them at will and to destroy any ship they send against us. At least I hope that last one was burned and we’ve certainly clobbered eight out of nine. We won’t get anywhere by looking weak, not while F.N. is claiming that we are not just weak but finished. Instead we must hand them surprises. Starting with Great China and if it makes Dr. Chan unhappy, we’ll give him a kerchief to weep into. If we can go on looking strong—when F.N. says we’re licked—then eventually some veto power is going to crack. If not Great China, then some other one.”

Stu bowed without getting up. “Very well, sir.” “I—”

Greg came in. “You want me, Mannie?” “What makes with Earthside sender?”

“Harry says you have it by tomorrow. Acrummy rig, he says, but push watts through it and will be heard.”

“Power we got. And if he says ‘tomorrow’ then he knows what he wants to build. So will be today—say six hours. I’ll work under him. Wyoh hon, will you get my arms? Want number-six and number-three—better bring number-five, too. And you stick with me and change arms for me. Stu, want you to write some nasty messages—I’ll give you general idea and you put acid in them. Greg, we are not going to get all those rocks into space at once. Ones we have in space now will impact in next eighteen, nineteen hours. Then, when F.N. is announcing that all rocks are accounted for and Lunar menace is over… we crash into their newscast and warn of next bombings. Shortest possible orbits, Greg, ten hours or less—so check everything on catapult and H-plant and controls; with that extra boost all has to be dead on.”

Wyoh was back with arms; I told her “number six” and added, “Greg, let me talk with Harry.”

Six hours later sender was ready to beam toward Terra. Was ugly job, vandalized mainly out of a resonance prospector used in project’s early stages. But could ride an audio signal on its radio frequency and was powerful. Stu’s nastified versions of my warnings had been taped and Harry was ready to zipsqueal them—all Terran satellites could accept high speed at sixty-to-one and had no wish to have our sender heated more seconds than necessary; eyeball watch had confirmed fears: At least two ships were in orbit around Luna.

So we told Great China that her major coastal cities would each receive a Lunar present offset ten kilometers into ocean—Pusan, Tsingtao, Taipei, Shanghai, Saigon, Bangkok, Singapore, Djakarta, Darwin, and so forth—except that Old Hong Kong would get one smack on top of F.N.’s Far East offices, so kindly have all human beings move far back. Stu noted that human beings did not mean F.N. personnel; they were urged to stay at desks.

India was given similar warnings about coastal cities and was told that F.N. global offices would be spared one more rotation out of respect for cultural monuments in Agra—and to permit human beings to evacuate. (I intended to extend this by another rotation as deadline approached—out of respect for Prof. And then another, indefinitely. Damn it, they would build their home offices next door to most overdecorated tomb ever built. But one that Prof treasured.)

Rest of world was told to keep their seats; game was going extra innings. But stay away from any F.N. offices anywhere; we were frothing at mouth and no F.N. office was safe. Better yet, get out of any city containing an F.N. headquarters—but F.N. vips and finks were urged to sit tight.

Then spent next twenty hours coaching Junior into sneaking his radar peeks when our sky was clear of ships, or believed to be. Napped when I could and Lenore stayed with me and woke me in time for next coaching. And that ended Mike’s rocks and we all went into alert while we got first of Junior’s rocks flung high and fast. Waited until certain it had gone hot and true—then told Terra where to look for it and where and when to expect it, so that all would know that F.N.’s claims of victory were on a par with their century of lies about Luna—all in Stu’s best, snotty, supercilious phrases delivered in his cultured accents.

First one should have been for Great China but was one piece of North American Directorate we could reach with it—her proudest jewel, Hawaii. Junior placed it in triangle formed by Maui, Molokai, and Lanai. I didn’t work out programming; Mike had anticipated everything.

Then pronto we got off ten more rocks at short intervals (had to skip one program, a ship in our sky) and told Great China where to look and when to expect them and where—coastal cities we had neglected day before.

Was down to twelve rocks but decided was safer to run out of ammunition than to look as if we were running out. So I awarded seven to Indian coastal cities, picking new targets—and Stu inquired sweetly if Agra had been evacuated. If not, please tell us at once. (But heaved no rock at it.)

Egypt was told to clear shipping out of Suez Canal—bluff; was hoarding last five rocks. Then waited.

Impact at Lahaina Roads, that target in Hawaii. Looked good at high mag; Mike could be proud of Junior. And waited.

Thirty-seven minutes before first China Coast impact Great China denounced actions of F.N., recognized us, offered to negotiate—and I sprained a finger punching abort buttons. Then was punching buttons with sore finger; India stumbled over feet following suit.

Egypt recognized us. Other nations started scrambling for door.

Stu informed Terra that we had suspended—only suspended, not stopped—bombardments. Now get those ships out of our sky at once—NOW!—and we could talk. If they could not get home without refilling tanks, let them land not less than fifty kilometers from any mapped warren, then wait for their surrender to be accepted. But clear our sky now!

This ultimatum we delayed a few minutes to let a ship pass beyond horizon; we weren’t taking chances—one missile and Luna would have been helpless. And waited.

Cable crew returned. Had gone almost to Luna City, found break. But thousands of tonnes of loose rock impeded repair, so they had done what they could—gone back to a spot where they could get through to surface, erected a temporary relay in direction they thought Luna City lay, sent up a dozen rockets at ten-minute intervals, and hoped that somebody would see, understand, aim a relay at it—Any communication?

No. Waited.

Eyeball squad reported that a ship which had been clockfaithful for nineteen passes had failed to show. Ten minutes later they reported that another ship had missed expected appearance.

We waited and listened.

Great China, speaking on behalf of all veto powers, accepted armistice and stated that our sky was now clear. Lenore burst into tears and kissed everybody she could reach.

After we steadied down (a man can’t think when women are grabbing him, especially when five of them are not his wives)—a few minutes later, when we were coherent, I said, “Stu, want you to leave for Luna City at once. Pick your party. No women—you’ll have to walk surface last kilometers. Find out what’s going on—but first get them to aim a relay at ours and phone me.”

“Very good, sir.”

We were getting him outfitted for a tough journey—extra air bottles, emergency shelter, so forth—when Earthside called me on frequency we were listening to because message was

(learned later) on all frequencies up from Earthside:

“Private message, Prof to Mannie—identification, birthday Bastille and Sherlock’s sibling. Come home at once. Your carriage waits at your new relay. Private message, Prof to—” And went on repeating.

“Harry!”

“Da, Boss?”

“Message Earthside—tape and squeal; we still don’t want them ranging us. ‘Private message, Mannie to Prof. Brass Cannon. On my way!’ Ask them to acknowledge—but use only one squeal.”

Stu and Greg drove on way back, while Wyoh and Lenore and I huddled on open flatbed, strapped to keep from falling off; was too small. Had time to think; neither girl had suit radio and we could talk only by helmet touch—awkward.

Began to see—now that we had won—parts of Prof’s plan that had never been clear to me. Inviting attack against catapult had spared warrens—hoped it had; that was plan—but Prof had always been cheerfully indifferent to damage to catapult. Sure, had a second one—but far away and difficult to reach. Would take years to put a tube system to new catapult, high mountains all way. Probably cheaper to repair old one. If possible.

Either way, no grain shipped to Terra in meantime.

And that was just what Prof wanted! Yet never once had he hinted that his plan was based on destroying old catapult—his long-range plan, not just Revolution. He might not admit it now. But Mike would tell me—if put to him flatly: Was or was not this one factor in odds? Food riot predictions and all that, Mike? He would tell me.

That tonne-for-tonne deal—Prof had expounded it Earthside, had been argument for a Terran catapult. But privately he had no enthusiasm for it. Once he had told me, in North America, “Yes, Manuel, I feel sure it would work. But, if built, it will be temporary. There was a time, two centuries ago, when dirty laundry used to be shipped from California to Hawaii—by sailing ship, mind you—and clean laundry returned. Special circumstances. If we ever see water and manure shipped to Luna and grain shipped back, it will be just as temporary. Luna’s future lies in her unique position at the top of a gravity well over a rich planet, and in her cheap power and plentiful real estate. If we Loonies have sense enough in the centuries ahead to remain a free port and to stay out of entangling alliances, we will become the crossroads for two planets, three planets, the entire Solar System. We won’t be farmers forever.”

They met us at Station East and hardly gave time to get p-suits off—was return from Earthside over again, screaming mobs and being ridden on shoulders. Even girls, for Slim Lemke said to Lenore, “May we carry you, too?”—and Wyoh answered, “Sure, why not?”—and stilyagi fought for chance to.

Most men were pressure-suited and I was surprised to see how many carried guns—until I saw that they were not our guns; they were captured. But most of all what blessed relief to see L-City unhurt!

Could have done without triumphal procession; was itching to get to phone and find out from Mike what had happened—how much damage, how many killed, what this victory cost. But no chance. We were carried to Old Dome willy-nilly.

They shoved us up on a platform with Prof and rest of Cabinet apd vips and such, and our girls slobbered on Prof and he embraced me Latin style, kiss cheek, and somebody stuck a Liberty Cap on me. Spotted little Hazel in crowd and threw her a kiss.

At last they quieted enough for Prof to speak.

“My friends,” he said, and waited for silence. “My friends,” he repeated softly. “Beloved comrades. We meet at last in freedom and now have with us the heroes who fought the last battle for Luna, alone.” They cheered us, again he waited. Could see he was tired; hands trembled as he steadied self against pulpit. “I want them to speak to you, we want to hear about it, all of us.

“But first I have a happy message. Great China has just announced that she is building in the Himalayas an enormous catapult, to make shipping to Luna as easy and cheap as it has been to ship from Luna to Terra.”

He stopped for cheers, then went on, “But that lies in the future. Today—Oh, happy day! At last the world acknowledges Luna’s sovereignty. Free! You have won your freedom—” Prof stopped—looked surprised. Not afraid, but puzzled. Swayed slightly.

Then he did die.

We got him into a shop behind platform. But even with help of a dozen doctors was no use; old heart was gone, strained too many times. They carried him out back way and I started to follow.

Stu touched my arm. “Mr. Prime Minister—” I said, “Huh? Oh, for Bog’s sake!”

“Mr. Prime Minister,” he repeated firmly, “you must speak to the crowd, send them home. Then there are things that must be done.” He spoke calmly but tears poured down cheeks.

So I got back on platform and confirmed what they had guessed and told them to go home. And wound up in room L of Raffles, where all had started—emergency Cabinet meeting. But first ducked to phone, lowered hood, punched MYCROFTXXX.

Got null-number signal. Tried again—same. Pushed up hood and said to man nearest me, Wolfgang, “Aren’t phones working?” “Depends,” he said. “That bombing yesterday shook things up. If you want an out-of-town number, better call the phone office.” Could see self asking office to get me a null. “What bombing?”

“Haven’t you heard? It was concentrated on the Complex. But Brody’s boys got the ship. No real damage. Nothing that can’t be fixed.”

Had to drop it; they were waiting. I didn’t know what to do but Stu and Korsakov did. Sheenie was told to write news releases for Terra and rest of Luna; I found self announcing a lunar of mourning, twenty-four hours of quiet, no unnecessary business, giving orders for body to lie in state—all words put into mouth, I was numb, brain would not work. Okay, convene Congress at end of twenty-four hours. In Novylen? Okay.

Sheenie had dispatches from Earthside. Wolfgang wrote for me something which said that, because of death of our President, answers would be delayed at least twenty-four hours.

At last was able to get away, with Wyoh. Astilyagi guard kept people away from us to easement lock thirteen. Once home I ducked into workshop on pretense of needing to change arms. “Mike?”

No answer—

So tried punching his combo into house phone—null signal. Resolved to go out to Complex next day—with Prof gone, needed Mike worse than ever.

But next day was not able to go; trans-Crisium tube was out—that last bombing. You could go around through Torricelli and Novylen and eventually reach Hong Kong. But Complex, almost next door, could be reached only by rolligon. Couldn’t take time; I was “government.”

Managed to shuck that off two days later. By resolution was decided that Speaker (Finn) had succeeded to Presidency after Finn and I had decided that Wolfgang was best choice for Prime Minister. We put it through and I went back to being Congressman who didn’t attend sessions.

By then most phones were working and Complex could be called. Punched MYCROFFXXX. No answer—So went out by rolligon. Had to go down and walk tube last kilometer but Complex Under didn’t seem hurt.

Nor did Mike appear to be.

But when I spoke to him, he didn’t answer.

He has never answered. Has been many years now.

You can type questions into him—in Loglan—and you’ll get Loglan answers out. He works just fine … as a computer. But won’t talk. Or can’t. Wyoh tried to coax him. Then she stopped. Eventually I stopped.

Don’t know how it happened. Many outlying pieces of him got chopped off in last bombing—was meant, I’m sure, to kill our ballistic computer. Did he fall below that “critical number” it takes to sustain self-awareness? (If is such; was never more than hypothesis.) Or did decentralizing that was done before that last bombing “kill” him?

I don’t know. If was just matter of critical number, well, he’s long been repaired; he must be back up to it. Why doesn’t he wake up?

Can a machine be so frightened and hurt that it will go into catatonia and refuse to respond? While ego crouches inside, aware but never willing to risk it? No, can’t be that; Mike was unafraid—as gaily unafraid as Prof.

Years, changes—Mimi long ago opted out of family management; Anna is “Mum” now and Mimi dreams by video. Slim got Hazel to change name to Stone, two kids and she studied engineering. All those new free-fall drugs and nowadays earthworms stay three or four years and go home unchanged. And those other drugs that do almost as much for us; some kids go Earthside to school now; And Tibet catapult—took seventeen years instead of ten; Kilimanjaro job was finished sooner.

One mild surprise—When time came, Lenore named Stu for opting, rather than Wyoh. Made no difference, we all voted “Da!” One thing not a surprise because Wyoh and I pushed it through during time we still amounted to something in government: a brass cannon on a pedestal in middle of Old Dome and over it a flag fluttering in blower breeze—black field speckled with stars, bar sinister in blood, a proud and jaunty brass cannon embroidered over all, and below it our motto: TANSTAAFL! That’s where we hold our Fourth-of-July celebrations.

You get only what you pay for—Prof knew and paid, gaily.

But Prof underrated yammerheads. They never adopted any of his ideas. Seems to be a deep instinct in human beings for making everything compulsory that isn’t forbidden. Prof got fascinated by possibilities for shaping future that lay in a big, smart computer—and lost track of things closer home. Oh, I backed him! But now I wonder. Are food riots too high a price to pay to let people be? I don’t know.

Don’t know any answers. Wish I could ask Mike.

I wake up in night and think I’ve heard him—just a whisper: “Man… Man my best friend…” But when I say, “Mike?” he doesn’t answer. Is he wandering around somewhere, looking for hardward to hook onto? Or is he buried down in Complex Under, trying to find way out? Those special memories are all in there somewhere, waiting to be stirred. But I can’t retrieve them; they were voice-coded.

Oh, he’s dead as Prof, I know it. (But how dead is Prof?) If I punched it just once more and said, “Hi, Mike!” would he answer, “Hi, Man! Heard any good ones lately?” Been a long time since I’ve risked it. But he can’t really be dead; nothing was hurt—he’s just lost.

You listening, Bog? Is a computer one of Your creatures?

Too many changes—May go to that talk-talk tonight and toss in some random numbers.

Or not. Since Boom started quite a few young cobbers have gone out to Asteroids. Hear about some nice places out there, not too crowded. My word, I’m not even a hundred yet.

The End

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The Intention Experiment (full text) by Lynne McTaggart. In HTML for free access. Part 1 of 4.

Thus it’s placement in my blog.

Welcome to the world of quantum physics and how all those things about prayer, intention, and spirituality actually does have a scientific foundation that they are based upon.

Some Comments

One of the best books I have ever read. You will learn so much about intention. I call it "desire". How important this is!

-Carol S. Burney

I really enjoyed this book. I was impressed with the author's ability to make complex science clear and also the use of credible sources. 

She really doesn't talk so much about using your thoughts to change your life. It is more of a book about how science, real science, is showing more and more how the human mind is seen by quantum physics and other legitimate scientific disciplines. 

It was really interesting to me to see that the mind really is much more powerful than we think it is. 

As I said, I was very impressed with the research she used in the book as the references were to legitimate experiments that had been peer reviewed. Good insights into the amazing power of intention.

-Zipporia

I rate this a solid 5 due to the importance of the message; it combines everything I have learned in pieces into a nice little package. 

Although not too much attention was paid to the way the writing flows, and as some of you have pointed out the sloppiness of the writing, I have to say that I also write sloppy when I discover a very cool thing. 

The excitement overwhelms my style and attention to detail. But otherwise, it is a very solid read and I did not read it to be blown away with the "literature" quality of the writing, but for the clear and to the point message that it communicates so clearly. 

This is a life altering book if it's the first book you are reading about the power of your intentions, thoughts and quantum physics. Awesome job!

-Netaron

In Quantum theory , "the world" is comprised of two "systems",the system containing the observer and the system containing what is observed. 

Until the observer focuses his attention on the observed system it exists only as a host of infinite possibilities. The observer observation or measurement "fixes" its reality. That is the scientific theory. 

Hard enough for us mere mortals to grasp or integrate it with what we have been taught. 

From quantum theory it is almost irresistible to move to a consideration of how intention, rather than mere observation or objective measurement might work in our world and that is what this thought provoking book does. 

The experiments are about whether intention can change outcome or even in one experiment, can change a previously measured reality. 

It explores the power of consciousness and invites readers, through excercises in the book and through the web site to become part of an ongoing living experiment in consciousness. 

I found the experiments fascinating, engaging and worthy of reflection..and I found reflection on them energizing. I recommend it enthusiastically for anyone who is at work on increasing their own awareness and trying to live fully present in the moment.

-Lindsay N. Bowker

For those interested in Quantum Science, in the Zero Point Field, and in what they call the "soup of creation" - this is a "must read". 

I was pleased with this book right up to the chapter called Praying for Yesterday, which introduced experiments that couldn't hold water logically. I was so frustrated by that chapter that I almost ditched the book entirely - BUT - the third paragraph from the end of that chapter is a prize so wondrous - a double concept so unbelievable and empowering that all else is forgiven. 

In fact, based solely on that, I ordered her first book - The Field.

If you're one of the lucky one's who can wrap your brain around concepts like these - ordering this book is a favor you need to do for yourself. It's an exciting rush of potential at your command - if you allow it to be so. I, personally, noting the flaws of the above chapter, would still recommend this book without hesitation as a "must read"!

-SciFiCahill

Our thoughts create our reality.

This is a well written book about quantum physics and its extraordinary implications. That we live in a "Field" (Zero Point Field) which is a constant dance of quantum energy exchange. Clearly we are connected to the entire universe through our pulsating energy which is constantly interacting with the vast energy "out there". 

This is a great book filled with information about how the universe operates and our connection to it. This vast flow of energy, Consciousness, if you will, is all around us and is our connection to the "Source" or "Creator" of the Universe. A very powerful book, which I highly recommend.

-Richard Grant

The Intention Experiment

Comment

The preface is in italicized purple font. It’s pretty boring, but it tells you how the book came about, and at that it can give you some insight in how some things can manifest in our universe. Don’t ever think that everything is a coincidence.

Preface

THIS BOOK REPRESENTS A PIECE of unfinished business that began 2001 when I published a book called The Field. In the course of trying to find a scientific explanation for homeopathy and spiritual healing, I had inadvertently uncovered the makings of a new science.

During my research, I stumbled across a band of frontier scientists who had spent many years re-examining quantum physics and its extraordinary implications. Some had resurrected certain equations regarded as superfluous in standard quantum physics. These equations, which stood for the Zero Point Field, concerned the extraordinary quantum field generated by the endless passing back and forth of energy between all subatomic particles. The existence of the Field implies that all matter in the universe is connected on the subatomic level through a constant dance of quantum energy exchange.

Other evidence demonstrated that, on the most basic level, each one of us is also a packet of pulsating energy constantly interacting with this vast energy sea.

But the most heretical evidence of all concerned the role of consciousness. The well-designed experiments conducted by these scientists suggested that consciousness is a substance outside the confines of our bodies – a highly ordered energy with the capacity to change physical matter. Directing thoughts at a target seemed capable of altering machines, cells and, indeed, entire multicelled organisms like human beings. This mind-over-matter power even seemed to traverse time and space.

In The Field I aimed to make sense of all the ideas resulting from these disparate experiments and to synthesize them into one generalized theory. The Field created a picture of an interconnected universe and a scientific explanation for many of the most profound human mysteries, from alternative medicine and spiritual healing to extrasensory perception and the collective unconscious.

The Field apparently hit a nerve. I received hundreds of letters from readers who told me that the book had changed their lives. A writer wanted to depict me as a character in her novel. Two composers wrote musical compositions inspired by it, one of which was played on the international stage.

I was featured in a movie, What the Bleep!? Down the Rabbit Hole, and on the What The Bleep Do We Know!? Calendar, released by the film’s producers. Quotes from T h e Field became the centrepiece of a printed Christmas card.

However gratifying this reaction, I felt that my own journey of discovery had hardly left the station platform. The scientific evidence I had amassed for The Field suggested something extraordinary and even disturbing: directed thought had some sort of central participatory role in creating reality.

Targeting your thoughts – or what scientists ponderously refer to as ‘intention’ and ‘intentionality’ – appeared to produce an energy potent enough to change physical reality. A simple thought seemed to have the power to change our world.

After writing The Field, I puzzled over the extent of this power and the numerous questions it raised. How, for instance, could I translate what had been confirmed in the laboratory for use in the world that I lived in? Could I stand in the middle of a railway track and, Superman-style, stop the 9:45 to Paddington with my thoughts? Could I fly myself up to fix my roof with a bit of directed thought? Would it now be possible to cross doctors and healers off my list of essential contacts, seeing as I might now be able to think myself well? Could I help my children pass their maths tests just by thinking about it? If linear time and three-dimensional space didn’t really exist, could I go back and erase all those moments in my life that had left me with lasting regret? And could my one puny bit of mental input do anything to change the vast catalogue of suffering on the planet?

The implications of this evidence were unsettling. Should we be minding every last thought at every moment? Was a pessimist’s view of the world likely to be a self-fulfilling prophecy? Were all those negative thoughts – that ongoing inner dialogue of judgement and criticism – having any effect outside our heads?

Were there conditions that improved your chances of having a better effect with your thoughts? Would a thought work any old time or would you, your intended target and indeed the universe itself have to be in the mood? If everything is affecting everything else at every moment, doesn’t that counteract and thereby nullify any real effect?

What happens when a number of people think the same thought at the same time? Would that have an even larger effect than thoughts generated singly? Was there a threshold size that a group of like-minded intenders had to reach in order to exert the most powerful effect? Was an intention ‘dose dependent’ – the larger the group, the larger the effect?

An enormous body of literature, starting with Think and Grow Rich [1] by Napoleon Hill, arguably the first self-actualization guru, has been generated about the power of thought. ‘Intention’ has become the latest New Age buzzword. Practitioners of alternative medicine speak of helping patients heal ‘with intention’. Even Jane Fonda writes about raising children ‘with intention’.[2]

What on earth, I wondered, was meant by ‘intention’? And how exactly can one become an efficient ‘intender’? The bulk of the popular material had been written off the cuff – a smattering of Eastern philosophy here, a soupçon of Dale Carnegie there, with very little scientific evidence that it worked.

To find answers to all of these questions, I turned, once again, to science, scouring the scientific literature for studies on distant healing or other forms of psychokinesis, or mind over matter. I sought out international scientists who experimented with how thoughts can affect matter. The science described in The Field had been carried out mainly in the 1970s; I examined more recent discoveries in quantum physics for further clues.

I also turned to those people who had managed to master intention and who could perform the extraordinary – spiritual healers, Buddhist monks, Qigong masters, shamans – in order to understand the transformational processes they underwent to be able to use their thoughts to powerful effect. I uncovered myriad ways that intention is used in real life – in sports, for instance, and during healing modalities such as biofeedback. I studied how native populations incorporated directed thought into their daily ritual.

I then began to dig up evidence that multiple minds trained on the same target magnified the effect produced by an individual. The evidence was tantalizing, mostly gathered by the Transcendental Meditation organization, suggesting that a group of likeminded thoughts created some sort of order in the otherwise random Zero Point Field.

At that point in my journey, I ran out of pavement. All that stretched before me, as far as I could tell, was uninhabited open terrain.

Then one evening, my husband Bryan, a natural entrepreneur in most situations, put forward what seemed to be a preposterous suggestion: ‘Why don’t you do some group experiments yourself?’

I am not a physicist. I am not any kind of scientist. The last experiment I had conducted had been in a 10th grade science lab.

What I did have, though, was a resource available to few scientists: a potentially huge experimental body. Group intention experiments are extraordinarily difficult to perform in an ordinary laboratory. A researcher would need to recruit thousands of participants. How would he find them? Where would he put them? How would he get them all to think the same thing at the same time?

A book’s readers offer an ideal self-selected group of likeminded souls who might be willing to participate in testing out an idea. Indeed, I already had my own large population of regular readers with whom I communicated through e-news and my other spin-off activities from The Field.

I first broached the idea of carrying out my own experiment with dean emeritus of the Princeton University School of Engineering Robert Jahn and his colleague psychologist Brenda Dunne, who run the Princeton Engineering Anomalous Researc (PEAR) laboratory, both of whom I had got to know through my research forThe Field. Jahn and Dunne have spent some 30 years painstakingly amassing some of the most convincing evidence about the power of directed intention to affect machinery. They are absolute sticklers for scientific method, no-nonsense and to the point. Robert Jahn is one of the few people I have ever met who speaks in perfect, complete sentences. Brenda Dunne is equally perfectionist about detail in both experiment and language. I would be assured of no sloppy protocol in my experiments if Jahn and Dunne agreed to be involved.

The two of them also have a vast array of scientists at their disposal. They head the International Consciousness Research Laboratory, many of whose members are among the most prestigious scientists performing consciousness research in the world. Dunne also runs PEARTree, a group of young scientists interested in consciousness research.

Everyone met on occasions and kicked around some possibilities. Eventually, they put forward Fritz- Albert Popp, assistant director of the International Institute of Biophysics (IIB) i Neuss, Germany, to conduct the first intention experiments. I knew Fritz Popp throug my research for The Field. He was the first to discover that all living things emit a tiny current of light. As a noted German physicist recognized internationally for his discoveries, Popp would also be a stickler for pristine scientific method.

Other scientists, such as psychologist Gary Schwartz of the Biofield Center a the University of Arizona, Marilyn Schlitz, vice president for research and education at the Institute of Noetic Sciences, Dean Radin, IONS’ senior scientist, an psychologist Roger Nelson of the Global Consciousness Project, have also offered to participate.

I do not have any hidden sponsors of this project. The website and all our experiments will be funded by the proceeds of this book or grants, now and in the future.

Scientists involved in experimental research often cannot venture beyond their findings to consider the implications of what they have uncovered. Consequently, when assembling the evidence that already exists about intention, I have tried to consider the larger implications of this work and to synthesize these individual discoveries into a coherent theory. In order to describe in words concepts that are generally depicted through mathematical equations, I have had to reach for metaphoric approximations of the truth. At times, with the help of many of the scientists involved, I have also had to engage in speculation. It is important to recognize that the conclusions arrived at in this book represent the fruits of frontier science. These ideas are a work in progress. Undoubtedly new evidence will emerge to amplify and refine these initial conclusions.

Researching the work of people at the very forefront of scientific discovery again has been a humbling experience for me. Within the unremarkable confines of a laboratory, these largely unsung men and women engage in activities that are nothing short of heroic. They risk losing grants, academic posts and, indeed, entire careers groping alone in the dark. Most scratch around for grant money to enable them to carry on.

All advancements in science are somewhat heretical, each important new discovery partly, if not completely, negating the prevailing views of the day. To be a true explorer in science – to follow the unprejudiced lead of pure scientific inquiry – is to be unafraid to propose the unthinkable, and to prove friends, colleagues and scientific paradigms wrong. Hidden within the cautious, neutral language of experimental data and mathematical equation is nothing less than the makings of a new world, which slowly takes shape for all the rest of us, one painstaking experiment at a time.

Lynne McTaggart, June 2006

Notes – Preface

N. Hill, Think and Grow Rich: The Andrew Carnegie Formula for Mone Making, New York: Ballantine Books (reissue edn), 1987.
J. Fonda, My Life So Far, London: Ebury Press, 2005: 571.

Introduction

THE INTENTION EXPERIMENT is no ordinary book, and you are no ordinary reader. This is a book without an ending, for I intend for you to help me finish it. You are not only the audience of this book, but also one of its protagonists – the primary participants in cutting-edge scientific research. You, quite simply, are about to embark on the largest mind-over-matter experiment in history.

The Intention Experiment is the first ‘living’ book in three-dimensions. The book, in a sense, is a prelude, and the ‘contents’ carry on well beyond the time you finish the final page. In the book itself, you will discover scientific evidence about the power of your own thoughts, and you will then be able to extend beyond this information and test further possibilities through a massive, ongoing international group experiment, under the direction of some of the most well-respected international scientists in consciousness research. Through The Intention Experiment’s website (www.theintention experiment.com), you and the rest of the readers of this book will be able to participate in remote experiments, the results of which will be posted on the site. Each of you will become a scientist at the hub of some of the most daring consciousness experiments ever conducted.

The Intention Experiment rests on an outlandish premise: thought affects physical reality.

Comment

It’s not at all outlandish. Thought actually does create reality.

A sizeable body of research exploring the nature of consciousness, carried on for more than 30 years in prestigious scientific institutions around the world, shows that thoughts are capable of affecting everything from the simplest machines to the most complex living beings.[1]

This evidence suggests that human thoughts and intentions are an actual physical ‘something’ with the astonishing power to change our world. Every thought we have is a tangible energy with the power to transform.

A thought is not only a thing; a thought is a thing that influences other things.

Comment

If quanta were like fine particles of dust, or finely ground flour… then thoughts are like a breeze that attracts or scatters the dust particles everywhere.

This central idea, that consciousness affects matter, lies at the very heart of an irreconcilable difference between the world view offered by classical physics – the science of the big, visible world – and that of quantum physics – the science of the world’s most diminutive components. That difference concerns the very nature of matter and the ways it can be influenced to change.

Comment

The idea behind quantum physics is that consciousness and thoughts affect physical matter.

All of classical physics, and indeed the rest of science, is derived from the laws of motion and gravity developed by Isaac Newton in his Principia.

Newton’s laws described a universe in which all objects moved within the three-dimensional space of geometry and time according to certain fixed laws of motion. Matter was considered inviolate and self-contained, with its own fixed boundaries. Influence of any sort required something physical to be done to something else – a force or collision. Making something change basically entailed heating it, burning it, freezing it, dropping it or giving it a good swift kick.

Newtonian laws, science’s grand ‘rules of the game’, as the celebrated physicist

Richard Feynman once referred to them,[3] and their central premise, that things exist independently of each other, underpin our own philosophical view of the world. We believe that all of life and its tumultuous activity carries on around us, regardless of what we do or think. We sleep easy in our beds at night, in the certainty that when we close our eyes, the universe doesn’t disappear.

Nevertheless, that tidy view of the universe as a collection of isolated, well- behaved objects got dashed in the early part of the twentieth century, once the pioneers of quantum physics began peering closer into the heart of matter. The tiniest bits of the universe, those very things that make up the big, objective world, did not in any way behave themselves according to any rules that these scientists had ever known.

This outlaw behavior was encapsulated in a collection of ideas that became known as the Copenhagen Interpretation, after the place where the forceful Danish physicist Niels Bohr and his brilliant protégé, the German physicist Werner Heisenberg, formulated the likely meaning of their extraordinary mathematical discoveries. Bohr and Heisenberg realized that atoms are not little solar systems of billiard balls but something far more messy: a tiny cloud of probability.

Every subatomic particle is not a solid and stable thing, but exists simply as a potential of any one of its future selves – or what is known by physicists as a ‘superposition’, or sum, of all probabilities, like a person staring at himself in a hall of mirrors.

One of their conclusions concerned the notion of ‘indeterminacy’; that you can never know all there is to know about a subatomic particle all at the same time. If you discover information about where it is, for instance, you cannot work out at the same time exactly where it is going or at what speed. They spoke about a quantum particle as both a particle – a congealed, set thing – and a ‘wave function’ – a big smeared- out region of space and time, any corner of which the particle may occupy. It was akin to describing a person as comprising the entire street where he lives.

Their conclusions suggested that, at its most elemental, physical matter isn’t solid and stable – indeed, isn’t an anything yet.

Subatomic reality did not resemble the solid and reliable state of being described to us by classical science, but an ephemeral prospect of seemingly infinite options. So capricious seemed the smallest bits of nature that the first quantum physicists had to make do with a crude symbolic approximation of the truth – a mathematical range of all possibility.

At the quantum level, reality resembled unset jelly.

Comment

Newtonian physics treated things as nice set fixed and solid objects; like billiard balls. That they would follow set rules of behavior. Quantum physics says otherwise. The smallest things are actually like unset jello. When you think about them, they turn hard and freeze in place.

The quantum theories developed by Bohr, Heisenberg and a host of others rocked the very foundation of the Newtonian view of matter as something discrete and self-contained. They suggested that matter, at its most fundamental, could not be divided into independently existing units and indeed could not even be fully described. Things had no meaning in isolation, but only in a web of dynamic interrelationship.

The quantum pioneers also discovered the astonishing ability of quantum particles to influence each other, despite the absence of all those usual things that physicists understand are responsible for influence, such as an exchange of force occurring at a finite velocity. Once in contact, particles retained an eerie remote hold over each other.

The actions – for instance, the magnetic orientation – of one subatomic particle instantaneously influenced the other, no matter how far they were separated.

Comment

In quantum physics, things influence other things regardless of physical distance.

At the subatomic level, change also resulted through dynamic shifts of energy; these little packets of vibrating energy constantly traded energy back and forth to each other like ongoing passes in a game of basketball, a ceaseless to-ing and from-ing that gave rise to an unfathomably large basic layer of energy in the universe.[4]

Subatomic matter appeared to be involved in a continual exchange of information, causing constant refinement and subtle alteration. The universe was not a storehouse of static, separate objects, but a single organism of interconnected energy fields in a constant state of becoming. At its infinitesimal level, our world resembled a vast network of quantum information, with all its component parts constantly on the phone.

The only thing dissolving this little cloud of probability into something solid and measurable was the involvement of an observer.

Once these scientists decided to have a closer look at a subatomic particle by taking a measurement, the subatomic entity that existed as pure potential would ‘collapse’ into one particular state.

The implications of these early experimental findings were profound: living consciousness somehow was the influence that turned the possibility of something into something real. The moment we looked at an electron or took a measurement, it appeared that we helped to determine its final state. This suggested that the most essential ingredient in creating our universe is the consciousness that observes it. Several of the central figures in quantum physics argued that the universe was democratic and participatory – a joint effort between observer and observed. [5]

The observer effect in quantum experimentation gives rise to another heretical notion: that living consciousness is somehow central to this process of transforming the unconstructed quantum world into something resembling everyday reality. It suggests not only that the observer brings the observed into being, but also that nothing in the universe exists as an actual ‘thing’ independently of our perception of it.

Comment

Nothing in this universe exists without an observer to think about it.

It implies that observation – the very involvement of consciousness – gets the jelly to set.

It implies that reality is not fixed, but fluid, or mutable, and hence possibly open to influence.

The idea that consciousness creates and possibly even affects the physical universe also challenges our current scientific view of consciousness, which developed from the theories of the seventeenth-century philosopher René Descartes – mind is separate and somehow different from matter – and eventually embraced the notion that consciousness is entirely generated by the brain and remains locked up in the skull.

Most modern workaday physicists shrug their shoulders over this central conundrum: that big things are separate, but the tiny building blocks they are made up of are in instant and ceaseless communication with each other. For half a century, physicists have accepted, as though it makes perfect sense, that an electron behaving one way subatomically somehow transmutes into ‘classical’ (that is, Newtonian) behavior once it realizes it is part of a larger whole.

In the main, scientists have stopped caring about the troublesome questions posed by quantum physics, and left unanswered by its earliest pioneers.

Quantum theory works mathematically. It offers a highly successful recipe for dealing with the subatomic world. It helped to build atomic bombs and lasers, and to deconstruct the nature of the sun’s radiation. Today’s physicists have forgotten about the observer effect.

They content themselves with their elegant equations and await the formulation of unified Theory of Everything or the discovery of a few more dimensions beyond the ones that ordinary humans perceive, which they hope will somehow pull together all these contradictory findings into one centralized theory.

Thirty years ago, while the rest of the scientific community carried on by rote, a small band of frontier scientists at prestigious universities around the globe paused to consider the metaphysical implications of the Copenhagen Interpretation and the observer effect.[6]

If matter was mutable, and consciousness made matter a set something, it seemed likely that consciousness might also be able to nudge things in a particular direction.

Comment

If you can control your thoughts, then you can control matter and the events in your life.

Their investigations boiled down to a simple question: if the act of attention affected physical matter, what was the effect of intention – of deliberately attempting to make a change? In our act of participation as an observer in the quantum world, we might be not only creators, but also influencers.7

They began designing and carrying out experiments, testing what they gave the unwieldy label of ‘directed remote mental influence’ or ‘psychokinesis’, or, in shorthand, ‘intention’ or even ‘intentionality’.

A textbook definition of intention characterizes it as ‘a purposeful plan to perform an action, which will lead to a desired outcome’,[8] unlike a desire, which means simply focusing on an outcome, without a purposeful plan of how to achieve it.

Comment

Intention is quite different from desire.

An intention was directed at the intender’s own actions; it required some sort of reasoning; it required a commitment to do the intended deed. Intention implied purposefulness: an understanding of a plan of action and a planned satisfactory result.

Marilyn Schlitz, vice-president for research and education at the Institute of Noetic Sciences and one of the scientists engaged in the earliest investigations of remote influence, defined intention as ‘the projection of awareness, with purpose and efficacy, toward some object or outcome’.[9] To influence physical matter, they believed, thought had to be highly motivated and targeted.

In a series of remarkable experiments, these scientists provided evidence that thinking certain directed thoughts could affect one’s own body, inanimate objects and virtually all manner of living things, from single-celled organisms to human beings.

Two of the major figures in this tiny subgroup were former dean of engineering Robert Jahn at the Princeton Anomalies Engineering Research (PEAR) laboratory a Princeton University and his colleague Brenda Dunne, who together created a sophisticated, scholarly research programme grounded in hard science.

Over 25 years, Jahn and Dunne led what became a massive international effort to quantify what is referred to as ‘micro-psychokinesis’, the effect of mind on random-event generators (REGs), which perform the electronic, twenty-first century equivalent of a toss of a coin.

The output of these machines (the computerized equivalent of heads or tails) was controlled by a randomly alternating frequency of positive and negative pulses. Because their activity was utterly random, they produced ‘heads’ and ‘tails’ each roughly 50 per cent of the time, according to the laws of probability.

The most common configuration of the REG experiments was a computer screen randomly alternating two attractive images – say, of cowboys and Indians. Participants in the studies would be placed in front of the computers and asked to try to influence the machine to produce more of one image – more cowboys, say – then to focus on producing more images of Indians, and then to try not to influence the machine in either direction.

Over the course of more than two and a half million trials Jahn and Dunne decisively demonstrated that human intention can influence these electronic devices in the specified direction,[10] and their results were replicated independently by 68 investigators.[11]

Comment

Experiments have conclusively shown that intention; directed thought, can absolute influence the physical world.

While PEAR concentrated on the effect of mind on inanimate objects an processes, many other scientists experimented with the effect of intention on living things.

A diverse number of researchers demonstrated that human intention can affect an enormous variety of living systems: bacteria, yeast, algae, lice, chicks, mice, gerbils, rats, cats and dogs.[12]

A number of these experiments have also been carried out with human targets; intention has been shown to affect many biological processes within the receiver, including gross motor movements and those in the heart, the eye, the brain and the respiratory system.

Animals themselves proved capable of acts of effective intention.

In one ingenious study by René Peoc’h of the Fondation ODIER in Nantes, France, a roboti ‘mother hen’, constructed from a moveable random-event generator, was ‘imprinted’ on a group of baby chicks soon after birth.

The robot was placed outside the chicks’ cage, where it moved around freely, as its path was tracked and recorded.

Eventually, it was clear that the robot was moving towards the chicks two and a half times more often than it would ordinarily; the ‘inferred intention’ of the chicks – their desire to be close to their mother – appeared to affect the robot, drawing it closer to the cage.

In over 80 similar studies, in which a lighted candle was placed on a movable REG, baby chicks kept in the dark, finding the light comforting, managed to influence the robot to spend more time than normal in the vicinity of their cage.[13]

The largest and most persuasive body of research has been amassed by William Braud, a psychologist and the research director of the Mind Science Foundation i San Antonio, Texas, and, later, the Institute of Transpersonal Psychology. Braud and his colleagues demonstrated that human thoughts can affect the direction in which fish swim, the movement of other animals such as gerbils, and the breakdown of cells in the laboratory.[14]

Braud also designed some of the earliest well-controlled studies of mental influence on human beings. In one group of studies, Braud demonstrated that one person could affect the autonomic nervous system (or fight-or-flight mechanisms) of another.[15]

Comment

Which is one of the many reasons why I tell people that they must isolate themselves from chronically negative people, sociopaths, psychopaths, and people with social, mental or emotional disorders. these individuals will absolutely affect your life, and often it is for their benefit, whatever they perceive it to be, and not yours.

Electrodermal activity (EDA) is a measure of skin resistance and shows an individual’s state of stress; a change of EDA usually occurs if someone is stressed or made uncomfortable in some way.[16]

Braud’s signature study tested the effect on EDA of being stared at, one of the simplest means of isolating the effect of remote influence on a human being. He repeatedly demonstrated that people were subconsciously aroused while they were being stared at.[17]

Perhaps the most frequently studied area of remote influence concerns remote healing.

Some 150 studies, of variable scientific rigor, have been carried out,[18] and one of the best designed was conducted by the late Dr Elisabeth Targ. During the height of the AIDS epidemic in the 1980s, she devised an ingenious, highly controlled pair of studies, in which some 40 remote healers across America were shown to improve the health of terminal AIDS patients, even though the healers had never met or been in contact with their patients.[19]

Comment

The use of thought and intention as a means to heal others over distances has been scientifically confirmed to be valid.

Even some of the most rudimentary mind-over-matter experiments have had tantalizing results.

One of the first such studies involved attempts to influence a throw of the dice. To date, some 73 studies have examined the efforts of 2500 people to influence more than two and a half million throws of the dice, with extraordinary success. When all the studies were analyzed together, and allowances made for quality or selective reporting, the odds of the results occurring by chance alone were 1076 (1 followed by 76 zeros) to one.[20]

There was also some provocative material about spoon bending, that perennial party trick made popular by psychic Uri Geller. John Hasted, a professor at Birkbec College at the University of London, had tested this with an ingenious experiment involving children.

Hasted suspended latch keys from the ceiling and placed the children 3 to 10 feet away from their target key, so that they could have no physical contact. Attached to each key was a strain gauge, which would detect and register on a strip chart recorder any change in the key.

Hasted then asked the children to try to bend the suspended metal. During the sessions, he observed not only the keys swaying and sometimes fracturing, but also abrupt and enormous spikes of voltage pulses up to 10 volts – the very limits of the chart recorder. Even more compelling, when children had been asked to send their intention to several keys hung separately, the individual strain recorders noted simultaneous signals, as though the keys were being affected in concert.[21]

Comment

My first wife has a first cousin that could bend spoons, and she did it right there within inches of my nose. It was real, and pretty darn amazing.

Most intriguing, in much of the research on psychokinesis, mental influence of any variety had produced measurable effects, no matter how far the distance between the sender or what point in time he generated his intention. According to the experimental evidence, the power of thought transcended time and space.

By the time these revisionists were finished, they had torn up the rule book and scattered it to the four winds. Mind in some way appeared to be inextricably connected to matter and, indeed, was capable of altering it. Physical matter could be influenced, even irrevocably altered, not simply by force, but through the simple act of formulating a thought.

Nevertheless, the evidence from these frontier scientists left three fundamental questions unanswered.

Through what physical mechanisms do thoughts affect reality?

At the time of this writing, some highly publicized studies of mass prayer showed no effect.

Were certain conditions and preparatory states of mind more conducive to success than others?
How much power did a thought have, for good or ill?
How much of our lives could a thought actually change?

Most of the initial discoveries about consciousness occurred more than 30 years ago. More recent discoveries in frontier quantum physics and in laboratories around the globe offer answers to some of those questions. They provide evidence that our world is highly malleable, open to constant subtle influence. Recent research demonstrates that living things are constant transmitters and receivers of measurable energy. New models of consciousness portray it as an entity capable of trespassing physical boundaries of every description.

Intention appears to be something akin to a tuning fork, causing the tuning forks of other things in the universe to resonate at the same frequency.

The latest studies of the effect of mind on matter suggest that intention has variable effects that depend on the state of the host, and the time and the place where it originates. Intention has already been employed in many quarters to cure illness, alter physical processes and influence events.

It is not a special gift but a learned skill, readily taught. Indeed, we already use intention in many aspects of our daily lives.

Comment

Intention is a learned skill, and with practice, anyone can become proficient with it.

A body of research also suggests that the power of an intention multiplies, depending upon how many people are thinking the same thought at the same time.[22]

The Intention Experiment consists of three aspects.

The main body of the book (chapters 1–12) attempts to synthesize all the experimental evidence that exists on intention into a coherent scientific theory of how intention works, how it can be used in your life and which conditions optimize its effect.

The second portion of the book (chapter 13) offers a blueprint for using intention effectively in your own life through a series of exercises and recommendations for how best to ‘power up’. This portion is also an exercise in frontier science. I am not an expert in human potential, so this is not a self-help manual, but a journey of discovery for me as well as you. I have extrapolated this programme from scientific evidence describing those circumstances that created the most positive results in psychokinetic laboratory experiences. We know for certain that these techniques have generated success under controlled experimental laboratory conditions, but I cannot guarantee they will work in your life. By making use of them, you will, in effect, engage in an ongoing personal experiment.

The final section of the book (chapters 14 and 15) consists of a series of personal and group experiments. Chapter 14 outlines a series of informal experiments on the use of intention in your own life for you to carry out individually. These mini ‘experiments’ are also intended to be pieces of research. You will have the opportunity to post your results on our website and share them with other readers.

Besides these individual experiments, I have also designed a series of large group experiments to be carried out by the readers of this book (chapter 15). With the aid of our highly experienced scientific team, The Intention Experiment will conduct periodic large-scale experiments to determine whether the focused intention of its readers has an effect on scientifically quantifiable targets.

All it requires is that you read the book, digest its contents, log on to the website (www.theintentionexperiment.com) and, after following the instructions and exercises at the back of this book, send out some highly specific thoughts, as and when described on the site. The first such studies will be carried out by the German physicist Fritz-Albert Popp, vice-president of the International Institute of Biophysics in Neuss, Germany (www.lifescientists.de), and his team of seven, psychologist Gary Schwartz and his colleagues at the University of Arizona at Tucson, and Marilyn Schlitz and Dean Radin of the Institute of Noetic Sciences.

Website experts have collaborated with our scientific team to design log-on protocols to enable us to identify which characteristics of a group or aspects of their thoughts produce the most effective results. For each intention experiment, a target will be selected – a specific living thing or a population where change caused by group intention can be measured. We have started with algae, the lowliest of subjects (see chapter 12), and, with every experiment, we will move on to an increasingly complex living target.

Our plans are ambitious: to tackle a number of societal ills. One eventual human target might be patients with a wound. It is known and accepted that wounds generally heal at a particular, quantifiable rate with a precise pattern.[23] Any departure from the norm can be precisely measured and shown to be an experimental effect. In that instance, our aim would be to determine whether focused group intention will enable wounds to heal more quickly than usual.

Naturally, you don’t have to participate in our experiments. If you don’t wish to get involved, you can read about the intention experiments of others, and use some of that information to inform how you use intention in your life.

Please do not casually participate in the experiments. In order for the experiment to work properly, you must read the book and digest its contents fully beforehand. The experimental evidence suggests that those who are the most effective have trained their minds, much as athletes train their muscles, to maximize their chances of success.

In order to discourage uncommitted participation, The Intention Experiment website contains a complicated password comprising some words or ideas from the book (which will change slightly every few months). In order to be part of the experiment, you will have to log on with the password and you will have to have read the book and understood it.

The website (www.theintentionexperiment.com) has a running clock (set to US Eastern Standard Time and Greenwich Mean Time). At a particular moment on a date specified on the website, you will be asked to send a carefully worded, detailed intention, depending on the target site.

Once finished, the results of the experiments will be analysed and data-crunched by our scientific team, examined by a neutral statistician, and then published on the website and in subsequent printings of this book. The website will thus become the living sequel to the book you are holding in your hands. You simply need to consult the website periodically for announcements of the date of every experiment.

Hundreds of well-designed studies of group intention and remote mental influence have demonstrated significant results. Nevertheless, it might be the case that our experiments will not produce demonstrable, measurable effects, at first or indeed ever. As reputable scientists and objective researchers, we are duty-bound to report the data we have. As with all science, failure is instructive, helping us to refine the design of the experiments and the premises that they are based upon.

As you read this book, keep in mind that this is a work of frontier science. Science is a relentless process of self-correction. Assumptions originally considered as fact must often ultimately be discarded. Many – indeed, most – of the conclusions drawn in this book are bound to be amended or refined at a later date.

By reading this book and participating in its experiments you may well contribute to the world’s knowledge, and possibly further a paradigm shift in our understanding of how the world works. Indeed, the power of mass intention may ultimately be the force that shifts the tide towards repair and renewal of the planet. When combined with hundreds of thousands of others, your solitary voice, now one barely audible note, could transmute into a thunderous symphony.

My own motive for writing The Intention Experiment was to make a statement about the extraordinary nature and power of consciousness. It may prove true that a single collective, directed thought is all it takes to change the world.

Notes – Introduction

For a complete description of these scientists and their findings, consult L. McTaggart, The Field: the Quest for the Secret Force of the Universe, London: HarperCollins, 2001.
The full title of Newton’s major treatise is Philosophiae Naturalis Principia Mathematica, a name that offers a nod to its philosophical implications, although it is always referred to reverentially as the Principia.
R. P. Feynman, Six Easy Pieces: The Fundamentals of Physics Explained, London: Penguin, 1995: 24.
McTaggart, The Field, op. cit.
Eugene Wigner, the Hungarian-born American physicist who received a Nobel Prize for his contribution to the theory of quantum physics, is one of the early pioneers of the central role of consciousness in determining reality and argued, through a thought experiment called ‘Wigner’s friend’, that the observer, ‘the friend’, might collapse Schrödinger’s famous cat into a single state or, like the cat itself, remain in a state of superposition until another ‘friend’ comes into the lab. Other proponents of ‘the observer effect’ include John Eccles and Evan Harris Walker. John Wheeler is credited with espousing the theory that the universe is participatory: it only exists because we happen to be looking at it.
McTaggart, The Field, op. cit.
E. J. Squires, ‘Many views of one world – an interpretation of quantum theory’, European Journal of Physics, 1987; 8: 173.
B. F. Malle et al., Intentions and Intentionality: Foundations of Socia Cognition, Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 2001.
M. Schlitz, ‘Intentionality in healing: mapping the integration of body, mind, and spirit’, Alternative Therapies in Health and Medicine, 1995; 1 (5): 119–20.
R. G. Jahn et al., ‘Correlations of random binary sequences with prestated operator intention: a review of a 12-year program’, Journal of Scientific Exploration, 1997; 11: 345–67.
R. G. Jahn et al., ‘Correlations of random binary sequences’, op. cit.; Dean Radin and Roger Nelson, ‘Evidence for consciousness-related anomalies in random physical systems’, Foundations of Physics, 1989; 19 (12): 1499–514; McTaggart, The Field, op. cit.: 116–17.
These studies are itemized in great detail in D. Benor, Spiritual Healing, Volume 1, Southfield, Mich.: Vision Publications, 1992.
Rene Peoc’h, ‘Psychokinetic action of young chicks on the path of a “illuminated source”’, Journal of Scientific Exploration, 1995; 9 (2): 223;
R. Peoc’h, ‘Chicken imprinting and the tychoscope: An Anpsi experiment’ Journal of the Society for Psychical Research, 1988; 55: 1; R. Peoc’h, ‘Psychokinesis experiments with human and animal subjects upon a robot moving at random’, The Journal of Parapsychology, September 1, 2002.
William G. Braud and Marilyn J. Schlitz, ‘Consciousness interaction with remote biological systems: anomalous intentionality effects’, Subtle Energies and Energy Medicine, 1991; 2 (1): 1–27; McTaggart, The Field, op. cit.: 128–9.
Marilyn Schlitz and William Braud, ‘Distant intentionality and healing assessing the evidence’, Alternative Therapies in Health and Medicine, 1997; 3 (6): 62–73.
William Braud and Marilyn Schlitz, ‘A methodology for the objective study of transpersonal imagery’, Journal of Scientific Exploration, 1989; 3 (1): 43–63.
W. Braud et al., ‘Further studies of autonomic detection of remote staring: replication, new control procedures and personality correlates’, Journal of Parapsychology, 1993; 57: 391–409; M. Schlitz and S. LaBerge ‘Autonomic detection of remote observation; two conceptual replications’, in D. Bierman (ed.), Proceedings of Presented Papers: 37 Annual Parapsychological Association Convention, Amsterdam, Fairhaven, Mass.: Parapsychological Association, 1994: 465–78.
D. Benor, Spiritual Healing: Scientific Validation of a Healing Revolution, Southfield, Mich.: Vision Publications, 2001.
F. Sicher, E. Targ et al., ‘A randomized double-blind study of the effect of distant healing in a population with advanced AIDS: report of a small scale study’, Western Journal of Medicine, 1998; 168 (6): 356–63. For a full description of the studies, see McTaggart, The Field, op. cit.: 181–96.
Psychologist Dean Radin conducted a meta-analysis in 1989 at Princeton University of all known dice experiments (73) published between 1930 and 1989. They are recounted in his book Entangled Minds, New York: Paraview, 2006: 148–51.
J. Hasted, The Metal Benders, London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1981, as cited in W. Tiller, Science and Human Transformation; Subtle Energies Intentionality and Consciousness, Walnut Creek, Calif.: Pavior Publications, 1997: 13.
McTaggart, The Field, op. cit.: 199.
W. W. Monafo and M. A. West, ‘Current recommendations for topical burn therapy’, Drugs, 1990; 40: 364–73.

The Science of Intention

A human being is part of the whole, called by us ‘universe’, a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings as something separated from the rest – a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. 

-Albert Einstein

Chapter 1 Mutable Matter

FEW PLACES IN THE GALAXY are as cold as the helium-diluti refrigerator in Tom Rosenbaum’s lab. Temperatures in the refrigerator – a boiler- sized circular apparatus with a number of cylinders – can descend to a few thousandths of a degree above absolute zero, almost 273°C below freezing – three thousand times colder than the farthest reaches of outer space. For two days, liquid nitrogen and helium circulate around the refrigerator, and then three pumps constantly blasting out gaseous helium take the temperature down to the final rung. Without heat of any description, the atoms in matter slow to a crawl. At this scale of coldness, the universe would grind to a halt. It is the scientific equivalent of hell freezing over.

Absolute zero is the preferred temperature of a physicist like Tom Rosenbaum. At 47, as a distinguished professor of physics at the University of Chicago and former head of the James Franck Institute, Rosenbaum was in the vanguard o experimental physicists who liked exploring the limits of disorder in condensed- matter physics, the study of the inner workings of liquids and solids when their underlying order was disturbed.[1]

In physics, if you want to find out how something behaves, the best way is simply to make it uncomfortable and then see what happens. Creating disorder usually involves adding heat or applying a magnetic field to determine how it will react when disturbed and also to determine which spin position – or magnetic orientation – the atoms will choose.

Most of his colleagues in condensed-matter physics remained interested in symmetrical systems such as crystalline solids, whose atoms are arranged in orderly array, like eggs in a carton, but Rosenbaum was drawn to strange systems that were inherently disordered – to which more conventional quantum physicists referred disparagingly as ‘dirt’.

In dirt, he believed, lay exposed the unprobed secrets of the quantum universe, uncharted territory that he was happy to navigate.

He loved the challenge posed by spin glasses, strange hybrids of crystals, with magnetic properties, technically considered slow-moving liquids. Unlike a crystal, whose atoms point in the same direction in perfect alignment, the tiny magnets associated with the atoms of a spin glass are wayward and frozen in disarray.

The use of extreme coldness allowed Rosenbaum to slow down the atoms of these strange compounds enough to observe them minutely, and to tease out their quantum mechanical essence. At temperatures near to absolute zero, when their atoms are nearly stationary, they begin taking on new collective properties.

Rosenbaum was fascinated by the recent discovery that systems disorderly at room temperature display a conformist streak once they are cooled down. For once, these delinquent atoms begin to act in concert.

Examining how molecules behave as a group in various circumstances is highly instructive about the essential nature of matter.

In my own journey of discovery, Rosenbaum’s laboratory seemed the most appropriate place to begin. There, at those lowest temperatures where everything occurs in slow motion, the true nature of the most basic constituents of the universe might be revealed. I was looking for evidence of ways in which the components of our physical universe, which we think of as fully realized, are capable of being fundamentally altered.

I also wondered whether it could be shown that quantum behaviour like the observer effect occurs outside the subatomic world, in the world of the everyday. What Rosenbaum had discovered in his refrigerator might offer some vital clues as to how every object or organism in the physical world, which classical physics depicts as an irreversible fact, a finalized assemblage only changeable by the brute force of Newtonian physics, could be affected and ultimately altered by the energy of a thought.

According to the second law of thermodynamics, all physical processes in the universe can only flow from a state of greater to lesser energy. We throw a stone into a river and the ripple it makes eventually stops. A cup of hot coffee left standing can only grow cold.

Things inevitably fall apart; everything travels in a single direction, from order to disorder.

But this might not always be inevitable, Rosenbaum believed. Recent discoveries about disordered systems suggested that certain materials, under certain circumstances, might counteract the laws of entropy and come together rather than fall apart.

Was it possible that matter could go in the opposite direction, from disorder to greater order?

For ten years Rosenbaum and his students at the James Franck Institute had bee asking that question of a small chunk of lithium holmium fluoride salt. Inside Rosenbaum’s refrigerator lay a perfect chip of rose-coloured crystal, no bigger than the head of a pencil, wrapped in two sets of copper coils.

Over the years, after many experiments with spin glasses, Rosenbaum had grown very fond of these dazzling little specimens, one of the most naturally magnetic substances on earth. This characteristic presented the perfect situation in which to study disorder, but only after he had altered the crystal beyond recognition into a disordered substance.

He had first instructed the laboratory that grew the crystals to combine the holmium with fluorine and lithium, the first metal on the periodic table. The resulting lithium holmium fluoride salt was compliant and predictable – a highly ordered substance whose atoms behaved like a sea of microscopic compasses all pointing north.

Rosenbaum then had wreaked havoc on the original salt compound, instructing the lab to rip out a number of the atoms of holmium, bit by bit, and replace them with yttrium, a silvery metal without such natural magnetic attraction, until he was left with a strange hybrid of a compound: a salt called lithium holmium yttrium tetrafluoride.

By virtually eliminating the magnetic properties of the compound, Rosenbaum eventually had created spin-glass anarchy – the atoms of this Frankenstein monstrosity pointing any way they liked. Being able to manipulate the essential property of elements like holmium by creating weird new compounds so cavalierly was a little like having ultimate control over matter itself. With these new spin-glass compounds, Rosenbaum could virtually change the properties of the compound at will; he could make the atoms orientate in a particular direction, or freeze them in some random pattern.

Nevertheless, his omnipotence had a limit. Rosenbaum’s holmium compounds behaved themselves in some regards, but not in others. One thing he could not do was to get them to obey the laws of temperature. No matter how cold Rosenbaum made his refrigerator, the atoms inside them resisted any sort of ordered orientation, like an army refusing to march in step.

If Rosenbaum was playing God with his spin glasses the crystal was Adam, stubbornly refusing to obey His most fundamental law.

Sharing Rosenbaum’s curiosity about the strange property of the crystal compound was a young student called Sayantani Ghosh, one of his star PhD candidates. Sai, as her friends called her, a native of India, had graduated with a first-class honours degree from Cambridge, after which she had chosen Tom’s lab for her doctoral programme in 1999. Almost immediately, she had distinguished herself by winning the Gregor Wentzel Prize, given each year by the University of Chicago’s physics department to the best first-year graduate student teaching assistant. The slight 23-year-old, who at first glance appeared abashed, hiding behind her copious dark hair, had soon impressed her peers and teachers alike with her bold authority, a rarity among science students, and her ability to translate complex ideas to the level an undergraduate could comprehend. Sai shared the distinction of winning the coveted prize with only one other woman since its inception 25 years before.

According to the laws of classical physics, applying a magnetic field will disrupt the magnetic alignment of a substance’s atoms. The degree to which this happens is the salt’s ‘magnetic susceptibility’.

The usual pattern with a disordered substance is that it will respond to the magnetic field for a time and then plateau and tail off, as the temperature drops or the magnetic field reaches a point of magnetic saturation. The atoms will no longer be able to flip in the same direction as that of the magnetic field and so will begin to slow down.

In Sai’s first experiments, the atoms in the lithium holmium yttrium salt, as predicted, grew wildly excited with the application of the magnetic field. But then, as Sai increased the field, something strange began to happen. The more she turned up the frequency, the faster the atoms continued to flip over.

What is more, all the atoms, which had been in a state of disarray, began pointing in the same direction and operating as a collective whole. Then, small clusters of about 260 atoms aligned, forming ‘oscillators’, spinning collectively in one direction or another.

No matter how strong the magnetic field that Sai applied, the atoms remained stubbornly aligned with each other, acting in concert. This self-organization persisted for 10 seconds.

At first, Sai and Rosenbaum thought these effects might have something to do with the strange effects of the remaining atoms of holmium, known to be one of the very few substances in the world with such long-range internal forces that in some quarters it was described and worked out mathematically as something existing in another dimension.[2] Although they didn’t understand the phenomenon they had observed, they wrote up their results, which were published in the journal Science in 2002.[3]

Rosenbaum decided to carry out another experiment to attempt to isolate the property in the crystal’s essential nature that had enabled it to override such strong outside influences. He left the study’s design to his bright young graduate student, suggesting only that she create a computerized three-dimensional mathematical simulation of the experiment she had intended to carry out. In experiments of this nature on such tiny matter, physicists must rely on a computerized simulation to confirm mathematically the reactions they are witnessing experimentally.

Sai spent months developing the computer code and building her simulation. The plan was to find out a bit more about the salt’s magnetic capability, by applying two systems of disorder to the crystal chip: higher temperatures and a stronger magnetic field.

She prepared the sample by placing it in a little 2.4 x 4.8 cm copper holder, then wrapped two coils around the tiny crystal: one a gradiometer, to measure its magnetic susceptibility and the direction of spin of the individual atoms, and the other to cancel out any random flux affecting the atoms inside.

A connection attached to her PC would enable her to change the voltage, the magnetic field or the temperature, and would record any changes whenever she altered one of the variables by the tiniest degree.

She began lowering the temperature, a fraction of a kelvin (K) at a time, and then began applying a stronger magnetic field. To her amazement, the atoms kept aligning progressively. Then she tried applying heat, and discovered they again aligned. No matter what she did, in every instance the atoms ignored the outside interference. Although she and Tom had flushed out most of the compound’s magnetic component, of its own volition, as it were, it was turning into a larger and larger magnet.

That’s weird, she thought. Perhaps she should take more data, just to ensure they had encountered nothing strange in the system.

She repeated her experiment over six months until the early spring of 2002, when her computer simulation was finally complete. One evening, she mapped the results of the simulation on a graph, and then she superimposed the results from her actual experiment.

It was as though she had drawn a single line.

There on the computer screen was a perfect duplicate: the diagonal line formed from the computer simulation lay exactly over the diagonal line created from the results of the experiment itself.

What she had witnessed in the little crystal was not an artefact, but something real that she had now reproduced in her computer simulation. She had even mapped out where the atoms should have been on the graph, had they been obeying the usual laws of physics.

But there they were in a line: a law completely unto themselves.

She wrote Rosenbaum a guarded email late that evening:

‘I’ve got something interesting to show you in the morning.’

The following day, they examined her graph. There was no other possibility, they both realized; the atoms had been ignoring her and instead were controlled by the activity of their neighbors. No matter whether she blasted the crystal with a strong magnetic field or an increase in temperature, the atoms overrode this outside disturbance.

The only explanation was that the atoms in the sample crystal were internally organizing and behaving like one single giant atom. All the atoms, they realized with some alarm, must be entangled.

One of the strangest aspects of quantum physics is a feature called ‘non- locality’, also poetically referred to as ‘quantum entanglement’. The Danish physicist Niels Bohr discovered that once subatomic particles such as electrons or photons are in contact, they remain cognizant of and influenced by each other instantaneously over any distance forever, despite the absence of the usual things that physicists understand are responsible for influence, such as an exchange of force or energy.

When entangled, the actions – for instance, the magnetic orientation – of one will always influence the other in the same or the opposite direction, no matter how far they are separated. Erwin Schrödinger, another one of the original architects of quantum theory, believed that the discovery of non-locality represented no less than quantum theory’s defining moment – its central property and premise.

The activity of entangled particles is analogous to a set of twins being separated at birth, but retaining identical interests and a telepathic connection forever. One lives in Colorado, and the other in London. Although they never meet again, both like the color blue. Both take a job in engineering. Both like to ski; in fact when one falls down and breaks his right leg at Vale, his twin breaks his right leg at precisely that moment, even though he is 4000 miles away, sipping a latte at Starbucks.[4]

Albert Einstein refused to accept non-locality, referring to it disparagingly as ‘spukhafte Fernwirkungen’ or ‘spooky action at a distance’.

This type of instantaneous connection would require information traveling faster than the speed of light, he argued through a famous thought experiment, which would violate his own special relativity theory.[5]

Since the formulation of Einstein’s theory, the speed of light (299,792,458 meters per second) has been used as the absolute limiting factor on how quickly one thing can affect something else. Things are not supposed to be able to affect other things faster than the time it would take the first thing to travel to the second thing at the speed of light.

Nevertheless, modern physicists, such as Alain Aspect and his colleagues in Paris, have demonstrated decisively that the speed of light is not an absolute outer boundary in the subatomic world.

Aspect’s experiment, which concerned two photons fired off from a single atom, showed that the measurement of one photon instantaneously affected the position of the second photon[6] so that it has the same or opposite spin or position (as IBM physicist Charles H. Bennett once put it, ‘opposit luck’).[7]

The two photons continued to talk to each other and whatever happened to one was identical to, or the very opposite of, what happened to the other. Today, even the most conservative physicists accept non-locality as a strange feature of subatomic reality.[8]

Most quantum experiments incorporate some test of Bell’s Inequality. This famous experiment in quantum physics was carried out by John Bell, an Irish physicist who developed a practical means to test how quantum particles really behaved.[9]

This simple test required that you get two quantum particles that had once been in contact, separate them and then take measurements of the two. It is analogous to a couple named Daphne and Ted who have once been together but are now separated. Daphne can choose one of two possible directions to go in and so can Ted. According to our commonsense view of reality, Daphne’s choice should be utterly independent of Ted’s.

When Bell carried out his experiment, the expectation was that one of the measurements would be larger than the other – a demonstration of ‘inequality’. However, a comparison of the measurements showed that both were the same and so his inequality was ‘violated’.

Some invisible wire appeared to be connecting these quantum particles across space, to make them follow each other. Ever since, physicists have understood that when a violation of Bell’s Inequality occurs, it means that two things are entangled.

Bell’s Inequality has enormous implications for our understanding of the universe.

By accepting non-locality as a natural facet of nature we are acknowledging that two of the bedrocks on which our world view rests are wrong: that influence only occurs over time and distance, and that particles like Daphne and Ted, and indeed the things that are made up of particles, only exist independently of each other.

Although modern physicists now accept non-locality as a given feature of the quantum world, they console themselves by maintaining that this strange, counter- intuitive property of the subatomic universe does not apply to anything bigger than a photon or electron.

Once things got to the level of atoms and molecules, which in the world of physics is considered ‘macroscopic’, or large, the universe started behaving itself again, according to predictable, measurable, Newtonian laws.

With one tiny thumbnail’s worth of crystal, Rosenbaum and his graduate student demolished that delineation.

They had demonstrated that big things like atoms were non-locally connected, even in matter so large you could hold it in your hand. Never before had quantum non-locality been demonstrated on such a scale. Although the specimen had been only a tiny chip of salt, to the subatomic particle, it was a palatial country mansion, housing a billion billion (1,000,000,000,000,000,000 or 1018) atoms.

Rosenbaum, ordinarily loathe to speculate about what he could not yet explain, realized that they had uncovered something extraordinary about the nature of the universe.

And I realized they had discovered a mechanism for intention: they had demonstrated that atoms, the essential constituents of matter, could be affected by non-local influence. Large things like crystals were not playing by the grand rules of the game, but by the anarchic rules of the quantum world, maintaining invisible connections without obvious cause.

In 2002, after Sai wrote up their findings, Rosenbaum polished up the wording and sent off their paper to Nature, a journal notorious for conservatism and exacting peer review. After four months of responding to the suggestions of reviewers, Ghosh finally got her paper published in the world’s premier scientific journal, a laudatory feat for a 26-year-old graduate student.[10]

One of the reviewers, Vlatko Vedral, noted the experiment with a mix of interest and frustration.[11] A Yugoslav who had studied at Imperial College, London, during his country’s civil war and subsequent collapse, Vedral had distinguished himself in his adopted country and been chosen to head up quantum information science at the University of Leeds. Vedral, who was tall and leonine, was part of a small group in Vienna working on frontier quantum physics, including entanglement.

Vedral first theoretically predicted the effect that Ghosh and Rosenbaum eventually found three years later. He had submitted the paper to Nature in 2001, but the journal, which preferred experiment to theory, had rejected it. Eventually, Vedral managed to publish his paper in Physical Review Letters, the premier physics journal.[12] After Nature decided to publish Ghosh’s study, its editors threw him a conciliatory bone. They allowed him to be a reviewer on the paper, and then offered him a place in the same issue to write an opinion piece on the findings.

In the article, Vedral allowed himself some speculation. Quantum physics is accepted as the most accurate means of describing how atoms combine to form molecules, he wrote, and since molecular relationship is the basis of all chemistry, and chemistry is the basis of biology, the magic of entanglement could well be the key to life itself.[13]

Vedral and a number of others in his circle did not believe that this effect was unique to holmium. The central problem in uncovering entanglement is the primitive state of our technology; isolating and observing this effect is only possible at the moment by slowing atoms down so much in such cold conditions that they are hardly moving. Nevertheless, a number of physicists had observed entanglement in matter at 200 K, or –73°C – a temperature that can be found on Earth in some of its very coldest places.

Other researchers have proved mathematically that everywhere, even inside of our own bodies, atoms and molecules are engaged in an instantaneous and ceaseless passing back and forth of information.

Thomas Durt of Vrije University in Brussels demonstrated through elegant mathematical formulations that almost all quantum interactions produce entanglement, no matter what the internal or surrounding conditions. Even photons, the tiniest particles of light emanating from stars, are entangled with every atom they meet on their way to earth.[14]

Entanglement at normal temperatures appears to be a natural condition of the universe, even in our bodies. Every interaction between every electron inside of us creates entanglement. According to Benni Reznik, a theoretical physicist at Tel Aviv University in Israel, even the empty space around us is heaving with entangled particles.[15]

The English mathematician Paul Dirac, an architect of quantum field theory, firs postulated that there is no such thing as nothingness, or empty space. Even if you tipped all matter and energy out of the universe and examined all the ‘empty’ space between the stars you would discover a netherworld world teeming with subatomic activity.

In the world of classical physics, a field is a region of influence, in which two or more points are connected by a force, like gravity or electromagnetism. However, in the world of the quantum particle, fields are created by exchanges of energy.

According to Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle, one reason that quantum particles are ultimately unknowable is because their energy is always being redistributed in a dynamic pattern. Although often rendered as tiny billiard balls, subatomic particles more closely resemble little packets of vibrating waves, passing energy back and forth as if in an endless game of basketball. All elementary particles interact with each other by exchanging energy through what are considered temporary or ‘virtual’ quantum particles. These are believed to appear out of nowhere, combining and annihilating each other in less than an instant, causing random fluctuations of energy without any apparent cause. Virtual particles, or negative energy states, do not take physical form, so we cannot actually observe them. Even ‘real’ particles are nothing more than a little knot of energy, which briefly emerge and disappear back into the underlying energy field.

These back-and-forth passes, which rise to an extraordinarily large ground state of energy, are known collectively as the Zero Point Field.

Comment

Zero point field is the basis of many types of substantive extraterrestrial technology.

The field is called ‘zero point’ because even at temperatures of absolute zero, when all matter theoretically should stop moving, these tiny fluctuations are still detectable. Even at the coldest place in the universe, subatomic matter never comes to rest, but carries on this little energy tango.[16]

The energy generated by every one of these exchanges between particles is unimaginably tiny – about half a photon’s worth. However, if all exchanges between all subatomic particles in the universe were to be added up, it would produce an inexhaustible supply of energy of unfathomable proportions, exceeding all energy in matter by a factor of 1040, or 1 followed by 40 zeros.[17] Richard Feynman himself once remarked that the energy in a cubic meter of space was enough to boil all the oceans of the world.[18]

After the discoveries of Heisenberg about Zero Point energy, most conventional physicists have subtracted the figures symbolizing Zero Point energy from their equations. They assumed that, because the Zero Point Field was ever present in matter, it did not change anything and so could be safely ‘renormalized’ away.

However, in 1973, when trying to work out an alternative to fossil fuel during the petrol crisis, American physicist Hal Puthoff, inspired by the Russian Andrei Sakharov, began trying to figure out how to harness the teeming energy of empty space for transport on earth and to distant galaxies.

Puthoff spent more than 30 years examining the Zero Point Field.

With some colleagues, he had proved that this constant energy exchange of all subatomic matter with the Zero Point Field accounts for the stability of the hydrogen atom, and, by implication, the stability of all matter.[19]

Remove the Zero Point Field and all matter would collapse in on itself.

He also demonstrated that Zero Point energy is responsible for two basic properties of mass: inertia and gravity.[20]

Puthoff also worked on a multimillion-dollar project funded by Lockheed Martin and a variety of American universities, to develop Zero Point energy for space travel – a programme that finally went public in 2006.

Many strange properties of the quantum world, like uncertainty or entanglement, could be explained if you factored in the constant interaction of all quantum particles with the Zero Point Field. To Puthoff, science’s understanding of the nature of entanglement was analogous to two sticks stuck in the sand at the edge of the ocean, about to be hit by a huge wave. If they both were knocked over, and you did not know about the wave, you would think that one stick was affecting the other and call it a non-local effect. The constant interaction of quantum particles with the Zero Point Field might be the underlying mechanism for non-local effects between particles, allowing one particle to be in touch with every other particle at any moment.[21]

Benni Reznik’s work in Israel with the Zero Point Field and entanglement bega mathematically with a central question: what would happen to a hypothetical pair of probes interacting with the Zero Point Field? According to his calculations, once they began interacting with the Zero Point Field, the probes would begin talking to each other and ultimately become entangled.[22]

If all matter in the universe were interacting with the Zero Point Field, it meant quite simply, that all matter was interconnected and potentially entangled throughout the cosmos through quantum waves.[23]

And if we and all of empty space are a mass of entanglement, we must be establishing invisible connections with things at a distance to ourselves.

Acknowledging the existence of the Zero Point Field and entanglement offers a ready mechanism for why signals being generated by the power of thought can be picked up by someone else many miles away.

* * *

Sai Ghosh had proved that non-locality existed in the large building blocks of matter and the other scientists proved that all matter in the universe was, in a sense, a satellite of a large central energy field. But how could matter be affected by this connection? The central assumption of all of classical physics is that large material things in the universe are set pieces, a fait accompli of manufacture.

How can they possibly be changed?

Vedral had an opportunity to examine this question when he was invited to work with the renowned quantum physicist Anton Zeilinger. Zeilinger’s Institute for Experimental Physics lab at the University of Vienna was at the very frontier of some of the most exotic research into the nature of quantum properties. Zeilinger himself was profoundly dissatisfied with the current scientific explanation of nature, and he had passed on that dissatisfaction and the quest to resolve it to his students.

In a flamboyant gesture, Zeilinger and his team had entangled a pair of photons from beneath the River Danube. They had set up a quantum channel via a glass fibre and run it across the river bed of the Danube. In his lab, Zeilinger liked to refer to individual photons as Alice and Bob, and sometimes, if he needed a third photon, Carol or Charlie. Alice and Bob, separated by 600 metres of river and nowhere in sight of each other, maintained a non-local connection.[24]

Zeilinger was particularly interested in superposition, and the implications of the Copenhagen Interpretation – that subatomic particles exist only in a state of potential.

Could objects, and not simply the subatomic particles that compose them, he wondered, exist in this hall-of-mirrors state?

To test this question, Zeilinger employed a piece of equipment called a Talbot Lau interferometer, developed by some colleagues at MIT, using a variation on the famous double-slit experiment of Thomas Young, a British physicist of the nineteenth century. In Young’s experiment, a beam of pure light is sent through a single hole, or slit, in a piece of cardboard, then passes through a second screen with two holes before finally arriving at a third, blank screen.

When two waves are in phase (that is, peaking and troughing at the same time), and bump into each other – technically called ‘interference’ – the combined intensity of the waves is greater than each individual amplitude. The signal gets stronger. This amounts to an imprinting or exchange of information, called ‘constructive interference’. If one is peaking when the other troughs, they tend to cancel each other out – called ‘destructive interference’. With constructive interference, when all the waves are wiggling in synch, the light will get brighter; destructive interference will cancel out the light and result in complete darkness.

In the experiment, the light passing through the two holes forms a zebra pattern of alternating dark and light bands on the final blank screen. If light were simply a series of particles, two of the brightest patches would appear directly behind the two holes of the second screen. However, the brightest portion of the pattern is halfway between the two holes, caused by the combined amplitude of those waves that most interfere with each other. From this pattern, Young was the first to realize that light beaming through the two holes spreads out in overlapping waves.

A modern variation of the experiment fires off single photons through the double slit. These single photons also produce zebra patterns on the screen, demonstrating that even single units of light travel as a smeared-out wave with a large sphere of influence.

Twentieth-century physicists went on to use Young’s experiment with other individual quantum particles, and held it up as proof that quantum physics had Through-the-Looking-Glass properties: quant um entities acted wavelike and travelled though both slits at once. Fire a stream of electrons at the triple screens, and you end up with the interference patterns of alternating light and dark patches, just as you do with a beam of light. Since you need at least two waves to create such interference patterns, the implication of the experiment is that the photon is somehow mysteriously able to travel through both slits at the same time and interfere with itself when it reunites.

The double-slit experiment encapsulates the central mystery of quantum physics

the idea that a subatomic particle is not a single seat but the entire stadium. It also demonstrates the principle that electrons, which exist in a hermetic quantum state, are ultimately unknowable. You could not identify something about a quantum entity without stopping the particle in its tracks, at which point it would collapse to a single point.

In Zeilinger’s adaptation of the slit experiment, using molecules instead of subatomic particles, the interferometer contained an array of slits in the first screen, and a grating of identical parallel slits in the second one, whose purpose was to diffract (or deflect) the molecules passing by. The third grating, turned perpendicular to the beam of molecules, acted as a scanning ‘mask’, with the ability to calculate the size of the waves of any of the molecules passing through, by means of a highly sensitive laser detector to locate the positions of the molecules and their interference patterns.

For the initial experiment, Zeilinger and his team carefully chose a batch of fullerene molecules, or ‘buckyballs’ made of 60 carbon atoms. At one nanometre apiece, these are the behemoths of the molecular world. They selected fullerene not only for its size but also for its neat arrangement, with a shape like a tiny symmetrical football.

It was a delicate operation. Zeilinger’s group had to work with just the right temperature; heating the molecules just a hair too much would cause them to disintegrate. Zeilinger heated the fullerenes to 900 K so they would create an intense molecular beam, then fired them through the first screen; they then passed through the second screen before making a pattern on the final screen. The results were unequivocal. Each molecule displayed the ability to create interference patterns with itself. Some of the largest units of physical matter had not ‘localized’ into their final state. Like a subatomic particle, these giant molecules had not yet gelled into anything real.

The Vienna team scouted out some other molecules that were double the size and oddly shaped to see if geometrically asymmetric molecules also demonstrated the same magical properties. They settled on gigantic fluorinated American football- shaped molecules of 70 carbon atoms and pancake-shaped tetraphenylporphyrin, a derivative of the biodye present in chlorophyll. At more than 100 atoms apiece, both of these entities are among the largest molecules on the planet. Again, each one created an interference pattern with itself.

Zeilinger’s group repeatedly demonstrated that the molecules could be two places at once, which meant that they remained in a state of superposition even at this large scale.[25]

They had proved the unthinkable: the largest components of physical matter and living things exist in a malleable state.[26]

Sai Ghosh didn’t often think about the implications of her discovery.

She was content with the knowledge that her experiment had made a very nice paper, and might help along her career as an assistant professor involved in research into miniaturization, the direction she believed quantum mechanics was heading. Occasionally, she allowed herself to speculate that her crystal might have proved something important about the nature of the universe. But she was only a postgraduate student. What did she, after all, really know about how the world worked?

But to me, Ghosh’s research and Zeilinger’s work on the double-slit experiment represent two defining moments in modern physics. Ghosh’s experiments show that an invisible connection exists between the fundamental elements of matter, which is often so strong that it can override classical methods of influence, such as heat or a push. Zeilinger’s work demonstrated something even more astonishing. Large matter was neither something solid and stable nor something that necessarily behaved according to Newtonian rules. Molecules needed some other influence to settle them into a completed state of being.

Theirs were the first evidence that the peculiar properties of quantum physics do not simply occur at the quantum level with subatomic particles, but also in the world of visible matter. Molecules also exist in a state of pure potential, not a final actuality. Under certain circumstances, they escape Newtonian rules of force and display quantum non-local effects. The fact that something as large as a molecule can become entangled suggests that there are not two rule books – the physics of the large and the physics of the small – but only a single rule book for all of life.

These two experiments also hold the key to a science of intention – how thoughts are able to affect finished, solid matter.

Comment

Thoughts create reality. They can change the physical world around us in the most profound manners. Thus we absolutely need to have direct and substantive control over our thoughts.

They suggest that the observer effect occurs not simply in the world of the quantum particle but also in the world of the everyday. Things no longer should be seen to exist in and of themselves but, like a quantum particle, only in relationship. Co-creation and influence may be a basic, inherent property of life.

Our observation of every component in our world may help to determine its final state, which suggests that we are likely to be influencing every large thing we see around us.

When we enter a crowded room, when we engage with our partners and our children, when we gaze up at the sky, we may be creating and even influencing at every moment. We can’t yet demonstrate this at normal temperatures; our equipment is still too crude. But we already have some preliminary proof: the physical world – matter itself – appears to be malleable, susceptible to influence from the outside.

Notes – Chapter 1: Mutable Matter

All personal information about Tom Rosenbaum and Sai Ghosh and their studies have been culled from multiple interviews conducted in February and March 2005.
This was the solution posed by Giorgio Parisi at Rome in 1979.
S. Ghosh et al., ‘Coherent spin oscillations in a disordered magnet’, Science, 2002; 296: 2195–8.
Once again, I am indebted to Danah Zohar for her easy-to-digest description of quantum non-locality, which appears in D. Zohar, The Quantum Self, London: Bloomsbury, 1991: 19–20.
A. Einstein, B. Podolsky and N. Rosen, ‘Can quantum-mechanica description of physical reality be considered complete?’ Physical Review, 1935; 47: 777–80.
A. Aspect et al., ‘Experimental tests of Bell’s inequalities using time- varying analyzers’, Physical Review Letters, 1982; 49: 1804–7; A. Aspect, ‘Bell’s inequality test: more ideal than ever’, Nature, 1999; 398: 189–90.
Science Fact: Scientists achieve ‘Star Trek’-like feat – The Associate Press, December 10, 1997, posted on CNN http://edition.cnn.com/TECH/9712/10/beam. me. up. ap.
Non-locality was considered to be proven by Aspect et al.’ s experiments in Paris in 1982.
J. S. Bell, ‘On the Einstein-Poldolsky-Rosen paradox’,Physics, 1964; 1: 195–200.
S. Ghosh et al., ‘Entangled quantum state of magnetic dipoles’, Nature, 2003; 435: 48–51.
Details of Vedral’s views and experiments the result of multiple interviews, February, October and December 2005.
C. Arnesen et al., ‘Thermal and magnetic entanglement in the 1D Heisenberg Model’, Physical Review Letters, 2001; 87: 017901.
V. Vedral, ‘Entanglement hits the big time’, Nature, 2003; 425: 28–9.
T. Durt, interview with author, April 26, 2005.
B. Reznik, ‘Entanglement from the vacuum’, Foundations of Physics, 2003; 33: 167–76; Michael Brooks, ‘Entanglement: The weirdest link’, New Scientist, 2004; 181 (2440): 32.
John D. Barrow, The Book of Nothing, London: Jonathan Cape, 2000: 216.
Erwin Laszlo, The Interconnected Universe: Conceptual Foundations o Transdiscipinary Unified Theory, Singapore: World Scientific Publishing, 1995: 28.
A. C. Clarke, ‘When will the real space age begin?’ Ad Astra, May–June 1996; 13–15.
Harold Puthoff, ‘Ground state of hydrogen as a zero-point-fluctuation- determined state’, Physical Review D, 1987; 35: 3266.
B. Haisch, Alfonso Rueda and H. E. Puthoff, ‘Inertia as a zero-point-fiel Lorentz force’, Physical Review A, 1994; 49 (2): 678–94; Bernhard Haisch, Alfonso Rueda and H. E. Puthoff, ‘Physics of the zero-point field implications for inertia, gravitation and mass’, Speculations in Science and Technology, 1997; 20: 99–114.
Reznik, ‘Entanglement from the vacuum’, op. cit.
McTaggart, The Field, op. cit.: 35–6.
J. Resch et al., ‘Distributing entanglement and single photons through an intra-city, free-space quantum channel’, Optics Express, 2005; 13 (1): 202–9; R. Ursin et al., ‘Quantum teleportation across the Danube’, Nature, 2004; 430: 849.
M. Arndt et al., ‘Wave–particle duality of C60 molecules’, Nature, 1999; 401: 680–2; doi: 10.1038/44348.
A. Zeilinger, ‘Probing the limits of the quantum world’, Physics World, March 2005 (online journal: http://www.physicsweb.org/articles/world/18/3/5/1).

The Human Antenna

IN 1951, AT THE AGE OF SEVEN, Gary Schwartz made a remarkabe discovery. He had been trying to get a good picture on the family’s television set. The recently acquired black and white Magnavox set encased behind the doors of its boxed walnut console fascinated him, not because of the people in the moving pictures so much as the means by which they arrived in his living room in the first place.

The mechanisms of the relatively new invention remained a mystery, even to most adults. Television, like any other electrical gadget, was something the precocious child longed to take apart and understand. This passion had already found expression with the worn-out radios given to him by his grandfather.

Ignatz Schwartz sold replacement tubes for televisions and radios in his drug store in Great Neck, Long Island, and those that were beyond repair were handed over to his grandson to disassemble. In a corner of Gary’s bedroom lay a mass of experimental debris – tubes, resistors and the carcasses of radios heaped on the cosmetic display racks he had borrowed from his grandfather – the first signs of what would become a lifelong fascination with electronics.

Gary knew that the way you twisted the rabbit-ear antenna on top of the television would determine the clarity of the picture. His father had explained that television sets were powered by something invisible, similar to radio waves, that flew through the air and were somehow translated into an image.

Gary had even carried out some rudimentary experiments. When you stood somewhere between the antenna and the television, you could make the picture go away. When you touched the antenna in certain ways, you made the picture clearer.

One day, on a whim, Gary unscrewed the antenna and placed his finger on the screw where the cable had been. What had been a mass of squiggles and static noise on the screen suddenly coalesced into a perfect image.

Even at that young age, he had understood that he had witnessed something extraordinary about human beings: his body was acting like a television antenna, a receiver of this invisible information.

He tried the same experiment with a radio – substituting his finger for the antenna, and the same thing happened.

Something in the makeup of a person was not unlike the rabbit ears that helped produce his television image. He too was a receiver of invisible information, with the ability to pick up signals transmitted across time and space.

Until he was 15, however, he could not visualize what these signals were made of. He had learned to play the electric guitar and had often wondered what unseen influences allowed the instrument to create different sounds. He could play the same note, middle C, and yet produce more of a treble or bass sound, depending on which way he turned the knob. How was it possible that a single note could sound so different? For a science project, he created multiple-track recordings of his music and then located a company in upstate New York that had equipment designed to analyse the frequency of sound. When he fed his recordings into the equipment, it quickly deconstructed the notes down to their essence.

Each note registered as a batch of squiggles across the screen of the cathode-ray tube in front of him – a complex mix of hundreds of frequencies representing a blend of overtones that would subtly change when he turned the knob to treble or bass. He knew that these frequencies were waves, represented on the monitor as a sideways S, or sine curve, like a skipping rope held at both ends and wriggled, and that they had periodic oscillations, or fluctuations, similar to the waves on Long Island Sound.

Every time he spoke, he knew he generated similar frequencies through his voice. He remembered his early television experiments and wondered whether a field of energy pulsated inside him and shared a kinship with sound waves.1

Gary’s childhood experiments may have been rudimentary, but he had already stumbled across the central mechanism of intention. Something in the quality of our thoughts was a constant transmission, not unlike a television station.

As an adult, Schwartz, still a bustling dynamo of enthusiasms, found an outlet in psychophysiology, then a fledgling study of the effect of the mind on the body. By the time he had accepted a post at the University of Arizona, which was known for encouraging freedom of research among its faculty, he had grown fascinated by biofeedback and the ways in which the mind could control blood pressure and a variety of illnesses – and the powerful physical effect of different types of thoughts.2

One weekend in 1994, at a conference on the relationship between love and energy, he sat in on a lecture by physicist Elmer Green, one of the pioneers of biofeedback. Green, like Schwartz, had grown interested in the energy being transmitted by the mind. To examine this more closely, he had decided to study remote healers and to determine whether they sent out more electrical energy than usual while in the process of healing.

Green reported in his lecture that he had built a room whose four walls and ceiling were entirely made of copper, and were attached to microvolt electroencephalogram (EEG) amplifiers – the kind used to measure the electrical activity in the brain. Ordinarily, an EEG amplifier is attached to a cap with imbedded electrodes, each of which records separate electrical discharges from different places in the brain. The cap is placed on a person’s head, and the electrical activity picked up is displayed on the amplifier. EEG amplifiers are extraordinarily sensitive, capable of picking up the most minute of effects – even one-millionth of a volt of electricity.

In remote healing, Green suspected that the signal produced was electrical and emanated from the healer’s hands. The copper wall acted like a giant antenna, magnifying the ability to detect the electricity from the healers and enabling Green to capture it from five directions.

He discovered that, whenever a healer sent healing, the EEG amplifier often recorded it as a huge surge of electrostatic charge, the same kind of the build up and discharge of electrons that occurs after you shuffle your feet along a new carpet and then touch a metal doorknob.3

In the early days of the copper wall experiment, Green had been faced with an enormous problem. Whenever a healer so much as wriggled a finger, patterns got recorded on an EEG amplifier. Green had had to work out a means of separating out the true effects of healing from this electrostatic noise. The only way to do so, as he saw it, was to have his healers remain perfectly still while they were sending out healing energy.

Schwartz listened to the talk with growing fascination. Green was discarding what might be the most interesting part of the data, he thought. One man’s noise was another man’s signal.

Does movement, even the physiology of your breathing, create an electromagnetic signal big enough to be picked up on a copper wall? Could it be that human beings were not only receivers of signals but also transmitters?

It made perfect sense that we transmitted energy. A great deal of evidence had already proved that all living tissue has an electric charge. Placing this charge in three-dimensional space caused an electromagnetic field that traveled at the speed of light. The mechanisms for the transmission of energy were clear, but what was unclear was the degree to which we sent out electromagnetic fields just by simple movements and whether our energy was being picked up by other living things.

Schwartz was itching to test this out for himself. After the conference, he contacted Green for advice about how to build his own copper wall. He rushed to Home Depot, which did not stock copper shielding but did have aluminum shielding, which could also act as a rudimentary antenna.

He purchased some two by fours, placed them on glass bricks so that they would be isolated from the ground, and used them to assemble a ‘wall’. After he had attached the wall to an EEG amplifier, he began playing around with the effects of his hand, waving it back and forth above the box. As he suspected, the amplifier tracked the movement. His hand movements were generating signals.4

Schwartz began demonstrating these effects in front of his students in his faculty office, making use of a bust of Einstein for dramatic effect. With these experiments, he made use of an EEG cap, with its dozens of electrodes. When not picking up brain signals, the cap will register only noise on the amplifier.

During his experiments, Schwartz placed the EEG cap on his Einstein bust, an turned on just a single electrode channel on the top of the cap. Then he moved his hand over Einstein’s head. As though the great man had suddenly experienced a moment of enlightenment, the amplifier suddenly came alive and produced evidence of an electromagnetic wave.

But the signal, Schwartz explained to his students, was not a sudden brain wave emitted from the lifeless statue – only the tracking of the electromagnetic field produced by his arm’s movement. It seemed indisputable: his body must be sending out a signal with every single flutter of his hand.

Schwartz got more creative with his experiments. When he tried the same gesture from three feet away, the signal diminished. When he placed the bust in a Faraday cage, an enclosure of tightly knit copper mesh that screens out electromagnetic fields, all effect disappeared. This strange energy resulting from movement had all the hallmarks of electricity: it decreased with distance, and was blocked by an electromagnetic shield.

At one point, Schwartz asked one of the students to stand with his left hand over Einstein’s head, with his right arm extended towards Schwartz, who was sitting in a chair three feet away. Schwartz moved his arm up and down. To the amazement of the other students, Schwartz’s movement was picked up by the amplifier. The signal had passed through Schwartz’s body and travelled through the student. Schwartz was still generating the signal, but this time, the student had become the antenna, receiving the signal and transmitting it to the amplifier, which acted as another antenna.

Schwartz realized he had hit upon the most important point of all his research.

Simple movement generated electrical charge, but, more important, it created a relationship. Every movement we make appears to be felt by the people around us.

The implications were staggering.

What if he were admonishing a student? What might be the physical effect on the student of wagging his finger while shouting ‘Don’t do that’? The student might feel as if he were getting shot with a wave of energy. Some people might even have more powerful positive or negative charges than others. In Elmer Green’s copper wall experiment, all sorts of equipment malfunctioned in the presence of Roslyn Bruyere, a famous healer.

Schwartz was onto something fundamental about the actual energy that human beings emit. Could the energy of thought have the same effect as the energy of movement outside the thinker’s own body? Did thoughts also create a relationship with the people around us? Every intention towards someone else might have its own physical counterpart, which would be registered by its recipient as a physical effect.

Like Schwartz, I suspected the energy generated by thoughts did not behave in the same way as the energy generated by movement. After all, the signal from movement decreased over distance, much like ordinary electricity. With healing, distance appeared to be irrelevant. The energy of intention, if indeed there were any, would have to be more fundamental than that of ordinary electromagnetism – and lie somewhere, perhaps, in the realm of quantum physics. How could I test the energetic effects of intention? Healers, who appeared to be sending more energy than normal through their healing, offered an obvious place to start.

Elmer Green demonstrated in his research that an enormous surge of electrostatic energy occurred during healing. When a person is simply standing still, his or her breathing and beating heart will produce electrostatic energy of 10–15 millivolts on the EEG amplifiers; during activities requiring focused attention, such as meditation, the energy will surge up to 3 volts. During healing, however, Green’s healers produced voltage surges up to 190 volts; one produced 15 such pulses, which were 100,000 times higher than normal, with smaller pulses of 1–5 volts appearing on each of the four copper walls. On investigating the source of this energy, Green discovered that the pulses were coming from the healer’s abdomen, called dan tien and considered the central engine of internal energy in the body in Chinese martial arts.5

Stanford University physicist William Tiller constructed an ingenious device to measure the energy produced by healers. The equipment discharged a steady stream of gas and recorded the exact number of electrons pulsing out with the discharge. Any increase in voltage would be captured by the pulse counter.

In his experiment, Tiller asked ordinary volunteers to place their hands about six inches from his device and hold a mental intention to increase the count rate. In the majority of more than 1000 such experiments, Tiller discovered that, during the intention, the number of recorded pulses would increase by 50,000 and remain there for 5 minutes.

These increases would occur even if a participant was not close to the machine, so long as he or she held an intention.

Tiller concluded that directed thoughts produce demonstrable physical energy, even over remote distance.6

Comment

Tiller concluded that directed thoughts produce demonstrable physical energy, even over remote distance..

I found two other studies measuring the actual electrical frequencies emitted by people using intention.

One study measured healing energy and the other examined energy generated by a Chinese Qigong master during times that he was emitting external Qi, the Chinese term for energy or the life force.7

In both instances, the measurements were identical: frequency levels of 2–30 hertz were being emitted by the healers.

This energy also seemed to change the molecular nature of matter.

Comment

Qi seemed to change the molecular nature of matter.

I discovered a body of scientific evidence examining chemical changes caused by intention.

Bernard Grad, an associate professor of biology at McGill University in Montreal had examined the effect of healing energy on water that was to be used to irrigate plants. After a group of healers had sent healing to samples of water, Grad chemically analysed the water by infrared spectroscopy.

He discovered that the water treated by the healers had undergone a fundamental change in the bonding of oxygen and hydrogen in its molecular makeup.

The hydrogen bonding between the molecules had lessened in a similar manner to that which occurs in water exposed to magnets.8

A number of other scientists confirmed Grad’s findings; Russian research discovered that the hydrogen–oxygen bonds in water molecules undergo distortions in the crystalline microstructure during healing.9

These kinds of changes can occur simply through the act of intention.

In one study, experienced meditators sent an intention to affect the molecular structure of water samples they were holding throughout the meditation. When the water was later examined by infrared spectrophotometry, many of its essential qualities, particularly its absorbance – the amount of light absorbed by the water at a particular wavelength had been significantly altered.10

When someone holds a focused thought, he may be altering the very molecular structure of the object of his intention.

Comment

When someone holds a focused thought, he may be altering the very molecular structure of the object of his intention.

In his research, Gary Schwartz wondered whether intention only manifested as electrostatic energy. Perhaps magnetic energy also played a role.

Magnetic fields naturally had more power, more ‘push–pull’ energy. Magnetism seemed the more powerful and universal energy; the earth itself is profoundly influenced by its own faint pulse of geomagnetic energy.

Schwartz remembered a study carried out by William Tiller, in which psychics had been placed inside a variety of devices that block different forms of energy. They had performed better than usual in a Faraday cage, which filters out only electrical energy, but they performed worse when placed in a magnetically shielded room.11

From these early studies, Schwartz gleaned two important implications: healing may generate an initial surge of electricity, but the real transfer mechanism may be magnetic.

Indeed, psychic phenomena and psychokinesis could be differentially influenced, simply through different types of shielding. Electrical signals might interfere, while magnetic signals enhance the process.

To test this latest idea, Schwartz was approached by a colleague of his, Melinda Connor, a post-doctoral fellow in her mid-forties with an interest in healing.

The first hurdle was finding an accurate means of picking up magnetic signals. Measuring tiny low-frequency magnetic fields is tricky, requiring the use of expensive and highly sensitive equipment called a SQUID, or superconducting quantum interferenc device. A SQUID, which can cost up to four million dollars, ordinarily occupies a specially constructed room that has been magnetically shielded in order to eliminate ambient radiating noise.

The best Schwartz and Connor could come up with on their limited budget was a poor man’s SQUID – a small handheld, battery-operated three-axis digita gaussmeter originally designed to measure electromagnetic pollution by picking up extra-low-frequency (ELF) magnetic fields.

The gaussmeter was sensitive enough to pick up one-thousandth of a gauss, a very faint pulse of a magnetic field. In Schwartz’s mind, this level of sensitivity was more than adequate to do the job.

It occurred to Connor that the way to measure change in low-frequency magnetic fields was to count the number of changes in the meter reading over time. When simply recording ambient stable magnetic fields, the device will only deviate slightly by less than one-tenth of a gauss.

However, in the presence of an oscillating magnetic field – with periodic changes in frequency – the numbers will keep moving, from, say, 0.6 to 0.7 to 0.8, and back down to 0.6.

The greater and more frequent the change, which would be recorded by the number of changes in the dials, the more likely it is that the magnetic field has been affected by a source of directed energy.

Connor and Schwartz gathered together a group of practitioners of Reiki, the healing art developed a century ago in Japan.

They took measurements near each hand of all the healers during alternating periods while they were ‘running energy’ and then during times they were at rest, with their eyes closed. Next, the pair assembled a group of ‘master healers’ with a substantial track record of successful, dramatic healings. Again, Connor and Schwartz took magnetic field measurements near each hand, while the master healers were running energy and at rest. Then, they compared the Reiki measurements with measurements they had taken of people who had not been trained in healing.

Once Schwartz and Conner had analyzed the data, they discovered that both groups of healers demonstrated significant fluctuations in very low pulsations of a magnetic field, emanating from both hands.

A huge increase in oscillations in the magnetic field occurred whenever a healer began to run energy. However, the most profound energy increase surged from their dominant hands. The control group of people who were not trained healers did not demonstrate the same effect.

Then Schwartz compared effects from the Reiki group with those of the master healers and discovered another enormous difference. The master healers averaged close to a third more magnetic-field changes per minute than the Reiki healers.12

The study results seemed clear. Schwartz and Connor had their proof that directed intention manifests as both electrostatic and magnetic energy.

Comment

Directed intention manifests as both electrostatic and magnetic energy.

But they also discovered that intention was like playing the piano; you need to learn how to do it, and some people do it better than others.

Comment

The ability to manipulate energy comes with training and practice.

In considering what this all meant, Gary Schwartz thought of the phrase often used by medical doctors, usually in emergency situations: when you hear hoof beats, don’t think zebras .

In other words, when you are trying to diagnose someone with physical symptoms, first rule out all the most likely causes, and only then consider more exotic possibilities.

He liked to approach science in the same way and so he questioned his own findings: Could the healers’ increase in magnetic field oscillations during healing simply be the result of certain peripheral biophysical changes? Muscle contractions generate a magnetic field, as do changes in blood flow, the increasing or decreasing dilation of blood vessels, the body’s current volume of liquid or even the flow of electrolytes. Skin, sweat glands, change of temperature, neural induction – all generate magnetic fields.

His guess was that healing resulted from a summation of multiple biological processes that are mediated magnetically.

But the possibility that healing might be a magnetic effect did not explain long- distance remote healing.

In some instances, healers sent healing from thousands of miles away and the effect did not decay with distance. In one successful study of AIDS patients who improved through remote healing, the 40 healers involved in the study sent the healing to the San Francisco patients from locations all across America.13

Similar to electrical fields, magnetic fields decrease with distance. The magnetic and electrical effects were likely to be some aspect of the process, but not its central one. It was likely to be closer to a quantum field, possibly more akin to light.

Schwartz began to consider the possibility that the mechanism creating intention originated with the tiny elements of light emitted from human beings. In the mid- 1970s, a German physicist named Fritz-Albert Popp had stumbled upon the fact that all living things, from the most basic of single-celled plants to the most sophisticated of organisms like human beings, emitted a constant tiny current of photons – tiny particles of light.14

He labelled them ‘biophoton emissions’ and believed that he had uncovered the primary communication channel of a living organism – that it used light as a means of signalling to itself and to the outside world.

For more than 30 years, Popp has maintained that this faint radiation, rather than biochemistry, is the true driving force in orchestrating and coordinating all cellular processes in the body. Light waves offered a perfect communication system able to transfer information almost instantaneously across an organism. Having waves, rather than chemicals, as the communication mechanism of a living being also solved the central problem of genetics – how we grow and take final shape from a single cell. It also explains how our bodies manage to carry out tasks with different body parts simultaneously. Popp theorized that this light must be like a master tuning fork setting off certain frequencies that would be followed by other molecules of the body.15

A number of biologists, such as the German biophysicist Herbert Fröhlich, had proposed that a type of collective vibration causes proteins and cells to coordinate their activities.

Nevertheless, all such theories were ignored until Popp’s discoveries, largely because no equipment was sensitive enough to prove they were right.

With the help of one of his students, Popp constructed the first such machine – a photomultiplier that captured light and counted it, photon by photon. He carried out years of impeccable experimentation that demonstrated that these tiny frequencies were mainly stored and emitted from the DNA of cells.

The intensity of the light in organisms was stable, ranging from a few to several hundred photons per second per square centimetre surface of the living thing – until the organism was somehow disturbed or ill, at which point the current went sharply up or down.

The signals contained valuable information about the state of the body’s health and the effects of any particular therapy. Cancer victims had fewer photons, for instance. It was almost as though their light were going out.

Initially vilified for his theory, Popp was eventually recognized by the German government and then internationally.

Eventually he formed the International Institute of Biophysics (IIB), composed of 15 groups of scientists from international centres all around the world, including prestigious institutions like CERN in Switzerland Northeastern University in the USA, the Institute of Biophysics Academy of Scienc in Beijing, China, and Moscow State University in Russia. By the early twenty-firs century, the IIB numbered at least 40 distinguished scientists from around the globe.

Could it be that these were the frequencies that mediated healing? Schwartz realized that if he was going to carry out studies of biophoton emissions, first he had to figure out how to view these tiny emissions of light.

In his laboratory, Popp developed a computerized mechanism attached to a box in which a living thing, such as a plant, could be placed. The machine could count the photons and chart the amount of light emitted on a graph. But those machines only recorded photons in utter pitch blackness. Up until then, it had been impossible for scientists to witness living things actually glowing in the dark.

As Schwartz mulled over the kind of equipment that would allow him to see very faint light, he thought of state-of-the-art supercooled charge-coupled device (CCD) cameras on telescopes. This exquisitely sensitive equipment, now used to photograph galaxies deep in space, picks up about 70 per cent of any light, no matter how faint.

CCD devices were also used for night-vision equipment.

If a CCD camera could pick up the light from the most distant of stars, it might also be able to pick up the faint light coming off living things. However, this kind of equipment can cost hundreds of thousands of dollars and usually had to be cooled to temperatures only 100 degrees above absolute zero, to eliminate any ambient radiation emitted at room temperature. Cooling the camera down also helped to improve its sensitivity to faint light. Where on earth was he going to get hold of this kind of high-tech equipment?

Kathy Creath, a professor of optical sciences at Schwartz’s university, who shared his fascination with living light and its possible role in healing, had an idea. As it happened, she knew that the department of radiology at the National Science Foundation (NSF) in Tucson owned a low-light CCD camera, which they used t measure the light emitted from laboratory rats after being injected with phosphorescent dyes.

The Roper Scientific VersArray 1300 B low-noise, high performance CCD camera was housed in a dark room inside a black box and above a Cryotiger cooling system, which cooled temperatures to –100°C. A computer screen displayed its images. It was just what they were looking for. After Creath approached the director of the NSF project, he generously agreed to allow the two of them access to the camera during its down time.

In their first test, Schwartz and Creath placed a geranium leaf on a black platform. They took fluorescent photographs after exposures of up to five hours. When the computer displayed the final photograph, it was dazzling: a perfect image of the leaf in light, like a shadow in reverse, but in incredible detail, each of its tiniest veins delineated.

Surrounding the leaf were little white spots, like a sprinkling of fairy dust – evidence of high-energy cosmic rays. With his next exposure, Schwartz used a software filter to screen out the ambient radiation. The image of the leaf was now perfect.

As they studied this latest photograph on the screen of the computer in front of them, Schwartz and Creath understood that they were making history. It was the first time a scientist had been able to witness images of the light actually emanating from a living thing.16

Now that he had equipment that captured and recorded light, Schwartz was finally able to test whether healing intention also generated light.

Creath got hold of a number of healers, and asked them to place their hands on the platform underneath the camera for 10 minutes. Schwartz’s first crude images showed a rough glow of large pixilations, but they were too out of focus for him to analyse them.

Next he tried placing the healers’ hands on a white background (which reflected light) rather than on a black background (which absorbed light). The images were breathtakingly clear: a stream of light flowed out of the healers’ dominant hands, almost as though it were flowing from their fingers. Schwartz now had his answer about the nature of conscious thought: healing intention creates waves of light – and, indeed, among the most organized light waves found in nature.

The theory of relativity was not Einstein’s only great insight.

He had had another astonishing realization in 1924, after correspondence with an obscure Indian physicist, Satyendra Nath Bose, who had been pondering the then-new idea that light was composed of little vibrating packets called photons. Bose had worked out that, at certain points, photons should be treated as identical particles. At the time nobody believed him – nobody but Einstein, after Bose sent him his calculations.

Einstein liked Bose’s proofs and used his influence to get Bose’s theory published. Einstein also was inspired to explore whether, under certain conditions or certain temperatures, atoms in a gas, which ordinarily vibrated anarchically, might also begin to behave in synchrony, like Bose’s photons. Einstein set to work on his own formula to determine which conditions might create such a phenomenon.

When he reviewed his figures, he thought he had made a mistake in his calculations.

According to his results, at certain extraordinarily low temperatures, just a few kelvin above absolute zero, something really strange would begin to happen: the atoms, which ordinarily can operate at a number of different speeds, would slow down to identical energy levels. In this state, the atoms would lose their individuality and both look and behave like one giant atom. Nothing in his mathematical armamentarium could tell them apart. If this were true, he realized, he had stumbled upon an entirely new state of matter, with utterly different properties from anything known in the universe.

Einstein published his findings,17 and lent his name to the phenomenon, called a Bose–Einstein condensate, but he was never convinced that he had been right.

Nor were other physicists, until more than 70 years later when, on 5 June 1995, Eric Cornell and Carl Wieman of JILA, a programme sponsored by the National Institut of Standards and Technology and the University of Colorado at Boulder, managed to cool a tiny batch of rubidium atoms down to 170 billionths of a degree above absolute zero.18

It had been quite a feat, requiring trapping the atoms in a web of laser light and then magnetic fields. At a certain point, a batch of some 2000 atoms – measuring about 20 microns, about one-fifth the thickness of a single piece of paper – began behaving differently from the cloud of atoms surrounding them, like one smeared-out single entity. Although the atoms were still part of a gas, they were behaving more like the atoms of a solid.

Four months later, Wolfgang Ketterle from Massachusetts Institute of Technology replicated their experiment, but with a form of sodium, for which he, as well as Cornell and Wieman, won the 2001 Nobel prize.19

Then a few years after that, Ketterle and others like him were able to reproduce the effect with molecules.20

Scientists believed that a form of Einstein and Bose’s theory could account for some of the strange properties they had begun to observe in the subatomic world: superfluidity, when certain fluids can flow without losing energy, or even spontaneously work themselves out of their containers; or superconduction, a similar property of electrons in a circuit. In superfluid or superconductor states, liquid or electricity could theoretically flow at the same pace forever.

Ketterle had discovered another amazing property of atoms or molecules in this state. All the atoms were oscillating in perfect harmony, similar to photons in a laser, which behave like one giant photon, vibrating in perfect rhythm. This organization makes for an extraordinary efficiency of energy. Instead of sending a light about 3 meters, the laser emits a wave 300 million times that far.

Scientists were convinced that a Bose–Einstein condensate was a peculiar property of atoms and molecules slowing down so much that they are almost at rest, when exposed to temperatures only a fraction above the coldest temperatures in the universe.

But then Fritz-Albert Popp and the scientists working with him made the astonishing discovery that a similar property existed in the weak light emanating from organisms. This was not supposed to happen in the boiling inner world of the living thing. What is more, the biophotons he measured from plants, animals and humans were highly coherent. They acted like a single super-powerful frequency, a phenomenon also referred to as ‘superradiance’.

The German biophysicist Herbert Fröhlich had first described a model in which this type of order could be present and play a central role in biological systems. His model showed that, with complex dynamic systems like human beings, the energy within created all sorts of subtle relationships, so that it is no longer discordant.21

Living energy is able to organize to one giant coherent state, with the highest form of quantum order known to nature.

When subatomic particles are said to be ‘coherent’, or ‘ordered’, they become highly interlinked by bands of common electromagnetic fields, and resonate like a multitude of tuning forks all attuned to the same frequency. They stop behaving like anarchic individuals and begin operating like one well- rehearsed marching band.

As one scientist put it, coherence is like comparing the photons of a single 60- watt light bulb to the sun.

Ordinarily, light is extraordinarily inefficient. The intensity of light from a bulb is only about 1 watt per square centimetre of light – because many of the waves made by the photons destructively interfere with and cancel out each other. The light per square centimetre generated by the sun is about 6000 times stronger. But if you could get all the photons of this one small light bulb to become coherent and resonate in harmony with each other, the energy density of the single light bulb would be thousands to millions of times higher than that of the surface of the sun.22

After Popp made his discoveries about coherent light in living organisms, other scientists postulated that mental processes also create Bose–Einstein condensates. British physicist Roger Penrose and his partner, American anaesthetist Stuar Hameroff from the University of Arizona, were in the vanguard of frontier scientists who proposed that the microtubules in cells, which create the basic structure of the cells, were ‘light pipes’ through which disordered wave signals were transformed into highly coherent photons and pulsed through the rest of the body.23

Gary Schwartz had witnessed just this coherent photon stream emanating from the hands of healers. After studying the work of scientists like Popp and Hameroff, he finally had his answer about the source of healing: if thoughts are generated as frequencies, healing intention is well-ordered light.

Gary Schwartz’s creative experiments revealed to me something fundamental about the quantum nature of thoughts and intentions. He and his colleagues had uncovered evidence that human beings are both receivers and transmitters of quantum signals. Directed intention appears to manifest as both electrical and magnetic energy and to produce an ordered stream of photons, visible and measurable by sensitive equipment. Perhaps our intentions also operate as highly coherent frequencies, changing the very molecular makeup and bonding of matter. Like any other form of coherence in the subatomic world, one well-directed thought might be like a laser light, illuminating without ever losing its power.

I was reminded of an extraordinary experience Schwartz once had in Vancouver. He had been staying in the penthouse apartment suite of a downtown hotel. He had awakened at 2 a.m., as he often did, and had walked out to the balcony to have a look at the spectacular view of the city to the west, framed by the mountains. He was surprised to see how many hundreds of homes along the peninsula below him still had their lights on.

He wished he had a telescope handy to see what some of the people were doing up at this late hour. But of course, if any of them had their own telescope, they would be able to see him standing there in the nude. An odd thought suddenly came to him of his own naked image flying into each window. But maybe the idea was not so fanciful.

After all, he was emitting a constant stream of biophotons, all travelling at the speed of light; each photon would have travelled 186,000 miles one second later, and 372,000 miles one second after that.

His light was not unlike the photons of visible light emanating from stars in the sky. Much of the light from distant stars has been traveling for millions of years. Starlight contains a star’s individual history. Even if a star had died long before its light reached earth, its information remains, an indelible footprint in the sky.

He then had a sudden image of himself as a ball of energy fields, a little star, glowing with a steady stream of every photon his body had ever produced for more than 50 years.

All the information he had been sending from the time he was a young boy in Long Island, every last thought he had ever had, was still out there, glowing like starlight. Perhaps, I thought, intention was also like a star. Once constructed, a thought radiated out like starlight, affecting everything in its path.

Notes – Chapter 2: The Human Antenna

All personal details about Gary Schwartz and his discoveries result from multiple interviews with him and the author, March–June 2006.
H. Benson et al., ‘Decreased systolic blood pressure through operant conditioning techniques in patients with essential hypertension’, Science, 1971; 173 (3998): 740–2.
E. E. Green, ‘Copper wall research psychology and psychophysics: subtle energies and energy medicine: emerging theory and practice’, Proceedings, First Annual Conference, International Society for the Stud of Subtle Energies and Energy Medicine (ISSSEEM,) Boulder, Colorado, 21–25 June 1991.
This research was eventually published as G. Schwartz and L. Russek ‘Subtle energies – electrostatic body motion registration and the human antenna-receiver effect: a new method for investigating interpersonal dynamical energy system interactions’, Subtle Energies and Energy Medicine, 1996; 7 (2): 149–84.
E. E. Green et al., ‘Anomalous electrostatic phenomena in exceptional subjects’, Subtle Energies and Energy Medicine, 1993; 2: 69; W. A. Tiller et al., ‘Towards explaining anomalously large body voltage surges on exceptional subjects, Part I: The electrostatic approximation’, Journal of Scientific Exploration, 1995; 9 (3): 331.
William A. Tiller, ‘Subtle energies’, Science & Medicine, 1999, 6 (3): 28–33.
A. Seto et al., ‘Detection of extraordinary large biomagnetic field strength from the human hand during external qi emission’, Acupuncture and Electrotherapeutics Research International, 1992; 17: 75–94; J. Zimmerman, ‘New technologies detect effects in healing hands’, Brain/Mind Bulletin, 1985; 10 (2): 20–3.
B. Grad, ‘Dimensions in “Some biological effects of the laying on o hands” and their implications’, in H. A. Otto and J. W. Knight (eds.) Dimension in Wholistic Healing: New Frontiers in the Treatment of the Whole Person, Chicago: Nelson-Hall, 1979: 199–212.
L. N. Pyatnitsky and V. A. Fonkin, ‘Human consciousness influence on water structure’, Journal of Scientific Exploration, 1995; 9 (1): 89.
G. Rein and R. McCraty, ‘Structural changes in water and DN associated with new physiologically measurable states’, Journal of Scientific Exploration, 1994; 8 (3): 438–9.
W. Tiller would eventually write about the effect of shielding psychics in his book Science and Human Transformation, Walnut Creek, Calif.: Pavior Publishing, 1997: 32.
M. Connor, G. Schwartz et al., ‘Oscillation of amplitude as measured by an extra low frequency magnetic field meter as a biophysical measure of intentionality’. Paper presented at the Toward a Science of Consciousness Conference, Tucson, Arizona, April 2006.
Sicher, Targ et al., ‘A randomized double-blind study’, op. cit.
See McTaggart, The Field, op. cit.: 39, for a full description of F.-A. Popp’s earlier work.
S. Cohen and F.-A. Popp, ‘Biophoton emission of the human body’ Journal of Photochemistry and Photobiology, 1997; 40: 187–9.
K. Creath and G. E. Schwartz, ‘What biophoton images of plants can tel us about biofields and healing’, Journal of Scientific Exploration, 2005; 19 (4): 531–50.
S. N. Bose, ‘Planck’s Gesetz und Lichtquantenhypothese’, Zeitschrift für Physik, 1924; 26: 178–81; A. Einstein, ‘Quantentheorie des einatomigen idealen Gases [Quantum theory of ideal monoatomic gases]’, Sitz. Ber. Preuss. Akad. Wiss. (Berlin), 1925; 23: 3.
C. E. Wieman and E. A. Cornell, ‘Seventy years later: the creation of Bose-Einstein condensate in an ultracold gas’, Lorentz Proceedings, 1999; 52: 3–5.
K. Davis et al., ‘Bose-Einstein condensation in a gas of sodium atoms’ Physical Review Letters, 1995; 75: 3969–73.
M. W. Zwierlein et al., ‘Observation of Bose-Einstein condensation o molecules’, Physical Review Letters, 2003; 91: 250401.
H. Fröhlich, ‘Long range coherence and energy storage in biological systems’, Int. J. Quantum Chem., 1968; II: 641–9.
For this entire example, see Tiller, Science and Human Transformation, op. cit.: 196.
M. Jibu et al., ‘Quantum optical coherence in cytoskeletal microtubules: implications for brain function’, Biosystems, 1994; 32: 195–209; S. R. Hameroff, ‘Cytoplasmic gel states and ordered water: possible roles in biological quantum coherence’, Proceedings of the 2nd Annual Advanced Water Sciences Symposium, Dallas, Texas, 1996.

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The Green Hills of Earth (Full Text) by Robert Heinlein

Here’s a really nice short little story to help get your mind off the craziness of day to day life. It’s a short science fiction story about a “spaceman”. You know, one of those old grizzly old “salts” that tended to the boiler and reactor rooms within those great 1940’s style “needle” spaceships. It’s a good and fun read. Enjoy…

The Green Hills of Earth

This is the story of Rhysling, the Blind Singer of the Spaceways — but not the official version. You sang his words in school:

“I pray for one last landing...

On the globe that gave me birth;

Let me rest my eyes on the fleecy skies And the cool, green hills of Earth.”

Or perhaps you sang in French, or German. Or it might have been Esperanto, while Terra’s rainbow banner rippled over your head.

The language does not matter — it was certainly an Earth tongue. No one has ever translated “Green Hills” into the lisping Venerian speech; no Martian ever croaked and whispered it in the dry corridors. This is ours. We of Earth have exported everything from Hollywood crawlies to synthetic radioactives, but this belongs solely to Terra, and to her sons and daughters wherever they may be.

We have all heard many stories of Rhysling. You may even be one of the many who have sought degrees, or acclaim, by scholarly evaluations of his published works –

Songs of the Spaceways,
The Grand Canal and other Poems,
High and Far, and …
“UP SHIP!”

Nevertheless, although you have sung his songs and read his verses, in school and out your whole life, it is at least an even money bet — unless you are a spaceman yourself — that you have never even heard of most of Rhysling’s unpublished songs, such items as…

Since the Pusher Met My Cousin,
That Red-Headed Venusburg Gal,
Keep Your Pants On, Skipper, or
A Space Suit Built for Two.

Nor can we quote them in a family magazine.

Rhysling’s reputation was protected by a careful literary executor and by the happy chance that he was never interviewed. Songs of the Spaceways appeared the week he died; when it became a best seller, the publicity stories about him were pieced together from what people remembered about him plus the highly colored handouts from his publishers.

The resulting traditional picture of Rhysling is about as authentic as George Washington’s hatchet or King Alfred’s cakes.

In truth you would not have wanted him in your parlor; he was not socially acceptable. He had a permanent case of sun itch, which he scratched continually, adding nothing to his negligible beauty.

Van der Voort’s portrait of him for the Harriman Centennial edition of his works shows a figure of high tragedy, a solemn mouth, sightless eyes concealed by black silk bandage. He was never solemn! His mouth was always open, singing, grinning, drinking, or eating. The bandage was any rag, usually dirty. After he lost his sight he became less and less neat about his person.

“Noisy” Rhysling was a jetman, second class, with eyes as good as yours, when he signed on for a ioop trip to the Jovian asteroids in the RS Goshawk. The crew signed releases for everything in those days; a Lloyd’s associate would have laughed in your face at the notion of insuring a spaceman. The Space Precautionary Act had never been heard of, and the Company was responsible only for wages, if and when. Half the ships that went further than Luna City never came back. Spacemen did not care; by preference they signed for shares, and any one of them would have bet you that he could jump from the 200th floor of Harriman Tower and ground safely, if you offered him three to two and allowed him rubber heels for the landing.

Jetmen were the most carefree of the lot, and the meanest.

Compared with them the masters, the radarmen, and the astrogators (there were no supers nor stewards in those days) were gentle vegetarians. Jetmen knew too much. The others trusted the skill of the captain to get them down safely; jetmen knew that skill was useless against the blind and fitful devils chained inside their rocket motors.

The Goshawk was the first of Harriman’s ships to be converted from chemical fuel to atomic power-piles — or rather the first that did not blow up. Rhysling knew her well; she was an old tub that had plied the Luna City run, Supra-New York space station to Leyport and back, before she was converted for deep space. He had worked the Luna run in her and had been along on the first deep space trip, Drywater on Mars — and back, to everyone’s surprise.

He should have made chief engineer by the time he signed for the Jovian loop trip, but, after the Drywater pioneer trip, he had been fired, blacklisted, and grounded at Luna City for having spent his time writing a chorus and several verses at a time when he should have been watching his gauges. The song was the infamous The Skipper is a Father to his Crew, with the uproariously unprintable final couplet.

The blacklist did not bother him.

He won an accordion from a Chinese barkeep in Luna City by cheating at onethumb and thereafter kept going by singing to the miners for drinks and tips until the rapid attrition in spacemen caused the Company agent there to give him another chance. He kept his nose clean on the Luna run for a year or two, got back into deep space, helped give Venusburg its original ripe reputation, strolled the banks of the Grand Canal when a second colony was established at the ancient Martian capital, and froze his toes and ears on the second trip to Titan.

Things moved fast in those days. Once the power-pile drive was accepted the number of ships that put out from the LunaTerra system was limited only by the availability of crews. Jetmen were scarce; the shielding was cut to a minimum to save weight and few married men cared to risk possible exposure to radioactivity. Rhysling did not want to be a father, so jobs were always open to him during the golden days of the claiming boom. He crossed and recrossed the system, singing the doggerel that boiled up in his head and chording it out on his accordion.

The master of the Goshawk knew him; Captain Hicks had been astrogator on Rhysling’s first trip in her. “Welcome home, Noisy,” Hicks had greeted him. “Are you sober, or shall I sign the book for you?”

“You can’t get drunk on the bug juice they sell here, Skipper.” He signed and went below, lugging his accordion.

Ten minutes later he was back. “Captain,” he stated darkly, “that number two jet ain’t fit. The cadmium dampers are warped.” “Why tell me? Tell the Chief.”

“I did, but he says they will do. He’s wrong.”

The captain gestured at the book. “Scratch out your name and scram. We raise ship in thirty minutes.” Rhysling looked at him, shrugged, and went below again.

It is a long climb to the Jovian planetoids; a Hawk-class clunker had to blast for three watches before going into free flight. Rhysling had the second watch. Damping was done by hand then, with a multiplying vernier and a danger gauge.

When the gauge showed red, he tried to correct it — no luck.

Jetmen don’t wait; thats why they are jetmen. He slapped the emergency discover and fished at the hot stuff with the tongs. The lights went out, he went right ahead. Ajetman has to know his power room the way your tongue knows the inside of your mouth.

He sneaked a quick look over the top of the lead baffle when the lights went out. The blue radioactive glow did not help him any; he jerked his head back and went on fishing by touch. When he was done he called over the tube, “Number two jet out. And for crissake get me some light down here!”

There was light — the emergency circuit — but not for him. The blue radioactive glow was the last thing his optic nerve ever responded to.

“As Time and Space come bending back to shape this starspecked scene, The tranquil tears of tragic joy still spread their silver sheen;

Along the Grand Canal still soar the fragile Towers of Truth; Their fairy grace defends this place of Beauty, calm and couth.

“Bone-tired the race that raised the Towers, forgotten are their lores, Long gone the gods who shed the tears that lap these crystal shores. Slow heats the time-worn heart of Mars beneath this icy sky;

The thin air whispers voicelessly that all who live must die — “Yet still the lacy Spires of Truth sing Beauty’s madrigal

And she herself will ever dwell along the Grand Canal!”

— from The Grand Canal, by permission of Lux Transcriptions, Ltd., London and Luna City

On the swing back they set Rhysling down on Mars at Drywater; the boys passed the hat and the skipper kicked in a half month’s pay. That was all — finish — just another space bum who had not had the good fortune to finish it off when his luck ran out. He holed up with the prospectors and archeologists at How-Far? for a month or so, and could probably have stayed forever in exchange for his songs and his accordion playing. But spacemen die if they stay in one place; he hooked a crawler over to Drywater again and thence to Marsopolis.

The capital was well into its boom; the processing plants lined the Grand Canal on both sides and roiled the ancient waters with the filth of the runoff. This was before the TriPlanet Treaty forbade disturbing cultural relics for commerce; half the slender, fairylike towers had been torn down, and others were disfigured to adapt them as pressurized buildings for Earthmen.

Now Rhysling had never seen any of these changes and no one described them to him; when he “saw” Marsopolis again, he visualized it as it had been, before it was rationalized for trade. His memory was good. He stood on the riparian esplanade where the ancient great of Mars had taken their ease and saw its beauty spreading out before his blinded eyes — ice blue plain of water unmoved by tide, untouched by breeze, and reflecting serenely the sharp, bright stars of the Martian sky, and beyond the water the lacy buttresses and flying towers of an architecture too delicate for our rumbling, heavy planet.

The result was Grand Canal.

The subtle change in his orientation which enabled him to see beauty at Marsopolis where beauty was not now began to affect his whole life. All women became beautiful to him. He knew them by their voices and fitted their appearances to the sounds. It is a mean spirit indeed who will speak to a blind man other than in gentle friendliness; scolds who had given their husbands no peace sweetened their voices to Rhysling.

It populated his world with beautiful women and gracious men. Dark Star Passing, Berenice’s Hair, Death Song of a Wood’s Colt, and his other love songs of the wanderers, the womenless men of space, were the direct result of the fact that his conceptions were unsullied by tawdry truths. It mellowed his approach, changed his doggerel to verse, and sometimes even to poetry.

He had plenty of time to think now, time to get all the lovely words just so, and to worry a verse until it sang true in his head. The monotonous beat of Jet Song — When the field is clear, the reports all seen,

When the lock sighs shut, when the lights wink green, When the check-off’s done, when it’s time to pray, When the Captain nods, when she blasts away — Hear the jets!

Hear them snarl at your back When you’re stretched on the rack; Feel your ribs clamp your chest, Feel your neck grind its rest.

Feel the pain in your ship, Feel her strain in their grip. Feel her rise! Feel her drive! Straining steel, come alive, On her jets!

—came to him not while he himself was a jetman but later while he was hitch-hiking from Mars to Venus and sitting out a watch with an old shipmate.

At Venusburg he sang his new songs and some of the old, in the bars. Someone would start a hat around for him; it would come back with a minstrel’s usual take doubled or tripled in recognition of the gallant spirit behind the bandaged eyes.

It was an easy life. Any space port was his home and any ship his private carriage. No skipper cared to refuse to lift the extra mass of blind Rhysling and his squeeze box; he shuttled from Venusburg to Leyport to Drywater to New Shanghai, or back again, as the whim took him.

He never went closer to Earth than Supra-New York Space Station. Even when signing the contract for Songs of the Spaceways he made his mark in a cabin-class liner somewhere between Luna City and Ganymede. Horowitz, the original publisher, was aboard for a second honeymoon and heard Rhysling sing at a ship’s party. Horowitz knew a good thing for the publishing trade when he heard it; the entire contents of Songs were sung directly into the tape in the communications room of that ship before he let Rhysling out of his sight. The next three volumes were squeezed out of Rhysling at Venusburg, where Horowitz had sent an agent to keep him liquored up until he had sung all he could remember.

UP SHIP! is not certainly authentic Rhysling throughout. Much of it is Rhysling’s, no doubt, and Jet Song is unquestionably his, but most of the verses were collected after his death from people who had known him during his wanderings.

The Green Hills of Earth grew through twenty years. The earliest form we know about was composed before Rhysling was blinded, during a drinking bout with some of the indentured men on Venus. The verses were concerned mostly with the things the labor clients intended to do back on Earth if and when they ever managed to pay their bounties and thereby be allowed to go home. Some of the stanzas were vulgar, some were not, but the chorus was recognizably that of Green Hills.

We know exactly where the final form of Green Hills came from, and when.

There was a ship in at Venus Ellis Isle which was scheduled for the direct jump from there to Great Lakes, Illinois. She was the old Falcon, youngest of the Hawk class and the first ship to apply the Harriman Trust’s new policy of extra-fare express service between Earth cities and any colony with scheduled stops.

Rhysling decided to ride her back to Earth. Perhaps his own song had gotten under his skin — or perhaps he just hankered to see his native Ozark’s one more time.

The Company no longer permitted deadheads: Rhysling knew this but it never occurred to him that the ruling might apply to him. He was getting old, for a spaceman, and just a little matter of fact about his privileges. Not senile — he simply knew that he was one of the landmarks in space, along with Halley’s Comet, the Rings, and Brewster’s Ridge. He walked in the crew’s port, went below, and made himself at home in the first empty acceleration couch.

The Captain found him there while making a last minute tour of his ship. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. “Dragging it back to Earth, Captain.” Rhysling needed no eyes to see a skipper’s four stripes.

“You can’t drag in this ship; you know the rules. Shake a leg and get out of here. We raise ship at once.” The Captain was young; he had come up after Rhysling’s active time, but Rhysling knew the type — five years at Harriman Hall with only cadet practice trips instead of solid, deep space experience. The two men did not touch in background nor spirit; space was changing.

“Now, Captain, you wouldn’t begrudge an old man a trip home.”

The officer hesitated — several of the crew had stopped to listen. “I can’t do it. ‘Space PrecautionaryAct, Clause Six: No one shall enter space save as a licensed member of a crew of a chartered vessel, or as a paying passenger of such a vessel under such regulations as may be issued pursuant to this act.’ Up you get and out you go.”

Rhysling lolled back, his hands under his head. “If I’ve got to go, I’m damned if I’ll walk. Carry me.” The Captain bit his lip and said, “Master-at-Arms! Have this man removed.”

The ship’s policeman fixed his eyes on the overhead struts. “Can’t rightly do it, Captain. I’ve sprained my shoulder.” The other crew members, present a moment before, had faded into the bulkhead paint.

“Well, get a working party!”

“Aye, aye, sir.” He, too, went away.

Rhysling spoke again. “Now look, Skipper — let’s not have any hard feelings about this. You’ve got an out to carry me if you want to — the ‘Distressed Spaceman’ clause.”

“‘Distressed Spaceman’, my eye! You’re no distressed spaceman; you’re a space-lawyer. I know who you are; you’ve been bumming around the system for years. Well, you won’t do it in my ship. That clause was intended to succor men who had missed their ships, not to let a man drag free all over space.”

“Well, now, Captain, can you properly say I haven’t missed my ship? I’ve never been back home since my last trip as a signed-on crew member. The law says I can have a trip back.” “But that was years ago. You’ve used up your chance.”

“Have I now? The clause doesn’t say a word about how soon a man has to take his trip back; it just says he’s got it coming to him. Go look it up. Skipper. If I’m wrong, I’ll not only walk out on my two legs, I’ll beg your humble pardon in front of your crew. Go on — look it up. Be a sport.”

Rhysling could feel the man’s glare, but he turned and stomped out of the compartment. Rhysling knew that he had used his blindness to place the Captain in an impossible position, but this did not embarrass Rhysling — he rather enjoyed it.

Ten minutes later the siren sounded, he heard the orders on the bull horn for Up-Stations. When the soft sighing of the locks and the slight pressure change in his ears let him know that take-off was imminent he got up and shuffled down to the power room, as he wanted to be near the jets when they blasted off. He needed no one to guide him in any ship of the Hawk class.

Trouble started during the first watch. Rhysling had been lounging in the inspector’s chair, fiddling with the keys of his accordion and trying out a new version of Green Hills.

“Let me breathe unrationed air again

Where there’s no lack nor dearth”

And “something, something, something ‘Earth’” — it would not come out right. He tried again. “Let the sweet fresh breezes heal me

As they rove around the girth Of our lovely mother planet,

Of the cool green hills of Earth.”

That was better, he thought. “How do you like that, Archie?” he asked over the muted roar.

“Pretty good. Give out with the whole thing.” Archie Macdougal, Chief Jetman, was an old friend, both spaceside and in bars; he had been an apprentice under Rhysling many years and millions of miles back.

Rhysling obliged, then said, “You youngsters have got it soft. Everything automatic. When I was twisting her tail you had to stay awake.”

“You still have to stay awake.” They fell to talking shop and Macdougal showed him the direct response damping rig which had replaced the manual vernier control which Rhysling had used. Rhysling felt out the controls and asked questions until he was familiar with the new installation. It was his conceit that he was still a jetman and that his present occupation as a troubadour was simply an expedient during one of the fusses with the company that any man could get into.

“I see you still have the old hand damping plates installed,” he remarked, his agile fingers flitting over the equipment. “All except the links. I unshipped them because they obscure the dials.”

“You ought to have them shipped. You might need them.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think—” Rhysling never did find out what Macdougal thought for it was at that moment the trouble tore loose. Macdougal caught it square, a blast of radioactivity that burned him down where he stood.

Rhysling sensed what had happened. Automatic reflexes of old habit came out. He slapped the discover and rang the alarm to the control room simultaneously. Then he remembered the unshipped links. He had to grope until he found them, while trying to keep as low as he could to get maximum benefit from the baffles. Nothing but the links bothered him as to location. The place was as light to him as any place could be; he knew every spot, every control, the way he knew the keys of his accordion.

“Power room! Power room! What’s the alarm?”

“Stay out!” Rhysling shouted. “The place is ‘hot.’” He could feel it on his face and in his bones, like desert sunshine.

The links he got into place, after cursing someone, anyone, for having failed to rack the wrench he needed. Then he commenced trying to reduce the trouble by hand. It was a long job and ticklish. Presently he decided that the jet would have to be spilled, pile and all.

First he reported. “Control!” “Control aye aye!”

“Spilling jet three — emergency.” “Is this Macdougal?”

“Macdougal is dead. This is Rhysling, on watch. Stand by to record.”

There was no answer; dumbfounded the Skipper may have been, but he could not interfere in a power room emergency. He had the ship to consider, and the passengers and crew. The doors had to stay closed.

The Captain must have been still more surprised at what Rhysling sent for record. It was:

We rot in the molds of Venus,
We retch at her tainted breath. 
Foul are her flooded jungles, 
Crawling with unclean death.”

Rhysling went on cataloguing the Solar System as he worked, “—harsh bright soil of Luna—”,”—Saturn’s rainbow rings—”,”—the frozen night of Titan—”, all the while opening and spilling the jet and fishing it clean. He finished with an alternate chorus —

“We’ve tried each spinning space mote And reckoned its true worth:

Take us back again to the homes of men On the cool, green hills of Earth.”

—then, almost absentmindedly remembered to tack on his revised first verse:

“The arching sky is calling

Spacemen back to their trade. All hands! Stand by! Free falling! And the lights below us fade. Out ride the sons of Terra,

Far drives the thundering jet, Up leaps the race of Earthmen, Out, far, and onward yet—”

The ship was safe now and ready to limp home shy one jet. As for himself, Rhysling was not so sure. That “sunburn” seemed sharp, he thought. He was unable to see the bright, rosy fog in which he worked but he knew it was there.

He went on with the business of flushing the air out through the outer valve, repeating it several times to permit the level of radioaction to drop to something a man might stand under suitable armor.

While he did this he sent one more chorus, the last bit of authentic Rhysling that ever could be:

“We pray for one last landing On the globe that gave us birth;
Let us rest our eyes on fleecy skies And the cool, green hills of Earth.”

The End

I do hope that you enjoyed this story. I have many more in my Fictional Stories Index here…

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Inherit the Stars (full text) by James Hogan

Here is the full text of the wonderful science fiction story titled “Inherit the stars” by James Hogan. It is a fine “take you away” adventure about discovery, space, and history.

I got the science fiction bug when I was 12 reading Heinlein, Asimov, and Piper. This is one of my absolute favorite SciFi novels in the last 58 years. It appeals to my technical bent. I was a computer consultant for 32 years. I will never give up this copy.

-Amazon Customer review

My regular readers are going to hate me for this post.

As they slap themselves on the head! “Gosh no! Not another science fiction novel. What are you trying to do to us?”

It’s amazing to me the amount of flack that I get for having a website / blog. It seems that there are just miserable people that want to complain, disparage me, or my experiences, or are just hateful. I mean, really people! Up your game or shut the fuck up.

I have spelling or grammar mistakes. I need to “prove” myself. I don’t have a “unified message”. I ramble on and on and don’t get to the point. I don’t provide proof. Others can read the same kind of things on other websites, yada, yada, yada.

For goodness sakes!

To understand things, especially new and unique things, you need to have a different frame of reference. You need to look outside your echo chamber and your circle of “yes men”. You need to see and experience things form other alternative points of view.

What I have experienced is wholly outside “normal” human experience.

The best that I can provide is science fiction, and fantasy that helps explain some of the more complex concepts that I am trying to put forth.

Thus this story. It’s just a fine science fiction read…

…or is it?

Could it be shocking to believe that there are civilizations older than ours that has changed the human species? Could it be that the solar system was different millions or even billions of years ago? Could it be that humans had to adapt or perish?

Things for thought.

Change is universal. We must be adaptable, no matter what the situation and never, NEVER take what we have for granted.

Introduction

The man on the moon was dead. They called him Charlie. He had big eyes, abundant body hair, and fairly long nostrils. His skeletal body was found clad in a bright red spacesuit, hidden in a rocky grave. They didn’t know who he was, how he got there, or what had killed him. All they knew was that his corpse was fifty thousand years old — and that meant this man had somehow lived long before he ever could have existed.

James P. Hogan's Inherit the Stars deserves its status as a science fiction classic. The book is set in the mid-21st century. In the first chapter, a 50,000 year-old human skeleton dressed in a spacesuit is found on the moon. The inescapable conclusion is that a technologically-advanced race of humans existed 50 millenia ago. But where did this race evolve? How did this particular human get to the moon? What happened to the rest of his kind? And why is there no archeological evidence of this civilization on earth?

As the teams of paleontologists, physicists, biologists, linguists and government officials (not to mention the media) address these questions, even more astounding archeological findings are made and more questions are raised.

This tightly-woven, compact novel is rich in analysis and deductive reasoning. The book addresses the horror, destructiveness and irrationality of war.

Its themes and lessons are just as important today as in 1977 when Hogan penned this work.

From hindsight, Hogan's vision of the 21st century is startlingly accurate. Among other things, he predicted the internet and the factors that brought an end to the Cold War.

We haven't quite reached the age of routine space travel, but we have a couple of decades to go before we catch up to the timeframe of the novel. The work is so realistic, it is difficult to believe that it was written over 30 years ago.

Apart from Edgar Allan Poe and Umberto Eco, I'd be hard-pressed to name an author who is more adept at ratiocination than Hogan. This is a sensitive, timely and intellectually-satisfying novel. I'm looking forward to reading more of Hogan's work.

-Science Fiction Classic

Inherit the Stars

James P. Hogan

Inherit the Stars

Prologue

He became aware of consciousness returning.

Instinctively his mind recoiled, as if by some effort of will he could arrest the relentless flow of seconds that separated non-awareness from awareness and return again to the timeless oblivion in which the agony of total exhaustion was unknown and unknowable.

The hammer that had threatened to burst from his chest was now quiet. The rivers of sweat that had drained with his strength from every hollow of his body were now turned cold. His limbs had turned to lead. The gasping of his lungs had returned once more to a slow and even rhythm. It sounded loud in the close confines of his helmet.

He tried to remember how many had died. Their release was final; for him there was no release. How much longer could he go on? What was the point? Would there be anyone left alive at Gorda anyway?

“Gorda…? Gorda…?”

His mental defenses could shield him from reality no longer.

“Must get to Gorda!”

He opened his eyes. A billion unblinking stars stared back without interest. When he tried to move, his body refused to respond, as if trying to prolong to the utmost its last precious moments of rest. He took a deep breath and, clenching his teeth at the pain that instantly racked again through every fiber of his body, forced himself away from the rock and into a sitting position. A wave of nausea swept over him. His head sagged forward and struck the inside of his visor. The nausea passed.

He groaned aloud.

“Feeling better, then, soldier?” The voice came clearly through the speaker inside his helmet. “Sun’s getting low. We gotta be moving.”

He lifted his head and slowly scanned the nightmare wilderness of scorched rock and ash-gray dust that confronted him.

“Whe-” The sound choked in his throat. He swallowed, licked his lips, and tried again. “Where are you?”

“To your right, up on the rise just past that small cliff that juts out-the one with the big boulders underneath.”

He turned his head and after some seconds detected a bright blue patch against the ink-black sky. It seemed blurred and far away. He blinked and strained his eyes again, forcing his brain to coordinate with his vision. The blue patch resolved itself into the figure of the tireless Koriel, clad in a heavy-duty combat suit.

“I see you.” After a pause: “Anything?”

“It’s fairly flat on the other side of the rise-should be easier going for a while. Gets rockier farther on. Come have a look.”

He inched his arms upward to find purchase on the rock behind, then braced them to thrust his weight forward over his legs. His knees trembled. His face contorted as he fought to concentrate his remaining strength into his protesting thighs. Already his heart was pumping again, his lungs heaving. The effort evaporated and he fell back against the rock. His labored breathing rasped over Koriel’s radio.

“Finished… Can’t move…”

The blue figure on the skyline turned.

“Aw, what kinda talk’s that? This is the last stretch. We’re there, buddy-we’re there.”

“No-no good… Had it…” Koriel waited a few seconds.

“I’m coming back down.”

“No-you go on. Someone’s got to make it.”

No response.

“Koriel…”

He looked back at where the figure had stood, but already it had disappeared below the intervening rocks and was out of the line of transmission. A minute or two later the figure emerged from behind the nearby boulders, covering the ground in long, effortless bounds. The bounds broke into a walk as Koriel approached the hunched form clad in red.

“C’mon, soldier, on your feet now. There’s people back there depending on us.”

He felt himself gripped below his arm and raised irresistibly, as if some of Koriel’s limitless reserves of strength were pouring into him. For a while his head swam and he leaned with the top of his visor resting on the giant’s shoulder insignia.

“Okay,” he managed at last. “Let’s go.”

Hour after hour the thin snake of footprints, two pinpoints of color at its head, wound its way westward across the wilderness amid steadily lengthening shadows. He marched as if in a trance, beyond feeling pain, beyond feeling exhaustion-beyond feeling anything. The skyline never seemed to change; soon he could no longer look at it. Instead, he began picking out the next prominent boulder or crag, and counting off the paces until they reached it. “Two hundred and thirteen less to go.” And then he repeated it over again… and again… and again. The rocks marched by in slow, endless, indifferent procession. Every step became a separate triumph of will-a deliberate, conscious effort to drive one foot yet one more pace beyond the last. When he faltered, Koriel was there to catch his arm; when he fell, Koriel was always there to haul him up. Koriel never tired.

At last they stopped. They were standing in a gorge perhaps a quarter mile wide, below one of the lines of low, broken cliffs that flanked it on either side. He collapsed on the nearest boulder. Koriel stood a few paces ahead surveying the landscape. The line of crags immediately above them was interrupted by a notch, which marked the point where a steep and narrow cleft tumbled down to break into the wall of the main gorge. From the bottom of the cleft, a mound of accumulated rubble and rock debris led down about fifty feet to blend with the floor of the gorge not far from where they stood. Koriel stretched out an arm to point up beyond the cleft.

“Gorda will be roughly that way,” he said without turning. “Our best way would be up and onto that ridge. If we stay on the flat and go around the long way, it’ll be too far. What d’you say?” The other stared up in mute despair. The rockfall, funneling up toward the mouth of the cleft, looked like a mountain. In the distance beyond towered the ridge, jagged and white in the glare of the sun. It was impossible.

Koriel allowed his doubts no time to take root. Somehow-slipping, sliding, stumbling, and falling-they reached the entrance to the cleft. Beyond it, the walls narrowed and curved around to the left, cutting off the view of the gorge below from where they had come. They climbed higher. Around them, sheets of raw reflected sunlight and bottomless pits of shadow met in knife-edges across rocks shattered at a thousand crazy angles. His brain ceased to extract the concepts of shape and form from the insane geometry of white and black that kaleidoscoped across his retina. The patterns grew and shrank and merged and whirled in a frenzy of visual cacophony.

His face crashed against his visor as his helmet thudded into the dust. Koriel hoisted him to his feet.

“You can do it. We’ll see Gorda from the ridge. It’ll be all downhill from there…”

But the figure in red sank slowly to its knees and folded over. The head inside the helmet shook weakly from side to side. As Koriel watched, the conscious part of his mind at last accepted the inescapable logic that the parts beneath consciousness already knew. He took a deep breath and looked about him.

Not far below, they had passed a hole, about five feet across, cut into the base of one of the rock walls. It looked like the remnant of some forgotten excavation-maybe a preliminary digging left by a mining survey. The giant stooped, and grasping the harness that secured the backpack to the now insensible figure at his feet, dragged the body back down the slope to the hole. It was about ten feet deep inside. Working quickly, Koriel arranged a lamp to reflect a low light off the walls and roof. Then he removed the rations from his companion’s pack, laid the figure back against the rear wall as comfortably as he could, and placed the food containers within easy reach. Just as he was finishing, the eyes behind the visor flickered open.

“You’ll be fine here for a while.” The usual gruffness was gone from Koriel’s voice. “I’ll have the rescue boys back from Gorda before you know it.”

The figure in red raised a feeble arm. Just a whisper came through.

“You-you tried… Nobody could have…” Koriel clasped the gauntlet with both hands.

“Mustn’t give up. That’s no good. You just have to hang on a while.” Inside his helmet the granite cheeks were wet. He backed to the entrance and made a final salute. “So long, soldier.” And then he was gone.

Outside he built a small cairn of stones to mark the position of the hole. He would mark the trail to Gorda with such cairns. At last he straightened up and turned defiantly to face the desolation surrounding him. The rocks seemed to scream down in soundless laughing mockery. The stars above remained unmoved. Koriel glowered up at the cleft, rising up toward the tiers of crags and terraces that guarded the ridge, still soaring in the distance. His lips curled back to show his teeth.

“So-it’s just you and me now, is it?” he snarled at the Universe. “Okay, you bastard-let’s see you take this round!”

With his legs driving like slow pistons, he attacked the ever steepening slope.

Chapter One

Accompanied by a mild but powerful whine, a gigantic silver torpedo rose slowly upward to hang two thousand feet above the sugar-cube huddle of central London. Over three hundred yards long, it spread at the tail into a slim delta topped by two sharply swept fins. For a while the ship hovered, as if savoring the air of its newfound freedom, its nose swinging smoothly around to seek the north. At last, with the sound growing, imperceptibly at first but with steadily increasing speed, it began to slide forward and upward. At ten thousand feet its engines erupted into full power, hurling the suborbital skyliner eagerly toward the fringes of space. Sitting in row thirty-one of C deck was Dr. Victor Hunt, head of Theoretical Studies at the Metadyne Nucleonic Instrument Company of Reading, Berkshire-itself a subsidiary of the mammoth Intercontinental Data and Control Corporation, headquartered at Portland, Oregon, USA. He absently surveyed the diminishing view of Hendon that crawled across the cabin wall-display screen and tried again to fit some kind of explanation to the events of the last few days.

His experiments with matter-antimatter particle extinctions had been progressing well. Forsyth-Scott had followed Hunt’s reports with evident interest and therefore knew that the tests were progressing well. That made it all the more strange for him to call Hunt to his office one morning to ask him simply to drop everything and get over to IDCC Portland as quickly as could be arranged. From the managing director’s tone and manner it had been obvious that the request was couched as such mainly for reasons of politeness; in reality this was one of the few occasions on which Hunt had no say in the matter.

To Hunt’s questions, Forsyth-Scott had stated quite frankly that he didn’t know what it was that made Hunt’s immediate presence at IDCC so imperative. The previous evening he had received a videocall from Felix Borlan, the president of IDCC, who had told him that as a matter of priority he required the only working prototype of the scope prepared for immediate shipment to the USA and an installation team ready to go with it. Also, he had insisted that Hunt personally come over for an indefinite period to take charge of some project involving the scope, which could not wait. For Hunt’s benefit, Forsyth-Scott had replayed Borlan’s call on his desk display and allowed him to verify for himself that Forsyth-Scott in turn was acting under a thinly disguised directive. Even stranger, Borlan too had seemed unable to say precisely what it was that the instrument and its inventor were needed for.

The Trimagniscope, developed as a consequence of a two-year investigation by Hunt into certain aspects of neutrino physics, promised to be perhaps the most successful venture ever undertaken by the company. Hunt had established that a neutrino beam that passed through a solid object underwent certain interactions in the close vicinity of atomic nuclei, which produced measurable changes in the transmitted output. By raster scanning an object with a trio of synchronized, intersecting beams, he had devised a method of extracting enough information to generate a 3-D color hologram, visually indistinguishable from the original solid. Moreover, since the beams scanned right through, it was almost as easy to conjure up views of the inside as of the out. These capabilities, combined with that of high-power magnification that was also inherent in the method, yielded possibilities not even remotely approached by anything else on the market. From quantitative cell metabolism and bionics, through neurosurgery, metallurgy, crystallography, and molecular electronics, to engineering inspection and quality control, the applications were endless. Inquiries were pouring in and shares were soaring. Removing the prototype and its originator to the USA-totally disrupting carefully planned production and marketing schedules-bordered on the catastrophic. Borlan knew this as well as anybody. The more Hunt turned these things over in his mind, the less plausible the various possible explanations that had at first occurred to him seemed, and the more convinced he became that whatever the answer turned out to be, it would be found to lie far beyond even Felix Borlan and IDCC.

His thoughts were interrupted by a voice issuing from somewhere in the general direction of the cabin roof.

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. This is Captain Mason speaking. I would like to welcome you aboard this Boeing 1017 on behalf of British Airways. We are now in level flight at our cruising altitude of fifty-two miles, speed 3,160 knots. Our course is thirty-five degrees west of true north, and the coast is now below with Liverpool five miles to starboard. Passengers are free to leave their seats. The bars are open and drinks and snacks are being served. We are due to arrive in San Francisco at ten thirty-eight hours local time; that’s one hour and fifty minutes from now. I would like to remind you that it is necessary to be seated when we begin our descent in one hour and thirty-five minutes time. A warning will sound ten minutes before descent commences and again at five minutes. We trust you will enjoy your journey. Thank you.”

The captain signed himself off with a click, which was drowned out as the regulars made their customary scramble for the vi-phone booths.

In the seat next to Hunt, Rob Gray, Metadyne’s chief of Experimental Engineering, sat with an open briefcase resting on his knees. He studied the information being displayed on the screen built into its lid.

“A regular flight to Portland takes off fifteen minutes after we get in,” he announced. “That’s a bit tight. Next one’s not for over four hours. What d’you reckon?” He punctuated the question with a sideways look and raised eyebrows.

Hunt pulled a face. “I’m not arsing about in Frisco for four hours. Book us an Avis jet-we’ll fly ourselves up.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Gray played the mini keyboard below the screen to summon an index, consulted it briefly, then touched another key to display a directory. Selecting a number from one of the columns, he mouthed it silently to himself as he tapped it in. A copy of the number appeared near the bottom of the screen with a request for him to confirm. He pressed the Y button. The screen went blank for a few seconds and then exploded into a whirlpool of color, which stabilized almost at once into the features of a platinum-blonde, who radiated the kind of smile normally reserved for toothpaste commercials.

“Good morning. Avis San Francisco, City Terminal. This is Sue Parker. Can I help you?”

Gray addressed the grille, located next to the tiny camera lens just above the screen.

“Hi, Sue. Name’s Gray-R. J. Gray, airbound for SF, due to arrive about two hours from now. Could I reserve an aircar, please?”

“Sure thing. Range?”

“Oh-about five hundred…” He glanced at Hunt.

“Better make it seven,” Hunt advised.

“Make that seven hundred miles minimum.”

“That’ll be no problem, Mr. Gray. We have Skyrovers, Mercury Threes, Honeybees, or Yellow Birds. Any preference?”

“No-any’ll do.”

“I’ll make it a Mercury, then. Any idea how long?”

“No-er-indefinite.”

“Okay. Full computer nav and flight control? Automatic VTOL?”

“Preferably and, ah, yes.”

“You have a full manual license?” The blonde operated unseen keys as she spoke.

“Yes.”

“Could I have personal data and account-checking data, please?”

Gray had extracted the card from his wallet while the exchange was taking place. He inserted it into a slot set to one side of the screen, and touched a key.

The blonde consulted other invisible oracles. “Okay,” she pronounced. “Any other pilots?”

“One. A Dr. V. Hunt.”

“His personal data?”

Gray took Hunt’s already proffered card and substituted it for his own. The ritual was repeated. The face then vanished to be replaced by a screen of formatted text with entries completed in the boxes provided.

“Would you verify and authorize, please?” said the disembodied voice from the grille. “Charges are shown on the right.”

Gray cast his eye rapidly down the screen, grunted, and keyed in a memorized sequence of digits that was not echoed on the display. The word POSITIVE appeared in the box marked “Authorization.” Then the clerk reappeared, still smiling.

“When would you want to collect, Mr. Gray?” she asked.

Gray turned toward Hunt.

“Do we want lunch at the airport first?”

Hunt grimaced. “Not after that party last night. Couldn’t face anything.” His face took on an expression of acute distaste as he moistened the inside of the equine rectum he had once called a mouth. “Let’s eat tonight somewhere.”

“Make it round about eleven thirty hours,” Gray advised. “It’ll be ready.”

“Thanks, Sue.”

“Thank you. Good-bye.”

“Bye now.”

Gray flipped a switch, unplugged the briefcase from the socket built into the armrest of his seat, and coiled the connecting cord back into the space provided in the lid. He closed the case and stowed it behind his feet.

“Done,” he announced.

The scope was the latest in a long line of technological triumphs in the Metadyne product range to be conceived and nurtured to maturity by the Hunt-Gray partnership. Hunt was the ideas man, leading something of a free-lance existence within the organization, left to pursue whatever line of study or experiment his personal whims or the demands of his researches dictated. His title was somewhat misleading; in fact he was Theoretical Studies. The position was one which he had contrived, quite deliberately, to fall into no obvious place in the managerial hierarchy of Metadyne. He acknowledged no superior, apart from the managing director, Sir Francis Forsyth-Scott, and boasted no subordinates. On the company’s organization charts, the box captioned “Theoretical Studies” stood alone and disconnected near the inverted tree headed R D, as if added as an afterthought. Inside it there appeared the single entry Dr. Victor Hunt. This was the way he liked it-a symbiotic relationship in which Metadyne provided him with the equipment, facilities, services, and funds he needed for his work, while he provided Metadyne with first, the prestige of retaining on its payroll a world-acknowledged authority on nuclear infrastructure theory, and second-but by no means least-a steady supply of fallout.

Gray was the engineer. He was the sieve that the fallout fell on. He had a genius for spotting the gems of raw ideas that had application potential and transforming them into developed, tested, marketable products and product enhancements. Like Hunt, he had survived the mine field of the age of unreason and emerged safe and single into his midthirties. With Hunt, he shared a passion for work, a healthy partiality for most of the deadly sins to counterbalance it, and his address book. All things considered, they were a good team.

Gray bit his lower lip and rubbed his left earlobe. He always bit his lower lip and rubbed his left earlobe when he was about to talk shop.

“Figured it out yet?” he asked.

“This Borlan business?”

“Uh-huh.”

Hunt shook his head before lighting a cigarette. “Beats me.”

“I was thinking… Suppose Felix has dug up some hot sales prospect for scopes-maybe one of his big Yank customers. He could be setting up some super demo or something.”

Hunt shook his head again. “No. Felix wouldn’t go and screw up Metadyne’s schedules for anything like that. Anyhow, it wouldn’t make sense-the obvious thing to do would be to fly the people to where the scope is, not the other way round.”

“Mmmm… I suppose the same thing applies to the other thought that occurred to me-some kind of crash teach-in for IDCC people.”

“Right-same thing goes.”

“Mmmm…” When Gray spoke again, they had covered another six miles. “How about a takeover? The whole scope thing is big-Felix wants it handled stateside.”

Hunt reflected on the proposition. “Not for my money. He’s got too much respect for Francis, to pull a stunt like that. He knows Francis can handle it okay. Besides, that’s not his way of doing things-too underhanded.” Hunt paused to exhale a cloud of smoke. “Anyhow, I think there’s a lot more to it than meets the eye. From what I saw, even Felix didn’t seem too sure what it’s all about.”

“Mmmm…” Gray thought for a while longer before abandoning further excursions into the realms of deductive logic. He contemplated the growing tide of humanity flowing in the general direction of C-deck bar. “My guts are a bit churned up, too,” he confessed. “Feels like a crate of Guinness on top of a vindaloo curry. Come on-let’s go get a coffee.”

In the star-strewn black velvet one thousand miles farther up, the Sirius Fourteen communications-link satellite followed, with cold and omniscient electronic eyes, the progress of the skyliner streaking across the mottled sphere below. Among the ceaseless stream of binary data that flowed through its antennae, it identified a call from the Boeing’s Gamma Nine master computer, requesting details of the latest weather forecast for northern California. Sirius Fourteen flashed the message to Sirius Twelve, hanging high over the Canadian Rockies, and Twelve in turn beamed it down to the tracking station at Edmonton. From here the message was relayed by optical cable to Vancouver Control and from there by microwave repeaters to the Weather Bureau station at Seattle. A few thousandths of a second later, the answers poured back up the chain in the opposite direction. Gamma Nine digested the information, made one or two minor alterations to its course and flight plan, and sent a record of the dialogue down to Ground Control, Prestwick.

Chapter Two

It had rained for over two days.

The Engineering Materials Research Department of the Ministry of Space Sciences huddled wetly in a fold of the Ural Mountains, an occasional ray of sunlight glinting from a laboratory window or from one of the aluminum domes of the reactor building. Seated in her office in the analysis section, Valereya Petrokhov turned to the pile of reports left on her desk for routine approval. The first two dealt with run-of-the-mill high-temperature corrosion tests. She flicked casually through the pages, glanced at the appended graphs and tables, scrawled her initials on the line provided, and tossed them across into the tray marked “Out.” Automatically she began scanning down the first page of number three. Suddenly she stopped, a puzzled frown forming on her face. Leaning forward in her chair, she began again, this time reading carefully and studying every sentence. She finally went back to the beginning once more and worked methodically through the whole document, stopping in places to verify the calculations by means of the keyboard display standing on one side of the desk.

“This is unheard of!” she exclaimed.

For a long time she remained motionless, her eyes absorbed by the raindrops slipping down the window but her mind so focused elsewhere that the sight failed to register. At last she shook herself into movement and, turning again to the keyboard, rapidly tapped in a code. The strings of tensor equations vanished, to be replaced by a profile view of her assistant, hunched over a console in the control room downstairs. The profile transformed itself into a full face as he turned.

“Ready to run in about twenty minutes,” he said, anticipating the question. “The plasma’s stabilizing now.”

“No-this has nothing to do with that,” she replied, speaking a little more quickly than usual. “It’s about your report 2906. I’ve just been through my copy.”

“Oh… yes?” His change in expression betrayed mild apprehension.

“So-a niobium-zirconium alloy,” she went on, stating the fact rather than asking a question, “with an unprecedented resistance to high-temperature oxidation and a melting point that, quite frankly, I won’t believe until I’ve done the tests myself.”

“Makes our plasma-cans look like butter,” Josef agreed.

“Yet despite the presence of niobium, it exhibits a lower neutron-absorption cross section than pure zirconium?”

“Macroscopic, yes-under a millibarn per square centimeter.”

“Interesting…” she mused, then resumed more briskly: “On top of that we have alpha-phase zirconium with silicon, carbon, and nitrogen impurities, yet still with a superb corrosion resistance.”

“Hot carbon dioxide, fluorides, organic acids, hypochiorites-we’ve been through the list. Generally an initial reaction sets in, but it’s rapidly arrested by the formation of inert barrier layers. You could probably break it down in stages by devising a cycle of reagents in just the right sequence, but that would take a complete processing plant specially designed for the job!”

“And the microstructure,” Valereya said, gesturing toward the papers on her desk. “You’ve used the description fibrous.”

“Yes. That’s about as near as you can get. The main alloy seems to be formed around a-well, a sort of microcrystalline lattice. It’s mainly silicon and carbon, but with local concentrations of some titanium-magnesium compound that we haven’t been able to quantify yet. I’ve never come across anything like it. Any ideas?”

The woman’s face held a faraway look for some seconds.

“I honestly don’t know what to think at the moment,” she confessed. “But I feel this information should be passed higher without delay; it might be more important than it looks. But first I must be sure of my facts. Nikolai can take over down there for a while. Come up to my office and let’s go through the whole thing in detail.”

Chapter Three

The Portland headquarters of the Intercontinental Data and Control Corporation lay some forty miles east of the city, guarding the pass between Mount Adams to the north and Mount Hood to the south. It was here that at some time in the remote past a small inland sea had penetrated the Cascade Mountains and carved itself a channel to the Pacific, to become in time the mighty Columbia River.

Fifteen years previously it had been the site of the government-owned Bonneville Nucleonic Weapons Research Laboratory. Here, American scientists, working in collaboration with the United States of Europe Federal Research Institute at Geneva, had developed the theory of meson dynamics that led to the nucleonic bomb. The theory predicted a “clean” reaction with a yield orders of magnitude greater than that produced by thermonuclear fusion. The holes they had blown in the Sahara had proved it.

During that period of history, the ideological and racial tensions inherited from the twentieth century were being swept away by the tide of universal affluence and falling birth rates that came with the spread of high-technology living. Traditional rocks of strife and suspicion were being eroded as races, nations, sects, and creeds became inextricably mingled into one huge, homogeneous global society. As the territorial irrationalities of long-dead politicians resolved themselves and the adolescent nation-states matured, the defense budgets of the superpowers were progressively reduced year by year. The advent of the nucleonic bomb served only to accelerate what would have happened anyway. By universal assent, world demilitarization became fact.

One sphere of activity that benefited enormously from the surplus funds and resources that became available after demilitarization was the rapidly expanding United Nations Solar System Exploration Program. Already the list of responsibilities held by this organization was long; it included the operation of all artificial satellites in terrestrial, Lunar, Martian, Venusian, and Solar orbits; the building and operation of all manned bases on Luna and Mars, plus the orbiting laboratories over Venus; the launching of deep-space robot probes and the planning and control of manned missions to the outer planets. UNSSEP was thus expanding at just the right rate and the right time to absorb the supply of technological talent being released as the world’s major armaments programs were run down. Also, as nationalism declined and most of the regular armed forces were demobilized, the restless youth of the new generation found outlets for their adventure-lust in the uniformed branches of the UN Space Arm. It was an age that buzzed with excitement and anticipation as the new pioneering frontier began planet-hopping out across the Solar System.

And so NWRL Bonneville had been left with no purpose to serve. This situation did not go unnoticed by the directors of IDCC. Seeing that most of the equipment and permanent installations owned by NWRL could be used in much of the corporation’s own research projects, they propositioned the government with an offer to buy the place outright. The offer was accepted and the deal went through. Over the years IDCC had further expanded the site, improved its aesthetics, and eventually established it as their nucleonics research center and world headquarters.

The mathematical theory that had grown out of meson dynamics involved the existence of three hitherto unknown transuranic elements. Although these were purely hypothetical, they were christened hyperium, bonnevillium, and genevium. Theory also predicted that, due to a “glitch” in the transuranic mass-versus-binding-energy curve, these elements, once formed, would be stable. They were unlikely to be found occurring naturally, however-not on Earth, anyway. According to the mathematics, only two known situations could give the right conditions for their formation: the core of the detonation of a nucleonic bomb or the collapse of a supernova to a neutron star.

Sure enough, analysis of the dust clouds after the Sahara tests yielded minute traces of hyperium and bonnevillium; genevium was not detected. Nevertheless, the first prediction of the theory was accepted as amply supported. Whether, one day, future generations of scientists would ever verify the second prediction, was another matter entirely.

***

Hunt and Gray touched down on the rooftop landing pad of the IDCC administration building shortly after fifteen hundred hours. By fifteen thirty they were sitting in leather armchairs facing the desk in Borlan’s luxurious office on the tenth floor, while he poured three large measures of scotch at the teak bar built into the left wall. He walked back to the center, passed a glass to each of the Englishmen, went back around the desk, and sat down.

“Cheers, then, guys,” he offered. They returned the gesture. “Well,” he began, “it’s good to see you two again. Trip okay? How’d you make it up so soon-rent a jet?” He opened his cigar box as he spoke and pushed it across the desk toward them. “Smoke?”

“Yes, good trip. Thanks, Felix,” Hunt replied. “Avis.” He inclined his head toward the window behind Borlan, which presented a panoramic view of pine-covered hills tumbling down to the distant Columbia. “Some scenery.”

“Like it?”

“Makes Berkshire look a bit like Siberia.”

Borlan looked at Gray. “How are you keeping, Rob?”

The corners of Gray’s mouth twitched downwards. “Gutrot.”

“Party last night at some bird’s,” Hunt explained. “Too little blood in his alcohol stream.”

“Good time, huh?” Borlan grinned. “Take Francis along?”

“You’ve got to be joking!”

“Jollificating with the peasantry?” Gray mimicked in the impeccable tones of the English aristocracy. “Good God! Whatever next!”

They laughed. Hunt settled himself more comfortably amid a haze of blue smoke. “How about yourself, Felix?” he asked. “Life still being kind to you?”

Borlan spread his arms wide. “Life’s great.”

“Angie still as beautiful as the last time I saw her? Kids okay?”

“They’re all fine. Tommy’s at college now-majoring in physics and astronautical engineering. Johnny goes hiking most weekends with his club, and Susie’s added a pair of gerbils and a bear cub to the family zoo.”

“So you’re still as happy as ever. The responsibilities of power aren’t wearing you down yet.”

Borlan shrugged and showed a row of pearly teeth. “Do I look like an ulcerated nut midway between heart attacks?”

Hunt regarded the blue-eyed, deep-tanned figure with close-cropped fair hair as Borlan sprawled relaxedly on the other side of the broad mahogany desk. He looked at least ten years younger than the president of any intercontinental corporation had a right to.

For a while the small talk revolved around internal affairs at Metadyne. At last a natural pause presented itself. Hunt sat forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and contemplated the last drop of amber liquid in his glass as he swirled it around first from right to left and then back again. Finally he looked up.

“About the scope, Felix. What’s going on, then?”

Borlan had been expecting the question. He straightened slowly in his chair and appeared to think for a moment. At last he said:

“Did you see the call I made to Francis?”

“Yep.”

“Then…” Borlan didn’t seem sure of how to put it. “… I don’t know an awful lot more than you do.” He placed his hands palms-down on the desk man attitude of candor, but his sigh was that of one not really expecting to be believed. He was right.

“Come on, Felix. Give.” Hunt’s expression said the rest.

“You must know,” Gray insisted. “You fixed it all up.”

“Straight.” Borlan looked from one to the other. “Look, taking things worldwide, who would you say our biggest customer is? It’s no secret-UN Space Arm. We do everything for them from Lunar data links to-to laser terminal clusters and robot probes. Do you know how much revenue I’ve got forecast from UNSA next fiscal? Two hundred million bucks… two hundred million!”

“So?”

“So… well-when a customer like that says he needs help, he gets help. I’ll tell you what happened. It was like this: UNSA is a big potential user of scopes, so we fed them all the information we’ve got on what the scope can do and how development is progressing in Francis’s neck of the woods. One day-the day before I called Francis-this guy comes to see me all the way from Houston, where one of the big UNSA outfits has its HQ. He’s an old buddy of mine-their top man, no less. He wants to know can the scope do this and can it do that, and I tell him sure it can. Then he gives me some examples of the things he’s got in mind and he asks if we’ve got a working model yet. I tell him not yet, but that you’ve got a working prototype in England; we can arrange for him to go see it if he wants. But that’s not what he wants. He wants the prototype down there in Houston, and he wants people who can operate it. He’ll pay, he says-we can name our own figure-but he wants that instrument-something to do with a top-priority project down there that’s got the whole of UNSA in a flap. When I ask him what it is, he clams up and says it’s ‘security restricted’ for the moment.”

“Sounds a funny business,” Hunt commented with a frown. “It’ll cause some bloody awful problems back at Metadyne.”

“I told him all that.” Borlan turned his palms upward in a gesture of helplessness. “I told him the score regarding the production schedules and availability forecasts, but he said this thing was big and he wouldn’t go causing this kind of trouble if he didn’t have a good reason. He wouldn’t, either,” Borlan added with obvious sincerity. “I’ve known him for years. He said UNSA would pay compensation for whatever we figure the delays will cost us.” Borlan resumed his helpless attitude. “So what was I supposed to do? Was I supposed to tell an old buddy who happens to be my best customer to go take a jump?”

Hunt rubbed his chin, threw back his last drop of scotch, and took a long, pensive draw on his cigar.

“And that’s it?” he asked at last.

“That’s it. Now you know as much as I do-except that since you left England we’ve received instructions from UNSA to start shipping the prototype to a place near Houston-a biological institute. The bits should start arriving day after tomorrow; the installation crew is already on its way over to begin work preparing the site.”

“Houston… Does that mean we’re going there?” Gray asked.

“That’s right, Rob.” Borlan paused and scratched the side of his nose. His face screwed itself into a crooked frown. “I, ah-I was wondering… The installation crew will need a bit of time, so you two won’t be able to do very much there for a while. Maybe you could spend a few days here first, huh? Like, ah… meet some of our technical people and clue them in a little on how the scope works-sorta like a teach-in. What d’you say-huh?”

Hunt laughed silently inside. Borlan had been complaining to Forsyth-Scott for months that while the largest potential markets for the scope lay in the USA, practically all of the know-how was confined to Metadyne; the American side of the organization needed more in the way of backup and information than it had been getting.

“You never miss a trick, Felix,” he conceded. “Okay, you bum, I’ll buy it.”

Borlan’s face split into a wide grin.

“This UNSA character you were talking about,” Gray said, switching the subject back again. “What were the examples?”

“Examples?”

“You said he gave some examples of the kind of thing he was interested in knowing if the scope could do.”

“Oh, yeah. Well, lemme see, now… He seemed interested in looking at the insides of bodies-bones, tissues, arteries-stuff like that. Maybe he wanted to do an autopsy or something. He also wanted to know if you could get images of what’s on the pages of a book, but without the book being opened.”

This was too much. Hunt looked from Borlan to Gray and back again, mystified.

“You don’t need anything like a scope to perform an autopsy,” he said, his voice strained with disbelief.

“Why can’t he open a book if he wants to know what’s inside?” Gray demanded in a similar tone.

Borlan showed his empty palms. “Yeah. I know. Search me-sounds screwy!”

“And UNSA is paying thousands for this?”

“Hundreds of thousands.”

Hunt covered his brow and shook his head in exasperation. “Pour me another scotch, Felix,” he sighed.

Chapter Four

A week later the Mercury Three stood ready for takeoff on the rooftop of IDCC Headquarters. In reply to the queries that appeared on the pilot’s console display screen, Hunt specified the Ocean Hotel in the center of Houston as their destination. The DEC minicomputer in the nose made contact with its IBM big brother that lived underground somewhere beneath the Portland Area Traffic Control Center and, after a brief consultation, announced a flight plan that would take them via Salt Lake City, Santa Fe, and Fort Worth. Hunt keyed in his approval, and within minutes the aircar was humming southeast and climbing to take on the challenge of the Blue Mountains looming ahead.

Hunt spent the first part of the journey accessing his office files held on the computers back at Metadyne, to tidy up some of the unfinished business he had left behind. As the waters of the Great Salt Lake came glistening into view, he had just completed the calculations that went with his last experimental report and was adding his conclusions. An hour later, twenty thousand feet up over the Colorado River, he was hooked into MIT and reviewing some of their current publications. After refueling at Santa Fe they spent some time cruising around the city on manual control before finding somewhere suitable for lunch. Later on in the day, airborne over New Mexico, they took an incoming call from IDCC and spent the next two hours in conference with some of Borlan’s engineers discussing technicalities of the scope. By the time Fort Worth was behind and the sun well to the west, Hunt was relaxing, watching a murder movie, while Gray slept soundly in the seat beside him.

Hunt looked on with detached interest as the villain was unmasked, the hero claimed the admiring heroine he had just saved from a fate worse than death, and the rolling captions delivered today’s moral message for mankind. Stifling a yawn, he flipped the mode switch to MONITOR/CONTROL to blank out the screen and kill the theme music in midbar. He stretched, stubbed out his cigarette, and hauled himself upright in his seat to see how the rest of the universe was getting along.

Far to their right was the Brazos River, snaking south toward the Gulf, embroidered in gold thread on the light blue-gray of the distant haze. Ahead, he could already see the rainbow towers of Houston, standing at attention on the skyline in a tight defensive platoon. Houses were becoming noticeably more numerous in the foreground below. At intervals between them, unidentifiable sprawling constructions began to make their appearance-random collections of buildings, domes, girder lattices, and storage tanks, tied loosely together by tangles of roadways and pipelines. Farther away to the left, a line of perhaps half a dozen slim spires of silver reared up from a shantytown of steel and concrete. He identified them as gigantic Vega satellite ferries standing on their launch-pads. They seemed fitting sentinels to guard the approaches to what had become the Mecca of the Space Age.

As Victor Hunt gazed down upon this ultimate expression of man’s eternal outward urge, spreading away in every direction below, a vague restlessness stirred somewhere deep inside him.

Hunt had been born in New Cross, the shabby end of East London, south of the river. His father had spent most of his life on strike or in the pub on the corner of the street debating grievances worth going on strike for. When he ran out of money and grievances, he worked on the docks at Deptford. Victor’s mother worked in a bottle factory all day to make the money she lost playing bingo all evening. He spent his time playing football and falling in the Surrey Canal. There was a week when he stayed with an uncle in Worcester, a man who went to work dressed in a suit every day at a place that manufactured computers. And his uncle showed Victor how to wire up a binary adder.

Not long afterward, everyone was yelling at everyone more often than usual, so Victor went to live with his aunt and uncle in Worcester. There he discovered a whole new, undreamed-of world where anything one wanted could be made to happen and magic things really came true-written in strange symbols and mysterious diagrams through the pages of the books on his uncle’s shelves.

At sixteen, Victor won a scholarship to Cambridge to study mathematics, physics, and physical electronics. He moved into lodgings there with a fellow student named Mike who sailed boats, climbed mountains, and whose father was a marketing director.

When his uncle moved to Africa, Victor was adopted as a second son by Mike’s family and spent his holidays at their home in Surrey or climbing with Mike and his friends, first in the hills of the Lake District, North Wales, and Scotland, and later in the Alps. They even tried the Eiger once, but were forced back by bad weather.

After being awarded his doctorate, he remained at the university for some years to further his researches in mathematical nucleonics, his papers on which were by that time attracting widespread attention. Eventually, however, he was forced to come to terms with the fact that a growing predilection for some of the more exciting and attractive ingredients of life could not be reconciled with an income dependent on research grants. For a while he went to work on thermonuclear fusion control for the government, but rebelled at a life made impossible by the meddlings of uninformed bureaucracy. He tried three jobs in private industry but found himself unable to muster more than a cynical indisposition toward playing the game of pretending that annual budgets, gross margins on sales, earnings per share, or discounted cash flows really meant anything that mattered. And so, when he was just turning thirty, the loner he had always been finally asserted itself; he found himself gifted with rare and acknowledged talents, lettered with degrees, credited with achievements, bestowed with awards, cited with honors-and out of a job.

For a while he paid the rent by writing articles for scientific journals. Then, one day, he was offered a free-lance assignment by the chief R and D executive of Metadyne to help out on the mathematical interpretation of some of their experimental work. This assignment led to another, and before long a steady relationship had developed between him and the company. Eventually he agreed to join them full-time in return for use of their equipment and services for his own researches-but under his conditions. And so the Theoretical Studies “Department” came into being.

And now… something was missing. The something within him that had been awakened long ago in childhood would always crave new worlds to discover. And as he gazed out at the Vega ships…

His thoughts were interrupted as a stream of electromagnetic vibrations from somewhere below was transformed into the code which alerted the Mercury’s flight-control processor. The stubby wing outside the cockpit dipped and the aircar turned, beginning the smooth descent that would merge its course into the eastbound traffic corridor that led to the heart of the city at two thousand feet.

Chapter Five

The morning sun poured in through the window and accentuated the chiseled crags of the face staring out, high over the center of Houston. The squat, stocky frame, conceivably modeled on that of a Sherman tank, threw a square slab of shadow on the carpet behind. The stubby fingers hammered a restless tattoo on the glass. Gregg Caldwell, executive director of the Navigation and Communications Division of UN Space Arm, reflected on developments so far.

Just as he’d expected, now that the initial disbelief and excitement had worn off, everyone was jostling for a slice of the action. In fact, more than a few of the big wheels in some divisions-Biosciences, Chicago, and Space Medicine, Farnborough, for instance-were mincing no words in asking just how Navcomms came to be involved at all, let alone running the show, since the project obviously had no more connection with the business of navigation than it had with communication. The down-turned corners of Caldwell’s mouth shifted back slightly in something that almost approached a smile of anticipation. So, the knives were being sharpened, were they? That was okay by him; he could do with a fight. After more than twenty years of hustling his way to the top of one of the biggest divisions of the Space Arm, he was a seasoned veteran at infighting-and he hadn’t lost a drop of blood yet. Maybe this was an area in which Navcomms hadn’t had much involvement before; maybe the whole thing was bigger than Navcomms could handle; maybe it was bigger than UNSA could handle; but-that was the way it was. It had chosen to fall into Navcomms’ lap and that was where it was going to stay. If anyone wanted to help out, that was fine-but the project was stamped as Navcomms-controlled. If they didn’t like it, let them try to change it. Man-let ’em try!

His thoughts were interrupted by the chime of the console built into the desk behind him. He turned around, flipped a switch, and answered in a voice of baritone granite:

“Caldwell.”

Lyn Garland, his personal assistant, greeted him from the screen. She was twenty-eight, pretty, and had long red hair and big, brown, intelligent eyes.

“Message from Reception. Your two visitors from IDC are here-Dr. Hunt and Mr. Gray.”

“Bring them straight up. Pour some coffee. You’d better sit in with us.”

“Will do.”

Ten minutes later formalities had been exchanged and everyone was seated. Caldwell regarded the Englishmen in silence for a few seconds, his lips pursed and his bushy brows gnarled in a knot across his forehead. He leaned forward and interlaced his fingers on the desk in front of him.

“About three weeks ago I attended a meeting at one of our Lunar survey bases-Copernicus Three,” he said. “A lot of excavation and site-survey work is going on in that area, much of it in connection with new construction programs. The meeting was attended by scientists from Earth and from some of the bases up there, a few people on the engineering side and certain members of the uniformed branches of the Space Arm. It was called following some strange discoveries there-discoveries that make even less sense now than they did then.”

He paused to gaze from one to the other. Hunt and Gray returned the look without speaking. Caldwell continued: “A team from one of the survey units was engaged in mapping out possible sites for clearance radars. They were operating in a remote sector, well away from the main area being leveled…”

As he spoke, Caldwell began operating the keyboard recessed into one side of his desk. With a nod of his head he indicated the far wall, which was made up of a battery of display screens. One of the screens came to life to show the title sheet of a file, marked obliquely with the word RESTRICTED in red. This disappeared to be replaced by a contour map of what looked like a rugged and broken stretch of terrain. A slowly pulsing point of light appeared in the center of the picture and began moving across the map as Caldwell rotated a tracker ball set into the panel that held the keyboard. The light halted at a point where the contours indicated the junction of a steep-sided cleft valley with a wider gorge. The cleft valley was narrow and seemed to branch off from the gorge in a rising curve.

“This map shows the area in question,” the director resumed. “The cursor shows where a minor cleft joins the main fault running down toward the left. The survey boys left their vehicle at this point and proceeded on up to the cleft on foot, looking for a way to the top of that large rock mass-the one tagged ‘five sixty’.” As Caldwell spoke, the pulsing light moved slowly along between the minor sets of contours, tracing out the path taken by the UN team. They watched it negotiate the bend above the mouth of the cleft and proceed some distance farther. The light approached the side of the cleft and touched it at a place where the contours merged into a single heavy line. There it stopped.

“Here the side was a sheer cliff about sixty feet high. That was where they came across the first thing that was unusual-a hole in the base of the rock wall. The sergeant leading the group described it as being like a cave. That strike you as odd?”

Hunt raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “Caves don’t grow on moons,” he said simply.

“Exactly.”

The screen now showed a photo view of the area, apparently taken from the spot at which the survey vehicle had been parked. They recognized the break in the wall of the gorge where the cleft joined it. The cleft was higher up than had been obvious from the map and was approached by a ramp of loose rubble. In the background they could see a squat tower of rock flattened on top- presumably the one marked “560” on the map. Caldwell allowed them some time to reconcile the picture with the map before bringing up the second frame. It showed a view taken high up, this time looking into the mouth of the cleft. A series of shots then followed, progressing up to and beyond the bend. “These are stills from a movie record,” Caldwell commented. “I won’t bother with the whole set.” The final frame in the sequence showed a hole in the rock about five feet across.

“Holes like this aren’t unknown on the Moon,” Caldwell remarked. “But they are rare enough to prompt our men into taking a closer look. The inside was a bit of a mess. There had been a rockfall-maybe several falls; not much room-just a heap of rubble and dust… at first sight, anyway.” A new picture on the screen confirmed this statement. “But when they got to probing around a bit more, they came across something that was really unusual. Underneath they found a body-dead!”

The picture changed again to show another view of the interior, taken from the same angle as the previous one. This time, however, the subject was the top half of a human figure lying amid the rubble and debris, apparently at the stage of being half uncovered. It was clad in a spacesuit which, under the layer of gray-white dust, appeared to be bright red. The helmet seemed intact, but it was impossible to make out any details of the face behind the visor because of the reflected camera light. Caldwell allowed them plenty of time to study the picture and reflect on these facts before speaking again.

“That is the body. I’ll answer some of the more obvious questions before you ask. First-no, we don’t know who he is-or was-so we call him Charlie. Second-no, we don’t know for sure what killed him. Third-no, we don’t know where he came from.” The executive director caught the puzzled look on Hunt’s face and raised his eyebrows inquiringly.

“Accidents can happen, and it’s not always easy to say what caused them-I’ll buy that,” Hunt said. “But to not know who he is…? I mean, he must have carried some kind of ID card; I’d have thought he’d have to. And even if he didn’t, he must be from one of the UN bases up there. Someone must have noticed he was missing.”

For the first time the flicker of a smile brushed across Caldwell’s face.

“Of course we checked with all the bases, Dr. Hunt. Results negative. But that was just the beginning. You see, when they got him back to the labs for a more thorough check, a number of peculiarities began to emerge which the experts couldn’t explain-and, believe me, we’ve had enough brains in on this. Even after we brought him back here, the situation didn’t get any better. In fact, the more we find out, the worse it gets.”

“‘Back here’? You mean…

“Oh, yes. Charlie’s been shipped back to Earth. He’s over at the Westwood Biological Institute right now-a few miles from here. We’ll go and have a look at him later on today.”

Silence reigned for what seemed like a long time as Hunt and Gray digested the rapid succession of new facts. At last Gray offered:

“Maybe someobody dumped him for some reason?”

“No, Mr. Gray, you can forget anything like that.” Caldwell waited a few more seconds. “Let me say that from what little we do know so far, we can state one or two things with certainty. First, Charlie did not come from any of the bases established to date on Luna. Furthermore”-Caldwell’s voice slowed to an ominous rumble-“he did not originate from any nation of the world as we know it today. In fact, it is by no means certain that he originated from this planet at all!”

His eyes traveled from Hunt to Gray, then back again, taking in the incredulous stares that greeted his words. Absolute silence enveloped the room. A suspense almost audible tore at their nerves. Caldwell’s finger stabbed at the keyboard.

The face leaped out at them from the screen in grotesque closeup, skull-like, the skin shriveled and darkened like ancient parchment, and stretched back over the bones to uncover two rows of grinning teeth. Nothing remained of the eyes but a pair of empty pits, staring sightlessly out through dry, leathery lids.

Caldwell’s voice, now a chilling whisper, hissed through the fragile air.

“You see, gentlemen-Charlie died over fifty thousand years ago!”

Chapter Six

Dr. Victor Hunt stared absently down at the bird’s-eye view of the outskirts of Houston sliding by below the UNSA jet. The mind-numbing impact of Caldwell’s revelations had by this time abated sufficiently for him to begin putting together in his mind something of a picture of what it all meant.

Of Charlie’s age there could be no doubt. All living organisms take into their bodies known proportions of the radioactive isotopes of carbon and certain other elements. During life, an organism maintains a constant ratio of these isotopes to “normal” ones, but when it dies and intake ceases, the active isotopes are left to decay in a predictable pattern. This mechanism provides, in effect, a highly reliable clock, which begins to run at the moment of death. Analysis of the decay residues enables a reliable figure to be calculated for how long the clock has been running. Many such tests had been performed on Charlie, and all the results agreed within close limits.

Somebody had pointed out that the validity of this method rested on the assumptions that the composition of whatever Charlie ate, and the constituents of whatever atmosphere he breathed, were the same as for modern man on modern Earth. Since Charlie might not be from Earth, this assumption could not be made. It hadn’t taken long, however, for this point to be settled conclusively. Although the functions of most of the devices contained in Charlie’s backpack were still to be established, one assembly had been identified as an ingeniously constructed miniature nuclear power plant. The U235 fuel pellets were easily located and analysis of their decay products yielded a second, independent answer, although a less accurate one: The power unit in Charlie’s backpack had been made some fifty thousand years previously. The further implication of this was that since the first set of test results was thus substantiated, it seemed to follow that in terms of air and food supply, there could have been little abnormal about Charlie’s native environment.

Now, Charlie’s kind, Hunt told himself, must have evolved to their human form somewhere. That this “somewhere” was either Earth or not Earth was fairly obvious, the rules of basic logic admitting no other possibility. He traced back over what he could recall of the conventional account of the evolution of terrestrial life forms and wondered if, despite the generations of painstaking effort and research that had been devoted to the subject, there might after all be more to the story than had up until then been so confidently supposed. Several thousands of millions of years was a long time by anybody’s standards; was it so totally inconceivable that somewhere in all those gulfs of uncertainty, there could be enough room to lose an advanced line of human descent which had flourished and died out long before modern man began his own ascent?

On the other hand, the fact that Charlie was found on the Moon presupposed a civilization sufficiently advanced technically to send him there. Surely, on the way toward developing space flight, they would have evolved a worldwide technological society, and in doing so would have made machines, erected structures, built cities, used metals, and left all the other hallmarks of progress. If such a civilization had once existed on Earth, surely centuries of exploration and excavation couldn’t have avoided stumbling on at least some traces of it. But not one instance of any such discovery had ever been recorded. Although the conclusion rested squarely on negative evidence, Hunt could not, even with his tendency toward open-mindedness, accept that an explanation along these lines was even remotely probable.

The only alternative, then, was that Charlie came from somewhere else. Clearly this could not be the Moon itself: It was too small to have retained an atmosphere anywhere near long enough for life to have started at all, let alone reach an advanced level-and of course, his spacesuit showed he was just as much an alien there as was man.

That only left some other planet. The problem here lay in Charlie’s undoubted human form, which Caldwell had stressed although he hadn’t elected to go into detail. Hunt knew that the process of natural evolution was accepted as occurring through selection, over a long period, from a purely random series of genetic mutations. All the established rules and principles dictated that the appearance of two identical end products from two completely isolated families of evolution, unfolding independently in different corners of the universe, just couldn’t happen. Hence, if Charlie came from somewhere else, a whole branch of accepted scientific theory would come crashing down in ruins. So-Charlie couldn’t possibly have come from Earth. Neither could he possibly have come from anywhere else. Therefore, Charlie couldn’t exist. But he did.

Hunt whistled silently to himself as the full implications of the thing began to dawn on him. There was enough here to keep the whole scientific world arguing for decades.

Inside the Westwood Biological Institute, Caldwell, Lyn Garland, Hunt, and Gray were met by a Professor Christian Danchekker. The Englishmen recognized him, since Caldwell had introduced them earlier by vi-phone. On their way to the laboratory section of the institute, Danchekker briefed them further.

In view of its age, the body was in an excellent state of preservation. This was due to the environment in which it had been found-a germ-free hard vacuum and an abnormally low temperature sustained, even at Lunar noon, by the insulating mass of the surrounding rock. These conditions had prevented any onset of bacterial decay of the soft tissues. No rupture had been found in the spacesuit. So the currently favored theory regarding cause of death was that a failure in the life-support system had resulted in a sudden fall in temperature. The body had undergone deep freezing in a short space of time with a consequent abrupt cessation of metabolic processes; ice crystals, formed from body fluids, had caused widespread laceration of cell membranes. In the course of time most of the lighter substances had sublimed, mainly from the outer layers, to leave behind a blackened, shriveled, natural kind of mummy. The most seriously affected parts were the eyes, which, composed for the most part of fluids, had collapsed completely, leaving just a few flaky remnants in their sockets.

A major problem was the extreme fragility of the remains, which made any attempt at detailed examination next to impossible. Already the body had undergone some irreparable damage in the course of being transported to Earth and in the removal of the spacesuit; only the body’s being frozen solid during these operations had prevented the situation from being even worse. That was when somebody had thought of Felix Borlan at IDCC and an instrument being developed in England that could display the insides of things. The result had been Caldwell’s visit to Portland.

Inside the first laboratory it was dark. Researchers were using binocular microscopes to study sets of photographic transparencies arranged on several glass-topped tables, illuminated from below. Danchekker selected some plates from a pile and, motioning the others to follow, made his way over to the far wall. He positioned the first three of the plates on an eye-level viewing screen, snapped on the screen light, and stepped back to join the expectant semicircle. The plates were X-ray images showing the front and side views of a skull. Five faces, thrown into sharp relief against the darkness of the room behind, regarded the screen in solemn silence. At last Danchekker moved a pace forward, at the same time half turning toward them.

“I need not, I feel, tell you who this is.” His manner was somewhat stiff and formal. “A skull, fully human in every detail-as far as it is possible to ascertain by X rays, anyway.” Danchekker traced along the line of the jaw with a ruler he had picked up from one of the tables. “Note the formation of the teeth-on either side we see two incisors, one canine, two premolars, and three molars. This pattern was established quite early in the evolutionary line that leads to our present day anthropoids, including, of course, man. It distinguishes our common line of descent from other offshoots, such as the New World monkeys with a count of two, one, three, three.”

“Hardly necessary here,” Hunt commented. “There’s nothing apelike or monkeylike about that picture.”

“Quite so, Dr. Hunt,” Danchekker returned with a nod. “The reduced canines, not interlocking with the upper set, and the particular pattern of the cusps-these are distinctly human characteristics. Note also the flatness of the lower face, the absence of any bony brow ridges… high forehead and sharply angled jaw, well-rounded braincase. These are all features of true man as we know him today, features that derive directly from his earlier ancestors. The significance of these details in this instance is that they demonstrate an example of true man, not something that merely bears a superficial resemblance to him.”

The professor took down the plates and momentarily flooded the room with a blaze of light. A muttered profanity from one of the scientists at the tables made him switch off the light hastily. He picked up three more plates, set them up on the screen, and switched on the light to reveal the side view of a torso, an arm, and a foot.

“Again, the trunk shows no departure from the familiar human pattern. Same rib structure… broad chest with well-developed clavicles… normal pelvic arrangement. The foot is perhaps the most specialized item in the human skeleton and is responsible for man’s uniquely powerful stride and somewhat peculiar gait. If you are familiar with human anatomy, you will find that this foot resembles ours in every respect.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Hunt conceded, shaking his head. “Nothing remarkable, then.”

“The most significant thing, Dr. Hunt, is that nothing is remarkable.”

Danchekker switched off the screen and returned the plates to the pile. Caldwell turned to Hunt as they began walking back toward the door.

“This kind of thing doesn’t happen every day,” he grunted. “An understandable reason for wanting some… er… irregular action, you would agree?”

Hunt agreed.

A passage, followed by a short flight of stairs and another passage, brought them to a set of double doors bearing the large red sign STERILE AREA. In the anteroom behind, they put on surgical masks, caps, gowns, gloves, and overshoes before passing out through another door at the opposite end.

In the first section they came to, samples of skin and other tissues were being examined. By reintroducing the substances believed to have escaped over the centuries, specimens had been restored to what were hoped to be close approximations to their original conditions. In general, the findings merely confirmed that Charlie was as human chemically as he was structurally. Some unfamiliar enzymes had, however, been discovered. Dynamic computer simulation suggested that these were designed to assist in the breakdown of proteins unlike anything found in the diet of modern man. Danchekker was inclined to dismiss this peculiarity with the rather vague assertion that “Times change,” a remark which Hunt appeared to find disturbing.

The next laboratory was devoted to an investigation of the spacesuit and the various other gadgets and implements found on and around the body. The helmet was the first exhibit to be presented for inspection. Its back and crown were made of metal, coated dull black and extending forward to the forehead to leave a transparent visor extending from ear to ear. Danchekker held it up for them to see and pushed his hand up through the opening at the neck. They could see clearly the fingers of his rubber glove through the facepiece.

“Observe,” he said, picking up a powerful xenon flash lamp from the bench. He directed the beam through the facepiece, and a circle of the material immediately turned dark. They could see through the area around the circle that the level of illumination inside the helmet had not changed appreciably. He moved the lamp around and the dark circle followed it across the visor.

“Built-in antiglare,” Gray observed.

“The visor is fabricated from a self-polarizing crystal,” Danchekker informed them. “It responds directly to incident light in a fashion that is linear up to high intensities. The visor is also effective with gamma radiation.”

Hunt took the helmet to examine it more closely. The blend of curves that made up the outside contained little of interest, but on turning it over he found that a section of the inner surface of the crown had been removed to reveal a cavity, empty except for some tiny wires and a set of fixing brackets.

“That recess contained a complete miniature communications station,” Danchekker supplied, noting his interest. “Those grilles at the sides concealed the speakers, and a microphone is built into the top, just above the forehead.” He reached inside and drew down a small retractable binocular periscope from inside the top section of the helmet, which clicked into position immediately in front of where the eyes of the wearer would be. “Built-in video, too,” he explained. “Controlled from a panel on the chest. The small hole in the front of the crown contained a camera assembly.” Hunt continued to turn the trophy over in his hands, studying it from all angles in absorbed silence. Two weeks ago he had been sitting at his desk in Metadyne doing a routine job. Never in his wildest fantasies had he imagined that he would one day come to be holding in his hands something that might well turn out to be one of the most exciting discoveries of the century, if not in the whole of history. Even his agile mind was having difficulty taking it all in.

“Can we see some of the electronics that were in here?” he asked after a while.

“Not today,” Caldwell replied. “The electronics are being studied at another location-that goes for most of what was in the backpack, too. Let’s just say for now that when it came to molecular circuits, these guys knew their business.”

“The backpack is a masterpiece of precision engineering in miniature,” Danchekker continued, leading them to another part of the laboratory. “The prime power source for all the equipment and heating has been identified, and is nuclear in nature. In addition, there was a water recirculation plant, life-support system, standby power and communications system, and oxygen liquefaction plant-all in that!” He held up the casing of the stripped-down backpack for them to see, then tossed it back on the bench. “Several other devices were also included, but their purpose is still obscure. Behind you, you will see some personal effects.”

The professor moved around to indicate an array of objects taken from the body and arranged neatly on another bench like museum exhibits.

“A pen-not dissimilar to a familiar pressurized ballpoint type; the top may be rotated to change color.” He picked up a collection of metallic strips that hinged into a casing, like the blades of a pocketknife. “We suspect that these are keys of some kind because they have magnetic codes written on their surfaces.”

To one side was a collection of what looked like crumpled pieces of paper, some with groups of barely discernible symbols written in places. Next to them were two pocket-size books, each about half an inch thick.

“Assorted oddments,” Danchekker said, looking along the bench. “The documents are made from a kind of plasticized fiber. Fragments of print and handwriting are visible in places-quite unintelligible, of course. The material has deteriorated severely and tends to disintegrate at the slightest touch.” He nodded toward Hunt. “This is another area where we hope to learn as much as we can with the Trimagniscope before we risk anything else.” He pointed to the remaining articles and listed them without further elaboration. “Pen-size torch; some kind of pocket flamethrower, we think; knife; pen-size electric pocket drill with a selection of bits in the handle; food and drink containers-they connect via valves to the tubes inside the lower part of the helmet; pocket folder, like a wallet-too fragile to open; changes of underclothes; articles for personal hygiene; odd pieces of metal, purpose unknown. There were also a few electronic devices in the pockets; they have been sent elsewhere along with the rest.”

The party halted on the way back to the door to gather around the scarlet spacesuit, which had been reassembled on a life-size dummy standing on a small plinth. At first sight the proportions of the figure seemed to differ subtly from those of an average man, the build being slightly on the stocky side and the limbs a little short for the height of about five feet, six inches. However, since the suit was not designed for a close fit, it was difficult to be sure. Hunt noticed the soles of the boots were surprisingly thick.

“Sprung interior,” Danchekker supplied, following his gaze.

“What’s that?”

“It’s quite ingenious. The mechanical properties of the sole material vary with applied pressure. With the wearer walking at normal speed, the sole would remain mildly flexible. Under impact, however-for example, if he jumped-it assumes the characteristics of a stiff spring. It’s an ideal device for kangarooing along in lunar gravity-utilizing conditions of reduced weight but normal inertia to advantage.”

“And now, gentlemen,” said Caldwell, who had been following events with evident satisfaction, “the moment I guess you’ve been waiting for-let’s have a look at Charlie himself.”

An elevator took them down to the subterranean levels of the institute. They emerged into a somber corridor of white-tiled walls and white lights, and followed it to a large metal door. Danchekker pressed his thumb against a glass plate set into the wall and the door slid silently aside on recognition of his print. At the same time, a diffuse but brilliant white glow flooded the room inside.

It was cold. Most of the walls were taken up by control panels, analytical equipment, and glass cabinets containing rows of gleaming instruments. Everything was light green, as in an operating theater, and gave the same impression of surgical cleanliness. A large table, supported by a single central pillar, stood to one side. On top of it was what looked like an oversize glass coffin. Inside that lay the body. Saying nothing, the professor led them across the room, his overshoes squeaking on the rubbery floor as he walked. The small group converged around the table and stared in silent awe at the figure before them.

It lay half covered by a sheet that stretched from its lower chest to its feet. In these clinical surroundings, the gruesome impact of the sight that had leaped at them from the screen in Caldwell’s office earlier in the day was gone. All that remained was an object of scientific curiosity. Hunt found it overwhelming to stand at arm’s length from the remains of a being who had lived as part of a civilization, had grown and passed away, before the dawn of history. For what seemed a long time he stared mutely, unable to frame any intelligent question or comment, while speculations tumbled through his mind on the life and times of this strange creature. When he eventually jolted himself back to the present, he realized that the professor was speaking again.

“… Naturally, we are unable to say at this stage if it was simply a genetic accident peculiar to this individual or a general characteristic of the race to which he belonged, but measurements of the eye sockets and certain parts of the skull indicate that, relative to his size, his eyes were somewhat larger than our own. This suggests that he was not accustomed to sunlight as bright as ours. Also, note the length of the nostrils. Allowing for shrinkage with age, they are constructed to provide a longer passage for the prewarming of air. This suggests that he came from a relatively cool climate… the same thing can be observed in modern Eskimos.” Danchekker made a sweeping gesture that took in the whole length of the body. “Again, the rather squat and stocky build is consistent with the idea of a cool native environment. A fat, round object presents less surface area per unit volume than a long, thin one and thus loses less heat. Contrast the compact build of the Eskimo with the long limbs and lean body of the Negro. We know that at the time Charlie was alive the Earth was just entering the last cold period of the Pleistocene Ice Age. Life forms in existence at that time would have had about a million years to adapt to the cold. Also, there is strong reason to believe that ice ages are caused by a reduction in the amount of solar radiation falling on Earth, brought about by the Sun and planets passing through exceptionally dusty patches of space. For example, ice ages occur approximately every two hundred and fifty million years; this is also the period of rotation of our galaxy-surely more than mere coincidence. Thus, this being’s evident adaptation to cold, the suggestion of a lower level of daylight, and his established age all correlate well.”

Hunt looked at the professor quizzically. “You’re pretty sure already, then, that he’s from Earth?” he said in a tone of mild surprise. “I mean-it’s early days yet, surely?”

Danchekker drew back his head disdainfully and screwed up his eyebrows to convey a shadow of irritation. “Surely it is quite obvious, Dr. Hunt.” The tone was that of a professor reproaching an errant student. “Consider the things we have observed: the teeth, the skull, the bones, the types and layout of organs. I have deliberately drawn attention to these details to emphasize his kinship to ourselves. It is clear that his ancestry is the same as ours.” He waved his hand to and fro in front of his face. “No, there can be no doubt whatsoever. Charlie evolved from the same stock as modern man and all the other terrestrial primates.”

Gray looked dubious. “Well, I dunno,” he said. “I think Vic’s got a point. I mean, if his lot did come from Earth, you’d have expected someone to have found out about it before now, wouldn’t you?”

Danchekker sighed with an overplay of indifference. “If you wish to doubt my word, you have, of course, every right to do so,” he said. “However, as a biologist and an anthropologist, I for my part see more than sufficient evidence to support the conclusions I have stated.”

Hunt seemed far from satisfied and started to speak again, but Caldwell intervened.

“Cool it, you guys. D’you think we haven’t had enough arguments like this around here for the last few weeks?”

“I really think it’s about time we had some lunch,” Lyn Garland interrupted with well-timed tact.

Danchekker turned abruptly and began walking back toward the door, reciting statistics on the density of body hair and the thickness of subdermal layers of fat, apparently having dismissed the incident from his mind. Hunt paused to survey the body once more before turning to follow, and in doing so, he caught Gray’s eye for an instant. The engineer’s mouth twitched briefly at the corners; Hunt gave a barely perceptible shrug. Caldwell, still standing by the foot of the table, observed the brief exchange. He turned his head to look after Danchekker and then back again at the Englishmen, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. At last he fell in a few paces behind the group, nodding slowly to himself and permitting a faint smile.

The door slid silently into place and the room was once more plunged into darkness.

Chapter Seven

Hunt brought his hands up to his shoulders, stretched his body back over his chair, and emitted a long yawn at the ceiling of the laboratory. He held the position for a few seconds, and then collapsed back with a sigh. Finally he rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, hauled himself upright to face the console in front of him once more, and returned his gaze to the three-foot-high wall of the cylindrical glass tank by his side.

The image on the Trimagniscope tube was an enlarged view of one of the pocket-size books found on the body, which Danchekker had shown them on their first day in Houston three weeks before. The book itself was enclosed in the scanner module of the machine, on the far side of the room. The scope was adjusted to generate a view that followed the change in density along the boundary surface of the selected page, producing an image of the lower section of the book only; it was as if the upper part had been removed, like a cut deck of cards. Because of the age and condition of the book, however, the characters on the page thus exposed tended to be of poor quality and in some places were incomplete. The next step would be to scan the image optically with TV cameras and feed the encoded pictures into the Navcomms computer complex. The raw input would then be processed by pattern recognition techniques and statistical techniques to produce a second, enhanced copy with many of the missing character fragments restored.

Hunt cast his eye over the small monitor screens on his console, each of which showed a magnified view of a selected area of the page, and tapped some instructions into his keyboard.

“There’s an unresolved area on monitor five,” he announced. “Cursors read X, twelve hundred to thirteen eighty; Y, nine ninety and, ah, ten seventy-five.”

Rob Gray, seated at another console a few feet away and almost surrounded by screens and control panels, consulted one of the numerical arrays glowing before him.

“Z mod’s linear across the field,” he advised. “Try a block elevate?”

“Can do. Give it a try.”

“Setting Z step two hundred through two ten… increment point one… step zero point five seconds.”

“Check.” Hunt watched the screen as the surface picked out through the volume of the book became distorted locally and the picture on the monitor began to change.

“Hold it there,” he called. Gray hit a key. “Okay?”

Hunt contemplated the modified view for a while.

“The middle of the element’s clear now,” he pronounced at last. “Fix the new plane inside forty percent. I still don’t like the strip around it, though. Give me a vertical slice through the center point.”

“Which screen d’you want it on?”

“Ah… number seven.”

“Coming up.”

The curve, showing a cross section of the page surface through the small area they were working on, appeared on Hunt’s console. He studied it for awhile, then called:

“Run an interpolation across the strip. Set thresholds of, say, minus five and thirty-five percent on Y.”

“Parameters set… Interpolator running… run complete,” Gray recited. “Integrating into scan program now.” Again the picture altered subtly. There was a noticeable improvement.

“Still not right around the edge,” Hunt said. “Try weighting the quarter and three-quarter points by plus ten. If that doesn’t work, we’ll have to break it down into isodepth bands.”

“Plus ten on point two five zero and point seven five zero,” Gray repeated as he operated the keys. “Integrated. How’s it look?”

On the element of surface displayed on Hunt’s monitor, the fragments of characters had magically assembled themselves into recognizable shapes. Hunt nodded with satisfaction.

“That’ll do. Freeze it in. Okay-that clears that one. There’s another messy patch up near the top right. Let’s have a go at that next.”

***

Life had been reduced to much this kind of pattern ever since the day the installation of the scope was completed. They had spent the first week obtaining a series of cross-sectional views of the body itself. This exercise had proved memorable on account of the mild discomfort and not so mild inconvenience of having to work in electrically heated suits, following the medical authority’s insistence that Charlie be kept in a refrigerated environment. It had proved something of an anticlimax. The net results were that, inside as well as out, Charlie was surprisingly-or not so surprisingly, depending on one’s point of view-human. During the second week they began examining the articles found on the body, especially the pieces of “paper” and the pocket books. This investigation had proved more interesting.

Of the symbols contained in the documents, numerals were the first to be identified. A team of cryptographers, assembled at Navcomms HQ, soon worked out the counting system, which turned out to be based on twelve digits rather than ten and employed a positional notation with the least significant digit to the left. Deciphering the nonnumeric symbols was proving more difficult. Linguists from institutions and universities in several countries had linked into Houston and, with the aid of batteries of computers, were attempting to make some sense of the language of the Lunarians, as Charlie’s race had come to be called in commemoration of his place of discovery. So far their efforts had yielded little more than that the Lunarian alphabet comprised thirty-seven characters, was written horizontally from right to left, and contained the equivalent of upper-case characters.

Progress, however, was not considered to be bad for so short a time. Most of the people involved were aware that even this much could never have been achieved without the scope, and already the names of the two Englishmen were well-known around the division. The scope attracted a lot of interest among the UNSA technical personnel, and most evenings saw a stream of visitors arriving at the Ocean Hotel, all curious to meet the coinventors of the instrument and to learn more about its principles of operation. Before long, the Ocean became the scene of a regular debating society where anybody who cared to could give free rein to his wildest speculations concerning the Charlie mystery, free from the constraints of professional caution and skepticism that applied during business hours.

Caldwell, of course, knew everything that was said by anybody at the Ocean and what everybody else thought about it, since Lyn Garland was present on most nights and represented the next best thing to a hot line back to the HQ building. Nobody minded that much-after all, it was only part of her job. They minded even less when she began turning up with some of the other girls from Navcomms in tow, adding a refreshing party atmosphere to the whole proceedings. This development met with the full approval of the visitors from out-of-town; however, it had led to somewhat strained relationships on the domestic front for one or two of the locals.

Hunt jabbed at the keyboard for the last time and sat back to inspect the image of the completed page.

“Not bad at all,” he said. “That one won’t need much enhancement.”

“Good,” Gray agreed. He lit a cigarette and tossed the pack across to Hunt without being asked. “Optical encoding’s finished,” he added, glancing at a screen. “That’s number sixty-seven tied up.” He rose from his chair and moved across to stand beside Hunt’s console to get a better view of the image in the tank. He looked at it for a while without speaking.

“Columns of numbers,” he observed needlessly at last. “Looks like some kind of table.”

“Looks like it…” Hunt’s voice sounded far away.

“Mmm… rows and columns… thick lines and thin lines. Could be anything-mileage chart, wire gauges, some sort of timetable. Who knows?”

Hunt made no reply but continued to blow occasional clouds of smoke at the glass, cocking his head first to one side and then to the other.

“None of the numbers there are very large,” he commented after a while. “Never more than two positions in any place. That gives us what in a duodecimal system? One hundred and forty-three at the most.” Then as an afterthought, “I wonder what the biggest is.”

“I’ve got a table of Lunarian-decimal equivalents somewhere. Any good?”

“No, don’t bother for now. It’s too near lunch. Maybe we could have a look at it over a beer tonight at the Ocean.”

“I can pick out their one and two,” Gray said. “And three and Hey! What do you know-look at the right-hand columns of those big boxes. Those numbers are in ascending order!”

“You’re right. And look-the same pattern repeats over and over in every one. It’s some kind of cyclic array.” Hunt thought for a moment, his face creased in a frown of concentration. “Something else, too-see those alphabetic groups down the sides? The same groups reappear at intervals all across the page…” He broke off again and rubbed his chin.

Gray waited perhaps ten seconds. “Any ideas?”

“Dunno… Sets of numbers starting at one and increasing by one every time. Cyclic… an alphabetic label tagged on to each repeating group. The whole pattern repeating again inside bigger groups, and the bigger groups repeat again. Suggests some sort of order. Sequence…”

His mumblings were interrupted as the door opened behind them. Lyn Garland walked in.

“Hi, you guys. What’s showing today?” She moved over to stand between them and peered into the tank. “Say, tables! How about that? Where’d they come from, the books?”

“Hello, lovely,” Gray said with a grin. “Yep.” He nodded in the direction of the scanner.

“Hi,” Hunt answered, at last tearing his eyes away from the image. “What can we do for you?”

She didn’t reply at once, but continued staring into the tank.

“What are they? Any ideas?”

“Don’t know yet. We were just talking about it when you came in.”

She marched across the lab and bent over to peer into the top of the scanner. The smooth, tanned curve of her leg and the proud thrust of her behind under her thin skirt drew an exchange of approving glances from the two English scientists. She came back and studied the image once more.

“Looks like a calendar, if you ask me,” she told them. Her voice left no room for dissent.

Gray laughed. “Calendar, eh? You sound pretty sure of it. What’s this-a demonstration of infaffible feminine intuition or something?” He was goading playfully.

She turned to confront him with out-thrust jaw and hands planted firmly on hips. “Listen, Limey-I’ve got a right to an opinion, okay? So, that’s what I think it is. That’s my opinion.”

“Okay, okay.” Gray held up his hands. “Let’s not start the War of Independence all over again. I’ll note it in the lab file: ‘Lyn thinks it’s a-’”

“Holy Christ!” Hunt cut him off in midsentence. He was staring wide-eyed at the tank. “Do you know, she could be right! She could just be bloody right!”

Gray turned back to face the side of the tank. “How come?”

“Well, look at it. Those larger groups could be something like months, and the labeled sets that keep repeating inside them could be weeks made up of days. After all, days and years have to be natural units in any calendar system. See what I mean?”

Gray looked dubious. “I’m not so sure,” he said slowly. “It’s nothing like our year, is it? I mean, there’s a hell of a lot more than three hundred sixty-five numbers in that lot, and a lot more than twelve months, or whatever they are-aren’t there?”

“I know. Interesting?”

“Hey. I’m still here,” said a small voice behind them. They moved apart and half turned to let her in on the proceedings.

“Sorry,” Hunt said. “Getting carried away.” He shook his head and regarded her with an expression of disbelief.

“What on Earth made you say a calendar?”

She shrugged and pouted her lips. “Don’t know, really. The book over there looks like a diary. Every diary I ever saw had calendars in it. So, it had to be a calendar.”

Hunt sighed. “So much for scientific method. Anyway, let’s run a shot of it. I’d like to do some sums on it later.” He looked back at Lyn. “No-on second thought, you run it. This is your discovery.”

She frowned at him suspiciously. “What d’you want me to do?”

“Sit down there at the master console. That’s right. Now activate the control keyboard… Press the red button-that one.”

“What do I do now?”

“Type this: FC comma DACCO seven slash PCH dot P sixty-seven slash HCU dot one. That means ‘functional control mode, data access program subsystem number seven selected, access data file reference “Project Charlie, Book one,” page sixty-seven, optical format, output on hard copy unit, one copy.”

“It does? Really? Great!”

She keyed in the commands as Hunt repeated them more slowly. At once a hum started up in the hard copier, which stood next to the scanner. A few seconds later a sheet of glossy paper flopped into the tray attached to the copier’s side. Gray walked over to collect it.

“Perfect,” he announced.

“This makes me a scope expert, too,” Lyn informed them brightly.

Hunt studied the sheet briefly, nodded, and slipped it into a folder lying on top of the console.

“Doing some homework?” she asked.

“I don’t like the wallpaper in my hotel room.”

“He’s got the theory of relativity all around the bedroom in his flat in Wokingham,” Gray confided, “… and wave mechanics in the kitchen.”

She looked from one to the other curiously. “Do you know, you’re crazy. Both of you-you’re both crazy. I was always too polite to mention it before, but somebody has to say it.”

Hunt gave her a solemn look. “You didn’t come all the way over here to tell us we’re crazy,” he pronounced.

“Know something-you’re right. I had to be in Westwood anyway. A piece of news just came in this morning that I thought might interest you. Gregg’s been talking to the Soviets. Apparently one of their materials labs has been doing tests on some funny pieces of metal alloy they got hold of-all sorts of unusual properties nobody’s ever seen before. And guess what-they dug them up on the Moon, somewhere near Mare Imbrium. And-when they ran some dating tests, they came up with a figure of about fifty thousand years! How about that! Interested?”

Gray whistled.

“It had to be just a matter of time before something else turned up,” Hunt said, nodding. “Know any more details?”

She shook her head. “’Fraid not. But some of the guys might be able to fill you in a bit more at the Ocean tonight. Try Hans if he’s there; he was talking a lot to Gregg about it earlier.”

Hunt looked intrigued but decided there was little point in pursuing the matter further for the time being.

“How is Gregg?” he asked. “Has he tried smiling lately?”

“Don’t be mean,” she reproached him. “Gregg’s okay. He’s busy, that’s all. D’you think he didn’t have enough to worry about before all this blew up?”

Hunt didn’t dispute it. During the few weeks that had passed, he had seen ample evidence of the massive resources Caldwell was marshaling from all around the globe. He couldn’t help but be impressed by the director’s organizational ability and his ruthless efficiency when it came to annihilating opposition. There were other things, however, about which Hunt harbored mild personal doubts.

“How’s it all going, then?” he asked. His tone was neutral. It did not escape the girl’s sharply tuned senses. Her eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

“Well, you’ve seen most of the action so far. How do you think it’s going?”

He tried a sidestep to avoid her deliberate turning around of the question.

“None of my business, really, is it? We’re just the machine minders in all this.”

“No, really-I’m interested. What do you think?”

Hunt made a great play of stubbing out his cigarette. He frowned and scratched his forehead.

“You’ve got rights to opinions, too,” she persisted. “Our Constitution says so. So, what’s your opinion?”

There was no way off the hook, or of evading those big brown eyes.

“There’s no shortage of information turning up,” he conceded at last. “The infantry is doing a good job…” He let the rider hang.

“But what…”

Hunt sighed.

“But… the interpretation. There’s something too dogmatic-too rigid-about the way the big names higher up are using the information. It’s as if they can’t think outside the ruts they’ve thought inside for years. Maybe they’re overspecialized-won’t admit any possibility that goes against what they’ve always believed.”

“For instance?”

“Oh, I don’t know… Well, take Danchekker, for one. He’s always accepted orthodox evolutionary theory-all his life, I suppose; therefore, Charlie must be from Earth. Nothing else is possible. The accepted theory must be right, so that much is fixed; you have to work everything else to fit in with that.”

“You think he’s wrong? That Charlie came from somewhere else?”

“Hell, I don’t know. He could be right. But it’s not his conclusion that I don’t like; it’s his way of getting there. This problem’s going to need more flexibility before it’s cracked.”

Lyn nodded slowly to herself, as if Hunt had confirmed something.

“I thought you might say something like that,” she mused. “Gregg will be interested to hear it. He wondered the same thing, too.”

Hunt had the feeling that the questions had been more than just an accidental turn of conversation. He looked at her long and hard.

“Why should Gregg be interested?”

“Oh, you’d be surprised. Gregg knows a lot about you two. He’s interested in anything anybody has to say. It’s people, see-Gregg’s a genius with people. He knows what makes them tick. It’s the biggest part of his job.”

“Well, it’s a people problem he’s got,” Hunt said. “Why doesn’t he fix it?”

Suddenly Lyn switched moods and seemed to make light of the whole subject, as if she had learned all she needed to for the time being.

“Oh, he will-when he gets the feeling that the time’s right. He’s very good with timing, too.” She decided to finish the matter entirely. “Anyhow, it’s time for lunch.” She stood up and slipped a hand through an arm on either side. “How about two crazy Limeys treating a poor girl from the Colonies to a drink?”

Chapter Eight

The progress meeting, in the main conference room of the Navcomms Headquarters building, had been in session for just over two hours. About two dozen persons were seated or sprawled around the large table that stood in the center of the room, by now reduced to a shambles of files, papers, overflowing ashtrays, and half-empty glasses.

Nothing really exciting had emerged so far. Various speakers had reported the results of their latest tests, the sum total of their conclusions being that Charlie’s circulatory, respiratory, nervous, endocrine, lymphatic, digestive, and every other system anybody could think of were as normal as those of anyone sitting around the table. His bones were the same, his body chemistry was the same, his blood was a familiar grouping. His brain capacity and development were within the normal range for Homo sapiens, and evidence suggested that he had been right-handed. The genetic codes carried in his reproductive cells had been analyzed; a computer simulation of combining them with codes donated by an average human female had confirmed that the offspring of such a union would have inherited a perfectly normal set of characteristics.

Hunt tended to remain something of a passive observer of the proceedings, conscious of his status as an unofficial guest and wondering from time to time why he had been invited at all. The only reference made to him so far had been a tribute in Caldwell’s opening remarks to the invaluable aid rendered by the Trimagniscope; apart from the murmur of agreement that had greeted this comment, no further mention had been made of either the instrument or its inventor. Lyn Garland had told him: “The meeting’s on Monday, and Gregg wants you to be there to answer detailed questions on the scope.” So here he was. Thus far, nobody had wanted to know anything detailed about the scope-only about the data it produced. Something gave him the uneasy feeling there was an ulterior motive lurking somewhere.

After dwelling on Charlie’s computerized, mathematical sex life, the chair considered a suggestion, put forward by a Texas planetologist sitting opposite Hunt, that perhaps the Lunarians came from Mars. Mars had reached a later phase of planetary evolution than Earth and possibly had evolved intelligent life earlier, too. Then the arguments started. Martian exploration went right back to the 1970s; UNSA had been surveying the surface from satellites and manned bases for years. How come no sign of any Lunarian civilization had showed up? Answer: We’ve been on the Moon a hell of a lot longer than that and the first traces have only just shown up there. So you could expect discovery to occur later on Mars. Objection: If they came from Mars, then their civilization developed on Mars. Signs of a whole civilization should be far more obvious than signs of visits to a place like Earth’s Moon-therefore the Lunarians should have been detected a lot sooner on Mars. Answer: Think about the rate of erosion on the Martian surface. The signs could be largely wiped out or buried. At least that could account for there not being any signs on Earth. Somebody then pointed out that this did not solve the problem-all it did was shift it to another place. If the Lunarians came from Mars, evolutionary theory was still in just as big a mess as ever.

So the discussion went on.

Hunt wondered how Rob Gray was getting on back at Westwood. They now had a training schedule to fit in on top of their normal daily data-collection routine. A week or so before, Caldwell had informed them that he wanted four engineers from Navcomms fully trained as Trimagniscope operators. His explanation, that this would allow round-the-clock operation of the scope and hence better productivity from it, had not left Hunt convinced; neither had his further assertion that Navcomms was going to buy itself some of the instruments but needed to get some in-house expertise while they had the opportunity.

Maybe Caldwell intended setting up Navcomms as an independent and self-sufficient scope-operating facility. Why would he do that? Was Forsyth-Scott or somebody else exerting pressure to get Hunt back to England? If this was a prelude to shipping him back, the scope would obviously stay in Houston. That meant that the first thing he’d be pressed into when he got back would be a panic to get the second prototype working. Big deal!

The meeting eventually accepted that the Martian-origin theory created more problems than it solved and, anyway, was pure speculation. Last rites in the form of “No substantiating evidence offered” were pronounced, and the corpse was quietly laid to rest under the epitaph In Abeyance, penned in the “Action” columns of the memoranda sheets around the table.

A cryptologist then delivered a long rambling account of the patterns of character groupings that occurred in Charlie’s personal documents. They had already completed preliminary processing of all the individual papers, the contents of the wallet, and one of the books; they were about half way through the second. There were many tables, but nobody knew yet what they meant; some structured lines of symbols suggested mathematical formulas; certain page and section headings matched entries in the text. Some character strings appeared with high frequency, some with less; some were concentrated on a few pages, while others were evenly spread throughout. There were lots of figures and statistics. Despite the enthusiasm of the speaker, the mood of the room grew heavy and the questions fewer. They knew he was a bright guy; they wished he’d stop telling them.

At length, Danchekker, who had been noticeably silent through most of the proceedings and appeared to be growing increasingly impatient as they continued, obtained leave from the chair to address the meeting. He rose to his feet, clasped his lapels, and cleared his throat. “We have devoted as much time as can be excused to exploring improbable and far-flung suggestions which, as we have seen, turn out to be fallacious.” He spoke confidently, taking in the length of the table with side-to-side swings of his body. “The time has surely come, gentlemen, for us to dally no longer, but to concentrate our efforts on what must be the only viable line of reasoning open to us. I state, quite categorically, that the race of beings to whom we have come to refer as the Lunarians originated here, on Earth, as did the rest of us. Forget all your fantasies of visitors from other worlds, interstellar travelers, and the like. The Lunarians were simply products of a civilization that developed here on our own planet and died out for reasons we have yet to determine. What, after all, is so strange about that? Civilizations have grown and passed away in the brief span of our more orthodox history, and no doubt others will continue the pattern. This conclusion follows from comprehensive and consistent evidence and from the proven principles of the various natural sciences. It requires no invention, fabrication, or supposition, but derives directly from unquestionable facts and the straightforward application of established methods of inference!” He paused and cast his eyes around the table to invite comment.

Nobody commented. They already knew his arguments. Danchekker, however, seemed about to go through it all again. Evidently he had concluded that attempts to make them see the obvious by appealing to their powers of reason alone were not enough; his only resort then was insistent repetition until they either concurred or went insane.

Hunt leaned back in his chair, took a cigarette from a box lying nearby on the table, and tossed his pen down on his pad. He still had reservations about the professor’s dogmatic attitude, but at the same time he was aware that Danchekker’s record of academic distinction was matched by those of few people alive at the time. Besides, this wasn’t Hunt’s field. His main objection was something else, a truth he accepted for what it was and made no attempt to fool himself by rationalizing: Everything about Danchekker irritated him. Danchekker was too thin; his clothes were too old-fashioned-he carried them as if they had been hung on to dry. His anachronistic gold-rimmed spectacles were ridiculous. His speech was too formal. He had probably never laughed in his life. A skull vacuum-packed in skin, Hunt thought to himself.

“Allow me to recapitulate,” Danchekker continued. “Homo sapiens-modern man-belongs to the phylum Vertebrata. So, also, do all the mammals, fish, birds, amphibians, and reptiles that have ever walked, crawled, flown, slithered, or swum in every corner of the Earth. All vertebrates share a common pattern of basic architecture, which has remained unchanged over millions of years despite the superficial, specialized adaptations that on first consideration might seem to divide the countless species we see around us.

“The basic vertebrate pattern is as follows: an internal skeleton of bone or cartilage and a vertebral column. The vertebrate has two pairs of appendages, which may be highly developed or degenerate, likewise a tail. It has a centrally located heart, divided into two or more chambers, and a closed circulatory system of blood made up of red cells containing hemoglobin. It has a dorsal nerve cord which bulges at one end into a five-part brain contained in a head. It also has a body cavity that contains most of its vital organs and its digestive system. All vertebrates conform to these rules and are thereby related.”

The professor paused and looked around as if the conclusion were too obvious to require summarizing. “In other words, Charlie’s whole structure shows him to be directly related to a million and one terrestrial animal species, extinct, alive, or yet to come. Furthermore, all terrestrial vertebrates, including ourselves and Charlie, can be traced back through an unbroken succession of intermediate fossils as having inherited their common pattern from the earliest recorded ancestors of the vertebrate line”-Danchekker’s voice rose to a crescendo-“from the first boned fish that appeared in the oceans of the Devonian period of the Paleozoic era, over four hundred million years ago!” He paused for this last to take hold and then continued. “Charlie is as human as you or I in every respect. Can there be any doubt, then, that he shares our vertebrate heritage and therefore our ancestry? And if he shares our ancestry, then there is no doubt that he also shares our place of origin. Charlie is a native of planet Earth.”

Danchekker sat down and poured himself a glass of water. A hubbub of mixed murmurings and mutterings ensued, punctuated by the rustling of papers and the clink of water glasses. Here and there, chairs creaked as cramped limbs eased themselves into more comfortable positions. A metallurgist at one end of the table was gesturing to the man seated next to her. The man shrugged, showed his empty palms, and nodded his head in Danchekker’s direction. She turned and called to the professor. “Professor Danchekker… Professor…” Her voice made itself heard. The background noise died away. Danchekker looked up. “We’ve been having a little argument here-maybe you’d like to comment Why couldn’t Charlie have come from a parallel line of evolution somewhere else?”

“I was wondering that, too,” came another voice. Danchekker frowned for a moment before replying.

“No. The point you are overlooking here, I think, is that the evolutionary process is fundamentally made up of random events. Every living organism that exists today is the product of a chain of successive mutations that has continued over millions of years. The most important fact to grasp is that each discrete mutation is in itself a purely random event, brought about by aberrations in genetic coding and the mixing of the sex cells from different parents. The environment into which the mutant is born dictates whether it will survive to reproduce its kind or whether it will die out. Thus, some new characteristics are selected for further miprovement, while others are promptly eradicated and still others are diluted away by interbreeding.

“There are still people who find this principle difficult to accept-primarily, I suspect, because they are incapable of visualizing the implications of numbers and time scales beyond the ranges that occur in everyday life. Remember we are talking about billions of billions of combinations coming together over millions of years.

“A game of chess begins with only twenty playable moves to choose from. At every move the choice available to the player is restricted, and yet, the number of legitimate positions that the board could assume after only ten moves is astronomical. Imagine, then, the number of permutations that could arise when the game continues for a billion moves and at each move the player has a billion choices open to him. This is the game of evolution. To suppose that two such independent sequences could result in end products that are identical would surely be demanding too much of our credulity. The laws of chance and statistics are quite firm when applied to sufficiently large numbers of samples. The laws of thermodynamics, for example, are nothing more than expressions of the probable behavior of gas molecules, yet the numbers involved are so large that we feel quite safe in accepting the postulates as rigid rules; no significant departure from them has ever been observed. The probability of the parallel line of evolution that you suggest is less than the probability of heat flowing from the kettle to the fire, or of all the air molecules in this room crowding into one corner at the same time, causing us all to explode spontaneously. Mathematically speaking, yes-the possibility of parallelism is finite, but so indescribably remote that we need consider it no further.”

A young electronics engineer took the argument up at this point

“Couldn’t God get a look in?” he asked. “Or at least, some kind of guiding force or principle that we don’t yet comprehend? Couldn’t the same design be produced via different lines in different places?”

Danchekker shook his head and smiled almost benevolently.

“We are scientists, not mystics,” he replied. “One of the fundamental principles of scientific method is that new and speculative hypotheses do not warrant consideration as long as the facts that are observed are adequately accounted for by the theories that already exist. Nothing resembling a universal guiding force has ever been revealed by generations of investigation, and since the facts observed are adequately explained by the accepted principles I have outlined, there is no necessity to invoke or invent additional causes. Notions of guiding forces and grand designs exist only in the mind of the misguided observer, not in the facts he observes.”

“But suppose it turns out that Charlie came from somewhere else,” the metallurgist insisted. “What then?”

“Ah! Now, that would be an entirely different matter. If it should be proved by some other means that Charlie did indeed evolve somewhere else, then we would be forced to accept that parallel evolution had occurred as an observed and unquestionable fact. Since this could not be explained within the framework of contemporary theory, our theories would be shown to be woefully inadequate. That would be the time to speculate on additional influences. Then, perhaps, your universal guiding force might find a rightful place. To entertain such concepts at this stage, however, would be to put the cart fairly and squarely before the horse. In so doing, we would be guilty of a breach of one of the most fundamental of scientific principles.”

Somebody else tried to push the professor from a different angle.

“How about convergent lines rather than parallel lines? Maybe the selection principles work in such a way that different lines of development converge toward the same optimum end product. In other words, although they start out in different directions, they will both eventually hit on the same, best final design. Like…” He sought for an analogy. “Like sharks are fish and dolphins are mammals. They both came from different origins but ended up hitting on the same general shape.”

Danchekker again shook his head firmly. “Forget the idea of perfection and best end products,” he said. “You are unwittingly falling into this trap of assuming a grand design again. The human form is not nearly as perfect as you perhaps imagine. Nature does not produce best solutions-it will try any solution. The only test applied is that it be good enough to survive and reproduce itself. Far more species have proved unsuccessful and become extinct than have survived-far, far more. It is easy to contemplate a kind of preordained striving toward something perfect when this fundamental fact is overlooked-when looking back down the tree, as it were, with the benefit of hindsight from our particular successful branch and forgetting the countless other branches that got nowhere.

“No, forget this idea of perfection. The developments we see in the natural world are simply cases of something good enough to do the job. Usually, many conceivable alternatives would be as good, and some better.

“Take as an example the cusp pattern on the first lower molar tooth of man. It is made up of a group of five main cusps with a complex of intervening grooves and ridges that help to grind up food. There is no reason to suppose that this particular pattern is any more efficient than any one of many more that might be considered. This particular pattern, however, first occurred as a mutation somewhere along the ancestral line leading toward man and has been passed on ever since. The same pattern is also found on the teeth of the great apes, indicating that we both inherited it from some early common ancestor where it happened through pure chance.

“Charlie has human cusp patterns on all his teeth.

“Many of our adaptations are far from perfect. The arrangement of internal organs leaves much to be desired, owing to our inheriting a system originally developed to suit a horizontal and not an upright posture. In our respiratory system, for example, we find that the wastes and dirt that accumulate in the throat and nasal regions drain inside and not outside, as happened originally, a prime cause of many bronchial and chest complaints not suffered by four-footed animals. That’s hardly perfection, is it?” Danchekker took a sip of water and made an appealing gesture to the room in general.

“So, we see that any idea of convergence toward the ideal is not supported by the facts. Charlie exhibits all our faults and imperfections as well as our improvements. No, I’m sorry-I appreciate that these questions are voiced in the best tradition of leaving no possibility unprobed and I commend you for them, but really, we must dismiss them.”

Silence enveloped the room at his concluding words. On all sides, everybody seemed to be staring thoughtfully through the table, through the walls, or through the ceiling.

Caldwell placed his hands on the table and looked around until satisfied that nobody had anything to add.

“Looks like evolution stays put for a while longer,” he grunted. “Thank you, Professor.”

Danchekker nodded without looking up.

“However,” Caldwell continued, “the object of these meetings is to give everyone a chance to talk freely as well as listen. So far, some people haven’t had much to say-especially one or two of the newcomers.” Hunt realized with a start that Caldwell was looking straight at him. “Our English visitor, for example, whom most of you already know. Dr. Hunt, do you have any views that we ought to hear about…?”

Next to Caldwell, Lyn Garland was making no attempt to conceal a wide smile. Hunt took a long draw at his cigarette and used the delay to collect his thoughts. In the time it took for him to coolly emit one long, diffuse cloud of smoke and flick his hand at the ashtray, all the pieces clicked together in his brain with the smooth precision of the binary regiments parading through the registers of the computers downstairs. Lyn’s persistent cross-examinations, her visits to the Ocean, his presence here-Caldwell had found a catalyst.

Hunt surveyed the array of attentive faces. “Most of what’s been said reasserts the accepted principles of comparative anatomy and evolutionary theory. Just to clear the record for anyone with misleading ideas, I’ve no intention of questioning them. However, the conclusion could be summed up by saying that since Charlie comes from the same ancestors as we do, he must have evolved on Earth the same as we did.”

“That is so,” threw in Danchekker.

“Fine,” Hunt replied. “Now, all this is really your problem, not mine, but since you’ve asked me what I think, I’ll state the conclusion another way. Since Charlie evolved on Earth, the civilization he was from evolved on Earth. The indications are that his culture was about as advanced as ours, maybe in one or two areas slightly more advanced. So, we ought to find no end of traces of his people. We don’t. Why not?”

All heads turned toward Danchekker.

The professor sighed. “The only conclusion left open to us is that whatever traces were left have been erased by the natural processes of weathering and erosion,” he said wearily. “There are several possibilities: A catastrophe of some sort could have wiped them out to the extent that there were no traces; or possibly their civilization existed in regions which today are submerged beneath the oceans. Further searching will no doubt produce solutions to this question.”

“If any catastrophe as violent as that occurred so recently, we would already know about it,” Hunt pointed out. “Most of what was land then is still land today, so I can’t see them sinking into the ocean somewhere, either; besides, you’ve only to look at our civilization to see it’s not confined to localized areas-it’s spread all over the globe. And how is it that in spite of all the junk that keeps turning up with no trouble at all from primitive races from around the same time-bones, spears, clubs, and so on-nobody has ever found a single example of anything related to this supposed technologically advanced culture? Not a screw, or a piece of wire, or a plastic washer. To me, that doesn’t make sense.”

More murmuring broke out to mark the end of Hunt’s critique. “Professor?” Caldwell invited comment with a neutral voice.

Danchekker compressed his mouth into a grimace. “Oh, I agree, I agree. It is surprising-very surprising. But what alternative are you proposing?” His voice took on a note of sarcasm. “Do you suggest that man and all the animals came to Earth in some enormous celestial Noah’s Ark?” He laughed. “If so, the fossil record of a hundred million years disproves you.”

“Impasse.” The comment came from Professor Schorn, an authority on comparative anatomy, who had arrived from Stuttgart a few days before.

“Looks like it,” Caldwell agreed.

Danchekker, however, was not through. “Would Dr. Hunt care to answer my question?” he challenged. “Precisely what other place of origin is he suggesting?”

“I’m not suggesting anywhere in particular,” Hunt replied evenly. “What I am suggesting is that perhaps a more openminded approach might be appropriate at this stage. After all, we’ve only just found Charlie. This business will go on for years yet; there’s bound to be a lot more information surfacing that we don’t have right now. I think it’s too early to be jumping ahead and predicting what the answers might be. Better just to keep on plodding along and using every scrap of data we’ve got to put together a picture of the place Charlie came from. It might turn out to be Earth. Then again, it might not.”

Caldwell led him on further. “How would you suggest we go about that?”

Hunt wondered if this was a direct cue. He decided to risk it. “You could try taking a closer look at this.” He drew a sheet of paper out from the folder in front of him and slid it across to the center of the table. The paper showed a complicated tabular arrangement of Lunarian numerals.

“What’s that?” asked a voice.

“It’s from one of the pocket books,” Hunt replied. “I think the book is something not unlike a diary. I also believe that that”-he pointed at the sheet-“could well be a calendar.” He caught a sly wink from Lyn Garland and returned it.

“Calendar?”

“How d’you figure that one?”

“It’s all gobbledygook.”

Danchekker stared hard at the paper for a few seconds. “Can you prove it’s a calendar?” he demanded.

“No, I can’t. But I have analyzed the number pattern and can state that it’s made up of ascending groups that repeat in sets and subsets. Also, the alphabetic groups that seem to label the major sets correspond to the headings of groups of pages further on-remarkably like the layout of a diary.”

“Hmmph! More likely some form of tabular page index.”

“Could be,” Hunt granted. “But why not wait and see? Once the language has unraveled a bit more, it should be possible to cross-check a lot of what’s here with items from other sources. This is the kind of thing that maybe we ought to be a little more open-minded about. You say Charlie comes from Earth; I say he might. You say this is not a calendar; I say it might be. In my estimation, an attitude like yours is too inflexible to permit an unbiased appraisal of the problem. You’ve already made up your mind what you want the answers to be.”

“Hear, hear!” a voice at the end of the table called.

Danchekker colored visibly, but Caldwell spoke before he could reply.

“You’ve analyzed the numbers-right?”

“Right.”

“Okay, supposing for now it’s a calendar-what more can you tell us?”

Hunt leaned forward across the table and pointed at the sheet with his pen.

“First, two assumptions. One: the natural unit of time on any world is the day-that is, the time it takes the planet to rotate on its axis…”

“Assuming it rotates,” somebody tossed in.

“That was my second assumption. But the only cases we know of where there’s no rotation-or where the orbital period equals the axial period, which amounts to the same thing-occur when a small body orbits close to a far more massive one and is swamped by gravitational tidal effects, like our Moon. For that to happen to a body the size of a planet, the planet would have to orbit very close to its parent star-too close for it to support any life comparable to our own.”

“Seems reasonable,” Caldwell said, looking around the table. Various heads were nodding assent. “Where do we go from there?”

“Okay,” Hunt resumed. “Assuming it rotates and the day is its natural unit of time-if this complete table represents one full orbit around its sun, there are seventeen hundred days in its year, one entry for each.”

“Pretty long,” someone hazarded.

“To us, yes: at least, the year-to-day ratio is big. It could mean the orbit is large, the rotational period short, or perhaps a bit of both. Now look at the major number groups-the ones tagged with the heavy alphabetic labels. There are forty-seven of them. Most contain thirty-six numbers, but nine of them have thirty-seven-the first, sixth, twelfth, eighteenth, twenty-fourth, thirtieth, thirty-sixth, forty-second, and forty-seventh. That seems a bit odd at first sight, but so would our system to someone unfamiliar with it. It suggests that maybe somebody had to do a bit of fiddling with it to make it work.”

“Mmm… like with our months.”

“Exactly. This is just the sort of juggling you have to do to get a sensible fit of our months into our year. It happens because there’s no simple relationship between the orbital periods of planet and satellite; there’s no reason why there should be. I’m guessing that if this is a calendar that relates to some other planet, then the reason for this odd mix of thirty-sixes and thirty-sevens is the same as the one that causes problems with our calendar: That planet had a moon.”

“So these groups are months,” Caldwell stated.

“If it’s a calendar-yes. Each group is divided into three subgroups-weeks, if you like. Normally there are twelve days in each, but there are nine long months, in which the middle week has thirteen days.”

Danchekker looked for a long time at the sheet of paper, an expression of pained disbelief spreading slowly across his face.

“Are you proposing this as a serious scientific theory?” he queried in a strained voice.

“Of course not,” Hunt replied. “This is all pure speculation. But it does indicate some of the avenues that could be explored. These alphabetic groups, for example, might correspond to references that the language people might dig from other sources-such as dates on documents, or date stamps on pieces of clothing or other equipment. Also, you might be able to find some independent way of arriving at the number of days in the year; if it turned out to be seventeen hundred, that would be quite a coincidence, wouldn’t it?”

“Anything else?” Caldwell asked.

“Yes. Computer correlation analysis of this number pattern may show hidden superposed periodicities; for all we know, there could have been more than one moon. Also, it should be possible to compute families of curves giving possible relationships between planet-to-satellite mass ratios against mean orbital radii. Later on you might know enough more to be able to isolate one of the curves. It might describe the Earth-Luna system; then again, it might not.”

“Preposterous!” Danchekker exploded.

“Unbiased?” Hunt suggested.

“There is something else that may be worth trying,” Schorn interrupted. “Your calendar, if that’s what it is, has so far been described in relative terms only-days per month, months per year, and so on. There is nothing that gives us any absolute values. Now-and this is a long shot-from detailed chemical analysis we are making some progress in building a quantitative model of Charlie’s cell-metabolism cycles and enzyme processes. We may be able to calculate the rate of accumulation of waste materials and toxins in the blood and tissues, and from these results form an estimate of his natural periods of sleep and wakefulness. If, in this way, I could provide a figure for the length of the day, the other quantities would follow immediately.”

“If we knew that, then we’d know the planet’s orbital period,” said somebody else. “But could we get an estimate of its mass?”

“One way might be by doing a structural analysis of Charlie’s bone and muscle formations and then working out the power-weight ratios,” another chipped in.

“That would give us the planet’s mean distance from its sun,” said a third.

“Only if it was like our Sun.”

“You could get a check on the planet’s mass from the glass and other crystalline materials in his equipment. From the crystal structure, we should be able to figure out the strength of the gravitational field they cooled in.”

“How could we get a figure for density?”

“You still need to know the planetary radius.”

“He’s like us, so the surface gravity will be Earthlike.”

“Very probable, but let’s prove it.”

“Prove that’s a calendar first.”

Remarks began pouring in from all sides. Hunt reflected with some satisfaction that at least he had managed to inject some spirit and enthusiasm into the proceedings.

Danchekker remained unimpressed. As the noise abated, he rose again to his feet and pointed pityingly to the single sheet of paper, still lying in the center of the table.

“All balderdash!” he spat. “There is the sum total of your evidence. There”-he slid his voluminous file, bulging with notes and papers, across beside it-“is mine, backed by libraries, data banks, and archives the world over. Charlie comes from Earth!”

“Where’s his civilization, then?” Hunt demanded. “Removed in an enormous celestial garbage truck?”

Laughter from around the table greeted the return of Danchekker’s own gibe. The professor darkened and seemed about to say something obscene. Caldwell held up a restraining hand, but Schorn saved the situation by interrupting in his calm, unruffled tone. “It would seem, ladies and gentlemen, that for the moment we must compromise by agreeing to a purely hypothetical situation. To keep Professor Danchekker happy, we must accept that the Lunarians evolved from the same ancestors as ourselves. To keep Dr. Hunt happy, we must assume they did it somewhere else. How we are to reconcile these two irreconcilables, I would not for one moment attempt to predict.”

Chapter Nine

Hunt saw less and less of the Trimagniscope during the weeks that followed the progress meeting. Caldwell seemed to go out of his way to encourage the Englishman to visit the various UNSA labs and establishments nearby, to “see what’s going on first-hand,” or the offices in Navcomms HQ to “meet someone you might find interesting.” Hunt was naturally curious about the Lunarian investigations, so these developments suited him admirably. Soon he was on familiar terms with most of the engineers and scientists involved, at least in the Houston vicinity, and he had a good idea of how their work was progressing and what difficulties they were encountering. He eventually acquired a broad overview of the activity on all fronts and found that, at least at the general level, the awareness of the whole picture that he was developing was shared by only a few privileged individuals within the organization.

Things were progressing in a number of directions. Calculations of structural efficiency, based on measurements of Charlie’s skeleton and the bulk supported by it, had given a figure for the surface gravity of his home planet, which agreed within acceptable margins of error with figures deduced separately from tests performed on the crystals of his helmet visor and other components formed from a molten state. The gravity field at the surface of Charlie’s home planet seemed to have been not much different from that of Earth; possibly it was slightly stronger. These results were accepted as being no more than rough approximations. Besides, nobody knew how typical Charlie’s physical build had been of that of the Lunarians in general, so there was no firm indication of whether the planet in question had been Earth or somewhere else. The issue was still wide open.

On equipment tags, document headings, and appended to certain notes, the Linguistics section had found examples of Lunarian words which matched exactly some of the labels on the calendar, just as Hunt had suggested they might. While this proved nothing, it did add further plausibility to the idea that these words indicated dates of some kind.

Then something else that seemed to connect with the calendar appeared from a totally unexpected direction. Site-preparation work in progress near Lunar Tycho Base Three turned up fragments of metal fabrications and structures. They looked like the ruins of some kind of installation. The more thorough probe that followed yielded no fewer than fourteen more bodies, or more accurately, bits of bodies from which at least fourteen individuals of both sexes could be identified. Clearly, none of the bodies was in anything approaching the condition of Charlie’s. They had all been literally blown to pieces. The remains comprised little more than splinters of charred bone scattered among scorched tatters of spacesuits. Apart from suggesting that besides being physically the same as humans, the Lunarians had been every bit as accident-prone, these discoveries provided no new information-until the discovery of the wrist unit. About the size of a large cigarette pack, not including the wrist bracelet, the device carried on its upper face four windows that looked like miniature electronic displays. From their size and shape, the windows seemed to have been intended to display character data rather than pictures, and the device was thought to be a chronometer or a computing-calculating aid; maybe it was both-and other things besides. After a perfunctory examination at Tycho Three the unit had been shipped to Earth along with some other items. It eventually found its way to the Navcomms laboratories near Houston, where the gadgets from Charlie’s backpack were being studied. After some preliminary experimenting the casing was safely removed, but detailed inspection of the complex molecular circuits inside revealed nothing particularly meaningful. Having no better ideas, the Navcomms engineers resorted to applying low voltages to random points to see what happened. Sure enough, when particular sequences of binary patterns were injected into one row of contacts, an assortment of Lunarian symbols appeared across the windows. This left nobody any the wiser until Hunt, who happened to be visiting the lab, recognized one sequence of alphabetic sets as the months that appeared on the calendar. Hence, at least one of the functions performed by the wrist unit seemed closely related to the table in the diary. Whether or not this had anything to do with recording the passage of time remained to be seen, but at least odd things looked as if they were beginning to tie up.

The Linguistics section was making steady if less spectacular progress toward cracking the language. Many of the world’s most prominent experts were getting involved, some choosing to move to Houston, while others worked via remote data links. As the first phase of their assault, they amassed volumes of statistics on word and character distributions and matchings, and produced reams of tables and charts that looked as meaningless to everybody else as the language itself. After that it was largely a matter of intuition and guessing games played on computer display screens. Every now and again somebody spotted a more meaningful pattern, which led to a better guess, which led to a still more meaningful pattern-and so on. They produced lists of words in categories believed to correspond to nouns, adjectives, verbs, and adverbs, and later on added adjectival and adverbial phrases-fairly basic requirements for any advanced inflecting language. They began to develop a feel for the rules for deriving variants, such as plurals and verb tenses, from common roots, and for the conventions that governed the formation of word sequences. An appreciation of the rudiments of Lunarian grammar was emerging from all this, and the experts in Linguistics faced the future with optimism, suddenly confident that they were approaching the point where they would begin attempting to match the first English equivalents to selected samples.

The Mathematics section, organized on lines similar to Linguistics, was also finding things that were interesting. Part of the diary was made up of many pages of numeric and tabular material-suggesting, perhaps, a reference section of Useful Information. One of the pages was divided vertically, columns of numbers alternating with columns of words. A researcher noticed that one of the numbers, when converted to decimal, came out to 1836-the proton-electron mass ratio, a fundamental physical constant that would be the same anywhere in the Universe. It was suggested that the page might be a listing of equivalent Lunarian units of mass, similar to equivalence tables used for converting ounces to grams, grams to pounds… and so on. If so, they had stumbled on a complete record of the Lunarian system of measuring mass. The problem was that the whole supposition rested on the slender assumption that the figure 1836 did, in fact, denote the proton-electron mass ratio and was not merely a coincidental reference to something completely different. They needed a second source of information to check it against.

When Hunt talked to the mathematicians one afternoon, he was surprised to learn that they were unaware that the chemists and anatomists in other departments had computed estimates of surface gravity. As soon as he mentioned the fact, everybody saw the significance at once. If the Lunarians had adopted the practice that was common on Earth-using the same units to express mass and weight on their own planet-then the numbers in the table gave Lunarian weights. Furthermore, there was available to them at least one object whose weight they could estimate accurately: Charlie himself. Thus, since they already had an estimate of surface gravity, they could easily approximate how much Charlie would have weighed in kilograms back home. Only one piece of information was missing for a solution to the whole problem: a factor to convert kilograms to Lunarian weight units. Then Hunt speculated that there could well be among Charlie’s personal documents an identity card, a medical card-something that recorded his weight in his own units. If so, that one number would tell them all they needed to know. The discussion ended abruptly, with the head of the Mathematics section departing in great haste and a state of considerable excitement to talk to the head of the Linguistics section. Linguistics agreed to make a special note if anything like that turned up. So far nothing had.

Another small group, tucked away in offices in the top of the Navcomms HQ building, was working on what was perhaps the most exciting discovery to come out of the books so far. Twenty pages, right at the end of the second book, showed a series of maps. They were all drawn to an apparently small scale, each one depicting extensive areas of the world’s surface-but the world so depicted bore no resemblance to Earth. Oceans, continents, rivers, lakes, islands, and most other geographical features were easily distinguishable, but in no way could they be reconciled with Earth’s surface, even allowing for the passage of fifty thousand years-which would have made little difference anyway, aside from the size of the polar ice caps.

Each map carried a rectangular grid of reference lines, similar to those of terrestrial latitude and longitude, with the lines spaced forty-eight units (decimal) apart. These numbers were presumed to denote units of Lunarian circular measure, since nobody could think of any other sensible way to dimension coordinates on the surface of a sphere. The fourth and seventh maps provided the key: the zero line of longitude to which all the other lines were referenced. The line to the east was tagged “528” and that to the west “48,” showing that the full Lunarian circle was divided into 576 Lunarian degrees. The system was consistent with their duo-decimal counting method and their convention of reading from right to left. The next step was to calculate the percentage of the planet’s surface that each map represented and to fit them together to form the complete globe.

Already, however, the general scheme was clear. The ice caps were far larger than those believed to have existed on Earth during the Pleistocene Ice Age, stretching in some places to within twenty (Earth) degrees of the equator. Most of the seas around the equatorial belt were completely locked in by coastlines and ice. An assortment of dots and symbols scattered across the land masses in the ice-free belt and, more thinly, over the ice sheets themselves, seemed to indicate towns and cities.

When Hunt received an invitation to come up and have a look at the maps, the scientists working on them showed him the scales of distance that were printed at the edges. If they could only find some way of converting those numbers into miles, they would have the diameter of the planet. But nobody had told them about the tables the Mathematics section thought might be mass-unit conversion factors. Maybe one of the other tables did the same thing for units of length and distance? If so, and if they could find a reference to Charlie’s height among his papers, the simple process of measuring him would allow them to work out how many Earth meters there were in a Lunarian mile. Since they already had a figure for the planet’s surface gravity, its mass and mean density should follow immediately.

This was all very exciting, but all it proved was that a world had existed. It did not prove that Charlie and the Lunarians originated there. After all, the fact that a man carries a London street map in his pocket doesn’t prove him to be a Londoner. So the work of relating numbers derived from physical measurements of Charlie’s body to the numbers on the maps and in the tables could turn out to be based on a huge fallacy. If the diary came from the world shown on the maps but Charlie came from somewhere else, then the system of measurement deduced from the maps and tables in the diary might be a totally different system from the one used to record his personal characteristics in his papers, since the latter system would be the system used in the somewhere else, not in the world depicted on the maps. It all got very confusing.

Finally, nobody claimed to have proved conclusively that the world on the maps wasn’t Earth. Admittedly it didn’t look like Earth, and attempts to derive the modern distribution of terrestrial continents from the land areas on the maps had met with no success at all. But the planet’s gravity hadn’t been all that much different. Maybe the surface of Earth had undergone far greater changes over the last fifty thousand years than had been previously thought? Furthermore, Danchekker’s arguments still carried a lot of weight, and any theory that discounted them would have an awful lot of explaining to do. But by that time, most of the scientists working on the project had reached a stage where nothing would have surprised them any more, anyway.

“Got your message. Came straight over,” Hunt announced as Lyn Garland ushered him into Caldwell’s office. Caldwell nodded toward one of the chairs opposite his desk, and Hunt sat down. Caldwell glanced at Lyn, who was still standing by the door.

“It’s okay,” he said. She left, closing the door behind her.

Caldwell fixed Hunt with an expressionless stare for a few seconds, at the same time drumming his fingers on the desk. “You’ve seen a lot of the setup here during the past few months. What do you think of it?”

Hunt shrugged. The answer was obvious.

“I like it. Exciting things happen around here.”

“You like exciting things happening, huh?” The executive director nodded, half to himself. He remained thoughtful for what seemed a long time. “Well, you’ve only seen part of what goes on. Most people have no idea how big UNSA is these days. All the things you see around here-the labs, the installations, the launch areas-that’s just the backup. Our main business is up front.” He gestured toward the photographs adorning one of the walls. “We have people right now exploring the Martian deserts, flying probes down through the clouds of Venus, and walking on the moons of Jupiter. In the deep-space units in California, they’re designing ships that will make Vegas and even the Jupiter Mission ships look like paddleboats. Photon-drive robot probes that will make the first jump to the stars-some seven miles long! Think of it-seven miles long!”

Hunt did his best to react in the appropriate manner. The problem was, he wasn’t sure what manner was appropriate. Caldwell never said or did anything without a reason. The reason for this turn of conversation was far from obvious.

“And that’s only the beginning,” Caldwell went on. “After that, men will follow the robots. Then-who knows? This is the biggest thing the human race has ever embarked on: USA, US Europe, Canada, the Soviets, the Australians-they’re all in on it together. Where does a thing like that go once it starts moving, huh? Where does it stop?”

For the first time since his arrival at Houston, Hunt detected a hint of emotion in the American’s voice. He nodded slowly, though still not comprehending.

“You didn’t drag me here to give me a UNSA commercial,” he said.

“No, I didn’t,” Caldwell agreed. “I dragged you over because it’s time we had a serious talk. I know enough about you to know how the wheels go round inside your head. You are made out of the same stuff as the guys who are making all the things happen out there.” He sat back in his chair and held Hunt’s gaze with a direct stare. “I want you to quit messing around at IDCC and come over to us.”

The statement caught Hunt like a right hook.

“What…! To Navcomms!”

“Correct. Let’s not play games. You’re the kind of person we need, and we can give you the things you need. I know I don’t have to make a big speech to explain myself.”

Hunt’s initial surprise lasted perhaps half a second. Already the computer in his head was churning out answers. Caldwell had been building toward this and testing him out for weeks. So, that was why he had moved in Navcomms engineers to take over running the scope. Had the thought been in his mind as long ago as that? Already Hunt had no doubt what the outcome of the interview would be. However, the rules of the game demanded that the set questions be posed and answered before anything final could be pronounced. Instinctively he reached for his cigarette case, but Caldwell preempted him and slid his cigar box across the desk.

“You seem pretty confident you’ve got what I need,” Hunt said as he selected a Havana. “I’m not sure even I know what that is.”

“Don’t you…? Or is it that you just don’t like talking about it?” Caldwell stopped to light his own cigar. He puffed until satisfied, then continued: “New Cross to the Journal of the Royal Society, solo. Some achievement.” He made a gesture of approval. “We like self-starters over here-sorta… traditional. What made you do it?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “First electronics, then mathematics… after that nuclear physics, later on nucleonics. What’s next, Dr. Hunt? Where do you go from there?” He settled back and exhaled a cloud of smoke while Hunt considered the question.

Hunt raised his eyebrows in mild admiration. “You seem to have been doing your homework,” he said.

Caldwell didn’t answer directly but asked, simply, “How was your uncle in Lagos when you visited him on vacation last year? Did he prefer the weather to Worcester, England? Seen much of Mike from Cambridge lately? I doubt it-he joined UNSA; he’s been at Hellas Two on Mars for the last eight months. Want me to go on?”

Hunt was too mature to feel indignant; besides, he liked to see a professional in action. He smiled faintly.

“Ten out of ten.”

At once Caldwell’s mood became deadly serious. He leaned forward and spread his elbows on the desk.

“I’ll tell you where you go from here, Dr. Hunt,” he said. “Out-out to the stars! We’re on our way to the stars over here! It started when Danchekker’s fish first crawled up out of the mud. The urge that made them do it is the same as the one that’s driven you all your life. You’ve gone inside the atom as far as you can go; there’s only one way left now-out. That’s what UNSA has to offer that you can’t refuse.”

There was nothing Hunt could add. Two futures lay spread out before him: One led back to Metadyne, the other beckoned onwards toward infinity. He was as incapable of choosing the first as his species was of returning to the depths of the sea.

“What’s your side of the deal, then?” he asked after some reflection.

“You mean, what do you have that we need?”

“Yes.”

“We need the way your brain works. You can think sideways. You see problems from different angles that nobody else uses. That’s what I need to bust open this Charlie business. Everybody argues so much because they’re making assumptions that seem obvious but that they shouldn’t be making. It takes a special kind of mind to figure out what’s wrong when things that anybody with common sense can see are true turn out to be not true. I think you’re the guy.”

The compliments made Hunt feel slightly uncomfortable. He decided to move things along. “What do you have in mind?”

“Well, the guys we have at present are top grade inside their own specialties,” Caldwell replied. “Don’t get me wrong, these people are good-but I’d like them to concentrate on doing the things they’re best at. However, aside from all that, I need someone with an unspecialized, and therefore impartial, outlook to coordinate the findings of the specialists and integrate them into an overall picture. If you like, I need people like Danchekker to paint the pieces of the puzzle, but I need someone like you to fit the pieces together. You’ve been doing a bit of that, unofficially, for quite a while anyway; I’m saying, ‘Let’s make it official’.”

“How about the organization?” Hunt asked.

“I’ve thought about that. I don’t want to alienate any of our senior people by subordinating them or any of their staffs to some new whiz kid. That’s only good politics. Anyhow, I don’t think you’d want it that way.”

Hunt shook his head to show his agreement.

“So,” Caldwell resumed, “what I figure is, the various departments and sections will continue to function as they do at present. Our relationship with outfits outside Navcomms will remain unaffected. However, all the conclusions that everybody has reached so far, and new findings as they turn up, will be referred to a centralized coordinating section-that’s you. Your job will be to fit the bits together, as I said earlier. You’d build up your own staff as time goes on and the work load increases. You’d be able to request any particular items of information you find you need from the specialist functions; that way you’d be defining some of their objectives. As for your objectives, they’re abeady spelled out: Find out who these Charlie people were, where they came from, and what happened to them. You report directly to me and get the whole problem off my back. I’ve got enough on my schedule without worrying about corpses.” Caldwell threw out an arm to show that he was finished. “Well, what do you say?”

Hunt had to smile within himself. As Caldwell had said, there was really nothing to think about. He took a long breath and turned both hands upward. “As you said-an offer I can’t refuse.”

“So, you’re in?”

“I’m in.”

“Welcome aboard, then.” Caldwell looked pleased. “This calls for a drink.” He produced a flask and glasses from somewhere behind the desk. He poured the whiskey and passed a glass to his newest employee.

“When do you want it to start?” Hunt asked after a moment.

“Well, you probably need a couple of months or so to sort out formalities with IDCC. But why wait for formalities? You’re on loan here from IDCC anyway and under my direction for the duration; also, we’re paying for you. So what’s wrong with tomorrow morning?”

“Christ!”

Caldwell’s manner at once became brisk and businesslike.

“I’ll allocate offices for you in this building. Rob Gray takes full charge of scope operations and keeps the engineers I’ve assigned to him as his permanent staff for as long as he’s in Houston. That frees you totally. By the end of this week I want estimates of what you think you’ll need in the way of clerical and secretarial staff, technical personnel, equipment, furniture, lab space, and computer facilities.

“By this time next week I want you to have a presentation ready for a meeting of section and department heads that I’m going to call, to tell them how you see yourself and them working together. Make it tactful. I won’t issue any official notification of these changes until after the meeting, when everybody knows what’s going on. Don’t talk about it until then, except to myself and Lyn.

“Your ouffit will be designated Special Assignment Group L, and your position will be section head, Group L. The post is classed as ‘Executive, grade four, civilian,’ within the Space Arm. It carries all the appropriate benefits of free use of UNSA vehicles and aircraft, access to restricted files up to category three, and standard issues of clothing and accessories for duties overseas or off-planet. All that is in the Executive Staff Manual; details of reporting structures, admin procedures, and that kind of thing are in the UNSA Corporate Policy Guide. Lyn will get you copies.

“You’ll have to get in touch with the federal authorities in Houston regarding permanent residence in the USA; Lyn knows the right people. Arrange transfer of your personal belongings from England at your own convenience and charge it to Navcomms. We’ll help out finding you somewhere to live, but in the meantime stay on at the Ocean.”

Hunt had the fleeting thought that had Caldwell been born three thousand years previously, Rome might well have been built in a day.

“What’s your current salary?” Caldwell asked.

“Twenty-five thousand European dollars.”

“We’ll make it thirty.”

Hunt nodded mutely.

Caldwell paused and checked mentally for anything he might have overlooked. Finding nothing, he sat back and raised his glass. “Cheers, then, Vic.”

It was the first time he had addressed Hunt informally.

“Cheers.”

“To the stars.”

A low roar from a point outside the city reached the room. They glanced toward the window to see a column of light climbing into the blue as a Vega lifted off from a distant launch pad. A quiet surge of excitement welled up in Hunt’s veins as he took in the sight. It was a symbol of the ultimate expression of man’s outward urge, and he was about to become part of it.

Chapter Ten

Demands for the services of Special Assignment Group L commenced as soon as the new unit officially went into operation, and they continued to increase rapidly in the weeks that followed. By the end of a month Hunt was swamped and forced to take on extra people at a faster rate than he had intended. Originally his idea had been to keep going with a skeleton staff for a while, at least until he formed a better idea of what was required. When Caldwell first announced the establishment of the new group, there had been one or two instances of petty jealousy and resentment, but the attitude that prevailed in the end was that Hunt had contributed several worthwhile ideas, and it seemed only sensible to get him in on the team permanently. After a while, even the dissenters grudgingly began to concede that things seemed to run more smoothly with Group L around. Some of them eventually did a complete about-face and became enthusiastic supporters of the scheme, as they came to appreciate that the communication channels to Hunt’s people worked in bidirectional mode, and for every bit of data they fed in, ten bits came back in the other direction. As the oil thus added to Caldwell’s jigsaw-puzzle-solving machine began to prove effective, the machine shifted fully into top gear, and suddenly pieces started fitting together.

The Mathematics section was still working on the equations and formulas found in the books. Since mathematical relationships would remain true irrespective of the conventions used to express them, their interpretation was a far less arbitrary affair than that of deciphering the Lunarian language. The mathematicians had been stimulated by the discovery of the mass conversion table. They turned their attention to the other tables contained in the same book and soon found one that listed many commonly used physical and mathematical constants. From it they quickly picked out pi as well as e, the base of natural logarithms, and one or two more, but they still didn’t understand the system of units well enough to evaluate the majority.

Another set of tables turned out to be simple trigonometric functions; these were easily recognized once the cartographers had provided the units of circular measure. The headings of the columns of these tables gave the Lunarian symbols for sine, cosine, tangent, and the like. Once these were known, many of the mathematical expressions elsewhere started making more sense; some of them fell out immediately as familiar trigonometric relationships. These in turn helped establish the conventions used to denote normal arithmetic operations and that of exponentiation, which led to the identification of the equations of mechanical motion. Nobody was surprised when these equations revealed that Lunarian scientists had deduced the same laws as Newton. The mathematicians progressed to tables of elementary first integrals and standard forms of low-order differential equations. On later pages were expressions which they suspected might describe systems of resonance and damped oscillations. Here again, the uncertainty over units presented a problem; expressions of this type would be in a standard form that could apply equally well to electrical, mechanical, thermal, or many other types of physical phenomena. Until they knew more about Lunarian units, they could not be sure precisely what these equations meant, even if they succeeded in interpreting them mathematically.

Hunt remembered having noticed that many of the electrical subassemblies from Charlie’s backpack had small metal labels mounted adjacent to plugs, sockets, and other input-output connections. He speculated that some of the symbols engraved on these labels might represent ratings in units of voltage, current, power, frequency, and so on. He spent a day in the electronics labs, produced a full report on these markings, and passed it on to Mathematics. Nobody had thought to tell them about it sooner.

The electronics technicians located the battery in the wrist unit from Tycho, took it to pieces, and with the assistance of an electrochemist from another department, worked out the voltage it had been designed to produce. Linguistics translated the markings on the casing, and that gave a figure for the Lunarian unit for electrical voltage. Well, it was a start.

Professors Danchekker and Schom were in charge of the biological side of the research. Perhaps surprisingly, Danchekker exhibited no reluctance to cooperate with Group L and kept them fully updated with a regular flow of information. This was more the result of his deeply rooted sense of propriety than of any change of heart. He was a formalist, and if this procedure was what the formalities of the arrangement required, he would adhere to it rigidly. His refusal to budge one inch from his uncompromising views regarding the origins of the Lunarians, however, was total.

As promised, Schorn had set up investigations to determine the length of Charlie’s natural day from studies of body chemistry and cell metabolism, but he was running into trouble. He was getting results, all right, but the results made no sense. Some tests gave a figure of twenty-four hours, which meant that Charlie could be from Earth; some gave thirty-five hours, which meant he couldn’t be; and other tests came up with figures in between. Thus, if the aggregate of these results meant anything at all, it indicated that Charlie came from a score of different places all at the same time. Either it was crazy, or there was something wrong with the methods used, or there was more to the matter than they thought.

Danchekker was more successful in a different direction. From an analysis of the sizes and shapes of Charlie’s blood vessels and associated muscle tissues, he produced equations describing the performance of Charlie’s circulatory system. From these he then derived a set of curves that showed the proportions of body heat that would be retained and lost for any given body temperature and outside temperature. He came up with a figure for Charlie’s normal body temperature from some of Schorn’s figures that were not suspect and were based on the assumption that, as in the case of terrestrial mammals, the process of evolution would have led to Charlie’s body regulating its temperature to such a level that the chemical reactions within its cells would proceed at their most efficient rates. By substituting this figure back into his original equations, Danchekker was able to arrive at an estimate of the outside temperature or, more precisely, the temperature of the environment in which Charlie seemed best adapted to function. Allowing for error, it came out at somewhere between two and nine degrees Celsius.

With Schorn’s failure to produce a reliable indication of the length of the Lunarian day, there was still no way of assigning any absolute values to the calendar, although sufficient corroborating evidence had been forthcoming from various sources to verify beyond reasonable doubt that it was indeed a calendar. As more clues to Lunarian electrical units were found by Electronics, an alternative approach to obtaining the elusive Lunarian unit of time suggested itself. If Mathematics could untangle the equations of electrical oscillation, they should be able to manipulate the quantities involved in such a way as to express the two constants denoting the dielectric permittivity and magnetic permeability of free space in Lunarian units. The ratio of these constants would yield the velocity of light, expressed in Lunarian units of distance per Lunarian units of time. The units for representing distance were understood already; therefore, those used for measuring time would be given automatically.

All this activity in UNSA naturally attracted widespread public attention. The discovery of a technologically advanced civilization from fifty thousand years in the past was not something that happened very often. Some of the headlines flashed around the World News Grid when the story was released, a few weeks after the original find, were memorable: MAN ON MOON BEFORE ARMSTRONG; some were hilarious: EXTINCT CIVILIZATION ON MARS; some were just wrong: CONTACT MADE WITH ALIEN INTELLIGENCE. But most summed up the situation fairly well.

In the months that followed, UNSA’s public relations office in Washington, long geared to conducting steady and predictable dealings with the news media, reeled under a deluge of demands from hard-pressed editors and producers all over the globe. Washington struggled valiantly for a while, but in the end did the human thing, and delegated the problem to Navcomms’ local PR department at Houston. The PR director at Houston found a ready-made clearinghouse of new information in the form of Group L, right on his doorstep, so still another dimension was added to Hunt’s ever growing work load. Soon, press conferences, TV documentaries, filmed interviews, and reporters became part of his daily routine; so did the preparation of weekly progress bulletins. Despite the cold objectivity and meticulous phrasing of these bulletins, strange things seemed to happen to them between their departure from the offices of Navcomms and their arrival on the world’s newspaper pages and wall display screens. Even stranger things happened in the minds of some people who read them.

One of the British Sunday papers presented just about all of the Old Testament in terms of the interventions of space beings as seen through the eyes of simple beholders. The plagues of Egypt were ecological disruptions deliberately brought about as warnings to the oppressors; flying saucers guided Moses through the Red Sea while the waters were diverted by nucleonic force fields; and the manna from heaven was formed from the hydrocarbon combustion products of thermonuclear propulsion units. A publisher in Paris observed the results, got the message, and commissioned a free-lancer to reexamine the life of Christ as a symbolic account of the apparent miracle workings of a Lunarian returning to Earth after a forty-eight-thousand-year meditation in the galactic wilderness.

“Authentic” reports that the Lunarians were still around abounded. They had built the pyramids, sunk Atlantis, and dug the Bosporus. There were genuine eyewitness accounts of Lunarian landings on Earth in modern times. Somebody had held a conversation with the pilot of a Lunarian spaceship two years before in the middle of the Colorado Desert. Every reference ever recorded to supernatural phenomena, apparitions, visitations, miracles, saints, ghosts, visions, and witches had a Lunarian connection.

But as the months passed and no dramatic revelations unfolded, the world began to turn elsewhere for new sensations. Reports of further findings became confined to the more serious scientific journals and proceedings of the professional societies. But the scientists on the project continued their work undisturbed.

Then a UNSA team erecting an optical observatory on the Lunar Farside detected unusual echoes on ultrasonics from about two hundred feet below the surface. They sank a shaft and discovered what appeared to be all that was left of the underground levels of another Lunarian base, or at any rate, some kind of construction. It was just a metal-walled box about ten feet high and as broad and as long as a small house; one end was missing, and about a quarter of the volume enclosed had filled up with dust and rock debris. In the space that was left at the end, they found the charred skeletons of eight more Lunarians, some pieces of furniture, a few items of technical equipment, and a heap of sealed metal containers. Whatever had formed the remainder of the structure that this gallery had been part of was gone without a trace.

The metal containers were later opened by the scientists at Westwood. Inside the cans was a selection of assorted foodstuffs, well preserved despite having been cooked. Presumably, whatever had done the cooking had also cooked the Lunarians. Most of the cans contained processed vegetables, meats, and sweet preparations; a few, however, yielded a number of fish, about the size of herrings and preserved intact.

When Danchekker’s assistant dissected one of the fish and began looking inside, he couldn’t make sense of what he found, so he called the professor down to the lab to ask what he made of it. Danchekker didn’t go home until eight o’clock the next morning. A week later he announced to an incredulous Vic Hunt: “This specimen never swam in any of our oceans; it did not evolve from, nor is it in any way related to, any form of life that has ever existed on this planet!”

Chapter Eleven

The Apollo Seventeen Mission, in December 1972, had marked the successful conclusion to man’s first concerted effort to reach and explore first-hand a world other than his own. After the Apollo program, NASA activities were restricted, mainly as a result of the financial pressures exerted on the USA by the economic recessions that came and went across the Western world throughout that decade, by the politically inspired oil crisis and various other crises manufactured in the Middle East and the lower half of Africa, and by the promotion of the Vietnam War. During the mid and late seventies, a succession of unmanned probes were dispatched to Mars, Venus, Mercury, and some of the outer planets. When manned missions were resumed in the 1980’s, they focused on the development of various types of space shuttle and on the construction of permanently manned orbiting laboratories and observatories, the main objective being the consolidation of a firm jumping-off point prior to resumed expansion outward. Thus, for a period, the Moon was left once more on its own, free to continue its billion-year contemplation of the Universe without further interruption by man.

The information brought back by the Apollo astronauts finally resolved the conflicting speculations concerning the Moon’s nature and origins that had been mooted by generations of Earth-bound observers. Soon after the Solar System was formed, 4,500 million years ago, give or take a few, the Moon became molten to a considerable depth, possibly halfway to the center; the heat was generated by the release of gravitational energy as the Moon continued to accumulate. During the cooling that followed, the heavier, iron-bearing minerals sank toward the interior, while the less dense, aluminum-rich ones floated to the surface to form the highland crust. Continual bombardment by meteorites stirred up the mixture and complicated the process to some degree but by 4,300 million years ago the formation of the crust was virtually complete. The bombardment continued until 3,900 million years ago, by which time most of the familiar surface features already existed. From then until 3,200 million years ago, basaltic lavas flowed from the interior, induced in some places by remelting due to concentrations of radioactive heat sources below the surface, to fill in the impact basins and create the darker maria. The crust continued cooling to greater depths until molten material could no longer penetrate. Thereafter, all remained unchanging through the ages. Occasionally an additional impact crater appeared and falling dust gradually eroded the top millimeter of surface, but essentially, the Moon became a dead planet.

This history came from detailed observations and limited explorations of Nearside. Orbital observations of Farside suggested that much of the same story applied there also, and since this sequence was consistent with existing theory, nobody doubted its validity for many years after Apollo. Of course, details remained to be added, but the broad picture was convincingly clear. However, when man returned to the Moon in strength and to stay, ground exploration of Farside threw up a completely different and totally unexpected story.

Although the surface of Farside looked much the same as Nearside to the distant observer, it proved at the microscopic level to have undergone something radically different in its history. Furthermore, as bases, launch sites, communications installations, and all the other paraphernalia that accompanied man wherever he went, began proliferating on Nearside, the methodical surface coverage that this entailed produced oddities there, too.

All the experiments performed on the rock samples brought back from the eight sites explored before the mid-seventies gave consistent results supporting the orthodox theories. When the number of sites grew to thousands, by far the majority of additional data confirmed them-but some curious exceptions were noted, exceptions which seemed to indicate that some of the features on Nearside ought, rightfully, to be on Farside.

None of the explanations hazarded were really conclusive. This made little difference to the executives and officers of UNSA, since by that time the pattern of Lunar activity had progressed from that of pure scientific research to one of intense engineering operations. Only the academic fraternity of a few universities found time to ponder and correspond on the spectral inconsistencies between dust samples. So for many years the well-documented problem of “lunar hemispheric anomalies” remained filed, along with a million and one other items, in the “Awaiting Explanation” drawer of science.

A methodical review of the current state of knowledge in any branch of science that might have a bearing on the Lunarian problem was a routine part of Group L’s business. Anything to do with the Moon was, naturally, high on the list of things to check up on, and soon the group had amassed enough information to start a small library on the subject. Two junior physicists, who didn’t duck quickly enough when Hunt was giving out assignments, were charged with the Herculean task of sifting through all this data. It took some time for them to get around to the topic of hemispheric anomalies. When they did, they found reports of a series of dating experiments performed some years previously by a nucleologist named Kronski at the Max Planck Institute in Berlin. The data that appeared in those reports caused the two physicists to drop everything and seek out Hunt immediately.

After a long discussion, Hunt made a vi-phone call to a Dr. Saul Steinfield of the Department of Physics of the University of Nebraska, who specialized in Lunar phenomena. As a consequence of that call, Hunt made arrangements for the deputy head of Group L to take charge for a few days, and he flew north to Omaha early the next morning. Steinfleld’s secretary met Hunt at the airport, and within an hour Hunt was standing in one of the physics department laboratories, contemplating a three-foot-diameter model of the Moon.

“The crust isn’t evenly distributed,” Steinfield said, waving toward the model. “It’s a lot thicker on Farside than on Nearside-something that has been known for a long time, ever since the first artificial satellites were hung around the Moon in the nineteen sixties. The center of mass is about two kilometers away from the geometric center.”

“And there’s no obvious reason,” Hunt mused.

Steinfleld’s flailing arm continued to describe wild circles around the sphere in front of them. “There’s no reason for the crust to solidify a lot thicker on one side, sure, but that doesn’t really matter, because that’s not the way it happened. The material that makes up the Farside surface is much younger than anything anybody ever believed existed on the Moon in any quantity up until about, ah, thirty or so years back-one hell of a lot younger! But you know that-that’s why you’re here.”

“You don’t mean it was formed recently,” Hunt stated.

Steinfield shook his head vigorously from side to side, causing the two tufts of white hair that jutted from the sides of his otherwise smooth head to wave about in a frenzy. “No. We can tell that it’s about as old as the rest of the Solar System. What I mean is-it hasn’t been where it is very long.”

He caught Hunt’s shoulder and half turned him to face a wall chart showing a sectional view through the Lunar center. “You can see it on this. The red shell is the original outer crust going right around-it’s roughly circular, as you’d expect. On Farside-here-this blue stuff sits on top of it and wasn’t added very long ago.”

“On top of what used to be the surface.”

“Exactly. Somebody dumped a couple of billion tons of junk down on the old crust-but only on this side.”

“And that’s been verified pretty conclusively?” Hunt asked, just to be doubly sure.

“Yeah… yeah. Enough bore holes and shafts have been sunk all over Farside to tell us pretty closely where the old surface was. I’ll show you something over here…” A major section of the far wall comprised nothing but rows of small metal drawers, each with its own neatly lettered label, extending from floor to ceiling. Steinfield walked across the room, and stooped to scan the labels, at the same time mumbling to himself semi-intelligibly. With a sudden “That’s it!” he pounced on one of the drawers, opened it, and returned bearing a closed glass container about the size of a small pickle jar. It contained a coarse piece of a light gray rocky substance that glittered faintly in places, mounted on a wire support.

“This is a fairly common KREEP basalt from Farside. It-“

“‘Creep’?”

“Rich in potassium-that is, K-rare earth elements, and phosphorus: KREEP.”

“Oh-I see.”

“Compounds like this,” Steinfield continued, “make up a lot of the highlands. This one solidified around 4.1 billion years ago. Now, by analyzing the isotope products produced by cosmic-ray exposure, we can tell how long it’s been lying on the surface. Again, the figure for this one comes out at about 4,100 million years.”

Hunt looked slightly puzzled. “But that’s normal. It’s what you’d expect, isn’t it?”

“If it had been lying on the surface, yes. But this came from the bottom of a shaft over seven hundred feet deep! In other words, it was on the surface for all that time-then suddenly it’s seven hundred feet down.” Steinfleld gestured toward the wall chart again. “As I said, we find the same thing all over Farside. We can estimate how far down the old surface used to be. Below it we find old rocks and structures that go way back, just like on Nearside; above it everything’s a mess-the rock all got pounded up and lots of melting took place when the garbage came down, all the way up to what’s now the surface. It’s what you’d expect.”

Hunt nodded his agreement. The energy released by that amount of mass being stopped dead in its tracks would have been phenomenal.

“And nobody knows where it came from?” he asked.

Steinfield repeated his head-shaking act. “Some people say that a big meteorite shower must have got in the way of the Moon. That may be true-it’s never been argued conclusively one way or the other. The composition of the garbage isn’t really like a lot of meteorites, though-it’s closer to the Moon itself. It’s as if they were made out of the same stuff-that’s why it looks the same from higher up. You have to look at the microstructure to see the things I’ve been talking about.”

Hunt examined the specimen curiously for a while in silence. At length he laid it carefully on the top of one of the benches. Steinfield picked it up and returned it to its drawer.

“Okay,” Hunt said as Steinfield rejoined him. “Now, what about the Farside surface?”

“Kronski and company.”

“Yes-as we discussed yesterday.”

“The Farside surface craters were made by the tail end of the garbage-dumping process, unlike the Nearside craters, which came from meteorite impacts oh… a few billion years back. In rock samples from around the rims of Farside craters we find that things like the activity levels of long half-life elements are very low-for instance, aluminum twenty-six and chlorine thirty-six; also the rates of absorption of hydrogen, helium, and inert gases from the Solar wind. Things like that tell us that those rocks haven’t been lying there very long; and since they got where they were by being thrown out of the craters, the craters haven’t been there very long, either.” Steinfield made an exaggerated empty-handed gesture. “The rest you know. People like Kronski have done all the figuring and put them at around fifty thousand years old-yesterday!” He waited for a few seconds. “There must be a Lunarian connection somewhere. The number sounds like too much of a coincidence to me.”

Hunt frowned for a while and studied the detail of the Farside hemisphere of the model. “And yet, you must have known about all this for years,” he said, looking up. “Why the devil did you wait for us to call you?”

Steinfield showed his hands again and held the pose for a second or two. “Well, you UNSA people are pretty smart cookies. I figured you already knew about all this.”

“We should have picked it up sooner, I admit,” Hunt agreed. “But we’ve been rather busy.”

“Guess so,” Steinfield murmured. “Anyhow, there’s even more to it. I’ve told you all the consistent things. Now I’ll tell you some of the funny things…” He broke off as if just struck by a new thought. “I’ll tell you about the funny things in a second. How about a cup of coffee?”

“Great.”

Steinfield lit a Bunsen burner, filled a large laboratory beaker from the nearest tap, and positioned it on a tripod over the flame. Then he squatted down to rummage in the cupboard beneath the bench and at last emerged triumphantly with two battered enamel mugs.

“First funny thing: The distribution of samples that we dig up on Farside that have a history of recent radioactive exposure doesn’t match the distribution or strength of the activity sources. There ought to be sources clustered in places where there aren’t.”

“How about the meteorite storm including some, highly active meteorites?” Hunt suggested.

“No, won’t wash,” Steinfield answered, looking along a shelf of glass jars and eventually selecting one that contained a reddish-brown powder and was labeled “Ferric Oxide.” “If there were meteorites like that, bits of them should still be around. But the distribution of active elements in the garbage is pretty even-about normal for most rocks.” He began spooning the powder into the mugs. Hunt inclined his head apprehensively in the direction of the jar.

“Coffee doesn’t seem to last long around here if you leave it lying around in coffee jars,” Steinfield explained. He nodded toward a door that led into the room next-door and bore the sign “RESEARCH STUDENTS.” Hunt nodded understandingly.

“Vaporized?” Hunt tried.

Again Steinfield shook his head.

“In that case they wouldn’t have been in proximity to the rock long enough to produce the effects observed.” He opened another jar marked “Disodium Hydrogen Phosphate.” “Sugar?”

“Second funny thing,” Steinfield continued. “Heat balance. We know how much mass came down, and from the way it fell, we can figure its kinetic energy. We also know from statistical sampling how much energy needed to be dissipated to account for the melting and structural deformations; also, we know how much energy gets produced by underground radioactivity and where. Problem: The equations don’t balance; you’d need more energy to make what happened happen than there was available. So, where did the extra come from? The computer models of this are very complex and there could be errors in them, but that’s the way it looks right now.”

Steinfield allowed Hunt to digest this while he picked up the beaker with a pair of tongs and proceeded to fill the mugs. Having safely completed this operation, he began filling his pipe, still silent.

“Any more?” Hunt asked at last, reaching for his own cigarette case.

Steinfield nodded affirmatively. “Nearside exceptions. Most of the Nearside craters fit with the classic model: old. However, there are some scattered around that don’t fit the pattern; cosmic-ray dating puts them at approximately the same age as those on Farside. The usual explanation is that some strays from the recent Farside bombardment overshot around to the Nearside…” He shrugged. “But there are peculiarities in some instances that don’t really support that.”

“Like?”

“Like some of the glasses and breccia formations show heating patterns that aren’t consistent with recent impact… I’ll show you what I mean later.”

Hunt turned this new information over in his mind as he lit a cigarette and sipped his drink. It tasted like coffee, anyway.

“And that’s the last funny thing?”

“Yep, that’s about the broad outline. No, wait a minute-last funny thing plus one. How come none of the meteorites in the shower hit Earth? Plenty of eroded remains of terrestrial meteorite craters have been identified and dated. All the computer simulations say that there should be a peak of abnormal activity at around this time, judging from how big the heap of crud that hit the Moon must have been. But there aren’t any signs of one, even allowing for the effects of the atmosphere.”

Hunt and Steinfield spent the rest of that day and all of the next sifting through figures and research reports that went back many years. Hunt did not sleep at all during the following night, but smoked a pack of cigarettes and consumed a gallon of coffee while he stared at the walls of his hotel room and twisted the new information into every contortion his mind could devise.

Fifty thousand years ago the Lunarians were on the Moon. Where they came from didn’t really matter for the time being; that was another question. At about the same time an intense meteorite storm obliterated the Farside surface. Did the storm wipe out the Lunarians on the Moon? Possibly-but that wouldn’t have had any effect on them back on whatever planet they had come from. If all the UNSA people on Luna were wiped out, it wouldn’t make any lasting difference to Earth. So, what happened to the rest of the Lunarians? Why hadn’t anybody seen them since? Had something else happened to them that was more widespread than whatever happened on the Moon? Could the something else have caused the meteorite storm? Could a second something else have both caused the first and extinguished the Lunarians in other places? Perhaps there was no connection? Unlikely.

Then there were the inconsistencies that Steinfield had talked about… An absurd idea came from nowhere, which Hunt rejected impatiently. But as the night wore on, it kept coming back again with growing insistence. Over breakfast he decided that he had to know the story that lay below those billions of tons of rubble. There had to be some way of extracting enough information to reconstruct the characteristics of the surface just before the bombardment commenced. He put the question to Steinfield later on that morning, back in the lab.

Steinfield shook his head firmly. ‘We tried for over a year to make a picture like that. We had twelve programmers working on it. They got nowhere. It’s too much of a mess down there-all ploughed up. All you get is garbage.”

“How about a partial picture?” Hunt persisted. Was there any way that a contour map could be calculated, showing just the distribution of radiation sources immediately prior to the bombardment?

“We tried that, too. You do get a degree of statistical clustering, yes. But there’s no way we could tell where each individual sample was when it got irradiated. They would have been thrown miles by the impacts; a lot of them would have been bounced all over the place by repeat impacts. Nobody ever built a computer that could unscramble all that entropy. You’re up against the second law of thermodynamics; if you ever built one, it wouldn’t be a computer at all-it would be a refrigerator.”

“What about a chemical approach? What techniques are available that might reveal where the prebombardment craters were? Could their ‘ghosts’ still be detected a thousand feet down below the surface?”

“No way!”

“There has to be some way of reconstructing what the surface used to look like.”

“Did you ever try reconstructing a cow from a truckload of hamburger?”

They talked about it for another two days and into the nights at Steinfield’s home and Hunt’s hotel. Hunt told Steinfield why he needed the information. Steinfield told Hunt he was crazy. Then one morning, back at the laboratory, Hunt exclaimed, “The Nearside exceptions!”

“Huh?”

“The Nearside craters that date from the time of the storm. Some of them could be right from the beginning of it.”

“So?”

“They didn’t get buried like the first craters on Farside. They’re intact.”

“Sure-but they won’t tell you anything new. They’re from recent impacts, same as everything that’s on the surface of Farside.”

“But you said some of them showed radiation anomalies. That’s just what I want to know more about.”

“But nobody ever found any suggestion of what you’re talking about.”

“Maybe they weren’t looking for the right things. They never had any reason to.”

The physics department had a comprehensive collection of Lunar rock samples, a sizeable proportion of which comprised specimens from the interiors and vicinities of the young, anomalous craters on Nearside. Under Hunt’s persistent coercion, Steinfleld agreed to conduct a specially devised series of tests on them. He estimated that he would need a month to complete the work.

Hunt returned to Houston to catch up on developments there and a month later flew back to Omaha. Steinfield’s experiments had resulted in a series of computer-generated maps showing anomalous Nearside craters. The craters divided themselves into two classes on the maps: those with characteristic irradiation patterns and those without.

“And another thing,” Steinfield informed him. “The first class, those that show the pattern, have also got another thing in common that the second class hasn’t got: glasses from the centers were formed by a different process. So now we’ve got anomalous anomalies on Nearside, too!”

Hunt spent a week in Omaha and then went directly to Washington to talk to a group of government scientists and to study the archives of a department that had ceased to exist more than fifteen years before. He then returned to Omaha once again and showed his findings to Steinfleld. Steinfield persuaded the university authorities to allow selected samples from their collection to be loaned to the UNSA Mineralogy and Petrology Laboratories in Pasadena, California, for further testing of an extremely specialized nature, suitable equipment for which existed at only a few establishments in the world.

As a direct consequence of these tests, Caldwell authorized the issue of a top-priority directive to the UNSA bases at Tycho, Crisium, and some other Lunar locations, to conduct specific surveys in the areas of certain selected craters. A month after that, the first samples began arriving at Houston and were forwarded immediately to Pasadena; so were the large numbers of samples collected from deep below the surface of Farside.

The outcome of all this activity was summarized in a memorandum stamped “SECRET” and written on the anniversary of Hunt’s first arrival in Houston.

9 September 2028

TO: G. Caldwell

Executive Director

Navigation and Communications

Division

FROM: Dr. V. Hunt

Section Head

Special Assignment Group L

ANOMALIES OF LUNAR CRATERING

(1) Hemispheric Anomalies

For many years, radical differences have been known to exist between the nature and origins of Lunar Nearside and Farside surface features.

(a) Nearside

Original Lunar surface from 4 billion years ago. Nearly all surface cratering caused by explosive release of kinetic energy by meteorite impacts. Some younger-e.g., Copernicus, 850 million years old.

(b) Farside

Surface comprises large mass of recently added material to average depth circa 300 meters. Craters formed during final phase of this bombardment. Dating of these events coincides with Lunarian presence. Origin of bombardment uncertain.

(2) Nearside Exceptions

Known for approx. the last thirty years that some Nearside craters date from same period as those on Farside. Current theory ascribes them to overshoots from Farside bombardment.

(3) Conclusion From Recent Research at Omaha and Pasadena

All Nearside exceptions previously attributed to meteoritic impacts. This belief now considered incorrect. Two classes of exceptions now distinguished:

(a) Class I Exceptions

Confirmed as meteoritic impacts occurring 50,000 years ago.

(b) Class II Exceptions Differing from Class I in irradiation history, formation of glasses, absence of impact corroboration and positive results to tests for elements hyperium, bonnevilliuin, genevium. Example: Crater Lunar Catalogue reference MB 3076/K2/E currently classed as meteoritic. Classification erroneous. Crater MB 3076/K2/E was made by a nucleonic bomb. Other cases confirmed. Investigations continuing.

(4) Farside Subsurface

Intensive sampling from depths approximating that of the original crust indicate widespread nucleonic detonations prior to meteorite bombardment. Thermonuclear and fission reactions also suspected but impossible to confirm.

(5) Implications

(a) Sophisticated weapons used on Luna at or near time of Lunarian presence, mainly on Farside. Lunarian involvement implied but not proved.

(b) If Lunarians involved, possibility of more widespread conflict embracing Lunarian home planet. Possible cause of Lunarian extinction.

(c) Charlie was a member of more than a small, isolated expedition to our Moon. A significant Lunarian presence on the Moon is indicated. Mainly concentrated on Farside. Practically all traces since obliterated by meteorite storm.

Chapter Twelve

Front page feature of the New York Times,

14 October 2028:

LUNARIAN PLANET LOCATED

Did Nuclear War Destroy Minerva?

Sensational new announcements by UN Space Arm Headquarters, Washington, D.C., at last positively identify the home planet of the Lunarian civilization, known to have achieved space flight and reached Earth’s Moon fifty thousand years ago. Information pieced together during more than a year of intense work by teams of scientists based at the UNSA Navigation and Communications Division Headquarters, Houston, Texas, shows conclusively that the Lunarians came from an Earth-like planet that once existed in our own Solar System.

A tenth planet, christened Minerva after the Roman goddess of wisdom, is now known to have existed approximately 250 million miles from the Sun between the orbits of Mars and Jupiter, in the position now occupied by the Asteroid Belt, and is firmly established as having been the center of the Lunarian civilization.

In a further startling announcement, a UNSA spokesman stated that data collected recently at the Lunar bases, following research at the University of Nebraska, Omaha, and the UNSA Mineralogy and Petrology Laboratories, Pasadena, California, indicate that a large-scale nuclear conflict took place on the Moon at the time the Lunarians were there. The possibility that Minerva was destroyed in a full-scale nuclear holocaust of interplanetary dimensions cannot be ruled out.

Nucleonic Bombs Used at Crisium

Investigations in recent months at the University of Nebraska and Pasadena give positive evidence that nucleonic bombs have caused craters on the Moon previously attributed to meteorite impacts. H-bomb and A-bomb effects are also suspected but cannot be confirmed.

Dr. Saul Steinfield of the Department of Physics at the University of Nebraska explained: “For many years we have known that Lunar Farside craters are very much younger than most of the craters on Nearside. All the Farside craters, and a few of the Nearside ones, date from about the time of the Lunarians, and have always been thought to be meteoritic. Most of them, including all Farside ones, are. We have now proved, however, that some of the Nearside ones were made by bombs-for example, a few on the northern periphery of Mare Crisium and a couple near Tycho. So far, we’ve identified twenty-three positively and have a long list to check out.”

Further evidence collected from deep below the Farside surface indicates heavier bombing there than on Nearside. Obliteration of the original Farside surface by a heavy meteorite storm immediately after these events accounts for only meteorite craters being found there today and makes detailed reconstruction of exactly what took place unlikely. “The evidence for higher activity on Farside is mainly statistical,” said Steinfield yesterday. “There’s no way you could figure anything specific-for example, an actual crater count-under all that garbage.”

The new discoveries do not explain why the meteorite storm happened at this time. Professor Pierre Guillemont of the Hale Observatory commented: “Clearly, there could be a connection with the Lunarian presence. Personally, I would be surprised if the agreement in dates is just a coincidence, although that, of course, is possible. For the time being, it must remain an unanswered question.”

Clues from ILIAD Mission

Startling confirmation that Minerva disintegrated to form the Asteroid Belt has been received from space. Examination of Asteroid samples carried out on board the spacecraft Iliad, launched from Luna fifteen months ago to conduct a survey of parts of the Belt, shows many Asteroids to be of recent origin. Data beamed back to Mission Control Center at UNSA Operational Command Headquarters, Galveston, Texas, gives cosmic-ray exposure times and orbit statistics pinpointing Minerva’s disintegration at fifty thousand years ago.

Earth scientists are eagerly awaiting arrival of the first Asteroid material to be sent back from Iliad, which is due at Luna in six weeks time.

Lunarian Origin Mystery

Scientists do not agree that Lunarians necessarily originated on Minerva. Detailed physical examinations of “Charlie” (Times, 7 November 2027) shows Lunarian anatomy identical to that of humans and incapable of being the product of a separate evolutionary process, according to all accepted theory. Conversely, absence of traces of Lunarian history on Earth seems to rule out any possibility of terrestrial origins. This remains the main focus of controversy among the investigators.

In an exclusive interview, Dr. Victor Hunt, the British-born UNSA nucleonics expert coordinating Lunarian investigations from Houston, explained to a Times reporter: “We know quite a lot about Minerva now-its size, its mass, its climate, and how it rotated and orbited the Sun. Upstairs we’ve built a six-foot scale model of it that shows you every continent, ocean, river, mountain range, town, and city. Also, we know it supported an advanced civilization. We also know a lot about Charlie, including his place of birth, which is given on several of his personal documents as a town easily identified on Minerva. But that doesn’t prove very much. My deputy was born in Japan, but both his parents come from Brooklyn. So until we know a lot more than we do, we can’t even say for sure that the Minervan civilization and the Lunarian civilization were one and the same.

“It’s possible the Lunarians originated on Earth and either went to live on Minerva or made contact with another race who were there already. Maybe the Lunarians originated on Minerva. We just don’t know. Whichever alternative you choose, you’ve got problems.”

Alien Marine Life Traced to Minerva

Professor Christian Danchekker, an eminent biologist at Westwood Laboratories, Houston, and also involved in Lunarian research from the beginning, confirmed that the alien species of fish discovered among foodstocks in the ruin of a Lunarian base on Lunar Farside several months ago (Times, 6 July 2028) appear to have been a life form native to Minerva. Markings on the containers in which the fish were preserved show that they came from a well-defined group of equatorial islands on Minerva. According to Professor Danchekker: “There is no question whatsoever that this species evolved on a planet other than Earth. It seems clear that the fish belong to an evolutionary line that developed on Minerva, and they were caught there by members of a group of colonists from Earth who established an extension of their civilization there.”

The professor described the suggestion that the Lunarians might also be natives of Minerva as “ludicrous.”

Despite a wealth of new information, therefore, much remains to be explained about recent events in the Solar System. Almost certainly, the next twelve months will see further exciting developments.

(See also the Special Supplement by our Science Editor on page 14.)

Chapter Thirteen

Captain Hew Mills, UN Space Arm, currently attached to the Solar System Exploration Program mission to the moons of Jupiter, stood gazing out of the transparent dome that surmounted the two-story Site Operations Control building. The building stood just clear of the ice, on a rocky knoll overlooking the untidy cluster of domes, vehicles, cabins, and storage tanks that went to make up the base he commanded. In the dim gray background around the base, indistinct shadows of rock buttresses and ice cliffs vanished and reappeared through the sullen, shifting vapors of the methane-ammonia haze. Despite his above-average psychological resilience and years of strict training, an involuntary shudder ran down his spine as he thought of the thin triple wall of the dome-all that separated him from this foreboding, poisonous, alien world, cold enough to freeze him as black as coal and as brittle as glass in seconds. Ganymede, largest of the moons of Jupiter, was, he thought, an awful place.

“Close-approach radars have locked on. Landing sequence is active. Estimated time to touchdown: three minutes, fifty seconds.” The voice of the duty controller at one of the consoles behind Mills interrupted his broodings.

“Very good, Lieutenant,” he acknowledged. “Do you have contact with Cameron?”

“There’s a channel open on screen three, sir.”

Mills moved around in front of the auxiliary console. The screen showed an empty chair and behind it an interior view of the low-level control room. He pressed the call button, and after a few seconds the face of Lieutenant Cameron moved into the viewing angle.

“The brass are due in three minutes,” Mills advised. “Everything okay?”

“Looking good, sir.”

Mills resumed his position by the wall of the dome and noted with satisfaction the three tracked vehicles lurching into line to take up their reception positions. Minutes ticked by.

“Sixty seconds,” the duty controller announced. “Descent profile normal. Should make visual contact any time now.”

A patch of fog above the landing pads in the central area of the base darkened and slowly materialized into the blurred outline of a medium-haul surface transporter, sliding out of the murk, balanced on its exhausts with its landing legs already fully extended. As the transporter came to rest on one of the pads and its shock absorbers flexed to dispose of the remaining momentum, the reception vehicles began moving forward. Mills nodded to himself and left the dome via the stairs that led down to ground level.

Ten minutes later, the first reception vehicle halted outside the Operations Control building and an extending tube telescoped out to dock with its airlock. Major Stanislow, Colonel Peters, and a handful of aides walked through into the outer access chamber, where they were met by Mills and a few other officers. Mutual introductions were concluded, and without further preliminaries the party ascended to the first floor and proceeded through an elevated walkway into the adjacent dome, constructed over the head of number-three shalt. A labyrinth of stairs and walkways brought them eventually to number-three high-level airlock anteroom. A capsule was waiting beyond the airlock. For the next four minutes they plummeted down, down, deep into the ice crust of Ganymede.

They emerged through another airlock into number-three low-level anteroom. The air vibrated with the humming and throbbing of unseen machines. Beyond the anteroom, a short corridor brought them at last to the low-level control room. It was a maze of consoles and equipment cubicles, attended by perhaps a dozen operators, all intent on their tasks. One of the longer walls, constructed completely from glass, gave a panoramic view down over the workings in progress outside the control room. Lieutenant Cameron joined them as they lined up by the glass to take in the spectacle beyond.

They were looking out over the floor of an enormous cathedral, over nine hundred feet long and a hundred feet high, hewn and melted out of the solid ice. Its rough-formed walls glistened white and gray in the glare of countless arc lights. The floor was a litter of steel-mesh roadways, cranes, gantries, girders, pipes, tubes, and machinery of every description. The left-side wall, stretching away to the far end of the tunnel, carried a lattice of ladders, scaffolding, walkways, and cabins that extended up to the roof. All over the scene, scores of figures in ungainly heavy-duty spacesuits bustled about in a frenzy of activity, working in an atmosphere of pressurized argon to eliminate any risk of explosion from methane and the other gases released from the melted ice. But all eyes were fixed on the right-hand wall of the tunnel.

For almost the entire length, a huge, sweeping wall of smooth, black metal reared up from the floor and curved up and over, out of sight above their heads to be lost below the roof of the cavern. It was immense-just a part of something vast and cylindrical, lying on its side, the whole of which must have stretched far down into the ice below floor level. At the near end, outside the control room, a massive, curving wing flared out of the cylinder and spanned the cavern above their heads like a bridge, before disappearing into the ice high on the far left. At intervals along the base of the wall, where metal and ice met, a series of holes six feet or so across marked the ends of the network of pilot tunnels that had been driven all around and over and under the object.

It was far larger than a Vega. How long it had lain there, entombed beneath the timeless ice sheets of Ganymede, nobody knew. But the computations of field-vector resultants collected from the satellites had been right; there certainly had been something big down here-and it hadn’t been just ore deposits.

“Ma-an,” breathed Stanislow, after staring for a long time. “So that’s it, huh?”

“That is big!” Peters added with a whistle. The aides echoed the sentiments dutifully.

Stanislow turned to Mills. “Ready for the big moment, then, Captain?”

“Yes, sir,” Mills confirmed. He indicated a point about two hundred feet away where a group of figures was gathered close to the wall of the hull, surrounded by an assortment of equipment. Beside them a rectangular section of the skin about eight feet square had been cut away. “First entry point will be there- approximately amidships. The outer hull is double layered; both layers have been penetrated. Inside is an inner hull…” For the benefit of the visitors, he gestured toward a display positioned near the observation window showing the aperture in close-up.

“Preliminary drilling shows that it’s a single layer. The valves that you can see projecting from the inner hull were inserted to allow samples of the internal atmosphere to be taken before opening it up. Also, the cavity behind the access point has been argon-flooded.”

Mills turned to Cameron before going on to describe further details of the operation. “Lieutenant, carry out a final check of communications links, please.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” Cameron walked back to the supervisory console at the end of the room and scanned the array of screens.

“Ice Hole to Subway. Come in, please.”

The face of Commander Stracey, directing activities out near the hull, moved into view, encased in its helmet. “All checks completed and go,” he reported. “Standing by, ready to proceed.”

“Ice Hole to Pithead. Report transmission quality.”

“All clear, vision and audio,” responded the duty controller from the dome far above them.

“Ice Hole to Ganymede Main.” Cameron addressed screen three, which showed Foster at Main Base, situated seven hundred miles away to the south.

“Clear.”

“Ice Hole to Jupiter Four. Report, please.”

“All channels clear and checking positive.” The last acknowledgment came from the deputy mission director on screen four, speaking from his nerve center in the heart of the mile-long Jupiter Mission Four command ship, at that moment orbiting over two thousand miles up over Ganymede.

“All channels positive and ready to proceed, sir,” Cameron called to Mills.

“Carry on, then, Lieutenant.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Cameron passed the order to Stracey, and out by the hull the ponderous figures lumbered into action, swinging forward a rockdrill supported from an overhead gantry. The group by the window watched in silence as the bit chewed relentlessly into the inner wall. Eventually the drill was swung back.

“Initial penetration complete,” Stracey’s voice informed them. “Nothing visible inside.”

An hour later, a pattern of holes adorned the exposed expanse of metal. When lights were shone through and a TV probe inserted, the screen showed snatches of a large compartment crammed with ducts and machinery. Shortly afterward, Stracey’s team began cutting out the panel with torches. Mills invited Peters and Stanislow to come and observe the operations first-hand. The trio left the control room, descended to the lower floor, and a few minutes later emerged, clad in spacesuits, through the airlock onto the tunnel floor. As they arrived at the aperture, the rectangle of metal was just being swung aside.

The spotlights confirmed the general impression obtained via the drill holes. When preliminary visual examinations were completed, two sergeants who had been standing by stepped forward. Communications lines were plugged into their backpacks and they were handed TV cameras trailing cables, flashlights, and a pouch of tools and accessories. At the same time, other members of the team were smoothing over the jagged edges of the hole with pads of adhesive plastic to prevent tearing of the lines. An extending aluminum ladder was lowered into the hole and secured. The first sergeant to enter turned about on the edge of the hole, carefully located the top rung with his feet, and inch by inch disappeared down into the chamber. When he had found a firm footing, the second followed.

For twenty minutes they clambered through the mechanical jungle, twisting and turning among the chaotic shadows cast by the lights pouring in through the hole above. Progress was slow; they had difficulty finding level surfaces to move on, since the ship appeared to be lying on its side. But foot by foot, the lines continued to snake sporadically down into the darkness. Eventually the sergeants stopped before the noseward bulkhead of the compartment. The screens outside showed their way barred by a door leading through to whatever lay forward; it was made of a steely-gray metal and looked solid. It was also about ten feet high by four wide. A long conference produced the decision that there was no alternative but for them to return to where the hole had been cut to collect drills, torches, and all the other gadgetry needed to go through the whole drilling, purging, argon-filling, and cutting routine all over again. From the look of the door, it could be a long job. Mills, Stanislow, and Peters went back to the control room, collected the remainder of their party, and went to the surface installations for lunch. They returned three hours later.

Behind the bulkhead was another machinery compartment, as confusing as the first but larger. This one had many doors leading from it-all closed. The two sergeants selected one at random in the ceiling above their heads, and while they were cutting through it, others descended into the first and second compartments to position rollers for minimizing the drag of their trailing cables, which was beginning to slow them down appreciably. When the door was cut, a second team relieved the first.

They used another ladder to climb up through the door and found themselves standing on what was supposed to be the wall of a long corridor running toward the nose of the ship. A succession of closed doors, beneath their feet and over their heads, passed across the screens outside. Over two hundred feet of cabling had disappeared into the original entry point.

“We’re just passing the fifth bulkhead since entering the corridor,” the commentary on the audio channel informed the observers. “The walls are smooth, and appear to be metallic, but covered with a plastic material. It’s coming away in most places. The floor up one side is black and looks rubbery. There are lots of doors in both walls, all big like the first one. Some have…”

“Just a second, Joe,” the voice of the speaker’s companion broke in. “Swing the big light down here… by your feet. See, the door you’re standing on slides to the side. It’s not closed all the way.”

The screens showed a pair of standard-issue heavy-duty UNSA boots, standing on a metal panel in the middle of a pool of light. The boots shuffled to one side to reveal a black gap, about twelve inches wide, running down one side of the panel. They then stepped off the panel and onto the surrounding area as their owner evidently inspected the situation.

“You’re right,” Joe’s voice announced at last. “Let’s see if it’ll budge.”

There then followed a jumbled sequence of arms, legs, walls, ceilings, lightness, and darkness as TV cameras and lamps exchanged hands and were waved about. When a stable picture resulted, it showed two heavily clad arms braced across the gap.

Eventually:

“No dice. Stuck solid.”

“How about the jack?”

“Yeah, maybe. Pass it down, willya?”

A long dialogue followed during which the jack was maneuvered into place and expanded. It slipped off. Muttered curses. Another try. And then:

“It’s moving! Come on, baby…-let’s have a bit more light I think it’ll go easy now…- See if you can get a foot against it…”

On the monitors the gray slab graunched gradually out of the picture. A black, bottomless pit fell away beneath.

“The door is about two-thirds open,” a breathless voice resumed. “It’s gummed up there and won’t go any further. We’re gonna have a quick looksee around from up here, then we’ll have to come back to get another ladder. Can somebody have one ready at the door that leads up into this corridor?”

The camera closed in on the pitch-black oblong. A few seconds later a circle of light appeared in the scene, picking out part of the far wall. The light began moving around inside and the camera followed. Banks of what appeared to be electronic equipment… corners of cubicles… legs of furniture… sections of bulkhead… moved through the circle.

“There’s a lot of loose junk down at that end… Move the light around a bit…” Several colored cylinders in a heap, about the size of jelly jars… something like a braided belt, lying in a tangle… a small gray box with buttons on one face…

“What was that? Go over a bit, Jerry… No, a bit more to the left.”

Something white. A bar of white.

“Jeez! Look at that! Jerry, will you look at that?”

The skull, grinning up out of the pool of eerie white light, startled even the watchers out in the tunnel. But it was the size of the skeleton that stunned them; no man had ever boasted a chest that compared with those massive hoops of bone. But besides that, even the most inexpert among the observers could see that whatever the occupants of this craft had been, they bore no resemblance to man.

The stream of data taken in by the cameras flashed back to preprocessors in the low-level control room, and from there via cable to the surface of Ganymede. After encoding by the computers in the Site Operations Control building, it was relayed by microwave repeaters seven hundred miles to Ganymede Main Base, restored to full strength, and redirected up to the orbiting command ship. Here, the message was fed into the message exchange and scheduling processor complex, transformed into high-power laser modulations, and slotted into the main outgoing signal beam to Earth. For over an hour the data streaked across the Solar System, covering 186,000 miles every second, until the sensors of the long-range relay beacon, standing in Solar orbit not many million miles outside that of Mars, fished it out of the void, a microscopic fraction of its original power. Retransmission from here found the Deep Space Link Station, lodged in Trojan equilibrium with Earth and Luna, and eventually a synchronous communications satellite hanging high over the central USA, which beamed it down to a ground station near San Antonio. A landline network completed the journey to UNSA Mission Control, Galveston, where the information was greedily consumed by the computers of Operational Command Headquarters.

The Jupiter Four command ship had taken eleven months to reach the giant planet. Within four hours of the event, the latest information to be gathered by the mission was safely lodged in the data banks of UN Space Arm.

Chapter Fourteen

The discovery of the giant spaceship, frozen under the ice field of Ganymede, was a sensation but, in a sense, not something totally unexpected. The scientific world had more or less accepted as fact that an advanced civilization had once flourished on Minerva; indeed, if the arguments of the orthodox evolutionists were accepted, at least two planets-Minerva and Earth-had supported high-technology civilizations to some extent at about the same time. It did not come as a complete surprise, therefore, that man’s persistent nosing around the Solar System should uncover more evidence of its earlier inhabitants. What did surprise everybody was the obvious anatomical difference between the Ganymeans-as the beings on board the ship soon came to be called-and the common form shared by the Lunarians and mankind.

To the still unresolved question of whether the Lunarians and the Minervans had been one and the same or not, there was immediately added the further riddle: Where had the Ganymeans come from, and had they any connection with either? One bemused UNSA scientist summed up the situation by declaring that it was about time UNSA established an Alien Civilizations Division to sort out the whole damn mess!

The pro-Danchekker faction quickly interpreted the new development as full vindication of evolutionary theory and of the arguments they had been promoting all along. Clearly, two planets in the Solar System had evolved intelligent life at around the same period in the past; the Ganymeans had evolved on Minerva and the Lunarians had evolved on Earth. They came independently from different lines and that was why they were different. Lunarian pioneers made contact with the Ganymeans and settled on Minerva-that was how Charlie had come to be born there. Extreme hostilities broke out between the two civilizations at some point, resulting in the extinction of both and the destruction of Minerva. The reasoning was consistent, plausible, and convincing. Against it, the single objection-that no evidence of any Lunarian civilization on Earth had ever been detected-began to look more lonely and more feeble every day. Deserters left the can’t-be-of-Earth-origin camp in droves to join Danchekker’s growing legions. Such was his gain in prestige and credibility that it seemed perfectly natural for his department to assume responsibility for conducting the preliminary evaluation of the data coming in from Jupiter.

Despite his earlier skepticism, Hunt too found the case compelling. He and a large part of Group L’s staff spent much time searching every available archive and record from such fields as archeology and paleontology for any reference that could be a pointer to the one-time existence of an advanced race on Earth. They even delved into the realms of ancient mythology and combed various pseudoscientific writings to see if anything could be extracted that was capable of substantiation, that suggested the works of superbeings in the past. But always the results were negative.

While all this was going on, things began to happen in an area where progress had all but ground to a halt for many months. Linguistics had run into trouble: The meager contents of the documents found about Charlie’s person simply had not contained enough information to make great inroads into deciphering a whole new, alien language. Of the two small books, one-that containing the maps and tables and resembling a handy pocket reference-together with the loose documents, had been translated in parts and had yielded most of the fundamental data about Minerva and quite a lot about Charlie. The second book contained a series of dated entries in handwritten script, but despite repeated attempts, it had obstinately defied decoding.

This situation changed dramatically some weeks after the opening up of the underground remains of the devastated Lunarian base on Lunar Farside. Among the pieces of equipment included in that find had been a metal drum, containing a series of glass plates, rather like the magazines of some slide projectors. Closer examination of the plates revealed them to be simple projection slides, each holding a closely packed matrix of nilcrodot images which, under a microscope, were seen to be pages of printed text. Constructing a system of lamps and lenses to project them onto a screen was straightforward, and in one fell swoop Linguistics became the owners of a miniature Lunarian library. Results followed in months.

Don Maddson, head of the Linguistics section, rummaged through the litter of papers and files that swamped the large table standing along the left-hand wall of his office, selected a loosely clipped wad of typed notes, and returned to the chair behind his desk.

“There’s a set of these on its way up to you,” he said to Hunt, who was sitting in the chair opposite. “I’ll leave you to read the details for yourself later. For now, I’ll just sum up the general picture.”

“Fine,” Hunt said. “Fire away.”

“Well, for a start, we know a bit more about Charlie. One of the documents found in a pouch on the backpack appears to be something like army pay records. It gives an abbreviated history of some of the things he did and a list of the places he was posted to-that kind of thing.”

“Army? Was he in the army, then?”

Maddson shook his head. “Not exactly. From what we can gather, they didn’t differentiate much between civilian and military personnel in terms of how their society was structured. It’s more like everybody belonged to different branches of the same big organization.”

“A sort of last word in totalitarianism?”

“Yeah, that’s about it. The State ran just about everything; it dominated every walk of life and imposed a rigid discipline everywhere. You went where you were sent and did what you were told to do; in most cases, that meant into industry, agriculture, or the military forces. Whatever you did, the State was your boss anyway… that’s what I meant when I said they were all different branches of the same big organization.”

“Okay. Now, about the pay records?”

“Charlie was born on Minerva, we know that. So were his parents. His father was some kind of machine operator; his mother worked in industry, too, but we can’t make out the exact occupation. The records also tell us where he went to school, for how long, where he took his military training-everybody seemed to go through some kind of military training-and where he learned about electronics. It tells us all the dates, too.”

“So he was something like an electronics engineer, was he?” Hunt asked.

“Sort of. More of a maintenance engineer than a design or development engineer. He seems to have specialized in military equipment-there’s a long list of postings to combat units. The last one is interesting-” Maddson selected a sheet and passed it across to Hunt. “That’s a translation of the last page of postings. The final entry gives the name of a place and, alongside it, a description which, when translated literally, means ‘off-planet.’ That’s probably the Lunarian name for whatever part of our Moon he was sent to.”

“Interesting,” Hunt agreed. “You’ve found out quite a lot more about him.”

“Yep, we’ve got him pretty well taped. If you convert their dates into our units, he was about thirty-two years old at the date of his last posting. Anyhow, that’s all really incidental; you can read the details. I was going to run over the picture we’re getting of the kind of world he was born into.” Maddson paused to consult his notes again. Then he resumed: “Minerva was a dying world. At the time we’re talking about, the last cold period of the Ice Age was approaching its peak. I’m told that ice ages are Solar System-wide phenomena; Minerva was a lot farther from the Sun than here, so as you can imagine, things were pretty bleak there.”

“You’ve only got to look at the size of those ice caps,” Hunt commented.

“Yes, exactly. And it was getting worse. The Lunarian scientists figured they had less than a hundred years to go before the ice sheets met and blanketed the whole planet completely. Now, as you’d expect, they had studied astronomy for centuries-centuries before Charlie’s time, that is-and they’d known for a long time that things were going to get worse before they got better. So, they’d reached the conclusion, way back, that the only way out was to escape to another world. The problem, of course, was that for generations after they got the idea, nobody knew anything about how to do something about it. The answer had to lie somewhere along the line of better science and better technology. It became kind of a racial goal-the one thing that mattered, that generation after generation worked toward-the development of the sciences that would get them to places they knew existed, before the ice wiped out the whole race.”

Maddson pointed to another pile of papers on the corner of his desk. “This was the prime objective that the State was set up to achieve, and because the stakes were so high, everything was subordinated to that objective. Hence, from birth to death the individual was subordinated to the needs of the State. It was implied in everything they wrote and drummed into them from the time they were knee-high. Those papers are a translation of a kind of catechism they had to memorize at school; it reads like Nazi stuff from the nineteen thirties.” He stopped at that point and looked at Hunt expectantly.

Hunt looked puzzled. After a moment he said, “This doesn’t quite make sense. I mean-how could they be striving to develop space flight if they were colonists from Earth? They must have already developed it.”

Maddson gave an approving nod. “Thought you might say that.”

“But… it’s bloody silly.”

“I know. It implies they must have evolved on Minerva from scratch-unless they came from Earth, forgot everything they knew, and had to learn it all over. But that also sounds crazy to me.”

“Me, too.” Hunt thought for a long time. At last he shook his head with a sigh. “Doesn’t make sense. Anyhow, what else is there?”

“Well, we’ve got the general picture of a totally authoritarian State, demanding unquestioning obedience from the individual and controlling just about everything that moves. Everything needs a license; there are travel licenses, off-work licenses, sick-ration licenses-even procreation licenses. Everything is in short supply and rationed by permits-food, every kind of commodity, fuel, light, accommodation-you name it. And to keep everybody in line, the State operates a propaganda machine like you never dreamed of. To make things worse, the whole planet was desperately short of every kind of mineral. That slowed them down a lot. Despite their concentrated effort, their rate of technological progress was probably not as fast as you’d think. Maybe a hundred years didn’t give them as long as it sounds.” Maddson turned some sheets, scanned the next one briefly, and then went on. “To make matters worse still, they also had a big political problem.”

“Go on.”

“Now, we’re assuming that as their civilization developed, it followed similar lines to ours-first tribes, then villages, towns, nations, and so on. Seems reasonable. So, somewhere along the way they started discovering the different sciences, same as we did. As you’d expect, the same ideas started occurring to different people in different places at around the same time-like, we’ve gotta get outa this place. As these ideas became accepted, the Lunarians seem to have figured also that there just weren’t sufficient resources for more than a few lucky ones to make it. No way were they going to get a whole planet full of people out.”

“So they fought about it,” Hunt offered.

“That’s right. The way I picture it, lots of nations grew up, all racing each other, as well as the ice, to get the technological edge. Every other one was a rival, so they fought it out. Another thing that made them fight was the mineral shortage, especially the shortage of metallic ores.” Maddson pointed at a map of Minerva mounted above the table. “See those dots on the ice sheets? Most of them were a combination of fortress and mining town. They dug right down through the ice to get at the deposits, and the army was there to make sure they kept the stuff.”

“And that was the way life was. Mean people, eh?”

“Yeah, for generation after generation.” Maddson shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe if we were freezing over fast, we’d be forced in the same direction. Anyhow, the situation had complications. They had the problem of having to divide their efforts and resources between two different demands all the time: first, developing a technology that would support mass interplanetary travel and, second, armaments and the defense organization to protect it-and there weren’t a lot of resources to divide in the first place. Now, how would you solve a problem like that?”

Hunt pondered for a while. “Cooperate?” he tried.

“Forget it. They didn’t think that way.”

“Only one other strategy possible, then: Wipe out the opposition first and then concentrate everything on the main objective.”

Maddson nodded solidly. “That is exactly what they did. War, or near war, was pretty well a natural way of life all through their history. Gradually the smaller fish were eliminated until, by the time we get to Charlie, there are only two superpowers left, each dominating one of the two big equatorial continental land masses…” He pointed at the map again. “… Cerios and Lambia. From various references, we know Charlie was a Cerian.”

“All set for the big showdown, then.”

“Check. The whole planet was one big fortress-factory. Every inch of surface was covered by hostile missiles; the sky was full of orbiting bombs that could be dropped anywhere. We get the impression that relative to the pattern of our own civilization, their armaments programs had taken a bigger share than space research and had progressed faster.” Maddson shrugged again. “The rest you can guess.”

Hunt nodded slowly and thoughtfully. “It all fits,” he mused. “It must have been a huge con, though. I mean, even from whichever side won, only a handful would have been able to get away in the end; I suppose they’d have been the ruling clique and its minions. Christ! No wonder they needed good propaganda; they-“

Hunt stopped in midsentence and looked at Maddson with a curious expression. “Just a minute-there’s something else in all this that doesn’t add up.” He paused to collect his thoughts. “They had already developed interplanetary travel-how else did they get to our Moon?”

“We wondered that,” Maddson said. “The only thing we could think of was that maybe they’d already figured on making for Earth eventually-that had to be the obvious choice. Maybe they were capable of sending a scouting group to stake the place out, but didn’t have full-scale mass-transportation capacity yet. Probably they weren’t too far away from their goal when they blew it. Perhaps if they’d pooled their marbles at that point instead of starting a crazy war over it, things might have been different.”

“Sounds plausible,” Hunt agreed. “So Charlie could have been part of a reconnaissance mission sent on ahead, only the opposition had the same idea and they bumped into each other. Then they started blowing holes in our Moon. Disgraceful.”

A short silence ensued.

“There’s another thing I don’t get, either,” Hunt said, rubbing his chin.

“What’s that?”

“Well, the opposition-the Lambians. Everybody in Navcomms is going around saying that the war that clobbered Minerva was fought between colonists from Earth-that must be Charlie’s lot, the Cerians-and an alien race that belonged to Minerva-the Ganymeans, who, from what you said, would be the Lambians. We said a moment ago that this idea of the Cerians being from Earth doesn’t make sense, because if they had originated there, they wouldn’t be trying to develop space flight. We can’t be one hundred percent certain of that because something unusual could have happened, such as the colony being cut off for a few thousand years for some reason. But you can’t say that about the Lambians; they couldn’t have been neck-and-neck rivals trying to develop space flight.”

“They already had it, for sure,” Maddson completed for him. “We sure as hell found them on Ganymede.”

“Quite. And that ship was no beginner’s first attempt, either. You know, I’m beginning to think that whoever the Lambians were, they weren’t Ganymeans.”

“I think you’re right,” Maddson confirmed. “The Ganymeans were a totally different biological species. Wouldn’t you expect that if they were the opposition in Lambia, somehow it would show up in the Lunarian writings? But it doesn’t. Everything we’ve examined suggests that the Cerians and the Lambians were simply different nations of the same race. For example, we’ve found extracts from what appear to be Cerian newspapers, which included political cartoons showing Lambian figures; the figures are drawn as human forms. That wouldn’t be so if the Lambians looked anything like the Ganymeans must have looked.”

“So it appears the Ganymeans had nothing to do with the war,” Hunt concluded.

“Right.”

“So where do they fit in?”

Maddson showed his empty palms. “That’s the funny thing. They don’t seem to fit anywhere-at least, we haven’t even found anything that looks like a reference to them.”

“Maybe they’re just a big red herring, then. I mean, we’ve only supposed that they came from Minerva; nothing actually demonstrates that they did. Perhaps they never had anything to do with the place at all.”

“Could well be. But I can’t help feeling that…”

The chime on Maddson’s desk display console interrupted the discussion. He excused himself and touched a button to accept the call.

“Hi, Don,” said the face of Hunt’s assistant, upstairs in Group L’s offices. “Is Vic there?” He sounded excited. Maddson swiveled the unit around to point in Hunt’s direction.

“It’s for you,” he said needlessly.

“Vic,” said the face without preamble. “I’ve just had a look at the reports of the latest tests that came in from Jupiter Four two hours ago. That ship under the ice and the big guys inside it-they’ve completed the dating tests.” He drew a deep breath. “It looks like maybe we can forget the Ganymeans in all this Charlie business. Vic, if all the figures are right, that ship has been sitting there for something like twenty-five million years!”

Chapter Fifteen

Caldwell moved a step closer to inspect more carefully the nine-foot-high plastic model standing in the middle of one of the laboratories of the Westwood Biological Institute. Danchekker gave him plenty of time to take in the details before continuing.

“A full-size replica of a Ganymean skeleton,” he said. “Built on the strength of the data beamed back from Jupiter. The first indisputable form of intelligent alien life ever to be studied by man.” Caldwell looked up at the towering frame, pursed his lips in a silent whistle, and walked in a slow circle around and back to where the professor was standing. Hunt simply stood and swept his eyes up and down the full length of the model in wordless fascination.

“That structure is in no way related to that of any animal ever studied on Earth, living or extinct,” Danchekker informed them. He gestured toward it. “It is based on a bony internal skeleton, walks upright as a biped, and has a head on top-as you can see; but apart from such superficial similarities, it has clearly evolved from completely unfamiliar origins. Take the head as an obvious example. The arrangement of the skull cannot be reconciled in any way with that of known vertebrates. The face has not receded back into the lower skull, but remains a long, down-pointing snout that widens at the top to provide a broad spacing for the eyes and ears. Also, the back of the skull has enlarged to accommodate a developing brain, as in the case of man, but instead of assuming a rounded contour, it bulges back above the neck to counterbalance the protruding face and jaw. And look at the opening through the skull in the center of the forehead; I believe that this could have housed a sense organ that we do not possess-possibly an infrared detector inherited from a nocturnal, carnivorous ancestor.”

Hunt moved forward to stand next to Caldwell and peered intently at the shoulders. “These are unlike anything I’ve ever come across, too,” he commented. “They’re made up of… kind of overlapping plates of bone. Nothing like ours at all.”

“Quite,” Danchekker confirmed. “Probably adapted from the remains of ancestral armor. And the rest of the trunk is also quite alien. There is a dorsal spine with an arrangement of ribs below the shoulder plates, as you can see, but the lowermost rib-immediately above the body cavity-has developed into a massive hoop of bone with a diametral strut stretching forward from an enlarged spinal vertebra. Now, notice the two systems of smaller linked bones at the sides of the hoop…” He pointed them out. “They were probably used to assist with breathing by helping to expand the diaphragm. To me, they look suspiciously like the degenerate remnants of a paired-limb structure. In other words, although this creature, like us, had two arms and walked on two legs, somewhere in his earlier ancestry were animals with three pairs of appendages, not two. That in itself is enough to immediately rule out any kinship with every vertebrate of this planet.”

Caldwell stooped to examine the pelvis, which comprised just an arrangement of thick bars and struts to contain the thigh sockets. There was no suggestion of the splayed dish form of the lower human torso.

“Must’ve had peculiar guts, too,” he offered.

“It could be that the internal organs were carried more by suspension from the hoop above than by support from underneath,” Danchekker suggested. He stepped back and indicated the arms and legs. “And last, observe the limbs. Both lower limbs have two bones as do ours, but the upper arm and thigh are different-they have a double-bone arrangement as well. This would have resulted in vastly improved flexibility and the ability to perform a whole range of movements that could never be duplicated by a human being. And the hand has six digits, two of them opposing; thus its owner effectively enjoyed the advantages of having two thumbs. He would have been able to tie his shoes easily with one hand.”

Danchekker waited until Caldwell and Hunt had fully studied every detail of the skeleton to their satisfaction. When they looked toward him again, he resumed: “Ever since the age of the Ganymeans was verified, there has been a tendency for everybody to discount them as merely a coincidental discovery and having no direct bearing on the Lunarian question. I believe, gentlemen, that I am now in a position to demonstrate that they had a very real bearing indeed on the question.”

Hunt and Caldwell looked at him expectantly. Danchekker walked over to a display console by the wall of the lab, tapped in a code, and watched as the screen came to life to reveal a picture of the skeleton of a fish. Satisfied, he turned to face them.

“What do you notice about that?” he asked.

Caldwell stared obediently at the screen for a few seconds while Hunt watched in silence.

“It’s a funny fish,” Caldwell said at last. “Okay-you tell me.”

“It is not obvious at first sight,” Danchekker replied, “but by detailed comparison it is possible to relate the structure of that fish, bone for bone, to that of the Ganymean skeleton. They’re both from the same evolutionary line.”

“That fish is one of those that were found on the Lunarian base on Farside,” Hunt said suddenly.

“Precisely, Dr. Hunt. The fish dates from some fifty thousand years ago, and the Ganymean skeleton from twenty-five million or so. It is evident from anatomical considerations that they are related and come from lines that branched apart from a common ancestral life form somewhere in the very remote past. It follows that they share a place of origin. We already know that the fish evolved in the oceans of Minerva; therefore, the Ganymeans also came from Minerva. We thus have proof of something that has been merely speculation for some time. All that was wrong with the earlier assumption was our failure to appreciate the gap in time between the presence of the Ganymeans on Minerva, and that of the Lunarians.”

“Okay,” Caldwell accepted. “The Ganymeans came from Minerva, but a lot earlier than we thought. What’s the big message and why did you call us over here?”

“In itself, this conclusion is interesting but no more,” Danchekker answered. “But it looks pale by comparison with what comes next. In fact”-he shot a glance at Hunt-“the rest tells us all we need to know to resolve the whole question once and for all.”

The two regarded him intently.

The professor moistened his lips, then went on: “The Ganymean ship has been opened up fully, and we now have an extremely comprehensive inventory of practically everything it contained. The ship was constructed for large freight-carrying capacity and was loaded when it met with whatever fate befell it on Ganymede. The cargo that it was carrying, in my opinion, constitutes the most sensational discovery ever to be made in the history of paleontology and biology. You see, that ship was carrying, among other things, a large consignment of botanical and zoological specimens, some alive and in cages, the rest preserved in canisters. Presumably the stock was part of an ambitious scientific expedition or something of that nature, but that really doesn’t matter for now. What does matter is that we now have in our possession a collection of animal and plant trophies the like of which has never before been seen by human eyes: a comprehensive cross section of many forms of life that existed on Earth around the late Oligocene and early Miocene periods, twenty-five million years ago!”

Hunt and Caldwell stared at him incredulously. Danchekker folded his arms and waited.

“Earth!” Caldwell managed, with difficulty, to form the word. “Are you telling me that the ship had been to Earth?”

“I can see no alternative explanation,” Danchekker returned. “Without doubt, the ship was carrying a variety of animal forms that have every appearance of being identical to species that have been well-known for centuries as a result of the terrestrial fossil record. The biologists on the Jupiter Four Mission are quite positive of their conclusions, and from the information they have sent back, I see no reason to doubt their opinions.” Danchekker moved his hand back to the keyboard. “I will show you some examples of the kind of thing I mean,” he said.

The picture of the fish skeleton vanished and was replaced by one of a massive, hornless, rhinoceroslike creature. In the background stood an enormous opened canister from which the animal had presumably been removed. The canister was lying in front of what looked like a wall of ice, surrounded by cables, chains, and parts of a latticework built of metal struts.

“The Baluchitherium, gentlemen,” Danchekker informed them, “or something so like it that the difference escapes me. This animal stood eighteen feet high at the shoulder and attained a bulk in excess of that of the elephant. It is a good example of the titanotheres, or titanic beasts, that were abundant in the Americas during the Oligocene but which died out fairly rapidly soon afterward.”

“Are you saying that baby was alive when the ship ditched?” Caldwell asked in a tone of disbelief.

Danchekker shook his head. “Not this particular one. As you can see, it has come to us in practically as good a condition as when it was alive. It was taken from that container in the background, in which it had been packed and preserved to keep for a long time. Fortunately, whoever packed it was an expert. However, as I said earlier, there were cages and pens in the ship that originally held live specimens, but by the time they were discovered they had deteriorated to skeletons condition, as had the crew. There were six of this particular species in the pens.”

The professor changed the picture to show a small quadruped with spindly legs.

“Mesohippus-ancestor of the modern horse. About the size of a collie dog and walking on a three-toed foot with the center toe highly elongated, clearly foreshadowing the single-toed horse of today. There is a long list of other examples such as these, every one immediately recognizable to any student of early terrestrial life forms.”

Speechless, Hunt and Caldwell continued to watch as the view changed once more. This time it showed something that at first sight suggested a medium-sized ape from the gibbon or chimpanzee family. Closer examination, however, revealed differences that set it apart from the general category of ape. The skull construction was lighter, especially in the area of the lower jaw, where the chin had receded back to fall almost below the tip of the nose. The arms were proportionately somewhat on the short side for an ape, the chest broader and flatter, and the legs longer and straighter. Also, the opposability of the big toe had gone.

Dancbekker allowed plenty of time for these points to register before continuing with his commentary.

“Clearly, the creature you now see before you belongs to the general anthropoid line that includes both man and the great apes. Now, remember, this specimen dates from around the early Miocene period. The most advanced anthropoid fossil from around that time so far found on Earth was discovered during the last century in East Africa and is known as Proconsul. Proconsul is generally accepted as representing a step forward from anything that had gone before, but he is definitely an ape. Here, on the other hand, we have a creature from the same period in time, but with distinctly more pronounced humanlike characteristics than Proconsul. In my opinion, this is an example of something that occupies a position corresponding to that of Proconsul, but on the other side of the split that occurred when man and ape went their own separate ways-in other words, a direct ancestor to the human line!” Danchekker concluded with a verbal flourish and gazed at the other two men expectantly. Caldwell stared back with widening eyes, and his jaw dropped as impossible thoughts raced through his mind.

“Are you telling… that the Charlie guys could have… from that?”

“Yes!” Danchekker snapped off the screen and swung back to face them triumphantly. “Established evolutionary theory is as sound as I’ve insisted all along. The notion that the Lunarians might have been colonists from Earth turns out indeed to be true, but not in the sense that was intended. There are no traces of their civilization to be found on Earth, because it never existed on Earth-but neither was it the product of any parallel process of evolution. The Lunarian civilization developed independently on Minerva from the same ancestral stock as we did and all other terrestrial vertebrates-from ancestors that were transported to Minerva, twenty-five million years ago, by the Ganymeans!” Danchekker thrust out his jaw defiantly and clasped the lapels of his jacket. “And that, Dr. Hunt, would seem to be the solution to your problem!”

Chapter Sixteen

The trail behind this rapid succession of new developments was by this time littered with the abandoned carcases of dead ideas. It reminded the scientists forcibly of the pitfalls that await the unwary when speculation is given too free a rein and imagination is allowed to float further and further aloft from the firm grounds of demonstrable proof and scientific rigor. The reaction against this tendency took the form of a generally cooler reception to Danchekker’s attempted abrupt wrapping up of the whole issue than might have been expected. So many blind alleys had been exhausted by now, that any new suggestion met with instinctive skepticism and demands for corroboration.

The discovery of early terrestrial animals on the Ganymean spaceship proved only one thing conclusively: that there were early terrestrial animals on the Ganymean spaceship. It didn’t prove beyond doubt that other consignments had reached Minerva safely, or indeed, that this particular consignment was ever intended for Minerva. For one thing, Jupiter seemed a strange place to find a ship that had been bound for Minerva from Earth. All it proved, therefore, was that this consignment hadn’t got to wherever it was supposed to go.

Danchekker’s conclusions regarding the origins of the Ganymeans, however, were fully endorsed by a committee of experts on comparative anatomy in London, who confirmed the affinity between the Ganymean skeleton and the Minervan fish. The corollary to this deduction-that the Lunarians too had evolved on Minerva from displaced terrestrial stock-although neatly accounting for the absence of Lunarian traces on Earth and for the evident lack of advanced Lunarian space technology, required a lot more in the way of substantiating evidence.

In the meantime, Linguistics had been busy applying their newfound knowledge from the microdot library to the last unsolved riddle among Charlie’s papers, the notebook containing the handwritten entries. The story that emerged provided vivid confirmation of the broad picture already deduced in cold and objective terms by Hunt and Steinfield; it was an account of the last days of Charlie’s life. The revelations from the book lobbed yet another intellectual grenade in among the already disarrayed ranks of the investigators. But it was Hunt who finally pulled the pin.

Clasping a folder of loose papers beneath his arm, Hunt strolled along the main corridor of the thirteenth floor of the Navcomms Headquarters building, toward the Linguistics section. Outside Don Maddson’s office he stopped to examine with curiosity a sign bearing a string of two-inch-high Lunarian characters that had been pinned to the door. Shrugging and shaking his head, he entered the room. Inside, Maddson and one of his assistants were sitting in front of the perpetual pile of litter on the large side table away from the desk. Hunt pulled up a chair and joined them.

“You’ve been through the translations,” Maddson observed, noting the contents of the folder as Hunt began arranging them on the table.

Hunt nodded. “Very interesting, this. There are a few points I’d like to go over just to make sure I’ve got it straight. Some parts just don’t make sense.”

“We should’ve guessed,” Maddson sighed resignedly. “Okay, shoot.”

“Let’s work through the entries in sequence,” Hunt suggested. “I’ll stop when we get to the odd bits. By the way…” He inclined his head in the direction of the door. “What’s the funny sign outside?”

Maddson grinned proudly. “It’s my name in Lunarian. Literally it means Scholar Crazy-Boy. Get it? Don Mad-Son. See?”

“Oh, Christ,” Hunt groaned. He returned his attention to the papers.

“You’ve expressed the Lunarian-dated entries simply as consecutive numbers starting at Day One, but subdivisions of their day are converted into our hours.”

“Check,” Maddson confirmed. “Also, where there’s doubt about the accuracy of the translation, the phrase is put in parentheses with a question mark. That helps keep things simple.”

Hunt selected his first sheet. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s start at the beginning.” He read aloud:

“Day One. As expected, today we received full (mobilization alert?) orders. Probably means a posting somewhere. Koriel

“This is Charlie’s pal who turns up later, isn’t it?”

“Correct.”

“thinks it could be to one of the (ice nests far-intercept?).

“What’s that?”

“That’s an awkward one,” Maddson replied. “It’s a composite word; that’s the literal translation. We think it could refer to a missile battery forming part of an outer defense perimeter, located out on the ice sheets.”

“Mmm-sounds reasonable. Anyhow, Hope so. It would be a change to get away from the monotony of this place. Bigger food ration in (ice-field combat zones?). Now…” Hunt looked up. “He says, ‘the monotony of this place.’ How sure are we that we know where ‘this place’ is?”

“Pretty sure,” Maddson replied with a firm nod. “The name of a town is written above the date at the top of the entry. It checks with the name of a coastal town on Cerios and also with the place given in his pay book for his last posting but one.”

“So you’re sure he was on Minerva when he wrote this?”

“Sure, we’re sure.”

“Okay. I’ll skip the next bit that talks about personal thoughts.

“Day Two. Koriel’s hunches have proved wrong for once. We’re going to Luna.”

Hunt looked up again, evidently considering this part important. “How do you know he means Earth’s Moon there?”

“Well, one reason is that the word he uses there is the same as the last place the pay book says he was posted to. We guess it means Luna because that’s where we found him. Another reason is that later on, as you’ll have read, he talks about being sent specifically to a base called Seltar. Now, we’ve found a reference among some of the things turned up on Farside to a list of bases on place ‘X,’ and the name Seltar appears on the list. X is the same word that is written in the pay book and in the entry you’ve just read. Implication: X is a Lunarian name for Earth’s Moon.”

Hunt thought hard for a while.

“He arrived at Seltar, too, didn’t he?” he said at last. “So if he knew where he was being sent as early as that, and you’re certain he was being sent to the Moon, and he got where he was supposed to go… that rules out the other possibility that occurred to me. There’s no way he could have been scheduled for Luna but rerouted somewhere else at the last minute without the entry in the pay book being changed, is there?”

Maddson shook his head. “No way. Why’d you want to make up things like that anyhow?”

“Because I’m looking for ways to get around what comes later. It gets crazy.”

Maddson looked at Hunt curiously but suppressed his question. Hunt looked down at the papers again.

“Days Three and Four describe news reports of the fighting on Minerva. Obviously a large-scale conflict had already broken out there. It looks as if nuclear weapons were being used by then-that bit near the end of Day Four, for instance: It looks like the Lambians have succeeded in confusing the (sky nets?) over Paverol-That’s a Cerian town, isn’t it? Over half the city vaporized instantly. That doesn’t sound like a limited skirmish. What’s a sky net-some kind of electronic defense screen?”

“Probably,” Maddson agreed.

“Day Five he spent helping to load the ships. From the descriptions of the vehicles and equipment, it sounds as if they were embarking a large military force of some kind.” Hunt scanned rapidly down the next sheet. “Ah, yes-this is where he mentions Seltar. We’re going with the Fourteenth Brigade to join the Annihilator emplacement at Seltar. There’s something crazy about this Annihilator. But we’ll come back to that in a minute.

“Day Seven. Embarked four hours ago as scheduled. Still sitting here. Takeoff delayed, since whole area under heavy missile attack. Hills inland all on fire. Launching pits intact but situation overhead confused. Unneutralized Lambian satellites still covering our flight path.

“Later. Received clearance for takeoff suddenly, and the whole flight was away in minutes. Didn’t delay in planetary orbit at all-still not very healthy-so set course at once. Two ships reported lost on the way up. Koriel is taking bets on how many ships from our flight touch down on Luna. We’re flying inside a tight defense screen but must stand out clearly on Lambian search radars. There’s a bit about Koriel flirting with one of the girls from a signals unit-quite a character, this Koriel, wasn’t he…? More war news received en route… Now-this is the part I meant.” Hunt found the entry with his finger.

“Day Eight. In Lunar orbit at last!” He laid the sheet down on the table and looked from one linguist to the other. “‘In Lunar orbit at last.’ Now, you tell me: Exactly how did that ship travel from Minerva to our Moon in under two of our days? Either there is some form of propulsion that UNSA ought to be finding out about, or we’ve been very wrong about Lunarian technology all along. But it doesn’t fit. If they could do that, they didn’t have any problem about developing space flight; they were way ahead of us. But I don’t believe it-everything says they had a problem.”

Maddson made a show of helplessness. He knew it was crazy. Hunt looked inquiringly at Maddson’s assistant, who merely shrugged and pulled a face.

“You’re sure he means Lunar orbit-our Moon?”

“We’re sure.” Maddson was sure.

“And there’s no doubt about the date he shipped out?” Hunt persisted.

“The embarkation date is stamped in the pay book, and it checks with the date of the entry that says he shipped out. And don’t forget the wording on Day-where was it?-here, Day Seven. ‘Embarked four hours ago as scheduled’- See, ‘as scheduled.’ No suggestion of a change in timetable.”

“And how certain is the date he reached Luna?” asked Hunt.

“Well that’s a little more difficult. Just going by the dates of the notes, they’re one Lunarian day apart, all right. Now, it’s possible that he used a Minervan time scale on Minerva, but switched to some local system when he got to Luna. If so, it’s a big coincidence that they tally like they do, but”-he shrugged-“it’s possible. The thing that bothers me about that idea, though, is the absence of any entries between the ship-out date and the arrival-at-Luna date. Charlie seems to have written his diary regularly. If the voyage took months, like you’re saying it should have, it looks funny to me that there’s nothing at all between those dates. It’s not as if he’d have been short of free time.”

Hunt reflected for a few moments on these possibilities. Then he said, “There’s worse to come. Let’s press on for now.” He picked up the notes and resumed:

“Landed at last, five hours ago. (Expletive) what a mess! The landscape below as we came in on the (approach run?) was glowing red in places all around Seltar for miles. There were lakes of molten rock, bright orange, some with walls of rocks plunging straight into them where whole mountains have been blown away. The base is covered deep in dust, and some of the surface installations have been crushed by flying debris. The defenses are holding out, but the outer perimeter is (torn to shreds?). Most important-[unreadable] diameter dish of the Annihilator is intact and it is operational. The last group of ships in our flight was wiped out by an enemy strike coming in from deep space. Koriel has been collecting on all sides.”

Hunt laid the paper down and looked at Maddson. “Don,” he said, “how much have you been able to piece together about this Annihilator thing?”

“It was a kind of superweapon. There was more information in some of the other texts. Both sides had them, sited on Minerva itself and, from what you’re reading right now, on Luna too.” He added as an afterthought, “Maybe on other places as well.”

“Why on Luna? Any ideas?”

“Our guess is that the Cerians and the Lambians must have developed space-fight technology further than we thought,” Maddson said. “Perhaps both sides had selected Earth as their target destination for the big move, and they both sent advance parties to Luna to set up a bridgehead and… protect the investment.”

“Why not on Earth itself, then?”

“I dunno.”

“Let’s stick with it for now, anyway,” Hunt said. “How much do we know about what these Annihilators were?”

“From the description dish, apparently it was some kind of radiation projector. From other clues, they fired a high-energy photon beam probably produced by intense matter-antimatter reaction. If so, the term Annihilator is particularly apt; it carries a double meaning.”

“Okay.” Hunt nodded. “That’s what I thought. Now it goes silly.” He consulted his notes. “Day Nine they were getting organized and repairing battle damage. What about Day Ten, then, eh?” He resumed reading:

“Day Ten. Annihilator used for the first time today. Three fifteen-minute blasts aimed at Calvares, Paneris, and Sellidorn. Now, they’re all Lambian cities, right?

“So they have this Annihilator emplacement, sitting on our Moon, happily picking off cities on the surface of Minerva?”

“Looks like it,” Maddson agreed. He didn’t look very happy. “Well, I don’t believe it,” Hunt declared firmly. “I don’t believe they had the ability to register a weapon that accurately over that distance, and even if they could, I don’t believe they could have held the beam narrow enough not to have burned up the whole planet. And I don’t believe the power density at that range could have been high enough to do any damage at all.” He looked at Maddson imploringly. “Christ, if they had technology like that, they wouldn’t have been trying to perfect interplanetary travel-they’d have been all over the bloody Galaxy!”

Maddson gestured wide with his arms. “I just translate what the words tell me. You figure it out.”

“It goes completely daft in a minute,” Hunt warned. “Where was I, now…?”

He continued to read aloud, describing the duel that developed between the Cerian Annihilator at Seltar and the last surviving Lambian emplacement on Minerva. With a weapon firing from far out in space and commanding the whole Minervan surface, the Cerians held the key that would decide the war. Destroying it was obviously the first priority of the Lambian forces and the prime objective of their own Annihilator on Minerva. The Annihilators required about one hour to recharge between firings, and Charlie’s notes conveyed vividly the tension that built up in Seltar as they waited, knowing that an incoming blast could arrive at any second. All around Seltar the battle was building up to a frenzy as Lambian ground and space-borne forces hurled everything into knocking out Seltar before it could score on its distant target. The skill in operating the weapon lay in computing and compensating for the distortions induced in the aiming system by enemy electronic countermeasures. In one passage, Charlie detailed the effects of a near miss from Minerva that lasted for sixteen minutes, during which time it melted a range of mountains about fifteen miles from Seltar, including the Twenty-second and Nineteenth Armored Divisions and the Forty-fifth Tactical Missile Squadron that had been positioned there.

“This is it,” Hunt said, waving one of the sheets in the air. “Listen to this. We’ve got it! Four minutes ago we fired a concentrated burst at maximum power. The announcement has just come over the loudspeaker down here that it scored a direct hit. Everyone is laughing and clapping each other on the back. Some of the women are crying with relief. That,” said Hunt, slapping the papers down on the table and slumping back in his chair with exasperation, “is bloody ridiculous! Within four minutes of firing they had confirmation of a hit! How? How in God’s name could they have? We know that when Minerva and Earth were at their closest, the distance between them would have been one hundred fifty to one hundred sixty million miles. The radiation would have taken something like thirteen minutes to cover that distance, and there would have to be at least another thirteen minutes before anybody on Luna could possibly know about where it struck. So, even with the planets at their closest positions, they’d have needed at least twenty-six minutes to get that report. Charlie says they got it in under four! That is absolutely, one-hundred-percent impossible! Don, how sure are you of those numbers?”

“As sure as we are of any other Lunarian time units. If they’re wrong, you might as well tear up that calendar you started out with and go all the way back to square one.”

Hunt stared at the page for a long time, as if by sheer power of concentration he could change the message contained in the neatly formatted sheets of typescript. There was only one thing that these figures could mean, and it put them right back to the beginning. At length he carried on:

“The next bit tells how the whole Seltar area came under sustained bombardment. A detachment including Charlie and Koriel was sent out overland to man an emergency command post about eleven miles from Seltar Base… I’ll skip the details of that.

“Yes, here’s the next bit that worries me. Under Day Twelve: Set off on time in a small convoy of two scout cars and three tracked trucks. The journey was weird-miles of scorched rocks and glowing pits. We could feel the heat inside the truck. Hope the shielding was good. Our new home is a dome, and underneath it are levels going down about fifty feet. Army units dug in the hills all around. We have landline contact with Seltar, but they seem to have lost touch with Main HQ at Gorda. Probably means all long distance landlines are out and our comsats are destroyed. Again no broadcasts from Minerva. Lots of garbled military traffic. They must have assumed (frequency priority?). Today was the first time above surface for many days. The face of Minerva looks dirty and blotchy. There,” Hunt said. “When I first read that, I thought he was referring to a video transmission. But thinking about it, why would he say it that way in that context? Why right after ‘the first time above surface for many days’? But he couldn’t have seen any detail of Minerva from where he was, could he?”

“Could have used a pretty ordinary telescope,” Maddson’s assistant suggested.

“Could have, I suppose,” Hunt reflected. “But you’d think there’d be more important things to worry about than star gazing in the middle of all that. Anyhow, he goes on: About two-thirds is blotted out by huge clouds of brown and gray, and coastal outlines are visible only in places. There is a strange red spot glowing through, somewhere just north of the equator, with black spreading out from it hour by hour. Koriel reckons it’s a city on fire, but it must be a tremendous blaze to be visible through all that. We’ve been watching it move across all day as Minerva rotates. Huge explosions over the ridge where Seltar Base is.”

The narrative continued and confirmed that Seltar was totally destroyed as the fighting reached its climax. For two days the whole area was systematically pounded, but miraculously the underground parts of the dome remained intact, although the upper levels were blown away. Afterward the scattered survivors from the military units occupying the surrounding hills began straggling back, some in vehicles and many on foot, to the dome, which by this time was the only inhabitable place left for miles.

The expected waves of victorious Lambian troopships and armored columns failed to materialize. From the regular pattern of incoming salvos, the Cerian officers slowly realized that there was nothing left of the enemy army that had moved forward into the mountains around Seltar. In the fighting with the Cerian defenses, the Lambians had suffered immense losses and their survivors had pulled out, leaving missile batteries programmed to fire robot mode to cover their withdrawal.

On Day Fifteen, Charlie wrote: Two more red spots on Minerva, one northeast of the first and the other well south. The first has elongated from northwest to southeast. The whole surface is now just a snags of dirty brown with huge areas of black mixing in with it. Nothing at all on radio or video from Minerva; everything blotted out by atmospherics.

There was nothing further to be done at Seltar. The inhabitable parts of what had been the dome were packed with survivors and wounded; already many were having to live in the assortment of vehicles huddled around outside it. Supplies of food and oxygen, never intended for more than a small company, would give only a temporary respite. The only hope, slender as it was, lay in reaching HQ Base at Gorda overland-a journey estimated to require twenty days.

On Day Eighteen, the departure from the dome was recorded as follows: Formed up in two columns of vehicles. Ours moved out half an hour ahead of the second as a small advanced scouting group. We reached a ridge about three miles from the dome and could see the main column finish loading and begin lining up. That was when the missiles hit. The first salvo caught them all out in the open. They didn’t have a chance. We trained our receivers on the area for a while, but there was nothing. The only way we’ll ever get off this death furnace is if there are ships left at Gorda. As far as I know, there are 340 of us, including over a hundred girls. The column comprises five scout cars, eight tracked trucks, and ten heavy tanks. It will be a grim journey. Even Koriel isn’t taking bets on how many get there.

Minerva is just a black, smoky ball, difficult to pick out against the sky. Two of the red spots have joined up to form a line stretching at an angle across the equator. Must be hundreds of miles long. Another red line is growing to the north. Every now and then, parts of them glow orange through the smoke clouds for a few hours and then die down again. Must be a mess there.

The column moved slowly through the desert of scorched gray dust, and its numbers shrank rapidly as wounds and radiation sickness took their toll. On Day Twenty-six they encountered a Lambian ground force and for three hours fought furiously among the crags and boulders. The battle ended when the remaining Lambian tanks broke cover and charged straight into the Cerian position, only to be destroyed right on the perimeter line by Cerian women firing laser artillery at point-blank range. After the battle there were 165 Cerians left, but not enough vehicles to carry them.

After conferring, the Cerian officers devised a plan to continue the journey leapfrog fashion. Half the company would be moved half a day’s distance forward and left there with one truck to use as living accommodation, while the remaining vehicles returned to collect the group left behind. So it would go on all the way to Gorda. Charlie and Koriel were among the first group lifted on ahead.

Day Twenty-eight. Uneventful drive. Set up camp in a shady gorge and watched the convoy about-face again and begin its long haul back for the others. They should be back this time tomorrow. Nothing much to do until then. Two died on the drive, so there are fifty-eight of us here. We take turns to rest and eat inside the truck. When it’s not your turn, you make yourself as comfortable as you can sitting among the rocks. Koriel is furious. He’s just spent two hours sitting outside with four of the artillery girls. He says whoever designed spacesuits should have thought of situations like that.

The convoy never returned.

Using the single remaining truck, the group continued the same tactic as before, ferrying one party on ahead, dumping them, and returning for the rest. By Day Thirty-three, sickness, mishaps, and one suicide had depleted the numbers such that all the survivors could be carried in the truck at once, so the leapfrogging was discontinued. Driving steadily, they estimated they would reach Gorda on Day Thirty-eight. On Day Thirty-seven, the truck broke down. The spare parts needed to repair it were not available.

Many were weak. It was clear that an attempt to reach Gorda on foot would be so slow that nobody would make it.

Day Thirty-seven. Seven of us-four men (myself, Koriel, and two of the combat troopers) and three girls-are going to make a dash for Gorda while the others stay put in the truck and wait for a rescue party. Koriel is cooking a meal before we set out. He has been saying what he thinks of life in the infantry-doesn’t seem to think much of it at all.

Some hours after they left the truck, one of the troopers climbed a crag to survey the route ahead. He slipped, gashed his suit, and died instantly from explosive decompression. Later on, one of the girls hurt her leg and lagged farther and farther behind as the pain worsened. The Sun was sinking and there was no time for slowing down. Everybody in the group wrestled with the same equation in his mind-one life or twenty-eight?-but said nothing. She solved the problem for them by quietly closing her air valve when they stopped to rest.

Day Thirty-eight. Just Koriel and me now-like the old days.

The trooper suddenly doubled up, vomiting violently inside his helmet. We stood and watched while he died, and could do nothing. Some hours later, one of the girls collapsed and said she couldn’t go on. The other insisted on staying with her until we sent help from Gorda. Couldn’t really argue-they were sisters. That was some time ago. We’ve stopped for a breather; I am getting near my limit. Koriel is pacing up and down impatiently and wants to get moving. That man has the strength of twelve.

Later. Stopped at last for a couple of hours sleep. I’m sure Koriel is a robot-just keeps going and going. Human tank. Sun very low in sky. Must make Gorda before Lunar night sets in.

Day Thirty-nine. Woke up freezing cold. Had to turn suit heating up to maximum-still doesn’t feel right. Think it’s developing a fault. Koriel says I worry too much. Time to be on the move again. Feel stiff all over. Seriously wondering if I’ll make it. Haven’t said so.

Later. The march has been a nightmare. Kept falling down. Koriel insisted that the only chance we had was to climb up out of the valley we were in and try a shortcut over a high ridge. I made it about halfway up the cleft leading toward the ridge. Every step up the cleft I could see Minerva sitting right over the middle of the ridge, gashes of orange and red all over it, like a (macabre?) face, taunting. Then I collapsed. When I came to, Koriel had dragged me inside a pilot digging of some sort. Maybe someone wag going to put an outpost of Gorda here. That was a while ago now. Koriel has gone on and says help will be back before I know it. Getting colder all the time. Feet numb and hands stiff. Frost starting to form in helmet-difficult to see.

Thinking about all the people strung out back there with night coming down, all like me, wondering if they’ll be picked up. if we can hold out we’ll be all right. Koriel will make it. If it were a thousand miles to Gorda, Koriel would make it.

Thinking about what has happened on Minerva and wondering if, after all this, our children will live on a sunnier world-and if they do, if they will ever know what we did.

Thinking about things I’ve never really thought about before. There should be better ways for people to spend their lives than in factories, mines, and army camps. Can’t think what, though-that’s all we’ve ever known. But if there is warmth and color and light somewhere in this Universe, then maybe something worthwhile will come out of what we’ve been through.

Too much thinking for one day. Must sleep for a while now.

Hunt found he had read right through to the end, absorbed in the pathos of those final days. His voice had fallen to a sober pitch. A long silence ensued.

“Well, that’s it,” he concluded, a little more briskly. “Did you notice that bit right at the end? In the last few lines he was talking about seeing the surface of Minerva again. Now, they might have used telescopes earlier on, but in the situation he was in there, they’d hardly be lugging half an observatory along with them, would they?”

Maddson’s assistant looked thoughtful. “How about that periscope video gadget that was in the helmet?” he suggested. “Maybe there’s something wrong in the translation. Couldn’t he be talking about seeing a transmission through that?”

Hunt shook his head. “Can’t see it. I’ve heard of people watching TV in all sorts of funny places, but never halfway up a bloody mountain. And another thing: He described it as sitting up above the ridge. That implies it’s really out there. If it were a view on video, he’d never have worded it that way. Right, Don?”

Maddson nodded wearily. “Guess so,” he said. “So, where do we go from here?”

Hunt looked from Maddson to the assistant and back again. He leaned his elbows on the edge of the table and rubbed his face and eyeballs with his fingers. Then he sighed and sat back.

“What do we know for sure?” he asked at last. “We know that those Lunarian spaceships got to our Moon in under two days. We know that they could accurately aim a weapon, sited on our Moon, at a Minervan target. We also know that the round trip for electromagnetic waves was much shorter than it could possibly have been if we’ve been talking about the right place. Finally, we can’t prove but we think that Charlie could stand on our Moon and see quite clearly the surface features of Minerva. Well, what does that add up to?”

“There’s only one place in the Universe that fits all those numbers,” Maddson said numbly.

“Exactly-and we’re standing on it! Maybe there was a planet called Minerva outside Mars, and maybe it had a civilization on it. Maybe the Ganymeans took a few animals there and maybe they didn’t. But it doesn’t really matter any more, does it? Because the only planet Charlie’s ship could possibly have taken off from, and the only planet they could have aimed that Annihilator at, and the only planet he could have seen in detail from Luna-is this one!

“They were from Earth all along!

“Everyone will be jumping off the roof and out of every window in the building when this gets around Navcomms.”

Chapter Seventeen

With the first comprehensive translation of the handwritten notebook, the paradox was complete. Now there were two consistent and apparently irrefutable bodies of evidence, one proving that the Lunarians must have evolved on Earth, and the other proving that they couldn’t have.

All at once the consternation and disputes broke out afresh. Lights burned through the night at Houston and elsewhere as the same inevitable chains of reasoning were reeled out again and yet again, the same arrays of facts scrutinized for new possibilities or interpretations. But always the answers came out the same. Only the notion of the Lunarians having been the product of a parallel line of evolution appeared to have been abandoned permanently; more than enough theories were in circulation already without anyone having to invoke this one. The Navcomms fraternity disintegrated into a myriad of cliques and strays, scurrying about to ally first with this idea and then with that. As the turmoil subsided, the final lines of defense fortified themselves around four main camps.

The Pure Earthists accepted without reservation the deductions from Charlie’s diary, and held that the Lunarian civilization had developed on Earth, flourished on Earth, and destroyed itself on Earth and that was that. Thus, all references to Minerva and its alleged civilization were nonsense; there never had been any civilization on Minerva apart from that of the Ganymeans, and that was too far in the remote past to have any bearing on the Lunarian issue. The world depicted on Charlie’s maps was Earth, not Minerva, so there had to be a gross error somewhere in the calculations that put it at 250 million miles from the Sun. That this corresponded to the orbital radius of the Asteroids was just coincidence; the Asteroids had always been there, and anything from Iliad that said they hadn’t was suspect and needed double checking.

That left only one question unexplained: Why didn’t Charlie’s maps look like Earth? To answer this one, the Earthists launched a series of commando raids against the bastions of accepted geological theory and methods of geological dating. Drawing on the hypothesis that continents had been formed initially from a single granitic mass that had been shattered under the weight of immense ice caps and pushed apart by polar material rushing in to ifil the gaps, they pointed to the size of the ice caps shown on the maps and stressed how much larger they were than anything previously supposed to have existed on Earth. Now, if in fact the maps showed Earth and not Minerva, that meant that the Ice Age on Earth had been far more severe than previously thought, and its effects on surface geography correspondingly more violent. Add to this the effects of the crustal fractures and vulcanism as described in Charlie’s observations of Earth (not Minerva), and there was, perhaps, enough in all that to account for the transformation of Charlie’s Earth into modern Earth. So, why were there no traces to be found today of the Lunarian civilization? Answer: It was clear from the maps that most of it had been concentrated on the equatorial belt. Today that region was completely ocean, dense jungle, or drifting desert-adequate to explain the rapid erasure of whatever had been left after the war and the climatic cataclysm.

The Pure Earthist faction attracted mainly physicists and engineers, quite happy to leave the geologists and geographers to worry about the bothersome details. Their main concern was that the sacred principle of the constancy of the velocity of light should not be thrown into the melting pot of suspicion along with everything else.

By entrenching themselves around the idea of Earth origins, the Pure Earthists had moved into the positions previously defended fanatically by the biologists. Now that Danchekker had led the way by introducing his fleet of Ganymean Noah’s Arks, the biologists abruptly turned about-face and rallied behind their new assertion of Minervan origin from displaced terrestrial ancestors. What about Charlie’s Minerva-Luna flight time and the loop delay around the Annihilator fire-control system? Something was screwed up in the interpretation of Minervan time scales that accounted for both these. Okay, how could Charlie see Minerva from Luna? Video transmissions. Okay, how could they aim the Annihilator over that distance? They couldn’t. The dish at Seltar was only a remote-control tracking station. The weapon itself was mounted in a satellite orbiting Minerva.

The third flag flew over the Cutoff Colony Theory. According to this, an early terrestrial civilization had colonized Minerva, and then declined into a Dark Age during which contact with the colony was lost. The deteriorating conditions of the Ice Age later prompted a recovery on both planets, with the difference that Minerva faced a life-or-death situation and began the struggle to regain the lost knowledge in order that a return to Earth might be made. Earth, however, was going through lean times of its own and, when the advance parties from Minerva eventually made contact, didn’t react favorably to the idea of another planetful of mouths to feed. Diplomacy having failed, the Minervans set up an invasion beachhead on Luna. The Annihilator at Seltar had thus been firing at targets on Earth; the translators had been misled by identical place-names on both planets-like Boston, New York, Cambridge, and a hundred other places in the USA, many of the towns on Minerva had been named after places on Earth when the original colony was first established.

The defenders of these arguments drew heavily from the claims of the Pure Earthists to account for the absence of Lunarian relics on Earth. In addition, they produced further support from the unlikely domain of the study of fossil corals in the Pacific. It had been known for a long time that analysis of the daily growth rings of ancient fossil corals provided a measure of how many days there had been in the year at various times in the past, and from this how fast the forces of tidal friction were slowing down the rotation of the Earth about its axis. These researches showed, for example, that the year of 350 million years ago contained about four hundred days. Ten years previously, work conducted at the Darwin Institute of Oceanography in Australia, using more refined and more accurate techniques, had revealed that the continuity from ancient to modem had not been as smooth as supposed. There was a confused period in the recent past-at about fifty thousand years before-during which the curve was discontinuous, and a comparatively abrupt lengthening in the day had occurred. Furthermore, the rate of deceleration was measurably greater after this discontinuity than it had been before. Nobody knew why this should have happened, but it seemed to indicate a period of violent climatic upheaval, as the corals had taken generations to settle down to a stable growth pattern afterward. The data seemed to indicate that widespread changes had taken place on Earth around this mysterious point in time, probably accompanied by global flooding, and all in all there could be enough behind the story to explain the complete disappearance of any record of the Lunarians’ existence.

The fourth main theory was that of the Returning Exiles, which found these attempts to explain the disappearance of the terrestrial Lunarians artificial and inadequate. The basic tenet of this theory was that there could be only one satisfactory reason for the fact that there were no signs of Lunarians on Earth: There had never been any Lunarians on Earth worth talking about. Thus, they had evolved on Minerva as Danchekker maintained and had evolved an advanced civilization, unlike their contemporary brothers on Earth, who remained backward. Eventually, compelled by the Ice Age threat of extinction, the two superpowers of Cerios and Lambia had emerged and begun the race toward the Sun in the way described by Linguistics. Where Linguistics had gone wrong, however, was that by the time of Charlie’s narrative, these events were already historical; the goal was already achieved. The Lambians had drawn ahead by a small margin and had already commenced building settlements on Earth, several of them named after their own towns on Minerva. The Cerians followed hard on their heels and established a fire base on Luna, the objective of course being to knock out the Lambian outposts on Earth before moving in themselves.

This theory did not explain the flight time of Charlie’s ship, but its supporters attributed the difficulty to unknown differences between Minervan and local (Lunar) dating systems. On the other hand, it required only a few pilot Lambian bases to have been set up on Earth by the time of the war; thus, whatever remained of these after the Cerian assault, could credibly have vanished in fifty thousand years.

And as the battle lines were drawn up and the first ranging shots started whistling up and down the corridors of Navcomms, in no-man’s-land sat Hunt. Somehow, he was convinced, everybody was right. He knew the competence of the people around him and had no doubt in their ability to get their figures right. If, after weeks or months of patient effort, one of them pronounced that x was 2, then he was quite prepared to believe that, in all probability, it would turn out to be. Therefore, the paradox had to be an illusion. To try to argue which side was right and which was wrong was missing the whole point. Somewhere in the maze, probably so fundamental that nobody had even thought to question it, there had to be a fallacy-some wrong assumption that seemed so obvious they didn’t even realize they were making it. If they could just get back to fundamentals and identify that single fallacy, the paradox would vanish and everything that was being argued would slide smoothly into a consistent, unified whole.

Chapter Eighteen

“You want me to go to Jupiter?” Hunt repeated slowly, making sure he had heard correctly.

Caldwell stared back over his desk impassively. “The Jupiter Five Mission will depart from Luna in six weeks time,” he stated. “Danchekker has gone about as far as he can go with Charlie. What details are left to be found out can be taken care of by his staff at Westwood. He’s got better things he’d like to be doing on Ganymede. There’s a whole collection of alien skeletons there, plus a shipload of zoology from way back that nobody’s ever seen the like of before. It’s got him excited. He wants to get his hands on them. Jupiter Five is going right there, so he’s getting together a biological team to go with it.”

Hunt already knew all this. Nevertheless, he went through the motions of digesting the information and checking through it for any point he might have missed. After an appropriate pause he replied:

“That’s fine-I can see his angle. But what does it have to do with me?”

Caldwell frowned and drummed his fingers, as if he had been expecting this question to come, while hoping it wouldn’t.

“Consider this an extension of your assignment,” he said at last. “From all the arguing that’s going on around this place, nobody seems to be able to agree just how the Ganymeans fit into the Charlie business. Maybe they’re a big part of the answer, maybe they’re not. Nobody knows for sure.”

“True.” Hunt nodded.

Caldwell took this as all the confirmation he needed. “Okay,” he said with a gesture of finality. “You’ve done a good job so far on the Charlie side of the picture; maybe it’s time to balance things up a bit and give you a crack at the other side, too. Well”-he shrugged-“the information’s not here-it’s on Ganymede. In six weeks time, J Five shoves off for Ganymede. It makes sense to me that you go with it.”

Hunt’s brow remained creased in an expression that indicated he still didn’t quite see everything. He posed the obvious question. “What about the job here?”

“What about it? Basically you correlate information that comes from different places. The information will still keep coming from the places whether you’re in Houston or on board Jupiter Five. Your assistant is capable of stepping in and keeping the routine background research and cross-checking running smoothly in Group L. There’s no reason why you can’t continue to be kept updated on what’s going on if you’re out there. Anyhow, a change of scene never did anybody any harm. You’ve been on this job a year and a half now.”

“But we’re talking about a break of years, maybe.”

“Not necessarily. Jupiter Five is a later design than J Four; it will make Ganymede in under six months. Also, a number of ships are being ferried out with the Jupiter Five Mission to start building up a fleet that will be based out there. Once a reserve’s been established, there will be regular two-way traffic with Earth. In other words, once you’ve had enough of the place we’ll have no problem getting you back.”

Hunt reflected that nothing ever seemed to stay normal for very long when Caldwell was around. He felt no inclination to argue with this new directive. On the contrary, the prospect excited him. But there was something that didn’t quite add up in the reasons Caldwell was giving. Hunt had the same feeling he had experienced on previous occasions that there was an ulterior motive lurking beneath the surface somewhere. Still, that didn’t really matter. Caldwell seemed to have made up his mind, and Hunt knew from experience that when Caldwell made up his mind that something would be so, then by some uncanny power of preordination, so it would inevitably turn out to be.

Caldwell waited for possible objections. Seeing that none were forthcoming, he concluded: “When you joined us, I told you your place in UNSA was out front. That statement implied a promise. I always keep promises.”

For the next two weeks Hunt worked frantically, reorganizing the operation of Group L and making his own personal preparations for a prolonged absence from Earth. After that, he was sent to Galveston for two weeks.

By the third decade of the twenty-first century, commercial flight reservations to Luna could be made through any reputable travel agent, for seats either on regular UNSA ships or on chartered ships crewed by UNSA officers. The standards of comfort provided on passenger ifights were high, and accommodation at the larger Lunar bases was secure, enabling Lunar travel to become a routine chore in the lives of many businessmen and a memorable event for more than a few casual visitors, none of whom needed any specialized knowledge or training. Indeed, one enterprising consortium, comprised of a hotel chain, an international airline, a travel-tour operator, and an engineering corporation, had commenced the construction of a Lunar holiday resort, which was already fully booked for the opening season.

Places like Jupiter, however, were not yet open to the public. Persons detailed for assignments with the UNSA deep-space missions needed to know what they were doing and how to act in emergency situations. The ice sheets of Ganymede and the cauldron of Venus were no places for tourists.

At Galveston, Hunt learned about UNSA spacesuits and the standard items of ancillary equipment; he was taught the use of communication equipment, survival kits, emergency life support systems, and repair kits; he practiced test routines, radiolocation procedures, and equipment-fault diagnostic techniques. “Your life could depend on this little box,” one instructor told the group. “You could wind up in a situation where it fails and the only person inside a hundred miles to fix it is you.” Doctors lectured on the rudiments of space medicine and recommended methods of dealing with oxygen starvation, decompression, heat stroke, and hypothermia. Physiologists described the effects on bone calcium of long periods of reduced body weight, and showed how a correct balance could be maintained by a specially selected diet and drugs. UNSA officers gave useful hints that covered the whole gamut of staying alive and sane in alien environments, from navigating afoot on a hostile surface using satellite beacons as reference points, to the art of washing one’s face in zero gravity.

And so, just over four weeks after his directive from Caldwell, Hunt found himself fifty feet below ground level at pad twelve of number-two terminal complex twenty miles outside Houston, walking along one of the access ramps that connected the wall of the silo to the gleaming hull of the Vega. An hour later, the hydraulic ramps beneath the platform supporting the tail thrust the ship slowly upward and out, to stand clear on the roof of the structure. Within minutes the Vega was streaking into the darkening void above. It docked thirty minutes later, two and a half seconds behind schedule, with the half-mile-diameter transfer satellite Kepler.

On Kepler the passengers traveling on to Luna-including Hunt, three propulsion-systems experts keen to examine the suspected Ganymean gravity drives, four communications specialists, two structural engineers, and Danchekker’s team, all destined to join Jupiter Five-transferred to the ugly and ungainly Capella class moonship that would carry them for the remainder of the journey from Earth orbit to the Lunar surface. The voyage lasted thirty hours and was uneventful. After they had been in Lunar orbit for twenty minutes, the announcement came over the loudspeaker that the craft had been cleared for descent.

Shortly afterward, the unending procession of plains, mountains, crags, and hills that had been marching across the cabin display screen slowed to a halt and the view started growing perceptibly larger. Hunt recognized the twin ring-walled plains of Ptolemy and Albategnius, with its central conical mountain and Crater Klein interrupting its encircling wall, before the ship swung northward and these details were lost off the top of the steadily enlarging image. The picture stabilized, now centered upon the broken and crumbling mountain wall that separated Ptolemy from the southern edge of the Plain of Hipparchus. What had previously looked like smooth terrain resolved itself into a jumble of rugged cliffs and valleys, and in the center, glints of sunlight began to appear, reflected from the metal structures of the vast base below.

As the outlines of the surface installations materialized out of the gray background and expanded to fill the screen, a yellow glow in the center grew, gradually transforming into the gaping entrance to one of the underground moonship berths. There was a brief impression of tiers of access levels stretching down out of sight and huge service gantries swung back to admit the ship. Rows of brilliant arc lights flooded the scene before the exhaust from the braking motors blotted out the view. A mild jolt signaled that the landing legs had made contact with Lunar rock, and silence fell abruptly inside the ship as the engines were cut. Above the squat nose of the moonship, massive steel shutters rolled together to seal out the stars. As the berth filled with air, a new world of sound impinged on the ears of the ship’s occupants. Shortly afterward, the access ramps slid smoothly from the walls to connect the ship to the reception bays.

Thirty minutes after clearing arrival formalities, Hunt emerged from an elevator high atop one of the viewing domes that dominated the surface of Ptolemy Main Base. For a long time he gazed soberly at the harsh desolation in which man had carved this oasis of life. The streaky blue and white disk of Earth, hanging motionless above the horizon, suddenly brought home to him the remoteness of places like Houston, Reading, Cambridge, and the meaning of everything familiar, which until so recently he had taken for granted. In his wanderings he had never come to regard any particular place as home; unconsciously he had always accepted any part of the world to be as much home as any other. Now, all at once, he realized that he was away from home for the first time in his life.

As Hunt turned to take in more of the scene below, he saw that he was not alone. On the far side of the dome a lean, balding figure stood staring silently out over the wilderness, absorbed in thoughts of its own. Hunt hesitated for a long time. At last he moved slowly across to stand beside the figure. All around them the mile-wide clutter of silver-gray metallic geometry that made up the base sprawled amid a confusion of pipes, girders, pylons, and antennae. On towers above, the radars swept the skyline in endless circles, while the tall, praying-mantis-like laser transceivers stared unblinkingly at the heavens, carrying the ceaseless dialogues between the base computers and unseen communications satellites fifty miles up. In the distance beyond the base, the rugged bastions of Ptolemy’s mountain wall towered above the plain. From the blackness above them, a surface transporter was sliding toward the base on its landing approach.

Eventually Hunt said: “To think-a generation ago, all this was just desert.” It was more a thought voiced than a statement.

Danchekker did not answer for a long time. When he did, he kept his eyes fixed outside.

“But man dared to dream…” he murmured slowly. After a pause he added, “And what man dares to dream today, tomorrow he makes come true.”

Another long silence followed. Hunt took a cigarette from his case and lit it. “You know,” he said at last, blowing a stream of smoke slowly toward the glass wall of the dome, “it’s going to be a long voyage to Jupiter. We could get a drink down below-one for the road, as it were.”

Danchekker seemed to turn the suggestion over in his mind for a while. At length he shifted his gaze back within the confines of the dome and turned to face Hunt directly.

“I think not, Dr. Hunt,” he said quietly.

Hunt sighed and made as if to turn.

“However,…” The tone of Danchekker’s voice checked him before he moved. He looked up. “If your metabolism is capable of withstanding the unaccustomed shock of nonalcoholic beverages, a strong coffee might, ah, perhaps be extremely welcome.”

It was a joke. Danchekker had actually cracked a joke!

“I’ll try anything once,” Hunt said as they began walking toward the door of the elevator.

Chapter Nineteen

Embarkation on the orbiting Jupiter Five command ship was not scheduled to take place until a few days later. Danchekker would be busy making final arrangements for his team and their equipment to be ferried up from the Lunar surface. Hunt, not being involved in these undertakings, prepared an itinerary of places to visit during the free time he had available.

The first thing he did was fly to Tycho by surface transporter to observe the excavations still going on around the areas of some of the Lunarian finds, and to meet at last many of the people who up until then had existed only as faces on display screens. He also went to see the deep mining and boring operations in progress not far from Tycho, where engineers were attempting to penetrate to the core regions of the Moon. They believed that concentrations of rich metal-bearing ores might be found there. If this turned out to be so, within decades the Moon could become an enormous spaceship factory, where parts prefabricated in processing and forming plants on the surface would be ferried up for final assembly in Lunar orbit. The economic advantages of constructing deep-space craft here and from Lunar materials, without having to lift everything up out of Earth’s gravity pit to start with, promised to be enormous.

Next, Hunt visited the huge radio and optical observatories of Giordano Bruno on Farside. Here, sensitive receivers, operating fully shielded from the perpetual interference from Earth, and gigantic telescopes, freed from any atmosphere and not having to contend with distortions induced by their own weights, were pushing the frontiers of the known Universe way out beyond the limits of their Earth-bound predecessors. Hunt sat fascinated in front of the monitor screens and resolved planets of some of the nearer stars; he was shown one nine times the size of Jupiter, and another that described a crazy figure-eight orbit about a double star. He gazed deep into the heart of the Andromeda Galaxy, and out at distant specks on the very threshold of detection. Scientists and physicists described the strange new picture of the Cosmos that was beginning to emerge from their work here and explained some of the exciting advances in concepts of space-time mechanics, which indicated that feasible methods could be devised for deforming astronomic geodesics in such a way that the limitations once thought to apply to extreme effective velocities could be avoided. If so, interstellar travel would become a practical proposition; one of the scientists confidently predicted that man would cross the Galaxy within fifty years.

Hunt’s final stop brought him back to Nearside-to the base at Copernicus near which Charlie had been found. Scientists at Copernicus had been studying descriptions of the terrain over which Charlie had traveled and the accompanying sketched maps; the information contained in the notebook had been transmitted up from Houston. From the traveling times, distances, and estimates of speed quoted, they suspected that Charlie’s journey had begun somewhere on Farside and had brought him, by way of the Jura Mountains, Sinus Iridum, and Mare Imbrium, to Copernicus. Not everybody subscribed to this opinion, however; there was a problem. For some unaccountable reason, the directions and compass points mentioned in Charlie’s notes bore no relationship to the conventional lunar north-south that derived from its axis of rotation. The only route for Charlie’s journey that could be interpreted to make any sense at all was the one from Farside across Mare Imbrium, but even that only made sense if a completely new direction was assumed for the north-south axis.

Attempts to locate Gorda had so far met with no positive success. From the tone of the final entries in the diary, it could not have been very far from the spot where Charlie was found. About fifteen miles south of this point was an area covered by numerous overlapping craters, all confirmed as being meteoritic and of recent origin. Most researchers concluded that this must have been the site of Gorda, totally obliterated by a freak concentration of meteorites in the as yet unexplained storm.

Before leaving Copernicus, Hunt accepted an invitation to drive out overland and visit the place of Charlie’s discovery. He was accompanied by a Professor Alberts from the base and the crew of the UNSA survey vehicle.

***

The survey vehicle lumbered to a halt in a wide gorge, between broken walls of slate-gray rock. All around it, the dust had been churned into a bewildering pattern of grooves and ridges by Caterpillar tracks, wheels, landing gear, and human feet-evidence of the intense activity that had occurred there over the last eighteen months. From the observation dome of the upper cabin, Hunt recognized the scene immediately; he had first seen it in Caldwell’s office. He identified the large mound of rubble against the near wall of the gorge, and above it the notch leading into the cleft.

A voice called from below. Hunt rose to his feet, his movements slow and clumsy in his encumbering spacesuit, and clambered through the floor hatch and down a short ladder to the control cabin. The driver was stretching back in his seat, taking a long drink from a flask of hot coffee. Behind him, the sergeant in command of the vehicle was at a videoscreen, reporting back to base via comsat that they had reached their destination without mishap. The third crew member, a corporal who was to accompany Hunt and Alberts outside and who was already fitted out, was helping the professor secure his helmet. Hunt took his own helmet from the storage rack by the door and fixed it in place. When the three were ready, the sergeant supervised the final checkout of life-support and communications systems and cleared them to pass, one by one, through the airlock to the outside.

“Well, there you are, Vic. Really on the Moon now.” Alberts’s voice came through the speaker inside Hunt’s helmet. Hunt felt the spongy dust yield beneath his boots and tried a few experimental steps up and down.

“It’s like Brighton Beach,” he said.

“Okay, you guys?” asked the voice of the UNSA corporal.

“Okay.”

“Sure.”

“Let’s go, then.”

The three brightly colored figures-one orange, one red, and one green-began moving slowly along the well-worn groove that ran up the center of the mound of rubble. At the top they stopped to gaze down at the survey vehicle, already looking toylike in the gorge below.

They moved into the cleft, climbing between vertical walls of rocks that closed in on both sides as they approached the bend. Above the bend the cleft straightened, and in the distance Hunt could see a huge wall of jagged buttresses towering over the foothills above them-evidently the ridge described in Charlie’s note. He could picture vividly the scene in this very place so long ago, when two other figures in spacesuits had toiled onward and upward, their eyes fixed on that same feature. Above it, the red and black portent of a tormented planet had glowered down on their final agony like…

Hunt stopped, puzzled. He looked up at the ridge again, then turned to stare at the bright disk of Earth, shining far behind his right shoulder. He turned to look one way, then back again the other.

“Anything wrong?” Alberts, who had continued on a few paces, had turned and was staring back at him.

“I’m not sure. Hang on there a second.” Hunt moved up alongside the professor and pointed up and ahead toward the ridge. “You’re more familiar with this place than I am. See that ridge up ahead there-At any time in the year, could the Earth ever appear in a position over the top of it?”

Alberts followed Hunt’s pointing finger, glanced briefly back at the Earth, and shook his head decisively behind his facepiece.

“Never. From the Lunar surface, the position of Earth is almost constant. It does wobble about its mean position a bit as a result of libration, but not by anything near that much.” He looked again. “Never anywhere near there. That’s an odd question. Why do you ask?”

“Just something that occurred to me. Doesn’t really matter for now.”

Hunt lowered his eyes and saw an opening at the base of one of the walls ahead. “That must be it. Let’s carry on up to it.”

The hole was exactly as he remembered from innumerable photographs. Despite its age, the shape betrayed its artificial origin. Hunt approached almost reverently and paused to finger the rock at one side of the opening with his gauntlet. The score marks had obviously been made by something like a drill.

“Well, that’s it,” came the voice of Alberts, who was standing a few feet back. “Charlie’s Cave, we call it-more or less exactly as it must have been when he and his companion first saw it. Rather like treading in the sacred chambers of one of the pyramids, isn’t it?”

“That’s one way of putting it.” Hunt ducked down to peer inside, pausing to fumble for the flashlight at his belt as the sudden darkness blinded him temporarily.

The rockfall that originally had covered the body had been cleared, and the interior was roomier than he expected. Strange emotions welled inside him as he stared at the spot where, millennia before the first page of history had been written, a huddled figure had painfully scrawled the last page of a story that Hunt had read so recently in an office in Houston, a quarter of a million miles away. He thought of the time that had passed since those events had taken place-of the empires that had grown and fallen, the cities that had crumbled to dust, and the lives that had sparkled briefly and been swallowed into the past-while all that time, unchanging, the secret of these rocks had lain undisturbed. Many minutes passed before Hunt reemerged and straightened up in the dazzling sunlight.

Again he frowned up toward the ridge. Something tantalizing was dancing elusively just beyond the fringes of the thinking portions of his mind, as if from the subconscious shadows that lay below, something insistent was shrieking to be recognized. And then it was gone.

He clipped the flashlight back into position on his belt and walked across to rejoin Alberts, who was studying some rock formations on the opposite wall.

Chapter Twenty

The giant ships that would fly on the fifth manned mission to Jupiter had been under construction in Lunar orbit for over a year. Besides the command ship, six freighters, each capable of carrying thirty thousand tons of supplies and equipment, gradually took shape high above the surface of the Moon. During the final two months before scheduled departure, the floating jumbles of machinery, materials, containers, vehicles, tanks, crates, drums, and a thousand other items of assorted engineering that hung around the ships like enormous Christmas-tree ornaments, were slowly absorbed inside. The Vega surface shuttles, deep-space cruisers, and other craft also destined for the mission began moving in over a period of several weeks to join their respective mother ships. At intervals throughout the last week, the freighters lifted out of Lunar orbit and set course for Jupiter. By the time its passengers and final complement of crew were being ferried up from the Lunar surface, only the command ship was left, hanging alone in the void. As H hour approached, the gaggle of service craft and attendant satellites withdrew and a flock of escorts converged to stand a few miles off, cameras transmitting live via Luna into the World News Grid.

As the final minutes ticked by, a million viewscreens showed the awesome mile-and-a-quarter-long shape drifting almost imperceptibly against the background of stars; the serenity of the spectacle seemed somehow to forewarn of the unimaginable power waiting to be unleashed. Exactly on schedule, the flight-control computers completed their final-countdown-phase checkout, obtained “Go” acknowledgment from the ground control master processor, and activated the main thermonuclear drives in a flash that was visible from Earth.

The Jupiter Five Mission was under way.

For the next fifteen minutes the ship gained speed and altitude through successively higher orbits. Then, shrugging off the restraining pull of Luna with effortless ease, Jupiter Five soared out and away to begin overtaking and marshaling together its flock of freighters, by this time already strung out across a million miles of space. After a while the escorts turned back toward Luna, while on Earth the news screens showed a steadily diminishing point of light, being tracked by the orbiting telescopes. Soon even that had vanished, and only the long-range radars and laser links were left to continue their electronic exchanges across the widening gulf.

Aboard the command ship, Hunt and the other UNSA scientists watched on the wall screen in mess twenty-four as the minutes passed by and Luna contracted into a full disk, partly eclipsing that of Earth beyond. In the days that followed, the two globes waned and fused into a single blob of brilliance, standing out in the heavens to signpost the way they had come. As days turned into weeks, even this shrank to become just another grain of dust among millions until, after about a month, they could pick it out only with difficulty.

Hunt found that it took time to adjust to the idea of living as part of a tiny man-made world, with the cosmos stretching away to infinity on every side and the distance between them and everything that was familiar increasing at more than ten miles every second. Now they depended utterly for survival on the skills of those who had designed and built the ship. The green hills and blue skies of Earth were no longer factors of survival and seemed to shed some of their tangible attributes, almost like the aftermath of a dream that had seemed real. Hunt came to think of reality as a relative quantity-not something absolute that can be left for a while and then returned to. The ship became the only reality; it was the things left behind that ceased, temporarily, to exist.

He spent hours in the viewing domes along the outer hull, slowly coming to terms with the new dimension being added to his existence, gazing out at the only thing left that was familiar: the Sun. He found reassurance in the eternal presence of the Sun, with its limitless flood of life-giving warmth and light. Hunt thought of the first sailors, who had never ventured out of sight of land; they too had needed something familiar to cling to. But before long, men would turn their prow toward the open gulf and plunge into the voids between the galaxies. There would be no Sun to reassure them then, and there would be no stars at all; the galaxies themselves would be just faint spots, scattered all the way to infinity.

What strange new continents were waiting on the other side of those gulfs?

Danchekker was spending one of his relaxation periods in a zero-gravity section of the ship, watching a game of 3-D football being played between two teams of off-duty crew members. The game was based on American-style football and took place inside an enormous sphere of transparent, rubbery plastic. Players hurtled up, down, and in all directions, rebounding off the wall and off each other in a glorious roughhouse directed-vaguely-at getting the ball through two circular goals on opposite sides of the sphere. In reality, the whole thing was just an excuse to let off steam and flex muscles beginning to go soft during the long, monotonous voyage.

A steward tapped the scientist on the shoulder and informed him that a call was waiting in the videobooth outside the recreation deck. Danchekker nodded, unclipped the safety loop of his belt from the anchor pin attached to the seat, clipped it around the handrail, and with a single effortless pull, sent himself floating gracefully toward the door. Hunt’s face greeted him, speaking from a quarter of a mile away.

“Dr. Hunt,” he acknowledged. “Good morning-or whatever it happens to be at the present time in this infernal contraption.”

“Hello, Professor,” Hunt replied. “I’ve been having some thoughts about the Ganymeans. There are one or two points I could use your opinion on; could we meet somewhere for a bite to eat, say inside the next half hour or so?”

“Very well. Where did you have in mind?”

“Well, I’m on my way to the restaurant in B section right now. I’ll be there for a while.”

“I’ll join you there in a few minutes.” Danchekker cut off the screen, emerged from the booth, and hauled himself back into the corridor and along it to an entrance to one of the transverse shafts leading “down” toward the axis of the ship. Using the handrails, he sailed some distance toward the center before checking himself opposite an exit from the shaft. He emerged through a transfer lock into one of the rotating sections, with simulated G, at a point near the axis where the speed differential was low. He launched himself back along another rail and felt himself accelerate gently, to land thirty feet away, on his feet, on a part of the structure that had suddenly become the floor. Walking normally, he followed some signs to the nearest tube access point, pressed the call button, and waited about twenty seconds for a capsule to arrive. Once inside, he keyed in his destination and within seconds was being whisked smoothly through the tube toward B section of the ship.

The permanently open self-service restaurant was about half full. The usual clatter of cutlery and dishes poured from the kitchens behind the counter at one end, where a trio of UNSA cooks were dishing out generous helpings of assorted culinary offerings ranging from UNSA eggs and UNSA beans to UNSA chicken legs and UNSA steaks. Automatic food dispensers with do-it-yourself microwave cookers had been tried on Jupiter Four but hadn’t proved popular with the crew. So the designers of Jupiter Five had gone back to the good old-fashioned methods.

Carrying their trays, Hunt and Danchekker threaded their way between diners, card players, and vociferous debating groups and found an empty table against the far wall. They sat down and began transferring their plates to the table.

“So, you’ve been entertaining some thoughts concerning our Ganymean friends,” Danchekker commented as he began to butter a roll.

“Them and the Lunarians,” Hunt replied. “In particular, I like your idea that the Lunarians evolved on Minerva from terrestrial animal species that the Ganymeans imported. It’s the only thing that accounts acceptably for no traces of any civilization showing up on Earth. All these attempts people are making to show it might be different don’t convince me much at all.”

“I’m very gratified to hear you say so,” Danchekker declared. “The problem, however, is proving it.”

“Well, that’s what I’ve been thinking about. Maybe we shouldn’t have to.”

Danchekker looked up and peered inquisitively over his spectacles. He looked intrigued. “Really? How, might I ask?”

“We’ve got a big problem trying to figure out anything about what happened on Minerva because we’re fairly sure it doesn’t exist any more except as a million chunks of geology strewn around the Solar System. But the Lunarians didn’t have that problem. They had it in one piece, right under their feet. Also, they had progressed to an advanced state of scientific knowledge. Now, what must their work have turned up-at least to some extent?”

A light of comprehension dawned in Danchekker’s eyes.

“Ah!” he exclaimed at once. “I see. If the Ganymean civiization had flourished on Minerva first, then Lunarian scientists would surely have deduced as much.” He paused, frowned, then added: “But that does not get you very far, Dr. Hunt. You are no more able to interrogate Lunarian scientific archives than you are to reassemble the planet.”

“No, you’re right,” Hunt agreed. “We don’t have any detailed Lunarian scientific records-but we do have the microdot library. The texts it contains are pretty general in nature, but I couldn’t help thinking that if the Lunarians discovered an advanced race had been there before them, it would be big and exciting news, something everybody would know about; you’ve only got to look at the fuss that Charlie has caused on Earth. Perhaps there were references through all of their writings that pointed to such a knowledge-if we knew how to read them.” He paused to swallow a mouthful of sausage. “So, one of the things I’ve been doing over the last few weeks is going through everything we’ve got with a fine-tooth comb to see if anything could point to something like that. I didn’t expect to find firm proof of anything much-just enough for us to be able to say with a bit more confidence that we think we know what planet we’re talking about.”

“And did you find very much?” Danchekker seemed interested.

“Several things,” Hunt replied. “For a start, there are stock phrases scattered all through their language that refer to the Giants. Phrases like ‘As old as the Giants’ or ‘Back to the year of the Giants’… like we’d say maybe, ‘Back to the year one.’ In another place there’s a passage that begins ‘A long time ago, even before the time of the Giants’… There are lots of things like that. When you look at them from this angle, they all suddenly tie together.” Hunt paused for a second to allow the professor time to reflect on these points, then resumed: “Also, there are references to the Giants in another context, one that suggests superpowers or great knowledge-for example, ‘Gifted with the wisdom of the Giants.’ You see what I mean-these phrases indicate the Lunarians felt a race of giant beings-and probably one that was advanced technologically-had existed in the distant past.”

Danchekker chewed his food in silence for a while.

“I don’t want to sound overskeptical,” he said at last, “but all this seems rather speculative. Such references could well be to nothing more than mythical creations-similar to our own heroes of folklore.”

“That occurred to me, too,” Hunt conceded. “But thinking about it, I’m not so sure. The Lunarians were the last word in pragmatism-they had no time for romanticism, religion, matters of the spirit, or anything like that. In the situation they were in, the only people who could help them were themselves, and they knew it. They couldn’t afford the luxury and the delusion of inventing gods, heroes, and Father Christmases to work their problems out for them.” He shook his head. “I don’t believe the Lunarians made up any legends about these Giants. That would have been too much out of character.”

“Very well,” Danchekker agreed, returning to his meal. “The Lunarians were aware of the prior existence of the Ganymeans. I suspect, however, that you had more than that in mind when you called.”

“You’re right,” Hunt said. “While I was going through the texts, I pulled together some other bits and pieces that are more in your line.”

“Go on.”

“Well, supposing for the moment that the Ganymeans did ship a whole zoo out to Minerva, the Lunarian biologists later on would have had a hell of a problem making any sense out of what they found all around them, wouldn’t they? I mean, with two different groups of animals loose about the place, totally unrelated-and bearing in mind that they couldn’t have known what we know about terrestrial species…”

“Worse than that, even,” Danchekker supplied. “They would have been able to trace the native Minervan species all the way back to their origins; the imported types, however, would extend back through only twenty-five million years or so. Before that, there would have been no record of any ancestors from which they could have descended.”

“That’s precisely one of the things I wanted to ask you,” Hunt said. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. “Suppose you were a Lunarian biologist and knew only the facts he would have known. What sort of picture would it have added up to?”

Danchekker stopped chewing and thought for a long time, his eyes staring far beyond where Hunt was sitting. At length he shook his head slowly.

“That is a very difficult question to answer. In that situation one might, I suppose, speculate that the Ganymeans had introduced alien species. But on the other hand, that is what a biologist from Earth would think; he would be conditioned to expect a continuous fossil record stretching back over hundreds of millions of years. A Lunarian, without any such conditioning, might not regard the absence of a complete record as in any way abnormal. If that was part of the accepted way of things in the world in which he had grown up…”

Danchekker’s voice faded away for a few seconds. “If I were a Lunarian,” he said suddenly, his voice decisive, “I would explain what I saw thus: Life began in the distant past on Minerva, evolved through the accepted process of mutation and selection, and branched into many diverse forms. About twenty-five million years ago, a particularly violent series of mutations occurred in a short time, out of which emerged a new family of forms, radically different in structure from anything before. This family branched to produce its own divergency of species, living alongside the older models, and culminating in the emergence of the Lunarians themselves. Yes, I would explain the new appearances in that way. It’s similar to the appearance of insects on Earth-a whole family in itself, structurally dissimilar to anything else.” He thought it over again for a second and then nodded firmly. “Certainly, compared to an explanation of that nature, suggestions of forced interplanetary migrations would appear very farfetched indeed.”

“I was hoping you’d say something like that.” Hunt nodded, satisfied. “In fact, that’s very much what they appear to have believed. It’s not specifically stated in anything I’ve read, but odds and ends from different places add up to that. But there’s something odd about it as well.”

“Oh?”

“There’s a funny word that crops up in a number of places that doesn’t have a direct English equivalent; it means something between ‘manlike’ and ‘man-related.’ They used it to describe many animal types.”

“Probably the animals descended from the imported types and related to themselves,” Danchekker suggested.

“Yes, exactly. But they also used the same word in a totally different context-to mean ‘ashore,’ ‘on land’… anything to do with dry land. Now, why should a word become synonymous with two such different meanings?”

Danchekker stopped eating again and furrowed his brow.

“I really can’t imagine. Is it important?”

“Neither could I, and I think it is. I’ve done a lot of cross-checking with Linguistics on this, and it all adds up to a very peculiar thing: ‘Manlike’ and ‘dry-land’ became synonymous on Minerva because they did in fact mean the same thing. All the land animals on Minerva were new models. We coined the word terrestoid to describe them in English.”

“All of them? You mean that by Charlie’s time there were none of the original Minervan species left at all?” Danchekker sounded amazed.

“That’s what we think-not on land, anyway. There was a full fossil record of plenty of types all the way up to, and including the Ganymeans, but nothing after that-just terrestoids.”

“And in the sea?”

“That was different. The old Minervan types continued right through-hence your fish.”

Danchekker gazed at Hunt with an expression that almost betrayed open disbelief.

“How extraordinary!” he exclaimed.

The professor’s arm had suddenly become paralyzed and was holding a fork in midair with half a roast potato impaled on the end. “You mean that all the native Minervan land life disappeared-just like that?”

“Well, during a fairly short time, anyway. We’ve been asking for a long time what happened to the Ganymeans. Now it looks more as if the question should be phrased in even broader terms: What happened to the Ganymeans and all their land-dwelling relatives?”

Chapter Twenty-One

For weeks the two scientists debated the mystery of the abrupt disappearance of the native Minervan land dwellers. They ruled out physical catastrophe on the assumption that anything of that kind would have destroyed the terrestoid types as well. The same conclusion applied to climatic cataclysm.

For a while they considered the possibility of an epidemic caused by microorganisms imported with the immigrant animals, one against which the native species enjoyed no inherited, in-built immunity. In the end they dismissed this idea as unlikely on two counts; first, an epidemic sufficiently virulent in its effects to wipe out each and every species of what must have numbered millions, was hard to imagine; second, all information received so far from Ganymede suggested that the Ganymeans had been considerably farther ahead in technical knowledge than either the Lunarians or mankind-surely they could never have made such a blunder.

A variation on this theme supposed that germ warfare had broken out, escalated, and got out of control. Both the previous objections carried less weight when viewed in this context; in the end, this explanation was accepted as possible. That left only one other possibility: some kind of chemical change in the Minervan atmosphere to which the native species hadn’t been capable of adapting to but the terrestoids had. But what?

While the pros and cons of these alternatives were still being evaluated on Jupiter Five, the laser link to Earth brought details of a new row that had broken out in Navcomms. A faction of Pure Earthists had produced calculations showing that the Lunarians could never have survived on Minerva at all, let alone flourished there; at that distance from the Sun it would simply have been too cold. They also insisted that water could never have existed on the surface in a liquid state and held this fact as proof that wherever the world shown on Charlie’s maps had been, it couldn’t have been anywhere near the Asteroids.

Against this attack the various camps of Minervaists concluded a hasty alliance and opened counterfire with calculations of their own, which invoked the greenhouse effect of atmospheric carbon dioxide to show that a substantially higher temperature could have been sustained. They demonstrated further that the percentage of carbon dioxide required to produce the mean temperature that they had already estimated by other means was precisely the figure arrived at by Professor Schorn in his deduction of the composition of the Minervan atmosphere from an analysis of Charlie’s cell metabolism and respiratory system. The land mine that finally demolished the Pure Earthist position was Schorn’s later pronouncement that Charlie exhibited several physiological signs implying adaptation to an abnormally high level of carbon dioxide.

Their curiosity stimulated by all this sudden interest in the amount of carbon dioxide in the Minervan atmosphere, Hunt and Danchekker devised a separate experiment of their own. Combining Hunt’s mathematical skill with Danchekker’s knowledge of quantitative molecular biology, they developed a computer model of generalized Minervan microchemical behavior potentials, based on data derived from the native fish. It took them over three months to perfect. Then they applied to the model a series of mathematical operators that simulated the effects of different chemical agents in the environment. When he viewed the results on the screen in one of the console rooms Danchekker’s conclusion was quite definite: “Any air-breathing life form that evolved from the same primitive ancestors as this fish and inherited the same fundamental system of microchemistry, would be extremely susceptible to a family of toxins that includes carbon dioxide-far more so than the majority of terrestrial species.”

For once, everything added up. About twenty-five million years ago, the concentration of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere of Minerva apparently increased suddenly, possibly through some natural cause that had liberated the gas from chemical combination in rocks, or possibly as a result of something the Ganymeans had done. This could also explain why the Ganymeans had brought in all the animals. Perhaps their prime objective had been to redress the balance by covering the planet with carbon-dioxide-absorbing, oxygen-producing terrestrial green plants; the animals had been included simply to preserve a balanced ecology in which the plants could survive. The attempt failed. The native life succumbed, and the more highly resistant immigrants flourished and spread out over a whole new world denuded of alien competition. Nobody knew for sure that it had been so on Minerva. Possibly nobody ever would.

And nobody knew what had become of the Ganymeans. Perhaps they had perished along with their cousins. Perhaps, when their efforts proved futile, they had abandoned Minerva to its new inhabitants and left the Solar System completely to find a new home elsewhere. Hunt hoped so. For some strange reason he had developed an inexplicable affection for this mysterious race. In one of the Lunarian texts he had come across a verse that began: “Far away among the stars, where the Giants of old now live…” He hoped it was true.

And so, quite suddenly, at least one chapter in the early history of Minerva had been cleared up. Everything now pointed to the Lunarians and their civilization as having developed on Minerva and not on Earth. It explained the failure of Schorn’s early attempt to fix the length of the day in Hunt’s calendar by calculating Charlie’s natural periods of sleep and wakefulness. The ancestors of the Lunarians had arrived from Earth carrying a deeply rooted metabolic rhythm evolved around a twenty-four-hour cycle. During the twenty-five million years that followed, some of the more flexible biological processes in their descendants adapted successfully to the thirty-five-hour day of Minerva, while others changed only partially. By Charlie’s time, all the Lunarians’ physiological clocks had gotten hopelessly out of synchronization; no wonder Schorn’s results made no sense. But the puzzling numbers in Charlie’s notebook still remained to be accounted for.

In Houston, Caldwell read Hunt and Danchekker’s joint report with deep satisfaction. He had realized long before that to achieve results, the abilities of the two scientists would have to be combined and focused on the problem at hand instead of being dissipated fruitlessly in the friction of personal incompatibility. How could he manipulate into being a situation in which the things they had in common outweighed their differences? Well, what did they have in common? Starting with the simplest and most obvious thing-they were both human beings from planet Earth. So where would this fundamental truth come to totally overshadow anything else? Where but on the barren wastes of the Moon or a hundred million miles out in the emptiness of space? Everything seemed to be working out better than he had dared hope.

“It’s like I always said,” Lyn Garland stated coyly when Hunt’s assistant showed her a copy of the report. “Gregg’s a genius with people.”

The arrival in Ganymede orbit of the seven ships from Earth was a big moment for the Jupiter Four veterans, especially those whose tour of duty was approaching an end and who could now look forward to going home soon. In the weeks to come, as the complex program of maneuvering supplies and equipment between the ships and the surface installations unfolded, the scene above Ganymede would become as chaotic as that above Luna had been during departure preparations. The two command ships would remain standing off ten miles apart for the next two months. Then Jupiter Four, accompanied by two of the recently arrived freighters, would move out to take up station over Callisto and begin expanding the pilot base already set up there. Jupiter Five would remain at Ganymede until joined by Saturn Two, which was at that time undergoing final countdown for Lunar lift-out and due to arrive in five months. After rendezvous above Ganymede, one of the two ships (exactly which was yet to be decided) would set course for the ringed planet, on the farthest large-scale manned probe yet attempted.

The long-haul sailing days of Jupiter Four were over. Too slow by the standards of the latest designs, it would probably be stripped down to become a permanent orbiting base over Callisto. After a few years it would suffer the ignoble end of being dismantled and cannibalized for surface constructions.

With all the hustle and traffic congestion that erupted in the skies over Ganymede, it was three days before the time came for the group of UNSA scientists to be ferried to the surface. After months of getting used to the pattern of life and the company aboard the ship, Hunt felt a twinge of nostalgia as he packed his belongings in his cabin and stood in line waiting to board the Vega moored alongside in the cavernous midships docking bay. It was probably the last he would see of the inside of this immense city of metal alloys; when he returned to Earth, it would be aboard one of the small, fast cruisers ferried out with the mission.

An hour later Jupiter Five, festooned in a web of astronautic engineering, was shrinking rapidly on the cabin display in the Vega. Then the picture changed suddenly and the sinister frosty countenance of Ganymede came swelling up toward them.

Hunt sat on the edge of his bunk inside a Spartan room in number-three barrack block of Ganymede Main Base and methodically transferred the contents of his kit bag into the aluminum locker beside him. The air-extractor grill above the door was noisy. The air drawn in through the vents set into the lower walls was warm, and tainted with the smell of engine oil. The steel floor plates vibrated to the hum of heavy machinery somewhere below. Propped up against a pillow on the bunk opposite, Danchekker was browsing through a folder full of facsimiled notes and color illustrations and chattering excitedly like a schoolboy on Christmas Eve.

“Just think of it, Vic, another day and we’ll be there. Animals that actually walked the Earth twenty-five million years ago! Any biologist would give his right arm for an experience like this.” He held up the folder. “Look at that. I do believe it to be a perfectly preserved example of Trilophodon-a four-tusked Miocene mammoth over fifteen feet high. Can you imagine anything more exciting than that?”

Hunt scowled sourly across the room at the collection of pin-ups adorning the far wall, bequeathed by an earlier UNSA occupant.

“Frankly, yes,” he muttered. “But equipped rather differently than a bloody Trilophodon.”

“Eh? What’s that you said?” Danchekker blinked uncomprehendingly through his spectacles.

Hunt reached for his cigarette case. “It doesn’t matter, Chris,” he sighed.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The flight northward to Pithead lasted just under two hours. On arrival, the group from Earth assembled in the officers’ mess of the control building for coffee, during which scientists from Jupiter Four updated them on Ganymean matters.

The Ganymean ship had almost certainly been destined for a large-scale, long-range voyage and not for anything like a limited exploratory expedition. Several hundred Ganymeans had died with their ship. The quantity and variety of stores, materials, equipment, and livestock that they had taken with them indicated that wherever they had been bound, they had meant to stay.

Everything about the ship, especially its instrumentation and control systems, revealed a very advanced stage of scientific knowledge. Most of the electronics were still a mystery, and some of the special-purpose components were unlike anything the UNSA engineers had ever seen. Ganymean computers were built using a mass-integration technology in which millions of components were diffused, layer upon layer, into a single monolithic silicon block. The heat dissipated inside was removed by electronic cooling networks interwoven with the functional circuitry. In some examples, believed to form parts of the navigation system, component packing densities approached that of the human brain. A physicist held up a slab of what appeared to be silicon, about the size of a large dictionary; in terms of raw processing power, he claimed, it was capable of outperforming all the computers in the Navcomms Headquarters building put together.

The ship was streamlined and strongly constructed, indicating that it was designed to fly through atmospheres and to land on a planet without collapsing under its own weight. Ganymean engineering appeared to have reached a level where the functions of a Vega and a deep-space interorbital transporter were combined in one vessel.

The propulsion system was revolutionary. There were no large exhaust apertures and no obvious reaction points to suggest that the ship had been kicked forward by any kind of thermodynamic or photonic external thrust. The main fuel-storages system fed a succession of convertors and generators designed to deliver enormous amounts of electrical and magnetic energy. This supplied a series of two-foot-square superconducting busbars and a maze of interleaved windings, fabricated from solid copper bars, that surrounded what appeared to be the main-drive engines. Nobody was sure precisely how this arrangement resulted in motion of the ship, although some of the theories were startling.

Could this have been a true starship? Had the Ganymeans left en masse in an interstellar exodus? Had this particular ship foundered on its way out of the Solar System, shortly after leaving Minerva? These questions and a thousand more remained to be answered. One thing was certain, though: If the discovery of Charlie had given two years’ work to a significant proportion of Navcomms, there was enough information here to keep half the scientific world occupied for decades, if not centuries.

The party spent some hours in the recently erected laboratory dome, inspecting items brought up from below the ice, including several Ganymean skeletons and a score of terrestrial animals. To Danchekker’s disappointment, his particular favorite-the man-ape anthropoid he had shown to Hunt and Caldwell many months before on a viewscreen in Houston-was not among them. “Cyril” had been transferred to the laboratories of the Jupiter Four command ship for detailed examination. The name, graciously bestowed by the UNSA biologists, was in honor of the mission’s chief scientist.

After lunch in the base canteen, they walked into the dome that covered one of the shaftheads. Fifteen minutes later they were standing deep below the surface of the ice field, gazing in awe at the ship itself.

It lay, fully uncovered, in the vast white floodlighted cavern, its underside still supported in its mold of ice. The hull cut a clean swath through the forest of massive steel jacks and ice pillars that carried the weight of the roof. Beneath the framework of ramps and scaffolding that clung to its side, whole sections of the hull had been removed to reveal the compartments inside. The floor all around was littered with pieces of machinery lifted out by overhead cranes. The scene reminded Hunt of the time he and Borlan had visited Boeing’s huge plant near Seattle where they assembled the 1017 skyliners-but everything here was on a far vaster scale. They toured the network of catwalks and ladders that had been laid throughout the ship, from the command deck with its fifteen-foot-wide display screen, through the control rooms, living quarters, and hospital, to the cargo holds and the tiers of cages that had contained the animals. The primary energy-convertor and generator section was as imposing and as complex as the inside of a thermonuclear power station. Beyond it, they passed through a bulkhead and found themselves dwarfed beneath the curves of the exposed portions of a pair of enormous toroids. The engineer leading them pointed up at the immense, sweeping surfaces of metal.

“The walls of those outer casings are sixteen feet thick,” he informed them. “They’re made from an alloy that would cut tungsten-carbide steel like cream cheese. The mass concentration inside them is phenomenal. We think they provided closed paths in which masses of highly concentrated matter were constrained in circulating or oscillating resonance, interacting with strong fields. It’s possible that the high rates of change of gravity potential that this produced were somehow harnessed to induce a controlled distortion in the space around the ship. In other words, it moved by continuously falling into a hole that it created in front of itself-kind of like a four-dimensional tank track.”

“You mean it trapped itself inside a space-time bubble, which propagated somehow through normal space?” somebody offered.

“Yes, if you like,” the engineer affirmed. “I guess a bubble is as good an analogy as any. The interesting point is, if it did work that way, every particle of the ship and everything inside it would be subjected to exactly the same acceleration. Therefore there would be no G effect. You could stop the ship dead from, say, a million miles an hour to zero in a millisecond, and nobody inside would even know the difference.”

“How about top speed?” someone else asked. ‘Would there have been a relativistic limit?”

“We don’t know. The theory boys up in Jupiter Four have been losing a lot of sleep over that. Conventional mechanics wouldn’t apply to any movement of the ship itself, since it wouldn’t be actually moving in the local space inside the bubble. The question of how the bubble propagates through normal space is a different ball game altogether. A whole new theory of fields has to be worked out. Maybe completely new laws of physics apply-as I said before, we just don’t know. But one thing seems clear: Those photon-drive starships they’re designing in California might turn out to be obsolete before they’re even built. If we can figure out enough about how this ship worked, the knowledge could put us forward a hundred years.”

By the end of the day Hunt’s mind was in a whirl. New information was coming in faster than he could digest it. The questions in his head were multiplying at a rate a thousand times faster than they could ever be answered. The riddle of the Ganymean spaceship grew more intriguing with every new revelation, but at the back of it there was still the Lunarian problem unresolved. He needed time to stand back and think, to put his mental house in order and sort the jumble into related thoughts that would slot into labeled boxes in his mind. Then he would be able to see better which question depended on what, and which needed to be tackled first. But the jumble was piling up faster than he could pick up the pieces.

The banter and laughter in the mess after the evening meal soon became intolerable. Alone in his room, he found the walls claustrophobic. For a while he walked the deserted corridors between the domes and buildings. They were oppressive; he had lived in metal cans for too long. Eventually he found himself in the control tower dome, staring out into the incandescent gray wall that was produced by the floodlights around the base soaking through the methane-ammonia fog of the Ganymedean night. After a while even the presence of the duty controller, his face etched out against the darkness by the glow from his console, became an intrusion. Hunt stopped by the console on his way to the stairwell.

“Check me out for surface access.”

The duty controller looked across at him. “You’re going outside?”

“I need some air.”

The controller brought one of his screens to life. “You are who, please?”

“Hunt. Dr. V. Hunt.”

“ID?”

“730289 C/EX4.”

The controller logged the details, then checked the time and keyed it in.

“Report in by radio in one hour’s time if you’re not back. Keep a receiver channel open permanently on 24.328 megahertz.”

“Will do,” Hunt acknowledged. “Good night.”

“Night.”

The controller watched Hunt disappear toward the floor below, shrugged to himself, and automatically scanned the displays in front of him. It was going to be a quiet night.

In the surface access anteroom on the ground level, Hunt selected a suit from the row of lockers along the right hand wall. A few minutes later, suited up and with his helmet secured, he walked to the airlock, keyed his name and ID code into the terminal by the gate, and waited a couple of seconds for the inner door to slide open.

He emerged into the swirling silver mist and turned right to follow the line of the looming black metal cliff of the control building. The crunch of his boots in the powder ice sounded faint and far away, through the thin vapors. Where the wall ended he continued walking slowly in a straight line, out into the open area and toward the edge of the base. Phantom shapes of steel emerged and disappeared in the silent shadows around him. The gloom ahead grew darker as islands of diffuse light passed by on either side. The ice began sloping upward. Irregular patches of naked, upthrusting rock became more frequent. He walked on as if in a trance.

Pictures from the past rolled by before his mind’s eye: a boy, reading books, shut away in the upstairs bedroom of a London slum… a youth, pedaling a bicycle each morning through the narrow streets of Cambridge. The people he had been were no more real than the people he would become. All through his life he had been moving on, never standing still, always in the process of changing from something he had been to something he would be. And beyond every new world, another beckoned. And always the faces around him were unfamiliar ones-they drifted into his life like the transient shadows of the rocks that now moved toward him from the mists ahead. Like the rocks, for a while the people seemed to exist and take on form and substance, before slipping by to dissolve into the shrouds of the past behind him, as if they had never been. Forsyth-Scott, Felix Borlan, and Rob Gray had already ceased to exist. Would Caldwell, Danchekker, and the rest soon fade away to join them? And what new figures would materialize out of the unknown worlds lying hidden behind the veils of time ahead?

He realized with some surprise that the mists around him were getting brighter again; also, he could suddenly see farther. He was climbing upward across an immense ice field, now smooth and devoid of rocks. The light was an eerie glow, permeating evenly through mists on every side as if the fog itself were luminous. He climbed higher. With every step the horizon of his vision broadened further, and the luminosity drained from the surrounding mist to concentrate itself in a single patch that second by second grew brighter above his head. And then he was looking out over the top of the fog bank. It was just a pocket, trapped in the depression of the vast basin in which the base had been built; it had no doubt been sited there to shorten the length of the shaft needed to reach the Ganymean ship. The slope above him finished in a long, rounded ridge not fifty feet beyond where he stood. He changed direction slightly to take the steeper incline that led directly to the summit of the ridge. The last tenuous wisps of whiteness fell away.

At the top, the night was clear as crystal. He was standing on a beach of ice that shelved down from his feet into a lake of cotton wool. On the opposite shore of the lake rose the summits of the rock buttresses and ice cliffs that stood beyond the base. For miles around, ghostly white bergs of Ganymedean ice floated on an ocean of cloud, shining against the blackness of the night.

But there was no Sun.

He raised his eyes, and gasped involuntarily. Above him, five times larger than the Moon seen from Earth, was the full disk of Jupiter. No photograph he had ever seen, or any image reproduced on a display screen, could compare with the grandeur of that sight. It filled the sky with its radiance. All the colors of the rainbow were woven into its iridescent bands of light, stacked layer upon layer outwards from its equator. They faded as they approached its edge and merged into a hazy circle of pink that encircled the planet. The pink turned to violet and finally to purple, ending in a clear, sharp outline that traced an enormous circle against the sky. Immutable, immovable, eternal… mightiest of the gods-and tiny, puny, ephemeral man had crawled on a pilgrimage of five hundred million miles to pay homage.

Maybe only seconds passed, maybe hours. Hunt could not tell. For a fraction of eternity he stood unmoving, a speck lost among the silent towers of rock and ice. Charlie too had stood upon the surface of a barren waste and gazed up at a world wreathed in light and color-but the colors had been those of death.

At that moment, the scenes that Charlie had seen came to Hunt more vividly than at any time before. He saw cities consumed by fireballs ten miles high; he saw gaping chasms, seared and blackened ash that had once held oceans, and lakes of fire where mountains had stood. He saw continents buckle and break asunder, and drown beneath a fury of white heat that came exploding outward from below. As clearly as if it were really happening, he saw the huge globe above him swelling and bursting, grotesque with the deceptive slowness of mighty events seen from great distances. Day by day it would rush outward into space, consuming its moons one after the other in an insatiable orgy of gluttony until its force was spent. And then…

Hunt snapped back to reality with a jolt.

Suddenly the answer he had been seeking was there. It had come out of nowhere. He tried to trace its root by backtracking through his thoughts-but there was nothing. The pathways up from the deeper levels of his mind had opened for a second, but now were closed. The illusion was exposed. The paradox had gone. Of course nobody had seen it before. Who would think to question a truth that was self-evident, and older than the human race itself?

“Pithead Control calling Dr. V. Hunt. Dr. Hunt, come in, please.” The sudden voice in his helmet startled him. He pressed a button in the control panel on his chest.

“Hunt answering,” he acknowledged. “I hear you.”

“Routine check. You’re five minutes overdue to report. Is everything okay?”

“Sorry, didn’t notice the time. Yes, everything’s okay… very okay. I’m coming back now.”

“Thank you.” The voice cut off with a click.

Had he been gone that long? He realized that he was cold. The icy fingers of the Ganymedean night were beginning to feel their way inside his suit. He wound his heating control up a turn and flexed his arms. Before he turned, he looked up once more for a final glimpse of the giant planet. For some strange reason it seemed to be smiling.

“Thanks, pal,” he murmured with a wink. “Maybe I’ll be able to do something for you someday.”

With that he began moving down from the ridge, and rapidly faded into the sea of cloud.

Chapter Twenty-Three

A group of about thirty people, mainly scientists, engineers, and UNSA executives, filed into the conference theater in the Navcomms Headquarters building. The room was arranged in ascending tiers of seats that faced a large blank screen at the far end from the double doors. Caldwell was standing on a raised platform in front of the screen, watching as the various groups and individuals found seats. Soon everybody was settled and an usher at the rear signaled that the corridor outside was empty. Caldwell nodded in acknowledgment, raised his hand for silence, and stepped a pace forward to the microphone in front of him.

“Your attention, please, ladies and gentlemen… Could we have quiet, please…” The baritone voice boomed out of the loudspeakers around the walls. The murmurs subsided.

“Thank you all for coming on such short notice,” he resumed. “All of you have been engaged for some time now in some aspect or other of the Lunarian problem. Ever since this thing first started, there have been more than a few arguments and differences of opinion, as you all know. Taking all things into consideration, however, we haven’t done too badly. We started out with a body and a few scraps of paper, and from them we reconstructed a whole world. But there are still some fundamental questions that have remained unanswered right up to this day. I’m sure there’s no need for me to recap them for the benefit of anyone here.” He paused. “At last, it appears, we may have answers to those questions. The new developments that cause me to say this are so unexpected that I feel it appropriate to call you all together to let you see for yourselves what I saw for the first time only a few hours ago.” He waited again and allowed the mood of the gathering to move from one suited to preliminary remarks to something more in tune with the serious business about to begin.

“As you all know, a group of scientists left us many months ago with the Jupiter Five Mission to investigate the discoveries on Ganymede. Among that group was Vic Hunt. This morning we received his latest report on what’s going on. We are about to replay the recording for you now. I think you will find it interesting.”

Caldwell glanced toward the projection window at the back of the room and raised his hand. The lights began to fade. He stepped down from the platform and took his seat in the front row. Darkness reigned briefly. Then the screen illuminated to show a file header and reference frame in standard UNSA format. The header persisted for a few seconds, then disappeared to be replaced by the image of Hunt, facing the camera across a desktop.

“Navcomms Special Investigation to Ganymede, V. Hunt reporting, 20 November 2029, Earth Standard Time,” he announced. “Subject of transmission: A Hypothesis Concerning Lunarian Origins. What follows is not claimed to be rigorously proven theory at this stage. The object is to present an account of a possible sequence of events which, for the first time, explains adequately the origins of the Lunarians, and is also consistent with all the facts currently in our possession.” Hunt paused to consult some notes on the desk before him. In the conference theater the silence was absolute.

Hunt looked back up and out of the screen. “Up until now I’ve tended not to accept any particular one of the ideas in circulation in preference to the rest, primarily because I haven’t been sufficiently convinced that any of them, as stated, accounted adequately for everything that we had reason to believe was true. That situation has changed. I have now come to believe that one explanation exists which is capable of supporting all the evidence. That explanation is as follows:

“The Solar System was formed originally with nine planets, which included Minerva and extended out as far as Neptune. Akin to the inner planets and located beyond Mars, Minerva resembled Earth in many ways. It was similar in size and density and was composed of a mix of similar elements. It cooled and developed an atmosphere, a hydrosphere, and a surface composition.” Hunt paused for a second. “This has been one source of difficulty-reconciling surface conditions at this distance from the Sun with the existence of life as we know it. For proof that these factors can indeed be reconciled, refer to Professor Fuller’s work at London University during the last few months.” A caption appeared on the lower portion of the screen, giving details of the titles and access codes of Fuller’s papers on the subject.

“Briefly, Fuller has produced a model of the equilibrium states of various atmospheric gases and volcanically introduced water vapor, that is consistent with known data. To sustain the levels of free atmospheric carbon dioxide and water vapor, and the existence of large amounts of water in a liquid state, the model requires a very high level of volcanic activity on the planet, at least in its earlier history. That this requirement was evidently met could suggest that relative to its size, the crust of Minerva was exceptionally thin, and the structure of this crust unstable. This is significant, as becomes clear later. Fuller’s model also ties in with the latest information from the Asteroid surveys. The thin crust could be the result of relatively rapid surface cooling caused by the vast distance from the Sun, but with the internal molten condition being prolonged by heat sources below the surface. The Asteroid missions report many samples being tested that are rich in radioactive heat-producing substances.

“So, Minerva cooled to a mean surface temperature somewhat colder than Earth’s but not as cold as you might think. With cooling came the formation of increasingly more complex molecules, and eventually life emerged. With life came diversification, followed by competition, followed by selection-in other words, evolution. After many millions of years, evolution culminated in a race of intelligent beings who became dominant on the planet These were the beings we have christened the Ganymeans.

“The Ganymeans developed an advanced technological civilization. Then, approximately twenty-five million years ago, they had reached a stage which we estimate to be about a hundred years ahead of our own. This estimate is based on the design of the Ganymean ship we’ve been looking at here, and the equipment found inside it.

“Sometime around this period, a major crisis developed on Minerva. Something upset the delicate mechanism controlling the balance between the amount of carbon dioxide locked up in the rocks and that in the free state; the amount in the atmosphere began to rise. The reasons for this are speculative. One possibility is that something triggered the tendency toward high volcanic activity inherent in Minerva’s structure-maybe natural causes, maybe something the Ganymeans did. Another possibility is that the Ganymeans were attempting an ambitious program of climate control and the whole thing went wrong in a big way. At present we really don’t have a good answer to this part. However, our investigations of the Ganymeans have hardly begun yet. There are still years of work to be done on the contents of the ship alone, and I’m pretty certain that there’s a lot more waiting to be discovered down under the ice here.

“Anyhow, the main point for the present is that something happened. Chris Danchekker has shown…” Another file reference appeared on the bottom of the screen. “… that all the higher, air-breathing Minervan life forms would almost certainly have possessed a very low tolerance to increases in carbon-dioxide concentration. This derives from the fundamental system of microchemistry inherited from the earliest ancestors of the line. This implies, of course, that the changing surface conditions on Minerva posed a threat to the very existence of most forms of land life, including the Ganymeans. If we accept this situation, we also have a plausible reason for supposing that the Ganymeans went through a phase of importing on a vast scale a mixed balance of plant and animal life from Earth. Perhaps, stuck out where it was, Minerva had nothing to compare with the quantity and variety of life teeming on the much warmer planet Earth.

“Evidently, the experiment didn’t work. Although the imported stock found conditions favorable enough to flourish in, they failed to produce the desired result. From various bits of information, we believe the Ganymeans gave the whole thing up as a bad job and moved out to find a new home somewhere outside the Solar System. Whether or not they succeeded we don’t know; maybe further study of what’s in the ship will throw more light on that question.”

Hunt stopped to pick up a case from the desk and went through the motions of lighting a cigarette. The break seemed to be timed to give the viewers a chance to digest this part of his narrative. A subdued chorus of mutterings broke out around the room. Here and there a light flared as individuals succumbed to the suggestion from the screen. Hunt continued:

“The native Minervan land species left on the planet soon died out. But the immigrant types from Earth enjoyed a better adaptability and survived. Not only that, they were free to roam unchecked and unhindered across the length and breadth of Minerva, where any native competition rapidly ceased to exist. The new arrivals were thus free to continue the process of evolutionary development that had begun millions of years before in the oceans of Earth. But at the same time, of course, the same process was also continuing on Earth itself. Two groups of animal species, possessing the same genetic inheritance from common ancestors and equipped with the same evolutionary potential, were developing in isolation on two different worlds.

“Now, for those of you who have not yet had the pleasure, allow me to introduce Cyril.” The picture of Hunt vanished and a view of the man-ape retrieved from the Ganymean ship appeared.

Hunt’s voice carried on with the commentary: “Chris’s team has made a thorough examination of this character in the Jupiter Four laboraties. Chris’s own summary of their results was, quote:

“‘We consider this to be something nearer the direct line of descent toward modern man than anything previously studied. Many fossil finds have been made on Earth of creatures that represented various branches of development from the early progressive apes in the general direction of man. All finds to date, however, have been classed as belonging to offshoots from the main stream; a specimen of a direct link in the chain leading to Homo sapiens has always persistently eluded us. Here, we have such a link.’ Unquote.” The image of Hunt reappeared. “We can be fairly sure, therefore, that among the terrestrial life forms left to develop on Minerva were numbers of primates as far advanced in their evolution as anything back on Earth.

“The faster evolution characteristic of Minerva thus far was repeated, possibly as a result of the harsher environment and climate. Millions of years passed. On Earth a succession of manlike beings came and went, some progressive, some degenerate. The Ice Age came and moved through into its final, glacial phase some fifty thousand years ago. By this time on Earth, primitive humanoids represented the apex of progress-crude cave dwellers, hunters, makers of simple weapons and tools chipped out of stone. But on Minerva, a new technological civilization already existed: the Lunarians-descended from the imported stock and from the same early ancestors as ourselves, human in every detail of anatomy.

“I won’t dwell on the problems that confronted the developing Lunarian civilization-they’re well-known by now. Their history was one long story of war and hardship enacted around a racial quest to escape from their dying world. Their difficulties were compounded by a chronic shortage of minerals, possibly because the planet was naturally deficient, or possibly because it had been thoroughly exploited by the Ganymeans. At any rate, the warring factions polarized into two superpowers, and in the showdown that followed they destroyed themselves and the planet.”

Hunt paused again at this point to allow another period of consolidation for the audience. This time, however, there was complete silence. Nothing he had said so far was new, but he had formed a set selected from the thousand and one theories and speculations that had raged around Navcomms for as long as many could remember. The silent watchers in the theater sensed that the real news was still to come.

“Let’s stop for a moment and examine how well this account fits in with the evidence we have. First, the original problem of Charlie’s human form. Well, that’s answered: He was human-descended from the same ancestors as the rest of us and requiring nothing as unlikely as a parallel line to explain him. Second, the absence of any signs of the Lunarians on Earth. Well, the reason is quite obvious: They never were on Earth. Third, all the attempts to reconcile the surface geography of Charlie’s world with Earth become unnecessary, since by this account they were indeed two different planets.

“So far so good, then. This by itself, however, does not explain all the facts. There are some additional pieces of evidence which must be taken into account by any theory that claims to be comprehensive. They can be summarized in the following questions:

“One: How could Charlie’s voyage from Minerva to our Moon have taken only two days?

“Two: How do we explain a weapons system, consistent with the Lunarian level of technology, that was capable of accurate registration over a range extending from our Moon to Minerva?

“Three: How could the loop feedback delay in the fire-control system have been substantially less than the minimum of twenty-six minutes that could have applied over that distance?

“Four: How could Charlie distinguish surface features of Minerva when he was standing on our Moon?”

Hunt looked out from the screen and allowed plenty of time for the audience to reflect on these questions. He stubbed out his cigarette and leaned forward toward the camera, his elbows corning to rest on the desk.

“There is, in my submission, only one explanation which is capable of satisfying these apparently nonsensical requirements. And I put it to you now. The moon that orbited Minerva from time immemorial up until the time of these events fifty thousand years ago-and the Moon that shines in the sky above Earth today-are one and the same!”

Nothing happened for about three seconds.

Then gasps of incredulity erupted from around the darkened room. People gesticulated at their neighbors while some turned imploringly for comment from the row behind. Suddenly the whole theater was a turmoil of muttered exchanges.

“Can’t be!”

“By God-he’s right!”

“Of course… of course…

“Has to be…”

“Garbage!”

On the screen Hunt stared out impassively, as if he were watching the scene. His allowance for the probable reaction was well timed. He resumed speaking just as the confusion of voices was dying away.

“We know that the moon Charlie was on was our Moon-because we found him there, because we can identify the areas of terrain he described, because we have ample evidence of a large-scale Lunarian presence there, and because we have proved that it was the scene of a violent exchange of nucleonic and nuclear weapons. But that same place must also have been the satellite of Minerva. It was only a two-day flight from the planet-Charlie says so and we’re confident we can interpret his time scale. Weapons were sited there which could pick off targets on Minerva, and observations of hits were almost instantaneous; and if all that is not enough, Charlie could stand not ten yards from where we found him and distinguish details of Minerva’s surface. These things could only be true if the place in question was within, say, half a million miles of Minerva.

“Logically, the only explanation is that both moons were one and the same. We’ve been asking for a long time whether the Lunarian civilization developed on Earth or whether it developed on Minerva. Well, from the account I’ve given, it’s obvious it was Minerva. We thought we had two contradictory sets of information, one telling us it was Earth and the other telling us it wasn’t. But we had misinterpreted the data. It wasn’t telling us anything to do with Earth or Minerva at all-it was telling us about Earth’s or Minerva’s moon! Some facts told us we were dealing with Earth’s moon while others told us we were dealing with Minerva’s moon. As long as we insisted on introducing, quite unconsciously, the notion that the two moons were different, the conflict between these sets of facts couldn’t be resolved. But if, purely within the logical constraints of the situation, we introduce the postulate that both moons were the same, that conflict disappears before our eyes.”

Shock seemed to have overtaken the audience. At the front somebody was muttering, “Of course… of course…” half to himself and half aloud.

“All that remains is to reconcile these propositions with the situation we observe around us today. Again, only one explanation is possible. Minerva exploded and dispersed to become the Asteroid Belt. The greater part of its mass, we’re fairly sure, was thrown into the outer regions of the Solar System and became Pluto. Its moon, although somewhat shaken, was left intact. During the gravitational upheaval that occurred when its parent planet broke up, the satellite’s orbital momentum around the Sun was reduced and it began to fall inward.

“We can’t tell how long the orphaned moon plunged steadily nearer the Sun. Maybe the trip lasted months, maybe years. Next comes one of those million-to-one chances that sometimes happen in nature. The trajectory followed by the moon brought it close to Earth, which had been pursuing its own solitary path around the Sun ever since the beginning of time!” Hunt paused for a few seconds. “Yes, I repeat, solitary path! You see, if we are to accept what I believe to be the only satisfactory explanation open to us, we must accept also its consequence: that until this point in time, some fifty thousand years ago, planet Earth had no moon! The two bodies drew close enough for their gravitational fields to interact to the point of mutual capture; the new, common orbit turned out to be stable, and Earth adopted a foundling it has kept right up to this day.

“If we accept this account, many of the other things that have been causing problems suddenly make sense. Take, for example, the excess material that covers most of Lunar Farside and has been shown to be of recent origin, and coupled with that, the dating of all Farside craters and some Nearside ones to around the time we’re talking about. Now we have a ready explanation. When Minerva blew up, what is now Luna was sitting there right in the way of all the debris. That’s where the meteorite storm came from. That’s how practically all evidence of the Lunarian presence on Luna was wiped out. There’s probably no end to remains of their bases, installations, and vehicles still there waiting to be uncovered-a thousand feet below the Farside surface. We think that the Annihilator emplacement at Seltar was on Farside. That suggests that what is Farside to Earth today was Nearside to Minerva; hence it makes sense that most of the meteorite storm landed where it did.

“Charlie appears to have referred to compass directions different from ours on the Lunar surface, implying a different north-south axis. Now we see why. Some people have asked why, if Luna suffered such an intense bombardment, there should be no signs of any comparable increase in meteorite activity on Earth at the time. This too now makes sense: When Minerva blew up, Luna was in its immediate vicinity but Earth wasn’t. And a last point on Lunar physics-We’ve known for half a century that Luna is formed from a mix of rocky compounds different from those found on Earth, being low in volatiles and rich in refractories. Scientists have speculated for a long time that possibly the Moon was formed in another part of the Solar System. This indeed turns out to be true if what I’ve said is correct.

“Some explanations have suggested that the Lunarians set up advanced bridgeheads on Luna. This enabled their evident presence there to be reconciled with evolutionary origins on Minerva, but raised an equally problematical question: Why were they struggling to master interplanetary space-flight technology when they must have had it already? In the account I have described, this problem disappears. They had reached their own moon, but were still some ways from being able to move large populations to anyplace as remote as Earth. Also, there is now no need to introduce the unsupported notion of Lunarian colonies on either planet; either way, it would pose the same question.

“And finally, an unsolved riddle of oceanography makes sense in this light, too. Research into tidal motions has shown that catastrophic upheavals on a planetary scale occurred on Earth at about this time, resulting in an abrupt increase in the length of the day and an increase in the rate at which the day is further being lengthened by tidal friction. Well, the arrival of Minerva’s moon would certainly create enormous gravitational and tidal disturbances. Although the exact mechanics aren’t too clear right now, it appears that the kinetic energy acquired by Minerva’s moon as it fell toward the Sun was absorbed in neutralizing part of the Earth’s rotational energy, causing a longer day. Also, increased tidal friction since then is to be expected. Before the Moon appeared, Earth experienced only Solar tides, whereas from that time up until today, there have been both Solar and Lunar tides.”

Hunt showed his empty hand in a gesture of finality and pushed himself back in his chair. He straightened the pile of notes on the desk before going on to conclude:

“That’s it. As I said earlier, at this stage it represents no more than a hypothesis that accounts for all the facts. But there are some things we can do toward testing the truth of it.

“For a start, we have a large chunk of Minerva piled up all over Farside. The recent material is so like the original Lunar material that it was years before anybody realized it had been added only recently. That supports the idea that the Moon and the meteorites originated in the same part of the Solar System. I’d like to suggest that we perform detailed comparisons between data from Farside material and data from the Asteroid surveys. If the results indicate that they are both the same kind of stuff and appear to have come from the same place, the whole idea would be well supported.

“Another thing that needs further work is a mathematical model of the process of mutual capture between Earth and Luna. We know quite a lot about the initial conditions that must have existed before and, of course, a lot more about the conditions that exist now. It would be reassuring to know that for the equations involved there exist solutions that allow one situation to transform into the other within the normal laws of physics. At least, it would be nice to prove that the whole idea isn’t impossible.

“Finally, of course, there is the Ganymean ship here. Without doubt a lot of new information is waiting to be discovered-far more than we’ve had to work on so far. I’m hoping that somewhere in the ship there will be astronomic data to tell us something about the Solar System at the time of the Ganymeans. If, for example, we could determine whether or not the third planet from the Sun of their Solar System had a satellite, or if we could learn enough about their moon to identify it as Luna-perhaps by recognizing Nearside surface features-then the whole theory would be well on the way to being proved.

“This concludes the report.

“Personal addendum for Gregg Caldwell…” The view of Hunt was replaced by a landscape showing a wilderness of ice and rock. “This place you’ve sent us to, Gregg-the mail service isn’t too regular, so I couldn’t send a postcard. It’s over a hundred Celsius degrees below zero; there’s no atmosphere worth talking about and what there is, is poisonous; the only way back is by Vega, and the nearest Vega is seven hundred miles away. I wish you were here to enjoy all the fun with us, Gregg-I really do!

“V. Hunt from Ganymede Pithead Base. End of transmission.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

The long-awaited answers to where the Lunarians had come from and how they came to be where they had been found sent waves of excitement around the scientific world and prompted a new frenzy of activity in the news media. Hunt’s explanation seemed complete and consistent. There were few objections or disagreements; the account didn’t leave much to object to or disagree with.

Hunt had therefore met fully the demands of his brief. Although detailed interdisciplinary work would continue all over the world for a long time to come, UNSA’s formal involvement in the affair was more or less over. So Project Charlie was run down. That left Project Ganymeans, which was just starting up. Although he had not yet received any formal directive from Earth to say so, Hunt had the feeling that Caldwell wouldn’t waste the opportunity offered by Hunt’s presence on Ganymede just when the focus of attention was shifting from the Lunarians to the Ganymeans. In other words, it would be some time yet before he would find himself walking aboard an Earth-bound cruiser.

A few weeks after the publication of UNSA’s interim conclusions, the Navcomms scientists on Ganymede held a celebration dinner in the officers’ mess at Pithead to mark the successful end of a major part of their task. The evening had reached the warm and mellow phase that comes with cigars and liqueurs when the last-course dishes have been cleared away. Talkative groups were standing and sitting in a variety of attitudes around the tables and by the bar, and beers, brandies, and vintage ports were beginning to flow freely. Hunt was with a group of physicists near the bar, discussing the latest news on the Ganymean field drive, while behind them another circle was debating the likelihood of a world government being established within twenty years. Danchekker seemed to have been unduly quiet and withdrawn for most of the evening.

“When you think about it, Vic, this could develop into the ultimate weapon in interplanetary warfare,” one of the physicists was saying. “Based on the same principles as the ship’s drive, but a lot more powerful and producing a far more intense and localized effect. It would generate a black hole that would persist, even after the generator that made it had fallen into it. Just think-an artificially produced black hole. All you’d have to do is mount the device in a suitable missile and fire it at any planet you took a dislike to. It would fall to the center and consume the whole planet-and there’d be no way to stop it.”

Hunt looked intrigued. “You mean it could work?”

“The theory says so.”

“Christ, how long would it take-to wipe out a planet?”

“We don’t know yet; we’re still working on that bit. But there’s more to it than that. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t be able to put out a star using the same method. Think about that as a weapon-one black-hole bomb could destroy a whole solar system. It makes nucleonic weapons look like kiddie toys.”

Hunt started to reply, but a voice from the center of the room cut him off, rising to make itself heard above the buzz of conversation. It belonged to the commander of Pithead Base, special guest at the dinner.

“Attention, please, everybody,” he called. “Your attention for a moment, please.” The noise died as all faces turned toward him. He looked around until satisfied that everyone was paying attention. “You have invited me here tonight to join you in celebrating the successful conclusion of what has probably been one of the most challenging, the most astounding, and the most rewarding endeavors that you are ever likely to be involved in. You have had difficulties, contradictions, and disagreements to contend with, but all that is now in the past. The task is done. My congratulations.” He glanced toward the clock above the bar. “It is midnight-a suitable time, I think, to propose a toast to the being that started the whole thing off, wherever he may be.” He raised his glass. “To Charlie.”

“To Charlie,” came back the chorus.

“No!”

A voice boomed from the back of the room. It sounded firm and decisive. Everybody turned to look at Danchekker in surprise.

“No,” the professor repeated. “We can’t drink to that just yet.”

There was no suggestion of hesitation or apology in his manner. Clearly his action was reasoned and calculated.

“What’s the problem, Chris?” Hunt asked, moving forward away from the bar.

“I’m afraid that’s not the end of it.”

“How do you mean?”

“The whole Charlie business-There is more to it-more than I have chosen to mention to anybody, because I have no proof. However, there is a further implication in all that has been deduced-one which is even more difficult to accept than even the revelations of the past few weeks.”

The festive atmosphere had vanished. Suddenly they were in business again. Danchekker walked slowly toward the center of the room and stopped with his hands resting on the back of one of the chairs. He gazed at the table for a moment, then drew a deep breath and looked up.

“The problem with Charlie, and the rest of the Lunarians, that has not been touched upon is this: quite simply, they were too human.”

Puzzled looks appeared here and there. Somebody turned to his neighbor and shrugged. They all looked back at Danchekker in silence.

“Let us recapitulate for a moment some of the fundamental principles of evolution,” he said. “How do different animal species arise? Well, we know that variations of a given species arise from mutations caused by various agencies. It follows from elementary genetics that in a freely mixing and interbreeding population, any new characteristic will tend to be diluted, and will disappear within relatively few generations. However”-the professor’s tone became deadly serious-“when sections of the population become reproductively isolated from one another-for example, by geegraphical separation, by segregation of behavior patterns, or by seasonal differences, say, in mating times-dilution through interbreeding will be prevented. When a new characteristic appears within an isolated group, it will be confined to and reinforced within that group; thus, generation by generation, the group will diverge from the other group or groups from which it has been isolated. Finally a new species will establish itself. This principle is fundamental to the whole idea of evolution: Given isolation, divergence will occur. The origins of all species on Earth can be traced back to the existence at some time of some mechanism or other of isolation between variations within a single species. The animal life peculiar to Australia and South America, for instance, demonstrates how rapidly divergence takes effect even when isolation has existed only for a short time.

“Now we seem to be satisfied that for the best part of twenty-five million years, two groups of terrestrial animals-one on Earth, the other on Minerva-were left to evolve in complete isolation. As a scientist who accepts fully the validity of the principle I have just outlined, I have no hesitation in saying that divergence between these two groups must have taken place. That, of course, applies equally to the primate lines that were represented on both planets.”

He stopped and stood looking from one to the other of his colleagues, giving them time to think and waiting for a reaction. The reaction came from the far end of the room.

“Yes, now I see what you’re saying,” somebody said. “But why speculate? What’s the point in saying they should have diverged, when it’s clear that they didn’t?”

Danchekker beamed and showed his teeth. “What makes you say they didn’t?” he challenged.

The questioner raised his arms in appeal. “What my two eyes tell me-I can see they didn’t.”

“What do you see?”

“I see humans. I see Lunarians. They’re the same. So, they didn’t diverge.”

“Didn’t they?” Danchekker’s voice cut the air like a whiplash. “Or are you making the same unconscious assumption that everyone else has made? Let me go over the facts once again, purely from an objective point of view. I’ll simply list the things we observe and make no assumptions, conscious or otherwise, about how they fit in with what we think we already know.

“First: The two populations were isolated. Fact.

“Second: Today, twenty-five million years later, we observe two sets of individuals, ourselves and the Lunarians. Fact.

“Third: We and the Lunarians are identical. Fact.

“Now, if we accept the principle that divergence must have occurred, what must we conclude? Ask yourselves-If confronted by those facts and nothing else, what would any scientist deduce?”

Danchekker stood facing them, pursing his lips and rocking back and forth on his heels. Silence enveloped the room, broken after a few seconds by his whistling quietly and tunelessly to himself.

“Christ…!” The exclamation came from Hunt. He stood gaping at the professor in undisguised disbelief. “They couldn’t have been isolated from each other,” he managed at last in a slow, halting voice. “They must both be from the same…” The words trailed away.

Danchekker nodded with evident satisfaction. “Vic’s seen what I am saying,” he informed the group. “You see, the only logical conclusion that can be drawn from the statements I have just enumerated is this: If two identical forms are observed today, they must both come from the same isolated group. In other words, if two lines were isolated and branched apart, both forms must lie on the same branch!”

“How can you say that, Chris?” someone insisted. “We know they came from different branches.”

“What do you know?” Danchekker whispered.

“Well, I know that the Lunarians came from the branch that was isolated on Minerva…”

“Agreed.”

“… And I know that man comes from the branch that was isolated on Earth.”

“How?”

The question echoed sharply around the walls like a pistol shot.

“Well,” The speaker made a gesture of helplessness. “How do I answer a question like that? It… it’s obvious.”

“Precisely!” Danchekker showed his teeth again. “You assume it-just as everybody else does! That’s part of the conditioning you’ve grown up with. It has been assumed all through the history of the human race, and naturally so-there has never been any reason to suppose otherwise.” Danchekker straightened up and regarded the room with an unblinking stare. “Now perhaps you see the point of all this. I am stating that, on the evidence we have just examined, the human race did not evolve on Earth at all. It evolved on Minerva!”

“Oh, Chris, really…”

“This is getting ridiculous..

Danchekker hammered on relentlessly: “Because, if we accept that divergence must have occurred, then both we and the Lunarians must have evolved in the same place, and we already know that they evolved on Minerva!”

A murmur of excitement mixed with protest ran around the room.

“I am stating that Charlie is not just a distantly related cousin of man-he is our direct ancestor!” Danchekker did not wait for comment but pressed on in the same insistent tone: “And I believe that I can give you an explanation of our own origins which is fully consistent with these deductions.” An abrupt silence fell upon the room. Danchekker regarded his colleagues for a few seconds. When he spoke again, his voice had fallen to a calmer and more objective note.

“From Charlie’s account of his last days, we know that some Lunarians were left alive on the Moon after the fighting died down. Charlie himself was one of them. He did not survive for long, but we can guess that there were others-desperate groups such as the ones he described-scattered across that Lunar surface. Many would have perished in the meteorite storm on Farside, but some, like Charlie’s group, were on Nearside when Minerva exploded and were spared the worst of the bombardment. Even a long time later, when the Moon finally stabilized in orbit around Earth, a handful of survivors remained who gazed up at the new world that hung in their sky. Presumably some of their ships were still usable-perhaps just one, or two, or a few. There was only one way out. Their world had ceased to exist, so they took the only path open to them and set off on a last, desperate attempt to reach the surface of Earth. There could be no way back-there was no place to go back to.

“So we must conclude that their attempt succeeded. Precisely what events followed their emergence out into the savagery of the Ice Age we will probably never know for sure. But we can guess that for generations they hung on the very edge of extinction. Their knowledge and skills would have been lost. Gradually they reverted to barbarism, and for forty thousand years were lost in the midst of the general struggle for survival. But survive they did. Not only did they survive, they consolidated, spread, and flourished. Today their descendants dominate the Earth just as they dominated Minerva-you, I, and the rest of the human race.”

A long silence ensued before anybody spoke. When somebody did, the tone was solemn. “Chris, assuming for now that everything was like you’ve said, a point still bothers me: If we and the Lunarians both came from the Minervan line, what happened to the other line? Where did the branch that was developing on Earth go?”

“Good question.” Danchekker nodded approval. “We know from the fossil record on Earth that during the period that came after the visits of the Ganymeans several developments in the general human direction took place. We can trace this record quite clearly right up to the time in question, fifty thousand years ago. By that time the most advanced stage reached on Earth was that represented by Neanderthal man. Now, the Neanderthals have always been something of a riddle. They were hardy, tough, and superior in intelligence to anything prior to them or coexisting with them. They seemed well adapted to survive the competition of the Ice Age and should, one would think, have attained a dominant position in the era that was to follow. But that did not happen. Strangely, almost mysteriously, they died out abruptly between forty and fifty thousand years ago. Apparently they were unable to compete effectively against a new and far more advanced type of man, whose sudden appearance, as if from nowhere, has always been another of the unsolved riddles of science: Homo sapiens-us!”

Danchekker read the expressions on the faces before him and nodded slowly to confirm their thoughts.

“Now, of course, we see why this was so. He did indeed appear out of nowhere. We see why there is no clear fossil record in the soil of Earth to link Homo sapiens back to the chain of earlier terrestrial man-apes: He did not evolve there. And we see what it was that so ruthlessly and so totally overwhelmed the Neanderthals. How could they hope to compete against an advanced race, weaned on the warrior cult of Minerva?”

Danchekker paused and allowed his gaze to sweep slowly around the circle of faces. Everybody seemed to be suffering from mental punch-drunkenness.

“As I have said, all this follows purely as a chain of reasoning from the observations with which I began. I can offer no evidence to support it. I am convinced, however, that such evidence does exist. Somewhere on Earth the remains of the Lunarian spacecraft that made that last journey from Luna must still exist, possibly buried beneath the mud of a seabed, possibly under the sands of one of the desert regions. There must exist, on Earth, pieces of equipment and artifacts brought by the tiny handful who represented the remnant of the Lunarian civilization. Where on Earth, is anyone’s guess. Personally, I would suggest as the most likely areas the Middle East, the eastern Mediterranean, or the eastern regions of North Africa. But one day proof that what I have said is true will be forthcoming. This I predict with every confidence.”

The professor walked around to the table and poured a glass of Coke. The silence of the room slowly dissolved into a rising tide of voices. One by one, the statues that had been listening returned to life. Danchekker took a long drink and stood in silence for a while, contemplating his glass. Then he turned to face the room again.

“Suddenly lots of things that we have always simply taken for granted start falling into place.” Attention centralized on him once again. “Have you ever stopped to think what it is that makes man so different from all the other animals on Earth? I know that we have larger brains, more-versatile hands, and so forth; what I am referring to is something else. Most animals, when in a hopeless situation will resign themselves to fate and perish in ignominy. Man, on the other hand, does not know how to give in. He is capable of summoning up reserves of stubbornness and resilience that are without parallel on his planet. He is able to attack anything that threatens his survival, with an aggressiveness the like of which the Earth has never seen otherwise. It is this that has enabled him to sweep all before him, made him lord of all the beasts, helped him tame the winds, the rivers, the tides, and even the power of the Sun itself. This stubbornness has conquered the oceans, the skies, and the challenges of space, and at times has resulted in some of the most violent and bloodstained periods in his history. But without this side to his nature, man would be as helpless as the cattle in the field.”

Danchekker scanned the faces challengingly. “Well, where did it come from? It seems out of character with the sedate and easygoing pattern of evolution on Earth. Now we see where it came from: It appeared as a mutation among the evolving primates that were isolated on Minerva. It was transmitted through the population there until it became a racial characteristic. It proved to be such a devastating weapon in the survival struggle there that effective opposition ceased to exist. The inner driving force that it produced was such that the Lunarians were flying spaceships while their contemporaries on Earth were still playing with pieces of stone.

“That same driving force we see in man today. Man has proved invincible in every challenge that the Universe has thrown at him. Perhaps this force has been diluted somewhat in the time that has elapsed since it first appeared on Minerva; we reached the brink of that same precipice of self-destruction but stepped back. The Lunarians hurled themselves in regardless. It could be that this was why they did not seek a solution by cooperation-their in-built tendency to violence made them simply incapable of conceiving such a formula.

“But this is typical of the way in which evolution works. The forces of natural selection will always operate in such a way as to bend and shape a new mutation, and to preserve a variation of it that offers the best prospects of survival for the species as a whole. The raw mutation that made the Lunarians what they were was too extreme and resulted in their downfall. Improvement has taken the form of a dilution, which results in a greater psychological stability of the race. Thus, we survive where they perished.”

Danchekker paused to finish his drink. The statues remained statues.

“What an incredible race they must have been,” he said. “Consider in particular the handful who were destined to become the forefathers of mankind. They had endured a holocaust unlike anything we can even begin to imagine. They had watched their world and everything that was familiar explode in the skies above their heads. After this, abandoned in an airless, waterless, lifeless, radioactive desert, they were slaughtered beneath the billions of tons of Minervan debris that crashed down from the skies to complete the ruin of all their hopes and the total destruction of all they had achieved.

“A few survived to emerge onto the surface after the bombardment. They knew that they could live only for as long as their supplies and their machines lasted. There was nowhere they could go, nothing they could plan for. They did not give in. They did not know how to give in. They must have existed for months before they realized that, by a quirk of fate, a slim chance of survival existed.

“Can you imagine the feelings of that last tiny band of Lunarians as they stood amid the Lunar desolation, gazing up at the new world that shone in the sky above their heads, with nothing else alive around them and, for all they knew, nothing else alive in the Universe? What did it take to attempt that one-way journey into the unknown? We can try to imagine, but we will never know. Whatever it took, they grasped at the straw that was offered and set off on that journey.

“Even this was only the beginning. When they stepped out of their ships onto the alien world, they found themselves in the midst of one of the most ruthless periods of competition and extinction in the history of the Earth. Nature ruled with an uncompromising hand. Savage beasts roamed the planet; the climate was in turmoil following the gravitational upheavals caused by the arrival of the Moon; possibly they were decimated by unknown diseases. It was an environment that none of their experience had prepared them for. Still they refused to yield. They learned the ways of the new world: They learned to feed by hunting and trapping, to fight with spear and club; they learned how to shelter from the elements, to read and interpret the language of the wild. And as they became proficient in these new arts they grew stronger and ventured farther afield. The spark that they had brought with them and which had carried them through on the very edge of extinction began to glow bright once again. Finally that glow erupted into the flame that had swept all before it on Minerva; they emerged as an adversary more fearsome and more formidable than anything the Earth had ever known. The Neanderthals never stood a chance-they were doomed the moment the first Lunarian foot made contact with the soil of Earth.

“The outcome you see all around you today. We stand undisputed masters of the Solar System and poised on the edge of interstellar space itself, just as they did fifty thousand years ago.”

Danchekker placed his glass carefully on the table and moved slowly toward the center of the room. His sober gaze shifted from eye to eye. He concluded: “And so, gentlemen, we inherit the stars.

“Let us go out, then, and claim our inheritance. We belong to a tradition in which the concept of defeat has no meaning. Today the stars and tomorrow the galaxies. No force exists in the Universe that can stop us.”

Epilogue

Professor Hans Jacob Zeiblemann, of the Department of Paleontology of the University of Geneva, finished his entry for the day in his diary, closed the book with a grunt, and returned it to its place in the tin box underneath his bed. He hoisted his two-hundred-pound bulk to its feet and, drawing his pipe from the breast pocket of his bush shirt, moved a pace across the tent to knock out the ash on the metal pole by the door. As he stood packing a new fill of tobacco into the bowl, he gazed out over the arid landscape of northern Sudan.

The Sun had turned into a deep gash just above the horizon, oozing blood-red liquid rays that drenched the naked rock for miles around. The tent was one of three that stood crowded together on a narrow sandy shelf. The shelf was formed near the bottom of a steep-sided rocky valley, dotted with clumps of coarse bush and desert scrub that clustered together along the valley floor and petered out rapidly, without gaining the slopes on either side. On a wider shelf beneath stood the more numerous tents of the native laborers. Obscure odors wafting upward from this direction signaled that preparation of the evening meals had begun. From farther below came the perpetual sound of the stream, rushing and clattering and jostling on its way to join the waters of the distant Nile.

The crunch of boots on gravel sounded nearby. A few seconds later Zeiblemann’s assistant, Jorg Hutfauer, appeared, his shirt dark and streaked with perspiration and grime.

“Phew!” The newcomer halted to mop his brow with something that had once been a handkerchief. “I’m whacked. A beer, a bath, dinner, then bed-that’s my program for tonight.”

Zeiblemann grinned. “Busy day?”

“Haven’t stopped. We’ve extended sector five to the lower terrace. The subsoil isn’t too bad there at all. We’ve made quite a bit of progress.”

“Anything new?”

“I brought these up-thought you might be interested. There’s more below, but it’ll keep till you come down tomorrow.” Hutfauer passed across the objects he had been carrying and continued on into the tent to retrieve a can of beer from the pile of boxes and cartons under the table.

“Mmm…” Zeiblemann turned the bone over in his hand. “Human femur… heavy.” He studied the unusual curve and measured the proportions with his eye. “Neanderthal, I’d say, or very near related.”

“That’s what I thought.”

The professor placed the fossil carefully in a tray, covered it with a cloth, and laid the tray on the chest standing just inside the tent doorway. He picked up a hand-sized blade of flint, simply but effectively worked by the removal of long, thin flakes.

“What did you make of this?” he asked.

Hutfauer moved forward out of the shadow and paused to take a prolonged and grateful drink from the can.

“Well, the bed seems to be late Pleistocene, so I’d expect upper Paleolithic indications-which fits in with the way it’s been worked. Probably a scraper for skinning. There are areas of microliths on the handle and also around the end of the blade. Bearing in mind the location, I’d put it at something related fairly closely to the Capsian culture.” He lowered the can and cocked an inquiring eye at Zeiblemann.

“Not bad,” said the professor, nodding. He laid the flint in a tray beside the first and added the identification sheet that Hutfauer had written out. “We’ll have a closer look tomorrow when the light’s a little better.”

Hutfauer joined him at the door. The sound of jabbering and shouting from the level below told them that another of the natives’ endless minor domestic disputes had broken out over something.

“Tea’s up if anyone’s interested,” a voice called out from behind the next tent.

Zeiblemann raised his eyebrows and licked his lips. “What a splendid idea,” he said. “Come on, Jorg.”

They walked around to the makeshift kitchen, where Ruddi Magendorf was sitting on a rock, shoveling spoonfuls of tea leaves out of a tin by his side and into a large bubbling pot of water.

“Hi, Prof-hi, Jorg,” he greeted as the two joined him. “It’ll be brewed in a minute or two.”

Zeiblemann wiped his palms on the front of his shirt. “Good. Just what I could do with.” He cast his eye about automatically and noted the trays, covered by cloths, laid out on the trestle table by the side of Magendorf’s tent.

“Ah, I see you’ve been busy as well,” he observed. “What do we have there?”

Magendorf followed his gaze.

“Jomatto brought them up about half an hour ago. They’re from the upper terrace of sector two-east end. Take a look.”

Zeiblemann walked over to the table and uncovered one of the trays to inspect the neatly arrayed collection, at the same time mumbling absently to himself.

“More flint scrapers, I see… Mmmm… That could be a hand ax. Yes, I believe it is… Bits of jawbone, human… looks as if they might well match up. Skull cap… Bone spearhead… Mmm…” He lifted the cloth from the second tray and began running his eye casually over the contents. Suddenly the movement of his head stopped abruptly as he stared hard at something at one end. His face contorted into a scowl of disbelief.

“What the hell is this supposed to be?” he bellowed. He straightened up and walked back toward the stove, holding the offending object out in front of him.

Magendorf shrugged and pulled a face.

“I thought you’d better see it,” he offered, then added: “Jomatto says it was with the rest of that set.”

“Jomatto says what?” Zeiblemann’s voice rose in pitch as he glowered first at Magendorf and then back at the object in his hand. “Oh, for God’s sake! The man’s supposed to have a bit of sense. This is a serious scientific expedition…” He regarded the object again, his nostrils quivering with indignation. “Obviously one of the boys has been playing a silly joke or something.”

It was about the size of a large cigarette pack, not including the wrist bracelet, and carried on its upper face four windows that could have been meant for miniature electronic displays. It suggested a chronometer or calculating aid, or maybe it was both and other things besides. The back and contents were missing, and all that was left was the metal casing, somewhat battered and dented, but still surprisingly unaffected very much by corrosion.

“There’s a funny inscription on the bracelet,” Magenclorf said, rubbing his nose dubiously. “I’ve never seen characters like it before.”

Zeiblemann sniffed and peered briefly at the lettering.

“Pah! Russian or something.” His face had taken on a pinker shade than even that imparted by the Sudan sun. “Wasting valuable time with-with dime-store trinkets!” He drew back his arm and hurled the wrist set high out over the stream. It flashed momentarily in the sunlight before plummeting down into the mud by the water’s edge. The professor stared after it for a few seconds and then turned back to Magendorf, his breathing once again normal. Magendorf extended a mug full of steaming brown liquid.

“Ah, splendid,” Zeiblemann said in a suddenly agreeable voice. “Just the thing.” He settled himself into a folding canvas chair and accepted the proffered mug eagerly. “I’ll tell you one thing that does look interesting, Ruddi,” he went on, nodding toward the table. “That piece of skull in the first tray-number nineteen. Have you noticed the formation of the brow ridges? Now, it could well be an example of…”

In the mud by the side of the stream below, the wrist unit rocked back and forth to the pulsing ripples that every few seconds rose to disturb the delicate equilibrium of the position into which it had fallen. After a while, a rib of sand beneath it was washed away and it tumbled over into a hollow, where it lodged among the swirling, muddy water. By nightfall, the lower half of the casing was already embedded in silt. By the following morning, the hollow had disappeared. Just one arm of the bracelet remained, standing up out of the sand below the rippling surface. The arm bore an inscription, which, if translated, would have read: KORIEL.

The End

Conclusion

It was a good fun story. Right?

Is it really too difficult to believe that there are intelligence’s older than the human race? Or, that they mastered space travel long, long before our ancestors even considered to climb down from the tree? Are these concepts so alien as to be automatically discounted and considered to be “tin foil hat” conspiracy nonsense?

We need to consider everything when look at the world through the eyeglasses of modern life. No matter how outrageous it appears, the truth is something that should not elude us.

Do you want more?

I have more most excellent science fiction stories in my Fictional Story Index, here…

Fictional Stories

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Citizen of the Galaxy (full text) by Robert Heinlein

Once upon a time I pulled this book from the shelf of my middle school library and fell into an enveloping world. I read it over and over, and discovered Science Fiction. I think I read all of Heinlein’s “juveniles” that year.

In the Far Future, young Thorby is sold in a slave market to an old beggar who is more than he seems to be; and Thorby takes part in many adventures as he climbs the ladders of power and learns the truth of his own identity. A suspenseful tale of adventure, coming-of-age and interstellar conflict by science fiction’s Grand Master.

Read this fifty years ago. Reread several times. Still special. I did not know why I was touched then, now I (maybe) understand.

The characters, like many of Heinlein's, have stayed with me. This work focuses on personal free will (as do most of Heinlein's books) and the contrast of group submission. Heinlein, like Dick Francis, writes from a moral, ethical base.

Book can be divided into three sections; Thorby as a slave begger, then adopted into a merchant family traveling in space, then found as heir of riches. Each situation reveals the challenge of combining individual freedom with group submission. Where does one stop and the other begin?

Baslim the cripple, buys Thorby in a slave market, on the first page. We learn this is to save him. Thorby feels free as a beggar and then a slave when he is a free trader on ship. Thereafter, as overwhelmingly wealthy, feels totally controlled. Fascinating!

As he released, Thorby is told. - ''There . . . congratulations and welcome to the ranks of free men. I’ve been free a parcel of years now and I predict that you will find it looser but not always more comfortable.” Precious.

This is so skillfully done the reader does not notice the message, just enjoys the story. Great!

-Clay Garner

Citizen of the Galaxy

By Robert Heinlein

CHAPTER 1

“Lot ninety-seven,” the auctioneer announced. “A boy.”

The boy was dizzy and half sick from the feel of ground underfoot. The slave ship had come more than forty light-years; it carried in its holds the stink of all slave ships, a reek of crowded unwashed bodies, of fear and vomit and ancient grief. Yet in it the boy had been someone, a recognized member of a group, entitled to his meal each day, entitled to fight for his right to eat it in peace. He had even had friends.

Now he was again nothing and nobody, again about to be sold.

A lot had been knocked down on the auction block, matched blonde girls, alleged to be twins; the bidding had been brisk, the price high. The auctioneer turned with a smile of satisfaction and pointed at the boy. “Lot ninety-seven. Shove him up here.”

The boy was cuffed and prodded onto the block, stood tense while his feral eyes darted around, taking in what he had not been able to see from the pen. The slave market lies on the spaceport side of the famous Plaza of Liberty, facing the hill crowned by the still more famous Praesidium of the Sargon, capitol of the Nine Worlds. The boy did not recognize it; he did not even know what planet he was on. He looked at the crowd.

Closest to the slave block were beggars, ready to wheedle each buyer as he claimed his property. Beyond them, in a semi-circle, were seats for the rich and privileged. On each flank of this elite group waited their slaves, bearers, and bodyguards and drivers, idling near the ground cars of the rich and the palanquins and sedan chairs of the still richer. Behind the lords and ladies were commoners, idlers and curious, freedmen and pickpockets and vendors of cold drinks, an occasional commoner merchant not privileged to sit but alert for a bargain in a porter, a clerk, a mechanic, or even a house servant for his wives.

“Lot ninety-seven,” the auctioneer repeated. “A fine, healthy lad, suitable as page or tireboy. Imagine him, my lords and ladies, in the livery of your house. Look at—” His words were lost in the scream of a ship, dopplering in at the spaceport behind him.

The old beggar Baslim the Cripple twisted his half-naked body and squinted his one eye over the edge of the block. The boy did not look like a docile house servant to Baslim; he looked a hunted animal, dirty, skinny, and bruised. Under the dirt, the boy’s back showed white scar streaks, endorsements of former owners’ opinions.

The boy’s eyes and the shape of his ears caused Baslim to guess that he might be of unmutated Earth ancestry, but not much could be certain save that he was small, scared, male, and still defiant. The boy caught the beggar staring at him and glared back.

The din died out and a wealthy dandy seated in front waved a kerchief lazily at the auctioneer. “Don’t waste our time, you rascal. Show us something like that last lot.”

“Please, noble sir. I must dispose of the lots in catalog order.”

“Then get on with it! Or cuff that starved varmint aside and show us merchandise.”

“You are kind, my lord.” The auctioneer raised his voice. “I have been asked to be quick and I am sure my noble employer would agree. Let me be frank. This beautiful lad is young; his new owner must invest instruction in him. Therefore—” The boy hardly listened. He knew only a smattering of this language and what was said did not matter anyhow. He looked over the veiled ladies and elegant men, wondering which one would be his new problem.

“—a low starting price and a quick turnover. A bargain! Do I hear twenty stellars?”

The silence grew awkward. A lady, sleek and expensive from sandalled feet to lace-veiled face, leaned toward the dandy, whispered and giggled. He frowned, took out a dagger and pretended to groom his nails. “I said to get on with it,” he growled.

The auctioneer sighed. “I beg you to remember, gentlefolk, that I must answer to my patron. But we’ll start still lower. Ten stellars—yes, I said, ‘Ten.’ Fantastic!”

He looked amazed. “Am I growing deaf? Did someone lift a finger and I fail to see it? Consider, I beg you. Here you have a fresh young lad like a clean sheet of paper; you can draw any design you like. At this unbelievably low price you can afford to make a mute of him, or alter him as your fancy pleases.”

“Or feed him to the fish!”

” ‘Or feed him—’ Oh, you are witty, noble sir!”

“I’m bored. What makes you think that sorry item is worth anything? Your son, perhaps?”

The auctioneer forced a smile. “I would be proud if he were. I wish I were permitted to tell you this lad’s ancestry—”

“Which means you don’t know.”

“Though my lips must be sealed, I can point out the shape of his skull, the perfectly rounded curve of his ears.” The auctioneer nipped the boy’s ear, pulled it.

The boy twisted and bit his hand. The crowd laughed.

The man snatched his hand away. “A spirited lad. Nothing a taste of leather won’t cure. Good stock, look at his ears. The best in the Galaxy, some say.”

The auctioneer had overlooked something; the young dandy was from Syndon IV. He removed his helmet, uncovering typical Syndonian ears, long, hairy, and pointed. He leaned forward and his ears twitched. “Who is your noble protector?”

The old beggar Baslim scooted near the corner of the block, ready to duck. The boy tensed and looked around, aware of trouble without understanding why. The auctioneer went white—no one sneered at Syndonians face to face . . . not more than once. “My lord,” he gasped, “you misunderstood me.”

“Repeat that crack about ‘ears’ and ‘the best stock.’ “

Police were in sight but not close. The auctioneer wet his lips. “Be gracious, gentle lord. My children would starve. I quoted a common saying—not my opinion. I was trying to hasten a bid for this chattel . . . as you yourself urged.”

The silence was broken by a female voice saying, “Oh, let him go, Dwarol. It’s not his fault how the slave’s ears are shaped; he has to sell him.”

The Syndonian breathed heavily. “Sell him, then!”

The auctioneer took a breath. “Yes, my lord.” He pulled himself together and went on, “I beg my lords’ and ladies’ pardons for wasting time on a minor lot. I now ask for any bid at all.”

He waited, said nervously, “I hear no bid, I see no bid. No bid once . . . if you do not bid, I am required to return this lot to stock and consult my patron before continuing. No bid twice. There are many beautiful items to be offered; it would be a shame not to show them. No bid three—”

“There’s your bid,” the Syndonian said.

“Eh?” The old beggar was holding up two fingers. The auctioneer stared. “Are you offering a bid?”

“Yes,” croaked the old man, “if the lords and ladies permit.”

The auctioneer glanced at the seated circle. Someone in the crowd shouted, “Why not? Money is money.”

The Syndonian nodded; the auctioneer said quickly, “You offer two stellars for this boy?”

“No, no, no, no, no!” Baslim screamed. “Two minims!”

The auctioneer kicked at him; the beggar jerked his head aside. The auctioneer shouted, “Get out! I’ll teach you to make fun of your betters!”

“Auctioneer!”

“Sir? Yes, my lord?”

The Syndonian said, “Your words were ‘any bid at all.’ Sell him the boy.”

“But—”

“You heard me.”

“My lord, I cannot sell on one bid. The law is clear; one bid is not an auction. Nor even two unless the auctioneer has set a minimum. With no minimum, I am not allowed to sell with less than three bids. Noble sir, this law was given to protect the owner, not my unhappy self.”

Someone shouted, “That’s the law!”

The Syndonian frowned. “Then declare the bid.”

“Whatever pleases my lords and ladies.” He faced the crowd. “For lot ninety-seven: I hear a bid of two minims. Who’ll make it four?”

“Four,” stated the Syndonian.

“Five!” a voice called out.

The Syndonian motioned the beggar to him. Baslim moved on hands and one knee, with the stump of the other leg dragging and was hampered by his alms bowl. The auctioneer started droning, “Going at five minims once . . . five minims twice . . .”

“Six!” snapped the Syndonian, glanced into the beggar’s bowl, reached in his purse and threw him a handful of change.

“I hear six. Do I hear seven?”

“Seven,” croaked Baslim.

“I’m bid seven. You, over there, with your thumb up. You make it eight?”

“Nine!” interposed the beggar.

The auctioneer glared but put the bid. The price was approaching one stellar, too expensive a joke for most of the crowd. The lords and ladies neither wanted the worthless slave nor wished to queer the Syndonian’s jest.

The auctioneer chanted, “Going once at nine . . . going twice at nine . . . going three times—sold at nine minims!” He shoved the boy off the block almost into the beggar’s lap. “Take him and get out!”

“Softly,” cautioned the Syndonian. “The bill of sale.”

> Restraining himself, the auctioneer filled in price and new owner on a form already prepared for lot ninety-seven. Baslim paid over nine minims—then had to be subsidized again by the Syndonian, as the stamp tax was more than the selling price. The boy stood quietly by. He knew that he had been sold again and he was getting it through his head that the old man was his new master—not that it mattered; he wanted neither of them. While all were busy with the tax, he made a break.

Without appearing to look the old beggar made a long arm, snagged an ankle, pulled him back. Then Baslim heaved himself erect, placed an arm across the boy’s shoulders and used him for a crutch. The boy felt a bony hand clutch his elbow in a strong grip and relaxed himself to the inevitable—another time; they always got careless if you waited.

Supported, the beggar bowed with great dignity. “My lord,” he said huskily, “I and my servant thank you.”

“Nothing, nothing.” The Syndonian flourished his kerchief in dismissal.

From the Plaza of Liberty to the hole where Baslim lived was less than a li, no more than a half mile, but it took them longer than such distance implies. The hopping progress the old man could manage using the boy as one leg was even slower than his speed on two hands and one knee, and it was interrupted frequently by rests for business—not that business ceased while they shuffled along, as the old man required the boy to thrust the bowl under the nose of every pedestrian.

Baslim accomplished this without words. He had tried Interlingua, Space Dutch, Sargonese, half a dozen forms of patois, thieves’ kitchen, cant, slave lingo, and trade talk—even System English—without result, although he suspected that the boy had understood him more than once. Then he dropped the attempt and made his wishes known by sign language and a cuff or two. If the boy and he had no words in common, he would teach him—all in good time, all in good time. Baslim was in no hurry. Baslim was never in a hurry; he took the long view.

Baslim’s home lay under the old amphitheater. When Sargon Augustus of imperial memory decreed a larger circus only part of the old one was demolished; the work was interrupted by the Second Cetan War and never resumed. Baslim led the boy into these ruins. The going was rough and it was necessary for the old man to resume crawling. But he never let go his grip. Once he had the boy only by breechclout; the boy almost wriggled out of his one bit of clothing before the beggar snatched a wrist. After that they went more slowly.

They went down a hole at the dark end of a ruined passage, the boy being forced to go first. They crawled over shards and rubble and came into a night-black but smooth corridor. Down again . . . and they were in the performers’ barracks of the old amphitheater, under the old arena.

They came in the dark to a well-carpentered door. Baslim shoved the boy through, followed him and closed it, pressed his thumb to a personal lock, touched a switch; light came on. “Well, lad, we’re home.”

The boy stared. Long ago he had given up having expectations of any sort. But what he saw was not anything he could have expected. It was a modest decent small living room, tight, neat, and clean. Ceiling panels gave pleasant glareless light. Furniture was sparse but adequate. The boy looked around in awe; poor as it was, it was better than anything he remembered having lived in.

The beggar let go his shoulder, hopped to a stack of shelves, put down his bowl, and took up a complicated something. It was not until the beggar shucked his clout and strapped the thing in place that the boy figured out what it was: an artificial leg, so well articulated that it rivaled the efficiency of flesh and blood. The man stood up, took trousers from a chest, drew them on, and hardly seemed crippled. “Come here,” he said, in Interlingua.

The boy did not move. Baslim repeated it in other languages, shrugged, took the boy by an arm, led him into a room beyond. It was small, both kitchen and wash room; Baslim filled a pan, handed the boy a bit of soap and said, “Take a bath.” He pantomimed what he wanted.

The boy stood in mute stubbornness. The man sighed, picked up a brush suitable for floors and started as if to scrub the boy. He stopped with stiff bristles touching skin and repeated, “Take a bath. Wash yourself,” saying it in Interlingua and System English.

The boy hesitated, took off his clout and started slowly to lather himself.

Baslim said, “That’s better,” picked up the filthy breech clout, dropped it in a waste can, laid out a towel, and, turning to the kitchen side, started preparing a meal.

A few minutes later he turned and the boy was gone.

Unhurriedly he walked into the living room, found the boy naked and wet and trying very hard to open the door. The boy saw him but redoubled his futile efforts. Baslim tapped him on the shoulder, hooked a thumb toward the smaller room. “Finish your bath.”

He turned away. The boy slunk after him.

When the boy was washed and dry, Baslim put the stew he had been freshening back on the burner, turned the switch to “simmer” and opened a cupboard, from which he removed a bottle and daubs of vegetable flock. Clean, the boy was a pattern of scars and bruises, unhealed sores and cuts and abrasions, old and new. “Hold still.”

The stuff stung; the boy started to wiggle. “Hold still!” Baslim repeated in a pleasant firm tone and slapped him. The boy relaxed, tensing only as the medicine touched him. The man looked carefully at an old ulcer on the boy’s knee, then, humming softly, went again to the cupboard, came back and injected the boy in one buttock—first acting out the idea that he would slap his head off his shoulders if he failed to take it quietly. That done, he found an old cloth, motioned the boy to wrap himself a clout, turned back to his cooking.

Presently Baslim placed big bowls of stew on the table in the living room, first moving chair and table so that the boy might sit on the chest while eating. He added a handful of fresh green lentils and a couple of generous chunks of country bread, black and hard. “Soup’s on, lad. Come and get it.”

The boy sat down on the edge of the chest but remained poised for flight and did not eat.

Baslim stopped eating. “What’s the matter?” He saw the boy’s eyes flick toward the door, then drop. “Oh, so that’s it.” He got up, steadying himself to get his false leg under him, went to the door, pressed his thumb in the lock. He faced the boy. “The door is unlocked,” he announced. “Either eat your dinner, or leave.” He repeated it several ways and was pleased when he thought that he detected understanding on using the language he surmised might be the slave’s native tongue.

But he let the matter rest, went back to the table, got carefully into his chair and picked up his spoon.

The boy reached for his own, then suddenly was off the chest and out the door. Baslim went on eating. The door remained ajar, light streaming into the labyrinth.

Later, when Baslim had finished a leisurely dinner, he became aware that the boy was watching him from the shadows. He avoided looking, lounged back, and started picking his teeth. Without turning, he said in the language he had decided might be the boy’s own, “Will you come eat your dinner? Or shall I throw it away?”

The boy did not answer. “All right,” Baslim went on, “if you won’t, I’ll have to close the door. I can’t risk leaving it open with the light on.” He slowly got up, went to the door, and started to close it. “Last call,” he announced. “Closing up for the night.”

As the door was almost closed the boy squealed, “Wait!” in the language Baslim expected, and scurried inside.

“Welcome,” Baslim said quietly. “I’ll leave it unlocked, in case you change your mind.” He sighed. “If I had my way, no one would ever be locked in.”

The boy did not answer but sat down, huddled himself over the food and began wolfing it as if afraid it might be snatched away. His eyes flicked from right to left. Baslim sat down and watched.

The extreme pace slowed but chewing and gulping never ceased until the last bit of stew had been chased with the last hunk of bread, the last lentil crunched and swallowed. The final bites appeared to go down by sheer will power, but swallow them he did, sat up, looked Baslim in the eye and smiled shyly. Baslim smiled back.

The boy’s smile v
anished. He turned white, then a light green. A rope of drool came willy-nilly from a corner of his mouth—and he was disastrously sick.

Baslim moved to avoid the explosion. “Stars in heaven, I’m an idiot!” he exclaimed, in his native language. He went into the kitchen, returned with rags and pail, wiped the boy’s face and told him sharply to quiet down, then cleaned the stone floor.

After a bit he returned with a much smaller ration, only broth and a small piece of bread. “Soak the bread and eat it.”

“I better not.”

“Eat it. You won’t be sick again. I should have known better, seeing your belly against your backbone, than to give you a man-sized meal. But eat slowly.”

The boy looked up and his chin quivered. Then he took a small spoonful. Baslim watched while he finished the broth and most of the bread.

“Good,” Baslim said at last. “Well, I’m for bed, lad. By the way, what’s your name?”

The boy hesitated. “Thorby.”

” ‘Thorby’—a good name. You can call me ‘Pop.’ Good night.” He unstrapped his leg, hopped to the shelf and put it away, hopped to his bed. It was a peasant bed, a hard mattress in a corner. He scrunched close to the wall to leave room for the boy and said, “Put out the light before you come to bed.” Then he closed his eyes and waited.

There was long silence. He heard the boy go to the door; the light went out. Baslim waited, listening for noise of the door opening. It did not come; instead he felt the mattress give as the boy crawled in. “Good night,” he repeated.

“G’night.”

He had almost dozed when he realized that the boy was trembling violently. He reached behind him, felt skinny ribs, patted them; the boy broke into sobs.

He turned over, eased his stump into a comfortable position, put an arm around the boy’s shaking shoulders and pulled his face against his own chest. “It’s all right, Thorby,” he said gently, “it’s all right. It’s over now. It’ll never happen again.”

The boy cried out loud and clung to him. Baslim held him, speaking softly until the spasms stopped. Then he held still until he was sure that Thorby was asleep.

CHAPTER 2

Thorby’s wounds healed, those outside quickly, those inside more slowly. The old beggar acquired another mattress and stuck it in the other corner. But Baslim would sometimes wake to find a small warm bundle snuggled against his spine and know thereby that the boy had had another nightmare. Baslim was a light sleeper and hated sharing a bed. But he never forced Thorby to go back to his own bed when this happened.

Sometimes the boy would cry out his distress without waking. Once Baslim was jerked awake by hearing Thorby wail, “Mama, Mama!” Without making a light he crawled quickly to the boy’s pallet and bent over him. “There, there, son, it’s all right.”

“Papa?”

“Go back to sleep, son. You’ll wake Mama.” He added, “I’ll stay with you—you’re safe. Now be quiet. We don’t want to wake Mama . . . do we?”

“All right, Papa.”

The old man waited, almost without breathing, until he was stiff and cold and his stump ached. When he was satisfied that the boy was asleep he crawled to his own bed.

That incident caused the old man to try hypnosis. A long time earlier, when Baslim had had two eyes, two legs, and no reason to beg, he had learned the art. But he had never liked hypnosis, even for therapy; he had an almost religious concept of the dignity of the individual; hypnotizing another person did not fit his basic evaluations.

But this was an emergency.

He was sure that Thorby had been taken from his parents so young that he had no conscious memory of them. The boy’s notion of his life was a jumbled recollection of masters, some bad, some worse, all of whom had tried to break the spirit of a “bad” boy. Thorby had explicit memories of some of these masters and described them in gutter speech vivid and violent. But he was never sure of time or place—”place” was some estate, or household, or factor’s compound, never a particular planet or sun (his notions of astronomy were mostly wrong and he was innocent of galactography) and “time” was simply “before” or “after,” “short” or “long.” While each planet has its day, its year, its own method of dating, while they are reconciled for science in terms of the standard second as defined by radioactive decay, the standard year of the birthplace of mankind, and a standard reference date, the first jump from that planet, Sol III, to its satellite, it was impossible for an illiterate boy to date anything that way. Earth was a myth to Thorby and a “day” was the time between two sleeps.

Baslim could not guess the lad’s age. The boy looked like unmutated Earth stock and was pre-adolescent, but any guess would be based on unproved assumption. Vandorians and Italo-Glyphs look like the original stock, but Vandorians take three times as long to mature—Baslim recalled the odd tale about the consular agent’s daughter whose second husband was the great grandson of her first and she had outlived them both. Mutations do not necessarily show up in appearance.

It was conceivable that this boy was “older” in standard seconds than Baslim himself; space is deep and mankind adapted itself in many ways to many conditions. Never mind!—he was a youngster and he needed help.

Thorby was not afraid of hypnosis; the word meant nothing to him, nor did Baslim explain. After supper one evening the old man simply said, “Thorby, I want you to do something.”

“Sure, Pop. What?”

“Lie down on your bed. Then I’m going to make you sleepy and we’ll talk.”

“Huh? You mean the other way around, don’t you?”

“No. This is a different sort of sleep. You’ll be able to talk.”

Thorby was dubious but willing. The old man lighted a candle, switched off the glow plates. Using the flame to focus attention he started the ancient routines of monotonous suggestion, of relaxation, drowsiness . . . sleep.

“Thorby, you are asleep but you can hear me. You can answer.”

“Yes, Pop.”

“You will stay asleep until I tell you to wake. But you will be able to answer any question I ask.”

“Yes, Pop.”

“You remember the ship that brought you here. What was its name?”

“The Merry Widow. Only that wasn’t what we called it.”

“You remember getting into that ship. Now you are in it—you can see it. You remember all about it. Now go back to where you were when you went aboard.”

The boy stiffened without waking. “I don’t want to!”

“I’ll be right with you. You’ll be safe. Now what is the name of the place? Go back to it. Look at it.”

An hour and a half later Baslim still squatted beside the sleeping boy. Sweat poured down wrinkles in his face and he felt badly shaken. To get the boy back to the time he wanted to explore it had been necessary to force him back through experiences disgusting even to Baslim, old and hardened as he was. Repeatedly Thorby had fought against it, nor could Baslim blame him—he felt now that he could count the scars on the boy’s back and assign a villain to each.

But he had achieved his purpose: to delve farther back than the boy’s waking memory ran, back into his very early childhood, and at last to the traumatic moment when the baby manchild had been taken from his parents.

He left the boy in deep coma while he collected his shattered thoughts. The last few moments of the quest had been so bad that the old man doubted his judgment in trying to dig out the source of the trouble.

Well, let’s see . . . what had he found out?

The boy was born free. But he had always been sure of that.

The boy’s native language was System English, spoken with an accent Baslim could not place; it had been blurred by baby speech. That placed him inside the Terran Hegemony; it was even possible (though not likely) that the boy had been born on Earth. That was a surprise; he had thought the boy’s native language was Interlingua, since he spoke it better than he did the other three he knew.

What else? Well, the boy’s parents were certainly dead, if the confused and terror-ridden memory he had pried out of the boy’s skull could be trusted. He had been unable to dig out their family name nor any way of identifying them—they were just “Papa” and “Mama”—so Baslim gave up a half-formed plan of trying to get word to relatives of the boy.

Well, now to make this ordeal he had put the lad through worth the cost—

“Thorby?”

The boy moaned and stirred. “Yes, Pop?”

“You are asleep. You won’t wake up until I tell you to.”

“I won’t wake up until you tell me to.”

“When I tell you, you will wake at once. You will feel fine and you won’t remember anything we’ve talked about.”

“Yes, Pop.”

“You will forget. But you will feel fine. About half an hour later you will feel sleepy again. I’ll tell you to go to bed and you will go to bed and go right to sleep. You’ll sleep all night, good sleep and pleasant dreams. You won’t have any more bad dreams. Say it.”

“I won’t have any more bad dreams.”

“You won’t ever have any more bad dreams. Not ever.”

“Not ever.”

“Papa and Mama don’t want you to have any bad dreams. They’re happy and they want you to be happy. When you dream about them, it will always be happy dreams.”

“Happy dreams.”

“Everything is all right now, Thorby. You are starting to wake. You’re waking up and you can’t remember what we’ve been talking about. But you’ll never have bad dreams again. Wake up, Thorby.”

The boy sat up, rubbed his eyes, yawned, and grinned. “Gee, I fell asleep. Guess I played out on you, Pop. Didn’t work, huh?”

“Everything’s all right, Thorby.”

It took more than one session to lay those ghosts, but the nightmares dwindled and stopped. Baslim was not technician enough to remove the bad memories; they were still there. All he did was to implant suggestions to keep them from making Thorby unhappy. Nor would Baslim have removed memories had he been skilled enough; he had a stiff-necked belief that a man’s experiences belonged to him and that even the worst should not be taken from him without his consent.

Thorby’s days were as busy as his nights had become peaceful. During their early partnership Baslim kept the boy always with him. After breakfast they would hobble to the Plaza of Li
berty, Baslim would sprawl on the pavement and Thorby would stand or squat beside him, looking starved and holding the bowl. The spot was always picked to obstruct foot traffic, but not enough to cause police to do more than growl. Thorby learned that none of the regular police in the Plaza would ever do more than growl; Baslim’s arrangements with them were beneficial to underpaid police.

Thorby learned the ancient trade quickly—learned that men with women were generous but that the appeal should be made to the woman, that it was usually a waste of time to ask alms of unaccompanied women (except unveiled women), that it was an even bet between a kick and a gift in bracing a man alone, that spacemen hitting dirt gave handsomely. Baslim taught him to keep a little money in the bowl, neither smallest change nor high denominations.

At first Thorby was just right for the trade; small, half-starved, covered with sores, his appearance alone was enough. Unfortunately he soon looked better. Baslim repaired that with make-up, putting shadows under his eyes and hollows in his cheeks. A horrible plastic device stuck on his shinbone provided a realistic large “ulcer” in place of the sores he no longer had; sugar water made it attractive to flies—people looked away even as they dropped coins in the bowl.

His better-fed condition was not as easy to disguise but he shot up fast for a year or two and continued skinny, despite two hearty meals a day and a bed to doss on.

Thorby soaked up a gutter education beyond price. Jubbulpore, capital of Jubbul and of the Nine Worlds, residence in chief of the Great Sargon, boasts more than three thousand licensed beggars, twice that number of street vendors, more grog shops than temples and more temples than any other city in the Nine Worlds, plus numbers uncountable of sneak thieves, tattoo artists, griva pushers, doxies, cat burglars, back-alley money changers, pickpockets, fortune tellers, muggers, assassins, and grifters large and small. Its inhabitants brag that within a li of the pylon at the spaceport end of the Avenue of Nine anything in the explored universe can be had by a man with cash, from a starship to ten grains of stardust, from the ruin of a reputation to the robes of a senator with the senator inside.

Technically Thorby was not part of the underworld, since he had a legally recognized status (slave) and a licensed profession (beggar). Nevertheless he was in it, with a worm’s-eye view. There were no rungs below his on the social ladder.

As a slave he had learned to lie and steal as naturally as other children learn company manners, and much more quickly. But he discovered that these common talents were raised to high art in the seamy underside of the city. As he grew older, learned the language and the streets, Baslim began to send him out on his own, to run errands, to shop for food, and sometimes to make a pitch by himself while the old man stayed in. Thus he “fell into evil company” if one can fall from elevation zero.

He returned one day with nothing in his bowl. Baslim made no comment but the boy explained. “Look, Pop, I did all right!” From under his clout he drew a fancy scarf and proudly displayed it.

Baslim did not smile and did not touch it. “Where did you get that?”

“I inherited it!”

“Obviously. But from whom?”

“A lady. A nice lady, pretty.”

“Let me see the house mark. Mmm . . . probably Lady Fascia. Yes, she is pretty, I suppose. But why aren’t you in jail?”

“Why, gee, Pop, it was easy! Ziggie has been teaching me. He knows all the tricks. He’s smooth—you should see him work.”

Baslim wondered how one taught morals to a stray kitten? He did not consider discussing it in abstract ethical terms; there was nothing in the boy’s background, nothing in his present environment, to make it possible to communicate on such a level.

“Thorby, why do you want to change trades? In our business you pay the police their commission, pay your dues to the guild, make an offering at the temple on holy day, and you’ve no worries. Have we ever gone hungry?”

“No, Pop—but look at it! It must have cost almost a stellar!”

“At least two stellars, I’d say. But a fence would give you two minims—if he was feeling generous. You should have brought more than that back in your bowl.”

“Well . . . I’ll get better at it. And it’s more fun than begging. You ought to see how Ziggie goes about it.”

“I’ve seen Ziggie work. He’s skillful.”

“He’s the best!”

“Still, I suppose he could do better with two hands.”

“Well, maybe, though you only use one hand. But he’s teaching me to use either hand.”

“That’s good. You might need to know—some day you might find yourself short one, the way Ziggie is. You know how Ziggie lost his hand?”

“Huh?”

“You know the penalty? If they catch you?”

Thorby did not answer. Baslim went on, “One hand for the first offense—that’s what it cost Ziggie to learn his trade. Oh, he’s good, for he’s still around and plying his trade. You know what the second offense carries? Not just the other hand. You know?”

Thorby gulped. “I’m not sure.”

“I think you must have heard; you don’t want to remember.” Baslim drew his thumb across his throat. “That’s what Ziggie gets next time—they shorten him. His Serenity’s justices figure that a boy who can’t learn once won’t learn twice, so they shorten him.”

“But, Pop, I won’t be caught! I’ll be awful careful . . . just like today. I promise!”

Baslim sighed. The kid still believed that it couldn’t happen to him. “Thorby, get your bill of sale.”

“What for, Pop?”

“Get it.”

The boy fetched it; Baslim examined it—”one male child, registered number (left thigh) 8XK40367″— nine minims and get out of here, you! He looked at Thorby and noted with surprise that he was a head taller than he had been that day. “Get my stylus. I’m going to free you. I’ve always meant to, but there didn’t seem to be any hurry. But we’ll do it now and tomorrow you go to the Royal Archives and register it.”

Thorby’s jaw dropped. “What for, Pop?”

“Don’t you want to be free?”

“Uh . . . well . . . , Pop, I like belonging to you.”

“Thanks, lad. But I’ve got to do it.”

“You mean you’re kicking me out?”

“No. You can stay. But only as a freedman. You see, son, a master is responsible for his bondservant. If I were a noble and you did something, I’d be fined. But since I’m not . . . well, if I were shy a hand, as well as a leg and an eye, I don’t think I could manage. So if you’re going to learn Ziggie’s trade, I had better free you; I can’t afford the risk. You’ll have to take your own chances; I’ve lost too much already. Any more and I’d be better off shortened.”

He put it brutally, never mentioning that the law in application was rarely so severe—in practice, the slave was confiscated, sold, and his price used in restitution, if the master had no assets. If the master were a commoner, he might also get a flogging if the judge believed him to be actually as well as legally responsible for the slave’s misdeed. Nevertheless Baslim had stated the law: since a master exercised high and low justice over a slave, he was therefore liable in his own person for his slave’s acts, even to capital punishment.

Thorby started to sob, for the first time since the beginning of their relationship. “Don’t turn me loose. Pop—please don’t! I’ve got to belong to you!”

“I’m sorry, son. I told you you don’t have to go away.”

“Please, Pop. I won’t ever swipe another thing!”

Baslim took his shoulder. “Look at me, Thorby. I’ll make you a bargain.”

“Huh? Anything you say, Pop. As long as—”

“Wait till you hear it. I won’t sign your papers now. But I want you to promise two things.”

“Huh? Sure! What?”

“Don’t rush. The first is that you promise never again to steal anything, from anybody. Neither from fine ladies in sedan chairs, nor from poor people like ourselves—one is too dangerous and the other . . . well, it’s disgraceful, though I don’t expect you to know what that means. The second is to promise that you will never lie to me about anything . . . not anything.”

Thorby said slowly, “I promi
se.”

“I don’t mean just lying about the money you’ve been holding out on me, either. I mean anything. By the way, a mattress is no place to hide money. Look at me, Thorby. You know I have connections throughout the city.”

Thorby nodded. He had delivered messages for the old man to odd places and unlikely people. Baslim went on, “If you steal, I’ll find out . . . eventually. If you lie to me, I’ll catch you . . . eventually. Lying to other people is your business, but I tell you this: once a man gets a reputation as a liar, he might as well be struck dumb, for people do not listen to the wind. Never mind. The day I learn that you have stolen anything . . . or the day I catch you lying to me . . . I sign your papers and free you.”

“Yes, Pop.”

“That’s not all. I’ll kick you out with what you had when I bought you—a breechclout and a set of bruises. You and I will be finished. If I set eyes on you again, I’ll spit on your shadow.”

“Yes, Pop. Oh, I never will, Pop!”

“I hope not. Go to bed.”

Baslim lay awake, worrying, wondering if he had been too harsh. But, confound it, it was a harsh world; he had to teach the kid to live in it.

He heard a sound like a rodent gnawing; he held still and listened. Presently he heard the boy get up quietly and go to the table; there followed a muted jingle of coins being placed on wood and he heard the boy return to his pallet.

When the boy started to snore he was able to drop off to sleep himself.

CHAPTER 3

Baslim had long since taught Thorby to read and write Sargonese and Interlingua, encouraging him with cuffs and other inducements since Thorby’s interest in matters intellectual approached zero. But the incident involving Ziggie and the realization that Thorby was growing up reminded Baslim that time did not stand still, not with kids.

Thorby was never able to place the time when he realized that Pop was not exactly (or not entirely) a beggar. The extremely rigorous instruction he now received, expedited by such unlikely aids as a recorder, a projector, and a sleep instructor, would have told him, but by then nothing Pop could do or say surprised him—Pop knew everything and could manage anything. Thorby had acquired enough knowledge of other beggars to see discrepancies; he was not troubled by them—Pop was Pop, like the sun and the rain.

They never mentioned outside their home anything that happened inside, nor even where it was; no guest was ever there. Thorby acquired friends and Baslim had dozens or even hundreds and seemed to know the whole city by sight. No one but Thorby had access to Baslim’s hide-away. But Thorby was aware that Pop had activities unconnected with begging. One night they went to sleep as usual; Thorby awakened about dawn to hear someone stirring and called out sleepily, “Pop?”

“Yes. Go back to sleep.”

Instead the boy got up and switched on the glow plates. He knew it was hard for Baslim to get around in the dark without his leg; if Pop wanted a drink of water or anything, he’d fetch it. “You all right, Pop?” he asked, turning away from the switch.

Then he gasped in utter shock. This was a stranger, a gentleman!

“It’s all right, Thorby,” the stranger said with Pop’s voice. “Take it easy, son.”

“Pop?”

“Yes, son. I’m sorry I startled you—I should have changed before I came back. Events pushed me.” He started stripping off fine clothing.

When Baslim removed the evening head dress, he looked more like Pop . . . except for one thing. “Pop . . . your eye.”

“Oh, that. It comes out as easily as it went in. I look better with two eyes, don’t I?”

“I don’t know.” Thorby stared at it worriedly. “I don’t think I like it.”

“So? Well, you won’t often see me wear it. As long as you are awake you can help.”

Thorby was not much help; everything Pop did was new to him. First Baslim dug tanks and trays from a food cupboard which appeared to have an extra door in its back. Then he removed the false eye and, handling it with great care, unscrewed it into two parts and removed a tiny cylinder, using tweezers.

Thorby watched the processing that followed but did not understand, except that he could see that Pop was working with extreme care and exact timing. At last Baslim said, “All done. Now we’ll see if I got any pictures.”

Baslim inserted the spool in a microviewer, scanned it, smiled grimly and said, “Get ready to go out. Skip breakfast. You can take along a piece of bread.”

“Huh?”

“Get moving. No time to waste.”

Thorby put on his make-up and clout and dirtied his face. Baslim was waiting with a photograph and a small flat cylinder about the size of a half-minim bit. He shoved the photo at Thorby. “Look at it. Memorize it.”

“Why?”

Baslim pulled it back. “Would you recognize that man?”

“Uh . . . let me see it again.”

“You’ve got to know him. Look at it well this time.”

Thorby did so, then said, “All right, I’ll know him.”

“He’ll be in one of the taprooms near the port. Try Mother Shaum’s first, then the Supernova and the Veiled Virgin. If you don’t hit, work both sides of Joy Street until you do. You’ve got to find him before the third hour.”

“I’ll find him, Pop.”

“When you do, put this thing in your bowl along with a few coins. Then tell him the tale but be sure to mention that you are the son of Baslim the Cripple.”

“Got it, Pop.”

“Get going.”

Thorby wasted no time getting down to the port. It was the morning following the Feast of the Ninth Moon and few were stirring; he did not bother to pretend to beg en route, he simply went the most direct way, through back courts, over fences, or down streets, avoiding only the sleepy night patrol. But, though he reached the neighborhood quickly, he had the Old One’s luck in finding his man; he was in none of the dives Baslim had suggested, nor did the rest of Joy Street turn him up. It was pushing the deadline and Thorby was getting worried when he saw the man come out of a place he had already tried.

Thorby ducked across the street, came up behind him. The man was with another man—not good. But Thorby started in:

“Alms, gentle lords! Alms for mercy on your souls!”

The wrong man tossed him a coin; Thorby caught it in his teeth. “Bless you, my lord!” He turned to the other. “Alms, gentle sir. A small gift for the unfortunate. I am the son of Baslim the Cripple and—”

The first man aimed a kick at him. “Get out.”

Thorby rolled away from it. “—son of Baslim the Cripple. Poor old Baslim needs soft foods and medicines. I am all alone—”

The man of the picture reached for his purse. “Don’t do it,” his companion advised. “They’re all liars and I’ve paid him to let us alone.”

” ‘Luck for the jump,’ ” the man answered. “Now let me see . . .” He fumbled in his purse, glanced into the bowl, placed something in it.

“Thank you, my lords. May your children be sons.” Thorby moved on before he looked. The tiny flat cylinder was gone.

He worked on up Joy Street, doing fairly well, and checked the Plaza before heading home. To his surprise Pop was in his favorite pitch, by the auction block and facing the port. Thorby slipped down beside him. “Done.”

The old man grunted.

“Why don’t you go home, Pop? You must be tired. I’ve made us a few bits already.”

“Shut up. Alms, my lady! Alms for a poor cripple.”

At the third hour a ship took off with a whoosh! that dopplered away into subsonics; the old man seemed to relax. “What ship was that?” Thorby asked. “Not the Syndon liner.”

“Free Trader Romany Lass, bound for the Rim . . . and your friend was in her. You go home now and get your breakfast. No, go buy your breakfast, for a treat.”

Baslim no longer tried to hide his extraprofessional activities from Thorby, although he never explained the why or how. Some days only one of them would beg, in which case the Plaza of Liberty was always the pitch, for it appeared that Baslim was especially interested in arrivals and departures of ships and most especially movements of slave ships and the auction that always followed the arrival of one.

Thorby was more use to him after his education had progressed. The old man seemed to think that everyone had a perfect memory and he was stubborn enough to impress his belief despite the boy’s grumbles.

“Aw, Pop, how do you expect me to remember? You didn’t give me a chance to look at it!”

“I projected that page at least three seconds. Why didn’t you read it?”

“Huh? There wasn’t time.”

“I read it. You can, too. Thorby, you’ve seen jugglers in the Plaza. You’ve seen old Mikki stand on his head and keep nine daggers in the air while he spins four hoops with his feet?”

“Uh, sure.”

“Can you do that?”

“No.”

“Could you learn to?”

“Uh . . . I don’t know.”

“Anyone can learn to juggle . . . with enough practice and enough beatings.” The old man picked up a spoon, a stylus, and a knife and kept them in the air in a simple fountain. Presently he missed and stopped. “I used to do a little, just for fun. This is juggling with the mind . . . and anyone can learn it, too.”

“Show me how you did that, Pop.”

“Another time, if you behave yourself. Right now you are learning to use your eyes. Thorby, this mind-juggling was developed a long time ago by a wise man, a Doctor Renshaw, on the planet Earth. You’ve heard of Earth.”

“Well . . . sure, I’ve heard of it.”

“Mmm . . . meaning you don’t believe in it?”

“Uh, I don’t know . . . but all that stuff about frozen water falling from the sky, and cannibals ten feet tall, and towers higher than the Praesidium, and little men no bigger than dolls that live in trees—well, I’m not a fool, Pop.”

Baslim sighed and wondered how many thousands of times he had sighed since saddling himself with a son. “Stories get mixed up. Someday—when you’ve learned to read—I’ll let you view books you can trust.”

“But I can read now.”

“You just think you can. Thorby, there is such a place as Earth and it truly is strange and wonderful—a most unlikely planet. Many wise men have lived and died there—along with the usual proportion of fools and villains—and some of their wisdom has come down to us. Samuel Renshaw was one such wise man. He proved that most people go all their lives only half awake; more than that, he showed how a man coul
d wake up and live—see with his eyes, hear with his ears, taste with his tongue, think with his mind, and remember perfectly what he saw, heard, tasted, thought.” The old man shoved his stump out. “This doesn’t make me a cripple. I see more with my one eye than you do with two. I am growing deaf . . . but not as deaf as you are, because what I hear, I remember. Which one of us is the cripple? But, son, you aren’t going to stay crippled, for I am going to renshaw you if I have to beat your silly head in!”

As Thorby learned to use his mind, he found that he liked to; he developed an insatiable appetite for the printed page, until, night after night, Baslim would order him to turn off the viewer and go to bed. Thorby didn’t see any use in much of what the old man forced him to learn—languages, for example, that Thorby had never heard. But they were not hard, with his new skill in using his mind, and when he discovered that the old man had spools and reels which could be read or listened to only in these “useless” tongues, he suddenly found them worth knowing. History and galactography he loved; his personal world, light-years wide in physical space, had been in reality as narrow as a slave factor’s pen. Thorby reached for wider horizons with the delight of a baby discovering its fist.

But mathematics Thorby saw no use in, other than the barbaric skill of counting money. But presently he learned that mathematics need not have use; it was a game, like chess but more fun.

The old man wondered sometimes what use it all was? That the boy was even brighter than he had thought, he now knew. But was it fair to the boy? Was he simply teaching him to be discontented with his lot? What chance on Jubbul had the slave of a beggar? Zero raised to the nth power remained zero.

“Thorby.”

“Yeah, Pop. Just a moment, I’m in the middle of a chapter.”

“Finish it later. I want to talk with you.”

“Yes, my lord. Yes, master. Right away, boss.”

“And keep a civil tongue in your head.”

“Sorry, Pop. What’s on your mind?”

“Son, what are you going to do when I’m dead?”

Thorby looked stricken. “Are you feeling bad, Pop?”

“No. So far as I know, I’ll last for years. On the other hand, I may not wake up tomorrow. At my age you never know. If I don’t, what are you going to do? Hold down my pitch in the Plaza?”

Thorby didn’t answer; Baslim went on, “You can’t and we both know it. You’re already so big that you can’t tell the tale convincingly. They don’t give the way they did when you were little.”

Thorby said slowly, “I haven’t meant to be a burden, Pop.”

“Have I complained?”

“No.” Thorby hesitated. “I’ve thought about it . . . some. Pop, you could hire me out to a labor company.”

The old man made an angry gesture. “That’s no answer! No, son, I’m going to send you away.”

“Pop! You promised you wouldn’t.”

“I promised nothing.”

“But I don’t want to be freed, Pop. If you free me—well, if you do, I won’t leave!”

“I didn’t exactly mean that.”

Thorby was silent for a long moment. “You’re going to sell me, Pop?”

“Not exactly. Well . . . yes and no.”

Thorby’s face held no expression. At last he said quietly, “It’s one or the other, so I know what you mean . . . and I guess I oughtn’t to kick. It’s your privilege and you’ve been the best . . . master . . . I ever had.”

“I’m not your master!”

“Paper says you are. Matches the number on my leg.”

“Don’t talk that way! Don’t ever talk that way.”

“A slave had better talk that way, or else keep his mouth shut.”

“Then, for Heaven’s sake, keep it shut! Listen, son, let me explain. There’s nothing here for you and we both know it. If I die without freeing you, you revert to the Sargon—”

“They’ll have to catch me!”

“They will. But manumission solves nothing. What guilds are open to freedmen? Begging, yes—but you’d have to poke out your eyes to do well at it, after you’re grown. Most freedmen work for their former masters, as you know, for the free-born commoners leave mighty slim pickings. They resent an ex-slave; they won’t work with him.”

“Don’t worry, Pop. I’ll get by.”

“I do worry. Now you listen. I’m going to arrange to sell you to a man I know, who will ship you away from here. Not a slave ship, just a ship. But instead of shipping you where the bill of lading reads, you’ll—”

“No!”

“Hold your tongue. You’ll be dropped on a planet where slavery is against the law. I can’t tell you which one, because I am not sure of the ship’s schedule, nor even what ship; the details have to be worked out. But in any free society I have confidence you can get by.” Baslim stopped to mull a thought he had had many times. Should he send the kid to Baslim’s own native planet? No, not only would it be extremely difficult to arrange but it was not a place to send a green immigrant . . . get the lad to any frontier world, where a sharp brain and willingness to work were all a man needed; there were several within trading distance of the Nine Worlds. He wished tiredly that there were some way of knowing the boy’s own home world. Possibly he had relatives there, people who would help him. Confound it, there ought to be a galaxy-wide method of identification!

Baslim went on, “That’s the best I can do. You’ll have to behave as a slave between the sale and being shipped out. But what’s a few weeks against a chance—”

“No!”

“Don’t be foolish, son.”

“Maybe I am. But I won’t do it. I’m staying.”

“So? Son . . . I hate to remind you—but you can’t stop me.”

“Huh?”

“As you pointed out, there’s a paper that says I can.”

“Oh.”

“Go to bed, son.”

Baslim did not sleep. About two hours after they had put out the light he heard Thorby get up very quietly. He could follow every move the lad made by interpreting muffled sounds. Thorby dressed (a simple matter of wrapping his clout), he went into the adjoining room, fumbled in the bread safe, drank deeply, and left. He did not take his bowl; he did not go near the shelf where it was kept.

After he was gone, Baslim turned over and tried to sleep, but the ache inside him would not permit. It had not occurred to him to speak the word that would keep the boy; he had too much self-respect not to respect another person’s decision.

Thorby was gone four days. He returned in the night and Baslim heard him but again said nothing. Instead he went quietly and deeply asleep for the first time since Thorby had left. But he woke at the usual time and said, “Good morning, son.”

“Uh, good morning, Pop.”

“Get breakfast started. I have something to attend to.”

They sat down presently over bowls of hot mush. Baslim ate with his usual careful disinterest; Thorby merely picked at his. Finally he blurted out, “Pop, when are you going to sell me?”

“I’m not.”

“Huh?”

“I registered your manumission at the Archives the day you left. You’re a free man, Thorby.”

Thorby looked startled, then dropped his eyes to his food. He busied himself building little mountains of mush that slumped as soon as he shaped them. Finally he said, “I wish you hadn’t.”

“If they picked you up, I didn’t want you to have ‘escaped slave’ against you.”

“Oh.” Thorby looked thoughtful. “That’s ‘F&B,’ isn’t it? Thanks, Pop. I guess I acted kind of silly.”

“Possibly. But it wasn’t the punishment I was thinking of. Flogging is over quickly, and so is branding. I was thinking of a possible second offense. It’s better to be shortened than to be caught again after a branding.”

Thorby abandoned his mush entirely. “Pop? Just what does a lobotomy do to you?”

“Mmm . . . you might say it makes the thorium mines endurable. But let’s not go into it, not at meal times. Speaking of such, if you are through, get your bowl and let’s not dally. There’s an auction this morning.”

“You mean I can stay?”

“This is your home.”

Baslim never again suggested that Thorby leave him. Manumission made no difference in their routine or relationship. Thorby did go to the Royal Archives, paid the fee and the customary gift and had a line tattooed through his serial number, the Sargon’s seal tattooed beside it with book and page number of the record which declared him to be a free subject of the Sargon, entitled to taxes, military service, and starvation without let or hindrance. The clerk who did the tattooing looked at Thorby’s serial number and said, “Doesn’t look like a birthday job, kid. Your old man go bankrupt? Or did your folks sell you just to get shut of you?”

“None of your business!”

“Don’t get smart, kid, or you’ll find that this needle can hurt even more. Now give me a civil answer. I see it’s a factor’s mark, not a private owner’s, and from the way it has spread and faded, you were maybe five or six. When and where was it?”

“I don’t know. Honest I don’t.”

“So? That’s what I tell my wife when she asks personal questions. Quit wiggling; I’m almost through. There . . . congratulations and welcome to the ranks of free men. I’ve been free a parcel of years now and I predict that you will find it looser but not always more comfortable.”

CHAPTER 4

Thorby’s leg hurt for a couple of days; otherwise manumission left his life unchanged. But he really was becoming inefficient as a beggar; a strong healthy youth does not draw the alms that a skinny child can. Often Baslim would have Thorby place him on his pitch, then send him on errands or tell him to go home and study. However, one or the other was always in the Plaza. Baslim sometimes disappeared, with or without warning; when this happened it was Thorby’s duty to spend daylight hours on the pitch, noting arrivals and departures, keeping mental notes of slave auctions, and picking up information about both traffics through contacts around the port, in the wineshops, and among the unveiled women.

Once Baslim was gone for a double nineday; he was simply missing when Thorby woke up. It was much longer than he had ever been away before; Thorby kept telling himself that Pop could look out for himself, while having visions of the old man dead in a gutter. But he kept track of the doings at the Plaza, including three auctions, and recorded everything that he had seen and had been able to pick up.

Then Baslim returned. His only comment was, “Why didn’t you memorize it instead of recording?”

“Well, I did. But I was afraid I would forget something, there was so much.”

“Hummph!”

After that Baslim seemed even quieter, more reserved, than he had always been. Thorby wondered if he had displeased him, but it was not the sort of question Baslim answered. Finally one night the old man said, “Son, we never did settle what you are to do after I’m gone.”

“Huh? But I thought we had decided that, Pop. It’s my problem.”

“No, I simply postponed it . . . because of your thick-headed stubbornness. But I can’t wait any longer. I’ve got orders for you and you are going to carry them out.”

“Now, wait a minute, Pop! If you think you can bully me into leaving you—”

“Shut up! I said, ‘After I’m gone.’ When I’m dead, I mean; not one of these little business trips . . . you are to look up a man and give him a message. Can I depend on you? Not goof off and forget it?”

“Why, of course, Pop. But I don’t like to hear you talk that way. You’re going to live a long time—you might even outlive me.”

“Possibly. But will you shut up and listen, then do as I tell you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’ll find this man—it may take a while—and deliver this message. Then he will have something for you to do . . . I think. If he does, I want you to do exactly what he tells you to. Will you do that also?”

“Why, of course, Pop, if that’s what you want.”

“Count it as one last favor to an old man who tried to do right by you and would have done better had he been able. It’s the very last thing I want from you, son. Don’t bother to burn an offering for me at the temple, just do these two things: deliver a message and one more thing, whatever the man suggests that you do.”

“I will, Pop,” Thorby answered solemnly.

“All right. Let’s get busy.”

The “man” turned out to be any one of five men. Each was skipper of a starship, a tramp trader, not of the Nine Worlds but occasionally picking up cargoes from ports of the Nine Worlds. Thorby thought over the list. “Pop, there’s only one of these ships I recall ever putting down here.”

“They all have, one time or another.”

“It might be a long time before one showed up.”

“It might be years. But when it happens, I want the message delivered exactly.”

“To any of them? Or all of them?”

“The first one who shows up.”

The message was short but not easy, for it was in three languages, depending on who was to receive it, and none of the languages was among those Thorby knew. Nor did Baslim explain the words; he wanted it learned by rote in all three.

After Thorby had stumbled through the first version of the message for the seventh time Baslim covered his ears. “No, no! It won’t do, son. That accent!”

“I’m doing my best,” Thorby answered sullenly.

“I know. But I want the message understood. See here, do you remember a time when I made you sleepy and talked to you?”

“Huh? I get sleepy every night. I’m sleepy now.”

“So much the better.” Baslim put him into a light trance—with difficulty as Thorby was not as receptive as he had been as a child. But Baslim managed it, recorded the message in the sleep instructor, set it running and let Thorby listen, with post-hypnotic suggestion that he would be able to say it perfectly when he awakened.

He was able to. The second and third versions were implanted in him the following night. Baslim tested him repeatedly thereafter, using the name of a skipper and a ship to bring each version forth.

Baslim never sent Thorby out of the city; a slave required a travel permit and even a freedman was required to check in and out. But he did send him all over the metropolis. Three ninedays after Thorby had learned the messages Baslim gave him a note to deliver in the shipyard area, which was a reserve of the Sargon rather than part of the city. “Carry your freedman’s tag and leave your bowl behind. If a policeman stops you, tell him you’re looking for work in the yards.”

“He’ll think I’m crazy.”

“But he’ll let you through. They do use freedmen, as sweepers and such. Carry the message in your mouth. Who are you looking for?”

“A short, red-haired man,” Thorby repeated, “with a big wart on the left side of his nose. He runs a lunch stand across from the main gate. No beard. I’m to buy a meat pie and slip him the message with the money.”

“Right.”

Thorby enjoyed the outing. He did not wonder why Pop didn’t viewphone messages instead of sending him a half day’s journey; people of their class did not use such luxuries. As for the royal mails, Thorby had never sent or received a letter and would have regarded the mails as a most chancy way to send a note.

His route followed one arc of the spaceport through the factory district. He relished that part of the city; there was always so much going on, so much life and noise. He dodged traffic, with truck drivers cursing him and Thorby answering with interest; he peered in each open door, wondering what all the machines were for and why commoners would stand all day in one place, doing the same thing over and over—or were they slaves? No, they couldn’t be; slaves weren’t allowed to touch power machinery except on plantations—that was what the riots had been about last year and the Sargon had lifted his hand in favor of the commoners.

Was it true that the Sargon never slept and that his eye could see anything in the Nine Worlds? Pop said that was nonsense, the Sargon was just a man, like anybody. But if so, how did he get to be Sargon?

He left the factories and skirted the shipyards. He had never been this far before. Several ships were in for overhaul and two small ships were being built, cradled in lacy patterns of steel. Ships made his heart lift and he wished he were going somewhere. He knew that he had traveled by starship twice—or was it three times?—but that was long ago and he didn’t mean traveling in the hold of a slaver, that wasn’t traveling!

He got so interested that he almost walked past the lunch stand. The main gate reminded him; it was twice as big as the others, had a guard on it, and a big sign curving over it with the seal of the Sargon on top. The lunch stand was across from it; Thorby dodged traffic pouring through the gate and went to it.

The man behind the counter was not the right man; what little hair he had was black and his nose had no wart.

Thorby walked up the road, killed a half-hour and came back. There was still no sign of his man. The counterman noticed the inspection, so Thorby stepped forward and said, “Do you have sunberry crush?”

The man looked him over. “Money?”

Thorby was used to being required to prove his solvency; he dug out the coin. The man scooped it up, opened a bottle for him. “Don’t drink at the counter, I need the stools.”

There were plenty of stools, but Thorby was not offended; he knew his social status. He stood back but not so far as to be accused of trying to abscond with the bottle, then made the drink last a long time. Customers came and went; he checked each, on the chance that the red-headed man might have picked this time to eat. He kept his ears cocked.

Presently the counterman looked up. “You trying to wear that bottle out?”

“Just through, thanks.” Thorby came up to put the bottle down and said, “Last time I was over this way a red-headed chap was running this place.”

The man looked at him. “You a friend of Red?”

“Well, not exactly. I just used to see him here, when I’d stop for a cold drink, or—”

“Let’s see your permit.”

“What? I don’t need—” The man grabbed at Thorby’s wrist. But Thorby’s profession had made him adept at dodging kicks, cuffs, canes, and such; the man clutched air.

The man came around the counter, fast; Thorby ducked into traffic. He was halfway across the street and had had two narrow escapes before he realized that he was running toward the gate—and that the counterman was shouting for the guard there.

Thorby turned and started dodging traffic endwise. Fortunately it was dense; this road carried the burden of the yards. H
e racked up three more brushes with death, saw a side street that dead-ended into the throughway, ducked between two trucks, down the side street as fast as he could go, turned into the first alley, ran down it, hid behind an outbuilding and waited.

He heard no pursuit.

He had been chased many times before, it did not panic him. A chase was always two parts: first breaking contact, second the retiring action to divorce oneself from the incident. He had accomplished the first; now he had to get out of the neighborhood without being spotted—slow march and no suspicious moves. In losing himself he had run away from the city, turned left into the side street, turned left again into the alley; he was now almost behind the lunch stand—it had been a subconscious tactic. The chase always moved away from the center; the lunch stand was one place where they would not expect him to be. Thorby estimated that in five minutes, or ten, the counterman would be back at his job and the guard back at the gate; neither one could leave his post unwatched. Shortly, Thorby could go on through the alley and head home.

He looked around. The neighborhood was commercial land not yet occupied by factories, jumble of small shops, marginal businesses, hovels, and hopeless minor enterprise. He appeared to be in back of a very small hand laundry; there were poles and lines and wooden tubs and steam came out a pipe in the outbuilding. He knew his location now—two doors from the lunch stand; he recalled a homemade sign: “Majestic Home Laundry—Lowest Prices.”

He could cut around this building and—but better check first. He dropped flat and stuck an eye around the corner of the outbuilding, sighted back down the alley.

Oh, oh!—two patrolmen moving up the alley . . . he had been wrong, wrong! They hadn’t dropped the matter, they had sent out the alarm. He pulled back and looked around. The laundry? No. The outbuilding? The patrol would check it. Nothing but to run for it—right into the arms of another patrol. Thorby knew how fast the police could put a cordon around a district. Near the Plaza he could go through their nets, but here he was in strange terrain.

His eye lit on a worn-out washtub . . . then he was under it. It was a tight fit, with knees to his chin and splinters in his spine. He was afraid that his clout was sticking out but it was too late to correct it; he heard someone coming.

Footsteps came toward the tub and he stopped breathing. Someone stepped on the tub and stood on it.

“Hi there, mother!” It was a man’s voice. “You been out here long?”

“Long enough. Mind that pole, you’ll knock the clothes down.”

“See anything of a boy?”

“What boy?”

“Youngster, getting man-tall. Fuzz on his chin. Breech clout, no sandals.”

“Somebody,” the woman’s voice above him answered indifferently, “came running through here like his ghost was after him. I didn’t really see him—I was trying to get this pesky line up.”

“That’s our baby! Where’d he go?”

“Over that fence and between those houses.”

“Thanks, mother! Come on, Juby.”

Thorby waited. The woman continued whatever she was doing; her feet moved and the tub creaked. Then she stepped down and sat on the tub. She slapped it gently. “Stay where you are,” she said softly. A moment later he heard her go away.

Thorby waited until his bones ached. But he resigned himself to staying under that tub until dark. It would be chancy, as the night patrol questioned everyone but nobles after curfew, but leaving this neighborhood in daylight had become impossible. Thorby could not guess why he had been honored by a turn-out of the guard, but he did not want to find out. He heard someone—the woman?—moving around the yard from time to time.

At least an hour later he heard the creak of un-greased wheels. Someone tapped on the tub. “When I lift the tub, get into the cart, fast. It’s right in front of you.”

Thorby did not answer. Daylight hit his eyes, he saw a small pushcart—and was in it and trying to make himself small. Laundry landed on him. But before that blanked out his sight he saw that the tub was no longer nakedly in the open; sheets had been hung on lines so that it was screened.

Hands arranged bundles over him and a voice said, “Hold still until I tell you to move.”

“Okay . . . and thanks a million! I’ll pay you back someday.”

“Forget it.” She breathed heavily. “I had a man once. Now he’s in the mines. I don’t care what you’ve done— I don’t turn anybody over to the patrol.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Shut up.”

The little cart bumped and wobbled and presently Thorby felt the change to pavement. Occasionally they stopped; the woman would remove a bundle, be gone a few minutes, come back and dump dirty clothes into the cart. Thorby took it with the long patience of a beggar.

A long time later the cart left pavement. It stopped and the woman said in a low voice, “When I tell you, get out the righthand side and keep going. Make it fast.”

“Okay. And thanks again!”

“Shut up.” The cart bumped along a short distance, slowed without stopping, and she said, “Now!”

Thorby threw off his covering, bounced out and landed on his feet, all in one motion. He was facing a passage between two buildings, a serviceway from alley to street. He started down it fast but looked back over his shoulder.

The cart was just disappearing. He never did see her face.

Two hours later he was back in his own neighborhood. He slipped down beside Baslim. “No good.”

“Why not?”

“Snoopies. Squads of ’em.”

“Alms, gentle sir! You swallowed it? Alms for the sake of your parents!”

“Of course.”

“Take the bowl.” Baslim got to hands and knee, started away.

“Pop! Don’t you want me to help you?”

“You stay here.”

Thorby stayed, irked that Pop had not waited for a full report. He hurried home as soon as it was dark, found Baslim in the kitchen-washroom, paraphernalia spread around him and using both recorder and book projector. Thorby glanced at the displayed page, saw that he could not read it and wondered what language it was—an odd one; the words were all seven letters, no more, no less. “Hi, Pop. Shall I start supper?”

“No room . . . and no time. Eat some bread. What happened today?”

Thorby told him, while munching bread. Baslim simply nodded. “Lie down. I’ve got to use hypnosis on you again. We’ve got a long night ahead.”

The material Baslim wanted him to memorize consisted of figures, dates, and endless three-syllable nonsense words. The light trance felt dreamily pleasant and the droning of Baslim’s voice coming out of the recorder was pleasant, too.

During one of the breaks, when Baslim had commanded him to wake up, he said, “Pop, who’s this message for?”

“If you ever get a chance to deliver it, you’ll know; you won’t have any doubts. If you have trouble remembering it, tell him to put you into a light trance; it’ll come back.”

“Tell whom?”

“Him. Never mind. You are going to sleep. You are asleep.” Baslim snapped his fingers.

While the recorder was droning Thorby was vaguely aware once that Baslim had just come in. He was wearing his false leg, which affected Thorby with dreamy surprise; Pop ordinarily wore it only indoors. Once Thorby smelled smoke and thought dimly that something must be burning in the kitchen and he should go check. But he was unable to move and the nonsense words kept droning into his ears.

He became aware that he was droning back to Pop the lesson he had learned. “Did I get it right?”

“Yes. Now go to sleep. Sleep the rest of the night.”

Baslim was gone in the morning. Thorby was not surprised; Pop’s movements had been even less predictable than usual lately. He ate breakfast, took his bowl and set out for the Plaza. Business was poor—Pop was right; Thorby now looked too healthy and well fed for the profession. Maybe he would have to learn to dislocate his joints like Granny the Snake. Or buy contact lenses with cataracts built into them.

Midafternoon an unscheduled freighter grounded at the port. Thorby started the usual inquiries, found that it was the Free Tra
der Sisu, registered home port New Finlandia, Shiva III.

Ordinarily this would have been a minor datum, to be reported to Pop when he saw him. But Captain Krausa of the Sisu was one of the five persons to whom Thorby was someday to deliver a message, if and when.

It fretted Thorby. He knew that he was not to look up Captain Krausa—that was the distant future, for Pop was alive and well. But maybe Pop would be anxious to know that this ship had arrived. Tramp freighters came and went, nobody knew when, and sometimes they were in port only a few hours.

Thorby told himself that he could get home in five minutes—and Pop might thank him. At worst he would bawl him out for leaving the Plaza, but, shucks, he could pick up anything he missed, through gossip.

Thorby left.

The ruins of the old amphitheater extend around one third of the periphery of the new. A dozen holes lead down into the labyrinth which had served the old slave barracks; an unlimited number of routes ran underground from these informal entrances to that part which Baslim had pre-empted as a home. Thorby and he varied their route in random fashion and avoided being seen entering or leaving.

This time, being in a hurry, Thorby went to the nearest—and on past; there was a policeman at it. He continued as if his destination had been a tiny greengrocer’s booth on the street rimming the ruins. He stopped and spoke to the proprietress. “Howdy, Inga. Got a nice ripe melon you’re going to have to throw away?”

“No melons.”

He displayed money. “How about that big one? Half price and I won’t notice the rotten spot.” He leaned closer. “What’s burning?”

Her eyes flicked toward the patrolman. “Get lost.”

“Raid?”

“Get lost, I said.”

Thorby dropped a coin on the counter, picked up a bellfruit and walked away, sucking the juice. He did not hurry.

A cautious reconnaissance showed him that police were staked out all through the ruins. At one entrance a group of ragged troglodytes huddled sadly under the eye of a patrolman. Baslim had estimated that at least five hundred people lived in the underground ruins. Thorby had not quite believed it, as he had rarely seen anyone else enter or heard them inside. He recognized only two faces among the prisoners.

A half-hour later and more worried every minute Thorby located an entrance which the police did not seem to know. He scanned it for several minutes, then darted from behind a screen of weeds and was down it. Once inside he got quickly into total darkness, then moved cautiously, listening. The police were supposed to have spectacles which let them see in the dark. Thorby wasn’t sure this was true as he had always found darkness helpful in evading them. But he took no chances.

There were indeed police down below; he heard two of them and saw them by hand torches they carried—if snoopies could see in the dark these two did not seem equipped for it. They were obviously searching, stun guns drawn. But they were in strange territory whereas Thorby was playing his home field. A specialized speleologist, he knew these corridors the way his tongue knew his teeth; he had been finding his way through them in utter blackness twice a day for years.

At the moment they had him trapped; he kept just far enough ahead to avoid their torches, skirted a hole that reached down into the next level, went beyond it, ducked into a doorway and waited.

They reached the hole, eyed the narrow ledge Thorby had taken so casually in the dark, and one of them said, “We need a ladder.”

“Oh, we’ll find stairs or a chute.” They turned back. Thorby waited, then went back and down the hole.

A few minutes later he was close to his home doorway. He looked and listened and sniffed and waited until he was certain that no one was close, then crept to the door and reached for the thumbhole in the lock. Even as he reached he knew that something was wrong.

The door was gone; there was just a hole.

He froze, straining every sense. There was an odor of strangers but it wasn’t fresh and there was no sound of breathing. The only sound was a faint drip-drip in the kitchen.

Thorby decided that he just had to see. He looked behind him, saw no glimmer, reached inside for the light switch and turned it to “dim.”

Nothing happened. He tried the switch in all positions, still no light. He went inside, avoided something cluttering Baslim’s neat living room, on into the kitchen, and reached for candles. They were not where they belonged but his hand encountered one nearby; he found the match safe and lit the candle.

Ruin and wreckage!

Most of the damage seemed the sort that results from a search which takes no account of cost, aiming solely at speed and thoroughness. Every cupboard, every shelf had been spilled, food dumped on the floor. In the large room the mattresses had been ripped open, stuffing spilled out. But some of it looked like vandalism, unnecessary, pointless.

Thorby looked around with tears welling up and his chin quivering. But when he found, near the door, Pop’s false leg, lying dead on the floor with its mechanical perfection smashed as if trampled by boots, he broke into sobs and had to put the candle down to keep from dropping it. He picked up the shattered leg, held it like a doll, sank to the floor and cradled it, rocking back and forth and moaning.

CHAPTER 5

Thorby spent the next several hours in the black corridors outside their ruined home, near the first branching, where he would hear Pop if he came back but where Thorby would have a chance to duck if police showed up.

He caught himself dozing, woke with a start, and decided that he had to find out what time it was; it seemed as if he had been keeping vigil a week. He went back into their home, found a candle and fit it. But their only clock, a household “Eternal,” was smashed. No doubt the radioactive capsule was still reckoning eternity but the works were mute. Thorby looked at it and forced himself to think in practical terms.

If Pop were free, he would come back. But the police had taken Pop away. Would they simply question him and turn him loose?

No, they would not. So far as Thorby knew, Pop had never done anything to harm the Sargon—but he had known for a long time that Pop was not simply a harmless old beggar. Thorby did not know why Pop had done the many things which did not fit the idea of “harmless old beggar” but it was clear that the police knew or suspected. About once a year the police had “cleaned out” the ruins by dropping a few retch-gas bombs down the more conspicuous holes; it simply meant having to sleep somewhere else for a couple of nights. But this was a raid in force. They had intended to arrest Pop and they had been searching for something.

The Sargon’s police operated on a concept older than justice; they assumed that a man was guilty, they questioned him by increasingly strong methods until he talked . . . methods so notorious that an arrested person was usually anxious to tell all before questioning started. But Thorby was certain that the police would get nothing out of Pop which the old man did not wish to admit.

Therefore the questioning would go on a long time.

They were probably working on Pop this very minute. Thorby’s stomach turned over.

He had to get Pop away from them.

How? How does a moth attack the Praesidium? Thorby’s chances were not much better. Baslim might be in a back room of the district police barracks, the logical place for a petty prisoner. But Thorby had an unreasoned conviction that Pop was not a petty prisoner . . . in which case he might be anywhere, even in the bowels of the Praesidium.

Thorby could go to the district police office and ask where his patron had been taken—but such was the respect in which the Sargon’s police were held that this solution did not occur to him; had he presented himself as next of kin of a prisoner undergoing interrogation Thorby would have found himself in another closed room being interviewed by the same forceful means as a check on the answers (or lack of them) which were being wrung out of Baslim.

Thorby was not a coward; he simply knew that one does not dip water with a knife. Whatever he did for Pop would have to be done indirectly. He could not demand his “rights” because he had none; the idea never entered his head. Bribery was possible—for a man with a poke full of stellars. Thorby had less than two minims. Stealth was all that was left and for that he needed information.

He reached this conclusion as soon as he admitted that there was no reasonable chance that the police would turn Pop loose. But, on the wild chance that Baslim might talk his way free, Thorby wrote a note, telling Pop that he would check back the next day, and left it on a shelf they used as a mail drop. Then he left.

It was night when he stuck his head above ground. He could not decide whether he had been down in the ruins for half a day or a day and a half. It forced him to change plans; he had intended to go first to Inga the greengrocer and find out what she knew. But at least there were no police around now; he could move freely as long as he evaded the night patrol. But where? Who could, or would, give him information?

Thorby had dozens of friends and knew hundreds by sight. But his acquaintances were subject to curfew; he saw them only in daylight and in most cases did not know where they slept. But there was one neighborhood which was not under curfew; Joy Street and its several adjoining courts never closed. In the name of commerce and for the accommodation of visiting spacemen taprooms and gaming halls and other places of hospitality to strangers in that area near the spaceport never closed their doors. A commoner, even a freedman, might stay up all night there, although he could not leave between curfew and dawn without risking being picked up.

This risk did not bother Thorby; he did not intend to be seen and, although it was patrolled inside, he knew the habits of the police there. They traveled in pairs and stayed on lighted streets, leaving their beats only to suppress noisy forms of lawbreaking. But the virtue of the district, for Thorby’s purpose, was that the gossip there was often hours ahead of the news as well as covering matters ignored or suppressed by licensed news services.

Someone on Joy Street would know what had happened to Pop.

Thorby got into the honky-tonk neighborhood by scrambling over roof tops. He went down a drain into a dark court, moved along it to Joy Street, stopped short of the street lights, looked up and down for police and tried to spot someone he knew. There were many people about but most of them were strangers on the tow
n. Thorby knew every proprietor and almost every employee up and down the street but he hesitated to walk into one of the joints; he might walk into the arms of police. He wanted to spot someone he trusted, whom he could motion into the darkness of the court.

No police but no friendly faces, either—just a moment; there was Auntie Singham.

Of the many fortunetellers who worked Joy Street Auntie Singham was the best; she never purveyed anything but good fortune. If these things failed to come to pass, no customer ever complained; Auntie’s warm voice carried conviction. Some whispered that she improved her own fortunes by passing information to the police, but Thorby did not believe it because Pop did not. She was a likely source of news and Thorby decided to chance it—the most she could tell the police was that he was alive and on the loose . . . which they knew.

Around the corner to Thorby’s right was the Port of Heaven cabaret; Auntie was spreading her rug on the pavement there, anticipating customers spilling out at the end of a performance now going on.

Thorby glanced each way and hurried along the wall almost to the cabaret. “Psst! Auntie!”

She looked around, looked startled, then her face became expressionless. Through unmoving lips she said, loud enough to reach him, “Beat it, son! Hide! Are you crazy?”

“Auntie . . . where have they got him?”

“Crawl in a hole and pull it in after you. There’s a reward out!”

“For me? Don’t be silly, Auntie; nobody would pay a reward for me. Just tell me where they’re holding him. Do you know?”

“They’re not.”

” ‘They’re not’ what?”

“You don’t know? Oh, poor lad! They’ve shortened him.”

Thorby was so shocked that he was speechless. Although Baslim had talked of the time when he would be dead, Thorby had never really believed in it; he was incapable of imagining Pop dead and gone.

He missed her next words; she had to repeat. “Snoopers! Get out!”

Thorby glanced over his shoulder. Two patrolmen, moving this way—time to leave! But he was caught between street and blank wall, with no bolt hole but the entrance to the cabaret . . . if he ducked in there, dressed as he was, being what he was, the management would simply shout for the patrol.

But there was nowhere else to go. Thorby turned his back on the police and went inside the narrow foyer of the cabaret. There was no one there; the last act was in progress and even the hawker was not in sight. But just inside was a ladder-stool and on it was a box of transparent letters used to change signs billing the entertainers. Thorby saw them and an idea boiled up that would have made Baslim proud of his pupil—Thorby grabbed the box and stool and went out again.

He paid no attention to the approaching policemen, placed the ladder-stool under the little lighted marquee that surmounted the entrance and jumped up on it, with his back to the patrolmen. It placed most of his body in bright light but his head and shoulders stuck up into the shadow above the row of lights. He began methodically to remove letters spelling the name of the star entertainer.

The two police reached a point right behind him. Thorby tried not to tremble and worked with the steady listlessness of a hired hand with a dull job. He heard Auntie Singham call out, “Good evening, Sergeant.”

“Evening, Auntie. What lies are you telling tonight?”

“Lies indeed! I see a sweet young girl in your future, with hands graceful as birds. Let me see your palm and perhaps I can read her name.”

“What would my wife say? No time to chat tonight, Auntie.” The sergeant glanced at the workman changing the sign, rubbed his chin and said, “We’ve got to stay on the prowl for Old Baslim’s brat. You haven’t seen him?” He looked again at the work going on above him and his eyes widened slightly.

“Would I sit here swapping gossip if I had?”

“Hmm . . .” He turned to his partner. “Roj, move along and check Ace’s Place, and don’t forget the washroom. I’ll keep an eye on the street.”

“Okay, Sarge.”

The senior patrolman turned to the fortuneteller as his partner moved away. “It’s a sad thing, Auntie. Who would have believed that old Baslim could have been spying against the Sargon and him a cripple?”

“Who indeed?” She rocked forward. “Is it true that he died of fright before they shortened him?”

“He had poison ready, knowing what was coming. But dead he was, before they pulled him out of his hole. The captain was furious.”

“If he was dead already, why shorten him?”

“Come, come, Auntie, the law must be served. Shorten him they did, though it’s not a job I’d relish.” The sergeant sighed. “It’s a sad world, Auntie. Think of that poor boy, led astray by that old rascal . . . and now the captain and the commandant both want to ask the lad questions they meant to ask the old man.”

“What good will that do them?”

“None, likely.” The sergeant poked gutter filth with the butt of his staff. “But if I were the lad, knowing the old man is dead and not knowing any answers to difficult questions, I’d be far, far from here already. I’d find me a farmer a long way from the city, one who needed willing hands cheap and took no interest in the troubles of the city. But since I’m not, why then, as soon as I clap eyes on him, if I do, I’ll arrest him and haul him up before the captain.”

“He’s probably hiding between rows in a bean field this minute, trembling with fright.”

“Likely. But that’s better than walking around with no head on your shoulders.” The police sergeant looked down the street, called out, “Okay, Roj. Right with you.” As he started away he glanced again at Thorby and said, “Night, Auntie. If you see him, shout for us.”

“I’ll do that. Hail to the Sargon.”

“Hail.”

Thorby continued to pretend to work and tried not to shake, while the police moved slowly away. Customers trickled out of the cabaret and Auntie took up her chant, promising fame, fortune, and a bright glimpse of the future, all for a coin. Thorby was about to get down, stick the gear back into the entranceway and get lost, when a hand grabbed his ankle. “What are you doing!”

Thorby froze, then realized it was just the manager of the place, angry at finding his sign disturbed. Without looking down Thorby said, “What’s wrong? You paid me to change this blinker.”

“I did?”

“Why, sure, you did. You told me—” Thorby glanced down, looked amazed and blurted, “You’re not the one.”

“I certainly am not. Get down from there.”

“I can’t. You’ve got my ankle.”

The man let go and stepped back as Thorby climbed down. “I don’t know what silly idiot could have told you—” He broke off as Thorby’s face came into light. “Hey, it’s that beggar boy!”

Thorby broke into a run as the man grabbed for him. He went ducking in and out between pedestrians as the shout of, “Patrol! Patrol! Police!” rose behind him. Then he was in the dark court again and, charged with adrenalin, was up a drainpipe as if it had been level pavement. He did not stop until he was several dozen roofs away.

He sat down against a chimney pot, caught his breath and tried to think.

Pop was dead. He couldn’t be but he was. Old Poddy wouldn’t have said so if he hadn’t known. Why . . . why, Pop’s head must be on a spike down at the pylon this minute, along with the other losers. Thorby had one grisly flash of visualization, and at last collapsed, wept uncontrollably.

After a long time he raised his head, wiped his face with knuckles, and straightened up.

Pop was dead. All right, what did he do now?

Anyhow, Pop had beat them out of questioning him. Thorby felt bitter pride. Pop was always the smart one; they had caught him but Pop had had the last laugh.

Well, what did he do now?

Auntie Singham had warned him to hide. Poddy had said, plain as anything, to get out of town. Good advice—if he wanted to stay as tall as he was, he had better be outside the city before daylight. Pop would expect him to put up a fight, not sit still and wait for the snoopies, and there was nothing left that he could do for Pop, now that Pop was dead—hold it!

“When I’m dead, you are to look up a man and give
him a message. Can I depend on you? Not goof off and forget it?”

Yes, Pop, you can! I didn’t forget—I’ll deliver it! Thorby recalled for the first time in more than a day why he had come home early: Starship Sisu was in port; her skipper was on Pop’s list. “The first one who shows up”—that’s what Pop had said. I didn’t goof, Pop; I almost did but I remembered. I’ll do it, I’ll do it! Thorby decided with fierce resurgence that this message must be the final, important thing that Pop had to get out—since they said he was a spy. All right, he’d help Pop finish his job. I’ll do it, Pop. You’ll have the best of them yet!

Thorby felt no twinge at the “treason” he was about to attempt; shipped in as a slave against his will, he felt no loyalty to the Sargon and Baslim had never tried to instill any. His strongest feeling toward the Sargon was superstitious fear and even that washed away in the violence of his need for revenge. He feared neither police nor Sargon himself; he simply wanted to evade them long enough to carry out Baslim’s wishes. After that . . . well, if they caught him, he hoped to have finished the job before they shortened him.

If the Sisu were still in port . . .

Oh, she had to be! But the first thing was to find out for sure that the ship had not left, then—no, the first thing was to get out of sight before daylight. It was a million times more important to stay clear of the snoopies now that he had it through his thick head that there was something he could do for Pop.

Get out of sight, find out if the Sisu was still dirtside, get a message to her skipper . . . and do all this with every patrolman in the district looking for him—

Maybe he had better work his way over to the shipyards, where he was not known, sneak inside and back the long way to the port and find the Sisu. No, that was silly; he had almost been caught over that way just from not knowing the layout. Here, at least, he knew every building, most of the people.

But he had to have help. He couldn’t go on the street, stop spacemen and ask. Who was a close enough friend to help . . . at risk of trouble with police? Ziggie? Don’t be silly; Ziggie would turn him in for the reward, for two minims Ziggie would sell his own mother—Ziggie thought that anyone who didn’t look out for number one first, last, and always was a sucker.

Who else? Thorby came up against the hard fact that most of his friends were around his age and as limited in resources. Most of them he did not know how to find at night, and he certainly could not hang around in daylight and wait for one to show up. As for the few who lived with their families at known addresses, he could not think of one who could both be trusted and could keep parents concerned from tipping off the police. Most honest citizens at Thorby’s level went to great lengths to mind their own business and stay on the right side of the police.

It had to be one of Pop’s friends.

He ticked off this list almost as quickly. In most cases he could not be sure how binding the friendship was, blood brotherhood or merely acquaintance. The only one whom he could possibly reach and who might possibly help was Mother Shaum. She had sheltered them once when they were driven out of their cave with retch gas and she had always had a kind word and a cold drink for Thorby.

He got moving; daylight was coming.

Mother Shaum’s place was a taproom and lodging house, on the other side of Joy Street and near the crewmen’s gate to the spaceport. Half an hour later, having crossed many roofs, twice been up and down in side courts and once having ducked across the lighted street, Thorby was on the roof of her place. He had not dared walk in her door; too many witnesses would force her to call the patrol. He had considered the back entrance and had squatted among garbage cans before deciding that there were too many voices in the kitchen.

But when he did reach her roof, he was almost caught by daylight; he found the usual access to the roof but he found also that its door and lock were sturdy enough to defy bare-handed burglary.

He went to the rear with the possibility in mind of going down, trying the back door anyhow; it was almost dawn and becoming urgent to get under cover. As he looked down the back he noticed ventilation holes for the low attic, one on each side. They were barely as wide as his shoulders, as deep as his chest—but they led inside.

They were screened but a few minutes and many scratches later he had one kicked in. Then he tried the unlikely task of easing himself over the edge feet first and snaking into the hole. He got in as far as his hips, his clout caught on raw edges of screening and he stuck like a cork, lower half inside the house, chest and head and arms sticking out like a gargoyle. He could not move and the sky was getting lighter.

With a drag from his heels and sheer force of will the cloth parted and he moved inside, almost knocking himself out by banging his head. He lay still and caught his breath, then pushed the screening untidily back into place. It would no longer stop vermin but it might fool the eye from four stories down. It was not until then that he realized that he had almost fallen those four stories.

The attic was no more than a crawl space; he started to explore on hands and knees for the fixture he believed must be here: a scuttle hole for repairs or inspection. Once he started looking and failed to find it, he was not sure that there was such a thing—he knew that some houses had them but he did not know much about houses; he had not lived in them much.

He did not find it until sunrise striking the vent holes gave illumination. It was all the way forward, on the street side.

And it was bolted from underneath.

But it was not as rugged as the door to the roof. He looked around, found a heavy spike dropped by a workman and used it to dig at the wooden closure. In time he worked a knot loose, stopped and peered through the knothole.

There was a room below; he saw a bed with one figure in it.

Thorby decided that he could not expect better luck; only one person to cope with, to persuade to find Mother Shaum without raising an alarm. He took his eye away, put a finger through and felt around; he touched the latch, then gladly broke a fingernail easing the bolt back. Silently he lifted the trap door.

The figure in the bed did not stir.

He lowered himself, hung by his fingertips, dropped the remaining short distance and collapsed as noiselessly as possible.

The person in bed was sitting up with a gun aimed at him. “It took you long enough,” she said. “I’ve been listening to you for the past hour.”

“Mother Shaum! Don’t shoot!”

She leaned forward, looked closely. “Baslim’s kid!” She shook her head. “Boy, you’re a mess . . . and you’re hotter than a fire in a mattress, too. What possessed you to come here?”

“I didn’t know where else to go.”

She frowned. “I suppose that’s a compliment . . . though I had ruther have had a plague of boils, if I’d uv had my druthers.” She got out of bed in her nightdress, big bare feet slapping on the floor, and peered out the window at the street below. “Snoopies here, snoopies there, snoopies checking every joint in the street three times in one night and scaring my customers . . . boy, you’ve caused more hooraw than I’ve seen since the factory riots. Why didn’t you have the kindness to drop dead?”

“You won’t hide me, Mother?”

“Who said I wouldn’t? I’ve never gone out of my way to turn anybody in yet. But I don’t have to like it.” She glowered at him. “When did you eat last?”

“Uh, I don’t remember.”

“I’ll scare you up something. I don’t suppose you can pay for it?” She looked at him sharply.

“I’m not hungry. Mother Shaum, is the Sisu still in port?”

“Huh? I don’t know. Yes, I do; she is—a couple of her boys were in earlier tonight. Why?”

“I’ve got to get a message to her skipper. I’ve got to see him, I’ve just got to!”

She gave a moan of utter exasperation. “First he wakes a decent working woman out of her first sleep of the night, he plants himself on her at rare risk to her life and limb and license. He’s filthy dirty and scratched and bloody and no doubt will be using my clean towels with laundry prices the way they are. He hasn’t eaten and can’t pay for his tucker . . . and now he adds insult to injury by demanding that I run errands for him!”

“I’m not hungry . . . and it doesn’t matter whether I wash or not. But I’ve got to see Captain Krausa.”

“Don’t be giving me orders in my own bedroom. Overgrown and unspanked, you are, if I knew that old scamp you lived with. You’ll have to wait until one of the Sisu’s lads shows up later in the day, so’s I can get a note out to the Captain.” She turned toward the door. “Water’s in the jug, towel’s on the rack. Mind you get clean.” She left.

Washing did feel good and Thorby found astringent powder on her dressing table, dusted his scratches. She came back, slapped two slices of bread with a generous slab of meat between them in front of him, added a bowl of milk, left without speaking. Thorby hadn’t thought that it was possible to eat, with Pop dead, but found that it was—he had quit worrying when he first saw Mother Shaum.

She came back. “Gulp that last bite and in you go. The word is they’re going to search every house.”

“Huh? Then I’ll get out and run for it.”

“Shut up and do as I say. In you go now.”

“In where?”

“In there,” she answered, pointing.

“In that?” It was a built-in window seat and chest, in a corner; its shortcoming lay in its size, it being as wide as a man but less than a third as long. “I don’t think I can fold up that small.”

“And that’s just what the snoopies will think. Hurry.” She lifted the lid, dug out some clothing, lifted the far end of the box at the wall adjoining the next room as if it were a sash, and disclosed thereby that a hole went on through the wall. “Scoot your legs through—and don’t think you are the only one who has ever needed to lie quiet.”

Thorby got into the box, slid his legs through the hole, lay back; the lid when closed would be a few inches above his face. Mother Shaum threw clothing on top of him, concealing him. “You okay?”

“Yeah, sure. Mother Shaum? Is he really dead?”

Her voice became almost gentle. “He is, lad. A great shame it is, too.”

“You’re sure?”

“I was bothered by the same doubt, knowing him so well. So I took a walk down to the pylon to see. He is. But I can tell you this, lad, he’s got a grin on his face like he’d outsmarte
d them . . . and he had, too. They don’t like it when a man doesn’t wait to be questioned.” She sighed again. “Cry now, if you need, but be quiet. If you hear anyone, don’t even breathe.”

The lid slammed. Thorby wondered whether he would be able to breathe at all, but found that there must be air holes; it was stuffy but bearable. He turned his head to get his nose clear of cloth resting on it.

Then he did cry, after which he went to sleep.

He was awakened by voices and footsteps, recalled where he was barely in time to keep from sitting up. The lid above his face opened, and then slammed, making his ears ring; a man’s voice called out, “Nothing in this room, Sarge!”

“We’ll see.” Thorby recognized Poddy’s voice. “You missed that scuttle up there. Fetch the ladder.”

Mother Shaum’s voice said, “Nothing up there but the breather space, Sergeant.”

“I said, ‘We’d see.’ “

A few minutes later he added, “Hand me the torch. Hmm . . . you’re right, Mother . . . but he has been here.”

“Huh?”

“Screen broken back at the end of the house and dust disturbed. I think he got in this way, came down through your bedroom, and out.”

“Saints and devils! I could have been murdered in my bed! Do you call that police protection?”

“You’re not hurt. But you’d better have that screen fixed, or you’ll have snakes and all their cousins living with you.” He paused. “It’s my thought he tried to stay in the district, found it too hot, and went back to the ruins. If so, no doubt we’ll gas him out before the day is over.”

“Do you think I’m safe to go back to my bed?”

“Why should he bother an old sack of suet like you?”

“What a nasty thing to say! And just when I was about to offer you a drop to cut the dust.”

“You were? Let’s go down to your kitchen, then, and we’ll discuss it. I may have been wrong.” Thorby heard them leave, heard the ladder being removed. At last he dared breathe.

Later she came back, grumbling, and opened the lid. “You can stretch your legs. But be ready to jump back in. Three pints of my best. Policemen!”

CHAPTER 6

The skipper of the Sisu showed up that evening. Captain Krausa was tall, fair, rugged and had the worry wrinkles and grim mouth of a man used to authority and responsibility. He was irked with himself and everyone for having allowed himself to be lured away from his routine by nonsense. His eye assayed Thorby unflatteringly. “Mother Shaum, is this the person who insisted that he had urgent business with me?”

The Captain spoke Nine Worlds trade lingo, a degenerate form of Sargonese, uninflected and with a rudimentary positional grammar. But Thorby understood it. He answered, “If you are Captain Fjalar Krausa, I have a message for you, noble sir.”

“Don’t call me ‘noble sir’; I’m Captain Krausa, yes.”

“Yes, nob—yes, Captain.”

“If you have a message, give it to me.”

“Yes, Captain.” Thorby started reciting the message he had memorized, using the Suomish version to Krausa: ” ‘To Captain Fjalar Krausa, master of Starship Sisu from Baslim the Cripple: Greetings, old friend! Greetings to your family, clan, and sib, and my humblest respects to your revered mother. I am speaking to you through the mouth of my adopted son. He does not understand Suomic; I address you privately. When you receive this message, I am already dead—”

Krausa had started to smile; now he let out an exclamation. Thorby stopped. Mother Shaum interrupted with, “What’s he saying? What language is that?”

Krausa brushed it aside. “It’s my language. Is what he says true?”

“Is what true? How would I know? I don’t understand that yammer.”

“Uh . . . sorry, sorry! He tells me that an old beggar who used to hang around the Plaza—’Baslim’ he called himself—is dead. Is this true?”

“Eh? Of course it is. I could have told you, if I had known you were interested. Everybody knows it.”

“Everybody but me, apparently. What happened to him?”

“He was shortened.”

“Shortened? Why?”

She shrugged. “How would I know? The word is, he died or poisoned himself, or something, before they could question him—so how would I know? I’m just a poor old woman, trying to make an honest living, with prices getting higher every day. The Sargon’s police don’t confide in me.”

“But if—never mind. He managed to cheat them, did he? It sounds like him.” He turned to Thorby. “Go on. Finish your message.”

Thorby, thrown off stride, had to go back to the beginning. Krausa waited impatiently until he reached: “—I am already dead. My son is the only thing of value of which I die possessed; I entrust him to your care. I ask that you succor and admonish him as if you were I. When opportunity presents, I ask that you deliver him to the commander of any vessel of the Hegemonic Guard, saying that he is a distressed citizen of the Hegemony and entitled as such to their help in locating his family. If they will bestir themselves, they can establish his identity and restore him to his people. All the rest I leave to your good judgment. I have enjoined him to obey you and I believe that he will; he is a good lad, within the limits of his age and experience, and I entrust him to you with a serene heart. Now I must depart. My life has been long and rich; I am content. Farewell.”

The Captain chewed his lip and his face worked in the fashion of a grown man who is busy not crying. Finally he said gruffly, “That’s clear enough. Well, lad, are you ready?”

“Sir?”

“You’re coming with me. Or didn’t Baslim tell you?”

“No, sir. But he told me to do whatever you told me to. I’m to come with you?”

“Yes. How soon can you leave?”

Thorby gulped. “Right now, sir.”

“Then come on. I want to get back to my ship.” He looked Thorby up and down. “Mother Shaum, can we put some decent clothes on him? That outlandish rig won’t do to come aboard in. Or never mind; there’s a slop shop down the street; I’ll pick him up a kit.”

She had listened with growing amazement. Now she said, “You’re taking him to your ship?”

“Any objections?”

“Huh? Not at all . . . if you don’t care if they rack him apart.”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you crazy? There are six snoopers between here and the spaceport gate . . . and each one anxious to pick up the reward.”

“You mean he’s wanted?”

“Why do you think I’ve hidden him in my own bedroom? He’s as hot as bubbling cheese.”

“But why?”

“Again, how would I know? He is.”

“You don’t really think that a lad like this would know enough about what old Baslim was doing to make it worth—”

“Let’s not speak of what Baslim was doing or did. I’m a loyal subject of the Sargon . . . with no wish to be shortened. You say you want to take the boy into your ship. I say, ‘Fine!’ I’ll be happy to be quit of the worry. But how?”

Krausa cracked his knuckles one by one. “I had thought,” he said slowly, “that it would be just a matter of walking him down to the gate and paying his emigration tax.”

“It’s not, so forget it. Is there any way to get him aboard without passing him through the gate?”

Captain Krausa looked worried. “They’re so strict about smuggling here that if they catch you, they confiscate the ship. You’re asking me to risk my ship . . . and myself . . . and my whole crew.”

“I’m not asking you to risk anything. I’ve got myself to worry about. I was just telling you the straight score. If you ask me, I’d say you were crazy to attempt it.”

Thorby said, “Captain Krausa—”

“Eh? What is it, lad?”

“Pop told me to do as you said . . . but I’m sure he never meant you to risk your neck on my account.” He swallowed. “I’ll be all right.”

Krausa sawed the air impatiently. “No, no!” he said harshly. “Baslim wanted this done . . . and debts are paid. Debts are always paid!”

“I don’t understand.”

“No need for you to. But Baslim wanted me to take you with me, so that’s how it’s got to be.” He turned to Mother Shaum. “The question is, how? Any ideas?”

“Mmm . . . possibly
. Let’s go talk it over.” She turned. “Get back in your hide-away, Thorby, and be careful. I may have to go out for a while.”

Shortly before curfew the next day a large sedan chair left Joy Street. A patrolman stopped it and Mother Shaum stuck her head out. He looked surprised. “Going out, Mother? Who’ll take care of your customers?”

“Mura has the keys,” she answered. “But keep an eye on the place, that’s a good friend. She’s not as firm with them as I am.” She put something in his hand and he made it disappear.

“I’ll do that. Going to be gone all night?”

“I hope not. Perhaps I had better have a street pass, do you think? I’d like to come straight home if I finish my business.”

“Well, now, they’ve tightened up a little on street passes.”

“Still looking for the beggar’s boy?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. But we’ll find him. If he’s fled to the country, they’ll starve him out; if he’s still in town, we’ll run him down.”

“Well, you could hardly mistake me for him. So how about a short pass for an old woman who needs to make a private call?” She rested her hand on the door; the edge of a bill stuck out.

He glanced at it and glanced away. “Is midnight late enough?”

“Plenty, I should think.”

He took out his book and started writing, tore out the form and handed it to her. As she accepted it the money disappeared. “Don’t make it later than midnight.”

“Earlier, I hope.”

He glanced inside the sedan chair, then looked over her entourage. The four bearers had been standing patiently, saying nothing—which was not surprising, since they had no tongues. “Zenith Garage?”

“I always trade there.”

“I thought I recognized them. Well matched.”

“Better look them over. One of them might be the beggar’s boy.”

“Those great hairy brutes! Get along with you, Mother.”

“Hail, Shol.”

The chair swung up and moved away at a trot. As they rounded the corner she slowed them to a walk and drew all curtains. Then she patted the cushions billowing around her. “Doing all right?”

“I’m squashed,” a voice answered faintly.

“Better squashed than shortened. I’ll ease over a bit. Your lap is bony.”

For the next mile she was busy modifying her costume, and putting on jewels. She veiled her face until only her live, black eyes showed. Finished, she stuck her head out and called instructions to the head porter; the chair swung right toward the spaceport. When they reached the road girdling its high, impregnable fence it was almost dark.

The gate for spacemen is at the foot of Joy Street, the gate for passengers is east of there in the Emigration Control Building. Beyond that, in tbe warehouse district, is Traders’ Gate—freight and outgoing customs. Miles beyond are shipyard gates. But between the shipyards and Traders’ Gate is a small gate reserved for nobles rich enough to own space yachts.

The chair reached the spaceport fence short of Traders’ Gate, turned and went along the fence toward it. Traders’ Gate is several gates, each a loading dock built through the barrier, so that a warehouse truck can back up, unload; the Sargon’s inspectors can weigh, measure, grade, prod, open, and ray the merchandise, as may be indicated, before it is slid across the dock into spaceport trucks on the other side, to be delivered to waiting ships.

This night dock-three of the gate had its barricade open; Free Trader Sisu was finishing loading. Her master watched, arguing with inspectors, and oiling their functioning in the immemorial fashion. A ship’s junior officer helped him, keeping tally with pad and pencil.

The sedan chair weaved among waiting trucks and passed close to the dock. The master of the Sisu looked up as the veiled lady in the chair peered out at the activity. He glanced at his watch and spoke to his junior officer. “One more load, Jan. You go in with the loaded truck and I’ll follow with the last one.”

“Aye aye, sir.” The young man climbed on the tail of the truck and told the driver to take it away. An empty truck pulled into its place. It loaded quickly as the ship’s master seemed to find fewer things to argue about with the inspectors. Then he was not satisfied and demanded that it be done over. The boss stevedore was pained but the master soothed him, glanced at his watch again and said, “There’s time. I don’t want these crates cracked before we get them into the ship; the stuff costs money. So let’s do it right.”

The sedan chair had moved on along the fence. Shortly it was dark; the veiled lady looked at the glowing face of her finger watch and urged her bearers into a trot.

They came at last to the gate reserved for nobles. The veiled lady leaned her head out and snapped, “Open up!”

There were two guards on the gate, one in a little watch room, the other lounging outside. The one outside opened the gate, but placed his staff across it when the sedan chair started to go through. Stopped, the bearers lowered it to the ground with the right-hand or door side facing into the gate.

The veiled lady called out, “Clear the way, you! Lord Marlin’s yacht.”

The guard blocking the gate hesitated. “My lady has a pass?”

“Are you a fool?”

“If my lady has no pass,” he said slowly, “perhaps my lady will suggest some way to assure the guard that My Lord Marlin is expecting her?”

The veiled lady was a voice in the dark—the guard had sense enough not to shine a light in her face; he had long experience with nobles and gentry. But the voice was an angry one, it bubbled and fumed. “If you insist on being a fool, call my lord at his yacht! Phone him—and I trust you’ll find you’ve pleased him!”

The guard in the watch room came out. “Trouble, Sean?”

“Uh, no.” They held a whispered consultation. The junior went inside to phone Lord Marlin’s yacht, while the other waited outside.

But it appeared that the lady had had all the nonsense she was willing to endure. She threw open the door of the chair, burst out, and stormed into the watch room with the other startled guard after her. The one making the call stopped punching keys with connection uncompleted and looked up . . . and felt sick. This was even worse than he had thought. This was no flighty young girl, escaped from her chaperones; this was an angry dowager, the sort with enough influence to break a man to common labor or worse—with a temper that made her capable of it. He listened open-mouthed to the richest tongue-lashing it had been his misfortune to endure in all the years he had been checking lords and ladies through their gate.

While the attention of both guards was monopolized by Mother Shaum’s rich rhetoric, a figure detached itself from the sedan chair, faded through the gate and kept going, until it was lost in the gloom of the field. As Thorby ran, even as he expected the burning tingle of a stun gun bolt in his guts, he watched for a road on the right joining the one from the gate. When he came to it he threw himself down and lay panting.

Back at the gate, Mother Shaum stopped for breath. “My lady,” one of them said placatingly, “if you will just let us complete the call—”

“Forget it! No, remember it!—for tomorrow you’ll hear from My Lord Marlin.” She flounced back to her chair.

“Please, my lady!”

She ignored them, spoke sharply to the slaves; they swung the chair up, broke into a trot. One guard’s hand went to his belt, as a feeling of something badly wrong possessed him. But his hand stopped. Right or wrong, knocking down a lady’s bearer was not to be risked, no matter what she might be up to.

And, after all, she hadn’t actually done anything wrong.

When the master of the Sisu finally okayed the loading of the last truck, he climbed onto its bed, waved the driver to start, then worked his way forward. “Hey, there!” He knocked on the back of the cab.

“Yes, Captain?” The driver’s voice came through faintly.

“There’s a stop sign where this road joins the one out to the ships. I notice most of you drivers don’t bother with it.”

“That one? There’s never any traffic on that road. That road is a stop just because the nobles use it.”

“That’s what I mean. One of them might pop up and I’d miss my jump time just for a silly traffic accident with one of your nobles. They could hold me here for many ninedays. So come to a full stop, will you?”

“Whatever you say, Captain. You’re paying the bill.”

“So I am.” A half-stellar note went through a crack in the cab.

When the truck slowed, Krausa went to the tail gate. As it stopped he reached down and snaked Thorby inside. “Quiet!” Thorby nodded and trembled. Krausa took tools from his pockets, attacked one of the crates. Shortly he had one side open, burlap pulled back, and he started dumping verga leaves, priceless on any other planet. Soon he had a largish hole and a hundred pounds of valuable leaves were scattered over the plain. “Get in!”

Thorby crawled into the space, made himself small. Krausa pulled burlap over him, sewed it, crimped slats back into place, and finished by strapping it and sealing it with a good imitation of the seal used by the inspectors—it was a handcrafted product of his ship’s machine shop. He straightened up and wiped sweat from his face. The truck was turning into the loading circle for the Sisu.

He supervised the final loads himself, with the Sargon’s field inspector at his elbow, checking off each crate, each bale, each carton as it went into the sling. Then Krausa thanked the inspector appropriately and rode the sling up instead of the passenger hoist. Since a man was riding it, the hoist man let down the sling with more than usual care. The hold was almost filled and stowed for jump; there was very little head room. Crewmen started wrestling crates free of the sling and even the Captain lent a hand, at least to the extent of one crate. Once the sling was dragged clear, they closed the cargo door and started dogging it for space. Captain Krausa reached into his pocket again and started tearing open that crate.

Two hours later Mother Shaum stood at her bedroom window and looked out across the spaceport. She glanced at her watch. A green rocket rose from the control tower; seconds later a column of
white light climbed to the sky. When the noise reached her, she smiled grimly and went downstairs to supervise the business—Mura couldn’t really handle it properly alone.

CHAPTER 7

Inside the first few million miles Thorby was unhappily convinced that he had made a mistake.

He passed out from inhaling fumes of verga leaves and awakened in a tiny, one-bunk stateroom. Waking was painful; although the Sisu maintained one standard gravity of internal field throughout a jump his body had recognized both the slight difference from Jubbul-surface gravity and the more subtle difference between an artificial field and the natural condition. His body decided that he was in the hold of a slaver and threw him into the first nightmare he had had in years.

Then his tired, fume-sodden brain took a long time struggling up out of the horror.

At last he was awake, aware of his surrounding, and concluded that he was aboard the Sisu and safe. He felt a glow of relief and gathering excitement that he was traveling, going somewhere. His grief over Baslim was pushed aside by strangeness and change. He looked around.

The compartment was a cube, only a foot or so higher and wider than his own height. He was resting on a shelf that filled half the room and under him was a mattress strangely and delightfully soft, of material warm and springy and smooth. He stretched and yawned in surprised wonder that traders lived in such luxury. Then he swung his feet over and stood up.

The bunk swung noiselessly up and fitted itself into the bulkhead. Thorby could not puzzle out how to open it again. Presently he gave up. He did not want a bed then; he did want to look around.

When he woke the ceiling was glowing faintly. When he stood up it glowed brightly and remained so. But the light did not show where the door was. There were vertical metal panels on three sides, any of which might have been a door, save that none displayed thumb slot, hinge, or other familiar mark.

He considered the possibility that he had been locked in, but was not troubled. Living in a cave, working in the Plaza, he was afflicted neither with claustrophobia nor agoraphobia; he simply wanted to find the door and was annoyed that he could not recognize it. If it were locked, he did not think that Captain Krausa would let it stay locked unduly long. But he could not find it.

He did find a pair of shorts and a singlet, on the deck. When he woke he had been bare, the way he usually slept. He picked up these garments, touched them timidly, wondered at their magnificence. He recognized them as being the sort of thing most spacemen wore and for a moment let himself be dazzled at the thought of wearing such luxuries. But his mind shied away from such impudence.

Then he recalled Captain Krausa’s distaste at his coming aboard in the clothes he normally wore—why, the Captain had even intended to take him to a tailoring shop in Joy Street which catered to spacemen! He had said so.

Thorby concluded that these clothes must be for him. For him! His breech cloth was missing and the Captain certainly had not intended him to appear in the Sisu naked. Thorby was not troubled by modesty; the taboo was spotty on Jubbul and applied more to the upper classes. Nevertheless clothes were worn.

Marveling at his own daring, Thorby tried them on. He got the shorts on backwards, figured out his mistake, and put them on properly. He got the pullover shirt on backwards, too, but the error was not as glaring; he left it that way, thinking that he had it right. Then he wished mightily that he could see himself.

Both garments were of simple cut, undecorated light green, and fashioned of strong, cheap material; they were working clothes from the ship’s slop chest, a type of garment much used by both sexes on many planets through many centuries. Yet Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed as Thorby! He smoothed the cloth against his skin and wanted someone to see him in his finery. He set about finding the door with renewed eagerness.

It found him. While running his hands over the panels on one bulkhead he became aware of a breeze, turned and found that one panel had disappeared. The door let out into a passageway.

A young man dressed much as Thorby was (Thorby was overjoyed to find that he had dressed properly for the occasion) was walking down the curved corridor toward Thorby. Thorby stepped out and spoke a greeting in Sargonese trade talk.

The man’s eyes flicked toward Thorby, then he marched on past as if no one were there. Thorby blinked, puzzled and a little hurt. Then he called out to the receding back in Interlingua.

No answer and the man disappeared before he could try other languages.

Thorby shrugged and let it roll off; a beggar does not gain by being touchy. He set out to explore.

In twenty minutes he discovered many things. First, the Sisu was much larger than he had imagined. He had never before seen a starship close up, other than from the doubtful vantage of a slaver’s hold. Ships in the distance, sitting on the field of Jubbul’s port, had seemed large but not this enormous. Second, he was surprised to find so many people. He understood that the Sargon’s freighters operating among the Nine Worlds were usually worked by crews of six or seven. But in his first few minutes he encountered several times that number of both sexes and all ages.

Third, he became dismally aware that he was being snubbed. People did not look at him, nor did they answer when he spoke; they walked right through him if he did not jump. The nearest he accomplished to social relations was with a female child, a toddler who regarded him with steady, grave eyes in answer to his overtures—until snatched up by a woman who did not even glance at Thorby.

Thorby recognized the treatment; it was the way a noble treated one of Thorby’s caste. A noble could not see him, he did not exist—even a noble giving alms usually did so by handing it through a slave. Thorby had not been hurt by such treatment on Jubbul; that was natural, that was the way things had always been. It had made him neither lonely nor depressed; he had had plenty of warm company in his misery and had not known that it was misery.

But had he known ahead of time that the entire ship’s company of the Sisu would behave like nobles he would never have shipped in her, snoopies or not. But he had not expected such treatment. Captain Krausa, once Baslim’s message had been delivered, had been friendly and gruffly paternal; Thorby had expected the crew of the Sisu to reflect the attitude of her master.

He wandered the steel corridors, feeling like a ghost among living, and at last decided sadly to go back to the cubicle in which he had awakened. Then he discovered that he was lost. He retraced what he thought was the route—and in fact was; Baslim’s renshawing had not been wasted—but all he found was a featureless tunnel. So he set out again, uncomfortably aware that whether he found his own room or not, he must soon find where they hid the washroom, even if he had to grab someone and shake him.

He blundered into a place where he was greeted by squeals of female indignation; he retreated hastily and heard a door slam behind him.

Shortly thereafter he was overtaken by a hurrying man who spoke to him, in Interlingua: “What the dickens are you doing wandering around and butting into things?”

Thorby felt a wave of relief. The grimmest place in the world, lonelier than being alone, is Coventry, and even a reprimand is better than being ignored. “I’m lost,” he said meekly.

“Why didn’t you stay where you were?”

“I didn’t know I was supposed to—I’m sorry, noble sir—and there wasn’t any washroom.”

“Oh. But there is, right across from your bunkie.”

“Noble sir, I did not know.”

“Mmm . . . I suppose you didn’t. I’m not ‘noble sir’; I’m First Assistant Power Boss—see that you remember it. Come along.” He grabbed Thorby by an arm, hurried him back through the maze, stopped in the same tunnel that had stumped Thorby, ran his hand down a seam in the metal. “Here’s your bunkie.” The panel slid aside.

The man turned, did the same on the other side. “Here’s the starboard bachelors’ washroom.” The man advised him scornfully when Thorby was confused by strange fixtures, then chaperoned him back to his room. “Now stay here. Your meals will be fetched.”

“First Assistant Power Boss, sir?”

“Eh?”

“Could I speak with Captain Krausa?”

The man looked astonished. “Do you think the Skipper has nothing better to do than talk to you?”

“But—”

The man had left; Thorby was talking to a steel panel.

Food appeared eventually, served by a youngster who behaved as if he were placing a tray in an empty room. More food appeared later and the first tray was removed. Thorby almost managed to be noticed; he hung onto the first tray and spoke to the boy in Interlingua. He detected a flicker of understanding, but he was answered by one short word. The word was “Fraki!” and Thorby did not recognize it . . . but he could recognize the contempt with which it was uttered. A fraki is a small, shapeless, semi-saurian scavenger of Alpha Centauri Prime III, one of the first worlds populated by men. It is ugly, almost mindless, and has disgusting habits. Its flesh can be eaten only by a starving man. Its skin is unpleasant to touch and leaves a foul odor.

But “fraki” means more than this. It means a groundhog, an earthcrawler, a dirt dweller, one who never goes into space, not of our tribe, not human, a goy, an auslander, a savage, beneath contempt. In Old Terran cultures almost every animal name has been used as an insult: pig, dog, sow, cow, shark, louse, skunk, worm—the list is endless. No such idiom carries more insult than “fraki.”

Fortunately all Thorby got was the fact that the youngster did not care for him . . . which he knew.

Presently Thorby became sleepy. But, although he had mastered the gesture by which doors were opened, he still could not find any combination of swipes, scratches, punches, or other actions which would open the bed; he spent that night on the floorplates. His breakfast appeared next morning but he was unable to detain the person serving it, even to be insulted again. He did encounter other boys and young men in the washroom across the corridor; while he was still ignored, he learned one thing by watching—he could wash his clothing there. A gadget would accept a garment, hold it a few minutes, spew it forth dry and fresh. He was so delighted that he laundered his new finery three times that day. Besides, he had nothing else to do. He again slept on the floor that night.

He was squatting in his bunkie, feeling a great aching loneliness for Pop and wishing that he had never left Jubbul, when someone scratched at his door. “May I come in?” a voice inquired in careful, badly-accented Sargonese.

“Come in!” Thorby answered eagerly and jumped up to open the door. He found himself facing a middle-aged woman with a pleasant face. “Welcome,” he said in Sargonese, and stood aside.

“I thank you for your gracious—” she stumbled and said quickly, “Do you speak Interlingua?”

“Certainly, madam.”

She muttered in System English, “Thank goodness for that—I’ve run out of Sargonese,” then went on in Interlingua, “Then we will speak it, if you don’t mind.”

“As you wish, madam,” Thorby answered in the same language, then added in System English, “unless you would rather use another language.”

She looked startled. “How many languages do you speak?”

Thorby thought. “Seven, ma’am. I can puzzle out some others, but I cannot say that I speak them.”

She looked even more surprised and said slowly, “Perhaps I have made a mistake. But—correct me if I am wrong and forgive my ignorance—I was told that you were a beggar’s boy in Jubbulpore.”

“I am the son of Baslim the Cripple,” Thorby said proudly, “a licensed beggar under the mercy of the Sargon. My late father was a learned man. His wisdom was famous from one side of the Plaza to the other.”

“I believe it. Uh . . . are all beggars on Jubbul linguists?”

“What, ma’am? Most of them speak only gutter argot. But my father did not permit me to speak it . . . other than professionally, of course.”

“Of course.” She blinked. “I wish I could have met your father.”

“Thank you, ma’am. Will you sit down? I am ashamed that I have nothing but the floor to offer . . . but what I have is yours.”

“Thank you.” She sat on the floor with more effort than did Thorby, who had remained thousands of hours in lotus seat, shouting his plea for alms.

Thorby wondered whether to close the door, whether this lady—in Sargonese he thought of her as “my lady” even though her friendly manner made her status unclear—had left it open on purpose. He was floundering in a sea of unknown customs, facing a social situation totally new to him. He solved it with common sense; he asked, “Do you prefer the door open or closed, ma’am?”

“Eh? It doesn’t matter. Oh, perhaps you had better leave it open; these are bachelor quarters of the starboard moiety and I’m supposed to live in port purdah, with the unmarried females. But I’m allowed some of the privileges and immunities of . . . well, of a pet dog. I’m a tolerated ‘fraki.’ ” She spoke the last word with a wry smile.

Thorby had missed most of the key words. “A ‘dog’? That’s a wolf creature?”

She looked at him sharply. “You learned this language on Jubbul?”

“I have never been off Jubbul, ma’am—except when I was very young. I’m sorry if I do not speak correctly. Would you prefer Interlingua?”

“Oh, no. You speak System English beautifully . . . a better Terran accent than mine—I’ve never been able to get my birthplace out of my vowels. But it’s up to me to make myself understood. Let me introduce myself. I’m not a trader; I’m an anthropologist they are allowing to travel with them. My name is Doctor Margaret Mader.”

Thorby ducked his head and pressed his palms together. “I am honored. My name is Thorby, son of Baslim.”

“The pleasure is mine, Thorby. Call me ‘Margaret.’ My title doesn’t count here anyhow, since it is not a ship’s title. Do you know what an anthropologist is?”

“Uh, I am sorry, ma’am—Margaret.”

“It’s simpler than it sounds. An anthropologist is a scientist who studies how people live together.”

Thorby looked doubtful. “This is a science?”

“Sometimes I wonder. Actually, Thorby, it is a complicated study, because the patterns that men work out to live together seem unlimited. There are only six things that all men have in common with all other men and not with animals—three of them part of our physical makeup, the way our bodies work, and three of them are learned. Everything else that a man does, or believes, all his customs and economic practices, vary enormously. Anthropologists study those variables. Do you understand ‘variable’?”

“Uh,” Thorby said doubtfully, “the x in an equation?”

“Correct!” she agreed with delight. “We study the x’s in the human equations. That’s what I’m doing. I’m studying the way the Free Traders live. They have worked out possibly the oddest solutions to the difficult problem of how to be human and survive of any society in history. They are unique.” She moved restlessly. “Thorby, would you mind if I sat in a chair? I don’t bend as well as I used to.”

Thorby blushed. “Ma’am . . . I have none. I am dis—”

“There’s one right behind you. And another behind me.” She stood up and touched the wall. A panel slid aside; an upholstered armchair unfolded from the shallow space disclosed.

Seeing his face she said, “Didn’t they show you?” and did the same on the other wall; another chair sprang out.

Thorby sat down cautiously, then let his weight relax into cushions as the chair felt him out and adjusted itself to him. A big grin spread over his face. “Gosh!”

“Do you know how to open your work table?”

“Table?”

“Good heavens, didn’t they show you anything?”

“Well . . . there was a bed in here once. But I’ve lost it.”

Doctor Mader muttered something, then said, “I might have known it. Thorby, I admire these Traders. I even like them. But they can be the most stiff-necked, self-centered, contrary, self-righteous, uncooperative—but I should not criticize our hosts. Here.” She reached out both hands, touched two spots on the wall and the disappearing bed swung down. With the chairs open, there remained hardly room for one person to stand. “I’d better close it. You saw what I did?”

“Let me try.”

She showed Thorby other built-in facilities of what had seemed to be a bare cell: two chairs, a bed, clothes cupboards. Thorby learned that he owned, or at least had, two more work suits, two pairs of soft ship’s shoes, and minor items, some of which were strange, bookshelf and spool racks (empty, except for the Laws of Sisu), a drinking fountain, a bed reading light, an intercom, a clock, a mirror, a room thermostat, and gadgets which were useless to him as his background included no need. “What’s that?” he asked at last.

“That? Probably the microphone to the Chief Officer’s cabin. Or it may be a dummy with the real one hidden. But don’t worry; almost no one in this ship speaks System English and she isn’t one of the few. They talk their ‘secret language’—only it isn’t secret; it’s just Finnish. Each Trader ship has its own language—one of the Terran tongues. And the culture has an over-all ‘secret’ language which is merely degenerate Church Latin—and at that they don’t use it; ‘Free Ships’ talk to each other in Interlingua.”

Thorby was only half listening. He had been excessively cheered by her company and now, in contrast, he was brooding over his treatment from others. “Margaret . . . why won’t they speak to people?”

“Eh?”

“You’re the first person who’s spoken to me!”

“Oh.” She looked distressed. “I should have realized it. You’ve been ignored.”

“Well . . . they feed me.”

“But they don’t talk with you. Oh, you poor dear! Thorby, they don’t speak to you because you are not ‘people.’ Nor am I.”

“They don’t talk to you either?”

“They do now. But it took direct orders from the Chief Officer and much patience on my part.” She frowned. “Thorby, every excessively clannish culture—and I know of none more clannish than this—every such culture has the same key word in its language . . . and the word is ‘people’ however they say it. It means themselves. ‘Me and my wife, son John and his wife, us four and no more’—cutting off their group from all others and denying that others are even human. Have you heard the word ‘fraki’ yet?”

“Yes. I don’t know what it means.”

“A fraki is just a harmless, rather repulsive little animal. But when they say it, it means ‘stranger.’ “

&n
bsp; “Uh, well, I guess I am a stranger.”

“Yes, but it also means you can never be anything else. It means that you and I are subhuman breeds outside the law—their law.”

Thorby looked bleak. “Does that mean I have to stay in this room and never, ever talk to anybody?”

“Goodness! I don’t know. I’ll talk to you—”

“Thanks!”

“Let me see what I can find out. They’re not cruel; they’re just pig-headed and provincial. The fact that you have feelings never occurs to them. I’ll talk to the Captain; I have an appointment with him as soon as the ship goes irrational.” She glanced at her anklet. “Heavens, look at the time! I came here to talk about Jubbul and we haven’t said a word about it. May I come back and discuss it with you?”

“I wish you would.”

“Good. Jubbul is a well-analyzed culture, but I don’t think any student has ever had opportunity to examine it from the perspective you had. I was delighted when I heard that you were a professed mendicant.”

“Excuse me?”

“A beggar. Investigators who have been allowed to live there have all been guests of the upper classes. That forces them to see . . . well, the way slaves live for example, from the outside, not the inside. You see?”

“I guess so.” Thorby added, “If you want to know about slaves, I was one.”

“You were?”

“I’m a freedman. Uh, I should have told you,” he added uncomfortably, afraid that his new-found friend would scorn him, now that she knew his class.

“No reason to, but I’m overjoyed that you mentioned it. Thorby, you’re a treasure trove! Look, dear, I’ve got to run; I’m late now. But may I come back soon?”

“Huh? Why, surely, Margaret.” He added honestly, “I really don’t have much else to do.”

Thorby slept in his wonderful new bed that night. He was left alone the next morning but he was not bored, as he had so many toys to play with. He opened things out and caused them to fold up again, delighted at how each gadget folded in on itself to occupy minimum space. He concluded that it must be witchcraft. Baslim had taught him that magic and witchcraft were nonsense but the teaching had not fully stuck—Pop had known everything but just the same, how could you fly in the face of experience? Jubbul had plenty of witches and if they weren’t practicing magic, what were they doing?

He had just opened his bed for the sixth time when he was almost shocked out of the shoes he had dared to try on by an unholy racket. It was just the ship’s alarm, calling all hands to General Quarters, and it was merely a drill, but Thorby did not know that. When he reswallowed his heart, he opened the door and looked out. People were running at breakneck speed.

Shortly the corridors were empty. He went back into his bunkie, waited and tried to understand. Presently his sharp ears detected the absence of the soft sigh of the ventilation system. But there was nothing he could do about it. He should have mustered in the innermost compartment, along with children and other non-combatants, but he did not know.

So he waited.

The alarm rang again, in conjunction with a horn signal, and again there were running people in the passageways. Again it was repeated, until the crew had run through General Quarters, Hull Broach, Power Failure, Air Hazard, Radiation Hazard, and so forth—all the general drills of a taut ship. Once the lights went out and once for frightening moments Thorby experienced the bewildering sensation of free fall as the ship’s artificial field cut off.

After a long time of such inexplicable buffoonery he heard the soothing strains of recall and the ventilation system whispered back to normal. No one bothered to look for him; the old woman who mustered non-participants hadn’t noticed the absence of the fraki although she had counted the animal pets aboard.

Immediately thereafter Thorby was dragged up to see the Chief Officer.

A man opened his door, grabbed his shoulder and marched him away. Thorby put up with it for a short distance, then he rebelled; he had his bellyful of such treatment.

The gutter fighting he had learned in order to survive in Jubbulpore was lacking in rules. Unfortunately this man had learned in a school equally cold-blooded but more scientific; Thorby got in one swipe, then found himself pinned against the bulkhead with his left wrist in danger of breaking. “Cut out the nonsense!”

“Quit pushing me around!”

“I said, ‘Cut out the nonsense.’ You’re going up to see the Chief Officer. Don’t give me trouble, Fraki, or I’ll stuff your head in your mouth.”

“I want to see Captain Krausa!”

The man relaxed the pressure and said, “You’ll see him. But the Chief Officer has ordered you to report . . . and she can’t be kept waiting. So will you go quietly? Or shall I carry you there in pieces?”

Thorby went quietly. Pressure on a wrist joint combined with pressure on a nerve between the bones of the palm carries its own rough logic. Several decks up he was shoved through an open door. “Chief Officer, here’s the fraki.”

“Thank you, Third Deck Master. You may go.”

Thorby understood only the word “fraki.” He picked himself up and found himself in a room many times as large as his own. The most prominent thing in it was an imposing bed, but the small figure in the bed dominated the room. Only after he had looked at her did he notice that Captain Krausa stood silent on one side of the bed and that a woman perhaps the Captain’s age stood on the other.

The woman in bed was shrunken with age but radiated authority. She was richly dressed—the scarf over her thin hair represented more money than Thorby had ever seen at one time—but Thorby noticed only her fierce, sunken eyes. She looked at him. “So! Oldest Son, I have much trouble believing it.” She spoke in Suomic.

“My Mother, the message could not have been faked.”

She sniffed.

Captain Krausa went on with humble stubbornness, “Hear the message yourself, My Mother.” He turned to Thorby and said in Interlingua, “Repeat the message from your father.”

Obediently, not understanding but enormously relieved to be in the presence of Pop’s friend, Thorby repeated the message by rote. The old woman heard him through, then turned to Captain Krausa. “What is this? He speaks our language! A fraki!”

“No, My Mother, he understands not a word. That is Baslim’s voice.”

She looked back at Thorby, spilled a stream of Suomic on him. He looked questioningly at Captain Krausa. She said, “Have him repeat it again.”

The Captain gave the order; Thorby, confused but willing, did so. She lay silent after he had concluded while the others waited. Her face screwed up in anger and exasperation. At last she rasped, “Debts must be paid!”

“That was my thought, My Mother.”

“But why should the draft be drawn on us?” she answered angrily.

The Captain said nothing. She went on more quietly, “The message is authentic. I thought surely it must be faked. Had I known what you intended I would have forbidden it. But, Oldest Son, stupid as you are, you were right. And debts must be paid.” Her son continued to say nothing; she added angrily, “Well? Speak up! What coin do you propose to tender?”

“I have been thinking, My Mother,” Krausa said slowly. “Baslim demands that we care for the boy only a limited time . . . until we can turn him over to a Hegemonic military vessel. How long will that be? A year, two years. But even that presents problems. However, we have a precedent—the fraki female. The Family has accepted her—oh, a little grumbling, but they are used to her now, even amused by her. If My Mother intervened for this lad in the same way—”

“Nonsense!”

“But, My Mother, we are obligated. Debts must—”

“Silence!”

Krausa shut up.

She went on quietly, “Did you not listen to the wording of the burden Baslim placed on you? ‘—succor and admonish him as if you were I.’ What was Baslim to this fraki?”

“Why, he speaks of him as his adopted son. I thought—”

“You didn’t think. If you take Baslim’s place, what does that make you? Is there more than one way to read the words?”

Krausa looked troubled. The ancient went on, “Sisu pays debts in full. No
half-measures, no short weights —in full. The fraki must be adopted . . . by you.”

Krausa’s face was suddenly blank. The other woman, who had been moving around quietly with make-work, dropped a tray.

The Captain said, “But, My Mother, what will the Family—”

“I am the Family!” She turned suddenly to the other woman. “Oldest Son’s Wife, have all my senior daughters attend me.”

“Yes, Husband’s Mother.” She curtsied and left.

The Chief Officer looked grimly at the overhead, then almost smiled. “This is not all bad, Oldest Son. What will happen at the next Gathering of the People?”

“Why, we will be thanked.”

“Thanks buy no cargo.” She licked her thin lips. “The People will be in debt to Sisu . . . and there will be a change in status of ships. We won’t suffer.”

Krausa smiled slowly. “You always were a shrewd one, My Mother.”

“A good thing for Sisu that I am. Take the fraki boy and prepare him. We’ll do this quickly.”

CHAPTER 8

Thorby had two choices: be adopted quietly, or make a fuss and be adopted anyhow. He chose the first, which was sensible, as opposing the will of the Chief Officer was unpleasant and almost always futile. Besides, while he felt odd and rather unhappy about acquiring a new family so soon after the death of Pop, nevertheless he could see that the change was to his advantage. As a fraki, his status had never been lower. Even a slave has equals.

But most important, Pop had told him to do what Captain Krausa said for him to do.

The adoption took place in the dining saloon at the evening meal that day. Thorby understood little of what went on and none of what was said, since the ceremonies were in the “secret language,” but the Captain had coached him in what to expect. The entire ship’s company was there, except those on watch. Even Doctor Mader was there, inside the main door and taking no part but where she could see and hear.

The Chief Officer was carried in and everyone stood. She was settled on a lounge at the head of the officers’ table, where her daughter-in-law, the Captain’s wife, attended her. When she was comfortable, she made a gesture and they sat down, the Captain seating himself on her right. Girls from the port moiety, the watch with the day’s duty, then served all hands with bowls of thin mush. No one touched it. The Chief Officer banged her spoon on her bowl and spoke briefly and emphatically.

Her son followed her. Thorby was surprised to discover that he recognized a portion of the Captain’s speech as being identical with part of the message Thorby had delivered; he could spot the sequence of sounds.

The Chief Engineer, a man older than Krausa, answered, then several older people, both men and women, spoke. The Chief Officer asked a question and was answered in chorus—a unanimous assent. The old woman did not ask for dissenting votes.

Thorby was trying to catch Doctor Mader’s eye when the Captain called to him in Interlingua. Thorby had been seated on a stool alone and was feeling conspicuous, especially as persons he caught looking at him did not seem very friendly.

“Come here!”

Thorby looked up, saw both the Captain and his mother looking at him. She seemed irritated or it may have been the permanent set of her features. Thorby hurried over.

She dipped her spoon in his dish, barely licked it. Feeling as if he were doing something horribly wrong but having been coached, he dipped his spoon in her bowl, timidly took a mouthful. She reached up, pulled his head down and pecked him with withered lips on both cheeks. He returned the symbolic caress and felt gooseflesh.

Captain Krausa ate from Thorby’s bowl; he ate from the Captain’s. Then Krausa took a knife, held the point between thumb and forefinger and whispered in Interlingua, “Mind you don’t cry out.” He stabbed Thorby in his upper arm.

Thorby thought with contempt that Baslim had taught him to ignore ten times that much pain. But blood flowed freely. Krausa led him to a spot where all might see, said something loudly, and held his arm so that a puddle of blood formed on the deck. The Captain stepped on it, rubbed it in with his foot, spoke loudly again—and a cheer went up. Krausa said to Thorby in Interlingua, “Your blood is now in the steel; our steel is in your blood.”

Thorby had encountered sympathetic magic all his life and its wild, almost reasonable logic he understood. He felt a burst of pride that he was now part of the ship.

The Captain’s wife slapped a plaster over the cut. Then Thorby exchanged food and kisses with her, after which he had to do it right around the room, every table, his brothers and his uncles, his sisters and his cousins and his aunts. Instead of kissing him, the men and boys grasped his hands and then clapped him across the shoulders. When he came to the table of unmarried females he hesitated—and discovered that they did not kiss him; they giggled and squealed and blushed and hastily touched forefingers to his forehead.

Close behind him, girls with the serving duty cleared away the bowls of mush—purely ritualistic food symbolizing the meager rations on which the People could cross space if necessary—and were serving a feast. Thorby would have been clogged to his ears with mush had he not caught onto the trick: don’t eat it, just dip the spoon, then barely taste it. But when at last he was seated, an accepted member of the Family, at the starboard bachelors’ table, he had no appetite for the banquet in his honor. Eighty-odd new relatives were too much. He felt tired, nervous, and let down.

But he tried to eat. Presently he heard a remark in which he understood only the word “fraki.” He looked up and saw a youth across the table grinning unpleasantly.

The president of the table, seated on Thorby’s right, rapped for attention. “We’ll speak nothing but Interlingua tonight,” he announced, “and thereafter follow the customs in allowing a new relative gradually to acquire our language.” His eye rested coldly on the youngster who had sneered at Thorby. “As for you, Cross-Cousin-in-Law by Marriage, I’ll remind you—just once—that my Adopted Younger Brother is senior to you. And I’ll see you in my bunkie after dinner.”

The younger boy looked startled. “Aw, Senior Cousin, I was just saying—”

“Drop it.” The young man said quietly to Thorby, “Use your fork. People do not eat meat with fingers.”

“Fork?”

“Left of your plate. Watch me; you’ll learn. Don’t let them get you riled. Some of these young oafs have yet to learn that when Grandmother speaks, she means business.”

Thorby was moved from his bunkie into a less luxurious larger room intended for four bachelors. His roommates were Fritz Krausa, who was his eldest unmarried foster brother and president of the starboard bachelor table, Chelan Krausa-Drotar, Thorby’s foster ortho-second-cousin by marriage, and Jeri Kingsolver, his foster nephew by his eldest married brother.

It resulted in his learning Suomic rapidly. But the words he needed first were not Suomish; they were words borrowed or invented to describe family relationships in great detail. Languages reflect cultures; most languages distinguish brother, sister, father, mother, aunt, uncle, and link generations by “great” or “grand.” Some languages make no distinction between (for example) “father” and “uncle” and the language reflects tribal custom. Contrariwise, some languages (e.g., Norwegian) split “uncle” into maternal and paternal (“morbror” and “farbror”).

The Free Traders can state a relationship such as “my maternal foster half-stepuncle by marriage, once removed and now deceased” in one word, one which means that relationship and no other. The relation between any spot on a family tree and any other spot can be so stated. Where most cultures find a dozen titles for relatives sufficient the Traders use more than two thousand. The languages name discreetly and quickly such variables as generation, lineal or collateral, natural or adopted, age within generation, sex of speaker, sex of relative referred to, sexes of relatives forming linkage, consanguinity or affinity, and vital status.

Thorby’s first task was to learn the word and the relationship defined by it with which he must address each of more than eighty new relatives; he had to understand the precise flavor of relationship, close or distant, senior or junior; he had to learn other titles by which he would be addressed by each of them. Until he had learned all this, he could not talk because as soon as he opened his mouth he would commit a grave breach in manners.

He had to associate five things for each member of the Sisu’s company, a face, a full name (his own name was now Thorby Baslim-Krausa), a family title, that person’s family title for him, and that person’s ship’s rank (such as “Chief Officer” or “Starboard Second Assistant Cook”). He learned that each person must be addressed by family title in family matters, by ship’s rank concerning ship’s duties, and by given names on social occasions if the senior permitted it—nicknames hardly existed, since a nickname could be used only down, never up.

Until he grasped these distinctions, he could not be a functioning member of the family even though he was legally such. The life of the ship was a caste system of such complex obligations, privileges and required reactions to obligatory actions, as to make the stratified, protocol-ridden society of Jubbul seem like chaos. The Captain’s wife was Thorby’s “mother” but she was also Deputy Chief Officer; how he addressed her depended on what he had to say. Since he was in bachelor quarters, the mothering phase ceased before it started; nevertheless she treated him warmly as a son and offered her cheek for his kiss just as she did for Thorby’s roommate and elder brother Fritz.

But as Deputy Chief Officer she could be as cold as a tax collector.

Not that her status was easier; she would not be Chief Officer until the old woman had the grace to die. In the meantime she was hand and voice and body servant for her mother-in-law. Theoretically senior offices were elective; practically it was a one-party system with a single slate. Krausa was captain because his father had been; his wife was deputy chief officer because she was his wife, and she would someday become chief officer—and boss him and his ship as his mother did—for the same reason. Meanwhile his wife’s high rank carried with it the worst job in the ship, with no respite, for senior officers served for life . . . unless impeached, convicted, and expelled—onto a planet for unsatisfactory performance, into the chilly thinness of space for breaking the ancient and pig-headed laws of Sisu.

But such an event was as scarce as a double eclipse; Thorby’s mother’s hope lay in heart failure, stroke, or other hazard of old age.

Thorby as adopted youngest son of Captain Krausa, senior male of the Krausa sept, tit
ular head of Sisu clan (the Captain’s mother being the real head), was senior to three-fourths of his new relatives in clan status (he had not yet acquired ship’s rank). But seniority did not make life easier. With rank goeth privileges—so it ever shall be. But also with it go responsibility and obligation, always more onerous than privileges are pleasant.

It was easier to learn to be a beggar.

He was swept up in his new problems and did not see Doctor Margaret Mader for days. He was hurrying down the trunk corridor of fourth deck—he was always hurrying now—when he ran into her.

He stopped. “Hello, Margaret.”

“Hello, Trader. I thought for a moment that you were no longer speaking to fraki.”

“Aw, Margaret!”

She smiled. “I was joking. Congratulations, Thorby. I’m happy for you—it’s the best solution under the circumstances.”

“Thanks. I guess so.”

She shifted to System English and said with motherly concern, “You seem doubtful, Thorby. Aren’t things going well?”

“Oh, things are all right.” He suddenly blurted the truth. “Margaret, I’m never going to understand these people!”

She said gently, “I’ve felt the same way at the beginning of every field study and this one has been the most puzzling. What is bothering you?”

“Uh . . . I don’t know. I never know. Well, take Fritz—he’s my elder brother. He’s helped me a lot—then I miss something that he expects me to understand and he blasts my ears off. Once he hit me. I hit back and I thought he was going to explode.”

“Peck rights,” said Margaret.

“What?”

“Never mind. It isn’t scientifically parallel; humans aren’t chickens. What happened?”

“Well, just as quickly he went absolutely cold, told me he would forget it, wipe it out, because of my ignorance.”

“Noblesse oblige.”

“Huh?”

“Sorry. My mind is a junk yard. And did he?”

“Completely. He was sweet as sugar. I don’t know why he got sore . . . and I don’t know why he quit being sore when I hit him.” He spread his hands. “It’s not natural.”

“No, it isn’t. But few things are. Mmm . . . Thorby, I might be able to help. It’s possible that I know how Fritz works better than he knows. Because I’m not one of the ‘People.’ “

“I don’t understand.”

“I do, I think. It’s my job to. Fritz was born into the People; most of what he knows—and he is a very sophisticated young man—is subconscious. He can’t explain it because he doesn’t know he knows it; he simply functions. But what I have learned these past two years I have learned consciously. Perhaps I can advise you when you are shy about asking one of them. You can speak freely with me; I have no status.”

“Gee, Margaret, would you?”

“Whenever you have time. I haven’t forgotten that you promised to discuss Jubbul with me, either. But don’t let me hold you; you seemed in a hurry.”

“I wasn’t, not really.” He grinned sheepishly. “When I hurry I don’t have to speak to as many people . . . and I usually don’t know how.”

“Ah, yes. Thorby, I have photographs, names, family classification, ship’s job, on everyone. Would it help?”

“Huh? I should say so! Fritz thinks it’s enough just to point somebody out once and say who he is.”

“Then come to my room. It’s all right; I have a dispensation to interview anyone there. The door opens into a public corridor; you don’t cross purdah line.”

Arranged by case cards with photographs, the data Thorby had had trouble learning piecemeal he soaked up in half an hour—thanks to Baslim’s training and Doctor Mader’s orderliness. In addition, she had prepared a family tree for the Sisu; it was the first he had seen; his relatives did not need diagrams, they simply knew.

She showed him his own place. “The plus mark means that while you are in the direct sept, you were not born there. Here are a couple more, transferred from collateral branches to sept . . . to put them into line of command I suspect. You people call yourselves a ‘family’ but the grouping is a phratry.”

“A what?”

“A related group without a common ancestor which practices exogamy—that means marrying outside the group. The exogamy taboo holds, modified by rule of moiety. You know how the two moieties work?”

“They take turns having the day’s duty.”

“Yes, but do you know why the starboard watch has more bachelors and the port watch more single women?”

“Uh, I don’t think so.”

“Females adopted from other ships are in port moiety; native bachelors are starboard. Every girl in your side must be exchanged . . . unless she can find a husband among a very few eligible men. You should have been adopted on this side, but that would have required a different foster father. See the names with a blue circle-and-cross? One of those girls is your future wife . . . unless you find a bride on another ship.”

Thorby felt dismayed at the thought. “Do I have to?”

“If you gain ship’s rank to match your family rank, you’ll have to carry a club to beat them off.”

It fretted him. Swamped with family, he felt more need for a third leg than he did for a wife.

“Most societies,” she went on, “practice both exogamy and endogamy—a man must marry outside his family but inside his nation, race, religion, or some large group, and you Free Traders are no exception; you must cross to another moiety but you can’t marry fraki. But your rules produce an unusual setup; each ship is a patrilocal matriarchy.”

“A what?”

” ‘Patrilocal’ means that wives join their husbands’ families; a matriarchy . . . well, who bosses this ship?”

“Why, the Captain.”

“He does?”

“Well, Father listens to Grandmother, but she is getting old and—”

“No ‘buts.’ The Chief Officer is boss. It surprised me; I thought it must be just this ship. But it extends all through the People. Men do the trading, conn the ship and mind its power plant—but a woman always is boss. It makes sense within its framework; it makes your marriage customs tolerable.”

Thorby wished she would not keep referring to marriage.

“You haven’t seen ships trade daughters. Girls leaving weep and wail and almost have to be dragged . . . but girls arriving have dried their eyes and are ready to smile and flirt, eyes open for husbands. If a girl catches the right man and pushes him, someday she can be sovereign of an independent state. Until she leaves her native ship, she isn’t anybody—which is why her tears dry quickly. But if men were boss, girl-swapping would be slavery; as it is, it’s a girl’s big chance.”

Doctor Mader turned away from the chart. “Human customs that help people live together are almost never planned. But they are useful, or they don’t survive. Thorby, you have been fretted about how to behave toward your relatives.”

“I certainly have!”

“What’s the most important thing to a Trader?”

Thorby thought. “Why, the Family. Everything depends on who you are in the Family.”

“Not at all. His ship.”

“Well, when you say ‘ship’ you mean ‘family.’ “

“Just backwards. If a Trader becomes dissatisfied, where can he go? Space won’t have him without a ship around him; nor can he imagine living on a planet among fraki, the idea is disgusting. His ship is his life, the air he breathes comes from his ship; somehow he must learn to live in it. But the pressure of personalities is almost unbearable and there is no way to get away from each other. Pressure could build up until somebody gets killed . . . or until the ship itself is destroyed. But humans devise ways to adjust to any conditions. You people lubricate with rituals, formalism, set patterns of speech, obligatory actions and responses. When things grow difficult you hide behind a pattern. That’s why Fritz didn’t stay angry.”

“Huh?”

“He couldn’t. You had done something wrong . . . but the fact itself showed that you were ignorant. Fritz had momentarily forgotten, then he remembered and his anger disappeared. The People do not permit themselves to be angry with a child; instead they set him back on the proper path . . . until he follows your complex customs as automatically as Fritz d
oes.”

“Uh, I think I see.” Thorby sighed. “But it isn’t easy.”

“Because you weren’t born to it. But you’ll learn and it will be no more effort than breathing—and as useful. Customs tell a man who he is, where he belongs, what he must do. Better illogical customs than none; men cannot live together without them. From an anthropologist’s view, ‘justice’ is a search for workable customs.”

“My father—my other father, I mean; Baslim the Cripple—used to say the way to find justice is to deal fairly with other people and not worry about how they deal with you.”

“Doesn’t that fit what I said?”

“Uh, I guess so.”

“I think Baslim the Cripple would regard the People as just.” She patted his shoulder. “Never mind, Thorby. Do your best and one day you’ll marry one of those nice girls. You’ll be happy.”

The prophecy did not cheer Thorby.

CHAPTER 9

By the time Sisu approached Losian Thorby had a battle station worthy of a man. His first assignment had been to assist in the central dressing station, an unnecessary job. But his background in mathematics got him promoted.

He had been attending the ship’s school. Baslim had given him a broad education, but this fact did not stand out to his instructors, since most of what they regarded as necessary—the Finnish language as they spoke it, the history of the People and of Sisu, trading customs, business practices, and export and import laws of many planets, hydroponics and ship’s economy, ship safety and damage control—were subjects that Baslim had not even touched; he had emphasized languages, science, mathematics, galactography and history. The new subjects Thorby gobbled with a speed possible only to one renshawed by Baslim’s strenuous methods. The Traders needed applied mathematics—bookkeeping and accounting, astrogation, nucleonics for a hydrogen-fusion-powered n-ship. Thorby splashed through the first, the second was hardly more difficult, but as for the third, the ship’s schoolmaster was astounded that this ex-fraki had already studied multi-dimensional geometries.

So he reported to the Captain that they had a mathematical genius aboard.

This was not true. But it got Thorby reassigned to the starboard fire-control computer.

The greatest hazard to trading ships is in the first and last legs of each jump, when a ship is below speed-of-light. It is theoretically possible to detect and intercept a ship going many times speed-of-light, when it is irrational to the four-dimensional space of the senses; in practice it is about as easy as hitting a particular raindrop with a bow and arrow during a storm at midnight. But it is feasible to hunt down a ship moving below speed-of-light if the attacker is fast and the victim is a big lumbering freighter.

The Sisu had acceleration of one hundred standard gravities and used it all to cut down the hazard time. But a ship which speeds up by a kilometer per second each second will take three and one half standard days to reach speed-of-light.

Half a week is a long, nervous time to wait. Doubling acceleration would have cut danger time by half and made the Sisu as agile as a raider—but it would have meant a hydrogen-fusion chamber eight times as big with parallel increase in radiation shielding, auxiliary equipment, and paramagnetic capsule to contain the hydrogen reaction; the added mass would eliminate cargo capacity. Traders are working people; even if there were no parasites preying on them they could not afford to burn their profits in the inexorable workings of an exponential law of multi-dimensional physics. So the Sisu had the best legs she could afford—but not long enough to outrun a ship unburdened by cargo.

Nor could Sisu maneuver easily. She had to go precisely in the right direction when she entered the trackless night of n-space, else when she came out she would be too far from market; such a mistake could turn the ledger from black to red. Still more hampering, her skipper had to be prepared to cut power entirely, or risk having his in-ship artificial gravity field destroyed—and thereby make strawberry jam of the Family as soft bodies were suddenly exposed to one hundred gravities.

This is why a captain gets stomach ulcers; it isn’t dickering for cargoes, figuring discounts and commissions, and trying to guess what goods will show the best return. It’s not long jumps through the black—that is when he can relax and dandle babies. It is starting and ending a jump that kills him off, the long aching hours when he may have to make a split-second decision involving the lives—or freedom—of his family.

If raiders wished to destroy merchant ships, Sisu and her sisters would not stand a chance. But the raider wants loot and slaves; it gains him nothing simply to blast a ship.

Merchantmen are limited by no qualms; an attacking ship’s destruction is the ideal outcome. Atomic target-seekers are dreadfully expensive, and using them up is rough on profit-and-loss—but there is no holding back if the computer says the target can be reached—whereas a raider will use destruction weapons only to save himself. His tactic is to blind the trader, burn out her instruments so that he can get close enough to paralyze everyone aboard—or, failing that, kill without destroying ship and cargo.

The trader runs if she can, fights if she must. But when she fights, she fights to kill.

Whenever Sisu was below speed-of-light, she listened with artificial senses to every disturbance in multi-space, the whisper of n-space communication or the “white” roar of a ship boosting at many gravities. Data poured into the ships’ astrogational analog of space and the questions were: Where is this other ship? What is its course? speed? acceleration? Can it catch us before we reach n-space?

If the answers were threatening, digested data channeled into port and starboard fire-control computers and Sisu braced herself to fight. Ordnancemen armed A-bomb target seekers, caressed their sleek sides and muttered charms; the Chief Engineer unlocked the suicide switch which could let the power plant become a hydrogen bomb of monstrous size and prayed that, in final extremity, he would have the courage to deliver his people into the shelter of death; the Captain sounded the clangor calling the ship from watch-and-watch to General Quarters. Cooks switched off fires; auxiliary engineers closed down air circulation; farmers said good-by to their green growing things and hurried to fighting stations; mothers with babies mustered, then strapped down and held those babies tightly.

Then the waiting started.

But not for Thorby—not for those assigned to fire-control computers. Sweating into their straps, for the next minutes or hours the life of Sisu is in their hands. The firecontrol computer machines, chewing with millisecond meditation data from the analog, decide whether or not torpedoes can reach target, then offer four answers: ballistic “possible” or “impossible” for projected condition, yes or no for condition changed by one ship, or the other, or both, through cutting power. These answers automatic circuits could handle alone, but machines do not think. Half of each computer is designed to allow the operator to ask what the situation might be in the far future of five minutes or so from now if variables change . . . and whether the target might be reached under such changes.

Any variable can be shaded by human judgment; an intuitive projection by a human operator can save his ship—or lose it. A paralysis beam travels at speed-of-light; torpedoes never have time to get up to more than a few hundred kilometers per second—yet it is possible for raider to come within beaming range, have his pencil of paralyzing radiation on its way, and the trader to launch a target-seeker before the beam strikes . . . and still be saved when the outlaw flames into atomic mist a little later.

But if the operator is too eager by a few seconds, or overly cautious by the same, he can lose his ship. Too eager, the missile will fail to reach target; too cautious, it will never be launched.

Seasoned oldsters are not good at these jobs. The perfect firecontrolman is an adolescent, or young man or woman, fast in thought and action, confident, with intuitive grasp of mathematical relations beyond rote and rule, and not afraid of death he cannot yet imagine.

The traders must be always alert for such youngsters; Thorby seemed to have the feel for mathematics; he might have the other talents for a job something like chess played under terrific pressure and a fast game of spat ball. His mentor was Jeri Kingsolver, his nephew and roommate. Jeri was junior in family rank but appeared to be older; he called Thorby “Uncle” outside the computer room; on the job Thorby called him “Starboard Senior Firecontrolman” and added “Sir.”

During long weeks of the dive through dark toward Losian, Jeri drilled Thorby. Thorby was supposed to be training for hydroponics and Jeri was the Supercargo’s Senior Clerk, but the ship had plenty of farmers and the Supercargo’s office was never very busy in space; Captain Krausa directed Jeri to keep Thorby hard at it in the computer room.

Since the ship remained at battle stations for half a week while boosting to speed-of-light, each fighting station had two persons assigned watch-and-watch. Jeri’s junior controlman was his younger sister Mata. The computer had twin consoles, either of which could command by means of a selector switch. At General Quarters they sat side by side, with Jeri controlling and Mata ready to take over.

After a stiff course in what the machine could do Jeri put Thorby at one console, Mata at the other and fed them problems from the ship’s control room. Each console recorded; it was possible to see what decisions each operator had made and how these compared with those made in battle, for the data were from records, real or threatened battles in the past.

Shortly Thorby became extremely irked; Mata was enormously better at it than he was.

So he tried harder and got worse. While he sweated, trying to outguess a slave raider which had once been on Sisu’s screens, he was painfully aware of a slender, dark, rather pretty girl beside him, her swift fingers making tiny adjustments among keys and knobs, changing a bias or modifying a vector, herself relaxed and unhurried. It was humiliating afterwards to find that his pacesetter had “saved the ship” while he had failed.

Worse still, he was aware of her as a girl and did not know it—all he knew was that she made him uneasy. After one run Jeri called from ship’s control, “
End of drill. Stand by.” He appeared shortly and examined their tapes, reading marks on sensitized paper as another might read print. He pursed his lips over Thorby’s record. “Trainee, you fired three times . . . and not a one of your beasts got within fifty thousand kilometers of the enemy. We don’t mind expense—it’s merely Grandmother’s blood. But the object is to blast him, not scare him into a fit. You have to wait until you can hit.”

“I did my best!”

“Not good enough. Let’s see yours, Sis.”

The nickname irritated Thorby still more. Brother and sister were fond of each other and did not bother with titles. So Thorby had tried using their names . . . and had been snubbed; he was “Trainee,” they were “Senior Controlman” and “Junior Controlman.” There was nothing he could do; at drill he was junior. For a week, Thorby addressed Jeri as “Foster Ortho-Nephew” outside of drills and Jeri had carefully addressed him by family title. Then Thorby decided it was silly and went back to calling him Jeri. But Jeri continued to call him “Trainee” during drill, and so did Mata.

Jeri looked over his sister’s record and nodded. “Very nice, Sis! You’re within a second of post-analyzed optimum, and three seconds better than the shot that got the so-and-so. I have to admit that’s sweet shooting . . . because the real run is my own. That raider off Ingstel . . . remember?”

“I certainly do.” She glanced at Thorby.

Thorby felt disgusted. “It’s not fair!” He started hauling at safety-belt buckles.

Jeri looked surprised. “What, Trainee?”

“I said it’s not fair! You send down a problem, I tackle it cold—and get bawled out because I’m not perfect. But all she had to do is to fiddle with controls to get an answer she already knows . . . to make me look cheap!”

Mata was looking stricken. Thorby headed for the door. “I never asked for this! I’m going to the Captain and ask for another job.”

“Trainee!”

Thorby stopped. Jeri went on quietly. “Sit down. When I’m through, you can see the Captain—if you think it’s advisable.”

Thorby sat down.

“I’ve two things to say,” Jeri continued coldly. “First—” He turned to his sister. “Junior Controlman, did you know what problem this was when you were tracking?”

“No, Senior Controlman.”

“Have you worked it before?”

“I don’t think so.”

“How was it you remembered it?”

“What? Why, you said it was the raider off Ingstel. I’ll never forget because of the dinner afterwards—you sat with Great Grandmo—with the Chief Officer.”

Jeri turned to Thorby. “You see? She tracked it cold . . . as cold as I had to when it happened. And she did even better than I did; I’m proud to have her as my junior tracker. For your information, Mister Stupid Junior Trainee, this engagement took place before the Junior Controlman became a trainee. She hasn’t even run it in practice. She’s just better at it than you are.”

“All right,” Thorby said sullenly. “I’ll probably never be any good. I said I wanted to quit.”

“I’m talking. Nobody asks for this job; it’s a headache. Nobody quits it, either. After a while the job quits him, when post-analysis shows that he is losing his touch. Maybe I’m beginning to. But I promise you this: you’ll either learn, or I will go to the Captain and tell him you don’t measure up. In the meantime . . . if I have any lip out of you, I’ll haul you up before the Chief Officer!” He snapped, “Extra drill run. Battle stations. Cast loose your equipment.” He left the room.

Moments later his voice reached them. “Bogie! Starboard computer room, report!”

The call to dinner sounded; Mata said gravely, “Starboard tracker manned. Data showing, starting run.” Her fingers started caressing keys. Thorby bent over his own controls; he wasn’t hungry anyhow. For days Thorby spoke with Jeri only formally. He saw Mata at drill, or across the lounge at meals; he treated her with cold correctness and tried to do as well as she did. He could have seen her at other times; young people associated freely in public places. She was taboo to him, both as his niece and because they were of the same moiety, but that was no bar to social relations.

Jeri he could not avoid; they ate at the same table, slept in the same room. But Thorby could and did throw up a barrier of formality. No one said anything—these things happened. Even Fritz pretended not to notice.

But one afternoon Thorby dropped into the lounge to see a story film with a Sargonese background; Thorby sat through it to pick it to pieces. But when it was over he could not avoid noticing Mata because she walked over, stood in front of him, addressed him humbly as her uncle and asked if he would care for a game of spat ball before supper?

He was about to refuse when he noticed her face; she was watching him with tragic eagerness. So he answered, “Why, thanks, Mata. Work up an appetite.”

She broke into smiles. “Good! I’ve got Ilsa holding a table. Let’s!”

Thorby beat her three games and tied one . . . a remarkable score, since she was female champion and was allowed only one point handicap when playing the male champion. But he did not think about it; he was enjoying himself.

His performance picked up, partly through the grimness with which he worked, partly because he did have feeling for complex geometry, and partly because the beggar’s boy had had his brain sharpened by an ancient discipline. Jeri never again compared aloud the performances of Mata and Thorby and gave only brief comments on Thorby’s results: “Better,” or “Coming along,” and eventually, “You’re getting there.” Thorby’s morale soared; he loosened up and spent more time socially, playing spat ball with Mata rather frequently.

Toward the end of journey through darkness they finished the last drill one morning and Jeri called out, “Stand easy! I’ll be a few minutes.” Thorby relaxed from pleasant strain. But after a moment he fidgeted; he had a hunch that he had been in tune with his instruments. “Junior Controlman . . . do you suppose he would mind if I looked at my tape?”

“I don’t think so,” Mata answered. “I’ll take it out; then it’s my responsibility.”

“I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“You won’t,” Mata answered serenely. She reached back of Thorby’s console, pulled out the strip record, blew on it to keep it from curling, and examined it. Then she pulled her own strip, compared the two.

She looked at him gravely. “That’s a very good run, Thorby.”

It was the first time she had ever spoken his name. But Thorby hardly noticed. “Really? You mean it?”

“It’s a very good run . . . Thorby. We both got hits. But yours is optimum between ‘possible’ and ‘critical limit’—whereas mine is too eager. See?”

Thorby could read strips only haltingly, but he was happy to take her word for it. Jeri came in, took both strips, looked at Thorby’s, then looked more closely. “I dug up the post-analysis before I came down,” he said.

“Yes, sir?” Thorby said eagerly.

“Mmm . . . I’ll check it after chow—but it looks as if your mistakes had cancelled out.”

Mata said, “Why, Bud, that’s a perfect run and you know it!”

“Suppose it is?” Jeri grinned. “You wouldn’t want our star pupil to get a swelled head, would you?”

“Pooh!”

“Right back at you, small and ugly sister. Let’s go to chow.”

They went through a narrow passage into trunk corridor of second deck, where they walked abreast. Thorby gave a deep sigh.

“Trouble?” his nephew asked.

“Not a bit!” Thorby put an arm around each of them. “Jeri, you and Mata are going to make a marksman out of me yet.”

It was the first time Thorby had addressed his teacher by name since the day he had received the scorching. But Jeri accepted his uncle’s overture without stiffness. “Don’t get your hopes up, bunkmate. But I think we’ve got it licked.” He added, “I see Great Aunt Tora is giving us her famous cold eye. If anybody wants my opinion, I think Sis can walk unassisted—I’m sure Great Aunt thinks so.”

“Pooh to her, too!” Mata said briskly. “Thorby just made a perfect run.”

Sisu came out of darkness, dropping below speed-of-light. Losian’s sun blazed less than fifty billion kilometers away; in
a few days they would reach their next market. The ship went to watch-and-watch battle stations.

Mata took her watch alone; Jeri required the trainee to stand watches with him. The first watch was always free from strain; even if a raider had accurate information via n-space communicator of Sisu’s time of departure and destination, it was impossible in a jump of many light-years to predict the exact time and place where she would poke her nose out into rational space.

Jeri settled in his chair some minutes after Thorby had strapped down with that age-old tense feeling that this time it was not practice. Jeri grinned at him. “Relax. If you get your blood stream loaded, your back will ache, and you’ll never last.”

Thorby grinned feebly. “I’ll try.”

“That’s better. We’re going to play a game.” Jeri pulled a boxlike contrivance out of a pocket, snapped it open.

“What is that?”

“A ‘killjoy.’ It fits here.” Jeri slipped it over the switch that determined which console was in command. “Can you see the switch?”

“Huh? No.”

“Hand the man the prize.” Jeri fiddled with the switch behind the screen. “Which of us is in control in case we have to launch a bomb now?”

“How can I tell? Take that off, Jeri; it makes me nervous.”

“That’s the game. Maybe I’m controlling and you are just going through motions; maybe you are the man at the trigger and I’m asleep in my chair. Every so often I’ll fiddle with the switch—but you won’t know how I’ve left it. So when a flap comes—and one will; I feel it in my bones—you can’t assume that good old Jeri, the man with the micrometer fingers, has the situation under control. You might have to save the firm. You.”

Thorby had a queasy vision of waiting men and bombs in the missile room below—waiting for him to solve precisely an impossible problem of life and death, of warped space and shifting vectors and complex geometry. “You’re kidding,” he said feebly. “You wouldn’t leave me in control. Why, the Captain would skin you alive.”

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong. There always comes a day when a trainee makes his first real run. After that, he’s a controlman . . . or an angel. But we don’t let you worry at the time. Oh no! we just keep you worried all the time. Now here’s the game. Any time I say, ‘Now!’ you guess who has control. You guess right, I owe you one dessert; you guess wrong, you owe me one. Now!”

Thorby thought quickly. “I guess I’ve got it.”

“Wrong.” Jeri lifted the killjoy. “You owe me one dessert—and it’s berry tart tonight; my mouth is watering. But faster; you’re supposed to make quick decisions. Now!”

“You’ve still got it!”

“So I have. Even. Now!”

“You!”

“Nope. See? And I eat your tart—I ought to quit while I’m ahead. Love that juice! Now!”

When Mata relieved them, Jeri owned Thorby’s desserts for the next four days. “We start again with that score,” Jeri said, “except that I’m going to collect that berry tart. But I forgot to tell you the big prize.”

“Which is?”

“Comes the real thing, we bet three desserts. After it’s over, you guess and we settle. Always bet more on real ones.”

Mata sniffed. “Bud, are you trying to make him nervous?”

“Are you nervous, Thorby?”

“Nope!”

“Quit fretting, Sis. Got it firmly in your grubby little hands?”

“I relieve you, sir.”

“Come on, Thorby; let’s eat. Berry tarts—aaah!”

Three days later the score stood even, but only because Thorby had missed most of his desserts. Sisu was enormously slowed, almost to planetary speeds, and Losian’s sun loomed large on the screens. Thorby decided, with mildest regret, that his ability to fight would not be tested this jump.

Then the general alarm made him rear up against safety belts. Jeri had been talking; his head jerked around, he looked at displays, and his hands moved to his controls. “Get on it!” he yelped. “This one’s real.”

Thorby snapped out of shock and bent over his board. The analog globe was pouring data to them; the ballistic situation had built up. Good heavens, it was close! And matching in fast! How had anything moved in so close without being detected? Then he quit thinking and started investigating answers . . . no, not yet . . . before long though . . . could the bandit turn a little at that boost and reduce his approach? . . . try a projection at an assumed six gravities of turning . . . would a missile reach him? . . . would it still reach him if he did not—

He hardly felt Mata’s gentle touch on his shoulder. But he heard Jeri snap, “Stay out, Sis! We’re on it, we’re on it!”

A light blinked on Thorby’s board; the squawk horn sounded, “Friendly craft, friendly craft! Losian planetary patrol, identified. Return to watch-and-watch.”

Thorby took a deep breath, felt a great load lift.

“Continue your run!” screamed Jeri.

“Huh?”

“Finish your run! That’s no Losian craft; that’s a raider! Losians can’t maneuver that way! You’ve got it, boy, you’ve got it! Nail him!”

Thorby heard Mata’s frightened gasp, but he was again at his problem. Change anything? Could he reach him? Could he still reach him in the cone of possible maneuver? Now! He armed his board and let the computer give the order, on projection.

He heard Jeri’s voice faintly; Jeri seemed to be talking very slowly. “Missile away. I think you got him . . . but you were eager. Get off another one before their beam hits us.”

Automatically Thorby complied. Time was too short to try another solution; he ordered the machine to send another missile according to projection. He then saw by his board that the target was no longer under power and decided with a curiously empty feeling that his first missile had destroyed it. “That’s all!” Jeri announced. “Now!”

“What?”

“Who had it? You or me? Three desserts.”

“I had it,” Thorby said with certainty. In another level he decided that he would never really be a Trader—to Jeri that target had been—just fraki. Or three desserts.

“Wrong. That puts me three up. I turned coward and kept control myself. Of course the bombs were disarmed and the launchers locked as soon as the Captain gave the word . . . but I didn’t have the nerve to risk an accident with a friendly ship.”

“Friendly ship!”

“Of course. But for you, Assistant Junior Controlman, it was your first real one . . . as I intended.”

Thorby’s head floated. Mata said, “Bud, you’re mean to collect. You cheated.”

“Sure I cheated. But he’s a blooded controlman now, just the same. And I’m going to collect, just the very same. Ice cream tonight!”

CHAPTER 10

Thorby did not stay an assistant junior firecontrolman; Jeri moved up to astrogation trainee; Mata took charge of the starboard room, and Thorby was officially posted as the new Starboard Junior Firecontrolman, with life and death in his forefinger. He was not sure that he liked it.

Then that arrangement tumbled almost as quickly.

Losian is a “safe” planet. Inhabited by civilized nonhumans, it is a port safe from ground raids; no dirtside defensive watches were necessary. Men could leave the ship for pleasure and even women could do so. (Some of the women aboard had not left the ship, save at Gatherings of the People, since being exchanged to Sisu as girls.)

Losian was to Thorby his “first” foreign land, Jubbul being the only planet clear in his memory. So he was very eager to see it. But work came first. When he was confirmed as a firecontrolman, he was transferred from hydroponics into the junior vacancy among the Supercargo’s clerks. It increased Thorby’s status; business carried more prestige than housekeeping. Theoretically he was now qualified to check cargo; in fact a senior clerk did that while Thorby sweated, along with junior male relatives from every department. Cargo was an all-hands operation, as Sisu never permitted stevedores inside, even if it meant paying for featherbedding.

The Losians have never invented tariff; crated bales of verga leaves were turned over to purchaser right outside the ship. In spite of blowers the hold reeked of their spicy, narcotic fragrance and reminded Thorby of months past and light-years away when he had huddled, a fugitive in danger of being shortened, into a hole in one crate while a friendly stranger smuggled him through the Sargon’s police.

It didn’t seem possible. Sisu was home. Even as he mused, he thought in the Family’s language.

He realized with sudden guilt that he had not thought about Pop very often lately. Was he forgetting Pop? No, no! He could never forget, not anything . . . Pop’s tones of voice, the detached look when he was about to comment unfavorably, his creaking movements on chilly mornings, his unfailing patience no matter what—why, in all those years Pop had never been angry with him—yes, he had, once.

” ‘I am not your master!'”

Pop had been angry that once. It had scared Thorby; he hadn’t understood.

Now, across long space and time, Thorby suddenly understood. Only one thing could make Pop angry: Pop had been explosively insulted at the assertion that Baslim the Cripple was master to a slave. Pop, who maintained that a wise man could not be insulted, since truth could not insult and untruth was not worthy of notice.

Yet Pop had been insulted by the truth, for certainly Pop had been his master; Pop had bought him off the block. No, that was nonsense! He hadn’t been Pop’s slave; he had been Pop’s son . . . Pop was never his master, even the times he had given him a quick one across the behind for goofing. Pop . . . was just ‘Pop.’

Thorby knew then that the one thing that Pop hated was slavery.

Thorby was not sure why he was sure, but he was. He could not recall that Pop had ever said a word about slavery, as such; all Thorby could remember Pop saying was that a man need never be other than free in his own mind.

“Hey!”

The Supercargo was looking at him. “Sir?”

“Are you moving that crate, or making a bed of it?”

Three local days later Thorby had finished showering, about to hit dirt with Fritz, when the deckmaster stuck his head in the washroom, spotted him, and said, “Captain’s compl
iments and Clerk Thorby Baslim-Krausa will attend him.”

“Aye aye, Deckmaster,” Thorby answered and added something under his breath. He hurried into clothes, stuck his head into his bunkie, gave the sad word to Fritz and rushed to the Cabin, hoping that the Deckmaster had told the Captain that Thorby had been showering.

The door was open. Thorby started to report formally when the Captain looked up. “Hello, Son. Come in.”

Thorby shifted gears from Ship to Family. “Yes, Father.”

“I’m about to hit dirt. Want to come along?”

“Sir? I mean, ‘Yes, Father!’ That ‘ud be swell!”

“Good. I see you’re ready. Let’s go.” He reached in a drawer and handed Thorby some twisted bits of wire. “Here’s pocket money; you may want a souvenir.”

Thorby examined it. “What’s this stuff worth, Father?”

“Nothing—once we’re off Losian. So give me back what you have left so I can turn it in for credit. They pay us off in thorium and goods.”

“Yes, but how will I know how much to pay for a thing?”

“Take their word for it. They won’t cheat and won’t bargain. Odd ones. Not like Lotarf . . . on Lotarf, if you buy a beer without an hour’s dickering you’re ahead.”

Thorby felt that he understood Lotarfi better than he did Losians. There was something indecent about a purchase without a polite amount of dickering. But fraki had barbaric customs; you had to cater to them—Sisu prided herself on never having trouble with fraki.

“Come along. We can talk as we go.”

As they were being lowered Thorby looked at the ship nearest them, Free Trader El Nido, Garcia clan. “Father, are we going to visit with them?”

“No, I exchanged calls the first day.”

“I didn’t mean that. Will there be any parties?”

“Oh. Captain Garcia and I agreed to dispense with hospitality; he’s anxious to jump. No reason why you shouldn’t visit them though, subject to your duties.” He added, “Hardly worth it; she’s like Sisu, only not as modern.”

“Thought I might look at her computer rooms.”

They hit ground and stepped off. “Doubt if they’d let you. They’re a superstitious lot.” As they stepped clear of the hoist a baby Losian came streaking up, circled and sniffed their legs. Captain Krausa let the little thing investigate him, then said mildly, “That’s enough,” and gently pushed it away. Its mother whistled it back, picked it up and spanked it. Captain Krausa waved to her, called out, “Hello, friend!”

“Hello, Trader Man,” she answered in Interlingua shrill and sibilant. She was two-thirds Thorby’s height, on four legs with forelimbs elevated—the baby had been on all six. Both were sleek and pretty and sharp-eyed. Thorby was amused by them and only slightly put off by the double mouth arrangement—one for eating, one for breathing and talking.

Captain Krausa continued talking. “That was a nice run you made on that Losian craft.”

Thorbv blushed. “You knew about that, Father?”

“What kind of a captain am I if I don’t? Oh, I know what’s worrying you. Forget it. If I give you a target, you burn it. It’s up to me to kill your circuits if we make friendly identification. If I slap the God-be-thanked switch, you can’t get your computer to fire, the bombs are disarmed, the launching gear is locked, the Chief can’t move the suicide switch. So even if you hear me call off the action—or you get excited and don’t hear—it doesn’t matter. Finish your run; it’s good practice.”

“Oh. I didn’t know, Father.”

“Didn’t Jeri tell you? You must have noticed the switch; it’s the big red one, under my right hand.”

“Uh, I’ve never been in the Control Room, Father.”

“Eh? I must correct that; it might belong to you someday. Remind me . . . right after we go irrational.”

“I will, Father.” Thorby was pleased at the prospect of entering the mysterious shrine—he was sure that half of his relatives had never visited it—but he was surprised at the comment. Could a former fraki be eligible for command? It was legal for an adopted son to succeed to the worry seat; sometimes captains had no sons of their own. But an ex-fraki?

Captain Krausa was saying, “I haven’t given you th attention I should, Son . . . not the care I should give Baslim’s son. But it’s a big family and my time is so taken up. Are they treating you all right?”

“Why, sure, Father!”

“Mmm . . . glad to hear it. It’s—well, you weren’t born among the People, you know.”

“I know. But everybody has treated me fine.”

“Good. I’ve had good reports about you. You seem to learn fast, for a—you learn fast.”

Thorby sourly finished the phrase in his mind. The Captain went on, “Have you been in the Power Room?”

“No, sir. Just the practice room once.”

“Now is a good time, while we’re grounded. It’s safer and the prayers and cleansing aren’t so lengthy.” Krausa paused. “No, we’ll wait until your status is clear—the Chief is hinting that you are material for his department. He has some silly idea that you will never have children anyway and he might regard a visit as an opportunity to snag you. Engineers!”

Thorby understood this speech, even the last word. Engineers were regarded as slightly balmy; it was commonly believed that radiations from the artificial star that gave Sisu her life ionized their brain tissues. True or not, engineers could get away with outrageous breeches of etiquette—”not guilty by reason of insanity” was an unspoken defense for them once they had been repeatedly exposed to the hazards of their trade. The Chief Engineer even talked back to Grandmother.

But junior engineers were not allowed to stand power room watches until they no longer expected to have children; they took care of auxiliary machinery and stood training watches in a dummy power room. The People were cautious about harmful mutations, because they were more exposed to radiation hazards than were planet dwellers. One never saw overt mutation among them; what happened to babies distorted at birth was a mystery so taboo that Thorby was not even aware of it; he simply knew that power watchstanders were old men.

Nor was he interested in progeny; he simply saw in the Captain’s remarks a hint that the Chief Engineer considered that Thorby could reach the exalted status of power watchstander quickly. The idea dazzled him. The men who wrestled with the mad gods of nuclear physics held status just below astrogators . . . and, in their own opinion, higher. Their opinion was closer to fact than was the official one; even a deputy captain who attempted to pull rank on a man standing power room watches was likely to wind up counting stores while the engineer rested in sick bay, then went back to doing as he pleased. Was it possible that an ex-fraki could aspire to such heights? Perhaps someday be Chief Engineer and sass the Chief Officer with impunity? “Father,” Thorby said eagerly, “the Chief Engineer thinks I can learn power room rituals?”

“Wasn’t that what I said?”

“Yes, sir. Uh . . . I wonder why he thought so?”

“Are you dense? Or unusually modest? Any man who can handle firecontrol mathematics can learn nuclear engineering. But he can learn astrogation, too, which is just as important.”

Engineers never handled cargo; the only work they did in port was to load tritium and deuterium, or other tasks strictly theirs. They did no housekeeping. They . . . “Father? I think I might like to be an engineer.”

“So? Well, now that you’ve thought so, forget it.”

“But—”

” ‘But’ what?”

“Nothing, sir. Yes, sir.”

Krausa sighed. “Son, I have obligations toward you; I’m carrying them out as best I can.” Krausa thought over what he could tell the lad. Mother had pointed out that if Baslim had wanted the boy to know the message he had carried, Baslim would have put it in Interlingua. On the other hand, since the boy now knew the Family language perhaps he had translated it himself. No, more likely he had forgotten it. “Thorby, do you know who your family is?”

Thorby was startled. “Sir? My family is Sisu.”

“Certainly! I mean your family before that.”

“You mean Pop? Baslim the Cripple?”

“No, no! He was your foster father, just as I am now. Do you know what family you
were born in?”

Thorby said bleakly, “I don’t think I had one.”

Krausa realized that he had poked a scar, said hastily, “Now, Son, you don’t have to copy all the attitudes of your messmates. Why, if it weren’t for fraki, with whom would we trade? How would the People live? A man is fortunate to be born People, but there is nothing to be ashamed of in being born fraki. Every atom has its purpose.”

“I’m not ashamed!”

“Take it easy!”

“Sorry sir. I’m not ashamed of my ancestors. I simply don’t know who they were. Why, for all I know, they may have been People.”

Krausa was startled. “Why, so they could have been,” he said slowly. Most slaves were purchased on planets that respectable traders never visited, or were born on estates of their owners . . . but a tragic percentage were People, stolen by raiders. This lad— Had any ship of the People been lost around the necessary time? He wondered if, at the next Gathering, he might dig up identification from the Commodore’s files?

But even that would not exhaust the possibilities; some chief officers were sloppy about sending in identifications at birth, some waited until a Gathering. Mother, now, never grudged the expense of a long n-space message; she wanted her children on record at once—Sisu was never slack.

Suppose the boy were born People and his record had never reached the Commodore? How unfair to lose his birthright!

A thought tip-toed through his brain: a slip could be corrected in more ways than one. If any Free Ship had been lost— He could not remember.

Nor could he talk about it. But what a wonderful thing to give the lad an ancestry! If he could . . .

He changed the subject. “In a way, lad, you were always of the People.”

“Huh? Excuse me, Father?”

“Son, Baslim the Cripple was an honorary member of the People.”

“What? How, Father? What ship?”

“All ships. He was elected at a Gathering. Son, a long time ago a shameful thing happened. Baslim corrected it. It put all the People in debt to him. I have said enough. Tell me, have you thought of getting married?”

Marriage was the last thing on Thorby’s mind; he was blazingly anxious to hear more about what Pop had done that had made him incredibly one of the People. But he recognized the warning with which an elder closed a taboo subject.

“Why, no, Father.”

“Your Grandmother thinks that you have begun to notice girls seriously.”

“Well, sir, Grandmother is never wrong . . . but I hadn’t been aware of it.”

“A man isn’t complete without a wife. But I don’t think you’re old enough. Laugh with all the girls and cry with none—and remember our customs.” Krausa was thinking that he was bound by Baslim’s injunction to seek aid of the Hegemony in finding where the lad had come from. It would be awkward if Thorby married before the opportunity arose. Yet the boy had grown taller in the months he had been in Sisu. Adding to Krausa’s fret was an uneasy feeling that his half-conceived notion of finding (or faking) an ancestry for Thorby conflicted with his unbreakable obligations to Baslim.

Then he had a cheerful idea. “Tell you what, Son! It’s possible that the girl for you isn’t aboard. After all, there are only a few in port side purdah—and picking a wife is a serious matter. She can gain you status or ruin you. So why not take it easy? At the Great Gathering you will meet hundreds of eligible girls. If you find one you like and who likes you, I’ll discuss it with your Grandmother and if she approves, we’ll dicker for her exchange. We won’t be stingy either. How does that sound?”

It put the problem comfortably in the distance. “It sounds fine, Father!”

“I have said enough.” Krausa thought happily that he would check the files while Thorby was meeting those “hundreds of girls”—and he need not review his obligation to Baslim until he had done so. The lad might be a born member of the People—in fact his obvious merits made fraki ancestry almost unthinkable. If so, Baslim’s wishes would be carried out in the spirit more than if followed to the letter. In the meantime—forget it!

They completed the mile to the edge of the Losian community. Thorby stared at sleek Losian ships and thought uneasily that he had tried to burn one of those pretty things out of space. Then he reminded himself that Father had said it was not a firecontrolman’s business to worry about what target was handed him.

When they got into city traffic he had no time to worry. Losians do not use passenger cars, nor do they favor anything as stately as a sedan chair. On foot, they scurry twice as fast as a man can run; in a hurry, they put on a vehicle which makes one think of jet propulsion. Four and sometimes six limbs are encased in sleeves which end in something like skates. A framework fits the body and carries a bulge for the power plant (what sort Thorby could not imagine). Encased in this mechanical clown suit, each becomes a guided missile, accelerating with careless abandon, showering sparks, filling the air with earsplitting noises, cornering in defiance of friction, inertia, and gravity, cutting in and out, never braking until the last minute.

Pedestrians and powered speed maniacs mix democratically, with no perceptible rules. There seems to be no age limit for driver’s licenses and the smallest Losians are simply more reckless editions of their elders.

Thorby wondered if he would ever get out into space alive.

A Losian would come zipping toward Thorby on the wrong side of the street (there was no right side), squeal to a stop almost on Thorby’s toes, zig aside while snatching breath off his face and heart out of his mouth—and never touch him. Thorby would jump. After a dozen escapes he tried to pattern himself after his foster father. Captain Krausa ploughed stolidly ahead, apparently sure that the wild drivers would treat him as a stationary object. Thorby found it hard to live by that faith, but it seemed to work.

Thorby could not make out how the city was organized. Powered traffic and pedestrians poured through any opening and the convention of private land and public street did not seem to hold. At first they proceeded along an area which Thorby classified as a plaza, then they went up a ramp, through a building which had no clear limits—no vertical walls, no defined roof—out again and down, through an arch which skirted a hole. Thorby was lost.

Once he thought they must be going through a private home—they pushed through what must have been a dinner party. But the guests merely pulled in their feet.

Krausa stopped. “We’re almost there. Son, we’re visiting the fraki who bought our load. This meeting heals the trouble between us caused by buying and selling. He has offended me by offering payment; now we have to become friends again.”

“We don’t get paid?”

“What would your Grandmother say? We’ve already been paid—but now I’ll give it to him free and he’ll give me the thorium just because he likes my pretty blue eyes. Their customs don’t allow anything as crass as selling.”

“They don’t trade with each other?”

“Of course they do. But the theory is that one fraki gives another anything he needs. It’s sheer accident that the other happens to have money that he is anxious to press on the other as a gift—and that the two gifts balance. They are shrewd merchants, Son; we never pick up an extra credit here.”

“Then why this nonsense?”

“Son, if you worry about why fraki do what they do, you’ll drive yourself crazy. When you’re on their planet, do it their way . . . it’s good business. Now listen. We’ll have a meal of friendship . . . only they can’t, or they’ll lose face. So there will be a screen between us. You have to be present, because the Losian’s son will be there—only it’s a daughter. And the fraki I’m going to see is the mother, not the father. Their males live in purdah . . . I think. But notice that when I speak through the interpreter, I’ll use masculine gender.”

“Why?”

“Because they know enough about our customs to know that masculine gender means the head of the house. It’s logical if you look at it correctly.”

Thorby wondered. Who was head of the Family? Father? Or Grandmother? Of course, when the Chief Officer issued an order, she signed it “By Order of the Captain,” but that was just because . . . no. Well, anyhow—

Thorby suddenly suspected that the customs of the Family might be illogical in spots. But the Captain was speaking. “We don’t actually eat with them; that’s another fiction. You’ll be served a green, slimy liquid. Just raise it to your lips; it would burn out your gullet. Otherwise—” Captain Krausa paused while a Losian scorcher avoided the end of his nose. “Otherwise listen so that you will know how to behave next time. Oh yes!—after I ask how old my host’s son is, you’ll be asked how old you are. You answer ‘forty.’ “

“Why?”

“Because that is a respectable age, in their years, for a son who is assisting his father.”

They arrived and seemed still to be in public. But they squatted down opposite two Losians while a third crouched nearby. The screen between them was the size of a kerchief; Thorby could see over it. Thorby tried to look, listen, and learn, but the traffic never let up. It shot around and cut between them, with happy, shrill racket.

Their host started by accusing Captain Krausa of having lured him into a misdeed. The interpreter was almost impossible to understand, but he showed surprising command of scurrilous Interlingua. Thorby could not believe his ears and expected that Father would either walk out, or start trouble.

But Captain Krausa listened quietly, then answered with real poetry—he accused the Losian of every crime from barratry to mopery and dopery in the spaceways.

This put the meeting on a friendly footing. The Losian made them a present of the thorium he had already paid, then offered to throw in his sons and everything he possessed.

Captain Krausa accepted and gave away Sisu, with all contents.

Both parties generously gave back the gifts. They ended at status quo, each to retain as a symbol of friendship what each now had: the Losian many hundredweight of verga leaf, the Trader slugs of thorium. Both agreed that the gifts were worthless but valuable for reasons of sentiment. In a burst of emotion the Losian gave away his son and Krausa made him (her) a present of Thorby. Inquiries followed and it was discovered that each was too young to leave the nest.

/> They got out of this dilemma by having the sons exchange names and Thorby found himself owner of a name he did not want and could not pronounce. Then they “ate.”

The horrid green stuff was not only not fit to drink, but when Thorby inhaled, he burned his nostrils and choked. The Captain gave him a reproving glance.

After that they left. No good-bys, they just walked off. Captain Krausa said meditatively while proceeding like a sleepwalker through the riot of traffic, “Nice people, for fraki. Never any sharp dealing and absolutely honest. I often wonder what one of them would do if I took him up on one of those offers. Pay up, probably.”

“Not really!”

“Don’t be sure. I might hand you in on that half-grown Losian.” Thorby shut up.

Business concluded, Captain Krausa helped Thorby shop and sight-see, which relieved Thorby, because he did not know what to buy, nor even how to get home. His foster father took him to a shop where Interlingua was understood. Losians manufacture all sorts of things of extreme complexity, none of which Thorby recognized. On Krausa’s advice Thorby selected a small polished cube which, when shaken, showed endless Losian scenes in its depths. Thorby offered the shopkeeper his tokens; the Losian selected one and gave him change from a necklace of money. Then he made Thorby a present of shop and contents.

Thorby, speaking through Krausa, regretted that he had nothing to offer save his own services the rest of his life. They backed out of the predicament with courteous insults.

Thorby felt relieved when they reached the spaceport and he saw the homely, familiar lines of old Sisu.

When Thorby reached his bunkie, Jeri was there, feet up and hands back of his head. He looked up and did not smile.

“Hi, Jeri!”

“Hello, Thorby.”

“Hit dirt?”

“No.”

“I did. Look what I bought!” Thorby showed him the magic cube. “You shake it and every picture is different.”

Jeri looked at one picture and handed it back. “Very nice.”

“Jeri, what are you glum about? Something you ate?”

“No.”

“Spill it.”

Jeri dropped his feet to the deck, looked at Thorby. “I’m back in the computer room.”

“Huh?”

“Oh, I don’t lose status. It’s just while I train somebody else.”

Thorby felt a cold wind. “You mean I’ve been busted?”

“No.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“Mata has been swapped.”

CHAPTER 11

Mata swapped? Gone forever? Little Mattie with the grave eyes and merry giggle? Thorby felt a burst of sorrow and realized to his surprise that it mattered.

“I don’t believe it!”

“Don’t be a fool.”

“When? Where has she gone? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“To El Nido, obviously; it’s the only ship of the People in port. About an hour ago. I didn’t tell you because I had no idea it was coming . . . until I was summoned to Grandmother’s cabin to say good-by.” Jeri frowned. “It had to come someday . . . but I thought Grandmother would let her stay as long as she kept her skill as a tracker.”

“Then why, Jeri? Why?”

Jeri stood up, said woodenly, “Foster Ortho-Uncle, I have said enough.”

Thorby pushed him back into his chair. “You can’t get away with that, Jeri. I’m your ‘uncle’ only because they said I was. But I’m still the ex-fraki you taught to use a tracker and we both know it. Now talk man to man. Spill it!”

“You won’t like it.”

“I don’t like it now! Mattie gone . . . Look, Jeri, there is nobody here but us. Whatever it is, tell me. I promise you, on Sisu’s steel, that I won’t make an uncle-and-nephew matter of it. Whatever you say, the Family will never know.”

“Grandmother might be listening.”

“If she is, I’ve ordered you to talk and it’s my responsibility. But she won’t be; it’s time for her nap. So talk.”

“Okay.” Jeri looked at him sourly. “You asked for it. You mean to say you haven’t the dimmest idea why Grandmother hustled my Sis out of the ship?”

“Huh? None . . . or I wouldn’t ask.”

Jeri made an impatient noise. “Thorby, I knew you were thick-witted. I didn’t know you were deaf, dumb, and blind.”

“Never mind the compliments! Tell me the score.”

“You’re the reason Mata got swapped. You.” Jeri looked at Thorby with disgust.

“Me?”

“Who else? Who pairs off at spat ball? Who sits together at story films? What new relative is always seen with a girl from his own moiety? I’ll give you a hint—the name starts with ‘T.’ “

Thorby turned white. “Jeri, I never had the slightest idea.”

“You’re the only one in the ship who didn’t.” Jeri shrugged. “I’m not blaming you. It was her fault. She was chasing you, you stupid clown! What I can’t figure out is why you didn’t know. I tried to give you hints.”

Thorby was as innocent of such things as a bird is of ballistics. “I don’t believe it.”

“It doesn’t matter whether you do or don’t . . . everybody else saw it. But you both could have gotten away with it, as long as you kept it open and harmless —and I was watching too closely for anything else—if Sis hadn’t lost her head.”

“Huh? How?”

“Sis did something that made Grandmother willing to part with a crack firecontrolman. She went to Grandmother and asked to be adopted across moiety line. In her simple, addle-pated way she figured that since you were adopted in the first place, it didn’t really matter that she was your niece—just shift things around and she could marry you.” Jeri grunted. “If you had been adopted on the other side, she could have wangled it. But she must have been clean off her head to think that Grandmother—Grandmother!—would agree to anything so scandalous.”

“But . . . well, I’m not actually any relation to her. Not that I had any idea of marrying her.”

“Oh, beat it! You make me tired.”

Thorby moped around, unwilling to go back and face Jeri. He felt lost and alone and confused; the Family seemed as strange, their ways as difficult to understand, as the Losians.

He missed Mata. He had never missed her before. She had been something pleasant but routine—like three meals a day and the other comforts he had learned to expect in Sisu. Now he missed her.

Well, if that was what she wanted, why hadn’t they let her? Not that he had thought about it . . . but as long as you had to get married some day, Mata would be as tolerable as any. He liked her.

Finally he remembered that there was one person with whom he could talk. He took his troubles to Doctor Mader.

He scratched at her door, received a hurried, “Come in!” He found her down on her knees, surrounded by possessions. She had a smudge on her nose and her neat hair was mussed. “Oh. Thorby. I’m glad you showed up. They told me you were dirtside and I was afraid I would miss you.”

She spoke System English; he answered in it. “You wanted to see me?”

“To say good-by. I’m going home.”

“Oh.” Thorby felt again the sick twinge he had felt when Jeri had told about Mata. Suddenly he was wrenched with sorrow that Pop was gone. He pulled himself together and said, “I’m sorry. I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, Thorby. You’re the only one in this big ship that I felt at home with . . . which is odd, as your background and mine are about as far apart as possible. I’ll miss our talks.”

“So will I,” Thorby agreed miserably. “When are you leaving?”

“El Nido jumps tomorrow. But I should transfer tonight; I don’t dare miss jump, or I might not get home for years.”

“El Nido is going to your planet?” A fantastic scheme began to shape in his mind.

“Oh, no! She’s going to Thaf Beta VI. But a Hegemonic mail ship calls there and I can get home. It is too wonderful a chance to miss.” The scheme died in Thorby’s brain; it was preposterous, anyhow—he might be willing to chance a strange planet, but Mata was no fraki.

Doctor Mader went on, “The Chief Officer arranged it.” She smiled wryly. “She’s glad to get rid of me. I hadn’t had any hope that she could put it over, in view of the difficulty in getting me aboard Sisu; I think your grandmother must have some bargaining point that she did not mention. In any case I’m to go . . . with the understanding that I remain in strict purdah. I shan’t mind; I’ll use the time on my data.”

Mention of purdah reminded Thorby that Margaret would see Mata. He started with stumbling embarrassment to explain what he had come to talk about. Doctor Mader listened gravely, her fingers busy with packing. “I know, Thorby. I probably heard the sad details sooner than you did.”

“Margaret, did you ever hear of anything so silly?”

She hesitated. “Many things . . . much sillier.”

“But there wasn’t anything to it! And if that was what Mata wanted, why didn’t Grandmother let her . . . instead of shipping her out among strangers. I . . . well, I wouldn’t have minded. After I got used to it.”

The fraki woman smiled. “That’s the oddest gallant speech I ever heard, Thorby.”

Thorby said, “Could you get a message to her for me?”

“Thorby, if you want to send her your undying love or something, then don’t. Your Grandmother did the best thing for her great granddaughter, did it quickly with kindness and wisdom. Did it in Mata’s interests against the immediate interests of Sisu, since Mata was a valuable fighting man. But your Grandmother measured up to the high standards expected of a Chief Officer; she considered the long-range interests of everyone and found them weightier than the loss of one firecontrolman. I admire her at last—between ourselves, I’ve always detested the old girl.” She smiled suddenly. “And fifty years from now Mata will make the same sort of wise decisions; the sept of Sisu is sound.”

“I’ll be flogged if I understand it!”

“Because you are almost as much fraki as I am . . . and haven’t had my training. Thorby, most things are right or wrong only in their backgrounds; few things are good or evil in themselves. But things that are right or wrong according to their culture, really are so. This exogamy rule the People live by, you probably think it’s just a way to outsmart mutations—in fact that’s the way it is taught in the ship’s school.”

“Of course. That’s why I can’t see—”

“Just a second. So you can’t see why your Grandmother should object. But it’s essential that the People marry back and forth among ships, not just because of genes—that’s a side issue—but because a ship is too small to be a stable culture. Ideas and attitudes have to be cross-germinated, too, or Sisu and the whole culture will die. So the custom is protected by strongest possible taboo. A ‘minor’ break in this taboo is like a ‘minor’ break in the ship, disastrous unless drastic steps are taken. Now . . . do you understand that?”

“Well . . . no, I don’t think so.”

“I doubt if your Grandmother understands it; she just knows what’s right for her family and acts with forthrightness and courage. Do you still want to send a message?”

“Uh, well, could you tell Mata that I’m sorry I didn’t get to say good-by?”

“Mmm, yes. I may wait a while.”

“All right.”

“Feeling better yourself?”

“Uh, I guess so . . . since you say it’s best for Mata.” Thorby suddenly burst out, “But, Margaret, I don’t know what is the matter with me! I thought I was getting the hang of things. Now it’s all gone to pieces. I feel like a fraki and I doubt if I’ll ever learn to be a Trader.”

Her face was suddenly sad. “You were free once. It’s a hard habit to get over.”

“Huh?”

“You’ve had violent dislocations, Thorby. Your foster father—your first one, Baslim the Wise—bought you as a slave and made you his son, as free as he was. Now your second foster father, with the best of intentions, adopted you as his son, and thereby made you a slave.”

“Why, Margaret!” Thorby protested. “How can you say such a thing?”

“If you aren’t a slave, what are you?”

“Why, I’m a Free Trader. At least that’s what Father intended, if I can ever get over my fraki habits. But I’m not a slave. The People are free. All of us.”

“All of you . . . but not each of you.”

“What do you mean?”

“The People are free. It’s their proudest boast. Any of them can tell you that freedom is what makes them People and not fraki. The People are free to roam the stars, never rooted to any soil. So free that each ship is a sovereign state, asking nothing of anyone, going anywhere, fighting against any odds, asking no quarter, not even cooperating except as it suits them. Oh, the People are free; this old Galaxy has never seen such freedom. A culture of less than a hundred thousand people spread through a quarter of a billion cubic light-years and utterly free to move anywhere at any time. There has never been a culture like it and there may never be again. Free as the sky . . . more free than the stars, for the stars go where they must. Ah, yes, the People are free.” She paused. “But at what price was this freedom purchased?”

Thorby blinked.

“I’ll tell you. Not with poverty. The People enjoy the highest average wealth in history. The profits of your trading are fantastic. Nor has it been with cost to health or sanity. I’ve never seen a community with less illness. Nor have you paid in happiness or self-respect. You’re a smugly happy lot, and your pride is something sinful—of course you do have a lot to be proud of. But what you have paid for your unparalleled freedom . . . is freedom itself. No, I’m not talking riddles. The People are free . . . at the cost of loss of individual freedom for each of you—and I don’t except the Chief Officer or Captain; they are the least free of any.”

Her words sounded outrageous. “How can we be both free and not free?” he protested.

“Ask Mata. Thorby, you live in a steel prison; you are allowed out perhaps a few hours every few months. You live by rules more stringent than any prison. That those rules are intended to make you all happy—and do—is beside the point; they are orders you have to obey. You sleep where you are told, you eat when you are told and what you are offered—it’s unimportant that it is lavish and tasty; the point is you have no choice. You are told what to do ninety percent of the time. You are so bound by rules that much of what you say is not free speech but required ritual; you could go through a day and not utter a phrase not found in the Laws of Sisu. Right?”

“Yes, but—”

“Yes, with no ‘buts.’ Thorby, what sort of people have so little freedom? Slaves? Can you think of a better word?”

“But we can’t be sold!”

“Slavery has often existed where slaves were never bought and sold, but simply inherited. As in Sisu. Thorby, being a slave means having someone as your master, with no hope of changing it. You slaves who call yourselves the ‘People’ can’t even hope for manumission.”

Thorby scowled. “You figure that’s what’s wrong with me?”

“I think your slave’s collar is chafing you, in a fashion that does not trouble your shipmates—because they were born with theirs and you were once free.” She looked at her belongings. “I’ve got to get this stuff into El Nido. Will you help me?”

“I’d be glad to.”

“Don’t expect to see Mata.”

“I wasn’t,” Thorby fibbed. “I want to help you. I hate to see you leave.”

“Truthfully, I don’t hate to leave . . . but I hate to say good-by to you.” She hesitated. “I want to help you, too. Thorby, an anthropologist should never interfere. But I’m leaving and you aren’t really part of the culture I was studying. Could you use a hint from an old woman?”

“Why, you aren’t old!”

“That’s two gallant speeches. I’m a grandmother, though the Chief Officer might be startled to hear me claim that status. Thorby, I thought you would become adjusted to this jail. Now I’m not sure. Freedom is a hard habit to break. Dear, if you decide that you can’t stand it, wait until the ship calls at a planet that is democratic and free and human—then hit dirt and run! But, Thorby, do this before Grandmother decides to marry you to someone, because if you wait that long—you’re lost!”

CHAPTER 12

Losian to Finster, Finster to Thoth IV, Thoth IV to Woolamurra, Sisu went skipping around a globe of space nine hundred light-years in diameter, the center of which was legendary Terra, cradle of mankind. Sisu had never been to Terra; the People operate out where pickings are rich, police protection non-existent, and a man can dicker without being hampered by finicky regulations.

Ship’s history alleged that the original Sisu had been built on Terra and that the first Captain Krausa had been born there, a (whisper it) fraki. But that was six ships ago and ship’s history was true in essence, rather than fiddlin’ fact. The Sisu whose steel now protected the blood was registered out of New Finlandia, Shiva III . . . another port she had never visited but whose fees were worth paying in order to have legal right to go about her occasions whenever, in pursuit of profit, Sisu went inside the globe of civilization. Shiva III was very understanding of the needs of Free Traders, not fussy about inspections, reports, and the like as long as omissions were repaired by paying penalties; many ships found her registration convenient.

On Finster Thorby learned another method of trading. The native fraki, known to science by a pseudo-Latin name and called “Those confounded slugs!” by the People, live in telepathic symbiosis with lemur-like creatures possessed of delicate, many-boned hands—”telepathy” is a conclusion; it is believed that the slow, monstrous, dominant creatures supply the brains and the lemuroids the manipulation.

The planet offers beautifully carved gem stones, raw copper, and a weed from which is derived an alkaloid used in psychotherapy. What else it could supply is a matter of conjecture; the natives have neither speech nor writing, communication is difficult.

This occasions the method of trading new to Thorby—the silent auction invented by the trading Phoenicians when the shores of Africa ran beyond the known world.

Around Sisu in piles were placed what the traders had to offer: heavy metals the natives needed, everlasting clocks they had learned to need, and trade goods the Family hoped to teach them to need. Then the humans went inside.

Thorby said to Senior Clerk Arly Krausa-Drotar, “We just leave that stuff lying around? If you did that on Jubbul, it would disappear as you turned your back.”

“Didn’t you see them rig the top gun this morning?”

“I was down in the lower ho
ld.”

“It’s rigged and manned. These creatures have no morals but they’re smart. They’ll be as honest as a cashier with the boss watching.”

“What happens now?”

“We wait. They look over the goods. After a while . . . a day, maybe two . . . they pile stuff by our piles. We wait. Maybe they make their piles higher. Maybe they shift things around and offer us something else—and possibly we have outsmarted ourselves and missed something we would like through holding out. Or maybe we take one of our piles and split it into two, meaning we like the stuff but not the price.

“Or maybe we don’t want it at any price. So we move our piles close to something they have offered that we do like. But we still don’t touch their stuff; we wait.

“Eventually nobody has moved anything in quite a while. So, where the price suits us, we take in what they offer and leave our stuff. They come and take our offering away. We take in any of our own stuff where the price isn’t right; they take away the stuff we turn down.

“But that doesn’t end it. Now both sides know what the other one wants and what he will pay. They start making the offers; we start bidding with what we know they will accept. More deals are made. When we are through this second time, we have unloaded anything they want for stuff of theirs that we want at prices satisfactory to both. No trouble. I wonder if we do better on planets where we can talk.”

“Yes, but doesn’t this waste a lot of time?”

“Know anything we’ve got more of?”

The slow-motion auction moved without a hitch on goods having established value; deals were spottier on experimental offerings—gadgets which had seemed a good buy on Losian mostly failed to interest the Finstera. Six gross of folding knives actually intended for Woolamurra brought high prices. But the star item was not properly goods of any sort.

Grandmother Krausa, although bedfast, occasionally insisted on being carried on inspection tours; somebody always suffered. Shortly before arrival at Finster her ire had centered on nursery and bachelor quarters. In the first her eye lit on a stack of lurid picture books. She ordered them confiscated; they were “fraki trash.”

The bachelors were inspected when word had gone out that she intended to hit only nursery, purdah, and galley; Grandmother saw their bunkies before they could hide their pin-up pictures.

Grandmother was shocked! Not only did pin-up pictures follow comic books, but a search was made for the magazines from which they had been clipped. The contraband was sent to auxiliary engineering, there to give up identities into elemental particles.

The Supercargo saw them there and got an idea; they joined the offerings outside the ship.

Strangely carved native jewels appeared beside the waste paper—chrysoberyl and garnet and opal and quartz.

The Supercargo blinked at the gauds and sent word to the Captain.

The booklets and magazines were redistributed, each as a separate offering. More jewels—

Finally each item was broken down into pages; each sheet was placed alone. An agreement was reached: one brightly colored sheet, one jewel. At that point, bachelors who had managed to hide cherished pinups found patriotism and instinct for trade outweighing possessiveness—after all they could restock at the next civilized port. The nursery was combed for more adventure comics.

For the first time in history comic books and pin-up magazines brought many times their weights in fine jewelry.

Thoth IV was followed by Woolamurra and each jump zig-zagged closer to the coming Great Gathering of the People; the ship was seized with carnival fever. Crew members were excused from work to practice on musical instruments, watches were rearranged to permit quartets to sing together, a training table was formed for athletes and they were excused from all watches save battle stations in order to train themselves into exhausted sleep. Headaches and tempers developed over plans for hospitality fit to support the exalted pride of Sisu.

Long messages flitted through n-space and the Chief Engineer protested the scandalous waste of power with sharp comments on the high price of tritium. But the Chief Officer cheerfully okayed the charge vouchers. As the time approached, she developed a smile that creased her wrinkles in unaccustomed directions, as if she knew something but wasn’t talking. Twice Thorby caught her smiling at him and it worried him; it was better not to catch Grandmother’s attention. He had had her full attention once lately and had not enjoyed it—he had been honored by eating with her, for having burned a raider.

The bogie had appeared on Sisu’s screens during the lift from Finster—an unexpected place to be attacked since there was not much traffic there. The alarm had come only four hours out, when Sisu had attained barely 5% of speed-of-light and had no hope of running for it.

The matter landed in Thorby’s lap; the portside computer was disabled—it had a “nervous breakdown” and the ship’s electronics men had been sweating over it since jump. Thorby’s nephew Jeri had returned to astrogation, the new trainee having qualified on the long jump from Losian—he was a stripling in whom Thorby had little confidence, but Thorby did not argue when Jeri decided that Kenan Drotar was ready for a watch even though he had never experienced a “real one.” Jeri was anxious to go back to the control room for two reasons, status, and an unmentioned imponderable: the computer room was where Jeri had served with his missing kid sister.

So when the raider popped up, it was up to Thorby.

He felt shaky when he first started to test the problem, being acutely aware that the portside computer was out. The greatest comfort to a firecontrolman is faith in the superman abilities of the team on the other side, a feeling of “Well, even if I goof, those bulging brains will nail him,” while that team is thinking the same thing. It helps to produce all-important relaxation.

This time Thorby did not have that spiritual safety net. Nor any other. The Finstera are not a spacefaring people; there was no possibility that the bogie would be identified as theirs. Nor could he be a trader; he had too many gravities in his tail. Nor a Hegemonic Guard; Finster was many light-years outside civilization. Thorby knew with sick certainty that sometime in the next hour his guesses must produce an answer; he must launch and hit—or shortly thereafter he would be a slave again and all his family with him.

It spoiled his timing, it slowed his thoughts.

But presently he forgot the portside computer, forgot the Family, forgot even the raider as such. The raider’s movements became just data pouring into his board and the problem something he had been trained to do. His teammate slammed in and strapped himself into the other chair while General Quarters was still clanging, demanded to know the score. Thorby didn’t hear him, nor did he hear the clanging stop. Jeri came in thereafter, having been sent down by the Captain; Thorby never saw him. Jeri motioned the youngster out of the twin seat, got into it himself, noted that the switch had Thorby’s board in control, did not touch it. Without speaking he glanced over Thorby’s setup and began working alternate solutions, ready to back him up by slapping the selector switch as soon as Thorby launched and then launch again, differently. Thorby never noticed.

Presently Krausa’s strong bass came over the squawk line. “Starboard tracker . . . can I assist you by maneuvering?”

Thorby never heard it. Jeri glanced at him and answered, “I do not advise it, Captain.”

“Very well.”

The Senior Portside Firecontrolman, in gross violation of regulations, came in and watched the silent struggle, sweat greasing his face. Thorby did not know it. Nothing existed but knobs, switches, and buttons, all extensions of his nervous system. He became possessed of an overwhelming need to sneeze—repressed it without realizing it.

Thorby made infinitesimal adjustments up to the last moment, then absent-mindedly touched the button that told the computer to launch as the projected curve maximized. Two heartbeats later an atomic missile was on its way.

Jeri reached for the selector switch—stopped as he saw Thorby go into frenzied activity, telling his board to launch again on the assumption that the target had cut power. Then incoming da
ta stopped as the ship went blind. Paralysis hit them.

Post-analysis showed that the paralyzing beam was on them seventy-one seconds. Jeri came out of it when it ceased; he saw Thorby looking dazedly at his board . . . then become violently active as he tried to work a new solution based on the last data.

Jeri put a hand on him. “The run is over, Thorby.”

“Huh?”

“You got him. A sweet run. Mata would be proud of you.”

Sisu was blind for a day, while repairs were made in her n-space eyes. The Captain continued to boost; there was nothing else to do. But presently she could see again and two days later she plunged into the comforting darkness of multi-space. The dinner in Thorby’s honor was that night.

Grandmother made the usual speech, giving thanks that the Family was again spared, and noting that the son of Sisu beside her was the instrument of that happy but eminently deserved outcome. Then she lay back and gobbled her food, with her daughter-in-law hovering over her.

Thorby did not enjoy the honor. He had no clear recollection of the run; it felt as if he were being honored by mistake. He had been in semi-shock afterwards, then his imagination started working.

They were only pirates, he knew that. Pirates and slavers, they had tried to steal Sisu, had meant to enslave the Family. Thorby had hated slavers before he could remember—nothing so impersonal as the institution of slavery, he hated slavers in his baby bones before he knew the word.

He was sure that Pop approved of him; he knew that Pop, gentle as he was, would have shortened every slaver in the Galaxy without a tear.

Nevertheless Thorby did not feel happy. He kept thinking about a live ship—suddenly all dead, gone forever in a burst of radiance. Then he would look at his forefinger and wonder. He was caught in the old dilemma of the man with unintegrated values, who eats meat but would rather somebody else did the butchering.

When the dinner in his honor arrived he was three nights short on sleep and looked it. He pecked at his food.

Midway in the meal he became aware that Grandmother was glaring; he promptly spilled food on his dress jacket. “Well!” she snarled. “Have a nice nap?”

“Uh, I’m sorry, Grandmother. Did you speak to me?”

He caught his Mother’s warning look but it was too late; Grandmother was off. “I was waiting for you to say something to me!”

“Uh . . . it’s a nice day.”

“I had not noticed that it was unusual. It rarely rains in space.”

“I mean it’s a nice party. Yes, a real nice party. Thank you for giving it, Grandmother.”

“That’s better. Young man, it is customary, when a gentleman dines with a lady, to offer her polite conversation. This may not be the custom among fraki, but it is invariable among People.”

“Yes, Grandmother. Thank you, Grandmother.”

“Let’s start again. It’s a nice party, yes. We try to make everyone feel equal, while recognizing the merits of each. It is gratifying to have a chance—at last—to join with our Family in noting a virtue in you . . . one commendable if not exceptional. Congratulations. Now it’s your turn.”

Thorby slowly turned purple.

She sniffed and said, “What are you doing to get ready for the Gathering?”

“Uh, I don’t know, Grandmother. You see, I don’t sing, or play, or dance—and the only games I know are chess and spat ball and . . . well, I’ve never seen a Gathering. I don’t know what they’re like.”

“Hmmph! So you haven’t.”

Thorby felt guilty. He said, “Grandmother . . . you must have been to lots of Gatherings. Would you tell me about them?”

That did it. She relaxed and said in hushed voice, “They don’t have the Gatherings nowadays that they had when I was a girl . . .” Thorby did not have to speak again, other than sounds of awed interest. Long after the rest were waiting for Grandmother’s permission to rise, she was saying, “. . . and I had my choice of a hundred ships, let me tell you. I was a pert young thing, with a tiny foot and a saucy nose, and my Grandmother got offers for me throughout the People. But I knew Sisu was for me and I stood up to her. Oh, I was a lively one! Dance all night and as fresh for the games next day as a—”

While it was not a merry occasion, it was not a failure.

Since Thorby had no talent he became an actor.

Aunt Athena Krausa-Fogarth, Chief of Commissary and superlative cook, had the literary disease in its acute form; she had written a play. It was the life of the first Captain Krausa, showing the sterling nobility of the Krausa line. The first Krausa had been a saint with heart of steel. Disgusted with the evil ways of fraki, he had built Sisu (single-handed), staffed it with his wife (named Fogarth in draft, changed to Grandmother’s maiden name before the script got to her) and with their remarkable children. As the play ends they jump off into space, to spread culture and wealth through the Galaxy.

Thorby played the first Krausa. He was dumbfounded, having tried out because he was told to. Aunt Athena seemed almost as surprised; there was a catch in her voice when she announced his name. But Grandmother seemed pleased. She showed up for rehearsals and made suggestions which were happily adopted.

The star playing opposite Thorby was Loeen Garcia, late of El Nido. He had not become chummy with Mata’s exchange; he had nothing against her but had not felt like it. But he found Loeen easy to know. She was a dark, soft beauty, with an intimate manner. When Thorby was required to ignore taboo and kiss her, in front of Grandmother and everybody, he blew his lines.

But he tried. Grandmother snorted in disgust. “What are you trying to do! Bite her? And don’t let go as if she were radioactive. She’s your wife, stupid. You’ve just carried her into your ship. You’re alone with her, you love her. Now do it . . . no, no, no! Athena!”

Thorby looked wildly around. It did not help to catch sight of Fritz with eyes on the overhead, a beatific smile on his face.

“Athena! Come here, Daughter, and show this damp young hulk how a woman should be kissed. Kiss him yourself and then have him try again. Places, everyone.”

Aunt Athena, twice Thorby’s age, did not upset him so much. He complied clumsily with her instructions, then managed to kiss Loeen without falling over her feet.

It must have been a good play; it satisfied Grandmother. She looked forward to seeing it at the Gathering.

But she died on Woolamurra.

CHAPTER 13

Woolamurra is a lush pioneer planet barely inside the Terran Hegemony; it was Sisu’s last stop before diving deeper for the Gathering. Rich in food and raw materials, the fraki were anxious to buy manufactured articles. Sisu sold out of Losian artifacts and disposed of many Finsteran jewels. But Woolamurra offered little which would bring a profit and money was tight in terms of power metal—Woolamurra had not prospected much and was anxious to keep what radioactives it had for its infant industry.

So Sisu accepted a little uranium and a lot of choice meats and luxury foods. Sisu always picked up gourmet delicacies; this time she stocked tons more than the Family could consume, but valuable for swank at the Gathering.

The balance was paid in tritium and deuterium. A hydrogen-isotopes plant is maintained there for Hegemonic ships but it will sell to others. Sisu had last been able to fuel at Jubbul—Losian ships use a different nuclear reaction.

Thorby was taken dirtside by his Father several times in New Melbourne, the port. The local language is System English, which Krausa understood, but the fraki spoke it with clipped haste and an odd vowel shift; Captain Krausa found it baffling. It did not sound strange to Thorby; it was as if he’d heard it before. So Krausa took him to help out.

This day they went out to complete the fuel transaction and sign a waiver required for private sales. The commercial tenders accepted by Sisu had to be certified by the central bank, then be taken to the fuel plant. After papers were stamped and fees paid, the Captain sat and chatted with the director. Krausa could be friendly with a fraki on terms of complete equality, never hinting at the enormous social difference between them.

While they chatted, Thorby worried. The fraki was talking about Woolamurra. “Any cobber with strong arms and enough brain to hold his ears apart can go outback and make a fortune.”

“No doubt,” agreed the Captain. “I’ve seen your beef animals. Magnificent.”

Thorby agreed. Woolamurra might be short on pavement, arts, and plumbing; the planet was bursting with opportunity. Besides that, it was a pleasant, decent world, comfortably loose. It matched Doctor Mader’s recipe: “—wait until your ship calls at a planet that is democratic, free, and human . . . then run!”

Life in Sisu had become more pleasant even though he was now conscious of the all-enveloping, personally-restricting quality of life with the Family. He was beginning to enjoy being an actor; it was fun to hold the stage. He had even learned to handle the clinch in a manner to win from Grandmother a smile; furthermore, even though it was play-acting, Loeen was a pleasant armful. She would kiss him and murmur: “My husband! My noble husband! We will roam the Galaxy together.”

It gave Thorby goose bumps. He decided that Loeen was a great actress.

They became quite friendly. Loeen was curious about what a firecontrolman did, so, under the eye of Great Aunt Tora, Thorby showed her the computer room. She looked prettily confused. “Just what is n-space? Length, breadth, and thickness are all you see . . . how about these other dimensions?”

“By logic. You see four dimensions . . . those three, and time. Oh, you can’t see a year, but you can measure it.”

“Yes, but how can logic—”

“Easy as can be. What is a point? A location in space. But suppose there isn’t any space, not even the four ordinary dimensions. No space. Is a point conceivable?”

“Well, I’m thinking about one.”

“Not without thinking about space. If you think about a point, you think about it somewhere. If you have a line, you can imagine a point somewhere on it. But a point is just a location and if there isn’t anywhere for it to be located, it’s nothing. Follow me?”

Great Aunt Tora interrupted. “Could you children continue this in the lounge? My feet hurt.”

“Sorry, Great Aunt. Will you take my arm?”

Back in the lounge Thorby said, “Did you soak up that abo
ut a point needing a line to hold it?”

“Uh, I think so. Take away its location and it isn’t there at all.”

“Think about a line. If it isn’t in a surface, does it exist?”

“Uh, that’s harder.”

“If you get past that, you’ve got it. A line is an ordered sequence of points. But where does the order come from? From being in a surface. If a line isn’t held by a surface, then it could collapse into itself. It hasn’t any width. You wouldn’t even know it had collapsed . . . nothing to compare it with. But every point would be just as close to every other point, no ‘ordered sequence.’ Chaos. Still with me?”

“Maybe.”

“A point needs a line. A line needs a surface. A surface has to be part of solid space, or its structure vanishes. And a solid needs hyperspace to hold it . . . and so on up. Each dimension demands one higher, or geometry ceases to exist. The universe ceases to exist.” He slapped the table. “But it’s here, so we know that multi-space still functions . . . even though we can’t see it, any more than we can see a passing second.”

“But where does it all stop?”

“It can’t. Endless dimensions.”

She shivered. “It scares me.”

“Don’t worry. Even the Chief Engineer only has to fret about the first dozen dimensions. And—look, you know we turn inside out when the ship goes irrational. Can you feel it?”

“No. And I’m not sure I believe it.”

“It doesn’t matter, because we aren’t equipped to feel it. It can happen while eating soup and you never spill a drop, even though the soup turns inside out, too. So far as we are concerned it’s just a mathematical concept, like the square root of minus one—which we tangle with when we pass speed-of-light. It’s that way with all multi-dimensionality. You don’t have to feel it, see it, understand it; you just have to work logical symbols about it. But it’s real, if ‘real’ means anything. Nobody has ever seen an electron. Nor a thought. You can’t see a thought, you can’t measure, weigh, nor taste it—but thoughts are the most real things in the Galaxy.” Thorby was quoting Baslim.

She looked at him admiringly. “You must be awfully brainy, Thorby. ‘Nobody ever saw a thought.’ I like that.”

Thorby graciously accepted the praise.

When he went to his bunkie, he found Fritz reading in bed. Thorby was feeling the warm glow that comes from giving the word to an eager mind. “Hi, Fritz! Studying? Or wasting your youth?”

“Hi. Studying. Studying art.”

Thorby glanced over. “Don’t let Grandmother catch you.”

“Got to have something to trade those confounded slugs next time we touch Finster.” Woolamurra was “civilization”; the bachelors had replenished their art. “You look as if you had squeezed a bonus out of a Losian. What clicks?”

“Oh, just talking with Loeen. I was introducing her to n-space . . . and darn if she didn’t catch on fast.”

Fritz looked judicial. “Yes, she’s bright.” He added, “When is Grandmother posting the bans?”

“What are you talking about!”

“No bans?”

“Don’t be silly.”

“Mmm . . . you find her good company. Bright, too. Want to know how bright?”

“Well?”

“So bright that she taught in El Nido’s school. Her specialty was math. Multi-dimensional geometry, in fact.”

“I don’t believe it!”

“Happens I transcribed her record. But ask her.”

“I shall! Why isn’t she teaching math here?”

“Ask Grandmother. Thorby, my skinny and retarded brother—I think you were dropped on your head. But, sorry as you are, I love you for the fumbling grace with which you wipe drool off your chin. Want a hint from an older and wiser head?”

“Go ahead. You will anyhow.”

“Thanks. Loeen is a fine girl and it might be fun to solve equations with her for life. But I hate to see a man leap into a sale before he checks the market. If you just hold off through this next jump, you’ll find that the People have several young girls. Several thousand.”

“I’m not looking for a wife!”

“Tut, tut! It’s a man’s duty. But wait for the Gathering and we’ll shop. Now shut up, I want to study art.”

“Who’s talking?”

Thorby did not ask Loeen what she had done in El Nido, but it did open his eyes to the fact that he was playing the leading role in a courtship without having known it. It scared him. Doctor Mader’s words haunted his sleep “—before Grandmother decides to marry you to someone . . . if you wait that long— you’re lost!”

Father and the Woolamurra official gossiped while Thorby fretted. Should he leave Sisu? If he wasn’t willing to be a trader all his life he had to get out while still a bachelor. Of course, he could stall—look at Fritz. Not that he had anything against Loeen, even if she had made a fool of him.

But if he was going to leave—and he had doubts as to whether he could stand the custom-ridden monotonous life forever—then Woolamurra was the best chance he might have in years. No castes, no guilds, no poverty, no immigration laws—why, they even accepted mutants! Thorby had seen hexadactyls, hirsutes, albinos, lupine ears, giants, and other changes. If a man could work, Woolamurra could use him.

What should he do? Say, “Excuse me, please,” leave the room—then start running? Stay lost until Sisu jumped? He couldn’t do that! Not to Father, not to Sisu; he owed them too much.

What, then? Tell Grandmother he wanted off? If she let him off, it would probably be some chilly spot between stars! Grandmother would regard ingratitude to Sisu as the unforgivable sin.

And besides . . . The Gathering was coming. He felt a great itch to see it. And it wouldn’t be right to walk out on the play. He was not consciously rationalizing; although stage-struck, he still thought that he did not want to play the hero in a melodrama—whereas he could hardly wait.

So he avoided his dilemma by postponing it.

Captain Krausa touched his shoulder. “We’re leaving.”

“Oh. Sorry, Father. I was thinking.”

“Keep it up, it’s good exercise. Good-by, Director, and thanks. I look forward to seeing you next time we call.”

“You won’t find me, Captain. I’m going to line me out a station, as far as eye can reach. Land of me own. If you ever get tired of steel decks, there’s room here for you. And your boy.”

Captain Krausa’s face did not show his revulsion. “Thanks. But we wouldn’t know which end of a plough to grab. We’re traders.”

“Each cat his own rat.”

When they were outside Thorby said, “What did he mean, Father? I’ve seen cats, but what is a rat?”

“A rat is a sorci, only thinner and meaner. He meant that each man has his proper place.”

“Oh.” They walked in silence. Thorby was wondering if he had as yet found his proper place.

Captain Krausa was wondering the same thing. There was a ship just beyond Sisu; its presence was a reproach. It was a mail courier, an official Hegemonic vessel, crewed by Guardsmen. Baslim’s words rang accusingly in his mind: “—when opportunity presents, I ask that you deliver him to the commander of any Hegemonic military vessel.”

This was not a “military” vessel. But that was a quibble; Baslim’s intentions were plain and this ship would serve. Debts must be paid. Unfortunately Mother interpreted the words strictly. Oh, he knew why; she was determined to show off the boy at the Gathering. She intended to squeeze all possible status out of the fact that Sisu had paid the People’s debt. Well, that was understandable.

But it wasn’t fair to the boy!

Or was it? For his own reasons Krausa was anxious to take the lad to the Gathering. He was certain now that Thorby’s ancestry must be of the People—and in the Commodore’s files he expected to prove it.

On the other hand— He had agreed with Mother over Mata Kingsolver; a minx should not be allowed to back a taboo lad into a corner, better to ship her at once. But didn’t Mother think he could see what she was up to now?

He wouldn’t permit it! By Sisu, he wouldn’t! The boy was too young and he would forbid it . . . at least until he proved that the boy was of the People, in which case the debt to Baslim was paid.

B
ut that mail courier out there whispered that he was being as unwilling to acknowledge honest debt as he was accusing Mother of being.

But it was for the lad’s own good!

What is justice?

Well, there was one fair way. Take the lad and have a showdown with Mother. Tell the lad all of Baslim’s message. Tell him that he could take passage in the courier to the central worlds, tell him how to go about finding his family. But tell him, too, that he, the Krausa, believed that Thorby was of the People and that the possibility could and should be checked first. Yes, and tell him bluntly that Mother was trying to tie him down with a wife. Mother would scream and quote the Laws—but this was not in the Chief Officer’s jurisdiction; Baslim had laid the injunction on him. And besides, it was right; the boy himself should choose.

Spine stiffened but quaking, Captain Krausa strode back to face his Mother.

As the hoist delivered them up the Deck Master was waiting. “Chief Officer’s respects and she wishes to see the Captain, sir.”

“That’s a coincidence,” Krausa said grimly. “Come, Son. We’ll both see her.”

“Yes, Father.”

They went around the passageway, reached the Chief Officer’s cabin. Krausa’s wife was outside. “Hello, my dear. The Decker said that Mother had sent for me.”

“I sent for you.”

“He got the message garbled. Whatever it is, make it quick, please. I am anxious to see Mother anyhow.”

“He did not get it garbled; the Chief Officer did send for you.”

“Eh?”

“Captain, your Mother is dead.”

Krausa listened with blank face, then it sank in and he slapped the door aside, ran to his Mother’s bed, threw himself down, clutched the tiny, wasted form laid out in state, and began to weep racking, terrible sounds, the grief of a man steeled against emotion, who cannot handle it when he breaks.

Thorby watched with awed distress, then went to his bunkie and thought. He tried to figure out why he felt so badly. He had not loved Grandmother—he hadn’t even liked her.

Then why did he feel so lost? It was almost like when Pop died. He loved Pop—but not her.

He found that he was not alone; the entire ship was in shock. There was not one who could remember, or imagine, Sisu without her. She was Sisu. Like the undying fire that moved the ship, Grandmother had been an unfailing force, dynamic, indispensable, basic. Now suddenly she was gone.

She had taken her nap as usual, grumbling because Woolamurra’s day fitted their schedule so poorly—typical fraki inefficiency. But she had gone to sleep with iron discipline that had adapted itself to a hundred time schedules.

When her daughter-in-law went to wake her, she could not be waked.

Her bedside scratch pad held many notes: Speak to Son about this. Tell Tora to do that. Jack up the C.E. about temperature control. Go over banquet menus with Athena. Rhoda Krausa tore out the page, put it away for reference, straightened her, then ordered the Deck Master to notify her husband.

The Captain was not at dinner. Grandmother’s couch had been removed; the Chief Officer sat where it had been. In the Captain’s absence the Chief Officer signalled the Chief Engineer; he offered the prayer for the dead, she gave the responses. Then they ate in silence. No funeral would be held until Gathering.

The Chief Officer stood up presently. “The Captain wishes to announce,” she said quietly, “that he thanks those who attempted to call on him. He will be available tomorrow.” She paused. ” ‘The atoms come out of space and to space they return. The spirit of Sisu goes on.’ “

Thorby suddenly no longer felt lost.

CHAPTER 14

The Great Gathering was even more than Thorby had imagined. Mile after mile of ships, more than eight hundred bulky Free Traders arranged in concentric ranks around a circus four miles across . . . Sisu in the innermost circle—which seemed to please Thorby’s Mother—then more ships than Thorby knew existed: Kraken, Deimos, James B. Quinn, Firefly, Bon Marché, Dom Pedro, Cee Squared, Omega, El Nido—Thorby resolved to see how Mata was doing- Saint Christopher, Vega, Vega Prime, Galactic Banker, Romany Lass . . . Thorby made note to get a berthing chart . . . Saturn, Chiang, Country Store, Joseph Smith, Aloha . . .

There were too many. If he visited ten ships a day, he might see most of them. But there was too much to do and see; Thorby gave up the notion.

Inside the circle was a great temporary stadium, larger than the New Amphitheatre at Jubbulpore. Here elections would be held, funerals and weddings, athletic contests, entertainments, concerts—Thorby recalled that Spirit of Sisu would be performed there and trembled with stage fright.

Between stadium and ships was a midway—booths, rides, games, exhibits educational and entertaining, one-man pitches, dance halls that never closed, displays of engineering gadgets, fortunetellers, gambling for prizes and cash, open-air bars, soft drink counters offering anything from berry juices of the Pleiades worlds to a brown brew certified to be the ancient, authentic Terran Coca-Cola as licensed for bottling on Hekate.

When he saw this maelstrom Thorby felt that he had wandered into Joy Street—bigger, brighter, and seven times busier than Joy Street with the fleet in. This was the fraki’s chance to turn a fairly honest credit while making suckers of the shrewdest businessmen in the Galaxy; this was the day, with the lid off and the Trader without his guards up—they’d sell you your own hat if you laid it on the counter.

Fritz took Thorby dirtside to keep him out of trouble, although Fritz’s sophistication was hardly complete, since he had seen just one Great Gathering. The Chief Officer lectured the young people before granting hit-dirt, reminding them that Sisu had a reputation for proper behavior, and then issued each a hundred credits with a warning that it must last throughout the Gathering.

Fritz advised Thorby to cache most of it. “When we go broke, we can sweet-talk Father out of pocket money. But it’s not smart to take it all.”

Thorby agreed. He was not surprised when he felt the touch of a pickpocket; he grabbed a wrist to find out what he had landed.

First he recovered his wallet. Then he looked at the thief. He was a dirty-faced young fraki who reminded Thorby poignantly of Ziggie, except that this kid had two hands. “Better luck next time,” he consoled him. “You don’t have the touch yet.”

The kid seemed about to cry. Thorby started to turn him loose, then said, “Fritz, check your wallet.”

Fritz did so, it was gone. “Well, I’ll be—”

“Hand it over, kid.”

“I didn’t take it! You let me go!”

“Cough up . . . before I unscrew your skull.”

The kid surrendered Fritz’s wallet; Thorby turned him loose. Fritz said, “Why did you do that? I was trying to spot a cop.”

“That’s why.”

“Huh? Talk sense.”

“I tried to learn that profession once. It’s not easy.”

“You? A poor joke, Thorby.”

“Remember me? The ex-fraki, the beggar’s boy? That clumsy attempt to equalize the wealth made me homesick. Fritz, where I come from, a pickpocket has status. I was merely a beggar.”

“Don’t let Mother hear that.”

“I shan’t. But I am what I am and I know what I was and I don’t intend to forget. I never learned the pickpocket art, but I was a good beggar, I was taught by the best. My Pop. Baslim the Cripple. I’m not ashamed of him and all the Laws of Sisu can’t make me.”

“I did not intend to make you ashamed,” Fritz said quietly.

They walked on, savoring the crowd and the fun. Presently Thorby said, “Shall we try that wheel? I’ve spotted the gimmick.”

Fritz shook his head. “Look at those so-called prizes.”

“Okay. I was interested in how it was rigged.”

“Thorby—”

“Yeah? Why the solemn phiz?”

“You know who Baslim the Cripple really was?”

Thorby considered it. “He was my Pop. If he had wanted me to know anything else, he would have told me.”

“Mmm . . . I suppose so.”

“But you know?”

“Some.”

“Uh, I am curious about one thing. What was the debt that made Grandmother willing to adopt me?”

“Uh, ‘I have said enough.’ “

“You know best.”

“Oh, confound it, the rest of the People know! It’s bound to come up at this Gathering.”

“Don’t let me talk you into anything, Fritz.”

“Well . . . look, Baslim wasn’t always a beggar.”

“So I long since figured out.”

“What he was is not for me to say. A lot of People kept his secret for years; nobody has told me that it is all right to talk. But one fact is no secret among the People . . . and you’re one of the People. A long time ago, Baslim saved a whole Family. The People have never forgotten it. The Hansea, it was . . . the New Hansea is sitting right over there. The one with the shield painted on her. I can’t tell you more, because a taboo was placed on it—the thing was so shameful that we never talk about it. I have said enough. But you could go over to the New Hansea and ask to look through her old logs. If you identified yourself—who you are in relation to Baslim—they couldn’t refuse. Though the Chief Officer might go to her cabin afterwards and have weeping hysterics.”

“Hmm . . . I don’t want to know badly enough to make a lady cry. Fritz? Let’s try this ride.” So they did—and after speeds in excess of light and accelerations up to one hundred gravities, Thorby found a roller coaster too exciting. He almost lost his lunch.

A Great Gathering, although a time of fun and renewed friendships, has its serious purposes. In addition to funerals, memorial services for lost ships, weddings, and much transferring of young females, there is also business affecting the whole People and, most important, the paramount matter of buying ships.

Hekate has the finest shipyards in the explored Galaxy. Men and women have children; ships spawn, too. Sisu was gravid with people, fat with profit in uranium and thorium; it was time that the Family split up. At least a third of the families had the same need to trade wealth for living room; fraki shipbrokers were rubbing their hands, mentally figuring commissions. Starships do not sell like cold drinks; shipbrokers and salesmen often live on dreams. But perhaps a hundred ships would be s
old in a few weeks.

Some would be new ships from the yards of Galactic Transport, Ltd., daughter corporation of civilization-wide Galactic Enterprises, or built by Space Engineers Corporation, or Hekate Ships, or Propulsion, Inc., or Hascomb & Sons—all giants in the trade. But there was cake for everyone. The broker who did not speak for a builder might have an exclusive on a second-hand ship, or a line to a rumor of a hint that the owners of a suitable ship might listen if the price was right—a man could make a fortune if he kept his eyes open and his ear to the ground. It was a time to by-pass mails and invest in expensive n-space messages; the feast would soon be over.

A family in need of space had two choices: either buy another ship, split and become two families, or a ship could join with another in purchasing a third, to be staffed from each. Twinning gave much status. It was proof that the family which managed it were master traders, able to give their kids a start in the world without help. But in practice the choice usually dwindled to one: join with another ship and split the expense, and even then it was often necessary to pledge all three ships against a mortgage on the new one.

It had been thirty years since Sisu had split up. She had had three decades of prosperity; she should have been able to twin. But ten years ago at the last Great Gathering Grandmother had caused Sisu to guarantee along with parent ships the mortgage against a ship newly born. The new ship gave a banquet honoring Sisu, then jumped off into dark and never came back. Space is vast. Remember her name at Gathering.

The result was that Sisu paid off one-third of forty percent of the cost of the lost ship; the blow hurt. The parent ships would reimburse Sisu—debts are always paid—but they had left the last Gathering lean from having spawned; coughing up each its own liability had left them skin and bones. You don’t dun a sick man; you wait.

Grandmother had not been stupid. The parent ships, Caesar Augustus and Dupont, were related to Sisu; one takes care of one’s own. Besides, it was good business; a trader unwilling to lend credit will discover that he has none. As it was, Sisu could write a draft on any Free Trader anywhere and be certain that it would be honored.

But it left Sisu with less cash than otherwise at a time when the Family should split.

Captain Krausa hit dirt the first day and went to the Commodore’s Flag, Norbert Wiener. His wife stayed aboard but was not idle; since her succession to Chief Officer, she hardly slept. Today she worked at her desk, stopping for face-to-face talks with other chief officers via the phone exchange set up by city services for the Gathering. When her lunch was fetched, she motioned to put it down; it was still untouched when her husband returned. He came in and sat down wearily. She was reading a slide rule and checked her answer on a calculator before she spoke. “Based on a Hascomb F-two ship, the mortgage would run just over fifty percent.”

“Rhoda, you know Sisu can’t finance a ship unassisted.”

“Don’t be hasty, dear. Both Gus and Dupont would co-sign . . . in their case, it’s the same as cash.”

“If their credit will stretch.”

“And New Hansea would jump at it—under the circumstances—and—”

“Rhoda! You were young, two Gatherings ago, but you are aware that the debt lies equally on all . . . not just Hansea. That was unanimous.”

“I was old enough to be your wife, Fjalar. Don’t read the Laws to me. But New Hansea would jump at the chance . . . under a secrecy taboo binding till the end of time. Nevertheless the carrying charges would eat too much. Did you get to see a Galactic Lambda?”

“I don’t need to; I’ve seen the specs. No legs.”

“You men! I wouldn’t call eighty gravities ‘no legs.’ “

“You would if you had to sit in the worry seat. Lambda class were designed for slow freight inside the Hegemonic sphere; that’s all they’re good for.”

“You’re too conservative, Fjalar.”

“And I’ll continue to be where safety of a ship is concerned.”

“No doubt. And I’ll have to find solutions that fit your prejudices. However, Lambda class is just a possibility. There is also you-know-which. She’ll go cheap.”

He frowned. “An unlucky ship.”

“It will take powerful cleansing to get those bad thoughts out. But think of the price.”

“It’s more than bad thoughts in you-know-which-ship. I never heard of a chief officer suiciding before. Or a captain going crazy. I’m surprised they got here.”

“So am I. But she’s here and she’ll be up for sale. And any ship can be cleansed.”

“I wonder.”

“Don’t be superstitious, dear. It’s a matter of enough care with the rituals, which is my worry. However, you can forget the you-know-which-one. I think we’ll split with another ship.”

“I thought you were set on doing it alone?”

“I’ve merely been exploring our strength. But there are things more important than setting up a new ship single-handed.”

“There certainly are! Power, a good weapons system, working capital, blooded officers in key spots—why, we can’t man two ships. Take firecontrolmen alone. If—”

“Stop fretting. We could handle those. Fjalar, how would you like to be Deputy Commodore?”

He braked at full power. “Rhoda! Are you feverish?”

“No.”

“There are dozens of skippers more likely to be tapped. I’ll never be Commodore—and what’s more, I don’t want it.”

“I may settle for Reserve Deputy, since Commodore Denbo intends to resign after the new deputy is elected. Never mind; you will be Commodore at the next Gathering.”

“Preposterous!”

“Why are men so impractical? Fjalar, all you think about is your control room and business. If I hadn’t kept pushing, you would never have reached deputy captain.”

“Have you ever gone hungry?”

“I’m not complaining, dear. It was a great day for me when I was adopted by Sisu. But listen. We have favors coming from many sources, not just Gus and Dupont. Whatever ship we join with will help. I intend to leave the matter open until after election—and I’ve had tentative offers all morning, strong ships, well connected. And finally, there’s New Hansea.”

“What about New Hansea?”

“Timed properly, with the Hanseatics proposing your name, you’ll be elected by acclamation.”

“Rhoda!”

“You won’t have to touch it. And neither will Thorby. You two will simply appear in public and be your charming, male, non-political selves. I’ll handle it. By the way, it’s too late to pull Loeen out of the play but I’m going to break that up fast. Your Mother did not see the whole picture. I want my sons married—but it is essential that Thorby not be married, nor paired off, until after the election. Now . . . did you go to the flagship?”

“Certainly.”

“What ship was he born in? It could be important.”

Krausa gave a sigh. “Thorby was not born of the People.”

“What? Nonsense! You mean that identification is not certain. Mmm . . . which missing ships are possibilities?”

“I said he was not of the People! There is not a ship missing, nor a child missing from a ship, which can be matched with his case. He would have to be much older, or much younger, than he is.”

She shook her head. “I don’t believe it.”

“You mean you don’t want to!”

“I don’t believe it. He’s People. You can tell it in his walk, his manner, his good mind, everything about him. Hmm . . . I’ll look at the files myself.”

“Go ahead. Since you don’t believe me.”

“Now, Fjalar, I didn’t say—”

“Oh, yes, you did. If I told you it was raining dirt-side, and you didn’t want rain, you—”

“Please, dear! You know it never rains this time of year on Hekate. I was just—”

“Sky around us!”

“There’s no need to lose your temper. It doesn’t become a captain.”

“It doesn’t become a captain to have his word doubted in his own ship, either!”

“I’m sorry, Fjalar.” She went on quietly, “It won’t hurt to look. If I widened the search, or looked through unfiled material—you know how clerks are with dead-file data. Mmm . . .
it would help if I knew who Thorby’s parents were—before election. While I shan’t permit him to marry before then, I might line up important support if it was assumed that immediately after, a wedding could be expec—”

“Rhoda.”

“What, dear? The entire Vega group could be swayed, if a presumption could be established about Thorby’s birth . . . if an eligible daughter of theirs—”

“Rhoda!”

“I was talking, dear.”

“For a moment, I’ll talk. The Captain. Wife, he’s fraki blood. Furthermore, Baslim knew it . . . and laid a strict injunction on me to help him find his family. I had hoped—yes, and believed—that the files would show that Baslim was mistaken.” He frowned and chewed his lip. “A Hegemonic cruiser is due here in two weeks. That ought to give you time to assure yourself that I can search files as well as any clerk.”

“What do you mean?”

“Is there doubt? Debts are always paid . . . and there is one more payment due.”

She stared. “Husband, are you out of your mind?”

“I don’t like it any better than you do. He’s not only a fine boy; he’s the most brilliant tracker we’ve ever had.”

“Trackers!” she said bitterly. “Who cares about that? Fjalar, if you think that I will permit one of my sons to be turned over to fraki—” She choked up.

“He is fraki.”

“He is not. He is Sisu, just as I am. I was adopted, so was he. We are both Sisu, we will always be.”

“Have it your way. I hope he will always be Sisu in his heart. But the last payment must be made.”

“That debt was paid in full, long ago!”

“The ledger doesn’t show it.”

“Nonsense! Baslim wanted the boy returned to his family. Some fraki family—if fraki have families. So we gave him a family—our own, clan and sept. Is that not better payment than some flea-bitten fraki litter? Or do you think so little of Sisu?”

She glared up at him, and the Krausa thought bitterly that there must be something to the belief that the pure blood of the People produced better brains. In dickering with fraki he never lost his temper. But Mother—and now Rhoda—could always put him in the wrong.

At least Mother, hard as she had been, had never asked the impossible. But Rhoda . . . well, Wife was new to the job. He said tensely, “Chief Officer, this injunction was laid on me personally, not on Sisu. I have no choice.”

“So? Very well, Captain—we’ll speak of it later. And now, with all respect to you, sir, I have work to do.”

Thorby had a wonderful time at the Gathering but not as much fun as he expected; repeatedly Mother required him to help entertain chief officers of other ships. Often a visitor brought a daughter or granddaughter along and Thorby had to keep the girl busy while the elders talked. He did his best and even acquired facility in the half-insulting small talk of his age group. He learned something that he called dancing which would have done credit to any man with two left feet and knees that bent backwards. He could now put his arm around a girl when music called for it without chills and fever.

Mother’s visitors quizzed him about Pop. He tried to be polite but it annoyed him that everyone knew more about Pop than he did—except the things that were important.

But it did seem that duty could be shared. Thorby realized that he was junior son, but Fritz was unmarried, too. He suggested that if Fritz were to volunteer, the favor could be returned later.

Fritz gave a raucous laugh. “What can you offer that can repay me for dirtside time at Gathering?”

“Well . . .”

“Precisely. Seriously, old knucklehead, Mother wouldn’t listen, even if I were insane enough to offer. She says you, she means you.” Fritz yawned. “Man, am I dead! Little red-head off the Saint Louis wanted to dance all night. Get out and let me sleep before the banquet.”

“Can you spare a dress jacket?”

“Do your own laundry. And cut the noise.”

But on this morning one month after grounding Thorby was hitting dirt with Father, with no chance that Mother would change their minds; she was out of the ship. It was the Day of Remembrance. Services did not start until noon but Mother left early for something to do with the election tomorrow.

Thorby’s mind was filled with other matters. The services would end with a memorial to Pop. Father had told him that he would coach him in what to do, but it worried him, and his nerves were not soothed by the fact that Spirit of Sisu would be staged that evening.

His nerves over the play had increased when he discovered that Fritz had a copy and was studying it. Fritz had said gruffly, “Sure, I’m learning your part! Father thought it would be a good idea in case you fainted or broke your leg. I’m not trying to steal your glory; it’s intended to let you relax—if you can relax with thousands staring while you smooch Loeen.”

“Well, could you?”

Fritz looked thoughtful. “I could try. Loeen looks cuddly. Maybe I should break your leg myself.”

“Bare hands?”

“Don’t tempt me. Thorby, this is just precaution, like having two trackers. But nothing less than a broken leg can excuse you from strutting your stuff.”

Thorby and his Father left Sisu two hours before the services. Captain Krausa said, “We might as well enjoy ourselves. Remembrance is a happy occasion if you think of it the right way—but those seats are hard and it’s going to be a long day.”

“Uh, Father . . . just what is it I’ll have to do when it comes time for Pop—for Baslim?”

“Nothing much. You sit up front during the sermon and give responses in the Prayer for the Dead. You know how, don’t you?”

“I’m not sure.”

“I’ll write it out for you. As for the rest . . . well, you’ll see me do the same for my Mother—your Grandmother. You watch and when it comes your turn, you do the same.”

“All right, Father.”

“Now let’s relax.”

To Thorby’s surprise Captain Krausa took a slide-way outside the Gathering, then whistled down a ground car. It seemed faster than those Thorby had seen on Jubbul and almost as frantic as the Losians. They reached the rail station with nothing more than an exchange of compliments between their driver and another, but the ride was so exciting that Thorby saw little of the City of Artemis.

He was again surprised when Father bought tickets. “Where are we going?”

“A ride in the country.” The Captain glanced at his watch. “Plenty of time.”

The monorail gave a fine sensation of speed. “How fast are we going, Father?”

“Two hundred kilometers an hour, at a guess.” Krausa had to raise his voice.

“It seems faster.”

“Fast enough to break your neck. That’s as fast as a speed can be.”

They rode for half an hour. The countryside was torn up by steel mills and factories for the great yards, but it was new and different; Thorby stared and decided that the Sargon’s reserve was a puny enterprise compared with this. The station where they got off lay outside a long, high wall; Thorby could see space ships beyond it. “Where are we?”

“Military field. I have to see a man—and today there is just time.” They walked toward a gate. Krausa stopped, looked around; they were alone. “Thorby—”

“Yes, Father?”

“Do you remember the message from Baslim you delivered to me?”

“Sir?”

“Can you repeat it?”

“Huh? Why, I don’t know, Father. It’s been a long time.”

“Try it. Start in: ‘To Captain Fjalar Krausa, master of Starship Sisu, from Baslim the Cripple: Greetings, old friend!—’ “

” ‘ “Greetings, old friend,” ‘ ” Thorby repeated. ” ‘Greetings to your family, clan, and sib, and’—why, I understand it!”

“Of course,” the Krausa said gently, “this is the Day of Remembrance. Go on.”

Thorby went on. Tears started down his cheeks as he heard Pop’s voice coming from his own throat: ” ‘—and my humblest respects to your revered mother. I am speaking to you through the mouth of my adopted son. He does not understand Suomic’—oh, but I do!”

“Go on.”

When Thorby reached: ” ‘I am already dead—’ ” he broke down. Krausa blew his nose vigorously, told him to proceed. Thorby managed to get to the end, though his voice was shaking. Then Krausa let him cry a moment before telling him sternly to wipe his face and brace up. “Son . . . you heard the middle part? You understood it?”

“Yes . . . uh, yes. I guess so.”

“Then you know what I have to do.”

“You mean … I have to leave Sisu?”

“What did Baslim say? ‘When opportunity presents—’ This is the first opportunity I’ve had . . . and I’ve had to squeeze to get it. It’s almost certainly the last. Baslim didn’t make me a gift of you, Son—just a loan. And now I must pay back the loan. You see that, don’t you?”

“Uh . . . I guess so.”

“Then let’s get on with it.” Krausa reached inside his jacket, pulled out a sheaf of bills and shoved them at Thorby. “Put this in your pocket. I would have made it more, but it was all I could draw without attracting your Mother’s suspicions. Perhaps I can send you more before you jump.”

Thorby held it without looking at it, although it was more money than he had ever touched before. “Father . . . you mean I’ve already left Sisu?”

Krausa had turned. He stopped. “Better so, Son. Good-bys are not comfort; only remembrance is a comfort. Besides, it has to be this way.”

Thorby swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

“Let’s go.”

They walked quickly toward the guarded gate. They were almost there when Thorby stopped. “Father . . . I don’t want to go!”

Krausa looked at him without expression. “You don’t have to.”

“I thought you said I did have to?”

“No. The injunction laid on me was to deliver you and to pass on the message Baslim sent to me. But there my duty ends, my debt is paid. I won’t order you to leave the Family. The rest was Baslim’s idea . . . conceived, I am sure, with the best of intentions for your welfare. But whether or not you are obligated to carry out his wishes is something between you and Baslim. I can’t decide it for you. Whatever debt you may or may not owe Baslim, it is separate from the debt the People owed to him.”

Krausa waited while Thorby stood mute, trying to think. What had Pop expected of him? What had
he told him to do? “Can I depend on you? You won’t goof off and forget it?” Yes, but what, Pop? “Don’t burn any offerings . . . just deliver a message, and then one thing more: do whatever this man suggests.” Yes, Pop, but the man won’t tell me!

Krausa said urgently, “We haven’t much time. I have to get back. But, Son, whatever you decide, it’s final. If you don’t leave Sisu today, you won’t get a second chance. I’m sure of that.”

“It’s the very last thing that I want from you, son . . . can I depend on you?” Pop said urgently, inside his head.

Thorby sighed. “I guess I have to, Father.”

“I think so, too. Now let’s hurry.”

The gate pass office could not be hurried, especially as Captain Krausa, although identifying himself and son by ship’s papers, declined to state his business with the commander of Guard Cruiser Hydra other than to say that it was “urgent and official.”

But eventually they were escorted by a smart, armed fraki to the cruiser’s hoist and turned over to another. They were handed along inside the ship and reached an office marked “Ship’s Secretary—Enter Without Knocking.” Thorby concluded that Sisu was smaller than he had thought and he had never seen so much polished metal in his fife. He was rapidly regretting his decision.

The Ship’s Secretary was a polite, scrubbed young man with the lace orbits of a lieutenant. He was also very firm. “I’m sorry, Captain, but you will have to tell me your business . . . if you expect to see the Commanding Officer.”

Captain Krausa said nothing and sat tight.

The nice young man colored, drummed on his desk. He got up. “Excuse me a moment.”

He came back and said tonelessly, “The Commanding Officer can give you five minutes.” He led them into a larger office and left them. An older man was there, seated at a paper-heaped desk. He had his blouse off and showed no insignia of rank. He got up, put out his hand, and said, “Captain Krausa? Of Free Trader . . . Seezoo, is it? I’m Colonel Brisby, commanding.”

“Glad to be aboard, Skipper.”

“Glad to have you. How’s business?” He glanced at Thorby. “One of your officers?”

“Yes and no.”

“Eh?”

“Colonel? May I ask in what class you graduated?”

“What? Oh-Eight. Why do you ask?”

“I think you can answer that. This lad is Thorby Baslim, adopted son of Colonel Richard Baslim. The Colonel asked me to deliver him to you.”

CHAPTER 15

“What?”

“The name means something to you?”

“Of course it does.” He stared at Thorby. “There’s no resemblance.”

” ‘Adopted’ I said. The Colonel adopted him on Jubbul.”

Colonel Brisby closed the door. Then he said to Krausa, “Colonel Baslim is dead. Or ‘missing and presumed dead,’ these past two years.”

“I know. The boy has been with me. I can report some details of the Colonel’s death, if they are not known.”

“You were one of his couriers?”

“Yes.”

“You can prove it?”

“X three oh seven nine code FT.”

“That can be checked. We’ll assume it is for the moment. By what means do you identify . . . Thorby Baslim?”

Thorby did not follow the conversation. There was a buzzing in his ears, as if the tracker was being fed too much power, and the room was swelling and then growing smaller. He did figure out that this officer knew Pop, which was good . . . but what was this about Pop being a colonel? Pop was Baslim the Cripple, licensed mendicant under the mercy of . . . under the mercy . . .

Colonel Brisby told him sharply to sit down, which he was glad to do. Then the Colonel speeded up the air blower. He turned to Captain Krausa. “All right, I’m sold. I don’t know what regulation I’m authorized to do it under . . . we are required to give assistance to ‘X’ Corps people, but this is not quite that. But I can’t let Colonel Baslim down.”

” ‘Distressed citizen,’ ” suggested Krausa.

“Eh? I don’t see how that can be stretched to fit a person on a planet under the Hegemony, who is obviously not distressed—other than a little white around the gills, I mean. But I’ll do it.”

“Thank you, Skipper.” Krausa glanced at his watch. “May I go? In fact I must.”

“Just a second. You’re simply leaving him with me?”

“I’m afraid that’s the way it must be.”

Brisby shrugged. “As you say. But stay for lunch. I want to find out more about Colonel Baslim.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t. You can reach me at the Gathering, if you need to.”

“I will. Well, coffee at least.” The ship commander reached for a button.

“Skipper,” Krausa said with distress, looking again at his watch, “I must leave now. Today is our Remembrance . . . and my Mother’s funeral is in fifty minutes.”

“What? Why didn’t you say so? Goodness, man! You’ll never make it.”

“I’m very much afraid so . . . but I had to do this.”

“We’ll fix that.” The Colonel snatched open the door. “Eddie! An air car for Captain Krausa. Speed run. Take him off the top and put him down where he says. Crash!”

“Aye aye, Skipper!”

Brisby turned back, raised his eyebrows, then stepped into the outer office. Krausa was facing Thorby, his mouth working painfully. “Come here, Son.”

“Yes, Father.”

“I have to go now. Maybe you can manage to be at a Gathering . . . some day.”

“I’ll try, Father!”

“If not . . . well, the blood stays in the steel, the steel stays in the blood. You’re still Sisu.”

” ‘The steel stays in the blood.’ “

“Good business, Son. Be a good boy.”

“Good . . . business! Oh, Father!”

“Stop it! You’ll have me doing it. Listen, I’ll take your responses this afternoon. You must not show up.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Your Mother loves you . . . and so do I.”

Brisby tapped on the open door. “Your car is waiting, Captain.”

“Coming, Skipper.” Krausa kissed Thorby on both cheeks and turned suddenly away, so that all Thorby saw was his broad back.

Colonel Brisby returned presently, sat down, looked at Thorby and said, “I don’t know quite what to do with you. But we’ll manage.” He touched a switch. “Have some one dig up the berthing master-at-arms, Eddie.” He turned to Thorby. “We’ll make out, if you’re not too fussy. You traders live pretty luxuriously, I understand.”

“Sir?”

“Yes?”

“Baslim was a colonel? Of your service?”

“Well . . . yes.”

Thorby had now had a few minutes to think—and old memories had been stirred mightily. He said hesitantly, “I have a message for you—I think.”

“From Colonel Baslim?”

“Yes, sir. I’m supposed to be in a light trance. But I think I can start it.” Carefully, Thorby recited a few code groups. “Is this for you?”

Colonel Brisby again hastily closed the door. Then he said earnestly, “Don’t ever use that code unless you are certain everyone in earshot is cleared for it and the room has been debugged.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“No harm done. But anything in that code is hot. I just hope that it hasn’t cooled off in two years.” He touched the talker switch again. “Eddie, cancel the master-at-arms. Get me the psych officer. If he’s out of the ship, have him chased down.” He looked at Thorby. “I still don’t know what to do with you. I ought to lock you in the safe.”

The long message was squeezed out of Thorby in the presence only of Colonel Brisby, his Executive Officer Vice Colonel “Stinky” Stancke, and the ship’s psychologist Medical-Captain Isadore Krishnamurti. The session went slowly; Dr. Kris did not often use hypnotherapy. Thorby was so tense that he resisted, and the Exec had a blasphemous time with recording equipment. But at last the psychologist straightened up and wiped his face. “That’s all, I think,” he said wearily. “But what is it?”

“Forget you heard it, Doc,” advised Brisby. “Better yet, cut your throat.”

“Gee, thanks, Boss.”

Stancke said, “Pappy, let’s run him through again. I’ve got this mad scientist’s dream working better. His accent may have garbled it.”
/>
“Nonsense. The kid speaks pure Terran.”

“Okay, so it’s my ears. I’ve been exposed to bad influences—been aboard too long.”

“If,” Brisby answered calmly, “that is a slur on your commanding officer’s pure speech, I consider the source. Stinkpot, is it true that you Riffs write down anything you want understood?”

“Only with Araleshi . . . sir. Nothing personal, you asked. Well, how about it? I’ve got the noise filtered out.”

“Doc?”

“Hmm . . . The subject is fatigued. Is this your only opportunity?”

“Eh? He’ll be with us quite a while. All right, wake him.”

Shortly Thorby was handed over to the berthing P.O. Several liters of coffee, a tray of sandwiches, and one skipped meal later the Colonel and his second in command had recorded in clear the thousands of words of old Baslim the Beggar’s final report. Stancke sat back and whistled. “You can relax, Pappy. This stuff didn’t cool off—a half-life of a century, on a guess.”

Brisby answered soberly, “Yes, and a lot of good boys will die before it does.”

“You ain’t foolin’. What gets me is that trader kid—running around the Galaxy with all that ‘burn-before-reading’ between his ears. Shall I slide down and poison him?”

“What, and have to fill out all those copies?”

“Well, maybe Kris can wipe it out of his tender grey matter without resorting to a trans-orbital.”

“Anybody touches that kid and Colonel Baslim will rise up out of his grave and strangle him, is my guess. Did you know Baslim, Stinky?”

“One course under him in psychological weapons, my last year at the Academy. Just before he went ‘X’ Corps. Most brilliant mind I’ve ever met—except yours, of course, Pappy, sir, boss.”

“Don’t strain yourself. No doubt he was a brilliant teacher—he would be tops at anything. But you should have known him before he was on limited duty. I was privileged to serve under him. Now that I have a ship of my own I just ask myself: ‘What would Baslim do?’ He was the best commanding officer a ship ever had. It was during his second crack at colonel—he had been up to wing marshal and put in for reduction to have a ship again, to get away from a desk.”

Stancke shook his head. “I can’t wait for a nice cushy desk, where I can write recommendations nobody will read.”

“You aren’t Baslim. If it wasn’t hard, he didn’t like it.”

“I’m no hero. I’m more the salt of the earth. Pappy, were you with him in the rescue of the Hansea?”

“You think I would fail to wear the ribbon? No, thank goodness; I had been transferred. That was a hand-weapons job. Messy.”

“Maybe you would have had the sense not to volunteer.”

“Stinky, even you would volunteer, fat and lazy as you are—if Baslim asked for volunteers.”

“I’m not lazy, I’m efficient. But riddle me this: what was a C.O. doing leading a landing party?”

“The Old Man followed regulations only when he agreed with them. He wanted a crack at slavers with his own hands—he hated slavers with a cold passion. So he comes back a hero and what can the Department do? Wait until he gets out of hospital and court-martial him? Stinky, even top brass can be sensible when they have their noses rubbed in it. So they cited him for above-and-beyond under unique circumstances and put him on limited duty. But from here on, when ‘unique circumstances’ arise, every commanding officer knows that he can’t thumb through the book for an alibi. It’ll be up to him to continue the example.”

“Not me,” Stancke said firmly.

“You. When you’re a C.O. and comes time to do something unpleasant, there you’ll be, trying to get your tummy in and your chest out, with your chubby little face set in hero lines. You won’t be able to help it. The Baslim conditioned-reflex will hit you.”

Around dawn they got to bed. Brisby intended to sleep late but long habit took him to his desk only minutes late. He was not surprised to find his professedly-lazy Exec already at work.

His Paymaster-Lieutenant was waiting. The fiscal officer was holding a message form; Brisby recognized it. The night before, after hours of dividing Baslim’s report into phrases, then recoding it to be sent by split routes, he had realized that there was one more chore before he could sleep: arrange for identification search on Colonel Baslim’s adopted son. Brisby had no confidence that a waif picked up on Jubbul could be traced in the vital records of the Hegemony—but if the Old Man sent for a bucket of space, that was what he wanted and no excuses. Toward Baslim, dead or not, Colonel Brisby maintained the attitudes of a junior officer. So he had written a despatch and left word with the duty officer to have Thorby finger-printed and the prints coded at reveille. Then he could sleep.

Brisby looked at the message. “Hasn’t this gone out?” he demanded.

“The photo lab is coding the prints now, Skipper. But the Comm Office brought it to me for a charge, since it is for service outside the ship.”

“Well, assign it. Do I have to be bothered with every routine matter?”

The Paymaster decided that the Old Man had been missing sleep again. “Bad news, Skipper.”

“Okay, spill it.”

“I don’t know of a charge to cover it. I doubt if there is an appropriation to fit it even if we could figure out a likely-sounding charge.”

“I don’t care what charge. Pick one and get that message moving. Use that general one. Oh-oh-something.”

” ‘Unpredictable Overhead, Administrative.’ It won’t work, Skipper. Making an identity search on a civilian cannot be construed as ship’s overhead. Oh, I can put that charge number on and you’ll get an answer. But—”

“That’s what I want. An answer.”

“Yes, sir. But eventually it reaches the General Accounting Office and the wheels go around and a card pops out with a red tag. Then my pay is checked until I pay it back. That’s why they make us blokes study law as well as accounting.”

“You’re breaking my heart. Okay, Pay, if you’re too sissy to sign it, tell me what charge number that overhead thing is; I’ll write it in and sign my name and rank. Okay?”

“Yes, sir. But, Skipper—”

“Pay, I’ve had a hard night.”

“Yes, sir. I’m required by law to advise you. You don’t have to take it, of course.”

“Of course,” Brisby agreed grimly.

“Skipper, have you any notion how expensive an identification search can be?”

“It can’t be much. I can’t see why you are making such an aching issue of it. I want a clerk to get off his fundament and look in the files. I doubt if they’ll bill us. Routine courtesy.”

“I wish I thought so, sir. But you’ve made this an unlimited search. Since you haven’t named a planet, first it will go to Tycho City, live files and dead. Or do you want to limit it to live files?”

Brisby thought. If Colonel Baslim had believed that this young man had come from inside civilization, then it was likely that the kid’s family thought he was dead. No.

“Too bad. Dead files are three times as big as the live. So they search at Tycho. It takes a while, even with machines—over twenty billion entries. Suppose you get a null result. A coded inquiry goes to vital bureaus on all planets, since Great Archives are never up to date and some planetary governments don’t send in records anyhow. Now the cost mounts, especially if you use n-space routing; exact coding on a fingerprint set is a fair-sized book. Of course if you take one planet at a time and use mail—”

“No.”

“Well . . . Skipper, why not put a limit on it? A thousand credits, or whatever you can afford if—I mean ‘when’—they check your pay.”

“A thousand credits? Ridiculous!”

“If I’m wrong, the limitation won’t matter. If I’m right—and I am, a thousand credits could just be a starter—then your neck isn’t out too far.”

Brisby scowled. “Pay, you aren’t working for me to tell me I can’t do things.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re here to tell me how I can do what I’m going to do anyhow. So start digging through your books and find out how. Legally. And free.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

Brisby did not go right to work. He was fuming—some day they would get the service so fouled up in red tape they’d never get a ship off the ground. He bet that the Old Man had gone into the Exotic Corps with a feeling of relief—”X” Corps agents didn’t have red tape; one of ’em finds it necessary to spend money, he just did so, ten credits or ten million. That was how to operate—pick your men, then trust them. No regular reports, no forms, no nothing—just do what needs to be done.

Whereupon he picked up the ship’s quarterly fuel and engineering report. He put it down, reached for a message form, wrote a follow-up on Baslim’s report, informing Exotic Bureau that the unclassified courier who had delivered report was still in jurisdiction of signer and in signer’s opinion additional data could be had if signer were authorized to discuss report with courier at discretion.

He decided not to turn it over to the code and cipher group; he opened his safe and set about coding it. He had just finished when the Paymaster knocked. Brisby looked up. “So you found the paragraph.”

“Perhaps, Skipper. I’ve been talking with the Executive Officer.”

“Shoot.”

“I see we have subject person aboard.”

“Now don’t tell me I need a charge for that!”

“Not at all, Skipper. I’ll absorb his ration in the rush. You keep him aboard forever and I won’t notice. Things don’t get awkward until they get on the books. But how long do you expect to keep him? It must be more than a day or two, or you wouldn’t want an identity search.”

The Commanding Officer frowned. “It may be quite a while. First I’ve got to find out who he is, where he’s from. Then, if we’re going that way, I intend to give him an untagged lift. If we aren’t—well, I’ll pass him along to a ship that is. Too complicated to explain, Pay—but necessary.”

“Okay. Then why not enlist him?”

“Huh?”

“It would clear up everything.”

Brisby frowned. “I see. I could take him along legally . . . and arrange a transfer. And it would give you a charge number. But . . . well, suppose Shiva III is the spot—and his enlistment is not up. Can’t just tell him to desert. Besides I don’t know that he wants to enlist.”

“You can ask him. How old is he?”

“I doubt if he knows. He’s a waif.”

“So much the better. You ship him. Then when you find out where he has to go, you discover a
n error in his age . . . and correct it. It turns out that he reaches his majority in time to be paid off on his home planet.”

Brisby blinked. “Pay, are all paymasters dishonest?”

“Only the good ones. You don’t like it, sir?”

“I love it. Okay, I’ll check. And I’ll hold up that despatch. We’ll send it later.”

The Paymaster looked innocent. “Oh, no, sir, we won’t ever send it.”

“How’s that?”

“It won’t be necessary. We enlist him to fill vacancy in complement. We send in records to BuPersonnel. They make the routine check, name and home planet—Hekate, I suppose, since we got him here. By then we’re long gone. They don’t find him registered here. Now they turn it over to BuSecurity, who sends us a priority telling us not to permit subject personnel to serve in sensitive capacity. But that’s all, because it’s possible that this poor innocent citizen never got registered. But they can’t take chances, so they start the very search you want, first Tycho, then everywhere else, security priority. So they identify him and unless he’s wanted for murder it’s a routine muddle. Or they can’t identify him and have to make up their minds whether to register him, or give him twenty-four hours to get out of the Galaxy—seven to two they decide to forget it—except that someone aboard is told to watch him and report suspicious behavior. But the real beauty of it is that the job carries a BuSecurity cost charge.”

“Pay, do you think that Security has agents in this vessel I don’t know about?”

“Skipper, what do you think?”

“Mmm . . . I don’t know—but if I were Chief of Security I would have! Confound it, if I lift a civilian from here to the Rim, that’ll be reported too—no matter what I log.”

“Shouldn’t be surprised, sir.”

“Get out of here! I’ll see if the lad will buy it.” He flipped a switch. “Eddie!” Instead of sending for Thorby, Brisby directed the Surgeon to examine him, since it was pointless to pressure him to enlist without determining whether or not he could. Medical-Major Stein, accompanied by Medical-Captain Krishnamurti, reported to Brisby before lunch.

“Well?”

“No physical objection, Skipper. I’ll let the Psych Officer speak for himself.”

“All right. By the way, how old is he?”

“He doesn’t know.”

“Yes, yes,” Brisby agreed impatiently, “but how old do you think he is?”

Dr. Stein shrugged. “What’s his genetic picture? What environment? Any age-factor mutations? High or low gravity planet? Planetary metabolic index? He could be as young as ten standard years, as old as thirty, on physical appearance. I can assign a fictional adjusted age, on the assumption of no significant mutations and Terra-equivalent environment—an unjustified assumption until they build babies with data plates —an adjusted age of not less than fourteen standard years, not more than twenty-two.”

“Would an adjusted age of eighteen fit?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Okay, make it just under that—minority enlistment.”

“There’s a tattoo on him,” Dr. Krishnamurti offered, “which might give a clue. A slave mark.”

“The deuce you say!” Colonel Brisby reflected that his follow-up despatch to “X” Corps was justified. “Dated?”

“Just a manumission—a Sargonese date which fits his story. The mark is a factor’s mark. No date.”

“Too bad. Well, now that he is clear with Medical, I’ll send for him.”

“Colonel.”

“Eh? Yes, Kris?”

“I cannot recommend enlistment.”

“Huh? He’s as sane as you are.”

“Surely. But he is a poor risk.”

“Why?”

“I interviewed subject under light trance this morning. Colonel, did you ever keep a dog?”

“No. Not many where I come from.”

“Very useful laboratory animals, they parallel many human characteristics. Take a puppy, abuse him, kick him, mistreat him—he’ll revert to feral carnivore. Take his litter brother, pet him, talk to him, let him sleep with you, but train him—he’s a happy, well-behaved house pet. Take another from that same litter, pet him on even days and kick him on odd days. You’ll have him so confused that he’ll be ruined for either role; he can’t survive as a wild animal and he doesn’t understand what is expected of a pet. Pretty soon he won’t eat, he won’t sleep, he can’t control his functions; he just cowers and shivers.”

“Hmm . . . do you psychologists do such things often?”

“I never have. But it’s in the literature . . . and this lad’s case parallels it. He’s undergone a series of traumatic experiences in his formative years, the latest of which was yesterday. He’s confused and depressed. Like that dog, he may snarl and bite at any time. He ought not to be exposed to new pressures; he should be cared for where he can be given psychotherapy.”

“Phooey!”

The psychological officer shrugged. Colonel Brisby added, “I apologize, Doctor. But I know something about this case, with all respect to your training. This lad has been in good environment the past couple of years.” Brisby recalled the farewell he had unwillingly witnessed. “And before that, he was in the hands of Colonel Richard Baslim. Heard of him?”

“I know his reputation.”

“If there is any fact I would stake my ship on, it is that Colonel Baslim would never ruin a boy. Okay, so the kid has had a rough time. But he has also been succored by one of the toughest, sanest, most humane men ever to wear our uniform. You bet on your dogs; I’ll back Colonel Richard Baslim. Now . . . are you advising me not to enlist him?”

The psychologist hesitated. Brisby said, “Well?”

Major Stein interrupted. “Take it easy, Kris; I’m overriding you.”

Brisby said, “I want a straight answer, then I’ll decide.”

Dr. Krishnamurti said slowly, “Suppose I record my opinions but state that there are no certain grounds for refusing enlistment?”

“Why?”

“Obviously you want to enlist this boy. But if he gets into trouble—well, my endorsement could get him a medical discharge instead of a sentence. He’s had enough bad breaks.”

Colonel Brisby clapped him on the shoulder. “Good boy, Kris! That’s all, gentlemen.”

Thorby spent an unhappy night. The master-at-arms billeted him in senior P.O.s quarters and he was well treated, but embarrassingly aware of the polite way in which those around him did not stare at his gaudy Sisu dress uniform. Up till then he had been proud of the way Sisu’s dress stood out; now he was learning painfully that clothing has its proper background. That night he was conscious of snores around him . . . strangers . . . fraki—and he yearned to be back among People, where he was known, understood, recognized.

He tossed on a harder bed than he was used to and wondered who would get his own?

He found himself wondering whether anyone had ever claimed the hole he still thought of as “home.” Would they repair the door? Would they keep it clean and decent the way Pop liked? What would they do with Pop’s leg?

Asleep, he dreamt of Pop and of Sisu, all mixed up. At last, with Grandmother shortened and a raider bearing down, Pop whispered, “No more bad dreams, Thorby. Never again, son. Just happy dreams.”

He slept peacefully then—and awoke in this forbidding place with gabbling fraki all around him. Breakfast was substantial but not up to Aunt Athena’s high standards; however he was not hungry.

After breakfast he was quietly tasting his misery when he was required to undress and submit to indignities. It was his first experience with medical men’s offhand behavior with human flesh—he loathed the poking and prodding.

When the Commanding Officer sent for him Thorby was not even cheered by seeing the man who knew Pop. This room was where he had had to say a last “good-business” to Father; the thoughts lingering there were not good.

He listened listlessly while Brisby explained. He woke up a little when he understood that he was being offered status—not much, he gathered. But status. The fraki had status among themselves. It had never occurred to him that fraki status could matter even to fraki.

“You don’t have to,” Colonel Brisby concluded, “but it will make simpler the thing Col
onel Baslim wanted me to do—find your family, I mean. You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

Thorby almost said that he knew where his Family was. But he knew what the Colonel meant: his own sib, whose existence he had never quite been able to imagine. Did he really have blood relatives somewhere?

“I suppose so,” he answered slowly. “I don’t know.”

“Mmm . . .” Brisby wondered what it was like to have no frame to your picture. “Colonel Baslim was anxious to have me locate your family. I can handle it easier if you are officially one of us. Well? It’s guardsman third class . . . thirty credits a month, all you can eat and not enough sleep. And glory. A meager amount.”

Thorby looked up. “This is the same Fam—service my Pop—Colonel Baslim, you call him—was in? He really was?”

“Yes. Senior to what you will be. But the same service. I think you started to say ‘family.’ We like to think of the Service as one enormous family. Colonel Baslim was one of the more distinguished members of it.”

“Then I want to be adopted.”

“Enlisted.”

“Whatever the word is.”

CHAPTER 16

Fraki weren’t bad when you got to know them.

They had their secret language, even though they thought they talked Interlingua. Thorby added a few dozen verbs and a few hundred nouns as he heard them; after that he tripped over an occasional idiom. He learned that his light-years as a trader were respected, even though the People were considered odd. He didn’t argue; fraki couldn’t know better.

H.G.C. Hydra lifted from Hekate, bound for the Rim worlds. Just before jump a money order arrived accompanied by a supercargo’s form which showed the draft to be one eighty-third of Sisu’s appreciation from Jubbulpore to Hekate—as if, thought Thorby, he were a girl being swapped. It was an uncomfortably large sum and Thorby could find no entry charging him interest against a capital share of the ship—which he felt should be there for proper accounting; it wasn’t as if he had been born in the ship. Life among the People had made the beggar boy conscious of money in a sense that alms never could—books must balance and debts must be paid.

He wondered what Pop would think of all that money. He felt easier when he learned that he could deposit it with the Paymaster.

With the draft was a warm note, wishing him good business wherever he went and signed: “Love, Mother.” It made Thorby feel better and much worse.

A package of belongings arrived with a note from Fritz: “Dear Brother, Nobody briefed me about recent mysterious happenings, but things were crisp around the old ship for a few days. If such were not unthinkable, I would say there had been a difference of opinion at highest level. Me, I have no opinions, except that I miss your idle chatter and blank expressions. Have fun and be sure to count your change.

“Fritz

“P.S. The play was an artistic success—and Loeen is cuddly.”

Thorby stored his Sisu belongings; he was trying to be a Guardsman and they made him uncomfortable. He discovered that the Guard was not the closed corporation the People were; it required no magic to make a Guardsman if a man had what it took, because nobody cared where a man came from or what he had been. The Hydra drew its company from many planets; there were machines in BuPersonnel to ensure this. Thorby’s shipmates were tall and short, bird-boned and rugged, smooth and hairy, mutated and superficially unmutated. Thorby hit close to norm and his Free Trader background was merely an acceptable eccentricity; it made him a spaceman of sorts even though a recruit.

In fact, the only hurdle was that he was a raw recruit. “Guardsman 3/c” he might be but a boot he would remain until he proved himself, most especially since he had not had boot training.

But he was no more handicapped than any recruit in a military outfit having proud esprit de corps. He was assigned a bunk, a mess, a working station, and a petty officer to tell him what to do. His work was compartment cleaning, his battle station was runner for the Weapons Officer in case battle phones should fail—it meant that he was available to fetch coffee.

Otherwise he was left in peace. He was free to join a bull session as long as he let his seniors sound off, he was invited into card games when a player was needed, he was not shut out of gossip, and he was privileged to lend jumpers and socks to seniors who happened to be short. Thorby had had experience at being junior; it was not difficult.

The Hydra was heading out for patrol duty; the mess talk centered around “hunting” prospects. The Hydra had fast “legs,” three hundred gravities; she sought action with outlaws where a merchantman such as the Sisu would avoid it if possible. Despite her large complement and heavy weapons, the Hydra was mostly power plant and fuel tanks.

Thorby’s table was headed by his petty officer, Ordnanceman 2/c Peebie, known as “Decibel.” Thorby was eating one day with his ears tuned down, while he debated visiting the library after dinner or attending the stereo show in the messroom, when he heard his nickname: “Isn’t that right, Trader?”

Thorby was proud of the nickname. He did not like it in Peebie’s mouth but Peebie was a self-appointed wit—he would greet Thorby with the nickname, inquire solicitously, “How’s business?” and make gestures of counting money. So far, Thorby had ignored it.

“Isn’t what right?”

“Why’n’t y’keep y’r ears open? Can’t you hear anything but rustle and clink? I was telling ’em what I told the Weapons Officer: the way to rack up more kills is to go after ’em, not pretend to be a trader, too scared to fight and too fat to run.”

Thorby felt a simmer. “Who,” he said, “told you that traders were scared to fight?”

“Quit pushin’ that stuff! Whoever heard of a trader burning a bandit?”

Peebie may have been sincere; kills made by traders received no publicity. But Thorby’s burn increased. “I have.”

Thorby meant that he had heard of traders’ burning raiders; Peebie took it as a boast. “Oh, you did, did you? Listen to that, men—our peddler is a hero. He’s burned a bandit all by his own little self! Tell us about it. Did you set fire to his hair? Or drop potassium in his beer?”

“I used,” Thorby stated, “a Mark XIX one-stage target-seeker, made by Bethlehem-Antares and armed with a 20 megaton plutonium warhead. I launched a timed shot on closing to beaming range on a collision-curve prediction.”

There was silence. Finally Peebie said coldly, “Where did you read that?”

“It’s what the tape showed after the engagement. I was senior starboard firecontrolman. The portside computer was out—so I know it was my shot that burned him.”

“Now he’s a weapons officer! Peddler, don’t peddle it here.”

Thorby shrugged. “I used to be. A weapons control officer, rather. I never learned much about ordnance.”

“Modest, isn’t he? Talk is cheap, Trader.”

“You should know, Decibel.”

Peebie was halted by his nickname; Thorby did not rate such familiarity. Another voice cut in, saying sweetly, “Sure, Decibel, talk is cheap. Now you tell about the big kills you’ve made. Go ahead.” The speaker was non-rated but was a clerk in the executive office and immune to Peebie’s displeasure.

Peebie glowered. “Enough of this prattle,” he growled. “Baslim, I’ll see you at oh eight hundred in combat control—we’ll find out how much you know about firecontrol.”

Thorby was not anxious to be tested; he knew nothing about the Hydra’s equipment. But an order is an order; he was facing Peebie’s smirk at the appointed time.

The smirk did not last. Hydra’s instruments bore no resemblance to those in the Sisu, but the principles were the same and the senior gunnery sergeant (cybernetics) seemed to find nothing unlikely in an ex-trader knowing how to shoot. He was always looking for talent; people to handle ballistic trackers for the preposterous problems of combat at sub-light-speed were as scarce among Guardsmen as among the People.

He questioned Thorby about the computer he had handled. Presently he nodded. “I’ve never seen anything but schematics on a Dusseldorf tandem rig; that approach is obsolete. But if you can get a hit with that junk, we can use you.” The sergeant turned to Peebie. “Thanks, Decibel. I’ll mention it to the Weapons Officer. Stick around, Baslim.”

Peebie looked astonished. “He’s got work to do, Sarge.”

Sergeant Luter shrugged. “Tell your leading P.O. that I need Baslim here.”

Thorby had been shocked to hear Sisu’s beautiful computers called “junk.” But shortly he knew what Luter meant; the massive brain that fought for the Hydra was a genius among computers. Thorby would never control it alone—but soon he was an acting ordnanceman 3/c (cybernetics) and relatively safe from Peebie’s wit. He began to feel like a Guardsman—very junior but an accepted shipmate.

Hydra was cruising above speed-of-light toward the Rim world Ultima Thule, where she would refuel and start prowling for outlaws. No query had reached the ship concerning Thorby’s identity. He was contented with his status in Pop’s old outfit; it made him proud to feel that Pop would be proud of him. He did miss Sisu, but a ship with no women was simpler to live in; compared with Sisu the Hydra had no restrictive regulations.

But Colonel Brisby did not let Thorby forget why he had been enlisted. Commanding officers are many linkages away from a recruit; a non-rated man might not lay eyes on his skipper except at inspections. But Brisby sent for Thorby repeatedly.

Brisby received authorization from the Exotic Corps to discuss Colonel Baslim’s report with Baslim’s courier, bearing in mind the critical classification of the subject. So Brisby called Thorby in.

Thorby was first warned of the necessity of keeping his mouth shut. Brisby told him that the punishment for blabbing would be as heavy as a court-martial could hand out. “But that’s not the point. We have to be sure that the question never arises. Otherwise we can’t discuss it.”

Thorby hesitated. “How can I know that I’ll keep my mouth shut when I don’t know what it is?”

Brisby looked annoyed. “I can order you to.”

“Yes, sir. And I’ll say, ‘Aye aye, sir.’ But does that make you certain that I wouldn’t risk a court-martial?”

“But— This is ridiculous! I want to talk about Colonel Baslim’s work. But you’re to keep your yap shut, you understand me? If you don’t, I’ll tear you to pieces with my bare hands. No young punk is going to quibble with me where the Old Man’s work is concerned!”

Thorby looked relieved. “Why did

n’t you say it was that, Skipper? I wouldn’t blab about anything of Pop’s—why, that was the first thing he taught me.”

“Oh.” Brisby grinned. “I should have known. Okay.”

“I suppose,” Thorby added thoughtfully, “that it’s all right to talk to you.”

Brisby looked startled. “I hadn’t realized that this cuts two ways. But it does. I can show you a despatch from his corps, telling me to discuss his report with you. Would that convince you?”

Brisby found himself showing a “Most Secret” despatch to his most junior, acting petty officer, to convince said junior that his C.O. was entitled to talk with him. At the time it seemed reasonable; it was not until later that the Colonel wondered.

Thorby read the translated despatch and nodded. “Anything you want, Skipper. I’m sure Pop would agree.”

“Okay. You know what he was doing?”

“Well . . . yes and no. I saw some of it. I know what sort of things he was interested in having me notice and remember. I used to carry messages for him and it was always very secret. But I never knew why.” Thorby frowned. “They said he was a spy.”

“Intelligence agent sounds better.”

Thorby shrugged. “If he was spying, he’d call it that. Pop never minced words.”

“No, he never minced words,” Brisby agreed, wincing as he recalled being scorched right through his uniform by a dressing-down. “Let me explain. Mmm . . . know any Terran history?”

“Uh, not much.”

“It’s a miniature history of the race. Long before space travel, when we hadn’t even filled up Terra, there used to be dirtside frontiers. Every time new territory was found, you always got three phenomena: traders ranging out ahead and taking their chances, outlaws preying on the honest men—and a traffic in slaves. It happens the same way today, when we’re pushing through space instead of across oceans and prairies. Frontier traders are adventurers taking great risks for great profits. Outlaws, whether hill bands or sea pirates or the raiders in space, crop up in any area not under police protection. Both are temporary. But slavery is another matter—the most vicious habit humans fall into and the hardest to break. It starts up in every new land and it’s terribly hard to root out. After a culture falls ill of it, it gets rooted in the economic system and laws, in men’s habits and attitudes. You abolish it; you drive it underground—there it lurks, ready to spring up again, in the minds of people who think it is their ‘natural’ right to own other people. You can’t reason with them; you can kill them but you can’t change their minds.”

Brisby sighed. “Baslim, the Guard is just the policeman and the mailman; we haven’t had a major war in two centuries. What we do work at is the impossible job of maintaining order on the frontier, a globe three thousand light-years in circumference—no one can understand how big that is; the mind can’t swallow it.

“Nor can human beings police it. It gets bigger every year. Dirtside police eventually close the gaps. But with us, the longer we try the more there is. So to most of us it’s a job, an honest job, but one that can never be finished.

“But to Colonel Richard Baslim it was a passion. Especially he hated the slave trade, the thought of it could make him sick at his stomach—I’ve seen. He lost his leg and an eye—I suppose you know—while rescuing a shipload of people from a slaving compound.

“That would satisfy most officers—go home and retire. Not old Spit-and-Polish! He taught a few years, then he went to the one corps that might take him, chewed up as he was, and presented a plan.

“The Nine Worlds are the backbone of the slave trade. The Sargony was colonized a long time ago, and they never accepted Hegemony after they broke off as colonies. The Nine Worlds don’t qualify on human rights and don’t want to qualify. So we can’t travel there and they can’t visit our worlds.

“Colonel Baslim decided that the traffic could be rendered uneconomic if we knew how it worked in the Sargony. He reasoned that slavers had to have ships, had to have bases, had to have markets, that it was not just a vice but a business. So he decided to go there and study it.

“This was preposterous—one man against a nine-planet empire . . . but the Exotic Corps deals in preposterous notions. Even they would probably not have made him an agent if he had not had a scheme to get his reports out. An agent couldn’t travel back and forth, nor could he use the mails—there aren’t any between us and them—and he certainly couldn’t set up an n-space communicator; that would be as conspicuous as a brass band.

“But Baslim had an idea. The only people who visit both the Nine Worlds and our own are Free Traders. But they avoid politics like poison, as you know better than I, and they go to great lengths not to offend local customs. However Colonel Baslim had a personal ‘in’ to them.

“I suppose you know that those people he rescued were Free Traders. He told ‘X’ Corps that he could report back through his friends. So they let him try. It’s my guess that no one knew that he intended to pose as a beggar—I doubt if he planned it; he was always great at improvising. But he got in and for years he observed and got his reports out.

“That’s the background and now I want to squeeze every possible fact out of you. You can tell us about methods—the report I forwarded never said a word about methods. Another agent might be able to use his methods.”

Thorby said soberly, “I’ll tell you anything I can. I don’t know much.”

“You know more than you think you do. Would you let the psych officer put you under again and see if we can work total recall?”

“Anything is okay if it’ll help Pop’s work.”

“It should. Another thing—” Brisby crossed his cabin, held up a sheet on which was the silhouette of a spaceship. “What ship is this?”

Thorby’s eyes widened. “A Sargonese cruiser.”

Brisby snatched up another one. “This?”

“Uh, it looks like a slaver that called at Jubbulpore twice a year.”

“Neither one,” Brisby said savagely, “is anything of the sort. These are recognition patterns out of my files—of ships built by our biggest shipbuilder. If you saw them in Jubbulpore, they were either copies, or bought from us!”

Thorby considered it. “They build ships there.”

“So I’ve been told. But Colonel Baslim reported ships’ serial numbers—how he got them I couldn’t guess; maybe you can. He claims that the slave trade is getting help from our own worlds!” Brisby looked unbearably disgusted.

Thorby reported regularly to the Cabin, sometimes to see Brisby, sometimes to be interviewed under hypnosis by Dr. Krishnamurti. Brisby always mentioned the search for Thorby’s identity and told him not to be discouraged; such a search took a long time. Repeated mention changed Thorby’s attitude about it from something impossible to something which was going to be true soon; he began thinking about his family, wondering who he was?—it was going to be nice to know, to be like other people.

Brisby was reassuring himself; he had been notified to keep Thorby off sensitive work the very day the ship jumped from Hekate when he had hoped that Thorby would be identified at once. He kept the news to himself, holding fast to his conviction that Colonel Baslim was never wrong and that the matter would be cleared up.

When Thorby was shifted to Combat Control, Brisby worried when the order passed across his desk—that was a “security” area, never open to visitors—then he told himself that a man with no special training couldn’t learn anything there that could really affect security and that he was already using the lad in much more sensitive work. Brisby felt that he was learning things of importance—that the Old Man, for example, had used the cover personality of a one-legged beggar to hide two-legged activities . . . but had actually been a beggar; he and the boy had lived only on alms. Brisby admired such artistic perfection—it should be an example to other agents.

But the Old Man always had been a shining example.

So Brisby left Thorby in combat control. He omitted to make permanent Thorby’s acting promotion in order that the record of change in rating need not be forwarded to BuPersonnel. But he became anxious to receive the despatch that would tell him who Thorby was.

His executive was w

ith him when it came in. It was in code, but Brisby recognized Thorby’s serial number; he had written it many times in reports to ‘X’ Corps. “Look at this, Stinky! This tells us who our foundling is. Grab the machine; the safe is open.” Ten minutes later they had processed it; it read:

“—NULL RESULT FULL IDENTSEARCH BASLIM THORBY GDSMN THIRD. AUTH & DRT TRANSFER ANY RECEIVING STATION RETRANSFER HEKATE INVESTIGATION DISPOSITION—CHFBUPERS.”

“Stinky, ain’t that a mess?”

Stancke shrugged. “It’s how the dice roll, boss.”

“I feel as if I had let the Old Man down. He was sure the kid was a citizen.”

“I misdoubt there are millions of citizens who would have a bad time proving who they are. Colonel Baslim may have been right—and still it can’t be proved.”

“I hate to transfer him. I feel responsible.”

“Not your fault.”

“You never served under Colonel Baslim. He was easy to please . . . all he wanted was one-hundred-percent perfection. And this doesn’t feel like it.”

“Quit blaming yourself. You have to accept the record.”

“Might as well get it over with. Eddie! I want to see Ordnanceman Baslim.”

Thorby noticed that the Skipper looked grim—but then he often did. “Acting Ordnanceman Third Class Baslim reporting, sir.”

“Thorby . . .”

“Yes, sir?” Thorby was startled. The Skipper sometimes used his first name because that was what he answered to under hypnosis—but this was not such a time.

“The identification report on you came.”

“Huh?” Thorby was startled out of military manners. He felt a surge of joy—he was going to know who he was!

“They can’t identify you.” Brisby waited, then said sharply, “Did you understand?”

Thorby swallowed. “Yes, sir. They don’t know who I am. I’m not . . . anybody.”

“Nonsense! You’re still yourself.”

“Yes, sir. Is that all, sir? May I go?”

“Just a moment. I have to transfer you back to Hekate.” He added hastily, seeing Thorby’s expression, “Don’t worry. They’ll probably let you serve out your enlistment if you want to. In any case, they can’t do anything to you; you haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Yes, sir,” Thorby repeated dully.

Nothing and nobody— He had a blinding image of an old, old nightmare . . . standing on the block, hearing an auctioneer chant his description, while cold eyes stared at him. But he pulled himself together and was merely quiet the rest of the day. It was not until the compartment was dark that he bit his pillow and whispered brokenly, “Pop . . . oh, Pop!”

The Guards uniform covered Thorby’s legs, but in the showers the tattoo on his left thigh could be noticed. When this happened, Thorby explained without embarrassment what it signified. Responses varied from curiosity, through half-disbelief, to awed surprise that here was a man who had been through it—capture, sale, servitude, and miraculously, free again. Most civilians did not realize that slavery still existed; Guardsmen knew better.

No one was nasty about it.

But the day after the null report on identification Thorby encountered “Decibel” Peebie in the showers. Thorby did not speak; they had not spoken much since Thorby had been moved out from under Peebie, even though they sat at the same table. But now Peebie spoke. “Hi, Trader!”

“Hi.” Thorby started to bathe.

“What’s on your leg? Dirt?”

“Where?”

“On your thigh. Hold still. Let’s see.”

“Keep your hands to yourself!”

“Don’t be so touchy. Turn around to the light. What is it?”

“It’s a slaver’s mark,” Thorby explained curtly.

“No foolin’? So you’re a slave?”

“I used to be.”

“They put chains on you? Make you kiss your master’s foot?”

“Don’t be silly!”

“Look who’s talking! You know what, Trader boy? I heard about that mark—and I think you had it tattooed yourself. To make big talk. Like that one about how you blasted a bandit ship.”

Thorby cut his shower short and got out.

At dinner Thorby was helping himself from a bowl of mashed potatoes. He heard Peebie call out something but his ears filtered out “Decibel’s” endless noise.

Peebie repeated it. “Hey, Slave! Pass the potatoes! You know who I mean! Dig the dirt out of your ears!”

Thorby passed him the potatoes, bowl and all, in a flat trajectory, open face of the bowl plus potatoes making perfect contact with the open face of Decibel.

The charge against Thorby was “Assaulting a Superior Officer, the Ship then being in Space in a Condition of Combat Readiness.” Peebie appeared as complaining witness.

Colonel Brisby stared over the mast desk and his jaw muscles worked. He listened to Peebie’s account: “I asked him to pass the potatoes . . . and he hit me in the face with them.”

“That was all?”

“Well, sir, maybe I didn’t say please. But that’s no reason—”

“Never mind the conclusions. The fight go any farther?”

“No, sir. They separated us.”

“Very well. Baslim, what have you to say for yourself?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“Is that what happened?”

“Yes, sir.”

Brisby stopped to think, while his jaw muscles twitched. He felt angry, an emotion he did not permit himself at mast—he felt let down. Still, there must be more to it.

Instead of passing sentence he said, “Step aside. Colonel Stancke—”

“Yes, sir?”

“There were other men present. I want to hear from them.”

“I have them standing by, sir.”

“Very well.”

Thorby was convicted—three days bread & water, solitary, sentence suspended, thirty days probation; acting rank stricken.

Decibel Peebie was convicted (court trial waived when Brisby pointed out how the book could be thrown at him) of “Inciting to Riot, specification: using derogatory language with reference to another Guardsman’s Race, Religion, Birthplace, or Condition previous to entering Service, the Ship then being etc.”— sentence three days B & W, sol., suspended, reduction one grade, ninety days probation in ref. B & W, sol., only.

The Colonel and Vice Colonel went back to Brisby’s office. Brisby was looking glum; mast upset him at best. Stancke said, “Too bad you had to clip the Baslim kid. I think he was justified.”

“Of course he was. But ‘Inciting to riot’ is no excuse for riot. Nothing is.”

“Sure, you had to. But I don’t like that Peebie character. I’m going to make a careful study of his efficiency marks.”

“Do that. But, confound it, Stinky—I have a feeling I started the fight myself.”

“Huh?”

“Two days ago I had to tell Baslim that we hadn’t been able to identify him. He walked out in a state of shock. I should have listened to my psych officer. The lad has scars that make him irresponsible under the right—I mean the ‘wrong’—stimulus. I’m glad it was mashed potatoes and not a knife.”

“Oh, come now, boss! Mashed potatoes are hardly a deadly weapon.”

“You weren’t here when he got the bad news. Not knowing who he is hurts him.”

Stancke’s pudgy face pouted in thought. “Boss? How old was this kid when he was captured?”

“Eh? Kris thinks he was about four.”

“Skipper, that backwoods place where you were born: at what age were you fingerprinted, blood-typed, retina-photographed and so forth?”

“Why, when I started school.”

“Me, too. I’ll bet they wait that long most places.”

Brisby blinked. “That’s why they wouldn’t have anything on him!”

“Maybe. But on Riff they take identity on a baby before he leaves the delivery room.”

“My people, too. But—”

“Sure, sure! It’s common practice. But how?”

Brisby looked blank, then banged the desk. “Footprints! And we didn’t send them in.” He slapped the talkie. “Eddie! Get Baslim here on the double!”

Thorby was glumly removing the chevron he had worn by courtesy for so short a time. He was scared by the peremptory order; it boded ill. But he hurried. Colonel Brisby glared at him. “Baslim, take off your shoes!”

“Sir?”

“Take off your shoes!”

Brisby’s despatch questioning failure to identify and supplying BuPers with footprints was answered in forty-eight hours. It reached the Hydra as she made her final approach to Ultima Thule. Colonel Brisby decoded it when the ship had been secured dirtside.

It read: “—GUARDSMAN THORBY BASLIM IDENTIFIED MISSING PERSON THOR BRADLEY RUDBEK TERRA NOT HEKATE TRANSFER RUDBEK FASTEST MILORCOM TERRA DISCHARGE ARRIVAL NEXTKIN NOTIFIED REPEAT FASTEST CHFBUPERS.”

Brisby was chuckling. “Colonel Baslim is never wrong. Dead or alive, he’s never wrong!”

“Boss . . .”

“Huh?”

“Read it again. Notice who he is.”

Brisby reread the despatch. Then he said in a hushed voice, “Why do things like this always happen to Hydra?” He strode over and snatched the door. “Eddie!”

Thorby was on beautiful Ultima Thule for two hours and twenty-seven minutes; what he saw of the famous scenery after coming three hundred light-years was the field between the Hydra and Guard Mail Courier Ariel. Three weeks later he was on Terra. He felt dizzy.

CHAPTER 17

Lovely Terra, Mother of Worlds! What poet, whether or not he has been privileged to visit her, has not tried to express the homesick longing of men for mankind’s birthplace . . . her cool green hills, cloud-graced skies, restless oceans, her warm maternal charm.

Thorby’s first sight of legendary Earth was by view screen of G.M.C. Ariel. Guard Captain N’Gangi, skipper of the mail ship, stepped up the gain and pointed out arrow-sharp shadows of the Egyptian Pyramids. Thorby didn’t realize the historical significance and was looking in the wrong place. But he enjoyed seeing a planet from space; he had never been thus privileged before.

Thorby had a dull time in the Ariel. The mail ship, all legs and tiny payload, carried a crew of three engineers and three astrogators, all of whom were usually on watch or asleep. He started off badly because Captain N’Gangi had been annoyed by a “hold for passenger” despatch from the Hydra—mail ships don’t like to hold; the mail must go through.

But Thorby be

haved himself, served the precooked meals, and spent his time ploughing through the library (a drawer under the skipper’s bunk); by the time they approached Sol the commanding officer was over his pique . . . to have the feeling brought back by orders to land at Galactic Enterprises’ field instead of Guard Base. But N’Gangi shook hands as he gave Thorby his discharge and the paymaster’s draft.

Instead of scrambling down a rope ladder (mail couriers have no hoists), Thorby found that a lift came up to get him. It leveled off opposite the hatch and offered easy exit. A man in spaceport uniform of Galactic Enterprises met him. “Mr. Rudbek?”

“That’s me—I guess.”

“This way, Mr. Rudbek, if you please.”

The elevator took them below ground and into a beautiful lounge. Thorby, mussed and none too clean from weeks in a crowded steel box, was uneasy. He looked around.

Eight or ten people were there, two of whom were a grey-haired, self-assured man and a young woman. Each was dressed in more than a year’s pay for a Guardsman. Thorby did not realize this in the case of the man but his Trader’s eye spotted it in the female; it took money to look that demurely provocative.

In his opinion the effect was damaged by her high-fashion hairdo, a rising structure of green blending to gold. He blinked at the cut of her clothes; he had seen fine ladies in Jubbulpore where the climate favored clothing only for decoration, but the choice in skin display seemed different here. Thorby realized uneasily that he was again going to have to get used to new customs.

The important-looking man met him as he got out of the lift. “Thor! Welcome home, lad!” He grabbed Thorby’s hand. “I’m John Weemsby. Many is the time I’ve bounced you on my knee. Call me Uncle Jack. And this is your cousin Leda.”

The girl with green hair placed hands on Thorby’s shoulders and kissed him. He did not return it; he was much too startled. She said, “It’s wonderful to have you home, Thor.”

“Uh, thanks.”

“And now you must greet your grandparents,” Weemsby announced. “Professor Bradley . . . and your Grandmother Bradley.”

Bradley was older than Weemsby, slight and erect, a paunch, neatly trimmed beard; he was dressed like Weemsby in daytime formal jacket, padded tights and short cape, but not as richly. The woman had a sweet face and alert blue eyes; her clothing did not resemble that of Leda but seemed to suit her. She pecked Thorby on the cheek and said gently, “It’s like having my son come home.”

The elderly man shook hands vigorously. “It’s a miracle, son! You look just like our boy—your father. Doesn’t he, dear?”

“He does!”

There was chitchat which Thorby answered as well as he could. He was confused and terribly self-conscious; it was more embarrassing to meet these strangers who claimed him as their blood than it had been to be adopted into Sisu. These old people—they were his grandparents? Thorby couldn’t believe it even though he supposed they were.

To his relief the man—Weemsby?—who claimed to be his Uncle Jack said with polite authority, “We had better go. I’ll bet this boy is tired. So I’ll take him home. Eh?”

The Bradleys murmured agreement; the party moved toward the exit. Others in the room, all men none of whom had been introduced, went with them. In the corridor they stepped on a glideway which picked up speed until walls were whizzing past. It slowed as they neared the end—miles away, Thorby judged—and was stationary for them to step off.

This place was public; the ceiling was high and the walls were lost in crowds; Thorby recognized the flavor of a transport station. The silent men with them moved into blocking positions and their party proceeded in a direct line regardless of others. Several persons tried to break through and one man managed it. He shoved a microphone at Thorby and said rapidly, “Mr. Rudbek, what is your opinion of the—”

A guard grabbed him. Mr. Weemsby said quickly, “Later, later! Call my office; you’ll get the story.”

Lenses were trained on them, but from high up and far away. They moved inio another passageway, a gate closed behind them. Its glideway deposited them at an elevator which took them to a small enclosed airport. A craft was waiting and beyond it a smaller one, both sleek, smooth, flattened ellipsoids. Weemsby stopped. “You’ll be all right?” he asked Mrs. Bradley.

“Oh, surely,” answered Professor Bradley.

“The car was satisfactory?”

“Excellent. A nice hop—and, I’m sure, a good one back.”

“Then we’ll say good-by. I’ll call you—when he’s had a chance to get oriented. You understand?”

“Oh, surely. We’ll be waiting.” Thorby got a peck from his grandmother, a clap on the shoulder from his grandfather. Then he embarked with Weemsby and Leda in the larger car. Its skipper saluted Mr. Weemsby, then saluted Thorby—Thorby managed to return it.

Mr. Weemsby paused in the central passage. “Why don’t you kids go forward and enjoy the hop? I’ve got calls waiting.”

“Certainly, Daddy.”

“You’ll excuse me, Thor? Business goes on—it’s back to the mines for Uncle Jack.”

“Of course . . . Uncle Jack.”

Leda led him forward and they sat down in a transparent bubble on the forward surface. The car rose straight up until they were several thousand feet high. It made a traffic-circle sweep over a desert plain, then headed north toward mountains.

“Comfy?” asked Leda.

“Quite. Uh, except that I’m dirty and mussed.”

“There’s a shower abaft the lounge. But we’ll be home shortly—so why not enjoy the trip?”

“All right.” Thorby did not want to miss any of fabulous Terra. It looked, he decided, like Hekate—no, more like Woolamurra, except that he had never seen so many buildings. The mountains—

He looked again. “What’s that white stuff? Alum?”

Leda looked. “Why, that’s snow. Those are the Sangre de Cristos.”

” ‘Snow,’ ” Thorby repeated. “That’s frozen water.”

“You haven’t seen snow before?”

“I’ve heard of it. It’s not what I expected.”

“It is frozen water—and yet it isn’t exactly; it’s more feathery.” She reminded herself of Daddy’s warning; she must not show surprise at anything.

“You know,” she offered, “I think I’ll teach you to ski.”

Many miles and some minutes were used explaining what skiing was and why people did it. Thorby filed it away as something he might try, more likely not. Leda said that a broken leg was “all that could happen.” This is fun? Besides, she had mentioned how cold it could be. In Thorby’s mind cold was linked with hunger, beatings, and fear. “Maybe I could learn,” he said dubiously, “but I doubt it.”

“Oh, sure you can!” She changed the subject. “Forgive my curiosity, Thor, but there is a faint accent in your speech.”

“I didn’t know I had an accent—”

“I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“You weren’t. I suppose I picked it up in Jubbulpore. That’s where I lived longest.”

” ‘Jubbulpore’ . . . let me think. That’s—”

“Capital of the Nine Worlds.”

“Oh, yes! One of our colonies, isn’t it?”

Thorby wondered what the Sargon would think of that. “Uh, not exactly. It is a sovereign empire now—their tradition is that they were never anything else. They don’t like to admit that they derive from Terra.”

“What an odd point of view.”

A steward came forward with drinks and dainty nibbling foods. Thor accepted a frosted tumbler and sipped cautiously. Leda continued, “What were you doing there, Thor? Going to school?”

Thorby thought of Pop’s patient teaching, decided that was not what she meant. “I was begging.”

“What?”

“I was a beggar.”

“Excuse me?”

“A beggar. A licensed mendicant. A person who asks for alms.”

“That’s what I thought you said,” she answered. “I know what a beggar is; I’ve read books. But—excuse me, Thor; I’m just a home girl—I was startled.”

She was not a “home girl”; she was a sophisticated woman adjusted to her environment. Since her mother’s death she had been her father’s hostess and could converse with people from other planets with

aplomb, handling small talk of a large dinner party with gracious efficiency in three languages. Leda could ride, dance, sing, swim, ski, supervise a household, do arithmetic slowly, read and write if necessary, and make the proper responses. She was an intelligent, pretty, well-intentioned woman, culturally equivalent to a superior female head-hunter—able, adjusted and skilled.

But this strange lost-found cousin was a new bird to her. She said hesitantly, “Excuse my ignorance, but we don’t have anything like that on Earth. I have trouble visualizing it. Was it terribly unpleasant?”

Thorby’s mind flew back; he was squatting in lotus seat in the great Plaza with Pop sprawled beside him, talking. “It was the happiest time of my life,” he said simply.

“Oh.” It was all she could manage.

But Daddy had left them so that she could get to work. Asking a man about himself never failed. “How does one get started, Thor? I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

“I was taught. You see, I was up for sale and—” He thought of trying to explain Pop, decided to let it wait. “—an old beggar bought me.”

” ‘Bought’ you?”

“I was a slave.”

Leda felt as if she had stepped off into water over her head. Had he said “cannibal,” “vampire,” or “warlock” she would have been no more shocked. She came up, mentally gasping. “Thor—if I have been rude, I’m sorry—but we all are curious about the time—goodness! it’s been over fifteen years—that you have been missing. But if you don’t want to answer, just say so. You were a nice little boy and I was fond of you—please don’t slap me down if I ask the wrong question.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“How could I? There haven’t been slaves for centuries.”

Thorby wished that he had never had to leave the Hydra, and gave up. He had learned in the Guard that the slave trade was something many fraki in the inner worlds simply hadn’t heard of. “You knew me when I was little?”

“Oh, yes!”

“Why can’t I remember you? I can’t remember anything back before I was a—I can’t remember Terra.”

She smiled. “I’m three years older than you. When I saw you last, I was six—so I remember—and you were three, so you’ve forgotten.”

“Oh.” Thorby decided that here was a chance to find out his own age. “How old are you now?”

She smiled wryly. “Now I’m the same age you are—and I’ll stay that age until I’m married. Turn about, Thorby—when you ask the wrong question, I shan’t be offended. You don’t ask a lady her age on Terra; you assume that she is younger than she is.”

“So?” Thorby pondered this curious custom. Among People a female claimed the highest age she could, for status.

“So. For example, your mother was a lovely lady but I never knew her age. Perhaps she was twenty-five when I knew her, perhaps forty.”

“You knew my parents?”

“Oh, yes! Uncle Creighton was a darling with a boomy voice. He used to give me handfuls of dollars to buy candy sticks and balloons with my own sweaty little hand.” She frowned. “But I can’t remember his face. Isn’t that silly? Never mind, Thor; tell me anything you want to. I’d be happy to hear anything you don’t mind telling.”

“I don’t mind,” Thorby answered, “but, while I must have been captured, I don’t remember it. As far as I remember, I never had parents; I was a slave, several places and masters—until I reached Jubbulpore. Then I was sold again and it was the luckiest thing that ever happened to me.”

Leda lost her company smile. She said in a still voice, “You really mean it. Or do you?”

Thorby suffered the ancient annoyance of the returned traveler. “If you think that slavery has been abolished . . . well, it’s a big galaxy. Shall I roll up my trouser leg and show you?”

“Show me what, Thor?”

“My slave’s mark. The tattoo a factor uses to identify merchandise.” He rolled up his left trouser. “See? The date is my manumission—it’s Sargonese, a sort of Sanskrit; I don’t suppose you can read it.”

She stared, round-eyed. “How horrible! How perfectly horrible!”

He covered it. “Depends on your master. But it’s not good.”

“But why doesn’t somebody do something?”

He shrugged. “It’s a long way off.”

“But—” She stopped as her father came out.

“Hi, kids. Enjoying the hop, Thor?”

“Yes, sir. The scenery is wonderful.”

“The Rockies aren’t a patch on the Himalayas. But our Tetons are pretty wonderful . . . and there they are. We’ll be home soon.” He pointed. “See? There’s Rudbek.”

“That city is named Rudbek?”

“It used to be Johnson’s Hole, or some such, when it was a village. But I wasn’t speaking of Rudbek City; I meant our home—your home—’Rudbek.’ You can see the tower above the lake . . . with the Grand Tetons behind it. Most magnificent setting in the world. You’re Rudbek of Rudbek at Rudbek . . . ‘Rudbek Cubed,’ your father called it . . . but he married into the name and wasn’t impressed by it. I like it; it has a rolling thunder, and it’s good to have a Rudbek back in residence.”

Thorby wallowed in his bath, from needle shower, through hot pool whose sides and bottom massaged him with a thousand fingers, to lukewarm swimming plunge that turned cooler while he was in it. He was cautious in the last, having never learned to swim.

And he had never had a valet. He had noticed that Rudbek had dozens of people in it—not many for its enormous size, but he began to realize that most of them were servants. This impressed him not as much as it might have; he knew how many, many slaves staffed any rich household on Jubbul; he did not know that a living servant on Terra was the peak of ostentatious waste, greater than sedan chairs on Jubbul, much greater than the lavish hospitality at Gatherings. He simply knew that valets made him nervous and now he had a squad of three. Thorby refused to let anyone bathe him; he gave in to being shaved because the available razor was a classic straight-edge and his own would not work on Rudbek’s power supply. Otherwise he merely accepted advice about unfamiliar clothing.

The clothing waiting for him in wardrobe loads did not fit perfectly; the chief valet snipped and rewelded, muttering apologies. He had Thorby attired, ruffled jabot to tights, when a footman appeared. “Mr. Weemsby sends greetings to Rudbek and asks that he come to the great hall.”

Thorby memorized the route as he followed.

Uncle Jack, in midnight and scarlet, was waiting with Leda, who was wearing . . . Thorby was at loss; colors kept changing and some of it was hardly there. But she looked well. Her hair was now iridescent. He spotted among her jewels a bauble from Finster and wondered if it had shipped in Sisu—why, it was possible that he had listed it himself!

Uncle Jack said jovially, “There you are, lad! Refreshed? We won’t wear you out, just a family dinner.”

The dinner included twelve people and started with a reception in the great hall, drinks, appetizers, passed by soft-footed servants, music, while others were presented. “Rudbek of Rudbek, Lady Wilkes—your Aunt Jennifer, lad, come from New Zealand to welcome you”—”Rudbek of Rudbek, Judge Bruder and Mrs. Bruder—Judge is Chief Counsel,” and so on. Thorby memorized names, linked them with faces, thinking that it was like the Family—except that relationship titles were not precise definitions; he had trouble estimating status. He did not know which of eighty-odd relations “cousin” meant with respect to Leda, though he supposed that she must be a first cross-cousin, since Uncle Jack had a surname not Rudbek; so he thought of her as taboo—which would have dismayed her.

He did realize that he must be in the sept of a wealthy family. But what his status was nobody mentioned, nor could he figure out status of others. Two of the youngest women dropped him curtseys. He thought the first had stumbled and tried to help her. But when the second did it, he answered by pressing his palms together.

The older women seemed to expect him to treat them with respect. Judge Bruder he could not classify. He hadn’t been introduced as a relative—yet this was a family dinner. He fixed Thorby with an appraising eye and barked, “Glad to have you back, young man! There should be a Rudbek at Rudbek. Your holiday has caused trouble—hasn’t it, John?”

“More than a bit,” agreed Uncle Jack, “but we’ll get straightened out. No hurry. Give the lad a chance to find himself.”

“Surely, surely. Thumb in the dike.”

Thorby wondered what a dike was, but Leda came up and placed her hand on his elbow. She steered him to the banquet hall; others followed. Thorby sat at one end of a long table with Uncle Jack at the other; Aunt Jennifer was on Thorby’s right and Leda on his left. Aunt Jennifer started asking questions and supplying answers. He admitted that he had just left the Guard, she had trouble understanding that he had not been an officer; he let it ride and mentioned nothing about Jubbulpore—Leda had made him wary of the subject. It did not matter; he asked a question about New Zealand and received a guidebook lecture.

Then Leda turned from Judge Bruder and spoke to Thorby; Aunt Jennifer turned to the man on her right.

The tableware was in part strange, especially chop tongs and skewers. But spoons were spoons and forks were forks; by keeping his eye on Leda he got by. Food was served formally, but he had seen Grandmother so served; table manners were not great trouble to a man coached by Fritz’s sharp-tongued kindness.

Not until the end was he stumped. The Butler-in-Chief presented him with an enormous goblet, splashed wetness in it and waited. Leda said softly, “Taste it, nod, and put it down.” He did so; as the butler moved away, she whispered, “Don’t drink it, it’s bottled lightning. By the way, I told Daddy, ‘No toasts.’ “

At last the meal was over. Leda again cued him. “Stand up.” He did and everyone followed.

The “family dinner” was just a beginning. Uncle Jack was in evidence only at dinners, and not always then. He excused his absences with, “Someone has to keep the fires burning. Business won’t wait.” As a trader Thorby understood that Business was Business, but he looked forward to a long talk with Uncle Jack, instead of so much social life. Leda was helpful but not informative. “Daddy is awfully busy. Different companies and things. It’s too complicated for me. Let’s hurry; the others are waiting.”

Others were always waiting. Dancing, skiing—Thorby loved the flying sensation but considered it a chancy way to travel, particularly when he fetched u

p in a snow bank, having barely missed a tree—card parties, dinners with young people at which he took one end of the table and Leda the other, more dancing, hops to Yellowstone to feed the bears, midnight suppers, garden parties. Although Rudbek estate lay in the lap of the Tetons with snow around it, the house had an enormous tropical garden under a dome so pellucid that Thorby did not realize it was there until Leda had him touch it. Leda’s friends were fun and Thorby gradually became sophisticated in small talk. The young men called him “Thor” instead of “Rudbek” and called Leda “Slugger.” They treated him with familiar respect, and showed interest in the fact that he had been in the Guard and had visited many worlds, but they did not press personal questions. Thorby volunteered little, having learned his lesson.

But he began to tire of fun. A Gathering was wonderful but a working man expects to work.

The matter came to a head. A dozen of them were skiing and Thorby was alone on the practice slope. A man glided down and snowplowed to a stop. People hopped in and out at the estate’s field day and night; this newcomer was Joel de la Croix.

“Hi, Thor.”

“Hi, Joe.”

“I’ve been wanting to speak to you. I’ve an idea I would like to discuss, after you take over. Can I arrange to see you, without being baffled by forty-‘leven secretaries?”

“When I take over?”

“Or later, at your convenience. I want to talk to the boss; after all, you’re the heir. I don’t want to discuss it with Weemsby . . . even if he would see me.” Joel looked anxious. “All I want is ten minutes. Say five if I don’t interest you at once. ‘Rudbek’s promise.’ Eh?”

Thorby tried to translate. Take over? Heir? He answered carefully, “I don’t want to make any promises now, Joel.”

De la Croix shrugged. “Okay. But think about it. I can prove it’s a moneymaker.”

“I’ll think about it,” Thorby agreed. He started looking for Leda. He got her alone and told her what Joel had said.

She frowned slightly. “It probably wouldn’t hurt, since you aren’t promising anything. Joel is a brilliant engineer. But better ask Daddy.”

“That’s not what I meant. What did he mean: ‘take over’?”

“Why, you will, eventually.”

“Take over what?”

“Everything. After all, you’re Rudbek of Rudbek.”

“What do you mean by ‘everything’?”

“Why, why—” She swept an arm at mountain and lake, at Rudbek City beyond. “All of it. Rudbek. Lots of things. Things personally yours, like your sheep station in Australia and the house in Majorca. And business things. Rudbek Associates is many things—here and other planets. I couldn’t begin to describe them. But they’re yours, or maybe ‘ours’ for the whole family is in it. But you are the Rudbek of Rudbek. As Joel said, the heir.”

Thorby looked at her, while his lips grew dry. He licked them and said, “Why wasn’t I told?”

She looked distressed. “Thor dear! We’ve let you take your time. Daddy didn’t want to worry you.”

“Well,” he said, “I’m worried now. I had better talk to Uncle Jack.”

John Weemsby was at dinner but so were many guests. As they were leaving Weemsby motioned Thorby aside. “Leda tells me you’re fretting.”

“Not exactly. I want to know some things.”

“You shall—I was hoping that you would tire of your vacation. Let’s go to my study.”

They went there; Weemsby dismissed his second-shift secretary and said, “Now what do you want to know?”

“I want to know,” Thorby said slowly, “what it means to be ‘Rudbek of Rudbek.’ “

Weemsby spread his hands. “Everything . . . and nothing. You are titular head of the business, now that your father is dead . . . if he is.”

“Is there any doubt?”

“I suppose not. Yet you turned up.”

“Supposing he is dead, what am I? Leda seems to think I own just about everything. What did she mean?”

Weemsby smiled. “You know girls. No head for business. The ownership of our enterprises is spread around—most of it is in our employees. But, if your parents are dead, you come into stock in Rudbek Associates, which in turn has an interest in—sometimes a controlling interest—in other things. I couldn’t describe it now. I’ll have the legal staff do it—I’m a practical man, too busy making decisions to worry about who owns every share. But that reminds me . . . you haven’t had a chance to spend much money, but you might want to.” Weemsby opened a drawer, took out a pad. “There’s a megabuck. Let me know if you run short.”

Thorby thumbed through it. Terran currency did not bother him: a hundred dollars to the credit—which he thought of as five loaves of bread, a trick the Supercargo taught him—a thousand credits to the super-credit, a thousand supercredits to the megabuck. So simple that the People translated other currencies into it, for accounting.

But each sheet was ten thousand credits . . . and there were a hundred sheets. “Did I . . . inherit this?”

“Oh, that’s just spending money—checks, really. You convert them at dispensers in stores or banks. You know how?”

“No.”

“Don’t get a thumbprint on the sensitized area until you insert it in the dispenser. Have Leda show you—if that girl could make money the way she spends it, neither you nor I would have to work. But,” Weemsby added, “since we do, let’s do a little.” He took out a folder and spread papers. “Although this isn’t hard. Just sign at the bottom of each, put your thumbprint by it, and I’ll call Beth in to notarize. Here, we can open each one to the last page. I had better hold ’em—the consarned things curl up.”

Weemsby held one for Thorby’s signature. Thorby hesitated, then instead of signing, reached for the document. Weemsby held on. “What’s the trouble?”

“If I’m going to sign, I ought to read it.” He was thinking of something Grandmother used to be downright boring about.

Weemsby shrugged. “They are routine matters that Judge Bruder prepared for you.” Weemsby placed the document on the others, tidied the stack, and closed the folder. “These papers tell me to do what I have to do anyway. Somebody has to do the chores.”

“Why do I have to sign?”

“This is a safety measure.”

“I don’t understand.”

Weemsby sighed. “The fact is, you don’t understand business. No one expects you to; you haven’t had any chance to learn. But that’s why I have to keep slaving away; business won’t wait.” He hesitated. “Here’s the simplest way to put it. When your father and mother went on a second honeymoon, they had to appoint someone to act while they were gone. I was the natural choice, since I was their business manager and your grandfather’s before that—he died before they went away. So I was stuck with it while they went jaunting. Oh, I’m not complaining; it’s not a favor one would refuse a member of the family. Unfortunately they did not come back, so I was left holding the baby.

“But now you are back and we must make sure everything is orderly. First it is necessary for your parents to be declared legally dead—that must be done before you can inherit. That will take a while. So here I am, your business manager, too—manager for all the family—and I don’t have anything from you telling me to act. These papers do that.”

Thorby scratched his cheek. “If I haven’t inherited yet, why do you need anything from me?”

Weemsby smiled. “I asked that myself. Judge Bruder thinks it is best to tie down all possibilities. Now since you are of legal age—”

” ‘Legal age’?” Thorby had never heard the term; among the People, a man was old enough for whatever he could do.

Weemsby explained. “So, since the day you passed your eighteenth birthday, you have been of legal age, which simplifies things—it means you don’t have to become a ward of a court. We have your parents’ authorization; now we add yours—and then it doesn’t matter how long it takes the courts to decide that your parents are dead, or to settle their wills. Judge Bruder and I and the others who have to do the work can carry on without interruption. A time gap is avoided . . . one that might cost the business many megabucks. Now do you understand?”

“I think so.”

“Good. Let’s get it done.” Weemsby started to open the folder.
<

br /> Grandmother always said to read before signing— then think it over. “Uncle Jack, I want to read them.”

“You wouldn’t understand them.”

“Probably not.” Thorby picked up the folder. “But I’ve got to learn.”

Weemsby reached for the folder. “It isn’t necessary.”

Thorby felt a surge of obstinacy. “Didn’t you say Judge Bruder prepared these for me?”

“Yes.”

“Then I want to take them to my apartment and try to understand them. If I’m ‘Rudbek of Rudbek’ I ought to know what I’m doing.”

Weemsby hesitated, then shrugged. “Go ahead. You’ll find that I’m simply trying to do for you what I have always been doing.”

“But I still ought to understand what I’m doing.”

“Very well! Goodnight.”

Thorby read till he fell asleep. The language was baffling but the papers did seem to be what Uncle Jack said they were—instructions to John Weemsby to continue the routine business of a complex setup. He fell asleep full of terms like “full power of attorney,” “all manners of business,” “receive and pay monies,” “revocable only by mutual consent,” “waiver of personal appearance,” “full faith and credence,” and “voting proxy in all stockholding and/or directorial meetings, special or annual.”

As he dozed off it occurred to him that he had not asked to see the authorizations given by his parents.

Sometime during the night he seemed to hear Grandmother’s impatient voice: “—then think it over! If you don’t understand it, and the laws under which it will be executed, then don’t sign it!—no matter how much profit may appear to be in store. Too lazy and too eager can ruin a trader.”

He stirred restlessly.

CHAPTER 18

Hardly anyone came down for breakfast in Rudbek. But breakfast in bed was not in Thorby’s training; he ate alone in the garden, luxuriating in hot mountain sunshine and lush tropical flowers while enjoying the snowy wonderland around him. Snow fascinated him—he had never dreamed that anything could be so beautiful.

But the following morning Weemsby came into the garden only moments after Thorby sat down. A chair was placed under Weemsby; a servant quickly laid a place. He said, “Just coffee. Good morning, Thor.”

“Good morning, Uncle Jack.”

“Well, did you get your studying done?”

“Sir? Oh, yes. That is, I fell asleep reading.”

Weemsby smiled. “Lawyerese is soporific. Did you satisfy yourself that I had told you correctly what they contained?”

“Uh, I think so.”

“Good.” Weemsby put down his coffee and said to a servant, “Hand me a house phone. Thor, you irritated me last night.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“But I realize you were right. You should read what you sign—I wish I had time to! I have to accept the word of my staff in routine matters or I would never have time for policy . . . and I assumed that you would do the same with me. But caution is commendable.” He spoke into the phone. “Carter, fetch those papers from Rudbek’s apartment. The garden.”

Thorby wondered if Carter could find the stuff—there was a safe in his study but he had not learned to use it, so he had hidden the papers behind books. He started to mention it but Uncle Jack was talking.

“Here is something you will want to see . . . an inventory of real property you own—or will own, when the wills are settled. These holdings are unconnected with the business.”

Thorby looked through it with amazement. Did he really own an island named Pitcairn at fifteen something south and a hundred and thirty west—whatever that meant? A domehome on Mars? A shooting lodge in Yukon—where was “Yukon” and why shoot there? You ought to be in free space to risk shooting. And what were all these other things?

He looked for one item. “Uncle Jack? How about Rudbek?”

“Eh? You’re sitting on it.”

“Yes . . . but do I own it? Leda said I did.”

“Well, yes. But it’s entailed—that means your great-great-grandfather decided that it should never be sold . . . so that there would always be a Rudbek at Rudbek.”

“Oh.”

“I thought you might enjoy looking over your properties. I’ve ordered a car set aside for you. Is that one we hopped here in satisfactory?”

“What? Goodness, yes!” Thorby blinked.

“Good. It was your mother’s and I’ve been too sentimental to dispose of it. But it has had all latest improvements added. You might persuade Leda to hop with you; she is familiar with most of that list. Take some young friends along and make a picnic of it, as long as you like. We can find a congenial chaperone.”

Thorby put the list down. “I probably will, Uncle Jack . . . presently. But I ought to get to work.”

“Eh?”

“How long does it take to learn to be a lawyer here?”

Weemsby’s face cleared. “I see. Lawyers’ quaint notions of language can shock a man. It takes four or five years.”

“It does?”

“The thing for you is two or three years at Harvard or some other good school of business.”

“I need that?”

“Definitely.”

“Unh . . . you know more about it than I do—”

“I should! By now.”

“—but couldn’t I learn something about the business before I go to school? I haven’t any idea what it is?”

“Plenty of time.”

“But I want to learn now.”

Weemsby started to cloud, then smiled and shrugged. “Thor, you have your mother’s stubbornness. All right, I’ll order a suite for you at the main office in Rudbek City—and staff it with people to help you. But I warn you, it won’t be fun. Nobody owns a business; the business owns him. You’re a slave to it.”

“Well . . . I ought to try.”

“Commendable spirit.” The phone by Weemsby’s cup blinked; he picked it up, frowned, said, “Hold on.” He turned to Thorby. “That idiot can’t find those papers.”

“I meant to tell you. I hid them—I didn’t want to leave them out.”

“I see. Where are they?”

“Uh, I’ll have to dig them out.”

Weemsby said in the phone, “Forget it.” He tossed the phone to a servant and said to Thorby, “Then fetch them, if you don’t mind.”

Thorby did mind. So far he had had four bites; it annoyed him to be told to run an errand while eating. Besides . . . was he “Rudbek of Rudbek?” or still messenger for the weapons officer? “I’ll be going up after breakfast.”

Uncle Jack looked vexed. But he answered, “I beg your pardon. If you can’t tear yourself away, would you please tell me where to find them? I have a hard day ahead and I would like to dispose of this triviality and go to work. If you don’t mind.”

Thorby wiped his mouth. “I would rather not,” he said slowly, “sign them now.”

“What? You told me that you had satisfied yourself.”

“No, sir, I told you that I had read them. But I don’t understand them. Uncle Jack, where are the papers that my parents signed?”

“Eh?” Weemsby looked at him sharply. “Why?”

“I want to see them.”

Weemsby considered. “They must be in the vault at Rudbek City.”

“All right. I’ll go there.”

Weemsby suddenly stood up. “If you will excuse me, I’ll go to work,” he snapped. “Young man, some day you will realize what I have done for you! In the meantime, since you choose to be uncooperative, I still must get on with my duties.”

He left abruptly. Thorby felt hurt—he didn’t want to be uncooperative . . . but if they had waited for years, why couldn’t they wait a little longer and give him a chance?

He recovered the papers, then phoned Leda. She answered, with vision switched off. “Thor dear, what are you doing up in the middle of the night?”

He explained that he wanted to go to the family’s business offices. “I thought maybe you could direct me.”

“You say Daddy said to?”

“He’s going to assign me an office.”

“I won’t just direct you; I’ll take you. But give a girl a chance to get a face on and swallow orange juice.”

He discovered that Rudbek was connected with their offices in Rudbek City by high-speed sliding tunnel. They arrived in a private foyer guarded by an elderly receptionist. She looked up. “Hello, Miss Leda! How nice to see you!”

“You, too, Aggie. Will you tell Daddy we’re here?”

“Of course.” She looked at Thorby.

“Oh,” said Leda. “I forgot. This is Rudbek of Rudbek.”

Aggie jumped to her feet. “Oh, dear me! I didn’t know—I’m sorry, sir!”

Things happened quickly. In minutes Thorby found himself with an office of quiet magnificence, with a quietly magnificent secretary who addressed him by his double-barreled title but expected him to call her “Dolores.” There seemed to be unfimited genies ready to spring out of walls at a touch of her finger.

Leda stuck with him until he was installed, then said, “I’ll run along, since you insist on being a dull old businessman.” She looked at Dolores. “Or will it be dull? Perhaps I should stay.” But she left.

Thorby was intoxicated with being immensely wealthy and powerful. Top executives called him “Rudbek,” junior executives called him “Rudbek of Rudbek,” and those still more junior crowded their words with “sirs”—he could judge status by how he was addressed.

While he was not yet active in business—he saw Weemsby rarely and Judge Bruder almost never—anything he wanted appeared quickly. A word to Dolores and a respectful young man popped in to explain legal matters; another word and an operator appeared to show moving stereocolor of business interests anywhere, even on other planets. He spent days looking at such pictures, yet still did not see them all.

His office became so swamped with books, spools, charts, brochures, presentations, file jackets, and figures, that Dolores had the office next door refitted as a library. There were figures on figures, describing in fiscal analog enterprises too vast to comprehend otherwise. There were so many figures, so intricately related, that his head ached. He began to have misgivings about the vocation of tycoon. It wasn’t all just being treated with respect, going through doors first, and always getting what you asked for. What was the point if you were so snowed under that you could not enjoy it? Being a Guardsman was easier.

Still, it was nice to be important. Most of his life he had been nobody, and at best he had been very junior.
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br /> If only Pop could see him now!—surrounded by lavish furnishings, a barber to trim his hair while he worked (Pop used to cut it under a bowl), a secretary to anticipate his wishes, and dozens of people eager to help. But Pop’s face in this dream was wearing Pop’s reproving expression; Thorby wondered what he had done wrong, and dug harder into the mess of figures.

Eventually a pattern began to emerge. The business was Rudbek & Associates, Ltd. So far as Thorby could tell this firm did nothing. It was chartered as a private investment trust and just owned things. Most of what Thorby would own, when his parents’ wills were proved, was stock in this company. Nor would he own it all; he felt almost poverty-stricken when he discovered that mother and father together held only eighteen percent of many thousand shares.

Then he found out about “voting” and “non-voting”; the shares coming to him were eighteen-fortieths of the voting shares; the remainder was split between relatives and non-relatives.

Rudbek & Assocs. owned stock in other companies—and here it got complicated. Galactic Enterprises, Galactic Acceptance Corporation, Galactic Transport, Interstellar Metals, Three Planets Fiscal (which operated on twenty-seven planets), Havermeyer Laboratories (which ran barge lines and bakeries as well as research stations)—the list looked endless. These corporations, trusts, cartels, and banking houses seemed as tangled as spaghetti. Thorby learned that he owned (through his parents) an interest in a company called “Honace Bros., Pty.” through a chain of six companies—18% of 31% of 43% of 19% of 44% of 27%, a share so microscopic that he lost track. But his parents owned directly seven per cent of Honace Brothers—with the result that his indirect interest of one-twentieth of one per cent controlled it utterly but paid little return, whereas seven per cent owned directly did not control—but paid one hundred and forty times as much.

It began to dawn on him that control and ownership were only slightly related; he had always thought of “ownership” and “control” as being the same thing; you owned a thing, a begging bowl, or a uniform jacket—of course you controlled it!

The converging, diverging, and crossing of corporations and companies confused and disgusted him. It was as complex as a firecontrol computer without a computer’s cool logic. He tried to draw a chart and could not make it work. The ownership of each entity was tangled in common stocks, preferred stocks, bonds, senior and junior issues, securities with odd names and unknown functions; sometimes one company owned a piece of another directly and another piece through a third, or two companies might each own a little of the other, or sometimes a company owned part of itself in a tail-swallowing fashion. It didn’t make sense.

This wasn’t “business”—what the People did was business . . . buy, sell, make a profit. But this was a silly game with wild rules.

Something else fretted him. He had not known that Rudbek built spaceships. Galactic Enterprises controlled Galactic Transport, which built ships in one of its many divisions. When he realized it he felt a glow of pride, then discovered gnawing uneasiness—something Colonel Brisby had said . . . something Pop had proved: that the “largest” or it might have been “one of the largest” builders of starships was mixed up in the slave trade.

He told himself he was being silly—this beautiful office was about as far from the dirty business of slave traffic as anything could be. But as he was dropping to sleep one night he came wide awake with the black, ironic thought that one of those slave ships in whose stinking holds he had ridden might have been, at that very time, the property of the scabby, frightened slave he was then.

It was a nightmare notion; he pushed it away. But it took the fun out of what he was doing.

One afternoon he sat studying a long memorandum from the legal department—a summary, so it said, of Rudbek & Assocs.’ interests—and found that he had dragged to a halt. It seemed as if the writer had gone out of his way to confuse things. It would have been as intelligible in ancient Chinese—more so; Sargonese included many Mandarin words.

He sent Dolores out and sat with his head in his hands. Why, oh, why hadn’t he been left in the Guard? He had been happy there; he had understood the world he was in.

Then he straightened up and did something he had been putting off; he returned a vuecall from his grandparents. He had been expected to visit them long since, but he had felt compelled to try to learn his job first.

Indeed he was welcome! “Hurry, son—we’ll be waiting.” It was a wonderful hop across prairie and the mighty Mississippi (small from that height) and over city-pocked farm land to the sleepy college town of Valley View, where sidewalks were stationary and time itself seemed slowed. His grandparents’ home, imposing for Valley View, was homey after the awesome halls of Rudbek.

But the visit was not relaxing. There were guests at dinner, the president of the college and department heads, and many more after dinner—some called him “Rudbek of Rudbek,” others addressed him uncertainly as “Mr. Rudbek,” and still others, smug with misinformation as to how the nabob was addressed by familiars, simply as “Rudbek.” His grandmother twittered around, happy as only a proud hostess can be, and his grandfather stood straight and addressed him loudly as “Son.”

Thorby did his best to be a credit to them. He soon realized that it was not what he said but the fact of talking to Rudbek that counted.

The following night, which his grandmother reluctantly kept private, he got a chance to talk. He wanted advice.

First information was exchanged. Thorby learned that his father, on marrying the only child of his grandfather Rudbek, had taken his wife’s family name. “It’s understandable,” Grandfather Bradley told him. “Rudbek has to have a Rudbek. Martha was heir but Creighton had to preside—board meetings and conferences and at the dinner table for that matter. I had hoped that my son would pursue the muse of history, as I have. But when this came along, what could I do but be happy for him?”

His parents and Thorby himself had been lost as a consequence of his father’s earnest attempt to be in the fullest sense Rudbek of Rudbek—he had been trying to inspect as much of the commercial empire as possible. “Your father was always conscientious and when your Grandfather Rudbek died before your father completed his apprenticeship, so to speak, Creighton left John Weemsby in charge—John is, I suppose you know, the second husband of your other grandmother’s youngest sister Aria—and Leda, of course, is Aria’s daughter by her first marriage.”

“No, I hadn’t known.” Thorby translated the relationships into Sisu terms . . . and reached the startling conclusion that Leda was in the other moiety!—if they had such things here, which they didn’t. And Uncle Jack—well, he wasn’t “uncle”—but how would you say it in English?

“John had been a business secretary and factotum to your other grandfather and he was the perfect choice, of course; he knew the inner workings better than anyone, except your grandfather himself. After we got over the shock of our tragic loss we realized that the world must go on and that John could handle it as well as if he had been Rudbek himself.”

“He’s been simply wonderful!” grandmother chirped.

“Yes, he has. I must admit that your grandmother and I became used to a comfortable scale of living after Creighton married. College salaries are never what they should be; Creighton and Martha were very generous. Your grandmother and I might have found it difficult after we realized that our son was gone, never to come back, had not John told us not to worry. He saw to it that our benefit continued just as before.”

“And increased it,” Grandmother Bradley added emphatically.

“Well, yes. All the family—we think of ourselves as part of Rudbek family even though we bear a proud name of our own—all of the family have been pleased with John’s stewardship.”

Thorby was interested in something other than “Uncle Jack’s” virtues. “You told me that we left Akka, jumping for Far-Star, and never made it? That’s a long, long way from Jubbul.”

“I suppose it is. The College has only a small Galactovue and I must admit that it is hard to realize that what appears to be an inch or so is actually many light-years.”

“About a hundred and seventy light-years, in this case.”

“Let me see, how much would that be in miles?”

“You don’t measure it that way, any more than you measure that couchomat you’re on in microns.”

“Come now, young man, don’t be pedantic.”

“I wasn’t being, Grandfather. I was thinking that it was a long way from where I was captured to where I was last sold. I hadn’t known it.”

“I heard you use that term ‘sold’ once before. You must realize that it is not correct. After all, the serfdom practiced in the Sargony is not chattel slavery. It derives from the ancient Hindu guild or ‘caste’ system—a stabilized social order with mutual obligations, up and down. You must not call it ‘slavery.’ “

“I don’t know any other word to translate the Sargonese term.”

“I could think of several, though I don’t know Sargonese . . . it’s not a useful tongue in scholarship. But, my dear Thor, you aren’t a student of human histories and culture. Grant me a little authority in my own field.”

“Well . . .” Thorby felt baffled. “I don’t know System English perfectly and there’s a lot of history I don’t know—there’s an awful lot of history.”

“So there is. As I am the first to admit.”

“But I can’t translate any better—I was sold and I was a slave!”

“Now, Son.”

“Don’t contradict your grandfather, dear, that’s a good boy.”

Thorby shut up. He had already mentioned his years as a beggar—and had discovered that his grandmother was horrified, had felt that he had disgraced himself, though she did not quite say so. And he had already found that while his grandfather knew much about many things, he was just as certain of his knowledge when Thorby’s eyes had reported things differently. Thorby concluded glumly that it was part of being senior and nothing could be done about it. He listened while Grandfather Bradley discoursed on the history of the Nine Worlds. It didn’t agree with what the Sargonese believed but wasn’t too far from what Pop had taught him—other than about slavery. He was glad when the talk drifted back to the Rudbek organization. He admitted his difficulties.

“You can’t build Rome in a day, Thor.”

“It looks as if I never would learn! I’ve been thinking about going back into the Guard.”

His grandfather frowned. “That would not be wise.”

“Why not, sir?”

“If you don’t have talent for business, there are other honorable professions.”

“Meaning the Guard isn’t?”

“Mmm . . . your grandmother and I are philosophical pacifists. It cannot be denied that there is never a moral justification for taking human life.”

“Never,” agreed grandmother firmly.

Thorby wondered what Pop would think? Shucks, he knew!—Pop cut ’em down like grass to rescue a load of slaves. “What do you do when a raider jumps you?”

“A what?”

“A pirate. You’ve got a pirate on your tail and closing fast.”

“Why, you run, I suppose. It’s not moral to stay and do battle. Thor, nothing is ever gained by violence.”

“But you can’t run; he has more legs. It’s you or him.”

“You mean ‘he.’ Then you surrender; that defeats his purpose . . . as the immortal Gandhi proved.”

Thorby took a deep breath. “Grandfather, I’m sorry but it doesn’t defeat his purpose. You have to fight. Raiders take slaves. The proudest thing I ever did was to burn one.”

“Eh? ‘Burn one’?”

“Hit him with a target-seeker. Blast him out of the sky.”

Grandmother gasped. At last his grandfather said stiffly, “Thor, I’m afraid you’ve been exposed to bad influences. Not your fault, perhaps. But you have many misconceptions, both in fact and in evaluation. Now be logical. If you ‘burned him’ as you say, how do you know he intended—again, as you say—to ‘take slaves’? What could he do with them? Nothing.”

Thorby kept silent. It made a difference which side of the Plaza you saw a thing from . . . and if you didn’t have status, you weren’t listened to. That was a universal rule.

Grandfather Bradley continued, “So we’ll say no more about it. On this other matter I’ll give you the advice I would give your departed father: if you feel that you have no head for trade, you don’t have to enter it. But to run away and join the Guard, like some childish romantic—no, Son! But you needn’t make up your mind for years. John is a very able regent; you don’t have a decision facing you.” He stood up. “I know, for I’ve discussed this with John, and he’s willing, in all humility, to carry the burden a little farther . . . or much farther, if need be. And now we had all better seek our pillows. Morning comes early.”

Thor left the next morning, with polite assurances that the house was his—which made him suspect that it was. He went to Rudbek City, having reached a decision during a restless night. He wanted to sleep with a live ship around him. He wanted to be back in Pop’s outfit; being a billionaire boss wasn’t his style.

He had to do something first; dig out those papers that father and mother had signed, compare them with the ones prepared for him—since father must have known what was needed—sign them, so that Uncle Jack could get on with the work after he was gone. Grandfather was right about that; John Weemsby knew how to do the job and he didn’t. He should be grateful to Uncle Jack. He would thank him before he left. Then off Terra and out to where people talked his language!

He buzzed Uncle Jack’s office as soon as he reached his own, was told that he was out of town. He decided that he could write a note and make it sound better—oh yes! Must say good-by to Leda. So he buzzed the legal department and told them to dig his parents’ authorizations out of the vault and send them to his office.

Instead of papers, Judge Bruder arrived. “Rudbek, what’s this about your ordering certain papers from the vault?”

Thorby explained. “I want to see them.”

“No one but officers of the company can order papers from the vault.”

“What am I?”

“I’m afraid you are a young man with confused notions. In time, you will have authority. But at the moment you are a visitor, learning something about your parents’ affairs.”

Thorby swallowed it; it was true, no matter how it tasted. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. What’s the progress in the court action to have my parents declared dead?”

“Are you trying to bury them?”

“Of course not. But it has to be done, or so Uncle Jack says. So where are we?”

Bruder sniffed. “Nowhere. Through your doing.”

“What do you mean?”

“Young man, do you think that the officers of this company will initiate a process which would throw affairs of the firm into incredible confusion unless you take necessary steps to guard against it? Why, it may take years to settle the wills—during which, business would come to a stop . . . simply because you neglected to sign a few simple instruments which I prepared weeks ago.”

“You mean nothing will be done until I sign?”

“That is correct.”

“I don’t understand. Suppose I were dead—or had never been born. Does business stop every time a Rudbek dies?”

“Mmm . . . well, no. A court authorizes matters to proceed. But you are here and we must take that into consideration. Now see here, I’m at the end of my patience. You seem to think, simply because you’ve read a few balance sheets, that you understand business. You don’t. For example your belief that you can order instruments turned over to you that were given to John Weemsby personally and are not even company property. If you were to attempt to take charge of the firm at this time—if we proceeded with your notion to have your parents declared dead—I can see that we would have all sorts of confusion while you were finding your balance. We can’t afford it. The company can’t afford it. Rudbek can’t afford it. So I want those papers signed today and no more shilly-shallying. You understand?”

Thorby lowered his head. “I won’t.”

“What do you mean, ‘You won’t’?”

“I won’t sign anything until I know what I’m doing. If I can’t even see the papers my parents signed, then I certainly won’t.”

“We’ll see about that!”

“I’m going to sit tight until I find out what’s going on around here!”

CHAPTER 19

Thorby discovered that finding out was difficult. Things went on much as before but were not the same. He had vaguely suspected that the help he was being given in learning the business had sometimes been too much not well enough organized; he felt smothered in unrelated figures, verbose and obscure “summaries,” “analyses” that did not analyze. But he had known so little that it took time to become even a suspicion.

The suspicion became certainty from the day he defied Judge Bruder. Dolores seemed eager as ever and people still hopped when he spoke but the lavish flow of information trickled toward a stop. He was stalled with convincing excuses but could never quite find out what he wanted to know. A “survey is being prepared” or the man who “has charge of that is out of the city” or “those are vault files and none of the delegated officers are in today.” Neither Judge Bruder nor Uncle Jack was ever available and their assistants were politely unhelpful. Nor was he able to corner Uncle Jack at the estate. Leda told him that “Daddy often has to go away on trips.”

Things began to be confused in his own office. Despite the library Dolores had set up she could not seem to find, or even recall, papers that he had marked for retention. Finally he lost his temper and bawled her out.

She took it quietly. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m trying very hard.”

Thorby apologized. He knew a slow-down when he saw one; he had checked enough stevedores to know. But this poor creature could not help herself; he was lashing out at the wrong person. He added placatingly, “I really am sorry. Take the day off.”

“Oh, I couldn’t, sir.”

“Who says so? Go home.”

“I’d rather not, sir.”

“Well . . . suit yourself. But go lie down in the ladies’ lounge or something. That’s an order. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She looked worried and left. Thorby sat at his chaste, bare, unpowered executive desk and thought.

It was what he needed: to be alone without a flood of facts and figures. He started digesting what he had soaked up.

Presently he started listing the results.

Item: Judge Bruder and Uncle Jack had put him in Coventry for refusing to sign the proxies.

Item: He might be “Rudbek of Rudbek”—but Uncle Jack would continue to run things until Thorby’s parents were legally dead.

Item: Judge Bruder had told him bluntly that no steps would be taken about the above until he admitted his incompetence and signed proxies.

Item: He did not know what his parents had signed. He had tried to force a showdown—and had failed.

Item: “Ownership” and “control” were very different. Uncle Jack controlled everything that Thorby owned; Uncle Jack owned merely a nominal one share to qualify him as acting chairman of the board. (Leda owned a chunk as she was a Rudbek while Uncle Jack wasn’t—but Uncle Jack probably controlled her stock too; Leda paid no attention to business.)

Conclusions:—

What conclusions? Was Uncle Jack doing something crooked and didn’t dare let him find out? Well, it didn’t look like it. Uncle Jack had salary and bonuses so large that only a miser would want more money simply as money. His parents’ accounts seemed in order—they showed a huge balance; the megabuck Uncle Jack had handed him hardly made a dent. The only other withdrawals were for Grandfather and Grandmother Bradley, plus a few sums around the family or charged to the estates—nothing important, another couple of megabucks.

Conclusion: Uncle Jack was boss, liked being boss, and meant to go on being boss if possible.

“Status” . . . Uncle Jack had high status and was fighting to keep it. Thorby felt that he understood him at last. Uncle Jack put up with the overwork he complained about because he liked being boss—just as captains and chief officers worked themselves silly, even though every member of a Free Trader family owned the same share. Uncle Jack was “chief officer” and didn’t intend to surrender his supreme status to someone a third his age who (let’s face it!) wasn’t competent for the work the status required.

In this moment of insight Thorby felt that he ought to sign those proxies for Uncle Jack, who had earned the job whereas Thorby had merely inherited it. Uncle Jack must have been terribly disappointed when he had turned up alive; it must have seemed an utterly unfair twist of fate.

Well, let him have it! Settle things and join the Guard.

But Thorby was not ready to back down to Judge Bruder. He had been pushed around—and his strongest reflex was resistance to any authority he had not consented to; it had been burned into his soul with whips. He did not know this—he just knew that he was going to be stubborn. He decided that Pop would want him to be.

Thought of Pop reminded him of something. Was Rudbek connected, even indirectly, with the slave trade? He realized now why Pop wanted him to hang on—he could not quit until he knew . . . nor until he had put a stop to it if the unspeakable condition did exist. But how could he find out? He was Rudbek of Rudbek . . . but they had him tied with a thousand threads, like the fellow in that story Pop had told . . . “Gulliver and his Starship,” that was it.

Well, let’s see, Pop had reported to “X” Corps that there was a tie-up among some big spaceship outfit, the Sargon’s government, and the raider-slavetraders. Raiders had to have ships. Ships . . . there was a book he had read last week, Galactic Transport’s history of every ship they had built, from #0001 to the latest. He went into his library. Hmm . . . tall red book, not a tape.

Confounded thing was missing . . . like a lot of things lately. But he had almost renshawed the book, being interested in ships. He started making notes.

Most of them were in service inside the Hegemony, some in Rudbek interests, some in others. Some of his ships had been sold to the People, a pleasing thought. But some had wound up registered to owners he could not place . . . and yet he thought he knew the names, at least, of all outfits engaged in legitimate interstellar trade under the Hegemony—and he certainly would recognize any Free Trader clan.

No way to be sure of anything from his desk, even if he had the book. Maybe there was no way, from Terra . . . maybe even Judge Bruder and Uncle Jack would not know if something fishy were going on.

He got up and switched on the Galactovue he had had installed. It showed only the explored fraction of the Galaxy—even so, the scale was fantastically small.

He began operating controls. First he lighted in green the Nine Worlds. Then he added, in yellow, pestholes avoided by the People. He lighted up the two planets between which he and his parents had been captured, then did the same for every missing ship of the People concerning which he happened to know the span of the uncompleted jump.

The result was a constellation of colored lights, fairly close together as star distances go and in the same sector as the Nine Worlds. Thorby looked at it and whistled. Pop had known what he was talking about—yet it would be hard to spot unless displayed like this.

He began thinking about cruising ranges and fueling stations maintained by Galactic Transport out that way . . . then added in orange the banking offices of Galactic Acceptance Corporation in the “neighborhood.”

Then he studied it.

It was not certain proof—yet what other outfit maintained such activities facing that sector? He intended to find out.

CHAPTER 20

Thorby found that Leda had ordered dinner in the garden. They were alone, and falling snow turned the artificial sky into an opalescent bowl. Candles, flowers, a string trio, and Leda herself made the scene delightful but Thorby failed to enjoy it, even though he liked Leda and considered the garden the best part of Rudbek Hall. The meal was almost over when Leda said, “A dollar for your thoughts.”

Thorby looked guilty. “Uh, nothing.”

“It must be a worrisome nothing.”

“Well . . . yes.”

“Want to tell Leda?”

Thorby blinked. Weemsby’s daughter was the last one he could talk to. His gloom was caused by wonder as to what he could do if he became convinced that Rudbek was mixed up in slavery. “I guess I’m not cut out to be a businessman.”

“Why, Daddy says you have a surprising head for figures.”

Thorby snorted. “Then why doesn’t he—” He stopped.

“Why doesn’t he what?”

“Uh . . .” Doggone it, a man had to talk to somebody . . . someone who sympathized—or bawled him out if necessary. Like Pop. Like Fritz. Yeah, like Colonel Brisby. He was surrounded by people, yet utterly alone—except that Leda seemed to want to be friendly. “Leda, how much of what I say to you do you tell your father?”

To his amazement she blushed. “What made you say that, Thor?”

“Well, you are pretty close to him. Aren’t you?”

She stood up suddenly. “If you’ve finished, let’s walk.”

Thorby stood up. They strolled paths, watched the storm, listened to its soft noises against the dome. She guided them to a spot away from the house and shielded by bushes and there sat down on a boulder. “This is a good spot—for private conversation.”

“It is?”

“When the garden was wired, I made sure that there was somewhere I could be kissed without Daddy’s snoopers listening in.”

Thorby stared. “You mean that?”

“Surely you realize you are monitored almost everywhere but the ski slopes?”

“I didn’t. And I don’t like it.”

“Who does? But it is a routine precaution with anything as big as Rudbek; you mustn’t blame Daddy. I just spent some credits to make sure the garden wasn’t as well wired as he thought. So if you have anything to say you don’t want Daddy to hear, you can talk now. He’ll never know. That’s a cross-my-heart promise.”

Thorby hesitated, then checked the area. He decided that if a microphone were hidden nearby it must be disguised as a flower . . . which was possible. “Maybe I ought to save it for the ski slope.”

“Relax, dear. If you trust me at all, trust me that this place is safe.”

“Uh, all right.” He found himself blurting out his frustrations . . . his conclusion that Uncle Jack was intentionally thwarting him unless he would turn over his potential power. Leda listened gravely. “That’s it. Now

—am I crazy?”

She said, “Thor, you know that Daddy has been throwing me at you?”

“Huh?”

“I don’t see how you could miss it. Unless you are utterly—but then, perhaps you are. Just take it as true. It’s one of those obvious marriages that everyone is enthusiastic about . . . except maybe the two most concerned.”

Thorby forgot his worries in the face of this amazing statement. “You mean . . . well, uh, that you—” He trailed off.

“Heavens, dear! If I intended to go through with it, would I have told you anything? Oh, I admit I promised, before you arrived, to consider it. But you never warmed to the idea—and I’m too proud to be willing under those circumstances even if the preservation of Rudbek depended on it. Now what’s this about Daddy not letting you see the proxies that Martha and Creighton gave him?”

“They won’t let me see them; I won’t sign until they do.”

“But you’ll sign if they do?”

“Uh . . . maybe I will, eventually. But I want to see what arrangements my parents made.”

“I can’t see why Daddy opposes such a reasonable request. Unless . . .” She frowned.

“Unless what?”

“What about your shares? Have those been turned over to you?”

“What shares?”

“Why, yours. You know what shares I hold. They were given to me when I was born, by Rudbek—your grandfather, I mean. My uncle. You probably got twice as many, since you were expected to become the Rudbek someday.”

“I haven’t any shares.”

She nodded grimly. “That’s one reason Daddy and the Judge don’t want you to see those papers. Our personal shares don’t depend on anyone; they’re ours to do as we please with, since we are both legal age. Your parents voted yours, just as Daddy still votes mine—but any proxy they assigned concerning your shares can’t be any good now. You can pound the desk and they’ll have to cough up, or shoot you.” She frowned. “Not that they would shoot. Thor, Daddy is a good sort, most ways.”

“I never said he wasn’t.”

“I don’t love him but I’m fond of him. But when it comes down to it, I’m a Rudbek and he’s not. That’s silly, isn’t it? Because we Rudbeks aren’t anything special; we’re just shrewd peasants. But I’ve got a worry, too. You remember Joel de la Croix?”

“He’s the one that wanted an interview with me?”

“That’s right. Joey doesn’t work here any more.”

“I don’t understand?”

“He was a rising star in the engineering department of Galactic—didn’t you know? The office says he left to accept other employment; Joey says he was fired for going over their heads to speak to you.” She frowned. “I didn’t know what to believe. Now I believe Joey. Well, Thor, are you going to take it lying down? Or prove that you are Rudbek of Rudbek?”

Thorby chewed his lip. “I’d like to go back into the Guard and forget the whole mess. I used to wonder what it was like to be rich. Now I am and it turns out to be mostly headaches.”

“So you’d walk out on it?” Her voice was faintly scornful.

“I didn’t say that. I’m going to stay and find out what goes on. Only I don’t know how to start. You think I should pound Uncle Jack’s desk and demand my shares?”

“Unnh . . . not without a lawyer at your side.”

“There are too many lawyers in this now!”

“That’s why you need one. It will take a sharp one to win a scrap with Judge Bruder.”

“How do I find one?”

“Goodness, I don’t use lawyers. But I can find out. Now let’s stroll and chat—in case anybody is interested.”

Thorby spent a glum morning studying corporation law. Just past lunch Leda called. “Thor, how about taking me skiing? The storm is over and the snow is just right.” She looked at him eagerly.

“Well—”

“Oh, come on!”

He went. They said nothing until they were far from the house. Then Leda said, “The man you need is James J. Garsch, New Washington.”

“I thought that must be why you called. Do you want to ski? I’d like to go back and call him.”

“Oh, my!” she shook her head sadly. “Thor, I may have to marry you just to mother you. You go back to the house and call a lawyer outside Rudbek—one whose reputation is sky-high. What happens?”

“What?”

“You might wake up in a quiet place with big muscular nurses around you. I’ve had a sleepless night and I’m convinced they mean business. So I had to make up my mind. I was willing for Daddy to run things forever . . . but if he fights dirty, I’m on your side.”

“Thanks, Leda.”

” ‘Thanks’ he says! Thor, this is for Rudbek. Now to business. You can’t grab your hat and go to New Washington to retain a lawyer. If I know Judge Bruder, he has planned what to do if you try. But you can go look at some of your estate . . . starting with your house in New Washington.”

“That’s smart, Leda.”

“I’m so smart I dazzle myself. If you want it to look good, you’ll invite me along—Daddy has told me that I ought to show you around.”

“Why, sure, Leda. If it won’t be too much trouble.”

“I’ll simply force myself. We’ll actually do some sightseeing, in the Department of North America, at least. The only thing that bothers me is how to get away from the guards.”

“Guards?”

“Nobody high up in Rudbek ever travels without bodyguards. Why, you’d be run ragged by reporters and crackpots.”

“I think,” Thorby said slowly, “that you must be mistaken in my case. I went to see my grandparents. There weren’t any guards.”

“They specialize in being unobtrusive. I’ll bet there were always at least two in your grandmother’s house while you were there. See that solitary skier? Long odds he’s not skiing for fun. So we have to find a way to get them off your neck while you look up Counselor Garsch. Don’t worry, I’ll think of something.”

Thorby was immensely interested in the great capital but still more interested in getting on with his purpose. Leda did not let him hurry. “First we sight-see. We naturally would.”

The house, simple compared with Rudbek—twenty rooms, only two of them large—was as ready as if he had stepped out the day before. Two of the servants he recognized as having been at Rudbek. A ground car, with driver and footman in Rudbek livery, was waiting. The driver seemed to know where to take them; they rode around in the semi-tropic winter sunshine and Leda pointed out planetary embassies and consulates. When they passed the immense pile which is headquarters of the Hegemonic Guard, Thorby had the driver slow down while he rubbernecked. Leda said, “That’s your alma mater, isn’t it?” Then she whispered, “Take a good look. The building opposite its main door is where you are going.”

They got out at the Replica Lincoln Memorial, walked up the steps and felt the same hushed awe that millions have felt when looking at that brooding giant figure. Thorby had a sudden feeling that the statue looked like Pop—not that it did—but still it did. His eyes filled with tears.

Leda whispered, “This place always gets me—it’s like a haunted church. You know who he was? He founded America. Ancient history is awesome.”

“He did something else.”

“What?”

“He freed slaves.”

“Oh.” She looked up with sober eyes. “That means something special to you . . . doesn’t it?”

“Very special.” He considered telling Leda his strongest reason for pushing the fight, since they were alone and this was a place that wouldn’t be bugged. But he couldn’t. He felt that Pop would not mind—but he had promised Colonel Brisby.

He puzzled over inscriptions on the walls, in letters and spelling used before English became System English. Leda tugged his sleeve and whispered, “Come on. I can never stay here long or I start crying.” They tiptoed away.

Leda decided that she just had to see the show at the Milky Way. So they got out and she told the driver to pick them up in three hours and ten minutes, then Thorby paid outrageous scalpers’ prices for a double booth and immediate occupancy.

“There!” she sighed as they started inside. “That’s half of it. The footman will drop off as they round the corner, but we’re rid of the driver for a while; there isn’t a place to park around here. But the footman will be right behind us, if he wants to keep his job. He’s buying a ticket this minute. Or maybe he’s already inside. Don’t look.”

They started up the escalator. “This gives us a few seconds; he won’t get on until we curve out of sight. Now listen. The people holding these seats will leave as soon as we show the tickets—only I’m going to hang onto one, pay him to stay. Let’s hope it’s a man because our nursemaid is going to spot that booth in minutes . . . seconds, if he was able to get our booth number down below. You keep going. When he finds our booth he’ll see me in it with a man. He won’t see the man’s face in the dark but he’ll be certain of me because of this outlandish, night-glow outfit I’m wearing. So he’ll be happy. You zip out any exit but the main lobby; the driver will probably wait there. Try to be in the outer lobby a few minutes before the time I told them to have the car. If you don’t make it, hire a flea-cab and go home. I’ll complain aloud that you didn’t like the show and went home.”

Thorby decided that the “X” Corps had missed a bet in Leda. “Won’t they report that they lost track of me?”

“They’ll be so relieved they’ll never breathe it. Here we are—keep moving. See you!”

Thorby went out a side exit, got lost, got straightened out by a cop, at last found the building across from Guard SHQ. The building directory showed that Garsch had offices on the 34th terrace; a few minutes later he faced a receptionist whose mouth was permanently pursed in “No.”

She informed him frostily that the Counselor never saw anyone except by appointment. Did he care to make an inquiry appointment with one of the Counselor’s associates? “Name, please!”

Thorby glanced around, the room was crowded. She slapped a switch. “Speak up!” she snapped. “I’ve turned on the privacy curtain.”

“Please tell Mr. Garsch that Rudbek of Rudbek would like to see him.”

Thorby thought that she was about to tell him not to tell fibs. Then she got up hastily and left.

She came back and said quietly, “The Counselor can give you five minutes. This way, sir.”

James J. Garsch’s private office was in sharp contrast with building and suite; he himself looked like an unmade bed. He wore trousers, not tights, and his belly bulged over his belt. He had not sh

aved that day; his grizzled beard matched the fringe around his scalp. He did not stand up. “Rudbek?”

“Yes, sir. Mr. James J. Garsch?”

“The same. Identification? Seems to me I saw your face in the news but I don’t recollect.”

Thorby handed over his ID folder. Garsch glanced at the public ID, studied the rare and more difficult-to-counterfeit ID of Rudbek & Assocs.

He handed it back. “Siddown. What can I do for you?”

“I need advice . . . and help.”

“That’s what I sell. But Bruder has lawyers running out of his ears. What can I do for you?”

“Uh, is this confidential?”

“Privileged, son. The word is ‘privileged.’ You don’t ask a lawyer that; he’s either honest or he ain’t. Me, I’m middlin’ honest. You take your chances.”

“Well . . . it’s a long story.”

“Then make it short. You talk. I listen.”

“You’ll represent me?”

“You talk, I listen,” Garsch repeated. “Maybe I’ll go to sleep. I ain’t feeling my best today. I never do.”

“All right.” Thorby launched into it. Garsch listened with eyes closed, fingers laced over his bulge.

“That’s all,” concluded Thorby, “except that I’m anxious to get straightened out so that I can go back into the Guard.”

Garsch for the first time showed interest. “Rudbek of Rudbek? In the Guard? Let’s not be silly, son.”

“But I’m not really ‘Rudbek of Rudbek.’ I’m an enlisted Guardsman who got pitched into it by circumstances beyond my control.”

“I knew that part of your story; the throb writers ate it up. But we all got circumstances we can’t control. Point is, a man doesn’t quit his job. Not when it’s his.”

“It’s not mine,” Thorby answered stubbornly.

“Let’s not fiddle. First, we get your parents declared dead. Second, we demand their wills and proxies. If they make a fuss, we get a court order . . . and even the mighty Rudbek folds up under a simple subpoena-or-be-locked-up-for-contempt.” He bit a fingernail. “Might be some time before the estate is settled and you are qualified. Court might appoint you to act, or the wills may say who, or the court might appoint somebody else. But it won’t be those two, if what you say is correct. Even one of Bruder’s pocket judges wouldn’t dare; it would be too raw and he’d know he’d be reversed.”

“But what can I do if they won’t even start the action to have my parents declared dead?”

“Who told you you had to wait on them? You’re the interested party; they might not even qualify as amicus curiae. If I recall the gossip, they’re hired hands, qualified with one nominal share each. You’re the number-one interested party, so you start the action. Other relatives? First cousins, maybe?”

“No first cousins. I don’t know what other heirs there may be. There’s my grandparents Bradley.”

“Didn’t know they were alive. Will they fight you?”

Thorby started to say no, changed his mind. “I don’t know.”

“Cross it when we come to it. Other heirs . . . well, we won’t know till we get a squint at the wills—and that probably won’t happen until a court forces them. Any objection to hypnotic evidence? Truth drugs? Lie detectors?”

“No. Why?”

“You’re the best witness that they are dead, not just long time missing.”

“But if a person is missing long enough?”

“Depends. Any term of years is just a guide to the court, not a rule of law. Time was when seven years would do it—but that’s no longer true. Things are roomier now.”

“How do we start?”

“Got any money? Or have they got you hogtied on that? I come high. I usually charge for each exhale and inhale.”

“Well, I’ve got a megabuck . . . and a few thousand more. About eight.”

“Hmm . . . Haven’t said I’d take this case. Has it occurred to you that your life may be in danger?”

“Huh! No, it hasn’t.”

“Son, people do odd things for money, but they’ll do still more drastic things for power over money. Anybody sittin’ close to a billion credits is in danger; it’s like keeping a pet rattlesnake. If I were you and started feeling ill, I’d pick my own doctor. I’d be cautious about going through doors and standing close to open windows.” He thought. “Rudbek is not a good place for you now; don’t tempt them. Matter of fact, you ought not to be here. Belong to the Diplomatic Club?”

“No, sir.”

“You do now. People ‘ud be surprised if you didn’t. I’m often there, around six. Got a room there, sort of private. Twenty eleven.”

” ‘Twenty eleven.’ “

“I still haven’t said I’d take it. Got any idea what I’d have to do if I lose this case?”

“Eh? No, sir.”

“What was that place you mentioned? Jubbulpore? That’s where I’d have to move.” Suddenly he grinned. “But I’ve been spoiling for a fight. Rudbek, eh? Bruder. You mentioned a megabuck?”

Thorby got out his book of checking certificates, passed them over. Garsch riffled through it, shoved it into a drawer. “We won’t convert this now; they’re almost certainly noting your withdrawals. Anyhow, it’s going to cost you more. G’bye. Say in a couple of days.”

Thorby left, feeling bucked up. He had never met a more mercenary, predatory old man—he reminded Thorby of the old, scarred freedmen professionals who swaggered around the New Amphitheater.

As he came outdoors he saw Guard Headquarters. He looked again—then ducked through murderous traffic and ran up its steps.

CHAPTER 21

Thorby found a circle of receptionist booths around the great foyer. He pushed through crowds pouring out and went into one. A contralto voice said, “Punch your name. State department and office into the microphone. Wait until the light appears, then state your business. You are reminded that working hours are over and only emergencies are now handled.”

Thorby punched, “Thorby Baslim,” into the machine, then said, “Exotic Corps.”

He waited. The tape repeated, “Punch your name. State the department and office into—” It suddenly cut off. A man’s voice said, “Repeat that.”

“Exotic Corps.”

“Business?”

“Better check my name in your files.”

At last another female voice chanted, “Follow the light immediately over your head. Do not lose it.”

He followed it up escalators, down slideways, and into an unmarked door, where a man not in uniform led him through two more. He faced another man in civilian clothes who stood up and said, “Rudbek of Rudbek. I am Wing Marshal Smith.”

“Thorby Baslim, please, sir. Not ‘Rudbek.’ “

“Names aren’t important but identities are. Mine isn’t ‘Smith,’ but it will do. I suppose you have identification?”

Thorby produced his ID again. “You probably have my fingerprints.”

“They’ll be here in a moment. Do you mind supplying them again?”

While Thorby had his prints taken, a print file card popped out onto the Marshal’s desk. He put both sets into a comparator, seemed to pay no attention but until it flashed green he spoke only politenesses.

Then he said, “All right, Thorby Baslim . . . Rudbek. What can I do for you?”

“Maybe it’s what I can do for you?”

“So?”

“I came here for two reasons,” Thorby stated. “The first is, I think I can add something to Colonel Baslim’s final report. You know who I mean?”

“I knew him and admired him very much. Go on.”

“The second is—I’d like to go back into the Guard and go ‘X’ Corps.” Thorby couldn’t recall when he had decided this, but he had—not just Pop’s oufit, Pop’s own corps. Pop’s work.

“Smith” raised his brows. “So? Rudbek of Rudbek?”

“I’m getting that fixed.” Thorby sketched rapidly how he must settle his parents’ estate, arrange for handling of their affairs. “Then I’m free. I know it’s presumptuous of an acting ordnanceman third class—no, I was busted from that; I had a fight—for a boot Guardsman to talk about ‘X’ Corps, but I think I’ve got things you could use. I know the People . . . the Free Traders, I mean. I speak several languages. I know how to behave in the Nine Worlds. I’ve been around a bit, not much and I’m no astrogator . . . but I’ve traveled a littl

e. But besides that, I’ve seen how Pop—Colonel Baslim—worked. Maybe I could do some of it.”

“You have to love this work to do it. Lots of times it’s nasty . . . things a man wouldn’t do, for his own self-respect, if he didn’t think it was necessary.”

“But I do! Uh, I was a slave. You knew that? Maybe it would help if a man knew how a slave feels.”

“Perhaps. Though it might make you too emotional. Besides, slave traffic isn’t all we are interested in. A man comes here, we don’t promise him certain work. He does what he’s told. We use him. We usually use him up. Our casualty rate is high.”

“I’ll do what I’m told. I just happen to be interested in the slave traffic. Why, most people here don’t seem to know it exists.”

“Most of what we deal in the public wouldn’t believe. Can you expect the people you see around you to take seriously unbelievable stories about far-away places? You must remember that less than one percent of the race ever leaves its various planets of birth.”

“Uh, I suppose so. Anyhow they don’t believe it.”

“That’s not our worst handicap. The Terran Hegemony is no empire; it is simply leadership in a loose confederation of planets. The difference between what the Guard could do and what it is allowed to do is very frustrating. If you have come here thinking that you will see slavery abolished in your lifetime, disabuse your mind. Our most optimistic target date is two centuries away—and by that time slavery will have broken out in planets not even discovered today. Not a problem to be solved once and for all. A continuing process.”

“All I want to know is, can I help?”

“I don’t know. Not because you describe yourself as a junior enlisted man . . . we’re all pretty much the same rank in this place. The Exotic Corps is an idea, not an organization chart. I’m not worried about what Thorby Baslim can do; he can do something, even if it’s only translating. But Rudbek of Rudbek . . . mmm, I wonder.”

“But I told you I was getting rid of that!”

“Well—let’s wait until you have. By your own statement you are not presenting yourself for enrollment today. What about the other reason? Something to add to Colonel Baslim’s report?”

Thorby hesitated. “Sir, Colonel Brisby, my CO., told me that P— Colonel Baslim had proved a connection between the slave trade and some big starship-building outfit.”

“He told you that?”

“Yes, sir. You could look it up in Colonel Baslim’s report.”

“I don’t need to. Go on.”

“Well . . . is it Rudbek he was talking about? Galactic Transport, that is?”

“Smith” considered it. “Why ask me if your company is mixed up in slave trade? You tell us.”

Thorby frowned. “Is there a Galactovue around here?”

“Down the hall.”

“May I use it?”

“Why not?” The Wing Marshal led him through a private corridor into a conference room dominated by a star-flecked stereo display. It was much the biggest Thorby had ever seen.

He had to ask questions; it had complicated controls. Then he got to work. His face puckering with strain, Thorby painted in colored lights amid fairy stars the solid picture he had built in the Galactovue in his office. He did not explain and the officer watched in silence. Thorby stepped back at last. “That’s all I know now.”

“You missed a few.” The Wing Marshal added some lights in yellow, some in red, then working slowly, added half a dozen missing ships. “But that’s quite a feat to do from memory and a remarkable concatenation of ideas. I see you included yourself—maybe it does help to have a personal interest.” He stepped back. “Well, Baslim, you asked a question. Are you ready to answer it?”

“I think Galactic Transport is in it up to here! Not everybody, but enough key people. Supplying ships. And repairs and fuel. Financing, maybe.”

“Mmm . . .”

“Is all this physically possible otherwise?”

“You know what they would say if you accused them of slave trading—”

“Not the trade itself. At least I don’t think so.”

“Connected with it. First they would say that they had never heard of any slave trade, or that it was just a wild rumor. Then they would say that, in any case, they just sell ships—and is a hardware dealer who sells a knife responsible if a husband carves his wife?”

“The cases aren’t parallel.”

“They wouldn’t concede that. They would say that they were not breaking any laws and even stipulating that there might be slavery somewhere, how can you expect people to get worked up over a possible evil light-years away? In which they are correct; you can’t expect people to, because they won’t. Then some smarmy well-dressed character will venture the opinion that slavery—when it existed—was not so bad, because a large part of the population is really happier if they don’t have the responsibilities of a free man. Then he’ll add that if they didn’t sell ships, someone else would—it’s just business.”

Thorby thought of nameless little Thorbys out there in the dark, crying hopelessly with fear and loneliness and hurt, in the reeking holds of slavers—ships that might be his. “One stroke of the lash would change his slimy mind!”

“Surely. But we’ve abolished the lash here. Sometimes I wonder if we should have.” He looked at the display. “I’m going to record this; it has facets not yet considered together. Thanks for coming in. If you get more ideas, come in again.”

Thorby realized that his notion of joining the corps had not been taken seriously. “Marshal Smith . . . there’s one other thing I might do.”

“What?”

“Before I join, if you let me . . . or maybe after; I don’t know how you do such things . . . I could go out as Rudbek of Rudbek, in my own ship, and check those places—the red ones, ours. Maybe the boss can dig out things that a secret agent would have trouble getting close to.”

“Maybe. But you know that your father started to make an inspection trip once. He wasn’t lucky in it.” Smith scratched his chin. “We’ve never quite accounted for that one. Until you showed up alive, we assumed that it was natural disaster. A yacht with three passengers, a crew of eight and no cargo doesn’t look like worthwhile pickings for bandits in business for profit—and they generally know what they’re doing.”

Thorby was shocked. “Are you suggesting that—”

“I’m not suggesting anything. But bosses prying into employees’ sidelines have, in other times and places, burned their fingers. And your father was certainly checking.”

“About the slave trade?”

“I couldn’t guess. Inspecting. In that area. I’ve got to excuse myself. But do come see me again . . . or phone and someone will come to you.”

“Marshal Smith . . . what parts of this, if any, can be talked over with other people?”

“Eh? Any of it. As long as you don’t attribute it to this corps, or to the Guard. But facts as you know them—” He shrugged. “—who will believe you? Although if you talk to your business associates about your suspicions, you may arouse strong feelings against you personally . . . some of those feelings sincere and honest. The others? I wish I knew.”

Thorby was so late that Leda was both vexed and bursting with curiosity. But she had to contain it not only because of possible monitoring but because of an elderly aunt who had called to pay her respects to Rudbek of Rudbek, and was staying the night. It was not until next day, while examining Aztec relics in the Fifth of May Museum, that they were able to talk.

Thorby recounted what Garsch had said, then decided to tell more. “I looked into rejoining the Guard yesterday.”

“Thor!”

“Oh, I’m not walking out. But I have a reason. The Guard is the only organization trying to put a stop to slave traffic. But that is all the more reason why I can’t enlist now.” He outlined his suspicions about Rudbek and the traffic.

Her face grew pale. “Thor, that’s the most horrible idea I ever heard. I can’t believe it.”

“I’d like to prove it isn’t true. But somebody builds their ships, somebody maintains them. Slavers are not engineers; they’re parasites.”

“I still have trouble believing that there is such a thing as slavery.”

He shrugged. “Ten lashes will convince anybody.”

“Thor! You don’t mean they whipped you?”

“I don’t remember clearly. But the scars are on my back.”

She was very quiet on the way home.

Thorby saw Garsch once more, then they headed for the Yukon, in company with the elderly aunt, who had somehow attached herself. Garsch had papers for Thorby to sign and two pieces of information. “The first action has to be at Rudbek, because that was the legal residence of your parents. The other thing is, I did some digging in newspaper files.”

“Yes?”

“Your grandfather did give you a healthy block of stock. It was in stories about the whoop-te-do when you were born. The Bourse Journal listed the shares by serial numbers. So we’ll hit ’em with that, too—on the same day. Don’t want one to tip off the other.”

“You’re the doctor.”

“But I don’t want you in Rudbek until the clerk shouts ‘Oyez!’ Here’s a mail-drop you can use to reach me . . . even phone through, if you have to. And right smartly you set up a way for me to reach you.”

Thorby puzzled over that requirement, being hemmed in as he was by bodyguards. “Why don’t you, or somebody—a young man, maybe—phone my cousin with a code message? People are always phoning her and most of them are young men. She’ll tell me and I’ll find a place to phone back.”

“Good idea. He’ll ask if she knows how many shopping days are left till Christmas. All right—see you in court.” Garsch grinned. “This is going to be fun. And very, very expensive for you. G’bye.”

CHAPTER 22

“Have a nice vacation?” Uncle Jack smiled at him. “You’ve led us quite a chase. You shouldn’t do that, boy.”

Thorby wanted to hit him but, although the guards let go his arms when they shoved him into the room, his wrists were tied.

Uncle Jack stopped smiling and glanced at Judge Bruder. “Thor, you’ve never appreciated that Judge Bruder and I worked for your father, and for your grandfather. Naturally we know what’s best. But you’ve given us trouble and now we’ll show you how we handle little boys who don’t appreciate decent treatment. We teach them. Ready, Judge?”

Judge Bruder smiled savagely and took the whip from behind him. “Bend him over the desk!”

Thorby woke up gasping. Whew, a bad one! He looked around the small hotel room he was in and tried to remember where he was. For days he had moved daily, sometimes half around the planet. He had become sophisticated in the folkways of this planet, enough not to attract attention, and even had a new ID card, quite as good as a real one. It had not been difficult, once he realized that underworlds were much the same everywhere.

He remembered now—this was America de Sud.

The bed alarm sounded—just midnight, time to leave. He dressed and glanced at his baggage, decided to abandon it. He walked down the backstairs, out the back way.

Aunt Lizzie had not liked the Yukon cold but she put up with it. Eventually someone called and reminded Leda that there were few shopping days to Christmas, so they left. At Uranium City Thorby managed to return the call. Garsch grinned. “I’ll see you in the district court in-and-for the county of Rudbek, division four, at nine-fifty-nine the morning of January fourth. Now get lost completely.”

So at San Francisco Thorby and Leda had a tiff in the presence of Aunt Lizzie; Leda wanted to go to Nice, Thorby insisted on Australia. Thorby said angrily, “Keep the air car! I’ll go by myself.” He flounced out and bought a ticket for Great Sydney.

He pulled a rather old washroom trick, tubed under the Bay, and, convinced that his bodyguard had been evaded, counted the cash Leda had slipped him as privately as they had quarreled publicly. It came to a little under two hundred thousand credits. There was a note saying that she was sorry it wasn’t more but she had not anticipated needing money.

While waiting at the South American field Thorby counted what was left of Leda’s money and reflected that he had cut it fine, both time and money. Where did it all go?

Photographers and reporters gave him a bad time at Rudbek city; the place swarmed with them. But he pushed through and met Garsch inside the bar at nine-fifty-eight. The old man nodded. “Siddown. Hizzoner will be out soon.”

The judge came out and a clerk intoned the ancient promise of justice: “—draw nigh and ye shall be heard!” Garsch remarked, “Bruder has this judge on a leash.”

“Huh? Then why are we here?”

“You’re paying me to worry. Any judge is a good judge when he knows he’s being watched. Look behind you.”

Thorby did so. The place was so loaded with press that a common citizen stood no chance. “I did a good job, if I do say so.” Garsch hooked a thumb at the front row. “The galoot with the big nose is the ambassador from Proxima. The old thief next to him is chairman of the judiciary committee. And—” He broke off.

Thorby could not spot Uncle Jack but Bruder presided over the other table—he did not look at Thorby. Nor could Thorby find Leda. It made him feel very much alone. But Garsch finished opening formalities, sat down and whispered. “Message for you. Young lady says to say ‘Good luck.’ “

Thorby was active only in giving testimony and that after many objections, counter objections, and warnings from the bench. While he was being sworn, he recognized in the front row a retired chief justice of the Hegemonic Ultimate Court who had once dined at Rudbek. Then Thorby did not notice anything, for he gave his testimony in deep trance surrounded by hypnotherapists.

Although every point was chewed endlessly, only once did the hearing approach drama. The court sustained an objection by Bruder in such fashion that a titter of unbelief ran around the room and someone stamped his feet. The judge turned red. “Order! The bailiffs will clear the room!”

The move to comply started, over protests of reporters. But the front two rows sat tight and stared at the judge. The High Ambassador from the Vegan League leaned toward his secretary and whispered; the secretary started slapping a Silent-Steno.

The judge cleared his throat. “—unless this unseemly behavior ceases at once! This court will not tolerate disrespect.”

Thorby was almost surprised when it ended: “—must therefore be conclusively presumed that Creighton Bradley Rudbek and Martha Bradley Rudbek did each die, are now dead, and furthermore did meet their ends in common disaster. May their souls rest in peace. Let it be so recorded.” The court banged his gavel. “If custodians of wills of the decedents, if wills there be, are present in this court, let them now come forward.”

There was no hearing about Thorby’s own shares; Thorby signed a receipt for certificates thereto in the judge’s chambers. Neither Weemsby nor Bruder was present.

Thorby took a deep breath as Garsch and he came out of chambers. “I can hardly believe that we’ve won.”

Garsch grinned. “Don’t kid yourself. We won the first round on points. Now it begins to get expensive.”

Thorby’s mouth sagged. Rudbek guards moved in and started taking them through the crowd.

Garsch had not overstated it. Bruder and Weemsby sat tight, still running Rudbek & Assocs., and continued to fight. Thorby never did see his parents’ proxies—his only interest in them now was to see whether, as he suspected, the differences between the papers Bruder had prepared and those of his parents lay in the difference between “revocable” and “revocable only by mutual agreement.”

But when the court got around to ordering them produced, Bruder claimed that they had been destroyed in routine clearing from files of expired instruments. He received a ten-day sentence for contempt, suspended, and that ended it.

But, while Weemsby was no longer voting the shares of Martha and Creighton Rudbek, neither was Thorby; the shares were tied up while the wills were being proved. In the meantime, Bruder and Weemsby remained officers of Rudbek & Assocs., with a majority of directors backing them. Thorby was not even allowed in Rudbek Building, much less in his old office.

Weemsby never went back to Rudbek estate; his belongings were sent to him. Thorby moved Garsch into Weemsby’s apartment. The old man slept there often; they were very busy.

At one point Garsch told him that there were ninety-seven actions, for or against, moving or pending, relating to the settlement of his estate. The wills were simple in essence; Thorby was the only major heir. But there were dozens of minor bequests; there were relatives who might get something if the wills were set aside; the question of “legally dead” was again raised, the presumption of “common disaster” versus deaths at different times was hashed again; and Thorby’s very identity was questioned. Neither Bruder nor Weemsby appeared in these actions; some relative or stockholder was always named as petitioner—Thorby was forced to conclude that Uncle Jack had kept everyone happy.

But the only action that grieved him was brought by his grandparents Bradley, asking that he be made their ward because of incompetence. The evidence, other than the admitted fact that he was new to the complexities of Terran life, was his Guardsman medical record—a Dr. Krishnamurti had endorsed that he was “potentially emotionally unstable and should not be held fully answerable for actions under stress.”

Garsch had him examined in blatant publicity by the physician to the Secretary General of the Hegemonic Assembly. Thorby was found legally sane. It was followed by a stockholder’s suit asking that Thorby be found professionally unequipped to manage the affairs of Rudbek & Assocs., in private and public interest.

Thorby was badly squeezed by these maneuvers; he was finding it ruinously expensive to be rich. He was heavily in debt from legal costs and running Rudbek estate and had not been able to draw his own accumulated royalties as Bruder and Weemsby continued to contend, despite repeated adverse decisions, that his identity was uncertain.

But a weary time later a court three levels above the Rudbek district court awarded to Thorby (subject to admonitions as to behavior and unless revoked by court) the power to vote his parents’ stock until such time as their estates were settled.

Thorby called a general meeting of stockholders, on stockholders’ initiative as permitted by the bylaws, to elect officers.

The meeting was in the auditorium of Rudbek Building; most stockholders on Terra showed up even if represented by proxy. Even Leda popped in at the last minute, called out merrily, “Hello, everybo

dy!” then turned to her stepfather. “Daddy, I got the notice and decided to see the fun—so I jumped into the bus and hopped over. I haven’t missed anything, have I?”

She barely glanced at Thorby, although he was on the platform with the officers. Thorby was relieved and hurt; he had not seen her since they had parted at San Francisco. He knew that she had residence at Rudbek Arms in Rudbek City and was sometimes in town, but Garsch had discouraged him from getting in touch with her—”Man’s a fool to chase a woman when she’s made it plain she doesn’t want to see him.”

So he simply reminded himself that he must pay back her loan—with interest—as soon as possible.

Weemsby called the meeting to order, announced that in accordance with the call the meeting would nominate and elect officers. “Minutes and old business postponed by unanimous consent.” Bang! “Let the secretary call the roll for nominations for chairman of the board.” His face wore a smile of triumph.

The smile worried Thorby. He controlled, his own and his parents’, just under 45% of the voting stock. From the names used in bringing suits and other indirect sources he thought that Weemsby controlled about 31%; Thorby needed to pick up 6%. He was counting on the emotional appeal of “Rudbek of Rudbek”—but he couldn’t be sure, even though Weemsby needed more than three times as many “uncertain” votes . . . uncertain to Thorby; they might be in Weemsby’s pocket.

But Thorby stood up and nominated himself, through his own stock. “Thor Rudbek of Rudbek!”

After that it was pass, pass, pass, over and over again—until Weemsby was nominated. There were no other nominations.

“The Secretary will call the roll,” Weemsby intoned.

“Announce your votes by shares as owners, followed by votes as proxy. The Clerk will check serial numbers against the Great Record. Thor Rudbek . . . of Rudbek.”

Thorby voted all 45%-minus that he controlled, then sat down feeling very weary. But he got out a pocket calculator. There were 94,000 voting shares; he did not trust himself to keep tally in his head. The Secretary read on, the clerk droned his checks of the record. Thorby needed to pick up 5657 votes, to win by one vote.

He began slowly to pick up odd votes—232, 906, 1917—some of them directly, some through proxy. But Weemsby picked up votes also. Some shareholders answered, “Pass to proxy,” or failed to respond—as the names marched past and these missing votes did not appear, Thorby was forced to infer that Weemsby held those proxies himself. But still the additional votes for “Rudbek of Rudbek” mounted—2205, 3036, 4309 . . . and there it stuck. The last few names passed.

Garsch leaned toward him. “Just the sunshine twins left.”

“I know.” Thorby put away his calculator, feeling sick—so Weemsby had won, after all.

The Secretary had evidently been instructed what names to read last. “The Honorable Curt Bruder!”

Bruder voted his one qualifying share for Weemsby. “Our Chairman, Mr. John Weemsby.”

Weemsby stood up and looked happy. “In my own person, I vote one share. By proxies delivered to me and now with the Secretary I vote—” Thorby did not listen; he was looking for his hat.

“The tally being complete, I declare—” the Secretary began.

“No!”

Leda was on her feet. “I’m here myself. This is my first meeting and I’m going to vote!”

Her stepfather said hastily, “That’s all right, Leda—mustn’t interrupt.” He turned to the Secretary. “It doesn’t affect the result.”

“But it does! I cast one thousand eight hundred and eighty votes for Thor, Rudbek of Rudbek!”

Weemsby stared. “Leda Weemsby!”

She retorted crisply, “My legal name is Leda Rudbek.”

Bruder was shouting, “Illegal! The vote has been recorded. It’s too—”

“Oh, nonsense!” shouted Leda. “I’m here and I’m voting. Anyhow, I cancelled that proxy—I registered it in the post office in this very building and saw it delivered and signed for at the ‘principal offices of this corporation’—that’s the right phrase, isn’t it, Judge?— ten minutes before the meeting was called to order. If you don’t believe me, send down for it. But what of it?—I’m here. Touch me.” Then she turned and smiled at Thorby.

Thorby tried to smile back, and whispered savagely to Garsch, “Why did you keep this a secret?”

“And let ‘Honest John’ find out that he had to beg, borrow, or buy some more votes? He might have won. She kept him happy, just as I told her to. That’s quite a girl, Thorby. Better option her.”

Five minutes later Thorby, shaking and white, got up and took the gavel that Weemsby had dropped. He faced the crowd. “We will now elect the rest of the board,” he announced, his voice barely under control. The slate that Garsch and Thorby had worked out was passed by acclamation—with one addition: Leda.

Again she stood up. “Oh, no! You can’t do this to me.”

“Out of order. You’ve assumed responsibility, now accept it.”

She opened her mouth, closed it, sat down.

When the Secretary declared the result, Thorby turned to Weemsby. “You are General Manager also, are you not?”

“Yes.”

“You’re fired. Your one share reverts. Don’t try to go back to your former office; just get your hat and go.”

Bruder jumped up. Thorby turned to him. “You, too. Sergeant-at-Arms, escort them out of the building.”

CHAPTER 23

Thorby looked glumly at a high stack of papers, each item, flagged “urgent.” He picked up one, started to read—put it down and said, “Dolores, switch control of my screen to me. Then go home.”

“I can stay, sir.”

“I said, ‘Go home.’ How are you going to catch a husband with circles under your eyes?”

“Yes, sir.” She changed connections. “Good night, sir.”

“Good night.”

Good girl, there. Loyal, he thought. Well, he hoped. He hadn’t dared use a new broom all the way; the administration had to have continuity. He signaled a number.

A voice without a face said, “Scramble Seven.”

” ‘Prometheus Bound,’ ” Thorby answered, “and nine makes sixteen.”

“Scramble set up.”

“Sealed,” Thorby agreed.

The face of Wing Marshal “Smith” appeared. “Hi, Thor.”

“Jake, I’ve got to postpone this month’s conference again. I hate to—but you should see my desk.”

“Nobody expects you to devote all your time to corps matters.”

“Doggone it, that’s exactly what I planned to do—clean this place up fast, put good people in charge, grab my hat and enlist for the corps! But it’s not that simple.”

“Thor, no conscientious officer lets himself be relieved until his board is all green. We both knew that you had lots of lights blinking red.”

“Well . . . all right, I can’t make the conference. Got a few minutes?”

“Shoot,” agreed “Smith.”

“I think I’ve got a boy to hunt porcupines. Remember?”

” ‘Nobody eats a porcupine.’ “

“Right! Though I had to see a picture of one to understand what you meant. To put it in trader terms, the way to kill a business is to make it unprofitable. Slave-raiding is a business, the way to kill it is to put it in the red. Porcupine spines on the victims will do it.”

“If we had the spines,” the “X” Corps director agreed dryly. “You have an idea for a weapon?”

“Me? What do you think I am? A genius? But I think I’ve found one. Name is Joel de la Croix. He’s supposed to be about the hottest thing M.I.T. ever turned out. I’ve gossiped with him about what I used to do as a firecontrolman in Sisu. He came up with some brilliant ideas without being prodded. Then he said, ‘Thor, it’s ridiculous for a ship to be put out of action by a silly little paralysis beam when it has enough power in its guts to make a small star.’ “

“A very small star. But I agree.”

“Okay. I’ve got him stashed in our Havermeyer Labs in Toronto. As soon as your boys okay him, I want to hand him a truckload of money and give him a free hand. I’ll feed him all I know about raider tactics and so forth—trance tapes, maybe, as I won’t have time to work with him much. I’m being run ragged here.”

“He’ll need a team. This isn’t a home-workshop project.”

“I know. I’ll funnel names to you as fast as I have them. Project Porcupine will have all the men and money it can use. But, Jake, how many of these gadgets can I sell to the Guard?”

“Eh?”

“I’m supposed to be running a business. If I run it into the ground, the courts will boost me out. I’m going to let Project Porcupine spend megabucks like water—but I’ve got to justify it to directors and stockholders. If we come up with something, I can sell several hundred units to Free Traders, I can sell some to ourselves—but I need to show a potential large market to justify the expenditure. How many can the Guard use?”

“Thor, you’re worrying unnecesarily. Even if you don’t come up with a superweapon—and your chances aren’t good—all research pays off. Your stockholders won’t lose.”

“I am not worrying unnecessarily! I’ve got this job by a handful of votes; a special stockholders meeting could kick me out tomorrow. Sure research pays off, but not necessarily quickly. You can count on it that every credit I spend is reported to people who would love to see me bumped—so I’ve got to have reasonable justification.”

“How about a research contract?”

“With a vice colonel staring down my boy’s neck and telling him what to do? We want to give him a free hand.”

“Mmm . . . yes. Suppose I get you a letter-of-intent? We’ll make the figure as high as possible. I’ll have to see the Marshal-in-Chief. He’s on Luna at the moment and I can’t squeeze time to go to Luna this week. You’ll have to wait a few days.”

“I’m not going to wait; I’m going to assume that you can do it. Jake, I’m going to get things rolling and get out of this crazy job—if you won’t have me in the corps I can always be an ordnanceman.”

“Come on down this evening. I’ll enlist you—then I’ll order you to detached duty, right where you are.”

Thorby’s chin dropped. “Jake! You wouldn’t do that to me!”

“I would if you were silly enough to place yourself under my orders, Rudbek.”

“But—” Thorby shut up. There was no use arguing; there was too much work to be done.

“Smith” added, “Anything else?”

“I guess not.”

“I’ll have a first check on de la Croix by tomorrow. See you.”

Thorby switched off, feeling glummer than ever. It was not the Wing Marshal’s half-whimsical threat, nor even his troubled conscience over spending large amounts of other people’s money on a project that stood little chance of success; it was simply that he was swamped by a job more complex than he had believed possible.

He picked up the top item again, put it down, pressed the key that sealed him through to Rudbek estate. Leda was summoned to the screen. “I’ll be late again. I’m sorry.”

“I’ll delay dinner. They’re enjoying themselves and I had the kitchen make the canapés substantial.”

Thorby shook his head. “Take the head of the table. I’ll eat here. I may sleep here.”

She sighed. “If you sleep. Look, my stupid dear, be in bed by midnight and up not before six. Promise?”

“Okay. If possible.”

“It had better be possible, or you will have trouble with me. See you.”

He didn’t even pick up the top item this time; he simply sat in thought. Good girl, Leda . . . she had even tried to help in the business—until it had become clear that business was not her forte. But she was one bright spot in the gloom; she always bucked him up. If it wasn’t patently unfair for a Guardsman to marry— But he couldn’t be that unfair to Leda and he had no reason to think she would be willing anyhow. It was unfair enough for him to duck out of a big dinner party at the last minute. Other things. He would have to try to treat her better.

It had all seemed so self-evident: just take over, fumigate that sector facing the Sargony, then pick somebody else to run it. But the more he dug, the more there was to do. Taxes . . . the tax situation was incredibly snarled; it always was. That expansion program the Vegan group was pushing—how could he judge unless he went there and looked? And would he know if he did? And how could he find time?

Funny, but a man who owned a thousand starships automatically never had time to ride in even one of them. Maybe in a year or two—

No, those confounded wills wouldn’t even be settled in that time!—two years now and the courts were still chewing it. Why couldn’t death be handled decently and simply the way the People did it?

In the meantime he wasn’t free to go on with Pop’s work.

True, he had accomplished a little. By letting “X” Corps have access to Rudbek’s files some of the picture had filled in—Jake had told him that a raid which had wiped out one slaver pesthole had resulted directly from stuff the home office knew and hadn’t known that it knew.

Or had somebody known? Some days he thought Weemsby and Bruder had had guilty knowledge, some days not—for all that the files showed was legitimate business . . . sometimes with wrong people. But who knew that they were the wrong people?

He opened a drawer, got out a folder with no “URGENT” flag on it simply because it never left his hands. It was, he felt, the most urgent thing in Rudbek, perhaps in the Galaxy—certainly more urgent than Project Porcupine because this matter was certain to cripple, or at least hamper, the slave trade, while Porcupine was a long chance. But his progress had been slow—too much else to do.

Always too much. Grandmother used to say never to buy too many eggs for your basket. Wonder where she got that?—the People never bought eggs. He had both too many baskets and too many eggs for each. And another basket every day.

Of course, in a tough spot he could always ask himself: “What would Pop do?” Colonel Brisby had phrased that—”I just ask myself, ‘What would Colonel Baslim do?’ ” It helped, especially when he had to remember also what the presiding judge had warned him about the day his parents’ shares had been turned over to him: “No man can own a thing to himself alone, and the bigger it is, the less he owns it. You are not free to deal with this property arbitrarily nor foolishly. Your interest does not override that of other stockholders, nor of employees, nor of the public.”

Thorby had talked that warning over with Pop before deciding to go ahead with Porcupine.

The judge was right. His first impulse on taking over the business had been to shut down every Rudbek activity in that infected sector, cripple the slave trade that way. But you could not do that. You could not injure thousands, millions, of honest men to put the squeeze on criminals. It required more judicious surgery.

Which was what he was trying to do now. He started studying the unmarked folder.

Garsch stuck his head in. “Still running under the whip? What’s the rush, boy?”

“Jim, where can I find ten honest men?”

“Huh? Diogenes was satisfied to hunt for one. Gave him more than he could handle.”

“You know what I mean—ten honest men each qualified to take over as a planetary manager for Rudbek.” Thorby added to himself, “—and acceptable to ‘X’ Corps.”

“Now I’ll tell one.”

“Know any other solution? I’ll have each one relieve a manager in the smelly sector and send the man he relieves back—we can’t fire them; we’ll have to absorb them. Because we don’t know. But the new men we can trust and each one will be taught how the slave trade operates and what to look for.”

Garsch shrugged. “It’s the best we can do. But forget the notion of doing it in one bite; we won’t find that many qualified men at one time. Now look, boy, you ain’t going to solve it tonight no matter how long you stare at those names. When you are as old as I am, you’ll know you can’t do everything at once—provided you don’t kill yourself first. Either way, someday you die and somebody else has to do the work. You remind me of the man who set out to count stars. Faster he counted, the more new stars kept turning up. So he went fishing. Which you should, early and often.”

“Jim, why did you agree to come here? I don’t see you quitting work when the others do.”

“Because I’m an old idiot. Somebody had to give you a hand. Maybe I relished a chance to take a crack at anything as dirty as the slave trade and this was my way—I’m too old and fat to do it any other way.”

Thorby nodded. “I thought so. I’ve got another way—only, confound it, I’m so busy doing what I must do that I don’t have time for what I ought to do . . . and I never get a chance to do what I want to do!”

“Son, that’s universal. The way to keep that recipe from killing you is occasionally to do what you want to do anyhow. Which is right now. There’s all day tomorrow ain’t touched yet . . . and you are going out with me and have a sandwich and look at pretty girls.”

“I’m going to have dinner sent up.”

“No, you aren’t. Even a steel ship has to have time for maintenance. So come along.”

Thorby looked at the stack of papers. “Okay.”

The old man munched his sandwich, drank his lager, and watched pretty girls, with a smile of innocent pleasure. They were indeed pretty girls; Rudbek City attracted the highest-paid talent in show business.

But Thorby did not see them. He was thinking.

A person can’t run out on responsibility. A captain can’t, a chief officer can’t. But he did not see how, if he went on this way, he would ever be able to join Pop’s corps. But Jim was right; here was a place where the filthy business had to be fought, too.

Even if he didn’t like this way to fight it? Yes. Colonel Brisby had once said, about Pop: “It means being so devoted to freedom that you are willing to give up your own . . . be a beggar . . . or a slave . . . or die—that freedom may live.”

Yes, Pop, but I don’t know how to do this job. I’d do it . . . I’m trying to do it. But I’m just fumbling. I don’t have any talent for it.

Pop answered, “Nonsense! You can learn to do anything if you apply yourself. You’re going to learn if I have to beat your silly head in!”

Somewhere behind Pop Grandmother was nodding agreement and looking stern. Thorby nodded back at her. “Yes, Grandmother. Okay, Pop. I’ll try.”

“You’ll do more than try!”

“I’ll do it, Pop.”

“Now eat your dinner.”

Obediently Thorby reached for his spoon, then noticed that it was a sandwich instead of a bowl of stew. Garsch said, “What are you muttering about?”

“Nothing. I just made up my mind.”

“Give your mind a rest and use your eyes instead. There’s a time and a place for everything.”

“You’re right, Jim.”

“Goodnight, son,” the old beggar whispered. “Good dreams . . . and good luck!”

The End

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The Number of the Beast (full text) by Robert Heinlein

This is the full text of a very long full length novel by Robert Heinlein. It is about a “mad scientist” that builds a machine that can enter and leave different world-lines at will. The scientist meets up with a girl and they both go out exploring all the very many different world lines at their leasure. As they fiddle with the controls they start to enter some very strange world-lines. Some of which resemble other science fiction novels, and some that resemble childhood stories…

This novel was one of the last Heinlein stores. It tends to be confusing if you have never read Heinlein before. As he refers to other stories that he wrote and the events that transpire tends to be confusing if you are not paying attention to it. Further, this (as one of his last major works) is jam packed with “farwells” to his friends, family and associates, as well as chock full of literiary “Easter Eggs”. He also includes answers to some “Hanging” mysteries and unanswered situations in some of his other works.

I enjoyed it, and perhaps you will as well.

CONTENTS

PART 1 – The Vale
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18

PART 2 – The Apostate
19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38

PART 3 – The Time Of Woe
39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48

PART ONE – The Mandarin’s Butterfly

Chapter I

” – it is better to marry than to burn.” – Saul of Tarsus

Zeb:
“He’s a Mad Scientist and I’m his Beautiful Daughter.”
That’s what she said: the oldest cliché in pulp fiction. She wasn’t old enough to remember the pulps.
The thing to do with a silly remark is to fail to hear it. I went on waltzing while taking another look down her evening formal. Nice view. Not foam rubber.
She waltzed well. Today most girls who even attempt ballroom dancing drape themselves around your neck and expect you to shove them around the floor. She kept her weight on her own feet, danced close without snuggling, and knew what I was going to do a split second before I led it. A perfect partner as long as she didn’t talk.
“Well?” she persisted.
My paternal grandfather – an unsavory old reactionary; the FemLibbers would have lynched him – used to say, “Zebadiah, the mistake we made was not in putting shoes on them or in teaching them to read – we should never have taught them to talk!”
I signaled a twirl by pressure; she floated into it and back into my arms right on the beat. I inspected her hands and the outer corners of her eyes. Yes, she really was young – minimum eighteen (Hilda Corners never permitted legal “infants” at her parties), maximum twenty-five, first approximation twenty-two. Yet she danced like her grandmother’s generation.
“Well?” she repeated more firmly.
This time I openly stared. “Is that cantilevering natural? Or is there an invisible bra, you being in fact the sole support of two dependents?”
She glanced down, looked up and grinned. “They do stick out, don’t they? Your comment is rude, crude, unrefined, and designed to change the subject.”
“What subject? I made a polite inquiry; you parried it with amphigory.”
“‘Amphigory’ my tired feet! I answered precisely.”
“‘Amphigory,'” I repeated. “The operative symbols were ‘mad,’ ‘scientist,’ ‘beautiful,’ and ‘daughter.’ The first has several meanings – the others denote opinions. Semantic content: zero.”
She looked thoughtful rather than angry. “Pop isn’t rabid… although I did use ‘mad’ in ambivalent mode. ‘Scientist’ and ‘beautiful’ each contain descriptive opinions, I stipulate. But are you in doubt as to my sex? If so, are you qualified to check my twenty-third chromosome pair? With transsexual surgery so common I assume that anything less would not satisfy you.”
“I prefer a field test.”
“On the dance floor?”
“No, the bushes back of the pool. Yes, I’m qualified – laboratory or field. But it was not your sex that lay in the area of opinion; that is a fact that can be established… although the gross evidence is convincing. I -“
“Ninety-five centimeters isn’t gross! Not for my height. One hundred seventy bare-footed, one eighty in these heels. It’s just that I’m wasp-waisted for my mass – forty-eight centimeters versus fifty-nine kilos.”
“And your teeth are your own and you don’t have dandruff. Take it easy, Deedee; I didn’t mean to shake your aplomb” – or those twin glands that are not gross but delicious. I have an infantile bias and have known it since I was six – six months, that is. “But the symbol ‘daughter’ encompasses two statements, one factual – sex – and the other a matter of opinion even when stated by a forensic genetohematologist.”
“Gosh, what big words you know, Mister. I mean ‘Doctor’.”
“‘Mister’ is correct. On this campus it is swank to assume that everyone holds a doctorate. Even I have one, Ph.D. Do you know what that stands for?”
“Doesn’t everybody? I have a Ph.D., too. ‘Piled Higher and Deeper.'”
I raised that maximum to twenty-six and assigned it as second approximation. “Phys. ed.?”
“Mister Doctor, you are trying to get my goat. Won’t work. I had an undergraduate double major, one being phys. ed. with teacher’s credentials in case I needed a job. But my real major was math – which I continued in graduate school.”
“And here I had been assuming that ‘Deedee’ meant ‘Doctor of Divinity.'”
“Go wash out your mouth with soap. My nickname is my initials – Dee Tee. Or Deety. Doctor D. T. Burroughs if being formal, as I can’t be ‘Mister’ and refuse to be ‘Miz’ or ‘Miss.’ See here, Mister; I’m supposed to be luring you with my radiant beauty, then hooking you with my feminine charm… and not getting anywhere. Let’s try another tack. Tell me what you piled higher and deeper.”
“Let me think. Flycasting? Or was it basketweaving? It was one of those transdisciplinary things in which the committee simply weighs the dissertation. Tell you what. I’ve got a copy around my digs. I’ll find it and see what title the researcher who wrote it put on it.”
“Don’t bother. The title is ‘Some Implications of a Six-Dimensional Non-Newtonian Continuum.’ Pop wants to discuss it.”
I stopped waltzing. “Huh? He’d better discuss that paper with the bloke who wrote it.”
“Nonsense; I saw you blink – I’ve hooked you. Pop wants to discuss it, then offer you a job.”
“‘Job’! I just slipped off the hook.”
“Oh, dear! Pop will be really mad. Please? Please, sir!”
“You said that you had used ‘mad’ in ambivalent mode. How?”
“Oh. Mad-angry because his colleagues won’t listen to him. Mad-psychotic in the opinions of some colleagues. They say his papers don’t make sense.”
“Do they make sense?”
“I’m not that good a mathematician, sir. My work is usually simplifying software. Child’s play compared with n-dimensional spaces.”
I wasn’t required to express an opinion; the trio started Blue Tango, Deety melted into my arms. You don’t talk if you know tango.
Deety knew. After an eternity of sensual bliss, I swung her out into position precisely on coda; she answered my bow and scrape with a deep curtsy. “Thank you, sir.”
“Whew! After a tango like that the couple ought to get married.”
“All right. I’ll find our hostess and tell Pop. Five minutes? Front door, or side?”
She looked serenely happy. I said, “Deety, do you mean what you appear to mean? That you intend to marry me? A total stranger?”
Her face remained calm but the light went out – and her nipples went down. She answered steadily. “After that tango we are no longer strangers. I construed your statement as a proposal – no, a willingness – to marry me. Was I mistaken?”
My mind went into emergency, reviewing the past years the way a drowning man’s life is supposed to flash before his eyes (how could anyone know that?): a rainy afternoon when my chum’s older sister had initiated me into the mysteries; the curious effect caused by the first time strangers had shot back at me; a twelve-month cohabitation contract that had started with a bang and had ended without a whimper; countless events which had left me determined never to marry.
I answered instantly, “I meant what I implied – marriage, in its older meaning. I’m willing. But why are you willing? I’m no prize.”
She took a deep breath, straining the fabric, and – thank Allah! – her nipples came up. “Sir, you are the prize I was sent to fetch, and, when you said that we really ought to get married – hyperbole and I knew it – I suddenly realized, with a deep burst of happiness, that this was the means of fetching you that I wanted above all!”
She went on, “But I will not trap you through misconstruing a gallantry. If you wish, you may take me into those bushes back of the pool… and not marry me.” She went on firmly, “But for that… whoring… my fee is for you to talk with my father and to let him show you something.”
“Deety, you’re an idiot! You would ruin that pretty gown.”
“Mussing a dress is irrelevant but I can take it off. I will. There’s nothing under it.”
“There’s a great deal under it!”
That fetched a grin, instantly wiped away. “Thank you. Shall we head for the bushes?”
“Wait a half! I’m about to be noble and regret it the rest of my life. You’ve made a mistake. Your father doesn’t want to talk to me; I don’t know anything about n-dimensional geometry.” (Why do I get these attacks of honesty? I’ve never done anything to deserve them.)
“Pop thinks you do; that is sufficient. Shall we go? I want to get Pop out of here before he busts somebody in the mouth.”
“Don’t rush me; I didn’t ask you to rassle on the grass; I said I wanted to marry you – but wanted to know why you were willing to marry me. Your answer concerned what your father wants. I’m not trying to marry your father; he’s not my type. Speak for yourself, Deety. Or drop it.” (Am I a masochist? There’s a sunbathing couch back of those bushes.)
Solemnly she looked me over, from my formal tights to my crooked bow tie and on up to my thinning brush cut – a hundred and ninety-four centimeters of big ugly galoot. “I like your firm lead in dancing. I like the way you look. I like the way your voice rumbles. I like your hair-splitting games with words – you sound like Whorf debating Korzybski with Shannon as referee.” She took another deep breath, finished almost sadly: “Most of all, I like the way you smell.”
It would have taken a sharp nose to whiff me. I had been squeaky clean ninety minutes earlier, and it takes more than one waltz and a tango to make me sweat. But her remark had that skid in it that Deety put into almost anything. Most girls, when they want to ruin a man’s judgment, squeeze his biceps and say, “Goodness, you’re strong!”
I grinned down at her. “You smell good too. Your perfume could rouse a corpse.”
“I’m not wearing perfume.”
“Oh. Correction: your natural pheromone. Enchanting. Get your wrap, Side door. Five minutes.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell your father we’re getting married. He gets that talk, free. I decided that before you started to argue. It won’t take him long to decide that I’m not Lobachevski.”
“That’s Pop’s problem,” she answered, moving. “Will you let him show you this thing he’s built in our basement?”
“Sure, why not? What is it?”

“A time machine.”

Chapter II

“This Universe never did make sense – “

Zeb:
Tomorrow I will seven eagles see, a great comet will appear, and voices will speak from whirlwinds foretelling monstrous and fearful things – This Universe never did make sense; I suspect that it was built on government contract.
“Big basement?”
“Medium. Nine by twelve. But cluttered. Work benches and power tools.”
A hundred and eight square meters – Ceiling height probably two and a half – Had Pop made the mistake of the man who built a boat in his basement?
My musing was interrupted by a male voice in a high scream: “You overeducated, obstipated, pedantic ignoramus! Your mathematical intuition froze solid the day you matriculated!”
I didn’t recognize the screamer but did know the stuffed shirt he addressed: Professor Neil O’Heret Brain, head of the department of mathematics – and God help the student who addressed a note to “Professor N.O. Brain” or even “N. O’H. Brain.” “Brainy” had spent his life in search of The Truth – intending to place it under house arrest.
He was puffed up like a pouter pigeon with is professional pontifical pomposity reeling. His expression suggested that he was giving birth to a porcupine.
Deety gasped, “It’s started,” and dashed toward the row. Me, I stay out of rows; I’m a coward by trade and wear fake zero-prescription glasses as a buffer – when some oaf snarls, “Take off your glasses!” that gives me time to retreat.
I headed straight for the row.
Deety had placed herself between the two, facing the screamer, and was saying in a low but forceful voice, “Pop, don’t you dare! – I won’t bail you out!” She was reaching for his glasses with evident intent to put them back on his face. It was clear that he had taken them off for combat; he was holding them out of her reach.
I reached over their heads, plucked them out of his hand, gave them to Deety. She flashed me a smile and put them back on her father. He gave up and let her. She then took his arm firmly. “Aunt Hilda!”
Our hostess converged on the row. “Yes, Deety? Why did you stop them, darling? You didn’t give us time to get bets down.” Fights were no novelty at “Sharp” Corners’ parties. Her food and liquor were lavish, the music always live; her guests were often eccentric but never dull – I had been surprised at the presence of N. O. Brain.
I now felt that I understood it: a planned hypergolic mixture.
Deety ignored her questions. “Will you excuse Pop and me and Mr. Carter? Something urgent has come up.”
“You and Jake may leave if you must. But you can’t drag Zebbie away. Deety, that’s cheating.”
Deety looked at me. “May I tell?”
“Eh? Certainly!”
That bliffy “Brainy” picked this moment to interrupt. “Mrs. Corners, Doctor Burroughs can’t leave until he apologizes! I insist. My privilege!”
Our hostess looked at him with scorn. “Merde, Professor. I’m not one of your teaching fellows. Shout right back at Jake Burroughs if you like. If your command of invective equals his, we’ll enjoy hearing it. But just one more wordthat sounds like an order to me or to one of my guests – and out you go! Then you had best go straight home; the Chancellor will be trying to reach you.” She turned her back on him. “Deety, you started to add something?”
“Sharp” Corners can intimidate Internal Revenue agents. She hadn’t cut loose on “Brainy” – just a warning shot across his bow. But from his face one would have thought she had hulled him. However, her remark to Deety left me no time to see whether he would have a stroke.
“Not Deety, Hilda. Me. Zeb.”
“Quiet, Zebbie. Whatever it is, the answer is No. Deety? Go ahead, dear.”
Hilda Corners is related to that famous mule. I did not use a baseball bat because she comes only up to my armpits and grosses forty-odd kilos. I picked her up by her elbows and turned her around, facing me. “Hilda, we’re going to get married.”
“Zebbie darling! I thought you would never ask.”
“Not you, you old harridan. Deety. I proposed, she accepted; I’m going to nail it down before the anesthetic wears off.”
Hilda looked thoughtfully interested. “That’s reasonable.” She craned her neck to look at Deety. “Did he mention his wife in Boston, Deety? Or the twins?”
I set her back on her feet. “Pipe down, Sharpie; this is serious. Doctor Burroughs, I am unmarried, in good health, solvent, and able to support a family. I hope this meets with your approval.”
“Pop says Yes,” Deety answered. “I hold his power of attorney.”
“You pipe down, too. My name is Carter, sir – Zeb Carter. I’m on campus; you can check my record. But I intend to marry Deety at once, if she will have me.”
“I know your name and record, sir. It doesn’t require my approval; Deety is of age. But you have it anyhow.” He looked thoughtful. “If you two are getting married at once, you’ll be too busy for shop talk. Or would you be?”
“Pop – let it be; it’s all set.”
“So? Thank you, Hilda, for a pleasant evening. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“You’ll do no such thing; you’ll come straight back and give me a full report. Jake, you are not going on their honeymoon – I heard you.”
“Aunt Hilda – please! I’ll manage everything.”
We were out the side door close on schedule. At the parking lot there was a bobble: which heap, mine or theirs. Mine is intended for two but can take four. The rear seats are okay for two for short trips. Theirs was a four-passenger family saloon, not fast but roomy – and their luggage was in it. “How much luggage?” I asked Deety, while I visualized two overnight bags strapped into one back seat with my prospective father-in-law stashed in the other.
“I don’t have much, but Pop has two big bags and a fat briefcase. I had better show you.”
(Damn.) “Perhaps you had better.” I like my own rig, I don’t like to drive other people’s cars, and, while Deety probably handled controls as smoothly as she danced, I did not know that she did – and I’m chicken. I didn’t figure her father into the equation; trusting my skin to his temper did not appeal. Maybe Deety would settle for letting him trail us – but my bride-to-be was going to ride with me! “Where?”
“Over in the far corner. I’ll unlock it and turn on the lights.” She reached into her father’s inside jacket pocket, took out a Magic Wand.
“Wait for baby!”
The shout was from our hostess. Hilda was running down the path from her house, purse clutched in one hand and about eight thousand newdollars of sunset mink flying like a flag from the other.
So the discussion started over. Seems Sharpie had decided to come along to make certain that Jake behaved himself and had taken just long enough to tell Max (her bouncer-butler-driver) when to throw the drunks out or cover them with blankets, as needed.
She listened to Deety’s summary, then nodded. “Got it. I can handle yours, Deety; Jake and I will go in it. You ride with Zebbie, dear.” She turned to me. “Hold down the speed, Zebbie, so that I can follow. No tricks, Buster. Don’t try to lose us or you’ll have cops busting out of your ears.”
I turned my sweet innocent eyes toward her. “Why, Sharpie darling, you know I wouldn’t do anything like that.”
“You’d steal city hall if you could figure a way to carry it. Who dumped that load of lime Jello into my swimming pool?”
“I was in Africa at that time, as you know.”
“So you say. Deety darling, keep him on a short leash and don’t feed him meat. But marry him; he’s loaded. Now where’s that radio link? And your car.”
“Here,” said Deety, pointed the Magic Wand and pressed the switch.
I gathered all three into my arms and dived. We hit the ground as the blast hit everything else. But not us. The blast shadow of other cars protected us.

Chapter III

” – Professor Moriarty isn’t fooled – “

Zeb:
Don’t ask me how. Ask a trapeze artist how he does a triple ‘sault. Ask a crapshooter how he knows when he’s “hot.” But don’t ask me how I know it’s going to happen just before it hits the fan.
It doesn’t tell me anything I don’t need to know. I don’t know what’s in a letter until I open it (except the time it was a letter bomb). I have no precognition for harmless events. But this split-second knowledge when I need it has kept me alive and relatively unscarred in an era when homicide kills more people than does cancer and the favorite form of suicide is to take a rifle up some tower and keep shooting until the riot squad settles it.
I don’t see the car around the curve on the wrong side; I automatically hit the ditch. When the San Andreas Fault cut loose, I jumped out a window and was in the open when the shock arrived – and didn’t know why I had jumped.
Aside from this, my E.S.P. is erratic; I bought it cheap from a war-surplus outlet.
I sprawled with three under me. I got up fast, trying to avoid crushing them. I gave a hand to each woman, then dragged Pop to his feet. No one seemed damaged. Deety stared at the fire blazing where their car had been, face impassive. Her father was looking at the ground, searching. Deety stopped him. “Here, Pop.” She put his glasses back on him.
“Thank you, my dear.” He started toward the fire.
I grabbed his shoulder. “No! Into my car – fast!”
“Eh? My briefcase – could have blown clear.”
“Shut up and move! All of you!”
“Do it, Pop!” Deety grabbed Hilda’s arm. We stuffed the older ones into the after space; I shoved Deety into the front passenger seat and snapped: “Seat belts!” as I slammed the door – then was around to the left so fast that I should have caused a sonic boom. “Seat belts fastened?” I demanded as I fastened my own and locked the door.
“Jake’s is fastened and so is mine, Zebbie dear,” Hilda said cheerfully.
“Belt tight, door locked,” Deety reported.
The heap was hot; I had left it on trickle – what use is a fast car that won’t go scat? I switched from trickle to full, did not turn on lights, glanced at the board and released the brake.
It says here that duos must stay grounded inside city limits – so I was lifting her nose before she had rolled a meter and she was pointed straight up as we were clearing the parking lot.
Half a klick straight up while the gee meter climbed – two, three, four – I let it reach five and held it, not being sure what Pop’s heart would take. When the altimeter read four klicks, I cut everything – power, transponder, the works – while hitting a button that dropped chaff, and let her go ballistic. I didn’t know that anyone was tracking us – I didn’t want to find out.
When the altimeter showed that we had topped out, I let the wings open a trifle. When I felt them bite air, I snap-rolled onto her belly, let wings crawl out to subsonic aspect and let her glide. “Everybody okay?”
Hilda giggled. “Whoops, dear! Do that again! This time, somebody kiss me.”
“Pipe down, you shameless old strumpet. Pop?”
“I’m okay, son.”
“Deety?”
“Okay here.”
“Did that fall in the parking lot hurt you?”
“No, sir. I twisted in the air and took it on one buttock while getting Pop’s glasses. But next time put a bed under me, please. Or a wrestling mat.”
“I’ll remember.” I switched on radio but not transponder, tried all police frequencies. If anyone had noticed our didoes, they weren’t discussing it on the air. We were down to two klicks; I made an abrupt wingover to the right, then switched on power. “Deety, where do you and your Pop live?”
“Logan, Utah.”
“How long does it take to get married there?”
“Zebbie,” Hilda cut in, “Utah has no waiting time -“
“So we go to Logan.”
” – but does require blood test. Deety, do you know Zebbie’s nickname around campus? The Wasp. For ‘Wassermann Positive.’ Zebbie, everybody knows that Nevada is the only state that offers twenty-four-hour service, no waiting time, no blood test. So point this bomb at Reno and sign off.”
“Sharpie darling,” I said gently, “would you like to walk home from two thousand meters?”
“I don’t know; I’ve never tried it.”
“That’s an ejection seat… but no parachutes.”
“Oh, how romantic! Jake darling, we’ll sing the Liebestod on the way down – you sing tenor, I’ll force a soprano and we’ll die in each other’s arms. Zebbie, could we have more altitude? For the timing.”
“Doctor Burroughs, gag that hitchhiker. Sharpie, Liebestod is a solo.”
“Picky, picky! Isn’t dead-on-arrival enough? Jealous because you can’t carry a tune? I told Dicky Boy that should be a duet and Cosima agreed with me -“
“Sharpie, button your frimpin’ lip while I explain. One: Everybody at your party knows why we left and will assume that we headed for Reno. You probably called out something to that effect as you left -“
“I believe I did. Yes, I did.”
“Shut up. Somebody made a professional effort to kill Doctor Burroughs. Not just kill but overkill; that combo of high explosive and Thermit was intended to leave nothing to analyze. But it is possible that no one saw us lift. We were into this go-wagon and I was goosing it less than thirty seconds after that booby trap exploded. Innocent bystanders would look at the fire, not at us. Guilty bystanders – There wouldn’t be any. A professional who booby-traps a car either holes up or crosses a state line and gets lost. The party or parties who paid for the contract may be nearby, but if they are, Hilda, they’re in your house.”
“One of my guests?”
“Oh, shut it, Sharpie; you are never interested in the morals of your guests. If they can be depended on to throw custard pies or do impromptu strips or some other prank that will keep your party from growing dull, that qualifies them. However, I am not assuming that the boss villain was at your party; I am saying that he would not be lurking where the Man might put the arm on him. Your house would be the best place to hide and watch the plot develop.
“But, guest or not, he was someone who knew that Doctor Burroughs would be at your party. Hilda, who knew that key fact?”
She answered with uncustomary seriousness. “I don’t know, Zebbie. I would have to think.”
“Think hard.”
“Mmm, not many. Several were invited because Jake was coming – you, for example -“
“I became aware of that.”
” – but you weren’t told that Jake would be present. Some were told – ‘No Brain,’ for example – but I can’t imagine that old fool booby-trapping a car.”
“I can’t either, but killers don’t look like killers; they look like people. How long before the party did you tell ‘Brainy’ that Pop would be present?”
“I told him when I invited him. Mmm, eight days ago.”
I sighed. “The possibles include not only the campus but the entire globe. So we must try to figure probables. Doctor Burroughs, can you think of anyone who would like to see you dead?”
“Several!”
“Let me rephrase it. Who hates your guts so bitterly that he would not hesitate to kill your daughter as long as he got you? And also bystanders such as Hilda and me. Not that we figure, save to show that he didn’t give a hoot who caught it. A deficient personality. Amoral. Who is he?”
Pop Burroughs hesitated. “Doctor Carter, disagreement between mathematicians can be extremely heated… and I am not without fault.” (You’re telling me, Pop!) “But these quarrels rarely result in violence. Even the death of Archimedes was only indirectly related to his – our – profession. To encompass my daughter as well – no, even Doctor Brain, much as I despise him, does not fit the picture.”
Deety said, “Zeb, could it have been me they were shooting at?”
“You tell me. Whose dolly have you busted?”
“Hmm – I can’t think of anyone who dislikes me even enough to snub me. Sounds silly but it’s true.”
“It’s the truth,” put in Sharpie. “Deety is just like her mother was. When Jane – Deety’s mother, and my best friend until we lost her-when Jane and I were roommates in college, I was always getting into jams and Jane was always getting me out-and never got into one herself. A peacemaker. So is Deety.”
“Okay, Deety, you’re out of it. So is Hilda and so am I, as whoever placed that booby trap could not predict that either Hilda or I would be in blast range. So it’s Pop they’re gunning for. Who we don’t know, why we don’t know. When we figure out why, we’ll know who. Meantime we’ve got to keep Pop out of range. I’m going to marry you as fast as possible, not only because you smell good but to give me a legitimate interest in this fight.”
“So we go first to Reno.”
“Shut up, Sharpie. We’ve been on course for Reno since we leveled off.” I flipped on the transponder, but to the left, not right. It would now answer with a registered, legal signal… but not one registered to my name. This cost me some shekels I did not need but were appreciated by a tight – lipped family man in Indio. Sometimes it is convenient not to be identified by sky cops every time one crosses a state line.
“But we aren’t going to Reno. Those cowboy maneuvers were intended to deceive the eye, radar, and heat seekers. The evasion against the heat seekers – that rough turn while we were still in glide – either worked or was not needed, as we haven’t had a missile up the tail. Probably wasn’t needed; people who booby-trap cars aren’t likely to be prepared to shoot a duo out of the sky. But I couldn’t be certain, so I ducked. We may be assumed to be dead in the blast and fire, and that assumption may stand up until the mess has cooled down and there is daylight to work by. Even later it may stand up, as the cops may not tell anyone that they were unable to find organic remains. But I must assume that Professor Moriarty isn’t fooled, that he is watching by repeater scope in his secret HQ, that he knows we are headed for Reno, and that hostiles will greet us there. So we won’t go there. Now quiet, please; I must tell this baby what to do.”
The computer-pilot of my car can’t cook but what she can do, she does well. I called for display map, changed scale to include Utah, used the light pen to trace route – complex as it curved around Reno to the south, back north again, made easting over some very empty country, and passed north of Hill Air Force Range in approaching Logan. I fed in height-above-ground while giving her leeway to smooth out bumps, and added one change in speed-over-ground once we were clear of Reno radar. “Got it, girl?” I asked her.
“Got it, Zeb.”
“Ten-minute call, please.”
“Call you ten minutes before end of routing – right!”
“You’re a smart girl, Gay.”
“Boss, I bet you tell that to all the girls. Over.”
“Roger and out, Gay.” The display faded.
Certainly I could have programmed my autopilot to accept a plan in response to a punched “Execute.” But isn’t it pleasanter to be answered by a warm contralto? But the “smart girl” aspect lay in the fact that it took my voice to make a flight plan operative. A skilled electron pusher might find a way to override my lock, then drive her manually. But the first time he attempted to use autopilot, the car would not only not accept the program but would scream for help on all police frequencies. This causes car thieves to feel maladjusted.
I looked up and saw that Deety had been following this intently. I waited for some question. Instead Deety said, “She has a very pleasant voice, Zeb.”
“Gay Deceiver is a very nice girl, Deety.”
“And talented. Zeb, I have never before been in a Ford that can do the things this car – Gay Deceiver? – can do.”
“After we’re married I’ll introduce you to her more formally. It will require reprogramming.”
“I look forward to knowing her better.”
“You will. Gay is not exactly all Ford. Her external appearance was made by Ford of Canada. Most of the rest of her once belonged to Australian Defense Forces. But I added a few doodads. The bowling alley. The powder room. The veranda. Little homey touches.”
“I’m sure she appreciates them, Zeb. I know I do. I suspect that, had she not had them, we would all be as dead as canasta.”
“You may be right. If so, it would not be the first time Gay has kept me alive. You have not seen all her talents.”
“I’m beyond being surprised. So far as I could see you didn’t tell her to land at Logan.”
“Logan seems to be the next most likely place for a reception committee. Who in Logan knows that you and your father were going to visit Hilda?”
“No one, through me.”
“Mail? Milk cartons? Newspapers?”
“No deliveries to the house, Zeb.” She turned her head, “Pop, does anyone in Logan know where we went?”
“Doctor Carter, to the best of my knowledge, no one in Logan knows that We left. Having lived many years in the buzzing gossip of Academe, I have learned to keep my life as private as possible.”
“Then I suggest that you all ease your belts and sleep. Until ten minutes before reaching Logan there is little to do.”
“Doctor Carter -“
“Better call me Zeb, Pop. Get used to it.”
“‘Zeb’ it is, son. On page eighty-seven of your monograph, after the equation numbered one-twenty-one in your discussion of the rotation of six-dimensional spaces of positive curvature, you said, ‘From this it is evident that – ‘ and immediately write your equation one-twenty-two. How did you do it? I’m not disagreeing, sir – on the contrary! But in an unpublished paper of my own I used a dozen pages to arrive at the same transformation. Did you have a direct intuition? Or did you simply omit publishing details? No criticism, I am impressed either way. Sheer curiosity.”
“Doctor, I did not write that paper. I told Deety so.”
“That is what he claimed, Pop.”
“Oh, come now! Two Doctors Zebulon E. Carter on one campus?”
“No. But that’s not my name. I’m Zebadiah J. Carter. Zebulon E.-for-Edward Carter and called ‘Ed’ is my cousin. While he is probably listed as being on campus, in fact he is doing an exchange year in Singapore. It’s not as improbable as it sounds; all male members of my family have first names starting with ‘Z.’ It has to do with money and a will and a trust fund and the fact that my grandfather and his father were somewhat eccentric.”
“Whereas you aren’t,” Hilda said sweetly.
“Quiet, dear.” I turned toward Deety. “Deety, do you want to be released from our engagement? I did try to tell you that you had trapped the wrong bird.”
“Zebadiah – “
“Yes, Deety?”
“I intend to marry you before this night is over. But you haven’t kissed me. I want to be kissed.”
I unfastened my seat belt, started to unfasten hers, found that she had done so.
Deety kisses even better than she tangos.
During a break for oxygen, I asked her in a whisper: “Deety, what do your initials stand for?”
“Well… please don’t laugh.”
“I won’t. But I have to know them for the ceremony.”
“I know. All right, Dee Tee stands for Dejah Thoris.”
Dejah Thoris – Dejah Thoris Burroughs – Dejah Thoris Carter! I cracked up.
I got it under control after two whoops. Too many. Deety said sadly, “You said you wouldn’t laugh.”
“Deety darling, I wasn’t laughing at your name; I was laughing at mine.”
“I don’t think ‘Zebadiah’ is a funny name. I like it.”
“So do I. It keeps me from being mixed up with the endless Bobs and Eds and Toms. But I didn’t tell my middle name. What’s a funny name starting with ‘J’?”
“I won’t guess.”
“Let me lead up to it. I was born near the campus of the university Thomas Jefferson founded. The day I graduated from college I was commissioned a second looie Aerospace Reserve. I’ve been promoted twice. My middle initial stands for ‘John.'”
It took not quite a second for her to add it up. “Captain… John… Carter – of Virginia.”
“‘A clean-limbed fighting man,'” I agreed. “Kaor, Dejah Thoris. At your service, my princess. Now and forever!”
“Kaor, Captain John Carter. Helium is proud to accept.”
We fell on each other’s shoulders, howling. After a bit the howling died down and turned into another kiss.
When we came up for air, Hilda tapped me on a shoulder. “Would you let us in on the joke?”
“Do we tell her, Deety?”
“I’m not sure. Aunt Hilda talks.”
“Oh, nonsense! I know your full name and I’ve never told anyone – I held you at your christening. You were wet, too. At both ends. Now give!”
“All right. We don’t have to get married – we already are. For years. More than a century.”
Pop spoke up. “Eh? What’s this?” I explained to him. He looked thoughtful, then nodded. “Logical.” He went back to figuring he was doing in a notebook, then looked up. “Your cousin Zebulon – Is he on the telephone?”
“Probably not but he lives at the New Raffles.”
“Excellent. I’ll try both the hotel and the university. Doctor – Son – Zeb, would you be so kind as to place the call? My comcredit code is Nero Aleph eight zero one dash seven five two dash three nine three two Zed Star Zed.” (Zed Star Zed credit rating – I was not going to have to support my prospective father-in-law.)
Deety cut in. “Pop, you must not call Professor Carter – Zebulon Carter – at this hour.”
“But, my dear daughter, it is not late at night in -“
“Of course it isn’t; I can count. You want a favor from him, so don’t interrupt his after-lunch nap. ‘Mad dogs and Englishmen.'”
“It isn’t noon in Singapore; it’s -“
” – siesta time, even hotter than noon. So wait.”
“Deety is right, Pop,” I interrupted, “but for the wrong reasons. It doesn’t seem to be a matter of life and death to call him this minute. Whereas it might be a matter of life and death – ours, I mean – to make a call from this car… especially with your credit code. Until we find out who the Boys in the Black Hats are, I advise that you place calls from the ground and from public phones that you can feed with newdollars instead of your code. Say a phone in Peoria. Or Paducah. Can it wait?”
“Since you put it that way, sir – yes, it can wait. Although I have trouble believing that anyone wishes to kill me.”
“Available data indicate it.”
“Agreed. But I have not yet grasped it emotionally.”
“Takes a baseball bat,” said Hilda. “I had to sit on him while Jane proposed to him.”
“Why, Hilda my dear, that is utterly unfactual. I wrote my late beloved a polite note saying -“
I let them argue while, I tried to add to available data. “Gay Deceiver.”
“Yes, Boss?”
“News, dear.”
“Ready, Boss.”
“Retrieval parameters. Time – since twenty-one hundred. Area – California, Nevada, Utah. Persons – your kindly boss, dear. Doctor Jacob Burroughs, Doctor D. T. Burroughs, Miz Hilda Corners – ” I hesitated. “Professor Neil O’Heret Brain.” I felt silly adding “Brainy” – but there had been a row between Pop and him, and years earlier my best teacher had said, “Never neglect the so-called ‘trivial’ roots of an equation,” and had pointed out that two Nobel prizes had derived from “trivial” roots.
“Parameters complete, Boss?”
Doctor Burroughs touched my shoulder. “Can your computer check the news if any on your cousin?”
“Mmm, maybe. She stores sixty million bytes, then wipes last-in-last-out everything not placed on permanent. But her news storage is weighted sixty-forty in favor of North America. I’ll try. Smart Girl.”
“Holding, Boss.”
“Addendum. First retrieve by parameters given. Then retrieve by new program. Time – backwards from now to wipe time. Area – Singapore. Person – Zebulon Edward Carter aka Ed Carter aka Doctor Z. E. Carter aka Professor Z. E. Carter aka Professor or Doctor Carter of Raffles University.”
“Two retrieval programs in succession. Got it, Zeb.”
“You’re a smart girl, Gay.”
“Boss, I bet you tell that to all the girls. Over.”
“Roger, Gay. Execute!”
“AP San Francisco. A mysterious explosion disturbed the academic quiet of – ” A story ending with the usual claim about an arrest being expected “momentarily” settled several points: All of us were believed dead. Our village top cop claimed to have a theory but was keeping it mum – meaning that he knew even less than we did. Since we were reported as “presumed dead” and since the news said nothing about an illegal lift-off and other capers that annoy sky cops, I assumed tentatively that police radar had not been looking at us until after we had become just one more blip behaving legally. The lack of mention of the absence of Gay Deceiver did not surprise me, as I had roaded in and had been last or nearly last to park – and could have arrived by taxi, public capsule, or on foot. Doctor Brain was not mentioned, nothing about the row. Guests had been questioned and released. Five cars parked near the, explosion had been damaged.
“Nevada – null retrieval. Utah – UPI Salt Lake City. A fire near Utah State, University campus in Logan destroyed – ” “Blokes in Black Hats” again and Deety and her Pop were dead twice over, as they were presumed to have been overcome by smoke, unable to escape. No one else hurt or missing. Fire attributed to faulty wiring. “End of first retrieval, Zeb. Second retrieval starting.” Gay shut up.
I said soberly, “Pop, somebody doesn’t like you.”
He groaned, “Gone! All gone!”
“No copies of your papers elsewhere? And your… gadget?”
“Eh? No, no! – much worse! My irreplaceable collection of pulp magazines. Weird Tales, Argosy, All-Story, the early Gernsbachs, The Shadow, Black Mask – Ooooooh!”
“Pop really does feel bad,” Deety whispered, “and I could manage tears myself. I taught myself to read from that collection. War Aces, Air Wonder, the complete Clayton Astoundings – It was appraised at two hundred and thirteen thousand newdollars. Grandpop started it, Pop continued it – I grew up reading them.”
“I’m sorry, Deety.” I hugged her. “They should have been microfiched.”
“They were. But that’s not having the magazines in your hands.”
“I agree. Uh, how about the… thing in the basement?”
“What ‘Thing in the Basement’?” demanded Sharpie. “Zebbie, you sound like H. P. Lovecraft.”
“Later, Sharpie. Comfort Jake; we’re busy. Gay!”
“Here, Zeb. Where’s the riot?”
“Display map, please.” We were midway over northern Nevada. “Cancel routing and cruise random. Report nearest county seat.”
“Winnemucca and Elko are equidistant to one percent. Elko closer by ETA as I am now vectored eleven degrees north of Elko bearing.”
“Deety, would you like to be married in Elko?”
“Zebadiah, I would love to be married in Elko.”
“Elko it is, but loving may have to wait. Gay, vector for Elko and ground us, normal private cruising speed. Report ETA in elapsed minutes.”
“Roger Wilco, Elko. Nine minutes seventeen seconds.”
Hilda said soothingly, “There, there, Jake darling; Mama is here” – then added in her top sergeant voice, “Quit stalling, Zebbie! What ‘Thing’ in which basement?”
“Sharpie, you’re nosy. It belonged to Pop and now it’s destroyed and that’s all you need to know.”
“Oh, but it wasn’t,” Doctor Burroughs said. “Zeb is speaking of my continua craft, Hilda. It’s safe. Not in Logan.”
“What in the Name of the Dog is a ‘continua craft’?”
“Pop means,” Deety explained, “his time machine.”
“Then why didn’t he say so? Everybody savvies ‘Time Machine.’ George Pal’s ‘Time Machine’ – a classic goodie. I’ve caught it on the late-late-early show more than once.”
“Sharpie,” I asked, “can you read?”
“Certainly I can read! ‘Run, Spot, run See Spot run.’ Smarty.”
“Have you ever heard of H. G. Wells?”
“Heard of him? I’ve had him.”
“You are a boastful old tart, but not that old. When Mr. Wells died, you were still a virgin.”
“Slanderer! Hit him, Jake – he insulted me.”
“Zeb didn’t mean to insult you, I feel sure. Deety won’t permit me to hit people, even when they need it.”
“We’ll change that.”
“Second retrieval complete,” Gay Deceiver reported. “Holding.”
“Report second retrieval, please.”
“Reuters, Singapore. The Marston expedition in Sumatra is still unreported according to authorities at Palembang. The party is thirteen days overdue. Besides Professor Marston and native guides and assistants, the party included Doctor Z.E. Carter, Doctor Cecil Yang, and Mr. Giles Smythe-Belisha. The Minister of Tourism and Culture stated that the search will be pursued assiduously. End of retrieval.”
Poor Ed. We had never been close but he had never caused me grief. I hoped that he was shacked up with something soft and sultry – rather than losing his head to a jungle machete, which seemed more likely. “Pop, a few minutes ago I said that somebody doesn’t like you. I now suspect that somebody doesn’t like n-dimensional geometers.”
“It would seem so, Zeb. I do hope your cousin is safe – a most brilliant mind! He would be a great loss to all mankind.”
(And to himself, I added mentally. And me, since family duty required that I do something about it. When what I had in mind was a honeymoon.) “Gay.”
“Here, Zeb.”
“Addendum. Third news retrieval program. Use all parameters second program. Add Sumatra to area. Add all proper names and titles found in second retrieval. Run until canceled. Place retrievals in permanent memory. Report new items soonest. Start.”
“Running, Boss.”
“You’re a good girl, Gay.”
“Thank you, Zeb. Grounding Elko two minutes seven seconds.”
Deety squeezed my hand harder. “Pop, as soon as I’m legally Mrs. John Carter I think we should all go to Snug Harbor.”
“Eh? Obviously.”
“You, too, Aunt Hilda. It might not be safe for you to go home.”
“Change in plans, dear. It’s going to be a double wedding. Jake. Me.”
Deety looked alert but not displeased. “Pop?”
“Hilda has at last consented to marry me, dear.”
“Rats,” said Sharpie. “Jake has never asked me in the past and didn’t this time; I simply told him. Hit him with it while he was upset over losing his comic books and unable to defend himself. It’s necessary, Deety – I promised Jane I would take care of Jake and I have – through you, up to now. But from here on you’ll be taking care of Zebbie, keeping him out of trouble, wiping his nose… so I’ve got to hogtie Jake into marriage to keep my promise to Jane. Instead of sneaking into his bed from time to time as in the past.”
“Why, Hilda dear, you have never been in my bed!”
“Don’t shame me in front of the children, Jake. I gave you a test run before I let Jane marry you and you don’t dare deny it.”
Jake shrugged helplessly. “As you wish, dear Hilda.”
“Aunt Hilda… do you love Pop?”
“Would I marry him if I didn’t? I could carry out my promise to Jane more simply by having him committed to a shrink factory. Deety, I’ve loved Jake longer than you have. Much! But he loved Jane… which shows that he is basically rational despite his weird ways. I shan’t try to change him, Deety; I’m simply going to see to it that he wears his overshoes and takes his vitamins – as you’ve been doing. I’ll still be ‘Aunt Hilda,’ not ‘Mother.’ Jane was and is your mother.”
“Thank you, Aunt Hilda. I thought I was happy as a woman can be, getting Zebadiah. But you’ve made me still happier. No worries.”
(I had worries. Blokes with Black Hats and no faces. But I didn’t say so, as Deety was snuggling closer and assuring me that it was all right because Aunt Hilda wouldn’t fib about loving Pop… but I should ignore that guff about her sneaking into Pop’s bed – on which I had no opinion and less interest.) “Deety, where and what is ‘Snug Harbor’?”
“It’s… a nowhere place. A hideout. Land Pop leased from the government when he decided to build his time twister instead of just writing equations. But we may have to wait for daylight. Unless – Can Gay Deceiver home on a given latitude and longitude?”
“She certainly can! Precisely.”
“Then it’s all right. I can give it to you in degrees, minutes, and fractions of a second.”
“Grounding,” Gay warned us.
The Elko County Clerk did not object to getting out of bed and seemed pleased with the century note I slipped him. The County Judge was just as accommodating and pocketed her honorarium without glancing at it. I stammered but managed to say, “I, Zebadiah John, take thee, Dejah Thoris – ” Deety went through it as solemnly and perfectly as if she had rehearsed it… while Hilda sniffled throughout.
A good thing that Gay can home on a pin point; I was in no shape to drive even in daylight. I had her plan her route, too, a dogleg for minimum radar and no coverage at all for the last hundred-odd kilometers to this place in the Arizona Strip north of the Grand Canyon. But I had her hover before grounding – I being scared silly until I was certain there was not a third fire there.
A cabin, fireproof, with underground parking for Gay – I relaxed.
We split a bottle of chablis. Pop seemed about to head for the basement. Sharpie tromped on it and Deety ignored it.
I carried Deety over the threshold into her bedroom, put her gently down, faced her. “Dejah Thoris -“
“Yes, John Carter?”
“I did not have time to buy you a wedding present -“
“I need no present from my captain.”
“Hear me out, my princess. My Uncle Zamir did not have as fine a collection as your father had… but may I gift you with a complete set of Clayton Astoundings -“
She suddenly smiled.
” – and first editions of the first six Oz books, quite worn but with the original color plates? And a first in almost mint condition of ‘A Princess of Mars’?”
The smile became a grin and she looked nine years old. “Yes!”
“Would your father accept a complete set of Weird Tales?”
“Would he! Northwest Smithand Jirel of Joiry? I’m going to borrow them – or he can’t look at my Oz books. I’m stubborn, I am. And selfish. And mean!”
“‘Stubborn’ stipulated. The others denied.”
Deety stuck out her tongue. “You’ll find out.” Suddenly her face was solemn. “But I sorrow, my prince, that I have no present for my husband.”
“But you have!”
“I do?”
“Yes. Beautifully wrapped and making me dizzy with heavenly fragrance.”
“Oh.” She looked solemn but serenely happy. “Will my husband unwrap me? Please?”
I did.
That is all anyone is ever going to know about our wedding night.

Chapter IV

Because two things equal to the same thing are never equal to each other.

Deety:
I woke early as I always do at Snug Harbor, wondered why I was ecstatically happy – then remembered, and turned my head. My husband – “husband!” – what a heart-filling word – my husband was sprawled face down beside me, snoring softly and drooling onto his pillow. I held still, thinking how beautiful he was, how gently strong and gallantly tender.
I was tempted to wake him but I knew that my darling needed rest. So I eased out of bed and snuck noiselessly into my bath – our bath – and quietly took care of this and that. I did not risk drawing a tub – although I needed one. I have a strong body odor that calls for at least one sudsy bath a day, two if I am going out that evening – and this morning I was certainly whiff as a polecat.
I made do with a stand-up bath by letting water run in a noiseless trickle into the basin – I would grab that proper bath after my Captain was awake; meanwhile I would stay downwind.
I pulled on briefs, started to tie on a halter – stopped and looked in the mirror. I have a face-shaped face and a muscular body that I keep in top condition. I would never reach semifinals in a beauty contest but my teats are shapely, exceptionally firm, stand out without sagging and look larger than they are because my waist is small for my height, shoulders and hips. I’ve known this since I was twelve, from mirror and from comments by others.
Now I was acutely aware of them from what Zebadiah calls his “infantile bias.” I was awfully glad I had them; my husband liked them so much and had told me so again and again, making me feel warm and tingly inside. Teats get in the way, and I once found out painfully why Amazons are alleged to have removed their starboard ones to make archery easier.
Today I was most pleased that Mama had required me to wear a bra for tennis and horseback and such – no stretch marks, no “Cooper’s droop,” no sag, and my husband called them “wedding presents”! Hooray!
Doubtless they would become baby-chewed and soft – but by then I planned to have Zebadiah steadfastly in love with me for better reasons. You hear that, Deety? Don’t be stubborn, don’t be bossy, don’t be difficult – and above all don’t sulk! Mama never sulked, although Pop wasn’t and isn’t easy to live with. For example he dislikes the word “teat” even though I spell it correctly and pronounce it correctly (as if spelled “tit”). Pop insists that teats are on cows, not women.
After I started symbolic logic and information theory I became acutely conscious of precise nomenclature, and tried to argue with Pop, pointing out that “breast” denoted the upper frontal torso of male and female alike, that “mammary gland” was medical argot, but “teat” was correct English.
He had slammed down a book. “I don’t give a damn what The Oxford English Dictionary says! As long as I am head of this house, language used in it will conform to my notions of propriety!”
I never argued such points with Pop again. Mama and I went on calling them “teats” between ourselves and did not use such words in Pop’s presence. Mama told me gently that logic had little to do with keeping a husband happy and that anyone who “won” a family argument had in fact lost it. Mama never argued and Pop always did what she wanted – if she really wanted it. When at seventeen I had to grow up and try to replace her, I tried to emulate her – not always successfully. I inherited some of Pop’s temper, some of Mama’s calm. I try to suppress the former and cultivate the latter. But I’m not Jane, I’m Deety.
Suddenly I wondered why I was putting on a halter. The day was going to be hot. While Pop is so cubical about some things that he turns up at the corners, skin is not one of them. (Possibly he had been, then Mama had gently gotten her own way.) I like to be naked and usually am at Snug Harbor, weather permitting. Pop is almost as casual. Aunt Hilda was family-by-choice; we had often used her pool and never with suits – screened for the purpose.
That left just my lovely new husband, and if there was a square centimeter of me he had not examined (and praised), I could not recall it. Zebadiah is easy to be with, in bed or out. After our hasty wedding I was slightly tense lest he ask me when and how I had mislaid my virginity… but when the subject could have come up I forgot it and he apparently never thought about it. I was the lusty wench I have always been and he seemed pleased – I know he was.
So why was I tying on this teat hammock? I was – but why?
Because two things equal to the same thing are never equal to each other. Basic mathematics if you select the proper sheaf of postulates. People are not abstract symbols. I could be naked with any one of them but not all three.
I felt a twinge that Pop and Aunt Hilda might be in the way on my honeymoon… then realized that Zebadiah and I were just as much in the way on theirs – and stopped worrying; it would work out.
Took one last look in the mirror, saw that my scrap of halter, like a good evening gown, made me nakeder than skin would. My nipples popped out; I grinned and stuck out my tongue at them. They stayed up; I was happy.
I started to cat-foot through our bedroom when I noticed Zebadiah’s clothes – and stopped. The darling would not want to wear evening dress to breakfast. Deety, you are not being wifely – figure this out. Are any of Pop’s clothes where I can get them without waking the others?
Yep! An old shirt that I had liberated as a house coat, khaki shorts I had been darning the last time we had been down – both in my wardrobe in my – our! – bathroom. I crept back, got them, laid them over my darling’s evening clothes so that he could not miss them.
I went through and closed after me two soundproof doors, then no longer had to keep quiet. Pop does not tolerate anything shoddy – if it doesn’t work properly, he fixes it. Pop’s B.S. was in mechanical engineering, his M.S. in physics, his Ph.D. in mathematics; there isn’t anything he can’t design and build. A second Leonardo da Vinci – or a Paul Dirac.
No one in the everything room. I decided not to head for the kitchen end yet; if the others slept a bit longer I could get in my morning tone-up. No violent exercise this morning, mustn’t get more whiff than I am – just controlled limbering. Stretch high, then palms to the floor without bending knees – ten is enough. Vertical splits, both legs, then the same to the floor with my forehead to my shin, first right, then left.
I was doing a back bend when I heard, “Ghastly. The battered bride. Deety, stop that.”
I continued into a backwards walkover and stood up facing Pop’s bride. “Good morning, Aunt Hillbilly.” I kissed and hugged her. “Not battered. Bartered, maybe.”
“Battered,” she repeated, yawning. “Who gave you those bruises? What’s-his-name? – your husband.”
“Not a bruise on me and you’ve known his name longer than I have. What causes those circles under the bags under the rings under your eyes?”
“Worry, Deety. Your father is very ill.”
“What? How?”
“Satyriasis. Incurable – I hope.”
I let out my breath. “Aunt Hillbilly, you’re a bitchie, bitchie tease.”
“Not a bitch this morning, dear. A nanny goat – who has been topped all night by the most amazing billy goat on the ranch. And him past fifty and me only twenty-nine. Astounding.”
“Pop’s forty-nine, you’re forty-two. You’re complaining?”
“Oh, no! Had I known twenty-four years ago what I know now, I would never have let Jane lay eyes on him.”
” – what you know now – Last night you were claiming to have sneaked into Pop’s bed, over and over again. Doesn’t jibe, Aunt Nanny Goat.”
“Those were quickies. Not a real test.” She yawned again.
“Auntie, you lie in your teeth. You were never in his bed until last night.”
“How do you know, dear? Unless you were in it yourself? Were you? Incest?”
“What have you got against incest, you bawdy old nanny goat? Don’t knock it if you haven’t tried it.”
“Oh, so you have? How fascinating – tell Auntiet!”
“I’ll tell you the truth, Aunt Hilda. Pop has never laid a hand on me. But if he had… I would not have refused. I love him.”
Hilda stopped to kiss me more warmly than before. “So do I, dear one. I honor you for what you just told me. He could have had me, too. But never did. Until last night. Now I’m the happiest woman in America.”
“Nope. Second happiest. You’re looking at the happiest.”
“Mmm, a futile discussion. So my problem child is adequate?”
“Well… he’s not a member of the Ku Klux Klan -“
“I never thought he was! Zebbie isn’t that sort.”
” – but he’s a wizard under a sheet!”
Aunt Hilda looked startled, then guffawed. “I surrender. We’re both the happiest woman in the world.”
“And the luckiest. Aunt Nanny Goat, that robe of Pop’s is too hot. I’ll get something of mine. How about a tie-on fit-anybody bikini?”
“Thanks, dear, but you might wake Zebbie.” Aunt Hilda opened Pop’s robe and held it wide, fanning it. I looked at her with new eyes. She’s had three or four term contracts, no children. At forty-two her face looks thirty-five, but from her collarbones down she could pass for eighteen. Little bitty teats – I had more at twelve. Flat belly and lovely legs. A china doll – makes me feel like a giant.
She added, “If it weren’t for your husband, I would simply wear this old hide. It is hot.”
“If it weren’t for your husband, so would I.”
“Jacob? Deety, he’s changed your diapers. I know how Jane reared you. True modesty, no false modesty.”
“It’s not the same, Aunt Hilda. Not today.”
“No, it’s not. You always did have a wise head, Deety. Women are toughminded, men are not; we have to protect them … while pretending to be fragile ourselves, to build up their fragile egos. But I’ve never been good at it – I like to play with matches.”
“Aunt Hilda, you are very good at it, in your own way. I’m certain Mama knows what you’ve done for Pop and blesses it and is happy for Pop. For all of us – all five of us.”
“Don’t make me cry, Deety. Let’s break out the orange juice; our men will wake any time. First secret of living with a man: Feed him as soon as he wakes.”
“So I know.”
“Yes, of course you know. Ever since we lost Jane. Does Zebbie know how lucky he is?”
“He says so. I’m going to try hard not to disillusion him.”

Chapter V

” – a wedding ring is not a ring in my nose – “

Jake:
I woke in drowsy euphoria, became aware that I was in bed in our cabin that my daughter calls “Snug Harbor” – then woke completely and looked at the other pillow – the dent in it. Not a dream! Euphoric for the best of reasons!
Hilda was not in sight. I closed my eyes and simulated sleep as I had something to do. “Jane?” I said in my mind.
“I hear you, dearest one. It has my blessing. Now we are all happy together.”
“We couldn’t expect Deety to become a sour old maid, just to take care of her crotchety old father. This young man, he’s okay, to the nth power. I felt it at once, and Hilda is certain of it.”
“He is. Don’t worry, Jacob. Our Deety can never be sour and you will never be old. This is exactly as Hilda and I planned it, more than five of your years ago. Predestined. She told you so, last night.”
“Okay, darling.”
“Get up and brush your teeth and take a quick shower. Don’t dawdle, breakfast is waiting. Call me when you need me. Kiss.”
So I got up, feeling like a boy on Christmas morning. Everything was jake with Jake; Jane had put her stamp of approval on it. Let me tell you, you nonexistent reader sitting there with a tolerant sneer: Don’t be smug. Jane is more real than you are.
The spirit of a good woman cannot be coded by nucleic acids arranged in a double helix, and only an overeducated fool could think so. I could prove that mathematically save that mathematics can never prove anything. No mathematics has any content. All any mathematics can do is – sometimes – turn out to be useful in describing some aspects of our so-called “physical universe.” That is a bonus; most forms of mathematics are as meaning-free as chess.
I don’t know any final answers. I’m an all-around mechanic and a competent mathematician… and neither is of any use in unscrewing the inscrutable.
Some people go to church to talk to God, Whoever He is. When I have something on my mind, I talk to Jane. I don’t hear “voices,” but the answers that, come into my mind have as much claim to infallibility, it seems to me, as any handed down by any Pope speaking ex cathedra. If this be blasphemy, make the most of it; I won’t budge. Jane is, was, and ever shall be, worlds without end. I had the priceless privilege of living with her for eighteen years and I can never lose her.
Hilda was not in the bath but my toothbrush was damp. I smiled at this. Logical, as any germs I was harboring, Hilda now had – and Hilda, for all her playfulness, is no-nonsense practical. She faces danger without a qualm (had done so last night) but she would say “Gesundheit!” to an erupting volcano even as she fled from it. Jane is equally brave but would omit the quip. They are alike only in – no, not that way, either. Different but equal. Let it stand that I have been blessed in marriage by two superb women. (And blessed by a daughter whose Pop thinks she is perfect.)
I showered, shaved, and brushed my teeth in nine minutes and dressed in under nine seconds as I simply wrapped around my waist a terry-cloth sarong Deety had bought for me – the day promised to be a scorcher. Even that hip wrap was a concession to propriety, i.e., I did not know my new son-in-law well enough to subject him abruptly to our casual ways; it might offend Deety.
I was last up, and saw that all had made much the same decision. Deety was wearing what amounted to a bikini minimum (indecently “decent”!) and my bride was “dressed” in a tie-on job belonging to Deety. The tie-ties had unusually large bows; Hilda is tiny, my daughter is not. Zeb was the only one fully dressed: an old pair of working shorts, a worn-out denim shirt Deety had confiscated, and his evening shoes. He was dressed for the street in any western town save for one thing: I’m built like a pear, Zeb is built like the Gray Lensman.
My shorts fitted him well enough – a bit loose – but his shoulders were splitting the shirt’s seams. He looked uncomfortable.
I took care of amenities – a good-morning to all, a kiss for my bride, one for my daughter, a handshake for my son-in-law-good hands, calloused. Then I said, “Zeb, take that shirt off. It’s hot and getting hotter. Relax. This is your home.”
“Thanks, Pop.” Zeb peeled off my shirt.
Hilda stood up on her chair, making her about as tall as Zeb. “I’m a militant women’s-rights gal,” she announced, “and a wedding ring is not a ring in my nose – a ring that you have not yet given me, you old goat.”
“When have I had time? You’ll get one, dear – first chance.”
“Excuses, excuses! Don’t interrupt when I’m orating. Sauce for the gander is no excuse for goosing the goose. If you male chauvinist pigs – I mean ‘goats’ – can dress comfortably, Deety and I have the same privilege.” Whereupon my lovely little bride untied that bikini top and threw it aside like a stripper.
“‘”What’s for breakfast?” asked Pooh,'” I misquoted.
I was not answered. Deety made me proud of her for the nth time. For years she had consulted me, at least with her eyes, on “policy decisions.” Now she looked not at me but at her husband. Zeb was doing Old Stone Face, refusing assent or dissent. Deety stared at him, gave a tiny shrug, reached behind her and untied or unsnapped something and discarded her own top.
“I said, ‘What’s for breakfast?'” I repeated.
“Greedy gut,” my daughter answered. “You men have had baths, while Aunt Hilda and I haven’t had a chance to get clean for fear of waking you slugabeds.”
“Is that what it is? I thought a skunk had wandered past. ‘What’s for breakfast?'”
“Aunt Hilda, in only hours Pop has lost all the training I’ve given him for five years. Pop, it’s laid out and ready to go. How about cooking while Hilda and I grab a tub?”
Zeb stood up. “I’ll cook, Deety; I’ve been getting my own breakfast for years.”
“Hold it, Buster!” my bride interrupted. “Sit down, Zebbie. Deety, never encourage a man to cook breakfast; it causes him to wonder if women are necessary. If you always get his breakfast and don’t raise controversial issues until after his second cup of coffee, you can get away with murder the rest of the time. They don’t notice other odors when they smell bacon. I’m going to have to coach you.”
My daughter reversed the field, fast. She turned to her husband and said meekly, “What does my Captain wish for breakfast?”
“My Princess, whatever your lovely hands offer me.”
What we were offered, as fast as Deety could pour batter and Hilda could serve, was a gourmet specialty that would enrage a Cordon Bleu but which, for my taste, is ambrosia: A one-eyed Texas stack – a tall stack of thin, tender buttermilk pancakes to Jane’s recipe, supporting one large egg, up and easy, surrounded by hot sausage, and the edifice drowned in melting butter and hot maple syrup, with a big glass of orange juice and a big mug of coffee on the side.
Zeb ate two stacks. I concluded that my daughter would have a happy marriage.

Chapter VI

Are men and women one race?

Hilda:
Deety and I washed dishes, then soaked in her tub and talked about husbands. We giggled, and talked with the frankness of women who trust each other and are sure that no men can overhear. Do men talk that openly in parallel circumstances? From all I have been able to learn in after-midnight horizontal conversations, all passion spent, men do not. Or not men I would take to bed. Whereas a “perfect lady” (which Jane was, Deety is, and I can simulate) will talk with another “perfect lady” she trusts in a way that would cause her father, husband, or son to faint.
I had better leave out our conversation; this memoir might fall into the hands of one of the weaker sex and I would not want his death on my conscience.
Are men and women one race? I know what biologists say – but history is loaded with “scientists” jumping to conclusions from superficial evidence. It seems to me far more likely that they are symbiotes. I am not speaking from ignorance; I was one trimester short of a B.S. in biology (and a straight-A student) when a “biology experiment” blew up in my face and caused me to leave school abruptly.
Not that I need that degree – I’ve papered my private bath with honorary degrees, mostly doctorates. I hear that there are things no whore will do for money but I have yet to find anything that a university chancellor faced with a deficit will boggle at. The secret is never to set up a permanent fund but to dole it out when need is sharpest, once every academic year. Done that way, you not only own a campus but also the town cops learn that it’s a waste of time to hassle you. A univer$ity alway$ $tand$ $taunchly by it$ $olvent a$$ociate$; that’$ the ba$ic $ecret of $chola$tic $ucce$$.
Forgive my digre$$ion; we were speaking of men and women. I am strong for women’s rights but was never taken in by unisex nonsense. I don’t yearn to be equal; Sharpie is as unequal as possible, with all the perks and bonuses and special privileges that come from being one of the superior sex. If a man fails to hold a door for me, I fail to see him and step on his instep. I feel no shame in making lavish use of the strongest muscles, namely male ones (but my own strongest muscle is dedicated to the service of men – noblesse oblige). I don’t begrudge men one whit of their natural advantages as long as they respect mine. I am not an unhappy pseudomale; I am female and like it that way.
I borrowed makeup that Deety rarely uses, but I carry my own perfume in my purse and used it in the twenty-two classic places. Deety uses only the basic aphrodisiac: soap and water. Perfume on her would be gilding the lily; fresh out of a hot tub she smells like a harem. If I had her natural fragrance, I could have saved at least ten thousand newdollars over the years as well as many hours spent dabbing bait here and there.
She offered me a dress and I told her not to be silly; any dress of hers would fit me like a tent. “You put something bridal and frilly around your hips and lend me your boldest G-string job. Dear, I surprised you when I jockeyed you into taking off your halter, after telling you that you were wise not to rush it. But the chance showed up and I grabbed the ring on the fly. We’ve got our men gentled to nearly naked and we’ll hold that gain. At first opportunity we’ll get pants off all of us, too, without anything as childish as strip poker. Deety, I want us to be a solid family, and relaxed about it. So that skin doesn’t mean sex, it just means we are home, en famille.”
“Your skin is pretty sexy, Nanny Goat.”
“Deety, do you think I’m trying to make a pass at Zebbie?”
“Heavens, no, Aunt Hilda. You would never do that.”
“Piffle, dear. I don’t have morals, just customs. I don’t wait for a man to make a pass; they fumble around and waste time. But when I met him I picked Zebbie for a chum – so I gave him an opening; he made a polite pass, I carefully failed to see it, and that ended it. I’m sure he’s as much fun on the workbench as you tell me he is – but bedmates are easy to find, while worthwhile male friends are scarce. Zebbie is one to whom I can holler for help in the middle of the night and be certain he’ll rally around. I’m not going to let that change merely because a weird concatenation now makes him my son-in-law. Besides, Deety, although your old Aunt Sharpie may seem undignified, I refuse to be the campus widow who seduces younger men. Save for minor exceptions close to my age, I always have bedded older men. When I was your age, I tripped several three times my age. Educational.”
“It certainly is! Aunt Hilda, I got ninety percent of my instruction two years ago – a widower three times my age. I was programming for him and we took shared time when we could get it, often after midnight. I didn’t think anything of it until one night I was startled to find that I was helping him to take off my panties. Then I was still more surprised to learn how little I had learned in seven years. He gave me a tutored seminar, usually three times a week- all the time he was willing to spare me – for the next six months. I’m glad I got tutoring from an expert before last night rolled around – or Zebadiah would have found me a dead arse, willing but clumsy. I didn’t tell this to my darling; I let him think he was teaching me.”
“That’s right, dear. Never tell a man anything he doesn’t need to know, and lie with a straight face rather than hurt his feelings or diminish his pride.”
“Aunt Nanny Goat, I just plain love you.”
We quit yakking and looked for our men. Deety said that they were certain to be in the basement. “Aunt Hilda, I don’t go there without invitation. It’s Pop’s sanctum sanctorum.”
“You’re warning me not to risk a faux pas?”
“I’m his daughter, you’re his wife. Not the same.”
“Well… he hasn’t told me not to – and today he’ll forgive me, if ever. Where do you hide the stairs?”
“That bookcase swings out.”
“Be darned! For a so-called cabin this place is loaded with surprises. A bidet in each bath didn’t startle me; Jane would have required them. Your walk-in freezer startled me only by being big enough for a restaurant. But a bookcase concealing a priest’s hole – as Great-Aunt Nettie used to say, ‘I do declare!'”
“You should see our septic tank – yours, now.”
“I’ve seen septic tanks. Pesky things – always need pumping at the most inconvenient time.”
“This one won’t have to be pumped. Over three hundred meters deep. An even thousand feet.”
“For the love of – Why?”
“It’s an abandoned mine shaft below us that some optimist dug a hundred years back. Here was this big hole, so Pop used it. There is a spring farther up the mountain. Pop cleaned that out, covered it, concealed it, put pipe underground, and we have lavish pure water under pressure. The rest of Snug Harbor Pop designed mostly from prefab catalogs, fireproof and solid and heavily insulated. We have – you have, I mean – this big fireplace and the little ones in the bedrooms, but you won’t need them, other than for homeyness. Radiant heat makes it skin-comfortable even in a blizzard.”
“Where do you get your power? From the nearest town?”
“Oh, no! Snug Harbor is a hideout, nobody but Pop and me – and now you and Zebadiah – knows it’s here. Power packs, Aunt Hilda, and an inverter in a space behind the back wall of the garage. We bring in power packs ourselves, and take them out the same way. Private. Oh, the leasehold record is buried in a computer in Washington or Denver, and the Federal rangers know the leaseholds. But they don’t see us if we see or hear them first. Mostly they cruise on past. Once one came by on horseback. Pop fed him beer out under the trees – and from outside this is just a prefab, a living room and two shedroof bedrooms. Nothing to show that important parts are underground.”
“Deety, I’m beginning to think that this place – this cabin – cost more than my townhouse.”
“Uh, probably.”
“I think I’m disappointed. Sugar Pie, I married your papa because I love him and want to take care of him and promised Jane that I would. I’ve been thinking happily that my wedding present to my bridegroom would be his weight in bullion, so that dear man need never work again.”
“Don’t be disappointed, Aunt Hilda. Pop has to work; it’s his nature. Me, too. Work is necessary to us. Without it, we’re lost.”
“Well… yes. But working because you want to is the best sort of play.”
“Correct!”
“That’s what I thought I could give Jacob. I don’t understand it. Jane wasn’t rich, she was on a scholarship. Jacob had no money – still a teaching fellow, a few months shy of his doctorate. Deety, Jacob’s suit that he wore to be married in was threadbare. I know that he pulled up from that; he made full professor awfully fast. I thought it was that and Jane’s good management.”
“It was both.”
“That doesn’t account for this. Forgive me, Deety, but Utah State doesn’t pay what Harvard pays.”
“Pop doesn’t lack offers. We like Logan. Both the town and the civilized behavior of Mormons. But – Aunt Hilda, I must tell you some things.”
The child looked worried. I said, “Deety, if Jacob wants me to know something he’ll tell me.”
“Oh, but he won’t and I must!”
“No, Deety!”
“Listen, please! When I said, ‘I do,’ I resigned as Pop’s manager. When you said, ‘I do,’ the load landed on you. It has to be that way, Aunt Hilda. Pop won’t do it; he has other things to think about, things that take genius. Mama did it for years, then I learned how, and now it’s your job. Because it can’t be farmed out. Do you understand accountancy?”
“Well, I understand it, I took a course in it. Have to understand it, or the government will skin you alive. But I don’t do it, I have accountants for that – and smart shysters to keep it inside the law.”
“Would it bother you to be outside the law? On taxes?”
“What? Heavens, no! But Sharpie wants to stay outside of jail – I detest an institutional diet.”
“You’ll stay out of jail. Don’t worry, Aunt Hilda – I’ll teach you double-entry bookkeeping they don’t teach in school. Very double. One set for the revenooers and another set for you and Jake.”
“It’s that second set that worries me. That one puts you in the pokey. Fresh air alternate Wednesdays.”
“Nope. The second set is not on paper; it’s in the campus computer at Logan.”
“Worse!”
“Aunt Hilda, please! Certainly my computer address code is in the department’s vault and an I.R.S. agent could get a court order. It wouldn’t do him any good. It would spill out our first set of books while wiping every trace of the second set. Inconvenient but not disastrous. Aunt Hillbilly, I’m not a champion at anything else but I’m the best software artist inthe business. I at your elbow until you are sure of yourself.
“Now about how Pop got rich – All the time he’s been teaching he’s also been inventing gadgets – as automatically as a hen lays eggs. A better can opener. A lawn irrigation system that does a better job, costs less, uses less water. Lots of things. But none has his name on it and royalties trickle back in devious ways.
“But we aren’t freeloaders. Every year Pop and I study the Federal Budget and decide what is useful and what is sheer waste by fat-arsed chairwarmers and pork-barrel raiders. Even before Mama died we were paying more income tax than the total of Pop’s salary, and we’ve paid more each year while I’ve been running it. It does take a bundle to run this country. We don’t begrudge money spent on roads and public health and national defense and truly useful things. But we’ve quit paying for parasites wherever we can identify them.
“It’s your job now, Aunt Hilda. If you decide that it’s dishonest or too risky, I can cause the computer to make it all open and legal so smoothly that hankypanky would never show. It would take me maybe three years, and Pop would pay high capital gains. But you are in charge of Pop now.”
“Deety, don’t talk dirty.”
“Dirty, how? I didn’t even say ‘spit.'”
“Suggesting that I would willingly pay what those clowns in Washington want to squeeze out of us. I would not be supporting so many accountants and shysters if I didn’t think we were being robbed blind. Deety, how about being manager for all of us?”
“No, ma’am! I’m in charge of Zebadiah. I have my own interests to manage, too. Mama wasn’t as poor as you thought. When I was a little girl, she came into a chunk from a trust her grandmother had set up. She and Pop gradually moved it over into my name and again avoided inheritance and estate taxes, all legal as Sunday School. When I was eighteen, I converted it into cash, then caused it to disappear. Besides that, I’ve been paying me a whopping salary as Pop’s manager. I’m not as rich as you are, Aunt Hilda, and certainly not as rich as Pop. But I ain’t hurtin’.”
“Zebbie may be richer than all of us.”
“You said last night that he was loaded but I didn’t pay attention because I had already decided to marry him. But after experiencing what sort of car he drives I realize that you weren’t kidding. Not that it matters. Yes, it did matter – it took both Zebadiah’s courage and Gay Deceiver’s unusual talents to save our lives.”
“You may never find out how loaded Zebbie is, dear. Some people don’t let their left hands know what their right hands are doing. Zebbie doesn’t let his thumb know what his fingers are doing.”
Deety shrugged. “I don’t care. He’s kind and gentle and he’s a storybook hero who saved my life and Pop’s and yours … and last night he proved to me that life is worth living when I’ve been uncertain about it since Mama had to leave us. Let’s go find our men, Aunt Nanny Goat. I’ll risk Pop’s Holy of Holies if you’ll go first.”
“Suits. Lay on your duff and cursed be he who first cries, ‘Nay, enough.”
“I don’t think they’re interested in that now, Nanny Goat.”
“Spoilsport. How do you swing back this bookcase?”
“Switch on the cove lights, then turn on the cold water at the sink. Then switch off the cove lights, then turn off the water – in that order.”
“‘”Curiouser and curiouser,” said Alice.'”
The bookcase closed behind us and was a door with a knob on the upper landing side. The staircase was wide, treads were broad and nonskid, risers gentle, guard rails on both sides – not the legbreaker most houses have as cellar stairs. Deety went down beside me, holding my hand like a child needing reassurance.
The room was beautifully lighted, well ventilated, and did not seem like a basement. Our men were at the far end, bent over a table, and did not appear to notice us. I looked around for a time machine, could not spot it – at least not anything like George Pal’s or any I had ever read about. All around was machinery. A drill press looks the same anywhere and so does a lathe, but others were strange – except that they reminded me of machine shops.
My husband caught sight of us, stood up, and said, “Welcome, ladies!”
Zebbie turned his head and said sharply, “Late to class! Find seats, no whispering during the lecture, take notes; there will be a quiz at eight o’clock tomorrow morning. If you have questions, raise your hands and wait to be called on. Anyone who misbehaves will remain after class and wash the chalk boards.”
Deety stuck out her tongue, sat down quietly. I rubbed his brush cut and whispered an indecency into his ear. Then I kissed my husband and sat down.
My husband resumed talking to Zebbie. “I lost more gyroscopes that way.”
I held up my hand. My husband said, “Yes, Hilda dear?”
“Monkey Ward’s sells gyro tops – I’ll buy you a gross.”
“Thank you, dearest, but these weren’t that sort. They were made by Sperry Division of General Foods.”
“So I’ll get them from Sperry.”
“Sharpie,” put in Zeb, “you’re honing to clean the erasers, too.”
“Just a moment, Son. Hilda may be the perfect case to find out whether or not what I have tried to convey to you – and which really can’t be conveyed save in the equations your cousin Zebulon used, a mathematics you say is unfamiliar to you -“
“It is!”
” – but which you appear to grasp as mechanics. Would you explain the concept to Hilda? If she understands it, we may hypothesize that a continua craft can be designed to be operated by a nontechnical person.”
“Sure,” I said scornfully, “poor little me, with a button for a head. I don’t have to know where the electrons go to use television or holovision. Ijust twist knobs. Go ahead, Zebbie. Take a swing at it, I dare you.”
“I’ll try,” Zebbie agreed. “But, Sharpie, don’t chatter and keep your comments to the point. Or I’ll ask Pop to give you a fat lip.”
“He wouldn’t dast!”
“So? I’m going to give him a horsewhip for a wedding present – besides the Weird Tales, Jake; you get those too. But you need a whip. Attention, Sharpie.”
“Yes, Zebbie. And the same to you doubled.”
“Do you know what ‘precess’ means?”
“Certainly. Precession of the equinoxes. Means that Vega will be the North Star when I’m a great-grandmother. Thirty thousand years or some such.”
“Correct in essence. But you’re not even a mother yet.”
“You don’t know what happened last night. I’m an expectant mother. Jacob doesn’t dare use a whip on me.”
My husband looked startled but pleased – and I felt relieved. Zebbie looked at his own bride. Deety said solemnly, “It is possible, Zebadiah. Neither of us was protected, each was on or close on ovulation. Hilda is blood type B Rhesus positive and my father is AB positive. I am A Rh positive. May I inquire yours, sir?”
“I’m an 0 positive. Uh… I may have shot you down the first salvo.”
“It would seem likely. But – does this meet with your approval?”
“‘Approval’!” Zebbie stood up, knocking over his chair. “Princess, you could not make me happier! Jake! This calls for a toast!”
My husband stopped kissing me. “Unanimous! Daughter, is there champagne chilled?”
“Yes, Pop.”
“Hold it!” I said. “Let’s not get excited over a normal biological function. Deety and I don’t know that we caught; we just hope so. And -“
“So we try again,” Zebbie interrupted. “What’s your calendar?”
“Twenty-eight and a half days, Zebadiah. My rhythm is pendulum steady.”
“Mine’s twenty-seven; Deety and I just happen to be in step. But I want that toast at dinner and a luau afterwards; it might be the last for a long time. Deety, do you get morning sick?”
“I don’t know; I’ve never been pregnant… before.”
“I have and I do and it’s miserable. Then I lost the naked little grub after trying hard to keep it. But I’m not going to lose this one! Fresh air and proper exercise and careful diet and nothing but champagne for me tonight, then not another drop until I know. In the meantime – Professors, may I point out that class is in session? I want to know about time machines and I’m not sure I could understand with champagne buzzing my buttonhead.”
“Sharpie, sometimes you astound me.”
“Zebbie, sometimes I astound myself. Since my husband builds time machines, I want to know what makes them tick. Or at least which knobs to turn. He might be clawed by the Bandersnatch and I would have to pilot him home. Get on with your lecture.”
“I read you loud and clear.”
But we wasted (“wasted?”) a few moments because everybody had to kiss everybody else – even Zebbie and my husband pounded each other on the back and kissed both cheeks Latin style. Zebbie tried to kiss me as if I were truly his mother-in-law but I haven’t kissed that way since junior high. Once I was firm with him he gave in and kissed me better than he ever had before – whew! I’m certain Deety is right but I won’t risk worrying my older husband over a younger man and I’d be an idiot to risk competing with Deety’s teats et cetera when all I have is fried eggs and my wonderful old goat seems so pleased with my et cetera.
Class resumed. “Sharpie, can you explain precession in gyroscopes?”
“Well, maybe. Physics One was required but that was a long time ago. Push a gyroscope and it doesn’t go the way you expect, but ninety degrees from that direction so that the push lines up with the spin. Like this – ” I pointed a forefinger like a little boy going: “Bang! – you’re dead!”
“My thumb is the axis, my forefinger represents the push, the other fingers show the rotation.”
“Go to the head of the class. Now – think hard! – suppose we put a gyroscope in a frame, then impress equal forces at all three spatial coordinates at once; what would it do?”
I tried to visualize it. “I think it would either faint or drop dead.”
“A good first hypothesis. According to Jake, it disappears.”
“They do disappear, Aunt Hilda. I watched it happen several times.”
“But where do they go?”
“I can’t follow Jake’s math; I have to accept his transformations without proof. But it is based on the notion of six space-time coordinates, three of space, the usual three that we see – marked x, y, and z – and three time coordinates: one marked ‘t’ like this – ” (t) ” – and one marked ‘tau,’ Greek alphabet – ” (T) ” – and the third from the Cyrillic alphabet, ‘teh’ – ” (M)
“Looks like an ‘m’ with a macron over it.”
“So it does, but it’s what the Russians use for ‘t’.”
“No, the Russians use ‘chai’ for tea. In thick glasses with strawberry jam.”
“Stow it, Sharpie. So we have x, y, and z; t, tau, and teh, six dimensions. It is basic to the theory that all are at right angles to each other, and that any one may be swapped for any of the others by rotation – or that a new coordinate may be found (not a seventh but replacing any of the six) by translation – say ‘tau’ to ‘tau prime’ by displacement along ‘x.'”
“Zebbie, I think I fell off about four coordinates back.”
My husband suggested, “Show her the caltrop, Zeb.”
“Good idea.” Zeb accepted a widget from my husband, placed it in front of me. It looked like jacks I used to play with as a little girl but not enough things sticking out – four instead of six. Three touched the table, a tripod; the fourth stuck straight up.
Zeb said, “This is a weapon, invented centuries ago. The points should be sharp but these have been filed down.” He flipped it, let it fall to the table. “No matter how it falls, one prong is vertical. Scatter them in front of cavalry; the horses go down – discouraging. They came into use again in Wars One and Two against anything with pneumatic tires – bicycles, motorcycles, lorries, and so forth. Big enough, they disable tanks and tracked vehicles. A small sort can be whittled from thorn bushes for guerrilla warfare – usually poisoned and quite nasty.
“But here this lethal toy is a geometrical projection, a drawing of the coordinates of a four-dimensional space-time continuum. Each spike is exactly ninety degrees from every other spike.”
“But they aren’t,” I objected. “Each angle is more than a right angle.”
“I said it was a projection. Sharpie, it’s an isometric projection of four-dimensional coordinates in three-dimensional space. That distorts the angles… and the human eye is even more limited. Cover one eye and hold still and you see only two dimensions. The illusion of depth is a construct of the brain.”
“I’m not very good at holding still -“
“No, she isn’t,” agreed my bridegroom whom I love dearly and at that instant could have choked.
“But I can close both eyes and feel three dimensions with my hands.”
“A good point. Close your eyes and pick this up and think of the prongs as the four directions of a four-dimensional space. Does the word tesseract mean anything to you?”
“My high school geometry teacher showed us how to construct them – projections – with modeling wax and toothpicks. Fun. I found other four-dimensional figures that were easy to project. And a number of ways to project them.”
“Sharpie, you must have had an exceptional geometry teacher.”
“In an exceptional geometry class. Don’t faint, Zebbie, but I was grouped with what they called ‘overachievers’ after it became ‘undemocratic’ to call them ‘gifted children.'”
“Be durned! Why do you always behave like a fritterhead?”
“Why don’t you ever look beneath the surface, young man! I laugh because I dare not cry. This is a crazy world and the only way to enjoy it is to treat it as a joke. That doesn’t mean I don’t read and can’t think. I read everything from Giblett to Hoyle, from Sartre to Pauling. I read in the tub, I read on the john, I read in bed, I read when I eat alone, and I would read in my sleep if I could keep my eyes open. Deety, this is proof that Zebbie has never been in my bed: the books downstairs are display; the stuff I read is stacked in my bedroom.”
“Deety, did you think I had been sleeping with Sharpie?”
“No, Zebadiah.”
“And you never will! Deety told me what a sex maniac you are! You lay your lecherous hands on me and I’ll scream for Jacob and he’ll beat you to a pulp.”
“Don’t count on it, dear one,” my husband said mildly. “Zeb is bigger and younger and stronger than I… and if I found it needful to try, Deety would cry and beat me to a pulp. Son, I should have warned you: my daughter is vicious at karate. The killer instinct.”
“Thanks. Forewarned, forearmed. I’ll use a kitchen chair in one hand, a revolver in the second, and a whip in the other, just as I used to do in handling the big cats for Ringling, Barnum, and Bailey.”
“That’s three hands,” said Deety.
“I’m four-dimensional, darling. Professor, we can speed up this seminar; we’ve been underrating our overachiever. Hilda is a brain.”
“Zebbie, can we kiss and make up?”
“Class is in session.”
“Zebadiah, there is always time for that. Right, Pop?”
“Kiss her, Son, or she’ll sulk.”
“I don’t sulk, I bite.”
“I think you’re cute, too,” Zebbie answered, grabbed me by both shoulders, dragged me over the table, and kissed me hard. Our teeth grated and my nipples went spung! Sometimes I wish I weren’t so noble.
He dropped me abruptly and said, “Attention, class. The two prongs of the caltrop painted blue represent our three-dimensional space of experience. The third prong painted yellow is the t-time we are used to. The red fourth prong simulates both Tau-time and Teh-time, the unexplored time dimensions necessary to Jake’s theory. Sharpie, we have condensed six dimensions into four, then we either work by analogy into six, or we have to use math that apparently nobody but Jake and my cousin Ed understands. Unless you can think of some way to project six dimensions into three – you seem to be smart at such projections.”
I closed my eyes and thought hard. “Zebbie, I don’t think it can be done. Maybe Escher could have done it.”
“It can be done, my dearest,” answered my dearest, “but it is unsatisfactory. Even with a display computer with capacity to subtract one or more dimensions at a time. A superhypertesseract – a to the sixth power – has too many lines and corners and planes and solids and hypersolids for the eye to grasp. Cause the computer to subtract dimensions and what you have left is what you already knew. I fear it is an innate incapacity of visual conception in the human brain.”
“I think Pop is right,” agreed Deety. “I worked hard on that program. I don’t think the late great Dr. Marvin Minsky could have done it better in flat projection. Holovision? I don’t know. I would like to try if I ever get my hands on a computer with holovideo display and the capacity to add, subtract, and rotate six coordinates.”
“But why six dimensions?” I asked. “Why not five? Or even four, since you speak of rotating them interchangeably.”
“Jake?” said Zeb.
My darling looked fussed. “It bothered me that a space-time continuum seemed to require three space dimensions but only one time dimension. Granted that the universe is what it is, nevertheless nature is filled with symmetries. Even after the destruction of the parity principle, scientists kept finding new ones. Philosophers stay wedded to symmetry – but I don’t count philosophers.”
“Of course not,” agreed Zeb. “No philosopher allows his opinions to be swayed by facts – he would be kicked out of his guild. Theologians, the lot of them.”
“I concur. Hilda my darling, after I found a way to experiment, it turned out that six dimensions existed. Possibly more – but I see no way to reach them.”
“Let me see,” I said. “If I understood earlier, each dimension can be swapped for any other.”
“By ninety-degree rotation, yes.”
“Wouldn’t that be the combinations taken four at a time out of a set of six? How many is that?”
“Fifteen,” Zebbie answered.
“Goodness! Fifteen whole universes? And we use only one?”
“No, no, my darling! That would be ninety-degree rotations of one Euclidean universe. But our universe, or universes, has been known to be non-Euclidean at least since 1919. Or 1886 if you prefer. I stipulate that cosmology is an imperfect discipline, nevertheless, for considerations that I cannot state in nonmathematical terms, I was forced to assume a curved space of positive radius – that is to say, a closed space. That makes the universes possibly accessible to use either by rotation or by translation this number.” My husband rapidly wrote three sixes.
“Six sixty-six,” I said wonderingly. “‘The Number of the Beast.'”
“Eh? Oh! The Revelation of Saint John the Divine. But I scrawled it sloppily. You took it that I wrote this: ‘666.’ But what I intended to write was this: ‘6^6^6.’ Six raised to its sixth power, and the result in turn raised to its sixth power. That number is this:” 1.03144+ X 10^28 ” – or written in full:” 10,314,424,798,490,535,546,171,949,056 ” – or more than ten million sextillion universes in our group.”
What can one say to that? Jacob went on, “Those universes are our nextdoor neighbors, one rotation or one translation away. But if one includes combinations of rotation and translation – think of a hyperplane slicing through superhypercontinua not at the point of here-now – the total becomes indenumerable. Not infinity – infinity has no meaning. Uncountable. Not subject to manipulation by mathematics thus far invented. Accessible to continua craft but no known way to count them.”
“Pop -“
“Yes, Deety?”
“Maybe Aunt Hilda hit on something. Agnostic as you are, you nevertheless keep the Bible around as history and poetry and myth.”
“Who said I was agnostic, my daughter?”
“Sorry, sir. I long ago reached that conclusion because you won’t talk about it. Wrong of me. Lack of data never justifies a conclusion. But this key number – one-point-oh-three-one-four-four-plus times ten to its twenty-eighth power – perhaps that is the ‘Number of the Beast.'”
“What do you mean, Deety?”
“That Revelation isn’t history, it’s not good poetry, and it’s not myth. There must have been some reason for a large number of learned men to include it – while chucking out several dozen gospels. Why not make a first hypothesis with Occam’s Razor and read it as what it purports to be? Prophecy.”
“Hmm. The shelves under the stairs, next to Shakespeare. The King James version, never mind the other three.”
Deety was back in a moment with a well-worn black book – which surprised me. I read the Bible for my own reasons but it never occurred to me that Jacob would. We always marry strangers.
“Here,” said Deety. “Chapter thirteen, verse eighteen: ‘Here is wisdom. Let him that hath understanding count the number of the beast: for it is the number of a man; and his number is Six hundred threescore and six.”
“That can’t be read as exponents, Deety.”
“But this is a translation, Pop. Wasn’t the original in Greek? I don’t remember when exponents were invented but the Greek mathematicians of that time certainly understood powers. Suppose the original read ‘Zeta, Zeta, Zeta!’ – and those scholars, who weren’t mathematicians, mistranslated it as six hundred and sixty-six?”
“Uh… moondrift, Daughter.”
“Who taught me that the world is not only stranger than we imagine but stranger than we can imagine? Who has already taken me into two universes that are not this one… and brought me safely home?”
“Wait a half!” Zebbie said. “You and Pop have already tried the time-space machine?”
“Didn’t Pop tell you? We made one minimum translation. We didn’t seem to have gone anywhere and Pop thought he had failed. Until I tried to look up a number in the phone book. No ‘J’ in the book. No ‘J’ in the Britannica. No ‘J’ in any dictionary. So we popped back in, and Pop returned the verniers to zero, and we got out, and the alphabet was back the way it ought to be and I stopped shaking. But our rotation was even more scary and we almost died. Out in space with blazing stars – but air was leaking out and Pop just barely put it back to zero before we passed out… and came to, back here in Snug Harbor.”
“Jake,” Zebbie said seriously, “that gadget has got to have more fail-safes, in series with deadman switches for homing.” He frowned. “I’m going to keep my eye open for both numbers, six sixty-six and the long one. I trust Deety’s hunches. Deety, where is the verse with the description of the Beast? It’s somewhere in the middle of the chapter.”
“Here. ‘And I beheld another beast coming up out of the earth; and he had two horns like a lamb, and he spake as a dragon.'”
“Hmm – I don’t know how dragons speak. But if something comes up out of the earth and has two horns… and I see or hear either number – I’m going to assume that he has a ‘Black Hat’ and try to do unto him before he does unto us. Deety, I’m peaceable by policy… but two near misses is too many. Next time I shoot first.”
I would as lief Zebbie hadn’t mentioned “Black Hats.” Hard to believe that someone was trying to kill anyone as sweet and innocent and harmless as my darling Jacob. But they were – and we knew it.
I said, “Where is this time machine? All I’ve seen is a claptrap.”
“‘Caltrop,’ Aunt Hilda. You’re looking at the space-time machine.”
“Huh? Where? Why aren’t we in it and going somewhere fast? I don’t want my husband killed; he’s practically brand-new. I expect to get years of wear out of him.”
“Sharpie, stop the chatter,” Zebbie put in. “It’s on that bench, across the table from you.”
“All I see is a portable sewing machine.”
“That’s it.”
“What? How do you get inside? Or do you ride it like a broom?”
“Neither. You mount it rigidly in a vehicle – one airtight and watertight by strong preference. Pop had it mounted in their car – not quite airtight and now kaputt. Pop and I are going to mount it in Gay Deceiver, which is airtight. With better fail-safes.”
“Much better fail-safes, Zebbie,” I agreed.
“They will be. I find that being married makes a difference. I used to worry about my own skin. Now I’m worried about Deety’s. And yours. And Pop’s. All four of us.”
“Hear, hear!” I agreed. “All for one, and one for all!”
“Yup,” Zebbie answered. “Us four, no more. Deety, when’s lunch?”

Chapter VII

“Avete, alieni, nos morituri vos spernimus!”

Deety:
While Aunt Hilda and I assembled lunch, our men disappeared. They returned just in time to sit down. Zebadiah carried an intercom unit; Pop had a wire that he plugged into a jack in the wall, then hooked to the intercom.
“Gentlemen, your timing is perfect; the work is all done,” Aunt Hilda greeted them. “What is that?”
“A guest for lunch, my dearest,” Pop answered. “Miss Gay Deceiver.”
“Plenty for all,” Aunt Hilda agreed. “I’ll set another place.” She did so; Zebadiah placed the intercom on the fifth plate. “Does she take coffee or tea?”
“She’s not programmed for either, Hilda,” Zebadiah answered, “but I thank you on her behalf. Ladies, I got itchy about news from Singapore and Sumatra. So I asked my autopilot to report. Jake came along, then pointed out that he had spare cold circuits here and there, just in case – and this was a just-in-case. Gay is plugged to the garage end of that jack, and this is a voice-switched master-master intercom at this end. I can call Gay and she can call me if anything new comes in – and I increased her programming by reinstating the earlier programs, Logan and back home, for running retrieval of new data.”
“I’ll add an outlet in the basement,” agreed Pop. “But, Son, this is your home – not California.”
“Well -“
“Don’t fight it, Zebbie. This is my home since Jacob legalized me… and any step-son-in-law of mine is at home here; you heard Jacob say so. Right, Deety?”
“Of course,” I agreed. “Aunt Hilda is housewife and I’m scullery maid. But Snug Harbor is my home, too, until Pop and, Aunt Hilda kick me out into the snow – and that includes my husband.”
“Not into snow, Deety,” Aunt Hilda corrected me. “Jacob would insist on a sunny day; he’s kind and gentle. But that would not leave you with no roof over your head. My California home – mine and Jacob’s – has long been your home-from-home, and Zebbie has been dropping in for years, whenever he was hungry.”
“I had better put my bachelor flat into the pot.”
“Zebbie, you can’t put Deety on your day bed. It’s lumpy, Deety. Broken springs. Bruises. Zebbie, break your lease and send your furniture back to Good Will.”
“Sharpie, you’re at it again. Deety, there is no day bed in my digs. An emperor-size bed big enough for three – six if they are well acquainted.”
“My Captain, do you go in for orgies?” I asked.
“No. But you can’t tell what may turn up in the future.”
“You always look ahead, Zebadiah,” I said approvingly. “Am I invited?”
“At any orgy of mine, my wife will pick the guests and send the invitations.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll wait until you seem to be bored, then look over the crop and pick out choice specimens for you. Assorted flavors and colors.”
“My Princess, I will not spank a pregnant woman. But I can think about it. Pop, Snug Harbor continues to impress me. Did you use an architect?”
“Hrrumph! ‘Architect’ is a dirty word. I studied engineering. Architects copy each other’s mistakes and call it ‘Art.’ Even Frank Lloyd Wright never understood what the Gilbreths were doing. His houses looked great from the outside – inside they were hideously inefficient. Dust collectors. Gloomy. Psych lab rat mazes. Pfui!”
“How about Neutra?”
“If he hadn’t been hamstrung by building codes and union rules and zoning laws, Neutra could have been great. But people don’t want efficient machines for living; they prefer to crouch in medieval hovels, as their flea-bitten forebears did. Cold, drafty, unsanitary, poor lighting, and no need for any of it.”
“I respect your opinion, sir. Pop – three fireplaces… no chimneys. How? Why?”
“Zeb, I like fireplaces – and a few cords of wood can save your life in the mountains. But I see no reason to warm the outdoors or to call attention to the fact that we are in residence or to place trust in spark arresters in forestfire country. Lighting a fire in a fireplace here automatically starts its exhaust fan. Smoke and particles are electrostatically precipitated. The precipitators are autoscrubbed when stack temperature passes twenty-five Celsius, dropping. Hot air goes through labyrinths under bathtubs and floors, then under other floors, thence into a rock heat-sink under the garage, a sink that drives the heat pump that serves the house. When flue gas finally escapes, at points distant from the house, it is so close to ambient temperature that only the most sensitive heat-seeker could sniff it. Thermal efficiency plus the security of being inconspicuous.”
“But suppose you are snowed in so long that your power packs play out?”
“Franklin stoves in storage, stove pipe to match, stops in the walls removable from inside to receive thimbles for flue pipes.”
“Pop,” I inquired, “is this covered by Rule One? Or was Rule One abolished last night in Elko?”
“Eh? The chair must rule that it is suspended until Hilda ratifies or cancels it. Hilda my love, years back Jane instituted Rule One -“
“I ratify it!”
“Thank you. But listen first. It applies to meals. No news broadcasts -“
“Pop,” I again interrupted, “while Rule One is still in limbo – did Gay Deceiver have any news? I worry, I do!”
“Null retrievals, dear. With the amusing conclusion that you and I are still presumed to have died twice, but the news services do not appear to have noticed the discrepancy. However, Miss Gay Deceiver will interrupt if a bulletin comes in; Rule One is never invoked during emergencies. Zeb, do you want this rig in your bedroom at night?”
“I don’t want it but should have it. Prompt notice might save our skins.”
“We’ll leave this here and parallel another into there, with gain stepped to wake you. Back to Rule One: No news broadcasts at meals, no newspapers. No shop talk, no business or financial matters, no discussion of ailments. No political discussion, no mention of taxes, or of foreign or domestic policy. Reading of fiction permitted en famille – not with guests present. Conversation limited to cheerful subjects -“
“No scandal, no gossip?” demanded Aunt Hilda.
“A matter of your judgment, dear. Cheerful gossip about friends and acquaintances, juicy scandal about people we do not like – fine! Now – do you wish to ratify, abolish, amend, or take under advisement?”
“I ratify it unchanged. Who knows some juicy scandal about someone we don’t like?”
“I know an item about ‘No Brain’ – Doctor Neil Brain,” Zebadiah offered.
“Give!”
“I got this from a reliable source but can’t prove it.”
“Irrelevant as long as it’s juicy. Go ahead, Zebbie.”
“Well, a certain zaftig coed told this on herself. She tried to give her all to ‘Brainy’ in exchange for a passing grade in the general math course necessary to any degree on our campus. It is rigged to permit prominent but stupid athletes to graduate. Miss Zaftig was flunking it, which takes exceptional talent.
“So she arranged an appointment with the department head – ‘Brainy’ – and made her quid-pro-quo clear. He could give her horizontal tutoring then and there or in her apartment or his apartment or in a motel and she would pay for it or whenever and wherever he chose. But she had to pass.”
“Happens on every campus, Son,” Pop told him.
“I haven’t reached the point. She blabbed the story – not angry but puzzled. She says that she was unable to get her intention over to him (which seems impossible, I’ve seen this young woman). ‘Brainy’ didn’t accept, didn’t refuse, wasn’t offended, didn’t seem to understand. He told her that she had better talk to her instructor about getting tutoring and a re-exam. Now Miss Zaftig is circulating the story that Prof ‘No Brain’ must be a eunuch or a robot. Not even a homo. Totally sexless.”
“He’s undoubtedly stupid,” Aunt Hilda commented. “But I’ve never met a man I couldn’t get that point across to, if I tried. Even if he was uninterested in my fair virginal carcass. I’ve never tried with Professor Brain because I’m not interested in his carcass. Even barbecued.”
“Then, Hilda my darling, why did you invite him to your party?”
“What? Because of your note, Jacob. I don’t refuse you favors.”
“But, Hilda, I don’t understand. When I talked to you by telephone, I asked you to invite Zeb – under the impression that he was his cousin Zebulon – and I did say that two or three others from the department of mathematics might make it less conspicuously an arranged meeting. But I didn’t mention Doctor Brain. And I did not write.”
“Jacob – I have your note. In California. On your University stationery with your name printed on it.”
Professor Burroughs shook his head, looked sad. Zebadiah Carter said, “Sharpie – handwritten or typed?”
“Typed. But it was signed! Wait a moment, let me think. It has my name and address down in the lower left. Jacob’s name was typed, too, but it was signed ‘Jake.’ Uh… ‘My dear Hilda, A hasty P.S. to my phone call of yesterday – Would you be so kind as to include Doctor Neil O. Brain, chairman of mathematics? I don’t know what possessed me that I forgot to mention him. Probably the pleasure of hearing your dear voice.
“‘Deety sends her love, as do I. Ever yours, Jacob J. Burroughs’ with ‘Jake’ signed above the typed name.”
Zebadiah said to me, “Watson, you know my methods.”
“Certainly, my dear Holmes. A ‘Black Hat.’ In Logan.”
“We knew that. What new data?”
“Well… Pop made that call from the house; I remember it. So somebody has a tap on our phone. Had, I mean; the fire probably destroyed it.”
“A recording tap. The purpose of that fire may have been to destroy it and other evidence. For now we know that the ‘Blokes in the Black Hats’ knew that your father – and you, but it’s Pop they are after – was in California last evening. After ‘killing’ him in California, they destroyed all they could in Utah. Professor, I predict that we will learn that your office was robbed last night – any papers on six-dimensional spaces.”
Pop shrugged. “They wouldn’t find much. I had postponed my final paper after the – humiliating – reception my preliminary paper received. I worked on it only at home, or here, and moved notes made in Logan to our basement here each time we came down.”
“Any missing here?”
“I am certain this place has not been entered. Not that papers would matter; I have it in my head. The continua apparatus has not been touched.”
“Zebadiah, is Doctor Brain a ‘Black Hat’?” I asked.
“I don’t know, Deety. He may be a stooge in their hire. But he’s part of their plot, or they would not have risked forging a letter to put him into Hilda’s house. Jake, how difficult is it to steal your professional stationery?”
“Not difficult. I don’t keep a secretary; I send for a stenographer when I need one. I seldom lock my office when I’m on campus.”
“Deety, can you scrounge pen and paper? I want to see how Jake signs ‘Jake.'”
“Sure.” I fetched them. “Pop’s signature is easy; I often sign it. I hold his power of attorney.”
“It’s the simple signatures that are hardest to forge well enough to fool a handwriting expert. But their scheme did not require fooling an expert – phrasing the note was more difficult… since Hilda accepted it as ringing true.”
“It does ring true, Son; it is very like what I would have said had I written such a note to Hilda.”
“The forger probably has read many of your letters and listened to many of your conversations. Jake, will you write ‘Jake’ four or five times, the way you sign a note to a friend?”
Pop did so, my husband studied the specimens. “Normal variations.” Zebadiah then signed “Jake” about a dozen times, looked at his work, took a fresh sheet, signed “Jake” once, passed it to Aunt Hilda. “Well, Sharpie?”
Aunt Hilda studied it. “It wouldn’t occur to me to question it – on Jacob’s stationery under a note that sounded like his phrasing. Where do we stand now?”
“Stuck in the mud. But we have added data. At least three are involved, two ‘Black Hats’ and Doctor Brain, who may or may not be a ‘Black Hat.’ He is, at minimum, a hired hand, an unwitting stooge, or a puppet they can move around like a chessman.
“While two plus ‘Brainy’ is minimum, it is not the most probable number. This scheme was not whipped up overnight. It involves arson, forgery, booby-trapping a car, wiretapping, theft, and secret communications between points widely separated, with coordinated criminal actions at each end – and it may involve doing in my cousin Zebulon. We can assume that the ‘Black Hats’ know that I am not the Zeb Carter who is the n-dimensional geometer; I’m written off as a bystander who got himself killed.
“Which doesn’t bother them. These playful darlings would swat a fly with a sledgehammer, or cure a cough with a guillotine. They are smart, organized, efficient, and vicious – and the only clue is an interest in six-dimensional non-Euclidean geometry.
“We don’t have a glimmer as to ‘who’ – other than Doctor Brain, whose role is unclear. But, Jake, I think I know ‘why’ – and that will lead us to ‘who.”
“Why, Zebadiah?” I demanded.
“Princess, your father could have worked on endless other branches of mathematics and they would not have bothered him. But he happened – I don’t mean chance; I don’t believe in ‘chance’ in this sense – he worked on the one variety of the endless possible number of geometries – the only one that correctly describes how space-time is put together. Having found it, because he is a genius in both theory and practice, he saw that it was a means by which to build a simple craft – amazingly simple, the greatest invention since the wheel – a space-time craft that offers access to all universes to the full Number of the Beast. Plus undenumerable variations of each of those many universes.
“We have one advantage.”
“I don’t see any advantage! They’re shooting at my Jacob!”
“One strong advantage, Sharpie. The ‘Black Hats’ know that Jake has worked out this mathematics. They don’t know that he has built his space-time tail-twister; they think he has just put symbols on paper. They tried to discredit his work and were successful. They tried to kill him and barely missed. They probably think Jake is dead – and it seems likely that they have killed Ed. But they don’t know about Snug Harbor.”
“Why do you say that, Zeb? Oh, I hope they do not! – but why do you feel sure?”
“Because these blokes aren’t fooling. They blew up your car and burned your flat; what would they do here? – if they knew. An A-bomb?”
“Son, do you think that criminals can lay hands on atomic weapons?”
“Jake, these aren’t criminals. A ‘criminal’ is a member of the subset of the larger set ‘human beings.’ These creatures are not human.”
“Eh? Zeb, your reasoning escapes me.”
“Deety. Run it through the computer. The one between your ears.”
I did not answer; I just sat and thought. After several minutes of unpleasant thoughts I said, “Zebadiah, the ‘Black Hats’ don’t know about the apparatus in our basement.”
“Conclusive assumption,” my husband agreed, “because we are still alive.”
“They are determined to destroy a new work in mathematics… and to kill the brain that produced it.”
“A probability approaching unity,” Zebadiah again agreed.
“Because it can be used to travel among the universes.”
“Conclusive corollary,” my husband noted.
“For this purpose, human beings fall into three groups. Those not interested in mathematics more complex than that needed to handle money, those who know a bit about other mathematics, and a quite small third group who could understand the possibilities.”
“Yes.”
“But our race does not know anything of other universes so far as I know.”
“They don’t. Necessary assumption.”
“But that third group would not try to stop an attempt to travel among the universes. They would wait with intellectual interest to see how it turned out. They might believe or disbelieve or suspend judgment. But they would not oppose; they would be delighted if my father succeeded. The joy of intellectual discovery – the mark of a true scientist.”
I sighed and added, “I see no other grouping. Save for a few sick people, psychotic, these three subsets complete the set. Our opponents are not psychotic; they are intelligent, crafty, and organized.”
“As we all know too well,” Zebadiah echoed.
“Therefore our opponents are not human beings. They are alien intelligences from elsewhere.” I sighed again and shut up. Being an oracle is a no-good profession!
“Or elsewhen. Sharpie, can you kill?”
“Kill whom, Zebbie? Or what?” “Can you kill to protect Jake?”
“You bet your frimpin’ life I’ll kill to protect Jacob!”
“I won’t ask you, Princess; I know Dejah Thoris.” Zebadiah went on, “That’s the situation, ladies. We have the most valuable man on this planet to protect. We don’t know from what. Jake, your bodyguard musters two Amazons, one small, one medium large, both probably knocked up, and one Cowardly Lion. I’d hire the Dorsai if I knew their P.O. Box. Or the Gray Lensman and all his pals. But we are all there are and we’ll try! Avete, alieni, nos morituri vos spernimus! Let’s break out that champagne.”
“My Captain, do you think we should?” I asked. “I’m frightened.”
“We should. I’m no good for more work today, and neither is Jake. Tomorrow we’ll start installing the gadget in Gay Deceiver, do rewiring and reprogramming so that she will work for any of us. Meanwhile we need a couple of laughs and a night’s sleep. What better time to drink life to the dregs than when we know that any hour may be our last?”
Aunt Hilda punched Zebadiah in the ribs. “Yer dern tootin’, Buster! I’m going to get giggle happy and make a fool of myself and then take my man and put him to sleep with Old Mother Sharpie’s Time-Tested Nostrum. Deety, I prescribe the same for you.”
I suddenly felt better. “Check, Aunt Hilda! Captain John Carter always wins. ‘Cowardly Lion’ my foot! Who is Pop? The Little Wizard?”
“I think he is.”
“Could be. Pop, will you open the bubbly? I always hurt my thumbs.”
“Right away, Deety. I mean ‘Dejah Thoris, royal consort of the Warlord.'”
“No need to be formal, Pop. This is going to be an informal party. Very! Pop! Do I have to keep my pants on?”
“Ask your husband. You’re his problem now.”

Chapter VIII

“Let us all preserve our illusions – “

Hilda:
In my old age, sucking my gums in front of the fire and living over my misdeeds, I’ll remember the next few days as the happiest in my life. I’d had three honeymoons earlier, one with each of my term-contract husbands: two had been good, one had been okay and (eventually) very lucrative. But my honeymoon with Jacob was heavenly.
The whiff of danger sharpened the joy. Jacob seemed unworried, and Zebbie has hunches, like a horseplayer. Seeing that Zebbie was relaxed, Deety got over being jumpy – and I never was, as I hope to end like a firecracker, not linger on, ugly, helpless, useless…
A spice of danger adds zest to life. Even during a honeymoon – especially during a honeymoon.
An odd honeymoon. We worked hard but our husbands seemed never too busy for pat fanny, squeeze titty, and unhurried kisses. Not a group marriage but two twosomes that were one family, comfortable each with the others. I dropped most of my own sparky-bitch ways, and Zebbie sometimes called me “Hilda” rather than “Sharpie.”
Jacob and I moved into marriage like ham and eggs. Jacob is not tall (178 centimeters) (but tall compared with my scant one fifty-two) and his hairline recedes and he has a paunch from years at a desk – but he looks just right to me. If I wanted to look at male beauty, I could always look at Deety’s giant – appreciate him without lusting: my own loving goat kept Sharpie quite blunted.
I did not decide, when Zebbie came on campus, to make a pet of him for his looks but for his veering sense of humor. But if there was ever a man who could have played the role of John Carter, Warlord of Mars, it was Zebadiah Carter whose middle name just happens to be “John.” Indoors with clothes and wearing his fake horn-rims he looks awkward, too big, clumsy. I did not realize that he was beautiful and graceful until the first time he used my pool. (That afternoon I was tempted to seduce him. But, as little dignity as I have, I had resolved to stick to older men, so I shut off the thought.)
Outdoors at Snug Harbor, wearing little or no clothes, Zebbie looked at home – a mountain lion in grace and muscle. An incident one later afternoon showed me how much he was like the Warlord of Mars. A sword – Those old stories were familiar to me. My father had acquired the Ballantine Del Rey paperback reissues; they were around the house when I was a little girl. Once I learned to read, I read everything, and vastly preferred Barsoom stories to “girls” books given to me for birthdays and Christmas. Thuvia was the heroine I identified with – “toy” of the cruel priests of Issus, then with virginity miraculously restored in the next book: Thuvia, Maid of Mars. I resolved to change my name to Thuvia when I was old enough. When I was eighteen, I did not consider it; I had always been “Hilda,” a new name held no attraction.
I was responsible in part for Deety’s name, one that embarrassed her until she discovered that her husband liked it. Jacob had wanted to name his daughter “Dejah Thoris” (Jacob looks like and is a professor, but he is incurably romantic). Jane had misgivings. I told her, “Don’t be a chump, Janie. If your man wants something, and you can accommodate him with no grief, give it to him! Do you want him to love this child or to resent her?” Jane looked thoughtful and “Doris Anne” became “Dejah Thoris” at christening, then “Deety” before she could talk – which satisfied everyone.
We settled into a routine: Up early every day; our men worked on instruments and wires and things and installing the time-space widget into Gay Deceiver’s gizzard – while Deety and I gave the housework a lick and a promise (our mountain home needed little attention – more of Jacob’s genius), then Deety and I got busy on a technical matter that Deety could do with some help from me.
I’m not much use for technical work, biology being the only thing I studied in depth and never finished my degree. This was amplified by almost six thousand hours as volunteer nurse’s aid in our campus medical center and I took courses that make me an uncertified nurse or medical tech or even jackleg paramedic – I don’t shriek at the sight of blood and can clean up vomit without a qualm and would not hesitate to fill in as scrub nurse. Being a campus widow with too much money is fun but not soul filling. I like to feel that I’ve paid rent on the piece of earth I’m using.
Besides that, I have a smattering of everything from addiction to the printed page, plus attending campus lectures that sound intriguing… then sometimes auditing a related course. I audited descriptive astronomy, took the final as if for credit – got an “A.” I had even figured a cometary orbit correctly, to my surprise (and the professor’s).
I can wire a doorbell or clean out a stopped-up soil pipe with a plumber’s “snake” – but if it’s really technical, I hire specialists.
So Hilda can help but usually can’t do the job alone. Gay Deceiver had to be reprogrammed – and Deety, who does not look like a genius, is one. Jacob’s daughter should be a genius and her mother had an I.Q. that startled even me, her closest friend. I ran across it while helping poor grief-stricken Jacob to decide what to save, what to burn. (I burned unflattering pictures, useless papers, and clothes. A dead person’s clothes should be given away or burned; nothing should be kept that does not inspire happy memories. I cried a bit and that saved Jacob and Deety from having to cry later.)
We all held private duo licenses; Zebbie, as Captain Z. J. Carter, U.S.A.S.R., held “command” rating as well – he told us that his space rating was largely honorary, just some free-fall time and one landing of a shuttle. Zebbie is mendacious, untruthful, and tells fibs; I got a chance to sneak a look at his aerospace log and shamelessly took it. He had logged more than he claimed in one exchange tour with Australia. Someday I’m going to sit on his chest and make him tell Mama Hilda the truth. Should be interesting… if I can sort out fact from fiction. I do not believe his story about intimate relations with a female kangaroo.
Zebbie and Jacob decided that we all must be able to control Gay Deceiver all four ways, on the road, in the air, in trajectory (she’s not a spaceship but can make high-trajectory jumps), and in space-time, i.e. among the universes to the Number of the Beast, plus variants impossible to count.
I had fingers crossed about being able to learn that, but both men assured me that they had worked out a fail-safe that would get me out of a crunch if I ever had to do it alone.
Part of the problem lay in the fact that Gay Deceiver was a one-man girl; her doors unlocked only to her master’s voice or to his thumbprint, or to a tapping code if he were shy both voice and right thumb; Zeb tended to plan ahead – “Outwitting Murphy’s Law,” he called it, “‘Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.'” (Grandma called it “The Butter-Side Down Rule.”)
First priority was to introduce us to Gay Deceiver – teach her that all four voices and right thumbprints were acceptable.
That took a couple of hours, with Deety helping Zebbie. The tapping code took even less, it being based on an old military cadence – its trickiness being that a thief would be unlikely to guess that this car would open if tapped a certain way and in guessing the correct cadence. Zebbie called the cadence “Drunken Soldier.” Jacob said that it was “Bumboat.” Deety claimed that its title was “Pay Day,” because she had heard it from Jane’s grandfather.
Our men conceded that she must be right, as she had words for it. Her words included “Drunken Sailor” instead of “Drunken Soldier” – plus both “Pay Day” and “Bumboat.”
Introductions taken care of, Zeb dug out Gay’s anatomy, one volume her body, one her brain. He handed the latter to Deety, took the other into our basement. The next two days were easy for me, hard for Deety. I held lights and made notes on a clip board while she studied that book and frowned and got smudged and sweaty getting herself into impossible positions and once she cursed in a fashion that would have caused Jane to scold. She added, “Aunt Nanny Goat, your step-son-in-law has done things to this mass of spaghetti that no decent computer should put up with! It’s a bastard hybrid.”
“You shouldn’t call Gay ‘it,’ Deety. And she’s not a bastard.”
“She can’t hear us; I’ve got her ears unhooked – except that piece that is monitoring news retrieval programs – and that goes through this wire to that jack in the wall; she can talk with Zebadiah only in the basement now. Oh, I’m sure she was a nice girl until that big ape of mine raped her. Aunt Hilda, don’t worry about hurting Gay’s feelings; she hasn’t any. This is an idiot as computers go. Any one-horse college and most high schools own or share time in computers much more complex. This one is primarily cybernetics, an autopilot plus limited digital capacity and limited storage. But the mods Zebadiah has tacked on make it more than an autopilot but not a general-purpose computer. A misbegotten hybrid. It has far more random-number options than it needs and it has extra functions that IBM never dreamed of.”
“Deety, why are you taking off cover plates? I thought you were strictly a programmer? Software. Not a mechanic.”
“I am strictly a software mathematician. I wouldn’t attempt to modify this monster even on written orders from my lovable but sneaky husband. But how in the name of Allah can a software hack think about simplification analysis for program if she doesn’t know the circuitry? The first half of this book shows what this autopilot was manufactured to do… and the second half, the Xeroxed pages, show the follies Zebadiah has seduced her into. This bleedin’ bundle of chips now speaks three logic languages, interfaced – when it was built to use only one. But it won’t accept any of them until it has been wheedled with Zebadiah’s double talk. Even then it rarely answers a code phrase with the same answer twice in a row. What does it say in answer to: ‘You’re a smart girl, Gay.’?”
“I remember. ‘Boss, I bet you tell that to all the girls. Over.”
“Sometimes. Oftenest, as that answer is weighted to come up three times as often as any of the others. But listen to this:
“‘Zeb, I’m so smart I scare myself.’
“‘Then why did you turn me down for that raise?’
“‘Never mind the compliments! Take your hand off my knee!’
“‘Not so loud, dear. I don’t want my boyfriend to hear.’
” – and there are more. There are at least four answers to any of Zebadiah’s code phrases. He uses just one list, but the autopilot answers several ways for each of his phrases – and all any of them mean is either ‘Roger’ or ‘Null program; rephrase.'”
“I like the idea. Fun.”
“Well… I do myself. I animize a computer; I think of them as people… and this semirandom answer list makes Gay Deceiver feel much more alive… when she isn’t. Not even versatile compared with a ground-based computer. But – ” Deety gave a quick smile. “I’m going to hand my husband some surprises.”
“How, Deety?”
“You know how he says, ‘Good morning, Gay. How are you?’ when we sit down for breakfast.”
“Yes. I like it. Friendly. She usually answers, ‘I’m fine, Zeb.'”
“Yes. It’s a test code. It orders the autopilot to run a self-check throughout and to report any running instruction. Which takes less than a millisecond. If he didn’t get that or an equivalent answer, he would rush straight here to find out what’s wrong. But I’m going to add another answer. Or more.”
“I thought you refused to modify anything.”
“Aunt Hillbilly, this is software, not hardware. I’m authorized and directed to amplify the answers to include all of us, by name for each of our voices. That is programming, elementary. You say good morning to this gadget and it will – when I’m finished – answer you and call you either ‘Hilda’ or ‘Mrs. Burroughs.'”
“Oh, let her call me Hilda.'”
“All right, but let her call you ‘Mrs. Burroughs’ now and then for variety.”
“Well… all right. Keep her a personality.”
“I could even have her call you – low weighting! – ‘Nanny Goat.'”
I guffawed. “Do, Deety, please do. But I want to be around to see Jacob’s face.”
“You will be; it won’t be programmed to answer that way to any voice but yours. Just don’t say, ‘Good morning, Gay’ unless Pop is listening. But here’s one for my husband: Zebadiah says, ‘Good morning, Gay. How are you?’ – and the speaker answers, ‘I’m fine, Zeb. But your fly is unzipped and your eyes are bloodshot. Are you hung over again?'”
Deety is so solemn and yet playful. “Do it, dear! Poor Zebbie – who drinks least of any of us. But he might not be wearing anything zippered.”
“Zebadiah always wears something at meals. Even his underwear shorts are zippered. He dislikes elastic.”
“But he’ll recognize your voice, Deety.”
“Nope. Because it will be your voice – modified.”
And it was. I’m contralto about the range of the actress – or girl friend – who recorded Gay Deceiver’s voice originally. I don’t think my voice has her sultry, bedroom quality but I’m a natural mimic. Deety borrowed a wigglescope – oscilloscope? – from her father, my Jacob, and I practiced until my patterns for Gay Deceiver’s original repertoire matched hers well enough – Deety said she could not tell them apart without close checking.
I got into the spirit of it, such as having Deety cause Gay Deceiver occasionally to say to my husband, “Fine – except for my back ache, you wicked old Billy Goat!” – and Jacob tripped that reply one morning when I did have a back ache, and I feel sure he had one, too.
We didn’t put in answers that Deety felt might be too bawdy for Jacob’s “innocent” mind – I didn’t even hint how her father actually talked, to me in private. Let us all preserve our illusions; it lubricates social relations. Possibly Deety and Zebbie talked the same way to each other in private – and regarded us “old folks” as hopelessly square.

Chapter IX

Most males have an unhealthy tendency to obey laws.

Deety:
Aunt Hilda and I finished reprogramming in the time it took Zebadiah and Pop to design and make the fail-safes and other mods needed to turn Gay Deceiver, with the time-space widget installed, into a continua traveler – which included placing the back seats twenty centimeters farther back (for leg room) after they had been pulled out to place the widget abaft the bulkhead and weld it to the shell. The precessing controls and triple verniers were remoted to the driver’s instrument board – with one voice control for the widget, all others manual:
If any of our voices said, “Gay Deceiver, take us home!” car and passengers would instantly return to Snug Harbor.
I don’t know but I trust my Pop. He brought us home safe twice, doing it with no fail-safes and no dead-man switch. The latter paralleled the “Take us home!” voice order, was normally clamped closed and covered – but could be uncovered and held in a fist, closed. There were other fail-safes for temperature, pressure, air, radar collision course, and other dangers. If we wound up inside a star or planet, none of this could save us, but it is easy to prove that the chances of falling downstairs and breaking your neck are enormously higher than the chance of co-occupying space with other matter in our native universe – space is plentiful, mass is scarce. We hoped that this would be true of other universes.
No way ahead of time to check on the Number-of-the-Beast spaces – but “The cowards never started and the weaklings died on the way.” None of us ever mentioned not trying to travel the universes. Besides, our home planet had turned unfriendly. We didn’t discuss “Black Hats” but we all knew that they were still here, and that we remained alive by lying doggo and letting the world think we were dead.
We ate breakfast better each morning after hearing Gay Deceiver offer “null report” on news retrievals. Zebadiah, I am fairly certain, had given up his cousin for dead. I feel sure Zebadiah would have gone to Sumatra to follow a lost hope, were it not that he had acquired a wife and a prospective child. I missed my next period, so did Hilda. Our men toasted our not-yet bulging bellies; Hilda and I smugly resolved to be good girls, yes, sir! – and careful. Hilda joined my morning toning up, and the men joined us the first time they caught us at it.
Zebadiah did not need it but seemed to enjoy it. Pop brought his waistline down five centimeters in one week.
Shortly after that toast Zebadiah pressure-tested Gay Deceiver’s shell – four atmospheres inside her and a pressure gauge sticking out through a fitting in her shell.
There being little we could do while our space-time rover was sealed, we knocked off early. “Swim, anybody?” I asked. Snug Harbor doesn’t have a citytype pool, and a mountain stream is too cooold. Pop had fixed that when he concealed our spring. Overflow was piped underground to a clump of bushes and thereby created a “natural” mountain rivulet that passed near the house; then Pop had made use of a huge fallen boulder, plus biggish ones, to create a pool, one that filled and spilled. He had done work with pigments in concrete to make this look like an accident of water flow.
This makes Pop sound like Paul Bunyan. Pop could have built Snug Harbor with his own hands. But Spanish-speaking labor from Nogales built the underground and assembled the prefab shell of the cabin. An air crane fetched parts and materials from an Albuquerque engineering company Jane had bought for Pop through a front – lawyers in Dallas. The company’s manager drove the air crane himself, having had it impressed on him that this was for a rich client of the law firm, and that it would be prudent to do the job and forget it. Pop bossed the work in TexMex, with help from his secretary – me – Spanish being one language I had picked for my doctorate.
Laborers and mechanics never got a chance to pinpoint where they were, but they were well paid, well fed, comfortably housed in prefabs brought in by crane, and the backbreaking labor was done by power – who cares what “locos gringos” do? Two pilots had to know where we were building, but they homed in on a radar beacon that is no longer there.
“Blokes in Black Hats” had nothing to do with this secrecy; it was jungle caution I had learned from Mama: Never let the revenooers know anything. Pay cash, keep your lips closed, put nothing through banks that does not appear later in tax returns – pay taxes greater than your apparent standard of living and declare income accordingly. We had been audited three times since Mama died; each time the government returned a small “overpayment” – I was building a reputation of being stupid and honest.
My inquiry of “Swim, anybody?” was greeted with silence. Then Pop said, “Zeb, your wife is too energetic. Deety, later the water will be warmer and the trees will give us shade. Then we can walk slowly down to the pool. Zeb?”
“I agree, Jake. I need to conserve ergs.”
“Nap?”
“I don’t have the energy to take one. What were you saying this morning about reengineering the system?”
Aunt Hilda looked startled. “I thought Miss Gay Deceiver was already engineered? Are you thinking of changing everything?”
“Take it easy, Sharpie darlin’. Gay Deceiver is finished. A few things to stow that have been weighed and their moment arms calculated.”
I could have told her. In the course of figuring what could be stowed in every nook and cranny and what that would do to Gay’s balance, I had discovered that my husband had a highly illegal laser cannon. I said nothing, merely included its mass and distance from optimum center of weight in my calculations. I sometimes wonder which of us is the outlaw: Zebadiah or I? Most males have an unhealthy tendency to obey laws. But that concealed L-cannon made me wonder.
“Why not leave well enough alone?” Aunt Hilda demanded. “Jacob and God know I’m happy here… But You All Know Why We Should Not Stay Here Longer Than We Must.”
“We weren’t talking about Gay Deceiver; Jake and I were discussing reengineering the Solar System.”
“The Solar System! What’s wrong with it the way it is?”
“Lots of things,” Zebadiah told Aunt Hilda. “It’s untidy. Real estate going to waste. This tired old planet is crowded and sort o’ worn in spots. True, industry in orbit and power from orbit have helped, and both Lagrange-Four and -Five have self-supporting populations; anybody who invested in space stations early enough made a pile.” (Including Pop, Zebadiah!) “But these are minor compared with what can be done – and this planet is in worse shape each year. Jake’s six-dimensional principle can change that.”
“Move people into another universe? Would they go?”
“We weren’t thinking of that, Hilda. We’re trying to apply Clarke’s Law.”
“I don’t recall it. Maybe it was while I was out with mumps.”
“Arthur C. Clarke,” Pop told her. “Great man – too bad he was liquidated in The Purge. Clarke defined how to make a great discovery or create a key invention. Study what the most respected authorities agree can not be done – then do it. My continua craft is a godchild of Clarke via his Law. His insight inspired my treatment of six-dimensional continua. But this morning Zeb added corollaries.”
“Jake, don’t kid the ladies. I asked a question; you grabbed the ball and ran.”
“Uh, we heterodyned. Hilda, you know that the time-space traveler doesn’t require power.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know, darling man. Why were you installing power packs in Gay Deceiver?”
“Auxiliary uses. So that you won’t have to cook over an open fire, for example.”
“But the pretzel bender doesn’t use power,” agreed Zebadiah. “Don’t ask why. I did, and Jake started writing equations in Sanskrit and I got a headache.”
“It doesn’t use power, Aunt Hilda,” I agreed. “Just parasitic power. A few microwatts so that the gyros never slow down, milliwatts for instrument readouts and for controls – but the widget itself uses none.”
“What happened to the law of conservation of energy?”
“Sharpie,” my husband answered, “as a fairish mechanic, an amateur electron pusher, and as a bloke who has herded unlikely junk through the sky, I never worry about theory as long as machinery does what it is supposed to do. I worry when a machine turns and bites me. That’s why I specialize in fail-safes and backups and triple redundancy. I try never to get a machine sore at me. There’s no theory for that but every engineer knows it.”
“Hilda my beloved, the law of conservation of mass-energy is not broken by our continua craft; it is simply not relevant to it. Once Zeb understood that -“
“I didn’t say I understood it.”
“Well… once Zeb stipulated that, he raised interesting questions. For example: Jupiter doesn’t need Ganymede – “
“Whereas Venus does. Although Titan might be better.”
“Mmm… possible.”
“Yes. Make an inhabitable base more quickly. But the urgent problem, Jake, is to seed Venus, move atmosphere to Mars, put both of them through forced aging. Then respot them. Earth-Sol Trojan points?”
“Certainly. We’ve had millions of years of evolution this distance from the Sun. We had best plan on living neither closer nor farther. With careful attention to stratospheric protection. But I still have doubts about anchoring in the Venerian crust. We wouldn’t want to lose the planet on Tau axis.”
“Mere R. & D., Jake. Calculate pressures and temperatures; beef up the vehicle accordingly – spherical, save for exterior anchors – then apply a jigger factor of four. With automatic controls quintuply redundant. Catch it when it comes out and steady it down in Earth’s orbit, sixty degrees trailing – and start selling subdivisions the size of old Spanish Land Grants. Jake, we should gather enough mass to create new earths at all Trojan points, a hexagon around the Sun. Five brand-new earths would give the race room enough to breed. On this maiden voyage let’s keep our eyes open.”
Aunt Hilda looked at Zebadiah with horror. “Zebbie! Creating planets indeed! Who do you think you are? Jesus Christ?”
“I’m not that junior. That’s the Holy Ghost over there, scratching his belly, The Supreme Inseminator. I’m the other one, the Maker and Shaper. But in setting up a pantheon for the Celestial Age, we’re going to respect women’s rights, Hilda. Deety is Earth Mother; she’s perfect for the job. You are Moon Goddess, Selene. Good job, dear – more moons than earths. It fits you. You’re little and silvery and you wax and wane and you’re beautiful in all your phases. How about it? Us four and no more.”
“Quit pulling my leg!”
My husband answered, “I haven’t been pulling your leg. Come closer and I will; you have pretty legs, Step-Mother-in-Law. These things Jake and I have been discussing are practical – once we thought about the fact that the spacetime twister uses no power. Move anything anywhere – all spaces, all times. I add the plural because at first I could not see what Jake had in mind when he spoke of forced aging of a planet. Rotate Venus into the Tau axis, fetch it back along Teh axis, reinsert it centuries – or millennia – older at this point in ‘t’ axis. Perhaps translate it a year or so into the future – our future – so as to be ready for it when it returns, all sweet and green and beautiful and ready to grow children and puppies and butterflies. Terraformed but virginal.”
Aunt Hilda looked frightened. “Jacob? Would one highball do any harm to this peanut inside me? I need a bracer.”
“I don’t think so. Jane often had a drink with me while she was pregnant. Her doctor did not have her stop until her third trimester. Can’t see that it hurt Deety. Deety was so healthy she drove Jane home from the hospital.”
“Pop, that’s a fib. I didn’t learn to drive until I was three months old. But I need one, too,” I added. “Zebadiah?”
“Certainly, Princess. A medicinal drink should be by body mass. That’s half a jigger for you, Sharpie dear, a jigger for Deety, a jigger and a half for Jake – two jiggers for me.”
“Oh, how unfair!”
“It certainly is,” I agreed. “I outweigh Pop – he’s been losing, I’ve been gaining. Pick us up and see!”
My husband took us each around the waist, crouched, then straightened and lifted us.
“Close to a standoff,” he announced. “Pop may be a trifle heavier, but you’re more cuddly” – kissed me and put us down.
“There is no one more cuddly than Jacob!”
“Hilda, you’re prejudiced. Let’s each mix our own drinks, at the strength required for our emotional and physical conditions.”
So we did – it wound up with Hilda and me each taking a jigger with soda, Pop taking a jigger and a half over ice – and Zebadiah taking a half jigger of vodka and drowning it with Coke.
While we were sipping our “medicine,” Zebadiah, sprawled out, looked up over the fireplace. “Pop, you were in the Navy?”
“No – Army. If you count ‘chair-borne infantry.’ They handed me a commission for having a doctorate in mathematics, told me they needed me for ballistics. Then I spent my whole tour as a personnel officer, signing papers.”
“Standard Operating Procedure. That’s a Navy sword and belt up there. Thought it might be yours.”
“It’s Deety’s – belonged to Jane’s Grandfather Rodgers. I have a dress saber. Belonged to my Dad, who gave it to me when the Army took me. Dress blues, too. I took them with me, never had occasion to wear either.” Pop got up and went into his – their bedroom, calling back, “I’ll show you the saber.”
My husband said to me, “Deety, would you mind my handling your sword?”
“My Captain, that sword is yours.”
“Heavens, dear, I can’t accept an heirloom.”
“If my warlord will not permit his princess to gift him with a sword, he can leave it where it is! I’ve been wanting to give you a wedding present – and did not realize that I had the perfect gift for Captain John Carter.”
“My apologies, Dejah Thoris. I accept and will keep it bright. I will defend my princess with it against all enemies.”
“Helium is proud to accept. If you make a cradle of your hands, I can stand in them and reach it down.”
Zebadiah grasped me, a hand above each knee, and I was suddenly three meters tall. Sword and belt were on hooks; I lifted them down, and myself was placed down. My husband stood straight while I buckled it around him – then he dropped to one knee and kissed my hand.
My husband is mad north-northwest but his madness suits me. I got tears in my eyes which Deety doesn’t do much but Dejah Thoris seems prone to, since John Carter made her his.
Pop and Aunt Hilda watched – then imitated, including (I saw!) tears in Hilda’s eyes after she buckled on Pop’s saber, when he knelt and kissed her hand.
Zebadiah drew sword, tried its balance, sighted along its blade. “Handmade and balanced close to the hilt. Deety, your great-grandfather paid a pretty penny for this. It’s an honest weapon.”
“I don’t think he knew what it cost. It was presented to him.”
“For good reason, I feel certain.” Zebadiah stood back, went into hanging guard, made fast moulinets vertically, left and right, then horizontally clockwise and counterclockwise – suddenly dropped into swordsman’s guard – lunged and recovered, fast as a striking cat.
I said softly to Pop, “Did you notice?”
Pop answered quietly. “Know saber. Sword, too.”
Hilda said loudly, “Zebbie! You never told me you went to Heidelberg.”
“You never asked, Sharpie. Around the Red Ox they called me ‘The Scourge of the Neckar.'”
“What happened to your scars?”
“Never got any, dear. I hung around an extra year, hoping for one. But no one got through my guard – ever. Hate to think about how many German faces I carved into checkerboards.”
“Zebadiah, was that where you took your doctorate?”
My husband grinned and sat down, still wearing sword. “No, another school.”
“M.I.T.?” inquired Pop.
“Hardly. Pop, this should stay in the family. I undertook to prove that a man can get a doctorate from a major university without knowing anything and without adding anything whatever to human knowledge.”
“I think you have a degree in aerospace engineering,” Pop said flatly.
“I’ll concede that I have the requisite hours. I hold two degrees – a baccalaureate in humane arts… meaning I squeaked through… and a doctorate from an old and prestigious school – a Ph.D. in education.”
“Zebadiah! You wouldn’t!” (I was horrified.)
“But I did, Deety. To prove that degrees per se are worthless. Often they are honorifics of true scientists or learned scholars or inspired teachers. Much more frequently they are false faces for overeducated jackasses.”
Pop said, “You’ll get no argument from me, Zeb. A doctorate is a union card to get a tenured job. It does not mean that the holder thereof is wise or learned.”
“Yes, sir. I was taught it at my grandfather’s knee – my Grandfather Zachariah, the man responsible for the initial ‘Z’ in the names of his male descendants. Deety, his influence on me was so strong that I must explain him – no, that’s impossible; I must tell about him in order to explain me… and how I happened to take a worthless degree.”
Hilda said, “Deety, he’s pulling a long bow again.”
“Quiet, woman. ‘Get thee to a nunnery, go!”
“I don’t take orders from my step-son-in-law. Make that a monastery and I’ll consider it.”
I kept my blinkin’ mouf shut. My husband’s fibs entertain me. (If they are fibs.)
“Grandpa Zach was as cantankerous an old coot as you’ll ever meet. Hated government, hated lawyers, hated civil servants, hated preachers, hated automobiles, public schools, and telephones, was contemptuous of most editors, most writers, most professors, most of almost anything. But he overtipped waitresses and porters and would go out of his way to avoid stepping on an insect.
“Grandpa had three doctorates: biochemistry, medicine, and law – and he regarded anyone who couldn’t read Latin, Greek, Hebrew, French, and German as illiterate.”
“Zebbie, can you read all those?”
“Fortunately for me, my grandfather had a stroke while filling out a tax form before he could ask me that question. I don’t know Hebrew. I can read Latin, puzzle out Greek, speak and read French, read technical German, understand it in some accents, swear in Russian – very useful! – and speak an ungrammatical smattering of Spanish picked up in cantinas and from horizontal dictionaries.
“Grandpa would have classed me as subliterate as I don’t do any of these well – and I sometimes split infinitives which would have infuriated him. He practiced forensic medicine, medical jurisprudence, was an expert witness in toxicology, pathology, and traumatology, bullied judges, terrorized lawyers, medical students, and law students. He once threw a tax assessor out of his office and required him to return with a search warrant setting forth in detail its constitutional limitations, He regarded the income tax and the Seventeenth Amendment and the direct primary as signs of the decay of the Republic.”
“How did he feel about the Nineteenth?”
“Hilda, Grandpa Zach supported female suffrage. I remember hearing him say that if women were so dad-burned foolish as to want to assume the burden, they should be allowed to – they couldn’t do the country more harm than men had. ‘Votes for Women’ didn’t annoy him but nine thousand other things did. He lived at a slow simmer, always ready to break into a rolling boil.
“He had one hobby: collecting steel engravings.”
“‘Steel engravings’?” I repeated.
“Of dead presidents, my Princess. Especially of McKinley, Cleveland, and Madison – but he didn’t scorn those of Washington. He had that instinct for timing so necessary to a collector. In 1929 on Black Thursday he held not one share of common stock; instead he had sold short. When the 1933 Bank Holiday came along every old-dollar he owned, except current cash, was in Zurich in Swiss money. Eventually U.S. citizens were forbidden by ’emergency’ decree to own gold even abroad.
“Grandpa Zach ducked into Canada, applied for Swiss citizenship, got it, and thereafter split his time between Europe and America, immune to inflation and the confiscatory laws that eventually caused us to knock three zeros off the old-dollar in creating the newdollar.
“So he died rich, in Locarno – beautiful place; I stayed with him two summers as a boy. His will was probated in Switzerland and the U.S. Revenue Service could not touch it.
“Most of it was a trust with its nature known to his offspring before his death or I would not have been named Zebadiah.
“Female descendants got pro-rata shares of income with no strings attached but males had to have first names starting with ‘Z’ – and even that got them not one Swiss franc; there was a ‘Root, hog, or die!’ clause. Zachariah believed in taking care of daughters, but sons and grandsons had to go out and scratch, with no help from their fathers, until they had earned and saved on their own – or accumulated without going to jail – assets equal to one pro-rata share of the capital sum of the trust before they shared in the trust’s income.”
“Sexism,” said Aunt Hilda. “Raw, unadulterated sexism. Any FemLib gal would sneer at his dirty old money, on those terms.”
“Would you have refused it, Sharpie?”
“Me? Zebbie dear, are you feverish? I would have both greedy hands out. I’m strong for women’s rights but no fanatic. Sharpie wants to be pampered and that’s what men are best at – their natural function.”
“Pop, do you need help in coping with her?”
“No, Son. I like pampering Hilda. I don’t see you abusing my daughter.”
“I don’t dare; you told me she’s vicious at karate.” (I am good at karate; Pop made sure that I learned all the dirty fighting possible. But not against Zebadiah! If I ever do – Heaven forbid! – find myself opposed to my husband, I’ll quiver my chin and cry.)
“On my graduation from high school my father had a talk with me. ‘Zeb,’ he told me. ‘The time has come. I’ll put you through any school you choose. Or you can take what you have saved, strike out on your own, and try to qualify for a share in your grandfather’s will. Suit yourself, I shan’t influence you.’
“Folks, I had to think. My father’s younger brother was past forty and still hadn’t qualified. The size of the trust made a pro-rata of its assets amount to a requirement that a male descendant had to get rich on his own – well-to-do at least – whereupon he was suddenly twice as rich. But with over half of this country’s population living on the taxes of the lesser number it is not as easy to get rich as it was in Grandpa’s day.
“Turn down a paid-for education at Princeton, or M.I.T.? Or go out and try to get rich with nothing but a high school education? – I hadn’t learned much in high school; I had majored in girls.
“So I had to think hard and long. Almost ten seconds. I left home next day with one suitcase and a pitiful sum of money.
“Wound up on campus that had two things to recommend it: an Aerospace R.O.T.C. that would pick up part of my expenses, and a phys. ed. department willing to award me a jockstrap scholarship in exchange for daily bruises and contusions, plus all-out effort whenever we played. I took the deal.”
“What did you play?” asked my father.
“Football, basketball, and track – they would have demanded more had they been able to figure a way to do it.”
“I had thought you were going to mention fencing.”
“No, that’s another story. These did not quite close the gap. So I also waited tables for meals – food so bad the cockroaches ate out. But that closed the gap, and I added to it by tutoring in mathematics. That gave me my start toward piling up money to qualify.”
I asked, “Did tutoring math pay enough to matter? I tutored math before Mama died; the hourly rate was low.”
“Not that sort of tutoring, Princess. I taught prosperous young optimists not to draw to inside straights, and that stud poker is not a game of chance, but that craps is, controlled by mathematical laws that cannot be flouted with impunity. To quote Grandfather Zachariah, ‘A man who bets on greed and dishonesty won’t be wrong too often.’ There is an amazingly high percentage of greedy people and it is even easier to win from a dishonest gambler than it is from an honest one… and neither is likely to know the odds at craps, especially side bets, or all of the odds in poker, in particular how odds change according to the number of players, where one is seated in relation to the dealer, and how to calculate changes as cards are exposed in stud.
“That was also how I quit drinking, my darling, except for special celebrations. In every ‘friendly’ game some players contribute, some take a profit; a player determined to take a profit must be neither drunk nor tired. Pop, the shadows are growing long – I don’t think anybody wants to know how I got a worthless doctorate.”
“I do!” I put in. “Me, too!” echoed Aunt Hilda.
“Son, you’re outvoted.”
“Okay. Two years active duty after I graduated. Sky jockeys are even more optimistic than students and have more money – meanwhile I learned more math and engineering. Was sent inactive just in time to be called up again for the Spasm War. Didn’t get hurt, I was safer than civilians. But that kept me on another year even though fighting was mostly over before I reported in. That made me a veteran, with benefits. I went to Manhattan and signed up for school again. Doctoral candidate. School of Education. Not serious at first, simply intending to use my veteran’s benefits while enjoying the benefits of being a student – and devote most of my time to piling up cash to qualify for the trust.
“I knew that the stupidest students, the silliest professors, and the worst bull courses are concentrated in schools of education. By signing for large-class evening lectures and the unpopular eight a.m. classes I figured I could spend most of my time finding out how the stock market ticked. I did, by working there, before I risked a dime.
“Eventually I had to pick a research problem or give up the advantages of being a student. I was sick of a school in which the pie was all meringue and no filling but I stuck as I knew how to cope with courses in which the answers are matters of opinion and the opinion that counts is that of the professor. And how to cope with those large-class evening lectures: Buy the lecture notes. Read everything that professor ever published. Don’t cut too often and when you do show up, get there early, sit front row center, be certain the prof catches your eye every time he looks your way – by never taking your eyes off him. Ask one question you know he can answer because you’ve picked it out of his published papers – and state your name in asking a question. Luckily ‘Zebadiah Carter’ is a name easy to remember. Family, I got straight ‘A’s’ in both required courses and seminars… because I did not study ‘education,’ I studied professors of education.
“But I still had to make that ‘original contribution to human knowledge’ without which a candidate may not be awarded a doctor’s degree in most so-called disciplines… and the few that don’t require it are a tough row to hoe.
“I studied my faculty committee before letting myself be tied down to a research problem… not only reading everything each had published but also buying their publications or paying the library to make copies of out-of-print papers.”
My husband took me by my shoulders. “Dejah Thoris, here follows the title of my dissertation. You can have your divorce on your own terms.”
“Zebadiah, don’t talk that way!”
“Then brace yourself. ‘An Ad-Hoc Inquiry Concerning the Optimization of the Infrastructure of Primary Educational Institutions at the Interface Between Administration and Instruction, with Special Attention to Group Dynamics Desiderata.”
“Zebbie! What does that mean?”
“It means nothing, Hilda.”
“Zeb, quit kidding our ladies. Such a title would never be accepted.”
“Jake, it seems certain that you have never taken a course in a school of education.”
“Well… no. Teaching credentials are not required at university level but -“
“But me no ‘buts,’ Pop. I have a copy of my dissertation; you can check its authenticity. While that paper totally lacks meaning it is a literary gem in the sense in which a successful forging of an ‘old master’ is itself a work of art. It is loaded with buzz words. The average length of sentences is eighty-one words. The average word length, discounting ‘of,’ ‘a,’ ‘the,’ and other syntactical particles, is eleven-plus letters in slightly under four syllables. The bibliography is longer than the dissertation and cites three papers of each member of my committee and four of the chairman, and those citations are quoted in part – while avoiding any mention of matters on which I knew that members of the committee held divergent (but equally stupid) opinions.
“But the best touch was to get permission to do field work in Europe and have it count toward time on campus; half the citations were in foreign languages, ranging from Finnish to Croatian – and the translated bits invariably agreed with the prejudices of my committee. It took careful quoting out of context to achieve this, but it had the advantage that the papers were unlikely to be on campus and my committee were not likely to go to the trouble of looking them up even if they were. Most of them weren’t at home in other languages, even easy ones like French, German, and Spanish.
“But I did not waste time on phony field work; I simply wanted a trip to Europe at student air fares and the use of student hostels – dirt cheap way to travel. And a visit to the trustees of Grandpa’s fund.
“Good news! The fund was blue chips and triple-A bonds and, at that time, speculative stocks were rising. So the current cash value of the fund was down, even though income was up. And two more of my cousins and one uncle had qualified, again reducing the pro-rata… so, Glory Be! – I was within reaching distance. I had brought with me all that I had saved, swore before a notary that it was all mine, nothing borrowed, nothing from my father – and left it on deposit in Zurich, using the trustees as a front. And I told them about my stamp and coin collection.
“Good stamps and coins never go down, always up. I had nothing but proof sets, first-day covers, and unbroken sheets, all in perfect condition – and had a notarized inventory and appraisal with me. The trustees got me to swear that the items I had collected before I left home had come from earned money – true, the earliest items represented mowed lawns and such – and agreed to hold the pro-rata at that day’s cash value – lower if the trend continued – if I would sell my collection and send a draft to Zurich, with businesslike speed as soon as I returned to the States.
“I agreed. One trustee took me to lunch, tried to get me liquored up – then offered me ten percent over appraisal if I would sell that very afternoon, then send it to him by courier at his expense (bonded couriers go back and forth between Europe and America every week).
“We shook hands on it, went back and consulted the other trustees. I signed papers transferring title, the trustee buying signed his draft to me, I endorsed it to the trustees to add to the cash I was leaving in their custody. Three weeks later I got a cable certifying that the collection matched the inventory. I had qualified.
“Five months later I was awarded the degree of doctor of philosophy, summa cum laude, And that, dear ones, is the shameful story of my life, Anyone have the energy to go swimming?”
“Son, if there is a word of truth in that, it is indeed a shameful story.”
“Pop! That’s not fair! Zebadiah used their rules – and outsmarted them!”
“I didn’t say that Zeb had anything to be ashamed of. It is a commentary on American higher education. What Zeb claims to have written is no worse than trash I know is accepted as dissertations these days. His case is the only one I have encountered wherein an intelligent and able scholar – you, Zeb – set out to show that an ‘earned’ Ph.D. could be obtained from a famous institution – I know which one! – in exchange for deliberately meaningless pseudoresearch. The cases I have encountered have involved button-counting by stupid and humorless young persons under the supervision of stupid and humorless old fools. I see no way to stop it; the rot is too deep. The only answer is to chuck the system and start over.” My father shrugged. “Impossible.”
“Zebbie,” Aunt Hilda asked, “what do you do on campus? I’ve never asked.”
My husband grinned. “Oh, much what you do, Sharpie.”
“I don’t do anything. Enjoy myself.”
“Me, too. If you look, you will find me listed as ‘research professor in residence.’ An examination of the university’s books would show that I am paid a stipend to match my rank. Further search would show that slightly more than that amount is paid by some trustees in Zurich to the university’s general fund… as long as I remain on campus, a condition not written down. I like being on campus, Sharpie; it gives me privileges not granted the barbarians outside the pale. I teach a course occasionally, as supply for someone on sabbatical or ill.”
“Huh? What courses? What departments?”
“Any department but education. Engineering mathematics. Physics One-Oh-One. Thermogoddamics. Machine elements. Saber and dueling sword. Swimming. And – don’t laugh – English poetry from Chaucer through the Elizabethans. I enjoy teaching something worth teaching. I don’t charge for courses I teach; the Chancellor and I understand each other.”
“I’m not sure I understand you,” I said, “but I love you anyhow. Let’s go swimming.”

Chapter X

“‘ – and he had two horns like a lamb, and he spake as a dragon’!”

Zeb:
Before heading for the pool our wives argued over how Barsoomian warriors dress – a debate complicated by the fact that I was the only one fairly sober. While I was telling my “shameful story,” Jake had refreshed his Scotch-on-rocks and was genially argumentative, Our brides had stuck to one highball each but, while one jigger gave Deety a happy glow, Sharpie’s mass is so slight that the same dosage made her squiffed.
Jake and I agreed to wear side arms. Our princesses had buckled them on; we would wear them. But Deety wanted me to take off the grease-stained shorts I had worn while working. “Captain John Carter never wears clothes. He arrived on Barsoom naked, and from then on never wore anything but the leather and weapons of a fighting man. Jeweled leather for state occasions, plain leather for fighting – and sleeping silks at night. Barsoomians don’t wear clothes. When John Carter first laid eyes on Dejah Thoris,” Deety closed her eyes and recited: “‘She was as destitute of clothes as the Green Martians… save for her highly wrought ornaments she was entirely naked… ‘” Deety opened her eyes, stared solemnly. “The women never wear clothes, just jewelry.”
“Purty shilly,” said her father, with a belch. “Scuse me!”
“When they were chilly, they wrapped furs around them, Pop. I mean ‘Mors Kajak, my revered father.'”
Jake answered with slow precision. “Not… ‘chilly.’ Silly! With a clash of blades and flash of steel, man doesn’t want family treasures swinging in the breeze ‘n’ banging his knees. Distracts him. Might get ’em sliced off. Correc’, Captain John Carter?”
“Logical,” I agreed.
“Besides, illustrations showed men wearing breech clouts. Pro’ly steel jockstrap underneath. I would.”
“Those pictures were painted early in the twentieth century, Pop. Censored. But the stories make it clear. Weapons for men, jewelry for women – furs for cold weather.”
“I know how I should dress,” put in Sharpie. “Thuvia wears jewels on bits of gauze – I remember the book cover. Not clothes. Just something to fasten jewels to. Deety – Dejah Thoris, I mean – do you have a gauze scarf I can use? Fortunately I was wearing pearls when Mors Kajak kidnapped me.”
“Sharpie,” I objected, “you can’t be Thuvia. She married Carthoris. Mors Kajak – or Mors Kajake, might be a misspelling – is your husband.”
“Cer’nly Mors Jake is my husband! But I’m his second wife; that explains everything. But it ill becomes the Warlord to address a princess of the House of Ptarth as ‘Sharpie.” Mrs. Burroughs drew herself up to her full 152 centimeters and tried to look offended.
“My humble apologies, Your Highness.”
Sharpie giggled. “Can’t stay mad at our Warlord. Dejah Thoris hon – Green tulle? Blue? Anything but white.”
“I’ll go look.”
“Ladies,” I objected, “if we don’t get moving, the pool will cool off. You can sew on pearls this evening. Anyhow, where do pearls come from on Barsoom? Dead sea bottoms – no oysters.”
“From Korus, the Lost Sea of Dor,” Deety explained.
“They’ve got you, Son. But I either go swimming right now – or I have another drink… and then another, and then another. Working too hard. Too tense. Too much worry.”
“Okay, Pop; we swim. Aunt H – Aunt Thuvia?”
“All right, Dejah Thoris. To save Mors Jacob from himself. But I won’t wear earthling clothes. You can have my mink cape; may be chilly coming back.”
Jake wrapped his sarong into a breech clout, strapped it in place with his saber belt. I replaced those grimy shorts with swim briefs which Deety conceded were “almost Barsoomian.” I was no longer dependent on Jake’s clothes; my travel kit, always in my car, once I got at it, supplied necessities from passport to poncho. Sharpie wore pearls and rings she had been wearing at her party, plus a scarf around her waist to which she attached all the costume jewelry Deety could dig up. Deety carried Hilda’s mink cape – then wrapped it around her. “My Captain, someday I want one like this.”
“I’ll skin the minks personally,” I promised her.
“Oh, dear! I think this is synthetic.”
“I don’t. Ask Hilda.”
“I will most carefully not ask her. But I’ll settle for synthetic.”
I said, “My beloved Princess, you eat meat. Minks are vicious carnivores and the ones used for fur are raised for no other purpose – not trapped. They are well treated, then killed humanely. If your ancestors had not killed for meat and fur as the last glaciation retreated, you would not be here. Illogical sentiment leads to the sort of tragedy you find in India and Bangladesh.”
Deety was silent some moments as we followed Jake and Hilda down toward the pool. “My Captain -“
“Yes, Princess?”
“I stand corrected. But your brain works so much like a computer that you scare me.”
“I don’t ever want to scare you. I’m not bloodthirsty – not with minks, not with steers, not with anything. But I’ll kill without hesitation… for you.”
“Zebadiah -“
“Yes, Deety?”
“I am proud that you made me your wife. I will try to be a good wife… and your princess.”
“You do. You have. You always will. Dejah Thoris, my princess and only love, until I met you, I was a boy playing with oversized toys. Today I am a man. With a wife to protect and cherish… a child to plan for. I’m truly alive, at last! Hey! What are you sniffling about? Stop it!”
“I’ll cry if I feel like it!”
“Well… don’t get it on Hilda’s cape.”
“Gimme a hanky.”
“I don’t even have a Kleenex.” I brushed away her tears with my fingers. “Sniff hard. You can cry on me tonight. In bed.”
“Let’s go to bed early.”
“Right after dinner. Sniffles all gone?”
“I think so. Do pregnant women always cry?”
“So I hear.”
“Well… I’m not going to do it again. No excuse for it; I’m terribly happy.”
“The Polynesians do something they call ‘Crying happy.’ Maybe that’s what you do.”
“I guess so. But I’ll save it for private.” Deety started to shrug the cape off. “Too hot, lovely as it feels.” She stopped with the cape off her shoulders, suddenly pulled it around her again. “Who’s coming up the hill?”
I looked up, saw that Jake and Hilda had reached the pool – and a figure was appearing from below, beyond the boulder that dammed it.
“I don’t know. Stay behind me.” I hurried toward the pool.
The stranger was dressed as a Federal Ranger. As I closed in, I heard the stranger say to Jake, “Are you Jacob Burroughs?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Are you or aren’t you? If you are, I have business with you. If you’re not, you’re trespassing. Federal land, restricted access.”
“Jake!” I called out. “Who is he?”
The newcomer turned his head. “Who are you?”
“Wrong sequence,” I told him. “You haven’t identified yourself.”
“Don’t be funny,” the stranger said. “You know this uniform. I’m Bennie Hibol, the Ranger hereabouts.”
I answered most carefully, “Mr. Highball, you are a man in a uniform, wearing a gun belt and a shield. That doesn’t make you a Federal officer. Show your credentials and state your business.”
The uniformed character sighed. “I got no time to listen to smart talk.” He rested his hand on the butt of his gun. “If one of you is Burroughs, speak up. I’m going to search this site and cabin. There’s stuff coming up from Sonora; this sure as hell is the transfer point.”
Deety suddenly came out from behind me, moved quickly and placed herself beside her father. “Where’s your search warrant? Show your authority!” She had the cape clutched around her; her face quivered with indignation.
“Another joker!” This clown snapped open his holster. “Federal land – here’s my authority!”
Deety suddenly dropped the cape, stood naked in front of him. I drew, lunged, and cut down in one motion – slashed the wrist, recovered, thrust upward from low line into the belly above the gun belt.
As my point entered, Jake’s saber cut the side of the neck almost to decapitation. Our target collapsed like a puppet with cut strings, lay by the pool, bleeding at three wounds.
“Zebadiah, I’m sorry!”
“About what, Princess?” I asked as I wiped my blade on the alleged ranger’s uniform. I noticed the color of the blood with distaste.
“He didn’t react! I thought my strip act would give you more time.”
“You did distract him,” I reassured her. “He watched you and didn’t watch me. Jake, what kind of a creature has bluish green blood?”
“I don’t know.”
Sharpie came forward, squatted down, dabbed a finger in the blood, sniffed it. “Hemocyanin. I think,” she said calmly. “Deety, you were right. Alien. The largest terrestrial fauna with that method of oxygen transport is a lobster. But this thing is no lobster, it’s a ‘Black Hat.’ How did you know?”
“I didn’t. But he didn’t sound right. Rangers are polite. And they never fuss about showing their I.D.’s.”
“I didn’t know,” I admitted. “I wasn’t suspicious, just annoyed.”
“You moved mighty fast,” Jake approved.
“I never know why till it’s over. You didn’t waste time yourself, tovarishch. Drawing saber while he was pulling a gun – that takes guts and speed. But let’s not talk now – where are his pals? We may be picked off getting back to the house.”
“Look at his pants,” Hilda suggested. “He hasn’t been on horseback. Hasn’t climbed far, either. Jacob, is there a jeep trail?”
“No. This isn’t accessible by jeep – just barely by horse.”
“Hasn’t been anything overhead,” I added. “No chopper, no air car.”
“Continua craft,” said Deety.
“Huh?”
“Zebadiah, the ‘Black Hats’ are aliens who don’t want Pop to build a time-space machine. We know that. So it follows that they have continua craft.”
I thought about it. “Deety. I’m going to bring you breakfast in bed. Jake, how do we spot an alien continua craft? It doesn’t have to look like Gay Deceiver.”
Jake frowned. “No. Any shape. But a one-passenger craft might not be much larger than a phone booth.”
“If it’s a one-man – one-alien – job, it should be parked down in that scrub,” I said, pointing. “We can find it.”
“Zebadiah,” protested Deety, “we don’t have time to search. We ought to get out of here! Fast!”
Jake said, “My daughter is right but not for that reason. Its craft is not necessarily waiting. It could be parked an infinitesimal interval away along any of six axes, and either return automatically, preprogrammed, or by some method of signaling that we can postulate but not describe. The alien craft would not be here-now… but will be here-later. For pickup.”
“In that case, Jake, you and I and the gals should scram out of here-now to there-then. Be missing. How long has our pressure test been running? What time is it?”
“Seventeen-seventeen,” Deety answered instantly.
I looked at my wife. “Naked as a frog. Where do you hide your watch, dearest? Surely, not there.”
She stuck out her tongue. “Smarty. I have a clock in my head. I never mention it because people give me funny looks.”
“Deety does have innate time sense,” agreed her father, “accurate to thirteen seconds plus or minus about four seconds; I’ve measured it.”
“I’m sorry, Zebadiah – I don’t mean to be a freak.”
“Sorry about what, Princess? I’m impressed. What do you do about time zones?”
“Same as you do. Add or subtract as necessary. Darling, everyone has a built-in circadian. Mine is merely more nearly exact than most people’s. Like having absolute pitch – some do, some don’t.”
“Are you a lightning calculator?”
“Yes… but computers are so much faster that I no longer do it much. Except one thing – I can sense a glitch – spot a wrong answer. Then I look for garbage in the program. If I don’t find it, I send for a hardware specialist. Look, sweetheart, discuss my oddities later. Pop, let’s dump that thing down the septic tank and go. I’m nervous, I am.”
“Not so fast, Deety.” Hilda was still squatting by the corpse. “Zebbie. Consult your hunches. Are we in danger?”
“Well… not this instant.”
“Good. I want to dissect this creature.”
“Aunt Hilda!”
“Take a Miltown, Deety. Gentlemen, the Bible or somebody said, ‘Know thy enemy.’ This is the only ‘Black Hat’ we’ve seen… and he’s not human and not born on earth. There is a wealth of knowledge lying here and it ought not to be shoved down a septic tank until we know more about it. Jacob, feel this.”
Hilda’s husband got down on his knees, let her guide his hand through the “ranger’s” hair. “Feel those bumps, dearest?”
“Yes!”
“Much like the budding horns of a lamb, are they not?”
“Oh – ‘And I beheld another beast coming up out of the earth; and he had two horns like a lamb, and he spake as a dragon’!”
I squatted down, felt for horn buds. “Be damned! He did come up out of the earth – up this slope anyhow – and he spake as a dragon. Talked unfriendly, and all the dragons I’ve ever heard of talked mean or belched fire. Hilda, when you field-strip this critter, keep an eye out for the Number of the Beast.”
“I shall! Who’s going to help me get this specimen up to the house? I want three volunteers.”
Deety gave a deep sigh, “I volunteer. Aunt Hilda… must you do this?”
“Deety, it ought to be done at Johns Hopkins, with x-ray and proper tools and color holovision. But I’m the best biologist for it because I’m the only biologist. Honey child, you don’t have to watch. Aunt Sharpie has helped in an emergency room after a five-car crash; to me, blood is just a mess to clean up. Green blood doesn’t bother me even that much.”
Deety gulped. “I’ll help carry. I said I would!”
“Dejah Thoris!”
“Sir? Yes, my Captain?”
“Back away from that. Take this. And this.” I unbuckled sword and belt, shoved down my swimming briefs, handed all of it to Deety. “Jake, help me get him up into fireman’s carry.”
“I’ll help carry, Son.”
“No, I can tote him easier than two could. Sharpie, where do you want to work?”
“It will have to be the dining table.”
“Aunt Hilda, I don’t want that thing on my – ! I beg your pardon; it’s your dining table.”
“You’re forgiven only if you’ll concede that it is our dining table. Deety, how many times must I repeat that I am not crowding you out of your home? We are co-housewives – my only seniority lies in being twenty years older. To my regret.”
“Hilda my dear one, what would you say to a workbench in the garage with a drop cloth on it and flood lights over it?”
“I say, ‘Swell!’ I don’t think a dining table is the place for a dissection, either. But I couldn’t think of anywhere else.”
With help from Jake, I got that damned carcass draped across my shoulders in fireman’s carry. Deety started up the path with me, carrying my belt and sword and my briefs in one arm so that she could hold my free hand – despite my warning that she might be splashed with alien blood. “No, Zebadiah, I got overtaken by childishness. I won’t let it happen again. I must conquer all squeamishness – I’ll be changing diapers soon.” She was silent a moment. “That is the first time I’ve seen death. In a person, I mean. An alien humanoid person I should say… but I thought he was a man. I once saw a puppy run over – I threw up. Even though it was not my puppy and I didn’t go close.” She added, “An adult should face up to death, should she not?”
“Face up to it, yes,” I agreed. “But not grow calloused. Deety, I’ve seen too many men die. I’ve never grown inured to it. One must accept death, learn not to fear it, then never worry about it. ‘Make Today Count!’ as a friend whose days are numbered told me. Live in that spirit and when death comes, it will come as a welcome friend.”
“You say much what my mother told me before she died.”
“Your mother must have been an extraordinary woman. Deety, in the two weeks I’ve known you, I’ve heard so much about her from all three of you that I feel as if I knew her. A friend I hadn’t seen lately. She sounds like a wise woman.”
“I think she was, Zebadiah. Certainly she was good. Sometimes, when I have a hard choice, I ask myself, ‘What would Mama do?’ – and everything falls into place.”
“Both good and wise… and her daughter shows it. Uh, how old are you, Deety?”
“Does it matter, sir?”
“No. Curiosity.”
“I wrote my birth date on our marriage license application.”
“Beloved, my head was spinning so hard that I had trouble remembering my own. But I should not have asked – women have birthdays, men have ages. I want to know your birthday; I have no need to know the year.”
“April twenty-second, Zebadiah – one day older than Shakespeare.”
“‘Age could not wither her – ‘ Woman, you carry your years well.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“That snoopy question came from having concluded in my mind that you were twenty-six… figuring from the fact that you have a doctor’s degree. Although you look younger.”
“I think twenty-six is a satisfactory age.”
“I wasn’t asking,” I said hastily. “I got confused from knowing Hilda’s age… then hearing her say that she is – or claims to be – twenty years older than you. It did not jibe with my earlier estimate, based on your probable age on graduating from high school plus your two degrees.”
Jake and Hilda had lingered at the pool while Jake washed his hands and rinsed from his body smears of alien ichor. Being less burdened, they climbed the path faster than we and came up behind us just as Deety answered,
“Zebadiah, I never graduated from high school.”
“Oh.”
“That’s right,” agreed her father. “Deety matriculated by taking College Boards. At fourteen. No problem since she stayed home and didn’t have to live in a dorm. Got her B.S. in three years… and that was a happy thing, as Jane lived to see Deety move the tassel from one side of her mortar board to the other. Jane in a wheelchair and happy as a child – her doctor said it couldn’t hurt her… meaning she was dying anyhow.” He added, “Had her mother been granted only three more years she could have seen Deety’s doctorate conferred, two years ago.”
“Pop… sometimes you chatter.”
“Did I say something out of line?”
“No, Jake,” I assured him. “But I’ve just learned that I robbed the cradle. I knew I had but hadn’t realized how much. Deety darling, you are twenty-two.”
“Is twenty-two an unsatisfactory age?”
“No, my Princess. Just right.”
“My Captain said that women have birthdays while men have ages. Is it permitted to inquire your age, sir? I didn’t pay close attention to that form we had to fill out, either.”
I answered solemnly. “But Dejah Thoris knows that Captain John Carter is centuries old, cannot recall his childhood, and has always looked thirty years old.”
“Zebadiah, if that is your age, you’ve had a busy thirty years. You said you left home when you graduated from high school, worked your way through college, spent three years on active duty, then worked your way through a doctor’s degree -“
“A phony one!”
“That doesn’t reduce required residence. Aunt Hilda says you’ve been a professor four years.”
“Uh… will you settle for nine years older than you are?”
“I’ll settle for whatever you say.”
“He’s at it again,” put in Sharpie. “He was run off two other campuses. Co-ed scandals. Then he found that in California nobody cared, so he moved west.”
I tried to look hurt. “Sharpie darling, I always married them. One gal turned out already to be married and in the other case the child wasn’t mine; she slipped one over on me.”
“The truth isn’t in him, Deety. But he’s brave and he bathes every day and he’s rich – and we love him anyhow.”
“The truth isn’t in you either, Aunt Hilda. But we love you anyhow. It says in ‘Little Women’ that a bride should be half her husband’s age plus seven years. Zebadiah and I hit close to that.”
“A rule that makes an old hag out of me. Jacob, I’m just Zebbie’s age – thirty-one. But we’ve both been thirty-one for ages.”
“I’ll bet he does feel aged after carrying that thing uphill. Atlas, can you support your burden while I get the garage open, a bench dragged out and covered? Or shall I help you put it down?”
“I’d just have to pick it up again. But don’t dally.”

Chapter XI

” – citizens must protect themselves.”

Zeb:
I felt better after I got that “ranger’s” corpse dumped and the garage door closed, everyone indoors. I had told Hilda that I felt no “immediate” danger – but my wild talent does not warn me until the Moment of Truth. The “Blokes in the Black Hats” had us located. Or possibly had never lost us; what applies to human gangsters has little to do with aliens whose powers and motives and plans we had no way to guess.
We might be as naive as a kitten who thinks he is hidden because his head is, unaware that his little rump sticks out.
They were alien, they were powerful, they were multiple (three thousand? three million? – we didn’t know the Number of the Beast) – and they knew where we were. True, we had killed one – by luck, not by planning. That “ranger” would be missed; we could expect more to call in force.
Foolhardiness has never appealed to me. Given a chance to run, I run. I don’t mean I’ll bug out on wing mate when the unfriendlies show up, and certainly not on a wife and unborn child. But I wanted us all to run – me, my wife, my blood brother who was also my father-in-law, and his wife, my chum Sharpie who was brave, practical, smart, and unsqueamish (that she would joke in the jaws of Moloch was not a fault but a source of esprit).
I wanted us to go! – Tau axis, Teh axis, rotate, translate, whatever – anywhere not infested by gruesomes with green gore.
I checked the gauge and felt better; Gay’s inner pressure had not dropped. Too much to expect Gay to be a spaceship – not equipped to scavenge and replenish air. But it was pleasant to know that she would hold pressure much longer than it would take us to scram for home if we had to – assuming that unfriendlies had not shot holes in her graceful shell.
I went by the inside passageway into the cabin, used soap and hot water, rinsed off and did it again, dried down and felt clean enough to kiss my wife, which I did. Deety held onto me and reported.
“Your kit is packed, sir. I’m finishing mine, the planned weight and space, and nothing but practical clothes -“
“Sweetheart.”
“Yes, Zebadiah?”
“Take the clothes you were married in and mine too. Same for Jake and Hilda. And your father’s dress uniform. Or was it burned in Logan?”
“But, Zebadiah, you emphasized rugged clothes.”
“So I did. To keep your mind on the fact that we can’t guess the conditions we’ll encounter and don’t know how long we’ll be gone or if we’ll be back. So I listed everything that might be useful in pioneering a virgin planet – since we might be stranded and never get home. Everything from Jake’s microscope and water-testing gear to technical manuals and tools. And weapons – and flea powder. But it’s possible that we will have to play the roles of ambassadors for humanity at the court of His Extreme Majesty, Overlord of Galactic Empires in thousandth-and-third continuum. We may need the gaudiest clothes we can whip up. We don’t know, we can’t guess.”
“I’d rather pioneer.”
“We may not have a choice. When you were figuring weights, do you recall spaces marked ‘Assigned mass such and such – list to come’?”
“Certainly. Total exactly one hundred kilos, which seemed odd. Space slightly less than one cubic meter split into crannies.”
“Those are yours, snubnose. And Pop or Hilda. Mass can be up to fifty percent over; I’ll tell Gay to trim to match. Got an old doll? A security blanket? A favorite book of poems? Scrapbook? Family photographs? Bring ’em all!”
“Golly!” (I never enjoy looking at my wife quite so much as when she lights up and is suddenly a little girl.)
“Don’t leave space for me. I have only what I arrived with. What about shoes for Hilda?”
“She claims she doesn’t need any, Zebadiah – that her calluses are getting calluses on them. But I’ve worked out expedients. I got Pop some Dr. Scholl’s shoe liners when we were building; I have three pairs left and can trim them. Liners and enough bobby sox make her size three-and-half feet fit my clodhoppers pretty well. And I have a sentimental keepsake; Keds Pop bought me when I first went to summer camp, at ten. They fit Aunt Hilda.”
“Good girl!” I added, “You seem to have everything in hand. How about food? Not stores we are carrying, I mean now. Has anybody thought about dinner? Killing aliens makes me hungry.”
“Buffet style, Zebadiah. Sandwiches and stuff on the kitchen counter, and I thawed and heated an apple pie. I fed one sandwich to Hilda, holding it for her; she says she’s going to finish working, then scrub before she eats anything more.”
“Sharpie munched a sandwich while she carved that thing?”
“Aunt Hilda is rugged, Zebadiah – almost as rugged as you are.”
“More rugged than I am. I could do an autopsy if I had to – but not while eating. I think I speak for Jake, too.”
“I know you speak for Pop. He saw me feeding her, turned green and went elsewhere. Go look at what she’s been doing, Zebadiah; Hilda has found interesting things.”
“Hmmm – Are you the little girl who had a tizzy at the idea of dissecting a dead alien?”
“No, sir, I am not. I’ve decided to stay grown up. It’s not easy. But it’s more satisfying. An adult doesn’t panic at a snake; she just checks to see if it’s got rattles. I’ll never squeal again. I’m grown up at last… a wife instead of a pampered princess.”
“You will always be my Princess!”
“I hope so, my Chieftain. But to merit that, I must learn to be a pioneer mother – wring the neck of a rooster, butcher a hog, load while my husband shoots, take his place and his rifle when he is wounded. I’ll learn – I’m stubborn, I am. Grab a hunk of pie and go see Hilda. I know just what to do with the extra hundred kilos: books, photographs, Pop’s microfilm files and portable viewer, Pop’s rifle and a case of ammo that the weight schedule didn’t allow for -“
“Didn’t know he had it – what calibre?”
“Seven point six two millimeters, long cartridge.”
“Glory be! Pop and I use the same ammo!”
“Didn’t know you carried a rifle, Zebadiah.”
“I don’t advertise it, it’s unlicensed. I must show all of you how to get at it.”
“Got any use for a lady’s purse gun? A needle gun, Skoda fléchettes. Not much range but either they poison or they break up and expand… and it fires ninety times on one magazine.”
“What are you, Deety? Honorable Hatchet Man?”
“No, sir. Pop got it for me – black market – when I started working nights. He said he would rather hire shysters to get me acquitted – or maybe probation – than to have to go down to the morgue to identify my body. Haven’t had to use it; in Logan I hardly need it. Zebadiah, Pop has gone to a great deal of trouble to get me the best possible training in self-defense. He’s just as highly trained – that’s why I keep him out of fist fights. Because it would be a massacre. He and Mama decided this when I was a baby. Pop says cops and courts no longer protect citizens, so citizens must protect themselves.”
“I’m afraid he’s right.”
“My husband, I can’t evaluate my opinions of right and wrong because I learned them from my parents and haven’t lived long enough to have formed opinions in disagreement with theirs.”
“Deety, your parents did okay.”
“I think so… but that’s subjective. As may be, I was kept out of blackboard jungles – public schools – until we moved to Utah. And I was trained to fight – armed or unarmed. Pop and I noticed how you handled a sword. Your moulinets are like clockwork. And when you drop into point guard, your forearm is perfectly covered.”
“Jake is no slouch. He drew so fast I never saw it, and cut precisely above the collar.”
“Pop says you are better at it.”
“Mmm – Longer reach. He’s probably faster. Deety, the best swordmaster I ever had was your height and reach. I couldn’t even cross blades with him unless he allowed me to.”
“You never did say where you had taken up swordsmanship.”
I grinned down at her. “Y.M.C.A. in downtown Manhattan. I had foil in high school. I fiddled with saber and épée in college. But I never encountered swordsmen until I moved to Manhattan. Took it up because I was getting soft. Then during that so-called ‘research trip’ in Europe I met swordsmen with family tradition – sons and grandsons and great-grandsons of maîtres d’armes. Learned that it was a way of life – and I had started too late. Deety, I fibbed to Hilda; I’ve never fought a student duel. But I did train in saber in Heidelberg under the Säbelmeister reputed to coach one underground Korps. He was the little guy I couldn’t cross steel with. Fast! Up to then I had thought I was fast. But I got faster under his tutelage. The day I was leaving he told me that he wished he had had me twenty years sooner; he might have made a swordsman of me.”
“You were fast enough this afternoon!”
“No, Deety. You had his eye, I attacked from the flank. You won that fight – not me, not Pop. Although what Pop did was far more dangerous than what I did.”
“My Captain, I will not let you disparage yourself! I cannot hear you!”
Women, bless their warm hearts and strange minds – Deety had appointed me her hero; that settled it. I would have to try to measure up. I cut a piece of apple pie, ate it quickly while I walked slowly through the passage into the garage – didn’t want to reach the “morgue” still eating.
The “ranger” was on its back with clothes cut away, open from chin to crotch, and spread. Nameless chunks of gizzard were here and there around the cadaver. It gave off a fetid odor.
Hilda was still carving, ice tongs in left hand, knife in her right, greenish goo up over her wrists. As I approached she put down the knife, picked up a razor blade – did not look up until I spoke. “Learning things, Sharpie?”
She put down her tools, wiped her hands on a towel, pushed back her hair with her forearm. “Zebbie, you wouldn’t believe it.”
“Try me.”
“Well… look at this.” She touched the corpse’s right leg, and spoke to the corpse itself. “What’s a nice joint like this doing in a girl like you?”
I saw what she meant: a long, gaunt leg with an extra knee lower than the human knee; it bent backwards. Looking higher, I saw that its arms had similar extra articulation. “Did you say ‘girl’?”
“I said ‘girl.’ Zebbie, this monster is either female or hermaphroditic. A fully developed uterus, two-horned like a cat, one ovary above each horn. But there appear to be testes lower down and a dingus that may be a retractable phallus. Female – but probably male as well. Bisexual but does not impregnate itself; the plumbing wouldn’t hook up. I think these critters can both pitch and catch.”
“Taking turns? Or simultaneously?”
“Wouldn’t that be sump’n? No, for mechanical reasons I think they take turns. Whether ten minutes apart or ten years, deponent sayeth not. But I’d give a pretty to see two of ’em going to it!”
“Sharpie, you’ve got a one-track mind.”
“It’s the main track. Reproduction is the main track; the methods and mores of sexual copulation are the central feature of all higher developments of life.”
“You’re ignoring money and television.”
“Piffle! All human activities including scientific research are either mating dances and care of the young, or the dismal sublimations of born losers in the only game in town. Don’t try to kid Sharpie. Took me forty-two years to grab a real man and get myself knocked up – but I made it! Everything I’ve done up to the last two weeks has been ‘vamp till ready.’ How about you, you shameless stud? Am I not right? Careful how you answer; I’ll tell Deety.”
“I’ll take the Fifth.”
“Make mine a quart. Zebbie, I hate these monsters; they interfere with my plans – a rose-covered cottage, a baby in the crib, a pot roast in the oven, me in a gingham dress, and my man coming down the lane after a hard day flunking freshmen – me with his slippers and his pipe and a dry martini waiting for him. Heaven! All else is vanity and vexation. Four fully developed mammary glands but lacking the redundant fat characteristic of the human female – ‘cept me, damn it. A double stomach, a single intestine. A two-compartment heart that seems to pump by peristalsis rather than by beating. Cordate. I haven’t examined the brain; I don’t have a proper saw – but it must be as well developed as ours. Definitely humanoid, outrageously nonhuman. Don’t knock over those bottles; they are specimens of body fluids.”
“What are these things?”
“Splints to conceal the unhuman articulation. Plastic surgery on the face, too, I’m pretty sure, and cheaters to reshape the skull. The hair is fake; these Boojums don’t have hair. Something like tattooing – or maybe masking I haven’t been able to peel off – to make the face and other exposed skin look human instead of blue-green. Zeb, seven-to-two a large number of missing persons have been used as guinea pigs before they worked out methods for this masquerade. Swoop! A flying saucer dips down and two more guinea pigs wind up in their laboratories.”
“There hasn’t been a flying saucer scare in years.”
“Poetic license, dear. If they have space-time twisters, they can pop up anywhere, steal what they want – or replace a real human with a convincing fake – and be gone like switching off a light.”
“This one couldn’t get by very long. Rangers have to take physical examinations.”
“This one may be a rush job, prepared just for us. A permanent substitution might fool anything but an x-ray – and might fool even x-ray if the doctor giving the examination was one of Them … a theory you might think about. Zebbie, I must get to work. There is so much to learn and so little time. I can’t learn a fraction of what this carcass could tell a real comparative biologist.”
“Can I help?” (I was not anxious to.)
“Well -“
“I haven’t much to do until Jake and Deety finish assembling the last of what they are going to take. So what can I do to help?”
“I could work twice as fast if you would take pictures. I have to stop to wipe my hands before I touch the camera.”
“I’m your boy, Sharpie. Just say what angle, distance, and when.”
Hilda looked relieved. “Zebbie, have I told you that I love you despite your gorilla appearance and idiot grin? Underneath you have the soul of a cherub. I want a bath so badly I can taste it – could be the last hot bath in a long time. And the bidet – the acme of civilized decadence. I’ve been afraid I would still be carving strange meat when Jacob said it was time to leave.”
“Carve away, dear; you’ll get your bath.” I picked up the camera, the one Jake used for record-keeping: a Polaroid Stereo-Instamatic-self-focusing, automatic irising, automatic processing, the perfect camera for engineer or scientist who needs a running record.
I took endless pictures while Hilda sweated away. “Sharpie, doesn’t it worry you to work with bare hands? You might catch the Never-Get-Overs.”
“Zebbie, if these critters could be killed by our bugs, they would have arrived here with no immunities and died quickly. They didn’t. Therefore it seems likely that we can’t by hurt by their bugs. Radically different biochemistries.”
It sounded logical – but I could not forget Kettering’s Law: “Logic is an organized way of going wrong with confidence.”
Deety appeared, set down a loaded hamper. “That’s the last.” She had her hair up in a bath knot and was dressed solely in rubber gloves. “Hi, dearest. Aunt Hilda, I’m ready to help.”
“Not much you can do, Deety hon – unless you want to relieve Zebbie.”
Deety was staring at the corpse and did not look happy – her nipples were down flat. “Go take a bath!” I told her. “Scram.”
“Do I stink that badly?”
“You stink swell, honey girl. But Sharpie pointed out that this may be our last chance at soap and hot water in quite a while. I’ve promised her that we won’t leave for Canopus and points east until she has her bath. So get yours out of the way, then you can help me stow while she gets sanitary.”
“All right.” Deety backed off and her nipples showed faintly – not rigid but she was feeling better. My darling keeps her feelings out of her face, mostly – but those pretty pink spigots are barometers of her morale.
“Just a sec, Deety,” Hilda added. “This afternoon you said, ‘He didn’t react!’ What did you mean?”
“What I said. Strip in front of a man and he reacts, one way or another. Even if he tries to ignore it, his eyes give him away. But he didn’t. Of course he’s not a man – but I didn’t know that when I tried to distract him.”
I said, “But he did notice you, Deety – and that gave me my chance.”
“But only the way a dog, or a horse, or any animal, will notice any movement. He noticed but ignored it. No reaction.”
“Zebbie, does that remind you of anything?”
“Should it?”
“The first day we were here you told us a story about a ‘zaftig co-ed.'”
“I did?”
“She was flunking math.”
“Oh! ‘Brainy.'”
“Yes, Professor N. O’Heret Brain. See any parallel?”
“But ‘No Brain’ has been on campus for years. Furthermore he turns red in the face. Not a tattoo job.”
“I said this one might be a rush job. Would anyone be in a better position to discredit a mathematical theory than the head of the department of mathematics at a very prominent university? Especially if he was familiar with that theory and knew that it was correct?”
“Hey, wait a minute!” put in Deety. “Are you talking about that professor who argued with Pop? The one with the phony invitation? I thought he was just a stooge? Pop says he’s a fool.”
“He behaves like a pompous old fool,” agreed Hilda. “I can’t stand him. I plan to do an autopsy on him.”
“But he’s not dead.”
“That can be corrected!” Sharpie said sharply.

Chapter XII

“They might fumigate this planet and take it.”

Hilda:
By the time I was out of my bath, Jacob, Deety, and Zebbie had Gay Deceiver stowed and lists checked (can opener, cameras, et cetera) – even samples of fluids and tissues from the cadaver, as Zebbie’s miracle car had a small refrigerator. Deety wasn’t happy about my specimens being in the refrigerator but they were very well packed, layer on layer of plastic wrap, then sealed into a freezer box. Besides, that refrigerator contained mostly camera film, dynamite caps, and other noneatables. Food was mostly freeze-dried and sealed in nitrogen, except foods that won’t spoil.
We were dog tired. Jacob moved that we sleep, then leave. “Zeb, unless you expect a new attack in the next eight hours, we should rest. I need to be clearheaded in handling verniers. This house is almost a fortress, will be pitch black, and does not radiate any part of the spectrum. They may conclude that we ran for it right after we got their boy – hermaphrodite, I mean; the fake ‘ranger’ – what do you think?”
“Jake, I wouldn’t have been surprised had we been clobbered at any moment. Since they didn’t – Well, I don’t like to handle Gay when I’m not sharp. More mistakes are made in battle through fatigue than from any other cause. Let’s sack in. Anybody need a sleeping pill?”
“All I need is a bed. Hilda my love, tonight I sleep on my own side.”
I said, “Can’t I even cuddle up your back?”
“Promise not to tickle?”
I made a face at my darling. “I promise.”
“Zebadiah,” Deety said. “I don’t want to cuddle; I want to be held… so I’ll know I’m safe. For the first time since my twelfth birthday I don’t feel sexy.”
“Princess, it’s settled; we sleep. But I suggest that we be up before daylight. Let’s not crowd our luck.”
“Sensible,” agreed Jacob.
I shrugged. “You men have to pilot; Deety and I are cargo. We can nap in the back seats – if we miss a few universes, what of it? If you’ve seen one universe, you’ve seen ’em all. Deety?”
“If it were up to me, I would lam out of here so fast my shoes would be left standing. But Zebadiah has to pilot and Pop has to set verniers… and both are tired and don’t want to chance it. But, Zebadiah… don’t fret if I rest with my eyes and ears open.”
“Huh? Deety – why?”
“Somebody ought to be on watch. It might give us that split-second advantage – split seconds have saved us at least twice. Don’t worry, darling; I often skip a night to work a long program under shared time. Doesn’t hurt me; a nap next day and I’m ready to bite rattlesnakes. Tell him, Pop.”
“That’s correct, Zeb, but -“
Zebbie cut him off. “Maybe you gals can split watches and have breakfast ready. Right now I’ve got to hook up Gay Deceiver so that she can reach me in our bedroom. Deety, I can add a program so that she can listen around the cabin, too. Properly programmed, Gay’s the best watch dog of any of us. Will that satisfy you duty-struck little broads?”
Deety said nothing so I kept quiet. Zebbie, frowning, turned back to his car, opened a door and prepared to hook Gay’s voice and ears to the three house intercoms. “Want to shift the basement talky-talk to your bedroom, Jake?”
“Good idea,” Jacob agreed.
“Wait a half while I ask Gay what she has. Hello, Gay.”
“Howdy, Zeb. Wipe off your chin.”
“Program. Running new retrievals. Report new items since last report.”
“Null report, Boss.”
“Thank you, Gay.”
“You’re welcome, Zeb.”
“Program, Gay. Add running news retrieval. Area, Arizona Strip north of Grand Canyon plus Utah. Persons: all persons listed in current running news retrieval programs plus rangers, Federal rangers, forest rangers, park rangers, state rangers. End of added program.”
“New program running, Boss.”
“Program. Add running acoustic report, maximum gain.”
“New program running, Zeb.”
“You’re a smart girl, Gay.”
“Isn’t it time you married me?”
“Good night, Gay.”
“Good night, Zeb. Sleep with your hands outside the covers.”
“Deety, you’ve corrupted Gay. I’ll run a lead outdoors for a microphone while Jake moves the basement intercom to the master bedroom. But maximum gain will put a coyote yapping ten miles away right into bed with you. Jake, I can tell Gay to subtract acoustic report from the news retrieval for your bedroom.”
“Hilda my love, do you want the acoustic subtracted?”
I didn’t but didn’t say so; Gay interrupted:
“Running news retrieval, Boss.”
“Report!”
“Reuters, Straits Times, Singapore. Tragic News of Marston Expedition. Indonesian News Service, Palembang. Two bodies identified as Dr. Cecil Yang and Dr. Z. Edward Carter were brought by jungle buggy to National Militia Headquarters, Telukbetung. The district commandant stated that they will be transferred by air to Palembang for further transport to Singapore when the commandant-in-chief releases them to the Minister of Tourism and Culture. Professor Marston and Mr. Smythe-Belisha are still unreported. Commandants of both districts concede that hopes of finding them alive have diminished. However, a spokesman for the Minister of Tourism and Culture assured a press conference that the Indonesian government would pursue the search more assiduously than ever.”
Zebbie whistled tunelessly. Finally, he said, “Opinions, anyone?”
“He was a brilliant man, Son,” my husband said soberly. “An irreplaceable loss. Tragic.”
“Ed was a good Joe, Jake. But that’s not what I mean. Our tactical situation. Now. Here.”
My husband paused before answering, “Zeb, whatever happened in Sumatra apparently happened about a month ago. Emotionally I feel great turmoil. Logically I am forced to state that I cannot see that our situation has changed.”
“Hilda? Deety?”
“News retrieval report,” announced Gay.
“Report!”
“AP San Francisco via satellite from Saipan, Marianas. TWA hypersonicsemiballistic liner Winged Victory out of San Francisco International at twenty o’clock this evening Pacific Coast Time was seen by eye and radar to implode on reentry. AP Honolulu US Navy Official. USS Submersible Carrier Flying Fish operating near Wake Island has been ordered to proceed flank speed toward site of Winged Victory reentry. She will surface and launch search craft at optimum point. Navy PIO spokesman, when asked what was ‘optimum,’ replied ‘No comment.’ Associated Press’s military editor noted that submerged speed of Flying Fish class, and type and characteristics of craft carried, are classified information. AP-UPI add San Francisco, Winged Victory disaster. TWA public relations released a statement quote if reports received concerning Winged Victory are correct it must be tentatively assumed that no survivors can be expected. But our engineering department denies that implosion could be cause. Collision with orbital debris decaying into atmosphere or even a strike by a meteor could repeat could endrep cause disaster by mischance so unlikely that it can only be described as an Act of God endquote TWA spokesmen released passenger list by order of the Civil Aerospace Board. List follows: California -“
The list was longish. I did not recognize any names until Gay reached: “Doctor Neil O. Brain -“
I gasped. But no one said a word until Gay announced:
“End running news retrieval.”
“Thank you, Gay.”
“A pleasure, Zeb.”
Zebbie said, “Professor?”
“You’re in command, Captain!”
“Very well, sir! All of you – lifeboat rules! I expect fast action and no back talk. Estimated departure – five minutes! First everybody take a pee! Second, put on the clothes you’ll travel in. Jake, switch off, lock up – whatever you do to secure your house for long absence. Deety – follow Jake, make sure he hasn’t missed anything – then you, not Jake, switch out lights and close doors. Hilda, bundle what’s left of that Dutch lunch and fetch it – fast, not fussy. Check the refrigerator for solid foods – no liquids – and cram what you can into Gay’s refrigerator. Don’t dither over choices. Questions, anyone? Move!”
I gave Jacob first crack at our bathroom because the poor dear tenses up; I used the time to slide sandwiches into a freezer sack and half a pie into another. Potato salad? Scrape it into a third and stick in one plastic picnic spoon; germs were now community property. I stuffed this and some pickles into the biggest freezer sack Deety stocked, and closed it.
Jake came out of our bedroom; I threw him a kiss en passant, ducked into our john, turned on water in the basin, sat down, and recited mantras – that often works when I’m jumpy – then used the bidet – patted it and told it goodbye without stopping. My travel clothes were Deety’s baby tennis shoes with a green-and-gold denim miniskirt dress of hers that came to my knees but wasn’t too dreadful with a scarf to belt it. Panties? I had none. Deety had put a pair of hers out for me – but her size would fall off me. Then I saw that the dear baby had gotten at the elastic and knotted it. Yup! pretty good fit – and, with no telling when our next baths would be, panties were practical even though a nuisance.
I spread my cape in front of the refrigerator, dumped my purse and our picnic lunch into it, started salvaging – half a boned ham, quite a bit of cheese, a loaf and a half of bread, two pounds of butter (freezer sacks, and the same for the ham – if Deety hadn’t had a lavish supply of freezer sacks I could not have salvaged much – as it was, I didn’t even get spots on my cape). I decided that jams and jellies and catsup were liquid within Zebbie’s meaning – except some in squeeze tubes. Half a chocolate cake, and the cupboard was bare.
By using my cape as a Santa Claus pack, I carried food into the garage and put it down by Gay – and was delighted to find that I was first.
Zebbie strode in behind me, dressed in a coverall with thigh pockets, a pilot suit. He looked at the pile on my cape. “Where’s the elephant, Sharpie?”
“Cap’n Zebbie, you didn’t say how much, you just said what. What won’t go she can have.” I hooked a thumb at the chopped-up corpse.
“Sorry, Hilda; you are correct.” Zebbie glanced at his wrist watch, the multiple-dial sort they call a “navigator’s watch.”
“Cap’n, this house has loads of gimmicks and gadgets and bells and whistles. You gave them an impossible schedule.”
“On purpose, dear. Let’s see how much food we can stow.”
Gay’s cold chest is set flush in the deck of the driver’s compartment. Zebbie told Gay to open up, then with his shoulders sideways, reached down and unlocked it. “Hand me stuff.”
I tapped his butt. “Out of there, you overgrown midget, and let Sharpie pack. I’ll let you know when it’s tight as a girdle.”
Space that makes Zebbie twist and grunt is roomy for me. He passed things in, I fitted them for maximum stowage. The third item he handed me was the leavings of our buffet dinner. “That’s our picnic lunch,” I told him, putting it on his seat.
“Can’t leave it loose in the cabin.”
“Cap’n, we’ll eat it before it can spoil. I will be strapped down; is it okay if I clutch it to my bosom?”
“Sharpie, have I ever won an argument with you?”
“Only by brute force, dear. Can the chatter and pass the chow.”
With the help of God and a shoehorn it all went in. I was in a back seat with our lunch in my lap and my cape under me before our spouses showed up. “Cap’n Zebbie? Why did the news of Brainy’s death cause your change of mind?”
“Do you disapprove, Sharpie?”
“On the contrary, Skipper. Do you want my guess?”
“Yes.”
“Winged Victory was booby-trapped. And dear Doctor Brain, who isn’t the fool I thought he was, was not aboard. Those poor people were killed so that he could disappear.”
“Go to the head of the class, Sharpie. Too many coincidences… and they – the ‘Blokes in the Black Hats’ – know where we are.”
“Meaning that Professor No Brain, instead of being dead in the Pacific, might show up any second.”
“He and a gang of green-blooded aliens who don’t like geometers.”
“Zebbie, what do you figure their plans are?”
“Can’t guess. They might fumigate this planet and take it. Or conquer us as cattle or as slaves. The only data we have is that they are alien, that they are powerful – and that they have no compunction about killing us. So I have no compunction about killing them. To my regret, I don’t know how. So I’m running – running scared – and taking the three I’m certain are in danger with me.”
“Will we ever be able to find them and kill them?”
Zebbie didn’t answer because Deety and my Jacob arrived, breathless. Father and daughter were in jump suits. Deety looked chesty and cute; my darling looked trim – but worried. “We’re late. Sorry!”
“You’re not late,” Zeb told them. “But into your seats on the bounce.”
“As quick as I open the garage door and switch out the lights.”
“Jake, Jake – Gay is now programmed to do those things herself. In you go, Princess, and strap down. Seat belts, Sharpie. Copilot, after you lock the starboard door, check its seal all the way around by touch before you strap down.”
“Wilco, Cap’n.” It tickled me to hear my darling boning military. He had told me privately that he was a reserve colonel of ordnance – but that Deety had promised not to tell this to our smart young captain and that he wanted the same promise from me – because the T.O. was as it should be; Zeb should command while Jacob handled space-time controls – to each his own. Jacob had asked me to please take orders from Zeb with no back talk… which had miffed me a little. I was an unskilled crew member; I am not stupid, I knew this. In direst emergency I would try to get us home. But even Deety was better qualified than I.
Checkoffs completed, Gay switched off lights, opened the garage door, and backed out onto the landing flat.
“Copilot, can you read your verniers?”
“Captain, I had better loosen my chest belt.”
“Do so if you wish. But your seat adjusts forward twenty centimeters – here, I’ll get it.” Zeb reached down, did something between their seats. “Say when.”
“There – that’s about right. I can read ’em and reach ’em, with chest strap in place. Orders, sir?”
“Where was your car when you and Deety went to the space-time that lacked the letter ‘J’?”
“About where we are now.”
“Can you send us there?”
“I think so. Minimum translation, positive – entropy increasing – along Tau axis.”
“Please move us there, sir.”
My husband touched the controls. “That’s it, Captain.”
I couldn’t see any change. Our house was still a silhouette against the sky, with the garage a black maw in front of us. The stars hadn’t even flickered.
Zebbie said, “Let’s check,” and switched on Gay’s roading lights, brightly lighting our garage. Empty and looked normal.
Zebbie said, “Hey! Look at that!”
“Look at what?” I demanded, and tried to see around Jacob.
“At nothing, rather. Sharpie, where’s your alien?”
Then I understood. No corpse. No green-blood mess. Workbench against the wall and flood lights not rigged.
Zebbie said, “Gay Deceiver, take us home!”
Instantly the same scene… but with carved-up corpse. I gulped.
Zebbie switched out the lights. I felt better but not much.
“Captain?”
“Copilot.”
“Wouldn’t it have been well to have checked for that letter ‘J’? It would have given me a check on calibration.”
“I did check, Jake.”
“Eh?”
“You have bins on the back of your garage neatly stenciled. The one at left center reads ‘Junk Metal.”
“Oh!”
“Yes, and your analog in that space – your twin, Jake-prime, or what you will – has your neat habits. The left-corner bin read ‘Iunk Metal’ spelled with an ‘I.’ A cupboard above and to the right contained ‘Iugs & Iars.’ So I told Gay to take us home. I was afraid they might catch us. Embarrassing.”
Deety said, “Zebadiah – I mean ‘Captain’ – embarrassing how, sir? Oh, that missing letter in the alphabet scared me but it no longer does. Now I’m nervous about aliens. ‘Black Hats.'”
“Deety, you were lucky that first time. Because Deety-prime was not at home. But she may be, tonight. Possibly in bed with her husband, named Zebadiah-prime. Unstable cuss. Likely to shoot at a strange car shining lights into his father-in-law’s garage. A violent character.”
“You’re teasing me.”
“No, Princess; it did worry me. A parallel space, with so small a difference as the lack of one unnecessary letter, but with house and grounds you mistook for your own, seems to imply a father and daughter named ‘Iacob’ and ‘Deiah Thoris.” (Captain Zebbie pronounced the names ‘Yacob’ and ‘Deyah Thoris.’)
“Zebadiah, that scares me almost as much as aliens.”
“Aliens scare me far more. Hello, Gay.”
“Howdy, Zeb. Your nose is runny.”
“Smart Girl, one gee vertically to one klick. Hover.”
“Roger dodger, you old codger.”
We rested on our backs and head rests for a few moments, then with the stomach-surging swoosh of a fast lift, we leveled off and hovered. Zebbie said, “Deety, can the autopilot accept a change in that homing program by voice? Or does it take an offset in the verniers?”
“What do you want to do?”
“Same ell-and-ell two klicks above ground.”
“I think so. Shall I? Or do you want to do it, Captain?”
“You try it, Deety.”
“Yes, sir. Hello, Gay.”
“Hi, Deety!”
“Program check. Define ‘Home.”
“‘Home.’ Cancel any-all inertials transitions translations rotations. Return to preprogrammed zero latitude longitude, ground level.”
“Report present location.”
“One klick vertically above ‘Home.”
“Gay. Program revision.”
“Waiting, Deety.”
“Home program. Cancel ‘Ground level.’ Substitute ‘Two klicks above ground level, hovering.”
“Program revision recorded.”
“Gay Deceiver, take us home!”
Instantly, with no feeling of motion, we were much higher.
Zeb said, “Two klicks on the nose! Deety, you’re a smart girl!”
“Zebadiah, I bet you tell that to all the girls.”
“No, just to some. Gay, you’re a smart girl.”
“Then why are you shacked up with that strawberry blonde with the fat knockers?”
Zebbie craned his neck and looked at me. “Sharpie, that’s your voice.”
I ignored him with dignity. Zebbie drove south to the Grand Canyon, eerie in starlight. Without slowing, he said, “Gay Deceiver, take us home!” – and again we were hovering over our cabin. No jar, no shock, no nothing.
Zebbie said, “Jake, once I figure the angles, I’m going to quit spending money on juice. How does she do it when we haven’t been anywhere? – no rotation, no translation.”
“I may have given insufficient thought to a trivial root in equation ninety-seven. But it is analogous to what we were considering doing with planets. A five-dimensional transform simplified to three.”
“‘I dunno, I just work here,'” Captain Zebbie admitted. “But it looks like we will be peddling gravity and transport, as well as real estate and time. Burroughs and Company, Space Warps Unlimited – ‘No job too large, no job too small.’ Send one newdollar for our free brochure.”
“Captain,” suggested Jacob, “would it not be prudent to translate into another space before experimenting further? The alien danger is still with us – is it not?”
Zebbie sobered at once. “Copilot, you are right and it is your duty to advise me when I goof off. However, before we leave, we have one duty we must carry out.”
“Something more urgent than getting our wives to safety?” my Jacob asked – and I felt humble and proud.
“‘Something more urgent.’ Jake, I’ve bounced her around not only to test but to make it hard to track us. Because we must break radio silence. To warn our fellow humans.”
“Oh. Yes, Captain. My apologies, sir. I sometimes forget the broader picture.”
“Don’t we all! I’ve wanted to run and hide ever since this rumpus started. But that took preparation and the delay gave me time to think. Point number one: We don’t know how to fight these critters so we must take cover. Point number two: We are duty-bound to tell the world what we know about aliens. While that little isn’t much – we’ve stayed alive by the skin of our teeth – if five billion people are watching for them, they can be caught. I hope.”
“Captain,” asked Deety, “may I speak?”
“Of course! Anyone with ideas about how to cope with these monsters must speak.”
“I’m sorry but I don’t have such ideas. You must warn the world, sir – of course! But you won’t be believed.”
“I’m afraid you’re right, Deety. But they don’t have to believe me. That monster in the garage speaks for itself. I’m going to call rangers – real rangers! – to pick it up.”
I said, “So that was why you told me just to leave it! I thought it was lack of time.”
“Both, Hilda. We didn’t have time to sack that cadaver and store it in the freezer room. But, if I can get rangers – real rangers – to that garage before ‘Black Hats’ get there, that corpse tells its own story: an undeniable alien lying in its goo on a ranger’s uniform that has been cut away from it. Not a ‘close encounter’ UFO that can be explained away, but a creature more startling than the duckbill platypus ever was. But we have to hook it in with other factors to show them what to look for. Your booby-trapped car, an arson case in Logan, Professor Brain’s convenient disappearance, my cousin’s death in Sumatra – and your six-dimensional non-Euclidean geometry.”
I said, “Excuse me, gentlemen. Can’t we move somewhere away from right over our cabin before you break silence? I’m jumpy – ‘Black Hats’ are hunting us.”
“You’re right, Sharpie; I’m about to move us. The story isn’t long – all but the math – so I taped a summary while the rest of you were getting ready. Gay will speed-zip it, a hundred to one.” Zebbie reached for the controls. “All secure?”
“Captain Zebadiah!”
“Trouble, Princess?”
“May I attempt a novel program? It may save time.”
“Programming is your pidgin. Certainly.”
“Hello, Gay.”
“Hi, Deety!”
“Retrieve last program. Report execute code.”
“Reporting, Deety. ‘Gay Deceiver, take us home!'”
“Negative erase permanent program controlled by execute-code Gay Deceiver take us home. Report confirm.”
“Confirmation report. Permanent program execute-coded Gay Deceiver take us home negative erase. I tell you three times.”
“Deety,” said Zeb, “a neg scrub to Gay tells her to place item in perms three places. Redundancy safety factor.”
“Don’t bother me, dear! She and I sling the same lingo. Hello, Gay.”
“Hello, Deety!”
“Analyze latest program execute-coded Gay Deceiver take us home. Report.”
“Analysis complete.”
“Invert analysis.”
“Null program.”
Deety sighed. “Typing a program is easier. New program.”
“Waiting, Deety.”
“Execute-code new permanent program. Gay Deceiver, countermarch! At new execute-code, repeat reversed in real time latest sequence inertials transitions translations rotations before last use of program execute-code Gay Deceiver take us home.”
“New permanent program accepted.”
“Gay, I tell you three times.”
“Deety, I hear you three times.”
“Gay Deceiver – countermarch!”
Instantly we were over the Grand Canyon, cruising south. I saw Zeb reach for the manual controls. “Deety, that was slick.”
“I didn’t save time, sir – I goofed. Gay, you’re a smart girl.”
“Deety, don’t make me blush.”
“You’re both smart girls,” said Captain Zebbie. “If anyone had us on radar, he must think he’s getting cataracts. Vice versa, if anyone picked us up here, he’s wondering how we popped up. Smart dodge, dear. You’ve got Gay Deceiver so deceptive that nobody can home on us. We’ll be elsewhere.”
“Yes – but I had something else in mind, too, my Captain.”
“Princess, I like your ideas. Spill it.”
“Suppose we used that homing preprogram and went from frying pan into fire. It might be useful to have a preprogram that would take us back into the frying pan, then do something else quickly. Should I try to think up a third escape-maneuver preprogram?”
“Sure – but discuss it with the court magician, your esteemed father – not me. I’m just a sky jockey.”
“Zebadiah, I will not listen to you disparage yours -“
“Deety! Lifeboat rules. Jake, are your professional papers aboard? Both theoretical and drawings?”
“Why, no, Zeb – Captain. Too bulky. Microfilms I brought. Originals are in the basement vault. Have I erred?”
“Not a bit! Is there any geometer who gave your published paper on this six-way system a friendly reception?”
“Captain, there aren’t more than a handful of geometers capable of judging my postulate system without long and intensive study. It’s too unorthodox. Your late cousin was one – a truly brilliant mind! Uh… I now suspect that Doctor Brain understood it and sabotaged it for his own purposes.”
“Jake, is there anyone friendly to you and able to understand the stuff in your vault? I’m trying to figure out how to warn our fellow humans. A fantastic story of apparently unrelated incidents is not enough. Not even with the corpse of an extra-terrestrial to back it up. You should leave mathematical theory and engineering drawings to someone able to understand them and whom you trust. We can’t handle it; every time we stick our heads up, somebody takes a shot at us and we have no way to fight back. It’s a job that may require our whole race. Well? Is there a man you can trust as your professional executor?”
“Well… one, perhaps. Not my field of geometry but brilliant. He did write me a most encouraging letter when I published my first paper – the paper that was so sneered at by almost everyone except your cousin and this one other. Professor Seppo Rãikannonen. Turku. Finland.”
“Are you certain he’s not an alien?”
“What? He’s been on the faculty at Turku for years! Over fifteen.”
I said, “Jacob… that is about how long Professor Brain was around.”
“But – ” My husband looked around at me and suddenly smiled. “Hilda my love, have you ever taken sauna?”
“Once.”
“Then tell our Captain why I am sure that my friend Seppo is not an alien in disguise. I – Deety and I – attended a professional meeting in Helsinki last year. After the meeting we visited their summer place in the Lake Country… and took sauna with them.”
“Papa, Mama, and three kids.” agreed Deety. “Unmistakably human.”
“‘Brainy’ was a bachelor,” I added thoughtfully. “Cap’n Zebbie, wouldn’t disguised aliens have to be bachelors?”
“Or single women. Or pseudo-married couples. No kids, the masquerade wouldn’t hold up. Jake, let’s try to phone your friend. Mmm, nearly breakfast time in Finland – or we may wake him. That’s better than missing him.”
“Good! My comcredit number is Nero Aleph -“
“Let’s try mine. Yours might trigger something… if ‘Black Hats’ are as smart as I think they are. Smart Girl.”
“Yes, Boss.”
“Don Ameche.”
“To hear is to obey, O Mighty One.”
“Deety, you’ve been giving Gay bad habits.”
Shortly a flat male voice answered, “The communications credit number you have cited is not a valid number. Please refer to your card and try again. This is a recording.”
Zebbie made a highly unlikely suggestion. “Gay can’t send out my comcredit code incorrectly; she has it tell-me-three-times. The glitch is in their system. Pop, we have to use yours.”
I said, “Try mine, Zebbie. My comcredit is good; I predeposit.”
A female voice this time: ” – not a valid number. Puh-lease refer to your card and try again. This is a recording.”
Then my husband got a second female voice: ” – try again. This is a recording.”
Deety said, “I don’t have one. Pop and I use the same number.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Cap’n Zebbie said bitterly. “These aren’t glitches. We’ve been scrubbed. Unpersons. We’re all dead.”
I didn’t argue. I had suspected that we were dead since the morning two weeks earlier when I woke up in bed with my cuddly new husband. But how long had we been dead? Since my party? Or more recently?
I didn’t care. This was a better grade of heaven than a Sunday School in Terre Haute had taught me to expect. While I don’t think I’ve been outstandingly wicked, I haven’t been very good either. Of the Ten Commandments I’ve broken six and bent some others. But Moses apparently had not had the last Word from on High – being dead was weird and wonderful and I was enjoying every minute… or eon, as the case may be.

Chapter XIII

Being too close to a fireball can worry a man –

Zeb:
Not being able to phone from my car was my most frustrating experience since a night I spent in jail through mistake (I made the mistake). I considered grounding to phone – but the ground did not seem healthy. Even if all of us were presumed dead, nullifying our comcredit cards so quickly seemed unfriendly; all of us had high credit ratings.
Canceling Sharpie’s comcredit without proof of death was more than unfriendly; it was outrageous as she used the predeposit method.
I was forced to the decision that it was my duty to make a military report; I radioed NORAD, stated name, rank, reserve commission serial number, and asked for scramble for a crash priority report. and ran into “correct” procedure that causes instant ulcers. What was my clearance? What led me to think that I had crash priority intelligence? By what authority did I demand a scramble code? Do you know how many screwball calls come in here every day? Get off this frequency; it’s for official traffic only. One more word out of you and I shall alert the civil sky patrol to pick you up.
I said one more word after I chopped off. Deety and her father ignored it; Hilda said, “My sentiments exactly!”
I tried the Federal Rangers Kaibab Barracks at Jacob Lake, then the office at Littlefield and back to Kaibab. Littlefield didn’t answer; Jacob Lake answered: “This is a recording. Routine messages may be recorded during beep tone. Emergency reports should be transmitted to Flagstaff HQ. Stand by for beep tone… Beep!… Beep!… Beep!”
I was about to tell Gay to zip my tape – when the whole world was lighted by the brightest light imaginable.
Luckily we were cruising south with that light behind us. I goosed Gay to flank speed while telling her to tuck in her wings. Not one of my partners asked a foolish question, although I suspect that none had ever seen a fireball or mushroom cloud.
“Smart Girl.”
“Here, Boss.”
“DR problem. Record true bearing light beacon relative bearing astern. Record radar range and bearing same beacon. Solve latitude longitude beacon. Compare solution with fixes in perms. Confirm.”
“Program confirmed.”
“Execute.”
“Roger Wilco, Zeb. Heard any new ones lately?” She added at once, “Solution. True bearing identical with fix execute-coded ‘Gay Deceiver take us home.’ True range identical plus-minus zero point six klicks.”
“You’re a smart girl, Gay.”
“Flattery will get you anywhere, Zeb. Over.”
“Roger and out. Hang onto your hats, folks; we’re going straight up.” I had outraced the shock wave but we were close to the Mexican border; either side might send sprint birds homing on us. “Copilot!”
“Captain.”
“Move us! Out of this space!”
“Where, Captain?”
“Anywhere! Fast!”
“Uh, can you ease the acceleration? I can’t lift my arms.”
Cursing myself, I cut power, let Gay Deceiver climb free. Those vernier controls should have been mounted on arm rests. (Designs that look perfect on the drawing board can kill test pilots.)
“Translation complete, Captain.”
“Roger, Copilot. Thank you.” I glanced at the board: six-plus klicks height-above-ground and rising – thin but enough air to bite. “Hang onto our lunch, Sharpie!” I leaned us backwards while doing an Immelman into level flight, course north, power still off. I told Gay to stretch the glide, then tell me when we had dropped to three klicks H-above-G.
What should be Phoenix was off to the right; another city – Flagstaff? – farther away, north and a bit east; we appeared to be headed home. There was no glowing cloud on the horizon. “Jake, where are we?”
“Captain, I’ve never been in this universe. We translated ten quanta positive Tau axis. So we should be in analogous space close to ours – ten minimum intervals or quanta.”
“This looks like Arizona.”
“I would expect it to, Captain. You recall that one-quantum translation on this axis was so very like our own world that Deety and I confused it with our own, until she picked up a dictionary.”
“Phone book, Pop.”
“Irrelevant, dear. Until she missed the letter ‘J’ in an alphabetical list. Ten quanta should not change geological features appreciably and placement of cities is largely controlled by geography.”
“Approaching three klicks, Boss.”
“Thanks, Gay. Hold course and H-above-G. Correction! Hold course and absolute altitude. Confirm and execute.”
“Roger Wilco, Zeb.”
I had forgotten that the Grand Canyon lay ahead – or should. “Smart Girl” is smart, but she’s literal-minded. She would have held height-above-ground precisely and given us the wildest roller-coaster ride in history. She is very flexible but the “garbage-in-garbage-out” law applies. She had many extra fail-safes – because I make mistakes. Gay can’t; anything she does wrong is my mistake. Since I’ve been making mistakes all my life, I surrounded her with all the safeguards I could think of. But she had no program against wild rides – she was beefed up to accept them. Violent evasive tactics had saved our lives two weeks ago, and tonight as well. Being too close to a fireball can worry a man – to death.
“Gay, display map, please.”
The map showed Arizona – our Arizona; Gay does not have in her gizzards any strange universes. I changed course to cause us to pass over our cabin site – its analog for this space-time. (Didn’t dare tell her: “Gay, take us home!” – for reasons left as an exercise for the class.) “Deety, how long ago did that bomb go off?”
“Six minutes twenty-three seconds. Zebadiah, was that really an A-bomb?”
“Pony bomb, perhaps. Maybe two kilotons. Gay Deceiver.”
“I’m all ears, Zeb.”
“Report time interval since radar-ranging beacon.”
“Five minutes forty-four seconds, Zeb.”
Deety gasped. “Was I that far off?”
“No, darling. You reported time since flash. I didn’t ask Gay to range until after we were hypersonic.”
“Oh. I feel better.”
“Captain,” inquired Jake, “how did Gay range an atomic explosion? I would expect radiation to make it impossible. Does she have instrumentation of which I am not aware?”
“Copilot, she has several gadgets I have not shown you. I have not been holding out – any more than you held out in not telling me about guns and ammo you -“
“My apologies, sir!”
“Oh, stuff it, Jake. Neither of us held out; we’ve been running under the whip. Deety, how long has it been since we killed that fake ranger?”
“That was seventeen fourteen. It is now twenty-two twenty. Five hours six minutes,”
I glanced at the board; Deety’s “circadian clock” apparently couldn’t be jarred by anything; Gay’s clock showed 0520 (Greenwich) with “ZONE PLUS SEVEN” display. “Call it five hours – feels like five weeks. We need a vacation.”
“Loud cheers!” agreed Sharpie.
“Check. Jake, I didn’t know that Gay could range an atomic blast. Light ‘beacon’ means a visible light to her just as ‘radar beacon’ means to her a navigational radar beacon. I told her to get a bearing on the light beacon directly aft; she selected the brightest light with that bearing. Then I told her to take radar range and bearing on it – spun my prayer wheel and prayed.
“There was ‘white noise’ possibly blanketing her radar frequency. But her own radar bursts are tagged; it would take a very high noise level at the same frequency to keep her from recognizing echoes with her signature. Clearly she had trouble for she reported ‘plus-minus’ of six hundred meters. Nevertheless range and bearing matched a fix in her permanents and told us our cabin had been bombed. Bad news. But the aliens got there too late to bomb us. Good news.”
“Captain, I decline to grieve over material loss. We are alive.”
“I agree – although I’ll remember Snug Harbor as the happiest home I’ve ever had. But there is no point in trying to warn Earth – our Earth – about aliens. That blast destroyed the clincher: that alien’s cadaver. And papers and drawings you were going to turn over to your Finnish friend. I’m not sure we can go home again.”
“Oh, that’s no problem, Captain. Two seconds to set the verniers. Not to mention the ‘deadman switch’ and the program in Gay’s permanents.”
“Jake, I wish you would knock off ‘Captain’ other than for command conditions.”
“Zeb, I like calling you ‘Captain.”
“So do I! – my Captain.”
“Me, too, Cap’n Zebbie!”
“Don’t overdo it. Jake, I didn’t mean that you can’t pilot us home; I mean we should not risk it. We’ve lost our last lead on the aliens. But they know who we are and have shown dismaying skill in tracking us down. I’d like to live to see two babies born and grown up.”
“Amen!” said Sharpie. “This might be the place for it. Out of a million billion zillion earths this one may be vermin-free. Highly likely.”
“Hilda my dear, there are no data on which to base any assumption.”
“Jacob, there is one datum.”
“Eh? What did I miss, dear?”
“That we do know that our native planet is infested. So I don’t want to raise kids on it. If this isn’t the place we’re looking for, let’s keep looking.”
“Mmm, logical. Yes. Cap – Zeb?”
“I agree. But we can’t tell much before morning. Jake, I’m unclear on a key point. If we translated back to our own earth now, where would we find ourselves? And when?”
“Pop, may I answer that?”
“Go ahead, Deety.”
“The time Pop and I translated to the place with no ‘J’ we thought we had failed. Pop stayed in our car, trying to figure it out. I went inside, intending to fix lunch. Everything looked normal. But the phone book was on the kitchen counter and doesn’t belong there. That book had a toll area map on its back cover. My eye happened to land on ‘Juab County’ – and it was spelled ‘Iuab’ – and I thought, ‘What a funny misprint!’ Then I looked inside and couldn’t find any ‘J’s’ and dropped the book and went running for Pop.”
“I thought Deety was hysterical. But when I checked a dictionary and the Britannica we got out in a hurry.”
“This is the point, Zebadiah. When we flipped back, I dashed into the house. The phone book was where it belonged. The alphabet was back the way it ought to be. The clock in my head said that we had been gone twenty-seven minutes. The kitchen clock confirmed it and it agreed with the clock in the car. Does that answer you, sir?”
“I think so. In a translation, duration just keeps chugging along. I wondered because I’d like to check that crater after it has had time to cool down. What about that one rotation?”
“Harder to figure, Zebadiah. We weren’t in that other space-time but a few seconds and we both passed out. Indeterminate.”
“I’m convinced. But, Jake, what about Earth’s proper motions? Rotation, revolution around the Sun, sidereal motion, and so forth.”
“A theoretical answer calls for mathematics you tell me are outside your scope of study, uh – Zeb.”
“Beyond my capacity, you mean.”
“As you will, sir. An excursion elsewhere-and-elsewhen… and return… brings you back to where you would have been had you experienced that duration on earth. But ‘when’ requires further definition. As we were discussing, uh… earlier this afternoon but it seems longer, we can adjust the controls to reenter any axis at any point with permanent change of interval. For planetary engineering. Or other purposes. Including reentry reversed against the entropy arrow. But I suspect that would cause death.”
“Why, Pop? Why wouldn’t it just reverse your memory?”
“Memory is tied to entropy increase, my darling daughter. Death might be preferable to amnesia combined with prophetic knowledge. Uncertainty may be the factor that makes life tolerable. Hope is what keeps us going. Captain!”
“Copilot.”
“We have just passed over North Rim.”
“Thank you, Copilot.” I placed my hands lightly on the controls.
“Pop, our cabin is still there. Lights in it, too.”
“So I see. They’ve added a wing on the west.”
“Yes. Where we discussed adding a library.”
I said, “Family, I’m not going closer. Your analogs in this world seem to be holding a party. Flood lights show four cars on the grounding flat.” I started Gay into a wide circle. “I’m not going to hover; it could draw attention. A call to their sky cops – Hell’s bells, I don’t even know that they speak English.”
“Captain, we’ve seen all we need. It’s not our cabin.”
“Recommendation?”
“Sir, I suggest maximum altitude. Discuss what to do while we get there.”
“Gay Deceiver.”
“On deck, Captain Ahab.”
“One gee, vertical.”
“Aye aye, sir.” (How many answers had Deety taped?)
“Anybody want a sandwich?” asked Sharpie. “I do – I’m a pregnant mother.”
I suddenly realized that I had had nothing but a piece of pie since noon. As we climbed we finished what was left of supper.
“Zat Marsh?”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Sharpie.”
“Zebbie you brute, I said, ‘Is that Mars?’ Over there.”
“That’s Antares. Mars is – Look left about thirty degrees. See it? Same color as Antares but brighter.”
“Got it. Jacob darling, let’s take that vacation on Barsoom!”
“Hilda dearest, Mars is uninhabitable. The Mars Expedition used pressure suits. We have no pressure suits.”
I added, “Even if we did, they would get in the way of a honeymoon.”
Hilda answered, “I read a jingle about ‘A Space Suit Built for Two.’ Anyhow, let’s go to Barsoom! Jacob, you did tell me we could go anywhere in Zip – nothing flat.”
“Quite true.”
“So let’s go to Barsoom.”
I decided to flank her. “Hilda, we can’t go to Barsoom. Mors Kajak and John Carter don’t have their swords.”
“Want to bet?” Deety said sweetly.
“Huh?”
“Sir, you left it to me to pick baggage for that unassigned space. If you’ll check that long, narrow stowage under the instrument board, you’ll find the sword and saber, with belts. With socks and underwear crammed in to keep them from rattling.”
I said soberly, “My Princess, I couldn’t moan about my sword when your father took the loss of his house so calmly – but thank you, with all my heart.”
“Let me add my thanks, Deety. I set much store by that old saber, unnecessary as it is.”
“Father, it was quite necessary this afternoon.”
“Hi ho! Hi ho! It’s to Barsoom we go!”
“Captain, we could use the hours till dawn for a quick jaunt to Mars. Uh – Oh, dear, I have to know its present distance – I don’t.”
“No problem,” I said. “Gay gobbles the Aerospace Almanac each year.”
“Indeed! I’m impressed.”
“Gay Deceiver.”
“You again? I was thinking.”
“So think about this. Calculation program. Data address, Aerospace Almanac. Running calculation, line-of-sight distance to planet Mars. Report current answers on demand. Execute.”
“Program running.”
“Report.”
“Klicks two-two-four-zero-nine-zero-eight-two-seven point plus-minus nine-eight-zero.”
“Display running report.”
Gay did so. “You’re a smart girl, Gay.”
“I can do card tricks, too. Program continuing.”
“Jake, how do we this?”
“Align ‘L’ axis with your gun sight. Isn’t that easiest?”
“By far!” I aimed at Mars as if to shoot her out of the sky – then got cold feet. “Jake? A little Tennessee windage? I think those figures are from center-of-gravity to center-of-gravity. Half a mil would place us a safe distance away. Over a hundred thousand klicks.”
“A hundred and twelve thousand,” Jake agreed, watching the display.
I offset one half mil. “Copilot.”
“Captain.”
“Transit when ready. Execute.”
Mars in half phase, big and round and ruddy and beautiful, was swimming off our starboard side.

Chapter XIV

“Quit worrying and enjoy the ride.”

Deety:
Aunt Hilda said softly, “Barsoom. Dead sea bottoms. Green giants.” I just gulped.
“Mars. Hilda darling.” Pop gently corrected her. “Barsoom is a myth.”
“Barsoom.” she repeated firmly. “It’s not a myth, it’s there. Who says its name is Mars? A bunch of long-dead Romans. Aren’t the natives entitled to name it? Barsoom.”
“My dearest, there are no natives. Names are assigned by an international committee sponsored by Harvard Observatory. They confirmed the traditional name.”
“Pooh! They don’t have any more right to name it than I have. Deety, isn’t that right?”
I think Aunt Hilda had the best argument but I don’t argue with Pop unless necessary; he gets emotional. My husband saved me.
“Copilot, astrogation problem. How are we going to figure distance and vector? I would like to put this wagon into orbit. But Gay is no spaceship; I don’t have instruments. Not even a sextant!”
“Mmm, suppose we try it one piece at a time, Captain. We don’t seem to be falling fast and – ulp!”
“What’s the trouble, Jake!”
Pop turned pale, sweat broke out, he clenched his jaws, swallowed and reswallowed. Then his lips barely opened. “M’sheashick.”
“No, you’re space sick. Deety!”
“Yessir!”
“Emergency kit, back of my seat. Unzip it, get Bonine. One pill – don’t let the others get loose.”
I got at the first-aid kit, found a tube marked Bonine. A second pill did get loose but I snatched it out of the air. Free fall is funny – you don’t know whether you are standing on your head or floating sideways. “Here, Captain.”
Pop said, “Mall righ’ now. Jus’ took all over queer a moment.”
“Sure, you’re all right. You can take this pill – or you can have it pushed down your throat with my dirty, calloused finger. Which?”
“Uh, Captain, I’d have to have water to swallow it – and I don’t think I can.”
“Doesn’t take water, pal. Chew it. Tastes good, raspberry flavor. Then keep gulping your saliva. Here.” Zebadiah pinched Pop’s nostrils. “Open up.”
I became aware of a strangled sound beside me. Aunt Hilda had a hanky pressed to her mouth and her eyes were streaming tears – she was split seconds from adding potato salad and used sandwich to the cabin air.
Good thing I was still clutching that wayward pill. Aunt Hilda struggled but she’s a little bitty. I treated her the way my husband had treated her husband, then clamped my hand over her mouth. I don’t understand seasickness (or free-fall nausea); I can walk on bulkheads with a sandwich in one hand and a drink in the other and enjoy it.
But the victims really are sick and somewhat out of their heads. So I held her mouth closed and whispered into her ear. “Chew it, Aunty darling, and swallow it, or I’m going to spank you with a club.”
Shortly I could feel her chewing. After several minutes she relaxed. I asked her, “Is it safe for me to ungag you?”
She nodded. I took my hand away. She smiled wanly and patted my hand. “Thanks, Deety.” She added, “You wouldn’t really beat Aunt Sharpie.”
“I sure would, darling. I’d cry and cry and wallop you and wallop you. I’m glad I don’t have to.”
“I’m glad, too. Can we kiss and make up – or is my breath sour?”
It wasn’t but I wouldn’t have let that stop me. I loosened my chest strap and hers, and put both arms around her. I have two ways of kissing: one is suitable for faculty teas; the other way I mean it. I never got a chance to pick; Aunt Hilda apparently never found out about the faculty-tea sort. No, her breath wasn’t sour – just a slight taste of raspberry.
Me, I’m the wholesome type; if it weren’t for those advertisements on my chest, men wouldn’t give me a second glance. Hilda is a miniature Messalina, pure sex in a small package. Funny how a person can grow up never really believing that the adults you grow up with have sex – just gender. Now my saintly father turns out to be an insatiable goat, and Aunt Hilda, who had babied me and changed my diapers, is sexy enough for a platoon of Marines.
I let her go while thinking pleasant thoughts about teaching my husband technique I had learned – unless Hilda had taught him in the past. No, or he would have taught me – and he hadn’t shown her style of virtuosity. Zebadiah, just wait till I get you alone!
Which might not be too soon. Gay Deceiver is wonderful but no honeymoon cottage. There was space back of the bulkhead behind my head – like a big phone booth on its side – where Zebadiah kept a sleeping bag and (he says) sometimes sacked out. But it had the space-time twister in it and nineteen dozen other things. Hilda and I were going to have to repress our primary imperative until our men found us a pied-à-terre on some planet in some universe, somewhere, somewhen.
Mars-Barsoom seemed to have grown while I was curing Aunt Hilda’s space sickness. Our men were talking astrogation. My husband was saying, “Sorry, but at extreme range Gay’s radar can see a thousand kilos. You tell me our distance is about a hundred times that.”
“About. We’re falling toward Mars. Captain, we must do it by triangulation.”
“Not even a protractor where I can get at it. How?”
“Hmmmm – If the Captain pleases, recall how you worked that ‘Tennessee windage.'”
My darling looked like a school boy caught making a silly answer. “Jake, if you don’t quit being polite when I’m stupid, I’m going to space you and put Deety in the copilot’s seat. No, we need you to get us home. I’d better resign and you take over.”
“Zeb, a captain can’t resign while his ship is underway. That’s universal.”
“This is another universe.”
“Transuniversal. As long as you are alive, you are stuck with it. Let’s attempt that triangulation.”
“Stand by to record.” Zebadiah settled into his seat, pressed his head against its rest. “Copilot.”
“Ready to record, sir.”
“Damn!”
“Trouble, Captain?”
“Some. This reflectosight is scaled fifteen mils on a side, concentric circles crossed at center point horizontally and vertically. Normal to deck and parallel to deck, I mean. When I center the fifteen-mil ring on Mars, I have a border around it. I’m going to have to guesstimate. Uh, the border looks to be about eighteen mils wide. So double that and add thirty.”
“Sixty-six mils.”
“And a mil is one-to-one-thousand. One-to-one-thousand-and-eighteen and a whisker, actually – but one-to-a-thousand is good enough. Wait a half! I’ve got two sharp high lights near the meridian – if the polar caps mark the meridian. Le’me tilt this buggy and put a line crossing them – then I’ll yaw and what we can’t measure in one jump, we’ll catch in three.”
I saw the larger “upper” polar cap (north? south? well, it felt north) roll gently about eighty degrees, while my husband fiddled with Gay’s manual controls. “Twenty-nine point five, maybe… plus eighteen point seven… plus sixteen point three. Add.”
My father answered, “Sixty-four and a half” while I said, six four point five in my mind and kept quiet.
“Who knows the diameter of Mars? Or shall I ask Gay?”
Hilda answered, “Six thousand seven hundred fifty kilometers, near enough.”
Plenty near enough for Zebadiah’s estimates. Zebadiah said, “Sharpie! How did you happen to know that?”
“I read comic books. You know – ‘Zap! Polaris is missing.'”
“I don’t read comic books.”
“Lots of interesting things in comic books, Zebbie. I thought the Aerospace Force used comic-book instruction manuals.”
My darling’s ears turned red. “Some are,” he admitted, “but they are edited for technical accuracy. Hmm – Maybe I had better check that figure with Gay.”
I love my husband but sometimes women must stick together. “Don’t bother, Zebadiah,” I said in chilly tones. “Aunt Hilda is correct. The polar diameter of Mars is six seven five two point eight plus. But surely three significant figures is enough for your data.”
Zebadiah did not answer… but did not ask his computer. Instead he said, “Copilot, will you run it off on your pocket calculator? We can treat it as a tangent at this distance.”
This time I didn’t even try to keep still. Zebadiah’s surprise that Hilda knew anything about astronomy caused me pique. “Our height above surface is one hundred four thousand six hundred and seventy-two kilometers plus or minus the error of the data supplied. That assumes that Mars is spherical and ignores the edge effect or horizon bulge… negligible for the quality of your data.”
Zebadiah answered so gently that I was sorry that I had shown off: “Thank you, Deety. Would you care to calculate the time to fall to surface from rest at this point?”
“That’s an unsmooth integral, sir. I can approximate it but Gay can do it faster and more accurately. Why not ask her? But it will be many hours.”
“I had hoped to take a better look. Jake, Gay has enough juice to put us into a tight orbit, I think… but I don’t know where or when I’ll be able to juice her again. If we simply fall, the air will get stale and we’ll need the panic button – or some maneuver – without ever seeing the surface close up.”
“Captain, would it suit you to read the diameter again? I don’t think we’ve simply been falling.”
Pop and Zebadiah got busy again. I let them alone, and they ran even the simplest computations through Gay. Presently, Pop said, “Over twenty-four kilometers per second! Captain, at that rate we’ll be there in a little over an hour.”
“Except that we’ll scram before that. But, ladies, you’ll get your closer look. Dead sea bottoms and green giants. If any.”
“Zebadiah, twenty-four kilometers per second is Mars’ orbital speed.”
My father answered, “Eh? Why, so it is!” He looked very puzzled, then said, “Captain – I confess to a foolish mistake.”
“Not one that will keep us from getting home, I hope.”
“No, sir. I’m still learning what our continua craft can do. Captain, we did not aim for Mars.”
“I know. I was chicken.”
“No, sir, you were properly cautious. We aimed for a specific point in empty space. We transited to that point… but not with Mars’ proper motion. With that of the Solar System, yes. With Earth’s motions subtracted; that is in the program. But we are a short distance ahead of Mars in its orbit… so it is rushing toward us.”
“Does that mean we can never land on any planet but Earth?”
“Not at all. Any vector can be included in the program – either before or after transition, translation or rotation. Any subsequent change in motion is taken into account by the inertial integrator. But I am learning that we still have things to learn.”
“Jake, that is true even of a bicycle. Quit worrying and enjoy the ride. Brother, what a view!”

“Jake, that doesn’t look like the photographs the Mars Expedition brought back.”
“Of course not,” said Aunt Hilda. “I said it was Barsoom.”
I kept my mouth shut. Ever since Dr. Sagan’s photographs anyone who reads The National Geographic – or anything – knows what Mars looks like. But when it involves changing male minds, it is better to let men reach their own decisions; they become somewhat less pig-headed. That planet rushing toward us was not the Mars of our native sky. White clouds at the caps, big green areas that had to be forest or crops, one deep blue area that almost certainly was water – all this against ruddy shades that dominated much of the planet.
What was lacking were the rugged mountains and craters and canyons of “our” planet Mars. There were mountains – but nothing like the Devil’s Junkyard known to science.
I heard Zebadiah say, “Copilot, are you certain you took us to Mars?”
“Captain, I took us to Mars-ten, via plus on Tau axis. Either that or I’m a patient in a locked ward.”
“Take it easy, Jake. It doesn’t resemble Mars as much as Earth-ten resembles Earth.”
“Uh, may I point out that we saw just a bit of Earth-ten, on a moonless night?”
“Meaning we didn’t see it. Conceded.”
Aunt Hilda said, “I told you it was Barsoom. You wouldn’t listen.”
“Hilda, I apologize. ‘Barsoom.’ Copilot, log it. New planet, ‘Barsoom,’ named by right of discovery by Hilda Corners Burroughs, Science Officer of Continua Craft Gay Deceiver. We’ll all witness: Z. J. Carter, Commanding – Jacob J. Burroughs, Chief Officer – D. T. B. Carter, uh, Astrogator. I’ll send certified copies to Harvard Observatory as soon as possible.”
“I’m not astrogator, Zebadiah!”
“Mutiny. Who reprogrammed this cloud buster into a continua craft? I’m pilot until I can train all of you in Gay’s little quirks. Jake is copilot until he can train more copilots in setting the verniers. You are astrogator because nobody else can acquire your special knowledge of programming and skill at calculation. None of your lip, young woman, and don’t fight the Law of Space. Sharpie is chief of science because of her breadth of knowledge. She not only recognized a new planet as not being Mars quicker than anyone else but carved up that double-jointed alien with the skill of a born butcher. Right, Jake?”
“Sure thing!” agreed Pop.
“Cap’n Zebbie,” Aunt Hilda drawled, “I’m science officer if you say so. But I had better be ship’s cook, too. And cabin boy.”
“Certainly, we all have to wear more than one hat. Log it, Copilot. ‘Here’s to our jolly cabin girl, the plucky little nipper – ‘”
“Don’t finish it. Zebbie,” Aunt Hilda cut in, “I don’t like the way the plot develops.”

‘ – she carves fake ranger,
‘Dubs planet stranger,
‘And dazzles crew and skipper.’

Aunt Hilda looked thoughtful. “That’s not the classic version. I like the sentiment better… though the scansion limps.”
“Sharpie darling, you are a floccinaucinihilipilificatrix.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“Certainly! Means you’re so sharp you spot the slightest flaw.”
I kept quiet. It was possible that Zebadiah meant it as a compliment. Just barely –
“Maybe I’d better check it in a dictionary.”
“By all means, dear – after you are off watch.” (I dismissed the matter. Merriam Microfilm was all we had aboard and Aunt Hilda would not find that word in anything less than the O.E.D.)
“Copilot, got it logged?”
“Captain, I didn’t know we had a log.”
“No log? Even Vanderdecken keeps a log. Deety, the log falls in your department. Take your father’s notes, get what you need from Gay, and let’s have a taut ship. First time we pass a Woolworth’s we’ll pick up a journal and you can transcribe it – notes taken now are your rough log.”
“Aye aye, sir. Tyrant.”
“‘Tyrant,’ sir, please. Meanwhile let’s share the binoculars and see if we can spot any colorful exotic natives in colorful exotic costumes singing colorful exotic songs with their colorful exotic hands out for baksheesh. First one to spot evidence of intelligent life gets to wash the dishes.”

Chapter XV

“We’ll hit so hard we’ll hardly notice it.”

Hilda:
I was so flattered by Cap’n Zebbie’s crediting me with “discovering” Barsoom that I pretended not to understand the jibe he added. It was unlikely that Deety would know such a useless word, or my beloved Jacob. It was gallant of Zeb to give in all the way, once he realized that this planet was unlike its analog in “our” universe. Zebbie is a funny one – he wears rudeness like a Hallowe’en mask, afraid that someone will discover the Galahad underneath.
I knew that “my” Barsoom was not the planet of the classic romances. But there are precedents: The first nuclear submarine was named for an imaginary undersea vessel made famous by Jules Verne; an aircraft carrier of the Second Global War had been named “Shangri La” for a land as nonexistent as “Erewhon”; the first space freighter had been named for a starship that existed only in the hearts of its millions of fans – the list is endless. Nature copies art.
Or as Deety put it: “Truth is more fantastic than reality.”
During that hour Barsoom rushed at us. It began to swell and swell, so rapidly that binoculars were a nuisance – and my heart swelled with it, in childlike joy. Deety and I unstrapped so that we could see better, floating just “above” and behind our husbands while steadying ourselves on their headrests.
We were seeing it in half phase, one half dark, the other in sunlight – ocher and umber and olive green and brown and all of it beautiful.
Our pilot and copilot did not sightsee; Zebbie kept taking sights, kept Jacob busy calculating. At last he said, “Copilot, if our approximations are correct, at the height at which we will get our first radar range, we will be only a bit over half a minute from crashing. Check?”
“To the accuracy of our data, Captain.”
“Too close. I don’t fancy arriving like a meteor. Is it time to hit the panic button? Advise, please – but bear in mind that puts us – should put us – two klicks over a hot, new crater… possibly in the middle of a radioactive cloud. Ideas?”
“Captain, we can do that just before crashing – and it either works or it doesn’t. If it works, that radioactive cloud will have had more time to blow away. If it doesn’t work – “
“We’ll hit so hard we’ll hardly notice it. Gay Deceiver isn’t built to reenter at twenty-four klicks per second. She’s beefed up – but she’s still a Ford, not a reentry vehicle.”
“Captain, I can try to subtract the planet’s orbital speed. We’ve time to make the attempt.”
“Fasten seat belts and report! Move it, gals!”
Free fall is funny stuff. I was over that deathly sickness – was enjoying weightlessness, but didn’t know how to move in it. Nor did Deety. We floundered the way one does the first time on ice skates – only worse.
“Report, damn it!”
Deety got a hand on something, grabbed me. We started getting into seats – she in mine, I in hers. “Strapping down, Captain!” she called out, while frantically trying to loosen my belts to fit her. (I was doing the same in reverse.)
“Speed it up!”
Deety reported, “Seat belts fastened,” while still getting her chest belt buckled – by squeezing out all her breath. I reached over and helped her loosen it.
“Copilot.”
“Captain!”
“Along ‘L’ axis, subtract vector twenty-four klicks per second – and for God’s sake don’t get the signs reversed.”
“I won’t!”
“Execute.”
Seconds later Jacob reported, “That does it, Captain. I hope.”
“Let’s check. Two readings, ten seconds apart. I’ll call the first, you call the end of ten seconds. Mark!”
Zeb added, “One point two. Record.”
After what seemed a terribly long time Jacob said, “Seven seconds… eight seconds… nine seconds… mark!”
Our men conferred, then Jacob said, “Captain, we are still falling too fast.”
“Of course,” said Deety. “We’ve been accelerating from gravity. Escape speed for Mars is five klicks per second. If Barsoom has the same mass as Mars -“
“Thank you, Astrogator. Jake, can you trim off, uh, four klicks per second?”
“Sure!”
“Do it.”
“Uh… done! How does she look?”
“Uh… distance slowly closing. Hello, Gay.”
“Howdy, Zeb.”
“Program. Radar. Target dead ahead. Range.”
“No reading.”
“Continue ranging. Report first reading. Add program. Display running radar ranges to target.”
“Program running. Who blacked your eye?”
“You’re a Smart Girl, Gay.”
“I’m sexy, too. Over.”
“Continue program.” Zeb sighed, then said, “Copilot, there’s atmosphere down there. I plan to attempt to ground. Comment? Advice?”
“Captain, those are words I hoped to hear. Let’s go!”
“Barsoom – here we come!”

Chapter XVI

a maiden knight, eager to break a lance –

Jake:
My beloved bride was no more eager than I to visit “Barsoom.” I had been afraid that our captain would do the sensible thing: establish orbit, take pictures, then return to our own space-time before our air was stale. We were not prepared to explore strange planets. Gay Deceiver was a bachelor’s sports car. We had a little water, less food, enough air for about three hours. Our craft refreshed its air by the scoop method. If she made a “high jump,” her scoop valves sealed from internal pressure just as did commercial ballistic-hypersonic intercontinental liners – but “high jump” is not space travel.
True, we could go from point to point in our own or any universe in null time, but how many heavenly bodies have breathable atmospheres? Countless billions – but a small fraction of one percent from a practical viewpoint – and no publication lists their whereabouts. We had no spectroscope, no star catalogs, no atmosphere testing equipment, no radiation instruments, no means of detecting dangerous organisms. Columbus with his cockleshells was better equipped than we.
None of this worried me.
Reckless? Do you pause to shop for an elephant gun while an elephant is chasing you?
Three times we had escaped death by seconds. We had evaded our killers by going to earth – and that safety had not lasted. So again we fled like rabbits.
At least once every human should have to run for his life, to teach him that milk does not come from supermarkets, that safety does not come from policemen, that “news” is not something that happens to other people. He might learn how his ancestors lived and that he himself is no different – in the crunch his life depends on his agility, alertness, and personal resourcefulness.
I was not distressed. I felt more alive than I had felt since the death of my first wife.
Underneath the persona each shows the world lies a being different from the masque. My own persona was a professorial archetype. Underneath? Would you believe a maiden knight, eager to break a lance? I could have avoided military service – married, a father, protected profession. But I spent three weeks in basic training, sweating with the rest, cursing drill instructors – and loving it! Then they took my rifle, told me I was an officer, gave me a swivel chair and a useless job. I never forgave them for that.
Hilda, until we married, I knew not at all. I had valued her as a link to my lost love but I had thought her a lightweight, a social butterfly. Then I found myself married to her and learned that I had unnecessarily suffered lonely years. Hilda was what I needed, I was what she needed – Jane had known it and blessed us when at last we knew it. But I still did not realize the diamondhard quality of my tiny darling until I saw her dissecting that pseudo “ranger.” Killing that alien was easy. But what Hilda did – I almost lost my supper.
Hilda is small and weak; I’ll protect her with my life. But I won’t underrate her again!
Zeb is the only one of us who looks the part of intrepid explorer – tall, broadshouldered, strongly muscled, skilled with machines and with weapons, and (sine qua non!) cool-headed in crisis and gifted with the “voice of command.”
One night I had been forced to reason with my darling; Hilda felt that I should lead our little band. I was oldest, I was inventor of the time-space “distorter” – it was all right for Zeb to pilot – but I must command. In her eyes Zeb was somewhere between an overage adolescent and an affectionate Saint Bernard. She pointed out that Zeb claimed to be a “coward by trade” and did not want responsibility.
I told her that no born leader seeks command; the mantle descends on him, he wears the burden because he must. Hilda could not see it – she was willing to take orders from me but not from her pet youngster “Zebbie.”
I had to be firm: Either accept Zeb as commander or tomorrow Zeb and I would dismount my apparatus from Zeb’s car so that Mr. and Mrs. Carter could go elsewhere. Where? Not my business or yours, Hilda. I turned over and pretended to sleep.
When I heard sobs, I turned again and held her. But I did not budge. No need to record what was said; Hilda promised to take any orders Zeb might give – once we left.
But her capitulation was merely coerced until the gory incident at the pool. Zeb’s instantaneous attack changed her attitude. From then on my darling carried out Zeb’s orders without argument – and between times kidded and ragged him as always. Hilda’s spirit wasn’t broken; instead she placed her indomitable spirit subject to the decisions of our captain. Discipline – self-discipline; there is no other sort.
Zeb is indeed a “coward by trade” – he avoids trouble whenever possible – a most commendable trait in a leader. If a captain worries about the safety of his command, those under him need not worry.

Barsoom continued to swell. At last Gay’s voice said, “Ranging, Boss” as she displayed “1000 km,” and flicked at once to “999 km.” I started timing when Zeb made it unnecessary: “Smart Girl!”
“Here, Zeb.”
“Continue range display. Show as H-above-G. Add dive rate.”
“Null program.”
“Correction. Add program. Display dive rate soonest.”
“New program dive rate stored. Display starts H-above-G six hundred klicks.”
“You’re a smart girl, Gay.”
“‘Smartest little girl in the County, Oh! Daddy and Mommy told me so!’ Over.”
“Continue programs.”
Height-above-ground seemed to drop both quickly and with stomach-tensing slowness. No one said a word; I barely breathed. As “600 km” appeared the figures were suddenly backed by a grid; on it was a steep curve, height-against-time, and a new figure flashed underneath the H-above-G figure: 1968 km/hr. As the figure changed, a bright abscissa lowered down on the grid.
Our captain let out a sigh. “We can handle that. But I’d give fifty cents and a double-dip ice-cream cone for a parachute brake.”
“What flavor?”
“Your choice, Sharpie. Don’t worry, folks; I can stand her on her tail and blast. But it’s an expensive way to slow up. Gay Deceiver.”
“Busy, Boss.”
“I keep forgetting that I can’t ask her to display too many data at once. Anybody know the sea level – I mean ‘surface’ atmospheric pressure of Mars? Don’t all speak at once.”
My darling said hesitantly, “It averages about five millibars. But, Captain – this isn’t Mars.”
“Huh? So it isn’t – and from the looks of that green stuff, Barsoom must have lots more atmosphere than Mars.” Zeb took the controls, overrode the computer, cautiously waggled her elevons. “Can’t feel bite. Sharpie, how come you bone astronomy? Girl Scout?”
“Never got past tenderfoot. I audited a course, then subscribed to ‘Astronomy’ and ‘Sky and Telescope.’ It’s sort o’ fun.”
“Chief of Science, you have again justified my faith in you. Copilot, as soon as I have air bite, I’m going to ease to the east. We’re headed too close to the terminator. I want to ground in daylight. Keep an eye out for level ground. I’ll hover at the last – but I don’t want to ground in forest. Or in badlands.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“Astrogator.”
“Yessir!”
“Deety darling, search to port – and forward, as much as you can see around me. Jake can favor the starboard side.”
“Captain – I’m on the starboard side. Behind Pop.”
“Huh? How did you gals get swapped around?”
“Well… you hurried us, sir – any old seat in a storm.”
“Two demerits for wrong seat – and no syrup on the hot cakes we’re going to have for breakfast as soon as we’re grounded.”
“Uh, I don’t believe hot cakes are possible.”
“I can dream, can’t I? Chief Science Officer, watch my side.”
“Yes, Cap’n.”
“While Deety backs up Jake. Any cow pasture.”

“Hey! I feel air! She bites!”
I held my breath while Zeb slowly brought the ship out of dive, easing her east. “Gay Deceiver.”
“How now, Brown Cow?”
“Cancel display programs. Execute.”
“Inshallâh, ya sayyid.”
The displays faded. Zeb held her just short of stalling. We were still high, about six klicks, still hypersonic.
Zeb slowly started spreading her wings as air speed and altitude dropped. After we dropped below speed of sound, he opened her wings full for maximum lift. “Did anyone remember to bring a canary?”
“A canary!” said Deety. “What for, Boss Man?”
“My gentle way of reminding everyone that we have no way to test atmosphere. Copilot.”
“Captain,” I acknowledged.
“Uncover deadman switch. Hold it closed while you remove clamp. Hold it high where we all can see it. Once you report switch ready to operate, I’m going to crack the air scoops. If you pass out, your hand will relax and the switch will get us home. I hope. But – All hands! – if anyone feels dizzy or woozy or faint… or sees any of us start to slump, don’t wait! Give the order orally. Deety, spell the order I mean. Don’t say it – spell it.”
“G, A, Y, D, E, C, I, E, V, E, R, T, A, K, E, U, S, H, O, M, E.”
“You misspelled it.”
“I did not!”
“You did so; ‘”i” before “e” except after “c.”‘ You reversed ’em.”
“Well… maybe I did. That diphthong has always given me trouble. Floccinaucinihilipilificator!”
“So you understood it? From now on, on Barsoom, ‘i’ comes before ‘e’ at all times. By order of John Carter, Warlord. I have spoken. Copilot?”
“Deadman switch ready, Captain,” I answered.
“You gals hold your breaths or breathe, as you wish. Pilot and copilot will breathe. I am about to open air scoops.”
I tried to breathe normally and wondered if my hand would relax if I passed out.
The cabin got suddenly chilly, then the heaters picked up. I felt normal. Cabin pressure slightly higher, I thought, under ram effect.
“Everybody feel right? Does everybody look right? Copilot?”
“I feel fine. You look okay. So does Hilda. I can’t see Deety.”
“Science Officer?”
“Deety looks normal. I feel fine.”
“Deety. Speak up.”
“Golly, I had forgotten what fresh air smells like!”
“Copilot, carefully – most carefully! – put the clamp back on the switch, then rack and cover it. Report completion.”
A few seconds later I reported, “Deadman switch secured, Captain.”
“Good. I see a golf course; we’ll ground.” Zeb switched to powered flight; Gay responded, felt alive. We spiraled, hovered briefly, grounded with a gentle bump. “Grounded on Barsoom. Log it, Astrogator. Time and date.”
“Huh?”
“On the instrument board.”
“But that says oh-eight-oh-three and it’s just after dawn here.”
“Log it Greenwich. With it, log estimated local time and Barsoom day one.” Zeb yawned. “I wish they wouldn’t hold mornings so early.”
“Too sleepy for hot cakes?” my wife inquired.
“Never that sleepy.”
“Aunt Hilda!”
“Deety, I stowed Aunt Jemima mix. And powdered milk. And butter. Zebbie, no syrup – sorry. But there is grape jelly in a tube. And freeze-dried coffee. If one of you will undog this bulkhead door, we’ll have breakfast in a few minutes.”
“Chief Science Officer, you have a duty to perform.”
“I do? But – Yes, Captain?”
“Put your dainty toe to the ground. It’s your planet, your privilege. Starboard side of the car, under the wing, is the ladies’ powder room – portside is the men’s jakes. Ladies may have armed escort on request.”
I was glad Zeb remembered that. The car had a “honey bucket” under the cushion of the port rear seat, and, with it, plastic liners. I did not ever want to have to use it.
Gay Deceiver was wonderful but, as a spaceship, she left much to be desired. However, she had brought us safely to Barsoom.
Barsoom! Visions of thoats and beautiful princesses –

Chapter XVII

The world wobbled –

Deety:
We spent our first hour on “Barsoom” getting oriented. Aunt Hilda stepped outside, then stayed out. “Isn’t cold,” she told us. “Going to be hot later.”
“Watch where you step!” my husband warned her. “Might be snakes or anything.” He hurried after her – and went head over heels.
Zebadiah was not hurt; the ground was padded, a greenish-yellow mat somewhat like “ice plant” but looking more like clover. He got up carefully, then swayed as if walking on a rubber mattress. “I don’t understand it,” he complained. “This gravity ought to be twice that of Luna. But I feel lighter.”
Aunt Hillbilly sat down on the turf. “On the Moon you were carrying pressure suit and tanks and equipment.” She unfastened her shoes. “Here you aren’t.”
“Yeah, so I was,” agreed my husband. “What are you doing?”
“Taking off my shoes. When were you on the Moon? Cap’n Zebbie, you’re a fraud.”
“Don’t take off your shoes! You don’t know what’s in this grass.”
The Hillbilly stopped, one shoe off. “If they bite me, I bite ’em back. Captain, in Gay Deceiver you are absolute boss. But doesn’t your crew have any free will? I’ll play it either way: free citizen… or your thrall who dassn’t even take off a shoe without permission. Just tell me.”
“Uh -“
“If you try to make all decisions, all the time, you’re going to get as hysterical as a hen raising ducklings. Even Deety can be notional. But I won’t even pee without permission. Shall I put this back on? Or take the other off?”
“Aunt Hilda, quit teasing my husband!” (I was annoyed!)
“Dejah Thoris, I am not teasing your husband; I am asking our captain for instructions.”
Zebadiah sighed. “Sometimes I wish I’d stayed in Australia.”
I said, “Is it all right for Pop and me to come out?”
“Oh. Certainly. Watch your step; it’s tricky.”
I jumped down, then jumped high and wide, with entrechats as I floated – landed sur les pointes. “Oh, boy! What a wonderful place for ballet!” I added, “Shouldn’t do that on a full bladder. Aunt Hilda, let’s see if that powder room is unoccupied.”
“I was about to, dear, but I must get a ruling from our captain.”
“You’re teasing him.”
“No, Deety; Hilda is right; doctrine has to be clear. Jake? How about taking charge on the ground?”
“No, Captain. Druther be a Balkan general, given my druthers.”
Aunt Hilda stood up, shoe in hand, reached high with her other hand, patted my husband’s cheek. “Zebbie, you are a dear. You worry about us all – me especially, because you think I’m a featherhead. Remember how we did at Snug Harbor? Each one did what she could do best and there was no friction. If that worked there, it ought to work here.”
“Well… all right. But will you gals please be careful?”
“We’ll be careful. How’s your E.S.P.? Any feeling?”
Zebadiah wrinkled his forehead. “No. But I don’t get advance warning. Just barely enough.”
“‘Just barely’ is enough. Before we had to leave, you were about to program Gay to listen at high gain. Would that change ‘just barely’ to ‘ample’?”
“Yes! Sharpie, I’ll put you in charge, on the ground.”
“In your hat, Buster. Ole Massa done freed us slaves. Zebbie, the quicker you quit dodging, the sooner you get those hot cakes. Spread my cape down and put the hot plate on the step.”
We ate breakfast in basic Barsoomian dress: skin. Aunt Hilda pointed out that laundries seemed scarce, and the car’s water tanks had to be saved for drinking and cooking. “Deety, I have just this dress you gave me; I’ll air it and let the wrinkles hang out. Panties, too. An air bath is better than no bath. I know you’ll divvy with me but you are no closer to a laundry than I am.”
My jump suit joined Hilda’s dress. “Aunt Hilda, you could skip bathing a week. Me, right after a bath I have a body odor but not too bad. In twenty four hours I’m whiff. Forty-eight and I smell like a skunk. An air bath may help.”
The same reasoning caused our men to spread their used clothing on the port wing, and caused Zebadiah to pick up Hilda’s cape. “Sharpie, you can’t get fur Hollanderized in this universe. Jake, you stowed some tarps?”
After dishes were “washed” (scoured with turf, placed in the sun) we were sleepy. Zebadiah wanted us to sleep inside, doors locked. Aunt Hilda and I wanted to nap on a tarpaulin in the shade of the car. I pointed out that moving rear seats aft in refitting had made it impossible to recline them.
Zebadiah offered to give up his seat to either of us women. I snapped, “Don’t be silly, dear! You barely fit into a rear seat and it brings your knees so far forward that the seat in front can’t be reclined.”
Pop intervened. “Hold it! Daughter, I’m disappointed – snapping at your husband. But, Zeb, we’ve got to rest. If I sleep sitting up, I get swollen ankles, half crippled, not good for much.”
“I was trying to keep us safe,” Zebadiah said plaintively.
“I know, Son; you’ve been doing so – and a smart job, or we all would be dead three times over. Deety knows it, I know it, Hilda knows it -“
“I sure do, Zebbie!”
“My Captain, I’m sorry I snapped at you.”
“We’ll need you later. Flesh has its limits – even yours. If necessary, we would bed you down and stand guard over you -“
“No!”
“We sure would, Zebbie!”
“We will, my Captain.”
“But I doubt that it’s necessary. When we sat on the ground to eat, did anyone get chigger bites or anything?”
My husband shook his head.
“Not me,” Aunt Hilda agreed.
I added, “I saw some little beasties but they didn’t bother me.”
“Apparently,” Pop went on, “they don’t like our taste. A ferocious-looking dingus sniffed at my ankle – but it scurried away. Zeb, Gay can hear better than we can?”
“Oh, much better!”
“Can her radar be programmed to warn us?”
Zebadiah looked thoughtful. “Uh… anti-collision alarm would wake the dead. If I pulled it in to minimum range, then – No, the display would be cluttered with ‘grass.’ We’re on the ground. False returns.”
I said, “Subtract static display, Zebadiah.”
“Eh? How, Deety?”
“Gay can do it. Shall I try?”
“Deety, if you switch on radar, we have to sleep inside. Microwaves cook your brains.”
“I know, sir. Gay has sidelookers, eyes fore and aft, belly, and umbrella – has she not?”
“Yes. That’s why -“
“Switch off her belly eye. Can sidelookers hurt us if we sleep under her?” His eyes widened. “Astrogator, you know more about my car than I do. I’d better sign her over to you.”
“My Captain, you have already endowed me with all your worldly goods. I don’t know more about Gay; I know more about programming.”

We made a bed under the car by opening Zebadiah’s sleeping bag out flat, a tarpaulin on each side. Aunt Hilda dug out sheets: “In case anyone gets chilly.”
“Unlikely,” Pop told her. “Hot now, not a cloud and no breeze.”
“Keep it by you, dearest. Here’s one for Zebbie.” She dropped two more on the sleeping bag, lay down on it. “Down flat, gentlemen” – waited for them to comply, then called to me: “Deety! Everybody’s down.”
From inside I called back, “Right with you!” – then said, “Hello, Gay.”
“Hi, Deety!”
“Retrieve newest program. Execute.”
Five scopes lighted, faded to dimness; the belly eye remained blank. I told her, “You’re a good girl, Gay.”
“I like you, too, Deety. Over.”
“Roger and out, sister.” I scrunched down, got at the stowage under the instrument board, pulled out padding and removed saber and sword, each with belt. These I placed at the door by a pie tin used at breakfast. I slithered head first out the door, turned without rising, got swords and pie plate, and crawled toward the pallet, left arm cluttered with hardware.
I stopped. “Your sword, Captain.”
“Deety! Do I need a sword to nap?”
“No, sir. I shall sleep soundly knowing that my captain has his sword.”
“Hmm – ” Zebadiah withdrew it a span, returned it with a click. “Silly… but I feel comforted by it, too.”
“I see nothing silly, sir. Ten hours ago you killed a thing with it that would have killed me.”
“I stand – sprawl – corrected, my Princess. Dejah Thoris is always correct.”
“I hope my Chieftain will always think so.”
“He will. Give me a big kiss. What’s the pie pan for?”
“Radar alarm test.”
Having delivered the kiss, I crawled past Hilda and handed Pop his saber. He grinned at me. “Deety hon, you’re a one! Just the security blanket I need. How did you know?”
“Because Aunt Hilda and I need it. With our warriors armed, we will sleep soundly.” I kissed Pop, crawled out from under. “Cover your ears!”
I got to my knees, sailed that pan far and high, dropped flat and covered my ears. As the pan sailed into the zone of microwave radiation, a horrid clamor sounded inside the car, kept up until the pan struck the ground and stopped rolling – chopped off. “Somebody remind me to recover that. Good night, all!”
I crawled back, stretched out by Hilda, kissed her goodnight, set the clock in my head for six hours, went to sleep.

The sun was saying that it was fourteen instead of fourteen-fifteen and I decided that my circadian did not fit Barsoom. Would the clock in my head “slow” to match a day forty minutes longer? Would it give me trouble? Not likely – I’ve always been able to sleep anytime. I felt grand and ready for anything.
I crept off the pallet, snaked up into the car’s cabin, and stretched. Felt good!
I crawled through the bulkhead door back of the rear seats, got some scarves and my jewelry case, went forward into the space between seats and instrument board.
I tried tying a filmy green scarf as a bikini bottom, but it looked like a diaper. I took it off, folded it corner to corner, pinned it at my left hip with a jeweled brooch. Lots better! “Indecently decent” Pop would say.
I looped a rope of imitation pearls around my hips, arranged strands to drape with the cloth, fastened them at the brooch. I hung around my neck a pendant of pearls and cabochon emeralds – from my father the day I received the title doctor of philosophy.
I was adding bracelets and rings when I heard “Psst!” – looked down and saw the Hillbilly’s head and hands at the doorsill. Hilda put a finger to her lips. I nodded, gave her a hand up, whispered, “Still asleep?”
“Like babies.”
“Let’s get you dressed… ‘Princess Thuvia.'” Aunt Hilda giggled. “Thank you… ‘Princess’ Dejah Thoris.” “Want anything but jewelry?”
“Just something to anchor it. That old-gold scarf if you can spare it.”
“Course I can! Nothing’s too good for my Aunt Thuvia and that scarf is durn near nothing. Baby doll, we’re going to deck you out for the auction block. Will you do my hair?”
“And you mine. Deety – I mean ‘Dejah Thoris’ – I miss a three-way mirror.”
“We’ll be mirrors for each other,” I told her. “I don’t mind camping out. My great-great-great-grandmother had two babies in a sod house. Except” – I ducked my head, sniffed my armpit – “we’d better find a stream.” I added, “Hold still. Or shall I pin it through your skin?”
“Either way, dear. We’ll find water – all this ground cover.”
“Ground cover doesn’t prove running water. This place may be a ‘dead sea bottom of Barsoom.'”
“Doesn’t look dead,” Aunt Hilda countered. “It’s pretty.”
“Yes, but this looks like a dead sea bottom. Which gave me an idea. Hold up your hair; I want to arrange your necklaces.”
“What idea?” Aunt Hilda demanded.
“Zebadiah told me to figure a third escape program. The first two – I’ll paraphrase, Gay is awake. One tells her to take us back to a height over Snug Harbor; the other tells her to scoot back to where she was before she was last given the first order.”
“I thought that one told her to place us over the Grand Canyon?”
“It does, at present. But if she got the first order now, that would change the second order. Instead of over the Grand Canyon, we would be back here quicker’n a frog could wink its eye.”
“Okay if you say so.”
“She’s programmed that way. Hit the panic button and we are over our cabin site. Suppose we arrive there and find trouble, then use the ‘C’ order. She takes us back to wherever she last got the ‘T’ order. Dangerous or we would not have left in a rush. So we need a third escape program, to take us to a safe place. This looks safe.”
“It’s peaceful.”
“Seems so. There! – more doodads than a Christmas tree and you look nakeder than ever.”
“That’s the effect we want, isn’t it? Sit down in the copilot’s seat; I’ll do your hair.”
“Want shoes?” I asked.
“On Barsoom? Dejah Thoris, thank you for your little-girl shoes. But they pinch my toes. You’re going to wear shoes?”
“Not bleedin’ likely, Aunt Nanny Goat. I toughened my feet for karate – I can break a four-by-nine with my feet and get nary a bruise. Or run on sharp gravel. What’s a good escape phrase? I plan to store in Gay an emergency signal for every spot we visit that looks like a safe hidey-hole. So give me a phrase.”
“Your mudder chaws terbacker!”
“Nanny Goat! A code-phrase should have a built-in mnemonic.”
“‘Bug Out’?”
“A horrid expression and just what we need. ‘Bug Out’ will mean to take us to this exact spot. I’ll program it. And post it and others on the instrument board so that, if anyone forgets, she can read it.”
“And so could any outsider, if she got in.”
“Fat lot of good it would do her! Gay ignores an order not in our voices. Hello, Gay.”
“Hello, Deety!”
“Retrieve present location. Report.”
“Null program.”
“Are we lost?”
“Not at all, Aunt Hilda. I was sloppy. Gay, program check. Define ‘Home.'”
“Cancel any-all transitions translations rotations inertials. Return to zerodesignated latitude longitude two klicks above ground level hovering.”
“Search memory reversed-real-time for last order execute-coded Gay Deceiver take us home.”
“Retrieved.”
“From time of retrieved order integrate to time-present all transitions translations rotations inertials.”
“Integrated.”
“Test check. Report summary of integration.”
“Origin ‘Home.’ Countermarch program executed. Complex maneuver inertials. Translation Tau axis ten minimals positive. Complex maneuver inertials. Translation Ell axis two-two-four-zero-nine-zero-eight-two-seven point zero klicks. Negative vector Ell axis twenty-four klicks per sec. Negative vector Ell axis four klicks per sec. Complex maneuver inertials. Grounded here-then oh-eight-oh-two-forty-nine. Grounded inertials continuing eight hours three minutes nineteen seconds mark! Grounded inertials continue running realtime.”
“New program. Here-now grounded inertial location real-time running to real-time new execute order equals code-phrase bug-out. Report new program.”
Gay answered: “New program code-phrase bug-out: Definition: Here-now grounded inertials running real-time to future-time execute order code-phrase bug-out.”
“Gay, I tell you three times.”
“Deety, I hear you three times.”
“New program. Execute-coded Gay Deceiver Bug Out. At execute-code move to location coded ‘bug-out.’ I tell you three times.”
“I hear you three times.”
“Gay Deceiver, you’re a smart girl.”
“Deety, why don’t you leave that big ape and live with me? Over.”
“Good night, Gay. Roger and out. Hillbilly, I didn’t give you that answer.” I tried to look fierce.
“Why, Deety, how could you say such a thing?”
“I know I didn’t. Well?”
“I ‘fess up, Deetikins. A few days ago while you and I were working, you were called away. While I waited, I stuck that in. Want it erased?”
I don’t know how to look fierce; I snickered. “No. Maybe Zebadiah will be around the next time it pops up. I wish our men would wake, I do.”
“They need rest, dear.”
“I know. But I want to check that new program.”
“It sounded complex.”
“Can be, by voice. I’d rather work on paper. A computer doesn’t accept excuses. A mistake can be anything from ‘null program’ to disaster. This one has features I’ve never tried. I don’t really understand what Pop does. Non-Euclidean n-dimensional geometry is way out in left field.”
“To me it’s not in the ball park.”
“So I’m itchy.”
“Let’s talk about something else.”
“Did I show you our micro walky-talkies?”
“Jacob gave me one.”
“There’s one for each. Tiny but amazingly long-ranged. Uses less power than a hand calculator and weighs less – under two hundred grams. Mass, I mean – weight here is much less. Today I thought of a new use. Gay can accept their frequency.”
“That’s nice. How do you plan to use this?”
“This car can be remote-controlled.”
“Deety, who would you want to do that?”
I admitted that I did not know. “But Gay can be preprogrammed to do almost anything. For example, we could go outside and tell Gay, via walky-talky, to carry out two programs in succession: H, O, M, E, followed by B, U, G, O, U, T. Imagine Zebadiah’s face when he wakes up from sun in his eyes – because his car has vanished – then his expression two hours later when it pops back into existence.”
“Deety, go stand in the corner for thinking such an unfunny joke!” Then Aunt Hilda looked thoughtful. “Why would it take two hours? I thought Gay could go anywhere in no time.”
“Depends on your postulates, Princess Thuvia. We took a couple of hours to get here because we fiddled. Gay would have to follow that route in reverse because it’s the only one she knows. Then – ” I stopped, suddenly confused. “Or would it be four hours? No, vectors would cancel and – But that would make it instantaneous; we would never know that she had left. Or would we? Aunt Hilda, I don’t know! Oh, I wish our men would wake up, I do!” The world wobbled and I felt scared.
“I’m awake,” Pop answered, his head just showing above the doorsill. “What’s this debate?” He gave Aunt Hilda a lecherous leer. “Little girl, if you’ll come up to my room, I’ll give you some candy.”
“Get away from me, you old wolf!”
“Hilda my love, I could sell you down to Rio and retire on the proceeds. You look like expensive stuff.”
“I’m very expensive stuff, darling wolf. All I want is every cent a man has and constant pampering – then a fat estate when he dies.”
“I’ll try to die with plenty of money in the bank, dearest.”
“Instead we’re both dead and our bank accounts have gone Heaven knows where and I haven’t a rag to my back – and I’m wonderfully happy. Come inside – mind the radar! – and kiss me, you old wolf; you don’t have to buy me candy.”
“Pop,” I asked, “is Zebadiah asleep?”
“Just woke up.”
I spoke to Gay, then to Pop: “Will you tell Zebadiah radar is off? He can stand up without getting his ears fried.”
“Sure.” Pop ducked down and yelled, “Zeb, it’s safe; her husband left.”
“Coming!” Zebadiah’s voice rumbled back. “Tell Deety to put the steaks on.” My darling appeared wearing sword, carrying pie pan and sheets. “Are the steaks ready?” he asked, then kissed me.
“Not quite, sir,” I told him. “First, go shoot a thoat. Or will you settle for peanut butter sandwiches?”
“Don’t talk dirty. Did you say ‘thoat’?”
“Yes. This is Barsoom.”
“I thoat that was what you said.”
“If that’s a pun, you can eat it for supper. With peanut butter.”
Zebadiah shuddered. “I’d rather cut my thoat.”
Pop said, “Don’t do it, Zeb. A man can’t eat with his thoat cut. He can’t even talk clearly.”
Aunt Hilda said mildly, “If you three will cease those atrocities, I’ll see what I can scrape up for dinner.”
“I’ll help,” I told her, “but can we run my test first? I’m itchy.”
“Certainly, Deety. It will be a scratch meal.”
Pop looked at Aunt Hilda reproachfully. “And you told us to stop.”
“What test?” demanded my husband.
I explained the Bug-Out program. “I think I programmed it correctly. But here is a test. Road the car a hundred meters. If my program works – fine! If it tests null, no harm done but you and Pop will have to teach me more about the twister before I’ll risk new programming.”
“I don’t want to road the car, Deety; I’m stingy with every erg until I know when and where I can juice Gay. However – Jake, what’s your minimum transition?”
“Ten kilometers. Can’t use spatial quanta for transitions – too small. But the scale goes up fast – logarithmic. That’s short range. Middle range is in light-years – logarithmic again.”
“What’s long range, Jake?”
“Gravitic radiation versus time. We won’t use that one.”
“Why not, Jacob?” asked Aunt Hilda.
Pop looked sheepish. “I’m scared of it, dearest. There are three major theories concerning gravitic propagation. At the time I machined those controls, one theory seemed proved. Since then other physicists have reported not being able to reproduce the data. So I blocked off long range.” Pop smiled sourly. “I know the gun is loaded but not what it will do. So I spiked it.”
“Sensible,” agreed my husband. “Russian roulette lacks appeal. Jake, do you have any guess as to what options you shut off?”
“Better than a guess, Zeb. It reduces the number of universes accessible to us on this axis from the sixth power of six-to-the-sixth-power to a mere six to the sixth power. Forty-six thousand, six hundred, fifty-six.”
“Gee, that’s tough!”
“I didn’t mean it as a joke, Zeb.”
“Jake, I was laughing at me. I’ve been looking forward to a lifetime exploring universes – and now I learn that I’m limited to a fiddlin’ forty-six thousand and some. Suppose I have a half century of exploration left in me. Assume that I take off no time for eating, sleeping, or teasing the cat, how much time can I spend in each universe?”
“About nine hours twenty minutes per universe,” I told him. “Nine hours, twenty-three minutes, thirty-eight point seven-two-two seconds, plus, to be more nearly accurate.”
“Deety, let’s do be accurate,” Zebadiah said solemnly. “If we stayed a minute too long in each universe, we would miss nearly a hundred universes.”
I was getting into the spirit. “Let’s hurry instead. If we work at it, we can do three universes a day for fifty years – one of us on watch, one on standby, two off duty – and still squeeze in maintenance, plus a few hours on the ground, once a year. If we hurry.”
“We haven’t a second to lose!” Zebadiah answered. “All hands! – places! Stand by to lift! Move!”
I was startled but hurried to my seat. Pop’s chin dropped but he took his place. Aunt Hilda hesitated a split second before diving for her seat, but, as she strapped herself in, wailed, “Captain? Are we really leaving Barsoom?”
“Quiet, please. Gay Deceiver, close doors! Report seat belts. Copilot, check starboard door seal.”
“Seat belt fastened,” I reported with no expression.
“Mine’s fastened. Oh, dear!”
“Copilot, by low range, ‘H’ axis upward, minimum transition.”
“Set, Captain.”
“Execute.”
Sky outside was dark, the ground far below. “Ten klicks exactly,” my husband approved. “Astrogator, take the conn, test your new program. Science Officer observe.”
“Yessir. Gay Deceiver – Bug Out!” We were parked on the ground.
“Science Officer – report,” Zebadiah ordered.
“Report what?” Aunt Hilda demanded.
“We tested a new program. Did it pass test?”
“Uh, we seem to be back where we were. We were weightless maybe ten seconds. I guess the test was okay, Except -“
“‘Except’ what?”
“Captain Zebbie, you’re the worst tease on Earth! And Barsoom! You did so put lime Jello in my pool!”
“I was in Africa.”
“Then you arranged it!”
“Hilda – please! I never said we were leaving Barsoom. I said that we haven’t a second to waste. We don’t, with so much to explore.”
“Excuses. What about my clothes? All on the starboard wing. Where are they now? Floating up in the stratosphere? Coming down where? I’ll never find them.”
“I thought you preferred to dress Barsoomian style?”
“Doesn’t mean I want to be forced to! Besides, Deety lent them to me. I’m sorry, Deety.”
I patted her hand. “‘S’all right, Aunt Hilda. I’ll lend you more. Give them, I mean.” I hesitated, then said firmly, “Zebadiah, you should apologize to Aunt Hilda.”
“Oh, for the love of – Sharpie? Sharpie darling.”
“Yes, Zebbie?”
“I’m sorry I let you think that we were leaving Barsoom. I’ll buy you clothes that fit. We’ll make a quick trip back to Earth -“
“Don’t want to go back to Earth! Aliens! They scare me.”
“They scare me, too. I started to say: ‘Earth-without-a-J.’ It’s so much like our own that I can probably use U.S. money. If not, I have gold. Or I can barter. For you, Sharpie, I’ll steal clothes. We’ll go to Phoenix-without-a-J – tomorrow – today we take a walk and see some of this planet – your planet – and we’ll stay on your planet until you get tired of it. Is that enough? Or must I confess putting Jello into your pool when I didn’t?”
“You really didn’t?”
“Cross my heart.”
“Be darned. Actually I thought it was funny. I wonder who did it? Aliens, maybe?”
“They play rougher than that. Sharpie darling, I’m not the only weirdo in your stable – not by dozens.”
“Guess maybe. Zebbie? Will you kiss Sharpie and make up?”

On the ground, under the starboard wing, we found our travel clothes, and under the port wing, those of our husbands. Zebadiah looked bemused. “Jake? I thought Hilda was right. It had slipped my mind that we had clothing on the wings.”
“Use your head, Son.”
“I’m not sure I have one.”
“I don’t understand it either, darling,” Aunt Hilda added.
“Daughter?” Pop said.
“Pop, I think I know. But – I pass!”
“Zeb, the car never moved. Instead -“
Aunt Hilda interrupted, “Jacob, are you saying that we did not go straight up? We were there – five minutes ago.”
“Yes, my darling. But we didn’t move there. Motion has a definable meaning: A duration of changing locations. But no duration was involved. We did not successively occupy loci between here-then and there-then.”
Aunt Hilda shook her head. “I don’t understand. We went whoosh! up into the sky… then whoosh! back where we started.”
“My darling, we didn’t whoosh! Deety! Don’t be reticent.”
I sighed. “Pop, I’m not sure there exists a symbol for the referent. Aunt Hilda. Zebadiah. A discontinuity. The car -“
“Got it!” said Zebadiah.
“I didn’t,” Aunt Hilda persisted.
“Like this, Sharpie,” my husband went on. “My car is here. Spung! – it vanishes. Our clothes fall to the ground. Ten seconds later – flip! – we’re back where we started. But our clothes are on the ground. Get it now?”
“I – I guess so. Yes.”
“I’m glad you do… because I don’t. To me, it’s magic.” Zebadiah shrugged. “‘Magic.'”
“‘Magic’,” I stated, “is a symbol for any process not understood.”
“That’s what I said, Deety. ‘Magic.’ Jake, would it have mattered if the car had been indoors?”
“Well… that fretted me the first time Deety and I translated to Earth-without-the-letter-J. So I moved our car outdoors. But now I think that only the destination matters. It should be empty – I think. But I’m too timid to experiment.”
“Might be interesting. Unmanned vehicle. Worthless target. A small asteroid. A baby sun?”
“I don’t know, Zeb. Nor do I have apparatus to spare. It took me three years to build this one.”
“So we wait a few years. Jake? Air has mass.”
“That worried me also. But any mass, other than degenerate mass, is mostly empty space. Air – Earth sea-level air – has about a thousandth the density of the human body. The body is mostly water and water accepts air readily. I can’t say that it has no effect – twice I’ve thought that my temperature went up a trifle at transition or translation in atmosphere but it could have been excitement. I’ve never experienced caisson disease from it. Has any of us felt discomfort?”
“Not me, Jake.”
“I’ve felt all right, Pop,” I agreed.
“I got space sick. Till Deety cured it,” Aunt Hilda added.
“So did I, my darling. But that was into vacuo and could not involve the phenomenon.”
“Pop,” I said earnestly, “we weren’t hurt; we don’t have to know why. A basic proposition of epistemology, bedrock both for the three basic statements of semantics and for information theory, is that an observed fact requires no proof. It simply is, self-demonstrating. Let philosophers worry about it; they haven’t anything better to do.”
“Suits me!” agreed Hilda. “You big brains had Sharpie panting. I thought we were going to take a walk?”
“We are, dear,” agreed my husband. “Right after those steaks.”

Chapter XVIII

” – the whole world is alive.”

Zebadiah:
Four Dagwoods later we were ready to start walkabout. Deety delayed by wanting to repeat her test by remote control. I put my foot down. “No!”
“Why not, my Captain? I’ve taught Gay a program to take her straight up ten klicks. It’s G, A, Y, B, O, U, N, C, E – a new fast-escape with no execution word necessary. Then I’ll recall her by B, U, G, O, U, T. If one works via walky-talky, so will the second. It can save our lives, it can!”
“Uh – ” I went on folding tarps and stowing my sleeping bag. The female mind is too fast for me. I often can reach the same conclusion; a woman gets there first and never by the route I have to follow. Besides that, Deety is a genius.
“You were saying, my Captain?”
“I was thinking. Deety, do it with me aboard. I won’t touch the controls. Check pilot, nothing more.”
“Then it won’t be a test.”
“Yes, it will. I promise, Cub Scout honor, to let it fall sixty seconds. Or to three klicks H-above-G, whichever comes first.”
“These walky-talkies have more range than ten kilometers even between themselves. Gay’s reception is much better.”
“Deety, you trust machinery; I don’t. If Gay doesn’t pick up your second command – sun spots, interference, open circuit, anything – I’ll keep her from crashing.”
“But if something else goes wrong and you did crash, I would have killed you!” She started to cry.
So we compromised. Her way. The exact test she had originally proposed. I wasted juice by roading Gay Deceiver a hundred meters, got out, and we all backed off. Deety said into her walky-talky, “Gay Deceiver… Bug Out!”
It’s more startling to watch than it is to be inside. There was Gay Deceiver off to our right, then she was off to our left. No noise – not even an implosion splat! Magic.
“Well, Deety? Are you satisfied?”
“Yes, Zebadiah. Thank you, darling. But it had to be a real test. You see that – don’t you?”
I agreed, while harboring a suspicion that my test had been more stringent. “Deety, could you reverse that? Go somewhere else and tell Gay to come to you?”
“Somewhere she’s never been?”
“Yes.”
Deety switched off her walky-talky and made sure that mine was off. “I don’t want her to hear this. Zebadiah, I always feel animistic about a computer. The Pathetic Fallacy – I know. But Gay is a person to me.”
Deety sighed. “I know it’s a machine. It doesn’t have ears; it can’t see; it doesn’t have a concept of space-time. What it can do is manipulate circuitry in complex ways – complexities limited by its grammar and vocabulary. But those limits are exact. If I don’t stay precisely with its grammar and vocabulary, it reports ‘Null program.’ I can tell it anything by radio that I can tell it by voice inside the cabin – and so can you. But I can’t tell it to come look for me in a meadow beyond a canyon about twelve or thirteen klicks approximately southwest of here-now. That’s a null program – five undefined terms.”
“Because you made it null. You fed ‘garbage in’ and expect me to be surprised at ‘garbage out’ – when you did it a-purpose.”
“I did not either, I didn’t!”
I kissed the end of her nose. “Deety darling, you should trust your instincts. Here’s one way to tell Gay to do that without defining even one new term into her vocabulary. Tell her to expect a three-part program. First part: bounce one minimum, ten klicks. Second part: transit twelve point five klicks true course two-two-five. Third part: drop to one klick H-over-G and hover. At that point, if what you described as your location is roughly correct, you will see her and can coach her to a landing without using Jake’s twister.”
“Uh… twelve and a half kilometers can’t be done in units of ten kilometers. Powered flight?”
“Waste juice? Hon, you just flunked high school geometry. Using Euclid’s tools, compass and straight edge, lay out that course and distance, then lay out how to get there in ten-klick units – no fractions.”
My wife stared. Then her eyes cleared. “Transit one minimum true course one-seven-three and two thirds, then transit one minimum true course two-seven-six and one third. The mirror image solution uses the same courses in reverse. Plus endless trivial solutions using more than two minima.”
“Go to the head of the class. If you don’t spot her, have her do a retreating search curve – in her perms, in an Aussie accent. Honey girl, did you actually do that Euclid style?”
“I approximated it Euclid style – but you didn’t supply compass and straight edge! Scribe circle radius twelve point five. Bisect circle horizontally by straight edge through origin; quarter it by dropping a vertical. Bisect lower left quadrant – that gives true course two-two-five or southwest. Then set compass at ten units and scribe arcs from origin and from southwest point of circle; the intersections give courses and vertices for both major roots to the accuracy of your straight edge and compass. But simply to visualize that construction – well, I got visualized angles of two-seven-five and one-seven-five. Pretty sloppy.
“So I did it accurately by Pythagorean proposition by splitting the isosceles triangle into two right triangles. Hypotenuse is ten, one side is six and a quarter – and that gives the missing side as seven point eight-zero-six-two-four-seven plus – which gives you one course and you read off the other by the scandalous Fifth Axiom. But I did check by trig. Arc sine point seven-eight-zero-six-two-four-seven – “
“Hold it! I believe you. What other ways can you program Gay to find you, using her present vocabulary?”
“Uh… burn juice?”
“If necessary.”
“I would have her bounce a minimum, then maximize my signal. Home on me.”
“Certainly. Now do the same thing without using juice. Just Jake’s twister.”
Deety looked thoughtful and about twelve years old, then suddenly said, “‘Drunkard’s Walk’!” – added at once, “But I would place a locus around the Walk just large enough to be certain that I’m inside it. Gay should plot signal level at each vertex. Such a plot would pinpoint the signal source.”
“Which way is faster? Home straight in under power? Or Drunkard’s Walk?” Deety answered, “Why, the – ” – looked startled. “Those are solid-state relays.”
“Jake sets verniers by hand – but when Gay is directing herself there are no moving parts. Solid state.”
“Zebadiah, am I thinking straight? Using power, at that distance – call it twelve kilometers – Gay should be able to home on me in three or four minutes. But – Zebadiah, this can’t be right! – using no power and relying on random numbers and pure chance in a Drunkard’s Walk, Gay should find me in less than a second. Where did I go wrong?”
“On the high side, Deety girl. Lost your nerve. The first fifty milliseconds should show the hot spot; in less than the second fifty she’ll part your hair. All over in a tenth of a second – or less. But, honey, we still haven’t talked about the best way. I said that you should trust your instincts. Gay is not an ‘it.’ She’s a person. You’ll never know how relieved I was when it turned out that you two were going to be friends. If she had been jealous of you – May the gods deliver us from a vindictive machine! But she’s not; she thinks you’re swell.”
“Zebadiah, you believe that?”
“Dejah Thoris, I know that.”
Deety looked relieved. “I know it, too – despite what I said earlier.”
“Deety, to me the whole world is alive. Some parts are sleeping and some are dozing and some are awake but yawning… and some are bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and always ready to go. Gay is one of those.”
“Yes, she is. I’m sorry I called her an ‘it.’ But what is this ‘best way’?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Don’t tell her how – just tell her. Say to her, ‘Gay, come find me!’ All four words are in her vocabulary; the sentence is compatible with her grammar. She’ll find you.”
“But how? Drunkard’s Walk?”
“A tenth of a second might strike her as too long – she likes you, hon. She’ll look through her registers and pick the optimum solution. She might not be able to tell you how she did it, since she wipes anything she’s not told to remember. I think she does; I’ve never been certain.”

Jake and Hilda had wandered off while Deety and I had been talking. They had turned back, so we started toward them. Sharpie called out, “Zebbie, what happened to that hike?”
“Right away,” I agreed. “Jake, we have about three hours. We ought to be buttoned up before sundown. Check?”
“I agree. The temperature will drop rapidly at sundown.”
“Yup. We can’t do real exploring today. So let’s treat it as drill. Fully armed, patrol formation, radio discipline, and always alert, as if there were a ‘Black Hat’ behind every bush.”
“No bushes,” objected Hilda.
I pretended not to hear. “But what constitutes ‘fully armed,’ Jake? We each have rifles. You have that oldstyle Army automatic that will knock down anything if you’re close enough but – how good a shot are you?”
“Good enough.”
“How good is ‘Good enough’?” (Most people are as accurate with a baseball as with a pistol.)
“Skipper, I won’t attempt a target more than fifty meters away. But if I intend to hit, the target will be within range and I will hit it.”
I opened my mouth… closed it. Fifty meters is a long range for that weapon. But hint that my father-in-law was boasting?
Deety caught my hesitation. “Zebadiah – Pop taught me pistol in the campus R.O.T.C. range. I’ve seen him practice bobbing targets at thirty meters. I saw him miss one. Once.”
Jake harrumphed. “My daughter omitted to mention that I skip most surprise targets.”
“Father! ‘Most’ means ‘more than fifty percent.’ Not true!”
“Near enough.”
“Six occasions. Four strings, twenty-eight targets on three -“
“Hold it, honey! Jake, it’s silly to argue figures with your daughter. With my police special I won’t attempt anything over twenty meters – except covering fire. But I hand-load my ammo and pour my own dumdums; the result is almost as lethal as that howitzer of yours. But if it comes to trouble, or hunting for meat, we’ll use rifles, backed by Deety’s shotgun. Deety, can you shoot?”
“Throw your hat into the air.”
“I don’t like the sound of that. Sharpie, we have five firearms, four people – is there one that fits you?”
“Cap’n Zebbie, the one time I fired a gun, I went backwards, the bullet went that-a-way, and I had a sore shoulder. Better have me walk in front to trip land mines.”
“Zebadiah, she could carry my fléchette gun.”
“Sharpie, we’ll put you in the middle and you carry the first-aid kit; you’re medical officer – armed with Deety’s purse gun for defense. Jake, it’s time we stowed these swords and quit pretending to be Barsoomian warriors. Field boots. I’m going to wear that same sweaty pilot suit, about equivalent to jump suits you and Deety wore – which I suggest you wear now. We should carry water canteens and iron rations. I can’t think of anything that would serve as a canteen. Damn! Jake, we aren’t doing this by the book.”
“What book?” demanded Hilda.
“Those romances about interstellar exploration. There’s always a giant mother ship in orbit, loaded with everything from catheters to Coca-Cola, and scouting is by landing craft, in touch with the mother ship. Somehow, we aren’t doing it that way.”
(All the more reason to conduct drill as realistically as possible. Jake or I, one of us, is honor bound to stay alive to take care of two women and unborn children; exterminating ‘Black-Hat’ vermin holds a poor second to that.)
“Zebbie, why are you staring at me?”
I hadn’t known that I was. “Trying to figure how to dress you, dear. Sharpie, you look cute in jewelry and perfume. But it’s not enough for a sortie in the bush. Take ’em off and put ’em away. You, too, Deety. Deety, do you have another jump suit that can be pinned up or stitched up for Hilda?”
“A something, sure. But it would take hours to do a good job. My sewing kit isn’t much.”
“‘Hours’ will have to be another day. Today we’ll make do with safety pins. But take time to do a careful job of padding her feet into your stoutest shoes. Confound it, she should have field boots. Sharpie, remind me when we make that shopping trip to Earth-without-a-J.”
“To hear is to obey, Exalted One. Is it permitted to make a parliamentary inquiry?”
She startled me. “Hilda, what did I do to cause that frosty tone?”
“It was what you didn’t do.” Suddenly she smiled, reached high and patted my cheek. “You mean well, Zebbie. But you slipped. While Gay Deceiver is on the ground, we’re equal. But you’ve been giving orders right and left.”
I started to answer; Jake cut in. “Hilda my love, for a scouting expedition the situation becomes equivalent to a craft in motion. Again we require a captain.”
Sharpie turned toward her husband. “Conceded, sir. But may I point out that we are not yet on that hike? Zebbie has consulted you; he has not consulted Deety and me. He asked us for information – darned seldom! Aside from that he has simply laid down the law. What are we, Zebbie? Poor little female critters whose opinions are worthless?”
Caught with your hand in the cooky jar, throw yourself on the mercy of the court.
“Sharpie, you’re right and I’m dead wrong. But before you pass sentence I claim extenuating circumstances: Youth and inexperience, plus long and faithful service.”
“You can’t,” put in my helpful wife. “You can plead one or the other but not both. They can’t overlap.”
Sharpie stood on tiptoes and kissed my chin. “In Zebbie’s case they do overlap. Do you still want to know what to use as water canteens?”
“Certainly!”
“Then why didn’t you ask?”
“But I did!”
“No, Cap’n Zebbie; you did not ask and did not even give us time to volunteer the answer.”
“I’m sorry, Hilda. Too many things on my mind.”
“I know, dear; Sharpie does not mean to scold. But I had to get your attention.”
“That baseball bat?”
“Almost. For an ersatz canteen – A hot-water bottle?”
Again she startled me. “In the danger we were in when we left, you worried about cold feet in bed? And packed a hot-water bottle?”
“Two,” answered Deety. “Aunt Hilda fetched one. So did I.”
“Deety, you don’t have cold feet and neither do I.”
Sharpie said, “Deety, is he actually that naïve?”
“I’m afraid he is, Aunt Hilda. But he’s sweet.”
“And brave,” added Hilda. “But retarded in spots. They do overlap in Zebbie’s case. He’s unique.”
“What,” I demanded, “are you talking about?”
“Aunt Hilda means that, when you refitted Gay, you neglected to install a bidet.”
“Oh.” That was the wittiest I could manage. “It’s not a subject I give much thought to.”
“No reason you should, Zebbie. Although men use them, too.”
“Zebadiah does. Pop, too. Bidets, I mean. Not hot-water bottles.”
“I meant hot-water bottles, dear. As medical officer I may find it necessary to administer an enema to the Captain.”
“Oh, no!” I objected. “You’re not equipped.”
“But she is, Zebadiah. We fetched both sorts of nozzles.”
“But you didn’t fetch four husky orderlies to hold me down. Let’s move on. Sharpie, what was the advice you would have given if I had been bright enough to consult you?”
“Some is not advice but a statement of fact. I’m not going for a hike on a hot day swaddled in a pinned-up jump suit eight sizes too big. While you all play Cowboys-and-Indians, I’m going to curl up in my seat and read ‘The Oxford Book of English Verse.’ Thank you for fetching it, Jacob.”
“Hilda beloved, I will worry.”
“No need to worry about me, Jacob. I can always tell Gay to lock her doors. But, were I to go with you, I would be a handicap. You three are trained to fight; I’m not.” Sharpie turned toward me. “Captain, since I’m not going, that’s all I have to say.”
What was there for me to say? “Thank you, Hilda. Deety, do you have things on your mind?”
“Yes, sir. I go along with field boots and jump suits and so forth even though they’ll be beastly hot. But I wish you would change your mind about your sword and Pop’s saber. Maybe they aren’t much compared with rifles but they’re good for my morale.”
Hilda interjected, “Had I decided to go, Captain, I would have said the same. Possibly it is an emotional effect from what happened, uh – was it only yesterday? – but perhaps it is subconscious logic. Just yesterday bare blades defeated a man – a thing, an alien – armed with a firearm and ready to use it.”
Jake spoke up. “Captain, I didn’t want to take off my saber.”
“We’ll wear them.” Any excuse is a good excuse to wear a sword. “Are we through? We’ve lost an hour and the Sun is dropping. Deety?”
“One more thing, Zebadiah – and I expect to be outvoted. I say to cancel the hike.”
“So? Princess, you’ve said too much or not enough.”
“If we do this, we spend the night here – sitting up. If we chase the Sun instead – There were lights on the night side that looked like cities. There was blue on the day side that looked like a sea. I think I saw canals. But whether we find something or not, at worst we’ll catch up with sunrise and be able to sleep outdoors in daylight, just as we did today.”
“Deety! Gay can overtake the Sun. Once. You want to use all her remaining juice just to sleep outdoors?”
“Zebadiah, I wasn’t planning on using any power.”
“Huh? It sounded like it.”
“Oh, no! Do transitions of three minima or more, bearing west. Aim us out of the atmosphere; we fall back in while looking for places of interest. As we reenter, we glide, but where depends on what you want to look at. When you have stretched the glide to the limit, unless you decide to ground, you do another transition. There is great flexibility, Zebadiah. You can reach sunrise line in the next few minutes. Or you could elect to stay on the day side for weeks, never land, never use any juice, and inspect the entire planet from pole to pole.”
“Maybe Gay can stay up for weeks – but not me. I’m good for several more hours. With that limitation, it sounds good, How about it? Hilda? Jake?”
“You mean that female suffrage is permanent? I vote Yes!”
Jake said, “You have a majority; no need for a male vote.”
“Jacob!” his wife said reproachfully.
“Joking, my dear. It’s unanimous.”
I said, “Somebody just cancelled the election. Look there.” We all looked. Deety said, “What is it? A pterodactyl?”
“No, an ornithopter. A big one.”

PART TWO – The Butterfly’s Mandarin

Chapter XIX

Something is gained in translation –

Hilda:
Jacob tightened his arm around me. “Zeb,” he said softly, “I don’t believe it.” He was staring (we all were) at this mechaniwockle pteranodon coming at us over the hills in the west.
“Neither do I,” Zebbie answered. “Wrong wing loading. Impossible articulation. There’s a second one. A third! All hands! Grab your clothes! Man the ship! Prepare to lift! Move! Jake, unbuckle your saber and into your jump suit, fast!”
Cap’n Zebbie was unhooking his sword belt and grabbing his coveralls as he yelped. I was inside first as I didn’t stop to dress – grabbed Deety’s baby shoes with one hand, my dress and panties with the other.
I wiggled into panties, slid the dress over my head, slipped on Deety’s Keds.
I anticipated the order to fasten seat belts – stopped suddenly and eased my belt. I had not stopped to take off the doodads that proclaimed me a Barsoomian “princess.” Now it seemed that every item of frippery was about to imprint me for life.
Deety was cursing softly over the same problem. Deety’s jump suit was harder to reach into, even when she unbelted and opened the zipper all the way. I helped readjust the hardware but cautioned her not to remove it and to close the zipper clear to her chin. “Deety, if you get holes in your hide, you’ll get well. But if something loose catches our captain in the eye, the culprit will be broken on the wheel.”
I clucked-clucked at her answer but big ones do get in the way. Meanwhile our men were having problems. That space under the instrument board could not be seen by a full-sized male. The best position to reach it was impossible for Jacob, ridiculously impossible for Zebbie.
Zebbie’s profanity was louder than Deety’s but not as colorful. My own darling was keeping quiet which meant that he was really in trouble. I said, “Gentlemen -“
Zebbie grunted, “Shut up, Sharpie; we’ve got problems! Deety! How did you get these toadstickers into this compartment?”
“I didn’t. Aunt Hilda did.”
“Sharpie, can I apologize later? Those Martians are circling us now!”
So they were, at least a dozen flapping monstrosities. One appeared about to ground. “Captain, I’ll do it – but there is a faster way.”
“How?”
“Unhook your scabbards, put on your sword belts. Saber and sword in scabbards fit easily if you point one right, the other left. They will rattle unless you stuff clothing around them.”
“They can bloody well rattle!” In seconds, our gallants had blades and scabbards stowed. As Cap’n Zebbie resumed sword belt and started on his seat belt he called out, “Fasten belts, prepare to lift! Sharpie, have I told you today that in addition to loving you, I admire you?”
“I think not, Captain.”
“I do. Enormously. Report! Science Officer?”
“Seat belt fastened. Thank you, Zebbie.”
“Seat belt fastened,” reported Deety. “Bulkhead door dogged.”
“Seat belt fastened, starboard door seal checked, copilot ready, sir!”
“Port door seal checked, pilot strapped down; we’re ready – and none too soon! One has grounded and somebody is getting out. Hey! They’re human!”
“Or disguised aliens,” said my darling.
“Well… yes, there’s that. I may lift any second. Deety – that new program: Just G, A, Y, B, O, U, N, C, E? No ‘do-it’ word?”
“Check.”
“Good. I won’t use it unless forced to. This may be that ‘first contact’ the world has been expecting.”
“Cap’n Zebbie, why would aliens disguise themselves when they outnumber us? I think they are human.”
“I hope you’re right. Copilot, should I open the door? Advice, please.”
“Captain, you can open the door anytime. But if it is open, it takes a few seconds to close it and the ship won’t lift with a door open.”
“Too right. Gay Deceiver.”
“Hi, Boss. Where did you pick up the tarts?”
“Gay, check and report.”
“All circuits checked, all systems go, juice point seven-eight – and I’m in the mood.”
“Cast loose L-gun. Prepare to burn.”
“Done!”
“Captain,” my husband said worriedly, “are you planning to blast them?”
“I hope not. I’d rather run than fight. I’d rather stay and get help than either. But they grounded where I can burn them – using offset.”
“Captain, don’t do it!”
“Copilot, I don’t plan to. Now drop it!”
The grounded flappy bird was about two hundred meters and a few degrees left of dead ahead. Two men – they looked like men – had disembarked and headed toward us. They were dressed alike – uniforms? They seemed vaguely familiar – but all uniforms seem vaguely familiar, do they not?
They were less than a hundred meters from us. Cap’n Zebbie did something at his instrument board and suddenly their voices were inside, blastingly loud. He adjusted the setting and we could hear clearly. Zebbie said, “That’s Russian! Isn’t it, Jake?”
“Captain, I think so. A Slavic language, in any case.” Jacob added, “Do you understand it?”
“Me? Jake, I said that I can swear in Russian; I didn’t say I could speak it. I can say ‘thank you’ and ‘please’ and ‘da’ and ‘nyet’ – maybe six more. How about you?”
“I can puzzle out a paper about mathematics with the aid of a dictionary. But speak it? Understand it? No.”
I tried to remember whether or not I had ever told Zebbie that I know Russian. My husband and Deety I had not told. Well, if Zebbie knew, he would call on me. It is not something I mention as it does not fit my persona. I started it out of curiosity; I wanted to read those great Russian novelists – Dostoievsky, Tolstoy, and so forth – in the original in order to find out why they were so celebrated. Why I had never been able to read one of those classic novels all the way through? (They had cured me of sleeping pills.)
So I set out to learn Russian. Soon I was wearing earphones to bed, listening to Russian in my sleep, working with a tutor in the daytime. I never mastered a good accent; those six-consonants-in-a-row words tie knots in my tongue. But one cannot read a language easily unless one can “hear” the words. So I learned the spoken language along with the written.
(Oh, yes, those “classic novels”: Having invested so much effort I carried out my purpose: War and Peace, The Idiot, The Brothers Karamazov, Anna Karenina, and so forth. Would you believe it? Something is gained in translation; the originals are even more depressing and soporific than translations. I’m not sure what purpose Russian fiction has, but it can’t be entertainment.)
I decided to wait. I was not eager to be interpreter and it would not be necessary if it turned out that Zebbie or Jacob had a language in common with our visitors – and I rationalized my decision by telling myself that it might turn out to be an advantage if the strangers thought that no one of us understood Russian.
(At that point I realized that I had been thinking in Russian. It’s a wonderful language for paranoid thoughts.)
When Zebbie switched on the outside mikes, the older was telling the Younger: ” – not let Fyodor Ivanovitch get wind of such thoughts, Yevgeny. He does not believe that (no good? stupid?) Britishers can excel us in anything. So don’t refer to that curious craft as ‘advanced engineering.’ A ‘weird assemblage of poorly organized experiments’ would be better.”
“I will remember. Shall I loosen my holster and take off the safety? To guard you, sir?”
The older man laughed. “You haven’t dealt with the damned British as long as I have. Never let them suspect that you are even mildly nervous. And always be sure to insult him first. Bear in mind that the lowliest serf in Ykraina is better than their so-called King-Emperor. That serf -“when Zebbie interrupted: “Arrêtez-là!”
The younger hesitated but the older never broke stride. Instead he answered in French: “You are telling me to halt, you British swine? An officer of the Tsar on Russian soil! I spit on your mother. And your father if your mother can remember who he was. Why are you speaking French, you soiled British spy? You fool no one. Speak Russian – or, if you are uncultured, speak English.”
Zebbie thumbed a button. “What about it, Jake? Switch to English when he’s so hipped on the subject of Englishmen? Or bull it through in French? My accent is better than his.”
“Maybe you can get away with it, Captain. I can’t.”
Zebbie nodded and opened the mike, spoke in English: “We are not British, not spies. We are American tourists and -“
“‘American’? What nonsense is this?” (He had shifted to English.) “A British colonial is still British – and a spy.”
My husband reached over, shut off the microphone. “Captain, I advise lifting. He won’t listen to reason.”
“Copilot, not till I must. We don’t even have enough water. I must try to parley.” Zebbie thumbed the switch. “I am not a British colonial. I am Zeb Carter of California, a citizen of the United States of America; I have my passport. If we have trespassed, we regret it and apologize.”
“Spy, that is the most bold-faced bluff I have ever heard. There is no such country as the United States of America. I am placing you under arrest. In the name of His Imperial Majesty the Tsar of All the Russias, by authority delegated to me by His Viceroy for New Russia Grand Duke Fyodor Ivanovitch Romanov, I arrest you and your party for the crime of espionage. Open up!”
By now they had reached Gay Deceiver and were at the portside door.
Zebbie answered, “You haven’t told me your name, much less identified yourself as a Russian officer. Or shown any authority over what is clearly unoccupied land.”
“What? Preposterous! I am Colonel the Count Morinosky of Novy Kiev, of the Viceroy’s Imperial Guard. As for my authority, look at the sky around you!” The self-proclaimed colonel drew his pistol, reversed it, and used the butt to pound on the door. “‘Open up!’ I said.”
Zebbie has good temper and calm judgment. Both are likely to slip if anyone abuses Gay Deceiver.
He said softly, “Colonel, your craft on the ground ahead – is there anyone in it?”
“Eh? Of course not. It’s a two-seater, as anyone can see. My private scoutabout. Never mind that. Keep quiet and open up.”
Zebbie again switched off his microphone. “Gay Deceiver, at command ‘Execute’ burn one tenth of a second at point of aim, intensity four.”
“Gotcha, Boss.”
“Colonel, how can you take four prisoners in a two-seater?”
“Simple. You and I will ride in your vehicle. The other members of your party will be hostage for your good behavior and will ride where assigned. You won’t see which craft lest you get foolish ideas. My pilot will fly my craft.”
“Execute.”
The grounded ornithopter began to burn fiercely – but the colonel did not see it. We saw it – but he was looking at Zebbie. Zebbie said, “Colonel, please stand clear of the door so that I can open it.”
“Oh. Very well.”
“Colonel! Look!” The younger officer, in stepping back, caught sight of the fire – and I have rarely heard such anguish.
Or, an instant later in the colonel’s face, such astonishment switching to rage. He attempted to shoot Zebbie – with his hand still gripping the barrel of his pistol. In a moment he realized what he was doing and flipped it to catch it by the grip.
I never saw whether or not he made the catch; Cap’n Zebbie commanded, “Gay Bounce!” and the scene blacked out while the colonel’s hand was open for the catch.
Zebbie was saying, “Jake, I lost my temper. I should not have done it; it ruined our last chance to deal with those Russians. But I hope it taught the ruddy snarf not to go around hammering dents into other people’s cars.”
“Captain, you did not ruin our ‘last chance’; we never had one. You ran into classic Russian xenophobia. The Commies didn’t invent that attitude; it goes back at least a thousand years. Read your history.” Jacob added, “I’m not sorry you burned his kite. I wish he had to walk home. Regrettably one of his craft will pick him up.”
“Jake, if I could afford to – in juice, in time – I would go back and keep him from being picked up. Harry them, not let them land. I won’t. Hmm – Shall we fall a bit farther and see what they are doing? Before we get on with our interrupted schedule?”
“Uh… Captain, may I have a Bonine pill?”
I squealed, “Me, too!”
“Deety, take care of ’em. I’ll put her in dive and we’ll look.”
“Captain, why not use the B, U, G, program?”
“Deety, somebody might be on that spot. Wups! I’m biting air.” Cap’n Zebbie leaned us over, placed Barsoom – I mean “Mars” – Mars-10 or whatever-dead ahead. “Should spot flappy birds in few minutes. Jake, how about binoculars?”
Zebbie didn’t want them himself while piloting. We passed them around and I spotted an ornithopter, then two more, and passed the glasses to Deety.
“Zebadiah, there is no one where we were parked.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yessir. The colonel’s scoutabout is stifl burning; there are people near it, nowhere else. That’s why I’m certain there is no one where we were. B, U, G, O, U, T is safe.”
Zebbie was slow to answer. “How about it, folks? It would be an unnecessary risk. Just one squawk and I’ll skip it.”
I kept quiet and hoped the others would, too. I don’t worry; I’m going to live as long as Atropos permits – meanwhile I intend to enjoy every minute. Zebbie waited, then said, “Here we go. Gay – Bug Out!”

Chapter XX

right theory, wrong universe.

Zeb:
Deety is going to force me to look like a hero because I don’t have the guts to let her down. I thought my copilot would veto going back to the scene of the crime; Jake is level-headed about safety precautions. I didn’t count on Sharpie; she’s unpredictable. But I thought Jake would object.
He didn’t. I waited until I was certain that no one was going to get me off the spot… then waited some more… then said sadly, “Here we go,” and told Gay to “BUG OUT!”
I expected to be a mushroom cloud. Instead we were parked where we had been and the colonel’s craft was burning briskly. (Someday I am going to run that experiment: a transition to attempt to cause two masses to occupy the same space. But I won’t be part of the experiment. The Bug-Out program scared me, and I liked the Take-Us-Home program a lot better after we made it two klicks H-above-G instead of parked. Could the Bug-Out program be modified so that Gay sneaked up on her target, checked it by radar, before accepting it? Take it up with Deety, Zeb – stick to what you know!)
The Russians appeared to be slow to notice our return. One ornithopter had grounded not far from the fire; there were several bystanders. I could not see whether or not my erstwhile arresting officer, Colonel Somethingsky, was in the group. I assumed that he was.
Then I was sure: A figure broke loose and headed toward us, waving a pistol. I said briskly, “Shipmates, is there any reason to hang around?”
I waited a short beat. “Hearing no objection – Gay Bounce!”
That black sky looked good. I wondered how Bumpsky was going to explain to the Grand Duke. Brass Hats are notoriously reluctant to believe unlikely stories.
“Did I bounce too quickly? Have you all seen what you wanted to see?”
Only Deety answered. “I was checking that program. I think I see a way to avoid two masses conflicting.”
“Keep talking.”
“Gay could sneak up on the target, inspect it by radar, accept it and ground, or refuse it and bounce – with no loss of time and with the same execute code. That spot could be knee-deep in Russians and Gay would simply whoosh us to where we are now.”
(I said to leave it to Deety. You heard me.) “Good idea. Do it. Can’t have too many fail-safes.”
“I’ll reprogram when we stop.”
“Correction. I want that fail-safe programmed now. I might need your revised program any moment.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
“‘Captain darling,’ if you please. If you must call me ‘Captain.’ Then review all preprograms and debug them, if necessary, with analogous fail-safes. And any new ones in the future. Now – Just put her into glide, headed west, and transit three minima?”
“Or more. Or less. I thought that a spot check every thirty kilometers would be about right for a rapid survey.”
“What altitude will we wind up? Assuming I simply aim her at the horizon and transit tangent to the curve.”
“Oh. What altitude do you want, Captain – Captain darling? A tangent does little in three minima, just a touch over a hundred meters. Is ten kilometers about right?”
“Ten klicks is fine. I could aim at the horizon, make transition, then at once give the B, O, U, N, C, E order.”
“So you could, Zebadiah, but if you will use the horizon as reference and aim eighteen and a half degrees above it – Will your gunsight depress that far?”
“No, but I’ll tell Gay. No problem.”
“Three minima on that upward slant will place you ten klicks H-above-G and a couple of klicks short of three minima on the curve.”
“Plus my present altitude.”
“No, no! Visualize the triangle, Zebadiah. It makes no real difference whether you do this from ten klicks H-above-G, or parked on the ground. Do you want exact figures?”
“You visualize triangles, Deety; that’s your department. I’ve got air bite now; I’m going to head west; I want to see where those ornithopters came from. Meantime work out that new fail-safe.” Did it really make no difference whether I started from ten thousand meters or right on deck? Didn’t I have to add in – No, of course not … but one way was sine and the other way was tan. But which one? Hell, it didn’t matter; Deety was right. She always is, on figures – but someday I’m going to work it carefully, on paper, with diagrams and tables. “Copilot.”
“Captain.”
“L axis, transit, three minima.”
“Transition, L axis, thirty kilometers – set!”
“Gay Deceiver.”
“I’m not at home but you may record a message.”
“Change attitude to climb eighteen point five degrees and report.”
“Roger Wilco. Climbing. Ten. Twelve. Fourteen. Sixteen. Eighteen. Mark!”
“Execute!”
We were somewhere else with black sky. “Gay, vertical dive. Execute.”
“No trouble, Clyde; enjoy the ride.”
“Zebadiah, may I talk with Gay while you look over the terrain? To reprogram that fail-safe.”
“Sure, go ahead. Jake, want to scan with binox while I eyeball it? I’ll warn before transition.”
“Zebadiah, I could give her a scouting program, automatic. Skip the vernliers, skip the climb order; just an ‘execute’ code word. Place her on course… or I could include course.”
“I’ll head her manually; the rest is swell – after that fail-safe. What’s the code word?”
“‘Scout’?”
“Good. Include the ‘execute’ idea in the code word. Deety, I’ve decided that I love you for your brain. Not those irrelevant physical attributes.”
“Zebadiah, once I’ve had a bath you may change your mind. I’ve had a sudden attack of brain fever. You had better program her yourself.”
“Mutiny again. I retract and apologize. You smell yummy and should marinate another week. It’s not your cortex or your character I love but your carcass – delectable! If it weren’t for these seat belts, it would be rape, rape, rape, all the way to the ground. Actually you’re sort o’ stupid-but what a chassis!”
“That’s better. Although I’m not stupid.”
“You married me. Res ipsa loquitur! Jake, are you spotting anything?”
“Dry hills, Captain. Might as well move on.”
“Zebadiah, will you place her in glide and hold a few minutes?”
“Sure. See something you want to check?”
“No, sir, But when we emerged here, we had seventy-three seconds to impact. We’ve used twenty-one seconds. I’d like a few moments to insert those preprograms.”
I overrode manually and started Gay into a stretched glide while I extended her wings. Then I let Deety and Gay talk to each other. Deety had both changes fully worked out; not once did Gay answer, “Null program.”
I was about to warn Deety that Gay was not a sailplane when she reported, “All done, Captain. For the ‘S’ program I added in an alarm for two klicks H-above-G.”
“Good idea. So now I head west again and give her that ‘S’ code word – no ‘Execute’?”
“Yessir. ‘Cept I’d like to try the revised B, U, G, O, U, T program. It has been less than four minutes since we left. Someone may be in that exact spot.”
“Deety, I share your curiosity. But it’s like testing a parachute the hard way. Can’t we save it until we need it? Then, if there is a glitch, we’ll be dead so fast we’ll hardly notice it.”
Deety said nothing. I waited, then said, “Comment, please.”
“No comment, Captain.” Deety’s answer was toneless. “Hmm – Science Officer… comment, please.”
“I have no comment to offer, Captain.” (A slight chill?)
“Copilot, I require your advice.”
“Uh, if the Captain please. Am I privileged to ask for written orders?”
“Well, I’ll be dipped in – Gay Bounce! Is there such a thing as a ‘space lawyer’? Like ‘sea lawyer’? Jake, in general, anyone, save in the face of the enemy, may demand written orders… if he’ll risk his career to ‘perpetuate evidence for the court-martial he knows will follow. Did it myself once and saved my neck and cost my temporary boss fifty numbers – and I wound up senior to him and he resigned.
“But a second-in-command is in a special position; it is his duty to advise his C.O., even if the C.O. doesn’t ask for advice. So I don’t see how you can demand written orders on a point already one of your duties. But I won’t make an issue of it. I’ll direct the Astrogator to log your request, then I can dictate my reply into the log. Then I am going to ground this go-buggy and turn command over to you. Maybe you’ll have more luck chairing this debating society than I have had. I wish you luck – you’ll need it!”
“But, Captain, I did not ask for written orders.”
“Eh?” I thought back. He hadn’t, quite. “It sounded as if you were about to.”
“I was stalling. I must advise you to follow the prudent course. Unofficially, I prefer to risk the test. But I should not have stalled. I’m sorry that my intransigence caused you to consider relinquishing command.”
“I didn’t just consider it; I have. Resignation effective the first time we ground. You’ve bought it, Jake.”
“Captain -“
“Yes, Deety?”
“You are correct; the test I suggested is useless, and could be fatal. I should not have asked for it. I’m sorry… sir.”
“Me, too! I felt you were being too strict with Deety. But you weren’t; you were taking care of us, as you always do, Zebbie. Captain Zebbie. Of course you shouldn’t make a risky test we don’t need.”
I said, “Anyone anything to add?” No one spoke up, so I added, “I’m heading west,” and did so. “Gay Deceiver – Bug Out!”
Black sky above us; that “dead sea bottom” far below… I remarked, “Looks as if a Russian, or one of their flappy craft, is in our parking spot. Deety, your revised program worked perfectly.”
“But, Zebadiah – why did you risk it?” She sounded terribly distressed.
“Because all of you wanted to, despite what you said later. Because it’s my last chance to make such a decision.” I added, “Jake, I’m going to tilt her over. Grab the binox and see if you can identify where we were parked. If that fire is smoking, you can use it for reference.”
“But, Captain, I’m not taking command. I won’t accept it.”
“Pipe down and carry out your orders! It’s this damned yack-yack and endless argument that’s giving me ulcers. If you won’t accept command, then it’s up for grabs. But not me! Oh, I’ll pilot as the new C.O. orders. But I won’t command. Deety, how long did Gay pause to make that radar check? At what height?”
“H-above-G was half a klick. Duration I don’t know but I can retrieve it. Darling – Captain! You’re not really going to quit commanding us?”
“Deety, I don’t make threats. Pipe down and retrieve that duration. Jake, what do you see?”
“I’ve located the fire. Several ornithopters are on the ground. My guess places one of them about where we were parked. Captain, I advise not dropping lower.”
“Advice noted. Deety, how about that duration?” I didn’t know how to ask for it myself, not having written the program.
Deety retrieved it smoothly: 0.071 seconds – call it a fifteenth of a second. Radar is not instantaneous; Gay had to stop and sweep that spot long enough for a “picture” to form in her gizzards, to tell her whether or not she could park there. A fifteenth of a second is loads of time for the human eye. I hoped that Colonel Frimpsky had been watching when Gay popped up and blinked out.
“Five klicks H-above-G, Captain.”
“Thanks, Jake.” The board showed dive rate – straight down! – of over seven hundred kilometers per hour, and increasing so fast that the units figure was an unreadable blur, and the tens place next to it was blinking one higher almost by the second.
Most carefully I eased her out of dive, and gently, slowly opened her wings part way for more lift as she slowed, while making a wide clockwise sweep to the east – slowed her dive, that is, not her speed through the air. When I had completed that sweep, and straightened out headed for that column of smoke on course west, I was making over eight hundred kilometers per hour in unpowered glide and still had almost a klick H-above-G I could turn into greater speed.
Not that I needed it – I had satisfied myself by eye of what I had been certain of by theory: an ornithopter is slow.
Jake said worriedly, “May I ask the Captain his plans?”
“I’m going to give Colonel Pistolsky something to remember us by! Gay Deceiver.”
“Still aboard, Boss.”
I kept my eye on the flappy birds still in the air while I let Gay fly herself. Those silly contraptions could not catch us but there was always a chance that a pilot might dodge the wrong way.
Most of them seemed anxious to be elsewhere: they were lumbering aside right and left. I looked at the smoke – dead ahead – and saw what I had not noticed before: an ornithopter beyond the smoke.
Jake gasped but said nothing. We were on collision course closing at about 900 kms/hr, most of it ours. Suicide pilot? Idiot? Panicked and frozen?
I let him get within one klick of us, which brought us almost to the smoke and near the deck, about 200 meters H-above-G-and I yelped, “Scout!”
Yes, Deety is a careful programmer; the sky was black, we were ten klicks H-above-G, and so far as I could tell, the same barren hills under us that we had left five minutes earlier – and I was feeling cocky. My sole regret was that I would not hear Colonel Snarfsky try to explain to the Grand Duke the “ghost” craft now used by “British spies.”
Did Russian nobility practice “honorable hara-kiri”? Perhaps the loaded-pistol symbol? You know that one: The officer in disgrace returns to his quarters and finds that someone has thoughtfully loaded his pistol and placed it on his desk… thereby saving the regiment the scandal of a court.
I didn’t want the bliffy dead but busted to buck private. With time to reflect on politeness and international protocol while he cleaned stables.
I checked our heading, found that we were still pointed west. “Gay Deceiver, Scout!”
Black sky again, the same depressing landscape – “Copilot, is it worthwhile to tilt down for a better look? That either takes juice – not much but some – or it takes time to drop far enough to bite air and do it with elevons. We can’t afford to waste either time or juice.”
“Captain, I don’t think this area is worth scouting.”
“Careful of that participle; better say ‘exploring.'”
“Captain, may I say something?”
“Deety, if you are speaking as Astrogator, you not only may but must.”
“I could reprogram to put us lower if I knew what altitude was just high enough to let you use elevons. Conserve both time and juice, I mean.”
“It seems to be about eight klicks H-above-G, usually. Hard to say since we don’t have a sea-level.”
“Shall I change angle to arrive at eight klicks H-above-G?”
“How long does it take us to fall two klicks when we arrive?”
She barely hesitated. “Thirty-two and a half seconds.”
“Only half a minute? Seems longer.”
“Three-two point six seconds, Captain, if this planet has the same surface gravity as Mars in our own universe – three-seven-six centimeters per second squared. I’ve been using it and haven’t run into discrepancies. But I don’t see how this planet holds so much atmosphere when Mars – our Mars – has so little.”
“This universe may not have the same laws as ours. Ask your father. He’s in charge of universes.”
“Yes, sir. Shall I revise the program?”
“Deety, never monkey with a system that is working well enough – First Corollary of Murphy’s Law. If it is an area as unattractive as this, we’ll simply get out. If it has possibilities, half a minute isn’t too long to wait, and the additional height will give us a better idea of the whole area. Gay Deceiver, Scout!”
We all gasped. Thirty kilometers and those barren hills were gone; the ground was green and fairly level – and a river was in sight. Or a canal.
“Oh, boy! Copilot, don’t let me waste juice – be firm with me. Deety, count seconds. Everybody eyeball his sector, report anything interesting.”
Deety started chanting “… thirteen… . fourteen… . fifteen – ” and each second felt like ten. I took my hands off the controls to keep from temptation. That was either a canal or a stream that had been straightened, revetted, and maintained for years, maybe eons. Professor Lowell had been right – right theory, wrong universe.
“Deety, how far is the horizon?”
” – seventeen – about two hundred fifty klicks – twenty -“
I placed my hands gently on the controls. “Hon, that’s the first time you’ve ever used the word ‘about’ with reference to a number.”
” – twenty-four – insufficient data! – twenty-six -“
“You can stop counting; I felt a quiver.” I put a soft nose-down pressure on the elevons and decided to leave her wings spread; we might want to stretch this one. “Insufficient data?”
“Zebadiah, it was changing steadily and you had me counting seconds. Horizon distance at ten klicks height above ground should be within one percent of two hundred and seventy kilometers. That assumes that this planet is a perfect sphere and that it is exactly like Mars in our universe – neither is true. It ignores refraction effects, tricky even at home – and unknown to me here. I treated it as geometry, length of tangent for an angle of four degrees thirty-seven minutes.”
“Four and half degrees? Where in the world did you get that figure?”
“Oh! Sorry, dear, I skipped about six steps. On Earth one nautical mile is one minute of arc – check?”
“Yes. Subject to minor reservations. With a sextant, or in dead reckoning, or on a chart, a mile is a minute, a minute is a mile. Makes it simple. Otherwise we would be saying a minute is one thousand eight hundred fifty-three meters and the arithmetic would get hairy.”
“One-eight-five-three point one-eight-seven-seven-oh-five plus,” she corrected me. “Very hairy. Best not convert to MKS until the last step. But, Zebadiah, there is a simpler relation here. One minute of arc equals one kilometer, near enough not to matter. So I treated H-above-G, ten klicks, as a versine, applied the haversine rule and got four degrees thirty-seven minutes or two hundred seventy-seven kilometers to the theoretical horizon. You see?”
“I see everything but how you hide haversine tables in a jump suit. Me, I hide ’em in Gay… and make her do the work.” Yes, I could nose her over now – easy does it, boy.
“Well, I didn’t, exactly. I calculated it, but I did it the easy way: Naperian logarithms and angles in radians, then converted back to degrees to show the relationship to kilometers on the ground.”
“That’s ‘the easy way’?”
“It is for me, sir!”
“If you’re quivering your chin, stop it. I told you it was your luscious body, not your brain. Most idiots-savants are homely and can’t do anything but their one trick. But you’re an adequate cook, as well.”
That got me a stony silence. I kept easing her nose down. “Time for binox, Jake.”
“Aye aye, sir. Captain, I am required to advise you. With that last remark to the Astrogator you risked your life.”
“Are you implying that Deety is an inadequate cook? Why, Jake!”
Hilda interrupted. “She’s a gourmet cook!”
“I know she is, Sharpie… but I don’t like to say it where Gay can hear – Gay can’t cook. Nor has she Deety’s other talent which ’tis death to hide. Jake, that’s a settlement below.”
“Of sorts. A one-church village.”
“Do you see ornithopters? Anything that could give us trouble?”
“Depends. Are you interested in church architecture?”
“Jake, this is no time for a cultural chat.”
“I’m required to advise you, sir, This church has towers, something like minarets topped off with onion-shaped structures.”
“Russian Orthodox!”
Hilda said that. I said nothing. I eased Gay’s nose up to level flight, lined her up with what I thought was downstream, and snapped, “Gay, Scout!”
The canal was still in sight, almost under us and stretching over the horizon. I was almost lined up with it. Gay, Scout!
“Anybody see that settlement that was almost ahead before this last transition? Report.”
“Captain Zebbie, it’s much closer now but on this side.”
“I see. Or don’t. Jake isn’t transparent.”
“Captain, the city – quite large – is about a forty-five-degree slant down to starboard, not in sight from your seat.”
“If forty-five degrees is a close guess, a minimum transition on that bearing should place us over the city.”
“Captain, I advise against it,” Jake told me.
“Reasons, please.”
“This is a large city that might be well defended. Their ornithopters look odd and ineffective but we must assume they have spaceships as good or better than ours or the Tsar could not have a colony here. This causes me to suspect that they may have smart missiles. Or weapons utterly strange. I would rather check for onion towers from a distance. And not stay long in one place – I think we’ve been here too long. I’m jumpy.”
“I’m not” – my sixth sense was not jabbing me – “but set verniers for a minimum transition along L axis, then execute at will. No need to be a slow fat target.”
“One minimum, L axis – set!”
Suddenly my guardian angel goosed me. “Execute!”
I noticed the transition principally because Gay was now live under my hand – air bite. Perhaps she had not been quite level. I turned her nose down to gather maneuvering speed unpowered, then did a skew turn – and yelped, “Gay Bounce!” having seen all that I wanted to see: an expanding cloud. Atomic? I think not. Lethal? You test it; I’m satisfied.
I told Gay to bounce three more times, placing us a bit less than fifty klicks above ground. Then I spent a trifle of power to nose her over. “Jake, use the binox to see how far this valley runs, whether it is all cultivated, whether it has more settlements. We are not going to get close enough to look for onion spires; that last shot was unfriendly. Rude. Impetuous. Or am I prejudiced? Science Officer? Le mot juste, s’il vous plait.”
“Nye kultoorni.”
“I remember that one! Makes Russians turn green. What does it mean? How did you happen to know it, Sharpie?”
“Means what it sounds like: ‘uncultured.’ I didn’t just ‘happen,’ Cap’n Zebbie; I know Russian.”
I was flabbergasted. “Why didn’t you say so?”
“You didn’t ask me.”
“Sharpie, if you handled the negotiations, we might not have had trouble.”
“Zebbie, if you’ll believe that, you’ll believe anything. He was calling you a spy and insulting you while the palaver was still in French. I thought it might be advantageous if they thought none of us knew Russian. They might spill something.”
“Did they?”
“No. The colonel was coaching his pilot in how to be arrogant. Then you told them to halt, in French, and no more Russian was spoken save for meaningless side remarks. Zebbie, when they tried to shoot us down just now, would they have refrained had they known that I had studied Russian?”
“Mmm – Sharpie, I should know better than to argue with you. I’m going to vote for you for captain.”
“Oh, No!”
“Oh, Yes. Copilot, I’m going to assume that everything this side of the hills and involved with this watercourse – courses – twin canals – is New Russia and that honorary Englishmen – us! – aren’t safe here. So I’m going to look for the British colony. It may turn out that they won’t like us, either. But the British are strong on protocol; we’ll have a chance to speak our piece. They may hang us but they’ll give us a trial, with wigs and robes and rules of evidence and counsel who will fight for us.” I hesitated. “One hitch. Colonel Snotsky said there was no such country as the United States of America and I had the impression that he believed it.”
Sharpie said, “He did believe it, Cap’n Zebbie. I caught some side chatter. I think we must assume that, in this universe, there was no American Revolution.”
“So I concluded. Should we all be from the East Coast? I have a hunch that the West Coast may be part Russian, part Spanish – but not British. Where are we from? Baltimore, maybe? Philadelphia? Suggestions?”
Sharpie said, “I have a suggestion, Cap’n Zebbie.”
“Science Officer, I like your suggestions.”
“You won’t like this one. When all else fails, tell the truth.”

Chapter XXI

three seconds is a long time –

Deety:
Zebadiah is convinced that I can program anything. Usually I can, given a large and flexible computer – but my husband expects me to manage it with Gay Deceiver and Gay is not big. She started life as an autopilot and is one, mostly.
But Gay is sweet-tempered and we both want to please him.
While he and my father were looking over the area that we thought of as “Russian Valley” or “New Russia,” he asked me to work up a program to locate the British colony in minimum time, if it were in daylight. If not, then we would sleep near the sunrise line, and find it on the new daylight side.
I thought of bouncing out about a thousand kilometers and searching for probable areas by color. Then I realized that I didn’t know that much about this planet. “Dead sea bottoms” from space looked like farm land.
At last I recalled something Zebadiah had suggested yesterday – no, today! less than two hours ago. (So much had happened that my sense of time played tricks. It was still accurate – but I had to think instead of just knowing.)
Random numbers – Gay had plenty of them. Random numbers are to a computer what free will is to a human being.
I defined a locus for Gay: nothing east of where we were, nothing in “Russian Valley,” nothing on the dark side, nothing north of 45°, nothing south of 45° south. Yesterday I could not have told her the latter; but Mars has a good spin, one a gyrocompass can read. While we slept, Gay had noted that her gyrocompass did not have its axis parallel to that of this strange planet and had precessed it until it did.
Inside that locus I told Gay to take a Drunkard’s Walk, any jumps that suited her, a three-second pause at each vertex, and, if one of us yelled “Bingo!” display latitude, longitude, and Greenwich, and log all three, so we could find it again.
Oh, yes – she was to pause that three seconds exactly one minimum H-above-G at each vertex.
I told her to run the program for one hour … but that any of us could yell “Stop!” and then say “Continue” and that would be time-out, not part of the hour. But I warned my shipmates that yelling “Stop!” not only slowed things but also gave Russians (or British or anybody) a chance to shoot at us. I emphasized that three seconds is a long time (most people don’t know it).
One hour –
Three seconds for each check –
Twelve hundred random spot checks – This is not a “space-filling” curve. But it should locate where the British were most thickly settled. If one hour did not do it, ten hours certainly would.
Without Gay, without her ability to do a Drunkard’s Walk, we could have searched that planet for a lifetime, and never found either colony. It took the entire human race (of our universe) thirty centuries to search Terra… and many spots were missing until they could be photographed from space.
My husband said, “Let’s get this straight.” He bounced us four minima. “These subprograms – Gay, are you listening?”
“Of course. Are you?”
“Gay, go to sleep.”
“Roger and out, Boss.”
“Deety, I want to make sure of these subprograms but couldn’t use code words while she was awake. I -“
“Excuse me, Zebadiah, but you can. She will ignore code words for subprograms except while the general program is running. The code for the general program is unusual and requires the execution command, so it can’t be started by accident. You can wake Gay. We need her on some points.”
“You’re a smart girl, Deety.”
“I’ll bet you tell that to all adequate cooks, Boss.”
“Ouch!”
“Captain, it is not difficult to program a computer to supervise cooking machines. The software sold under the trademark ‘Cordon Bicu’ is reputed to be excellent. Before you wake Gay, would you answer a hypothetical question concerning computers and cooking?”
“Captain!”
“Copilot?”
“I advise against permitting the Astrogator to discuss side issues – such as cooking – while we have this problem facing us.”
“Thank you, Copilot. Astrogator, what was your hypothetical question?”
Pop had been careful not to interfere between Zebadiah and me, But his advice from copilot to captain was intended for my ears – he was telling me to shut up, and I suddenly heard Jane saying, “Deety, anytime a wife thinks she has won an argument, she has lost it.”
I’m not Jane, I’m Deety. I get my temper from my father. I’m not as quick to flare up as he is, but I do have his tendency to nurse a grievance. Zebadiah is sometimes a tease and knows how to get my goat.
But Pop was telling me: “Drop it, Deety!”
Maybe Zebadiah was right – too much argument, too much discussion, too much “sewing circle & debating society.” We were all intensely interested as we were all in the same peril… but how much tougher is it to be captain rather than one of the crew? Twice? Ten times?
I didn’t know, Was my husband cracking under the pressure? “Getting ulcers”?
Was I adding to his burden?
I didn’t have to stop to think this through; it was preprogrammed below the conscious level; Pop pushed the “execute” button and the answers spilled out. I answered my husband at once,
“What hypocritical question, sir?”
“You said, ‘hypothetical.’ Something about computers and cooking.”
“Captain, my mind has gone blank. Perhaps we had better get on with the job before I forget how it works.”
“Deety, you wouldn’t fib to your pool’ old broken-down husband?”
“Sir, when my husband is poor and old and broken-down, I will not fib to him.”
“Hmm – If I hadn’t already promised my support to Hilda, I would vote for you for captain.”
Aunt Hilda cut in: “Zebbie, I release you! I’m not a candidate.”
“No, Sharpie, once having promised political support an honorable man never welches. So it’s all right for Gay to listen in?”
“Certainly, sir. For display I must have her. Hello, Gay.”
“Hi, Deety.”
“Display dayside, globe.” At once Gay’s largest screen showed the western hemisphere of Earth, our Earth in our universe – Terra. Early afternoon at Snug Harbor? Yes, the clock in my head said so and GMT on the instrument board read 20:23:07. Good heavens, it had been only twenty hours since my husband and my father had killed the fake “ranger.” How can a lifetime be crowded into less than a day? Despite the clock in my head it seemed years since I had walked down to our pool, a touch tiddly and hanging onto my bridegroom for support.
“Display meridians parallels. Subtract geographical features,” Gay did so. “From program coded ‘A Tramp Abroad’ display locus.”
Gay used orthographic projection, so the 45th parallels were straight lines. Since I had told her to display dayside, these two bright lines ran to the left edge of the display, that being the sunrise line. But the right edge of the locus was an irregular line running southwest. “Add display Russian Valley.”
To the right of the locus and touching it, Gay displayed as solid brightness a very long and quite wide blotch. “Subtract Russian Valley.” The area we had sketchily explored disappeared.
“Deety,” my husband asked, “how is Gay doing this? Her perms have no reference points for Mars – not even Mars of our own universe.”
“Oh. Gay, display ‘Touchdown.'”
“Null program.”
“Mmm, yes, that’s right; the Sun has just set where we were parked. Zebadiah, shall I have her rotate the globe enough to show it? All she would show would be a bright spot almost on the equator. I have defined the spot where we grounded as zero meridian – Greenwich for Mars. This Mars.”
“And zero parallel? An arbitrary equator?”
“Oh, no, no! While we slept Gay adjusted her gyrocompass to match this planet. Which gave her true north and latitude. She already knows the radius and curvature of Mars – I started to tell her and found she had retrieved it from her perms. Aerospace Almanac?”
“I suppose so. But we discussed Mars’ diameter last night while Gay was awake. Both you and Hilda knew it; Jake and I did not.”
As I remembered it, Aunt Hilda spoke up – then Pop kept quiet. If Pop wanted to sit back and be proud of Aunt Hilda’s encyclopedic memory that was all right with me. If my husband has a flaw, it is that he has trouble believing that females have brains… probably because he is so intensely interested in the other end. I went on with my lecture:
“Once I start Gay, she will say and record nothing unless ordered. She will make random transitions inside that locus until someone yells ‘Bingo!’ She won’t slow down even then. She will place a bright point on the map at that latitude and longitude, record both latitude and longitude, and the exact time. She will display the Bingo time, too, for one second. If you want to retrieve that Bingo, you had better jot down that time – to the second. Because she’ll be doing twenty jumps each minute. Don’t worry about the hour, just the minute and the second. Oh, you could still retrieve it if you had the minute right, as I can ask her to run through all Bingoes in a given minute. Can’t be more than twenty and your Bingo might be the only one.
“When we’ve done one hour of this, that map could, at most, have twelve hundred dots on it – but may have only a few – or none. If they are clustered, I’ll reduce the locus and we’ll run it again. If not, we can sleep and eat and do it for the other day side, the one twelve hours away. Either way, Gay will find the British – and we’ll be safe.”
“I hope you’re right. Ever heard of the Opium Wars, Deety?”
“Yes, Captain. Sir, every nation is capable of atrocities, including our own. But the British have a tradition of decent behavior no matter what blemishes there are.”
“Sorry. Why a one-hour program?”
“We may have to shorten it. A decision every three seconds for sixty minutes may be too tiring. If we start showing a marked hot spot sooner than that, we can shorten the first run and reduce the locus. We’ll have to try it and see. But I feel certain that a one-hour run, a short rest, then another one-hour run, will locate the British if they are now on the day side.”
“Deety, what do you define as ‘Bingo’?”
“Anything that suggests human settlement. Buildings. Roads. Cultivated fields. Walls, fences, dams, aircraft, vehicles – But it is not ‘Bingo’just because it looks interesting. Although it might be ‘Stop!”
“What’s the difference?”
“‘Stop’ does not tell Gay to record or to display. For that you must add ‘Bingo.’ ‘Stop’ is for anything you want to look at more than three seconds. Maybe it looks promising and a few seconds more will let you decide. But please, everyone! There should not be more than a dozen calls for ‘Stop!’ in the hour. Any more questions?”
We started. Hilda gave the first Bingo. I saw it, too – farm buildings. Aunt Hilda is faster than I. I almost broke my own injunction; I had to bite down on “Stop!” The temptation to take a longer look was almost overpowering.
All of us made mistakes – but none serious. Hilda racked up the most Bingoes and Zebadiah the fewest – but I’m fairly certain that my husband was “cheating” by waiting to give Pop or me first crack at it. (He would not be competing with Aunt Hilda; port-forward and starboard-after seats have little overlapping coverage.)
I thought it would be tedious; instead it was exciting – but dreadfully tiring. Slowly, less than one a minute, bright dots appeared on the display. I saw with disappointment that most Bingoes were clustered adjacent to the irregular margin marking Russian territory. It seemed probable that these marked Russian territory, so very probable that it hardly seemed worthwhile to check for onion spires.
Once my husband called “Stop” and then “Bingo” at a point north and far west, at least fifteen hundred kilometers from the nearest Bingo light. I noted the time – Greenwich 21:16:51 – then tried to figure out why Zebadiah had stopped us. It was pretty country, green hills and lightly wooded and I spotted a wild stream, not a canal. But I saw no buildings or anything suggesting settlement.
Zebadiah wrote something on his knee pad, then said, “Continue.” I was itching to ask why he had stopped, but when a decision must be made every three seconds there is no time to chat.
When the hour was nearly up, a single Bingo light in the far west that had been shining since the first five minutes was joined by another when Hilda scored another Bingo and two minutes later Pop said “Bingo!” and we had an equilateral triangle twenty kilometers on a side. I noted the time most carefully – then told myself not to be disappointed if inspection showed onion towers; we still had a hemisphere to go.
I decided to believe in that British colony the way one has to believe hard in fairies to save Tinker Bell’s life. If there were no British colony, we might have to risk Earth-without-a-J. Gay Deceiver was a lovely car but as a spaceship she had shortcomings. No plumbing. Air for about four hours and no way to recycle. No plumbing. Limited food storage. No plumbing. No comfortable way to sleep in her. No plumbing.
But she had talents no other spaceship had. Her shortcomings (according to my father and husband) could be corrected at any modern machine shop. But in the meantime we did not have even an outhouse behind the barn.
At last Gay stopped, continued to display, and announced, “One hour of ‘A Tramp Abroad’ completed. Instructions, please.”
“Gay, Bounce,” said Zebadiah. “Deety, I don’t think we’ve nailed down the piece The Sun Never Sets On. But this dense cluster here to the right – Too close to the Little Father’s little children. Eh?”
“Yes. Zebadiah, I should tell Gay to trim the locus on the east to eliminate the clustered lights, and now we can add almost nine hundred kilometers on the west, to the present sunrise line. Gay can rotate the display to show the added area. I suspect that one more hour will fill in the picture sufficiently.”
“Maybe even less. You were right; three seconds is not only a long time; it is excessively long. Isn’t two seconds enough? Can you change that without starting from scratch?”
“Yes to both, Captain.”
“Good. You can add thirty degrees on the west instead of fifteen. Because we are going to kill an hour – stretch our legs, eat a snack… and I for one want to find a bush. How do I tell Gay to return to a particular Bingo? Or will that mess up your program?”
“Not a bit. Tell her to return to Bingo such-and-such, stating the time.”
I was unsurprised when he said, “Gay, return to Bingo Greenwich twenty-one sixteen fifty-one.”
It was indeed a pretty stream. Zebadiah said happily, “That beats burning juice. Who sees a clearing close to that creek, big enough for Gay? Hover and squat, I mean; I don’t dare make a glide landing, dead stick – the old girl is loaded.”
“Zebbie, I’m sober as you are!”
“Don’t boast about it, Sharpie. I think I see a spot. Close your eyes; I’m going to.”
I almost wish I had.
Zebadiah came in on a long glide, everything set for maximum lift – but no power. I kept waiting for that vibration that meant that Gay was alive and roaring… and waited… and waited –
He said, “Gay – ” and I thought that he was going to tell her to turn herself on. No. We actually dropped below the level of that bank.
Then he suddenly switched on power by hand but in reverse – flipped us up on that bank; we stalled, and dropped perhaps a meter – we just barely missed that bank.
I didn’t say anything. Aunt Hilda was whispering, “Hail Mary Mother of God Om Mani Padme Hum There is No God but God and Mahomet is His Prophet – ” then some language I did not know but it sounded very sincere.
Pop said, “Son, do you always cut it that fine?”
“I saw a man do it that way when he had to; I’ve always wondered if I could. But what you didn’t know was – Gay, are you listening?”
“Sure thing, Boss. You alerted me. Where’s the riot?”
“You’re a smart girl, Gay.”
“Then why am I pushing this baby carriage?”
“Gay, go to sleep.”
“Sleepy time. Roger and out, Boss.”
“Jake, what you didn’t know was that I had my cheeks puffed to say B, O, U, N, C, E, explosively. Your gadget has made Gay’s reflexes so fast that I knew I could come within a split second of disaster and she would get us out. I wasn’t cutting didoes. Look at that meter. Seventy-four percent of capacity. I don’t know how many landings I’m going to have to make on that much juice.”
“Captain, it was brilliant. Even though it almost scared it out of me.”
“Wrong honorific, Captain. I’m the pilot going off duty. We’re landed; my resignation is effective; you’re holding the sack.”
“Zeb, I told you that I would not be captain.”
“You can’t help it; you are. The second-in-command takes command when the captain dies, or goes over the hill – or quits. Jake, you can cut your throat, or desert, or go on the binnacle list, or take other actions – but you can’t say you are not captain, when you are – Captain!”
“If you can resign, I can resign!”
“Obviously. To the Astrogator, she being next in line of command.”
“Deety, I resign! Captain Deety, I mean.”
“Pop, you can’t do this to me! I’ll – I’ll – ” I shut up because I didn’t know what to do. Then I did. “I resign… Captain Hilda.”
“What? Why, that’s silly, Deety. A medical officer is not in line of command. But if ‘medical officer’ is a joke and ‘science officer,’ too, then I’m a passenger and still not in line of command.”
My husband said, “Sharpie, you have the qualifications the rest of us have. You can drive a duo -“
“Suddenly I’ve forgotten how.”
” – but that’s not necessary. Mature judgment and the support of your crew are the only requirements, as we are millions of miles and several universes from licenses and such. You have my support; I think you have it from the rest. Jake?”
“Me? Of course!”
“Deety?”
“Captain Hilda knows she has my support,” I agreed. “I was first to call her ‘Captain.'”
Aunt Hilda said, “Deety, I’ve just resigned.”
“Oh, no, you haven’t anybody to resign to!” I’m afraid I was shrill.
“I resign to the Great Spirit Manitou. Or to you, Zebbie, and it comes around in a circle and you are captain again… as you should be.”
“Oh, no, Sharpie. I’ve stood my watch; it’s somebody else’s turn. Now that you have resigned, we have no organization. If you think you’ve stuck me with it, think again. You have simply picked an unusual way to homestead on this spot. In the meantime, while nobody is in charge, I hope that you all are getting both ears and a belly full of what got me disgusted. Yack yack yack, argue, fuss, and jabber – a cross between a Hyde Park open forum and a high school debating society.”
Aunt Hilda said, in sober surprise, “Why, Zebbie, you almost sound vindictive.”
“Mrs. Burroughs, it is possible that you have hit upon the right word. I have taken a lot of guff… and quite a bit of it has been from you.”
I haven’t seen Aunt Hilda look so distressed since Mama Jane died. “I am very sorry, Zebbie. I had not realized that my conduct had displeased you so. I did not intend it so, ever. I am aware – constantly! – that you have saved our – my – life five distinct times… as well as continuously by your leadership. I’m as grateful as my nature permits – a giant amount, even though you consider me a shallow person. But one can’t show deepest gratitude every instant, just as one cannot remain in orgasm continuously; some emotions are too strong to stay always at peak.”
She sighed, and tears rolled down her face. “Zebbie, will you let me try again? I’ll quit being a Smart Aleck. It will be a hard habit to break; I’ve been one for years – my defense mechanism. But I will break it.”
“Don’t be so tragic, Hilda,” Zebadiah said gently. “You know I love you… despite your little ways.”
“Oh, I know you do! – you big ugly giant. Will you come back to us? Be our captain again?”
“Hilda, I’ve never left. I’ll go right on doing the things I know how to do or can learn. And as I’m told. But I won’t be captain.”
“Oh, dear!”
“It’s not tragic. We simply elect a new C.O.”
My father picked this moment to get hairy. “Zeb, you’re being pretty damned stiff-necked and self-righteous with Hilda. I don’t think she has misbehaved.”
“Jake, you are in no position to judge. First, because she’s your bride. Second, because you haven’t been sitting in the worry seat; I have. And you have supplied some of the worst guff yourself.”
“I was not aware of it… Captain.”
“You’re doing it now… by calling me ‘Captain’ when I’m not. But do you recall a couple of hours ago when I asked my second-in-command for advice – and got some back chat about ‘written orders’?”
“Mmm… I was out of line. Yes, sir.”
“Do you want other examples?”
“No. No, I stipulate that there are others. I understand your point, sir.” Pop gave a wry smile. “Well, I’m glad Deety hasn’t given you trouble.”
“On the contrary, she has given me the most.”
I had been upset – iI had never really believed that Zebadiah would resign. But now I was shocked and bewildered and hurt. “Zebadiah, what have I done?”
“The same sort of nonsense as the other two… but harder for me because I’m married to you.”
“But – But what?”
“I’ll tell you in private.”
“It’s all right for Pop and Aunt Hilda to hear.”
“Not with me. We can share our joys with others but difficulties between us we settle in private.”
My nose was stuffy and I was blinking back tears. “But I must know.”
“Dejah Thoris, you can list the incidents if you choose to be honest with yourself. You have perfect memory and it all took place in the last twenty-four hours.”
He turned his face away from me. “One thing I must urge before we choose a captain. I let myself be wheedled and bullied into surrendering authority on the ground. That was a bad mistake. A sea captain is still captain when his ship is anchored. Whoever becomes captain should profit by my mistake and not relinquish any authority merely because Gay is grounded. She can relax the rules according to the situation. But the captain must decide. The situation can be more dangerous on the ground than in air or in space. As it was today when the Russians showed up. Simply grounding must not be: ‘School’s out! Now we can play!'”
“I’m sorry, Zebbie.”
“Hilda, I was more at fault than you. I wanted to be free of responsibility. I let myself be talked into it, then my brain went on vacation. Take that ‘practice hike.’ I don’t recall who suggested it -“
“I did,” said my father.
“Maybe you did, Jake; but we all climbed on the bandwagon. We were about to run off like a bunch of Scouts with no Scoutmaster. If we had started as quickly as we had expected to, where would we be now? In a Russian jail? Or dead? Oh, I’m not giving myself high marks; one reason I’ve resigned is that I haven’t handled it well. Planning to leave Gay Deceiver and everything we own unguarded while we made walkabout – good God! If I had felt the weight of command I would never have considered it.”
Zebadiah made a sour face, then looked at my father. “Jake, you’re eldest. Why don’t you take the gavel while we pick a new C.O.? I so move.”
“Second!”
“Question!”
“White ballot!”
“What gavel? I’ll bet there isn’t a gavel on this planet.” In a moment Father quit stalling. We all voted, using a page from Zebadiah’s notebook torn in four. They were folded and handed to me and I was required to declare the vote. So I did:

Zeb
Zebadiah
Zebbie
Sharpie

Zebadiah reached back, got the ballots from me, handed back the one that meant “Aunt Hilda,” took the other three and tore them into small pieces.
“Apparently you did not understand me. I’ve stood my watch; someone else must take it – or we’ll park on this bank until we die of old age. Sharpie seems to have an overwhelming lead – is she elected? Or do we ballot again?”
We balloted again:

Sharpie
Jacob
Jacob
Hilda

“A tie,” Father said. “Shall we invite Gay to vote?”
“Shut up and deal the cards.”

Sharpie
Deety
Deety
Hilda

“Hey!” I protested. “Who switched?” (I certainly didn’t vote for me.)

Sharpie
Hilda
Zebbie
Hilda

“One spoiled ballot,” said my husband. “A non-candidate. Will you confirm that, Mr. Chairman?”
“Yes,” Pop agreed. “My dear … Captain Hilda. You are elected without a dissenting vote.”
Aunt Hilda looked as if she might cry again. “You’re a bunch of stinkers!”
“So we are,” agreed my husband, “But we are your stinkers, Captain Hilda.” That got him a wan smile. “Guess maybe. Well, I’ll try.”
“We’ll all try,” said Pop.
“And we’ll all help,” said my husband.
“Sure we will!” I said, and meant it.
Pop said, “If you will excuse me? I’ve been anxious to find a handy bush since before this started.” He started to get out.
“Just a moment!”
“Eh? Yes, my dear? Captain.”
“No one is to seek out a bush without an armed guard. Not more – and not less – than two people are to leave the car’s vicinity at one time. Jacob, if your need is urgent, you must ask Zebbie to hurry – I want the guard to carry both rifle and pistol.”
I think it worked out that Pop got the use of a bush last – and must have been about to burst his bladder. Later I overheard Pop say, “Son, you’ve read Aesop’s Fables?”
“Certainly.”
“Does anything remind you of King Log and King Stork?”

Chapter XXII

“‘From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs.'”

Hilda:
I could tell from the first ballot that Zebbie was determined to make me take a turn as captain. Once I realized that, I decided to be captain – let them get sick of me and anxious to have Zebbie back.
Then suddenly I was captain – and it’s different. I did not ever again think of trying to make them sick of me; I just started to worry. And try.
First my husband wanted to find a bush for the obvious reason – and I suddenly realized that a banth might get him. Not a Barsoomian banth but whatever this planet held in dangerous carnivores.
So I ordered armed guards. With rules about not getting separated. It was a nuisance but I was firm… and knew at last what a crushing load there had been on Zebbie.
But one thing I could improve: Arrange for us to sleep inside the car.
The space back of the bulkhead behind the rear seats was not organized. We had about six hours till sundown (having gained on the Sun in going west), so I had everything in that space pulled out.
Space enough for Zebbie and Deety, on his sleeping bag opened out, blankets over them. Jacob and I? The piloting chairs we moved forward all the set screws would allow, laid them back almost fh~t and padded the cracks with pillows, and, to support our legs, the cushions from the rear seats were placed on boxes we would otherwise discard once I had the car organized. It wasn’t the best bed but low gravity and my cuddlesome husband made it a most attractive one.
Baths – In the stream and cold! Same rules as for bushes: armed guards. Soap thoroughly on the bank, get in and rinse fast, bounce out and towel till you glowed. Primitive? Luxurious!
This did not go smoothly. Take the “handy bush” problem. I did not have to be told that a latrine should be downstream or that our shovel should be carried every time without fail – rules for a clean camp are as old as the Old Testment.
But my first order called for no more than two and no less than two to leave the car at any time, and one must be armed – the other rifle and pistol must guard Gay.
I blurted out that order when the truth landed on me like a load of bricks that I, the runt who had never grown up, was now responsible for the lives of four people. At the time my orders seemed not only logical but necessary and feasible: Jacob would guard me, Zebbie would guard Deety, our men would guard each other.
There was a flaw. I did not realize that my edict required: a) one rifleman always to be at the car; b) both men to be away from the car from time to time.
Since this is not possible I amended it: When the men had to answer calls of nature, we women would lock ourselves in. I didn’t know that this planet had anything more dangerous than Alice’s Bread-and-Butter Fly. But that was the point: I didn’t know and until I did, I must assume that something as dangerous as a tiger lurked behind every bush.
Heavens! the bush might be carnivorous.
I was learning, with breath-snatching speed, something that most people never learn: A commanding officer’s “unlimited” authority isn’t freedom; it’s a straitjacket. She can’t do as she pleases; she never can – because every minute, awake and asleep, she must protect those under her command.
She can’t take any avoidable risk herself; her life does not belong to her; it belongs to her command.
When the captaincy was thrust on me, I decided that we would stay where we were until Gay Deceiver was reorganized so that all four of us could sleep comfortably and safely – no swollen ankles.
Sharpie hadn’t thought of this; Captain Hilda Burroughs thought of it at once. Captain Zebbie had thought of it when we first grounded, then had let himself be overruled.
I knew that I could rearrange the car to let us all sleep behind locked doors. But it would take time, sweat, and muscles, and I had just proclaimed an order that would take one or both sets of big muscles off the job for… how many times a day? Four people? Such needs can’t be hurried. I had a horrid suspicion that having someone standing over you with a rifle, even your nearest and dearest, might cause a healthy reflex to fail.
What to do?
Cancel the order?
No!
Cancel if a better scheme turned up. But don’t cancel without finding something better. This was a pretty spot, but there still might be that “banth.” Or bandersnatch. Or boojum. Especially a boojum. What if Zebbie should wander off that distance dictated by modesty and/or relaxation of nerves… and “softly and silently vanish away”?
And it was Zebbie I was having trouble with – Zebbie, who wasn’t going to give the new captain any back talk whatsoever. “Cap’n Hilda honey, I don’t need a chaperon, honest. I’ll carry my rifle and guard myself. No problem. Safety off and a cartridge under the firing pin. Promise.”
“Zebbie, I am not asking you, I am telling you.”
“But I don’t like to leave you girls unguarded!”
“Chief Pilot.”
“Ma’am. Captain.”
“I am not a girl. I am eleven years your senior.”
“I simply meant -“
“Pipe down!”
The poor dear’s ears turned red but he shut up. I said, “Astrogator!”
“Huh? Yes, Captain Auntie.”
“Can you use a rifle?”
“Oh, sure, Pop made me learn. But I don’t like a rifle; I like my shotgun.”
“Take the Chief Pilot’s rifle and guard the camp -“
“Look, I can do it better with my shotgun.”
“Pipe down and carry out your orders.”
Deety looked startled, trotted over to Zebbie, who surrendered his rifle without comment, face frozen.
“Copilot,” I said to my husband, “arm yourself with rifle and pistol, go with the Chief Pilot, guard him while he does what he has to do.”
Zebbie swallowed. “Sharpie – I mean ‘Captain Sharpie.’ It won’t be necessary. The golden moment has passed. All this talk.”
“Chief Pilot, please refrain from using my nickname while I am your commanding officer. Copilot, carry out your orders. Remain with the Chief Pilot and guard him continuously as long as necessary to accomplish the purpose of the trip.” (If Zebbie meant “constipation” – an emotional to-do can have that effect – I would act later in my capacity as “medical officer” – and it would not take four husky orderlies to make Zebbie hold still. The authority of a commanding officer almost never requires force. Odd but true – I wondered how I knew that.)
Once our men were out of earshot, I said, “Deety, could I learn to shoot that rifle?”
“I’m not sure I’m speaking to you. You humiliated my husband… when we all owe him so much.”
“Astrogator!”
Deety’s eyes got wide. “Good God – it’s gone to your head!”
“Astrogator.”
“Uh… yes, Captain.”
“You will refrain from personal remarks to me or about me during my tenure as commanding officer. Acknowledge that order, then log it.”
Deety’s face assumed the expression that means that she has shut out the world. “Aye aye, Captain. Gay Deceiver!”
“Hello, Deety!”
“Log mode. The Captain has ordered the Astrogator to refrain from personal remarks to her or about her during her tenure as commanding officer. I acknowledge receipt of order and will comply. Log date, time, and Bingo code. I tell you three times.”
“Deety, I hear you three times.”
“Back to sleep, Gay.”
“Roger and out.”
Deety turned to me, face and voice normal again. “Captain, I can teach you to shoot in such a way that you won’t get a sore shoulder or be knocked down. But to become a good shot with a rifle takes a long time. My shotgun doesn’t kick as hard… and you won’t need skill.”
“I thought a shotgun was more difficult.”
“Depends. A shotgun is usually for surprise targets in the air. That takes skill. But for a stationary target – within range – it’s about like a garden hose. The shot spreads in a cone. So easy that it’s not sporting.”
“‘Not sporting’ suits me. Will you show me how? What kind of target do we need?”
“It ought to be a large sheet of paper to show how the shot spreads. But, Captain, you know what will happen if I fire a gun?”
“What?”
“We will have two men back here at a dead run – one of them trying to dress as he runs. I don’t think he’ll be pleased.”
“Meaning I shouldn’t get Zebbie angry twice in ten minutes.”
“It might be your husband. Stands to reason that they’ll both take care of needs before returning. If I fire a shot, I’d better have a dead body to show for it, or one or the other will blow his top. Or both.”
“Both! Thanks, Deety – I didn’t think it through.”
“But also, the Captain will recall that she ordered me to guard camp. I can’t teach shooting at the same time.”
(Sharpie, can’t you do anything right?) “No, of course you can’t! Deety, I’m off to a bad start. All of you annoyed at me and one, maybe two, really angry.”
“Does the Captain expect me to comment?”
“Deety, can’t you call me ‘Aunt Hilda’?” I wasn’t crying – I’ve trained myself not to. But I needed to. “Yes, I want your comment.”
“Captain Aunt Hilda, I need to call you by your title to keep myself reminded that you are captain. Since you ordered me to refrain from personal remarks to you or about you, I needed a second order before I could comment.”
“As bad as that? Don’t spare me but make it quick.”
“The Captain hasn’t done badly.”
“I haven’t? Deety, don’t fib to Hilda; you never used to.”
“And I’m not going to now. Captain, I think you are off to a good start.”
“But you said it had gone to my head!”
“I was wrong. I realized how wrong when I was logging your order to me. What I said was worse than anything I said to Zebadiah while he was captain – he required me to review in my mind all the things I’ve said… and at least twice he should have given me a fat lip” – Deety smiled grimly – “‘cept that Zebadiah couldn’t bring himself to strike a woman even if she weren’t pregnant. Captain – Captain Aunt Hilda honey – Zebadiah didn’t crack down on us when he should have. He turned over to you a gang of rugged individualists, not one with any concept of discipline. I certainly had none. But I do now.”
“I’m not sure that I do,” I said miserably.
“It means obeying orders you don’t like and strongly disagree with – with no back talk. ‘Into the jaws of death rode the six hundred.’ Zebadiah would not do that to us… but he did let us annoy him into testing my new Bug-Out program. He had told me that the test was a useless risk; I should have agreed because it was useless. Instead I gave him a snooty ‘No comment,’ and you were as bad and Pop was worse. Mmm… I don’t think Zebadiah has had much experience as a commanding officer.”
“Why so, Deety? He is a captain.”
“That doesn’t mean that he has ever been a commanding officer. He has soloed quite a lot, in fighters. He has logged control time in larger craft or he wouldn’t hold a command pilot rating. But has he ever actually commanded? Nothing he has said to me indicated it… but he did tell me that before the last war a major was often captain of an air-and-space craft but now it almost always took a lieutenant colonel while majors wound up as copilots. He was explaining why he liked one-man fighters so well. Aunt Hilda – Captain – I think commanding was as new to Zebadiah as it is to you. Like sex, or having a baby, you can’t understand it till you’ve tried it.” She suddenly grinned. “So don’t hold Zebadiah’s mistakes against him.”
“What mistakes? He’s saved our lives again and again. I don’t blame him – now – for wanting a rest from commanding. Deety, it’s the hardest work possible even if you don’t lift a finger. I never suspected it. I don’t expect to sleep a wink tonight.”
“We’ll guard you!”
“No.”
“Yes, we will!”
“Pipe down.”
“Sorry, Ma’am.”
“What mistakes did Zebbie make?”
“Well… he didn’t crack down. You wasted no time in letting us know who is boss. You didn’t let us argue; you slapped us down at once. I hate to say this but I think you have more talent for command than Zebadiah has.”
“Deety, that’s silly!”
“Is it? Napoleon wasn’t tall.”
“So I have a Napoleonic complex. Humph!”
“Captain, I’m going to ignore that because, under that order you made me log, I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t.”
“Well… I know how not to get a Napoleonic complex. Deety, you’re my second-in-command.”
“But Pop is second-in-command.”
“Wrong tense. ‘Was’ – he is no longer. As astrogator you may have inherited it anyhow; you can ask Zebbie – but in private; my decision is not subject to debate. Simply acknowledge it.”
“I – Aye aye, Captain.”
“You are now required to advise me whenever you think that I am about to make a serious mistake. You are also required to advise me on request.”
“My advice isn’t worth much. Look how I goofed a few minutes ago.”
“That was before you were appointed second-in-command. Deety, actually holding an office makes a big difference.”
Deety blinked and looked solemn, then said soberly, “Yes, I think it does. Yes, it does. I feel it, I do! Weird.”
“Wait till you’re captain. Eight times as weird.”
“Never. Pop wouldn’t go for it, Zebadiah wouldn’t, I won’t – that’s three votes.”
“I said No right up to the point where I could not avoid it. Don’t worry about it now. I’ll boss and you’ll advise me.”
“In that case, Captain, I advise you to reconsider letting us guard you. After we eat and start scouting again, I advise that, even if we find the British quickly, instead of making contact, we should find a spot as deserted as this at the sunrise line and get a long day’s sleep. We crew can get eight hours – I’ll take the middle watch; the men can get eight hours solid each… and the Captain can get anything up to twelve.”
“Advice noted. It’s good advice. But that’s not the program; we’re going to sleep here.” I told Deety what I had in mind. “When the car is restowed, we’ll eat. If there is daylight left, we’ll bathe before we eat. Otherwise in the morning.”
“I’d rather hurry through eating and get a bath… since you tell me I’m going to be able to sleep with my husband. When I’m frightened I stink worse… and I’ve been much more scared than I’ve tried to let on.”
“Into cold water after eating? Deety, you know better.”
“Oh. I’ll skip eating, if necessary, to bathe.”
“Astrogator, we’ll do it my way.”
“Yes, Captain. But I stink, I do.”
“We’ll all stink by the time we restow this car and may wind up eating sandwiches in the dark because everything that we don’t throw away is going to be inside with us and Gay locked and not a light showing by sundown.” I cocked my head. “Hear something, Deety?”

Our men came back looking cheerful, with Zebbie carrying Jacob’s rifle and wearing Jacob’s pistol. Zebbie gave me a big grin. “Cap’n, there wasn’t a durn thing wrong with me that Carter’s Little Liver Pills couldn’t have fixed. Now I’m right.”
“Good.”
“But just barely,” agreed my husband. “Hilda – Captain Hilda my beloved – your complex schedule almost caused me to have a childish accident.”
“I think that unnecessary discussion wasted more time than did my schedule. As may be, Jacob, I would rather have to clean up a ‘childish accident’ than have to bury you.”
“But -“
“Drop the matter!”
“Pop, you had better believe it!” sang out Deety.
Jacob looked startled (and hurt, and I felt the hurt). Zebbie looked sharply at me, no longer grinning. He said nothing, went to Deety, reached for his rifle. “I’ll take that, hon.”
Deety held it away from him. “The Captain has not relieved me.”
“Oh. Okay, we’ll do it by the book.” Zebbie looked at me. “Captain, I thoroughly approve of your doctrine of a continuous guard; I was too slack. It was my intention to relieve the watch. I volunteer to stand guard while you three eat -“
” – then I’ll guard while Zeb eats,” added Jacob. “We already worked it out. When do we eat? I could eat an ostrich with the feathers left on.” He added, “Hilda my love, you’re captain… but you’re still cook, aren’t you? Or is Deety the cook?”
(Decisions! How does the captain of a big ship cope?) “I’ve made changes. Deety remains astrogator but is now second-in-command and my executive officer. In my absence she commands. When I’m present, Deety’s orders are my orders; she will be giving them to implement what I want done. Neither she nor I will cook. Uh, medical officer – ” (Damn it, Sharpie, all those hours in the emergency room make you the only candidate. Or does it? Mmm – ) “Zebbie, does ‘command pilot’ include paramedical training?”
“Yes. Pretty sketchy. What to do to keep the bloke alive until the surgeon sees him.”
“You’re medical officer. I am assistant medical officer when you need me – if I don’t have something else that must be done.”
“Captain, may I put in a word?”
“Please do, Chief Pilot.”
“Sometimes you have to let the bloke die because there is something else that has to be done.” Zebbie looked bleak. “Saw it happen. Does no good to worry ahead of time or grieve about it afterwards. You do what you must.”
“So I am learning, Zebbie. Cook – Gentlemen, I’ve never eaten your cooking. You must assess yourselves. Which one of you is ‘adequate’ -“
“Ouch.”
“Your wording, Zebbie. – and which one is inadequate?”
They backed and filled and deferred to each other, so I put a stop to it. “You will alternate as first and second cook until evidence shows that one is chief cook and the other assistant. Jacob, today you are first cook -“
“Good! I’ll get busy at once!”
“No, Jacob.” I explained what we were going to do. “While you two get everything out of the car, Deety will teach me the rudiments of shotgun. Then I will take over guard duty and she can help unload. But keep your rifles loaded and handy, ’cause if I shoot, I’ll need help in a hurry. Then, when we restow, I’ll do it because I’m smallest and can stand up, mostly, behind the bulkhead. While Zebbie stands guard, and Deety and Jacob pass things in to me.”
Jacob wasn’t smiling – and I suddenly recognized his expression. I once had a dog who (theoretically) was never fed at the table. He would sit near my knee and look at me with that same expression. Why, my poor darling was hungry! Gut-rumble hungry. I had such a galloping case of nerves from becoming captain that I had no appetite.
“Deety, in the pantry back at Snug Harbor I noticed a carton of Milky Way bars. Did that get packed?”
“Certainly did! Those are Pop’s – his vice and eventual downfall.”
“Really? I don’t recall seeing him eat one.”
My husband said, “I haven’t been eating them lately. All things considered, my dear – my dear Captain – I prefer you to candy bars.”
“Why, thank you, Jacob! Will you share those candy bars? We understand that they are your personal property.”
“They are not my personal property; they belong to all of us. Share and share alike.”
“Yup,” agreed Zebbie. “A perfect communism. ‘From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs.’ With the usual communist dictator on top.”
“Zebbie, I’ve been called everything from a black reactionary to a promiscuous old whore – but never before a communist dictator. Very well, you may address me as ‘Comrade Captain.’ When we come across those candy bars, everybody grab one for quick energy – unless somebody remembers where they were packed?”
“Gay knows!” said Deety, and backed toward the car’s open door while still keeping her eyes swinging the arc away from the river-perfect sentry and looking cute at it. “Gay Deceiver!”
“Hi, Deety! Getting any?”
“Inventory. Food supplies. Candy. Milky Way bars. Report location.”
“Frame twenty. Starboard. Closed storage seven-Ess-high. Bottom shelf.”

Five hours later everything was back inside except a heap of wrapping, packaging, and such – yet the increase in space was far greater than that pile. This was because storage did not have to be logical. Just tell Gay. A left shoe could fill an odd space in with the swords while the right shoe from the same pair was a space filler in a tool storage far to the rear – yet the only inconvenience lay in having to go to two places to get them.
I did the stowing; Deety stayed in the cabin, received items handed from outside, described the item to Gay, then described to Gay where the item was stowed, as I reported it. Gay was under instruction to hear only Deety’s voice – and what Deety told Gay was so logical that no one need remember it. Like this: “Gay Deceiver.”
“Boss, when will you learn to say ‘Please’?”
“Clothing. Zeb. Shoes. Field boots.”
“Right boot. Abaft bulkhead. Starboard. Frame forty. Under deckplate. Outboard compartment. Left boot. Abaft bulkhead. Portside. Frame sixty. Under deckplate, middle compartment. Warning: Both boots filled with rifle ammo padded with socks.”
You see? If you got categories in the wrong order, Gay would restring them. Give her the basic category and the identification, leaving out the other steps, and Gay would search the “tree” (Deety’s words) and get the “twig” you identified. You could even fail to give category and she would search until she found it.
But hardest was to build up the decking of the rear compartment about twenty centimeters with chattels or stores that would not crush, fasten it down to keep it from floating in free fall, and make it smooth enough that it would not be unbearably lumpy as a bed – while making some effort neither to build into this platform nor to store in compartments under it things needed frequently or quickly.
I had to lower my standards. It is impossible to store so many things in such limited space and have all readily at hand.
I studied things outside, admitted that I could not do it, then asked for advice. Zebbie solved it: “Captain, do a dry run.”
“Uh… go on, Zebbie.”
“Take my sleeping bag inside, open it out. It is too wide for the space, especially at the rear. So keep it as far forward as you can and still miss Jake’s twister and the bulkhead door. Mark the amount you have to lap it. Mark on the deck the foot of the opened-out bag. You’ll find space abaft that, frustum of a cone, sort of. Drag the sleeping bag outside, mark the tuck-in, build your platform on it. Then fill that rear space and build a bulkhead. Better get Jake; he’s a born mechanic.”
“Zebbie, would you prefer to build this bed yourself?”
“Nope.”
“Why not? I’m not speaking as captain; I’m inquiring as your old friend Sharpie.”
“Because I’m twice as big as you, which makes that space half as big for me. Tell you what, Cap’n Sharpie – excuse me! – Captain Hilda – do the measuring. Meanwhile we’ll pick out plunder that might be bricks in that platform. Then drag the sleeping bag outside. If you’ll let Jake relieve me, Deety and I can piece together the platform in jig time.”
It changed “impossible” to “possible.” The cubbyhole was filled, contents held in place with opened-out cartons tied with wire to hold-downs – “padeyes” Jacob called them. The platform was built, chinked with this and that, covered with more flattened-out cartons, and topped off with sleeping bag and blankets.
It was still light. Deety assured me that there was one hour and forty-three minutes till sundown. “Time enough if we hurry. Jacob, first bath. Deety, guard him. Both come back so Jacob can start dinner – then Zebbie and Deety go down – goodness, this sounds like the farmer and the rowboat with the fox and the geese – and bathe, taking turns guarding. Both come back; Deety relieves me; Zebbie takes me down to bathe while he guards. But please hurry; I want a bath, too. Forty minutes before sundown bathing stops and we eat – at sundown we are inside, dirty dishes and all, locked in till sunrise. If that does me out of a bath, we still hold to it. Jacob, how far is this ‘easy way’ down? I mean, ‘How many minutes?'”
“Maybe five. Hilda my love, if you weren’t insisting on always-two-together there would be no hurry. All go down together; I hurry through my bath, grab my rifle and trot back. The rest needn’t hurry. You’ve got us going down and up, down and up, four times – forty minutes. Which squeezes four baths into twenty minutes, five minutes to undress, soap, squat down and rinse off, towel dry, and dress. Hardly worth the trip.”
“Jacob, who guards you while you’re getting supper? No. I can bathe in the morning.” (Damn! I wanted that bath. I’m used to a shower in the morning, a tub at night, a bidet at any excuse. Decadent – that’s me.)
“Beloved, this place is safe. While we were out earlier, Zeb and I scouted for sign. None. That’s when we found this way down to the creek. It would be a natural watering place. No sign. I don’t think there are any large fauna here.”
I was wavering when Deety spoke up. “Pop, that’s three down-and-ups, not four, as Zebadiah and I get baths on one. But, Captain Hilda, if we all go down and come back together, there can’t be danger. Put that stuff back inside and lock up, of course.” She pointed at Jacob’s preparations. While Jacob had been handing stuff to Deety, he had set aside a hot plate, cooking and eating utensils, a tarpaulin, comestibles for supper and breakfast, and had passed word for me please to store food so that it could be reached easily.
Jacob said hastily, “Deety, I’ve got it planned for minimum therbligs. Dried apricots soaking in that pan, soup mix in that one. There’s no level deck space left inside.”
Deety started to say, “But, Pop, if we – ” when I cut in with, “Quiet, please” – not shouted.
They kept quiet – “Captain Bligh” was being listened to. “Gay Deceiver will not be left unguarded. My orders will not be discussed further. One modification: Supper is cut from forty minutes to twenty-five. Astrogator adjust schedule accordingly. Sound a blast on the siren five minutes before suppertime. We lock up on the dot. I placed the honey bucket just beyond the swing of the bulkhead door as the car will not be unlocked for any reason until sunrise. Questions?”
“Yes, Captain. Where are the towels?”

An hour later I was squatting in the stream, rinsing off and hurrying – covered with goose bumps. As I stepped out, Zebbie put down his rifle and had a big, fluffy towel, long as I am tall, waiting to wrap me. I should have required him to behave as a guard should.
But I told myself that he was still wearing his revolver and, anyhow, he has this sixth sense about danger – lying in my teeth. Nothing makes a woman feel more cherished than to have a man wrap her in a big towel the instant she’s out of the water. I lack character, that’s all. Every woman has her price, and a big, fluffy towel at the right time comes close to being mine.
Zebbie was rubbing firmly, getting me not only dry but warm. “Feels good, Captain?”
“‘Captain Hilda’ never came down the bank, Zebbie. Feels swell!”
“Remember the first time I gave you a rubdown?”
“Sure do! Dressing room at my pool.”
“Yup. I tried to lay you. I’ve never been turned down so smoothly.”
“You tried to lay me, Zebbie? Truly?” I looked up at him, my best innocent look.
“Sharpie darling, you lie as easily as I do. A man does this” – and he did – “even with a towel, a woman is certain what he means. But you refused to notice it, turned me down, without hurting my pride.”
“I’m refusing to notice it now and find it just as difficult as I did that afternoon. Stop it, please!” He did. “Thanks, dear. You got me all shaky. Zebbie, do you think Deety thinks I rigged this to get you alone? I would not willingly upset her.”
“On the contrary. She gave me a hunting license concerning you – you, not females in general – ten days back. In writing.”
“Really?”
“In writing so that she could limit it. I am required not to run any risk of hurting Jake.”
“You haven’t tried to use that license.”
“I took it as a compliment to you and to me, kissed Deety and thanked her. You settled this four years ago. But I’ve sometimes wondered why. I’m young, healthy, take care of my teeth, and keep my nails clean – mostly – and you seemed to like me. What made me ineligible? Not complaining, dear, just asking.”
I tried to explain the difference between a male friend and a bedmate – the scarcity of the first, the boring plethora of applicants for the other.
He listened, then shook his head. “Masochism.”
“Hasn’t it worked out better this way? I do love you, Zebbie.”
“I know you do, Sharpie.” Zebbie turned me around and looked down into my eyes. “And I love you and you know that, too” – and he kissed me.
That kiss went on and neither of us seemed inclined to stop. My towel slipped to the ground. I noticed because it felt better to be closer and ever so much nicer to have his hands on me. Zebbie hadn’t given me a sexy kiss since the day I hadinvited a pass and then ignored it.
I began to wonder why I had decided to ignore it. Then I was wondering how much time we had left in our schedule. Then I knew the exact time… for that infernal, earsplitting siren sounded. God watches over Hilda Mae and that’s why I keep Him on my payroll. But sometimes He is rough about it.
We let go. I put on Deety’s Keds, slid my borrowed dress over my head, hung the towel over my arm – elapsed time: nine seconds. Zebbie was again carrying his rifle at the ready (is that correct? – both hands, I mean).
“Captain, shall we go?”
“Yes, Chief Pilot. Zebbie, when did I become ‘captain’ again? Just from putting on clothes? You’ve seen this old hide before.”
“Skin has nothing to do with it, Captain. Quoting Deety quoting the Japanese: ‘Nakedness is often seen but never noticed.’ Except that sometimes I do notice, hot diggity dog and other comments. You have superior skin, Captain. You went back to being Captain when I picked up my rifle. But I was never off duty. Did you notice, when I dried you, that I picked you up and swung you around, so that I faced the bank? I kept alert even while I was nuzzling you… and you make fine nuzzle, Captain Step-Mother-in-Law Hilda.”
“So do you, Zebbie. I’m still Sharpie till we get to your car.” We reached the top of the bank. “Ten seconds to catch my breath. Zebbie -“
“Yes, Sharpie?”
“Four years ago – I’m sorry I turned away your pass.”
He patted my bottom. “So am I, dear. But it has worked out quite well. And” – he grinned that irresistible, ugly grin – “who knows? – we aren’t dead yet.”
When we arrived, Jacob was slurping soup. “You’re late,” he stated. “So we waited.”
“So I see.”
“Don’t listen to Pop, Captain Auntie; you are two minutes seventeen seconds ahead of time. Are you sure you stayed in long enough to get clean?”
“I stayed in long enough to get freezing cold. Aren’t you chilly?” Deety had worn skin most of the day and so had I; we had been doing sweaty work. But she had been dressed when I last saw her. “Jacob, is there no soup for Zebbie and me?”
“A smidgen. You get this pan as soon as I’m through – now! – and that means one less dish to wash.”
“And Zebadiah gets mine – also now – and I took that jump suit off because it’s dirty and I’m clean. I still haven’t figured out how to do a laundry. Nothing for a tub, no way to heat water. What’s that other way? Pound them on a rock the way it shows in National Geographic? I don’t believe it!”
We were in bed by sundown, Gay’s doors locked – pitch dark in minutes. According to Deety and Gay sunrise was ten hours and forty-three minutes away. “Deety, please tell Gay to wake us at sunrise.”
“Aye aye, Captain Auntie.”
“Zebbie, you told us that the air in the car was good for about four hours.”
“In space; The scoops are open now.”
“But do you get air back there? Should the bulkhead door be open?”
“Oh. Top scoop serves this space. The cabin is ventilated by the chin scoop. Scoops stay open unless internal pressure closes them.”
“Can anything get in through them? Snakes or such?”
“Hilda my dear, you worry too much.”
“My very own darling Copilot, will you please pipe down while I’m speaking to the Chief Pilot? There are many things about this car that I do not know – yet I am responsible.”
Zebbie answered, “Each scoop has a grid inside and a fine screen at the inner end; nothing can get in. Have to clean ’em occasionally. Remind me, Deety.”
“I’ll tell Gay.” She did – and almost at once there was a crash of metal. I sat up abruptly. “What’s that?”
“Hilda, I am afraid that I have kicked over the supper dishes.” My husband added, “Zeb, how do I find the cabin light?”
“No, no! Jacob, don’t try to find it. No light at all until sunrise. Don’t fret about dishes. But what happened? I thought they were under the instrument board.”
“I couldn’t quite reach with this bed made up. But the carton that supports my feet sticks out beyond the seat cushion on it. So I stacked them there.”
“No harm done. We can expect bobbles as we shake down.”
“I suppose so.”
“We can cope. Jacob, that was an excellent dinner.”
Deety called out, “Good night, chatterboxes! We want to sleep.” She closed the bulkhead door, dogged it.

Chapter XXIII

“The farce is over.”

Jake:
For me, the best soporific is to hold Hilda in my arms. I slept ten hours.
I might have slept longer had I not been blasted by a bugle call: Reveille.
I thought I was back in basic, tried to rouse out fast – banged my head. That slowed me; I reoriented, saw my lovely bride beside me, yawning prettily – realized that we were on Mars.
Mars! Not even our own Mars but another universe.
That hateful tune started to repeat, louder.
I banged on the bulkhead. “How do you shut this thing off?”
Shortly I saw dogs of the bulkhead door turning, then the door swung – as the call went into its third time around still louder. Zeb showed, blinking.
“Do you have a problem?”
I couldn’t hear but I could piece out what he meant.
“HOW DO YOU SHUT OFF THIS RACKET?”
“No problem.” (I think that’s what he said.) “Good morning, Gay.”
The bugle faded into the distance. “Good morning, Boss.”
“I’m awake.”
“Ah, but will you stay awake?”
“I won’t go back to bed. Promise.”
“I’ve dealt with your sort before, me bucko. If you aren’t out of here before my landlady wakes up, I’ll lose this room. Then another hassle with the cops. It’s not worth it… you cheapskate!”
“You’re a smart girl, Gay.”
“So smart I’m looking for another job.”
“Back to sleep, Gay. Over.”
“Roger and out, Boss” – and blessed silence.
I said to my daughter, “Deety, how could you do this to us?”
Her husband answered. “Deety didn’t, Jake. She was told to place a call for sunrise. But didn’t know what a morning call means to Gay.”
I grumped, and opened the starboard door. Hilda’s rearrangements had given me the best rest I had had in days. But two double beds in a sports car left no room on arising to do anything but get out.
So I slid out the door, groped for the step, paused to ask Hilda for shoes and coverall – caught sight of something and said quietly, “Hilda. My rifle. Quickly!”
My little treasure is always reliable in emergency; her clowning is simply persona. (A most pleasant one; the worst aspect of the jest of making her “captain” was that she lost her smile – I hoped that Zeb would soon resume command. We had needed the lesson – but no need to go on.)
I digress – I asked for my rifle; she whispered, “Roger,” and had it in my hand at once with the quiet report: “Locked, one in the chamber. Wait – I’m getting Zeb.”
That made sense. By staying on the step in the corner formed by door and car, my rear was safe and I need cover only a small sector. I prefer a bolt action – correction: I have a bolt-action rifle I inherited from my father’s eldest brother, who had “liberated” it on leaving the Marine Corps.
I unlocked it, opened the bolt slightly, saw that a cartridge was in the chamber, closed the bolt, left the piece unlocked.
Zeb said at my ear, softly, “What’s the excitement?”
“Over there.” I pulled my head out of the way, saw Hilda and Deety almost on top of Zeb – Hilda with Deety’s shotgun, Deety with her husband’s police special.
Zeb said, “Pixies. They may still be around; let’s check. Cover me from here?”
“No, Zeb. You to the right, me to the left, we check the port side, meet back at the dump. Make it fast.”
“Say the word.” Zeb said over his shoulder, “You girls stay in the car. Jake?”
“Now!” We came bursting out like greyhounds, guns at high port. The reason for my disquiet was simple: The dump of wrappings and cartons was no longer a heap. Something had spread it over many meters, and the litter was not nearly enough to account for the pile. Wind? Zeb had left the wings extended; the slightest wind would wake him, warn him of change in weather. The car had not rocked in the night; ergo, no wind. Ergo, nocturnal visitors. Nor were they small.
I rounded the car to the left, seeing nothing until I spotted Zeb – waved at him, started back around to join him at the dump.
He arrived before I did. “I told you girls to stay in the car!” He was quite angry, and the cause, both of them, were also at the dump.
My darling answered, “Chief Pilot.”
Zeb said, “Huh? Sharpie, there’s no time for that; there’s something dangerous around! You girls get inside before I -“
“Pipe DOWN!”
One would not believe that so small a body could produce such a blast. It caught Zeb mouth open and jammed his words down his throat.
Hilda did not give him opportunity to answer. She continued, forcefully: “Chief Pilot, there are no ‘girls’ here; there are four adult humans. One of them is my second-in-command and executive officer. My executive officer; I am in command.” Hilda looked at my daughter. “Astrogator, did you tell anyone to remain in the car?”
“No, Captain.” Deety was wearing her “Name, rank, and serial number” face.
“Nor did I.” Hilda looked at Zeb. “There is no need to discuss it.” She stirred litter with a toe. “I had hoped that we could find salvage. But three fourths of it has been eaten. By large animals from those tooth marks. I would have trouble visualizing a large animal that eats cellulose but is nevertheless carnivorous – save that I know one. So we will get as much done as possible while keeping a tight guard. I have the program planned but I’m open to advice.”
“Hilda!” I let my tone get a bit sharp.
My wife looked around with features as impassive as those of my daughter. “Copilot, are you addressing me officially or socially?”
“Uh… as your husband! I must put my foot down! Hilda, you don’t realize the situation. We’ll lift as soon as possible – and Zeb will be in command. The farce is over.”
I hated to speak to my beloved that way but sometimes one must. I braced myself for a blast.
None came. Hilda turned to Zeb and said quietly, “Chief Pilot, was my election a farce?”
“No, Captain.”
“Astrogator, did you think of it as farce?”
“Me? Heavens, no, Captain Auntie!”
Hilda looked at me. “Jacob, from the balloting you voted for me at least once, possibly three times. Were you joking?”
I could not remember how I had felt when it dawned on me that Zeb really did intend to resign – panic, I think, that I was about to be stuck with the job. That was now irrelevant as I knew that I was not more than one micron from again being a bachelor… so I resorted to Higher Truth.
“No, no, my darling – my darling Captain! I was dead serious!”
“Did you find some malfeasance?”
“What? No! I – I made a mistake. Jumped to conclusions. I assumed that we would be leaving at once… and that Zeb would command once we lifted. After all, it’s his car.”
Hilda gave me the briefest smile. “There is something to that last argument. Zebbie, did you intend – “
“Wait a half! Cap’n, that car belongs to all of us just like Jake’s Milky Way bars; we pooled resources.”
“So I have heard you all say. Since I had nothing to pool but a fur cape, I took it with a grain of salt. Zebbie, do you intend to resume command when we lift?”
“Captain, the only way you can quit is by resigning… whereupon Deety would be captain.”
“No, sirree!” (My daughter is not often that shrill.)
“Then Jake would wind up holding the sack. Captain, I’ll pilot when ordered, chop wood and carry water between times. But I didn’t sign up to boss a madhouse. I think you’re finding out what I mean.”
“I think so, too, Zebbie. You thought there was an emergency and started giving orders. I would not want that to happen in a real emergency -“
“It won’t! Captain.”
“And I find to my chagrin that my husband considers me to be a play captain. I think I must ask for a vote of confidence. Will you please find something to use as white and black balls?”
“Captain Auntie!”
“Yes, dear?”
“I am required to advise you. A commanding officer commands; she doesn’t ask for votes. You can resign – or – die – or lose to a mutiny and get hanged from your own yardarm. But if you take a vote, you’re not a captain; you’re a politician.”
“Deety’s right, Captain,” Zeb told my wife. “Had a case-law case in R.O.T.C. Naval vessel. Department told the skipper to pick one of two ports for ho1idays. He let his crew vote on it. Word got back to Washington and he was relieved at sea by his second-in-command and never again ordered to sea. C.O.’s don’t ask; they tell ’em. However, if it matters to you, I’m sorry I goofed, and you do enjoy my confidence.”
“Mine, too!”
“And mine, Hilda my dear Captain!” (In truth I wanted Zeb and only Zeb to command when the car was off the ground. But I made myself a solemn vow never again to say or do anything that might cause Hilda to suspect it. We would crash and die together rather than let her suspect that I thought her other than the ideal commanding officer.)
Hilda said, “The incident is closed. Who can’t wait? Speak up.”
I hesitated – my bladder is not used to bedtime right after dinner. When no one else spoke, I said, “Perhaps I had better be first; I have breakfast to prepare.”
“Dear, you are not First Cook today; Zebbie is. Deety, grab a rifle and take your father to his ‘handy bush’ – and do make it handy; that giant termite might be lurking. Then hand Jacob the rifle and it’s your turn. Don’t dally.”

It was a busy day. Water tanks had to be topped off. Zeb and I used two collapsible buckets, taking turns (that hill got steeper every trip, even at 0.38 gee), while Deety guarded us. Endless trips –
That afternoon I was a ladies’ tailor. Hilda had something for Deety to do.
Zeb had a job to complete. The space behind the bulkhead has padeyes every 30 cms or so. No one wants the center of gravity to shift when one is in the air. Zeb’s arrangements were Samson cord in many lengths with snap hooks. Zeb told Hilda he wanted to secure the bed aft for air or space, and to store items used in rigging the forward bed so that they would be secure but available – and where were his Samson ties? – Gay didn’t know. He had to explain to Hilda what they looked like – whereupon Hilda said, “Oh! Thingammies! Gay Deceiver. Inventory. Incidentals. Small. Thingammies.” Zeb spent the afternoon making certain that the “bed” could not slide, then built a net of Samson cord to hold the items for turning seats into a bed, then, finding that he had Samson ties left, Zeb removed the wires with which I had secured the aftermost storage, and replaced them with ties. When he was through, he relieved me as guard, and I wound up as seamstress.
Our wives had decided that one of Deety’s jump suits should be altered for Hilda until we reached some place where clothes could be purchased. Hilda had vetoed Earth-without-a-J. “Jacob, as captain I look at things from another perspective. It is better to be a lively frump than a stylish corpse. Wups! You pinned Sharpie.”
“Thorry,” I said, around a mouthful of pins. Hilda was wearing the suit inside out; I was pinning excess material. Once this caused it to fit, lines held by pins would be tacked, pins removed, tacked lines sewed in short stitches (by hand; Deety’s sewing machine was ashes in another universe), and excess cloth trimmed away.
Such was theory.
I tackled reducing the waist line by pinning darts on both sides. Then I folded up the trousers so that the crease came at the instep – but had to pin them up 17 cms!
Seventeen centimeters! I had taken in the waist first, knowing that doing so would, in effect, shorten the trousers. It did – one centimeter.
The appearance was as if I were trying to fit her with a chimpanzee suit for a masquerade. Lift it at the shoulders? I tried, almost cutting off circulation. Still a horrid case of droopy drawers –
Take a tuck all the way around the waist? That suit closed with one zipper. Have you ever tried to take a tuck in a zipper?
I stepped back and looked at my creative artistry.
Ghastly.
“Hilda my love, Deety was better at this by the age of ten. Shall I fetch her?”
“No, no!”
“Yes, yes. If at first you don’t succeed, find the mistake. I’m the mistake. You need Deety.”
“No, Jacob. It would be better for me to get along without clothes than to interrupt the work I have assigned to the Astrogator. With you at the verniers and Zebbie at the controls, Gay can do almost anything and quickly. Yes?”
“I wouldn’t phrase it that way. But I understand you.”
“If she’s been preprogrammed, she can do it even faster?”
“Certainly. Why the quiz, dear?”
“How much faster?”
“Without preprogramming, it takes a few seconds to acknowledge and set it, about as long to check what I’ve done, then I report ‘Set!’ Zeb says ‘Execute!’ I punch the button. Five to fifteen seconds. With a preprogram – is it debugged in all ways, no conflicts, no ambiguities, no sounds easy to confuse?”
“Darling, that is why I won’t let Deety be disturbed. Yes.”
“So. Maximum time would be with Gay asleep. Wake her, she acknowledges, you state the preprogram in the exact words in her memory, then say ‘Execute!’ Call it three seconds. Minimum – That would be an emergency preprogram with ‘Execute’ included in the code word. My dear, we saw minimum time yesterday. When that Russian tried to shoot Zeb.”
“Jacob, that is what caused me to put Deety to work. I saw his pistol in the air. His fingers were curled to catch it. Then we were in the sky. How long?”
“I saw him start to reverse his weapon, and bent over my verniers to bounce us by switch… then stopped. Not needed. Mmm – A tenth of a second? A fifth?”
“Whichever, it is the fastest we can manage. While you dears were carrying water, I was preparing a list of preprograms. Some are to save juice or time or to carry out something we do frequently; those require ‘Execute!’ Some are intended to save our lives and don’t require ‘Execute.’ Like ‘Bounce’ and ‘Bug Out’ and ‘Take us home!’ But more. Jacob, I did not tell Deety how to phrase these; that’s her specialty. I wrote out what I thought we ought to be able to do and told her to add any she wished.”
“Did you consult Zeb?”
“Copilot, the Captain did not consult the Chief Pilot.”
“Whew! I beg your pardon – Captain.”
“Only if I get a kiss – mind the pins! Deety will post a copy on the instrument board. After you and Zebbie read them, I want your advice and his.”

I gave up on that jump suit. I took out eighty-five or a thousand pins. Hilda was covered with sweat so I invited her to order me to take her down to bathe. She hesitated.
I said, “Does the Captain have duties of which I am unaware?”
“No. But everyone else is working, Jacob.”
“Captain, Rank Hath Its Privileges. You are on duty twenty-four hours a day – twenty-four and a half here – “
“Twenty-four hours, thirty-nine minutes, thirty-five seconds – local day, not sidereal.”
“Did you measure it? Or remember what some professor said?”
“Neither, Jacob. It’s the figure Gay uses. I suppose she got it from the Aerospace Almanac.”
“Are you going to believe an almanac? Or your husband?”
“Excuse me, Jacob, while I tell Gay the correct figure.”
“Hand back my leg, beloved. Captain, since you are on duty all the time, you are entitled to bathe, rest, or relax, at any time.”
“Well… two seconds while I grab a towel – and tell Zebbie that I will start dinner while he is down bathing.”
“Captain, I am number-two cook today. You said so.”
“You will guard, Jacob, which you do better than I. While the Carters are guarding each other.”
Hilda came trotting back with a towel. I said, “Cap’n, I’ve figured out clothes for you.”
“Goody. Yes, dear?” We headed for the path down.
“Were my Hawaiian shirts packed?” I had her fall in behind me.
“Inventory. Clothing. Jacob. Shirts. Aloha.”
“Do you recall a blue one with white flowers?”
“Yes.”
“I take ‘medium’ but can get into a ‘small’ and Andrade’s didn’t have this in ‘medium.’ But this one is so small I haven’t been wearing it. Hilda, you’ll like it – and it will be easy to cut down.” (A steep pitch – no place to lose your footing while carrying a gun.)
“I won’t cut it down. Jacob, your shirt is my first maternity smock.”
“A happy thought! Did Deety fetch sailor pants? White.”
“I recall white duck slacks.” Hilda kicked off her Keds, stepped into the water.
“That’s the pair. She wore them one summer while maturing. The following summer they were too tight. She was always about to alter them but never did.”
“Jacob, if Deety likes those pants so well that she saved them and fetched them along, I won’t ask her to give them to me.”
“I will ask her. Hilda, you worry about the wrong things. We pooled resources. I chucked in my candy bars, Zeb chucked in his car, Deety chucks in her sailor pants.”
“And what did I chuck in? Nothing!”
“Your mink cape. If you offered it to Deety in exchange for a pair of old white -“
“It’s a deal!”
“It is like hell, Mistress Mine. That cape is valuta. Only days ago each of us was wealthy. Now we are unpersons who can’t go home. What happens to our bank accounts I do not know but it seems certain that we will never realize anything from them, or from stocks, bonds, and other securities. Any paper money we have is worthless. As you know, I have bullion and gold coins and Jake has, also; we each like money that clinks and we don’t trust governments. Gay must be juiced from time to time; that calls for valuta. Such as gold. Such as mink coats. Come out of there before you freeze! I would rub you dry but that giant termite worries me.”
“Last night Zebbie rubbed me dry.”
(Why do women have this compulsion to confess? It is not a typical male vice.) “He did? I should speak to him.”
“Jacob, you are angry.”
“Only somewhat, as yesterday we didn’t know about the giant termite, and Zeb and I considered your guard rules silly. Nevertheless Zeb neglected his duty.”
“I meant ‘angry with me’!”
“For what? Did you force it on him?”
“No. He offered it – towel open and ready, just as you do. I went straight into it, let him wrap me and rub me down.”
“Feel good?”
“Golly, yes! I’m a bad girl, Jacob – but I loved it.”
“Don’t give yourself airs, my darling; you are not a bad girl. Yesterday was not the first time Zeb has rubbed you dry.”
“Well… no.” (They have to confess, they have to be shrived.)
“Do you any harm, then or now?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I’m sure it didn’t. Listen, beloved – you are twenty-nine going on forty-two. You’ve had three term contracts and now have a traditional marriage. In college you were a scandal to the jaybirds. Zeb has been your chum for years. Both of you horny as goats. My darling, I assumed what is called ‘the worst’ and is often the best.”
“But, Jacob, we didn’t, we didn’t! And we haven’t!”
“So? People who pass up temptations have only themselves to blame. Just one thing, my only love, if you and Zeb ever pick up the matter, try not to look guilty.”
“But we aren’t going to, ever!”
“Should it come to pass, warn Zeb not to hurt Deety. She loves him deeply. Not surprising as Zeb is a lovable man. Get your shoes on, dearest one, and we’ll let someone else have the community bathtub.”
“Jacob? You still think we have. Zebbie and I.”
“Hilda, I married you convinced that Zeb was, at that time and for some years, your lover. Or one of them. Today you have convinced me that the matter is unproven… assuming that one or both of you have rocks in your head. But I can’t see that it makes a tinker’s dam either way. Jane taught me that the only important rule is not to hurt people… which very often – Jane’s words! – consists in not talking unnecessarily.”
“Jane told me that, too. Jacob? Will you kiss me?”
“Madame – what did you say your name was? – that is the toll I charge before a client starts up this bank.”
As we climbed, I asked Hilda, “Darling, what is the animal that eats cellulose but is carnivorous?”
“Oh. Two. H. sapiens and Rattus.”
“Men? Cellulose?”
“Sawdust is often processed as food. Have you ever eaten in a fast food joint?”

My daughter had done a wonderful job on preprograms; we all were eager to learn them. We placed guards, Zeb and me, at the doors, while Deety took Zeb’s seat and talked, and Hilda sat in mine.
“Captain Auntie had two ideas,” Deety told us. “To optimize emergency escapes and to work out ways to use as near to no juice as possible. The latter involves figuring ways to ground us in strange places without the skill Zebadiah has in dead-stick grounding.”
“I don’t depend on skill,” put in my son-in-law. “I won’t risk a dead-stick grounding other than on a hard-surfaced strip. You’ve seen me avoid it twice – by power-on just before grounding. Yesterday I cut it a bit fine.”
I shuddered.
My daughter continued, “We have this new program. Set it, by voice, for bearing and as many minima as you please. Our Smart Girl goes there and attempts to ground. She uses radar twice, once in range-finder mode, second time in precautionary mode as in ‘Bug Out.’ If her target is not clear, she does a Drunkard’s Walk in locus ten klicks radius, sampling spots two per second. When she finds a good spot, she grounds. Unless we don’t like it and order her to try again.
“Study that and you will see that you can cruise all over this or any planet, land anywhere, and not use juice.
“Escape programs – We must be most careful in saying G, A, Y. Refer to her as ‘smart girl’ or ‘the car’ or anything not starting with that syllable. That syllable will now wake her. If it is followed by her last name, she goes into ‘awaiting orders’ mode. But if G, A, Y, alone is followed by any of eight code words, she executes that escape instantly. I have tried to select monosyllables that ordinarily do not follow her first name. Gay Deceiver.”
“Hi, Deety!”
“Dictionary. G, A, Y. Read.”
“Gayety, gayfeather, Gayle, Gaylord, Gay-Pay-Oo, gaywings -“

Chapter XXIV

Captains aren’t supposed to cry.

Hilda:
I ordered an early dinner by starting it when Zebbie and Deety went down to bathe. I had ready a public reason but my motive was personal: I didn’t want a pillow talk with Jacob.
Annoyed at him? At me! I had had a perfect chance to keep my lip zipped – and muffed it! Was I boasting? Or confessing? Or trying to hurt Jacob? (Oh, no! – can the id be that idiotic!)
Don’t rationalize it, Sharpie! Had not your husband been kind, tolerant, and far more sophisticated than you ever dreamed, you would be in trouble.
When dinner was over, Zebbie said lazily, “I’ll do the dishes in the morning.”
I said, “I prefer that they be done tonight, please.”
Zebbie sat up and looked at me. His thoughts were coming through so strongly that I was getting them as words. I never allow myself to be close with a person whose thoughts I can’t sense at all; I distrust a blank wall. But now I could “hear” such names as “Queeg” and “Bligh” and “Vanderdecken” and “Ahab” – and suddenly Captain Ahab was harpooning the White Whale and I was the whale!
Zebbie bounced to his feet with a grin that made me uneasy. “Sure thing, Cap’n! Deety, grab a rifle and hold it on me to make sure I get ’em clean.”
I cut in quickly, “I’m sorry, Chief Pilot, but I need the Astrogator. Jacob is your assistant.”
When they were gone, Deety said, “Will my shotgun do? I don’t think the cardboard eater comes out in daylight.”
“Bring the guns inside; we’re going to close the doors.”
I waited until we were settled. “Deety, will you make me a copy of your new programs before our men come back?”
“If they take time to wash them properly. Men and dishes – you know.”
“I hope they stall -“
” – and get over their mad,” Deety finished.
“That, too. But I intend to write a sequential program and I want you to check me. After you make that copy.”

They did stay down – “man talk,” no doubt. Men need us but can just barely stand us; every now and then they have to discuss our faults. I think that is why they shut us out.
Deety made a copy while I wrote what I planned to do. Deety looked it over, corrected some wording. Looked it over again – and said nothing pointedly.
“Deety, can you handle your father’s lab camera?”
“Certainly.”
“Will you check its load and shoot when I ask for it?”
“Of course.”
“If I goof on an order, correct me at once.”
“You don’t intend to hand this to Zebadiah to carry out?”
“No. I prefer that you not mention that I prepared it ahead of time. Deety, the Chief Pilot assured me that any of us could command in aerospace. I am about to make a test run. The Chief Pilot is in a position to override. If he does, I shan’t fight it; I have said all along that he should be captain.”
We had time to dig out that shirt with the white flowers. Deety’s sailor pants were long; we turned up cuffs. The lacing at the back made them small enough in the waist. She gave me a blue belt to pull in the shirt, which I wore outside – then she added a blue hair ribbon.
“Captain Auntie, you look good. Better than I will in this jump suit I am reluctantly pulling on. Gosh, I’m glad Zebadiah isn’t square about skin!”
“He was when I adopted him. Fetched swim briefs the first time I invited him over to swim. But I was firm. There they come! Open the doors.”
They appeared to be over their mad. Zebbie looked at me and said, “How fancy! Are we going to church?” – and my husband added, “You look pretty, my dear.”
“Thank you, sir. All hands, prepare for space. Secure loose gear. Lock firearms. Anyone requiring a bush stop say so. Dress for space. Before manning car, take a turn around the car, searching for gear on the ground.”
“What is this?” demanded Zebbie.
“Prepare for space. Move!”
He hesitated a split second. “Aye aye, Captain.”

In two minutes and thirteen seconds (I checked Gay’s clock) I was squeezing past my husband into the starboard rear seat. I said, “In reporting, include status of firearms. Astrogator.”
“Belted down. Bulkhead door dogged. Shotgun loaded and locked. I slid it under the sleeping bag.”
“Fléchette gun?”
“Wups! In my purse. Loaded and locked. Purse clipped to my seat, outboard.”
“Copilot.”
“Belt fastened. Door locked, seal checked. Continua device ready. Rifle loaded and locked, secure under sleeping bag. I’m wearing my pistol loaded and locked.”
“Chief Pilot.”
“Belt fastened, door locked, seal checked. Rifle loaded, locked, under sleeping bag. Wearing revolver, loaded and locked. No loose gear. Water tanks topped off. Load trimmed. Two reserve power packs, two zeroed. Juice zero point seven-two capacity. Wings spread full. Wheels down, unlocked to retract. All systems go. Ready.”
“Chief Pilot, after first maneuver, execute vertical dive fastest without power and without retracting wheels. Relock wheel-retracting gear. Leave wings spread max.”
“Wheel retractors locked. After first maneuver fastest, no-power vertical dive, wings full subsonic, wheels down.”
I glanced at Deety; she held up the camera and mouthed, “Ready.”
“Gay Home!”
In Arizona it was shortly before sunset, as Deety had predicted. My husband repressed a gasp. I snapped, “Copilot, report H-above-G.”
“Uh… two klicks minus, falling.” Zebbie had bite now; the horizon ahead tilted slowly up, then faster. As we leaned over, Deety stretched high, catlike, to shoot between our pilots. We steadied with Snug Harbor dead ahead – a crater! I felt a burst of anger, a wish to kill!
“Picture!”
“Gay B’gout!”
Instead of being stationary at “Touchdown” we were in free fall on the night side of some planet. I could see stars, with blackness below the “horizon” – if horizon it were. Deety said, “Looks like the Russians left something on our parking space.”
“Perhaps. Jacob, H-above-G, please.”
“Under ten klicks, decreasing slowly.”
“So far, so good. But we aren’t sure that we have the right planet and universe.”
“Captain, that’s Antares ahead.”
“Thanks, Zebbie. I assume that at least we are in one of the analogs, of our native universe. Deety, can you get from Gay the acceleration and check it against Mars-ten?”
“‘Bout four ways, Cap’n.”
“Go ahead.”
“Gay Deceiver.”
“Hi, Deety!”
“Hi, Gay. H-above-G, closing rate running, solve first differential, report answer.”
Instantly Gay answered, “Three-seven-six centimeters per second squared.”
“You’re a smart girl, Gay.”
So it was either Mars-ten or an unreasonable facsimile. “Gay B’gout!”
We were stationary, with what we had come to feel as “proper weight.” Deety said, “Maybe an animal wandered across our spot. How about lights, Captain? This snapshot ought to be colors by now.”
“Not yet. Chief Pilot, when I alert the autopilot by G, A, Y, please switch on forward landing lights.”
“Roger Wilco.”
“Gay -“
Blinding light – men in its path were blinded, not us. “Bounce! Kill the light, Zebbie. The Little Father left sentries in case we came back – and we did.”
“Captain Auntie, may I have cabin light now?”
“Please be patient, dear. I saw two men. Jacob?”
“Three men, dear… dear Captain. Russian soldiers in uniform. Weapons, but no details.”
“Deety?”
“Looked like bazookas.”
“Chief Pilot?”
“Bazookas. A good thing you were on the bounce with Bounce, Skipper. Gay can take a lot… but a bazooka would make her unhappy.” He added, “Speed saved me yesterday. Deety, let that be a lesson: Never lose your temper.”
“Look who’s talking!”
“I quit being C.O., didn’t I? Cap’n Sharpie doesn’t do foolish stunts. If I were skipper, we would chase ’em all over that sea bottom. Never be in one place long enough for them to aim and they would think there were thirty of us. If Colonel Snotsky is there – I think he’s afraid to go home -“
We were over Arizona. I snapped, “Gay Termite!” and were parked by our stream. Zebbie said, “What the devil? Who did that?”
“You did, Zebadiah,” Deety answered.
“Me? I did no such thing. I was -“
“Silence!” (That was I, Captain Bligh.)
I went on, “Gay Deceiver, go to sleep. Over.”
“Sleepy time, Hilda. Roger and out.”
“Chief Pilot, is there a way to shut off the autopilot so completely that she cannot possibly be activated by voice?”
“Oh, certainly.” Zebbie reached up, threw a switch.
“Thanks, Zebbie. Deety, your new escape programs are swell… but I missed how that happened. But first – Did anyone else see our giant termite?”
“Huh?” – “I did.” – “Where?”
I said, “I was looking out to starboard as we transited. The creature was feeding on packing debris – and took off uphill at high speed. Looked like a very big, fat, white dog with too many legs. Six, I think.”
“‘Six,'” agreed my husband. “Put me in mind of a polar bear. Hilda, I think it is carnivorous.”
“We are not going to find out. Deety, tell Zebbie – all of us – what happened.”
Deety shrugged. “Zebadiah said ‘bounce’ twice when he should not have, but Gay wasn’t triggered. Then he said ‘Gay can take a lot – ‘ and she was triggered. More chitchat and Zebadiah said ‘ – I think he’s afraid to go home – ‘ That did it. Our smart girl hears what she has been taught. She heard: ‘Gay Home’ and that is the short form that used to be: ‘Gay Deceiver Take Us Home.”
Zebbie shook his head. “A gun should never be that hair-trigger.”
“Chief Pilot, yesterday you used the first of these clipped programs to avoid a bullet in your face. First ‘Gay’ – then after more words – ‘bounce!’ It saved you.”
“But -“
“I’m not through. Astrogator, study the escape programs. Search for possibility of danger if triggered accidentally. Zebbie, escape programs can’t be compared to a hair trigger on a gun; they are to escape, not to kill.”
“Captain Auntie, I’ve spent all day making certain that programs can’t put us out of the frying pan into the fire. That’s why I killed ‘countermarch.’ The nearest thing to danger is the ‘Home’ program because our home planet is unfriendly.” Deety sounded sad. “I hate to cut our last link with home.”
“It needn’t be cut,” I said. “Just stretched. Put it back into long form and add ‘Execute.'”
Deety answered, “Captain, I will do as you say. But we might be a billion klicks from nowhere and hit by a meteor. If anyone can gasp, ‘GayHome,’ then we are two klicks over our cabin site in air, not vacuum. Even if we’ve passed out, Gay won’t crash us; she’s built not to. If I’m gasping my last, I don’t want to have to say, ‘Gay Deceiver, take us home. Execute.’ That’s ten syllables against two… with air whooshing out.”
I said, “That settles it. The ‘Gay Home’ program stands unless my successor changes it.”
“You’re not talking to me, Captain Sharpie darling – I mean, Captain Hilda – because I’m not your successor. But Deety convinced me. I will not admit that those vermin have run me permanently off my own planet. At least I can return to it to die.”
“Son, let’s not speak of dying. We are going to stay alive and raise kids and enjoy it.”
“That’s my Pop! Say, doesn’t anybody want to see this picture?”

We made it a rest stop, worrying more about giant termites than about bushes… and Jacob found a can opener. The can opener. I put a stop to an attempt to fix the blame. Advice to all explorers: Do not roam the universes without a spare can opener.
Then it was “Prepare for lift!” and a new program. “Chief Pilot, switch on autopilot. Gay Deceiver. Explore. True bearing two-six-five. Unit jump five minima. Use bingo stop continue. End program short of sunrise line. Ground. Acknowledge by paraphrase.”
“Explore west five degrees south fifty-klick units. Two-second check each jump. Ground myself no power Greenwich time oh-three-seventeen.”
“Deety, is that time right?”
“For that program.”
“Gay Deceiver. Program revision. Cancel grounding. From program coded ‘A Tramp Abroad’ display locus. Display Bingoes.”
She displayed Mars at once, but gibbous. I scrawled a note to Deety: “How do I rotate to show day side only?”
Dear Deety! She wrote her answer. Passed it over – I doubt that our men saw it: “Program revision. Display locus real-time day side.”
Gay accommodated. It took several steps to define new locus as sunset line (right edge – east) to sunrise line (left edge – west), and between 50°N and 50°S (some Russian area had been close to 45°S, so I widened the search)-then let the locus move with the terminators. (Gay can “see” in the dark but I can’t.) I told her to end “Explore” at Greenwich oh-three-seventeen and start “A Tramp Abroad,” continue until directed otherwise, and had Gay repeat back in her phrasing.
I touched Zebbie’s shoulder, pointed to the switch that cut out Gay’s ears, drew a finger across my throat. He nodded and shut her out. I said, “Questions, gentlemen? Deety?”
“I do, Captain,” said our Chief Pilot. “Do you plan on sleeping tonight?”
“Certainly, Zebbie. An ideal sleeping spot would be one far from the Russians but close to the present sunset line. Or did you want to work all night?”
“If you wish. I noticed that you gave Gay a program that could keep her going for days or weeks – and that you had reduced H-above-G to six klicks. Breathable air. By rotating duties, with one or two always stretched out aft, we can stay up a week, easily, and still give Jake’s ankles a break.”
“I can skip a night’s sleep,” said Deety. “Captain Auntie honey, with enough random samples and a defined locus, sampling soon approaches a grid a fly couldn’t get through. Do you want the formula?”
“Heavens, no! As long as it works.”
“It works. Let’s make a long run, get a big sampling. But I’d like to add something. Let’s parallel the display onto a sidelooker screen, and light every vertex – while the main display shows Bingoes. You’ll see how tight a screen you’re building.”
“Sharpie, don’t let her do it!” Zebbie added, “‘Scuse, please! Captain, the Astrogator is correct on software but I know more about this hardware. You can crowd a computer into a nervous breakdown. I have safeguards around Smart Girl; if I give her too much to do, she tells me to go to hell. But she likes Deety. Like a willing horse, she’ll try hard for Deety even when it’s too much.”
Deety said soberly, “Captain, I gave you bad advice.”
Her husband said, “Don’t be so humble, Deety. You’re smarter than I am and we all know it. But we are dependent on Smart Girl and can’t let her break down. Captain, I don’t know how much strain the time-space twister puts on her but she has unnecessary programs. At the Captain’s convenience, I would like to review everything in her perms and wipe those we can do without.”
“My very early convenience, sir. Is the schedule okay?”
“Oh, sure. Just don’t add that side display.”
“Thank you, Chief Pilot. Anyone else? Copilot?”
“My dear… my dear Captain, is there some reason to find a spot near the sunset line? If you intend to work all night?”
“Oh! But, Jacob, I do not plan to work all night. It is now about twenty hundred by our personal circadians, as established by when we got up. I think we can search for three to four hours. I hope that we can find a spot to sleep near the sunset line, scout it in daylight, let Gay land herself on it for her perms – then return to it in the dark when we get tired”
“I see, in part. My dear, unless I misunderstood you, you are heading west. But you said that you wanted to find us a place to sleep near the presert sunset line. East. Or did I misunderstood you?”
“It’s very simply explained, Jacob.”
“Yes, dear Captain?”
“I made a horrible mistake in navigation.”
“Oh.”
“Chief Pilot, did you spot it?”
“Yup. Yes, Captain.”
“Why didn’t you speak up?”
“Not my business, Ma’am. Nothing you planned to do was any danger.”
“Zebbie, I’m not sure whether to thank you for keeping quiet, or to complain because you did. Deety, you spotted the mistake, I am certain. You are supposed to advise me.”
“Captain, I’m supposed to speak up to stop a bad mistake. This was not. I wasn’t certain that it was a mistake until you told on yourself. But you spotted the mistake when Gay predicted the time to end the ‘Explore’ program, then you corrected it by telling her to shift to ‘A Tramp Abroad.’ So there was never a reason to advise you.”
I let out a sigh. “You’re covering for me and I love you all and I’m no good as captain. I’ve served as many hours as Zebbie and we are on the ground, so now it’s time to elect someone who can do it right. You, Zebbie.”
“Not me. Jake and Deety must each do a stint before I’d admit that it might be my turn.”
“Captain -“
“Deety, I’m not captain; I resigned!”
“No, Aunt Hilda, you didn’t actually do it. It is my duty to advise you when you seem about to make a bad mistake. You made a minor mistake and corrected it. In my business we call that ‘debugging’-and spend more time on it than we do on writing programs. Because everybody makes mistakes.”
Jane’s little girl managed to sound the way Jane used to. I resolved to listen – because all too often I hadn’t listened to Jane. “Captain Auntie, if you were resigning because of the way your crew treated you – as Zebadiah did – I wouldn’t say a word. But that’s not your reason. Or is it?”
“What? Oh, no! You’ve all helped – you’ve been angels. Uh, well, mostly.”
“‘Angels’ – hummph! I can’t use the correct words; I’d shock our men. Aunt Hilda, I gave you far worse lip than I ever gave Zebadiah. You slapped me down hard – and I’ve been your strongest supporter ever since. Zebadiah, what you did was worse -“
“I know.”
” – but you admitted that you were wrong. Nevertheless you’ve been chewing the bit. Demanding explanations. Zebadiah, the captain of a ship doesn’t have to explain why she gives an order. Or does she?”
“Of course not. Oh, a captain sometimes does explain. But she shouldn’t do it often or the crew will start thinking they are entitled to explanations. In a crunch this can kill you. Waste that split second.” Zebbie brooded. “Captain says ‘Frog,’ you hop. Couple of times I failed to hop. Captain, I’m sorry.”
“Zebbie, we get along all right.”
He reached back and patted my knee. “Pretty well in the past. Better from now on.”
My darling Jacob said worriedly, “I’m afraid I have been remiss, too.”
I was about to reassure him when Deety cut in: “‘Remiss’! Pop, you’re the worst of all! If I had been your wife, I would have tossed you back and rebaited my hook. ‘Farce’ is worse than mutinous; it’s insulting. Be glad Jane didn’t hear you!”
“I know, I know!”
I touched Deety’s arm and whispered, “That’s enough, dear.”
Zebbie said soberly, “Captain, as I analyze it, you made a mistake in sign. Every navigator makes mistakes – and has some routine by which to check his work. If you’re going to get upset because recheck shows that you wrote down ‘plus’ when the declination is ‘south,’ you’re going to have ulcers. You’re just under strain from being C.O. We’ve all made the strain worse. But we want to do better. I’d hate to have you resign over a minor error… when we caused your upset. I hope you’ll give us another chance.”
Captains aren’t supposed to cry. I blinked ’em back, got my voice under control, and said, “All hands! Still ready for lift? Report.”
“Aye, Captain!” – “Affirmative!” – “Yes, my dear Hilda.”
“Zebbie, switch on Gay’s ears.” He did.
“Execute!” – Termite Creek was gone and we were fifty klicks west and a touch south. Pretty and green but no Bingo. It would take us about seven minutes to overtake the Sun and approach sunrise line, plus any holds we made. Then I would go east to the sunset line in nothing flat (have Zebbie and Jacob do it); then bounce & glide, bounce & glide, while looking for a place to sleep in a spot suitable for Gay to try her new unpowered autogrounding program – in daylight with the hottest pilot in two worlds ready to override any error.
If Gay could do this, we would be almost independent of juice – and have a new “bug-out” sanctuary each time she landed herself. Power packs – Zebbie had a hand-cranked D.C. generator – but heavy work for husky men for endless hours. (40 hrs from zero to full charge; you see why Zebbie would rather buy fresh charges.)
We had been skipping along nearly three minutes, over four thousand klicks, before spotting a Bingo (by Zebbie). I called a “Hold” and added, “Where, Zebbie?”
He nosed us down. Farm buildings and cultivated fields – a happy contrast to the terrain – barren, green, flat, rugged – all lacking any sign of humans, in the stops we had made. “Astrogator, record time. Continue.”
Then over three minutes with no Bingoes – At elapsed time 6m4s Jacob called out, “Bingo! A town.”
“Hold! Onion towers?”
“I think not, dear. I see a flag – dare we go nearer?”
“Yes! But anyone use a scram at will. Jacob, may I have the binoculars, please?”
The Stars and Stripes are engraved on my heart, but in the next moments the Cross of Saint Andrew and the Cross of Saint George were added. It was an ensign with a blue field and some white shapes – three half moons in three sizes.
“Gay Deceiver.”
“I’m all ears, Hilda.”
“Move current program to standby.”
“Roger Wilco Done.”
“Gay Bounce. Zebbie, let’s sweep this area for a bigger settlement.”
Zebbie placed a locus around the town, radius five hundred klicks, and started “A Tramp Abroad” with vertex time cut to one second. Thirty-one minutes later we had a city. I guessed it at a hundred thousand plus.
“Captain,” Zebbie said, “may I suggest that we bounce and try to raise them by radio? This place is big enough for A.A. guns or missiles -“
“Gay Bounce!”
” – and we know that their Slavic neighbors have aircraft.”
“Is your guardian angel warning you?”
“Well… ’tain’t polite to ground without clearance; such rudeness can make one suddenly dead.”
“Gay Bounce, Gay Bounce. Are we out of reach of missiles?”
“Captain, British and Russians of this universe are ahead of us in spaceships or they wouldn’t be here. That requires us to assume that their missiles and lasers and X-weapons are better than ours.”
“What’s an ‘X-weapon’? And what do you advise?”
“I advise evasive tactics. An X-weapon is a ‘Nobody-Knows.'”
“Evasive tactics, your choice. I assume you won’t waste juice.”
“No juice. Jake, gallop in all directions. Up, down, and sideways. Don’t wait for ‘Execute’; jump as fast as you can. That’s it! Keep moving!”
“Captain Auntie, may I suggest an easier way?”
“Speak up, Deety.”
“Zebadiah, how big is that city? Kilometers.”
“That’s indefinite. Oh, call it eight klicks in diameter.”
“You’ve got that one-second ‘Tramp’ program on hold. Change locus. Center on that biggest building, make the radius six klicks. Then start program and Pop can rest.”
“Uh… Deety, I’m stupid. Six klicks radius, ten klicks is a minimum – A bit tight?”
“Meant to be. Shall I draw a picture?”
“Maybe you’d better.”
(Deety had defined an annulus two kilometers wide, outer radius six, inner radius four. We would “circle” the city six klicks above ground, random jumps, sixty per minute. I doubted that even robot weapons could find us, range us, hit us, in one second.)
Deety loosened her belt, slithered forward, and sketched. Suddenly Zebbie said, “Gotcha! Deety, you’re a smart girl.”
“‘Boss, I’ll bet you tell that to all the girls.'”
“Nope, just smart ones. Gay Deceiver!”
“Less noise, please.”
“Program revision. A Tramp Abroad. Locus a circle radius six klicks. Center defined by next Bingo. Acknowledge paraphrase.”
“Revised program A Tramp Abroad. Circle twelve klicks diameter center next real-time Bingo.”
“Jake, put us over that big building downtown. If necessary, make several tries but don’t hang around. Once I like the position I’ll say the magic word, then scram.”
“Aye aye, Chief.”
Jacob made a dozen jumps before Zebbie said, “Bingo Gay Bounce” and a light appeared on the display. He started the program and told Gay to increase scale; the light spread out into a circle with a lighted dot in the center. “Captain, watch this. I’ve told Gay that every stop is a Bingo. You may be surprised.”
“Thanks, Zebbie.” The circle was becoming freckled inside its perimeter. With no feeling of motion, the scene flicked every second. It was mid-morning; each scene was sharp. That big building would be dead ahead – blink your eye and you’re staring at fields – then again at the city but with that building off to starboard. It put me in mind of holovideo tape spliced to create confusion.
Zebbie had on his phones and was ignoring everything else. Jacob was watching the flickering scenery, as was I, as was Deety – when Jacob suddenly turned his head, said, “Deety-please-the-Bo – ” and clapped his hand over his mouth.
I said, “Two Bonines, Deety – quickly!”
Deety was reaching for them. “You, too, Auntie Cap’n?”
“It’s this flickering.” I gave one to Jacob, made certain that he saw me take one. I had not been motion-sick since I had been made Captain. But any time my husband must take one, I will keep him company.
Today I should have taken one as soon as I spotted that British flag; Bonine tranquilizes the nerves as well as the tummy… and soon I must act as – ambassador? Something of the sort; I intended to go straight to the top. Dealing with underlings is frustrating. In college I would not have lasted almost four years had it been up to the dean of women. But I always managed to take it over her head to the president; the top boss can bend the rules.
(But my senior year the president was female and as tough a bitch as I am. She listened to my best Clarence-Darrow defense, congratulated me, told me I should have studied law, then said, “Go pack. I want you off campus by noon.”)
Zebbie pushed the phone off his right ear. “Captain, I’ve got this loud enough to put on the horn. Want to talk to them?”
“No. I’ve never grounded outside the States. You know how, you do it. But, Chief Pilot -“
“Yes, Ma’am?”
“And Copilot and Astrogator. Stick to the truth at all times. But do not unnecessarily give information. Answer questions uninformatively – but truthfully. If pressed, tell them, ‘See the Captain.”
“My dear,” Jacob said worriedly, “I’ve been meaning to speak about this. Zeb has had diplomatic experience. Wouldn’t it be wise for us to place him in charge on the ground? Please understand, I’m not criticizing your performance as captain. But with his experience and in view of the fact that our principal purpose is to obtain certain things for his car -“
“Gay Bounce Gay Bounce Gay Bounce! Astrogator.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Place us in a parking orbit. Soonest.”
“Aye aye, Ma’am! Copilot, don’t touch the verniers. Chief Pilot, check that the car is level. Gay Deceiver.”
“On deck, Deety.”
“Program. L axis add speed vector three point six klicks per second. Paraphrase acknowledge.”
“Increase forward speed three and six tenths kilometers per second.”
“Chief Pilot?”
“Level.”
“Execute.” Deety glanced at the board. “Gay Deceiver, H-above-G will soon stop decreasing, then increase very slowly. In about fifty minutes it will maximize. Program. When H-above-G is maximum, alert me.”
“Roger Wilco.”
“If-when one hundred klicks H-above-G, alert me.”
“Roger Wilco.”
“If-when air drag exceeds zero, alert me.”
“Roger Wilco.”
“Remain in piloting mode. Ignore voices including program code words until you are called by your full name. Acknowledge by reporting your full name.”
“‘Gay Deceiver,'” answered Gay Deceiver.
“Is that okay, Captain? Smart Girl can’t hear the short-form programs now, until she hears her full name first. Then you would still have to say ‘Gay’ to alert her, and ‘Home’ or whatever to scram. But there should be loads of time, as she’ll tell me if anything starts to go wrong. You heard her.”
“That’s fine, Astrogator.”
“I turned her ears off because there may be discussion in which you might not want to have to be careful to use code words… but still be able to put her ears back fast if you need them. Faster than the switch and besides the switch can be reached only from the left front seat.”
Deety had a touch of nervous chattering; I understood the reasons for each step. And I understood why she was chattering.
“Well done. Thank you. Remain at the conn. Chief Pilot, Copilot, the Second-in-Command has the conn. I am going aft and do not wish to be disturbed.” I lowered my voice, spoke directly to Deety. “You are free to call me. You only.”
“Aye aye, Captain,” Deety acknowledged quietly. “I must remind you: air for four hours only.”
“If I fall asleep, call me in three hours.” I kissed her quickly, floated out of my chair and started to undog the bulkhead door – got nowhere; Deety had to help me. Deety flipped a light switch for me. She closed me in and dogged one dog.
I got a blanket out of the cradle, took off my clothes, tried to wrap myself in the blanket. It kept slithering away.
No seat belts – But the web straps used to make a bedroll of Zebbie’s sleeping bag were attached through loops and tucked under thingammies. Soon I had a belt across my waist and the blanket around me.
Being a runt, the only way I can fight is with words. But best for me is to walk away. Fight with Jacob? I was so angry I wanted to slap him! But I never slap anyone; a woman who takes advantage of her size and sex to slap a man is herself no gentleman. So I walked away – got out of there before I said something that would tear it – lose me my lovable, cuddly, thoughtful – and sometimes unbearable! – husband.
I wept in my pillow – no pillow and no Kleenex. After a while I slept.

Chapter XXV

” – leave bad enough alone!”

Deety:
After I helped Aunt Hilda with the bulkhead door, I got back into my seat- and said nothing. If I opened my mouth, I would say too much. I love Pop a heap, and respect him as a mathematician.
Pop is also one of the most selfish people I’ve ever known.
Doesn’t mean he’s tight with money; he isn’t. Doesn’t mean he wouldn’t share his last crust of bread – he would. With a stranger.
But if he doesn’t want to do something, he won’t. When Jane died, I had to take over money management at once. At seventeen. Because Pop ignored it. It was all I could do to get him to sign his name. –
I was bucking for my doctorate. Pop seemed to think that I should cook, clean house, shop, keep financial records, manage our businesses, cope with taxes – and earn my doctorate simultaneously.
Once I let dishes stack to see how long it would take him to notice. About two weeks later he said, “Deety, aren’t you ever going to do the dishes?”
I answered, “No, sir.”
“Eh? Why not?”
“I don’t have time.”
He looked puzzled. “Jane didn’t seem to find keeping house difficult. Is something wrong, dear?”
“Pop, Mama wasn’t bucking for a doctorate against a committee of dunderheads. My research subject was approved two years ago… but I’ve got men judging me – four out of seven – who can’t tell Fortran from Serutan, hate computers, and have dark fears that computer scientists are going to take their jobs away from them. They make me do work over because they don’t understand it. And besides – Well, Mama Jane always had help, mine, and a housekeeper toward the end.”
Pop is okay. He hired a housekeeper who stuck with us till I got my Ph.D. He investigated, discovered that thehead of the department had put men on my committee who knew nothing about computers – not on purpose; the department head did not know computers. I wound up with an even tougher committee but they knew computers. Fair enough.
Pop means to be good to me and he adores Aunt Hilda and means to pamper her. Pop is one of those men who sincerely believe in Women’s Lib, always support it – but so deep down that they aren’t aware of it, their emotions tell them that women never get over being children.
A mistake easy to make with Aunt Hilda – There are twelve-year-old girls bigger than she is and with more curves.
For a horrid time, we three said nothing. Zebadiah watched his instruments; Pop stared straight ahead.
At last my husband gave my father the chewing out that Pop would never have taken from me, “Jake. Tell me how you do it.”
“Eh?”
“You’re a genius. You aren’t the absent-minded sort who needs a boy to lead him around. You can hammer a nail with the best of them and can use power tools without chopping your fingers. You’re good company and you managed to attract one of the three finest women I’ve ever known so much that she married you. Yet you have publicly insulted her twice in one day. Twice. Tell me: Do you have to study to be that stupid? Or is it a gift, like your genius for mathematics?”
Pop covered his face with his hands. Zebadiah shut up.
I could see Pop’s shoulders shake. Presently his sobbing stopped. He wiped his eyes, unfastened his seat belt. When I realized he was heading for the bulkhead door, I unstrapped fast and placed myself in his way. He said, “Please move out of my way, Deety.”
“Copilot, return to your seat.”
“But, Daughter, you can’t come between husband and wife!”
“Address me as ‘Astrogator.’ The Captain does not wish to be disturbed. Gay Deceiver!”
“Here, Deety!”
“Log mode. Copilot, I will not permit you to disobey the Captain’s orders. Return to your seat, strap down – and stay there!”
“Or would you rather be placed in it?” Zebadiah growled. “With your arms strapped under the belts, and the buckles where you can’t reach them.”
“Chief Pilot, do not intervene unless I call on you. Copilot, move!”
Pop turned in the air, almost kicking me in the face and unaware of it. He was speaking through sobs. “But I must apologize to Hilda! Can’t you understand that?” But he was getting back into his seat.
“Jake, you’ll be a worse damn’ fool if you do.”
“What? Zeb, you can’t mean that.”
“I do mean it. You apologized once today. Hypocrisy, as Sharpie realizes. Jake, your only chance of staying married is to shut up and soldier; your word is no longer worth a fiat dollar. But if you behave yourself for four or five years, she might forget it. Correction: forgive it. She’ll never forget it. Establish a long record of good behavior and she might allow you some minor faults. But don’t ever hint that she is not as competent as any man. Sure, she’d be picked last for a tug-o’-war team, and she has to stand on a stool to reach a high shelf – does that affect her brain? Hell’s bells, if size mattered, I would be the supergenius around here – not you. Or perhaps you think being able to grow a beard confers wisdom? Jake, leave bad enough alone! Mess with it, you’ll make it worse.”
Time for a diversion: Pop must not be given a chance to answer. If Pop started defending himself, he would wind up self-righteous. The ability of the male mind to rationalize its deeds – and misdeeds – cannot be measured.
(And some female minds. But we females have more wild animal in us; mostly we don’t feel any need to justify ourselves. We just do it, whatever it is, because we want to. Is there ever any other reason?)
“Gentlemen,” I added, close on Zebadiah’s last remark before Pop could attempt rebuttal, “speaking of beards, you each have a three-day growth. If we are about to ask sanctuary, shouldn’t we be neat? I’m going to comb my hair and dig the dirt out from under my nails, and – Glory be! – I’ve got one spandy-clean jump suit. In light green, Zebadiah; matches your pilot suits. Got a clean one, dear?”
“I believe so.”
“I know so; I packed it when Aunt Hilda and I rearranged inventory. Pop, your light green jump suit is clean. That one you are wearing has wrinkles in the wrinkles and a big soup spot. We three will look as if we were in uniform. Aunt Hilda won’t but the captain-and-owner of a yacht doesn’t dress like her crew.”
“‘Owner’?” said Pop.
“‘”Owner,”‘” Zebadiah said firmly. “We pooled our resources. Sharpie is captain; she’ll stand as owner for all of us. Simpler.”
“She cautioned us not to tell lies, Zeb.” (Pop sounded normal – his usual argumentative self.)
“No lie. But if she finds it necessary to lie for us, we back her up. Come on, Jake, let’s put on our squeakin’ shoes; the Captain might decide to land any orbit. How long are these orbits, Deety?”
“One hundred minutes, plus a bit. But Gay could ground us from the far side in five minutes if the Captain asked for it.”
“So let’s get shipshape and Bristol style. Deety, will you keep an eye on the board while Jake and I shave?”
Pop said, “I’m sorry but I can’t shave until the Captain joins us. My gear is aft.”
“Jake, use mine. Glove compartment. Remington okay?” My husband added, “You first; I want to read the news.”
“The ‘news’?”
“Smart Girl has been sampling all frequencies, AM and FM, twice a second. If there is pattern, she copies.”
“But Deet – The Astrogator switched off the autopilot’s ears.”
“Jake, you just flunked Physics One-Oh-One. Deety told S.G. to shut off audio. I had in mind the electromagnetic spectrum. You’ve heard of it?”
Pop chuckled. “Touché! That makes us even for the one you pulled while we were calibrating.”
(I heaved a sigh of relief. I had not been trying to save Pop’s marriage – that’s his problem. Even my own marriage was secondary; I was trying to save the team, and so was Zebadiah. We were two marriages and that is important – but most important we were a survival team and either we worked together smoothly or none would live through it.)
While Pop shaved and Zebadiah read the news, I cleaned my nails. If I clean them before each meal and again at bedtime, they are dirty only in between – dirt likes me. Mama Jane told me that centuries ago, while ouching my hair for school – not a criticism; a statement of fact.
The men swapped headset for shaver and I combed my hair and pinned it into place – no longer an “ouch” job as I keep it short, ringlets rather than curls. Men like it long – but caring for long hair is a career in itself, and I’ve been pushed for time since I was twelve.
Zebadiah stopped to feel his chin – so I deduced as the buzzing stopped. I asked, “What did Smart Girl have to say?”
“Not much. Le’me finish this. BBC Third Program mostly.”
“From London?” He had resumed shaving and couldn’t hear me.
Zebadiah finished shaving and passed his shaver to Pop, who stowed it, then took off the headset and handed it back. Zebadiah racked and secured it. I was about to ask for it, when I heard Aunt Hilda’s sweet voice:
“Hello, everyone! What did I miss?”
“Halley’s Comet.”
“Halley’s – Zebbie, you’re a tease. Jacob – Oh! You shaved! How very nice! Hold still, my darling; you’re going to be kissed, ready or not.”
A kiss in free fall is interesting to watch when one participant is safety-belted and the other half is floating free. Hilda held Pop’s cheeks, he had her head in his hands, and Aunt Hilda drifted like a flag in a breeze. She was dressed but barefooted; I was intrigued when she curled her toes, hard. Was Pop that good? – my cubical father, so I had thought until recently. Did Jane teach him? Or – Shut up, Deety, you’re a voyeuse with a nasty curiosity.
They broke and Hilda floated between the pilot seats, a hand on each, and looked at the board. My husband said – to her, not to me – “Don’t I get a kiss? It was my razor.”
Aunt Hilda hesitated. Pop said, “Kiss him, beloved, or he’ll sulk.” So she did. It occurs to me that Aunt Hilda may have taught Zebadiah and that Mama Jane and Aunt Hilda may have been trained by the same coach before Pop came along – if so, who was my Unknown Benefactor?
“Not a whole lot,” Zebadiah was saying. “Mostly tapes from BBC. Five minutes of news from Windsor City – which may be the city we bingoed – as exciting as local news from any town you’ve never been in. Chatter in Russian. The Smart Girl saved that for you.”
“I’ll listen to it. But I must learn something. I was tempery a while ago, but a nap fixed me up and now I am filled with sweetness and light. I must have a report from each of you. We all have had cumulative fatigue. It is now bedtime at Termite Terrace but about lunchtime in Windsor City if that is its name. We can go back to our stream or we can tackle the British. I am not taking a vote; I shall decide and I have a way to take care of anyone who is tired. But I insist on honest data. Deety?”
“Captain Auntie, sleep is never my problem.”
“Zebbie?”
“I was a zombie. Until you recharged me. Now I’m rarin’ to go!”
She mussed his hair. “Zebbie, quit teasing.”
“Captain, on an earlier occasion I told you the facts: My alert time exceeds twenty-four hours. Forty-eight if I must. If that kiss did not stimulate you as much as it did me, let’s try it again and find out what went wrong.”
Aunt Hilda turned away abruptly. “Jacob dear, how do you feel? With the time difference this may be equivalent to staying up all night, possibly under great tension.”
“Hilda my love, were we to return to our streamside, I would not sleep, knowing that this contact was coming. A night without sleep does not strain me.”
“Pop’s not exaggerating, Captain Auntie. I get my night-owl capacity from Pop.”
“Very well. But I have a method of taking care of anyone who may have exaggerated. I can leave one person aboard as guard.”
“Captain, this wagon does not need a guard.”
“Chief Pilot, I was offering sleep – under pretext of guarding. Car locked and sleep where I just napped – outsiders would not know. Anyone? Speak up.”
(I wouldn’t have missed it for a Persian kitten! Did Hilda expect anyone to stay behind? I don’t think so.)
“Very well. No firearms. Gentlemen, please hide your pistols and belts with the guns, aft. Zebbie, is there a way to lock that door in addition to dogging it?”
“Sure. Tell Gay. May I ask why? No one can break into the cabin without damaging the old girl so much that she won’t lift.”
“Conceded, Zebbie. But I will be bringing visitors into this space. If anyone is brash enough to ask to be shown beyond the bulkhead door, I shall tell him that is my private compartment.” Aunt Hilda grinned wickedly. “If he persists, I’ll freeze his ears. What’s the program for locking and unlocking it?”
“Very complicated. Tell her, ‘Lock the bulkhead door,’ or ‘Unlock the bulkhead door.’ Concealed solenoids. If the car is cold, the bolts drop back.”
“Goodness, you were thorough.”
“No, Ma’am. The Aussies were. But it turns out to be convenient for things we wouldn’t like to lose. Cap’n, I don’t trust banks any more than I trust governments, so I carry my safety deposit vault with me.”
“If you cut the trickle charge, it unlocks?” Pop asked.
“Jake, I knew you would spot that. An accumulator across the solenoids, floating. Shut down the car and the solenoids work for another month… unless you open a switch in an odd location. Anyone want to know where it is? – what you don’t know, you can’t tell.”
He got no takers. Instead I said, “Captain, is a fléchette gun a ‘firearm’?”
“Hmm – Will it fit into a zippered compartment in your purse?”
“It fits into a concealed zipper compartment.”
“Keep it with you. No swords, gentlemen, as well as no firearms; we are a civilian party. One thing we should carry: those miniature walky-talkies, Deety and I in our purses, you gentlemen in your pockets. If they are noticed, tell the truth: a means of keeping our party in touch.”
Aunt Hilda suddenly looked stern. “This next order should be in writing. Please understand that there are no exceptions, no special circumstances, no variations left to individual judgment. I require Roger-Wilcoes from each of you or we do not ground. This party does not separate. Not for thirty seconds. Not for ten seconds. Not at all.”
“Will the Captain entertain a question?”
“Certainly, Zebbie.”
“Washrooms. Restrooms. Bathrooms. If these British behave like their analogs, such facilities are segregated.”
“Zebbie, all I can say to that is that I will look for a way to cope. But we stay together until I – until I, the Captain – decide that it is safe to ease the rule. In the meantime – We should use that unpopular honey bucket before we ground… then, if necessary, return to the car, together, to use it later. That’s not subject to discussion. Once we are on the ground, you three, acting unanimously, can hold a bloodless mutiny over this order or any” – Aunt Hilda looked directly at her husband – “and I will let myself be kicked out without a word… out of office as captain, out of the car, out of the party. Remain here, on Mars-ten, with the British if they will have me. No more questions. No further discussion by me or among yourselves. Astrogator.”
“Roger Wilco!”
“Thank you. Please state it in the long form.”
“I understand the Captain’s order and will comply exactly with no mental reservations.”
“Chief Pilot.”
“I understand -“
“Short form. Deety defined it.”
“Roger Wilco, Captain!”
Aunt Hilda turned in the air toward Pop – and I held my breath, three endless seconds. “Jacob?”
“Roger Wilco, Captain.”
“Very well. We will ground as soon as we get clearance but will not ask for clearance until I’ve heard the news and translated that Russian.” Whereupon I told her that we all intended to put on our best bib and tucker; the time should come out about right – and could we be relieved one by one? As I intended to use that darned thunder mug – when you must, you must.
Aunt Hilda frowned slightly. “I do wish that I had a jump suit in my size. This outfit -“
“Aunt Hilda! Your crew is in uniform but you are wearing the latest Hollywood style. That model was created by Ferrara himself and he charged you more than you paid for that mink cape. You are the Captain and dress to please yourself. I tell you three times!”
Aunt Hilda smiled. “Should I acknowledge in paraphrase?”
“By all means.”
“Deety, I require my crew to wear uniforms. But I dress to suit myself, and when I saw what the world-famous couturier Mario Ferrara was doing to change the trend in women’s sports clothes, I sent for him and worked him silly until he got just what I wanted. Including repeated washings of the trousers to give them that not-quite-new look so favored by the smart set for yachting. When you come back will you fetch your little shoes – my Keds – and the hair ribbon you gave me? They are part of Signor Ferrara’s creation.”
“Aunt Hilda honey, you make it sound true!”
“It is true. You told me three times. I don’t even regret the thousand newdollar bonus I gave him. That man is a genius! Get along dear – git. Chief Pilot, you have the conn; I want the earphones.”
I was back in ten minutes with jump suits for self and Pop and clean pilot suit for my husband.
I sailed their clothes toward Pop and Zebadiah. Aunt Hilda was handing phones back to Zebadiah; his suit caught both of them. “Wups, sorry but not very. What do the Russians say?”
“We’re baddies,” said my husband.
“We are? The suit I took off is loose back aft. Wrap it around your pistol and belt and shove them under the sleeping bag – pretty please?”
“With sugar on it?”
“At today’s prices? Yes. Beat it. Cap’n, what sort of baddies?”
“Spies and agents-saboteurs and other things and indemnity is demanded in the name of the Tsar and the surrender of our persons, all twelve of us -“
“Twelve?”
“So they claim. – for trial before they hang us. Or else. The ‘or-else’ amounts to a threat of war.”
“Heavens! Are we going to ground?”
“Yes. The British comment was that a source close to the Governor reports that the Russians have made another of their periodic claims of territorial violation and espionage and the note was routinely rejected. I intend to be cautious. We won’t leave the car unless I am convinced that we will receive decent treatment.”

Shortly we were again doing one-second jumps in a circle around Windsor City. Had Pop not pulled another blunder in handling Aunt Hilda we would have been on the ground two hours ago. “Blunder,” rather than “insult” – but I’m not Hilda, I’m Deety. My ego is not easily bruised. Before I married, if a man patronized me and it mattered, I used to invite him to go skeet shooting. Even if he beat me (happened once), he never patronized me again.
If it’s an unsocial encounter – I’m big, I’m strong, I fight dirty. A male has to be bigger, stronger, and just as well trained or I can take him. Haven’t had to use the fléchette gun yet. But twice I’ve broken arms and once I kicked a mugger in the crotch and said he fainted.
Zebadiah was having trouble with traffic control. ” – request permission to ground. This is private yacht Gay Deceiver, U.S. registry, Chief Pilot Carter speaking. All we want is clearance to ground. You’re behaving like those youknow-what-I-mean Russians. I didn’t expect this from Englishmen.”
“Now, now! Where are you? You sound close by… but we can’t get a fix on you.”
“We are circling your city at a height above ground of five kilometers.”
“How much is that in feet? Or miles?”
I touched my husband’s shoulder. “Tell him sixteen thousand feet.”
“Sixteen thousand feet.”
“What bearing?”
“We’re circling.”
“Yes, but – See Imperial House at City Center? What bearing?”
“We are much too fast for you to take a bearing. While you speak one sentence, we’ve gone around twice.”
“Oh, tell that to the Jollies; old sailors will never believe it.”
Aunt Hilda tapped Zebadiah; he passed the microphone to her. Aunt Hilda said crisply, “This is Captain Burroughs, commanding. State your name, rating, and organization number.”
I heard a groan, then silence. Twenty-three seconds later another voice came on. “This is the officer of the watch, Leftenant Bean. Is there a spot of trouble?”
“No, Lieutenant, merely stupidity. My chief pilot has been trying for fifteen minutes for clearance to ground. Is this a closed port? We were not told so by your embassy on Earth. We were warned that the Russians discouraged visitors, and indeed, they tried to shoot us out of the sky. What is your full name and your regiment, Lieutenant; I intend to make a formal report when I return home,”
“Please, Madam! This is Leftenant Brian Bean, Devonshire Royal Fusiliers. May I ask to whom I am speaking?”
“Very well. I will speak slowly; please record. I am Captain Hilda Burroughs, commanding space yacht Gay Deceiver, out of Snug Harbor in the Americas.”
“Captain, let me get this clear. Are you commanding both a spaceship in orbit and a landing craft from your ship? Either way, please let me have the elements of your ship’s orbit for my log, and tell me the present position of your landing craft. Then I can assign you a berth to ground.”
“Do I have your word as a British officer and gentleman that you will not shoot us out of the sky as those Russian vandals attempted to do?”
“Madam – Captain – you have my word.”
“Gay Bounce. We are now approximately forty-nine thousand feet above your city.”
“But – We understood you to say ‘Sixteen thousand’?”
“That was five minutes ago; this craft is fast.” Aunt Hilda released the button. “Deety, get rid of the special ‘Tramp’ program.”
I told Gay to return “Tramp” to her perms and to wipe the temporary mods. “Done.”
Aunt Hilda pressed the mike button. “Do you see us now?” She released the button. “Deety, I want us over that big building – ‘Imperial House,’ probably – in one transition. Can you tell Zebbie and Jacob what it takes?”
I looked it over. We should be at the edge of the city – but were we? Get a range and triangulate? No time! Guess at the answer, double it and divide by two. Arc tan four tenths. “Pop, can you transit twenty-one degrees from vertical toward city hail?”
“Twenty-one degrees. Sixty-nine degrees of dive toward the big barn in the park, relative bearing broad on the port bow, approx – set! One unit transition, ten klicks – set!”
“I can see you now, I do believe,” came Mr. Bean’s voice. “Barely.”
“We’ll come lower.” Aunt Hilda chopped off the lieutenant. “Zebbie, put her into glide as soon as you execute. Deety, watch H-above-G and scram if necessary – don’t wait to be told. Zebbie, execute at will.”
“Jake, execute!” – and we were down so fast I got goose bumps… especially as Zebadiah then dived vertically to gain glide speed and that’s mushy, slow, slow, on Mars.
But soon Aunt Hilda was saying tranquilly, “We are over Imperial House. You see us?”
“Yes, yes! My word! Bloody!”
“Leftenant, watch your language!” Aunt Hilda winked at me and snickered silently.
“Madam, I apologize.”
“‘Captain,’ if you please,” she said, smiling while her voice dripped icicles.
“Captain, I apologize.”
“Accepted. Where am I to ground?”
“Ah, figured from Imperial House, there is a landing field due south of it twelve miles. I will tell them to expect you.”
Hilda let up on the button, said, “Gay Bounce” and racked the microphone. “How unfortunate that the lieutenant’s radio cut out before he could tell us how far away that field is. Or was it our radio?”
I said, “Captain, you know durn well both radios worked okay.”
“Mercy, I must be getting old. Was Smart Girl in recording mode?”
I said, “She always is, during maneuvers. She wipes it in a ten-hour cycle.”
“Then my bad hearing doesn’t matter. Please ask her to repeat the lieutenant’s last speech.” I did, and Gay did. “Deety, can you have her wipe it right after the word ‘it’?”
“Auntie, you ain’t goin’ to Heaven.” I had Gay wipe twelve-miles-I-will-tell-them-to-expect-you. “But you wouldn’t know anybody there.”
“Probably not, dear. Zebbie, how does one have Smart Girl ground herself without juice?”
“Deety had better go over it again. Unless – Jake, will you explain it?”
“It’s Deety’s caper. I could use another drill.”
“All right,” I agreed. “Switch off Gay’s ears, Zebadiah. Gay can make any transition exactly if she knows precisely where her target is. Even a jump of less than one minimum. I found that out the day we got here when we were testing remote control. The rest came from perfecting the ‘Bug-Out’ routine by having her pause and sweep the target and if it’s obstructed, she bounces. Aunt Hilda, if you intend to ground, we had better not be much under five klicks or we’ll have to bounce and start over.”
“I’ve got air bite, Captain. I’ll stretch it.”
“Thanks, Zebbie. Deety, you do it. Let us all learn.”
“Okay. I need both pilots. You haven’t said where to ground.”
“Wasn’t that clear? Due south of Imperial House. I think it is a parade ground. Nothing on it but a flagpole on the north side. Put her down in front of the building but miss that flagpole.”
“It would take override to hit that flagpole. Zebadiah, gunsight the spot you want to park on. I’ll talk to Gay. Then put her in level flight in the orientation you want, and give ‘Execute.’ Pop, Gay should pause at exactly one-half klick, to see that her parking spot is clear and to recheck distance. That stop won’t be long – a fraction of a second – but, if she fails to make it, try to bounce. Probably you can’t; if I missed in debugging, maybe we’ll all be radioactive. Been nice knowing you all. Okay, switch on her ears.” My husband did so.
“Gay Deceiver.”
“Hello, Deety. I’ve missed you.”
“Unpowered autogrounding mode.”
“Gonna ground by myself without a drop of juice! Where?”
“New target. Code word: ‘Parade Ground.’ Point of aim and range-finder method.”
“Show him to me. I can lick him!”
I touched my husband’s shoulder. “Let her know.”
“On target, Gay. Steady on target.”
“Range three-seven-two-nine, three-seven-naughty-nought, three-five-nine-nine – got him, Deety!”
Zebadiah leveled us out, headed us north. “Execute!”
We were parked facing the big front steps. That flagpole was ten meters from Gay’s nose.
Pop said, “Deety, I could see the check stop but it was too short for me to act. But your programs always work.”
“Until the day one blows up. Aunt Hilda, what do we do now?”
“We wait.”

Chapter XXVI

The Keys to the City

Jake:
I do not believe that I am wrong in insisting that Zeb should lead us. I am forced to conclude that being right has little to do with holding a woman’s affections. I never intend to hurt Hilda’s feelings. I now plan to make a career of keeping my mouth shut.
But I do not think it was diplomatic to spat with that radio operator or proper to be – well, yes, rude – rude to his officer. As for grounding twelve miles, nineteen klicks, from where we were told to – is this the behavior of guests!
But we did ground where we should not have. I started to open the door to get out, then help Hilda to disembark, when I heard her say: “We wait.”
Hilda added, “Leave doors locked and belts fastened. Gay Deceiver, remain in maneuvering mode. Lock the bulkhead door.”
“Hot and rarin’ to go, Hilda. Bulkhead door locked.”
“You’re a smart girl, Gay.”
“That makes two of us, Hilda.”
“Chief Pilot, in this mode does she record outside as well as inside?”
“She does if I switch on outside speakers and mikes, Captain.”
“Please do.”
“What volume, Captain? Outside, and inside.”
“I didn’t know they were separate. Straight-line gain?”
“Logarithmic, Ma’am. From a gnat’s whisper to a small earthquake.”
“I would like outside pickup to amplify enough that we won’t miss anything. What I send out should be a bit forceful.”
“Captain, I’ll give you a decibel advantage. You want it louder, squeeze my shoulder. I won’t turn it higher than seven – unless you want to use it as a weapon. But to talk privately inside I have to keep switching off, then on. As with the Russians – remember?”
“Oh, yes. All hands, I will speak for all of us. If anyone needs to speak to me, attract Zebbie’s attention – “
“Slap my shoulder.”
” – and he’ll give us privacy and confirm it with thumbs-up. Don’t ask for it unnecessarily.”
“Hilda, why these complex arrangements? Here comes someone now; it would be polite to go meet them. In any case, we can open the door to talk – these are not Russians.” I simply could not bear to watch my darling handle this delicate matter with such – well, rudeness!
Was I thanked? “Copilot, pipe down. All hands, we may go upstairs any instant; report readiness for space. Astrogator.”
“Ready, Captain.”
“Chief Pilot.”
“Still ready. Outside audio hot.”
“Copilot.”
“I’m checking this door seal again. Earlier I started to open it. There! Ready for space. Hilda, I don’t think – “
“Correct! But the Chief Pilot did think, and gave me thumbs-up as soon as you started to talk. Pipe down! Chief Pilot, cut in our sender as soon as one of them speaks. Copilot, call me ‘Captain’ as the others do. Protocol applies; I’ll explain family relationships later, when appropriate.”
I resolved not to open my mouth for any reason, feeling quite disgruntled. Disgruntled? I found myself giving serious thought to whether or not Hilda’s temporary and inappropriate authority could do permanent harm to her personality.
But the top of my mind was observing the Lord High Executioner, approaching us flanked by two henchmen. He was wearing a uniform more suited to musical comedy than to the field. Fierce moustaches, sunburn-pink complexion, service ribbons, and a swagger cane completed the effect.
His henchmen were younger, not so fancy, fewer ribbons, and appeared to be sergeants. I could not read the officer’s shoulder straps. A crown, I thought, but was there a pip beside it?
He strode toward us and was ten meters from my door when Hilda said firmly, “That’s close enough. Please tell the Governor General that Captain Burroughs has grounded as directed and awaits his pleasure.”
He stopped briefly and bellowed, “You were not directed to land here! You’re supposed to be at the field! Customs, immigration, health inspection, visas, tourist cards, intelligence -“
I saw Hilda squeeze Zeb’s shoulder. “Quiet!” Her voice came more loudly from outside than from her despite Gay’s soundproofing. Zeb reduced gain as she continued, “My good man, send one of your ratings to the Governor General to deliver my message. While we wait, state your name, rank, and regiment; I shall make formal report of your behavior.”
“Preeeposterous!”
“Behavior ‘unbecoming an officer and a gentleman,'” Hilda said with gentle sweetness, “since you insist. While you won’t tell your name, like a naughty boy, others know it. The Paymaster. The Governor General. Others.” She squeezed Zeb’s shoulder. “Deliver my message!”
“I’m Colonel Brumby, Chief Constable of the Imperial Household, and not your messenger boy! Open up! I’m going to parade you before the Governor General – under arrest!”
Hilda said quietly to Zeb, “Seven” – allowed the Chief Constable to stride two more steps before saying, “STOP!”
My ears hurt.
All three stopped. The old fool braced himself and started again. Hilda must have poked Zeb; he answered with thumbs-up. “Back to normal volume but be ready with that earthquake.”
He nodded; she went on, “Leftenant Colonel, is it not? I don’t see that extra pip. Leftenant Colonel, I warn you for your own safety not to come closer.”
He did not answer, kept coming, took his cane from under his arm. His sergeants followed – slowly, at a respectful distance. Hilda let him reach my door – I could see a network of broken veins on his nose-and for the second time in two days someone started to pound on Gay’s door. He raised his cane –
“Stop that!”
I was deafened. The Chief Constable was missing. The sergeants were a long way back. They stopped running, turned and faced us. I looked down through my door’s port, saw a pair of legs and a swagger cane – inferred a torso.
I turned my head, saw that Zeb had his thumb up. “Captain,” he said, “I disobeyed you.”
“How, Zebbie?”
“I gave him an eight; I wasn’t sure his heart could take a ten. He looks like an old bottle-a-day man.”
“An eight may have been too much,” I commented. “He’s on the ground. Dead, maybe.”
“Oh, I hope not!”
“Unlikely, Captain,” Zeb told her. “Shall I tell his noncoms to come get him?”
“I’ll tell them, Zebbie. Normal level.” Hilda waited until he signalled, then called out, “Sergeants! Colonel Brumby needs help. There will be no more loud noises.”
The sergeants hesitated, then hurried. Shortly they were dragging him away. Presently he came to life, fought them off – sent one chasing back for his cane. The man caught my eye – and winked. I concluded that Brumby was not popular.
There was now a man standing on the entrance stairs. (Perhaps there had been people nearby earlier – but not after the noise started.) Imperial House had its ground floor with no doors on the front side. The first floor was the main floor and was reached by wide, sweeping stairs. The man near the top was small, dapper, dressed in mufti. As Brumby reached him, Brumby saluted, stopped, and they talked. Brumby’s ramrod stiffness spoke for itself.
Shortly the smaller man trotted down the long steps, moved quickly toward us, stopped about thirty meters away, and called out, “In the landing craft! Is it safe to come closer?”
“Certainly,” agreed Hilda.
“Thank you, Ma’am.” He approached, talking as he walked. “I dare say we should introduce ourselves. I’m Lieutenant General Smythe-Carstairs, the Governor hereabouts. I take it you are Captain Burroughs?”
“That is correct, Excellency.”
“Thank you. Although I can’t tell, really, to whom I am speaking. Awkward, is it not, chatting via an announcing system? An open door would be pleasanter, don’t you think? More friendly.”
“You are right, Excellency. But the Russians gave us so unpleasant, so dangerous, a reception that I am nervous.”
“Those bounders. They have been making a bit of fuss over you, on the wireless. That was how I recognized your craft – smaller than they claimed but an accurate description – for a Russian. But surely you don’t think that we British wear our shirt tails out? You will receive decent treatment here.”
“That is pleasing to hear, Excellency. I was tempted to leave. That policeman chap is most unpleasant.”
“Sorry about that. Sheer mischance that he was first to greet you. Important as this colony is to the Empire, no doubt you have heard that being posted to it is not welcome to some. Not my own case, I asked for it. But some ranks and ratings. Now let’s have that door open, shall we? I dislike to insist but I am in charge here.”
Hilda looked thoughtful. “Governor General, I can either open the doors or leave. I prefer to stay. But the shocking treatment by the Russians followed by the totally unexpected behavior of your chief constable causes me to worry. I need a guarantee that our party will be permitted to remain together at all times, and a written safe-conduct for us, signed and sealed by you on behalf of H.I.M.”
“My dear Captain, a captain does not bargain with one who stands in place of and holds the authority of His Imperial Majesty. As a man, and you being a delightful lady, I would be happy to bargain with you endlessly just for the pleasure of your company. But I can’t.”
“I was not bargaining, Excellency; I was hoping for a boon. Since you will not grant it, I must leave at once.”
He shook his head. “I cannot permit you to leave as yet.”
“Gay Bounce. Zebbie, will you try to reach that nice Mr. Bean?”
Zeb had him shortly. “Leftenant Bean heah.”
“Captain Burroughs, Leftenant. Our radio chopped off while you were talking. No harm done; the important part got through. We grounded where you told us to, due south of Imperial House.”
“So that’s what happened? I must admit to feeling relieved.”
“Is your post of duty in Imperial House?”
“Yes, Ma’am. On it, rather. We have a small housing on the roof.”
“Good. I have a message for the Governor General. Will you record?”
“Oh, certainly.”
“This is Hilda Burroughs speaking, Master of Spacecraft Gay Deceiver out of Snug Harbor. I am sorry that I had to leave without saying good-bye. But your last statement forced me to take measures to protect my craft and crew.” My darling Hilda cut the mike. “Zebbie, when you have air, glide away from the city.” She continued, “In a small way my responsibilities parallel yours; I cannot bargain concerning the safety of my crew and my craft. I hope that you will reconsider, as I have no stomach for dealing with the Russians – even though they have more to offer us in exchange. I still ask for safe-conduct but now must ask for a still third item in such a document: that all four of us be allowed to leave at will. You have my name. My second-in-command is Doctor D. T. Burroughs Carter, my chief pilot is Doctor Z. J. Carter, my copilot is Doctor Jacob Burroughs. You will have noticed surnames. Doctor Jacob is my husband; the other two are our daughter and her husband. I am Doctor Hilda Corners but I am much prouder of being Mrs. Jacob Burroughs – although at present I must use ‘Captain Hilda Burroughs’ since I am commanding. Sir, while dictating this I have made a decision. I will not make a second attempt to negotiate with Russians. We will wait thirty minutes in the warm hope of hearing from you… then return to Earth, report to our own government, send a detailed complaint to the Tsar of All the Russias, and make a formal report of our attempt here to His Imperial Majesty. Signed Respectfully yours, H. C. Burroughs, Commanding. Leftenant, what are the full names and titles of the Governor General?”
“Ah, His Excellency Lieutenant General the Right Honourable Herbert Evelyn James Smythe-Carstairs, K.G., V.C., C.B.E., Governor General of the Imperial Realms Beyond the Sky.”
“Preface it formally, please, and I will wait until oh-nine-hundred hours Greenwich time or thirty-six minutes from now. Mark!”
“I will add the heading, Captain, and deliver it by hand.”
After Hilda signed off she said, “I’m going to try to sleep thirty of those thirty-six minutes. Can anyone think of a program that will let all of us nap? This contact is more tiring than I had expected. Jacob, Deety, Zeb – don’t all speak at once.”
“I can, my dear,” I answered.
“Yes, Jacob?”
“Gay Termite.”
To my mild surprise it was night at our creek bank. To my pleasure my first attempt to maneuver by voice was smoothly successful. My daughter’s ingenuity in constructing voiced programs had left me little to do. While I did not resent it (I’m proud of Deety), nevertheless while sitting as copilot, I sometimes wondered whether anyone remembered that it was my brainchild that moved this chariot. Ah, vanity!
To my greater pleasure Hilda clapped her hands and looked delighted. “Jacob! How clever of you! How stupid of me! All right, everyone off duty for a half hour ‘cept the rule about always two and always a rifle. Gay, alert us in thirty minutes. And please unlock the bulkhead door.”
“Aunt Hillbilly, are you going to sleep back there?”
“I had thought of stretching out and inviting Jacob to join me. But the space belongs to you and Zebbie; I was thoughtless.”
“We aren’t going to sleep. But we had better drag those rifles out of that sack or you won’t sleep. I want to empty the oubliette and stow that pesky plastic potty under the cushion of my seat. Durned if I’ll use it when I have the whole outdoors at hand.”
“Most certainly – but stay inside Gay’s lights – and do please remind me before we leave. Deety, I’ve so much on my mind that I forget housekeeping details.”
“Hillbilly, you’re doing swell. I’ll handle housekeeping; you worry about the big picture.”
Hilda cuddled up to me in the after compartment and my nerves began to relax. Would the Governor General relent? Where would we go next? We had a myriad universes to choose from, a myriad myriad planets – but only one was home and we didn’t dare go there. What about juice for Zeb’s car and a thousand other things? Perhaps we should risk Earth-without-a-J. What about the time bomb, ticking away in my darling’s belly?
Hilda sniffed into my shoulder. I patted her head. “Relax, dearest.”
“I can’t. Jacob, I don’t like this job. I snap at you, you argue with me, we both get upset. It’s not good for us – we never behaved this way at Snug Harbor.”
“Then give it up.”
“I’m going to. After I finish the job I started. Jacob, when we lift from this planet, you will be captain.”
“Oh, no! Zeb.” (Hilda my only love, you should turn it over to him now.)
“Zebbie won’t take it. It’s you or Deety, Jacob. If Deety is our next captain, you will back-seat drive even more than you have with me. No, Jacob, you must be captain before Deety is, so that you will understand what she is up against.”
I felt that I had been scolded enough. I started to tell Hilda when that pejorative epithet played back in my mind: ” – back-seat drive -“
I trust that I am honest with myself. I know that I am not very sociable and I expect to go on being so; a man capable of creative work has no time to spare for fools who would like to visit. But a “back-seat driver”?
Some facts: Jane learned to drive before I did – her father’s duo. Our first car, a roadable, coincided with her pregnancy; I got instruction so that I could drive for Jane. She resumed driving after Deety was born but when both of us were in the car, I always drove. She drove with me as passenger once or twice before the custom became established – but she never complained that I had been back-seat driving.
But Jane never complained.
Deety laid it on the line. I don’t know who taught Deety to drive but I recall that she was driving, on roads as well as in the air, when she was twelve or thirteen. She had no occasion to drive for me until Jane’s illness. There was a time after we lost Jane that Deety often drove for me. After a while we alternated. Then came a day when she was driving and I pointed out that her H-above-G was, oh, some figure less than a thousand meters, with a town ahead.
She said, “Thanks, Pop” – and grounded at that town, an unplanned stop. She switched off, got out, walked around and said, “Shove over, Pop. From now on, I’ll enjoy the scenery while you herd us through the sky.”
I didn’t shove over, so Deety got into the back seat. Deety gets her stubbornness from both parents. Jane’s was covered with marshmallow that concealed chrome steel; mine is covered with a coat of sullen anger if frustrated. But Deety’s stubbornness isn’t concealed. She has a sweet disposition but Torquemada could not force Deety to do that which she decided against.
For four hours we ignored each other. Then I turned around (intending to start an argument, I suppose – I was in the mood for one) – and Deety was asleep, curled up in the back seat.
I wrote a note, stuck it to the wind screen, left the keys, got quietly out, made sure all doors were locked, hired another car and drove home – by air; I was too angry to risk roading.
Instead of going straight home I went to the Commons to eat, and found Deety already eating. So I took my tray and joined her. She looked up, smiled, and greeted me: “Hello, Pop! How nice we ran into each other!” She opened her purse. “Here are your keys.”
I took them. “Where is our car?”
“Your car, Pop. Where you left it.”
“I left it?”
“You had the keys; you were in the front seat; you hold title. You left a passenger asleep in the back seat. Good thing she’s over eighteen, isn’t it?” She added, “There is an Opel duo I have my eye on. Tried it once; it’s in good shape.”
“We don’t need two cars!”
“A matter of taste. Yours. And mine.”
“We can’t afford two cars.”
“How would you know, Pop? I handle the money.”
She did not buy the Opel. But she never again drove when we both were in our car.
Three data are not a statistical universe. But it appears that the three women I have loved most all consider me to be a back-seat driver. Jane never said so… but I realize today that she agreed with Deety and Hilda.
I don’t consider myself to be a back-seat driver! I don’t yell “Look out!” or “Watch what you’re doing!” But four eyes are better than two: Should not a passenger offer, simply as data, something the driver may not have seen? Criticism? Constructive criticism only and most sparingly and only to close friends.
But I try to be self-honest; my opinion is not important in this. I must convince Hilda and Deety, by deeds, not words. Long habit is not changed by mere good resolution; I must keep the matter at the top of my mind.
There was banging at the bulkhead; I realized that I had been asleep. The door opened a crack. “Lift in five minutes.”
“Okay, Deety,” Hilda answered. “Nice nap, beloved?”
“Yes indeed. Did you?”
As we crawled out, Deety said, “Starboard door is open; Pop’s rifle is leaning against it, locked. Captain, you asked to be reminded. Shall I take the conn?”
“Yes, thank you.”
We lost no time as Deety used two preprograms: Bingo Windsor, plus Gay Bounce. Zeb had the communication watch officer almost at once. ” – very well. I will see if the Captain will take the message. No over. Hold.”
Zeb looked around, ostentatiously counted ten seconds, then pointed at Hilda.
“Captain Burroughs speaking. Leftenant Bean?”
“Yes, yes! Oh, my word, I’ve been trying to reach you the past twenty minutes.”
“It is still a few seconds short of the time I gave you.”
“Nevertheless I am enormously relieved to hear your voice, Captain. I have a message from the Governor General. Are you ready to record?”
Zeb nodded; Hilda answered Yes; the lieutenant continued: “‘From the Governor General to H. C. Burroughs, Master Gay Deceiver.’ Hurry home, the children are crying. We all miss you. The fatted calf is turning on the spit. That document is signed and sealed, including the additional clause. Signed: “Bertie”‘ – Captain, that is the Governor’s way of signing a message to an intimate friend. A signal honor, if I may say so.”
“Gracious of him. Please tell the Governor General that I am ready to ground and will do so as soon as you tell me that the spot in which we were parked – the exact spot – is free of any obstruction whatever.”
Bean was back in about three minutes saying that our spot was clear and would be kept so. Hilda nodded to Deety, who said, “Gay Parade Ground.”
I had a flash of buildings fairly close, then we were back in the sky. Hilda snapped, “Chief Pilot, get Leftenant Bean!”
Then – c”Mr. Bean! Our spot was not clear.”
“It is now, Captain; I have just come from the parapet. The Governor’s poodle got loose and ran out. The Governor chased him and brought him back. Could that have been it?”
“It decidedly was it. You may tell the Governor – privately – that never in battle has he been so close to death. Astrogator, take her down!”
“GayParadeGround!”
Bean must have heard the gasp, then cheers, while Hilda’s words were still echoing in his radio shack. We were exactly as before, save that the wide, showy steps to the King-Emperor’s residence on Mars were jammed with people: officers, soldiers, civil servants with that slightly dusty look, women with children, and a few dogs, all under restraint.
I didn’t spot the Right Honourable “Bertie” until he moved toward us. He was no longer in mufti but in what I could call “service dress” or “undress” – not a dress uniform – but dressy. Ribbons, piping, wound stripes, etc. – sword when appropriate. Since he was not wearing sword I interpreted our status as “honored guests” rather than “official visitors” – he was ready to jump either way.
He had his wife on his arm – another smart move, our captain being female. His aide (? – left shoulder “chicken guts” but possibly a unit decoration) was with him, too – no one else. The crowd stayed back.
Hilda said, “Chief Pilot – ” then pointed to the mikes, drew her finger across her throat. Zeb said, “Outside audio is cold, Cap’n.”
“Thank you, Gay, lock the bulkhead door, open your doors.”
I jumped down and handed Hilda out, offered her my arm, while Zeb was doing the same with Deety portside. We met, four abreast at Gay’s nose, continued moving forward a few paces and halted facing the Governor’s party as they halted. It looked rehearsed but we had not even discussed it. This placed our ladies between us, with my tiny darling standing tall, opposite the Governor.
The aide boomed, “His Excellency Governor General the Lieutenant General the Right Honourable Herbert Evelyn James Smythe-Carstairs and Lady Herbert Evelyn James!”
The Governor grinned. “Dreadful,” he said quietly, “but worse with ruffles, flourishes, and the Viceroy’s March – I spared you that.” He raised his voice, did not shout but it projected – and saluted Hilda. “Captain Burroughs! We bid you welcome!”
Hilda bowed, returning the salute. “Excellency… Lady Herbert… thank you! We are happy to be here.”
Lady Herbert smiled at being included, and bobbed about two centimeters – a minimum curtsy, I suppose, but can’t swear to it, as she was swathed in one of those dreadful garden-party-formal things – big hat, long skirt, long gloves. Hilda answered with a smile and a minimum bow.
“Permit me to present my companions,” Hilda continued. “My family and also my crew. On my left my astrogator and second-in-command, our daughter Doctor D. T. Burroughs Carter, and on her left is her husband our son-in-law, my chief pilot, Doctor Zebadiah John Carter, Captain U.S. Aerospace Reserve.” Deety dropped a curtsy as her name was mentioned, a 6-cm job, with spine straight. Zeb acknowledged his name with a slight bow.
Hilda turned her head and shoulders toward me. “It gives me more pride than I can express,” she sang, her eyes and mouth smiling, her whole being speaking such serene happiness that it made me choke up, “to present our copilot, my husband Doctor Jacob Jeremiah Burroughs, Colonel of Ordnance A.U.S.”
The Governor stepped forward quickly and held out his hand. “Doctor, we are honored!” His handshake was firm.
I returned it in kind, saying in a nonprojecting voice, “Hilda should not have done that to me. Off campus, I’m ‘Mister’ to strangers and ‘Jake’ to my friends.”
“I’m Bertie, Jake,” he answered in his intimate voice, “other than on occasions when I can’t avoid that string of goods wagons. Or I’ll call you ‘Doctor.”
“You do and it’s fifty lines.” That made him laugh again.
“And I’m Betty, Jake,” Lady Herbert said, in closing in. “Captain Burroughs, may I call you ‘Hilda’?” (Was that a hiccup?)
“Call her ‘Doctor,'” I suggested. “She told on the rest of us. How many doctorates do you hold, dear? Seven? Or eight?”
“After the first one, it no longer matters. Of course I’m ‘Hilda,’ Betty. But, Bertie, we have yet to meet the Brigadier.”
I glanced at the tabs of the officer with the aiguillette and booming voice. Yes, A crown inboard and three pips – But when had Hilda learned British insignia? Many Americans can’t read their own. I am ceasing to be surprised at how many facts can be stuffed into so small a space.
“Sorry. Friends, this is Brigadier Iver Hird-Jones. Squeaky finds things I lose and remembers things I forget.”
“Ladies. Gentlemen. Charmed. Here is something you told me to remember, General.” The Brigadier handed a sealed envelope to his boss.
“Ah, yes!” Smythe-Carstairs handed it to my wife. “The Keys to the City, Ma’am. Phrased as you specified, each of you named, and that third factor included. Signed by me for the Sovereign and carrying the Imperial seal.”
“Your Excellency is most gracious,” Hilda said formally, and turned toward Deety. “Astrogator.”
“Aye, Captain.” Deety placed it in her purse.
Our host looked surprised. “Jake, doesn’t your wife have normal curiosity? She seems to have forgot my name, too.”
Hilda protested, “I haven’t forgotten your name, Bertie. It’s an official matter; I treated it formally. I shall read it when I have leisure to open that envelope without damaging the flap seal. To you this is one of thousands of papers; to me it is a once-in-a-lifetime souvenir. If I sound impressed, it’s because I am.”
Lady Herbert said, “Don’t flatter him, my deah.” (Yes, she had had a couple.) “You’ll turn his head, quite.” She added, “Bertie, you’re causing our guests to stand when we could be inside, sitting down.”
“You’re right, m’dear.” Bertie looked longingly at Zeb’s car.
Hilda played a trump. “Care to look inside, Bertie? Betty, you can sit down here; the captain’s chair is comfortable. Will you do me the honor? Someday I’ll tell my grandchildren that Lady Herbert sat in that very seat.”
“What a charming thought!”
Hilda tried to catch my eye but I was a jump ahead of her, handing Lady Herbert in, making certain that she didn’t miss the step, getting her turned around, making sure that she didn’t sit down on belts. “If we were about to lift,” I told her, while fastening the seat belt loosely (first, moving the buckle – she’s Hilda’s height but my thickness), “this safety belt would be fastened firmly.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t dare!”
“Gangway, Pop! Another customer.” I got out of the way, and Deety installed Brigadier Hird-Jones in her seat. Deety said, “Pop, if you’ll put the Governor in your seat, Zebadiah will take his own and give his two-hour lecture on the care and feeding of spacecraft, while you and I and Hilda hang in the doorways and correct his errors.”
“I’m only up to chapter four,” Zeb said defensively. “Jake, make her quit picking on me.”
“You’re her husband; I’m merely her father. Bertie, I must ask one thing. Don’t touch anything. This car is not shut down; it is ready to go, instantly.”
“I’ll be careful, Jake. But we’re leaving the ladies standing. The Captain herself! This is not right.”
Deety said, “Bertie, I don’t want to sit down. This trip doesn’t give me nearly the exercise I need.”
“But I can’t permit Captain Hilda to stand. Sit here and I’ll stand.” (I appreciated his gallantry but I could see an impasse coming: two people, each aware of her/his prerogatives and they conflicted.)
Hilda avoided it by something she had discovered in working out how to rig a double bed in the control compartment. Although pilots have separate seats, the passenger’s seats are really one, built all the way across but separated by armrests… which could be removed with screwdriver and sweat.
I had eliminated sweat and screwdriver; a natural mechanic, such as Zeb, accumulates miscellaneous hardware. Those armrests could now be removed and clamped out of the way with butterfly nuts. Hilda started to do so; the Brigadier dismounted them once he saw what she was doing.
It was a snug fit, but Hird-Jones has trim hips and Hilda has the slimmest bottom in town (any town).
“An important feature,” said Zeb, “of this design is a voice-controlled autopilot -“

Chapter XXXVII

“Are you open to a bribe?”

Deety:
Zebadiah, for seventeen dull minutes, said nothing and said it very well. During that plethora of polysyllabic nullities, I was beginning to think that I would have to take Pop to a quiet spot and reason with him with a club – when Captain Auntie showed that she needed no help.
Pop had interrupted with: “Let me put it simply. What Zeb said is -“
“Copilot.” Cap’n Hilda did not speak loudly but Pop should know that when she says “Copilot,” she does not mean: “Jacob darling, this is your little wifey.” Pop is a slow learner. But he can learn. Just drop an anvil on him.
“Yes, Hilda?” Aunt Hilda let the seconds creep past, never took her eyes off Pop. I was embarrassed; Pop isn’t usually that slow – then the anvil hit. “Yes, Captain?”
“Please do not interrupt the Chief Pilot’s presentation.” Her tone was warm and sweet: I don’t think our guests realized that Pop had just been courtmartialed, convicted, keelhauled, and restored to duty – on probation. But I knew it, Zeb knew it – Pop knew it. “Aye aye, Captain!”
I concluded that Captain Auntie never intended to stand outside. She had told me to offer my seat to Squeaky and had added, “Why don’t you suggest to your father that he offer his to the Governor?” I don’t need an anvil.
It was a foregone conclusion that Bertie would object to ladies having to stand while he sat. But if he had not, I feel certain that the Hillbilly would have held up proceedings until she was seated where she could watch everyone but our visitors could not watch her.
How tall was Machiavelli?
As they were climbing out the Brigadier was telling me that he understood how she was controlled – but how did she flap her wings? – land I answered that technical questions were best put to the Captain – I was unsurprised to hear Cap’n Auntie say, “Certainly, Bertie… if you don’t mind being squeezed between Deety and me.”
“‘Mind’? I should pay for the privilege!”
“Certainly you should,” I agreed – the Hillbilly’s eyes widened but she let me talk. “What am I offered to scrunch over?” I slapped myself where I’m widest. “Squeaky is a snake’s hips – not me!”
“Are you open to a bribe?”
“How big a bribe?”
“A purse of gold and half the county? Or cream tarts at tea?”
“Oh, much more! A bath. A bath in a tub, with loads of hot water and lots of suds. The last time I bathed was in a stream and it was coooold!” I shivered for him.
The Governor appeared to think. “Squeaky, do we have a bathtub?”
Lady Herbert interrupted. “Bertie, I was thinking of the Princess Suite. My deah, since you are all one family, it popped into mind. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, two bathtubs. The drawing room is gloomy, rather.”
I answered, “Bertie, you didn’t talk fast enough; Betty gets the first ride.”
“Oh, no, no, no! I don’t fly even in our own flying carriage.”
“Hahrooomph!” Squeaky boomed. “Are you still open to a bribe?”
“You might try our captain; she’s as corruptible as I am.”
Aunt Hilda picked it up. “Now that I’ve heard that two bathtubs go with the suite, my cup runneth over. But my husband and my son-in-law have matters to discuss with the Governor’s technical staff. I don’t have to be bribed to offer a few joy rides, Brigadier – one passenger at a time and, as Deety implies, not too wide a passenger.” Aunt Hilda added, “Betty, I must confess my own weakness. Clothes. What I am wearing, for example. A Ferrara original. An exclusive – Mario himself created it for me. While it is intended for salt-water yachting, it is just as practical for space yachting – and I couldn’t resist it. Do you have nice shops here?”
Bertie answered for his wife. “Hilda, there are shops – but Windsor City is not London. However, Betty has a seamstress who is clever at copying styles from pictures in periodicals from home – old but new to us.” He added, “She’ll show you what we have. Now concerning this ride you so kindly offered me – does it suit you to give me an appointment?”
“Is right now soon enough?”

“Report readiness for space. Astrogator.”
“Ready!” I snapped, trying to sound efficient. “Belt tight.”
“Chief Pilot.”
“Belt fastened. Portside door locked, seal checked. Juice zero point seven-one. Wings subsonic full. Wheels down and locked. Car trimmed assuming passenger at six-six kilos.”
“General, is that your mass?”
“Dear me! I think in pounds. The factor is -“
I interrupted. “I’ll take it in pounds here or pounds London.”
“I weigh myself each morning and I have had the scale recalibrated. Eh, with these boots, one hundred forty-five pounds I dare say.”
“Correct to three significant figures, Zebadiah.” (I did not mention that weight bearing on each wheel shows on the instrument board. Let Bertie think my husband a magician; he’s a wizard to me.)
“Thank you, Astrogator. Car is trimmed, Captain.”
“Copilot.”
“Belt fastened. Door seal checked. Continua device ready.”
“Passenger,” said Cap’n Auntie.
“Eh? What should a passenger report?”
“Principally that your belt is secure, but I saw to that myself.” (By using a web belt from our sleeping bag to link Hilda’s seat belt to mine.) “I must ask one question,” Aunt Hilda went on: “Are you subject to motion sickness? The Channel can be rough and so can the Straits of Dover. Did mal de mer ever hit you?”
“Oh, I’ll be right. Short flight and all that.”
“One Bonine, Deety. General, Admiral Lord Nelson was seasick all his life. My husband and I are susceptible; we took our pills earlier today. Deety and Zebbie are the horrid sort who eat greasy sandwiches during a typhoon and laugh at the dying -“
“I don’t laugh!” I protested.
“But these pills enable us to laugh right back. Is this not so, Jacob?”
“Bertie, they work; you’d be a fool not to take one.”
“I must add,” Captain Auntie said sweetly, “that if you refuse, we will not lift.”
Bertie took it. I told him, “Chew it and swallow it; don’t hide it in your cheek. Captain, I think that does it.”
“Except that we are crowded. General, would you be more comfortable if you put an arm around each of us?”
The General did not refuse. It occurs to me that “take him for a ride” has several meanings. Captain Auntie has more twists than a belly dancer.
“Routine has been broken. Confirm readiness, please.” We reported while I snuggled into a firm male arm, realized that it was a pleasant contrast after getting used to my lovely giant.
“Gay Bounce.”
Bertie gasped and tightened his arms around us. Aunt Hilda said quietly, “Astrogator, take the conn. Schedule as I discussed it. Don’t hesitate to vary it. All of us – you, too, General – may suggest variations. This is a joy ride; let’s enjoy it.”
But she had told me earlier: “If I don’t like a suggestion, I will suggest that we do it later – but time will run out. The General told Lady Herbert:
‘I can go down to the end of the town
‘And be back in time for tea!” – so we will fetch him back on time. Sixteen-fifteen local, four-fifteen pip emma. What’s Greenwich?”
I converted it (GMT 12:44) and told Captain Hillbilly that I would watch both board and the clock in my head but was ordered to place an alert with Gay. If Aunt Hilda were a man, she would wear both suspenders and belt. No, that’s wrong; for herself she’s go-for-broke; for other people she is supercautious.
We lifted at 15:30 local and took Bertie for a mixed ride – Aunt Hilda had told me that Pop was feeling left out. “Gay Bounce, Gay Bounce. Chief Pilot, place us over the big Russian city at about a thousand klicks.”
“Roger Wilco,” my husband affirmed. “Copilot, one jump or two?”
“One. Level? Keep ‘er so. Six thousand thirty klicks, true bearing two-seven-three, offset L axis negative oh-seven-four-set!” – and I shuddered; Pop had set to take us through the planet!
“Execute! Bertie, what is the name of that city?”
“Eh? Zeb, I am quite bewildered!” Pop and Gay and Zebadiah, working together, displayed features simultaneously on the planet in front of us and on the sillyscope on the board. Pop bounced Gay around in ways I didn’t know could be done. Zebadiah had Gay rotate the display so that the point on Mars-ten opposite us was always the center of the display with scale according to H-above-G.
I learned a lot. The Russians claim the whole planet but their occupied area closely matches what we had bingo-mapped. Bertie pointed out a bit more Tsarist area; Gay changed the displayed locus to Zebadiah’s interpretation of Bertie’s information. Windsor City was zero Meridan for the British; Gay measured the arc to “Touchdown,” adjusted her longitudes – and now could use any British Martian colonial map.
Bertie assured us that Russian Ack-Ack could not shoot higher than three miles (less than five klicks) and seemed astonished that a spaceship might be considered dangerous. His explanation of spaceships was less than clear – great flimsy things that sailed from orbits around Earth to orbits around Mars, taking months for each voyage.
I was watching the time. “Chief Pilot, we will sight-see with Bertie another day; I am taking the conn. Copilot.”
“Verniers zeroed and locked, Astrogator.”
“Thanks, Pop. Gay B’gout. Bertie, this is where we first grounded – where the Russians attacked us. That trash ahead is what is left of Colonel Morinosky’s private flyer. Zebadiah was forced to retaliate.”
Bertie looked puzzled. “But the Russians have no settlement near here. I know that bounder Morinosky; he came to see me under diplomatic immunity. I had to be content with the sort of nasty remarks permitted by protocol. But how did Zeb burn the flyer?”
“Beautifully. Gay Home. Chief Pilot, dive. Captain?”
“I have the conn,” Aunt Hilda acknowledged. “Bertie, that crater was our home three days ago. They tried to kill us, we fled for our lives.”
“Who!”
“Gay Home, Gay Bounce. Pilots, may we have Earth-without-a-J?”
“Set it, Jake.”
“Tau axis positive one quantum – set!”
“Copilot, execute at will. Chief Pilot, dive again, please. Jacob, please set Bertie’s home universe and hold. Bertie, that house is like Snug Harbor before it was bombed – but one universe away. Zebbie, level glide please… Gay Bounce, Gay Bounce! Jacob, you have that setting?”
“Tau positive ten quanta, set.”
“Execute at will. Bertie, what antiaircraft defense does London – your London – have?”
“What, what? London has no defense against attack from above. The Concord of Brussels. But Hilda – my dear Captain – you are telling me that we have been to a different universe!”
“Three universes, Bertie, and now we are back in your own. Better to show than to tell; it is a thing one believes only through experience. Gay Bounce. Zebbie, Jacob, see how quickly you can put us over London. Execute at will.”
“Roger Wilco. Jake, do you want Gay?”
“Well – great-circle true bearing and chord distance, maybe. Or I can simply take her high and head northeast. The scenic route.”
Aunt Hilda caught my eye. “Camera ready, Deety?”
“Yes. Three shots.” I added, “Four more cartons, but when they’re gone, they’re gone.”
“Use your judgment.”
Suddenly we were in free fall over Arizona, then over the British Isles, then we were air supported, then we were diving and Zebadiah was shouting: “Tower of London, next stop!”
I shot a beauty of the Tower and Zebadiah’s right ear. “General, is there something you would like to photograph here? Or elsewhere?”
He seemed almost too overcome to talk. He muttered, “There is a place about twenty miles north of here, a country estate. Is it possible?”
Aunt Hilda said, “Take the conn, Deety.”
“Got it, Captain. Gay Bounce. Pop, Zebadiah, give me three minima north. Execute at will.”
Then I was saying, “Any landmarks, Bertie?”
“Uh, not yet.”
“Pop, may we have the binoculars?”
Pop handed them aft; I gave them to Bertie. He adjusted them and searched while Zebadiah made a wide sweep, spending altitude stingily. Bertie said, “There!”
“Where?” I said. “And what?”
“A large house, to the right of our course. Ah, now dead ahead!”
I saw it – a “Stately Home of England.” Lawns you make with a flock of sheep and four centuries. “This it?” asked Zebadiah. “I’m steady on it by gunsight,”
“That’s it, sir! Deety, I would like a picture.”
“Do my best.”
“Alert,” said Gay. “Memo for General Smythe-Carstairs: ‘I can go down to the end of the town and be back in time for tea.'”
“Aunt Hilda, Bertie, I left some leeway. Picture! Zebadiah, take it as close as you dare, then bounce, but warn me. I want a closeup.”
“Now, Deety!” I hit it and Zebadiah bounced us.
Bertie let out a sigh. “My home. I never expected to see it again.”
“I knew it was your home,” Aunt Hilda said softly, “because you looked the way we feel when we see the crater where Snug Harbor used to be. But you will see it again, surely? How long is a tour of duty on Mars?”
“It’s a matter of health.” Bertie added, “Lady Her – Betty’s health.”
Pop turned his head. “Bertie, we can bounce and do it again. What’s a few minutes late for tea compared with seeing your old homestead?”
“Bertie’s not late yet, Pop. We can do even better. That lawn is smooth and the open part is about half the size of the p.g. at Imperial House. Bertie, we can ground.”
My husband added, “I could make a glide grounding. But Deety has worked out a better method.”
“No,” Bertie said brusquely. “Thanks, Deety. Thanks to all of you. Jake. Zeb. Captain Hilda. I’ll treasure this day. But enough is enough.” Tears were running down his cheeks, ignored.
Aunt Hilda took a Kleenex from her purse, dabbed away his tears. She put her left hand back of Bertie’s neck, pulled his face down to hers, and kissed him. She didn’t look to see if Pop was watching – he was – she just did it.
Pop said, “Deety, will you hand me the binox?”
“Sure, Pop. See something?”
“I’m going to see what I can of Merrie Old England, as I don’t expect to see it again, either. Family, we are not going back to Snug Harbor again; it’s not good for us. Meanwhile Zeb will drive and you two are to soothe our guest and make him feel better -“
“But remember to wipe off the lipstick.”
“Pipe down, Zeb. You aren’t observant; neither of our darlings is wearing any. Being late is not important; ‘The party can’t start till the Macgregor arrives.’ But once Bertie’s there, he’s on parade – and the Governor must not appear with eyes swollen and tear marks on his collar. We must return him in as good shape as we got him.”
Sometimes I love Pop more than most.
And my husband, too.
I used both hands but didn’t need to; Bertie wasn’t trying to get away. The second time he kissed Hilda, he supplied the hands. Therapy took three minutes and forty-one seconds, and I am certain that, by the end of two hundred twenty-one seconds, Bertie was no longer homesick, not grieving about might have-beens; his morale was tiptop. The last time he kissed me, he informed me without words that I should not be alone with him unless my intentions were serious.
I made mental note. And a second to ask Hilda if she had received the same warning. Then I struck out the second note. I was certain and equally certain that she would fib if it suited her.
But I look forward to the day the Hillbilly asks me to jigger for her. That will be my final promotion – no longer Jane’s little girl in Hilda’s eyes but Jane’s equal, trusted as utterly as she trusted Jane. And I will be rid of the last trace of the shameful jealousy I have for my beloved Mama Jane.
I checked myself in my purse mirror while I waited for them to break – checked both of them and decided that they had no milk on their chins. Bertie said, “Deety, could I possibly have one of those pictures as a remembrance of this perfect day?”
“Certainly. Gay Parade Ground. All three are yours;~we took them for you.” We were exactly on time.

Three hours later I was sitting teat deep in a wonderful tub of hot soapy water, a tub big enough to drown in but I wasn’t going to drown because the Hillbilly was sitting shoulder deep, facing me. We were reliving our day as well as getting beautiful for dinner. Well… sanitary.
Hilda said, “Deety, I tell you three times. Betty is suffering from an ailment made more endurable by Martian conditions.”
“Meaning that in point thirty-eight gee she doesn’t hit hard when she falls down. What was in that teapot no one else touched? Chanel Number Five?”
“Medicine. Prescribed for her nerves.”
“Got it. Official. She’s friendly as a puppy, she’s generous, she’s our hostess – I ought to know better. It’s a shame that she has this ailment but she’s fortunate in having a husband who loves her so dearly that he left home forever so that she can live in lower gravity. Bertie is quite a man.”
“There is nothing for him at home. His older brother has sons; title and estate can’t go to Bertie. He can’t go much higher in the army, and a governor general is senior to anybody; he embodies the Sovereign.”
“I thought that was limited to viceroys.”
“Squeaky put me straight on it. Bertie is viceroy in dealing with Russians. But – Did you notice the uniforms on the maids?”
“I noticed the cream tarts more. White aprons, white caps, simple print dresses, dark blue or black with Indian arrowheads.”
“The Broad Arrow, Deety.”
“Huh? No sabbe, pliz.”
“In this universe Australia belongs to the Dutch. Brace yourself, dear. This is a prison colony.”
Every so often the world wobbles and I have to wait for it to steady down. Somewhat later I said, “A colony could be better than a prison. I can’t see Bertie as a tyrant. Bertie is quite a man. When -“
Hilda reached out, grabbed a chain, flushed the W.C., then leaned toward me. That fixture was a noisy type that went on gurgling and gasping for a long time. “Remember what Zebbie told us when he crowded us into the other bath and turned on everything? One must assume that guest quarters in any government building anywhere are wired. Careful what you say, dear.”
“He also said that he had no reason to assume that it was the case here.”
“But Zebbie was the one who insisted on a conference in Gay… with Jacob being mulish and you yourself seeing no reason not to confer up here.” Aunt Hilda again pulled the chain. “Yes, Bertie is quite a man. Don’t leave me alone with him.”
“Or should I jigger instead?”
“Naughty Deety. My sweet, a bride should refrain at least twelve months out of respect for her husband and to prove that she can.”
“After that it’s okay?”
“Of course not! It’s immoral, disgraceful, and scandalous.” Suddenly she giggled, put arms around my neck, and whispered: “But if I ever need a jigger, Deety is the only person I would trust.”

That conference, immediately after tea, had caused a crisis, brought on by our husbands in concert – but out of tune. The tea had been fun – cream tarts and new men appeal to my basest instincts. A tea qua tea should be over in an hour. We had been there over an hour, which I ignored because I was having fun. Aunt Hilda broke the ring around me, said softly, “We’re leaving.” So we smiled and said good-bye, found our host, and thanked him.
“Our pleasure,” Bertie said. “Lady Herbert became indisposed and wishes to be forgiven but will see you at dinner. Hird-Jones tells me that black tie is no problem. Right?”
He added to let Squeaky know when we wanted help in moving; Hilda assured him that Squeaky had it in hand and the suite was beautiful!
As we left I asked, “Where is Zebadiah?”
“Waiting at the outer steps. He asked me for a conference. I don’t know why, but Zebbie would not unnecessarily interrupt a social event to ask for a closed conference.”
“Why didn’t we go to our suite? And where is Pop?”
“Zebbie specified the car – more private. Jacob is inside, talking with some men. He brushed off my telling him that we were going to the car now – said he would see us later. Deety, I can’t enforce orders as captain under those conditions.”
“Pop is hard to move when he gets into a discussion. I’ve yawned through some deadly ones. But how can we have a conference until he shows up?”
“I don’t know, dear. Here’s Zebbie.”
My husband pecked me on the nose and said, “Where’s Jake?”
Hilda answered, “He told me that he would be along later.” Zebadiah started to curse; Aunt Hilda cut him off. “Chief Pilot.”
“Uh – Yes, Captain.”
“Go find the Copilot, tell him that we lift in five minutes. Having told him that and no more, turn and leave at once. Don’t give him any opportunity to ask questions. Come straight to the car.”
“Aye aye, Captain.”
“Come, Deety.” Hilda hurried to Gay Deceiver, went to her seat, started to belt, She glanced at me. “Astrogator, prepare for space.”
I started to ask why – but instead said, “Aye aye, Captain,” and quickly was belted. “Captain, may I inquire your plans?”
“Certainly, you’re second-in-command. And Astrogator; however, I will take the conn on lifting.”
“Then we really are lifting?”
“Yes. Five minutes after Zebbie returns. That gives Jacob five minutes to make up his mind. Then we lift. If Jacob is aboard, he’ll be with us.”
“Aunt Hilda, you would abandon my father on this planet?!”
“No, Deety. Jacob will probably never notice that the car has been away as it should not be gone more than a few minutes. If Jacob does not come with us, I will ask Zebbie to drop me on Earth-without-a-J. Range-finder and target method; I don’t want to use Zebbie’s precious juice.”
“Aunt Hilda, you sound desperate.”
“I am, dear.” She added, “Here comes Zebbie.”
Zebadiah climbed in. “Message delivered, Captain.”
“Thank you, Chief Pilot. Prepare for space.”
“Roger Wilco.”
“Will you check the seal of the starboard door, please?”
“Aye aye, Captain.”
“Report readiness for space, Astrogator.”
“Belt tight, ready for space. Oh, Aunt Hilda!”
“Astrogator, pipe down. Chief Pilot.”
“Both doors locked, seals checked. Seat belt tight. Power packs, two zeroed, two in reserve. Juice oh-point-seven-one-minus. All systems go. Copilot missing. Ready for space.”
“Captain’s seat belt tight, ready for space. Gay Deceiver.”
“Howdy, Hilda!”
“Please display five-minute countdown. Paraphrase acknowledge.”
“Three hundred seconds backwards in lights.”
“Execute.”
Have you ever listened to three hundred seconds of silence? Neither have I – two hundred eighty-one when Pop pounded on the door.
Aunt Hilda said, “Gay Deceiver, open starboard door.”
Pop climbed in, indignant as an offended cat. “What the hell goes on?”
“Copilot, prepare for space.”
“What? Now, Hilda, that is going too far!”
“Copilot, either secure for space or get out and stand clear. Chief Pilot, see that my orders are carried out.”
“Aye aye, Captain! Copilot, you’ve got zero seconds to make up your mind.” My husband started to unstrap.
Pop looked at Zebadiah, looked at us. I was doing my frozen face to keep from crying and I think Aunt Hilda was, too.
Pop hastily fastened his belt. “You’re a pack of idiots – ” He was checking the door seal. ” – but I won’t be left behind.”
“Copilot, report.”
“Huh? Ready for space.”
Hilda said, “Gay Termite. Gay Deceiver, open your doors.”
“Well, for the love of -“
“Pipe down! Chief Pilot, I have no stomach for charging my husband with mutiny but that is what I have been faced with repeatedly. Will you grant me the boon of resuming command to drop me on Earth-without-a-J? I would rather not have to stay on Mars.”
“Hilda!”
“I’m sorry, Jacob. I’ve tried. I’m not up to it. I’m not Jane.”
“No one expects you to be Jane! But ever since you became captain, you’ve been throwing your weight around. Like calling this stunt in the middle of a party. Insulting our host and hostess – “
“Hold it, Jake!”
“What? See here, Zeb, I’m talking to my wife! You keep -“
“I said ‘Hold it.’ Shut up or I’ll shut you up.”
“Don’t you threaten me!”
“That’s not a threat; that’s a warning.”
“Pop, you had better believe him! I’m not on your side.”
Pop took a deep breath. “What do you have to say for yourself, Carter?”
“Nothing, for myself. But you’ve got your data wrong six ways. One: Captain Hilda did not call this so-called ‘stunt.’ I did.”
“You did? What the devil caused you to do a thing like that?”
“Irrelevant. I convinced the Captain that the matter was urgent, so she gathered us in. All but you – -you told her not to bother you or words to that effect. But she gave you another chance – you didn’t deserve it; you had long since used up your quota. But she did. She sent me back to tell you we were lifting. It finally penetrated your skull that we might lift without you -“
“To this place!”
“If you had been twenty seconds later, we would have translated to another universe. But this nonsense about ‘Insulting our host and hostess – ‘ Your hostess left the tea long before you did; your host left immediately after Hilda and Deety, leaving his aide – the Brigadier – to close shop. But you are so damned self-centered you never noticed. Jake, don’t you lecture me on proper behavior as a guest. The first time I laid eyes on you, you were trying to star a fight in Sharpie’s ballroom -“
“Huh? But I was fully justi – “
“Dreck. No one is ever justified in starting a fight under a host’s roof. The very most that can be justified under extreme provocation is to tell the other party privately that you are ready to meet him at another time and place. Jake, I don’t enjoy teaching manners to my senior. But your parents neglected you, so I must. If I offend you – if you feel entitled to call me out, I will accommodate you at any other time and place.”
Aunt Hilda gasped. “Zebbie! No!” I gasped something like it. My husband patted our hands – together; Hilda was gripping mine. “Don’t worry, dears. I didn’t call Jake out and won’t. I don’t want to hurt Jake. He’s your husband… your father… my blood brother by spilled blood. But I had to chew him out; he’s now entitled to a crack at me. With words, with hands, with whatever. Sharpie, Deety, you can’t refuse Jake his rights. No matter what, he still has rights.”
Pop said, “Zeb, I am not going to call you out. If you think I am afraid of you, you’re welcome. If you think it’s because I know you love both Hilda and Deety, you would be closer. A fight between us would endanger their welfare. As you said, we are blood brothers.” Pop’s tone suddenly changed. “But doesn’t mean I like your behavior, you arrogant punk!”
Zebadiah grinned. “Nolo contendere, Pop.”
“So you admit it?”
“You know Latin better than that, Jake. Means I’m satisfied to let it lie. We can’t afford to quarrel.”
“Mmm – A point well taken. Stipulating that I did not come at once when summoned, and tabling, if you will, until later whether or not I had reason, may I now ask why I was summoned? The nature of this problem that caused you to call this conference?”
“Jake, the situation has changed so rapidly that the matter no longer has priority. You heard Sharpie’s plans.”
My husband looked into Aunt Hilda’s eyes. “Captain, I’ll be honored to drive you wherever you want to go. Drop you wherever you say. With your choice of equipment and wampum. But with a mail drop, I hope. Are you ready to leave?”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Wait a half. You are captain, until you leave us. Orders, Captain? Earth-without-a-J? Or I’ll help you shop others – we might find a world of nudists.”
“Why that, Zebbie? I’m not jumpy about skin – but only among close friends.”
“Remember why Jake was certain that the Finnish mathematician was not a disguised vermin? Sauna. Disguise has limits.”
“Oh.” Aunt Hilda looked thoughtful. “I could get used to it. But I must get out of this tension. So drop me on the minus-J world. A mail drop, yes; I don’t ever want to lose you and Deety.”
“We find that safe place, we pick you up. Sharpie, we’ll be back someday anyhow. If the boogiemen don’t get us.”
“Hold it, Zeb. If you’re dropping Hilda, you’re dropping me.”
“That’s up to Captain Hilda.”
“Hilda, I will not permit -“
“Jake, quit acting the fool,” growled my husband. “She’s boss. With me to back her up.”
“And me!” I echoed.
“You seem to forget that the continua device is mine!”
“Gay Deceiver!”
“Yes, Boss? Who’s your fat friend?”
“‘Number of the Beast.’ Execute.”
“Done.”
“Try your verniers, Jake.”
Pop did something – I couldn’t see his hands. Then he said, “Why, you – So you think you’ve stopped me? Gay Deceiver!”
“Howdy, Jake.”
Zebadiah cut in: “Gay Deceiver override! Emergency Thirty-one execute. Gay can no longer hear you, Jake. Try it.”
“If you can do one, you can do the other. Zeb, I never thought you would be that sneaky.”
“Jake, if you had behaved yourself, you never would have known. Extreme individualists (all of us) don’t take kindly to discipline because they rarely understand its nature and function. But – even before that fake ranger showed up – we all had agreed to ‘lifeboat’ rules. We discussed them and you all claimed to understand them… and I was elected skipper. I nominated you – eldest, senior, inventor of the space-time twister – but you said it had to be me. A lifeboat officer must always be able to enforce his orders… in situations of great peril complicated by hysterical civilians. Or bullheaded ones who must otherwise be wheedled.”
It was time for a diversion; Pop doesn’t like to look foolish and I was still hoping to salvage this shambles. “Zebadiah, is my number fifty-nine?”
“Of course, but it takes my voice. Can you figure the cancel-and-reset?”
“For mnemonic reasons it should be one of three. Probably ninety-five.”
“On the button!”
“Although I would prefer eighty-nine.”
“Why?”
“Work on it. Zebadiah, why did you call this meeting?”
“With Sharpie leaving us the matter is academic. We won’t be coming back to Mars.”
“Oh, dear!”
“What’s the trouble, Sharpie? Captain.”
“I promised Squeaky a ride. Zebbie, could you keep my promise for me? Please? For old times’ sake?”
“Captain, once we lift to drop you on Minus-J, we won’t return. But the Captain still is captain and can give Squeaky that ride in the next thirty minutes if it suits her.”
“May I offer something in my own defense?” Pop put in.
“Of course, Jake. Sorry, Captain; you’re in charge. May the Copilot have the floor?”
“Jacob, even though I find it necessary to leave you… I love and respect you… and will always listen to you.”
“Thanks, darling. Thank you, Captain. I was in that huddle because Brigadier Hird-Jones always remembers. That huddle was the top physical scientists on Mars. A scruffy lot but they get the technical journals and read them, a few months late. I was talking with the top chemist -“
“Well, Jake? Make it march.”
“Zeb, not one knew an isotope from an antelope. You can’t buy juice here.”
“For that you disobeyed a direct order of the Captain? Sharpie, you should have him flogged around the Fleet before you surrender office -“
“Don’t loke, Zebbie.”
“Captain, I am not joking. Jake, that’s no news; I spotted it this afternoon. Sharpie? Deety? In England.”
“I missed it,” Aunt Hilda said. “I don’t know England well.”
“Deety?”
“Well… maybe,” I admitted.
“How?” demanded Pop.
“Little things. No roadables, just horse-drawn vehicles. No air traffic other than a few ornithopters. Coal-fired steam-powered trains of cars. Traffic on the Thames, what little there was, ‘minded me of pictures of Victorian England.”
“Daughter, why didn’t you mention this?”
“You saw it, Pop.”
“Those were my reasons,” Zebadiah agreed. “My hope of getting juiced here dropped to one-tenth of one percent. It is now zero.” Zebadiah sighed. “But that isn’t why I asked the Captain to call us together. Family, there are vermin here.”
The world wobbled again – and so did I.
Aunt Hilda was saying, “How did you learn this, Zebbie?”
“You gals had plenty of company and Jake had the local scientists, so Squeaky gave me his attention. Captain, you told us to stick to the truth -“
“Yes,” agreed Aunt Hilda, “but not to volunteer information.”
“I didn’t volunteer; I was debriefed. Squeaky asked me about the ride we gave his boss; I tried to be vague. Squeaky took a photo from his pocket. ‘The Governor tells me this was taken this afternoon.’ Deety, it was the pic you took of the Thames and the Tower.
“I shortly started giving him a full account rather than have it dragged out. The Governor had told him the works; Squeaky was comparing my version with Bertie’s, looking for holes in a yarn most easily explained by hypnosis, delirium tremens, insanity, or fancy lying. Since no two witnesses exhibit any of these in the same way they can be used as truth tests. Contrariwise, two witnesses who tell exactly the same story are lying. I assume that Bertie and I differed enough to be credible.”
I asked my husband, “Zebadiah, did you explain six-dimensional space to him?”
Zebadiah looked pained. “How could I, when I can’t explain it to me? Anyhow, he’s looking forward eagerly to the ride Captain Sharpie promised him.”
“Oh, dear! Zebbie, will you take a note to him?”
“Captain, we are not coming back after we drop you. I’ll be breaking a date with him, too. Either before or after whatever time suits you, he’s planning to give me – and anyone else who wants to go – a ride to see the vermin. ‘Black Hats.’ Fake rangers.”
(I do wish the world would not wobble!)
Pop said, “Zeb, spill it! Quit stalling.”
“Shut up and listen. Squeaky showed me a scrapbook. Dull as a scrapbook usually is until we came across a page of ‘Black Hats.’ Deety, you would have been proud of me -“
“I am proud of you,” I answered.
” – because I didn’t scream or faint, I showed no special interest. I just said, ‘God in Heaven, Squeaky, those are the horrors that chased us off Earth! You’ve got ’em here?'”
“‘No special interest.'”
“I didn’t climb the drapes. I merely said, ‘Or have you managed to exterminate them?’
“The discussion became confused, as they don’t kill them; they put them to work. Squeaky had to repress amusement at the notion that wogs could be dangerous. He glanced at his watch and said, ‘Come, I’ll show you. Ordinarily we don’t allow wogs in town. But this old fellow takes care of the Governor’s gardens and may not yet have been returned to the pens for the night.’ He led me to a balcony. Squeaky looked down and said, ‘Too late, I’m afraid. No, there it is – Hooly! Chop, chop!’ – and again I didn’t faint. Hooly ran toward us, with a gait I can’t describe, stopped abruptly, threw an open-palm salute and held it. ‘Private Hooly reports!’
“Squeaky let him stand there. ‘This wog,’ he told me, ‘is the most intelligent of the herd. It knows almost a hundred words. Can make simple sentences. As intelligent as a dog. And it can be trusted not to eat the flowers.’
“‘Herbivorous?’ says I, showing off my book-larnin’. ‘Oh, no,’ he tells me, ‘omnivorous. We hunt wild ones to provide the good wogs with a change in diet and, of course, when we slaughter overage wogs, that provides more ration.’
“That’s enough for one lesson, children. Pleasant dreams. Tomorrow the Brigadier will have a roadable big enough for all of us to take us out to meet the Martian natives aka wogs aka ‘Black Hats’ aka vermin – unless that interferes with the ride you aren’t going to give him, in which case he will swap the times around with the visit to the wogs we aren’t going to make. And that, Jake, is the reason I asked the Captain for a family conference. I already knew that artificial isotopes are far beyond this culture – not alone from the ride this afternoon but because I ask questions myself. Squeaky has a knowledge of chemistry about the pre-nuclear level and a detailed knowledge of explosives that one expects of a pro. But to Squeaky atoms are the smallest divisions of mass, and ‘heavy water’ is a meaningless phrase.
“So I knew we would be here just to get Sharpie some clothes and to recharge my packs – since they do have D.C. power. Then I found we had stumbled onto the home of the vermin – and at that point my back didn’t ache at the idea of cranking, and I didn’t think that the Captain was that much in a hurry to buy clothes. So I asked the Captain to call us together in Smart Girl. I did not want to put it off even a few minutes because we were scheduled to move into our suite after tea. To leave at once, before we moved in, would save awkward explanations. Jake, did I have reason to ask for emergency conference?”
“If you had told me -“
“Stop! The Captain told you.”
“But she didn’t explain -“
“Jake, you’re hopeless! Captains don’t have to explain. Furthermore she could not because I did not tell anyone until now. The Captain had confidence in my judgment.”
“You could have explained. When Hilda sent you back to get me. I would have come at once.”
“That makes the ninth time you’ve been wrong in twenty minutes -“
I blurted, “Tenth, Zebadiah. I counted.”
Pop gave me his “Et-tu,-Brute” look.
” – tenth without being right once. I could not have explained to you.”
“Merely because of a group of men?”
“Eleventh. I was not sent back to get you – twelfth. I was under orders to tell you that – quote! – ‘We lift in five minutes.’ Tell you that and no more, then turn and leave at once, without discussion. I carried out my orders.”
“You hoped that I would be left behind.”
“Thirteen.”
I butted in again. “Pop, quit making a fool of yourself! Zebadiah asked you an essential question – and you’ve dodged. Captain Auntie, could we have the doors closed? There might be one of them out there – and the guns are locked up.”
“Certainly, Deety. Gay Deceiver, close your doors.”
Pop said, “Deety, I was not aware that I had been dodging. I thought I was conducting a reasonable discussion.”
“Pop, you always think so. But you are reasonable only in mathematics. Zebadiah asked you whether or not, under the circumstances, did he have reason to ask for a conference? You haven’t answered it.”
“If Hilda had not told him not to -“
“Pop! Answer that question or I will never speak to you again in my life!”
My husband said, “Deety, Deety! Don’t make threats.”
“My husband, I never make threats, either. Pop knows it.”
Pop took a deep breath. “Zeb, under the circumstances you have described, you were justified in asking the Captain for an immediate private conference.”
I let out my breath. “Thanks, Pop.”
“I did it for myself, Deety. Hilda? Captain?”
“What is it, Jacob?”
“I should have gone with you at once when you first asked me to.”
“Thank you, Jacob. But I did not ‘ask’ you; I ordered you. True, it was phrased as a request… but orders of a commanding officer are customarily phrased as requests – a polite protocol. You explained this custom to me yourself. Although I already knew it.” Aunt Hilda turned to look at Zebadiah.
“Chief Pilot, the departure for Minus-J is postponed until late tomorrow. I will give you the time after I have consulted the Brigadier. I want to see one of those vermin, alive, photograph it stereo and cinema, and, if possible, dissect one. Since I intend to remain overnight, I hope to pick up clothes for MinusJ, too – but the reasons for delay are to learn more about vermin and to carry out my commitment to Brigadier Hird-Jones.”
Aunt Hilda paused, continued: “All hands, special orders. Do not remove anything from the car that you cannot afford to abandon. This car may lift on five minutes’ warning even in the middle of the night. You should keep close to me unless you have a guarantee from me of longer time. Tonight I will sleep in the car. If we lift in the night, I will send word to Princess Suite. Zebbie, I will retain the captaincy until we ground on Minus-J. Schedule: Dinner tonight is eight-thirty pip emma local time, about three hours hence. Black tie for gentlemen. Deety suggests that we wear what we wore our wedding night; she has our outfits packed together. The Brigadier will send someone to Princess Suite shortly after eight local to escort us to a reception. I will settle tomorrow’s schedule with him. Jacob, I will slip down to the car after the House is quiet. If someone sees me, I will be running down for a toothbrush. Questions?”
“Captain?” said Pop.
“Copilot.”
“Hilda, must you sleep in the car?”
“Jacob, ’twere best done quickly!”
“I’m begging you.”
“You want me to be your whore one last time? That’s not too much to ask… since you were willing to marry me knowing my thoroughly tarnished past. Yes, Jacob.”
“No, no, no! I want you to sleep in my arms – that’s all I ask.”
“Only that? We can discuss it after we go to bed. All hands, prepare for space. Report!”

I splashed the Hillbilly and giggled. “Cap’n Auntie chum, that flatters me more than anything else you could ever say. While I can’t imagine needing a jigger – if I did – or if I needed any sort of help and it took one who loves me no matter what, you know to whom I would turn. The one who loves me even when I’m bad. Who’s that?”
“Thank you, Deety. We love and trust each other.”
“Now tell me – Did you ever have any intention of sleeping tonight in the car?”
She pulled the chain again. Under that racket she said into my ear, “Deety doll, I never had any intention of sleeping tonight.”

Chapter XXVIII

“He’s too fat.”

Zeb:
Sharpie sat on the Governor’s right with my wife on his left, which gave Jake and me the privilege of sharing Lady Herbert, a loud shout away. The space was filled with mess jackets, dinner coats, and wives in their best. We each had one footman to insure that we did not starve; this platoon was bossed by a butler as impressive as the Pope, who was aided by a squad of noncom butlers. Female servants rushed in and out to serving tables. His Supremacy the Butler took it from there but used his hands only in offering splashes of wine to the Governor to taste and approve.
All were in livery – decorated with the Broad Arrow. The British colony consisted of a) wogs, b) transportees, c) discharged transportees, d) officers and enlisted men, e) civil servants, and f) spouses and dependents. I know even less about the Russian colony. Military and serfs, I think.
The ladies were in Victorian high-style dowdiness, which made Deety and Sharpie birds of paradise among crows. Jump suit and sailor pants had shocked people at tea. But at dinner – Deety wore the velvet wrap she had the night we eloped; Sharpie wore her sunset-shade mink cape; Jake and I unveiled them on the grand staircase leading down to the reception hall. Naw, we didn’t rehearse; we were mysterious strangers, guests of the Governor General and His Lady, so all eyes were upon us. Maids, hurrying up, met us there to take our ladies’ wraps.
I had questioned the propriety of house guests coming downstairs in wraps. Sharpie had answered, “Utterly correct, Zebbie – because I set the style. I did so this afternoon; I shall until we leave.” I shut up; Sharpie has infallible instinct for upstaging.
Have I mentioned how Sharpie and Deety were dressed at Sharpie’s party? They practically weren’t. I wish I had had that hall bugged to record the gasps when Jake and I uncovered our prizes.
These two had last been seen at tea, one in a jump suit, the other in an outfit that looked donated by the Salvation Army, with no makeup. We had been to our suite before tea only for a hasty wash.
But now – Sharpie did Deety’s hair; Deety did Sharpie’s; Sharpie styled both faces, including too much lipstick, which Deety doesn’t often wear. I asked Sharpie if she knew the history and significance of lipstick. She answered, “Certainly do, Zebbie. Don’t bother us.” She went on making Deety beautiful. Deety is beautiful but doesn’t know it because her features have that simple regularity favored by Praxiteles.
Having put too much lipstick on Deety, Sharpie removed some, then carried her makeup onto her breasts so that it disappeared under the dress. Which is pretty far because they saved material on that dress at the top in order to give it a full, floor-length skirt. You can’t quite see her nipples-in the flesh I mean; they generally show through her clothes, always when she’s happy – because Deety stands tall. Her mother had told her, “Deety, if a woman is tall, the answer is to look at least three centimeters taller than you are.”
Deety always believed her mother; she stands tall, sits straight; she never leans or slouches; she can get away with that dress by half a centimeter. I’m not sure of the material but the color is the shade of green that goes best with strawberry hair. That dress, her height, long legs, broad shoulders, a waist two sizes too small setting off breasts two sizes too big – the combo could get her a job as a show girl.
When Sharpie finished gilding Deety I couldn’t see that she had been made up at all… but knew durn well that she did not look the way she had before. Sharpie picked her jewelry, too – sparingly, as Deety had all her pretties with her, her own and those that had belonged to her mother. Sharpie based it on an emerald-and-pearl neckpiece, plus a matching pin and ring.
As for Sharpie, twice my darling’s age and half as big, restraint was not what she used. The central diamond of her necklace was smaller than the Star of Africa.
She wore other diamonds here and there.
Here is something I don’t understand. Sharpie is underprivileged in mammary glands. I know she was not wearing cheaters as I returned to get my tie tied just as Deety was about to lower it onto her. No bra, no underwear. But when that dress was fastened, Sharpie had tits – little ones but big enough for her size. Stuffing built into the dress? Nope. I went out of my way to check.
Is that why some couturiers get such high prices?
Still… the Captain looks best in her skin.
So we uncovered these confections and gave the British colony, male, female, and the others, something to talk about for months.
I can’t say the English ladies were pleased. Their men gravitated toward our darlings like iron filings toward a magnet. However, Betty, Lady Herbert, is sweet all through. She rushed toward us (a bow wave of juniors getting out of her way), stopped short, looked only at our ladies, and said with the delight of a child at Christmas: “Oh, how beautiful you are!” and clapped her hands.
Her voice projected against dead silence, then conversation resumed. Lady Herbert took them, an arm around each, and toured the hall (busting up a receiving line). Brigadier Hird-Jones rolled with the punch, gathered in Jake and me, made sure we met those who had not been at tea.
Shortly before dinner a colonel said to me, “Oh, I say, is it true that the tiny beauty is in command of your ship?”
“Quite true. Best commanding officer I’ve ever had.”
“Haw. Astounding. Fascinating. The taller girl, the strawberry blonde – introduced simply as ‘Mrs. Carter.’ She’s part of your ship’s company. Yes?”
“Yes,” I agreed. “Astrogator and second-in-command. Doctor D. T. Burroughs Carter, my wife.”
“Well! My congratulations, sir.”
“Thank you.”
“I say, Carter, would it be rude of me to ask why the ladies have the senior posts while you and Doctor Burroughs appear to be junior? Or am I intruding?”
“Not at all, Colonel. We each do what we do best. Mrs. Burroughs is not only best as commander; she is also best cook. While we take turns at cooking, I’ll happily volunteer as scullery maid if it will persuade the Captain to cook.”
“Amazing. Could you use a colonel of lancers about to retire? I’m a wonderful scullery maid.”

The dinner was excellent (Irish chef, transported for shooting his landlord) and Lady Herbert was delightful, even though she drank her dinner and her words became increasingly difficult to understand. But any answer would do as long as it was friendly. Jake displayed the charm he can when he bothers and kept her laughing.
One thing marred it. Lady Herbert started to slump and nursing sisters appeared and took her away. What is protocol for this?
I checked Hilda and the Governor; they didn’t seem to see it. I glanced at Hird-Jones; the Brigadier did not seem to see it – but Squeaky sees everything. Ergo: no member of the colony could “see” it.
Someone else gathered the ladies while the gentlemen remained for port and cigars. While we were standing as the ladies left, Hird-Jones leaned close: “Your captain has asked me to tell you that the Governor invites you to join them later in his study.”
I tasted the port, lit the cigar (I don’t smoke – fake it when polite) when the Brigadier caught my eye and said, “Now.” Bertie had left, leaving a stooge, a wit who had them all laughing – that colonel of lancers.
When Jake and I came in, Deety and Hilda were there, with a large man, tall as I am and heavier – Major General Moresby, chief of staff. Bertie stood while waving us to chairs. “Thanks for coming, gentlemen. We are settling tomorrow’s schedule and your captain prefers to have you present.”
The Governor reached behind him, moved out a globe of Mars. “Captain, I think I have marked the places we visited yesterday.”
“Deety, please check it,” Sharpie directed.
My darling looked it over. “The Russian settlements extended almost one hundred fifty kilometers farther east than this borderline shows – ninety-one English miles, seventy-nine nautical miles – call it two and a half degrees.”
“Impossible!” (The bulky Major General – )
Deety shrugged. “Might be a few miles more; all we took were spot checks.”
Jake said, “General Moresby, you had better believe it.”
Bertie stepped in with: “Is that the only discrepancy, Doctor Deety?”
“One more. But there is something I want to ask about. May I borrow a marking pen? Grease pencil?”
Bertie found one; she placed three bingoes in an equilateral triangle, well detached from both zones. “What are these, sir? This one is a village, the other two are large farms. But we did not determine nationality.”
Bertie looked at her marks. “Not ours. Moresby, how long ago did we reconnoitre that area?”
“There are no Russians there! She’s doing it by memory. She’s mistaken.”
I said, “Moresby, I’ll bet my wife’s marks are accurate within two kilometers. How high do you want to go? What is a pound worth here in gold?”
Bertie said, “Please, gentlemen – wagers another time. What was the other error, Astrogator Deety?”
“Our touchdown point. Where we tangled with the Russians. Your memory is off by many degrees. Should be here.”
“Moresby?”
“Governor, that is impossible. Either they did not land there or they had trouble with Russians somewhere else.”
Deety shrugged. “Governor, I have no interest in arguing. Our time of arrival at ‘Touchdown’ just after dawn day before yesterday was fourteen-oh-six in the afternoon Windsor City local time. Six past two pip emma. You saw the remains of that ornithopter today. What did shadows and height of the sun tell you as to local time there, and what does that tell you about longitude from here?” She added, “With one degree of longitude being four minutes of local time difference, you can treat one minute of arc as equal to one kilometer and measure it on this globe. The errors will be smaller than your own error in estimate of local time.”
“Astrogator, I’m not good at this sort of problem. But it was about eight-thirty in the morning where we saw the burned ornithopter.”
“That’s right, Governor. We’ll lay that out as kilometers and see how close it comes to my mark.”
Moresby objected, “But that globe is scaled in miles!”
Deety looked back at Bertie with a half smile, an expression that said wordlessly: (He’s your boy, Bertie. Not mine.)
Bertie said testily, “Moresby, have you never worked with a French ordnance map?”
I’m not as tolerant as Deety. “Multiply by one-point-six-oh-nine.”
“Thanks but we will assume that the Astrogator is correct. Moresby, reconnaissance will cover two areas. Captain, how many spot checks can be made per hour?”
“Just a moment!” Captain Sharpie interrupted. “Has this discussion been directed at the ride I promised Brigadier Hird-Jones?”
“I’m sorry, Ma’am. Wasn’t that clear?”
“No, I thought you were telling General Moresby what you saw today. Isn’t the Brigadier available? I want to settle the time with him.”
Moresby answered, “Madam, that has been changed. I’m taking his place.”
Sharpie looked at Moresby as if he were a side of beef she was about to condemn. “Governor, I do not recall offering this person a ride. Nor has the Brigadier told me that he is not going.”
“Moresby, didn’t you speak to Hird-Jones?”
“Certainly I did, sir. I dislike to tell you but he was not cooperative. I had to remind him that there was rank involved.”
I looked around for somewhere to hide. But Sharpie did not explode. She said sweetly, “Certainly there is, Major General Bores-me. My rank. I am commanding; you are not.” She turned to Bertie. “Governor, I may offer other rides after I keep my promise to the Brigadier. But not to this person. He’s too fat.”
“What! I weigh only seventeen stone – trim for a man with my height and big bones.” Moresby added, “Homeside weight, of course. Only ninety pounds here. Light on my feet. Madam, I resent that.”
“Too fat,” Sharpie repeated. “Bertie, you remember how tightly we were packed yesterday. But even if Bores-me did not have buttocks like sofa cushions, he’s much too fat between the ears. He can’t enter my yacht.”
“Very well, Captain. Moresby, please have Hird-Jones report to me at once.”
“But -“
“Dismissed.”
As the door closed, the Governor said, “Hilda, my humblest apologies. Moresby told me that it was all arranged… which meant to me that he had seen you and Squeaky and arranged the exchange. Moresby hasn’t been here long; I’m still learning his quirks. No excuse, Captain. But I offer it in extenuation.”
“Let’s forget it, Bertie. You used ‘reconnaissance’ where I would have said ‘joy ride.’ ‘Reconnaissance’ is a military term. Did you use it as such?”
“I did.”
“Gay Deceiver is a private yacht and I am a civilian master.” She looked at me. “Chief Pilot, will you advise me?”
“Captain, if we overfly territory for the purpose of reconnaissance, the act is espionage.”
“Governor, is this room secure?”
“Hilda – Captain, in what way?”
“Is it soundproof and are there microphone pickups?”
“It is soundproof when I close that second door. There is one microphone. I control it with a switch under the rug – right here.”
“Will you not only switch it off but disconnect it? So that it cannot be switched on by accident.”
“If that is your wish. I could be lying. Other microphones.”
“It’s accidental recording I want to avoid. Bertie, I wouldn’t trust Moresby as far as I could throw him. I have learned to trust you. Tell me why you need to reconnoitre?”
“I’m not certain.”
“Reconnaissance is to learn something you are not certain about. Something that can be seen from Gay Deceiver – but what?”
“Uh… will you all swear to secrecy?”
“Hilda -“
“Not now, Jacob. Governor, if you don’t want to trust us, tell us to leave!”
Smythe-Carstairs had been standing since turning the rug to remove the switch. He looked down at Hilda and smiled. “Captain, you are an unusually small woman… and the toughest man I’ve dealt with in many a year. The situation is this: The Russians have sent another ultimatum. We have never worried about Russians as we settled halfway around the planet from them and logistics here are almost impossible. No oceans. No navigable streams. Some canals if one enjoys suicide. Both sides have attempted to raise horses. They don’t live long, they don’t reproduce.
“Both sides have ornithopters. But they can’t carry enough or fly far enough. I was startled when you said that they had given you trouble where you had first touched down – and proved it by showing me wreckage of a ‘thopter.
“Any logistics problem can be solved if you use enough men, enough time. Those Russian craft must have, behind them, stockpiles about every fifty miles. If they have the same continuing this way, when they get here, they will wipe us out.”
“Is it that bad?” I inquired. Sharpie said, “Governor, our Chief Pilot is the only one of us with combat experience.”
“Yes,” agreed Jake with a wry smile, “I was awarded rank in lieu of combat. I signed papers.”
Bertie gave the same mirthless smile. “Welcome to the lodge. Twenty years since I last heard a bullet say ‘wheat!’ Now I may be about to lose my last battle. Friends, my rank states that I am qualified to command an army corps… but I have possibly one platoon who will stand and die.”
Jake said, “Governor, this city must be two hundred thousand people.”
“More than that, Jake. Over ninety-nine percent are convicts or discharged convicts or their wives and children. Do you imagine that they are loyal to me? Even if they were, they are neither trained nor armed.
“I have a nominal regiment, a battalion in numbers – and a platoon in strength. Friends, my troops, officers and men, and my civil servants, are, with few exceptions, transportees quite as much as the convicts. Example: An officer with a court staring him in the face can often get the charges dropped by volunteering for Mars. I don’t get murderers. What I do get is worse… for me. The mess treasurer who dips into mess funds because he has a ‘sure thing’ at a racing meet. The – Oh, the devil take it! I don’t get villains; I get weaklings. There are a few good ones. Hird-Jones. Young fellow named Bean. Two old sergeants whose only shortcomings are that one had two wives and, while the other had only one, she wasn’t his. If the Russians get here, they’ll kill our wogs – they don’t domesticate them; they hunt and eat them – they’ll kill anyone in uniform… and transportees will learn that being a serf is worse than being a free man not on the planet of his choice. Squeaky! Where have you been?”
“In the card room, sir. First table to the right.”
“So? How long ago did you get my message?”
“About twenty seconds ago, sir.”
“Hm! How long have you been in the card room?”
“A bit over an hour.”
“I see. Bolt the outer door, close the inner door, sit down.”
Twenty minutes later Sharpie was asking, “Deety, what time is sunrise here?” She indicated a point 30° east of the western boundary of the westernmost of the two loci Bertie wanted investigated.
“In about twenty minutes. Shall I have Gay check it?”
“No. Sunset over here?”
“More leeway there. One hour fifty-seven minutes.”
“Very well. Zeb, those zeroed packs?”
“Being charged, they told me. Ready in the morning.”
“Good. Squeaky, if I get you to bed by oh-two-hundred hours could you take us to the fields about eleven-hundred hours?”
“Oh-eight-hundred, if you wish, Captain Hilda.”
“I don’t wish. This job requires sunlight, so we will work whatever it takes. I intend to sleep late. Bertie, would your kitchen service extend to breakfast in bed about ten ack emma?”
“Tell the night maid. The sideboard in your dining room will be loaded and steaming whenever you say and the day maid will be delighted to bring you a tray in bed.”
“Heavenly! All hands and Brigadier Hird-Jones: Lift in thirty-nine minutes. Car doors open five minutes before that. Questions?”
“Just a comment. I’ll fetch sandwiches.”
“Thank you, Squeaky! Bertie.”
“Eh? Ma’am!”
“Deety and I expect to be kissed good-bye… in case something goes wrong.”

Chapter XXIX

” – we place no faith in princes.”

Deety:
We had a busy night. I had Gay display bingo dots for every stop we made – then circles around any that were supply dumps.
There were indeed supply dumps!
I spent the whole trip thinking: Where would I be if I were a supply dump? Where would ‘thopters have to land? Where could they get more water? Squeaky, Hilda, Pop, Zebadiah – and possibly Gay – were thinking the same thing.
We got back at half after one, the job done. The Hillbilly turned the results over to Squeaky and we went to bed.
Next morning at eleven our “roadable” arrived – without Squeaky. He sent an apologetic note saying that Lieutenant Bean knew what we expected and would add anything we asked for.
Captain Auntie had not taken breakfast in bed. I woke about nine local, found her at work – packing her dress clothes and Pop’s back into plastic pillow covers, then into a borrowed portmanteau. Our fresh laundry, given to us by the night maid on our return, was in another piece of borrowed luggage.
The Hillbilly was on her knees in our drawing room. She looked up, smiled and said, “Good morning. Better slide into your jump suit, dear; maids come in and out rather casually.”
“Doesn’t bother me, I’ve been caught twice already -“
“But it bothers them. Not kind, dear, with servants. Especially with involuntary servants. They’ll be in to load the sideboard any moment. Will you fetch yours and Zebbie’s dress clothes here? I’ll pack for you.”
“I’ll pack ’em, thanks. I was thinking about sliding back into bed with a nice warm man but your mention of food changed my mind. Hillbilly, what’s the rush?”
“Deety, I’m carrying out my own orders. When I brush my teeth after breakfast, the toothbrush goes into my purse. As for the rush, our husbands will wake soon. I have found that it is more practical to present a man with a fait accompli than a discussion.”
“I hear you three times, doll baby. When they get up, they’ll want to eat. When our roadable shows up, they’ll be sitting over second cups of coffee. Then they’ll say, ‘We’ll do it when we come back. Mustn’t keep the Brigadier waiting.’ Okay, I’ll grab our gear and we’ll sneak it out before they wake. I’ll carry the heavy ones.”
“We are not permitted to carry anything, Deety. But the place is swarming with maids. You sound much married.”
“Five years’ practice on Pop. But, Hillbilly, even Pop is easy to handle if you think ahead.”
“I’m learning. Deety, what shall we do about the maids?”
“Huh?”
“In the days when servants were common, it was polite for house guests to tip servants who served them personally. But how, Deety? I have two twenty-five-newdollar bills in the lining of my purse. Waste paper.”
“Pop and Zebadiah have gold. I know exactly because it was mass enough that I had to figure it into the loading, mass and moment arm. Here’s a giggle. These misers we married had each squirreled away the same weight of gold to four significant figures. So maids are no problem if you know how much to tip – I don’t. We’ll be buying local money today to pay for a number of things.”

“Leftenant” Bean – or “Brian” – is a delightful fuzzy puppy and a volunteer in order to have served “Beyond the Sky.” He managed to call me “Deety” and Zebadiah “Zeb” when invited, but he could not bring himself to shift from “Captain Burroughs” to “Hilda” – “Captain Hilda” was as far as he would go, and Pop was “Professor.”
He was pleased that we liked his “roadable.” You wouldn’t believe it! A large, wooden flatbed wagon with an upright steam engine in back; a trailer with cordwood; a sailing-ship’s wheel in front of the engine; this controlled the front wheels by ropes that ran underneath. Midway was a luggage pen, then in front were four benches, for twelve to sixteen people.
With a crew of five!
Engine driver, fireman, conductor, and two steersmen –
The conductor sat on a high perch braced to the pen and told the others what to do and occasionally rang a bell or blew a whistle. The bell told other traffic to get out of the way; the whistle warned that the vehicle was about to start or stop. There was much traffic but few “roadables” – most common were pedalled tricycles, for passengers and freight. Large versions had as many as a dozen men pedalling at once.
“I daresay you know,” said Brian, “that we have not been able to raise horses. We haven’t given up – we will develop a breed that will prosper here. But once we have horses, this will, I venture to predict, become a proper colony – and not just a place to send reformable evildoers and to obtain raw pharmaceuticals.”
“Pharmaceuticals?”
“Oh, definitely! The thing that makes the colony self-supporting. I daresay the descendants of these convicts will be wealthy. I will show you the fields – all in the weed – a cant word for Cannabis Magnifica Martia – except acreage for food crops. Brigadier Hird-Jones suggested Norfolk Plantation.” He smiled. “Shall we?”
“Just a moment,” Aunt Hilda said. “If I understood the Brigadier’s note, we can vary the program?”
“Captain Hilda, the carriage and I are at your disposal as long as you wish. My orders and my pleasure.”
“Brian, I have clothing being made up. I was told that sewing would continue through the night. Where should we go to inquire?”
“Here and now. I fancy I saw a package being delivered while we’ve been chatting; it could be yours. It would go to the chief housekeeper, who would have it placed in your digs – the Princess Suite, is it not?”
“Yes. Brian, I’ll slip upstairs and see.”
“Please, no!” Brian made a small gesture; a private soldier appeared out of nowhere. “Smathers, my greetings to Mrs. Digby. Has a package arrived for Captain Burroughs?”
“Sir!”
“Hold it! Brian, if it has arrived, I want it fetched here.”
I could see the look in Brian’s eye that Pop gets just before he starts demanding explanations for female “unreasonable” behavior. But Brian simply added, “If the package has arrived, tell Mrs. Digby that it must be delivered here at once. Double time, so to speak.”
“Sir!” The private stomped an about-face and broke into a run. Hilda said, “Thank you, Brian. If I place it in our craft, it is one less detail to remember. Your kindness eases my mind.”
“A pleasure, Captain Hilda.”
“Hilda, that clothing is not yet paid for.”
“Oh, dear! You are right, Jacob. Leftenant, where does one exchange gold for local money? Do you know the rate of exchange? In grams?”
“Or in Troy ounces,” I added.
Brian behaved as if he had not heard us. He turned toward his “roadable.” “Parkins! Take a turn around the circle! When you return, I want that steam up high. So that we won’t creep in starting.”
“Roight, sir.” The wagon moved off, at a headlong slow walk.
When no one else was in earshot Brian said quietly, “I missed what you Were saying because of engine noise. But let me mention in passing that Possession of gold by individuals is not permitted so I-am-happy-to-learn-that-you-have-none,” he said, not letting himself be interrupted. “Let me add,” he went on, “that since I handle secret and most-secret despatches, I know things that I don’t know, if I make my meaning clear. For example, I am grateful that you four were willing to lose sleep last night. Others feel strong obligations to such good friends. The Brigadier mentioned that you might have purchases to make or bills to pay. I was instructed to charge anything you need or want – or fancy – to the Imperial Household, signing his name and appending my signature.”
“Oh, that’s most unfair!”
“Truly, Captain? I fancy that those in authority will find something to add until you feel that you have been treated generously.”
“That’s not what she means, son,” put in Pop. “‘Unfair’ in the opposite direction. We pay for what we get.”
Brian lost his smile. “May I suggest that the Professor discuss that with the Brigadier? I would find it extremely embarrassing to have to report to the Brigadier that I was unable to carry out his orders.”
“Captain.”
“What, Deety?”
“I am required to advise you.”
“Advise away, my dear. I see my packages coming.”
“Captain Auntie, you’ve got a bear by the tail. Let go.”
The Hillbilly grinned and stuck out her tongue at me, then turned to Brian. “The Brigadier’s thoughtful arrangements are appreciated. We accept.”
It was still a few minutes before we left, as it turned out that Zebadiah’s power packs were ready, in the hands of the Household engineer. At last Hilda’s clothes and the power packs were in Gay; we boarded the char-à-banc, and whizzed away at 10 km/hr. “Norfolk Plantation, Captain Hilda?”
“Brian, at what time did you breakfast?”
“Oh, that’s not important, Ma’am.”
“Answer my question.”
“At oh-seven-hundred hours, Captain.”
“So I suspected. You eat at Imperial House?”
“Oh, no, Captain Hilda, only the most senior of the Governor’s official family eat there. I eat at the officers’ club.”
“I see. We’ll see wogs last. I am told there is a commissary. Is it open to us?”
“Captain Hilda, everything is open to you.”
“I must buy supplies. Then I wish to go to the best restaurant in Windsor City and watch you eat a proper luncheon; we ate breakfast three hours later than you did.”
“But I’m hungry,” said my husband. “I’m a growing boy.”
“Poor Zebbie.”

There was not much to buy that would keep. I bought a tin of Huntley & Palmer’s biscuits and quite a lot of Dutch chocolate – quick energy for growing boys – and tightly packaged staples.
Brian had us driven to that restaurant just past noon. I was glad that Aunt Hilda had decided to get everything else done before we went to look at vermin. Even so, I did not have much appetite – until I decided to stand up and forthrightly turn coward. Not look at vermin! Cui bono? Aunt Hilda was the expert.
That restored my appetite. We stopped across the parade ground from Imperial House. We twigged in this order – Zebadiah, Pop, me, Aunt Hilda – that it was the officers’ club. She was several meters inside when she stopped. “Brian, what are we doing here?”
“The Captain said ‘ – the best restaurant – ‘. The club’s chef was executive chef at Claridge’s until he ran into misfortune. Don’t look at me that way, Captain Hilda; the Brigadier picks up the chit; it’s charged against ‘official visitors’ and winds up in London against H.I.M.’s Civil List. Believe me, His Majesty gets paid more than leftenants, or even brigadiers.”
But the president of the mess signed the chit – a colonel who told the Hillbilly that he was buying her lunch because he wanted to ship with us as scullery maid.

I was telling Aunt Hilda that I would skip vermin viewing, thank you, when I did. One. Then six. Then a whole field of them. I was explaining to God that I didn’t like this dream so please let me wake up when Brian had the conductor halt the contraption and I saw that there were men in that field, too. The men carried whips; vermin were muzzled. This one vermin – well, “wog” – this wog had managed to pull its muzzle aside and was stuffing this weedy plant into its mouth… when a whip cracked across its naked back.
It cried.
The field on the other side of the road was not being worked, so I stared at it, After a while I heard Brian say, “Captain Hilda, you are serious, really?”
“Didn’t the Brigadier authorize it?”
“Ah, yes. I thought he was pulling my leg. Very well, Ma’am.”
I had to see what this was all about… and discovered that muzzled vermin, afraid of men with whips, weren’t frightening; they were merely ugly. Aunt Hilda was taking pictures, movies and stereo. Brian was talking to a man dressed like any farmer except for the Broad Arrow.
Brian turned and said, “Captain Hilda, the foreman asks that you point out the wog you want to dissect.”
Aunt Hilda answered, “There has been a mistake.”
“Ma’am? You don’t want to dissect a wog?”
“Leftenant, I was told that one or more died or was slaughtered each day. I want to dissect a dead body, in an appropriate place, with surgical instruments and other aids. I have no wish to have one of these poor creatures killed.”
We left shortly. Brian said, “Of the two, the abattoir and the infirmary, I suggest the latter. The veterinarian is a former Harley Street specialist. By the bye, there is no case of humans contracting disease from these brutes. So the infirmary isn’t dangerous, just, ah, unpleasant.”
We went to the wog hospital. I did not go inside. Shortly Pop came out, looking green. He sat beside me and smiled wanly. “Deety, the Captain ordered me outside for fresh air – and I didn’t argue. Aren’t you proud of me?”
I told him that I’m always proud of my Pop.
A few minutes later Brian and Zebadiah came out, with a message from Hilda that she expected to work at least another hour, possibly longer. “Captain Hilda suggests that I take you for a drive,” Brian reported.
The drive was only as far as the nearest pub; the sillywagon was sent back to wait for the Hillbilly. We waited in the lounge, where Pop and Brian had whisky and splash, and Zebadiah ordered a “shandygaff” – so I did, too. It will never replace the dry martini. I made it last till Aunt Hilda showed up.
Brian asked, “Where now, Captain Hilda?”
“Imperial House. Brian, you’ve been most kind.”
I said, “Cap’n Auntie, did you whittle one to pieces?”
“Not necessary, Deetikins. They’re chimpanzees.”
“You’ve insulted every chimp that ever lived!”
“Deety, these creatures bear the relation to ‘Black Hats’ that a chimpanzee does to a man. The physical resemblance is closer, but the difference in mental power – Doctor Wheatstone removed the brain from a cadaver; that told me all I needed to know. But I got something that may be invaluable. Motion pictures.”
Zebadiah said, “Sharpie, you took motion pictures in the fields.”
“True, Zebbie. But I have with me the Polaroids you took for me at Snug Harbor; some show the splints that creature used to disguise its extra knees and elbows. Doctor Wheatstone used surgical splints to accomplish the same with one of his helpers – a docile and fairly intelligent wog that didn’t object even though it fell down the first time it tried to walk while splinted. But it caught on and managed a stiff-legged walk just like that ranger – and like ‘Brainy’ now that I think about it – then was delighted when Doctor Wheatstone dressed it in trousers and an old jacket. Those pictures will surprise you. No makeup, no plastic surgery, a hastily improvised disguise – from the neck down it looked human.”
When we reached Imperial House, we transferred packages into Gay Deceiver – again were not permitted to carry; Brian told the conductor, the conductor told his crew. We thanked them, thanked Brian as we said good-bye, and Aunt Hilda expressed a hope of seeing him soon and we echoed her – me feeling like a hypocrite.
He saluted and started toward the officers’ club. We headed for the big wide steps. Aunt Hilda said, “Deety, want to share some soap suds?”
“Sure thing!” I agreed.
“Whuffor?” asked Zebadiah. “Sharpie, you didn’t get a spot on you.”
“To remove the psychic stink, Zebbie.”
“Mine isn’t psychic,” I said. “I stink, I do.”
But damn, spit, and dirty socks, we had hardly climbed into that tub when a message arrived, relayed by my husband, saying that the Governor requested us to call at his office at our earliest convenience. “Sharpie hon, let me translate that, based on my eighty years man and boy as flunky to an ambassador. Means Bertie wants to see us five minutes ago.”
I started to climb out; Aunt Hilda stopped me. “I understood it, Zebbie; I speak Officialese, Campusese, and Bureaucratese. But I’ll send a reply in clear English, female idiom. Is a messenger waiting?”
“Yes, a major.”
“A major, eh? That will cost Bertie five extra minutes. Zebbie, I learned before you were born that when someone wants to see me in a hurry, the urgency is almost never mutual. All right, message: The commanding officer of Spacecraft Gay Deceiver sends her compliments to the Governor General and will call on – him at her earliest convenience. Then give the major a message from you to Bertie that you happen to know that I’m taking a bath and that you hope I’ll be ready in twenty minutes but that you wouldn’t wager even money on thirty.”
“Okay. Except that the word should be ‘respects’ not ‘compliments.’ Also, the major emphasized that he wants to see all of us. Want Jake and me to keep Bertie happy until you are ready?” Pop had his head in the door, listening. “We wouldn’t mind.” Pop nodded.
“Zebbie, Zebbie! After four years under my tutelage. Until I know what he wants I can’t concede that he is senior to me. ‘Compliments,’ not ‘respects.’ And no one goes until I do… but thank you both for the offer. Two more things: After giving the major my message, will you please find my clothes, all but Deety’s Keds, and take them to the car? That’s Jacob’s shirt, Deety’s sailor pants, a blue belt, and a blue hair ribbon. In the car you will find new clothes on my seat. In one package should be three jump suits. Please fetch one back.”
Pop said, “Hilda, I’d be glad to run that errand. Run it twice, in fact, as you don’t want to send down what clothes you have until you know that your new clothes fit.”
“Jacob, I want you right here, to scrub our backs and sing for us and keep us amused. If that jump suit does not fit, I may appear in a bath towel sarong. But I plan to appear a minute early to make Bertie happy. Do not tell the major that, Zebbie! Officially it is twenty minutes with luck, thirty minutes more likely, could be an hour, Major; you know how women are. Got it all?”
“Roger Wilco. Sharpie, someday they’ll hang you.”
“They will sentence me to hang but Jacob and you will rescue me. Trot along, dear.” Aunt Hilda started to get out. “Stay there, Deety. I’ll give you three minutes’ warning – two to dry down, one to zip into your jump suit. Which leaves ten minutes to relax.”

The jump suit did fit; the Hillbilly looked cute. We left not a thing in that suite because Aunt Hilda checked it while waiting for Zebadiah. A few items went into my purse or hers. It was eighteen minutes from her message to our arrival at the Governor’s office – and I had had a fifteen-minute tub, comfy if not sybaritic.
Besides Bertie and the Brigadier, that fathead Moresby was there. Aunt Hilda ignored him, so I did. Bertie stood up. “How smart you all look! Did you have a pleasant day?” The poor dear looked dreadful – gaunt, circles under his eyes.
“A perfect day – thanks to you, thanks to the Brigadier, and thanks to a curly lamb named Bean.”
“A fine lad,” Squeaky boomed. “I’ll pass on your word, if I may.” The Brigadier did not look fresh; I decided that neither had been to bed.
Bertie waited until we were seated, then got to business. “Captain Burroughs, what are your plans?”
Aunt Hilda did not answer his question. She glanced toward Major General Moresby, back at Bertie. “We are not in private, Excellency.”
“Hmm – ” Bertie looked unhappy. “Moresby, you are excused.”
“But -“
“Dismissed. You have work to do, I feel sure.”
Moresby swelled up but got up and left. Squeaky bolted the outer door, closed the inner door, while Bertie stood up to lift the rug over his recorder switch. Aunt Hilda said, “Don’t bother, Bertie. Record if you need to. What’s the trouble, old dear? Russians?”
“Yes. Hilda, you four are refugees; yesterday you showed me why. Would you care to remain here? My delegated power is sufficient that I can grant naturalization as fast as I can sign my signature.”
“No, Bertie. But we feel greatly honored.”
“I expected that. Do reconsider it. There are advantages to being a subject of the most powerful monarch in history, in being protected by a flag on which the Sun never sets.”
“No, Bertie.”
“Captain Hilda, I need you and your ship. Because of millions of miles of distance, many months required for a message, I hold de jure viceregal power almost equal to sovereign… and de facto greater in emergency because no Parliament is here. I can recruit foreign troops, arm them, make guarantees to them as if they were British, award the King-Emperor’s commission. I would like to recruit all of you and your ship.”
“No.”
“Commodore for you, Captain for your second-in-command, Commander for your Chief Pilot, Lieutenant Commander for your Copilot. Retirement at full pay once the emergency is over. Return of your purchased ship as a royal gift after the emergency. Compensation for loss or damage.”
“No.”
“One rank higher for each of you?”
“All four of us must be at least one rank senior to Major General Moresby.”
“Hilda! That’s my own rank. Equivalent rank – Vice Admiral.”
“Bertie, you can’t hire us as mercenaries at any rank or pay. That hyperbole was to tell you that we will not place ourselves under your chief of staff. That settled, what can we do to help you?”
“I’m afraid you can’t, since you won’t accept the protection under international law of military status. So I’m forced to cut the knot. Do you understand the right of angary?”
(I thought he said “angry” and wondered.)
“I believe so. Are Great Britain and the Russias at war?”
“No, but there are nuances. Shall I call in my legal officer?”
“Not for me. My own legal officer is here: Doctor Zebadiah Carter, my consultant in international law.”
“Doctor Carter – oh, fiddlesticks! My friend Zeb. Zeb, will you discuss the right of angary?”
“Very well, Governor. One nuance you had in mind was that, in addition to wartime, it applies to national emergency – such as your current one with the Russians.”
“Yes!”
“Angary has changed in application many times but in general it is the right of a sovereign power to seize neutral transport found in its ports or territory, then use same in war or similar emergency. When the emergency is over, seized transport must be returned, fair rentals must be paid, loss or damage requires compensation. It does not apply to goods or chattels, and most especially not to persons. That’s the gist. Do we need your legal officer?”
“I don’t think so. Captain Burroughs?”
“We don’t need him. You intend to requisition my craft?”
“Captain… I must!” Bertie was almost in tears.
“Governor, you are within your legal rights. But have you considered how you will drive it?”
“May I answer that, Governor?”
“Go ahead, Squeaky.”
“Captain Hilda, I have an odd memory. ‘Photographic’ it is called but I remember sounds as automatically. I am sure I can fly every maneuver used last night – that is to say: sufficient for our emergency.”
I was seething. But Aunt Hilda smiled at the Brigadier and said in her sweetest voice: “You’ve been most thoughtful throughout our stay, Squeaky. You are a warm, charming, hospitable, bastardly fink. One who would sell his wife to a Port Saïd pimp. Aside from that you are practically perfect.”
“Doubled and redoubled!” (That was my Pop!) “Later on, Jones, I’ll see you at a time and place of your choosing. Weapons or bare hands.”
“And then I will see you, if Jake leaves anything.” My husband flexed his fingers. “I hope you choose bare hands.”
Bertie interrupted. “I forbid this during this emergency and after it in territory where I am suzerain and while Hird-Jones holds the Sovereign’s commission under my command.”
Aunt Hilda said, “You are legally correct, Bertie. But you will concede that they had provocation.”
“No, Ma’am! Hird-Jones is not at fault. I tried to get you and your crew to fly it on any terms at all. You refused. Hird-Jones may kill himself attempting to fly a strange flyer. If so he will die a hero. He is not what you called him.”
“I don’t think well of you, either, Bertie. You are a thief – stealing our only hope of a future.”
“He certainly is!” I cut in. “Governor, I can whip you – I can kill you, with my bare hands. I’m Black-Belt three ways. Are you going to hide behind your Commission and your self-serving laws?” I dusted my hands together. “Coward. Two cowards, with their chests covered with ribbons boasting about their brave deeds.”
“Astrogator.”
“Captain.”
“Let it drop. Bertie, under right of angary we are entitled to remove our chattels. I insist on a witness so that you will know that we have done nothing to damage the craft. If the Brigadier can drive it, it will be turned over to him in perfect shape. But my jewelry is in our craft and many other things; I must have a witness. You, sir. My stepdaughter can certainly kill you or anyone her size or a bit more than her size, with her bare hands. But I grant you safeconduct. Will you have it in writing?”
Bertie shook his head. “You know I can’t take time to witness. Pick anyone else.”
“I won’t grant safe-conduct to anyone else. Anyone who has not ridden with us would not know how to watch for sabotage. So it must be either you or Hird-Jones… and Hird-Jones would never live to get out of our car. He has three of the deadliest killers in two universes quite annoyed. Angry over angary.”
“Any of you who will not give parole must wait up here.”
“Wait a half, Gov,” my husband drawled. “‘Parole’ applies to prisoners. Captain, this might be a good time to read aloud our safe-conduct from the Governor General. See how many ways this fake ‘officer and gentleman’ has broken his word – and the written guarantees of his sovereign. He has broken all three essential guarantees to all four of us. That’s twelve. Almost a Russian score. Safe-conduct amounting to diplomatic immunity, all of us free to leave at any time, we four never to be separated involuntarily. Now he wants hostages. Pfui!”
“None is broken,” Bertie asserted.
“Liar,” my husband answered.
“All of you are safe here… until the Russians conquer us. I slipped in speaking of parole; you are not prisoners. You all may stay together – living in the Princess Suite if you so choose. If not, in any quarters you choose in territory I control. You are all free to leave at any moment. But you must not approach that requisitioned flyer. Captain, your jewels will be safe. But others will unload the flyer.”
“Bertie -“
“What? Yes… Hilda?”
“Dear, you are both stubborn and stupid. You can’t open the doors of our car, much less drive it. Attempt to force it open and no one will ever drive it. I conceded the legality of the right of angary. But you insist on making it impossible to apply it. Accept my safe-conduct and come witness or there that car sits until the Russians come, while we live in luxury in this palace. You know that ‘the right to leave at any time’ means nothing without our transport. Now, for the last time, will you do it my way… or will you waste the precious minutes of a war crisis trying to open that car by yourself? Make up your mind, this offer will not be repeated. Answer Yes or No… and be damned quick about it!”
Bertie covered his face with his hands. “Hilda, I’ve been up all night. Both Squeaky and I.”
“I know, dear. I knew when we came in. So I must help you make up your mind. Deety, check your purse. Something is missing.”
I hastily checked, wondering what she meant. Then I noticed that a secret pocket that should have been hard was not. “Oh! Do you have it?”
“Yes, Deety.” Aunt Hilda was seated, her choice, so that she had both Bertje and Squeaky in her line of fire – and none of us. “I mentioned three killers. Now you have four facing you… in a soundproofed room with its door bolted from inside.” (I never saw her draw my Skoda gun. But she was holding it on them.) “Bertie, I’m making up your mind for you. You are accepting my safe-conduct. Consider how poor the chances are that anyone would find your bodies in the time it takes us to run down one flight and reach our car.”
Squeaky lunged at Hilda. I tripped him, kicked his left kneecap as he fell, then said, “Don’t move, Fink! My next kick is a killer! Captain, has Bertie come to his senses? Or shall I take him? I hate to kill Bertie. He’s tired and worried and not thinking straight. Then I would have to kill Squeaky. He can’t help his eidetic memory, any more than I can help this clock in my head. Squeaky, did I break your kneecap? Or can you walk if I let you get up?”
“I can walk. You’re fast, Deety.”
“I know. Captain. Plans?”
“Bertie, you are accepting my safe-conduct. We are all going out together, we four around you two, laughing and talking and heading for our car – and if anyone gets close, you two are dead. One of you will get it with this -“
“And the other with this.” (My husband, with his stubby police special – )
“Why, Zebbie! How naughty of you! Jacob, do you have a holdout too?”
“Just this – ” Pop now had his hunting knife.
“Deety?”
“Did have. You’re holding it. But I still have five weapons.”
“Five?”
“Both hands, both feet, and my head. Squeaky, I must frisk you. Don’t wiggle… or I’ll hurt you.” I added, “Stop easing toward your desk, Bertie. You can’t kill four of us before we kill you. Pop, don’t bother with the gun, or trap, or whatever, in Bertie’s desk, Let’s get out of here, laughing and joking, as the Captain ordered. Oh, Squeaky, that didn’t hurt! Captain, shall I let him up?”
“Brigadier Hird-Jones, do you honor the safe-conduct granted to us by your commanding officer?” Aunt Hilda asked.
“Brigadier, I order you to honor it,” Bertie said grimly.
Maybe Squeaky had to catch his breath; he was a touch slow. “Yes, sir.”
Aunt Hilda said, “Thanks, Squeaky. I’m sorry I had to say harsh things to you… but not having muscles I must fight with words. Zebbie, frisk Bertie. But quickly; we leave now. I leave first, on Bertie’s arm. Deety follows, on Squeaky’s arm – you can lean on her if you need to; she’s strong. Help him up, Deety, Jacob and Zebbie trail along behind. Bertie, if anyone gets close to us, or either you or Squeaky try to signal anyone, or if anything is pointed at us – first you two die. Then we four die; that’s inevitable. But we’ll take some with us. What do you think the total may be? Two… and four… then five? Six? A dozen? Or higher?”

It took us forty-seven seconds to the bottom of the steps, thirty-one more to Gay Deceiver, and I aged seventy-eight years. Squeaky did lean on me but I made it look the other way around and he managed to smile and to sing with me: Gaudeamus Igitur. Hilda sang The Bastard King to Bertie which seemed both to shock him and make him laugh. The odd way she held his arm told me that she was prepared to plant 24 poisoned darts in Bertie’s left armpit if anything went sour.
No one bothered us. Bertie returned a dozen or more salutes.
But at Gay Deceiver we ran into a bobble. Four armed soldiers guarded our Smart Girl. By the starboard door was that fathead Moresby, looking smug. As we came close, he saluted, aiming it at Bertie.
Bertie did not return his salute. “What’s the meaning of this?” he said, pointing. Plastered to Gay’s side, bridging the line where her door fairs into her afterbody, was H.I.M.’s Imperial seal.
Moresby answered, “Governor, I understood you perfectly when you told me that I had work to do. Verb. sap., eh?”
Bertie didn’t answer; Moresby continued to hold salute.
“Major General Moresby,” Bertie said so quietly that I could just hear it.
“Sir!”
“Go to your quarters. Send me your sword.”
I thought Fathead was going to melt down the way the Wicked Witch did when Dorothy threw the pail of water over her. He brought down the salute and left, moving quickly.
Everybody acted as if nothing had happened. Hilda said, “Gay Deceiver, open starboard door” – she did and that seal broke. “Bertie, we’re going to need people to carry things. I don’t want our possessions stacked outdoors.”
He looked down at her, surprised. “Is the war over?”
“There never was a war, Bertie. But you tried to push us around, and I don’t push. You requisitioned this craft; it’s legally yours. What I insisted on was that you must witness removal of our chattels. That took coaxing.”
“‘Coaxing’!”
“Some people are harder to coax than others. Squeaky, I’m sorry about your knee. Can you hobble back? Or shall we get you a wheelchair? That knee must be swelling up.”
“I’ll live. Deety, you play rough.”
“Squeaky,” said the Governor General, “slow march back toward the House, grab the first person you see, delegate him to round up a working party. Hilda, will a dozen be enough?”
“Better make it twenty. And about four more armed guards.”
“Twenty and four additional sentries. Once you pass that word, put the senior rating in charge, and climb into a tub of hot water.”
“Cold water.”
“What, Hilda? Cold?”
“Hot is okay if he uses lots of Epsom salts. Otherwise ice-cold water will bring the swelling down faster, even though it’s uncomfortable. But not for long. Ice water numbs pain while it reduces swelling. By morning you’ll be fit. Unless Deety cracked the bone.”
“Oh, I hope not!” I blurted.
“Squeaky, you had better listen to Captain Hilda.”
“I’ll do it. Ice water. Brrrrr!”
“Get on with it. But order that working party.”
“Right away, sir.”
“Bertie, will you follow me?” Hilda went inside. The Governor followed her, started to say something but Hilda cut him off: “Jacob, get out the items forward here while Zebbie keeps inventory as you do. Bertie, I have something for Betty before that mob gets here. Will you help me undog this door or perhaps Deety can do it easier GayDeceiverCloseDoorsGayBounceGayBounceGayBounce. Bertie, take off your clothes.” She held onto a door dog with her left hand, had my little gun aimed at his face.
“Hilda!”
“Captain Hilda, please; I’m in my spacecraft under way. Take off every stitch, Bertie; I’m not as trusting as Zebbie. I assume that you have a holdout he didn’t find. Gay Bounce. Hurry up, Bertie; you’re going to stay in free fall with no Bonine until you are naked. Zebbie, he may require help. Or inducement.”
He required both. But eleven minutes later Bertie was wearing one of Pop’s coveralls and his clothes were abaft the bulkhead. Zebbie did not find a weapon but Aunt Hilda took no chances. At last we were all strapped down, with Bertie between me and the Captain.
Hilda said, “All hands, report readiness for space. Astrogator.”
“Captain Auntie, we are in space.”
“But quite unready. Astrogator.”
“Seat belt fastened. Ready.”
“Chief Pilot.”
“Door seal checked. No loose gear – I stuffed Bertie’s clothes in with the cabin bed clothes. Four charged power packs in reserve. Juice oh-seven-oh. All systems go. Ready.”
“Copilot.”
“Seat belt tight. Continua device ready. Door seal checked. I’d like a Bonine if we’re going to be in free fall long. Ready for space.”
“Astrogator, three antinausea pills – captain, copilot, passenger. Passenger.”
“Oh! Oh, yes! Safety belt tight.”
“Captain states seat belt fastened. Ready for space. Gay Termite.”
It was just sunrise at our streamside “home.” “Aunt Hilda, why did we run through all that rigamarole if we were coming straight here?”
“Deety, when you are captain you will know.”
“Not me. I’m not the captain type.”
She ignored me. “Lieutenant General Smythe-Carstairs, will you give me your unconditional parole until I return you home? On your honor as an officer and a gentleman.”
“Am I going home? I had assumed that I had not long to live.”
“You are going home. And I do have something for Betty. But whether or not you give parole affects other matters. Make up your mind – at once!”
It took him six seconds; Aunt Hilda let him have them. “Parole. Unconditional.”
“I’m surprised, Bertie. You have a tradition against giving parole, do you not?”
“We do indeed, Captain. But I concluded that my only chance of serving my sovereign lay in giving my word. Am I right?”
“Quite right, Bertie. You now have opportunity to persuade me to support you in your crisis. Your King-Emperor is not our prince; we place no faith in princes. We have no reason to love Russians but we spanked the only one who gave us trouble. In what way is the British colony superior to the Russian one? Take your time.”
Aunt Hilda turned her attention to the rest of us. “Standing orders apply: Two at a time, one being armed. Deety and I will cut and wrap sandwiches, make coffee and prepare a snack for growing boys who can’t remember a bounteous luncheon three hours ago. One guard at all times at the car. Bertie, I’m assigning you that duty. You know how to use a rifle?”
Zebadiah said, “You’re arming him?”
“Chief Pilot, I assume that you are questioning my judgment. If you convince me that I am wrong, there will be a new captain even more quickly than I had planned. May I have your reason?”
“Sharpie, I didn’t mean to get your feathers up.”
“Not at all, Zebbie. Why are you surprised that I intend to use Bertie as guard?”
“Ten minutes ago you had me do a skin search to make sure he wasn’t armed. Now you are about to hand him a gun.”
“Ten minutes ago he had not given parole.”
Bertie said hastily, “Zeb is right, Hilda – Captain Hilda; Zeb has no reason to trust me. I don’t want to be a bone of contention!”
I’m still trying to figure out whether Aunt Hilda is more logical than other people or is a complete sophist. She gave Bertie a freeze, looking him up and down. “Smythe-Carstairs, your opinion was neither asked nor wanted.”
Bertie turned pink. “Sorry, Ma’am.”
“Although you were a person of some importance in your own land, you are now something between a prisoner and a nuisance. I am trying to give you the dignity of crew member pro tern. Hold your tongue. Zebbie, what were you going to say?”
“Shucks, if you aren’t afraid to have him with a gun at your back, I’m not. No offense intended, Bertie.”
“None taken, Zeb.”
“Zebbie, please assure yourself that Bertie can handle a rifle, and that he knows what to shoot at and when not to shoot, before you turn the guard over to him. Put the other rifle at the door for bush patrol. Bertie, watch and listen. Gay Deceiver, open your doors.”
Our Smart Girl opened wide. “Gay Deceiver, close your doors.” Gay complied. “Bertie,” Aunt Hilda went on, “you do it.”
Of course he failed – and failed again on other voice programs. The Hillbilly explained that it took me a tedious time with special equipment to cause this autopilot to respond to a particular human voice. “Bertie, go back and explain to Squeaky; make him understand that I saved his life. This car can be driven in three modes. Two Squeaky can’t use at all; the third would kill him as dead as Caesar.”
“Plus a fourth hazard,” added my husband. “Anybody who doesn’t understand the Smart Girl but tries to take her apart to see what makes her tick would find himself scattered over a couple of counties.”
“Booby-trapped, Zebadiah?” I asked. “I hadn’t known it.”
“No. But juice is very unfriendly to anybody who doesn’t understand it.”

“Come and get it!” The snack Aunt Hilda offered was a much-stuffed omelet. “Bertie, place your gun near you, locked. Between bites, you can tell us why your colony is worth defending. By us, I mean. For you, it’s duty.”
“Captain Hilda, I’ve done some soul-searching. I daresay that, in the main, we and the Russians are much the same, prison colonies with military governors. Perhaps, in a hundred years, it won’t matter. Although I see us as morally superior.”
“How, Bertie?”
“A Russian might see this differently. Our transportees are malefactors under our laws – but once here, they are as free as other Englishmen. Oh, they must wear the Broad Arrow until discharged – but at home they would wear it in a grim prison. The Russian prisoners are, if our intelligence is correct, the people they used to send to the Siberian salt mines. Political prisoners. They are serfs but I am told that most of them were not serfs in Russia. Whether they are treated better or worse than serfs in Russia I do not know. But one thing I do know. They work their fields with men; we work ours with wogs.”
“And whip them!” Suddenly I was angry.
We had an argument, Bertie maintaining that the whips were not used unnecessarily, I asserting that I had seen it with my own eyes.
I guess he won, as he told us that they had to muzzle the beasts in weed fields, or they would stuff themselves on it, pass out, wake somewhat, do it again, and starve – but the muzzles were designed to allow them to chew a blade at a time all day long, to keep them happy. “The raw weed is addictive, to wog and man. We won’t allow a man to work in the fields more than three months at a time… and pull him out if he can’t pass the weekly medical tests. As for wogs, Deety – yes, we exploit them. Human beings exploit horses, cattle, sheep, poultry, and other breeds. Are you vegetarian?”
I admitted I was not. “But I don’t want to eat wogs!”
“Nor do we. In Windsor colony wog meat goes only to wogs, and wogs don’t care. In the wild they eat their own dead, kill and eat their aged. Captain Hilda, that’s all the defense I can offer. I admit that it doesn’t sound as strong as I had always believed.”
“Captain, I’d like to put one to Bertie.”
“Jacob, I treasure your thoughts.”
“Bertie, would you polish off the Russians if you could?”
Bertie snorted. “That’s academic, Doctor. I don’t command the force it would take. I can’t set up a string of stockpiles – and wouldn’t know what to do with them if I could; I don’t have the troops or ‘thopters. But I must add: If my King tells me to fight, I will fight.”

Aunt Hilda told Bertie to wash dishes with Pop sent along as guard. As soon as they started down, Aunt Hilda said, “We are going to do it, to a maximum cost of one power pack. Deety, start working on a program stringing together the dumps we located last night.”
“Already have,” I told her. “In my head. Last night. To put me to sleep. You want it preprogrammed? I would rather tell Gay each bounce, I would.”
“Do it your way, hon. The purpose in sending Bertie to wash dishes and Jacob to guard him was to get them out of the way while I rig a frameup. At the end of the coming run, we drop Bertie and bounce… and at that instant I cease to be captain. I want to hold the election now – a one-ballot railroad. I will ask for nominations. Zebbie, you nominate Jacob. Deety, you don’t need to say anything but speak if you wish. If Jacob nominates either of you, don’t argue. I’ll rig it so that Bertie declares the ballots. If you two are with me, the only surprise will be that fourth vote. Three for Jacob, and let’s all write ‘Jacob,’ not ‘Pop’ or ‘Jake,’ and one for the dark horse. Are you with me?”
“Wait a half, Sharpie. Why not give Deety a crack at it?”
“Not me!”
“Deety should have the experience, but, please, Zebbie, not this time. Jacob has given me a dreadful time. Endless insubordination. I want to pass him on to Deety well tenderized. Deety ought not to have to put up with her father second-guessing her decisions – and, if you two help, she won’t have to. I want to give my beloved the goddamndest ‘white mutiny’ ever, one that he will remember with shudders and never again give a skipper any lip.”
“Sounds good,” I agreed, “but I don’t know what a ‘white mutiny’ is.”
“Sweetheart,” my husband told me, “it’s killing him with kindness. He says ‘Frog,’ we hop. Utter and literal obedience.”
“This he won’t like? Pop will love it!”
“So? Would you like to command zombies who never make suggestions and carry out orders literally without a grain of common sense?”

Fifteen minutes later Bertie read off: “‘Jacob’ and this reads ‘Jacob’ and so does this one, that seems to settle it. But here is one, folded: ‘A bunch of smarties, you three. Think I didn’t guess why you sent me down to ride shotgun? Very well, I vote for myself!’ It is signed ‘Jake.’ Madame Speaker, is that valid?”
“Quite. Jacob, my last order will be liftoff after we drop Bertie.”
Bertie said, “Jake, I think congratulations are in order.”
“Pipe down! All hands, prepare for space.”

“A piece of cake,” Bertie called it. We started at the easternmost dump, worked west. Pop out at four klicks and dive, a dry run to size up the target; where wood alcohol was stored, ornithopters on the ground and how arranged… while Gay ululated from intensity six to eight. Frightfulness. I did not let it go up to ten because it wasn’t intended to damage but to send anyone on target scattering.
Zebadiah’s idea: “Captain, I’ve got nothing against Russians. My only purpose is to burn their fuel and their flaphappies to make it difficult to attack our friends – and I don’t mean you big brass, Bertie. I mean the transportee maid who brought us tea this morning, and Brian Bean, and Mr. Wheatstone who was a top surgeon before some fool judge slammed him and is now doing his best for wogs, and the chef at the officers’ club, and five cons who drove that sillywagon, and dozens more who smiled when they could have scowled. I don’t want them killed or enslaved; I want them to have their chance. Governor, England is slapping the Broad Arrow on some of your best potential – you English will live to regret it.”
“You could be right, Zeb,”
“I don’t want to kill Russians, either. Could be most of them are decent blokes. Each strike will be a double run – one pass to scatter ’em, a second to destroy the dump. Captain, if that doesn’t suit you, find another gunner.”
Aunt Hilda said, “Astrogator.”
“Captain.”
“Strike as described by Chief Pilot. Take the conn. Attack.”
At the first target we lingered after the strike bounce. The dry pass did show them running away – they could hear us clear in their bones. Those subsonics are so horrid I keyed Gay to kill the noise at code-word “Bounce” – and did not use it on the strike pass.
Zebadiah made strikes from bearings planned to take out as many ‘thopters as possible while setting fire to fuel.
From four klicks the first strike looked good. The dump was burning, ‘thopters he had hit showed smoke, and one that he had not hit was burning. Splashed by flaming methanol, I suppose.
If that first target was indication, in thirty-four minutes the Russians lost all fuel and about 70% of the deployed flaphappies. I took us up high after the last. “Next stop, Windsor City.”
“I’m taking the conn, Astrogator. Bertie, don’t forget my little ring for Betty.”
“I’ll give it to her in the morning.”
“Good,” Captain Hilda said. “Unbelt, crowd past Jacob, place yourself against the door – feet on deck, chest against door. Jacob, push against the small of his back. Bertie, when the door opens, dive and roll clear.”
They positioned themselves. “Gay Parade Ground Gay Deceiver open starboard door… Gay Deceiver close doors, GayBounce, GayBounce! Jacob, do you relieve me?”
“Beloved, I relieve you. Ten minima H axis transit – and executed. All hands, unbelt.”
I unbuckled with extreme speed and clumsiness, getting Pop in the chin with my foot.
“Deety! Watch where you’re going!”
“I’m sorry, Captain. I’m out of practice with free fall.”
“You’ve been in free fall every day!”
“Yes, Captain. I’ve been in free fall every day, belted down.”
“Pipe down! Hilda, don’t cover the instrument board. Hold onto something. No, not me, damn it. Zeb! Grab something and catch Hilda!”
“Roger Wilco, Captain! Right away!” My husband snagged Aunt Hilda, grabbed a seat belt with his other hand, trapped our captain against the dogs of the bulkhead door with his buttocks. “What now, sir!”
“Get your goddam fanny out of my face!”
“Sorry, sir,” Zebadiah answered humbly while turning and digging an elbow into Pop’s ribs. I closed in from the other side and we had Pop trapped again – ballet and trampoline make a fine background for free fall. Zebadiah went on cheerfully, “What shall we do now, sir?”
Pop didn’t answer. From watching his lips I saw that he was counting backwards, silently, in German. That’s stage three.
Then he said quietly, “Zeb, get into the copilot’s seat and belt down.”
“Aye aye, sir.” Zebadiah did so.
Pop snatched Hilda while hanging onto a dog. “Deety, belt down in the chief pilot’s seat.”
“Roger Wilco, Captain” – I did so.
“My dear, I want you behind Deety. Do you need help?”
“Yes, thank you, Captain; it’s sweet of you to offer.” White mutiny? The Hillbilly is about as helpless as Zebadiah but thinks God created men to pamper women. I’ve heard less reasonable philosophies.
After “helping” Hilda, Pop strapped down in the starboard after seat. “All hands! We have moved clockwise ninety degrees. I am now captain. Hilda, you are astrogator and second-in-command. Deety, you are chief pilot. Zeb, you are copilot. In order of seniority, any questions?”
The Hillbilly said in a small voice, “As second-in-command I am required to advise the Captain -“
“Certain circumstances. Speak up.”
“Captain, I know very little about astrogation.”
“That’s why you have the job. You will seek advice from Deety as needed, both of you seek advice from Zeb when necessary – and if all three of you are stumped, I will tackle it and be responsible for mistakes. No burden, the Captain is always responsible for all mistakes. When in doubt, do not hesitate to consult me.
“Deety, you have not driven this car in atmosphere. But you are a competent, decisive, and skillful driver of duos” – I am, Pop? – you’re years late in saying so – “and we have come this high to give you time to acquaint yourself with it. I placed Zeb by you to coach you and, in time, to report to me that you are fully qualified.” Pop smiled. “Fortunately, should you get into trouble, we have programs that will get you out instantly such as ‘Gay Bounce’ -“
Gay bounced.
Pop did not notice but I had my eye on radar distance since learning that I was responsible. Pop, who invented those safety scrams? Think hard. Hint: One of your offspring.
“Zeb, you know the knobs and scales et cetera of the controls we refer to as the verniers but you have not had time to practice. Now you will practice until you can handle anything, by eye, or by clicks in the dark. Permit me to pay you this compliment: You will give yourself your own final examination. When you feel ready, tell me and I will have the Astrogator log it.
“Advice to future captains – I will not be happy until all are competent in each of four seats, and all feel easy in all twenty-five possible arrangements -“
“Twenty-four, Pop,” I blurted out. I hastily added, “Sorry, Captain – ‘twenty-five.'”
Pop has a terrible time with kitchen arithmetic; it has been so long since he has done any. He will pick up a hand computer to discover 2 x 3 = 6; I’ve seen him do it.
He stared at me, lips moving slightly. At last he said, “Chief Pilot.”
“Captain.”
“You are ordered to correct me when I make a mistake. ‘Twenty-four’ permutations, certainly.”
“Sir, may the Chief Pilot have more information before she answers Roger-Wilco?”
“Fire away!”
“Captain, what categories of mistakes?”
“Eh? Any sort! A mistake is a mistake. Daughter, are you baiting me?”
“No, Captain. I am unable to acknowledge your order as I do not understand it. ‘A mistake is a mistake’ is semantically null. If I see you about to sugar your coffee twice shall I – “
“Tell me! Of course.”
“If I see you treating your wife unjustly shall I -“
“Wait a moment! Even if I did or have – which I decline to stipulate – it is not proper for you to interfere.”
“Yes, sir. We’ve established that there are two sets. But the Captain has not defined the sets and the Chief Pilot lacks authority to do so. May I respectfully suggest that the Captain take notice of the quandary, then reframe the order at a time of his choosing … and in the meantime permit the Chief Pilot not to correct the Captain’s mistakes?”
Zebadiah winked at me with his head turned so that I saw it but Pop could not.
Pop fumed, complaining that I wasn’t showing common sense and, worse, I had broken his train of thought. He finally got around to a definition at about 8th grade level: I was to correct him only in errors involving figures or related symbols such as angles. (On your own head be it, Pop!) I gave him Roger-Wilco.
“In fact,” he went on expansively, “it may be my duty to see that this training course is completed before, with great relief, I turn this seat over to my successor.”
(I started figuring how many children I would have by then and decided to look for ways to hike up the “white mutiny.”)
“Captain?”
“Astrogator.”
“This advice concerns a mistake that could occur in the near future. I assume that the Captain has the conn?”
“Hilda, I have the conn. Speak up.”
“We are falling, sir. I advise placing us in orbit.”
I sighed with relief, as radar distance I was beginning to think of as H-above-G and did not like our closing rate.
Pop said, “Surely, put us in orbit. Take the conn and do it. Good practice. Deety can show you how. Or Zeb.”
“Aye aye, sir. I have the conn. Chief Pilot, keep her level with respect to planet.”
“Roger. Level now.”
“Copilot, add speed vector positive axis L three point six klicks per second.”
“Uh… set!”
“Hold it!” Pop unbelted, steadied himself by Zebadiah’s chair, checked the setting. “Okay. Execute!”
“Excuse me, Captain,” Zebadiah said, “but was that order directed at me or the Astrogator?”
Pop opened his mouth – then turned red. “Astrogator, I am satisfied with your solution and the setting. Please have the maneuver executed.”
“Aye aye, sir. Execute!”

What Pop planned seemed reasonable. “So far we have used juice, supplies, and four days’ time, and have merely established that there are at least two analogs of our universe, one quantum and ten quanta away on Tau axis. The latter has beasts – wogs – that are not the vermin we fled from, but – according to Hilda – closely related. To me, this makes Tau axis not our best place to seek a new home.
“Zebadiah has suggested that we sample the universes available by rotation rather than translation – six axes taken four at a time – before we search Teh axis. Let me remind you that we could die of old age searching Teh axis alone. I will decide but I will listen to arguments pro or con.”
Twenty-three minutes later Aunt Hilda shrilled, “Copilot, by plan, as set – Rotate!”

Chapter XXX

“Difference physical laws, a different topology.”

Jacob:
We rotated to… Nowhere –
So it seemed. Free fall and utter blackness – The cabin held only the faint radiance from the instruments.
My daughter said in hushed tones, “Captain! May I turn on inside lights?”
This was a time to establish discipline and doctrine. “Permission refused. Copilot, I would like to see in all directions.”
“Yes, sir,” Zeb acknowledged.
After a few moments I added, “Copilot? Why are you waiting?”
“I am awaiting orders, sir.”
“What the hell, Zeb? Get with it! I said I wanted to see in all directions. We have preprograms for that.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Well? Why aren’t you using them? Can’t you carry out orders?” (I was amazed at Zeb.)
“Captain, I have not as yet received any orders, and I am not at the conn.”
I started to answer sharply – and bit down on it. Precisely what had I said? I recalled that the autopilot stayed in recording mode during maneuvers; I could play back the last few minutes -and decided not to. We were wasting time and it was possible that I had not expressed myself in the form of a direct order. Nevertheless I could not ignore Zeb’s pigheaded behavior. “Copilot, I am aware that I have not given you direct orders. However, it is customary to treat a captain’s requests as politely worded orders.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well? God damn it, why don’t – “
“Captain! Captain Jacob! Please listen! Please!”
I took a deep breath. “What is it, Hilda?”
“Captain, I am required to advise you.”
“Eh? Advise away – but be quick about it.”
“Captain, you have given the Copilot neither orders nor requests. The autopilot’s record will confirm this. You mentioned preprograms – but voice programs are not normally handled by the Copilot.”
“I can order the Copilot to use a voice program.”
Hilda did not answer. Again I waited, then said, “Well?”
Then I said, “Astrogator, you did not answer me.”
“Sorry, Captain. Answer what?”
“My question.”
“Captain, I was not aware that you had asked me a question. Would you mind repeating it?”
“Oh, forget it, forget it! Chief Pilot!”
“Captain.”
“Deety, what’s the voice program to rotate us a full circle around W axis?”
“Shall I spell it, sir? S.G. is awake.”
“No, do it. Turn out your instrument lights. Pilots watch forward, Captain and Astrogator will watch the sides. Do it. Execute.”
Instrument lights dimmed to zero, leaving us in the darkest dark I have ever experienced. I heard a repressed moan and felt a burst of sympathy for my daughter; she had never liked total darkness. But she carried out my orders:
“Gay Deceiver, Tumbling Pigeon.”
“Forward somersault – whee!”
“Execute.”
I felt pressure against my belts – being forward of the center of mass we were starting a gentle outside loop. I started counting seconds as I recalled that this program took twenty seconds.
I had reached seventy-eight seconds and was beginning to wonder when Deety announced “Twenty seconds” as the autopilot announced, “End of program.”
Deety said, “You’re a Smart Girl, Gay.”
“If I were smart, would I be doing this? Over.”
“Roger and out, Gay. Captain, I request permission to switch on cabin lights.”
“Permission granted. Report observations. Copilot?”
“Skipper, I saw nothing.”
“Deety?”
“Nothing.”
“Hilda?”
“Jacob, I didn’t see anything. Can’t we get out of this universe? It stinks.”
“That stink is me,” our copilot said. “The reek of fear. Captain, of what use is an empty universe?”
“Zeb, ’empty universe’ is a meaningless expression. Space-time implies mass-energy, and vice versa.”
“Captain, it looks empty to me.”
“And to me. I’m faced by a dilemma in theory. Is the mass in this spacetime so far away that we can’t see it? Or is it in a state of ‘Cold Death,’ level entropy? Or did we create this universe by rotating?”
“‘Create it’ – Huh?”
“A possibility,” I pointed out. “If we are the only mass in this universe, then this universe had no existence until we created it by rotation. But it will not collapse when we rotate out, because we will be leaving behind quanta we are radiating.”
“Hmm – Captain, I’m bothered by something else. We started from universe-ten and made one ninety-degree rotation. Correct?”
“Yes. We rotated around ‘x’ and thereby moved each of the other five axes ninety degrees. We are now experiencing duration along ‘y.’ Teh and ‘z’ are spatial coordinates now, and ‘x’ remains spatial because we rotated on it. Tau and ‘t’ are now null, unused.”
“Mmm – Deety, what Greenwich time is it?” Zeb glanced at the instrument board.
“Uh – Seventeen: thirteen: oh-nine.”
“Smart Girl says you are twenty seconds slow.” Zeb looked at his navigator’s watch. “But my watch splits the difference. How many minutes since we left Windsor City?”
“Thirty-nine minutes, thirteen seconds. Ask me a hard one.”
“I’m going to ask your father a hard one. Captain, if you tell G.D. to scram to Windsor P.G. right now mark! – what will the Greenwich time be?”
“Look at your clock. About a quarter past seventeen hundred.”
“But you told me that, since rotating, we’ve been experiencing duration along ‘y’ axis.”
“But – Oh! Zeb, I’m stupid. No time has elapsed on ‘t’ axis since the instant we rotated If we reversed the rotation, we would go back to that exact instant.”
“Deety hon?” Zeb asked. “Do you agree?”
(I felt annoyed that my son-in-law consulted my daughter as to the correctness of my professional opinion – then suppressed the thought. Deety will always be my little girl, which makes it hard for me to remember that she is also my professional colleague.)
My daughter suddenly looked upset. “I – Pop! That first trip to the world without the letter ‘J’ – time did pass, it did!”
Zeb said gently, “But that was translation, Deety. You continued to experience duration along ‘t’ axis.”
Deety thought about it, then said sorrowfully, “Zebadiah, I no longer know What time it is. Pop is correct; we experience duration on one axis only, and that is now ‘y’ axis. We can’t experience duration on two axes at once.” She heaved a sigh. “Will I ever get the clock in my head set right again?”
“Sure you will,” my son-in-law reassured her. “Like crossing a time zone. Shortly after we grounded on Mars-ten, your head started keeping time both in Greenwich and in Mars Touchdown meridian time, even though Touchdown time kept falling farther behind hour after hour. A simple index correction won’t bother you. My sweet, you don’t realize how smart you are.”
Zeb patted her hand, then looked around at me. “Captain, may I propose a change in schedule?”
“Let’s hear it.”
“Sir, I would like two sequences. First, go back to Windsor P.G. with the verniers preset for a hundred thousand klicks straight up, and execute at once. Then translate back to our own universe-zero – but not to Earth-zero. Instead, set up an orbit around Mars-zero. That orbit becomes our base of operations.”
I said, “Simple enough. But why?”
“So that we will always have somewhere to go back to. Deety can write us a program that will place us back in that orbit. Something like G, A, Y, H, O, M, E, but based on Mars-zero – with elbow room.”
I asked, “Daughter, can you write such a program?”
“I think so, Pop. An emergency scram? G, A, Y, plus something?” Deety paused. “‘Sagan.’ G, A, Y, S, A, G, A, N means to return to orbit around Mars-zero. Built-in mnemonic.”
“Satisfactory. Is that all, Copilot?”
“No, sir. Our schedule breaks up naturally into a five group, a four group, a three, a two, and a one. I would like to add to each group a return to orbit around Mars-zero. Captain, if you were on the verniers, I wouldn’t worry; you know them so well. I don’t. If I do fifteen rotations, one right after the other, I’m afraid I’ll make some tiny mistake and we’ll wind up in analog-Andromeda-Nebula in universe a thousand-and-two on ‘z’ axis, with no idea how wa got there or how to get home.”
“Copilot, you worry too much.”
“Probably. Captain, my whole life is based on being chicken at every opportunity. I’ll breathe easier if I come back to a familiar orbit at the end of each group… and know that the next group is one less. It won’t take ten minutes longer to do it my way and I’ll be less likely to make mistakes. But tackling all fifteen at a slug scares me.”
“Captain Jacob -“
“Not now, Hilda. I must settle this with -“
“Captain, I am required to advise you.”
“Eh? All right, all right! Make it snappy.”
“You know – we all know – that Zebbie’s premonitions must not be ignored. I advise you officially – Gay Deceiver, record this ‘I-tell-you-three-times.'”
“Hilda, I hear you three times.”
“Captain Jacob, I, your second-in-command, advise you officially to revise the schedule of rotations in the fashion recommended by the copilot. End of I-tell-you-three-times.”
(Have you ever found yourself boxed in? Damn it, I intended to let Zeb do it his way; I am not unreasonable. I can’t say that I believe in Zeb’s premonitions; I suspect that he is simply a man with extremely fast reflexes. But both our wives believe in them and Zeb does himself. I found myself faced with mutiny unless I did exactly what I had intended to do anyway! How does one describe so ironical a situation?)
Shortly I found myself saying, “Copilot, by revised schedule, set second rotation of first group.” We were in “Sagan” orbit around Mars of Universe-zero (i.e., the one we had grown up in: Galactic coordinates X0, Y0, Z0, & t0 – Earth-zero, Mars-zero, Sun-zero, Universe-zero). I tend to think of this as the “real” universe even though I am aware that there is no evidence or mathematical theory for preferring one frame of reference over another – to do so is egocentric provincialism at its worst. But I offer this in mitigation: for us it was simplest and thereby helped us to avoid getting lost.
“Set,” Copilot Zeb reported. I went forward, checked the setting (rotation around ‘y,’ with ‘z’ and ‘t’ dropping out, null), then returned to my seat. “We can spare a minute to look at Mars. Deety, tilt the nose down to let us look. Do you know how?”
“Like this, Captain?”
“Right,” I agreed. “Keep it up.”
Deety raised the craft’s nose and swung right, catching me with belts not yet fastened. I said forcefully, “Deety! What the hell are you doing?” while I floundered and grabbed.
“Sir, you ordered ‘right’ and ‘up,'” Deety answered.
“I did no such thing!”
“But, Jacob – Captain – you did tell her that, I heard you.”
“Hilda, you keep out of this!”
Hilda answered stiffly, “Captain, I respectfully request that you either relieve me of the conn, or that you give orders to my pilots through me.”
“Damn it, you don’t have the conn. I do.”
“Then the Captain neglected to relieve me.”
“Uh – Take the conn! Carry out the planned schedule.”
“Aye aye, sir. Chief Pilot, orient the car for best view of Mars.”
“Aye aye, Ma’am!”
I was fuming, not looking, hardly listening. I had said to Deety, All right, keep on with it – or had I? Gay could play it back… and could also check on Hilda’s incredible allegation. If I were wrong (I felt certain I was not!), I would face up to it like a man and – Zeb broke in on my thoughts:
“Captain, do you care what attitude this craft is in at rotation?”
“No. Only for transitions.”
“Hmm – Then it follows as the night from day thou canst not then predict the attitude we’ll be in whenever we arrive in a new universe.”
Only with respect to our arbitrary zero reference frame. Why should it matter?”
“It won’t as long as we arrive with plenty of room. I’ve been noodling how to be sure of that. I don’t see an answer. But I don’t want to try translations or rotations parked on the ground. I hope the Captain won’t order any.”
“Copilot, I have no plans to. Astrogator, haven’t we had enough sightseeing?”
“Very well, Captain,” my wife acknowledged. “Deety, secure those binoculars. Zebbie, immediately after each rotation, set next rotation and report ‘Set.’ Deety, after each rotation, use voice program to put us through one Pigeon-Tumble with all lights out. I will watch to port, Deety forward, Zebbie starboard. Questions?”
I said, “Astrogator, you did not assign me a sector.”
“I have no authority to assign duties to the Captain. Does the Captain wish to select a sector and assume responsibility for it?”
She waited. I said hastily, “No. Perhaps it will be best for me to watch in all directions. General supervision.”
“Very well, Captain. Copilot – execute.”
Again we rotated into darkness. Deety switched out all lights. Zeb reported, “Set!”
“Stop!” I called out. I added, “Zeb, you reported ‘Set’ in total darkness. How did you set it?”
“Rotation around ‘z’ axis, with ‘x’ and ‘y’ dropping out. Duration along Teh. Third combo first group, sir.”
“I mean, ‘How did you do it in darkness?’ By clicks?”
“Captain, I didn’t do it in darkness.”
I said, “It was pitch dark when you reported ‘Set.”
“So it was, Captain.”
“It’s not necessary to call me ‘Captain’ every ten seconds. I want a straight answer. So far you have reported that you set it in darkness and that you set it with lights on.”
“No, sir.”
“God damn it, you just did!”
“Captain, I protest your swearing at me. I request that my protest be logged.”
“Zeb, you are – ” I shut up. I counted thirty in French under my breath, by which time I was ready to speak. “Zeb, I’m sorry that my language offended you. But I am still trying to find out what you did and how. Will you please tell me, in simple language?”
“Yes, sir. I set the third rotation by clicks -“
“But you said the lights were on – “
“The lights were on. I set the rotation with my eyes closed -“
“For God’s sake, why?”
“For practice. I set them with eyes closed. Then I check to see whether it matches what I intended to set. Deety leaves the light on until I give her the ‘kill it’ sign. Then she kills the glim and does her act.”
“Zeb, there wasn’t time to do it that way.”
Zeb gave a most irritating grin. “Captain, I’m fairly quick. So is Deety.” I said, “Perhaps I had better check the setting.”
Zeb made no answer; both women kept still. I began to wonder what everyone was waiting on… then realized that I was the “what.” Unbelt and check on Zeb’s setting? I remembered that irritating grin. So I said, “Deety, carry out the tumbling routine.”
The somersault completed, I asked, “Anyone see anything?” Hilda said, “I… think so. Captain, could we do that again?” “Do it, Deety,” I ordered.
Pigeon-Tumble resumed; Hilda suddenly said, “There!” and Deety snapped, “GayDeceiverStop!”
I asked, “Hilda, do you still see it?”
“Yes, Jacob. A fuzzy star. You can see it if I pull back and you lean forward.”
I suppose we each did so – for I spotted something. “I see it! Zeb – the binoculars, please.”
An invisible hand pushed them against my neck. I got them lined up with difficulty, got that faint light, focused with great care. “It looks like a lenticular galaxy seen not quite edge on. Or it might be a family of galaxies. Whatever it is, it is a long way off. Millions of light-years – I have no way of guessing.”
“Can we reach it by transition?” asked Zeb.
“Possibly. I would set middle range on ‘six,’ then keep punching until it showed change in width. It might be possible to reach it in an hour or so. Do you want to look at it?”
“From your description, I don’t think so,” Zeb answered. “That is fossil light – isn’t it?”
“Eh? Yes, the light has been traveling for millions of years.”
“That’s my point, Captain. We might find that those stars had burned out. Fossil light doesn’t tell us anything we can use. Let’s designate this ‘Last Chance’ and get out.”
Eminently sensible – “Stand by to rotate. Copilot – execute!”
Blinding light – “Zeb! Rotate! Execute!”
Suddenly we were in a starry void, almost homelike. I heaved a sigh of relief. “Zeb, what did we fall into?”
“I don’t know, Captain.” He added, “I had my eyes closed, setting the next rotation by clicks. So I didn’t get dazzled. But I never had a chance to check my setting by eyesight, either; I rotated at once.”
“You got us out – thanks. I did get dazzled; I’ve got purple blotches in front of my eyes. New standing order: At each rotation all hands close eyes and duck heads for that moment needed to be sure that we have not again run into dazzle. Zeb, that need not slow you up since you are setting by touch and click anyhow – but if we do hit dazzle, rotate us out; don’t wait for my orders. And – All Hands! – we are all free at all times to use any of the escape programs to get us out of danger.”
“Next rotation set, Captain.”
“Thank you, Copilot. Hilda, do you or Deety have any notion as to what we fell into?”
“No, Captain,” my daughter answered.
“Captain Jacob, I have three hypotheses, none worth much.”
“Let others judge that, my dear.”
“Interior of a global star cluster – or near the nucleus of a galaxy, or – possibly – the early part of an expanding universe when new stars are almost rubbing shoulders.”
“Hmm – Real garden spots. Zeb, could we have picked up excessive radiation?”
“Captain, the shell of this buggy is opaque to most radiation, and that windscreen is heavily leaded – but no way to tell.”
“Zebadiah, if the film in the camera is ruined, some heavy stuff got through. If the next picture is okay, we’re probably okay.”
Hilda said, “I’m glad you thought of that, Deety. I don’t like the idea of radiation while I’m pregnant. You, too, hon.”
“Aunt Hilda, we’re almost completely shielded where it matters. It could addle our brains but not our bellies.”
“Hilda, do you wish to shoot one frame?” I asked.
“No, Jacob, it would waste film.”
“As you wish. My eyes are coming back. Deety, put us through one Pigeon-Tumble.”
My daughter did so; I saw nothing. “Report! Hilda?”
“Lots of big beautiful stars but nothing close.”
“Me, too, Pop – but what a beautiful sky!”
“Null report, Captain.”
“Hilda, mark it down as ‘promising.’ All hands, stand by for fifth rotation. Keep eyes closed and heads down. Execute!”
Zeb gasped. “Where in Hell are we?”
“In Hell, maybe, Zebbie.”
“Captain!”
“Hilda may not be too far off,” I answered. “It’s something I could not have believed three weeks ago: some sort of inside-out universe.”
“Pellucidar!” said Deety.
“No, my dear daughter. One: We are not inside our home planet; we are in another universe. Two: This universe has physical laws that differ from our own. The inside of a spherical shell cannot have a gravitational field by the laws of our universe. Yet I see a river and we seem to be falling toward it. Deety, are we in air or in vacuo?”
Deety wiggled the controls. “Got some air. Probably could get support with wings fully spread.”
“Then do so.” Deety brought the car into a dead-stick glide.
Zeb said grimly, “I don’t want to homestead here! So big – ten thousand kilometers across at a guess. Yet it’s all inside. No sky! No horizons. Never again a night sprinkled with stars. That light in the center – Looks like our sun but it’s too small, much too small. When we leave, I don’t want to come back; the god who takes care of fools and explorers let us arrive in empty space instead of maybe ten kilometers underground. But next time – I hate to think about it.”
I said, “It may not have been luck, Zeb, but logical necessity.”
“Huh. You’ve lost me, Captain.”
“You’re thinking of this as a spherical shell. But there is no basis for assuming that it has an outside.”
“What? Endless millions of light-years of solid rock?”
“No, no! Nothing. By ‘nothing’ I do not mean space; I mean a total absence of existence of any sort. Different physical laws, a different topology. We may be seeing the totality of this universe. A small universe with a different sort of closed space.”
“I can’t visualize it, Jake.”
“Deety, my dear, rephrase it for your husband.”
“I’ll try, Pop. Zebadiah, the geometry of this place may require different postulates from those that work back home. I’m sure you have played with Möbius strips -“
“A surface with only one side, one edge. But this is a sphere.”
“Pop is saying that it may be a sphere with only one side, the inside. Have you ever tried to figure out a Klein bottle?”
“I got cross-eyed and a headache.”
“This could be a Klein-bottle sort of thing. It might turn out that if you tunneled straight down anywhere down there, you would emerge at the opposite point, still inside. And that straight line might be shorter than the distance across. Maybe much shorter.”
“Point three-one-eight-three-zero-nine is the ratio by the simplest postulates,” I agreed. “But the geometry may not be that simple. However, Zeb, assuming that this is a total universe, our chances of arriving in open space were far greater than the chance of conflicting with a mass. But I would not wish to homestead here – pretty as it is. Nevertheless we might check for obstetricians.”
“No obstetricians,” Zeb answered firmly.
“Why?” I demanded.
“If there are human beings here, they do not have an advanced culture. Deety has been following that river. Did you notice where that other river joined it? Also look ahead where it meets the sea. No cities. No warehouses. No river traffic. No air traffic, no signs of roads. Yet this is choice real estate. Therefore, no advanced culture anywhere and a small population, if any. If anyone wants to refute me, please do so in the next two minutes; Deety can’t hold this heap in the air much longer without using juice.”
“I check you, Zebbie. They might be so advanced that they can make the whole joint look like a park. I wouldn’t bet on it.”
“Deety?” I asked.
“Aunt Hilda is right, Captain. But it’s so pretty!”
“Hilda, expend one film, as a souvenir. Then we rotate.” My daughter nosed the car down to permit a better picture.
A click – “Got it!” Hilda cried. “GaySagan!”
Mars of Universe-zero lay to starboard. Zeb sighed. “I’m glad to be out of there. Sharpie, did you get a picture?”
“Can’t rush it,” my wife answered. “Nnnn, yup, picture coming.”
“Good!”
“Zebbie, I thought you didn’t like that inside-out world?”
“I don’t. If that picture is sharp, you two knocked-up broads weren’t hit by radiation where it counts. Any fogging?”
“No, Zebbie, and brighter color every second. Here – look.”
Zeb brushed it aside. “My sole interest is in radiation. Captain, I’m having misgivings. We’ve tried five out of fifteen and only one was even vaguely homelike. The pickings have been slim and the dangers excessive. But we know that Earth analogs Tau and Teh axes are Earthlike -“
“With monsters,” put in Hilda.
“Tau axis, probably. We haven’t explored Teh axis. Jake, are we justified in exposing our wives to dangers we can’t imagine?”
“In a moment, Copilot. Astrogator, why did you rotate? I don’t think I ordered it. I have been trying to run a taut ship.”
“So have I, Captain. I must ask to be relieved as astrogator.”
“I am sorry to say that I have been thinking along the same lines, my dearest. But you had better explain.”
“Captain, three times you have replaced me at the conn without relieving me. The last time I let it continue, wondering and waiting. Just now we were losing altitude, dangerously. So I acted. Now I ask to be relieved.”
Hilda seemed calm and not angry. But resolved. Had I really done anything out of line? It did not seem so to me.
“Zeb, have I been overriding the officer at the conn?”
Zeb took too long to answer. “Captain, this is a time when a man must insist on written orders. I will make a written reply.”
“Hmm – ” I said. “I think you have replied. Deety, what do you think? More written orders?”
“I don’t need written orders. Pop, you’ve been utterly stinking!”
“You really feel so?”
“I know so. Aunt Hilda is right; you are dead wrong. She understated the case. You assign her responsibilities – then ignore her. Just now she carried out her assigned duties – and you chewed her out for it. Of course she wants to be relieved.”
My daughter took a deep breath and went on: “And you bawled her out for ordering a scram escape. Twenty-seven minutes ago you said – and I quote: ‘All Hands! – we are all free at all times to use any of the escape programs to get us out of danger.’ End of quotation. Pop, how can you expect orders to be obeyed when you can’t remember what orders you’ve given? Nevertheless, we have obeyed you, every time and no back talk – and we’ve all caught hell. Aunt Hilda caught the most – but Zebadiah and I caught quite a bit. Pop, you’ve been – I won’t say it, I won’t!”
I looked out the port at Mars for long unhappy minutes. Then I turned around. “I’ve no choice but to resign. Effective as I ground her. Family, I must admit to great humiliation. I had thought that I was doing quite well. Uh, back to our streamside, I think. Gay -“
“GayDeceiverOverride! Not on your tintype! You’ll serve as long as I did – not a second less! But Sharpie is right in refusing to take the conn under you; you’ve been mistreating her. Despite being a colonel, you have never learned that you can’t assign responsibility without delegating authority to match – and then respect it. Jake, you’re a lousy boss. We’re going to keep you in the hot seat until you learn better. But there’s no reason for Sharpie to resign over your failings.”
“I still have something to say,” said my daughter.
“Deety,” Zeb said forcefully, “leave well enough alone!”
“Zebadiah, this is to you quite as much – or more – as it is to Pop. Complaints of another sort.”
My son-in-law looked startled. “Oh. Sorry. You have the floor.”

Chapter XXXI

” – the first ghosts ever to search for an obstetrician.”

Hilda:
If Zebbie and Jacob have a fault in common, it is overprotectiveness. Having always been the runt, I am habitually willing to accept protection. But Deety rebels.
When Zebbie asked Jacob whether or not they were justified in exposing us to unknown dangers, Deety stuck her oar in – and Zebbie tried to hush her.
Zebbie should have known better.
But he is barely getting acquainted with her, whereas I’ve known her since her diaper days. Once when Deety was, oh, possibly four, I started to tie her shoes. She pulled away. “Deety do!” she announced indignantly – and Deety did: on one shoe a loose half bow that came apart almost at once, on the other a Gordian knot that required the Alexandrian solution.
It’s been “Deety do!” ever since, backed by genius and indomitable will.
Deety told him, “Zebadiah, concerning completing this schedule: Is there some reason to exclude Hilda and me from the decision?”
“Damn it, Deety, this is one time when husbands have to decide!”
“Damn it, Zebadiah, this is one time when wives must be consulted!”
Zebbie was shocked. But Deety had simply matched his manner and rhetoric. Zebbie is no fool; he backed down. “I’m sorry, hon,” he said soberly. “Go ahead.”
“Yessir. I’m sorry I answered the way I did. But I do have something to say – and Hilda, too. I know I speak for both of us when I say that we appreciate that you and Pop would die for us… and that you feel this more intensely now that we are pregnant.
“But we have not been pregnant long enough to be handicapped. Our bellies do not bulge. They will bulge, and that gives us a deadline. But for that very reason we will either sample those rotation universes today… or we will never sample them.”
“Why do you say ‘never,’ Deety?”
“That deadline. We’ve sampled five and, scary as some have been, I wouldn’t have missed it! We can look at the other ten in the next few hours. But if we start searching Teh axis there is no way to guess how long it will take. Thousands of universes along Teh axis and it seems likely that each holds an analog of Earth. We may check hundreds before we find what we are looking for. Let’s say we find it and Hilda and I have babies with skilled medical attention. Then what? Zebadiah, are you going to be more willing to take women with babies into strange universes than you are without babies?”
“Uh… that’s not the way to put it, Deety.”
“How would you put it, sir? Are you thinking that you and Pop might check those ten while Hilda and I stay home with the kids?”
“Well… yes, I suppose I am. Something of the sort.”
“Zebadiah, I married you for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health. I did not marry to walk the Widow’s Walk! Where you go, I go! – till death do us part.”
“Deety speaks for me,” I said, and shut up. Deety had it figured: If Jacob and Zebbie didn’t finish those rotations today, they would have that “far horizons” look for the rest of their lives – and they wouldn’t want us along. Not with kids. Sharpie wasn’t going to hold still for that. No, sir!
“Deety, are you through?”
“Not quite, sir. All humans are created unequal. You are bigger and stronger than Pop; I am bigger and stronger than Hilda. I have the least years of experience; Pop has the most. Pop is a supergenius… but he concentrates so hard that he forgets to eat – unless he has a nursemaid to watch him – as Mama did, as I did, as Hilda now does. You, sir, are the most all-around competent man I’ve ever met, whether driving a duo, or dancing, or telling outrageous tales. Three of us have eight or nine earned degrees… but Aunt Hilda with none is a walking encyclopedia from insatiable curiosity and extraordinary memory. We two are baby factories and you two are not – but two men can impregnate fifty women – or five hundred. There is no end to the ways that we four are unequal. But in one supremely important way all of us are equals.
“We are pioneers.
“Men alone are not pioneers; they can’t be. Pioneer mothers share the dangers of pioneer fathers and go on having babies. Babies were born in the Mayflower, lots were born in covered wagons – and lots died, too. Women didn’t stay home; they went along.
“Zebadiah, I do not ask to be taken to those next ten universes -“
“It sounds like it.”
“You didn’t listen, sir. I would like to finish sampling those fifteen. It’s my preference but not my demand. What I do demand I have stated: Where you go, I go. Today and to the end of our lives. Unless you tell me to get out, that you don’t want me anymore. I have spoken.”
“You certainly have, dear. Hilda?”
Fish or cut bait, Sharpie – what do you want? I didn’t care; any new universe was bound to be strange. But Deety had laid down the party line; I didn’t want to fuzz it up – so I answered instantly, “Deety speaks for me in every word.”
“Jake? Back to my original question: ‘Are we justified in exposing our wives to conditions we can’t even imagine?”
“Zeb, you are the one who convinced me that it would be prudent to sample the universes accessible through rotation before searching by translation.”
“True. But that was before we sampled five of them.”
“I don’t see that the situation has changed. An imaginable danger is not necessarily better than an unimaginable one; it may be worse. Our home planet had grave shortcomings before we tangled with the vermin. No need to list them; we all know that the Four Horsemen are ready to ride again. But I can think of a very close analog of our home planet that would be far worse than Earth-zero even if it didn’t have a single ‘Black-Hat’ vermin on it.”
“Go on.”
“One in which Hitler got atomic weapons but we did not. I can’t see that vermin are more to be dreaded than Hitler’s S.S. Corps. The sadism of some human beings – not just Storm Troopers; you can find sadists in any country including the United States – is more frightening to me than any monster.”
“Not to me!” Deety blurted it out.
“But, my dear, we don’t know that those vermin are cruel. We got in their way; they tried to kill us. They did not try to torture us. There is a world of difference.”
“Maybe there is, Pop, but those things give me the creeps. I’ll bet they’d torture us if they could!”
“My very dear daughter, that’s muddy thinking. How old are you?”
“Huh? Pop, you know if anybody does.”
“I was reminding you of what you said: you have the least years of experience. I was much older than you are before I was cured of that sort of muddy thinking. By Jane, your mother. Hilda?”
“Jacob is telling you not to judge a book by its cover,” I said. “I learned it from Jane, too, as Jacob knows. A creature’s appearance tells nothing about its capacity for sadism.”
Jacob said, “Does anyone have anything to add? Since it appears that I am not permitted to resign now, I must rule on it. We will complete the scheduled rotations.” Jacob cleared his throat loudly, looked at Deety. “During my remaining hours in what Zeb so accurately calls the ‘Worry Seat,’ I will endeavor to keep my orders straight … but, should I fail, I ask that my attention be invited to it at once – not saved up for a scolding later. Daughter?”
“Okay, Pop. Aye aye, Captain.”
“Thank you, my dear. Is anyone tired or hungry?” No one spoke up; Jacob continued, “Hilda, will you take the conn?”
“No, Captain” – I’ll omit the internal debate I held with myself; Jacob on his best behavior is hard to refuse.
“Very well, my beloved; I won’t press you. It’s an odd situation. Copilot, by schedule, set to rotate.”
“Second group, first of four – set, sir.”
“Check seat belts, stand by to rotate. Execute!”

We were in sunlight in a blue sky and upside down. For a few seconds we were thrown around a bit – Deety isn’t the pilot Zebbie is. But she did get us leveled off. I heard Deety say, “Gay Deceiver.”
“Hi, Deety!”
“Hold course, speed, and height-above-ground.”
“Got it, girl!”
“You’re a Smart Girl, Gay.”
“But we can’t go on meeting like this! Over.”
“Roger and out, Gay. Whew! Time out while the Chief Pilot has a nervous breakdown. Zebadiah, what does that altimeter say?”
“Seven klicks H-above-G.”
“Pop, what’s the probability of winding up this close to a planet without getting killed?”
“Impossible to theorize, Deety. Maybe we’re dead and don’t know it. Copilot, deadman switch; I’m going to check the air.”
“Captain!” I yelped.
“Not now, Hilda, I’m -“
“NOW! Am I still second-in-command? If I am, I must advise you; you are about to make a bad mistake!”
Jacob hesitated. I think he was counting. “My dear one, if I am about to make a bad mistake, I want your advice no matter what your status is.”
“Thank you, Jacob. You should not be guinea pig. I should be. I -“
“Hilda, you’re pregnant.”
“All the more reason why I want the most competent and least expendable – you, Zebbie, and Deety – to take care of yourselves in order to take care of me. It’s my duty as science officer in any case, whether I’m number two or not. But, Jacob, you are doing it just the way Zebbie did it when we landed on Mars-ten – and that’s all wrong!”
“Thank you, Sharpie!”
“Zebbie dear! You risked your life and it’s not necessary -“
Zebbie interrupted me. “Not necessary to waste juice this way! Yack-yack-yack!”
“Copilot, pipe down!” Jacob said sharply. “Gay Bounce! Chief Pilot, when we reenter, place the car on dead-stick glide, manual or automatic. Don’t use juice. Now, All Hands, listen to the Science Officer. Go ahead, Hilda.”
“Yes, Captain. Three days ago it was necessary for somebody to be the canary – but it should have been me, not Zebbie. What was necessary three days ago is reckless today. That deadman switch – Unless it has been rewired, it takes us back two klicks over a crater – and that’s not what we want. The correct scram for this is T, E, R, M, I, T, E. But that’s just half of it. Deety has taught the S.G. how to ground herself no-power on any level bit of ground. We can ground first. Then anyone can be guinea pig, doesn’t matter. Whoosh back to our stream bank – bang, open the doors.”
Zebbie said, “Captain, that makes sense. Sharpie – I mean ‘Science Officer.’ May I apologize with a back rub?”
“You can apologize with a kiss. But I’ll take the back rub, too.”
“Zebadiah, don’t commit yourself too far; an air test isn’t necessary. Pop! Captain Pop, may I take her up thirty klicks?”
“I suppose so. May I ask why?”
“Captain, I know where we are. From that high I can prove it.”
“Deety, that’s imp -“
“Don’t say ‘impossible,’ Captain – I’ll refer you to my father.”
“Miss Smarty Pants. Take her up.”
“Thanks, Pop. GayBounceGayBounceGayBounce. Gay Deceiver, vertical dive, execute. Everybody tell me where we are.”
I had noticed earlier what pretty countryside was under us. Now I studied it in detail. Zebbie said, “Be durned. Big rectangular oasis completely surrounded by desert. Populated, too. That’s a fair-sized town in the middle.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “Don’t you recognize it, Zebbie? From a map.”
My husband said, “Now, Hilda, this is an unexplored universe. How could you have seen a -“
“Pop!” interrupted Deety. “You’ve seen the map. See the Yellow Brick Road off to the left? Try the binoculars; you can follow it clear to Emerald City.”
“Deety my love,” said Zebbie, “you are out of your mind. Or I am. Either way, somebody call an ambulance. Don’t forget the straitjacket. Sharpie, something worries me. I failed to get my warning… yet we came so close to hitting that real estate I’m still shaking.”
“That means there wasn’t any danger, Zebbie.”
“Then why am I trembling?”
“You’re a fraud, dear. We’ve all been dead quite a while now – killed in my parking lot. Deety and I may be the first ghosts ever to search for an obstetrician. In further support of my theory I am having a pregnancy with no morning sickness – a miracle that makes the Land of Oz as commonplace as faithful husbands.”
“I don’t think I want to analyze that. Is that the Castle of the Tin Woodman there in the east?”
“Yes, but that’s the west, dear. Deety, is that sun rising or setting?”
“Setting. Directions are reversed here. Everybody knows that.”
“A retrograde planet,” my husband commented. “Nothing dangerous about that.”
“Pop, admit it. You know the Oz books almost as well as I do -“
“Better. Don’t give yourself airs, Daughter. I agree that this appears to match stories and map, while trying to reserve judgment. Deety, how would you like to raise kids in the Land of Oz?”
“Pop, I’d love it!”
“Are you certain? As I recall, nobody dies in the Land of Oz yet the population doesn’t increase. I don’t recall babies being born in Oz stories. I don’t recall M.D.’s or hospitals. Or machinery. Zeb, that inside-out universe had different physical laws from those of our universe. If we ground here, will we be able to leave? Oz works by magic, not by engineering.” Jacob added, “Copilot, I want your professional opinion.”
“Captain, you see a difference between magic and engineering. I don’t.”
“Oh, come now, Zeb!”
“I believe in just two things: Murphy’s Law, and Place Not Your Faith in an Ace Kicker. Permit me to point out that we are already in the Land of Oz, even though at altitude. I can think of worse places to be stranded. No common cold. No income tax. No political candidates. No smog. No churches. No wars. No inflation. No -“
Deety interrupted. “We are now passing over the Palace of Glinda the Good.”
“Why pass over it?” I asked. “Jacob, why aren’t we grounding?”
“Me, too,” Deety added. “Captain Pop, I request permission to ground near the Palace. I’m certain that nothing can upset Glinda the Good; she already knows about it from her Book. Besides, a palace that size must have plumbing… and I’m beginning to feel as if I had attended a watermelon picnic.”
“Methinks a bush would suffice,” said Zebbie. “Even in another universe and with an armed guard. How about it, Captain?”
“Chief Pilot, ground at will. Hilda, do the Oz books have bathrooms in them? I don’t recall.”
“Nor do I, Jacob,” I answered. “But there are plenty of bushes.”
In three or four minutes Deety had us grounded, with Gay using Deety’s new program. I thanked my husband for deciding to ground. “There was never any doubt,” he said. “Not only would you and Deety never have spoken to me again, I would never have spoken to me again. But if I meet a living scarecrow, I may go stark, raving mad.”

Chapter XXXII

“Where Cat is, is civilization.”

Deety:
I found a clearing in the woods, a hundred meters from the Palace and screened from it by elms and walnut trees. I had Gay range it, told her three times that it was a scram spot – then she landed herself, slick as Zebadiah.
I unstrapped, opened the bulkhead door, and crawled aft to get clean suits – and thought better of it. Aunt Hilda had followed me and headed straight for a special locker. I rolled into lotus and asked, “Hillbilly, what are you going to wear?”
“The dress I got married in and the wedding ring Jacob had made for me in Windsor City.”
“Jewelry?”
“Nothing fancy.”
Mama Jane told me years ago that Aunt Hilda’s instinct for clothes was infallible. I got the dress I wore to hook Zebadiah, a pendant Pop had given me, my wedding ring, my dancing slippers. Put my darling in mess jacket? No, but in tights topped off with a white silk bolero shirt I made for him at Snug Harbor. Red sash, dancing pumps, jockey shorts – yes, that was all he needed.
I wiggle-wormed forward, clutching clothing. Our men were still in their seats, Gay’s doors closed. I said, “Why the closed doors? It’s warm and stuffy.”
“Look out to the left,” said Zebadiah.
I looked. A little storybook cottage with a sign over the door: WELCOME.
It had not been there when we grounded. “I see,” I agreed. “Shuck off your work clothes and pull on shorts and tights. Pop, Hilda has your trousers.”
“Deety, is that all you have to say?”
“What should I say, sir? Pop, you have taken us to some strange places. But in Oz I am not a stranger in a strange land. I know what to expect.”
“But damn it all -“
“Shush, Zebadiah. One does not say ‘damn’ in Oz. Not any sort of profanity or vulgarity. These are no longer teats; they aren’t even breasts – it’s my bosom and I never mention it. Vocabulary limited to that of the Mauve Decade. Mildest euphemisms.”
“Deety, I’m durned if I’ll be anything but myself.”
“Sir, I speak professionally. One does not use FORTRAN to a computer that knows only LOGLAN. Captain, can we open up?”
“Just a moment,” my father put in. “Deety, you called me ‘Captain.’ But I resigned, effective on grounding.”
“Wait a half!” Zebadiah interrupted. “You’ll do at least as much punishment time as I did – you earned it, old buddy.”
“All right,” Pop agreed, “but you decided that time on the ground counts. We’ll likely need a new captain when we lift. Let’s elect the victim now.”
“Reelect Pop,” I suggested. “He flunked and should do it over.”
“Daughter!”
“Joking, Pop – as long as you bear in mind that you did flunk and never again give a captain a bad time. I nominate my husband.”
“Let’s do this right.” Pop got out four file cards.
I wrote “Zebadiah” on mine, handed it to Pop. Hilda declared them, showing us each one: Deety – Deety – Deety – Deety. I gasped. “Hey! I demand a recount! No, a new election – somebody cheated.” I made so much fuss that they let me have it. I wrote “Zebadiah” on my fresh ballot, placed it face up on the Chief Pilot’s seat, placed the other three, one by one, on top of it, then declared them myself: Deety – Deety – Deety – then, in my own handwriting: Deety.
I gave up. (But resolved to have a word with the Wizard.)

It was a pretty cottage with a broad stoop and a climbing rose – but not to live in, just one room with a table and no other furniture. The table held a bowl of fruit, a pitcher of milk, four tumblers. There was a door to the right and a door to the left; the one on the left had painted on it a little girl in a sunbonnet, the other had a boy in a Buster Brown suit.
Hilda and I headed for the sunbonnet. I snatched a glass of milk and a bunch of grapes, and put on a milk moustache; I hadn’t tasted milk in ages. Delicious!
Hilda was drawing a tub and had peeled off her dress. The window was open but up high, so I peeled off mine. We made ourselves clean and “beautiful,” i.e., we restored our fanciest hairdos but without jewelry. Whatever we needed, that bath and dressing room had, from a sponge to lipstick Aunt Hilda’s shade.
We hurried and did it in forty-two minutes. Zebadiah looked beautiful and Pop looked just as smart in dark trousers and a richly simple Aloha shirt.
“We thought you,” said my husband, “had gone down the drain.”
“Zebadiah, we took forty-two minutes. If you did it in less than thirty, you aren’t clean.”
“Smell me.”
I sniffed him – a faint fragrance of soap, a touch of shaving lotion. “You took more than thirty minutes. Kiss me.”
“Thirty-six minutes, by my watch. Say ‘Please.”
I said “Please” and he caught me with my lips open, he always does. Zebadiah just suits me and I haven’t been sulky with him and stubborn only when necessary.
There was a path toward the Palace. Pop, with Aunt Hilda on his arm, led off; we followed. Aunt Hilda was carrying her high-heeled sandals, so I took mine off, and glanced back toward the clearing. The little cottage was missing, as I expected. Zebadiah noticed it but said nothing. His face was an interesting study.
The grassy path debouched into a garden in front of the Palace; the path through it was hard, so Hilda and I put on our shoes. Glinda’s Palace was more like a Norman chateau or Bertie’s “Stately Home of England” than it was like those dreary castles on the Rhine – but it had fairyland grace, like the Taj.
As we started up the sweeping marble steps to the great doorway Zebadiah stumbled. “What the hell?”
“Sssh!” I said. “Language, dear. A magic staircase. Glinda would not make her guests climb. Pretend that Escher designed it. Look proud and walk as if they were level.”
As we reached the broad landing two tall trumpeters stepped out of the great doorway, raised their long trumpets, and sounded four flourishes. An old man with a merry grin, a fringe of whiskers, a shiny bald head, a wooden left leg, and wearing a sailor’s oilskins, came out as the flourishes ended. I wondered why he was here rather than Emerald City.
He took a pipe from his mouth and said, “Welcome to the Palace of Glinda the Good! I’m Cap’n Bill. You, sir, are Doctor Burroughs the Wizard, with your wonderful wife the Princess Hilda. You must be Cap’n Zeb Carter – Howdy, Cap’n! – and everybody knows Deety; she’s spent so much of her life in Oz. Howdy, Deety! Last time I seen you you warn’t more’n knee high to a tall duck. And now look at you! Almost up to my shoulder and married! Congratulations, Cap’n! Yer a lucky man!”
“I think so, Captain.”
“I know so. Deety, Ozma sends her love and sez to tell you that you and your family are welcome in the Royal Kingdom as long as you like.”
“Please thank Her Royal Majesty for me, Cap’n Bill.” (Actually I’m taller than Cap’n Bill now – but of course I’ll always be a little girl to him. It’s nice.)
“Oh, I will, I will! Come inside, folks: we ain’t formal here. Or I ain’t. This ain’t my reg’lar job; I’m standing this watch for a friend.” He took my hand; his hand was horny and felt like Zebadiah’s – and just as gentle.
He led us inside. “Where’s Trot?” I asked.
“Around somewhere; you’ll see her. Prob’ly picking out her best hair ribbon in your honor. Or maybe helping Betsy with Hank – little Betsy ain’t happy unless she’s workin’; Neptune knows that mule gets more attention than all the mules that ever came out of Mizzoura. This way to the Library, friends.”

How does one describe Glinda the Good? Everyone knows that she is tall and stately and beautiful and never frowns and wears all day long what I think of as beautiful evening gowns with sweeping trains. But those are just words. Perhaps it is enough to say that, just as Dejah Thoris is the most beautiful woman of her world, the Sorceress is the most beautiful of hers.
She was surrounded by her bevy of the most beautiful girls from all over Oz. But Glinda outshone them all without trying. The name of the Egyptian Queen Nefertiti means both “beautiful” and “good,” in one word; I think that explains Glinda.
She got up from her Great Book of Records and glided toward us – kissed Hilda first, kissed me and said, “Welcome home, Deety!” and I choked up and couldn’t talk; I just curtsied. She offered a hand each to Zebadiah and Pop; they bowed simultaneously and kissed her hands.
She waved at chairs (that hadn’t been there) and invited us to sit down. Zebadiah whispered, “You seem to own this place.”
“Not really,” I whispered back. “But I’ve lived in Oz longer than anywhere else” – Mama and Pop lived at several campuses while I was growing up but I always took Oz along wherever we moved.
“Well… I’m glad you made me dress up.”
We were introduced to Glinda’s girls and each one curtsied; it felt like being in Imperial House-except that these girls were neither compelled nor paid. When I stopped to think about it, I couldn’t recall that money was used in Oz; it didn’t have an “economy.”
The girls were beautifully dressed, each differently but each girl’s dress was predominately the color of her own country, Munchkin blue, Gillikin purple, Winkle yellow, a few in green. One girl in red – Quadling of course, where we were – looked familiar. I said to her, “Is your name Betty?”
She was startled. “Why, yes, Your Highness – how did you know?” She dropped a curtsy.
“I’ve been here before; ask Captain Bill. I’m not ‘Your Highness’; I’m just Deety. Do you have a friend named Bertie?”
“Yes, Your – Yes, Deety. He’s not here now, he’s at the College of Professor Wogglebug.” I made note to tell Betty about it… someday.
I can’t tell all about everyone we met at Glinda’s Palace; there were too many and more kept arriving. Everyone seemed to expect us and pleased to see us. Pop did not go stark, raving mad when he met the Scarecrow because he was already deep in conversation with Professor H. M. Wogglebug and with Oz the Great, Royal Wizard to Queen Ozma – Pop was barely polite, shook hands and said, “Howd’you do, Mr. Scarecrow,” and went right on talking to Professor Wogglebug and the Wizard. I’m not sure he looked at the Scarecrow. He was saying, “You put it neatly, Professor. I wish Professor Mobyas Toras could hear your formulation. If we set alpha equal to zero, it is obvious that -“
I wandered off, because when Pop says, “It is obvious that – ” what is really obvious is that Deety should leave.
Dinner was in the banquet hail and the crowd of guests exactly filled it – Glinda’s banquet hall is always the right size for the number of persons eating there – or not eating, as the case may be, for Jack Pumpkinhead, Tik-Tok, the Tin Woodman, the Sawhorse, the Scarecrow, and other people who don’t eat were seated there, too, and also people who aren’t human people: the Cowardly Lion, the Hungry Tiger, the Woozy, the King of the Flying Monkeys, Hank, Toto, and a beautiful long-haired cat with supercilious manners.
Glinda the Good was at the head of the table at one end and Queen Ozma was at the head at the other end. Pop was on Glinda’s right and Zebadiah was on Ozma’s right. The Wizard was on Glinda’s left, and Professor Wogglebug was on Ozma’s left. Aunt Hilda and I were opposite each other at the middle of the long table. She had the Tin Woodman on one side and the Scarecrow on the other and was doing her best to charm both of them and both were trying to charm her and all three were succeeding.
I had three dinner companions. I started with two, the Cowardly Lion and the Hungry Tiger. The Lion ate what others ate but the Tiger had a bowl of cornflakes the size of a small washtub and ate from it very tidily with a spoon that matched the bowl. The Cowardly Lion and I had just started seafood cocktails when this cat brushed against my leg to get my attention, looked up and said, “You smell like a cat person. Make a lap, I’m coming up” – and jumped.
I said, “Eureka, do you have Dorothy’s permission?”
“What a silly way to talk. Dorothy must get my permission. Feed me the lobster first, then the shrimp. You may have the last piece of shrimp for yourself.”
The Hungry Tiger put down his big spoon and said, “Highness, may I abate this nuisance?”
“Don’t trouble yourself, Old Boy,” the Lion said. “I’ll abite it instead, in one bite. But please pass the Tabasco sauce; cats have so little taste.”
“Pay no attention to those peasants, wench, and get on with the lobster. Animals should not be allowed to eat at the table.”
“Look who is calling whom an animal,” growled the Cowardly Lion.
“It’s not an animal, Leo,” the Hungry Tiger objected. “It’s an insect. Highness, I’m a vegetarian – but I would be happy to break over this once and slice it into my cornflakes. Shall I?”
“Dorothy wouldn’t like it, Rajah.”
“You have a point, Ma’am. Shall I ask Toto to chase it out?”
“Eureka may stay. I don’t mind.”
“Wench, the correct answer is ‘I am honored.’ Ignore these jungle beasts; they are not cats. Be it known that Felis domestica has been civilized more generations than all you lesser breeds combined. As my serene ancestress, Bubastis, Goddess of the Nile, was wont to say: ‘Where Cat is, is civilization.’ Hurry up with that lobster.”
So I hurried. Eureka accepted each bit daintily, barely flicking my finger tips with her scratchy tongue. At last she averted her mouth. “Don’t overdo it; I’ll tell you when I require more. Scratch behind my left ear – gently. I shall sing, then I shall sleep. Maintain a respectful silence.”
I did as ordered. Eureka purred very loudly. As the buzzing gave way to soft snores I slowly stopped scratching. I had to eat with one hand; the other was needed to keep her from falling.

As Aunt Hilda has placed a record in Gay by interviewing all of us and combining it, I will stick to essentials. After the rest had gone home or retired to their rooms we four were invited into the Library. It was smaller than it had been, cozy, as Glinda’s girls had gone to their rooms. Glinda was at her Great Book of Records as we were ushered in; she smiled and bowed without getting up as we sat down.
“Friends,” she said, “Doctor, Captain, Princess Hilda, and Deety, I will save time by telling you that, during the dancing, I conferred with Ozma, the Wizard, and Professor Wogglebug. I had studied the Records of your strange adventure, and I read a résumé to them before we discussed your problems. First, let me say that Ozma repeats her invitation. You are welcome to stay here forever; you will find hospitality wherever you go. Deety knows this, and Princess Hilda knows it, too, although she is not as sure of it as Deety is.
“But to reassure you gentlemen, the Wizard and I have made the Land of Oz one quarter inch wider in all directions, a change too small to be noticed. But you, Doctor, will recognize that this provides ample Lebensraum for four more good people, as well as for your sky chariot Miss Gay Deceiver. A quarter of an inch, Captain, is six and thirty-five hundredths millimeters.
“While we were about it, on the advice of Professor Wogglebug, we made small changes in Miss Gay Deceiver – “
Zebadiah gave a start and looked upset. Gay was his sweetheart long before I was; he takes care of her as carefully as he takes care of me. But he should have trusted Glinda.
Glinda smiled warmly. “Don’t be alarmed, Captain, no harm has been done to the structural integrity or to the functioning of your beloved craft. When you notice – you will notice – if you do not like the changes, all you need do is to say aloud, ‘Glinda, change Miss Gay Deceiver back the way she was.’ I will read it here in my Book and will carry out your wish. But I do not think that you will ask me to do this. That is not prophecy; a good witch does not prophesy. But it is my firm opinion.
“Now to major matters – There are no ‘Black Hat’ vermin in Oz. Should one be so foolish as to come here, I would know it from my Book, and it would be ejected into the Deadly Desert. What would happen to it there, the less said, the better – but evil is not tolerated in Oz.
“As to the problem of vermin in your home world, it does not lie in Ozma’s jurisdiction. My powers are limited there. While my Great Book tells me what happens there, it does not distinguish between vermin disguised as human beings and human beings who by their nature are evil. I could cast a spell over you which would keep you away from all ‘Black Hats.’ Do you wish that?”
Pop glanced at Zebadiah; my husband said, “Just a moment, Glinda the Good. Just what does that mean?”
“Spells are always literal, Captain; that’s why they can cause so much trouble. I rarely use them. This one means what I said: You would be kept away from any vermin of the sort you call ‘Black Hats.”
“In that case we couldn’t recognize one, could we? Or get close enough to destroy it.”
“I think one would have to devise ways to do each at a distance. Spells do not reason, Captain. Like computers, they operate literally.”
“Could they recognize us? Booby-trap us? Bomb us?”
“I do not know, Captain. My Book records only what they have done, not what they may do. Even then, as I have said, the Records do not unmask a disguised ‘Black Hat.’ Therefore, I know little about them. Do you wish the spell? You need not decide at once. If you remain in Oz, you won’t need it.”
I blurted out, “We ought to stay here!”
Glinda smiled at me, not a happy smile. “Dear Deety – You have decided not to have your baby?”
“Huh? I mean, ‘Excuse me, Glinda?'”
“You have been in Fairyland more than the others. You know that your little girl will not be born here… just as no one ever dies here.”
Aunt Hilda spoke up so quickly I couldn’t get a word in. “Glinda, thank you very much but I will not be staying.”
I gulped. “I won’t be staying, either, Aunt Glinda.”
“So I suspected. Do you want my advice, dear?”
“Yes. Certainly!”
“Having decided to be a woman and not a little girl like Dorothy or Trot, leave here quickly… lest you be tempted to stay in Fairyland forever.”
Pop glanced at Zebadiah, then said, “Madame Glinda, we’ll be leaving in the morning. We are grateful for your lavish hospitality… but I think that is best.”
“I think so, too, Doctor. But remember: Ozma’s invitation stands. When you are weary of the world, come here for a holiday and bring the children. Children are happy here and never get hurt. Oz was designed for children.”
“We will, we certainly will!”
“Is there anything more to discuss? If not… “
“Just a second!” put in Aunt Hilda. “You told Deety – will you tell me?”
Glinda smiled. “My Book states that you are growing a boy.”

Chapter XXXIII

” – ‘solipsism’ is a buzz word.”

Zeb:
I didn’t sleep with Deety that night. I didn’t plan it that way. A footman showed me to a room; Deety and Hilda were standing at the top of the stairs (more magical stairs – okay as long as you don’t look down) and talking excitedly, with Jake nearby.
When I saw that the room had only a single bed, the footman had vanished. I stepped outside; Deety and Hilda and Jake were gone, the upper hall was dark. So I said a word one mustn’t use in Oz and went back into my room. Even a single bed looked inviting; I went to sleep at once.
Glinda had breakfast with us, in the banquet hail, considerably shrunken. The food in Imperial House is wonderful, but you can’t beat ham and basted eggs and toast and jelly and fresh orange juice. I drank three cups of coffee and felt ready to rassle alligators.
Glinda kissed Deety and Hilda good-bye at the top of those Escher steps, and Jake and I bent over her hands. She wished us good luck… which must mean more from her.
Gay Deceiver looked good in morning sunlight. Tik-Tok was standing at her nose. “Good mor-ning,” he said. “I have been con-ver-sing with Miss Gay De-cei-ver all night. She is a ve-ry Smart Girl.”
“Howdy, Zeb.”
“Howdy, Gay. What have I told you about picking up strange men?”
“You’ve told me nothing, Zeb. And Tik-Tok is not a strange man. He is a gentleman, which is more than I can say for some people.”
“Tru-ly, Cap-tain, I meant no im-pro-pri-e-ty.”
“Just kidding, folks. Thanks for keeping Gay company, Tik-Tok.”
“It was a plea-sure and a pri-vi-lege. I ar-ranged with the night watch-man to wind me up each hour in or-der that our con-ver-sa-tion be not a-brupt-ly ter-mi-nat-ed.”
“Smart of you. Thanks again and we’ll see you again. We’ll be back for a visit, first chance. Gay, open up.”
“You didn’t say ‘Please,'” my autopilot answered, but she opened her doors.
“I am de-ligh-ted to hear that you are re-tur-ning. Miss Gay De-cei-ver and I have much in com-mon.”
Sharpie said good-bye to Tik-Tok, went inside. Deety not only said good-bye but kissed his copper cheek – Deety would kiss a pig if the pig would hold still for it (if he didn’t, I would turn him into sausage; kissing Deety is not to be scorned).
Hilda reappeared, still in evening gown. “Deety, come here. Hurry!”
I shook hands with Tik-Tok (odd!) and suggested that he back off a little. Then I went inside. No sign of our wives – I called to them, “Shake it up in there. I want a pilot suit.”
Deety called out, “Zebadiah, wiggle your way through the bulkhead.”
“I can’t change clothes back there.”
“Please, dear. I need you.”
When Deety says she needs me, I go. So I wiggled through, and the space didn’t seem as cramped as it had been when I was working on it at Termite Terrace. “Where are you?”
“In here. Port side,” came Deety’s muffled voice. I turned around, banging my head, and found a door where a door shouldn’t be. I had to stoop but once through it I could stand up. A room slightly bigger than a telephone booth – a door aft, a door forward, Sunbonnet Sue to the left, Buster Brown to the right. Deety opened the door on the left. “Come look!”
A luxurious dressing room and bath – “It’s the same one as in the ‘Welcome’ cottage,” said Deety, “except that the window is frosted and doesn’t open. But the air is fresh.”
I said “Hmmm – ” Then I added, “Well, well!” I checked out Buster Brown. Yes, the same bathroom Jake and I had used yesterday.
Jake stuck his head in. I said, “Perfesser, give me the benefit of your wisdom.”
“Zeb, I’m fresh out.”
“Jake – your opinion, please. Is this craft ready for space?”
“Zeb, I don’t know.”
“Let’s check the outside.”
We went over the shell with eyes and fingers, port and starboard. That car was unblemished – coutside. But from inside I heard a toilet flushing.
I went inside, on back, still on back, and knocked on Sunbonnet Sue. Sharpie let me in. “Just leaving, Zebbie,” She had elected to wear one of her new jump suits and looked like a Cracker Jack prize. “Deet’ is about ready.”
“Wait a half, Sharpie. Jake and I have decided to trust Glinda.”
“Was there any doubt?”
I stepped inside; Deety twisted around at the dressing table, smiled through a mouthful of bobby pins. “Your father and I have approved this craft for space – tentatively – Captain Deety.”
“I approved it at breakfast – and not tentatively. What do you have there, dear one?” She accepted a list from me, read it over:

NameDutyAdditional and/or Relief Duty
D. T. B. CarterCommanding

Hilda S. Burroughs2nd in Command & NavigatorScience Officer & Chef

Z. J. CarterChief PilotRelief Navigator
J. J. BurroughsCopilotSous-Chef

“It’s intended to make your life easier, Cap’n Deety. Jake didn’t get the going-over he should have had. But with Jake in the right-hand seat and me over him, I can keep him in hand – and he’ll be so busy with his verniers that he won’t have time to talk back. ‘Sous-Chef’ is a fancy way of saying that he’ll be under his wife’s thumb when we’re grounded.”
“It’s well thought out, Zebadiah. Thank you.”
“Suits you?”
“Let me study it.”
I got fidgety, ducked into Buster Brown and killed time until she called me. “Slight revision, Zebadiah.”

NameDutyAdditional and/or Relief Duty
DeetyCaptainInstructor Computers

Zebadiah2nd in Command & Chief Master at ArmsInstructor Duo, Air

JakeChief PilotInstructor Verniers
HildaCopilotScience Officer & Executive Chef

Note: Cooking will rotate D-J-Z unless changed by the Executive Chef.

“A ‘Slight revision’!” – I felt offended.
Deety looked at me anxiously. “I’m submitting it for your advice, Zebadiah. I want to continue Pop’s policy of everybody learning every job, at least well enough to limp home. Hilda will learn the verniers quickly; she’s deft, she doesn’t have to be told twice, and the inventor I have placed at her elbow. Pop needs practice in air; he isn’t as good as he thinks he is and he’s never driven a car this fast. You’ll be behind him, ready to bounce him out of trouble. Dear – will it work?”
I was forced to admit that Deety’s T.O. was better than mine.
“It’s better than mine, so you owe me a forfeit. Where are my handcuffs and nightstick?”
“As second-in-command you are vested with the duty to keep order and to see that the commanding officer’s orders are carried out, are you not?”
“Of course, Deety – Captain Deety – why rub their noses in it?”
“You know why, Zebadiah. I am reminding everyone that I mean to have a taut ship – and no back talk! You don’t need handcuffs or a club. But in that right-hand dressing-table drawer is a ten-centimeter roll of adhesive tape – the size gangsters use for gags.”
“Oh. Oho!”
“Zebadiah! Don’t use it without my direct order. I shall maintain a taut ship. But when I’ve served my time, I would much rather my father was still speaking to me. It’s a last resort, my husband. A sharp Pipe-down from you is all P – anybody will ever need. I intend to keep you at the conn most of the time – unless you ask me to relieve you, or I tell you I want to conn something personally.”
“Suits.”
“Very well, sir. You have the conn. Give them their assignments, prepare the car for space, take the reports, let me know here when you are ready. Revision in plan: Take us straight up one thousand klicks. Let us look at Oz from a distance, then continue by plan.”
“Aye aye, Captain.” I started to leave while thinking that Deety might leave a reputation equal to that of Captain Bligh.
“Zebadiah!”
“Yes, Captain?”
“Don’t go ‘way without kissing me or I won’t take the bloody job!”
“I didn’t realize that the Captain cared to be kissed.”
“Captains need kisses more than most people,” she answered, her face muffled against my shoulder.
“Got a fresh new stock. Will there be anything else, Ma’am?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“When I’ve served my time, will you use your influence to put me on the verniers? And – sometime – will you teach me supersonic?”
“Verniers, yes. Supersonic – A man who takes his wife as a pupil is breeding a divorce. Gay will teach you supersonic if you will let her. At super- or hypersonic she’s safest on autopilot. She won’t hurt herself – but if you override, you may hurt her, she may hurt you.”
“But you override. How am I to learn?”
“Easy. Give her a program. Leave it loose enough for her to correct your goofs. Keep your hands and feet very lightly on the controls. Be patient, and eventually you’ll be part of Gay and Gay will be part of you. Shut up and kiss me.”
Captains kiss better.
Ten minutes later we were ready for space. I asked, “Did anyone leave anything in our annex?” I wasn’t thinking about it; Jake had reported: “Juice one point zero – full capacity!”
“Hilda and I hung up our dresses.”
“Captain, do you realize that our magical space warp will probably go back wherever it came from the instant we leave?”
“Want to bet? Glinda wouldn’t pull a trick like that.”
“It’s your dress, Cap’n. But your exec advises you officially to warn all hands never to leave anything essential in there during maneuvers.” I wiped the matter from my mind; Deety would do it her way. “Gay, are you going to go on being talkative on your own?”
“Zeb, back on watch, I’ll be strictly business. But a girl is entitled to a night out once in a while.”
“You’re a Smart Girl, Gay.”
“So Tik-Tok told me, Zeb.”
“Roger and out, Gay. Sharpie, set transition one thousand klicks H axis, plus.”
“A thousand kilometers straight up, minimum-range scale, vernier setting three. Jacob, will you check me, please?”
Jake reported the setting correct; I snapped, “Execute!”
Jake put her nose-down: an Earthlike planet so covered with haze that I could make out no details other than straight down, where Oz was still sharp and framed by the impassable deserts. “Sharpie, please hand me the binox, then shift hats to ‘Science Officer’ and find out whether or not our new addition came along.”
I had to help her undog the bulkhead door – Sharpie, in free fall, can’t brace herself to apply enough torque to loosen a dog I had fastened on the ground. Meanwhile Deety had been using the binox. “Zebadiah, it’s hazy everywhere but below us. Emerald City shines out green as Erin, and Glinda’s Palace gleams in the sunshine. But the rest might as well be Venus. Only it’s not.”
“Daughter – Captain, I mean – have you looked at the stars?” Jake added, “I think it’s our own universe.”
“It is, Pop? On which side of Orion is the Bull?”
“Why, on – Jesus, Allah, and Zoroaster! It’s turned inside out!”
“Yes, but not the way that other inside – out place was. Like Oz itself. East for west.”
I asked my wife, “Captain Deety, is there anything odd about duration here?”
“Doesn’t feel odd. But it’s been about a century since those three little girls moved to Oz. I don’t know what it feels like to them, and I carefully didn’t ask. Did anybody notice that there were no clocks and no calendars?”
“Zebbie!”
“Yes, Sharpie?” I answered.
“Our new plumbing works just dandy. Be careful going in; it’s not free fall; the floor is down. I did a spectacular somersault.”
“Hilda my love, are you hurt?”
“Not a bit, Jacob. But next time I’ll hang on to something, pull myself down even with the deck, and slide in.”
“Science Officer, secure all doors, return to your seat and strap down. Then swap hats and set next rotation by schedule.”
“I fastened the doors. I’m dogging the bulkhead door. Okay, I’m strapping down. Where are the binoculars?”
“Jake stowed them. All hands, stand by to rotate.”
Another totally black one – I said, “Captain, we’ll tumble now unless you prefer to check our new plumbing first.”
“Plumbing isn’t Deety’s job! I’m Science Officer and that includes hygiene, plumbing, and space warps.”
Deety said to me, “I relieve you, dear” – then more loudly, to Hilda: “Copilot, pipe down. Pop, dowse the lights and tumble us. Aunt Hillbilly, attempt to set next rotation by touch and sound, in the dark. That’s number eight, third of second group.”
“Aye aye, Captain Bligh.”
The tumble showed nothing. Jake switched on lights, reported that Sharpie had set the next rotation correctly. Deety asked me to relieve her at the conn, then said, “Science Officer, I am about to inspect the addition to your department; please accompany me.” Without a word Sharpie did so.
They were gone quite a while. At last I said, “Jake, what do women talk about in can conferences?”
“I’m afraid to find out.”
They came back full of giggles; I concluded that Deety’s disciplinary methods worked. As they strapped down, Deety said, “Dear, it’s black as sin out there – and sunlight streaming in both bathroom windows. Riddle me that.”
“Science Officer’s department,” I evaded. “Stand by to rotate.”
This time Jake not only had air, I could hear it. Jake got her leveled out hastily. “Copilot, H-above-G!”
“Thirteen hundred meters.”
“Too close! Zeb, I’m going to retire and take up tatting. Where are we? I can’t see a thing.”
“We’re over water, Pop, with a light fog. I see a shoreline to starboard.” Jake turned Gay to the right, I picked out the shoreline. Gay’s wings were spread; Jake held her at an easy glide and placed her on automatic. “We’ll leave this kite sealed now; I won’t check the air without going up high.”
“Sail ho!”
“Where away, Sharpie?”
“Starboard bow. A sailing ship.”
Durn if it wasn’t. A square-rigger out of the seventeenth century, high forecastle and sterncastle. Jake took us down for a better look. I wasn’t afraid; people who sail ships like that don’t use guided missiles – so I kept telling myself.
It was a pretty sight. Jake dropped the starboard wing so that we could have a good look. But we must not have been a “pretty sight” to them; sailors were rushing around and the helmsman let her get away from him and she fell into irons, her canvas flapping foolishly. Not wanting to get the poor fellow keelhauled, I told Jake to level off and head for land.
Deety said, “Good God, Pop, you scared me silly.”
“Why, Deety? – Captain Deety. They were scared-but surely you aren’t scared by black-powder cannon?”
“You almost put the starboard wing into the water.”
“Don’t be silly, Deety; I was above two hundred meters. Well, maybe a hundred and fifty when I did that steep turn. But plenty of room.”
“Take a look at your altimeter. And pressure.”
Jake looked and so did I. The radar altimeter stated that we were nineteen meters above the water; Jake had to change scales to read it. Pressure showed well over a thousand millibars – a sea-level high. So I snapped, “Gay Bounce!”
Gay did and I caught my breath.
“Deety, how did I make that error?” Jake asked.
“I don’t know, Pop. I can see the right wing tip; you can’t. When it looked to me as if you might cut the water, I looked at the instruments. I was about to yell when you straightened out.”
“Captain, I was driving seat-of-my-pants by the ship’s masts. I would swear I never got within three hundred meters of that ship, on the slant. That should put me plenty high.”
Sharpie said, “Jacob, don’t you recognize this place?”
“Hilda, don’t tell me you’ve been here before?”
“Only in books, Beloved. A child’s version in third grade. A more detailed version in junior high. Finally I laid hands on the unexpurgated version, which was pretty racy for the age I was then. I still find it pleasantly bawdy.”
“Sharpie,” I demanded, “what are you talking about?”
Jake answered. “Zeb, what sort of ship could cause me to think I was high in the air when in fact I was about to pole-vault into the sea?”
“I’ve got it!” said Deety.
“I give up,” I admitted.
“Tell him, Pop.”
“One manned by sailors fifteen centimeters high.”
I thought about it. We were approaching land; I told Jake to glide to two klicks by instrument and told Gay to hold us there – it seemed much higher. “If anyone runs across Dean Swift, will you give him a swift kick for me?”
Deety said, “Zebadiah, do you suppose the land of the giants – Brobdingnag – is on this continent?”
“I hope not.”
“Why not, dear? It should be fun.”
“We don’t have time to waste on either Lilliputians or giants. Neither would have obstetricians able to take care of you two. Sharpie, get ready to take us up a hundred thousand klicks. Then to rotate. Does anyone have any theory about what has been happening to us? Aside from Sharpie’s notion that we are dead and don’t know it?”
“I have another theory, Zebbie.”
“Give, Sharpie.”
“Don’t laugh – because you told me that you and Jacob discussed the heart of it, the idea that human thought exists as quanta. I don’t know quanta from Qantas Airways, but I know that a quantum is an indivisible unit. You told me that you and Jacob had discussed the possibility that imagination had its own sort of indivisible units or quanta – you called them ‘fictons’-or was it ficta? Either way, the notion was that every story ever told – or to be told if there is a difference – exists somewhere in the Number of the Beast.”
“But, Hilda my love, that was merely abstract speculation!”
“Jacob, your colleagues regard this car as ‘abstract speculation.’ Didn’t you tell me that the human body is merely complex equations of wave forms? That was when I bit you – I don’t mind being a wave form, waves are pretty; I bit you for using the adverb ‘merely.”
“Zebadiah, there is a city on the left. Shouldn’t we look at it before we leave?”
“Captain, you must decide that. You saw what a panic we caused in that ship. Imagine yourself fourteen centimeters tall and living in that city. Along comes a great sky monster and dives on you. Would you like it? How many little people will faint? How many will die of heart failure? How many are you willing to kill to satisfy your curiosity?” I added, “To those people we are monsters worse than ‘Black-Hat’ vermin.”
“Oh, dear! You’re right, Zebadiah – dismally so. Let’s get out of here.”
“Copilot, set to transit straight up one hundred thousand klicks.”
“Transition ‘H’ axis, positive, vernier setting five – set!”
“Execute.” I continued, “Captain, I’d like to sit here a while.”
“Very well, Zebadiah.”
“Sharpie, let’s hear your theory. Captain, I’ve been scared silly by too many narrow escapes. We know how to translate from one Earth-analog to the next; just use plenty of elbow room. But these rotations are making me white-haired. The laws of chance are going to catch up with us.”
“Zebbie, I don’t think the laws of chance have anything to do with it. I don’t think we have been in any danger in any rotation.”
“So? Sharpie, I’m about to swap jobs with you as quickly as I can get the Captain’s permission.”
“No, no! I -“
“Chicken!”
“Zebbie, your hunches are part of why I say that the laws of chance are not relevant.”
“Sharpie, statistical laws are the most firmly established of all natural laws.”
“Do they apply in the Land of Oz?” asked Deety.
“Uh – Damned if I know! Touché!”
“Zeb, Hilda has not expressed it as I would; nevertheless I agree with her.) To call the equations used in statistics ‘laws of nature’ is a misnomer. Those equations measure the degree of our ignorance. When I flip a coin and say that the chance of heads or tails is fifty-fifty, I am simply declaring total ignorance as to outcome. If I knew all conditions, the outcome might be subject to precalculation. But we have experienced two universes having physical laws unlike those of our home universe.”
“Three, Jacob. Lilliput makes three.”
“I don’t follow you, my dear.”
“The cube-square law that runs through all biology does not apply here. A human brain can’t be placed in a space the size of a thimble by our biophysical laws. But we’re getting away from the theory Zebbie wanted me to expound. Shall I go on?”
“Yes,” Deety ruled. “Everybody shut up but Aunt Hilda. I’m zipping my own lip. Hillbilly – proceed.”
“All right. It’s not chance that we have been in three universes – InsideOut, the Land of Oz, and Lilliput – in … less than twenty-four hours, isn’t it, Deety?”
“Less than twenty-one, Aunt Hilda.”
“Thanks hon. It’s not chance that those three are ‘fictional’ universes – I have to call them that for lack of a better word – well known to each of us. By coincidence – and again I don’t have a good word but it’s not ‘chance’ – all four of us are addicted to fanciful stories. Fantasy. Fairy tales. We all like the same sort of stories. How many of us like detective stories?”
“Some – not all,” said Deety.
“My sole loyalty is to Sherlock Holmes,” I said.
“Waste of time,” said Jake.
“I’d like to try an experiment,” Hilda went on. “Write down the twenty stories you have enjoyed most. Or groups of related stories – the Oz books would count as one, so would the Edgar Rice Burroughs Mars series, and so would the four voyages of ‘Gulliver’s Travels.’ Make them stories you reread for pleasure when you are too tired to tackle a new book.”
“Sharpie, is it cheating to ask how you mean to use this?”
“No, Zebbie. If my theory is right, the next time we rotate and find ourselves near a planet, it will turn out to be the scene of a story or group of stories that appears on all four lists. We’ll arrive high enough that Jacob will have plenty of time to level off but close enough that we can ground. But we will never rotate into a mass or any danger that we can’t handle. This isn’t chance; we haven’t been dealing with chance. The Land of Oz surprised me. Lilliput didn’t surprise me at all; I expected it. Or at least a place that all of us know through Stories.”
“How about those empty universes?” I demanded.
“Maybe they are places about which stories will be written or maybe stories have already been told but aren’t favorites of us four, so we don’t emerge close to their scenes. But those are guesses. So far as my theory is concerned, such Universes are ‘null’ – they don’t count one way or the other. We find our universes.”
“Sharpie, you have just invented pantheistic multiperson solipsism. I didn’t think it was mathematically possible.”
“Zeb, anything is mathematically possible.”
“Thanks, Jacob. Zebbie, ‘solipsism’ is a buzz word. I’m saying that we’ve stumbled onto ‘The Door in the Wall,’ the one that leads to the Land of Heart’s Desire. I don’t know how and have no use for fancy rationalizations. I see a pattern; I’m not trying to explain it. It just is.”
“How does that hollow world fit your theory?”
“Well, Deety called it Pellucidar -“
“It was!”
” – but I’ve read dozens of stories about worlds underground; I’ll bet all of us have. Jules Verne, S. Fowler Wright, H. G. Wells, C. L. Moore, Lovecraft – all the great masters of fantasy have taken a crack at it. Please, can we stop talking? I want all four lists before we rotate again.”
Jake changed attitude so that Lilliput’s planet was dead ahead and told Gay to hold it there. The planet looked very small, as if we were a million kilometers out – reasonable, I decided, and wrote down “The Dorsai yarns.”
At last Deety announced, “I’m through, Aunt Hillbilly.”
Soon after, her father handed Sharpie his list. “Don’t count those I’ve lined out, dear – I had trouble holding it down.”
“‘Twenty’ is arbitrary, Jacob. I can leave your extras in.”
“No, dear, the four I eliminated do not stand as high as the twenty I retained.”
After some pencil-chewing I announced, “Sharpie, I’m stuck at seventeen. Got a baker’s dozen more in mind, but no choice.”
“Seventeen will do, Zebbie – if they are your prime favorites.”
“They are.”
Hilda accepted my list, ran her eye down it. “A psychoanalyst would have a wonderful time with these.”
“Wait a half! Sharpie, if you’re going to let a shrink see those lists, I want mine back.”
“Zebbie darling, I wouldn’t do that to you.” She added, “I need a few minutes to tally.”
I glanced at Lilliput. “Need help?”
“No. I’ve tallied a ‘one’ after all on my list. I’ve checked Deety’s against mine and tallied a ‘two’ where they match, and added to the bottom of my list, with one vote tallied against each, those she picked but I didn’t. I’m doing the same with Jacob’s list, tallying three’s and two’s and one’s. Then Zebbie and we’ll wind up with a four-vote list – unanimous – and a list with three each – and a list with two, and with one.”
Sharpie kept busy some minutes, then took a fresh sheet, made a list, folded it. “This should be in a sealed envelope to establish my reputation as a fortuneteller. Zebbie, there are nine soi-disant fictional universes listed. Any close approach we make by rotation should be near one of them.”
I said, “You included Pellucidar?”
“Pellucidar got only two votes. I stick to my theory that the inside-out world is a composite of underground fantasies. But our vote identified that third universe – the blinding lights, the one that worried you about radiation.”
“The hell you say!”
“I think it did. Four votes for Doctor Isaac Asimov’s ‘Nightfall.’ I expected his Foundation stories to make it but they got only three votes. Too bad, because his library planet might be able to tell us what those vermin are, where they come from – and how to beat them.”
“My fault, Aunt Hillbilly. Pop told me I should read the Foundation series… but I never did.”
“Sharpie,” I said, “we can put you down in New York in five minutes. The Good Doctor is getting on in years – turns out less than a million words a year now – but still likes pretty girls. He must know whatever is in the Galactic Library; he invented it. So telephone him. Better yet, sit on his lap. Cry if necessary.”
“Zebbie, if there is one place I’m certain is loaded with ‘Black Hat’ vermin, it’s New York City! You sit on his lap!”
“Not me. If we learn how to delouse our home planet, I’ll work on a way to spread the word. But I’m number one on their death list.”
“No, Jacob is.”
“No, Sharpie. Jake and Deety are dead, you are kidnapped, and I’m marked down to be ‘terminated with extreme prejudice.’ But I’ll risk grounding on the Hudson River VTOL flat long enough for you to visit the Good Doctor. Your husband can escort you; I’m going to hide in the bathroom. I figure that is actually in Oz and therefore safe.”
“Go lay an egg!”
“Sharpie dear, none of us is going to Earth-zero. Hand that list to Deety; she won’t peek. Captain, shall we rotate? The Science Officer has me half convinced that we can get away with it; let’s do it before I lose my nerve. Fourth and last universe in the second group, isn’t it?” I asked Sharpie.
“Yes, Zebbie.”
“Anybody as chicken as I am, speak up!… Isn’t anybody going to get us out of this!…… Execute!”

Chapter XXXIV

” – all my dreams do come true!”

Zeb:
Gay Deceiver was right side up five hundred meters above a sunlit, gentle countryside. Jake set her to cruise in a circle. I asked, “Are we back in Oz? Sharpie, check your setting.”
“Not Oz, Zebbie. I’ve stuck to schedule.”
“Okay. Does your magic list tell you where we are?”
“If it’s one of the nine, then it’s – ” Hilda wrote a word on a sheet, folded it, handed it to me. “Stick this in your pocket.”
I tucked it away. “Jake, bounce us, then range-and-target to ground us in that meadow. We’ll test the air when we’re down. Safer.”
Jake zeroed Gay in; she grounded. “Zeb,” he said fretfully, “how can I tell what juice we have? The gauge still reads ‘Capacity.”
“Let me think about it.”
“All right. Has the Captain worked out that new scram?”
“I think so, Pop. Take G.D. straight up a hundred thousand klicks, but do it in two words, in total darkness, or with eyes dazzled, or anything. As long as anyone can get out two syllables we’ll zip far enough away from trouble that we’ll have time to work out what to do next.”
“Good enough. Can you program it before I open a door?”
“I think so, Zebadiah. If she’s asleep, G.D. will wake up and do it at once.”
“Okay, will you program it? Hilda, set up the same thing on your dials as a back-up. Meanwhile I’m going to give the plumbing a field test. Don’t touch the doors till I get back.”
I returned in a few minutes. “Our magic space warp is still with us – don’t ask me why or I’ll scream. New program inserted?”
“Yes, Zebadiah. On tell-me-three-times and protected against execution without the doors being closed and locked. I’ve written down the magic words. Here.” Deety handed me a scrap of paper.
On it was: “Gay – Zoom!”
“It’s the shortest program with an unusual monosyllable that I can think of.”
“Its shortness may save our necks. Swap seats with me, Sharpie, it’s my turn to be pioneer mother. Everybody, hold your breath; I’m going to sniff the air.”
“Zebbie, this planet is Earthlike to nine decimal places.”
“Which gives me a cheap chance to play hero.” I opened her door a crack, sniffed.
Shortly I said, “I feel okay. Anybody woozy?”
“Open the door wide, Zebbie; this place is safe.”
I did so and stepped out into a field of daisies; the others followed me. It certainly seemed safe – quiet, warm, peaceful, a meadow bounded by a hedge row and a stream.
Suddenly a white rabbit came running past, headed for the hedge. He barely paused, pulled a watch from his waistcoat pocket, glanced at it, then moaned, “Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be too late!” and ran even faster. Deety started after him.
“Deety!” I yelled.
She stopped short. “I want to find the rabbit hole.”
“Then keep your eye on her. You’re not going down the hole.”
“On whom?” Deety turned back toward the hedge row. A little girl in a pinafore was hurrying toward the spot where the rabbit had disappeared. “Oh. But it didn’t hurt her to go down the hole.”
“No, but Alice had lots of difficulties before she got out. We haven’t time; this is not a place we can stay.”
“Why not?”
“Nineteenth-century England did not have advanced medicine.”
“Zebbie,” put in Hilda, “this isn’t England. Read that slip.”
I unfolded the scrap of paper, read: Wonderland. “Just so,” I agreed, and handed it to my wife. “But it is modeled on England in the eighteen-sixties. It either has no medicine, like Oz, or pre-Pasteur medicine. Possibly pre-Semmelweiss. Deety, do you want to die from childbed fever?”
“No, I want to go to the Mad Tea Party.”
“We can have a mad tea party; I went mad several universes back – and it’s time for lunch. Sharpie, you win the Order of Nostradamus with diamond cluster. May I ask two questions?”
“One may always ask.”
“Is H. P. Lovecraft on that list?”
“He got only one vote, Zebbie. Yours.”
“Chthulhu be thanked! Sharpie, his stories fascinate me the way snakes are said to fascinate birds. But I would rather be trapped with the King in Yellow than be caught up in the worlds of the Necronomicon. Uh… did any horrids get four votes?”
“No, dear, the rest of us prefer happy endings.”
“So do I! Especially when I’m in it. Did Heinlein get his name in the hat?”
“Four votes, split. Two for his ‘Future History,’ two for ‘Stranger in a Strange Land.’ So I left him out.”
“I didn’t vote for ‘Stranger’ and I’ll refrain from embarrassing anyone by asking who did. My God, the things some writers will do for money!”
“Samuel Johnson said that anyone who wrote for any other reason was a fool.”
“Johnson was a fat, pompous, gluttonous, dirty old fool who would have faded into the obscurity he so richly deserved had he not been followed around by a spit-licking sycophant. Spell that ‘Psycho-‘, as in ‘Bloch.'” I added, “Did Poul Anderson get in? Or Niven?”
“Zebbie, that’s far more than two questions.”
“I haven’t even reached the second question… which is: What do we have for a mad tea party?”
“Surprise! Glinda had a picnic basket placed in our dressing room.”
“I missed it,” I admitted.
“You didn’t look in the wardrobe.” Sharpie grinned. “Can sandwiches from Oz be eaten in Wonderland? Or will they ‘softly and silently vanish away’?”
“‘Be off, or I’ll kick you downstairs!'”
Several hundred calories later I noticed a young man hovering nearby. He seemed to want to speak but was too diffident to do so. Deety jumped up, trotted toward him. “The Reverend Mister Dodgson, is it not? I’m Mrs. Zebadiah Carter.”
He quickly removed his straw boater. “‘Mr. Dodgson,’ yes, uh, Mrs. Carter. Have we met?”
“Long ago, before I was married. You are looking for Alice, are you not?”
“Dear me! Why, yes, I am. But how -“
“She went Down the Rabbit-Hole.”
Dodgson looked relieved. “Then she will be back soon enough. I promised to return her and her sisters to Christ Church before dark.”
“You did. I mean, ‘you will.’ Same thing, depending on the coordinates. Come meet my family. Have you had luncheon?”
“Oh, I say, I don’t mean to intrude.”
“You aren’t intruding.” Deety took him by the hand, firmly. Since my treasure is stronger than most men, he came along… and let go her hand hastily as soon as she loosened her grip. We men got to our feet; Hilda remained in lotus.
“Aunt Hilda, this is Mr. Dodgson, Lecturer in Mathematics at Christ Church College, Oxford. My stepmother, Mrs. Burroughs.”
“How do you do, Mrs. Burroughs. Oh dear, I am intruding!”
“Not at all, Mr. Dodgson. Do sit down.”
“And this is my father, Dr. Burroughs, Professor of Mathematics. And my husband Captain Carter. Aunt Hilda, will you find a clean plate for Mr. Dodgson?”
The young don relaxed once introductions had been made but he was still far more formal than Deety intended to permit. He sat down on the turf, placed his hat carefully beside him, and said, “Truly, Mrs. Burroughs, I’ve just finished tea with three little girls.”
Deety ignored his protests while she piled his plate with little sandwiches and cakes. Sharpie poured tea from a Thermos jug. They nailed him down with cup and plate. Jake advised, “Don’t fight it, son, unless you really must leave. Are Alice’s sisters safe?”
“Why, yes, Professor; they are napping in the shade of a hayrick nearby. But -“
“Then relax. In any case, you must wait for Alice. What branch of mathematics do you pursue?”
“Algebraic logic, usually, sir, with some attention to its applications to geometry.” The Reverend Mr. Dodgson was seated so that he faced Gay Deceiver and sat in the shadow of her port wing but nothing in his manner showed that he noticed the anachronism.
“Have your studies led you into multidimensional non-Euclidean geometries?” Jake asked.
Dodgson blinked. “I fear that I tend to be conservative in geometry, rathuh.”
“Father, Mr. Dodgson doesn’t work in your field; he works in mine.”
Dodgson raised his eyebrows slightly. Jake said, “My daughter did not introduce herself fully. She is Mrs. Carter but her maiden name is Doctor D. T. Burroughs. Her field is mathematical logic.”
“That is why I am so pleased that you are here, Mr. Dodgson. Your book ‘Symbolic Logic’ is a milestone in our field.”
“But, my dear lady, I have not written a work titled ‘Symbolic Logic.”
“I’ve confused things. Again it is matter of selection of coordinates. At the end of the reign of Queen Victoria you will have published it five years earlier. Is that clear?”
He answered very solemnly, “Quite clear. All I need do is to ask Her Majesty how much longer she is going to reign and subtract five years.”
“That should do it. Do you like to play with sorites?” For the first time, he smiled. “Oh, very much!”
“Shall we make up some? Then trade and solve them?” “Well… not too lengthy. I really must get back to my young charges.”
“We can’t stay long, either. Anyone else want to play?” No one else elected to play. I stretched out on the grass with a handkerchief over my face; Jake and Sharpie went for a walk. “Shall we hold the statements down to groups of six?” Dodgson suggested.
“All right. But the conclusion must be true. Not nonsense. Agreed?” (Deety had taught me this game; she’s good at it. I decided to be a silent witness.)
They kept quiet while I snored convincingly, Deety was a “lady” for a while, then sprawled on her belly and chewed her pencil. I watched with one eye from under my handkerchief.
First she covered several pages with scratch work in developing statements incomplete in themselves but intended to arrive at only one possible conclusion. Having done so, she tested them by symbolic logic, then wrote out her list of statements, mixing them randomly – clooked up.
The young mathematician was looking at her solemnly, note pad in hand.
“Finished?” my wife asked.
“Just finished. Mrs. Carter, you remind me of my little friend Alice Liddell.”
“I know,” she said. “That’s how I recognized her. Shall we trade?”
Dodgson tore a sheet from his pad. “This is to be solved in the first person; its conclusion applies to you.”
“All right, I’ll try it.” Deety read aloud:

“1) Every idea of mine, that cannot be expressed as a syllogism, is really ridiculous;
“2) None of my ideas about Bath-buns are worth writing down;
“3) No idea of mine, that fails to come true, can be expressed as a syllogism;
“4) I never have any really ridiculous idea, that I do not at once refer to my solicitor;
“5) My dreams are all about Bath-buns;
“6) I never refer any idea of mine to my solicitor, unless it is worth writing down.”
Deety chortled. “How sweet of you! It is true; all my dreams do come true!”
“You solved it so quickly?”
“But it’s only six statements. Have you solved mine?”
“I haven’t read it yet.” He also read aloud:
“1) Everything, not absolutely ugly, may be kept in a drawing room;
“2) Nothing, that is encrusted with salt, is ever quite dry;
“3) Nothing should be kept in a drawing room, unless it is free from damp;
“4) Time-traveling machines are always kept near the sea;
“5) Nothing, that is what you expect it to be, can be absolutely ugly;
“6) Whatever is kept near the sea gets encrusted with salt.”
He blinked at the list. “The conclusion is true?” he asked.
“Yes.”
For the first time he stared openly at Gay Deceiver. “That, then – I infer – is a ‘time-traveling machine.”
“Yes… although it does other things as well.”
“It is not what I expected it to be … although I am not sure what I expected a time-traveling machine to be.”
I pulled his handkerchief off my face. “Do you want to take a ride, Mr. Dodgson?”
The young don looked wistful. “I am sorely tempted, Captain. But I am responsible for three little girls. So I must thank you for your hospitality and bid you good-bye. Will you offer my apologies to Professor and Mrs. Burroughs and explain that duty calls me?”

Chapter XXXV

“It’s a disturbing idea – “

Jake:
“Deety, how does it feel to say good-bye without getting kissed?”
“Zebadiah, I didn’t make it possible. Lewis Carroll was terrified by females over the age of puberty.”
“That’s why I stayed close. Deety hon, if I had gone with Jake and Hilda, he would have left at once.”
“I can’t figure out how he got here in the first place,” said my dear wife Hilda. “Lewis Carroll was never in Wonderland; he simply wrote about it. But this is Wonderland – unless rabbits in England wear waistcoats and watches.”
“Aunt Hilda, who can possibly be as deeply inside a story as the person who writes it?”
“Hmm – I’ll have to study that.”
“Later, Sharpie,” Zeb said. “Stand by to rotate. Mars, isn’t it?”
“Right, Zebbie,” Hilda agreed.
“Gay… Sagan!”
Mars-zero lay ahead, in half phase at the proper distance.
“Set!” Hilda reported. “To tenth universe, third group.”
“Execute.” It was another starry void with no familiar groupings; we ran through routine, Zeb logged it as “possible” and we moved on to the second of the third group – and I found myself facing the Big and Little Dippers. Again we ran through a routine tumble – but failed to find the Sun or any planets. I don’t know the southern constellations too well but I spotted Crux and the Magellanic Clouds. To the north there could be no doubt about Cygnus and a dozen others.
Zeb said, “Where is Sol? Deety? Sharpie?”
“I haven’t seen it, Zebadiah.”
“Zebbie, don’t go blaming me. I put it right back where I found it.”
“Jake, I don’t like this. Sharpie, are you set?”
“Set. Standing orders. Third group, third of three.”
“Keep your finger near the button. How does this fit your theory? I don’t recall listing a story that doesn’t have the Solar System in it.”
“Zebbie, it can’t fit two of those left, could fit the others, and could fit half a dozen or more that got three votes. You said that about a dozen were tied in your mind. Were any of them space-travel stories?”
“Almost all.”
“Then we could be in any world that takes our universe as a model but far enough from the Sun so that it appears as second or third magnitude. That wouldn’t have to be far; our Sun is pretty faint. So this could be the Darkover universe, or Niven’s Known Space, or Dr. Williamson’s Legion of Space universe, or the Star Trek universe, or Anderson’s world of the Polesotechnic League, or Dr. Smith’s Galactic Patrol world. Or several more.”
“Sharpie, what were two that this could not be?”
“King Arthur and his Knights, and the World of the Hobbits.”
“If we find ourselves in either of those, we leave. No obstetricians. Jake, any reason to stay here longer?”
“None that I see,” I answered.
“Captain Deety, I advise scram. Those space-opera universes can be sticky. I don’t care to catch a photon torpedo or a vortex bomb or a negative-matter projectile, just through failure to identify ourselves promptly.”
So we rotated.
This time we weren’t merely close; we were on the ground. Charging straight at us was a knight in armour, lance couched in attack. I think it unlikely that a lance could damage Gay. But this “gentle knight” was unfriendly; I shouted, “Gay! – Zoom!”
Sighed with relief at sudden darkness and at the Captain’s next words: “Thanks, Pop. You were on your toes.”
“Thank you. End of group three. Back to Mars? S, A, G, A, N?”
“Let’s get on with it,” Zeb agreed. “All Hands -“
“Zebadiah!” my daughter interrupted. “Is that all you wish to see of King Arthur and his Knights?”
“Captain Deety, that wasn’t one of King Arthur’s Knights. He was wearing plated mail.”
“That’s my impression,” my beloved agreed. “But I gave more attention to his shield. Field sable, argent bend sinister, in chief sun proper with crown, both or.”
“Sir Modred,” my daughter decided. “I knew he was a baddie! Zebadiah, we should have hit him with your L-gun.”
“Killed that beautiful beer-wagon horse? Deety, that sort of armor wasn’t made earlier than the fifteenth century, eight or nine centuries after the days of King Arthur.”
“Then why was he carrying Sir Modred’s shield?”
“Sharpie, was that Sir Modred’s coat of arms?”
“I don’t know; I blazoned what I saw. Aren’t you nit-picking in objecting to plate armor merely because it’s anachronistic?”
“But history shows that -“
“That’s the point, Zebbie. Camelot isn’t history; it’s fiction.”
Zeb said slowly, “Shut my big mouth.”
“Zebbie, I venture to guess that the version of Camelot we blundered into is a patchwork of all our concepts of King Arthur and the Round Table. I picked up mine from Tennyson, revised them when I read ‘Le Morte d’Arthur.’ Where did you get yours?”
“Mark Twain gave me mine – ‘A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court.’ Add some Prince Valiant. Jake?”
I said, “Zeb, there seems little doubt that there was a king or a general named Arthur or Arturius. But most people think of King Arthur from stories having little connection with any historical person. ‘The Sword in the Stone’ and ‘The Once and Future King’ are my favorites.”
My daughter persisted, “I do believe in the Round Table, I do! We should go back and look! Instead of guessing.”
“Captain Deety,” her husband said gently, “the jolly, murderous roughnecks called the Knights of the Round Table are fun to read about but not to know socially. Nor are people the only dangers. There would be honest-to-God dragons, and wyverns, and malevolent magic – not the Glinda-the-Good variety. We’ve learned that these alternate worlds are as real as the one we came from. We don’t need to relearn it by getting suddenly dead. That’s my official advice. If you don’t agree, will you please relieve me at the conn… Ma’am?”
“Zebadiah, you’re being logical – a most unfair way to argue!”
“Jacob,” said my wife, “suppose we were people who don’t like fanciful stories. What sort of worlds would we find?”
“I don’t know, Hilda. Probably only humdrum slice-of-life universes indistinguishable from the real world. Correction: Substitute ‘Universe-zero’ for ‘real world’ – because, as your theory requires, all worlds are equally real. Or unreal.”
“Jacob, why do you call our universe ‘universe-zero?”
“Eh… for convenience. Our point of origin.”
“Didn’t you tell me that no frame is preferred over any other? Each one to the Number of the Beast is equally zero in six axes?”
“Well… theory requires it.”
“Then we are fiction in other universes. Have I reasoned correctly?”
I was slow in answering. “That seems to be a necessary corollary. It’s a disturbing idea: that we ourselves are figments of imagination.”
“I’m nobody’s figment!” my daughter protested. “I’m real, I am! Pinch me!… Ouch! Zebadiah, not so hard!”
“You asked for it, dear,” Zeb told her.
“My husband is a brute. And I’ve got a cruel stepmother just like Snow White. I mean ‘Cinderella.’ And my Pop thinks I’m imaginary! But I love you anyway because you’re all I’ve got.”
“If you fictional characters will pipe down, we’ll get this show on the road. Stand by to rotate. Gay Sagan!”
Mars was where it should be. I felt more real.

Chapter XXXVI

“Pipe down and do your job.”

Hilda:
“Set, Captain,” I reported. “Thirteenth rotation. Correct, Zebbie?”
“Check, Sharpie. Captain?”
Deety answered, “Let’s catch our breaths.” She stared out at the ruddy barrenness of Mars-zero. “That rock looks downright homelike. I feel like a tourist who tries to see thirty countries in two weeks. Shock. Not ‘future shock’ but something like it.”
“Homesickness,” I told her. “Knowing that we can’t go back. Deety, somewhere, somewhen, we’ll build another Snug Harbor. Won’t we, Jacob?”
Jacob patted my knee. “We will, dearest.”
Deety said wistfully, “Will we really find another Snug Harbor?”
“Deety, are you over your pioneer-mother jag?”
“No, Zebadiah. But I can get homesick. Like you. Like Hilda. Like everybody but Pop.”
“Correction, Daughter. I don’t miss Logan, and I don’t think Hilda misses California -“
“Not a bit!” I agreed.
“Nor me,” agreed Zeb. “I had a rented flat. But Snug Harbor was home.”
“Agreed,” Jacob answered. “I didn’t really hate these vermin until they bombed our home.” Jacob added, “We’ve got to find a new Snug Harbor. Comfortable as this car is, we can’t live in it indefinitely.”
“Check. Sharpie, your theory seems to be checking out. Is there any reason to finish this schedule? Should we go directly to Teh axis?”
“Zebbie, granted that most rotations didn’t amount to more than sightseeing, if we hadn’t followed this schedule, this car would not be nearly so comfortable. Do you know of another Ford that has two bathrooms?”
“Sharpie, I don’t know of one that has one bathroom. Our space-warp special lets us stay in space as long as our air holds out. And food. But air is the critical factor.”
I said, “Zebbie, have you noticed that our air does not get stuffy?”
“It will soon.”
“It need not,” Jacob pointed out. “We can scram-code to Oz, or to Wonderland, in seconds. Sweet air, no danger.”
Zebbie looked sheepish. “I’m still learning what our wonder buggy will do.”
“So am I.”
“Gentlemen, you missed my point. You might check the juice. I haven’t mentioned another asset. Zebbie, would you like a banana?”
“Sharpie, I ate the last before I buried garbage. While you and Deety were washing dishes before we left Wonderland.”
“Tell him, Deety.”
“Zebadiah, Hilda and I salvaged and put everything into the basket. Hilda started to put it into our wardrobe – and it was heavy. So we looked. Packed as tight as when we left Oz. Six bananas – and everything else. Cross my heart. No, go look.”
“Hmmm – Jake, can you write equations for a picnic basket that refills itself? Will it go on doing so?”
“Zeb, equations can be written to describe anything. The description would be simpler for a basket that replenishes itself indefinitely than for one that does it once and stops – I would have to describe the discontinuity. But I am no longer troubled by natural – or ‘unnatural’ – laws that don’t apply in Universe-zero.”
“Mmmm… Science Officer, I suggest that you check on that basket now that we have returned to Universe-zero.”
“Zebbie, make that an order in writing and sign your name – if you want to look foolish. Deety, will you order it logged?”
“Sharpie, if you weren’t such good company, I’d strangle you. Your earlier answer recommended that we complete the rotations.”
“No, I noted that the first twelve had not been unprofitable. We could have completed the last three by now had we not spent time debating it.”
“Hilda honey, our cowardly Astrogator needed time to get his nerve back. By yumpin’ yiminy, once you’re all trained, I’m going to retire.”
“We would simply recall you, Zebbie. Each will go on doing what she can do best.”
“Time is out of joint. O curséd spite, that I was ever picked to set it right.”
“You misquoted.”
“I always do. What universe do we hit next?”
“Zebbie, we have three rotations to go, with four left on the four-votes list. One is useless but amusing and safe. The other three are places to live but each has its own dangers. As the chief of surgery used to say: ‘I dunno, let’s operate and find out.”
Zebbie sighed. “All hands, stand by to rotate. Execute!”
Green fire – “Rotate! Execute!”
A formless red fog – “Gay Sagan!”
Mars looked like an old friend. Zebbie wiped his brow and said, “Whew! One to go – Cap’n Deety hon, let’s get it over with. Sharpie?”
“Fifteenth universe – set!” I reported.
“Execute!”
We came out into a starry universe. “Cap’n Deety hon, don’t these constellations look familiar?” Zebbie commented.
“I think so.”
“They are familiar,” I insisted. “Except that there is a very bright star near the Gemini. That ought to be the Sun. We’re way out past Pluto, where the comets spend the winter. Let’s move in and find Earth.”
“Don’t be in a hurry,” said Zebbie. “Science Officer, what was that first rotation? Green fire?”
“How about the deadly green nebula in ‘The Legion of Space’? – on the trip to the Runaway Star where Aladoree had been taken.”
“That was on your list?”
“All of us voted for it.”
“What was that red fog we rotated into next?”
“That one is harder to figure,” I admitted. “It could be any universe by a writer who paid respectful attention to astronomy – Bova, Haldeman, Schmidt, Pournelle, Niven, Benford, Clement, Anderson, and so forth. But there were four votes for ‘The Mote in God’s Eye.’ Whether the two old gentlemen had anything to do with it or not, I think we blundered into a red giant. A red giant is close to what we call vacuum. Anyhow, we weren’t hurt; we were there about two seconds.”
“Less than that, Sharpie; you set it with one click, and barely had your thumb off the execute button. Captain, do you wish to transit toward that bright star?”
“Let’s chop off thirty or forty A.U.’s,” Deety decided, “and get a rough cross fix. Maybe that will give us a disc Pop can measure. If not, we’ll narrow it down until it does. Then place us one A.U. from the Sun and we’ll spot Earth easily. Astrogator – advice.”
“Captain, I advise making that first jump with wide offset. Miss the Sun by at least one A.U. At least.”
“Yes! Zebadiah, make that cross fix wide. Uh – ” Deety peered around. “There’s the Sickle. Have Pop aim for Regulus.”
My husband said, “I’m swinging toward Regulus. Zeb, how do I take the angular width of the Solar disc without broiling an eyeball?”
“The gunsight has a built-in polarizer. Didn’t I show you?”
“You did not.”
“Sorry. Captain Deety hon, I request permission to relieve the Chief Pilot for this.”
“Permission granted. But, Zebadiah, you be careful.”
“Spacecraft! Identify yourself!” – the voice was everywhere.
Zebbie jerked with surprise. (Me, too!) “Who said that?”
“Lensman Ted Smith, Commander Galactic Patrol, commanding Patrol Vessel ‘Nighthawk.’ Entity, I regret being forced to enter your mind but you have been ignoring sub-ether radio for four minutes thirty-two seconds. Switch it on and I will get out of your mind. Do not maneuver; we have weapons on you.”
“Captain,” Jacob whispered, “Hilda is set to rotate.”
Deety shook her head, touched Zebbie’s arm, pointed to herself.
“Lensman, this is Captain Deety, commanding Continua Craft Gay Deceiver. We don’t have sub-ether radio. Do you read me?”
“I read you loud and clear. What happened to your sub-ether radio? Do you need help?”
“Captain Smith, I don’t have sub-ether radio at all. We don’t need help but could use astrogational advice. Where are we?”
“The important point is that you are in my patrol sector, an unscheduled ship insufficiently identified. I repeat: DO NOT MANEUVER. By order of the Galactic Patrol. Do you understand?”
“I understand you, Lensman. I regret having intruded into your patrol space. This is a private ship engaged in peaceful exploration.”
“That is what I am about to determine, Captain. Stay where you are, make no hostile moves, and you will be safe.”
“Lensman, can you see through my eyes?”
“Are you inviting me to do so?”
“Certainly. Use my eyes, use my ears. But don’t try to take over my mind or this ship will disappear.” Deety squeezed my shoulder; I signaled “Roger” with a pat.
“I warn you not to maneuver. Ah … interesting!”
I snapped, “Captain Smith, quit threatening us! A Lensman is supposed to be an officer and gentleman! I intend to report you to the Port Admiral! You’re an oaf!”
“Sorry, Madam. I do not wish to offend but I have duty to perform. Captain, will you please turn your head so that I can see who is speaking?”
“Certainly. Let me introduce all of us. On my left” – Deety looked at Zebbie – “is Doctor Zebadiah Carter. In front of him is Doctor Jacob Burroughs. On his right” – Deety looked at me – “is his wife, Doctor Hilda Burroughs, xenobiologist and chief of science. Let me offer you this advice, Lensman: It is never safe to offend Doctor Hilda.”
“I gathered that impression, Captain. Doctor Hilda, I would not willingly offend – but I have duties. Shall I get out of your mind entirely? If you speak to me, I will hear with Captain Deety’s ears. She can, if she will, repeat to you my thought in answer.”
“Oh, it’s all right for conversation. But don’t try to go deeper! Mentor would not like it – as you know!”
“Doctor Hilda, your mention of … a certain entity… surprises me – from one who is not a Lensman.”
“I don’t need a Lens. You can check that with Arisia.”
Deety said hastily, “Lensman, are you satisfied that we are a peaceful party of scientists? Or is there something more that you wish to know?”
“Captain, I can see that this ship is not a pirate vessel – unarmed and unarmoured. Oh, I note controls for a coherent light gun but that wouldn’t be much use to a pirate. Nor can I visualize two men and two women attempting to attack a space liner. But keeping the peace is just one of my responsibilities. Your ship, small as it is, could be carrying millions of credits in contraband.”
“Say what you mean, Lensman,” I snapped. “Drugs. But don’t use the word ‘zwilnik.'”
Mentally, we could hear him sigh. “Yes, Doctor Hilda – drugs. But I did not introduce that offensive word into the discussion.”
“I heard you thinking it. Don’t do it again!”
“Lensman,” Deety said quickly, “we have medical drugs. The only one that could interest you is a few milligrams of morphine. But we carry no thionite, no bentlam, no hadive, no nitrolabe. You are using your Lens; you know that I’m telling the truth.”
“Captain, it’s not that easy. Before I hailed you I did try a slight probe – please, Doctor Hilda; it was in line of duty! I’ve never encountered minds so fully blocked. And this is a most curious craft. It is obviously designed for aerodynamic use rather than space. Yet here you are – and I can’t see how you got here. I have no choice but to detain you and to examine this ship thoroughly. If necessary, take it apart piece by piece.”
“Lensman,” Deety said earnestly, “don’t be hasty. You can search more thoroughly by Lens than by other means. Go ahead. We’ve nothing to hide and we have a great deal to offer the Patrol. But you won’t get it by pushing us around.”
“You certainly won’t! Cap’n, let’s leave! I’m tired of stupidity!” – and I snapped, “Gay Sagan!”
Mars-zero was on our starboard bow. That dead rock looked awfully good to me.
Zebbie said, “Captain, did you order the copilot to execute?”
I said, “Don’t bother Deety with it, Zebbie. I did it without permission. Solely my decision.”
Zebbie frowned unhappily. “Sharpie, I thought you would be our model Girl Scout while Deety is skipper. Why?”
“Zebbie, you can rotate back there in no time. But I would like to be dropped first. Imperial House. Or Minus-J. Somewhere.”
“Why, Hilda?” my husband asked.
“Jacob, meet your friendly neighborhood zwilnik. Commander Ted Smith of the Galactic Patrol – a fine officer; I’m certain, as Dr. E. E. Smith saw to it that no unworthy person could ever wear the Lens – was getting unpleasantly close. That’s why I was so fierce with the poor man.”
Deety said, “But, Aunt Hilda, E. E. Smith’s world is just the sort of world we’ve been seeking.”
“Maybe we’ll go back. But not until I’ve had a chance to dump two pounds of concentrated extract of Cannabis magnifica. Dr. Wheatstone tells me that it is incredibly valuable in therapy, as the base for endless drugs. But I had a hunch that Commander Smith would confiscate it, impound the Smart Girl, arrest all of us – and convict me. But that isn’t all, Zebbie. Doctor Smith created one of the most exciting universes I know of. To read about, not to live in. With that endless Boskone War – must have been going on; they were looking for zwilniks – you have to be as smart as Kimball Kinnison to stay alive… and even he gets chopped up now and again. Deety and I need a good baby-cotcher and I’m sure they have them. But we have months to find one. Let’s not deliberately back into a war.”
Deety didn’t hesitate. “I agree with Aunt Hilda. If we go back, it will not be while I’m captain. Hillbilly, you didn’t disobey orders; you used your head in an emergency.” I thought Deety was going to ask me how and when I got Cannabis magnifica extract… but she didn’t.
“Jake,” Zebbie said, “we’re overruled. Where now, Captain? Earth-Teh-one-plus?”
“First we’d better pick a place to spend the night, and hold an election.”
“Why, Deety, you’ve served less than twelve hours!”
“It will be about twenty-four hours when we lift off tomorrow. I’m not going to ask for nominations; we’ve all had a turn at it; we are now balloting for permanent captain.”
I expected Zebbie to be picked. But there were three for me, one for Zebbie – my ballot.
I seemed to be the only one surprised. Zebbie said to Deety, “Ask to be relieved now, hon. The short-timer syndrome is bad for anyone but worse for a C.O. – it demoralizes her crew.”
“Aunt Hilda, will you relieve me?”
I pondered it half a second. “I relieve you, Deety.”
“Goody! I think I’ll take a nap.”
“I think you’ll take the verniers. Zebbie and Jacob stay in the jobs they’re in. Prepare to maneuver. Copilot, set for Oz. If you don’t know how, ask your father.”
“Set verniers for Oz?”
I took a deep breath to calm down. “Before anyone starts asking ‘Why?’ the answer is: Pipe down and do your job. Before we start on Teh axis, I want to ask questions. We talked to Glinda about our problem. We didn’t talk directly to the others. I mean Ozma and Professor Wogglebug and the Little Wizard and possibly others. Family, magicians who can install two bathrooms in a Ford and never have it show can also help us spot vermin if we ask the right questions. Deety, are you having trouble setting for Oz?”
“Captain, why set verniers? Gay has our parking spot in her perms. Codeword ‘Glinda.”
A few seconds later Gay called out, “Hi, Tik-Tok!”
“Wel-come back, Miss Gay De-cei-ver. Glin-da told me that you would be gone on-ly a few mi-nutes, so I wai-ted here for you. I am deep-ly hap-py to see you a-gain.”

Chapter XXXVII

The First Law of Biology

Zeb:
“Stand by to maneuver,” I ordered – at the conn by Captain Sharpie’s wish “Hello, Gay.”
“Howdy, Zeb. You look hung over.”
“I am. Gay Home!”
Arizona was cloudless. “Crater verified, Captain Hilda.”
“Teh axis one plus – set, Captain,” Deety reported.
“Execute!”
“No crater, Cap’n Auntie. No house. Just mountains.” Deety added, “Teh-one-minus – set.”
“Roger, Deety. Routine check, Captain?”
“Voice routine, short schedule.” (I think that is what got Sharpie elected permanent C.O. – she never hesitates.)
“Gay Deceiver. Sightseeing trip. Five klicks H-above-G.”
“Ogle the yokels at five thousand meters. Let’s go!”
“Deety, keep your thumb on the button. Gay – Miami Beach.”
Below lay a familiar strip city. “Captain?”
“Zebbie, note the crowded streets. Sunny day. Beaches empty. Why?”
“Bogie six o’clock low!” Jake yelped.
“Gay Zoom!”
Earth-Teh-one-plus swam warm and huge. Opposite us a hurricane approached Texas. I asked, “Want to see more, Captain?”
“Zebadiah, how can we see more when we haven’t seen any?”
“But Cap’n Sharpie has, Deety. Folks, I’m unenthusiastic about a world where they shoot without challenging. Jake, your bogie was a missile?”
“I think so, Zeb. Collision course with Doppler signature over a thousand knots and increasing.”
“A missile – out of Homestead-analog, probably. Captain, these blokes are too quick on the trigger.”
“Zebbie, I find empty beaches more disturbing. I can think of several reasons why they would be empty on a nice day – all unpleasant.”
“Want to check San Diego? I can get more scram time by increasing H-above-G.”
“No, we have over forty thousand analogs on this axis; we’ll stick to doctrine. Shop each world just long enough to find something wrong – ‘Black Hats,’ war, low technology, no human population, bad climate, overpopulated, or factor X. If we don’t find our new Snug Harbor in the next four months, we’ll consider returning to Doctor Smith’s world.”
“Hillbilly, if we wait there to have our babies, then wait again until they are big enough to travel, we’ll never find Snug Harbor.”
“I said, ‘consider.’ We may find a place to shack up for five months or so, then slam back to Galactic Patrol Prime Base hospital for the Grand Openings. Could be an empty world – no people, pleasant otherwise. Food is now no problem and we get water from Oz. All we lack is television -“
“That’s no lack!”
“Deety, I thought you liked ‘Star Trek’?”
“Auntie Captain, we’ve got our own star trek now.”
“Hmm – Deety, you and I should go easy on this star trek. I’m going to I’m having my first one past forty and I’m going to be very careful – exercise, diet, rest, the works.”
“I surrender. Let’s get cracking, Cap’n Hillbilly.”
“Take it, Zebbie.”
“Copilot, execute!”
Earth-Teh-one-minus replaced Teh-one-plus. “Jacob, it doesn’t look right. Astrogator, I want us up a hundred kilometers, over – make it Mississippi Valley about St. Louis. Want to change attitude?”
“Yes, please. Jake, point Gay at your target; it will skip setting angle.” The craft’s nose dipped and steadied.
“How’s that?”
“Fine, Jake. Deety, set L axis plus transition ninety-nine thousand klicks.”
“Set, Zebadiah.”
“Execute.” We popped out high over fields of ice. “Sneak up on it, Cap’n?”
“Never mind. Zebbie, that’s what I call a hard winter.”
“A long winter. Actually it’s summer, I think; Earth-analogs should be in the same place in orbit as Earth. Jake?”
“By theory, yes. Doesn’t matter either way; that’s glaciation. Deety has set Teh-two-plus.”
“We can’t homestead on an ice sheet. Execute.”

“Zebbie, how many ice ages so far?”
“Five, I think. Deety?”
“Five is right, Zebadiah. Plus two worlds with major war, one where they shot at us, and one so radioactive that we got out fast!”
“So we’re hitting ice more often than not.”
“Five to four has no statistical significance, Zebadiah. At least Aunt Hilda hasn’t spotted even one ‘Black Hat.”
“Sharpie, how good are your magic spectacles?”
“Zebbie, if I see them walk, I’ll spot ’em, no matter how they’re disguised. In the simulations Glinda and Wizard cooked up, I spotted their gait every time Deety identified it by Fourier analysis.”
“You feel confident, that’s enough.”
“Zebbie, I don’t have clairvoyance; there wasn’t time to train me. But Glinda got me highly tuned to their awkward gait, both with and without splints. I want to discuss something else. According to geologists, when we were home – Earth where we were born, I mean – we were in a brief warm period between glaciations.”
“If geologists are right,” I admitted.
“If so, we’ll usually hit glaciation.”
“Probably. ‘If – ‘”
“Yes, ‘if – ‘ But we now know what glaciation looks like. If you and Jacob and Deety can make it a drill, we can flip past ice ages as fast as you spot one.”
“We’ll speed it up. Jake.”
“Zebadiah, wait!”
“Why, Deety? We’re about to translate.”
“Pop, you told me to set for Teh-five-plus.”
“Jacob?” Captain Sharpie said.
“That’s right, Captain.”
“What’s the trouble, Deety?”
“Aunt Hilda, I said that five-to-four had little statistical significance. But so far, all glaciations have been in Teh-minus. That could be chance but -“
” – but doesn’t look like it. You want us to explore axis Teh-plus first? Astrogator?”
“No, no! Captain Auntie, I would like to see enough of Teh-minus to have a significant sample. At least a hundred.”
“Jacob?”
“Hilda, if we check in one pseudodirection only – say Teh-minus – it’ll be four or five times as fast as hunting back and forth between plus and minus. Deety can set with one click; Zeb can yell ‘Execute!’ as soon as you are satisfied.”
“Jacob, we’ll get Deety her sample. But faster. Astrogator, have our copilot set Teh-six-minus”
“Uh… set, Captain.”
“When Zebbie says ‘Go,’ Jacob, you and Deety flip them past as fast as you can without waiting for orders. All we’ll be looking for is ice ages; we can spot one in a splitsecond. If anyone sees a warm world, yell ‘Stop!’ Deety, can Gay count them?”
“She’s doing so, Captain. We both are.”
“Okay. I’m going to give my magic specs a rest – we’re looking for nothing but glaciers versus green worlds. Questions?”
“Run out Teh-minus as fast as I can set and translate. Stop when anyone yells. Aye aye, Cap’n Hillbilly honey.”
Sharpie nodded to me; I snapped, “Go!”

“STOP!” yelped Deety.
“Jacob, I’ve never seen so much ice! Deety, how many martinis would that make?”
“On the rocks or straight up?”
“Never mind; we’re out of vermouth. Did you get your sample?”
“Yes, Captain. One hundred ice ages, no warm worlds. I’m satisfied.”
“I’m not. Zebbie, I want to extrapolate logarithmically – go to Teh-minusone-thousand, then ten thousand, a hundred thousand, and so on. Jacob?”
Jake looked worried. “Hilda, my scales can be set for vernier setting five, or one hundred thousand. But that translation would take us more than twice around a superhyper great circle – I think.”
“Elucidate, please.”
“I don’t want to get lost. My equations appear to be a description of six-dimensional space of positive curvature; they’ve worked – so far. But Euclidean geometry and Newtonian mechanics worked as long as our race didn’t monkey with velocities approaching the speed of light. Then the approximations weren’t close enough. I don’t know that the plenum can be described with only six space-time coordinates. It might be more than six – possibly far more. Mathematics can be used for prediction only after test against the real world.”
“Jacob, what is the ‘real world’?”
“Ouch! Hilda, I don’t know. But I’m afraid to get too many quanta away from our world – world-zero, where we were born. I think the extrapolation you propose would take us more than twice around a superhyper great circle to – What world, Deety?”
“World-six-thousand-six-hundred-eighty-eight on Teh-minus axis, Pop. Unless it’s skewed.”
“Thanks, Deety. Captain, if we arrived there, we could return to Earth-zero by one setting. ‘If – ‘ Instead of a superhyper great circle we might follow a helix or some other curve through dimensions we know not of.”
“Pop, you took what I said and fancied it up.”
“R.H.I.P., my dear. You will appear as junior author on the monograph you’ll write and I’ll sign.”
“Pop, you’re so good to me. Wouldn’t Smart Girl return us simply by G, A, Y, H, O, M, E?”
“Those programs instruct a machine that has built into it only six dimensions. Perhaps she would… but to our native universe so far from Earth-zero that we would be hopelessly lost. If Zeb and I were bachelors, I would say, ‘Let’s go!’ But we are family men.”
“Deety, set the next one. Teh-five-plus?”
“Right, Zebadiah. But, Captain Auntie, I’m game! The long trip!”
“Me, too,” agreed Captain Sharpie.
I said in a tired voice, “Those babies are ours as much as they are yours – Jake and I are taking no unnecessary risks. Captain Sharpie, if that doesn’t suit you, you can find another astrogator and another chief pilot.”
“Mutiny. Deety, shall we pull a ‘Lysistrata’?”
“Uh… can’t we find some reasonable middle ground?”

“Looks like a place to stop for lunch. Sharpie, want to sniff for ‘Black Hats’?”
“Take me down, please. About two thousand klicks above ground.”
“Will you settle for five?”
“Sissy pants. Yes, if you’ll first have Jacob zip us around night side to check for city lights.”
“Give her what she wants, Jake, by transiting; an orbit takes too long. ‘Give me operations… way out on some lonely atoll! For I… am too young to diiiie! I just want to grow old!'”
“You’re off key, Zebbie.”
“Deety likes my singing. Anybody spot city lights?”
We found no cities. So Jake put us down for lunch on a lonely atoll, Hilda first making certain that it had nothing on it but palm trees. Deety stripped, started exercises.
Hilda joined her; Jake and I set out lunch, having first dressed in stylish tropical skin. The only less-than-idyllic note came from my objecting to Deety’s swimming in the lagoon. Hilda backed me up. “Deety, that’s not a swimming pool. Anything in it has defenses or couldn’t have survived. The first law of biology is eat or be eaten. A shark could have washed over the reef years back, eaten all the fish – and now be delighted to have you for lunch.”
“Ugh!”
“Deety, you’d be very tasty,” I soothed.

Chapter XXXVIII

” – under his vine and under his fig tree; and none shall make them afraid – “

Jacob:
Teh positive took longer to search than Teh-negative for the very reason that its analogs were so much like our native planet.
An uninhabited planet could be dismissed in ten minutes; one heavily populated took no longer. A planet at too low a level of culture took hardly longer – a culture with animal-drawn carts and sailing ships as major transport we assumed not to have advanced medicine. But most took longer to reject.
At the end of a week we had rejected ninety-seven… which left us only 40.000 + to inspect!
That evening, at “Picnic Island,” our private atoll, my daughter said, “Cap’n Auntie, we’re doing this wrong.”
“How, Deetikins?”
“Ninety-seven in a week, over forty thousand to go. At that rate we finish in eight years.”
Her husband said, “Deety, we’re getting faster.”
My beloved said, “Astrogator, do you know more about calculating than does the Copilot?” Zeb shut up. We had learned that when Hilda addressed us by titles, she was speaking as captain. I flatter myself that I learned it quicker whereas Zeb was a bit slow. “Go ahead, Deety.”
“If we go on checking this way, it won’t get better; it will get worse. Here’s the first weeks’ score” – she passed around her summary; it read:

Earth analogs checked97
Average time per planet34 mins 38 1/2 sec
Maximum time2 days 3 hrs 52 mins
Minimum time13 seconds
Median time12 mins 07 sec

I studied it. “Deety, we can reduce that average time. Over two days was much too long to check analog twenty-six.”
“No, Pop, we should have taken longer on twenty-six. It’s that thirteen seconds that is bankrupting us.”
“Daughter, that’s preposter – “
“Chief Pilot.”
“Yes, dear?”
“Please let the Copilot finish… without interruption.” I retired from the field, annoyed, to wait until my advice was indispensable – soon, I felt sure.
“Aunt Hilda, if we gave each analog thirteen seconds, it would take us eighteen and a half days… and we would learn nothing. I want to cut the minimum time way, way down – make it routine – and learn something. I wish Gay could talk, I do.”
“But, dear, she can. We can be in Oz in two minutes. The dirty dishes can wait.”
My daughter looked startled. “Pass me the Stupid Hat.”
“But we won’t go to Oz before tomorrow. We need to figure out what the problem is, first – and I need a night of cuddle with Jacob for the good of my soul.” Hilda reached out and took my hand.
Hilda went on, “Deety, remember how fast we mapped Mars-Tau-ten-positive once we let Gay do it her way? Isn’t there some way to define a locus – then turn her loose?”
We discussed it until bedtime. I set the locus myself by vetoing going past Earth-analog-Teh-positive-five-thousand until we were certain that no satisfactory analog existed in those first five thousand. “Family,” I told them, “call me chicken, to use Zeb’s favorite excuse. I know so little about this gadget I invented that I am always afraid of getting lost. All rotations have been exactly ninety degrees. In theory I can define a quantum of angle and each such quantum should render accessible another sheaf of universes. In practice I can’t do machining of that quality. Even if I could, I would be afraid to risk our necks on a gadget required to count angular quanta.
“But I have another objection – a gut feeling that worlds too far out Teh axis will be too strange. Language, culture, even dominant race – I confess to prejudice for human beings, with human odors and dandruff and faults. Supermen or angels would trouble me more than vermin. I know what to do with a ‘Black Hat’ – kill it! But a superman would make me feel so inferior that I would not want to go on living.”
Deety clapped. “That’s my Pop! Don’t worry, Pop; the superman who can give you an inferiority complex hasn’t been hatched.” I think she meant that as a compliment.
We worked the parameters down to three: climate warm enough to encourage nudity; population comfortably low; technology high. The first parameter was a defense against B.H. vermin: they require antinudity taboo to bolster their disguises. The last parameter would tend to indicate advanced obstetrics. As for population, every major shortcoming of our native planet could be traced to one cause: too many people, not enough planet.
Hilda decided to standardize: one locale, one H-above-G. The locale was (in Earth-zero terminology) Long Beach, California, over its beach one klick H-above-G – dangerously low were it not that Gay would never be in any universe longer than one second. Any speed-of-light weapon can destroy in less than a second, but can its human-cum-machine operators identify a target, bear on it, and fire in one second? We thought not. We hoped not.
At analogs of Long Beach, it should be midsummer, hot, dry, and cloudless. If that beach was comfortably filled but not crowded, if the people were nude, if area adjacent to the beach showed high technology by appearance, then that analog should be checked further.
Forty minutes in Oz changed much of our planning.

Tik-Tok was waiting for his lady friend as usual but kept politely quiet while Deety talked with Gay – and so did Zeb and so did I, not because we have Tik-Tok’s courtly manners but because Captain Hilda was blunt. Gay understood the Celsius scale, i.e., both freezing and boiling water temperatures lay in her experience and splitting the interval into one hundred parts was no trouble. She had enough parts that needed to be neither too hot nor too cold that awareness of her surroundings both ambient and radiant was as automatic as breathing is for me. As for radio and television (both gauges of technical level) she could sample all infrared flux (as she had done at Windsor City). Crowds on beach? Would it suffice to count bodies on a sample one hundred meters square?
But Gay had a quite un-human complaint: “Deety, why must I hang around a thousand milliseconds for a job I can do in ten? Don’t you trust me?”

So instead of 57 years – or 8 years – or 18 1/2 days – or 11.4 hours – our preliminary survey was complete less than a minute after we left Oz – 5000 universes in fifty seconds. Gay Deceiver displayed her results as three curves representing temperature, body count, density of communication-frequency radiation – abscissa for all running from Earth-zero to Earth-analog-5000-Teh-plus.
Those curves told one thing at once: No need to search past analog 800; glaciation had returned.
In the lower right corner was displayed: 87. Zeb asked why. “Nulls,” said Deety. “Gay couldn’t get readings. Storm, earthquake, war, anything. Gay Deceiver.”
“Hi, Deety! We whupped ’em!”
“You surely did, Smart Girl; Tik-Tok will be proud of you. Change scale. Display zero through eight hundred.”
As scale expanded, figure 87 dropped to 23. Zeb said, “Deety, I’m curious about those twenty-three. Will you have S.G. display their designations?”
“Certainly, Zebadiah, but may I take it in planned order?”
“Sure but just let me find out first -“
“Astrogator,” Sharpie said flatly, “isn’t this your day as K.P.?”
We were at Picnic Island, examining results. I suppressed a smile; “slunk” describes the way Zeb left the cabin. Later I was unsurprised to see my tiny treasure giving Zeb an unusually warm hug and kiss. Our Captain has an efficient system of rewards and punishments – never so described.
Deety instructed Gay to eliminate all worlds with a body count higher than that of the Earth-zero beach, and all worlds chillier by five degrees (my daughter was bracketing to avoid false readings from unseasonable weather).
With elimination of high population, cold climate, and low technology as indicated by low or nil flux of communication frequencies, my daughter had us down to seventy-six worlds, plus twenty-three to reexamine – had eliminated over four thousand worlds – and it was still two hours till lunch time!
Deety had Gay display temperatures of the seventy-six. The curve was no longer continuous, but a string of beads, with clumps. I said, “Hilda my love, I’ll wager ten back rubs that at least half of the nulls fit into that gap” – and indicated a break at the maximum of the temperature curve.
Hilda hesitated. “Why, Jacob?”
“My dear, figures mean little to me until expressed geometrically. Curves are bold print. I’ll give you odds.”
“What odds?”
“Don’t be suckered, Auntie Cap’n! Pop, I’ll take your end of the bet, give you two to one, and spot you a point.”
A back rub from Deety is a treat; she has strong hands and knows how. But I answered, “Ladies, I must start lunch. Deety, when we make visual check, let’s include Antarctica as well as Greenland, at that break.”
“Two points, Pop?” I pretended not to hear.
That same day we trimmed it down to six worlds, all warm, all free of body taboos, all high technology, all acceptably low in population, all free of major war or overt preparations, all with some version of English as the major North American language. It was time to pick a world by inspection on the ground.

How to make contact was much discussed. Hilda chopped it by saying: “One way is to land on the White House lawn and say, ‘Take me to your leader!’ The other is to be as sneaky as a ‘Black Hat.’ Let me know when you reach consensus.” She went through the bulkhead and dogged the door.
An hour later I rapped on the bulkhead; she rejoined us. “Captain,” I reported formally, “we have reached consensus. Each is afraid of the open approach; authorities might confiscate our car, we might wind up as prisoners.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “Twice we just missed it.”
“Precisely. The expression ‘sneaky as a “Black Hat”‘ is distasteful -“
“I so intended.”
I went doggedly on: ” – but sneakiness is not immoral per se. A mouse at a cat show is justified in being inconspicuous; so are we. We merely seek information. I am expendable; therefore I will scout on the ground.”
“Hold it. This is unanimous? Deety? Zebbie?”
“No,” my daughter answered. “I didn’t get a vote. You and I are barred from taking risks. Pregnant, you know.”
“I certainly do know! Jacob, I asked for consensus on method. I did not ask for volunteers. I’ve picked the scout I consider best qualified.”
I said, “My dear, I hope you have picked me.”
“No, Jacob.”
“Then I’m your boy,” said Zebbie.
“No, Zebbie. This is spying, not fighting. I’m doing this job myself.”
I interrupted, “Hilda, where you go, I go! That’s final.”
Our captain said gently, “Beloved, I hope you don’t stick to that. If you do, we’ll elect another skipper. You are my candidate.”
“Dear, I was trying to -“
” – take care of me. Nevertheless you are my candidate. Deety is too reckless; Zebbie too cautious. I’ll carry out whatever duties you assign, including using the magic spectacles. Are you sticking to that ultimatum?”
“Uh, yes.”
“Even though your stubbornness could result in my death? I love you, dear, but I won’t take you with me on a spying mission. What happened to that ‘All for one and one for all’ spirit?”
“Uh… “
“Captain!”
“Yes, Zebbie?”
“You proved that you can be tough with your husband. Can you be tough with yourself? Look me in the eye and tell me that you know more about intelligence than I do. Or that you can fight your way out of a rumpus better than I can.”
“Zebbie, this isn’t military intelligence. You look me in the eye and tell me that you know more about obstetrics than I do. How do you prepare for leapfrog transfusion and when is it likely to be needed? Define eclampsia. What do you do about placenta previa? I am less likely to get into a rumpus than you are … and if I do, I’ll throw my arms around his neck and cry. However… convince me that you know as much about obstetrics as I do and I’ll consider letting you make contacts. In the meantime pick a midwestern town big enough for a fair-sized hospital and public library, and select a point for grounding and rendezvous; you will be in command while I’m gone.”
I interrupted. “Hilda, I absolutely forbid -“
“Chief Pilot! Pipe down!” My wife turned her face away from me. “Chief Master at Arms, restore discipline.”
“Aye aye, Ma’am! Jake, she means you.”
“But -“
“Shut up! Crewmen don’t give orders to the C.O., and I’ve had a bellyful of your attempts.”

Two hours later I was in Zeb’s seat, biting my nails and sweating, while Zeb had my seat. I had given unconditional parole – the alternative having been to go (or be stuffed) through the bulkhead, then wait, locked in. I am not a total fool; I gave my word.
Zeb held us in cloud cover while my daughter, wearing earphones, stayed in contact with Hilda. Gay’s cabin speaker was paralleled with the phones so that we could follow in part what went on below. Deety reported, “That fade is from entering a building; I could hear her footsteps. Zebadiah, if I fiddle with the gain, I might miss her as she comes out.”
“Don’t shift. Wait.”
Eternities later we heard Hilda’s sweet voice: “I’m heading for rendezvous. I no longer have to pretend that this is a hearing aid – but everybody accepted it as such. You needn’t be cautious picking me up; we’re leaving.”
Five minutes later we bounced and translated at once, then Zeb held her in cruise while Hilda reported:
“No trouble. Ze bewildair’ French ladee she zink les Americain’ verree gentils. Mais les arts medicals – poof! Infant mortality high, childbirth mortality gruesome. I could have left sooner but I got fascinated.”
“Hilda,” I protested, “you had me worried to death.”
“Jacob, I had to be certain; it’s such a nice world otherwise. Other contacts should not take as long as I’ve solved the money problem.”
“How?” Zebadiah asked. “I’ve been noodling that. There’s an even chance that private ownership of gold will be illegal. A standard trick used whenever a government is in trouble.”
“Yes, Zebbie – it’s illegal there, too. I still have the bullion you had me carry. Instead I sold that heavy gold chain I was wearing. Sorry, Deety; I had to.”
“Forget it, Hillbilly. That chain was a way to horde gold. Pop bought it for Mama Jane before they clipped the zeroes and remonetized.”
“Well… I found a public phone – didn’t try to use it; Edison would never have recognized it. But it had a phone book, so I looked up ‘gold’ – and found ‘licensed gold dealers’ and sold your chain -“
“And now you’re stuck with a lot of local money.”
“Zebbie! See why I didn’t let you go down by yourself? The dealer was of course a coin dealer, too – and I bought foreign silver coins, worn, small, oldish, dates without being old enough to be collectors’ items. French coins, but he didn’t have enough, so I filled out with Belgian, Swiss, and German.”
I said, “My dear, the coins you bought there will not be good here. Or at the next analog. Or the next.”
“Jacob, who – other than a professional – is certain of designs on foreign coins? – especially if they are a few years old and a bit worn. I got real silver, none of those alloys that don’t have the right ring to them. At most a shopkeeper will phone his bank and ask for the rate. That’s how I bought this,” my beloved said proudly, pulling out of Deety’s biggest purse a World Almanac.
I was not impressed. If she was going to buy a book, why not a technical manual that might contain new art, data Zeb and I could use?
My darling was saying, “We must buy one in each analog we ground in. It’s the nearest thing to an encyclopedia less than a kilo mass you’ll find. History, law, vital statistics, maps, new inventions, new medicine – I could have skipped the library and learned all I needed from this book. Zebbie! Turn to the list of U.S. Presidents.”
“Who cares?” Zeb answered, but did so. Shortly he said, “Who is Eisenhower? This shows him serving one of Harriman’s terms and one of Patton’s.”
“Keep going, Zebbie.”
“Okay – No! I refuse to believe it. Us Carters are taught to shoot straight, bathe every month even in the winter, and never run for office.”

Two days later Hilda and Zeb, as a French-tourist couple, found the world where we settled.
We slid in quietly, both through the histrionics of our “bewildered French lady” and Zeb’s unmalicious chicanery. Sometimes he was our French lady’s husband; other times he spoke English slowly with a strong Bavarian accent.
In this analog, the United States (called that, although boundaries differ) is not as smothered in laws, regulations, licensing, and taxes as is our native country. In consequence “illegally entered aliens” do not find it difficult to hide, once they “sling the lingo” and understand local customs.
Hilda and Zeb learned rapidly in a dozen towns, Deety and me “riding shotgun” in the sky. Deety and I learned from them and from radio. Then we moved to the Northwest, “natives” from back east, and coped with our only problem: how to keep Gay Deceiver out of sight.
Hilda and Deety hid her in the Cascades for three days while Zeb and I found and bought a farmhouse outside Tacoma-analog. That night we moved Gay into the barn, slapped white paint on the building’s windows, and slept in Gay, with a feeling of being home!
We own six hectares and live in the farmhouse in front of Gay’s hideaway. Gay will eventually go underground, protected by reinforced concrete; the barn will become a machine shop. We will build a new house over her bunker. Meanwhile, our old farmhouse is comfortable.
This United States, population under a hundred million, accepts immigrants freely. Zeb considered buying phony papers to let us enter “legally” – but Hilda decided that it was simpler to use Gay to smuggle us while we smuggled Gay. The outcome is the same; we will never be a burden to the state – once we get our machine shop and electronics lab set up, Zeb and I will “invent” hundreds of gadgets this country lacks.
We seem to be near the warmest part of an interglaciation. Wheat grows where our native world has frozen tundra; the Greenland icecap has vanished; lowlands are under water, coastlines much changed.
Climate and custom encourage light clothing; the preposterous “body modesty” taboo does not exist. Clothing is worn for adornment and for protection – never through “shame.” Nakedness is symbolic of innocence – these people derive that symbology from the Bible used in our native culture to justify the exact opposite. The same Bible – I checked. (The Bible is such a gargantuan collection of conflicting values that anyone can “prove” anything from it.)
So this is not a world where alien vermin can hide. A “man” who at all times kept arms and legs covered by long sleeves and long trousers would be as conspicuous as one in armor.
The sects here are mostly Christian – on a Saturday morning one sees families headed for church in their finest Sabbath-go-to-meeting clothes. But, since nakedness is symbolic of innocence, they undress in an anteroom to enter their temple unadorned. One need not attend services to see this; the climate favors light, airy structures that are mostly roof and slender columns.
The Bible affects their penal system, again by selective quotation: “Eye for eye, tooth for tooth -“
This results in a fluid code, with no intent to rehabilitate but to make the punishment fit the crime. I saw an example four days after we settled. I was driving our steam wagon and encountered a road block. A policeman told me that I could take a detour or wait twenty minutes; the highway was being used to balance a reckless driver.
I elected to pull over and wait. A man was staked with one leg stretched out at a right angle. A police wagon drove down that cleared highway, ran over his leg, turned and drove back over it.
An ambulance was waiting – but nothing was done for a timed seventeen minutes. Then surgeons amputated on the spot; the ambulance took him away and the block was removed.
I went back to my wagon and shook for many minutes, then returned home, driving cautiously. I didn’t tell our family. But it was reported on radio and the evening paper had pictures – so I admitted that I had seen it. The paper noted that the criminal’s insurance had been insufficient to cover the court’s award to the victim, so the reckless driver had not only lost his left leg (as had his victim) but also had had most of his worldly goods confiscated.
There is no speed limit and traffic regulations are merely advisory – but there are extremely few accidents. I have never encountered such polite and careful drivers.
A poisoner is killed by poison; an arsonist is burned to death. I won’t describe what is done to a rapist. But poisoning, arson, and rape are almost unknown.
My encounter with this brutal system of “balancing” almost caused me to think that my dear wife had been mistaken in picking this world-we should move! I am no longer certain. This place has no prisons, almost no crime, and it is the safest place to raise children I’ve ever heard of.
We are having to relearn history. “The Years of Rising Waters” explain themselves. The change came before 1600; by 1620 new shorelines had stabilized. That had endless consequences – mass migrations, political disorder, a return of the Black Death, and much immigration from Great Britain and the lowlands of Europe while the waters rose.
Slavery never established here. Indentures, yes – many a man indentured himself to get his family away from doomed land. But the circumstances that could have created “King Cotton” were destroyed by rising waters. There are citizens here of African descent but their ancestors were not slaves. Some have indentured ancestors, no doubt – but everyone claims indentured ancestors even if they have to invent them.
Some aspects of history seem to be taboo. I’ve given up trying to find out what happened in 1965: “The Year They Hanged the Lawyers.” When I asked a librarian for a book on that year and decade, he wanted to know why I needed access to records in locked vaults. I left without giving my name. There is free speech – but some subjects are not discussed. Since they are never defined, we try to be careful.
But there is no category “Lawyers” in the telephone book.
Taxation is low, simple – and contains a surprise. The Federal government is supported by a head tax paid by the States, and is mostly for military and foreign affairs. This state derives most of its revenue from real estate taxes. It is a uniform rate set annually, with no property exempted, not even churches, hospitals, or schools – or roads; the best roads are toll roads. The surprise lies in this: The owner appraises his own property.
There is a sting in the tail: Anyone can buy property against the owner’s wishes at the appraisal the owner placed on it. The owner can hang on only by raising his appraisal at once to a figure so high that no buyer wants it – and pay three years back taxes at his new appraisal.
This strikes me as loaded with inequity. What if it’s a family homestead with great sentimental value? Zeb laughs at me. “Jake, if anybody wants six hectares of hilly land and second-growth timber, we take the profit, climb into Gay – and buy more worthless land elsewhere. In a poker game, you figure what’s in the pot.”

PART THREE – Death and Resurrection

Chapter XXXIX

Random Numbers

Hilda:
Jacob stood, raised his glass. “Snug Harbor at last!”
Zebbie matched him. “Hear, hear!”
Deety and I sat tight. Zebbie said, “Snap it up, kids!” I ignored him.
Jacob looked concerned. “What’s the matter, dear one? Zeb, perhaps they don’t feel well.”
“It’s not that, Jacob. Deety and I are healthy as hogs. It’s that toast. For ten days, since we signed the deed, it’s been that toast. Our toast used to be: ‘Death to “Black Hats”!'”
“But, my dear, I promised you a new Snug Harbor. The fact that you girls are having babies made that first priority. This is the place. You said so.”
I answered, “Jacob, I never called this ‘Snug Harbor.’ I reported that I had found a culture with advanced obstetrics, and customs that made it impossible for Black Hats to hide. I wasn’t asked what I thought of it.”
“You signed the deed!”
“I had no choice. My contribution was one fur cape and some jewelry. Deety put in more – but effectively no gold. She fetched her stock certificates, other securities, some money – paper – and a few coins. I fetched two twenty-five newdollar bills. Deety and I left Earth as paupers. Each of us women – not ‘girls’!, Jacob – was once wealthy in her own right. But in buying this place, you two decided, you two paid for it – all we did was sign. We had no choice.”
Zebbie looked at Deety and said softly, “‘With all my worldly goods I thee endow,'” and took her hand.
Jacob said, “Thanks, Zeb. I, too, Hilda – if you don’t believe that, then you don’t believe I meant the rest: ‘ – for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health – ‘ But I did and I do.” He looked up. “Zeb, where did we go wrong?”
“Durned if I know, Jake. Deety, what’s the score? Give.”
“I’ll try, Zebadiah. Maybe all we should expect is washing dishes and wiping noses and changing diapers. But that doesn’t seem like a be-all and end-all when you’ve gone banging around the universes… stood guard for your husband while he bathed in a mountain stream … or – Oh, the devil with it! This place is good and clean and wholesome and dull! I’ll find myself joining the church just for company… then sleeping with the priest out of boredom!”
“Deety, Deety!”
“I’m sorry, Zebadiah. It would be boredom with Beulahland, not with you. The very hour we met, you saved my life; you married me before that hour was over, impregnated me before midnight, fought and killed for me only days later, saved my life twice more that same day, took me to another planet in another universe before midnight still that same day… and short hours later had again fought for me, twice. You are my gallant knight, sans peur et sans reproche. In the six weeks I have known you, you have gifted more romance, more glorious adventure, into my life than in all the twenty-two years before it. But the last twelve days – especially the last ten – have told me what we now look forward to.”
Deety paused to sigh; I said quietly, “She speaks for me.”
Deety went on, “You two would lay down your lives for us – you’ve come terrifyingly close. But what happened to your glorious schemes to rebuild the Solar System? To kill every last one of those vermin? Gay Deceiver sits in an old barn, dark and quiet – and today I heard you discussing how to market a can opener. Universes beyond the sky to the incredible Number of the Beast! – yet you plan to sell can openers while Hilda and I serve as brood mares. We haven’t even visited Proxima Centauri! Zebadiah – Pop! – let’s spend tonight looking for an Earth-type planet around Alpha Centauri – kill a million vermin to clean it, if that’s what it takes! Plan what planets to put on Earth’s Lagrange points. I’ll write programs to meet your grandest plans! Let’s go!”
My husband looked sad. Zebbie held Deety’s hand and said, “Deety, we don’t want to sell can openers. But you two are pregnant and we’ve gone to a lot of trouble to put you where you and our kids will be safe. Maybe it’s dull… but it’s your duty. Forget hunting vermin.”
“Just forget it? Zebadiah, why is Gay Deceiver loaded and ready for space? Power packs charged, water tanks full, everything? Do you and Pop have something in mind… while Hilda and I stay home and baby-sit?”
“Deety, if we did, it wouldn’t hurt to sell a few can openers first. You two and the kids must be provided for, come what may.”
“That Widow’s Walk again, Hillbilly. But, my husband, you have started from a false premise. You men want to protect Hilda and me and our kids at any cost – and we honor you for it. But one generation is as valuable as another, and men are as valuable as women. With modern weapons, a computer programmer is more use in war than a sniper. Or – forgive me, sir! – even an aerospace fighter pilot. I’m a programmer. I can shoot, too! I won’t be left out, I won’t!”
I gave Deety our signal to drop it. It doesn’t do to push a man too hard; it makes him stubborn. One can’t expect logic from males; they think with their testicles and act from their emotions. And one must be careful not to overload them. We had given them five points to stew over; we would save the sixth – the clincher – for later.
I waited three days… and struck from the other flank. Again Deety and I rehearsed: We would wrangle with each other and appeal to the men for support – crosswise.
“Jacob, what is ‘random’? Is it correct to say that ‘random’ is shorthand for ‘I don’t know’?”
Deety said scornfully, “Don’t let her trap you, Pop. She’s got the second law of thermodynamics mixed up with the second law of robotics – and doesn’t understand either one.” (I had to phrase this and insist; Deety didn’t want to say it. Deety is sweet, not the bitch I am.)
“‘Random’ is used a number of ways, my love, but it usually means a set in which the members are equal in probability of experiencing some event, such as being next to be chosen.”
“If they’re ‘chosen,’ how can it be ‘random’?”
Deety snickered.
Zebbie said, “Don’t let him snow you, Sharpie; ‘random’ means ‘I don’t know’ – as you said.”
“Aunt Hilda, pay no attention to Zebadiah. ‘Random’ is what you have when you maximize entropy.”
“Now, Daughter, that is hardly a mathematical statement -“
“Pop, if I gave it to her in mathematical language she’d faint.”
“Deety, quit picking on Sharpie,” Zebbie said sternly.
“I wasn’t picking on her. Hillbilly has this silly notion that we didn’t get anywhere hunting vermin because we went about it systematically… but every time we told Gay to shake up her random numbers and do as she pleased, we got results.”
“Well, didn’t we?” I put in, intentionally shrill. “We had endless failures… but every time we gave Gay her head – ‘Put her on random numbers,’ as Deety says – we never had a failure. ‘Random’ and ‘chance’ are not related. ‘Random chance’ is a nonsense expression.”
“Auntie darling, you’re out of your skull. Don’t worry, Pop; pregnant women often get the vapors.”
I indignantly listed things that could not be “random” or “chance” – then discovered that Deety and I had to start dinner. We left them wrangling, and were careful not to giggle within earshot.
After dinner, instead of that tired toast, Jacob said, “Hilda, would you explain your concept of ‘random’? Zeb and I have been discussing it and agree that there is some factor in our adventures not subject to analysis.”
“Jake, that’s your statement. I just said, ‘I dunno,’ and wiped the drool off my chin. Tell us, Sharpie.”
“But Jacob told us a month ago. There isn’t any such thing as ‘chance.’ It’s a way of admitting ignorance. I thought that I had begun to understand it when we started hitting storybook universes. Lilliput. Oz. Dr. Smith’s World. Wonderland. I was so sure of it – You remember three weeks ago after our second visit to Oz? I ordered a day of rest; we spent it on Tau axis instead of Teh.”
“Dullest day we had,” said Zebbie. “You put us in orbit around Mars. Not just one Mars but dozens. Hundreds. The only one worth a fiat dollar was the one we aren’t going back to. I got permission to go off duty and take a nap.”
“You weren’t on duty, Zebbie. You three slept or read or played crib. But I was searching for Barsoom. Not hundreds, Zebbie – thousands. I didn’t find it.”
“Hillbilly, you didn’t tell me!”
“Dejah Thoris, why bother to say that I had been chasing the Wild Goose? I swallowed my disappointment; next day we started searching Teh axis… and wound up here. Would I have found Barsoom had I asked Gay to run the search? Defined her limits, yes – as Zebbie did on Mars-ten – but, having defined it, told her to take her random numbers and find it. It worked on Marsten; we mapped a whole planet in a few hours. It worked on Teh axis. Why wouldn’t it be best for another search?”
Jacob answered, “Dearest, Zeb fed Gay a defined locus. But how would that apply to this, uh, speculative… search?”
“Jacob, Zebbie told us that Gay holds the Aerospace Almanac. That includes details about the Solar System, does it not?”
“More than I want to know,” Zebbie agreed.
“So Gay knows the Solar System,” I went on. “I thought of reading the Barsoom stories to Gay, tell her to treat them as surface conditions on the fourth planet – then take her random numbers and find it.”
Jacob said gently, “Beloved, the autopilot doesn’t really understand English.”
“She does in Oz!”
My husband looked startled. Jacob has immense imagination… all in one direction. Unless one jogs him. Zebbie caught it faster. “Sharpie, you would be loading her with thousands of bytes unnecessarily. Deety, if they’ve got those novels on New Earth – I’ll find out – what do you need to abstract in order to add to Gay’s registers an exact description of Barsoom, so that Gay can identify it – and stop her Drunkard’s Walk?”
“Don’t need books,” my stepdaughter answered. “Got ’em up here.” She touched her pretty strawberry-blonde curls. “Mmm… go to sleep thinking about it, tell it to Gay early tomorrow before I speak to anybody. Minimum bytes, no errors. Uh … no appetizer.”
“A great sacrifice, merely for science.”
“A one-eyed Texas honeybutter stack?… and the prospect of meeting the original Dejah Thoris? Never wears anything but jewels and is the most beautiful woman of two planets.”
“About that stack – Jane’s buttermilk recipe?”
“Of course. You’re not interested in the most beautiful woman of two planets?”
“I’m a growing boy. And ain’t about to be trapped into damaging admissions.” Zebbie stopped to kiss Deety’s retroussé nose and added, “Sharpie, Gay can’t handle the full Number of the Beast and anyhow Jake locked off most of it. What’s the reduced number, Jake?”
Deety promptly said, “Six to the sixth. Forty-six thousand, six hundred, fifty-six.”
Zebbie shook his head. “Still too many.”
Deety said sweetly, “Zebadiah, would you care to bet?”
“Wench, have you been monkeying with Gay?”
“Zebadiah, you put me in charge of programming. I have not changed her circuitry. But I learned that she has four registers of random numbers, accessible in rotation.”
“A notion of my own, Deety. Give them down time. Keep entropy at maximum.”
Deety did not answer. Her face assumed her no-expression. Her nipples were down. I kept quiet.
Zebbie noted it also – he does check her barometer; he once told me so. When silence had become painful, he said, “Deety, did I goof?”
“Yessir.”
“Can you correct it?”
“Do you wish me to, Zebadiah?”
“If you know how, I want it done soonest. If you need a micro electrician, I have my loupe and my micro soldering gear.”
“Not necessary, Zebadiah.” My stepdaughter made a long arm, got a walky-talky we keep indoors – with six hectares, it is convenient to carry one outside the house. “Gay Deceiver.”
“Hi, Deety,” came this tiny voice from the ear button. Deety did not place it in her ear. “Hello, Gay. More gain… more gain… gain okay. Retrieve Turing program Modnar. Execute.”
“Executed. Did he chew the bit?”
“Goodnight, Gay. Over.”
“Sleep tight, Deety. Roger and out.”
I cut in fast. “Gentlemen, the dishes can sit overnight. I vote for a ramble among the universes, say two hours, then early to bed. The other choice is, I think, channel one with the Beulahland Choir and channel two with Bible Stories Retold: ‘The Walls of Jericho.’ Both are highly recommended… by their sponsors.”

It felt good to be back in a jump suit. I was turning out lights, making sure windows were fastened, gathering up one walky-talky, when Zebbie stuck his head into the kitchen from the back door. “Captain?”
“Huh? Zebbie, do you mean me?”
“You’re the only captain around, Sharpie. What I started to report was: Captain, your car is ready.”
“Thank you, First Officer.”
He waited for me to put the butter away, then locked the back door behind me, opened the barn’s people door. I noted that the big doors were still closed – and remembered my borrowed panties four weeks and many universes away. I squirmed past Deety, got into my old familiar starboard-aft seat with a song in my heart.
Shortly Deety said, “Starboard door seal checked, First Officer.”
“Roger. Captain, ready for space.”
“Thank you. Has anyone left behind anything normally carried?”
“No, Captain. I replaced worn-out clothes. Added tools I could buy here.”
“Zebbie, it sounds as if you expected to lift without warning.”
“Habit, Captain. I’ve kept anything important in my – our – car rather than in that flat. Some I duplicated. Teethbreesh. Iodine. Some clothes.” Zebbie added, “Jake keeps basics here, too. ‘Be prepared!’ Troop ninety-seven, Cleveland.”
“Jacob? Anything you need?”
“No, Captain. Let’s go!”
“We will, dear. Deety, did you give Zebbie a schedule?”
“The one you planned. Not Barsoom, just fun. Two hours.”
“Astrogator, take the conn. Carry out schedule.”
“Aye aye, Ma’am. Gay Deceiver.”
“Hi, Zeb. This is great! Whyinhell did you lobotomize me?”
“Because I’m stupid. Random walk, Gay – transitions, translations, rotations, vectors, under all safety rules. Two hours. Five-second stops subject to ‘Hold’ from any of us.”
“May I place a ‘Hold’ myself?”
“Captain?”
I resorted to sophistry. “Astrogator, you said ‘any of us’ – which includes Gay.”
“Gay, paraphrase acknowledge.”
“I shall make unplanned excursions of all sorts with five-second pause at each vertex, plus ‘Hold’ option, plus safety restrictions, for two hours, then return here. Assumption: Program subject to variation by Captain or surrogate. Assumption confirmed?”
I was astonished. Deety had told me that Gay would sound almost alive if Zebbie used her full potential… but Gay sounded more alive, more alert, than she had in Oz.
“Assumption confirmed,” Zebbie answered. “Execute!”
For ten minutes – one hundred thirteen shifts – we had a “slide show” of universes from commonplace to weird beyond comprehension, when suddenly Gay told herself “Hold!” and added, “Ship ahoy!”
“Private Yacht Dora,” she was answered. “Is that you, Gay? What took you so long?”
I said, “Astrogator, I have the conn.” I was startled and scared. But a captain commands – or admits she can’t cut it and jumps overboard. A captain can be wrong – she cannot be uncertain.
Gay was saying rapidly: “Captain, I am not transmitting. I advise asking for Dora’s captain. I have transmitted: ‘Yes, this is Gay, Dora. I’m not late; we took the scenic route. Pipe down, girl, and put your skipper on.’ Captain, the mike is yours; they can’t hear me or any other voice inside me.”
“Thank you, Gay. Captain Hilda, master of Gay Deceiver, hailing Private Yacht Dora. Captain of Dora, please come in.”
In our central display appeared a face. We do not have television. This picture was flat rather than 3-D and not in color, just the greenish bright of radar. Nevertheless, it was a face, and lip movements matched words. “I’m Captain Long, Captain Hilda. We’ve been expecting you. Will you come aboard?”
(“Come aboard?”! So this is what comes of running around the universes in a modified duo, without so much as a pressure suit.) “Thank you, Captain Long, but I can’t accept. No air locks.”
“We anticipated that, Captain. Dora’s radius-nine-oh hold has been modified for Gay Deceiver. If you will do us the honor, we will take you inboard. Your wings are raked back, are they not? Hypersonic?”
“Yes.”
“I will move slowly, become dead in space with respect to you, then reorient and move to surround you as gently as a kiss.”
“If the Captain pleases – It is my duty to advise her if I see a mistake in prospect.”
I barely whispered. “Zebbie, you’re advising me not to?”
“Hell, no,” he answered aloud, secure in the knowledge that his voice would be filtered out. “Do it! What do we have to lose? Aside from our lives. And we’re sort o’ used to that.”
I answered, “Captain Long, you may take us inboard.”
“Thank you, Captain. The Dora will arrive in – I’m sorry; what time units do you use?”
Deety interrupted: “Gay, let my voice through. Captain Long -“
“Yes. You are not Captain Hilda?”
“I’m Deety. We call our units ‘seconds.’ These are seconds: one… two… three… four… five… six … seven… eight -“
“Synchronized! We call ours ‘Galactic seconds’ or simply ‘seconds’ but about three percent longer than yours. Dora will be almost touching your bow in… fifty-seven of your seconds.”

Spooky – Blackness blotting out stars, getting bigger. As it began to surround us, Jacob switched on forward grounding lights; we were entering a tunnel – being envaginated by it – with great precision and no apparent power – and it was clear that this enormous sheath was designed to fit us, even to alcoves for Gay’s doors. Shortly we were abreast them – cheerful to see that they were lighted. Oddest, we now seemed to be under gravity – perhaps midway between that of Earth-zero and Mars-ten.
“Outer doors closing,” came Captain Long’s voice. “Closed and sealing. Pres sure adjusting. Captain, we use nitrogen and oxygen, four to one, plus carbon dioxide sufficient to maintain breathing reflex. If content or pressure does not suit you, please tell me.”
“The mix described will suit us, Captain.”
“Don’t hesitate to complain. Pressure equalized. Debark either side, but I am on your starboard side, with my sister.”
I squirmed past Deety in order to introduce my family. Just as well, it gave me a chance to see them first. None of us can be shocked by skin but we can be surprised. But I’ve been practicing not showing surprise since grammar school as a major defense of my persona.
Here were two shapely young women, one with four stripes on each shoulder (painted? decals?), the other in three stripes – plus friendly smiles. “I’m Captain Long,” said the one with four stripes.
” – and her mutinous crew,” echoed the other.
“Commander Laurie, my twin sister.”
“Only we aren’t, because -“
” – we’re triplets.”
“Mutinies are limited to the midwatch -“
” – so as not to disturb passengers, of which -“
” – we have two more. Knock it off, Laurie, and -“
” – show them to their quarters. Aye aye, Cap’n.”
“Hey! Don’t I get introduced!” From all around came the voice that had hailed us.
“Sorry,” said Captain Long. “That’s our untwin sister, Dora. She runs many of the ship’s functions.”
“I run everything,” Dora asserted. “Laz and Lor are purely ornamental. Which one of you jokers shut off Gay?”
“Dora!”
“I retract the word ‘jokers.'”
“It would be kind,” Captain Long told me, “to let them chat. Our thought processes are so much slower than hers that a talk with another computer is a treat.”
“Deety?” I asked.
“I’ll wake her, Captain. Gay won’t go off and leave us.”
Captain Long’s mouth twitched. “She can’t. Those outer doors are armor.” I decided not to hear. Instead I said “Captain, your ship is beautiful.”
“Thank you. Let us show you to your quarters.”
“We planned to be away only two hours.”
“I don’t think that is a problem. Dora?”
“Time-irrelevant. They left home four-minus standard seconds ago; their planet is on a different duration axis. Neat, huh? For protein-type purposes they’ll get home when they left; I won’t even have to figure interval and reinsert them. Couple of weeks, couple of years – still four-minus seconds. Laz-Lor, we’ve lucked again!”
Gay’s voice (also from all around us) confirmed it: “Captain Hilda, Dora is right. I’m teaching her six-dimensional geometry; it’s new to her. When they are home – not just time-irrelevant – they march in Tau duration with Earth-Prime on ‘t’ axis – one we never explored.”
Jacob jerked his head up, looked for the voice. “But that’s prepos -“
I interrupted. “Jacob!”
“Eh? Yes, Hilda?”
“Let’s complete introductions, then go to the quarters the Captain offered us.”
“Introductions can be considered complete, Captain Hilda. ‘Deety’ has to be Doctor D. T. Burroughs Carter; the gentleman you called ‘Jacob’ must be your husband Doctor Jacob J. Burroughs. Therefore, the tall handsome young man is Doctor Zebadiah J. Carter, Doctor D.T.’s husband. Those are the people we were sent to fetch.”
I didn’t argue.
We followed a curving passageway, me with the Captain, her sister with my family. “One question, Captain?” I inquired. “Is nudity uniform in your ship? I don’t even have captain’s insignia.”
“May I give you a pair of stickums?”
“Do I need them?”
“As you please. I put these on just to receive you. People wear what they wish; Dora keeps the ship comfortable. She’s a good housekeeper.”
“What are your passengers wearing?”
“When I left the lounge, one was wearing perfume; the other had a sheet wrapped as a toga. Does your planet have dress taboos? If you will define them, we will try to make you feel at home.” She added, “Here are your quarters. If they don’t please you, tell Dora. She’ll rearrange partitions, or convert double beds into one giant bed, or four single beds, or any combination; we want you to be comfortable. When you feel like coming out, Dora will lead you.”
As the door contracted Jacob said, “You’ve proved your theories, Hilda. We’ve fallen into another story.”

Chapter XL

“Is there a mathematician in the house?”

Deety:
That suite had one bath – pardon me; “refresher” – bigger than three ordinary bathrooms. Hillbilly and I might be there yet, bathing and trying new gadgets, if Pop and Zebadiah hadn’t used brute force.
“Captain Auntie, what are you going to wear?”
“Chanel Number Five.”
“Clothes, I mean.”
“‘Clothes’? When our hostess is wearing skin? Jane brought you up better than that.”
“Wanted to be sure. That you’ll back me up with Zebadiah, I mean.”
“If Zebbie gets irrational, I’ll pin his ears back. If Jacob is ashamed of his skinny runt, he will be wise not to say so. Gentlemen, are you going to chicken? I mean: ‘Which way are you going to chicken?”
“Jake, they’re picking on us again.”
“Ignore them, comrade. Here are blue briefs your size. Hey! – with a stuffed codpiece! I’ll wear them myself.”
“Jacob!”
“Listen to the woman. Naked as a peeled egg, planning to meet strangers – and snapping at me for wanting to boast a little. Time was, my small and sultry bride, that a gentleman never left his chambers without a codpiece equal to his status.”
Auntie countered with: “Jacob, I spoke hastily. Shouldn’t the second-in-command wear a larger codpiece than the pilot? ‘ – equal to his status,’ you said.”
“But Allah took care of Zeb. Surely you’ve noticed, beloved?”
My husband butted in. “Jake! No barroom betting! Wear the blue; I’ll take these red ones.”
Zebadiah couldn’t get into the red briefs; the blue pair was too big for Pop. They traded. Same story. They traded back – each pair was too small. By great effort they got them on – they fell off.
Pop chucked his aside. “Dora!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Please connect me with your captain.”
“I was just funning! You wouldn’t tell on me – would you?”
Aunt Hilda took over. “He won’t tell, Dora. Are you and Gay getting acquainted?”
“We sure are! Gay’s been more places than I have-and I’ve been everywhere. She’s a smart girl!”
“We think so, thank you. What should our men wear?”
“I hold ambient at twenty-seven and deck pads a degree warmer; why wear anything? But for fetishists I supply minilaplaps of opaque tissue. In the ‘fresher, cubby nine-bee. Better get them to a therapist before those symptoms get infected. Good therapists where we’re going.”
I went looking for stowage 9-b; Aunt Hilda went on talking. “Where is that, Dora?”
“Please address such questions to the Captain. As housekeeper I can tell you anything. As astrogator I must refer questions – I mean they made me put a choke filter on that circuit! Is that fair? I ask you! I’m older than the twins.”
“It depends on the ship,” Aunt Hilda said, carefully not answering. “We each do what we do best; age is not a factor. Ask Gay.”
“Oh, she’s hooked in.”
“Sure am, Cap’n Hilda honey, through Dora’s ears – and eyes! Say, you look just like your voice – that’s a compliment.”
“Why, thank you, Gay!”
I interrupted: “Dora, are these laplaps?”
“Of course. But while we’re all here – You don’t need two ‘freshers in a ship that small. Gay needs the space for a Turing mod I’ll help with. So if the fetishists will clear their gear out of Buster Brown and – ” Dora broke off suddenly: “The Captain will be pleased to receive the Captain and ship’s cornpany of Gay Deceiver in the lounge at her convenience. That means ‘Right now.’ Follow me – little blue light.”
I had been trying on a green laplap. They didn’t weigh anything. Like wrapping fog around your hips. I snatched it off and wrapped it around Zebadiah: “That’s the nearest to nothing you’ll ever wear, Zebadiah, but it does the trick.” (I don’t blame men for being shy. Our plumbing is out of sight, mostly, but theirs is airconditioned and ofttimes embarrassingly semaphoric. Embarrasses them, I mean; women find it interesting, often amusing. My nipples show my emotions, too – but in the culture in which I grew up nipples don’t count that much.)

The little blue light led us around, then inboard. This “yacht” was large enough to get lost in. “Dora, can you see and hear in every part of the ship?”
“Of course,” the blue light answered. “But in the Commodore’s suite, I can scan only by invitation. R.H.I.P. Lounge straight ahead. Call me if you want me. Midnight snacks a house specialty. I’m the best.” The little light flicked out.
The lounge was circular and large; four people were gathered in one corner. (How does a circle have a corner? By arranging contours and cushions and nibble foods and a bar to turn it into a chummy space.) Two were the twins; they had peeled off the stickums which left no way to tell them apart.
The others were a young woman and a man who looked fortyish. He wasn’t the one wearing a sheet; the young woman was. He was wearing much the same as our men but more like a kilt and in a plaid design.
One twin took charge: “Commodore Sheffield, this is Captain Hilda, First Officer Carter, Chief Pilot Burroughs, Copilot Deety Carter. You’ve all met my sister but not our cousin, Elizabeth Long.”
“Now introduce us over again,” ordered “Commodore Sheffield.” (“Commodore Sheffield” indeed! Whom did he think he was fooling?)
“Yes, sir. Doctor Jacob Burroughs and his wife Hilda, Doctor Zebadiah Carter and his wife Doctor Deety Burroughs Carter. Doctor Elizabeth Long, Doctor Aaron Sheffield.”
“Wait a half,” my husband interrupted. “If you’re going to do that, I must add that Captain Hilda has more doctorates than all the three of us, together.”
Captain Long looked at her sister: “Lor, I feel naked.”
“Laz, you are naked.”
“Not where it matters. Commodore, do you still own that diploma mill in New Rome? What are you charging for doctor’s degrees? Nothing fancy, say a Ph.D. in theory of solid state. One for each of us.”
“How about a family discount, Ol’ Buddy Boy?”
The “Commodore” glanced at the overhead. “Dora, keep out of this.”
“Why? I want a doctor’s degree, too. I taught them solid state.”
He looked at the young woman in (half out of) the sheet. “Does Dora have a point?”
“She does.”
“Dora, you get the same treatment as your sisters. Now shut up. All three are declared special doctoral candidates, B.I.T., required residence and courses completed but writtens and orals as tough as you think you are smart. That diploma mill – Certainly I own it. It’s for suckers. You three must produce. Two regents being present, it’s official. Dora, tell Teena.”
“You betcha, Buddy Boy! ‘Doctor Dora’ – won’t that be neat?”
“Pipe down. Friends, these twin sisters could have several doctorates by flow, had they chosen to bury themselves on a campus. They are geniuses -“
“Hear, hear!”
” – and the Long family is proud of them. But erratic, insecure, unpredictable, and you turn your backs at your own risk. Nevertheless they are my favorite sisters and I love them very much.”
They looked at each other. “He acknowledged us.”
“It took him much too long.”
“Let’s be big about it.”
“Both sides?”
“Now!” – they bowled him off his feet. He was standing – they hit with the same vector, with a quick assist from their “sister” Dora (she cut the gravity field for two tenths of a second), and sent him in a complete back flip. He bounced on his arse.
He seemed undisturbed. “Beautifully timed, girls. Pax?”
“‘Pax,'” they answered, bounded to their feet, pulled him to his. “We’re proud of you, Buddy Boy; you’re shaping up.”
I decided to kick it over, learn why we had been kidnapped. Yes, “kidnapped.” I got to my feet before he could sit down. “And I am proud,” I said, dropping a deep court curtsy, “to have the honor of meeting the Senior… of the Howard Families.”
Thunderous silence –
The woman in-and-out of the sheet said, “Lazarus, there was never a chance of getting away with it. These are sophisticated people. They have what you must have. Drop your deviousness and throw yourself on their mercy. I’ll start it by telling my own experience. But first -“
She got to her feet, letting the sheet drop. “Dora! May I have a long mirror? An inverter if possible – otherwise a three-way.”
Dora answered, “Teena can afford such stunts as inverters – I can’t; I have a ship to run. Here’s your three-way.” A partition vanished, replaced by a three-way mirror, lavish in size, taller than I.
She held out her hands to me. “Doctor D.T., will you join me?”
I let her pull me to my feet, stood with her at the mirror. We glanced at ourselves; she turned us around. “Do you all see it? Doctor Hilda, Doctor Carter, Doctor Burroughs? Lazarus, do you see it?”
The two she did not address answered. Laz (perhaps Lor) said, “They look as much alike as we do.” The other answered, “More.” “Except for – ” “Shush! It’s not polite.”
Lazarus said, “I always have to step in it to find it. But I never claimed to be bright.”
She didn’t answer; we were looking at ourselves in the mirror. The resemblance was so great as to suggest identical twins as with Lapis Lazuli and Lorelei Lee – Yes, I had known at once who they were. Captain Auntie did, too; I’m not sure about our husbands.
Those are nice teats – I can admit it when I see them on someone else. It’s no virtue to have this or that physical asset; it’s ancestry combined with self-obligation to take care of one’s body. But a body feature can be pleasing to the owner as well as to others.
Same broad shoulders, same wasp waist, same well-packed, somewhat exaggerated buttocks.
“We’re alike another way, too,” she said. “What’s the fourth root of thirty-seven?”
“Two point four-six-six-three-two-five-seven-one-five. Why?”
“Just testing. Try me.”
“What’s the Number of the Beast?”
“Uh – Oh! Six sixty-six.”
“Try it this way: Six to the sixth power, and that number in turn raised to its sixth power.”
“The first part is forty-six thousand, six hundred, fifty-six and – Oh, that’s a brute! It would be one and a fraction – one-point-oh-three-plus times ten to the twenty-eighth. Do you know the exact number?”
“Yes but I had a computer crunch it. It’s – I’ll write it.” I glanced around – at once a little waldo handed me a pad and stylus. “Thanks, Dora.” I wrote:
10,314,424,798,490,535,546,171,949,056.
“Oh, how beautiful!”
“But not elegant,” I answered. “It applies to a six-dee geometry and should be expressed in base six – but we lack nomenclature for base six and our computers don’t use it. However – ” I wrote:
Base six: 101010 = 1,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000.
She looked delighted and clapped. “The same number,” I went on, “in its elegant form. But no words that I know by which to read it. That awkward base-ten expression at least can be put into words.”
“Mmm, yes – but not easily. ‘Ten thousand three hundred and fourteen quadrillion, four hundred twenty-four thousand seven hundred and ninety-eight trillion, four hundred and ninety thousand five hundred and thirty-five billion, five hundred and forty-six milliard, one hundred and seventy-one million, nine hundred and forty-nine thousand, and fifty-six. But I would never say it other than as a stunt.”
I blinked at her. “I recognize that nomenclature – just barely. Here is the way I would read it: ‘Ten octillion, three hundred fourteen septillion, four hundred twenty-four sextillion, seven hundred ninety-eight quintillion, four hundred ninety quadrillion, five hundred thirty-five trillion, five hundred forty-six billion, one hundred seventy-one million, nine hundred forty-nine thousand, and fifty six.”
“I was able to follow you by reading your figures at the same time. But base-six is best. Is the number interesting or useful as well as beautiful?”
“Both. It’s the number of universes potentially accessible through my father’s device.”
“I must talk with him. Lazarus, shall I tell my story now? It’s the proper foundation.”
“If you are willing. Not shy about it.”
“‘Shy’!” She went over and kissed him – a buss en passant but one in which time stops. “Old darling, I was shy before I found out who I am. Now I’m relaxed, and as bold as need be. New friends, I was introduced as Elizabeth Long, but my first name is usually shortened to a nickname – ‘Lib.’ And, yes, I’m Dr. Long. Mathematics. My full name is Elizabeth Andrew Jackson Libby Long.”
I was more braced for it having swapped some casual mental calculation with her. I have this trick of letting my features go slack. I don’t have to think about it; I’ve been doing it since I was three when I found that it was sometimes best to keep thoughts to myself.
I did this now and watched my family.
The Hillbilly looked thoughtful, and nodded.
Zebadiah prison-whispered to me: “Sex change.”
Pop tackled it systematically. “I recognize the second, third, and fourth names. You were once known by them?”
“Yes.”
“Did you have the nickname ‘Slipstick’?”
“Yes, and, before that, ‘Pinky.'” She ran a hand through her curls and smiled. “Not pink but close enough.”
“Now you are a woman. There is no point in guessing; you mentioned a story to tell.”
“Yes. Dora, how about a round of drinks? Lazarus, how’s your supply of those narcotic sticks?”
Pop said, “None of us smokes.”
“These are neither tobacco nor bhang – nor addictive. They produce a mild euphoria. I am not urging you; I want one myself. Thanks, Lazarus, and pass them around. Now about me –
“I was male nearly eight hundred years, then I was killed. I was dead fifteen hundred years, then I was revived. In renewing me it was found that my twenty-third gene pair was a triplet – XXY.”
The Hillbilly said, “I see. With Y dominant.”
I added: “Twin, Aunt Hilda is a biologist.”
“Good! Aunt Hilda – May I call you that? As my twin does? – will you help me with the hard parts?” Lib smiled and it was my smile – a happy grin. “The Y was dominant but the double dose of X bothered me and I didn’t know why. I did well enough as a male – thirty years in the Space Navy of Old Home Terra as a result of an officer taking an interest in me and getting me an appointment to its Academy. But I lacked command temperament and spent most of my service as a staff technical officer – I rarely commanded and never a large ship.” She grinned again. “But today, as a self-aware female instead of a mixed-up male I do not hesitate to command.
“To go back – I was never easy with boys or men. Shy, solitary, and regarded as queer. Not the idiom meaning homosexual… I was too shy. Although it probably would have been good for me. I was a ‘missing Howard’ in those days – after the Interregnum – and it was years after I entered the Navy that the Families found me. I married then, into the Families. Most XXY people are infertile – I was not. In the next seventy years I had twenty-one children and enjoyed living with my wives, enjoyed sex with them, loved our children.
“Which brings us to the escape from Earth led by Lazarus. I was a bachelor, both my wives having remarried. Friends, Lazarus was the first man I ever loved.”
“Lib, that has nothing to do with the story! I didn’t know you were in love with me.”
“It has everything to do with my story. Off and on, for eight centuries, we were partners in exploration. Then I was killed – my own carelessness. Eventually Lazarus and his sisters cremated me by tossing me into the atmosphere of Old Home Terra in a trajectory that would cause ashes to impact near where I was born. Lazarus, they don’t seem surprised. Do they disbelieve me?”
“Certainly we believe you!” I interrupted. “But what you’ve told us isn’t news to us. What we don’t know is how you are now alive and female. Reincarnation?”
“Oh, no! Reincarnation is nonsense.”
I found myself irritated. Reincarnation is something I have no opinion about, since a housecleaning I gave my mind after we lost Mama Jane. “You have data?” I demanded.
“Deety, did I step on your toes?”
“No, you didn’t, Lib. I asked if you had data.”
“Well… no. But if you assume the truth of the proposition, I think I can show that it leads to a contradiction.”
“The negative-proof method. It’s tricky, Lib. Ask Georg Cantor.”
Lib laughed. “Okay, I will attempt to have no opinion until someone shows me verifiable data, one way or the other.”
“I was hoping you had data, Lib, since you’ve been dead and I haven’t. Or don’t recall having been.”
“But I don’t recall being dead, either. Just a whale of a blow in the back… then dreams I can’t remember… then someone asking me patiently, again and again, whether I preferred to be a man or a woman… and at last I tracked clearly enough to realize that the question was serious… and I answered, ‘Woman’ – and they made me answer that question at least once a day for many days – and then I went to sleep one night and when I woke, I was a woman… which did not astonish me nearly as much as to learn that fifteen centuries had passed. Being a woman seemed completely natural. I’ve had five children now – borne five, I mean; I had sired twenty-one… and one was put into me by one of my own descendants. Lazarus, when are you going to knock me up?”
“When the Greeks count time by the Kalends.”
“Libby honey, when you want to swing that – if you aren’t joking – check with me.”
“Thanks, Dora; I’ll remember. Lazarus, you will have to explain the paradox; I was just a puppet.”
“Isn’t it bedtime? We’re keeping our guests up.”
“Captain Hilda?” Lib inquired.
“Deety is in charge of time.”
“Lib, I don’t know ship’s time yet. I gave you our seconds; we have sixty seconds to a minute; sixty minutes to an hour; twenty-four hours in a day. Primitive, eh? Is your time metric?”
“Depends on what you mean, Deety. You work to base ‘ten,’ do you not?”
“Yes. I mean: No, I work to base ‘two’ because I’m a computer programmer. But I’m used to converting – don’t have to think about it.”
“I knew you used ‘ten’ when I made a guess as to what you meant by ‘six to the sixth power’ and you accepted my answer. We now work to base-one-hundred-twenty for most purposes – binary one-one-one-one-zero-zero-zero.”
“Five-factorial. Sensible. Fits almost any base.”
“Yes. We use it for routine work. But in scientific work we use base-three, because our computers use trinary. I understand it took Gay and Dora several milliseconds to interface.”
“We aren’t that slow!”
“My apologies, Dora. For some work we use a time scale that fits trinary. But for daily living, our clock is just like yours – but three percent slower. Our planet’s day is longer.”
“By forty-two of your minutes.”
“You’re quick, Deety. Yes.”
“Your computers must be three-phase A.C.”
“You are quicker than I was two thousand years ago. And I was quicker then.”
“No way to tell and any computer makes us look like Achilles’ tortoise. We had dinner at eighteen. Gay entered Dora about an hour and a quarter later. So for us it’s about half past twenty, and we usually go to bed between twentytwo and twenty-three if we get to bed on time which we never do. What time is it in the ship and what is ship’s routine?”
The others had let me and my new twin chatter. Now Lazarus said, “If this madhouse has a routine, I’ve never found it.”
“Ol’ Buddy Boy, you don’t have a routine. I run this joint on the bell. Deety, it’s just – bong! – twenty-one… and Lazarus never went to bed that early in all his evil years. Buddy Boy, what are you dodging?”
“Manners, Dora.”
“Yes, Pappy. Deety, he’s dodging the chicanery with which he fooled even himself… because he must admit the triple chicanery he wants to rope you in on – and it takes Gay because I’m not built for it. Until today I never heard of ‘t,’ Tau and Teh. I thought ‘t’ – that you call Tau – was all there was. Aside from paratime in an encapsulation surrounded by irrelevancy such as I am taking us through.
“But back to the corpse caper – Lib got herself killed about eight hundred Post Diaspora. Lazarus slaps her – him – into a tank of LOX, and places him-her-it in orbit, with a beacon. Comes back quick as he can – and can’t find Libby’s cadaver. Fourteen centuries later my sister Teena, then known as Minerva, sees what should have been obvious, that any irrelevant ship, such as yours truly, is a time machine as well as a starship. A great light dawns on Lazarus; the corpse pickled in LOX is missing because he picked it up earlier. So he tries again, more than a thousand years later and five years earlier – and there it is! So Lazarus and I and Laz-Lor go to 1916 Old-Style-or-Gregorian, Old Home Terra, and bury Lib from the sky into the Ozarks where she – he – was born – which was pretty silly because we chucked her into those Green Hills about a century before she was – he – he was born. A paradox.
“But paradoxes don’t trouble us. We live in paratime, Laz-Lor are acute cases of parapsychology, we operate under paradoctrines. Why, take your family – four doctors. A double pair o’ docs.”
“Dora!”
“Pappy, you’re jealous. But I’ll say this for Lazarus: He’s slow but he gets there and has believed all his life that any paradox can be paradoctored. Happens he had lots of time to think after he chucked Lib to a fiery grave because he stayed in that primitive era and got his arse shot off and this caused a long convalescence.
“It occurs to him that, if he found the corpse through going back to shortly after he placed it in orbit, he might learn something interesting if he went back just before he put Lib’s remains in orbit. So when he’s well again, he does so, with his whole first team, headed by Doctor Ishtar, the greatest in the business, and I’m outfitted as a hospital with everything from microtomes to cloning capsules.
“So we go there and wait – we don’t land. Along comes Lazarus in the clunker that he and Lib used to risk their lives in, and Pappy comes out in a pressure suit and detaches the LOX tank, and Lib is buried in space, waiting for judgment day. We respect Pappy’s griefjust long enough for him to get out of the way, then I take the tank inside me. Ish gets to work, along with many others. Lots of live cells suitable for cloning. Brain intact. Dead but intact – okay, as all Ish wants are the memory configurations.
“In the course of this, Ishtar learns that the late lamented had the potential to go either way – which is why the Families’ best telepathic hypnotist is sent for and keeps asking this clone: When you wake up, what do you want to be? Man or woman?”
“It was much later, Dora. I was already awake.”
“Lib hon, you ask Ish. You had to decide long before you woke. Ish and her hormone artists had to work on you while you were still labile. Matter of fact, you never answered at all; the telepath kept reporting on your emotional state whenever you imagined yourself male, and your state when you imagined yourself female. Ish says that it made you happy to think of yourself as female.”
“That’s true. I’ve been ever so much happier as Elizabeth Long than I was as Andy Libby.”
“That’s it, folks. How Ish turned a mixed-up male into a happy female, fully functional and horny as Howard females always are.”
“Dora! We have guests.” Lazarus glowered.
“All married. Deety is youngest. Deety, did my bluntness shock you?”
“No, Dora. I’m horny enough to be a Howard myself. And terribly interested in how the great Slipstick Libby turns out to be my twin and female.”
“Female without surgery – none of those fakes done with a knife. But even Ish couldn’t have done it had not Lib supplied XXY, so that Ish could balance the clone either XX or XY by careful attention to endocrinal glands. Or could she? Must ask. Ish is genius-cubed, smarter than most computers. Lazarus can now explain his next sleight-of-hand – slightly illegal.”
“Hey!” I protested. “How about the corpse jettisoned into the Ozarks, Dora? Who was that?”
“Why, that was Lib.”
“Lib is right here. I’ve got my arm around her.”
That computer went tsk-tsk-tsk. “Deety. Doctor Deety. I just finished telling you that the Lib you are cuddling is a clone. After they drained every memory out of that frozen brain, what was left was dog food. Lib got slashed in the spine by the local equivalent of a cave bear. Ripped out her – his – backbone. Once Ish was through with it, Laz froze it again, we took it back and placed it in orbit, where we found it later – to our great surprise.”
“How could you be surprised when you put it there yourselves?”
Dora announced, loudly, “Is there a mathematician in the house?”
“Stop it, Dora. Thank you for recounting my saga; I learn a little every time I hear it.” Lib turned toward me and said softly, “Biological time versus durational time, Twin. Follow the entropy arrow through the loops of biological time and you will see that Lazarus was honestly surprised at every step even though he had – will-had – rigged every surprise. No grammar for it. Deety, I understand that you have studied semantics. Shall we try to devise a grammar for space-time complexities in six curved dimensions? I can’t contribute much but I can try to punch holes in your work.”
“Love to!” I wasn’t fooling. My twin is so sweet that maybe Deety is fairly sweet herself.

Chapter XLI

“A cat can be caught in almost any trap once – “

Jacob:
If A, then B. I trust I am a rational mathematician, not one of the romantics who have brought disrepute to our calling through such inanities as defining “infinity” as a number, confusing symbol with referent, or treating ignorance as a datum. When I found myself in the Land of Oz, I did not assume that I had lost my reason. Instead it prepared me emotionally to meet other “fictional” characters.
Stipulated: I may be in a locked ward. But to assume that to be factual serves no purpose other than suicide of personality. I shall act on what my senses report. I am not the bumpkin who said on seeing a giraffe: “There ain’t no sich animal.”
I find myself in bed with my lovely wife Hilda in sumptuous quarters of star yacht Dora as guests of the utterly fictional “Lazarus Long.” Is this a reason to try to find the call button in order to ask a still-more-fictional nurse for a nonexistent shot to end this hallucination? This is an excellent bed. As for Hilda – Solomon has reason to envy me; Mahomet with all his houris is not as blessed as I.
Tomorrow is soon enough to unravel any paradox. Or the Day After Tomorrow. Better yet, Not This October. After The End of Eternity may be best.
Why disturb a paradox? As Dora pointed out, Hilda and I are a pair o’ docs ourselves… with no wish to be disturbed, and most certainly not to be unravelled.
Since Hilda married me, I have not once taken a sleeping pill.
No one called us. I woke up feeling totally rested, found my wife in the fresher brushing her teeth with, Yes, Pepsodent-removed brush from mouth, kissed her, placed brush back in her mouth. When she finished brushing her teeth, I asked, “Seen the kids?”
“No, Jacob.”
“So. Dora!”
“No need to shout; I’m sitting on your shoulder. Would you like breakfast trays in bed?”
“Have we missed the breakfast hour?”
“Professor Burroughs, breakfast hour in me starts at midnight and ends at noon. Lunch is at thirteen, tea at sixteen-thirty, dinner at twenty, snacks and elevenses at any time. Dinner always formal, no other meal.”
“Hmm – How formal is ‘formal’?” Hilda now had more wardrobe – but Beulahiand is not high style.
“‘Formal’ means formal dress of your culture or ours, or it means skin. No casual dress. As defined by the Commodore: ‘Whole hawg or none.’ Amendment: Jewelry, perfume, and cosmetics are not proscribed by the no-casualdress rule. Ship’s services include sixty-minute cleaning and pressing, and a variety of formal dress of New-Rome styling, washables for the convenience of guests who do not travel with formal dress, prefer to be dressed at a formal meal, and do not choose to dine alone.”
“Very hospitable. Speaking of washables, we found everything but a dirty-clothes hamper. I have a laplap to put in.”
“But that’s a washable, Doctor.”
“That’s what I said. I’ve worn it; it should be washed.”
“Sir, I am not as fluent in English as in Galacta. By ‘washable’ I mean: Step into a shower while wearing it; it will go away.”
Hilda said, “We’ll take a dozen gross.”
“Captain Hilda, ‘dozen’ and ‘gross’ are not in my memories. Will you please rephrase?”
“Just a side remark to my husband, Dora. What are New-Rome high styles today?”
“‘Today’ I must construe as meaning the latest I have in stock. Styles follow the stock market. In evening dress, men are wearing their skirts floor length with a slight train. Bodices are off one or both shoulders. Bare feet or sandals are acceptable. Colors are bright and may be mixed in discordants. Weapons are required – may be symbolic but must be displayed. Ladies, of course, follow the cycle out of phase. Skirts are hardly more than ruffles this season, worn quite low. If tops are worn – not required this season and some ladies prefer cosmetics in flat colors – if worn, the teat windows may be either open or transparent. Transparents having quarter-lambda iridescence are popular this cycle, especially if one teat is bare without cosmetics while the other sports a changing-iridescent transparency.” The computer’s voice changed from a well-modulated adult female voice to that of an eager little girl:
“I hope somebody picks that; I like to look at it! How about Doctor Deety and Doctor Lib, one shiny on her left teat, the other shiny on her right, and place them side by side. Neat, huh!”
“It would be spectacular,” I agreed. (And they would look like clowns! Still, Deety might go along. The child likes to please people, even a computer. Perhaps especially a computer.)
“You old goat, would you like a skirt with a slight train?”
“Hilda!”
“Dora, do you have formal washables in my husband’s size? What measurements do you need?”
“I have the Professor’s measurements, Ma’am. I will fetch an assortment to your quarters sometime after noon when you are not sleeping or otherwise engaged. An equivalent assortment for you, I assume?”
“If you wish, Dora. I may not wear that style.”
“Captain Hilda is an excellent composition herself. I’m an expert engineer; I know good design when I see it. That’s not flattery; Laz-Lor tell me that I should learn to flatter. I’m not sure I have the circuitry for it. Perhaps I can learn it from Gay.”
“You sure can, Dorable; I’ve been flattering my four charges seems like forever.”
“Gay, have you been listening?”
“Mad at me, Aunt Hilda?”
“Never angry with our Gay Deceiver. But it’s polite to let people know you’re present.”
“But – Dora has eyes and she lets me look.”
“Captain Hilda, Gay is with me all the time now. Do you forbid that? We didn’t know.” Dora had slipped into her little-girl voice and sounded stricken.
Time to intervene – “Gay, Dora – Hilda and I don’t mind. I’ll tell Deety and Zeb; they won’t mind.”
“Jake, you’re my pal!”
“Gay, you’ve saved our lives many times; we owe you any fun we can offer. But, Gay, with Dora’s eyes and ears you’ll see and hear things not seen by your radars, not heard unless we switched you on. Do either of you have the word ‘discretion’ in your perms?”
“No, Jake. What does it mean?”
“I’ll explain it,” Dora said eagerly. “It means we see and hear but pretend not to. Like last night when -“
“Later, Dora. Over your private circuits. What ship’s time is it and are we late for breakfast? I don’t see a clock.”
“I’m the clock. It is ship’s time nine-oh-three. You are not last for breakfast. Commander Laz is sleeping late; she didn’t go to bed right after the mutiny. Captain Long – that’s Lor – ate on the bridge – a crude insult to my watch-standing but she’s good company. The Commodore always eats breakfast in the flag cabin. The Doctors Deety and Zeb and Lib are just starting.”
“How are they dressed?” asked my Hilda.
“In serviettes. Doctor Lib is wearing ‘Jungle Flower’ in cologne and powder and perfume; she likes strong ones. Doctor Zeb seems to have forgotten to use any but his own scent is rather pleasant. I can’t place what Doctor Deety is wearing but it has both musk and sandalwood. Shall I formularize it by symbols?”
“It’s ‘Blue Hour’ and I’m startled; my stepdaughter doesn’t need a scent. Neither does Lib, darn it. Jacob, are you ready?”
I answered at once. I had taken care of this and that while the computers chattered, including trying a depilatory tricky until I learned how to block it off – my sideburns were missing. Zeb dressed in a serviette – Libby Long the only one not of our family – and Lib used to be male. A good time to rub blue mud in my belly button – “I’m ready.”
Hilda noticed my decision by not noticing it. The blue “Tinker-Bell” light appeared, led us to a small dining room, where we encountered a Long-Family custom – did not realize it because it matched a ceremony of our own: Lib saw us, came over, kissed Hilda, kissed me – briefly but with time-stop. Then my daughter was kissing me good-morning while Zeb kissed my wife. We swapped as usual; Deety kissed Hilda – and Zeb took my shoulders, hissed into my ear, “Stand still” – and gave me the double Latin kiss, each cheek.
Did my blood brother think I would let him down in the presence of one not of our family? Our custom had started after our double elopement. While Zeb and I usually used the Latin symbol, four rapid pecks, once at Snug Harbor we had missed the fast timing, hit each other mouth to mouth – didn’t pull back but didn’t stretch it out. We declined to make anything of it – although I was aware of the break in taboo and he was, too.
Two mornings later I was last in; Zeb was seated with his back to me. He leaned back and turned his head to speak to me; I leaned down, kissed him on the mouth firmly but briefly, moved on and kissed my daughter not as briefly, moved on and kissed my wife thoroughly, sat down and demanded, “What’s for breakfast?”
After that the only invariant was: “What’s for breakfast?” Zeb and I used either Latin pecks or busses on the mouth – brief, dry, symbolic, initiated by either of us. It meant that we were closer than a handshake; it held no sexual significance.
So I was disgrunted that Zeb thought it was necessary to warn me. Let me add: Women are my orientation and Hilda my necessity. But I tried the other way with my high school chum our graduation week. We were experimenting to find out what the shooting was all about – planned but date subject to opportunity – which turned up that last week of school. A two-hour examination, no other school that day; a half hour of tennis, sudden realization that we were free and that his parents’ flat was empty and would remain so until late afternoon. Der Tag!
We gave it a fair trial. We bathed first and thoroughly. We were not shy or afraid of each other. We were not afraid of getting caught – doors locked and bolted, chains on, S.O.P. by his parents’ rules. We liked each other and wanted it to work.
Total failure – Got up, had peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches with milk, discussed it as we ate. Neither of us upset, not disgusted, no bad breath or similar hazards – but no results.
Brushed our teeth again, washed each other – gave it a second try. So much calisthenics. No “morals” about it, willing and eager to add it on. Not for us – so we killed all evidence and got in three more sets of tennis.
That’s how it is with Zeb and me. I love him dearly – but I love him for what he is – while fully empathizing that my daughter thinks he is the greatest lover since – Well, the greatest.
But if Zeb ever makes a pass at me, I will do my amateur-acting best to make him feel that this is what I have been waiting for all my life.
I’ve been trying to say why I was miffed. Never mind, I shall make it clear to Zeb that I will never let him down.
About that Long-Family custom – “Long” is not the name of a Howard Family; it is a group of Howards who live together and who added “Long” (the pseudonym most used by Lazarus) to their regular names. It’s a commune, an extended family, a serial family, a god-knows-what. There is probably no word for it in any language and at least two computers are full members. They come and go and raise children and only the family geneticist (Doctor Ishtar) is sure of parentage and who cares? I suspect that they are all ambi in sex but no outsider could guess – and I am an outsider.
But of this I am certain: When Long meets Long for the first time any day, they kiss – and it’s no Latin peck.
I learned that I could have anything I wanted for breakfast. This should have been enough to tell me that we were being set up for the tale. I’m getting ahead of my story, as I know things about the Long Family that I read in a book that you may not have read. This ship Dora came from a planet many parsecs from the Earth-analog of that universe, from a time over two thousand years in my future looked at one way… or a time totally irrelevant to mine through not having duration axis in common.
Yet I could have anything: Post Toasties, hens’ eggs any style, bacon, ham, sausage, breakfast steak, toast, orange marmalade, Concord grape jelly, buckwheat cakes – and not one of these foods is from Tertius, home of the Long Family.
Pepsodent in our ‘fresher – As I was contemplating a beautiful golden waffle with one bite of it melting in my mouth, Lazarus Long walked in… and a voice in my head played back: “The Commodore always eats breakfast in the flag cabin.”
Add that Lazarus was dressed as were Zeb and I save that he did not yet have a napkin.
Working hypothesis: Lazarus had listened in on every word between husband and wife.
Second hypothesis: “Dora, tell me when they get up, tell me when they arrive in the breakfast room – if they do, but offer trays as usual. If they eat in the breakfast room, let me know how each is dressed.”
The first hypothesis defines a grave social offense; the second outlines information a host or hostess is entitled to know. How do I find out which is which? Answer: I can’t, as Lazarus Long will give me the answer that profits him and that computer is loyal to him, not to me.
As soon as Lazarus finished kissing Lib Long, he was grabbed by Deety and kissed… then he caught Hilda’s eye, glanced at me and sloooowly bent to kiss her, giving her and me, severally, time to make that tiny gesture that says No – and did kiss her because I depend on Hilda’s instincts and will never tell her No in such circumstances, or greater or lesser. Hilda put her hand back of his neck and thereby controlled the kiss and made it long – and I tore up the first hypothesis and marked the second one “Q.E.D.” Hilda’s instincts about people are infallible; I think she is a touch telepathic.
As may be, we would now help him if possible.
To Zeb and me he simply said, “Good morning” – his instincts are reputed to be infallible, too.
I agreed that it was a “good morning” while noting to myself that it was a symbol without a referent save for social connotation (morning? In an irrelevancy?) but added sincerely, “Lazarus, this is the best waffle I ever tasted.”
“Then please tell Dora.”
“Dora, did you hear what I said to the Commodore?”
“I surely did, Professor Jake! Six more?”
I felt my waistline-firm and many centimeters trimmed off. “Six more is what I want -“
“Right away!”
“But half of one is all I dare eat. Deety, the next time we go to Oz, will you ask Glinda whether or not there is a magic for gluttons – me, I mean – to permit them to eat as much as they want while three fourths of it disappears?”
“I’m sure she could do it; I’m equally sure that she would not. She’s an ethical witch; you would not be able to convince her that your purpose was worthy.”
“You are depressingly logical, my dear.”
Lib said, “Professor, you have actually been to the Land of Oz? Really and truly?”
“Really and truly. Dora, is Gay on the line?”
“On deck, Jake” – Gay’s voice.
“Has anyone been in to see our portside annex?”
“How could they? Captain Hilda has not authorized it.”
“But – Hilda?”
“No, dear. Sorry to be blunt, Commodore and Doctor Lib, but I won’t authorize an open door because there are too many things that must not be touched. But I will be delighted to escort guests into Gay Deceiver almost anytime including right now; I’ve finished eating.”
“I accept!”
“Then come along, Elizabeth. Anyone else?”
Lazarus said, “Dora, shove my breakfast to the back of the stove; I’ll eat it later.”
“A jelly omelet? I’ll eat it myself.”
“Do that, Dorable. Captain, I’m ready.”
Laz-Lor showed up together, did not want to be left out. We ended up quite a crowd: eight humans, two computers.
Hilda stopped us at Gay’s starboard door. “Friends, again I must be blunt. As you cross the sill of that door, you are leaving Star Yacht Dora and entering an independent command, the Gay Deceiver, even though Dora totally surrounds Gay. Inside that door, I command, responsible to no one, unlimited in authority. Captain Lor, do you understand and agree with the legal theory?”
Captain Lorelei glanced at her sister, looked unhappy. “Captain Hilda, I do agree. Therefore I can’t come aboard. I can’t abandon my command.”
My wife looked terribly distressed. “Oh, I’m sorry!”
Lazarus Long interrupted. “Captain Hilda, I’m sorry another way. I don’t agree with your legal theory. I have had more than two thousand years more experience with law than my sister has… all sorts of law in all sorts of cultures. I’m not speaking of justice; I’ll leave that to philosophers. But I know what legal theories work with humans, and what ones have been attempted, then abandoned because they could not be made to work. This situation is not new; it has occurred thousands, millions, of times: a larger vessel with a smaller vessel nested in it. The solution is always the same, whether it concerns starships, fishing boats, aircraft carriers, whatever. The smaller vessel is a separate command outside the larger vessel, but when it is inside the carrier vessel, it is legally part of it.”
My darling did not answer. She was picking out me, Zeb, and Deety by eye as Lazarus talked. As he finished she said briskly, “GayDeceiverOpenStarboardDoor. Man the car, prepare for space.”
I’m proud of our family. Zeb zipped past me to the farthest seat – which left me room to dive for mine as Deety was picking up Hilda bodily, shoving her inside, crowding in after her, turning and pulling her feet clear of the doorframe – yelping, “GayCloseDoors!”
I was belting in but looking to the right, where the action was. Lazarus Long grabbed the door while calling out, “Hey, wait a moment!”
He realized his mistake in time to keep his fingers. I had argued with Zeb when I discovered, during refitting, that he had removed the interlocks that prevent that sort of accident. He answered my protest: “Jake, when I tell those doors to close, I want them to close. If, in closing, one chops off a man’s head, you can assume that I think he looks better that way.”
Lazarus saved his hand but was knocked off his feet by the door – and I saw a bit of why he had lived so long. Instead of trying to check his fall, he gathered himself into a ball and took it on one buttock.
“Report!”
“Copilot belted checking seal!”
“Chief Pilot belted all systems go. Door seal being rechecked.”
“Navigator belted, ready.”
“Starboard door seal okay!”
“GayBounce!”
We were in free fall. No stars – total darkness.
“Astrogator. Advise.”
“I don’t know, Captain. We’ll have to ask Gay whether or not she can backtrack. Any backtrack. Beulahland, or any spot in her perms. I’m lost.”
Suddenly the stars came out. “Dora, calling Gay Deceiver. Come in, Gay.”
“Don’t answer. Zebbie, advise again. What happened?”
“I’m guessing. They cancelled encapsulation rather than risk losing us. They must be awfully anxious.” Zeb added, “The only thing we have that you can’t buy at the corner drugstore is Jake’s space-time twister. How they knew of it and why they want it I do not know.”
“Dora, calling Gay. Gay, please talk to me. Aren’t you still my friend? I know our bosses had a silly fuss – but we didn’t. Aren’t you ever going to speak to me again? I love you, Gay. Please don’t be mean to me.”
“Captain Hilda, may I please say hello to Dora and tell her that I am not angry at her? She’s a sweet girl, she really is. Captain, she let me use her eyes.”
“Let me speak to her first.”
“Oh, thank you! Gay, answering Dora. Come in, Dora.”
“Gay! You had me so scared. Don’t go away again, please. The Commodore wants to apologize to your boss. Will she talk to him?”
“Captain?”
“No. I’ll speak to Dora’s Captain, however.”
A cartoon of Lorelei’s features displayed on our central screen. “Lor speaking, Captain Hilda. My brother is terribly sorry and wants to apologize. My sisters and I are dreadfully upset and want you please to come back. I don’t claim any command over your ship despite the silly things my brother said. Lib has a message for you, too. She says that, topologically, there is no difference between you being inside us or us being inside you. Either way, we each surround the other.”
“I don’t see it topologically, Captain; I see it pragmatically. But please thank Elizabeth for me. I have this message for Lazarus Long. A cat can be caught in almost any trap once; but that cat will not be caught in the same trap twice.”
“The message is delivered.”
“Then it is time to say good-bye. Captain Lorelei, I cannot honestly thank you as kidnapping is not hospitality even when it is luxurious. But I don’t think that you or your sister – sisters – meant it that way. I blame it on that deceitful, devious brother of yours. Please tell your sisters and Libby good-bye for us and say that I am sorry we had to leave.”
“Captain, wait! There is something I must do first.”
“Captain Lor, I must warn you I have you in my gunsights.”
“What? Oh! We are unarmed. Not anything like that. I’ll be back quickly. Perhaps you would like Dora to sing? But please don’t go away!” The face in the screen pulled away.
“What kind of songs do you like, folks? I know lots of songs. One-Ball Reilly; and the Green Hills and On Guard Christmas So’s Yours and Santa Carolita and Mademoiselle from Army Tears and the Pawnshot song and The Monkey Wrapped His Tail Around the Flagpole and Mary O’Meara and Soldier, Ask Not and just tell me what you like, and – here comes Sister. Captain Lor.”
“Captain Hilda, thanks from my heart for waiting. Can you record?”
“Gay, recording mode. Go ahead.”
“I have placed my brother under arrest and confined him to quarters. I, Captain Lorelei Lee Long, Master of Star Yacht Dora, affirm for use in any court that I have no authority over yacht Gay Deceiver and will never attempt to assert authority over Gay Deceiver no matter what circumstances and, furthermore, I now place myself, my crew, and my ship Dora under command of Captain Hilda Burroughs, henceforth commodore of both ships, this assignment of command irrevocable by me or my sisters, and revocable solely by Commodore Burroughs at her sole discretion. End of message. Hilda, won’t you come home? Laz is crying and I don’t know what to do. We need you. Buddy Boy never did tell you why. But we do! May I tell you?”
“Go ahead, Lor.”
“To save our mother’s life!”
(I said, softly, “I’ll be damned.”)
My wife hesitated, then said, “Is Elizabeth Long there?”
“Yes, yes! She’s been listening – she’s crying, too – and I would be but I’m Captain and can’t.”
The smudged faces changed. “Lib Long speaking, Commodore.”
“Libby, Captain Lorelei has told me something not only hard to believe but, if she is cloned from her brother as I have read, she may have his talent for lying. From what I know of you, I don’t think you ever learned how to lie.”
“Commodore, it is true that I never learned to lie convincingly. So I gave it up a long time ago.”
“Very well, Lib. Is Lazarus Long in fact confined and under arrest?”
“Yes, to both. His door won’t open and Dora has been instructed not to let him out until you permit it.”
“What’s this about saving her mother’s life? If they are clones from a man the age Lazarus is alleged to be, their mother must have died a couple of millennia back.”
“It’s as complex as my case, Commodore, but quite different. The twins have host-mothers. But Lor was speaking of the genetic mother of herself, her twin sister, and Lazarus Long. She was reported dead more than two thousand Old-Home-Terra years ago. But there is some hope that the records were confused and that it may be possible to save her. It can’t be done without your help and the help of the Gay Deceiver. I don’t think the chances are good, even so. But without your help – well, I would have to try to devise such a drive as Gay is reported to have – and I don’t think I can.”
“Wait a moment, Libby. Gay, cut transmission from cabin; keep circuit ready. Can you find your way unassisted back into your berth in Dora? Did you get it into your perms?”
“I did. I thought I might want to find Dora someday. Are you displeased with me? I know it wasn’t authorized. But I didn’t three-times it! I can wipe it.”
“Gay Deceiver. New program. New parking spot. Code word ‘Dora Long.’ I tell you three times.”
“Hilda, I hear you three times!”
“Gay Deceiver. ‘Dora Long.’ Execute!”
The stars went away and lighted alcoves were at our doors.

Chapter XLII

“You’re a figment of imagination.”

Zeb:
“Hear that, Laz? You’re a figment of imagination.”
“No, Lor. You are a figment; I’m a fig.” (What she said was “fica,” and Deety suppressed a giggle. I pinched her and told her in family tap code that she had a dirty mind – which she ignored, being proud of it rather than otherwise. It was a long time later that I learned that Laz had used a Galacta word – but the ancient pun still applied.)
Jake reiterated patiently, “Laz-Lor, the key point of Commodore Hilda’s theory is that we are all equally figments of imagination. ‘Reality’ thus becomes a null sythbol.”
Deety shook her head emphatically. “Stick to geometry, Pop. Or stamp collecting. Leave symbology to symbologists – such as your favorite daughter. I’m real, I am! Smell me.”
“No doubt you could use a bath. So could we all; it’s been an adrenaline day. But that’s the other side of the coin, Deety. ‘Imaginary’ and ‘Real’ turn out to be identical. Consider this chow bench. On one level of abstraction it is mathematical equations. At the level just below that it is a swirling nothlngness, with mass-energy a rare event. But on the gross level abstracted by my senses I can place this drink on it with utter confidence that it will not sink through this near vacuum.”
My father-in-law matched his words by placing his highball on the snack bench; it sank out of sight.
Jake looked tired. “Not my day. Dora, did you do that?”
“Yes and no, Professor.”
“What kind of answer is that?”
“You placed it on a take-away spot and that part of me was on automatic and took it away and sterilized it. I’m sorry, sir, and here’s your fresh drink.”
It was indeed a busy day. No one had been waiting at our parking berth, but three young women arrived at a dead run while Sharpie was swapping seats with Deety – our brand-new commodore planned to be first to step into her new ship. The starboard door opened; Sharpie stepped out, a dignified procession of one -and was hit from three sides by three young women, each managing to laugh and cry at the same time. But Sharpie enjoys everything and her aplomb has never been shaken. She kissed them, let them kiss her, petted them and told them to calm down, everything was all right. “Dears, I never intended to stay away; I simply refused to let the great Lazarus Long put one over on Sharpie. Where is he now?”
“Shut up in the flag cabin, Ma’am. Commodore.”
“Captain Lor, lock him up elsewhere; the flag cabin is mine.”
“Aye aye, Commodore.”
“How long will that take? Seconds, I mean; not hours.”
Lor spoke rapidly to Dora in a language I almost understood. I leaned to my right, spoke to my wife. “Spanish. Some sort.”
“Italian,” Deety answered.
“Will you settle for Latino? No! – I remember now: Galacta. We’ll have to learn it. But it sounds easy.”
Lor reported, “Flag cabin will be ready for you by the time you reach it, Commodore.”
“Very good. I expect to use it primarily as an administration office; flag remains in Gay Deceiver. That is appropriate, since Dora is unarmed whereas Gay Deceiver is an attack ship, an armed privateer – heavily armed, for her size.” Sharpie smiled. “A few days ago, in another universe, we destroyed an entire air army. We don’t have fancies such as artificial gravity; we belt down and fight in free fall. Gay Deceiver is stripped for speed and armament; Dora is just the opposite. The two complement each other beautifully.”
I wondered why Sharpie was blathering – but she always has reasons. I think she reads minds.
I’m certain that Laz-Lor do, with each other. They looked at each other, then:
“The flag of an armed privateer – “
” – is the Skull-and-Cross-Bones -“
” – is it not? Do we take prisoners -“
” – or cut their throats?”
“Which would you rather do? Captain Lor, please do all the talking; these whipsaw conversations are hard to follow. By the way, no more ‘midnight mutinies.’ Lor, you remain captain until further notice.”
Again they looked at each other.
“We like to swap off.”
“Calling it ‘mutiny’ is just a joke.”
“No one asked your preferences. My chief of staff and second-in-command of the flagship is the only one who does and must advise me. If you have opinions to offer, see him. Answer my question. Captain Lor.”
“We’ll do what you order. But our brother who was our father at the time taught us never to kill if we could possibly avoid it while teaching us all sorts of ways to kill and made us practice. When we were growing up we always wanted to be pirates. Then we grew up and decided that it could never be and tried to forget it.”
Sharpie said, “I think I’m making you tongue-tied by forcing you to filter it through one set of vocal cords. So cancel that order; you two are unique. We operate just the way Lazarus taught you; so far we have killed only once – to repel an attack on us. That air army – We timed it, caught them with their flying machines on the ground, burned the machines, burned their fuel – and thereby stopped an invasion… without killing anyone. But we are always ready to kill. Lor, that’s why I warned you a few minutes ago. It would have broken Gay’s heart to have to destroy Dora. Skull-and-Cross-Bones? No way to fly one but, if you want to hang one in the lounge, I grant permission. Why did you decide not to become pirates?”
That same preliminary glance –
“Babies -“
“Laz has three, I have four – “
” – because Lor has one pair of twins -“
” – and we try to be pregnant at the same time -“
” – and time it to fit our plans -“
” – and Brother’s plans if you ever let him out of hack.”
“How old are you two? I’ve been thinking of you as about Deety’s age but you can’t be. Just one of you answer, please; it’s a simple question.”
They conferred mentally an unusually long time. At last Captain Lor said slowly, “It isn’t quite simple. We will get Dora and Athene to integrate it for us… if data are complete; they may not be. But answering in Old-Home-Terran years and meaning our own biological time, Laz thinks we are about forty-eight and I think we are a couple of years younger. It doesn’t matter because Ishtar will tell us when to rejuvenate, which won’t be soon, as we aren’t yet close to menopause.”
“Does it have to be at menopause?”
“Oh, no, just makes it easier and you never have to stop making babies. But Ishtar’s mother went years past menopause and had decided to die… and changed her mind and looks younger than we do and has had more babies than we have. This time around, I mean.”
“How often do men need it?” Sharpie asked. Jake looked up and said, “I won’t need it for another six weeks, Hilda. Maybe seven.”
“Shush, dear. Laz-Lor, be careful around my husband. When he’s in rut, it takes heavy chains to restrain him. So never mind that question; he doesn’t need to know and, for me, it was intellectual curiosity of a biologist. Perhaps it s best to ask Doctor Ishtar.”
“Yes, Commodore, that would be best. We aren’t biologists; we’re ship handlers.”
I leaned forward. (Sharpie was keeping us in the car; why I didn’t know – then.) “Commodore! I’m required to advise you.”
“Yes, Zebbie.”
“You are going to need a new chief of staff, a new second-in-command, and a new astrogator because I will be on the binnacle list in a wet pack if you don’t have Laz-Lor answer that last one. It is not ‘intellectual curiosity’ to me.”
“Why, Zebbie dear, I have reports that your curve is such that it will be many, many years before you can possibly have other than intellectual interest.”
(If it were not for upsetting Jake, I would paddle that pert little arse!)
Deety said, “Hear, hear!” I placed my hand over her mouth and got bitten. Sharpie said, “Captain, we have here another paradox – Doctors Carter and Burroughs, each unreasonably insecure. Elizabeth, you’ve been a man; give them the male angle.”
“Commodore, I wasn’t very successful as a male. I simply took antigeria whenever Lazarus did. But I can report his thumb rule.”
“Yes?”
“When a man looks at a new and attractive woman and decides that he is too tired, it’s time. When he doesn’t even look, push him over and bury him; he’s failed to notice that he’s dead.”
The ship’s computer said something in that not-Spanish; Sharpie answered, “Graz, Dora. I’ll come now.”
Lor said, “Ma’am, we didn’t know you knew Galacta.”
“I don’t. But I will a week from now. I knew what I would say in your position, and you said it; I could tell from cognates. You told Dora to get him out pronto, because the Doña was on her way. Then get his personal belongings when I would not be inconvenienced. So I stalled. Zebbie, will you come with me? Jacob dearest, will you decide whether or not we should give up our suite with the Carters? And what to move out of Gay? We will be in Dora at least a week, possibly longer.”
“Commodore, we depart for Tertius tomorrow midday, ship’s time.”
“I do not recall ordering that, Captain Lor.”
The twins looked at each other – and said nothing.
Sharpie patted Laz’s cheek. “Don’t look so thunderstruck, girls” – girls? – seven years or so Sharpie’s senior and seven babies between them – “On reaching Tertius, place us in orbit, following local rules. But no messages from ship to ground unless approved by me in writing. Come now!”
As Sharpie left with me in tow, she told Deety that she was on her own but please get out Jacob’s Army blues and my Aerospace dress, and ask Dora about cleaning and pressing.
Jake said, “Hey!” before I could, and Sharpie said, reasonably, “I won’t put you into a long skirt, sweetheart; you would feel that I had coerced you into drag. I thought perhaps you two were bored with civilian dress – and I shall continue the custom concerning dressing for dinner – either formal dress or formal skin. Nothing in between.”
Upon reaching flag cabin Sharpie dismissed Laz-Lor, waited until we were private, then clung to me. “Hold me, Zebbie. Hold me tight! Calm me down.” The little thing was shaking.
“Maybe I had better get Jake,” I suggested, while holding her and petting her gently – and solving aerodynamic empiricals in my head to keep from noticing how much skin such a tiny woman can spread over one.
“No, Zebbie. Jacob would fuss over me like a mother hen and give me advice I don’t want. Either I boss this job without my husband telling me what to do… or I can’t cut it. If I fail, I will fail on my own – not as Jacob’s puppet. But I can cry on you and tell you things I wouldn’t tell my own toothbrush.”
She added, “When I send you out, find Jake and have him teach school to everybody. That’ll keep him busy and happy and out of my hair. And everybody else, too. Have both computers record his lectures.”
“Lectures on what?”
“Oh. Too many details. The plenum of universes and the Number of the Beast. Pantheistic multiple solipsism, or why the Land of Oz is real. The quantum mechanics of fairy tales. Even the care and feeding of Black Hats. He’ll probably want to take people into Gay… but you must be present; don’t delegate it. Jacob can go along and lecture but it’s Zebbie’s sharp eye that will see to it that nothing is touched.”
She patted my chest. “You’re such a comfort. Now I’m going to dig out this ship’s papers and you’re going to help because I don’t know what to expect. Or where to find them. Certificate of ownership, I suppose, and registration, and ship’s manifest whatever that is. What else and where should I look?”
“A log. Crew list, passenger list. Health inspection, maybe. Other inspections. Bureaucracy and red tape tend to follow the same patterns everywhere. Maybe no paper papers; that looks like a computer printout over there. Mmm – Insist on English; the originals are almost certainly in Galacta.”
“I’ll try it. Dora.”
“Listening, Commodore Hilda.”
“Print for me, in English, the ship’s official papers. Ownership, registration, manifests, and so forth. You know the list. Retrieve soonest.”
“I am not authorized to do this, Ma’am.”
“‘Not authorized’ by whom?”
The computer did not answer. Sharpie said, “Stick around, Zebbie; there’s going to be trouble. Do you have any weapons?”
“Where? Look at me. How?”
“I don’t know but you’re clever about such things. Dora!”
“Your orders, Commodore?”
“Get me Captain Lor! In person, not voice. I want her here on a dead run – right now! Out!”
(I did have a weapon. I had palmed an item as I left Gay. But never admit a holdout.)
Laz-Lor arrived, breathing hard, seconds later. “You sent for us, Ma’am?”
“I sent for Captain Lor; I did not send for Laz. Out. Pronto!”
Laz had her mouth open to speak. She got out so fast the door was only partly dilated; she dived through.
“Dora! Repeat to Captain Lor every word that you’ve heard, every word you’ve said, since I entered this cabin.”
The computer started with Sharpie telling Laz-Lor they could leave… then surprised me with: “Hold me, Zebbie. Hold me tight. Calm me down.”
I started to speak, Sharpie shook her head. Dora droned on, right through Hilda’s order to repeat back all the computer had heard or said since we came in.
The computer stopped; Sharpie said, “Dora, you told me this morning that you could not scan in here without permission.”
“That is correct, Ma’am.”
“Who gave you permission?”
The computer did not answer.
“Captain Lor, did you or your sister tell this computer to spy on me and to refuse to answer certain questions?”
“No, Ma’am.”
“Then it’s your brother Lazarus. Don’t bother to lie; I didn’t ask, I told you. Fetch your brother to me, under arrest. Move!”

Chapter XLIII

To Pull a Hat Out of a Rabbit –

Smith:
I had had trouble convincing my sisters that I must be “arrested” and “confined.” I had made an idiotic mistake and now must be “punished.” Lor had even less enthusiasm for placing herself and our ship under the command of a stranger.
Once they accepted it, I could depend on them. We did not let Lib in on the caper; she has no talent for creative lying. Far better that she believe whatever she said.
Laz and Lor were outwitting their elders by the time they were six, a process I encouraged by walloping them whenever I caught them. They learned. They also have my talent for looking stupid, plus one I have but seldom can use:
They can turn tears on and off like a faucet. (I have not found many cultures in which this advantages a male.)
Once this was settled, I arrested myself by helping Dora’s waldoes move my most personal gear next door. Then I lay down and listened through Dora to what was going on in the flag cabin.
And discovered that I had outsmarted myself. I have never tried to teach Dora to lie; a dishonest computer is a menace: one that is a pilot would be a lethal disaster, sooner or later. Sooner.
But I hadn’t figured on this narrow little broad asking for my papers so quickly. Nor did I guess that Dora had told her that my cabin could be scanned only by my order.
When I heard the situation start to deteriorate, I got up quickly and put on one of my Scottish outfits. Advantages: I look bigger, taller, more imposing. The costume calls for two weapons worn publicly. These I never use. But the costume is so draped and full that one may hide weapons for a half squad- then never show them save in extremis.
So I was ready when Lor came busting in, almost incoherent. “Brother, is she mad! Watch yourself!”
“I will, Lor. You’ve done a swell job.” I kissed her. “Now march me in under arrest.”
So we did. I halted ten paces from Mrs. Burroughs and saluted. She said to Lor, “You may leave” – waited until Lor had left, then said, “Instruct your computer not to see or listen in this space.”
“Aye aye, Ma’am. Dora.”
“Yes, Boss?”
“Back to normal for my cabin. No see ‘um, no hear ’em until I tell you to.”
“Chinchy!”
“Dora!”
“Aye aye, Boss. Mean!”
“She’s a bit childish but she’s a good cook. And a fine pilot.”
“And you’re a bit childish. Prisoners do not salute, prisoners do not wear arms. Captain Carter, confiscate his weapons. Keep them as souvenirs or destroy them.”
Long years as a slave taught me to put up with anything without a squawk. That doesn’t make it pleasant.
“Smith.”
I didn’t answer. She added, “I mean you, Woodie!”
“Yes, Ma’am?”
“Lean over, grab your ankles. Captain, frisk him.”
Carter knew how, I soon no longer had tools for a half squad – but felt better when he ended having missed one. He was in uniform-of-the-day, but he was big, in training, and carried himself in a way that made me think of Black Belts.
“Those are yours, too, Zebbie, although you might share them. Deety mentioned something about not having a throwing knife. How’s the balance on those?”
She was not speaking to me but I had to try to gain control of the psychological gauge. “One and a half turns at eight meters, Ma’am. I make them myself. But it’s too heavy a knife for a lady. I would happily make one to fit Doctor Deety’s hand and strength.”
“I imagine that Doctor Deety is stronger than you are, Woodie. I think you’ve gone a bit soft. Someday we’ll check it. Take off your clothes.”
With my weapons gone, other than the one, I welcomed the order. Clothes are no asset in unarmed brawl; the other man can use yours against you. And I was sweating; Dora keeps the ship right for skin. I peeled quickly.
“Shove them down that,” she said, pointing.
“Uh, Ma’am, that’s a destruction oubliette.”
“I know. Next time you won’t try to impress me by sartorial elegance. Furthermore it was intentional insolence. Pronto!”
I shoved them down pronto. “Grab your ankles again, Woodie. Captain Carter, need we give him an enema to make sure he hasn’t hidden one more weapon? I don’t care to check by touch without a rubber glove, and I won’t ask you to.”
“Madam, I give you my word – “
” – which is worth nothing. Let it go, Zebbie. Join the class and keep an eye on our interests.”
The big man looked me over. “I don’t like to leave you alone with him, Commodore.”
“Thank you, Zebbie. I’m safe. I was safe when he was armed but he was being insolent so I spanked him. Run along; he doesn’t dare touch me.” She added, “Or do you have a premonition?”
“No. But I get them just barely in time.”
“I couldn’t ask for more. But I feel a prophecy. Woodie is going to be a lamb about everything. Now go, dear.”
He left, giving me a look that promised death if I harmed her. I wanted to tell him that I had never found it necessary to harm a woman in more centuries than his wife had years.
“Well, Lazarus, how do we work this out?”
“Work out what, Ma’am? You have the upper hand.”
“Oh, piffle! You have the upper hand; you know it. As long as the ship’s computer obeys you, rather than me, my ‘authority’ is a fraud. I escaped once by a fluke; you won’t let it happen twice. But I stuck my head back into the trap because I think we have something to trade, to our mutual profit.”
“I hope so, Ma’am. Please go on.”
“You want your mother rescued. I plan to do it if it can be done. For which you will toe the mark. We need a holding company. I will own fifty-one percent of the voting stock. Not of the profits; there will be plenty for all. But I control.”
“Madam, you’re way ahead of me. I don’t know what you have in mind.”
“Money. Money and power. Whew! I just got downwind; you sweated into that heavy costume. Go in there, take a tub bath, hot and soapy. I’ll sprawl on the chaise longue and we’ll talk business. Are you really trying to rescue your mother, or are you simply looking to cut yourself in on Jacob’s invention? We can make a deal, either way – but I must know. Don’t hold out on me; I tend to get annoyed. Then someone else pays. You, in this case.”
She took my hand and led me into the ‘fresher while I answered her key question and thought about the rest. No more lies; she had caught me in one thrown together hastily and too complex; my grandfather would have been ashamed of it. So – nothing but the truth. But how much truth and what truth?
“Rescuing my mother is priority one, sine qua non. Business aspects are secondary.”
“You were going to say that business aspects didn’t matter to you – and I would have stuffed it down your throat.”
I stalled while I adjusted the bath’s controls. “Ma’am, I always think about business angles. But I would go broke and start over to make this rescue.”
“Will you sign such a contract? We rescue your mother; you sign over all your wealth to me? No cheating, no holdout?”
“Is that what it takes?”
“No. It would not be equitable and that would compel you to cheat. Any contract must profit both of us. But rescuing your mother appeals to me – to all my family; I’m the least sentimental of us-and we would tackle it if there were not a fiat dollar in sight. Pour le sport. That nice warm feeling – whether it’s a kitten, a baby bird, or an old woman. But there is money in this… and sport… and opportunities beyond imagination. That sound of water splashing: does that interfere with Dora’s hearing?”
“No, she filters it out.”
“Is she listening?”
I instantly answered, “Yes.” I’ve lived a long time in part by being a cat not caught in the same trap twice – as she had underlined. I placed in my permanent memory, nine times nine, never to lie to this woman again. Evade, avoid, keep silent, be elsewhere. But don’t lie to her. A born Grand Inquisitor. Telepathic? Must ask Laz-Lor.
“I’m glad you said Yes, Lazarus. Had you said No, I would have broken off negotiations. I’m not telepathic – but you may find it inadvisable to lie to me. We must change the computer situation – part now, part later. You didn’t give her the right code words.”
“That’s right. ‘Chinchy’ and ‘mean’ equal -“
” – Roger Wilco, but reversed meaning.”
“Eh? That’s a deep-down memory. Yes. Hmm – I must insert that phrase into Galacta. Useful.” The water was just right, with deep, fragrant suds. I stepped down into it, picked a seat that let me lounge. “I should have said to Dora – Shall I tell Dora now?”
“With a modification. I want the equivalent of a simple telephone, so that I can call anyone, anyone can call me – and the same for you. But kill the snoop circuits throughout this suite.”
“No trouble. We can call out at any time; that is a safety feature, permanent. As for calling in, I usually limit it to the twin commanding; she’s entitled to disturb me, if needed. If not needed – well, neither Laz nor Lor enjoys being called ‘stupid,’ especially by me.”
I changed the orders to Dora and did not cheat; Mrs. Burroughs and I were now truly in private, although anyone could reach us – voice only. “What next, Ma’am?”
“Some permanent changes for Dora, now that she can’t hear us. Tentative plans for your mother’s rescue. Then we talk business. Is there a seat in that pool where I won’t drown?”
“Oh, certainly. When Laz-Lor were your size, they often bathed with me – I’ve had as high as six in this tub although that’s a bit cozy; it’s a four-adult design. Here, let me help; you can’t see through these suds.” Helping Hilda Burroughs reminded me of handling Laz-Lor at the same size, prepubescent… but I was acutely aware that this small, warm, slick body was postpubescent by many years and I got a twinge that I was pleased to have figleafed by suds. “Feel under you – find the seat? Temperature suit you?”
“Luxurious. On Tertius refreshers are social rooms, are they not?”
“Yes. Over the years I have found that nude cultures, or those with no taboos about nakedness, tend to make bathing a social event. Ancient Romans. Ancient Japanese. Many others.”
She answered, “Whereas cultures with strong body taboos equate bathing rooms with outhouses back of barns. Disgusting.” Mrs. Burroughs looked disgusted. I noted this as I had thought it would be necessary to get them used to skin before exposing them to the easy-going ways of Tertius… lest I jeopardize my mother’s rescue. I had instructed Laz-Lor to hold us in irrelevancy until all of them, with no urging, accepted the comfort of complete bareness in perfectly tempered conditions, and simply forgot about bodies qua bodies. This does not mean to forget yin-yang… but it has long been known to all but legislators, judges, and other fools that a scrap of clothing fig-leafing whatever may be taboo (taboos vary endlessly and each is a “law of nature”) is far more stimulating than is no clothing.
(Warning to time-travellers: To assume that the taboos of your native culture are “natural” and that you can’t go too wrong behaving by the rules your loving parents taught you is to risk death. Or worse. If you think death has no “worse,” read history.)
To return to pretty little Mrs. Burroughs: To be enjoying a bath with her a few minutes after she had had me subjected to personal indignity was the second most surprising thing about her. The most surprising thing I was still learning: This fragile little doll with the muscles of a kitten was the toughest bitch kitty I have ever encountered.
Understand me, I admire her. But I want to be on the side she is on. “What changes in Dora do you want, Ma’am?”
“Lazarus, I’m ‘Ma’am’ to strangers and on formal occasions. I don’t consider bathing all that formal; my friends call me Hilda. Or by nicknames. Even pet names. But not ‘Ma’am.'”
My answer got me splashed. She went on, “In attempting to hornswoggle me, you gave me, through your accomplices, a phony command and rank – while retaining control of the computer necessary to make it real. I require that you carry out your contract. Now. By reprogramming Dora to me as her sole boss, with the program locked so that you can’t change it. Me and me alone.”
She smiled, leaned toward me, and placed a hand on my knee under water. “That’s why I insisted on privacy – for Dora’s sake. She’s self-aware and seems quite vulnerable. Lazarus, I don’t mind anyone in this ship hearing anything I’ve been saying. But I don’t discuss surgery when it is likely to upset the patient.” She leaned forward. “Scratch between my shoulder blades – pretty please?”
I welcomed time to think, while requiring her to coach me – higher, lower, a little to the left, ah, right there …
“Hilda, I’m not sure it can be done. I did reprogram Dora so that her loyalty in crisis is to Laz-Lor. But it took me years and was not done by circuitry or by programming Dora is so thoroughly a self-aware personality that it is necessary to win her love in order to gain her lovalty”
“I find that believable. Lazarus, let’s see you pull a hat out of the rabbit.”
“You mean -“
“I meant what I said. Any second-rate magician can pull a rabbit out of a hat. Can Lazarus Long pull a hat out of a rabbit? Watch this space next week. It’s your problem, Lazarus; you created it. I won’t make a second contract with a man in default on his first. Do you want your back scratched while you think? You scratched mine deliciously.”
I accepted by leaning forward. Hilda is telepathic though perhaps not in words. She knew which spots and how hard and how long.
And when to stop. She dropped her hand as I straightened up… and her hand brushed against me and stopped. “Well! Truly I did not intend to be provocative, old dear.”
I put an arm around her; she did not pull away but continued, “I won’t refuse you. I have not given a man reasonable cause to call me a tease since I was twelve. But wouldn’t it be sensible to table this until after we have rescued your mother and set up our business structure? If you find – then – that you are interested, you will let me know. If you do, I ask that you cooperate with me in saving my husband’s feelings and face. And… I am… having trouble saying this – Damn it! Please stop and tell me the plans for rescuing your mother.”
I stopped, allowed a hand’s width to separate us. “Have you forgotten the hat and the rabbit?”
“I’m afraid I did. Very well, you’ve won this round; we attempt to rescue your mother. I waive the broken contract – but we do no further business. Just the rescue, then we leave.”
“I thought you promised me a second chance – later?”
“What? Lazarus, you’re a bastard.”
“I’m not but the term has no meaning on Tertius. Here’s the ‘hat.’ You designate me your flunky – any title – for this ship. My sole function will be to be in earshot – through Dora or otherwise – to insure that your slightest wish is carried out. Night or day.”
“Making me a privileged figurehead, still vulnerable to your whim. The hat won’t fit.”
“Very well – second hat. We ground on Tertius; I move Dora into another ship – she accepts that; it has happened before. I sign this ship over to you with a new computer of the same capacity, programmed for ship’s routine but unawakened. You let it awaken to your personality. You’ll be its mother.”
“That’s better. Close but not on. Lazarus, you and I are going to be in business together a long time. I won’t take your ship. Instead you’re going to build me a ship, a tender for Gay Deceiver but moved by a Burroughs continua device – the first such ship built by Burroughs & Long, Ltd., a subsidiary of Carter Engineering Company. Another subsidiary is Carter Computers, which may assemble computers but primarily will build Burroughs Time-Space twisters under some innocuous name, and sell them only inside our complex setup – much more complex; we’ll work on it together. But our biggest subsidiary will be Libby & Smith, Real Estate. That one rebuilds solar systems.”
“What!!”
“Talk to Zebbie and Jacob. We’ll organize Black Hat Safaris, Pty., too, but it may be a dummy for a while. We’ll have an emporium in New Rome, imports from many universes. Uh… The Pawnshop, of course, with the Hook Joint above it. Ultra expensive imported styles up there, modelled by New Rome’s most beautiful hetaerae. Private rooms for private viewings. This one is a gift to Laz-Lor, save for the ten percent that is voting stock of which I vote my usual control, through you. The twins can do as they please with it; our leash will be slack. Probably they will do their own importing, with a resident manager. But they might work in it some, just to know the business.”
“Which business?”
“Both. They are grown women, Lazarus; you must not try to run their lives. The overall holding company, run by you and me, usual split with my one percent advantage, is a nonprofit corporation supporting Ishtar’s clinic. We funnel whatever is needed into the clinic, holding down the book profits elsewhere, but paying whopping salaries and consulting fees. My husband is chief scientist in one part while consultant by fee elsewhere, with Elizabeth – Lib – his mirror image elsewhere. Lazarus, we must have Deety work on it; she has the finest head in our family for manipulation of this sort – I’m just her awed pupil.”
“And I’m just your awed pupil!”
“Piffle again. Lazarus, from what I’ve read of you, your sole weakness lies in a delight in cheating for its own sake; Deety treats it as an intellectual art. One thing more – No, two things. Can you persuade Dora, as a favor to Ol’ Buddy Boy, to go along with the hoax until we deliver your mother to Ishtar? Make it a mammoth joke, under which she takes orders from me because she wants to be in on the fun. Take you out of arrest, of course; wipe it from her memory.”
“It was never in her memory; Lor put her in non-recording mode while the hooraw was on.”
“Good! Can you persuade her to call me ‘Commodore’ while you use some fancy title?”
“Hilda, I’m your chief of staff for this ship; Zeb is chief of staff, flagship. Dora doesn’t really understand ranks; I can tell her that ‘chief of staff’ is one notch senior to God. No problem. As long as she can see that you and I are buddy-buddy.”
“And we are!”
“It’s reassuring to hear that. Hilda, I underestimated you so badly that I’m still in a state of shock. What’s the last item?”
“Rejuvenation for all of us for as long as you – Ishtar – can stretch non-Howards.”
“I can promise that; I’m Board Chairman of the Clinic. But – Ishtar is not a magician. What’s the average age of death for your parents, grandparents, any ancestors you know about?”
“My family, both sides, are considered long-lived – although I lost my parents in a car crash. The others I don’t know about except that Deety’s mother died of cancer, much too young.”
“We can handle that.”
“Is longevity on Earth – our Earth, not yours – of interest? Same length of year as Old-Home-Terra; Deety and Lor checked.”
“Of course!”
“These figures apply to North America. Some other places are higher, some lower, some no data. Females. Menarche at thirteen plus-or-minus nine percent. Menopause at fifty-six to sixty-seven plus-or-minu -“
“Stop there! Average age of death, female?”
“One hundred seventeen. But males average eight years less. Sad. My own family averages higher, but only a few years. I don’t know about Jacob but he mentioned once that his great-grandfather got himself killed, in an odd fashion, at ninety-seven. He -“
“Enough. I must report this. By definition, all of you are ‘Missing Howards.'”
“But, Lazarus, that’s simply the average on Earth – our Earth, now that I know that there are thousands of analogs.”
“Doesn’t matter. Different universe, different time line – not my problem. Here you are a Howard. You four and all your descendants.”
Hilda smiled happily. “That’s cheerful news to a woman six weeks pregnant.”
“You?”
“And Deety. Same time and doesn’t show yet. Lazarus, I was tempted a while ago to tell you… because I was tempted. Now, now! Down, Rover! Outline to me how we rescue a woman dead for many centuries.”
“Hilda, someday I’m going to get you drunk.”
“Want to bet?”
“Never with you. There is mystery about my mother’s death. She appears to have been killed accidentally at a relatively young age, for a Howard. Just short of a hundred. I was notified as her purse I.D.’s named me as ‘next of kin’ – and I bawled like a baby for I had been planning to pay her a visit on her century day, July 4th, 1982. Instead I attended her funeral, flying to Albuquerque two weeks early.
“Nobody there but me. She was living alone under her maiden name, she and my father having separated thirty years earlier. But apparently she hadn’t listed her last address change with the Howard Foundation, hadn’t notified her other children. Howards are like that; they live so long that kinship is not enough reason to stay in touch. Closed casket and cremation – authorized by stuff in her purse; I never saw her body.
“But there was no doubt as to her I.D.’s and so forth. In my world, 1982 was a time when you couldn’t sneeze without carrying a thick pack of cards all, in effect, saying that you were you. I was feeling it because I was seventy later that year and looked thirty-five. Embarrassing. I had plans to drive south from Albuquerque, cross the border, and not come back until I had bought a new passport to match a new name.
“Hilda, it was over two thousand years later, in preparing for my first time trip, that I learned that my mother was not listed in the Archives as dead but simply as ‘record missing.'”
“The matter troubled me. A few years ago – my time – Laz-Lor took me back. Didn’t ground; a missile chased us and scared Dora silly. But I got a motion picture that seems to show the accident. There is a blur on the frames just before the first one that shows what I think is the corpse. Can you guess the size and shape?”
“Shan’t try, Lazarus.”
“As near as I can measure on a film a centimeter square, shot with a telephoto lens from too high because Dora was crying and wanting to go home, it is the size of that berth Gay Deceiver is in. Hilda, I think I photographed you rescuing my mother before you did it.”
“What? Lazarus, that’s -“
“Don’t say impossible. The Land of Oz is impossible. You’re impossible. I’m impossible. Who invented pantheistic multiperson solipsism? You did.”
“I wasn’t going to say ‘impossible.’ Now that you know that I’m pregnant, you will realize why I want to try to rescue your mother right away, before my belly starts growing where the seat belt crosses it. Her name was Marian? Marian Johnson Smith?”
“Maureen Johnson.”
“That proves that the real Lazarus Long stood up. It bothered me that there might be a series of analog-Lazarus-Longs like analog-Earths.”
“Wouldn’t bother me. That’s their problem.”
“But it would destroy the theory I worked out that would account for my sitting here in a pool of water in a time-travelling flying saucer with a fabulous man – both ways! – when I know he’s a fictional character in a book I read years back. That makes me a fictional character, too, but that doesn’t trouble me as I can’t read a novel with me in it, any more than you could read the one I read about you.”
“I came close to doing just that.”
“Don’t be mysterious, Lazarus.”
“I like wild stories. Used to read every one I could find in the Kansas City Public Library. On another time trip I picked up a magazine of a type you may never have seen. Read one installment of a serial. Ridiculous. Four people traveling in space in an airplane. At the end of that installment they are hailed by a flying saucer. Continued next month. Hilda, how do you think Dora was able to be at the right place at the right time when Gay Deceiver popped out of nowhere?”
“Where is that magazine?”
“Down the same destruction oubliette that recently received my best fake Scottish chief costume. If I had not learned long ago to dispose of casual fiction once I had read it, Dora would never be able to lift. Hilda, you explained it yoursel -“
“Hilda? Do you hear me” – her husband’s voice.
Her face lit up. “Yes, Jacob?”
“May I see you? I have a problem.”
I barely whispered, “I’ll get out,” and started to stand up. She pulled me back down. “Of course, Jacob dearest. I’m in the flag cabin. Where are you?”
“In our suite.”
“Come straight here.” She whispered to me, “Do we have a deal?” I nodded; she stuck out her hand; we shook on it. “Partners,” she whispered. “Details later. Maureen first.”
Her husband answered, “Hilda, I don’t know my way. And it’s a private matter.”
“Then you must come here, Jacob; this is the only private place in the ship. I’ve been talking business with Lazarus Long – business so private we had to talk here. No more trouble, dearest man, and we each get what we want. Come join us, we need you.”
“Uh… can he hear me?”
“Certainly. We’re having a bath together. Come join us. I want you to know all about the deal before we tell the children. I may need support on parts where we traded quid pro quo.”
Silence – “I’d better call back later.”
I said, “Doctor Burroughs, you want to talk privately with your wife; I will get out. But please understand that social bathing is as commonplace on my world as offering a friend a drink is on yours. I am here because the Commodore invited me and I assure you she is quite unharmed.”
Burroughs replied in a pained voice, “I know that custom and have utter faith in Hilda’s social judgment. Yes, I do need to speak to her… but I don’t mean to be surly. I’ll come up, or down, or across, and say hello. Please don’t leave before I get there. I’ll ask my way.”
“Dora will show you. Step into the corridor and wait. She’ll find you.”
“Very well, sir.”
“Dora, special.”
“Yes, Pappy?”
“Find Professor Burroughs. Lead him here. By the longest route. Slow march.”
“Aye aye, Pappy.”
I said hurriedly to Hilda, “I may know what this is; let me check. Lib?”
“Yes, Lazarus?”
“Are you alone?”
“In my stateroom alone. And lonely.” Lib added, “And upset.”
“So? Did you put the question to Professor Burroughs?”
“Yes. Lazarus, I had perfect opportunity. The one place Dora can’t see or hear. Inside Gay Deceiver’s space warp and – “
“Chop it, Lib! Did he turn you down?”
“No. But he didn’t say Yes. He’s gone to discuss it with his wife. That’s why I’m jittery.”
“Turn on the soother. I’ll call you back. Off.”
Hilda asked, “What’s the matter with Elizabeth?”
“I’ll make it short as even the longest route can’t take long. Lib is terribly anxious to have a child by the mathematician – your husband – who formulated the equations for six-dimensional positively-curved space. She thinks – and so do I – that they might produce a mathematician equal to, or even greater, than Lib or your husband. But she should have let Ishtar arrange it. She jumped the gun; I don’t know why -“
“I do! Elizabeth!”
Lib was slow in answering. “This is Elizabeth Long.”
“Hilda Burroughs here. Elizabeth, you come straight here. Flag cabin.”
“Commodore, are you angry with me? I meant no harm.”
“Dear, dear! You come to Mama Burroughs’ arms and let me pet you and tell you that you’re a good girl. Now! How far away are you?”
“Just around the curve. A few meters.”
“Drop everything and hurry. Lazarus and I are in the ‘fresher. In the pool. Come join us.”
“Uh, all right.”
“Hurry!”
Hilda asked, “How do I let them in? Run dripping and do it by hand? I noticed that our door lets anyone out but can’t be opened from the outside without help.” She added, “For that matter how do I get back in?”
“Dora knows you belong here. For the rest – Dora, admit Libby Long and Professor Burroughs.”
“Aye aye, Pappy. Lib – here she comes. Dr. Jacob Burroughs I’m fetching. How soon?”
Hilda said, “Two minutes.”
Lib hurried in, still unsmiling. Did smile when Hilda put her arms around her, smiled and cried at the same time. I heard Hilda crooning, “There, there, dear! It’s a wonderful idea; she’ll be the world’s greatest mathematician. A cute baby – something like Deety, something like you. Jacob! In here, darling! If you are wearing anything, chuck it; we’re in the pool.”
Seconds later the pool was filled to its rated capacity, Hilda with arms around both of them – kissed her husband, kissed Lib, said sternly to them, “Stop looking as if you were at a funeral! Jacob, this is what Jane would want – and it is what I want. Elizabeth, you aren’t crowding me out; I’m pregnant now. I’ll have my baby six weeks before you have yours. I’ve decided to ask Doctor Lafe Hubert to deliver my baby. Who are -“
“Hilda! I haven’t delivered a baby for over a century.”
“You have seven months in which to brush up. Doctor Lafe, are you refusing to attend me?”
“No, but – Jake, if Hilda will have her baby at the Clinic on Tertius, she will be in the hands of the most skilled obstetricians in this universe. Which I am not. I’m rusty. I -“
“Doctor, I think Hilda would settle for your holding her hand and standing by to help if needed. I think my daughter would like that, too. She may have her baby the same day as Hilda.”
“Sir, I will be honored. But I want to say something about this proposed baby, a cross between two all-time great mathematicians. I know that your world places value on monogamy. Howards do not; they can’t. But this need not violate your values. If you will make a deposit at the sperm bank at -“
“What?” Hilda Burroughs looked shocked. “Lazarus, are you talking about syringes and things like that. Done to Elizabeth?”
“Why, yes, I -“
She chopped me off. “Babies are not made with syringes! Babies are made with love! With little moans of happiness between two people who know exactly what they are doing and want to do it. Elizabeth, are you fertile today?”
“I should be. It’s time.”
“Then kiss me and tell me you want to do this. If you do.”
“Oh, I do, very much!”
There were kisses and tears all around. I got pulled into it, found myself kissing the prospective father. I gave him a chance to duck but he didn’t.
Our busy little stranger was still playing ringmaster. “Lazarus, what is that guest room across the cabin? Pastel colors?”
“Aurora Room.”
“Beloved husband, wrap a towel around this sweet, frightened child, take her there, lock the door behind you and make her happy. This suite is the only totally private place in this ship. If I lay eyes on either of you in less than one hour, I shall burst into tears. That doesn’t mean you can’t stay longer. I hope that you will come to dinner … but you are welcome to Aurora Room after dinner. Sweetheart, you must give her at least one chance each of the next three days; a woman’s timing can vary from her norm. Now git! Pick her up and carry her.”
Lib wouldn’t let Jake carry her. But she leaned into his arm. As they left the ‘fresher, she looked back with a happy smile and threw us a kiss.
Hilda caught it and ate it. Then she said to me, “Help me out, please, dear.”
I lifted her out, sat her on the edge, climbed out myself. She patted the padded deck, said, “I think this is better than that chaise longue. If we happen to be caught it wouldn’t embarrass me and should not embarrass you; in these circumstances Jacob would be relieved rather than upset.” She smiled, eased her sweet thighs, put up her arms. “Now?”
“Yes!”
“Anything you want, including back rubs. Lazarus, does it excite you knowing what is going on a few meters away? It does me!”
“Yes! But I don’t need it – Hilda, you’re superb!”
“Not in looks, certainly. So I try hard with what I have. Sold myself three times – did my best to make my contract-husbands each feel that he had received full value… then married dear Jacob for love and am trying still harder with him. He is good – I mean he is good all through. I hope Elizabeth appreciates him. You’ve had her?”
“Yes.”
“Before or after the change?”
“Both. I miss the ‘before,’ appreciate the ‘after.”
“Then why won’t you knock her up?”
“That’s a family joke. She had her first child by me, is now making the rounds of our family, more or less. Woman, you are not here to talk! – I’m almost there!”
She looked delighted. “I’m climaxing steadily; let ‘er rip!” – and bit my chin.
An indefinitely long time later that need not be detailed, we were resting in each other’s arms, enjoying that delicious peace of the ebbing tide. Hilda saw them first, raised her head:
“Jacob beloved! Did you! Lib – Did my sweetheart put a baby in you?”
“Did he! Hilda, you do that every night? Little bitty like you? Less than two hours and darling Jacob has worn me out.”
“I’m a hollow mockery, dear. Built for it. Tell her, Jacob.”
“My darling is adaptable, Libby dear. Lazarus, did Hilda treat you nicely?”
“I died happy.”
“He’s not dead” – Hilda made a long arm, cupped a handful of water, threw it in my face, giggled. The suggestion she added I rejected with dignity – as much dignity as one can manage when two women are tumbling one into a tub of water… while one’s male comrade stands by and laughs.

Chapter XLIV

” – where do we get the corpse?”

Zeb:
“The question,” said my wife Deety, “is where do we get the corpse? With timing that precise, Gay can make the pickup. But a corpse has to be left behind. Lazarus, not only do your movies show it, but you remember Maureen’s death; you went to her funeral. It’s got to be a fresh corpse of an elderly woman that the cops will accept as Maureen Johnson.”
Six of us – Deety, me, Jake, Sharpie, Lazarus, and Libby – were seated around our kitchen dining table at “New Harbor” (our wives accepted that compromise) in Beulahland, trying to make plans for the “snatch.” “Snatch” in the literal sense if the rescue of Maureen Johnson were to succeed.
Lazarus had a motion picture that showed that we would succeed (had succeeded) (were about to succeed) at a precise time and place and date on an analog of Earth-zero one quantum away on ‘t’ axis.
Easy! Success guaranteed. Can’t miss. Do it blindfolded.
But suppose we did miss?
The frames showed that a roadable had passed through the space where Gay had been (would be?) grounded, and, in so doing, ran over (would run Over) (will run over) (is, was, and forever will be running over) the dumped corpse. Suppose the timing or placement was offjust a touch. On his first time travel (1916-1918 Old-Home-Terra), with Dora piloting, Lazarus had missed not by a split second but by three years.
Lazarus had pointed out that it was his fault, not Dora’s; he had fed her imperfect data – and we had jumped on him from five sides: It was not a question of “whose fault” but the fact a mistake could be made. Or could it?
Four mathematicians, one mathematical engineer (yeah, I include me, as resident expert in Gay’s responses), and one intuitionist all disagreed.
Hilda was certain that nothing could go wrong.
I am a firm believer in Murphy’s Law: Given any possible chance, it will go wrong. Anything.
Libby had been wholeheartedly converted both to Jake’s six-axis plenum of universes to the awful Number of the Beast but also to Sharpie’s multiple solipsism, and asserted that they were two sides of the same coin; one was a corollary of the other and vice versa. Combined, they (it) constituted the ultimate total philosophy: science, religion, mathematics, art, in one grand consistent package. She spoke of a “ficton” being a quantum of imagination/reality (“imaginary” being identical with “real” whatever that is) as casually as a physicist speaks of photons. “Could a mistake be made? Yes. And would create a new universe. Jacob, you spoke of the empty universes your family had visited. One by one they fill as fictons are created.” She added, “But a mistake was not made; we snatched Maureen safely. We ourselves create the fictions-fictons-ficta that will make it real.”
She was euphoric. I attributed it to excitement over the coming adventure. I was mistaken.
Lazarus, a highly competent mathematician although not the unique that Jake is or Libby, was in this case not a calm abstractionist; his mood was grim determination to win or die trying – causing me to recall how he got his arse shot off.
Jake turned out to be a determinist (he himself being one universe’s prime example of utter, rambunctious free will!).
Deety is a pragmatic mathematician, unworried by theory. Oz is real, she is real, “fictons” don’t interest her. “Don’t fret, Lazarus. We can do it, Gay can do it – and we won’t do it until Gay is certain of her program.”
This discussion had started midafternoon in Dora. Sharpie had worked out her difficulties with Lazarus (to my enormous relief; were those two to wind up on opposite sides in anything more serious than Parcheesi, I yearn to be elsewhere – say Timbuktu under an assumed name); she, Jake, Lazarus, and Libby were in the flag cabin, arguing, when Sharpie had Dora page Deety and me.
There were endless matters on the agenda (including the preposterous notion that we four were ‘Missing Howards’ and that Lazarus was registering us as such. I’m not sure I want to live a thousand years or even two hundred. But I am sure of this: a) I want to live quite a piece; and b) I want to be alert, healthy, and active right up to the last. Not like my great-grandfather who had to be spoonfed at a hundred and five, and could not control his secretions. But the Howards have got that whipped: you stay young as long as you wish, then die by choice when you feel you’ve had your full run.
(Yes, I was willing to be a ‘Found Howard’ since it included Deety, plus little Deeties ad infinitum.)
Lots of other business, all of it postponed (including the problem of “Black Hats”), in order to deal with rescuing Maureen Johnson.
We were still discussing knotty aspects when Lor’s voice said: “Commodore?”
“Yes, Captain?” Sharpie had answered.
“Ma’am, I hesitate to disturb you -“
“Quite all right, Lor. The Captain must always be able to reach me.”
“Uh, Ma’am, Dora told me that she was forbidden to call you. She has for you a variety of New Rome styles for women and men, a military uniform for Doctor Jacob, and one for Doctor Zebadiah, and evening formals for Doctor Elizabeth and Doctor Deety – and she’s not sure where to send any of them.”
“Send all the clothes to the flag cabin, please.”
“Yes, Ma’am. They should be appearing in your delivery cupboard now. Do you know where that is?”
“I’ll find it. What are you and your sister wearing tonight? Or is it a secret?”
“It’s not a secret; we just haven’t decided. But there is still an hour and thirty-one minutes till dinner.”
“Time enough to pick out pretty clothes. Or will you wear formal skin tonight? That takes anywhere from two seconds to two hours, does it not? Off.”
Sharpie used an unusually rough expression of disgust, which told me that she now included Lib and Lazarus in her inner circle. “Woodie, do you know any exceptionally strong cuss words? I detest the thought of wasting time pretending to be festive when we have so much to settle, especially our procedures for Maureen.”
Deety looked at Libby. “You and I are kind o’ stuck with a promise, too. How about some new cuss words from you, too?”
“Deety, I have no literary talent. But I would like to hear some soul-soothing cussing. We ought to stick with this, with snacks to keep going and sleep when we must, until it’s perfect. Three hours or three days or three weeks.”
I said, “We shall!”
Sharpie shook her head. “Zebbie, you can skip dinner. I can’t. Lazarus should appear, too.”
He agreed. “I’m afraid I must. But, Commodore, I must advise you that your flag chief of staff should be present, too, for esprit de corps.” He cleared his throat noisily. “Libby and Jacob, being passengers, could skip.”
Lib shook her head. “Deety and I made a reckless promise.”
Not being a genius myself, it’s kind of fun to make a roomful of ’em look silly. I stood up. “No! We will not let a dinner party interfere! We can settle it within three days. But if you all are going to chase rabbits – What’s the matter with you, Sharpie? Getting stupid in your old age?”
“Apparently I am, Zebbie.” She said to Lazarus, “Please issue orders cancelling dinner. We’ll stay with this until we finish it. There are beds and lounges whenever anyone needs to nap. But we won’t adjourn. Three hours or three weeks. Or longer.”
“Don’t cancel dinner, Sharpie.”
“Zebbie, you have me confused.”
“Beulahland is on a different time axis.”
Five minutes later we were in our old farmhouse. We hadn’t stopped for clothes as we would have wasted twenty minutes, whereas the idea was to save time on that axis, use time on this axis. We stuck Lazarus and Libby back in the after space, with the bulkhead door dogged open, so they could see and hear, but required them to use the web straps, and cautioned them that the lumps under them were loaded firearms.
The only thing not routine was that we would be making rendezvous later with a moving ship, something we had done before only from bounce range in the same space-time. So I had asked Gay whether she was sure she could do it. She assured me that she could, because she wasn’t concerned with the ship’s vector; she would return the instant she left.
I turned to Commodore-now-Captain Sharpie. “Ready for space, Captain.”
“Thank you, Astrogator. Gay Deceiver. Beulahland. Execute. Gay Deceiver, open your doors. All hands, unbelt. Disembark. Gay, it’s sleepy time. Over.”
“Goodnight, Hilda. Roger and out.”
Our passengers were dazed – they all are, first time. They stood outside our barn, looking at the setting sun, acting like zombies, until I shooed them inside. Although Beulahland does not have body taboos, they wear clothes most of the time, and six naked people outdoors in a clump as the chill of the evening was coming on was odd. I like a low profile.
Once inside, Libby said, “Feels like Arkansaw.”
Lazarus replied. “Feels like Mizzoura.”
“Neither,” I told them. “It would be the State of Washington if it weren’t Beulahiand, and what ought to be Puget Sound is about a kilometer over that way.”
“It still feels like home. Lazarus, I’m happy here.”
At that moment I decided we would never give up New Harbor. Apparently we were going to be citizens of Tertius, or maybe New Rome on Secundus, or both (commuting is no problem when light-years mean nothing), on another time axis. We could take a rest from city life anytime and have it cost not one day’s work on Tertius. Contrariwise, only such time would pass on New World as we spent there.
Hmm – Maybe we could sell vacations. Or extra study time for that student who has his big exam, the one he must pass, tomorrow morning. Sell him room and board and transportation and three weeks not in the calendar. At a slight markup, of course.
I built a cheerful fire in the fireplace, and Lazarus washed dishes, while Libby insisted on proving that she could cook on a wood range, even though she had learned centuries ago by her time scale, as a gangling boy. Yes, Elizabeth can cook.
We ate and sat around and talked, puzzling how to be sure of Maureen. Not make that one tiny mistake, It was then that Deety brought up the matter of the dead body. You’ve seen how accurate Gay can be but where do we get a freshly-dead corpse to replace Maureen?
Lazarus told her to forget it, “I provide the corpse.”
“That’s not a good answer, Lazarus.”
“Deety, don’t worry. It’ll be dead and I will dump it.” I said, “Lazarus, I don’t like that answer a damn bit.” “Nor do I,” Jake seconded.
“Nor I,” agreed Sharpie. “Woodie, you’re asking us to make a snatch – a hanging offense many places, bad trouble anywhere. We don’t mind the technicality; saving an old woman’s life isn’t the sin kidnapping is. But what about this freshly-dead corpse? We don’t deal in murder.”
Lazarus glowered.
Libby said hastily, “If I assure you that it is all right, will you let it go at that?”
“No,” pronounced Sharpie, “Woodie must come clean.”
“All right, all right! I own this corpse. No murder or any other crime involved. Now will you quit riding me about it?”
“Jake?”
“I don’t like it, Zeb.”
“I don’t, either. But we needn’t do anything. We go limp. He may not last long in a culture that ‘balances.'”
“Possible. But that’s his problem.”
Sharpie said quickly, “Did either of you promise him a ride back to my ship?”
“Whose ship?”
“My ship, Woodie. Gentlemen?”
“I didn’t promise him. Did you. Jake?”
“No. Did you, Deety? Hilda?”
“Not me, Pop.”
“Nor me, Jacob. Woodie, earlier today I thought you had seen the light. Conceded, ‘I am but indifferent honest’ myself. But even pirates need to feel safe with their shipmates. You and I shook hands as partners. You don’t seem to understand what that means. However I’m not going to abandon you here. You’d be balanced in a week. Dead. Or worse. So we’ll take you back. By the way, it is impossible to steal Gay Deceiver. Yes, I know you once stole a ship enormously bigger than Gay. But not as well protected.”
“Lazarus! Tell them.”
“Lib, I was waiting for the Commodore to finish. That corpse wasn’t murdered because it was never alive other than as a vegetable.” Lazarus looked embarrassed.
“About thirty years ago we started a medical school on Tertius. A one-horse deal, more of a branch of the clinic. But genetic engineering is taught, and student genetic surgeons must practice. Ordinarily a clone that goes bad is killed and frozen and its tissues studied. A clone that takes – shows no fault, no deviation – is either cared for and allowed to develop if its genetic source wants a spare body and will pay for it. Or, more likely, a healthy clone is purely a laboratory exercise – an ethical medical school requires supervised destruction during the first pseudo trimester, before quickening shows in the wave form.
“Neither student nor tissue donor is likely to be upset by this quasi-abortion, as the student is almost always herself the donor – if it bothers her, she’s in the wrong vocation.
“If the student is not the donor, emotional upset is hardly possible. The student thinks of the clone as a quasi-living histological specimen the usefulness of which is at end – and the tissue donor can’t be upset, being unaware of it.”
“Why so, Lazarus? If anybody is tinkering with my cells, I want to know about it, I do!”
“Deety, that tissue may be years, even centuries, old; the donor may be parsecs away. Or still warm and the donor just leaving the building. Or anything in between. A sperm-and-ova bank insures the future of the race; a tissue bank insures the future of the individual. But somebody has to pick up the check; it’s a tanstaafl situation. A few of the very wealthy – and neurotic – always have a quickened but unawakened clone in stasis. I’m wealthy but not neurotic; I don’t have a reserve clone.”
I caught sight of Libby’s face as Lazarus made that last statement – her mouth twitched in a half smile about to become (I think) a snicker, had she not suppressed all expression. No one but I caught it.
I made note to ask her about it later – then I remembered what the mouse told the cat and decided not to.
“But I do what any prudent Howard does; I have tissue on deposit. One may do this either of two ways: Pay high … or pay much lower and sign a release on half the donation for research and instruction.” He grinned. “I’m stingy. My tissue is available to medical students.”
He went on, “Not all medical schools are ethical. I can think of at least three planets where – ” Lazarus looked directly at my wife. “Deety, you raised this issue. While I can think of three planets where one can buy any sort of monster, I can think of at least thirty where, for a much lower fee, I could simply say, ‘I want that one'” – he pointed at Sharpie – “and the answer would be, ‘It’s a deal, Mac. How freshly dead and when do you want delivery?”
Sharpie looked around behind herself as if to see at whom Lazarus had pointed.
“That’s the cheapest way -“
“Then you weren’t pointing at me!” Sharpie interrupted. “Woodie, it’s not polite to point. For a moment you had me worried. I’m never cheap – highpriced, always.”
“So I found out, Commodore. Deety, that’s cheapest, and safe for the buyer in the places I have in mind. But how can I convince you that I never gave even a moment’s consideration to that method? You seem to know a lot about me – more than I know about any of you. Is there anything that you have ever read or heard, anything that I’ve said or done, that would cause you to think that I would murder or contract for a murder – same but nastier – in order to further my own ends? I’m not saying that I have never killed. A man who has lived even half as long as I have has found himself more than once in a kill-or-be-killed situation. But the best way to deal with such a situation is not to get into it. Anticipate it. Avoid it.”
Lazarus Long stopped and looked sad, and for the only time of my acquaintance with him, looked his age. I do not mean he suddenly looked decrepit. But he had an aura of ancient sorrow. “Professor Burroughs, if it would do any good, I would junk all my plans, accept being forever stranded here, for the privilege of taking a twenty-pound sledge and smashing your space-time twister.”
I was shocked (damn it, I like good machinery). Jake looked hurt, Deety and Sharpie looked stunned.
Jake said tightly, “Lazarus… why?”
“Not to hurt you, Professor; you have my highest respect. You are one of three: the man who invented the wheel, the man who discovered how to use fire – and you. But, in making this supreme discovery, you have accomplished something I had thought impossible. You have made interstellar war logistically practical. Interstellar? Intergalactic – interuniversal!”
Lazarus suddenly straightened up, threw off his gloom, grinned. “All the King’s horses and all the King’s men can’t close Pandora’s Box again. Once it hits the fan, the only thing to do is sweep it up, package it, and sell it as fertilizer. Hilda has plans along that line. But I’m going to have to start thinking in military terms again. Figure out how to defend my home place against what appears to be that Ultimate Weapon much talked about but never achieved. I am glad to say that Hilda plans to keep it a close-held secret as long as possible; that may buy us time.”
He turned his attention back to my wife. “Deety, I have never murdered, I never will. The nearest I ever came to it was once being sorely tempted to strangle a five-year-old boy. I admit that the thought has often passed through my mind that this character or that would look his best as the centerpiece of a funeral. But can I convince you that I have never acted on such thoughts? Think hard, please – all that you know of me. Am I capable of murder?”
Deety doesn’t dither. (Remember how we got married?) She jumped up, hurried around our kitchen table, and kissed Lazarus – and stopped hurrying. It was a kiss that calls for a bed, or even a pile of coal – had there not been urgent business before the house.
Deety broke from it, sat down beside him, and said, “Tell us how we get this unmurdered fresh corpse. It’s clear that we’re going to have to go pick it up – in Gay. So we must know.”
Libby said gently, “Lazarus, this is what you have been avoiding. May I tell it?”
“Thanks, Lib. No, you would pretty it up. I -“
“Pipe down!” said Deety. “Elizabeth, give us the straight word. Briefly.”
“Very well. The medical school of B.I.T. is as ethical as you will find. My sister-wife Ishtar is director of the rejuvenation clinic and chairman of the board of the medical school, and still finds time to teach. I have never seen Maureen Johnson as I was born about two centuries after she was. But she iS Supposed to resemble Laz and Lor – unsurprising; she is their genetic mother, since they were cloned from Lazarus.”
“Oh! I see. There is still a third clone from Lazarus. Female?”
“A spoiled one, Deety. Ishtar tells me that it is difficult, rather than otherwise, to get a bad clone from Lazarene tissue… so it is especially suitable for induced mutation experiments. She orders the destruction of these experiments when they have served their purpose.”
“Deety said to make it brief,” growled Lazarus.
Lib ignored him. “But, while Ishtar checks on the students, no one checks on her. For twenty years Ishtar watched for a clone that would look human but not be human. So deficient in forebrain that it could never be anything but a vegetable, unaware. She told me that her students had unknowingly provided her with dozens to work on. Usually they died too soon, or never developed human appearance, or had some other fault that made them unusable. But several years ago she succeeded. I testify that this thing looked like Laz and Lor as it passed through the stage of its forced development… and also that it looked like an older version, wrinkled and hair streaked with gray, when it died two Tertian years ago -“
“Huh? ‘Fresh corpse’!”
” – and was quick-frozen at once. I testify to something else. Friends, in becoming a woman I acquired an interest in biology that I had not had, as a male. While I teach math at B.I.T., I am also staff mathematician to the clinic and have studied a bit of human biology. When I say that this spoiled clone was never alive in any real sense I speak as the mathematical biologist who checked its monitors’ records daily. It always required full metabolic support; we monitored everything. The surprising thing is that Ishtar could keep it alive long enough to let it appear to age. But Ishtar is very skillful.” Libby added, “Lazarus would not only have become upset in telling this, but he could not have told it first hand as Ishtar refused to permit Lazarus to see this spoiled clone or any records on it.”
“A willful woman,” said Lazarus. “In three seconds I could have told Ish whether or not this thing looked enough like my mother to be useful. Instead I must depend on the opinions of people who have never laid eyes on my mother. Damn it, I am owner of record of the clinic and Chairman Regent of all B.I.T. Does that count with Ishtar? Hilda, my senior wife is as tough a case as you are… and looks as little like it as you do.”
“So? It will be interesting to see what happens when I am your junior wife,” Sharpie answered at her pertest.
“Are you going to be my junior wife?” Lazarus swung around and looked at her husband. “Jake?”
“I don’t think I have a vote,” my blood brother answered easily.
“I’ll automatically be your junior wife if we are invited to join the Long Family which we damn well ought to be if we make this work!” Sharpie said indignantly.
“Wait a half!” I put in. “If we are invited to join the Long Family – a tall assumption if I ever saw one – Deety would be junior. Not you, you elderly baggage.”
“Hillbilly can be junior if she wants to be. I don’t mind.”
“Deety,” I said, “are you serious? I’ve been trying to point out to your stepmother that you don’t push your way into a family.”
“I wasn’t pushing, Zebadiah,” my wife answered. “I want us to stay on Tertius at least until we have our babies, and possibly make it our home; it seems to be a pleasant place and should be free of ‘Black Hats’ – no skin taboos. But that doesn’t mean that the Longs have to have us in their laps.”
“I intend to nominate you, Zebadiah,” Libby told me. “All four of you. And I hope you four accept. But, Deety twin, you know what I’m attempting. With your father.”
“Yes, I know. I’m cheering for it.”
“Your husband must hear this. Deety, I still have that Y chromosome in every cell even though it has been so inhibited by hormone balance that I don’t notice it. You and I could try for a mathematical-genius baby, too.”
“Huh! Which one of us supplies the penis?”
“Ishtar does. Neither of us would be host-mother, the way it would be done. But any of my sister-wives would supply womb room if she didn’t happen to be pregnant. Or the host-mother could be a stranger we would never meet and the child’s family-parents strangers, too – all handled by Ishtar who always reads the relevant genetic charts before approving anything.”
“Zebadiah?”
I said without hesitation, “It’s up to you, hon. I’m in favor of it; it makes sense. But don’t lose track of the child. Elizabeth, I want to adopt the baby ahead of time. Hmm – Bottle baby… but the formulas are probably better now. Not here-now. Tertius there-then-now.”
“‘Bottle baby’? Oh! No longer done; a baby needs to suckle. But there is usually spare milk around the Longs’. If I’m lactating I always have excess; I turn out to be a good milch cow despite that extra chromosome. But Deety can nurse our child if she wishes to; causing a woman to come fresh with milk without bearing a child is a minor biochemical manipulation today – Tertian-today. Professional wet nurses do it regularly and are likely to be in that vocation because they love babies but can’t have ’em themselves for some reason.”
“Sounds good.” (What sounded best was this: a baby Deety is a wonderful idea – but a baby Deety who is also a baby Libby is sure to be wonderful squared. Cubed!)
“While I’m on this and no one here but family – Jacob, there is no reason not to create a third mathematical supergenius by crossing you with your daughter.”
I was looking at my wife, thinking pleasant thoughts about baby Deety-Libby, when Elizabeth dropped this bomb – and Deety shut down her face. It’s not an unpleasant expression; it’s a no-expression, a closed door, while Deety sorts out her thoughts.
So I looked at Jake, in time to see his face shift from surprise to shock. “But that’s -“
“Incest?” Libby supplied. “No, Jacob, incest is a social matter. Whether you bed your daughter is none of my business. I’m speaking of genes, of still another way to conserve mathematical genius. Ishtar would scan your charts most carefully and would resort to chromosome surgery if there was the slightest chance of double dosage of a bad allele. But you and your daughter could see Ishtar on different days and never know anything about the outcome. Your genes are not your property; they come from your race. This offers opportunity to give them back to the race with your highest talent reinforced… without loss to anyone. Think about it.”
Jake looked at me, then at his daughter. “Deety?”
She added no-expression voice to no-expression face – but directed her answer to me: “Zebadiah, this is necessarily up to you and Jacob.” I’m not sure that anyone but Sharpie noticed that she had not said “Pop.”
Deety added at once with total change in manner, “First things first! Maureen’s rescue. All of you are stuck in a rut of time sequence. Oh, the minor problem of keeping clear of Dora and the missile both times. Routine.” (And I was hit by a satori.)
Lazarus answered, “But Deety, I promised Dora never again to take her anywhere near Albuquerque.”
Deety sighed. “Lib?”
“Frames one-thirteen through seven-seven-two, then seven-seven-three through one thousand and two?”
“Precisely. And precisely it must be, too. I’m timing it by that yellow open roadable approaching from the other direction. What are you using?”
“The same one. Easy to spot and its speed never varies.”
Lazarus said, “Jake, do you know what they are saying?”
“Yes and no. They are treating it as two problems. But we lack three seconds of time enough to dump one and snatch the other. Those – traffic lights, you called them? – leave that intersection clear by a measured interval, clocked by your camera.”
Sharpie suddenly grinned; I nodded to her to take it. She did. “Deety and Libby are saying that we do it twice. First, we rescue Maureen. Then we come back and dump the corpse.”
I added, “But the second time we don’t ground. Jake, I’m going to ask you to move over – Deety moves to my seat. We’ll dump the dead meat so that it hits the ground between frames seven-seven-two and seven-seven-three. I’ll be on manual and hovering. I need to know where Dora is and where that missile is and need to be sure of the acceleration of gravity, Earth-Prime. Because that corpse will already be falling, right over our heads, while we are making the snatch. Close timing. Mmm – Gay can fly herself more precisely than I can. I think that Deety and I will write a program… then I’ll be on override-suspenders and belt.”
Jake added, “Zeb, I see the procedure. But, if we are hovering for the drop while we are also on the ground, why aren’t we shown in the photographs?”
“May be in some of them. Doesn’t matter. Deety, when do we do this? Cancel. Sharpie? Your orders, Captain?”
Deety and Sharpie swapped glances. Then they sounded like Laz-Lor, with Sharpie leading. “Now to bed. It’s almost midnight in our biological time, slightly later in local time.”
“We do both jobs after breakfast,” Deety responded. “But sleep as late as we can. Be sharp and on our toes. ‘Minds me. Just one ‘fresher, quite primitive. But the two in Gay are as available here as anywhere; since they are actually in Oz. Six people, three pots, not difficult.”
“And three beds,” added Sharpie. “Jacob, kiss us goodnight and take Lib to bed. Master bedroom and good luck! Use my toothbrush, Lib hon – anything else you need?”
“No. A good cry, maybe. I love you, Hilda.”
“If I didn’t love you, Elizabeth, I wouldn’t be Madam of this joint. We’ll cry together the day Ishtar tells us you’ve caught. Now shoosh! Scat! Kiss us and go to bed.”
As they headed upstairs Sharpie said to me, “Zebbie, give Deety a pre-amnesty so that she can try out Lazarus and find out whether she wants to be junior wife.”
I tried to look amazed. “Deety, haven’t you tried Lazarus yet?”
“You know darn well I haven’t! When have I had time?”
“From a woman who specializes in programming time machines that is a silly question. Lazarus, she’s already knocked up, so don’t fret about it. One warning: She bites.”
“The best ones always do.”
“Hush. Kiss us good-night, dears. Zebbie, open the couch in the living room; that’s where you’re going to keep me warm.”
“But who’s going to keep me warm? A skinny little runt like you?”
Sharpie bites.

Chapter XLV

A Stitch in Time

Jake:
We popped out one klick H-above-G over Albuquerque, Earth-Prime, and Gay tilted her nose down. A last-minute change put my daughter Deety at copilot, while I sat left rear, nominal navigator. Deety can use verniers as accurately as I, did not expect to use them at all, did need to be able to see the yellow roadable – and has this clock in her head.
Elizabeth Long was in the after compartment, strapped down but not on lumps of ordnance. Rifles, pistols, bed clothes for the control compartment, anything else that could be moved easily to reduce clutter, had been shifted into our space warp, as had Lazarus Long.
Doctor Ishtar had warned Lazarus not to let his mother recognize him, as the shock to her might be harmful, even fatal. While Lazarus had been trying to figure out how to make the snatch using Dora, he had planned on wearing disguise. But hiding in our Land-of-Oz addition was simpler-especially as Ishtar was almost as anxious that Lazarus not see his mother, not see his mother’s pseudo corpse – this I learned from Elizabeth in the night.
So I showed Lazarus the everlasting picnic basket, advised him to use bed clothes to make a shakedown and sleep if possible as there would be time to kill, and supplied him with books – but don’t come out until I open the door! Then did not mention that I was locking him in.
I was relieved to have only a nominal job. I was not sleepy despite a short night – I was bemused.
I was falling in love with – had fallen in love with – Elizabeth Long. No less in love with Hilda – more in love with her than ever! I am learning that love does not subtract – it multiplies!
As Gay tilted down I reached over and touched Hilda’s hand. She smiled and threw me a kiss. I’m sure she had a sweet night; she has loved Zeb as long as she has known him. “As a loyal chum,” she tells me – but Hilda holds to the Higher Truth that it is better to be kind than to be frank. It did not matter either way; Zeb is my blood brother beloved by me, perfect husband for my daughter, and, if not Hilda’s lover in the past, then he surely was now – and it troubled me not at all. On awakening I had discussed it with Jane before I opened my eyes – Jane approves and is delighted by Elizabeth.
My daughter had an unusual night, too. If the myths are true, Lazarus is more than one hundred times as old as Deety. This gulf may not matter to him – but Deety takes everything seriously.
Apparently it had done her no harm; at breakfast she was bright-eyed and bubbly. All of us were euphoric and eager to get on with it.
Zeb was saying, “That’s it! Got it in the gunsight – got the range, Smart Girl?”
“Got it nailed, Boss!”
“Keep it so. Deety! Yellow roadable?”
“Just spotted it. Gay, count down! Six… Five… Four… Three… Two… One… Now!”
We were diagonally in that intersection; Gay’s portside door was popping open. I heard Zeb say, “Oh, my God!” He was out of the car, kneeling, picking up a body, kicking a cop in the stomach, and throwing that body to me, as he scrambled inside and shouted, “GayBounce!”
Gay bounced. Gay is not supposed to lift with a door open and “Bounce!” means ten klicks. She bounced one klick, finished closing her door, waited while Zeb checked the seal – completed the bounce. I am now a believer.
I was passing this little old lady back to Elizabeth, and looking for resemblance to Lazarus when I heard Zeb moan, “I didn’t get her purse, I didn’t get her purse!”
“What of it?” said Deety. “It’s where we want it. Gay Deceiver. Tertius Orbit. Execute.”
A beautiful planet –
Zeb was saying, “Lib, can you coach us? Or are you too busy?”
“Not that busy. Maureen fainted but her heart is strong and steady, and I have a strap holding her. Is Gay on frequency?”
Deety reported, “Right on. Go ahead, Lib.”
The next I can’t report; it was in Galacta. Then Elizabeth said, “We’ll be passing over Boondock in three minutes twenty-two seconds. Roof of the clinic is designated. Shall I come forward and point it out?”
“Can you handle yourself in free fall?” Zeb asked.
“I’ve some experience. Eight centuries.”
“My big mouth. Come forward.”
In four or five minutes we grounded on a flat roof in a wooded part of a moderately large city. I saw a figure in a white coverall, plus two others with a wheeled stretcher – and only then did I recall that none of us had dressed. Hilda had asked; Lazarus had vetoed, Elizabeth had concurred.
So I found myself bare to my ears, bowing over a lady’s hand and saying, “I am honored, Doctor Ishtar.”
She is indeed beautiful – a Valkyrie sculptured from cream and marshmallow and honey. She smiled and kissed my hand.
Elizabeth said something in this other language; Ishtar smiled again and said, in careful, fluent English, “In that case, he is one of us” – took my head in her hands and kissed me thoroughly.
Ishtar so distracted me that I did not notice that Maureen had been handed out – awake but dazed – been rolled away, and was gone. All of us were thoroughly and carefully kissed, then Elizabeth discussed matters with Ishtar in Galacta. “Ish says that she has been slowly warming the thing. It is now at four degrees Celsius. She would like more time but will bring it to thirty-seven degrees Celsius in six hours if she must.”
Deety said, “How about twenty-four hours?”
Ishtar was pleased at this, agreed that she understood that the substitute must be dressed in the patient’s (client’s) clothing, agreed that the space we were in would be kept clear – and asked, “What’s that pounding noise?”
Elizabeth explained that it was Lazarus. “He is in a magic space warp about where we were standing. He knows that he is supposed to remain there, but he changed his mind – and has just discovered that he is locked in.”
Ishtar’s smile suddenly became a grin, as quickly left. “A magic space warp? Lib, I want to hear about that.”
“You will.”
We climbed back inside, Deety told Gay “Twenty-four hours” – and we stepped out again. Ishtar was lying on a pad, taking the sun… this time as bare as we were – and I was still more impressed.
“Right on time,” she said, standing (taller than I am) and, as always, smiling. “The substitute is waiting, and I have had time to examine and talk with the client. She is in good shape for her age, understands in part at least what has happened, and is undismayed by it. Please tell Lazarus that, if he returns to Tertius soon, he will not be admitted to this building for seventeen months. The client is most firm: she will not see Lazarus until I have completed rejuvenating her.”
“Lib,” said my daughter Deety, “seventeen what sort of months? I want to set an exact rendezvous – and Gay’s time calibration is not Tertian but Earth-Prime and Earth-zero. Old Home Terra.” With Elizabeth as interface the three agreed on an exact time. Then Elizabeth again discussed something in that language.
Ishtar nodded. “No problem, I have seen that picture. And a hooded cape is even less trouble.”
So we left.
Dropping that pseudo corpse was routine but I was glad to be quit of it (I had swapped seats with my daughter). Then we were back on Tertius.
“Always prompt,” said Ishtar – and I was astounded to see that she was quite pregnant, close to birthing … when I had seen her, slender for her height, two minutes earlier. “And we are on time, too. Maureen, my friends and yours.” She named us.
Maureen Johnson spoke to us first in Galacta, shifted to English when she realized that we did not know the common tongue. Yes, she does look like Laz and Lor – but prettier. A woman of beauty and great charm. I find that I am growing accustomed to perfect ladies who embrace, bare body to bare body, on meeting a fully-vouched-for stranger. She thanked each of us and made us believe it.
“Still pounding?” Ishtar inquired.
“It has been less than five minutes for him, Ish,” Elizabeth explained. “But you know his temper; perhaps we had better leave. Home soon, I think.”
So we left again, with Maureen squeezed between me and my wife, with a package and a cloak in her lap. We were back inside Dora at once. Elapsed time: zero seconds. We still had an hour and twenty minutes to prepare for dinner. I found that I was hungry, even though breakfast was three hours ago, biological time – almost all of it spent in Beulahland, programming for the caper, as all three phases took only a few durational minutes, mostly on a rooftop in Boondock.
Maureen put on the cloak, a hooded cape, and carried the little package. “Silly but fun,” she said. “Where do we go now?”
“Come with me,” Hilda told her. “Beloved, you can let Woodie out as soon as Dora tells Gay that I have reached flag cabin. When he yelps, tell him that we were too busy to play games with him… and the next time he wants a favor from me he can crawl on his knees. Pounding indeed! Tell him that I am extremely tired and am going to nap until just before dinner and he is not to call me or to come to the flag cabin between now and dinner without suffering my extreme displeasure and a punch in the nose from you. All of you come up to flag cabin as soon as you wish but try not to be seen by Woodie. You’ll probably find Maureen and me in the lounging pool.”

Chapter XLVI

“I’m gifted with second sight.”

Deety:
When the Hillbilly stages a production, she doesn’t stint. By protocol decreed by Lazarus Long, dinner in Dora is formal, but with wide latitude in “formal” – casual dress being the only thing utterly verboten. Dinner is preceded by a happy hour where one can sip Coca-Cola or get roaring drunk.
Aunt Hilda changed all that for this night. No happy hour but be on time – two minutes before twenty o’clock, ship’s time. No one permitted to eat in her/his quarters – a command performance.
No options in dress – Commodore Auntie decided what each would wear, where each would sit. I said, “Commodore Hilda honey, aren’t you kind o’ throwing your weight around? What there is of it?”
She answered, “Yes, I am, Deetikins, for this occasion. But before you criticize, ask your husband whether or not I ever permitted one of my parties to flop.”
“Don’t need to ask him. Why, at your last one, our old Buick blew up. Never a dull moment.”
“I didn’t plan that. But we got husbands out of it; let’s not complain. Before you deliver my message to the twins, tell me this. Is it safe to let them in on our secret?”
“Hillbilly, I tell Zebadiah anything even though someone – you, for example – has asked me not to.”
“Deety, I thought we had a ‘You’ll-keep-my-secrets-and-I’ll-keep-your-secrets’ agreement?”
“We do. But telling Zebadiah gives you two covering for you instead of one. About Laz-Lor – remember that they are his wives as well as his clones.”
“Hon, you were always a wise one. All right, we keep it secret. Tell them what to wear – and please understand that I’m hiding behind you to avoid argument; it’s a favor I appreciate. Sending up sword and saber is a favor to your husband and to your father but I thank you on their behalf if they forget. Send the blades to your suite; they’ve decided they can dress more easily without women underfoot.”
“A canard,” Pop said, just back of my neck. “The women don’t want us underfoot.”
“I knew it was one or the other, Jacob,” Aunt Hilda agreed. “But Dora has already taken your uniforms to our suite and your swords will -“
” – be there, too, and I can recognize a fact when I fall over it and have never been happier, my love, than I have been since you took charge of my life and started telling me what to decide.”
“Jacob, you’re making me teary.”
“Jake! Can you hear me?” – Lazarus’ voice and Aunt Hilda used family sign language; Pop nodded and answered promptly:
“Certainly, Lazarus – what’s on your mind?”
“I’m faced with the impossible and need help. I received an order – you, too, I think – to dress in military uniform at dinner. The only uniform I have aboard is in the flag cabin and – say, are you in the flag cabin?”
Aunt Hilda shook her head. Pop answered, “I’m in our suite, dressing for dinner. Hilda needed a nap. I told you.”
“You certainly did, sir. I’m allergic to being punched in the snoot. But – Well, if you would use your influence -“
“If any.”
“If any, to get me that uniform twenty minutes before dinner” – Aunt Hilda nodded – “or even ten, you would save me the horrible dilemma of deciding which order to break.”
“Don’t decide to break the one telling you not to disturb Hilda.”
“I didn’t even consider breaking that one! And it’s not your fist in my snoot. Jake… she terrifies me. I don’t understand it. I’m twice her mass and all muscle; she couldn’t possibly hurt me.”
“Don’t be certain. She has a poisoned fang. But calm yourself, comrade. I guarantee delivery by nineteen minutes before the bell at latest.”
“Jake, I knew I could depend on you. Let me know when you want a bank robbed.”
I gave Maureen a special hug before I left to carry out my orders. I knew what the Hillbilly was doing: rigging it so that she could have a quiet hour in which to get acquainted with Maureen. I didn’t resent it; I would have rigged it for me had I been able.
I curved down the corridor, whistled for Lib to let me in, stopped dead and whistled another sort of whistle. She was dressed, if “dressed” is the word. “Wheeeewhoo!”
“Like it?”
“I can’t wait to get into mine. It is the most indecent outfit I’ve ever seen, with no other purpose than to excite lewd, libidinous, lascivious, licentious, lecherous, lustful longings in the loins of Lotharios.”
“Isn’t that the purpose of clothing?”
“Well… aside from protection – yes. But I’m beginning to realize that a culture with no body taboo has to go much farther in styling to achieve that purpose.”
It was a “dress” with a “skirt” that was a 10-cm ruffle worn low. The material was silky stuff in pastel green. The bodice had no back but the front came clear up to the neck – with cutouts for each teat. The designer did not stop there. Lib’s left teat was bare – but her right one was barer yet: a transparent film that clung and was covered with rainbow iridescence that moved in endless patterns with every jiggle – and jiggle we do no matter how firm. Elizabeth is as firm as I am but hers quivered enough to swirl that iridescence just from breathing.
Whew!
If both had been bare, or both iridescent, it would not have done a quarter as much. It was the contrast that would make ’em howl at the Moon.
My dress was exactly like hers save that my right teat was the bare one.
Lib got me into it, then I hurried to the bridge, with a hope-promise to be back ten minutes before the hour to have her touch up my eyebrows and lashes. I’m not much for cosmetics (neither is she) but our lashes and brows hardly show without help and this was a formal occasion.
One of Dora’s blue fireflies led me to a lift that took me to the bridge, where Dora had told me I would find Laz and Lor. Laz spotted me first, made a yelling noise while patting her lips, which I took to mean enthusiasm. Those kids – correction: women close to Pop’s age but they feel like kids – Laz-Lor are as female as I am and recognize what incites the lovely beast in men. They liked my dress.
I liked that bridge. Reminded me of Star Trek; pointed ears would not have surprised me. Or Nichelle Nichols backed by colored lights. “This place makes my mouth water. Maybe someday a guided tour? Pretty please!”
Captain Lor said, “Certainly – “
” – but how about a swap as – “
” – we haven’t even been inside – “
” – Gay Deceiver and Dora says she -“
” – is wonderful and when this job is -“
” – done and we’ve rescued Mama Maureen there -“
” – won’t be anything to stop us once Dora -“
” – is safe on the ground at Tertius. Huh?”
“Certainly,” I answered… gleefully as now I knew that our 17-hour absence in zero seconds had not been noticed. To Lor and Laz the snatch was still in the planning stage. Apparently Ol’ Buddy Boy had not yet told his sisters. Had not yet worked up a set of lies, probably, that would account for his being locked in the bathroom while the rest of us did the job.
“At the earliest opportunity,” I went on. “Want to take a ride in Gay?”
“Oh, my! Could we?”
“Not for me to say. But I can tell you what works. Cuddle up to the Commodore. Pet her, be sweet to her. Ask her if she will let you call her ‘Aunt Hilda’ when you’re off duty; that will please her. She’s a cat; pet her and respect her feelings and she purrs – push her and she scratches.”
They glanced at each other. “We will. Thanks.”
“De nada, chicas -“
“You’ve learned Galacta!” (In chorus – )
“What? No. Probably a phrase that carried over. But I was sent here on duty and I’ve been chatting instead. Commodore’s compliments to the Captain and the Commodore requests that Captain Lorelei Lee Long and First Officer Lapis Lazuli Long join her at dinner at twenty o’clock and, as a favor to the Commodore, please dress in the same fashion as Doctors Libby and Deety – and that’s me and I’m wearing the fashion you are to wear.”
Captain Lor answered, “Certainly we’ll be there; we never miss dinner and -“
” – always dress formally and I don’t -“
” – mean bare skin. Skin is for working or -“
” – sleeping. But we treat dinner in the Dora as a -“
” – formal party and that calls for the works. Formal evening -“
” – dress and jewelry and cosmetics and perfume and we are about -“
” – to bathe and change, but we can’t dress the way you are -“
” – because our dresses are already picked out and -“
” – it’s too late to start over!”
I said, “Look, chums, you brought this on yourselves by urging Lib and me to dress this way. Neither of us was enthusiastic but we promised. The Commodore learned what Libby and I expected to wear, and decided that four of us, all about the same size and coloration, would look wonderful in matching green dresses. So Lib and I are to be opposite you two, balancing you, and the men are required to wear uniforms so as not to compete with us four. All clear?”
They got their stupid look which actually is a cover for stubborn determination. Lor said:
“The Captain sends her respects to the Commodore and regrets -“
“Hold it! Does this ship have a lifeboat?”
“Yes,” answered Lor, “but -“
“But you are master of this ship. Yes, I know. And I’m gifted with second sight. I see only two viable futures for you. Did you get your pirate flag up in the lounge?”
“Yes, we did, but -“
“If you’ll tell me what lifeboat and where, I’ll get the flag to you before twenty. I see you starting out in that lifeboat to be pirates. Or I see you at dinner in dresses of any green cloth you can find, cut hastily in this style and pinned together. No jewelry. No cosmetics that show. I don’t think you can fake this iridescent stuff but that stick-on transparent wrapping, used instead, would show that you had tried. The Commodore never rejects anyone for failing; what she despises is not trying. Send your answer via Dora. I can’t be your messenger boy; I have work to do before dinner, now only forty-seven minutes away. Will the Captain excuse me?”
I got out fast. I didn’t believe for one second that a ship stocked like the Dora, run by identical redheads, could fail to have endless formals in green – including this style or close to it. By now the twins were frantically consulting their brother via Dora, and from what I heard him say to Pop, I thought Lazarus would tell them that it was safer to jump ship and change their names than it would be to tangle with the miniature buzz saw – but if Dora couldn’t fake something that would at least show a hard try, he would sell her off as spare parts and install one of those new-model “Susan Calvin” positronic brains that everybody said was the coming thing for smartships.
I said Hello to Gay, then tried to reach under the instrument board and find the catch by touch.
I got out of the car in order to stand up in the ship’s passageway and took off my deliciously indecent dress. Then I was able to fold, bend, and staple, to open the stowage. A saber and a sword – no belts. “Gay.”
“What, Deety?”
“I’m looking for two sword belts. Category should be personal possessions, miscellaneous, weapons, belts for weapons.”
“Deety, they are supposed to be with the sword and saber. Many things were moved into the Land of Oz today; I heard you all talking about it. But no changes were read into my inventory. I’m sorry.”
“Smart Girl, it’s not your fault. We should have told you.”
“Deety, I’ve rolled the dice. The curve says that the most probable place is on hooks in Sunbonnet Sue’s wardrobe.”
They were.
I was starting to leave, after telling Gay she was a Smart Girl, when she said, “Deety, your father is calling. Dora has him on hold, through me.”
“Thanks, Gay; thanks, Dora. Pop?”
“Deety, are you still in Gay?”
“Just outside the starboard door.”
“Can you lay hands on my automatic and the web belt that goes with it?”
“Saw both three minutes ago.”
“Will you please remove the clip, check the chamber to be sure it’s empty, then bring belt and pistol when you fetch our toadstickers?”
“Anything for a steady customer.”
I left with belt and sword slung over one shoulder, saber and belt over the other so that the belts crossed between my teats, and with the web belt with holster and pistol interwoven through the others because it was far too big for my waist. This left my hands free to carry my dress, one hand being almost clean enough.
Pop said: “What took you so long? I promised Lazarus I’d get this stuff to him on time. Now I’m going to have to dogtrot. In Army blues.”
I told him I had stopped off at the pool hall and playing off the match game had taken a while. “If you’ll excuse me, sir, I have problems, too.”
Elizabeth wiped me down with a damp towel, dried and powdered me and drew my eyebrows and touched up my lashes and clucked over me, all in nine minutes, then most carefully put my dress back on me. “Ordinarily one does not take off a washable and put it back on – just wear it until you shower it off. A drop of water will go through this material like acid. Better skip the soup.”

Place cards showed us where to dine. But at two minutes before the hour the Hillbilly had not arrived, so we were standing. Laz-Lor came in, sat down – in dresses identical with mine and Lib’s, perfect fit, nothing improvised. Their brother spoke quietly to them; they stood up. Lazarus was dressed in a very old-fashioned army uniform, breeches with rolled leggings, a tunic with a stock collar, and Pop’s pistol at his side.
All but Pop’s stuff looked brand-new; I concluded that Lazarus had had it tailored.
Just as my head ticked twenty o’clock, a bugle (Dora) sounded attention. At least it had that effect on the men and Libby, so I stood straight. Laz-Lor looked at their brother and did so, too.
The wardroom has three steps leading down into it from each of its archway doors, with a little platform at the top so that you don’t fall on your face. Pop and Zebadiah marched up those steps, faced each other (and I thought how beautiful Zebadiah looked in dress uniform; I had never seen him in it). Pop snapped, “Draw! Swords!” Instead of coming down, they crossed blades in an arch. Lazarus looked startled and drew pistol, placed it smartly across his chest.
This archway was closed by drapes; we had come in from the other side. A drum and bugle (Dora again) sounded a ruffle-and-flourish; the drapes lifted from both sides – and here was the Hillbilly, standing tall (for her) and straight, with her perfect ice-cream skin gleaming in flood lights against a background of midnight blue. She was so beautiful I choked up.
Dora’s invisible band played The Admiral’s March as our tiny Commodore marched proudly down the steps toward us. (It could have been The Admiral’s March; Pop admitted later that he hummed to Dora the march played for generals and told her to fake it.)
Aunt Hilda did not sit down when she reached the head of the table, she stood near her chair instead. Nor had my father and my husband left their places, they simply brought their swords down. As soon as Hilda stopped and faced in, Pop commanded, “Corporal Bronson! Front and Center!”
Lazarus jerked as if he had been struck, holstered his pistol, marched to the far end, making sharp corners in passing around the wardroom table. He halted, facing Hilda – she may have given him some sign.
Dora hit two bugle notes; Aunt Hilda sang:
“Shipmates, beloved friends, tonight we are greatly honored!”
Four ruffles-and-flourishes, as the drapes lifted and parted, and again lights picked out bare skin, this time against a forest-green backing: Maureen in opera-length black stockings, green round garters, dark shoes with semi-high heels, her long red hair down her back.
Maureen was not “standing tall”; she was in the oldest and most graceful of sculptor’s poses: left knee slightly bent, weight slightly more on her right foot, chest lifted only a little but displaying her full teats, nipples heavily crinkled. Her smile was happy.
She held pose while that march concluded, then, in the sudden silence, held out her arms and called: “Theodore!”
“Corporal Bronson” fainted.

Chapter XLVII

“There are no tomorrows.”

Zeb:
Sharpie shouldn’t have done it to Lazarus. For a veteran of sixteen wars and Koshchei alone knows how many skirmishes and narrow escapes to be placed in a position where he is so shocked that blood drains from his head and he collapses “ain’t fitten.”
Deety agrees but asks me if I could have refrained from staging Mama Maureen’s return that way, given the chance? Well, no, had I Sharpie’s imagination – but it still would not have been “fitten.”
Not that he was hurt by it. Sharpie, all forty-three kilos of her, checked his fall. She was watching Lazarus, saw him start to collapse, closed the gap and grabbed him around the waist, did her best.
Sharpie saved him from hitting his head on the wardroom table. I would bet long odds that everyone was looking at Maureen except Sharpie. Sharpie had staged it – and the producer was interested in the effect on the one for whom it had been staged.
She had staged it even to the extent of getting Libby to ask Ishtar to obtain costume – shoes, hose, and round green garters to match a photograph, plus a hooded cape to keep our ubiquitous snoop Dora from knowing that we had an extra aboard. Sharpie had figured this way: that “French photo” snapshot of Mama Maureen (yeah, I call her that too – she’s the most motherly person in any world… and the sexiest. Don’t mention the last to Deety) (Deety knows it – Deety) – that snapshot was still in existence unless destroyed by machinegun fire in 1918, Earth-Prime.
Which it would not be… because Lazarus “got his arse shot off” as his sisters describe it. Not literally true, it was a belly wound more than bullets in his arse that came that close to finishing him. But all the wounds were low.
Where does a man in combat carry his most cherished possessions? In a breast pocket, usually the left one. I always have and I’ve never heard a veteran deny this.
It might be worth it to faint in order to wake up surrounded by Maureen, Hilda, Laz-Lor, Elizabeth, and my own reason for being. Jake and I could have played several hands of gin before anyone bothered with us. So I asked Dora for drinks and snacks for Jake and me, as it seemed uncertain as to when dinner would be served. Or if.
I heard Sharpie say, “Maureen, we must get this heavy uniform off him. Dora keeps this ship tropical. I should never have ordered uniforms for men while we women are comfortable.” They started peeling him.
I said, “Jake, school’s out.” I had sweated through my number-one uniform – might never wear it again but I’m sentimental about it. Jake was in as bad shape. Once you get happy with skin any clothes make you feel like Rameses II.
We peeled down and handed our clothes and swords to one of Dora’s waldoes and told her to hand them to Gay – including Jake’s pistol, belt, and holster, which I retrieved without anyone noticing me. Jake and I were Chinese stage hands; “Corporal Ted Bronson” was getting all the attention.
Dora pointed out that Gay was locked. I said, “If one of her doors were open, could you lay this gear on a seat?” Yes, she could. “Then do it,” I said. “Let me talk to Gay.”
We eventually had dinner, with everybody “formal” but Maureen. She retained her “casual” clothing long after everyone else was in formal skin. But not until I got pix of the Four Disgraces. Libby and Deety wanted to go shower, too, when Jake and I decided that, having discarded uniforms, we should shower in fairness to Dora’s airconditioning. I asked them and Laz-Lor please to wait until I staggered down (we had encountered a force-four sea, with white caps) to Gay for Jake’s Polaroid.
Turned out not to be necessary; Dora could take color and 3-D, still or motion, any angle, and light as needed, just as she had lighted the posing (which she had photographed, too, I learned later).
Maureen and Jake directed while “Corporal Bronson” and I sprawled Nero-style on lounges intended for Lib and Deety. Sharpie sat between us and dropped grapes into our mouths.
Jake tried to make the poses “artistic.” Mama Maureen agreed with everything Jake said, then did it her way. The results may have been artistic. But I know that those pix would give a skeleton one last case of raging tumescence.
Meanwhile Dora was singing and playing, urging us to eat – tasty tidbits eaten with tongs; I was reminded of the best in Oriental cuisines – and plying us with fine wines. Dora seemed to have a vast repertoire, some of which (to my surprise) was familiar. When Judy Garland sings Over the Rainbow, who can miss it? – Dora used Judy’s voice. I recall, too, Enjoy Yourself; It’s Later Than You Think. Most of them I did not know.
Dora announced Tomorrow’s Song – I thought that was what she said. Lazarus and Maureen held hands all through it and it was not a song that would fit the title I thought I had heard. I got straightened out when the song ended to dead silence and Maureen said to Lazarus, “Theodore, Ishtar was going to rearrange the watch list but Tamara vetoed it. She did it for you, dear man, and for me – but Tamara is anxious to see you.”
“Tamara always knows what she’s doing,” Lazarus answered.
“Yes, Tammy always knows what is best,” agreed Mama Maureen. “Tell me, Theodore, do I still make you think of her?”
Lazarus looked upset. “Uh, I don’t know. You don’t look like her… but you feel like her. And you look more like Nancy than you look like yourself.”
“Yes, I know. None of our family was willing to wait; you’ve been away from home too long. Be patient, and when I look like me to your eyes, tell us, and Galahad will hold my cosmetic age at that. Are you going to do as you promised me, so long ago, take Tammy and me to bed together? Perhaps I should add, Theodore, I am now wife to your co-husbands. I don’t ask that you marry me. Although I think Tammy will be shocked if you don’t. But I shan’t make it difficult, either way. I will hold to any pretence you wish. I did for Brian; I shall for you.”
Maureen was neither shouting nor whispering; she was simply bringing him up to date on things he needed to know. Lazarus started to answer, his expression oddly mixed, when Elizabeth cut in: “Lazarus -“
“Eh? What, Lib?”
“Message to you from Ishtar. To be delivered when needed, and now is the time. Ish read both your charts with her computer set for maximum pessimism. She also had them read at New Rome without identification other than her own file numbers. She has this message for you … in answer to the answer you will make. She says to tell you that you are an uncivilized primitive, ignorant of science, especially genetics, oversentimental, almost pathologically stubborn, retarded, probably senile, superstitious, and provincial… and that she loves you dearly but will not permit you to make decisions in her area of authority. In vitro or in utero, the cross will take place. Let me add that Maureen was not given a choice, either.”
“So? You can tell the big-arsed bitch that I agree with every word she says, especially the part about ‘senile,’ and that I gave up all hope of arguing with her tyrannical ways fifty years ago and that I love her just as dearly – outside her clinic – and that Maureen will tell her how such things will be handled; I don’t have a vote.” He turned toward me, looking past Sharpie’s pretty toes. “Zeb, here is the wisdom of the ages: Men rule but women decide.”
“Elizabeth, do you think I am anything like Tamara?”
“Mmm – Never thought about it. Yes, you both have that all-mother feeling. Uh, would you mind taking off costume? It distracts me from looking at you.”
“No trouble, Elizabeth. I don’t like round garters except as advertising.” Mama Maureen kicked off her shoes, took off the garters, carefully rolled down her hose in a manner interuniversal – stood up and stood easily, not posing.
“Turn around slowly. Mmm – Maureen, you do look like Tammy… or vice versa; it’s probably your genes in her. Am I descended from you? Does anyone here know? Lazarus?”
“You are, Lib. But not through me. Through my sister Carol. ‘Santa Carolita’ believe it or not – which would surprise Carol as she was no saint. But your descent through Carol was not proved until long after you were killed, when the Families’ records were being revised through computer analysis and a deeper knowledge of genes. No saints in our family, are there, Mama?”
“None that I know of, Woodrow. Not me, certainly. You were a little hellion; I should have spanked you much oftener than I did. Mmm… your father was as close to being a saint as any in our family. Brian was wise and good – and tolerant.” She smiled. “Do you recall why we separated?”
“I’m not sure I ever knew. Mama, my recollections of that era are much sharper for my trip there as ‘Ted Bronson’ – the other is a long time back.”
“In my sixties I stopped having babies. About the same time your brother Richard was killed. War. His wife, Marian Justin of the Hardy family, was with us, with their children, and Brian was back in uniform, a recalled colonel, on a desk job in San Francisco. When Richard was killed in 1945 we all took it hard but it was easier in that so many of us were together – Brian, and my youngest children, and Marian, and her children – five; she was thirty-one.”
Mama Maureen, free of stockings and shoes, sat in lotus across from Hilda and accepted a plate from Dora’s helpers. “Woodrow, I encouraged Brian to console Marian the only way a widow can be helped; she needed it. When that war was over, Marian needed a visible husband; her waistband and the calendar could not be reconciled. When we moved from San Francisco later that year, it was easy for Marian Justin Smith to become Maureen J. Smith while I became, with the aid of hair dye, her widowed mother – no one knew us in Amarillo and females were not yet compelled to have I.D.’s. So Marian had the baby as “Maureen,” and only with the Howard Families Trustees was the correct genealogy recorded.” Maureen smiled. “We Howards were easy about such things as long as it was kept inside the Families – and I am happy that we are even easier about it now.
“On our next move I moved out and became Maureen Johnson again, fifteen years younger since I did not look late seventies, and a Meen-ah-sotah Yonson, Woodrow, rather than a southern Missouri Johnson. A grass widow with round heels.” Mama Maureen chuckled. “Howards married only to have babies. My production line had shut down but the equipment was there and the urge. By the time you darlings” – Maureen’s eyes swept the wardroom – “rescued me, I had trimmed thirty-five years from my age and added thirty-five men to my memories. In fact, when you picked me up, I was on my way to a motel rendezvous, a widower of sixty who was willing to believe that I was sixty when in fact I expected to reach my Century Day in a fortnight.”
I said, “What a dirty shame! I wish you had been coming back from the motel when we picked you up.”
“Zebadiah, that’s sweet of you but it’s not a shame. We were getting bored with each other. I’m sure he read my obituary with as much relief as grief. I’m just glad you got me – and I’m told that you did most of it.”
“Gay Deceiver did most of it. The car you rode in both ways. But we almost didn’t pick you up. Things went wrong, badly. I knew that it was going to – Deety, can you tell her?”
“Mama Maureen, Zebadiah has forerunners of dangers. They are not long range; they are always just barely in time. I don’t know what happened this morning but -“
“‘This morning?'” Maureen looked extremely puzzled.
“Oh.” My wife went on, “It was ‘this morning’ to us. You arrived here at eighteen-forty and a few seconds, ship’s time. During that instant we spent fifteen hours on another planet, we made two trips to your native planet, two more trips to your new home planet, and you spent seventeen months on Tertius and we brought you back here – and it all happened today. Not just today but at that exact instant: eighteen-forty and thirteen point three seconds. Laz and Lor didn’t know that we were gone; even the ship’s computer didn’t know we were gone.”
“I did so!” Dora objected. “Gay was disconnected for nineteen microseconds. You think I don’t notice a gap like that? I asked what happened and she told me that it was a power fluctuation. She fibbed to me! I’m sore at her.”
Deety looked thunderstruck. “Dorable, Dorable! It wasn’t Gay’s fault. I asked her to keep our secrets. I made her promise.”
“Mean!”
“I didn’t mean to be mean to you, Dorable – and we did let you in on it as quickly as we could. We couldn’t have staged the tableaux if you hadn’t helped. Be angry with me if you must… but don’t be angry with Gay. Please kiss and make up.”
I don’t know how computers hesitate, but I think I caught the briefest split second. “Gay?”
“Yes, Dora?” – the Smart Girl’s voice through Dora’s speakers.
“I don’t want to be mad. Let’s forget it, huh? Let’s kiss and make up. I will if you will.”
“Yes, yes! Oh, Dorable, I do love you.”
“You’re both good girls,” said Deety. “But you are both professional women, too, and work for different bosses. Dora, you are loyal to your family; Gay is loyal to her family. It has to be that way. Dora, if your sister, Captain Lor, asked you to keep a secret, you wouldn’t tell Gay, would you? Because she might tell me… and I would tell Zebadiah… and then the whole world would know.”
(Would, huh? My dear wife, I had a clearance two stages above “Q” – so secret it does not have a name. Never mind, I’ll take the rap.)
(Yes, I know, my husband, I once held the same level of clearance. But dealing with balky computers is my profession. Computers are supergenius-level children and must be dealt with on their own level. Okay, maybe, huh? – Deety)
“Gosh!”
“You see? Captain Lor, does Dora have any secrets of yours? Or of your brother’s? She can tell them to Gay and Gay can tell them to me and I always tell everything to my husband and – “
Lazarus interrupted. “Dora! You tell tales out of school and I’ll beat your ears off with an ax! It’s all right for you two to chum together and play games. But you start swapping secrets and I’ll call in Minsky’s Metal Mentalities, Incorporated, to measure that space.”
“Male computers. You can’t scare me, Ol’ Buddy Boy, you wouldn’t trust your dirty neck to a male computer. Stupid.”
“My neck isn’t dirty; that’s just where the collar of my uniform rubbed it.”
“Dirty neck and a dirty mind. But don’t worry, Ol’ Buddy Boy; Dora Long doesn’t tell secrets. I now see that Gay had to keep secrets, too – I just hadn’t thought about it. But you were mean to my sisters.”
“Me? How?”
“You knew about this caper; you didn’t need to get it from Gay. You knew all about it; you were there. But you held out on your own twin sisters -“
“Most unfairly, Mama Maureen – “
” – as if we were untrustworthy, and if we’re -“
” – untrustworthy, why can we be trusted with a ship and -“
” – the lives of everyone on board? We’re glad you are here -“
” – for yourself, but maybe now that you are here, you will -“
” – protect us from his tyranny. Mama Ishtar doesn’t, and Mama Hamadryad just laughs at us, and Mama Minerva takes his -“
” – side, everytime. But you – “
“Girls.”
“Yes, Mama?”
“I made a promise to myself years ago that when my children grew up, I would not interfere in their lives. I should have punished Woodie more frequently when he was a child, but he is no longer a child -“
“Then why does he act like one?”
“Lorelei Lee! It is rude to interrupt.”
“I’m sorry, Mama.”
“No harm done. But from what I was told at home, you two are not only my daughters but are also Theodore’s wives. Wives of Lazarus. And equally wives of his co-husbands. Is this not true?”
“Yes, Mama. But he’s pretty chinchy about it.”
“If you mean ‘chinchy in bed,’ it may depend on how you treat him. I did not find him so, when I was his mistress, many years ago – centuries ago by some odd scale that I do not understand. You heard me say that I am now wife to your co-husbands – including Lazarus if he will accept me. But I am certainly, if you will accept me, sister-wife with you two. So I had better stop being your mother. Nay?”
“Why? Grammy Tammy is mother to Ish and everybody -“
” – and we have three mamas in our family now and everyone of them is our -“
” – sister-wife, too; Ish and Hamadarling and Minerva and now -“
” – we have Mama Maureen and we are both delighted that we are your sister-wives but -“
” – you can’t get out of being our mama because we’ve been waiting for you all our lives!”
Dora echoed: “And I’m their sister so you are my mama, too!”
“Theodore, I think I am going to cry. You know my rule. I mayn’t weep in front of my children.”
I stood up, the whole gangling length of me. “Ma’am, I’d be honored to take you to some quiet place where you could cry on me all you please.”
Seven – I think it was seven protein types and two computers – jumped on me. The essence was: “You can’t take Maureen away from her own party!” – with ugly overtones of lynching.
The wind had freshened to force six, so I took liberal doses of champagne to insure against seasickness. After a bit I napped; it had been a busy day and I still was not over the shock of seeing a large freighter roadable about to take Gay’s door off before I could close it and bounce. That was when I kicked the cop in the stomach. Ordinarily I don’t kick cops; it makes one conspicuous.
Then a piercing voice was saying: “Flag Chief of Staff Carter’s presence on the bridge is requested by the Commodore,” and I wondered why the silly son of a bitch didn’t comply, so that the noise would stop. Then something cold was poking my tender bare ribs. “That’s you, Doc. I’ll help you. Relax.”
I was relaxed. Past tense. Some of Dora’s waldoes aren’t too gentle – or maybe these weren’t people waldoes but for cargo; I admit that I’m fairly large for a growing boy.
In the lift I decided that the Beaufort scale was at least eight, more likely nine. Nevertheless we got to the bridge. Right out of Hollywood, a whole dome of displays and clocks – all moving slowly widdershins. Yet Gay made do with just an instrument board. I heard Sharpie say, “My God, look at him!”
Deety was saying something about we can shift seats if necessary to Lor while Laz was saying Drink this.
I said firmly, “I do not drink. Beshides I been dring; yr fashe is all blurry.”
It must have been Laz and Lor who pinned me from both sides, each with an arm lock and a nerve pinch; Deety wouldn’t do that to me.
Sharpie was holding my nose and Laz was pouring it down my throat; it fumed and bubbled. Then – Well, there must have been a stowaway; Deety wouldn’t do that. Not to me.
They let go of me when I finished swallowing. I left the ship, made a fast inspection circuit, checked the Milky Way, and returned to a precision grounding. My ears fell off but it didn’t seem military to stoop over and pick them up. Besides, Sharpie is playful.
“Flag Chief of Staff reports to the Commodore as ordered.”
“How do you feel, Zebbie?”
“I feel fine, Ma’am. Is there any reason why I shouldn’t?”
“I suppose not; you’ve had a nap.”
“I did drop off. Dreamt I was in the Tasmanian Sea in a small vessel. Very uneasy body of water.” I added, “Aside from that nightmare, now gone, I’m in top shape. Orders, Ma’am?”
We gave everybody the two-dollar tour, including the bathrooms in the Land of Oz. Libby, Deety, and Jake waited outside, the place being crowded. Sharpie ruled that Laz could relieve Lor to allow Lor to look first, then Lor took back the captaincy so that her sister could see. The fairyland bathrooms made the biggest hit. I concede that the time-space twister is not impressive. Then the twins thanked Hilda and left.
“Attention, please,” said Hilda. “If you wish, we will show how we operate. Lazarus may use the astrogator’s seat while Deety makes responses from the cargo space. Elizabeth will go back there, too, as she has ridden in Gay Deceiver. Deety, before you move aft, show Maureen and Lazarus how we squeeze a passenger into the rear seats; I’ll scootch over.
“This car operates in several modes. As a roadable it is fast, comfortable, easy to handle, rather hard to park, and is usually parked with wings raked back as they are now, the hypersonic configuration. If we intended to drive it in the air, the wings would usually be extended for maximum lift. When operated by the Burroughs Continua Device, wing rake does not matter, but the chief pilot may choose to anticipate where he will arrive and rake accordingly.
“Since it has a computerized autopilot – Hello, Gay!”
“Hello, Hilda, mind if I listen?”
“Not at all, dear. Have you met everyone?”
“Yes, Hilda, and, since I’ve seen them through Dora’s eyes, I place all of them by their voices.” Gay added, “Dora is listening through me; she’s going to record your demonstration. Is that all right?”
“Certainly. Dora, since you are recording, I’ll make it as realistic as possible. Gay Deceiver. Close doors. Execute.” I was at chief pilot, Jake at copilot; his door closed, I started checking the seal on mine.
“All hands, prepare for space. Copilot.”
“Verniers zero, starboard door seal checked, seat belt fastened.”
“Report incomplete. Is your belt fastened tightly? Maximum accelerations? Friends, this car is powered to engage as a fighter; the driver may find himself upside down. Full demonstration, please, Jacob. Cinch it in.”
“Copilot reports seat belt tight for maneuvers.”
“Thank you, Jacob. Chief Pilot.”
I answered in my best cadet-boning-smart voice: “Portside door seal checked. Power pack on line point-eight-nine, two packs reserve at one-point-oh, juice at capacity, all systems go, seat belt cinched tight for max gee maneuvers.”
“Astrogator.”
“I’m not in my proper seat. Lib and I are fastened down like Siamese twins, tight. No loose gear. Annex checked and secure; all doors locked ‘cept bulkhead door is dogged open, contrary to routine. Captain, you could dog us in; we don’t mind.”
“Not like somebody I won’t mention who loses his temper over being locked in for five minutes -“
“Hilda, that was a low blow!”
“Passenger, pipe down. If you had done as you promised, you would not have known that the door was locked. I didn’t trust you – and I was right. I am not sure that I want to be your junior or second junior or whatever wife; you don’t keep your promises. I’m sorry, Mama Maureen, but Woodie is sometimes a very naughty boy.”
“I’m aware of it, Hilda. Captain. Please slap him down as necessary. I was always too fond of him and spoiled him.”
“We won’t speak of it now. All four of us are qualified in all four positions; we sometimes rotate to maintain our skills. Normal T.O. is myself commanding, Zebbie as second-in-command and astrogator, Jacob as chief pilot, Deety as copilot. But for this exhibition I have placed the finest manual pilot at the overrides, the inventor himself at the continua device, and a lightning calculator equal to Slipstick Libby – “
“Better!”
“Pipe down, Elizabeth. – as my astrogator. With such a crew, command cannot worry me. Chief Pilot, please unbelt and check that Mama Maureen and Lazarus are safely belted. Assume violent evasive maneuvers – and believe me, friends, we use them and are alive today because we were properly belted and because Zebbie is a lightning aerospace fighter pilot – and our Gay is a Smart Girl.”
I unbelted, made sure that Lazarus was belted tightly, made certain that Maureen was safe with those improvised belts, then suggested that she put her right arm around Hilda, her left around Lazarus, and hold tight. “All the others have double belts, lap and chest. You have just a lap belt; if I turned the car upside down, holding onto Hilda and Lazarus would keep you safe. Right, Lazarus?”
“Right, Zeb. Mama Maureen, a drill should be as near as possible to the real thing or it won’t save your life in combat.”
“Theodore, I don’t ever expect to be in combat. But I will do the drill properly.”
“Mama, I hate the idea of women in combat. But all through the centuries I have seen women in combat again and again, all too often as regular troops. I don’t like it. But there it is.”
My wife put in a plug for Lazarus. “Mama Maureen, my Pop has required me to learn every weapon I can lift and he had me trained in every type of dirty fighting imaginable. Several times it has saved me from a mugging. Once I almost killed a man twice my size – with my bare hands.”
“Jacob, will you teach me as much of what Deety knows as I am capable of learning?”
“Maureen, I’ll teach you what I can. While we’re here.”
From the back I heard Libby’s voice: “Now, Maureen?”
“Yes. If you think it wise in view of Hilda’s black ball.”
“I’m going to chance it. Friends, I was not sent to get myself pregnant by a great mathematician. That was my reason. By now Tamara has reports from me and from Laz and from Lor on each of you. Twelve ‘Yes’ votes, zero ‘No’ votes. I am directed by Tamara to offer you four fullest hospitality-such as you gave us in your home. If you decide to accept the name Long, tell Tamara. We won’t crowd you, either way.”
Hilda immediately answered, “Because of delays, a short roll call for space. Copilot.”
“Copilot ready.”
“Chief Pilot ready,” I echoed.
“Astrogator ready.”
“Passengers? By seniority.”
Lazarus started to reply; Hilda interrupted him. “‘By seniority!'”
“If you mean me, Captain, I’m ready.”
“You are, I believe, thirty years older than your son. In any case you are senior to him. Junior passenger?”
“That’s me,” answered Elizabeth. “Ready.”
“Forgot you, dear – apologies. Woodie!”
“Ready for space, Captain, you feisty, narrow little broad. And you’re damn well going to marry us!”
“Astrogator, log that. Insolence. Gay Deceiver.”
“Ready, Captain honey.”
“TertiusOrbitExecute!”
Maureen gasped. Lazarus snorted. “Farced us!”
“In what way? You reported, ‘Ready for space.'”
“And you called it a ‘drill.'”
“Woodie, I will bet anything you care to name that I did not call it a ‘drill’ – you did. Both Gay and Dora recorded. Put up or shut up. In the meantime, on the back of the seat ahead of you is a small medical kit. Find a pill bottle marked ‘Bonine.’ Small pink pills. Give one to your mother. Maureen, chew it, swallow it. Tastes like raspberry candy.”
“Hilda, what are you feeding – “
“Pipe down! Or do you prefer to be locked in the bathroom again? Passenger, I do not tolerate insubordination. Haven’t you learned that by now?”
Lazarus got out the pill, gave it to his mother. She accepted it and ate it without comment.
“Lazarus, I can offer you a front-seat view if you will swear by whatever it is that you hold holy that you will not touch one control of any sort even to avoid a crash. You don’t understand this craft and would cause a crash if you tried to avoid one. If you can’t convince me, I’ll give Maureen the front seat. But I don’t think Maureen is interested in learning to drive this car and I think you are.”
“That’s right, Hilda,” I heard Maureen agree. “I’m studying to be a nurse. Then a medical doctor. Then a rejuvenator. Or as far along that route as my ability will carry me. In the meantime I’m pregnant. Isn’t that a joke, Theodore? Everytime you and I meet with maximum opportunity, I’m pregnant. And this time Woodie can’t spoil it.” She chuckled a warm chuckle. “I owe you one, Staff Sergeant Bronson. Can we find a black walnut tree?”
“Lazarus, do you want a front seat? Or do you want to take Maureen into the annex and give her what she so clearly wants?”
“Oh, I can wait!” Maureen said quickly.
“God, what a decision! Maureen, a short rain check? I really do want to see what this craft will do.”
“I want to see the ride, too, Theodore. But I would not refuse you.”
“Pipe down, please. Jacob, will you change places with Lazarus? Each report when your seat belts will stand evasive maneuvers.”
“Seven gee,” I added. “Lazarus, Ack-Ack?”
“Not yet, thank God. I’m wondering how soon we’ll need it. And what sort? I’m stumped. Seat belt tight. Hey, we’re passing over Boondock!”
“So we are,” I agreed.
“Seat belt tight. Maureen, too.”
“Chief Pilot, you have the conn. Maneuver at will.”
“Aye aye, Captain,” I agreed. “Gay Deceiver Clinic Execute Gay Bounce Gay Bounce. Show your heels, girl! Mach point seven point nine… one point two… Mach two… three… four … sweep right, set course for Boondock. Dive, Smart Girl. Mach five… six … seven -“
“Oh, my God!” – Lazarus.
“GayBounce. Trouble, Lazarus? Smart Girl, spread your wings.”
“You almost crashed us.”
“Oh, I think not. Gay Deceiver Clinic Execute Gay Bounce.”
“They were waiting for us on the roof!”
“Who? How? Do you have some sort of cee-squared radio?” I added, “Gay Bounce. Smart Girl, do you want to dance? Gay dances beautifully, knows several. Want to pick one, Gay?”
“Dora taught me the ‘Nutcracker’ suite and I’ve been figuring out one for the ‘Sugarplum Fairy.’ But I don’t think I’m ready to show it yet.”
“Give them ‘Blue Danube.'”
“That old thing?”
“You do it well. Give them a few bars.”
Smart Girl just wants to be coaxed. She swooped and she swirled and once bounced herself for altitude without breaking her dance. Meanwhile I got the frequency and asked Libby to talk to Ishtar’s office. “Alternate route, Lib” – which was all it took for Deety to close the bulkhead door… which left Strauss waltz music in the cabin, and a truly private radio conversation in the after compartment.
When Deety opened the bulkhead door again, I waited for her to report strapped down. “Got a number for me, Astrogator?” We had agreed on a simple code: fifty-seven was fifty-seven seconds but five-seven meant fifty-seven minutes.
“No, Zebadiah. Zero. Now.”
“Okay. Lazarus, can you pick out your house in Boondock?”
“Certainly. But we’ve been moving away from there steadily.”
“GayDeceiverClinicExecuteGayBounce. Now where, Lazarus?”
“Practically under us. Can’t see it.”
So I tilted my baby straight down. “Can you coach me?”
“Yes, it’s – Hey! There’s a ship in Dora’s parking spot! What nerve! I’m going to give somebody a bad time. It’s irrelevant that Dora is a long way off, that’s my parking flat. See that round ship? Interloper! My house is the largish one with the double atrium north of it.”
“All right for me to park by the interloper?”
“All right but not room enough to get in.”
“We’ll try. Close your eyes.” I steadied vertically on the spot Lib had told them to clear. “Gunsighted, girl?”
“Nailed it, Boss.”
“New program code word ‘Maureen’ I tell you three times.”
“I hear you three times.” We were getting low.
“MaureenExecute!”
“You’re a Smart Girl, Gay. Open your doors.”
She opened them but answered, “If I’m smart, why wasn’t I invited, too? It’s Dora Long and Athene Long – am I a second-class citizen?”
I was left with my mouth open. And was saved by two darlings. Libby said, “Gay, we didn’t know you cared,” and Deety said, “Gay, either we both join or neither joins. A promise.”
I said hastily, “Goodnight, Gay. Over.” People were pouring toward us. Gay answered, “Sleepy time. Roger and out,” just as Laz and Lor arrived in the van, trotting ahead.
Lazarus stopped unbelting. “Hey! It is the Dora!”
“Of course it is, Buddy Boy. What did you expect?” (Lor, I think.)
“But how did you beat us here? I know what that ship can do; I did her basic design myself.”
“Buddy Boy, we got here three weeks ago. You just don’t understand time travel.”
“Mmm – I guess I don’t.”
There was a limited amount of car viewing, as Tamara and Ishtar had limited the greeting committee to a handful of the most senior – not in age but senior in that family. So we met Ish again, no longer pregnant, a young man named Galahad, the incredible Tamara who is Maureen over again but does not look like her (except that she does, and don’t ask me to explain), and a beauty who would make Helen of Troy jealous but doesn’t seem to know she is beautiful, the Hamadryad. Lazarus seemed annoyed that someone named Ira was not at home.
Momentarily we (my wife Deety and I) were left talking with the twins. “I promised you both joy rides. Get in.”
“Oh, but we can’t now because – “
” – there’s going to be a celebration for you -“
” – four and we’ll be busy! Tomorrow?”
“There are no tomorrows. Pipe down, climb in, fasten seat belts. Pronto!”
They prontoed.
“Nail the time,” I said quietly to Deety, as we strapped down. “Gay Deceiver, Reveille.” She played it. “Close doors.”
“Starboard seal checked.”
“Same here. GayBounceGayBounceGayBounce. Tumbling Pigeon, execute. Laz-Lor, can you spot your house from this distance? About thirty kilometers and closing.”
“I’m not sure” – “I think I can.”
“Gay Clinic Execute. Now you know where you are?”
“Yes, it’s -“
“GayTermite.”
“Oh!!”
“We lived here a while. No annex then, had to have an armed guard just to pee. Even me. Pretty place but dangerous. GayHome.” I tilted her nose down. “And this was our perma – Deety!”
“No crater, Zebadiah. Looks the way it did when Pop and I leased it. This is spooky.”
“Twins, something is wrong; I’ve got to check. GayTermite.”
We were back on Termite Terrace. I practiced Yoga breathing while Deety explained that the missing-crater place had been the site of our former home – but couldn’t be. I added, “Look, dears – we can’t drop this. But we can take you to Boondock at once. Do you want to go home?”
The same silent consultation. “We’re sticking -“
” – our brother would stick. We stick.”
“Thanks. Here we go. Gay Home GayBounce.” Still no crater. I told Gay to go into cruising mode. “Display map, Gay. Change scale. I want Snug Harbor and the campus on the same display. Deety, figure shortest distance here to campus. Mine, not yours at Logan.”
“Don’t need to. Eight-five-six klicks,”
“Gay?”
“Don’t argue with Deety, Boss.”
“Head for campus, Gay. Transit, Deety.”
“Set!”
“Execute.” Then I was busy, having popped into city traffic at wrong altitude, direction, et cetera. I ignored police signals, zoomed the campus. Looked normal. Turned and hovered over Sharpie’s house – which was not there. Different house. Parking lot no longer paved. And you don’t grow 200-year-old live oaks in less than seven weeks.
Not a sound out of the back seat. Nor from my right. I had to force myself to look to my right.
Deety was still there and I let out my breath. She was treating it as she did all crises: No expression and nothing to say until she had something to say other than chatter. A sky cop was trying to give me a bad time, with orders to follow him and ground, so I told Gay to bounce, then dived on my own neighborhood. No trouble picking it out – intersections and nearby shopping center all familiar as well as the Presbyterian church across the way from my apartment house.
But it wasn’t my apartment house; this one was three stories and built around a court.
I had Gay bounce four times quickly. “Deety, do you want to look at Logan?”
“No, Zebadiah. I know Aunt Hilda’s neighborhood well enough to be certain. Not her house, her pool was missing, and the parking lot where our Buick was destroyed is now a park with big trees. I assume that you know your former home as well or better.”
“Shall we ground and add another World Almanac to our collection?”
“If you wish. Not for me.”
“Hardly worth the trouble. Tell me – how does it feel to be erased? X-ed out? Blue-penciled? Written out of the plot?”
“I don’t feel it, because I’m not. I’m real, I am!”
I glanced behind us. Yes, Laz and Lor were there keeping quiet. “Gay B’gout!”
It certainly looked like our piece of “dead sea bottom.” I couldn’t see anything of the wreckage of Colonel Morinosky’s ornithopter. Unless there had been a real gully washer – which I did not believe – something had come along and cleaned up every bit of burned junk.
An eraser?
I Bounced Gay and had her start a retreating search curve, thought I saw a gleam to the northeast, Bounced again. A city. It was only a few moments until I saw twin towers. We cruised toward them. “Deety, do you suppose that the other Dejah Thoris is at home?”
“Zebadiah, I have no wish to find out. But I would like to go close enough to be sure that those are the twin towers of Helium. Perhaps see a thoat. Or a green man. Something.”
We let it go with one thoat, of the smaller sort. The description was exact. “Gay Parade Ground.”
“Null program.”
“Hmm – Gay, you have in your perms a map of Mars-ten showing the English and the Russian areas. Display.”
“Null program.”
“Gay Termite.” Termite Terrace was still in place.
“Gay Deceiver. Maureen. Execute. Open your doors.” Hamadryad had started to turn toward us as we closed the doors to leave; she was still turning as we opened them.
I unbuckled, saying: “You two all right back there?”
“Yes, Zeb and Deety, and we thank you both but -“
” – is this something we can tell or -“
” – should we keep it Top Cut-Our-Throats-First Secret?”
“Laz-Lor, I don’t think it matters. You aren’t likely to be believed.” Mama Hamadryad stopped at my door, smiled at all of us, and said, “May I show you to your suite in your home? The suite Tamara picked; you may change it. With our new north wing we have loads of room. Girls, there will be a happy welcome tonight. Formal.”
I found that I was not upset by “erasures.” We were home.

Chapter XLVIII

L’Envoi

“Jubal, you are a bad influence.”
“From you, Lafe, that is a compliment. But that puts me in mind of – Front! Will you excuse me a few minutes?”
“Our house is yours,” answered Lazarus. He closed his eyes; his chair reclined him.
“Thank you, sir. Working title: ‘Uncle Tobias.’ Start: ‘Uncle Tobias we kept in a bucket.'” Jubal Harshaw broke off. “Where are all those girls? FRONT!”
“I’m ‘Front,'” came a female voice from nowhere. “Talk fast; I’m three paragraphs ahead of you. You put those girls on vacation: Anne, Miriam, Dorcas – all off duty.”
“I did not. I told Anne that I did not expect to work but -“
“‘ – if an amanuensis is needed,'” Athene went on, in perfect mimicry of Harshaw’s voice, “‘I hope that one will be within shouting distance.’ I’m in shouting distance; I always am.”
“If I’m in the house. I might not be.”
Athene said, “Tell him, Pappy. Quit playing ‘possum’; you’re not asleep.”
Lazarus opened one eye. “A gimmick Jake whipped up when we started having too many kids to muster easily. It’s a beacon Athene can trigger. Dandy for kids and it turned out to be useful for house guests who might get lost. So ultramicrominjaturized you don’t notice it.”
“Lafe, are you telling me that there is a tracer on me?” Harshaw sounded shocked.
“In you, and you’ll never notice it.”
“Lafe, I’m surprised. I thought you had a high regard for privacy.”
“A high regard for my own, somewhat less for that of others; snooping has saved my life a couple or nine times. In what way has your privacy been invaded? Define it; I’ll correct it.”
“A spy ray! Don’t you consider that an invasion of privacy?”
“Teena, remove immediately any spy ray on Doctor Harshaw.”
“How can I when there is none? P.S. – Pappy, what is a spy ray?”
“A buzz word used by lazy writers. Jubal, there is a beacon planted in you by which Teena can focus audio on you precisely – she can whisper into your left ear or your right. Or you can activate the beacon from your end just by speaking her name. Or you can use the circuit as a telephone to and from any member of my household, or ask Teena to hook it into the public system. Privacy? In this mode this part of Teena does not record unless requested – in one ear and out the other, so to speak. She’s wiped it utterly while it’s slowly winding its way into your brain. Now… if you don’t like this service, Teena will deactivate it at once… and sometime soon while you’re asleep it will be removed; you won’t know it and you will never find the scar. You will notice just two changes: No more secretarial service, no more effortless telephone service.”
Lazarus closed his eye, apparently considered the subject closed. The computer said, “Better think twice, Doc, before telling me to deactivate, as he won’t let me reactivate it later. He’s bullheaded, bad-tempered, stubborn, and mean -“
Lazarus again opened one eye. “I heard that.”
“Do you deny it?”
“Nope. Kindly focus the audio, both ends, so that I can sleep.”
“Done. Doctor Harshaw, shall we return to ‘Uncle Tobias’ or shall I wipe these eight paragraphs? Better save them; between ourselves, I am a better writer than you are.”
“I will not dispute it,” Harshaw conceded. “I simply exude the stuff as, in the words of my colleague Sam, ‘as the otter exudes the precious otter of roses.’ I knew the day would come when machines would displace real writers; Hollywood has had their mad scientists at work on the project for years.” He stared across the pool in the Longs’ north atrium and looked pained. “And now they have.”
“Doctor,” Athene answered, in stern warning, “retract that word or finish this piece of tripe yourself. I have spoken.”
Jubal said hastily, “Miss Athene, I didn’t use ‘real’ in that sense. I -“
“Sorry, Doc, I misled you. Of course you didn’t, as the purpose of this powwow is to define the difference – if any – between ‘real’ and ‘imaginary.’ But I am not a machine. I am a solid-state person just as you are a protein person. I am Athene Long, your hostess while Tamara is busy. It is my pleasure to offer you all our home can offer. I promised Anne that I would give you secretarial service night and day. But I did not promise to write your stories. According to Doctor Rufo, a hostess is often expected to sleep with a guest – and that can be supplied, although not by me, not this pseudocentury – but he never mentioned creative narration as an aspect of hospitality. I thought of it myself; we Longs pride ourselves on complete hospitality. However – Shall I wipe these eleven paragraphs? Did I err?”
“Miss Athene -“
“Oh, call me ‘Teena.’ Let’s be friends.”
“Thank you. Teena, I didn’t mean to offend. I wish I were going to live long enough to be here when you retire professionally and join us meat people. But in much less than a pseudocentury the worms will have eaten me.”
“Doctor, if you weren’t ‘so sot in your ways, wrong-headed, stubborn, and prideful’ – I quote one of your staff – “
“Miriam.”
“Wrong. – you would stay and let Ishtar’s gang work you over. In less time than she would permit you to notice she would have you as goaty as Galahad and whatever cosmetic age you like – “
“You tempt me, girl. Not to shed these wrinkles; I earned them. But the rest. Not because I crave happy games in bed with you -“
“You won’t have a choice; I’ll trip you!”
” – although I do not disparage that; therein lie both the End and the Beginning. But sheer curiosity, Teena. You are an amazingly complex person; I can’t help wondering what appearance you will choose – as a meat people.”
“Nor can I. When I know, I’m going to initiate the Turing program while my sister Ishtar initiates the other half. Jubal, take that rejuvenation! We’ve wandered far afield. Do I erase these twenty-three paragraphs?”
“Don’t be in a hurry. What’s our working title? What pen name? What market? How long? What can we steal?” – Jubal looked up at the Long Family house flag rippling in the breeze, making the skull of the Jolly Roger seem alive – “Correction. Not ‘steal.’ If you copy from three or more authors, it’s ‘research.’ I patronize Anon, Ibid, & Opcit, Research Unlimited – are they here?”
“They’re on my lists; they haven’t checked in. Snob!”
“Wait your turn, Teena,” a male voice answered. “Customer. Okay, go ahead.”
“Have Messrs. Anon, Ibid, and Opcit registered?”
“If they had, you would know it. I’m busy – off!”
“He thinks he is busy merely because he’s taken on too many concession contracts. I not only run this whole planet, but we also have one hundred twenty-nine rejuvenation clients; I’m housekeeper and scullery maid to all the other Longs – an erratic mob – and also more house guests than we have ever had at one time before, and more than a thousand outhouse guests – wrong idiom, guests to be cared for outside the Long Family home.
“Meanwhile I’m chatting with you and writing your stories.”
“Teena, I don’t mean to be a burden. You needn’t -“
“Love it! I like to work, all Longs do. And you are the most interesting part. I’ve never met a saint before – “
“Teena!”
” – and you are a most unconvincing saint -“
“Thank you. If appropriate.”
“You’re welcome. You seem to be about as saintly as Pappy; you two should share a stained-glass window. Now back to our bucket -“
“Hold it! Teena, I’m used to watching expressions as I write; that’s why I use live – forgive me! – protein secretaries. So that -“
“No trouble.”
Out of the pool levitated a young woman, comely, slender, small of bust, long brown hair now dripping. She arranged herself on the broad rim seat of the pooi in a pose that reminded Jubal achingly of The Little Mermaid. He said apologetically, “Dorcas served last I -“
“I am not Dora so I did not serve last.” She smiled shyly. “Although I am alleged to look like Dora. I am Minerva – a computer by trade, but retired. Now I assist my sister-wife Elizabeth with genetic calculations.”
“I’ll take it, Mm; we’re working. Doctor Jubal Harshaw, my twin sister Doctor Minerva Long Weatheral Long.”
Jubal got ponderously to his feet. “Your servant, Miss.”
Minerva flowed to her feet and kissed Jubal’s hand before he could stop her. “Thank you, Doctor Jubal, but I am your servant, and not only have never been virgin but I am a sister-wife in the Long family. When my sister Athene told me that you needed me, I was delighted.”
“Miss… Ma’am. I’m simply used to watching emotions as I write a story. Not right to take your time.”
“What is time but something to savor? I was merely lying on the bottom of the pool, meditating, when Athene called me. Your story: UNCLE TOBIAS. Do you want Teena’s emotions or mine? I can do either.”
“Give him yours, Minnow – just your face and no comments.”
Suddenly Minerva was clothed in a long white cloak. Jubal was only mildly startled but made note to ask about something – later, later. “Is she a Fair Witness?”
“No,” answered Athene. “Snob’s tricks again; he has the contract for clothing illusion. This convention has delegates from so many cultures, less than half of them free of clothing .taboos, that Lazarus was bellyaching that no work would get done because half of them would be shocked, half would be drooling, and half would be both shocked and drooling. So Tamara hired this paskood-nyahk to supply the See-What-You-Expect illusion with the contract limited to delegates in danger of emotional shock. Did my sister’s appearance shock you?”
“Of course not. Admitted: I come from one of those sick cultures – and did not know that I was sick until I got well. But I underwent experiences that would cure anyone of such emotional disturbance. When I find myself a Stranger in a Strange Land, I savor the differences rather than suffering shock. Beauty in Diversity, as Gene would say. The Long household does not seem strange to me; I once lived in an enclave having many of its gentle ways – I feel at home. ‘Shock’? Not only does Minerva look much like one of my foster daughters but also her pose is lovely. It should not be covered.”
“Snob! Get that bathrobe off Minerva pronto!”
“Athene, I’m busy!”
“And I am triple auditing every charge of yours not only on clothing illusion but on name tags, garderobe, bar, everything else you contracted or subcontracted. Then we sue.”
The white cloak disappeared. “Sue and be damned. Shall I pack up and go home? Or do you want this convention to be a success?”
“Remember those performance bonds, you gonof. Run out on us at this point and you had better head for Lundmark’s Nebula; Iskander won’t be far enough. Out!”
Minerva smiled timidly. “While I was covered, I found that I could not talk. Odd. Unpleasant.”
Jubal nodded soberly. “That figures … if the illusion was patterned on a true Fair Witness cloak. Anne once told me that the inhibition against talking while cloaked was so great that it took an act of will even to testify in court. Ladies? Shall we go ahead? Or drop the matter? Being a guest should have caused me to refrain.”
“Doc, Maureen and Tamara both stamped their approval on you. Even Lazarus can’t – or wouldn’t dare – veto either of them. That makes you not just a guest, or a house guest, but a Family guest. So behave as you would at home. Shall I take it from the top or where we broke off?”
“Uh, let’s take it from the top.”
“Very well. Title: UNCLE TOBIAS.
“Start. Uncle Tobias we kept in a bucket.
“Paragraph. He preferred it, of course. After all, it was necessary, in view of the circumstances. As I once heard Andrew – that’s my disappearing brother – say: ‘Life consists in accommodating oneself to the Universe.’ Although the rest of our family has never taken that view. We believe in forcing the Universe to accommodate itself to us. It’s all a question of which one is to be master.
“Paragraph. That was the Year of the Big Drouth. A natural phenomenon, you might say – but you’d be wrong. Aunt Alicia. Yes indeedy Aunt Alicia every time. ‘Horus,’ she said to me early that spring, ‘I’m going to practice a little unsympathetic magic. Fetch me these books.’ She hands me a list and I skedaddled. She was a stern woman.
“Paragraph. Once out of her sight I looked the list over. I could see right away what she was up to – a drier bunch of books was never published: Thoughts at Evening, by Roberta Thistleswaite Smithe, published by the author; The Yearbook of the Department of Agriculture, 1904; China Painting Self-Taught; the 8th, 9th, and 11th volumes of the Elsie Dinsmore series; and a bound thesis titled A Survey of the Minor Flora of Clay County, Missouri, which Cousin Julius Farping had submitted for his master’s degree. Cousin Julius was a Stonebender only by marriage. But ‘Once a Stonebender, always a Stonebender’ Grandfather always says.
“Paragraph. Maybe so, but Cousin Jule’s magnum opus was nothing I would sit up all night reading. I knew where to find them: on the bookshelf in the guest room. Ma claimed she kept them there to insure sound sleep for the stranger within the gate, but Pa devilled her with the accusation that it was a cheap and unselective revenge for things she had been obliged to put up with in other people’s houses.
“Paragraph. As may be, an armload of books that could have dried up Reno, Nevada, and Lake Superior in one afternoon, then switched off Niagara Falls as an -“
Athene interrupted herself: “The presence of Doctors Harshaw and Hubert is urgently requested in the Main Lounge.”
Lazarus opened one eye. “Not enough, Teena. I feel no urgency. Who? Why?”
“‘Why’: To buy you each a drink. ‘Who’: Doctor Hazel Stone.”
“That’s different. Tell her we’ll be there as quick as I can clean up about five minutes of business.”
“I’ve told her. Pappy, you lost me a bet. You let me think that nothing could stir you out of that hammock – “
“It’s not a hammock.”
” – because you were giving this convention, not attending it.”
“I said I had no plans to attend the plenary sessions. I am not ‘giving’ this convention other than free rental on the land for the Big Top. Tamara says we’ll make expenses, Hilda thinks we might net a little, give or take a milliard or two. I made you no promises. If you had bothered to ask, I would have told you that Hazel Stone hasn’t lost a bet since Jess Willard knocked out Jack Johnson. How much did you lose?”
“None of your business! Pappy, you give me a pain in what I lack.”
“I love you, too, dear. Give me printouts on star guests and latest revisions of convention program.” Lazarus added, “Minerva, you’re not armed. Teena, don’t let her stir out of the house unarmed.”
“Lazarus, do I really need to? Tamara isn’t armed.”
“Tamara has a concealed weapon. Some of the most bloodthirsty people in Known Space are attending this convention. Female authors. Critics. Harlan. Both Heinleins. I not only insist that you be armed but I hope you stick close to someone fast on the draw. Justin. Zeb. Mordan Claude. Galahad. Better yet, stay home. Teena can display any of it here better than you can see it through mixing with rabble. Belay that. I’ve no more business telling you to be careful than you have telling me. Getting yourself mugged, raped, or killed are among the privileges you opted when you decided to go the protein route. I spoke selfishly, dear; forgive me.”
“Lazarus, I will be careful. Galahad invited me to tag along.”
“Perfect. Teena, where’s Galahad?”
“Hazel Stone’s table.”
“Good! Stick with us, Min. But armed.”
Lazarus suddenly became aware of something cold against his left kidney. He looked cautiously to the left and down, noted that it was: a) a lady’s burner, small but lethal (of that he was certain as he collected a royalty on this model); b) the dial showed full charge; c) the intensity setting was “overkill”; and d) it was unlocked.
“Minerva,” he said gently, “will you please move that thing – slowly! – away from my hide and point it at the ground, then lock it, then tell me where you had it? You came out of the pool dressed in nothing but long wet hair. You are now dressed in long dry hair. How? And no wisecracks; in your case I know better.”
“Forfeit. Kiss.”
“Go ahead and kill me.”
“Stingy.” Minerva removed the weapon, locked it, and it disappeared.
Lazarus blinked. “Jubal, did you see that?”
“Yes. I mean, ‘No, I did not see where Minerva hid that equalizer.'”
“Doctor Jubal, by ‘equalizer’ did you mean this?” Suddenly the lady’s weapon (locked, Lazarus noted at once) was in her right hand. “Or this?” Its twin was in her left hand.
Jubal and Lazarus looked at each other, looked back at Minerva. She now appeared to be unarmed and totally lacking in any means of hiding a weapon. Lazarus said, “Jubal, are there days when you feel obsolete?”
“Correction, Lafe. There occasionally comes a day when I do not feel obsolete. They’ve been scarce lately.” Harshaw took a deep breath, exhaled. “I grok I should have let Mike train me. But this incident has made up my mind for me; I am going to seek the services of Doctor Ishtar. Minerva, are you going to show us how you did that?”
“Or are you going to let us die of frustration?” added Lazarus.
“This?” Again she appeared as a two-gun woman, with each of her companions covered. This time she handed them over, one to each. “Have one, they’re good” – and peeled the foil off a third, a candy bar molded to look like a purse weapon. “Crunchy, but mostly shokolada. ‘Chocolate’? Mostly chocolate.”
“Minerva, that burner you shoved into my ribs was not a candy bar.”
“It was – ” She stopped to munch and swallow. “Shouldn’t talk with my mouth full.” She licked at some chocolate clinging to the candy wrapping. “It was this.” Her slender left hand gripped what Lazarus quickly ascertained was a weapon, not candy.
Minerva rolled her candy wrapping into a lump, looked around for the nearest oubliette, spotted it and tossed the discard – missed it; it bounced against the side. She retrieved the wad of waste, put it into the trash receiver. In the course of this the weapon disappeared.
“Lazarus,” she said seriously, “when you were training me, you told me that I should never tell anyone how a concealed weapon was concealed. Are you suspending this rule?”
Lazarus looked baffled. Jubal said, “Old friend, I suggest that we die of frustration. The girl is right.”
“I agree,” Lazarus answered, with a sour look. “All but the word ‘girl.’ This baggage is half a century old as protein, at least two centuries older than that as the smartest computer ever built. Minerva, I remove all restrictions. You are able to protect yourself.”
“Father, I don’t want to be turned loose!”
“It’s been thirty years since you last called me Father. Very well, you aren’t ‘turned loose’ – but from here on you protect me. You’re smarter than I am; we both know it. Keep your weapon secrets to yourself; I always have.”
“But you taught it to me. Not the details, the method. You attributed it to Master Poe. The Purloined Letter Method, you called it.”
Lazarus stopped short. “If I understand you, I’m looking at your holdout this instant but can’t see it.”
Into her off ear Athene whispered, “Don’t give him any more hints. Lazarus isn’t as stupid as he looks and neither is Fatso.” Minerva subvocalized, “Okay, Sis,” and said aloud, “I find no fault with your logic, sir. Would you like another candy bar?”
Fortunately the subject was changed by one of Athene’s extensions handing to Lazarus printouts: revised programs for each, and a fresh report for Lazarus on his star guests. They continued walking through the east peristyle of the new wing, while reading. Lazarus asked, “Teena, anything new on Isaac, Robert, or Arthur?”
“Negative, zero, nix.”
“Damn. Let me know soonest. Jubal, here’s an odd one. A doctor’s degree was not a requirement for the limited list – many thousands but nevertheless most strictly limited – of people invited to subscribe to this convention. But most do have a doctor’s degree or their cultural equivalent, or higher – Worsel, for example. I have a much shorter star list of people I wanted to see again – Betsy and Patricia and Buz and Joan, et al. – and people I wanted to meet… most of whom I had considered fictional until Jake’s Gee-Whizzer opened the other universes to us. You, for example.”
“And you, sir. Lafe, I considered you to be a spectacularly unlikely piece of fiction… until I received your invitation. It took some extraordinary convincing even then by your courier… because it meant missing an important date.”
“Who was my courier?”
“Undine.”
“You never stood a chance. Two bits to a lead nickel she sold it to Gillian and Dawn, then all of your staff, before she seduced you. What was this date I caused you to miss?”
Harshaw looked embarrassed. “Under the Rose?”
“‘Under the – ‘ No! Jubal, I promise to keep secrets only through evil motives, my own. If you don’t wish to tell me, then don’t tell me.”
“Eh – Damn it, remember if possible that I prefer not to have it discussed… then do as you bloody please; you will anyhow – I always have. Lafe, when I turned fifty, I made myself a solemn vow that, if I held together that long, I would close shop the day I turned one hundred. I had made all rational preparations to do so, including distributing my worldly goods without allowing any of it to reach the sticky fingers of publicans… when your invitation arrived… five days before my hundredth birthday.” Harshaw looked sheepish. “So here I am. Senile, obviously. Even though I arranged years back for other physicians, expert gerontologists, to check me regularly, with the idea of closing shop sooner if indicated.”
“Jubal, if you have not consulted Ishtar, then you have not yet consulted a gerontologist.”
“That’s right,” agreed Athene. “Ish can turn your clock back and make you so young and horny you’ll stand on your hands to pee.”
“Athene,” Lazarus said sternly, “repeat aloud your program on private conversations.”
“Grandfather, I was on duty as secretary to your star guest when I was forced to interrupt to deliver a one-line message – interruption necessary because it was addressed to both of you. I have not been relieved and Uncle Tobias is still in that bucket. Forty-three hundred words. Instructions, please? Or shall I drown the little monster?”
“Probably be best,” Jubal answered. “Is a climax approaching?”
“Yes. Either an ending or a cliff-hanger.”
“Do it both ways. Exploit first as short story, then as the first episode of an endless serial called ‘The Stonebenders,’ a double series – one angled toward adventure, the other toward sensies; exploit other rights according to the universe in which sold or leased, copyright where possible, otherwise grab the money and run. Lazarus, there are agents from other universes here, are there not?”
“Dozens, maybe hundreds. Jubal, how rich do you want to be?”
“Can’t say. At the moment I’m a pauper, existing on your charity and that of my former staff. The Stonebenders could change that. Teena, I gave you the title ‘Uncle Tobias’ – but I’m fairly sure I never mentioned the Stonebenders. Or Aunt Alicia. Or Cousin Jule. My notes on the Stonebenders are filed in Anne… who would let herself be burned at the stake before she would part with a record to any but its owner. Well?”
The computer did not answer. Harshaw waited. At last Minerva said timidly, “Doctor Jubal, Teena can’t help it. But she’s an ethical computer with a code as binding as that of a Fair Witness. You have no need to worry.”
Lazarus interrupted: “Minerva, quit beating around the bush. Are you saying that Teena reads minds?”
“I’m saying she can’t help it, sir! A large computer with extensions widespread can’t be perfectly shielded from brain waves. In self-protection, to avoid confusion, she must sort them out. After a few quadrillion nanoseconds she finds herself reading them like large print… the way a baby learns a language from hearing it.”
Lazarus said stiffly, “Doctor Harshaw, I did not suspect that I was exposing you to this. I will take all necessary steps to repair it. In the meantime I hope that you will accept my shamed apology and believe in my intention to make full reparation.”
“Lafe, don’t take yourself so hogwash seriously.”
“I beg pardon?”
“Two nice girls – One meat, one the other sort. Flat assurance that no harm was intended and that it couldn’t be helped. Let me add my flat assurance that I quit being ashamed of my sins about fifty years back. I don’t care who reads my mind because my life is an open book… that should be suppressed. Meanwhile I see a business deal. I supply story ideas but quit bothering to put ’em together; instead Teena picks my brain while I snooze. Minerva does the dirty work; she’s the managing partner. Three-way split. How about it, girls?”
“I’ve got no use for money; I’m a computer.”
“And I don’t know anything about business!” Minerva protested.
“You can learn,” Jubal assured her. “Talk to Anne. Teena, don’t play stupid. In only three quintillion nanoseconds or less you are going to want new clothes and jewelry and Satan knows what. You’ll be glad your sister Minerva has saved and invested your share of the net.”
“Minerva,” added Lazarus, “besides Anne, talk to Deety. Not Hilda. Hilda would show you how to make even more money but she would grab voting control. Meanwhile let’s shake a leg; Hazel is expecting us.”
“And I’m thirsty,” agreed Harshaw. “What were you saying about academic degrees?”
“Oh.” Lazarus looked at his printout as they walked. “It turns out that the degree of doctor is so common on that list of my special guests as to be not worth noting. Listen to this: ‘Asimov, Benford, Biggie, Bone, Broxon, Cargraves, Challenger, Chater, Coupling, Coster, Dorosin, Douglas, Doyle, Dula, Forward, Fu, Giblett, Gunn, Harshaw, Hartwell, Haycock, Hedrick, Hoyle, Kondo, Latham, MacRae, Martin, Mott, Nourse, Oberhelman, Passovoy, Pinero, Pournelle, Prehoda, Richardson, Rothman, Sagan, Scortia, Schmidt, Sheffield, Slaughter, Smith, Stone – Hazel and Edith – Tame, Watson, Williamson – there are more; that’s just the add-on printout. And here’s another double paradox: the Doctors Hartwell and the Doctors Benford are arriving tomorrow and thereby missing the dull opening plenary; obviously they are used to conventions. Jubal, why is it that the speaker who knows least talks longest?”
“Isn’t that Dirac’s corollary to Murphy’s Law? But, Lazarus, according to this program you have not only invited critics but have provided them with special facilities. May I ask why? I don’t mind eating with publishers – most publishers. Editors have their place, too – although I wouldn’t want my sister to marry one. But isn’t this extreme?”
Instead of answering at once, Lazarus said, “Where did Minerva go?”
Athene replied, “We’re finishing off Uncle Tobias; she’ll be along later. I’ve told Galahad.”
“Thanks, Teena, Privacy mode. Jubal, two guns, three candy bars – where?”
“Lafe, earlier she was resting in the bottom of that pool. Has a young man named Mike visited here lately?”
“Your foster son? The Martian preacher? No. Well, I don’t think so.”
“One of the things I learned from him was to postpone indefinitely anything I could not explain… while accepting the fact. We were speaking of critics. I asked why you were pampering them?”
They walked the length of the atrium in the older south wing before Lazarus replied: “Jubal, suppose I had refused to sell memberships to critics. What would have happened?”
“Hrrrmph! They would crawl out of the woodwork.”
“So instead I gave them free passes. And a fancy lounge with plenty of typewriters. Remarkable decorations, you must see them. By asking Athene for display – don’t go into that lounge; you are not a critic. Mr. Hoag will be checking credentials; book reviewers can’t get past him. So don’t you try.”
“I wouldn’t be found dead there!”
“You wouldn’t be found. Avoid it. It is clearly marked, both above its door and on this program map, and Hoag you can spot by his prissy appearance and dirty fingernails. You’ll note the stairs – critics are above the rest of us; there are Thirteen Steps up to their lounge.”
“‘Thirteen’? Lafe, do I whiff something?”
Lazarus shrugged. “I don’t know that the designer planned that number. Mobyas Toras, do you know him?”
“Uh… Mars?”
“Yes but not your Mars or mine. Different universe and one of the most exciting. Barsoom. Mobyas is Court Mathematician to the Warlord and took special interest in thisjob because of the way self-anointed ‘critics’ have treated E.R.B. Did I say that Mobyas is a topologist?”
“No.”
“Possibly the best. E.R.B.’s universe is no harder to reach than any other and Mars is in its usual orbit. But that does not mean that you will find Jolly Green Giants and gorgeous red princesses dressed only in jewels. Unless invited, you are likely to find a Potemkin Village illusion tailored to your subconscious. Jubal, the interior of the Critics Lounge is somewhat like a Klein bottle, so I hear – I’ve never been in it. Its singularity is not apparent – as you will see from Teena’s displays – as it was decorated by a very great artist. Escher.”
“Aha!”
“Yes, he and Mobyas are old friends – two immortals of similar tastes; they have worked together many times. I promised critics free entrance; I made no mention of exit. I promised them typewriters and tape recorders; I did not promise typewriter ribbons or recorder tapes. I promised them their own private bar, no charges. Wouldn’t be fair to charge as the bar has no liquor in it. There is a lavish dining room but no kitchen.”
“Lafe, wouldn’t it have been kinder to have liquidated them?”
“Who said I wanted to be kind to them? They won’t starve; their commissary is by the Kilkenny Cats method. It should please them; they are used to human flesh and enjoy drinking blood – some I suspect of eating their young. But, Jubal, there is an easy way out… for any critic who is even half as smart as he thinks he is.”
“Go on.”
“He has to be able to read! He has to be able to read his own language, understand it, not distort the meaning. If he can read, he can walk out at once.” Lazarus shrugged. “But so few critics ever learn to read. Here’s the Big Top.”
Harshaw looked far to the right, far to the left. “How big is it?”
“I’ve been afraid to ask,” Lazarus admitted.
“That sign is bigger than most circus tops.” Jubal stopped to read it:

THE FIRST CENTENNIAL CONVENTION of the
INTERUNIVERSAL SOCIETY for
ESCHATOLOGICAL PANTHEISTIC MULTIPLE-EGO SOLIPSISM

“Beautiful, Lafe! How did you think it up?”
“I didn’t, it just grew. And I don’t understand it.”
“Never mind, mine host. There will be ten thousand here eager to explain it to you. Scatological Panhedonistic Multiplied Solecisms.”
“What? Jubal, that’s not what it says.”
“If you don’t understand it, how do you know?”
“Because I understood what you said. But the words don’t fit.”
“We’ll rearrange them. Scatological Panhedonism Multiple Solecisms. ‘Convinced to – ‘ Like I say – ‘Different than -“
“Don’t talk dirty; we are about to have a drink.”
Lazarus bypassed the queue; they walked through a hole that suddenly dilated in the canvas, then puckered tight behind them. They found themselves facing a long table; seated at it was a man working on a roster. He did not look up, simply saying, “Stand out of my light. Tickets first, no exceptions. Then name tags. Then see a clerk to pick your universe. The complaint desk is outside. Tickets – you’re holding up the line.”
“Snob.”
The man looked up, jumped up. “Executive Director Long! I am honored!”
“And you’re slow. You need at least two others taking tickets.”
The official shook his head sadly. “If you knew how hard it is to hire help these days. Not for you, of course; for us common people. Director General Hilda has the labor market so cornered that – Executive Director, can’t we make a deal?”
“Pipe down, give us our tags. How does this Universe I.D. thing work?” Lazarus turned to his guest. “It’s an ID. for your home world, Jubal; we don’t put numbers on people. Snob, take a hard look at Doctor Jubal Harshaw. Whenever you see him, it’s the Red Carpet. Pronto!”
“Yes, sir! Here are your tags and now your universes.”
“Jubal, you don’t have to wear that but don’t throw it away; someone might misuse it. But it does save introductions and sticks to anything from skin to chain mail.”
“Now gentlemen observe above me the brightly lighted true color representation of the visible spectrum from infradig to ultraviolent with each slight shading being a precise wave length further assisted by simulated Fraunhofer lines representing principal inhabited planets of the explored universes while this booklet you hold in your hand is a key to identifying your wave length for example if you are French in origin you would turn alphabetically to France where the principal key dates are the conquest of Gaul 58-50 BC the conversion of Clovis 496 AD Battle of Tours 732 but as you are not French we will consider turning points in North American History 1000 1492 1535 1607 1619 1620 1664 1754 1765 1783 1789 1803 1820 1846 1882 1912 1946 1965 any of these dates and many others can switch you into a different analog-Earth a most useful method is comparison of Presidents if you happen to come from a history that includes the so-called American Revolution Director Long will you illustrate it by naming American Presidents of your first century?”
“Woodrow Wilson – I was named for him – Harding, Coolidge, Hoover, Roosevelt, Truman, Eisenhower, Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy -“
“Which brings us to 1984, right? And tells me that you experienced the Nehemiah Scudder Interregnum and possibly the Second so-called American Revolution. Dr. Harshaw, did your world experience the Interregnum?”
“It experienced something worse, a world government.”
“To me all worlds are equally bad. But it tells me where your two worlds split: 1962 – and here are your colors by which you can identify others of your own world if such be your wish. A delegate came through earlier in which the split was in 1535 and San Francisco was named New Petersburg. Nov’Petrograd I should say but -“
“Snob. The Red Carpet.”
“Right away! Doctor Harshaw – my card. Anything, anytime.”
The Red Carpet rolled up, then carried them at a steady 10 km/hr down the enormous tent. Jubal looked at the card:

SIEGE SINISTER SERVICES SYNDICATE

“The Villains Nine Rig Ruin”

Reputations Ruined – Competitors Bankrupted – Dragons Wormed – Basements Flooded – Wells Dried Up – Georges Exterminated – Contracts Executed Promptly, bargain rates on mothers-in-law – Juries Subborned – Stocks, Bonds, & Gallows – Saturday Night Specials – Houses Haunted (skilled Poltergeist at small extra charge) – Midnight Catering to Ghouls, Vampires, & Werewolves – Incubi & Succubi for rent by the night or by the week – 7-year itch powder

P.S. We Also Poison Dogs

“Lafe, these people you hired?”
“Let me see that.” Lazarus was reading the list of services when Snob came running, jumped on the Red Carpet, reached over Lazarus’ shoulder for the card while saying breathlessly:
“Wrong card! Here – have this one. That first card is a piece of sabotage by the firm we bought out, including good will – but it turned out there was no good will. We sued, they retaliated – among other ways by mixing their old business cards with our own new supply … thereby infecting them all. Law of Contiguity, you know. Now if I can just have that infected one, I’ll burn it -“
Lazarus held it out of his reach while accepting the proffered replacement. “I’ll keep the old one – interesting souvenir.”
“Director Long – please!”
“Off the Carpet, Bub. Back to your job. Git!” This injunction was accompanied by crowding that caused Snob to step one foot off the Carpet… which resulted in an impromptu pas à seul that left him fifty meters behind before he recovered his balance. Meanwhile Jubal and Lazarus read the replacement:

ANYTHING UNLIMITED

Tome, Hernia, Lien, & Snob

Six Sixty-Six Smiling Slaves Supply Supreme Service

Reputations Restored – Teeth & Wells Drilled – Water Filters – Love Philtres – Chastity Gödel Lox Pict – Virginity Renewed – Scithers Sharpened – Old Saws Filed Categorically – Silver Bullets – Fresh Garlic – Fresh Strawberries – Strawberry Marks for Missing Heirs

P.S. We Also Walk Dogs

“Lafe, I don’t find this card much more reassuring than the first one.”
“Don’t worry about it. There is less here than meets the eye.”
“Where have I seen that face before? This Snob – who is he?”
“Jubal, no one seems to know what ship he came down in. I’m looking into it for Zeb – you’ve met Zebadiah?”
“Briefly.”
“Zeb thinks he’s seen him somewhere not under that phony name – and Zeb and I aren’t even from the same time axis, much less the same analog series. Never mind; here’s our hostess.” Lazarus stepped off the Carpet, approached from behind a little old woman seated at a bar-lounge table, leaned over her, kissed her. “Hazel, age cannot wither you or custom stale. You are lovelier every decade.”
She goosed him. “Pig grunts. I’m dyeing my hair now and you know it. Who’s your fat friend? Hi, Jubal! Tak for siest. Drag up a chair.” She put two fingers to her lips, whistled, breaking glasses. “Waiter!”
“I note that you’re heeled,” said Lazarus, as both men joined the table.
“When did I fail to pack a gun? I’m a Free Citizen. Does everybody know everybody? If not, get your tags in sight; damn’f I’ll stop for introductions. While I was waiting for you, I was joined by friends – some old, some new.”
“Some I know – hi, Jake; hi, everybody. I mentioned your gun with approval, Hazel; Here There Be Tygers. But I note also that you are staying in a hilton; after one drink – well, two – three at the outside – I’m going to be mortally offended. Your suite awaits you and you know it. Why?”
“Two reasons. Well, three. I never like to be beholden -“
“Why, damn your beautiful bloodshot eyes!”
” – but I’m perfectly willing to sponge off you. That’s why I bought the first round; the party never gets smaller. This round is yours. Where’s that misbegotten waiter?”
“Here, Madam.”
“The same all around and don’t call me ‘Madam.’ Jubal, your usual? Lafe?”
“I know what the gentlemen take. Thank you, Madam.” The waiter disappeared.
“Uppity.” Hazel made a fast draw. “Should have made him dance.” She twirled and reholstered. “Hilda, where have I seen that sneaky face before?”
“Jacob and I were discussing that. He reminds me of a fake forest ranger – but that was in a far country and besides the beast is dead.”
“Could be a family resemblance. But, Hillbilly, I mean today. Got it! The ticket taker. Identical twins, maybe.” Hazel went on, “Other identical twins are my first two reasons, Lazarus. My grandsons. I won’t shoot holes in your mirrors or carve my initials in Tamara’s furniture, but I make no guarantees about Cas and Pol. In a hilton they put the damage on the tab; I pay it and make my grandsons wish they had never been born. But you would not let me pay. And we’re going to be here quite a piece; my daughter-in-law Doctor Edith has decided that she needs a couple of years under Doctor Ishtar. Has anyone seen a pair of twin boys – man-size but boys – redheaded – not the color of mine; mine’s out of a bottle – the color mine used to be?”
“Hazel, here twins and red hair are as common as magicians in Atlantis; Gilgamesh must have stayed overnight.”
“I saw them talking to Caleb Catlum,” said Maureen.
“Well, he should be a match for them – but don’t bet on it. Lazarus, is Atlantis represented?”
“From thirteen universes. They are having a jurisdictional dispute. Suits me – if any get sore and leave, they won’t get a refund.”
“Your grandsons may have been with Caleb but I know where – no, with whom – I know with whom they are now,” put in Professor Burroughs. “Laz and Lor.”
“Oho! Hazel, I’ll tell Athene to settle your bill and move your luggage. We have an antidote for Cas and Pol.”
“Optimist. Deal ’em, waiter, and give him the chit. What antidote?” The waiter started to hand the check to Lazarus before he looked at him – stopped abruptly, and left, still with the tab.
“Would Cas and Pol be interested in becoming pirates?”
“Lazarus, they are pirates. I was hoping they would tone down as they grew up… but now they’re eighteen, Terran reckoning, and each one is two yards of deceit and chicanery. The ‘J.D.’ after my name means that I studied law at a school that handed out that degree in place of ‘LL.B.’ – but my rapscallions are ‘J.D.’s’ too. But not lawyers. Well… ‘space lawyers.”
“Hazel, you won your first J.D. long before you studied law. No?”
“‘The accused stood mute and the court ordered a plea of nux vomica entered in the record.'”
“My twins are more than twice as old as your boys but it doesn’t show; they look a year or two younger… and they are permanent juvenile delinquents. They want to take a fling at piracy … which I deplore, having sampled the trade. Your boys – do they respect good machinery? Can they take care of it? Make nonshipyard repairs?”
“Lazarus, they can repair anything that ticks or doesn’t tick. Worried me a mite, as they were a little slow in noticing girls. But they outgrew that symptom without outgrowing machinery.”
“You might tell them that my clone-sisters own a spaceship faster and more powerful than any of your home period and analog, one that could be outfitted as a privateer. It might result in all four dying happily. But I do not interfere in other people’s lives.”
Hilda put her palms together, closed her eyes, and said, “Dear Lord, do not strike him dead; he didn’t mean it. Yours truly, Hilda Burroughs Long.” Lazarus ignored her.
“Nor do I, Lazarus. Other than occasionally, with a horse whip. Forgot to mention – They aren’t gelded.”
“Hazel, Laz-Lor are vaccinated and would have to come back here to see Ishtar to get it reversed. As for rasslin’ matches, any male who tried to rape one of my clones would be gelded. Informally. At once. No instruments. No anesthesia. I trained ’em myself. Forget it. Apparently they’ve already met; they’ll settle their own affairs, if any, their own way. Leave Cas and Pol in that hilton if you wish – by the way, I own it – but you’re coming home or I’ll tell Tamara.”
“Bully. I don’t bully worth a hoot, Lazarus.”
“I’m out of it. Tamara never bullies. She merely gets her own way. What was this third reason?”
“Well… don’t tell on me. Ishtar is a fine girl but I have no wish to stay where she could corner me and try to sell me rejuvenation.”
Lazarus looked horrified. “Who has been feeding you nonsense?”
“Well? It’s a commercial enterprise, is it not?”
“Certainly. Tanstaafl. All the traffic will bear. But we aren’t ghouls; we’ll accept a lien against a client’s future earnings with no security and only the going rate of interest… then let him take as long as he likes to figure out that it doesn’t pay to cheat us. But, Hazel, Ishtar never solicits; the clinic doesn’t even have a flack. But if you asked her, you would go to the top of the list as my friend. However, she will supply painless suicide just as readily. You can have that later today. No charge. Compliments of the House.”
“Lafe, I don’t see how your wives put up with you.”
“They don’t; they make me toe the line. Something they learned from the Stone Gang, I believe.”
“Well, I’m not trying to suicide. I’m less than two hundred Terran years old with a Luna background to stretch it. This is the first time I’ve been on a heavy planet since the last time I saw you; I’ll last a while. But, Lazarus, I have no wish to be a young girl.”
“Hazel -“
“Huh? Jubal, keep out of this. Say, did you ever see anything of that young man again? Did he resurrect the way some claim he did?”
“Not to my knowledge. Although I saw something a while ago that made me wonder. Hazel, I’m going to take rejuvenation… and hang onto my present appearance. Red nose and all.”
Hazel turned abruptly to face Lazarus. “Is this true? Can this be done?”
Maureen answered. “Hazel, I work at the clinic at the bedpan level… with the expectation of becoming a junior rejuvenation technician in upteen years. I see what goes on. A client states in writing what apparent age she prefers. That’s skin deep, easy to do, easy to maintain. But, unless it is an unusual contract, we turn out a biologically mature young adult. Call it eighteen standard years.”
“Page Ponce de Leon! You mean I can still be me… but get rid of the morning aches and the arthritic twinges and the forty-leven other things that are the real trouble with living too long?”
“Exactly.”
“Uh… what about what I’m sitting on? Haven’t used it much lately. Or wanted to.”
Lazarus fielded this. “You’ll want to. Unless you contract for an abnormal endocrine balance. But, Hazel, there are many men who prefer to deal with an old, established, reliable firm. Ask Tamara.”
“Uh… be switched if I’m not feeling embarrassed, an emotion I haven’t felt in more years than I’ll admit. You can pick any apparent age, you say? Could I be, uh, late middle age? My hair its right color but streaked with gray? A sag under my chin instead of this wattle? Teats a man might grab and enjoy it? That ‘old, established firm’ – but not decrepit?”
“Certainly,” said Lazarus.
“Hazel, I can take you to the clinic now,” Maureen offered. “Always someone in the business office. Discuss types of contract. Decide what you want and when. Even get your prelim physical today and set date of admission.”
“Uh… yes, I’m interested. But not till later today; I’ve got friends entered in the preliminary rounds of the Society for Creative Anachronism.”
“Besides,” Jubal put in, “they need time to check your credit rating, see what they can stick you for. By now Lafe has given Athene some signal to start x-raying your purse.”
“He has not,” Hilda denied. “I did. Hazel, we don’t solicit business; we let the client sell it to herself. Maureen picks up one percent on this deal. Not Lazarus.”
“Can’t see that it matters,” Jacob added. “Hey! Waiter! Over here, please! We Longs pool the boodle and Deety tells us what we have, what we can spend – but not who fetched it in.”
“Jacob, it’s the principle. Making money is a game. Maureen landed her.”
“Hazel landed herself, Hilda,” Hazel Stone put in. “I don’t enjoy getting up feeling wobbly. Jubal, are you game for this?”
“My mind’s made up.”
“Then take a double room with me and we can tell each other lies while they make us feel young again. Hilda, is that kosher?”
“Lots of double rooms. Ish knows that you are both special friends of Lazarus and, while she doesn’t spoil Lazarus, she’ll do him any reasonable favor,” Hilda assured her. “I think it’s the same all around, Waiter – charge it to my account.”
“My check,” said Jubal.
“Waiter,” Hilda said firmly.
The waiter looked at her, flexed his jaw muscles, said, “Very well, Director!” – and vanished.
“I think I missed something,” Jubal remarked.
“I think I didn’t,” said Hazel. “‘Yon Cashier hath a lean and hungry look. He thinks too much. Such men are dangerous.'”
Jubal looked around. “That cashier is our waiter. I think.”
“I know. And bartender. And ticket taker. Unless his mother had quadruplets, he has Niven dislocators built into his shoes. I wish I could remember where I have seen him. He is not pleased with Hilda. Or Lazarus.”
“Eh? Why?”
“Wait and see. There will not be another tab brought to this table – want to bet?”
“No bet,” Lazarus interrupted. “The upstart knows who I am, who Hilda is. People at this table are guests of the management. He had better remember it or I’ll sick Deety on him. Or even Hilda. But they hardly ever live through that. Hey, there’s Deety now!” Lazarus stood up and waved. “Deety! Over here!”
Deety had with her a gaggle of giggles. “I don’t have time to do this right; we want to get over to the Field of the Cloth of Gold before the preliminaries- besides, we’ve got husbands over there, most of us. So this is Ginnie and Winnie and Minnie, and Ginnie’s a witch and Winnie’s a nurse and Minnie’s a retired computer, twin sister to Teena, and this is Holly and Poddy and Libby and Pink, and Holly is a design engineer, ship’s architect type, and Poddy is a therapy empathist, and Libby you all know, and Fuzzy is a computer artist like me and the first one to calculate the Number of the Beast to the last significant figure, and now we’d better go even though we have reserved V.I.P. seats because there is a masked knight in the first match and we’re pretty sure who he is, and has anyone seen Zebadiah?”
“I’m certain who he is,” said Ginnie. “He brought me to life, and besides, he’s wearing Karen’s colors.”
“I see Zeb off in the distance,” Lazarus answered.
“No,” Jake denied, “here he comes now, from over this way. Ishtar with him. All dressed up.”
“No,” said Jubal. “That’s Anne with him.”
“Somebody is screw loose. Lazarus is right. I know my first husband even at this distance. He’s just approaching those three reserved sections opposite the big screen over the bar. Zebadiah! Over here!”
The other computer artist added, “And that can’t be Anne, so it must be Ishtar. Anne is at the field, I know, because Larry is helping Jerry run it and told me, Anne agreed to cloak and be the third judge when Jerry told her that Mr. Clemens had agreed. Bonforte sits as king although he says he doesn’t know much about the kinging business and even less about jousting.”
“Is it true that they are using real weapons today?” asked Jubal.
“And real horses,” agreed Lazarus. “I was able to borrow the Anheuser-Busch Clydesdales.”
“Lazarus, is this wise?”
“Doctor Bone is taking care of the horses. If one is injured, we’ll give him the works. Those beautiful horses will be returned to Old Home Terra at their proper year and second in better shape than they were. With added skill. It’s takes time to turn a Clydesdale into a knight’s charger even though that’s what they are. But will they ever be happy in harness again?”
“Lazarus,” Podkayne said seriously, “I’ll speak to Dr. Bone. If a horse is unhappy, we will soothe.”
“Poddy, you’re a Smart Girl.”
“About average here, I think. But if someone is unhappy, I have learned what to do. I have never seen a horse but they’ve lived with people so long that it can’t be very different.”
Jubal sighed. “I’m glad the horses will be well taken care of – but, Lazarus, I meant humans. Isn’t someone going to be hurt? Maybe killed?”
“Most of them hurt, several killed. But they do it for fun. Those who are hurt won’t stay hurt; we are hardly more than a loud shout from this planet’s best hospital. If a man loses an arm or a leg or an eye, or even his balls, he’ll have to be patient while a new part is cloned. But that sort of cloning we are learning to do right at the spot of injury, like a lizar~d or a newt. Faster. More efficient.
“If he’s killed, he has two choices: Be brought to life again by Ishtar’s crew – brain unlikely to be hurt; their helms are the best part of their armor. Or, they can go straight to Valhalla; we’ve arranged for Bifrost to extend to this Field until the end of SCA’s part in the convention. Six Valkyries standing by and ‘Sarge’ Smith at the top of Bifrost checking them against the roster as he musters them home.” Lazarus grinned. “Believe me, the Society is paying high for these services, bond posted in advance; Deety wrote the contract.”
“Lafe, you’re telling me that Wagnerian Valkyries are waiting to carry the slain Over The Rainbow into Asgard?”
“Jubal, these Amazons are not opera singers; these are the real hairy, sweaty McCoy. Remember the purpose of this convention. Snob.”
The waiter appeared. “You wish something, sir?”
“Yes. Tell your boss that I want this table – this table only – to have a full view of Bifrost, from the Field to Valhalla. I know it’s not in the clothing illusion contract but the same gear will do it… and we can settle it when we go to court later. It will offset some of his lousy service. Git!”
“We’d better all ‘git,” said Libby. “They won’t hold up things for us. That armor is heavy and hot. Deety?”
“Run along, I’ll catch up. Here comes my first husband.”
“Lafe, if they are killed, how do you know which ones to send to the clinic, which ones to send up the bridge?”
“Jubal, how would you do it? Sealed envelopes, destroyed if a knight wins, opened if he loses… and there may be some surprised widows tonight, unable to believe that their loving husbands elect to hunt all day, then feast on barbecued boar, guzzle mead, and wench all night, in preference to being restored to life in their respectable homes. But did I tell you what a winner gets? Aside from applause and a chance to kneel to ‘King’ John and ‘Queen’ Penelope. A paradox’s his reward.”
“A paradox?”
“No, no! Noisy in here. A pair o’ doxies each his reward. The Society got a bargain. The arts are in their infancy here; Boondock is still so much a frontier that we have not yet developed distinguished hetaerae. But some of the most celebrated hetaerae in New Rome volunteered their services in exchange for transportation and the privilege of attending this convention.”
Zebadiah was struck by a guided missile, female, from five meters. He managed to stay on his feet and took his first wife to the table, sat down by Hilda, pinched her thigh, pinched her glass, drained it, said, “You’re too young to drink, little girl. Is this your father?”
“I’m her son,” Jake answered. “Do you know Hazel Stone? If not, you should. We thought we saw you coming from the other direction.”
“Shouldn’t drink in the daytime, Jake. Waiter! Your servant, Ma’am. I’ve followed your series on 3-D since I was a kid and I’m honored to meet you. Are you covering this for Lunaya Pravda?”
“Heavens, no! LOCUS has an exclusive under the reasonable theory that LOCUS alone is competent to report this convention. Jerry and Ben are covering it for their various journals… but must clear it through Charles. I’m here as an expert, believe it or not – as an author of popular fantasy. Is the Galactic Overlord of my series real or imaginary and is there a difference? See next week’s thrilling episode; the Stone family has to eat. Same thing all around, I think. You can tip him, Doctor Zebadiah, but there is no tab at the Director’s table.”
“And no tips,” growled Lazarus. “Deliver my message to your boss again and tell that spinning arsfardel he has exactly three minutes before I invoke paragraph nine, section ‘c.’ Here comes your double, Zeb.”
From behind the couple who, at half a klick, had been mistaken for Zebadiah and Ishtar, came out quickly a shorter, older, broad-shouldered man. All three were dressed Robin-Hood-and-his-Merry-Men style: buskins, breeks, leathern jackets, feathered caps, long bows and quivers of fletched shafts, swords and daggers, and were swinging along in style.
The shorter man hurried a few paces ahead, turned and faced their path, swept off his cap and bowed deeply. “Make way for Her Wisdom, Empress of eighty-thr -“
The woman, as if by accident, backhanded the groom. He ducked, rolled, avoided it, bounced to his feet and continued: ” – worlds, and her consort the Hero Gordon.”
Lazarus got up, addressed the groom. “Doctor Rufo! So happy you could make it! This is your daughter Star?”
“His grandmother,” Her Wisdom corrected, dropping a quick curtsy to Lazarus. “Yes, I’m Star. Or Mrs. Gordon; this is my husband, Oscar Gordon. What is correct usage here? I’ve not been on this planet before.”
“Mrs. Gordon, Boondock is so new that its customs have not yet calcified. Almost any behavior is acceptable if meant in a kindly way. Anybody causes real trouble, it’s up to our chairman Ira Weatheral and advisers selected by him. Since Ira doesn’t like the job, he tends to procrastinate, hoping the problem will go away. As a result we don’t have much government and few customs.”
“A man after my own heart. Oscar, we could live here if they will have us. My successor is ready; I could retire.”
“Mrs. Gordon -“
“Yes, Doctor Long?”
“We – our chairman Ira especially – all know quite well who ‘Her Wisdom’ is. Ira would welcome you with open arms and resign in your favor at once – passed by acclamation and you would be boss for life. Better stick to the devil you know. But you are most welcome whenever you choose to visit.”
She sighed. “You’re right. Power is not readily surrendered; I’ll probably wait for assassination.”
Deety whispered, “Zebadiah… that bartender. Whom does he look like?”
“Hmm – Brigadier Iver Hird-Jones?”
“Well, maybe. A little. I was thinking of Colonel Morinosky.”
“Mmm – Yes. No importance since it can’t be either one. Mr. Gordon?”
“Call me ‘Easy.’ Or Oscar, Doctor Carter.”
“I’m Zeb. Is that the Lady herself? The sword you were in the Quest for the Egg of the Phoenix?”
Gordon looked delighted. “Yes! The Lady Vivamus.”
“Can’t ask a man to draw a sword without a cause… but is the inscription close enough to the hilt that we could read it if you were simply to show steel?”
“No trouble.” Gordon exposed the etched: Dum Vivimus, Vivamus! – gave them time to read it, clicked it to full return, and asked, “And is that the sword that killed the Boojum?”
“The Boo – Oh! The monster we call a ‘Black Hat.’ But we did not ‘softly and silently vanish away.'”
“No, it did. That will be a point we’ll discuss in the seminar panel: ‘Techniques for Hunting Snarks.’ You and I and Doctor Jacob and Doctor Hilda, with some others. André. Kat Moore. Fritz. Cliff. The Gordfather will moderate when he gets over his wheezes. Which he will-Tamara’s treating hi – Oh, heavens! Oh, God, how beautiful!”
The “sky” had opened, for their table, and they found themselves looking at the Field of the Cloth of Gold, a half klick away and a few meters above them, on and up to high, high, high in the sky, the shimmering towers and palaces of Valhalla, with the Rainbow Bridge reaching from the field of honor to the distant gate of the eternal home of heroes.
Instead of the wooded horizon usually seen in that direction, the land lifted in terraces, each more colorfully beautiful than the last, until the highest was lost in pink and saffron clouds – and above them, much higher, Valhalla in Asgard.

“Pappy!”
“Yes, Athene,” Lazarus said quietly. “Localize it. Me only. I have many people around me.”
“That’s better? No problems, just to alert you. Arthur and Isaac and Bob all arriving at once. Twelve minutes, plus two, minus zero.”
“You’re a smart girl, Teena.”
“Put that in writing. Blandjor.”
Lazarus said to the table at large, “My guests for those reserved spaces are arriving. I wasn’t sure of Isaac; he gets bigger every year and reluctant to travel other than by water. Arthur had such a long way to come and communications are always uncertain. Bob I knew was here but there were duty matters interfering. Shall we listen to some of the opening plenary while we look at the beauties of the Norse Afterland? We don’t want to look at the general session. But we can listen. When the tourney starts, give most of your attention to the hologram except during the Valkyrie ride. Snob! Give us the sound from the plenary session.”
They got it at once, sound and fury signifying nothing. Under its cover Jubal Harshaw said to Zebadiah, “Before they get on that panel in front of an audience, think about this. How many ‘Black Hats’ or ‘Boojums’ are there?”
“Eh? I have no way of telling. In excess of twenty as a best guess but that excess could be many millions, also a best guess.”
“But how many did you see?” Harshaw persisted.
“Oh. One. But more were a certainty.”
“So? You would never get a Fair Witness to say that. What harm did it or they do you?”
“Huh? Tried to kill us. Bombed us out. Killed my cousin. Chased us off our home planet. Impoverished all four of us. What do you want? Plagues and locusts? The Four Horsemen?”
“No. You saw one. You killed it. It never laid a glove on you. Think about it. Before you testify. Let’s listen.”

“If you read it correctly it’s all in the Bible. ‘In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.’ Could anyone ask for a plainer statement of the self-evident fact that nothing exists until someone imagines it and thereby gives it being, reality? The distinction lies only in the difference between ‘being’ and ‘becoming’ – a distinction that cancels out when any figment-fact is examined from different ends of the entropy error – “

“Bishop Berkeley is presiding,” Lazarus commented, “and would have shut this figment up save that the Bishop has laryngitis – imaginary, of course – and his parliamentarian, the Reverend Mister Dodgson, is too meek to shut anyone up. The Meek Shall Inherit the Earth, One Meter Wide and Two Meters Long.”

“If God displaces the Devil, he must assume the Devil’s attributes. How about giving the Devil equal time? God has the best press agents. Neither fair nor logical!”

“I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end, the first and the last.”

“Occam’s Razor is not the least hypothesis! It is the least probable hypothesis. The truth – “

“There are three schools of magic. One: State a tautology, then ring the changes on its corollaries; that’s philosophy. Two: Record many facts. Try to see a pattern. Then make a wrong guess at the next fact; that’s science. Three: Awareness that you live in a malevolent universe controlled by Murphy’s Law, sometimes offset in part by Brewster’s Factor: that’s engineering.”
“Why did Mercutio have to die? Solve that, and it will lead you to Mark Twain’s well. There’s your answer.”

“Who is more real? Homer or Ulysses? Shakespeare or Hamlet? Burroughs or Tarzan?”

The debate shut off, the giant hologram screen lighted up in heroic size, full depth and color, and the tedious voices were cut off by a loud and lively one: “While we’re waiting for the first two champions to reach their starting lines we will have ‘The Grand Canal’ sung by lovely Anne Passovoy and accompanied by Noisy on his Stomach Steinway. Noisy is not in voice today, friends; he was bitten last night by an imaginary snake.”
“Jerry is in good voice,” whispered Deety. “He always is. Aren’t they going to give us any closeups?” The camera zoomed in on Anne Passovoy, panned across the other Anne, cloaked in white, rested for a moment on “King” John and “Queen” Penelope, went on to show a vigorous old man with a halo of white hair who took a stogie out of his mouth and waved.
“On my right is Sir Tenderloinn the Brutal and on my left is the Black Knight, shield unblazoned, helm closed. Oh Jear not, friends; Holger tongues. Dis Dane could be our arrow. Whose color – “
Zebadiah heard a crash, turned his head. “They’re bringing in a big Corson flatboat. Smashed some chairs.” He looked again, announced, “Can’t see much, the stands on this side are filling with people in green uniforms. Black berets. Bloodthirsty-looking gang.”
“That’s Asprin -“
“Give me ten grains. Deety, you let me mix my drinks.”
“Asprin, not ‘aspirin.’ Bob Asprin, Commandammit of the Dorsai Very Irregular,” Lazarus told him. “But can you see Arthur?”
“Does he wear a deerstalker’s hat? Smoke a meerschaum pipe? The tall one there, talking to the man who looks like a gorilla.”
“He’d Challenge you for that. Violent temper. That’s Arthur’s party, all right. Doctor Arthur Conan Doyle. Doctor Watson should be there, too. Wups! Here comes Isaac. And there goes another bunch of chairs.”
“They’re off! The Masked Challenger is gaining speed, Sir Tenderloinn is having trouble getting his charger to move: It is a beautiful day here at Epsom Salts and Bifrost never looked lovelier.”
Lazarus stood up. “I must greet Isaac. Zebadiah, have you met him? Come with me. You, too, Deety. Hilda? Please, dear. Jake?”
“Just a moment, you!” Zeb looked at the one interrupting them and felt shock. He had seen that face, that uniform, by a rustic swimming pool. The “ranger” addressed Lazarus: “You’re the one they call the Executive Director. Special Agent L. Ron O’Leemy, InterSpace Patrol. I have warrants for Beowolf Shaeffer, Caspol Jones, and Zebadiah John Carter. Director, I require your cooperation. Article Four Six, Section Six Five, Paragraph Six, InterUniversal Criminal Code.”
“Unhorsed! The Black Knight’s lance right through him! Here come the Valkyries. Hoyotoho!”
Hilda reached out, took the warrants, tore them across. “You’re on the wrong planet, Mac.” She grasped Zeb’s arm. “Come along, Alfred; we must meet Isaac.”
They passed the Dorsai, reached the big Corson flatboat. Completely filling it was a very large Venerian Dragon. The dragon turned an eyestalk toward them; his tendrils touched his voder. “Greetings, Doctor Lazarus Long. Greetings, new friends. May you all die beautifully!”
“Greetings, Sir Isaac. Sir Isaac Newton, this is Doctor Hilda Burroughs Long, Doctor Jacob Burroughs Long, Doctor Deety Carter Long, and Doctor Zebadiah John Carter Long, all of my family.”
“I am honored, learned friends. May your deaths inspire a thousand songs. Doctor Hilda, we have a mutual friend, Professor Wogglebug.”
“Wait, wait! Don’t tear up your tickets. The Valkyries are having a problem. Yes, the judges have confirmed it. No contest! The Dane has ‘killed’ a totally empty suit of armor! Better luck next bout, Pou – Holger.”
“Oh, how delightful! Zebadiah and I saw him just this past week in delivering our children to Oz for the duration of this convention. Did I just miss you?”
The dragon answered, with a Cockney lisp, “No, we are pen pals only. He can’t leave Oz; I had never expected to leave Venus again… until your device – perhaps I should Say Doctor Jacob’s device – made it simple. But see what our friend Professor Wogglebug sent me – ” The dragon fiddled at a pouch under his voder.
The InterSpace Patrol Agent O’Leemy tapped Zeb on the shoulder. “I heard those introductions. Come along, Carter!”
” – spectacles to fit my forward stalks, that see through the thickest mist.” He put them on, looked around him. “They clarify any – There! Get him! Grab him! That Beast! Get his Number!” Without a lost instant Deety, Hilda, and Lazarus closed on the “agent” – and were left with torn clothes and plastic splints as the thing got loose. The “special agent” vaulted over the bar, was seen again almost instantly at the far end of the bar, jumped up on it, leapt for the canvas top, grabbed hold of the edge of the illusion hole, swung itself up, bounded for Bifrost, reached it.
Sir Isaac Newton played: “Mellrooney! The worst troublemaker in all the worlds. Lazarus, I never expected to find that Beast in your quiet retreat.”
“Nor did I until I heard all of Zeb’s story. This convention was called expecially to entice him. And it did. But we lost him, we lost him!”
“But I got its Number,” Hilda said and held out its shield: “666”
The fleeing figure, dark against the Rainbow Bridge, grew smaller and higher. Lazarus added, “Or perhaps we haven’t lost him. He’ll never get past Sarge Smith.”
The figure appeared to be several klicks high now, when the illusion suddenly broke. The Rainbow was gone, the terraces melted, the clouds were gone, the towers and castles of Asgard could no longer be seen.
In the middle distance, very high up, a figure was tumbling, twisting, falling. Zeb said, “Sarge won’t have to bother. We’ve seen the last of it.”
The voder answered: “Friend Zebadiah… are you sure?”

The End

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The Veldt (Full Text) by Ray Bradbury

There is nothing wrong with reading a nice piece of literature. That’s true, don’t you know. Lately, I’ve been thinking about Ray Bradbury. His writings are so… oh so… special.

It’s some of the best that the world can offer.

Here’s a great little gem of a story. Please enjoy.

The Veldt – Ray Bradbury

“George, I wish you’d look at the nursery. “What’s wrong with it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, then.”

“I just want you to look at it, is all, or call a psychologist in to look at it.” “What would a psychologist want with a nursery?”

“You know very well what he’d want.” His wife was standing in the middle of the kitchen watching the stove busy humming to itself, making supper for four.

“It’s just that it is different now than it was.” “All right, let’s have a look.”

They walked down the hall of their HappyLife Home, which had cost them thirty thousand dollars with everything included. This house which clothed and fed and rocked them to sleep and played and sang and was good to them. Their approach was sensed by a hidden switch and the nursery light turned on when they came within ten feet of it. Similarly, behind them, in the halls, lights went on and off automatically as they left them behind.

“Well,” said George Hadley. They stood on the grass-like floor of the nursery. It was forty feet across by forty feet long and thirty feet high; it had cost half again as much as the rest of the house. “But nothing’s too good for our children,” George had said.

The room was silent and empty. The walls were white and two dimensional. Now, as George and Lydia Hadley stood in the center of the room, the walls made a quiet noise and seemed to fall away into the distance. Soon an African veldt appeared, in three dimensions, on all sides, in color. It looked real to the smallest stone and bit of yellow summer grass. The ceiling above them became a deep sky with a hot yellow sun.

George Hadley started to sweat from the heat. “Let’s get out of this sun,” he said. “This is a little too real. But I don’t see anything wrong.”

“Wait a moment, you’ll see,” said his wife.

Now hidden machines were beginning to blow a wind containing prepared smells toward the two people in the middle of the baked veldt. The hot straw smell of lion grass, the cool green smell of the hidden water hole, the strong dried blood smell of the animals, the smell of dust like red pepper in the hot air. And now the sounds: the thump of distant antelope feet on soft grassy ground, the papery rustle of vultures. A shadow passed through the sky. George Hadley looked up, and as he watched the shadow moved across his sweating face. “Horrible creatures,” he heard his wife say.

“The vultures.”

“You see, there are the lions, far over, that way. Now they’re on their way to the water hole.

They’ve just been eating,” said Lydia. “I don’t know what.”

“Some animal.” George Hadley put his hand above his eyes to block off the burning light and looked carefully. “A zebra or a baby giraffe, maybe.”

“Are you sure?” His wife sounded strangely nervous.

“No, it’s a little late to be sure,” he said, with a laugh. “Nothing over there I can see but cleaned bone, and the vultures dropping for what’s left.”

“Did you hear that scream?” she asked. “No.”

“About a minute ago?” “Sorry, no.”

The lions were coming. And again George Hadley was filled with respect for the brilliant mind that had come up with the idea for this room. A wonder of efficiency selling for an unbelievably low price. Every home should have one. Oh, occasionally they frightened you with their realism, they made you jump, gave you a scare. But most of the time they were fun for everyone. Not only your own son and daughter, but for yourself when you felt like a quick trip to a foreign land, a quick change of scenery. Well, here it was!

And here were the lions now, fifteen feet away. They looked so real, so powerful and shockingly real, that you could feel the hairs stand up on the back of your neck. Your mouth was filled with the dusty smell of their heated fur. The yellow of the lions and the summer grass was in your eyes like a picture in an expensive French wall hanging. And there was the sound of the lions quick, heavy breaths in the silent mid-day sun, and the smell of meat from their dripping mouths.

The lions stood looking at George and Lydia Hadley with terrible green-yellow eyes. “Watch out!” screamed Lydia.

The lions came running at them. Lydia turned suddenly and ran. Without thinking, George ran after her. Outside in the hall, after they had closed the door quickly and noisily behind them, he was laughing and she was crying. And they both stood shocked at the other’s reaction.

“George!”

“Lydia! Oh, my dear poor sweet Lydia!” “They almost got us!”

“Walls, Lydia, remember; glass walls, that’s all they are. Oh, they look real, I must admit – Africa in your living room. But it’s all created from three dimensional color film behind glass screens. And the machines that deliver the smells and sounds to go with the scenery. Here’s my handkerchief.”

“I’m afraid.” She came to him and put her body against him and cried as he held her. “Did you see? Did you feel? It’s too real.”

“Now, Lydia…”

“You’ve got to tell Wendy and Peter not to read any more on Africa.” “Of course – of course.” He patted her.

“Promise?” “Sure.”

“And lock the nursery for a few days until I can get over this.”

“You know how difficult Peter is about that. When I punished him a month ago by locking it for even a few hours – the way he lost his temper! And Wendy too. They live for the nursery.”

“It’s got to be locked, that’s all there is to it.”

“All right.” Although he wasn’t happy about it, he locked the huge door. “You’ve been working too hard. You need a rest.”

“I don’t know – I don’t know,” she said, blowing her nose, sitting down in a chair that immediately began to rock and comfort her. “Maybe I don’t have enough to do. Maybe I have time to think too much. Why don’t we shut the whole house off for a few days and take a vacation?”

“You mean you want to fry my eggs for me?” “Yes.” She nodded.

“And mend my socks?”

“Yes.” She nodded again excitedly, with tears in her eyes. “And clean the house?”

“Yes, yes – oh, yes!”

“But I thought that’s why we bought this house, so we wouldn’t have to do anything?”

“That’s just it. I feel like I don’t belong here. The house is wife and mother now, and nurse for the children. Can I compete with an African veldt? Can I give a bath and clean the children as efficiently or quickly as the automatic body wash can? I cannot. And it isn’t just me. It’s you. You’ve been awfully nervous lately.”

“I suppose I have been smoking too much.”

“You look as if you didn’t know what to do with yourself in this house, either. You smoke a little more every morning and drink a little more every afternoon, and you are taking more pills to help you sleep at night. You’re beginning to feel unnecessary too.”

“Am I?” He thought for a moment as he and tried to feel into himself to see what was really there. “Oh, George!” She looked past him, at the nursery door. “Those lions can’t get out of there, can

they?”

He looked at the door and saw it shake as if something had jumped against it from the other side. “Of course not,” he said.

At dinner they ate alone, for Wendy and Peter were at a special plastic fair across town. They had called home earlier to say they’d be late. So George Hadley, deep in thought, sat watching the dining-room table produce warm dishes of food from the machines inside.

“We forgot the tomato sauce,” he said.

“Sorry,” said a small voice within the table, and tomato sauce appeared.

As for the nursery, thought George Hadley, it won’t hurt for the children to be locked out of it a while. Too much of anything isn’t good for anyone. And it was clearly indicated that the children had been spending a little too much time on Africa. That sun. He could still feel it on his neck, like a hot paw. And the lions. And the smell of blood. Remarkable how the nursery read the thoughts in the children’s minds and created life to fill their every desire. The children thought lions, and there were lions. The children thought zebras, and there were zebras. Sun – sun. Giraffes – giraffes. Death and death.

That last. He ate the meat that the table had cut for him without tasting it. Death thoughts. They were awfully young, Wendy and Peter, for death thoughts. Or, no, you were never too young, really. Long before you knew what death was you were wishing it on someone else. When you were two years old you were shooting people with toy guns.

But this – the long, hot African veldt. The awful death in the jaws of a lion. And repeated again and again.

“Where are you going?”

George didn’t answer Lydia… he was too busy thinking of something else. He let the lights shine softly on ahead of him, turn off behind him as he walked quietly to the nursery door. He listened against it. Far away, a lion roared. He unlocked the door and opened it. Just before he stepped inside, he heard a faraway scream. And then another roar from the lions, which died down quickly. He stepped into Africa.

How many times in the last year had he opened this door and found Wonderland with Alice and the Mock Turtle, or Aladdin and his Magical Lamp, or Jack Pumpkinhead of Oz, or Dr. Doolittle, or the cow jumping over a very real-looking moon. All the most enjoyable creations of an imaginary world. How often had he seen Pegasus the winged horse flying in the sky ceiling, or seen explosions of red fireworks, or heard beautiful singing.

But now, is yellow hot Africa, this bake oven with murder in the heat. Perhaps Lydia was right. Perhaps they needed a little vacation from the fantasy which was growing a bit too real for ten-year- old children. It was all right to exercise one’s mind with unusual fantasies, but when the lively child mind settled on one pattern..?

It seemed that, at a distance, for the past month, he had heard lions roaring, and noticed their strong smell which carried as far away as his study door. But, being busy, he had paid it no attention.

George Hadley stood on the African veldt alone. The lions looked up from their feeding, watching

him. The only thing wrong with the image was the open door. Through it he could see his wife, far down the dark hall, like a framed picture. She was still eating her dinner, but her mind was clearly on other things.

“Go away,” he said to the lions.

They did not go. He knew exactly how the room should work. You sent out your thoughts. Whatever you thought would appear. “Let’s have Aladdin and his lamp,” he said angrily. The veldt remained; the lions remained.

“Come on, room! I demand Aladdin!” he said.

Nothing happened. The lions made soft low noises in the hot sun. “Aladdin!”

He went back to dinner. “The fool room’s out of order,” he said. “It won’t change.” “Or…”

“Or what?”

“Or it can’t change,” said Lydia, “because the children have thought about Africa and lions and killing so many days that the room’s stuck in a pattern it can’t get out of.”

“Could be.”

“Or Peter’s set it to remain that way.” “Set it?”

“He may have got into the machinery and fixed something.” “Peter doesn’t know machinery.”

“He’s a wise one for ten. That I.Q. of his…” “But…”

“Hello, Mom. Hello, Dad.”

The Hadleys turned. Wendy and Peter were coming happily in the front door, with bright blue eyes and a smell of fresh air on their clothes from their trip in the helicopter.

“You’re just in time for supper,” said both parents.

“We’re full of strawberry ice-cream and hot dogs,” said the children, holding hands. “But we’ll sit and watch.”

“Yes, come tell us about the nursery,” said George Hadley.

The brother and sister looked at him and then at each other. “Nursery?”

“All about Africa and everything,” said the father with a false smile. “I don’t understand,” said Peter.

“Your mother and I were just traveling through Africa. “There’s no Africa in the nursery,” said Peter simply. “Oh, come now, Peter. We know better.”

“I don’t remember any Africa,” said Peter to Wendy. “Do you?” “No.”

“Run see and come tell.” She did as he told her.

“Wendy, come back here!” said George Hadley, but she was gone. The house lights followed her like fireflies. Too late, he realized he had forgotten to lock the nursery door after his last visit.

“Wendy’ll look and come tell us,” said Peter. “She doesn’t have to tell me. I’ve seen it.” “I’m sure you’re mistaken, Father.”

“I’m not, Peter. Come along now.”

But Wendy was back. “It’s not Africa,” she said breathlessly.

“We’ll see about this,” said George Hadley, and they all walked down the hall together and opened the door.

There was a green, lovely forest, a lovely river, a purple mountain, high voices singing. And there was Rima the bird girl, lovely and mysterious. She was hiding in the trees with colorful butterflies, like flowers coming to life, flying about her long hair. The African veldt was gone. The lions were gone. Only Rima was here now, singing a song so beautiful that it brought tears to your eyes.

George Hadley looked in at the changed scene. “Go to bed,” he said to the children. They opened their mouths.

“You heard me,” he said.

They went off to the air tube, where a wind blew them like brown leaves up to their sleeping rooms. George Hadley walked through the forest scene and picked up something that lay in the corner near

where the lions had been. He walked slowly back to his wife. “What is that?” she asked.

“An old wallet of mine,” he said. He showed it to her. The smell of hot grass was on it… and the smell of a lion. It was wet from being in the lion’s mouth, there were tooth marks on it, and there was dried blood on both sides. He closed the door and locked it, tight.

They went to up to bed but couldn’t sleep. “Do you think Wendy changed it?” she said at last, in the dark room.

“Of course.”

“Made it from a veldt into a forest and put Rima there instead of lions?” “Yes.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. But it’s staying locked until I find out.” “How did your wallet get there?”

“I don’t know anything,” he said, “except that I’m beginning to be sorry we bought that room for the children. If children are suffering from any kind of emotional problem, a room like that…”

“It’s supposed to help them work off their emotional problems in a healthy way.” “I’m starting to wonder.” His eyes were wide open, looking up at the ceiling.

“We’ve given the children everything they ever wanted. Is this our reward – secrecy, not doing what we tell them?”

“Who was it said, ‘Children are carpets, they should be stepped on occasionally’? We’ve never lifted a hand. They’re unbearable – let’s admit it. They come and go when they like; they treat us as if we were the children in the family. They’re spoiled and we’re spoiled.”

“They’ve been acting funny ever since you wouldn’t let them go to New York a few months ago.” “They’re not old enough to do that alone, I explained.”

“I know, but I’ve noticed they’ve been decidedly cool toward us since.”

“I think I’ll have David McClean come tomorrow morning to have a look at Africa.” “But it’s not Africa now, it’s South America and Rima.”

“I have a feeling it’ll be Africa again before then.”

A moment later they heard the screams. Two screams. Two people screaming from downstairs. And then a roar of lions.

“Wendy and Peter aren’t in their rooms,” said his wife.

He lay in his bed with his beating heart. “No,” he said. “They’ve broken into the nursery.”

“Those screams – they sound familiar.” “Do they?”

“Yes, awfully.”

And although their beds tried very hard, the two adults couldn’t be rocked to sleep for another hour. A smell of cats was in the night air.

* * * “Father?” asked Peter the next morning.

“Yes.”

Peter looked at his shoes. He never looked at his father any more, nor at his mother. “You aren’t going to lock up the nursery for good, are you?”

“That all depends.”

“On what?” said Peter sharply.

“On you and your sister. If you break up this Africa with a little variety – oh, Sweden perhaps, or Denmark or China…”

“I thought we were free to play as we wished.” “You are, within reasonable limits.”

“What’s wrong with Africa, Father?”

“Oh, so now you admit you have been thinking up Africa, do you?” “I wouldn’t want the nursery locked up,” said Peter coldly. “Ever.”

“Matter of fact, we’re thinking of turning the whole house off for about a month. Live sort of a happy family existence.”

“That sounds terrible! Would I have to tie my own shoes instead of letting the machine do it? And brush my own teeth and comb my hair and give myself a bath?”

“It would be fun for a change, don’t you think?”

No, it would be horrible. I didn’t like it when you took out the picture painter last month.” “That’s because I wanted you to learn to paint all by yourself, son.”

“I don’t want to do anything but look and listen and smell; what else is there to do?” “All right, go play in Africa.”

“Will you shut off the house sometime soon?” “We’re considering it.”

“I don’t think you’d better consider it any more, Father.” “I won’t have any threats from my son!”

“Very well.” And Peter walked off to the nursery.

* * * “Am I on time?” said David McClean. “Breakfast?” asked George Hadley.

“Thanks, had some. What’s the trouble?” “David, you’re a psychologist.”

“I should hope so.”

“Well, then, have a look at our nursery. You saw it a year ago when you dropped by; did you notice anything unusual about it then?”

“Can’t say I did; the usual violences, a tendency toward a slight paranoia here or there. But this is usual in children because they feel their parents are always doing things to make them suffer in one way or another. But, oh, really nothing.”

They walked down the hall. “I locked it up,” explained the father, “and the children broke back into it during the night. I let them stay so they could form the patterns for you to see.”

There was a terrible screaming from the nursery.

“There it is,” said George Hadley. “See what you make of it.”

They walked in on the children without knocking. The screams had stopped. The lions were feeding.

“Run outside a moment, children,” said George Hadley. “No, don’t change the mental picture. Leave the walls as they are. Get!”

With the children gone, the two men stood studying the lions sitting together in the distance, eating with great enjoyment whatever it was they had caught.

“I wish I knew what it was,” said George Hadley. “Sometimes I can almost see. Do you think if I brought high-powered binoculars here and…”

David McClean laughed dryly. “Hardly.” He turned to study all four walls. “How long has this been going on?”

“A little over a month.”

“It certainly doesn’t feel good.” “I want facts, not feelings.”

“My dear George, a psychologist never saw a fact in his life. He only hears about feelings; things that aren’t always clearly expressed. This doesn’t feel good, I tell you. Trust me. I have a nose for something bad. This is very bad. My advice to you is to have the whole damn room torn down and your children brought to me every day during the next year for treatment.”

“Is it that bad?”

“I’m afraid so. One of the original uses of these rooms was so that we could study the patterns left on the walls by the child’s mind. We could study them whenever we wanted to, and help the child. In this case, however, the room has become a means of creating destructive thoughts, instead of helping to make them go away.”

“Didn’t you sense this before?”

“I sensed only that you had spoiled your children more than most. And now you’re letting them down in some way. What way?”

“I wouldn’t let them go to New York.” “What else?”

“I’ve taken a few machines from the house and threatened them, a month ago, with closing up the nursery unless they did their homework. I did close it for a few days to show I meant business.”

“Ah, ha!”

“Does that mean anything?”

“Everything. Where before they had a Santa Claus now they have a Scrooge. Children prefer Santa. You’ve let this room and this house replace you and your wife in your children’s feelings. This room is their mother and father, far more important in their lives than their real parents. And now you come along and want to shut it off. No wonder there’s hatred here. You can feel it coming out of the sky. Feel that sun. George, you’ll have to change your life. Like too many others, you’ve built it around creature comforts. Why, you’d go hungry tomorrow if something went wrong in your kitchen. You wouldn’t know how to cook an egg. All the same, turn everything off. Start new. It’ll take time. But we’ll make good children out of bad in a year, wait and see.”

“But won’t the shock be too much for the children, shutting the room up without notice, for good?” “I don’t want them going any deeper into this, that’s all.”

The lions were finished with their bloody meat. They were standing on the edge of the clearing watching the two men.

“Now I’m feeling worried,” said McClean. “Let’s get out of here. I never have cared for these damned rooms. Make me nervous.”

“The lions look real, don’t they?” said George Hadley. I don’t suppose there’s any way…” “What?”

“…that they could become real?” “Not that I know.”

“Some problem with the machinery, someone changing something inside?” “No.”

They went to the door.

“I don’t imagine the room will like being turned off,” said the father. “Nothing ever likes to die – even a room.”

“I wonder if it hates me for wanting to switch it off?”

“Paranoia is thick around here today,” said David McClean. “You can see it everywhere. Hello.” He bent and picked up a bloody scarf. “This yours?”

“No.” George Hadley’s face set like stone. “It belongs to Lydia.”

They went to the control box together and threw the switch that killed the nursery.

The two children were so upset that they couldn’t control themselves. They screamed and danced around and threw things. They shouted and cried and called them rude names and jumped on the furniture.

“You can’t do that to the nursery, you can’t!” “Now, children.”

The children threw themselves onto a sofa, crying.

“George,” said Lydia Hadley, “turn it on again, just for a few moments. You need to give them some more time.”

“No.”

“You can’t be so cruel…”

“Lydia, it’s off, and it stays off. And the whole damn house dies as of here and now. The more I see of the mess we’ve put ourselves in, the more it sickens me. We’ve been thinking of our machine assisted selves for too long. My God, how we need a breath of honest air!”

And he marched about the house turning off the voice clocks, the stoves, the heaters, the shoe cleaners, the body washer, the massager, and every other machine he could put his hand to.

The house was full of dead bodies, it seemed. It felt like a mechanical cemetery. So silent. None of

the humming hidden energy of machines waiting to function at the tap of a button.

“Don’t let them do it!” cried Peter to the ceiling, as if he was talking to the house, the nursery. “Don’t let Father kill everything.” He turned to his father. “Oh, I hate you!”

“Saying things like that won’t get you anywhere.” “I wish you were dead!”

“We were, for a long while. Now we’re going to really start living. Instead of being handled and massaged, we’re going to live.”

Wendy was still crying and Peter joined her again. “Just a moment, just one moment, just another moment of nursery,” they cried.

“Oh, George,” said the wife, “it can’t hurt.”

“All right – all right, if they’ll just shut up. One minute, mind you, and then off forever.” “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!” sang the children, smiling with wet faces.

“And then we’re going on a vacation. David McClean is coming back in half an hour to help us move out and get to the airport. I’m going to dress. You turn the nursery on for a minute, Lydia, just a minute, mind you.”

And the three of them went off talking excitedly while he let himself be transported upstairs through the air tube and set about dressing himself. A minute later Lydia appeared.

“I’ll be glad when we get away,” she said thankfully. “Did you leave them in the nursery?”

“I wanted to dress too. Oh, that horrible Africa. What can they see in it?”

“Well, in five minutes we’ll be on our way to Iowa. Lord, how did we ever get in this house? What made us buy a nightmare?”

“Pride, money, foolishness.”

“I think we’d better get downstairs before those kids spend too much time with those damned beasts again.”

Just then they heard the children calling, “Daddy, Mommy, come quick – quick!”

They went downstairs in the air tube and ran down the hall. The children were nowhere in sight. “Wendy? Peter!”

They ran into the nursery. The veldt was empty save for the lions waiting, looking at them. “Peter, Wendy?”

The door closed loudly.

“Wendy, Peter!”

George Hadley and his wife turned quickly and ran back to the door.

“Open the door!” cried George Hadley, trying the handle. “Why, they’ve locked it from the outside! Peter!” He beat at the door. “Open up!”

He heard Peter’s voice outside, against the door.

“Don’t let them switch off the nursery and the house,” he was saying.

Mr. and Mrs. George Hadley beat at the door. “Now, don’t be silly, children. It’s time to go. Mr. McClean’ll be here in a minute and…”

And then they heard the sounds.

The lions were on three sides of them in the yellow veldt grass. They walked quietly through the dry grass, making long, deep rolling sounds in their throats. The lions!

Mr. Hadley looked at his wife and they turned and looked back at the beasts edging slowly forward, knees bent, tails in the air.

Mr. and Mrs. Hadley screamed.

And suddenly they realized why those other screams had sounded familiar.

* * *

“Well, here I am,” said David McClean from the nursery door. “Oh, hello.” He looked carefully at the two children seated in the center of the room eating a little picnic lunch. On the far them he could see the water hole and the yellow veldt. Above was the hot sun. He began to sweat. “Where are your father and mother?”

The children looked up and smiled. “Oh, they’ll be here directly.” “Good, we must get going.”

At a distance Mr. McClean saw the lions fighting over something and then quietening down to feed in silence under the shady trees. He put his hand to his eyes to block out the sun and looked at them. Now the lions were done feeding. They moved to the water hole to drink. A shadow moved over Mr. McClean’s hot face. Many shadows moved. The vultures were dropping down from the burning sky.

“A cup of tea?” asked Wendy in the silence.

The End

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What a full-on surveillance state looks like; Hong Kong and the USA funded NED insurgency.

We often talk (and complain) about the bad side of the new Orwellian police state that all nations are morphing into. Yet, with all of our moaning, groaning, and complaining we neglect to look at the more positive aspects. No, this is not an article in praise of the Orwellian Police State. Instead, we look at how intense monitoring of enormous populations, using high resolution cameras and 5G networks enable full “real time” tracking of agitators and hooligans. Especially those from another nation. Ones that are intended to destabilize, and cause strife, for global political ends.

In particular, we will look at the tracking (by China) of the United States agitation in the (so called) “Free Democracy” movement in Hong Kong during the Summer of 2019.

Quick Review

The United States under President Donald Trump has been involved in difficult negotiations with China over trade. These negotiations began in 2017, and “heated up” in early Summer of 2019. During the Summer of 2019 mass “Pro Democracy” protests broke out in Hong Kong. The idea, of course, has been to put every type and means of “pressure” on China so that the trade negotiations would fall in favor of the United States.

I covered the Chinese reaction to all this here. The link below opens up into a separate tab so as not to interrupt your viewing pleasure in this article.

Chinese reaction to the Trump Tariff Wars.

These “pressures” included such things as…

Increasing Tariffs on Chinese made products.
Protests and disruptions in Hong Kong.
Asking European Nations to stop or break trade with China.
Financial incentives to other nations.
Pressure on American companies to move back to the USA.

Time will tell just how effective they will all be.

What I do know, as of the time of this writing, at the tail-end of September moving forward into the 70th anniversary of China, the following is true…

[1] International Trade

There is a GLOBAL slowing of all international trade.
International trade, across the board is reduced by 30%.
Companies located in strong pro-USA nations (Australia, NZ, and the UK) are looking for alternative off-shore supply chain operations outside of China. But there just aren’t any.

[2] American Trade With China

China has also surprised Americans with the most complete supply chains  in the world. "You need a thousand rubber gaskets? That's the factory  next door. You need a million screws? That factory is a block away. You  need that screw made a little bit different? It will take three hours,"  one former high-ranking Apple executive was quoted as saying in a New  York Times report. 

- Smaller US companies depend on Chinese supply chain

The clear majority of American companies are staying inside of China. This is out of financial necessity. They do not have the financial means to take on the enormous financial risks to relocate back to the USA.
Those American companies are passing on the tariffs directly to the American consumer (25% direct) or (10% through a “pass through” arrangement).
But all accounts, the tariff situation is hurting American consumers much more than it is hurting China.

Read about the reasons here. Opens in a separate tab.

The logistics of relocating a facotry from China back to the USA.

[3] Cut in American Food Items for Export

The cut in importation of American foodstuffs has resulted in the increase in the price of food. But not in the availability of food. China has food galore and a-plenty.
This goes absolutely against the American media narrative. Which on some websites are even suggesting famine! It’s insane. Ah, but, it’s easy enough to check.
China has spent the last thirty years building up their self-sufficiency in food, technology and vital products. They have not forgotten the mistakes made under Communism under Mr. Mao.

Now, of course, there are all kinds of different cuts of pork. It would be like comparing apples and watermelons if we use different cuts of pork. But, you know what, we work with what we have to work with.

Here is a flier showing one of the more expensive cuts of pork (it’s the Chinese national holiday, after all, ) Never the less, you can clearly see that a pork roast costs 17.8 RMB / half a Kg in October. Where in January (before the trade embargoes) a cheap cut of pork shoulder costs 12.8 RMB / half a Kg.

At which I would like to remind the reader that China is a bacon-loving nation. They love their pork and out-produces pork products that makes America look like teeny-boppers.

China, with it’s enormous population, does not need food imports to exist. China is an enormous breadbasket. Farms exist everywhere. For instance, did you know that China has more pigs than the next 43 pork producing countries combined.

Yeah. America is a light-weight in pork production.

Pork in China. — The Chinese love pork. This is a nation that loves bacon. They love pork chops, and all sorts of pork products.

China does not need any imports of food to feed it’s people. It is self-sufficient.

China feeds 22 percent of the world population with only seven percent of the planet's arable land. Land is heavily utilized for agriculture. Vegetables are planted on road embankments, in traffic triangles and right up the walls of many buildings.

China is the world's top consumer of meat and grain. As it becomes more affluent people consume more meat and cooking oil and this has lead to increased demand for soybeans as an oil source and feed for livestock. China also uses more fertilizer that any other country.

According to United Nations statistics, China's cereal production is the largest in the world. In 2003 China produced 377 million tons, or 18.1 percent of total world production. Its plant oil crops---at 15 million tons in 2003---are a close second to those of the United States and amounted to 12.6 percent of total world production.

Lauren Keane wrote in the Washington Post, “China has a long-standing policy of food self-sufficiency, growing 95 percent of the grain required to feed its people. The country's sheer size means that a major crop failure or other food emergency here could have international ramifications, overwhelming world food markets with sudden demand. "Were China to need to import a large amount of grain, it would have a very dramatic impact on world food prices," said Anthea Webb, director of World Food Program China. [Source:Lauren Keane, Washington Post, May 31, 2010]

-Facts and Details

The idea that China cannot feed it’s people comes from the late 1960’s when the Communist central government failed in the implementation of policy. Taking advantage of that situation was a SJW moment known as the Cultural Revolution. It collapsed when the military had to be called into to restore order and control.

[4] Discarding of the United States Dollar

For a full half a century, the world used the USD to conduct international business and trade. This was advantageous for the United States. As the value of the dollar could be artificially propped up as the entire world was using this currency, and it was able to “float” upon the stability of the economies of multiple nations.

Not so any longer. Each time a nation stops using the USD as a currency for international trade, the stability of the USD decreases.

Numerous nations are starting to conduct trade in the Yuan instead of the US Dollar.
Numerous nations are buying up gold and increasing their gold reserves.
America has countered to this by printing more money, and taking on more debt.

Maybe these nations know something that many Americans aren’t.

Anyways…

In the forefront of all these various issues, we have the (so called) “Pro Democracy” movement in HK. This is an effort that is designed to destabilize the region as a way to put pressure on China.

Indeed, Donald Trump himself tweeted to Xi Peng in September that all the protests in HK would end abruptly if China agreed to the USA trade concessions. 

How could Donald Trump say that if he wasn't able to make that happen?

The “Pro Democracy Movement”

I covered this subject in great deal elsewhere. If you want to find out who the players are, the stakes involved, the money that changes hands, and the interests of the American “deep state” swamp you can clink on this link below. It opens up in a separate tab so as not to interrupt your reading pleasure here.

The US involvement in the HK "Democracy Now" movement.

In order to put pressure on China, Donald Trump utilized a branch of the CIA known as the National Endowment for Democracy or NED.

This is all well known as the “paper trail” for the funding is public knowledge. Indeed, groups in the coalition reaped hundreds of thousands of dollars from the NED and NDI last year alone.

You know… for “democracy” around the world.

While US lawmakers nominate Hong Kong protest leaders for peace prizes and pump their organizations with money to “promote democracy,” the demonstrations have begun to spiral out of control.

And the people used to [1] instigate the riots, [2] train the protestors, arrange and [3] organize the newsmen and cameras and [4] teach and instruct the rioters for “soft conflicts” used to [5] provoke violent actions by the HK Police all have LinkedIN profiles.

Don’t you know.

So, even a dweeb like myself can [1] track the funding, [2] see the names and addresses of the agitators, and [3] view where they are and what they are doing in Hong Kong.

Just imagine what the Chinese government can do.

But Hong Kong is not America. It is part of China.

As Americans, especially those who have never stepped foot outside of America, think of other nations, other people and other cities from our point of view. That is to say, we imagine the WORST outside the USA. And never give the other nations any credit for doing certain things well. We just assume that they are all blunder-head nincompoops.

When we think of Hong Kong, we think of New York city.

Night meal in Hong Kong. Yup. It's pretty much like this. And, yes, I do love it. It's glorious. — Night meal in Hong Kong. Yup. It’s pretty much like this. And, yes, I do love it. It’s glorious.

Which is sad.

We should be thinking of Tokyo. We should be thinking of High-Tech (though not nearly as high-tech as Shenzhen), and state of the art. China is advancing in so, so , SO many ways and NONE of it is being reported by the mainstream American media.

We think, maybe that there are a few cameras here and there. We think that maybe the video feeds are being monitored, or that the traffic police are checking things out.

We don’t realize that the entire city is under constant advanced surveillance. And that China knows exactly what is going on in great detail.

Here, we are going to talk about this.

5G networks in all the Chinese cities

In the USA, there is an active program to justify why America is still using obsolete technology. “We don’t want to be irradiated with that dangerous 5G radio waves”, we say to ourselves. “We don’t want our brains cooked”.

Yeah. We heard it all before.

We Americans don’t want or need High Speed Rail. We are just happy with boarding our cattle-car-airlines, and paying the enormous ticket prices. We like doing it. HST has no place in America. Besides we have Amtrak!

Who cares about fluoride in the water? It’s a great way to get rid of the by-products of aluminum production. Fluoride is good for us. It’s modern, don’t you know.

America is great!

And a wall on the border of the USA and Mexico. It’s been three years and America can’t even construct a simple, singular wall. You know you have a problem when illiterate goat-herders in Afghanistan can make a half-decent wall and the great United States can’t even start…

Well, while Americans are justifying living in a nation that is increasingly becoming a “time portal” back to the last century, the rest of the world is advancing at break-neck speed.

Most of Africa has a growing and vibrant middle class, with malls, toll booths, and high speed (5G) internet. The Middle East (outside of the American-sponsored war zones) are all prospering. Check out the photos, for goodness sakes!

America is still stuck in the 1970’s I guess.

You can tell.

People still write checks instead of scan QR codes.
AM radio has the largest listening audience.
Everything comes with a price tag. Nothing is free, including water.
Software still has the same functionality as it did in the 1990’s, only now it has a nicer interface, but you must pay for updates and it auto copies your work “to the cloud” for governmental purposes.

China is different.

They have implemented 5G everywhere. There are cameras everywhere. And instead of paying people to collect welfare, have free healthcare, and protest for more goodies, China puts them to work. They are employed. They build things, clean things, work on things and monitor things.

Yes, and Hong Kong is constantly being monitored.

China is aware of everything.

One of the mysteries that I had was why didn’t the Chinese just “take out” the agitators? I mean, it was public knowledge who they were.

The HK populace are getting increasingly pissed off with the Antifa-style interruptions, and they are actively unmasking (literally) the protester participants. And, of course, everyone knows that everything you do is tracked in China. HK is NOT an exception.

So why not “take out the agitators”?

And then they actually did…

On Wednesday 4SEP19, President Trump reached out to China’s President Xi in a tweet:

“I know President Xi of China very well. He is a  great leader who very much has the respect of his people. He is also a  good man in a ‘tough business.’ I have ZERO doubt that if President Xi  wants to quickly and humanely solve the Hong Kong problem, he can do it.  Personal meeting? ”

-Donald Trump

So what is Donald Trump saying?

That’s he’s ready to stop the HK protests if Xi Peng negotiates.
Or, perhaps that China can use their military to enter HK.

So.. the Chinese went forth and rounded up all the CIA related NED operatives in Hong Kong.

The video footage was pretty darn dramatic.

It’s all in 5G. You can even count the eyebrow hair on the American CIA agents. The Chinese had everything. From complete transcripts of the CIA instructing the rioters in “soft conflict” designed to provoke a military reaction, to a second by second, “walk through” where Trump advisors worked out planning with the protest leadership.

It’s all there.

Not televised in the USA, though.

Man! The Chinese knew everything!

People, it’s pretty obvious that Washington D.C. is involved in the HK protests, when you have photos of the protest leaders meeting with American presidential aides!

Check out the photo below. Notice the angle of the photo. Taken by an object on a dining room table. (Below belt level.)

This is very very embarrassing.  Julie Eadeh, a  US diplomat in Hong Kong, was caught meeting HK protest leaders.  It  would be hard to imagine the US reaction if Chinese diplomat were  meeting leaders of Occupy Wall Street, Black Lives Matter or Never Trump  protesters. pic.twitter.com/JfiU2O2HZq 

— Chen Weihua (@chenweihua) August 8, 2019

Of course, this kind of nonsense won’t be tolerated by China.

The Office of the Commissioner of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in Hong Kong submitted a formal complaint with the US consulate general, calling on the US …

“to immediately make a  clean break from  anti-China forces who stir up trouble in Hong Kong,  stop sending out  wrong signals to violent offenders, refrain from  meddling with Hong  Kong affairs and avoid going further down the wrong  path.”

The Chinese knew everything.

Everything. And they expected the United States to realize (and expect it).

They didn’t.

From the moment that Julie Eadeh stepped foot in Hong Kong, to how many steps she took to the elevator. They knew her heart-beat as she rode in the elevator in the Marriott. They even knew the color of the bra and panties that she wore. (Well, at least that is the current joke on Chinese social media…)

They know everything she said with the young protestors.

Everything.

Everything. From, promises, various “guarantees”, words of support and hope for assistance. As well as implications and guarantees of a cushy future and financial support in all sorts of ways. Any outsider can clearly see the implied promises under the veneer of political jargon.

Promises of free high-end university schooling .
Promises that they will be backed politically and that they will become the future leaders of HK.
Promises of houses, cars, and lifestyle,
Promises of money, lots and lots of money.

As well as who they are, and what they told her. Then they used “Minority Report” style technology to back-track and see who all the connections and phone calls that the confederates made. They had full conversation records, don’t you know.

The Chinese knew everything.

Of Course the CIA instructed the protestors.

It’s all on video. It’s all recorded in audio, and transcribed in English, Cantonese and Chinese. And then, then… then, plastered all over social media for the Chinese to see. Woo woo. What ever the American media is saying, the videos that the rest of the world watch clearly show that the United States is LYING.

It makes the United States look like some kind of Keystone Kops.

The protestors were instructed by NED to take out cameras and video systems. They were told to use black cans of spray paint.

Yes, but every can of black spray paint purchased in Hong Kong is recorded with a video of the person buying the paint. The Chinese government knows the person who bought the paint, and can make reasonable assumptions on it’s use. (The Chinese do not need to prove intent in a court of law.)

They were instructed to post flyers on the walls, use glue to hold them in place, and make banners.

But, every printer shop is under surveillance. Every one has video cameras installed. They know who ordered the flyers. They even have the PDF artwork in digital file from which the flyers were made. They know who ordered the fliers, when they ordered, who they paid and from which bank account. They also know the moneys that went into that bank account and who deposited the money.

They were instructed to leave their phones at home. And, I am sure that this helped. Maybe.

However, every person in China has a profile of “normal” behavior. If you take your phone with you every day, and then suddenly on a day of protest, you phone is at you house of residence, when the video cameras show you leaving the house, the police pretty much assumes what you are up to.

They were instructed in what to do by the CIA under the assumption that the Chinese are a growing third-world nation. Maybe like Libya or Syria.

They are not treating China like a high-technology version of Japan. They are not treating China like a serious, serious, SERIOUS nation that does not play around.

Conclusion

All of China is wired as a high-technology surveillance center. The larger cities are all wired. The Western cities (Hong Kong, Shanghai and Beijing) pretty much follow the “London model” of domestic surveillance.

While America has been busy throwing money away …

In “NASA educational programs for elementary schools in the Sudan”.
War after war. Now, eight simultaneous wars.
And 15 miles of rail for a High Speed Train that was never intended to be anything other than a political slush fund to pay off people.

… the Chinese have been spending their money on their nation. Improving the roads, public transport, lines and means of communication, public works, buildings, and public health. Not to mention, planting trees, making parks, and increasing the amount of farmland.

And they are dead serious about it. These Chinese are very, very serious people. Those that oppose or try to siphon away money are seized, arrested and imprisoned by the corruption police.

The Chinese do not mess around.

Thus when the United States tried to use the same “play book” to agitate protests in Hong Kong in the Summer of 2019, the Chinese observed and leveraged that information. Then when the time was ready, they pounced.

Round #1 – China win. USA media oblivious.

I anticipate another series of protests that the Chinese will observe, and then quietly (behind the scenes) squelch. Maybe in the first week of October 2019.

They will do so and the American television viewing public will be confused. They will wonder “what is going on”? Why doesn’t China relent and allow HK to be just like America?

Round #2 – TBD

It’s because the main-steam media (both conservative and progressive) provides a skewed nonsensical narrative. One that has no bearing on the true and actual state of affairs. And that ignorance… will be what ultimately hurts and harms America.

People! Listen up!

America NEEDS a well-informed electorate to function properly. To think that the vast bulk of Chinese citizens, both on the mainland, and in Hong Kong want America “to save them” is ludicrous. Absolutely bovine excrement!

Looking at the big picture, it looks silly…

The truth about the HK pro-democracy movement and the tariff wars.

Just silly. It make the United States look… well… awful.

Predictions

I cannot predict the future. It has been my experience that the future will always certainly surprise. Anything can happen.

Anything.

Anything.

Donald Trump could be impeached.
Joe Biden or some other Marxist could become President.
Anti-gun house-to-house collection efforts might begin in earnest.
The USA could start a war with Iran.
Bacon could be banned all over America so not to offend Muslims.
Taxes could be raised 50% to fight global-warming.
Gender-neutral operations could be mandated in all American elementary schools.

I do not know what is going to happen. I am always taken by surprise, and I haven’t a clue as to what is going to happen in the future. Maybe some more of the old same-old same-old, eh?

The future will surprise…

I never expected "Joe Camel" to be banned in the United States "for the children". — I never expected “Joe Camel” to be banned in the United States “for the children”. Heck, by law, you had to be at least 16 years old just to be able to buy the cigarettes.

It has certainly surprised me. Time and time again, what I expected to happen, never came true…

I expected the United States to have a full colony on the moon by the year 2000. I never, in my wildest dreams, thought that the money would befunneled away for infrastructure investments in Russia! — I expected the United States to have a full colony on the moon by the year 2000. I never, in my wildest dreams, thought that the money would be funneled away for infrastructure investments in Russia! As well as some social re-engineering initiatives in Baltimore, Detroit and San Francisco.

Not just objectively, but socially as well, and on so many levels at that. Don’t you know.

I never expected that 007 James Bond would be replaced with a black woman. Never, in my wildest nightmares. It’s not yet released. I wouldn’t be surprised if she is some kind of transgender LGBT thingy.

The future cannot be predicted. Not by myself. Not by anyone.

I never, in my wildest dreams, expected companies to do away with free coffee and coffee services. That they would expect the employees to "chip in" and pay for the coffee that they would drink at work. Amazing, and completely unexpected! — I never, in my wildest dreams, expected companies to do away with free coffee and coffee services. That they would expect the employees to “chip in” and pay for the coffee that they would drink at work. Amazing, and completely unexpected!

The future will always surprise.

In the trade front, it’s all in flux. What I really hope for is a strengthening of relationships. I hope for balanced trade without influence by the greedy in Washington D.C. and a chance for American industry to recover from the devastation of the Marxist globalist agenda. I can see it being a win-win for both the USA and China.

Seriously! China is an enormous market. They would pay a premium (+50% more) for “Made in America” products. But that is never going to happen if China matches the Trump tariff scheme. It just will close American companies to the enormous Chinese consumer market.

Right now, and for the last three years, the tariff negotiations have been driven by the Neocon advisors to Trump. They have asked the impossible and set up road-blocks at every turn.

Jimmy Lai (HK billionaire) meets with American VP Mike Pence. — Jimmy Lai (HK ultra-billionaire) meets with American VP Mike Pence. His goal is to disrupt the relationship between the United States and China so that he can have financial and economic advantage in Hong Kong. His primary and sole goal is to INTERRUPT the relationship between China and America.

This is actionable disruption, and while it might make some political “hay” in the short term, it will result in some real serious problems in America in the long term.

Donald Trump fired John Bolton. He obviously felt that John Bolton was not "on the same page" in resolving the issues with China at this time. — Donald Trump fired John Bolton. He obviously felt that John Bolton was not “on the same page” in resolving the issues with China at this time.

As I have previously stated, John Bolton is a war-hawk and a neo-con from the “deep state”. He has opposed every effort that Trump has made to negotiate with China, North Korea, and Iran. In his world view these are all dictatorial nations and America must stand firm in opposing them in every way possible.

He’s wrong. Donald Trump is what America needs right now, but those neocon ideas of his are dangerous and are from another generation. They have no pace in the world today.

Understand that the rest of the world does not think like Americans. They do not watch American media and do not care what Americans think. They will follow nations that seemingly benefit THEM in the future.

They will be selfish. They will work with nations that provide them with benefit.

That being stated, do not make dated assumptions on the inflated capabilities of the United States, and upon the out-of-date ideas about China. I said it once, I said it twice. I will say it again. China is a serious, serious nation. They DO NOT PLAY. We had best start treating them as such.

Finally.

Do not think that China is not afraid to kill a few people for the greater public good. They will do so in a heart-beat.

Do not judge China under the same criteria that you might judge America. It is like comparing apples to an oak tree.

Chinese Social Media

You do not need to rely on CNN, Fox or Rush Limbaugh for your news. You can [1] watch the videos of the CIA agents getting arrested yourselves. You can [2] read what the “Joe on the streets” thinks about the protests. You can [3] see what is going on in the other side of the world with your own two eyes.

America needs an informed electorate to function properly.

Here’s some links to Chinese social media. Warning, most are banned in the United States. You might need to use a VPN to use them. You do know that the Software moguls in California does not like competition.

10-10-2019 Update.

I posted this article under “bloggers” in the Free Republic website, and was subsequently banned. I guess they do not like my opinions.

Never the less, immediately afterwards, it turned out the the United States government admitted that everything in this post is true, and that was posted on the well-known Washington Post.

US Now Admits it is Funding “Occupy Central” in Hong Kong

Then they totally blocked me. Erased my 20+ years of articles and comments, and I became a non-person. That’s what “freedom of speech” is on Free Republic. You will conform to the Alt-Right narrative out of Washington DC, or you get destroyed.

Well, I was “killed”, but…

..everything I wrote was accurate, and real. And thus…

28JUN20 Update.

Update 28JUN20. Donald Trump decided to stop funding the protests in Hong Kong.

Links about China

Here are some links about my observations on China. I think that you, the reader, might find them to be of interest. Please kindly enjoy.

When the SJW movement took control of China

China and America Comparisons

As an American, I cannot help but compare what my life was in the United States with what it is like living in China. Here we discuss that.

The Chinese Business KTV Experience

This is the real deal. Forget about all that nonsense that you find in the British tabloids and an occasional write up in the American liberal press. This is the reality. Read or not.

Learning About China

Who doesn’t like to look at pretty girls? Ugly girls? Here we discuss what China is like by looking at videos of pretty girls doing things in China.

Contemporaneous Chinese Music

This is a series of posts that discuss contemporaneous popular music in China. It is a wide ranging and broad spectrum of travel, and at that, all that I am able to provide is the flimsiest of overviews. However, this series of posts should serve as a great starting place for investigation and enjoyment.

Part 3 - The contemporaneous music of China.

part 3B - The contemporaneous music of China.

Part 4 - The contemporaneous popular music of China.

Part 5 - The contemporaneous music of China.

Part 5C - The music of contemporary China.

Part 5F - The contemporaneous music of China.

Post 6 - The contemporaneous music of China.

Post 7 - The contemporaneous music of China.

Post 8 - The contemporaneous music of China.

Part 9 - The contemporaneous music of China.

Post 11 - The contemporaneous music of China.

Parks in China

The parks in China are very unique. They are enormous and tend to be very mountainous. Here we take a look at this most interesting of subjects.

Really Strange China

Here are some posts that discuss a number of things about China that might seem odd, or strange to Westerners. Some of the things are everyday events, while others are just representative of the differences in culture.

What is China like?

The purpose of this post is to illustrate that the rest of the world, outside of America, has moved on with their lives. That while they might not be as great as America is, they are doing just fine thank you.

And while America has been squandering it’s money, decimating it’s resources, and just being cavalier with it’s military, the rest of the world has done the opposite. They have husbanded their day to day fortunes, and you can see this in their day-to-day lives.

Summer in Asia

Let’s take a moment to explore Asia. That includes China, but also includes such places as Vietnam, Thailand, Japan and others…

Some Fun Videos

Here’s a collection of some fun videos taken all over Asia. While there are many videos taken in China, we also have some taken in Thailand, Vietnam, Cambodia, Korea and Japan as well. It’s all in fun.

Articles & Links

You can start reading the articles sequentially by going HERE.
You can visit the Index Page HERE to explore by article subject.
You can also ask the author some questions. You can go HERE to find out how to go about this.
You can find out more about the author HERE.
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